Onboard the Benatar, two months after the loss of the Milano . . . .

Peter Quill stormed out of Groot's quarters and went in search of the one person who could give him solace in his time of need. He found Gamora in the ship's hold that doubled as their training room.

And caught his breath.

She moved through a routine of sword combat exercises with the lethal sensuality of a pole-dancing ninja. Her workout attire was so fitted, it didn't take any imagination to picture her wearing a g-string and beckoning him forward with a playful tilt of her blades. He could actually hear the clang of metal as she dropped the blades to run into his arms, feel the heat of her body.

He blinked when Gamora shouted his name and grabbed him by the shoulders, not to pull him in for a kiss, but to shake him.

"What has Rocket done to you? I told you his experiments would never give you psychic powers!" The worry in her eyes contradicted her harsh tone. When she called him a fool, he knew she really meant "love of my life."

"It was Groot, not Rocket." Peter allowed his lower lip to poke out a little.

The concern tightening lovely green features relaxed. An expression of pure sympathy he was sure only looked like amusement curved her lips. "He hurt your feelings?"

Peter nodded.

Gamora pressed her lips together for a moment, no doubt in anger on his behalf, and then softly said, "Tell me."

Words erupted like blaster shots. "Groot's room is disgusting. All he does is play that stupid video game, and he had the nerve to say I'm boring." Peter drew in a breath. "Worst of all, he made me feel like Yondu!"

"You told him the crew wanted to eat him?"

Peter scowled. "I acted like an angry dad."

Gamora frowned as though he'd used Earth slang she didn't quite comprehend. "But you are a dad." She held up a hand when he started to protest. "A father-figure you would call it, yes?"

"No!" When she merely raised an eyebrow in response, he said, "I'm the cool uncle. Rocket is Groot's dad."

Her eyes widened. "Does he know this? Groot has always been Rocket's friend."

"Until he got blown into pick-up sticks and had to regenerate from a twig," Peter said. "As far as I'm concerned, that made Rocket the daddy of a brand new baby Groot." He read the doubt on Gamora's face and took a step back. What if Rocket denied being a father and tried to dump all the responsibility on Peter's shoulders? It was hard enough being an uncle. He wasn't ready to be a dad! Mind reeling, he stumbled away from Gamora, into the corridor.

"Peter?"

The words of a song ran through his mind. He sang, almost in a whisper, "It's not time to make a change. Just relax. Take it easy."

"Cat Steve, Father and Son," Gamora said in a placating tone. Did she think he'd lost his mind?

"Stevens," he said with a smile. If he was crazy, he was crazy like a fox. "Gotta go."

"Where?"

Gamora's demand conjured images of her pinning him to the ground until he answered to her satisfaction. If he wasn't on a mission, he'd goad her into making them a reality. "I'm going to introduce Rocket to an old Earth holiday."

Her gaze narrowed. "Which one?"

Peter grinned. "Father's Day."

It took talent and a bit of scavenging to produce what he needed, but Peter got the job done and tapped on Rocket's door panel an hour later. He used a cheery "shave and a haircut, two bits" pattern of knocks. "Open up, I've brought you a present."

The door slid open to reveal Rocket holding his gun at the ready. "If it's another Trash Panda t-shirt, I've got a present for you too. It's called blam, murdered you."

"Whoa," Peter said, "That's an extreme-if poetic-reaction to a friend bearing gifts."

Rocket lowered his weapon. "Friend . . . yeah, I keep forgetting that." He set the gun on a box that looked a lot like the one he'd once intended to hold a handmade bomb and gestured for Peter to enter quarters that resembled a mad scientist's workshop.

The desire to see what was in the box fought with Peter's need to complete his mission.

"Why's your face scrunched up? Are you constipated? I warned you about eating too much Xandarian cheese."

"What? No!" Peter thrust his "present" toward Rocket.

Furry fingers reached for the homemade book and turned it over. "Cutouts of an old Brawny Babes of the Galaxy calendar? That's Drax's kink, not mine."

"The other side."

"Oh." Rocket peered at the printed words. "Rocket Raccoon and Son."

"On Earth they have Father's Day," Peter said hurriedly when Rocket bared his teeth. "Dads get gifts. I didn't want you to miss out."

"Uh-huh. This drawing looks like a rabbit." Rocket lifted the book.

