So, here is the requested attempt at writing a Rocket POV. There's probably enough summary of their backstory here to do an entire fanfic, and I might just write that, someday, because holy crap do I ever have headcanons about how they met…but for now just enjoy the Grocket cuddliness (I'm ready to write some fluff, dammit!) at the end of the "Rocket" section. As for Peter and Drax…well. You'll see. ;)
Shout-outs to everyone who reviewed. You guys keep me going! *hearts*
[Rocket POV]
The first time I met him was the day after I ran away. I was still on Half World, still hiding under trash cans and in storm drains to keep them from finding me, and I was torn between hating the world and giving into the crushing terror that adrenaline could only cover for so long. He was a prisoner, too. Some space pirates had figured out that he could crush people with a single branch and they forced him to work for them. They had tortured him, kept him pinned down in cold, dry, dark places for long hours until he did what they wanted with the promise of a little sunlight and some water. I wouldn't know any of that until later, though.
All I would know, at first, was a pair of deep-brown, almost black eyes—beautiful eyes—looking at me with the first compassion I had ever been shown. I was hiding behind a dumpster, peeking out at the giant walking tree and wondering if I should run or if I should try and attack it before it attacked me. But it didn't attack me. Just stared at me with those beautiful, sad eyes and knelt down, offering a wooden hand so big I could easily use it for a seat.
When he finally spoke to me he said "I am Groot," and somehow I understood he wasn't just telling me his name. He was saying, trust me, I am your friend. He was saying, it's okay, I'm a prisoner too.
I wanted to believe him so badly. "What do you want with me?" I demanded, still not taking the hand he offered. How did I know he wasn't working for Half World's labs? How did I know he wasn't going to take me back there?
Slowly, carefully—so I wouldn't get scared, I assumed—he put out a single wooden finger and stroked one ear. I was surprised at how gentle he was, and how good his touch made me feel. For the first time I felt hope. Here, at last, was someone who didn't want anything from me, who was trying to comfort me instead of change me. "I am Groot." And I understood what he was saying, with perfect clarity: Escape with me.
"Yeah, and exactly how do you think we're gonna do that?"
He pointed to a parked ship not ten yards away. I wondered if it belonged to one of his captors. "I am Groot." I don't know how to fly it. If you do, we can get away.
"Yeah, I think I can. Want me to try?"
He nodded. "I am Groot."
"Then let's go. I got a couple guns. You got any weapons on you?" He shook his head. "Got any units?" Another head shake. "Me either. Let's hope whoever's left their ride parked left a cube or two in the passenger's seat."
It was a small ship. Kind of a junker, really. Not a lot of space, just a couple of bunks and a tiny, badly-stocked galley. Not even a real kitchen or anything. And very, very little storage space. But there were a couple of credit cubes, which I thought would come in handy. Groot confirmed that it belonged to one of the pirates who'd kidnapped him, but didn't offer any more details. I just started the thing up (it was really pretty easy—way easier than the puzzles my captors had tried to make me solve) and we took off. If the pirates noticed us flying off, I didn't care. No one shot at us. We just went away.
We got out of Half World and found ourselves on this weird-ass planet in the middle of nowhere that was all pink and fluffy and sweet—basically everything I was not. Groot loved it though, because it was as sunshiny as you could possibly get and there was a convenience store where you could buy water in these big gallon jugs. That was when I learned that he'd been tortured by his captors and, for all intents and purposes, starved.
The first act of kindness that I ever performed was done for his sake. I agreed to stay there until we'd caught our breath and learned to be on our own. I told him I'd find someone to scam off of and he could be rid of me within the week. I never planned on having him for a partner. I told him we'd get a good racket going, maybe. Scam some people on that planet for vacation. Maybe we'd rob a couple of places outright. We'd split the profits and be on our merry way.
Instead I slowly, steadily found myself growing attached to him. The way he looked at me, like I was something to be protected instead of something to be ripped apart—the way he held onto me like I might die if he let go, the way he kept me from cutting out my implants in the moments of deepest self-hatred—the way he said my name, the way he thought my name in that peculiar, inflection-based language of his. He was the first to call me Rocket. At that time he was the only one in the galaxy who had never addressed me as Subject 89P13. I think that, in the end, was what got me. He didn't see me as a thing. He saw me as a person—and I was deeply ashamed of how much that meant to me.
