Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Insomnia stunk. Quill was used to taking sleep where he could get it, but three short deliveries (two from Nova and the third from... not Nova) that paid well but landed on different nearby planets with different time zones and requested drop times left Quill both exhausted but unable to sleep. Keeping his quarters as dark as possible and earplugs didn't help. The softer side of his mixtape didn't help.

With a perturbed "#%?! it" Quill quite literally rolled out of bed and went up to the galley to stretch his legs and have a warm glass of something that wasn't plain water or caffeinated. Or decided to bite back.

Considering they'd dry docked on Taspis for a few days for refueling, supply, and getting the now toddler sized Groot outside so he could grow in the sun, nobody should have been up keeping an eye on autopilot or the screens. But there Rocket was, sitting in the cockpit, three screens lazily floating overhead. At least Quill assumed it was Rocket. Drax or Gamora would have been tall enough to see their head over the seat back, and Groot would have had music playing- thankfully he still retained all his memories from before Xandar and had no trouble with the Milano's systems.

Quill steamed the last of the powdered milk with some water, taking the hot foam filled mug to the seat next to the floating panes. Rocket's face was indeed reflected in the dull blue glow of the screens. He had a pair of custom made goggles strapped over his face, and a closer look at the panels showed only blue- the little #%?! was using a blocker so only he could see what he was actually looking at on the screens.

Noticing that Rocket was a bit glassed over, furiously thumbing though whatever only he could see, Quill sat quietly and observed. Rocket looked bigger, he noticed, partially because he was only wearing loose drawstring pants, his fur puffing out further than when he wore one of his tight-fitting jumpsuits, and partially because the soon to be smallest member of the team was putting on weight. He still didn't look like the raccoons Quill remembered back in Alabama, fat off garbage and road kill, but he was looking a bit healthier, his fur with a clearer sheen and his tail no longer looking so limp and emaciated.

"So, hairless, how long you plannin' on staring?" Rocket asked, nonchalantly.

"Wha- hey! I was just curious. And unable to sleep."

"No 'this is my ship and I do what I want' bull?" Rocket asked, facing Quill warily.

"No, because this version of the Milano isn't really my ship anymore. It's ours."

Rocket snorted, with a short high pitched chittering noise. "Sap," he shot out before returning his attention to the screens.

Quill wondered if that's what Rocket's laugh actually sounded like. Raccoon chitter.

"Not gonna ask what I'm doin'?" Rocket asked, after a few minutes of silence.

"Considering your setup? No. I don't want my face chewed off."

A few more minutes of dull silence. Quill rose to put his cup in the sanitizer and got a small bowl of trail mix from the cupboard, holding the bowl out in Rockets field of view after inhaling a few handfuls.

"Bribe?" he inquired, still darting his eyes around the screens and tracing lazy circles on the one furthest right. "Put it down. I'll take some when I'm done with this."

"So how hot are the women you're ogling?" Quill finally asked.

"Some of 'me probably are, hard to- hey!" Rocket grunted. "Low blow man, I'm not looking at girlie mags. Anatomy lesson "

"Uh huh."

A beat of silence, then a small, almost defeated sounding squeak came from Rocket's lips. "Can you read Kree?"

"Nope."

"Can you read?"

"Wasn't born in, oh wait, no, I was born in a barn. Mom couldn't get to the hospital in time. Guess I walked right into that one."

"Small wonder you can speak at all."

"Look, if you're asking if I can read anything other than English, yeah. Xandarian. And Pac'caha."

"Weird choice."

"A lot of our clients were Skrull."

Silence again. After two minutes and thirty five seconds (no, Quill wasn't counting, he just had the light from the ship's atomic clock display burned into his eyes), Rocket asked, quietly, "Couldja translate something for me? Or check if the auto translator is right, more like?"

"Sure." Quill had been curious the whole time. Rocket still wasn't much for talking about his personal life.

With a flick of his wrist, the contests of the screens were visible. Rocket removed his goggles and set them on the low table between the chairs, absentmindedly grabbing a handful of seeds and nuts, leaving the dried fruit and small candies behind.

The far left screen contained medical diagrams, precise and semitransparent, to be able to go back and forth between several layers of circuitry and skeleton- Rocket, and he must have stolen them from the lab. The right were drawings, likely of Rocket's own hand, with notes scribbled on a separate layer in the program. Scribbled was't quite the right word, as Rocket's handwriting was the exact opposite of doctor's scrawl, clean and precise. It was just that it was written in Kree, which looks like a spasm induced mess when written properly. It was the center that struck Quill as the most interesting. Pages of digital information in English, with a matched page from the auto translator in Kree alongside.

