Chapter Twelve: Road trippin'. Part one, car games.

In every family road trip, at least according to Hollywood, there are certain archetypes, Quill thought, hustling a fuel line to get the Milano up and space-worthy. Or, more correctly, watching Drax and Groot do it while he looked at the check list he had written.

The long suffering dad, just trying his best to get everything to go okay. He thought. The long suffering, incredibly, brave, handsome, sexy, hardworking and awesome dad. He thought, nodding to himself.

The caring kindly Mom who just wants everyone to have a good time…

"Peter, stop checking that stupid list and help or I swear to any gods that are out there I'll flay you!" yelled Gamora, legs hanging out of the starboard engine intake. "There's something nesting in here and I can't help but think it's because you and Rocket decided to clean the hangar by sucking all the dirt into the intake and aiming the exhaust out a window into the street!"

"You said to vacuum!" protested Quill.

"Quill!" yelled the intake.

Quill sighed. It had seems like such a good idea at the time. Pity about the passing bystander, but honestly who even owned hats anymore?

There was a clank and the stink of the raw ethanol that the ships sub light engine used a fuel, and which made Rocket's "Punch" the horror of every party they threw, and then a loud "I am Groot" and a harsh oath.

"Villain! I said My left, you leafy nincompoop! My left, my left!"

"I am Groot?"

Clang!

The two teenagers who won't stop fighting… he thought.

"Quill, I cannot work with this being in good faith any more: his tendrils are on my side of the pump!" Yelled Drax.

"I am Groot?!"

"Hey, idiots, outta the frickin way!" Yelled a racoonish voice.

And the toddler who won't leave his favourite toy behind… Thought Quill, facepalming. He was tempted to look, but he didn't need to.

"Rocket, no nukes, we agreed on this, man." he groaned.

"Hey" said Rocket, straddling a ten foot long Fatman like he was about to Dr Strangelove it from the Milano to the ground. "We agreed on no nukes: I took the neutron starter out from between the two sub-critical elements, so it won't fission, so technically it's not a nuke anymore, just a really, really big dirty bomb!" he said, poking at a remote: the two drone disks Nebula had brought to Knowhere with her jumped forwards, dragging on the ropes Rocket had tied them to and pulling the not-nuke forwards on its wheeled gurney.

"Okay, One, a giant dirty bomb is still kind of a nuke, it's just a broken nuke!" argued Quill, one finger raised in a scholarly fashion.

"Bullshit!" Retorted Rocket.

"Two, we also said nothing that breaks any of the laws and customs of war or any major sapient rights treaties! We voted on it, and even Groot voted against you."

"I never agreed to that! That vote was a sham-"

"Because I wouldn't let your left and right paws vote in two different districts? Stop trying to gerrymander the ship Roc! And thirdly, we're heading to a planet with medieval levels of technology, on a covert job to get the Æther back, and you want to bring a nuke? Why do you feel the need to bring a nuke? Who are we going to nuke? The peasants?"

"I mean, sure…"

"Rocket!" warned Gamora, from inside the engine cowling.

"This is so unfair, I mean Drax got to bring his knives along and they're not even sensible weapons…"

"No Nukes Rocket!" yelled Quill and the cowling together.

"Spoilsport." Muttered the racoon, glaring "What's the point of living somewhere with no laws at all if we can't bring nukes along?"

"Yeah well, I expected a lot more blackjack and hookers and a lot less people trying to kill us every two weeks and you buying plutonium from shady dudes with my beer money, so this is a disappointment for the both of us." Said Quill, offering a hand to the scowling Racoon. Rocket gave the hand, and then Quill in general, a suspicious stare before reluctantly accepting the help down from the giant bomb, slipping a little on the slick metal and forcing Quill to grab him before his trusty engineer bit concrete.

"It's okay, I got you pal, I got you."

"Hey! Watch the tail watch the tail Idiot! It is attached you know, moron!" Glared Rocket as Quill lowered him to ground level "How'd you feel if I suddenly grabbed you by the toosh?"

