Disclaimer:
I do not own Guardians of the Galaxy or any of its characters. They are all property of Marvel Comics, Marvel Studios and Paramount Pictures.

Summary:
Fresh from their adventure saving the Galaxy, the Guardians make their way to a local club to gas up, wet their whistles, and take in the local scenery. Rated PG-13 for Action, Mild Cursing, and Suggestive Adult Themes.

It had been one hell of a week, even by the Starlord's standards.

Pilfered a priceless magic artifact. Spent a night in a Nova Corps prison. Clashed with space pirates and bounty hunters. Confronted an alien warlord. Saved the whole damned galaxy.

Found himself part of a team.

A team consisting of himself, two thugs, an assassin and a maniac. To say they weren't the poster boys for 'galaxy saviors' was putting it mildly. And yet, somehow, they'd pulled it off. And the name had stuck.

Now the Guardians of the Galaxy could just sit back and relax for a bit.

A soft beeping interrupted his thoughts and he kicked his feet off the console, leaning forward to inspect what his legs had obscured from view. "The Hell...?"

The screen had a simple, single warning in English font, blinking in unison with the soft beeping of the alarm. Peter grumbled, tapping the screen, trying to dispel the warning. "Damn pop-ups," he muttered, unable to shut it off. A percussive tap to the side of the instrument didn't stop it either. A solid slap, however, made the beeping noise stop. Satisfied, Peter leaned back in his seat and propped his feet right back up.

Gamora barely spared him a glance as she pointedly shoved his legs out of the way to view the console herself. The readout wasn't good. "All fuel cells are running dry. Last one's almost 88% depleted."

"Is that bad?" he asked non-chalantly, knowing full well what it meant.

She spelled it out for him anyway. "It means the Milano is about to run out of power. We need to remedy this. Immediately."

"So we're almost out of gas, relax... the Milano can run on fumes for... what, almost a week?"

"We're already on fumes, Quill. Another day and we'll be dead in the nebula," Gamora replied.

By now most of the rest of the Guardians were showing interest in their discussion as well. Considering the ship doubled as their home, it made sense they cared about its upkeep and maintenance. Plus, it wasn't very big, and sound carried. No use putting this off any longer then, Peter realized. Oh well, at least they didn't have a busy schedule at the moment.

"Well, guess it's time to fuel up. Rocket?"

"On it," replied the cybernetically enhanced little beast, hopping into his seats and easing forward on the accelerator, steering the starship around in a wide arc.

"We're low on supplies too," Drax remarked, tapping the console beside him. Their storage was getting dismally empty. "I guess the Nova Corps didn't help us out as much as they thought."

"More likely Rocket's already chewn through everything we got," Peter muttered.

"Hey, I can't help it I've got an advanced metabolism! I burn calories fast!"

Peter sighed, slumping into his seat. Fuel alone was going to cost a bundle, but repairs and supplies might be even worse. They could afford it, but it still hurt how his wallet was almost always empty.

"Man, I could use a drink."

Rocket twisted in his seat, showing his fangs in a wicked grin. "I know just the place."

After travelling to the planet of Knowhere and finding it to be the floating head of an ancient alien race, the way station of Purple Lotus in the Warlock Sector was pleasantly normal. Well, relatively speaking.

Shaped like the flower it was named after and made of a dark metal that shimmered violet in the light of the nearby binary system, it had five primary docking ports for larger cruisers. A number of smaller hubs flowed elegantly from the five main 'petals' to accommodate smaller ships like the Milano. All of which led centrally, to the main building which functioned as both bar and refueling station. It wasn't the sort of place people stayed long, but made for an excellent place to stop, unwind, refuel, and relax before moving on.

All this and more, according to Rocket. Apparently the entertainment was also top notch.

Peter didn't know about that, given his teammates penchant for explosions and violence, but whatever else the Purple Lotus was, he quite liked the sight of it. It reminded him a lot of Earth for some reason. Or at least better times. Flowers. One rarely went wrong with flowers. Gun-toting mercenaries rarely associated with flowers. Galaxy-conquering madmen didn't appreciate flowers. Flowers were for beautiful women and peaceful times. Flowers were good.

