Title: But It Must Be Lived Forwards

Paring: Peter Quill X Reader

Warnings: mentions alien abductions, and angst and a lil bit of fluff, also has the Avengers in it too, which is fun to write. 

Spoilers: Not really, but this is set after Guardians of The Galaxy Vol. 2 , I just mention names, and no events. 

Sequel: Yes, this is the sequel to Life Can Only Be Understood Backwards. If you haven't read that, I advise you to!

Author's Note: Yeah, I've realised that this has been months since I promised a second part, but truly, I've had a lot on my mind, and not enough time to feel where this one was headed. And yes, I've been writing other fics around this time too, but I decided to let this one lay. While sometimes I write with a scaffold, to plan my fics, most of the time I just let my fingers loose on the keyboard, and it comes to light. So while this is late, I hope you can appreciate how much effort I've put into this part. In the words of Ron Swanson from Parks & Recreation: "Never half-ass two things. Whole-ass one thing."

Enjoy the fic, my lil' internet explorers!

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Your heart is racing even before the doors to the Milano open. It's like you know this is it; after some convincing to the rest of the crew, and another Galaxy-saving gig later (and an asshole named Ego) you're in the atmosphere of Earth. Peter and Rocket have landed the ship in the wilderness of upstate New York, in a place where nobody in their right mind would build anything. But still. It's Earth, and it seems like years since you've been here. But the doors are opening, but instead of being greeted by the quiet whistling of wind, the swaying of trees, there are figures.

"Don't shoot!" Peter raises his hands, the rest of the Guardians following his actions, including you.

But these figures are familiar from what you remember on TV, and taking your Quad Blaster from your belt, you lower it to the floor of the ship, and tentatively step forward. "Not to be a cliché, but we come in peace," you tell the masked face of the Iron Man himself.

"Last time we had aliens, they didn't speak English," the guy with an arrow pointed at your head, Hawkeye notes. "Your accent, you're from Ohio?"

You nod. "Yeah, Cheviot, and he's from Colorado." You motion to Peter Quill. "But mostly from outer space," you glance to Gamora, Drax, Groot and Rocket, who all looked a little odd in Earth terms.

Hawkeye nods, and lowers his arrow. "Yeah, they're good. I grew up in Iowa."

Captain America waves a hand, essentially shushing the archer from gushing about the glory and advantages of regional living. The blonde all-American cleared his voice, almost making you wonder if the next statement would be a declaration of independence or something, but it was a comment. Simple. "You're not here for any sinister business?"

Iron Man's face mask raised, revealing the face of the guy with a tower and a few billion dollars to his name. Rocket gave a laugh, and turning to shush him too, the raccoon strutted out beside you, cocky as always.

"If we were here to raise a little hell, we'd come in with a little more flair, don't you think?" He snarked Stark.

The woman standing beside him opened her mouth, no words. It was then you realised that these people had never seen a raccoon talk, and that she was the redheaded super spy. Ms. Romanov. You give a wave to her, pushing past Rocket to diffuse the tension. "Hey! I'm a huge fan, I used to have your action figure." You shoot Rocket a glare, and one to Gamora and Drax as if to say please shut him up before we're under arrest for being illegal aliens! and add, "Captain Rogers, Mr. Stark, please. We only plan to be here a short while."

"I am Groot," Groot speaks up.

Gamora lowers her arms, and crosses them across her. "Yes, Groot, you can put your arms down. Mine are getting tired to, with all this surrender." Captain America and Iron Man share a glance, not knowing what to make of what they'd just seen, with the green woman speaking to a tree. She motions to Drax, and the rest of the team. "We will take a short while here on your planet, we have many things we need to do in space."

Drax nods. "We are the Guardians of The Galaxy, and if you do not allow my good friend _____ and Peter to grieve, I will resort to violence." He stares down the Avengers, his warrior-race instincts taking over again.

"How about we let you off easy?" Iron Man gives an uneasy grin. It's a somewhat good thing for his wellbeing, not fighting Drax on it. "Go take care of your business, have a holiday."

