A/N: Interesting question brought up in a review, so I will address it and apologize in advance. I have a couple of times already in his short appearance in this story referred to Peter Quill as Quinn. I have a friend who looks a lot like Chris Pratt named Quinn and when I write a scene with Quill, I see Quinn and try to put him in instead. I will try very hard to catch the times that I do that, but like I said, I'll apologize now if I miss it and it throws off the story. I hope you guys are enjoying this one. It's been a long time coming to get a chance to bring the guardians in.

OOOOO

Meals were usually fairly informal in the lounge. Which was why Peter enjoyed eating there – although he would occasionally eat in the commissary with the grunts, sometimes, because they were a lot of fun, too. Mainly because it was secretly fun for him when he watched them try to watch their language around him, in deference to his age. They all did it; the men and women alike, to varying degrees of success.

Besides, he learned a lot of good jokes when they didn't think he could hear them.

Breakfast with aliens? Even better, really, as far as he was concerned. While they waited for their meal, Carol and Steve – mostly Carol – asked the newcomers about themselves, referencing places out in space that none of the others at the table had even heard of, much less seen. She wasn't an interrogator like Steve (or Natasha, of course) but she had a friendly enough face and was a good listener – and asked intelligent questions.

By the time their pancakes were being delivered by a somewhat still wide-eyed morning staff, they had heard a little about Quill's background, and about Drax's family, since the bulky odd-colored man had no hesitation about telling them his history and how many people he had killed and why.

"Not the best breakfast conversation," Gamora said, finally, noting Peter's expression was somewhat sad and maybe a little green at the most recent description of how he'd torn a man's head from his body. "Why don't we change the subject to something less gory?"

"How did you all meet?" Peter asked, curiously, his breakfast ignored for the moment. "At a spaceport? Like Mos Eisley?"

Quill's eyes lit up, and he pointed at Peter.

"Star Wars."

The boy nodded with a grin.

"Yeah. You saw it?"

"Saw it? Jesus, kid, I lived that shi – stuff. You wouldn't believe the freaks and weirdoes I grew up with once they plucked me out of that field. There was this guy with green hair that could literally shoot fire out of his eyes."

"Wow."

"Right? Made me wish I had some marshmallows every time I saw him do it."

Peter laughed, but there were a few blank stares from Quill's own companions at that comment.

"No marshmallows in space?"

"Nope. Must just be an earth thing, I guess."

"No pancakes, either," Drax said, and the boy was shocked to see that he'd already finished his plate. "They are good, though. We should bring some with us when we go."

"I am groot."

"I can make them," Quill said to Groot. "I think." His eyes grew a little distant. "I watched it done enough times, every Saturday morning since I was old enough to stand on a chair and help my mom do it."

Since Peter remembered doing the exact same thing with May, he understood the look, completely.

"We can make sure you get a lesson or two before you guys leave," Clint said – and his expression was sympathetic as he watched both Peters remembering happy times from their childhoods – even if they were many years apart. "If nothing else, I can show you how."

"You can make pancakes?" Drax asked.

The archer smiled, and shrugged.

"I'm a man of many talents. What can I say?"

"Anything. Until someone puts their hand over your mouth – or gags you."

Rocket rolled his eyes – as did Gamora – but before anyone could say anything else, the boy felt an arm come around him from behind and the scruff of facial hair brush his cheek.

"What's for breakfast?" Tony asked, reaching his other hand out and stealing a piece of sausage from Peter's plate.

Peter smiled, turning to look up at Tony.

"Pancakes."

A kiss pressed to the top of the boy's head reminded those who knew them just how much Tony loved his son, while it gave the newcomers a chance to watch the two interact in a much more relaxed setting than the evening before. Clearly, Tony was relaxed and in a good mood. Which would, hopefully, set the tone for a chance to allow the two very different groups to get to know each other better – and without posturing that almost certainly was guaranteed when strangers met.

"Sounds good." He let Peter go and looked at the others. "Slept well?"

There were varying nods and greetings.

"Clint's going to teach us how to make pancakes," Drax said.

"Better than having Tony do it," Barton said with another shrug, his expression amused. "We don't want the compound burned down, after all."

The billionaire pretended to be annoyed.

