"This is where you lose me, Quill, with the tree," Rocket says, gesturing with his drink emphatically enough to spill most of what's left of it.
Gamora flicks a few stray drops of Rocket's drink off her hand. "The tree was where he lost you?"
Rocket shrugs. "The other stuff's crazy, sure, but we also defeated a deranged lunatic with a world-destroying rock three months ago, so, you know, the universe is crazier than I thought. But the blatant pandering with the bit about the tree-"
"It's not pandering!" Peter raises a hand to signal the bartender for another round.
"It's pandering, and Groot and I don't appreciate it. It's insulting!" Rocket says.
"I haven't heard Groot say one thing," Peter says. "If you ask me, he looks charmed."
"Don't flatter yourself, he's the furthest thing from charmed," Rocket says, pulling a napkin toward himself from the stack on the bar.
"He totally is!" Peter leans across Gamora to get a better look at Groot, clumsy because they've been sitting at the bar for ages already. "Look, he's smiling."
"He is not!" Rocket turns to Gamora. "Come on Gamora, back me up here!"
Gamora rolls her eyes. "Why must I always decide the outcome of your foolish arguments?"
"It's your own fault," Peter says. "If you didn't have so much integrity, we wouldn't be asking."
"Turn a little crooked, then we'll stop," Rocket says. "Why not start now? How about I transfer five hundred units to your account if you see things my way?"
"That's repulsive," Gamora says.
"Exactly," Rocket and Peter say.
Gamora shakes her head, but not in a way that indicates a refusal. She looks between Rocket and Peter and then, finally, at Groot, who has recently become strong enough to spend stretches of time outside his pot. He now sits on Rocket's shoulder the way Rocket used to perch on his, a comforting weight.
Rocket knows his fate is sealed when he sees the small smile on Gamora's face. "He appears to be pleased with Peter's story."
"I told you! He digs it," Peter says, reaching out to brush his fingers over Groot's branches, his hands careful in the way all of them are careful with Groot, now.
"Groot, I'd say I was disappointed in you, but honestly, I'm not sure why I expected better," Rocket says. "Once a sap, always a sap. Sap! Ha! See what I did there? I'm hilarious."
"You did nothing of note," Drax says. "None of us has moved since Peter started telling us about these strange Terran traditions."
"They're not strange, they're awesome!" Peter says.
"They're downright bizarre," Rocket says. "And Drax, it was a pun. I called Groot a sap. Sap, tree, Groot is a tree, trees have sap."
Drax shakes his head.
"You're exhausting to have a conversation with, did you know that?" Rocket says.
"We've been sitting at this bar for twenty minutes expending very little energy." Drax says. "But I will take you at your word since you say this so often."
"Good call," Rocket says. "So this whole Christmas thing. There' s a guy who lives in the sky who flies around bringing people presents."
"Santa Claus," Peter says. "And he doesn't live in the sky, he lives at the North Pole. He has a sleigh that can fly, pulled by reindeer."
"Why is it called a sleigh if it flies?" Gamora asks at the same time Rocket says, "What the hell are reindeer?"
Peter waves the questions off. "It's magic. Or, more likely, he's not real. Odds are Santa is just a story people tell and it's the parents who all the stuff Santa supposedly does."
Rocket shakes his head. "Why the hell are you telling us about this holiday if you don't know the first thing about it?"
"I know lots of stuff about it! Okay, maybe I didn't get all of the particulars before I left Earth, but let me tell you, Christmas was a big deal, and I remember the most important stuff, which was this," Peter says, pausing dramatically. "You got a ton of presents."
"Presents don't sound so bad," Rocket admits.
"Do the presents come from the man in the sky?" Gamora asks.
"Everyone exchanges presents but you're right, the main thing is Santa. The way it works is, first kids write lists of what they want and send it to Santa-"
"But you've said that Santa is not real," Drax says. "Where do these lists go?"
"Yeah, if he's made up, the message'll bounce right back, then the jig is up," Rocket says.
"I said he's probably not real. And it's not the kind of message you're thinking of," Peter says, sliding his half-full bottle from hand to hand across the smooth surface of the bar. His cheeks are flushed from either the drink or his excitement over the story. "Earth doesn't have technology like ours, so if you want to send something to someone, you have to write it down on paper and put it in the mail. And then -"
It takes a moment for Rocket to process this, and he holds his hand up to stop Peter. "Wait, you mean, a message is an actual physical object? Like this napkin?"
Peter nods. "Right."
