Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

     Groot stared down at the unconscious creature; it was twitching, heaving, and barely clinging to life. Its fur was matted and gooey with congealed blood. Foam coated the interior of the breathing mask over its snout.  There was torment in its facial expression, hurt and struggle, but Groot saw more than just the pain of the present in that small, strained face. The injured little mammal’s eyes were moving rapidly under their lids, rolling around in their sockets like marbles, frenetic and fearful… Groot had a feeling they were seeing the past, the long past, a place rarely delved, except maybe in nightmares. 

     In the medbay of their ship, hooked up to wires and tubes and beeping machines, Rocket Raccoon looked very small. He had always seemed so strong to Groot up to now, at least that was the way his father always presented himself: capable, competent, and angry at the world for looking down on him. It occurred to Groot that maybe Rocket hid his vulnerability behind his dark-furred mask, that he acted that way for his son’s, his, sake. His dad was supposed to be unbreachable, hard as reinforced steel, a forever presence to be relied on, yet here he was, clawing at the precipice of death. 

     His father was dying; the word choice was important, since it didn’t mean “already dead”. Quill was determined to keep it from becoming past tense, he’d gone into that mode Groot had seen several times before, “leader mode” when things needed doing, crazy things, stupid things, but they needed to be done. Groot didn’t entirely understand everything that was going on, there was a bomb or something inside Rocket and some nasty corporate laboratory had the way to stop it, something-something evil villain-something, but he knew the important thing: that Rocket was dying and they were trying to save him.

     Young Groot had come into this world in a blaze of fire when his past incarnation had burned in the atmosphere of Xandar, while sheltering and thus saving the lives of his friends, his family. Old Groot had made themselves into a sturdy orb of thickly interwoven branches and vines around the newly formed group of the Guardians of the Galaxy, protecting them as they fell to the surface in the crumbling spaceship of the warlord Ronan the Accuser. They, Rocket, Star-Lord, and the others, had lived, but wood burns. Old Groot’s sacrifice had saved them all and thus the planet of Xandar and all its people. 

     From the cinders of that fire, a twig had been salvaged miraculously, and Groot had grown from that. It took a while of course, and Rocket had been his most intent caretaker during that time, he seemed to feel he owed the Old Groot to see that his “child” would live and be safe. The concept of “being safe” while being in the company of the scrappy group of space outlaws that had been fashioned into the Guardians of the Galaxy, was significantly skewed from a generous definition, but Rocket had done his best.

     Flora Colossuses like the Old Groot and new Groot, being plant-based lifeforms, could be recovered and regrow themselves from nothing more than tiny clippings of the original organism so long as they had enough biological material to draw from and were sheltered in the time it took to grow. As he was now, Groot was not the old incarnation, there had been too much damage, and the memories and personality that had made Old Groot who he was did not survive the fire. However, something new had blossomed in their place. He was, for all intents and purposes, the Old Groot’s son. And he thought of Rocket as his father as well.

     Sometimes Rocket reminisced about the Old Groot; they had been close, thick as thieves, thicker perhaps. The Old Groot had been more important to Rocket than the raccoon perhaps realized at the time, as is often the case with those we love and lose. Groot recognized the sorrow that dripped into his father’s voice as he recounted the stories of old heists and missions, tales “before your time”. 

     Those stories stuck with Groot though, and some cycles back, Groot had put it upon himself to live up to the Old Groot’s name, to be like him, to be everything he was. He wanted so badly to make Rocket proud and to lift some of the sorrow from his father’s shoulders. He looked deep inside himself, trying to will his cells to remember, remember what they had been, where they came from, but it was like trying to grasp a leaf on the wind or remember a forgotten song. When he strained his hardest, so hard it hurt, he thought he almost caught a glimpse of what felt like old memories, images and feelings: a grove of fairy lights, a taste of fountain water, but he couldn’t be sure. Failing that, the adolescent flora colossus styled and pruned his crown to look like old holopics of the Old Groot and endeavored to act as his father’s old stories had described. 

     When he found out what Groot was up to, Rocket wasn’t upset or angry. The raccoon had laughed in a sad, weary way. Shaking his head, he took his son aside and sat him down. And Rocket told Groot that he can’t be his dead father, he can’t live up to his old friend, he just can’t. Before Groot’s heart broke in shame, Rocket quickly made an addendum, “No, no, wait… not can’t… Shouldn’t.” Rocket looked deep into his son’s chestnut eyes and smiled. He told him that he saw plenty of the Old Groot in him without him even trying, but what was new and what was old, all of it together is what made Groot the Groot that he was, the Groot that Rocket loved. Rocket didn’t want him to be anybody but himself, and he was sure the Old Groot would have felt the same way.

     In the medbay, in the present, Groot wished he knew the right thing to do now; it felt like they were grasping, running around in desperation, useless and stupid. He felt certain that Rocket would know, Rocket knew everything. Rocket would know exactly how to make things okay, he always did, but he was in a coma on death’s door. He couldn’t tell him. Groot dabbed at his father’s stricken face with a synthetic antiseptic cloth. Rocket’s breathing calmed just the slightest bit, his lips were moving inside the breathing mask. Groot leaned in close.

     “It’ss… good… to… havve… friendsss…” the words were muffled and weak from the delirious raccoon whose eyes were still shut tight. 

     Groot smiled a shaky smile. He grasped Rocket’s clammy palm gently. The raccoon’s breathing hitched suddenly, the beeping from the monitor became erratic and Groot immediately let go. Rocket’s arm dropped limply onto the medbay bed. Groot was horrified, thinking that he may have done something, may have hurt his father somehow, had maybe even caused things to escalate to Rocket’s death and a final flatline, but then, a second later Rocket’s heart rate settled back at its uneven, semi-regular pace. The convulsion hadn’t lasted long, but Groot’s own vegetable heart felt like it had stopped for the duration.

     And the tears came, sticky, amber droplets dribbling down Groot’s smooth, barky features. He felt so helpless, so scared. A big, bulky tree man, armored with plates of bark like reinforced steel, he’d grown himself up and out like a linebacker, thicker set than the Old Groot, so, just like the Old Groot, he could protect those he loved. But now he could do nothing. Wooden teeth gritted with grief, Groot shut his burning eyes, stemming the waterfall of sap-like tears.

     “I-I’m so scared,” Groot sobbed, “I miss you, dad.”

     Then he felt a small pressure on his hand and he opened his eyes again. Rocket’s tiny, trembling hand had found Groot’s and the little raccoon fingers had closed tightly on one of his plantform pinkies. Even in his unconscious state, Rocket was instinctively reaching out to comfort his son.

Chapter Text

     Rocket Raccoon looked down at the baby raccoons he had so recently rescued from the High Evolutionary’s Arête laboratory. They were being kept in Rocket’s room in the Guardians of the Galaxy headquarters on Knowhere in a large crate that used to hold gun parts. Rocket had padded the box’s interior with blankets and cushions, even so, the little animals were settling in the little pits, grooves, and gun-shaped outlines. There were around a dozen of them, squeaky, fuzzy little balls, tumbling over one another. There had been more than this in the lab cage on the ship, but several had not survived the escape. It hurt in Rocket’s heart, even now, to think that he couldn’t save all of them. 

     “I’m sorry…” he whispered.

     He’d tried his best. Rocket had saved as many as he could, but with animals stampeding and fire and explosions everywhere? It was to be expected for there to be a few casualties, especially from something so weak and vulnerable. Rocket watched as the tiny animals flopped around, instinctively feeling their environment with their dexterous little paws as raccoons did. As Rocket often did. Procyon Lotor… the Common Raccoon. He reached down into the crate and stroked one of them, gently. Their fur was soft as can be and very thin, unlike the thick, bushy bristles that coated Rocket’s face that was burnt in places and permanently smelled of gun oil. 

     These raccoons hadn’t seen warfare, they hadn’t had their lives and their minds, bodies, and souls ripped apart yet and, if Rocket had any say, they never would. Weak and vulnerable, that’s why they needed to be protected. He thought of the daily danger of his life as a Guardian of the Galaxy, looking up at the hastily boarded up hole in the wall of his room made by Adam Warlock’s recent vicious unrelenting attack. The baby raccoons needed to be protected by people that knew how to protect them. Rocket made up his mind.

