I'm sorry that's the case, it must have been something really bad. But no incense ever, got it.
What good? Dude, sleeping is great, and being lazy in bed is the ultimate pleasure. Forget riches and power, have you ever had a nap so good you forgot what day it is? I can sleep and cuddle with people in bed now that I'm young too. I mean, if I had someone to cuddle with, that's it.
[ 'Young' is a relative term since he's past 40 years old, but eeeeh. ]
You think my eyes are pretty? [ Yes, that's what he focuses on. ] It's a cult with people who have giant robot guards, which make things trickier, but Rocket is trying to hack into the computer that controls them to disable them all at once.
Are you keeping a list of things that I might object to?
[... sure sounds like it, Peter] Sleeping is a waste of time, when there are so many things to get done while awake. But I should have known that you were a cuddler, it's those long arms. I suppose you also enjoy breakfast in bed and other such frivolities. When you are not infiltrating a cult, that is.
[why you call him out like this?] You already know that they are pretty, you have been batting them enough for me to believe that you have any illusions about what you look like, Peter.
Perhaps he needs to get up a little earlier, before the robots wake up.
It does! And sorry for the delay, I was on a family trip
Not quite, but I try to remember what my friends like or dislike. It helps me a lot when I need to give out presents. [ And especially to make sure everyone is enjoying themselves when they meet or go somewhere. ] I'm sorry, I'm sure you gave good arguments, but I stopped listening after 'Sleeping is a waste of time'.
[ This is text, but he hopes Aleksander can tell he's smiling. ]
Joes aside, who doesn't enjoy breakfast in bed??? I'll make you some once i get back, and you'll finally see the errors of your ways about sleeping in.
[ Because he likes teasing you :) ]
Maybe I just like to hear you admit it. I don't hear compliments all that often, least of all from handsome people.
Har har. They bastards don't sleep, that's the issue.
[ Starter here - 'are these grenades I woke up with yours?'. ]
Terrans are weird. [ He's been called that often enough that it doesn't faze Peter anymore, even if he's aware that what Rocket finds strange is not the person, as it is how friendly they are. Honestly, it's a little sad that basic manners or a friendly attitude is seen as an oddity, but with the lives they had, Peter understands why it might freak out Rocket. Hell, Peter himself is still freaked out by the stuff he saw on Rocket’s file, the one they stole from OrgoCorp, so he can only imagine how much worse it was to live it and then have to move on from that.
He munches on his pancake for a bit to give Rocket a reprieve, instead of putting him on the spot by asking more questions or trying to make eye contact. But now they had enough arguments in the past to know when not to push, and despite what Peter claimed once, he can actually learn from past mistakes. After Rocket gave that answer and wry smirk, Peter felt something in his chest ache at the way the other man spoke of himself. He lightly nudges Rocket's foot with his own under the table. ]
Oh, you'd be surprised how many people are into that. [ Terrans were weird, and they were also into all sorts of kinky things, bless. Rocket only has to give a look at the internet to know. ] Plus, you're pretty good-looking, hungover aside.
[ As for Peter himself, before meeting Gamora and finally having a stable relationship, he found companions where he could. It didn't always work out, it wasn't always safe—he still has the scars to prove it—and he ended up with a bit of a reputation, but growing up away from other humans was lonely, and not trying was worse. He's quiet for a long beat, his food forgotten, and then; ]
You know...I don't think I've ever slept with another human.
[ Not like he was fully human, but with Ego's gone, the difference was minimal. He's been on Earth for a while now, but he hadn't even thought about starting anything new with anybody. It's been 8 years since her death, the Gamora he knew is gone, and he had come to accept that, but much like Rocket, he's not keen on the idea of being intimate with strangers now. Peter would probably get them killed by accident; he seemed to bring that kind of bad luck to the people he cared about. ]
[He wrinkles his nose at the concept of some terrans having a thing for it] Gross, Quill. Not helping.
[And yet even as he says it he's relaxing somewhat, rolling his eyes as he carves off a wedge of pancake stack with the side of his fork and serenely ignores the added comment on his own looks. Peter making it weird he knows what to do with. It's practically comforting in its familiarity at this point.
He takes a contemplative bite of pancake, and mulls this information over as he chews and swallows]
Huh. Guess that makes sense. Not like there's that many of you guys knockin' around out there [More than you'd think though, weirdly. For a species that still has to make a major production out of getting as far as their own moon, there sure aren't none of them out in the galaxy making trouble.
He raises an eyebrow at Peter from across the table] Not knockin' boots with anyone local then? I woulda thought you'd be all over the chance to not have to worry about whether you're allergic to their spit or whatever.
[ He doesn't outright laugh at Rocket's face, but Peter is surely grinning and that scrunched-up nose. Small steps, but if he manages to make Rocket a little bit less tense, Peter will take it as a good sign. If the other gets irritated at him, at least that means Rocket's not thinking about other things that might upset him. ]
Ey, I'm just telling it like it is. Some humans are even into tentacles. [ Shrugging his shoulders. Peter pops a strip of bacon into his mouth. Yep, the salty flavor definitely complements the sweetness of the pancakes in a peculiar but good way. ] Everyone has a type...mine mostly borrows down to 'people not trying to kill me' and that's not even a hard rule.
[ Gamora had tried to rob and kill him when they first met. Rocket had all but kidnapped him and then got them all arrested. The list goes on. ]
They weren't, no. And later, when I had the chance to come back here on my own, I didn't want to. [ Mantis was right to call him out on it, and he's glad he listened to her and reconnected with his grandfather and home planet, even if he misses the Guardians and their shenanigans almost daily. ]
Nah. Aliens are more fun anyway. A little risk makes things more exciting. [ He goes for casual, trying not to read too much judgment on that raised eyebrow. He knows his choices are strange even for a Terran's standards, but that's Peter Quill for you. ]
[Granted, maybe this a common thing across the galaxy that he's just never particularly had reason to have to find out about, but at this point he feels fairly comfortable pinning this one on the humans are weird thing and moving on with his life]
And here I thought your type was people who were trying to kill you [Certainly if the number of scars he can attribute to old hookups is anything to go by. There's probably a crack about how things started off with Gamora to be made in there somewhere too, but...nah, that one still stings too much. And that's with him having had more time to process than the rest of them.
The way the conversation goes from there, he feels like maybe their heads have gone to a similar place on that front]
Yeah [It's a quiet, subdued word, his eyes down on his plate] Yeah, I guess I can see how it wouldn't.
[He lets it lie for a moment before reaching out to snag a piece of bacon, and gives Peter a curious look] How up front you been with folks back here about everything?
Uh huh. [ He isn't even offended. There are a lot of reasons why many alien species across the galaxy consider Earth a backwater planet, but some have also realized that humans are a particular brand of insane and stubborn that is better left alone and not messed with. Even Thanos learned that lesson the hard way.
Peter is actually smirking because humans aren't even the weirdest species this planet has ever produced. ]
You should look up Angler Fish's reproductive habits, and then you can come and tell me what you think about that. [ It will be very enlightening for Rocket, he's sure. Half of his pancakes now gone, Peter tilts his head and considers that assumption. ]
I can see where the mistake comes from. But if that were the case, I'd have hooked up with 90% of the Galaxy, including Nebula.
[ It's Peter's turn to scrunch up his nose because... no. Talk about wrong and gross. He loves her in an entirely different way, thank you very much.
