Drax sat in the common area of the ship, distantly he was aware of the now-familiar sound of Peter's music. He didn't dislike it, the tone of the currently playing "Fooled around and Fell in love" song was pleasant. Even if he didn't understand all of the lyrics, he normally did enjoy it. Drax felt discontent at the moment, however. While Ronan was dead, the behemoth hardly felt it was enough. His wife and daughter were gone. He would never feel the warm and gentle touch of his wife, or see the dizzyingly happy smile of his young H'thar again. His chest tightened. His sweet little girl would never grow and Drax would never see the day she found her other. A father should never outlive his child Drax decided. In moments like this, he could hardly find any ease in any of his recently become normal activities.
Drax was drawn from his recollections at the sound of metal scraping and clunking together. Glancing down he was greeted to Rocket pulling apart several of his older designed weapons and attempting to fit them together in new ways. He tweaked the designs as needed and seemed to be trying to make a much larger gun of some kind. A thought hummed at the back of his mind, his little friend was very foul tempered most of the time. Most of the crew assumed it was of the horrifying past he kept so closely guarded. Drax was beginning to wonder if that truly were the case.
Rocket was acutely aware of Drax's attention being placed on him as he worked on his new prototype. He tried to ignore it as he worked, hoping the big lug would turn back to his thoughts for company. The more he focused on his gun, though, the more he could practically feel Drax staring at him. Ignoring it wasn't working and he was about to snap at Drax for the needless distraction, but Drax spoke first.
"On Knowhere, you said that we all have dead people, " Rocket was decidedly surprised and looked up, his anger mostly melting away at the mention of their little spat on Knowhere, "Did this assessment include yourself?" Rocket stared at him quietly.
He could feel warm fur on the soft pads of his hands, for just a second all that filled Rockets mind was the way her voice had called his name, the relief and joy in her eyes when they'd gotten away. Things he'd pushed away and shoved down into the back of his mind came racing back. Her voice, her laugh, the way her muzzle crinkled when she smiled, the way she moved, the sweet contrast of her cold nose and warm breath on his neck when they embraced. It was so much, so fast, that Rocket looked away from Drax and back to his gun to start working and tweaking it. He didn't want to think about her, he didn't want to remember. He'd told himself it didn't hurt anymore, and for the most part it didn't. So he ignored her, he forgot her or told himself he did.
Rocket gritted his teeth and worked on the gun, his hands moving on their own. He responded with a slight grunt, before giving Drax an actual spoken answer, "I wouldn'ta said it if I didn't fit it."
Drax nodded slowly knowing his next question could easily be met with hostility, "May I ask who they were?"
"Ya could, doesn't mean I'd answer," his reply came short and terse, Rocket didn't like where this was going. It wasn't helping that he could feel her hand in his as he reached for one of his tools.
Drax went quiet, he knew better than to push this kind of question, often time did not soften these types of wounds. Rocket kept at his gun, twisting this piece, jerking that, soldering wires, and checking connections. Drax had thought that, after the fight with Ronan, he and Rocket had bonded some. Apparently, it was not enough to convince his smallest teammate to confide in him. Drax shifted to stand when a sigh from Rocket made him stop. He dropped his gaze again to Rocket and waited to see if he spoke.
"...Her name was Lylla," Rocket didn't move his eyes from the gun in his hands, absentmindedly fiddling with it as his mind went to other places. That was all he would say about her. Rocket kept Lylla to himself. She was the only one who had known what he'd gone through, because she'd experienced it, too. They'd escaped together, started an exciting life of crime together, ended up in jail together, and she left him alone when she died. Lylla was his, she always would be. Maybe he was stubborn or selfish, but he refused to even share her memory with others.
Drax knew the look on Rocket's face well. It was the same he wore when thinking of his wife or daughter. Drax had thought perhaps sharing the burden of loss would help ease his own pain, but now a new hurt tightened in his chest. Rocket had been hurt physically, to what extent Drax doubted he would ever truly know. To know, however, that Rocket felt the same deep agonizing ache of losing someone he cared for hurt in its own way.
"I am sorry," it was all he could think of to say, he knew there was really nothing he could say to Rocket. There was no words that seemed correct to convey that, while he did not share his exact pain, He did understand to an extent of what Rocket did.
Rocket's ears twitched at that, and awkwardly he scratched at the back of his neck. He wasn't used to this. The only other person he'd told about Lylla was Groot, he'd half expected Drax to push the subject. Drax wasn't the most graceful in social situations and Rocket knew that first hand. He kept his reply as simple as Drax's, "Thanks."
Drax smiled softly and stood, to give Rocket his space. Perhaps he and Rocket had bonded after all. On his way to his quarters, much to Rockets annoyance by the sound of his shout, Drax ruffled Rocket's fur and ears. The absence of bites and scratches only made his smile grow. Yes, perhaps they had bonded, after all.