In the end we left Candyfornia together, because I learned quickly that the nightmares of being captured and dissected were easier to endure when I used his broad wooden chest as a pillow, and that in the throes of a panic attack, the only thing that could calm me were those beautiful lights he could release, and that when the implants ached—and they ached a lot, believe me—the only way to make them go away was to let him rub my back. "But I'm not sharing units with you. We both pull our own weight and don't you forget it," I warned him.
We went to Xandar and started bounty hunting. Initially we each took our own jobs. Then we were both hired by the same guy, who thought "friendly competition" would stimulate his hunters to find his target faster. What he didn't know was that Groot and I were friends already. We teamed up and scammed the guy, pretending we didn't know each other and each of us threatening his life if he didn't give us what we wanted. We got double the reward money that way.
The next day, he had us both arrested. The security was way looser than Half World's, but it still took us a couple of days to break out. At night Groot would make a cocoon around me with his vines and branches, so no one could try and hurt me. I'm about 99.9% sure I'd have been raped if he hadn't been there—there were plenty of psychos in there who licked their lips when I walked by, excited at the idea of bedding an "exotic" species like me; none of them had ever seen anything like me before. They'd never seen anything like Groot either, but when he snapped the neck of a guy who leered at me, they quickly got the message that he was not to be messed with. And, by extension, neither was I.
The day Groot came back into a burning building to get me out of there was the day I realized that no matter how many people I killed (Groot didn't like killing, unless it was to protect either me or himself), how many times I called him an idiot for doing things like drinking from public fountains or chasing butterflies instead of helping me catch the target, or how often I lost myself in panic attacks or flashbacks that led me to punch him or attempt to shoot him (sometimes, when I was really out of it, I'd think he was a security guard or lab assistant from Half World), he was not going anywhere. I was stuck with him. And he was not going to leave me no matter what I did. He was willing to die for me. No one else in the galaxy would have done what he did—at least, I was sure no one would—but he did it, he risked his life for me. I knew that there were very few things that scared Groot and fire was one of them. But he faced it down. For me.
The day I realized I felt the same was when I had to go into a factory lab, where they made plant food and different types of fertilizers, to get something that he needed. We'd been in a cold-ass dark planet for way too long, trying to catch a target who thrived in cold, dark, damp places. I'd been shivering like crazy, but Groot was half-starved, having been without sunlight for far too long. I was afraid he would die, and then where would I be? Alone again? No, I couldn't have that. I told myself that was why I was doing this. Selfish reasons. I needed my bodyguard, after all. So I broke into that cold, awful place, lit all up with fluorescent lights and staffed by people in the same horrible lab coats who'd made me what I was, and forced myself to deal with the nausea and dizziness and general feeling of panic as I worked my way into the lab, stole the plant feed, and got the hell out of there.
I'll never forget the look on his face when I brought it to him, though. So fucking happy, like I'd just got down on one knee and asked the idiot to marry me. He asked me, later, did you do that for me? And I said no, I did it for me. I couldn't go without my muscle, after all; he was usually the one to save my ass when our missions went south, not the other way around. He didn't even look disappointed. Looking back, I think he knew I didn't mean it. He said thank you and I just said yeah, yeah, whatever, I didn't do it for you, I did it for me, now go eat it and shut up you big stump.
Thing is, our relationship was unbalanced from the start. Groot was easy to take care of. Give him some water and sunlight, let him cuddle me when he felt lonely, and that was it. But I was the messy one, the one who had obsessive-compulsive tendencies (but he never complained about how many times I had to pull apart the guns and put them back together just right), the one who screamed in his sleep and had furniture-wrecking tantrums when triggered, the one who could probably not have survived on his own. I was the one who screamed at Groot, the one who beat him up (or tried to—we both knew that physically he could have snapped me in half, but he never did), the one who, on some occasions, tried to kill him—and yet I was the one he chose to trust, to protect.
To love.
The first time he said we are Groot instead of I am Groot, my heart almost stopped. Because that meant I love you. "I am Groot" could translate to so many things…but we are Groot? That only meant one thing. And just the way he said it…I knew what he meant.
I love you.
At the time I brushed it off. "You always were the sentimental type," I teased him. "Next thing I know you'll be telling me we should stop killing or something."
