Vows, Vacation, and Valor
Tony had absolutely no trouble tracking down Rhodey, and subsequently the Space Oddity Squad in tow — who seemed to have boldly embarked on a full-scale mission to colonize his compound.
Even if he hadn’t been able to pin-point their location so quickly, it was far too easy to follow the lively tempo of electronic rock music blaring at volumes only he ever dared to use, reserved strictly for his soundproof workshops.
♫ Sun is shinin' in the sky
There ain't a cloud ♫
in sight ♫
Tony managed to reach the top of the staircase that led into the lounge a whole whopping second before Peter — an impressive feat, considering Peter’s hyperactive impatience to lead the way. He could actually feel the inside of his eardrums vibrating from the sound overhead, the beat of drums and synthesized piano keys so loud that it practically shook the banister railing.
“What the hell is this music?”
It shouldn’t have been his first question.
No, Tony’s first question should’ve been asking why a man more muscular than the great Captain America was bent over the kitchen sink; eating hummus dip with his bare fingers, all while looking positively repulsed by the food — only to go back for more, this time making the serving size bigger than the last.
Or better yet, he could’ve asked why the young girl with antenna’s on her head was jumping childishly from one sofa to another, springing each leap like it was a dramatic climb to Mount Everest — with high-pitched giggles, to boot. Giggles that he swore matched the activity of her antenna’s, moving freely on her forehead with a glow as dim as the afternoon sun casting through ceiling skylights.
Hell, it wouldn’t have even hurt to ask why the green-skinned woman, sitting casually on the only armchair in the lounge, was using a goddamn sword the size of her arm to slice through individual pieces of almonds — eating one half of an almond for herself, and handing off the second half to the tiny tree perched on her shoulder.
Tony furrowed his brows, watching as the tiny tree’s limbs — legs? — dangled with a breezy innocence, both small hands holding onto the piece of almond as he went in for a large bite. With wooden covered eyes closing shut, his tiny head bobbed along to the beat of the music, all while he happily chewed away on the nuts given to him.
On Tony’s ever growing list of concerns, Natasha’s stash of unsalted almonds suddenly ranked the lowest.
Using the banister as a standing perch, Tony leaned his back against the metal railing while he surveyed the energetically charged room.
“It’s my tunes, man!” Of all people to answer his question — Tony noticed that Rhodey was blatantly ignoring him with a painfully obvious cold shoulder — it was the man across the room, dancing freely and without any care, who wound up providing an answer. “Mr. Blue Sky, Electric Light Orchestra, 1977!”
Quill pointed to the ceiling with one hand while the other showed off a small rectangle device Tony barely made out as a music player. He furrowed his brows, tightly. The word ‘outdated’ didn’t do the poor technology justice.
“I got your thing to play my thing, and your thing plays it so much better — listen to that volume, I can’t even get the Benatar to sound that crisp!” Quill spun on his feet with a carefree twist, clapping his hands all at the same time. “And hey, now that we’re all here, everyone’s game to jam like a band — how sweet is that!?”
Tony swore he heard the crack in his neck when he shot his head up to the ceiling.
“FRIDAY—”
“Sorry, boss,” FRIDAY knew to apologize just by Tony’s tone, adding a bit of contrition to her own artificial voice along the way. Almost immediately, she lowered the volume of music down to a somewhat reasonable level. “My protocols were overridden by—”
“You’re gunna play like that?” Tony pointed a sharp finger across the room, where sitting at the kitchen table with his laptop and paperwork surrounding him was Rhodey; looking every bit displeased as he did on the video call minutes earlier.
In fact, Rhodey’s deadpanned expression only intensified as he met Tony’s finger with a heated glare — seen only in fragmented snapshots as Mantis hopped sofa-to-sofa, obstructing his otherwise clear line of sight.
“Weeee!" Mantis cheered as she made one leap larger than the last. "This is so much fun!”
Tony was forced to stare at her just to catch a glimpse of Rhodey in-between each jump, and vice-verse for Rhodey, who only managed to look even more disgruntled with each jump she took.
Mantis remained oblivious to them both.
Peter timidly looked to Tony before slowly — very slowly — he entered the lounge, taking small steps away from the staircase with a cautious finger pointed over at the couches.
“Is she…gunna hurt herself…doing that?” Peter asked as slowly as he walked inside, watching with visible confusion — and a bit of amusement — as Mantis used the couches like trampolines.
“Knowing Mantis, yeah, she probably will,” Quill answered at the same time he grabbed his leather jacket hanging across the back of a kitchen chair. With movements smooth as butter, he easily shrugged it on. “But I’ll be totally honest with you, her bones are basically like rubber — beef jerky has more snap to it.”
As Quill strutted pass the couches, he walked by Gamora sitting on the single armchair — and she had no problem following him with her eyes, all the way to the staircase leading up to the lounge.
“Why do you take such pleasure in lying to these people?” Gamora dryly asked, never once looking at Groot as she handed him another piece of almond.
Groot took the piece of almond with both hands and chomped down.
“Not lies — totally not lies!” Quill kept his stride even as he turned back to look at her. “Mantis, tell them all about the time you did that thing with your elbow, you know, the one you did during that asteroid storm on Krileeis—”
With his attention focused everywhere but where he was walking, Quill bumped right into Tony on his way to — well, Tony.
The black polo Tony wore took no beating from the brief physical encounter. And yet Quill brushed off his leather jacket like a few dozen bags of sawdust had just exploded all over him.
“Mr. Grouchy Glowly Hands.” Quill gave Tony a friendly nod of recognition. It wasn’t reciprocated. “I remember meeting you when we landed. You’re the Groom of this whole sha-bang, right?”
Quill didn’t wait for an answer, slapping the back of his hand against Tony’s bicep while he was still speaking — earning a look from the billionaire that not even Peter Quill’s million dollar smile could afford.
“Congrats on the snagging the pretty lady, my man. Hope she doesn’t become a ball and chain, if you know what I mean.”
Quill’s heavily dramatized wink did nothing to drown out Tony’s indignant bark.
“Hey—!”
“—there, Tiny Tyke,” Quill immediately spun to face Peter, going on to casually approach the gawking teenager standing not far away. “How things hanging? I’m Star Lor—”
“—ter Quill, the boy from Missouri who got abducted by aliens!”
Peter may have been five inches shorter than Quill, and easily half his size, but he couldn’t have steamrolled the man any faster had he tried.
