Chapter Text
Rocket adjusts the crotch of his suit, frowning at his reflection in the mirror. He’s wearing his reds, which are as formal as it gets for Ravagers, and his fur is smooth and clean. The aero rig fits securely over his suit so he won’t have to stand on a box.
He’s getting married.
“Last chance to run,” he mutters to his reflection, knowing full well he ain’t gonna do it.
There’s a knock, and Nebula comes in without bothering to check if he’s decent. “Quill and the Ravager captain both say it’s time,” she says gruffly.
There had been a little tussle over where to have the wedding; Stakar wanted to do it on the Starhawk, Rocket wanted it on the Quadrant, and they settled on Aleta’s ship because it was big enough to hold all the captains who were gonna be there.
Rocket looks out the window at the mishmash of Ravager ships clipped together in a maze. There’s gonna be parties all over the interlocked ships after the ceremony, according to Yondu, roving through the halls and mixing between crews. Rocket’s glad Quill and Gamora are smart enough to keep Groot corralled; he still remembers the last time the kid was left to the tender mercies of drunk Ravagers, and he’s big enough to impale people now. It’d be a mess.
Maybe he’s just distracting himself.
He takes a deep breath. He’s practiced his vows, deciding at the last minute to stick with the traditional ones because he’s shit with words for how he feels when it comes to Yondu and Kraglin. He tried, but that ain’t him. Why fake it when there’s words already there?
“Let’s do this,” he tells the freak in the mirror.
They walk; Aleta gave them each a room to get ready in, probably so they wouldn’t end up fucking and be late for their own wedding. Apparently that’s happened and it annoys the shit out of everybody. The closer they get to the hangar, the stronger the scent of the flowers gets, until it’s cloying and Rocket has to work to keep from scrunching his face up.
“Those things stink,” Nebula mutters, and Rocket’s suddenly grateful he picked her as his Second.
The hangar is huge and full of people; their clan is sitting toward the front, along with Aleta and Sparkles and Mainframe and Krugarr. Rocket cranes his neck and spots Yondu and Charlie walking in from a different entrance to the hangar; Yondu’s got a shitload of medals pinned on his coat. Rocket has no idea what they are, but they’re shiny and he likes them. From another doorway, Quill and Kraglin make their way toward the front, heads bent together in conversation.
“You got my shit, right?” Rocket feels the need to double check.
“Of course,” growls Nebula. “I put it right where the Ogord woman told me to.”
“Just making sure! I’m nervous.” Rocket’s ears go back at the admission.
She glances down at him. “I won’t mess this up,” she says in a low voice, and something in her tone makes Rocket relax.
“Fuck me,” he mumbles. “This is happening.”
Stakar grins as the three of them approach the altar with their Seconds. They’d set the whole thing up early yesterday before their dry run, and Rocket eyes the candles, the knife, and the ribbons laid out for the ceremony. The whole thing is covered in smelly flowers.
He feels nauseous.
Once they’re where they need to be Rocket activates his aero rig and hovers at eye level with everyone else. There’s a minute before everything starts where he notices Yondu and Kraglin sneaking looks at each other like a couple of kids trying to keep it together, and that’s almost enough to make this shit worth it.
Stakar starts talking, yammering about the value of marriages, and kinship, and a bunch of crap Rocket tuned out after the first time he heard it. It’s all for show, anyway, to remind the gathered clans of Yondu’s place in the fold.
The real part comes a few minutes later, when the contract is read out loud. The people who know Yondu snicker at Rocket’s cap of five sparkly figurines per month, and the people who don’t know Kraglin snicker about the testicular removal if anyone cheats.
Rocket listens to the terms of their marriage being read out, and doesn’t look anywhere but at Stakar. If he looks at the crowd, he’ll bolt, and then Aleta would kill him. And if he looks at Yondu or Kraglin he’s gonna get sappy. So Stakar is the only safe place to focus.
“Do you all agree to the terms in the contract?” Stakar asks them in a serious voice.
“Yes,” they chorus.
“And do you all swear now to bind yourselves together?” They all nod, and then Stakar turns to Rocket.
