Rocket bristled, his mouth twisting into a scowl. "What part of your moronic humie brain thinks I am in any mood for-" A ball of blue lightning flew between his ears, cutting him off and causing his fur to stand on end. "What the-" the raccoon ducked to avoid the second shot. "HEY! We already had to patch the hull-" he hopped over the third. "Quill!" Rocket darted to the side, the fourth lazy shot narrowly shooting past him. "QUILL!"

"I'm not convinced this is the best course of action." On the other side of the blast doors Gamora frowned as Cosmo finished explaining Quill's line of thinking to them.

"On that we disagree," said Drax, picking up the platter of spinach puffs. "I have found that there is no better way to resolve a disagreement than to let the stronger will prevail."

Being martially inclined herself, Gamora knew there was a kind of truth to that. Although insofar as Rocket and Quill's wills were concerned, she doubted either would ever truly prevail.

"Call me if anything happens," she said to Cosmo, who straightened up and saluted with the discipline of a trained soldier. "I want to be able to say 'I told you so' if either of them get sucked into the vacuum of space."

It did not need to come to that, and in fact the dance-off ended up being a lot shorter than any of them had expected. A sudden stab in his bad leg caused Rocket to misjudge his next maneuver (a particularly daring leap that would have put him within biting distance of idiot humie) leaving him with half a second to flatten his ears before the stunner caught him full in the face. The raccoon hit the hull with a groan and slid limply to the floor, hating everything.

Whichever cosmic flarknard was in charge of fate or destiny or whatever definetly had it out for him because Quill was now the fourth best friend who'd tried to kill him in the space of a single cycle. The humie's stupid face swam in front of him, eyes wide with concern. "Holy shit! I didn't think I'd actually hit you! Man are you-"

"That's the second electroround to the face I've had in the space of twelve hours," Rocket spat, glad that this shot at least had had a lower voltage. "Also today I got my leg busted. Before that I nearly drowned in sewage. A little bit after that I had to jump out of an exploding ship." He raised a hand and began checking things off on his fingers. "Got smushed by a space whale, got my clothes torched, watched my favourite rifle get crumpled into a ball. And while I was having the time of my frickin' life, the idiot known as Peter Star-Dick Quill let Gamora's maniac of a brother slice my beloved Charlotte in two. In what frickin' galaxy would I be 'okay'?"

Quill had no answer at the ready for that and stood there looking stupid for a glorious thirty seconds. "I just thought-"

"No, you didn't," snapped Rocket, glaring daggers into the former Ravager. "Not even a little and don't pretend otherwise." Most of what had happened hadn't been Quill's fault, and a small part of Rocket felt a tiny bubble of guilt for ever thinking that he had been the one to set him up. "Oh, and I nearly forgot," the raccoon went on with an exxagerated growl. "On top of all of the above, you let an oversensitive, touchy-feely, telepathic mutt with fleas throw me around, slobber my face and blab about every little thing she ever saw inside my head."

"Well, you know when you put it like that-"

"And for what?" Rocket went on, not giving the Legendary Star-Lord room to work his charm. "Because I ain't nice? Because my comm got busted? Because Cosmo said I was a dick?"

"You are a dick... But I'll admit the dance-off was a bad idea."

As far as apologies went that was pretty lame, but it was still more than Rocket was used to. "Buzz off Quill," the raccoon grunted, picking himself up and scuttling over to his infoglass. "I've got stuff to do." Stuff that was more important than one-upping Quill, for once.

He watched from the corner of his eye as the terran made no move to obey, and instead, in an act of defiance that made the stubborn little Groot look the very picture of obedience, Quill sat down on the molten set of shelves.

Rocket rounded on him with a snarl. "I'm gonna bash that translator chip so frickin' hard you'll be singing Xandarian for weeks. I said get-"

"I heard you the first time!" Quill cut him off with a wide wave of his hands. "And I decided to ignore you. It's my ship. I'm not leaving until we've solved this."

"Solved what!?" demanded Rocket, as cold fear spiked through him. He was pretty sure Quill was still in the dark about all of his real issues but it was always possible Cosmo had seen something…

"This!" Quill pointed at him, confirming that was not the case. "Whatever's bothering you."

"You're bothering me!"

Ever the picture of maturity, Quill crossed his arms over his chest and turned his gaze towards the ceiling.

As Rocket swelled with rage, he briefly considered trying to rewire the Hadron Enforcer back into working condition so that he could blast the dumbass humie into space. But that wad probably more trouble than it wad worth and though he would never admit it out loud, Charlotte was too heavy for him to operate on his own. So for once, Rocket didn't choose violence and instead stormed towards the blast door.

"Drax!" he yelled at the top of his voice, banging a fist into the metal. "Gamora! Groot! Get this frickin' door open before I claw Quill a new one!"

He did not even get a verbal response, let alone the rather more proactive one he was hoping for. Pressing an ear to the door he could dimly hear Drax's obnoxious snoring.

"I got Cosmo to seal up the vents too," Quill added, noticing the way the raccoon's eyes darted towards the grates.

