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staycalmandhugaclone · 4 months

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Identity Pt 4

Part (4) of Identity, the next arc of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!

I owe loads of responses and I'm sorry! I got the writing bug and any spare time I've had in front of a computer, I just wanted to write! Quick answer to the most common question, though: Yeah, the implication is that the contact is her dad - that'll be touched on a bit more later, though, and I'll try to actually be a good tumblr person and respond to everyone's lovely comments this week now that I've purged this chapter out!

Huge preemptive warning before even getting to the real warnings! This is one of those particularly dark chapters that may be too intense for some readers. If that's the case, I'm more than happy to make a summary for continuity's sake; just please take caution to read the tags

Warnings: torture, waterboarding, drowning, interrogation, panic, panic attack, flashbacks, self-blame, giving up, longing for death, temporary insanity, arguably inappropriate use of sedation, guilt, profanity, intense whump

WC: 3,231

Fire tore through my nose and throat, body wrenching forward with violent coughs that sent pain shooting down my side, but the movement stopped short, chest held fast to something behind me – no… beneath me? I couldn’t think beyond the desperate need for air, head shaking as though it might rid my eyes and nose of the liquid still dripping down my face as my jaw gaped around choked gasps. The distorted hum of unfamiliar voices resonated nearby, pausing mere seconds before another torrent of icy water crashed over me, robbing me of what pitiful taste of air I’d fought so hard to gain and sending me back down that spiral of panicked suffocation, diaphragm convulsing uselessly beneath that torturous burn of drowning.

Something locked around my jaw, forcing my gaze toward the blurred colors that surely hid an unknown face and drawing a startled grunt of pain from me. I could almost hear words, confident at least that they were male before my attacker released me harshly enough to slam my already throbbing head against whatever lay beneath it. I’d only just realized my wrists were bound behind me when another frigid wave was thrown at me, again leaving me sputtering for breath.

“… a patient man…” That voice growled, mind finally grasping some meager bit of clarity. “I suggest you answer my questions before things get really unpleasant.” Wheezing, I quickly looked about us for some hint as to what was happening, but the dark cell offered no clues toward who he was or where he’d taken me. I think I was tied to a chair leaning back at a precarious angle, but I couldn’t move enough to check before he grabbed me again, fingers burring into my already bruised jaw.

“Eyes on me, yuh damn rat.” He grumbled. Without conscious thought, I realized some part of me expected to find a grizzled, old man covered in scars, eyes full of enraged contempt, but that’s not who stood beside me. He appeared to barely be in his thirties, white shirt marred with sweat and blood and stains I tried not to look too closely at lest I see something far worse. Years of drinking left is stomach distended and his skin blotchy, and what light may once have filled pale, green eyes had long since abandoned him. There was no anger fueling his actions, no obvious cause for him to seek retribution from long held vendetta. This was his job, and he’d simply lost the will to be bothered by the horrors it forced him to do.

“Ah. Guess yuh weren’t really awake yet, were yuh?” He hummed more to himself than to me, “Concussions can be tricky like that…” With a deep sigh, he stepped back, hand dropping absently away from me. “Let’s start over, then.” The way he rubbed his hand over his face, the weariness dragging against his movements, it felt so painfully displaced against the way my heart raced.

“Who ordered the hit?” Lost, I could only stare at him, thoughts far too muddled beneath fear and confusion to fathom a response. “How about we start with something easier?” He muttered, though he still reached for something behind me. I heard the click of a button followed by the rush of water through pipework overhead, and the terror that gripped me was visceral, body shaking too hard to manage even a broken gasp, limbs wrenching against the shackles about my wrists and ankles.

The vague sensation of pain each movement sent tearing through my left side didn’t matter, nor the growing understanding that there had been an explosion; that everyone near the podium must have been caught in the blast, and I couldn’t begin to guess the extent of my own injuries even as I recalled the horrifying images of those far less fortunate. That knowledge, that pain, none of it mattered in the face of where I now lay: trapped before this stranger who owed me no loyalties and sought only to force answers from me that I could never give.

“Where are yuh from?” I wondered if the hint of a slur in his voice was from mere disinterest, or if he’d already begun numbing himself with some bottle stashed amidst the grime-streaked walls. “Not gonna tell me your name, either, I assume?” My jaw ground shut, gaze turning blindly to the dark ceiling above us. He offered no further warning before clicking another button to unleash the next rush of water. I managed to keep most of it from flooding my mouth, but the pressure forced enough up my nose to send me into another fit of strangled coughs.

