Money. So often it was about the money and money was never far from Yondu's mind. Most just thought he was a greedy old grisled bastard, well, maybe everyone thought that; but Yondu's willingness to do just about anything for credits went a lot deeper than simple greed or want for status. Sometimes he could grasp the deep chasm and see it for what it was and that no amount of money, earned or stolen, could equal the amount paid for flesh when his parents sold him into slavery or fill the hole it left behind. Most times he just ignored it while it played like a silent hand in everything he did, other times, when he dared to be reflective, it left him feeling stripped and raw. One time, he picked up a Terran boy and kept him for his own.<br/><br/>He knew the answer to Nebula's not-so-hypothetical question about Quill right away. It didn't lessen the pain of not knowing what had become of his boy, but it helped him understand her just a little bit better. "I woulda done the same is what I'da done. And I raised him, dammit. Ain't no 'would be' about it. He's my boy!" Yondu stated unequivocally. "Don't need no blood for that as you well know..."<br/><br/>He plunked a thick blue finger on the final button in a sequence of many, leaned forward just a little further into her personal space, the toothpick rolling slowly back and forth as he played it between his teeth and tongue, then pushed off to take a few step back and return to his leaning spot. He looked the woman in the eye, sizing her up for probably the hundredth time.<br/><br/>"The credits make it easier. Don't put you in no place of debt. One less Abilisk on your back while ya try and get the job done."<br/><br/>He turned on a heel and slid into the co-pilot's seat strapping himself in. "Now, sit down, before this thing takes off and leaves ya decoratin' the back hatch."