[ He parrots back in a mocking voice, ] "I'm not gonna puke," she said, right before she tossed her cookies all over the deck.
[ He should probably let her up onto the main deck to the bathroom just in case she really does puke. That would be the smart thing to do. Except bringing her up there might garner attention, and Peter isn't exactly sure how to explain this whole fucking thing to the others yet.
"Hey, guys. Don't panic, but this random ass lady who can deadlift twice her body weight kind of just appeared on our ship, but she's cool, because she's from my neck of the woods and hasn't snapped me in half yet."
That will go over well.
His eyes flick up to the hatchway, then back to the woman, his jaw clenching. Then, ]
[ she gives him a skeptical look, like she's not entirely sure if he's going to try something or not, but the nausea is making decisions for her right now.
she takes a tentative seat on one of the nearby boxes, forcing herself to breathe out slowly before letting her head rest between her knees. ]
Fuck.
[ get it together, jones. jesus christ. this is not the time for this crap.
she takes a few deep breaths, then looks up at peter again. ]
[ Traveling to and from Earth was difficult – something Peter discovered when he was younger and still entertained thoughts of returning home. Now, it's just as difficult, made no easier by Peter's heartfelt desire to avoid returning home.
A pause, and he adds, ]
And before you even ask, we are not a taxi service.
the apparent distance from home, the fact that she's obviously not going to be able to understand anyone other than this dude (and maybe someone else who speaks english?), and the splitting headache is all combining to be a whole lot of awful.
what a fantastic day. ]
Then I'm really open to suggestions for how the fuck I get home.
[ because staying out in space? that's not at the top of her current bucketlist. ]
You really have no idea how you got here? [ And even though he asks it, his tone is a little resigned – like he already knows the answer. ] You didn't jump into any strange light beams or teleportation devices? Like, a scientist in a bar didn't break a guy's wrist in an arm wrestling contest and invite you to try his telepod or anything?
[ no crazy scientists, no beams of light or teleporters. ]
All I know is that I was on earth, and then I woke up here. That's it.
[ which makes it even more frustrating and confusing. if she'd at least had some sort of weird run-in with a bad guy, maybe more of those aliens that nearly destroyed new york, then at least that would make sense. she'd have something to go off of and not just, "i passed out and suddenly was in space."
unhelpful.
and now she's lightyears away from home with no feasible way of getting back. ]
Fuck.
[ with a frustrated groan, her head falls back between her knees so she can just stare at the floor, her fingers pressed against her temple. ]
[ He echoes it back with a lot less vehemence, but just as much frustration. He scrubs at his brow, staring at the bulkhead as if the dent there might yield some inspiration. (Briefly, he wonders where the hell that dent even came from, then he figures it probably came from one of the sparring sessions Drax and Gamora hold down here from time to time.)
After a while, he lets out an explosive sigh, his body sagging with it. He shakes his head. ]
If I bring you up to the main deck, do you promise not to flip your shit?
[ this is definitely one of those times that jess's general straight-faced, give-no-fucks attitude will come in handy. (even if being up close and personal with aliens is going to be weird as hell; at least these ones aren't trying to take over earth?)
she braces her hands on her knees, then pushes herself up to stand. she needs a second to banish all the dizziness, but she feels fine enough (plus the headache), so she likes to think she's past the "probably gonna puke" phase. ]
[ He still doesn't encroach on her personal space – her demonstration with the crate, at least, was effective enough to convince him she could snap his neck with a sneeze. ]
[ jess manages to follow behind him (keeping her distance), and she stops when peter does, cocking an eyebrow at him. ]
Pretty sure I'm not gonna fall on my ass.
[ the unsteadiness is passing, even if the headache hasn't started to let up.
maybe actual sleep that didn't leave her in space would do her some good (but also, maybe this is just a super shitty dream. wouldn't that be great?). ]
[ He gives her a quick once over, as if assessing how likely it is she’ll teeter right off the ladder, but he seems mostly convinced by her argument. He turns again, climbing the ladder, and over his shoulder, he offers, ]
I’m Peter Quill, by the way. Star-Lord to most folks.
