somelittlemonster: Sooooooooo this was kinda unexpected. Totally not in a bad way, either. It's probably the more exciting for me than my other one-shot anthology. But this is going to actually follow a sort of plot, shockingly.

Back on my stupid short 'Irresistible', fantastic author of the amazing 'Nova, We Have A Problem' anthology divisionten and I were passin' jokes about Rocket's many relationships. I made a joke about the Egg McMuffin, and then the idea of Rocket's kids he has with Gamora in the comics popped up.

And the idea of these two together just CONFUSES me. Like, how do they even work out? Who asked who out? How in the HELL did they have kids? It's an underrated pairing it seems, too. But it does have its fans...

So this is going to tell that tale of events. But we have it set in the film universe because of the fact that I'm a little unfamiliar with the comic universe. I saw the film and THEN started the comic series. Whoops.

And we've shook this up for ourselves a bit. We went into this with no set idea on how to start the actual story. The plan for now is to have each chapter deal with one of us starting up a story and having our character end in a humorous/awkward situation. Then the other will pick up where the other left off and carry the story on from there. And the other doesn't even know /what/ was written until it's posted. So this is divisionten's first time seein' this as well as all you guys.

First person perspective just because we tell third person narratives rather differently. I'm takin' Rocket because he's where I feel more comfortable while divisionten will fill in Gamora's chapters with her awesome narrative that's a gazillion times better than me.

I considered having Rocket and Gamora interact more during my initial drafts of this first chapter. But I changed my mind and instead decided to leave the interaction to absolutely nothing. The only reason I did this was for everyone to get a feel for where Rocket and Gamora are mentally since this is first person. But this does end in a way that will definitely deal with interaction after these first two chapters are finished up. I want to get a feel for divisionten's Gamora and vice-versa.

I'm gonna shut my fuckin' trap now.

So it all starts with Rocket and his struggle with an EMP bomb from the night before...

divisiontnen: As somelittlemonster stated, this is a collaborative project. Odd numbered chapters are from Rocket's perspective, written by him, even numbered are Gamora's written by me. We don't see each other's chapters until they've been posted, so this is like a hardcore version of Once Upon a Time.

I like to think my life was never meant to be normal.

On top'a bein' something that wasn't meant to exist in this sense (no, this isn't an emotional-fest), I've been around the galaxy and done a thousand and fifty three things that are just unbelievably stunning or so ridiculous that they're just plain unbelievable. Met a tree that went from a partner in crime to, y'know, somethin' to call a friend. A best friend at that. Broke outta 22 prisons with that same tree. Name's Groot. Nearly lost an arm on a job when we got attacked by a massive hoard'a Svarnicks back on some backwater place. Believe me, the pay wasn't worth nearly losin' a limb. And of course, the most ridiculous escapade...

Met some dickfaces in the Kyln that soon became Prison #23 on my extensive list and saved the galaxy once, too. Think loads'a people know all about me 'n' my friends' ventures. Call us the Guardians of the Galaxy? Think ya might know a thing or few about us...

Er, well, maybe not. When people do actually recognize us, it's really spontaneous and surprising. But I'm gettin' used to it.

My life's so abnormal and "in your face" that I'm basically conditioned so that it /is/ normal to me. Nearly gettin' my fur burned off on the daily ain't even a big deal. Dealin' with open wounds all the time isn't somethin' I cringe at, even when they're terribly severe. Groot losin' limbs (mostly arms) happens now and then, but I don't panic like I did the first time it happened (seriously, the idiot could'a at least told me he could regenerate.) And it's all because of one simple fact that I just kinda had to accept.

My. Life. Isn't. Frickin'. Normal.

And to think that the one thing in my very unnatural and twist-turnin' lifetime that actually did catch me off guard and kinda gave me a different outlook on livin' in general started with an EMP bomb thrown by some Krylorian scumbag is just…

I can't find a word for it. I still don't get it, man. The galaxy's gotta weird sense'a humor, I guess. Thanks, pinky! Started somethin' amazing.

