"Did you have to steal his eyeball?"
If Rocket had a unit for every time he'd been posed that question he'd be rich enough to afford his own ship. Unfortunately the galaxy didn't believe in handouts (and for the record, neither did Rocket), which was why he was trying to steal one instead.
"You heard what they called Floor!" he shot back, wrestling with internal wiring so needlessly convoluted it could almost have passed for a security measure.
"Mean tentacles," Floor sniffled, still hurt by the two-hour-old comparison to a type of bloodsucking insect.
"Weapon's grade scutstain," Rocket agreed, glaring out the windshield at the now-blind Aaskavarian brandishing a gun in every tentacle and firing indiscriminately into the hangar. If he'd brought the Hadron Enforcer like he'd wanted to… (Teefs had called it excessive and after a prolonged argument had gotten Lylla to agree with him which had been the end of that)... there would have been bits of Aaskavarian staining the walls and no need to hotwire a new rustbucket.
"He likely had a malfunctioning ocular lens," Teefs said, placing a consoling flipper on Floor's head. Then, very matter-of-factedly he added. "Which come to think of it, explains why Rocket stole it."
"What's that supposed to mean!?" the raccoon turned his glare (minus most of it's vitriol) to the walrus.
"Rocket like trash!" Floor answered with all of her usual cheer.
Rocket deflated and conceded the point. "Okay, I give you that one Toothache."
Teefs beamed, good-natured even in victory. "That makes it five thousand two hundred and eighty-five to five thousand two hundred and eighty-three."
"How are you two ahead of me!?"
Teefs tapped his teeth conspiratorially.
Grumbling, Rocket got back to work on the mess that was Aaskavarian wiring. Teefs and Floor watched in polite fascination as his quick little paws made short work of the system. After much muttered swearing unsuitable for Floor's ears (Teef's covered them with his flippers), the last two wires came together in a small shower of sparks and the ship came to life with a concerning amount of spluttering.
The Aaskavarian gunner, blinded both by rage and by the loss of his singular eyeball, turned towards the sound in time for the ship's weapon system to hit him square in the face. Needless to say, he never saw it coming.
"I hate being the voice of reason," Rocket dusted his paws and stepped back to admire his handiwork. "But if we wanna get out of here we gotta move before more of those guys show up."
Teefs sighed. "How many eyeballs, Rocket?"
"Hey! At least give me the benefit of the doubt-"
"How many?"
"I didn't really count-"
"How many?"
"It wasn't only eyeballs…" Rocket's voice turned sheepish, and as if on cue the many pockets of his body glove burst open to reveal a vast and almost sickening assortment of cybernetic upgrades.
Teefs shook his head in disapproval while Floor burst into a fit of giggles.
"Rocket love trash!"
About two dozen more Aaskavarian burst into the hangar. Some were blind, some were deaf, many were missing limbs, all were stupid. But they also had obscenely big guns and far too many of those per person.
Teefs swallowed audibly. "Do you think if we ask nicely, and gave them back their things, they'd forgive us?"
Rocket shrugged. "Worth a shot. I think I spent all our ammo on that first guy." He tapped a claw on the comm unit, picked up a cybernetic limb from the pile and waved it so that the Aaskavarians with organic eyeballs could see through the windshield. "Hey! You guys need a hand?"
For a dusty old rustbucket barely spluttering alive, the ship sure could take a beating. Three minutes of non-stop fire and Aaskavarian war cries later and the hull had yet to be dented. In an effort to keep Floor distracted (they didn't want her to get frightened by all the action), Teefs and Rocket had started a game of charades that had quickly turned into a game of who could do the crudest impression of the other.
"Check out these big-ass teeth!" Rocket boomed, jamming an arm and a leg into his jaws. "GAZE UPON THEIR PROMINENCE AND PERISH!"
"Rocket Teefs! Rocket Teefs!" Floor squealed, bouncing on the spot with the simple, pure joy of guessing the charade the first time around (nevermind that charades usually involved less talking).