"Dude!" Peter said, wounded. "I may not have made you and Groot look like Calvin and Hobbes, but what kind of moron would think you're a rabbit?"

"One that calls himself Lord." Rocket smirked and flipped the paper cover to reveal a drawing of Baby Groot in his pot held to the front of Rocket's jumpsuit by a large square of fabric. There was a caption beneath:

Star-Lord: You look like a mama kangaroo.

Rocket: I'm a scientist. It's a pocket protector!

"Star-Lord." Rocket scoffed. "Moron." His claws delicately grasped a corner to turn the page. The next picture showed Rocket holding Baby Groot in his pot out to Drax. The caption read:

It takes a village to raise the village idiot. You watch him. He keeps dancing when I'm trying to sleep!

"That's kinda funny," Rocket said.

Peter watched him take in the next drawing of Little Groot beaming proudly as he held a lit welding torch in one hand and held up the other that had smoke wafting from the palm toward Rocket, who said in a speech bubble, "I know I told ya to face your fears, but you're still on fire!"

"Heh." Rocket shook his head. "Shows there's nothing too stupid to live."

The next drawing was of Rocket slumped over a line of empty shot glasses, facing a yellow-skinned Ba-Bani bartender. The caption at the bottom read:

Me? I don't really care about people. I spend most of my time shooting them, but Groot . . . Groot likes people. Always sees the best in them. Gives 'em a shot. Groot makes friends everywhere he goes. He puts himself out there . . . even when he shouldn't.

Rocket glared at Peter. "That was last week. You were recording? Don't lie, you aint got that good a memory."

"It was an accident," Peter said. "I was trying to record Gamora admitting I'm her stud muffin." At Rocket's look of disbelief, he muttered, "Seemed like a good idea at the time."

"Yeah, you're full of ideas, Quill, but they aint good."

"One more drawing!" Peter said when Rocket seemed ready to toss the pages back at him. "Then I'll leave and never mention Father's Day again."

"Better not." Rocket sniffled and turned the page.

The last drawing showed Rocket in the co-pilot's seat with Little Groot sitting on his shoulder, leaning to press his cheek against Rocket's muzzle. Beneath read:

Groot: I am Groot

Rocket: Right back atcha, kid.

Rocket dropped the book and snatched up his gun. "You had no right, Quill!" His gruff voice wavered. "No right!" His black eyes were so shiny, he looked about to cry.

Peter held up his hands. "Hey, I still don't understand Groot half the time. Didn't he say you were the best or something?"

"Get outta here, Quill."

"I will." As soon as he was sure Rocket hadn't taken up his old bomb-making hobby. He dove for the box on the floor and opened the lid at the same time Rocket jabbed him in the head with the butt of his gun. "Ouch, you psycho!" Peter yelped. "I can't let you keep . . . ." His voice trailed away as he stared at the tiny pot, miniature ravager uniform, and dried flower. For some reason, his vision blurred. "It's not a bomb."

Rocket didn't say anything.

Peter closed the box and stood.

"Tell anyone and I will shoot you, Quill."

Unable to speak, Peter nodded and left. Mission accomplished. He should be happy. Relieved.

So why did seeing Rocket's collection of Groot's baby things twist his guts and put a lump in his throat? He didn't want to be Yondu. Somebody's dad.

Did he?

By the time he entered Gamora's quarters, Peter had composed himself enough to say, when she looked at him in silent question, "An uncle's a kind of father-figure. Right?"

She wrapped her arms around him in a hug so tight, he wondered how she had the breath to answer, "The coolest."

,

.

A/N: Director James Gunn said in an interview that the Guardians sequel took place two months after the original, so I set this story two months after the sequel. I was inspired by the book Darth Vader and Son, the GotG2 post credits scene where Peter tells Groot to clean his room and that he knew how Yondu felt, and by Gunn saying Groot's last words to Rocket in Infinity War meant, "Dad," which many take to mean, "I love you, Dad" (which is how I used it). I also used familiar movie scenes/lines as well as quotes from the comics (Blam, murdered you; I told you to face your fears, and Me? I don't really care about people).

Before Rocket Raccoon and Son, I wrote a couple of Harry Potter stories, Professor Doom and Son (Severus and Harry) and Sirius Black and Son that I'd love anyone interested to read (or reread).

Thanks for reading this story, and I hope everyone has a happy Father's Day whether or not it's celebrated it in your part of the galaxy. ^_~