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She was taken when the sun was high in the sky. She remembers her mother’s hands, soft like worn leather, and her father’s form blocking most of the brilliant sun from the entrance of the cave they huddle in. She is young, but old enough to know how to press her lips together and silence the whimpers of fear that arise from her throat.
Outside the cave, the world is burning, and a ship larger than anything she has ever known threatens to blot out the sun.
Her mother, suddenly, spins her around. Behind her, she hears the sound of her father fighting. She remembers her mother’s liquid brown eyes frantically mapping every detail of her face as her father grunts in pain. Do whatever the men outside tell you to do, no matter what, her mother orders, and she nods, trembling. Do not dwell on us, focus on surviving until you can escape, and know, always, that you are loved, her mother says, before a rough hand grasps at the loose skin on her back and drags her into the boiling sun.
The man attached to the hand looks down at her, making noises she is sure are meant to communicate something but have no meaning to her. Surely, however, he is not giving her an order to attempt escape, so she keeps her body obediently limp as she blinks up at him in confusion. She suddenly feels a sharp pain behind her ear, feels warm blood trickling down the side of her neck, and the incoherent shouting resolves itself into words.
Understand me now, savage? He questions, and she nods quietly. He looks slightly taken aback by her lack of struggle, but her parents have given her an order, and it is her duty to obey.
The man holding the scruff of her neck flings her at the feet of a man who is larger than any she has ever seen. He is tall, and built like a warrior, but he holds no weapons.
Look at me, he says, but sudden fear at the sound of that powerful, rumbling voice keeps her eyes firmly on the cracked ground. The man laughs. He does not seem angry. He does not seem like any of the conquerors that her parents have warned her of.
He bends down and presses a sleek weapon into her hands. He turns her to the man who had grabbed her from the cave, and shows her how to hold it, how to press a little button and incinerate him. She closes her eyes when she fires. She has seen death, of course, as hers is a culture of warriors and war, but she is too young to truly understand and revel in it.
The large man smiles warmly at her when she opens her eyes again. She tries to smile back, but she is afraid that her fear shines through, and that her smile is insincere. She does not want to be rude to this man, who has done nothing so far but help her.
He turns her again, and she sees her parents, on their knees, eyes cast to the ground. She has never seen them kneel so easily before, and suddenly, she is frightened. She looks back at the large man, and he tells her that if she shoots her parents, she will live.
Around her, she sees the husks of children not much older than she, and knows with certainty that if she does not shoot them, she will die.
She turns back to her parents. They smile up at her, and nod, and her mother mouths please, and it is the only time she can remember her mother begging for anything. She closes her eyes, and shoots.
Behind her, the man laughs, and clasps her shoulder warmly.
The man tells her that his name is Thanos, and that he is her father now. He holds her by the shoulder and has her repeat the word to him until he is satisfied. Then, he asks her name. She tells him the name of the constellation she was born under, the closest thing she has to a name at such a young age. Nebula, he calls her. She supposes it is not incorrect. He smiles, and takes her by the hand to a large room, and introduces her to a group of children, none much older than her, and tells her that they are her siblings.
She nods at all of them, before they all come up to her. One of them, seemingly the oldest of the bunch, holds out a hand. She looks back at Thanos, and he nods. She takes the hand, and the girl squeezes with surprising strength. When she lets go, her hand aches.
She cradles it as she turns back towards Thanos, who gestures for her to follow him as he turns to go. “Why are you rubbing your arm, child?” he asks, without turning again to face her.
She can feel her face flush, and turns her eyes to the ground. She does not know why she is embarrassed. Her parents had always told her that there was no shame in pain, and in injury, so long as it did not hinder her, and made her stronger as a result.
A large hand slips beneath her chin, and gently raises her head enough for her to look Thanos in the eye. “Did Gamora hurt you?”
Gamora must be the tall green girl, then. She hesitates, but looks him in the eye and nods. He hums, and smiles, and thanks her for telling him.
Perhaps, if her planet was doomed to die, Thanos is not so bad a man to be her new father.
He takes her hand, gently, unlike Gamora, and leads her to a bright room that’s made of metal and gleams under the artificial lights of the ship. He directs her to a chamber in the middle of the room, and she stands in it. Leather bands are stretched over her arms, her legs, her waist.
Now, she is afraid.
Thanos cradles her cheek. “This will hurt, child. But it will make you stronger, so that none may hurt you like Gamora did today. Okay?” She trembles, but nods. Gamora did not hurt her today, truly, but she supposes it is not so bad to be stronger.
She cannot suppress her scream when the blade bites into the flesh of her hand. Thanos strokes her cheek, and cradles her arm, and does not stop even when she begs him to. Tears run down her face, hot and liquid, and he brushes them away with a thumb even as he extracts the bones from her wrist, one by one.