Teefs wilted, but being good-natured even in defeat, kept count. "Five thousand two hundred and eighty-eight to five thousand two hundred and eighty-seven."
"Floor next! Floor next! Floor wanna go!"
"Sure Floor," Rocket offered her the leg. "Want a prop?"
"I don't think you're meant to use props," Teefs muttered as the raccoon sidled up to him with a toothy grin.
As Floor put on a spirited, silent display (because somehow she was the only one that understood that charades was a game played without words) the two looked past her at the especially well-built Aaskavrian trying and failing to punch through the windshield (because in this galaxy people genuinely believed that enough musculature could get you through bulletproof glass) and more importantly, at the missile that punched through the roof of the hangar and landed squarely in the middle of the Aaskavarian artillery circle. There was an impressive display of destruction, and as the smoke cleared a single silhouette, balanced carefully on the nose of a much more space-worthy vessel, and wielding a sword larger than she was, stood out among the rubble.
"Lylla!" Rocket and Teefs cried out in unison.
"YES!" Floor cheered, bouncing on the spot again, delighted that they'd understood her charade. "Both right! Both right!"
"I look away for one second," the otter shook her head good-naturedly as the four put Aaskavaria behind them (they had unanimously elected to leave the rustbucket behind in favour of Lylla's significantly cooler-looking spacecraft) and hurtled into the infinite sky they called home.
"They were mean to Floor!" Rocket protested.
"One of them was mean to Floor," Teefs allowed.
"Called Floor a-an insect," Floor added with a wobble to her voice.
"You're not an insect," Lylla held out her arms and let the rabbit bounce into the offered hug.
"And even if you are some kind of insect," added Teefs (because none of them were quite sure what any of them were), putting his flippers around both. "We'd love you anyways."
"And I'm vaporising the next jackass who calls you one," Rocket promised, spreading his arms wide and stepping away from the controls to join the huddle. Lylla stopped him with a look.
"You didn't have to steal enough parts to build a new person," the otter chided, but there was no fire in it and her smile told him she was just teasing.
"Alright, alright, I'm sorry… for everything…" He stared longingly at the three of them, an unholy fusion of fur and metal made pure by the warmth of their being, and swallowed nervously. "Now can I-?"
"Of course."
The best part about group hugs was that noone really noticed who's paws was who's. It made doing things like giving Floor a subtle tickle behind the ear or poking Teef's teeths to see what they felt like a fun little game of 'Who Dunnit?'. It also made it easy to reach up to Teef's bulging, cybernetic eyes and tap in an upgrade.
"Woah!" The walrus breathed, blinking incredulously at the newfound clarity in his vision. He'd been complaining about motion blur and fading colours for weeks prior to Askavaria.
"You're welcome," Rocket smirked and turned away with an exaggerated swish of his poofy tail.
It took the walrus a minute to process what had just transpired, and half a minute more to ponder the implications of Rocket's gift. "You mean… you stole all that stuff… for me a-and for Floor?"
"First eyeball wasn't a match but twenty-seventh time the charm," Rocket confessed. "You like it?"
"I-I do! I-" Teefs took a deep, shuddering breath and stood to his impressive (at least comparatively) full height. "I'm sorry too Rocket, I shouldn't have said you loved trash."
"Nah, you were right." The raccoon leaned back in to give Teefs a friendly punch to the highest point on the walrus he could reach. "I love you big guy."
As Lylla, Floor and Rocket burst into laughter, Teefs gave a long suffering sigh. "Five thousand two hundred and eighty-eight all." A bit embarassed, the walrus looked away, his eyes automatically zooming in on the silent warning displayed on a side screen. "Um, Rocket. How do you feel about an emergency landing?"
One emergency landing later and the four lay on the soft grass of a planet that seemed to exist in perpetual sunset or sunrise (after much back and forth and several additions to the scoreboard Lylla had gotten Rocket and Teefs to agree to disagree), watching the streaks of light that rushed through the sky as what remained of their ship burned itself out of existence.