He had slipped his Walkman around his neck for easy-carrying and was shrugging on his coat when the Milano shook and there came an awful, horrible screeching noise from somewhere near the stern.

"Hey, watch the paintjob!"

Rocket snarled at him. "I know what I'm doing, lay off! That sonovabitch cut me off!"

"Cut off his head!" Drax retorted, probably misunderstanding what, exactly, had been 'cut off' in the exchange.

The diminutive Rocket snarled and cursed up a storm at the unknown ship that had violated their airspace. Wrestling with the desire to pick up his teammate by his scrawny neck and toss him aside, Peter reluctantly let him pilot their ship into dry dock. Fortunately, there was no further trouble parking the Milano, their starship settled into dock easily amidst a much larger Kree Freighter and a sleek, state-of-the-art Stygian Cruiser. Only then did Peter let out a sigh of relief, waiting for the gravity and atmosphere to re-align between the ship and the station before they disembarked.

"Right, let's gas up."

Groot carefully linked up the fuel nozzle to the Milano and started pumping gas into their vehicle. Though largely recovered from his near-death experience on the Dark Aster, he was still regrowing much of his full size and strength, barely standing a head taller than his compatriot Rocket at this point. He almost looked like a small child, and sometimes the other Guardians were convinced he even acted a little more child-like. But whatever the case, they were glad to have him with them still.

Peter, Rocket and Gamora took a chance to stretch. Cramped in the starship wasn't so bad as some places they'd been, but it was still good to get a bit of fresh air every now and then. Pity they were on a space station, where the air was recycled. It still had that faint, musky odor to it. Peter grimaced, tempted to activate his helmet, but decided he might as well get used to it. Besides, he'd had worse.

"Fuel sure is cheap here," Peter remarked after taking a glance at the prices. "What's the catch?"

"Oh you'll see," Rocket replied. "It's inside."

Since the fueling was going to take a few hours, Peter took out a compact device from his jacket and locked the Milano down remotely. Satisfied no one was going to steal her, he and his colleagues ambled down the walkways towards the center of the station, curious as to the entertainment Rocket had mentioned.

Various other passerby both humanoid and alien were doing the same. Overhead was a clear dome that kept the vacuum of space out and the air in, and up ahead was the central building, a square structure that looked like it had seen better days. The nearby twins suns cast dual lights of bright scarlet and dim azure over everything, where the shadows were deepest were a shade of violet that soothed and relaxed the senses. Even so, the outside of the Lotus was lit up with advertisements and flashing neon lights, making it look like a cheap Vegas gas station.

Inside was a totally different story.

Dimly lit, the lighting shown most prominently on the bar and the stages, shrouding the tables and booths in darkness and making it difficult to see the other clientele. However, all interest in them quickly vanished as their eyes adjusted to the light and they saw the entertainment. Flashing neon lights in every shade of the rainbow helped to illuminate. Twisting and writhing in the lights were a number of scantily-clad ladies of various alien races. They danced for the entertainment of the customers, batting eyelashes and waving tentacled appendages in the hopes of earning some currency from a hormonally driven patron.

"Well this is certainly... different," Peter remarked, eyes naturally drawn to one of the dancers, a girl with actual lavendar skin and a pair of tentacles descending from atop her head in lieu of hair. The way she moved her limbs, there was no way her species had bones.

"Heh heh, thought you'd like it," said Rocket, rubbing his paws together. The little raccoon bounded into the establishment, ducking around and even under some of the other patrons, taking full advantage of his species natural height. It put him at the perfect level to ogle some of the waitresses.

At the door, the other four Guardians of the Galaxy exchanged a look, then shrugged and followed their shorter colleague.

Manuvering amongst the other patrons was easy, they were all glued in place to their respective seats. Some were even enjoying a private performance from one of the dancers for a bit of extra cash. The air was thick with the smell of smoke, and an underlying odor Peter couldn't quite place. Picking out a booth in the back with one of the best views, to say nothing of enough seats for all of them, he claimed the one at the far back. Long habit had given Starlord the idea of putting his back to the wall wherever he went, in case of ambush. If trouble burst in through the front, he wanted to be able to see it coming.

"At least its comfortable in here," Gamora said, settling into the seat beside Peter. The plush velvet couches were very supportive and soft to the touch, unlike some of the furniture on the Milano.