     At Rocket’s request, the remaining Guardians that were still around in Knowhere; Groot, Nebula, Drax, Kraglin, Cosmo, and Star-Lord; helped to gather a crowd outside of the Knowhere Guardians HQ. The raccoon looked at the mass of people and felt a stab of nerves, but he was the new captain of the Guardians of the Galaxy, so he had to take charge. Rocket scaled the towering form of Groot and stood on his shoulder, then he cleared his throat and, taking a deep breath, hefted a voice amplifier to his muzzle.

     “Okay, everybody listen up! I need your help. We’re gonna gather up all the animals that we took from the ship and bring them to the Central Square!” Rocket said in a clear, commanding voice. There was some rumbling and nervous shifting of folk among the mass of multi-colored alien faces. “Yes, all of them,” Rocket continued, firmly. “No, they are not free reign to take as pets. Especially the monkeys; Quill is more than enough evidence of that being a bad idea.” That got a laugh.

     “Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?” Peter Quill AKA Star-Lord questioned, scowling.
Rocket ignored him. “I know that Mantis took those three Abelisks with her, but they can look after themselves. And the kids, they ain’t got a planet of their own, and I know there’s a lotta folks here lookin’ to adopt…” Rocket’s eyes roved over the crowd; much of Knowhere’s citizenry had automatically gravitated towards helping the strange, silver-haired children that had come off the ship and were already giving them food and lodgings. The settlers on Knowhere consisted of a lot of broken people, people who had lost family, people with holes in their hearts, himself included. Rocket glanced at his teammate Drax before he continued. 

     “And that’s fine. But the rest- they don’t belong here, they won’t survive, and it ain’t right to keep ‘em. We’re going to bring all of ‘em back to where they came from originally.”

     As the people started to disperse, forming groups to hunt down the wayward animals, each with a Guardians member as supervisor, Rocket let out a long, slow breath, his whiskers ruffling. He wasn’t used to addressing crowds, not without threatening them at least. It was weird to see his orders being obeyed without the incentive of a souped-up blaster aimed at their heads.

     “That was fine… captain” Quill said, though he still looked a little disgruntled by Rocket’s crack about “pet monkeys”.

     “…Thanks, Quill,” Rocket mumbled. “I don’t expect ya to understand, just… this is important to me, I appreciate the help…”

     “I am Groot?” Groot inquired as Rocket slid down his Flora Colossus son’s ligneous limb to the rusty metal platform. The alien tree had a sly, sidelong smile on his face.

     “No, I ain’t going soft,” Rocket snapped at Groot gruffly, “It’s just- it’s the right thing to do… Besides, they’s all invasive species, they’ll only cause trouble if we let ‘em do what they like.”

     The reappropriated mining colony and smuggler’s haven of Knowhere that the Guardians had obtained from the Collector a while back was no nature sanctuary by any stretch. The haphazard base was built inside and around the ancient skull of a deceased Celestial after all and anything that could be called “local fauna” had to have evolved to be deeply and violently territorial or it would have died off a millennia ago. There were things with acid saliva that ate through metal, things with many legs and tentacles and very little preference when it came to diet. There were even creatures that had evolved to perfectly mimic the look, smell, and heat signature of natural rock formations where other critters had in turn evolved to make their dwellings, devouring them only after they had settled in and started raising a family. They certainly would not appreciate the encroach of non-native wildlife, they barely tolerated the residents at the best of times.

     Before long, Knowhere Square looked like a zoo. A large pen of mismatched rusty metal plates and scrap was hastily assembled with partitions for the different species. Keeping the animals confined was proving to be a tough job, however, especially the smaller or more nimble animals as they simply climbed over things or slipped out through cracks. Then there were the birds; the Knowhere denizens spent the better part of 3 or 4 hours trying to reach or coax down several eagles, ravens, and parrots roosting in hard-to-reach places high up with little success. Then Groot turned up, he was proving to be something of a natural with the animals, especially those that were native to woodlands and jungles. He gently parted the others and reached up, extending his limbs, growing out a branch to each of the evasive avians and, after a bit of nervous perch shuffling and ruffling of feathers, each one finally stepped on and grasped Groot’s offered twigs in their talons, allowing them to be retracted down.

     Rocket knew it was important to round the critters up before they got too comfortable and ensconced, or worse, became someone’s exotic fried foodstuff on a stick as was the fate of most lower-life-forms on Knowhere. Some of the newcomer animals had to be negotiated away from folks wanting to hide them away as pets. Rocket’s authority as captain helped in some of these situations; they didn’t belong here he told them, that was not up for debate, but that didn’t make it any easier to separate lonely folks from their newfound animal companions. Rocket felt a little guilty, after all he had considered adopting the raccoons, but he did his best to suggest alternatives that were better suited to Knowhere’s atmospheric conditions.

     Adam Warlock’s toothy little pet thingy was inspected closely and was determined to not be of Earth origin. “Blurp” was identified to actually be a rare, long-haired F’saki, a species which was native to Knowhere, and so they were allowed to stay, which made the superpowered, side-swapped Sovereign very happy. (The fact he obtained the creature after barbecuing the Ravager that had been its previous owner was mostly overlooked since Warlock decided not to tell anyone, or he just forgot.)

     Earth fauna was much less well known among the general alien populace, as was evidenced by the numerous inaccurate species names Rocket had been called by strangers across the universe. Peter Quill, a native, with his limited childhood education and memory of rudimentary zoology, could at least tell that most if not all of the animals they’d freed were from Terra. The High Evolutionary evidently had an unnatural fondness for the planet. Among the assemblage of animals were foxes, ferrets, kangaroos, lemurs, beavers, opossums, turtles, tapirs, pigs, pigeons, parrots, penguins, and many others. Taking stock and making any kind of comprehensive inventory was proving to be a chore. The laser-engraved labels on the cages in the Arête’s lab would have honestly been a big help, but there had been no time to extract any kind of records in the whirlwind of fire and shrapnel, so they were operating without a list. At the same time, since being “liberated”, who knew how many had burrowed or slunk away into the old tunnels and uninhabited areas of Knowhere? There were almost certainly a few smaller mammals that had escaped their thorough sweep of the city, even with the overclocked life sign scanners Rocket had provided the scouting groups. In the end, if any of these slippery critters managed to survive the inhospitable conditions of Knowhere, Rocket was willing to concede that they’d earned their place in the ecosystem.

     According to Nebula, if she knew the modus operandi of the High Evolutionary, the animals were likely poached or obtained through shady means, abducted from Terra or bred in captivity, and sold on a black market. Now he was a Guardian of the Galaxy, one of the “good guys”, Rocket found himself expected to be against such smuggling operations, which was a weird turnabout for him, and he’d already resolved to turn a blind eye to most minor to moderate smuggling operations, especially of food and medical supplies. Smuggling was something Rocket was well-versed in from ages past as a convict prior to meeting Quill and the others, but he’d never stooped to trafficking living creatures, he didn’t have it in him to be that big of a hypocrite. That was something he was determined to crack down on with magisterial, disproportionate force, even more so after what he’d just gone through.

     It took the better part of a day to assemble the menagerie, and then another half a day to make sure they all stayed put long enough to confirm their numbers. At final count there were about 300 individual creatures from 50 or so different species. The noise was incredible, not to mention the smell. It was like a warzone of squawking, yapping, squeaking, and caterwauling. Rocket was dead-set against confining cages and no one wanted to argue with him on that, but he’d relented with the birds at least. There just wasn’t any feasible, humane way anyone could think of to restrain them from flying off, but at least he managed to secure separate cages for the different species. At the very least Birds of prey were kept apart from the herbivorous avians.

     Now came the messy business of moving all the animals onto a ship. Rocket had “negotiated” the use of a freight cruiser of considerable size, which had almost certainly been used for smuggling before now. It was a Class-4 R’zahnian King-size cargo-carrier or 4R-K. The cargo hold was spacious enough to hold twice as many animals as they planned to transport.