"So in their hands they carry messages from place to place," Rocket says. "That's how information gets around on Earth."
"Yes, that' s how it works. Or, you know, they drive around in cars and trucks and stuff."
Rocket tries to imagine a world functioning this way. "Doesn't that take a ridiculously long time?"
"I guess, but they don't know any different."
Rocket places an elbow on the bar, considering. "But how do they-"
"Enough about the messages!" Gamora says, placing her fist on the bar. She checks her strength, but Peter's bottle still teeters.
"Anyway," Peter says, picking his bottle up before it can fall. "So, a kid writes a letter listing everything he wants Santa to bring him and then gives it to his mom. She says she's going to send it, and you know, maybe she does, but more likely-"
"-she keeps it," Rocket says. "So far this is the first thing I like about this holiday, some subterfuge."
"I find the deception in this holiday troubling," Drax says.
"Of course you do," Rocket says, but he pushes over a napkin he'd folded into a sword as he says it.
Drax looks at the sword in puzzlement. It looks even smaller next to his large hand. "What is the purpose of this tiny object?"
"It doesn't have a purpose." Rocket feels his shoulders tense, and Groot leans against his neck in response. "It's just a dumb little thing, I thought you'd like it, but if you don't, I'll give it to Gamora-"
Drax places his hand protectively over the sword before Rocket can grab it. "No. I want to keep it."
The fierceness of his gesture makes Rocket relax. "Okay, you can keep it. You're welcome."
Peter points a triumphant finger at Rocket. "What you did just there, Rocket? That's what Christmas is about. Giving people things. And it's also about belief and hope and magic and some other stuff – and also Jesus, I probably should have mentioned him earlier, he's kind of how it all got started."
"Who is Jesus?" Gamora asks.
"That is way too much to get into right now," Peter says. "What I was trying to say was, how awesome is it to give people things? What's better than that?"
"Taking things?" Rocket holds up the slim bracelet he'd lifted off the bartender at some point in the evening. "Stop giving me that look, Gamora, I'll give it back. You gotta keep your skills sharp or you lose them."
Peter takes the bracelet from Rocket's outstretched hand and tosses it a few feet away, where the bartender is sure to see it. "I'm telling you guys, Christmas has it all. Subterfuge, presents, a tree."
"Why is there a tree?" Gamora asks. "How is that connected to the man in the sky, or presents, or -?"
"Anything, really, which is why I still say he's making that part up," Rocket says.
"I'm not making it up, but to be honest, I'm actually not sure why the tree is there," Peter says, looking up in that way he does when he's remembering something from Earth. "It's small, a little shorter than you are when you're full-grown, Groot. Kind of looks like those trees we saw down on Klangor-6? Like those, but dark green. Every year your mom goes out and gets one and you decorate it."
"How do you decorate a tree?" Rocket asks, curious. The way Groot leans down to see Peter better indicates he's interested, too.
"You put these things called ornaments on them. Colored balls, and lights, and popcorn sometimes. It's pretty cool. But the best part about Christmas is Christmas morning. You wake up early, and you stay in bed until it's light out and then go wake up your mom, who goes down to check and see if Santa's come yet."
Peter goes quiet, remembering. Rocket feels bad for what Peter's lost, sure, but at least he had a mother. If Rocket ever had one, he can't remember her.
Gamora says, "What happens next?"
Peter clears his throat. "Well, then, she checks and comes back to tell you that Santa has come – which she probably already knew because she'd put the presents there, but it's all part of the magic of the holiday. And then you go into the room and there are piles of presents in front of the tree, all things you'd asked for on your list. Lots of things you'd never expect your mom to get because it cost too much or something, but you could ask Santa, because he's magic, you know? But it was probably your mom the whole time."
Peter looks down at his bottle. Rocket wouldn't have expected it, but Drax is the next to speak.
"Would fathers do this? All this work you speak of your mother carrying out. What about fathers on Earth, do they do this for their children?"
"Sure," Peter says. "I bet fathers did it, too. I just didn't mention it because I didn't have one. Or I did, but apparently he's some mystical ancient star-being. How weird is that?"
"Pretty freaking weird," Rocket says.
"But enough about my absentee super-dad, the topic at hand is Christmas and how totally awesome it is." Peter's expression turns determined. "Which is why I'm telling you guys, we should do it! We'll all get presents for each other – we're going to swing right by Xandar before our next job, we could set down there and get good stuff for each other. And we could make everyone's favorite food, even that gross purple stuff Gamora is obsessed with-"
"It's parquiat," Gamora says. "It's a delicacy."
