Some spoilers for Endgame. Honestly, it was going to happen. Plus, this is more or less a vent drabble. Don't expect too much quality.
Rocket was wondering why he was even considering this.
He sat there in the captain's chair, one leg dangling over the edge and his eyes fixated on the stars outside. He tried to divert his attention and thoughts away by listening to whatever he had playing in the background. He'd hesitantly admit to listening to Quill's dad-rock in public but in private he'd memorized every single moment of every single song the guy had in his library. Hell, when he was in a better mood he'd openly start singing. It'd be annoying for Nebula but she'd get occasionally let a smirk show for a second or so.
But there were always the pieces that broke him. During his worse days he'd skulk back to his cabin in the dead of night. There, he would put on some tracks that just reminded him of the old days. Before everything was taken away. He'd cry to himself for around half an hour and then walk back out like nothing happened. Nebula (And to a lesser extent, anyone who they had onboard, rare as they were.) would have to expect that something was up. That's why he waited until everyone was gone or asleep to have some alone time.
He missed them. All of them.
Rocket stopped himself from getting emotional. Not while his partner was behind him running through supplies, mostly food and spare parts Rocket would toy with when he'd nothing else better to do. They'd make a good bomb if he ever got around to making one.
He blamed being on earth for an extended period of time for all of this.
Being there exposed him to literature and media on things he never really considered. Spending nights reading or listening to new music helped through some of the bad times and improved the good ones.
The only problem was that it led to more unrest inside himself. Things he never really noticed and things that internally terrified him. Not for what they were, but for what they could mean for him and the very small circle of friends he had these days. He needed to tell someone about it... before it got worse.
His voice got forced back down before he could get the chance to call Nebula over, he was still scared shitless.
It was just telling her something. Why worry?
It's too personal to tell everyone he meets. Only the people he could trust. But he trusted her, right? Well did she care about him?
If she didn't she wouldn't have organised the mock birthday party they had for him back on earth. Rocket didn't know when his technical birthday was so apparently Nebula put in a word to get a party going. Well, that's what Nat told him.
It was one of the best days of his life.
Sure, the turnout wasn't stellar but it was a day where he could just relax. Seeing everyone cracking jokes and talk to him like a normal person was fantastic. Even if he started dancing like an idiot to 70's cheesy pop music it felt fantastic. He got everyone else in on the act too, besides the obvious. Carol arriving twenty minutes late but carrying a karaoke machine and getting the group into an hour-long singalong was a particular highlight. Herself and Rocket were able to work in a shitfaced duet before the night's end.
Nebula had to like him enough to do all that, right?
She had to. She just HAD to.
Rocket took a few precautionary breaths, thankful for the distance between the two so she wouldn't suspect a thing, and called her over. She asked if he'd seen something on the scanners. His voice was jittery as he told her that they needed to talk. Nebula looked puzzled but nonetheless walked over to Rocket.
Just asking if anything was wrong sent a wave of relief through Rocket's body.
He twiddled his thumbs, not daring to look into Nebula's eyes. An uneasy silence followed. Rocket sighed again, only to be asked if everything was okay again.
The pressure building up in his throat was released in a heavy breath. Rocket reminded Nebula that she was there for him these past two years. He valued what he had done for her.
Shit... he couldn't keep it in him much longer. She needed to know. She was the closest thing to family he had.
Rocket swallowed hard. Now or never. A tear or two formed.
Rocket said he was gay.
What followed was a minute of the two sitting next to each other, Nebula's arm resting on Rocket's shoulder. Rocket was crying at this point. Ugly tears, head in elbows.
He felt a hand on the back of his head. He looked up, eyes red and cheek fur slightly damp. Nebula looked up dead in the eyes.
She told him that it was alright. It didn't matter.
Rocket never hugged someone so hard in his life. His breaths were still shaky but were being met by reminders that everything is okay.
Rocket never felt so relieved in his life.
It wasn't much. But it felt fantastic for him.
The two remained there for six minutes. Not moving, not exchanging words.
He felt accepted.