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Published:
2017-12-19
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2018-09-14
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Carry On, Wayward Sons

Summary:

Tony Stark gets a surprise visitor who could use a hand... perhaps in more ways than one.

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes.)

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

“Boss... hey, Boss... Boss!” The subsonics that Friday added to her third repetition finally got the attention of his hindbrain, which had learned after two and a half decades of living within spitting distance of the San Andreas Fault not to ignore low frequency vibrations. Tony found himself on his feet before he was completely awake.

“Jesus, Friday? What the hell time is it?” The blackout curtains in his bedroom only let slivers of light through, but they were pale and wan.

“Time for me to inform you that there seems to be a cloaked spaceship hovering just above the Tower,” his AI replied.

“Shit,” Tony replied, and gestured for the suit. After the Chitauri invasion, having his home blown up in his face a few years ago (albeit by human assholes), and the whole Ultron fiasco, he wasn’t taking any chances.

“Hold on Boss,” Friday added, as the latest iteration of his armor started assembling around him. “I’m not detecting any signs of aggression.”

“How can you tell? You said the ship was cloaked!”

“It’s close enough I can practically smell it,” Friday responded dryly. “Actually it appears to be using tech similar to SHIELD’s retro-reflective panels, so I can compensate. The engines are the only energy signature active at the moment. Besides they’re attempting to communicate.”

“Okay, ping them back and and let’s give your universal translation protocols a try,” Tony commanded, the armor assembly nearly complete. “Assuming they use sound waves to communicate and aren’t all ‘shaka, when the walls fell’ , that is. Tho I swear, if their first words end up being ‘we come in peace’ or ‘show us to your leader’, I’m gonna tell them to try again, ‘cause they overshot by about a half-century.”

A warm, masculine chuckle came over the speakers. “Nah, I think we’re right where we’re meant to be.”

Tony started in surprise. “I’m impressed, Friday, how’d you translate that so quickly?”

“Wasn’t me, Boss. Our visitor is speaking English,” she replied.

“Well, yeah,” the voice continued. “I am from around here, after all. Well, not here-here, but you know... Earth-here. Missouri, to be specific. The name’s Peter Quill, but most people call me Starlord.” There was a muffled comment off mic and Quill responded in an frustrated half-whisper, “Shut up - they do too!”

“Anyways,” he continued,, “me and my pals could use a little help. Mind if we pop a squat on your building for awhile? Keeping the Milano cloaked chews up a lot of juice and the engines could use a rest.”

“My skyscraper is your skyscraper, Starlord. You have permision to land.”

 

Tony stood in the doorway to the terrace; if he squinted and held his head just right, he could see the shadowy outline of the ship as it inched its way down, eventually coming to a soft and graceful landing. He had to give props to the pilot, as they’d gotten the ship down with hardly any damage -- the fire pit was easily reassembled, and he could always replace the patio furniture. From what he could tell, the ship looked as if it barely fit, its stern resting snugly up against the building and one of its wings extending precariously across the landing gantry. Tony felt just a tad uneasy about that, even though the latest iteration of his armor didn’t need the gantry anymore.

In fact, Tony was still wearing the suit and had the repulsors charged; better safe than sorry. A landing ramp extended from the uncloaked underside of the ship. Tony saw movement from inside the ship, and then a short, furry biped wearing burnt orange overalls came strutting down the ramp.

Nonplussed, Tony asked, “Starlord?”

The raccoon-like creature doubled over, making harsh barking yelps that sounded suspiciously like laughter. “Really?” it said, standing back up. “Weren’t you paying any attention?” Tony noticed the alien’s mouth movements didn’t match the words; it must have some sort of instantaneous translating device. “Quill’s a humie, like you.” It pointed to its chest with a paw. “Name’s Rocket and there ain’t nothin’ like me ‘cept me.” He walked past Tony, muttering to himself. “‘Stark’s a genius’, Quill said. “He’ll know what to do,” Quill said. Yeah, right.”

Rocket looked around the living area, apparently unimpressed. “Now, where’s your workshop? I got a bunch of repairs to do and the sooner I can see what kind of primitive crap I gotta work with, the better.”

“Uh, I’d like to meet the rest of your crewmates first,” Tony said, trying to buy some time. What in the hell had he gotten himself into?

“Fine,” Rocket sighed, and hoisted himself into a chair. Tony caught motion from the ship out of the corner of his eye and turned back around to see what looked like an animated driftwood sculpture coming down the ramp.