But he said it again when he—sacrificed himself, God, I still didn't like to think about that—and at the time I was convinced he was dying, and as I sat in the middle of the wreckage, holding that twig, all I could think was you blew it, you could've said something, anything, other than "you'll die"—like he didn't already know that, moron—and you could have said "I don't think you're an idiot," or "You saved my life," or "I'll never forget everything you've done for me"—but no, he'll never know how much you trusted him, how much you cared for him. You blew it, Rocket. You know you did.
I kicked myself until the day I saw that little face appear in the twig. Okay, so I hadn't blown it, and now it was my chance to protect him, to repay him for everything he'd done for me. So I did, keeping him close to my side, leaving him out of the way when we went on missions, letting him hang out with Quill as often as he wanted (even though I really hated the idea of him liking anyone more than me—stupid and possessive as that was, I didn't want to share my best friend, but I never let him see that), keeping his little pot next to me when I slept in case he needed me in the middle of the night. I wouldn't let myself think of it in terms of being in love with him—in the first place I could never actually tell him that; in the second place it was seriously squicky to admit I had a thing for a sapling, even if I knew what he was like fully grown—but as he quickly grew back to full height I realized I couldn't deny it.
The day he was fully grown and I could scale up his side and sit on his shoulder again was probably the second-best day of my life. We invaded Ekos and it was horrifying—I'm about as desensitized to civilian death as it's possible to be, and I still cringed when I heard the screams of the people we couldn't save—but if I was honest, it felt really, really good to have him fighting by my side again. Even if we lost. Even if I almost got nailed, like, thirty-five times by the fucking army we were trying to fight—even with all that, it still felt amazing just to be there with him again.
Later on when Quill pulled his I-should-starve-for-my-failures crap, I watched helplessly, no idea what the hell I should do, while Groot restrained him the way he'd so often restrained me when I talked about hurting myself. Groot, unlike me, recognized the signs and how to intervene. But Quill yelled at him, and I hated him for it—until Groot reminded me that I'd tried to kill him before, when he tried to ease me through a panic attack. I forgave Quill later, but only because he apologized for yelling at Groot. If he hadn't, I probably would have been much harsher with him than I was—which I knew was damn hypocritical of me, considering how often I trash-talked myself, but I'd never admit that to Quill.
What almost forced me to show my hand and admit that, yes, I did have feelings for the big log was that he started to show the same protectiveness of Peter Quill that had formerly been reserved for me. Trying to restrain him after Ekos, so he wouldn't hurt himself. Blocking access to the training room when he thought the idiot might overwork himself. Trying to make sure Quill got enough to eat. That was supposed to be what he did for me, not for stupid Star-Lord. I got jealous. I yelled at him a couple of times, then immediately demanded forgiveness, which he always gave. Not that he wasn't used to my violent mood swings or foul language by now—it was kind of a prerequisite to being friends with me—but I still felt guilty.
Then I found out I wasn't alone. I found out that one of the huge contributing factors to Quill's never-ending stupidity was because he had a massive crush on Drax—but was way too fucking terrified to tell him, whether out of fear of getting hurt or fear of hurting Drax I couldn't tell. I all but admitted to him that I had feelings for Groot (but I was not planning on telling him anytime soon, thankyouverymuch), and we bonded, if you could call it that, over the fact that we were both in love with people who deserved much better than us.
The fact that I'd told someone made it real. And much, much scarier. Which I guess is why, when the moment came, and Groot bluntly told me "We are Groot" in a tone that left no room for misunderstanding, I panicked.
"Yeah? You've said that before. What do you expect me to do differently this time?"
Say it back?
"'We are Groot,'" I mocked. "There, you happy?"
He looked annoyed, a rare look for Groot. You know that's not what I mean.
"Well, that's about all you're gonna get from me." I was looking for a way out of this. Some way that I could imply that yes, I felt the same way, but no, I wouldn't admit it under pain of death. "Maybe I just don't feel it, ever thought of that? Maybe I just—y'know, maybe I just keep you around because you're tough enough to save my ass when it comes to that."
We're friends, aren't we?
"Partners," I corrected him. "That's it. You're only hurting yourself if you think we're ever gonna be more than that." And the second it was out of my mouth I regretted it. Instead of taking it back, though, I ran like hell, got wasted with Quill, and spilled his secrets to Drax when he scared the shit out of me by having some kind of weird breakdown while we were drunk. (Fucker deserved it for scaring me like that, in my opinion.)
