Secrets
The Statesman
Oval-gone
Day 29
“Is it just me or does Nebula seem . . . off when she’s fighting Gamora?” Stark asked the group assembled in the viewing area of what had become known as The Ovalgone. For once, nearly everyone had shown up to watch the various fights of the day. Not that most of them hadn’t tried to catch a good amount; they had. But rarely were the generously spaced seats filled even close to capacity. But the only people not seated just happened to be those involved in the current bout.
In this case, what had started as a three on three had devolved into a one on one. Rocket, Bucky, Sam, and Brunnhilde, by dint of having been disabled, were off to one side watching the last member of each team slug it out.
“What do you mean?” Quill asked as Nebula backpedaled, blocking Gamora’s sword strikes with her metal hand.
“I mean she had no trouble disarming Brunnhilde of her sword just earlier this fight,” Stark replied pointedly.
“Maybe Gamora’s just better with a sword,” Quill offered.
“Better than Valkyrie with four thousand years of experience?” Thor asked doubtfully.
“The way I hear it she’s spent the last couple millennia drunk,” Quill replied.
“And the last few years sparring with The Hulk,” Thor retorted.
“Yeah, I still don’t get why you guys are so afraid of that guy,” Quill replied. “Big and strong is hardly a new power set in the galaxy.”
Natasha turned to Banner. “You want to take this one Bruce?” he asked.
“No, I’m good,” Banner said automatically.
“I’d say that’s pretty telling in itself, wouldn’t you?” Tony commented.
“The Hulk’s capabilities are not relevant to this conversation,” T’Challa stated, preempting the inevitable argument on whether that last point was valid. “Mr. Stark has a point; Gamora is not employing any styles superior to those Brunnhilde used. In fact, as we’ve discussed this issue Nebula has failed to capitalize on no less than three openings in Gamora’s attacks.”
“So . . . what?” Steve asked. “Nebula is letting Gamora win?”
“People aren’t exactly my strong suit,” Tony replied with a half grin. “All I know is that Nebula tends to win every fight as quickly -and as generally brutally- as she can except when she fights Gamora.”
“I’ll second that,” Thor commented, drawing surprised looks from half those assembled.
“Wait, she beat you?” Tony asked, echoing what all who knew him were thinking.
Thor nodded. “She tried to pick up the hammer once. When she realized she could not lift it she broke both of my arms.”
“Ensuring you couldn’t lift it either,” Tony commented wryly, earning a slight grin from the Asgardian.
“Okay, I’ll admit that beating a god is impressive,” Quill replied “but that still doesn’t prove Gamora couldn’t beat her. I mean, they’ve known each other their entire lives.”
“Friday?” Tony asked, glancing ceilingward.
“To date Gamora has won nearly half of her fights. Average fight time is seven minutes twenty-six seconds,” the AI reported. “Nebula has won every bout not involving Gamora. Average fight time is two and a half minutes. When you factor out her fights with Gamora her average fight time is thirty-seven seconds. Longest victory was against Mr. Parker at one minute twenty-nine seconds.”
They all turned to Peter. “Kid, what’s your secret?” Tony asked.
Peter shrugged. “I don’t know, I just kept moving around a bunch,” the kid replied. “I couldn’t actually hit her at all,” he added as he thought back to that fight. “It’s like . . . I don’t know.”
“It is as if she knows where you will strike before you do, and chooses not to be there. And while you are wondering why you didn’t hit her, she is breaking your body,” T’Challa stated.
“Thank God for the med bay,” Steve agreed.
“So, how’d she get you, Parker?” Tony asked, ignoring Steve’s comment. “I would have thought you at least could have held it to a draw.”
“She caught one of my webs and yanked me off the wall,” Peter reported. “Then she hogtied me and chucked me into the hallway.”
“Okay, okay,” Quill cut back in. “I’ll grant she might just be the best fighter aboard, but that doesn’t mean it’s unlikely for Gamora to beat her. Everyone knows that certain fighting styles beat other fighting styles.”
“That statement does have some truth to it,” T’Challa admitted. “But only when it refers to the use of rigid fighting styles focusing on memorized reactions to stimuli. I see no evidence of such methods in their fighting. In fact, they are two of the most adaptable fighters I have ever encountered.”
Steve squinted at that, reading between what T’Challa had said. “How’d she get you?” he asked curiously.
“She quickly realized my suit protected me from her blows and shifted tactics to ripping the pendants that contain the suit when not in use off.”
