Disclaimer: I do not own GOTG

"Every sickness has an alien quality, a feeling of invasion and loss of control that is evident in the language we use about it."

― Siri Hustvedt, The Shaking Woman, or A History of My Nerves

-Hustvedt-

[20:23 – Wed. – SY: XXXX]

[Knowhere – Upper Division – Dublu's Bar]

[-1 month after the events of Cephalagia.-]

[Peter]

The bar was rowdy, as bars on Knowhere tended to be at this hour- or any hour for that matter. There was the sound of alien glassware clinking and clonking together, the bubbly laughter of a phylum cnidarian several tables away, the strange yet upbeat dance music playing throughout the room to set the guests moving. A sweet scent filled the air, tickling his nose and intoxicating several of the less resilient occupants the room housed. It made Peter feel like the hairs in his nose were curling but, judging by the reaction of an albino lizard-person a few seats away the incense was doing its job fairly well. Dim multicolored lights illuminated parts of the room and cast others in a gloom, providing an intoxicating dance of shadows across the slim women pole dancing for their audience on the other side of the bar.

Peter Jason Quill looked left and located a team of Skrulls wooing their ladies. He looked right and saw a group of Xandarians, Dedarians, and Arcturans playing a holographic, alien version of Koi Koi.

Uproarious laughter broke the warm, polluted evening air and turned him in his seat, catching sight of Drax sharing conversation with a few Centaurians across the room. Smiling softly to himself Peter returned his attention to the bar tender. He watched as the Rigelian pulled a bottle of something filled with a deep brown color off the shelf and popped the cork out of place. A familiar fizzing sound erupted from the substance as it was poured from its container into a square glass.

"Best watch yourself, buddy," the man- he presumed- warned and passed him the sloshing drink, "this is pretty potent stuff to some species." But Peter just gave him a cocky smirk, pressed the glass to his lips and downed it straight.

"I think you'll find that I'm not one of those species," he said, raising his now-empty-glass cheekily. The Coke left a light burning sensation at the back of his throat that opened a floodgate of nostalgia, memories of his childhood sobering his shit-eating grin and giving his eyes a look of distance. Nights he'd spent on the porch with his mother sipping at a shared bottle and listening to the crickets chirp tugged at his heart.

He shook his head to lose the memory and held his glass towards the skeptical bar tender. As much as he would have loved to down a little alcohol Peter still had to pilot the Milano when they were done here so he could get to his next job. Gamora had decided to look after the ship and mulch Groot while Quill delivered the fruits of their latest raid to a wealthy, stern-faced buyer in a more civilized quadrant of Knowhere. And while he'd done so, Drax and Rocket had decided to take the evening out at a bar.

Honestly, he thought, sparing a glance at the destroyer, that trade took way too long. Another thought suddenly occurred to him and he perked up, searching for a familiar raccoon-sized comrade. The blond leader found Rocket a moment after his second serving of Coke was set in front of him. He was standing on a table whistling at the dancing ladies, encouraging them to take their performance a step further.

From the way he was wobbling Peter could see his furry comrade was even more drunk than Drax. And of course, Quill would have to be the one to drag them both back to the ship. Despite this he couldn't help the smile on his face from appearing, glad to see his friends so relaxed. After all the work they'd been putting through on each job they deserved an easy night, especially after a day like the one they'd had. Content, Peter closed his eyes and lifted his glass to his lips. This time he took a shy sip, wanting to make the drink last. He could feel the bartender's eyes on him.

Eventually the Rigelian said, "That fella over there, you know him?"

Opening his eyes and trying not to yawn, tired from the day's events, Peter cast his attention in the direction his server had gestured. He found himself looking at Rocket again, only this time the raccoon was busy arguing with one of the Skrulls he'd caught sight of earlier. A little amused despite himself he watched the hybrid's fur puff out, his ears pull back, and whiskers splay out in front of his muzzle, beady red eyes twinkling aggressively and lips curled back. The threat his friend posed was a little offset by his unsteady paws, however.

"I might," Peter began elusively, taking another sip of his cola.

The Rigelian picked up a dirty glass and began to clean it, "You'd best keep a good eye on 'im, then. Any damages he causes I expect to be paid for in full."

Images of what happened the last time he'd allowed Rocket to get drunk without any kind of supervision played through his mind like a horror story. Splintered wood, shattered wares, wasted alcohol, and a very upset patron had sucked Peter dry of all money he'd had that day. Word must have gone around since then. Or maybe it was just that Rocket was a very aggressive drunk and it didn't take a genius to know that he was trouble.

"Right, I'll go reign him in then," Peter assured with a heavy sigh, stepping away from the counter and heading towards his comrade.

"I'll be watchin'" the alien warned him.

