Stuck in a transfer in St Louis, so here's the chapter I was editing.
"Raise ten," Groot said, as he flicked a chip into his betting pile. He scratched at his/Peter's stubble at his chin and sighed at his cards. He had a much better poker face as his own wooden self, and he could just mime or hold up chips so Rocket wouldn't need to constantly translate, but he was only toddler sized now; no bar was letting him in without ID for age when he sounded like an infant. He'd have to win off his own cards (luck) and reading those around him (very much not luck, and a skill he'd improved considerably under Peter's acting lessons).
Rocket was off somewhere negotiating electronics to mod the ship, so the furball at the bar was the real Peter. Gamora slid up next to him and ordered something, and Drax? Groot didn't see Drax. He thought Gamora had guard duty back at the ship tonight, but he guessed they'd switched.
"Hey, Xandarian, hey." Groot looked back to the table. "Your move."
Groot's eyes quickly darted between the remaining players and their betting piles. Two others were still in the hand; one Krylonian had bet small and the oversized Badoon to his right had put out a large bet. Groot flicked his eyes between the table and his own hand, and calculated that the Badoon was stupid, but probably wasn't bluffing, flipping his own cards face down on the table and leaving the fight between the Badoon and the older Krylonian woman two to his left, flicking his eyes back to the bar where 'Rocket' and Gamora were chatting.
Rocket had ordered a dark ale and Gamora a beer.
Ah, Groot realized with a small inward smile. Gamora was still on ship watching duty. The Rocket and Gamora that Groot saw were really Drax and Peter, in that order.
The whole genders/sex thing that had made the other four uncomfortable didn't really bother Groot. Drax, Peter, and Rocket just had an extra tendril that was both quite fragile and intended for toxin removal and reproduction. Why both bodily functions came from the same protrusion, Groot didn't understand. His bark served the former purpose, his flowers the latter. Whatever sick joke genetics played on mammals, he'd never been privy to, but he figured from their conversation that Gamora did not have the same anatomical structures as the other three, and it made all of them a little awkward, dancing around the issue in the same way Peter danced around his ship.
Groot went back to his cards. It was a tournament with a set buy-in, so he wasn't concerned about blowing away their money; he'd spent what the others were on drinks on his own fun for the evening, but that didn't mean he wanted to let the prize money slip from his fingers.
By the way the rest of the table kept flicking their own eyes back towards where Drax and Peter were sitting, Groot wondered if he should have been Gamora for the evening, but the Krylonian was by far the best player at the table and she seemed to find Peter's face attractive.
One on his side. He figured how to force the other three to let their own guards down.
Peter. That would work.
"Gamora?" Groot called out, sipping from his glass of carbonated water.
"Need something, Quill?" he asked back, walking, no, sauntering, cycling his legs in his heeled boots as if he'd always worn a pair.
"That your girlfriend?" asked the Badoon, spitting his drink.
Groot suppressed a grin. "You crazy? She's way out of my league. Just friends." He'd gotten the best at mimicking Peter, but not by nearly as wide a margin as he anticipated. Even Drax was becoming a halfway decent actor.
"Don't tell me she's with the plush toy," grunted a Skrull, playing with his stack of chips. Groot considered the irony of the Skrull in his real state and Groot transformed, but at least on Knowhere, Skrull who renounced their warrior-leader were provided a safe haven, the four-legged security chief that Rocket couldn't stand and Tivan (of all people) saw to it. Groot knew all too well about growing up with different ideas than the rest of his own tribe, and made sure to treat Skrulls on Knowhere or anywhere in space where they were willing to show their real faces with as much respect as possible.
The rest of 'em could fuck themselves, though.
"I'm not with anyone, gentlemen," Peter replied, flicking his long hair back and leaning into a hip. Peter's level of teasing out small body language differences was astoundingly good. "What can I do for you?"
"No cheats, or Xandar boy here's out," screeched the Centurain running the tourney.
"I was just going to offer the next round of drinks on me," Groot replied.
"So you mean on me," Peter said, fiddling with his hair a bit. "Seeing as I'm the one among us covering the tab."
Drinks were shouted out quickly, and Groot tipped his near empty glass of soda to 'Gamora' to request a refill, and Peter walked back to the bar, rear end cycling in a motion that Groot was sure every man and most of the women watched in awe.
Groot wasn't going to cheat; he only had 50 credits down, which was a night of drinking between him and Rocket, easily chalked up as fun money.
He was still going to distract the hell out of his opponents, though.
"Well?" Gamora asked, as Peter, Drax, and Groot returned to the ship, net positive 1,000 units.
"Watching you walk in heels and actually wearing them are two different things. Even with the gel inserts, ow," Peter said, flicking his hair back and sitting in the galley, unzipping his black boots. Groot should have recognized it earlier. Gamora enjoyed wearing more revealing clothing, and Peter's shirt, while definitely accentuating the mammary, given the reactions at the bar, covered higher than what Gamora usually chose for herself.