“I didn’t think that was possible,” Steve commented.
“The pendants are designed to make it difficult,” T’Challa replied. “And you?” he asked Steve.
“She took my shield away,” Steve replied in a subdued tone. “You?” he asked, turning his gaze to Quill.
The space rogue hesitated a moment. “She closed on me, somehow avoiding my shots. When I activated my thrusters, she jumped into the observation deck and threw chairs at me to knock me down.”
“Hmm,” Tony grunted in interest. “When I took to the air, she ripped a twenty-foot length of railing from the divider,” he said indicating the safety rail separating the viewing area from the combat area, “and played pinata with me.”
“Well, the second time,” Tony admitted. “The first time she closed before I could take off and proceeded with a series of radical dislocations on my suit.”
“She what?” Drax asked in confusion.
“She tore pieces of his suit off,” Quill translated, seeming rather amused.
“It took six hours to fix,” Tony grumbled, less amused.
“Okay, so she’s a badass,” Quill said grudgingly. “But that still doesn’t mean she’s letting Gamora win.”
“Yet, when anyone else attacks her with a melee weapon, it is immediately liberated,” T’Challa observed. “I see nothing in Gamora’s movement or style that would in any way negate that.”
“I think at this point we are beyond wondering if she is throwing the match,” Jarvis said.
“I don’t believe she is even aware that she does it,” Drax commented, watching the two women intently.
“How do you not know when you’re letting someone win?” Tony asked doubtfully.
“It suggests that she’s been doing it for a long time,” Steve replied. “Long enough that it’s become second nature.”
“Why would anyone create that habit?” Quill asked, echoing Tony’s skepticism.
“I don’t know,” Steve said slowly “but we’ve got to stop it.”
“Why?” Quill asked. It’s not hurting anyone. “Well, other than Nebula,” he added as Gamora smacked the taller woman with the flat of her blade.
“Not yet,” Parker put in. “But Thanos has The Mind Stone. What if he uses it on Gamora?”
“One of us will deal with her then,” Drax replied with an air of certainty.
Steve shook his head. “We can’t guarantee that any of us will be in a position to do so,” he said. “And based on what we’ve seen its quite likely Thanos would get a kick out of pitting the two against each other. If it comes to it, Nebula must be prepared to take Gamora down.”
“Great,” Quill replied. “So, who gets to explain things?”
“I nominate Steve for that honor,” Tony said.
“What; me?” Rogers protested.
“Hey you’re the people person,” Tony replied. “I just handle the machines.”
Steve shook his head. “We’re talking about someone who’s practiced in the art of the non-answer,” he countered. “If Drax is correct she’s even managed to hide what she’s doing from herself. Whoever does this is going to have to keep her off balance long enough for the truth to slip out. That’s right in your wheel house Tony.”
“Maybe, but I doubt I’d make much progress dredging up her feelings while wearing my armor,” Tony replied pointedly.
“So don’t wear it,” Steve replied. Tony gave him a look that perfectly described how ridiculously idiotic that statement was. Pictures being worth a thousand words and all.
“The person confronting her will also need to be able to do so without seeming threatening in any way,” T’Challa put in. “Any sign of aggression will provoke only one response.”
“Are you saying I’m not threatening?” Steve asked, sounding slightly amused.
“Not at all,” T’Challa replied congenially.
“It’s just that you tend to have this aura of good will about you,” Quill put in. “It’s super annoying most of the time, really.”
“What about the King?” Steve protested.
“I fear I would not have the same chance of success,” T’Challa said.
“Why not?” Steve asked.
“One,” T’Challa replied, counting reasons on his fingers, “because my culture diverges further from her attitudes than does yours. Two, you have developed a rapport with Gamora; this will add to your credibility, or at the very least, give her pause in outright attacking you. Three, you share a similar history in that you were both bullied by those much stronger than you in your youths. Four, you are a natural leader. Five, you are an eternal optimist who sees the best in people. If anyone aside from her sister has a chance of getting her to listen, it is you,” he concluded.
“Great,” Steve said in surrender.
“Just remember that the success of our mission may well hang in the balance, and no pressure,” Tony replied, clapping him on the back.
Steve shook his head in an attempt to keep from grinning. “Fine, but nobody say anything about this until I find out what’s going on,” he ordered, getting up to leave. If he was going to do this, he had to take every advantage he could think of. That included choosing the locale and timing of the event. He needed a place and time that would help him keep her off balance. It was the best chance he had of getting the truth out of her. Or of getting her to pound him into round steak. He wasn’t sure which. The one thing he was sure of was that this was not the right place to confront her.
