Insomnia stunk. Quill was used to taking sleep where he could get it, but three short deliveries (two from Nova and the third from... not Nova) that paid well but landed on different nearby planets with different time zones and requested drop times left Quill both exhausted but unable to sleep. Keeping his quarters as dark as possible and earplugs didn't help. The softer side of his mixtape didn't help.
With a perturbed "#%?! it" Quill quite literally rolled out of bed and went up to the galley to stretch his legs and have a warm glass of something that wasn't plain water or caffeinated. Or decided to bite back.
Considering they'd dry docked on Taspis for a few days for refueling, supply, and getting the now toddler sized Groot outside so he could grow in the sun, nobody should have been up keeping an eye on autopilot or the screens. But there Rocket was, sitting in the cockpit, three screens lazily floating overhead. At least Quill assumed it was Rocket. Drax or Gamora would have been tall enough to see their head over the seat back, and Groot would have had music playing- thankfully he still retained all his memories from before Xandar and had no trouble with the Milano's systems.
Quill steamed the last of the powdered milk with some water, taking the hot foam filled mug to the seat next to the floating panes. Rocket's face was indeed reflected in the dull blue glow of the screens. He had a pair of custom made goggles strapped over his face, and a closer look at the panels showed only blue- the little #%?! was using a blocker so only he could see what he was actually looking at on the screens.
Noticing that Rocket was a bit glassed over, furiously thumbing though whatever only he could see, Quill sat quietly and observed. Rocket looked bigger, he noticed, partially because he was only wearing loose drawstring pants, his fur puffing out further than when he wore one of his tight-fitting jumpsuits, and partially because the soon to be smallest member of the team was putting on weight. He still didn't look like the raccoons Quill remembered back in Alabama, fat off garbage and road kill, but he was looking a bit healthier, his fur with a clearer sheen and his tail no longer looking so limp and emaciated.
"So, hairless, how long you plannin' on staring?" Rocket asked, nonchalantly.
"Wha- hey! I was just curious. And unable to sleep."
"No 'this is my ship and I do what I want' bull?" Rocket asked, facing Quill warily.
"No, because this version of the Milano isn't really my ship anymore. It's ours."
Rocket snorted, with a short high pitched chittering noise. "Sap," he shot out before returning his attention to the screens.
Quill wondered if that's what Rocket's laugh actually sounded like. Raccoon chitter.
"Not gonna ask what I'm doin'?" Rocket asked, after a few minutes of silence.
"Considering your setup? No. I don't want my face chewed off."
A few more minutes of dull silence. Quill rose to put his cup in the sanitizer and got a small bowl of trail mix from the cupboard, holding the bowl out in Rockets field of view after inhaling a few handfuls.
"Bribe?" he inquired, still darting his eyes around the screens and tracing lazy circles on the one furthest right. "Put it down. I'll take some when I'm done with this."
"So how hot are the women you're ogling?" Quill finally asked.
"Some of 'me probably are, hard to- hey!" Rocket grunted. "Low blow man, I'm not looking at girlie mags. Anatomy lesson "
"Uh huh."
A beat of silence, then a small, almost defeated sounding squeak came from Rocket's lips. "Can you read Kree?"
"Nope."
"Can you read?"
"Wasn't born in, oh wait, no, I was born in a barn. Mom couldn't get to the hospital in time. Guess I walked right into that one."
"Small wonder you can speak at all."
"Look, if you're asking if I can read anything other than English, yeah. Xandarian. And Pac'caha."
"Weird choice."
"A lot of our clients were Skrull."
Silence again. After two minutes and thirty five seconds (no, Quill wasn't counting, he just had the light from the ship's atomic clock display burned into his eyes), Rocket asked, quietly, "Couldja translate something for me? Or check if the auto translator is right, more like?"
"Sure." Quill had been curious the whole time. Rocket still wasn't much for talking about his personal life.
With a flick of his wrist, the contests of the screens were visible. Rocket removed his goggles and set them on the low table between the chairs, absentmindedly grabbing a handful of seeds and nuts, leaving the dried fruit and small candies behind.