"Also, guys are skeevy and I never want to be hit on like that again," Peter added, flexing his toes and cracking his back, shuddering at the thought. "At least you're strong enough to knock someone flat if they're really giving you problems, but I worry for the regular girl out there."
"The hunter became the hunted," Drax remarked, skittering up the cold storage to grab a water vessel to curb off the impending dehydration.
"Hey, if a girl- well, if anyone- says 'no', I back the hell off. You get hit on by someone physically stronger than you one time," Peter added, seemingly from experience, "and you learn how to respond. I just wasn't used to the frequency of lame pickup lines. And the shows of aggression when I turned them down. Yuck."
The hatch beeped, and an automated loading crate followed behind Rocket, gently depositing about twenty small boxes and two large ones on the floor before scooting out of the ship.
Rocket looked up at the two Gamoras, Peter, and Rocket sitting around the galley and cursed under his breath.
"'M I gonna need to play the 'who's everyone pretendin' to be tonight' game?" he sighed, shaking his head. "Look, some of this stuff is oxy-fragile, so would the real Peter 'n Groot help me install the FTL parts before we all crash for the night?"
Groot and Peter stood up to assist.
"Whoah, bud. Ya look good in green," Rocket joked to who he thought was his best friend and companion, turning behind him and lifting the largest crate with one arm.
Peter-faced-Groot, however, had waited for this moment, lifting a box and proudly proclaimed:
"I am Groot."
"Fuck me."
"Xandar?" Drax asked, looking at the coordinates Gamora was setting.
"Xandar," she replied, finishing her preflight checks, before turning to face Drax. "Did you try on the clothing Rocket made for you?"
"Not… not yet," Drax answered, hesitantly. "The idea still does not sit well with me, though I'm unsure as to why. Possibly it is seeing you unclothed?"
Gamora glanced sideways. "I have long since come to terms with my dignity, Drax. Here, as I know at least Groot and Peter have already tried becoming me," Gamora added, unbuckling the straps on her corset and pulling it clean off.
Drax bit his lip awkwardly. "I am not sure where I should be looking."
"Go and change, Drax. It is only my body. And, like Rocket, I have some augmentations you will need to accustom yourself to. Unless you have had a HUD installed in your left eye as well?"
Logically outmaneuvered, Drax descended the stairs to his quarters. Gamora looked at her unbuckled corset on the floor, shrugged her shoulders, and plopped herself topless into the captain's chair, feet up on the free space on the dashboard, stretching out her upper body and keeping an eye on the instrumentation. Eventually, she heard the center head unlock, and a Gamora- Peter, by the red tank top and denim pants, unless they had switched outfits- stepped out to the bridge.
"Whoa. Drax, buddy, put on a shirt- or at least a sports bra or something. I like the view as much as the next person, but seriously. Not cool." Definitely Peter.
"I do not feel like it," Gamora replied derisively, realizing after she spoke she actually pulled off a decent Drax impression. "Plus, it is uncomfortable, and the only people who are going to see us for the next three hours are each other."
"Gamora is gonna kill you, though, you know that, right?"
It was 2AM local time when the Milano landed; five Gamoras huddled in the cockpit for touchdown on a Nova base. Dey himself greeted them at exit, bleary eyed and blinking back and forth between.
"What, do we need name tags for ya?" Rocket joked.
"I get used to you all, and then you pull something like this on me. I can't win. I give up. Look, it's a national holiday tomorrow so the facility is closed. Security cams are off; the whole place is yours for 26 hours. Who's in charge of keys and cleanup?"
"Me," Groot said, holding out his slender, green hand.
"Well, Gamora, Gamora, Gamora, Gamora, and, uh, Star-Prince," Peter rolled his eyes, and Dey made a small victory pump with his fist, presumably from guessing which one was him, "have fun, don't break anything, and call me if you need me. I'm going to bed."
"Will do," Peter replied, clipping him on the back with a grin.
"Seriously. Creepy," Dey replied, shrugging off the arm and twisting it into a handshake. "Best of luck, though. You're a bigger man than me," he added, "Well, metaphorically speaking." Dey gave the five a lopsided salute and sauntered back to his groundcar.
"Well," Gamora said, facing the other four. "Time for training."
Drax pressed his back to the ramshackle wall, gun in hand and a knife at his hip. He breathing was shallow and quiet, he could see through Gamora's own built in HUD some flecks of infrared scattered nearby. His left had a smoking crater from the shot that skittered too close. Getting used to these signals was not nearly as taxing as Rocket's, but it was still unusual to have a data feed built directly into his eye. He could sense someone coming closer, whispering into the comms, "Peter?"
"I'm fifty meters behind you, man," he heard back, in Gamora's timbre, followed by a scream. Peter was down.
Fuck. Drax wanted to win.
Drax heard rustling, and flicked his knife, plunging the blue beam emanating into it into another Gamora's throat. S/he was down, or would have been, if Groot, as Drax now realized by the brown jacket this Gamora wore, played along with faking being murdered like Peter and Rocket had done throughout the night. Instead, Groot simply saluted, shrugged, and sat.