Here goes. Rocket takes a deep breath and looks at Yondu and Kraglin. If he fucks it up, he can just go die somewhere. “I swear now to bind myself to you,” he says slowly and clearly. “I swear to take up arms to defend you, to share my spoils with you, to provide for you in prosperity and adversity, to increase our wealth, and to avenge you, until the stars take us.”
He did it. Groot gives him a thumbs up from the front row.
There’s a ringing silence, and then Yondu starts. “I swear now t’ bind myself t’ you. I swear t’ take up arms t’ defend you, t’ share my spoils with you, t’ provide for you in prosperity an’ adversity, t’ increase our wealth, and t’ avenge you, until the stars take us.”
Stakar nods, and then it’s Kraglin’s turn. His throat bobs. “I swear now to bind myself to you. I swear to take up arms to defend you, to share my spoils with you, to provide for ya in prosperity and adversity, to increase our wealth, and to avenge you.” He pauses and swallows again. “I go where you go, until the stars take us.”
Yondu looks at him sharply, and Rocket feels winded. So that’s what Kraglin meant about changing things. They should have known.
Stakar smiles crookedly. “You’ve all sworn your oaths. It’s time to seal them.” He picks up the knife and offers it to Yondu first.
Yondu holds out his sleeve for Charlie, who rolls it up solemnly. When he gets it to Yondu’s elbow, Yondu slices cleanly up his forearm. Dark blood wells up immediately. He hands the knife to Kraglin.
Kraglin’s hand shakes a little when their fingers brush over it, and he looks at Yondu like he’d carve his own heart out with that knife if Yondu asked him. But all he does is hold out his arm so Quill can roll up his sleeve, breathing evenly until he can slash open his own arm.
Rocket licks his lips. He ain’t got a sleeve to roll up, so Nebula crosses her arms and scowls at the Ravagers as he takes the knife from Kraglin. He lays it against his skin and remembers all the other times he’s been cut into. He thinks this is the best reason yet, and applies pressure.
It hurts; he cut deeper than he meant to, but if it’s blood they want, it’s blood they’re gonna get. He hands the knife back to Stakar, and the Seconds each pick up a ribbon.
The three of them step close together, holding up their forearms. Kraglin hisses when they press the wounds together, but when Rocket gives him a look, he smiles.
“Your battles are my battles,” Charlie intones as he winds the first ribbon around their arms. He ties it off and steps back.
“Your battles are my battles,” says Quill in a clear voice. He looks sheepish but happy when he ties the second ribbon on them.
Nebula steps forward after Quill backs off. “Your battles are my battles.” She ties the ribbon tight enough that they all wince.
“These three have bound themselves in blood and flame,” Stakar announces; Rocket’s arm starts to itch where Yondu’s bleeding into his cut. “It has been witnessed.”
Rocket tries to twitch his arm to relieve the itch; Kraglin catches him and raises his eyebrows. Their blood’s staining the ribbons a purple-brown color and it reminds Rocket of the time Groot got into Quill’s candy stash and barfed all over Gamora.
He wishes his Groot was here. Lylla too; she’d be amazed he managed to land anyone with his rotten personality. Or maybe she’d be proud; he likes to think he’s grown up.
But he’s distracted from that thought, because the ribbons come off, one by one, and get fed to the big candle by their Seconds. They take a minute to wrap up their arms; Rocket hisses at Nebula not to tie the bandage so tight.
“You cut too deep,” she mutters, and yanks it tight enough to make his eye twitch.
The gift exchange comes next, and now Rocket’s nervous, because if his gifts suck with a hundred Ravager captains watching, he’s gonna feel like a real asshole.
Yondu and Kraglin go first, which don’t help things because it gives their presents a chance to look better by comparison. Rocket probably should have considered that he was gonna get insecure over this, but he’d been busy feeling insecure about other shit.
Yondu’s face breaks into a huge grin when he sees the egg-shaped bauble Kraglin got him. It’s gold, jewel-encrusted, heavy enough to bludgeon a man to death, and just about the ugliest thing Rocket’s ever seen.
