I'm High on Believing.

@ peter quill.
It had been a few days since Rocket had noticed the sudden and subtle change in Quill. It came in small looks and long silences, a slight distaste for what he once had savoured. But the amount that he could say he cared to point out the change, to tease around it let alone to ask about it, was almost nonexistent. What went on in Quill's head was the very lest of his interests.

Instead he chose to busy himself in the center of the floor of the ship tinkering and planning, eavesdropping when it was convenient. Their latest destination had become something of a fixation to him: it had been a while since they had last landed anywhere solid and the idea of staying an evening drunk in a foreign tavern was more than pleasant. Gravity, real gravity, was one of the things he enjoyed most about the universe.

---

Gamora would be lying if the prospects of more than 150 or so square meters didn't excite her. Living small was easy and occasionally preferable but the aspect of living small with four men, even those she considered close friends, was hardly often anything more than tolerable. To escape further than the cockpit, bunk room, or main hull space would be a grand excursion.

For now though, co-piloting was where she found herself. Sitting in the secondary chair she faught off drowsiness, her head slightly bobbed over and her eyes opening and closing to their own will. For all of it's beauty she often found space travel dull, especially when she'd been kept up the gist of the "Night" to the sounds of half-drunken jeers between Rocket and Quill, Drax's occasional input drowning as muddle background noise to the duo, over just what they should be doing now. It was of little interest of her's as to what to do next in the zone of things, so long as she came out on top.

But with the drone of the engines and the scenery before her, sleep felt like the best decision.

@ The God of Mischief.

Peter knew exactly what was bothering him, heck Drax could probably figure it out if he really put his mind to it, the hard part was figuring out why it was bothering him. He’d stopped caring about his father years ago, the idea of his father having died along with his mother. He supposed it had died even before that really. Back on Earth it had always been her that had brought him up, never Peter.

That was why he was scrolling through the file he’d requested from Nova. He’d kept it hidden from the others, only loading it when he was certain none of them were going to pry, only allowing himself to look at it for a handful of minutes at a time. From time to time he found his eyes flickering from where he’d loaded it onto the small console on the arm of his chair, just to check that Rocket or Groot hadn’t snuck up on him, or that Gamora, sitting in the co-pilots chair all of a metre away hadn’t noticed that it was taking a lifetime for him to enter co-ordinates into the navigation system.

---

Groot was sitting in the corner, a corner he liked to think of as his corner seeing as he opted to spend the majority of his time there, watching Rocket tinker with things on the floor. Nobody had really explained to him where they were going, or indeed what they were going to do when he got there, but he didn’t mind. Being out of the loop never really did give Groot cause for concern. Not when he knew Rocket would fill him in soon enough. What was concerning him, however, was the sense of discontentment that seemed to have taken hold of some of his friends.

@ peter quill.
"Do you have to stare?" Rocket's question was quick as he looked up to acknowledge the eyes that were almost always planted on him before he returned to the technology in his lap.

To be honest, he wasn't quite sure what its shell was yet. Or what it was going to be. Just that he had found it lazily tossed aside the last time they were held to a planet and that it seemed to have potential. At the moment he was removing the wiring, stripping it of it's coating with his teeth and then categorizing it by the metals it contained. Scrap was always welcome, surely it would come in handy somewhere after some time stored away.

They weren't moving. Or, at the very least, they weren't moving significantly. He could feel it in the barely there vibrations under his paws as he sat, his wiring next to him, and so frustrated with the aspects of time and boredom he let himself fall back with a groan. He was tired of fixing the damn errors that they'd encountered, he was tired of just playing around with scrap, he was almost tired of Groot's constant watch: he could feel his skin itch with the anticipation of an adventure, no matter how small and even if he had to make it up himself.

---

It was when Gamora snapped awake hard enough to knock some sense into herself that she realized they were still going next to nowhere in particular. Jerking up into a proper sitting position it was apparent that they'd been coasting around the same black abyss for what had to have been a half hour, the lights somewhere off on the horizon of the dash never getting any brighter.

"Is there something wrong?" She asked Peter, her attention moving sporadically around to try and pinpoint a problem, thinking that surely something must have ruptured in the systems of the ship.