“You might want to take your shield,” Quill called out behind him, echoing that latest thought. Steve turned to catch the thrown object, gave a quick nod of thanks, and left.
>>
Steve sat on Nebula’s bed facing the door at the opposite end of the room. It had taken him little time choose that locale as the only suitable place for this confrontation. It was private, which meant she wouldn’t be worrying about what onlookers thought, and it was her personal sanctum, which would help provoke her.
Of course, the corollary of those two points was that she would be easily provoked, and no one would be able to hear him scream for help if he pushed it too far. He did have a communicator and his shield tucked in the small space between the other end of the bed and the wall to try and reduce those risks; he figured if he couldn’t get to the door, he should be able to get to them. But that thought was only small comfort. That woman was ‘scary good’ (as Scott put it) at hurting people.
Not for the first time he wished he had Tony’s seemingly natural ability to piss people off just shy of killing him. He’d dismissed the idea of having Tony coach him through this encounter via earbud almost immediately; he didn’t know exactly how enhanced Nebula’s senses were, but he figured she’d hear the tiny microphone. He could not imagine any outcome of that eventuality going well.
But that didn’t change the fact that Tony’s patented keep-them-off-balance conversational style wasn’t what was required here. He was willing to admit that Tony wasn’t the right person to send in, but he’d quickly come to the conclusion that he had to think like Tony, which was where the majority of his prep time had been spent.
Nebula entered her quarters, turning right, towards the dresser wedged in that corner of the room. She made no sign of having even noted Steve’s presence.
“You have five seconds to get out,” she growled without so much as a glance in his direction. She pulled open the top drawer and extracted a tool with no more thought to the intruder in her domain than she’d have given a death threat.
“Normally I would be happy to grant a lady her privacy,” Steve started. Nebula’s head snapped around, eyes searching his face to see if his choice of noun was an attempt to mock her. Steve forced himself to continue. “But in this case, I must decline. We need to talk.”
Nebula turned back to the tool, applying it to the gash Gamora had rent in her arm. “I have nothing to say to you,” she declared, concentrating on her work.
“Yes, well, I’m afraid I do have a few things that need to be said to you,” Steve replied firmly. She turned again, launching another glare at him. He simply waited. He could almost see the various possible responses to his defiance scrolling through her head.
“Be quick,” she said at last.
“Of course,” Steve replied amicably, planning nothing of the sort. He opened with a well-rehearsed speech. “Assuming nothing else goes wrong we’ll reach Earth around mid-day tomorrow,” he said, deliberately talking around the subject of this meeting. “As you know there’s a good chance that your old man will already be there.”
“He is not ‘my old man’,” Nebula grated threateningly.
“My apologies,” Steve replied, not sounding all that apologetic. It was something he’d learned from Tony. “Would ‘your orphan keeper’ be more accurate?” he quipped, feeling a small twinge from his conscience. Nebula simply glared.
Steve continued. “As I was about to say, I’m sure you can understand that we need each person at their best. The only chance we have is if we can all work tog-” he started, coming to an abrupt halt as Nebula slammed the instrument, she’d been using back into the dresser drawer.
“Get to the point,” she demanded impatiently, still not looking at him.
Steve fought back the urge, to comply. Think like Tony, think like Tony, he reminded himself. But how? She needed more prodding, but it had never occurred to him that getting under someone’s skin could be so difficult. Tony always made it seem effortless.
He’d spent the thirty minutes since being volunteered for this particular duty wracking his brain on how to pull it off, but as he stared at her he realized that the goal was not to avoid the subject; it was to creep up on it slowly, like a cat hunting a bird. He had to time his ideological strike to coincide with a level of frustration (also created by him) high enough to get her to speak without thinking. He couldn’t just ask why she let Gamora win. She’d just deny it.
She wasn’t there yet, he decided. Steve cocked his head. “If you will allow me,” he said as prim as any proper British aristocrat could have managed. She didn’t respond, unless you counted a slight hardening of her glare.
Steve continued. “Thank you,” he said, as if she’d actually given him her permission for any of this. “As I was saying, the success of this mission will require strong interpersonal relationships. Everyone must be able to work together like the pieces of a-” he stumbled to a momentary stop. ‘A machine’ was what he’d been about to say before his eye had fallen on her various prosthesis. “A team,” he finished.