But the bar's the place this story /really/ began, I guess.

Woosh. Tack. Groot slams down another shot glass onto the bar counter, wiping his lip with the back of his hand. "I am Groot!" he says with a raised finger to the bartender. Another set, please! These are nearly finished!

He gives the dumb ol' tree a raised eyebrow.

But I'm there to translate. "Says another set, yellow skin," I tell the tender without makin' eye contact.

"Ah, alright. A moment, sir," he says and trudges off to get another few drinks for this dumb tree'a mine.

Usually Groot's me in this situation. Usually I'm the one to be drunk off'a my ass, five or so shots of whatever I feel like drinkin' already taken and more on the way.

Woosh. Tack. Groot repeats the process. I count the empty glasses in front of Groot, but have to start over once he takes down another. And another.

"Groot, don't go so fast. You're gonna choke." My voice feels strained as I speak, a cough tickling at the back of my mouth.

"I am Groot?" Groot says as he raises yet another glass to his wooden lips. Is there something wrong? You aren't drinking.

I still have my respective shots just sittin' in front of me, waiting to be taken down my windpipe.

I'm the type'a guy who drinks to anything. The weekend? Cheers! Successful mission? Cheers! Blood on my hands coz I'm trigger happy as hell? Cheers to that! Even when there's no reason to go out, I /still/ go out if I really feel like it.

But tonight's not really a night where I feel like celebratin' with the Losers of the Galaxy. Sure, we hit a big break in a case just last night and received an enormous pay. But what we'd endured, what /I'd/ endured myself to get catch the bastard left me in a state of pain I've never experienced.

EMPs aren't exactly kind to me. With a good percentage of my skeleton and brain enhanced by technical bits all throughout, even a tiny ion storm we pass through can send me into a frenzy. No, I don't go stone-cold comatose for months on end or lose my sentience completely. I go stone-cold for at least a couple hours and when I wake it's almost like a reset.

The only places where my body is part machine is on my skeleton and brain. Every other part of me? Completely organic due to genetic splicing. At least that's what I assume. There are parts of me that I know absolutely nothin' about but seem less important than what I previously mentioned. So for this EMP to only put my limbs into a state of paralyzation for a good ten, fifteen minutes is just confusing. The bomb that hit us didn't really render me unconscious like it usually does. It just tensed my entire body up and put a thousand…

Ya can't measure pain in units. Point is, every part'a me is achin'. Legs, back, neck, arms, shoulders. I should'a stayed at home and went to bed instead of comin' out for a drink.

"Here, take 'em." I push the tiny tray of my own drinks in Groot's direction when I see the way he's eyein' 'em.

"I am Groot?" Are you sure?

"Yeah," I nod. "Don't feel like drinkin' tonight." There is a beat of silence. "Remember the pulse bomb that went off last night?" Groot nods. "And how it shook me up real bad and made my whole body tense up for a good ten minutes?" Groot gives another silent nod as the blue liquid seeps into his mouth. "Yeah, well, I'm havin' some serious achin' in my limbs and back."

"I am Groot?" Do you know of any way to relieve yourself of such a pain, Rocket?

I shrug. "Usually the achin' comes and goes and it ain't too bad. But it's really puttin' a number on me, Groot. 'Sides usin' some pills, I don't know if this'll go away naturally or what."

Groot frowns and slides his row of now empty shot glasses (15-that's how many) to his left with a swift arm movement. "I am Groot." Perhaps you should consult a doctor tomorrow morning.
"No," I answer quickly. "Ya know how I feel about those, man. Brings up some…" I trail off because Groot knows where I'm headin' with that one.

Groot gives an airy sigh and looks around the establishment. "I am Groot?" Where is our leader?