It was just between Drax and Rocket now- Peter and Drax were tied three-for-three in the combat simulator with Rocket and Groot, and they'd bet the losers had to give massages to the winners.
Drax wasn't even sure how the heck he'd relax a tree. Aromatherapy? And he really needed someone to crack his back, too.
Drax hissed at Groot, "You are deceased. clear off the field; Peter has done so and you remaining is an unfair advantage to Rocket."
Groot nodded sagely, and hopped up on some exposed beams, jumping between poles and out of sight.
Drax focused on the infrared signals, noting heat sources around him in near darkness; he focused to try and figure out which remaining signature was a living body and which were heat vents and other forms of environmental hazards on the field. Rocket had an advantage; he was already a nimble climber, and used to working with sound and under low light conditions. Groot was the weakest by comparison, making the two teams, which Gamora oversaw from a clear fiberglass referee box somewhere overhead, fairly even overall.
Rocket may be nimble, intelligent, and more used to the sensory inputs, but his normal height was his largest flaw. Several times, he made jumps he could not actually complete due to misjudging foothold sizes, and his depth perception as Gamora was quite different than as himself, making his shots far less accurate than normal. And he had little experience with blades.
If Drax could get in close, he would win for sure.
Drax took a risk, exposing himself by climbing a stack of metal cargo crates, to better pinpoint if the heat signature he believed was Rocket's to be correct, and strike from above. The HUD was not perfect, having trouble picking up signatures from on high. Gamora must compensate with her real senses, but Rocket and Drax had not yet had the experience in combat that she possessed, making a jump onto Rocket Drax's only advantage.
He held his breath, leaned over the crates.
It was a twenty-meter drop down to Rocket. Could he do it without injury? He knew his own body might break a bone, but he could walk away from a jump of that height. He looked above him, Gamora, Peter and Groot in the box overhead, and down at Rocket, checking the scope on his gun and properly calibrating something in his internal display by the flurry of hand movements on the side of his face. Gamora watched intently, and Drax pointed down at Rocket, pretending to jump, but catching himself, looking up at Gamora for approval. She blinked twice; she'd promised not to interfere. Peter said something to her; the glass was soundproof.
And then Gamora looked down at Drax, nodding.
Drax bit his lower lip to prevent a scream or biting off his tongue, and drew his weapon, jumping.
BZZZZZT
"Holy mother of fucking hell," cried Rocket, from under Drax. "Thank Gods we are both Gamora because you could have fucking murdered me for real, asshole!"
"I did get permission first," Drax replied innocently, peeling himself off, holding out one soft green hand to another.
"Not from me you didn't!" Rocket protested, as Drax sheathed the laser knife, slinging Rocket over his shoulders, bridal style.
"And I expect you to turn into someone else for our bet. I am sure neither Peter nor I wish to be clawed."
"We said massage, not five-star Taspis spa level," Rocket whined, as he was dumped unceremoniously in the mess hall for a snack after training. "And we still have the obstacle course and a few other competitions, blockhead. We can still win."
"Like hell you will," Peter said, sliding into a seat across. "My shoulders are killing me and as captain of our ship, I'm winning. And I expect the works."
"Boys," Gamora replied, rolling her eyes. Of course these idiots would be fighting over a spa day while she was trying to have a serious lesson.
Drax and Peter did end up winning the bet, leading to an irate Rocket sitting irritably on Peter's lower back like a fuzzy hot stone while he carefully kneaded out the kinks on Peter's shoulders, grumbling the whole while.
"needs to take better care a' himself…" Rocket mumbled, "'parrently someone's never heard a' stretchin' to prevent muscle strain or summat…"
Meanwhile, Groot, a small but dense toddler, was using his vines to contort Drax's arm behind his back, carefully stretching his triceps without pulling too hard in any one spot. Rocket finished with Peter, hopping off, but Drax caught him by the torso as he turned to descent the stairs. An annoyed whine escaped Rocket's lips, but Drax quickly shushed him.
"Peter is not the only one who has an ill-suited post workout routine," he chided, pulling Rocket into his lap as he ran a massive hand down Rocket's exposed backside. Rocket was slowly, slowly becoming less self conscious over his back's scarring and exposed plugs, mainly because he knew everyone else could see them anytime they turned into him. Rokcet's tail stiffened at Drax's touch, but quickly relaxed, swishing gently s Drax's giant but nimble fingers worked on Rocket's muscles.
The only sounds were a low rumble from Rocket that was absolutely, certainly not purring, and the occasional 'pop' as Groot cracked another muscle. Eventually, Peter stretched and sat up on the couch in the common space, beckoning Gamora, who was watching the scene with disinterest while reading from a data pad, to come over.
"You've won your bet," Gamora said simply.
"No, no, c'mon," Peter replied. You just jumped through as many hoops as us. Lay down, chill! I've gotcha."
Gamora rolled her eyes, slid off her shirt and laid prostrate on the couch. Peter's eyes nearly bugged out of his head.
"Holy," he sputtered.
"Oh, come now, Star Lord," she joked, throwing a pillow at his face for good measure. It isn't as though you have never seen this before."