By this point the tension around Rocket was so thick it was almost palpable. The other three Skrull had now decided to join their 'friend' and insisted on trying to argue with a very drunk raccoon. Peter arrived just in time to lay a hand on the aggressive Skrull's scaly shoulder, stopping him from pulling his plasma blaster out of its holster.

"Easy there big fella, let's not get too carried away, yeah?" He was met with a threatening growl as a response. A little sluggishly the creature shook his hand away.

"You are with him?" one of the buff Skrull's shorter buddies demanded, shouldering his way to the front of his rag-tag group and gesturing to Rocket.

"Aaah, Quill, 'ol buddy 'ol pal o' mine! Tooook ya long 'nuff ta get 'ere, dinya?" Rocket greeted him drunkenly.

"You could say that I am," Peter shrugged, not really paying his comrade's remark any notice, "I'm kind of like his babysitter tonight." That was supposed to be Drax's job, he cast a regretful look at the blue giant a few meters away. Then things really got aggressive and he was lifted up by the front of his coat until only the tips of his toes kept him from choking.

"Then we'll hold you responsible for his actions!" the green, pointy-eared goliath bellowed.

"Woah, woah, woah!" Peter shouted back, holding up his hands in a gesture of peace, "what the heck is your deal man?!"

"This vermin," the Skrull gestured to Rocket with a gun in his hand, "tried to take my woman!" He spoke so forcefully that spittle rained out of his mouth and speckled the blond Terran's face. From within the shadows over the aggressive male's shoulder, Quill spotted what he assumed was the guy's "woman". And she'd begun flirting with her next patron of the night flawlessly. Both his eyebrows shot up and he had to bite his tongue from giving a surly reply.

"I just ask'd 'er ta be meh wifey," the wobbling rodent chuckled and for a moment Peter was honestly concerned his gun-toting maniac had drunk so much he'd poisoned himself. He then proceeded to point in the general direction of their audience, "hey," he slurred, "quit chur laughin'!"

"Rocket, we've been over this; you're drunk. No-one's laughing at you," Peter reminded him.

"Yeah, and Mr. No-one c'n shuv it up 'is ass, too," Rocket nodded in groggy agreement. The motion appeared to be too much for whatever was in charge of his balance, however, as the rodent proceeded then to fall on his butt and laugh at himself.

Before Quill could attempt to correct his friend something small, warm, and cylindrical was pressed against his chest.

"You tryna' ignore me, fella?" the big-boss Skrull asked. A rancid odor spewed across Peter's face and this time he just couldn't help himself.

"Believe me, I wouldn't be able to even if I tried," he coughed. The big muscled male took a moment trying to decide if he was offended, dunk, angry, confused, or all of the above- judging by the colorful array of expressions that crossed his fugly face.

"You think I'm messing around, Terran-scum?" the beast demanded, and the cylinder pressed against Peter's belly dug in a little deeper, "I wonder how you'd look with your pretty organs splayed across the floor."

For a moment Peter just blinked at him, inwardly incredulous. Was this seriously happening to him today? After losing the majority of his pay on damage control, gas for the Milano, food for Drax, getting practically robbed by Yondu, suffering from an irritatingly stubborn headache just on the cusp of migraine territory, and discovering that Rocket had built the simple equivalent of a shatter grenade using irreplaceable parts of his Walkman cassette player (among various things) Peter had already decided the day couldn't get any worse.

The gun pressed into his chest said differently, however.

He hadn't really thought about it before the words were already out of his mouth, "Probably prettier than yours." Instinct was probably the only thing that saved him from getting shot through the heart as he swung to the side to avoid a blue blast of plasma. Lifting his legs he shoved both feet hard against the Skrull's vulnerable belly, throwing him back and forcing him to release his hold.

See, this was the other reason he couldn't get drunk tonight.

The three other Skrull didn't waste any time in following up with several attacks of their own. He was pretty damn glad at that moment that he hadn't allowed Rocket to bring any weapons with him as he dropped to one hand and swung both legs out on a wide arc. This swept the feet out from under Skrull #2 and he came crashing down to the ground with a loud bang. With training and skill put into the motion he set himself back on his feet, kicking a multi-blaster cannon out of the downed creature's grip and into his own hand. Skrull # 4 chose this moment to charge him and Peter retaliated by pushing the blaster into the crook of his throat- where the jaw met the neck- and pulled the trigger. Green, gooey blood and grisly brain matter flew back out the exit point of the blast and the male fell.

At this point Skrull #2 had regained his footing and pulled free another blaster. He shot at Peter just as Peter shot at him. Both males lost their weapons but only Peter was really prepared to make up for its absence.

