Whew! Let me just say that it has been a pleasure to be writing this story for all of you. I have learned so much from this experience, and it only gets more challenging and rewarding as I press on. This story is approximately just a few thousands words short of being the length of Fahrenheit 451, so if you have read everything up to this point, you could have spent about an equal amount of time reading one of my favorite books. This chapter mainly focuses on the development of Rocket's changing character as he becomes more open to Peter. Other characters such as Gamora and Drax are left out making this the odd chapter. There is an immense amount of foreshadowing included within the text, so if you are a literary genius, you should be able to figure out the cliff hanger. Anyway, enough of the babbling, let the story continue!


Rocket groggily awoke from his slumber, his throat feeling rather numb, and his stomach was quite ill. It was interesting to attempt and recall memories. Every time that he thought he had a grip on it, the situation floated away and he was sent spiraling back towards the beginning.

His eyelids slipped open and quickly closed as the light overtook them. More carefully, they impertinently opened upon the population of the room. People focused into view, first Peter, who was sitting at a chair next to him on his left, then Gamora and Drax who were arguing at the foot of the bed. A doctor was taking readings from beside him, scribbling words on to a paper with his pencil while erasing to correct mistakes.

As far as Rocket could tell, all of his limbs were in working condition, and could successfully answer two plus two. His eyes fluttered open further and he blinked once or twice. Peter somehow immediately noticed the change, and looked up from his book as if he wasn't sure he was seeing what he was.

"I think he's awake," he announced softly. Gamora and Drax came to a silence, and the doctor cautiously took a step back. "How are you feeling?" Rocket opened his mouth to speak, but found the words he used did not sound like they should have.

"Nuh gud." Peter raised his eyebrows and looked at the doctor, who stared back for a short while.

"Well then, we better just have you answer with nods." Rocket slowly moved his head up and down in agreement. "Okay, sorry to question you shortly after waking you up, but you have been asleep for almost a day. Must be the drugs they put you on. Does your throat feel different?" Rocket nodded in honest agreement. He wasn't necessarily in pain, but it wasn't a pleasing feeling either.

"Do you feel injured anywhere else?" He shook his head and stretched his arms sluggishly.

"Do you remember what happened?" Rocket lay on his bed for awhile, just attempting to contemplate what had put him here, but it wasn't exactly clear. His head felt fuzzy, but it was better than having to contemplate what was going on. But this was important. Peter was asking him the question, everyone else in the room secretly awaiting his answer.

Peter stared uncomfortably at Rocket, who had suddenly started to look up at the ceiling in utter calmness as his heart rate slowed. Gamora shot him a concerned look, to which he mostly ignored. There was no need for panic in such a situation, especially after what everyone had just gone through. As if he had suddenly emerged from water, Rocket almost lurched forward into his bed while making scribbling motions with his paws.

"Someone have a pencil and paper?" Peter asked in a mildly discerning tone. Everyone in the room looked around them and searched their personal belongings. The doctor was able to produce a notepad and a pencil from his bag and handed it to Rocket with ease. There was a short moment of tension as the two of them had made eye contact, but he backed off quickly.

Peter sat back in his chair and drank in the cool, chemical filled air that was circulating the building. His eyes glanced all around the room at the faces which were observing Rocket. Gamora seemed genuinely concerned. Drax appeared to be unaffected. The doctor looked slightly intimidated from his encounter. Then, his eyes finally settled on Rocket's hands as they scribbled down word after word as if writing his final epitaph.

Rocket set the pencil down and read over what he had written. When it passed the inspection, it was held up for everyone else to see. Peter read it under his breath as if he would lose it forever otherwise. Choked unconscious, really hungry, is Jason okay? Peter let out a sigh that he had not known he was holding in. Rocket remembered the events of the previous day. Perhaps that mischievous fellow was more determined and strong that he had once thought.

"We'll see to getting you some food. Great to see you remember." Rocket smiled and nodded, and comfortably reclined in his bed. The doctor rushed away to some other task that he had to perform in the hospital, and Gamora and Drax hovered next to their seats. Peter uncomfortably sat in his chair next to the bedside, determining whether Rocket had just fallen asleep on him or not.