“I am Groot,” it said, the first two words coming out in a low rumble, and the third an octave higher.

“I am Stark. Tony Stark,” he found himself responding in kind. “This is my tower, and my home. Welcome to New York.”

“I am Groot,” the alien responded amiably, nodding in response. Reaching up to its shoulder, it plucked off some sort of daisy-looking growth, repeating “I am Groot,” as it held out the offering.

Tony backed away, putting his hands up. “Uh, no thanks. I don’t like taking things from strangers.”

“I am Groot,” it insisted, reaching out to tuck the flower between the edge of Tony’s helmet and his temple. Great - he’d probably just been infected with some bizzare space-pollen.

“Huh - he likes you,” Rocket commented, turning a paperweight over and over in his hands. “This is nice. Can I have it?”

“Yeah, sure,” Tony said distractedly, watching as Groot walked over to one of the potted trees on the patio and started to stroke its leaves and trunk. Tony wondered if Groot thought it was domesticated pet, like a dog or cat. Or maybe he was coming onto it; hard to tell.

“Nice suit, but it can’t be all that comfortable,” Tony turned back to the ramp to see a handsome man perhaps a decade his junior, light brown hair tousled by the wind and blue eyes shining with amusement. “Thought you’d be used to visits from aliens, what with Thor and Loki swinging by and all.”

“Yeah, but considering the last guys besides them to stop by kind of tore up London, we’re a bit on the touchy side.” Tony responded. He figured that if Quill knew about the Asgardians visiting Earth, he’d know about their enemies as well. “I take it interstellar gossip travels faster than light, then?”

“Pretty much. That’s why we’re here,” Quill responded with a charming smile as he walked toward Tony. “Got into a bit of a scrape that separated us from the rest of our crew and did a number on the ship. Managed to limp our way here to Earth and figured a guy with your know-how could get us back on our feet.”

“I said I could handle the repairs myself,” Rocket said around a mouthful of apple. Tony had no idea where he’d even found an apples.. “But Quill insisted we come and find you, just to -- what?” Rocket stared over Tony’s shoulder, presumably at Quill. Tony turned back to see Quill rocking back and forth on his heels, his face the picture of innocence.

“What Rocket’s trying to say is that we could use a hand getting the Milano back up her feet. We’d be happy to compensate you for your time.” Quill held out a hand, and Tony peeled off a gauntlet to shake on it.

“Sure, why not?”

Chapter 2

Summary:

Tony invites his guests (read: Peter) to make themselves more comfortable as Rocket shows him what they need help with, asking some awkward questions along the way.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

“Friday,” Tony commanded. “Add Peter Quill, Rocket and Groot to list of registered guests. Give them free access to the common area on this floor and escorted access to my workshop.”

“Got it, Boss,” the AI responded, and Quill perked up.

“Hey, is that like the Enterprise’s computer, with voice commands and everything?”

“More or less,” Tony replied with a smile. “Friday is the artificial intelligence that controls security here at the Tower, as well as all the other systems. There’s microphones and cameras in every room, but she doesn’t record anything unless you specifically ask. I take it you’re a Star Trek fan?”

“Oh yeah - the original TV series, the films, the animated series -- I loved it all,” Quill said enthusiastically. “I was just getting into that Next Generation show when...” his voice trailed off. “When I uh... got taken.”

“So that’s how you ended up out there? Alien abduction?” Tony did a quick calculation; Quill had still been a kid, maybe eight or nine when he’d left Earth. Had he been out there ever since? What had they wanted with him in the first place?

“Something like that, yeah.” From Quill’s suddenly guarded expression, Tony figured he didn’t want to talk about it. “Hey, any chance I could get a shower? It’s been ages since I’ve taken one. I mean, the Milano has a sonic cleansing compartment, and it gets the job done, but trust me, it’s nothing like the real thing.”

A sudden image of Quill, eyes closed and hair slicked back, water running down his upturned face onto his bare chest,  sped across Tony’s mind. “Yeah, just a sec,” he responded, suppressing a blush. “Friday, extend privileges for Peter Quill to guest suite one.”

“Guest suites? Like for the other Avengers? Awesome! Hey, where are they anyways? I’d love to meet Captain America!” Huh - maybe Quill and his pals weren’t as up on the latest gossip as they thought.