"It's disgusting, but I know you love it, so we'll get it. We'll get everyone's favorite stuff! We'll get Rocket that dried fruit he likes, and Drax some of that orange protein drink, and we can get Groot an awesome new pot, and make the best meal of our lives. And also," Peter says, lunging across Gamora and Rocket to reach the sword Drax has relaxed his hand enough to reveal. "We'll give each other tons of presents. Come on, what do you say?"
Rocket feels a pressure on his shoulder. Groot still is too small to speak, but Rocket can still understand him. He know that this pressure means it's okay to say yes, but the fear of being the only one to admit that out loud is too great.
Gamora speaks up before Rocket has to. "Warriors have no need for presents."
"Aw, come on, Gamora! Don't be a Grinch!"
"What the hell is a Grinch?" Rocket holds out his glass for the bartender to fill it again. "What is with your obsession with dropping Terran animals into every discussion? None of us know any of them!"
"A Grinch isn't an animal, he's a character in a cartoon who steals everyone's presents because he hates Christmas."
"That's supposed to be an insult?" Rocket says. "It sounds like he's the hero!"
"He is, actually, and at the end of the story he learns to love Christmas the same way the rest of you will."
"Keep dreaming, Quill," Rocket says.
"What about you, Drax?"
Drax shakes his head. "I am quite adequately supplied, and require no additional items."
"That's not the point, it's not things you need, it's things you want," Peter says. "Rocket? Come on, man, help me out. Save me, Rocket-wan, you're my only hope."
Rocket stares at Peter. "You are also exhausting to have a conversation with."
"I'm an outstanding conversationalist," Peter says. "Ask anybody. What do you say about this? Your vote's extra important because it'll count for two on account of Groot just doing whatever you want to do."
Rocket shrugs, but he appreciates how quickly Groot nods in response. Rocket reaches up and taps a thank you on one of Groot's lower branches. "Rocket?"
He wants to say yes.
x x x x
"I just don't get why you're all so against it," Peter says, weeks later. He's drumming his fingers on the table, impatient because their buyer is late.
Gamora looks up from the small cloth bag in her hand. "Must we talk about this again?"
"Yes, we must," Peter says. "I've never had so much resistance to such a great idea. Christmas is the greatest of great ideas."
Gamora opens her mouth to disagree, but before she can, Peter sits up in his chair and says, "That could have happened to anybody, okay? Absolutely anybody would have taken that deal on the fuel cells, it was too good to pass up."
"It was too good to be true, which was how we ended up stranded in the black for nine days."
"I still say any of you guys would have made the same call," Peter says. "Okay, maybe not you. But Rocket, definitely."
Gamora nods, tilting the small bag so that the items inside catch the light. "Which is why neither he nor you will be responsible for decisions like those in the future."
"You know, I got along just fine until you guys came along," Peter says, leaning back in his chair. "Just me and the Milano."
"And the unidentified life forms growing on every dark surface," Gamora says. "I'm surprised you didn't contract a wasting disease long ago."
Peter pats his stomach. "Iron constitution."
"Is that so?"
"That's so." Peter tilts her head toward the bag. "You gonna be able to hand those over when the time comes?"
"Of course." Gamora closes her hand around the bag the bag and looks up at Peter. He usually handles the merchandise on handoffs like this one, but she'd asked for another look this time.
"Never pegged you for the type to like sparkly things."
"They're impractical." Gamora adjusts her grip on the bag so that the crystals shift, catching the light in different ways.
"Yeah, but do you like them?" Peter's chair settles on the floor with a solid noise.
Gamora sees the blood on the table before she realizes Peter is hurt. She looks up and sees surprise and fear on Peter's face as he clutches his neck in one hand, an expression Gamora remembers from her past. People are always surprised by death.
Gamora pushes Peter to the relative safety of the ground and turns on the person who fired the weapon, a raider she does not recognize. She leaps across the space between them and pins him to the ground.
After it is over, Gamora hails the Milano and kneels beside Peter on the floor. He's conscious, blinking up at the ceiling and his eyes widen when he sees her.
"You'll be fine," Gamora says. The Milano is docked close by, and Rocket is running at his fastest speed with the medkit, and he will make it there in time. She will not allow for any other possibility.
Peter can't speak, but she can see the question in his expression. She shakes her head. "The blood is not mine."
Peter looks relieved, and also like his eyes are about to close, which Gamora finds unacceptable. And so she keeps talking.
