Yet another enthralling disclaimer: It has come to my attention that I overall sucked as a writer when I published this. Why did I wait until now to say it? Well. I didn't know about Mary Sue tropes yet. By. God. I would go back and slap myself if I could.

I'm gonna try to make this bearable and believable. Primarily by making Stark as much of a lovable asshole as he is in canon. I apologize for the cringey tropes. Thanks for sticking around if you did.

"What were you thinking?!" Rocket bellowed over the deafening roar of the wind.

"Just give me a second!" she shouted back, trying to operate the bike in a blind panic. They were tilted completely to one side; the beating winds and utter darkness didn't do them any favors.

Liz held fast to the handlebars, trying futilely to keep herself flattened against the the bike. There was supposed to be some sort of trigger here—where the hell was it?!

"You goddamn idi—" Rocket lost his grip and was flung upwards into the air.

He would've been lost for good had Liz acted a second slower. She released one of the handles to grab him, only just catching a strap on his suit. Rocket latched onto her arm, his claws digging mercilessly into her skin. She managed to ignore it and gain a better hold of him, all the while struggling to work the airborne motorcycle.

The city was getting closer, the lights glaring and Liz more frantic. Where the flying f*ck is the trigger?!

Her fingers found a loose strip along the handle and dug into it: there was a click, then a high-pitched whirring. Even in the dark, Liz caught a glimpse of the limp webbing.

So it DOES actually work! No longer hopeless, she pulled Rocket to her chest protectively.

"Hold on this time!" she chastised, unable to hear any protests made in reply. Liz clutched the handlebars like her life depended on it (which it did), and pressed the hidden triggers.

More webbing shot from the front and rear of the bike, the latter falling aimlessly, but the former finding its mark on a building below. The thin strand was slowly stretched until taut, and no longer free-falling, the bike began to descend in an arc.

The front of the bike protested, immense strain placed on the strand, so Liz quickly repressed the corresponding trigger. The end was severed, then almost instantly, another was projected; this time, the force of the falling bike proved too great, and it subsequently snapped.

There was a jerk, and Liz lost her hold. She was thrown against the bike, suffering additional damage brought on by crushing Rocket beneath her.

Blind flailing managed to activate the triggers: the webbing shot out, and both connected. With more speed than was probably safe (because everything in this situation screamed safety), they zipped along the web lifeline and headlong towards the skyscrapers around them. Liz released Rocket briefly to snatch up the handles and take control: the front line was severed, and she swerved sharply to one side, then tapped a trigger again. The line shot out, connected to another building, their path diverted from catastrophe.

She eventually got the hang of things and made her way towards the center of the city.

Something jagged was plunged into her chest, and then its source yelled, "So do you even know where you're going?!"

"Yes!" she retorted, veering and barely missing the edge of a particularly low building, "Stop distracting me!"

"Not my fault you're a lousy driver!"

"I'd be better if you'd stop distracting me!"

"You're doing it yourself, now!"

Liz finally caught a glimpse of the building she'd been searching for. It wasn't exactly hard— the biggest and brightest eyesore the city had to offer. But after driving out of a helicarrier and plummeting for a solid couple of minutes, she considered it beautiful.

"Hold on!" she warned Rocket, unsure how exactly she planned to land the thing.

She drove on, the tower grew closer. Liz cut both cords, jerked the bike backwards until it reared up sharply, and shot forth another. It just gripped the tip of the tower's roof, and they were heaved upwards.

Then, at the top, the wheel clipped the edge—the bike flipped completely, launching its passengers into the air. Before she could completely flatten Rocket, Liz twisted to one side, taking the full brunt of the impact; the backpack full of guns was jammed into her ribs.

There was a crash—the motorcycle landed upside down on the roof, motor still running furiously, while the wheels spun full-speed in the air.

In pain, Liz rolled off the bag, breathing audibly. Rocket was sprawled across her chest at first, but upon realizing it, pried himself off and landed on his back beside her. Neither spoke, gasping for air (since they weren't heading towards certain death, breathing could be a priority, again).

It was freezing outside. The roar of the motorcycle slowly faded, though the engine sputtered feebly, no doubt damaged by their crash landing. But they made it. SHIELD was behind them, for the time being.

"… Now what?"

The bike was no longer of any importance to Liz, but by force of habit, she held onto the bag. Soon, Liz made an attempt to get to her feet: she slumped at the sting of her ribs, but the action caused her leg to flare up just as severely. Either way, there was going to be pain—she just had the privilege of choosing where.

