Chapter 15
When a computerized, almost British sounding male voice came from the robot, America couldn't contain it anymore. She tried to muffle her laugh with a cough, forcing her expression to harden into a frown, half covering her mouth.
“Have you come to see the collection,” is all the fish robot had asked, and America’s side was cramping with how ridiculous this entire situation was.
Maybe it's sleep deprivation.
Everyone else was apparently top tier performers or diplomatic as hell. She tucked her lips into her mouth and trembled as she held it in.
“We have come to see the Goblet of Set,” Stephen responded flatly. He wasn't sure where to look so his just picked one gold speckled eye. They both looked off in opposite directions, very fish like.
The water swished around as the fish rotated it’s tail side to side. It kept the same blank expression, occasionally letting out a bubble of air from it's downturned fish mouth. “From the Asgardian collection?”
Stephen tentatively nodded, feeling slightly uncomfortable in the awkward silences that would pass. Could it be that easy? He was desperately trying to ignore America struggling beside him. She was staring at her sneakers and trying to distract herself with a million unfunny things.
“Follow me,” the monotone voice commanded, it's torso turned 180 degrees from it's midline and the machine began walking away from them.
Quill and Gamora were passing telepathic messages to Strange with their eyes, expressing their uncertainty with the situation.
“Hey kid,” Stephen pinched a bit of jean jacket as she started forward. He pulled and she stepped backwards with an expectant expression. “Wait outside,” he said lowly, watching her face fall in a millisecond.
“Sorry! I won't laugh anymore, I swear,” she whispered roughly back. Quill and Gamora were slowly trailing behind the robot, Quill’s hand hovering over the holster he had strapped to his belt. There was a wall on either side of them of random objects stacked at least two feet above Quill’s head.
Stephen shook his head. He still had a handle of her jacket sleeve, as if she’d bolt if he released her. “It's not that. Well—“ he let out a puff of air that he’d apparently been holding onto. “Not entirely that. If things go sideways, remember where I told you to go?”
She blinked up at him, her eyebrows drawn together as the gears turned in her head. He could see the argument forming. “I won't go without you.” Her tone suggested it’d take him effort and oxygen to convince her otherwise, more time than they had.
He let go of her jacket and smoothed out the material with his hand, trying to reassure her with the gesture. It felt a little forced. “I'll be fine. Go outside, we should only be a few minutes.”
She gave him a contemplating look, like two tiny America’s were debating on her shoulders. One was tempting her to argue and the other was pleading she relent. Stephen’s Dr. Strange voice was only a second away from coming out when she tentatively nodded. “Fine.” She held up a finger, “but I’m coming in if you guys take too long.”
“Deal,” Stephen agreed, about to follow the group when America put out her fist. With a sigh that didn’t hold too much weight, he quickly obliged her request and bumped his fist against hers before rolling his eyes and sauntering to catch up.
With a smirk toying on her lips, America meandered back outside and sat against the wall of the building with her knees partially tucked in. Xandar had a smell not unlike New York. There was brief scents of handsomely seasoned food mixed in with the smell of humid sewers and body odor.
People moved in the same unspoken ways, narrowly avoiding brushing into each other’s shoulders. Remnants remained of Xandar’s past life like incoherent echoes. While the foundation of the buildings still stood, the rubble piled along the bottom.
Off in the junkyard, Groot was moments away from becoming some lizard-tiger hybrid’s chew toy. Rocket and the teen were dodging the scaley creature through the yard. Ship carcasses made for semi-helpful walls against the spiny beast as Rocket and Groot slide behind and between the skeletonized vessels.
The duo had managed to put some distance between them by crawling through a small opening in what was once a functioning engine block. Groot had a harder time getting the base of his feet in but managed with mere moments to spare as the guard “dog” swiped a clawed and knobbed paw towards them. It’s tail slapped the ground before it snarled relentlessly. Spittle sprayed the inside of the opening, around the jagged edges of the blast hole.
“I am Groot,” came out in a frantic whine, his eyes fixated on the persistent and angry snout that continuously rammed into the opening, desperate to make enough room to get in.
“Working on it!” Rocket called back. He had a fresh cut across the left side of his face and the tip of his ear bled enough to matt his fur. He had dared to fire a few rounds at the thing in its pursuit, though that had only seemed to piss it off.
Near the City Square, commotion around the RatJerk vendor had built. Drax had said something unintentionally offensive and the vendor took a swing at their heads with his fur and blood covered bat.
Being true to the insult, the two meat heads retaliated by tipping the cart. Rat jerky scattered along the street and people flooded towards the opportunity for free food. Torrid had wiggled from under the cart, not before Thor and Drax loaded their arms and sprinted.
Torrid was pushing passed people but the crowd had increased and now could be classified as a dense mob. A few fists began to fly and chaos only multiplied.