[ “Most folks” being “no one,” but it’s nice to dream. ]
[ It's not the worst thing he's heard about his call-sign – it's also patently not true, because Star-Lord would be an awesome superhero name – and he lets it slide.
The main deck is something of a mess, the dogfight having dislodged more than a few of their belongings, various devices and knives and mechanical parts strewn across the deck. Peter makes a frustrated noise as he scoops up his blasters, fallen from the table, and hooks them into his holsters.
Peter moves to climb the next ladder to the cockpit, but he pauses at the foot, holding out a hand. ]
Just— stay here a sec. I need to break the news to them that we've got, um. [ A stowaway. An intruder. Some random-ass woman who could probably bench press a train. ] ... A guest.
[ jessica pulls herself up onto the main deck, glancing around and making note of the knives, the weird little objects, gears, springs, buttons — what the hell? she looks back up when peter moves to the next ladder, cocking an unimpressed eyebrow at him. ]
Okay?
[ she can stay put and twiddle her thumbs for a minute. ]
I'll be here, I guess.
[ she can't help being curious and a little wary about what peter's going to say to the rest of his...crew? especially because she's pretty sure she won't understand any of it.
Just— don't touch anything. Seriously. [ This with a warning gesture, eyes wide and expression solemn. ]
Because it literally might explode.
[ And it says a whole lot about his life and the decisions he's made to get to this point that he means that in earnest.
He gestures to the stern of the ship, to the porthole between the bunks. ]
Enjoy the view, I guess.
[ He climbs up the ladder after that, poking his head out of the hatchway. He's gratified to see that while he was gone, the others apparently deemed it safe enough for them to navigate out of the storm, and a quick glance out of the canopy shows him the black expanse of space, dotted with stars. The others ask him what the hell took him so long once they notice him, and he purses his lips, frowning, realizing he really should've formulated what he was going to say before he got up here.
He starts with this: "Please don't freak out, but..."
Then, as the others nearly bowl him over as they climb down the ladder, he shouts, "You said you wouldn't freak out!"
Too late, though, and the crew is already there, staring at the newcomer, and Peter rushes to get between all of them and Jessica – because he knows them, knows that their patience wears thin and things would likely come to blows, and with the small space allotted in the Milano, any sort of fight is going to be hell on the bulkhead, and he'd rather not deal with that headache.
Or a literal headache, considering Peter would surely be caught up in it all.
He plays translator after that, offering the Guardians' rapid fire questions in a more digestible form – and toning them down considerably, in some cases, which elicited more than a few outraged, "That is not what I asked." It's standard stuff, though – who are you. Where did you come from. How did you get here. Who the hell are you working for, and who are you trying to kill, because if it's Peter, you're welcome to it.
(Peter pauses on that one, scowls at Rocket, who hisses out that weird laugh of his. Smug bastard.)
It lasts for goddamn ages, the interrogation, and even Peter is getting tired of it. Eventually they come to the same conclusion as he had: Jessica really doesn't know how the fuck she got here. She really doesn't know who the hell any of them are. And she probably doesn't mean to murder anyone. Uneasily, they decide that their best course of action is to finish up their job, then find some nice, official folks to foist her onto, so they can get on with their lives.
Half of the team departs to the flight deck again, the other half departs to the lower deck, all of them offering Jessica some of the most frigid warning glares Peter has ever seen. When they're alone again in the common area, Peter heaves out a sigh of relief, collapsing into a seat at the table. The heels of both of his palms dig into his temples to stave off the headache he had wanted so badly to avoid. ]
That was fun. [ His voice is devoid of enthusiasm. ] Let's do that again, huh?
[ the porthole is admittedly a whole lot more interesting to jess than the weird doodads lying all over the place. she leans between the bunks, staring out at the vast expanse of blackness, stars, and— yeah. that's definitely space. her mind is reeling, trying to pick out a real answer, but she unfortunately doesn't have much time before peter's crew comes barreling down the ladder. she spins quickly (which, ow, her fucking head), to see some...very not human people all glaring at her, and— is that a fucking raccoon?
jess is at first too stunned to start answering the questions thrown her way (helpfully translated by peter), and she just looks from each face to the next, taking them in one by one. okay, so she's seen the goddamn hulk and those weird damn aliens that had nearly destroyed new york, but— this is up close and personal, and it takes some adjusting.
she responds in her usual short, flat tone, meeting glare for glare, because despite coming up against something completely new, jess isn't one to be intimidated.
