Rocket was drunk and rambling. Groot had left him, not only left, but left with business unfinished. He'd abandoned Rocket with obligations to the sort of people that you didn't want to disappoint. That was the gist of what Rocket ranted about, although he threw in a few colorful words for the woman who instigated Groot's sudden departure- words like harpy, siren, tree-humper and hippie- and made it all around clear that he held no fond regard for the Krylonian woman.
"He told you several weeks in advance that he was going to stay behind with Stormy," Drax reminded him, with no great interest. Rocket had recounted this tale of woe several times already in the short time that Drax had been working for him.
"I didn't think he was serious," Rocket said, staring sorrowfully into his glass. "I mean, what is he going to do without me? He can't... can't..." he hiccuped. But Groot could do anything. It was Rocket who couldn't pull off an armed prison-break on his own, or transport a bounty to the shuttle, or reach the higher shelves, or calm down after his nightmares- the ones he had every night, for which he needed the embrace of some stupid tree who just happened to smell like a secret, safe wooded hideaway, where no scientists could mutilate him anymore.
"He can't reach things that fall under the fridge," Rocket finished weakly.
Drax was quiet for a moment. "But couldn't he just extend smaller, more flexible branches to retrieve the object?"
Rocket groaned and laid his face down on the table.
"Is that wrong? I do not know much about Groot's anatomy. But I think I have seen him-"
"Shut up, Drax."
Rocket had been stuck with Drax for three weeks now. Everyone else on the team had been busy with their own lives, except Gamora, who had (for some reason) taken offense to Rocket asking if he could 'pay her to do some stuff with him, which would possibly include spooning'. "Groot used to do it, and he didn't make a federal case out of it, neither!" Rocket had yelled, after she got all pissy with him, and then she'd hung up abruptly. So when he finally asked Drax, who was his absolute last choice, he left out the cuddling clause.
"Oh, d'ast. She thought I wanted to pay her for sex." Rocket finally realized, and laughed like a maniac. Drax looked at him with a perplexed frown.
"Who did you proposition?"
It took awhile for Rocket to calm down enough to talk. "Gamora. Oh man. I asked her if I could pay her to do some stuff with me... Some STUFF!" And then he was off again, clutching his sides and braying with laughter.
"I'm going to retire to bed. I do not understand your jokes," Drax said, as he stood up from his chair and started toward his quarters. He had to duck slightly in the small vessel.
"I'm not surprised! You have no sense of humor."
Drax cast a shriveling look back over his shoulder. "Or perhaps you aren't funny."
Rocket leaped out of his chair, and stood up on the table, which put him only close to eye level to Drax. "You don't know what you're talking about! I'm plenty funny. I'm the funniest flarking guy on this whole stinking team."
"I believe that Star-Lord is the 'funniest flarking guy' in the Guardians."
"You just have an answer for everything, don't you? How about this one. An interstellar bad-ass who just happens to resemble a raccoon, a Groot, a Rigellian Recorder Unit, and a war-brotherhood squadron of badoons enter a bar. Then Groot and me- er, the interstellar bad-ass- we blow the friggin' heads off all the badoons, and their badoon general, KZZ-WARK, and save that recorder droid's worthless life! Then how many leave the bar? Nope, I screwed up the joke. Still funny though, huh?" Rocket laughed like a buffoon. Drax's brow furrowed.
"Rocket?"
"Yeeee-eeees?" he grinned.
"I think you have had too much to drink this evening. You are... shitfaced."
"Maybe." Rocket held up a finger, to indicate that he was about to make a profound point. "But maybe... maybe you're not shitfaced enough. Stay up, come on, knock a few back. Loosen up." He was dangerously close to pleading, but he wasn't ready to go to bed, and he didn't want to be alone.
Drax looked like he would decline, but then hesitated. "I suppose I could stay up awhile longer. I was not tired anyways. I only wanted to get away from you."
"That's the spirit, buddy! Sit down, I'll pour you a shot."
An hour later they had finished with shots and had moved on to drinking straight from the bottle. They sat on the floor, backs to the console, passing a bottle of vodka between them. Empties littered the ground by their feet.
"You are sooo much more fun when you're drunk. You should be, uh, an alcoholic."
"Do I need a permit for that?" Drax asked. "Are there classes?" Rocket chuckled, even though he knew Drax hadn't been making a joke.
"Nah, forget-" Rocket belched. "Forget about it. Shit. I am drunk." The world swam around him, so he closed his eyes to try to escape the vertigo. He leaned against Drax's warm, solid side, and dozed for a minute as they sat in companionable silence.
Suddenly Drax laughed. Not just laughed- he thundered, he roared, he shook the goddamn ship. Rocket leaped up, startled out of his drowsing state.
"What the hell is so funny?" Rocket shouted. "You scared the crap out of me."
"I get the joke," Drax said between bouts of laughter. "The one about the badoons, and the Groot. KZZ-ZZ... ZZ... Blam! Bwahaha!"
"Now I think you're shitfaced, buddy. So, uh... let's get you to bed." As if Rocket could see even a foot in front of him. Somehow they managed to gather themselves into an upright position, stagger through the living quarters, and make it into Drax's small room, with only one unfortunate tail-treading incident. They had two bedrooms, which had been a selling point for this particular shuttle, although each one was barely larger than a closet. Fine for Rocket, not so good for Drax, who could barely lay out in the space. His head touched one wall and his feet touched the other.
"Okay. I'm gonna go." Rocket said when Drax had finally managed to cram his large body onto the too-small cot. "See ya."
For awhile he searched for the door, which had been there just a moment ago, he was positive about that. "Flarking door," he muttered. Drax heard him bumping around and asked, "What are you doing?"
"Just... just... here it is!" Rocket smacked around for the hydraulic release. Of course he had found a window and not the door at all, so he would never find the button.
"Just lie down," Drax demanded. "I want to sleep now."
Rocket grumbled some more about flarking doors running off, and the dast crumbly workmanship on everything these days, but did as he was told. He clambered up onto the cot, still clothed all the way down to his boots, and curled up against the Drax's chest.
"I did not mean here. I meant the floor."
"Yeah, yeah. Shut it, Drax,"Rocket said, but with no venom in his voice. He was too far gone to give a crap what he was babbling about, and apparently Drax was falling asleep too, because he offered no rebuttal. Rocket's last thought was his bed-mate didn't smell like a secret wooded hideaway, but he did smell nice. Dry, like a martini, with undertones of sour sweat. Rocket didn't know why he should like the smell of a guy's unwashed pits, that was obviously disgusting, but he did. He snuggled up under Drax's chin and passed out.