Archive of Our Own ^beta

Not for the first time, Gamora wondered what her father would have made of her choice of companions.

She doubted he'd care for Groot, at least not in his current state as a sentient houseplant. The first Groot had been made of stronger stuff, but had been altogether too gentille for Thanos' liking.

He could have probably brought himself to respect Drax's warrior spirit but wouldn't have been as keen on the Destroyer's single-minded determination to kill him. The fact that Drax's entire strategy to kill Thanos no doubt amounted to rushing at him with a pair of daggers earned him no favours.

She had no idea what he'd make of Star-Lord. On the one hand, he was an idiot with his head in his music player, who's first instinct when faced with a genocidal maniac wielding an infinity stone had been to challenge him to a dance off. On the other hand, Peter Quill had somehow convinced the Nova Corps that a group of escaped prisoners and a fleet of Ravagers had come to Xandar to save it. And he had won his dance-off against said genocidal maniac. He was an honorable man with dishonorable ways, and she supposed Thanos' opinion would depend on what kind of first impression Peter set.

Finally, there was Rocket, who if he had his way, would never get within a parsec of Thanos' judgement. Not that her father would care. Loud-mouthed, quick-tempered Rocket, who was not nearly as good at pretending to be an asshole as he thought he was; who built bombs because he was scared, and who was needlessly sensitive about almost everything was about the last person she'd expect to earn the Titan's approval.

And not for the first time Gamora was thrilled to think that she didn't care. They were her friends and she approved of them. She liked Groot. She liked Drax, and spent the most time out of any of them trying to explain metaphors to him. She liked Quill and his music and listened with genuine interest whenever he tried to explain something Terran to the rest of them. She liked Rocket and wherever she could, she stepped over his metaphorical landmines. It was the least she could do.

The least he could do in return was be considerate of the fact that she had wanted to spend as little time on this planet as possible. She would have liked to avoid Corix entirely, but it'd been his turn to choose their next pit-stop and not getting the same things as the rest of them was a particularly volatile landmine of his.

Still…

"It has been six hours and a half."

"This is his fault!" bellowed Drax, pointing a Kree somboter (space courgette) at Quill with such intensity it might as well have been a dagger. "Rocket would have returned by now if he wasn't so deathly afraid of Quill's threats to devour him!"

"He was already late when I said that!" the human protested with a wild, dismissive wave of his hands. "And I'm pretty sure he knows I didn't mean it! It's an empty threat! Yondu used to say to me all. The. Time!"

"You yourself said you were uncertain about whether or not Yondu was being serious!"

"Rocket is no fool, Drax," Gamora remarked. "I'm more concerned about him doing something stupid of his own accord." Mentally, she re-calibrated that sentence.

"Like what?"

"Corix is one of the largest black markets in the galaxy and Rocket doesn't even pay for things with other people's units. There is no number of foolish things he could do."

"Okay, but I actually think Drax kind of has a point and just to be on the safe side, I'm going to go ahead and be the bigger man and apologise." As Gamora rolled her eyes, Quill cleared his throat and dialled up the comm. "Yo, Rocket. Sorry if I crossed a line. I'm still kind of new to this Captain stuff. We kind of want to get off Corix if that's okay with you so could you please hurry back? Oh and if you're not in trouble or anything, please respond. Drax is getting worried."

There was no response.

"Maybe he's drunk?" ventured Peter, and Gamora could tell that Drax was not the only one getting worried.

"We should go looking for him," she said simply. They had dismissed the idea at first because there was so much ground to cover and because they'd feel stupid if they all went looking for him only for him to get back to the ship and wait for them only for him to go looking for them before they returned to the ship. But that had been three hours ago. "Split up and check every bar that looks even slightly disreputable." Nevermind that that was pretty much every bar on the planet.

Drax nodded and left without a word. He returned a moment later to swap the somboter for his knives, while Gamora buckled on her sword and Quill left a final order for Groot.

"If he comes back before we do, tell him to wait here for us. And tell him he's grounded and not allowed to invent anything for the next twelve cycles. And then play some sad music for him to mope to."

Ever since they'd chosen names for themselves Batch 89 had referred to each other by name and name only. Floor was Floor, Teefs was Teefs, Lylla was Lylla and Rocket was Rocket. He should have known something was off as soon as he'd heard his designation. He shouldn't have let her get into striking distance.

But then Rocket couldn't blame himself for not thinking rationally when confronted by someone he had gotten killed, who's death he'd been forced to watch and who had for all accounts and purposes, died in his arms. He didn't even acknowledge that Quill had sent him another message. It played out like the first time but he didn't hear it over the sound of his rapidly beating heart and the hum of a hundred memories. He had eyes only for Lylla and for once his ridiculously over-sized gun felt too heavy to lift.

They stood like that for a minute or two before the otter frowned and cocked her head to the side. "Geez, you're shaking like a leaf. I'm not that scary, am I?"

Rocket forced his mouth open, but all that came out was a kind of strangled choking.

Lylla huffed. "You're not exactly hot stuff yourself, you know. So are we fighting or what?"

It was a good question, and not one he wanted the answer to.

But when do I ever get what I want?

It would be in self defence. The gunshot was deafening. He wasn't shooting to kill. Lylla fell without a sound. He couldn't let her drag him back to a fate worse than death. "Sky," she whispered, as the air rushed from her lungs. She was just another whackjob to take down. The most important person in the world lay dead at his feet.

With a feral scream Rocket opened fire. Lylla brought her arms up and crouched behind them to absorb the shots- not that any came near her. She waited, keeping count of the rounds as they flew by; briefly wondering why such an awful shot carried a gun in the first place.

A 'click' told her he needed to reload.

Without missing a beat, Lylla threw herself forwards, slamming a fist into the concrete where his head had been and sending cracks spider-webbing across the already-dilapidated building. She felt more than heard the buzz of electricity as the raccoon swapped his ammo feed to taser rounds and pointed the gun straight at her face.

It was a clean shot from point blank. He couldn't miss. She couldn't dodge. And if she raised an arm to block it the charge would carry to the rest of her.

But Rocket hesitated.

Lylla didn't.

Grabbing the rifle by the barrel she wrenched it upwards so that the ball of lightning flew harmlessly overhead. Tearing the whole thing out of his paws she sent him sprawling backwards with a kick to the ribs.

"You're not nearly as good at this as I thought you would be," the otter mused, crumpling up the rifle and tossing it over her shoulder as if it was nothing more than a candy wrapper.

Rocket scrambled backwards, fumbling with a gravity mine that slipped from his fingers and rolled harmlessly towards her. It clattered to a stop at Lylla's feet, and lay there unused. In response she gave him a smile that was almost sympathetic. Somehow that hurt more than any of her punches had. "Never learned to fight?"

Rocket swallowed and blinked back tears. Whenever his mind shifted gears from 'trying to process emotional overload' to 'survival mode' (a methodology he was intimately more familiar with), he figured he only really had one option. "I learned to run."

Tossing a sonic grenade into the air, Rocket shot off on all fours. The drug store crumbled to dust from the resounding BOOM! as the raccoon sped through the escape route he'd carved out when he first opened fire.

Lylla was hot on his heels, propelling herself forwards purely with the strength of her powerful, cybernetic arms. They had never raced before- at least not over any distance greater than the confines of their cages- so Rocket had no way of knowing if he could outrun her.

But he'd accounted for that. One of the first things he had learned about the real world was that you didn't half-ass an escape plan.

He passed the bullet holes he'd left as an indicator of distance, hoped he hadn't gotten his maths wrong, and switched the gravity-mine on at full power. He caught her mid-pounce and a cry of surprise, followed by the distinct and distant warble of someone hitting a gravity-mine told him he'd gotten her.

Success had never tasted so bitter.

"I'm sorry!" It took all the strength in the world to keep running. But he knew that if he turned back now he wouldn't be able to leave.

The deadliest woman in the galaxy walked into a bar.

The music stopped, the conversation died, all eyes turned towards her.

Gamora knew they all knew who she was. She was a Daughter of Thanos and some of her siblings held sway in this sector. Announcing her presence in their territory after the fiasco on Xandar was a challenge in all but words. It was one of the reasons she hadn't wanted to come to Corix 85 and the main reason she had volunteered to stay on the ship and watch Groot while the others resupplied. She would have preferred to avoid confrontation altogether but her teammates were worth the risk.

Besides, what good was freedom if she couldn't go wherever she pleased?

"I'm looking for a bounty hunter," she said simply, and practically the entire bar lurched to their feet.

"That goes by Rocket," she added, and they all sat down again with an audible grumble. "Has he been here?"

He had been. Several hours ago, to force the bartender on pain of pain into doing a favour for him.

"Anyone comes looking for me, I want you to come up with the most gruesome, violent and painful ending you can think of and tell them aaaaaaaaall the details."

The bartender in question, a diminutive Kree who had no doubt fled the Empire due to his extraordinary physical weakness, made the mistake of breaking her eye contact. It was a small gesture but one that immediately told Gamora he knew something he wasn't telling her.

She took three steps forwards and put a knife to his throat. "Where is he?"

"L-lady Gamora," the Kree stammered. "I-I'm afraid h-he was crushed to death in the Contest of Champions last week!"

"Huh?"

"H-his big poofy tail- it got caught in the vacuum of the arena a-and it was- he was fighting this Aaskavarian with far too many tentacles- with teeth on them of course, t-to tear off chunks of his body. And they were fighting over a volcano- a volcano of acid mind you-"

"You are trying to tell me," Gamora cut in, voice perfectly deadpan. "That the person who keyed in the coordinates for my ship today, was killed last week."

Rocket shot across the ground on all fours, keeping off the streets and sticking to rooftop crannies and sliding through pipework wherever he could. Lylla had given his position away to someone and there was no way of telling which direction that someone would be coming from. It had been an especially harsh lesson but another thing he'd learned about running away was that you were never supposed to do what was expected of you.

Sire stood there, a smoking blaster held all-too-casually. "Yes, I thought you might do something like this. Back in the cage P13."

The memory sent a shudder down his spine and filled his throat with bile.

He paused to catch his breath in the relative safety of a sewage pipe. As his heartrate slowed to it's usual tempo, Rocket screwed his eyes shut and allowed himself to process everything that had just transpired and all the new information he had been hit with. There was a lot to go through.

One, Lylla was alive. That was good. That was very, very good.

Two, Lylla didn't know who he was, or didn't care. That was bad. And hurt.

Three, Lylla was still somehow in the palm of their Sire. That was infinitely worse.

Four, Sire was alive. That was bad, but then a part of Rocket had known that vicious bastards like him didn't just die even if you clawed their faces off.

Five, Sire was after him. Again, bad, but vicious bastards like him really didn't appreciate getting their faces clawed off; it was one of the few things they had in common with regular folk.

Six, Lylla had broken the pot he'd so painstakingly chosen for Groot and getting a new one was not an option now. Groot would forgive him but that didn't make him feel any less guilty about it.

Seven, he was going to have to admit that Gamora was right and that coming to Corix had been a terrible idea.

Eight, he was going to have to tell her and Quill and Drax that in all his soft-hearted, mushy-gushy stupidity he'd only chosen Corix so that he could square off any debts he had to intergalactic gangsters who hated him for robbing their banks and kicking their asses one too many times. Or at least convince them that he had died a painful death and that there was no reason to come after him and ruin the dumbass friendship thing he had going with a tree, a moron, a maniac and an assassin.

Nine, he was going to have to tell said tree, moron, maniac and assassin that in the process of burying the shades of his past, far worse shades than the one's he'd been trying to bury had shown up and he kind of wanted to save one of them because he was actually really glad she was alive even if her being alive made absolutely no sense and even if she was trying to drag him back to someone he was pretty sure wanted to tear him apart again.

Ten, he was going to have to tell them about Lylla.

"Reeeeeally looking forwards to that date now, Quill." Rocket muttered, reaching for his comm unit. "Tell the oven to wear something fancy, I'll try and grab some flowers." He cleared his throat, took a deep breath, regretted it because sewage pipe, and did his best to keep his voice from shaking.

Tapping the call button, he was met with a burst of static strong enough to make him flinch, and then winced as the device exploded in a shower of sparks.

Eleven, the sonic grenade had fried his communicator.

The Legendary Star-Lord walked into a bar. Noone batted an eye. He had to shove and push, and then blame someone else for doing all the shoving and pushing, before he could even get to the bartender. Who then very pointedly ignored him.

"Hey! Hey, excuse me! Sir! Er- madam?- oh forget this." It took all of three more minutes for the former Ravager to figure out that there was an easier way to go about it and fired a few shots into the ceiling.

That got everyone's attention.

"My name is Peter Quill, I go by Star-Lord. Former-Ravager. Guardian of the Galaxy. Saviour of Xandar. You might have heard of me." He pocketed his pistols and struck a pose.

Blank faces stared back at him as crickets chirped in the background. He was used to it.

"I'm looking for an angry raccoon about 'yay big'," and he gave a very unflattering indicator of size with his hands. "Carrying a gun about 'yay big'," and he gave a very flattering indicator of size with his hands. "He likes to make money, shoot things and blow things up. Goes by Rocket. If you've seen him, you'll know him." He looked the bartender straight in the eye. "Has he been here?"

He had been. Several hours ago, to bribe the bartender with a big fat unit slip into doing a favour for him.

"What do you mean I'm asking you to be too creative!? One death! I just need one gruesome death! It don't even need to be anything special- just tell 'em I died in an explosion! I smell of gunpowder and sleep with grenades- noone would be surprised!"

"I am very sorry Mister Star-Lord." Quill's momentary delight that his outlaw name was finally catching on was brutally crushed by the words that came next. "He died in an explosion."

Thankfully, fixing up the comm didn't end up being too difficult. It was also surprisingly easy to get a signal from inside a sewage pipe. Who knew?

"Quill!" he cleared his throat because that had sounded far too desperate for his liking. "Ahem, Quill, do you hear me?"

There was no answer.

"Gamora? Drax?"

There was no answer.

Rocket swallowed, and did his best to turn his deepest darkest fears into a joke. "Y'know, I'd have picked someplace nicer if I knew you guys'd be ditching me."

There was a crackle of static. And then a voice.

"I am Groot!"

"Looking for me!? Why would the- Where would they even start!?"

"I am Groot."

"Do they have any idea how little that narrows it down!?"

"I am Groot!"

"Idiots," Rocket breathed, more relieved than he'd ever say out loud.

"I am Groot?"

His biological insides squirmed with guilt. "Y-yeah I got you a pot."

"I am Groot!"

"It's…" Broken, and you can thank auntie Lylla for that. "Yellow."

"I am Groot!"

"You said you loved yellow!"

"I am Groot!"

"'Liked' yellow, same difference."

"I am Groot!"

"It looks the same on me as on anybody else!"

"I am Groot!"

"Okay, okay, fine. I'll get you a different one."

"I am Groot?"

"Sure, with flowers, why not?"

"I am Groot!"

"Hehe, yeah…" Rocket scratched idly at his chest, remembering why he'd called in the first place. "Hey listen buddy, I'm… I'm in a bit of trouble."

"I am Groot?"

"No, nothing I can't handle." His ears flicked at the sound of distant tapping, and Rocket lowered his voice to a whisper. "But backup would be really frickin' appreciated!"

"I am Groot!"

That brought his voice up again. "What do you mean you're on your way!? You can't even walk!"

"I am Groot!"

"NO! Stay in your pot! I-I can handle this!"

Groot went quiet and Rocket worried for a moment that he'd spoken too harshly. Whatever, he'd make it up to Groot later. With a nice big pot with flowers on it.

"Hey, you still practising your letters?"

"I am Groot!"

"Heh, knew that would come in handy! J-just get my infoglass a-and try and let the other guys know, okay?"

"I am Groot?"

There was that tapping sound again.

"Tell them I'm… tell them that I would really, really appreciate it if we could get the flark off this planet right now."

"I am Groot!"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Gamora was right…"

"I am Groot?"

"I told you, I'm fine!" Rocket snapped. The line went silent, and after an agonising minute or two of imagining the hurt look on Groot's face, the raccoon sighed and pinched the bridge of his muzzle. He really was bad at this parenting crap. "I'm sorry, buddy. It's just been… a day."

"I am Groot."

"I know, I know. I… I love you too."

Drax the Destroyer walked into a bar.

It was crowded, smelled vile and the music playing in the background was irksome. This was exactly the kind of place Rocket would frequent.

"I seek a small, furry mammal known as Rocket," he told the bartender, in his straightforward, deadpan way. "Has he been here?"

He had been. Several hours ago, to console the sobbing bartender and talk them into doing him a favour.

"You were the first robot that ever tried to kill me, you know?" said Rocket, a paw on the shoulder of the weeping murderbot. "That'll always mean something."

"B-but why does it have to end?"

"I'm not a bounty hunter anymore, man. Life goes on."

"But if I just had more time I could have chopped you to bits and sold you as a delicacy on the Shyraxian Meat Market! Or repurposed you into a rug! Or maybe a coffee machine depending on how much of you is mechanical!"

Rocket flinched. "I'd rather not think about that."

"But-"

"It's time we moved," said Rocket firmly. "Dreamed of killing other people." He pulled his paw away and dipped it in his drink to check for poisons. "So will you do it? For both our sakes?"

"He is dead!" replied the murderbot, cheerfully. "Very dead!"

Drax stepped backward, a metaphorical hole punching through his chest. "What?"

The bartender's programming was oblivious to the danger the Kylosian posed. "I killed him! And then sent him on his way to the Shyraxian Meat Market! If you hurry you may be able to purchase what's left of him for a ludicrously high fee!"

The tapping was definitely growing closer. He had dismissed it, at first, as just the kind of noises you got in pipework, but that had been wishful thinking. He hadn't wanted to face reality.

As quietly as he could, Rocket raced away from it. Or tried to. It was hard to say where it was coming from when in here, every little noise seemed to echo on infinitely.

Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, TAP, TAP, TAP, TAP, TAP, TAP!

As the sound reached a crescendo, he squeezed into the shadow of a branch-pipe. He made himself small, flattened himself against the wall and held his breath.

A shadow scuttled by. The shadow of something small, held up by six ridiculously long mechanical legs that made her look like some horrifying kind of insect.

He didn't need to guess who it was. There had only been one thing like her, too, and he'd have known her anywhere. Besides, there was no need to be surprised. Why torment him with only one dead friend when you could have two of them?

Rocket bit back a whimper, his heartbeat skyrocketing as an emotionalistic rush hit him like a truck.

It was Floor. Floor was alive. And just as with Lylla, he wanted to whoop for joy and laugh and cry and run towards her and run away and never look back. But all he did was stay frozen in place, afraid she'd hate him, afraid that she'd be afraid of him, afraid that she was going to beat the crap out of him and he'd do the dumb thing and hesitate even though his life was on the line.

He hated emotionalistics.

"P13! P13! P13!" the distant shadow sang in a whispered sing-song. There was the denomination again. Warning him to stay away. Telling him that he was unwanted, unloved, unremembered. That he was no longer 'Rocket' and she was no longer 'Floor' and that the universe was laughing at him as it twisted knives into-

"FOUND YOU!" cheered Floor, dropping down to his head height so suddenly that his chest damn near burst open.

She hadn't changed much. Grown a bit, just like he and Lylla had, but she was still the smallest. Her mouthpiece carried the same voice, and her antennae perked upwards as her ears drooped down. The most startling change was that, courtesy of her ludicrously long legs, he was looking up at her.

"P13! P13! P13!" the rabbit sang, spinning in circles and leaping with the same clumsy grace he had shared a cage with.

Even as his heart hammered. Even as his insides twisted. Even though he knew this wasn't the kind of happy reunion he had sometimes dared to dream of... It was good to see her again.

"Me is 89L06!" said Floor, turning her attention back to him and offering a spider-leg.

"Hey Floor," was all Rocket could manage. He eyed the limb warily, and refused to take it.

Floor didn't seem to mind. "Me and P13 play now?"

It had always haunted him that the last thing he'd told Floor directly was that he was too busy to play with her. He had spent countless nights wondering what would have happened if instead of building a damn key, he'd just asked 'What game?' and forgotten all about Sire. They could have played all the ones they liked, stayed up late into the night because there was no morning to wake up to, and laughed and laughed and laughed...

"I'd love to," said Rocket simply, and he doubted he'd ever been more honest.

"Hurraaaaaay!" the rabbit sang, bouncing on the spot even though her legs never left the ground. "Play! Play! Play!"

"S-so what's the game, Floor?" he ventured, even as his eyes darted about in search of an escape route.

Floor giggled as a dozen mechanical compartments hissed open to reveal that all six of her legs now came fitted with buzzsaws.

Somehow, Rocket got the feeling he wasn't going to like this game.

Footnote: I got the designation numbers for Floor and Teefs from this concept art made by the director that got shared on Discord. Not 100% sure what it stands for but L06 rolls off the tongue pretty easily (and in any case I will continually refer to them by their names in the actual narration and whatnot). I have most of the next chapter ready actually, I just figured I'd split it so that I could rake in more views (nyehehehehehe) and also because I really liked the ending point here and the way it 'rhymes' with Rocket's run-in with Lylla from the previous chapter.

Hope you enjoyed ^^

"Awwwwww!" cooed Floor, as besides her Lylla, Teefs and the Jackass all blinked stupidly. "You is my friend too!"

Flark this, talking to them hurt just as much as fighting did. Rocket turned away, still desperately rubbing at his eyes to keep the waterworks at bay. He was not going to cry. Not again. Not over something so stupid! Crying was the number one way to get you laughed at.

"Are you alright?" asked Teefs with the kind of exaggerated delicacy one used when handling an unstable atom bomb.

"I'm fine! Just peachy! Fan-frickin'-tastic!"

"You're clearly upset," Lylla remarked, and Rocket didn't need to look at her to know she had her arms crossed over her chest.

"Upset? What gives you that impression?" Not even the hostility of his tone could hide the raccoon's underlying whimper. "If you had any idea what I'm going through y-you would, you would-" The rest of the sentence died in his throat, buried beneath the crushing might of dumbass emotionalistics.

"We may not be aware of what you are going through. But if it's my fault you're upset, I am sorry." The walrus wrestled with his next sentence for a small eternity, before finally adding- "You can still call me Teefs if you want to."

And now the whimper turned into a full on sob.

Rocket didn't believe, as many did, that there was any kind of fairness in the universe. Bad things happened to good people and good things happened to bad people all the frickin' time. There was no rhyme or reason to it. There was no cosmic rationale. Things just happened. Even so, he was pretty sure he'd never done anything to deserve the hand 'fate' (if such a ludicrously moronic thing even existed) had dealt him.

"It's okay." Lylla placed a cold cybernetic paw on his shoulder. "Everything's going to be-"

"No it's not!" Rocket shrugged her off, frantically scampering out of reach. He was beginning to hyperventilate and his heartbeat was skyrocketing. "Nothing is okay! And it ain't gonna be okay, either! By the end of today I-I-I'm gonna be locked in a lab and strapped to a table and torn apart a-an-"

"Sire's just trying to make us-"

"He has no right to decide what is and isn't 'perfect'!" Before he could stop himself, Rocket turned and jabbed a claw into her face. "You were perfect!"

Batch 89 all blinked at the outburst as the raccoon went on in his most defeated voice.

"You all were. Perfect a-and peaceful and good a-and-" Rocket cut himself off with a sharp intake of breath. He turned his gaze downwards, unable to meet their eyes. "You were… Y-you are…"

"Well, maybe they are," J0100 chuckled nervously, jabbing a thumb at his batchmates. "Sire says I've still got, heh, " idly, he scratched at an implant on his chest. "A bit of modification to go."

Rocket glanced up at the Jackass and realised for the first time what he was staring at. The youngest of the batch, the most refined experiment, Sire's favourite plaything. Himself. Or rather, what he had been. What he could have been...

Teefs cleared his throat with deliberate volume. "Can we please not talk about this? I-it makes me uncomfortable." He wheeled over to place a flipper on J0100's shoulder. "You know we don't think we're any better than you."

"He knows," Rocket growled, overcome by a sudden urge for violence. His paws curled into fists as he stormed towards the hare. "But Sire knows best. And no matter how much modification hurts he's gonna sit still and be a good little experiment because he wants that madman to-" Rocket cut himself off. "Because he wants-" And again, because when he looked at J0100 he saw himself. "Because he doesn't want to be-"

"That's enough, P13," Lylla warned, sensing where this was going. "Sire only wants the best for us."

Rocket threw his head back and laughed. "Who are you kiddin'? You're just a frickin' lump of biomatter. A bunch of stupid experiments he's gonna throw away as soon as he's bored." He was glaring down at the hare now, his muzzle pulled back into a snarl. "Do yourself a favour and the next time he makes you wait in the lab- rewire the fire-suppression system, build a flamethrower out of the thermostat and toast his frickin'-"

The next thing he knew Lylla's fist came crashing into the side of his head and Rocket was sent sprawling.

"P13 so mean!" Floor jabbed a leg into the raccoon as she stepped past to help comfort J0100 (who was currently bawling his eyes out into Teef's flabby front).

Rocket was grateful for the pain. It was nothing more than a forceful reminder that his friends were going to be the death of him if he didn't focus. He hadn't even been trying to make the Jackass cry, he'd just been trying to tell them the truth!

"Don't listen to him," said Lylla, gently patting J0100 on the back while Floor held his paw and Teefs dutifully ignored the copious amount of snotty tears being poured into him. "He doesn't know what he's talking about."

"You're not just biomatter," the walrus agreed. "And even if you are, you're still one of my best and only friends."

Ignoring the bubble of guilt and envy swelling within him, Rocket got to his feet. None of his batchmates payed him any mind, preoccupied as they were with J0100. It was just the distraction he needed to crawl towards the cage and more importantly, the Shoplu tech within.

Half a minute later, Lylla and Floor had managed to coax the sniffling J0100 away from Teefs.

"It's good to have friends," the hare chuckled, wiping his eyes dry on the back of his paw.

"Yeah, it really is." Rocket sighed, emerging from the cage with an itchy blanket tucked under one arm and a scraped-together taser buzzing to life in his other.

Lylla groaned. "Oh my god, why don't you just stop!"

"You'll thank me later," Rocket snapped, looking away and somehow feeling inordinately guilty about the fact that he was saving their lives.

The otter cracked her knuckles as she got up. " You know I thought you'd try something like that, but I kind of hoped you wouldn't be stupid enough to-"

Rocket didn't let her finish her sentence and unfurled the blanket in her face. It brushed her whiskers just as he tapped the EMP into it. There was an audible zap as the charge carried over and Lylla's arms fell to her side in a shower of sparks.

The otter blinked incredulously. "H-how did you-?"

"I'm pretty good at fighting," Rocket shrugged. He gave the taser a twirl, and turned to face the rest of Batch 89. "Who's next?"

"L-L06 time to playfight!" Teefs squeaked, eyes bulging in panic.

"Yaaaay! Best game ever!" the rabbit cheered as the buzzsaws came out again.

Having seen more than enough of them to last him a few lifetimes, Rocket threw the EMP at her as she charged towards him. It caught her on the forehead mid-skuttle and unable to move her useless legs, the rabbit flew right past him. There was an audible clatter as she hit the cage and toppled over.

Floor blinked, ineffectively straining against her cybernetics as if willpower alone could bring them back to life. "No fair, P13 cheating!"

"Four on one and you don't see me complaining!" the raccoon shot back as he made a rush for the fallen taser.

J0100 got there first but was either too scared of Rocket's craftsmanship to pick it up or was too naive to use it as a weapon. Instead, he kicked it out of reach and threw a clumsy swing at the approaching raccoon.

Rocket sidestepped the blow and retaliated with a swift jab to the hare's gut, a right hook to the face and an uppercut that sent J0100 sprawling backwards with a bloody nose. "Nothing personal!" he called back, tucking into a roll to retrieve his paw-crafted weapon and whirling around to face the shaking form of Teefs.

"A95 turn off the gravity!" barked Lylla.

As soon as she said it, the world became weightless, and Rocket found himself floating off the solid surface of the ship. He frowned at the walrus' headpiece as it dawned on him. "You're piloting remotely."

"Y-yup!" Teefs beamed despite his terror. "It's a bit slower than wired transmission but a lot more comfortable."

"Easy to hack," the raccoon retorted. "And if you get hit with an EMP-"

Teefs did his awkward shrug-thing. "I l-lose control of the ship and we all potentially crash and burn."

"Unless I can make it to the-"

"This is the cockpit." Lylla snapped, her tail allowing her to float with more grace than Rocket would have expected. She was glaring at him.

Rocket blinked stupidly. "B-but there's no control panel- o-or windshield-"

"We've got built-in sensors, so no need for a windshield and I can pilot remotely, so no need for a control panel," Teefs explained, as if it was obvious.

Fresh rage spiked through the raccoon like a white hot knife. Even let loose into the wider Galaxy some bastard had decided that his friends were not good enough to see the sky. The ship was nothing more than a slightly bigger cage. They were still prisoners.

"Pass the cuffs back to J0100," Lylla ordered, as besides her Floor floated upside-down with a squeal of delight. "I know you don't want to hurt us."

Rocket relented, and watched as his last hope floated inchmeal towards the hare.

"Thank you for your cooperation." Teefs swam towards him and Rocket was momentarily stunned to see that, in the air (and when he wasn't terrified), the walrus' slow, awkward movements had turned into something almost graceful. "Sorry about this by the way."

"What're you-?" The raccoon's eyes went wide as he realised with a sudden jolt of panic what Teefs was apologising for. "W-waitwaitwait!" He clawed at the air in a desperate bid to get out of the line of fire. "Hang on just a- TEEFS!"

The gravity turned back on with a warble and Rocket hit the floor. Half a second later Teefs hit the floor on top of him, completely burying the little raccoon beneath several hundred pounds of blubber. Dimly, Rocket couldn't help noting that this was the closest the two of them had ever been.

"I don't appreciate people who are mean to my friends," the walrus said matter-of-factedly as the crushing weight lifted.

The raccoon could breathe again, even if he was too dazed to do much more. A flipper tapped at his prone form and dimly Rocket heard Teef's voice rise in fresh panic.

"G-guys! I- I think I've killed him!"

"He's fine," Lylla grumbled, giving the raccoon a light kick in the ribs as she passed by. "Reinforced skeletal system, remember?"

The walrus blinked. "Oh. Right. I er- forgot."

"P13, how long till my arms come back online?"

"About… two minutes?" Rocket groaned. He felt sore all over, but forced himself to sit up and glare at the suddenly-very sheepish Teefs. "You weigh a frickin' tonne."

"Are you always this rude or is it just to us?" Lylla demanded, and Rocket was sure if she could have, she'd have crossed her arms over her chest. Or punched him.

The raccoon shrunk in on himself, glancing from the unmistakable hurt in Teef's eyes, to where J0100 was trying to prop a giggling Floor up on her ludicrously long legs and was very pointedly not looking at him. "L-look. That stuff I said about Sire-"

"He said you'd say stuff like that," the hare interrupted, not meeting his eye.

Rocket considered that for a moment, and cocked his head to the side. "What else did he say about me?"

"He said you were clever," Lylla wore a skeptical frown and made a motion like she was trying to shrug. It was clear from her tone that she wasn't sure Sire had been right about that.

"And dangerous!" added Floor, once again collapsing into J0100.

"And that you once did something reeeeally bad," finished Teefs.

"Once?" Rocket made himself chuckle. "He clearly hasn't been following my career."

His batchmates didn't seem to appreciate the joke, so Rocket's chuckle turned into a kind of awkward throat-clearing noise.

"He said you stole something," Lylla amended, squinting at him. "Something that belonged to him."

"Yeah. I did." Rocket sighed and jabbed a thumb into his chest. "Me."

He was met with silence, and glanced up when the pause grew awkward. They were all staring at him, no doubt expecting some kind of elaboration. But he'd been avoiding the topic for years now, and wasn't about to open himself up to what amounted to a bunch of strangers. Even if they were so much more than that…

An audible buzz echoed into the long silence, as Lylla's arms came back online. It was followed a moment later by J0100's startled cry as Floor's legs snapped back into motion.

Rocket wiped his nose on his wrist. "Can we talk about something else?"

Teefs breathed a humongous sigh of relief and wasted no time rushing into a new topic. "Yes please! I've been meaning to ask something actually. What kind of thing are you?"

Fittingly, the idiot had landed on an equally awkward topic. It had been the first question Rocket had ever been asked, and one of the first thing Teefs had ever said to him. It had mattered less back when he shared a cage with Floor- but even then he had spent countless hours wondering why his ears were pointy, why Lylla's were small, why Floor's were floppy and why Teefs didn't seem to have any. He never understood why his tail was poofy, why Floor's was small, why Teef's didn't seem to have one and why Lylla's was streamlined. He had never understood why Teef's teeth were so prominent, why Floor's eyes were so red or why he had a mask.

Since escaping, he'd been compared to all kinds of lower life forms and the only thing that was consistent was that it was never consistent. Raccoon, badger, gerbil, rodent, rat, hedgehog, fox, chihuahua, weasel, hamster… the list went on and on but nothing anyone ever called him was ever anything like him.

By the time Rocket finally shrugged half-a-dozen minutes had passed, J0100 and Floor had lost interest and gone into a corner to play a kind of skipping game and Lylla was wrestling with the cuffs-turned-taser. "Got no clue."

