Prompt: A Peter Quill & Rocket Raccoon fic where after a night of drinking, Quill insists once again that Rocket is a raccoon and they get into an argument Rocket explains exactly what he thinks of all the names he has been called. "Why do I have to be ANYTHING?! Why can't I just be Rocket?" With all the accompanying feels associated with such talk.
This is originally from my AO3 account! :D
———
"Alright, team," Peter straightened his back on the pilot chair as the Milano docked, "We'll be refueling here before we head on to Xandar."
They had landed on a small trading planet, Vethichi, to restock on supplies they were low on, parts that had miraculously gone missing - no thanks to Rocket - and just get a little rest and relaxation.
Peter knew that is was a much needed thing, as the Nova Corps had sent them on many grueling missions that tested every skill they had in their repertoire, including patience. They were all tired and more than ready to keep themselves busy with meaningless tasks into the night - or, at least, Peter was.
"I will head into the town to put in some orders to be delivered in the morning," Gamora stood from her seat and gazed at the rest of them. "Any requests before I leave?"
"More Beasties!" Rocket called from his position below the main deck.
"Yes," Drax supplied, "Those snacks are most enjoyable."
Peter stood so that they could all see his disgusted face, "More like most unenjoyable," he paused to consider his less than proper wording, "Those things are disgusting. Yondu ate them all the time. It's kind of like...eating a bunch of live worms." He shivered at the thought.
"Yes, Rocket," and of course Gamora was ignoring Peter. Again. "I'll pick some up when I'm out. When should I have the fuel packages delivered?"
"Eh," Peter considered his options, "Well, I suppose sometime tonight. Can someone hang back to get them? And, of course, keep an eye on Groot," his eyes darted to the potted plant in question.
"I will do it," Drax spoke, "although, I would rather not put my eye on our tree companion. Is that alright?" His voice was filled with layers of confusion.
Peter heard Rocket scoff, and he himself let out a soft sigh, "No, Drax. It's an expression. Just," he hesitated, "look after him, yeah?"
"I am Groot."
"Yes, Groot," Rocket called out as he scurried up to their level, "We trust you to look after yourself. But you can't exactly keep this piece of garbage guarded, ya know?"
Peter turned his head towards Rocket and scoffed, "Piece of garbage? Look, she isn't the cleanest, but the Milano is my baby. And hell if I'll let anyone disrespect my baby." He paused for a moment, "And you know, ya rodent, for someone who likes to claim my ship as theirs so often, you sure insult it a lot."
Rocket bristled at the insult and glared at Peter. "I'm not going to dignify you with a response."
"Because you now I'm right."
"Because you're an idiot, stupid humie."
Gamora pinched the bridge of her nose with her forefingers and sighed; Drax stared at the two of them gruffly, "Let's stop this useless prattling," Rocket and Peter let their eyes drift to their two (Groot was watching on with confused amusement) less than delighted teammates. Begrudgingly, the two of them turned away from each other.
"Well," Peter began, "I'll be off. I've got a date with some hotties at the first bar I find. I'm assuming you'll all be fine while I'm gone?"
Gamora groaned and gave him a look that thoroughly unsettled him. He avoided her eyes with a sheepish grin and a hand awkwardly placed over his neck. "Yes, Quill," She droned, "we'll be better than fine. Promise me you'll be okay."
"Gamora, you have no faith in me," Peter grinned, "I promise."
"As much as I hate to say this," Rocket intercepted with a smirk on his face, "But I think I'll join you, Star-munch. I haven't been here in ages, and they have the best alcohol you can get. Seriously, the stuff is like poison; it's great."
"I don't recommend you drink it if it contains similar properties to poison," Drax intercepted with a grimace, "I doubt that would be highly pleasant."
"It's a saying," Rocket rolled his eyes before grabbing his guns and attaching them to the back of his vest, "You coming, Quill?"
Dumbfounded, Peter saluted the rest of his team quickly and turned on the balls of his feet so that he could follow Rocket. They left the Milano and continued to town on a dirt path, "You want to hang out with me? Alone? Voluntarily?" His dubious expression, most likely some sort of facade, morphed into a questionable grin, "I knew you would never turn this down."
Rocket gagged mockingly and glared at Peter, "Don't let this go to your thick skull. I don't think that ego of yours can hold much more."
"Oh no no no, Rocket. This proves it. You actually like me. Admire me-"
Rocket snarled, "I'm going to cut you off there. All I want is a drink and for your useless blabbering to cease from existence. Is that too much to ask?"
