Gamora lay in her bed within her quarters on the Milano, tossing and turning, unable to rest. Sleep never came easily to her, even in a relatively safe environment like their ship. Being asleep made her feel vulnerable. As the most dangerous woman in the galaxy, she couldn't afford to be vulnerable. But now there was no significant worry of an ambush, her tiredness the only enemy. Not even nightmares plagued her. They would almost be welcome compared to this infuriating consciousness that kept her awake. She forced her eyes open and squinted into the darkness. The dull illumination of the clock indicated that it was the middle of the night. Turning her body away from the clock, she closed her eyes once more.

Her eyes opened again as she heard an indistinct noise other than the low hum of the Milano's engines. Sitting up, she listened, waited. The sound became louder and clearer. It was someone talking, definitely Rocket's voice, but she couldn't make out the words. He sounded distressed and began shouting. Gamora bolted out of her room and ran to the raccoon's (and the tree's) door. It was locked, of course, so she pounded on it several times.

"Rocket, what's wrong?" she asked loud enough to be heard through the door. And likely the walls too. There was no response, but the screaming ceased.

Peter drowsily emerged from his room, rubbing his eyes. "'Mora, what's going on? What time is it?"

"It's Rocket, he's been yelling," the assassin explained as she brushed her loose hair out of her face, tucking the strands behind her ear.

"I bet you 50 units he's having a nightmare. Again. Or are they night terrors? I always get those confused." The Terran looked downward and let out an exhausted sigh. "I'm going back to bed, get me up if there's actual danger. Night." He turned around and returned to his quarters.

Gamora heard Groot's voice before Rocket's door opened from within. The Flora Colossus, at approximately four feet tall and wearing a concerned expression, was on the other side. Groot pressed a button on the wall and the lights flickered on. She saw Rocket, sitting up in his bed and clutching one of his unfeasibly large guns. The small cyborg was breathing heavily, the fur on his head glistening with sweat as his eyes darted around the room.

"I am Groot," the tree said in a reassuring tone.

The raccoon's breathing became less erratic as he focused on Groot.

The woman walked further into the room once the smaller cyborg was calm. "Can we talk about this?" She tried to ask gently, but it sounded more demanding than she intended.

"No," Rocket muttered. His voice was quiet and rough.

Gamora folded her arms and gave him a stern glare. "It's the nightmares again, isn't it." She cut right to the chase.

Rocket looked downward, avoiding eye contact. He gently dropped the gun onto the bed in front of him, slumping his shoulders forward. "I know, I get it. But it's not like the rest of you are krutacking easy to live with either. I'll soundproof the walls." Rocket lay back down on his side, hugging the gun again. Groot walked to the bed, pulled the covers over his friend, and sat beside the bed.

"That may not be the best solution. What if there really had been an intruder?"

"Well, I'm gonna try to get some sleep." Rocket's eyes clamped shut.

"I am Groot," the tree said softly as he waved at the assassin.

Gamora turned the lights out and went back to bed.

The following day, Rocket was led by Gamora into her room, her sanctuary that he never expected to witness. It was tidy with minimal decoration. The only personal touches were a collection of swords on the wall, dark blue sheets on the bed, and a few trinkets resting on top of a cabinet.

"Recently I have been doing aromatherapy," the woman said as she moved towards her dresser.

Rocket raised an eyebrow in confusion "Smelling junk is supposed to stop my bad dreams? Are you loonier than a Hox?"

"It won't stop your nightmares, but it will help you relax." Gamora pulled a purple scent stick from her drawer and rested it on a base. It filled the room with a thick, flowery odor that got caught in Rocket's throat. He coughed a few times, hard enough to shake his small frame. The woman quickly removed the scent and briefly opened the door to air out the room. "The fragrance can be overpowering at first, I'll use a less potent one." After replacing the stick with a white one, the smell it evoked was clean and crisp. She sat down on the side of her bed and patted next to her, beckoning him to sit by her.

"I don't see the point, I am relaxed." He lied. It was no secret that Rocket was almost constantly on-edge, but he didn't like people thinking that. What he usually did to relax was build, unbuild, and rebuild his weapons. But that was less 'relaxation' and more of a pleasant distraction.

"Of course," she said, dripping with sarcasm, while rolling her eyes. "I am going to massage your shoulders now." His body stiffened at her touch; he let out a sharp breath he didn't realize he was holding. It was obvious that they could both feel the tension in his muscles as she kneaded her hands near his joints.

After a few minutes, Gamora removed her hands. She gestured with her arm, miming a petting motion. "May I?" A small smile formed on her face.

Rocket hesitated for a moment. "Yeah, but if-"

"If I tell anyone, you'll bite my fingers off, I know," she interrupted. "I accept your terms."

Being petted was demeaning, but das't did it feel good. He scooted into her lap and leaned back into her. As she softly stroked the fur on his head, a purring noise emanated from his body. "D-did ya hear that? Must be one of the engines, I should check it."

"That noise isn't the engine," Gamora pointed out flatly.