"Don't worry, none of us know what we are either," Lylla shook her head, her voice almost sympathetic now that she wasn't trying to hit him. She wagged a disciplinary claw at Teefs. "You should know better than to ask that."

The walrus wringed his flippers awkwardly. "I just thought he might know since he's travelled around the galaxy."

"Yeah well, never really saw another me. Or another you for that matter." Rocket squinted up at the walrus as if seeing him for the first time. "I think you may be some type of whale. And that ain't just a fat joke. It's just… when I saw you floating. It kinda looked like you were swimming so I'm guessing at least you're something aquatic. Or, well, were."

"I do very much enjoy getting my skin hydrated," Teefs murmured, his eyes wide with wonder as he stared into the raccoon's own- as if Rocket had just unlocked the very secrets of the universe.

Needless to say, that made Rocket very uncomfortable. Clearing his throat, he scooted a bit away from the walrus and turned his eyes to the floor. "How long till we get there?"

"Two more jump points." Lylla hissed as a spark shot out of the Shoplu tasercuffs and singed her whiskers. "And we were specifically ordered to bring you in restrained."

Rocket sighed and held out an expectant paw.

The otter took one look at it and scoffed. "Not a chance."

"I ain't gonna try anything! Just don't want you lot getting in trouble coz of me." He pointed at the walrus beside him. "And if I do something stupid just dump him on me again."

"Sounds fair," Teefs shrugged. "Although, I'm not entirely sure you'd survive a second time."

"Please don't make me regret this." Lylla relented, placing the taser into Rocket's waiting paw.

"I hope you're not asking me to lay down and die," the raccoon grumbled, tearing apart the Shoplu with practised ease.

"It'll only hurt more if you try and fight it," Lylla pointed out. "There's no need to provoke-"

"Sire's already mad at me." Rocket cut her off, snapping the cuffs back into… well, cuffs, and dutifully tossing them back at her. "Ain't much more I can do to provoke the d'ast bastard."

He held out his paws in compliance.

"A little remorse-"

"I ain't apologising," Rocket snapped, as the restraints came back on with a 'click'. "I ain't sorry I ran, just mad at myself for doing it so badly."

The otter shook her head in disbelief and turned to where Floor and the jackass were currently laughing in a tangled heap of robotic limbs and rabbit legs. "Hey guys, we're about to land." She nodded at Teefs, who cleared his throat and tapped a flipper to his headpiece.

"This is 89A95 returning with the rest of Batch 89, requesting permission to dock."

There was a pause as whoever was on the other end of the line asked something.

"It's er- it's just us," Teefs gave Rocket a look and shuddered. "But we have 89P13."

There came another pause, and this time Rocket heard the voice at the other end.

"Permission granted."

"Thank you," Teefs beamed, tapping out of the call. "Well, we're here." His smile faltered as he caught Rocket's eye and noted the fear within them. "A-are you okay?"

Rocket hadn't heard him. His heartbeat was spiking, blind panic was coursing through him like a thunderbolt and his mind was screaming at him to run.

He likely would have listened to it had Floor not chosen that moment to lean down to his height and rub her cheek against his own. "Welcome home, P13!" she cheered, completely oblivious to how much the gesture meant to him.

Lylla placed a paw on his shoulder. "Please don't do anything stupid."

The ship touched down.

"I won't," Rocket promised. He recalled a conversation he'd had with Quill the other day and sighed. "I'm gonna do something 'incredibly heroic'."

Before Lylla could decide what that meant, the doors hissed open- revealing two dozen guards and twice as many cyborgs with weapons trained on the five of them- and more specifically, on Rocket.

"I ain't resistin' and I know you want me alive so drop your guns before I shove 'em up your klankerholes," Rocket snapped, and just like that his fear was buried beneath his usual jackassery. "You, flarknard on the left- no not you- you! Yes, you! You've got some gross ass condiment on your shirt and it's disgusting. Wipe it off before you make me hurl."

He scanned the crowd in search of whichever idiot was in charge and caught sight of the tell-tale white robe and mechanical headpiece of a recorder. It was one he was familiar with.

"Hey Vim."

If one of Sire's chief recorders was surprised that he'd remembered her name, she didn't show it.

"Sorry I never called. Or sent a postcard. Didn't have your address." Rocket slapped the barrel of a gun out of his face and hissed at it's owner as he strolled over. "But you can expect a bomb in your letterbox someday."

Vim did not bother with a reply, and instead turned to address the rest of Batch 89. "Excellent work. Sire will be most pleased. War-Pig, see them to their chambers and make sure they have something to eat. Sire will want a full report of the mission."

"Roger that," grunted a bio-mechanical monstrosity in a voice so high-pitched it caught Rocket off-guard. "Come on guys," she said, waving over his batchmates. "I wanna hear all about it."

"Bye P13!" Floor cheered, as she bounced past.

"See you around," muttered Teefs.

J0100 opened his mouth as if he was going to say something, but thought better of it and very pointedly looked away.

Lylla gave him a stiff nod.

There was an inexplicable weight on Rocket's chest as he watched them leave. Floor bounced and high-fived the thing called War-Pig. J0100 said something funny and got Teefs chortling. Not a backward glance was spared for him and that hurt most of all. Dimly he found himself hoping that this wasn't the last he'd see of them.

"Chambers is a pretty fancy word for cages." He glared up at Vim. Without his friends, this was just another prison and noone knew prisons better than he did. The first rule was to never let anyone know you were scared. The second rule was to insult anyone and everyone who looked like they wanted to mess with you. "By the way, you're a lot uglier than I remember."

Without so much as a glance in his direction she turned to a particularly large cyborg- who's defining feature seemed to be a beak. "Behemoth. Decontaminate him and bring him to the lobby."

"You some kind of bird?" Rocket asked, as the hulking monstrosity stomped towards him. "Pretty sure I've eaten one of whatever you are. No wait, wait, there's a saying that applies to this, gimme a sec. It's a dumb humie one hang on- HAHAHAHA! I BET YOU TASTE LIKE CHICKEN!"

That earned him a kick to the ribs that sent him sprawling, but the fact that he'd already gotten under their skin was making him feel better.

"Geez, tough crowd amiright? I thought that was a good one."

Behemoth picked him up by the scruff and lifted him clean off the ground with an effortlessness that made Rocket incredibly uncomfortable. To mask the panic, Rocket made it a point to brandish his full and impressive repertoire of swear words at anything in earshot. A few recorders fainted from the sheer volume.

Alas nothing faltered false bravado like a decontamination chamber.

The first thing they did was strip him of his clothes.

"Hey! Careful with that! You have any idea how hard it is to get things my size!? And if you crumple it I swear I'll-" the rest of his threat died in his throat as Behemoth casually tossed the bundle into a waiting incinerator.

Flames roared to life and grimly, Rocket couldn't help but wonder whether or not Quill's 'date with the oven' joke had been prophetic. Or maybe it had been a warning? Perhaps the reason Quill and the others had never got to him was because Sire had gotten to them first? Or maybe the reason Sire had even gotten to him was because the others had set him up…

Rocket shuddered and pushed the thought away. No. That was stupid. They didn't know anything about him. There was no way they could do it. And they wouldn't do it either… probably. The raccoon shook his head, and forced himself to think about something else- anything else!

And he knew he spent far too much time in Quill's company because the first thing that came to mind was a song composed by the Queen of England.

"'Cause I'm havin' a good time, havin' a good time, havin' a good time," Rocket mumbled, snorting at the irony.

Behemoth glared at him. "What was that?"

"It's music, dipshit," Rocket shot back. "And not that oversentimental crap Sire listens to, this one's actually got a beat to it."

The next thing he knew, he was mumbling the lyrics as the music played inside his head. It was stupid. Moronic. Exactly the kind of thing Quill would do and exactly the kind of thing Rocket would make fun of Quill for doing. But it kept him from spiraling into a panic. And it wasn't like he was going to live long enough for anyone to make fun of him.

"I'm a shooting star leaping through the sky," He was promptly floored by a pressurized shower of concentrated cleaning liquid built for larger life forms.

"Never thought I'd miss the sewers," he grumbled, shaking off the residual stickiness as best he could and resuming the song. "Defying the laws of gravity."

Hot air wafted up from the vents below him.

"I'm a racing car passing by," he grimaced, as his normally-grimy fur dried into something ludicrously soft and poofy.

"Like Lady Godiva." To add insult to injury, a robotic arm holding a spray can lowered itself to his level and doused him with a scent so cloying Rocket went green.

"I'm gonna go, go, go there's no stopping me!"

He did not give Behemoth the satisfaction of carrying him around anymore and kept a few paces ahead of the cyborg as he made his way towards his possible doom.

"I'm burning through the sky, two hundred degrees, that's why they call me Mister Fahrenheit."

Freddie Mercury bravely held back the worst of his demons as Rocket passed by corridors that had haunted his nightmares for years.

"I'm having such a good time, I'm having a ball." Rocket's tail was gently swishing by the time they reached the lobby. It looked exactly the same as it had all those years ago when he'd first seen the sky.

"Don't stop me now." He was fairly certain Behemoth wanted nothing more than to strangle him.

"If you wanna have a good time, just give me a call!"

"Welcome home, P13." The music ended and Rocket snapped back into reality. There was the familiar note of panic, but he was ready for it. He'd known it was coming and he had prepared for it. He was most likely going to die. And he had decided that if he was, he was going out the way Groot had.

Brave. In a blaze of glory. And lacking a friend to comfort with his dying words, Rocket would settle for violently insulting someone's mother.

He licked his lips and considered the Shoplu cuffs. He didn't dare to hope for anything but there was a very small chance that he didn't die.

Rocket took a deep breath, and despite the sensation of a dozen pins and needles prickling his fur he turned towards the voice and grinned with all his pointed teeth. "Hey, what's with the face?"

Footnote: So, I'm sure many of you people who read fanfics and especially those who write fanfics are familiar with what I would call the 'initial image'- the first thing you see in your head that you then proceed to build a story around. I usually build stories around a combination of a few 'initial images'- I come up with a few cool scenes and then come up with ways they tie together/build towards each other etc etc

I have so much fun writing Batch 89's dynamic with Rocket- they're nice to him because they're naturally just really nice- but from their perspective he is a hyper-violent raccoon with emotional issues who says crazy things like 'you named yourself after your teeth' or 'you were perfect!'

I debated for a while whether or not Rocket mumble-singing the lyrics of 'Don't Stop Me Now' was a bit out of character- I know he does it in 3 but is it maybe too early at this point- but I also know Rocket was humming stuff to himself before he heard any of Quill's music and liked music when he first heard it and he's full on listening to it in Vol 2 which is not set long after Vol 1 so I digress. I imagine the tunes grew on him quickly, he just didn't let the others see it at first. And when faced with the prospect of death and experimentation and pain and misery and with noone who's opinion matters to you watching, why not have a good time?

I also thought it'd be a clever way to implement the musical beats from the movies into the fic without having to tell you guys 'hey at some point this chapter start listening to XYZ to get into the vibe of the scene'. Really curious to seeing what you guys think of that, and also any other thoughts/comments you had.

Next week we either swap back to the Guardians for an action-packed slap fest oooooooor we get Rocket and the HE's face-off. Haven't made up my mind yet x3

Sire turned away. He was the first to break the staredown and Rocket wasn't sure whether or not that was a good thing, but it sure felt like a victory.

"THEEL!" Sire cried, in a voice barely holding back rage.

The blast doors burst open, and in scurried the piggy little recorder. "Yes Sire, I shall dispose of the-" He came to an abrupt halt, the rest of his sentence cut short by the realisation that Rocket was grinning at him. And not dead.

The raccoon waved. "Hiiiiiiii."

Theel was too dumbfounded to offer a reply.

The High Evolutionary chose to ignore the interaction and went on addressing his chief recorder. "You will escort P13 to the medbay. I can't stand the sight of his pitiful limp. Tend to his-"

"Hell no." Rocket spat, giving voice to what he and Theel were both thinking. "I tend to my own frickin' hurts, Sire. Last thing I need is this fat-fingered flarknard-"

"YOU WILL HOLD YOUR TONGUE!" Sire roared, and the raccoon's muzzle snapped shut. The last thing he needed was to talk himself back into immediate danger. "Theel, you will escort P13 to the medbay and keep an eye on him while he tends to his injuries. Tell Vim to arrange a ship, and bring him anything within reason that he might require. You will both find me in the observatory." Sire turned back to glare at Rocket, his face twisted in pure revulsion. "We have a deal, P13. Now get out of my sight."

Rocket did not need to be told twice, and practically skipped out of the lobby. He'd have preferred to take his time with it, really rub his continued survival into his creator's face, but there was only so much he was ready to gamble with. The doors slammed shut behind him, narrowly avoiding his tail-tip, and Rocket found himself breathing a sigh of relief.

He was still alive… Somehow… he was still alive…

Peter raced along the streets of Corix, the overgrown goblin (Gamora had said a bunch of names earlier but Quill had no idea which one belonged to the polearm-wielding maniac chasing after him) in hot pursuit. Despite the former Ravager's periodic use of his rocket boots to clear crowds and similar obstacles, Glaive was gaining on him. Not for the first time Peter found himself wondering why so many alien species physically eclipsed Terrans… or well, half-Terrans in his case.

"Santa called, he wants his little helper back!" he called, lobbing a gravity mine behind his back.

Corvus cut it clean in half before it hit the ground, but was unable to do the same for the ball of lightning Quill fired right after.

"Normally I don't really do this, but I kind of get the impression you're a bad guy sooooo," Quill swapped his ammo feed and filled the air with the sound of his blasters.

Corvus staggered, but seemed to be made of the same impervious material as Drax. Seeing that his weaponry was having no effect on the extraterrestrial, beyond pissing him off even more, the legendary Star-Lord went right back to running for his life.

He'd been planning on doing it a bit more gracefully but in his haste to get away and activate his rocket boots, Quill fell on his face. Very grateful that he already had his mask active, he found himself sliding across the ground and right into a crowd of black market shoppers who promptly fell over like skittles.

Luckily, he was used to falling over and quickly managed to climb to his feet.

Unfortunately, Glaive had caught up to him.

Quill only just managed to duck under the weapon's initial swing.

"If this is about Gamora I'd just like to say we're not official!" Peter scrambled backwards, as dumb as it sounded he could feel the blade slicing through the very air in front of him. "Well, not yet anyways."

"Die quietly!" Corvus snarled. "I have no interest in your chatter."

"But we do have an unspoken thing," Quill went on, grabbing a bottle of highly concentrated Baddoon wine from one of the stands and throwing it at his opponent. "The name's Quill by the way!" he called, planting a boot into Glaive's middle and simultaneously activating the attached rockets so that he flew backwards and set the wine aflame. "Peter Quill. But you can call me Star-Lord!"

Quill knew better than to think he'd won though and wasted no time fleeing the scene. His instincts were rewarded, for Corvus slammed into the Milano's windshield just as it closed behind him.

The former Ravager couldn't hold back a bit of the wild laughter that often came from the relief of surviving a brush with death. It turned into a shriek as Corvus stabbed the point of his glaive straight through the aeroglass and lacking any better ideas, Quill raced out of the cockpit and into the Milano's common area.

"I am Groot!" greeted the tree, lifting Rocket's infoglass off the table and proudly holding it for Quill to see.

"Not now Groot- hey that actually looks really-" he came to an abrupt halt, tilted his head to the side so that it matched the screen and read Groot's messy handwriting. "'Rocket needs halp'- you mispelled 'help' there- oh shit!"

The sound of shattering glass from upstairs forced Peter to repeat himself and reminded him of the reason he'd come here in the first place.

"You run fast Terran," Corvus called, sounding ever so slightly out of breath. "But not nearly fast enough." The alien ignored the stairs entirely and leapt down into the common area. The grin he wore vanished instantly at the sight of the Hadron Enforcer his opponent was wielding.

"I beg to differ. Hasta la vista, baby." Quill pulled the trigger… and recalled an incident from earlier in the cycle.

"How are they a health hazard?" Drax demanded, frowning at the grinning Rocket he was currently losing an argument to. "My blades would never spontaneously combust."

"Neither would my guns!" The raccoon pointed out, far more certain of that fact than anyone else in the room. "Your knives are always gonna be sharp- sure they'd get dull eventually but you can still stab someone with 'em. But my stuff? Lose the ammo and they're just fancy-looking lumps of metal. Even you, my beautiful, moon-busting darling." And here Rocket gave the Hadron Enforcer a kiss.

It was still a heavy fancy-looking lump of metal so Quill's next move was throwing the whole thing at Corvus and watching in horror as the Hadron Enforcer was sliced clean in two.

He turned to Groot. "Don't tell Rocket I did that!" Because if Gamora's brother didn't kill him, the raccoon definitely would.

Only now did Corvus seem to notice the tree's presence. His grin returned and Quill felt a pit open in his stomach as he realised he was no longer Glaive's primary target.

"Don't worry Terran. He won't get the chance to."

"I am Groot!" the tree roared in defiance, drawing a root out of the ground and forming it into a leg.

"What fine last words." Glaive raised his glaive for the killing blow.

Quill threw the first thing his fist closed on at his opponent and by sheer luck- it happened to be Rocket's prototype aerorig. It hit Corvus on the back of the head and the nanotech instantly burst into life, spreading a crude breastplate over the alien's face and causing him to miss Groot entirely and slice through the table instead.

"I am Grooooot!" Groot cried in alarm as his pot fell to the ground and shattered around him.

With a similar, albeit muffled sound, Corvus raised a hand to wrench the nanotech off, only for the jetpack to burst into life and bounce him into the bulkhead.

Quill wasted no time pressing his advantage, grabbed the screaming Corvus by the legs, and swung him in the direction of an open door. The jetpack shut off abruptly, and turned back on again- sending Glaive flying into Rocket's room.

Without pausing to think, Quill slammed the door shut behind him- and just in the nick of time because he could hear the tell-tale click of one of Rocket's homemade explosives. There was a deafening BOOM! as the entire Milano shook from the impact and smoke rose even from between the cracks of the blast door.

If that doesn't stop the guy then nothing will… Quill whirled back around. "Groot! Groot you okay?"

"I am Groot!" Groot grooted in the affirmative, visibly delighted by the apparent destruction. He was forming legs out of his roots, surrounded by the shattered remains of his old pot.

"Good. I'm glad." He jabbed a thumb at the blast door. "If Rocket asks… that idiot did that all by himself, okay?"

"I am Groot?" Groot rubbed two fingers together in the universal symbol of 'payment' and Quill didn't need Rocket to translate to know that the tree was asking 'What's in it for me?'

"Er- my entire supply of jellybeans?"

"I am Groot." Groot put a hand on his chin as if considering the offer.

"And my marshmallows too?"

"I am Groot." Groot beamed, clapping his hands together in pure delight.

Peter shook his head in disbelief. "Good to see Rocket's already taught you everything you need to know about extortion."

Rocket had never liked Theel. Theel was the cruel one who made testing and modification hurt more than it should have. Theel was the one who threw him back into his cage with unnecessary force. Theel was the one who had never pretended Rocket was anything more than a freak... Somehow that made Rocket hate him less. Sure, the guy was a krutacking scutstain, but at least he'd never lied...

"So, how've you been?" Rocket asked conversationally as the two rode an elevator down to the medbay.

Theel merely glanced down at him, his face twisted in disgust.

"Don't look at me like that. It's your fault I'm this way."

"And your fault you're still alive," Theel shot back with that insipid little snarl of his.

Rocket snarled back. Much more impressively. "Did you know that what you guys did to me is banned in every major system in the galaxy? Do you know how bad something's gotta be for every major system to agree that it's that bad?"

"I hope you're not stupid enough to expect an apology," the recorder sneered, ushering Rocket forwards as the doors opened with a 'bing!'

Briefly, Rocket wondered if building a flamethrower out of the thermostat and barbecuing his toady would make Sire reconsider their agreement. Probably not, but Rocket knew better than to test him and Theel was not worth risking his life for. Besides, what had he been expecting? It was a little too late for apologies.

"A 'sorry' would be nice. But the first thing I want are some frickin' clothes." He clambered onto the too-big med-table so he and the recorder were at eye level. "I get you guys were going to kill me and all, but did you really have to take my pants off for that?"

Theel glared at him, his piggy little eyes awash with confusion. No doubt he wasn't used to taking orders from any of Sire's experiments.

Rocket went on. "You know my measurements, and I ain't doing any job for Sire butt-naked. I also want six of those memory thingies Sire made. Two times as many communicators, because those always blow up and I'll need some spares if I wanna keep in touch, and I'll need some containment modules matching- hang on-" he scratched a bunch of numbers onto the table and underlined them twice. "-These specifications exactly. Six at least, but eight or nine would be better. Oh and I need a ceramic twelve inches in diameter. I ain't picky about the colour but it's gotta have flower patterns on the side and it can't be yellow."

Theel raised an eyebrow in confusion.

Rocket shrugged. "I took up gardening."

"Anything else?" The recorder demanded icily.

"Yeah, actually, I'd like some frickin' ice cream, with sprinkles on top. Any flavour but chocolate, I'm not picky. And while you're at it I want a gun. Again, not picky, but Lylla crumpled mine earlier and as a general rule I don't go anywhere without-"

"You can't have a gun." Theel snapped. "I don't know what you did to Sire to convince him to keep you alive but-"

"Sire said to get me anything I asked for," Rocket interrupted.

"Within reason."

"A gun is reasonable!" The raccoon raised a paw to silence the recorder. "Do you think I'm stupid? Be honest."

After a long pause Theel spat out a 'Yes'.

Rocket was momentarily stunned that Theel had the balls to say that to his face. Then he scoffed and crossed his arms over his chest. "And what exactly does that make you seeing as I'm the smartest one here?" He jabbed a claw at the thermostat. "I could turn that into an improvised flamethrower in two minutes flat. I can turn a medpack into a deathpack in half that time. If I wanted to kill you- and for the record I very much do- and if I could get away with it, you'd already be dead!" Rocket let the threat linger for a moment, watching with some satisfaction as Theel's face went three shades paler before sighing in resignation. "Unfortunately for all parties involved, I can't. You saw how that trick ended with Sire, I ain't gonna try it again. I just want a gun for the sake of having one. The bigger the better."

Properly cowed, the recorder nodded apprehensively. "Anything else?"

"No, that'll be all." Rocket shooed Theel away and got to work on himself.

Nothing was broken, he'd sprained his leg, his shoulder had bruised and he had a gash on his forehead that was a little too visible for his liking. The last thing he needed after a day like this was the others fussing over him. He did his best to make it small and cover it with his fur but it was a token effort. In any case there was nothing to do for his limp but walk it off and no way of doing that without the Guardians noticing. The last thing he wanted was their pity but if that's what it took to survive, so be it. He'd done worse.

Theel returned with the items he requested and Rocket found himself biting back a snarl as he clambered into far-too-big clothes. But he could disintegrate them later, first he had to get the hell out of the metaphorical blast zone. More tempted than ever to murder Theel, Rocket checked the bag to make sure everything he requested was there, and grunted in approval of the recorder's choice of ceramic.

"So what now?" the raccoon asked, slinging the too-big bag over his shoulder.

"Sire is expecting you," Theel said, smirking at the dread that momentarily flashed across Rocket's face.

"Can't skip the goodbyes, can I?" the raccoon grumbled half-heartedly, already knowing the answer. "Say Theel, how much manpower do you think Sire would spend on getting your brain back?"

They both knew the answer to that question and that wiped the smile right off the recorder's face. Rocket busied himself with the ice cream, casually twirling the blaster around with his other paw and delighting in how much it made Theel squirm. He did his best to ignore the distant chattering of lower life forms that called to him from a dark corridor that Rocket knew lead to the cold, cramped cages he'd once called home...

Behemoth stood guard in front of the Observatory and glared bloody murder as Rocket tossed him the cornetto wrapper.

"Incinerate this for me, will ya?"

The doors hissed open and Rocket strode in. Sire had his back to him, and stood in front of a glass panel overlooking a brightly-lit white room.

"I apologise if the articles of clothing are not to your tastes. We don't generally play dress up with our experiments."

"Apology not accepted. No harm done though, not that you'd ever ask but pink is my favourite colour. I think it really brings out my…" Rocket trailed off as he found himself standing besides the High Evolutionary and followed his gaze to where it fell upon Batch 89.

Floor, J0100 and Lylla were holding appendages, and skipping around in a wide circle around Teefs who had his flippers over his eyes. It wasn't a game Rocket was familiar with, but they were all wearing stupid grins so it must have been a fun one.

That knocked the fight out of him harder than any amount of gravity manipulation. He placed a paw on the glass, and watched as Teefs pointed a flipper at Floor, who promptly fell over laughing.

"How are they still alive?" Rocket asked, voice husky as he failed utterly at making it sound like a casual inquiry.

Sire's lips twisted into a smile. "I can create complex, intelligent life out of generic biomatter and you think I'm incapable of patching up a few bullet holes? What you should be asking is why."

"Why, then?" the raccoon grumbled, too tired to do anything but play along.

"You see, when you took advantage of my, ah, lapse in judgement, I had an epiphany. Brainmatter is more than just the workings of biochemistry. Nature could only go so far. Nurture was almost as important. So, having lost you I brought Batch 89 back to life- I suspended their incineration and let them continue developing. I then went about trying to replicate you. It was… difficult, some might say wasteful even. I feel like J0100 has come quite close but alas, no pale reflection can hold a candle to the original."

Rocket shuddered.

Sire didn't care enough for Batch 89 to discuss them further and instead turned to frown at Rocket. "Theel said you requested memory transmitters. Why?"

Grateful for the change of subject, Rocket shrugged and turned to meet his inquiry with a scowl. "Might come in handy. I come across anyone who might know something about the stones, I stick one on their head and see if they know anything. Took a bunch so I can improve on the design a bit, and make some spares if I need 'em. It's a long shot but I've already got one target in mind." Rocket gave the blaster a casual twirl. "You ever heard of the Collector? He's some rich douche with fancy clothing and awful taste in housekeeping. Before we saved Xandar we tried selling him the d'ast orb and-"

"And it stands to reason that if Tivan expressed an interest in one, he would be similarly interested in others." Sire gave him another one of those repulsive proud smiles. "A reasonable deduction."

"I figures I don't even need to look too hard for him. We kinda blew up his collection the last time we were there and well, something tells me he ain't too happy about that. The modules are to contain the stones- they mess you up a bit if you touch them directly- and the comms are so I can send you discreet messages and whatnot. I'll tinker them some, make them one-way lines. Harder to trace, easier to wipe if necessary."

"The gun?"

"I just wanted a gun." Rocket shrugged. "My current gameplan is to meet back up with the other Guardians, act like none of this happened, and then continue business as usual. There's a small chance we run into a stone beforehand and if that does happen I'll let you know. Most likely though that purple one on Xandar's first on the list. I'll send word as soon as I've got a shot at it. That's when I'll need you to send them in, with orders to follow any plan I make."

"Well then," Sire turned away with a flourish, and clapped his hands in apparent delight. "It sounds like you're all set to go."

"Not quite." Rocket jabbed a claw back at the glass without looking. "I want five minutes."

"You've grown sloppy, Gamora," Proxima taunted as sparks flew from their clashing weaponry. "Tell me, was it the Terran or father's favouritism that made you so weak?"

"You are the one too weak to see that what you're doing is wrong," Gamora shot back, twisting her sword around and sending the three-pronged spear flying out of her sister's grip.

"We're balancing the universe," Proxima snarled, drawing another blade in time to parry Gamora's killing blow. "Bringing life and joy to countless worlds and civili-"

An elbow to the face cut short the rest of her sentence. Gamora followed up with a sweep of her legs that knocked Proxima onto her back. "You talk too much," the zehoberei snapped, stabbing her sword down.

Proxima only just managed to roll out of the way. She got to her feet, and managed to retrieve her spear as Gamora drew her blade from out of the ground. "I will enjoy watching father's retribution."

"I do not fear father."

"Yes you do." Proxima sneered. "But do not worry, Nebula will not be long in joining you. And then Father will be certain to favour me." A bolt of plasma flew out of her spear, and Gamora only just managed to deflect it. "I will be his favourite daughter. His only daughter!"

"Perhaps you already are," Drax mused, and Gamora swore the Kylosian had a way of being invisible sometimes. He was dripping wet, and for some reason still wearing a shower cap.

Proxima whirled on the spot to face her new opponent and was rewarded with a fist to the face.

Batch 89 were so enthralled in their strange new game that they didn't notice the raccoon standing awkwardly at the doorway. He still wasn't entirely sure what the rules were, but when Lylla moved her paws out of her face and pointed at Floor the rabbit fell over with a squeal of delight that simultaneously toppled Teefs and J0100.

"Again! Again!"

"Give us a minute L, I'm exhausted," Teefs wheezed out between chuckles. "I know all days are the same length but this one felt particularly… long."

"You can thank Maskface for that, 95." J0100 sat up, and grinned toothily. "Or should I call you 'Denticle'?"

They all laughed at that and Rocket felt a pit form inside of him. Emotionally unprepared to know what his Batchmates thought of him behind his back, the raccoon cleared his throat with unnecessary volume.

"P13!" Floor cheered, as if oblivious to the fact that she'd just been laughing at him. The rest had the grace to look somewhat ashamed.

"Hey," said Rocket, voice small. He regretted asking for this. He should have just left. Now Sire would know just how pathetic he was… He stared at his fellow freaks. It was still hard to believe they were real but the soreness he felt definitely was... Rocket resisted the urge to pinch himself.

"Everything okay?" asked Lylla, and Rocket realized he'd been staring and turned his eyes to the floor.

"Not yet no, but er- it will be. Sire's got a job for me, well- for us actually so we'll see each other again. Er- soon, maybe."

"That sounds good," Lylla sounded more uncertain than she'd probably intended to be.

"Y-yeah, I think." There came another awkward pause as Rocket struggled to form his next sentence. "I wanted…" he cleared his throat. "The last time I was here… When I left I didn't get the chance to say goodbye. So er- I'm doing that now."

"You mean you're leaving already?" asked J0100.

"But you just got here!" Teefs protested.

"Play one more game first?" pleaded Floor, and Rocket was sorely tempted… but he knew Sire was watching and he knew the longer he stayed the more likely he was to turn into an emotionalistic mess.

"Not right now I er- like I said I just came to say goodbye. So er- see you later, I guess." With an awkward half-wave, Rocket turned to leave, tail swishing behind him. Thankfully, the soundproof door slammed shut before he caught their goodbyes.

He glared at the smirking Theel, and adjusted his grip on Groot's ceramic. "Alright, that's done. I don't wanna spend another minute on this hunk of junk. What ship am I taking?"

He was lead to the spaceport, where Sire was already waiting for him besides a small, one-man ship, eerily similar in design to the one Rocket had first escaped with.

"I hope you know you're not as funny as you think you are," the raccoon grumbled.

Sire grinned at that. "Safe travels, P13. I look forwards to keeping in-"

"Cut the crap." Rocket snapped, too tired to care that he was risking far too much by talking back. "You hate me. I hate you. I'm doing you a solid coz you have something I want and the only reason I'm still breathing is because I can get you something you want. What we have is strictly transactional. I step a toe out of line, I die horribly. What's the point of pretending any different?"

Sire's smile curdled like milk. "I expect frequent updates."

"You'll get your updates," the raccoon grunted, clambering into the cockpit and adjusting the too-big controls so that they were easier for him to manage.

"Sire, with all due respect," Theel whispered. "I'm not sure trusting him is-"

"Making me was the mistake, Theel!" Rocket snapped again, more annoyed than anything because if any idiot should know how good his hearing was, it was one of the idiots responsible for his existence. "And for the record, Sire ain't trusting me. Sire's trusting my sense of self-preservation and seeing as I'm still alive and having this conversation with you, and y'know not a fellow rug, I'd say it's a good bet I'll keep my word. I'm the one with no reason to think he'll stick to his."

Sire smiled pointedly at that. "Safe travels, P13."

Rocket slammed the windshield shut without another word, fired up the engines and wasted no time blasting out of the spaceport and into the dull and desolate sky.

Quill had sadly left earth before Avatar the Last Airbender was a thing, but had he watched the show he a) would have liked it a lot and b) he'd have instantly likened Ebony and Cosmo's duel to a bending battle. It was easily the greatest Agni Kai in the history of Corix 85 (nevermind that there was no actual fire involved). Chunks of building, shopping stands, the occasional vehicle- the two were endlessly hurling anything and everything at each other. Ebony was making wide sweeping movements with his arms, Cosmo had her teeth bared into a growl and was crouched low against the ground.

It was awesome!

And also kind of terrifying. Funny how often those two things went hand in hand.

Seeing he would have little chance in the battle and was likely to become a projectile if he got too close, Peter instead rushed towards what remained of the bar this had all started in, the no-longer pot-bound Groot holding onto his shoulder.

Quill burst inside just in time to see Gamora swing Proxima into Drax's waiting fist. Thanos' most gothic daughter hit the ground like a limp noodle.

Gamora was the first to notice him. And she also immediately noticed that he hadn't come with the ship. "Where's the Milano?"

"The windshield got smashed open and all of Rocket's bombs went off so I didn't want to risk flying it."

"Why did you bring Groot?" she demanded, the lack of a getaway vehicle no longer her chief concern.

"Because I didn't want to leave him by himself!"

"So you brought him into the middle of a warzone!?"

