Chapter 2
Nebula had noticed, in the last three years, that whenever Quill went out drinking with the rest of the Guardians, Rocket took it slow. She didn't think anyone else had realized this; he played it off well, matched the zone everyone else was at, but he didn't let loose until Star-Lord turned in. About 60% of the time, it ended up being Rocket who helped him get home if the nights ended up... well, how they often ended up. Though she didn't drink NEARLY as much as her small companion, when she did? As discretely as she could manage, she, too, took it slow. Peter was in love with her sister and Rocket was his best friend, it only seemed fair.
Nebula knew that when Rocket came back from his Quill-centric mission, they'd both have some catching up to do. Therefore, on nights like this, as Rocket came back to them sober and disgruntled, she ordered three shots for the both of them, Mantlo's strong stuff, and said, "Alright, I win? You pay."
Rocket would smirk, they'd count down, and race to see who could get the booze down quicker. Rocket usually won, and he'd lord it over her for the rounds she had to buy as she rolled her eyes.
For two and a half years she'd been doing this, and so far as should could tell Rocket hadn't caught on.
Of course he had.
Where Nebula was concerned, there wasn't much Rocket didn't notice or know. Her favorite songs. Her mood based on the way she was walking. Where on her body, if she took a hit, was something to be concerned about. The subtle hue change in the blue of what little still-living skin there was on her face when she was embarrassed. The areas of most of her physical pain, things she'd allowed him to begin correcting over the past six years. That, when she was overworked and stressed, her appetite waned and she stopped getting herself food, and that he'd have somewhat fewer units until things got better.
How, when she wore darker colors, her eyes seemed to... shimmer, like the sparks he kicked up when he was welding.
Or how, very rarely, his stomach tightened uncomfortably when she looked at Pete in a... certain way.
All things she'd never know, of course.
So, on this Christmas night, Rocket came back to his line of shots. Down they went, and soon after? All thoughts of Star-Lord were gone.
It wasn't long before he got to the level of inebriation where he started getting somewhat... affectionate. And seeing as he was almost always sitting next to Nebula, it ended up being primarily with her.
He wasn't delirious or falling on the floor, he still had nearly all of his faculties in control, there was nothing inappropriate. It was just... small things.
Rocket laughed more when he was drunk, and every time a snicker escaped him, his hand would find Nebula's shoulder, or her arm or, a few times now, her neck. Or when they got to talking, just the two of them, they'd move closer to one another, and Rocket's knee would bump her thigh. Once, in a fit of laughter that hit while he was standing on his stool and leaning on her shoulder, he put his forehead to the side of her head to support himself while he cackled.
Unless it was a necessity, Nebula hated being touched. As a child, nothing belonged to her. Not her hands, not her eyes, not her organs. Not even her brain. All she had was her anger and her ferocity, and that erected around her an invisible barrier that few dared cross... until she was strung up to once again to be violated and torn apart. As a child, touch had meant pain. It had meant loss. It had meant saying goodbye to another piece of herself.
But with Rocket...
It had started with him holding her hand at the base of the Benatar. They didn't touch for a long time after that, but a year later he insisted that he help her to remove shrapnel from her back. Begrudgingly she had allowed it. Then it was aligning her knee when it readjusted wrong after a particularly nasty hit. Theb he was climbing up onto her shoulder, on occasion, when it benefited and gave him more height in a fight. It went on from there, becoming more and more frequent and casual.
When it had begun, Nebula had been wary, but he had never hurt her. His nimble fingers seemed to know instinctively how to flit around her circuitry when she needed help with the repairs of her body, not once had there been any pain. Now, she was used to his hands. Sometimes, she didn't mind at all.
When Rocket let go of Bucky's arm for the third time, he was about at this stage. He was leaning against Nebula with his elbow on her shoulder so he could hold his drink, left hand still on the arm, when Suede's "The Beautiful Ones" faded out and Bruce Springsteen came on with -
"Oh hoho YEAH!"
- "Death to My Hometown."
Rocket had always been one for singing. He was constantly humming to himself, especially when he was working, and especiallywhen the Zune was going. It wasn't uncommon to hear him quietly singing along if the song was one of his favorite.
