Chapter 2
“Those are the finest knives I could find,” Drax proudly declared the next day. “It is never too young to start them early. Why I had three throwing stars ready for Kameria on the day she was born.” Peter’s perturbed face did nothing to brighten Rocket’s face. Groot reached out to touch one of the gleaming blades in glee, curiosity flickering in his eyes.
He’s not a child, he’s still Groot, Rocket repeated to himself. Gamora deftly intercepted the small plant, who then began to cry. A shrill thin sound that made Rocket’s hair stand on edge.
“Hey, hey no worries Groot! I have something for you too!” Quill quickly produced a small rectangle sized package, wrapped crudely with duct tape.
“Let me guess,” Rocket drawled from his place across the table, “it’s a cassette.”
“No!” Peter attempted to conceal his hurt at the revealed gift before it could be opened. “It’s a…a..” Groot tore into the thing with his small hands, uncovering the tape. Gamora stifled a smile. “Well it’s a really cool tape! I made it myself! Do you know how hard it is to make a mix tape all the way out here?”
“Is it as hard as having to see your dumb face in the mirror every day?” Rocket quipped lamely. Peter ignored him. The enhanced mammal folded his arms again, watching his best friend promptly insert the corner of the tape into his mouth. He’s…he’s not an infant he’s just…figuring things out all over again. He’s still the same Groot. But no matter how many times Rocket told himself that, Baby Groot continued to prove him wrong. He cried on and off all last night, he threw up liquid if he was watered too much, and he tried to eat everything within reach of his tiny arms.
“My turn,” Gamora piped, uncommonly happy. From her back she revealed a heat lamp. “It has a setting for nighttime as well, its captured moonlight.” Rocket turned to spit, suck up. He watched as she flicked it on and Groot happily tried to reach for it over his head, beaming. Quill, Gamora and Drax all laughed whilst Rocket tried his best to crack a grin. Groot was happy, so he should be happy. He said he would do better.
“Where’s your present Rocket?” Quill asked the question he’d been dreading. “Didn’t you get him something?”
“Of course I got him something Star-Nerd!” Rocket casually reached under the table and flung the pot and the windmill onto the table. Groot gazed at them both with interest and tried to bend down to pick up the toy windmill. Rocket took it, sticking it in the small pot beside him and gave it a flick. The colors whirled together as it spun and Baby Groot watched, wide-eyed, mouth agape. Inwardly Rocket was glad he at least liked it.
“Rocket, the small tree clearly likes your gift best of all.” Peter nodded,
“Well of course he does! Trash Dad knows what his son likes best!”
“HE’S NOT MY SON!” Rocket exploded before he could stop himself, jumping down from his seat. Their stares pierced him but he didn’t feel it through the rage, he never did until it was too late. “He ain’t my son and he ain’t your baby! This is ridiculous I don’t know why I bought into this.” Waving them off he started out of the room.
“Rocket c’mon man, I take it back,” Quill’s futile attempts did nothing. “We’re just having a little fun! Groot is back! He’s here! We’re celebrating his re-birth day! Would it kill you to not be a complete dick for once?”
Rocket’s misbegotten fury stormed inside him, only to be furthered by Groot’s mewling. “He ain’t an infant! He’s still Groot!” The enhanced raccoon repeated again, turning around. It was all he could do to keep his eyes from the tiny plant.
“Rocket,” somehow Gamora’s level voice calmed his fire just a tad, “Peter is right this is his re-birth day. Regardless of whether you think he’s an infant or not, he’s here and we are celebrating him. He is your best friend and you got him a great present. Let’s all just be happy alright, we’ve all gone through a lot lately.” Rocket watched her dark eyes, a shimmer of silent pleading in them that she would never admit to. He sighed, for Groot.
“Fine.” Walking back over to the table, he spun the little windmill once more and glanced at the pot still a few inches away. Apparently Groot no longer took to the bright colors of yellow and green. Rocket shook his head dismissing the disappointment.
