The best way to describe this chapter would be tears, pain, and an utter failure to balance school work with my writing schedule. (And yes, I have completely neglected this fic to start about five hundred oneshots but that's not important I'm sorry). Anyways, hehe, the point is that it's finally up! And I really need to stop writing at two am in the morning :P
Enjoy!
"You are positive this will hold?" Rocket rolled his eyes.
"For the last time, yes, I'm sure it will hold. Who do you think you're talking to here?"
"A psycho who takes too much joy in blowing stuff up?" Peter muttered as he inspected the Milano's back jets. Gamora snorted. Groot merely hummed in agreement.
"Yeah, well I'm not in a habit of blowing myself up, so suck it up and get in the ship!" Rocket growled, glaring at them. "I spent two days doing maintenance on this thing-it'll be fine!"
"If you are sure," Drax said warily, climbing into the Milano. The remaining three continued to eye the ship warily. Gamora finally sighed.
"If we blow up in the middle of space, I will resurrect us both and murder you," she huffed as she entered the ship. Rocket rolled his eyes as Peter suppressed a grin.
"Your trust in me is breathtaking," the raccoon muttered darkly. He turned to Groot. "Get on already, you wimp!" Groot gave a low whine, but proceeded to climb delicately into the ship always. Peter shook his head, patting the Milano on the side as he hauled himself up.
"Hold on, baby," he murmured, ignoring Rocket's exasperated sigh.
"You're impossible."
Tap, tap, tap.
Peter drummed his fingers on the console of the Milano, brow furrowed as he stared out into the galaxy. The beeping of the navigation controls informed him that they were still a whiles away from the Shi'ar Galaxy. The stars blinked brightly in the distance, the space in front of them clear, so technically it would be safe for him to join the rest of the team below in slumber-if he could find such a thing.
He sighed wearily, running a hand through his hair and throwing the curls into even greater disarray. This mission had gone from a simple cash proposal to gravely serious life-or-death mission far too quickly for his liking. He knew he shouldn't be nearly this unsure - they were the Guardians of the Galaxy, and securing something with the ability to cause such devastation was their responsibility-Gamora was right, as she always was. It was hard, though, especially in his position as leader, to sit calm with that. Yes, they had a responsibility to the galaxy, but Peter had a responsibility to his team - and that was to keep them safe. They depended on him, trusted him – and the weight of that trust was something he'd come to know far too well in the past months.
It had to be one of the crazier developments that had smashed itself into his life after he'd grabbed that orb. He'd been a great many things in his life thus far, and pretended to be even more - but even in his wildest dreams he'd never been able to imagine a realistic scenario where he had to lead people – much less those people actually listened to him. Not that the Guardians were a realistic scenario by any stretch of the imagination, of course, but even then - he was by far the most vulnerable person on the team, and, if he was going to be honest, probably the least capable in battle.
The only thing he really had going for him was the fact that he could get through conversations without blowing anything up. He was the closest thing they had to a diplomat - well, he could negotiate, at the very least.
And he loved leading the Guardians, he really did. He just didn't love being unable to sleep at two AM in the morning because he may very well be leading everyone he cared about to their deaths.
The soft clatter of someone ascending the ladder yanked him out of his internal musings, causing him to jump as he quickly spun around in his chair. Rocket's dark eyes assessed him as he pulled himself up the ladder. Peter greeted him with a nod, squashing the slight disappointment he felt that had nothing to do with the fact that Rocket wasn't Gamora.
" 'sup," he said as the raccoon slid into the copilot's seat.
"Hmph," Rocket grunted back, staring down at the control readings. "We're makin' good time. Oughtta be there by tomorrow."
"That's the Milano for you," Peter said, running an appreciative hand over his ship. Rocket shot him a glance.
"So when'd you turn into an insomniac?" Peter raised an eyebrow at the unexpected question.
"Dunno," he shrugged. "About the same time I accepted a psycho's mission to fetch one of the most dangerous things in the galaxy."