"Shiny." Floor breathed. "What is its?"
"Shooting stars." said Lylla, voice wistful.
"Although they're not actually stars." Teefs explained. "It's really just meteors hitting the atmosphere fast enough to burn into sparks."
"Y-you're meant to make a wish," said Rocket, not stopping to think about why he knew that.
"Wish?" asked Floor.
"Something you ask for…" His words caught in his throat. The stars began to blur as his eyes glistened. "Something you ask for that you really, really want."
There was a long silence after that as they all processed the concept of 'wanting'. It was not one they'd been taught, and despite their freedom it was one still new to them. Most of their lives they'd never wanted for anything beyond each other and when you already had that… What more could you want?
"I wish we still had a ship." Lylla said at last, as what remained of their getaway vehicle exploded in the distance.
Teefs guffawed. Floor giggled. Lylla chuckled. Rocket snickered. And all those sounds flew into the sky as one perfect cacophony of friendship that stretched far beyond the burning stars.
An eternity later, once the laughter had softened into a hum of contentment, Rocket closed his eyes. In the distance he could feel Quill's music drifting it's way into his dream. "I wish we could be like this forever."
When he opened his eyes, the forever sunset (or maybe Teefs was right and it was a sunrise) had faded out of existence. The soft grass had turned to metal. And the only thing left of his friends were memories tarnished by regret.
In some ways Rocket hated dreams more than nightmares. All it took to end a nightmare was to wake up. The same was true for dreams, but he never wanted his dreams to end. And when they inevitably did he woke up to the real world. The real world where he'd gotten his friends killed and the real world where he was utterly and completely alone.
"Rocket! Is your thing on the table a bomb or can I touch it?"
Well, maybe not completely alone.
"It's not a bomb," Rocket explained by way of greeting, scuttling into the Milano's common area a short while later. Thanks to Gamora and Drax and despite his and Quill's best efforts the ship was starting to look like it could pass for clean. Which was not nearly as much of a compliment as it sounded like considering the ship had been brand new a dozen cycles ago. "But that doesn't mean you can touch it."
He'd interrupted Quill mid-song so it took a painfully long time for the terran to figure out what he was talking about. "Oh, well I kind of figured it wasn't a bomb considering I still have hands. Please keep your junk off the table, Rocket. How many times do I have to ask you?"
"As many times as you want Star-munch, don't mean I'm ever gonna listen." He gave Quill a flash of white teeth, patted a yawning pot-bound baby Groot good morning, and leapt onto the table to get back to work on his latest project. It was not where he left it, and now Quill's comment about still having hands made a lot more sense. "Where did you put it?"
"Put what?" Peter's voice was all false innocence but the legendary Star-Lord was not nearly as good of an actor as he thought he was.
"Groot, where did he put it?"
"I am Grooooot." The sapling was somewhat better at feigning ignorance.
"Alright then. Another dance off." Rocket took a deep breath to try and hide how much he enjoyed their- as Gamora put it- 'juvenile display of masculinity'. "Ground rules?"
"No clawing, no biting and no quantum grenades." Peter set his walkman down besides Groot, leaving the most important rule of all unsaid.
The raccoon scratched at the underside of his muzzle. "Everything else is fair game?"
"Yup." Quill tapped on his helmet. "Any rules of your own?"
Rocket grinned, crouched down on all fours and made the necessary calculations. "Don't be a sore loser."
The song and dance had started a few cycles ago when Rocket had bragged a little too much about being better than Peter at 'anything that mattered' ('Heroic speeches don't frickin' count!'). Naturally Quill had disagreed, so the brawl on Xandar had come up and Drax had been delighted to hear four different versions of the story (somehow, Rocket was even more badass in Groot's version of events, which had spiraled into a whole other argument about how honest Rocket was being with his translations), Drax had suggested they settle their differences by fighting it out. Everyone had agreed that that was a terrible idea, but then Peter had pointed out that any version of the brawl was an unfair assessment of their skills because it had been Rocket and Groot versus Peter versus Gamora and a two on one on one said nothing about who the superior fighter was and Rocket found himself suddenly very fond of Drax's way of thinking.