“You’re with the Republic, yeah? Some kinda spy or something? What’s that fancy swamp planet…” He seemed to think it over for several seconds before remembering. “Naboo! You from Naboo?” Breath shattering between clattering teeth, I kept my attention turned pointedly away from him, clinging to some distant memory that it was better to remain silent during an interrogation; that even shouted curses yielded more easily to breaking than simply never speaking at all, and then I had to come to terms with that simple fact that that’s exactly what this was: an interrogation.

How long had it been since the gala? Was I still on the same planet? Was I on a planet at all? I didn’t want to acknowledge what the answers to those questions might mean; didn’t want to let myself listen for the rumble of engines or hum or air recyclers. It was easier not to know.

A tsk sounded from the man beside me, and I had to fight not to let my expression crumble beneath that fear.

“A’right.” I wanted to slap him for the disinterest in that breathy sigh, anger drawing my lips into a scowl. Again, there was no warning. A dark sack was pulled roughly over my face. I had just enough time to gasp before that water began to pour down. My chest bucked with violent fits, fighting to force some sliver of air through the endless onslaught, but it wouldn’t stop. Why wouldn’t it stop?

The was a moment when that determination first faltered beneath the weight of a panic no amount of logic could hope to supersede; a fleeting breadth of understanding just how alone I was, how little I meant, and how hopeless even the denial that forbade me from listening for engines truly was, because regardless my dreams and nightmares, regardless the sincerity of my intentions or the purpose I once believed drove me through moments when I wanted nothing more than to shatter, the simple reality was that death didn’t care and all I’d done would amount to nothing. There was no promise of one more chance, no reason swaying whether I lived or died, no thought beyond a bone-deep, primal terror, and not a damn thing I could do to change any of it.

Powerless, I laid beneath the flow of soured water, body thrashing uselessly as the man just stood there, watching; waiting. I couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe, the sensation of that sack about my face constricting with each failed gasp overwhelmed every memory I’d ever made, forsook every imagined possibility of a future, dispelled whatever higher knowledge supposedly separated sentience from feral beasts, and I knew he was utterly impartial to all of it as my lungs burned, spine wrenching against restraints that offered no leeway. The weakness that crept up my limbs was a strange thing. I barely noticed it beneath the new form of darkness overtaking me, yet some whisper of frustration balked at how quickly my muscles began to fail, how deafening my heartbeat became as those frantic coughs faded beneath wet gurgles.

Still, there was some futile sense of denial, a disbelief promising me that he wouldn’t actually let me die; that this was merely some sick form of intimidation meant to break me, and I knew exactly how foolish that thought was as the water flooded my lungs.

Agony filled my chest, my head. Fire burned my sinuses and left my throat raw as my torso convulsed in violent coughs even as I strained for breath, begging my own body to grant me some small taste of air. It felt like waking; like I’d been asleep for ages, mind hazed beneath that fog of confusion.

“..ere yuh are… Come on back.” Was that voice familiar? I vaguely thought it shouldn’t be despite how my eyes automatically travelled toward it, unable yet to make out anything beyond a blurred shaped. “Can you tell me your name?” Were his words slurring, or was my hearing merely faltering beneath that disorientating weariness eager to drag me back into unconsciousness? I knew that question, though – it had long since become ingrained into my psyche from years of asking. What’s your name? What’s the date? Where are we, right now? Where…

My lips stumbled around an initial attempt at forming an answer but managed only a choked whimper beneath a hurt that left even strangled gasps crippling. That moment of physical hinderance was enough to grant the very beginnings of a clarity that threatened to break me as some distorted mockery of sensation slowly began to return; glimpses of soiled walls, the scent of putrid water, pain lancing through joints held fast about the hard surface beneath me, through flesh left raw and torn from how violently my body had struggled against restraints still binding my wrists and ankles, looped about my chest and stomach, and the fear that stole through me was like nothing I’d ever known.

In an instant, my heart began to race, the rhythm far too quick to not be a danger in itself, but I could spare no thought toward something so mundane as a heart attack as my every muscle began to convulse, the icy obstruction of adrenaline flooding my veins as logic and rationale faltered in the wake of memories.