Rocket was right that throwing feelings around when they're hungover is not the greatest idea. Not to say that it wouldn't do them good to talk more openly about certain issues, but those still hurt too much, no matter how much time has passed.
He simply nods at the subdued 'yeah' rather than responding further, his gaze going distant as he chews, his mind lost on past memories until Rocket speaks again. ]
I've only told the full story to my Gramps, while his new wife knows a less detailed explanation, I didn't want to freak her out. Jason knows how and why I disappeared as a kid, but not the details about how things were with the Ravagers while I grew up with them. He also knows about you guys, how we saved the Galaxy a few times, and that Ego is no more. He actually remembered that bastard.
[ Basically, Peter gave him a sanitized and PG version of their adventures because his grandfather didn't need more stress in his life. No mention of the Klyn prison, the High Evolutionary, and the like. ]
He asked me if I was ever planning to give him grandkids, and I told him that he's already got one and that he's a tree. My grandfather laughed about it, so I'm pretty sure he's cool with the whole alien thing.
[ Peter smiles at Rocket after that. He's lucky that his family is that accepting after how much Earth has suffered because of some alien mess or another, it came as a huge relief. ]
How are things going in Knowhere? I bet Groot's even taller now, he looked bigger the last time we had a video call.
[ ooc: Starter here - She dislocated his arm and then brought him two tequila shots while she put it back in the socket. ]
[ All of the Guardians are guilty of using the classic tactic of daring others to do shit, sometimes for important stuff and others to fuck with each other puely out of boredom. Peter's own pride can easily be messed up that way easily, even if he's gotten a little bit more mature this last decade.Â
It isn't like that now, not quite, because he does care about Rocket's real feelings on this, and he would have stopped if the other wasn't comfortable. That coky grin comes as a relief, even if he doesn't buy the words that follow entirely and decides he's still going to take this relatively slow. ]
Bossy. [ He admonishes, but it loses any heat it could have had because he's smiling back at Rocket.
This isn't the most comfortable of places for an impromptu make-out session given that the other is still lounging on a chair, but Peter is anything if not adaptable. Rocket has one leg proper up on the console, which gives Peter room to move to stand between his legs and then leans in to face him properly. He slides a hand up the other man's neck, carefully watching his reaction, and cups his jaw. ]
I'd say don't bite me, but....that might not be entirely unwelcome.
[ Moving closer, Peter tilts his head just a little to make sure their nose won't bump and lets his eyes fall closed as he presses his mouth to Rocket's. He's obvious in no way, starting the kiss slow and then teasing Rocket's lips with just the tip of his tongue, toying at pushing deeper without actually doing it. ]
[There was a time, early on in them all knowing each other, when anyone else putting their hands on him would have been met with a snarl at best. Or if he wasn't expecting it, swift instinctive violence. He still gets shit occasionally about that one time he bit Mantis.
They've all grown and changed over the years they've been running together, and over time he's got a lot more comfortable being casually physical with the others; whether it's yanking someone out of the way of danger on a job, or leaning up against each other for support as they wind their way back to the ship after a drunken night out. Touch as a means of expression affection isn't something that's ever come naturally to him, but he trusts his crew enough to let them in close without feeing the need to be on guard.
He goes very, very still as Peter's hand slides over his skin, his breath catching and his eyes fluttering briefly shut. He's intensely aware of the way he's suddenly hemmed in by Peter leaning in over him, of the radiant warmth of his body.
A soft huff of a laugh falls from his lips, and he replies with unrepentant hypocrisy:] Better watch what you're lettin' yourself in for there.
[And then there's a soft press of lips against his, and a shudder runs through him; a strange, feverish heat shivers over his skin. He swears under his breath and grabs Peter by the front of his shirt to pull him in closer, leaning into the kiss and parting his lips under that first exploratory press of tongue]
[ Peter is aware that Rocket's personal space is a delicate thing, like Nebula's, like Gamora's once was. Far too many bad experiences in the past to not be wary, and he can understand that. But time and a constant show of trust had helped all the Guardians get comfortable with each other, and he couldn't be happier about it.
Peter has always been a tactile person. Sometimes it still feels like if he doesn't reach out and touch people, if he doesn't make sure they are there —alive and well— they will disappear from his life like his mom did because he once refused to hold her hand. Peter is aware he's got more issues than Vogue when it comes to emotional baggage, but they all slip off his mind after hearing that soft laugh.
He managed to sneak a last; ] You know I won't. [ ..before kissing the other man.
Cautious has never been Peter's style, and neither is Rocket's. Life is way too short to waste time being careful, and if the way Rocket grabs him to deepen the kiss is any indication, he's thinking along the same lines.
The corner of his lips upturns, and Peter smiles into the kiss, pressing their bodies closer after that obvious demand. His hand goes to the back of Rocket’s neck, fingers burying in the hair there and tugging at it as they finally have a proper kiss. It's rougher and hot, Peter kisses back for all he’s worth, and he's got enough practice to know how to make it good for his partner, tongue both demanding and rewarding. He can’t help but think this is a kiss a decade in the making. ]
[Maybe they were always going to end up here eventually. Peter flirts like he draws breath, constant and unconscious, and for his part Rocket's never known when to back down from anything that looks like a challenge. And for almost as long as they've known each other, Peter's always occupied a weird blind spot in Rocket's defences that's let him get away with things just about anyone else would have been shot for even thinking about. People have been badly damaged in the past for trying to get a little too familiar.
It's hardly as though there's no reason to be on guard. He's putting himself in a vulnerable position here, and for all that Peter talks a good game about being a lover not a fighter, he's not exactly harmless; when provoked he can be just as deadly as any of the rest of them. But nonetheless, this is...different. He doesn't know if he could articulate why it's different — especially not right now, when he's discovering exactly how justified Peter's bragging actually was — but it is.
Somehow it's not a surprise that things escalate pretty quickly once they get going. They've always known exactly how to egg each other on, and Rocket was never going to have any patience for being handled gently. There's heat burning over his skin as he meets the kiss greedily, a low moan lost between their lips for the tug of fingers curling into his hair, and he might not know what the fuck he's doing here but he knows he wants more.
He's never in his life half-assed something once he's committed to doing it, and this is no exception. It takes all of ten seconds for him to decide that he's done with the awkward angle forced on them by the chair; he surges to his feet in one smooth movement, the hand fisted in Peter's shirt flattening against his chest to push him back against the — fortunately locked — console. In the space of a heartbeat he's crowding in close again, hungrily reigniting the kiss with a groan of satisfaction as the better angle lets them press their bodies flush against each other]
ooc: Starter here - She dislocated his arm and then brought him two tequila shots while she put it back in the socket.
I can try to give the guy some pointers. Like, what not to do to piss off Nebula. The list is long.
Ey no, it's all right. We were figuring things out at the beginning, and you're way stronger than me. It was nothing I couldn't take, and you look so very sexy when you are all bossy.
That will take me less. And it will be mostly about food, but maybe he could take her to a nice restaurant or somewhere for a date. Someplace where nothing ends exploding.
Yesss? [ But it's so much fun. ] Oh, are you mad now?
[ Starter here 'You think I'll tolerate this kind of disrespect just because you're hot and the promise of sex with you is incredibly alluring? Well, you might be right.' ]
[ Oh, for sure. He can never say no to a handsome face. ]
That he is. He also believes that basic OSHA standards are more like suggestions than actual rules.