Now the score was three all and there was all the ego in the world still to play for.
"I am Groot!" cheered the sapling.
"Oh I intend to!" Rocket pounced.
Even though Groot had cheered them on and was partially responsible for the dance-off, the tree was immediately distracted by a packet of candy. There were only three left and as blaster fire, raccoon chittering and the occasional cry of pain filled the air around him, Groot helped himself to his impromptu breakfast. His attention returned to the duel in time to see Peter lob a gravity-mine at the wall behind Rocket and then activate it in time to pull the raccoon away from where he'd been reaching for his gun.
"And that makes four to me," Quill grinned, beaning the pinned raccoon on the head with an old baseball for good measure. "No shame in losing to your Cap-"
"I ain't lost yet." Rocket snarled, holding up his paw to show that he had swiped the controller for Quill's rocket boots off of him.
"Shit!" was all Peter could say before a push of the button propelled him into the ceiling. Once. Twice. Thrice.
"Ready to give up?" Rocket snickered, idly pushing the button a fourth time. Unfortunately, he'd failed to take into account Quill's propensity to improvise and found the legendary Star-Lord barreling towards him. Cutting off the power did nothing to stop the pre-existing momentum but the force of the blow did manage to turn off the mine.
They fell to the ground in a sloppy heap where the fight continued. It was at this point that Drax appeared in the doorway. The Destroyer watched for a full minute as the two traded jabs and punches in a way that reminded him of his daughter (he had come to accept that Rocket and Quill were skilled warriors in their own way, but when it came to close quarters combat they fought like infants).
"Are you two fighting again?" he asked at last, sounding every bit as delighted as he was.
"Pffft! Course not!" replied Rocket, who had Quill in a headlock.
"Not at all," Quill lied, holding the raccoon's tail precariously close to his teeth.
"I am Groot!"
The tree's visible delight was all the confirmation Drax needed. He nodded. "You are training. This is a good thing. Even warriors who rely on dishonourable trickery like you should practice and hone your skills in combat. I have waited a long time for this moment." He threw his head back and laughed in that terrifyingly joyful way he did. "Let us all fight to our heart's content and battle each other not as enemies, but as friends!"
"Let's not do that!" screamed Rocket as at the same time Quill yelled "DRAX WAIT!"
With a battlecry that rang shook the cosmos, Drax the Destroyer threw himself into the fray.
Gamora took her time coming to their rescue. On principle she agreed that training and learning new skills was a valuable use of time. But there was no rhyme or reason to Rocket and Quill's dance-offs and neither of them fought for any reason other than the satisfaction of seeing the other lose. She had made it explicitly clear after one of Rocket's quantum grenades had blown the showerhead to smithereens, that if they wanted to grope each other they would have to do so off-ship.
The use of the word 'grope' had somehow caused another dance-off to ensue not five minutes later.
Besides, if they really wanted to refine their combat strategies they could use the experience of facing a stronger opponent.
"I am Groot!" Groot cooed at her, as Drax hurled Quill right across the common area and Rocket desperately tapped out against an arm nearly as wide as he was. Being completely literal Drax had no knowledge of the concept of 'tapping out' and even if Rocket could breathe, the raccoon would have passed out before the words 'I yield' ever crossed his muzzle.
She sighed, and tried not to smile too fondly at the scene as Quill struggled to his feet only to have Rocket thrown at his face.
"It was on the table and I moved it but then I forgot where I put it." Peter explained, after Gamora had eventually gotten around to saving them from what passed for Drax's friendship.
"Peter," said Gamora, in her usual, exasperated 'I am going to die surrounded by the biggest idiots in the Galaxy' voice. "If it was a bomb there is now a potentially unstable, highly combustible device somewhere on this ship-"
"It would not be the first." Drax said, in his characteristic blunt fashion. They all fixed him with an open-mouthed stare. "What?" He pointed at the battered form of Rocket. "You yourself confessed that there was one in the ventilation system."