"My blood is green. You should know that by now," she says. "The raider was of a far-away planet, Vodsto. Their blood is black. I ripped out his throat before he could call for help."
It was satisfying, but not enough. Now, watching Peter's blood seep out between his fingers, Gamora thinks of the moments she spent in space and coming back to life in Peter's arms .
I couldn't let you die out there, he'd said, and she hadn't understood. Now, she does. If she could cut herself open and pour her blood into his veins, she would, even if that meant leaving herself empty. It's not even a real choice. It's a necessary thing to do.
But that is not an option. Peter will bleed out and die if Rocket doesn't make it there quickly enough. There is nothing more Gamora can do. Except.
"We can do Christmas," she says, when she notices Peter's eyes closing again. "We'll do it."
Peter's eyes open, but only for a moment. Gamora sees something in them that she doesn't care for, something like good-bye. When they slide shut again, his hand relaxes on his neck. Gamora places her hand over his, pressing on the wound. She considers her strength a gift, but in this moment it worries her. What if she presses too hard and does harm? What if she suffocates him instead of saving him?
"But only if you do not die," Gamora says.
x x x x
Drax carries Peter to the Milano, and is about to place him in his bunk when Gamora stops him with a firm hand.
"Put him in mine," she says, nose wrinkling. "I doubt he's ever changed his bedclothes."
Drax nods. Peter's weight is not too much to carry, though his stillness is troubling. Gamora places a hand against Peter's neck to make sure the dressing is secure as Drax lowers him down. He tries not to feel insulted; how is she to know her concern is unnecessary?
In the quiet that follows, Gamora's fierce bearing is familiar.
"You did well in exacting vengeance on the one who did this," Drax says.
"It should not have happened at all." Gamora looks around. "Rocket?"
"He said he was going to find the buyer," Drax says. "He will return soon."
"But I have the-" Gamora freezes, hand at her waist. "He left to go make the deal? He left Peter here, like this, to make a deal?"
Drax nods, and the wildness that flares in Gamora's eyes is familiar, too. Drax feels Peter's absence more keenly; he would know what to say to Gamora to calm her, or distract her. Or at least he would have the foolish bravery to say anything at all to fill the silence.
Drax chooses to act in Peter's absence. "We should stay here. Rocket will return."
Gamora lowers herself into a cross-legged position on the floor near Peter's head. "He should not have left."
Drax stands beside her, silent. They watch Peter breathe in the silence, and wait. When Rocket returns, it is on feet so quiet that Drax only notices his entrance because Gamora springs to life beside him.
"How could you leave?"
"He'd be pissed if we didn't close the deal," Rocket struggles to say when Gamora has him pinned against the bulkhead. "Come on, you know that's true. And he's fine!"
"He is not fine," Gamora says.
"He's no less fine than he was a half hour ago," Rocket says, squirming under her hand. "I don't know why you think I can fix him."
"You fix things. It's what you do," Gamora says, letting Rocket down.
"Yeah, things! Peter isn't a thing. He's a person, an annoyingly Terran person, and I've run into exactly as many Terrans as you have: this one. And he's not even completely Terran! He's half mystery-space-being! How am I supposed to know how to fix that? Why do you think I'd be any better at it than you?"
"Because you are good at it," Gamora says, which makes Rocket hesitate. "You restored Groot, you stopped the bleeding with that strange glowing object –"
"Something I picked up for a song on Kardot, and it could have been as good as Quill's fuel cells for all I knew," Rocket says, rubbing at his neck. "It's pure luck that it worked, and the last in my arsenal of shit-to-try when you've got a nearly-dead Peter on your hands. Don't look at me to know how to take care of him."
"You must take care of him," Gamora says. "He is too weak to look after himself, and someone must, because – he must recover. He must."
"I will look after him."
Gamora and Rocket both turn sharply to look at him.
"You?" Gamora says.
"I don't know if that's such a good idea," Rocket says.
Now Drax is insulted. "Why? Do you not trust me?"
"Of course! With a knife, with a sword, with that crazy battering-ram thing we used on that job a few weeks ago. But this, I don't know," Rocket says, shrugging. "I mean, your nickname is 'the Destroyer.'"
"I have been known by other names." His daughter had called him father, and his wife had called him dearest. Drax had looked after both in times of illness. "I know how to care for the sick and injured."
"You are sure you can do this?" Gamora asks, with a steady, challenging look. "You can make him well?"
