I can't sleep alone because there's something in here

[ceptme]

Afterwards, that short span of time he spends back on Earth with Peter doesn't feel real.

They carve out a solid couple of days for themselves where they don't do a whole lot of anything that'd oblige them to put real clothes on, or stumble any further than the galley. It's a warm and hazy space, a world removed from anything that came before or after. It's tempting to curl a little closer into that warmth, to pretend that as long as they're here together like this, nothing else could possibly touch them.

But the fact is he's gone and got himself some fucking responsibilities these days. He can't hide from them here forever, no matter how badly part of him kind of wants to try. They've already stuck around probably longer than they should have; there's going to be a dozen different flavors of crisis waiting for them back on Knowhere, and that's if everything's gone well. They say their goodbyes and get ready to head out, and as they prep for departure, there's a certain edge to the silence in the cockpit.

"Shut up," Rocket says eventually.

"I didn't say anything," Nebula replies.

He shoots her an unimpressed sideways glance, which she meets with absolute impassivity. She doesn't need to say a damn word. The whole crew are family, but after everything, no-one else knows him like she does. Five years living in each others' pockets, no-one to lean on but each other, and he can hear her fucking thinking it. After a long moment she snorts, shakes her head, and returns her attention to the pre-flight checks.

"I hope you know what you're doing," she says, quieter, her gaze firmly focused on the console in front of her.

Rocket sighs and gives a shadow of a grin, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back against the headrest of the copilot's seat. "I know you know I don't."

That is, mercifully, the closest he comes to needing to have any kind of heart-to-heart about the whole thing. By the time they make it back to Knowhere, enough time has passed that the bites and bruises have faded, and the whole thing is starting to feel kind of like a dream. There's not exactly time to think about it either, not when the aforementioned crises are ambushing them the second they walk out of the fucking airlock. There's always a million things to do, both right here on Knowhere and further afield, and as the sucker nominally in charge every last bit of it's his problem. Never mind dwelling on anything, it's enough of a challenge finding time to sleep.

But...there are quieter moments, here and there. Lying in bed with the lights outside dimmed for the station's night cycle, too bone tired to do anything more than stare at the ceiling but still buzzing with too many thoughts to sleep; those are the moments he finds himself thinking, idle and pointless, about a world where maybe there isn't nothing but a cold expanse of empty sheets on the other side of the bed. It's not regret, nor is it hope, really. It's just...a daydream, maybe, about a world where things went down a little different.

He picks up his comm, looking at the conversation sitting on the screen tempting as a big red button. He doesn't type I can't fucking believe you made me do this without you, much as the thought crosses his mind about a dozen times a day even now. He doesn't type I miss you either, although it's fucking true.

What he does do, in the end, is flick on a lamp to cast some low, warm light across the room, and open the camera. The shot he takes is bordering on tasteful, largely by dint of being intended to tease; it's mostly bare torso, cutting off below the hipbones just as happy trail starts to thicken into denser hair, although the positioning of his free hand where it disappears out of frame is distinctly suggestive. He smirks at the lens as he snaps the shot, and sends it off before he has time to second-guess himself.

>> thinkin of you

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[spacedisaster]

Peter is used to loneliness. It was inevitable, growing up the way he did. Not the friendliest of people, the Ravagers, and being one of the few (possibly only) humans out there in the galaxy only made the feeling of alienation worse. It wasn't until he met the Guardians that he really understood what camaraderie and belonging meant.

They had some good years, some real shitty ones, and now... now things have changed again, but for the worse. They're just different; Peter was different, and he had to get his head out of his ass, follow Mantis's advice, and try to reconnect with what was left of his roots. So he did.

That doesn't mean he doesn't mind his other family any less. Knowing they're all right, that Rocket is there to guide them helps. Pestering them in the intercoms now and then also makes things more bearable. And Peter has things to do too, helping around when he can, doing odd jobs, gossiping with his grandad... It's good, great even. But the fact that there's still something missing remains.

He doesn't fully understand the extent of it until Rocket visits; they have some of the greatest nights—and mornings, and days...— of Peter life, and then he has to go back to Knowhere and galaxy-saving business. Peter doesn't blame him; he knows firsthand that leaving Kraglin, Groot and possibly Adam alone for more than a couple of days is tempting fate. Hell, they might even manage to accidentally get married to each other if left unsupervised long enough.

So Peter doesn't blame him.

And it's not as if he's thinking about Rocket that often.

Just sometimes, during the cold, long nights. Also, when he showers, because they did some really interesting things in one that one time, and he's sentimental. But mostly he misses him in those moments when he thinks of something silly or irritating that would no doubt have gotten a reaction from the other man (or some sort of tool thrown at his head), and Peter turns, opens his mouth...and Rocket's not there.

It's nothing, really. He's fine; they're all fine. Peter's hands sometimes itch with the desperate want to grab his comm and send Rocket a message to ask how many times he's listened to 'Come and Get your Love' by now, but he resists. Rocket has a job to do, a galaxy to look after, and he probably will call Peter out on being a needy terran. If Jason notices him moping, at least his grandad has the grace to not call Peter out on it.

Peter still keeps his comm link on his person or on his bedside table when he's in his room, just in case there's an emergency that calls for his attention. It's why, when it blinks and makes a small familiar beep, he picks it up with reflexes that would put Nebula to shame. Meaning, even she would feel second hand embarrassment at the fact Peter dropped it twice in his attempt to see who's calling for him. He almost drops it a third time when he reads the message and sees the attached photo.

Oh.

Ohhhh. It's probably good that he's got his own apartment now, and no one can see the stupid, pleased smile on his face. He takes a few seconds to admire the picture and the implications of it before answering. He doesn't say, 'I think of you more often than it's wise', but he sure thinks about it.

Who knew you were such a good photographer? That light looks good on you.

Peter looks around his room, trying to locate the candy he always keeps around, having a sweet tooth has always been one of his vices that Groot also inherited, and lets out a small 'bingo!' when he finally finds what he's looking for.

You know what else looks good on you? Me.

He texts next, figuring that Rocket would either find that corny or suggestive, and both options have the potential to make him groan, so that's still a win.

I was going to take a shower, but I could make some time for you while I finish this.

Peter doesn't second guess what he's doing, snapping a picture and sending it to Rocket. He's resting his back on the headboard and still with a shirt on, but it's tight enough that it might as well be painted on him. And he's also got a red lollipop pressed over his bottom lip, staining it red.