red_room | Not Happy, Not Independent, but still a Day to be Remembered

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Not Happy, Not Independent, but still a Day to be Remembered

It's two days before when Natasha finally remembers.

There's fewer channels than there used to be but the world has somehow kept on spinning after Thanos. People need a news source. There's a somber section tacked on at the end of the morning program reminding people to contact their remaining loved ones and be safe this coming Independence Day and that's it. The next thing Natasha knows she's shattering a perfectly good souvenir coffee mug Tony stocked this place up with and swearing up a storm because it's about to be the Fourth of July.

Now, Steve's never been big on birthday celebrations. Tony threw huge parties for him the first couple of years after they all came together on Independence Day half as a joke and half because no one actually knew when his real birthday was. It was Clint who finally got it out of him that, yes, all joking and propaganda aside this was his actual birthday. The jokes were twice as bad that year. Lately though things have been a lot quieter. The team started to fall apart. Steve and Tony never did see eye to eye.

And now...?

If Natasha doesn't do something for Steve there's a good chance no one will. Oh sure, people might make some blog posts or tag an abandoned building in Captain America's honor. It's touching. Sweet. But they're not friends nor are those wishes for Steve Rogers as a person. The man himself certainly isn't going to do it. If he remembers his birthday at all it'll be to sit in his room listening to old records sipping alcohol that won't affect him while he remembers people who are dead. Birthdays should be for the living.

It's about time Steve remembers he's got people here.

The spy scoops up her phone, fingers tapping impatiently at the lock screen so she can make a call.

"Rocket. Tell me you're in this sector. We've got work to do."

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Keeping busy has been good for Rocket, all things considered. The harder he works, the less he has to think about stuff he'd rather not, and if there's a bright side to this shit it's that there's never a lack of something to do. Even if it's just something as simple as supply runs, or just giving his fellow Avengers a lift someplace.

The Benatar is his now, but it's too big for just one person. The Avengers compound ain't exactly home yet either, but at least there's people there, people he's slowly coming to care about, who're tryin' their best to keep shit together and help folks. So even if a whole universe needs help, he keeps coming back to Terra.

Like now.

His ears perk up as the sound of Natasha's ringtone cuts through his music, and he hits the button to cut the tunes and pick up the call. If the boss is calling, it's either really good news, or really bad news. "Yeah, just on my way back in. What's up?"

"Glad to hear it. No one else is around and I could use a hand."

She's stooped down to sweep up the shards of broken mug up while she's talking. If Natasha doesn't get to it now she'll forget and then someone's going to be bleeding and it will probably be her. Out of everyone Natasha's the one most often stuck at the complex running logistics, keeping tabs with other world leaders, and more or less making sure this whole thing keeps running for another day.

"It's nothing life threatening, I should warn you. I just remembered I had something to do this week and..." The former spy heaves a heavy sigh. "I need your help setting something up for Steve."

She half expects to be told to fuck off, and really, she wouldn't blame Rocket much if he did. They've got real work weighing them down. There's always crime to stop or logistical crises to address. Dignitaries to see and people in need of just about everything. One man's birthday weighed against all of that is a stupid damn trifle.

Except these days happiness is so hard to come by every little bit of it is precious.

"His birthday's coming up. Figure I'll throw together a real meal for everyone I can get together. Or at least find someone who can cook." Natasha can do a lot of things. She's passable in the kitchen but she's no chef. There's a lot of peanut butter sandwiches had in this complex. No one's there to tell her not to.

Nothing life-threatening, okay. Rocket relaxes just a smidge when she confirms that, not that she'd sounded frantic or anything. Fully expecting to hear that there's some last-minute courier thing she needs him for, he's not expecting the curveball she throws at him shortly thereafter.

"Wait. This is about a birthday?" It's on the tip of his tongue to say something cutting about this, taking their time out from the endless work that Thanos stuck them all with, but he closes his mouth before any of it comes out.

