C89 Captured

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The desert stretched endless beneath the blazing sun, as Peter pushed his speeder to its limits. The wind tore at his clothes, his mind only on one thing: getting back to his ship and going after Natasha. His datapad lay secured on the dash, Melina's tracker blinking constantly.

As he approached the deeper parts of the desert, the shape of his ship loomed in the distance. He didn't slow down as he neared, instead accelerating, launching the speeder up the ramp into the cargo bay with practiced ease. Dust and sand followed in his wake as he parked among the packed cargo hold.

Stepping off, he was immediately met by the bored faces of his crew—Groot, Cosmo, Howard, Revan, Rocket, Teefs, Lylla, and Floor. All lounging around, the air thick with the stagnancy of waiting.

Rocket was the exception, his focus on what appeared to be a high-tech bazooka, almost complete in its assembly. His hands moved with meticulous care, yet his eyes lit up as Peter returned.

"About time you showed up," Rocket grumbled, setting down his tools. "We're rusting in here!"

"Yeah!" Howard drunkenly shouted in agreement. "You tell em' vermin!"

Rocket and his friends seemed to take offense to that as they whipped their heads around, glaring at him.

"Say that again!" Rocket growled as he aimed his bazooka, which immediately began glowing as it powered up. "Call me vermin one more time!"

Howard merely scoffed and grabbed his own gun, aiming it in return, "V-E-R-M-I-N…" he repeated slowly, a taunting grin on his face.

"You birdbrain motherf*cker!" Rocket shouted as he squeezed the trigger.

But before the gun could fire, Peter reached over and touched the barrel, his hand glowing ever so slightly, deactivating the bazooka, its light slowly fading.

"What the…" Rocket looked at his newest invention, hitting it a few times before glancing up at Peter. "What the hell did you do to my baby!"

"Relax, I only turned it off," Peter smirked, patting Rocket's little head as he turned to glance over his crew. "I'm happy to see you're all so spirited, because we're heading out."

He walked past them, his steps brisk as he entered the cockpit. The sounds of his crew stirring to life filled the ship, questions and excitement mingling in the air.

"Are we leaving Earth already?" Cosmo asked, her tail drooping in disappointment.

Revan, however, noticed the absence of a certain redhead. "Where's Natasha?" he questioned, his voice calm but concerned.

Peter didn't pause in his movements, pulling up the ship's GPS. "She ran off on her own. We're going to help her." He tapped the screen, the tracker's location popping up. "Lock and load everyone—because it's definitely gonna get bloody."

This declaration sparked a wave of energy through the crew. Howard strutted off to retrieve his Tommy gun, a pep in his steps. Rocket, invigorated by the prospect of action, hurried off to complete his new weapon.

As the ship's engines hummed to life, and the crew ran off to prepare, Revan lingered by Peter. The Jedi's expression was thoughtful, sensing the turmoil beneath Peter's calm exterior.

"You're riding a rough wave, Peter," Revan commented softly, his eyes sharp. "Care to share?"

Peter kept his gaze ahead, his hands steady on the controls. "Just dealing with a stubborn girl who thinks she can handle everything on her own."

Revan chuckled, a low sound filled with empathy. "Sounds familiar," he murmured, his mind undoubtedly revisiting memories of his wife. "I know the feeling well."

Peter gave a short nod, his lips twitching into a half-smile. "Then you know why we can't just sit back and do nothing."

Revan's agreement was silent, a simple nod, as he stepped back, allowing Peter to focus. The ship blasted off, leaving the desert behind.

————

Meanwhile, Peggy Carter strode back into the Shield headquarters in Los Angeles, her expression stern yet tinged with curiosity. She was immediately greeted by Agent Nick Fury and Agent Phil Coulson.

"Director," Fury began, nodding respectfully as he guided her into a secluded briefing room. "We've gathered some information on Peter Quill you might find... puzzling."

Coulson handed her a folder, and as she flipped it open, her eyes fell upon a photograph of a young boy, bright-eyed and smiling in his mother's lap. "This is Peter as a child, in Missouri," Coulson explained. "He went missing the same night his mother died of cancer. Vanished without a trace."