Eventually she focused, realizing that the pilot next to her was hardly concerned with movement as he stared down at the console of his chair.

@ The God of Mischief.

When Gamora spoke, Peter nearly jumped out his skin. With a couple of quick clicks to the console screen, he managed to get rid of the file. “No, no. Nothing wrong,” he said. He kicked himself. He was making it sound like there was definitely something wrong. He keyed in the co-ordinates. “I er just got distracted. Sorry.” He shifted in his seat and started fiddling with another console. “Didn’t get much sleep last night. Sort of all over the place.”

Peter forced himself to shut up. Not only was there something clearly wrong, he was now sure that Gamora would think he was an idiot. Well, a bigger idiot than she already thought he was. He unbuckled his seat belt. “I’m going to… Grab a drink. Want anything?”

---

“I am Groot,” Groot replied with a slight shrug. He didn’t have to stare, but what else did he have to do? So he just carried on watching Rocket and what he was doing as he picked at a leaf that had decided to sprout on his forearm.

"Sure. Just..uhm...whatever. Something to keep me awake." Gamora spoke with a small furrow between her brow and a wave to her hand in response to the nervousness that practically danced about before her.

It was as soon as she was sure Peter wasn't going to turn around that she sprung to the console that he'd originally been toying with. A lead? Newsfeed? Porn? Tabbing around trying to bring up the previous screen she knew she had to be quick if she wanted to find out just what it was that caused Quill to have a minor meltdown before he returned.

The file wasn't hard to find, but trying to figure out and key in the passcode was another story. None of Peter's usual codes would work on it, and from what she could tell there was hardly the time to hack into the mainframe to get behind it the long way. Disgruntled with the technology before her and hearing Peter's footsteps closing in behind she cleared out the screen back to its default, scattering back to her seat in hopes she hadn't just been seen.

---

The small clutter from the cockpit caught Rocket's attention from the floor. Upside down he saw the way Peter jumped halfway out of his skin before the main thrusters of the ship took over and Quill excused himself from his place.

"Jeesh, what was that all about, hunh?" His question was to the air as Quill walked past him on the floor, open for either Groot or the nervous wreck (but more than likely both).

Staying stationary on the floor he watched as Gamora all but pounced on Peter's chair, rabidly going through the console, and his eyes lit up with the prospects of their new situation. If there was something loaded on it enough to turn Peter into a jack rabbit and grab her attention then there was something on it that was interesting enough for a new lead, possibly one interesting enough to hold them over for a while until they were on solid ground again.

Once Quill had passed back through to the cockpit Rocket sat up, smiling at Groot. "Looks like we've got ourselves a mystery t' solve, hunh, buddy?" And he jumped up, scurrying away to the bunk room to go through Peter's stuff.

@ The God of Mischief.

Peter came back to the cockpit, clutching two metal flasks full of Xandarian tea. He handed Gamora hers before he took himself over to his seat. He took a quick sip, burnt his tongue, and placed it on the dashboard to cool for a little bit.

He glanced over at Gamora, checking that she was otherwise occupied before he turned to look at the console. He brought up the file and quickly keyed in the password, ready to carry on scanning the file for any clues about the anomaly in his DNA.

---

“I am Groot?” Groot offered in answer to Rocket’s question. His eyes widened when Rocket got up. What was it Quill always said about the others living with him in the Milano? Don’t touch his stuff. He stood up and followed Rocket, taking his time about it. As he stepped into the bunk room behind Rocket he uttered Quill’s favourite phrase. “Don’t touch my stuff.”

@ peter quill.
The flask was hot in Gamora's hands as she contemplated how to confront the pilot about his apparent secret. Trying for a sense of normality she propped up her feet across the dash of the Milano and sighed heavily into her tea, sipping as to not burn the tongue out of her mouth. She needed Quill to feel comfortable if she was going to get anything out of him.

Or unusually threatened. But comfort was easier to promote in the long run.

She watched from the corners of her eyes as every so often he'd get lost within the console on his left and quiet cursed the glare that radiated off of it into her eyes. There was no way to look at it without being conspicuous.

"What's so interesting over there?" The question was aloof enough as she looked over her own console at the status of the trip.

---

"Calm down, it's not your stuff...idiot." Rocket's reply was mindless as he dove into the small hold that held a myriad of Peter's things.

