Peter looks betwee the two of them for a second, letting his curiosity hang silently in the air, before turning back to his conversation. He says, ] That’s a no-go on the moon. Can you make it to Earth, maybe?
[ Another exchange, and the woman’s voice gives way to a gruff, masculine one. Peter offers a quiet noise of agreement, turning again. ]
You have any coordinates for a safe landing spot down here, or is Earth off limits, too?
[ He cuts himself off, eyes wandering sightlessly as he thinks. Back to the comm he goes, speaking with the person with the gruff voice. At length, he gives a noise of assent. ]
They can jury rig something, scramble the signal and give themselves a smaller signature. No cloaking or anything, but they can at least make it so they’re harder to spot on radar.
[ Again, McCree and Winston share a very long look. At length, Winston nods. ]
Give us a few t'set somethin' up. Pullin' you outa that crater was a big enough risk on it's own, but lettin' a spaceship just up n' land is gonna be a delicate operation.
You realize they were gonna land when they came to pick me up, right?
[ He huffs out a breath before informing his team to maintain their holding pattern until further notice. They seem to agree, or at least not put up too much of a fight – thankfully, the damage they sustained isn't too dire – and Peter turns back to McCree and Winston. ]
That's them pickin' you up. This is us invitin' them to our door, and we're not supposed to exists, remember?
[ He glances over at Winston ] C'mon big guy, I know you got an idea already.
[ Winston does, and thankfully it turns out to be pretty simple. Their resident pilot, Lena (call-sign Tracer), just has to call in a couple of favors to get clearance for a training exercise over a defunct naval base somewhere in the Atlantic. It means a boat ride for Peter, with McCree, Winston, and Angela tagging along, but that also puts Lena and a couple of drones in the sky to run interference. If the ship gets picked up, hopefully they'll either think it's part of whatever Lena is doing, or ask Lea to investigate.
If that fails, well, they'll deal with it. Better to beg forgiveness than ask permission. ]
[ It takes a little longer than Peter likes, but when they finally get their clearance, Peter forwards the coordinates along, tells them to give it at least a few hours before they finally move to break atmo.
After arriving at the naval base, they give the go-ahead for the Milano to land. Not too long after, Peter spots the glowing streak of orange and blue wreathed in flame as they break through the atmosphere. As good as his word, Rocket has rendered the ship as little more than a blip on the radar, some funny little quirk, there and gone again.
The ship slows as it makes its approach, and Peter frowns as it nears. Even from this distance, he can see the damaged wings, the dented metal, the missing paint, and he scowls as he thinks, What the hell did they do to my ship? When it lands, the ship creaks and groans, the heated metal settling and shifting.
There's another stretch of silence, and Peter breaks it by rushing forward. The airlock opens, revealing a hulking man with gray skin and red tattoos. Peter grins and offers a companionable pat on the back along with reassurances that everything was fine, that these guys weren't super likely to kill them, and that it'd probably be fine.
(As one can imagine, it was not as reassuring as one would like, but it was about as reassuring as any of them were used to.)
Eventually the other members of his team file out warily – a woman with green skin, a bipedal and sentient raccoon, and a small little wooden creature perched on the shoulder of the gray man. Peter takes a moment to assess all of them for damage, and when he at last seems satisfied that none of them were missing any limbs, he at last brings them over. ]
So.
[ He clears his throat, and gestures to each person. ]
Gamora, Rocket, Drax, and Groot. Meet McCree, Winston, and Dr. Zeigler.
[ There's a bit of an awkward pause – thankfully, their own translators successfully allow them to understand McCree. Rocket crosses his arms, muttering something, while Gamora looks over the assembled team, wariness in her eyes.
Peter pulls them aside again, offers more reassurances, and when they seem mostly satisfied, Peter returns. ]
Their mods have patched up most of the physical damage, so they don't need a doc, but Rocket's gonna put together a list for what he needs.
He, uh. He can be kinda particular, so. Sorry in advance.
[ Peter turns back to the ship, surveying the cosmetic damage, while the team silently sizes up the members of Overwatch. Not that he can blame them; he’d spent a lot of his own time doing the same. ]
A few days, at best. A week or two, at most. You think your folks can put us up for that long?
Don’t see why not. The facilities here are still in workin’ order, just haven’t been used in a while. A few of us’ll probably hang around until you’re good to go, just in case someone comes sniffin’ around who ain’t supposed to.
