Merry Grootmas [Guardians of the Galaxy]

Part 2

"Are you kidding me?!"

Peter flinched, afraid Gamora was going to hit him. "We're going to fuel up, and—"

"I knew from the start you were going to be trouble, Peter Quill," Gamora said. "If you had spent less time singing along to your little mixtape and more time monitoring your ship's vital signs—"

"Enough," Drax said, his voice loud to speak over Blue Suede's "Hooked on a Feeling," playing over the Milano's speakers. The giant, hulking creature sometimes called "the Destroyer" stepped between Peter and Gamora. "What's done is done. Let's fuel up and get off this rock."

Rocket nodded. "The air is breathable. It's a little chilly out, so unless you're covered in fur you might want to dress for subzero temps. I'm talking to you, Drax—put a shirt on."

Drax stared down at his naked, green-and-red colored chest. He flexed his pecs, making them bounce to the music. OOGA-CHAKA, OOGA-OOGA. OOGA-CHAKA, OOGA-OOGA.

Gamora rolled her eyes. "Am I the only sane one on this ship?"

"I am GROOOOOOOOT."

"That's a yes," Rocket translated.

Peter opened the airlock, and stepped foot on the snowy surface of the North Pole. The air was cold, but breathable. No wind, which was nice. They were parked at the fueling station, which was exactly where the map said it would be. The two pumps were buried under the snow, as if they hadn't been used in hours or days. If any other ship had stopped recently, the snow had covered its tracks. The building about fifty yards away showed no signs of life. Was it open, or closed? They'd find out shortly, he guessed. It was, at least, light out—but that didn't mean much, since Peter had no way of knowing how long daylight lasted on this moon.

The rest of the Guardians (sans Groot) stepped out of the ship.

Gamora cleared the snow off the closest fuel pump and pressed a button. It lit up. "Looks like it's working," she said. "Self-service, but working."

"Great. You fuel up the Milano, we'll head inside and grab something to drink," Peter said. "If they're open, that is."

"I hope they have a public restroom," Drax said.

"What's wrong with the one on the ship?"

Drax gave him a solemn look. "The onboard facilities are inadequate for my current needs. I had thirteen burritos last night—"

"Enough, enough," Rocket said. "We get the picture."

As they crossed the snow-covered lot toward the building, Peter grilled his companions about the North Pole. Neither Rocket nor Drax had ever heard of it, but there were millions of moons and planets they hadn't heard of. That was nothing new.

"Back on Earth, we had a North Pole," he said. 

"Every planet has one," Rocket said. "That's nothing special."

"Ours was special," Peter said, fondly remembering his childhood. "There was a man who was rumored to live there. Santa Claus."

"Yeah? What made this man so special?" Rocket asked.

"Every year on the 25th of December, he would travel the planet bringing gifts to all of the good boys and girls."

"Why'd he do that? What was his angle?" Rocket asked.

Peter shrugged. "I never thought to ask why. I just knew that if you were good all year long, he would bring you presents."

"How many people live on your Earth?" Drax asked.

"About six billion, I think."

Drax rubbed his chin, as if he was deep in thought—quite unusual for Drax. "A man that can afford gifts for billions of children must be rich beyond measure," he said. "We should liberate some of his money."

Peter stopped in his tracks. "Are you suggesting we rob Santa Claus?"

"It sounds like he is a fool, with more money than he knows what to do with," Drax said. "I'm suggesting that we could put some of his wealth to better use."

Peter shook his head in disbelief. Perhaps he'd made a mistake bringing this alien along. He wanted to explain that Santa Claus wasn't even real, that he was just some myth parents told their children to keep them from misbehaving, but that would only lead to more questions on Drax's part.

When they reached the front door to the fueling station, Rocket tried the glass front door. It was locked. The door and the windows were all frosted over. Peter wiped the frost away with the sleeve of his leather duster and looked inside. His eyes went wide with surprise—for amidst the aisles of snacks and sundry items sat an old, bearded man in a red suit, bound and gagged.

Santa Claus was real.