[B] Saying goodbye
It was a few days later, Quill, Gamora, and Drax were looking at the little ornate container that was set in front of them.
Rocket.
It was all that was left of his body, burnt into Ash.
It was a beautiful little container, but no one wanted to touch it.
It had already been hard taking his body out of the med bay, and onto one of the M-Ships, to go to Xandar.
Drax had volunteered, and the instant Rocket's body was taken by the Xandarians who were going to be incinerating it, he had just sat down, and stared silently at a wall. For the whole three hours it took.
"It's small." Are the first words he says, now, looking at the little container.
"Yeah." Quill says weakly. "But it's still him."
"Who wants to take him back to the ship?" Gamora asks, a soft hesitation to her voice.
"I do not think I can do it this time." Drax admits. "I am sorry, Rocket." He says softly, almost on the edge of tears.
"It's alright, Drax." Quill says gently. "I'll do it."
He walks forward cautiously, and gently puts his hand around the container.
It's textured. He feels the slight ridges in the glass. It's made to be comfortable to hold, soothing to feel. Comfortable for the one inside.
Quill shudders slightly, gripping the container slightly.
"I gotcha buddy." Quill says quietly, voice cracking ever so slightly as he lifts the container into his hand, resting it in his palm.
Rocket is so small now, so small.
Quill holds off the wave of despair that washes over him. They're drawing ever closer to the funeral. To the day they spread his ashes through the sky.
To the day he's really, truly, irrevocably gone.
The day they can't hold him again. Ever.
Quill is one of the last people who will ever get to hold him.
He's using this thought to instead try to express his feelings to Rocket.
He loves him, he misses him, and he will cherish every moment he has left with him here.
He loves him so much.
He was family, he IS family, even if he's gone.
Quill realizes he's started crying, and he sighs, shaking his head, and lifts the container to his chest, putting his other hand over it too, as if to hug Rocket.
"We love you. We're sorry. But it'll be okay."
"You'll be okay. Resting in whatever heaven they send guys who deserved better, but who did kinda blow a lot of people up." Quill laughs at his own bad joke.
"If the big man upstairs tried t' send you to hell or somethin', lemme know and we'll be at him up and get it set straight, yeah?" He says, smiling at the little container as he stops hugging it.
He rubs his eyes.
Gamora puts a hand on his back, sighing, nodding in understanding.
Drax is looking away, nodding.
Quill sighs, rubbing his thumb over Rocket, the little container feels nice to hold. He doesn't want to let it go. Ever.
But Rocket wouldn't wanna be some little trinket, right?
Worn like an accessory forever.
It would comfort Quill, but Rocket hated being seen as anything less than a person. He was right to feel that way, too. The fucking Xandarian place they tried for the incineration the first time asked if they meant to contact one that specialized in pets.
Thankfully they managed to find a place that held no judgement. Just did what was asked.
Quill thinks about that.
How hard Rocket's life must've been, when he was alone.
How hard it was even when he wasn't alone.
How hard he made Rocket's life, too. Calling him raccoon and stuff all the time.
It must've hurt so much.
Quill hopes it doesn't hurt anymore.
That Rocket is resting peacefully, that he's in some paradise, being treated how he always deserved to be.
A hero, a friend, a brother, and a person.
Maybe he's meeting Quill's mom. Those two would probably get along great.
He smiles at the thought, wiping his eyes, and turning to walk out. Nodding to the others to follow.
Quill keeps gently stroking the container with his thumb while he walks.
Hopefully it soothes Rocket's soul, somewhat.
Rocket was always in the same place, every day.
They decided to have his container rest on the kitchen table on the Eclector.
Quill would often sit and chat at him in the mornings. Tell him what the plan for the day was, what everyone was doing, what Quill was thinking about. How much he was sorry.
Gamora would talk to him at night. She'd quietly tell him times she wished she told him things, and didn't. How she wishes he were here, as their team was significantly weaker without him, and always would be.
Drax would talk to him while he cooked, or come cry quietly to him, asking him to somehow fight his way back, believing only Rocket could, of all of them. He feels like he lost another child, and he isn't sure he can deal with that without the boy's snark.
Groot would sometimes just sit with him, and hug the container, when he was trying to understand everything. Trying to understand what he could ever do now, never being understood again, he would think. Trying to figure out why his dad had to die. He didn't really get it, but he wondered if his dad could come back like he sometimes said Groot did.
He hopes he can. He feels very alone right now.
Kraglin would sometimes sit down, and tell Rocket things he was learning about him, wishing he could've gotten to know him in person better. Saying he seems like a fun guy, saying his family seemed to love him a lot.
Nebula would sit down. Stare at the container. She blamed herself for her sister's pain. If she had helped Rocket before, maybe he would've helped her bond with Gamora, and then everyone would have lived, and been happy.
She had no clue how she would've helped, Yondu was ready to kill Rocket. She never would've helped him in a way besides the way she did. It was the most rational course.
She wishes she knew some way things could've gone better. It makes her angry that she didn't know this would happen. That it would hurt Gamora so much.
She wanted to leave, at first. Hunt Thanos. But she couldn't leave Gamora like this. So she stayed.
Yondu never entered the room.
Until the night before the funeral.
He walks in quietly.
Sits down quietly.
Sighs quietly.
"Shouldn'ta done that kid." He says weakly.
"Y'r a bastard. Y'tricked me, an' y'saved my life. I di'n't wanna be saved. Y'knew that. Cuz you knew neither of us thought we deserved savin'." He sighs.
"But y'were wrong. I was wrong. Neither of us needed t' die. I don' think there was a way botha us coulda made it, but... Y'were a kid. I'm old. I dunno how old you actually was, but y'had a lot more life'n I did." Yondu rubs his eyes slightly. "An' no one wan'ed t' say goo'bye to ya."
"An' I don't think they'll be okay f'r a long time."
"You better be restin' up real damn good in whatever place they put ya. Y'got it?"
"Y'were good, kid."
"Y'were good." He sighs.
He reaches forward, and gently pats the container.
It feels awkward.
But he hopes that Rocket can feel it. Or somethin'.
He sighs, gets up, and leaves.
And tomorrow, they say goodbye.
And no one will ever feel the same.