Chapter Text
Rocket woke up sweaty and cold and shaking, his nest of blankets a tangled mess on the floor. He tried to breathe deeply, as much as his quivering body would let him, and scrubbed his face, trying to force the screams and blood and utter helplessness out of his mind. He was unsuccessful. He needed a drink.
He padded down to the kitchen. The kitchen it had been his turn to clean. Oops . He sifted through the dirty plates and empty plastic bags until he found a clean enough glass. The liquor cabinet is already open; he hadn’t bothered closing it.
A few shots in and he didn’t hear Peter approaching. He didn’t hear anything except a faint buzzing in his ears. He flinched when he felt a hand on his back, just above the implants. Whipping around, he reached sloppily for a knife or gun but ended up brandishing a plastic fork at Peter instead. Rocket sighed and slumped onto the table, reaching for the bottle. Peter said something unintelligible. When Rocket didn’t respond, he reached for the bottle himself, still speaking sternly. Rocket jerked out of his grip, eyes wild and shining. The bottle shattered on the floor and Rocket flinched again. Too loud. Too close.
“Hey, hey, it’s just me. It’s okay,” Peter said softly, raising his hands.
“Well ya can go back t’ bed, alright? I don’t need your shit on top ’f all the other shit!” Rocket slurred. His head hurt. He didn’t want to think anymore. He reached for the bottle again, forgetting it was broken ( like me, he thought), its contents dripping through the metal grid.
“You okay?” Peter asked after a second, after he’d backed away and Rocket’s breathing had gone back to normal.
“Yeah, peachy. Fine. Never better,” Rocket gritted out, baring his teeth a little. When Peter kept staring, his big dumb eyes even bigger with concern, he snapped “‘S none of your damn business Quill! Go back to bed.” And when Peter still didn’t move, Rocket really wished he had a gun so that he could shoot that pitying look off his face. Instead Peter walked to the fridge, got a beer and sat down next to him, and for his part, Rocket tried his best not to flinch because he knows he’s safe, he knows that, but his body and his brain don’t.
They sat together in silence, Rocket methodically sneaking sips of Peter’s beer because he couldn’t be motivated to get up, and Peter pretending he didn’t notice, until Rocket finally passed out. And if Peter carried him back to bed, tenderly tucked a blanket around him, and smiled sadly before leaving, well, Rocket would be none the wiser.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
They didn’t talk about it the next day. Peter had tried before, unsuccessfully. His attempts usually end up with a tetchy Rocket, and quite a few scratches. Eventually he’d stopped trying. And Rocket, well, they couldn’t expect him to talk, to explain . Not about that.
And so Rocket did his best to hide his embarrassment and shame behind tools and snide comments, and Peter did his best not to hover. Neither one was doing a great job.
“Quit lookin’ at me like that Quill!” Rocket snapped, “‘M fine!”
“How do you even know what I’m doing?”
Rocket stood up from where he was tinkering with a blaster that had gotten damaged during their last mission and turned around.
“I always know, Quill, I always know.”
Peter scoffed.
Rocket stretched and hopped up on a nearby table so that he was nearly at Peter's eye level when he glared at him.
“Anyways, I’ve been thinkin’ that what we need is a distraction. Which is why—,”
“No, no we definitely do not need a distraction,” Peter interjected hurriedly, “We need to get these repairs done.”
“Which is why,” Rocket continued as if Peter hadn’t said anything, “I found us a gig.” He smiled, showing more teeth than was strictly necessary.
Peter glared at him. The Milano wasn’t in bad shape per se, but their last fight had left some of their more important systems in need of repair. They had been grounded for about a week and a half while Rocket made repairs and Peter and Gamora took inventory and restocked their supplies.(Drax spent the time outside with Groot riding on his shoulder; he was keen on visiting as many food trucks as possible, and Groot was more than happy to come along and explore a new locale). By now, all of the main systems had been fixed, but there was still quite a lot to do. While it was necessary work, it was undoubtedly boring.