"What's the point of this anyways!?" Rocket demanded, feeling every bit the dumb animal people compared him to. Outsmarted. Trapped. Cornered for the second time in a cycle. Granted Quill was unlikely to start ragdolling him and this conversation was unlikely to end in a laboratory. But still. "I know you like talking about your feelings and making everything good by the power of love and friendship and whatever," the raccoon spat with a dismissive wave of his hand. "But I don't, okay? I want to shoot my problems and maybe, sometimes, blow them up."

"Is that what this is all about? You want to blow up Cosmo?"

"This has got nothing to do with Cosmo!" Rocket hissed, ears flattening as he bore his pointed teeth. He started banging at the door again. "If this scut don't open in the next three seconds I swear I'm gonna bite off all his fingers!"

"Not the first time I've been bitten," Quill shrugged, patting the empty metal next to him in invitation. "Come on. Manly heart-to-heart."

Rocket crossed his arms over his chest, and did his best to ignore how tight it was beginning to feel. "Bold of you to assume I have a heart."

Quill stared at him, Rocket glared back. A minute passed. Two minutes. Five.

"I guess it is," Quill finally sighed. "You know, maybe you should consider how much you want to be a part of this."

Rocket's heart skipped a beat. "What?" There was no hostility in the terran's tone, only disappointment, and somehow that hurt about a dozen times more.

"This, the team. I know you don't play well with others and stuff-"

The rest of Quill's sentence faded to static. Rocket had always known it was coming. With him it was an inevitability. He either chased away his friends or they died horribly and in the case of the Guardians he'd known which of the two was his preference. He supposed in the grand scheme of things this made things easier too. But it still damn hurt. "Cool," he said, trying to keep his tone even and his voice from shaking. "I'll pack whatever's left of my stuff. You can drop me off at the nearest spaceport. Or moon. Or habitable planet. Hell if I care."

Quill stared at him as if he'd sprouted another head. "Did you hear nothing I just said?"

"You're kicking me off," Rocket grumbled, hating how much it stung to say it out loud. He cleared his throat, hoping his usual growl would be enough to throw Quill off the scent. He was not going to beg for it. If the other Guardians wanted him out, so be it. They'd probably be better off with Cosmo as 'resident freak' anyways. "I heard that part loud and clear."

"I didn't say that!" Quill snapped, and his bewildered rage washed over Rocket like a warm blanket. Well, it was more like a slap to the face, but the raccoon appreciated it more than he could explain. "I just said I thought we were friends! And you know what friends do?"

"Beat you up?" offered Rocket, and it was only half a joke really.

"They're there for each other. And I want to be there for you, and I'm sorry I wasn't." The terran went on, with so much sincerity the raccoon had to grit his teeth and clamp his mouth shut to stop himself from doing something stupid. "Whatever happened on Corix I wish I could have helped and I'm sorry I didn't, okay?" Rocket's chest threatened to burst as the pressure mounted. "I'm not going to make you talk about it and I'm not kicking you off the team." Quill gave him a look, and went for the fatal blow. "Honestly, kinda thought you trusted me more than that."

"I've got a killswitch, okay!?" Rocket exploded, and it was hard to say which of the two of them looked more surprised by the outburst.

The urge to blab and sob about Sire and Teefs and Floor and Lylla and the impossibility of nabbing six omnipotent stones had been gnawing at him from the moment he'd slammed his ship into the side of Cull Obsidian's head. It had only gotten worse from there, swelling into an insurmountable pressure that made it damn near impossible to breathe sometimes. He'd kept his mouth shut though, and forced himself to think about other things, because as nice as it was to imagine ploughing the Milano into Sire, and raining hellfire down on his idea of perfection, the worst case scenario was that he got all his friends killed and Rocket had already done that one too many times.

It was a little too late to salvage the other secret now, but then, he supposed, he did trust Quill more than that. "It's like a bomb… on my heart."

The terran's stupid blue eyes were wide with a mix of horror and confusion, and Rocket figured he owed him a better explanation than that. Sighing, the raccoon clambered over to the set of shrunken shelves and sat down, curling his tail around himself so that there was still plenty of room besides him. It was the closest Quill would get to an invitation.

"It ain't a big deal," Rocket went on, staring determinedly at the floor as Peter took his silent offer. "Had it for as long as I can remember. Pain in the ass to work around sometimes with my…" He cleared his throat and gestured at his back. "Well you've seen them. In the Kyln."

As ever, the Legendary Star-Lord tried to play it cool. "I mean, I wasn't really paying attention."

"Quill-"

"You weren't wearing anything so it seemed a little awkward to y'know."

"Quill-"

"And I've seen a lot of freaky stuff but usually-"

"It's fine!" the raccoon snapped. Then he sighed and scratched idly at his chest. "Everyone stares."

A silence followed, and Rocket almost hoped the former Ravager had had enough with awkward conversations and would find an excuse to retreat. Some song needed to be listened to, or some coordinates needed to be keyed in, or something- whatever it took to get away from whatever this was. Idiot that he was though, Star-Lord very cautiously wrapped an arm round the raccoon's shoulders. Damn him.

