A frustrated noise left the fur-ball’s lips and his head tipped over his shoulder, voice loud and deep, alongside the answer shouted right back at him.
“He said NO! I TOLD ya’!”
“ I am GROOT! ”
“That wasn’t the deal, JACKASS! ”
A mumbled echo of his own words, spoken in those similar three words, and a rough paw ran down his face, another noise of pure annoyance leaving him. Honestly, he loved the worst people the galaxy could ever know.
“FINE. How ‘bout... Ugh. STAR-BABE.
Can’t believe he’s makin’ me do this... ”
Just… everything that happened to them. In the span of less than a day. It had wrecked Quill something bad, and he was honestly glad Rocket could see it too. Then again, he realized just how bad it had been for him too. “– Yeah. You’re right, we’re– we’re in this together. You and me. And the others.” but mostly him and Rocket. Drax, Gamora? They had gained something out of this. Gamora had an unsteady, but still evident reunion and closure with Nebula. Drax and Mantis seemed to become a thing now.
But him and Rocket? They had both lost something. They had lost the same thing, though in different ways. Rocket lost someone he could relate to. Quill lost the one who raised him. Crouching down to Rocket’s height, he’d look him in the eyes, speaking with nothing but care and concern;
“Just– Just know that, if there’s anything on your mind… you can talk to me. Alright Rocky?”
Peter was the only one besides Groot who yet had any idea that he had a bond with Yondu, unless they saw him mourning at his funeral. Peter and himself had both gotten something they wanted only to have it taken from them, and Rocket for one, felt even more empty than before.
However, heart to hearts, although Rocket could use one... was just not something he was really comfortable with. It meant letting his guard down, and after all the back and forth he had been having with Peter, even knowing they were in a better place, it had created waves of doubt in its wake that could not be so easily dismissed.
Rocket’s eyes met Peter’s with a glimpse of forlorn restraint. You could see the sadness so starkly evident before he looked off emptily.
“It’s alright, Quill,” he said, but his voice made it apparent with they way he choked out his own words. “You don’t need to get all worried about me of all people,” he assured.
Kee’s leather was looking a little worse for wear, all things considered. Upon seeing someone else wearing his own red jacket, she leaned in and made a proposition. “I like your jacket. What do you want for it?”
A furry paw rubbed at a fluffy neck, and nerves bounced heavily in his body as he rounded the corners and dips of the ship, in search of the same stupid Terran he’d come to care for more than most of the others. It was going to be an embarrassing request - likely one the human would turn down right away, considering the severity of it and the...particular level of vulgarity he’d be gazing at while tending to the matter soon to be at hand - but with Groot so small, and his branches likely unable to handle the antibiotics that would leak into his fragile wood and possibly slow his growth more than it already was, and his respect for Gamora too high and the embarrassment of the situation skyrocketing above that level, Quill was the only true option.
Nerve-wracked and altogether embarrassed, the raccoon punched in the door code for the Terran’s room and breathed deeply before stepping inside, eyes on the human and words caught on his tongue. Fuck, this was going to be hard. If he just...spit it out, everything would be fine. He could take the rejection and go back to his room, and try to reach the sensitive areas himself. Maybe Kraglin would be able to help him?
Breakfast brought to his quarters was anything but a date, and it definitely didn’t start being one just because the idiot Terran that brought it stayed to keep him company. It didn’t start when he got whipped cream in his fur, and it didn’t start when Quill threw an arm around his back to tug him to his side. It didn’t start when he grinned at him like some…love-struck idiot and it sure as shit didn’t start when the jerk decided to kiss him between his ears. It wasn’t a date!
four times rocket swore it wasn’t a date
Just because they were conveniently stuck on Xandar while the Milano was under repair didn’t make it a date, and just because Quill was determined to find a restaurant that wouldn’t give them both dirty looks for eating mostly bread and leaving without actually paying for or buying anything certainly didn’t make it some stupid date. The flowers the Terran found didn’t mean a thing, because Groot could grow the same dumb plants without effort, and it wasn’t a ridiculous date just because Quill did his best to tie their stems into a flower crown to make him smile. That didn’t mean shit, and it didn’t make it a date. Though he did keep the flower crown.