“Damn… figured it’d figured take longer ‘en that.” He mumbled, and I froze at the bundle of still dripping cloth hanging from his hand, unable to either tear my gaze away nor stomach the sight of it. “‘ere’s how this works,” he started, utterly unmoved by how my body shied from him as he reached toward me with that cursed fabric. “Ain’t gotta go through any of that again if you don’t want to.” The way my every cell screamed against the feeling of that mask being pulled even halfway down my face left me thrashing anew, numb to any damage sustained from how desperately I found myself flailing against my bounds. “Just gotta answer my questions, an’ it all stops.”

There was no thought; no memory even of how to think as the first drops of water danced atop my forehead. My every muscle tightened, body wrenching away with more force than it could take. Something cracked. I didn’t feel it. My teeth ground together even as my jaw strained to open, to drag as much of that precious, stale air into my lungs as I could.

“Who are yuh working with?” Rage. There was no suffocating torrent of liquid. It was barely a splash, but he knew exactly how little work he needed to do to rend me into that hysterical frenzy that so effortlessly robbed me of all but my most ancient, primal instinct, and I loathed him for how quickly it worked, lips wrenching back into a snarl.

The next gush held none of that earlier restraint. Water filled my mouth and flooded my nose, instantly sending me into ragged, gagging coughs, body jerking in an effort to at least lean onto my side that I might rid my airway of that burning, frigid certainty of drowning.

“Who orchestrated the explosion?” I thought of the mercenary as another surge of water poured over me just long enough to leave me gasping.

How do I free him!

“Who was the target?” I don’t know if there were words in whatever scream I felt tearing through my throat, but he waited mere seconds, unmoved by my choked cries.

Tell me.

“Who placed the bombs?” His emotionless voice reverberated through the darkness, lifting the mask just clear of my lips after each question before dragging it back down in the wake of answers that left him wanting, and I could only flail atop that unyielding surface as he unleashed that frigid water again and again.

I thought of the hatred in my brother’s eyes as my mind flickered at the edges of suffocation.

“Who ordered the hit?”

Did I deserve this?

“Who’s behind the assassination attempt?”

Why didn’t he just kill me?

“Tell me who ordered the hit.”

Kill me.

“Who were you sent to kill?”

Kill me kill me kill me

“Who placed the bombs?”

His earlier boredom was beginning to turn impatient. My body barely managed to struggle anymore. Didn’t matter.

“Who ordered the hit?”

I wanted that darkness. Yearned for it… because anything was better than this endless torture, hours and seconds and years of drowning with no hope of it ever stopping, no sense of time, no sense of self.

“Who-”

The sudden flurry of sounds meant nothing. I’d long since lost any grasp on reality, more certain that I was already dead than I was that those harsh, broken wheezes voiced my own, failing attempts at breath. I don’t know when that sack had been removed nor what muttered pleas tumbled listlessly from numb lips. Flashes of grey and white armor held no meaning, nor did whispered words blaring through speakers, though I remembered some fleeting thought toward the futility of whispering into a mic.

Movement. It didn’t feel like that perceived sense of endlessly falling preceding loss of consciousness… It felt like… running? My eyelids bat against the illusion painted atop the black cloth I was so sure awaited me the instant I managed to truly see. It wasn’t until I tried to move that that madness returned. No restraints held my arms trapped behind me. No unyielding board pressed painfully into my back. I was held only by the arms looped beneath my knees and shoulders, and the instant I understood that, I fought with every hint of strength granted to me by that panic-induced insanity.

I couldn’t hear anything above the chorus of sudden shouts, focus trained solely on freeing myself of that near embrace. I’d barely begun to thrash before feeling the floor rise up to meet me, body instantly kicking out to distance myself from my captor until my heels slid useless atop muck-coated stone, doing nothing more than pressing my back more firmly into the wall behind me.

“…” Muffled words lost beneath the pounding of my heart and the rasp of air catching in too-moist lungs fluttering with hyperventilated breaths stolen between wet coughs. I tried to draw my arms between myself and the figure kneeling before me, but could barely convince my hands to twitch, flared fingers trembling mere inches above the ground.

“…! …ack! Come on, kid; come back!” His voice finally broke through that frenzy, and my eyes locked on his, every muscle freezing beyond that persistent shiver I couldn’t begin to quell. He seemed to hold his breath, waiting to see if I’d break again. My brows drew weakly together, thoughts too frantic to more than stare at him for several seconds.

“…W… Wol…” His shoulders sank at my stammered attempt to call his name.