He’s gonna spend the rest of his life dusting it, he can see it now.
Kraglin opens a long, slim box that contains three sleek throwing knives. He carefully lifts one out of the box and tests the balance before squinting at it closer. Then he laughs and holds it out for Rocket to see.
Yondu engraved ‘fuck ‘em up, Obfonteri’ on the blade in fancy Xandarian letters. Rocket can’t help it, he snickers too.
Then it’s Rocket’s turn, and he has to stop himself from grooming as Yondu opens the box with the yaka darts. He freezes as soon as he sees them, mouth opening a little. “Hell,” he breathes, “I been wonderin’ what the hell was wrong with my fin this whole time!”
“Wait, they work?” Rocket’s delighted.
Yondu whistles, and all of them rise unsteadily and wobble in midair before he grabs them and sticks them back in the box. “Might need some practice,” he admits sheepishly, grinning a little at the awkward muttering in the crowd. Yondu’s deadly enough with one arrow; they should be scared of what he’ll be able to do with these.
Rocket’s pretty proud of himself as he takes the box from Yondu and opens it to find—
“You got me a box?”
“It’s a bomb-proof box!” Yondu says indignantly. “For all the really dangerous shit you’re makin’ in that workshop.”
Rocket blinks, lifting his box out of the bigger box. It’s heavy, lined with a whole bunch of containment materials. He grins. “Nice. Now Quill can’t bitch about lettin’ me keep unstable metals on the ship!”
“Yes he can,” Quill says quickly. “He definitely can.”
“Shut up, Quill, I’m getting married here.” Rocket puts his box back happily.
Kraglin snickers, elbowing Quill good-naturedly. Then he gestures toward a big box sitting next to the altar. Rocket didn’t notice it before, and now he’s wondering how Stakar managed not to trip over it.
Maybe he did. A guy can dream.
Rocket opens it carefully and lets out a whoop. Inside, there’s a mess of spare parts and components, every one of them useful. Some are actually rare metals that Kraglin must have hunted down special, and that’s enough to warm his bitter little heart. “Baby, it’s perfect.”
“You got him scrap?” Stakar sounds vaguely scandalized.
“He really knows me.” Rocket’s grinning. There’s even a couple prosthetics in there. “Go on, open yours.”
Kraglin blinks at the small, curved knife and holds it up curiously. “It’s real pretty,” he says, testing it. “Nice shape.”
“It’s vibranium,” Nebula tells him shortly.
“Dude! Back off, this is my wedding present,” snaps Rocket. “It’s vibranium. Couldn’t get a lot of it, that’s why it ain’t very big. Won’t lose its edge, so you never have to sharpen it.”
Now Kraglin’s staring at the little knife properly. “Where the hell did you find vibranium?”
Rocket shrugs. It’s better for everyone if Quill and Gamora never learn that Rocket had Nebula shake down a bunch of people to get it.
As much as Rocket would love to dig around in his box of parts and maybe build something worth putting in his bomb-proof box, they’ve gotta exchange gifts with their Seconds. So he straightens up and hovers a little higher to watch.
Yondu’s gift to Charlie is a dozen spacesuit/aero rig combos, enough for his top bridge crew; Rocket can’t help but preen about his tech being considered good enough to give away like this.
“I’d give you your present,” Charlie says with a big grin, “but it’s being installed in your lower decks. You liked my food replicators, right?”
Drax’s whoop drowns out whatever Yondu says in response, and Stakar’s mouth falls open.
“Charlie,” he says, wounded, “really?”
“Shut up, Stakar! They’re gettin’ married!” Aleta yells at him; he shuts his mouth with a huff.
Looks like Groot’s gonna have to get used to fresh vegetables. Rocket can talk to the kid about it later. Explain composting, maybe.
Kraglin and Quill are trying not to grin at each other as they take their turn. “Well, Charlie’s gift made mine kind of unnecessary,” Quill says with only a little resentment, “but here.”
Kraglin opens the envelope. His whole face breaks into a startled grin. “Aw, Pete.”
“You still like that place, right?” Quill scratches the back of his head.