This is unlike any pain she has felt before, even worse than when she fell off a high cliff and broke several bones going down.
Soon enough, however, the torment ends. She looks down at her new hand. It is not hers, but it responds well enough, and it looks as it always has. It aches as if she has held it too long over a fire, or has smashed it against a large boulder, but it does feel sturdier.
When Thanos unbinds her, she flinches away, and cannot help but gasp in fear when he gathers her in his arms. He simply holds her gently until her shaking subsides, until the pain in her arm has dimmed to the point that she can ignore it.
“You understand, child, that I did this for you? You are strong, now. I know it hurt, but pain is temporary, and this strength will last you for as long as you live. Truly, in a few weeks, this pain will be forgotten,” He says, holding her at an arm’s length. He seems sincere, and she takes a shuddering breath. It is true, she supposes, and it is not as if her parents at home had refrained from hurting her, if doing so had made her better.
She nods.
“Thank you,” she whispers, and tries another smile.
“Oh, Nebula,” Thanos smiles. “I am proud to call you my daughter.”
Nebula’s new lodgings are next to Gamora’s. The room is more luxurious than any Nebula has seen before, with a plush, clean bed, and an array of gleaming weapons hung on the wall. There is no door, but that, Nebula supposes, is alright. She has nothing to hide.
She turns from the room, and pokes her head into Gamora’s. Gamora’s room is nicer than hers, with a vanity, and several books stacked neatly into a small bookshelf in the corner. That is alright too, Nebula supposes. She is older, after all.
Gamora is reading on her bed, a knife bare on the table beside her. She has either not noticed Nebula, or is actively trying to ignore her. “Sister?” She asks.
“I am not your sister,” Gamora growls, not looking up.
Nebula pauses. “Gamora?” She tries, and while there is no affirmative response, there is no negation, either. “Gamora, how long have you been on this ship, with Father?” She asks, her tongue stumbling slightly on the last word.
Gamora’s grip tightens on her book, but she does not respond. Nebula does not understand this hostility. Has she offended Gamora in some way? She pauses, again, then decides it is better to simply ask than to attempt to puzzle it out. “Have I done something to offend you, Gamora?”
Gamora closes her eyes, sighs, and places her book to the side. “I am not angry at you. I am angry at Father.”
Nebula’s heart nearly stops in her chest at this blatant sign of disrespect. “Is such a sentiment not dangerous here?”
“Father does not care what we think,” Gamora spits, “As long as we follow his orders and his rules.”
“Oh,” Nebula says, looking down for a moment, then back up at Gamora. “What are his orders and his rules?”
Gamora opens her eyes, and looks directly at Nebula, before diverting her gaze to the ceiling. “I suppose this is my punishment for killing Arlox,” she mutters, before taking a deep breath. “You are new here, so let me first make it clear that this is the only time I will help you for free.”
She pauses and looks at Nebula, who nods in agreement.
“I suppose you have already learned his first rule, that we are to call him Father. His second rule is that we are to answer his summons immediately, no matter the circumstances, and that he is not to be summoned. He is too busy to be bothered by our petty troubles, and if he wants something from us he will come to us. And, of course, we are to obey his orders without hesitation.”
“His orders?” Nebula prompts when it does not look like Gamora is going to continue.
“His orders may vary, of course, as we are all slaves to his will, but they mostly consist of training and of fighting each other. Sometimes, he sends us out to kill his enemies.”
Nebula stops for a second, then tilts her head, considering. “What if he orders me to fight you, or to kill you, and I do not want to?”
“Then he will kill you,” Gamora answers, “As slowly and painfully as he is able to, and the rest of us will be awake for the entire night because of your screaming.” She suddenly looks far less angry, and very tired. “If I can give you any advice at all, it is this: avoid his enhancement room, at all costs.”
Nebula’s new hand suddenly feels very cold, and very heavy.
Over the ship’s comm systems, Thanos tells his children that dinner will be served in five minutes, and they are not to be late. Gamora is up and shouldering her way out of the room almost before Nebula can blink. Nebula has to run to keep up with her the entire way, but her fear of getting lost is stronger than the burning of her lungs.
Nebula thinks she sees a flicker of pride in Thanos’ eyes when Nebula slips into the cafeteria before five minutes has elapsed, and again when she misjudges her new strength and accidentally bends her spoon as she picks it up.
Gamora’s expression shutters.
The next day, Thanos orders Nebula to spar with Gamora. Gamora wastes no time in putting a sword cleanly through her thigh and pinning her to the hard arena floor, and when Nebula glances up at her in betrayal when Thanos removes the blade from her leg and orders her to stand, she thinks she sees a flicker of sadness in Gamora’s eyes, before Gamora bends down to pick up her sword and her bright pink hair obscures her face.