"Flattered but confused." Said Quill without missing a beat. Quill took a moment to enjoy the shocked and disgusted face Rocket made at this, because he knew the day was going to get more stressful before it got better and he had to take his laughs where he could get them.

"You have issues Quill. Like, Freudian issues."

"Says the guy who was scared to go out without the biggest weapon he owns literally between his legs. Come on man, I did you a favour, no weapon is worth irradiating your junk for."

"Said by someone who spends too much time with his mind on his junk and not the tools of his trade." Muttered Rocket, stepping around the puddle on the floor with a wrinkled muzzle of distaste, scratching at the healing chest-wound Nebula had given him. "Groot, quit spillin' my fine sipping jet-fuel all over the floor: that's just wasteful."

"Quit drinking the reactive mass, tool of the trade." Said Quill, offering Rocket a boost-up so he could reach the engine and help Gamora. Rocket ignored this, preferring to scramble up Groot's back and hop onto the wing-top un-aided. "You do know it's rocket fuel, and not Rocket fuel, right?"

"I am Groot?"

"No, trust me, that joke will look better written down." Said Quill. Rocket made an obscene gesture, and popped one of the upper maintenance hatches and ducked inside, feet and tail sticking up out the top

"Bite me, Captain-Codename. Hey Gamora, what's up?"

There was a Yelp, a clang, and some swearing, presumably as a racoon head materialised directly above Gamora and startled her.

"Don't do that, you've been told! Blockage in the in-atmosphere ramjet after someone used our ship as a giant leaf blower."

"Sounds like something Quill would do." Said Rocket, with not even a homeopathic trace of guilt. "Frankly, he's not that bright."

"Bright enough to have more than a layer of cloth between an actual nuke and my balls." Said Quill, picking up a small stick of Groot with a few leaves on, which had gotten knocked off during the heavy lifting, and weighing it carefully, glancing up at Rockets exposed feet thoughtfully.

"I mean, Racoon pee is a nasty enough odour at the best of times, I'd hate to see it glowing green and melting the toilet." He said, reaching out with the stick, tongue bitten thoughtfully.

"Hey moron, if we bought a second osmotic membrane we could filter water twice as fast and we would be able to flush the toilet without that half-hour reset. This whole if it's yellow let it mellow situation on-ship is entirely due to your cheapness."

"Couldn't you salvage a compatible membrane from the wreck of the Barracuda?" asked Gamora, working alongside him. "You stripped it for parts almost before the wreckage was cool, and I have no doubts that Nebula kept it better maintained that Quill."

"Tried, but the crash fucked it up pretty bad. Got some liquid thorium from the reactor and some spares for the FTL but the rest of it was AHHHHAAAR! GET OFF MY FEET GET OFF MY FUCKING FEET!" screamed Rocket, kicking and thrashing upside down as Quill tickled at him with the stick. "Ahhhh! I know that's you Quill, I fucking know that's you! God, you are such a fucking child!"

"What, what? I'm down here." Said Quill, leaning down and putting his head in the engine intake next to Gamora's waist, one hand reached out with the long stick, still tickling Rocket with the leaf. "I'm down here man, my arms aren't long enough to reach your foot. Maybe it's Groot?"

"I know it's you man, I kno- Arrrggg! Groot, quit it I can feel it's you. That was a leaf, that was definitely a leaf that just touched me!" said Rocket, flailing like a trapped cat.

"I am Groot?" asked Groot. Rocket snarled, contorted as he tried to avoid Quill's annoyance, and said something back in Groot. Groot presented both hands for Rocket's inspection.

Rocket cocked both ears back and eyebrows up, confused. "Drax?" he guessed.

Quill tickled again and Rocket swore, banged his head wriggling around trying to free himself and then slipped downward, tangling himself in the web of wires that controlled the engine intake-shutter servo. Stuck fast, but with he's feet at least now fully in the engine, he groaned, and shut his eyes in exhausted annoyance.