Drax turns to look at Peter, unmoving and pale on the bed. Some things are beyond anyone's ability to promise.
"I'm not so great on the caretaking, but I could get in touch with a few people on Xandar, they seemed to have some concept of how Terran bodies work," Rocket says. "That might help."
"All right," Gamora says. "While Drax watches over Peter, Rocket and I will work on preparing for Christmas."
"I'm sorry," Rocket says, after a pause. "It sounded like you just said we'd be getting ready for Christmas?"
x x x x
Drax is not the only one to watch over Peter.
Groot spends the time he can spare away from his pot on the shelf above Gamora's bunk. He lets one of his lower branches trail down to wrap around Peter's wrist, just snugly enough to feel the thump-thump of his pulse, so much slower than Rocket's, but reassuringly present.
Peter does not wake on the first day. On the second, Drax is able to rouse Peter briefly to swallow some soup, but for the most part he remains unconscious and unmoving. When Groot takes up his position on the shelf, he is reassured to feel a steadier pulse than yesterday.
"These Terran bodies are incredibly inefficient, they need a crazy amount of fluid every day," Rocket says, from his position on the floor. He's working on something on his tablet, a few feet away from a strange contraption connected to the fold of Peter's elbow by a long, narrow tube. Rocket's insistence on not being responsible for Peter's well-being did not prevent him from remaining awake most of the night constructing the device and carefully inserting it in the skin at the fold of Peter's elbow.
Drax and Gamora were surprised by Rocket's actions. Groot was not.
Drax tries to look over Rocket's shoulder. "What else has your device told you about how to best care for Peter?"
"Hmm?" Rocket says, and then looks up. "Oh, I was doing something else. On one of the eight thousand times Peter tried to convince me of Christmas's alleged awesomeness – and before you say anything, Drax, I'm exaggerating for comedic effect, he did not actually talk to me about it eight thousand times, though he did talk about it a whole freaking lot."
"That is very true."
"Anyway, one of those times he mentioned that it all started because it was someone's birthday. That would kind of make the gift-giving thing more logical, since apparently that's something most planets do-"
Drax nods. "We did on my planet."
"But whose birthday was it? Do you remember?"
Groot does, but cannot say. He communicates more easily with Rocket than anyone else, before or since his regeneration, but he knows the limits of their connection, and so he merely watches.
"I don't remember anything about a birthday at all," Drax says. "I still do not understand why we are doing this."
"Because Gamora made a promise, and apparently we're all now bound by her promises," Rocket says. "I hope that's a two-way street, by the way. Where is she, anyway?"
"She is out getting supplies for the Christmas celebration." Drax lifts up Peter's head carefully and adjusts the pillow. "And if it is a celebration of someone's birthday, perhaps the birthday of the man who lives in the sky?"
"No, it's not Santa, I remember that. It's some other person, and weirdly enough, I want to say it's a baby. But who celebrates babies? What do they do that's worthy of celebration? From what I've seen, they're about as useful as Quill is here."
"Usefulness is not the way to measure a baby's worth," Drax says.
"If you say so. My point is, when he realized it was almost your birthday a while back, he made us all wear those ridiculous hats and eat a cake. And so," Rocket says, holding up a cone-shaped piece of paper, which Groot now realizes had been the true use Rocket had been putting his tablet to. "I'm making us party hats. We're going to look like ridiculous a-holes, all in honor of your precious, wonderful, Christmas, Quill. "
Groot sees the way Rocket glances up at Peter, hopeful to see a response. But there's nothing to see; his pulse has remained steady, but strong.
Rocket looks back to his tablet, hands busy folding another hat. Groot wishes he were growing more quickly, so that his branches could stretch far enough to put a reassuring pressure on Rocket's shoulder, or his voice developed enough to speak. But Groot is still small, and silent, and several feet away, and left with only the power of his belief to comfort Rocket.
Because Groot does believe Peter is getting better, that he will soon be up and walking around the Milano, telling Groot stories about Earth and running his hand along his branches in a gentle hello. He believes it because Rocket believed in Groot when no one else would, and Groot returned.
Peter will too.
x x x x
"-Groot can't be the tree, the tree is supposed to be larger," Gamora says. "And Groot should be part of the celebration, not a decoration."
"Groot can handle being both! He's been looking forward to it! Haven't you, buddy?" Rocket says. "And even if he didn't want to do it, where the hell are we going to scare up this eight-foot tree you keep dreaming of? The closest planet is an ice giant."
"Could you construct one?"