Yeah, it's frivolous and Rocket kinda doubts that Steve would be wanting a shindig if they didn't bring it up first. Maybe even if they do. But fuck it. They've all been working for weeks now, and there's only so much despair and heartbreak they can all collectively take at once. A little breather won't hurt. Especially when they've had so damn little to celebrate lately.

"You know, that ain't a bad idea. Where d'you need me?"

"I'll be getting drinks, too."

A little bribery never hurt anyone and to be honest Natasha could really go for something stiffer than normal and a night off too. rocket's got sharp enough hearing to make note of the tiny sigh of relief she gives when he doesn't lay into her for suggesting it in the first place. Listening to people bitch all day is her job and she signed up for it but it does get old after a while.

It's not the kind of attitude she would have tolerated before. She's been trying to be Better, though. Too late, maybe. But they're holding together so far.

"Thanks. With me would be best. I can drive us down to the city and get some shopping done after I clean this place up. See how many people we can get in touch with. ...Maybe find him something small for a gift if we get real lucky."

"Yeah, I'd sure hope so." There's no real bite to how he says it, though. She sounds tired as hell and honestly, Rocket gets it. She's got a lot on her plate already and getting snippy isn't going to help any.

He glances over at the nav screen, poking it until it gives up the information he wants. "I got about fifteen minutes before I'm settin' down on the lawn." By now, the Benatar's landing struts have begun to wear divots into the once-pristine landscaping outside the Avengers complex, and everyone knows well enough to keep everything and everybody clear without proper markings. So once he arrives, Rocket only gives the landing zone a cursory scan before settling the ship down like a bird coming home to roost.

It's impossible to miss the space ship landing in one's effective driveway. The sound of Rocket's ship landing makes her look up from where she's stooped over a dustbin. The movement out the window all the more reason to finish up her current task so she can pull the door open for Rocket when he comes in.

"Good to see you, Rocket." Welcoming a raccoon into her effective home. Not something Natasha ever thought she'd be getting more or less used to as the months creep by. But Rocket isn't so bad. He's been a huge help and the former spy is glad by now to have him around.

"I'm just finishing cleaning up. Have you been in touch with anyone else recently? Any idea of who's available to call back or get?" The only downside of being in charge is sometimes people don't want to go to You first if something comes up. It never hurts to check in with another set of ears now and again. Just to be sure.

It's a little disturbing how quickly this place is seeming like home to Rocket, or at the very least, a familiar bolthole. But he's not exactly complaining. Comfort's hard to come by these days, and he'll take what he can get.

"Thanks, you too." Normally after a mission he'd make himself at home, find some low-effort snack, and take a load off his feet. But there's work to do, frivolous or not, and he sweeps a casual eye over the room to see how far Natasha's already gotten in her cleaning. "Should be able to get Nebula in on it, though I dunno if she really gets the whole birthday thing. Gamora didn't, at first." His ears lay back against his head, but he keeps going as if his thoughts weren't obvious. "Haven't heard from Rhodes since the last check-in, but Okoye didn't sound like she had anything important goin' on."

"If Nebula's coming I'll need to make sure to pick up some pears. She likes those, right?" Nebula's not very vocal about liking or disliking much of anything but from what she's gleaned off of Rocket and Tony she's a woman who's had a hell of a life. One Natasha sympathizes with, even if her own childhood traumas were nothing by comparison. She does her best to treat the synthezoid woman right.

Rocket's sensitive nose will pick up traces of dust in the air. Natasha's finished with the floors and has moved on to airing out the main room and wiping it down. Without People (or even AIs) on staff to see to this sort of thing the place had to be let go. Natasha's too damn busy to clean the place constantly as well as run it.

"Rhodes is actually on his way back in from the Capital. I'm going to have him check in with Steve and make sure he's actually Around. It's going to be awkward if we have to hunt him down for this." And the spy hadn't even thought to call Okoye. She might find it frivolous or a waste of time but she is a friend and asking her might still mean something.