     Rocket wanted to make the drop-off on Terra himself to make sure no harm came to the animals. As Quill was planning to visit his home planet anyway to find his grandfather, it made sense for them to travel together. Groot insisted on coming as well.

     “I am Groot,” the young tree growled.

     “I’m fine, Groot, never felt better,” Rocket reiterated, though he didn’t meet Groot’s eyes. 

     Groot, who considered the raccoon to be a father figure, had been acting extremely protective of him since the scare they’d all received. A scare that had led to this situation in the first place. Rocket had almost died from complications with a “killswitch” installed in his biology by the High Evolutionary. Groot wasn’t about to let his dad out of his sight. Likewise, Rocket considered Groot a son of sorts, having raised him from a tiny little sapling. They were very close; Rocket had already come close to losing Groot more than once, in fact he did lose him for 5 years at one point. At the moment it would be hard to say who was more overprotective of whom.

     After helping load the ship, the Knowhere denizens had to go back to conducting full-time repairs on Knowhere. The city had suffered a significant amount of damage during the onslaught from the High Evolutionary’s fearsome swarm of chimeric creatures. Under the capable command of Nebula and Cosmo, and slightly less capable command of Drax, the aftermath was being dealt with and the jerry-built city was already on the mend. Rounding up the animals was a task that needed to be done anyway, it had been bumped up on the schedule as a favor to Rocket. Standing on the 4R-K’s gangplank, Rocket awkwardly thanked them all. 

     “We’ll be back soon, uh- don’t wait up,” he said to the already dispersing crowd.

     Gliding out of the Knowhere’s spaceport like a teardrop from the Celestial’s eye, they took off smoothly; Rocket was at the helm and he seemed to be taking great care to fly especially steady, as if for the sake of their precious cargo. The six-sided portal that led to the Universal Neural Teleportation Network flickered into visibility ahead of them. It was only going to take a few jump points to get to Earth from Knowhere, but every jump was always a little rocky no matter how good of a flyer you were.

     Rocket had put the crate of raccoons in the cockpit with him alongside Groot and Quill. As they passed through the first jump point and the ship lurched suddenly, the little raccoons chittered and squeaked.

     “Shh, shh, shh,” Rocket starting cooing to them immediately, reaching over to pat the crate without taking his eyes off where he was flying the ship.

     Groot leaned down from his undersized seat and attempted to aid in calming the timid fuzzballs too, offering a leafy vine of sorts as a kind of toy to distract them. This worked astonishingly well as the itty-bitty critters reached up with their itty-bitty hands to grasp and feel the comforting texture of tree bark, itty-bitty snouts sniffing the calming scents of the woodlands. Glancing over, Rocket thought that Groot’s expression looking down at the pile of Procyon pups was like that of a big brother. A lump formed in his throat, he coughed gently to try to dislodge it.

     “Now, don’t you go getting too attached to them, y’ big twig,” Rocket grumbled as he steered them through the next hexagonal hole in spacetime. He continued the sentence in his mind: “…like I am.”

     “I am Groot?” Groot asked, with all the pleading of a boy asking for his first puppy, brown eyes big and shiny.

     “No, Groot, we’re not keeping any of them,” Rocket said, as firm as he could, though the struggle against the desire was apparent.

     “I am Groot…?”

     “No, not ‘just one’ either!” Rocket said, louder than he meant to, and the chittering in the crate stopped. The silence on the 4R-K bridge was thick and tense for a few seconds, broken only by the faint sound of Quill’s music player, which he was listening to with the headphones on and not really paying attention to the conversation. 

     “It’s- it’s for the best…” Rocket said, talking as good a portion to himself as to Groot, his eyes fixed forward. He glanced down at the crate for just a moment and Groot saw the expression that flashed across his father’s face, a sort of hopeless longing, almost jealousy. “And lookin’ at ‘em… just reminds me of what I lost,” Rocket continued “The least I can do for ‘em…  Is to give ‘em the life I never had.”

     Groot didn’t continue to argue. He knew he probably could have convinced his father to cave sooner or later with enough wearing down, but he also knew it would not be right, not right by the raccoons, any of them, big or small. It would be selfish. Groot really was growing up. He looked back down into the padded box and smiled. He could make the most of it while they had them, at least.

     “I am Groot,” Groot rumbled softly.

     “Yes, they are very cute,” Rocket admitted, his mouth twitching at the corners.

     A couple jumps later they were approaching their destination, entering the Milky Way Galaxy.

     “So, what’s the plan when we get there, el capitan?” Quill piped up, popping his headphones off. The human was lounging in a passenger seat. “What’re you gonna do? Touch down in the middle of New York City and throw open the cargo bay doors?”

     “Don’t be a dumbass, Quill,” Rocket said. But now that he mentioned it, Rocket didn’t really know exactly what he planned to do. His main priority had been to get the animals all gathered up and taken to the planet, but now all the complicated logistics of it were fast becoming a pressing issue to tackle. Rocket was nothing if not adaptable however. As the 4R-K approached Terra, the big, blue planet slowly growing larger through the viewport like a great glowing marble rolling towards them, Rocket got on the ship’s comms. He patched through to the relatively basic Earthling telecommunications system without much difficulty and made a call.

     “Hi there, is this SHIELD headquarters? Good, the contact still works. Yes, could you please connect me to Commander Fury? What? No longer there? Well who’s the boss now then? Complicated, huh? Well, you can tell whoever’s in charge that it’s Rocket, Rocket Raccoon. I’m calling in a favor.”

     When the bosses got on the line there were questions, a lot of them: How did you get this number? Did you really know Iron Man? What is Captain America really like? Is it true that Cap is hiding out on the moon…? Rocket, in no mood for this, gave his own answers respectively: found it in the phone book; no, but if you hum a few bars; he’s a lousy kisser, but a good lay; and yes, definitely and also he’s a werewolf too. When he finally got through to someone who was distantly familiar with him, he was told to please hold while the chain of command was consulted to figure out which department was most qualified to head up this bizarre happenstance, and a half-dozen top-ranking government officials were brought in from various branches. Some time estimates were thrown around for paperwork being prepped and processed at outwards of three months. Rocket was regretting making the call more and more with every passing second, but if there was one thing Rocket wouldn’t stand for it was bloated government bureaucracy getting in his way. He interrupted the, by now, quite chaotic conference call.

     “Shaddup all’a you, just get me in touch with the head of whoever runs the, uh- takin’ care of animals… agency, or whatever.”

     Rocket glanced at Quill for any input, but he just shrugged. Rocket sighed, pinching his furry brow. The questions continued, concerns about security, proper channels of engagement, import taxes, screening for dangerous materials… 

     “They’re animals! Native ones, from Terra- I mean Earth. They ain’t weapons of mass destruction! Listen, I have it on good authority that they came from your stinkin’ planet,” Rocket bluffed, “You oughta take ‘em! Now I don’t mean to rush you nice folks, but… no, wait a minute, that’s exactly what I mean to do! No, shut up and listen! We’re gettin’ restless up here in orbit, and the animals are gettin’ restless too, which means the cargo bay on our ship is probably getting real rank and I don’t even know what some of ‘em eat…”

     And then there was more pointless arguing as the bombastic head of the U.S. Department of Homeland Security crashed the call, having caught wind of “a bunch of illegal aliens” “invading” the country. Something about that idiot’s tone really got under Rocket’s skin and made his trigger finger twitch. He took a deep breath and let it out in a low, animalistic growl that went on for a long time. Eventually the bunch of bickering, bald-bodied baboons quietened down. A growl like that tugged something in their DNA, or perhaps it was memories of fatherly fury. In the background behind the captain’s chair, Groot smiled to himself. No one knew better than him what was coming next.

     “Okay then,” Rocket spoke after letting the silence swirl, “I’m gonna be coming in hot through the atmosphere in a second with a ship fulla fauna whether you jerks like it or not, so what we’re gonna do is, we either set somethin’ up, or I go and drop them on your damn President’s lawn. Some of ‘em are grazers, I reckon they’d like that, but they’ll probably shit everywhere, eeeeeverywhere, and that’ll be your problem, ‘cuz I’ll be sure to drop all’a your names to the nice security folks that receive us,” Rocket’s voice had taken on a dangerously sugary sweet tone, “Do we have an understanding?” 

