With so many nonessential services still down for the count, there's been little opportunity for good quality take-out or anything else besides survival rations, basic staples, and leftovers, but Rocket doesn't complain. He's eaten way worse in a half dozen prisons across the galaxy, and the sandwiches are filling and alien enough that at least it's something different.

Keeping busy has been good for him, so far. There's no shortage of work to keep his hands moving, to let him tire himself out so the only time he has to think is when he's asleep and dreaming, and that shit's going to happen either way.

His ears perk up the moment it's even hinted that there's somewhere to go, something else to do. That it's for Thor is an added bonus. Rocket hasn't known the big guy terribly long, but they went through some crazy shit together that day that everything went to pieces. And there ain't a lot of people left for Rocket to care about anymore, and neither does anyone else. "Yeah, I can do that," he agrees without hesitation, and only afterward does he look over at Natasha. "If Boss don't need me for something else, that is." With Tony Stark out of the picture, Rocket has quickly become their most skilled mechanic, though Nebula isn't far behind him. She should be able to spare him, he thinks, and it'll be good to get out of this place for a short while before things start to feel too safely routine.