It wasn't until he'd tossed three shirts, two note books, a generic map of Earth, and an odd looking glass pipe that cracked behind him as it hit the rest of the pile that he'd realized what had just happened. Pausing his excavation he turned to look back at Groot, shaking his head in disbelief, and then returned to his rummaging.

"I'm going nuts 'cause of all'ah you." He muttered and climbed into the hold, sitting comfortably amidst Peter's things.

Cassettes, scissors, a few books, a half used bottle of cologne, a razor: nothing was interesting nor out of place. Digging a little deeper than usual, he found a small drawer. With a light chuckle Rocket opened it with the knowledge that this was the honey hole of the hold, if there was going to be anything truly interesting it would be in there. Inside, laying almost haphazardly across the drawer's floor, was an old gold watch engraved with "Rolex" and two pages stapled together. An unfinished written request of genetic analysis to Nova.

@ The God of Mischief.

Peter didn’t look up from the console, he was scrolling through the document, past wall of text after wall of text that he’d read perhaps a dozen times since receiving the file, searching for the place he’d been at before he’d been interrupted. “Feet off the dash, Gamora,” he said, trying to sound like his usual self. He tried to smile as he jokingly threatened, “or I’ll kick you off my ship as soon as we land.” He hoped like hell that he didn’t sound as fake to Gamora just then as he did to himself.

He stopped scrolling. There it was, the wall of text in which Nova explained that the anomaly in his DNA was something that they couldn’t identify.

When Gamora spoke again Peter opened up his inbox, just in case she came to peek over his shoulder. “Nothing, just an email from Yondu threatening to kill me and let his boys eat me when he next sees me…”

---

“I am Groot,” Groot said sternly. Leave it. Please leave it Rocket. He was half tempted to reach down and pick his small furry friend up and drag him back to the main room. “I am Groot.” Quill will kill you. Leave it Rocket.

But of course, Rocket wasn’t going to leave it. He never listened to a word Groot said, not when he had his mind set on something like this.

“I am Groot?” Groot asked, motioning to the paper Rocket had found. It didn’t look like the rest of the stuff Quill carried, and Groot wasn’t going to lie, he was sort of curious now too.

@ peter quill.
"Riiight." She mused and kept her feet where they were, sipping her tea. Peter's sly threats weren't any of her concern right now.

It wasn't an email, and even if he had one up now it wasn't the locked file. Comfort wasn't getting her anywhere fast. With a sigh she stood up, leaving her tea behind, and did her best to saunter rather than sprint the four steps to where he sat next to her. From somewhere behind him she leaned over and shooed his hand from his own console with hers, effectively trying to hijack it as she tabbed around on the screen what she could from the awkward angle. "You know, I'm surprised that what I found wasn't interesting to you, Quill."

---

He read the papers three times before tossing them over his shoulders. Truth be told, it wasn't anything that new. Or that exciting. The watch's gleaming on the other hand, that hit something primal in him. With a smile Rocket snatched it from the drawer and fit it on his wrist before jumping out of the hold and grabbing the request again.

"I've got some studying t' do." He said as he cleaned a few wrickles from the document, hoping that the grease stains it procured from landing on the cologne wouldn't hinder his ability to read it. "Do me a favour an' clean this mess up. You don't have to make it pretty, just throw it back in."

@ The God of Mischief.

Peter’s hand shot out when he realised Gamora was behind him, in a feeble attempt to latch onto her wrist. Possibly a bad move, he thought, what with this being freaking Gamora and all. “What the hell – “ he started, then he stopped himself. Of course he knew what was going on, what she was up to. She was trying to find what he was up to. He felt angry but he did his best to reign it in. Better to put her off, make her think he wasn’t up to anything. “Seriously I’m just trying to read my emails.”

He jerked his head around to look at her. Trying to maintain some sense of composure was getting harder. “Seriously can’t I get any freaking privacy on my damn ship?”

---

Groot watched Rocket leave, his eyes narrowed slightly. Why did he have to clean up all of Rocket’s messes? He kicked Quill’s stuff back into the hole in the ground before he replaced the lid of the hold. He then, as usual, followed Rocket and uttered Quill’s number one phrase again:

“Don’t touch my stuff.”