The entire front wall of the bar was promptly torn off it's foundation and twisted into a giant fist. Cosmo countered by catching it in a roof-turned-sheet-of-paper.

Drax did what he did best in all situations (especially life or death ones) and stated the obvious. "We have to take down the telepath!"

"And how are we supposed to do that?" Gamora demanded. "If we had the element of surprise we'd stand a chance, but if we try to strategise now he'll read our thoughts and know what we're planning and if we rush in without a plan-"

"I have an idea!" Quill tore Groot off his shoulder and handed the sapling to Gamora. "I'll distract him."

"Peter! A dance-off won't- PETER!"

Peter ignored her and rushed out of the bar, frantically waving his arms around like some kind of mutant bird trying to fly. "Hey! Hey you guys! Time out! Time out!"

With a wave of his hand, Ebony sent a dozen razor-sharp needles hurtling towards him. Cosmo only just managed to grind them to a halt an inch from the Terran's face.

"Comrade Star-Lord! What are you doing!?"

"Oh my gosh you got my outlaw name right the first time!"

"You think very much about it..."

Remembering that this was not the time or place for that conversation, Quill turned his full attention to the all-grown-up Child Of Thanos. "I just wanted to say there's this big, big misunderstanding going on."

"I know you're not Gamora's boyfriend," Maw snapped. "We were being condescending earlier. Traitor though she may be, Gamora can do better than the likes of you."

"I wasn't talking about that!" Quill whined. "And for the record we have-"

"We do not have an unspoken thing!" Gamora called out from wherever she had gone.

"We have an unspoken thing!" Peter went on earnestly. "But that's not what I- I didn't- we're working it out, okay? But no what I meant was, Gamora never betrayed her dad!"

"Yes she did!" came Drax's voice.

"She betrayed Ronan!" Quill insisted.

Ebony and Cosmo shared a look, shrugged, and the needles fell to the ground.

"She was meant to bring the orb to-"

"We gave it to Nova to earn their trust!" Peter insisted. "It's genius! If they ever find any more of those infinite infinity thingamawhatsists we'll be the first ones to know! And then, when we have them," Quill smiled, gestured at Maw and winked conspiratorially. "Well, you know what happens."

"Do you?"

The Legendary Star-Lord blinked stupidly. "Do I what?"

"Know what happens."

"Noooooo, but- but that's a good thing!" Peter gestured at himself. "Dude! Ask anyone, I am a dumbass! If Gamora told me about it I'd probably find a way to screw it up!"

"I don't believe you."

"I mean, I've been told I look like a smart guy but-"

"You are lying," Maw decided. "Trying to buy time for some foolish plan my sister has conjured up." The needles were once more raised off the ground, vibrating from the force of rival telekinetic holds.

"Waitwaitwait! You're a telepath, right?" Peter tapped the side of his head. "Read my mind and you'll see I'm telling the truth." Quill closed his eyes and frantically gestured for Maw to come closer. "Go on, look at what's inside."

Maw hesitated, but must have figured there was nothing the Terran could do to harm him and did as he was bid.

That was his biggest mistake.

What Ebony Maw saw there could only be described as unfathomable horror. A fraction of a second later, he fell to knees, shrieking in pain and clutching at eyes that seemed to be bleeding. The shopping cart Cosmo slammed into the side of his head must have come as a relief.

"Another decisive victory for the forces of justice!" the labrador cheered, before immediately falling over from exhaustion.

"I am Groot!" said Groot, as Drax and Gamora emerged from where they'd been sneaking up on Maw.

Quill raised a hand. "For the record, Drax-"

"There is no need to clarify. I knew you were lying." He nodded at Gamora. "The leaf woman is the most morally conscientious being among us."

"Not a high bar," Gamora rolled her eyes, lips nevertheless twitching into a smile.

"She also lacks the skills in deception necessary for what you proposed to be true."

The zehoberei chose to ignore that, and gave the prone form of Ebony Maw an obligatory kick in the ribs. "What did you do to him?"

Quill shrugged. "Let's just say I've been with waaaaaaaay too many freaky-looking chicks."

Gamora shook her head in disbelief. "That is repulsive, Peter."

Once more surrounded by the familiar, inky void of space, Rocket found himself breathing a humongous sigh of relief. He was still breathing. Still in one piece. He had talked his way out of certain death. He had escaped his twenty-fourth prison…

And then he groaned and slammed his face into the control panel because he wasn't out yet and if anything, was more trapped than ever.

"FLARK THIS! FLARK ME! FLARK EVERYTHING!" He glared at his reflection in the windshield. "You really screwed up this time."

Rocket wasn't stupid enough to think that Sire would let him live, even in the unlikely event he did acquire all the stones. Gods did not bargain with ants even if they pretended to…

Nevermind that getting all the stones was nothing short of frickin' impossible. He knew the location of exactly one and it was currently in the most highly secure location in the entire Nova Empire. Assuming he, Teefs, Floor, Lylla and The Jackass (hardly the ideal crew for a backwater bank job- sure they'd proven themselves formidable but they had also proven themselves cowardly, overexciteable, inexperienced and all of the above respectively) managed to get it, they'd still have five left and no idea where to start.

Assuming they got that far, they'd also be the most wanted batch of lab rats in the galaxy…

And he'd also have to betray his current crew just to get to that point, which was not a prospect Rocket looked forward to. Drax and Gamora were both formidable opponents who could squish him like a bug if it ever came to it and Quill was no slouch either. They'd be a massive pain in the ass if they got involved and they almost certainly would. Worse than all that, they were his friends. Or well, the closest thing he had to friends now that Groot was gone and the rest of Batch 89 thought he was some kind of idiot.

And he'd have to spit in the face of their stupid friendship, and run off with an orb they had agreed to give to Nova in exchange for clean records… and he couldn't even tell them why.

While the Guardians undoubtedly cared about him, there was always a chance they'd decide Rocket and a bunch of freaks were not worth risking universal peace for. There was the equally likely possibility that they'd try something stupid and heroic and get caught in the crossfire and die horribly. Frankly, Rocket wasn't sure which of those frightened him more.

Groot would have understood. It was far too much of a burden for Rocket to unload on the sapling he'd planted (and Rocket had already decided that he'd do everything in his power to keep the new Groot away from all of this), but the old Groot would have known what to do.

"I wish you were here, bud." Rocket sighed. "You always were the smart one."

The defeated form of Proxima was unceremoniously dumped besides Ebony Maw. Both were tightly bound with telekinetically twisted scraps of metal and Gamora had had the foresight to stick an automatic taser to the back of Maw's head so that if he so much as thought of using his telekinesis he'd fry his own brain.

"You know, Cosmo we're not exactly loaded with cash but if you want to charge us for this-"

"Nyet, it's fine. I am happy to help."

"Alright." Quill gestured at their defeated opponents. "So what should we do with them?"

"I am Groot," suggested Groot from his current perch on Gamora's shoulder.

"I say we kill them," Drax strode over and gave the stirring Midnight a kick to the head. "They are Thanos' ilk. Each one more vile and murderous than the last. Between them they have ended countless lives." He shrugged. "However, the quarrel I have with them is not a personal one, thus the decision lies with Gamora."

He said it so matter-of-factly that Peter and Cosmo both turned towards the assassin in search of an answer.

She did not express emotion in the same over-the-top way Quill, Rocket or even Drax did, but Peter could tell that she was undecided. And having some idea of what it was like to have the closest thing you had to a family try and kill you (thanks Yondu!), the former Ravager found himself clearing his throat.

"It seems a little dishonourable to kill them now that we've already kicked their asses, don't you think?"

With a rush of gratitude, Gamora gave him the ghost of a smile. "Nova prefers to take bounties alive," she nodded. "If nothing else we can at least make this trip a profitable one."

Drax grunted in understanding, and Quill figured it went unspoken that Gamora herself preferred to take them in alive.

"Alright, let me just get Dey on," Peter pulled Rocket's infoglass out of his satchel and keyed in their handler's comm code. "What time is it on Xandar?"

"Twelve o'clock," supplied Drax.

Five minutes later, they were rewarded with the sight of a very groggy Dennarian Dey, clad in a nightgown with deep ravens under his eyes.

"Twelve o'clock as in midnight?" Gamora asked, voice perfectly deadpan.

"Yes," replied Drax.

The Legendary Star-Lord put on his most winning smile. "Heeeey, Dey."

"Quill," returned Dey, trying and failing to rub sleep from his eyes. "To what do I owe the-" he paused to yawn. "The pleasure?"

"Okay first off real sorry for waking you- timezones, amiright? Secondly, would the Nova Corps be interested in cashing in on a few bounties for highly-wanted genocidal maniacs?"

Dey raised an eyebrow. "Who're you considering?"

"Er-" Quill turned to Gamora who recited the needlessly complicated names with practiced ease.

"Corvus Glaive, Proxima Midnight, Ebony Maw."

"The Black Order!?" Dey tugged at the front of his nightgown and swallowed audibly. He was definitely wide awake now. "Th-that's a little bit above your paygrade don't you think? I'm not sure I would recommend doing-"

"We've already defeated them," Drax explained. He gave a hearty guffaw at Dey's look of confusion. "And before you ask, no! We did not need to tear out their spines to do so!"

The Nova Corpsman turned Dennarian blinked. "You… beat them?"

Quill shrugged. "Yeah. Er- I can confirm that two of them are still alive." He turned to Gamora. "I should probably have mentioned this earlier but one of them er- flew into Rocket's room earlier and… let's just say I'm reeeeeeeally glad we got him to install those blast doors."

"W-we'd be more than happy to take them in," Dey replied, frantically typing into his screen. "Where are you guys now?"

"Corix 85," chorused the Guardians.

"You took them out in their own turf!?" Dey exclaimed, sounding equal parts astounded and delighted. Then his face fell. "That's… outside Nova jurisdiction. You'd have to bring them to the nearest outpost-"

"Tharvis K-8." Gamora supplied.

Dey nodded. "Get them there and we'll handle the rest. I'm not sure what their bounties look like off the top of my head, but these are some of the most wanted beings in the Galaxy we're talking about. How'd you get the big guy?"

Quill blinked. "The… big guy?"

Drax echoed Peter's confusion. "They all seemed to be of similar heights to me."

"SISTER!"

As one the Guardians looked up and found themselves facing the big guy. Cull Obsidian was easily the biggest sentient alien Quill had ever seen, and was currently glaring at them from the other end of the obliteration that had once been Corix' main street.

"Dey lemme call you back!" Peter tapped out of the call as besides him, Gamora drew her blade with a groan and Drax did the same with a bark of delighted laughter.

"I am Groot!"

"Cosmo, we could er- really use the backup on this one too, I think."

"Give me… five minutes…" the labrador groaned. "I feel like I've had eight bottles of vodka."

Cull tore forwards with a roar- and was instantly taken out by the one-man ship that slammed into the side of his head. The unfamiliar craft hit the ground spinning, and came to an abrupt halt a short distance away from where the dumbfounded Guardians stood, showering them in dust.

Peter really shouldn't have been surprised when Rocket clambered out, dragging an overly-large satchel behind him and wearing cherry pink clothes several sizes too big for him. But he was. Because how was he supposed to have seen any of that coming?

The raccoon gave the surrounding mayhem a quick once-over and failed spectacularly at acting surprised. "Woah! You guys really went to town here, huh?" He noticed the looks they were all giving him and cleared his throat awkwardly. "I got the thing!" he smiled almost pleadingly, and thrust Groot's new pot out like a lifeline.

Footnote: Longest chapter yet and fair warning, I fear they will only get longer from here x3 Next week an especially fun chapter I've been looking forwards to for a while because the Guardians are once again all in the same 'room' together!

Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed, lemme know what you think!

Please don't be mad, please don't be mad, please don't be mad and pleasanton'taskwheretheflarkIwasbecauseIdon'twannatalkaboutit! Thought Rocket, almost pleading as he held out the flower-patterned ceramic as a peace offering.

He nearly fell over from the force of Groot landing on his face with a delighted cry of 'I am Groot!'

"Yeah, yeah, you big softie," the raccoon grumbled with unnecessary gruffness as he patted the top of the plant's head. "I missed you too." He set the pot down and began the arduous struggle of peeling the sapling off his face. A minute or so into wrestling with Groot, he realised for the second time that he was being stared at.

Quill and Drax (who for some reason was wearing a shower cap?) were looking at him with the same wide-eyed, open-mouthed look that suggested they'd seen a ghost, whereas Gamora was regarding him coolly, her arms crossed over her chest. No doubt the assassin had already taken in his ship, his clothes, the cut on his forehead, the way he was leaning slightly to one side to keep his weight off his bad leg, the sickly-sweet perfume he was wearing and had decided that something didn't add up.

Damn her.

"What?" Rocket demanded, in what he hoped was his usual semi-hostile way.

It did nothing to stop Drax from being Drax, and only confirmed Rocket's suspicion that Gamora was onto him (and possibly pissed which meant his days were numbered), but at least it knocked Quill out of his stupor.

"'What?'" the Terran threw his arms up in disbelief. "That's all you have to say?"

"Well I only said anything because you were all staring at me!"

"Three hours Rocket, we said three hours! We've been here for six and-"

Making placating gestures with his paws, the raccoon chose to cut off his fearless moron of a leader with a healthy dose of sarcasm. "Okay, okay. I'm very sorry Captain, Quill, sir. I promise and swear by all of my munitions that I will never again be out past my curfew." Rocket scoffed and crossed his arms over his chest. "So I got a little bit sidetracked, no harm done, right?"

One of the few buildings in the vicinity still left standing promptly chose to collapse in on itself.

"I was told you were dead," Drax confessed, in his usual blunt manner that told Rocket nothing about what the Destroyer had made of this news.

The raccoon opened and shut his mouth, shook his head and decided that a) he didn't want to pursue that line of dialogue and b) the best defensive measures were offensive ones. "So what if I was late!? Noone gave Drax any crap about Ecury and we were there for three cycles!"

"Ecury isn't a black market filled with people trying to kill us!" Quill protested, pointing at the large alien Rocket had crash-landed into.

"See and that's the problem!" Rocket snapped. There was an awkward pause as he recalibrated that sentence and realised it made no sense and now he looked like a d'ast frickin' idiot. Oh well, too late to back out now. "You, Quill, have an irrational hatred for black markets!"

It was a lame retort, but somehow still one the former ravager took offence to. "No I don't!"

Drax placed a firm hand on Quill's shoulder. "Yes, you do. There is no shame in it."

"So what if shopping took longer than expected?" Rocket went on, taking advantage of Quill's confusion and managing to successfully pry Groot off of his muzzle. A solid two for one. "You have any idea how hard it is to haggle for things when you live with a bunch of do-gooders who won't let you steal-"

"Rocket," Gamora took a deep breath, which told Rocket that she was far, far beyond pissed and that he would have to choose his next words very carefully. "Stop it."

Still the raccoon forced himself to meet her gaze with a defiant glare. She doesn't know. She doesn't know. She doesn't know. She can't know! "Stop what?"

"Pretending that that," she pointed at the ceramic sitting innocently between them. "Is the only reason we came here. By the way, real sloppy way to fake your death."

Rocket blinked. "You… know about that?"

"Oh yeah, we do," Quill beamed and pulled out an infoglass from his satchel.

"Is that my-?"

The tablet was spun round, proudly displaying a zoomed-in holo of a young four-armed reptiloid girl squeezing to death the 'cute' little intergalactic hero she'd seen on the holonet. Rocket winced. He'd forgotten all about the barkeep's daughter. Honestly the whole faking his death thing didn't feel like it was part of the same cycle anymore...

"Delete that!" Rocket snapped, and were it not for the fact that pouncing on the tablet would give his leg away (and they already knew something was up, they didn't need to know he was injured) he'd have ripped the infoglass out of Peter's stupid humie hands.

"Nope!" Quill took a step backwards and snapped a holo of the raccoon currently glaring daggers at him. "I like the new threads."

"I am Groot!"

Rocket sighed and sagged in defeat. "Thanks. Killer discount. Didn't come in your size. And before you ask, no, I didn't steal i-" He cut himself off with a squeak as fresh pain spiked up behind him. The raccoon did a half-turn, and found his tail locked in the jaws of another one of his former cellmates… and not one he particularly liked.

His ears fell flat against the back of his head, Cosmo's malevolent laughter reverberating inside his skull.

"We meet again, 89P13! You have no idea how long I have been waiting for this moment!"

"Oh crap." Imminent beatdown aside, keeping his ordeal a secret had just gotten a dozen times more impossible because of course the universe would throw a mindreader at him.

"Oh da! Ever since you left me on Contraxia, I was wondering what would be the most appropriate form of my righteous anger. What would reeeeeeeally get under your stitched-together skin?" She relinquished her grip on his tail, and crouched low, tail wagging in a blur of excitement.

Rocket swallowed audibly. "Er- guys… a little help here?"

"We already agreed to let the dog have their way with you," Drax shrugged. "It is out of our hands."

"Da! We had agreement!"

"What agreement?"

In response to that, Gamora gave Cosmo a grudging nod. "Go easy on him."

"C'mon guys, this isn't funny!" Rocket snapped, a note of desperation in his voice.

Quill put on his headphones and turned up the music.

It really sucks to have friends.

It was another four hours before the Guardians were ready to leave Corix 85 for good.

The outer hull around Rocket's room had needed half a dozen stitches to be made airtight again (though really it was a miracle it hadn't been blown open completely), the Milano's windshield had to be replaced, Groot had to be repotted (he wasn't supposed to be walking yet), the table had to be welded back together, the remains of the Hadron Enforcer had to be mourned over, Rocket's new ship had to be stripped of it's interior, crammed full of Gamora's siblings and subsequently attached to the Milano via a tow rope (which meant the entire journey to Tharvis K-8 would have to be done without jump-points), and finally, Rocket had to be talked into boarding.

"I ain't sharing a ship with some mangy, mind-reading mutt," the raccoon crossed his arms over his chest and shot Cosmo a glare. "Don't want her fleas getting into my fur."

"I do not have fleas!"

"Rocket, we don't have time for this!" Quill groaned, not at all used to being the voice of reason in any discussion. "You heard Gamora, it's only a matter of time until more of her crazy siblings show up and I'm not even sure how we managed to beat the first four! Unless you want to face an entire army, we've got to-"

"I don't got a problem with leaving!" Rocket snapped, and jabbed a claw at the spacedog. "I got a problem with her. Either ditch the stray or come pick me up later."

"You can always ride shotgun," Quill gestured behind them at the four faces of the Black Order squished flat against the windshield of the one man spacecraft Rocket had 'borrowed' from 'some jerk, why do you care?' The raccoon growled, but he'd been growling non-stop for the past few hours. "And if you fancy your chances against Thanos you're welcome to stay. Maybe Drax will be willing to join you."

Rocket opened and shut his mouth, grit his teeth and stormed up the ramp without another word. He made the mistake of stomping forwards on his bad leg and was unable to hide the pain that rippled across his face, but took another determined step forwards before Quill could comment on it.

Unfortunately, Star-Lord's stupid, long humie legs meant that it was all too easy for the terran to catch up to him. "Look man, if it wasn't for Cosmo, I'm not sure we'd be having this conversation right now."

"You make that sound like it's a bad thing," Rocket grumbled, exchanging glares with the dog in question as she padded past.

"She saved my life, you know."

"Yeah, and she bit my tail, smashed me into the ground and covered my face in slobber. Am I supposed to be grateful?"

Peter sighed, pressing a button so that the ramp folded itself back into place with a hiss. "We only got Cosmo to help us because we were worried-"

"I know you're idiots, Quill-"

"About you!" the terran cut him off. Rocket had no response at the ready for that, so Peter went on. "Whatever you were doing was taking forever and you weren't answering your comms and we live in a big and dangerous galaxy. We just wanted to make sure you were okay."

For a moment, complex emotion seemed to well up inside the raccoon and Quill was sure that he'd finally pierced the rock hard shell of the roasted krakulat and had gotten to the soft and squishy insides-

"Like I said, I know you're idiots." Rocket turned away and limped determinedly towards the fridge.

Drax beat him to it, picked up a beer from the top shelf and held it down to the raccoon's height. "We most certainly are. After all, only a fool would be delighted by your continued existence."

Rocket snatched the can out of his hand with a half-hearted snarl. He opened his mouth to say something (presumably mean), thought better of it and shook his head. With a sigh and a slump of his shoulders, Rocket made his way towards the cockpit. "Let's just get the flark off this planet already."

"I am Groot?" inquired the sapling from where his pot sat on Rocket's chair.

"Yeah, yeah, Gammy was right."

"I am Groot?"

"Nothing happened!" the raccoon snapped, pulling the navigation system down to his height and flicking through various nearby destinations. "Where we heading?"

"Tharvis K-8," Gamora supplied, already strapped into her seat and waiting impatiently for take off.

Rocket bit back a growl as he keyed in the coordinates. "Now I wish I had stayed behind."

"What's wrong with Tharvis?" asked Quill, as he clambered into the cockpit holding a beer can of his own.

"It's the first prison he ever broke out of," Cosmo supplied, hopping onto the terran's lap for a lack of her own seat.

"Second," Rocket corrected, slapping the navigation system back into place. "And stop doing that! I don't want your voice in my head and I don't want you lookin' at my thoughts. Bad enough I can't frickin' shoot you."

"You still owe me eighteen units."

"If that's what it takes to keep you outta-" Rocket dug into his pockets, before remembering grimly that his clothes and everything in them had been incinerated a few hours ago. "Drax, can I borrow eighteen units?"

"Well a past jailbreak shouldn't be a problem," Quill went on, as Drax handed a unit slip to Gamora who handed it to Rocket who tossed it in Cosmo's general direction. "Our records have been cleared and we're y'know, the Guardians of the Galaxy."

"A clear record's one thing, but I'm pretty sure I scratched the warden's eye out and if I learned anything today it's that some folks can hold a frickin' grudge." Rocket shuddered, strapping himself besides Groot and instinctively wrapping his tail around the sapling's pot.

"Cheer up man," Quill leaned over to give the raccoon a friendly punch to the shoulder. "Dey said these guys are some of the most wanted folks in the Galaxy- Nova's likely paying a small fortune for them. And y'know you did take out the big guy all by yourself so if you want to haggle for a quarter of it, by all means. I promise to at least consider it."

"Sure, whatever," Rocket sighed, slumping in defeat as Quill fired up the engines.

The Guardians shared a look of concern between themselves as the silence stretched on.

Eventually Gamora gave voice to what they were all wondering. "What happened?"

"Nothing happened!" the raccoon insisted. "Why do you guys keep asking me that?!"

"It is not like you to suddenly express disinterest in money," Drax explained. "Either you have been replaced by a skrull or something more urgent is weighing on your mind."

Rocket winced, and figured denial was a lost cause if even Drax had noticed something was up. "I-okay something happened!" Rocket scratched at his chest, incredibly glad that the seating arrangement meant he didn't have to face anyone. "But I dealt with it, okay?"

"I am Groot."

"I'm fine!"

"You sure man?" asked Quill, wearing an expression of genuine concern. "Coz you kinda seem a little-"

"You'd be pretty pissed if some dumbass humie incinerated all of your stuff!" Rocket snapped, going back on the offensive. He jabbed at the walkman hanging from Quill's belt. "I notice your music box ain't scratched."

"My walkman's not going to blow up just because someone fell on it!"

"And how would you like it if your stupid, oversentimental Captain hired some rabies-infested stray to bite you on the tail-"

"I do not have rabies!"

"Screw you, Cosmo!"

"Quill does not have a tail."

"Thanks Drax, I hadn't noticed!"

The Kylosian smiled. "You're welcome."

Quill took advantage of Rocket's temporary speechlessness (Drax's way of saying things had a tendency to do that to people) to get a word in. "And how would you feel if you heard one of us just up and died?"

The question caught Rocket off guard. Unprompted, a memory played out in his mind's eye.

The gunshot was deafening. Lylla stared up at the ceiling, the light fading from her eyes as they sought out a sky that wasn't there.

The raccoon shook the thought out of his head, uncomfortably aware that they'd all seen him phase out. "I'd be thrilled!" he snarled, with not nearly as much menace as he'd meant for it to carry.

Quill had the audacity to frown at him, doubt spelled out on every inch of his face. "And then you found our stuff crumpled in a ball next to a smoking pile of rubble and followed us into a sewer-"

"I taste what I touch and can smell an orloni from a quadrant out- no frickin' way am I ever following you into a sewer!"

"Fine," Quill shrugged. "Next time your stupid little ringtail needs saving, we won't bother."

"Good!"

"Good!"

"Fine!"

"Fine!" the terran huffed. There was an awkward pause, interrupted by a series of sharp indrawn breaths, and when Quill looked over he was startled to see that Rocket was rubbing tears out of his eyes. The sight was so disconcerting that he very nearly flew into Corix's moon. "Look man, I didn't mean-"

"Yes you did!" the raccoon snapped.

"I am Groot."

"No! No, it's fine, really! It's not like I ever expected any of you idiots to help!" Desperate for the familiar comfort of destruction, Rocket hurled his untouched can of beer at the controls, and as luck would have it, hit the playback button on the Milano's comm unit.

"Quill!" came the raccoon's voice, sounding far too desperate for his liking "Ahem, Quill, do you hear me? Gamora? Drax? Y'know, I'd have picked someplace nicer if I knew you guys'd be ditching me."

With almost feral chittering of rage, Rocket managed to wrestle off his seatbelt and throw himself at the comm, cutting short the rest of the message and fast-forwarding to the next one.

"Guys, I-I need an extraction."

With a snarl, the raccoon smashed the playback button again, fast-forwarding to the last message.

"Yeah, the explosions were me."

Rocket deleted the rest of the transmission but it was too late, the damage was already done. He could feel their eyes on the back of his head and there was an inexplicable pressure in his chest that made it impossible to breathe, he was panicking again, searching for something, anything that gave him a way out. He whirled on the spot and jabbed an accusatory claw at Gamora. "It's not my fault she didn't tell us about her psycho siblings!"

The assassin frowned at that. "I didn't feel the need to say anything because I assumed our stay would be a short one. I also didn't want to bring it up because you seemed hell-bent on Corix and I didn't want to make it seem like I was overruling your decision. Your turn?"

Rocket found himself at a loss for words. For a heartbeat, it was terrifyingly tempting to tell them everything. About Lylla, and Teefs, and Floor and how they had replaced him with some long-eared jackass and how he was going to have to get himself killed if he wanted to finally be free of the asshole who had created him. There was a bomb on his heart and it could blow up at any moment. He opened and shut his mouth. As much as he trusted them, he could already see their sympathy and concern turning to horror and disgust. He was just a freakish little thing, what right did he have to upend the whole universe?

"Alright," Rocket sighed, staring pointedly at his feet. "If you gotta know, some guys tried to nab me. That's why I ran into, yanno, the sewer, that's why I blew up the street, that's why I'm wearing this crap." He gestured at the stupid pink outfit. "Whatever. It's dealt with now. Finished. Over. Kaput." The raccoon sighed again, and idly scratched at his chest. "Can we please not talk about it?"

For a while noone spoke, and Rocket made the mistake of stealing a glance about the cockpit. Drax and Gamora were both stoic by nature and gave little away, but Quill looked downright guilty about pressing the issue.

"Go get some rest, man. I'll get us to Tharvis."

Rocket flared up with rage. No, no it was too easy. The idiots had no reason to be kind to him. He was lying to them. He was going to hurt them. He was going to get them killed just like Floor, Teefs and Lylla and all because he was too pathetic a coward to keep his mouth shut and die. "And where am I supposed to do that now that Quill's turned my room and everything I own to smoulders."

"I didn't-"

"Yes you did!" the raccoon snarled, and for a moment he hated every stupid thing about Peter Quill. "And you broke the Hadron Enforcer and smashed my aerorig! And then you had the audacity to get mad at me for not frickin' dying!"

"That's not-"

"Well I'm so sorry I disappointed you, Star-Munch!" Rocket went on, voice cracking. "You must have been so damn happy-"

"You know that isn't true!"

"He was crying actually!"

"Shut up, Cosmo!"

"I am Groot!"

"It's not okay! None of this is-"

"ROCKET!" Drax did not often raise (or for that matter, lower) his voice, but when he did it certainly got everyone's attention. "Use Quill's bed. He will have to stay up to pilot anyways."

"That… makes sense…" the raccoon swallowed, flabbergasted by Drax's wisdom and grateful for the escape it provided. He picked up Groot's pot from his seat and limped over to hand the sapling to the only person on board the Milano he trusted with them. "Make sure he doesn't stay up too late."

Gamora nodded, eyes focused on his leg even as she took in the way his arms were shaking. "You know, we have medpacks if you want one for your-"

Rocket shook his head. "N-nah, it's fine. I'll walk it off." He cleared his throat and gestured down the stairs towards the Milano's living quarters. "You don't mind, right, er- Quill?"

The terran only smirked at that, and it was as if Rocket's outburst had never happened, it was as if nothing had happened and they were still... friends. "Try not to get fur everywhere."

Ideally the raccoon would have returned the witty retort with one of his own, but his mind was spinning, his stomach was churning and his mouth was dry so he settled for a simple, sarcastic 'Ha-ha' and scrambled down the stairs to the relative safety of solitude.

"The beast sleeps," Drax informed the rest of the Guardians a few minutes later. "I would advise keeping your voices low so as not to wake him. Rocket does not like it when we speak of him while he is not present."

"Shouldn't you also be lowering yours?" Quill whispered.

"I hardly see the point, after all he is already asleep."

"I see he hasn't changed a bit," Cosmo sighed, leaping off of Quill's lap to occupy the raccoon's empty seat. "I thought saving the universe would maybe mellow him out a bit, but I guess jerkface will always be jerkface."

"I don't think he's normally this hostile," Peter leaned back in his chair, letting the ship cruise along the empty void. "Feels like he's always taking his rage out on me though."

"Drax is too easy a target, he is too attached to Groot and he finds me mildly intimidating," Gamora pointed out. "That leaves you and now Cosmo one of whom is a telepath, the other is three for three in your training battles. You have similar taste in music, you are both exceptional pilots-"

Quill beamed. "Did you just say I was exceptional?"

"She did."

Gamora rolled her eyes. "You're the closest thing he has to an equal, Peter."

"Would have been four to three if Drax didn't get involved."

"Not trying to say grass is green, but I feel like there's something 89P13 is not telling you."

"Rocket is indeed a beast of many mysteries," Drax agreed. "There are many things he does not tell us. He speaks not of his past, nor does he speak of the future. He does not speak of who created him, or why they would do so. He hasn't even told me his favourite colour."

"It's pink," said Quill, scrunching up his face. "Or at least, I think he said something like that."

"Yer gonna laaaaaaugh Quill," the raccoon teetered dangerously to one side.

"Promise I won't," the terran replied, similarly swaying on the spot.

"Alright, alright." Rocket cleared his throat and for a second it almost looked like he was sober. "My favourite colour- is PINK!" The raccoon promptly fell over laughing hysterically.

Drax sat in deep contemplation for a while, as if betrayed by the memory. "Why would he not tell me this?"

"Probably thought you'd think it's a girly colour or something," Quill shrugged.

"Pink is... feminine?"

"Yeah?"

"What about pink is feminine?"

"Has he told any of you about a 'Lylla'?"

The name sounded familiar to Quill, but he had no immediate recollection of where he'd heard it.

"It came up in court," Gamora supplied, frowning at something the terran couldn't see. "She's listed as an accomplice in a few of his earlier crimes, but that seems to be as far as anyone knows about her. Why do you ask?"

"I don't mean to pry, but sometimes when a mind is being turbulent thoughts... leak out." Cosmo stared at the floor rather shamefaced. "I'm not trying to look, I just happen to see. It's... usually nothing important. Right now he's also thinking about his teeth and floor! He... thinks a lot about those things."

"I see now why Rocket loathes this dog. She has no respect for privacy."

"That's not the only reason," Cosmo sighed and curled up in a ball. "I think mainly he doesn't like what I remind him of."

"And what's that?"

"Himself."

Footnote: Chapter was originally waaaaaaaaaaay longer but I've moved some stuff around planning-wise to help with story flow. Which is why I now get to update a day early! Yay!

Was a super fun chapter and also hard to write because while I do love typing dialogue it's kinda hard when you have four plus people in one room at the same time. I hope the argument/dramatics weren't too cheesy- it's not really my fortee but I do want this fic to be character-centric so there'll be a fair amount of this kind of squabbling. Lemme know what you think/how I can improve.

Next week- a flashback of sorts. I'm not going to say too much about it but I will say that the title is 'The Dog Days' so that should give you some idea of what it's about :P

Cosmo's initial summarisation of Rocket was not entirely inaccurate- he was warm, or at least knew how to be, although perhaps 'explosive' was a better way of putting it.

Relegated to less menial tasks on account of his leg, the raccoon spent the better part of his days (when he wasn't drunk or sleeping) building things. If he was in a particularly good mood he hummed while he worked and on occasion he'd ask her to fetch a tool or a piece of scrap if it lay too far out of reach. If he was in an especially good mood he would delight in explaining every little detail of his inventions to her.

"So you know dog whistles, right?" he asked one morning, holding up what looked like a miniature kazoo and looking very pleased with himself. "They emit ultrasonic sound so only us species with more sensitive audio perceptions can hear 'em. This beauty right here is kinda like that, only the opposite. We can't hear it, the frickin' deaf ones can. Should give 'em one hell of an earache, too."

