Chapter Text
Seeing Nebula injured isn’t something Tony is used to.
Even in the days after the snap, when she’d been one of the only people that would swing by the cabin, usually accompanying Rhodey, she always looked relatively unscathed. Tony was grateful for Rhodey’s presence in Nebula's life, stepping in where he wasn’t able, doing what needed to be done while Tony did all he could to try and find a way to wake up in the morning without tears in his eyes.
He had worried for the pair of them, hating the idea of them being out there in the ceaseless void of space, dark and cruel for all it’s terrible beauty, or somewhere out in a world that was so utterly broken in every way possible, but he took heart in the fact that they were usually together more often than not, forming a strange little trio with Rocket once he eventually got over the idea of trying to harvest parts from the War Machine suit.
And of course, when the world was put back right again, Peter came home and the potential for death and injury seemed even less.
Except for Nebula. She is a Guardian after all, part of Quill’s ragtag band that will always be needed somewhere out there in the stars, so it's quite naive to believe that the end of Thanos meant the end of everything painful and bad.
So when she arrives on Tony’s doorstep in the middle of a Thursday afternoon, cradled in Quill’s arms, looking so still and frail with her eyes closed and trails of dark blood on her skin, Tony feels his entire body go cold with a long forgotten kind of fear.
''We didn’t know where else to go,'' Quill says, looking as shell-shocked as Tony can remember seeing him in a good while. Rocket shoves his way through the gap in Quill’s legs and it’s the emotion on his furry face, the downturn of his whiskers and the glisten to his gaze, that sets Tony into motion.
He leads them upstairs whilst sending Rocket to gather some of his tools from the garage. Apparently Drax is still on board the Benatar with Mantis keeping him in a peaceful doze as he recovers from his own injuries. Tony blanches at the thought of whatever had been big enough to take him down managing to get their hands on Nebula too.
They head into Tony and Pepper’s bedroom and Quill sets her gently on the bed.
''Where’s Gamora?''
Something dark pulls on Quill’s features. ''Also on the ship.''
''Is she – ''
''She’s fine,'' Quill says tiredly. ''Just blames herself, you know? The fucker was going for her, she didn’t see, and Nebula jumped in the way and…well, yeah. A total shitshow is what it was.''
Tony peers at him.
''You alright?''
Quill straightens, his chest puffing out doing nothing to disguise the echo of worry on his face. ''I’m good, always good.''
They both know that’s not true but Tony humours him anyway, giving him a sharp pat on the shoulder before crouching down to focus properly on Nebula. Against the soft grey of the bed sheets, her blue skin seems so pale. There’s a huge rip in the leather of her jacket, revealing the gap between her shoulder and the joint of her cybernetic arm where short bursts of sparks flicker together almost tauntingly, like they know much pain she must be in from such a thing.
Tony looks away for a moment, eyes shut and inhaling slowly through his nose. He knows it could be worse, tries to take comfort in the fact that she’s alive and breathing right here in front of him, but the unfairness of it all strikes him heavy and he has to clench his fists tight to ward off the bitterness.
''Can you do anything?''
''Course I can,'' Tony replies, shoving the bravado to the forefront, needing it just for a few minutes. Quill nods knowingly and huffs a breath through pursed lips.
''Go check on Gamora,'' Tony tells him as Rockets appears in the room, dragging a bag of clanking metal behind him. ''We’ll fix her up.''
Quill spares Nebula one last look before heading out. Tony rolls up his sleeves as Rocket grabs a few tools from the bag, the thin skin on the top of his snout furrowing in thought.
''That arm is busted to hell.''
Tony nods.
''You know what we gotta do, right?''
Tony nods again.
His mind instantly flies to Rhodey. Though he knows his friend has long made some sort of peace with what happened to him, there are days where Tony still relives that moment where he saw his best friend hit the ground, still hears the moment of impact in the darker moments of his dreams. In the wake of the peace they live in, those dreams are rare, but Tony thinks they’ll be joined by this moment right here soon enough.
''We wait until she wakes up.''
Rocket looks up from where he’s fiddling with the cuff of Nebula’s jacket, like he’s considering how to remove it without having to move her, and squints.
''You know she’s gonna be in pain, right?''
''And you know what us removing a piece of her without asking will do to her.''
Rocket visibly wilts, a commiserating kind of sorrow coming over him. The two of them stand on opposite sides of the bed for a good minute or so, just watching Nebula breathe, before Rocket clears his throat.
''You finished that prototype yet?''
The smallest of grins quirks at Tony’s mouth. ''Out in the garage.''
Rocket chuckles as he recognises the invitation and heads out the door, paws padding gently across the wooden floor. Tony listens to him disappear down the hall before he takes a seat on the edge of the bed, back slightly turned towards Nebula.
The quietness of the room, save for the buzzing of the broken connection of Nebula's arm to her body, reminds him of those days stuck in space. There, the silence had been suffocating and he had done all he could to fill it. It had done nothing to ward off the agonising weight of the grief he had brought on board with him, nor did it heal the vicious wound in his side, but somehow it managed to endear Nebula to him.
He wasn’t loud, didn’t throw up the loud and brash version of himself that he used as a shield to fend off the demons of the world. The worst of them all had already come for him, so there had been no need for any defensive armour or a steely game face. He just talked about whatever the hell came to his mind as he and Nebula did all they could to get as far away from Titan as possible.