There was a door near one of the roof's corners, so Liz struggled over, hastily supporting herself against it. Beside it was a yet another panel (why couldn't breaking and entering be easy, anymore?), but this time, Liz was prepared. She pressed a button and waited.

"Please enter your authorization pin number," a computerized voice requested. She complied (taking a second-long pause in between each digit, trying to remember the ridiculously long password she'd been issued) and was met with a beep of confirmation.

"Identifying: Elizabeth Rachels. Please speak your verbal pin for further identification."

Liz leaned in towards the panel and flatly annunciated, "Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back."

There was another beep, and with that, the voice sounded again.

"Welcome back, Miss Rachels. I expected no less than a theatrical entrance from you."

She smiled tiredly, "Nice to see you too, Jarvis."

"May I ask what deterred you from the front door?" the AI inquired. It was amazing how much sarcasm could be packed into the robotic tones.

"You said it yourself: like to make a dramatic entrance." She shifted her weight, making an uncomfortable noise, "Is Tony here?"

"Mr. Stark is out on personal business," he informed her, "He will be returning shortly. If you wish to enter, I can only allow access to designated floors."

"Is the medical lab included in that?"

"It is."

"That's the one I need."

"Very well." The lock clicked, "Come in, Miss Rachels."

Liz mumbled thanks and opened the door, then remembered Rocket and peered back. He was standing a ways off, and she could tell by his expression that he wanted an explanation. Well, now it was her turn not to give one; instead, she held the door, inviting him to follow. He did, in a slow and stunted way, the arm still wrapped around his middle. To be fair, he was probably a lot worse off than she, so Liz didn't comment.

Inside was one of the most beautiful sights she'd beheld all night: an elevator. It opened at their approach, then just as swiftly slid shut behind them.

"Taking you to the medical lab," Jarvis noted, "And Miss Rachels, a question?"

"Fire away."

"You are aware you're being followed, I take it?"

She saw Rocket stiffen upon being addressed, so Liz answered as dismissively as possible, "Yeah, I know. He's a friend of mine, don't worry."

The lull in the conversation gave way to silence… only the sounds of the gliding elevator could be heard.

Exhausted, Liz took the momentary release to sit, propping herself up against the lumpy weapon-filled bag. In the opposite corner, she saw that Rocket had the same idea, slouching over his knees. His face seemed to be stuck in a constant grimace.

"Hey," Liz called over. Unmoving, he glanced over, so she continued, "Hey, look. I'm sorry I let that dog get you. I should've just shot it down when I first got the chance."

"Yeah, that would've been nice."

She guiltily studied the floor.

After a minute, he turned the attention away from himself and to the elevator in general, "What place did'ja break us into, this time?"

"I didn't break us in, I let us in," she clarified, "I'm actually allowed to be here."

"This place ain't yours?"

She let out a laugh, "God, I wish! No, it belongs to a friend of mine."

"And… he's fine with you just breaking in and crashing a vehicle into his roof?"

"Not breaking in," she repeated, "Allowed in."

"Uh-huh, yeah. So what? Guy with a lot of cash that you get hand-outs from, or something?"

"No."

"So what, you're sleeping with him?"

"No," she answered firmly, "He works for his money—I'm not going to take what I didn't earn. He just lets me crash here sometimes. I mean, can't do it a lot: he's got a job, I can't be bothering him. Just when I really need it. And right now, I—we need to borrow some of his stuff."

Rocket wasn't buying any of this, "So you expect him to just let you get away with all this?"

"Eh… not before hanging it over my head for a while, no." Liz grinned to herself, "And hey, I "got away with it" for about a year without him catching on, so maybe he won't even notice we were here."

"What the—you're sayin' you stole stuff from him before?"

"Surprised?"

"Yeah, but I dunno why—you stole plenty from your boss guy, right?" He scoffed, "Man, this guy's gotta be even more dim-witted than you to not notice his stuff's gone!"

"Thanks." Her witty retorts were beginning to drain away along with the remainder of her energy.

"Wait—wait, so lemme get this straight: you been stealing this guy's stuff for a year… and he lets you back here?!"

"Yep."

"Why the hell would he do that?!"

She shrugged, "I make him laugh once in a while. And clean up after myself."

Rocket stared at her, dumbfounded.