(she just kind of hopes her sarcasm bleeds through in translation.)
but hey, by the end of it, she isn't missing a limb and she isn't beating anyone's skull in, so that's pretty successful, all things considered. when they finally all go their own way, she leans against the bulkhead, looking over at peter. ]
Nice friends you got there.
[ not that she can blame them for being hostile, given the circumstances. ]
Thanks for not shoving me out of an airlock or something.
[ Dryly, ] They’re a cuddly bunch, once you get to know them. Really.
[ He flops back in his seat, sinking low enough to rest the back of his head against the chair’s backrest. At her thanks, he waves a hand vaguely, dismissively. ]
We weren’t gonna space you.
[ A pause. ]
Maybe chain you up in the cargo bay, but not space you.
[ But the sing-song way he says it betrays the suggestion as a joke. He glances up, gives her another once-over. ]
[ she's pretty sure it's the worst one she's ever had, and that's saying something. her head still feels like it might just explode, and though the nausea has eased off, her stomach isn't happy with her. ]
Got any aspirin?
[ because she'll take what she can get right now. ]
[ He shoves himself to his feet, nodding toward one end of the ship. ]
C'mon.
[ The sickbay is little more than a couple of chairs and a few compartments stuffed with supplies, but they make do. He pulls out a bottle of water, tossing it over to her, before picking through the jars and bottles in the shelves. ]
Completely human, right? [ Absently, as he frowns at one bottle before replacing it. ] Any weird allergies or anything? Like, you don't puff up like that girl in Willy Wonka when you touch tofu or something?
[ she catches the water, not hesitating to crack it open and take a long sip. ]
100% human.
[ she looks a little skeptically at the bottles peter pulls out, eyeing them like she doesn't necessarily trust whatever is floating around on a spaceship. ]
No Violet Beauregarde crap here. But I can't speak for anything, you know, not from Earth.
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[ except she really might.
it's taking a whole lot of concentrated effort not to right now, and she's surreptitiously looking around for a trashcan of some kind.
...better than the floor, right? ]
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[ He should probably let her up onto the main deck to the bathroom just in case she really does puke. That would be the smart thing to do. Except bringing her up there might garner attention, and Peter isn't exactly sure how to explain this whole fucking thing to the others yet.
"Hey, guys. Don't panic, but this random ass lady who can deadlift twice her body weight kind of just appeared on our ship, but she's cool, because she's from my neck of the woods and hasn't snapped me in half yet."
That will go over well.
His eyes flick up to the hatchway, then back to the woman, his jaw clenching. Then, ]
Just— sit down, okay? Take a sec.
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she takes a tentative seat on one of the nearby boxes, forcing herself to breathe out slowly before letting her head rest between her knees. ]
Fuck.
[ get it together, jones. jesus christ. this is not the time for this crap.
she takes a few deep breaths, then looks up at peter again. ]
Exactly— mmf. Exactly how far are we from earth?
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At her question, he frowns, gaze flitting off to examine something on the bulkhead. How can he answer this delicately?
After a few seconds of deliberation, he decides there is no putting this delicately, and he comes right out with it. ]
Really, really fucking far. Like. Light years. A lot of them.
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Great.
[ she pushes her hair up away from her face, forcing another slow breath. ]
Okay, then how long would it take to get there?
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Then, resolutely, ]
A while.
[ Traveling to and from Earth was difficult – something Peter discovered when he was younger and still entertained thoughts of returning home. Now, it's just as difficult, made no easier by Peter's heartfelt desire to avoid returning home.
A pause, and he adds, ]
And before you even ask, we are not a taxi service.
