because I like to imagine that Rocket and Romanoff likely had a series of snarky emails, calls, and conversations over those five years of working together. and because his character perspective presents an interesting opportunity to observe how both she and him changed over those years.

enjoy.

He's seen and been through some weird shit in his life, but Rocket is pretty sure that traveling through time is a whole new brand of weird. Even with everything he'd seen and experienced with the Guardians, he'd laughed in the Avengers' faces when they told him this time heist plan. Actually laughed. But their expressions hadn't shifted after several moments of his raucous laughter, and he realized that they were actually serious.

"Did we get 'em all?" he hears Big Green ask and he glances up at him, seeing the glow of the green stone in his hand.

Rocket's eyes do a quick sweep of the platform, easily finding the scepter in plain view, and spotting Stark holding a suitcase that he hadn't left with...meaning he was likely successful too. Then it's Rhodes asking "Are you telling me this actually worked?" and his gaze shifts to find the man standing in his suit of armour, holding the familiar orb.

Rocket glances down at the container in his hand that's holding the aether and he can't help the grin from spreading. We actually did it he thinks, excitement getting the best of him. Sure, there's still a load of work to be done to get Quill and everyone else back, but they have what they need to do it. Somehow, inexplicably, with this group of absolute idiots, they had pulled it off. He opens his mouth to say something exactly to that effect, but then there's a thud as the katana guy with the awful haircut falls to his knees. Rocket's gaze slides to the empty space between the Captain and the katana guy and an uncomfortable feeling settles into his gut as he realizes that not everyone made it back.

"Clint, where's Nat?"

Rocket is quiet, watching the disbelief spread across Banner's face as there's no answer to his question. He sees Clint look up and meet Banner's eyes, and it's then that Rocket knows that she's really gone. But he looks away immediately, because he knows that look - he's seen it before. Felt it before. And he doesn't want any part of that. No, he's had enough pain to last a few lifetimes, thank you very much.

There's another loud thud as Banner smashes his fist on the platform, and Rocket shifts uncomfortably because the feeling that had settled into his gut has solidified, and it's entirely too close to how he'd felt watching Groot drift away as dust, and how he'd felt when Nebula had come back with Stark but no Drax, Mantis, or Quill.

He looks over at Thor and finds a man once again drowning in grief. The peace he'd found after talking with his mother had disappeared with the loss of his friend and teammate, and Rocket lets out a soft sigh. Poor guy can't catch a break.

Nobody says anything for several moments, and the silence that swells in the room is the loudest Rocket has ever heard. They'd all known that it wasn't a guarantee that everyone would make it. But no matter how much they had prepared themselves, it's still a shock.

He sees Nebula shift around uncomfortably, her calculating eyes scanning the room in a way that he hasn't seen her do in years, and Rocket feels an inexplicable urge to offer some comfort. He knows that like him, Nebula wasn't really close to anyone but she'd respected and shared an understanding with Romanoff. Neither of them particularly liked any of these individuals that make up what was left of the Avengers team, but Red had met them halfway and hadn't put up with anyone's bullshit. She'd been okay...for a human, anyway.

He wants to ask what happened, but it's not hard to read the emotion on Clint's face to know that he's not ready to talk about it. Rocket doesn't know much about the man, but he knows that Red and him had been close friends and that once upon a time he'd done for her what Quill had once done for him. He thinks back to how it felt finding out that Quill was gone, and an unfamiliar wave of sympathy washes over him as he watches the man fight a losing battle against his grief.

Rocket's gaze drifts down to the aether in his hand once more and all he can think is that they better damn well figure out how to get everyone back. They better make her sacrifice worth something. Worth everything.

"Love what you've done with the place," Rocket snips as his eyes find her desk, swamped with papers, empty mugs, and plates filled with crumbs. Clearly the failure to get the stones back from Thanos has weighed on her heavily. Though to be fair, it's weighed on them all pretty heavily. His eyes don't miss the constantly running searches on various holo screens above the desk though - she may be slovenly and probably in some state of depression, but clearly she isn't useless.

He's taken a bit by surprise when she chuckles. "You know, here on earth raccoons eat out of the garbage. So I don't think you should be judging me."

Rocket frowns, remembering Quill's words from years before. He'd meant to look that up… "What the hell's a raccoon?"