Peter mouths some thanks, while you turn to Black Widow once again, "If you've got spare time, I'd love to learn some of your tricks!"

---

The Avengers lend you and Peter a Quinjet. Deciding it's for the best, you leave Drax in charge of Rocket and Groot, and Gamora in charge of them all, staying behind in the Avengers base not too far from where the Milano landed. But you and Peter are flying in stealth mode with Clint manning the aircraft toward Peter's hometown in Colorado. For the most of it, Hawkeye is silent, tremendously professional. But when Peter cracks a joke, the two of them get along like peanut butter and jelly, leaving you smiling at Star-Lord's banter.

But before too long, you're landing in Colorado, the ship landing quietly (a new sensation!) for a change, and following Peter out, to a small building a way out from town. The man who answers the door is elderly, with snow white, thinning hair. But his eyes, they looked just like Peter's, and teared up at the sight of him.

"Pete?" Mr. Quill asks.

He nods, "Yeah, it's me, Granpa." Feeling like a sore thumb, you turn to leave the two by themselves, but Peter takes your hand, and shares a smile with you. "Granpa, this is _____. I ran away from home, and she helped me find my way back."

The old man smiles, waving you all inside. His house is small, the décor still styled as if the 80's had never gone and passed, with the La-Z-Boy thatched up in places where the material had worn away, some places worn down, and no patches in place yet. A radio was on the fireplace, playing an old Elvis song, and in the kitchen in the corner, a kettle was whistling.

"You disappeared," Peter's grandfather shakes his head, pouring coffee in four mugs. It's been years since you've had a coffee, your mouth watering at the delicacy. Beside you, Clint is silent. "Nobody knew where you went. Had me worried sick for years..."

Peter nods. "Sorry, Granpa," he looks like he hasn't ever really thought about the people he left behind when Yondu abducted him. "I –,"

You move to help Mr. Quill with the coffee, pouring milk into Peter's cup. "Your grandson can't stay long, I'm sorry," you tell him softly, making sure he can read your lips. "The stories that Meredith told about Peter's father, they were true," you tell him. "We fly among the stars and save people who were left without saviours," you confess, adding sugar to your cup.

Mr. Quill nods. "I suppose Earth was never going to be enough for you, Pete. You were always fightin' for good, before you even knew it. Your Mom would be proud of you." As you all go to take the coffees outside to the front porch to drink on the chairs, Peter smiles. It's a lovely smile, a true smile. "Love you, Pete."

---

It's hard to tear the Quill's apart, especially from his mother's urn on the mantelpiece ("Keep Ma safe, Granpa, I'll come back, I promise,") but in the afternoon before returning to the state of New York, there's one more stop. You all land just out of Cincinnati, in the national park. From what intel Clint had on your parents, they were living not too far from your childhood home in Ohio, and all three of you were walking there. Unlike earlier in the day when you exited the Quinjet easily, your feet feel like lead, your stomach heavy, yet feeling empty, hollow.

"Hey," Peter senses your uneasiness, interlocking his fingers with your own. "Nervous?"

You nod, and expelling a breath you'd been holding in, you whisper, "Did I tell you why he drowned?" Peter shakes his head. "I only got into medical school by scholarships, and all the money was spent on dad. We couldn't afford to learn to swim," you swallow, feeling small like a child once again. "There's a creek down the way, and he'd been hanging with the wrong kind of people. The police I.D.'d the body as him, sure, but he'd been off his face with drugs...I was supposed to be looking out for him that night. He snuck out."

"We're here," Clint beams, looking up from his phone's map. "Want me to knock, or you?"

"I'll knock," Peter offers, releasing your hand to approach the door up the little path. It was nothing like you grew up in, but still, it was a nice place. Nicer than what you put up with. The moment his fingers land on the doorbell, it opens to an unfamiliar face. A woman. "Mrs. _____?"

She laughs. "Ha! I wish." She flips her hair, her fake nails catching in the synthetic material, and yells, "Martin! Some people here for you!"

There's a shout back, a thunder of footsteps. "What?"