Though with That in mind...

"We should call in and see if Thor will come, too."

Though Rocket hadn't really gotten a chance to know Nebula very well before the Avengers - besides the part where she'd tried to kill them all multiple times - things have been... different, since the day she arrived on Earth. Not like they're best friends; Rocket doesn't even know if Nebula knows how to have friends, but she's trying, awkward and stilted and sometimes utterly confusing for both parties. She's the closest thing to his family he has left, and vice versa, and that means something in the world they live in now. "Yeah, pears. Grapes too, the red ones."

It's really no surprise that the facility's gone to dust in the weeks since the devastation. This place looks fit to host a hundred, and from what he's heard, it used to. Not just the Avengers, but their support crews, medics and engineers and the like. But now it's damn near empty, just the Boss and folks like Rocket who're still trying to make a difference, somehow. It hasn't been worth it to keep up appearances, and it's an unfortunate blessing that they don't have to clean up the whole place for one party, just the rooms they intend to use. Maybe with everybody here at the same time, for once, it won't feel like so much of a ghost town.

While he listens, Rocket seeks out a spray bottle and rag to do the lower parts of the glass windows and walls. He's not very good at sitting around doing nothing, these days, his hands constantly itching for work. Natasha's comment about Steve makes him give a little snort of laughter. "Yeah, that'd be something, wouldn't it? Birthday party without the birthday boy." It's not really that funny, though, and he quickly lapses into silence.

Rocket pauses, the squeaking of his rag against the glass halting as he considers the state of things over in Thor's little village. Or rather, the state of the big guy himself. He may not have known the Asgardian for as long as the others, but even Rocket can tell that he's been taking it pretty hard, from what he's seen on the handful of visits he's made to Asvera. "Well, it ain't like his people can't get along without him around for a day. You, uh, planning on having any booze at this shindig?" he asks, as delicately as he knows how.

"Grapes. Red ones."

A memory as sharp and eager to ferret away details as Natasha's is won't have much trouble keeping hold of a grocery list internally. Fresh fruit has spiked in price with half the world gone to grow and harvest it (though not terribly as half the world is also gone to consume it) but to hell with cost for this. It's a party. Well, insofar as any of them can really call it that anymore.

Bruce hasn't been in touch for months and he's not a face Natasha's eager to seek out so it's easy to tell herself that if Anyone has his number they'll poke him. She'd put up with the awkwardness to welcome back a friend but she's not about to seek it out. Tony's out though Natasha will at least let him know what they're planning. He too, is a friend in all of this. One she's tried as best as she can to keep in the loop even if he's all but shut most of them out. Rhodes gives her updates and it's had to be good enough. He's going to be a father one of these days. Maybe that will be enough love and happiness to mend old wounds. A thought like that used to ache for all the things Natasha could never have but not being able to have a family of her own means she's had nothing to lose but her surrogate one. Barton and his family are dust. So is half of their team. That hurts more than enough.

Trying to imagine losing more is too much.

"You don't have to worry about that. No one but you will see it." It's a small effort at a joke but Natasha has noticed Rocket's abrasive sense of humor. It goes well with her own morbid sarcasm that she so rarely has the heart to invoke anymore. The corner of her mouth quirks at the edge. "We've got fruit to get and the weather's been decent. Might as well drag out a grill and make things easy. What do you want for meat? Gonna have to buy a dessert though. I don't know how to bake anything that won't kill a man in ten seconds."

Said with as straight of a face as Natasha can make. Which is a very serious one indeed. One that softens at Rocket's segue. "....Was thinking of getting a couple of cases of beer, even though Steve can't get drunk. Should I not?"