three times rocket swore it wasn’t a date
Third times the charm? Not likely. Why it was deemed a good idea for the two to be thrown into a mission easy enough for Groot to handle with his potted self, he wouldn’t understand, and why Drax and Gamora seemed to share snide smiles and prideful smirks, he hadn’t a clue. What he did know, however, was that this wasn’t a date! Not a chance! Not when Quill found him a particularly peculiar rock with specks of metal in it, and not when he pointed out a small cave system they could blow the mission off in. It didn’t get labeled as a date, because just a small run through some…dank and dark cave didn’t make an evening alone with the stupid Terran a date! Not a chance.
two times rocket swore it wasn’t a date
By the point of the day that the suns on Xandar started setting, Rocket was ready to turn in, and what was he plagued to deal with instead? Quill’s childish antics of insisting he join him outside, on some grassy and dew-damp hill to watch the stupid sun set and sparkle the sky with it’s brightness and vibrant colors. Fine, so it was a sight to behold, and it was certainly…an enjoyable evening compared to curling up with a potted Groot while they both slept off the stresses of a hectic mission, but that didn’t mean it was a date!
one time rocket swore it wasn’t a date
Whatever had suddenly gotten into the morons he called family, he hadn’t a clue. Whatever made Gamora and Drax eye him curiously, he had no flarking idea. And whatever made Groot squeak with joy whenever Peter entered a room, he didn’t really care to understand. What he did know, much to his chagrin - it wasn’t a date! and this definitely didn’t count! - was that his and the little tree’s quarters were filled with streamers and flowers and all sorts of stupid decorations, with a single note on his bed asking him to dinner. This wasn’t a date, no matter what the others said; it was dinner - no matter how delicious it turned out to be - with an overly smiley Terran that wouldn’t take his eyes off of him. Not a date. Not a chance. NO WAY!
& the one time maybe it was
How many tries had Peter gone through to get him to admit things? …Too many to count, honestly. And how many times did Rocket accept the invitations and the offerings of food and small presents - like the flower crown he still kept hidden in his quarters - but never give a single shred of praise? Enough that it made him wince at Quill’s tired outburst. True, they’d gotten rid of Ego, and Yondu had died protecting them all - though it was Peter he cared most about - but after a small attempt of affection - a single hug, Rocket? c’mon, man - and a harsh shove away, he certainly deserved the slight session of screaming.
So, when Peter wasn’t paying much attention to him for a day, then three, then a week, Rocket knew he fucked up. He’d stolen the Zune in the morning, when Quill was finally sleeping, and snuck onto the flight deck sometime around what would be considered noon on Xandar. He’d worked on the electric connections and the small bits and pieces of labor until Drax began calling everyone to come and eat, and just as Quill began to wake and leave his room, music started playing through every possible port in the old Ravager ship.
He’d beat him about a quarter of the way to the area they’d designated as somewhat of a kitchen, and with an albeit nervous grin, he offered to skip out on a meal and sit in Peter’s room, just so they could listen to music and talk.
…It wasn’t really a date, right? Just…a nice thing to do, for someone he cared about. He would’ve done the same thing for Groot, no doubt, but he wasn’t so sure he’d let Groot hold him like some kind of stuffed animal and tell him about Terra and everything bothering him. Maybe it was something like a date, in his own morphed way.
Rocket shook his head sluggishly and lazily swatted a paw at Peter’s hand as the Terran reached down to lift him up. “’M not tired,” he muttered defiantly around the soft yawn that slipped out as soon as he opened his mouth. “Just...thinking. That’s all. I think better with my eyes closed...” He curled up a little in Peter’s grip despite himself and let out a soft sigh as his eyelids began to droop closed.
Rocket wasn’t entirely sure why he and Peter had been put in charge of cleaning up around the ship - though it probably something to do with their latest (failed) attempt to prove which of them was the better pilot - and his mood was only made worse when he turned to see Peter holding up a twisted slab of melted black metal. He folded his arms and bared his teeth at the Terran.
“You got ten seconds to get out of my stuff, Quill,” he growled. “And you should be careful how you’re holding that. My first go at building a bomb and I’m fairly sure it can still go off...”