"Dude! I told that to you and only you!"
Gamora closed her eyes and took a deep breath. It really was a miracle they weren't all dead yet. "You lost a bomb?"
"I didn't lose it!" Rocket protested.
"Then why is it in the vents!?" yelled Quill, in that tone of voice that suggested he couldn't believe that this was a real conversation.
"Coz I built it there!"
There was a beat and then Quill yelled in exactly the same tone. "Why did you build a bomb in the vents!?"
This gave Rocket pause. The raccoon scratched idly at his chest. "I dunno, just felt like it?"
"Rocket." Gamora said, in a voice that brooked no argument and reminded them all that she was still the deadliest woman in the Galaxy even if she wasn't going around killing people anymore. "Go get your incendiary now and put it with the others. Peter. Find whatever Rocket's newest project is before it explodes and kills us all. Drax, help him. Groot," her face softened into a smile. "How did you sleep?"
"I am Groot!" chirped Groot.
"Fan-frickin'-tastic," Rocket translated, using a claw to screw open the ventilation shaft. "Only he didn't say 'frickin'." Came the echo of his voice as his poofy tail disappeared into the ship.
Rocket had never been less alone in his entire life.
Sure he'd had Groot for a while before the Guardians, but Groot had been a fellow bounty hunter and as a rule Rocket didn't make friends with fellow bounty hunters. (They had a nasty propensity to stab folks in the back.) Nevermind that the first Groot had chosen the thug life entirely due to Rocket's influence.
But Groot was one friend, Drax and Quill and Gamora were three more. Four. Which was one more than the friends of his dreams…
He'd never argued with the real Teefs- 'peaceful programming' aside they had both been too good-natured for that. Floor had had a limited vocabulary, but she didn't need things explained to her the way Drax did. And Lylla… well he was pretty sure the real Lylla would have been the one holding them all together and comforting them when they were called insects or freaks or vermin. But he was also pretty sure she wasn't the type to use a sword…
Like with many things, Rocket wasn't sure how to feel about it all. The fact that he was projecting the personalities and quirks of his new friends onto his old ones felt both like a betrayal of what Batch 89 had been yet at the same time told him in no uncertain terms where he stood with the rest of the Guardians.
They would have wanted me to move on...
He found his bomb and his not-a-bomb before Quill and Drax did, and made a shushing sound to Groot as he settled down beside the plant to watch the Legendary Star-Lord and Drax the Destroyer turn the ship upside down in their quest to find his latest project all while it sat neatly under his tail.
Because Gamora wouldn't appreciate the joke, he showed his hand an hour later, just as she was about to join the search.
"Oh look! I found where Quill put it!" he said, with an air of false-innocence and a shit-eating grin that screamed the words 'Rocket four, Star-dork three'. "And for the record, it's not a bomb." He slapped the device onto his back and watched as the nanotech enveloped his chest in silvery metal. "I wouldn't expect you dumb-dumbs to know the difference, but this is an aero-rig. Think Quill's boots, but better. You use it to fly."
"You built a jet-pack!?" Quill's face lit up like only his could. The dumb humie cared so little about the scoreboard and looked so damn excited that Rocket was forced to look away lest he start wagging his tail.
"That may be the best thing you've built," said Gamora, and her approval was roughly the same kind of reaction as excitement from Quill.
"It is indeed, an awe-inspiring breastplate," nodded Drax.
"Thanks," said Rocket, struggling very hard to look like their reactions didn't mean the world to him. Quick! Insult them before they see that you care! Unfortunately, before he got the chance to, the prototype malfunctioned and bounced him into the ceiling.
Corix 85 was, as the legendary Star-Dunce put it 'a wretched hive of scum and villainy'. Which probably explained why Rocket liked it so much. And also explained why Gamora was less than keen on his choice of pit-stop. But it'd been the raccoon's turn to choose and it'd been the closest of his old hangouts. It was also the only black market planet he knew that could boast a pottery shop and Groot deserved only the best and most illegal of pots to grow in.