[ He does laugh at that 50% joke, good job. ]
Ey, I am not worried about you crashing us against something on purpose. It's only that space is weird, and you never know what you might find. Have you ever heard of quantum asteroid fields? The debris constantly shifts in and out of existence, appearing and disappearing out of nowhere in different locations.
[ That handcuffs comment earns K an interested raised eyebrow and a grin. ]
It's been a while since I tried getting out of a pair of those; one day we should test if my skills are still sharp. [ Alas, the comment about being property makes Peter's smile vanish. He's got more than a few personal issues as far as slavery is concerned, and even more so when it involves his friends. ]
I see...some things take time. But, next time someone makes you think like you're anything less than your own person, let me know and we will have a chat with them. [ We, as in all the Guardians. There might be explosions involved or spine-crushing if Drax gets to the jackass person first. ]
Honestly? I don't think much about it at all. Most people I know, including my half-sister, are not humans. There are plenty of sentient robots, androids, and similar individuals all over the galaxy. My dad was a planet, who was really a brain, who was really orts made of pure energy...the more you learn, the stranger it gets, so in the end nothing really matters much. People is people everywhere.Â
Space being weird is part of what makes flying in it exciting. I have heard of those. Have you ever tried navigating one yourself?
I'd be interested in seeing your handcuff skills. Maybe you could teach me something.
My hero. [ K's smiling to himself and rather flustered by this point, not only from the flirting but also from the feeling that comes with being treated like a person. A person worth protecting. It's very new and strange and though he knows he shouldn't, he can't help liking the feeling... and wanting to experience more of it. ] It's interesting, I don't encounter that treatment as much whenever you're around. It seems you and your associates have quite a reputation. And I very much appreciate the support.
You have a fascinating lineage. Unless there's a joke here that I'm not getting. Because I never would've guessed you're half planet-brain-pure energy.
That's a good point. And yes, I did, more than once. It's a lot easier not to crash when your copilot isn't being an asshole and trying to take the reigns of the ship from you.
[ If Peter sounds a little gruff and as if he's talking from experience, it's because he is. ]
Sure thing. I bet we could both learn a thing or two from each other.Â
Guardian. Gotta protect the people I care about. [ Peter grins at that hero comment, even more so after seeing K flustered. ] See, all the more reason to travel around the galaxy with us. We do, uh? Have a reputation. Funny how much things can change after you save the galaxy a couple of times. People also didn't respect us when we started. Or they were afraid of us.Â
Hah. No, yeah I use the word 'Celestial', because it's shorter, there's no inside joke. That's really who Ego was.Â
i think i messed up before, i'll assume they're talking in person now XD
[ As with most of Peter's quips like that, K can tell there's obviously a story behind it. One that he's curious to know more about. And, well. He's thinking maybe there's time enough now to actually get to know each other a little better. His bizarre imprisonment by the Collector will hopefully remain as nothing more than a bad memory thanks to the Guardians, and since the galaxy has been saved (for now) and they're not currently dealing with any harrowing life or death circumstances — maybe it's a good time for those drinks, after all.
He gets up to look for where his coat has ended up, replying over his shoulder as he does. ]
Travel with you. [ Surprise is plain in his voice and expression when he turns back to look at Peter; he's caught off guard by the suggestion. Invitation? He'd assumed they'd be going their separate ways whenever Peter and his crew found a suitable place to drop him off in. Just as he'd assumed Peter's flirtations weren't intended to be taken seriously. But now he's not so sure, on either count.
The people I care about.
That certainly hadn't escaped his notice, but one thing at a time. ]
Nebula was exaggerating, and Peter was not panicking like crazy about Rocket getting hurt when he wasn't there to help.
He was only understandably, logically, upset that his best friend's slash lover had been almost killed again by some jackass and that the goddamned implants he had in his body still refused to work 100% with the medpacks. Healing the old-fashioned way was a pain in the ass. Literally.
He knew Rocket; the guy could not stay still for more than 5 minutes. So the other Guardians had to make sure he was properly resting, getting enough fluids, not mixing up his meds, and also he had to be kept away from more sources of stress like unexpected missions or...Adam and Kraglin doing god knows what.
Two days after getting the news, Nebula threatened to stick her metal arm down Peter's throat and tear his vocal cords from the inside out —and did the woman really need to be so graphic? ew— if he didn't shut up and stop messaging them asking about Rocket's condition every 30 minutes.
He didn't listen, of course. Why would he?
All in all, it shouldn't have surprised Peter all that much when Nebula showed up on Earth on the fourth day, not to kill him —a small miracle on itself— but to dump Rocket in his apartment and tell him he was now Peter's problem.
That was two days ago, and okay, so maybe Peter is being a bit of a mother hen, but it was only because Rocket can't be left unsupervised. Guy's a workaholic.
You better not be building another explosive while in my bed. In fact, you better not be doing anything more taxing than reading that magazine I brought you."
Peter says from the kitchen, not even bothering to yell because it was a really small apartment and the bedroom's door was opened, anyway. When he comes to the bedroom properly, he's holding a small basket with clean towels and some new shampoos that he has bought for the occasion. It's still too early for dinner or even to wrestle Rocket into taking his meds, but he's going to try and convince Rocket to take a relaxing bath.
He eyes the other man critically.
"Is that my alarm clock? What are you doing, exactly?"
Everything around the mission on Valpheris is...hazy, for a little while.
The lead-up is clear. He'd been wrapping up a mission in the same sector and prepping to head home when he'd picked up an emergency beacon from another squad. No-one else was closer, so obviously he'd diverted course to check it out, set down at the team's last known coordinates, and— then it all gets a bit blurry.
He took a big hit. That much is clear even if he can't pin down exactly how it happened; he hurts from head to fucking toe, light stabbing into his skull like an icepick when he dares crack an eyelid. His right arm is bound up in a sling across his chest, and that entire side of his body feels like one big bruise. Fuck, his head hurts. Every slightest movement is enough to make the world lurch sickeningly around him. It's freaking him out a little not being able to remember how he got here. But he can hear Nebula's voice somewhere in the background, coming and going, and that's enough to keep him calm and somewhat reassured that the situation’s being handled. She sounds irritated, but not worried. She's on top of shit. If he needs to get it together and be ready for a fight she'll let him know.
He couldn't have said how long it takes, but eventually the fog starts to recede. He's in a bunk on a ship, a familiar rivet-studded bulkhead above him and the all-encompassing thrum of engines vibrating through the mattress under his back. He still has a splitting headache, but he doesn't feel as though he's going to throw up if he blinks incautiously, which is an improvement.
It's Nebula who informs him that during the fight on Valpheris he'd been slammed into a blast wall hard enough to dent the concrete. With that context it's a little easier to take stock of his injuries. He's black and blue on his right side from mid-shin all the way up to his temple. The metal plating in his skull is probably the only thing that saved his life; even with it, the head injury’s bad enough that he'd been out cold for a solid couple of days. His right arm’s broken in a few different places, as are most of his ribs. It's not quite as bad below the waistline, but his right knee — the one that's supported by a steel brace in all his earliest memories — creaks threateningly with every movement. All in, it’s not great.
Hearing her voice had been an instinctive comfort when he was barely awake, but he's grateful for her presence in a different way now he's alert enough to understand what's happening; that she knows not to let anyone try to use a medpack on him, or give him painkillers. That could have been...bad.
