Chapter Text
Lounging in his bunk, Peter Quill hums along to a song he's heard a thousand times. Hooked on a Feeling, Blue Swede. Number one on his playlist. Somehow it never really gets old.
He takes the headphones off and puts them on his belly. "Gotta get you started on the good stuff early, kiddo." he sighs, and stretches languidly. He's feeling slow and lazy and heavy, and sore as hell; this is about all he has energy for. The sooner this kid gets out, the better. The past nine months have really changed his view on one-night stands. He shuts his eyes and floats away on the music...
"Hey Quill."
...or not. He opens his eyes reluctantly. "What's up, Rocket?"
The raccoon jerks his head back in the direction of the cockpit. "We're almost at the planet, you might wanna come up front."
"'K. I'll be there in a sec."
Rocket turns to leave. Then he turns back. "You do know that's not where your ears are, right?"
Peter shoots him a sharp look in response, and Rocket scoffs and disappears. Once he's gone, Peter removes the headphones and sits up. The movement shoots a splinter of pain up his back; he massages it one-handed until the muscles untie themselves. Then he stands up.
"Alright. C'mon, little guy." he gives his belly a pat, and ambles away.
ooo
"I am Groot!"
Groot lumbers up to Peter, almost dislodging him from the ladder. Groot is now roughly the size of a child, and has the same enthusiasm as one. He reaches out a mossy hand and more or less hauls Peter the rest of the way up.
"Thanks, buddy." says Peter once he gets his feet under him.
"I am Groot?" Groot hovers, full of beady-eyed curiosity.
"Sorry dude, I don't know what you're saying."
"I am Groot."
"He said he doesn't understand you, Groot, back off." Rocket yells from somewhere in the cockpit. Groot mutters sourly but does as he's told. Peter ambles over toward Rocket's voice. A planet hangs in the blackness past the windows, threatening in shades of gray and terra-cotta red. Arcturus III.
Drax breaks the silence, as he usually does. "Quill! You have returned!" he booms. Rocket flinches and rubs his ears.
"Shit, man, why you gotta yell all the time? He's right there." he grumbles. Drax doesn't seem to notice.
"Hey Drax." Peter takes a seat at the comm. He hasn't spent much time in the pilot's seat lately, and not just because he's running out of room there. It's not the safest place, for him or the kid (but since when have you ever cared about safety, Peter? Jesus, Yondu would have a fit if he heard this. Maybe he really is soft).
"How fares the child?" Drax continues, still oblivious to Rocket's complaints.
Peter shrugs. "Same as yesterday." sitting almost between his knees. Feels like he's re-learning how to walk.
"Have patience, Quill. The discomfort is merely temporary."
Peter doesn't quite know what to say to this tangle of words, but thankfully, he's saved from trying. Gamora strides into the cockpit; they give each other a nod of acknowledgement. Then she slips into the pilot's seat. For a few seconds she gazes at the approaching planet. Then she looks back at Quill.
"Are you sure this is a good idea?"
"Not really. But if this thing isn't here, I'm gonna kick Yondu's ass."
Gamora fixes him with a knowing look. "You are an idiot."
"I thought we'd established that."
"It bears repeating." Gamora turns her gaze back to the window.
They fall into a high orbit for a while. Sunrise comes and goes, around the edge of the planet and back again. Sensors blink on the consoles, looking for a single radar blip in an ocean of rock. Worse than a needle in a haystack. Peter slouches in his chair and holds his belly. There's a little gnawing idea at the back of his mind. He's trying to ignore it, but - no. Don't think about it, Peter. You've got a mission to do.
They circle for hours. Peter gets more and more uncomfortable, though he can't tell if it's due to the chair or the kid. His back and hips are fucking throbbing. Every few minutes, it seems, he has to shift positions just to redistribute the pressure. Even Groot notices.
"I am Groot?" he asks, peering around the back of the chair. One gnarled arm snakes out toward Peter's belly; he pushes it away.
"Dude, don't-"
"I am Groot??" Groot's voice takes on a worried note.
"Still can't understand you, buddy."
Rocket glances over at them. "He's asking if you're okay. I gotta say, I was starting to wonder too."
"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm fine," he repeats to Groot, brushing away the curious green shoots trekking across his belly. "Really. Stop with the touching, okay?"
"I am Groot." Groot shrugs in a 'suit yourself' kind of way, and lumbers back across the ship to his planter box.
"What is his deal?" Peter mutters. One shoot is lodged in the fabric of his shirt. He picks it loose.