     Quill and Groot were both grinning by this point; not one member of the Guardians of the Galaxy had much good to say about authority figures or the elite, and the way they were all suddenly sputtering and walking back their words to placate Rocket was extremely satisfying. 

     After that, it was surprising how quickly they managed set up a rendezvous. They were going to meet a detachment in a desolate field in a state in the upper Midwest of the USA, Minnesota. Some SHIELD personnel were supposed to make contact with them along with a hastily assembled assortment of professionals from the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Agency. Rocket told them point-blank that he didn’t want scientists, he’d had enough of them, he “wanted doctors, animal doctors, what’cha-callems… veteraninarians, or whatever”. 

     A few hours later they arrived at the given coordinates and, expert pilot he was, Rocket landed the bulky cargo ship smoothly in a rolling pasture, still taking care for the sake of the “important passengers” they had in the hold below not to jostle too much. Rocket made sure to flatten the prairie grass predictably into a crop circle with the stabilizing boosters and landing treads, ‘cuz why not. It was early evening and the sun had already set from this vantage on the planet’s surface. Even inside the cockpit they could hear the surrounding nature regaining its deafening chorus of crickets and native nocturnal fauna shortly after the engines of the 4-RK died. Peter Quill peered out at his home planet, the real thing this time.

     After their short time on Counter-Earth, a creepy copy of the High Evolutionary’s creation, the irony wasn’t lost on Quill and Groot for them to be back on Earth “proper”, even away from a stereotypical suburb. Rocket had been unconscious for the entirety of his team’s landing on the ill-fated promised paradise planet known by other races as “Halfworld”. The rest of the team’s descriptions of uncanny Americana after the fact were met with a weirdly wistful sigh from the raccoon, one he couldn’t quite explain. 

     Thinking back on that now, Rocket didn’t know what he had expected of the fabled perfect planet of his past that he’d never gotten to see. Disillusionment and no small amount of trauma had probably pushed the fantasy from his mind up until now. Blissful if flawed mundanity didn’t factor into his imagined utopia somehow, but, were the High Evolutionary less of a monster… perhaps he could have been happy there. He could’ve found a purpose, been a pilot or an engineer, raised a peaceful, law-abiding family, and been beautifully and miraculously bored for the rest of his days. He and the rest of Batch 89, Rocket, Lylla, Teefs, Floor, maybe… Rocket’s eyes fell on the box of raccoon kits again, many of them were sniffing the air excitedly like they could somehow tell they were “home”. 

     Rocket shook his head, it was no good thinking about that now, the endless possibilities of “could” and “maybe”. Rocket looked up and around for Groot, who was a little ways away sharing earbuds with Quill, hunched over to listen to his music with him, the bulky young tree bobbing his head to the beat. Groot caught his father’s eye on him and offered a sheepish smile which Rocket found himself returning. No, the life he “ought” to have had was not the life he had made for himself, and of the two, right now Rocket knew he had found happiness in the one he was living.

     They had barely 15 minutes to relax and appreciate the night sky. Soon, several large, unmarked black trucks were pulling up, circling the 4R-K where it had landed. A sleek and shiny SHIELD helicopter had arrived as well, causing the grassy hills to become windswept and drowning out the insect symphonies once more. A platoon of armored agents dispatched from the vans.

     “Well, Groot, let’s go meet the local-yokels,” Rocket said, hopping down from the navigator’s chair with a grunt and leading the way. 

     With a pneumatic hiss, a grungy metal platform descended down into the midst of the gathering government goons. The 4-RK, with its dented chassis and chipped yellow paint that had been applied haphazardly over the R’zhanian royal colors of red and black, looked particularly shabby next to the glossy Earthling vehicles. Rocket had a feeling that the folks at SHIELD were trying to impress him, but as a self-described raccoon, a famously trash-loving mammal, and as one that knew how to get more power out of a secondhand spaceship than a brand-spanking new model had, he knew that looks weren’t everything. Rocket also treated upscale opulence and showyness with instinctive distrust, as he knew from experience they were often masks for an evil far worse and crimes far dirtier than the “criminals” he more regularly dealt with. 10-headed alien monsters with slathering jaws, razor teeth, and acid blood could not hope to compare to what the moneyed anthropoids, from their sparkling cities, donning their finest suits, and speaking their prettiest words, would do or order to be done in the pursuit of what they called justice, mercy, or, worst of all, progress.

     Rocket didn’t recognize any of the SHIELD agents that had quickly formed a perimeter, but it had been a while and most humans looked the same to him. The agents were easy to pick out from the animal doctors and reps from Fish and Wildlife though. The agents were all in black, militantly armored, and stacked to the nines with Earth weaponry. Rocket easily identified the occasional alien influence on the guns, some of which he’d redesigned himself in the five Terran years he’d been attached to SHIELD. They were marching around setting up equipment and lights until the field was as bright as a baseball stadium. Before they knew it, Rocket, Groot, and Quill were in the middle of a government operation. 

     “Groot, you stay up here and stand guard, I want an eye kept on anyone that tries to go inside,” Rocket said over his shoulder. 

     The tall tree nodded; standing to attention he pounded a fist across his bark-armored chest in a Ravager salute. Rocket felt a flush of embarrassed heat to his features. There was an un-Groot-like serious expression on Groot’s face; Rocket had a strong inkling that his son was trying to give the look to the soldiers that his dad had it together and was a worthy leader, but the look of the thing was more awkward than impressive.

     It was going to be a large undertaking, unloading of a practical biblical boat’s worth of beasties. Standing in the doorway with all these unfriendly-looking men with guns gathering around, Rocket found his nerves winding up in anticipation, his fur was bristling and his hackles were raised. The raccoon felt a surge of protectiveness for his flock, a powerful paternal instinct rising in his bionic bones from somewhere deep in the unaltered part of his DNA. ‘They’ll have to go through me before they harm my children.’ 

     Quill cleared his throat behind him, reminding Rocket that they’d been standing there for a full minute and, as captain, the raccoon should probably be the one to take the plunge and head down for the meet-and-greet. Rocket snapped out of primal papa mode and cleared his throat, self conscious of the way he’d been baring his teeth. He tried to turn the grimace into a kind of manic smile.

     Stepping down the gangplank, Rocket half expected the gathered soldiers to suddenly point their guns at him and yell for him to stand down or they’d shoot, that was a far more common greeting for the Guardians’ arrival planetside after all. He was surprised then, but not entirely displeased, when a dark-skinned man in an impeccable, highly decorated dark blue military uniform approached through a line of attentive agents and threw up a smart salute to the diminutive raccoon. It wasn’t Nick Fury, this man had a balding head of curly greying hair and a big, bushy mustache.

     “General J. Nesumsah, Midwestern Sector of the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division, reporting, sir!” the man said, or rather announced, he had a deep, booming voice with the faintest hint of an accent. The general’s salute prompted a wave of soldiers to follow suit. Rocket was stunned into silence by the unfamiliar show of esteem. Quill seemed a bit incredulous with the honorifics too.

     “Uhhh-huh, so the raccoon gets the ‘sir’ treatment, and a salute, where was all that while I was captain?” Quill complained, his arms crossed.

     “Respect is earned, Pete,” Rocket said coolly.

     General Nesumsah turned with a click of his heel and looked Peter Quill up and down.

     “I apologize, but who are you exactly?” he asked.

     Quill stalked off to sulk, popping his headphones on again.

     Ice sufficiently broken, Rocket stepped closer and reached up to shake hands with the general.

     “I really appreciate you and your men coming out here for us on such short notice,” Rocket said, knowing full well the practical extortion that had gone into arranging the meeting and knowing the general was likely aware of it too.

     “Not at all, sir, it’s our pleasure,” Nesumsah declared without meeting Rocket’s eyes, mustache twitching. ‘Ah,’ Rocket thought to himself dryly, ‘So we’re blatantly lying to each other’s faces, this is leadership, isn’t it?’