I rest my head in my palms and rub my eyes as a wave of intense pain strikes through my entire head. Great. This is just what I need. Achy joints, back pain, and a frickin' migraine. It started as a relatively minor ache, but now it's so intense my whole d'ast head feels numb. Soon enough I'm gonna start foamin' at the mouth and bitin' at people or somethin'.

"Who knows?" I spit bitterly. "Probably out on the d'ast dancin' floor coz he's insistin' on dancing or some shit." Did I mention we're at a club? No, don't think I did. Yeah, we're at this ridiculous place that Quill heard about and insisted we come one'a these days. Calls itself 'Angela's.' Now I'm never opposed to drinkin', like I already said. But clubs aren't my favorite thing in the galaxy.

Drunk people? Well, dependin' on the person, they can be okay. But they usually suck.

Dancin'? No matter what, that sucks.

Drunk people dancing? Makes me wanna bash my skull on the floor over and over. But I already feel like I did that, so I keep that to myself.

"I am Groot," the colossus says with the pointing of his finger. I see our two cold-blooded killers at that booth over there.

I look over at the booth where Drax and Gamora sit. They look to be in deep conversation about something that I obviously can't make out. I can read lips, but to a certain degree. When you're twenty feet away from me in a crowded club with music blarin' while I got a headache, the chances of me knowin' what you're talkin' about is highly unlikely. This probably applies to hearin' ya talk, too. But from what I can see, Drax says something that actually manages to make Gamora smile.

I just turn away from the sight of the two green lovebirds with an annoyed sigh, pinch the spot between my eyebrows as I shield my eyes from the light above the bar. It's a funny idea I've entertained a couple'a times now where Drax and Gamora would probably be couple'a the year. Never to either of 'em, of course. Only to Quill and Groot. Quill gives an eyeroll and Groot just says "Yes, indeed, of course."

Doubt it'd happen, really. Gamora's definitely the last person I see as the datin' type. And I don't mean to say that Gamora is /undateable/ at all. Nah, definitely not. She's certainly a pretty lady, got a likeable attitude. She's strong willed, our team's moral core. Pretty damn friendly once ya get passed that 'business first, fun later' attitude she tends to wear now and then. Also, she's an assassin who apparently doesn't dance even though I caught her doin' it once.

Didn't say a word, though. Just went to the bathroom and kept my mouth shut. It's good blackmail, though.

I can't even picture a rhetorical "dream man" with his arm draped around Gamora. Like, I just don't see her with anybody, especially with her fellow shipmates. Not Quill, not Drax, not Groot, and definitely not me. Honestly, if ya got a thing for me, ya probably have really low standards or ya just wanna screw with me.

But no biggy. I ain't a stuffy, soft loser. I can't afford to feel that way about anyone, and I certainly don't think of Gamora in that way at all. We're friends. Nothin' more than that. Yeah?

Yeah. Course.

I stop daydreamin' over the green assassin a minute later when Groot speaks again, "I am Gr-I am Groot." Where is-oh, you're right. He is most definitely drunk.

I turn away from the bar counter and look to the dance floor where Quill is dancing-no, I change my mind. He's fuckin' grinding a complete stranger who is probably just as drunk as he is. He's laughing obnoxiously loud, sayin' something I can't hear over the ridiculously loud bass pulsating throughout the air. In my usual, not-so-shitty-feelin' state'a mind, I'd go over there, say somethin' vulgar along the lines of "Ya get that rash treated yet, Star-Lord?" just for a good cockblock, and save the Milano from a symphony of disgusting sounds for Quill's room.

But I just turn around and let a sigh escapes my lips. "Gettin' a migraine, Groot."

Groot says to me, "I am Groot." I am sorry for you being caught up in this situation, Rocket. The tree goes to rise from his spot wearily, looking back at his tray of drinks that the tender has just placed down. "I am Groot?" Do you want me to carry you back to the ship like I had yesterday?
Typical Groot. Good guy he is for carryin' my ass back to the ship while I could hardly move a muscle. Carryin' me when I was all stiff was probably like carryin' a solid, wooden board that ya can't bend or hold comfortably. In other words, it's a pain in the ass.