"I hate you Quill, you know that?" he said, when he felt something tickle his whiskers.

"I know buddy." Said Quill, as Rocket opened his eyes and glared at him down the length of the stick. "But you'd go mad in days without me." he said, putting down the stick and helping Gamora free the racoon.

"Mad? Says the person who chose, when his, and it sickens me I have to say this, girlfriend, is wearing tight black leather trousers and bent over with her butt inches from his face, to prioritise tickling me, of all mammals. I'm just saying there are days when I doubt your priories, Quill, If not your commitment to heterosexuality."

"What can I say, unlike you I'm a gentleman of class and restraint who knows how to treat a lady right and respect her boundaries when she's clearly working. Besides, less of that girlfriend talk, me and Gamora are taking it slow, just seeing what happens, and overt displays of affection at this point might make for an unhealthy workplace environment."

"And I could break you neck with my thighs if you annoyed me while I'm working." Said Gamora calmly, trying to separate crucial ship components from racoon arm-fur.

"Unhealthy workplace because she could break my neck with her thighs If I annoyed her while she's working." Said Quill, cheerfully. "Which is somehow both terrifying and also all kinds of hot."

"Speaking of hot, could you get me out of here soon? It's like, a billion degrees in here, I need to pee and that's a scary prospect when you're upside own, and I'm pretty sure something died in here and I'm in no hurry to join it." Complained Rocket. "Or, yanno, you could just tickle me some more because, you know, that's a really productive way to spend your time when we're in a hurry to go on an important mission, Quill."

"Agreed." Said Gamora, climbing out of the engine and wiping her hands clean on Quill's coat.

"So given that we're in a hurry and given me Drax and Groot have done 90% of the work so far, and that you two are getting along so well today, I'm going to go take advantage a last shower with actual water while you rescue Rocket and fix that engine up. Okay honey?" Said Gamora, sarcastically.

"Um, Sure thing but I'm not sure, now that I'm up here, if I can get out without help." Said Quill, now almost as tangled as Rocket in engine parts and so enjoying the questionable benefits of hot, angry racoon breath and spittle at barely sub-lethal range.

"Pity." Said Gamora, slapping Quill's exposed ass as she walked away, but not before handing the tickling stick to Groot. "Go nuts" she said, disappearing into the warehouse to wash up.

Quill, flinched, and then grinned sheepishly at a very un-impressed Rocket.

"Wow, what a gal." smiled Quill.

"You know, Quill, you two are the perfect example of why you shouldn't date crazy." Said the racoon, lecturing Quill with aloof, if upside down, calmness.

"Yeah, but she's so hot." Said Quill, struggling with cables.

There was a pause inside the engine nacelle.

"Her? I was talking about you."

"Okay, so, before we leave, Have we left anything behind?" asked Quill from the pilots seat, buckling up for the journey.

"Drax's shirt." Complained Rocket, at the co-pilots con next to him. "I mean, I can see his nipples through that cold weather man-cape. Uggg, what is it with you disgusting bald-bodies wearing clothing with a gap at the front that makes you look more naked than not wearing clothing at all? Like, a naked except for socks moment? Ugg, Drax… Either buy a shirt or grow some fur, you filthily animal!"

"He is rocking a weird Red Riding Hood look, but that's his call Rocket." Said Quill.

Rocket put his paw to the flat of his face and hunched over in his seat, to block out Drax from his peripheral vision. "Uggg, I feel like they're following me around the room like the eyes of a painting!"

Drax glared back from the seat at the back of the cockpit, far behind and to the right of Rocket, the effect only slightly ruined by what he fondly imagined cold weather gear to look like: felt and fur boots, hairy hide trousers, and a gigantic, dark woollen cloak with the hood up. "Don't call me a filthy animal."

"Oh come on," said Rocket, half truing to argue "That was a perfectly legitimate criticism of your fashion senc- oh god they're still right there. They're just peeking out, come on buddy, either lose the cloak or close it a little more!"

