Another chapter done! This is a long one (by my standers) to make up for the A/N last week. Not a lot of Drax or Groot, but I'll try to make up for that next time.

Thank you all for reading my story, I love looking at my story stats. Also, a big thanks to everyone who added this to a alert/favorite list. For their understanding and awesome reviews; Becka3490, random gal, Guest, CatGirlFireflare, and Alaska Winters, thank you!

I don't own Guardians of the Galaxy, or the song Philly does. That's from Firefly.

Enjoy~

If it had been any other instance Philly would have been fleeing form a vessel her and Peter had recently looted. It would have been a wild and adrenalin inducing game of dodge the lasers. This time there was no chase there was only the airlock making the ship quake as it sealed the second the "okay" came through the communication system. She steered the ship away form the Kyln as fast as the thrusters would allow. No lollygagging. No hot-dogging. No fun.

Good-by and good riddance.

She took a long breath in through her nose. Leather. Metal. Twist of that citrus cleaner. Let the air out in a sigh that was equal parts relief and content the soft noise was amplified in the empty room. Her room.

It was empowering to be piloting the Milano. Always made her feel like she was queen of the 'verse. Like she could do anything. Invincible. Safe. Joyful.

So joyful in fact, she thought she felt a song coming on.

"Ohhhhhh, take my love. Take my land. Take me to where I cannot stand. I don't care, I'm still free! You can't take the sky from me…!"

Her fingers started to plug in the remote coordinates Gamora had outlined as she belted out the old spacer shanty. So loud and off-key was her vocals the pilot didn't notice footsteps tromping up the steps. Didn't notice another being until another voice, just as off-key, joined hers.

"Take me back to the black. Tell 'um I ain't coming back. Burn the land and boil the sea. You can't take the sky from meeeee!"

The Terran hummed a greeting, glancing over her shoulder at the nav station. Plopping down in the co-pilot's chair, he kicked his feet up and draped his body side-ways over the armrests.

Déjà vu.

The last time he'd been sitting like that they'd been on their way to the Broker's and freedom from the Ravengers. Seemed like ages ago. That worked out flawlessly, hmmm?

"The Walkman?" Philly asked without turning her head.

"Yep." He replied, popping the'P'. Peter frowned slightly when the Zeldonian hit enter with less then half the necessary information. "These all the directions she gave you?"

With the 'P' popped. "Yep."

"Hmmm."

"Hmmm, indeed. It appears she doesn't trust us."

Peter gave a short laugh, grinning, "With good reason. What's the damage?"

Gray eyes did a quick survey of the cockpit, "Well…nothing up here seems to be missing. But I haven't checked the cargo hold yet." Hands brought up the heads-up display on the dash for both of them to see. "Doesn't look like they got around to scrounging for parts yet… Air and water supplies seem to still be topped off…"

She scowled, eyeing another stat. "Those Kriffing vhlors! They siphoned our fuel!"

A string of Terran profanity. "How far can we get?"

Some mental math. "Within the system we want for sure. Past that…well…I'd feel better if I knew where we were going."

Peter chewed his lower lip thoughtfully, "Me too. Come on, let's go see what our guests are up to."

He rose and started for where he'd left the escapes. Some last second adjustments and Philly scampered down the steps on Peter's heels.

…

…

The Milano was a compact vessel; she was made to carry a small amount of crew, cargo, and passengers and altered for speed and agility. Built to out run anything on her tail, the modified version of an old cargo ship was mass-produced and sold on the black market, completely off grid. Perfect for the Ravenger's needs, they made up most of Yondu's fleet.

It only took a few seconds to get form the cockpit to the common room. The kitchen/dinning room/living room/cross roads that everyone has to go though to get anywhere on the ship.

Peeking through the doorway Philly could see all four of the passengers had changed back into their real clothes and claimed an individual strategic spot. All had their backs to the wall and all were watching their forced companions warily. Some just seemed to hide their mistrust better then others.

Drax had snagged one of the few chairs that were built into the wall. He remained as still as a statue with his hands resting on his knees, inches away from the hilts of the two hefty swords sticking out of his boots. He was glairing diagonally across the room at Gamora.

