A shadow fell across the floor and Drax looked up, and was surprised to see the figure silhouetted in the doorway. Rocket stood there, with his short stature and bushy tail, he was unmistakable even through the tears that blurred Drax's vision. He wiped his eyes hurriedly.

"Do you need something?" he asked, more coldly than he intended.

Rocket hesitated, and for a moment Drax thought he might just turn around and go back to his quarters. But then he stepped inside, wringing his hands anxiously, and Drax realized how strange it was to see him without Groot's pot. He wondered where the sapling could be.

"I just, eh... I donno what to say. I'll be honest, I guess. I heard ya' crying." Drax stared at him, and his teammate wilted under his gaze. "An' that's fine! Nothin' wrong with that, anyway, I just remembered, I gotta go. See you arou-"

"Stop," Drax demanded, and Rocket paused in the doorway. He looked over his shoulder.

"What?"

"If I had been crying, why do you concern yourself?"

Rocket raised an eyebrow. "What kind of idiotic question is that? Why'd you come to me when I was... you know... sad? Cos' of what went down with Groot?"

Drax considered the question. "Because I am particularly fond of you."

"Yeah, because we're teammates. I- wait, what'd you say? Fond of me?"

"Yes. I am grateful for the companionship of all of our teammates, but I am most fond of you, my friend. I find you to be refreshingly charming and quick-witted.

Rocket blinked, and his whiskers gave the barest twitch to betray his blush. Drax wouldn't have noticed it without his combat training. The same way he could detect an enemy reaching for a concealed weapon, he could see the way Rocket internalized the unexpected compliment- the pleased twitch of his tail, and his gradual relaxation back through the doorway.

"Buy a girl a drink first, yeesh."

"Who do you wish me to purchase a beverage for?"

Rocket barked a laugh, and came over to perch on Drax's bed, uninvited. Drax sat nearby on a single stool, one of his blades half-polished in his lap. He had been cleaning them as he did everyday, lovingly wiping down each steely side, and had for a moment he thought he saw Hovat's face reflected in the surface. He turned around reflexively, expecting his wife to be standing behind him, smiling and holding out a cup of tea, perhaps wearing next to nothing, but of course she was not. She would never stand behind him again. That was why he had cried. He thought he'd been weeping softly, but Rocket had heard him from the chambers next door.

"Sorry to bust in on ya' like that, but I have this super hearing. Part of the mess the scientists made of me, but I guess it ain't too bad, all things considered. Anyway... it felt weird, layin' in bed and listening to you... you know." He made a motion with his hands over his eyes.

"Binoculars?" Drax knew that Rocket was imitating someone wiping their eyes after crying. When he first met his friends, Drax had misunderstood some things, and occasionally he still got confused, but he wasn't a complete buffoon. Sometimes he would just pretend not to understand something when he actually did, because he enjoyed his teammate's reactions. Rocket in particular had some pleasing responses. He did not disappoint.

"No, no, no! Why you gotta make everything so awkward!" He fell backwards onto the bed, arms outstretched. His top rode up a little, revealing a tuft of brown fur. "I meant crying. I heard your crying, and, I donno. I thought I'd see if you're okay."

"I am fine. Thank you for your concern."

Drax couldn't think of what else to say, and Rocket made no effort to remove himself from the bed, so eventually he went back to polishing the blade. As soon as he did, he felt his friend staring at him. He looked up.

"Yes?" Drax asked.

"Why do you coddle those d'ast things? We don't got anything to do for a week, but you sharpen them every day."

"They are very important to me," Drax explained, gauging how much to reveal. But he saw no malice in Rocket's dark eyes, and decided to tell him the truth. "They are a part of my commitment to avenging my family. One's title is Hovat, the other is called Kamaria."

"Your wife and daughter," Rocket said quietly. Then, louder, he added, "I thought so. Listen, Drax, I gotta get somethin' off my chest. You know I'm not so good at talking, even worse at apologies. Better at lighting fires than putting 'em out, you could-

"Spit it out. I mean... say whatever you came here to say," Drax interrupted.

Rocket blinked. "Just... I was a dick before." Drax was strangely amused to hear him use one of Quill's favorite expressions. Rocket continued. "When you said that stuff about your family back on Knowhere, that was insightful stuff, and I was just mad because... well... I don't know. A lot was going down right then. I didn't mean all that crap I said about... dead people."

Drax looked away. He had been stung then, yes, and some of those feelings came returned now as he thought about it. That had been one of the few times since the death of his family that Drax found himself able to step back and consider his own obsession with revenge, and the way he treated the memories of his wife and daughter, and Rocket had cut him down so easily. He had sent Drax the destroyer quivering back in on himself with only a few harsh words.

Drax hadn't thought about it much since then, but now he saw clearly how dumb his friend had made him feel, and how vulnerable.

"So... that's it. I'm sorry. Okay? Are we cool?"

"You are not obligated to... 'smooth things over'. You are entitled to your own opinion," Drax replied cooly, still not looking toward him. He felt something softly brush his wrist, and whipped around. Rocket jumped, but didn't pull his hand away.

"That is my opinion, you oaf. Would ya' just listen? This is hard for me. But when Groot died... well, didn't die, but I thought he had... I understood you. Dead people are important. And it's okay to feel bad. It's okay to... to cry."

And Drax suddenly thought like he might cry, right there in front of Rocket, but he forced the urge away. Why did Rocket have such an effect on him? It made him feel angry, and more, it scared him. Drax didn't like to be helpless that way. "I do not cry," he said, not as convincingly as he hoped to.

"Oh, please, what a kertakin' load. Everyone cries. Even I cried, and you... you petted me! Yeah, I remember. It was a weak moment for me."

Drax remembered too. He had been strangely drawn to the Rocket from the instant he locked eyes with the vermin, and seeing him weep over Groot, it had been like looking in a mirror. He remembered that pain. But it had been more than that, if Drax was honest with himself. He liked Rocket a lot. He liked all that nasty attitude crammed into such a small frame, and the mischievous twinkle in his eye when he thought of some way to turn a mechanical object into a more dangerous mechanical object, and even the tuft of fur on his stomach from he still hadn't pulled his shirt down, and for a moment Drax was so caught up in the feeling that he couldn't speak.

"So... I guess I'll go now." Rocket stood up to leave, and Drax caught him by the wrist. "Thank you. I am glad that you do not consider me weak for grieving over my loved ones. You are a fearsome warrior, many times more capable than your appearance suggests, and I appreciate how difficult it was for you to discuss this."

"It was nothin'. Don't make a huge deal." Rocket said. Drax released his wrist, but for a moment his friend just stood there, so near that Drax's breath ruffled his fur, and he could see the furry face reflected in his blade. "It was nice talking to ya', Drax. You're a good guy. Maybe I could come around again, sometime?"

"I would enjoy that."

Rocket nodded, and crossed the room to the door. He looked one more time at Drax- a long, inscrutable look- before disappearing down the hall. Drax wondered what that last backwards glance had meant. He had learned a lot about expression since joining the Guardians, but some things continued to elude him.