In fact, it took a solid three seconds for Quill to even realize what’d been said — startling back with his arm hastily retracted, once ready for a friendly handshake and now held closely to his chest, affronted.
“Wait, what? No, man, no! I’m Star Lord—” Quill shook his head harder than a soaking wet dog coming out of a hurricane. The confusion that painted his face was as vivid as the red lining his jacket. “The boy from Missouri who got abducted by aliens? Are you kidding me — that’s really what I’m known for here?”
A muffled, hoarse, and downright tickled laugh came from behind the refrigerator.
Tony shot his head in the direction of the sound — not so much confused by the noise as he was the lack of attention given to it. Not even Rhodey seemed to spare a glance from his laptop.
Peter was the only one to get a pass; Tony was fully aware that the kid’s starstruck excitement would likely survive a nuclear holocaust.
“Mr. Stark and I learned all about you when we stopped in Missouri during our road trip!” Peter took a deep breath in — proving Tony right, as always — as his hands went on to move as fast as his words. “There’s this gas station in the town where you grew up, it’s really small and cramped, and the guy who works there is super weird, has these crazy big glasses that took up half his face and he spoke a lot about salt, like the guy had a crazy obsession with salt — but anyway, they have all the bathrooms decked out with all this alien stuff to like, commiserate you or whatever. Somebody even painted your face above the toilet stalls. Your name was on the urinals, dude! You’re totally famous there!”
Peter’s next oxygen-deprived inhale was cut short. A pause abruptly broke his tangent as realization sunk in.
“Who’s Star Lord?”
It was hard to say for sure, what with the actual logistics involved in atmospheric calculations combined with distance to telescopic advancements, but Peter had a gut feeling that Quill’s offense could be seen all the way back up in space.
“Star Lord. Legendary outlaw?” Quill’s eyes grew wider with each passing second. “Guardian of the Galaxy?” The silence only further widened his eyes, now blown wide open with panicked offense. “Saved the galaxy twice?” Quill’s voice started to squeak. “Star Lord, man!”
Peter’s five silent blinks held the pause that followed.
Something rattled loudly from the kitchen — Tony furrowed his brows tighter, refusing to look away from that direction, even if he was still the only one looking there.
Meanwhile, Peter stayed where he was; visibly confused until, like a flip of a switch, he wasn’t.
“Oh — oh, oh!” Peter suddenly sounded, straightening his posture stiff as a board right after. Frantically, he wiped his open palm against the jeans covering his thigh, ensuring complete dryness before outstretching for a handshake. “We’re-we’re using our made up names, then. I’m…I’m Spider-Man.”
As Peter extended his hand towards Quill to shake — who looked down at that hand like it was the intergalactic space alien who suddenly arrived from a whole other planet — Tony rolled his eyes harder than the racket that came from behind the fridge.
“For your sake and mine, I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that.” Tony patted Peter’s shoulder on his way to the kitchen table, aiming for Rhodey’s direction but noticeably taking a detour around the island along the way.
It was only there that Tony finally caught a glimpse of the furry tail swinging wildly from underneath the double door refrigerator.
“HA ha ha HA!”
The sound of gruff, obnoxiously loud laughter was muted from where it sounded, echoing crassly against the kitchen tiles and marble flooring.
Quill shot his head towards it with a crease deepening his brow. “Dude—”
“You got your wish, Quill! You’re famous, alright!” Rocket crawled out from underneath the fridge, yanking off the safety shield that covered his face and tossing it to the side as he wagged his screwdriver in no particular direction. “Famous for being a d’ast idiot on Terra who got kidnapped by a bunch of junker space pirates! HA ha—!”
“I was only abducted by Yondu because my father was trying to—” Quill suddenly stopped talking, taking a deep breath in until his chest puffed out and his shoulders pulled back. Letting a pause break his next words, he finally said, “You know what? I don’t wanna talk about it.”
Quill spun on his heels — literally spun on his heels, popping the collar of his jacket with a flare that almost seemed practiced ahead of time, matching a little too perfectly to the beat of the music that played overhead.
A second later and he craned his head around, the frown tugging on his face a harsh contrast to the energetic tempo and synthesized piano keys of Mr. Blue Sky.
“Urinals?” Quill whined, disappointment noticeably weighing down his voice. “Really, man?”
Peter tried to give a sympathetic smile. Perhaps, if his teenage nerves hadn’t swallowed his lips up whole within the very confines of his mouth, he would’ve done just that.
Meanwhile, it was all Tony could do just to roll his eyes; hard enough that he should’ve very well lost his balance on his way to the kitchen table — not helping matters by throwing frequent backward glances to the refrigerator on his way to Rhodey.
“You owe me, Tones,” Rhodey barely waited for Tony to be in earshot before he spoke, not letting his friend’s distraction of the refrigerator stop him from going on. “I mean it. I mean it with every fiber of my goddamn being. You owe me big time—”
“Add it to my tab,” Tony tossed out, with both his arms thrown carelessly into the air. The noise Rocket made from underneath the fridge clashed irritatingly with the overhead music and surrounding chitchat taking place — Tony raised his voice to be heard. “What do you want me to say? Hm? It’s not my fault Thor’s buddy-buddy with SHIELD, thank Coulson for that — even long gone that man’s rubber stamp holds up. If Thor says they’re good, then—”
“I have to babysit them. Not you, not anyone else. I have to babysit them.” Rhodey’s bite was sharp and fierce, the glare that followed even more-so. The papers laid out on the table were roughly yet neatly pushed away in a show of frustration. “For a week.”
Tony made a ‘tsk’ sound with his jaw, looking to the corner of the room with a harsh bite on his back molars.
“Might be a little longer,” he threw gasoline on the fire, a little too carelessly. “If Thor decides to stay for the after party, and they’re his ride—”
“I’m going to kill you,” Rhodey didn’t hesitate with a threat that Tony briefly contemplated as legit.
“Let me marry Pepper first so she can get my money,” he said nonetheless, his blithely humor only further aggravating Rhodey — so much for making sure that vein didn’t get any bigger.
Rhodey’s jaw unhinged for a retort, but before his voice could be heard —
“You know what?” Quill planted himself firmly in the middle of the lounge as he shouted over the music. “I’m going back to Missouri! Screw it, we’re on Earth, we’re making the trip!” Twisting at the hips, Quill threw a sharp finger in Peter’s direction. “Hey, Spider-Guy, this gas station — I need coordinates, where was it exactly?”