“Right here, kid.” It was such a strange thing to hear the gentleness in his voice, but that lingering sense of wrong drew me further from the shattered recess of my mind, vaguely noting the four figures posted around us, and I didn’t need to see their helms to know who they were, that they had their weapons trained on the corridors stretching out at either side of me, ready to fire at the faintest hint of a threat. They’d found me… This was real… So, why couldn’t I free myself of that relentless fear, that deafening need to run, to find some dark corner and hide?

“I need to get you out of here.” He explained, words purposefully slowed in a way I should have taken offense to. In that moment, however, that slowness was the only reason I could make sense of them. Get out… They were going to get me out of here… but my body revolted from the very thought of letting him touch me again, of letting anyone touch…

“You can hold on to me, or I can carry you, but we can’t stay here.” I wanted to shout at that familiar, cold logic, the silent apology nestled in his hushed statement, frustration spiking at the weakness preventing my hands from clasping over my ears regardless how useless I knew the gesture to be.

“Hey – hey, look at me.” The guilt tainting his command made me want to scream even as my eyes automatically flicked back to his, some distant thought finally realizing he’d forgone protocol in favor of letting me see his face, helmet abandoned on the ground beside him. My name left his lips in a whisper, head ducking slightly to draw my unsteady gaze back toward him.

“We need to move.” My jaw tensed with curses and pleas and senseless shouts, despite my inability to hold enough breath to manage more than a stammered whimper, chest still seizing with half coughs from the phantom sensation of flooded lungs.

“Do you want me to sedate you?” He barely murmured the quiet offer, head ducking toward me. Did I… I thought of that blissful emptiness… that escape from this fear, from the pain of wounds I couldn’t remember sustaining, from the anger wrought by my own inability to force some semblance of control over myself, and, with a sob, I nodded. His expression darkened, but he said nothing as he returned the gesture.

“Close your eyes.” He whispered, and the tremble seizing through me redoubled, terror spiking at the threat of subjecting myself to that darkness. “You’re going to be alright, kid… Just close your eyes.” He promised… I’d never doubted him before… not like this… but how could I possibly believe him? I knew he could see how frightened I was, how lost I was in that fear; I knew he was counting every second wasted trying to guide me through this, how each of those seconds redoubled the risk of being caught, but he said nothing as I struggled to find myself through that panic, and he wasted no time when I finally managed to force my eyes shut.

The instant I felt the prick of needles, my body balked, managing to jump mere inches away, but his touch was already there, hand delicately catching my cheek as those fleeting reserves of strength abandoned me, muscles quickly going limp against him.

“Alright… I’ve got you… I’ve got you.” A final shiver darted down my spine as the warmth of his breath danced across my scalp, barely noting how carefully he eased me back into his arms, but the distant familiarity of finding myself nestled against him, of tasting his scent in my every stammered gasp even as I felt my mind begin to slip away was a comfort I clung to until even that faded.

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woozletania · 7 years

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Sanctuary (RR/GOTG slice of life)

