Complex Cosmonautics (I)

"-. 7 March, 1989 .-"

The Ravager attack wasn't the first exciting thing that happened that cycle. In fact, it was the last. Or next to last, if you counted the first minute or so of the hullabaloo that immediately followed being tossed through a space-time portal by his Imperial Condescension. Or, as was an infinitely more apt term in Rocket's opinion, the Royal Asshole.

No, the first exciting thing that happened – for a given value of exciting – was walking in on the guy being all lovey-dovey with Quill's mom in the living bay. The attack of the ewws Rocket experienced was only outdone by the speed with which he jumped between them and shoved his freshly assembled laser cannon in the guy's face. The outraged, disgusted, nearly frenzied diatribe he then had over comms with Star-Lord himself was the second exciting thing that occurred. For an even lesser value of exciting. It concluded with Quill the Elder and the woman laughing at him. As if it was HIS fault she'd led with 'I'm Peter's mother' and never clarified that she was referring to herself that way on account of all the past lives where that was true. How the hell was he supposed to know she was actually his grandmother in this timeline? She even looked young enough to be the Royal Asshole's daughter!

The amused looks he received on and off from all three of them over the next few hours – seriously, they could shove them!

"I am Groot!"

"Honest mistake my ass!"

"I am Groot!"

"Oh, you're referring to me now?"

"I am Groot!"

"Say that again and I'm grafting you with shit-shrooms all over."

"I am Groot!"

"Don't tempt me."

Groot proceeded to ignore him in favour of kneading his branches and vines through the jump drive. Even though he trusted Quill well enough, Rocket was never fully at ease on a spaceship until he got independent confirmation that there wasn't any impending malfunction of doom to be concerned about. And by independent confirmation, he of course meant confirmation by the creature with the best grasp of quasi-dimensional super-positional engineering within a thousand lightyears.

He hadn't joined up with Groot just because he needed a backup brute. Unfortunately, it was for the same reason that he could never afford to follow through on his body horror threats.

Truly, the universe was an unfair place.

It was after Groot's field-test was complete – which coincided with the trip to whatever destination Quill had chosen in the middle of nospace – that Rocket was given enough reason to emerge from engineering. Which was to say, he was left without a ready excuse against going to the cockpit where he'd have to share breathing space with the Royal Asshole.

"Destination inbound. ETA 5 minutes," Quill Elder said over the intercom.

Rocket couldn't wait until it was just the Guardians of the Galaxy on the ship again. Hopefully soon.

It was gonna happen, right?

When he and Groot reached the cockpit slash bridge of the still unnamed M-ship, it was to find Quill Elder at the helm while Quill was seemingly asleep in the copilot's seat. 'Seemingly' because his colours looked a lot drabber than they usually did, even when he was really sleeping. "What's up with him?"

"Astral projection," Jason Quill said lowly, adjusting the ship's course randomly. Or that's what it looked like. "He'll be back soon."

Right. Because that was another thing Quill could do now. Apparently.

Rocket decided to remember how Star-Lord looked like in this state for future reference, but didn't push that particular matter. "I see we've gone from the middle of nowhere to, oh look, the other middle of nowhere! Think you might find it in your poor, elitist heart to share the present itinerary with us plebes, your highnessness?"

"We are following the trail of the Phoenix Force," Quill Elder said, no return mockery of any sort in his words. He was entirely focused on the minute course adjustments he was doing for whatever reason. "Or, rather, certain after-effects of its passing."

At least he was being professional, but what the hell? "The Phoenix? What've ya been sniffing, wanting to tangle with that thing?"

Jason Quill ignored him. It made Rocket bristle, but he forced himself not to lash out for Quill's sake if nothing else. Quill Elder at least had a pattern in his non-responses. Usually, silence meant he thought the question had already been answered. Rocket Racoon fingered his pistol but walked over to look Peter over instead. "What after-effects and why do we care?"

"Cosmic rays similar to the ones that gave sapience to the robots on your home planet," a twitch of the control stick. "And you should care because my son is too ambitious for his own good."

Ambitious? Quill? Then again, you don't appoint yourself the protector of the universe without having a serious dose of it, especially when you don't have any superpowers. "Wait, you're telling me the robots back home got all self-aware because of that damn bird?"

"Supernovas do not grant sapience on their own."

Rocket bit his tongue before he said something particularly snide.

"I am Groot!"

"Yes, that is also a concern. But the Shi'Ar have gotten quite efficient in tracking the Phoenix even outside their controlled space. Their patrols and researchers would long have passed this way, I expect. It would have happened a year ago at the latest. There is minimal risk from that corner."

The Royal Asshole could understand Groot now too? What, was everyone telepathic all of a sudden?

Rocket decided not to ask.

Things were quiet for a while after that. Enough for Groot to settle behind Quill's chair and for Meredith Quill the older to show up as well. The woman went to put a hand on her husband's shoulder and, when she got her answering smile, she went and fixed Peter's hair, then retreated to a chair of her own nearer the back.