Peter had the audacity to look offended, "It's not useless..." he trailed off, huffing angrily, "Whatever you say, trash panda."
Rocket said nothing, but the fur on the back of his neck stood up straight and he growled.
The rest of their walk was left to tense silence.
———
"Hey, baby," Peter's words were slurred together, forming a ball of mush, "Ya' wanna ge' outta here?"
Rocket had been right, the alcohol was like poison. It had been delicious, and Peter still found himself downing was he thought was his tenth shot, but he had been wasted after the second one.
The women, or, hopefully the women, he was chatting up looked unimpressed, to say the least. She was a grey-Blue in color and her skin spiked on her back. Her mouth was large and her tongue slithered from her mouth to wrap around the straw of her drink. In his drunken haze, Peter found it enticing. She had four eyes that bored deeply into him.
"I don't know," she muttered, her voice both smooth and gravely at the same time, "you're cute, though. I will admit that."
"Ohhh," Peter hiccuped, "You dun' even know the half of it. I can be a lot cuter if ya' want me to be."
"Really?" And she actually looked half interested now, "I have a place just around the corner from here, I'd like it if you'd join me," the grin on her face didn't throw Peter off in the slightest.
"Yeah!" He lit up like a lightbulb, "Yeah! I'd like that a lot. Right now, let's go right now." He shot his hand out and wrapped it around her hand, it's rough surface full of scales. "You remind me of a chameleon."
"A what?" She looked offended, and Peter, even in his stupor, knew he had to fix this.
"It's not bad! It's good. Chameleons are cool." And he actually flashed her a thumbs up.
She seemed to take the answer, and decided to grab Peter by the wrist and drag him up from his seat. He laughed and allowed her to do so without any trouble.
He realized that he didn't even know her name.
"Where are ya' goin'?" Peter's eyes darted over to Rocket, who stood in front of the alien he was currently being dragged away by with his hands on his hips.
"Off to-"
"Usually I wouldn't care if ya' went away to pleasure your dumb humie self, but ya' promised Gamora." Rocket was giving him a disapproving glare.
"Gamora?" The women questioned, and then scoffed, "Of course." She tipped her hand from Peter's wrist and stalked away from the two of them.
"Wait!" Peter called, "She's not-!" He turned towards Rocket, "What the hell, man?!"
Rocket has already began walking away to sit at the bar counter, and Peter was quick to follow behind. "Stop!"
"What, Quill?" Rocket looked both buzzed and pissed. Well, he wasn't the only one.
"You don't get the right to butt into my business, asshole! I came here for one thing, and it had taken me all night to finally find someone who was interested in me!" Thank god he was sobering up just a tad, "I don't know who the hell you think you are!"
"Quiet down, d'ast idiot."
"No! Don't tell me what to do, you stupid raccoon!"
In hindsight, Peter should have been more careful. He knew that Rocket didn't like it when he called him a raccoon, but he wasn't processing much. He would have apologized, had he not been so angry.
"I'm not a raccoon," Rocket growled, "Don't call me a raccoon, asshole."
"Rocket!" Peter yelled, "you're a raccoon! Suck it up!"
"Listen here, Star-Lord," he practically spat out the name, "I'm going to say this once. I don't appreciate these dumbass names you like to call me. I am Rocket. That's it. Not trash panda or rodent or raccoon. This will not happen again! I was tortured for so long at the start of my life, and I was only referred to by some stupid numbers! I didn't have a name or an identity; I had nothing! All I was was just an experiment; something that could be treated any way and didn't mean shit! I finally get out of this situation just to be treated the same way! Why do I have to be anything?! Why can't I just be Rocket?"
It turned out that drunk Rocket has no filter.
He jumped off the bar stool and left the building; the room almost silent after the fight at the front. Their fight. God, Peter is such a dick.
He stood from his seat and hurried out, panic rising in the pit of his stomach. Rocket hadn't gotten far, thank God, and Peter was quick to catch up with him. "Rocket..."
"I don't want to talk to you."
"I know. I wouldn't, either," he paused and gauged his words, "Look, Rocket, I'm so sorry. I was being stupid and I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said what I said. I know that it bothers you, and...I'm an idiot."
From Peter Quill, who showed little guilt, it meant a lot.
And Rocket knew.
He stopped in his tracks and turned towards his teammates, his face still fixed into a stern expression, "I know you are."
"I didn't know that that had happened to you."
"I don't want to talk about it."
"I understand."
They said nothing for a few long moments.
"Thanks for coming with me tonight, Rocket."
"Yup."
And while they continued down the path in silence, it was welcomed with open arms.