It started one day in the most innocuous way imaginable: nothing more dramatic than an E-mail. "Hey Rock," Quill said, slumped back in the pilot's chair idly scanning the screen as he helped Rocket work on a problem with the Milano. "Got a letter from your doctor friend." "Those're always good," Rocket replied, his head and body down to the armpits inside a panel working on control connections. "Try the upper right aileron control." Star-Lord obediently pressed a control and Rocket made a happy noise from inside the console, his ringed tail twitching in not-quite-a-wag. Peter went on. "Weird thing is the subject line is public but the body is locked, or I'd read it to you. All I can see is 'P. Foster' and 'It's happening again'." There was a dull bang from inside the console as Rocket's tail went stiff. Peter watched curiously as a hand appeared, set down a wrench. Rocket's voice was deadly calm. "Read that again, Pete." "'It's happening again.' That's all I can read, man." "Oh. Okay then." The hand grabbed the wrench and Rocket worked briefly, then slid back into view. As usual he was covered with dust and smears of grease but a spot of bloody fur over one eye showed where he'd hit his head. "That'll hold it. I gotta hit the can." Gamora came up the stairs just as Rocket went down and the little raccoon pushed past her with even worse manners than usual. The green-skinned assassin took one look at the open panel and discarded tools the raccoon left in his wake and came to the obvious conclusion. "In the middle of something? Mantis has lunch ready." "I guess.". Peter fiddled with the controls, watching the indicators as he tried the various control surfaces, thrusters and engines. "Looks like it's all working. Figure Rocket will want to work on it more though, he doesn't leave his personal tool kit just lying where everyone can get at it unless he's in the middle of something." But Rocket didn't show up at lunch and didn't answer when Mantis knocked on his door. Weirdly enough he'd even locked Groot out and the tree, a little taller than the raccoon now and going through early teenage crankiness, spent two minutes banging on the door until Rocket finally swore and opened it. "What? I was just doin' some stuff." Groot handed him back his tools, which got a grunt of something like 'thanks' from the raccoon, who then finally emerged and locked the door behind him. Drax happened by just then and the three made their way to the common area for a belated lunch. Peter, Gamora and Mantis were all there around the table and Mantis reached out without thinking to pet Rocket, seeing from the angle of his ears that he was in a bad mood. Rocket was a lot more likely to let someone pet him these days but this time he flinched away and sat by himself, grabbing one of the sandwiches from the platter without a word. Seeing Rocket in a bad mood was nothing new but he was usually nicer to Mantis than this and Peter spoke up. "Was that letter bad news, Rock?" "Oh that," Rocket grunted between bites. "Not really. He did say he met another guy who's up on my model of cybernetics and that I should have him take a quick look next time I'm in the area. So I wanna swing by Kopleth today, since we're between money runs." "Kopleth? Dull place, but I guess," Peter said. There was nothing but the sound of munching and Drax loudly slurping soup after that until Rocket finished eating. The second the door to his room closed, though, the conversation started up again. "You don't believe him, do you?" Said Gamora. "Not for a second," Quill replied. "I am Groot," said the sapling. "Yes," rumbled Drax. "He had his weapons out and a bag of bombs half packed when I saw into his room for a moment. Whatever he's going to Kopleth for, it is not to see a doctor." Gamora's smart pad beeped, and she read the message before turning the screen so the others could see. It was from Nebula. 'Not supposed to tell you this, but he's in your crew. Rocket just asked me to help him kill some people. Something going on I should know about?' Rocket should have known that on a ship this small it was impossible to keep secrets. Perhaps he did, because when they arrived on Kopleth and he made his way down the docking ramp, bag-full-o-guns over his shoulder, it was an expression of resignation more than anything else that crossed his face when he found his friends waiting at the bottom. "Before you say anything," he said. "This isn't anything you want to be a part of. It's personal business." Gamora held up her smart pad once more. 'If you are reading this I am dead, on the run or in jail. The bounty on me will be huge if it's the middle one, so I'll understand if you come after me. It was something I had to do. No apologies.' Rocket groaned. "That was supposed to be time locked until tomorrow." "Not when I know to look," Gamora said. "And I knew something was going on." "Yes," said Nebula as she stepped off her ship. "What is going on, fox?" "It's happening again," Rocket said a little later in the Milano's common area. "I can't let it happen again. Never again." "What's going on, buddy?" Rocket sat with his ears down and his little clawed hands between his knees. He counted the grenades on his belt, twice, before continuing. "Doc Foster got a job offer. They knew he worked at Halfworld and gave him a virtual tour of the new facility. Animal Uplift. Cybernetic implants. Vivisection. Euthanizing the subjects when they were done. Somehow they had data files from the Halfworld complex. There must have been a backup elsewhere and now it's all happening again." There were no tears in the raccoon's eyes. Just determination. "If I have to spend the rest of my life in a cell to stop this, I'll do it. Every one of these bastards has to die. But research like this is legal on Kopleth. I'm going, but the rest of you oughta get out of here now. 