The far left screen contained medical diagrams, precise and semitransparent, to be able to go back and forth between several layers of circuitry and skeleton- Rocket, and he must have stolen them from the lab. The right were drawings, likely of Rocket's own hand, with notes scribbled on a separate layer in the program. Scribbled was't quite the right word, as Rocket's handwriting was the exact opposite of doctor's scrawl, clean and precise. It was just that it was written in Kree, which looks like a spasm induced mess when written properly. It was the center that struck Quill as the most interesting. Pages of digital information in English, with a matched page from the auto translator in Kree alongside.
"Xandarian, yeah?" Rocket asked, and a few quick swipes changed the translation on the right to something Quill understood. "Can't read it, but you can at least tell me how much of the translation is bull."
"Why don't I just read the English out loud? The audio implants are much better than this," Quill said, dismissing the Xandarian auto translation from the the center screen. "Shove over, it's hard to see."
Raccoon biology, Quill noted, when he was sitting in Rocket's seat. Earth raccoon biology. Rocket must have taken what Quill said in the Kyln to heart, and actually done some research on them. Rocket, now standing at the floor, back against Quill's leg, craned his neck up to look at words he couldn't understand.
"Screw it," Rocket muttered, then looked up at Quill. "Dignity is already in the latrine. Can I sit on you?"
Quill gestured to his right thigh, and Rocket reached out to climb. "Whoah, wait, no," Quill yelped as quietly as he could. "Your nails, bud. Can I lift you instead?"
Rocket bit his lower lip and raised his arms; Peter bent over, picking up the small but dense mechanic and placed him on his lap. Rocket settled in, whipping his tail around in Quill's face in the process. It was definitely bigger, and the loose patchy fur was slowly being replaced by a thicker coat.
"Heavier than you look, man." Quill quipped, quickly adding, "how much do those augmentations weigh? No wonder you can lift crap I can't."
"Well some of it is also knowing where my next meal is commin' from. Prison food ain't exactly designed for someone like me. Probably going to need some new clothes soon- s' good to not see my ribs though my fur when looking down." He paused. "Don't worry, I ain't getting so fat I won't fit in the ductwork. But I'd like to not die of malnutrition, thanks."
"Anything we can do do you?" Quill asked.
"Read the bit on diet for me?"
Quill scrolled through the page, and read aloud about raccoon diets, and Rocket leaned over to the right screen to jot down a few notes and erase one or two things he'd already written.
"Okay, so fruit's not off the table," Rocket said, picking out a few pieces of dried fruit from the bowl at their side. So, Rocket didn't take some of the stuff before on purpose. Quill had noticed that the sweets in their pantry hadn't drained nearly as fast as they had in the first week. Alcohol, too.
"You've been trying to follow this?" Quill asked.
"Well, one, I got a little more info on what I'd been... before, now, so thanks for that. Two, I got people who need me. Cuttin' out stuff until I'm sure it's okay. Longest I've been off the sauce in a while."
"What about Groot?"
"Bah. I needed him more, and I knew he'd outlive me. He's already like three hundred, he's stopped countin'. I'm ten or so, and I'm still trying to figure out if these things," Rocket said, jabbing a thumb to the left screen, "are gonna shorten my lifespan or make me live longer. Given everything I've found, I'm leaning toward the latter, I might even hit fifty if I keep 'me cleaned and maintained right. But still. Raccoons, even in captivity, live to only eighteen. I could die before it would be legal for me to even have a drink on your planet. Not that that's stopped me before." Quill felt him shift slightly. A wince? Was Rocket hitting his equivalent of a midlife crisis?
Quill grinned and Rocket looked a bit offended, crossing his arms over his chest. Quill put his hands to his face in mock defense for the clawing that he knew wouldn't come. "Hey, honestly, sounds like a plan. What you should be eating is good for me too. I dunno about Drax or Gamora though. They might need something else. Why don't you and I go to market tomorrow and get fresh stuff for the pantry and freezer? I heard Taspis trout is good this time of year."
"Never had fish. Too expensive."
"After what we just earned? We go into the best monger in the market and demand for the flarking Guardians of the Galaxy. And we get you some new clothes."
"You're spoiling me. Almost seems like you need somethin'"
"The Milano could use a new gun or two. And I heard the dry dock guys are union. They'd take everything we'd earned in the past two months and then some. Compared to that, a few fish and some pants are a bargain. We have a deal?"
"Groot comes too."
"As long as I don't have to carry him swaddled, fine"
Rocket laughed again, his real laugh, a high chitter that he didn't try and stifle. "Damn, that I'd want to see."