"Peter, you can rest, you've been up for almost two days," Gomora suggested wisely. Peter turned his head towards her and made eye contact with his other two friends. As far as he could tell, there was nothing going on between them. At all. Whatever it they were up to was business, not relationship.

"Fine," he eventually said. Peter got up out of his seat and stood shakily on his legs. Silently, he slid his chair back over to the side of the room where it would be out of the way. Gamora stepped out of the way of the door, her look sympathetic, and her actions unknown. The defined muscles in Peter's legs pushed him towards the door, with each step the burden of his voyage becoming more evident. Before the door, he made one final glance at Rocket. The raccoon was breathing slowly, and most likely had fallen asleep in his drug induced state. Gamora reached out and put her hand on Peter's shoulder. He looked down at the floor before continuing out into the hall. People bustled alongside him, in a hurry to get from point A to point B, worried about something or other that did not concern him.

In all of the mess he had been through while being awake, Peter realized that his social formalities were beginning to dissolve. They made no sense when applied to situations that required them. Handshakes, useless. Dining Etiquette, useless. Black Tie parties, useless, but quite fun. The same case could be made about Rocket and his friendship. They were close, perhaps too close, but it was strange in a sense. The way that being with someone from your own gender a bit too much made him come off as strange to some people, and it was stupid in a practical way.

Peter entered the waiting lobby area, filled with cushioned couches and furniture of all sorts. He simply chose one, walked over, and flopped down on it like it was his own bed. Before he fell into sleep, he couldn't shake the feeling that Rocket was in inevitable danger.

Peter's eyes popped open as he felt something brush up against his side. A green face greeted him, a feeling of dread somehow associated with the look. His throat was dry, his stomach growling, and was in no mood to be feeling emotions at the time. Gamora stood back slightly as he sat up on the sofa and looked out a window to see what time of day it was. The darkness signified that it was sometimes during the night or morning.

"Good Morning Peter." Peter looked back over at Gamora and ran his hand through his hair. It was in a disaster, but then again, it had been multiple days since he had last showered either. His clothes smelled of chemicals and smoke, his face unshaven, and the book nowhere to be seen.

"Man, I really need to take a shower." Gamora smiled at him in amusement.

"I noticed. Hopefully you can get on that today." Peter nodded and looked around to see if there was any food perhaps laying on an article of furniture.

"How are Peter and Rocket holding up?" Gamora shifted the weight on her legs as if she had something she wanted to say, but would not say it out loud.

"Both fine, Peter is supposed to be released today, Rocket was able to get some liquids down. I guess that's improvement over not speaking. Before we left they doped him up on some serious medication again." Peter smiled and just accepted the fact that there was no food fairy flying around to grant his stomach it's wishes. "Drax and I have more business to attend to. Radio me if something comes up."

"Will do." With that, Gamora left the room and Peter alone with the general populace of injured people and receptionists. He scrambled to find a timepiece of any sort, and was able to deduce it was about 6:00 AM local time. Only a few places would be serving breakfast, and none would be doing lunch at this impossibly early hour. Peter let out a long sigh and contemplated the hard place he had been put up to this early in the morning.

The lobby around him stood quietly busy. There were quite a few people around the large dimly lit room, most huddled near a receptionist or sitting down at chairs. No one else had taken the same route as to sleep on the couch. Outside, the first few rays of sunlight were beginning to illuminate the horizon, signaling the start of day.

Left with no options, Peter got up from the temporary bed and patted down the clothing he was wearing. His leather jacket was beginning to look decrepit and his hair a bit scraggled, but assumed it would work just fine for the day. His newly empowered but now sugar deprived legs took him from his chair and back into the medical ward, looking for the room that he had exited the previous day. Numbers floated all around the ceiling, but one in particular, 206-B, was calling out to him further down.

A multitude of friendly doctors walked by, preoccupied with everyday tasks of saving ordinary people and also seeing to their eventual demise. The hallway itself was not in pristine condition, yellowish lights flooded the corridor and slight damages to the walls were noticeable upon closer examination. Peter could not sense much of this himself, but it added to the atmosphere of the planet. Eventually room 206-B stood in front of him with it's door slightly ajar yet again.