"Can't complain about the view either," Rocket said as he bounded into the last seat beside Groot. His partner gave an indifference shrug, evidently unphased by the display.

"You need a booster seat?" Peter teased, noting how Rocket barely looked up over the top of the table.

"Bite me!" snarled Rocket.

"They should put some clothes on," Drax remarked, glancing at a buxom waitress as she came up to take their orders. "They'll catch cold in here."

Peter rolled his eyes and turned his attention to the girl. She wore maybe a little more fabric than the dancers, but it still put all of her best features on display, and she had an abundance of them. Especially her eyes. Bright, ruby, and in triplicate. All three blinked as she smiled enticingly at the Starlord.

"Evenin' travelers. What can I get you all?" she asked, her voice oddly distorted, like it was coming from underwater.

"I think I'll go see what's on tap," Peter said, nodding to the bar. "Don't trouble yourself over me, darlin'"

"Sir?"

Drax thought for a moment, then said, "Takana Ale. Chilled please."

The waitress wrote it down dutifully, turning to Gamora. "Ma'am?"

"Halbarian Tea," she decided after a moment's thought.

She nodded, then looked over... and then down... at Groot. The plant-like alien smiled up at her gently. "Awww, aren't you just the cutest? What can I get you?"

He opened his mouth to speak, but Rocket smoothly intercepted with a translation before it was needed. "The big guy'll have water."

The waitress didn't bat an eye at the talking raccoon now in her field of view. Evidently, she'd seen weirder. "And you sir?"

"Sir, ha! I like that. I'll take a Quasar Sunburst."

"A Quasa-... what?"

"A Quasar Sunburst. You never made one of those before?" he stared up at her incredulously.

She clutched her notepad to her bosom, rubbing her chin as she thought hard. "Uh, no sir, I don't think we've ever gotten a request for something like that before."

"Oh well it's real simple, see, what you do is take a bottle of Celestial wine, three cherries, a dash of rum..."

Peter tuned him out, the drink sounded more complicated than an engine part. At least Groot had kept it simple with the water, not like anyone would've ever carded a sapient, humanoid tree that just happened to wander into their club. To be honest, Peter wasn't quite sure just how old Groot was. When they'd met he easily towered over the Starlord himself, the tallest of their merry band, yet he seemed almost child-like innocent in his interactions with other life-forms even before his reduction to mere twig. When he wasn't on a colossal rampage, that is.

Perhaps one day he'd ask Groot. Then, recalling the language barrier, amended his plan to include Rocket as a translator. Then again, maybe he could just ask Rocket, maybe he knew.

"... shake it up, and boom! Quasar Sunburst! Got that?"

To Peter's surprise, the waitress evidently did. "Be back in a bit, hons," she bubbled, deftly turning on her heel and bouncing away towards the bar. Peter and Rocket tilted their heads to watch her go, entranced by the view.

Gamora rolled her eyes at the typical interests of males, settling back in her seat with her arms crossed. "I hope this doesn't take long," she said. "This place doesn't look exactly friendly."

Peter was inclined to agree. Now that their eyes had adjusted to the view, it was easier to make out some of the other customers. Mostly humanoids, quite a from the local star systems. Some of whom looked reasonable enough, travellers, merchants, tourists. But some looked a lot more rough and tumble. Mercenaries and criminals. They came in a variety of species, a few Xandarians, a Kree Officer off-duty, two Sakaraans and a Xandaran near the bar, chatting up a waitress. There was a table of yellow-skinned men with vague, rounded features huddled around their drinks. Peter took a moment but finally identified them as Korbinites, an outcast race who'd lost their homeworld a while back.

Poor guys, he thought. I'd buy them a round, if we weren't still up to our ears in debt.

At least the view was free, Peter mused as he watched the dancing girls twist and bend amidst flashing incandescent lights.

A short while later, Peter Jason Quill decided he'd had enough time to store up pretty pictures behind his eyelids. Which meant it was time for that drink.

Slipping out of the booth he shared with his fellow teammates, the legendary outlaw made his way up to the bar, neatly weaving in and out of the other clientele. Although a space station and subject to intergalactic standard time, the Purple Lotus really seemed to be jumping as the hour grew later, despite it being just as light outside. Red and blue light flit in through the windows, which only serve to enhance the atmosphere of lustful thoughts and decadent fantasy the club offered.

