Author's Note: I love getting reviews – Rocket inspires me, but you guys keep me going! – keep 'em coming, please! :D

Rocket Raccoon jerked awake, eyes blinking, ears swivelling, at the sound of the ship's engines shifting from the constant hum of deep space travel to the fluctuating stutter of negotiating gravity. He didn't remember falling asleep. His swollen eyes hurt too much to rub them and he had a raw, scratchy feeling in the back of his throat.

A little hiccup jolted through him and he hissed in pain as the sudden movement upset the bruised muscles along his ribs. He was stiff and sore from sitting curled up in the same position – possibly for hours on end; he had no way of telling – and staying still for so long hadn't done his no doubt black-and-blue torso any favours.

For a moment he was lost in a haze, unsure of why he had such a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach. And then reality impacted once more.

They killed him... They killed Groot...

He felt sick just thinking about it. There wasn't even so much as a splinter left to replant, Rocket realized. His ears drooped at remembering how the bounty hunters had nonchalantly chucked the heap of dust that used to be his best friend out the airlock. The exhausted raccoon thought he had cried until he could cry no more, but suddenly fresh, hot tears stung his eyes anew.

"Up and at 'em, pipsqueak!" one of the bounty hunters – the obnoxious one named Cassidy – called cheerfully. "We're here!"

Rocket was planning on ignoring the flarkin' gaboon, but then his ears perked up as the bounty hunter strolled on over to the panel with the controls for the cage. A small detail sparked the raccoon's interest: the man didn't have the remote for the barriers on him... Rocket had not moved since crawling into the far corner of his prison and this seemed to have made the fool careless.

"C'mon, little fella, you're off to your nice new home and I'm off to make my fortune!" the brainless oaf blathered on, not even looking over his shoulder as he opened the cage.

In three clumsy bounds – Rocket winced with every motion as bruised muscles grown cold protested all throughout his torso – the clever little raccoon was out of the cage and under a heap of haphazardly stacked crates before the bounty hunter had time to turn around. Holding his breath, he waited for the goon's reaction when he noticed the empty cage.

"Aww, krag-nuggets!" he heard Cassidy swear under his breath. Right on cue. "Meedo's gonna kill me!"

Rocket felt his lips curve into a savage smirk. He'd read the situation right. The other one, the older mercenary with the eye patch, was the brains of the operation... but this guy? He was obviously the inexperienced apprentice entrusted with very little responsibility, a frustrated novice eager to prove himself. He wouldn't want the elder to know about his mistake: seriously, this was Bounty Hunting 101 stuff - you accidentally lose your captive, you flunk big time. So, in an attempt to cover his blunder, the man was about to make his second big mistake – he was going to try and fix this without calling for backup first.

"Pssst! Hey, where are you, little guy?" he heard the bounty hunter call out nervously, his voice carefully muted.

In his hiding place, the raccoon rolled his eyes. Murder my best friend and then expect me to come quietly? Like hell!

He listened for the man's footsteps. So far, the bounty hunter hadn't moved other than shuffling those big ape feet of his restlessly. If the goon came any closer, Rocket had a choice of making a run for it or jumping him, though his chances of physically overpowering an opponent at the moment were disparagingly low. He would have loved to have a gun. If he tried to swipe the guy's sidearm... He shook his head. If he could manage to slip past this guy undetected, running was his best bet.

Rocket tensed his aching muscles in anticipation – he could not afford to trip or falter even once.

A rustling of clothes could be heard as the bounty hunter, Cassidy, frantically searched his pockets, most likely for...

"Damn it, the keypad...!" he cursed.

Rocket couldn't believe his luck. His grin broadened as the moron's thudding footfalls receded at a jog. He took a deep breath and hoisted himself up onto the crates he'd been using for cover. It took him three tries before he could reach the top – something was definitely bruised or worse in there, he thought as he instinctively clutched his ribs at the dull pain spreading through his chest.

Ain't no time to feel sorry for yourself! he scolded himself harshly as his nimble little fingers investigated the grating above his head.

