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Nebula’s left arm ached. Well, it wasn’t her arm anymore, was it? Now it was another weapon, optimized for death, made of unfeeling metal. The joint where it met her shoulder ached, but the arm itself felt nothing.
The feeling came back, sometimes. She could feel her face—cold made the seam where metal met flesh burn, and when she stroked her fingers over it, she could feel the warmth.
Her leg was still nothing but dead metal. Nebula had given up on that one ever coming back. She sometimes hit it with her fist, when she was alone at night and feeling particularly angry. It never accomplished anything besides inducing an ache in the hand where her flesh had not yet been stolen from her, but it did make her feel better.
Sometimes she imagined it was Gamora she was punching, her sister and her enemy. She imagined a day when she’d finally win and it would be Gamora, not her, who was dragged off screaming to lose a part of herself. Half of her wanted to see Gamora with a metal hand or leg or eye, to see her live with a weapon grafted to her.
The other half thought she couldn’t bear it if Gamora was damaged too.
Love was weak. Love got you killed. Nebula loved Gamora.
Gamora was always so sorry when Nebula came back after another surgery. Tonight, she reached out to gingerly touch Nebula’s new arm.
“Does it hurt?”
It always hurt. “I can’t feel much,” Nebula said. “It’s just cold.”
Gamora traced a finger over where the metal met flesh, watching as Nebula schooled back a wince. “You’re lying.” She bit her lip, looking worried. (Nebula would have preferred anger. Anger invited anger in return; she didn’t know what to do with worry.) “You know you don’t have to be strong, when it’s just you and me.”
Anger surged up in her, that Gamora hadn’t yet realized the truth of the matter. She’d done this to Nebula, and Nebula couldn’t let her know how much she blamed her for it. “It only hurts at the joint. The pain will fade—it did with the others.”
She hated the worry that flashed across Gamora’s face. “I’m so sorry.”
Nebula wanted to push down her own bitterness and lean into the moment. There was so little gentleness here. Instead, she snapped, “You could have thought of that before you beat me.”
And just like that, the worry was gone. “Don’t blame me for what he’s done to us, Nebula.”
“He wasn’t the one who pinned me to the ground yesterday.”
“And I wasn’t the one who took your arm.”
Nebula growled, and lunged at Gamora. Instead of pushing her to the ground, on an impulse she was sure she would regret, Nebula kissed her.
Gamora, after a stunned moment of stillness, kissed back. They ended up against the wall, hands all over each other and pressed close like they were trying to become one. The contact made Nebula’s nerves (or what was left of them, at least) sing. She marveled at the softness of Gamora’s lips, the way her hair slid like a waterfall over Nebula’s fingers, the way her heartbeat echoed. The kiss was almost a fight itself, all blows and parries and back-and-forths, neither wanting to be the first to come up for air.
In the end, it was Gamora who pulled away. Nebula took a sort of pride in that—at least she was the best at this.
“I never wanted to hurt you,” Gamora said, her forehead still pressed against Nebula’s. The breath behind the words tickled Nebula’s nose.
“I don’t want to hurt you either.” That was the crux of the matter, although Nebula didn’t expect Gamora to understand. She never could bear to watch Gamora be hurt, not without it tearing her up inside.
Gamora took Nebula’s hand in hers, and pressed her lips to the wrist, where it had been reattached to the new cybernetics. “Can you feel that?”
“Almost.” There was a whisper of something, a warmth that seemed close to unfurling, but she could have been imagining it.
Gamora moved to kiss the crook of her new metal elbow. “And that?”
“Not yet.” Despite her words, Nebula shivered. She thought she might be able to feel it, if she focused.
Then Gamora pressed a kiss to her cheekbone, where a plate of metal covered her eye socket. “And that?”
“Yes.” Nebula’s voice wavered. She wished she and Gamora could stay here forever, Gamora tracing out every seam of her body with her lips. She wished they wouldn’t have to go back to fighting in the morning. She couldn’t wish that Thanos had never heard of her home planet, as she so often did, because that would mean she would never have found Gamora. Tonight, all of the pain seemed worth it to keep this connection.
They fell asleep together, Gamora tracing her fingers over whatever parts of Nebula she could reach.
The next day, Thanos called them in front of him once again, and just like that, the events of last night faded away. At least, they did for Gamora, who lunged at Nebula as soon as they were both in the ring. Nebula hadn’t managed to push everything down yet. She lashed out at Gamora—
—her fingers twining through Gamora’s hair—
—swiped a blow at Gamora, managing to knock her off her feet—
—Gamora kissing her cheek, the warmth of her lips breaking through the numb metal to make warmth blossom across Nebula’s face—
—pinned Gamora to the ground, hands around her throat—
—the ache in Nebula’s shoulder soothed by the gentle pressure of Gamora’s fingers, tracing over the new seam—
—an image flashed through her mind of Gamora’s perfect skin scarred by a hunk of metal soldered into it—
Nebula let go. In the blink of an eye, Gamora flipped over and pinned Nebula. Unlike Nebula, Gamora didn’t loosen her grip. She held Nebula to the ground until Thanos gestured for her to let up, and someone came to drag Nebula away once again.
Hate and love twined in her heart as she watched Gamora mouth I’m sorry.