"Incredible," Cosmo praised, and Rocket failed to hold back a little smile.

"Thanks." He cleared his throat uncomfortably and held the device out to her. "Sound's pre-recorded, so all you gotta do is push this button here. Not the worst way to get out of a fix."

It took the spacedog a hot second to process that sentence. "It's for me?"

"Well yeah," the raccoon waved it at her with exaggerated impatience. "Goodness knows I don't need it."

"Spasibo, comrade!" Tail wagging, Cosmo gently plucked the whistle from his paws. "I will cherish this-"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Rocket rolled his eyes. "Do we still have any of those Sonaran energy bars? Kinda starving here."

Doing her best to ignore how much it hurt whenever he cut her off like that, Cosmo shuffled away to sniff at the small mountain of food-stores they were slowly but surely cutting down to size. So what if he didn't do open displays of affection? He was still nice… even if he did call her stupid at every given opportunity…

Her misery showed in the way her tail dragged, and perceptive as he was, Rocket noticed. His mind briefly exploded into a cacophony of internal debate that Cosmo did her best to block out until finally the raccoon screwed his eyes shut and shook away whatever thoughts were haunting him.

"Thanks," he said, when presented with the energy bars. And then, looking up at the ceiling in an effort to avoid meeting Cosmo's eye, he added. "Want me to scratch you behind the ear... or something?"

"So sorry to interrupt!"

The memory cut out, replacing the dim mess of Cosmo and Rocket's Bibroaclite craft with the brightly-lit interior of the Milano. In place of the sheepish Rocket of the past stood his grumpier current self, who looked not at all sorry.

"Just wanted to let you morons know that the kitchen's on fire!"

As one the Guardians followed the raccoon's outstretched arm to where it pointed at the bright green flames beginning to crawl into the common area.

"Nobody panic!" cried Quill, lurching to his feet and stumbling slightly as blood rushed to his head. "Rocket, make sure-"

"Groot's fine," the raccoon grunted, gesturing at the snoozing sapling nestled between his ears.

Relieved, the legendary Star-Lord turned his attention towards the second most pressing issue. "Drax-"

If the Destroyer heard him, he did not act like it. "My spinach puffs!" the kylosian screamed, leaping to his feet and charging headfirst into the roaring flames.

"Gamora-"

"On it!" Gamora shot back, brandishing a high-pressure extinguisher that looked more likely to start fires than end them and blasting condensed water vapour and carbon powder on full auto.

"Cosmo-"

"Da Captain!" the labrador reared back, twisting open the sprinklers so that it began to rain.

A short while later...

"You sure are some Captain, Quill," muttered Rocket, wringing his tail dry. "That's a quarter of your ship roasted in the space of eight hours."

Truth be told, between the lingering smoke, the overbearing scent of wet raccoon/dog, and the fact that he'd done nothing to put out the fire himself, Quill did not feel like much of a captain. Of course, admitting that to Rocket was not something he'd do in the best of times, let alone when the raccoon was being eighty-percent a dick. "What exactly is your problem?"

"Aside from the complete destruction of all my stuff, including but not limited to a prototype aerorig I spent the last three cycles working on-"

"For the last time!" Quill raised his arms up in disbelief. "That! Was! An! Accident!"

"And if I were to accidentally blow up your music box?" pondered Rocket, withdrawing the walkman and dangling it between two claws.

"If you so much as get a scratch on it," Quill warned. "The next thing Drax will be roasting is your ring-tailed, little raccoon-"

Rocket cut him off with a glare so venomous, Quill knew immediately he'd crossed a line.

Before the staredown could escalate, Drax emerged from the kitchen, surprisingly none the worse for wear despite running straight into an inferno.

"Friends!" he cried, holding out a platter of golden-brown pastries. "Now is not the time to argue, we must rejoice! For my puffs have proven themselves indestructible and worthy of our appetites."

"That's wonderful," grumbled Rocket, reluctantly taking one of the offered pastries.

"Glad to hear it," echoed Quill, doing the same and matching the raccoon glare for glare.

"If it's all the same to the both of you," snapped Gamora, who could see where this was going. "I think the Milano's sustained enough damage for today."

Rocket relented with a sigh, and dropping his gaze to the floor, held out the walkman. Before the raccoon could even think about taking it back, Quill had snatched the metaphorical olive branch from out of his hand.

"Cosmo would like to apologise," said the spacedog, dripping wet and drooping miserably. "If I hadn't been projecting memory-"

"That reminds me," Rocket cut her off with a snap of his fingers and jabbed a thumb in the direction of his room. "Drax, can you?"

"Can I what?" asked the Destroyer, who had no idea what to make of the gesture.

"Can I borrow you for a second?" Rocket scowled, and dug out a small, round device from his pocket. "There's something I wanna test."

Understanding that the second in question was metaphorical, Drax followed the raccoon into his room. It was in fact more of a repurposed tool cupboard, but it offended Rocket whenever this was pointed out and proportionately at least, was more space than the rest of the Guardians got. Due to the vast majority of Rocket's belongings exploding earlier in the cycle, it was also far roomier than usual.

"Right so er- sit down?" Rocket cleared his throat, his usual brash way of carrying himself replaced with an uncharacteristic awkwardness now that it was just the two of them.

Drax did as he was bid and squatted down on a lump of shrunken metal that had once been a set of shelves. "What contraption have you conceived of today?" he asked, as without waiting for permission the raccoon clambered onto him and slapped cold metal onto the side of his head.

"Just er- just something," Rocket shrugged, connecting an identical device to his infopad. "So! What I need you to do is think of a memory. Doesn't have to be anything special. Something happy, something violent, whatever comes to mind."

Drax nodded.

"But it can't be anything that happened recently," the raccoon went on. "It's gotta be something from before all…" he gestured round the room. "...This."

"Something from my past then." Drax nodded, understanding that the 'this' in question referred to the Guardians of the Galaxy as opposed to the immolation of Rocket's junk.

"On three," said Rocket, shaking with uncharacteristic trepidation. "Three!"

Drax fell on his knees, voice raised in agony.

"Drax?"

The kylosian tilted sideways and hit the floor writhing.

"Drax!"

A leg flailing from excruciating pain caught Rocket in the middle and sent the raccoon bouncing into the ceiling.

Startled chittering turned into a groan that quickly morphed into a growl as Rocket hit the floor and fixed the Destroyer with one of his signature glares. "I didn't even start it yet!"

Drax froze mid-windmill and blinked stupidly. "Oh."

There came a sharp knock on the doors, followed by Gamora's voice. "Is everything okay in there?"

"Everything is fine, Drax is just being dramatic!" Rocket snapped, rubbing the top of his head. "Go mind your own frickin' business!"

"I assumed your feelings would be hurt if I did not feel any pain at the metaphorical hands of your new weapon," explained Drax.

If he meant that by way of apology, it did not have the desired effect. Rocket squinted at him. "Does that mean that landmine on Sonnoran?"

The query was met with stony silence, which in a way spoke louder than any words could.

"What about the gravity-"

Drax shook his head.

"Bereet?" pleaded Rocket, a note of desperation in his voice.

"I didn't feel a thing," confessed the Destroyer.

The raccoon opened and closed his mouth as he cycled through emotions far quicker than was healthy. His ears flew back and he bore his fangs in rage, then his ears drooped and he wilted in misery, and finally he shook himself and his ears perked up again. "We'll discuss this later," he snapped, picking up his infopad from where Drax's flailing leg had forced him to drop it. "You got a memory?"

"Yes," said Drax, smiling serenely as it began to play out in his mind's eye.

"It's not anything er- inappropriate, right?" Rocket swallowed and held the infopad at arm's length, as if the whole thing were likely to explode. "Coz no offense, I really don't wanna see that."

"It is nothing special. Just a moment I remember fondly."

Deep in the arid rainforests of Kylos, a Drax who was not yet the Destroyer lay crouching in the undergrowth. Before him, a grazing volturhog meandered about, oblivious to it's impending doom. The Kylosian way of hunting was a respectful one. There was no stalking, there was no element of surprise. Any Kylosian hunter knew that you owed your prey the same opportunity it had given to you. Either the hunter or the hunted would feed on the other's carcass, for such was what fate intended.

Volturhogs were some of the largest quarry in the land, and only seasoned hunters dared to tackle such creatures. Despite their size and their ferocious set of tusks, they were docile and easily frightened. A hunter could only afford to strike when there was no room left for the volturhog to run. Only then would glorious battle ensue.

"Dad! Dad!" There came the sound of rushing footsteps as the volturhog bolted deeper into the jungle. "Look what I found!"

"An Eksadder!" Drax exclaimed, turning to admire the length of serpent held in the proud hands of a small, teal-ish grey girl. "Your mother's favourite." He reached out a hand to take it when suddenly it sprang to life with a hiss and snapped at him with a pair of venomous fangs. He pulled his arm back just in time to avoid losing his fingers.

Kamaria, natural-born warrior that she was, instinctively swung the serpent into the nearest tree, but young as she was it's scales proved too slippery for her fingers. The Eksadder sprung free, and whirled around to snap at her, but in it's frenzy had made the fatal error of turning it's back on the larger Kylosian.

With a sound that could only be described as a roar, Drax's fist closed on the Eksadder's tail and swung it at the nearest tree with all his might. There was an audible crack as it's skull shattered on impact, and the deadly serpent hissed no more.

"I'm sorry," Kamaria's foot drew an awkward circle in the dust. "I thought I killed it."

"It's alright," Drax waved away the apology with a hearty laugh and slung the Eksadder over his shoulder. "We are both unharmed and this beast shall make a fine meal! Come, we must hunt down some yarm root to go with it." Filled with the warm joy that bathed his life in light, Drax lifted the giggling Kamaria off the ground and spun her in a circle, his laughter echoing through the jungles of Kylos-

"Drax!?" The Destroyer snapped back into reality and found that he was now holding a very concerned-looking Rocket. "You there, buddy? You good?"

Drax promptly dropped the raccoon. "The memory… it was- it was very vivid."

"I guessed as much," Rocket grumbled, picking himself off the ground and rubbing at ribs the Destroyer had damn near squeezed the life out of. "Agree to never discuss this?"

Drax nodded and lacking anything better to do, sat back down. He watched as the raccoon scuttled over to retrieve his infopad (that Drax in his memory-addled mind had bashed into the wall with all the strength necessary to kill an Eksadder.) as it bloorped.

"So these things," Rocket explained, indicating his invention. "They're memory files. And what I wanted to test was if I could use them to upload a memory to a database. So…" he handed Drax the infoglass and tapped the 'play' button on the video. "Would you say this is an accurate scene?"

The Destroyer watched with his characteristic impassiveness as the same scene he'd seen in his mind played out before him on the screen. Rocket himself had no inclination to watch it- having in his mind already seen too much- which left the raccoon with little to do besides fiddle with his fingers until it ended.

"It is exactly how I remember it," Drax breathed, staring longingly at the giggling Kamaria held in his firm, but gentle grasp.

Although the Kylosian's voice betrayed nothing but his usual amount of emotion, Rocket was not completely oblivious to Drax's lingering heartache. No amount of dead Ronan's would bring his wife or daughter back, which was a sour pill Rocket himself was all too familiar with. He could relate, he just didn't really know how to. "You er- you okay?"

"I am alright," Drax handed the infoglass back to Rocket. "Thank you. It was good to be able to see her again."

Rocket scratched at his chest, and cleared his throat awkwardly. Gratitude was not his strong suit either, so he wasted little time changing the subject. "My turn now." He withdrew a third identical memory device from his pocket and gently placed it on the side of his head. "How about I show you the brawl on Xandar? Gamora versus Quill versus me and Groot." He grinned. "And then you can be the one to decide who really won that fight."

Drax threw back his head and laughed, similarly eager to move onto a lighter topic. One marred with less regret. "I would be delighted to see the four of you try to kill each other!"

Drax was thrown roughly into the all-encompassing memory and found himself in a dark room filled with rusted cages. In the distance he heard the echoes of a scream and the dripping of a leak. It was not what he had expected- no version of the brawl he'd heard had mentioned such a large abundance of malnourished and mistreated wildlife.

A short, fat man wearing white with a metal component sticking out the side of his head waddled into the room, holding in his hand a small, furred thing that he threw headlong into one of the cages with sickening carelessness. Drax moved to get a better look at the creature, expecting at any moment for Rocket to show up and rescue his furred brethren. No doubt this was a memory from just before Xandar that Rocket was showing him to give context.

Crouching beside the cage, the Kylosian was startled to find that he could not be further from the truth. The small, furred thing stitched together with cold metal and struggling and failing to get to it's feet was Rocket. And it would be several years before he was capable of rescuing anything.

"Rocket, I do not think you meant to show me this."

Neither the younger Rocket, nor the older one seemed to hear him, and unable to will himself out of the memory Drax watched as a small, slim creature with metal arms in a cage besides Rocket's own spoke in a soothing tone. "It's okay, you're here with us now."

"Hey! It's the new guy," said the (comparatively) large, fat thing on wheels with prominent teeth standing besides the creature with metal arms. "What kind of thing are you? You've got like a mask on your face."

Drax recognised the third creature to be a spider, albeit one far more mechanical than the arachnids of Kylos. "Mask, eyes, face, mouth," said the spider in breathless excitement as they towered over the shaking Rocket. "Does it words?"

"Drax!"

Drax felt a sharp pain as the memory file was ripped off the side of his head, and found himself staring up at Gamora. Rocket lay curled up on the floor, clutching his own head as Quill and Groot crowded around him in concern, while Cosmo stood awkwardly at the doorway, unsure of what to do.

"Drax, are you okay?" asked Gamora, noticing the Kylosian's newfound responsiveness.

"I am alright," the Destroyer replied. "Rocket was just showing me a memory."

Before Gamora could inquire further, the raccoon in question groaned.

"I am Groot!"

The Legendary Star-Lord echoed the tree's relief. "Rocket, thank God. What happened man? Are you-"

Ignoring them both completely, Rocket sat up and stormed over to Drax with murder written on his mind and every inch of his form. "You fat-fingered-frickin' idiot, what the hell did you see?"

"You were smaller, locked in a cage and surrounded by strange creatures," Drax replied, with a bluntness that completely froze Rocket in his tracks. The infopad 'bloorped'.

"I am Groot?" Groot wondered aloud, and being the closest to the tablet he stretched out a branch to pick it up, only for the blur of fur that was Rocket to snatch it out of his grip and frantically key in the infoglass' lockdown code.

"I am Groot?" asked the tree, as the raccoon sighed in relief and slumped to the floor. A moment later he realised that he was once again being stared at by the very confused Guardians of the Galaxy.

"What!?" he demanded.

Drax was not alone in getting a weird sense of the Terran term of 'dejavu'.

"Don't 'what' me," Quill retorted. "You were the one screaming in pain!" He picked up one of the circular devices from where a small pile of them had spilled out of Rocket's bag. "What even is this?"

"That is none of your frickin' business!" Rocket snapped, scrambling over to try and tear it out of Quill's grip only for the Terran to stand up to his full height and hold it out of reach. "Give it back you-"

"It's a memory file," Gamora said matter-of-factedly, squinting at the one she'd pulled off of Drax. "Nebula had one."

Rocket froze, eyes darting about like a cornered animal (which Drax supposed, was not metaphorical in his case) until finally he raised his arms in defeat with an exaggerated growl of annoyance. "Since you apparently must know, I was trying to show Drax the time Groot and I kicked your humie ass on Xandar, but then this idiot shoved his mindwaves into my brain and saw something private and personal."

Drax noted the emphasis and guessed that this meant he was not supposed to divulge what he had seen to the others. "It was an accident."

"You should be more careful," said Gamora. "Both of you," she added, frowning at Rocket in a way that said 'you should have known better'. "This is dangerous technology. People have lost their entire consciousnesses or lost control of certain parts of their brain or built unwitting psychic connections with other users-"

The last one must have sounded especially terrifying, because Rocket immediately turned to Drax and there was a quaver in his voice when he asked. "Buddy, what am I thinking?"

After a moment of contemplation, Drax offered his response. "Are you thinking 'Quill is a moron'?"

Rocket stepped backwards, all colour draining from his face as he raised his paws in a silent scream -

"He did not see anything!" Cosmo hastened to clarify. "It was just lucky guess."

Quick as a flash, Rocket bounced right back to temperamental and scowled at the Destroyer. "Way to give a guy a heart attack!"

"Seriously! What is your problem?" demanded Quill, sick to his stomach of getting the lion's share of Rocket's attitude.

"I don't have a problem, I've got problems, plural. One of which is standing right next to you," the raccoon jabbed a claw at Cosmo. "Another is too monumental for your microscopic mind to understand," he jabbed again at the memory file. "And on top of that you smashed my blast doors open and I know it was either Gamora or the dog but I'm blaming you for it because you didn't stop them," he snapped, jabbing a final claw at the blast doors in question.

"You were screaming in pain!" Quill protested, frankly shocked by the lack of gratitude (even from Rocket). "We were trying to! Help! You!"

"Well I didn't ask for your help and I don't want it, so take a frickin' hint already and get the hell out!"

"I am Groot?"

"Sorry buddy, you too," snapped Rocket, not meeting the sapling's eye as he pointed firmly at the door.

"Alright, everyone out," said Quill, picking up the drooping Groot and handing them over to Gamora. He helped Drax to his feet and shot Cosmo a wink as he ushered the Guardians back into the common area. "You heard the raccoon."

"Not a raccoon!" Rocket shot at his retreating back.

"You got that right. You're an a-hole." Quill slapped on his helmet as the blast doors slammed shut. He raised his blasters, set them to stun and rounded on the raccoon, who for his part blinked stupidly, realizing too late that the Legendary Star-Lord had remained on the wrong side of the doors. "Which is why I challenge you to a dance-off."

Footnote: When I first devised the plot of this fic and came up with the idea of memory files as a plot device I had forgotten that Thanos literally watches his own death through Nebula's file in Endgame- granted not in the same 'virtual reality' way I've been writing it as, but let's just say they're different genres of the same technology. Unfortunately, the files the High Evolutionary/Theel gave Rocket did not come with a user's manual (just like the blaster came without ammo) so Rocket has to figure out how they work the hard way. And I figure at this point in time Drax would be the Guardian he's most comfortable asking for help with this, both because of his high pain tolerance as a kylosian and because Rocket would trust him to not ask too many questions.

Next time (because I can't actually guarantee it'll be next week this time), we either head back to Batch 89 or we get a Dance-off or we get a Dog-Day. Maybe some mix of the two? We'll see. I hope you enjoyed, I know I had a lot of fun writing this chapter- especially the individual memory scenes (honestly I'm quite proud of the 'Are you thinking Quill is a moron' gag).

Despite the fact that his coarse, parse fur was singularly unsuited to the cold, Rocket liked Contraxia. It was loud and often violent and best of all was filled with the type of people who didn't bat an eye or scream or call animal control the second they lay eyes on him. Sure, he was still a freak even by their standards, but anyone who frequented Contraxia had little in the way of moral high ground. They also had killer discounts on illegal tech, half a dozen casinos on every street, and made a kind of frozen treat that was inexplicably warm on the inside, which were all good reasons to drop in every once in a while.

"Hey, we're here!" he called over his shoulder, pointedly ignoring the fact that those were the first words he'd said to Cosmo in roughly seventy-two hours.

"Cold planet," she observed, padding over with a resigned look on her face. "My favourite."

"I can't control the weather, Cosmo," Rocket grumbled, fists tightening on the controls as he tried to hold back his temper. "And do not make me bring up Korravan and it's five inch mosquitoes. Still trying to wipe that place outta my memory."

"Bounty on Korravan was your idea," the labrador retorted icily.

The raccoon's mouth opened and closed as a dozen half-hearted protests/complaints/arguments shot through his brain.

Cosmo heard them all and sighed. As annoying as her way of communication was, it often meant they got to the point pretty fast. "What do you want to do this time?"

"Well we've got some spare units," Rocket explained. Technically the eighteen units they had left were Cosmo's, but sometimes possession was an abstract concept. "But not nearly enough to do anything with." The ship needed a new engine, a new heating system and a better air filtration system because Rocket was sick of having to smell dog everywhere he went. "So I thought we'd spend a few and earn a bit more."

"Please don't tell me we're robbing bank."

"Close!" Rocket chuckled. "Casino! We've got the pick of the-" He noticed the look she was giving him and felt a lump drop into his stomach. He masked it with a growl. "Oh c'mon! It's what they're there for! And we ain't robbing it. Well, not technically…" Rocket had thought up the plan a while ago, while they'd been sweating buckets on the desert world of Hoppopplee. As good a telepath as Cosmo was, she was still a dog and most people didn't notice a random stray even if they were wearing an old spacesuit. So it'd be all too easy to play a game of poker and-

"That is good plan," Cosmo admitted, before the raccoon could put his strategy in words. "Likely to work and low risk." She still looked reluctant about it, but Rocket knew by now that where Cosmo was involved, all that was needed was a little incentive.

"I promise this time will be different," Rocket dug into his satchel and pulled out a wad of dried jerky. He had no idea why she liked them so much but, as always, the treat did the trick. Cosmo perked up immediately, her tail involuntarily thumping the ground behind her as her mouth dribbled.

That was step one. Step two was picking a target, and Rocket had been to Contraxia before.

"Hey Gaffer!" Rocket hailed the eight-foot tall, snow-white Contraxian leaning under a brightly lit neon sign welcoming the raccoon to Gaffer's Gamble. "Been a while man. Haven't seen you since-"

"The last time you were here." Gaffer cut in, glowering down at the comparatively tiny mammal while taking a long drag out of his cigar. "When you dumped me unconscious on that filthy backwater, Terra."

"Add him to long list of people entirely justified in their loathing of you," Cosmo muttered as the raccoon winced.

"Nova Corps fined me for that," Gaffer went on. "But you know that wasn't the worst part. A bunch of the hairless savages saw me and you know what they called me? Bigfoot!" He slammed a hairy leg into the ground besides Rocket, smashing the thick layer of ice that had built up over the threshold. "Do my feet look big to you?"

Rocket shrugged. "I mean, relative to mine?" The raccoon raised his arms placatingly to ward off a closer look at the underside of Gaffer's frankly colossal beans. "Hey, hey, hey, hey! I'm just kidding. And don't be like that man, it was your own fault for gambling eight bottles in."

"That's fair," Gaffer grunted as he pulled out another cigar and fumbled with an undersized lighter.

"My treat!" Rocket chirped, pulling out a tiny pistol and hitting the edge of the cigar with a concentrated blast of heat. Because of course any lighter Rocket owned also served as a gun.

The Contraxian took a drag and went back to leaning on the doorway. Had Rocket been expecting any kind of thanks he'd have been sorely disappointed. Of course, Rocket knew better. Contraxians weren't big on gratitude.

"So, how's the wife, how're the kids?" the raccoon pressed on, folding his arms over his chest as a small gust of wind set his teeth to rattling. One of these days he was going to get something with sleeves on them…

Gaffer snorted smoke. "Short on units, are we? Only time you pretend to give a shit."

"I'm hoping to change that. The units part, goodness knows I'll never care about your family crap."

The Contraxian squinted at him, and then more importantly, at the labrador currently chasing her tail behind him. "What's with the stray?"

"Can't get the damn mutt to quit following me around." Rocket shrugged. He said it so casually Cosmo stopped abruptly and gave him a hurt look. Suck it up! thought Rocket, not making eye contact with her as Gaffer raised an eyebrow at the scene. You know I didn't mean it!

"I'm not as sure about that as you are," Cosmo muttered, her ears drooping and her tail tucked between her legs as she half-heartedly resumed chasing it.

Making a mental note to make it up to her later, Rocket tapped an impatient foot against the ice. "So can I play? Or should I find some other place to spend my units at?"

Gaffer took a particularly long drag as he mulled it over. "Come with me," he finally grunted, pushing the doors open and ushering Rocket inside. "I wanna show you something first."

Cosmo, true to her act as a dumb dog, bolted in ahead of the raccoon and bounced into the lap of a particularly inebriated Kree. Who, from the sound of things, liked dogs. Rocket rolled his eyes as half-a-dozen gamblers rushed over to bombard her with headpats and ear scritches and belly rubs.

"Now, now, no needs to be jealous. Plenty of pets to go around," Gaffer chuckled, following the raccoon's gaze and gesturing for him to follow behind.

"Like I'd want a bunch of stinkin' drunks touching me up." Rocket spat. "We've had this discussion before. I ain't some frickin' pet."

Gaffer shrugged and lead him down a short flight of stairs and into the equally-bustling casino basement- instead of being spread out across various games, most of the crowd surrounded a large glass dome housing a gnarly, bulbous root with two dozen tendrils writhing about like great, fat worms as they hunted down numbered orbs.

"Latest attraction!" Gaffer boasted, shoving half-a-dozen patrons aside so that Rocket could get a better look. "You get payed based on how long your ball lasts. Last one standing hits the jackpot."

"The hell?" was all Rocket could say as he watched the root swallow up 'thirty-six' and 'seventeen', before giving a crude little burp.

"Kronan plant! Know what it eats?"

The raccoon snorted at that. "Metals, ores, stones? Give us a hard one next time, everything on that planet's made of rocks.

"It's a pretty nasty pest, major pain in the ass to transport- this beauty can chew up a cruiser in a matter of weeks. Nearly impossible to get rid of too, has some kind of regenerative power. Luckily, it ain't dangerous to most life-forms, even if you do get eaten the acid's not strong enough to do more than itch. Worst case scenario you go bald and spend a week or two cramped up in plant gut. But on Kronos this thing's the stuff of nightmares." Gaffer grinned, and squatted down so that he could slap a hairy hand on Rocket's back- shoving him closer to the glass. "Good thing most of us don't have metal sticking out of our skin, right?"

"Right. 'Play nice or I'll feed you to my plant', I got your point." The raccoon rolled his eyes to play it casual, only for a tentacle to ruin it by slamming into the glass in front of him and drawing out an involuntary yelp as he flinched backwards.

"Look at that!" Gaffer grinned as a few of the surrounding patrons snickered at Rocket's expense. "She already likes you."

Try as he might, Rocket couldn't quite shake the plant out of his head as Gaffer lead him back upstairs. Which, naturally, meant Cosmo got a pretty good look at it. Her eyes went wide and her tail went stiff.

"Way too risky. We should go. Maybe try other place if you still want to gamble but-"

If I walk out now he'll know I was planning something. Rocket shot back, plopping down on a stool besides a pair of identical Spartoi. "What does a guy have to do to get some service around here? Hey! Waiter!"

There was a good reason most telepathic races were banned from casinos throughout the galaxy. Playing cards with a mindreader was about as fair as bringing a rifle to a fistfight and made winning just as easy. With Cosmo reading out his opponent's hands to him, Rocket knew when to raise, when to fold, who was bluffing and who had a decent hand, and before an hour had passed the eighteen units he'd gotten from Cosmo had turned into a thousand.

"Dammit!" yelled a kree, slamming his fist into the table and storming off significantly poorer than he had been a few moments ago.

"Those were his life savings," said Cosmo, and Rocket could practically feel the guilt oozing off of her.

Then he shouldn't have gambled them. The raccoon retorted. You're just mad he's done pampering you. Now tell me what this flarknard's got- I know he's bluffing.

"Actually he has full house."

"Normally I'd try and bluff my way out of this," Rocket sighed, revealing his hand to be a pair of twos. "But I kinda need to pee. I fold."

He was pretty sure the dealer was actively handing him out shitty cards- Cosmo confirmed this to be the case and telekinetically spilled a hot beverage on his lap in retribution- but that didn't matter too much. A few well-timed all-ins and Rocket would be up to his nose in units. Having no intention to be plant food, the raccoon figured it was safer to take it slow. Spread his earnings over the course of a few days instead of all at once…

To avoid drawing suspicion, Cosmo stayed behind at Gaffer's which meant for once Rocket had the Bibroaclite craft to himself. Their partnership was marred with occasional bouts of long silences, but still the quiet felt almost eerie. Cosmo was still new to her telepathy, so sometimes thoughts leaked out into Rocket's own mind even when they weren't talking to each other- and most of it was dumb but it was still better than the dull whir of the new heating system.

To distract himself, the raccoon spent his days humming. He had all the parts he could ever want, and before long the ship was boasting an engine worthy of the gods, a miniature weapons system and a functional shield. He had invested in sleeves for himself, and had even taken the risk of buying Cosmo a few spare space suits so she didn't have to go around in her fur everytime hers was in the wash. They were all set, ready to head off into warmer climates and new adventures.

And had been for nearly two weeks now.

Gaffer's was easy income, sure, but that wasn't the real reason they were still on Contraxia. Rocket returned to the casino each day, ready to inform Cosmo that the ship was done and they were ready to go and leave this dump behind them. And he'd failed thirteen times in a row.

Every day he would walk in and find her lying on her back with some idiot rubbing her belly, or she'd be leaning into someone scratching her ear and he could tell from the way her tail was wagging that she had never been happier. It had become something of a tradition to pat the dog for luck and most regular patrons brought her treats of their own. Next to that, Rocket's sharp tongue and occasional grudging scritch seemed laughable.

"Hey, ship's ready," said Rocket, in his mind's eye. And in his nightmares Cosmo laughed at him, and asked why on earth she'd want anything to do with some freakish thing that had never given her a fraction of the warmth and affection she was now entitled to

So what Rocket actually said whenever he returned to Gaffer's was some variety of 'we're still short. Need a few more units.' Telepath that she was, she probably knew he was lying. But she never called him out on it, which all but confirmed his fears.

Well, whatever. Rocket didn't care and pointedly ignored the uncomfortable weight in his gut. He just needed to install a new filtration system, get rid of the lingering scent of dog and then he'd be-

"So we are ready to go?" chirped Cosmo, padding over to Rocket and giving him an obligatory sniff as he walked into Gaffer's Gamble, ready for another long night of conning suckers.

Not yet, thought Rocket. Need to rewire the mainframe.

Cosmo cocked her head to the side. "I thought you did that yesterday?"

Rewire the carbonetrix core then. And stop doing that you'll give us away.

"You already rewired carbonetrix core. Ten days ago." Cosmo sat on her haunches and reached a leg over to scratch behind her ear. "What's going on?"

Nothing's going on! Rocket stormed towards the machine where units were traded in for chips and checked in the decently large sum of two hundred units.

"Okay, I'll stop hounding you." Cosmo padded over to a Xandarian who instinctively reached a hand down to pet her. "No rush of course, ship repair is difficult job, but Cosmo would prefer if we can leave sooner." She leaned into the touch. "I miss you. And is my turn to pick spaceport!"

Nearly done, the raccoon promised. Then, when he was pretty sure she wasn't looking, he kicked himself. Stupid, dumb, idiot. Rocket bit back a growl and pointedly ignored the feeling of relief as his insides untwisted. She missed him. Of course she did. They were comrades, whatever that meant, and Cosmo was just as much, if not more of, a freak as he was. It made sense to stick together. It was the smart thing to do.

No doubt she was sick of Gaffer's shitty music and the drunken flarknards. Frankly, as successful as the con was, Rocket was getting tired of it himself. There was no thrill, no excitement and by now the other gamblers were beginning to cotton on to the fact that he was unbeatable and were giving him a wide berth.

It was time to move on.

The door burst open, and in strolled a familiar pile of sentient rocks- now complete with a horribly-deformed, half-melted face- and an overgrown bug. Standing directly in their line of sight, Rocket could only sigh.

"You're dead, rat," promised Bigby, as Zafersly drew his blaster in the blink of an eye… and shot a stunner round into the chip machine besides the raccoon.

"OI!" Gaffer roared, storming over and tearing the weapon out of the insect's hands before he could try for a second shot. "You got a problem, you take it outside. I don't let you in here to shoot up my casino." The Contraxian gave all three of them a long, hard glare.

Rocket bristled. "Excuse me!? I was shot at!"

"Look what he did to Bigby's face!" Zafersly complained, gesturing at the furious kronan.

"I don't doubt the little shit deserves it," snapped Gaffer, with a dismissive wave of his hairy hand. "But you deal with your beef in your place, not in mine. Understood?"

"Always getting your ass saved, aren't you?" Bigby sneered, cracking his knuckles as he shouldered past the Contraxian. "First the telepath. Now this monkey!"

"Who are you calling a monkey?" Gaffer demanded, grabbing the kronan by the shoulder and whirling him around so that they were facing each other.

Cosmo, thought Rocket, with some degree of urgency. Time to go!

"You do not need to tell me twice," the labrador replied, slinking along the wall in an effort to stay out of sight.

"And what's this about a telepath?" Gaffer snapped, glaring down at Rocket from over Bigby's head.

The raccoon shrugged. "Hell if I know."

"He's got a telepathic dog with him!" Zafersly explained. "Or telekinetic?" He reached a hand to scratch behind his head. "Whichever one means they can read minds and move objects and stuff."

There was a long, drawn-out pause as every eye in the casino turned, first to Cosmo, who tried too hard to play dumb and left her tongue lolling out the side of her mouth, and then to Rocket, who chuckled nervously and shrunk behind his armful of chips.