Peter’s brow creased as he looked between Quill and the others. “It’s…it’s Spider-Man.”
“Wait!”
Quill was over that in a nanosecond.
“We’re in New York, right?” Twisting hard again, he stopped just in time to face Gamora. “Oh man, we gotta go to the Statue of Liberty first! Gamora, you gotta see it, you’re gunna love it. Then we’ll go to Missouri — wait!”
Gamora raised her eyebrow. Just in time for Quill to twist in place even harder than the last time, nearly stumbling to the side when he finally came to a dizzyingly stop.
“Is Kevin Bacon still alive?” A CLAP of his hands resounded over the music. “Oh man, we gotta find Kevin Bacon, I absolutely need his autograph while we’re here—”
“You’re not going anywhere!” Rhodey snapped — a little too nonsense for Tony’s liking.
It was his shout that prompted FRIDAY to lower the volume of the music down a tad bit more. She knew trouble in Rhodey’s voice as well as she knew it in Tony’s.
It was just in time for the songs to switch, making Tony realize there was a very distinct theme happening with the music that played. It was the only thing he found to be more odd than the source of the music itself; Tony couldn’t help but wonder why a man all the way from intergalactic space travels had been holding onto one hit wonders from generations back.
There wasn’t much time to chew on the thought. Not with Rhodey’s forehead vein officially past the point of no return.
“You’re not setting one foot outside of this compound.” Rhodey pointed a firm and dangerous finger at them all, even the baby tree — who noticeably frowned at the threat. “If you do go anywhere, it’s with me. You cannot leave my sights, you cannot leave my side — you even think about sneaking away, the US government will make sure you never leave Area 51 so long as you live. That clear enough for you, Space Lord?”
A blanket of silence almost stole the room.
It would’ve, if Mantis hadn’t been continuing to leap across the sofa’s, her excited “Weeee’s!” filling the void of blasting music that had since been turned down to an acceptable level.
Combined with her was Rocket, who continued his tinkering underneath the fridge — something that, once again, earned multiple double takes from Tony. The sounds of cling and clatter kept the tension at bay, combined with stifled chuckles and muttered insults most definitely belonging to the raccoon.
Finally, Quill cleared his throat, giving way to an easy smile as he did.
“It's Star Lord,” he corrected, far too smoothly for the way Rhodey was speaking to him. Whether that was confidence or nativity had yet to be understood. “And hey, you wanna tag along to see the Statue of Liberty with us, that’s cool by me—”
“You make no sense,” Drax spoke up from inside the kitchen, where he stood leaning against the sink — one hand holding a container of hummus, the other hand positively slathered in the same hummus. “How is it possible for liberty to be a statue, if a statue remains frozen and liberty is freedom?”
Sitting on the one and only armchair, Gamora looked away from the almond she sliced in half; craning her head around to face the kitchen behind her.
“That was oddly deep, Drax,” Gamora spoke up, feeling a small rustle on her own leather jacket — far darker in colors than Quill’s — as Groot nodded along to her statement, all while nibbling on his almond from the perch on her shoulder.
Drax dug his hand into the hummus container once more, taking a large tongueful and smacking his lips with growing disgust.
“This food taste like a Jackogel’s piss,” he dryly stated, harshly spitting out the remainder into the sink below him.
Gamora paused, her expression remaining deadpanned as she eventually turned back around.
“Lovely,” she stoically drawled out.
Groot eagerly reached both his hands out for another almond, and yet Gamora seemed to have lost her appetite after that. She set the bag of almonds onto the nearest end table at the chairs side, and paid no mind as Groot carefully climbed down her shoulder to go after the snack.
The bag was nearly as big as he was, but it didn’t stop the little creature from digging inside.
“We have traveled halfway across the quadrant for this?” Drax all but tossed the container of hummus into the sink, causing a mess down below that only managed to splatter upwards and across his chest. He growled in frustration as he furiously wiped it away from his bulging chest muscles. “This is a waste of our time!”
“We came here at Thor’s request,” Gamora slowly, yet firmly, reminded him. “We’re here so he can attend a ceremony — and we all agreed to behave so that would be possible. Remember?”
A bark of laughter sounded from the refrigerator, growing louder as Rocket wiggled himself out from underneath.
“Yeah, sure, you know what I remember, Gamora?”
Rocket climbed off the floor and made his way on top of the kitchen island, standing on his two feet and smacking both paws together to rid them of dirt.
It was only then Tony was free to see what activities had kept the creature so busy. His eyes widened as he caught sight of the wires and metal pieces strewed about.
The underneath of the refrigerator had been completely gutted.
Rocket wasn’t deterred by Tony’s expression of shock. “What I remember is you starting to treat that big barbaric buffoon with kid gloves ever since he had one itsy bitsy existential crisis—”
“Don’t even start, Rocket,” Quill immediately chimed in, his one hand outward from across the lounge. “You know we’ve gone out of our way for you in the past—”
“Yeah, well, I expected that from you!” Rocket quickly retorted, with arms folded tightly over his chest.
Gamora raised an eyebrow as she carefully sheathed her sword, no longer of any use now that her team had so wonderfully ruined her appetite. “You don’t think that’s the least bit selfish?”
“I think it’s tit-for-tat!” Rocket said, removing one paw from his fold to point a long nail at the stairs of the lounge, gesturing towards Thor’s absence. “What tit has this guy given us for a tat!”
Quill wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Dude, that just sounds wrong on so many levels.”
Still standing near the staircase, Peter made his own face — mostly one of confusion. Almost entirely confusion.
Definitely nothing but confusion, especially as Mantis began to do spins in the air with each leap she made across the sofa’s.
Rhodey rubbed so ferociously at his forehead, Tony was almost positive that the pressure against his skull was the only thing keeping that vein from popping out entirely and causing immediate brain death.
And Groot had surrounded himself with almonds from the bag left unattended on the end table, where he happily chomped away, his legs dangling off the edge without a care to the conversation at hand.
“Behave, Rocket,” Gamora insisted, going on to roll her eyes when the obnoxious, “Ha!” followed suit.
“Behave? I’ve done been behaving!” Rocket crassly insisted, throwing his arm in no general direction that meant anything. “But if they’re here to force me into taking one more shower—!”
Drax smacked his hand down on the counter, smearing hummus dip all over the marble top. “You needed that shower, you smelt like a soiled Slakebeast’s groin on hottest side of Elidra—!”