She blinks in surprise. "I- You mean no one's told you?"

"Told me what?" he snarls defensively.

"You look like a raccoon."

"No I don't," he refutes immediately, just as he'd done with Quill.

"How do you know you don't if you don't know what one is?"

"Because I'm me. I look like me," he says firmly, fist banging against his chest to punctuate his point. "I don't look like a raccoon because I'm not a raccoon. There ain't nobody like me, except for me."

She shrugs. "Whatever you say."

"I'm not a raccoon!"

"Okay," she says holding up her hands in innocence, but he reads condescension in her tone and expression.

He frowns and throws a glare her way. "Argh, what the hell d'you know anyway? You're a human. There aren't too many races suckier than humans."

She arches an eyebrow. "I may be human, but I can still hurt you," she says casually, but he doesn't miss the glint in her eye. It reminds him way too much of Gamora and Nebula for his liking, and suddenly he's wondering more about who exactly she is and where she'd come from.

"You got issues, you know that?" he accuses. "We show up and fly you into space, and then offer up our services to help you and your team of misfits keep the peace, and you're threatening me? Real hospitable."

She rolls her eyes. "As if you wouldn't do the exact same thing. I may not know you well, but I know a criminal and a thief when I see one."

"That's an awfully big accusation to throw around, humie."

"Natasha."

"What?"

"My name is Natasha," she repeats in an almost infuriatingly calm tone. "If we're going to be working together, we may as well use each other's names."

He eyes her for a moment. There's something about her that he can't quite pin down, but she seems like the sort of person he might end up not hating.

Eventually.

Maybe.

"Rocket," he grumbles grudgingly as he glares at her.

"Nice to meet you," she says politely with a nod. He's surprised by the lack of sarcasm in her tone - she's being genuine.

"Yeah, yeah," he waves off, filing away a bit more information on this human who is puzzling to him in many ways. "Nebula said Danvers gave you some intel for us?"

"Yeah," she says with a nod, shifting back into what he's surmised is her this-is-serious-and-we're-actually-going-to-get-some-work-done tone. "I did a little research from what info we have here and put it together for you. I'll send it to you."

He nods and mumbles a mostly quiet 'thanks' as he begins to swipe through the info when it appears on the mobile phone they'd given him and he'd immediately taken apart and modified.

Huh, this ain't bad work he thinks. Guess humans aren't totally a waste of space after all…

"Got everything you need?"

"Yeah. We refueled and took some extra supplies. We should be good for a few months."

"Okay," she says with a nod. "Let us know if you need anything from us."

He holds her gaze and bites his tongue. He wants to tell her that they don't have anything they could ever need, but he knows she's trying the best she can to be helpful. Inexplicably, he feels a flash of empathy - he knows what it's like to be unable to impact a situation in any meaningful way. In fact...they all do now.

After months spent chasing down individuals who'd decided to take advantage of a vulnerable universe, he and Nebula had returned to reconvene and restock some supplies they hadn't been able to get elsewhere. Nebula had immediately disappeared, probably to service her guns ad restock ammo, but he'd decided to meet up with Romanoff and get the lay of the land.

Rocket's a little surprised to find her desk empty - for as long as he's known her, she has always been close to her desk. It didn't matter what time he'd called into the channel, she'd been there. Middle of the day, dead of night, early morning, or late at night - she always answered.

His gaze sweeps over the desk that he recognizes from their holo-calls. The amount of paper on her desk has grown significantly since he'd first been in the office almost six months before, when they were planning their trip to confront Thanos. There are a lot more plates with remnants of meals than he remembered seeing back then though, but he's pretty sure that at least they aren't the same ones.

"Oh, hey," she says in surprise as she strides into the room, one hand holding a tablet and the other another plate with a pretty pathetic looking meal. "You sort out that disagreement?" she asks as puts down the plate and slides into her seat, gaze focused on whatever data is scrolling on the tablet.

"Yeah," he says as he drops his bag and climbs up onto the couch. "Little threat here, little threat there, and all disagreeing parties decided to agree."

"There are ways of resolving conflict that don't involve threats, you know," she replies drily.

Rocket shrugs. "Yeah, but they're no fun."

She looks up and eyes him for a second before shaking her head and glancing back down at her tablet.

"What's with the hair?" he asks, noticing the bright red roots. "I thought you were blonde."