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the apparent distance from home, the fact that she's obviously not going to be able to understand anyone other than this dude (and maybe someone else who speaks english?), and the splitting headache is all combining to be a whole lot of awful.
what a fantastic day. ]
Then I'm really open to suggestions for how the fuck I get home.
[ because staying out in space? that's not at the top of her current bucketlist. ]
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You really have no idea how you got here? [ And even though he asks it, his tone is a little resigned – like he already knows the answer. ] You didn't jump into any strange light beams or teleportation devices? Like, a scientist in a bar didn't break a guy's wrist in an arm wrestling contest and invite you to try his telepod or anything?
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[ no crazy scientists, no beams of light or teleporters. ]
All I know is that I was on earth, and then I woke up here. That's it.
[ which makes it even more frustrating and confusing. if she'd at least had some sort of weird run-in with a bad guy, maybe more of those aliens that nearly destroyed new york, then at least that would make sense. she'd have something to go off of and not just, "i passed out and suddenly was in space."
unhelpful.
and now she's lightyears away from home with no feasible way of getting back. ]
Fuck.
[ with a frustrated groan, her head falls back between her knees so she can just stare at the floor, her fingers pressed against her temple. ]
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[ He echoes it back with a lot less vehemence, but just as much frustration. He scrubs at his brow, staring at the bulkhead as if the dent there might yield some inspiration. (Briefly, he wonders where the hell that dent even came from, then he figures it probably came from one of the sparring sessions Drax and Gamora hold down here from time to time.)
After a while, he lets out an explosive sigh, his body sagging with it. He shakes his head. ]
If I bring you up to the main deck, do you promise not to flip your shit?
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I think I can hold it together.
[ this is definitely one of those times that jess's general straight-faced, give-no-fucks attitude will come in handy. (even if being up close and personal with aliens is going to be weird as hell; at least these ones aren't trying to take over earth?)
she braces her hands on her knees, then pushes herself up to stand. she needs a second to banish all the dizziness, but she feels fine enough (plus the headache), so she likes to think she's past the "probably gonna puke" phase. ]
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Still feeling pukey?
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she glances up again when she's steadier, just shaking her head. ]
Mostly feels like someone's been trying to bash my skull in.
But no puking.
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Alright then.
[ He turns toward the ladder, pausing at the bottom steps. ]
You gonna be able to climb?
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Pretty sure I'm not gonna fall on my ass.
[ the unsteadiness is passing, even if the headache hasn't started to let up.
maybe actual sleep that didn't leave her in space would do her some good (but also, maybe this is just a super shitty dream. wouldn't that be great?). ]
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I’m Peter Quill, by the way. Star-Lord to most folks.
[ “Most folks” being “no one,” but it’s nice to dream. ]
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Sounds like a bad superhero name.
[ way to insult the dude whose ship you're on, jess. excellent work.
and because she seems to realize that, she at least offers, ]
Jessica Jones.
[ she starts to follow him up the ladder anyway, pausing partway to shake away a nasty throb in her temple, and then she's going up again. ]
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The main deck is something of a mess, the dogfight having dislodged more than a few of their belongings, various devices and knives and mechanical parts strewn across the deck. Peter makes a frustrated noise as he scoops up his blasters, fallen from the table, and hooks them into his holsters.
Peter moves to climb the next ladder to the cockpit, but he pauses at the foot, holding out a hand. ]
Just— stay here a sec. I need to break the news to them that we've got, um. [ A stowaway. An intruder. Some random-ass woman who could probably bench press a train. ] ... A guest.
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Okay?
[ she can stay put and twiddle her thumbs for a minute. ]
I'll be here, I guess.
[ she can't help being curious and a little wary about what peter's going to say to the rest of his...crew? especially because she's pretty sure she won't understand any of it.
excellent. ]
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Because it literally might explode.
[ And it says a whole lot about his life and the decisions he's made to get to this point that he means that in earnest.
He gestures to the stern of the ship, to the porthole between the bunks. ]
Enjoy the view, I guess.