"Xandarian, yeah?" Rocket asked, and a few quick swipes changed the translation on the right to something Quill understood. "Can't read it, but you can at least tell me how much of the translation is bull."

"Why don't I just read the English out loud? The audio implants are much better than this," Quill said, dismissing the Xandarian auto translation from the the center screen. "Shove over, it's hard to see."

Raccoon biology, Quill noted, when he was sitting in Rocket's seat. Earth raccoon biology. Rocket must have taken what Quill said in the Kyln to heart, and actually done some research on them. Rocket, now standing at the floor, back against Quill's leg, craned his neck up to look at words he couldn't understand.

"Screw it," Rocket muttered, then looked up at Quill. "Dignity is already in the latrine. Can I sit on you?"

Quill gestured to his right thigh, and Rocket reached out to climb. "Whoah, wait, no," Quill yelped as quietly as he could. "Your nails, bud. Can I lift you instead?"

Rocket bit his lower lip and raised his arms; Peter bent over, picking up the small but dense mechanic and placed him on his lap. Rocket settled in, whipping his tail around in Quill's face in the process. It was definitely bigger, and the loose patchy fur was slowly being replaced by a thicker coat.

"Heavier than you look, man." Quill quipped, quickly adding, "how much do those augmentations weigh? No wonder you can lift crap I can't."

"Well some of it is also knowing where my next meal is commin' from. Prison food ain't exactly designed for someone like me. Probably going to need some new clothes soon- s' good to not see my ribs though my fur when looking down." He paused. "Don't worry, I ain't getting so fat I won't fit in the ductwork. But I'd like to not die of malnutrition, thanks."

"Anything we can do do you?" Quill asked.

"Read the bit on diet for me?"

Quill scrolled through the page, and read aloud about raccoon diets, and Rocket leaned over to the right screen to jot down a few notes and erase one or two things he'd already written.

"Okay, so fruit's not off the table," Rocket said, picking out a few pieces of dried fruit from the bowl at their side. So, Rocket didn't take some of the stuff before on purpose. Quill had noticed that the sweets in their pantry hadn't drained nearly as fast as they had in the first week. Alcohol, too.

"You've been trying to follow this?" Quill asked.

"Well, one, I got a little more info on what I'd been.... before, now, so thanks for that. Two, I got people who need me. Cuttin' out stuff until I'm sure it's okay. Longest I've been off the sauce in a while."

"What about Groot?"

"Bah. I needed him more, and I knew he'd outlive me. He's already like three hundred, he's stopped countin'. I'm ten or so, and I'm still trying to figure out if these things," Rocket said, jabbing a thumb to the left screen, "are gonna shorten my lifespan or make me live longer. Given everything I've found, I'm leaning toward the latter, I might even hit fifty if I keep 'me cleaned and maintained right. But still. Raccoons, even in captivity, live to only eighteen. I could die before it would be legal for me to even have a drink on your planet. Not that that's stopped me before." Quill felt him shift slightly. A wince? Was Rocket hitting his equivalent of a midlife crisis?

Quill grinned and Rocket looked a bit offended, crossing his arms over his chest. Quill put his hands to his face in mock defense for the clawing that he knew wouldn't come. "Hey, honestly, sounds like a plan. What you should be eating is good for me too. I dunno about Drax or Gamora though. They might need something else. Why don't you and I go to market tomorrow and get fresh stuff for the pantry and freezer? I heard Taspis trout is good this time of year."

"Never had fish. Too expensive."

"After what we just earned? We go into the best monger in the market and demand for the flarking Guardians of the Galaxy. And we get you some new clothes."

"You're spoiling me. Almost seems like you need somethin'"

"The Milano could use a new gun or two. And I heard the dry dock guys are union. They'd take everything we'd earned in the past two months and then some. Compared to that, a few fish and some pants are a bargain. We have a deal?"

"Groot comes too."

"As long as I don't have to carry him swaddled, fine"

Rocket laughed again, his real laugh, a high chitter that he didn't try and stifle. "Damn, that I'd want to see."

Chapter Text

This was not what Rocket was expecting, and Quill noticed it. Most of the markets Rocket had probably been to were of the Knowhere variety, cramped, cheap, low dirty stalls. pickpocketing children. Taspis was far more like Xandar (considering how they were still well in Nova territory, it made sense), high rise buildings, clean streets, and only a few parked food stands along the road. You actually had to enter a building if you wanted something. Crazy, right?