“Sure do. An’ free meals for a year? At any location? This is great.” Kraglin looks back up from the envelope. “It’s a great gift.”
Something shifts on Quill’s face, soft and proud and a little like the way Rocket’s seen Nebula look at Gamora sometimes. Kraglin’s chin gives a little wobble and he pulls Quill in for a rough, back-pounding hug.
Knowing Quill, he’d probably cling, but they got a lot of people around, and so he pulls back, blinking a little more than usual. “I’m just glad you like it, man,” he mutters.
“I do. Here’s yours.” Kraglin gestures at a midsize box that Stakar’s been holding like a chump while they hug it out.
“Oh! Thanks.” Quill takes it and grins; Kraglin went the extra mile and wrapped it in paper, Terran-style, just like Quill always does for Groot’s presents. Apparently you can’t just put shit in a box, you gotta wrap it up after that too. Rocket would bitch, but he saw that box Quill had carried around from his mom. It was pretty.
“Holy shit,” Quill blurts loudly, making the Ravagers snicker. “Holy shit, Kraglin, where'd you find this stuff?”
Kraglin scratches his cheek. “Put the call out about a month ago. There’s way more stuff out there than I thought, an’ no one else knew what t’ do with it, so I got real good bargains.”
Quill holds up a rectangle that’s bigger than his old Walkman. “Do any of you know what this is?” he demands.
“Look at the rest of ‘em before ya freak out,” snaps Kraglin. “I got like five o’ them BHS things.”
“This is newer tech than I remember,” says Quill excitedly. He pulls out another, flatter rectangle. “And this is a CD! That was, like, cutting edge when I was a kid. Before the Zune came out.”
“Figure we can watch a few of ‘em together,” mumbles Kraglin as Quill digs through his box like a little kid.
“Hurry up, Quill, it’s my turn,” growls Nebula; Rocket can hear Gamora’s “oh my god” from the front row.
“Fine, fine.” Quill sets his box aside and grins, too happy to be pissy about Nebula’s social graces. Or lack thereof.
Rocket takes the box that Nebula hands him and opens the lid. “What the fuck?”
There’s a head. In the box. Staring with blank dead eyes up at him. After a second, he recognizes the jackass from Charlie’s crew, the one who called him an animal.
“He insulted you,” says Nebula gruffly. “He threatened your marriage. And,” she adds, grabbing the ruffled (very limp, very dead) headfins and holding the head up for the horrified Ravagers to see, “he can be an example for anyone else who wants to insult you!”
“Yeah!” yells Drax; next to him, Mantis beams and claps enthusiastically.
Gamora buries her head in her hands.
Rocket ain't sure what his face is doing. Probably the same thing Quill, Yondu, and Stakar’s are where their mouths are hanging open and they look a little queasy. Finally he clears his throat. “Thanks.”
Nebula nods solemnly.
Stakar doesn’t look like he’s recovering anytime soon, so Rocket zips over and grabs his own present from behind the altar. “I believe you requested this,” he says to Nebula as he hands it over.
She tosses the box aside and pulls out the gun he made her. He’s improved the accuracy by several yards in the redesign, and even though it’s hard to tell with Nebula, he thinks she likes it.
“I will use this to kill Thanos,” she says, looking right at Rocket.
The entire mass of gathered Ravagers shifts uneasily, and the muttering that picks up ain’t the joyous kind. Rocket catches Gamora gone rigid from the corner of his eye, and Drax and Mantis ain’t smiling anymore.
“Well,” Rocket says loudly, turning to Kraglin, “you were right. She made it weird.”
—
Rocket doesn’t remember much about the party that follows; it’s a whirlwind of drinks, congratulations from people he doesn’t know and couldn’t care less about, more drinks, talking shit about Stakar with Aleta, still more drinks, frowning as Mantis and Nebula make out in the middle of the hangar, and even more drinks until he thinks he’s about to pass out. At one point he gives up and climbs into the vents to get a goddamned minute to himself.