"I got caaaake!” Peter’s sing-song voice drifted as he made his way to the Milano’s small kitchen. Returning with a brown colored, sweet smelling cake, and a smaller cake made of what looked like wet sand and sticks, Peter set the two things down in front of them on the table. “He beamed, “that little one I made for him since I don’t know if he can eat people food.”
“I didn’t know you could cook Gams,” Rocket said by way of forcing himself into a lighter mood.
“I don’t,” she clarified.
“I do.” Drax’s deep voice stated unabashed. “I quite enjoy the culinary arts. This is my own recipe.”
“I guess Hovat wore the pants in your relationship then eh?” Rocket asked, waiting for the wrath to come. Drax’s brows knitted,
“Sometimes she wore pants yes. But not all of the time and I too wear pants. Almost always except for when I am cleaning myself or making love or—“
“It smells great Drax! Let’s dig in shall we?” Rocket forced himself to eat a piece of what was rather delectable cake, and watched as Groot happily played with his own sand and stick cake, eventually falling asleep in his pot.
“Well it’s been fun, but it’s late.” Gamora said, throwing her beer bottle in the garbage. They had been up for hours, though it was mostly Quill, Gamora and Drax talking and laughing. Rocket contented himself to keep quiet while he sipped on cheap booze, lying that he had none of his own to share.
“Goodnight Gamora,” Peter watched her go as Rocket snickered. “What?!”
“It’s never going to happen dude.” Peter rolled his eyes, playfully reaching to pet the mammal between his ears. He evaded, hissing and stood up.
“I’m hitting the hay too, goodnight.” He made his way back to the engine room. One of the alternator belts was working a little too slowly for Rocket’s liking and he’d been spending the past few days working on it. He told himself Groot was fine on his own. None of them get it. He’s still Groot and I’ll do better being his friend…so what he didn’t love the green and yellow pot…he was distracted it don’t mean nothing. He worked on the alternator feverishly. A and B wires connect into sockets 1 and 2, bypass the main port….he’s still Groot just needs to regrow. He’ll regrow in no time stop being so selfish. Gotta do something about these outlets,it needs it’s own back up generator…if it took a day to regrow his limbs then it should still only take a week for him to get back to full size….no, new generator means I’d have to rewire…so his mind continued on, between agonizing over Groot and agonizing over the work he was making for himself. A squeaky wail broke his thoughts, he turned, stomach twisting at the sound of Groot’s distress. Go get him! Everything within him screamed.
“Do not be upset small tree, I am here.” Rocket turned back to his work forcing himself to settle as Groot’s small cries drifted off. Go check on him, he is tired and what does Drax know? His mind whirled with indecision and contradiction. But he turned back to his work, cursing as an electric shock from the wires burnt his hand. Untellable hours later, somewhere between emotional and mental exhaustion Rocket drifted off face down on the belt, one hand holding a wrench, the other containing a tangled ball of wires. The whoosh of the engine still sounded in his ears, he rocked with the gentle swell and pitch o the ship, the dark behind his eyes comforting like the dark of long ago he could barely remember, everything sites and sounds and scents.
“W…what’s happening?” Rocket asked, trying to swipe at the debris in the air around his eyes. The quiet scent of darkness morphed into metallic burning.
“The Dark Aster, it’s going to blow!” Peter screamed through the smoke. Shit! Rocket’s eyes caught on the familiar yellow spores that Groot produced.
“Groot! C’mon!” He scurried around to the wreck of his Nova ship, hastily configuring the wires, it just needs enough thrust to get out of this shitty wreck and can fall back to Xandar. Gamora?! Drax?! They too ran through the smoke, piling into the ship.
“I am Groot?!” The flora colossus knelt down reaching out for Rocket.
“No, there’s no more room, I’ll be fine just squeeze in!” Groot made to protest but Rocket shoved him in. Through the windshield he could see Groot, Peter, Drax and Gamora starring at him.
“We are Groot,”
“I know….”Rocket gazed up at him, he forced a smile and slammed the circular door shut.