I guess I should've been easier on Quill when he told Drax to fuck off. I mean, yeah, I knew how it felt to love someone, and to know they love you back, but to also hate your own existence to the point where you know they deserve better than you, you know you're just selfless enough to let them go if they'd just let you, but they don't. But it's easy to be angry at someone else, because sometimes—this was the case with me, anyway—it's easier to call someone else an idiot when you know it's really you.
So I complained to Groot, to Gamora, to anyone who'd listen about how Quill was breaking up our team. And if he didn't stop soon, I was going to push him out the airlock, shoot him with one of the weapons I'd invented, sic Groot on him and let him get the crap beat out of him. Not that I'd ever do any of it, but I wanted to send the message that I wasn't putting up with Quill's crap. Because see, I understood to a point, but after a while it just got annoying because really? Cocky, cute, conventionally-attractive Peter Quill, with low self-esteem? It sounded more like a whining plea for attention than anything else. What could possibly have happened to him to make him hurt like that? Whatever it was, it couldn't be half as bad as being dissected, healed, and then dissected again day after day. I was sure of that. So I was annoyed, and I thought rightfully so. If Quill wanted to be a baby, he'd better at least have a good reason for it.
One day I heard a commotion and, as I always do, strayed towards it, only to find myself caught up in a pair of wooden arms and hauled off down the hallway. "What?" I demanded, trying to push him off. "What's wrong with you? Can't you hear that? They might need us."
No. You are not going there right now. He kept a tight grip on me. Peter is talking of hurting himself.
"So what? He does that a lot. Let me down, I want to go see—"
He said he wishes Ronan killed him and he's thrown his weapons out of his room. Drax is with him. They should be alone.
Now, here's the thing about me and Groot. Anyone else would have heard that and thought, well, what does one have to do with the other? But I immediately got it. Groot was connecting Drax and Quill to…well, to us. Comparing Quill's little temper tantrum to my panic attacks, comparing Drax's attempts to comfort him to all the times he'd been forced into the role of my caretaker. It made me mad, for reasons I couldn't pinpoint. "So what?" I said again. "That's not the same thing at all, I actually got reasons to—"
So does Peter.
"And how the fuck do you know?"
I don't know exactly. I just know he has reasons. Don't hate him.
"I don't hate him, you big stump. Just—just don't compare that to our stuff, okay? It's not the same at all, it's—" What I wanted to say was, it's not the same as when you keep me from doing something stupid like shooting myself, or when you make the implants stop hurting, or when you help me remember where I am and that I'm safe when I think I'm back on fucking Half World. It's not the same, it's not as special, don't let me think it is—what I said instead was, "Quill's just being a baby."
Soft vines crept up and ran through my fur. I almost didn't realize this until it was happening. "Hey. Hey, Put away the vines," I warned him. "Not up for cuddling right now."
I want a hug. He gave me the biggest puppy eyes I'd ever seen and, okay, I can never resist him when he looks at me like that.
"Oh, fine. Pick me up then, you damn log." I let him scoop me into his arms and pressed my face against his chest. "Remind me again why I keep you around?"
"We are Groot," he replied simply. The way he said it was so matter-of-fact, like it didn't really mean much. But the way he locked his arms around me as he said it? That spoke volumes.
It was the fourth time he'd ever said it to me and I should have reacted the same way I did every other time. Indifferent. Purposefully oblivious. Or, the worst of all, outright lying. Instead I gave up. Reached up and awkwardly patted the wooden face that absolutely lit up when I said, "Yeah, yeah. I know. Not sure why, 'cause it's pretty obvious you could do way better."
He squeezed me tighter. I only want you.
"Well, there's your first mistake right there," I sighed. But I made no attempt to get away. "You sure about that?"
I always have been.
"Okay, later I'm going to ask you why. Right now I don't feel like it though. Just don't…tell anyone yet, okay? Let Quill deal with his shit first." I couldn't help but smile, just a little, as I added, "Holy shit. This whole damn ship is turning into some trashy romance novel."
I don't think we're anything like that.
"Yeah, I know, but you gotta admit there are parallels. Tragic love stories and all that. But whatever. If you don't mind, I don't mind. Just don't expect too much."
I don't. I do want to hear you say it back, though.
"I can't yet, okay? Just give me a little time. Be patient…you're good at that."
He cuddled me against his chest and if anyone else had done that, they would've got a square punch to the face and maybe a good bite or two in some unmentionable places. But because it was Groot, I didn't pull away. And I should have gotten down and walked away when he said "We are Groot" again, but I didn't. I didn't say it back—but I at least admitted I liked to hear him say it, and that was a start.