"Don't call me an animal." Said Drax, staring back with a quiet but painful intensity. "Don't" he added, as Rocket went to reply, cutting over him.

"Ooof, never mind, just trying to lighten the mood before this ass-numbingly long journey, you know? Talk about a rough crowd. Guess someone's a little touchy about their body image and hygiene, am I right Groot?"

"Like you can talk, fuzz bucket. I'm with emperor Palpatine here: you don't get to talk about other people's psychological body issues." Said Quill "Have you even showered this year?"

"Hey, I groom my fur daily, and unlike you two I don't sweat except, yanno, in extremis, so who needs showers?" protested Rocket, pointing angrily at Quill. "Besides, I can't bathe too frequently, or the ship will explode, 'cause this one time I showered twice in one day just to get warm on my old ship, and the core went critical that same day. Fact."

"I… that's not how stuff works, you stupid Racoon! This year? At all?" asked Quill, half mockingly.

"Wait… which calendar system are we going off of?" asked Rocket, still pointing "Legitimate question."

"I… did you at least wash your hands after building that nuke!?"

"Hell, I've washed my hands six times just sitting here." Said Rocket, indicating a damp washcloth tied to his con. "I need to keep my paws wet so the callouses will soften up enough for me to use the maneuvering RCS. And I'm also not dumb enough to handle weapons grade fissionable materials with my bare hands, numb-nuts, I used a robot arm I rigged to a remote control."

"Well in that case…. Wait, where did you get a robot arm?"

"Found it."

Quill glared. "Where, Robot Arms R us? Who'd you swipe it from?"

"I… I found it in the street." Protested Rocket.

Quill glared harder. "In the street? The street here, in Knowhere? This street?"

"Yes, just, yanno in the street. Just generally out and about in the street." Said the racoon, gesticulating.

"Was it attached to a person at the time?" asked Quill. "Just, you know, a shot in the dark suggestion, was it in-fact attached to a person, possibly an amputee, when you just so happened to find it in the street, and did you then detach it from them? Just, hypothetically, you know as a complete, random shot-in-the-dark guess, was that in-fact what it was doing in the middle of the street, hanging of a person, when you 'found it?" Asked Starlord, somewhat angrily making air quotes.

Rocket paused, and then looked thoughtful. He pointed back to Quill, with a look of theatrically innocent dawning comprehension "You know, now that you mention it…"

Quill, Drax and even Groot threw up their hands in disgust and all yelled at once, meaning that it was a while before Quill could hear himself think, and even then he had to shout to drown out Rocket's counter argument on the nature of private property.

"Oh come on man, you have got to stop doing this Rocket! It's got to be bad karma, or something! It's like when you made our secret base wheel-chair accessible, I should have twigged way earlier it was because you needed wheels for a building project! Sorry to use the word twigged Groot, it's not a slur."

"I am Groot." rumbled Groot, from behind Rocket.

"He knows." Translated Rocket.

"Cool." Said Quill, giving Groot an over the shoulder thumbs up

"Wait, you're cool with me stealing artificial limbs?" Asked Rocket, hopefully.

Quill screwed his face up. "No you dingbat, I'm okay with you translating for Groot! Of course I'm not okay with you stealing peoples limbs, that's not a thing people do! Normal people don't even consider talking people's body parts, you tiny creepy little Hubert West!"

"Drax's nipples are still showing and somehow I'm the bad guy here?!"

"Yes!" yelled Quill, "Was that not obvious enough to you, Igor? Don't. Steal. People's. Body. Parts. Rocket. How many times do I need to tell you? And on the subject of his dress sense, at least Drax understands that the same three grubby armoured spandex uni-tards don't count as everything from pyjamas to formal ware!"

"Fine! Just, just FINE!" yelled Rocket, slamming his head into his control yoke. " So it's just Everybody shit on Rocket day, is it? Fine. Just Fine! Gods, I am so sick of this trip already. How long have we been going?"

