Answering the distress signal had been a good move, especially since the Guardians were still trying to make a name for themselves as heroes, though that seemed a little ridiculous after unquestionably saving the entire galaxy on more than one occasion. Heroes, though, keep doing the right thing, even when it doesn't benefit them.
No matter what Rocket says.
The problem was the people they were supposed to help - and hopefully receive a reward from – were floating lifelessly in the wreckage of their own vessel. And judging by the finality of the scene, their fate had been decided well before their ship's systems had picked up on their last ditch plea for aid. A quick scan revealed a telling lack of children among the causalities, at least.
"It looks like they managed to deploy evacuation pods before," Peter frowned, leaning on the control pad for a closer look while Rocket navigated them around the debris, "whatever did this destroyed the rest of them-"
A body slammed against the windshield, making him jump back while Gamora reached for her knives. It was badly burned, with patches of armor and leather torn from its body to reveal blackened and raw flesh, spattered with spots of unnatural blue.
"Ew." Rocket complained with the tonal equivalence of reacting to bug splatter. "Get it off!"
Then the corpse's eyes shot open with a gasp, exposing bloody sclera, and Peter, too distracted to interpret the shock plain on Gamora's face before she mastered her expression as anything out of the ordinary, yelled urgently towards the rear of the ship, "Open the hatch! We don't know how much longer he'll last out there."
Once they had what was presumably a survivor on board, they found they didn't know what to do with them. Besides lay them out on a metal slab of a table usually purposed for board games and meals.
In build, they were willowy, though just broad enough in the shoulders that Peter was fairly certain they were dealing with a male, with singed locks of wavy black hair spread about their head in a disarray. Ridged markings of what unblemished flesh remained pointed to the possibility of ritual scarring, while the lack of a fin meant that the likeness between the survivor and Yondu was likely superficial. The loss of their fins resulted in incapacitating and disorienting vertigo, which couldn't have been the case for their catch since there was no evidence that he'd ever grown one.
After deciding they were in over their head, Peter grumbled under his breath, "Is it too much to ask for blue space people to stop trying to destroy my ship?"
Gamora's gaze snapped to him. "He didn't hit the windshield on purpose, Peter." She hadn't taken her eyes off their new passenger since Drax brought him inside, and it was starting to set him on edge.
He shrugged in an attempt to defuse the tension, "I know that, but if twice is a coincidence, and three's a pattern, what does that make four?"
Rocket, who'd presumably set the Benatar on auto-pilot, strolled in with a blanket tucked under his arm, "A hobby?"
Satisfied, Peter nodded, "Exactly. So what I'm trying to say is - We need a new hobby." When Mantis drifted over to the head of the table, her hands hovering over the alien's temples, he didn't stop her. The truth was, as much as it didn't seem likely that someone this badly burned could have taken part in the destruction of the refugee ship, he wasn't up for taking chances, and there was always the chance that involving themselves in this would end with the Guardians getting on the bad side of someone very mean and very powerful who'd wanted those refugees dead.
Though fighting those kinds of jerks was kind of in the job description, Peter preferred to know who was winding up the punch before getting socked in the jaw.
An inch away from making contact, Mantis flinched. "He's in pain, Peter." He was tempted to ask if the pain was mental or physical, but given the circumstances, imagined it was a healthy helping of both. "Terrible pain. And… I feel…" she looked up, her antennas drooping as tears dripped down her pale cheeks, "loss."
At that point, Peter wanted to call it off. If her empathic connection was affecting her this much without her even touching him, then he didn't want to think about what strengthening the bond would do, except he never got the words out. Mantis parted her lips in a silent gasp, her eyes widening in startlement, and a hand gnarled into the shape of a claw latched onto her wrist.
Even injured and weakened, the alien shoved her away with a force that sent her reeling, though Drax managed to catch her, keeping her from slamming against the ground. While she nodded gratefully up at him, unaware of the murderous glare aimed over her head, Peter already had his blaster out and directed at the alien's shuddering form. "Might want to think twice before trying something like that again." Rocket tossed the blanket so it landed haphazardly over the alien's legs, then unstrapped the blaster from his back with a feral growl. "In fact, seeing as how we rescued you, I believe a 'thank you' is considered customary."
The alien didn't seem to hear him, though. His pupils were blown, and from the dreadful rattling in his chest, struggling to breath was about the extent of what he could manage. Despite that assessment, ruby-red eyes darted wildly around the ship for escape routes.