"Regrettin' it, then?" Rocket asked. Peter shook his head, meeting his friend's skeptical gaze.
"No," he said slowly. "I'd go crazy if we didn't accept, worrying about it." Rocket nodded, eyes indicating he felt the same.
"Besides," Peter continued. "We could probably use the money."
"Yeah, well lemme tell you, there are a whole lotta easier ways of getting money." Rocket muttered.
"Nice, legal ways?"
"Eh," Rocket scoffed. Peter smirked. He leaned back in the pilot's chair, watching the stars.
"I'm worried," he said after a pause. Aware of Rocket's gaze on him, he continued. "I'm worried about what happens when this goes wrong. 'Cause it will, that's just our luck, and that's - I can deal with that, but I can't-" he exhaled heavily. "I'm gonna sound sappy and pathetic and Terran, but I'm just - I'm worried. About you guys." He trailed off, avoiding Rocket's gaze.
The cockpit was silent for a moment. Realizing how he must have sounded – as well as who he was with - Peter cleared his throat.
"I mean, I'm worried you guys are gonna end up wrecking my reputation, y'know, if this goes wrong-"
"Bullshit," Rocket said. Peter shut up. The raccoon sighed.
"Much as it kills me to say this, Quill, we're followin' your lead for a reason," he said. "And despite all the messed-up, crazy shit you've gotten us into, we're alive, aren't we?"
Peter kept quiet. He knew this would likely be the only time he'd hear these words form this particular friend's mouth.
"Anyways, the point is, we trusted you. We're trustin' you now. And you gotta trust us." Peter smiled softly at that, and Rocket growled, turning away. "Doesn't mean you still aren't the biggest idiot ever to grace the galaxy."
"Thanks," Peter said, still smiling. Rocket merely grunted back, but it was enough.
"So you think she'll last us 'til Shi'ar?" Peter asked after a moment's silence, patting the Milano's console as he changed the subject.
"Well we'll get there, that's for sure," Rocket said. "Whether or not we survive the landing's up for debate."
Peter winced.
"Don't worry 'bout it," Rocket said. "It might be a quick patch-job, but it's my quick patch-job. It'll hold."
"Whatever you say," Peter said airily. Rocket glared at him.
"What? I trust you."
"Shut it, Quill," Rocket snapped, but his tone was light. "And go to bed. Last thing we need's a leader who can't keep his eyes open."
"Yeah, yeah," Peter muttered, rising from the seat and picking his way to the ladder. He turned back to Rocket as he stepped down.
"You got her?"
"Duh," Rocket said. "I got her."
"So you think those guys will bring your stone back?" Jorin asked the Collector for the fiftieth time. Perhaps that was an exaggeration. But to the Collector, that number seemed about right.
"Don't you have other things to be concerning yourself with?" he said stiffly, glaring at the boy.
"Uh…maybe," Jorin said sheepishly. The Collector sighed.
"Then concern yourself with them," he snapped. The boy rose quickly, giving a quick nod as he dashed out the door. The Collector breathed a sigh of relief. Helpful as the boy was with picking things out of the wreckage, the first thing he needed to do when he got the chance was hire a much less annoying assistant.
And then terrify the unfortunate victim half to death, but that came later.
"Uh, master?"
The Collector jerked up as Jorin poked his head back in the room.
"Boy, did you hear a word I said-"
"But it's important!" he exclaimed. "You have visitors-"
"Well tell them I am unavailable and get rid of them-"
"That may not end well for you, Tivan."
The Collector snapped to attention at the female voice, blood freezing in his veins. He turned slowly, praying to any deities listening that he had misheard.
"You have much to answer for."
No such luck. In his door stood the last two figures in any galaxy he'd wanted to see.
"My Lady Sif," he said quickly, rising. "And Lord Volstagg. A pleasure to see you again." So soon, he added bitterly under his breath.
"I wish we could say the same," Volstagg said. "As Lady Sif said, you have something to answer for."