It was all disgustingly domestic. Rocket didn't like it. It felt way too out of place.

Suddenly, a ghost-like veil overlapped the deck – and possibly the whole ship – before it contracted into Star-Lord's body. Rocket jumped back with a snarl and had his gun half-way out of its holster when Quill's colours lit back to their bright, healthy intensity. He forced himself to calm down and approach cautiously, Jason Quill's intrigued gaze burning a hole in the back of his head. "Quill? Yo Star-Lord, you there?"

"I am," Quill said, blinking awake and scowling at his old man. "And I am not too ambitious for my own good."

"Say that again once that Spider starts demanding things from you," Jason Quill replied while Rocket backed off. "Bad enough you had to make promises before you even came into your own, now you keep 'collaborating' with him. It'll end in tears, mark my words."

"I know what I'm doing." Peter scoffed, flipping a switch. The projector film slid down over the front-most window.

"So does he, and he's vastly more intelligent and informed than you."

"He's also a good guy."

"Who operates on a scale vastly greater than yours, boy."

Peter scowled at his father, which Rocket was glad to see. If Quill had become someone who let anyone walk all over him, the Guardians of the Galaxy would die in the cradle.

"What I think your father is saying, Peter, is that this Weaver entity probably isn't asking for anything only because he's already getting it," Meredith Quill interjected.

"Brainstorming for me and delegation for him," Peter shrugged, turning some dials and tapping some buttons. "We're helping each other."

"He's cultivating you," Jason Quill said sharply. "Good or bad, he's cultivating you for something. But oh, what's even the use? Racoon!" Rocket jumped. "Maybe you can talk some sense into him."

"Oh no, I don't think so," Rocket scoffed. "First off, I have no idea what you guys are talking about." Even if he could guess damn well. "Dirty laundry' had a very distinctive smell. "And second, if you think I'll take your side over Star-Lord's in anything, you're tripping balls."

"Ha!" Quill Elder barked, inordinately amused at something Rocket said. Grimly so. "That's me told."

"Now that that's settled," Rocket said with deliberate casualness, turning to Peter. "What are we here for?"

"This." With a final dial turn, the grainy image on the projector film resolved into a scintillating display of multicolored light overlapping the otherwise empty space the cockpit window was facing.

Rocket stared at the swirling mass of cosmic radiation. "We're not gonna fly into that, are we? I like my fur where it is, thanks."

"No." Peter stood from his seat and walked to one of the rear-most ones. "Unfortunately, it's dissipating fast so I can't stick around and explain anything. Dad, feel free to share. Just don't insult my friends too much." That said, he switched the chair to low-backed sleep mode and plopped down on it, closing his eyes.

"Wait what?" Rocket said, tearing his eyes away from the oddly hypnotising lights on-screen. "Hey, what're you doing? Don't tell me you're taking a nap! You just had one! And what do you mean 'too much!'"

But Peter didn't reply. He just clocked out, faded back into that drab state and flooded out of his body like a tide of weird overlapping-ness that quickly left through the bulkhead as if it wasn't there.

"Jackass," Rocket muttered, staring after the rapidly disappearing whathever-it-was. It had to be shooting past entire light-years in moments! Which was weird that he saw it at all because it wasn't anything he was familiar with. He was also pretty sure light didn't work that way.

"So you do have some extrasensory perception," Jason Quill remarked. "I suppose you had to have something going for you, for my son to be so invested."

"Yeah, no, I'm not falling for that obvious jab," Rocket huffed, hopping onto the co-pilot seat Quill had just vacated. No way was he letting the Royal Asshole have unchallenged control over their ship.

"I am Groot!"

"Is that why?" Jason Quill asked his buddy and no, Groot, stop guessing your buddy's thoughts aloud! "But I've basically been flying the ship uncontested since we left the Loony Bin. Should I be worried of delayed reactions, if he's only getting insecure about it now?"

"I am Groot!"

"I'll believe that when I see it."

"Oh that's it. Come on, then. You wanna go!? You and me down in living, right now!"

"And that's my cue," Meredith Quill said smartly, rising from her seat and going to gently tug on Groot's shoulder boughs. "How's about us sane people go rustle up some lunch before we see a baby rodent try to punch out a centenarian and vice-versa."

"I am Groot!"

"You damn traitor!" Rocket hollered after his departing 'friend.'

Peter grunted and turned in his chaise at the noise. An arm slipped to hang awkwardly off the side.

Jason Quill tossed Rocket a glare and went over to his son, tucking him back into the chaise properly. Then he paused, took off that half-cape he always wore and laid it over him like a blanket. He then sat on the edge of the chair and brushed the back of his fingers over his son's face. Rocket looked away from the sight. From that expression he put on. He felt oddly like he was intruding.

He didn't like it.