The green skinned woman had her arms crossed over her chest, unmoving save for her eyes, flickering between the three males. The two were stiff and ridged. Tense.

Ready to snap.

On the other end of the spectrum, Groot was inspecting various nick-knacks and bobbles Milano's crew had decorated the room with, while still managing to keep his back toward the wall.

Nearest the door, Rocket had dismantled something or other and was fiddling with the parts and humming a jazzy tune. Philly paused for a shake, but then decided he wasn't messing with anything important like the steering or the music player. Shrugging she went for the kitchen area to see if any food had survived the raid.

Her partner however…

"Whoa! Hey, Ranger Rick!" Peter yelled at the furred mammal. "You can't take apart my ship without asking me!" He stooped down, "What is this?"

"Don't touch that." Rocket ordered like he was talking to a small child, "It's a bomb."

"A bomb?" Peter squawked. Jaw dropping, eyebrows rose. With a couple protein bars in hand Philly rested her elbows on the counter watching the activity with interest.

"Yep." Rocket.

"And you just leave it laying around?"

A scoff, "I was gonna put it in a box."

"What's a box gonna do!?" The Terran's voice rose in pitch and volume as the bounty hunter rummaged in one of the nearby drawers. He selected a colorfully wrapped box collecting dust on top. Philly finished off the bar and started another.

Uh-oh.

"How 'bout this one?"

"No, whoa," Peter kicked at drawer closed hard with the toe of his boot, "leave it alone."

"Why? What is-"

"Shut up." He said loudly, defensively.

"Hey!" A what's-your-problem gesture before going back to what ever he was doing.

After a few beats Peter nodded to the assortment of parts spread out on the floor, "What's that?"

Rocket looked up form his work. His lips were pulled back showing off his fangs in a brief grin. "That's for when things get really hard core. Or if you want to blow up moons."

Gamora snapped her eyes toward the two, "No one's blowing up moons."

Rocket exhaled through his nose, "you just want ta suck the joy out of everything."

Shaking his head Peter strode to the TelViz screen that was mounted by the table, "So listen, I'm gonna need your buyer's coordinates." He said to Gamora, placing the merchandise on the tabletop.

Green fingers scooped it up, "We're heading in the right direction." Gamora replied evenly, turning the orb over in her hands. "For now."

The Terran quirked his lips in a charming smile. Took a couple steps forward, "If were gonna work together you might wanna try trusting us a little more."

"And how much do you trust me?" she replied shrewdly.

"I'd trust you a lot more if you told me what this was." He returned, plucking the silver orb out of her hands to put it back on the table. "'Cause I'm guessing its some kind of weapon."

"I don't know what it is." Gamora admitted slowly.

Drax's paw shot out eagerly to grab the orb; "If it's a weapon we should use it against Ronan."

Gamora's hands fisted, "Put that down you fool you'll destroy us all!"

Drax had started toward her, "Or just you, murderous!" Gamora, not to be intimidated, met him halfway.

"I let you live once, princess!"

"I am NOT A PRINCESS!"

"Hey! Nobody is killing anybody on my ship!" Peter vociferated firmly, "We're stuck together until we get the money."

There was half a beat where there was no sound except Philly chewing her snack. She couldn't decide wither or not this confrontation might have ended with blades or fists.

Drax tossed the orb to Peter with a slight scoff, "I have no interest in money."

The Terran stepped forward, out of the destroyer's way, "Great. That leaves more money for the four of us."

Groot coughed for attention. Palms up-ward and elbows bent. What about me? The gesture said.

"The five of us." Peter corrected himself with a sigh, "Partners?"

"We have an agreement. But I would never be partners with the likes of you. I'll tell the buyer we're on our way," Gamora said, pausing just outside the door frame, "and Quill, you're ship is filthy." The Green skinned woman ascended the steps for the cockpit.

Peter shamelessly ogling her leather-clad…hips as she went.

Philly puckered her mouth at the thought of a stranger left unattended in her domain. She had half a mind to go up there right now and throw the other woman out…right after she changed into something other then the piston clothes…

"Oh, she has no idea." Peter said somewhat proudly, "If I had a black light this place would look like a Jackson Pollock painting."