This grate was the very same one from which the poisonous cloud that had killed Groot had come and Rocket cringed at the thought, but that also meant there had to be a ventilation shaft of some sort behind it. If he was quick, he could disable the trigger at the source. And if he wasn't and they decided to gas him, well, then at least it wouldn't be long until he saw his big tree buddy again.

If a thing like him and talking trees even went to the same place after they died...

A hollow ache that had nothing to do with his ribs thrummed through his small body. Rocket hadn't realized just how much Drax's way of thinking had rubbed off on him.

Focus, idiot! Shaking his head, he concentrated on the task at hand.

He was getting dizzy, working with his arms raised above his head like this, but with a bit of fervent fiddling, he managed to loosen part of the grate. He found himself looking up a narrow shaft that led into darkness. The ship was bound to have all sorts of traps, designed to keep captured bounties contained and, although his diminutive form counted in his favour for once, he would still have to tread carefully.

Again, Rocket had trouble pulling himself up by his arms. He struggled until he thought his muscles would tear apart. He finally made it up into the vent, just barely clambering over the ledge and then collapsing unceremoniously onto his stomach. It was a monumental effort just to turn himself around and pull the grate shut noiselessly behind him. Worn out, the raccoon allowed himself half a minute of breathless panting before pushing up on his elbows and crawling deeper into the shaft, hoping he was at least heading for the cockpit.

If he could make it to a transmitter, he could try calling the frequency of Quill's helmet or, with enough time, maybe even rig the ship to broadcast its location to the Milano.

The space was tight, with little room for manoeuvring. His ears grazed the ceiling of the cramped tunnel and he was slithering along on his belly. His breath came in short gasps and his lungs felt too small, like they'd been bound with iron bands that kept them from expanding all the way. He thought he saw a flash of pure white tiles from the corner of his eye.

Rocket shuddered involuntarily. He could not afford to lose it, not now. Think of something else, he told himself firmly. First, bring Groot's murderers to justice. After that, after you kill 'em all, after you get away, then you can let the stupid, crazy animal out...

He kept it up like a mantra, berating himself every time he was blinded by search lights that weren't there, thinking of avenging Groot every time red-smeared tiles started appearing where they didn't belong. So focused was Rocket on staying sane that he was startled when the close walls suddenly let up around him. He was crouching in a compartment built into the ventilation shaft for housing a sizable pump, attached to a generator and several tanks.

He'd discovered the source of the gas.

Wary not to trigger any traps, Rocket approached the contraption as quickly as he dared. He had no time to lose; he could already hear angry voices echoing from somewhere in the ship. Dismantling the anti-tampering device was easy enough once he located it. He spared a thought for Groot as he ruthlessly ripped off a panel and hurriedly began deactivating the receivers and the pump.

That done, Rocket was about to turn away to continue down the ventilation shaft, when his eyes fell on a lever, half-heartedly screwed on instead of bolted into place. With a grim smile, he detached the length of metal effortlessly and hefted it in his paws, testing the weight. He had a blunt weapon, now, at least.

He realized that his time was up when an ominous hissing noise filled the shaft. It wasn't coming from the tank he'd just sabotaged. Flark it, they must have another one! Indeed, where the poison the bounty hunters had used on Groot had been green and opaque, the stuff billowing down the shaft towards him now was the barest shade of white, practically invisible. He took a deep breath while the air around him was still clean, then held it.

Not much time... Think, Rocket!

Ears flicking irritably, he considered his options. Either they didn't know where he was and were hoping to flush him out of hiding, or they knew exactly where he was and were focusing the gas on his position. They wouldn't want to accidentally gas themselves, so whichever the case might be, the one who would be waiting to catch him as soon as he caved, that one would be carrying oxygen with him... Gripping the heavy pipe in his little paws, he took a moment to prepare himself before continuing his crawl down the tunnel at a decidedly more urgent pace than before.