"It was one cooking school," he said. "And Peter helped me burn it down – just for the record."

"You burned down a cooking school?" Gamora asked, curiously. "Is that normal?"

"It is for these guys," came a voice from just behind Tony.

They all turned and saw that Natasha had joined them in the lounge, as well – and she wasn't alone. Stephen and Wong were with her, both men dressed casually for the morning – especially for Strange, who was more comfortable in a sharply tailored suit, but was now wearing slacks and a simple polo shirt. The Cloak of Levitation was on his collar, but as they walked over, it detached itself from its normal bearer and swept over to Peter's shoulders to wrap around the boy, humming a cheerful greeting into his mind – and to Alec, who responded at a different level than what Peter could hear.

Romanoff brought an arm around Peter, too, also giving him a hug before releasing him to nod her greetings to the others. Tony made the introductions for Wong, who hadn't met the newcomers the evening before, but was now watching them with interest. He bowed, slightly, when they had all been named, but he didn't seem too shocked at their appearances. Probably, Peter assumed, correctly, Stephen had given descriptions of everyone when he'd returned to the sanctum the night before – or maybe had been able to show images of them.

"What do you do, Mr. Wong?" Mantis asked, curiously.

Peter noticed that she had only been picking at her pancakes, although the sausages were gone.

"Just Wong," the sorcerer corrected, taking a seat beside Carol, while Tony went to the bar to get some coffee and Natasha sat beside Clint and Stephen took the spot next to her – beside Gamora. "I am a librarian. A keeper and collector of knowledge."

"I am groot?"

"No," the wizard replied, before the others could translate. "Not that big of a collection. As I understand it, the Collector has an immense following, with untold items amassed. The treasure we guard is mostly knowledge."

"You speak Groot?" Rocket asked, surprised.

"He speaks everything," Strange said, also surprised – although he shouldn't be, he knew.

"Not everything," Wong corrected. "But many languages. I've never had a chance to actually hear it, before, though. It's very interesting, isn't it?"

"Yeah."

Tony rejoined them, coffee in hand, but before he could take the spot next to Peter, Pepper appeared in the room, also dressed casually. She, too, hugged Peter good morning, and pressed her cheek against his as she sat next to Peter, rolling her eyes when the cloak started playing with her hair. Tony handed her his coffee and went for another cup, returning in only a moment and sitting beside her.

"So what's your deal?" he asked Rocket, curiously. "Is there a planet of talking raccoons out there, somewhere? I've never seen one wearing clothes, either. That can't be normal, is it?"

"That's rich," Strange said. "Coming from a guy who just ordered the Christmas sweater for his pig."

"He gets cold, Stephen."

"No." The racoon's expression was dark – as dark as the adorable face of a trash panda could be, anyway. "I'm the product of genetic mutation and appalling experimentation. There's only one of me. Anywhere."

"I think you're amazing," Pepper told him, sincerely, the mom in her automatically rising to counter the self-depredation in his voice and expression. "The experiments might have been horrific, but the result is remarkable."

If a racoon could blush, Rocket would have been doing it. Quill couldn't hide his amusement at the way she'd managed to render Rocker speechless, and Gamora smiled, pleased at the compliment to her companion. Mantis' expression changed as she felt Rocket's emotions lurch, but Groot was the first to speak.

"I am groot."

"What did he say?" Tony asked.

"He agreed," Gamora said. "And so do I."

There was a silence in the room, but before things dissolved into a whole lot of mushiness and soft, tender, feelings, Peter suddenly shot his hand out and caught Nutmeg, who had taken the moment of silence as an opportunity to launch himself from his cat tree into the middle of the tables.

"Oh, no you don't," the boy said, even as the others around the table reacted in varying manners – with Pepper putting a hand against her chest.

"Peter Parker," she said, sternly, trying to get her heart to stop pounding. "I swear I'm going to put him in a hamster ball."

"Sorry." Groot reached for him and Peter handed him over to the tree. "He's probably just excited by all the people."

"Maybe he wants pancakes," Drax suggested.

"No," Tony said. "He's just a jerk, is all. He's a cat; it's what they do."

Peter couldn't really object to that, since Nutmeg was now gnawing on one of Groot's branches, ignoring all the fuss that he'd created.