First Watch
There's no time in space. None.
The cosmos has been there since long before you, and will be there long after you're gone. Drifting amongst the stars, between destinations, has a timeless, ethereal feel. As poetic as that sounds, there is too much to do on a starship to spend all of your time contemplating the languid flux of the universe. Ground-pounders are the only ones who really get worked up about being in space. Those who live out there have a jaded view of interstellar travel, being more concerned with minutiae such as whether there's enough fuel to do that side trip for an extra 35,000 units or how late to that rendezvous we're going to be after doing that side trip or who is going to die because they didn't clean up the galley again.
Turns out that you do have to keep track of time after all, in space, just to be sure everything gets done and you stay on schedule. Milano kept Xandar time out of convenience, fitting shipboard life into that thirty-one-Terran-hour day. "Day" and "night" only mattered to her crew when they were docked or on the ground, and even then a lot of their activities occurred during the "night" when the locals were asleep or otherwise occupied. Night work gave them a welcome anonymity, too, since word had spread fast of their defeat of Ronan.
The dust had settled, finally, from that escapade, yet they couldn't escape their fame, or, more correctly, notoriety. It was a benefit sometimes, getting them extra space at a bar or a little deference in some negotiation. Otherwise, it was a liability, given that a certain class of galactic inhabitants wanted to have a go at the Guardians of the Galaxy just to see what they were made of. And there was a fairly long list of beings who had pre-fame scores to settle with individual members of the group. Life promised to be exciting for some time.
At the moment it was quiet, as Milano was in transit between the Hub and the buyer for a certain pallet of no-questions cargo. Cargo runs were easy and lucrative, and this one gave them something to do for a few days before they were scheduled to return to Xandar for a contract job for the Nova Corps.
Milano wasn't a big ship by any means, so the long times between ports were spent trying to stay off of each other's nerves. There were four watches: Gamora was first, followed by Quill, Drax and Rocket on the overnight. Being on watch entailed sitting on the flight deck, watching the autonav system and checking the screens to make sure no one was trying to sneak up on them. Groot was still in his pot, although he had grown to 125 microbules, or about eighteen inches. He'd be able to leave the soil for good in a few more weeks; until then, Rocket dutifully carried his pot around the ship.
They developed some shipboard routines. Quill concerned himself with setting up whatever mission they took on, and fancied himself as a master planner. Drax and Gamora began trading martial arts moves and conditioning notes, occasionally sparring in the cramped mid-deck cabin. They were surprisingly evenly matched: Drax was faster than he looked, and Gamora was stronger than she looked. Rocket fell into the role of fix-it man because he liked it and was good at it. "Fixing" included taking care of Milano as well as Quill's current plan. Rocket had no problem pointing out real or perceived problems to Quill. Peter would argue with Rocket, but, in the end, quietly made modifications. Rocket often made minor repairs and adjustments to the ship without telling anyone. He was pretty sure Gamora knew when he did that, Quill not so much, and Drax was oblivious. Still, there was a fine line he had to walk. Quill didn't always like Rocket working on his ship unannounced, so Rocket had learned to get all his ducks in a row before approaching the captain about a major fix. It took extra time, which was annoying, but avoided an argument, which was worth the trouble in the cramped quarters. The team devised some unwritten house rules, too, for peace and civility, such as "don't wake anyone up when your watch is done" and "keep the kaveh pot full".
Speaking of kaveh, Rocket drained the last of a pot into his cup. Gamora had just relieved him from the night watch, and he wanted to have a cuppa before getting some sleep. He set about booting up the galley for the next round. The galley system lit up, then emitted a series of odd chirps and went dark.
"Ya gotta be frickin' kidding me," Rocket said to the dead panels. "Can't get a break this morning." He opened a compartment and pulled out his tool kit.
"I am Groot," chirped the sapling. (Bummer, dude.)
"I know the Novas tried to put her back together right, but every day there's somethin' else that needs rejiggered." Groot stretched and yawned.
Rocket pulled the bottom panel off of the galley station, stuck a probe in his mouth and pulled himself into the guts of the machine. Drax emerged from his compartment, took in the empty kaveh urn and the two gray legs sticking out of the galley panel. He heard distracted humming drifting out of the machine and knew that Rocket was deep in his happy place. Music filled the ship, and Quill strolled into the common area to the strains of "Cherrybomb." Drax noticed Rocket's foot tapping; it was his favorite song. Quill noticed him, too.
"Ranger Rick, what're you doing?"
"Fixin' your ship again. An' don't call me that."
"C'mon, man, I asked you before not to mess with things unless you tell me."
Rocket pulled himself out from the machine.
"Yer kiddin' me. You really expect me to wake you up to tell you the kaveh machine took a shit? Hey, blue, hit me with that spanner and the electrical thingie with the two wires."