"… Everyone on this planet is a goddamn idiot."

The elevator dinged.

With great unwillingness, Liz rose to her feet. She briefly considered the pros and cons of sleeping the the elevator, but gave up the idea and moved into the darkened room outside, dragging the bag behind her.

The lights slowly powered up, much dimmer in this area than anywhere else in the tower. It was fairly chilly, gray, and sported a few bare metal tables.

"What the hell?!" she heard Rocket blurt, almost leaping back at the sight.

Liz ignored his sudden animosity, "Jarvis, did Tony move anything around? I went through something like forty filing cabinets tonight, and I'd rather not add to that."

"Everything is in its assigned drawers, Miss Rachels. Miss Potts is just as particular about their organization."

"Thank God for that," she commented, "Is Pepper here?"

"Miss Potts is currently representing the company at a global conference in Beijing."

"Really? That sounds fun." Liz limped over to the medical drawers, "So I'm guessing that means there'll be no one here to stop Tony from binge-drinking and building a nuclear detonator this weekend, huh?"

"I'm afraid that may be the case." There was a pause. "With that in mind, I'll take this opportunity to remind you that you're always invited to remain on the premises and prevent the aforementioned, by permission of Miss Potts."

Liz laughed, "I'll consider it."

While she was browsing the drawers' contents, she called over her shoulder to Rocket, "Hey, you think you could get up on one of those tables over there?"

"… Why?" His tone suddenly became malicious.

"So Jarvis can x-ray you and make sure that dog didn't break anything when it attacked you."

"Nah, I'm good."

"Ha. It's just an x-ray, it won't hurt you."

"Says you."

Liz stopped, huffed, then stared back with impatience, "Alright, you wanna die of internal bleeding just because you wanna be difficult? Or do you wanna sit still for ten seconds and not die?"

"I'll take my chances."

"Table."

"Make me."

There was a silent, tense stand-off, then Liz smirked. She'd stalled long enough.

"Jarvis?"

"I've already completed the scan."

"Thank you," she replied sweetly, "Could you pull up the picture when you get a chance?"

She took note of Rocket's furious glare in full, but paid no further mind to it. One of the monitors beside a table lit up, constructing an elaborate 3-D representation.

"There is minimal internal damage—despite your expressed concerns," Jarvis explained, referencing the scaled-down model in front of them, "The ribs have been compressed and bruising as a result. Abrasions are present on the chest and back, the most severe of which display tearing of the muscle fibers. Overall, the injuries sustained are not life threatening." The model pixelated away, "Moving on to your own injuries—"

"No, I'm fine—I've got a pretty good idea of what's screwed up on me," she interrupted, "Go back to him: anything else? What needs to be treated?"

"The abrasions should be cleaned—there's little that can be done for the massive scarring of the tissue."

"Alri—" Liz hesitated, "Massive what now?"

Jarvis pulled up the model again, "The skin is severely scarred in various areas—partially obscured by the fur."

She cast a sideways glance at Rocket, who was intentionally staring away.

"Ask me about it and you're dead," he spat.

Liz fully believed the threat, but Jarvis didn't seem to catch the hint.

"I suppose, then, I should refrain from mentioning the small devices embedded throughout the spine and base of the skull, and the fact that your friend most closely resembles a common racc—"

"Yes," she cut off quickly, "Thank you for not mentioning that." With that crisis averted, she dove right into another by addressing Rocket, "You heard him; we gotta clean the scratches."

"I told you I'm fine!" he snarled viciously, "No flarking way I'm gonna let you at me with needles and knives and—"

"What the hell are you talking about?" she interrupted.

"… Nothing. Forget it."

Before she even had the chance to react, he exploded more intensely, "Nothing, alright?! Stop giving me that dumbass look, already!"

"Look, you can go on all night if you'd like, but I refuse to give up on you." She crossed her arms, rooted to the spot, "Frankly, you're making this a lot harder than it could be. Again."

He suddenly hissed, "You ain't in charge of me!"

Rocket made a move as if to advance on her threateningly, but the first step resulted in him doubling over with a groan.

"Are you—"

"Don't even ask."

Liz kept back as he struggled up.

"… Okay, listen."

"No, you can just—"

"No, you can just listen! We'll try something else." She went over to the medical whatnots and took out an armful of miscellaneous items, "I'm not gonna touch you. I'll put this stuff on the table, and whatever you think you need, you use. And should you want help, you can ask. This way, you don't have to give up your enormous and uncooperative pride, and I spare myself another half hour of arguing. Deal?"