“The band broke up. Differences of opinion, you know, kinda like the Beatles.” The words came out more bitter than Tony had intended, although the image of Barnes as Yoko Ono did amuse him for a moment. “Anyways, feel free to go get cleaned up. Friday can tell you which way to go.”

“Thanks. Rocket, why don’t you bring up the Milano’s schematics for Mr. Stark and show him what we need to work on?” Tony winced a little at the formality; bad enough that the Parker kid called him that, but Quill was practically his own age.

“Mr. Stark was my father. I'm Tony.”

“Alright. And you can forget the whole Star-Lord thing. Just call me Peter.” The friendly grin on Peter’s face as he replied hit Tony harder than it should have. The last thing he needed right now was to start having feelings for someone, much less someone who he barely knew, and who would literally be light-years away in just a couple of days, or maybe a week at most.

So it just figured that Peter would clap Tony on the back as he walked by on his way back to the Milano. “Lemme just grab a couple of things before hitting the shower.” The contact, even through the armor, somehow made Tony feel warm.

Rocket watched Peter disappear into the ship and snorted. “Now you’ve done it.”

“Done what?”

Rocket shook his head. “How about you peel off the rest of that tin can? There’s some tight spots we gotta get thru to get to the cockpit.”

He hadn’t been kidding; in fact the entire interior of the ship was on the compact side, and definitely lived in. Considering the state of his workshop, Tony knew he shouldn’t be throwing stones, but he couldn’t help but wonder how the three of them -- maybe more, as Peter had said something about the rest of his crew -- could tolerate living in this level of cramped squalor for presumably weeks on end. Although Peter did mention getting separated from the others; so perhaps this was just a shuttle or scout ship.

Rocket sat down in a too-large chair on the flight deck and punched a few buttons. A screen lit up with a series of diagrams, and a mechanical voice started to recite system status reports. But between the lag with the translator and the unfamiliar diagrams, Tony was having some difficulty following along; he'd need to review this material in more detail and at his own speed.

“Hold on,” Tony interrupted, making a ‘time-out’ sign. “Let me get Friday, my AI in on all this -- she and your system can probably interact more efficiently and then summarize the situation.”

Rocket looked unimpressed and made a dismissive motion. “Yeah, whatever.” Tony returned a few minutes later, helmet tucked under his arm, and a couple of bottles of water in his other hand.

“What’s with the skull bucket?”

“It’s got visual scanners and microphones to let my AI see and hear everything I would.” He set the helmet on the console, pointing it towards the screens. “Okay, Friday. See if you can make heads or tails of this.” Rocket started the sequence of images over and let it run.

“Water?” Tony handed over one of the bottles, opening the other for himself. Rocket followed suit and took a long drink.

“Thanks.” He gave Tony a speculative look. “So, humans have sex for fun, right? Or is Quill some kinda pervert?”

Tony narrowly avoided an honest to god spit-take. “Excuse me?”

“You know, do you humies do it because you wanna, or because you haveta? Like a biological imperative or something?”

“Well, sex is how we reproduce,” Tony replied, “But we mostly do it because we want to and because it feels good. It’s usually something people in love do with each other, but not necessarily.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. So, do you have sex with men too, or just women?”

Once his fit of coughing subsided -- water did not belong in his lungs, thank you very much -- Tony answered. “Assuming by ‘you’, you mean a human male, most of us are attracted to the opposite sex, and same with women. That said, some people are attracted to the same sex, while others are attracted to both.” Tony needed something stronger than water if he was going to delve any further into gender issues with someone who looked like he belonged in Narnia, not Manhattan.

“How about sex with other species?”

“That’s a pretty consistent taboo across all human cultures,” Tony replied, “Since we think we’re the only sentient beings on the planet. As for aliens, with the exception of Thor, the ones who’ve come here so far were more intent on fucking us over versus actually fucking.” And then the penny dropped.

“Listen, Rocket, I’m flattered, but first off, we hardly know each other--” Tony was interrupted with another series of barking yelps from Rocket, who nearly fell off the chair because he was laughing so hard.

Wiping his eyes, Rocket finally replied, “Trust me, Stark, you ain’t my type.” He suddenly sobered. “Like I told ya, ain’t nothing like me, ‘cept me.” Tony’s curiosity was piqued, but good manners kept him from asking anything more. They sat back, listening to the murmur of status reports as text and diagrams flashed up on the screen.