Once he's fully conscious again, it takes approximately an hour for him to start going nuts from boredom. His comm unit got smashed in the fight, so he can't distract himself with that, and he can only entertain himself by judging the technique of whoever's in the pilot seat second-hand from the pitch of the engine noise for so long. He quickly learns that he can't really put any weight on his right leg, but if he braces himself against a wall on the other side he can just about manage to limp his way to wherever he wants to be. Not having the use of one of his arms is a pain in the ass, and definitely rules out some heavier work, but he's always been just as dextrous with both hands, so it shouldn't slow him down too much. He can definitely find some mod or repair to amuse himself with.
He's never had his physical wellbeing and hypothetical ability to procreate threatened quite as extensively and creatively as when Nebula finds him in the engine room later. In the end, they don't even make it back to Knowhere. He gets unceremoniously dumped at Peter's place on Earth, and Nebula informs them that she'll be back when they're ready to stop driving her crazy. Seems a bit unduly optimistic on her part to think that they're ever going to stop driving her crazy, but hey; annoying Peter is going to be way more rewarding, so he's not complaining.
Or at least that's what he thinks at first. Except turns out Peter's also decided to be an absolute killjoy about 'holding still and letting himself heal' and all that kind of shit. Maybe he should have been a bit more resistant to the idea of taking his shirt off when he arrived. The side of his face is still pretty visibly fucked up, swollen to an ugly purple-black around the still-angry cuts at his eyebrow and cheekbone, but it looks a hell of a lot better than his arm and chest do. He looks like an abstract art project by someone whose favorite medium is deep tissue damage.
"S'a radio alarm," he replies matter-of-factly, not looking up from where he's casually disassembling said alarm clock one-handed . "Means it's got an antenna. Need some kinda receiver if I'm gonna get this thing—" Here he gestures to the remains of his comm unit. "—workin' again."
Peter can't lie; when Nebula showed up at his door, he had feared the worst, and that feeling had only gotten worse when he saw the state Rocket was in. He had practically turned into a giant bruise, looking like he went five rounds against Muhammad Ali and lost every single one of them.
It was only the fact that Nebula was so nonchalant about Rocket's recovery that Peter didn't have a panic attack here and there. He knew how much she cared for their friend; they had gone together through things Peter could only imagine in those five years he was gone. If she had had any real suspicion that Rocket was still in danger, she wouldn't have left after helping Rocket get settled in Peter's ridiculously modest apartment. At least he managed not to freak out when she and Rocket were in earshot; good bless thick bathroom doors.
It's painful to look at Rocket even after a couple of days, to imagine what he had to go through again. It's also a stark reminder of how easily Peter could lose someone who means so much to him, again. And the thing is, all that untreated CPTSD and thanatophobia have done Peter no favors in life, which means his response to this sort of situation once the immediate threat causing them is gone is inevitable.
He hovers near Rocket without immediately being in his space, insisting every day on checking the man's temperature to make sure he's not developing a fever, to see his injuries to make sure they're not infected, and to see if the bones are settling right. All in all, it's a miracle Rocket hasn't yet tried one of the bedside lamps at his heat.
He tries to hide the anxiety with jokes or slight complaints about Rocket's worse habits, but Peter isn't sure he's fooling anyone. They both need distractions, but listening to music is out of the question with the headache he's had the past few hours. This means Peter is also not listening to music, and that's usually what calms him down when he's close to having a nervous breakdown. Which is fine; he's doing fine; he's using his restless energy in the kitchen and making all sorts of dishes instead. He's not a half-bad cook. Once Rocket's headache improves, Peter will try to introduce him to movies and see if that manages to entertain him for long enough.
Now it seems Rocket has found his own way to pass the time.
I can get you another fucking comlink. I can give you mine if you want. Peter thinks to himself and says none of those things because, despite his overbearing tendencies, when someone he loves is hurt, he can tell that Rocket will lose it completely if he has nothing to do with his hands.
...hand.
"I can buy you components for that, new ones that work better than my lousy excuse of a radio alarm." Walking into the room proper, Peter sits on the edge of the bed, staring at the bits and bolts strewn over the mattress and only briefly mourning his radio alarm.
"So...quick question. When was the last time you showered? Took a bath? Someone sprinkled some water on you? Hmmm....? And Cosmo licking your face doesn't count."
"Where's the fun in that?" he replies, looking at Peter like he's crazy. What, he's supposed to just go out and buy components all neat and pre-packaged like some kind of amateur? Sure, working one-handed is its own kind of challenge, but the whole thing would be over in a matter of a few hours if he resorted to pre-built stuff, and then he'd be back to having nothing to do but stare at the fucking ceiling. "You wanna flash all that Earth cash you don't got, go scrounge me up a crutch or something." He's aware that he's being kind of a dick. It's still about the maximum amount of not-being-a-dick he can manage right now.
The first couple of days weren't so bad. Mostly he slept a lot, his body shutting down all non-essential systems to focus on healing; every so often he'd be roused and food and water set down in front of him; he eats mechanically, gets into a couple of semi-coherent arguments about which of the meds he's willing to take, and pretty much just passes right back out again. He only jerks awake from nightmares a couple of times, which is honestly better than any random fucking day of the week back before they'd finally dealt with the scumbags who made him once and for all. Gradually, the swelling starts to go down a little, some of the shallower bruises beginning to fade to greens and yellows around the edges. The headache goes from incapacitating to merely excruciating.
The problem, of course, comes when he hits the point of being awake enough to really be aware of his surroundings. It's not even the boredom, really, although he's barely managing not to crawl out of his own skin. The problem is— well, with love, it's Peter. It makes something tense and uneasy crawl over the back of his neck, the way Peter's been looking at him since he got here. Like he's a crack spidering across the viewport of a ship, an incautious breath away from shattering and sucking them all out into fucking space.
He gets that Peter has a thing about losing people. He fucking gets it. But being the focus of it is, bluntly, really fucking annoying. The last thing he needs when he's already sore and pissy and struggling to think straight past the blinding headache is someone hovering over him like he's in danger of spontaneously expiring any minute. He's starting to wish he'd pissed Nebs off less. If he'd managed to deal long enough to make it back to Knowhere, he could at least have curled up in his bunk and licked his wounds in peace. Bullied Kraglin into bringing him parts to work on or something. Right now he has to count himself lucky he's been allowed to stagger the few steps to the bathroom to piss unassisted.
At that oh so casual question though, he sets down the circuit board in his hand and gives Peter a look of cautious interest. "You sayin' I smell?" he half-jokes. Like it's not fucking true. There's still concrete dust sitting unpleasant and gritty in his hair, and every so often under the layer of days-old sweat he catches the faint, lingering scent of his own blood. It's setting his teeth on edge. And this sounds promisingly like it might be headed in a 'getting out of bed without having sad puppy eyes pointed at him' kind of direction.
"Could use a shower," he concedes, non-committal, looking at Peter like part of him's still waiting for the catch.
Perhaps it's because they already had been living in other pockets for years while they traveled the galaxy and later lived in Knowhere, but sharing his space with Rocket for the last few weeks felt natural and easy. Well, it's easier now that they didn't argue so much, because the fact that Rocket wasn't going to drop dead at any minute has finally gotten through Peter's thick skull.