And Peter liked a good tactical retreat as much as the next guy, but even he could tell it just wasn't an option in the middle of space.
Once the blue man noticed Gamora, though, Peter realized his mistake. He should have known that the guy would recognize her, it was only that Peter himself never saw the Mad Titan's best assassin when he looked at her, never had. Not everyone knew her the way he did, though, and their passenger, judging by his reaction, had known a very different Gamora. Summoning a mastery over his body that Peter hadn't thought possible, the lone survivor visibly willed his muscles to cease their spasms, brought the volume of his harsh breathing down to a hiss. Even so, the rapid and shallow rise and fall of his chest betrayed the facade of calm.
After a moment, a quiet, faintly accented voice rasped with a sort of resigned despair, "I was captured, then."
"No," Gamora took a step forward, ignoring Peter's sharp look of warning when she blocked his shot, "I'm not with Thanos. I left." But she glanced back at him, wordlessly pleading for him to trust her. Slowly, he lowered his gun. She breathed a sigh of relief. "He wants to destroy everything. I couldn't just stand by and let that happen."
Instead of relaxing, the blue guy sneered, his lips curling back to bare his teeth like fangs, "Am I supposed to believe that you grew a conscious, demoness?"
Peter bristled, "Hey-"
"Don't interfere, Peter," Gamora snapped without breaking eye contact with their surly guest. And Peter backed down, because he trusted her, but also because he could tell Rocket and Drax were itching for a fight if it came to it, both of whom he'd have gladly chosen over an army.
Registering his audience, the newcomer attempted to sit up on his elbows, to situate himself in a position that didn't so clearly broadcast weakness, but eventually settled for raising his head with a gleam of agony that bordered on madness. "What is it you want from me?" He hissed with a calm that was somehow more frightening than his panic. "Information? My cooperation?" The crazed sheen brightened, joined by a wide, mirthless grin. "Or just the sadistic pleasure of hearing me scream?"
And it wasn't obvious, if Peter didn't know her so well he might have even called it an ill-timed twitch, but Gamora definitely flinched at his words. She hadn't flinched for Ronan, or a living planet, but this refugee seemed to know all the right buttons to press, which suggested familiarity, and not with Gamora of the Guardians, but the Mad Titan's daughter.
It went a long way towards explaining why the blue alien's haggard features contorted with hatred and suspicion whenever she spoke.
Gamora paused, taking a moment to glance at each of them, before lowering her voice to say, "You have your weapons, don't you?" A shiver traveled down the length of the alien's body at the same time its crimson eyes narrowed into slits. When he reached for a slender, delicate-looking dagger from a semi-melted holster at his waist, Peter and Rocket trained their weapons on him. The alien's breathing spiked. Peter noticed a cloud of mist appear in front of his face on the exhale. It hadn't happened rapidly enough to be obvious, but now he could see frost forming under the man's prone form, crawling down the sides of the table.
More and more, it was starting to look like they'd made a mistake.
Before he could voice his thoughts on the matter, however, Gamora grabbed the stranger's wrist, burning her skin with the cold in the process, and yanked the tip of the dagger to her throat.
To his credit, the blue alien appeared just as surprised as the rest of them.
"Gamora-"
"Trust me, Peter." With the blade pressed against her skin, she poured her whole heart into her words, knowing nothing less would be believed. "Thanos bent and broke us." The stranger looked aghast at the mere mention of his name, briefly struggling against her hold. Though the ice creeping up her arm had nearly reached her elbow, she held fast. "Made us do horrible things to good people. But if I can find a way to make up for even a fraction of what I've done, then I know you can, too."
"And do you honestly believe," spat the blue alien viciously, "there is redemption for those of us who have sunk so low?"
Gamora leaned back, apparently at peace. "That's what I plan to find out." The moment she let go of the man, he slumped heavily against the table, too spent to pretend otherwise, and Mantis pressed a warm cloth to her ice-encased limb. "It's fine." Gamora assured her as she fussed, though her attention never drifted. "He's not strong enough right now to hurt me."
The blue alien glowered, then shuddered, and slowly, the burned flesh and fused leather scraps began to become overshadowed by another image, one of an Aesir man roughly the same age as Peter, with a sickly, grey pallor and the same wavy locks of black hair, now with an unhealthy dullness. His lips curled at the corner. "You were saying?"
"You can heal?" Peter blurted out. Drax looked delighted at the prospect.
Cocking his blaster, Rocket grinned, "Let's test it."