Nebula grits her teeth and shoves herself to her feet, but her leg buckles at the sudden explosion of agony, and the ship’s artificial gravity sends her crashing to the ground again. Thanos simply sighs and orders one of his men to take Nebula to the enhancement chamber, before draping an arm affectionately around Gamora’s shoulder and telling her that he thinks she deserves a new sword for taking her sister down so effectively.
Gamora thanks him demurely, but even Nebula, through the haze of pain, does not miss the note of resentment in her voice.
Gamora received her new sword today, Nebula notes. It is beautiful and it shines like liquid silver.
It is also incredibly sharp, she discovers. It glides through the meat of her newly enhanced thigh with almost no resistance, but her new leg does not give out underneath her and she barely feels it, so focused is she on tearing off the arm holding that sword. Maybe it will be gifted to her, if she defeats Gamora today.
Surely, Gamora cannot win every match. Surely, one day, Nebula will win and be rewarded, just as Gamora is.
She is so distracted by the glint of light off of her blood on that blade that she does not see Gamora’s fist come from her left side and connect squarely with her temple.
That night, Thanos strokes the ruined side of her face even as she flinches and tears well, against her will, in her eyes. He gently extracts a shattered shard of her cheekbone, allows it to fall, landing warm on her exposed abdomen.
“What did you do wrong today, Nebula?” He asks, as if he is a schoolteacher questioning an incorrect algebra answer.
“I-” She pauses as he plucks out another shard of bone from her eye, “I failed to guard my left side in time.”
Thanos hums, consideringly. “I believe that, not only did you fail to block her attack, you failed to see it entirely. Am I wrong, daughter?” She thinks she feels a tear trailing down the side of her face that is still whole.
“No,” she admits, her voice low. Thanos’ hand pauses, and he begins to press a thumb directly into the point of impact. “No, father,” Nebula gasps, and his hand relents, moving forward to brush an exposed shard of browbone off of her eyelid.
“Do not worry, Nebula. You will not make this mistake again. One day, you will be strong.” His other hand comes up and brushes off her torso, the fragments of her bones falling to the ground.
“Thank you, father,” she acknowledges, and nearly bites her tongue off when his fingers press, unrelenting, into her eye socket, nearly popping the eye as it is pulled out of her body.
Gamora’s foot is a fraction of a degree off, and Nebula knows with a sudden, ringing clarity that she could throw off Gamora’s balance.
She could grab that leg with her newly hardened arm and twist, and Gamora’s flesh would follow, and she would be vulnerable, and Nebula would win, and Thanos would gift her with a warm smile and prime rations tonight, and she would be left to sleep through the night peacefully, without being summoned for hours of training as Gamora rests.
Tonight, Gamora’s leg will be shorn off of her body, and she will scream and be sick at the sight of her femur, devoid of flesh. She will scream when a machine attaches metal muscle and graphene skin to her naked bone. She will cry and beg when she is forced to walk on a limb too tender to stand, and she will cry when that limb hits the hard floor of the arena in the early hours of the morning, and, Nebula thinks, she will not sleep peacefully at all.
Nebula’s hand reaches upward, connects with Gamora’s gut, sends her a step backwards, her foot readjusting. Gamora brings her elbows down onto Nebula’s back, and Nebula feels a bright flash of pain flashing from her kidneys at the point of connection. She thinks about how she will be pissing blood for a week, before her head connects with the ground and consciousness flees from her.
When she wakes up, her kidneys have already been removed from her body. She sees them on the floor in front of her, discarded waste, and feels her new, mechanical organs pumping under undoubtedly discolored patches of newly sewn on skin, just like the ones on her face.
It is spite, she thinks, for Thanos could surely meld new skin to old, leave her body unmarred and beautiful as he leaves Gamora’s.
“Gamora made a rare mistake today,” Thanos says from somewhere in the room. For a moment, Nebula’s heart stops. Surely, she thinks, Thanos knows she saw that mistake and failed to act. Surely, she thinks, these will be her last moments in the universe, and she will leave it unsatisfied, crying and wailing in unceasing agony.
His hand falls on her shoulder, squeezing lightly. “Do you know what it was?”
Nebula freezes. She can tell Thanos that she saw it, and did not crush her sister’s leg in order to break her stance, and he will tear her apart until she hates her sister, and she will leave this room unscathed. Or she can tell Thanos that she did not, and allow him to think she is simply too stupid to hurt her sister.
Thanos sighs, and she knows that her time to answer has run out.
“It is a shame you were too slow to see it,” he says, and Nebula does not know if she is more frightened or relieved. “It would have made tonight easier.”