Groot managed to give the scaly creature a kick as Rocket assembled an explosive out of the parts in the engine. Spittle had sprayed over every dusty surface as it continued to snarl at them. It's two glazed over eyes fixated on them intensely.
“This should do it,” Rocket gestured towards a small blob of parts that he had haphazardly mashed and wired together.
“I am Groot.”
“Thanks for you're vote of confidence,” Rocket drawled dryly. “Here kitty, kitty.”
America was bored. Out of her mind bored. There were only so many times she could kick the same rock around outside before it loses it’s novelty.
She was avoiding picking at the dark cloud of thoughts that accumulated in her mind. One inch of ruminating would unravel the whole tough-guy facade she had crafted.
So kick rock.
In total, it had probably only been five minutes but she had the attention span of a walnut, Stephen's words. While suffering in this terrible state, America‘s attention was captivated by distant shouting. Fear tendriled around her chest.
A not-too-far off explosion rattled her bones. The cloud darkened. Nervously, America looked towards the double set of black doors, expecting them to fly open as Stephen came cape and all. That hadn't happened.
America chewed on the inside of her cheek and paced before letting out an exasperated, “fuck it.”
Just as she's going through the doors, one of the meticulously piled piles of random shit toppled over. Glass shattered, metal clattered, objects rolled over the smooth flooring.
America could hear yelling from the back corner of the warehouse. A yellow blast of sparks came through another pile, sending antiques flying through the air.
“Don’t run from me,” the automated voice deadpanned. America felt a shiver run down her spine. With only one or two sneaker scuff sounds, she crossed the warehouse.
From what she could see, Quill and Gamora were on their hands and knees. Thick, black goo had submerged their wrists and ankles, essentially glueing them to the floor. Both were fighting against it. Stephen was suspended in the air by swirls of pink smoke and the robo-fish was menacingly standing there. Like🧍with one arm raised towards Stephen. A pink light illuminated from his palm.
She edged closer, now just one pile of crap stood between her and the robot. Stephen’s cloak was jerking forcefully back and forth as it fought against the tension.
“A trade is only fair,” the fish said, mechanically manicing. Beneath Stephen, who dangled about twenty or so feet in the air, was a goblet that was nearly half as tall as America. It was rimmed with tiny, shard like red gems and the designs were sketched into the gold.
Stephen’s eyes downcasted slightly, finding America lurking behind the wall of trinkets. Worry etched lines on his face, though his vocal cords had since been choked off by the force that held him in place.
She gave him a tiny, assured nod before creating energy in her hand. She looked away before Stephen’s panic face could deter her. Blue sparks anxiously tangled into a ball of energy until it was roughly the size of a kid’s bowling ball. She threw it forward and watched as it slammed between the shoulders of the machine, causing it to flail forward and fall.
The cloak caught Stephen before he landed, depositing him gently back down. America had ran over to him, avoiding the priceless broken relics on the ground.
“You okay?” She asked in a breathy voice. He squeezed her shoulder reassuringly.
He let out the bit of air he was hanging onto and nodded. “You good?”
“A little help would be nice!” Quill groaned spitefully. Gamora let out an annoyed yell as she tugged against the goop.
Rolling his eyes, Stephen picked up a device from the ground and pointed it towards the two of them. As he squinted at the buttons like a middle aged mom looking at a meme, America heard something that made her stomach instantly dropped.
Flop. Flop.
Horrified, America quickly crossed over to the charred robot body. The fish dome had shattered. In a puddle of liquid and glass was the goldfish. It's downturned mouth opening and closing as it’s bloody tail flipped in the tiny bit of left over liquid. It’s golden eye stared at her.
America hastily bent down, trying to avoid the chunks of glass. “Oh god,” she murmured, her hands attempted to grab the fish but it flopped and slid quickly out. “Let me help you!”
Her second attempt faired much better. She scooped the fish in her arms, despite its protests. Scales and blood and lick, transparent liquid coded her arms and soaked into her shirt. Flop.
“Jesus,” Quill groaned. “Took you long enough.” He and Gamora were finally freed and already complaining.
Stephen had finally turned to see America with the bloody goldfish in her arms, looking up at him tearful and expectant. “What are you doing?”
“We can’t let them die,” America pleaded. She was giving him the most debilitating puppy dog eyes yet. He felt something lodge deep inside his chest as he watched her cradle the flopping, dying fish.
“We don’t have time for this, people.” Quill said. He muttered something else before heaving the goblet over his shoulder. The cup part was four or five times bigger than his head. “Drop the McFish and let’s go.”
“Please,” America had tears walled along the rim of her eyelids.
“Youre right,” Gamora said. She gave Peter a hardened look that made him swallow whatever retort he had. It was surprising for everyone, maybe Gamora most of all. “But whatever it was swimming in is gone.”
America looked down at the bright orange creature in her hand. It gave one last flop before it's eyes glazed over with lifelessness. She stared at it until she felt a hand rest on her shoulder.
“We have to go now kid.”