Edited 2019-07-21 13:05 (UTC)

"And if I gotta look at it, I wanna be able to see this handsome face of mine in it," Rocket shoots back at her without a moment's hesitation, a smirk of his own pulling at the corner of his muzzle. This give-and-take is comfortable, familiar, and as time passes he's slowly starting to stop expecting to hear different voices snarking back at him. Maybe sometimes it hurts a little less, too.

Maybe Thor's got the time and the lifespan to mourn as deeply as his people deserve, but Rocket doesn't. And whether he's really moving on or just distracting himself with work, well, that's up for debate. But it's all he knows how to do, finding comfortable patterns and habits, even if it's with someone else.

Well aware that he's had very little of what foodstuffs this planet used to offer, Rocket's still had enough of a sampling to have options to think over. "What's that one bird... chicken? If they ain't got 'em local, I can make a run." It seems a frivolous use of the Benatar to hop across the country for groceries, but like the Boss says, this is for a party. Just once won't hurt, and they've had so damn little to celebrate that it seems worth it. Dessert, too, and her little joke gets another snicker out of him. "Yeah, me neither."

The subject of drinks is less funny, though, and Rocket makes a thoughtful sound in his throat as he thinks about it. "Dunno. Might help convince the big guy to come, but on the other hand, he might drink all of it." Granted, Rocket is pretty sure that normal-people-booze isn't near strong enough to make a dent in Asgardian sobriety, but from what he's seen of Thor's habits, he's not so sure that'll stop the guy from trying anyway. "Probably better to have plenty of somethin' else too, so we don't run dry."

"Chicken's still easy enough to come by. We can get plenty of that."

If Natasha stops and lets her mind drift she can hear Barton having Big Opinions on grilling. Both how to do it and what to make. It makes her fingers clutch a little bit harder to the dust cloth to will them not to shake. His whole family is gone. Wiped out like they never existed at all. She hurts down to her bones when she thinks about them.

Though how much they have to buy does matter an awful lot on whether or not the Asgardian is going to be coming over. Which means Natasha should stop and go call him.

"I might as well get this over with. No sense in making a list until we know who we're shopping for. I won't take long, then we can head out."

The former spy heads back into her war room. Lets her fingers drag across the holographic displays gently before she brings up one of the screens and makes a call out to a small village in Norway...

If Rocket notices her white-knuckle grip on the cloth, he's diplomatic enough not to say so. Everybody's got dead people, and everyday things that remind you of what you've lost that you can't prepare yourself for because it's everywhere and everything. And makin' people talk about it when they aren't ready is a recipe for disaster. So he keeps his mouth shut, and keeps rubbing at the streaks on the glass until they're gone.

On the other side of the planet, where the summer sun never sets, Thor is jolted out of a mildly hungover doze by an electronic chime that takes him several long moments to recognize. He drags himself to a sitting position, running his hand through hair that's now long enough to get unruly, and fumbles for the device to answer it before he can think better of it. "Hello?" he mumbles, and presses the heel of his metal palm into his eye to ease the ache that's taken up residence there.

There's a stack of papers untouched on Natasha's desk that she'll have to deal with sooner rather than later. Reports, mostly. Infrastructure failings, disasters both natural and man-made, crime groups that have sprung up to take advantage of the state of affairs in a world post The Snap. Natasha doesn't even look at the yet.

Just this once, for the first time since they came back from their ultimate failure, Natasha is trying to do something for herself and her friends. The rest of the world can wait just a little bit.

"I didn't expect you to answer." There's hints of a smile in Natasha's voice. There's no reason to hide it, nor the actual one tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"It's been a while, but Rocket said you might be around. You got a minute, big guy?"

The sound of her voice is like a bucket of ice water over Thor's head, snapping him alert and near-sober as his heart leaps in his chest. He knows from Rabbit and Steven's visits that Natasha has taken over what remains of the Avengers, and it is her responsibility to deploy them as needed. For her to be calling him now...