He is still a bit of a mother hen sometimes; Rocket's injuries aren't fully healed after all, but Peter is no longer overbearing. His friend has gone from looking like someone had used him as an improvised club against a concrete wall—which they did!!!—to someone who got into a bad bar fight and lost—which Rocket also had done in the past, but that wasn't here nor there. Peter still has a lot of opinions about Rocket leaving his tools scattered all over the couch, the floor, and occasionally his bed, where he has ended up almost stabbing himself with some screwdriver or another when he lies down to sleep.
All in all, not that much different from living in the Milano or the Bowie, and the familiarity has gotten to Peter. He's in a more cheerful mood these days, cooking more too now that Rocket doesn't feel queasy and Peter's own anxiety has lowered to a tolerable level. It's early afternoon, too soon to have dinner but late enough that they could use a snack, so he's baked cookies.
"Rocket! Did you finish working on the rad--oh, shit!"
See, another reason why Peter doesn't like Rocket leaving projects and tools around is there are just too many to keep track of. So it's probably not a surprise that he ends up stepping on a gyrostapler dropped on the floor of the livign room, tripping and falling on his back. The result, aside from Peter ending up on the floor, is that the tray of cookies he had been holding goes flying for a few seconds and then clatters to the ground, the cookies now scattered everywhere.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Closed to @ cruelyethuman | TFLN
I'm sorry that's the case, it must have been something really bad. But no incense ever, got it.
What good? Dude, sleeping is great, and being lazy in bed is the ultimate pleasure. Forget riches and power, have you ever had a nap so good you forgot what day it is? I can sleep and cuddle with people in bed now that I'm young too. I mean, if I had someone to cuddle with, that's it.
[ 'Young' is a relative term since he's past 40 years old, but eeeeh. ]
You think my eyes are pretty? [ Yes, that's what he focuses on. ] It's a cult with people who have giant robot guards, which make things trickier, but Rocket is trying to hack into the computer that controls them to disable them all at once.
captcha sucks!
[... sure sounds like it, Peter] Sleeping is a waste of time, when there are so many things to get done while awake. But I should have known that you were a cuddler, it's those long arms. I suppose you also enjoy breakfast in bed and other such frivolities. When you are not infiltrating a cult, that is.
[why you call him out like this?] You already know that they are pretty, you have been batting them enough for me to believe that you have any illusions about what you look like, Peter.
Perhaps he needs to get up a little earlier, before the robots wake up.
It does! And sorry for the delay, I was on a family trip
[ This is text, but he hopes Aleksander can tell he's smiling. ]
Joes aside, who doesn't enjoy breakfast in bed??? I'll make you some once i get back, and you'll finally see the errors of your ways about sleeping in.
[ Because he likes
teasingyou :) ]Maybe I just like to hear you admit it. I don't hear compliments all that often, least of all from handsome people.
Har har. They bastards don't sleep, that's the issue.
TFLN | Rocket @ceptme
Terrans are weird. [ He's been called that often enough that it doesn't faze Peter anymore, even if he's aware that what Rocket finds strange is not the person, as it is how friendly they are. Honestly, it's a little sad that basic manners or a friendly attitude is seen as an oddity, but with the lives they had, Peter understands why it might freak out Rocket. Hell, Peter himself is still freaked out by the stuff he saw on Rocket’s file, the one they stole from OrgoCorp, so he can only imagine how much worse it was to live it and then have to move on from that.
He munches on his pancake for a bit to give Rocket a reprieve, instead of putting him on the spot by asking more questions or trying to make eye contact. But now they had enough arguments in the past to know when not to push, and despite what Peter claimed once, he can actually learn from past mistakes. After Rocket gave that answer and wry smirk, Peter felt something in his chest ache at the way the other man spoke of himself. He lightly nudges Rocket's foot with his own under the table. ]
Oh, you'd be surprised how many people are into that. [ Terrans were weird, and they were also into all sorts of kinky things, bless. Rocket only has to give a look at the internet to know. ] Plus, you're pretty good-looking, hungover aside.
[ As for Peter himself, before meeting Gamora and finally having a stable relationship, he found companions where he could. It didn't always work out, it wasn't always safe—he still has the scars to prove it—and he ended up with a bit of a reputation, but growing up away from other humans was lonely, and not trying was worse. He's quiet for a long beat, his food forgotten, and then; ]
You know...I don't think I've ever slept with another human.
[ Not like he was fully human, but with Ego's gone, the difference was minimal. He's been on Earth for a while now, but he hadn't even thought about starting anything new with anybody. It's been 8 years since her death, the Gamora he knew is gone, and he had come to accept that, but much like Rocket, he's not keen on the idea of being intimate with strangers now. Peter would probably get them killed by accident; he seemed to bring that kind of bad luck to the people he cared about. ]
you're a gentleman and a scholar, ty <3
[And yet even as he says it he's relaxing somewhat, rolling his eyes as he carves off a wedge of pancake stack with the side of his fork and serenely ignores the added comment on his own looks. Peter making it weird he knows what to do with. It's practically comforting in its familiarity at this point.
He takes a contemplative bite of pancake, and mulls this information over as he chews and swallows]
Huh. Guess that makes sense. Not like there's that many of you guys knockin' around out there [More than you'd think though, weirdly. For a species that still has to make a major production out of getting as far as their own moon, there sure aren't none of them out in the galaxy making trouble.
He raises an eyebrow at Peter from across the table] Not knockin' boots with anyone local then? I woulda thought you'd be all over the chance to not have to worry about whether you're allergic to their spit or whatever.
Aw, thanks! And you're welcome ♥
Ey, I'm just telling it like it is. Some humans are even into tentacles. [ Shrugging his shoulders. Peter pops a strip of bacon into his mouth. Yep, the salty flavor definitely complements the sweetness of the pancakes in a peculiar but good way. ] Everyone has a type...mine mostly borrows down to 'people not trying to kill me' and that's not even a hard rule.
[ Gamora had tried to rob and kill him when they first met. Rocket had all but kidnapped him and then got them all arrested. The list goes on. ]
They weren't, no. And later, when I had the chance to come back here on my own, I didn't want to. [ Mantis was right to call him out on it, and he's glad he listened to her and reconnected with his grandfather and home planet, even if he misses the Guardians and their shenanigans almost daily. ]
Nah. Aliens are more fun anyway. A little risk makes things more exciting. [ He goes for casual, trying not to read too much judgment on that raised eyebrow. He knows his choices are strange even for a Terran's standards, but that's Peter Quill for you. ]
And besides, it doesn't feel quite right.
no subject
[Granted, maybe this a common thing across the galaxy that he's just never particularly had reason to have to find out about, but at this point he feels fairly comfortable pinning this one on the humans are weird thing and moving on with his life]
And here I thought your type was people who were trying to kill you [Certainly if the number of scars he can attribute to old hookups is anything to go by. There's probably a crack about how things started off with Gamora to be made in there somewhere too, but...nah, that one still stings too much. And that's with him having had more time to process than the rest of them.
The way the conversation goes from there, he feels like maybe their heads have gone to a similar place on that front]
Yeah [It's a quiet, subdued word, his eyes down on his plate] Yeah, I guess I can see how it wouldn't.