With a sense of nervousness and hint of desperation, Peter walked into the room to find a half awake Rocket zoned out on his bed. His head was slightly tilted, with his breathing quite steady and strong. Peter frowned methodically as he determined it was from the drugs he was given. Well, he hoped it was from the drugs. Either way, Peter moved closer to Rocket and shook his side a little bit. Rocket blinked out of his state and turned to look at who was jabbing at him.

"Morning Rocket," Peter stated as he pulled up a chair next to the bed. Rocket cleared his throat and winced in pain. He opened his mouth to speak, but at first the message was so garbled that it was hard to detect that anything was being said. "It's okay, you don't have to speak." Rocket held up his hand in apparent opposition, and Peter abated his sympathy.

"I," Rocket started before clearing his throat again," I was scared." Peter nodded his head and adjusted his ears to the gravelly and hoarse voice that which Rocket had received. Their eyes met, Rocket glancing away first, as if he was hiding something from him. Peter pulled his chair closer to the bed to examine him up close and make sure he was all right. No one was going to be bothering them much for the rest of the day. Rocket shifted in his bed slightly, but made no resistance to the movement.

"This reminds me of a few days ago actually." Rocket gave him a killer look. "What, too soon?"

"Yes." Peter smiled and looked back. The room around them was mostly quiet, the two of

them sitting next to each other.

"I just realized how difficult this mission really is, I mean the amount of stuff that's happened. I think I've learned more about you in the past few days than any other point in my life." Rocket silently looked forward into space. Peter put his hand on Rocket's shoulder as a friendly sign of appeal. "And how stange is it that the world is based off of random chance. If I never would have been wanted, if I would have been more successful, we never would have met. And we would also be dead." Peter sigh and looked down at his jacket.

"And the fact that you exist, no offense, is amazing. Truly amazing," Peter ended with a smile. Rocket wasn't sure if it was an insult or a compliment, but he accepted it as the latter. He was mainly concerned about the completion of this mission and what would happen afterwards. As Peter had said, the mission was taking an absolute eternity that had put both of them in the hospital, and seemed way more risky than originally anticipated.

"Quill, can you get me a laptop?" Peter ruffled his brow in bewilderment.

"What do you need that for?" Peter replied hastily. Rocket tapped his fingers on the bed patiently.

"I need to write a program for the mission. Jason will be happy." Peter nodded with agreement. With the situation growing increasingly awkward, he stood up and prepared to leave.

"You'll be okay while I'm gone?" It was not often Peter got to ask that question seriously. Rocket nodded in response.

"Can you also get me something to eat? The food here is garbage," Rocket hoarsely said. He promptly took a drink of water.

"Sure thing. Be safe. Don't die." Rocket gave his best impression of a thumbs up as Peter left the room. He went down the halls, full of staff and people, with a mission to make himself more presentable and get the items that Rocket had requested.

Aboard the Milano, everything was as it had seemed the day prior. The ship was running on standby, softly humming as the generator kept the lights on and the food cold. There were no voices, no games, nothing to be heard. Utter silence. Peter took a few steps down the hall and noticed the amounts of junk that were laying around the ship. Parts and pieces of everything lie around, ignored or broken.

The first thing that Peter did was shower. He turned the faucet on, the warm water spraying down his body. It was entirely rejuvenating to shower for the first time in a few days. After the task was completed, he changed into some newer clothes, properly dressed in a new leather jacket and jeans. You could never look too stylish while paroozing the Galaxy. By the time the activities had passed, it was nearly 20 minutes into the future.

Peter's mind focused on food, food for Rocket and himself. He figured that Rocket probably adored sandwiches as much as he did, so he found bread that was not molding and hunted down some meat to make a few. The kitchen was so empty without his crewmates aboard. He set down his knife as he leaned against the counter to wonder what his life was like before he had met the other members.