Peter's logic seemed sound as the nervous bark of it rang in Gamora's ears, and for that reason she didn't flip him over and kick his ass. But secrets were different from privacy: secrets could compromise the team. With a low growl she took her hand back, hitting him in the back of his head as she brought it in to herself, and cursed the situation. Why he had to withhold vital information from the crew was beyond her.

"The way you brag doesn't leave room for privacy." She sneered down at him, a glare sharp in her eyes. "I know whats on there, Peter." A bluff shot, Gamora figured, might get him to expose what he thought worthy enough to hide from the group.

---

Again, while staring at the watch on his wrist, Rocket swore he heard Groot utter something as he lead the way to a particular panel in the wall of the Milano. Checking that no one else was behind him but his adolescent dendrite he hooked a claw into one of the panel's screws, unhinging it and revealing a hidden nest he'd been working on for some time. Carefully Rocket placed the panel back over the hole as to leave enough room for a sheen of light to stream in.

"Keep watch and I'll fill ya in when I finish." His words were aimless and muffled from within his nest.

The papers were of standard form: name, age, ID number, etc. They were, however, only partically filled in meaning that either Quill wised up and sent in an electronic copy (forgetting that the tangible document even existed) or filled in a new one to send instead. More than likely it was the latter that held true. There was scarcely a need for paper documents.

The writing was shaky, suggesting nervousness or and unstable surface, and where the form required a short essay as to why the request was being made only half the lines were filled out. Of those, maybe a third were legible. It was rather clear that for whatever reason Peter had made the inquiry he was nervous about it.

@ peter quill.
^^

@ The God of Mischief.

Before Peter knew it he was up on his feet. He was pissed now, his previous nervousness all but vanished.

“You have no idea what is on that thing,” he told her, hoping to hell that she didn’t because hell that was private, that was his, it was personal, it wasn’t any of anyone’s business except his and he didn’t plan on talking about it to them. He hadn’t even told them his mother had died, or that sometimes when he couldn’t sleep he wondered about random school friends he’d left back on Earth, so why the hell was he going to tell them about this?

---

“I am Groot,” Groot replied. He waited for Rocket to crawl into his hidey hole and hunkered down in front of it, waiting for him to finish reading whatever it was he was reading.

@ peter quill.
"I...Well of course I do." Gamora was slightly shocked at Peter's sudden show of anger, just what was in that locked file?

It would be simpler, she told herself, to just smack it out of him and call him an idiot, blame him for the recent feelings of subtle resettlement between the group. "What the hell is it with you and privacy of all things suddenly?"

She crossed her arms, hoping to mimicking something materal to coax the file's contents out of Peter. Second guessing herself though after a few seconds, and not wanting to give Quill some strange mixed message, she let herself plop backwards into her chair with an annoyed sigh, almost a snarl. She rubbed her temples and shook her head.

"Forget it."

---

"Come on, buddy." Rocket aid happily as he hopped from his hiding spot, leaving behind the document and closing up the hole in the wall securely.

It wasn't anything interesting, that he derived from the documents. Nothing dun or embarrassing. As far as he could tell, Quill was simply interested in his past, and what fun could that possibly be? He was almost disappointed. Without complaint though he made his way back to the small pile of scrap to listen to the argument going on between Peter and Gamora, content to have Groot stare at him.

"Don't get any ideas about repeating what they say." Rocket advised as he sat. "They're not good words t' anyone, got it?"

@ The God of Mischief.

Peter didn’t bother gracing Gamora with an answer, choosing instead to the cockpit, storming down the small flight of stairs to the main floor. He shoved past Groot, not bothering if he upset him, and practically trod over whatever the hell Rocket was tinkering with. He ignored the quizzical look Drax, who was sat sharpening a knife, gave him and stormed out into the Milano’s small hallway and down to the engine room.

Once there he sealed the door shut from the inside, activating the old maintenance lock he’d never actually bothered with in the past. He just needed a few minutes to calm down a bit, that was all, just a few minutes away from the shitty accusations about what he was hiding, a few minutes to just clear his head, to let go of the past and stop thinking about his father.