Finally reaching the bar, Peter beheld the barman. A man his own height and mostly human in appearance, with sunken reddish eyes and deeply tanned skin, a little too orange to be fully human. He wore a crimson tunic with golden highlights, and kept a short scimitar at his side. A big feudal but Peter figured he was hardly one to judge. He enjoyed the classics too, after all.

"Got anything from the uh... Sol System?" Peter asked, trying to appear non-chalant as he leaned against the bar.

"Sol?"

"Uh... Earth? Terra?"

"Terra? Oh yes... Midgard... I think I do, hold on..."

As he rummaged under the bar, Peter glanced over at a pretty dancing girl shimmying against a pole nearby. She caught his gaze and winked at him, he returned the gesture with a friendly smile.

"Never did quite figure out why a planet needed so many different names," the bartender said as he returned. "But here we go... this was just picked up a while back."

The bartender plunked a drink down in front of him, a familiar aluminum cannister with red and white swirls. Even Peter recognized it, its design hadn't changed since the 80s, though it did seem a bit more streamlined.

"Soda?"

"Yeah, the latest from Earth. I hear its all the rage on the Shi'ar Frontier."

Not quite what he'd been looking for but, really, it might be better to keep his wits about him. A place like the Purple Lotus could easily rob travelers blind if it got them too intoxicated, and Rocket definitely wasn't going to be their designated driver for much longer.

"I'll take round for the booth in the corner," Peter said, indicating his friends.

The remainder of their drinks had arrived by the time Peter paid for the sodas and got back to their table, sliding in between Drax and Gamora. The green-skinned assassin was nursing her tea, more to find something to do than anything else. Rocket, by contrast, had already chugged his first Quasar Sunburst and was getting a second, giving the waitress a slap on her cute little backside that made her giggle and wag a finger at him warningly.

Groot had a bowl of water in front of him, but wasn't drinking from it. At least, not in the traditional sense. His left hand rested in the clear liquid like he was getting a manicure. Knowing the colossal thug they way he did, Peter suspected he was using his fingers as roots. Or something similar. Whatever.

Drax idly munched on some red peanuts they were serving free. Curious, Peter snatched one out of his bowl, lifting it up to his nose and gave a tentative sniff.

Hmmm, smells like burning, he thought, tossing the peanut over his shoulder and to the floor as he rubbed his nose and tried to recover his sense of smell. Note to self: avoid the nuts.

He carefully set the soda cans out in front of his teammates, something green and silver for Gamora, Drax received a can with a green, red, and white motif, while Rocket was gifted with a blue, red and white can containing the Starlord's least favorite flavor.

"Gentlemen... and lady, of course..." he added, dipping his head to Gamora gallantly.

"I am Groot," stated the stunted alien oak.

"Yes, yes, of course, and Groot too," he said, figuring it was somewhat reasonable. Despite referring to Groot on more than one occasion as a man, it wasn't always an ideal comparison. He briefly paused as he forgot where he was going with this conversation, then remembered. "I propose a toast."

"Toast? What do we need toast for?" asked Drax, puzzled.

"Yeah! This is a bar, not a bed and breakfast," Rocket quickly agreed.

Peter shook his head. "It's just what it's called," he explained. "It's a way of... uh... reminding us of what we consider important. I don't know why it's called that it just is."

"Oh."

"So what're we toasting to?" Gamora asked.

"To those we've lost..." Peter intoned solemnly. "Our siblings. Our friends. Our families. And especially those who died to save the Galaxy."

Their cans clanked together, and they took a sip as one.

Authors Notes:
Naturally, full of shout outs to some of the other Guardians, including Adam Warlock and Quasar.

The cover art is by the very talented Ganassa, on Deviantart. Check them out, they're very good.

Naturally, that was a twi'lek Peter was ogling at one point. Just a friendly Star Wars cameo, I know they're separate universes, no need to point that out to me.

For Sodas, naturally Starlord gets a coca cola, Gamora enjoys a sprite, Drax a mountain dew, and Racoon gets a pepsi. Product placement at its finest.