"I don't want to be here a second longer than we have to," Gamora went on in that stern, no-nonsense way that always managed to cow Quill and sometimes Drax and sometimes even Rocket too (not that he'd ever admit it).
"We refuel, resupply, get a new pot for Groot, nothing else," Quill echoed, putting on his Captain's voice. "Wheels up in two hours."
"Three," Rocket interjected. "Groot's picky about where he sticks his roots."
"Two and a half-"
"Three," said Drax. And when they all turned to him he began to explain. "When I first set out among the stars in my quest for vengeance, I had the good fortune to taste the most exquisite dish in the galaxy. I have been trying to recreate it but lack certain ingredients that are hard to come by. I am certain I may be able to find some of them here if given the right amount of time."
"Alright, alright," Quill sighed. "Wheels up in three. But remember. We're the good guys now. Don't do anything illegal."
That order earned him an earful of angry raccoon. "That's like asking me not to breathe!"
"Fine. Don't do anything immoral." Quill amended.
"How is that any different!?"
"There is quite a sizable difference between what is moral and what is illegal." Interjected Drax, as everyone collectively rolled their eyes. "For example, before we left Dennarian Dey informed me that murder is illegal- it wouldn't surprise me if you didn't know this, I was only told when we were given this ship- but I think we can all agree that joining together and using the stone to viciously murder Ronan was the moral thing to do."
"But I didn't hold your hand because it was the right thing to do!" Rocket complained. "I did it coz that jackass hurt Groot and I wanted him to pay!"
"Wait." Ignoring Rocket's projected layer of jackassery, Gamora turned to Drax. "You didn't know murder was illegal until twelve cycles ago?"
"That's right."
"And I thought Quill was dumb! Weren't you in the Kyln for longer than the rest of us? What the hell do you think they imprisoned you for?"
"Indecent exposure."
Gamora gave Rocket the 'you had to ask' look, while the raccoon winced from the mental image that sentence concocted.
Drax went on, oblivious. "No doubt the diminutive Xandarians felt insecure by the sight of my-"
"And we're here!" Quill touched down roughly enough to shake the ship before Drax could get into whatever made the Nova Corps feel insecure. "Corix 85!"
In the interest of saving time, the Guardians split up. Gamora chose to stay with Groot and the ship; her presence drew far too much attention and Guardian or not, half the Galaxy still thought of her as a Daughter of Thanos while a rough percentage of the other half saw her as a traitor to Thanos and neither of those well-earned reputations did her much good in a place like Corix. Besides, someone had to stay with Groot.
Quill would turn on his Star Lord charm and haggle for fuel because the ship was his and he knew what kind of fuel it needed (Rocket had known it wasn't supposed to run on combustible plasma cells, that incident had been many things but it hadn't been an accident) and he was the only one of them actually good at haggling (Thanos didn't stress diplomacy, Rocket preffered not paying for things at all, and Drax had a tendency to pay exactly what was asked of him no matter how ludicrous the price).
Drax would resupply, both because he was the most capable of carrying everything on their shopping lists and it seemed natural considering he was searching for spices as is (and because the price of edible material was rarely obscene enough for his inability to haggle to set them back too far).
And Rocket would get a new pot for Groot because he knew what Groot wanted and was infinitely more picky about where Groot stuck his roots than Groot was. He also figured he'd get a few drinks because three hours was more than enough time to round up a few bounties and get enough units to buy his way back into the good graces of the intergalactic scum he used to rub shoulders with. The last thing he wanted was to have bits of his old life mess up his new one. He had more than just Groot now. He was a Guardian of the frickin' Galaxy (not that he'd ever say something that stupid out loud) and he was not going to screw it up.
Five and a half hours later he was ordering a round of Jetlag- a brand of beer that was illegal in six systems- but also the closest thing to 'legal' he could get on Corix.