“Are you calling me filthy!? That’s RICH!” Rocket laughed, intentionally laughing harder by the second — earning an aggravated sigh by Gamora and an equally aggravated groan from Rhodey. He stopped almost as quickly as he started. “Quill, can you believe this sack of scaggscutt is calling me filthy—!”
“Wait!” Mantis appeared behind Peter so suddenly, Peter couldn’t help but startle back — with a screech that wasn’t muted in time, though he did try his damnedest to clamp his lips shut the moment it sounded. “You said we cannot leave? So, does this mean we’re not allowed to explore Terra?”
Two black pools of pupils stared at Peter, wide and unblinking, somehow growing deeper with the onyx undertone that shined from the overhead skylights.
Peter gave a timid smile, even as her antennas worked in two different directions; noticeably freaking out despite how hard he tried not to freak out.
“We have a swimming pool here,” Peter offered with a nervous shrug. “It’s kinda cool.”
Though Mantis’ response failed to change from the almost childish disappointment that painted her face, there was still excitement shown in the electric, downright dramatic gasp that sounded from Quill.
“Gamora!” Quill twisted to face the armchair where Gamora sat, who looked entirely unamused by his presence. “We should go swimming!”
Gamora quirked an eyebrow, raising the soft green skin of her forehead. “I’m not going—”
“Oh come on, go swimming with me!” Quill didn’t relent, his voice bordering that of a whine. He bounced his knees hard enough to be jumping without taking his feet off the ground. “We never do anything fun—”
Gamora raised a second eyebrow. “That’s because we’re busy working—”
“We’re not working now!” he insisted, throwing his arm arm out in the general vicinity of the room. “We’re on vacation, right? Everyone’s gotta swim on vacation!”
The sound of running water started up from the kitchen.
“A swimming hole could be quite relaxing right now,” Drax casually chimed in, all while craning his neck over the kitchen sink, opening his mouth wide for the faucet that poured out water.
With a shared sense of curious confusion, both Mantis and Peter watched silently as Drax lapped up water like a thirsty dog, in the most inconvenient way he possibly could.
Peter was almost positive his alien-stunned-trance could’ve lasted all day, but thankfully for him, a squeak of a voice broke him free of his thoughts as it loudly called out from the lounge,
“I am Groot!”
Climbing off the kitchen island, Rocket sat down on the nearest barstool as he crossed both arms over his chest. “Groot says if Drax is going swimming again, someone needs to make sure he wear clothes this time.”
From behind Rocket, Drax stood up tall with a face dripping wet, going on to slam a clenched fist down onto the counter in frustration.
“If I am to relax, I will not be confined by the fabrics of modesty—!”
“Do not go skinny dipping in my pool. Any of you, for that matter,” Tony spoke up with a voice that didn’t yell, yet managed to steal everyone’s attention — angry muscular men included. He used that opportunity to gesture towards the occupants with a lazy twizzle of his index finger. “And while addressing the room, please, refresh my memory. You…people. How exactly do you know Thor, again?”
Drax spoke as he bent over the kitchen sink for a second time, his mouth opening wide to catch running water.
“We have not yet disclosed that information with you to bare repeating.”
Tony watched, deadpanned, as Drax slurped the sink water without a single break for breath. For a brief moment, the primitive sounds he made reached over the music playing throughout the room.
“That was my point,” Tony eventually managed, taking note of the twitch he could feel in his left eye while watching the man lap up mouthful after mouthful of faucet water. He was beginning to understand why Rhodey’s forehead vein had made its startling and tenacious appearance.
Breaking away from the running water, Drax took in a deep inhale, followed curtly by, “Your words have no edge for a point.”
“He is our friend!” Mantis enthusiastically pitched in — saving Tony from a response he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to formulate. Even if given the time.
Quill turned away from Gamora to face Tony, waving his hand hard enough that it eventually got Tony’s attention away from Drax — and what was clearly his attempt to drink every ounce of water that came running from the faucet.
No one seemed eager to tell him the water wasn’t going to stop anytime soon.
“He’s-he’s more like an acquaintance,” Quill insisted, brushing off the subject both with his words and his hand; if his wrist flapped any harder, it would’ve created a breeze.
Gamora easily and casually crossed her legs, all while staring up at Quill with an unblinking, firm stare.
“Peter, he’s been with us for a year, he’s a little more than just an—”
“He’s a close acquaintance, then,” Quill very quickly amended, without once looking back at Gamora.
Tony quirked an eyebrow.
Even Rhodey looked up at that.
Gamora, however, continued to look up at Quill with an expression that managed to say it all, and still remained mysterious at the same time.
“He’s a pain in the ass, is what he is!” Rocket shouted from his stool at the kitchen island, mimicking Quill’s motions as his arms moved all about with his words. “Brooding Biceps hasn’t left us alone for a single cycle, constantly making a ruckus, eating all our flarking food—!”
Gamora craned her head behind her. “He has been traveling with us for a year, Rocket—”
“That ain’t no good reason to be blowing through our rations!” Rocket bit back. “If he touches my grub one more time—!”
Quill cleared his throat. Loudly. And then again, until finally Tony craned his head over in his direction — his expression not hiding his annoyance.
“We know him because we know him,” Quill concisely started, only once having Tony’s full attention. Tony's annoyance visibly grew. “We met him, we got stuck with him. You know how it goes. Say the way.”
Tony made a face that physically hurt.
“You mean c'est la vie?”
“Here’s the real question,” Quill kept going on as if Tony hadn’t said a word. And Tony noticed. “How do you know him? Since when did Earth folk start hanging out with Gods from…Godly dimensions?”
Truly examining the young man for the first time since his arrival to the compound — especially now that he was the cause for the throbbing that pestered behind his eyes — Tony turned further inward to give Quill a good once-over. His vividly colorful jacket matched his personality, the tacky red leather saying more about him than his attitude ever could. And that was saying something, judging both the jacket and his personality.
The music playing overhead was starting to make a lot more sense to Tony. If he listened hard enough, he was almost sure to recognize the 1969 classic ‘Spirit in the sky’ begin to play. It went without saying that the eleven years of Peter Quill's life spent on Earth mattered to him. That, or there wasn't much going on in space.
“You’ve missed a lot in the last few decades, Mr. Lord,” Tony easily replied back, leaning his hip against the table Rhodey continued to work at — who noticeably gave Tony the side-eye when his hip bumped into a bundle of papers. Rhodey laid a firm palm on those papers to keep them in place.