"Back on Corix today," Rocket went on, as the pressure began mounting again. "It was…" Dead Drax. "It was a close one." Dead Gamora. "And I panicked. I didn't…" Dead Groot. "I was…" Dead Quill. He took a deep, shuddering breath and slumped into Quill, his ears drooping in misery. "I've never had this much to lose, okay?"

There was another long, drawn-out pause and Rocket hoped dearly that whoever was piloting would hit an asteroid field so that they didn't have to talk about-

"Is that why you don't like medpacks?" asked Quill, squinting at him and recontextualising the entire argument they had had the first time medpacks had been brought onto the Milano.

"Yeah," the raccoon admitted, grateful that they had steered clear of the more major minefield. "Some types of X-ray can set it off too. And some other stuff probably." He shrugged. "Don't really know all the details. Didn't come installed with a manual."

There was another pause, and Rocket made himself meet Quill's eye. He'd been expecting pity and was unsurprised to find a little of it there, but mostly Star-Lord looked… terrified?

"Sorry you asked?" the raccoon snickered to play it off as a joke, but a part of him needed to know. The killswitch was just another reminder that Rocket was something different. Something alien. Something that didn't belong.

"No," said Quill firmly, and Rocket realised too late that the terran's terror wasn't for himself. "No, I'm glad you told me." And then he pulled his arm away and stood up. "What the hell? Why didn't you tell me before!?"

"Huh?"

"What if you got hurt and one of us used a medpack on you!?"

"Er-"

"Because if you were bleeding out-"

Rocket scoffed and tried to brush the question away. "Quill-"

"Don't 'Quill' me, this is serious man!" Quill exclaimed. "It's literally life or death and-"

"And noone got mad at Gamora for not mentioning her equally life or death problems own Corix 85," Rocket snapped. "We all got things we don't want to talk about."

That stumped Quill.

"As for what it does." Rocket shrugged. "I know I said bomb, but I'm not actually sure. Pumps me full of poison? Cuts off my pulse? Vaporises my-"

"Dude!"

"What?" Rocket forced out a chuckle, because death looked less scary when you laughed at it and because it always made him feel better to watch Quill squirm. "It's just something I thought about, okay? Figured I was never gonna live all that long… so sometimes I got curious…" he cleared his throat awkwardly and was glad Quill did not pursue the implication. For his part, Peter seemed to be at a total loss for words and remained that way for a while, gaping at the raccoon as if he'd never seen him before.

"Your fault for asking," Rocket bristled as the silence grew awkward. "Where I'm involved, you ain't gonna find nice things."

Quill frowned at that and Rocket figured he had once again failed to guess what Quill was thinking. "Groot was nice."

Rocket sighed, and studied his feet as he fiddled with one of the straps of his jumpsuit. "I know it's not your fault. I just miss him sometimes, y'know? Never learned how to do grief."

"It's not something they teach." Quill shrugged. "Look, if I'd have known about…" he made a wide circular motion around his own chest. "I wouldn't have given you crap about any of it. I kinda thought you were just being a douchebag." He sat down again and this time when he wrapped an arm around Rocket it was in the form of a headlock. "I mean, I guess you still are." Quill added lightly, giving the raccoon his first taste of the classic terran manoeuvre known as the noogie. It was not a technique typically used to make people feel better, but space had no rules.

"I hate you, you know that, right?" Rocket grumbled.

"Right back at you." Quill grinned. "But still, my bad. So sorry. For shooting you in the face. And…" he let go of Rocket to gesture round at the smoldering remains of his room. "All of this. When we get payed, I'll buy it back, okay? And I can't get your aerorig but whatever parts you need-"

The raccoon gave him a dismissive wave as he rubbed the top of his head. "'S' fine. Most of it was junk anyways." This time he managed to guess what Quill was going to say next. "You don't need to apologise about Cosmo. That was mostly my fault. Between you and me, I'm kinda glad she only gave me a few licks. If she really held a grudge I'd be a red smear in a concrete sandwich."

"So you're okay with her staying? Just y'know, for a grace period."

"We both know that 'grace period' stuff is a bunch of crap," Rocket snapped. He followed it up with a sigh and hopped off the shelf-bench. "Look, Quill, I ain't proud of a lot of things and Cosmo was one screw-up after another." He fished up a pair of memory files from the floor, slapped one onto the side of his head and after a moment of hesitation held the other out to Quill. "Still need to frickin' test this so…"

Footnote: I feel like part of the reason Rocket never brings up his killswitch in canon is because it's something from his past that he's actively running away from. Here it's no longer a part of his past so much as a serious threat to his future/present and while he's still not good enough with people to trust Quill and the others with the full truth about what he's up to and what he's planning he also doesn't want to completely push them away. So a step forwards and a step backwards at the same time- typical Rocket. Originally this was going to be part of the last chapter or combined with the next chapter but I figured at three thousand words it's long and eventful enough to stand on it's own.

Next time, the last of the Dog Days! This time from Rocket's pov to shake things up a little.

Thanks again for all the comments/kudos, they're always super fun to read/recieve. Hope you enjoyed!