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Thor stood just a few metres away from the spaceship doors, fiddling with the end of his braid. He wasn't nervous, of course. This wasn't a nervous waiting. He certainly wasn't procrastinating anything, least of all meeting Bruce again after his stint with the Guardians. After all, why would he?
He loved Bruce - a fact that he could say out loud to anyone who would listen. At first, it had been difficult admitting it. He hadn't ever really denied it, just… had trouble with the expressing of it all. With the state of himself and his people, love wasn't really something that had been high on his schedule.
But it was hard hiding feelings with Mantis around. All it took was one brush of skin (something which was very difficult to avoid, given the practice he'd taken up of plaiting her hair back once she'd complained about it getting in the way during battle) and his feelings were exposed to the world. Or rather, the ship.
And honestly, he didn't mind. He wasn't embarrassed by it. It was just...new.
But the good kind of new. The new that came with every hidden treasure the Guardians had shown him, and the new that came with the ones he'd been able to impart to them.
And he wasn't all that nervous about Bruce seeing him, either.
Quill had been kind enough to braid back the unruly locks of hair he'd been growing out since he'd left earth, and if he was being totally honest, Thor liked the look. He liked the long trail of gold that now ran down his back, he liked how it looked with his beard that was a little more tame than it had been. And accompanied with the discarded Ravager jacket (apparently it had been given to Drax, who vehemently refused on account of his 'no shirt' policy, which...Thor still didn't get what was going on with that, actually) it all looked rather fetching.
He liked the way he looked. Even the amber eye didn't seem so bad, now that the scar had faded somewhat with time. Thor felt good. For the first time in a while, actually. He felt fine. Admirable. Encouraged.
And yet.
The spaceship doors still loomed in front of him, the seconds ticking by as his hand hovered over the button.
Bruce was out there, outside, big and green and waiting for him to come out and say hello. Waiting for a reunion that had been two years in the making. Waiting for stories of space, adventure, and probably anticipating something weird given the people he'd been traveling with.
Thor had stories. He had thousands of them. He even knew the one he'd open on, once all the catching up was out of the way.
He'd planned it all out. Bruce and he would… hug, probably. Bruce seemed to enjoy hugging now a lot more than he had, didn't flinch away from contact anymore, but rather instigated it himself. And Thor hadn't exactly been able to stop himself from thinking of Bruce's arms recently, so he certainly wasn't opposed to the idea.
They'd hug, they'd talk, Bruce would tell him what he'd been up to, and then the topic would turn to him.
And then Thor could tell Bruce about the little market they'd found on Knowhere.
***
He'd hated Knowhere, at first. Loud, crowded, and filled with enough thieves to house the entirety of Asgard's wealth in their pockets. The bars smelled, the people weren't exactly reputable, and Thor was really starting to wonder what they were doing there until Rocket had directed him to a stall, snickering behind his paws.
There, nestled amongst second hand pistols and what Thor was sure had been a jar of bees, was a mug.
But not just any mug.
A commemorative mug, mass produced, cheaply priced. One patterned with a familiar green, and a very familiar face etched into the side of it.
This was a mug from Sakaar, commemorating the famed battle between the grand champion and a much smaller figure who was crudely labelled as 'Thunder Lord'.
"Y'know, when you said you'd been around, I figured that was just the nine realms bullshit you keep harpin' on about."
Rocket hopped up onto the table, snatching the mug from his grasp with a barely choked off laugh.
"But here I was, wanderin' through a marketplace, and who's mug do I see on this mug? None but the Lord of Thunder himself!"
"God. It's the God of Thunder."
Thor shook his head, rolling his eyes as Rocket's laughter increased.
"That's not what it says on the mug."
"That's because the mug is wrong, Rabbit. And I will not be insulted by this… this fallacy!"
Thor lifted the mug closer to his face, trying to ignore the flashing signals and prices his eye was currently trying to show him.
"Doesn't even look like me."
"But it is you."
Rocket was quick to pass over the units required once the stall owner glanced in their direction, reaching up to tap one claw against the alternate side of the ceramic.
"And that's your boyfriend."
"He's not-" Thor turned sharply, yanking the cup further towards his chest as his face dropped to an embarrassed scowl.
"He's not my boyfriend."
"Oh, course not. You just mention him every other sentence, and you're currently staring at the picture in a way that's making me uncomfortable. But sure."
Rocket jumped off the table, hoisting his gun further across his back before starting to walk again.
"Just friends."
"The times I have mentioned Bruce have been entirely relevant, actually."
"That's a heaping crock of shit, Sparky, but whatever." A small huff escaped from Rocket’s mouth before he could stop it, and the dark eyes turned up to Thor in a manner that was almost reproachful.
"I don't even get why you're trying to deny it with me. Quill, and the others, I'd get - you don't even know those guys. But I've known you for 5 friggin' years. You can't fool me."
Thor swallowed, fingers tracing cautiously around the ceramic as he lowered it into his bag. Rocket was right, as always, and it was uncomfortable.
Because Thor had been sure he was being subtle about this. It was hardly his fault that he kept bringing the scientist up, was it? Things, especially space things, applied to Bruce. Anyone with any sense in their brain would've made the connection to the large green scientist and the large green forests of the Outer Planets, or the burning stars of the Orion system and the way Bruce liked his coffee slightly burnt, or the way the dazzling lights of the spacecraft were so similar to his eyes and - oh no.
Rocket was right. This was getting out of hand.
Thor sighed, letting one hand lower to clasp Rocket by the shoulder.
"I apologise, my friend. It's not that I don't trust you with this, it's…" Thor shrugged, turning his gaze to streets as if he could find answers in the drunk Knowhere dwellers loitering in the streets.
"It's me I don't trust. I haven't said anything of the sort to Bruce yet, and I just-"
"Ok, ok, you don't need to get soft with me. I get it." Rockets fingers carefully plucked Thor's hand from his shoulder, but didn't break away from him entirely.
Instead, he turned slightly, pausing before his next few words as if he wasn't entirely sure he should say them (which certainly put Thor on edge - Rocket was an absolute master of saying things he shouldn't).
"You don't gotta say anything to me. Just… say it to him. Don't mean to sound all doom and gloom but you never know what's gonna happen."
Rocket glanced downwards, letting out a soft sigh, fixing his gaze firmly on a puddle of rainwater in front of him.
"You don't wanna regret it later."
Thor had tried to say something else, then. And despite having received numerous scratches and bite marks telling him that hugs were not Rocket's deal, he did try and coax the small Rabbit into one. Which he was rewarded for by a small snarl, and the point of a gun pressing into his leg.
But he did think on it, when he laid awake in his bunk that night.
Life was short. Even for him.
He'd thought his thousands of years of living were over, back on the ruins of Asgard. He'd thought so again on the Statesman, with the flashing pain of the power stone etching into his skull.
Again, and again, Thor had faced death and every single unspoken word had been forced to the forefront of his mind.
And again and again he forgot about it. Buried it down deep, resolved to tell Bruce the next time. Or the next, or the next.
If he didn't do something about this now…
Maybe that's why he was nervous. Because outside of those spaceship doors, waiting in the grass and dirt of the small blue planet he'd learnt to love, was his confession. Was his unspoken words, his regrets for things he'd never said. Was the prospect of acceptance - or the fear of rejection.
Like it or not, out there was his life. Fragile as ceramic, cradled in hands of emerald.
He let out a careful breath, tapping a few codes into the door, feeling the cool air on his face.
It was time to face the music.
It was time to go home.