It wasn't long before he started to make out the hint of light. He crept towards it. Peering through the grate at the end of the shaft, Rocket looked down on one of the bounty hunters – the dim-witted one, Cassidy – waiting in the cockpit. The man hadn't spotted him yet; he was searching under the seats and behind the consoles for the missing raccoon. But the moment Rocket dared to touch the grate, the bounty hunter was going to notice.

Rocket couldn't afford to stay where he was, though. His air supply was growing thin. He wouldn't be able to hold his breath for much longer. He looked from the grate barring his way to the metal rod in his paws. There was no time for precision and no margin for error.

Now or never, Rocket...

Striking quickly, he dislodged the grate using the heavy pipe. Cassidy had just enough time for a surprised yelp before Rocket cracked the blunt weapon across his face with all the force he could muster. He reached down to remove the man's gas mask—

What the flark!?

He wasn't wearing one! Vision blurring and throat seizing, the frantic raccoon searched the dazed bounty hunter for some form of oxygen tank, but found nothing. Apparently he wasn't even trusted with a blaster, never mind a vital thing like breathing... How was the gas not affecting him!? The whole cockpit was misty with the barely visible gas.

Rocket wasn't beat yet – he was two short bounds away from the ship's communication console. Abandoning his search for a breath of air, he lunged for the comms unit instead. He took an involuntary little gasp as a meaty hand grabbed him by the tail. Immediately, his head spun. He tried desperately not to breathe in any more of the potent gas as he was hoisted into the air by his spine.

"Why you cheeky little rat!" Cassidy chuckled in astonishment, holding the raccoon upside down. "Tell me you didn't just hit me over the head with a lever."

In vain, Rocket swung the pipe at his captor, but his reach just wasn't long enough. He could hear his own heart throbbing and tears were forming in his eyes, but he stubbornly held on to the spent air inside his lungs.

"Ah, you finally found our golden rodent," the other bounty hunter remarked, stepping into the cockpit, looking quite smug. Rocket's eyes widened at seeing the tiny cage tucked under the man's arm.

"Man, this gas smells bad! Hey, it's a good thing we bought those immunity tablets, eh, Meedo?" Cassidy chatted amiably. "I didn't think they'd work, to be honest...! I thought we were all gonna take a nap together."

"Yeah," the bounty hunter with the eye patch agreed, effortlessly pulling the pipe from Rocket's grasp. "Too bad we can't buy tablets that'll make you smarter, 'Assidy', you almost cost us our cargo!"

"Not fair, man!" Cassidy objected loudly. "Use my full name or shut your cake hole!"

Without even really looking at his distressed little prisoner, Meedo proceeded to casually poke the raccoon's stomach with the metal rod, trying to get him to breathe in the gas.

"Whoa, Cassidy, is that a bruise?" he laughed, ignoring his junior's complaints. "At least your thick skull is good for something." He turned a condescending smile on Rocket. "Come on, little guy, breathe. It's not healthy to keep it in so long."

Knowing full well that it was useless, Rocket was still determined not to cooperate. He held his breath valiantly for all of five prods, but then the nudges became sharp jabs and they travelled from his stomach to his sensitive torso. It was only when the pipe struck a particular rib on his left that Rocket gasped in pain, letting the sleeping gas flood his system.

His last thought as his vision faded to black was that that rib was probably broken...

Myra sat in the car, licking her lips and staring at the black tinted windows shutting away the outside world. Daddy hadn't wanted her to come, but they were bringing home her cute little raccoon today! She had to be there! So she'd promised to stay in the car. Daddy wasn't very happy about her leaving the house, but at least he'd allowed it in the end.

The noise of the car door opening sent a thrill of expectation through her. Daddy stuck his head in and then passed the cage to her. Myra stared. He looked so small! In awe, she placed the cage across her lap and continued to gaze at the cute little raccoon inside it. His eyes were closed and his mouth hung open, his little pink tongue peeking out ever so slightly and the row of perfect little white teeth lining the gums of his bottom jaw showing.