[He lets it lie for a moment before reaching out to snag a piece of bacon, and gives Peter a curious look] How up front you been with folks back here about everything?
no subject
Peter is actually smirking because humans aren't even the weirdest species this planet has ever produced. ]
You should look up Angler Fish's reproductive habits, and then you can come and tell me what you think about that. [ It will be very enlightening for Rocket, he's sure. Half of his pancakes now gone, Peter tilts his head and considers that assumption. ]
I can see where the mistake comes from. But if that were the case, I'd have hooked up with 90% of the Galaxy, including Nebula.
[ It's Peter's turn to scrunch up his nose because... no. Talk about wrong and gross. He loves her in an entirely different way, thank you very much.
Rocket was right that throwing feelings around when they're hungover is not the greatest idea. Not to say that it wouldn't do them good to talk more openly about certain issues, but those still hurt too much, no matter how much time has passed.
He simply nods at the subdued 'yeah' rather than responding further, his gaze going distant as he chews, his mind lost on past memories until Rocket speaks again. ]
I've only told the full story to my Gramps, while his new wife knows a less detailed explanation, I didn't want to freak her out. Jason knows how and why I disappeared as a kid, but not the details about how things were with the Ravagers while I grew up with them. He also knows about you guys, how we saved the Galaxy a few times, and that Ego is no more. He actually remembered that bastard.
[ Basically, Peter gave him a sanitized and PG version of their adventures because his grandfather didn't need more stress in his life. No mention of the Klyn prison, the High Evolutionary, and the like. ]
He asked me if I was ever planning to give him grandkids, and I told him that he's already got one and that he's a tree. My grandfather laughed about it, so I'm pretty sure he's cool with the whole alien thing.
[ Peter smiles at Rocket after that. He's lucky that his family is that accepting after how much Earth has suffered because of some alien mess or another, it came as a huge relief. ]
How are things going in Knowhere? I bet Groot's even taller now, he looked bigger the last time we had a video call.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
These two disasters are making me emotional
They're so bad at being people. I love it.
True, roflmao. But they are trying...a little
Relatedly I am deeply sorry that Rocket's a dickhead
It's all cool. Peter expects nothing else
Peter, baby, you can do better
Can he, though.....?
"Peter's love might not be worth anything to anyone" bruh you can't just do that to my feelings
/Sorry, sorry...(not really)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
Really sorry for the delay, work killing me this week and I'm exhausted X_x
Same, this week has been a nightmare 😠also fun fact, I've sung this at karaoke in cosplay as Pet
Gods, I'm sorry. For the bad week and my delay. And ohhh that sounds like fun! It's a great song.
No worries, take all the time you need <3
Thank you! 💗 This week should be a bit less stressful. I hope yours is good too.
TFLN | Rocket @ceptme
[ All of the Guardians are guilty of using the classic tactic of daring others to do shit, sometimes for important stuff and others to fuck with each other puely out of boredom. Peter's own pride can easily be messed up that way easily, even if he's gotten a little bit more mature this last decade.Â
It isn't like that now, not quite, because he does care about Rocket's real feelings on this, and he would have stopped if the other wasn't comfortable. That coky grin comes as a relief, even if he doesn't buy the words that follow entirely and decides he's still going to take this relatively slow. ]
Bossy. [ He admonishes, but it loses any heat it could have had because he's smiling back at Rocket.
This isn't the most comfortable of places for an impromptu make-out session given that the other is still lounging on a chair, but Peter is anything if not adaptable. Rocket has one leg proper up on the console, which gives Peter room to move to stand between his legs and then leans in to face him properly. He slides a hand up the other man's neck, carefully watching his reaction, and cups his jaw. ]
I'd say don't bite me, but....that might not be entirely unwelcome.
[ Moving closer, Peter tilts his head just a little to make sure their nose won't bump and lets his eyes fall closed as he presses his mouth to Rocket's. He's obvious in no way, starting the kiss slow and then teasing Rocket's lips with just the tip of his tongue, toying at pushing deeper without actually doing it. ]
<3
They've all grown and changed over the years they've been running together, and over time he's got a lot more comfortable being casually physical with the others; whether it's yanking someone out of the way of danger on a job, or leaning up against each other for support as they wind their way back to the ship after a drunken night out. Touch as a means of expression affection isn't something that's ever come naturally to him, but he trusts his crew enough to let them in close without feeing the need to be on guard.
He goes very, very still as Peter's hand slides over his skin, his breath catching and his eyes fluttering briefly shut. He's intensely aware of the way he's suddenly hemmed in by Peter leaning in over him, of the radiant warmth of his body.
A soft huff of a laugh falls from his lips, and he replies with unrepentant hypocrisy:] Better watch what you're lettin' yourself in for there.
[And then there's a soft press of lips against his, and a shudder runs through him; a strange, feverish heat shivers over his skin. He swears under his breath and grabs Peter by the front of his shirt to pull him in closer, leaning into the kiss and parting his lips under that first exploratory press of tongue]
💕
Peter has always been a tactile person. Sometimes it still feels like if he doesn't reach out and touch people, if he doesn't make sure they are there —alive and well— they will disappear from his life like his mom did because he once refused to hold her hand. Peter is aware he's got more issues than Vogue when it comes to emotional baggage, but they all slip off his mind after hearing that soft laugh.
He managed to sneak a last; ] You know I won't. [ ..before kissing the other man.
Cautious has never been Peter's style, and neither is Rocket's. Life is way too short to waste time being careful, and if the way Rocket grabs him to deepen the kiss is any indication, he's thinking along the same lines.
The corner of his lips upturns, and Peter smiles into the kiss, pressing their bodies closer after that obvious demand. His hand goes to the back of Rocket’s neck, fingers burying in the hair there and tugging at it as they finally have a proper kiss. It's rougher and hot, Peter kisses back for all he’s worth, and he's got enough practice to know how to make it good for his partner, tongue both demanding and rewarding. He can’t help but think this is a kiss a decade in the making. ]
no subject
It's hardly as though there's no reason to be on guard. He's putting himself in a vulnerable position here, and for all that Peter talks a good game about being a lover not a fighter, he's not exactly harmless; when provoked he can be just as deadly as any of the rest of them. But nonetheless, this is...different. He doesn't know if he could articulate why it's different — especially not right now, when he's discovering exactly how justified Peter's bragging actually was — but it is.
Somehow it's not a surprise that things escalate pretty quickly once they get going. They've always known exactly how to egg each other on, and Rocket was never going to have any patience for being handled gently. There's heat burning over his skin as he meets the kiss greedily, a low moan lost between their lips for the tug of fingers curling into his hair, and he might not know what the fuck he's doing here but he knows he wants more.
He's never in his life half-assed something once he's committed to doing it, and this is no exception. It takes all of ten seconds for him to decide that he's done with the awkward angle forced on them by the chair; he surges to his feet in one smooth movement, the hand fisted in Peter's shirt flattening against his chest to push him back against the — fortunately locked — console. In the space of a heartbeat he's crowding in close again, hungrily reigniting the kiss with a groan of satisfaction as the better angle lets them press their bodies flush against each other]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
TFLN | @amongfriends
I can try to give the guy some pointers. Like, what not to do to piss off Nebula. The list is long.
Ey no, it's all right. We were figuring things out at the beginning, and you're way stronger than me. It was nothing I couldn't take, and you look so very sexy when you are all bossy.
no subject
Peter. [Don't embarrass her!!!]
no subject
Yesss? [ But it's so much fun. ] Oh, are you mad now?