---

“I am Groot?” Groot was confused. What was happening? Why were Quill and Gamora shouting at each other. Frowning, he stood up and crossed over to the entrance to the cockpit and studied Gamora for a moment or two before asking again, “I am Groot?”

@ peter quill.
"I know," Gamora soon without looking at Groot behind her, instead studying her nails
"How could he be so selfish? It's shit like this that ruins teams."

She sat upright then and turned to study her own console, checking that they were on the right path still and the nothing was internally wrong. And of course, nothing was. But in a quiet, sort of round about way, she wished there was to combat the sinking feeling of guilt that was settling into her stomach.

"Don't worry, Groot, nothing's that bad." She got up and sat in Peter's chair then, ignoring his hidden file, and turned locked up the copiloting mechanisms. "Have you ever flown a ship before?" She asked with a smile at Groot and motioned to what was once her spot.

And maybe it wasn't her best idea, but with the copilot controls shut down it also wasn't her worst.

---

It wasn't like Quill to be a pisshead, but it was even less like Rocket to scurry quietly behind the practice trail of anger after it all but ruined his scrap pile. It was less of concern, he tried to convince himself, and more of curiosity: a search for adventure.

But wish a shut door in front of him there wasn't much ado. Even if he picked the lock, which he was plenty more than capable of, the chances of him getting smashed as he tried to open the door against Peter's weight were high. So instead he climbed upward, taking refuge in the maze of pipes with the hope of hearing something, anything, that he could spin into an adventure. Even a lame one.

@ The God of Mischief.

Groot looked a little apprehensive. Him? Pilot the Milano? He wasn’t sure Quill would like that. He stayed where we was, rooted to the spot as he watched Gamora sit herself down in the pilot’s seat. “I am Groot?” he asked. Did she really want him to co-pilot her? He thought about it for a moment or two longer and sat himself down, thought he refused to touch anything.

---

Peter sat, back to the wall, trying to push the things that were bothering from his mind. He’d calmed down relatively quickly once he’d shut the door and locked the others out. He wasn’t necessarily a solitary person, but at times like this, being alone did help.

After a few minutes passed, he reluctantly pushed himself up, he couldn’t stay locked in the engine room forever. If he did Rocket would probably run riot wreck his ship. He gave himself another minute before he opened the door. He wasn’t planning on heading up to the cockpit again, it was probably best to give Gamora a bit of space, especially given how he’d just exploded at her. He ran a hand through his hair as he keyed in the unlock code. What in hell had gotten into him anyway? He was never like that, not to Gamora at least. Rocket and Drax… well, they were a little different but even then it was only some of the time.

@ peter quill.
"Go on." Gamora offered him another smile, relatively positive that the locking mechanism on the copilot's controls wasn't broke (though she wasn't positive). "All I've left you is the accelerator, have a little fun." And then as an after thought, "Like this."

And she gave hers a small thrust forward to show him how, putting emphasis on the forward motion. It's not like there was much to crash into should they roll, but she had a feeling that those not strapped in wouldn't be very appreciative of tasting the ceiling of the Milano.

---

"5-2-4-7-7"
Rocket put the touch tones of the keypad lock to memory as he heard Quill punch them. He kept quiet though, hoping he wouldn't be detected, and followed Peter from above, jumping from pipeline to pipeline until they dove into the riveted panels of metal. He hadn't noticed this change though, and so instead he lept expecting to find footing on a pipe only to crash down in a tumbled ball of swearing fur somewhere just behind Quill's foot steps.

"Fuck." He murmured to himself, running a paw back over hos ears.

@ The God of Mischief.

Groot nodded and tentatively pushed the mechanism forward. He was painfully slow about it, but it eventually clicked into place. He turned, feeling a little triumphant and smiled at Gamora. “I am Groot,” he told her. He then leaned over to peek the navigation panel, curious about their destination and how long they had until they reached it.

---

Peter heard something drop behind him, followed by a little ‘fuck’, he turned on his heel, his eyes landing on Rocket almost instantly. “Rocket?” he asked. “You okay?”

It was as he asked that that he noticed the Rolex on Rocket’s wrist. He leaned down, snatching at it. “Where the heck did you get that?” he asked, he wasn’t calm anymore, he was pissed again.

“Have you been through my stuff again?” He demanded.