Peter stuck his head up through the hatchway. “How’s it going, guys?”

“Instead of me trying to drink from a firehose,” Tony said, “Friday and your computer are having a nice chat. I’ll check in once they’re done and we can see where to go next.”

As they exited the Milano, Tony observed that Groot, had dragged several of the potted trees into a circle and was sitting contentedly in the middle. “Now see, he’s got the right idea,” Rocket commented, nudging Peter.

“Shut it, fuzzface,” Peter muttered.

Notes:

So - yeah, apparently I wasn't done with this story. That said, I still have only Vague Ideas of where it might go, so updates will be sporadic at best.

If there's something you want to see - add a comment or come say hello over on Tumblr!

Chapter 3

Summary:

Tony and his new guests share a meal and Tony gets a glimpse into Peter's childhood, which leads him into taking Quill down to his workshop.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

“So, Peter,” Tony said, the familiar address feeling a bit strange on his tongue, “when’s the last time you had pizza?”

“Too damn long!” Peter replied with feeling. “Humans must be only beings in the universe smart or desperate enough to make cheese, and tomatoes are an Earth-only delicacy.”

“Lemme order up a couple of authentic New York pies, then. What do you want on them?”

Peter shrugged. “Your call -- I’m easy.”

“Well, now, that’s what I like to hear,” Tony replied before he could stop himself. “Uh, I mean, that way we’re not arguing about toppings, that is. How about sausage and onions on one, half cheese and half pepperoni on the other?”

“Sounds good to me, Tony.” And there was that grin of his again, bright and wide. But this time Tony thought he saw a hint of something more, as if Peter was considering flirting back. Surely that was just his own hopeful imagination.

“How about you, Rocket?” Tony asked, turning away from Peter before he got caught staring.

“Well, I can usually eat whatever Quill eats, so yeah, that works. If it tastes gross, I’ve got meal bars in the ship.”

“And Groot?” Tony gestured over to to the sentient tree-being.

“Get him some water and he’ll be fine. If we’re stuck here for more than a couple of days, he’ll need some fertilizer.” Rocket walked over to his companion. “Making some new friends, buddy?”

“I am Groot,” he responded in a puzzled tone.

“Well, when they’re that pretty, they don’t need much in the way of brains, now, do they?” Rocket laughed. “We’re heading inside. Gonna get something to eat.”

“I am Groot?”

“Stark’s computer pal is checking through the schematics, figuring out what’s what.” Peter added. “We’ll start digging into the repairs in the morning.”

“So, wait -- you can understand My Little Entling, too?”

“Rocket’s still better than I am, but you get used to figuring out what those three words mean in context.”

They all went back inside, Tony’s visitors making themselves comfortable as he placed the food order. Peter glanced around the room with an expression of interest, while Rocket looked as if he were trying to figure out what was most portable. Tony made a mental note to tell Friday to keep a close eye on that sneaky little rodent.

Spotting a poster for the 1974 Stark Expo, Peter commented, “My grandpa worked for a subsidiary of Stark Industries and won a pair of tickets to the Expo.”

“Oh really?” While Tony was gratified to find a another common topic of conversation, it strayed uncomfortably close to a still-touchy subject.

“Yeah," Peter replied, with a note of enthusiasm. "He took my mom; she was only thirteen at the time. They had to drive almost two days straight to get there and then and sleep in their car, but they both said it was totally worth it. I remember paging through the program when I was little and figuring we’d have flying cars by the time I was old enough to drive.”

“Sorry about that. But the ‘62 Corvette prototype was sweet, wasn’t it? Wonder where it ended up.” He’d done a little digging through the SI archives to try to track it down over the years.

“Gramps was a big fan of your dad’s column in Popular Mechanics, too: ‘Howard Stark’s Noteworthy Sparks’.”

“Ghostwritten, probably. Dad was a genius at self-promotion, with a lot of fingers in a lot of pies.” Tony feigned nonchalance; he wasn’t in the mood to discuss daddy issues with a not-quite-stranger.

“And then there was their interview with you, about the robot you built. You were, what, sixteen and getting ready to graduate from M.I.T, right?”

“I’d forgotten about that interview,” Tony laughed a little to cover an unexpected twinge of embarrassment. Despite public perception, he really didn’t like talking about himself. “I still have the robot, though. His name’s Dum-E, and he and his younger sibling U live down in my workshop.”