I shake my head, "Nah, bud. Sit. Don't wanna take the fun outta drinkin' for ya."

Groot seems more than happy to take his seat again as he takes up a tiny glass in each of his hands. "I am Groot." It is impossible for me to become intoxicated, Rocket, as you know. I simply enjoy the taste. And with that, Groot downs a couple more shots. Good excuse to drink, I'd say. I don't understand the biology behind how Groot can drink so much and have his brain be unaffected, but it's a thing.

I snicker and smirk at my excuse for a best friend's actions. "You're somethin' else, stumpy." I elbow him in the side.

Groot's only response is a throaty chuckle against the lip of yet another shot glass.

"Keep yourself entertained, buddy," I say with a slap to Groot's shoulder before I scoot off of the chair as cautiously as possible. But even with my nimble movements, I end up wincin' pretty damn badly at the pain that shoots through my legs. "If they ask ya, I went back to the ship. Tell 'em I'm hurtin' 'r whatever," are my last words to Groot before I take a few steps that are just a preview of the painful this journey's gonna be. Even with the slight swagger of my head as I step pain comes, especially near the front of my skull, and it's so d'ast bad I could just fuckin' cry.

I look over to the table where Drax and Gamora sit, considering maybe I should let them know I'm leaving and callin' it a night. Plus the last time I forgot to mention I was seriously hurt they were all kinda ticked at me. But then I see Quill boundin' on over there drunkenly, his partner from the dance floor seemingly gone. He's got a talent for losin' people real quickly-

… I can't tell if that was a bad joke or somethin' else. But, uh, yeah. He's good at pushin' people away's what I meant.

I don't know what he's gonna do to my two friends at the table, who are just minding their own business, and I honestly do not feel like stickin' around for the ensuing disaster. So I leave after giving one last glance to a certain tree who needs to /slow the fuck down with the shots./ Seriously, Groot. Sheesh.

Every step back to the Milano's like steppin' on pins. It's also like pins are bein' stabbed into every inch of my body everywhere else, even my arms that wave at my sides as I trudge onward miserably. I hiss at every step, trying not to put too much weight on either of my legs.

But that doesn't really work out. Shift it one way, that one hurts. Shift it back, that one hurts. Wish I could fly. Heh, that's what my namesake does. It'd be a damn cool thing to do, too. If anything, They forgot that one teensy detail…

I don't wanna talk about that. Jokin' about it isn't funny just like talkin' about it ain't a conversation to have over dinner.

When I go to enter the hatch on the side, I place my hand up against this newly-installed print recognition panel installed at my advice. Comin' back from restockin' the ship with shit we needed and findin' some homeless dude in there wasn't exactly thrilling. How he got in there, we'll never know.

The door hesitates for a moment before it slides open with a spiraling motion. For a sec there I thought I was gonna be locked out. No knew system's without its kinks, I know that much. And the thing's jammed up on Quill once already.

But that's coz he's Quill. Guess even the ship's gotta tease 'im now 'n' then.

Hot lava on my heels stop me from laughin' at that. "Ooooh, shit," I say as I huff a hot breath out of my mouth while I trudge into the Milano grudgingly. I hear the sound of somethin' high-pitched, and I think it's that shitty tape deck of Quill's startin' up again.

Oh. Wait. That's just the ringin' in my ears from my good ol' pal named 'Migraine from Hell.'

"Shuddup," I say to the sound as I begin the trek to my room. "Ow. Ow. Ow." Seriously, I know it sounds like I'm exageratin' times a million. But I'm really frickin' hurtin' everywhere. Cybernetic skeletons suck when they're exposed to magnetic pulses. They're great for everything else, and that includes puttin' yourself through the worst pains in the galaxy.