"No," Gamora said firmly, defusing the situation before it could get out of control. "This man's name is Loki. Where he's from, he's considered royalty. And we're not going to risk instigating a conflict with an entire planet by hurting him."
Glancing askance, Loki absently massaged his throat. There was a ring around it, blotchy and swollen. Pretty soon, it would darken into a seriously impressive bruise. "I think you'll find that is no longer a concern." Once he had their attention, he continued, speaking each word as though he were expelling a stone,"My planet was destroyed, forcing the Asgardian people to flee." He looked pointedly at Gamora. "Lor-" A violent coughing fit wracked him.
He swallowed when it was done, thanking Mantis when she tentatively handed him a cup of water – and did he go out of his way not to touch her? - and tried again, "Thanos attacked before we got far." The silvery scars on Gamora's face, Peter saw with alarm, leapt when contrasted with the rapid paling of her green skin. "Now that he has the Space Stone, he'll likely go to Knowhere, next."
"Why would he want to go there?" Rocket asked at the same time Gamora exclaimed, "You sent the Reality Stone to the Collector?"
"Odin ordered the Reality Stone sent to the Collector for safekeeping."
"What was he thinking?" Peter shook his head. "The Collector can't be trusted with something that powerful. We saw that ourselves. Only an idiot would send it to him."
An idiot? Peter caught Loki mouthing out of the corner of his eye, though he could have sworn he'd been staring straight at the guy, then spotted Gamora's response, a slightly sheepish shrug. On the whole, the interaction was entirely too familiar for comfort. He determinedly stomped down an irrational impulse to step between them.
"Yes, well," Loki started with a breezy wave of his hand, "what's done is done. Far be it for me to question the All-Father's will."
Gamora shot him a sharp, furtive look that was obviously meant to be private. Peter pressed his mouth into a thin line, but kept it shut. He watched Loki tense, wondering what he read into the expression, what he was waiting for, but whatever it was, it didn't happen.
Instead, Gamora squared her shoulders, set her jaw.
"Then that's where we're going."
An arm shot out to stop her from leaving, hovered uncertainly over her vambrace, then fell without ever making contact. "Alas," Loki said to her side, "I am saddened to say that our paths diverge here." Something told Peter he wasn't being honest. "There's a certain acquaintance of mine on Earth with information that should prove useful to the cause, and I'll be better utilized procuring his assistance then remaining here to continue threatening the delicate self-esteem of that human you're so obviously fond of."
Gamora's cheeks darkened, though whether with embarrassment or anger it was impossible to tell for sure.
"Dude," Peter muttered with a disbelieving shake of his head, "I really don't like you." The empty smile his words earned him sent a shiver down Peter's spine. Or maybe that was the plummeting temperature. He rubbed his arms, feeling resentful of good deeds and selfless acts, in general.
"Come on, Rocket." He gestured towards the cockpit. "We're setting a course for Earth. The faster we get Mr. Freeze off my ship, the better."
"He would've taken you there, anyway, you know," Gamora informed him quietly once the cockpit was sealed and the others had drifted far enough away to give them a semblance of privacy, her tone almost thoughtful. "Because you asked. And he's a good man. You don't have to-"
Loki interrupted her with a sneer, "Allow me to be the judge of that, Lady Gamora."
A frown appeared where before had been a tightly pressed line. Impatiently, she tucked a magenta-highlighted curl behind an ear.
"You don't have to call me that. Gamora is fine." Then she rose to leave, her arm already fully healed, which could have been due to a mixture of his own weakness and the adjustments Thanos had made to her biology, or even due to the interference of the fledgling empath they had on board. Loki chanced a glimpse at where he'd last seen her, glancing away quickly after accidentally making eye contact with her muscled guardian. Gamora followed his gaze, her lips quirking at the sides. "They're good people, Loki. You'll find that out if you give yourself the chance."
He watched her go, burning her visage into his memory.
It occured to him that he'd never asked after Nebula. It occured to him that he never would.
He closed his eyes, struggling to visualize nothing, anything to speed the healing process his body was undergoing beneath the hasty glamour he'd thrown up from the veritable crawl it-
An electronic tune coming from the foot of the table he was currently bound to pulled him from his thoughts, and he looked down to see a young sproutling with a blinking game controller staring up at him, their brown eyes wide, round, and entirely too innocent for the company they were keeping.
"Please abstain from staring," Loki muttered dryly. "I'm terribly shy."
A/N: Thanks for the positive response, guys!