The Collector swallowed.
"Perhaps you should come in."
"On a scale from one to criminally awful, how stupid do I look right now?"
"Somewhere around the moronic dork mark," Rocket muttered as he adjusted his dress wear. Peter shot him a flat look.
"Thank you so much for that encouragement," he replied darkly, pulling at the sleeves of his own dress clothes. The Aether better be here, he thought darkly. Threat of death stones aside, the mandatory formal dress requirements already had the mission going downhill.
"I am Groot?"
"For the last time, you can't come with us!" Rocket said. Groot gave a sad whine.
"I'm sorry, buddy, but he's right," Peter said. "We need you and Drax on the outside, with the ship. If things go sour, we're gonna need you guys to bail us out."
"Not to mention the two of you'd draw too dang much attention," Rocket muttered.
"I am Groot."
"What do you mean, you're one to talk?!"
"Alright guys, cut it out," Peter said, pulling on the formal black jacket he'd picked up earlier. "We need to get going."
"Yeah, yeah," Rocket said, stepping out into the hall. "Gamora! You ready?"
"Of course," the woman in question said smoothly, sweeping out of her room. "I was ready hours ago."
"Alri- hngh," Peter trailed off as he caught sight of her, dressed in a floor-length silver gown, dark hair swept back neatly. "You uh – you look – wow –"
"Stars, Quill, spare us, please," Rocket huffed as Gamora's cheeks darkened slightly. "You both look beautiful. Can we go?"
"Yeah – uh, sure," Peter said distractedly, still staring at Gamora. "Uh – Drax and Groot, you on board?"
"We're on board at this moment, as we have been for the last several days," Drax said. He cut over Peter's exasperated sigh with a slight grin. "However, if you are referring to whether or not we know what our role in the plan is, the answer is yes."
"Good," Peter said wearily. "And sorry you guys can't come in with us."
"On the contrary," Drax said. "I am sorry you have to go."
"He's got a point," Rocket muttered, glaring at their dress attire.
"Neither of you have any right to complain until you're wearing a dress," Gamora snapped, making the others flinch. "Can we get this over with?"
"We're going, we're going!" Peter said hastily, strapping the last of his weapons underneath his jacket. "Groot, Drax, we'll be back soon with Aether," he addressed the two with a confident grin.
"And the Shi'ar auction hall in rubble," Gamora muttered, pulling up her dress as the three climbed out of the ship.
Groot waved cheerfully at their backs, turning to Drax as he relaxed in the pilot's seat.
"I am Groot?"
"Of course I have faith in them," Drax said. He glanced towards the weapons room. "But simply to be cautious, perhaps we should uncover Rocket's weapon stash."
The Shi'ar auction gala was every bit as horrific as Peter had expected it to be. He felt completely out of place amidst the finely dressed crowds, awkwardly shuffling through the conversing buyers as he covertly scanned the room. It was by far the most luxurious event he'd ever seen hosted for a criminal operation.
"This is ridiculous," he muttered as a waiter swept by them, offering drinks and food to party-goers. "Does anyone here understand what low-key is?"
"They don't have to," Rocket replied from where he was perched comfortably on Peter's shoulder, having claimed the view was better from there. "This planet's about as shady as Knowhere. You got practically no law enforcement - and even if you did, half the people here control said enforcement anyhow."
"A collection of dishonorable thieves," Gamora added. Peter shifted uncomfortably at her phrasing. Ignoring him, Gamora turned, dark eyes scanning the open hall. "I don't see anything on display yet."
"They're probably waiting for dramatic effect," Peter muttered, eyeing the drinks set out nearby.
"Don't even think about it," Gamora hissed, catching his glances. "The last thing we need tonight is you drunk and incompetent."
"I wasn't – hey!" Peter said indignantly. "I wouldn't compromise the mission like that! And besides," he said with a smirk. "Who says I'm incompetent when I'm drunk?"