I was still cradled in his arms when the first blast rocked the Milano.
~o~
[Peter]
I am paralyzed, held by two Kree, one of whom is pressing a needle into my arm. They are so strong I can't hope to fight them off. I could, usually, but now I can't, my limbs are so heavy and I can barely breathe. I can't even reach for my blaster—I don't even know where it is. Drax is on his knees, face turned defiantly towards the man standing over him. The man to whom life is only a bargaining chip.
"You will wield it for me, or you will watch him die," Ronan tells me, pointing his hammer at Drax.
I fight against the men holding me. I ignore Ronan and focus on the man I love. "I swear," I tell him, my voice shaking so hard it's barely recognizable as my own, "I will get us out of this if it's the last thing I do."
He sounds so calm when he speaks, his voice so soothing I almost forget our current position. "Do not give him what he wants. My life is not worth the universe, Peter."
"It is to me," I choke, struggling as hard as I can—which is not very hard—against the Kree.
Ronan smirks. "The drugs are working, I see," he says coolly. "Now then, Terran, if you will—"
He tries to put the glowing purple gem in my hands, but I clench my fists and refuse to take it. His gaze hardens. "Very well, have it your way."
"No," I cry out as his hammer raises, glinting in the dim light, so dangerous, so cruel—no, he can't do this, he can't take Drax from me, he can't, he can't! The hammer starts to swing—"No, I'll do it!" I scream—too late, the hammer comes crashing down and I can't stop the screams, Drax, no, not him, I'll do anything, please, don't, Drax, no, no—
"No!"
"Peter. Peter. Wake up, it is only a dream, you are safe—look at me, please—"
I knew that voice.
My eyes suddenly opened, almost involuntarily, and I sucked in a lungful of oxygen. Oh, God. Air. I loved air, it was the best thing ever—well. Apart from the man leaning over me. The most incredible, forgiving, sexy, beautiful man I had ever seen. Oh, my God, those eyes—so blue, so perfect—staring right through me, right into my soul, oh God, oh God how I loved him. And suddenly the only thing that mattered to me anymore was making sure he knew it.
My body went on autopilot. My arms locked around him, my body straining wildly against his as I pulled his ridiculously beautiful face towards mine. If he doesn't want me, I thought as I felt his arms close around me, he can push me away…if he tells me to stop, I'll stop. But he didn't tell me to stop.
When we kissed it felt like the most natural thing in the world, like waves crashing against the shore, like the sun rising over the horizon, like lightning striking the earth. If he was still angry with me, he didn't show it in the way he held me against him. He practically devoured me, pinning me down to my bunk and forcing his way into my mouth. I didn't stop him, didn't push him away. I kissed him with all I had, kissed him like I'd never have the chance to do it again. I didn't care what it meant or if I'd regret it later. All I cared about was that he was here.
We stopped to breathe. "Don't ever leave me," I gasped, my heart pounding and my hands locked behind his neck. "Please, whatever you do, don't go."
His hands reached around, gripped my wrists, and pinned both my hands down to the mattress, over my head. "Never tell me you don't love me again."
"I won't—I'm sorry—I lied to you, I lied, I love you, I love you more than anything, I'm a fucking idiot for not seeing it sooner—I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I hurt you. I love you and I meant it when I said I need you. I'm so sorry, I don't deserve you, I really don't deserve you but please, please don't leave me, please don't die, I'll never let you out of my sight again if that's what it takes just don't die—"
"Wait." He released my hands and carefully wrapped his arms around me again. I leaned my head against his chest, enjoying the very real sound of his heartbeat. "Is that what you saw in your nightmare? My death?"
I pressed my face against his skin. "Ronan killed you. But it doesn't matter, it wasn't real, thisis real—" I froze mid-sentence and looked up at him. "This is real, isn't it? We're—we're both here, aren't we? Did I die too?"
"No!" He rolled us over so that I was underneath him. "No," he repeated, as his mouth lowered to my neck. "No—no—no"—between words he pressed scorching kisses to my neck that left me gasping and thrusting against him—"you are awake, you are with me, you are safe, I am alive." He bit down hard and then flicked over the bite with his tongue, pulling a loud, drawn-out moan from me. "Can you feel that? Does that feel real?"
