I'm High on Believing.

@ peter quill.

"No." The word was defiant as it rang through the room, Gamora's hands falling steady onto the tabletop with the quietest of thuds, "You're staying with Richard, you don't even know what's inside of that thing: I've at least some faint memory."

Purposely she side-stepped the obvious state of Peter's body, his tendency to continue of wheezing despite the passing of time on him, for the later half of the argument as it would surly continue on though it was the reason the thought of him boarding Sanctuary II made her eyes dilate and her blood pressure increase. There was no way that he'd be able to hold up properly in a battle, that he wouldn't have Rocket eject him out of an airlock as a last ditch attempt to get him out of the way. And at that she couldn't allow only two of them to traipse into unknown territory without any prior knowledge of, well, any bit of it. In the long run, the best bet was to keep Quill out of the heat of battle.

@ The God of Mischief.

Peter shook his head. If Gamora thought he was staying put then she was an idiot. Just hours ago, she’d attempted to kill him in her sleep, no doubt caught up in a nightmare to do with Thanos, about Sanctuary, about what he’d done to her. Even an idiot would be able to tell that it was something that bothered her. Groot could probably pick up on it for god’s sake, hell, Rich was practically a stranger and he’d probably come to the same to conclusion. What kind of friend would he be if he let Gamora go waltzing back into that place?

“I used to break into places without knowing what they looked like all the time,” he avoided Rich’s gaze, aware he sounded like he was bragging about his former life of crime. “We’re going in, you’re staying here. No arguments. After that shit with Ronan you said you were going to follow my lead, so follow it.”

@ peter quill.

"You're trying to hang yourself." Gamora hissed at him, trying to keep the worry from her voice, with a glare strong enough to slay kings.

Silently though Rocket could see the shit storm that was beginning to take fruit between the two, and taking note of a familiar look on her face he excused himself from the situation to properly suit up. The bitch scene wasn't his own. He gave Groot a little nod on the way out: if the adolescent was to have a successful (real) first raid he'd need a little bit of instruction....though if Rocket were honest with himself, which he almost never was, he just needed someone to rage to.

"Look at yourself!" It was a shout he heard from over his shoulder that make him flinch.

@ The God of Mischief.

He responded with a shrug – he didn’t give a damn – but he couldn’t quite bring himself to catch her eye. Not when she was looking at him like that. It was almost enough to make him back down, but not quite. Peter thanked his heightened sense of stubbornness.

“I don’t care,” he told her. “I’m an honourless thief,” old resentment at the remark she’d made at him in the past rang in his voice. “I’m better suited to smuggling Lylla out of whatever hovel Nebula has her holed up in.”

Groot was terrified. The yelling and arguing was getting to him, besides he was concerned about Rocket. Silently, without bothering to excuse himself, he slunk out of the room after his friend. Odds were Rocket needed him more just the anyway.

Rich glanced at Drax before he vanished up into the cockpit again. This was pathetic, and, if he was any good judge of people, whatever this was ran deeper than either of the pair were making out. Maybe they were a couple? He snorted to himself. Nah, Quill could never win over a woman like Gamora. She was too good for him.

It was Drax who finally interrupted the pair. He slammed his hands on the table. “Enough,” he told them simply. “If you can’t work this out, neither of you will come and we’ll take Rider with us instead.” With that said, he to withdrew into the cockpit, figuring he should leave them to hash things out between them.

When Drax was gone Peter shook his head at Gamora. “I’m not going to back down. I’m not letting you go. You didn’t see what you were like last night when you were dreaming. What happens if you go in there and…” His voice trailed off and he shook his head. “Nebula will kill you if she gets even the tiniest chance. You’re more valuable to us here where you can help at a distance than you are with your throat slit.”

@ peter quill.

"Because she wouldn't take the same opportunity with you." Gamora rolled her eyes at Peter, her voice cold as she up to him with a finger pointed onto his chest like a missile on it's bulls-eye. "Look at yourself."

She circled around him then with a glare permanently glued between her eyes as she sized him up as she broke the cycle around its front end to make camp on the other side of the table. If it came down to it, she had no problem kicking his ass to keep him safe. If he had to be unconscious to stay on the ship than so be it. Was she even still armed? Yes, she could feel the blade replaced at her hip as she turned to face him frontally, good.