'Cept maybe the lady who already has a giant bounty on her bald head," he said, nodding to Nebula. "You're not going, buddy," Star-Lord said. "Not without me." "There will be heavy security, yes?" Drax asked, and Rocket nodded. "Then I will not be left out of a good fight." "And if my sister goes, I go," said Gamora. Nebula just smiled. "You don't get it," Rocket said. "We spent the last year building up a reputation. This could destroy it. If it's just me you can say I was a rogue. I'm expendable." "No," Gamora said, and everyone (except maybe Nebula) said together, "You aren't." Rocket sighed. Not surprised, just a little sad. Peter spoke up next. "So you got a plan, little buddy?" "'Course I got a plan," Rocket mumbled. "Always got a plan." "One that involves all of us, not just you?" "Told you," Rocket said with the beginning of a smile. "I always got a plan." And that's why it was that Drax, armed with a missile launcher of Rocket's own design, Gamora with her plasma rifle and Quill with his pistols stormed the front of the complex to draw attention away from the back, while Rocket, Rocket-sized Groot and Nebula, whose cybernetics made her eerily flexible, entered via the ductwork Rocket had identified from the schematics he'd studied. Some of the vents were too small for even Nebula and so they soon separated with a whispered "Kill only when necessary," for Rocket eventually allowed himself to be reminded that not everyone they encountered would be a monster. Yet the first thing he did was drop out of an air vent onto the shoulders of a Xandarian who was cutting open a black-furred creature, dig his claws into the man's throat and rip it out. "Nod if you understand," he whispered, undoing the furry thing's restraints even as the researcher toppled over. It nodded, and Rocket slapped an emergency medical patch over the hole the "doctor" had put in the long-eared creature and gestured for it to follow him. There was a thump against the wall nearby, probably Nebula shattering some fool's skull, and a black-clad security guard popped through a door only to get a chest full of Rocket's hand-made APX - Armor Piercing Explosive - rounds. The next room had nothing but a few empty cages and bloodstained operating tables, though Rocket reflexively pocketed a handful of servo components from a table. Distant shouts and gunfire meant the other Guardians were fighting their way in and this place clearly wasn't built and staffed to withstand a major assault, which was just what you got when Gamora and Drax led an attack. "I am Groot?" The black-furred test subject jumped when a three-foot-tree man man his appearance but Rocket just smiled. "Yeah, can you get that door?". He'd been about to blast the armored portal but Groot's strength was all out of proportion to his size and his tendrils ripped the thing from its hinges. "Jackpot!" Cages, test subjects - and a couple of guards. Rocket got one before they recovered from the sudden disappearance of the armored door and speed and small size gave him the advantage he needed to take out the other. "Get 'em out, get 'em out!" He blew away what he recognized as a cybernetics jammer mounted just outside the row of cages and Groot ripped the door off the nearest just as a white-jacketed researcher appeared. Rocket hesitated to shoot an unarmed man and thus made a mistake that would make him wake staring at the ceiling and shaking for years afterward. The man didn't need a gun to smash his hand into a panic button and the result was clouds of green poison gas spraying from nozzles on the ceiling. "Shit! Hurry!" The furthest cages were already out of sight in a cloud of poison, as was the researcher, and Rocket resorted to shooting the locks off the cages he could still see. Half shaved, cybernetic implant-studded animals of several unfamiliar species leapt out and ran for the door and Rocket cursed as he shot the lock off a cage that held a shivering yellow-furred creature curled in a ball as far away from the bars as it could get. He had already breathed more of the green gas than he liked and all he could do was grab the thing and yank it out of the cage. Mistake. He should have known it would panic and with an animalistic shriek the long, flexible yellow creature wrapped around him like a snake and sank sharp fangs into his neck. The spray of red told him he was in real trouble but Rocket was no stranger to pain and he grabbed a gas-added creature from another cage and staggered for the door, weighed down by two of them and passing the handheld one off to Groot as he made it through the doorway and slammed it shut. Everything still alive in that room wouldn't be that way for long and he wasn't doing so good either. The whiskery muzzle was still clamped down on the side of his neck and Groot had to help him run the few dozen yards to daylight. What he saw when he burst into the light astonished him. Not just the Guardians but hovering Nova fighters, not to mention ground troops who had rounded up a dozen white-coated researchers and were similarly trying to keep track of at least that many research animals. His keen ears picked up the argument going on between a Nova officer - he recognized Dey - and what must be the head researcher. "No authority here - research