"Yes, God yes," I moaned. "Touch me again—I don't care how—just—let me feel you, let me feel that you're here—please—"
His hands dived beneath my clothes, ruthlessly caressing the most sensitive parts of my skin, leaving me a trembling mess. Oh my God. Oh my God, how the fuck had I ever lived without this? I mean, yeah, I'd had sex before. Sex was great, I loved sex, but this? This was different. This was intense. This was everything. His teeth sank into my neck, and my eyes rolled back into my head. "Yes, right there," I moaned, and my hips involuntarily bucked against his.
He grabbed both hands and pinned them over my head. "Promise me you will let me look after you."
"I promise." I probably would have promised him my soul in that moment.
He ground his hips against mine, causing me to emit a sound that was so embarrassing I would later cringe over the memory of it. "Promise me you will not push me away again."
"I promise," I gasped. "I promise, I never—I won't—just—"
He wasn't done. His fingernails scraped against the delicate underside of my wrists, while he ground down against me again. The result was a jolt of pleasure that made me cry out. "Promise me you will never lie to me again."
"I promise," I choked out. "Oh my God, I promise, I will fucking literally do anything you want. Anything. I will do anything you want. I promise."
His teeth found my neck again and I nearly screamed. "Never again allow anyone but me into your bed," he growled into my ear.
"Yes, only you, only you," I breathed, struggling against his impossibly tight grip. "Anything. I mean it. Anything. You can have anything you want, just—just don't stop."
He shut me up by kissing me. "You—are—mine," he whispered between kisses, and I gave in completely, allowing him to take me over, allowing him complete control over me. If he wanted me, he could have me. I vowed then and there that the rest of my life would be spent making up for treating him so badly. Anything he wanted he could have. If he wanted to dominate me, he could. If he wanted monogamy, well fuck it, I was all his. If he wanted to torture me to insanity by doing that with his tongue—oh my fucking God yes—I wouldn't stop him. Never again. I was never, ever going to stop him from doing whatever the fuck he wanted with me again.
We were wearing far fewer clothes, and he was exploring the back of my knee, when I felt the ground move. And oh, how I wished that were a euphemism. He froze, his mouth still pressed against my thigh. "Did you—" he began, but another blast rocked the ship before he could say it.
Oh, no. We could not be under attack. Not now. This just wasn't fair.
But another blast rocked the Milano, and I knew it wasn't just Rocket's driving. Hell, Rocket was a better pilot than I was, we could probably have gone through an asteroid minefield and come out on the other side without so much as as a scratch when he was behind the wheel.
"We're under attack," I realized. "Okay. Off. Get off. We gotta move."
In about ten seconds we were up, dressed, and running for the cockpit. Rocket, as I'd expected, was at the controls (and, also as I'd expected, cursing loudly). "I don't know who the fuck these people think they are, but our thrusters are powering up and in about two minutes they're going to be blown to dust," he snarled. "If I could just see them…" He punched a few buttons. "My viewscreen isn't working."
I jumped into the secondary pilot seat and checked the viewscreens. Mine was working, so I reported, "It's a red pod, with a silver asterisk on the side. That mean anything to you?"
Rocket froze in his seat. "Wait, say that again?"
"Red shiny pod. Silver asterisk on the side. Kind of shaped like an egg. There's a little round window in the front, and…hold on…" I zoomed in on the pilot. "And the guy's kind of dressed in this weird red nurse's outfit, with a white jacket over it." I looked over at Rocket, whose face was suddenly slack and his hand was gripping the wheel so tightly I thought he might crush it. "Rocket? You okay? You know these guys?"
Slowly he turned his head towards me. I'd never seen Rocket afraid before; even when we were about to go to what we thought would be our deaths on Xander, he hadn't shown the slightest bit of fear…but now he looked absolutely terrified. "They're here for me."
Apologies. I'm not the best at writing sexy scenes. And I ended on a cliffhanger again… *hides face in shame* so don't kill me, because the next one is definitely going to take a couple of days to get out.
One thing I can promise, though, is that NONE OF THE GUARDIANS WILL DIE IN THIS FIC. I swear, I hate, hate, HATE killing off characters, I can't even do that when I write original fiction (which I should probably get over if I'm ever going to be an actual writer, but meh, details) so I'm certainly not going to do it here. I know that doesn't really make up for leaving with a cliffie AGAIN because I'm clearly the laziest writer ever. But it helps…right? *insert Groot-style puppy eyes here*