She tried to push her fingers through the narrow gaps between the bars so she could touch his fur, but there wasn't enough space. She frowned.

"Daddy, I want to take him out," she declared, grinning eagerly.

"Not in the car, angel," Daddy, who was back in the driver's seat by now, replied without looking.

"He's asleep! Why is he sleeping, Daddy? I want him to wake up now!" she complained.

"The men who brought him said he tried to escape," Daddy warned, "that's why they had to put him to sleep."

"He keeps doing that..." she muttered.

"What was that, darling?" asked Daddy, keeping his eyes on the road.

"Nothing..." Myra lied. Suddenly, a sly smile spread on her face. "But he's sleeping... so I can take him out, then."

"Not in the car, Myra," Daddy said seriously. "Pets shouldn't be loose in the car. They can get hurt. Are you wearing your seatbelt, cupcake?" Myra felt a bubble of panic rise up from her middle. That's right, pets could die if there was a car accident... Her fingers curled protectively around the edges of the cage. But then Daddy darted a brief, reassuring smile at her. "He will be safe inside the cage, sweetheart. Besides, once we get home you can play with him all you want. I'm sure he will wake up soon."

"Yes, Daddy..." she replied, smiling down at her cute little raccoon. She contented herself with running a fingertip over the smooth, warm surface of his adorable little nose.

He stirred, then, just a slight frown and a soft groan, but it was enough to make her heart swell.

"I love you," she whispered at him fiercely, hugging the cage to her chest. "I love you!"

She couldn't wait to get home...

Unfamiliar scents.

That was the first thing he became aware of. He smelled something sweet, mixed with dust, musty stone, rotting wood... and moisture. The air was thick with moisture.

And then he opened his eyes.

Rocket sucked in a sharp breath as he was greeted by a vision filled with bars. He was inside a cage not much bigger than he was. The small cage was made of metal, just like the ones they used to put him in when they... When they— Memories of a lifetime ago, of gloved fingers and sharp instruments rose up unbidden and assaulted him. His heart wrenched itself up into his throat and a chill spread throughout his body. He curled in on himself, hoping that, if he made himself small enough, he wouldn't be next. For a long moment, he lay there, shivering, before he managed to fight down the ghosts of the past.

When he could finally see past the bars of his tiny prison, he noted that his cage had been left on a table in the middle of a spacious but old-fashioned sitting room. The heavy curtains were drawn closed. Candles glowed softly in the fancy chandeliers above, bathing the room in pale, yellow light. He found the slight gloom preferable to the glaring ultraviolet lights of laboratories and hospitals.

First things first – he inspected the cage for weaknesses. He ran his fingers all along the edges and down each of the bars. He growled in frustration. Can't even find the d'ast door!

Sighing, Rocket sat down gingerly in the corner of the cage and set to examining his aching ribs, trying to locate the broken one. It didn't take long before he found it, and two more, that were either very badly bruised or broken.

His stomach rumbled and he wondered what time of day it was. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd had something to eat. He caught himself wishing he had some of that leftover pizza he'd stashed under his bed back in the Milano... Stop thinking about food and start working on a frickin' escape plan! he thought angrily.

He was sort of hoping he'd been forgotten when a furtive figure appeared in the doorway, peering this way and that before scurrying closer. An old woman with creased, leathery skin stopped close to the cage and stared at him, unblinking. The laugh lines around her eyes were the only evidence that she could smile, though there was no trace of friendliness in her face now.

When she said nothing, Rocket bared his teeth at her.

"Whaddaya want?" he growled.

Her eyes widened slightly. She probably hadn't expected him to be able to talk. Belatedly, he thought he should have tried to get her on his side; she was wearing a servant's uniform, and servants' loyalty varied depending on the benevolence of their employers.

"I-I've seen..." she started in a thin, reedy voice, "what happens to animals in this house." She swallowed, then reached down and fumbled for something in the pocket of her apron. "I-I'm sorry, but I can't watch anymore... Those poor, poor animals."