animals, perfectly legal," and something about "Murderous thugs." Rocket ignored the blood running down his chest, got his fingers into the scruff of the yellow thing slowly killing him with its bite and whispered, "Listen - all of you Subjects, listen, say this -" "Rocket!" Quill came running as Rocket's vision began to gray around the edges, blood loss and gas, and Gamora right behind him. No sign of Nebula of course, she'd wisely taken a powder. Just then the yellow thing's fangs came out of his neck and it said, slowly and clearly to the nearest Nova corpsman: "In accordance with the Uniform Sapience Act -" "No!" The head researcher tried to intervene, only for Drax to clothesline him to the ground. "I request sanctuary on the basis of inhumane treatment," the yellow thing said, and the other animals repeated "Sanctuary, sanctuary," and the less Uplifted or vocal ones spitting out the syllables the way he used to, "sanct-u-ary," And then Rocket was falling over, weighed down by the yellow thing and never so happy in his life to hear one word. It'd all been worth it. Live or die, it was so worth it. ***** 'So, not dead,' were Rocket's first thoughts when he woke. His neck hurt, his chest hurt, and oddly enough his leg hurt too. And the second thing that passed through his mind when he opened his eyes was how familiar the metal ceiling looked. "Why am I not in jail," he mused, and Peter jerked upright in the chair next to the bunk, dropping the Zune headphones he'd been tinkering with. A strange animal chirp came from low down, out of his range of vision, but it hurt to turn his neck so he couldn't see what made it. "Rocket! Hey, everybody, he's awake!" In an instant the room was crowded with the crew, and even Nebula, and Rocket realized he was in Peter's quarters on board the Milano. The captain's cabin, if you could call it that, was about fifteen percent larger than the space he had before he turned it into a lifeboat and started sleeping in his round padded bed. "I have lots of questions," Rocket said, and then there was another, because a sleek yellow head sporting long, familiar whiskers popped into view as well. He'd never gotten a good look at it but this was indisputably the creature that nearly killed him. He was too tired and sore to hold that against her. "I guess they all fall under 'what happened'." "Peter had an idea," Gamora said, and Mantis smiled as she gently scratched Rocket's ears. "A good one, for a change." "Thanks Gamora," Pete said sourly. "I called Nova Corps before we went to the compound to see if I could get them to look the other way for a little while as we took off for our new outlaw lives. When I explained what was going on to Dey he said the following," with that he pointed at Drax. "Animal research is legal in many places," the giant intoned. "But as far as Nova is concerned, Uplift, or at least the abuse of the resulting sapients is legal nowhere." Peter grinned. "Since Kopleth has no military to speak of they couldn't do much when a Nova troop transport and escorts showed up. Even medics who patched you up, though it was a near thing. You had nerve gas in your system, a nicked artery in your neck and a splinter from a ricochet or something in your calf below the armor." "So we're not outlaws," Rocket said wonderingly. "What about the research subjects?" "Under Nova supervision," Gamora said. "To be granted full sapient rights and a share of the penalty fines being assessed against the company. And we get a share of that too." "Free money!" Pete cheered. "A reward for just doing good things!" "What about her?" Rocket looked at the whiskery creature, seeing the bolts almost concealed by her fur where the artificial collarbones lay. He had bolts like that, too. "Her?" Pete looked puzzled. "You mean 96L02?" "Subject Nine-Six-Lima-Zero-Two reports as ordered, sir," the creature said, and stood up as straight as its long cylindrical body allowed. Rocket winced. "Damn it Pete, you know better than that. That's not a name and she - yeah, you bald bodies have no noses I know but she is a she - is conditioned to respond to that number. I don't want to hear one of you say it again. Ever." He reached over to see how she would react, careful not to touch, and webbed hands/forepaws clasped his fingers. "Rocket," she chirped. "So so-ree I bit you." "I woulda done the same thing," Rocket said. "Ask Pete. He got the scars to prove it. Now we need to get you a name." She stood bolt upright. "Subject Nine-Six-Lima-" "No!" She shrank back, her little low-set ears sinking. "That was what they called you. You don't belong to them now. You can have any name you want." "But I don't have a name," she chirped. Do you know the names of the researchers?" "Rocket," Peter said firmly. "You are not naming her after guys you killed to get her out." "Hey, it worked for me. And I only killed four anyway." "I am Groot." "That guy killed himself," Rocket said, and that brought back bad memories. "How many got out? Test subjects that is." "Thirteen," Gamora said, "But one died from gas exposure. Before you ask, including the one in the operating room there were twenty-six in various stages of Uplift." Rocket swore, but Peter cut him off. "Subject-" and the yellow creature stood bolt upright, "Er, Lima told us what happened. Rocket, I was the one who told you not to shoot people who weren't a threat. It's my fault. And if we'd all gone in the front, which was my plan, they would have gassed them all. Your plan got some of them out and would have got them all out if you hadn't