From closer range Skrulls # 3 and 2 ran up to him. Bunching up his muscles the StarLord leapt over the first of them, feeling he was too close to have enough time to retaliate, and landing on the Skrull behind him knee-to-the-face first. As Skrull # 2 fell, clutching at his broken nose, Peter landed, rolled between two tables, and jerked back to his feet. Skrull #3 brandished an electrified spear and attempted to stab the blond with it. With a grace belied by his cocky-attitude, he dodged to the side, running his sleeved forearm against the shaft. With his right hand he punched the Skrull in the throat then lowered his fist and grabbed the creature's shirt. He yanked him down so the overly aggressive individual was bent over. Taking a small step forward Peter rolled over the other's exposed back, gaining a little momentum between tables as Skrull #2 came back with a plasma blade held above his head.

Peter's hand shot out and grabbed the guy's arm, ripping it to the side and kicking him in the chest. As the skinny Skrull was sent tumbling backwards into splintering tables, Quill shifted and wrapped his right hand around the blade's hilt, yanking it out of its owner's grip. When Skrull #1 charged him he pivoted and shoved the blade through the large creature's stomach with a grunt. An extra push sent the dying male to the floor and freed Peter's hands.

This left him with Skrulls 3 and 2. Already blood pooled across the floor, brain matter speckled what tables hadn't been broken to pieces, and half the bar had emptied out.

A quick glance around told him that Drax was no-where to be seen but the two remaining Skrulls weren't about to let him search any further. He just barely heard the bar tender's miserable cry of; "I told you not to destroy anything, didn't I?!"

He ducked to the side, a laser pulse roaring above him and smashing into a wall on the other side of the room. Skrull #2 approached with his buddy's electric spear in hand, a savage growl crinkling his face. Peter grabbed a chair- really the best thing he had right now- and deflected the blow. With both his hands in use holding the other at bay he used his foot to kick his opponent away. Out of his peripheral vision he finally saw Drax edging towards his fight.

"Drax," he shouted, dropping down and turning to the left, "get Rocket out of here before someone blasts his damn head off!" He didn't have any clue where the raccoon had dropped at this point but he knew his comrade wasn't in any condition to fight. Skrull #3 had a similar idea to Skrull #2, his arm raised with the plasma blade from before held within his grasp. Peter surged upwards, grabbed the creature's arm and twisted it behind him. A yank in just the right spot dislocated the limb enough for him to force the creature to stab himself in the back.

As he'd done before, he left the weapon embedded where it was and readied himself for the next attack.

"I can not find him!" came Drax's announcement, "where is our furry companion?"

"Hell if I know!" Peter shot back, pivoting and ducking his upper body down as Skrull #2 used his empty shatter grenade cannon to attempt to clobber him over the head, "start checking under tables or something, man!" As the downward arc Skrull #2 made lowered from right to left, Peter rolled his upper body back up to its former position, filling the empty space that the gun had formerly occupied on the right. With both of Skrull #2's hands currently in use he had no way to protect himself. With both of Peter's hands free he was able to reach up and snap the creature's neck with one swift movement.

There- his thought was cut off a moment later when yet another Skrull came up behind him with his own metal staff in hand. Where the fuck are these guys coming from?! He asked himself, wanting to wrack his brain for a memory of seeing more Skrull than those at the table. Meanwhile, the staff buzzed with an energy Peter knew had the power to stun an opponent's muscles with a hard enough smack. Skrull #5 swung his staff from the side, aiming for the right end of Peter's rib cage- hoping to stop his heart with a strict enough blow.

But years of brutal training with Yondu and his deranged crew had not been fruitless and the blond pivoted in a tight circle, moving completely around Skrull #6 as he attempted to ambush him from behind. As he passed the poor fool's right arm, Peter grabbed his wrist and forced it upwards. Shoving the creature so his underarm was completely exposed, he listened to the sickening crack as Skrull #5's buzzing staff slammed into Skrull # 6's vulnerable side. The smaller green creature crumpled to the floor, almost taking Peter with him before he could disentangle himself from his stocky limbs.

Finally deciding to chance reaching for one of his own blasters, Peter ripped his weapon from its holster and in one smooth motion stepped forward. As he had done before, he jammed the gun into the crook of the Skrull's neck and pulled the trigger, blasting through the unfortunate fool's throat. With green blood speckling his front Peter whirled around, blocked, and reached forward to yank a small dirk from Skrull #7's boot. He proceeded to shoot him in the foot and then smash his gun over the top of the creature's head when the male bent forward in pain.

"Drax," he called, "what's your progress with Rocket look like?!"

He got no answer as Skrull #8 charged in from the left and Peter pivoted, ripping the dirk along the green male's exposed throat and dropping him in an instant. Getting a little caught on something, he stumbled back, glancing over his shoulder just in time to notice Skrull #9 lining him up with his sights. He ducked just in time for a blast of blue plasma to go soaring over his head. The reputable StarLord twisted around on his the balls of his feet, cranked back his left arm, and hurled the dirk at Skrull #9. With a solid thunk the blade buried itself into the center of the bald creature's forehead.