He was just a lone bandit, picking up women along the way. But now he didn't need that. He was essentially a skilled bounty hunter who worked for the greater good of the Galaxy. And he had Gamora. Drax. And most importantly Rocket. He looked over at the sandwiches he had made and wondered why he mattered so much to him. With no one aboard but himself and the walls, he left the kitchen and moved down the hall towards Rocket's living quarters.

He walked through the door and into the dark murky room. He turned on the lights and looked around. It was just like any ordinary room, a sofa, a bed, and a closet. There was a few touches of his own, including a picture of Rocket himself on the wall. Peter admired the picture, and couldn't help but smile in amusement. A few racks lined the walls of the quarters, many of them had labels and titles with bins filled with parts. He paroozed a few of them, just finding circuits and metal. A few of them had scary looking devices, but knew they were either faulty or nonworking. Rocket kept his working weapons somewhere hidden aboard the ship. His best guess was the ventilation system.

Peter made his way to the closet, which he opened gently as if there was someone to hear the sound. It was only fair that Peter looked through Rocket's stuff, considering he knew that Rocket had previously stolen items from his own collection. The closet contained many normal things that would be found in any closet, shoes, jumpsuits, and the never-before-seen-to-be-worn regular everyday clothes. He recalled once teasing him to wear it, but Rocket had refused on the boundaries that it made him look unnatural. There was a mild amount of agreement in that case.

Upon examining the top shelf of files, Peter found a few boxes with different styles of titling that did not seem like something that he had devised himself. The first box, labeled CHS-007 contained a stack of papers and documents relating to weapons on the top. As he flipped through some of the papers though, it appeared that the top was actually just a ploy. The bottom documents were about the "Study of Cybernetic Modification to Lower Life Forms". Peter clenched his teeth slightly in pain as he knew Rocket did not like talking about such things. He looked through the documents and determined that it was probably just Rocket trying to figure out how he worked as a raccoon and as a modification.

But without a doubt, Peter saw Rocket more as a person than he ever did a raccoon or a freak of nature. He checked some of the other boxes, but most of them contained files and information about weapon engineering. One of them did have a few documents about Spinal Degeneration, but he simply ruled it as research into Cybernetic effects. Peter put all of the boxes back into their respective places and gently closed the closet door. He looked over at the impromptu desk that Rocket had assembled from boxes and a yoga mat, and saw his laptop motionlessly blinking at him.

He picked it up and worked his way back to the kitchen, making sure not to leave any traces of his stalker like attempts to find out more about Rocket. He put the sandwiches in a bag which he hid in his pocket, and carried that laptop under his arm. Peter took one last look around the ship, and excited to revisit the hospital. Outside, the day was nearing noon, with recovery efforts from the latest attack being handled well by repair services.

Travel restrictions had been lifted, and it was now only restricted to areas immediately around the Grand Hall and the Shipping Port. Peter looked across the platform at the shipping port, which was surrounded by government craft presumably cleaning up the disaster. He had heard on the radio that they were planning on reopening the shipping port by the end of the week. It seemed almost plausible as the port already had scaffolding and new metal plating already in place. Every second down was money lost to them.

He reached the entrance, and the doors opened for him. He looked rather unsuspicious, laptop under one arm, and a book in the other hand. No one noticed anything strange as he walked by, but he felt as if everyone had known that he was smuggling in food. The hallway was flooded with workers responding to daytime accidents dressed in white garvs and stethoscopes. He came to 206-B and walked in to find a yet again sleeping Rocket still sleeping. Either he got bored particularly easily, or the drugs that they had put him on were really knocking him out of the mood.

He walked over to his chair and let out a small oomph as he seated himself. He took the food out of his jacket and searched for a place around the room to put it. Behind him were floor level cabinets that he had never seen a nurse open, so he snuck them inside and twisted back around to face the bed. Peter's fingers drummed the handrails of the chair slightly, before he picked the book out of his coat jacket to read a few pages while he waited for Rocket to wake.

Peter ran his fingers over the smooth cover, the words reading The Disparity of Us, with De'lumi Franci's name written under it. The book creaked slightly as he opened it, the smell meeting his nose like the wind on a warm summer day. The text, as old as it was, truly inspired Peter in a way that he had not previously known.

