It was when they'd come back from a mission - when the little raccoon had been washed, dried, and then gently groomed until he could barely stay awake - that Rocket asked David just why the humie adored him so much. Clad only in sleep-shorts, as Rocket lay there in bed with his humie - as David softly stroked his fur and Rocket purred softly, cuddling against him, David looked into the raccoon's crimson eyes and gently responded with a curious sonnet, "I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride; So, I love you because I know no other way than this: where I does not exist, nor you, so close that your hand on my chest is my hand, so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep."

Rocket pondered his humie's answer for a moment, running it through his cybernetic brain... and then, his eyes widened, and he turned about, thickly furred back against David's chest, inhaling a sob as somehow, he got what his humie was trying to say. David did not love him out of pity, or for money, or because he wanted sex, or favours, or to use him in any way. David loved and adored Rocket... just because he was who he was. Just because he was Rocket. Rocket thought he understood; but at the same time, he was awed, that love such as this could even exist. Still, even without sex there was intimacy, flarkin' hell was there ever intimacy, and Rocket remembered it all; gentle holding of his pawhands, stroking, caressing every inch of his body (aside from his intimate places) before he went to sleep, or as he woke up, making him purr loud and shameless. David washing him, grooming him, massaging all his muscles until he was as limp as a flarkin' wet noodle--mmh!

Before this, of course, the flarkin' humie had taken months to slowly get Rocket used to being touched, then held, and finally carried by not only him, but also everyone else (aside from Groot whom he already trusted). Even though it felt d'ast weird being picked up and carried about all over the ship like a Terran infant, somehow, David turned it into something gentle and loving, not weird or humiliating. Rocket learned that being picked up and carried (so long as he gave consent and was okay with it) did not mean he was going to be subject to pain or torture; that instead, someone picking him up meant that he was safe, that people genuinely cared about his wellbeing. There was also a practical side to it; someone tall, like Drax, or Groot, could lift the raccoon up to high places such that he didn't need to expend energy climbing. If Rocket was injured, or exhausted, someone carrying him about meant he could conserve energy for sleep or healing. Hell, the raccoon learned that... sometimes certain teammates wanted to hold him just because; though David hid a smile and gently warned Rocket not to take advantage of it (but he did, shamelessly, and Mantis indulged!).

This had led up to getting his back sorted such that new fur started growing from the exposed skin there, aside from where his humie took great care to trim it around the implant diagnostic ports. Rocket vividly remembered the notebook that David kept with him, the Little Black Book filled with seemingly endless pages of notes, thoughts, half-formed ideas, sketches... and artwork, flarkin' hell the artwork the humie had drawn. Some of it was epic, and amazing; the team and him drawn to look even more badass than they already were; Rocket in particular--there was a full-colour hand drawn image of him confronting, screaming at the High Evolutionary, drawn solely based on what Rocket had TOLD David about him! There was Drax standing utterly triumphant over Ronan, his blades drenched in the man's blood; of Drax's Family - what they might have looked like, just based on Drax's stories; Drax, mourning his Family, behind him, however, the spirit of his wife and daughter stood, their hands on his shoulders as he knelt. Peter Quill and his mother.

Much of the Little Black Book, however, seemed almost for - and about - Rocket himself, and what the raccoon had seen had moved him deeply. Theory, speculation, and rough sketches and anatomical drawings of his hands, his feet, how his body worked; ideas on exactly how his cybernetics interfaced with his organic parts; theory on why his implants ached most of the time; way-off guesswork on what his code might be like; even thoughts on some sort of... read-only "developers environment" that might be used to carefully examine slices of Rocket's cybernetics' code without doing harm--but beneath was written the words ONLY WITH STRICT PERMISSION AND CONSENT; speculation on any boobytraps or "kill switches" inside Rocket, and how they might be disabled or removed completely. And there was research on the Terran Procyon Lotor, countless notes on where... the Raccoon... lived, its habits, what it ate, where it slept and more; besides, then there were jotted notes about whether any of this could be applied to Rocket to help him be more comfortable and at peace with himself. Rocket beheld in the book questions about how and why specifically the High Evolutionary made him from a base raccoon. "WHY RACCOON?" Rocket saw in the margins--and then he guffawed as he saw a doodle of himself as a base raccoon sticking his tongue out at a furious High Evolutionary as the man shook his fist in anger!