"Don't you think if I knew how to build a tree, I would have figured out a way to help Groot along so that he didn't have to spend so much time stuck in a pot?"
"No, I know you cannot build an actual tree," Gamora says. "I was speaking of creating a fake tree. Peter said people on earth sometimes used a fake tree for Christmas."
There's a clatter of something being dropped. "Okay, I've heard a lot of crazy things in connection with this supposed holiday, but this takes the cake. A fake tree? Next you'll be saying – hey. Hang on a sec. Quill? You hearing this? I swear I saw him move just now."
His neck hurts something fierce, the bulkhead is on the wrong side, and everyone is talking about Christmas. Either he's having a weirdly awful dream or a weirdly awful day. He hopes for the former and keeps his eyes closed, but then he feels Gamora's hand on the side of his face, and hears the pleading in her voice when she says, "Are you awake? Peter?"
Peter opens his eyes. "What's this I hear about a fake tree?"
Rocket leaps up to the end of his bed and settles by his feet . "Please tell me Gamora was making that part up, Quill, or I'll truly lose all respect I had for your home planet."
"Not making it up. People get fake Christmas trees." Peter tries to turn his head and regrets it. "What happened?"
"You were attacked," Gamora says. "I killed the person who did it."
"Good. It hurts like a – like I can't think of anything to compare it to, that's how much it hurts."
Gamora nods. "Do you remember what happened?"
Peter thinks back. He does, maybe. Or maybe he doesn't. Everything seems fuzzy, and hard to follow, and then suddenly he's not looking at Gamora at all but at Drax, who is pulling him forward and putting a cup to his lips like he's a kid or something. "Drink this."
Peter takes a tentative sip. Water. It might be the greatest thing he's ever tasted. He finishes the cup and tries not to panic over how weak he feels. "Thanks, man. How long have I been out?"
"Gamora's talked us in to doing Christmas, that's how long you've been out," Rocket says.
"Wow," Peter says. "Really?"
"I made a promise to you," Gamora says. "I keep my word."
He remembers now: Gamora looking down at him, streaks of black blood on one side of her face. He can't remember ever seeing her so afraid. "Looks like I kept up my end of the deal."
She looks like her familiar, formidable self again. Still, when Peter finds her hand, she clutches it tightly. "I'm glad."
Peter remembers something else. "Did we make the deal?"
"Ha! I told you he'd want us to get it done," Rocket says. "We did, no thanks to anyone else here. I tracked the guy down and got what we were owed. Not that you should look forward to spending it, most of it went to this phony holiday."
"Not phony," Peter says.
"No offense, but it seems a little phony. In fact, we've got a lot of questions to ask you to straighten things out. Like, I've got the party hats all set for Christmas, but-"
"Party hats?" Peter thinks about it. "What party hats?"
"The party hats for Christmas. Isn't the holiday somebody's birthday?" Rocket grows increasingly irritated with every word. "You told us people on your planet wear party hats on birthdays."
"Sometimes, but mostly kids. I made us all wear them for Drax's birthday because it was funny."
"Quill, do you know how hard I worked on these stupid party hats?"
"That's okay, we can wear them," Peter says. "We can make it a new tradition."
"So we killed ourselves trying to recreate the old traditions you were constantly going on and on about, and now you're okay with creating new ones."
"I am," Peter says. "This is what Christmas is all about, really. Being together. Making an effort for the people you care about. None of the other stuff is important."
"I know you're saying that to make us feel better, but we put a lot if work into getting this thing ready. Groot even figured out how to do the light thing again," Rocket says, gesturing at Groot, . "Not to mention the fact that we got presents and everything."
"Presents? That's awesome," Peter says. "And you got stuff everyone likes to eat? Everyone's favorites?"
"We did," Drax says. "Even Gamora's repugnant parquiait."
"Then we're set. I can't wait," Peter says, closing his eyes. "This is so great. I'm just – I'm just going to close my eyes for a minute now. Just a minute."
"It's all right, Peter," Gamora says. "Rest."
Peter starts to drift off, and hears some whispers around him, about going someplace else on the Milano to finish up whatever they'd been in the middle of when he woke up. Peter feels Gamora's hand slip out of his, and he grabs it again. "Don't leave. I like you guys being here."
"We'll stay," Gamora says, after a pause, and Peter feels the coil of Groot's lower branches curling around his wrist. "We can do Christmas when you wake up."
"Just like when I was a kid," Peter says.
"Yes," Gamora says. "Just like that."
.end.