With a sound like shattering glass, Gaffer roared and tossed Bigby aside as if the kronan were a paperweight, The scum of the casino lurched forwards like one baleful wave. Rocket threw his chips into the air and tried not to think about the two hundred unit's he'd just traded them in for. Sliding under a table that Gaffer proceeded to obliterate behind him, the raccoon's mind scrambled for an escape route. A dozen diving fists and outstretched hands narrowly missed him as several gamblers ran into each other in their haste to grab him.

"Cosmo! Meet me at the ship!" Rocket yelled, unable to spot the telepath over the crowd and not sure she'd be able to hear him over the no-doubt violent thoughts of everyone else in the room.

The labrador made no reply, which scared Rocket more than the casino full of gamblers trying to nab him did. Whatever, he could think about her later. He'd get to the ship, then double back and give the new weapon's system a test run.

Rocket shot towards the door, only for a stone hand to close on his tail and slam him into a snooker table that broke from the force of impact. As dark spots clouded his vision he caught sight of Cosmo, a telekinetic suppressor strapped to her neck. Oh crap.

A hairy hand closed over Rocket's scruff and lifted him clear off the ground. The raccoon could only swallow as Gaffer glared at him with unbridled rage. "Well," the Contraxian spoke slowly, his face splitting into a grin that was, if anything, even more terrifying. "Deal's a deal."

A short while later, clad in a bib with the number 'thirteen' on it, Rocket found himself on the wrong side of the Kronan plant's glass dome. He ducked as a tendril of bark blindly swiped at him, and scrambled sideways in a desperate effort to stay off the menu.

It had evolved on Kronos, where everything was made of rocks, and by extension, everything was food. So all the plant had evolved to do was grab anything that got near and eat it. It couldn't see him exactly, but it likely felt vibrations in the air and in the ground so there was no question of hiding, and very little space to run.

Gaffer had been nice enough to leave the raccoon with his lighter- mostly because it was useless. A few well-placed shots could sever a tendril, but the Contraxian hadn't been joking about the regenerative factor and for every one Rocket shot off, two more grew in it's place.

To add insult to injury, and by extension make escaping that much harder, the entire casino had crowded into the basement to watch, and bet on, his demise. Zafersly had his face pressed against the glass, while Gaffer provided unnecessary and condescending commentary. Bigby at least had the decency to keep his distance, although that was likely because he was a kronan and this thing was the bane of his race.

"And there goes another round!" Gaffer roared, as the crowd cheered in delight. "Thirteen and Eleven are still in play- but for how much longer?"

"This is humiliating," Rocket grumbled, as a fresh batch of numbered orbs rained down from above, giving him and Cosmo a moment's respite as the plant feasted.

"And could have been entirely avoided if you had quit while ahead and just told me ship was finished and we were ready to go," the labrador sniped icily. "How many times do you need to nearly die before you decide to stop being idiot?"

Rocket balked. "Two weeks! We keep the con going for two weeks but somehow it's my fault the second it falls apart!?"

"Ooooooh! What's this?" Gaffer cut in, with an unnecessarily dramatic voice. "Dinner and a show!"

"That wasn't funny!" Rocket snapped as the gamblers hooted in unison.

"It was not even little funny," Cosmo agreed, momentarily hitting the Contraxian with a glare before returning it to Rocket. "Con was your idea. We do con to fix ship. Ship was fixed two weeks ago and don't say it wasn't I saw you thinking it. We are still here because idiot that you are, you think Cosmo prefer company of stupid, smelly, frankly perverted gamblers to giant, mudak Rocket. Am I wrong?"

Struck dumb, the raccoon's mouth opened and closed. Which was all the confirmation Cosmo needed to know she was right.

The labrador dropped her glare and went on in a low growl. "You are not nice. You are mean. You say things that hurt, all the time and frankly too much. You are self-destructive, selfish creature so scared of being alone that you do everything to make sure you stay alone!" Cosmo sighed. "But a scratch from you is worth more than some Contraxian, because you are my comrade."

Rocket's mind hit a blank as his ears went flat. Before he could even think of what to say to that, a tendril of bark slammed into the side of his head and grabbed him by the tail.

"Rocket!" cried Cosmo, as another root closed around her middle. "O boje moj-"

"And there they go, ladies and gentlemen!" Gaffer was barely audible over the roar of the invested audience. "Hang onto your hats, Thirteen and Eleven are about to be plant chow!"

"Gaffer!" Rocket snapped, as behind him the bulbous root shoved a kicking Cosmo headfirst into it's widened maw. The raccoon's claws had drawn long gashes along the ground in an effort to stave off his fate, but even he knew he was just delaying the inevitable. "I swear, when I bust outta here I'm gonna-" before he could finish his threat, the root abruptly changed tempo, drawing out an involuntary scream as Rocket flew through the air and into the plant's waiting 'jaws'.

Having evolved to eat kronans (who hit six feet before the age of ten), the weed had little difficulty swallowing him. The sickeningly fleshy insides compressed over him, shoving Rocket deeper as the whole plant shook from the force of a particularly nasty belch.

"This is humiliating," Rocket repeated as the compact space pressed him against Cosmo's rear end. His nose wrinkled and his whiskers twitched against the stink of dog and acid. There was a thump as his lighter was unceremoniously dumped on top of his head.

"And again, your fault," Cosmo grumbled, trying to shift into a more comfortable position and further smooshing the raccoon in the process.

"You're the one that got me caught!" the raccoon retorted, in no mood whatsoever to be mature and admit to his many, many issues. "All you had to do was keep your mouth shut and your thoughts to yourself- but no! Cosmo just had to talk about her feelings-"

"I was talking about your feelings, mudak," the labrador retorted, giving Rocket a kick for good measure. "Because you never do and it always ends up biting us."

"Does not!" Rocket scoffed, trying to shove her rump away.

"Really? So opening fire on that sovereign because he called you fox was rational thinking? And trying to outrun Nova cruiser on Ixban is rational thinking? And-"

"Shut up!" Rocket snapped, muzzle quivering with emotion as Cosmo flooded his mind with images of his more monumental screw-ups. As if he needed her to tell him he was stupid and an idiot and no matter what he did, he always screwed up. Korrovan and it's killer mosquitoes was his fault. It was his fault Gaffer wanted them dead. He'd ripped the eye off the warden on Tharvis K-8 because he'd been stupid and panicked. And he had as good as killed Teefs and Floor, and Lylla too, because he was a little monster and anything he cared about crumbled to dust in his freakish little claws. "Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!"

Cosmo relented, and the two squirmed in silence until they managed to squeeze into somewhat standard sitting positions. "Whatever," said the labrador, taking a deep breath and presenting the suppressor for Rocket to bypass. "Now we skip to the part where you come up with escape plan, we get out of here and you start leaving treats out because that is easier than saying 'sorry'."

Instead of going for the collar, Rocket reached for his lighter. "I got a plan," he grumbled, ignoring the way her tail immediately shot into a wag. He grabbed a stray orb from the pile sitting beneath them and fiddled with it until it opened to reveal a battery. "I'm gonna blast my way out," he explained, opening a second orb and pilfering it's battery too.

"The usual then," Cosmo rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "With you is always firefight."

"Plant's harmless to most biological lifeforms and I know you ain't a cyborg, so you should be good," the raccoon went on, more to himself than to her. Better off than with me, he added as a thought, but Cosmo heard it all the same.

"What?"

"See you never," Rocket growled, pointing the lighter up and firing.

"I don't- Rocket, wait!"

He didn't and scrambled up and out the rapidly-healing flesh.

"Wait! Wait! Wait!" Cosmo yelled in a panic as she failed to follow him up the slick, greasy walls."What did I do? Rocket, please! What did I do?"

Rocket ignored her, ducking under a swinging tendril as behind him, the plant regenerated and muffled the sound of her whining.

"Number thirteen's back out again!" Gaffer cheered, completely oblivious to the danger he was now in. "How long do we think he lasts this time, folks?"

A second shot from the buffed-up lighter cracked the glass dome and wiped the smile right off the Contraxian's face. The third shot shattered it completely and the fourth was overkill, but then, Rocket liked his overkill.

He fired the lighter on repeat, laughing maniacally to drown out the guilt, the distant sound of Cosmo begging him to come back and the small voice in his head that wanted nothing more than to curl up in a corner and cry.

Footnote: I imagine, for the record, that Gaffer and by extent native Contraxians look a bit like Wookies, hence the 'Bigfoot' line. Not too important a detail because I'm not entirely sure we'll see him again. Like most of the OCs of this fic they're there to flesh out the scene. But then, Zafersly and Bigby returned so maybe he shall pull a Palpatine and somehow return.

Woof, Rocket sure knows how to be a dick when he wants to be! A significantly more drastic solution to the problem that is 'friendship' than the approach he took in Vol 2- although one that I think is fairly in-character for a Rocket pre-Groot (and I don't really think Rocket stealing the batteries was him trying to push the Guardians away- having watched the movie one too many times my analysis is as follows- he steals the batteries because he wants to/sticky fingers- then he fights with Quill over piloting the ship because he wants to fix the problem he caused- the one bit where he actively *does* try to push Quill away is his 'orphan boy' line, but one could argue that from his point of view he is already being abandoned at that point- left on some random planet to fix the ship while Quill and the others buzz off to Ego. Might as well get the last word in while you can, right?). I also think it fits with the way I write their relationship in the current timeline of the fic. I'm not a shipper, but I can't help but think of them as being 'bitter exes' for lack of a better term. The break-up is a case of classic miscommunication, coupled with Rocket's self-hatred. Coming up with a reason for Cosmo to want to give him a 'big bite on backstabbing backside' while keeping Rocket likeable was ever-so-slightly challenging (some earlier drafts had him selling her to the Collector but I didn't really like that because it feels a bit *too* evil, y'know? It also had to be something Cosmo would want some good-old off-screen retribution for *and* something she would be willing to forgive him for (because if what Rocket had done to her was so horrible it wouldn't make sense for her to want to be on a team with him).

Enter, carnivorous, kronan plant! Deadly danger for Rocket to evade, check, not dangerous for Cosmo so she should be fine in the long run and Rocket doesn't become a total dick by leaving her in one, check, and it also serves the bonus of feeling creatively whacky in the way Guardians films can sometimes be (battery-eating aabilisks, everything in Orgocorp etc etc etc), check!

Had a lot of fun writing this chapter, hope you all enjoyed, lemme know what you think yadda yadda yadda- next time more of Quill and Rocket's heart to heart/dance-off. Very excited to write it because it starts off pretty meta XD

Rocket's diabolical laughter, Gaffer's girlish shriek of terror and the crude belches of a kronan plant engorging itself on hundreds of no-longer-cheering casino-goers faded into nothing as the memory drew to a close. The no-longer laughing Rocket tugged off the memory file and rubbed at the spot he'd disconnected it from as he braced himself for judgement.

"Wow," was all Star-Lord could manage, blinking stupidly as his mind adjusted to the relative peace and quiet of the Milano.

"There was a lot that happened before that!" the raccoon snapped, immediately going on the offensive. "Every other day she'd be peaking inside my head and looking at- at- at stuff I didn't want her seeing! And she talks so much, and hearing it inside my head i-is- it's annoying, and I told her to stop doing it a thousand times but she didn't care! And she always wanted affection," he spat the word out as if it was a curse. "And I'm not the type of guy to do that kind of stuff, okay!? A-and I hate the way she smells a-and frankly I should have ditched her ten planets ago!" He tossed the memory file away as if it had done him some great personal harm and was forced to duck when it ricochetted off the wall and threatened to do so physically.

"Wow," Quill repeated, taken aback by the outburst and the raccoon's abrupt three-sixty. "Didn't you just say it was mostly your fault!?"

"When did I say that?" demanded Rocket, crossing his arms over his chest and pointedly not meeting his eyes.

"Right before you started the memory! You said that if she really held a grudge she'd have made a sandwich out of you- and man you weren't kidding! That was such a dick move!"

Rocket's muzzle quivered with emotion, his fur bristling as he blinked wetness out of his eyes. There it was. Of course Quill wouldn't get it. He wasn't some emotionalistic screw-up who couldn't handle something as pathetic as friendship. He didn't have some stupid bomb where his heart was supposed to be. He was normal, and Rocket was anything but. Why had he even shown him the memory? He'd have seen it anyways, sure, but the raccoon had hoped it would be easier to swallow coming from him. He should have known better. No amount of fessing up or apologising or whatever the hell he'd been trying to do could change the past.

"Guess it was," he finally admitted, voice huskier than usual as he slumped in defeat. Whatever, maybe this was for the best. He wasn't Guardian material, who was he even kidding? The sooner Quill booted him off the better.

The terran patted the empty shelf space besides him and after a moment of hesitation, with his eyes glued firmly to his little raccoon feet, Rocket accepted the silent invitation and sat down besides him.

"Gamora isn't 'The Deadliest Woman In The Galaxy' because of how hot she is, and Drax isn't 'The Destroyer' because he runs a successful demolition firm. I never left a girl inside a plant's stomach, sure, but I have waaaaaaay too many crazy-ex stories for, well honestly for anyone. You know, I didn't even show Gamora's brother a fraction of the shit I've done in bed and the guy just collapsed. I think he was still kind of out of it on Tharvis and I didn't even get to the-" he noticed the way Rocket was looking at him with the same kind of quizzical horror that had briefly passed through the features of Ebony Maw and realising that he was getting sidetracked, Quill abruptly changed subjects. "The point is. We all have things we regret. We're all a-holes. But we're not total dicks." He put a firm, Captain-ly hand on Rocket's shoulder. "Not even you."

Rocket's first instinct was to deny it. To bite the hand of friendship. To say something mean and hurtful, something he knew would hurt Quill in all the right places. To prove the idiot that called himself Star-Dork wrong. He racked his brains for a way to ruin the moment but gave up when he came up empty. Whatever, he could screw things up another time…

"I came back," the raccoon admitted, in a voice smaller than the pot-bound Groot. He cleared his throat and reached a claw to scratch behind his ear. "For Cosmo. Later. Before. She just… got out before I got there and, well, I didn't think she'd be all that happy to see me if I tracked her down."

"Did you tell her that?"

"No," Rocket sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. "But she knows."

Quill got the implication and sighed. "We'll figure something out, okay? Help break her out of the mindreading." He grinned. "She wouldn't be a Guardian if she was perfect."

"That is true."

"I'm glad you told me," said Quill, pulling the reluctant raccoon into a side-hug. "Look, I'm new to this whole 'trusting people' thing too, but I want you to know that I trust you. And I want you to know that you can trust me." The air was definitely a lot clearer than it had been before so Quill was almost ready to call it mission accomplished, but figured the least he could do was make sure it was likely to stay that way. "So if there's anything I can do to help, y'know, just let me know."

"I've got it figured out," Rocket replied. "Well, some of it anyways." Wriggling out of the terran's grip he padded over to his infoglass. "When I got my killswitch installed, I was… well let's just say the folks that made me weren't big on anaesthetics. Never thought I'd be grateful for that but it means the passkey I need to disable it is somewhere in here," he tapped the side of his head. "Not stuff I like remembering, but…" Lylla, Teefs, Floor, Groot, Drax, Quill, Gamora, and he supposed Cosmo too… "I've got too much to lose."

"That sounds incredibly morbid," said Quill, trying to keep how much Rocket's plan horrified him out of his voice. He failed completely, but it was the thought that counted. "What do you need me to do?"

Rocket blinked up from his infoglass and gave him a quizzical look.

"I wanna help."

With a sharp intake of breath, the raccoon shrunk in on himself, his grip on the infoglass tightening. In the distance a gunshot rung out. The most important person in the world lay dead at his feet. Rocket shook himself out of it before Quill could ask. "I just need some space. Some time." He cleared his throat and defaulted to his usual growl. "It's- I can handle it, okay?"

Quill raised his arms in the universal gesture of surrender. "I never said you couldn't. I was just saying. If you need it. I'm here."

"Thanks," said Rocket, after a moment's hesitation. He'd said it too quietly and too quickly, though, so Quill, blasphemous bastard that he was, promptly blessed him.

"That wasn't a sneeze!" the raccoon snapped. "I was thanking you, you idiot." He slumped, mentally kicking himself, because he hadn't meant to say it that way. "I-I'm glad we could talk."

"Me too, man." Beaming, the legendary Star-Lord got to his feet and hit the raccoon with a pair of finger guns. "We'll call it three all for now, but you better watch your back. I'm coming for that Dance-Off."

"Your funeral," Rocket shrugged, unable to stop a smile from tugging at his muzzle.

Mission 'Clear The Air With Rocket', Accomplished!

A few hours later, Rocket set down his infoglass and took a deep breath. It probably would have been healthier to get some sleep but the raccoon didn't have the luxury of time on his side. The sooner this scut was done with, the better.

Having said that, his legs were beginning to cramp, his tail was feeling all kinds of sore and his throat was dry. Realising that he hadn't had that beer he'd wanted earlier, the raccoon got to his feet, intent on remedying that.

Shoving open the blast doors, he shuffled into the common area and stifled a yawn. Drax lay on the couch, snoring in the Kylosian way (which was to say 'incredibly loudly'). Completely oblivious to the din, Cosmo was curled up on his chest, her tail wagging from whatever her mind was on. Good, that meant she hadn't seen anything. Blood-splattered tables, cold, uncaring hands and the distant screams of a younger Rocket hardly made for sweet dreams.

He was pulled from his thoughts by a light tugging and looked down to see Groot holding onto the edge of his pants. "I am Groot," the sapling confessed, pointing towards the kitchen.

"Thirsty?" Rocket whisper-hissed. "You should be asleep! And how many times do I have to tell you you're not meant to be out of your pot?"

"I am Groot!" protested the smaller, significantly more stubborn Groot. "I am Groot. I am Groot." He pointed an accusatory branch up at him. I am Groot!" Rocket gasped. The older one would have never…

"Well, you got me there," Rocket relented, bending over to scoop up the eager plant. He was not at all used to being bigger than, well, anything frankly. He stood taller than Cosmo, sure, but that was only because she wasn't bipedal. Groot was growing fast, and Rocket didn't doubt that he'd overtop him too, one day, but for now the little tree seemed to love nothing more than riding on his shoulder. Considering how many times he'd hitched a ride on the older Groot, the raccoon figured it was only fair. "I'll explain it when you're older, okay? Still working it out myself."

"I am Groot?"

"Stop asking me that," Rocket bristled, picking up a glass of water and instinctively running it under the faucet before filling it up for the tree to drink. "I'm fine. Just tired."

"I am Groot."

"Yeah, yeah. First thing's first though. My drink."

Setting Groot down on a top, Rocket clambered up the fridge to pluck a beer can from the top shelf.

"I am Groot?"

Rocket raised an eyebrow. "What friends?"

"I am Groot."

"I didn't say that!"

Insolent little bastard that he was, Groot crossed his arms over his chest and frowned at him. He'd learned the pose from Gamora. It was the way she looked at Quill whenever the Ravager said something they both knew was untrue. She was such a bad influence…

"Something else came up," Rocket sighed. "It's…" He supposed he could afford to tell Groot. The others didn't understand him yet, and going from Rocket's own experience it would be a while before they did. And if anything did go wrong and Rocket ended up living out his days in a test tube, it was nice to know that maybe one day Quill and the others would know the truth… But that was the selfish thing to do. Groot deserved better. He deserved a full and happy life, free and far away from the problems of his poor substitute for a father figure. "I'll tell you when I'm ready, okay?"

"I am Groot?" the sapling asked, holding out an outstretched branch-finger. He'd learned that from Quill- who was also a terrible influence.

"Yeah, yeah, pinky promise," the raccoon obliged, wrapping his smallest finger around the branch and giving it a gentle shake. "Now, bedtime."

Groot squealed as Rocket picked him up again, and spoiled little brat that he was, had one final request. "I am Groot?"

"Alright, alright. You can sleep in the cockpit."

"I am Groot?"

Rocket snorted at the sheer audacity. "Bedtime stories are for bedtime. We are both way past that."

"I am Groot?"

"I ain't singing you to sleep either."

Groot argued the whole way to the cockpit, employing his entire arsenal of dirty tricks. When blackmail, arson and forgery failed to get him what he wanted, the sapling hit the raccoon with a pair of wide, pleading eyeballs.

"Nice try," Rocket snickered, flicking the side of the plant's head. "But that ai- HEY!"

The lights burst open, giving Rocket a clear view of the sword pressed to his throat. He hadn't noticed Gamora resting on her chair and must have startled her awake from the way she was blinking.

"Rocket, I-" she wasted no time shrinking Godslayer down to it's sheath and tossing it aside once she realised who it was she had damn near beheaded. "I was-" she cleared her throat and hastily averted her vision. "You startled me."

"My apologies," Rocket grumbled, rubbing at his neck and trying not to think about what would have happened if she'd swung just a little harder. "Should have figured you were up here."

"I'm sorry," Gamora shook her head. "It was my fault. I should have been more careful. If I had-"

"No harm done," the raccoon shrugged, setting the yawning Groot down on his seat and tucking him under a tiny blanket reserved for such occassions. Normally he'd have given Gamora hell for swinging at him, but it was too late in the cycle for another argument and the sapling needed his rest. Besides, she was hardly the first friend to nearly kill him today…

"I am Groot," mumbled the sapling, completely oblivious to what had just transpired and already sinking into sweet dreams of his own.

"You're awful, you know that right?" Nevertheless Rocket sighed and obliged him. "I love you too." And he kissed him goodnight.

Drax or Quill would have teased him for it, called it adorable or whatever, but Gamora was too high and mighty for that kind of behavior. She never made fun of him for anything. Somehow, even more than Cosmo, she always seemed to know what he was thinking, when he was planning something, when he was trying to be mean. He didn't have tells, at least as far as he knew, but somehow she never failed to read him.

Which was why he was startled and more than a little frightened when he caught her staring.

"What?" he demanded. "I can be nice."

She frowned at that. "I wasn't-"

"Oh so it's the sword thing?" Rocket rolled his eyes, hoping dearly that it was the sword thing and not something else she had figured out. "I'm too tired to give you crap, okay? If you still feel bad about it, come find me in the morning."

"It's not that," her eyes darted to his chest for a fraction of a second. "I was just…" She trailed off and in the silence, Rocket figured it out.

He sighed. "I'm guessing you heard? About the…" he gestured in the general direction of his heart. This was why he'd never told them about the damn killswitch. They'd just start worrying. Being concerned. Pitying him.

"An unfortunate side-effect of a ship this small," Gamora admitted. "For the record, I figured it out before you told Quill."

"When I refused your medpack?"

She nodded. "I wasn't entirely sure if you were just being stubborn or not, but I've had some enhancements of my own and am familiar with the technology."

Rocket squinted at her. Was that why she found him so damn easy to read? Some cyborg quirk he didn't know he had? "Do you…?" he pointed.

"No." Gamora turned to face the stars. "Thanos never questioned the loyalty of his children."

He could have left it at that. Grunted her a goodnight and gone to deal with his own issues. The lump in his stomach wouldn't let him. Everyone had been so busy asking him if he was okay to do the same for Gamora, and Rocket at least knew a little bit about what it felt like to be turned into something you weren't and have your fellow lab rats turned on you. He could relate, he just didn't know how to.

"I'm sorry," he sighed. "I know I don't have much of a basis for family crap… but I imagine it ain't easy having your- well, yanno, trying to kill you."

Gamora gave him a grim little smile. "Wouldn't be the first time." She reached over to the comm unit and picked up the beer can he'd tossed at it earlier. She held it out to him, a peace offering. "And it wasn't your fault. I should have been more forthcoming about my concerns with Corix."

Rocket took the beer, glad that that was the end of that. With any luck he'd never have to think about Corix 85 ever again. "Goodnight," he grunted, shuffling away. He stopped at the top of the ladder, unable to shake off the feeling that he owed her more than he was giving.

Observant do-gooder that she was, Gamora noticed. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Against his better judgement, Rocket turned to face her. When that proved too difficult he made himself focus on the stars shining outside the Milano. "You ever feel like… like…" What he was about to say was stupid, but if anyone would get it… "Like what you have is a dream?" He sighed, might as well get it over with. "It ain't perfect. You're not sure how you got there. Everything that happens is some kind of crazy. And… and you wouldn't change it for the world." He let the sentence hang in the air before taking a deep shuddering breath. "But it's a dream. It ain't real. One day, you're gonna wake up. And when you do, you're gonna realise you're still in… in whatever damn cage you thought you got away from."

Groot's soft snores made the silence more awkward if anything. Rocket kicked himself. He should have just kept his mouth shut. Just gone to sleep. The raccoon stared pointedly out into space, dimly hoping a wild kronan plant would swallow him up.

"I know what it's like to feel I'm living on borrowed time," Gamora answered, her own gaze as far off as his own. "What Proxima said was true… One day I will have to face my father."

A sire worse than Sire if ever there was one. Thanos. The Mad Titan. Sure, it was something he, Quill and Drax liked to joke about. Between them they had come up with a dozen needlessly creative ways to blow him up for good. Rapidly expanding nano-bomb to the ass. Burn him from the inside with Kylosian spice. Lock him in a remotely piloted ship and fly it into the nearest sun. But that was all part of the dream, and wide awake as Rocket was, he knew the way that fight ended. "We," the raccoon amended. "Drax called first dibs and Quill would never let you do it alone." Depending on Groot's age when that day came, the tree would likely join them too.

And Rocket? If he wasn't dead by then he'd be clean on the other side of the galaxy. The thought scared him more than any fricking killswitch, but it was the simple truth. The guns and explosions were just for show, all he'd ever been good at was running away.

True to form, Rocket hopped down the ladder and slunk out of sight.

The raccoon got up a few hours later, sore and groggy and wishing he hadn't had two beers just before bed. Not that he had slept much. A dozen of his worst memories, Xandar looming ominously in the distance and the need to plan ahead and prepare had all kept him wide awake.

Quill was giving Drax a loud talking to about burning the kitchen down, Gamora was giving Groot his breakfast and someone had left out coffee for him. It was a Terran drink the rest of the Galaxy had wasted almost no time adopting a few years back, that had been a black market commodity long before that. It consisted of dried energy beans crushed and mixed with boiling water. A good drink for stake-outs and for lousy mornings, but it tasted vile on it's own.

"Can someone pass the-" He hadn't been asking anyone in particular, and he supposed she was just being polite, but still it irked him when the sugar shaker floated his way before he could even finish his sentence.

Rocket scowled, and didn't so much as sip from his mug. Ignoring the way Cosmo wilted, the raccoon returned to his room in a thoroughly bad mood.

"Attention idiots!" he announced, storming back into the common area approximately an hour later. "To ensure that what happened yesterday never happens again, I made us all some comms." Technically he hadn't made them, but he had tinkered them all to a point where he might as well have. "One way lines, going five ways. Red is for Quill, Green is for Gams, Teal is for Drax, Brown is for Groot, Pink is for me. Yellow sends your coordinates and a distress signal to the rest of the set. Near limitless range, and it should be immune to most kinds of interference." He strolled around, handing them each an identical device.

"Woah!" breathed Quill. And because he had never grown up, he wasted no time whatsoever dialling up Drax. "Hey, can you hear me?"

"YES!" shouted the Destroyer, because he still hadn't figured out how comm units worked. "I CAN HEAR YOU VERY CLEARLY!"

"Where did you get the parts for these?" Gamora wondered aloud. From the way she was studying hers, Rocket could tell she approved.

He shrugged. "I had some stuff stashed in the vents. It was either a couple of comms or one really good bomb. Figured you'd prefer the first."

She bought the lie, no doubt assuming he still felt bad about the other day and was making amends. Well, she was at least half-right. Speaking of making amends...

Rocket cleared his throat to get everyone's attention and with an exaggerated roll of his eyes and a long-suffering sigh, withdrew a collar from his satchel. "Since I'm outvoted…" He gestured at the spliced-together comm unit and memory file attached to the fabric. "This thing should project your thoughts into words so you don't have to probe our minds every time you want to say something. I can refine it a bit more when I have the parts, but I'm still not sure if it works so…" He held it out in Cosmo's general direction and did his best to act like he didn't care while she padded over to sniff at it. "Also sorry. For a lot of things."

"It works!" the spacedog chirped, her tail wagging as her ears adjusted to the sound of her own voice. "Another brilliant invention." She settled down a moment later, eyes fixed to the ground as she went on in a voice marred with trepidation. "And I'm sorry too. For many things." There was a lengthy pause. "So… I can stay?"

Rocket nodded, not trusting himself with words.

"Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!" Cosmo shot back to her feet, her tail a whirlwind of joy as she bounced in place. For once, he was the one who could tell what she was thinking.

"Just this once," the raccoon sighed, and the spacedog wasted no time licking the side of his face.

Noone laughed at him. Noone made him feel stupid for being nice. Rocket rubbed the slobber off his fur, oddly content with the way things stood. He was a Guardian of the Galaxy, and idiots though they were, these were his flarking people. No matter what happened, Sire couldn't take that from him.

Because he had never grown up either, the raccoon proceeded to dial up Quill. "So, Xandar next, right? Heard we're owed one hell of a bounty."

"I think it's about time we cashed in on that," the terran returned, voice echoing in through the comm.

"Hit the music Star-Pants," Rocket grinned with all his pointed teeth. "Let's get this show on the road!"

Footnote: I don't know if the average reader reads the comments of the fics they read- it's something I myself do habitually. Anyways, last chapter Tifo kind of touched on a point about Groot being hard to write for- in theory not quite, Groot is just Groot you don't even need to write dialogue for him! But giving him depth, an arc etc- not quite as easy as for the rest of the cast. That goes double for Groot the younger, especially while he's still a baby. He is easy to write for and I do like his dynamic with Rocket. But I definetly experienced firsthand the buffer that is his way of communication. The gist of it for anyone confused is Groot knows a tiny bit more about what's up with Rocket than the other Guardians by virtue of the comm calls. Rocket mentioned coming back with company, which didn't end up happening and is partially what Groot is asking about.

Originally, I was going to write the Gamora segment from her perspective- planned for her to wake up from a nightmare and hold Rocket at sword point- mistaking him for Thanos or Nebula or one of her other siblings- but decided to keep it from Rocket's point of view to stay consistent with the rest of the chapter (which is a very meta way of saying that I am the person Rocket is referring to when he says they were all too concerned with Rocket's issues to focus on hers).

Their friendship is a bit muted in the films by virtue of y'know many characters vying for screentime, but I figure that even if they aren't as openly close they have a very healthy sense of mutual respect. They also have incredibly similar backstories and I would even say they themselves are pretty similar characters- Gamora not telling anyone about the Soul Stone is pretty comparable to what Rocket is doing now. Gamora doesn't wear her problems on her sleeves though and is substantially better at playing the 'I'm fine' game.

Speaking of doing things, Rocket is making moves. One of which is making a collar for Cosmo- like the one she has in the movies- that means I no longer have to italicize her dialogue *unless* her dialogue is telepathic in nature. He's not great with apologies, but it's the thought that counts.

Pretty proud of this chapter too, I think it has a lot of strong moments between Quill, Gamora and Cosmo's bits. One final Mission Report left as we head over to check in on Batch 89 (finally) and then we're onto the third arc of the story! (That is 'arc' as opposed to 'act'- if I had to give an estimate there's approximately... ten more arcs up ahead?)

Would love to hear your thoughts, hope you all enjoyed. Thank you all so much for all the kudos and comments so far <3 Hit the music and strap in. It's gonna be a bumpy ride.

"S-Class, Deluxe Model Cruiser," Rocket bragged as he lead the way inside the appropriately named 'Sweet Ride'. It was a make of ship technically built for luxury, not robbery, but it came with the best cloaking in Xandar and most Corpsmen didn't want to deal with the ultra-rich so there would be little need to worry about interference. It wasn't the fastest model and had a hard limit of three points per jump, not to mention no weaponry. But it did come with a built-in surround sound system, hot tub and complimentary vintage.

"Woooooooow," breathed Floor, her eyes bulging in wonder as a dozen multicoloured lights flickered on above them.

Teefs awkwardly flopped into the backseats and was almost immediately buried in soft, silky goodness. "Your ship really is better, Rocket."

"Thanks," the raccoon grunted, unable to hold back a small, satisfied smirk as he uncorked a bottle of Xandar 072 and dunked in a dozen pills of concentrated temazepam. Crime payed. Crime payed very well.

"Must have cost you a fortune," Lylla commented, giving the polished leather seats a curious sniff.

"Er- sure let's go with that."

The otter squinted at him, likely coming to the correct conclusion that, technically speaking, the Sweet Ride wasn't his ship. It was just (for whatever reason) absurdly easy to steal the space equivalent of a limosine. Sure, the built-in tracker and engine clamp meant keeping it stolen was practically impossible but for someone looking to snag a day or two's joyride it was perfect.

"I don't suppose…" Teefs hesitated a moment, chewing his lip as he fiddled with his flippers. "... it supports remote piloting?"

"Actually it does." Which was another reason Rocket had chosen the Cruiser. He didn't need a ship for his part of the heist but getting in and out of Xandar's Communication tower required something stealthy for his batchmates to pilot. He grinned as Teef's face lit up like some kind of giant, overexcited puppy. "You wanna fly?"

"Yes please!"

"Alright, alright, just give me a sec." Rocket turned away and busied himself with the nav, not quite sure what to do with the warm, gushy feeling that was making his tail wag like some stupid dog's.

"What do all these buttons do?" J0100 asked, settling down in the front and gesturing at the dozen or so protruding from the side of his armchair.