listened to me. So blame me, not yourself." "It's all right," Rocket grunted. "I woulda hesitated anyway. Didn't think a guy would kill himself just to get rid of some Subjects." Lima stood bolt upright at the word. "Why is she doing that, Rock? You don't do that when people say 89P-" Rocket let out an inarticulate growl and Pete stopped. "Oh yeah, you killed all the people who called you that." "Except Doc Foster," but then Lima was gripping his clawed hand again in her webby ones. "Why are you so angry, Rocket," she chirped, and Pete smothered a laugh. "'Cause I was made to be angry. To be a weapon. You don't have to be like me, Lima." "I'm not," she said immediately. "I am for linguistics, and diplomacy, and companionship. I am to be cute." And with her whiskers and ink-dark eyes she certainly was. "No! You don't gotta be what they made you. You can be whatever you want." "I don't know what I want to be," she chirped, and Rocket smiled sadly. "Welcome to the club, lady." One by one the others wished him goodnight and left for their beds, for it was very late indeed. He'd apparently been granted Peter's cabin until he recovered, though he protested that he didn't need anywhere near that much space. "You're in no shape to curl up to sleep," Peter said. "You need a real bed." I've got a real bed, and it's round, Rocket thought but did not say. That brought it to mind when Lima dropped down to all fours and curled up on a wadded-up blanket. "Groot," Rocket mumbled, and then spoke up despite his sore chest. "Groot!" "I am Groot?" Naturally, the tree had been resting right outside the door. He wasn't going anywhere until he was sure Rocket was fully recovered. "Get my bed, please." "I am Groot?" "No, it's not for me. Pete will yell at me if he has to sleep on a bunk and I don't use the bed he's lent me. And yeah, I'm too sore to curl up. But look," Rocket said, and gestured at Lima. "I am Groot." "Thanks, pal." A moment later the tree was back with the round, padded bed, the one embroidered with "Rocket" and the Ravager symbol. Rocket knew perfectly well it was a pet bed Pete picked up on Earth but Pete never lorded that over him (which showed he had an active survival instinct) and the thing was damn comfortable. "Lima." The yellow creature - Rocket was sure there was a species name for her, but he had no idea what it was except that she was clearly designed for an aquatic life - popped her head up out of the nest of blankets. "Use this. It's comfy." She slithered out of the blankets on her short web-footed legs and gave it a sniff. "It smells like you, Rocket." "Yeah, I sleep in it, but you need it more than I do right now." "Are you sure?" "Yeah." Rocket smiled as she curled up in a ball in the padded bed, just as he did. She was long and sinuous compared to his more humanoid build, but she still fit perfectly into the thing. There was a time he and Groot shared the thing every night, but Groot was too big now. That had taken a lot of getting used to. For years he'd slept in leafy beds Groot grew each night, then he and mini-Groot shared various beds, and then ultimately it was just Rocket, and now it was just Lima, or whatever her name would eventually be. "Good night, Lima. Tomorrow we'll talk about your name." And that would have been the end of it, except that later, when the ship lights were turned down to a dim glow, Rocket was woken by a familiar sound. A nervous chattering, whining, and the sound of claws on fabric. Lima was in the midst of a nightmare. He'd heard all these sounds before from himself, and heard them described to him. She twitched in the round bed, and whined, and he had all too good an idea of what she was dreaming about. He'd always been the one to wake screaming, or shivering. Peter had the occasional nightmare, and with good reason, but he was stronger than Rocket. Or maybe his nightmares didn't involve being strapped down and cut open. Rocket didn't know what Pete had nightmares about. Ego? The Ravagers? His mother dying? Yondu? He did know how Pete had helped him with his own night terrors, though. Rocket winced as he sat up, and using the cabin chair as a stepping stool (not something he'd normally need) finally made it to the floor. He was tough, he healed fast, but the nerve gas had really done a number on him. Stapled-up wounds in neck and leg didn't hurt half as much as his chest but he dropped to all fours and padded over to the round bed an its occupant. Peter, much larger than himself, had just petted him or rubbed his back to get him to relax. Lima was as big as he was, though, and the only way he could see to make her feel safe was to crawl into the round bed and snuggle up next to her. She moved in her sleep and soon her whiskery muzzle rested on his shoulder next to his own. Bit by bit she shifted and he moved with her until they were curled up together. If it weren't for their dramatically different fur colors and body shapes it'd be hard to tell where one ended and the other began. By the time they were snuggled up together she had relaxed, the shivering tension gone from her muscles and her breathing slow and relaxed. 'What I should do now is wriggle out of here and bed back on the bed,' Rocket thought. But he was tired, and sore, and there was something about lying here snuggled up with another furry creature. 'Safe,' Rocket thought as he drifted off to sleep. 'I feel safe. I hope she does too.'

#Rocket Raccoon #lylla #Guardians of the Galaxy #Groot #Star-Lord #gamora #mantis #nebula #death

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