"I don't have to make anymore deals with you, kid."

"You wanna argue some more?"

"Not really."

"So deal, then?"

"Fine. Screw you."

Liz laid the collection of supplies at one end of the table as Rocket attempted to climb up the other (it didn't help that the thing was twice his height). She saw this and moved over without thinking.

"Hey, do you want me to help—"

"No."

She didn't offer again.

While he sorted through what she'd brought, Liz took the chance to examine herself; there was a strong, growing pain in her side that was screaming for attention.

"Hey Jarvis? Lights up?"

Once she could see, Liz lifted up her shirt and found a red mark about as large as her hand, streaked across her torso. That was bound to start swelling. Her leg almost seemed docile in comparison—so, on the bright side, it wouldn't be the leg that kept her up all night.

"I'm guessing just ice it, right?" she asked out loud.

"That would be best. I would also recommend the cessation of strenuous physical activities—"

"Nah, we're not gonna be doing that."

"It is the best way to assure a steady recovery—"

"Didn't work for Bruce, not working for you. Sorry, Jarvis."

Liz replaced the shirt and sat against a table, rubbing her eyes—what she wouldn't give for a few hours of sleep, right now. No doubt as soon as she got it, SHIELD would come raining down, drag them back to the helicarrier and toss them right into a solitary cell—"

"Hey princess!"

"What."

"You good?"

"Fine."

He sneered, "You see? See how annoying that is? Now imagine me asking you that every time you're obviously not okay." After snickering at his own joke, Rocket went back to work.

Liz frowned, and without much left to do, began to wander the lab aimlessly.

What the heck was she going to tell Tony? He was SHIELD, even if begrudgingly so, making it his responsibility to turn them over—but then again, he'd never been one for handling responsibilities… well, responsibly.

She reclined against one of the walls (which was covered end to end in techy stuff she did her best not to disturb), trying to find anything remotely horizontal and/or flat in nature to sleep on. The wall was a stretch, but if it had come to that, she could definitely manage.

In front of her, Rocket had pulled the shredded space suit down to his waist, applying something to the gashes on his chest. There was a glint of something metalic between his shoulders, catching her attention.

She'd only made it a step or two closer when his sharp tone again cut her off.

"I feel you staring. I said not to ask."

Liz did as he'd so humbly requested—but he was dead wrong if he thought she wouldn't press for an answer, sooner or later.

"Miss Rachels?" Jarvis alerted, "Mister Stark has returned. I'll be informing him of your arrival."

"Oh boy," she exhaled, "This is going to be… fun." She started for the door—then halted in realization.

"Hey, Rocket? Quick warning: Tony's a little…" It was hard to find an accurate description in anything less than a laundry list, "… Opinionated."

"Opinionated? What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"All it means is that he says anything and everything that comes to mind—no filter whatsoever. So don't be offended if he—"

"I'll stop you right there. Because I can already tell, whatever you're about to say, it ain't gonna happen."

Liz made a noise of exasperation, "Look, just—just lay low. I'm gonna to talk to him and try to explain what's going on. Until then…" She made a desperate set of hand gestures, grasping for words, "You understand?"

He gave her a look, "I'm not even sure you understand what you're saying."

"Just—just let me take care of this!"

Without waiting for confirmation, Liz headed to the exit, hurriedly formulating an excuse as to why she and a raccoon-like alien were bleeding all over his lab after crashing into the roof on a motorcycle. Maybe she should just stick with that—if she could get him laughing, there was a wide range of other things she could get away with. Feeling perhaps a bit too confident in this plan, Liz straightened up and strode out—

Directly into the oncoming path of Tony Stark.

She leapt back, Tony halted in his tracks and stared.

"Oh! Hey Tony—sorry!"

"That's Mr. Stark to you, Rachels."

Her eyes narrowed threateningly, "Don't push me, Stark."

As soon as the warning was issued, Tony reached out and, with the utmost exaggeration, nudged her with a set of fingertips.

"Whoops."

Liz couldn't help it—she burst out laughing.

"You jerk! I had to go and walk right into that!"

Tony simply smirked, "Yeah. You did. And since you're brought up the topic of 'walking into things without any warning whatsoever'..." He let the implication speak for itself.

Liz crossed her arms, returning his wry smirk.