He did his best to ignore the irony of the fact that he was actually here for quite the opposite reason. He wasn’t here to convince her to play nice. He was here to convince her that she needed to stop laying off when she fought her sister.
“So?” Nebula demanded, somehow making it clear with that monosyllable word that his clock was running out.
“So it doesn’t help when you’re spending all of your time calling everyone around you idiots and threatening to kill them,” Steve said as bluntly as possible.
She blinked. “You are idiots,” she said simply.
Steve cocked his head. “What makes you say that?” he asked.
“You idiots actually believe you have a chance,” she grated. “’The success of our mission’,” she quoted from his earlier statement. “There is no success here. How many times do you have to lose before you figure that out?”
“If you think so poorly of our chances, then why are you here?” Steve asked.
Nebula looked away from him, as if searching for what to say. “Get out,” she said eventually.
‘Now’, Steve thought to himself. He made like he was going to comply, then halted. “One more thing,” he said. “I ended up having to leave at the end of your last fight,” he said, only slightly dishonestly. “Who won?”
Her head turned slowly to face him, one eyebrow arched. “You’re bothering me for a fight score?” she asked disbelievingly. After all, he could have gotten that from Friday, or anyone else that was there.
He didn’t respond; he just waited there returning her hostile gaze with as impassive a gaze as he could manage.
“They did,” she said finally. “Now leave.”
Again, he failed to take advantage of her invitation. “That’s always how it seems to go when Gamora’s on the other side isn’t it?” Steve asked, as if thinking out loud. Nebula squared her body against his, as if preparing for a fight. Steve forced himself to remain where he was.
“Get. To. The. Point,” Nebula demanded, instilling each word individually with threat.
“Don’t get me wrong,” he said placatingly. “I have a hard time when Bucky’s the one on the other side, myself.”
“It’s not the same thing,” Nebula insisted, adding a touch of venom to her voice.
“Bucky and I are as much brothers as you and Gamora,” Steve replied with fake defensiveness.
“It’s. Not. The. Same,” Nebula
Steve decided he’d probably strung this out as far as he could get away with. “Then why do you always lose to Gamora?” Steve asked bluntly.
“Did it never occur to you that she was the better fighter?” Nebula asked as if speaking to a slow child.
Think like Tony. “No, that possibility escaped us,” Steve said sarcastically.
“I’m not surprised,” Nebula said, very unsarcastically.
“That was sarcasm,” Steve replied, adding just a hint of steel to his voice. “You’ve been letting her win,” he accused.
“Like I care about your moronic brawls,” she growled.
“Oh, I’d say you care quite strongly for them,” Steve replied evenly. “You hate them so much you end every combat as quickly as possible. Except when you face Gamora,” he ended pointedly.
“That’s your evidence?” Nebula asked, making it clear she thought his conclusion was the most idiotic thing she’d heard since ‘we can succeed against Thanos if we cooperate’. “That she has to win? Does it give you more comfort when I win against you?”
“Interesting how you put that,” Steve observed calmly, refusing to be sidetracked into defending his manliness “that she had to win. Not that she should have won, or was the better fighter, but that she wanted it more. What would have happened if you’d wanted it more, I wonder.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Nebula said, sounding not quite as sure of herself as a moment ago.
“Is it?” Steve countered. “When you fight any of us you go full bore. You end the fight with as little wasted energy as possible. You break things, you break people.” He took a breath, calming himself. It had always bothered him just how hard she went at it. But, after consideration, he’d decided to let it go. The infirmary was fully capable of fixing the damage she did, and any attempt to alter her behavior had a good chance of melting the glue tenuously holding the three or four separate groups on this boat together.
“But, when you face Gamora you falter, you miss clear opportunities,” he continued. “You’re fight times go from mere seconds to minutes. And you lose. It’s the only time you lose.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Nebula replied as menacingly as possible.
Steve seemed to consider that for a moment. He knew he was pushing things with her, that his next statement might just push her into attacking him. But he was close to something; he could feel it.
“How’d you get that gash you just repaired?” he asked. Nebula blinked before glancing involuntarily at the metal arm she’d just repaired. “Gamora got through your guard again didn’t she?” he not quite guessed.
Her eyes narrowed. “I thought you said you didn’t see the end of the fight.”
“I didn’t, but I’ll take that as a yes,” Steve said evenly. He cocked his head again. “Strange considering we just watched you disarm one of the legendary Valkyrie with four thousand plus years of experience in five seconds flat. Yet you couldn’t disarm your sister in five plus minutes,” he added, letting that thought trail off.