[will pull rocket back in next post, too tired right now. ]

@ The God of Mischief.

"More chance she'd keep me alive to fuck with you," Peter countered. The circling was unnerving him, so he decided it was best to get out of there. "It's not up for discussion. I'm going," he informed her as he headed for the door.

[short sorry!!]

@ peter quill.

Gamora didn't say a word as she used the only leverage point she could find, the back of a wheeled chair that almost sent her off kilter, to propel herself over the table in a tackle across the back of Peter's shoulders. Disappointment rung through her almost audibly that the impact had failed to knock him out and trying to keep him quiet slipped around, a leg twisted behind his pair to ease the struggle that radiated there, to pull him into a choke hold. She kept attention to his pulse against her arm, counting the beats down as they began to slow.

---

Pants, apparently, were something that Rocket owned but two of: and this particular pair was a little snug as he finally managed to close the buttons and zipper around his waist.

"Out of all the fucking ships for her to intercept." He muttered as he came around to exit and scatter off to his nest, trying to control his own...was this fear for her...with the confidence that Groot would follow suit. "Why's it gotta be that one? The one girl I've met that actually has some sort of interest in me. Of course. Why wouldn't it be? The one person in the fucking galaxy that can actually stand to look at me let alone to spend time with me." He paused. "No offense, I meant the only female."

The panel of the Milano popped off without a struggle, the rivets long used to being torn from their homes, and Rocket hopped up to begin digging. Every so often he'd throw something behind himself, a shirt, a magazine, a dead grenade he'd been meaning to actually set up for use, a gun or two, something of Quills that was signed with a lipstick stain, blades, the list went on. Eventually he stood back a moment, revealing a line up of what he'd managed to collect.

"What would you suggest?" He asked, unknowingly taking the chance to try and teach Groot something.

@ The God of Mischief.

Peter did his best to fight back. When his conventional trying to push her off failed (as he knew it would because hell, he was fighting a fucking genetically engineered killer) he reached out, trying to locate the blade she kept glued to her hip. If he had to stab her in the thigh to get her off, then so be it. He failed to grab the blade, judging from where his hand landed on her leg he’d missed it by a long shot. So he opted improvise and dug his nails into her, hoping desperately that he could throw her off.

---

Groot hunkered down on his haunches opposite the opening Rocket had crawled into. “I am Groot,” he said mournfully, his eyes apologetic. I’m sorry, he didn’t really know what else he could say. “I am Groot,” he added evenly after he’d given it some thought. You’ll get her out, you know you will. He had a feeling that he wasn’t helping much though.

@ peter quill.

Gamora bit her tongue as she felt Peter try to claw her thigh off, growling around it in favour of shouting, and did her best to twitch out of his grasp. It wasn't an easy feat as she began to feel her own grip around his neck falter, allotting him wiggle room if he so wished for it. In a somewhat poorly made decision she switched out her position, crawling over him to hold his shoulders to the ground with the weight of her knees: his face flush with the riveted floor of the Milano. Before he could speak she brought the cusp of her bracer across his face, sacrificing her forearm for silence, and desperately tried to find the pressure point of his neck from the new angle.

---

It was with a heavy sigh that Rocket nodded back to Groot, reaching forward to pocket several items before trying to decide on a proper gun. Groot had never been the best at conveying any form of real emotion, though Rocket knew he meant only to help in the long run of things, and yet it was more comforting than anything he could bring himself to ask for. It was an odd sensation of....what, manliness? Something like that.

"Yeah, thanks." He muttered as he ran a paw through the fur that covered the top of his head. "It just figures, ya' know?"

@ The God of Mischief.

Quill wasn’t going to be silenced that easily. If he couldn’t scream he’d use his fists, so he started hammering one of them like a mad man onto the floor hoping like hell Rocket or Drax would come and investigate. He kept trying, with a new burst of desperation, to break free of her, to squirm away somehow. “Off,” he tried to plead with her. “Get off.”