This song. It was defintiely one of his favorites.
"Groot, TURN IT UP!"
And then he was singing. Not well, his voice wasn't anything to brag about, but loudly and with enough gusto to make up for it. The alcohol might have been helping with his boldness; he gave a "performance" very rarely. Nebula wasn't concerned, but he was moving erratically enough that she had her hand lightly on his back in case balance was lost.
It only made her feel a little nervous to touch him sixh, but mostly she was enjoying the show as many of the people of Knowhere cheered.
Damn, it was nice having someone to feel nearly completely comfortable around.
It wasn't until the last four lines in the song were approaching that Nebula remembered how it ended.
Rocket shoved Bucky's arm into Nebula's hands, then jumped from his stool up onto the bar.
Oh no.
Nebula pressed the arm against her chest, yelled, "EVERYBODY DOWN!" with all her might, and hit the floor.
Not a second later, Rocket screamed, "Death to our hometown, YA HOOOOOO!" and, in time with the song, cocked his gun and fired.
There were only a few screams, mostly laughs, and no one was hurt, though that is the time most people decided to go home.
Drax, personally, couldn't seem to stop laughing.
"What the hell?!" Kraglin hollered.
"Drax, it is not funny, somebody coulda been hurt! It is very not funny!" Mantis chided, brushing off her arms as they all stood.
"WE ARE... INSIDE... AAHAHAHAHA!" Drax laughed, drink in hand. He downed it, then continued laughing.
Rocket stepped back down onto his stool and Nebula snatched his gun from his grasp.
"Hey!"
"That's enough of that for today," she said, shoving Bucky's arm back into Rocket's hands, "Why do you even have this, we're at a party?"
"Hey man, you heard the song! It was clearly gonna come in handy." Rocket said. At the look on Nebula's face, he started laughing, "Come on, Nebs, it's Chrissis!"
"I am Groot." Groot said.
"Yeah, Christmas, whatever,"
"Jeeze, man, you could at least warn a guy," Kraglin said, picking at his inner ear, "guns ain't gonna decide to be quieter jus cuz we're indoors."
"Da, my superior hearing was not prepared." Cosmo said, coming out from where she had scampered away to, tail between her legs, "Ayund was very scary and I did not like it."
"Sorry, Cos," Rocket said, digging into his pocket and tossing her a treat. She caught it in the air happily.
Rocket swiveled in his seat, facing the bar with a grin and, once again, put Bucky's arm down beside him with his hand on top of it, "Alright Mantlo, I think Nebula here still owes me a drink, so -"
Just as the bartender was vigorously shaking his head, Nebula said, "Think again."
"What?" Rocket snapped his head to her.
"You just fired your gun in a room full of civilians. You're not drinking anything until I say so."
Rocket scowled, "Hey man, I got my own units here, that ain't cool."
"Isn't that unfortunate."
After a moment, Rocket rolled his eyes and slumped against the bar.
Drax, once again, couldn’t get enough of the situation.
"AHHAHAHWHA, Rocket is in time out because he is behaving like a child, aahahaahaha!"
Nebula and Mantis shared a glance.
"Drax, it is time to go to bed," Mantis said, "It has been a very good Christmas, but we are both very tired."
"But I want to watch Nebula treat Rocket like a spoiled idiot."
"I knooowww," she said, pushing on his arm towards the door. He didn't budge, "but you are drunk and that is not a nice thing to do to your friend on Christmas."
Drax thought a moment, then nodded, "Goodnight, my inebriated friends. Rocket, good luck with the punishment for your drunken stupidity," he said.
Ricket moodily mumbled an, "Okay," back.
With that, Drax and Mantis left, with only minimal staggering on the Destroyer's part.
"We'll stick around 'n keep ya company," Kraglin said, clapping Rocket on the shoulder, "Ain't no good in not drinkin' solo."
"Da," Cosmo said, sitting on the floor at the foot of their stools, "and I will tell you tale of very scary first Christmas on Earth."
Rocket sighed, the turned in his stool towards her, "Alright then, let's hear your friggin' story."
Cosmo barked happliy, tail wagging, then went into her story.