Quill glared over, stupefied by the question. "About negative ten munities, seeing as Gamora is still packing the final supplies into the ship and we're still in the damn warehouse."

Rocket yell-groaned, and slumped back in his seat, paws over his eyes and muzzle aimed at the ceiling. "Awwww fuck, just kill me now. Saving the galaxy isn't worth this horse-shit!"

There was a long, awkward pause.

"So… do you not like the cape?" asked Drax.

Gamora walked into the Milano just in time to see Rocket and Quill roll past shouting and wrestling on the floor like angry siblings, while Drax attempted to join in, she didn't know or care on who's side or even if there were sides, and Groot yelled and tried to peace-keep and pull the other three apart.

So much, so normal.

Sighing, she went down the stairs from the cockpit to the main living area, sorted the last of the supplies, and checked the navigation route she and Rocket had planned out to reach Náströnd Prime as quickly as possible, while still being a convoluted enough path that Nova couldn't work out what they were up to.

It was not a short route.

If Nova found out they were after the Æther, to give to the Collector, they'd be understandably upset. By taking Nova money for black-ops they'd basically made Nova their political and military patron, a situation they'd exacerbated by accidentally starting Knowhere's journey toward democracy and bringing it out Tivan or Count Bings sphere of influence and into Nova's.

'Pissed' might be a better word that 'upset'… she thought. Our current track record with Nova is one Infinity Stone recovered, one planet saved from drones, one billionaire we were meant to track killed, and one ungoverned territory accidentally invaded. She mused. That's a draw at best.

Shit, I'm forgetting the data we leaked to Yondu.

Gamora sighed. She strongly suspected that Nova paid them largely to stop a group with a proven ability to wield an Infinity Stone from working for someone else, and not so much because of any net benefit they provided. They were good at the actual heroics, yes, it was just dealing with the messy aftermath they were very bad at. The hard bit.

But I guess that's foreign policy in a nutshell. She thought. And it's not like were banned from taking freelance jobs so technically were not breaking any actual laws, assuming Rocket doesn't nuke anyone. And I don't trust Nova with two of the stones any more than Quill does; in fact that's why I've taken steps to stop then using any Infinity Stones, steps to ensure no one finds all of them…

But still, doing this job without telling them? She paused, glancing up at the shelf of containment spheres. "Peter?" she asked, softly.

There was a momentary change in the volume of the ruckus coming from the cockpit, then a loud thump of a body rolling over.

"Yes?" asked Quill, appearing laying down flat on the floor at the top of the cockpit stairs, Rockets leg clamped between two hands and raised to the level of his lips as if he were about to bite the Racoon and had just been interrupted. Rocket, for his part, took advantage of Quill's distraction to keep beating him in the crotch with Quill's own left boot.

She gave them a long, slow, unimpressed stare. "Can we talk? Assuming you're not too busy, oh captain."

"Sure no problem." Said Quill, starting to rise. He then paused and glanced down. Rocket rolled his eyes with theatrical annoyance before tapping out on the deck with a free paw and much bad grace.

"I had you." he muttered, as Quill extracted himself with some difficulty.

"Sure you did, Ranger Rick." Said Quill, sarcastically taking the boot back, because he knew if he didn't it would go out the airlock or in the head the second Rocket got a chance. "What's up Gamora?" he asked, descending the stair, socked foot first.

"You done playing with your other girlfriend?" she asked, eyebrow raised.

Quill shrugged. "We're going on a long trip after Infinity Stones: everyone's stressed. They need to blow off some steam. Besides, you know if I don't tire him out he'll be up in the middle of the night and causing a ruckus."

"Hey I'm right here you know, quit talking about me like I'm a toddler!" yelled Rocket.

"Shush up or you can't have a cookie!" yelled Quill over his shoulder. "What is-"

"Wait, the animal-shaped cookies or the regular ones?" interrupted a racoonish voice.

