Close Encounters

The next day, with no small amount of convincing on Thor's part, Rocket decided to go out and formally introduce himself to the Avengers gathered in the palace. To that end, the two had set up a table and some chairs in a balcony overlooking the city. After a brief breakfast—nobody was really hungry—Rocket had managed to get at least one of the Avengers to agree join this 'meet and greet'. Thor sat next to him, Stormbreaker in one hand, a drink in the other. "You. I remember you from last night. Pirate-angel here said your name was Rogers, is that right? I'm Rocket."

The captain sitting across from him at the coffee table nodded and extended his hand to shake. "You can just call me Steve. Good to meet you, Rocket. I wish it were under happier circumstances."

Rocket stared at the offered hand for a moment, clearly unsure what to do. Hesitating, he reached into a pouch and pulled out a small orb, placing it into the man's outstretched hand and closing his fist around it. The human seemed bemused, and looked at the device that the space-raccoon had given him.

"What's this?"

"A bomb."

"Wha—a bomb?"

Rocket shrugged as Steve stared in horror at the innocuous sphere in his hand, trying to stammer out a response. "Yeah. According to one of Quill's shows it's a Terran custom to give people gifts when you first meet them. I already gave a few to the Regent kid. She stopped by this mornin' to say hello."

The revelation that the space-raccoon had given Shuri more than one of these alien bombs blew his mind. This, right after she had hastily been named Regent of Wakanda in the wake of her brother's death? At this point, it almost made sense for her to take it in stride. Steve found it difficult to do the same, to his misfortune.

"You—according t-to…What?"

Thor chose that moment to intervene on behalf of the captain and offer further clarification. "Allow me to help explain things for the captain here, Rabbit. Peter Quill, like yourself, is from Midgard, which to all outside the Nine Realms is called Terra—"

"—Technically, Pete's only half-Terran." Rocket interjected, pulling out a small communication device and a screwdriver and starting to work on it.

"Ah, you're correct. His mother is of Earth. His father is…what was it that he called his father? Ah, yes. He's half-Midgardian, half-Jackass."

Steve gave them both a blank stare, weariness creeping into his brows as though almost 70 years on ice had finally caught up to the soldier's body. "Half…jackass."

"Right. On our way to Niðavellir Rabbit and I were speaking of his team, the Morons—"

Rocket twisted the screwdriver viciously, exposing the inner workings of the communicator and inspecting a wire. He let out a faint hum as he chose to take the lead from his Asgardian comrade.

"—Guardians of the Galaxy, he means. Anyway I was telling him about this time the year after we offed Quill's old man—"

If possible, the weary look on the captain's face intensified at the casual mention of patricide. It was going to be long day, he could already tell.

Steve couldn't help his mind from wandering as Rocket proudly shared stories of his time in space with his team-not that the Guardian's stories were boring. Rather, they reminded him just how damn quiet things had seemed during the return to the palace. Of how James—Bucky—had never really been much for such casual conversation now that they were both older, even after the reversal of his Winter Soldier programming. Carrying a conversation with him had such a different tone than it did with Sam—God, he's gone too—who was always more than happy to share a drink and a laugh even in the worst of times. Rogers closed his eyes, swallowing deeply in an effort to push the sorrow aside that rose in his chest. He didn't even realise he had zoned out until he felt something cold and metallic poking at his cheek. He opened his eyes to Rocket waving the screwdriver in front of them, mouth twisted into something resembling concern.

"Hey. Rogers! You alright, humie?"

"What…? Oh, yeah. I'm fine. Just—just thinking."

The raccoon's face relaxed and he put the screwdriver down, looking back to the communicator. It had already been closed back up; when Rogers looked around, Thor was gone, and the sun high in the sky. "Er...what time is it?"

"I dunno. At least past lunchtime, if I'd have to guess. You've been listenin' to me talk for hours, and I know I'm not that interesting or at this point you'd have asked me on a date. What's on your mind?"

Steve tried not to raise his eyebrow incredulously at the idea of dating a talking raccoon from space and failed just enough to earn a scowl from said raccoon. He tried to figure out how to phrase the fact that he had just lost his two best friends, his Sam Wilson, his Bucky, but just swallowed again. Rocket seemed to "get it", however, based on the way he sighed and hopped out of his chair, walking to the other side of the coffee table and awkwardly patting his leg.

"You don't have to talk about it, Rogers… For what it's worth, I'm sorry. I-I know what it's like to lose—"

Family, the word was left unspoken. Steve took Rocket's hand in his own and squeezed, taking in a shaky breath before releasing and standing up from the chair, looking out from the balcony over the Wakandan cityscape. The boom of thunder and the brilliant rainbow light descending from the sky in the distance indicated Thor had returned.

"Hey, the god-man is back."

"When did he leave, Rocket?"

"About an hour ago. I asked him to use that King's weapon o' his to go back to Niðavellir and bring what's left of the Benatar's scouting pod back. Left some of my tools there in our hurry to get to Terra. Shouldn't have taken this long, though. The giant dwarf there may have needed his help for somethin' at the forge."

"And how do you plan to get all that to the palace?"

Steve pointed at the barely visible pile of wreckage that must have been the scouting pod.

Rocket flashed his teeth at Steve in what may have been a grin.

"Who said anything about bringing it back to the palace? Ain't you humies ever heard of 'field work' before?"

He picked up the communicator and gently clipped it to his belt, before grabbing the legs of the coffee table and starting to drag it out of the balcony, towards the palace doors. Rogers strode over and easily lifted the table, Rocket humming in appreciation before running off. He was clearly eager to get to work. The captain shook his head and smiled slightly as he jogged after him, inclining his head towards a bemused-looking Bruce, returning from the bazaar just in time to see them leave.

It would be a long day.

That was okay.