     “So nice of you,” Rocket continued smoothly in a tone like frozen honey. He gestured back towards the plantform at the top of the platform. “This is my son, Groot, and that guy you just blew off was Peter Quill.”  

     “I am Groot,” Groot called from up the ramp.

     “Groot says Quill’s always like that, no need to feel bad,” Rocket translated Groot’s nuanced language for the human. “And I take it you know who I am?”

     “Yessir!” General Nesumsah answered brightly. “You are Mr. Rocket, Guardian of the Galaxy, honorary Avenger, and chief engineer behind Operation Time Heist,” bending forward the general confided in a slightly less booming undertone, “Though most details are still classified on that affair.”
In spite of himself, Rocket found himself charmed by the apparent recognition as he hadn’t really expected it. Tony Stark, rest his smug, stupid, self-destructive, sentimental soul, was more the type to take credit for that whole time-traveling enterprise; then again, Rocket had taken inspiration from some of Tony’s nanite tech in the upgrades he had given to Nebula, so it hadn’t really bothered him. It was mollifying to know that his contributions hadn’t been entirely forgotten, even if they were locked behind Top Secret government security clearance. Some of his iciness thawed towards the immaculate general.

     “Glad you paid attention to your briefing on the way here,” some of the iciness at least, “Uh… thanks.” Because he felt awkward all of a sudden, and to get away from the deafening noise of the helicopter, which was slowly coming in for a landing, Rocket took off walking around the rapidly assembling compound, circling around the ship. The general kept in step marching beside him, which helped prevent the busy, bustling, weapon-laden soldiers from accidentally tripping over the much shorter raccoon. “But for the record: Captain Rocket Raccoon now. Got myself promoted and did some taxonomic soul-seeking.”

     “Ah, congratulations,” Nesumsah responded, smiling and nodding along like he had any possible idea what “taxonomic soul-seeking” could mean, “I just received a promotion myself as a matter of fact,” he added conversationally, looking a bit proud, puffing out his medal-decorated chest.

     “Good for you,” said Rocket, and he had to fight his instinct in order to not sound too sarcastic. Here they were, space raccoon mercenary and human military officer, comparing goings-on in their lives like colleagues over coffee. Before things got even more surreal, Rocket decided to change the subject to something that had been bothering him since SHIELD had arrived. “Hey, so, I’m not usually one to complain about excessive firepower, but are all these guns really necessary? You aren’t dealing with an invading army, y’know.”

     “Yes, uh…” Nesumsah started, but had to pause as, caught off-guard by the question, he knocked his hat off walking into a low-hanging wing of the 4-RK and had to dive to pick it up before it was trampled by a regiment of gun-toting soldiers. Rocket, while amused by the pratfall, waited patiently for an answer, his arms crossed. Looking flustered, the general straightened his uniform before he continued speaking. 

     “Er, you see, sir, it is standard SHIELD procedure for all dispatched agents to be outfitted with the minimum adequate armaments, just in case,” the general explained. He was avoiding meeting Rocket’s gaze again.

     “Mmhmm, minimum, right,” Rocket said, watching as a group of six heavily-armored men bustled past with enough collective firepower between them to, if not bring down a thundering Mustelagon, certainly to make it very very angry. In Rocket’s mind the fleeting memory flashed of seeing the life leaving the eyes of a sweet young otter, looking to the heavens for skies she would never see. Rocket’s protective papa instinct stirred again. “A bit of friendly, free advice, General: any one of my ki-” Rocket paused, cleared his throat, and corrected himself, “Any of the animals I brought comes to harm by the hand or gun-barrel of one of your soldiers, that would be bad. Very bad. Very bad for that soldier, you understand?”

     “Yes, sir, fully understood, sir,” Nesumsah said, throwing up another salute. Rocket saw the man’s mustache twitching nervously. Rocket smiled, this was kind of fun. But it was time to get down to business. They took off walking the circumference of the ship again.

     “I assume some of the animals come from different climates, there’s lots of different kinds,” Rocket said, “They’ll need transporting, I can’t be zipping around meeting with different agencies all night. I’ll leave the, uh- international stuff to your organization, I hate politics.” Rocket was really feeling his lack of knowledge of Earth, never having bothered to familiarize himself with the geographic or geopolitical, let alone the zoological specifics, but a place name he recalled floated up in Rocket’s mind. He continued, “Anyone from, say, Wakanda can help with the animals from over there.” Nesumsah looked uncomfortable again.

     “Unfortunately, sir, the Wakanda situation is… complicated right now,” the man said delicately.

     “Of course it is…” Rocket sighed, “Look, I don’t know your planet so well, I’m more used to seein’ it from above, way above. I just want these critters to get where they belong, safe and happy, okay?” Rocket spotted a stack of wire cages being unloaded from one of the vans and frowned deeply. “And no cages,” he snapped. Again Rocket was very adamant that no cages be used. If required, tranquilizers were to be administered as painlessly as possible. The animals were to be treated with care, courtesy, and respect, or there would be consequences, Rocket reiterated.

     Nesumsah, with the grace of someone that was blessedly high enough in command to not have to deal with the grunt work, was quite agreeable, though it might also have had something to do with how the raccoon’s vague threats still hung in the air like a glare from God.

     As Rocket and General Nesumsah finished their sauntering lap around the 4R-K, the general smiled and spoke up.

     “I should introduce you to Doctor McFadeon,” he said, gesturing over towards the helicopter, which had finally finished spinning its blades after landing. “A leader in the field, veterinary professional for 40 years, you couldn’t ask for better!” Nesumsah sounded eager to hand off the task of dealing with the raccoon to the next available person, not envying that person in the slightest.

     The head doc in charge of the local bureau of the Fish & Wildlife agency had disembarked from the helicopter. Dr. McFadeon was definitely out of place, she had the look of a community art teacher. She was a plump, redheaded woman with gently lined features, dressed in sensible shoes with a thick woolen skirt embroidered at the hem with pictures of birds. She had an understandably worried expression around all these overequipped military-looking personnel. She was busy fixing her flyaway hair and tugging a crocheted shawl around her when she saw Rocket and the general approaching. Her eyes bulged behind the large cateye glasses she wore on a chain. Some SHIELD representative or other had probably explained what to expect to the FAW folk in a hasty briefing during transport, but coming face to face with a spaceship and especially a 3-foot-tall talking raccoon for the first time especially if you usually saw the animal in a veterinary setting was a shock you couldn’t really prepare for.

     Rocket made the first move, stepping up to the woman and smiling at her.

     “Rocket Raccoon, Captain Rocket Raccoon, nice to meet’cha.” he said cheerfully, holding up a hand to shake. Dr. McFadeon had a look of paralysis, grasping her shawl. “Don’t worry, I ain’t rabid or nothin’.”

     The women just gaped. Rocket sighed, he supposed he was going to have to be a bit gentler. He wasn’t used to this whole diplomacy, talkin’-nice-to-people stuff, but was discovering it wasn’t all that hard once you got down to it. He noticed her hands were fussing with a badge on a lanyard around her neck. It had a logo graphic of a loon and a leaping trout set against a setting sun. A rosily smiling photograph that contrasted starkly with the wan, nervous face on the real thing and the text ‘Dr. Leona McFadeon, Director of the US Fish & Wildlife Agency’ was beside it.

     “Sorry to spring this on you guys out of nowhere like this, Leona,” Rocket said, as nicely as he could manage, “But there’s a lotta animals on my ship back there, see? They need help and I’ve been told you’re the best person for the job.”

     McFadeon managed a blushing smile at that.

     “Oh, er,”  she said and exchanged a glance with General Nesumsah as if asking her fellow human if this was really happening, he gave her a serious look back. “I-I see, yes, we’ll do… we’ll do our best then.”

     She hesitated and then took Rocket’s proffered paw and shook it. Nesumsah, looking relieved, excused himself to supervise his troops with one final salute, which Rocket returned wearily. He led the doctor up the gangplank towards the ship where Groot was still standing guard.