The raccoon failed to hold back a snicker and reached a claw over to flick on the built-in massage feature. "Various comfort settings. Pretty cool, right?"

"S-s-s-s-s-s-o-o-o-o-o-o c-c-c-c-c-c-o-o-o-o-o-l!" the hare agreed, teeth chattering from the vibrations of a dozen servos.

"Best ship ever!" Floor cheered, hopping over to sit besides her fellow lagomorph.

"What's this?" asked Lylla, tugging at her seatbelt apprehensively.

Rocket frowned at her, unsure if this was just her messing with him again. "That's a seatbelt."

"What are they for?" she asked, with the same note of apprehension that told him she wasn't.

"Health and safety," Rocket shrugged. "And before you ask, that's a cupholder." He failed to hold back another snicker. "Holds your drinks so they don't spill." He slapped the nav back into place. "All set Teefs, take us away."

"You're the best, Rocket!" the walrus beamed, the engine roaring to life as he tapped into the controls.

The next thing he knew the Sweet Ride blasted off at full throttle, sending the unseated Rocket flying backwards. The raccoon hit the equally-startled Teef's blubbery side like a pinball and was promptly trampolined off of it and into Lylla's waiting arms. He was nearly sent hurtling back into the cockpit when Teefs hit the brakes far too quickly, but the otter held firm.

Floor and the Jackass were somewhat less lucky and hit the windshield like a pair of overgrown bugs, though judging from the way they were laughing about it this was likely the highlight of their week.

"So that's what seatbelts are for," Lylla quipped.

"Sorry," the walrus squeaked, as the Sweet Ride slowed to a more manageable cruising speed.

Mercilessly squashing the instinctive urge to snap at Teefs for his incompetence, Rocket shook himself out of the daze and waved the apology away. "Just watch the acceleration." He turned his attention back to the bemused Lylla. "Thanks for the save."

"Anytime."

She had a surprisingly delicate touch for someone who's arms could crush the outer hull of most spacecraft. Rocket made a mental note to ask her permission to look them over sometime. Preferably when being in her arms was less likely to turn his tail into a bottlebrush. Realising that he was staring, the raccoon awkwardly cleared his throat. "You can er- you can put me down now."

She did so gentler than he was used to (but then Drax wasn't called a walking thesaurus for nothing) and brushed the fur atop his head down... which only served to make it point up everywhere else.

Rocket turned away, trying desperately to ignore the way his heart seemed to be doing somersaults. "How about some music?" he asked, voice cracking as he pulled out something very important to a certain Star-Lord.

"Oh! Did Sire give you some of his recordings?" asked Lylla, her face lighting up in excitement. "I didn't think you were the type."

"I ain't," Rocket scowled, the bitter reminder of Sire's existence bringing him back into reality. And just when things had been going so well... The raccoon sighed. "That flarknard wouldn't know good music if it slapped him across the face." Before she could voice how much she disapproved of that sentence, Rocket pressed a claw to the otter's muzzle. "Nah-ah, don't talk. Just listen."

'Friday night I crashed your party

Saturday I said, "I'm sorry"

Sunday came and trashed me out again'

Quill likely wouldn't approve of his 'borrowing' the last thing his mother had ever given to him, much like how Gamora wouldn't approve of him 'borrowing' a Deluxe Cruiser, but where Rocket was concerned possession was an abstract concept. If the terran really didn't want him to have it, he'd have guarded it better. Much like the Cruiser, it was his batchmate's approval that sealed the deal. Rocket turned the volume up as their ears perked up in attention.

'I was only having fun

Wasn't hurting anyone

And we all enjoyed the weekend for a change'

A few immolaters down the line, Floor was all too eager to set off the next one. "Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease, Rocket?" she asked, folding three sets of limbs together and balancing awkwardly on her last pair as her bright red eyes grew impossibly wide and sparkled innocently.

It was a trick sure, one used by predatory flerkin to lure in unsuspecting prey, (he'd learned that the hard way)- It was also one of the first methods of getting what he wanted that Groot had mastered (he had learned that the hard way too).

Despite the way Lylla and Teefs were frantically shaking their heads behind Floor's back, Rocket relented with a sigh. Trap or not, he couldn't say no to that face.

'I've been stranded in the combat zone

I walked through Bedford Stuy alone

Even rode my motorcycle in the rain'

"Me next! Me next! Me next!" J0100 cheered, nearly setting off the dast thing as he wrenched the immolater out of Rocket's hands and hurried off into the ruins of what had once been a five-star restaurant. He returned a moment later, grinning from ear to ear and looking far too pleased with himself for the raccoon's liking. He faltered slightly at Rocket's scowl. "Did I do something wrong?"

Rocket was more annoyed than impressed to find that he hadn't.

'And you told me not to drive

But I made it home alive

So you said that only proves that I'm insane'

"What about you, eh?" the raccoon asked, holding the next immolater out to Teefs.

The walrus promptly shrunk in on himself, awkwardly wringing his flippers. "I-I don't know, Rocket. Y-you do it. You're better at it."

"Don't be scared," Floor teased, giving the walrus's side a gentle prod.

"It's very easy," J0100 agreed.

"M-maybe for you," Teefs protested. "B-but I don't have the- it's delicate. You need precision. And I don't have-"

"You can do it, 95," Lylla urged, giving him an encouraging pat on the back.

"P-probably but-"

"We can do it together," Rocket interrupted, holding out his paw instead. And after a moment of hesitation, Teefs accepted it.

'You may be right

I may be crazy

Oh, but it just may be a lunatic you're looking for'

After that, there was no question of setting the immolators off alone. Like any game, high-powered explosives were more fun with friends. The Jackass wanted to do it with Floor and they both came within an inch of killing them all. Teefs wanted to do it with Lylla, which really meant that Lylla had to do all of it. And Floor wanted to do it with Teefs, and the Jackass wanted to do it with Lylla and before they knew it they were on the last immolater.

It was then that Rocket had a rather dumb idea.

"Say cheese!" he cried, ignoring the logical part of his brain that told him it was stupid to snap a holo of something as illegal as what they were doing and pulling out his infoglass as Lylla, Teefs, Floor and J0100 all pressed an appendage on the detonator.

"Cheese!" chorused Batch 89, in far too good a mood to wonder what cheese was.

"What was that about?" asked Lyla, once she had rubbed the camera flash out of her eyes.

Rocket flipped the infoglass to show them, and was met with unanimous noises of delight.

As good as the picture was, it was also nothing short of incriminating, and Groot had a nasty habit of guessing his passwords as-is. Deleting it would be the safer option- because explaining the immolator business to Gamora or Fring would be tantamount to suicide.

"But wait!" cried Floor, snapping the raccoon out of his thoughts. "Rocket not in it!"

"Er- I mean it's just a holo. No big deal," Rocket made to shrug.

The next thing he knew the infoglass was plucked out of his hands and Floor was extending a mechanical leg like a selfie-stick as Lylla and the Jackass each grabbed him by a shoulder and pulled him into the shot.

"Say cheese!" Teefs chortled.

And feeling like the happiest schmuck in the known universe, his skin burning red beneath his fur, Rocket garbled out a 'Ch-cheese!' as the flash of the hololens blinded him.

It likely wouldn't take too much convincing to get Drax and Rocket to agree with the 'hunt Nebula down to make sure she's okay and then toss her in jail for the rest of her life' plan. The raccoon was likely to consent to it just based on the size of her bounty, and Drax could usually be counted on to go along with things. But just to be sure that the decision was unanimous, Quill thought it wise to ease the pair into it.

Besides, there was an equally pressing matter the Legendary Star-Lord needed to discuss with his teammate.

"Hey Groot, have you seen Rocket? And was he by any chance holding my walkman?"

The sapling looked up from the video game he'd been playing for the better part of the day. "I am Groot."

Right, Quill still couldn't understand him. According to Rocket it would be a while before he could. "... So if it's a yes, say anything. And if it's no, say nothing."

Without another word Groot turned back to the game and scored a triple headshot against a Chitauri cruiser.

Quill raised an eyebrow. "Didn't he come back earlier?"

He was met with more silence.

As unsurprising as it was to find that Rocket's sudden earlier bout of 'exhaustion' had been feigned, Quill had still expected to find the raccoon aboard the Milano; fiddling with a gadget or two while listening to stolen tunes he 'didn't care about'.

"Should I be worried?" Quill wondered aloud as Gamora walked past, balancing the half-melted remains of the Milano's old oven on her shoulder. "Drax and Cosmo aren't back yet either and they left before us."

"Rocket is entirely capable of looking after himself and has been doing so for longer than you or I have." Gamora replied, setting the oven down with a sigh. "If I had to guess, he's trying to scrap the ship from yesterday before whoever owns it tracks him down."

"That's… highly specific. What makes you think that?"

Gamora shrugged. "It's the type of thing he wouldn't want to tell us about and something he could get away with here on Xandar. Alternatively he went to track down whoever's responsible for his merchandise." She frowned, seriously considering the latter option and what it could mean for the parties involved.

"I'll call him," said Quill, urgently pulling out his comm.

Before they parted ways, Rocket made sure to go over the plan again; just to make sure his batchmates all understood their role in it and to lower the odds of them messing things up. With the Nova Corps spread as thin as they were, and how smoothly they had set the immolaters, Rocket was feeling somewhat more optimistic about his chances of pulling it off. "Any questions?"

"I h-a-v-e o-n-e!" J0100 announced, standing atop his vibrating chair importantly. "W-h-a-t i-s m-u-s-i-c for?"

"I... don't know," Floor admitted, eyes widening as if realising this for the first time.

"I don't see how that's relevant," Rocket frowned, shrugging despite himself. "Dancing, I guess. Anything else?"

"What's 'dancing'?" Lylla intoned.

"Is that, like, something you can eat?" asked Teefs. His belly gave a particularly audible growl at that, prompting him to hide his face behind his flippers.

"Not... really?" Rocket scratched the back of his head as he struggled to put the enigma that was 'dancing' into words. Quill believed it to be the greatest thing in the universe. Drax was vehemently opposed to it and said it was only for fools. For all the raccoon knew, both were equally likely to be true. "I guess it's… moving ridiculously? Like the way your tail does when you're happy."

The analogy fell somewhat flat considering Floor and J0100's tails were tiny, Lylla's didn't seem to wag and Teefs didn't really have one.

"The way my tail does when I'm happy," Rocket amended. "You know-" and feeling all kinds of stupid, the raccoon swished it from side to side to demonstrate. "Like this."

"I see," said Lylla, imitating the motion. "So I'm dancing?"

"Er- yeah. Sorta. I ain't really an expert." He raised a paw to scratch at his chest. "Anyways, I've got to get back before the other guys start asking too many questions. Or come looking for me, which would be way worse."

"Wait!" cried Floor, scuttling around him to block the door and staring up at him with her stupid, giant eyes. "Play one more game first?"

Rocket opened and shut his mouth, trying and failing to find a way to refuse her. "Fine, fine." Sighing, he held up a single claw. "But just one."

One game with Floor turned into one game with Teefs and one game with the Jackass and before long Rocket had lost track of both the time and the number of rounds.

Batch 89 had had ten years to think up new games and relatively little else to do so the rules were a lot more complex than he remembered, but Rocket knew the gist of it anyways. Floor liked any that involved moving a lot. Teefs preferred thinking games. And Lylla was always content to play along with whatever.

Before long they had added another to their vast and impressive repertoire. The appropriately named 'Dancing Game' (that most terrans would recognize as some version of musical statues) required four players to freeze as soon as the music stopped and start 'dancing' the second it turned on again.

Because he still had some shreds of dignity, Rocket was all too eager to handle the music.

They were on their eighth (the fifth) final round and it had come down to Teefs (who was good at this type of game because of the limited number of complicated motions he could carry out) and Floor (because she was good at virtually every game they played) after a particularly risky handstand had sent the Jackass teetering into Lylla.

'Don't know if words can say

But darlin' I'll find a way

To let you know what you meant to me

Guess it was meant to be

I hold you in my heart

As life's most precious part'

"Oh crap," Rocket groaned as his comm unit buzzed to life. It was blaring red, which meant Quill. Flarkflarkflarkflarkflarkflark! "Okay, new game. Everyone keeps their mouth shut while I answer this," he snapped, hitting pause on the walkman and freezing his batchmates on the spot. He waited a moment to make sure they understood and were unlikely to give things away before clearing his throat and putting on the voice of a Rocket that hadn't just spent most of his afternoon spreading bombs across an already-ravaged city. "Hey Quill, what's up?"

It wasn't long before Rocket answered. "Hey Quill, what's up?"

"Hey man. Was just wondering if you swiped my walkman at the tailor?"

Gamora gave him a look.

"What? I'm easing him into it," the terran mouthed, as a long, guilty pause confirmed that the raccoon had.

"Don't think I did."

"You suuuuure?" Quill teased, secretly glad it hadn't been snagged by the same insane fans that had torn a hole out of his jacket. At least Rocket's kleptomania usually ended with the walkman back in his possession.

"I ain't responsible every single time you misplace the dast thing!" He snapped, even though he definitely was this time.

"Relax man, that wasn't an accusation. I was just asking." He cleared his throat. Operation Schmooze Rocket And Stop Him From Commiting A Dozen Murders is a go! "Anyways, we got your stuff! And the particle generator too."

"That's great. Did you get the dual or monomolecular system?"

"You mean there's more than one!?" Rocket's laughter made it clear the raccoon was just pulling his leg.

"Twenty years in space, you'd think you'd know better!"

"Anyways..." Grunted Quill, rather annoyed by the one-upping. "Was wondering if you wanted to celebrate a little?"

That put an end to the raccoon's mirth. "Celebrate what?"

Quill shrugged. "Well we have a new teammate and a shit-tonne of money. If that's not worth celebrating I don't know what is."

"Er- I guess. I'm actually a little busy at the moment."

Before Quill could ask, a high-pitched, semi-robotic voice from somewhere besides the raccoon shrieked into existence. "LYLLA OUT! Me win! Me win!"

The Legendary Star-Lord shared a look of confusion with the equally-startled Gamora. "What are you up to?"

"N-nothing!" Rocket squeaked, voice spiking with panic, which made it clear that he was definetly up to something. "Hey!" he snapped at whoever was with him. "I said zip it!"

"But Lylla moved," said the same high-pitched alien. "So game over!"

Granted that 'something' sounded far less nefarious by the second.

"It's not fair!" a second, more ponderous voice complained. "He was tickling me the whole time!"

"No I wasn't!" a third one snickered.

If Quill had had to guess what Rocket was up to prior to phoning him; disregarding Gamora's theories, the terran would have assumed Deluxe Cruiser Joyride (because space limos were stupidly easy to steal). But the presence of what sounded...

"Yes you were!"

"Nah-ah!"

"Yeah-ah!"

"Yes you did J," added a fourth, somewhat more mature voice with a chuckle. "I saw you too."

...A lot like children ruled out that line of thinking.

"H-hey Quill. C-can I call you back?" And before the terran could reply, the distressed-sounding raccoon abruptly hung up.

"That was… weird," said Quill, tucking the comm back into his pocket after a lengthy pause. "Stiiiiill not sure what's going on but now I feel like a dumbass for making a big deal out of it."

"It doesn't sound like he has anyone at gunpoint," Gamora allowed. She frowned as she considered the information she had to work with.

"I am Groot!" Groot cheered, pulling off a particularly impressive bit of button-mashing and earning a quadrakill.

"...Do you think he signed up for parenting classes?"

"...Do you think he signed up for parenting classes?"

Rocket never thought he'd see the day where he was grateful for the fact that all his friends were idiots. And that included Gamora even if, relatively speaking, she was among the smarter ones.

Of course, there would have been no cause for panic if his batchmates could have just kept quiet for one frickin' minute.

"I'm sorry," he rounded on the quartet, snapping them out of whatever stupid argument they had been in the middle of. "But what part of 'keep your mouths shut' was unclear?"

"Floor's mouth was shut!" chirped Floor, gesturing at the stupid frickin' voicebox she had screwed over her jaws. "See! Not open!"

Rocket swelled with rage, and it was only after a hot minute or two of bouncing on the spot and damn near tearing off clumps of his fur (while Batch 89 looked on in concern) that he managed to hold back his temper. "Whatever." He took a deep breath to calm himself and pulled a brochure out from behind one of the seats. "You guys hungry?"

The question was moot. They hadn't eaten all day and Rocket himself was starving. He wasn't all that familiar with their dietary requirements but Teefs at least weighed a tonne and likely needed to eat as much to stay healthy.

"We have a couple of protein packs and vitamins back at the ship," Lylla replied. "We should probably be heading back there anyways. It'll be dark soon."

"Protein packs," Rocket muttered to himself. "Better than pellets, sure." He tossed the brochure aside once it became apparent that everything on it was for the kind of fancy dining that wouldn't have let him past the front door.

"So if you could set the nav…"

"We ain't going back to the ship," Rocket snapped, flicking the music back on again as the otter blinked in surprise.

Humming to himself the raccoon drew up the menu of the nearest drive-through on his infoglass and flipped the tablet over to show them. "We're getting some real food. Pick what you like."

"Oooooh!" chorused Floor, Teefs and the Jackass, rushing over to crowd around the offered tablet.

"What's salad?"

"A burger doesn't sound like something you can eat."

"Look! They have more gum!"

Snickering to himself, Rocket left them to figure it out on their own and retreated to the cockpit.

Pulling out his comm and wiring it to the keyboard he typed up a quick message. 'TAKING A PARENTING CLASS- DONT TELL THE OTHERS! PS I LIED, I HAVE THE WOKMAN. SORRY. Caps Lock.' Because the odds of Quill keeping that to himself were practically non-existent and confirming Gamora's theory was the most surefire way to throw her and by extent the rest of the Guardians off the scent.

Turning back to the muffled sound of his batchmates chattering, Rocket was startled to find Lylla had joined him.

"Hey," he managed a smile and was incredibly proud of his heartrate for maintaining it's normal tempo. "Ready to order?"

"No. No it's not that. It's just…" She trailed off, awkwardly twiddling her mechanical fingers as she struggled to find a way to word whatever it was she was trying to say.

"Just?"

"Sire said you were irrational!" Lylla burst out, wincing as if struck.

"Oh, right." The raccoon cleared his throat awkwardly and tried to hide how disappointed he was by those words. His fault for thinking it could have been something good.

"But… I'm not sure that's true anymore," Lylla went on, which would have lifted his mood right back up if she hadn't followed it up with. "I think you're planning something."

"Yeah, a heist," Rocket failed to hold back a scowl. "Don't give me that, I've explained the plan to you twice already and I know you were paying attention."

"You didn't mention any of this to Sire," the otter retorted, gesturing around at the Cruiser's interior. "And there's a reason you don't want us to go back to our ship-"

"That reason is an active immolater two feet from the door!" He raised an arm for silence before Lylla could argue further. "Look, okay, I'll admit that some of this is…" he frowned at the still-buzzing massage chair. "E-excessive and maybe a little unnecessary, but I just… I thought it'd be fun." He shoved his paws in his pockets and turned his gaze towards the ceiling. "You guys are important to me and I wanted things to be… nicer than last time. That's all."

"And the people on the comms?"

"My friends," Rocket sighed. "Who don't know about you, or the heist and who I'd like to keep that way."

"I… see." Lylla winced again, her shoulders slumping as she shrunk guiltily. "I'm sorry. I just… When it comes to you… I'm not sure what I'm supposed to think."

As much as it hurt to hear her say that Rocket nodded in understanding. Now it was his turn to struggle with verbalistics. Did she really not remember even a little of him? Not even a strange feeling of dejavu? Before he could work up the courage to open his big, stupid mouth and just frickin' ask her- the Jackass hopped over to hand him back the infoglass.

"We decided to order one of everything!" he said, sounding very pleased with himself.

"What can I say, guarding a Galaxy is hungry work," Rocket chuckled, grateful that his unwanted celebrity status at least came with a few perks. A video endorsement, a couple of autographs here and there, far too many violations of his personal space for his liking and the fast food workers were all too happy to give him a discount on the four hundred fifty-five unit bill.

Unfortunately his celebrity status meant that his and the rest of the Guardian's faces were plastered all over the boxes. Floor even discovered a miniaturised plushie that looked nothing like him inside the stupidly large golden 'egg' she had been sharing with Teefs.

"So you really are a hero," the walrus intoned, staring wide-eyed at the tiny stuffed Rocket that looked more like a multicoloured potato. "I admit I didn't believe you when you first said it."

"Me neither," added Lylla, shifting awkwardly in her seat as she struggled to spear noodles with her chopstick. "You don't really seem the type." Realising abruptly that what she'd just said was rude the otter hastily backtracked. "I mean, no offense it's just-"

"None taken," Rocket interjected, waving away her apology and helping himself to a leg of deep-fried kanuspick. "Fairly recent development. Still getting used to it myself."

"Shooooo?" asked J0100, who had never learned not to talk with his mouth full. "Haw'djudewit?"

"Long story."

"Ooooh! Storytime!" cried Floor, completely missing the point. "Storytime! Storytime! Storytime!" Before long the rest of Batch 89 had joined in chanting 'Storytime! Storytime! Storytime!' in unison, and Rocket relented with a sigh.

"It all started when this… this complete idiot called Star-Dork got his hands on this," he pulled out the orb to show them. "Because he had a brain the size of a fly, this so-called Legendary Outlaw had no idea what it actually was and that inside it there was something really powerful and really important."

"Is this him?" Teefs pointed a flipper at the face of one Peter J. Quill cropped on top of a burger box. "They mispelled his name. Says 'Lord' here."

"We should file a complaint," Rocket snickered, because seeing 'Star-Dork' plastered everywhere would make having merchandise worth it. "Anyways, this idiot has a dad who's not really his dad. Big blue idiot called Yondu. Now Yondu wasn't too happy about Star-Dork trying to sell the orb behind his back so he puts a price on him. Fourty-thousand units for the lucky flarknard who brings him back for a Ravager execution. That lucky flarknard happened to be me and my partner, Groot. They don't got a picture of him but he was a tree and the… the nicest guy in the universe." The raccoon cleared his throat and as a precautionary measure wiped his eyes and nose.

"So anyways," he went on, as Batch 89 watched in rapt attention. "We're ready to stuff Star-Dork in a bag when this crazy green chick shows up out of nowhere and damn near kills him."

"Her?" And Lylla pointed at a rather stylised rendition of Gamora on the side of her noodle box.

"Her." Rocket confirmed. "Now the bounty specifically asks for Star-Dork alive so we can't have some other moron ruin the goods. Next thing you know we're having a three way brawl in the heart of Xandar! I win, obviously," he shrugged modestly, neglecting to mention that Gamora had thrown him bodily across the square and had casually shoved him aside a second time before proceeding to chop off both Groot's arms. "But yanno, everyone tried their best and that's what matters. In any case we were all arrested for disturbing the peace and sent to the Kyln."

"The Kyln?" asked Floor, her voice giving the legendary prison it's due ominance.

"The Kyln," echoed Rocket, grinning from ear to ear. "Where we meet the last of our motley crew. Drax!" And before anyone could ask he pointed a claw at the nearest tattooed maniac on display. "Now they're all desperate to leave coz the Kyln ain't a nice place, but they're practically helpless. I guarantee Star-Dork couldn't pick a lock if he had the key for it! Luckily, they've got me and I'm pretty good at this sorta stuff so we make a deal and the next thing you know I hijack the control tower, shut off the station's artificial gravity and fly us out."

"Now you guys remember the orb?" Rocket once again pulled it out to show them as Batch 89 collectively nodded. "Inside it there's something called an Infinity Stone- cosmic ingot of phenomenal frickin' power! We try to sell it to some rich douche with awful housekeeping- not because of his awful housekeeping, because he's rich- but things go sideways and this blue maniac shows up."

"Yondu!" gasped J0100, spilling a packet of popkernels.

"No, not Yondu. Well, actually he was there too. But no, this is a different blue maniac," Rocket clarified. "There's like a whole planet of them. Anyways, his name's Ronan and he wants to destroy Xandar."

Teefs raised a flipper.

The raccoon shrugged. "I don't know why he wanted to do it, he just did, yanno? Crazy people don't need a reason to be crazy. Anyway, he gets his hands on the stone, sticks it to his hammer and tries to blow up the planet."

"And you stopped him?" asked Floor, red eyes shining up at him with genuine admiration.

"And I stopped him," Rocket repeated, smiling despite himself as he shrugged. "With a little help anyways."

"Really? Because it sounds like you did everything," Lylla pointed out, staring at him with a mix of wonder and disbelief.

"Trust me, I do. Every day is just an endless cycle of 'Rocket do this. Rocket do that.' I swear the other Guardians wouldn't last a day without me."

"Guardians?" chorused Batch 89.

"The Guardians of the Galaxy," Rocket explained. "It's what we call ourselves." He raised a claw to scratch at his chest, surprised that he had said the stupid name out loud. "Or well, what Quill calls us anyways."

"I like it," chirped J0100.

"Yeah," the raccoon sighed, a warm feeling spreading through his chest. "Me too."

"So what did you do before that?" asked Teefs. "Because you said this hero stuff was a fairly recent development."

Rocket shrugged. "Same kinda stuff really. Robbed places. Broke out of places. The only difference was that I er- I did it…" he trailed off, busying himself with a curly bit of fried sombatter as he struggled to convey how much suckier his life had been before Groot had come along and offered him the flower of friendship.

"Alone?" offered Lylla, her voice soft and her tone gentle, as if she were bandaging a wound.

"Well not completely alone," Rocket said lightly. "I had a dog for a bit. And Groot for a while and he was great. And there was always some bounty hunter to partner up with and stuff like that but…"

"It's not the same as having friends," the otter finished, padding over to wrap her arms around him. As Floor and Teefs and the Jackass joined them, Rocket found that no truer words had ever been spoken.

He also found that he was crying. And didn't care.

Footnote: The songs in this chapter are 'You May Be Right' by Billy Joel (really fitting lyrics I think for the position Rocket and his Batchmates are in) and Darlin' by the Beach Boys.

Basically another purely fluff/set-up/character-centric chapter of Rocket trying to rekindle his bond with the rest of Batch 89, while also giving them a few important lessons about the Galaxy as a whole. Like seatbelts, cupholders and fast food. Had maaaaaaaaaybe too much fun writing this chapter for I think obvious reasons. A lot of the jokes genuinely had me laughing as I was writing them. Hope it's not too out-of-character for Rocket to be so (relatively) cheerful but so far most of the fic he's been miserable so I wanted to give the little guy a break.

...Especially considering what is to come.

Hope you all enjoyed, thank you all for the comments and the kudos, they never cease to make me smile X3

Gamora failed to hold back a yawn.

Mercifully she, Rocket and Groot had managed to make their way to Nova Headquarters without incident- Xandar's journalists likely still had to replace all their broken equipment.

Dey had set them up in an empty office- one of many considering the Corps lack of manpower- and had promptly rushed away on urgent, unspecified 'Denarrian' business. The immediacy of his exit had set off Gamora's already-ringing alarm bells, but it didn't seem to bother Rocket, who wasted little time plugging both his infoglass and Quill's walkman into the system.

Between her own exhaustion, Quill, Drax and Cosmo's unresponsive sleep and now Dey's frazzled state, Gamora had a harder time shaking off the feeling that something was at play. Theoretically at least she was in the safest part of the Galaxy, seated in Nova Headquarters with a cybernetically-engineered badger tapping away at his infoglass and a small tree dancing along to Magic. And yet…

"I am Groot?" asked Groot, staring up at her with wide, concerned eyes.

"He's asking if you're alright," translated Rocket, without glancing up from his tablet. "Says you've got a look on your face."

Perplexed, Gamora frowned. "What look?"

"I am Groot."

"Like you're Drax trying to figure out if something's a metaphor or not." Rocket gave Groot a proud little smile. "Which is a metaphor. Good job Groot, I'll have to throw that at him sometime."

"I am Groot!"

"Now that's just being mean."

"I'm alright," Gamora replied, doing her best to dismiss her concerns and concentrate on the task at hand. She stifled another yawn, the monitor before her continuing to display an empty screen.

"Yanno…" Rocket hesitated a moment, no doubt reconsidering whatever it was he was about to say; only relenting when she met his eye. "If you're tired you can head back to the Milano. Get some rest. I can handle the dumb report."

Gamora blinked, trying to recall why the offer sounded so familiar.

Rocket must have taken it as a dismissal because he hastened to backtrack. "Dammit, I can't believe I volunteered for more work." With a groan, he buried his face in his paws and turned to the floor. "Forget I ever said that, okay? Don't know what's gotten into me-"

"Your parenting class." The zeihoberei interjected.

"Urgh! Don't remind me. Who am I and what have I done with the real me?"

"It's not that," Gamora rolled her eyes. At times, Rocket could be just as overdramatic as Quill. "I was just wondering why your offer sounded so familiar."

"Right, yeah. I pretended to be tired so I could… do that." Rocket sighed and slumped against the desk. "Look I never-" He cut himself off with a shake of his head, hesitated, and finally forced himself to continue from another angle. "I- you know when something's important to you- Or someone is- l-like Groot-"

"You don't have to explain yourself," Gamora cut in, as the Groot in question waddled over to the distressed badger and wrapped a pair of rapidly-growing arms around his muzzle. "For the record, it was a little surprising, but I'm impressed and honestly a little proud." She let that hang in the air for a moment, watching as the tension eased itself out of his shoulders, before turning back to her blank report. "We don't have to talk about it if it upsets you."

"Right," Rocket rubbed at his face and took a deep breath to calm himself- Gamora made a mental note not to bring up the class again. Evidently it was a rather touchy subject. "Thanks."

"No…" Gamora failed to hold back another yawn. "...problem."

"Although if you are tired-"

"I'm fine, Rocket," she insisted. "Thank you," she added, not wanting him to think her dismissal had anything to do with him. "I know you can handle it, I just…" She hesitated briefly, but figured it was her turn to share some of the thoughts weighing her down. "I can't help but feel like something's going to happen."

"What kind of something?" he asked, raising an eyebrow and screwing his face up in consideration. His ignorance was an act, likely made in an effort to preserve his pride and not seem paranoid, but from the way his tail lightly spiked with fear, Gamora could tell that his own sharp instincts were picking up on the same things setting her on edge.

"I don't know," the assassin admitted. "But what are the odds of Peter, Drax and Cosmo- all different species with wildly different biologies all suffering from exactly the same symptoms." Gamora paused as Rocket squirmed uncomfortably in his too-large seat.

He wasn't a coward in the strict sense of the term, but he did hold his self-preservation in high esteem and it didn't surprise her to see that what she was saying scared him. In truth it scared her too, especially considering their recent encounter with the Children of Thanos. In her experience things rarely came down to coincidence… And suddenly, with a rush of cold dread, she felt like the Galaxy's biggest idiot for leaving all her helpless teammates unpro-

"That er- that might have been my bad," Rocket interrupted, pulling out a set of pills from his pocket and clearing his throat awkwardly. "Concentrated temazepam. Normally I just take it to sleep, but I think some of it might have gotten into the food last night."

Gamora blinked, still feeling like the Galaxy's biggest idiot- granted for an entirely different reason now.

"My bad," the badger chuckled, pulling the pills out of the reach of Groot's vines while his other paw held the twiglet at bay.

"That's why you offered to finish the report?" the zeihoberei deadpanned, connecting the last two dots. Somehow, she was more annoyed than anything that all of her wariness had been the result of Rocket misplacing his medicine.

"I was trying to make it up to you," Rocket scowled, which was likely the closest she would get to him being genuinely apologetic. "And I will!" He smirked, turning his infoglass to face her as he continued to wrestle with Groot. "Check this out."

A looping video was playing on the screen, displaying a figure cloaked in a particularly frayed garment, storming into what looked a lot like the sleazy bars of Corix and shoving past a pair of rough and gruff Contraxians.

"Get out of my way!"

The film itself was rough and grainy, but there was no mistaking the figure's voice.

"That was two days ago, on Contraxia," Rocket explained, curling slightly to shove Groot away with a foot, as he swapped the feed to another security holo. "And a few hours later…"

The rough and gruff Contraxians this time gave the cloaked figure a wide berth as she stormed back out, a shining, golden humanoid held at knifepoint.

"Try to look less conspicuous!" she barked, ushering the Sovereign forwards.

"If I had to guess, she's piloting a Sovereign craft. And she really should take her own advice because I seriously can't think of anything more conspicuous." The badger grinned, turning the infoglass back towards himself. "Should be easy to track once we catch her trail. And let's just say she'll have to chop off more than an arm to get away this time." Rocket failed to suppress a mean little snigger as he winked at her.

Gamora would have smiled, but something about the comment rankled her. "How do you know about that?"

Rocket blinked stupidly. "Didn't you er- mention it? When we were watching Star Wars the other day and the dad did it to his son?"

"No…" said Gamora, recalling a similar sense of de-ja-vu when Quill had brought up the particle generator… Gamora had dismissed it, assuming mono or dual molecular systems to be some sort of common, familiar in-joke among technicians, but now, knowing that she hadn't mentioned the Nebula thing to anyone other than Peter, and accounting for Cosmo's malfunctioning collar…

She pinched the bridge of her nose, mentally kicking herself for not noticing sooner. "The comms are bugged, aren't they?"

