far and away | quill

seven

Groot.

She opened her eyes and stood with certainty, she went to the tree's bunk.

"Groot," she whispered through the air, trying to only wake him up.

"I am Groot," he whispered back, he stood and towered over her.

"Drax, he's alive."

"I am Groot?" He questioned how she knew both with his tone and with his subconscious. She felt her throbbing temple, his web of thoughts were grasping and choking her own.

"I can hear your thoughts, you're brilliant," she started, "You know he is alive. Or do you?" He nodded. "But you don't know where he is?" He shook his head.

She sighed, irritated. Not with him, he was too innocent.

A thought of his reached her subconscious:

"He's not on Eerie though. Y-you thought that," he nodded, watching with large dark eyes.

She looked at the towering humanoid.

"We shouldn't tell Peter," she concurred. He nodded, pursing his bark-like lips.

She sighed, more content in knowing Drax was still alive.

"Get some sleep, I'm sorry for waking you. We'll figure something out in the morning, when Rocket's up."

He laid back down, turning away from her.

"Good night," she said to him.

"I am Groot."

She walked to her bunk, empty and messy. Her heart was pounding as she laid down, she was happy her shooter wasn't dead.

She mentally whined with the inner knowledge that he wasn't her shooter anymore, he was her friend. The first friend she'd had in a while other than James.

"Good night Peter."

"Night," he said, his emotions were unreadable.

• • •

When she opened her eyes to see blinding sunlight through an uncovered window, there was noise that accompanied it.

It took her a moment to sift through the voices and to determine which one's were aloud and which ones were only available to her.

She stood and joined the crew at the table. They were in a heated, whispered argument. It was comical until she actually heard what they were whispering.

They were debating whether to take her back to Huron or to take her along to the Broker to tell him they let him down.

"Don't I get a say in this?" she questioned, siting down on a backward chair. When no one dared to answer, she spoke again, "Who's the Broker?"

"You must not be a real Ravager," it was Peter who spoke, lightheartedly.

"I'm not. Ravagers are filthy, sleezy, and horrible at their trade. And you all know I'm just a skilled mercenary for hire, nothing more, nothing less," she paused and grinned, "Save the fact I like to start fires and beat people up; I sell what I can to who I can, that's all."

Peter huffed, rolling his eyes, "The Broker is the main guy people sell their big stuff to. He wanted the Sapphire Orb way back when for a friend, which I got for him."

"Hold on," she scoffed, "The Sapphire isn't called the Sapphire. And the Ruby isn't called the Ruby. You do know that right?"

They were confused, looking to her for clarity. She laughed at their unknowingness.

And she laughed for a few minutes before stopping to catch her breath.

"They're the Infinity Stones, the most powerful things in the universe, other than God," She was bold, losing the comedy of it, "They have the power to create or destroy entire Galaxies!" Her voice was raised and she stood, pacing.

"The 'Sapphire Orb' is the Power Stone, you know that right? The Collector now has unlimited power. Because of you," she looked at Peter, whose mouth was a tight line of worry, "And the 'Ruby' is probably shattered, it's the Reality Stone, but who needs Reality right? Within 10 days, the radius of 5,000 light years around the space stone will be warped of not destroyed," she paced, panicking at what she had done as it finally sunk in.

"We have to go back, and find it. Or else we're all dead," Peter stood, looking at them.

"Don't turn this ship around," she commanded, taking the lead role. Her body stopped shaking. "I know a guy."

"Who? Who else knows about this and is willing to help us Quinn? Collector would probably kill us all and become a dictator or something, and there's no one else!" He was too harsh, too innocently harsh.

"Take us to Earth," she said tightly.

He looked at her warily, and went to the cockpit to pilot the ship to the two humans' home planet. She sat at the table and her mind began to run wild. Would he be there? Would he be willing to help?

She stood, not being able to take it anymore, and took a communicator off the wall. She walked to a back room, closed the door behind her and dialed in a certain memorized number.

The other side picked up on the second ring, "Who is this and how'd you get this number?"

"Stephen?"

"Quinn?" he questioned back at the familiar voice, his tone took a definite turn to worry, "Where are you? What's wrong?"

"I'm fine, I'm with the Guardians. I need your help, I screwed up. Bad."

"What happened?"

"I can't tell you over the phone, stay there. We'll be there in approximately seven hours."

"Okay, fly safe," his voice was strained, almost. The line went dead and she exhaled.

Soon, she reminded herself, soon it'll all be okay. He always works everything out.