She hears the mechanical whir of a saw start up behind her, and soon finds that she no longer has the mental capacity to puzzle it out. She opens her mouth and screams, and she feels her body thrashing even as Thanos shakes his head disapprovingly, lifting the crown of her skull, revealing her brain underneath, filling her eyes with the blue blood that streams from it.
She hopes, against all hope, that tonight Gamora will hear her, and tomorrow Gamora will grant her mercy.
Many years and many fights pass before Gamora finally, finally does. Gamora grabs her by the shoulders, drags her from the burning wreck of a ship. Nebula's leg cracks, and then what feels like every bone in her body.
It’s not every bone, of course. Her reinforced spine remains mostly whole, as well as the most of the fragile little bones in her left hand. Her body quickly knits itself together, as Thanos has made it to. Each snap of bone to broken bone sends a pain jolting through her body, a pain she barely registers as the next shattered bit of her repairs.
Gamora, next to her, groans. It is likely she has not broken anything at all. Her species was hardier that Nebula’s, even before Thanos’ enhancements. She has never had to be repaired in the same way Nebula has. It was once a blessing, she supposes. Now, it is a weakness.
Gamora screams in frustration when Nebula tackles her, as if she does not also feel the echoes of a distant order echoing in her mind. And when she loses, she does not have the decency to submit, or beg, or cry.
Nebula barely feels her mouth moving. She cannot tell if she feels triumphant, or furious, or very, very, frightened. She has beaten Gamora, has truly taken advantage of Gamora’s every weakness, but Gamora does not understand what this means.
“I just wanted a sister!” Nebula screams, and her confession bounces in the empty corners of her mind. At any moment now, Gamora’s expression will change to disgust. Weak, she will spit. Worthless. And she will be correct, because hearing those words from the only person Nebula can remember caring about will shatter her, completely and irredeemably.
And yet still her confession comes, tumbling from her tongue as she lets free her sins and her lies, the ones Thanos would certainly have killed her for. Her suffering was the result of her weakness, and her weakness alone, but it is so unfair that Gamora had been born so much better than her. It is so unfair that Nebula alone has been burdened with the love of her sister, the one weakness Thanos has never managed to pluck out of her, and she has never recalled wishing so hard for the ability to cry. She loves her sister, has always loved her sister, even in the depths of her torment, and that confession nearly escapes her, too.
She does not know why she cares for Gamora so, she who has never shown her kindness or love or mercy, but Gamora is all she has, the only constant besides pain in her life, and even at her most savage and vicious and cruel she has represented safety, because she is Nebula’s older sister and the only family she thinks she could not bear to kill, because then Nebula will be alone in the universe, drifting forever without purpose, while the false body Thanos has so painstakingly built for her will not allow her to die.
She cannot muster a single tear, but she supposes it’s for the best. She does not think she could bear for Gamora to see her so clearly.
Yondu died as they battled Ego. Yondu, the one among the motley crew of guardians- or Guardians, now, perhaps- that looked most like her, and understood her best, in the brief smile they shared before her world lit up in fire and pain.
He knew what it was like, to be used and discarded like so much litter upon the ground, she is sure. He knew what it was like, for fear and pain to be such constants in life that an existence without them felt empty. The network of scars on his face, the way his skin puckered and stretched cruelly around the implant that she had shot off him, the way his voice rasped like a man constantly about to scream out his last breath, told a story that neither he, nor she, could say in words.
They mourn him, now, with a proper Ravager funeral.
Gamora mourns him, now. Nebula does not remember Gamora ever mourning anyone, not even the siblings she liked best.
Gamora would never mourn her.
Nebula turns and leaves. She has seen enough sorrow.
“You will always be my sister,” Gamora says. Her arms come up, hesitantly, to encircle Nebula. She tamps down the urge to push her away, or to flinch away herself. Her species is not one that is wired for touch, but Gamora is warm against her synthetic skin, and she has been cold for so long.
The hug is an awkward thing- Nebula is not sure if Gamora has ever even thought of her without hate, let alone with any kind of affection. And yet it is real, and Nebula allows herself to think, for the first time, that perhaps they have truly escaped Thanos’ grasp for good. He is alive, out there, somewhere, but he will not touch them again, cannot turn them against each other again.
Should they choose to fight or to hate from this point forward, it will be because of mechanisms of their own design, and that thought brings a clarity Nebula never thought she would know.
It’s the first time, she thinks, that Gamora’s touch hasn’t been accompanied by pain. She’s not sure she knows how to reciprocate.
She does anyway. Thanos can wait, for just a moment longer, and when she kills him, Gamora’s approval will make her victory sweet indeed.