"Of course, that's not to say I'm in any way grieved by you being here..." He considered it for a moment, "That's for later. But it's not you being here, it's you being here without giving me time to, you know, tidy up the place and all. Lizzie, for all you know, I could've been strutting around, buck-ass nude-"

"Tony, cut it out!" she blurted, not sure how much more descriptive this would get, "I can't answer you if you won't stop talking."

He huffed as if offended, "Fine then-" His arms swept out as if in a bow, "The floor is yours."

"Gee, thanks." She leaned against the doorframe, trying to block his view of the lab inside—there was a fair deal of verbal preparation needed before she introduced the two prideful beasts to each other. "Okay, now hear me out… it's a really long, insane, and context-required story, but if you just give me a couple minutes—"

His brow suddenly shot up, "Why is there a raccoon in my lab?"

Rocket didn't miss a beat, "I ain't a raccoon."

"The raccoon just talked."

"What did I just friggn' say?"

"Lizzie—please tell me you see the talking raccoon, too."

By now, Tony had made it halfway across the lab while Liz remained at the door, repeatedly driving her head into it in frustration.

"See, now this is exactly what I was trying to avoid," she muttered, but was ignored by both.

"Are you even listening?!" Rocket was standing on the table, and it looked like he was ready to spring, "Maybe if ya had as much sense as ya do junk all over the place, I wouldn't have to repeat myself!"

Liz spun around—the dreaded line had been crossed.

For an entire second, Tony was speechless, genuinely offended.

"Oh, junk? You wouldn't know quality technology if you could afford it, fluffy."

And now the second dreaded line had been crossed.

"FLUFFY?!" In a blur, he'd leapt of the table and retrieved his electrical gun, which whirred dangerously, "Let's see if you can call me that without a lower jaw!"

She took that as her cue to intervene.

"Alright, how about let's not do that?" she advised, hurrying to break up the shoot-out. She planted herself between the two, her attention solely on Rocket and the weapon.

"I warned you about him didn't I?" she said with a bit of a smirk, "Now come on, don't shoot him."

"Watch me!"

"Rocket, please. Just put it down—don't make me take it from you, again."

Now the gun was pointed at her, "I'd like to see you try it, princess!"

Liz sighed, and stared him squarely in the eyes. When she spoke again, she let the exhaustion seep in, "Rocket, come on, dude. It'd be easier to just let him go than to shoot him and then get rid of what's left."

"Still right here," Tony reminded, overhearing the comment.

Rocket snarled, but sounded just as worn-out as she.

"… Fine. But you're still not getting the gun."

"That's alright, I trust you with it," she told him, even if she didn't entirely mean it. Once she had diffused him more or less, Liz returned her attention to Tony.

"Tony," she breathed, "Alright, just… please hear me out?"

Expecting Tony Stark to listen attentively and without comment was a momentous demand in itself. But he at least made it appear as though he planned to comply—he crossed his arms, then rocked back onto his heels to stand comfortably.

"I'm listening. To you." His eyes drifted to Rocket, making the latter flare up defensively—Liz repositioned herself accordingly.

Standing in between the two's silent standoff, Liz launched into an account of their "adventure": from when the pod was first dumped onto the deck of the helicarrier, to Rocket's first imprisonment and escape attempt (it was clear he wanted to interject and set her straight on the minute details, but was somehow able to refrain).

Any time Fury was mentioned (and she held nothing back when doing so), Tony's face twisted into a smirk; he was one of the few people she knew who loved a good bashing of authority more than herself.

And then she got to their great escape—and he would not shut up.

"You actually broke her leg?!" he exclaimed in disbelief.

"I didn't mean to!" she insisted hotly, but Tony considered to egg her on.

"You usually go into things like that meaning to cause some sort of damage, Lizzie."

"Well, I just meant to stop her, not—"

"Oh don't worry, you stopped her."

"Tony—"

"How much was it you complained about a broken knee-cap or whatever? Now imagine a whole leg—"

"Look," Rocket cut in, sounding suitably aggravated, "As great as this part is, I don't wanna be listening to it for another damn hour, so get to the point."

Blunt as it was, Liz agreed, and used the opportunity to continue the story.

When she'd finished, Tony nodded thoughtfully, almost seeming impressed.

"Well it sounds like you had fun today," he jested, "So you finally decided to stick it to Fury, then?"

"Guess so."