Quill, meanwhile, held his palm out in the air.
“Just…it’s just Star Lord, okay?” he insisted, before using that hand to make empty circles in the air. “And clearly you must be buddy-buddy with the guy — he’s a God from Asgard, and he goes and just drops everything the moment some creepy wizard looking man with a cape tells him he’s invited to your I Do’s? Doesn’t add up. I’m just not buying it.”
Tony furrowed his eyebrows, folding both arms across his chest with eyes narrowed tight.
“You’re telling me Thor’s never mentioned us in any of his stories?” He didn’t hide the incredulity that laced his tone. If anything, Tony exaggerated it.
From over in the kitchen, Rocket bluntly called out, “Man has a lot of stories. Comes with the territory of being a gazillion years old.”
Tony turned to look at Rocket, the face he made only intensifying.
If Rocket noticed, he didn’t care. In fact, when Tony kept staring at him, his response was to give an inflated, almost comical shrug.
From the couches, Gamora uncrossed her legs and leaned forward in her chair, looking up at Quill with a gaze a sharp as her sword.
“Peter, are you…jealous?” she began to ask, with the slightest twitch on the corner of her upper lip. “Of Thor being invited to this man’s wedding?”
If Quill had spun around any faster, he would’ve dislocated his ankle.
“No,” he all but shouted, facing her head-on. “I’m not jealous!”
“I dunno, Quill, sounds like you’re jealous to me,” Rocket insisted, all while freely dangling his legs over the bar stool he sat on.
Quill turned to face the kitchen with a huff. “I am not—!”
“I am Groot!” Chewed up chunks of almond spit in the air with Groot’s indignant cry, followed by a harsh cough as the dryness of the nuts got caught in his throat.
Quill didn’t hide his exasperation the third time he spun around. “No, I didn’t—!”
“I am Groot!”
Quill froze, his face hardening.
“That is totally misconstruing what I said—!”
“Listen, Star Lord,” Tony hastily, and almost eagerly, interrupted what he was sure would be juvenile squabble without an end in sight. He gestured his hand Quill’s way, motioned as casually as he possibly could. “You’ve said you saved the galaxy a few times — we’ve done the same for Earth folk over on this side of the cosmos. The Avengers? New York, circa 2012? Ultron, Sokovia? Sure it doesn’t ring a bell?”
Quill raised an eyebrow, so high up it could’ve returned to the very space he came from.
From the stairway, Mantis chewed on her bottom lip, thoughtfully, as she raised a single finger in the air.
“Was that before, or after, the ancient Muspelheim Battle that Thor fought in?” she asked, almost timidly. An excited smile immediately planted across her face as she all but gasped, “Wait! Were you apart of the Great Genitalia Wars as well?”
Tony threw her a look.
What that look said — well, not even he knew.
It was during that time Quill perceived Tony in his own way, no different than the other man had done before him. A once over became a twice over, quickly becoming a quadruple over, as he gave Tony a curious look with thoughts that he wouldn’t vocalize, only ever think to himself.
The moment passed no sooner than it came, and with that, he spun back around — facing the green-skinned woman with a grin wider than what his face should’ve been capable of giving.
Gamora arched an eyebrow, and said nothing.
Until,
“I am not going swimming.”
The only thing that kept her response from lingering was the music playing from the stereos embedded into the very ceiling tiles, changing songs before Quill could even open his mouth for a rebuttal.
It took no more than the first few beats, enough time for a blink or two, for Quill to recognize the song. With that recognition, his face lit up brighter than the surface of the sun.
“Then dance with me!” Quill couldn’t have seem more pure-hearted than he did in that moment, the smile that stretched his lips wide highlighting the dirty blonde hairs that filled his mustache. He reached down with both hands out for Gamora, only to be slapped away.
“I am not dancing with you,” Gamora insisted, her tone harsh and uncompromising, and yet the smirk that tugged ever so slightly at her mouth betraying her voice.
Quill didn’t relent. He reached down again, with both hands as he did before.
“C’mon,” he coaxed her with a voice that swayed at the edge. “It’s our song! You gotta dance with me!”
The voice singing lyrics from decades passed filled the room with a buttery smoothness, robbing the silence from touching any empty corner, regardless of the lull of conversation.
It also stole Gamora’s soft huff, far too tame to be what she presented herself to be — allowing Quill to take both her hands, and only resisting slightly when he pulled her off the chair and to her feet.
♫ 'Cause, baby
there ain't no mountain high enough ♫
Ain't no valley ♫
♫ low enough
Gamora bit back an exasperated sigh. “Peter—”
“Shake off the stress, shed that tension —” Quill pulled Gamora right off the armchair, squeezing both her hands in his along the way. “C’mon, look at all this space, we have so much room! You, me — we’re dancing, baby girl.”
“Do not call me that.” Gamora rolled her eyes, scoffed, even groaned in frustration as Quill grabbed her at the waist and all but dragged her close to his body. And yet the moment she was there, her grip on his hand relaxed by tenfold, and she allowed herself to rest against his body with far less resistance than before. “I’m not a baby, nor am I a girl.”
♫ 'If you ever need a helping hand
I'll be there on the double ♫
Just as fast as I can ♫
Their feet moved in opposite directions, dancing around one another as their bodies swayed to the beat of the music.
“You have made us look like fools in front of these people,” Gamora pulled away when she spoke, her body still moving to the melody of the music, but her gaze locked straight onto Quill’s.
He wasn’t intimidated by her. And he made sure to let that show; the stare he kept on her equally as unrelenting, but with a softness that matched the harmony from above.
“Fools in love,” Quill said, with a free and easy grin to follow suit.
If Gamora found herself smiling when she pressed her head into Quill’s chest, not an occupant in the room was fast enough to catch sight of it.
The poetic lyrics sung a tune of vintage love from long ago, and yet somehow it found its way to the present; looking no different than the time it originated from.
That same music nearly hid the sounds of footsteps climbing up the stairs, two different pairs of feet falling in sync with the beat from above.
“Hey, I know this song.”
Only one voice could be so bold without yelling.
Steve rounded the corner leading up to the lounge, with Sam on his six just one step behind.
“Yeah, thanks to me.” Sam gave a breezy chuckle and a friendly slap across Steve’s back, making a straight beeline for the kitchen right after — he would’ve arrived there much sooner if the look he gave the animal sitting on a barstool hadn’t slowed down his pace considerably.