Peggy's eyes lingered on the image, a frown settling on her lips. "And nobody found him after that?"

Fury shook his head. "The local authorities thought he might have gotten lost in the woods or worse. But his grandparents never stopped looking for him. They couldn't accept that he was gone."

"Are his grandparents his only remaining family?" Peggy asked, her voice softening.

"No," Coulson replied. "He also has an uncle, his mother's brother. But no father on record."

Peggy's curiosity deepened. "No father? None at all?"

"That's where it gets more unusual," Fury added. "Apparently, Meredith Quill claimed that Peter's father was… an angel."

Peggy raised an eyebrow. "An angel? Are you suggesting he's some type of Jesus Christ?"

Fury scoffed, not believing that for a second, but Coulson interjected, "It's possible she believed that. Or perhaps she didn't know who the father was, so she simply lied and pulled the Mother Mary card…"

"Or," Peggy pondered aloud, "she might have been deceived by someone... a powerful gifted individual who could have taken advantage of her religious beliefs."

Both Fury and Coulson nodded, considering the plausibility. "It would explain the oddities surrounding Peter's abilities," Coulson agreed.

"His grandparents, Jason and Anne Quill, both served in the army under General Ross," Peggy noted, glancing over the files. "His grandmother is still enlisted, though non-deployable due to her age."

Deciding to take immediate action, Peggy pulled out her phone and dialed a familiar number. After a few rings, a gruff voice answered. "Who is this? How did you get this number?"

Peggy responded sharply, "Is that how you should speak to me, Thaddeus?"

There was a moment of coughing on the other end, followed by a stuttered apology. "Director Carter, ma'am, my apologies... How can I assist you today?"

Peggy stood confidently, her phone pressed against her ear as she listened to General Ross's sudden change in temperament. "How are you, Thaddeus? I heard you were promoted again. It's about time…" she began, her tone deliberately patronizing, treating him with the kind of authoritative warmth one might use for a child.

Thaddeus didn't seem to mind, perhaps because of the deep-seated respect and slight fear he harbored for Peggy. She had been his mentor years ago, instilling in him a profound respect and an unmistakable wariness that endured to this day.

"Busy as always, Ma'am," he replied, his tone stiff yet respectful. "What can I help you with?"

"Good to hear," Peggy continued smoothly. "Now, Thaddeus, I need a favor. There are two individuals, Anne and Jason Quill, I need brought to Los Angeles immediately."

Thaddeus hummed in acknowledgment. "I know them. Anne is a lieutenant working under one of my colonels, and Jason, well, he retired last year as a major, I believe. May I ask why they're of interest to Shield? Have they done something wrong?"

Peggy was quick to cut off any further probing. "They haven't done anything wrong. They're related to a matter we're investigating, and I need to speak with them in person. It's urgent."

Thaddeus pushed back, his voice thick with curiosity. "Can you share more about—"

"This is above your pay grade, Thaddeus," Peggy interrupted sharply.

There was a brief pause before Thaddeus let out a resigned sigh, his voice taking on a childish whine. "I'm a general now, you know?"

Peggy laughed lightly. "You think you're all grown up now that you're a general? Let me tell you something, your rank means nothing here. In the eyes of Shield, a general is just a soldier in a fancy suit."

The line went silent as Thaddeus held back any retort, knowing better than to challenge Peggy. And after a moment, she continued, "I expect Anne and Jason Quill in Los Angeles as soon as possible. Don't keep me waiting." Without another word, Peggy hung up, cutting the call short.

On the side, Agent Fury and Agent Coulson, who had been quietly listening the entire time, exchanged looks of muted astonishment. Peggy's casual authority over one of the highest-ranking generals in the U.S. Army was shocking, to say the least.

————

16+ hours later…

Across the world, as a private jet touched down on a nondescript landing strip in Budapest, Russia, the bleak grey of the tarmac seemed to mirror the mood inside.

