Work Text:
Nebula’s too observant not to notice the way Peter’s expression changes after Gamora’s words. Then he’s looking at her, and all she feels is anger.
“Knock it off!”
“What?” Peter says with the same amount of indignance and pride he musters for everything.
“Don't look at me like a lost puppy needing a soft place to lie down!” she snaps, because what else is she meant to say, with him looking at her like that , all stunned as if she’s the young beautiful love interest in a romance novel. It hurts, the way he’s gone fond around the edges, but she knows it isn’t real.
“I didn’t say anything!” he protests. There’s a moment of silence, tension as strong as a rope pulled taut, then he adds, in a quieter tone, “I just never noticed how black your eyes were.”
“They were replaced by my father as a method of torture.” Nebula hates how easily the response comes to her. Peter reels back, shock and horror mixing together on his face, and she almost regrets it. Almost.
“He… He picked a pretty set.”
Then they’ve found the file, and Nebula’s left with her own thoughts for a moment. She knows there’s some sincerity to his words; she could see it in his face and hear it in his voice. She’s also not stupid enough to give in to it, though. Sure, he’s a charmer, and he’d probably whisk her away on some stupidly romantic date, wine and dine her like a gentleman, but she knows it wouldn’t be real. She’d be little more than a stand-in for Gamora, and while her heart aches with longing, she wants him to want her more than anything else.
He’s as distant to her as the stars are to most who live on earth. The best she can have is the same level of care he extends to Rocket, or Drax, or the rest of the crew. Friendship, maybe something akin to family , but nothing more. Maybe in another timeline, if there truly is a multiverse, he’d see her for who she is.
She just sets her jaw, and focuses on their mission, ignoring the nagging in the back of her mind that maybe, somehow, he can look at her the way she’s seen him look at her sister. It’s a fruitless hope, anyway.