Skrull #10 and 11, two very buff, muscular creatures, decided now was the best time to run at him from both sides. Looking left and then right, realizing only one hand was armed and the other was empty, Peter did the first thing his brain could imagine doing.

He stepped forward.

Both males crashed together, forced into one another by their own weight and momentum. Drax just helped a little by showing up behind Peter, grabbing a head with each hand, and smashing them together so hard the half Terran could hear the skulls shatter.

Panting he whirled around and saw the situation already handled. Looking between the destroyer and the bodies for a moment Peter nodded and swallowed thickly.

"Thanks," he said, breathless.

Drax gave a curt nod in reply, surveying the damage with a somewhat confused look on his face. At least he wasn't as drunk as Rocket.

"What reason was there for this battle, comrade?" he asked with a slight slur.

"Oh," Peter huffed, looking around at the green bodies lying on the floor and wracking his brain for the appropriate answer, "Uh, self-defense?" Seemingly bewildered by his riposte, Drax lifted his head and gave him one of the most incredulous looks he'd received from him since he'd last used the metaphor 'two birds with one stone'. He was spared from whatever remark lay on the tip of the warrior's tongue, however, when Rocket stumbled back into the demolished joint- seemingly thrown out the door.

"'ey," he slurred, "wa' happened? Wha' party did I miss?"

To this day Peter wouldn't be able to explain how he overlooked Skrull #6 rising, apparently, from the dead. He wouldn't be able to tell you why he didn't hear the charging gun, the shifting of muscle and clothing. Perhaps it was the bar tender extracting himself from under the safety of his breakfast bar and beginning one helluva angry tirade, listing off all the things he was going to make Peter pay for. Maybe he was distracted by Drax, who came up beside him and continued on towards a very dizzy Rocket. Hell, it could even have been the yellow-skinned dancer who caught his eye off to the left, hiding under the protection of a table with eyes as wide as dinner plates.

He'd never really know.

All he could say for sure, was no-one but that stripper had been aware of the danger until it smacked Peter upside the head.

Metaphorically, of course.

Literally, the first blast of semi-charged plasmic matter was what caught him by surprise. It was the heated, still-capsuled mass of energy that slammed into his back, buried through his subcostal nerve, and into the kidney beneath. The half-failed blast was so powerful Peter's body jerked violently forward, making him stumble so much he almost fell face first. At first he thought he'd simply been pushed.

Confused, his mind was halfway through a disgruntled thought of; okay, who the hell- and he was in the middle of turning around. That's when the second blast hit him in the side; tearing through flesh, muscle, nerve, and stopping just short of searing through his appendix.

At first no-one said a thing.

But it wasn't silent. Blood poured freely from Peter's wounds, soaking through his clothing and dripping onto the tile below. Every breath he took, every beat his heart made, echoed inside him, and a ringing in his ears made itself known. What surprised him first was that he didn't feel any pain at all, though there was a little voice in the back of his head telling him that he was going into shock. He pressed a shaky hand into his side, feeling himself tilting slightly and trying not to stumble as blood oozed between his quivering fingers. When he peeled his hand away it was, of course, covered with grisly crimson.

"Pete?" Rocket's voice was confused and unsure, his drunken brain struggling to piece together what had happened. His blond-haired leader looked over at him, eyes looking a little foggy.

"Well," he rasped, the muscles in his back rippling through a violent and painful spasm, "fuck."

It wasn't long after he said this that the roar of blood through his ears was so loud he was hardly aware of his own body any more. Adrenaline kept him standing for a moment longer, leaving Drax enough time to roar with rage and rip Peter's gun from off the ground- how'd that get there?- and shoot the d'astard-Skrull in the face.

Something hard cracked against his knees and then against his face a second later. It took Peter a minute to realize it was the ground.

His vision was becoming too blurry to make sense of, like he was trying to look through a window covered in steam. Any and all sound his brain was able to process echoed so much it was hardly worth the effort it took to understand it. He was sleepy, exhausted even, which wasn't necessarily new when he thought about it. He'd been tired the moment he stepped into the bar.

"-uill!" A familiar, deep voice was trying to get his attention. But he didn't have the energy to turn his head any more. It was like someone had taken his brain out and filled the space left behind with rocks. Peter faintly registered a strange, guttural choking sound in the distance and voices. Voices he knew that he should recognize but found himself unable to place.

The lower left side of his back began to feel hot and inflamed, like lit briquettes were being shoved forcefully into the wound. When the feeling was echoed on the opposite side of his torso, around the right side of his pelvis, he knew he was descending into hell.

A cold, hot, bitter hell.

And he thought, with a dying smirk on his lips; about fuckn' time.

"Pete!"

Warning: Information in this story is subject to change.

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