"Had to dye it when I went on the run," she explains.

"So you're a red head?"

"Well spotted."

"Jeez, Red. Relax."

She glares at him briefly before turning her attention back to the tablet.

"Why were you on the run?" he asks, genuinely curious. He's been mostly following her orders since she decided to take responsibility for coordinating them all, but he doesn't know an awful lot about her. He's had his hands full with the bullshit "problems" that had popped up on the radar -none of which paid anything at all, by the way- and hasn't had the time to do any real research into her or the other humans with whom he's now apparently affiliated.

"There was a disagreement, some of us ended up in violation of some laws, and some of us ended up in prison."

"As explanations go, that's pretty vague."

"That's more than most people get," she replies with a shrug, not looking up from her notes.

"But I'm supposed to follow your orders?"

She looks up this time. "If you're acting on the team's behalf, then yeah. If you're doing your own thing, I don't care so long as it doesn't cause me any headaches."

He scrutinizes her, carefully considering everything he's learned about her. It's been about six months since they met and he's still trying to form an understanding of who she is. She doesn't strike him as an outright do-gooder, especially with the suggestion of having been on the run for some time, but she's definitely not a criminal either.

Suddenly she leans back in her chair and rubs her eyes, letting out a heavy sigh. "You drink?" she asks.

"Yeah," he answers slowly. "But supply's been low lately. I'm gonna try to stock up next time we-"

"You ever try vodka?"

He shakes his head. "That some human drink?"

She nods as she gets up. "Very popular where I'm from."

"What's it taste like?"

"Water, mostly," she answers with a chuckle. "Some people say regrets."

"Humans are weird."

She laughs. "Everyone's weird to someone."

He frowns as he lets her words roll around, realizing they're right.

"Here," she says, handing him a glass. He takes it and stares at the clear liquid in it and gives it a sniff, as she sits down in the chair across from him.

"Cheers," she says, holding up her glass expectantly. He scoots forward and holds up his own glass. She clinks hers to his and then drinks it in one go.

He glances down at the glass and then follows suit, wincing at the awful taste. "You drink this willingly?" he coughs. "That's awful."

She laughs. "I practically grew up with it."

"Humans give this to their children? You're a weirder species than I thought."

She laughs again. "Not usually. Special circumstances, I guess you could say," she explains as she pours herself another.

When she moves to put the bottle back down, he gestures with his glass. "Hey."

She arches an eyebrow. "Thought you said it was awful."

"Yeah, well I don't got a lot of options right now, so I'm gonna take what I can get."

She shrugs. "Suit yourself."

"What's your story?" she asks.

He's a little surprised she's not drunk with the amount she's had to drink. He'd dismissed the vodka as anything of significance after the first taste, but after 4 or 5 glasses, it started sneaking up on him. It was still awful, but it was starting to very slowly numb some of the uncomfortable feelings that had taken root months ago.

"What'd'ya mean?"

"Where'd you come from?" He glares at her because he's used to this kind of scrutiny and curiosity from people. Usually his glare is enough to deter them, but she's unaffected and simply holds his gaze before continuing. "I'm not judging. We're all fucked up in some way. Some of us more than others."

"Oh yeah? Even you, princess?" he throws the barb at her, but she shrugs it off easily. It's proving harder than he thought it would to get under her skin.

"Some would say especially me."

"Why's that?"

"I was 9 the first time I killed someone."

His eyes widen. Nine? For humans that's practically still a baby.

"Yeah," she says with a nod, noticing his reaction. "See? Everyone's fucked up."

"I thought human babies were mostly useless."

"Not a baby at 9," she explains.

"Still not an adult though."

"No," she agrees, "not an adult. But I was never really a kid. Wasn't a luxury I was granted. I was trained from a young age to be a killer."

"Sounds like Gamora and Nebula," he mutters.

She tilts her head. "I guess being a daughter of the giant purple asshole doesn't really leave you with many other career choices."

He actually chuckles at her description. "No, not really."

"But what about you? How'd you end up riding with the rest of the Guardians?"

Rocket pauses and considers her question. "Mutual interest in breaking out of prison," he answers simply. He keeps his eyes on her and watches carefully for her reaction.

She shrugs as she pours another shot for each of them. "As good a place as any, I suppose. But why'd you stick around after that?"

