She's got a point there, though Rocket doesn't make it a point to be comfortable, so he'd never know either way. Maybe that's what's got his dander up so much about this. He wants to be comfortable and relax and just take the sights and smells in like someone who is waiting for the hammer to fall at every moment, but he's too damned paranoid.

And fuck, fuck, fuck shit... Fuck. Why does it sound like such a good idea? All survival instincts scream don't fucking do it, and the louder voices cry, this is how people die of hypertension, you idiot.

His compromise is that he sits in the grass, rather than standing and hovering. Already, he feels better, which leads to him scooting a bit closer to the protective shade of the tree. "There. I'm relaxing. You happy?"

He still has his arms crossed and he looks grumpy to have been defeated by comfort, so it could be better, but ever so slowly the tension is going out of him as the sweet-smelling forest soothes him.