Quill rented a personal two-wheeled vehicle with a sidecar, and drove along the street with purpose. Rocket and Groot shared the seat on his right, the former looking out in feigned disinterest while the latter using up enough glee for both. Eventually he stopped at one of the lower buildings in the city, parking the vehicle, and unlocking the door to the sidecar. Groot tumbled out, his outside clearly matching the internal glee he’d held in for centuries. Quill wanted his friend back to full size and able to assist in jobs that didn’t involve ferrying a lost member of nobility (which led them to draw straws/survive a firefight in his ship for who had to give up their quarters for three days), sensitive documents (which were thankfully stored in fireproof casing), and ‘seriously guys, don’t ask’ (really, don’t look at the squirming box for too long), but he respected the fact that Groot was able to have something of a second childhood. And the whole team really needed the little morale booster.

He’d remembered this place, Yondu brought him here when he was a kid. It was a place that seemed very, well, very not-Yondu, with its gleaming lights and matching salespeople, but finding off-the-rack mature looking clothing for someone child sized wasn’t exactly easy. Only a few races in the galaxy topped out at Rocket’s height as adults, so unless you were in those peoples’ corners of the galaxy (he wasn’t), you had few choices. If Rocket wanted something that wasn’t juvenile or an arm and a leg tailored bespoke, this was where they had to go.

Quill held the door open and gestured to the pair of imbeciles. “I’m just moral support. This one’s all you.”

Rocket noticed that there was a small call button at his arm’s length. Pushing it, the other door opened automatically. Rocket grinned, sticking out his tongue at Quill as Rocket and Groot strode through the door he opened, leaving Quill standing there holding the other door to nobody.

“…was trying to be nice,” Quill muttered under his breath. But he couldn’t really be mad.

The inside, rather than being split by genders, sexes, or appendage counts, was instead split by height. Rocket stood warily against a size chart, worried it was going to bite his head off or something.

“I am Groot,” squeaked his companion.

“Okay, so I need to go to the blue section?” Rocket trotted off to the left, finally getting a proper look at the place. Instead of the standard upright displays, the store had lazy stepladder platforms, with each being a different type of clothing, so the guests purchasing could walk between, but people Quill’s height (or even Groot’s eventual loftiness) could walk the wide berth between display sets and also grab things for whomever they were purchasing for. It was an incredibly smart setup for both parties.

When you’re short in a tall man’s world, you improvise.

Two clerks were in the section Quill followed Rocket to, a round purple alien Quill didn’t recognize walking along the tiered shelves, and a hot-pink Xandarian woman an inch or two shorter than Quill who passed him stock. Both wore crisp white shirts, black pants, and vests. The Xandarian crouched down to be at eye level of Rocket and Groot, while the other one stocking the shelves continued working, a small smile forming. “Are you shopping for yourselves or for a gift?”

“Me.” Rocket replied.

“I’m Stiph,” she said, extending her hand outwardly. The Xandarian greeting, similar to an Earth handshake, except you only touch fingertip to fingertip. “I’ll be happy to assist today. How shall I refer to you?”

Rocket clearly was not used to this kind of attention. Being treated by Groot as a person he was used to. Being treated by Quill and the others as a team member he was becoming familiar with. But this person was a total stranger, and treated his as an equal. Granted, she wouldn’t have gotten a job like this catering to non-standard sized humanoid aliens, but it was still unusual behavior. Maybe it needed to be a bit more commonplace, Quill thought, but Rocket was still at a loss for words. After a few more seconds of stunned silence, he swallowed whatever lump he had in his throat and returned the gesture.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “Not used to outsiders treating me with respect. Name’s Rocket.”

“Well, Rocket, what are you looking for today?”

“Replacement flight suit, something that can withstand 10 G’s. Two. And some casual clothing.” He’s having a hard time looking her in the eye, but he’s trying.

“Okay. Also, there’s a special this week where if you spend 100 credits or more, same-day custom tailoring for additional appendages or spines is free of charge- your fight suits alone should be able to hit that, I think. Unfortunately, we don’t have anything on the rack that will fit your tail, but we have samples of our most popular items that are precut, and we can match sizes for anything you want we have on the floor that we don’t have a proper sample of for you.”

“Th-thanks.” Rocket was clearly stunned. The Xandarian shopworker stood up and beckoned Rocket to follow to another display further back.

The purple alien turned partway to Quill and Groot, still at the first display. “Does the flora Colossus want anything as well?” The voice was a high register, but Quill knew from experience never to assume gender or sex differences on a species you were unfamiliar with. An experience he had no desire of repeating, thank you.

“Uh,” Quill responded, trying to drag it out enough to hope the attendant could fill in the blanks.