"Heard you gone clean, Roc," grunted the barman- a reptiloid with four eyes and just as many hands. His tone was accusatory but Rocket was enough of a regular to know that that was just the way the guy talked.
"Aye," came the reedy voice of a tall, blonde Xandarian Rocket vaguely recognised as a fellow (if significantly less successful) bounty hunter. "Doin' work for Nova? Thought you hated Xandarians."
"Still do. You especially." Rocket grinned at the barman and held up his Jetlag. "And would a guy going clean be drinking this shit?" There was an audible pause and Rocket was suddenly very self-concious about the fact that it was only banned in six systems. "Don't answer that." He recovered quickly and shrugged. "I'm a bounty hunter. I go where the units want me and sometimes the units want me on Xandar. It ain't that deep."
"Working on Xandar isn't quite the same as saving it from annihilation," another bounty hunter cut in from further down the bar. "Pull some more hero shit like that and it makes the rest of us look disreputable."
"You think I'd drag your reputations down?" Rocket was both impressed and insulted by the audacity of that statement. He threw his head back and gave a long, pronounced bark of hysterical laughter that twisted into a growl. "I didn't save Xandar, dipshits. I killed Ronan. Sure, by doing so I saved a few billion lives but don't try and paint me into a saint. Any of you would have done it to save the planet you were standing on! What was I supposed to do? Let him blow it up with me still on it?"
"How'd you kill Ronan anyways?" the barman ventured, wiping at a dirty glass with an equally dirty cloth.
"Blasted him with an Infinity Stone."
"Bullshit!" breathed the Xandarian.
"What in hell's an Infinity Stone?" asked the other bounty hunter.
"Cosmic ingot of phenomenal frickin' power and I held it in my hand." Well, conducted it's power through his friends via the power of handholding, but these idiots didn't need to know that. He grinned with all his teeth and took a deep swig of Jetlag. "That dumbass Kree never knew what hit him. I got a nice fat reward from Nova, a brand new ship and a bunch of idiots to run it for me. So don't give me any of this dumbass hero crap. I'm just as selfish a bastard as ever and noone and especially not the Nova Corps, tells me what to do!"
Because the universe had a great sense of comedic timing, or just plain hated him, his comm unit chose that moment to come alive with a soft beep, and before he could turn it off Peter Quill's voice blared out.
"Three hours man! We said three hours! If you don't get your furry little ass back here right now we're leaving you behind!"
A soft 'I am Groot' was heard in the background. And although Quill couldn't understand the tree he was pretty good at intuition when he needed to be.
"No, of course we're not leaving him behind. We'd never do that. You're right, that was too much. Rocket! Get back here now or you and Drax are gonna have a date with the oven!"
"I would never pursue romantic relations with an inanimate object," came Drax's voice, sounding offended by the insinuation. "And although they both share mechanical components I don't think Rocket would either."
"No, I meant it more like you were gonna cook him. Coz you know… back at the Kyln you said- nevermind, it was just something Yondu used to tell me."
"Well that makes sense. You are the type of person to think romantically of kitchen equipment."
Rocket turned off the comm, ears pinned back against the top of his head as the bar of bounty hunters laughed and jeered at his expense. Well, whatever. He'd come here to put them all behind him anyways and now he had an excuse to never show his face again. He passed the barman a slip. "Anyone come here looking for me, you give 'em some of that and say I died painfully. Come up with details if you want, the more gruesome the better. That should make 'em happy."
The barman grunted in a way Rocket knew was both affirmation and the closest he'd get to an emotional farewell. He hopped to the ground and forced himself to hold his head high as he left the scummy bar, his old life and the laughter behind him.
He got halfway to the Milano before remembering he'd forgotten to buy Groot's pot, mentally kicked himself for forgetting something so important, doubled back to the market and then took his time choosing one. Groot deserved only the best. Besides, he was about eighty-eight percent sure Quill was joking about cooking him and there was no point in hurrying when he was already late. By the time he was done the Guardians had spent six and a half hours in Corix and Rocket was sure he'd be watching Groot and the ship for the next couple of dozen spaceports. But he'd been through worse. Right now, his life was practically two thirds of a dream.