"No, I'm not kidding. You're always messing with things and I have no idea what works and what doesn't."
Drax rooted around in the kit and handed the tools to Rocket, who set them on his chest. He targeted Quill with an intense glare.
"First of all, when I fix it, it stays fixed, so relax. Secondly, I only fix things that're busted. Or suck bad enough to need work."
"Look, I know that maybe there's a few things that are wonky, but I don't think it helps to have you messing around with her all the time."
"Quill, yer only provin' my point. Since ya couldn't go out and get a new Shark-class ship, we gotta keep this one together. So lemme get back to it and keep her together." Rocket snorted in exasperation and pulled himself back under the galley.
"How do you even know how to fix this thing?"
"Because I was paying attention when I took it apart, dammit!" Rocket's patience was exhausted, and his voice rose a notch. "Look, why'n't you just go listen to one of your two tapes an' leave me alone so I can fix this thing and make. Some. Frickin'. Kaveh!" The last three words were punctuated with bangs from inside the galley.
"What'd you say?"
"You heard me. An' since you're the captain of this heap, why don't you take a little time an' learn somethin' about her instead of leaving it to me? Now if ya want kaveh and food today, buzz off and lemme work." A panel popped off the front of the galley, and a small black hand emerged, giving Quill the finger. The hand disappeared, and Rocket resumed humming and working.
Drax couldn't contain himself any longer, and exploded with laughter.
"The small one has spirit!" he finally gasped out.
Quill was seething as Rocket gutted his authority. Gamora's voice drifted down from the flight deck.
"Don't start anything down there," she said.
"Yes, mom," Quill snapped at the gangway. "Rocket, I'm serious, get your ass out of there right now or I'll drag you out."
The sounds of tinkering and humming stopped. The hand reappeared from inside the machine, index finger pointed right at Quill. The voice behind it was ice cold.
"You fucking touch me, Star Baby, and it'll be the next to last fucking thing you ever do." The work noises resumed inside the panel.
Drax looked at Quill. Gamora started down the gangway, stopped halfway. There was an uneasy silence.
"I am Groot." (Too far, say sorry.)
"Screw this," Quill said, and he reached down, grabbed Rocket's tail and yanked.
"Ahhh nooo!" There was a loud clank and a shower of sparks erupted inside the galley. Rocket exploded out the panel with a howl, ears flat, teeth bared, and launched himself at Quill's face. Everyone started yelling at once, and Groot emitted a high-pitched shriek.
Drax caught Rocket in mid-air by the collar of his jumpsuit and flipped him face down onto the galley table. Rocket was all teeth and claws, kicking everything off the table and onto the floor, trying to get away from Drax.
"Fucker! Ya got my tail!"
"Be still!" he rumbled, as Rocket continued to fight. Drax had his hands full with the strong, wiry body. Gamora jumped down the stairs to help Drax try to contain Rocket. Rocket forced himself up off of the table, but Drax wrapped him up in a tight bear hug. His claws were useless against Drax's tough skin.
"Whoa whoa whoa!" shouted Quill, backing up against the viewscreen. "That's it, Fuzzy Wuzzy! You are off my ship next port! I'm over you and your bullshit!"
Gamora caught Rocket's face with both hands, barely avoiding his teeth. He whipped his head from side to side, trying to break her hold.
"Rocket," she said softly. "Rocket. Stop." He shook his head once more and met her gaze, panting. Something clicked between them. He stopped fighting, going limp in Drax's arms. He had a cut beside his right eye, and the blood was beginning to mat the fur on his face.
"Peter," she said, "go upstairs."
"What? You're taking his side? You gotta…"
"Go upstairs. Now." She poured every bit of negative assassin voltage she had into her voice.
Quill thought about arguing for a moment, then knocked the kaveh urn off of the galley machine and stomped up the ladder. He slammed the floor plate down over the gangway, then jumped on it for good measure.
"Drax, let him go."
"I do not think that is wise. He is very fast and has teeth."
"Put me down. I'm through wit' you jerks." Rocket's voice was full of wounded pride, and a deeper hurt. Drax stood Rocket on the table. He made a show of brushing off his jumpsuit and straightening it.
"Dammit, hit my head on the way out." He gingerly felt the cut by his eye, wincing. Looked at the blood on his fingers, went to lick it off, stopped. He looked Gamora and Drax, started to say something, thought better of it. He jumped down, picked up the kaveh urn, and jammed it in the galley. He side-kicked the machine and it came to life, gurgled and began its brew cycle.
"Asshole," he said, looking at the machine and then the gangway to the flight deck. He picked up Groot's pot, whipped his tail around his body and stalked down the ladder to the cargo hold. Drax and Gamora watched him go, and were left to stare at each other while Peter slammed something up on the flight deck.