He does remember Quill and Gamora dancing, with her giggling into Quill’s shoulder and probably high off the flowers like everyone else. They looked happy. So did Stakar and Aleta, when he spotted them leaving the party early with her hand on his ass. Gross, but he wishes them well. He’s even happy enough to be nice to Martinex when he bumps into him.
At the end of the night, once Rocket gives up and retreats to their room on the Quadrant, he finds Yondu and Kraglin already there. Yondu’s in his underwear holding his ugly egg like a baby and Kraglin’s passed out in their bed, snoring wheezily.
“You came back here without me?” Rocket demands.
“Couldn’t find ya, figured you was havin’ fun,” says Yondu, shrugging. “Didn’t wanna drag you away from a party.”
Rocket eyes Kraglin; he don’t look like he’s wearing anything under the blankets. “You ditched me at our wedding to come home and fuck,” he says flatly.
Yondu looks embarrassed.
Rocket sighs. “So was it magical now that you’re married to him?” He’s only being a little sarcastic; he knows how long they waited for this.
“Don’t be an ass,” Yondu mumbles, setting his egg on the headboard and patting his knee.
Rocket raises his eyebrows. “I’m an ass?”
“Oh, get over here.” Yondu rolls his eyes.
Rocket huffs, but climbs into Yondu’s lap. He’s tired, Yondu smells like sex and Kraglin, and he deserves some petting. “I can’t believe you ditched me at our wedding.”
“Didn’t,” grumbles Yondu as he picks at the straps on Rocket’s suit. “We ditched you after our wedding.”
“Shit like this is why Gamora thinks you’re no good for me,” Rocket grunts.
“Gamora don’t think I’m good enough for anyone.” Yondu mutters.
“So live down to her expectations, why don’t you?” Rocket lets Yondu push his suit off his shoulders. “Besides, her problem with you ain’t really about you.”
“I know that. Li’l sister talks a lot when ya actually listen to her.” Yondu reaches out to stroke the good spot under Rocket’s chin. “We did look for ya.”
“Bullshit,” says Rocket lightly, but he lets his eyes slip closed as Yondu pets him. He yawns. “Thanks for waitin’ up for me.”
“Don’t be stupid. ‘Course I waited up.” Yondu wiggles himself down the bed so he’s not sitting up anymore.
Kraglin mumbles in his sleep and rolls away from them.
“Nice bein’ married to you too,” mutters Rocket, which makes Yondu snicker.
“It is nice,” he says quietly, and Rocket looks up at him. A warm blue hand settles on the back of his neck, ragged fingernails scratching just right through the fur.
Rocket lets out a shaky breath, closing his eyes. “Yeah,” he whispers, “it’s pretty nice.”
—
“Okay, okay, shut up!” yells Quill, bouncing a little. “It’s starting.”
They’re crammed in the rec room to watch the first of the VHS tapes Kraglin got Quill. Rocket doesn’t have high hopes based on the cover, but he’s willing to play nice. And he can be moral support for Kraglin, who’s looking like he has regrets.
Yondu’s got his arms crossed in his chair, trying and failing to look like he’s not curious as hell about these movies Quill’s been telling him about for years now.
Drax is already nodding off; Groot whacks him and he snorts. “I’m awake.” He blinks at the screen. “Oh right. Quill’s primitive entertainment from his homeworld.”
Quill looks offended, but not enough to interrupt the movie. There’s a weird bird flying around on the screen.
Rocket rests his chin in his hand as some whiny girl pisses and moans about having to watch her kid brother.
“Sounds like you when you was a kid,” Yondu tells Quill, and Kraglin snickers.
“Does not!”
“I probably woulda traded you t’ the goblin king if he’d been offerin’,” Kraglin muses; Yondu shoots him a look and he adds, “I’d get ya back though.”
“Thanks,” Quill grumbles.
“That is David Bowie?” Drax sits up a little.
“Ain’t what I was picturin’.” Yondu frowns.
Drax peers at Quill. “Perhaps the hybridization had some adverse effects. David Bowie is much better looking than you are.”
Rocket laughs as Quill’s mouth falls open in outrage.
“Shut up!” Nebula snaps. “If you keep talking through the movie I’m going to sew your face to your genitals.”