I wonder if Gamora's havin' similar issues for only a moment before I enter my quarters and immediately begin to remove my orange flightsuit. I really should just lay down, rest my head, make sure my body's not about to break into a gazillion pieces. But I gotta change into something a little less 'tight and fittin' for goin' out' and a little more 'sleep comfortably and not give a shit.' I pull on some loose drawstring pants a little too long for my legs and that's it. I swear, the amount of times I've tripped over my feet coz of these things bein' so damn long is ridiculous. But I wear 'em coz Groot saw 'em out somewhere with Quill and insisted I'd like 'em coz of the design.

There is no design. They're plain black.

So of course I like 'em. A design'd be tacky as hell. Plus normal clothes my size are a little hard to come by. I got an extensive wardrobe, I guess. But I can always use more clothes.

"Gah, fuck," I massage my skull with the tips of my fingers as I shuffle over to my bed with another wave of pain shootin' through my face. "I know Gamora has problems like this… I just know-"

And then a bulb 'dings' to life in my head. It's a miracle I actually hear it over the ringing.

Gamora. She's the answer.

Well, actually… it's not /her/, but it's in her room.

Gamora's bound to have some sort of remedy in her room because she's kinda sorta the med when we need her. Unless it's simple things like wrappin' up a cut with a bandage or gettin' a splinter out (tends to happen to me a lot since I use Groot for height advantages), Gamora's the one to go to. That was a skill I'd never thought she'd known, and I never thought it could be so handy. Burns are the most common things we're victim to for whatever reason, but she has sewn up wounds of mine a couple'a times now. Some of 'em were even reopened from way back when… y'know, /way back when./

It's probably a better idea for me to go and find some regular aspirin or whatever, but I think there's gotta be some kinda stronger antidote in the med-bag. I make a silent prayer to some sorta god that Gamora's door is unlocked.

So with more painful steps, I head toward Gamora's room with my pants covering all of my feet 'sides my toes. I nearly trip when I step on the back'a my heel, but I manage to stop myself from hurtin' myself any further by grabbin' the nearest wall.

"Please, just frickin'-"

The door to Gamora's room, surprisingly, is not locked shut when I press the button to slide the metal structure open.

I don't even gaze around at the cleanliness of the room like I usually do when I come in here once every cycle. But for the note, it's neat and very precise, especially when compared to my room. My place's got shit scattered everywhere-clothes in a pile, schematics on the floor, some bombs in the corner. I'm not exactly one to clean up after myself. I get lazy.

What was-oh, yeah, the bag.

I move quickly despite the pain in my body and look underneath of the bed. For a first place to look, I'm suprisingly in luck. There it is, a little far under behind a couple'a items I don't care enough to examine. Of course. Obstacles.

I roll my eyes, mutter "Really?" and get on my stomach. It's a strain to pull myself up and under the bed, my arms screaming in protest at the idea of me pullin' my weight like this. Luckily, all it takes is my upper body to be pulled under the bed for me to reach the bag. I consider just pulling my legs and tail under as well, but bein' stretched out like this on the floor's kinda comfortable. Plus the pain that I've already mentioned nine hundred sixty five times.

I unzip the bag and am surprised that nothing busts out and hits me on the nose. Seriously, this thing is crammed full'a sewing needles, cotton balls, all that good shit that I don't like lookin' at. Even a pair of surgical scissors? I knew ship med-kits were supposed to have basic necessities, but I never thought it'd have full blown surgical tools.

Or maybe these weren't here to begin with.

"I just need some pills, man," I grumble.

Instead of rummaging through and keepin' everything in the bag, I just start to pull shit out, examine it right quick, and toss it from under the bed and across the floor of her room. If it ain't a bottle'a pills, it ain't worth carin' for. Plus I got the full intention'a cleanin' up my mess just to cover my ass.

Which is kinda ironic. Coz this doesn't work out that way, like, at all. My ass was definitely not covered. But we ain't there yet.

