[2] When the Chips are Down
Groot was the sweetest person any of the Guardians had ever known. He was just… good. Like if pure niceness was personified, it would be Groot. Peter Quill thought either that or his mom's stovetop mac n' cheese, but Groot was definitely up there as goodness in physical form.
Which is why, after their recent mission on Trongda, Peter could not understand after a simple "I am Groot" in their client's presence, flew the short, bulbous govenor into a rage. Tyran Deesa, the local head of the district, went from grateful to growling in three seconds flat.
"I am Groot!" Groot bellowed, seemingly angry. Tyran's demeanor changed back to calm and collected so fast Peter wasn't sure if he'd dreamt the encounter.
Back on the ship, Groot sulked into a corner, which Peter understood. Groot did not like upsetting others and he was probably very upset. But it was the fact that Rocket also looked away from Peter from the rest of the afternoon, hiding any form of eye contact, that made Peter realize there might be something more to the whole situation. Peter decided to let them sleep on it as he set autopilot for their next stop, then rested. He'd talk to them privately the following morning.
He didn't even need to. Rocket was already waiting outside Quill's door, without Groot, head down.
"Got a minute, Pete?" he asked.
"Come on in," Peter gestured, as he slid open the bulkhead door. Peter sat down on his bunk, and Rocket perched on his dresser.
Peter closed the door with his foot and then laid down on the bed, looking up at Rocket. "Sup?"
"Sorry, about today, I mean." Rocket was fidgeting with a small piece of something in his hands. A coat hanger?
"You didn't do anything wrong. I don't know why that A-hole flipped out on us, but, seriously, wasn't your fault. Unless…?"
"Pretty sure Tyran understood Groot, so yeah. My fault."
Peter shot up. "What the heck did Groot say?"
Rocket's fur puffed out. "I think, I'd like to keep that to myself. But let's just put it this way, Groot makes filthier jokes than either of us combined."
Peter's eyes were as big as saucers. "I always thought you were making crap up, translating for Groot."
"S' cause you can't hear for crud, or smell. Flora Collosi speak in a mixture of whistles and pheromones. The talking bit is just out of respect for us mouth breathers. Groot don't do that none when he was around his own kind, or just talking to me. The words or intonation don't matter."
Rocket shook his head, running his claws through the fur on his face to smooth it back down. "When Groot realized I could understand him, he was, like, really happy. He's crazy smart, and witty, but he's not made for a world with people who talk and can conduct electricity through their fingers. He can't even use a data pad without one'a those styluses. This universe is barely made for me, him less so. So we has a bet. Whenever we'd talk to our clients, he'd say some horrible dirty retort at their expense. If I laughed, he'd get an 80% cut. We shared the money anyway, but it was the gesture. It was our game."
Rocket looked down.
"It was one thing when it was just us. Once in a rare while, like once a year or less, someone would understand 'im. He'd apologize, or pretend he'd whistled wrong or summat, and we'd run for the hills if that didn't work. But you guys don't need to be dragged inna that."
"You kidding me? I think that's awesome," Quill said with a wicked grin. "Keep it up, you two big idiots. Under one condition."
Rocket looked at him incredulously. "Condition?"
"If you start laughing, you have dish duty. For a week."
"You are a grade A A-hole."
"Oh, and tell me what Groot's saying later. If he's half as good as you say, I need to learn from the Jedi Master."