Chapter Text
“Buy a lady a drink?”
It wasn’t the first time that Peter Quill had been propositioned in a bar, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. In the past he would have accepted it in stride and sought to cinch the deal to fall into bed, but after four incredible years with a remarkable woman and an ill-advised rebound hookup with a depressed thunder god, Peter wasn’t particularly interested.
Still, he would be polite and maybe it’d help pass the time. He gave the bartender a few instructions and waited for his mysterious new companion to take her seat next to him.
She was pale and of that indeterminate age that made guessing a dangerous proposition. Stringy black hair framed a sullen face and her eyes, well her eyes were dark and fathomless, inscrutable without careful study. She was intimidating and not in a fun way.
Peter was a little glad he wasn’t searching for something more intimate. “Letting you know,” he said, “I’m only doing this for the conversation. I just—” It was hard describing his situation with Gamora without sounding insane. Best to keep it simple. “I just got out of a relationship and I’m still smarting from it.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” the mysterious lady said. “I’ve recently lost someone myself.” “Lost” made it sound a lot more permanent than a mere breakup. “This is about a lack of cash, not fishing for company.”
“Ah,” Peter said, teasing. “You’re broke.”
“No,” she said, “they don’t accept my kind of coin here.” Her hand went into her pocket and drew out some change.
Two gold pieces. They looked old and foreign, stamped with symbols that made something itch in the back of Peter’s brain.
“Those aren’t Asgardian,” Peter blurted out. He’d seen some before when Thor had thrown it around trying to impress him.
“Aren’t you well traveled?” The woman put her money back, her eyes locked on Peter. “I can’t go off-world like some people.”
Shit, he’d said something stupid. “How do you know I haven’t been to Norway?” he said. “There’s a whole group of—”
“I know who you are, Peter Quill.” The mysterious lady accepted her beer from the bartender then took a swig. “You escaped my orbit once,” she said, playful, “you aren’t doing it again.”
He hadn’t given her his name. What the hell? Peter racked his brain but he couldn’t think of anyone having a bounty on him. Nova Corp had dropped all charges years ago, the Sovereign were gone and he was back on Earth. Most aliens didn’t bother with this planet thinking they were some backwater stop.
“Who are you?” Peter asked. He wasn’t touching the rest of his drink until he knew what he was dealing with. His fingers ached for the blaster he didn’t have.
“You’ve seen enough Death to know who I am,” the lady said, somehow capitalizing the singular word. Then she gave him a sly look, like they were sharing a secret. “But you can call me Rio.”
“Rio,” Peter repeated back to her.
“Rio,” she confirmed. She took another sip of beer, her eyes never leaving him.
Peter was used to being looked at, it was one of the hazards of being one of the only Terrans in space. This though, this wasn’t the gaze of a prospective lover but an inspection. This was the scrutiny of a scientist who has discovered a particularly interesting bug.
He wished she’d look anywhere else.
“Don’t worry,” Rio said, sensing his unease. “I’m not here for you, not like that anyway.”
Tired of her riddles, Peter asked, “Not like—”
The flesh disappeared from her face, leaving only her dark inscrutable eyes and bared teeth naked without lips to protect them.
Peter recoiled in revulsion, he knew now what she meant and what she was. He wished he didn’t.
The bartender continued his tasks, unmindful of the specter across the counter. Rio’s glamour shielded her from the sight of mere mortals, at least, the ones she was unconcerned about.
Peter’s throat went dry. “What do you want?”
Rio blinked at him and said, “I want to hold your hand.”
“You what?” This night was one baffling thing after another.
“I want,” she repeated, slowly as if to a child, “to hold your hand.” Then her face shifted again, this time her hair disappeared and her face grew gaunt. Her eyes sank into her skull and he felt a heated fury rise within him. How dare she, how dare she wear his mother’s face?
Rio put a finger to her lips, shifting back to her usual visage. “Don’t make a scene,” she admonished him, “it’d make things messy.”
He didn’t understand. How the hell did she know Meredith Quill? Why was she mocking him? “Why do you—”
Tired of stalling, Rio reached down and grabbed Peter’s hand. “There,” she snapped, “was that so hard?”
Multiple sensations hit Peter at once. The first, a layer of skin cold and clammy, then the prominence of bones lurking just under the surface, like the flesh was merely another glamour. It felt wrong, it felt like he was touching something beyond this world, beyond the veil of the living. He felt his own heartbeat quicken, prey recognizing a predator. He wanted to run.
Rio’s face went still, motionless as she clasped his hand. Then those dark eyes softened. “You were too afraid then, but you’ve held her in your heart this whole time,” she whispered. “You really love her.”
“Let go,” Peter demanded, his harsh tone low, meant only for Death and the body she wore.
Satisfied, Rio did as he asked. “Good,” she said, “boys should revere their mothers.”
Peter wiped his hand against his pant leg; he hoped never to touch anything like that again. His beer had sat untouched for far too long. Before he could finish it off, Rio spoke again.
“She was one of my special cases.”
“Who?” Peter asked.
“Your mother.” Rio’s finger traced some graffiti carved into the countertop. “I don’t come for everyone, there’s too many of you to get my personal attention, but your mother, she was sick but she refused to die. She had a little boy, one she wanted to live for.” She turned her gaze to him again but this time, it didn’t hold any judgement. “When you didn’t take her hand it broke my black heart.” She held her forefinger and thumb about an inch about. “Only a little though. When you ran off I thought I’d follow you, maybe give you one more chance to hold your mother’s hand and then—” Her hands clenched then flew open, an approximation of flashing light. She had been there, she had seen the ship take Peter away. That there had been a witness that night--
“Though I can feel death all over the Universe my physical body only has jurisdiction on Earth,” Rio explained. “Not many born here leave, let alone leave and come back.”
“So, this is about me being kidnapped,” Peter concluded.
Rio gave him a small dismissive shrug. “That and the Light,” she said. “Though I only just figured that out. You can tell a lot about a person from their hands.” She went back to enjoying her drink.
“The Light?” Peter asked. He was discombobulated and off his guard. “My father, Ego, said that I had a connection to his Light, not one of my own.”
“Ego?” Rio prompted him for clarification.
He figured that it wasn’t worth keeping it a secret from the embodiment of Death herself. She would find out one way or another. “He’s a Celestial.”
Her lips cut themselves into a false grin. “That explains a few things, like why I can’t see when you’re going to die.”
The sensation of icy fingers tickled the back of his neck. Of all beings in the universe, she should be the one to know. What did it mean that she couldn't figure it out? “You can’t—”
“It probably depends on if you get that connection back or not.” Rio wasn’t talking to him, rather she was mulling over the concept herself. Out loud, she told him, “You should go find that, keep things from getting too boring around here.” It wasn't a suggestion.
Taking to her feet, Rio clapped her clammy, terrible hand on his shoulder. “We’ll be in touch, Peter Quill.” It was a promise and a threat.
He resisted shaking off her touch. Even with the date of his end in flux, it was best not to piss off Death.
Then as she walked away, he thought he could hear Rio cryptically mutter to herself, “He’s no Nicky, but I guess he’ll do.”