[ He climbs up the ladder after that, poking his head out of the hatchway. He's gratified to see that while he was gone, the others apparently deemed it safe enough for them to navigate out of the storm, and a quick glance out of the canopy shows him the black expanse of space, dotted with stars. The others ask him what the hell took him so long once they notice him, and he purses his lips, frowning, realizing he really should've formulated what he was going to say before he got up here.
He starts with this: "Please don't freak out, but..."
Then, as the others nearly bowl him over as they climb down the ladder, he shouts, "You said you wouldn't freak out!"
Too late, though, and the crew is already there, staring at the newcomer, and Peter rushes to get between all of them and Jessica – because he knows them, knows that their patience wears thin and things would likely come to blows, and with the small space allotted in the Milano, any sort of fight is going to be hell on the bulkhead, and he'd rather not deal with that headache.
Or a literal headache, considering Peter would surely be caught up in it all.
He plays translator after that, offering the Guardians' rapid fire questions in a more digestible form – and toning them down considerably, in some cases, which elicited more than a few outraged, "That is not what I asked." It's standard stuff, though – who are you. Where did you come from. How did you get here. Who the hell are you working for, and who are you trying to kill, because if it's Peter, you're welcome to it.
(Peter pauses on that one, scowls at Rocket, who hisses out that weird laugh of his. Smug bastard.)
It lasts for goddamn ages, the interrogation, and even Peter is getting tired of it. Eventually they come to the same conclusion as he had: Jessica really doesn't know how the fuck she got here. She really doesn't know who the hell any of them are. And she probably doesn't mean to murder anyone. Uneasily, they decide that their best course of action is to finish up their job, then find some nice, official folks to foist her onto, so they can get on with their lives.
Half of the team departs to the flight deck again, the other half departs to the lower deck, all of them offering Jessica some of the most frigid warning glares Peter has ever seen. When they're alone again in the common area, Peter heaves out a sigh of relief, collapsing into a seat at the table. The heels of both of his palms dig into his temples to stave off the headache he had wanted so badly to avoid. ]
That was fun. [ His voice is devoid of enthusiasm. ] Let's do that again, huh?
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jess is at first too stunned to start answering the questions thrown her way (helpfully translated by peter), and she just looks from each face to the next, taking them in one by one. okay, so she's seen the goddamn hulk and those weird damn aliens that had nearly destroyed new york, but— this is up close and personal, and it takes some adjusting.
she responds in her usual short, flat tone, meeting glare for glare, because despite coming up against something completely new, jess isn't one to be intimidated.
(she just kind of hopes her sarcasm bleeds through in translation.)
but hey, by the end of it, she isn't missing a limb and she isn't beating anyone's skull in, so that's pretty successful, all things considered. when they finally all go their own way, she leans against the bulkhead, looking over at peter. ]
Nice friends you got there.
[ not that she can blame them for being hostile, given the circumstances. ]
Thanks for not shoving me out of an airlock or something.
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[ He flops back in his seat, sinking low enough to rest the back of his head against the chair’s backrest. At her thanks, he waves a hand vaguely, dismissively. ]
We weren’t gonna space you.
[ A pause. ]
Maybe chain you up in the cargo bay, but not space you.
[ But the sing-song way he says it betrays the suggestion as a joke. He glances up, gives her another once-over. ]
How’s the hangover?
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[ she's pretty sure it's the worst one she's ever had, and that's saying something. her head still feels like it might just explode, and though the nausea has eased off, her stomach isn't happy with her. ]
Got any aspirin?
[ because she'll take what she can get right now. ]
Or water?
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C'mon.
[ The sickbay is little more than a couple of chairs and a few compartments stuffed with supplies, but they make do. He pulls out a bottle of water, tossing it over to her, before picking through the jars and bottles in the shelves. ]
Completely human, right? [ Absently, as he frowns at one bottle before replacing it. ] Any weird allergies or anything? Like, you don't puff up like that girl in Willy Wonka when you touch tofu or something?
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100% human.
[ she looks a little skeptically at the bottles peter pulls out, eyeing them like she doesn't necessarily trust whatever is floating around on a spaceship. ]
No Violet Beauregarde crap here. But I can't speak for anything, you know, not from Earth.
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