"A person in my frail old age of aspiring 64 do not exactly meet the social standards that the younger impose upon us. Perhaps it is the common idea that the old cannot grasp the ideals of the new, or maybe they simply are just inept young lads. My own children have taken it upon themselves to punish their children for such liberal and free thinking ideas. I once heard my son address me that my grandson was on the path to, drug dealing and tomfoolery, due to the fact he stayed over at a friends house past due.

I did not say anything, of course I didn't, because by my own children's standards I do not meet the requirements of a 12 year old kid. The creative mind blossoms under the right conditions, and at times it seems the world is growing into a dark jail cell that we cannot escape from. Books are my main pursuit of happiness. They free me from my cell, hammering away at the walls until light spills in from outside.

But just because people are different in certain mindsets does not mean that you can not cooperate on a practical level, even if it requires you to blatantly lie through your teeth to keep the peace. Some may think to take that as lie when it makes more people happy. But that is simply not true. The German Holocaust for example, was something that would have been much happier had not been announced to the world. But it needed to happen.

The types of lies I speak about are those that keep a social tranquility. If I learned today that I was going to die, I would not call up each of my relatives and tell them I have cancer. It would be irresponsible of me. Sure, honesty is the right thing to do, and they should prepare for my death as I prepared for their graduations. Unlike a graduation however, my death would cause great distress throughout my children. They would come up from all of their homes in the States to see me and spend time with me. It would be horrifying. Excruciating. I would be seen as an entirely different personality. It might even go so far as to make me classified as a responsibility rather than a person.

And so these young people, who have their progressive social movements and their lack of attachment to the past, suddenly become so afraid of losing the past that they won't stop messing with it. Reality suddenly beco-"

Peter looked up from the book as Rocket sat up in his bed in slight confusion. He set the book on his leg and reached out to notify him of his presence.

"How are you holding up?" Rocket looked at him with fulsome carefulness.

"Better," Rocket spoke sounding more like himself. Peter picked up the laptop off the counter and shook it in the air slightly. Rocket's face formed a grin and he reached out his arms for it. Peter handed it over and Rocket instantly got to booting it up and getting into the hosptials internet connection.

"I also took the liberty of sneaking in some food." Rocket kept at his computer but then stopped and looked back to Peter. His paws lie on the keyboard, motionless in thought.

"I didn't think you'd actually do it Quill," Rocket admitted fastidiously. He watched as Peter reached over to a cabinet and pulled out one of the hidden sandwiches. Rocket checked the door to make sure it was closed and there was no one there, before taking the sandwich and delightfully ripping it to shreds.

"It was my pleasure." Rocket stopped for a moment while looking at his sandwich, before biting into it with the viciousness and balefulness that only a raccoon could display. Peter took a look back into his book while Rocket finished the food. Peter continuously handed him more of the food until none was left, and they were both there working on entirely opposite tasks.

That evening, Peter had accidentally fallen asleep on the chair next to Rocket in a daze of his loyalty to finishing the book. Rocket had just taken it as a sign that Peter cared too much to leave his side, and continued to work on the program he was making into the nighttime hours. Gamora and Drax were no where to be found as usual, and Peter was in the same hospital being treated for lesser wounds.

Rocket eventually stowed the laptop at a decent time in the late night to early morning hours of the next day. He rested his head on the pillow and looked over at Peter, whose head was dangling off the back of the chair as if he had lost control of bodily functions. Rocket closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep, entering the same land that Peter was already in.

They both awoke the next day to a few knocks on the door. Dr. Nie came into the room with a few forms and smile. He was properly armed in the method of distributing jolly news.

"Good morning you two, looks like a hell of a night happened." Rocket couldn't resist a humorous glance as he saw Peter fumble with the book he had dropped on the floor at some point during the night. "Anyway, the good news is that you are going to live and you will be out of here quite soon. All of your vitals looked fine from yesterday, perhaps your blood sugar was a bit elevated, but that could be from any number of reasons."

