It's Christmas, or whatever

It was late, very late (or early depending on who you were askin') on Knowhere, hours after the Christmas party. One by one the Guardians of the Galaxy had stopped rambling around, their caroling trickling out and their over-exherted holiday cheers or whatever fading into the night. Now, on the entirety of the giant celestialhead they called home, only two people were left awake.

Rocket and Nebula weren't quite festivities-outted yet. They had said goodnight to Cosmo and Kraglin not long ago. Well, Nebula had. Rocket hadn't said much of anything; he was still recovering from Cosmo's story about, "A teereeble old woman ind her harrible Christmas sweeter". Cackling into his hand, he waved the two of them off. Now it was just the cyborg Luphomoid and the cybernetic raccoon.

Again. They'd had quite a few nights like this.

In Mantlo's, their favorite joint on Knowhere, Nebula and Rocket were seated elbow to elbow at the end of the bar. Shot glasses were piled up beside them, a bottle handy next to Nebula for when either of them ran dry. Rocket's pile was somewhat more steepled than hers, something she was aware of and only somewhat monitoring now that everyone else had stumbled away into the street. Mantlo was gone too, but with Nebula around to keep Rocket honest, he wasn't adverse to their sticking around.

Nebula had been the pourer for the both of them all night. While Rocket had been paying his equal share (at least when someone noticed he hadn't paid for a round in a few cycles) and very enthusiasticly throwing drinks back with his right hand, his left hand had been occupied nearly all night. Only three times had he let go of Nebula's Christmas gift to him.

Man oh man. Bucky's arm.

The first time it had left his possession was when Groot asked if he could take a look at it.

Everyone was saying goodbye to a terribly drunk Kevin Bacon being led onto the Bowie by Star-Lord. Drax had protested being the one charged with his return, saying, "It isn't my fault Quill doesn't want his gift, I shouldn't have to return it," Peter responding with, "The gift is a him and didn't wanna be here in the first place! It's been good, but you can't really expect me to keep a person! Get him outta here!"

"You're a grown man, clean up your own mess," Nebula added, "Mantis, keep an eye on him, make sure he actually does it."

Mantis huffed, but took hold of Kevin Bacon when he was passed off to her, the Terran very loudly singing, "Up on the housetop, CLICK CLICK CLICK," over and over again.

While all that went on, Rocket and Groot were hanging back in the square. Rocket had become very...uncomfortable.

As she watched Bacon be ushered away, she couldn't help overhear...

"I am Groot?"

"Uh... yeah buddy, sure," Rocket said, gingerly hoisting the arm upward for Groot to take. As it left his grip, his brow furrowed, "Just be careful with it, ya know?"

"I am Groot," Groot said with an eye roll.

"I didn't say you would," Rocket said, hands resting sternly on his hips as he looked up at the Groot he'd raised."

But he'dsaid it sternly, like he thought Groot might.

"I...am Groot."

"I mean..." Rocket deflated a bit, then blinked a few times, "Alright, yeah. Sorry, man. Cool though, ain't it?"

Groot smiled and nodded, looking at Nebula. The exchange between them had been... odd. He was asking for it back, more kindly, with an, "Alright, give it here, I gotta grt goin'," pretty quick sfter that.

It was three hours before he'd let it go again.

They'd all gone to Mantlo's to continue the Christmasing, the Guardians crowded around at the bar as Quill clicked through the Zune, filling the air with whatever the hell anyone wanted.

It had started off pretty well. First was good ol' Bowie, "Golden Years". A cheer went up and Kraglin bought a round. After that? Rod Stewart's "Lost in You" Fire Inc.'s "Nowhere Fast" Paul Simon's "You Can Call Me Al" Young Dubliners's "Shame" Tina Turner's "You Better Be Good to Me" And finally, agter everyone had gotten a few drinks in?

P!nk. "So What."

The crowd at the bar ROARED, and Peter bought the next round, enthusiastic applause greeting his generosity.

Everything seemed to be going alright. Peter was laughing, he and Rocket bickering, Rocket mercilessly poking fun at him. Mantis and Drax returned from their jaunt to Earth to more cheers, and soon everyone was laughing and talking and arguing.

Damn. It felt... normal. Almost like before.

Then Peter had excused himself to take a piss. He didn't come back, but Nebula didn't think much of it until she noticed Rocket glare upward as the song changed from the Talking Heads "(Nothing But) Flowers" to...

Shit.

Cat Stevens. "Father and Son."

She and Rocket made eye contact. Everyone else seemed too preoccupied by their own shit to have noticed the mood change, so she signaled for Rocket to wait and see where it all went.

The song faded out, and then... Yep. Elvin Bishop. "Fooled Around and Fell In Love."

A sneer flickered across Rocket's face. Carefully he handed Bucky's arm to Nebula, making very severe eye contact with her to which she could only nod. Mustering up a smile, he then got down from his barstool and crossed the loud room to where Peter always seemed to end up when nights went like this.

Slumped in the furthest corner of the bar, Peter sat alone, eyes closed with his forehead pressing against his empty glass. Rocket sighed, then put on a chipper attitude; being his usual self in situations like this had only ever made things worse; his friend was grieving, he didn't need to add to it.

"Hey Star-Boy!" he said, climbing up into to booth and clapping Quill on the back. The Guardian grunted, looking bleary-eyed at his best friend with a semi-circle dented into his forehead, "One too many, man, let's get you home."

"I'm super, super drunk, man." Peter said, his eyes not quite focusing on his fellow Guardian, "Don't... don't let Gamora know, she'll be so pissed, man."

Awe man. Rocket's throat tightened a little, but he cleared it and said, "Yeah, okay Pete. Let's go."

Peter stumbled out of the booth. After he steadied, Rocket put his hand on the back of his knee and steared him out of the bar, mindlessly but softly teasing his drunken friend. As they were leaving, Rocket took stock of the atmosphere; people didn't seem to want to stop dancing and drinking. They DEFINITELY weren't ready to go home. He shook his head, then returned to his task.

Nebula watched them go, then anxiously waited the twenty minutes it usually took Rocket to get Quill home, then return to the rest of the group. It took the others about fifteen minutes, but Rocket could only get him to move so fast.

Nebula sighed, relieved, when Rocket returned, then let a small smile slip when she saw what he had in his hand; the Zune.

"Now how'd you get your hands on that?" she asked in a tone that Rocket had learned over their long years together ment she was joking.

He smirked, climbing back onto the stool she had kept vacant for him, but couldn't quite will himself to respond in kind.

"Thank you," Nebula said, quietly enough that no one but Rocket could hear.

"Yeah, well..." he said, glancing at her quickly, then taking the metallic arm she offered him back. Putting it on the bar, he put his hand on its smooth, cool surface, "It's Christmas or whatever. We're supposed to be celebratin', ain't we? Haven't had much opportunity for it the last few years."

Nebula nodded her understanding. Her dark eyes fell on his hand as it flexed uncomfortably. She was tempted to reach forward and take it in hers, like she'd done all those years ago when they had ended up all alone, at the end of half the universe. She didn't.

Ignoring his own mood, shaking it off in fact, Rocket clicked through the Zune, smiling as he found just what he was looking for; Tom Petty, "American Girl." Pressing play, a cheer rose up in the bar.

Only an hour after that did Rocket let go again, but under MUCH different circumstances.