"Animal, I'm not a savage. So Gamora wha-"

"Regular or extra marshmallow?" asked Rocket, materialising silently at Quill's hip. Quill glared.

"All right, all right, I'll piss off. But you owe me extra marshmallow." Said Rocket, trooping back up the stairs, eyes fixed on Quill and pointing. Quill closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"So, what is it Gamora?" he asked.

"Okay Peter, I agree we can't let anyone we don't trust get an Infinity Stone, and I agree that we can't let Nova have more than one. But this plan Peter… it's a lot of risk for very little gain. And if it goes wrong…"

"Then we make sure it doesn't go wrong." He said, leaning on the worktop opposite her, arms folded. "Call it an incentive program."

"Okay, fine… but let's say it goes right." Said Gamora, leaning opposite him and carefully mirroring his posture to make him feel more comfortable and subconsciously more likely to listen to her. "We'll give an Infinity Stone to Tivan of all people, and he's a horrible person."

"Well, I was hoping to sell an infinity stone to Tivan, rather than give, four billion credits and all that, ka-ching, ka-ching dollar signs in the eyes, Scrooge McDuck money vault, ect ect, but I get your point." He said, before getting out a hand and counting on his fingers. "But look at it like this, One, the Asgardians wanted him to have the Æther, for some reason, so why question a bunch of angry space Vikings? Two, we were kind of going to sell him the Power Stone when we first found it, so, like past us thought it was a good idea, and how dumb could past us be, really?"

Gamora gave him a look.

"Okay fair point." He conceded. "But the only reason we didn't give him the Power Stone is because his maid kamikaze'd herself, and it's not like that's going to happen again, not unless he's hired more suicidal maids."

"You just can't get good help anymore." Said a voice from the stop of the stairs, somewhat muffled by speaking around marshmallow.

"Quit eavesdropping Rocket!" yelled Quill. "And don't speak with your mouth-full! And put back the snacks or you'll ruin your appetite! Yeah okay, so maybe it was good we didn't give Tivan the Power Stone, but he apparently had the Æther in his back pocket for god-knows how long without blowing himself up or melting a hole in the universe anywhere noticeable, so his track record with Infinity Stones is probably a little better than ours given he's never crashed a capitol ship into a capitol city."

Gamora sighed "I'll give you that point."

"Three." Said Quill, wiggling his fingers. "Who else are we going to give it to?" he said, counting down on his other hand. "Nova already have one, the Asgardians already have one and explicitly don't want this one, the Kree want to kill us, the Badoon want to kill everyone, The Spartori can't be trusted…" he switched hands "The Skrulls have disappeared somewhere and can't be trusted, Sakaar's all angry gladiators, The Brood, Evil Bugs, the Phalanx, evil robots, the Watchers are useless, and the Sovereign are stuck so far up their own butts they're breathing farts… who else is there?"

"The Shi'ar?" asked Gamora

"Wouldn't want it! It's the Reality Stone, so it takes creativity to use."

"Bolovites?" Yelled Drax from the cockpit.

"Couldn't afford it. Plus either Nova, or the Kree could just take it from them."

"I am Groot?"

"Wiped out by space-plague." Said Rocket. Quill nodded. "The A'askvarii?" asked the Racoon.

"Too many tentacles!" said Quill. "And that's the less shitty options, you guys want the full list? Earth? No way they could handle an Infinity Stone. Want to take it even closer to home? The Ravengers? Halfworld? The Church of Universal Church? Your Dad, Gamora?" He said, holding his arms out in a big shrug. "We're all out of time, and all out of options. No, shitty as it is, it goes to Tivan. Sorry."

Gamora sighed, picking up a containment sphere from the shelf, and regarding it.

"Nova are going to be pissed, aren't they?" she asked tossing it

"If they find out? Oh yeah." Said Quill. "This goes beyond a breach of trust and into full-on to shitting on their lawn territory." Said Quill, catching the sphere from Gamora and trying to bounce it off his bicep and catch it again.