Send me a picture. ;)
no subject
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
TFLN | @obeir
[ Oh, for sure. He can never say no to a handsome face. ]
That he is. He also believes that basic OSHA standards are more like suggestions than actual rules.
[ He does laugh at that 50% joke, good job. ]
Ey, I am not worried about you crashing us against something on purpose. It's only that space is weird, and you never know what you might find. Have you ever heard of quantum asteroid fields? The debris constantly shifts in and out of existence, appearing and disappearing out of nowhere in different locations.
[ That handcuffs comment earns K an interested raised eyebrow and a grin. ]
It's been a while since I tried getting out of a pair of those; one day we should test if my skills are still sharp. [ Alas, the comment about being property makes Peter's smile vanish. He's got more than a few personal issues as far as slavery is concerned, and even more so when it involves his friends. ]
I see...some things take time. But, next time someone makes you think like you're anything less than your own person, let me know and we will have a chat with them. [ We, as in all the Guardians. There might be explosions involved or spine-crushing if Drax gets to the jackass person first. ]
Honestly? I don't think much about it at all. Most people I know, including my half-sister, are not humans. There are plenty of sentient robots, androids, and similar individuals all over the galaxy. My dad was a planet, who was really a brain, who was really orts made of pure energy...the more you learn, the stranger it gets, so in the end nothing really matters much. People is people everywhere.Â
slides in here
I'd be interested in seeing your handcuff skills. Maybe you could teach me something.
My hero. [ K's smiling to himself and rather flustered by this point, not only from the flirting but also from the feeling that comes with being treated like a person. A person worth protecting. It's very new and strange and though he knows he shouldn't, he can't help liking the feeling... and wanting to experience more of it. ] It's interesting, I don't encounter that treatment as much whenever you're around. It seems you and your associates have quite a reputation. And I very much appreciate the support.
You have a fascinating lineage. Unless there's a joke here that I'm not getting. Because I never would've guessed you're half planet-brain-pure energy.
hiiii
[ If Peter sounds a little gruff and as if he's talking from experience, it's because he is. ]
Sure thing. I bet we could both learn a thing or two from each other.Â
Guardian. Gotta protect the people I care about. [ Peter grins at that hero comment, even more so after seeing K flustered. ] See, all the more reason to travel around the galaxy with us. We do, uh? Have a reputation. Funny how much things can change after you save the galaxy a couple of times. People also didn't respect us when we started. Or they were afraid of us.Â
Hah. No, yeah I use the word 'Celestial', because it's shorter, there's no inside joke. That's really who Ego was.Â
i think i messed up before, i'll assume they're talking in person now XD
He gets up to look for where his coat has ended up, replying over his shoulder as he does. ]
Travel with you. [ Surprise is plain in his voice and expression when he turns back to look at Peter; he's caught off guard by the suggestion. Invitation? He'd assumed they'd be going their separate ways whenever Peter and his crew found a suitable place to drop him off in. Just as he'd assumed Peter's flirtations weren't intended to be taken seriously. But now he's not so sure, on either count.
The people I care about.
That certainly hadn't escaped his notice, but one thing at a time. ]
You mean on more than just a temporary basis?
oops oh yeah, let's go with that too. My fault actually; I forgot it started with texts.
Closed to @ceptme
He was only understandably, logically, upset that his best friend's slash lover had been almost killed again by some jackass and that the goddamned implants he had in his body still refused to work 100% with the medpacks. Healing the old-fashioned way was a pain in the ass. Literally.
He knew Rocket; the guy could not stay still for more than 5 minutes. So the other Guardians had to make sure he was properly resting, getting enough fluids, not mixing up his meds, and also he had to be kept away from more sources of stress like unexpected missions or...Adam and Kraglin doing god knows what.
Two days after getting the news, Nebula threatened to stick her metal arm down Peter's throat and tear his vocal cords from the inside out —and did the woman really need to be so graphic? ew— if he didn't shut up and stop messaging them asking about Rocket's condition every 30 minutes.
He didn't listen, of course. Why would he?
All in all, it shouldn't have surprised Peter all that much when Nebula showed up on Earth on the fourth day, not to kill him —a small miracle on itself— but to dump Rocket in his apartment and tell him he was now Peter's problem.
That was two days ago, and okay, so maybe Peter is being a bit of a mother hen, but it was only because Rocket can't be left unsupervised. Guy's a workaholic.
You better not be building another explosive while in my bed. In fact, you better not be doing anything more taxing than reading that magazine I brought you."
Peter says from the kitchen, not even bothering to yell because it was a really small apartment and the bedroom's door was opened, anyway. When he comes to the bedroom properly, he's holding a small basket with clean towels and some new shampoos that he has bought for the occasion. It's still too early for dinner or even to wrestle Rocket into taking his meds, but he's going to try and convince Rocket to take a relaxing bath.
He eyes the other man critically.
"Is that my alarm clock? What are you doing, exactly?"
no subject
The lead-up is clear. He'd been wrapping up a mission in the same sector and prepping to head home when he'd picked up an emergency beacon from another squad. No-one else was closer, so obviously he'd diverted course to check it out, set down at the team's last known coordinates, and— then it all gets a bit blurry.
He took a big hit. That much is clear even if he can't pin down exactly how it happened; he hurts from head to fucking toe, light stabbing into his skull like an icepick when he dares crack an eyelid. His right arm is bound up in a sling across his chest, and that entire side of his body feels like one big bruise. Fuck, his head hurts. Every slightest movement is enough to make the world lurch sickeningly around him. It's freaking him out a little not being able to remember how he got here. But he can hear Nebula's voice somewhere in the background, coming and going, and that's enough to keep him calm and somewhat reassured that the situation’s being handled. She sounds irritated, but not worried. She's on top of shit. If he needs to get it together and be ready for a fight she'll let him know.
He couldn't have said how long it takes, but eventually the fog starts to recede. He's in a bunk on a ship, a familiar rivet-studded bulkhead above him and the all-encompassing thrum of engines vibrating through the mattress under his back. He still has a splitting headache, but he doesn't feel as though he's going to throw up if he blinks incautiously, which is an improvement.
It's Nebula who informs him that during the fight on Valpheris he'd been slammed into a blast wall hard enough to dent the concrete. With that context it's a little easier to take stock of his injuries. He's black and blue on his right side from mid-shin all the way up to his temple. The metal plating in his skull is probably the only thing that saved his life; even with it, the head injury’s bad enough that he'd been out cold for a solid couple of days. His right arm’s broken in a few different places, as are most of his ribs. It's not quite as bad below the waistline, but his right knee — the one that's supported by a steel brace in all his earliest memories — creaks threateningly with every movement. All in, it’s not great.
Hearing her voice had been an instinctive comfort when he was barely awake, but he's grateful for her presence in a different way now he's alert enough to understand what's happening; that she knows not to let anyone try to use a medpack on him, or give him painkillers. That could have been...bad.
Once he's fully conscious again, it takes approximately an hour for him to start going nuts from boredom. His comm unit got smashed in the fight, so he can't distract himself with that, and he can only entertain himself by judging the technique of whoever's in the pilot seat second-hand from the pitch of the engine noise for so long. He quickly learns that he can't really put any weight on his right leg, but if he braces himself against a wall on the other side he can just about manage to limp his way to wherever he wants to be. Not having the use of one of his arms is a pain in the ass, and definitely rules out some heavier work, but he's always been just as dextrous with both hands, so it shouldn't slow him down too much. He can definitely find some mod or repair to amuse himself with.