---

“I am Groot,” Groot offered again. Though this time, he wasn’t really saying anything. He just didn’t want them to lapse into silence. Somewhere above his head he heard something hammering away at the floor, a hint of concern washed over his face, but he wasn’t going to bail on Rocket to investigate it. If he’d learned anything since he’d been – reborn? It was a good as word as any. It was that friends didn’t ditch one another like that.

@ peter quill.

"You're not going." It was a hissed whisper that escaped Gamora's tongue from between her teeth as she finally found the pressure point across Quill's neck.

Instinct took over as she smashed everything she could into it, again counting the slowing beat of his pulse, and there was hardly a hint of remorse forming on the back of her tongue. It was, indeed, ingrained into her very nature after so long. For good measure she increased the pressure of her knees upon his back, almost scared he'd pop like a tick but not enough to allow him to waltz off of the ship.

---

"I just don't wanna lose at my only shot of this thing, you know?" Rocket made the loose reference to love slightly under his breath, not quite whispering but guarding the phrase from anyone else who might be around: not that anything could be heard over than infernal banging above. What the hell was that? Were Rich and Quill fighting? That could be fun. His ears perked a little, accompanied by a sly smile, only to fall again within a few minutes as the thought of Lylla hung over him.

@ The God of Mischief.

And then Peter blacked out because tired of this now.

[He’s so going to wake up before they reach Sanc and insist he’s coming because you know that’s how he is]

---

Groot didn’t know what to say. The subtle nature of Rocket’s comment lost on him. Above his head, the banging ceased, which was concerning. He hoped nobody was hurt.

---

When the banging in the main room stopped, Rich decided to go investigate. He left Drax to keep an eye on things in the cockpit. When he saw Quill on the floor he raised an eyebrow at Gamora. “You haven’t killed him, right?” He asked, though his voice lacked any real concern on the matter.

@ peter quill.

With a small sigh Gamora let herself relax on top of him, glad that the ordeal was over with after such a fight--had it been three days or four?, only to rebound back into defense mode as she jumped at the sound of Rich's voice behind her.

"Gods, no." She sounded a little hurt as she stood, brushing off her pants from the scuffle, "Now help me bind him."

With all the grace of a perched bird she dropped to her haunches at Peter's feet and stole the laces from a pair of nearby boots to tie around his ankles. As an after thought after the last knot had been tied in a boyscout-like manner, spit included, she removed the boosters from his boots and set them up on the table top. His hands would be the issue, as she cursed the lack of tieable shoes on the ship.

---

"So you think you're ready for somethin' like this?" Rocket decided to change the subject at his own uncomfortability: the mushy things made his neck sweat and his fur itch. With little warning he tossed a blaster back at Groot, hoping he'd catch it, before adding, "Don't break anything with it, it's for her not you" in reference to Gamora. Had the banging stopped?

@ The God of Mischief.

Rich was torn between amusement and being appalled as he dropped down on his knees. He placed two fingers on Peter’s neck, feeling around for a pulse. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe Gamora when she said she hadn’t killed him, it was just because of his recent medical issues… and also maybe because this was Gamora after all.

---

Groot stared down at the blaster for a long moment before he started turning it in his hands, studying it as his initial fear that it might explode in his hands gave way to curiosity.

“I am Groot?” He asked. Are you sure you want me to come with you?

@ peter quill.

"Don't snicker." Gamora's words stumbled through her own giggle at the situation they found themselves in as she stood again, looking for something with which to secure Peter's wrists together with.

On a whim she left the two males to their...well, it certainly wasn't a conversation, and rushed to try and find where Rocket had holed himself: he usually had the odd trinkets that no one ever thought to keep.

---

"Yeah of course," Rocket offered with a small, almost bashful, smile, "You gotta learn this stuff, kid."

It was the sound of footsteps that ruined the moment that Rocket had felt coming on, which in the long run of things was probably for the better based off of all the tears he'd actually managed to hide after the last time the tree almost died. Gamora turned the corner, her cheeks still recovering from the flush of a good scuffle, and flashed them a small smile.

"I need something to bind wrists with..." She almost cringed at the way her words sounded and the way Rocket's eyes lit up with antagonizing comments at their helm, "It's. Quill's staying here."

