#Butbut!! It *really* sounds like she might know!!

[selvepnea]

How does the perfect opportunity to come out have to happen on my sister's birthday

[captaintoomanybattles]

More Than I Say I Do

It was never exactly night on the Milano, just as it was never really day—when you’re not orbiting a sun, the view out the window remains more or less the same, starlight and darkness and the occasional planet whirling by, glowing bright like some phosphorescent sea creature. That said, the Guardians had agreed on a schedule of ten-hour “days” and ten-hour “nights”, just to keep things consistent. Sleep deprivation, as Quill pointed out, was a bitch.

It was, therefore, as much night as it ever was, which meant that Rocket was the only one awake, curled up next to the window of the observation deck. The Ravagers’ fireworks had long been left behind, but he could still see them in his mind’s eye, blooming pink and gold and blue against the vastness of space.

Some funeral, he thought. Then, wistfully, Don’t think anybody’d do that for me.

Yondu had somehow understood how he felt. Yondu had given up his life to save Quill. Yondu had been given a Ravager funeral. But—but—

Quill never even knew Yondu cared about him. The way he told it, that whole crew was one step away from—from eatin’ him, or tossin’ him overboard, or whatever.

It bothered him, gnawed at him for some reason he couldn’t quite define—the idea that Yondu had cared, and never shown it. That Quill had grown up thinking himself unloved, unwanted—that he’d only gotten the affirmation he craved when it was already too late.

He himself had never known a parent—had known nothing but cold steel and cruelty before he met Groot. But still, somehow, he’d gotten this notion…

A kid should always know he’s loved. Always.

Gamora had had parents—real parents, not that Thanos dickwad—way back when, and Quill had had his mom, and Drax had had his own daughter, whom he’d loved and been proud of. And Groot—the first Groot, the old Groot—had once lived with others of his kind, a whole grove who had taught him to be patient and kind and loving, in ways that Rocket had never learned. Had never seen the point of learning.

The world had always seemed such a cruel place, everything and everyone in it struggling to survive at the expense of everyone else. With his size, he looked like an easy target. The best way to survive was not to give anyone the benefit of the doubt—to hurt them before they could hurt him.

Get the first punch in, go down swingin’.

For a long time, Groot was the only person he could let past that barrier of fear and insecurity. Now…

They hadn’t turned him away. Even after his harsh words and the stunt with the batteries, the other Guardians had stuck with him when it mattered, had his back, trusted him to have theirs. And if he wanted to keep this, keep them…

I’ve gotta do better. I can’t keep on the way I was.

The stars glimmered before him, cold and implacable, and he rested his head against the cool plastic.

Kids oughta know they’re loved.

He thought of Groot, tucked into his little nest of earth and moss for the night. He’d come so close to losing him, the past few days. Groot seemed alright now, but he must’ve been scared out of his mind when they got captured—and Rocket had had to force him into even greater danger. There hadn’t been a choice, but even Rocket knew that was no job for a child. And that was what Groot was—a child.

Poor little twig. He deserves better than me.

Soft footsteps sounded behind him, and he turned his head to see Gamora, warrior-quiet as she made her way up to the observation deck.

“I thought you might be here,” she said, settling down next to Rocket.

“Perks of being an insomniac.”

“Yeah.” She was silent for a long moment, watching the stars swirl by. “You okay?”

Rocket shrugged. “Been better.”

“Yeah, me too.”

He hesitated, fidgeting with the knee-patch on his jumpsuit, before finally saying, “I’m, uh. I’m glad you didn’t… die.”

It was an apology, of sorts—as much of one as he could make just now. From the expression on her face, he thought she understood what he meant.

“I’m glad you didn’t, either.” She drew her knees up to her chin, tilting her head a little so she could still look at him. “We all care about you, you know. I know it’s hard for you to believe, but we do.”

Rocket shifted uncomfortably; her tone was far too understanding for his liking. “How do you do it?” he asked, rather than responding. “How do you—all the shit that happened to you, but you’re still kind.”

“You think I’m kind?” Her tone betrayed both surprise and pleasure.

“I mean… yeah.”

“Well—thank you.” She paused, then said slowly, “For a long time, I was just trying to stay alive. And that meant being—violent. Angry. Ruthless. I couldn’t afford to show any weakness. But now—Thanos tried to destroy me, own me from the inside out. He tried to turn me into something as hateful as him. So—every time I let myself be vulnerable, every time I let myself love—it’s a victory, it’s proving I’m free from him. And it’s—it’s scary, but… I don’t know. I think it’s worth it.”

You play like the meanest, but actually you’re the most scared of all.

“I don’t want to be like Yondu,” Rocket whispered. “I don’t want Groot to end up like Quill. I don’t want him to be so desperate for a father he takes up with the first abusive asshole that pays a lick of attention to him. I don’t—I want to be better, but I don’t know how.”

Gamora nodded. “I don’t know how to do any of this, either,” she said quietly. “I’m scared if I get to close to anyone, I’ll get hurt. I’m scared of being used again. I’m scared I’ll never make things right with Nebula.”

“You’re good with Groot, though,” Rocket offered. “He really—you’re good with him.”

“So are you.”

“Nah. Not really. But I’m gonna,” he said, with sudden determination. “I’m gonna be the best frickin’ dad in the whole damn galaxy.”

Gamora smiled, and patted his shoulder. “I know you will.”

They sat together for a long time, Gamora absently petting Rocket’s thick fur. It was a liberty he rarely allowed any of the Guardians, and he’d deny it with his last breath if Quill ever said anything, but there was something terribly comforting about that soft touch. It grounded him, and he thought maybe it was something Gamora needed, too; confirmation that they’d survived, that they were finally safe.

When, eventually, Gamora returned to her own sleeping quarters, Rocket headed back to the little room he shared with Groot. As he slipped inside, Groot moved, big eyes opening and reflecting the dim light from the hall.

“I am Groot?” he asked, voice hazy with sleep.

“Yeah, it’s okay, buddy, I’m here.” Rocket knelt down beside his nest of moss and leaves, brushing a paw over the little wooden head. “I’ve got you.”

“I am Groot.”

“No, it’s nighttime now, buddy. Go back to sleep.” He hesitated, found his throat constricting with the old familiar fear—fear of saying too much, of letting any weakness show. Fear of being rejected. He swallowed it down.

“I love you, Groot.”

“I am Groot.”

“Y-you do?”

“I am Groot!”

Rocket smiled, warmth blooming in his chest like a sun exploding into existence. “Thanks, buddy. Go to sleep now, okay? I’ll be here.”

Groot made a little grumbling sound and settled down, eyes already drooping closed. Rocket curled up beside him, pulling his blankets up to his chin.

Maybe, he thought. Maybe I can do this after all.

 *Title from “More Than I Say I Do” by Chris and Jocelyn Arndt