Complex Cosmonautics (II)

Rocket almost pulled his gun on him despite the obligations he'd just sworn to, but what was he expecting really? Of course there were ulterior motives!

Jason Quill turned the pilot's seat around and sat down facing Rocket, face serious. "You may have noticed my son and I disagree on certain matters."

"Hard not to," Rocket snarked as a way to conceal his indecision over whether to take offense on Quill's behalf or not. For this and the preceding bit.

"Notwithstanding things I was told in confidence," because he suddenly had honour now. Ha. "I believe we share certain misgivings with my son's priorities as they currently stand-"

"If ya think I'll-"

"Common courtesy," Jason Quill ground out, "Such as not interrupting your host while he is speaking does fall under the rules of hospitality, in case it wasn't clear."

Rocket grit his teeth, breathed slowly through his nose and motioned to the man to continue. It was the full extent of apology he was willing to extend given their history.

Quill Elder didn't seem to expect more from him either. It rankled. "My son is proving vastly more cavalier than I like when dealing with cosmic beings. How much has he shared with you of things?"

"… Timelines are all the past and he's a god with connections now, whatever that means besides being able to return people's memories."

"That is the issue – restoring pan-temporal memories is not in his own power." The pilot console chirped with an alert or other but the man ignored it. With good reason because what did Rocket just hear? "While I have no doubt he could eventually achieve something on the vein of what he did to you, it is an ability he has not even begun to cultivate." The console chirped again but it was ignored again.

So Rocket ignored it too. The stuff being discussed… actually seemed pretty big to him too, now. "Shit. What's Quill gotten himself into this time?"

"It is not what he is doing now so much as the scope of what he will be asked to do in return for this help from 'as unambiguous a good guy as you're likely to enlightenment-fail your way into finding.'" He air quoted.

Rocket scratched at his head in agitation. "Look, just get to the point."

"No son wants to disappoint his father, especially as worthy a one as I." Jason Quill said those words calmly. Levelly. As if he felt no need to revel in such a great boast at all. "But I am also the only person to date that has warned him of future consequences he might not be able to handle. This means that when those consequences do catch up with him, he will likely be too ashamed to rely on me for the emotional support he will desperately need. As I do not see him going to either of his mothers for various reasons, his only option left will be you."

Rocket was torn between feeling vindicated for his entire existence, appalled at the mind-twister of having more than two mothers to begin with, and spitting at the man his most mean-spirited 'duh' of all his lives. "Well gee, your highnessness. Tell me how you really feel. It's almost like you don't have any faith in the power of our friendship."

"I do not."

Rocket gaped at the man, outraged. The console alarm chirped rather more insistently but it went even more ignored than before.

"There is a theme I've noticed in your recurring history," J'Son of Spartax said lowly, almost pinning Rocket to his chair with the strength of his gaze. "Peter comes into his own, the Guardians of the Galaxy are formed, you have many adventures, and then something happens that pulls Peter into so many directions that his morale finally suffers and he becomes afflicted with decision paralysis just in time for you to abandon him."

Rocket almost lost himself to the urge to grab his gun and shoot the man in the face. "You have some nerve." Almost. "You! The winner of every shitty parent award in the universe. When I was always the one who carried on in his place!"

"When he was as good as dead, but devils forbid you show the same consistency when he is alive and well."

"Ya don't know shit about-!"

The console beeped this time. Loudly.

Jason Quill flicked it silent without looking, choosing to glare harshly at Rocket instead. "The Kree. The Phalanx. The Annihilation. His short-lived reign as King when he was so obviously set up to fail. You even walked away on him while grounded on Earth during the second superhuman war. Instead of, oh, trusting his judgment that maybe some operational security was necessary given that Gamora wasn't entirely trustworthy. Which she wasn't, as prior history indicated and later events made blatantly clear. And then, when my son was so burned out that he didn't have it in him anymore to care about anything – because of everything aforementioned that you were never there to support him through – your wooden friend takes your spot as prime mutineer. All to go save the very woman who fucked everything up for all of you during the Infinity Wars. And this is just from that one timeline where things were damn near idyllic compared to the disaster that every other timeline turned into. All of which I've long since used my own leverage with certain parties to witness entirely first-hand. Don't you dare tell me what I do or do not know, boy."

The silence that followed was heavy. Implacable. Damning.