“Can I meet them?” Tony was surprised at how eager Peter sounded; no one other than Rhodey had really been that interested in his ‘bots.

“Uh, sure. How about after we eat?”

The pizza arrived soon after, and they demolished both pies between the three of them. Rocket turned out to be a particular fan of the pepperoni, slapping away Peter’s hand and growling when he reached for a slice. Tony distracted the rodent by pointing out just how expensive and shiny a couple of baubles on the mantlepiece were, and Peter mouthed ‘thank you’ as he grabbed a slice and took a huge bite, winking as he chewed happily.

It was after dark by the time they were finished. Rocket went back out to the Milano to check on the pow-wow between Friday and the ship’s computer, while Tony and Peter took the elevator down to the basement workshop. As they entered, Tony called out. “Hey kiddos, we’ve got company.”

U was the first to trundle over and looked both Peter up and down before turning back to Tony, tilting her camera assembly slightly to the side. “Yes, he’s new. This is Peter. Peter Quill. Peter, this is U.” The ‘bot waved hello, and then extended her claw. Peter took it carefully, and shook it as Tony added, “She’s a bit of an anti-pyromaniac, but otherwise behaves herself.”

Dum-E came over and pushed U out of the way to stare at the newcomer. “And hello to you as well, buddy!” Peter's grin once again lighting up his face.

“And this is U’s older brother, Dum-E. Say hello, Dum-E.” The ‘bot beeped amiably, and Peter chuckled.

“This is really that same robot, from back in ‘86?”

“Yeah, with a few minor upgrades here and there. Both of ‘em went thru a major overhaul a couple of years ago when a couple of assholes blew up my place in Malibu.” It was a close thing; Tony had contracted with a marine salvage company specifically to retrieve both Dum-E and U, and had almost given up hope before they were finally located.

He’d spent hours carefully cleaning and repairing them both; scouring the internet and eBay to find the elements to rebuild Dum-E’s CPU. Thankfully, regular backups meant that their programming was easy enough to restore.

“Huh. Sounds like you’ve been living quite the exciting life lately.”

“You have no idea. Here, let me show you around.”

While giving Peter the nickel tour, Tony wondered how someone who grew up on a space ship, who had probably visited dozens of planets, met hundreds of alien species, and had technology far beyond that of Earth at his fingertips could still be so amazed by what he was seeing. But Peter listened intently, asking all sorts of questions as he looked around with wide, wondering eyes.

“I think you might have oversold me to Rocket,” Tony commented. “I mean, the Milano is so much more advanced than anything we’ve come up with around here --”

“Says the man who built a flying, flamethrowing suit of armor out of a box of scraps in a cave, while recovering from major surgery,” Peter interrupted with a half-grin. “I have faith in you, Tony.” He reached out and squeezed Tony’s shoulder, letting his fingers trail ever so slightly over his upper arm as he let go. “Hey, how about we see what Friday has to say about my bucket of bolts?”

Tony blinked, both at the detailed information Peter seemed to have on him, as well as the physical contact. There was more to this so-called chance encounter than there seemed. And he couldn’t help but be a little worried. Once bitten, twice shy; he didn’t believe in coincidences anymore. Not after Siberia.

Turns out the AI had done a fantastic job of translating the ship’s diagnostics into something that made sense. Over the course of a few hours, Tony, Rocket and Peter had a repair plan in place. Tony found himself feeling torn; while he was glad to be able to help his new friend, he couldn’t help but wish it had taken them longer to get to this point. Now, it would only be a day or two for his fab machines to churn out the parts they needed. Then they’d get them installed and Peter Quill and Company would be on their merry way.

Peter stood, yawning and stretching; as his shirt rode up, Tony caught a glimpse of alluringly tight abs, and looked away. “I’d say we put in a good day’s worth of work. Gonna catch me some shut-eye. Is it okay if Rocket and I use the guest suite and let the Milano air out a bit?”

“Sure. Ask Friday for anything you need.”

Peter grinned with a sly sparkle in his eye. “I’ll keep that in mind, Tony. G’nite.”

Notes:

No, I haven't abandoned this WIP -- in fact, am hoping to wrap it up in one more chapter with the possibility of a sequel. Feedback in the form of comments or a visit to my Tumblr is a great way to keep me focused on getting this wrapped up!

Notes:

While I'm not quite sure where to take this fic next, I'm throwing it up here in hopes that the Muse (and/or you readers) might inspire me further.