The quietness was always there, even with Quill’s music echoing through the rooms, even as they had ripped the ship apart in a desperate attempt to make it across the stars before their air ran out, but it was oddly comforting, much like the presence of Nebula herself.
Tony feels himself smiling at the memory. He can’t be bitter or unhappy about it because those days, fraught and horrifying and agonising as they had been, had led to all that they share now. He used to wonder why she didn’t just kill him immediately, but within the first two days it had become clear to him that the hatred and blood-lust she carried in her soul belonged to one man alone and it certainly wasn’t him.
She didn’t want to kill him.
If anything, she had been determined for him to live.
It hadn’t been all bad. He’d almost cried with laughter bordering on a bit too hysterical when she’d called him Metal Man, barely able to summon enough dwindling air to tell her that his name was Tony, and he’d taken great delight in throwing names like Cornflower and Bluebell and Nebs at her just to see how she would react. The first instance had led to her looking at him with such ferocious intensity that he actually braced himself for a death blow, but then a shade of darker blue had crossed her cheeks and she’d stormed off, leaving him grinning tiredly in triumph.
Still, there was no denying the darkness that had slowly began to claim them. Tony could only fight off the sorrow for so long before it had really started to dig its claws in and take hold. Knowing death was imminent, they had still gone through all the motions of living, right down to rationing the meagre supply of food while they waited for the oxygen to fully vanish.
He thinks of that moment often. The hesitant grace in the way Nebula had moved her hand to brush her fingers against the back of his own, touching him instead of the bag of dried meat; how he looked up to find her gaze already on him, her face passive but a melancholy kind of warmth in her dark eyes; how she had kept those eyes on him as he ate like she had to make sure that he would actually do it and not take a step closer towards starving to death any more than he already had.
There’s been so much since then. So much warmth and joy to make up for all the pain, so many happy days to rise up against all the bad history. Never in his wildest dreams did Tony think that Nebula would be the one that he and Rhodey would spend many weekends with shouting their delight in the stands of a baseball game; nor did he ever expect to see Morgan and Nebula walking hand in hand as often as they did whenever there was a day out somewhere, and he sure as hell never expected the collective madness of Peter and Harley to be the thing that made her laugh like she did, all short and rusty and sweet.
But that’s how it is, how he always wants it to be. How and why doesn’t matter, never really mattered, because what matters is Nebula.
He turns to look at her and starts when he realises that her eyes are open and watching him.
''Hey, Bluebell,'' he says as he reaches out to take her hand, giving her a moment to resist the contact if she wants to but not surprised when she doesn’t pull away. Her thumb presses against the back of his knuckles and he squeezes her fingers gently when she winces under the crackling of the sparks tugging at her nerves.
''You know, you don’t need to get injured to come and visit,'' Tony teases, going for levity to dampen the reality of things and feeling gratified when Nebula rolls her eyes at him.
She grits her teeth against another brush of discomfort. ''Can it be repaired?''
Tony hates the clinical use of that word and how it applies to her. She clearly sees the answer on his face and simply nods as though expecting nothing different.
''It won’t hurt,'' he promises.
''Will you do it?''
He’d actually been thinking about calling Wakanda and having Shuri take a flight over, somehow needing the distance, much like he does whenever Peter gets injured, preferring to hold the kid's hand instead of stitching him back together.
Tony's tinkered with Nebula’s arm before, recalibrated and adjusted when necessary, but this feels like so much more. He remembers her telling him about all the things that Thanos did; how he removed her brain from her skull and pulled her eye from her head and stole her arm from her body and the very idea of having to even do something remotely similar, whether for a genuinely necessary reason or not, makes Tony sick to his stomach.
Nebula’s fingers flex against his.
''I’ll be glad that it’s gone.''
Tony meets her gaze again.
''It will be one less piece of him that I have to carry with me.''
Well, there would never be a bigger incentive that that.
Tony’s eyes flicker to the gilded plating on her head, fashioned from the remnants of one of his suits, and he smiles, bright and warm.
''What are your opinions on red and gold, Bluebell?''
Four days later, Morgan is the first to reach out and touch the glinting armour of Nebula’s new arm. Nebula watches her with gentle eyes, before smirking as Peter jabbers his excited praise to Harley via video chat, pivoting the camera around Nebula like she’s in a fashion shoot. Gamora leans in the doorway with folded arms and smiling eyes which rapidly turn fondly frustrated as Rocket and Quill argue with Drax somewhere in the yard. Mantis sits on the stairs, watching them all with her usual dreamy happiness. Pepper joins her, grinning as she watches Morgan grin up at Nebula, all gap toothed and full of excitement, and Tony just does nothing but take it all in with a smile on his face.
An elbow catches him in the side and he immediately responds in kind, chuckling when Rhodey groans exaggeratedly.
''She’ll be kicking our ass even more at catch now, you realise.''
''Yeah,'' Tony agrees, feeling exhilarated at the mere thought.
''It suits her.''
Nebula looks up then, as though she can sense the two of them talking about her. The red and gold hue of her new arm catches a ray of sunlight through the nearby window and reflects off her face with an enchanting glimmer. She studies both of them for a moment before she smiles.
It’s the smile that Tony loves best, the one that appeared during that very first game of paper football, so long ago now when for a small snapshot in time, all they had was each other.
''Yeah,'' Tony says, offering her his own smile in return, ''it really does.''