     “Groot, this is Dr. McFadeon, she’s our animal doc, one of ‘em anyhow,” Rocket said to the towering tree man. “Doc, this is Groot, species Flora Colossus, my son.”

     “H-hello,” McFadeon said, looking Groot up and down in awe.

     “I am Groot.” Groot shook hands with her, or rather she shook hands with two of his large, ligneous fingers.

     “Yeah, she seems decent enough,” Rocket said, rubbing his raccoon paws together, “Alrighty, let’s show ‘er the cargo, just down here, doc.” Groot and Rocket led the head vet into the spaceship. “You people do, like “rehab” and then release ‘em back into the wild, right?” Rocket asked as they walked, his voice echoing off the metal walls, “Quill said something about that.”

     “Yes, that is part of our mission in the conservation department,” McFadeon replied, still sounding quite nervous. She seemed to resort to reciting her practiced mission statement as a defense mechanism: “We mainly act to restore, preserve, and protect ecosystems, but yes, we do try to return as many displaced animals that come to us to their natural habitats. But, as you can imagine, with logistics and money and manpower being limited, not every case allows for that…”

     “Ah,” Rocket said, “I see.” But the tone of the raccoon’s short response was enough that a brief second later Dr. McFadeon quickly added, blurting breathlessly

     “B-but we’ll do our absolute best with what you’ve brought of course! No expense spared!”

     “…good to hear,” Rocket said, sharing a private look with Groot.

     Inside the cargo bay the raucous racket was only enhanced by the acoustics of the vast metal-walled interior. The rows of rainbows of fur, scales, and feathers roiled like a wave pool. They were cordoned off in a secure area in the center, carefully sectioned into general species as could be determined by the denizens of Knowhere.

     “Oh my, you have quite the menagerie, don’t you?” an amazed McFadeon said in a raised voice over the din.

     “Really? Do we?” replied a sarcastic Rocket.

     Dr. McFadeon looked across the makeshift zoo. Somehow, the godawful smell and sound seemed to be calming her like this was a familiar place. She pulled on a pair of light blue medical gloves. The sound of the latex snapping made Rocket’s fur bristle, but he took a deep breath. Groot, seemingly sensitive to Rocket’s discomfort, shifted as if to move between them, but Rocket waved a hand at the concerned coniferous and cleared his throat. McFadeon seemed to come out of reverie, blinked, and looked around.

     “Oh, I’m sorry- may I?” she asked, gesturing broadly at the animals as if a starving, but unerringly polite man standing before a feast. Rocket nodded, though hesitantly, his protective instinct stirring once again.

     “Yes, so long as you ditch that hungry-ass look in your eye,” he said and followed her as she descended down a ramp to the cargo bay floor, Rocket’s toenails clicking and her sensible shoes shuffling. 

     “Listen, doc,” Rocket raised his voice even higher as they drew closer to the enclosures, though some of the animals had grown quieter as they approached, turning to watch them, “They’re all animals that have spent who knows how long in a dingy lab being fodder for a monster’s experiments on the other side of the universe,” Rocket’s face showed visceral disgust as he spoke, lip curling back and showing his fangs “I just wanna impress on you that they were all prisoners, held against their will. Havin’ their DNA twisted ‘n broken ‘n reassembled in an alien lab a billion lightyears from home.”

     Groot drew closer to his father as the little raccoon’s voice broke just a little bit with emotion. But in the presence of so many animals, the head of Fish & Wildlife seemed to only be half-listening, her mind already working ahead on the positively ginormous task she had in organizing the conservation and redistribution of them all.

     “Mm-hmm,” she leaned over one of the pens and peered over her glasses into the eyes and mouth of a large pony. But she stopped abruptly and her eyes widened as she seemed to realize what Rocket just said, “They were in some alien lab you said? We should probably check for any genetic abnormalities,” she said, rummaging in her pocket and pulling out a notepad and pen. “Maybe we should get the Extraterrestrial Science Board at S.A.B.E.R. involved,” she almost sounded excited, scribbling away, “The scientists could do some tests and-” Dr. McFadeon trailed off as she caught a sharp inhale of breath from Groot and she looked back at Rocket. Rocket had a dead-eyed expression suddenly. 

     “The first thing I remember,” Rocket spoke, “is being in a lab, being taken apart and experimented on,” he did not raise his voice, he didn’t need to, the animals seemed to sense something too and their noise had dulled by a few dozen decibels, “My childhood was spent in a cage being poked and prodded with needles and scalpels, they took me apart like a machine,” Rocket slowly pulled down the collar of his blue and red outfit so McFadeon could see the stubs of the bionic implants across his clavicle. McFadeon visibly winced. 

     Rocket continued, “Animal-lovin’ gal like yourself, you’ve probably seen one or two inhumane labs in your time, huh, doc?”

     “I… perhaps so,” McFadeon said in a small voice, she clutched at her little notepad, eyes darting around, “And that’s terrible, I’d never endorse… But- but for the greater good-”

     “Doctor,” Rocket interrupted her. He did not even sound angry. There was silence though, complete silence, even from the animals around them in their pens. “The scientists that did that to me claimed the greater good as well.”

     Dr. McFadeon looked extremely uncomfortable. She was cowering under the glare of Groot, but somehow, Rocket’s expressionless face was far more terrible to behold. Still, she had her professional integrity to consider, she was used to being bullied by the higher-ups in the government, she had been called out here on a Saturday on a minute’s notice after all. She always prided herself on the little victories she managed, negotiating land away from corporations and actually convincing municipalities to respect the law and edicts of the EPA. She was a woman who normally was in charge of this niche little area of the world, who was expected to know best. And she thought of herself as a compassionate woman. She didn’t know what she expected, but to be put in her place on the subject of ethics by a raccoon…

     “Well, that is to say…” McFadeon trailed off, voice freezing as the icy gaze of both flora and fauna rolled over her “This isn’t exactly… orthodox, you must expect some interest from the scientific community, it may even be beneficial for the-” Rocket shook his head and interrupted her again.

     “I want you to look at me, Doctor Leona McFadeon,” he said, “Look at me. Good, now, are you going to say to my face that you are going to put these animals back in a lab and allow government scientists to perform tests on them?”

     The whole menagerie seemed to be waiting on her answer, as if the animals had any possible concept of the ramifications behind the conversation. McFadeon took a deep, steady breath and tried once more. 

     “For the safety of the Earth’s fragile ecosystem we really should quarantine and check for extraterrestrial diseases or defects,” she said, and then continued quickly “And while we’re at that we might as well…”

     “You’re not looking at me, Doctor.” Only now did Rocket raise his voice. Rocket’s sharp words cut the doctor off like the drop of a guillotine.

     McFadeon bit her lip. She gulped and looked into Rocket’s rich, maroon-irised eyes. It stopped her train of thought in its tracks.  She saw, in Rocket’s eyes, a depth of smoldering anger and intelligence that she had never seen before in an animal like him, or a human for that matter. She saw the pain there and the determination to end pain elsewhere. In his eyes she saw that the raccoon would go to any lengths to protect the innocent. The strength of Rocket’s dedication reminded her of her own father, who’d been a passionate forest ranger. It was a parental determination, hard as a diamond. As a mother and grandmother herself, Leona was struck with a maternal kinship. 

     “I- no, no I won’t do that to them,” she said and, with 100 percent conviction, added “I’ll make sure it won’t happen, I promise.”

     “Good to hear,” Rocket said again, sounding much more satisfied this time. In the moment they’d shared staring into each other’s eyes, Rocket had gotten the measure of the chief veterinarian too. She was kind, but tough. He had a strong feeling that these animals would be safe with her.

     “I’ll need the other doctors to perform preliminary health checks on the rest of the animals here,” Leona said “We’ll be gentle as we can.”

     “Oh, yes… uh, right,” Rocket said, it was awkward to return to business after a moment of such intensity, but he tried to shift gears back to being captain again, “Groot?”
Groot went and collected the twenty or so other representatives from Fish & Wildlife, most of whom had been awkwardly huddling together outside.