"Charming. Again, are all Terran sayings that quaint, Peter?"

"Pretty much." He said, bouncing and catching the sphere with a grin.

"Hey dickweed!? That's my sphere!" yelled Rocket, running in, jumping up and recovering that one battered sphere he always played with and running off with it and a scowl.

Quill and Gamora shared a glance. "Do you ever wonder what he's hiding in that one?" she asked.

"With Rocket I'd rather not know. And besides, my bet is it's empty and he just being territorial with his toys."

"A common trait amongst the men on this ship." She muttered.

"Hey that Lego was important to me!"

Gamora stared.

"Err, just start the engine?"

She nodded. "We've put it of long enough already Peter, if we're doing this, then do it. Let's fly."

Montage of shots of the Milano unfolding it's wings, flaring its engines, repulsors cherry red and glowing, Before lunging into space in shiny, over-saturated slow-mo', cut like a music video to make it look as cool and muscle-car like as possible, to a 70's Hard Rock tune

Awesome Mix tape Vol 2: Kiss; Detroit Rock City.

Cut to the interior of the ship, everyone sitting in their seats looking very bored as the same song plays, tinny and grainy over the low-fi cassette deck.

Day one

Rocket sighed, chin in paw, legs dangling off his seat and heals kicking of the seat back in time to the music as he watched the stars.

"Are we there yet?" he asked, sarcastically.

Gamora, sitting behind Quill and opposite Groot, glared at Rocket from across the cockpit.

"Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet?" he repeated in a sing-song voice.

"You planed the proposed route, furred one. Surely you must know the estimated time of arrival?" asked Drax.

"He knows, he's just being an ass." Muttered Gamora, raising a data-sate to her eyes and trying to catch up on some reading. "He knows exactly when we're getting there."

"Two weeks" muttered Quill, glumly aiming the ship at the next of their many, many jump points.

"No." Said Rocket.

"No? You said it was two weeks to Náströnd?" asked Quill.

"Fourteen days, nine hours and… sixteen minutes galactic standard." Said Drax, checking a wrist-mounted chronometer.

Every turned in their seat to stare at him. "What?" he asked. Everyone turned back.

"No, what I said was its two weeks to Náströnd if everything goes right. Big difference. Big frickin' difference." Said Rocket, shifting in his seat, and scratching at that itchy chest wound. I should really get that checked out he thought, continuing.

"It's forty jumps and eight days direct, and Nova will be following us every step of the way, even if they claim they ain't, so we needed some creative course-plotting to shake 'em. That takes us to over ninety jumps, plus navigating from one jump spot to the next, plus rest time so all those jumps don't shake a chromosome loose, although with Quill the question would be how we'd tell." Said Rocket, snorting. "So we miss one jump, run into one bit of bad luck…"

"You saying you didn't account for traffic?" said Quill, half joking.

"No, traffic, traffic I accounted for. What I'm more worried about was pirates, big gooey space monsters, random anomalies in the space time continuum, figures from our personal pasts coming back to murder us…"

"Alf." Added Quill. "You look kinda like a cat, Roc, so I'd be afraid if I were you."

Rocket glared. "Meteorites, Quill's exes. You know, the usual. That, that I was worried about. 'Cause if we get too delayed, not only am I going to have to spend more time trapped in this tin can with ya' all, but it means there is more chance of someone else getting to that stone before us and setting up a frickin' welcoming committee, or, just as bad, Nova working out where we are and catching up."

"You de-bug the ship?" asked Quill. Rocket shrugged, scratching again.

"Well as I could, but Quill a ship like this gives off all sorts of energy readings, so you can never be 100% certain about that sort of thing. Nothing on standard Nova frequencies, and I'm pretty sure about our physical security which limits people's opportunities to spike us…" he said, scowling and scratching.

"Quit worrying." Said Quill "If you said you did the best you did, that's good enough for me. It's not like thinking 'bout what could go wrong with help any, Roc. Like my grand-pappy always said, worry is a waste of imagination."