A shiver of alarm belatedly crawled down Rocket's spine even through the mess of contempt, shame, guilt and remorseful irritation. Somehow, it hadn't struck him until that point that he might not be the only one who needed divine hospitality rituals to keep from resorting to bloodshed.

It stuck in his craw to admit it, but he didn't like his chances.

"My son has always chosen you over me," Jason Quill said with that same matter-of-fact tone as earlier. "So when the time comes and the mood once more strikes you to abandon him, do us all a favour and don't."

The tension hung thick between them. Grim. Heavy with well contained anger and barely suppressed violence. A hundred accusations and snide barbs and vitriolic diatribes roared behind Rocket's eyes, desperate to claw their way past his throat and spit themselves at the presumptious, treacherous, on-and-off power-mad hypocrite.

But that was the thing, wasn't it? Jason Quill had been all those things. He'd never been anyone the Guardians other than Peter bothered holding to any sort of standard. Because you couldn't exactly expect better of someone who was so bad so many ways. But the Guardians were supposed to be better. Rocket was supposed to be better. And for all that he was directly involved and personally invested in all those events, it wasn't like you needed to see things from outside to get where the man was coming from. As much as Rocket hated it, the theme was there. Ugly. Baleful. Recurring.

The only thing Peter had done that ever skirted the edges of unforgiveable – even at his very worst – was when he had Mantis telepathically nudge a bunch of them to join his team. On account of there not being time for team-building between once mortal enemies while the universe was literally ending. And that was the other big thing, wasn't it? Extenuating circumstances weren't worth jack shit if everyone had them, but the reverse was also true. Especially since everyone involved later returned and all but admitted to the validity of Peter's extenuating circumstances over their own by joining up again.

The proximity alarm suddenly blarted.

Rocket Racoon couldn't help but feel offended by this intrusion from the outside universe. Even though he was pathetically grateful he didn't have to break the tension himself.

Jason Quill, though, pinched his nosebridge and sat back in the pilot seat with a growl.

The proximity sensors blarted even more insistently. Repeatedly.

"Er…" Rocket ventured. "Think ya might wanna finally check on that?"

"No need," the man grunted irately, glaring at the sticks and knobs. "I can guess well enough and I'll not divert my attention until I have your word."

"Man, fuck your priorities seriously," Rocket huffed, checking the readings on his own console just as he saw something out the window screen. He froze. "Oh shit."

Ravagers.

A dozen right on top of them.

Weapons already powering up.

… The earlier alerts they'd ignored had been hails oh fuck.

"Brace for evasive action!" Rocket screamed over comms as he scrambled for control through the co-pilot console. The adrenaline shot was so big and sudden that he felt downright woozy. "We're under attack! Ravager ships, twelve of 'em spread out 9 to 4 o'clock! Groot, fire up the main gun! Missus Quill, ya better hunker down!" He shut off the intercom to glare at the man. "And you! Don't just sit there!"

"Infringing on the host's responsibility for safe harbor is a terrible breach of xenia."

"Oh fuck you so much!" Rocket screamed as the pirates started shooting plasma blasts all over the place. "And fuck you, and fuck you, and fuck you too!" Rocket hollered while he mixed evasive maneuvers with gattling blasters. The ship almost seemed to move on its own as he anticipated every last firing path and avoided incoming bolts of plasma. To his surprise, the automated turrets actually clipped their attackers. "Who are they? Why are they here? How did they find us!?"

"Yondu's erstwhile second, avenging the lowlife's death as a way to cement leadership, and they've had feelers all over the Orion arm's jump points for months looking for this ship but I'm still waiting for your word."

"Are you-THIS IS NOT THE TIME!" Rocket yelped. Miraculously, the ship's shields somehow didn't suffer the three different glancing hits he swore should have struck true during his distraction.

"I beg to differ," red trails left afterimages as they burned barely short of the main screen. "I am an interested party, you have something I want, and this is a high-pressure situation."

"You fucking asshole!" Rocket shrieked, cork-screwing around a shot that made him distantly wonder about the brain capacity of whoever was on the other end of that firing line. "I ain't gonna be browbeat into anything and are you crazy?! Your wife and kid are both on board!"

"As they will be with me long after the trash outside is taken out."

"You crazy son of a-" Rocket side-flew two laser bolts and then dove below an ion cannon blast. "How are you so calm about this!?"