Rocket allowed her to pet him for a few minutes in comfortable silence, until he felt the need to shatter it. "Do you get them too? Bad dreams, I mean."

The other cyborg stopped touching him. "Sometimes. Not as often as you do." Gamora paused as if she were hesitant. "Rocket, now that you are relaxed, I want you to think about the dream, and change it in any way you wish."

All kinds of outlandish scenarios popped into his mind. It started as it always did, but being awake and merely thinking about it, he was completely in control. Anything could happen. The scientists could all turn into exotic strippers, or even piles of unit strips. Or he could blow the place up with an infinite number of plasma bombs. His restraints could become food and he would eat his way out. He was omnipotent.

"Think of these alternate dreams right before you go to bed tonight," she instructed.

With these happy thoughts in mind, Rocket left the assassin's room and returned to his den of organized chaos, which smelled of engine grease and fertilizer as always.

After spending the better part of the day dismantling and rebuilding his weapons, he wandered into the galley searching for a snack. Instead he found his four losers sitting at the table, waiting for him. They all had an object in front of them, each had a web embellished with various bangles surrounded by a circular hoop.

Quill spoke up first. "On Earth, there are these things called dreamcatchers. The idea is that the bad dreams get caught in the net so the person only has good dreams. I thought we could each make one for you."

The tree smiled at his best friend. "I am Groot."

Groot's had a wooden hoop with patches of green moss, and the threads were adorned with little flowers. Another, created by Drax, had a gray hoop and red feathers woven into the intricate web. Peter's was covered in red fabric and had beads on the threads. The one Gamora made was crafted from metal parts, with the net looking more like a grid.

"Do Terran trinkets truly have such power?" Drax asked as his brows furrowed. "It's impossible, dreams are intangible."

"Not really." admitted Quill. "It's more of a belief thing or superstition, but it can't hurt."

Rocket made grabby hands at the gifts and tried to hide a toothy grin. "Yeah, gimme your shitty art. It sure ain't worth trying to sell." It was like each of them would be watching over him, which would be great for people who believed in such sentimental nonsense. Useless as it was, he still appreciated the gesture.

That night, after placing each of the dreamcatchers on his wall, he conjured the images of his altered dreams just before hitting the sack.

It didn't work.

The small cyborg found himself shaking, safe in his bed. Gamora walked in, turning on the light.

Rocket glared down at his sheets. "...I'm weak. How the flark am I supposed to guard the freakin' galaxy if I'm this messed up by somethin' that can't even hurt me?" He didn't mean to be that candid, but he was so tired and shook-up that it just poured out of his mouth.

"You are not weak, Rocket." Gamora sat on the edge of the bed, face as emotionless as usual. "I believe you are one of the strongest people I know."

He scowled. "Now I know you're lyin', Drax can lift at least 1000 times more than me."

"Physical prowess isn't the only kind of strength." She put her hand on his shoulder. "As a child, before Thanos took me, what helped me stave off bad dreams was sleeping in my parents' bed with them."

"Good for you." If he had ever had parents, were they experiments too, or just dumb animals? It was something he didn't like to think about.

"Let me finish," she demanded. "Perhaps if we shared my bed, your terrors might be less severe, or less frequent."

"Oh, what the hell, why not. It ain't every day you get to go to bed with the most dangerous woman in the galaxy." Rocket shrugged his shoulders and hopped out of bed, still holding his gun that was larger than himself.

Gamora frowned. "But first, you need to let go of your gun."

"It keeps me safe."

"I will keep you safe," she declared with a firm, disapproving look.

Reluctantly, he set the gun down and followed her out.

Once in Gamora's room, the assassin lifted her pillow and brandished a small knife. "If you try anything, you will regret it."

Rocket threw his hands in the air indignantly. "I have to put my gun away, and you get a knife? That's not fair."

The pair of cyborgs lay down next to each other on their sides, facing away. "Goodnight Rocket."

"G'night."

Rocket slept soundly until movement shook him awake. Gamora was tense, fighting a non-existant enemy. "Gamora, it's okay. I'm here." Against his better judgment, he hugged her side. The woman froze for a moment, but then her arm gently curled around his furry body as she fell back into peaceful sleep.

Gamora rose with a yawn. She had fully expected Rocket to interfere with her sleep, but instead she was well-rested. There was something about the body heat he gave off and the softness of his fur that made it easier to let her guard down and give in to slumber. Looking down, the raccoon was curled up and laying on her stomach.

Little arms stretched as Rocket yawned, and he furiously pulled his mussed fur back into position. "I think your bed's softer than mine."

She knew that wasn't the case, all the beds on the Milano had the same type of mattress. It was his own way of saying they should continue doing this. "I agree."

He gave her a curt nod and hopped off the bed, running back to his room.

These were their secret rituals. When not on a mission, they would often spend time together, either relaxing with scents (and petting), or Gamora would silently watch Rocket tinker. Each night, they slept in Gamora's bed. They began side-by-side, but always woke inadvertently cuddling or with the raccoon laying on top of her. And every morning, Rocket would sneak back to his own chamber without a word.