“Rocket!” a large wooden hand pressed up against the glass, spores filling the ship. Rocket steadied himself as the Dark Aster continued to fall. He punched the last panel back into place and pressed the emergency exterior power. Choking on the smoke he watched as the ship crawled it’s way to where the hole in the Dark Aster bellowed. The ship reached the edge, Rocket watched. All the eyes of the Guardians were on him but he only saw Groot’s. fire and air tor at his fur, he watched the ship fly out of site and saw the rush of clouds. It should’ve been me, he thought as the ground rushed up to end him. He grinned sardonically and then it ended.
Groot’s tiny cry called him from the blackness.
“Groot?” Rocket wandered in the dark, hands reaching gingerly for whatever was around him. “Groot? Groot buddy?” A green glow guided him to where Groot cried. Rocket’s heart froze. Ronnan loomed over his best friend.
"You think it’s all better now that he is regrown?” The gravelly voice of the accuser ground his bones.
“You are a pathetic animal. Groot is gone. This one is here, but he is new and knows nothing of you. Your Groot is dead by your own recklessness. Filth, vermin, you really thought you’d deserve a second chance?” Reflexively Rocket reached for his gun but nothing was there. He lunged forward but looked down. His legs did not budge. Ronann reached a hand out, gripping Groot’s tiny trunk, the tree shrieked and Rocket fought to move.
“Don’t! Don’t tear him apart!” Hot anguish wracked him as the accuser jerked Groot roughly upward in a single moment, tiny primary and secondary roots trembling and exposed. He tried to look away as the accuser moved his other hand and in snapped Groot in half. Rocket fell. He fell onto a table and tried to move, through a haze he could see cuffs strapping him down.
“Subject 89P13 is prepped doctor,” No! Where’s Groot?! I’ll flarking blow you all to hell!
To the observer, Rocket thrashed in his sleep, whimpering and clawing, tail whipping back and fourth as he relived the horrors of his unmaking and remaking.
Stabbing through his back while the needle went in, he tried to concentrate, to get out.
“No, no no! Please! Don’t tear me apart again!” The tall doctor clad in white turned, eyes penetrating Rocket’s newly made, already corrupted soul. “No! Please!” He arched his back as the doctor reached up one large, wooden hand. Rocket’s eyes widened with the impossibility.
“No…” he whined, feeling the hot tears press. “No, don’t do this…” the doctor pulled the mask down.
“I am Groot.” Rocket screamed as he electrocuted him and felt the needle in his friend’s hand slip between ribs.
Out of the numerous nightmares Rocket had had in his short lifetime only a handful had been truly terrible but none, as bad as they were, featured Groot as one of those strange people in the strange masks. Out of the handful of more intense nightmares Groot had been there for most of them. But he was not coming this time. No one did. Rocket beseeched, in the small part of his mind that knew it was a dream, he pleaded for someone to come. Groot would rub his back gently knowing exactly how to avoid the metal cybernetics. If that didn’t work he would wind his vines around Rocket and hold him close to his chest, humming and stroking his fur. The nightmare eventually faded into dark throbbing pain. No images, no needles, no putrid smells. Just black aching pain from his cybernetics. Rocket trembled, sweat, tried to wake himself and failed. No one came. Groot did not come. Alone. He’d always been alone, the only thing in the universe but in the bottom of the well of his nightmares Rocket was more alone now than he ever had been.
“It should have been me, it should have been me!” At least I would’ve done one good thing with this miserable existence. It flarking should’ve been me! Rocket had no devotion to any higher-power. His existence was forged by silicone, steal and science and that was what shaped him. Rocket trembled, trying to wrap his arms and tail around himself in the cold engine room.
“Rocket there you are! We thought you were sleeping but none of us wanted to wake you!” Peter said the next morning. Ever since he bit Gamora’s hand for trying to wake him from a hungover slumber the rest of his team dreaded waking him. “Did you even sleep last night you look terrible.”
“You look like a corpse left out in the sun for three days.” Peter only laughed.
“Whatever man, we just got a call from the Collector. We got a job to do.”