Natasha and Melina peered out the windows, noting the small army of soldiers that awaited them, along with General Dreykov himself.

"Stay on your best behavior," Melina warned, her voice low as she caught sight of Dreykov standing ominously amongst his men.

Natasha nodded, albeit reluctantly. She understood the gravity of not provoking Dreykov, yet the simmering anger within her made it difficult to comply.

Soon enough, the plane came to a halt and the door opened. Melina was the first to step out, smiling cordially. "What a surprise, General. I never expected you to welcome us like this…"

As they descended, Dreykov approached with a welcoming smile plastered on his face. He greeted Melina first, offering a kiss on the cheek, which she received casually.

"Welcome back, Melina. Always a pleasure," he said, his eyes briefly meeting hers before turning to Natasha. Repeating the gesture, he kissed her cheek as well, and murmured, "And Natasha, so good to see you returned to us. We have much to discuss, don't we?"

Natasha felt a shiver of revulsion as his lips touched her cheek, but masked her disgust, nodding slightly in response. "General Dreykov," she managed to say, her tone neutral despite the turmoil inside her. Knowing any sign of disrespect could escalate matters quickly, she forced a polite smile, but her eyes remained wary and alert.

However, as soon as the greetings were over, Dreykov's smile faded, replaced by a cold, calculating look. Without warning, he took a step back and barked an order, "Alright, that's enough pleasantries, arrest her," and suddenly Natasha was swarmed by soldiers.

Natasha, instinctively fighting back, pushed the soldiers away as they tried to restrain her. Melina, shocked and confused, stepped between her daughter and the advancing men.

"What are you doing? She came back willingly. She hasn't betrayed the Red Room," Melina protested, her voice rising in desperation.

Dreykov scoffed dismissively. "How can I be sure without questioning her? For all I know, she could be compromised. We need to contain her until these questions are answered." His voice was stern as his eyes locked on Melina's. "You have a choice, Melina. Step aside, or join your daughter in confinement. Decide now. I don't have all day…"

Fists clenched and heart racing, Melina faced an impossible choice. She looked back at Natasha, whose eyes pleaded for help. But with the overwhelming number of soldiers surrounding them and the threat of imprisonment looming, Melina stepped aside, a decision that pained her deeply.

As the soldiers subdued Natasha, throwing her to the ground and chaining her limbs, Melina's heart broke. Natasha's gaze, filled with a sense of betrayal, pierced her. It was a look that accused her of never truly caring for her, a reminder that to Melina, the mission always came first.

Melina watched, helpless and heartbroken, as her daughter was loaded onto one of the many military helicopters. "…"

Dreykov watched the scene unfold with amusement, a cruel smile playing on his lips. He laughed heartily before commenting, "Teenagers, always so unruly. It's just the nature of growing up, isn't it? They grow to hate their parents eventually, no matter what we do."

Melina's hands itched to strike him, to wipe the smirk off his fat face, but she restrained herself. Laughing along hollowly, she knew she needed to remain in Dreykov's good graces if she was to have any chance of aiding her daughter.

As the convoy of helicopters ascended, vanishing into the gray expanse above, Melina sat next to Dreykov, watching the landscape blur beneath them. Her resolve hardened; although she hadn't been able to prevent Natasha's arrest, she was far from giving up on her daughter…

…

Unbeknownst to the convoy of Helicopters, high above the clouds, Peter's ship hovered, a silent guardian. From his position, Peter kept a vigilant watch on the tiny specks below that carried Natasha and her captors. His ship remained undetectable, a ghost high above the clouds.

Inside the cockpit, the crew huddled closely around the monitors, having just witnessed Natasha being restrained by soldiers. The tension was palpable, each member visibly on edge as they watched the girl they just met in distress.

Cosmo tilted her head, worriedly. "Should we go save her now?" She asked, her voice tinged with urgency.

Peter watched the scene unfold with a hard gaze. He shook his head slowly. "Not yet," he replied firmly. "Let's wait until they lead us to their base. Besides, she's not in any danger... at least not yet."

A/N: 2253 words :)

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