"My grandsire used to say to always confirm the kill with one blow to the head and one to the torso, if we're recounting grandparental advice." said Drax, helpfully.

Everyone turned to look. "Is… is that not what we were doing?" he asked.

Rocket turned back, and snorted. "Sure, sure, Quill spouting BS platitudes from his less-awesome side of the family, why not join him pissing in that particular font of wisdom, Drax!" said Rocket, making a vague, overdramatic mocking hand gesture.

"Why is… is the head malfunctioning?" asked Drax, to no-ones interest.

Quill looked over, slyly.

"You know what my Grandfather was also good at passing on?"

"The crappier half of his genes, clearly."

"Car games." Said Quill. "We used to spend a lot of time of trips to… to keep me occupied when mom was sick." Said Quill, swallowing briefly. Rocket looked over, but bit back his retort and listened. "So we got good at car games make the time go quicker."

"Ah, these car game increased the motion of the vehicle to relativistic speeds!" said Drax, pointing eagerly. "A fine idea, particularly if our plumbing is malfunctioning."

"What, no. Just… look let's just try one and see what happens. How about I spy?"

"I am Groot."

"Huh?" asked Quill.

"He said we're Nova black ops. We all spy. That's kind of the frickin' point of the job."

"… I mean if the toilet is unavailable surely a cup out the airlock would be more hygienic that contaminating a fresh water source..."

"What? No shut up all of you and stop being stupid." Said Quill, ignoring the muttered first time for everything from behind him. "It's a simple game, look, you spot something outside out ship, tell everyone the first letter of that word, and then they have to guess what they've seen based on what you say. Look I'll go first. I spy, with my little eye, something beginning with-"

"S?" asked Rocket chin on palm, bored and despondent.

"Er, yes."

"Stars?" asked Rocket. "You know, considering that's the literal only thing we can see out the window!"

Quill huffed, making the next jump. "All right, asshat, we can guess things in the ship too, I guess. You got that one so you're next, I guess."

Rocket perked up "Things in the ship? Really?"

"Sure I mean-"

"I spy, with my frickin' eye, something beginning with M." he said, said eyes gleaming evilly.

"Oh, Oh, I know! Moron, because that what you always call Quill!" said Drax, pointing enthusiastically.

"Well done Drax, got it in one!" said Rocket, smugly. Quill frowned.

"That doesn't count! Go again Rocket."

"F."

"Frickin' Moron!" yelled Drax, eagerly.

"Rocket!" warned Quill.

"S." said Rocket, evilly.

"I am Groot?"

"Well done Groot, it was smelly frickin' moron!"

"How about a new game?" Suggested Quill. "How about the Red Car Game? If you're the first to yell Red Car when you spot one, you get to punch the guy next to you? Sound fun Rocket?"

"Wait, what? How does that even… we're in space, what cars? How does this even qualify as a game?"

"We'll have to adapt and red star! Red star, one to me!" yelled Rocket, punching Rocket in the arm, right in the spot that deadened it.

"Ah… what the fuck?"

"Oh, look, Starlord, there is another one." Said Drax, pointing helpfully at a passing star.

"Thank you Drax."

Smack.

"Ahhhh! Gamora!" Yelled Rocket, rubbing at his tiny bicep.

"Hey, if you see it first you're allowed to hit him back." She said, scrolling down the page. "I thought you'd be all over this."

"I… I can't see red! Red isn't even a real color!" protested Rocket.

"Is to me." Said Quill, looking over and smirking knowingly. "Oh look…"

Rocket left his seat and scrabbled back into the depths of the ship, arm dangling limply, other paw clamped to it.

"Groot, cover me, were leaving!"

"I am Groot?"

Peter Jason "Starlord" Quill grinned, turned up his music, and leaned back in his pilots chair, hands crossed behind his head and eyes closed. "Ah…. Yep. This is going to be a good trip, I can tell."

THUMP!