“My apologies. Dofa,” the alien said, turning fully so the tag in Xandarian was visible, with a small symbol for male next to the name. “Does the young Colossus want anything? Or you? There’s taller sizes on the second floor.”

“Thank you, sir. And Groot is growing way too fast to get him anything right now. All he’d probably need is a cold-weather jacket once he’s back to full size. Sorry about the awkwardness, I always try to err on the side of caution.” Quill didn’t state why, but curtesy was curtesy.

“If there were more of you or Stiph in the universe, maybe there wouldn’t be so much pointless bloodshed,” he said, shaking his head with a sense of personal understanding that Quill recognized. “Anyway, let me know if there is anything I can get for you two.”

“Actually, yeah,” Quill said, as Dofa climbed down from the display. “Is the watch and wearable electronics repair still here? Got something that needs a tune up.” Quill lifted the silver clip out from behind his ear, and palmed it, showing the attendant. “It’s one of yours, and its old, but I don’t have the receipt.”

“No need. Insignia’s here, plain as day. We don’t do repairs in house anymore, but the lass who made this is still here. Let me ask if she’ll take a look.”

He bounded down the corridor returning a few minutes later with a tan and grey furred alien in the same uniform with a greasy smock tied over in tow. Quill copied Stiph and crouched to be at her eye level, which was half a head taller than where Groot stood now.

“I never forget a piece like this,” she said, after carefully taking it from Quill’s hand, before looking up to meet Quill’s face. “My, I didn’t realize your species continued to grow. I remember when Yondu brought you in here. Almost didn’t recognize you.”

“I was actually still a kid.”

“Could have fooled me.” She turned the respirator, currently compact in its tiny sheath, around in her hands. “Oxygen tank needs a good cleaning out. Probably only holds about an hour’s worth now, yes?”

“And the left screen glitches occasionally.”

“I would have expected something this old to need more repair. You take it anywhere else?”

“Nope.”

“You done good. Wait an hour or so, I’ll have her patched right back up.”

As if on cue, Rocket came bounding over to Groot, arms full and a light in his eyes. “Hey, buddy! I ain’t so good on this coordination crap, and I’m not buying everythin’ in the store. Help a guy out, will ya?” Groot chuckled, and walked back off with Rocket, where Quill could see the Xandarian holding out about ten more items, neatly pressed. This was going to hurt his wallet a lot more than Quill anticipated.

Quill yelled behind, “Keep in under a grand, will you? We need to eat, too!” but they were already out of sight behind the displays. He turned his attention back to the mechanic. “Sorry.”

“Friends?” the mechanic asked Quill.

“Friends and crew.”

A moment of silence while she stood there thinking. “You’re the guys we saw on the broadcast screens, aren’t you? The ones who stopped Ronan?” she asked. Dofa let out a small gasp.

“Yeah.”

She held the respirator up to the light. “If this helped you stop a mad man from destroying a planet, it’s my honor to go and fix it. Can’t leave a world-saving hero unprepared.” She smiled a wry smile and started walking away. “Oh, and,” she said, throwing a small white card like a shuriken, “tell your friend he’s welcome to say hello.”

Dofa looked up after the mechanic trotted away, “I remember seeing that footage. I don’t have much else to say, but thanks. You saved my wife from my own fate.”

“Your wife?”

“Stiph. We’re not usually out on the floor anymore; we own this store, and we had to cover for some of our employees who got sick. She and I saw the news when her brother, who was on a trading run, called us that morning. Everything stopped and we watched from the break room. She was in tears, frost of sorrow and worry, then of joy.” His eyes watered slightly, and he didn’t look at Quill in the eye.

Quill broke the sudden silence. “Hey, thanks from me too. Trying to find clothes for Rocket is like trying to find a grain of sand with a telescope.”

“There are two others in your crew, right? The Zen Whoberi lady and the muscular one whose people I’m unfamiliar with.”

“You seem to know a lot about destroyed civilizations. But yeah, that’s the five of us.”

“Somebody’s got to keep the memory alive.”

It was a small wonder that when they went to check out about an hour and a half later (Rocket didn’t want to leave until everything had been fixed with a hole for his tail, and Quill didn’t object since he wanted his respirator back) that the total came to a single credit, and a thank you card hastily written by anyone on staff present (and a few other customers when they found out who Quill, Rocket and Groot were).

It wasn’t until after they’d done the rest of the day’s shopping that they’d found the five wrapped packages, one for each. Red and blue uniforms in their respective sizes, except Groot’s which was just a massive jacket in the same color scheme. Something that would probably fit well once he’d grown up again.

-To the Guardians of the Galaxy, for not dooming my wife to my own fate.