As Steve aimed for that direction as well, he also fell back a few steps, passing by the couple dancing almost playfully in the middle of the lounge.
“Marvin Gaye, right?” Steve pointed a casual finger towards Quill, who nodded back with an easy going, good-natured grin.
“Yes, Captain, sir, Captain!” Quill gave a sloppy salute with the arm not wrapped around Gamora’s waist, careful to keep his dance partner close to him — it didn’t matter, she pulled away hard enough to remove his grip entirely.
“You are an embarrassment.” Gamora looked him dead in the eyes as she spoke, with a tone as flat as the ground they stood on.
Despite it, Quill smiled at her. “And yet you still hang around me.”
It took no effort at all for Quill to scoop Gamora back into his hold, and no different than the last time, she scoffed and rolled her eyes along the way.
Ultimately, their bodies resumed a rhythmic sway to the soft words being sung from above. Combined with the upbeat music, it was hard to deny the vitality of the moment.
“You scut rugs actually listen to this noise!?” Rocket did just that, twisting around on the barstool to watch as the two newcomers rummaged through the fridge — Sam reached inside for the items, barely looking over his shoulder as he passed them behind for Steve to take. “I thought it was exclusive to morons like Quill!”
Quill purposefully swung Gamora around in the opposite direction, the sudden twist ensuring he was looking Rocket head-on when he shouted, “You love it!”
The song played with crystal clear clarity through the speakers lining the walls, the timeless and classic tune filling the room with a slight, upbeat spark to the air.
Rocket rolled his eyes, his mouth twisting to the side with a mumbled, “It ain’t awful.”
“I am Groot!”
On the end table where Groot sat, his outburst knocked down a few almonds to the floor. The tiny creature failed to notice or care; the twigs that were his arms crossing so tightly over his chest, it was a wonder they didn’t snap and break.
Rocket brazenly shook his head. “No, his Zune went missing, remember? I didn’t take jack from his room—!”
“I am Groot!”
The argument between animal and tree continued on, but the music playing overhead drowned out the sound of their bickering, pairing well with the soft footfalls of the two individuals dancing in the lounge.
Beers in hand, Steve approached Rhodey and Tony at the kitchen table, the two never once acknowledging him as they stayed glued on the scene up ahead. After all, it wasn't an every day event to watch aliens overtake what had essentially become their personal domain.
“I think the fridge is broken, fella’s.” Steve twisted off the beer cap with just the palm of his hand, the sizzle of carbonation sounding beneath his grip as streams of liquid dripped down the bottle. “Brew’s are a little warm.”
Just like that, Tony snapped his head over towards Steve — he was at serious risk of paralyzing himself one of these days if he kept that up.
Steve met his gaze with genuine confusion, twisting off the cap to another beer that he casually handed off to Rhodey.
“What?” he asked, waiting until Rhodey took the one bottle before he carefully extended the second bottle out for Tony to take.
He took it, but not without proceeding to give the most bewildered, befuddled, absolutely baffled expression his facial muscles could possibly conjure up.
“Did SHIELD know about aliens before Roswell 1947?” Tony used the bottle to talk along with his hand. The foam continued to drizzle down the sides, his movements causing tiny drops of beer to wind up on some of Rhodey’s paperwork. “That’s the only explanation I can think of to why you’re so chill about this — and yes, I’m going to take advantage of the pun, because really, it’d be criminal if I didn’t.”
Tony finished that sentence with a large gulp of Barton’s craft beer, the type he’d bring back from Iowa almost specifically for Rhodey — who was already halfway done with his bottle, though it was hard to tell if that was because of taste, or need.
Steve chuckled, twisting off the cap of the third and final beer bottle. “Let’s just say that when you wake up nearly seventy years into the future, things surprise you less often.”
Tony wanted to argue that.
Really, he did.
But God, had his life gotten so weird lately. All he had to do was think about special Wakandian herbs, and bam — he was on his own realm of ultra special weird. The type that involved resurrection of the dead, for crying out loud. Something Tony hoped would be the limit to how downright weird his life had gotten.
Watching Steve observe the dancing couple in the lounge, Tony figured the man had an advantage of his life always being weird. This may as well be another drop in the bucket for him.
A loud burp sounded from beside them.
“This shit’s just weird,” Rhodey mumbled, followed suit by the harsh clacking of his keyboard. His eyes focused intently on the screen, making the tension show clear as day with the bulging vein on his forehead.
Looking over that way, Steve hesitated on taking his first sip of beer. The bottle neared his mouth, but his lips never touched down on the glass.
Rather, he watched as Rhodey worked tirelessly on his laptop, with the papers surrounding him making for easy cross-reference. The OsCorp case had been keeping him on edge lately, and the stress showed now more than ever.
Reaching over, Steve slowly but surely closed the screen of his laptop.
“Give yourself a break from all that, Rhodey.” Steve met his frustrated stare with a patient gaze, his palm laying gently across the laptop to keep it closed — all five fingers spread as wide as his smile. “Captain’s orders.”
Though Rhodey’s initial response was to be downright indignant, the look Steve wore cut through his frustration like a hot knife to butter. Maybe it was the Marvin Gaye playing from overhead, or perhaps it was as simple as the carefree smile Steve was giving him — so foreign as of late, it felt as sacred as the bald eagle itself.
Rhodey relented, with a sigh he decided didn’t need to come out. Lifting his drink and signaling for Steve to do the same, they clanked the bottles against one another with a noise barely heard over the music, and drank no sooner after.
It was right at the time Steve finished his swig, and equal the same time the song changed over, that he felt a new presence approach his side.
“To be honest though, the tree’s still a little strange,” Steve admitted, handing off his beer bottle to Bucky without a second thought, or a single word spoken about it.
Bucky took the bottle, only because decades of experience taught him it was useless to keep Steve from giving to others what he needed himself. He took three large gulps before making his way to the refrigerator — not a single word spoken about it.
“It’s the raccoon for me,” Tony mentioned from off to the side, pursing his lips tightly together as he studied the creature sitting at the kitchen island.
“I ain’t no raccoon!” Rocket yelled back at them, immediately forgoing his disagreement with the tree to give the men his full attention. “Say it one more time and I’ll put a C4 Krytillian Kill Switch right up your —!”