"Because the scum outside somehow survived this far without knowing the first rule of space combat."

"And what rule is that!?"

"If a space battle isn't long and boring," the man idly swept a finger downward over the sight of the ships just outside. "You're doing something wrong."

The ship farthest off suddenly veered drunkenly, turned sideways and shot the first one's engines into smithereens.

Rocket gaped. The shock was enough to break his concentration and he couldn't react fast enough to what ships hadn't gotten around to reacting to the apparent treachery. One of which shot them dead-center.

Or would have, if the pilot and co-pilot console hadn't gained a life of their own and begun to flick, press and turn their various switches, buttons and sticks independently. The ship promptly proceeded to fly through the rain of fire without his input.

Rocket Raccoon boggled at the cockpit controls that were now steering the ship by themselves. Then he snapped his head around to stare at J'Son of Spartax who was sat idly back on his pilot's seat as if on a throne. Outside, the second, third and seventh Ravager ships turned coat within seconds of each other as well, sparking a full-blown free-for all.

Belatedly, the first rapports of their own ship's main gun finally shot into the void.

Rocket suddenly felt an onset of not-at-all-hidden, totally-not-hysteria.

"Dad, stop scaring my friends."

Rocket jerked in place, snapping to look in Quill's direction the same time Quill Elder did. But the guy was still asleep like before. He hadn't even slipped out of position despite the strain put on the inertial dampeners by the evasive actions that had just been pulled.

"That brat," Jason Quill groused fondly. "Even without the foresight he'd have needed to account for the barking dogs outside, he still anticipated both of us well enough to time that pre-recorded message perfectly."

So Quill's body doubled as messaging machine now, Rocket thought breathlessly.

Not to be distracted, Jason Quill resumed his regard of Rocket immediately.

… Technopathy. It had to be. And they were all on his spaceship. Fuck his life. "… Let me take this chance to officially state that I'm in full approval of your decision to stop being evil."

"Your word, Raccoon."

Never mind how badly it stung that the Royal Asshole thought he needed to have loyalty coerced into him. "Fine fine, you have my word I won't abandon or turn on Star-Lord again without being abducted, mindfucked or otherwise compromised somehow!" Why was he scowling at him like that? "What? You expect me not to cover my bases? Everything I said happened before and I bet it'll happen again!"

"Indeed," the man said with a bizarrely predatory disdain. "Then it's settled: I'll personally train you to resist such subversion."

"Well isn't that just ni-wait what?"

But the man moved on quickly now that he'd gotten what he wanted. He spun his seat away from the outside view entirely, rose from it and walked to the center of the cockpit and turned back around, taking from his belt and putting on a two-finger ring that itched at Rocket's familiarity.

"Hey, don't ignore m-"

The man jabbed at the air, spun his hand, and that familiarity burst into recognition on account of the sudden portal into the air-sucking vacuum of space holy shit-! But the sparks disappeared immediately, thank oblivion. Then the man did it again. And again. Sparks, portal and a sudden yank from the vacuum of space. Rocket had to hold onto his seat lest he be sucked away.

Jason Quill tsked. "As usual when lacking anything resembling a planetary jaunt grid, the aim on these things is complete shit. Still, I think I've just… about…" This time when the first sparks cut a new asshole in space-time, there wasn't any void to suck them in from the other end. "Got it!"

A portal finally grew all the way, revealing the sight of the bridge of a ship. A Ravager ship. With Taserface right in the middle.

The red-skinned alien gaped at them, made for his gun and fell over dead on account of his face getting blown off.

Jason Quill blinked at the rapid conclusion to the situation, ignored the many other pirates frozen stiff on the enemy bridge, and looked at Rocket Raccoon and the smoking laser cannon in his hands.

"What?" Rocket snarled feverishly. "Never seen a coping mechanism before!? Well, this is mine!"

"… You're going to overstep the rules of hospitality at every turn, aren't you?"

"Oh I'm so sorry I don't know your cultural preferences. You see I'm so overwhelmed with other concerns, like I just can't stop thinking about the creep waking up in the morning, looking in the mirror and in all seriousness to himself saying 'You know what would be a really kick-ass name? Taserface!' That's how I hear him in my head, what was his second choice, Scrotumhat!?"

Which was when a second portal opened under Peter Quill and ate him up along with his chair.

Rocket Racoon stared at the now empty spot, aghast.