     The US Fish and Wildlife Service was not generally a branch that often interacted with the military, and even more rarely with this specialized branch of the military. All the armored soldiers and shiny vans made them feel like they were in the middle of a warzone, and so, understandably anxious. The flock of doctors were grateful to be escorted into an area with at least a modicum of normality with all the animals, but they still seemed edgy and tense. A small detachment of soldiers was brought along inside as well, Leona determining that they’d be needed as extra help in handling the animals as there were hundreds after all.

     The animals were nervous with all the gun-toting soldiers around too, the ungulates shuffling in their pens and stamping and scratching at the floor. Things were getting earsplittingly noisy again. Rocket left Leona to it and went to find his son.

     “Groot, you stay and make sure everybody plays nice, alright?” the raccoon said, to which Groot nodded and saluted “I’ll be right back, I just got somethin’ to check on…”

     Rocket stepped outside again and looked around to find Nesumsah who was chatting with a lieutenant.

     “Can we talk privately, General?” Rocket said, walking up to him, “And that means no earpieces neither, just you ‘n I under the stars.”

     Nesumsah nodded and dismissed the person he’d been talking to. Rocket pulled General Nesumsah away from the others, out of the circle of vehicles around his ship to the edge of the floodlights where it was quieter. Rocket sat down on a fallen log and offered Nesumsah the spot beside him, which the man took, though he fastidiously brushed the moss and bugs off before sitting down. A tall man so low to the ground, the general’s posture was rather unnatural and comical, with his knees tucked into his chest.

     “I usually don’t bother with laws,” Rocket began casually, “But on your planet I reckon there’s a law against what happened here.” He looked over at the general. “Jacob, I know for a fact that these animals came from Earth. They were abducted to be cruelly experimented on. And this has been happening for a long time, General. I want it to stop.” 

     The general’s bushy eyebrows contracted. He was not a slow man, and he had caught that Rocket just called him by a first name the man had never given him. He couldn’t know if the raccoon had just guessed from the initial, or if he knew more than he was letting on. Rocket sighed and snapped his fingers under Nesumsah’s nose.

     “Pay attention, Jake, it ain’t hard to look up military personnel, even from the secretive sneaks at SHIELD,” the raccoon told him “But if you must know, I heard one of your subordinates use it in passing. Though I coulda looked it up through twenty layers of encryption if I wanted to. Remember what I said about usually not bothering with laws? I ain’t exactly in your jurisdiction neither, besides there’s bigger fish and a bigger boat to deal with, back on target, ya with me?”

     Nesumsah nodded silently.

     “The company is called Orgocorp, they’re big, bloated, and powerful and they’ve got a lot of money. A lot. Their boss is… gone, for the time being, but there’ll be others in the chain of command eager to keep up the nice thing they have goin’,” Rocket said, watching the military man’s face, “And I’ll bet my blaster they have at least one or two stooges lurking in high offices here already, may have done for generations…” 

     Here Rocket paused, scrutinizing Nesumsah’s expression. The general looked surprised. Rocket looked very carefully to see if it was genuine, it helped that he was short enough to see under the man’s mustache. The shock of learning about an intergalactic conspiracy of alien poachers with Earth at the center of it seemed to be real. Rocket remained wary though.

     “It ain’t gonna be easy to root ‘em out, they’ll have aliases and shell companies to hide the paper trail.” Rocket continued, intimately familiar with Orgocorp’s shady bureaucracy as he’d been ducking and avoiding them for years and years, not mentioning his tragic time as a “resident”. 

     “They are responsible for hundreds of years of unethical animal testing,” Rocket went on “Oh, and also the merciless eradication of an entire planetful of thinking, feeling beings,” he added, as if as an afterthought, “An entire society wiped out on a whim, Jacob. That’s the kind of greed and lack of concern for life we’re talkin’ about here. They, Orgocorp, populated Halfworld and then, when they didn’t need it anymore, they pulled the plug on the whole planet.” 

     Nesumsah had become very quiet. Rocket glanced around at the trees and the starry sky. 

     “It was a planet that looked a lot like this one, uncannily as a matter of fact,” Rocket commented casually, as if on the weather, “Anyways, good luck, pal,” Rocket beamed broadly and slapped the gaping Nesumsah on the back. “You people are good at secrets and lying. I hope you won’t disappoint me. I wouldn’t want to have to come back and do the rooting and uprooting myself,” Rocket’s tone turned dangerous now, “Because I’ll be watchin’ closely, General, and I see any signs of Orgocorp poaching so much as an insect from Earth in future? I ain’t gonna be gentle, not with you, or with your government.”

     They looked into each other’s eyes, now was the time to size each other up. Jacob Nesumsah was struck by how old the small raccoon’s gaze looked, those crimson eyes were hardened and tired, but holding in an impressive amount of compassion. Rocket was someone who had seen the carelessness and cruelty of gods, the desolation of half the universe. Who had watched his family die multiple times. Rocket was someone who had a burning sun of rightful righteous anger inside him, who’d been given a chance at revenge, but who had conquered his own fury, and that was perhaps the most remarkable thing of all. Rocket saw only honesty and loyalty to his country and people in the man’s deep brown irises. He was a family man, and someone that had fought his way to the top, much like Dr. McFadeon, but unlike her, he was someone with a not insignificant amount of power over a heavily weaponized platoon of soldiers. General Nesumsah saluted shakily.

     “You- you can count on us, sir. I’ll recommend a special task force from S.A.B.E.R. to look into it, that’s our division for dealing with extraterrestrial threats,” the man said.

     “Very good. And, in case you were considering reporting me as one of those “extraterrestrial threats”- any family that was Dusted during the Snap, General?” Rocket asked.

     “Uh, yes sir, I was spared, but… my three children… and my wife… I was thanking God that they returned to me, I was so happy,” answered Jacob.

     “You’re welcome then.”

     Back on the ship, Dr. McFadeon was overseeing the many vets, moving between them as they focused on the many different species, observing, assessing, and writing things down on clipboards. Groot was strolling around the perimeter with an attempted air of authority, keeping the peace. This was something the young Flora Colossus was pretty good at, he had the build of a bouncer, even if his facial features were still decidedly round and juvenile. He could only say three words that the people could understand, but his body language didn’t need an alien-to-English translator. His presence also seemed to help keep the animals calm as, whenever he was near, they acted more cooperative. Rocket arrived back in the cargo bay after his chat with the general and looked around for the redheaded boss doc.

     Dr. McFadeon was talking to a couple of the FAW staff members when Rocket got to her.

     “How’s it going, Leona?” Rocket asked, causing the people she’d been talking to to look around and then down in surprise, as folks often did when first meeting the raccoon.

     “Oh, fine, fine, Captain,” she answered with a smile down at him, “It’ll be a big undertaking, but we should be able to take all of the animals to a nature sanctuary not too far from here until we can disperse them to proper habitats.” She leaned over, hissing behind her hand, using the obvious whisper of someone who wasn’t used to keeping secrets, “I’ve instructed the other vets to keep the paperwork as vague as possible regarding their origins, I thought you’d prefer that.”

     “Oh? Oh, I see. Good, that’s wonderful to hear, doc,” Rocket said, surprised by this, “But, I- uh… have something I need to ask you, something more… specific.” He glanced at the other doctors, who were still staring open-mouthed at the talking raccoon. “Can I steal you for a bit?”

     “Of course,” Leona said. She shooed the gawkers away scoldingly and followed Rocket as he called Groot over and instructed him to bring the crate of the baby raccoons down from the cockpit. “Oh my,” she said as she saw them.

     “These ones are… kinda special to me,” Rocket said as the box was set down. Groot and Leona both saw how Rocket’s fiery eyes softened as they looked down at the nursery of kits. “So, what’s the diagnosis, doc?”

     Dr. McFadeon bent over the crate, her eyes scanning the squirming mass of fur.