A thousand possibilities go through him in a flash, and none of them good. Whatever emergency is brewing, whatever crisis has arisen that would lead her to call him in... Thor would have sprung at the chance for battle, in better years, but now his bloodlust has burned out so thoroughly that he would rather do almost anything else.

He's silent for a long moment before he discovers where his tongue has gone, and forces himself to respond, hoping he does not sound as reluctant as he feels. Natasha is his friend, his shield-sister, and he does not want to hurt her further. "I've... been busy," he says hesitantly, a blatant lie that she will no doubt notice, but he can think of no better excuse. "But there's... nothing pressing right now. Is there a problem?" Oh, how dearly he hopes the answer is no.

The picture that's been painted of Thor by both Rocket and Steve is less than encouraging. It doesn't take an experienced former KGB and SHIELD operative to catch on why Thor would lie to her about what he's been doing. She saw him refuse to leave his room when he was still staying at the complex. How even when he did he'd rather to anything than interact with the rest of them more than necessary.

Natasha doesn't call him out. It's not worth it to say something they're both well aware of and it would only cast more depression and shame onto Thor. No, this is supposed to be a pleasant affair.

"I can imagine. Leading people is way more of a headache than I thought it would be." Natasha isn't used to being in charge either. It's never been her place before now. "No. No problem. I remembered in time. I'm arranging a dinner for Steve on Friday. There's been damn little to be happy about lately. I want to do something for him. Hence my call."

Natasha gives it a moment for her words to sink in. She gives a long look around her office before she remembers the role she's supposed to be playing now. Her tone softens.

"You're still one of us. Can't even start planning a gathering without calling you."

"A dinner?" It's so far off-base from what Thor had expected that he truly needs that moment to process that he's not being called to battle. A dinner, for Steve? But why? Wait, what month is it? Thor had never made a particular habit of tracking the Midgardian calendar before, but he's spent enough time on Earth to mark special occasions with his human teammates in the past. Holidays, anniversaries... birthdays. Is it Steve's already?

Still, a social gathering is far less daunting than combat, and Thor forces himself to relax his grip on the device, his heart gradually slowing from its breakneck pace as he breathes. "That's... that's good of you," he says, once he realizes she's waiting for him to respond. "For morale, I mean. And... that sort of thing." Focus. Come on. Thor kneads at his forehead, willing the last of his headache to subside.

Thor is far too young to be feeling so old, and yet as he thinks about his human friends and how frequently they mark the days of their birth, he's struck anew at just how brief their lives really are. Even Steven, who is perhaps the oldest human that Thor has met, is still younger than some of the children in Asvera. Time marches on, whether Thor acknowledges it or not. How many more birthdays will his friends have, before there are no more? He dreads that day, and yet refusing to acknowledge the inevitability will not change it either.

He clears his throat, hoping his voice does not betray where his thoughts have gone. "I'm... honored. That you thought of me. Do you... need help? With the planning." He does not know how much use he would be at such a thing, especially now, but it seems like something the old Thor might have said, and so it comes out of him without much conscious thought.

"You don't need to be so formal. It's just a birthday dinner." And yet it means a lot to Natasha that Thor's treating it with so much import. It's quietly something she's glad of, that he still cares for the tiny, petty mortals he once called his comrades in arms.

"It doesn't seem right with your people still settling in to ask you to bring anything. I just wanted to know if you'd come. I can handle the cleaning and preparations. Rocket's here helping."

Once, Thor might have argued that formality is a necessity when it comes to parties, used to centuries of royal functions where he'd been expected to fraternize with dignitaries and the like. There had been shades of that still when they'd celebrated in Stark's tower over two years past, presenting a good impression for the guests who had attended. But he knows, even without Natasha saying so, that this will be no open event to the public. Steven would not want it to be, and neither would anyone else. There will be no one to impress. No need to act as though everything is normal when it isn't, or to dress in uncomfortable clothes for the sake of appearances.