“What are you, then?” Bucky returned with both his question and a fresh beer bottle for Steve, in the middle of uncapping it with his metal arm when he spoke. The gold and black glimmered underneath the skylights, with a ray of afternoon sun creating a glare as he handed the bottle off to his friend.
Steve took it with a sheepish, grateful smile and a silent thank you.
“I’m me, that’s who I am!” Rocket all but slammed two fists against his chest. “And Groot’s Groot, Gamora’s Gamora, Drax is flarkin’ Drax—!”
“Ceiling lady, turn up the music!” Quill twisted and turned with Gamora, much to her discontent now that the music had changed — her scowl was more genuine now than ever before. “Make it so I don’t have to hearing that annoying raccoon rattle off our names!”
Rocket jumped off the barstool. “Why you—!”
“Well, I’m going to make some brunch,” Sam practically shouted — purposefully, going so far as to slam down a jug of orange juice and package of bacon on the counter to add to the noise. “If you guys eat that sort of thing.”
It seemed to be the magic words that needed to be said all along. Rocket crawled on all floor to hop back onto the kitchen island, eager as could be when he jumped up on the counter-top.
“What’s brunch? Is that food? Where the flark do you Terrans even keep your food!”
Tony could officially feel his own vein begin to pulsate on his forehead. The painful kind, the this-is-how-an-aneurysm-feels kind.
Without ample, he gestured his beer bottle up ahead. “In that big rectangle thing you just disassembled!”
At first, Rocket seemed confused. Almost as if he didn’t know where to locate said big rectangle thing Tony spoke of.
When he realized the correlation, a smirk tugged at his lips. Rocket jumped down from the counter, passing by Drax — still drinking from the faucet — to make his way to the fridge, all in five large leaps.
Throwing the double doors open, Rocket could practically see his pupils grow large in the reflection of many glass bottles lining the fridge, surrounded by a surplus of food that his eyes couldn’t keep track of.
“Oh, now that…” Rocket drawled out with a grin, “that I can do with.”
The raccoon rummaging through the refrigerator didn’t appear to concern Steve, who watched almost nonchalantly as the animal tossed out various items from inside, much to Sam’s aggravation.
“You do know you’re guests here, right?” Sam’s indignance failed to bother Rocket, who was already three shelves deep into the fridge — literally sitting on the shelves that were inside, gathering all he could in the fold of his arms before making a hasty retreat.
Rhodey finished his bottle with another loud burp, and didn’t hesitate to go fetch another.
It was while watching Rhodey venture to the broken refrigerator that Steve caught sight of Peter in the lounge, sitting on one of the three cushioned sofa’s — leaving the cushions available for anyone who wanted them, as he sat crossed-legged on the top back of the sofa itself.
Gawking wouldn’t have been a strong enough word to describe Peter’s current reaction to their guests. For a moment, Steve had to remind himself to be the adult when a laugh nearly escaped the threshold of his lips — it was hard not to break at the wholesomeness of the younger hero’s innocence.
“Peter,” Steve started with a smile, “don’t you have homework to be doing?”
It would’ve been physically impossible for Peter to snap his head over at Steve any faster than he did. His jaw unhinged down to the first floor of the compound.
“Aliens, Steve!” Peter couldn’t even find it in him to be frustrated that his voice squeaked. He kept going, with his arm outstretched wide. “You can’t say no to this, this is literally the coolest thing to ever happen to me!”
Peter was in the middle of his defense, puberty in his voice and all, when additional pairs of feet came climbing up the steps. They were already up the full flight of stairs by the time anybody realized their presence.
“Remember when he was that excited to be around us?” Clint called out before even reaching the top of the staircase. His hand glided up the banister the whole way there. “You save the kid’s ass a few times and suddenly you’re a whole bunch of nobody’s.”
There were additional feet behind Clint; additional people making their way up that Peter could hear. But he preoccupied himself with the archer right off the bat, having been the first of three to make the entrance, and the first to pass Peter by.
“Dude — that’s not fair!” Peter called out, twisting at the hips while remaining cross-legged on the back of the sofa. A laugh bubbled from his chest when Clint pretended in great exaggeration to ignore him. “I didn’t mean — Clint, c’mom!”
A hand touched down on his shoulder before his spider-sense could even warn him.
When Peter twisted back around and found himself face-to-face with Natasha, he suddenly understood why that was.
Damn, she was always so sneaky.
“It’s a good thing, pauk-rebenok,” Natasha smiled in her words, looking down at Peter with a single brow arched high. “It means you’ve finally settled.”
Peter went to say something — in hindsight, he had no idea what he planned to say, and was sure it would’ve been lowkey embarrassing if he did say it.
Thankfully, and not so thankfully for him, Natasha stepped aside before he could speak.
“Peter, I’d like you to meet Thor.” Natasha opened a window of space that wasn’t there before, now barely visible in Peter’s line of sight as she gave way for the Asgardian. “Thor, this is Peter.”
Introductions weren’t needed. Peter was pretty sure he could be blind and still somehow know the man who just walked up to him was Thor Odinson, Asgardian God of Thunder.
Thor Odinson.
Asgardian God of Thunder.
In front of him.
Peter.
Peter Parker.
“Uh…” Peter swallowed, hard — then harder, suddenly unable to work his vocal cords past whatever nasally hum it began to produce. “Uh — uh…”
Thor’s beard may have been thick and stocky — full of luscious, honey wheat blonde hair — but it didn’t do anything to hide his grin, reaching so far up to his ears that it nearly got lost in the long locks varnishing his head.
“Ah, yes, you are the man of spider’s!” Thor’s voice easily bellowed over any other noise in the room, people and music included, as he motioned his hand at Peter. “Much smaller than I pictured you, even for a Migardian.” A frown suddenly took his voice, as he looked Peter up and down. “Far less, uh…legs. And arms. And eyes.”
Peter nearly fell flat to his butt jumping off the couch. If not for his sticky hands clinging to the back of the sofa, he would've done just that.
Suddenly, he couldn't wet a throat parched painfully with nerves, no matter how many times he swallowed. Peter didn't think it was possible to ever speak again — not while looking at biceps more massive than Popeye on steroid's.
“I-I-I-I have…I have two. Of each,” Peter violently stammered on, suddenly unsure of where he should be looking at when looking at Thor. He kept coming back to the biceps. “You know, two…two legs. Two arms. Two, uh, two eyes.”
His answer only seemed to confuse the God of Thunder even more.