"Some circumstances required it and they grew on me, I guess," he answers with a shrug. "And they needed someone to keep 'em focused," he adds as an afterthought.

She nods in understanding. "Well, for what it's worth, I'm sorry for your friends."

"Yeah," he answers gruffly but not unkindly. "Me too. Sorry about your people."

She nods again as she pours them each some more vodka. "Thanks."

"Hey, Nat!"

He watches her head pop up off the desk and he wonders if she was resting her eyes or if she'd fallen asleep. It's hard to tell through the holo-call.

"What's up, fur face?" she says tiredly.

He scowls. "Humans have fur on their faces too, you know."

"Significantly less," she retorts with a flash of a small smile. "What's up?"

"We sorted out those idiots who were causing the latest trouble that Danvers told us about."

"Any casualties?"

"Yeah, half my stock of the good stuff."

She chuckles. "The morning after the last time you and I drank together you swore up and down you were going to give up drinking."

"I have no recollection of that."

She laughs heartily. "Figured you wouldn't. You want to see the security footage?"

"No, no. That's fine. I'm sure it's corrupted anyway," he says, typing furiously into the computer in the dashboard in front of him.

"Nice try, Rocket. It's locked down, so stop trying to hack in and erase the evidence. Besides, I made a hard copy."

"Bullshit."

"Wanna test it?" she challenges.

His gaze narrows as he tries to get a read on her, but as usual he can't. "Fine. Anything we need to deal with?"

She shakes her head. "Nothing that I've heard. Gonna make your way back? Been awhile."

He considers it. "Yeah, sure. Why not?" he says, deciding that sleeping in a secure facility and not on the ship would be a nice change.

"Admit it - you miss us."

"Do not."

She smiles. "You totally do."

"Shut up," he grouses, hating that she's a little bit right. Somehow, against all odds, some of these stupid humans had wormed their way past his defenses.

"ETA?"

"With breaks between the jumps, a couple days probably."

"I'll stock up on the vodka," she says with a wink.

He cringes. "If we're drinking, we're drinking my stuff this time."

She laughs, and he realizes that it's the first time he's ever heard it. "Deal."

He cuts the call off and leans back in his chair, rubbing his eyes.

"You talk to Romanoff?" Nebula asks, dropping into the co-pilot's chair.

"Yeah. Told her we'd make our way back there. We need to restock some supplies and refueling wouldn't be a bad idea either."

"Good. Ship could use some repairs too. Easier to do those when we know we're not going to get shot at," she replies in her usual brusque tone.

He mumbles a few words in agreement distractedly as he sets in the course for earth. His mind goes back over his conversation with Romanoff, and he realizes with a start that he actually doesn't hate her. He still wasn't a fan of the so-called Captain America, and Rhodes was a bit too goody-goody most of the time to tolerate in large doses, but Red? She wasn't all bad, and he was willing to put up with her.

"Did you know her well?" Quill asks, eyes on the freshly planted tree memorializing Romanoff.

Rocket considers the question. They'd spent five years on a team with one another. Sure, he'd been out patrolling the galaxy with Nebula for most of that time - but the regular holo-calls kept them in touch. And he and Nebula had returned often enough that he'd had the chance to drink with Red on a few occasions.

He thinks of those slightly drunken conversations comparing how she'd been unmade and then moulded into into an assassin, and how he hadn't asked to be made in the first place. And he thinks of those few moments where they were drunk enough to reveal some of the pain they both held inside themselves for their failure to save their friends.

"Well enough," he replies.

"I'm sorry," Quill offers softly, putting a hand on his shoulder.

Rocket's mind lingers on his memories of her and how she had somehow become someone important to him. He was as gruff and defensive as someone could be, but it hadn't pushed her away. In fact, she'd accepted it and dealt some of it right back to him. He thinks about how when he first met her he thought that maybe one day he wouldn't hate her. He never thought the day would come where he'd actually miss her if she was gone. He never thought he would consider her a friend.

"Yeah, me too" Rocket agrees with a solemn nod. "She was one of the good ones."

apologies for the delay with this one...it's been sitting in my drafts folder mostly finished for awhile now.
hadn't gotten around to chipping away at it more until today.

thoughts? comments? feedback? suggestions for future? all are appreciated.

more to come.