"Everyone you know and more," Rocket said as Gamora rolled her eyes.
"Hey," Peter protested weakly, pouting.
"Suck it up, ya big baby."
"Make me, asshole."
"Your maturity is blindin' me-"
"I will throw you off my shoulder-"
"Not if I have my teeth hooked in your neck, you won't."
"What do you – what the heck man!"
"Both of you, shut up!" Gamora hissed at them. "They're starting the auction!" Peter and Rocket ceased their fighting, glaring at each other but turning to the raised dais on which a Shi'ar merchant was advertising several of his wares.
"Pathetic," Rocket muttered as people began deliberating prices. "He's got nothin' worth even half what these people are offering."
"It doesn't matter," Gamora said. "All that matters is that we find the Aether."
"Yeah, and I'm not seeing it," Peter frowned, scanning the lineup of sellers and their goods.
"Man, if we came here for nothing, I'm gonna blow somethin' up," Rocket muttered.
"Well you were the one who brought us here, so I suggest you suck it up."
"Quill, I swear -"
"Shut up and look, now," Gamora cut in with a sharp intake of breath, pointing to one of the sellers setting up to the side. The Shi'ar male appeared relatively unremarkable, his clothing drab compared to the other sellers. It was not, however, the man that had caught Gamora's attention, but the item he was placing on a pedestal.
Set atop said pedestal now lay a single container, simple in design but obviously well-made – if flecked with cracks. It was not the container that drew the three's attention, however, but the deep, glowing red that emanated from behind the glass.
A glowing light that sang with a power the three were all-too familiar with.
"That's it," Gamora breathed. "Peter, it's the Aether – it's right there-"
"Okay, okay," Peter whispered, eyes darting around the room as the seller gestured towards the container, assessing the situation. "This is gonna be tough – but we absolutely cannot let anyone else get their hands on that."
"We cannot afford any rash moves," Gamora hissed. "A premature attack will only get us-"
The sharp crack of a gun cut her off, eliciting shrieks from the crowd as the buyers scattered away from the origin of the sound. The three spun around, just glancing the dark figures emerging from the crowds, led by a dark-haired woman brandishing a gun.
"In the name of Spartax forces, this object is ours," she declared to the panicking crowd, pointing towards the container. "It will be in your best interest to vacate the premises immediately."
"Speaking of premature moves," Peter said faintly as the half the crowd began to shift towards the doors, others reaching for their weapons.
"Damnit," Rocket muttered. "This complicates things."
"This complicates nothing," Gamora hissed, reaching for her knife as the mercenaries began pulling out their own weapons, clearly rearing for a fight. "We merely take it by force."
"Woah woah woah," Peter interjected. "Let's just-"
His sputtering was cut off as Gamora shoved her hand onto his jacket, withdrawing a flash bomb as she turned, vaulting over a table and charging the self-titled Spartax authorities, ducking as they traded blaster fire with the enraged mercenaries.
"-just charge in and say to hell with it," Peter finished weakly as the crowd descending into a panic, screams reverberating around the hall as people ran for cover.
"You literally just said no premature attacks!" Rocket yelled in exasperation at Gamora's retreating figure.
"Damnit, Gam," Peter hissed, withdrawing his gun from his jacket as he followed Gamora into the chaos, the hum of Rocket's gun buzzing dangerously close to his ear.
"I've got Miss Reckless and these morons over here," Rocket yelled in his ear as they ducked through the screaming crowds, blaster fire cracking around them. "You got the Aether?"
"On it," Peter replied as Rocket's weight slid off his shoulder, the raccoon diving into the battle with a manic glee.
Peter changed direction, ducking under a table just as the flash bomb went off, several shrieks piercing the air as both the Spartax forces and mercenaries were temporarily blinded. Shooting a glance behind him Peter saw Gamora engaged with several of the Spartax guards, dress whirling as she slashed at them.
Good. Gamora could handle herself.
Whirling back around Peter began shoving though the crowds of fleeing people, eyes scanning the room desperately.