He also wondered how the hell Quill went from astral projection to sleeping. Could he do both now? Or were they always the same thing? Or maybe Quill was just his normal contrary self and was doing both at once even when he shouldn't, just to be a pain in Rocket's furry ass. Yeah, that was probably it.

"My people have a custom," Jason Quill abruptly spoke, not looking away from his son but clearly addressing Rocket. "Xenia. Guest-friendship. The sacred rule of hospitium, of which common hospitality is but a pale flickering shade. It began in the ancient times as a way to avoid accidentally offending the gods, who were known to mingle with mortals and snare us in tricks and games as was their wont. But the custom nonetheless survives to this day in Spartoi life. Indeed, it is one of the few things we decided to keep after the Great Repudiation, of what the gods embedded into our society." Well this was out of nowhere, and Great Repudiation of what? "There are various rituals and customs involved, but the core is this: respect from hosts to guests, and respect from guests to hosts. The host must be hospitable to guests and provide them with a bath, clothing, food, drink, gifts, and safe escort to their next destination. It is considered rude to ask guests questions, or even to ask who they are, before they have finished the meal provided to them." Jason Quill stood and walked over to stand before Rocket himself. "Conversely, guests must be courteous to their hosts and not be a threat or burden. They are expected to provide stories and news from the places whence they came. Most importantly, guests are expected to reciprocate if their hosts ever call upon them in their homes."

"That's nice," Rocket said, pretending that the way the man stood over him wasn't intimidating. "But what does that have to do with me?" He was starting to get an idea and he didn't like it.

"Your weapons. Your tools. Your clothing. It was not my son but myself that provided them. Just like the food you ate in the galley. Lodging on this ship. My ship." Correction: Rocket had not gotten an idea. It had been at best 12% of an idea. Also, he suddenly felt completely naked. "Peter tried to assure me that you could be trusted to behave even without such 'formalities'." Behave? What did he think he was, a pet!? "I, however, assumed you would take offense at such a thing." Like you just have hung thickly in the air. "Now let me be clear: I don't know you. I don't know much of you except third-hand. And what few personal encounters we've had in past – undone or not – have not left me positively predisposed towards you."

Rocket growled, fur standing up. "And I don't like snobs, I don't trust deposed royals turned crime lords, and I have a pathological inability to assume anything but the worst about unequal opportunity assholes."

"A feeling which I fully reciprocate."

How the hell did that not give him even a little pause and WHAT!? "Oh I am so not an unequal opportunity asshole! I'm all about equal opportunities for everyone!"

"Then you should be all in favour of establishing the accord I just described," Jason Quill said calmly, holding a hand to the side and sketching a circle in the air with his fingertip. A portal sparked its way open in the air, allowing a cup of steaming – sniff – hot cinnamon wine to fall in his hand. "After all…" The man held out the cup towards Rocket. "It would be such a shame if we had to worry about insulting, sabotaging and killing each other in our sleep for however many months we will travel together."

Sabotage? Murder? Months!?

Rocket Racoon glared up at the man, indignant. "… You're an asshole." Because what else could he say? "Just to be clear, even if I did succumb to the sudden onset of insanity that's making me consider this, does this apply just to me or whoever else I bring in?"

"Xenia is offered and accepted or spurned individually. If Groot is your concern, however, you may let it rest. He was offered and accepted my hospitality with all it implies the moment he first came on board months ago."

And he didn't give Rocket any forewarning, the treacherous bastard. Really, between Groot, Quill and now this guy, Rocket was literally surrounded by them.

Rocket hesitated, but ultimately reached out to take the cup, because what the hell else could he do? "Don't think this makes us friends," he sneered, sniffing at the wine for anything that shouldn't be there. Which he couldn't be sure of, because odourless drugs and poisons were always the rage. But he'll be a loose end in nospace before he just accepts anything at face value. Especially stuff handed to him by a former crime lord.

Still, Rocket Racoon drunk the irritatingly exquisite drink with as much dignity as his snout allowed, then waited for the potential mindstorm. His paw was just over his pistol holster the whole time.

But nothing happened.

"Are you satisfied," Jason Quill asked at length, holding out his hand for the cup when nothing bad happened for five minutes.

Rocket scowled and sipped the rest of the wine very slowly, so that at least the amount of assholery in the air stayed consistent. Then he handed it back. "… Alright, yeah. Here you go."

"Just so we're clear, because I have no doubt you will research the relevant customs thoroughly now that you are subject to them," Quill Elder said as he portaled the cup away. "The rules of Xenia are to be obeyed in spirit, not the letter. And it is not just your honour at stake now, but that of everyone who vouched for you. I hope we understand each other."

"Yeah yeah, play nice or I'll make Groot and Quill look bad. I get it, geez!"

"Good, then we can finally have a frank conversation now that we've reached an accord. One Peter can't listen in, on account of me having weaved a sound-blocking veil around him before we even started this conversation."