Still, he hesitates to answer her, little irrational insecurities nibbling away at him. Steve has made it clear he doesn't blame Thor, but will the others? He hasn't seen most of them since the Garden, and though he's also been told there is still a room for him at the complex, maybe that's because they don't expect him to use it. And while he has slowly becoming accustomed to recognizing signs of a panic attack, he's loathe to risk having one in front of them. Or letting them see how little he's taken to caring for himself.

Yet at the same time, he dearly misses them all. The Avengers may be the closest friends he has left, mortal or not. And life is a fragile, precious thing that may be lost at any moment, even for Asgardians. He knows that all too well, now. Should he turn down this chance to see them again, knowing that it could very well be the last, for all he knows?

Natasha asks nothing of him besides showing up, and though it seems like a breach of two worlds' etiquette to show up with neither gift nor favor, the relief of not having that obligation outweighs the shame of agreeing to it. "Friday, you said?" he says at last, after a lengthy pause. "I... my schedule's open. If you want me there." It seems a coward's move to give her room to back out of the offer, but he's compelled to do it anyway, for reasons that even he doesn't fully understand.

"Yeah. At the complex. We're going to grill. I don't expect there to be many people considering everything, but that means it'll be quieter too."

They'll need to plan bigger for food and drink with Thor attending, but honestly Natasha's relieved that he's agreeing in the first place. She hasn't seen him since he left the complex. "I'll see you then. Thank you."

It's not a question. Best to not leave Thor a reason to think getting out of bed is too much trouble day of. He's always been of a mind to keep his word once he's given it. Call ended, Natasha heads back out to check and see how Rocket's getting on.

"Thor's coming, so we'll plan accordingly. Chicken's not going to be enough. Might have to splurge and get some beef too. That might take some work. There's not going to be much if any available around here."

It's smart of her to not give Thor any wiggle room to change his mind. Despite how hard he's come down on himself for everything - or perhaps because of it - the last thing he wants to do is disappoint the people he cares about, if he can help it. Even if he does end up stressing himself out about it between now and the birthday dinner, knowing that they'll be waiting for him will be motivation to at least put in an appearance, no matter how long he ends up staying.

"See you," he echoes faintly, before the call ends.

Rocket, meanwhile, has been making excellent progress on the windows as high up as he can reach, having stolen a chair to help out with that a bit more. He's making a face at the sharp smell of cleaning chemicals, of course, but that doesn't stop him from brightening up the place. He glances over his shoulder as Natasha returns, trying to pretend like he wasn't listening in the whole time.

"Too bad we can't just buy a whole cow or somethin', huh?" The raccoon shakes his head, looking unsurprised at the increased need for food. He's heard rumors about how much grub Asgardians can put away in a single sitting, and if Thor's theft of the Benatar's entire supply of soup was any hint, there's truth to that. "Still's probably gonna be easier to find than hotdogs. I can check around, see what I can find." Granted, it hasn't always been the easiest thing to get Terrans to take him seriously when he's ventured out on his own, but that's nothing new to Rocket.

"Whole cow would probably be easier to find if I'm honest, but I'm not butchering anything just for a dinner. Friends or not."

With Natasha it's not even really a refusal out of discomfort so much a it is time, effort, and inexperience with the task being discussed. The effort it would take to get the necessary tools alone just makes her shake her head. Beef's easier to come by in places where ranches are still everywhere but in urban areas and especially up East like they are prices have skyrocketed due to a lack of supply. People adapt of course. In time, someone might set up shop up here to fill the market need.

For now they all just make do.

"Might as well go with since we need to track down a place to get everything else too. I can call Pepper and ask if any of her catering contacts survived if we have to, but I'd like to think an intergalactic bounty hunter and a spy can do some basic grocery shopping unsupervised." Natasha grabs her jacket off of where it's been hanging on the back of a chair and tugs it on.