Rocket did not crack an astray glance at the off chance he could be caught. Peter ran his hand through his hair and shifted his coat around to fit better around his arms. The doctor handed him a paper and pen.

"This is the release form saying that you understand that your friend had no issues while he was here and is being released under proper medical practice." Peter just nodded along and signed his name on any of the opposing blanks. They were almost something to be destroyed, like a game of sorts. The more you signed, the closer you were to winning. A stamper might have made the game easier.

After a few moments of collecting valuables around the room and getting into contact with Gamora, they were mostly ready to leave. Rocket was finally able to change back into his distinctive clothing before being given a crutch to assist his walking from some of the minor physical injuries that he had been subject to prior. He had a sprained ankle which the doctors had mostly glossed over that was bothering him a slight bit. Peter walked next to Rocket as they navigated down the halls of the now familiar hospital building and towards the exit. The same receptionists that was attending them when they had first come in was working at the desk again, just as scary and official as the first time.

They walked all the way out and about until they got to the Milano, the familiar home they had known to love over the duration of their stay as bounty hunters. Rocket took a seat in the common area on one of the chairs that lined the walls of the room.

"Thanks. I should be fine from here." Peter nodded. He was just about to turn away to go back into the hospital when he noticed Rocket shift his back and rub it slightly. He would have asked if he was alright, but realized it was probably something that he wasn't supposed to know about.

The walk back to the hospital was brief at a brisk pace, the cool air stimulating his senses and making life stand out more than usual. The shipping port, which had been burning in disaster two days prior, was now in decent condition. Construction vehicles of all kinds buzzed around the building like flies, repairing as best they could to get the port reopened.

Once inside, Peter walked in knowing that this would likely be the last time he ever set foot in this place. Fotron, as much as it was feeling like home, was only a place where they had been sent to complete a contract. After they were done, he would make sure to see to it that they never returned to this damned place. It was filled with bad luck and unfortunate things that did not happen near the Nova Corps.

Peter gathered the collection of medical files he was collecting from the doctors into a single pile, and put some of the other things he had taken along and set them next to it. He found some stray clothing, some food, and other minor things that were laying around. Just as he was about to leave, Doctor Nie came through the door in a rush.

"Wow, you were in a hurry to leave. Guess it was a good thing I got here just in the nick of time." The doctor made his way closer to Peter, some documents in hand.

"I was just about to leave," Peter responded friendly. The doctor reached out with the documents, and Peter's arm graciously accepted it.

"I would just like to give you the best of luck on whatever happens. Goodbye Mr. Quill." With that, the doctor scurried out of the room in a rush that he had not seen before. Something about the inflection and tone of his voice unsettled him. He decided to look at the first few pages of what he was given, and he was no where near prepared for what he read.

Peter's heart nearly stopped in its place as words formed sentences which turned into reality. Time slowed as he read, his fingers grasping at the pages with more strength and intensity as each moment bore on. There were a few diagrams and scans that his eyes closely scanned, but the images and words came to a blur as tears filled his eyes. Peter's hands became cold and weak as he dropped the packet on the floor. His knees buckled next, and he collapsed to his knees as tears fell out of his eyes involuntarily and fell on the paper.

It's ink was wet from the saline drops, but the truth that it gave could never be forgotten by those who read it. Peter tried in every way he could to deny the facts. He fought himself. He crossed his arms. He tried to deny even the evidence that was real. But in all reality, Peter knew what he had to due to preserve the peace. Lie.


WOAH. Yeah, you probably really want to know what happens next. I do too. This chapter took a good amount of time to write as I had to delete a portion of it because I did not like it. Originally Peter had gotten the document with Rocket beside him, but it didn't really fit too well and felt rushed. So I changed it so Dr. Nie would be the bearer of my cliffhanger, which worked out much better. As always, please, PLEASE, PLEASE leave me a review about the story. Tell me what I could improve upon, what you think of the story so far, and where you think the story is headed. The best way to motivate me to write faster is to leave reviews. It reminds me that I really need to get another chapter out, and it also relieves me of the desire to listen to Gustav Holst's The Planets. Enjoy the rest of your day!