Philly gave a snorted laugh, "And that is precisely why I confine myself to the cockpit. A no-overnight-guest, intercourse free zone." She skipped past Peter, jabbing him in the stomach and getting her pigtail buns flicked as she pasted.

Peter folded his arms as she disappeared to her room. Waiting until he was absolutely certain the pilot was well out of hearing range before leaning toward Groot and Rocket. The only two left in the room,

"That's what she thinks."

"You got issues, Quill." Rocket noted, nose scrunching up in disgust.

The cheeky way Peter bobbed his head and smirked in the distance at someone who wasn't there was halted by a scream coming from around the corner.

Peter jumped up and jogged toward the sound. There was only one person he knew that could make a scream sound so horrified, so rageful at the same time. His blasters were drawn and ready as Peter halted lazily outside the Zeldonian's room.

His partner had a habit of blowing the little things completely out of proportion. Screaming when there was nothing worth screaming over. But then again there was that one time when the cargo they'd been transporting had been infested with space lice and he thought it would be fine and she'd been over exaggerating.

She hadn't been over exaggerating and the ship had to be fumigated. Dry-docked for three months. They'd learned that sometimes it were worth checking out and to make sure.

But this time, when he opened the door and found Philly standing in the center of the room looking quite unharmed, Peter was sure this was another case of over exaggeration. The Zeldonian's eyes were wide and darting, her sides were heaving as she hyperventilated. At a glance Peter saw what was wrong.

He face-palmed.

All the souvenirs, nick-knacks, trade goods, and whatever else Philly had acquired over the years through various (legal and illegal) means were gone.

"Now Philly," He started, holstering his blasters, "to be fair most of that stuff was dangerous."

The pilot didn't seem to hear him as she began mumble woefully, "I won those Crost dual swords in a bet. And…and those hand woven baskets form Mallis, I bought them fair and square…"

But the material they're made of isn't allowed in Xanderian space, Peter thought, letting his head fall against the doorframe, "All of it was contraband of one kind or another…"

"The headbands Nan made me, I love those headbands! My cute little figurines from the Kree…"

"Philly." No response. Why did she have to do this now?

He tried again, louder.

Just more babbling.

Finely the Terran snorted. Closed the door. Put on his headphones and pressed play on his Walkman.

Why did girls have to be so obsessed with useless junk, anyway?

He bobbed his head to the music all the way down the hall. A thought made him pause mid-step outside his own room. Punched the open button. Peeked inside…

"Aww, damn it!"

…

…

…

Shell shocked.

Robbed.

Violated.

That was the one. She felt violated. All her hard work. All those years of goods transport. Everything she had to show for her life had been stored in this room. This room had been ransacked. Pilfered by Nova Core just like the fuel tank. And they had the nerve to call them criminals.

Hypocrites.

What was she doing in here again?

Oh, right there was still the little matter of her piston yellows. Philly yanked open her microscopic closet, relived to find her wardrobe intact (as far as she could tell). After a moment she picked out an off white, paint stained long-sleeve, and a comfy pair of very dark blue over-alls. Everything she owned was well worn in and super comfy, just how she liked it.

The Zeldonian spent a few more minutes morning over her hijacked collection. Then, with a reluctant sigh, she trudged out toward the cockpit. Her feet barely lifted off the ground. Head tilted down. Mouth pressed in a thin line.

This was her sad face.

At the doorway to the common room Philly poked her nose in cautiously. Gamora was absent, probably in the cockpit. Peter was probably with her. Drax was still missing after he'd stormed off. Groot had migrated to the opposite wall, still observing the cheep do-dads hanging everywhere. Why couldn't Nova Core have taken any of that? Now that stuff was junk.

Rocket was still sitting on the floor, his tail flicked back and forth, suspended an inch or so off the ground. Spare parts were still scattered on the dura-steel in front of him. That humming had been resumed as his hands kept up a steady pace, moving with certainty in what they were doing.

Philly hadn't made a sound as far as she could tell, but even so the bounty hunter's left ear flicked toward her direction while his focus stayed on his work. The Zeldonian strode into the common room, the furred ear following as she padded over in her stocking clad feet and plopped down to watch.

What a weirdo. Rocket thought, glancing up briefly, then resumed his tinkering with an internal snort.