Hauntingly detailed sketches of a normal raccoon's brain, the parts labelled, sketches as to where Rocket's Implants would sit in the animal-raccoon's brain, then posits as to why the Evolutionary specifically wanted Rocket's brain at all; "WHY ROCKET? H.E CAN'T MAKE ANOTHER OF HIM? NO MORE RESOURCES? NO ABILITY TO MAKE MORE OF SPECIFIC IMPLANTS? TAILORED TO ROCKET, OR GENERIC? WHY NOT EXP. WITH OTHER RACCOONS? SOMETHING SPECIFIC TO ROCKET'S BRAIN? IMPLANT REJECTION FOR OTHER RACC'S BUT NOT ROCKET? UNLIKELY AS H.E MASTER OF GENETICS AND TECHNOLOGY? HE COULD MAKE "ANOTHER ROCKET" SO WHY DOESN'T HE?! H.E JUST OBSESSED? WANTS ROCKET BECAUSE UTTERLY INCENSED THAT "HE WAS THE ONE WHO GOT AWAY"? BASTARD WON'T GET HIM! WON'T HAVE HIM, GOTG AND I WILL LOOK OUT FOR HIM!"

A theoretical sketch of rockets brain, positing where the implants were (some of his humie's guesswork was off, other guesses were surprisingly accurate), where they connected and what all controlled what. Paging through the book, Rocket was breathtaken by the incredible anatomical, "cutaway" and full sketches of Lylla he found, the female otter exactly as she was by his description, then a version of her "finished" with true arms. "Again, why focus solely on Rocket; H.E also made Lylla, otter showed same intelligence level as Rocket, took charge/command of others. Don't understand this man, at all, but Lylla is beautiful; squeeze High Asshole when we find him; MAKE HIM bring Lylla BACK; Rocket deserves to be happy!" Was the text beneath. Now... now Rocket wept as he beheld beautifully coloured drawing after drawing of Lylla, unclothed, clothed, together with Rocket; of him and his Lady with - d'ast that humie! - a family of Otter/Raccoon Hybrids...

There was SO MUCH here in this book; the sketches of Rocket, full Artwork of Rocket, notes and thoughts about helping the raccoon confront and overcome his past (much of which had ended up working, d'ast it all!); how to help Rocket get used to being touched, being picked up, carried; notes on what foods Rocket liked, washing and grooming, how to best pet him and draw out that d'ast purr (oh flarkin' hell had THAT ever worked, mmh...!). Flarkin' epic ideas on suits, weapons, lethal and non-lethal tools, and other devices solely for Rocket (the art of him wearin' Tony Stark's armor blew his mind; then the one where he'd stolen Quill's Star-Lord Jacket and blasters made him nearly bust something in him he'd silently laughed so hard!) The whole book was... it was a treatise on how best to help Rocket, his friends, the other Guardians, all handwritten and drawn from everything Rocket had told David. The raccoon should have been utterly furious at what was in it--but... the whole book, the WHOLE FLARKIN' BOOK... had been made from his humie's love and want to ensure nothing but his happiness. 

The final page in the Black Book... laid Rocket low. It was a final, beautiful, full colour image of ALL the Guardians, their friends and allies, Rocket, Lylla, Teefs and Floor together. Below, text read, "TREASURE IS MEASURED IN UNITS OF LOVE, WHICH MEANS YOU MAY FIND THAT YOU ARE RICH, BEYOND YOUR WILDEST DREAMS. KNEW YOU'D FIND THIS AND WANT YOU TO HAVE IT; WE'LL TALK AND GO THROUGH IT LATER. LOVE YOU LI'L MAN." That did it. With trembling paws, Rocket had carefully set the book aside; then he'd curled up on his humie's bed and had cried his flarkin' eyes out; there his humie had found him, deduced what had happened and had gathered the raccoon into his arms, rocked him like a babe until he'd fallen asleep. His thoughts returning to the present, Rocket swallowed thickly, crimson eyes wet with tears as he turned about to bury his head into the crook of his human's shoulder. "... shouldn't love a monster like me," he murmured, voice cracking. "s'not worth it..." At this, David fircely petted and ruffled his fur, nuzzled Rocket's nose as the raccoon sobbed a laugh and started to purr. "Well, I do love you Rocket, so tough shit, you're stuck with me for as long as we live. You're worth it, li'l man. You're worth it."