Peter took a deep breath in, wiped his palm dry until it felt raw against his jeans, and extended his hand out to the man way bigger than he was.
“I’m-I’m-I’m Spider-Man.” Peter gulped, immediately noticing his hand was shaking as he waited for Thor to take it. He tried to shake the nerves away, but shaking the shakes only seemed to make things worse. “Uh, Peter. Peter Spider…Man.”
Watching from the kitchen table, Tony rolled his eyes hard enough to see the back of his skull.
“Somebody make him sit down before he faints,” he called out, with a swig of beer to follow.
Rhodey returned to the kitchen table with three more beers. No one, not Steve, Tony or Bucky, reached for the additional beers he brought with him — they all had a good feeling they weren’t for them.
“Oh, c’mon!” Quill’s voice was the one that shouted from the center of the lounge, having broken away from his dance partner to approach the far-more-muscular man and the boy standing across from him. Judging by the way his hands gestured about, Quill wasn’t happy. “What’s the big deal with this guy! So he’s a little toned, somewhat decent looking, has like…all mighty God power—”
“You are jealous.” Drax slammed the jug of orange juice on the counter — now empty, with an orange tinted mustache covering his upper lip.
Quill made a face as he turned to look at Drax. “I’m not jealous!”
Drax wiped away his juice mustache with the back of his hand. “Of course you’re jealous — this man is a God, what’s there not to envy over? I have no doubt he pleases women in ways you could never dare to dream of.”
“Bro —!” Quill huffed, hard enough to puff his chest out in exaggerated ways. “Why you gotta stoop low like that?”
Drax already had his back turned to Quill, looking through the fridge for anything else he could consume; again, much to Sam’s frustration.
“I have no idea what you speak of,” Drax plainly stated, head-first into the fridge. “I’m standing at the same height as I always do —”
Quill groaned loud enough to vibrate the walls. “Oh, knock it off, man!”
Across the room and most importantly, across from the fussing mayhem, the men of the group watched on with differing expressions.
“What the hell is happening right now?” Bucky couldn’t help but ask, his tone dry enough to sound apathetic, but the arch in his eyebrow speaking of his curiosity as much as Peter’s armpit sweat spoke to his awkward nerves.
Natasha joined the other men with a beer bottle of her own, using her belt buckle to pop the cap as she settled her backside against the nearest wall.
“I honestly have no idea,” Natasha took a sip of her beer, but not before saying, “and I’m not sure I want to find out.”
The fussing from the lounge continued on, but the music kept on as well, playing over the bickering voices and adding to the chaotic atmosphere.
On top of that, pots and pans began to sound from the kitchen as both Sam and Clint prepared to cook the food that would most certainly spoil soon, thanks to the dismantling of their kitchen appliances at the hands of literal raccoon paws.
Bucky shook his head free of the thought, going for a swig of his beer only to stop halfway there.
“They do say ignorance is bliss…” Bucky looked over at Natasha, gesturing his bottle out towards her shortly after. “Don’t know ‘bout you, but I could use a little bit of that in my life.”
A pause briefly stole Natasha’s response. She looked to the bottle Bucky directed her way, before reaching out towards it — clanking the glass of her bottle against his.
“Cheers to that.”
Their swigs fell in sync, though neither noticed it in the moment.
Up ahead of them, they watched as Thor placed both his hands on Peter’s shoulder, rocking his body with an almost robust excitement; it was a feat he didn’t knock Peter right off his feet.
“I’ve heard quite a few tales of your adventures with my friends.” Thor’s voice easily reached over the music, with every word he boisterously spoke coming from deep within his chest. “A boy as heroic as you deserves a place at the feasts table!”
Peter nodded.
And nodded.
And nodded.
“T-thanks?” he finally squeaked out, far too high-pitched for his comfort. He immediately cleared his throat with panic desperation before trying again. “Thanks. Thanks, that’s…that’s cool.”
Thor smiled at him, teeth and all.
Peter couldn’t feel his lips.
“Today, we celebrate!” Thor announced loud enough to rattle the foundation of the room, turning around with enough gusto that the cape firmly attached to his shoulders briefly fluttered in the air. He threw both arms wide open, the muscles of his biceps catching the skylights in ways that didn’t appear humanly possible. “Gather the Vision, the heartiest drinks in the land, and we will revel in celebration and camaraderie! My friends! It's good to be back!”
With eyes wider than his jaw was unhinged, Peter watched completely starstruck as Thor made his way to the other adult men in the room — immediately slapping Steve on the back so hard, it was a wonder the Captain didn’t become crippled in that very moment.
Now, Peter couldn’t feel most of his face. But he knew that, without a doubt, he was grinning like a buffoon.
It was official. All the other days before this were just preparation.
This, this was the greatest day of his life.
“Oh! I got just the song for this!”
Quill’s voice shouted over the roar of laughter from Thor across the lounge. He was already messing with the small device nestled in the pocket of his leather jacket, whipping it out in a heartbeat as his thumb pushed buttons that coincided with the changing music from overhead.
It skipped five songs before landing on the beat that flowed through the speakers.
▶• lıllılı.ıllı.ılılıılıı.lllııılı. Now Playing [Hooked On A Feeling] 0:21 ———♡——— 2:47 ◁◁ ▐ ▌ ▷▷
♫ I can't stop this feeling
deep inside of me ♫
As Quill proceeded to use the space of the lounge for dance moves that seemed far more foreign than they did relevant, the others moved about in their own ways — conversations came from all corners of the room, filled with light-hearted laughter only overtaken by the sound of sizzling bacon and slamming kitchen cabinets, with the occasional rattling pot or pan.
On her way to help Sam with his cooking in the kitchen, Natasha came to a noticeable stop near the singular armchair — now empty as its occupant had joined the others for food.
She craned her head to the side, unblinking as she stared at the tiny creature sitting on the end table. It appeared to have its own stock of food, surrounded by a mountain of nuts that he eagerly chomped down on, all while his head bobbed along happily to the sound of music.
Natasha narrowed her eyes. “Are those my almonds?”
Quickly looking up at the red-haired woman, Groot swallowed down the mouthful of almonds that he only partially chewed — forcing him to gulp hard, rattling the tree bark that was the skin of his throat.
Looking down at the almonds surrounding him, the tiny tree immediately reached for a single nut, picking it off the end table and extending his arms out straight ahead.
“I am Groot.”
Natasha raised an eyebrow.
Wordlessly, she took the almond from Groot.