You wince. You remember your father had a lot of people come through the door, and not all of them were friendly faces. The woman who looked like she owned the place (but probably didn't) was most likely one of these people. Shouting was a huge part of your childhood, and probably why you strove to be better than your brother, who was never yelled at.

The screen door opens, revealing your father. He doesn't seem to have aged a single day, despite the grey hairs by his ears, and the tattoo on his collar, peeking out from the singlet. At first, his eyes see Peter, and Clint, and frowns, but then he sees you. "_____?"

You nod.

You notice the crow's feet on the corner of his eyes, the bags under them, the poor pallor to his skin. You might feel it inside your pitiful heart to offer to stay behind on Earth to make sure he keeps out of trouble. But you're a Guardian of The Galaxy, and you tend to things greater than your old life, and the thought passes as soon as it comes.

"They said you'd died," He frowns. "One day at medical school, next...gone."

You nod once again. "I was abducted." Deciding to leave the 'by aliens' part out, you add, "I didn't want to come back to see you, but I had to. I keep thinking of Chip."

His face softens, taking years off his appearance. "I haven't been the greatest parent, I know. Ever since losing your Mom, I thought I'd never be straight again. Losing Chip almost killed me, but...thinking I lost you?" You're not sure if there's a hitch in his voice, or maybe you heard wrong, but he pauses. "Everyone I cared about was gone."

You feel a tear escape despite your best wishes. "But it was my fault," you whisper. "If I'd –,"

Your father shakes his head. "I'm a shit father, but one thing I know is you can't blame yourself. I tried, Lord, I tried. Things happen, sweetie, and sometimes, they're bad. But not everything is bad. You're back," he whispers. "Thank you, merciful Lord."

You shake your head. "I can't stay."

Peter nods. "Your daughter works with me, on a team designed for operations to save civilian lives. She's a pleasure to work with, sir." He tells your father.

He raises an eyebrow at this, but doesn't say a word on that matter. Instead, he turns to Clint, and asks, "You're the arrows guy from the Avengers, aren't you too important to be hanging around these ones?" He smiles, throwing you a wink. Your chest flutters, your brain screaming, oh my god my father is proud of me! on repeat.

Clint shakes his head. "No sir. I may be Hawkeye, but to these ones, I'm chauffeur." He tips his imaginary hat, and adds to the pair of you, "I'll be back at the bus when you're ready."

You smile. "Thank you, Clint."

---

One day later, you're off in the air, back on the way to the stratosphere and beyond to the interplanetary life you all led ahead. Drax makes no comment on the lack of outlaws on Earth (something he's miffed about, since he didn't get to meet John Stamos or Billy the Kid), and Groot has a potted pine tree beside him in his seat, a souvenir Rocket says he'll "treasure forever or whatever", and had made friends with a new Avenger named Wanda, who found him a delight. Gamora had sparred with your idol, and boasted that the redhead was in good form to defend her planet.

Peter and you were silent. He's piloting, focused. You're moseying around the record collection they'd shared, trying to find the right music for the team to fight to (it's surprisingly good for morale). But as you're flicking through the tapes of The Beatles and Van Halen, he places a hand on your knee.

"You okay?" He asks.

You nod. "Better than okay," you admit. "Kind of...fantastic."

Peter grins. "I wasn't sure. Your thinking face kind of gives off other vibes."

You laugh. "There's a word for that on Earth, I think. I can't remember it." You pluck out a tape labelled The Clash in the handwriting of Tony Stark. "Play this. Chip always liked them." He takes the tape, sliding it into the player. "How about you, you okay?"

Peter nods, just as London Calling begins to play. "She's not just another grave in the ground. As long that I remember her, she's not gone. She'll always be in me." He shakes his head, laughing at his wording. "Sounds pathetic."

You shake your head. "No, it doesn't. You're human, Peter. It's a part you." You turn over your shoulder, seeing the other Guardians. Drax has a crossword book he picked up from somewhere, and seems to get the gist of what to do with it. Groot is smiling happily with his potted plant. Rocket is making sure that Groot doesn't hurt himself, mothering the tiny flora colossus, as always. Gamora is tapping her foot to the beat of the tape. "It's a part of all of us."