The parts he was using were make-do at best, 'cause apparently these two had had forgotten to upgrade this scrap heap in over three cycles. He shuddered to think on the condition the engines were in.

His fur prickled. Her head and eyes, with no other motion or any sound, tracked every move his hands made intently. It was hard trying to resist the urge to squirm under the gray-eyed scrutiny.

There was his humming. The clank of metallic objects. Groot's heavy footsteps.

Out of all that, Philly's muteness was somehow the most prominent.

He tried to ignore her, but the more Rocket worked the more he could picture being under a microscope. And that stirred up unwanted thoughts.

He let out a long breath through his nose, "Ya gonna gawk at me all day, Blue?"

Philly didn't answer the question, but instead asked one of her own, "Can that really blow up a moon?"

This made Rocket pause for a beat, a hit of a smirk with a flash of fangs, "It should with a little more work."

"Is it another bomb?"

"A gun." He corrected, "What's a womp rat?"

"Peter's word for grets. Were you really gonna shoot me?" Philly asked, eyeing Rocket's blaster lying within his arm reach.

The bounty hunter hummed a few more verses instead of answering right away. Waited until her knee started bouncing with impatience, "Probably. But I didn't."

"Well that's comforting." Hands on her hips.

Rocket hummed some more as he continued his tinkering. He could almost hear the Zeldonian frowning.

Victory.

…

…

…

The clop, clop of someone coming down the ladder made Philly look up as Peter sulked over to sit at the table. His head was tilted back. Arms crossed, and bottom lip sticking out like a shelf. This was Peter's sad face. And why he was 'sad' was written all over said face.

Philly's mouth stretched into a wide toothy grin, "Did she shoot you down? Ouch, that must hurt!"

He gave her a sullen look.

"Aww," she cooed, reaching out to fluff his hair, "you poor baby!"

Peter watched her with a dry half-lidded expression as the Zeldonian nearly collapsed with laughter at his wounded ego.

The Terran pouted at her.

"She's driving."

…

…

…

Sitting in the co-pilot chair, Gamora watched the ship's controls move seemingly on their own accord as the automated pilot system adjusted to maintain the route.

There was a lovely absents of vocalization without Quill up present and the assassin thought she might even close her eyes for a moment. Last night had not been a restful one spent in the Kyln. Nor any particular sleep cycle before that she could remember.

It was starting to sink in how fast her freedom was approaching the more the ship traveled through the wide expanse of space toward the outlaw planet. Soon they would sell the orb. Soon she would get her cut and travel far out of the reach of Ronan and even Thanos. Soon she would never have to answer to anyone ever again. She would be completely free...

...Completely alone.

The corners of her lips dropped in a frown.

There was a part of her that wished Nebula could have come, that they could have sought freedom together. But what Gamora knew, what she reluctantly couldn't ignore any longer, was that the woman whom she called her sister was too far-gone.

All the years of training and modification had left nothing more then an empty shell. A ruthless creature that felt no remorse, who thrived on killing and watching other beings suffer.

"WHAT?!" Gamora's brow furrowed when the puny Zeldonian shrieked for the second time since she'd been up here. What was wrong with her this time?

Almost franticly footsteps raced up the ladder and a livid pilot all but tumbled through the hatch that led to the rest of the ship. Philly scrambled to her feet, swerving her head wildly.

"Oh…" She rubbed her head sheepishly when at seeing Gamora resting passively in the co-pilot chair. "I thought…"

The pilot's voice trailed off. Gamora's body stiffened when instead of leaving, Philly settled into the seat next her's.

The two of them sat in silence avoiding eye contact. The thrusters hummed and pushed the ship to wherever. Monitors and sensors beep and booped. Data scrolled across a screen. Stars floated past the viewport.

Just leave already. The assassin thought.

"Do you like to fly?"

Gamora turned her dark irises in Philly's direction. Snapped her gaze forward, "not particularly."

The green skinned woman twisted her torso to face away form Philly and toward the side viewport. The blue haired woman huffed at the snub her attempt at conversation had suffered and leaned back to watch the wide, starry 'verse roll by in the absents of organic noise.

…

…

…

…Well this isn't awkward at all….