To his credit, Rocket didn't insult her intelligence by trying to deny it. "I-I have trust issues, okay!?" the badger snapped, finally winning his battle with Groot and pocketing the remaining temazepam pills. "You guys brought Cosmo aboard, ignored me when I said I didn't want her to stay and then spent a couple of hours snooping behind my back- an' yanno I genuinely thought you were just gonna ditch me on Corix!" He squirmed guiltily, and squeezed his paws together to stop them from shaking. "I didn't do it to snoop, I was just…"

Scared, Gamora finished as the badger trailed off into silence.

"I'll take 'em off," Rocket promised, eyes downcast, ears drooping despondently. "You're mad at me, aren't you?"

"A little," Gamora admitted, because there was no point lying about it. "But I understand." He gave her a perplexed look, prompting her to sigh. "You've met my 'psycho siblings' and you of all people know what kind of reputation Thanos has. Trust doesn't come easy and it has to be earned. I understand. But you're doing yourself no favours breaking it like that."

Shamefaced, Rocket nodded. "Sorry," he grumbled, picking up his infoglass and flicking through the screen.

"Misplace your medicine again, and you will be," the assassin yawned, rubbing at her eyelids.

"I can't tell if you're joking or not."

Gamora dignified the question with a smile and turned her full attention back to the report. It had been a joke, or at least had been intended as such, but considering she'd spent the entire morning so far trying to set herself at ease, it was only fair to let him squirm a little.

"No seriously, that was a joke, right?" asked Rocket, voice spiking with genuine concern.

"Just focus on your report." And just like that she was all business again. "I'll handle the conflict with the Black Order, you can talk about the aftermath and what you were doing before."

Rocket nodded and they worked in silence for the next minute or two. Gamora had just dropped onto her second paragraph when the door to the office burst open to reveal a rather distressed-looking Dennarian Dey.

"Take not one step closer, Star Lord!" snarled the hulking stormtrooper (that for some reason sounded a lot like the ravager Taserface) at the end of the hall. "Or it will be the last step you ever take!" A dozen blast doors burst open behind him as an unending horde of armoured troopers rushed to flank their commander.

"Is that so?" Smirking, Quill tossed his Jedi robes aside, hit the music and, unable to stop himself from making the frankly awesome sound, ignited his lightsaber with a vocalised "DDDDSSSSHHH!"

The air filled with the sound of blaster-fire as multi-coloured lasers whistled through the air towards him. Quill darted forwards, taking about a dozen steps-that-weren't-his-last, his blade a whirlwind of blue.

'Oh, ho, ho, it's magic, you know

Never believe it's not so

It's magic, you know

Never believe it's not so!'

"Vmm, wum, vmmm, wmmm!" Quill was one with the force as he hummed to the tune of his blade. Was this how Gamora felt with her sword? Did she make all the wooshing and swooping sounds too?

"Focus, Peter," the zeihoberei deadpanned, appearing out of nowhere and casually beheading Taserface-the-stormtrooper with ruthlessness that would have made a Sith Lord blush. Quill was unsurprised to find that her lightsaber colour was green. "And for the record, I don't," she said seriously- turning to cleave a Stormtrooper in two with a 'Kkkkshhhhh!' of her own.

"Suuuure," Quill winked at her as the two fell back to back, effortlessly cutting through the willhelm-screaming stormtroopers.

"Why do you say it like that?" she demanded, slicing a blaster in half, and booting the unfortunate holder of said blaster into a skittle-pile of fellow stormtroopers.

Before Quill could answer, Boba Fett rounded the corner twirling a pair of twin blasters very familiar to the legendary Star-Lord.

"Hey! Those are mine!"

The momentary distraction allowed one of the stormtroopers to get close to him and smack him hard across the face with surprisingly cat-like claws.

"I AM GROOT!" yelled Chewbacca, coming to Quill's rescue and smacking aside the offending, Rocket-sized stormtrooper.

Gamora understood even if Quill didn't. "He wants us to go after Fett," she explained, using the Force to throw lightning at the nearest twenty troopers- something that might have concerned most Jedi, but to be fair, she had been raised by the real-life equivalent of an evil Empire.

"You sure you guys can handle it?" asked Quill, who had secretly been hoping to ask the Wookie for his autograph and was reluctant to leave him behind.

Both the little and big Groot answered the question for him, with identical, distinctly Chewbacca-like-roars. Nodding at each other, Quill and Gamora leapt upwards to confront the bounty hunter on a set of elevated platforms.

It was a fierce duel, made fiercer by the personal stakes at play- sure Quill didn't have the best relationship with Yondu but those blasters still meant something. The three leapt from platform to platform, Quill and Fett with the use of their jetpack and rocket boots respectfully, Gamora with sheer willpower. Even on the retreat, Boba was a formidable opponent- and indeed was putting up more of a fight than the entire army of stormtroopers down below had. It helped that he was using the finest pair of blasters in the Galaxy, but his own skill was nothing to sneeze at. Quill knew from experience that shooting while flying backwards was both awesome and a lot harder than it looked. And he was doing all that while holding off both him and Gamora in hand-to-hand combat.

A particularly impressive ricochetting shot forced Quill to duck and Gamora to raise her blade to block- allowing Fett to jetpack away to another higher platform. He landed before the pair could recover, and gave the blasters a mocking twirl.

Only for a TIE fighter to plough into him and send him cartwheeling into a conveniently-placed Sarlaac pit.

Despite the tinted aerogliss, Quill knew there was only one guy in the whole Galaxy crazy enough to use a spaceship as a battering ram. "Dude!"

"You're welcome," Rocket scoffed, climbing out of the craft, paws akimbo. "Seriously, you guys would have taken forever."

"Yeah but he had my blasters!" Quill pointed out, gesturing at the Sarlaac. "Which that thing just ate!"

"I really don't see the problem here." He wilted under Quill's scowl and Gamora's frown and finally raised his paws in surrender. "Fine, fine, I'll get them back." He peered over the edge of the platform at the waiting teeth and tentacles below and swallowed audibly.

Rocket returned a moment later, sporting Quill's blasters, Boba Fett's jetpack and a giant lipstick-stain that covered the vast majority of his face. Evidently he'd tried to take the Peter Quill solution to dealing with tentacled aliens… to moderate success.

"Whole base is going on lockdown in ten minutes," he explained, wringing stomach fluid and Sarlaac spit out of his tail. "Ideally the alarm doesn't get raised before that." The raccoon shook himself mostly-dry with a groan. "This would be so much easier if she wasn't on my frickin' tail."

"I love you too, Rocky-boo!" cooed the sarlaac, giant tentacle literally curling around his tail.

"And I thought Aaskavarians were clingy," Quill quipped as the raccoon was dragged away with a scream. "He'll be okay, right?"

"We can rescue him later," Gamora said matter-of-factedly, Rocket's noises of protest and the disgusting, wet smooches of his new girlfriend fading into the background. "For now we have to save Aalderan."

"As if I'd let you!" came the harsh, semi-robotic voice of Nebula, Gamora's evil blue sister, igniting a pair of lightsabers that, to Quill's surprise, were also blue.

"Kinda thought they'd be red," the terran mused out loud.

"Peter, go," ordered Gamora, not once breaking her opponent's eye contact. "Remember the plan!"

Quill hastened to obey as both Daughters of Thanos proceeded to shoot lightning from the tips of their fingers. He rounded the corner to a larger observation room when a fist ploughed into the side of his head and sent him hurtling sideways.

"So… Khhohhhhhh... Pwhhhhhrrr… you've come."

Most people, when confronted with Darth Vader, would turn tails and run. Peter Quill was not most people. He didn't think he was especially brave or anything, but he couldn't stand by and do nothing while Xandar stood undefended. "I won't let you beat me and cut off my arm," he said, preparing himself for the fight of his life.

"Now's that any way to talk to yer daddy?" the Sith Lord demanded, removing his helmet to reveal!

"Yondu!" gasped Quill, who had been expecting David Hasselhoff.

"That's right, boy!" the Centaurian flashed his crooked teeth and whistled his arrow into his hand, where it turned into a (red, double-bladed) lightsaber. "And there ain't nothing you can do to stop me from getting my hands on that there troll doll."

"We'll see about that!" smirked Quill, remembering that he had a plan. "Drax, now!"

Right on cue the Destroyer burst through the wall behind him, wearing nothing but Leia's bikini. Because his back was turned to the kylosian, the Legendary Star-Lord took no damage- Yondu had no such luck, however, and was sent hurtling backwards into the control station. He was instantly knocked out, but not before the image had been permanently ingrained in his mind's eye.

"I quite like these garments," said Drax, and Quill screwed his eyes shut just to make sure he didn't catch a glance of the kylosian's reflection.

"Yeah you look great man!" Quill chirped, trying to figure out who had come up with this plan. "Hey, you know Rocket could really use some help right now."

"What is it he requires assistance with?"

"Oh you know, relationship advice and stuff."

Drax barked in delighted laughter and gave Quill a hearty pat on the back. "I am the most qualified person for this task!"

"You sure are!" Drax wasn't exactly ignorant where relationships were concerned (having been married and all) but mostly Quill expected him to help by knocking out the Sarlaac (and possibly Rocket too).

"This ain't over, boy!" snarled Yondu, recovering almost as soon as the kylosian left the room. Once more whistling his lightsaber into action, Yondu entered his battle stance-

"So sorry to interrupt," said Cosmo, trotting into the scene as it froze around her. "But could you please wake up? Cosmo really needs your help."

Quill blinked stupidly.

"How you say, how you say, toilet," the spacedog explained with some degree of urgency.

"Oh, oh right. I think there was one near where Nebula and Gamora were fighting. Just take a left past the stormtroopers-"

"Comrade Peter, you are dreaming," Cosmo pointed out. "There are no troopers of storm." She raised a curious eyebrow. "You know you are dreaming, right?"

"... To be completely honest with you I didn't," said Quill, glancing around at the lightning-shooting, sarlaac-smooching, stormtrooper-fighting and Leia-bikini-wearing chaos all around him. "But this is starting to make a lot more sense."

"Right. Sorry to interrupt," the spacedog said genuinely. "Normally I open door telekinetically, but today I can't. Please don't ask. I really don't know why. But Cosmo would prefer not to spend second day as Guardian getting kicked out for peeing on carpet-"

"Yeah I'm up, I'm up, don't worry," said Quill staring in horror at the abominations his mind had conjured up in his sleep and clearing his throat importantly. "Just so we're clear, we agree to never talk about this to anyone?"

"Da." She considered the dream as it began fading away. "Cosmo is beginning to feel this is something she will have to do a lot."

"Three detonations already!?" demanded Rocket, scurrying into the lobby ahead of Gamora, Groot and Dey. "And you're telling us now!?"

Fring was waiting for them, alongside an impressive force of four Corpsmen, and twice as many cadets.

"So far it's only been unpopulated areas," Dey hurried to explain. "Districts we closed off after Ronan's attack. I-I thought it might have been something I overlooked- a scheduled demolition-"

"But the Corps do not use Kree Immolaters," Fring cut in, watching as an explosion enveloped the nearest screen.

Just then another corpsman rushed inside, offering a hasty salute. "There's been a fourth one sir, no sign of the culprit-"

The Captain hissed and dismissed the officer with an irritable salute of his own. "Whoever it is, they're fast."

"Or well-prepared," Rocket pointed out, hastily tapping at his infoglass and frowning at whatever it was that popped onto the screen. "Your signal's down."

"We noticed," said Fring curtly, clenching his jaw shut.

"So they cut off your communication? Damn, these guys are good." Rocket hastily turned his chuckle into a cough when he recalled his present company.

Gamora, who found the situation a good deal less amusing, was the first to offer a solution, and wasted little time dialling up Rocket's homemade comm. The badger was momentarily startled when his device buzzed to life, but his muzzle split into a grin when he noticed it was shining bright green.

"Hey, good thinking Gams! I forgot about the comms."

"Whatever jammer they're using won't bypass something as straightforward as this," Gamora explained as the assembled cadets (and most of the Corpsman) looked on in wonder and admiration.

"If they're bombing uninhabited districts we could theoretically catch them on their way out," said Rocket, drawing up a map of Xandar and marking all the closed-off locales he could think of.

"Our priority should be restoring communication," interjected Dey.

"We just did-"

"Throughout the entire Corps," insisted Fring. "There's no telling what we're dealing with. We could be facing a vast number of culprits- which would also explain the speed of the attack. The bombings will spread our forces thin around the city- it already has."

"There's a communication tower here," Dey went on in a less confrontational tone more suited for the badger's ears. He pointed at a spot on Rocket's map. "Just on the outer edge of Central Xandar."

"Alright, we can check it out," Rocket allowed, frowning in consideration. "I'll come with in case it's a technical bug. If Gamora stays here we can stay in touch with HQ-"

He was interrupted by a deafening, mechanical voice and the sound of a dozen shutters and blast doors beginning to slam shut all around the building.

'LOCKDOWN INITIATED!'

"I didn't do anything!" cried the nearest cadet, who was quickly realising they were not built for this line of work.

Gamora was the first to act and rushed headlong towards the doors of the lobby. Rocket would deny it later, but she was sure the badger called her name in unison with Groot as the shutter rushed down to meet her.

The glass shattered on impact, Gamora tucking into a roll as two more layers of reinforced metal slammed shut behind her.

"Gamora!" chittered Rocket, voice uncharacteristically frantic as it buzzed from her comm unit. "Gammy you okay?"

"I'm fine," she replied, getting to her feet and brushing off some of the broken glass. Her skin was naturally tough- though not to the same extent as Drax's and a few shards had left their mark. "A few cuts but nothing serious."

"Don't ever do that again!" he snarled. "You scared-" and here he only just managed to stop himself from letting his emotions get the better of him. "-Groot!"

"I am Groot," the sapling echoed, likely voicing his agreement.

"We have bigger things to worry about," said Gamora, turning her concentration back to the situation at hand. "I'll head for the tower. I'm of no use out here but I might be able to restore communication or get some more information about what we're dealing-"

"But if whatever's at the tower is something technical you might not be able to fix it anyways!" Rocket screeched, voice spiralling into a panic. "A-and what if it's a trap!? Not for you necessarily but like, for whoever goes to fix it-"

"Someone will have to spring it eventually," Gamora pointed out, already heading in the tower's general direction. "I'd rather it was me than someone who's not expecting anything."

Seeing as he had no way to actually stop her- even if there weren't a dozen blast doors standing in the way of him trying to- Rocket took a breath to calm himself and finally relented. "Fine, fine! But stay on the line and keep us updated on your location. And don't do anything stupid!"

Footnote: Gamora's perspective is a lot easier to write for when there's some kind of action at play I find- still not as easy as Rocket and Quill but it is significantly easier to write her doing 'plot stuff' rather than 'everyday stuff' if that makes sense. Mostly I wanted to stay out of Rocket's head for a bit as he's been hogging the spotlight a biiiit too much. And because it's fun watching the plan we all know about play out from the perspective of someone not aware of said plan.

The Quill dream sequence was a lot shorter at first, but as you can probably tell I had way too much fun writing it all out. Surprisingly for a fic that had dream in the title at one point it's only the second dream sequence. And also probably the most purely chaotic thing I've ever written. Probably a bit tonally jarring in what is an otherwise more 'intense' chapter but this stuff is all for fun anyways.

Hope you enjoyed! I don't think I have to clue you in on what kind of shenanigans go down next time ;)

Flark, thought Rocket as the Electric Blue Light Orchestra's forecast called for 'blue skies'. And then, in tandem with the beat- flark flark flark flark flark flark flark flark flark!

Rocket had by no means expected the heist to go smoothly. Complications were inevitable in any operation, and where he could, he'd prepared for them. Unfortunately, the complication known as 'Gamora' was one he had no answer to. The only reason he'd been able to drug her to begin with was because of the other Guardians (unwitting or otherwise- she never would have let her guard down like that around just him, which was another reason he'd bought Quill's stupid Star Wars movies for such an absurdly high price).

Her being awake, while not ideal, wasn't in and of itself, problematic. Sure it set him on edge, and made what he was doing that much more terrifying, but she didn't know tech the way he did and hadn't even noticed him booting the Nova system into lockdown. A bit of Nebula here, some sincere apologising there and he could weasel his way around her- when it came down to it she was about as likely to fit in the standard Xandarian ventillation system as Drax was.

But then she'd dodged the lockdown because stupid, perfect, do-gooder that she was, she'd rather risk getting smushed between rapidly closing blast doors than sit idly by while Xandar was 'under attack'. And it was, objectively, a good thing she hadn't been injured pulling that ridiculous stunt- Rocket really wouldn't know what to do with himself if she'd broken a leg or worse- but she was now heading straight for Xandar's communication tower where she'd find all of his friends giggling about all the mischief they were getting up to. And all it would take was one look at them for the disgustingly perceptive 'you bugged the comms' Gamora to know that he had his stupid claws all over this.

What she would do with that information was anyone's guess, but Rocket really wasn't keen on finding out.

Under the direction of a Corpsman apparently similarly discontent with being left out of the action, the assembled cadets and officers had grabbed a polished marble statue of Nova Prime Irani and were using her as a battering ram. Having met Nova Prim, Rocket was sure she'd approve of the maneuever, and judging from the way he was cheering, Groot did too. Fring tolerated the severe breach of protocol- in part to keep up morale because there was no nice way of telling them that it would take about a hundred years of consecutive thumping before they put a dent in blast doors designed to withstand a planet-wide apocalypse- and in part because they were doing more than his and Dey's frantic typing. The two of them hovered over the nearest keypad, trying to regain control of a system they were technically supposed to be in charge of. With every failed attempt, Fring's face grew darker and a new bead of sweat manifested on Xandar's red-faced Denarrian.

Rocket liked Dey, and really hoped he didn't lose his job over this, but he'd made doubly sure there was nothing either of them could do to get past the lockdown. That meant Nova involvement was off the table...

Pulling his comm up to ear, Rocket picked up the almost imperceptible sound of Gamora's footfalls carrying over. She was running, which meant. "You didn't take a ship."

"If something is waiting for me there I'd prefer to have the element of surprise," she explained, not breaking her pace.

"That makes sense," Rocket nodded. "Bright frickin' yellow, they'd see you coming from a mile away." Not that his batchmates were perceptive enough for something like that. "Not to mention any surface to air weaponry they might have." Not that his batchmates had been packing any. "Good thinking." She was vastly overestimating the scale of the threat... "How long till you get to the tower? I wanna see if Irani's hair-do lasts that long."

"It's pretty far out. I'd estimate twenty minutes but it could be longer. And what? "

"Just trying to amuse myself." He handed the comm to Groot, and frowned up at the ceiling- as if contemplating the ventillation system for the first time. He still had a job to do. And twenty minutes to do it... he could work with that.

"Hey Dey," Rocket whistled, earning the Xandarian's attention and prompting him to follow the raccoon's pointing claw to the grating. "You guys have some kinda central processor, right?"

Dey blinked in momentary surprise, eyes growing wide in understanding as he rapidly put two and two together. "We do. Y-you've been there!"

"Nova Prime's fancy holotable?" Rocket groaned. "Well now I feel stupid for askin'." Of course he'd only been asking to feign ignorance- it would probably slow things down on his end, but he thought it best to keep the act up around Fring.

Unprompted, Dey fished inside his pocket for a keycard and held it out to the raccoon with far too much enthusiasm. Clearly the prospect of some kind of solution came as a relief. "You'll need this. And my fingerprints to get past security-"

"I hope you're not planning to lob your arm off," Rocket muttered, because some good-natured ribbing never hurt.

"You don't need to," Dey chuckled. "All you need to do is swipe my card, start the system and then shut it off again. If you do that enough times consecutively, it will trigger a wipe and that should lock out whoever's messing with our system."

It would also wipe out all traces of Rocket's earlier lockdown-booting, which was convenient.

"It likely won't restore communication, but it should allow me to log in from here and regain control."

"Sounds like a plan," Rocket nodded turning his attention to the next part of his plan. The lobby was tall by design, with a high ceiling that was significantly moreso for someone of his stature. "You guys got a ladder or something? Some kind of gravity boost?"

They did not, which made sense. And was also why a few moments later, the three tallest Corpsman present stood atop Nova Prime Irani's marble shoulders to hold up their Dennarian, who in turn held Rocket within reaching-distance of the grating. With the exception of Fring who looked on with obvious disapproval, the remaining cadets crowded around the Xandarian pyramid in an effort to help maintain stability.

"I am Groot!" cheered Groot.

All present were too well-trained to question the order.

"You guys don't have much security inside your vents, right?" asked Rocket, straining to reach the last screw in place. "Nothing that'll cut me in half or get me stuck to a pad or something?"

"Nothing that severe," Dey chuckled, leaning forwards on tip-toe so that the raccoon had an easier time tearing off the grating. "The airways are coated in pest repellent, but that shouldn't be a problem."

Rocket became aware of it a moment later, tossing aside the vent cover and recoiling from the overpowering stink of mint as it socked him right in the face. He wrinkled his nose in disgust, and bit back a growl because of course pest repellent worked on him. Dey noticed, but was both too nice and knew better than to comment on it.

"Alright," grumbled Rocket, gesturing for the stacked Xandarians to pass him up his infoglass. "Give me twenty minutes and we'll be outta here." Gently clamping the tablet between his jaws, Rocket clambered onto Dey's head and crouched low. "Jushh hol' vrrry vrrry shtill!"

Without further warning Rocket pounced, sending the whole stack teetering behind him. Luckily, the assembled Corpsmen managed to keep their balance. Lead by Groot they cheered rapturously as the raccoon scrambled out of sight with the audible clicking of claws on metal.

Having long-since memorised the base's schematics, it didn't take Rocket too long to make his way towards their central processor. He knew every nook, every cranny, every turn and every corner. Needless to say, he was momentarily surprised to find his path obstructed. 

“What the frick?”

A surprise that quickly turned into annoyance when he realised what was shuffling back towards him. Or rather, who. Jackass.

“Oh, hi Rocket! I think I got lost- was kind of hoping I’d bump into you actually-”

“You have three seconds to get your butt out of my face and explain yourself,” the raccoon snarled. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“R-right,” J0100 shuffled forwards, his amicable tone crumbling into a nervous waver as he struggled to turn on the spot.  “S-so I was thinking about your plan, and I thought maybe you could use a bit more help on this end. S-since mathematically it doesn’t make sense for the four of us-”

“Did Sire put you up to this?” the raccoon demanded.

“N-no!” the hare squeaked, red eyes shining with earnestness. “I did! I wanted t-to- help you! So I snuck off with the ship. To come here. To help you.” J0100 swallowed audibly. “I just get the feeling you don’t like me!”

Rocket blinked stupidly from the sheer stupidity of what he’d just heard.

“Everyone likes me!” the Jackass went on, bearing his insecurities for all the world to see in a way that Rocket found pitiful, enviable and disgusting in equal measure. “W-well except Theel but I don’t think he likes anyone. A-and Vim says I’m very creative a-and good at thinking! And I know I shot you in the face and all, but-”

“Did you ever think,” the raccoon cut in with more of a grumble than a growl. “That maybe the reason I ‘ don’t like you’ is because you can’t follow simple instructions?”

The Jackass’ mouth hung open in realisation as his eyes grew wet. “S-so I was right? You do hate me?”

“That’s not what I-” Rocket snapped, his fur bristling as he dragged a paw over his face. “Forget it! I really don’t have the time for this right now.”

“But-”

“Just shut up and follow me,” the raccoon snarled. “We can have this conversation later.”

Kicking the grating out from under him, Rocket burst free of the cloying pipework and into a vast, airy room, now shrouded in darkness from the dozen or so defensive layers covering the otherwise massive windows. And at the center of it all lay a holotable taller than he was, from where Nova Prime conducted all her Nova Priming. The heart of the Nova Empire, and he'd been trusted with the key to it all.

Well, Rocket thought, all he'd really been trusted to do was turn it on and off again.

“Don’t touch anything,” he grumbled, before the Jackass could trigger an alarm or something. “What I need you to do is stand very, very still and nothing else.”

“I can do that,” the Jackass sniffed.

I was never that sensitive, Rocket thought to himself, as he watched the hare wipe his red eyes dry.  It was hard to say what he really thought of the Jackass. He was a cheap, frickin’ knock-off with just as many emotionalistic issues, and significantly less redeeming qualities, sure. But as much as it stung to watch his friends joke around and laugh with his replacement, the Jackass himself had suffered the same pain, suffering and twisted lies they all had. Rocket could relate, he just didn’t know how.

“And hey,” the raccoon awkwardly cleared his throat. “Never apologise for shooting someone in the face.”

It must have come out more roughly than he’d intended, because the lagomorph flinched from the force of his words. “I-I won’t.”

“And I don’t hate you. And I didn’t say I didn’t like you.” Rocket went on, doing his best to keep his tone gentle and ignore how much time he was wasting on this nonsense. “It’s complicated, okay?” He raised a paw for silence before the hare could open his stupid mouth and ask whatever stupid question he’d been about to. “I’ll explain it all later. First thing’s first.”

So saying, Rocket hopped onto the table, slid Dey’s keycard into it's designated slot, and raised a paw to shield his eyes from the sudden brightness as the entire surface lit up beneath him.

Welcome Dennarian Dey! Please verify your identity!

A touchpad slid up to Rocket's height bearing a fingerprint scanner. Decently secure, hard to forge with Xandarian prints. But hardly flawless, and Dey really should have known better than to leave inkstains in a room full of convicted criminals. Especially one being accused of pineappling a baby.

"Sure thing," said Rocket, withdrawing a small scrap of plastic and sticking it to the marked surface.

The table made a noise of approval and just like that, Rocket was in. The Nova Corps at his fingertips…

A few weeks back a heist this ambitious would have been the stuff of his wildest dreams. Not to mention next to impossible with Saal as Denarrian and the presence of a dozen times as many active Corpsmen. As is, he'd only gotten this far with Nova Prime off-world...

The raccoon failed to hold back a proud little smirk. "Still impressive."

“What is?”

Rocket sighed, and forced himself to concentrate. “Nothing.” Scowling, he plugged his infoglass into the holotable, and proceeded to key in the upload procedure. It was a little too early for congratulations considering he hadn't actually achieved anything yet- something that would likely remain the case if Gamora had her way...

There was next to nothing he could do to slow her down himself and even less without arousing suspicion, but Rocket was nothing if not resourceful.

"This is Guardian of the Galaxy, Gamora," said Rocket, speaking through a voice modulator and ignoring the way J0100 raised a befuddled eyebrow as he simultaneously dialed up a dozen of Xandar's more prominent news networks. "Currently on the streets of Xandar and offering an exclusive tell-all interview to all available networks." Rocket's insides squirmed with guilt as he went on- knowing full well that the Deadliest Woman In The Galaxy would be well within her rights to eviscerate him for what he was about to say. "I'd like to talk about my sister Nebula, my time with Thanos, and how great it feels to do some good in the Galaxy after a lifetime of serving evil! Limited time only, first come, first serve!"

The raccoon promptly hung up, knowing full well that most decent channels would call the message a hoax and ignore it, and all the most scummy and desperate journalists would be going out of their way to find Gamora and, hopefully, get in her way.

Of course slowing her down was only half the battle.

He hadn't given his batchmates a communicator of their own- having used all the ones he'd been given on Cosmo and the other Guardians, but Rocket knew from experience that there was more than one way to send a message.

“Where’d you park the ship?”

Within the space of a single Xandarian day, Rocket had become one of Batch 89's favourite persons. L06, who now went exclusively by Floor, had only let go of the miniature version of him for games or to share it with the others- otherwise it dangled from the firm grip of a leg she no longer used for walking. J0100 was similarly impressed. He liked the clothes, and the ship and the massage chair and the food- and he was confident enough to say so with Rocket out of earshot. Even A95, who was beginning to warm to the monicker of 'Teefs' (though he still preferred to go by Lylla), when pressed for it, had been forced to admit that the greater Galaxy was not so bad after all and that he was just as excited as the rest of them for more future missions with Rocket.

Q12, or as Rocket called her, Lylla , didn't know what to think.

It was a small, round thing, a voice-locked trigger with a button behind it, squirreled away inside the thickness of her arm. And yet the device hung heavy on her mind- and, from the way they were drooping- her cybernetics as well. It had to be some kind of malfunction- the thing was barely a few grams and the arms Sire had given her were strong enough to lift the rest of her batchmates clear off the ground. She should have been able to bear the brunt of a hundred such devices, and not be burdened by the weight of a single one.

Of course she knew better than that. It was the weight of an entire life held in the palm of her hand that sickened her. Sire had said that 89P13 was likely to do something nefarious. Something wrong . He had asked her specifically to keep an eye on him and to keep her guard up. But all the little troublemaker had done was try and be nice to them, and perhaps it had all been in an effort to let their guard down, but Lylla doubted it.

He had gone out of his way to procure music- even if it wasn't to Sire's tastes the thought was nice, food none of them had ever experienced before- that they all agreed tasted better than protein packs even if they were probably less nutritious (why else would Sire never have given them any?), and a ship that both suited their needs and provided her and her batchmates with luxury they had never experienced before (even if yes, the hot tub was a little excessive). His plan, too, seemed to be working. The immolaters had gone off on-time, the tower had been unguarded and A95 had shut down all communications.

She had no way of confirming if he was holding up his end of the plan- not from the other end of Xandar at least- but she also didn't think he was a good enough actor for it all to be pretend. He was scruffy and rough around the edges, but he was honest and kind and nowhere near as irrational as he had been on Corix. She didn't want Sire to be right, but at the same time didn't want to be caught off-guard by anything he did try and pull.

Sire expected betrayal and trusted her to prevent it. To keep her friends safe. And as much as she wanted to have the device far from her, to incinerate it and make sure it could never be pressed, Lylla knew better than to question his judgement. Sire knew things and wanted what was best for them. Much as she liked P13 she couldn't trust him, she couldn't let herself like him the way the others did...

But she could at the very least change the trigger word to something that wasn't his name . She would have to ask Sire about that.

Q12 shook her head and tried her best to push the issue to the back of her mind. What she really needed was a distraction but at the same time she had to stay focused. Even if everything had been going well so far what they were doing was still dangerous. She had to keep her guard up.

J0100 was watching the ship, and likely fiddling with the various comfort settings on his appropriately named ‘shaky chair’.

L06 was playing the Rocket Game - one of many that involved the newest and smallest addition to their batch. This one seemed to involve tossing him into the air and trying to keep him there with as little contact as possible. It was an invention of J0100's and likely one P13 wouldn't approve of (much less if they decided to use the life-sized version of him) but Floor seemed to like it.

Being rather poor at this kind of game, A95 sat in a corner of the room struggling with a keypad too small for his arms. Feeling uninclined to play for the moment (though she made a mental note to join Floor as soon as the work here was done) and because J0100 was a little too over-exciteable where the ship was concerned, Q12 made her way over to him, took his shaking arm in her own and guided it firmly into the button he was aiming for.

"Thank you," he sighed, as the machine besides him bloorped into life. "Vim says I'm getting better at buttons but they're all so small."

"You just have big arms," she smiled gently, giving him a consoling pat on the back.

"And no fingers," he murmured gloomily.

The differences between them rarely came as a point of contention, but it was a sore spot for A95 when, compared to the rest of Batch 89, there were so many things he couldn't do or needed help with.

"We're all good at different things," Q12 assured him. "None of us could have shut off communication the way you did, and you are the only one that can pilot a ship."

"I guess that is true." Cheering up almost immediately, A95 clapped his arms together in excitement as the machine besides him beeped and pushed out a large sheet of paper. "Look at what I made!" All momentary insecurity forgotten, the walrus picked up the page by a corner and, beaming with pride, brandished it at her.

It was a holoprint of the one P13 had taken on his infoglass the other day, of all five members of Batch 89 huddled together around the last immolater. Q12 failed to hold back a smile. "It's wonderful."

A95 beamed all the wider and set the holo back down with exaggerated delicacy. "I-I was thinking, we could take more of them in the future. And hang them in our chambers for, like, decorations and stuff."

"I like that," said Q12, trying not to think about how genuinely happy the holo of Rocket looked.

"Do you think Rocket would, too? Because I figured it's only a matter of time until he moves in with us and I thought it would be a nice surprise! I have some pictures from Corix too, but not with all of us together, and anyways I'm not sure he'd like that considering we were all fighting each other."

Q12 nodded along as A95 trailed off into silence. She'd been hoping to avoid the subject of 89P13, but now that the opportunity presented itself... Sire had given her the device and she had figured it was safer to keep it to herself, though he hadn't said she was supposed to. A95 was easily the most cautious of them, and he had a good eye for detail where it was needed. If he had noticed something it could confirm Sire's suspicions and if he hadn't it would put her mind at ease-

"I have an important question," said A95, lowering his voice and glancing at the younger half of their batch to make sure they were still enraptured in their game. Being the oldest and most mature of their batch, Q12 was the only one he trusted with his 'important questions' (which were usually just things he was embarrassed about or didn't want to tell the others). "It's about Rocket," he explained, wringing his nonexistent fingers.

"What is it?" asked Q12, her heartbeat jumping to a hum as her insides squirmed with unease. If this was what she thought it was-

"I think... I think I remember him."

It was not. Q12 blinked in surprise. "What?"