Roll of gauze? Yeah, that's definitely on a /roll/ when I push it like a wheel across the floor and toward the door.

...That was a bad joke.

Those scissors? Bye.

Book about basic viruses and how to cure 'em. See ya later.

A slim, plastic encasing holding many sewing needles? Nope.

Blood packs? Those come in handy, but no.

Syringe? I don't throw it coz it's made of glass. But I hate havin' it in my hand, so I drop it to the floor a little too hard.

Another roll of gauze. Goodbye.

A bottle of pills but they're for sleeping. Nope. I'm tired enough as it is.

About fifteen other useless medical objects later, I reach in and pull out something that makes a rattling noise that's music to my ears. I almost screw the cap off and just dump the pills down my throat without another thought. But I need to be sure this is what I need. Don't wanna be high as a frickin' prowl cruiser coz I took the wrong pills.

"Fast-acting Beta brand acetaminophen gel tablets," I read. That big 'A' word's one I know. Pain reliever! Thanks God. "Made with natural Iso-8 minerals that relieve pain, increase immune system activity, and-blah, blah, blah. Rest don't matter." I untwist the cap as fast as possible and pour a handful of the turquoise gels into my hands. Two's probably good. I usually take two just for minor headaches. I consider getting water, but decide on just swallowing them without anything to drink.

They go down smoothly, probably due to their slick, somewhat slimy texture once they make contact with my tongue. After I swallow, I give a heavy sigh and fold my arms under my pounding skull with the pill bottle still tightly clutched in one hand. Perfect.

So I just sit like this and rest my head for a few minutes. And lemme tell ya, those things sure as hell are fast acting. I knew Iso-8 was a good resource for medical needs and the like, but /damn/. Didn't know this shit went to work instantly. I mean, this shit was like the crap they put in IV tubes and stick into your arms. The pain just disappears from my skull, and the numbing sensation's startin' to kick in on my body, too.

"'Mora's gon' kill me if she walks in soon," I mumble to no one in particular as I nuzzle (yeah, I nuzzled it) the pill bottle up against my face. "Prob'bly shoul' clea' up all my mess I ma'e." The widest, most tired yawn in the entire galaxy comes from out of my mouth. Why'm I gettin' so tired? I'm exhausted, yeah, but I'm fallin' asleep with my ass and tail stickin' out from under Gamora's bed.

But my life isn't a hundred percent normal. So of course I end up dozin' off. I don't exactly mean to fall asleep under Gamora's bed. It just kinda happens. I'm comfortable, stretched out, wearin' nice clothes and my headache's startin' to fade. Sure, my legs and tail are just stickin' out for all the Milano to see, but I don't care. I'm startin' to relax and just feelin' plain good. The achin' in every inch of my body's still there, but there's somethin' helpin' me relax instead of focusing on that.

It probably would'a helped for me to read the rest of the front of the label. Coz the full sentence is "Made with natural Iso-8 minerals that relieve pain, increase immune system activity and promote a healthy sleep."

But I didn't learn that last bit 'til later on.

somelittlemonster: Posted from mobile. Lemme know of any formatting issues. Gonna put the Groot translations into italics when I get on a functioning computer. For whatever reason, I can't get on AO3 on it...

And there ya have it. My first half of this in which Rocket is passed out with just his lower half stickin' out from under Gamora's bed, medical tools and such everywhere, and a bottle of pills just clutched in his hand.

I didn't emphasize those too much, but I imagine they're like morphine in gel-tablet form. Probably not meant for a creature of Rocket's size but I doubt they're of any higher danger. He's just out for the time being.

I figured this would be a good starter. It came naturally and all that jazz. The other ones I tried felt really forced and started to frustrate me. This one just flowed out like it was nothing.

Comments are appreciated. And I really can't wait to see what divisionten can follow this up with. I left her a drunk Quill and a sleepin' raccoon to deal with.