Don't screw it up, Rocket.
He turned away from the hustle and bustle of the main market street in favour of a less-crowded shortcut. Idly, he considered coming up with excuses. The truth was not an option- making a conscious effort to bury any demons of his past for their sake was something altogether too mushy a thing to tell them about. He figured he could make Quill feel bad about the comm call if he had a believable enough story about being held captive by a dog-fighting ring that had tried to get their Giblexion to eat him. Gamora would see through it- she was far too good at reading him for his liking- but there was a chance she would let Quill simmer in guilt for a bit…
He was snapped out of his reverie by a familiar voice calling out an even more familiar designation. "89P13?"
With a growl Rocket turned to face the speaker, adjusting his grip on the pot so that he could draw his gun more easily if he needed to. "You're lookin' at him, asshole. And for the record, the name's-" the words caught in his throat. His eyes grew wide and his jaw hung open.
The world stopped.
She was taller than he remembered, with bulky arms he had no recollection of. Like him, she'd grown into her cybernetics, though there were still places where her fur would never grow again. Carved into her chest by the cruel hands that had made them was her designation. 89Q12. But he didn't need it to know it was her. There had only been one thing like her, too, and he'd have known her anywhere.
"Lylla?" His voice was half a squeak, half a whisper and for once he didn't care about how pathetic it sounded. His paws were shaking so hard he nearly dropped Groot's pot.
Lylla stepped forwards, wearing a smile he knew all too well. This was a dream. He wanted to pinch himself to make sure, but he was scared she'd disappear if he did. A part of him wanted to look away, and run into a dark little corner and hide and cry and beg her forgiveness and cry some more. A part of him wanted to throw himself at her and hug her and laugh and cry and show her to Groot and the others and cry some more.
She closed the gap between them, and Rocket shrunk in on himself as he held his breath and waited.
"89P13," she said, and it was no longer a question. She placed a cold metal paw on his shoulder and Rocket gasped as the feeling sent a shudder down his spine. His fur stood on end. She was real. This was real. She was here. "Sire's expecting you." There came a mechanical whir and before Rocket could fully process that sentence her other paw had punched through the pot he'd taken forever to choose and slammed into his gut. Rocket flew backwards, hit the wall of a long-dead drug store and crumpled to the ground.
"I have eyes on 89P13," said Lylla as the otter stalked towards him, cracking her knuckles.
As she dictated coordinates to whoever was on the other end of the comm link, Rocket forced himself to stand on shaking legs. More out of instinct rather than any desire to use it, he unslung his gun, and sprung out it's barrels.
Lylla beheld the rifle with approval and fell back into a martial art's stance that would have impressed even Gamora. "Bring it on."
The problem with dreams was that sometimes you woke up and found yourself staring down a nightmare.
Footnote: Just an idea that's been weighing on my mind since I saw the movie and I finally have fleshed out enough to know where I want to take it. Fanfiction is supposed to be a love letter to a fandom and this is my love letter to what is and will probably be my favourite trilogy of all time. Rocket is far and away my favourite character, but the main reason I didn't post this two months ago was because I wasn't sure how to incorporate all the other characters (and while definetly Rocket-heavy I didn't want to write a fic that didn't have the rest of the cast).
Hope the characters were in-character, despite being a massive fanfic nut this is probably the first time in six years I've written characters that aren't OCs so it was definetly a bit of a challenge but I think I'm happy with what I have for their 'voices'. Originally I had Rocket wake up to a nightmare, but while there will definetly be some angsty moments throughout I wanted the fic to be primarily light in tone- and honestly in some way I think only being truly, truly happy in his dreams (even if some inkling of him knows they are just dreams) is a perfect summary of the happy/sad kinda feel I want for this fic. I was also tempted to just post the dream bit as a kind of one-shot/prologue but felt like it wasn't enough of a hook to grab people with.
Hope you enjoyed, lemme know what you think!