Where was it, he'd just seen it-
There. Glowing scarlet and humming with energy, every bit as threatening as he remembered the first one feeling.
Pushing himself into a dead sprint, Peter shot towards the pedestal, stepping up onto a table and propelling himself forward with the force of his own momentum, hurtling down towards it and-
"Got it!" he yelled triumphantly, stumbling into a summersault as he landed hard. "Got it! Guys, let's go-woah!"
His escape was abruptly cut off as a sword missed cleaving his head from his shoulders by mere inches.
"Hand over the Aether! Now!"
Peter whirled to face the dark-skinned, dark-haired woman from before, armed with a determined expression on her face and a menacing sword in her grasp. And judging from her stance, she looked like she knew how to use it.
"Wha - no way, you don't understand what this is - agh!"
His stammered protests were cut off as she neatly swept his legs out from under him, sending him crashing to the floor. His breath stuttered into gasps as the wind flew out of him, his fingers still tightly gripping the container as he blinked at the blurring lights above him.
With a groan he tried to push himself up, only to be shoved back down as the woman pinned him to the floor, sword raised and pointed at him. This was starting to feel familiar.
"I know exactly what the Aether is, fool!" she hissed. "And I will not let you allow it to fall into the hands of Thanos by pawning it off!"
"Let me what - no, no, you've got the wrong idea!" Peter gasped out as she narrowed her eyes at him, sword rising higher. "I'm not gonna hand it to Thanos – I'm one of the good guys! Guardian of the Galaxy! Star-lord! Peter Quill! I'm-"
"Quill?" The woman frowned, voice incredulous. "You're ly-"
She halted, eyes widening as they raked over his face. Her grip on her sword loosened as her face split into an expression of utter disbelief. Confused as he was himself, Peter took the opening , desperately trying to talk himself out of danger.
"Yeah - Quill, that's me - you might've heard of me – never mind you probably haven't, I'm from Terra, it's kinda far from here-"
"No," the woman muttered, frowning. "No, that's not-"
"Get your hands off him!"
A silver and green blur flashed by Peter's vision as a solid smack echoed through air, sending the woman flying. Blinking, Peter looked up to see Gamora standing over him, hair flying and knife raised, and by far the most beautiful thing Peter had ever seen.
"I love you," he gasped out as he shoved himself to his feet, mirroring her defensive position as he joined her. "Like you are beyond a doubt, the absolute best-"
"Not now, Peter," she said, but there was the smallest of smiles at the corner of her mouth. A smile that quickly disappeared as the woman staggered to her feet.
"You," the woman said, wiping a spot of blood from her busted lip. "Will pay for that."
"I look forward to it," Gamora said, tone deadly and teeth bared as she raised her knife.
"No, wait – look, this is just a misunderstanding-" Peter sputtered, trying once again in vain to salvage the situation. "If you took the time to talk it out I think you'd find we've got really similar motives-"
"The only misunderstanding here is your assumption that the Aether is yours for the taking," the woman hissed. "I am not about to gamble the fate of the galaxy on the words of an imposter and the daughter of a murderer."
Gamora glared daggers at the girl as Peter frowned.
"Imposter – what?"
"I am no daughter of Thanos," Gamora growled. "And I grow tired of your stupidity." With that she raised her knife, preparing to charge the woman as she, in turn, raised her sword.
It would have likely dissolved into a considerably deadly fight had not, at that moment, the windows exploded, glass shattering as a horde of dark figures swung into the hall.
The ensuing battles between mercenaries, Spartax forces, and Guardians all stuttered to a halt as the figures rose, revealing themselves to be Chitauri warriors.
From behind them a tall, Badoon male strode into the room, face lifted in the smallest of smirks.
"R'narin," the dark-haired woman breathed, eyes wide with horror.
"Well now, this is a fine mess," the man said, eyes scanning the occupants of the hall. He jerked his head at the Chitauri.
"Attack."