"Good. I definitely had fun while it lasted, when I did it—but you do realize that, if he finds you, he's not going to be as benevolent and forgiving as the Fury we all know and love."

"Don't worry, I know," she assured him flatly.

"So what's your plan now, cat burglar? More sabotage? Rallying a team of misfits to help extend your range of sabotage?"

Liz scoffed, "No sabotage. It's not all the fun it's cracked up to be."

"Mm, I'd disagree."

"Anyway," she continued, "I… in all honesty, I didn't think we'd make it this far, so I didn't plan ahead all that much."

"That's good to hear," Rocket muttered lowly.

Tony ignored him, "So then what I take this to mean then is that you're on the run, and you want your old pal Tony to hide you from the guys that could easily do us both in for a long, long time if they found you here?"

Liz studied the floor, realizing just how demanding it all sounded.

"… Look, I just stopped here because I was plummeting from the helicarrier and it wasn't too out of the way. Really, I was thinking we'd stop here for a second and then get out of your hair—"

He just laughed at her, "Liz, I don't care if you stay here. Really, what can SHIELD do to me? I pay for my own stuff and some of theirs, and they'd have to be idiots to want me working against them." He grinned pridefully, "I know way too much."

"I don't doubt that," she replied, "It won't take that long to come up with something, I swear. You sure we won't bug you?"

"Well I didn't say that—" She gave him a look, "—just bunk in the old SHIELD quarters for a while." His gaze shifted back to Rocket, "That is… if your pet is housebroken."

Liz knew the drill—she stopped Rocket in his tracks as he began to charge forward.

"Hey," she snapped, "Don't. Come here, a second."

She walked towards the other end of the lab, waiting for him to follow. He remained where he was, glaring at Tony, then stormed off to join Liz.

"What."

"I know he can be a little…"

"A little bit of a goddamn bastard?!"

"—A little disrespectful," she rephrased, "But he is helping us. And I know we can trust him."

"You can go ahead and trust him all you want, cat burglar," he hissed.

"Okay, fine. You don't have to trust him," she gave in, "But since he is helping us, maybe it would be best if you could… not insult him?"

"Not insult him period or directly?"

"At all."

"What if I can hide the fact that I'm insulting him?"

"No."

He rolled his eyes, "Uh-huh, yeah. I'll play along—until I hear "fluffy" again."

"Oh don't worry," Tony called out, "I've got plenty more."

"Tony," she warned, "Don't."

He didn't rebuttal for the time, so Liz decided to end the encounter while they were all in one piece.

"I think I'm calling it a night, Tony," she told him, "I'll plan something out tonight and tell you tomorrow, alright?"

"Yeah, or you could sleep."

It was the most hypocritical thing she'd heard from him all night.

"Nah." She passed him to leave, "Oh, and before I forget, there's a bike on your roof. I'll take care of it tomorrow."

"You do that."

She continued to walk, Rocket trailing a ways behind.

"Bastard," he spat.

"Shorty," Tony returned.

"Boys," she snapped. No further ridicule was spoken...

... Not until they left the lab. Liz and Rocket entered the elevator, and he let out a furious growl, digging claws into his temples.

"So I take it you don't like him very much, huh?" she baited.

His response was a growl of equal intensity.

Liz smiled in spite of it, "Yeah, I kinda figured… I'll try to keep him off your back as much as possible."

Rocket grunted rather than answering.

The elevator soon brought them to a long dark hallway, doors aligning both sides. Liz was in no mood to be picky—she stopped at the first one she came to.

"Here." She opened the door for him, knowing very well the knob was too high, "If you need me, I'm next door."

He grunted again, quieter (he looked about to fall asleep on his feet).

Before he could disappear inside, Liz cleared her throat. "Hey."

Rocket glanced up, "What."

She thought for a second, then offered a sympathetic smile, "Sorry we didn't find the ship and get you out of here, already." She paused, then added, "And for letting you get torn up by a dog." Another pause, "And for driving us out of the helicarrier. Without warning you first."

Rocket stared at her blankly… then shrugged.

"Eh, happens." He held his side painfully, apparently not caring whether she saw, anymore, "Wouldda been more surprised if it went without a hitch."

"Yeah, I guess you're right." She opened the door to her own room, "We'll figure something out."

He exhaled, "Sure, kid." Without further comment or insult, the door was shut forcefully behind him.

Liz sighed, then slipped inside her bedroom: she had planning to do.