Rocket's heart soared. Here was an ally that could help him escape. His eyes eagerly followed her hands as they found what she was looking for in her apron – the key that opened the cage, he hoped. To his dismay, she pulled out a syringe instead.

"W-Wait—Wh-what is that?" he stammered, backing away from the old lady as far as the cage allowed.

"I'm so, so sorry, little one," the woman apologized over and over as she brought up the syringe. It was filled with bright green liquid. "I-It's better this way. You don't know what she does to animals. It-It really is better this way."

"N-No!" Rocket choked out. "Get that away from me!"

She pulled the cage across the table to her and looked at him sadly.

"You'll feel a slight sting and your suffering will be over," the serving woman continued as though she couldn't hear him. "I've seen." She wet her lips and raised her white eyebrows for emphasis. They quivered disturbingly. "I've seen what she does to animals – it's much better if you just go to sleep..."

"N-No!" Rocket screamed, unable to take his eyes off the deadly injection in her wrinkled hand. "Are you crazy!? Someone, help! Help!"

"Shhh, quiet!" the old woman said sternly. "She'll come. She'll find you and then—" Suddenly, her eyes went big and round in terror. "Oh no... She's here..."

"Nan, what are you doing?" a girl asked from the shadows in the doorway.

The servant lady turned to the doorway, sure to keep the syringe out of sight, a good-natured smile on her face.

"Nothing, Myra, dear," she lied smoothly. "I was just checking on your new pet."

Rocket could feel the tension in the air. He remained frozen, pressed up against the back of the cage, as far away from the crazy old woman as he could.

"I have a new talent, Nan," the girl announced cheerfully from the doorway.

"Oh? And what is your new talent, girl?" the elderly woman, Nan, asked in reply.

"I can tell when you're lying to me..." The sweet, girly voice took on a rough edge.

"That's not new, Myra, dear," Nan answered easily, tucking the syringe behind her back without breaking eye contact.

"No," the girl, Myra, said evenly as she stepped out of the shadows. Rocket was surprised to see that she was a rather pretty, dark-haired girl with pale skin. Her eyes were an unusual shade of brown and she looked a little older than she sounded, somehow. "But this is..."

"M-Myra, dear," Nan's voice faltered as she pulled out the syringe she'd been hiding behind her back and held it up for the girl to see, "wh-what are you doing?"

As far as Rocket could see, the girl wasn't doing anything, simply standing in the doorway, staring intently at the old woman in front of her. Were her eyes just a strange hue of brown, or were they really red? The raccoon's hair wanted to stand on end.

"Tell me what that is, Nan," Myra said darkly. "You were going to use it on my new pet, weren't you?"

Nan nodded and looked surprised that she had done so.

"I-It's a mercy injection," the woman murmured, then clapped a hand over her mouth and shook her head. Her shoulders began to quake. Was it Rocket's imagination, or was she sobbing quietly into her fist.

Myra's eyes flashed red; this time, there was no mistaking it.

"You mean old woman!" she screeched. "How dare you!" She looked past Nan at the caged raccoon. "Did she hurt you?"

Uncertain what to make of the whole situation, Rocket just shook his head mutely.

"But she was going to," the girl concluded. "I'll never trust you again, Nan. But I know just what to do with you..."

"N-No!" the old woman cried even as she took the needle in both hands. "M-Myra, please! Please!"

Staring at the syringe in her own trembling hands, the woman screamed. Her voice cracked, but she continued to scream. She screamed and screamed until, finally, she thrust the needle into her own neck, fingers spasming until every last drop was injected into her bloodstream. Rocket jumped as the old woman turned suddenly and crashed into the table. For a horrible moment, their eyes met. A single tear slid down her cheek before she began coughing up thick globs of white foam. She reached her hand out to him, like she wanted him to help her somehow. And then she was no longer looking at him, but straight through him.

"Don't worry, little Rocket, you're safe now..."

When he managed to tear his eyes away from the dead woman at last, Rocket saw that the girl, Myra, was smiling at him.

A wide, unnatural smile.