Her explanation wasn't much help and Rocket merely bit back a bark of laughter at her before he dove into the pile of stuff within the nest. What Quill and her did in their own time was none of his concern, nor was it anything he particularly wanted to know about. Eventually he came across an old pair of handcuffs, stone-age style with honest locks to which the key was missing, with which he resurfaced. Ignoring the looks of the other two he popped the locks with one of his claws before handing them over.

"Have fun." He eyed her a little, wondering if she'd actually tag along herself or stay back with the Terran.

---

After rolling her eyes at the creature who was somehow kind enough to give her the restraint Gamora hurried back to the main area of the Milano where Peter, thankfully, still lay unconscious. She crouched without a word to Richard, and as she slipped the one around his left wrist she couldn't help but to wonder if he'd ever been in this situation before among others. The voice in the back of her head hoped he hadn't been. It'd be nice to be a first for once. The right one was laced behind the nearest chair (which was sub-sequentially on wheels for later comedic purposes of a moronic Terran struggling with a roller chair strapped to his wrist) before she strapped it across his nearly translucent, why were the pale Terrans so damn pale? skin.

"How long do we have left?" Her words were pleasant as she smiled over at Richard.

@ The God of Mischief.

While Gamora was gone Rich gave Quill’s vitals a proper check, just to be sure he hadn’t been harmed, accidentally or otherwise. When she returned he quickly stood up, interrupting his count of Quill’s respiratory rate. He eyed the cuffs as she restrained Quill. “We’re going as quickly as Nova Prime will let me, so maybe an hour or two? She wants to ensure we have sufficient back up before you infiltrate Sanctuary II. I took the liberty of informing her of Quill’s plan,” he explained quickly. “You might be pleased to hear she’s in agreement with you about him staying put.” He shot her a quick grin. “I doubt she’ll agree with your methods though.”

He dropped back down to check Quill’s respiratory rate, noting it was way higher than it should be, especially given that he was unconscious. “You know, he might be out of action for a while. I’ll let you tell him the bad news when he wakes up.”

[I COULDN'T THINK OF A GROOT RESPONSE THAT WASN'T I AM GROOT]

@ peter quill.

"You couldn't have told me that before I knocked him out?" Gamora groaned at her own stupidity childlike in manner with her head thrown back.

Having Quill throw a tantrum in the main area would do no one any good, especially given the time left to travel, but she was clueless as to where they should put him (thank God for portable, rolling chairs). The engine room would be too dangerous for him to trash in like that, the barracks too small to fit the chair in properly with him, and the shower too narrow: there was little choice but to deal with him when he woke.

[Short and shitty because of tired after work: will resurrect rocket next time, have minor plan]

@ The God of Mischief.

Rich straightened up again. “He’ll be fine. He just needs rest. When he wakes up, we slip him painkillers, we’ll make him rest,” he said. “And make sure he won’t try and follow you.” He turned towards the cockpit, figuring it time to check in with Nova again.

[short and shitty 'cause that's me all over ok]

@ peter quill.

Once Richard was out of the room Gamora took a moment to clean off the dust that had managed to accumulate from the floor across Quill's cheek. The poor bastard almost seemed at peace like this, his arms slightly hung over his head to attach to the chair. She just hoped that he'd have a long rest, that he'd eventually understand why it was they chained him to a chair instead of letting him rush out into battle. He probably never would though, so she clung to her girlish hope.

"Anything new?" She called out to Rich with a sigh, with any luck it'd all still be the same.

After a few more moments of trying to fix Peter's face she backed off at the sound of tiny footsteps as they vibrated through the flooring. Rocket ignored the entire scene as he strode through for the cockpit, making a point of deliberately walking over Quill, muttering something to himself about the deftness of the godforsaken ship. He took up a seat next to Rich and began to fiddle with the co-piloting controls as to increase speed, still lost in his own disgruntled thoughts.

@ The God of Mischief.

“Nothing,” Rich called back. He paused and then as an afterthought asked, “Quill’s breathing slowed down yet?”

When Rocket reached for the controls Rich calmly reached over and grabbed his wrist, taking care to be delicate so as to not hurt him in anyway. “Don’t. We need to time this properly if we want back up.”