     “Well, there’s at least two or three orphaned litters here, no mothers?” she asked Rocket, who shook his head. She tutted sympathetically, adjusting her glasses she leaned in for a closer look. “Seems like eyes and ears are open, but from size and fur growth I’d estimate… about 3 to 4 weeks old,” she said after a few more seconds. She reached in, and Groot made a sudden protective movement as if to stop her, but Rocket held up a hand and Groot relented. McFadeon picked up one of the baby raccoons with her gloved hand, cradling it on its back. It squirmed for a few moments and then amazingly calmed down. She hefted the kit gently, rotating it and looking at it, she checked its mouth and ears and turned it around to examine its anus. Rocket and Groot exchanged a glance. Then she placed it back in among its fellows, who absorbed it into the cuddly mass as if it were liquid. Rocket awaited her opinion apprehensively. “Hmm, they’re a little light, in need of hydration and feeding, but otherwise they look very healthy.”

     Some of the tension built up in Rocket’s bionic joints unwound upon hearing that. He shut his eyes, he felt almost faint with relief.

     “Good, that’s good…” he mumbled.

     “After checkups, they’ll need to be vaccinated against rabies and distemper, that’s the standard. That will mean needles I’m afraid, but it’s to keep them from getting sick,” Leona informed him apologetically.
Rocket nodded. He felt very strange, Rocket’s heart was swelling with uncomfortable hope. He recognized the sensation from when he was raising Groot. It was neither bad or good, but a kind of conflicted mixture of happy-sad. He reminded himself that he had resolved to let the baby raccoons go, but, his brain retorted, he had to be absolutely sure that they would be well taken care of.

     “They are very alert, that’s a good sign,” Leona continued, “It won’t be long before they’re making mischief, exploring and making friends, playing with each other.” 

     Rocket smiled.

     “I like the sound of that,” he said, then he realized his eyes were wet. He rubbed them and cleared his throat. He felt desperate to learn. “I don’t suppose you could show me… how to feed them?” Rocket asked sheepishly. It was weird, here he was, a raccoon asking a human how to care for his own babies, well, babies of his same species. “I just… I just wanted to try it once, before I say goodbye…”

     “Oh, sure,” Leona said kindly, “Luckily we brought along some powdered milk just in case.”
Soon, Rocket was sitting on the ground with Leona beside him, one of the babies in his arms. It felt so tiny and fragile in his grasp.

     “Like this?” he asked, holding the kit around the waist with one hand.

     “A little higher, upright, that’s it, just like that,” Leona coached him helpfully. She handed him a small plastic bottle of rehydrated kitten milk topped with a rubber nipple.

     The instant Rocket brought it within the kit’s grasp the little raccoon immediately latched on and instinctively started nursing. Rocket glanced up at Leona and then up further at Groot. The look on his face could have melted glaciers.

     Soon the raccoon kit had emptied half the bottle and still suckled away greedily. 

     “My, my, she sure is hungry, isn’t she?” Leona laughed “Easy, honey, there’s plenty enough for everybody.”

     “She, huh?” Rocket said, watching as the ravenous little raccoon grasped the lid of the bottle with tiny little paws. “Her name will be Lylla.”

     Eventually, the nipple popped out of the kit’s tiny mouth. There was watery white residue left all around her muzzle. Ever a stickler for tidiness, Rocket chuckled and gently wiped it away with a finger. She looked up at him, blinking those soft, watery black eyes. Her eyes locked with Rocket’s.
Just then, Rocket was overcome with emotion. His eyes and throat burned and he looked away.

     “Take her, please,” he choked out and a startled Leona lifted the hiccuping, sleepy Lylla from his grasp. Rocket had his face in his hands. “You will take good care of them, won’t you?” His voice sounded like he had a head cold.

     “Yes, yes of course, captain,” Leona said automatically.

     “Because I damn well can’t do it!” Rocket went on forcefully, tears were pouring down his face, soaking his mask markings. “I wouldn’t be the right guy for the job anyway, they deserve someone that knows the first thing about taking care of them!”

     Leona just nodded. Groot was beside Rocket in an instant, but Rocket just shrugged off his comforting shoulder squeeze. He focused glistening eyes on Dr. McFadeon, he reached out and grasped her hand with both of his smaller ones.

     “Leona, please… I- I just want them to have peace, I want them to have the normalcy that I never had,” Rocket said to the woman, “I want them to live somewhere where they can see the sky. No guns, no explosions, no… no pain.”

     “In the wild, there’s no way to guarantee a life without pain, I’m sorry to say,” Leona told him with a sad smile.

     “I know, I know,” Rocket said, shaking his head “But- but if someone could watch over them, keep them from getting sick and keep them safe…” Rocket’s voice broke off and he let Groot pull him into a hug where he let his emotions loose at last, sobbing into his son’s great, wooden chest.

     “I understand, captain,” Leona said softly.

     On the far side of the 4-RK there was a ramp that exited directly from the cargo bay, it was much larger than the gangplank in front in order for cargo to be unloaded. With a creaking and whirring, the ramp lowered onto the by now thoroughly flattened grass. It was time to go. The animals were being wheeled out in their large pens, the birds being carried out in their roomy cages. With Groot’s encouragement, some of the larger ones were being docilely walked out on a lead. The animals were loaded into the vans one at a time by SHIELD agents commanded by General Nesumsah.

     Rocket was watching all of this from a spot beside the ramp out of the way. He’d put on a tough face, but inside he still felt on the verge of tears. Finishing up helping with the loading of the larger animals, Groot joined him shortly, stepping to stand dutifully beside his dad.

     As the baby raccoons were brought out, escorted personally by Dr. McFadeon, Rocket fought a final mad urge to run after them, to dive into the box and cuddle with them forevermore.

     “Goodbye. Be good for me, okay?” Rocket called out instead, his voice breaking.

     Groot put a hand on his father’s shoulder. Rocket looked up and smiled a watery smile.
Just then, with the crowds of soldiers dispersing, Peter Quill emerged from wherever he’d gotten to and bounded up to Rocket and Groot.

     “Looks like things are all squared away, captain,” Quill crowed with an ironic salute.

     “I am Groot,” Groot rumbled with a roll of his big amber eyes.

     “Hey, I did my part,” the human scoffed, “Anyway it turned out you didn’t need my amazing diplomacy skills after all,” he looked around and patted the front of his jacket and hefted the rucksack on his shoulder. “Okay, I think I got everything. Thanks for the lift, Rocket. Gotta say goodbye here though, I’m catching a ride with Zoe.” He grinned and waved at a SHIELD agent who was standing nearby, and she hesitantly smiled and waved back.

     Groot and Quill exchanged a hug, which lifted the human off his feet.

     “Whoa, big guy, not so tight, my skeleton works better in three dimensions, not two,” Quill grunted, laughing.

     “I am Groot,” Groot said, his deep voice cracking as tears welled in his eyes.

     “I love you too,” Quill responded, patting the bulky tree alien on his trembling wooden forearm.

     “Quill,” Rocket spoke up, he’d been quiet for a while. The man turned to the diminutive mammal, unsure what to expect, a hug or an invective. The raccoon pulled something from his belt, “Take this with you,” he said and tossed up a small, round device which Quill caught. It was a communicator.

     “For if you need the freakin’ Guardians of the Galaxy,” Rocket said, “Or in the extremely unlikely circumstance that we need you.”

     “If you get lonely you mean?” Quill joked, grinning.

     “I mean it, this planet could come under attack and you humies are useless,” Rocket snapped “And I got a lot more to defend and protect here now, and that includes you, because like it or not I care what happens to you, Pete,” they shared a brief moment of eye contact before, whiskers twitching, Rocket crossed his arms and looked away. 

     “So don’t be an idiot and take care of yourself, alright?” the raccoon captain said gruffly.

     “Yeah,” Peter Quill said, he looked down at the communicator then he tucked it safely into his jacket pocket. He smiled. “I will. Thanks. Goodbye, Rocket.”

     With a final departing wave, Peter took off jogging after the soldier Zoe’s squad, falling into step with her as they marched off to board the last of the vans.

     Rocket took one last look at the departing vehicles and then glanced around at the wilderness, once more dark and natural. It was a place he should have, but never would know, not really. Taking a deep breath of the fresh, Earth air, Rocket turned and walked back into the ship. Groot followed his father.