"Me neither." Though in Rocket's case it's more a matter of size and effort. Not to mention it's way easier to find somebody willing to get paid for doing the work for you. What good's having money if you never spend it? Sure, you get un-rich real fast, but if you don't spend it you're not changing anything anyway.

He gives the window one last scrub before hopping down from the chair, tossing the rag and spray bottle to join the rest of the cleaning supplies. They can finish tidying up later, once the more important stuff is secured. "Hell yeah we can."

With the Benatar at their disposal, it's no effort at all to cross the country in a matter of minutes, seeking out the rural places that still look occupied, commercial farms and family-owned alike. Asking around will take longer, of course, with the need to land and find somebody to actually talk to, and Rocket gets more than one person staring at him along the way like he’s some kind of freak. But eventually, they do find a little place in rural Kansas with beef to spare, food that had probably been intended for the farmhands that seem conspicuously absent in a farm this size.

Natasha's not all that dissimilar to Gamora in some ways. She can be downright taciturn and serious much of the time, saying nothing for hours on end rather than wasting her words on idle chatter. Outside of a mission, however, she's much more personable. They spend much of the actual flying trading playful barbs though once or twice Rocket will catch the spy nearly nodding off into her hand propped up on the armrest.

She's been working herself down to her bones and it shows in times like this where a lack of activity leaves her struggling to stay awake. She's all business every time they depart the Benitar. Doesn't take being turned away badly either. They knew it was going to be a bit of a struggle when they set out. For things that aren't processed and locally made, it's not as simple as just going to a grocery store anymore.

Back they go onto the ship and back to quips Natasha goes. They can settle into a routine that way. An easy one. But when they speak to the family working the farm out in Kansas Natasha makes certain her manners are with her when they agree to sell them a good quarter of one of the beasts and for a pretty reasonable price, too. The meat won't last forever even in a freezer sealed properly and there's really not enough people here to go through their stores of fresh food before it's wasted.

"We really appreciate it." The spy is all demure smiles though it's not exactly insincere with how friendly the farmers are. They may have to insist they're not aliens (Avengers, so close enough right?) but at the end of it all they can walk away with a cooler full of meat and let the farmers take the cash for much more needed supplies. Natasha even walked away with a 'foolproof' poundcake recipe and the know how to make a simple fruit compote to put on it when she admitted she wasn't much of a homemaker but was trying to arrange a dinner for a good friend.

She's still not so sure she wants to try her hand at baking herself, but it might come to that depending on what they can find.

"So, what's a crew of part time do-gooders and part time baddies do for fun in between planets? I can't imagine living on a ship all the time. Then again, I hardly leave my office back at the complex. I guess it's probably not too different, huh...?" There's a growing corner on the Benitar full of food they've picked up throughout the course of the day. Natasha's turning away from the windows to shoot a glance Rocket's way.

Natasha wouldn't be the first to nod off while Rocket's flying, especially when the current track is something easy to sleep to. He doesn't take it personally, just gives the ship an extra little jostle whenever he sets down and she's busy inspecting the back of her eyelids at the time. Enough to get her up and alert without makin' her feel bad for catnapping.

It's nicer when she's awake though. Rocket doesn't like the quiet, and sometimes the music just ain't enough to make up the difference.

It might be tedious work, finding little bits here and there to add to the pile of groceries, but it passes all the quicker with someone to snark back at. It's a reminder of happier times gone by, and it hurts like hell sometimes, but it's still comfortable and familiar and makes him like her all the more.

He glances over her way while he lays in their next vector, raising his furry eyebrows. "Eh, sometimes kinda. Whole lotta nothin' in between planets to get through and you can't really step out for a breather. There's only so many card games you can play in a row before you go bonkers though. Quill and I had a prank war goin' on for like a year, until Gamora got her hair set on fire on accident. Didn't let us play stabby-hands anymore once she found out that was goin' on, either." He mimes stabbing at the spaces between his fingers, in case that didn't translate.

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