"Eh, he likes you." Rocket shrugs. "You an' Starlord Junior."
"Why?" jeez, again with the pain? Peter changes position for the umpteenth time. You can almost set your watch by this shit.
"Heck if I know. He just likes some people. 's like a dog or something."
"I am Groot!" Groot growls from across the ship.
"It's what you are!" Rocket shoots back. Lumbering, purposeful footsteps start toward them. But before an argument can start, Drax interjects.
"What is that?"
They turn to look. An object is hovering outside. It's tiny and seed-shaped and seems to be covered in a shell of crisscrossed glass. They stare. Rocket pins his ears back and mutters some sort of curse.
"Perhaps it is a spacefaring organism?" Drax speculates.
"A space what now??" Rocket glares at him.
"Not this close to a planet." says Gamora.
The thing moves closer. More details appear; stubby fins on the side, a gap in the glass that might be a window. A ship? A second one appears, identical to the first, then three and more. They fall smoothly into formation, and keep coming. They're not as tiny now. In fact, they almost match the Milano in size. And they don't look friendly.
A console beeps: the computer's found a match. Peter, Gamora, Drax, and Rocket turn to look. There's a point on the sensors, right in the middle of the lower continent. Right behind those ships. They look at the sensors, then at the ships. Then back to the sensors.
"Do it." as always, Rocket's the first one to jump into the fray. "Just go for it, you can get past 'em."
"No." Drax is solemn. "I recognize these ships; they are Thaene. The Thaene move in swarms, we cannot outrun them."
"Okay, then we just shoot 'em."
"No. Reinforcements are likely not far behind."
"So, what, we just leave?"
"And return to Nova Corps empty-handed?" says Gamora skeptically.
They look back at the sensor display. Outside, the Thaene stare them down. Waiting for them to blink.
Suddenly Rocket stands up. "Fuck, I can't stand it anymore. If you softies aren't gonna do it, I will-" he clambers up over the consoles to Gamora's seat. Before she can stop him, he jams on the throttle. Peter, Gamora, and Drax are thrown back in their chairs as the Milano feints around the Thaene ships. The swarm wheels around in hot pursuit. The lead ship fires; the bolt hits the Milano's starboard wing, and she jerks sideways.
"Rocket, what the hell-?!" Peter yells. The words come out embarrassingly high-pitched.
"Don't worry, I got it!" Rocket yells back. He turns just enough to return fire. A ship is hit; it falters and slams into the one behind it and they both go careening away into space, trailing flames behind them. But no sooner do they fall out of formation than two new ships appear from the back to take their place. Rocket doesn't seem to care. He jams on the throttle again, making the Milano stoop sharply toward the planet's surface even as the Thaene close in around them.
She cuts into the atmosphere like a knife through butter. Behind them, Thaene ships slam into it and bounce off like so many rubber balls. But a handful of the biggest ships - spiky, mean-looking things - make it through and continue the chase. The Milano begins to shake under the pressure of the atmosphere; streamers of fire lick at the windows.
They're hit with another blast just as they break through the clouds. The Milano jolts again. Rocket mutters under his breath. "C'mon, c'mon-"
The landscape seems to be made entirely of rock. Huge spires and peaks jut up into the atmosphere, too high even for snow. Rocket steers toward the tallest one. It's full of holes and craters like a sponge; even the biggest gaps look barely wide enough for the Milano to fit through. At the last second, he yanks on the controls, flipping the craft on its side. One Thaene ship tries to follow. That's one less Thaene on their tail.
The sensor blip is just ahead of them now. Rocket cranes his head back and yells to Peter.
"How much is this thing worth to you, anyway?"
Not this much, thinks Peter. "Five thousand credits!" he yells back.
"Well I hope you realize, I'm expecting a share of that!"
Peter doesn't get a chance to respond. A trio of Thaene ships has made it through the rocks and come around to cut them off. There's no time to stop.
"Hang onto something!" Rocket hunkers down, still holding on tight to the throttle.
The Milano charges right into the Thaene ships. Glass from their shields sprays across the windows, fire and debris goes streaming away behind them. The leader of the trio gets skewered on the nose of the Milano. It makes an effective ballast as the ship, severely battered by the impact, goes into a groundward spiral. Anything that's not welded down floats to the back of the ship; wrenches, a soldering iron, Groot's old flower pot. With their target dead ahead, Rocket is just barely able to pull up on the throttle in time. The hull groans, the mountainside rushes to meet them, and everything goes black.
oOo