"I-I mean before Corix," A95 shifted awkwardly. "I-I don't think it's a malfunction. And I'm going to ask Vim about it when we get back. But there- there are images in my head that I don't remember putting there! Things like... the four of us playing when we were all smaller O-or this one game that only Rocket was good at that we've never played! A-and J0100's never there. I know Rocket wasn't around when we were smaller and we only met him two days ago but some of the stuff he says implies that he was a-and I-I don't know what to think!" He gave a long, shuddering sigh and buried his face behind his arms. "Do you think something is wrong with me?"

"No, A95, no," said Q12 firmly. Even as her mind struggled to process the new information her first order of business was to reassure her friend. She didn't think P13 could tamper with his headpiece without any of them noticing- he wasn't that smart- but if he had or if it was just a malfunction caused by the crash neither of those things were anything wrong with A95. "We'll figure it out, okay?"

The walrus nodded. "J-just don't tell the others please. O-or Rocket. I'm still trying to figure it out myself, but I wanted you to know too."

"Of course. And I'm glad you told me. There's something I should tell you too-"

"Lylla! Look out!" cried Floor.

Before either Lylla could react, the miniature Rocket caught Teefs on his oversized shnozz. 

“You scared me Floor,” the walrus chuckled. “For a second I thought it was something serious.”

Batch 89 shrieked in unison as their Deluxe Cruiser promptly burst through the window and slid to a halt in the center of the room. Floor, who was the closest to it, was the first to act- buzzsaws whirling as she leapt-

"Can you guys hear me?"

"Oh it's Rocket," said Floor, instantly dropping out of attack mode and waving into the empty cockpit. "Hello Rocket!"

"Hey Floor. Hey guys. How's it going?"

"Magnificently!" announced Teefs, beaming in delight. "The tower was empty. The system is down. And noone is none the wiser!" he declared, slapping appendages with Floor and returning the mini-Rocket to her. "Did you manage to get the orb?" 

"No not yet. I will in a sec, just as soon as I'm done with some stuff here."

"Could you be more specific about what kind of stuff?" demanded Lylla, in what she hoped wasn't too accusatory a tone.

"I'm already in their system so I figured I might as well check to see if they know anything about more of these things Sire wants."

It sounded reasonable enough so Lylla found herself nodding. "Right. Sorry."

"There's just one little complication I need you guys to know about," he went on, and they all heard him wince.

"Oh?"

"It's Gamora. You know, my teammate. The green chick. Apparently her species' more resistant to temazepam than I thought or maybe it's just her." He sighed, muttering something that sounded a lot like 'Stupid, goody-two-shoes' under his breath. "The point is she's coming your way, which means you guys are gonna have company sooner than I thought."

J0100 snorted. "I think they can handle one-"

"NO!" snapped Rocket. "Do not engage! Do not, under any circumstances engage! Don't even let her frickin' see you!"

"O-okay," the hare squeaked, sufficiently cowed. “Sorry.”

It was only after hearing his voice, that Lylla realised she had completely lost track of J0100… who was supposed to be with the ship. “Wait, J, where are you?”

“About that…” J0100 chuckled nervously, in that way he did when A95 caught him cheating at chess.

“He’s with me,” Rocket sighed again, though it sounded more amicable now. "Real troublemaker, eh? Don’t worry I’ll keep an eye on him. Just keep the comms down for as long as you can- and keep an eye on the cameras. If you see anything leave immediately, got it?"

Batch 89 chorused their understanding.

"Right. Good. Oh, and speaking of cameras. Teefs! I'm gonna need you to clear the security feed. We've gotta be untraceable. Overload it, firewall it, bury it in passkeys do whatever you gotta do, just make sure noone lays so much as a frickin' eyeball on it, got it?"

"Consider it done!" Teefs beamed, rolling over to plug himself back into the database.

"Alright, good. I did my best to slow her down, but even if Gamora doesn't show up I need you guys out in the next ten minutes. Whole place will be swarming with Nova Cruisers so you're gonna have to lie low for a bit. I've input the coordinates for a place you can hide in. Stay in the ship and keep the cloaking on. When the coast's clear I'll come find you. We can let Sire know how it went together."

"Sounds like a plan, P13," said Lylla, feeling guilty for ever doubting him. Perhaps it was not too much of a stretch to say that Sire had been wrong... "Good luck on your end."

"You can call me Rocket, yanno," the raccoon grumbled good-naturedly.

"Next time," the otter promised. Once she'd changed the keyword to something less stupid.

"It's a date then," said Rocket, audibly delighted. "See you soon!"

"See you soon!" echoed Floor, waving goodbye as he hung up.

Rocket groaned, and planted his face into the holotable.

He was by no means an expert at this friendship business, but he was pretty sure by most counts he was lousy at it.

It was one thing to lie to Sire- and really it spoke to how little the flarknard knew of the nitty-gritty of crime because no vault of semi-decent security (nevermind the best Xandar had to offer) came with built-in ventilation- and where he could he had avoided outright lying to Batch 89 and the other Guardians... but all this deception was making him queasy.

Lylla had called him out on it too, which made sense. She had always been the most perceptive of his batchmates.

“Hey, J0100, right?” asked Rocket, turning to the least of them. “I think it’s time we put some thought into your exit strategy. As soon as I’m done here, security’s going to be tighter than a microbolt. Trust me, you won’t be able to leave the way you came in.”

The Jackass nodded, awkwardly wringing his paws. “Right. I didn’t think of that.”

“Luckily for you,” interrupted Rocket, throwing an arm over the hare’s shoulder. “I’m pretty good at getting out of places I’m not supposed to be in. I’m gonna get you somewhere safe and all you’ll have to do is sit tight and wait for me to come pick you up when the coast is clear, got it?”

“Got it,” echoed the hare, with an enthusiasm that vanished as soon as he realised what Rocket was leading him to. “Isn’t that where they-”

“Oh don’t worry, Xandarians are big on recycling and they only empty this dump once a month or so. Trust me you’ll be fine. Might need to take a shower after.” Rocket reassured him, pulling open the oversized garbage chute and taking far too much joy from the way the hare was squirming at the prospect of clambering inside. "But that's a lot better than the alternative."

“Isn’t there another way?” asked the hare, in that perfectly innocent tone that reminded Rocket so much of his younger self.

The one he despised.

“We could flush you out,” Rocket shrugged.

“What a schmuck,” the raccoon murmured, as the sound of J0100 tumbling through the garbage chute faded into a distant echo and ended in a sound halfway between a thump and a splatter. If this was how Rocket treated the people he didn’t dislike then he was definitely a lousy friend, but there was no way in hell he was going to let the Jackass hear this next part, not when he was still so close to Sire. Besides, it did make for a pretty solid exit strategy. 

Turning his attention back to the holotable, Rocket got to work. Desperate times called for desperate measures and Sire had him four killswitches to zero. It was only fair to even the odds where he could. Best case scenario, and if things kept going the way they were going, he'd never have to use it. But Rocket had never been one for optimism. And if he was going down, he sure as hell was taking the bastard down with him.

More importantly, he owed some kind of explanation to his rather less-lousy friends. 

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, and pausing to make sure the hare was well out of earshot, the raccoon steeled himself and hit record. "If you're watching this, things have gone to scut..."

Footnote: Back to Batch 89 and Rocket for some more of their antics. I made the analogy that Gamora is playing without knowing there is a game- and Lylla fits somewhat neatly into the reverse. She suspects (or well, suspected lol) that there *is* a greater game at play, but she's not entirely sure and can't quite grasp it enough to make any moves of her own.

Meaning she gets passed over and it's Rocket's turn to make some moves! Mostly following his original plan, but playing a few counters for Gamora as well as setting the board for his match with Sire.

The hard part with any mystery is building it up without giving it away- which I feel is still a balance I'm trying to figure out. I don't want to play the pronoun game with Rocket's plans or off-screen too much of his process but I also kind of want some things to come as a surprise when they end up playing out. It's a fine line to walk, and probably the hardest part of writing this arc. This is somewhat complex stuff at least for my skill level (smart people are hard to write when you are not one yourself) I'm honestly rather nervous/curious to see how it all lands haha, but I *am* having fun with it so hopefully you guys are too.

Next time, Gamora's turn to play. And maybe Groot joins the game…

UPDATED APRIL SIXTEENTH: Perceptive readers will have noted that J0100 has teleported to the other side of Xandar. Works better this way, trust the process and all that- and it should hopefully make the next next chapter much easier to work on. Also gives us a lot of Rocket and Blackjack scenes which were all very fun to write and I hope fun to read (even if Rocket is a bit mean).

Having been privy to the entirety of Rocket and Gamora's comm-unit spat, but unable to contribute to the argument due to the raccoon's technological meddling, Quill had spent the duration of their verbal (and Gamora's physical) duel redoubling his efforts to break down Headquarters' apocalypse-proof front door.

As always, the Walkman, Meredith Quill and the Queen of England provided the perfect song for the occasion.

'I want to break free!'

Tearing off a chunk of the water cooler to serve as a makeshift crowbar, Quill promptly deformed it trying to jam it between the doors.

'It's strange but it's true, hey'

Haphazardly jamming his blasters into the reception desk's power-source, Quill waited for them to overcharge for as long as his limited patience would allow, before firing a series of rapid blasts that could have staggered a kylosianian warchief.

'I've got to break free!'

The shots rebounded and Quill was forced to take cover with an undignified scream.

'I want, I want, I want,

I want to break free!'

Dragging the unconscious Cosmo and a softly-sniffling Groot behind the desk as a safety precaution, Quill strapped his rocket boots onto the statue of Nova Prime, adjusted her angle of approach as best he could… "Come on, come on, come on…" and flicked the jetpacks on at full throttle…

It was at this exact moment that the Nova Corps managed to regain control of their system and the blast doors burst open.

The rogue-outlaw-turned-intergalactic-hero, known far and wide as Star-Lord, could only watch in open-mouthed horror as Nova Prime Irani sent the dozen or so Corpsmen unlucky enough to be standing in her path flying like skittles.

Unfortunately for almost everyone involved, Captain Fring was not among them. The veteran's scowl was terrifying enough at the best of times, and utterly heart-stopping when it was being actively weaponized.

Quill blinked. "...That was an accident… I didn't mean to do that."

"Arrest this man," said Fring, sounding not at all convinced.

As much as the words made his blood run cold, Quill found himself more indignant than intimidated. "Are you kidding me!? You can't possibly think I had anything to do- I'm the victim here! I woke up drugged, dragged my ass over here to help with whatever the hell-" Remembering that 'whatever the hell was going on' was Rocket's latest and most mutinous act of mutiny, Quill had to bite back a groan.

"And gag him."

As a pair of Corpsmen awkwardly shuffled forwards to do as they were told, Quill, still too weak to seriously consider fighting them off and not entirely sure he wanted to, found himself releasing it.

Fring had the grace to mildly lessen the intensity of his frown as the cuffs were clicked on without further protest. "I apologise for the inconvenience. But until your guilt, innocence or indirect involvement can be proven or disproven, it is best that you remain uninvolved in the current situation."

Quill could only grimace as the Corpsman beside him pulled out a nanobot muffler. "This day just keeps getting better and better…"

A few floors below, Rocket was having similar thoughts.

"Punctilious killjoys!" he swore, tossing a spent gravity mine at the furthest wall with unnecessary vitriol and forcing J0100 to dodge it's inevitable rebound. "The flarknards put safety on everything!"

Having decided that Dey's office was one of the worst places to make either a final stand or a last-minute gamble, Rocket had taken shelter in the armoury. It had sounded promising enough at first, and he'd soon found himself hoping for some heavy fire power or at least enough half-decent components to make some.

Needless to say, he'd been sorely disappointed by the brutal reminder that the Nova Corps were all pansies and hated having fun.

The best he'd been able to fashion from the sparse and empty shelves were a couple of high-pressure smoke bombs he'd made by jamming the contents of a fire extinguisher into some of his spare orbs, a gravity mine with a singular pulse and a one-time use stunning round he'd fashioned out of an overcharged lightbulb.

"89P13."

The sound system came alive with the voice of Fring and Rocket had to use every ounce of self-control he had not to hurl all of his improvised weaponry at it.

"There is no reason to drag this out. We have the building completely surrounded. Planet-wide reinforcements are on the way. You are alone. Armed only with a weapon of mass destruction we both know you aren't going to use. Are you willing to-?"

"I'll surrender when I frickin' want to!" Rocket snarled, unable to resist the urge to yell out more of his ever-growing frustrations. Fring was most likely just trying to pinpoint his exact location in the base and Rocket was playing right into his hand, but at this point the raccoon was flark out of shits to give. "Give me a break! We both know you don't have enough Corpsmen to surround this building and if your reinforcements exist they won't be here for another hour at least! If you had the manpower to storm through to me you'd have done it by now and I-"

A sudden realisation dawned on him, and Rocket abruptly hung up.

"They don't know you're here…"

Never having been one for half-measures, the raccoon scrambled up the nearest shelf and proceeded to ruthlessly double-check the armoury's every nook and cranny for any transmitters. Finding none, he threw himself back down to where J0100 was watching with polite but cautious curiosity.

"They don't know you're here!"

"Th-that's good?" J0100 squeaked, sounding both proud of himself and utterly terrified that he might have done something wrong and Rocket was about to punch him in the face.

"That is how we get out of this mess." Unable to believe his luck, Rocket burst into a fit of wild laughter. "Fring wants me to surrender, but he never said anything about you! If they have me and if they think I have the stone…" Casually tossing an identical, but entirely stone-less orb to underline his point, Rocket grinned. "They're not gonna think twice about checking the vents."

"So I can leave the same way I came in!"

Not trusting the hare to not get lost on his own, Rocket drew up a schematic of the base's ventilation system, complete with a scribbled-on set of directions that would take him well out of Headquarters. "Once you're out, get the others to pick you up. Get off this planet and…" As much as the words tasted like acid and bile, Rocket grit his teeth and spat them out. "Get to Sire."

He had one long moment to realise just how much he was about to entrust the hare with and how utterly terrible an idea it was, before removing his satchel and placing the weight of the world on J0100's shoulders.

"The important part is Sire." Rocket felt a cold prickle run down his spine as terrible thoughts flashed across his mind's eye. Would a single stone be enough to satisfy Sire? Dead Lylla. Would he reconsider their bargain after hearing how poorly the first heist had gone? Dead Teefs. Perhaps it would be better to chance it with the Nova Corps. Dead Floor. But then there would be nothing stopping Sire from detonating the killswitches. All his friends were dead. And it was all his fault.

"He has to get what he wants. He has to know this ain't over. We still have five more stones. We can still get them for him. He has to understand." Rocket grabbed the hare by the vest to stop his paws from shaking, and froze J0100 in the intensity of his gaze. "You have to Make. Him. Understand."

J0100 gave the raccoon a meek little nod. "I-I will- I-I promise!"

Rocket made himself let go. "Alright. Then you should be ready to go."

"I-I am but…" J0100 hesitated, wilting as he usually did when faced with the raccoon's frown. For once, his courage won out. "W-what about you?"

"I'll buy you some time." Rocket shrugged. He shouldn't have been surprised that someone as stupid as the Jackass would have misgivings about leaving a friend behind, but Rocket was still getting used to being cared about. Almost everyone he'd ever run a heist with before would have already left him by now. "Then I'll find another way out. I've done this kind of stuff before."

Seeing that the vagueness of his words were doing little to reassure the hare, Rocket booped him on the schnozz. "Kid, I've been dealing with Nova flarknards since I was as dumb and naive as you are. Don't worry about me."

"Right." The Jackass bobbed his head up and down in understanding. "Get to the others, get off-world and get to Sire." He threw in a half-hearted salute, though there was still a nervous twitchiness to his movements. "Y-you're sure you'll be okay?"

Rocket wasn't, but honesty was neither his strong suite nor had it ever done him any good. "Positive." Pressing a claw to his muzzle in the universal gesture for silence, the raccoon turned back to the abandoned communicator and flicked the feed back on.

"Well Fring, guess it's your lucky day!"

Whether or not Fring believed his surrender to be genuine was of little consequence. All Rocket needed was his attention. Ideally he'd manage to slip away after buying enough time for his batchmates to do the same. But whether he made it past the lobby didn't really matter.

Nova Corps wanted him alive which meant he was getting arrested and he knew from experience that, given enough time, there wasn't a prison that could hold him. Though his next break-out would have to be an especially fast one. He wasn't sure there was anything he trusted less than Sire's patience.

Rocket heaved a sigh.

Assuming the rest of Batch 89 didn't do anything monumentally stupid, Sire would still have one more stone than he'd started with. Which gave him a week, at most, before Sire started seriously considering pulling the trigger on the whole operation.

But that was all a problem for the future. Rocket's only job for now, was to stall for time. Every second he bought here was a little bit of extra distance he could put between Batch 89 and the Nova Corps. Easy enough to accomplish when everyone assumed you still had an infinity stone to bargain with. Distractions were more Quill's area of expertise, and Rocket snickered as he briefly debated challenging Fring to a dance-off.

The memory made him smile, even as it twisted a knife into his guts.

Having reached the door to the lobby, Rocket paused, bracing himself not for Fring or Dey or even the potential consequences of disappointing his mad creator. The thought of facing Cosmo, Groot and Quill again frightened him in a way he'd long since forgotten. It was a kind of primal fear, a childish one he hadn't experienced since escaping the Arrette.

They had expected better from him. And Rocket, as always, had disappointed.

Cosmo at least, was probably still unconscious. And luckily noone else would understand the things Groot said to him. As for Quill… with any luck Fring had gagged him.

The door slid open at his command, and humming an antagonistic tune, Rocket swaggered into the lobby.

"Quite a spectacle, am I right?" He tossed one of his hijacked fire-extinguisher-orbs into the air, and caught it again as it fell. Rocket smirked. It wasn't a dance off but he definitely had their attention.

The blast doors everyone had tried to bash open with the help of Nova Prime stood wide open, likely a technical bug, but Rocket wasn't complaining. By his account, he was long overdue some strokes of fortune. Standing between him and the rest of Xandar, was Fring and a dozen or so Corpsmen training heavy-duty blasters on him.

Cosmo still lay on her side, eyes rolling in dazed circles. Groot was nowhere to be seen, though perhaps that was for the best. And Quill was handcuffed to the desk. Though unable to speak from around the nanogag on his mouth (Rocket would have to thank Fring some other time), his glare did all the talking for him.

When Rocket next spoke, he did not need to pretend to sound utterly defeated. "Can't we just forget this ever happened? I mean… you were gonna demolish those districts anyways."

"Not with illegal kree tech and certainly not without appropriate safety measures!" Dey snapped, for once falling short of his pitch-perfect good-cop conduct and losing his temper. But then Rocket couldn't blame him. He had disappointed him too.

"If you think we'd be foolish enough to trust someone who has gone out of his way to prove himself untrustworthy in every way…" Fring spoke, his voice perfectly composed and yet just as venomous. "Think again."

"Worth a try," Rocket shrugged, tossing the orb again to give himself something to do.

"Hand over the stone."

With a flick of his wrist, Rocket did as he was bid.

Fring caught the orb. Held it for a moment. And returned it with the same motion. "Open it."

Rocket bristled and tossed the orb back with no small amount of vitriol. "You open it!"

"In order to authenticate the veracity of your surrender some proof will be required." The Xandarian explained, throwing it back at Rocket. "You will open it."

"Nah-ah, don't think so."

"I insist."

All present watched as the orb flew back and forth across the lobby.

"No frickin' thank you! If you wanna see what's inside you can open the d'ast thing yourself!"

"How am I supposed to know the containment device hasn't been tampered with?" demanded Fring, his cold professionalism sounding especially strained. "Do you expect me to take your word for it?"

"And you expect me to click this thing open and flaunt a frickin' planet-bomb!?" snarled Rocket, who had no qualms about dropping whatever he had that counted for professionalism. "I've already gone as close to touching that stone as I want to and there ain't a fat chance in hell I'm gonna do it again! Least of all for the likes. Of. You."

Fring brought the volley to a hold. Considered the orb, the raccoon, and all the bits and pieces he'd managed to gather, before deciding: "This is a decoy."

Rocket caught the orb for the final time and let the accusation hang.

"The orb in your hands is a decoy." Fring reiterated, more forcefully. A boiling rage was beginning to bubble past his cold exterior. "Isn't it?"

"Yup!" came an irritatingly chipper voice that Rocket had almost forgotten. "Real one's right here!" Just as stunned as everyone else, the raccoon whirled on the spot to find J0100, not on the other side of Xandar like he was supposed to be, but tossing another, identical orb at Fring with a wild, overhead swing.

This new (allegedly real) orb bounced across the polished floor with a sound like a clicking bell, before coming to a halt at Fring's feet. Gustavo had a moment to realise what was going to happen and threw himself backwards with a yell as he was enveloped in an explosion of white powder.

Dey was the first to react, turning his blaster towards J0100, only to be hit with the full force of an overcharged lightbulb.

"Sorry!" J0100 squeaked, before finally catching a glimpse of the death glare Rocket was hitting him with. Remembering what the raccoon had recently told him about apologizing to the people he shot in the face, the hare's bravado faltered. "I-I mean- n-not sorry?"

"What the hell are you doing!?" Rocket demanded, grabbing him by the front and scrambling to dodge blaster shots as the remaining half a dozen Corpsmen opened fire on the two freakish little woodland beasts now making a mad dash for the front door. "I told you to get out of here!"

"I-I know! I know!" J0100 stammered, throwing himself between the legs of a groaning Xandarian officer; who had just recovered from a case of Nova Prime to the knees and was now unfortunate enough to be on the receiving end of a dozen stunner rounds. "B-but I couldn't! Y-you're one of us! And I don't have a lot of friends and I know you p-probably don't like me-" As the pair burst out of Headquarters and onto the marble flight of steps beyond it, J0100 slid down the rails with a practiced ease that clashed furiously with the general incompetence Rocket had come to expect from him. "B-but I do know that friends don't leave each other behind! I learned that from you! On Corix!"

At a loss for words, all Rocket could do was growl and tackle the hare out of the way of an electro-round. The improvised smoke bomb the raccoon had been tossing back and forth with Fring slipped from his grip and shrouded their escape in a cloud of dusty hydro-carbon as the two bounced down the remaining steps in a complicated tangle of ringed tail and jet black fur.

The second, larger smokescreen had earned them a temporary reprieve from blaster fire, but as they hit the ground with a shared groan they both knew it wouldn't last.

Rocket was the first on his feet, and against his better judgement offered the hare a paw up. Instead, he found his own satchel thrust back into his hands.

"Sire sent you to get whatever this is back." J0100 threw himself back to his feet with an impressive flip. "My job is bring you back."

"Well we're out of Headquarters…" Rocket gave the hare a grudging sigh, which, judging from the way J0100 beamed, was still probably more approval than he'd ever gotten from someone that wasn't Lylla, Teefs or Floor. "Just don't fall behind."

Without another word, the two were off, shooting across the streets of Xandar's capital like a pair of mismatched bullets.

And not a moment too soon, for though their chain of command had completely disintegrated, and though most of them probably didn't have the security clearance to know what exactly it was Rocket was stealing, the remaining Corpsmen and their small army of cadets were in hot pursuit, giving chase either on foot, in their cruisers, or in the case of two particularly determined individuals, on a pair of high-speed energy bikes.

Despite what he'd just said, Rocket soon found himself falling behind. Of the two of them J0100 was the far faster runner- which in hindsight made his decision to stay behind for Rocket's sake even stupider.

"Left! Left! No! The other left!"

The only reason Rocket hadn't lost sight of the Jackass completely was because the hare kept pausing to check him for directions. Which made it next to impossible for the raccoon to ditch his pursuers- evasive maneuvers only went so far when the people following you were being told exactly where you were going.

"Just keep moving!" Rocket snarled, as J0100 skidded to a halt for the upteenth time. "Use your own sense of direction for flark's sake!"

The rapidly growing roar of an engine alerted Rocket to incoming danger and without pausing to think, he threw himself flat on the ground, managing to dodge the outstretched arm of one of the bikers as the first zoomed overhead.

The second was still somewhere behind him and, rolling out of the way of a stray stunning shot, Rocket found himself pinned between the two as the first veered around to face him.

"Wait!" Rocket yelled, noticing that both were barely more than cadets and throwing his hands into the air. "Don't shoot! This is just a training scenario! You pass!"

It worked better than it should have- because it shouldn't have worked at all. The pair hesitated a moment, sharing a brief, uncertain glance that was all Rocket needed to close the distance between himself and the first.

The unfortunate cadet caught a mouthful of what Quill called 'a knuckle sandwich'- rather literally as Rocket had aimed for the jaw.

"NOOO! STEVEN!" the second screamed, opening fire and hitting poor Steven square on the chest no less than three times, and reminding Rocket that these bikes came with built-in weaponry.

When J0100 next turned around to make sure he was going in the right direction, Rocket yanked him clear off the ground.

In addition to having the first half-decent gun Rocket had access to since Corix, the bike also came with a built in communicator.

"Teefs we need a rendezvous!"

"R-Rocket? W-we have a problem!"

"Tell me something I don't know!" Rocket snarled, in no mood to deal with whatever nonsense the rest of Batch 89 had in store for him now. "We've got enough problems already, okay!? So one at a flarking time, thank you!"

"B-but-"

"Shut up and listen!" Rocket bulldozed onwards, zooming past a red light and leaving behind a minor traffic jam. "We've got most of Nova Corps on our tail so this'll have to be a quick pick-up. We're heading for the waterways, try and meet us on the bridge."

"A-alright, but-"

Before Teefs could protest any further, the raccoon hung up.

Having directly tied his getaway vehicle to a Nova Corps comm link, and knowing that the energy bike likely had a tracker on it already, Rocket let the speeder screech to a halt. Like all his relationships, it was never meant to last.

"Here's our stop," the raccoon grunted, booting J0100 off the vehicle with the same grace he'd pulled him on board with (which was to say, none at all). Before throwing himself off, Rocket picked a target and locked the motor at full throttle.

Left to it's own devices, the energy bike flew into a storefront; one that conveniently (and entirely coincidentally) housed a plethora of the illegal Guardian-themed merchandise Rocket had come to loathe so much.

"Th-that seemed a little u-unecessary," J0100 swallowed, watching in horror as a dozen flaming Rocket-plushies rained down around them.

"They had it coming," Rocket muttered darkly. Shaking himself out of his momentary bloodlust, he led them away from the crime scene before the store's owner could realize who had vandalized all his property. "Besides, the more Nova Corps we have fighting fires, the less we have on our tails. And if it comes down to it we ain't gonna outrun their cruisers."

As if to underline his point a pair of the Corps signature bright yellow Star Blasters cut through the sky above them.

Before the Jackass could say it, Rocket gave him a look. "You're fast, but not that fast."

J0100, who had been about to say it, did not contest the point. "So what's the plan?"

"Still working that part out," Rocket grunted, retreating further into the less-travelled (but no less polished) underbelly of Xandar he was more familiar with. "One problem at a time."

Aside from the occasional need to flatten themselves against the nearest wall, or throw themselves into the shadow of an alleyway to avoid the Nova cruisers no doubt gunning for them, the hare and raccoon made it to Xandar's shores without further incident.

There, Rocket found himself facing yet another part of his backfiring plan he had failed to consider.

Atomising Xandar's heaps of rubble and cutting off most of the city's communications- at most a month after Ronan's attack had decimated the capital and nearly destroyed the entire planet- had sent the population into evacuation mode, and the bridges were packed with hundreds of people; calling out to one another, trying to gain what information they could from the few Corpsmen present and booking tickets for the nearest space port.

"Stay low. Most people don't walk with their eyes on the ground."

As he weaved through the throngs of Xandar, expertly dodging the endless roving feet of the clumsy and oblivious alike, Rocket weighed his options.

On the plus side, the Nova Corps couldn't open fire on him, and their preferred method of detaining their targets- their traction beams- did not work well when faced with large groups of people.

Neither, for that matter, did J0100. The hare did his best to shadow the raccoon's movements but soon found himself trailing Rocket like a lost child. Rather less experienced at navigating this kind of environment, J0100 tripped over a stray Aaskavarian tentacle, and bumped into the wide leg of a particularly beefy-looking Bovinian.

"Watch where you're going, freak!"

"S-sorry," J0100 squeaked. Realizing he'd lost sight of Rocket, the hare did his best to tamper down his rising panic as more and more people began to take note of him.

That was the main downside with any crowd. Rocket, and abominations like him, never fit in. And people noticed.

"What is that thing!?"

"No Charlie, don't touch it!"

"Where's it's owner?"

"I hope that's not the one responsible for my evac. I booked first-class!"

"Why's it dressed like that?"

"Are you lost?"

J0100 flinched at every word, and unable to avoid the prying eyes that surrounded him, he struggled to squeeze past the wall of bodies beginning to cave in around him.

Having caught wind of the small commotion by now, Rocket grit his teeth. As much as he couldn't afford to draw attention to himself, the raccoon knew what it was like to be different, knew how much it hurt, and knew that noone deserved it.

"Hey assholes!" Rocket snapped, barging back to the hare's side and glaring up at the faces that met his own with wide-eyed recognition. "That's right you all know me from saving your flarking planet the other day! Wanna explain to me where all your common decency went or you got more stuff you wanna say about my friend here?"

Properly cowed, the people of Xandar backed off. And though J0100's red eyes lit up with a rush of teary gratitude, Rocket found himself facing the usual consequences of altruism.

"I have- I have eyes on the suspect!" came the voice of a nearby Nova Enforcer. "And his accomplice!"

"A thousand flarking autographs for the one who gives Corpsman Watchful over there the biggest hug!" Rocket yelled, jabbing a finger in their direction and pulling J0100 the opposite way.

"Wait, stop! Official Nova Corps business! You're interfering in an investigation!" The unfortunate Xandarian screamed in vain as they were promptly swallowed by a screaming stampede.

Half-pulling, half-dragging the Jackass with him, Rocket hurried to put some distance between them and whoever was about to win a thousand of his inky pawprints.

Reaching the center of the bridge and finding a small clearing in the crowd there, Rocket whipped out his infoglass and tapped at the screen with a furious set of clicks. "Alright, keep your eyes peeled, the others should be here any minute now."

"Rocket?" J0100 squeaked, clinging to the barricade with a deathgrip as he shook in blatant terror. "I-I see them."

Glancing up from his screen, Rocket felt his insides drop as he was confronted with the problem Teefs had tried to warn him about.

Clinging to the top of the Sweet Ride with what looked like a knife, black hair whipping around her face in a frenzy, was none other than Gamora. Some distance behind the ship, a pair of Star Blasters were rapidly gaining on the Deluxe Model Cruiser.

"Flark me," Rocket groaned. Because of course a simple pick-up couldn't be that easy. Although he had specifically asked for a quick pickup... "Teefs can't stop the ship. We're gonna have to jump."

"J-jump?"

"Basic physics," the raccoon grumbled. "You remember when he hit the brakes the other day? And you and Floor hit the windshield? Like that, but on the outside." Rocket gestured at the assassin precariously balanced atop the limo, and then at the seemingly endless drop into the waters below. "Not to mention what'll happen if those Nova ships catch up."

J0100 went paler than the black of his fur should have allowed.

"On my signal…" said Rocket, gritting his teeth and doing his best to account for the ship's speed and direction…

"B-but-"

"NOW!"

Without pausing to think, the raccoon threw himself over the barricade and into the sweet oblivion of gravity.

The next thing he knew he was hurtling through the air, deaf to all but the wind rushing past his ears as he desperately hoped he hadn't miscalculated. A moment later he was rewarded with the tell-tale chalkboard-screeching sound of someone hitting a windshield, and a sudden aching pain on his everywhere that told him exactly who that someone was.

The familiar startled cry of his batchmates was music to Rocket's ears; he wasn't sure he'd ever been more glad to hear anything.

Having made it this far, he was about to allow himself a small sigh of relief, when, with a horrible, sinking feeling, Rocket realized the Jackass was not beside him and had been too late to jump.

Instead of landing on the Sweet Ride's front, the hare hit the Cruiser on it's side. Too busy clinging on for dear life, Rocket could only watch in horror as J0100's desperate paws scrambled to find purchase on the ship's slick exterior.

Quick on the uptake as she always was, Gamora reached for him, offering her hand and yelling at the hare to take it.

But whether it was from fear of a stranger or the blindness of his panic, J0100 was unable to.

For a brief moment, he met Rocket's matching red eyes with a look of confusion.

And then he slipped off the edge and was gone.

Footnote: Alright, to start off, I'm going to stop promising any kind of consistent updates. I just want to assure you guys that this story is still one I'm very invested in and interested in telling. It's just between other projects and irl stuff I couldn't bring myself to really devote the time necessary to write it all out and then missing a self-imposed deadline tanks my motivation even more and urgh my creative process is a mess, but then again who's isn't?

Recently I befriended an absolutely amazing author who's story has been a real source of inspiration and motivation. It really reminded me of how powerful emotionally resonant writing can be and it has got me wanting to do a metric tonne more of it.

(In case you guys are curious the series is called Last of the Wild Days- not a looooot of fandom overlap and fairly different genres from this story in particular lol buuuut it's currently one of my favourite stories of all time ever so still highly highly recommend- for those who read my other stories fair warning you are gonna see this plug a lot)

So yeah, chapter! Aaaand now you also know why I had Blackjack teleport across edits. Lots of ways it could have played out- part of why this chapter was so hard is that Jack got left behind a bunch of times between drafts. But more on that later!

Excited to hear your thoughts, hope you guys enjoyed!