And as Rocket and Peter well knew, a bored mind led to thoughts which were best left forgotten.
“Well Quill, these repairs ain’t exactly cheap and unless one of you is hiding a secret bank account we could do with a little extra cash,” Rocket said.
Gamora (who had appeared so suddenly Rocket wondered if she had been lurking in a corner the whole time) looked thoughtfully at him, at the half-taken apart guns, and at the pile of supplies she and Peter had deposited in the common area.
“You know,” she said slowly, “some credits couldn’t hurt. This was a pretty big haul.”
“Whose side are you on?” Peter demanded.
Drax looked up from where he was studying Understanding Common Idioms and Metaphors (a collective present from the rest of the team) and said “I suppose we could always rob a bank.”
Everyone turned to him. “What?” he said defensively, “I thought we were talking about trying to save credits. Robbery is practically free and we could –”
“No!” Peter and Gamora said in unison, although Rocket looked interested.
“Rocket,” Gamora said, ignoring Peter completely, “where did you even find this job?”
“I reached out to an old friend.”
“I am groot?” Groot interjected.
Rocket turned to him. “Yes, of course I had friends before — nevermind. It’s just a few clicks away. We can be there in a couple hours. Anyway, you can check it out yourself, I said we’d call an’ work out the details. In about,” he checked a small, mounted clock, “about three minutes.
“And when were you gonna tell us this?” Peter demanded.
Rocket shrugged.
Peter rolled his eyes but gestured to the viewscreen. Rocket patched through the call and they all watched as the pixels began to solidify.
“Jus’ be warned, heard he’s a bit, uh, kooky,” Rocket half-whispered. Before Peter had a chance to ask Rocket to elaborate, the holographic image of a man wearing the strangest assortment of clothes Peter had ever seen flitted into view.
The man was wearing what seemed to be an animal-print cloak of some kind, with tassels, tights under a ruffly pair of shorts, and high-heeled, buckled boots. His fingers were thickened by large rings and his lips were painted garishly bright. He looked like an alien version of a fairytale king, except more jowly and less magical.
Peter tried his best to arrange his features into those of mild interest instead of outright confusion as the holograph leaned forward on his — was that a throne? Peter sighed inwardly. People on thrones were always bad news.
“Ah the Guardians of the Galaxy, how glad I am to finally see your faces.” He turned to Peter. “You must be the honorable Space-Lord.” With a flourish of his hand he continued. “Allow me to introduce myself, good sir. I am Emhod Jalour the fourth, King of Beltria, undefeated jousting champion, purveyor of the finest silks in this corner of the galaxy, and if I do say so myself –”
“We were told of a bounty,” Gamora cut in sharply. Peter shot her a look, but truth be told, this guy was getting on his nerves as well.
The man’s face tightened slightly, his eyebrows drawing together and his lips pressed thin. His jowls quivered. He cleared his throat.
“Yes, of course. We have been experiencing fearsome attacks that have left our fields decimated. Our best warriors have failed to protect us. I am very grateful that you have accepted this challenge. Of course, you shall be handsomely rewarded if you succeed.”
Drax pushed Peter out of the way and leaned in close to the camera. Poor King Emhod was probably seeing much more of Drax than anyone really wanted.
“What foe do we face?” he asked excitedly. “What beast must we slay?”
If Emhod was taken aback by a close-up shot of Drax’s face, he didn’t show it.
“It might be better if I explain it to you in person. I invite you and your fellow knights to the palace. Tonight we shall feast before you embark on your quest in the morning!”
His proclamation was followed by an awkward silence, punctuated by a poorly-stifled yawn from Rocket.
“We, ah, we would be honored to feast with you… King Emhod,” Peter said after a few seconds, “and look forward to helping you and your people.”
“And getting paid,” Rocket muttered quietly.
The video cut off.