The shuts everyone up for awhile, at least until Drax starts snoring again. Groot gives him a disgusted look and scoots closer to Gamora, who’s nodding off against Quill’s shoulder.
“Anyone else think this sucks?” Rocket asks after the puppets sing a song with David Bowie.
A chorus of “yes” answers him.
“I remember it being better,” Quill mutters.
“Shhh!” Mantis flaps her hand at them. “I am watching!”
So they shut up and watch, because Nebula looks like she really will sew someone’s face to their genitals if they mess up Mantis’s viewing experience.
There’s a silence after it ends, and finally Gamora tactfully says, “well, that was interesting.”
“Maybe the other ones will be better,” Quill mutters. He looks embarrassed by his planet.
“I mean, they was only five units for five,” Kraglin says.
Quill slowly turns his head. “You only spent five units on my present?”
Yondu turns to level Kraglin with a look that could peel paint. “Yeah, Krags. Issat what you’re tellin’ him?”
Kraglin senses danger. “Just on the movies! The rest cost more!”
“Good.” Quill pushes to his feet. “Because if I find out that I spent almost two hundred units on your gift certificate and you got me twenty units worth of stuff? I’m gonna sit on your head.” He looms over Kraglin and adds, “and fart.”
“Peter, that’s disgusting,” says Gamora.
Kraglin goes a chalky color. His throat bobs.
“No one told me there was a spending limit.” Nebula frowns. “How much were we supposed to spend?”
“How much did you spend?” Rocket asks. “What’s the going rate for cutting a guy’s head off?” The head in question had been discreetly dumped out the airlock the day after the wedding.
Nebula shrugs. “Charlie demanded seventy units for it.”
“That’s a bargain for an active crew member,” Yondu muses; Gamora nods like that’s a normal statement.
“You fuckers. I spent more than both of you.” Rocket scowls.
“You also tried t’ cancel the wedding,” Yondu points out. “We paid in emotional distress.”
“You readin’ Gamora’s self-help books now?” Rocket asks him sourly.
“Might be.” Yondu leans back, unashamed.
Rocket rolls his eyes. There are dumber ways for Yondu to try crawling into Gamora’s good graces, but none Rocket can think of at the moment.
“Besides,” Kraglin points out, “both o’ you liked your presents just fine before we started talkin’ money. Ain’t it the thought that’s supposed t’ count?”
“That was before the movie sucked,” Rocket tells him; he deflates like a balloon.
“I can look for more,” he mumbles.
Quill’s face softens. “Nah, don’t worry about it,” he says, reaching out to ruffle Kraglin’s hair. “At least unless the rest of them suck. Next week we can watch Beaches.”
Kraglin makes a face but doesn’t dare retaliate with Yondu sitting right there. “Sure,” he mutters with a heavy sigh. He doesn’t even bother fixing his hair.
“Can I have the Labyrinth movie if you don’t want it?” Drax asks.
Quill frowns at him. “Why?”
Drax shrugs. “David Bowie is very sexy.”
“Oh god.” Quill’s face twists up in disgust. “Gross, dude, you can’t jack it to David Bowie!”
“I can and I will. May I have the BHS?”
Mantis hands it over. “Here you go, Drax!” she says brightly.
“Thank you.” He takes it and heaves himself off the couch. He doesn’t look back as he leaves.
There’s a collective moment of silence in which Quill stands there quivering in indignation. “He’s jacking off to my childhood!” he finally bleats.
Yondu bursts out laughing, and Rocket sits back with a smirk to enjoy the ensuing drama. Quill’s ruffled feathers are gonna need soothing; inevitably Yondu and Gamora will work out which one of them gets the job.
Kraglin catches his eye and smiles, one of those rare soft ones that Rocket don’t see too often. Worse, Rocket can feel his own mouth smile back. Married life is gonna turn him soft if he lets it; he keeps getting tripped up and mushy every time he remembers these jackasses are his husbands. It’s the sort of thing he could get used to.
Weddings suck, is what he’s trying to say. But being married? Yeah, Rocket thinks he might like it after all.