[ He grins a little. ] Hate to break it to ya, Star-Lord, but you’re stuck with me for a while longer yet.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Peter looks betwee the two of them for a second, letting his curiosity hang silently in the air, before turning back to his conversation. He says, ] That’s a no-go on the moon. Can you make it to Earth, maybe?
[ Another exchange, and the woman’s voice gives way to a gruff, masculine one. Peter offers a quiet noise of agreement, turning again. ]
You have any coordinates for a safe landing spot down here, or is Earth off limits, too?
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They got stealth capabilities?
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Not so much, no, but we could probably—
[ He cuts himself off, eyes wandering sightlessly as he thinks. Back to the comm he goes, speaking with the person with the gruff voice. At length, he gives a noise of assent. ]
They can jury rig something, scramble the signal and give themselves a smaller signature. No cloaking or anything, but they can at least make it so they’re harder to spot on radar.
no subject
Give us a few t'set somethin' up. Pullin' you outa that crater was a big enough risk on it's own, but lettin' a spaceship just up n' land is gonna be a delicate operation.
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You realize they were gonna land when they came to pick me up, right?
[ He huffs out a breath before informing his team to maintain their holding pattern until further notice. They seem to agree, or at least not put up too much of a fight – thankfully, the damage they sustained isn't too dire – and Peter turns back to McCree and Winston. ]
So? What's the plan?
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[ He glances over at Winston ] C'mon big guy, I know you got an idea already.
[ Winston does, and thankfully it turns out to be pretty simple. Their resident pilot, Lena (call-sign Tracer), just has to call in a couple of favors to get clearance for a training exercise over a defunct naval base somewhere in the Atlantic. It means a boat ride for Peter, with McCree, Winston, and Angela tagging along, but that also puts Lena and a couple of drones in the sky to run interference. If the ship gets picked up, hopefully they'll either think it's part of whatever Lena is doing, or ask Lea to investigate.
If that fails, well, they'll deal with it. Better to beg forgiveness than ask permission. ]
no subject
After arriving at the naval base, they give the go-ahead for the Milano to land. Not too long after, Peter spots the glowing streak of orange and blue wreathed in flame as they break through the atmosphere. As good as his word, Rocket has rendered the ship as little more than a blip on the radar, some funny little quirk, there and gone again.
The ship slows as it makes its approach, and Peter frowns as it nears. Even from this distance, he can see the damaged wings, the dented metal, the missing paint, and he scowls as he thinks, What the hell did they do to my ship? When it lands, the ship creaks and groans, the heated metal settling and shifting.
There's another stretch of silence, and Peter breaks it by rushing forward. The airlock opens, revealing a hulking man with gray skin and red tattoos. Peter grins and offers a companionable pat on the back along with reassurances that everything was fine, that these guys weren't super likely to kill them, and that it'd probably be fine.
(As one can imagine, it was not as reassuring as one would like, but it was about as reassuring as any of them were used to.)
Eventually the other members of his team file out warily – a woman with green skin, a bipedal and sentient raccoon, and a small little wooden creature perched on the shoulder of the gray man. Peter takes a moment to assess all of them for damage, and when he at last seems satisfied that none of them were missing any limbs, he at last brings them over. ]
So.
[ He clears his throat, and gestures to each person. ]
Gamora, Rocket, Drax, and Groot. Meet McCree, Winston, and Dr. Zeigler.
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His second thought is holy shit these are actual aliens.
At least he's unflappable enough not to outright gape, and tilts his hat to the group. ]
Pleasure. Winston here'll get ya set up with supplies ya might need, and the doc's here in case ya need healin'. I'm just here ta look pretty.
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Peter pulls them aside again, offers more reassurances, and when they seem mostly satisfied, Peter returns. ]
Their mods have patched up most of the physical damage, so they don't need a doc, but Rocket's gonna put together a list for what he needs.
He, uh. He can be kinda particular, so. Sorry in advance.
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Wish we could do somethin' about the language barrier, though.
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I can act as go-between for now. I don't expect we'll be spending a long enough time here for you folks to whip together some universal translators.
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Also, you neglected ta tell me that you had a raccoon on your team.
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Rocket's just Rocket. Nothing more, nothing less.
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How long do ya reckon repairs'll take?
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A few days, at best. A week or two, at most. You think your folks can put us up for that long?
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[ He grins a little. ] Hate to break it to ya, Star-Lord, but you’re stuck with me for a while longer yet.
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