Built for Destruction

Untitled Part 8

               Peter gritted his teeth as his fingers tapped insistently at the metal frame of his bed. The location of the Halfworld facility was easy enough to get, but the trip itself would take hours at least. This wouldn't have seemed as much of a problem had Rocket himself not gotten such a head start, most likely already well on his way to the far off planet if not already there.

Given the amount of time that the remaining four Guardians had to get there themselves, Peter was afraid that they would arrive too late.

Not one hour into the raccoon hunt was Peter practically dragged from his spot at the controls, where he had been sitting white knuckled and practically shaking with worry and fury as panicked thoughts raced through his mind. It had taken a while of shouting and both Groot and Gamora teaming up to drag the Starlord to his private quarters before Peter finally gave into their idea of taking shifts. After all, the captain of the Milano was no good to his friend if he were practically collapsing from exhaustion as he was back on deck.

Yet, now he lay on his back atop his covers, staring at his ceiling and frowning as though it had somehow offended him, completely unable to even close his eyes, let alone sleep. The pictures and video feed of the uncomfortably young and bloodied Rocket were still vivid in his mind, as though he were still staring down at that damned tablet, the phrase '89P13' still sending shivers down his spine as he thought of the time the raccoon had spent in those labs.

Peter pursed his lips and closed his eyes tightly as though it would somehow rid him of the images that danced tauntingly in his vision, rubbing his face with his hands for good measure.

When Rocket had said he hadn't had a long life span, Peter had believed that it was no more than a jest at his physical appearance. After all, Rocket could always be depended on to make jokes at the worst of times. But after looking at the files they had managed to snatch from Nova, he found evidence of just how much of his life Rocket had actually spent being torn apart and put back together.

He was jolted from his troubled thoughts when there was a fait knock at his door. "Peter?" Gamora called softly, most likely hoping the man had been asleep by now. Although he was sure she knew he hadn't slept a wink.

Removing his hands from his face and pushing them up to pull the hair from his forehead, he turned to face the wall. "Yeah." He grunted, opening his eyes when the metal door was pushed open slowly, the light of the hallway bathing his room in a bright glow.

He squinted slightly as Gamora walked into the room, her green lips pursed tightly and eyes darting almost nervously towards Peter. Sensing that the woman had not come simply to remind him of their position still hours away from where Rocket was most likely already being tortured by his 'creator,' the man sat up on his bed, gesturing with a tilt of the head for the ex-assassin to sit down.

Nodding once in affirmation, the woman made her way to the bed, sighing almost in exasperation as the mattress sunk under her weight.

Both sat in silence for a few quiet moments, neither daring to say a word about why Gamora had decided to enter his quarters or why the hilt of one of her smaller, usually concealed knives, was already clutched tightly in one hand while she traced the edge of the silver blade with the other, almost as though transfixed entirely by the gleaming of the steel.

"He's going to be okay, right?" Peter was almost taken aback by the voice beside him as he turned to face Gamora who was still refusing to look up from the blade of her knife.