He's never had his physical wellbeing and hypothetical ability to procreate threatened quite as extensively and creatively as when Nebula finds him in the engine room later. In the end, they don't even make it back to Knowhere. He gets unceremoniously dumped at Peter's place on Earth, and Nebula informs them that she'll be back when they're ready to stop driving her crazy. Seems a bit unduly optimistic on her part to think that they're ever going to stop driving her crazy, but hey; annoying Peter is going to be way more rewarding, so he's not complaining.
Or at least that's what he thinks at first. Except turns out Peter's also decided to be an absolute killjoy about 'holding still and letting himself heal' and all that kind of shit. Maybe he should have been a bit more resistant to the idea of taking his shirt off when he arrived. The side of his face is still pretty visibly fucked up, swollen to an ugly purple-black around the still-angry cuts at his eyebrow and cheekbone, but it looks a hell of a lot better than his arm and chest do. He looks like an abstract art project by someone whose favorite medium is deep tissue damage.
"S'a radio alarm," he replies matter-of-factly, not looking up from where he's casually disassembling said alarm clock one-handed . "Means it's got an antenna. Need some kinda receiver if I'm gonna get this thing—" Here he gestures to the remains of his comm unit. "—workin' again."
no subject
It was only the fact that Nebula was so nonchalant about Rocket's recovery that Peter didn't have a panic attack here and there. He knew how much she cared for their friend; they had gone together through things Peter could only imagine in those five years he was gone. If she had had any real suspicion that Rocket was still in danger, she wouldn't have left after helping Rocket get settled in Peter's ridiculously modest apartment. At least he managed not to freak out when she and Rocket were in earshot; good bless thick bathroom doors.
It's painful to look at Rocket even after a couple of days, to imagine what he had to go through again. It's also a stark reminder of how easily Peter could lose someone who means so much to him, again. And the thing is, all that untreated CPTSD and thanatophobia have done Peter no favors in life, which means his response to this sort of situation once the immediate threat causing them is gone is inevitable.
He hovers near Rocket without immediately being in his space, insisting every day on checking the man's temperature to make sure he's not developing a fever, to see his injuries to make sure they're not infected, and to see if the bones are settling right. All in all, it's a miracle Rocket hasn't yet tried one of the bedside lamps at his heat.
He tries to hide the anxiety with jokes or slight complaints about Rocket's worse habits, but Peter isn't sure he's fooling anyone. They both need distractions, but listening to music is out of the question with the headache he's had the past few hours. This means Peter is also not listening to music, and that's usually what calms him down when he's close to having a nervous breakdown. Which is fine; he's doing fine; he's using his restless energy in the kitchen and making all sorts of dishes instead. He's not a half-bad cook. Once Rocket's headache improves, Peter will try to introduce him to movies and see if that manages to entertain him for long enough.
Now it seems Rocket has found his own way to pass the time.
I can get you another fucking comlink. I can give you mine if you want. Peter thinks to himself and says none of those things because, despite his overbearing tendencies, when someone he loves is hurt, he can tell that Rocket will lose it completely if he has nothing to do with his hands.
...hand.
"I can buy you components for that, new ones that work better than my lousy excuse of a radio alarm." Walking into the room proper, Peter sits on the edge of the bed, staring at the bits and bolts strewn over the mattress and only briefly mourning his radio alarm.
"So...quick question. When was the last time you showered? Took a bath? Someone sprinkled some water on you? Hmmm....? And Cosmo licking your face doesn't count."
no subject
The first couple of days weren't so bad. Mostly he slept a lot, his body shutting down all non-essential systems to focus on healing; every so often he'd be roused and food and water set down in front of him; he eats mechanically, gets into a couple of semi-coherent arguments about which of the meds he's willing to take, and pretty much just passes right back out again. He only jerks awake from nightmares a couple of times, which is honestly better than any random fucking day of the week back before they'd finally dealt with the scumbags who made him once and for all. Gradually, the swelling starts to go down a little, some of the shallower bruises beginning to fade to greens and yellows around the edges. The headache goes from incapacitating to merely excruciating.
The problem, of course, comes when he hits the point of being awake enough to really be aware of his surroundings. It's not even the boredom, really, although he's barely managing not to crawl out of his own skin. The problem is— well, with love, it's Peter. It makes something tense and uneasy crawl over the back of his neck, the way Peter's been looking at him since he got here. Like he's a crack spidering across the viewport of a ship, an incautious breath away from shattering and sucking them all out into fucking space.
He gets that Peter has a thing about losing people. He fucking gets it. But being the focus of it is, bluntly, really fucking annoying. The last thing he needs when he's already sore and pissy and struggling to think straight past the blinding headache is someone hovering over him like he's in danger of spontaneously expiring any minute. He's starting to wish he'd pissed Nebs off less. If he'd managed to deal long enough to make it back to Knowhere, he could at least have curled up in his bunk and licked his wounds in peace. Bullied Kraglin into bringing him parts to work on or something. Right now he has to count himself lucky he's been allowed to stagger the few steps to the bathroom to piss unassisted.
At that oh so casual question though, he sets down the circuit board in his hand and gives Peter a look of cautious interest. "You sayin' I smell?" he half-jokes. Like it's not fucking true. There's still concrete dust sitting unpleasant and gritty in his hair, and every so often under the layer of days-old sweat he catches the faint, lingering scent of his own blood. It's setting his teeth on edge. And this sounds promisingly like it might be headed in a 'getting out of bed without having sad puppy eyes pointed at him' kind of direction.
"Could use a shower," he concedes, non-committal, looking at Peter like part of him's still waiting for the catch.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
Closed to @ceptme
Perhaps it's because they already had been living in other pockets for years while they traveled the galaxy and later lived in Knowhere, but sharing his space with Rocket for the last few weeks felt natural and easy. Well, it's easier now that they didn't argue so much, because the fact that Rocket wasn't going to drop dead at any minute has finally gotten through Peter's thick skull.
He is still a bit of a mother hen sometimes; Rocket's injuries aren't fully healed after all, but Peter is no longer overbearing. His friend has gone from looking like someone had used him as an improvised club against a concrete wall—which they did!!!—to someone who got into a bad bar fight and lost—which Rocket also had done in the past, but that wasn't here nor there. Peter still has a lot of opinions about Rocket leaving his tools scattered all over the couch, the floor, and occasionally his bed, where he has ended up almost stabbing himself with some screwdriver or another when he lies down to sleep.
All in all, not that much different from living in the Milano or the Bowie, and the familiarity has gotten to Peter. He's in a more cheerful mood these days, cooking more too now that Rocket doesn't feel queasy and Peter's own anxiety has lowered to a tolerable level. It's early afternoon, too soon to have dinner but late enough that they could use a snack, so he's baked cookies.
"Rocket! Did you finish working on the rad--oh, shit!"
See, another reason why Peter doesn't like Rocket leaving projects and tools around is there are just too many to keep track of. So it's probably not a surprise that he ends up stepping on a gyrostapler dropped on the floor of the livign room, tripping and falling on his back. The result, aside from Peter ending up on the floor, is that the tray of cookies he had been holding goes flying for a few seconds and then clatters to the ground, the cookies now scattered everywhere.
"KRIFF!! Oww, oww...I think I broke my ass."