Vaguely, it occurred to Rocket that he was staring. No. Gaping. Not quite slack-jawed, but only thanks to years of schooled features and the high-stakes galactic poker game that was his life.
His hand ducked behind his back, fingers resting lightly on the handle of the gun. This couldn’t be who it looked like. Couldn’t be. Weird stuff has happened, but people don’t…after what happened…it just wasn’t possible. Rocket’s life didn’t work like that.
“You’re the one showin’ up unannounced, buddy, so I think you owe me the introduction first.” Pulling his gun would’ve been a little theatrical at that point, not to mention it would be showing his hand. But it was there, and he was waiting. “Well? You got three seconds to give me a name and what you’re doin’ here, so I’d get talking.”
Because it was much easier to be this—to be coarse, suspicious, maybe even a little paranoid—than to accept that he was seeing what he thought he was: Richard Rider, back from the dead.
He obviously wasn’t Stark’s new bodyguard because Tony could take perfect care of himself. But to find some stranger there was weird. But then again it had been three years and Pete had told him that Tony was with them for a while. Tony probably gained some space friends along the way.
Richard motioned to raise a hand in gesture of “I mean no harm.” Which he voiced too. Actually that was kinda of a lie, he did mean harm, but only if the other person struck first.
“I’m Richard, yeah. Friend of Tony’s, whose apartment we’re both in right now.” He said calmly, not wanting to spook the man into firing at him. Richard knew the tell tale signs of when someone was ready to shoot if necessary. “I’m guessing you’re from space? I don’t think that you’ll shoot everyone who came to see Tony right? I hope not.”
He tried to make light of situation, and in hopes to buy time so that he could mentally ask Worldmind for a scan, which he did.
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