Nebula glanced from him to her arm, as if looking for some defense. Steve watched the flickering emotions on her face closely. She was clearly surprised at the accusation, but there was something else too; it was as if she’d been completely unaware of her actions. As he watched she began to look more and more like a cornered animal.
She just needed that one more push to tip her over into telling the truth.
“There’s no mistaking it; you are letting her win,” he said. “And I want to know why.”
Nebula snapped out of it, and looked directly at him. “If Gamora finds out I’ll kill you,” she said quickly.
Steve chose to ignore the threat. “So, you have been laying off,” he said.
Nebula blinked, as if the logic of her last statement had finally caught up and smacked her on the nose. For a moment she seemed at a loss for words. She fell back on the tried and true. “Get, out,” she said, taking a step to the side to grasp the back of one of the chairs in the room.
Steve eyed that chair. It may have weighed fifty pounds but he had no doubt that she could swing it one handed without issue. His right hand itched to reach behind himself for his shield. He did his best to ignore it.
Besides, something about that last interchange was nagging at his consciousness. She’d displayed genuine surprise at having admitted that she’d been letting Gamora win, more so than if she’d simply slipped up. The accusation itself seemed to have caught her off guard.
As he concentrated on those responses something else became evident; fear. Beneath the surprise, beneath the anger there had been fear.
And now that he thought about it, the threat that followed had come too quick, as if it were an automated response. As if the fear of being caught laying off was so long standing as to have created an almost instinctual set of responses. How long had she been doing this? And why?
“You didn’t even realize you were doing it, did you?” Steve said, just a touch of awe in his voice. Nebula looked away, almost as if she were embarrassed. “How long?” Steve pressed her. At first, she didn’t respond. Steve waited calmly, watching her.
Eventually she realized that he wasn’t going away until she answered. Her options were to attack, try to drive him out, or answer. And she suddenly felt so tired.
Besides, she admitted to herself, a small part of her wanted someone to know. But only a small part. “Does it matter?” she asked, still focusing on the wall over the dresser.
“That long?” Steve asked. There was no response. “Why?” he asked curiously. Her mouth opened to speak, and for a moment it looked like she might actually respond. But she couldn’t bring herself to admit what he already knew. She’d spent too many years hiding the secrets he so casually aired.
Steve watched her with a growing sense of awe. Nebula had spent her life protecting Gamora from Thanos. She didn’t need to confirm it. He knew. Every fight she’d lost had been deliberate. Every punishment she’d received had been purchased. Every mutilation had been acceptable.
He’d often wondered how Gamora had managed to survive her childhood without becoming a monster. He never would have guessed that it was because Nebula had become the monster for her.
He tried to put himself in her place. Many people said he was the best of humanity. He always did the right thing. But could he have done what she’d done? Could he have sacrificed not just happiness, but his own body for another? And not just once, but over and over as his body was slowly mutilated? For years?
He didn’t think so. He didn’t know how anyone could.
She had.
“What?” Nebula snapped, dragging his attention back to the present. He looked up to see her glaring at him. He flushed slightly as he realized his face had been betraying his thoughts.
He took a breath and tried to assign words to what he was feeling. “It’s just that, I’ve never met anyone so . . .” he said, trailing off as language suddenly failed him.
“What; stupid, childish, sentimental?” she asked bitterly.
Steve shook his head. “Beautiful,” he said firmly.
“Beautiful?!” Nebula snarled as she strode across the intervening space. “You call this beautiful?” she demanded, thrusting her cerebral implant up to his face. She watched him, waiting for the lie. Any moment he’d tell her it was. Then she’d tear him into pieces for trying to play with her, for lying to her.
“No,” Steve replied, calmly reaching up to turn her face towards him. “But bearing that for another is a beauty beyond words.”
Nebula froze in incomprehension. If there’d been any hesitation on his part, or any sign of deceit she’d have been able to convince herself he was messing with her head. But there was none. In its place were things she’d never seen in anyone looking at her. Where most people showed fear and revulsion at looking at her, his face showed nothing but awe and admiration. As his expression sank in, she all but threw herself into him, into this thing she’d never thought she could have.
For it was not given to monsters to know acceptance, nor respect.
Nor love.
>>
Steve let himself into the hallway as quietly as possible. A part of him had wanted to wake Nebula, to let her know he’d be back, but he’d decided to let her sleep. He’d never seen her looking so peaceful before. And, given what her cerebral implant was doing to her, he was perfectly contented to let her sleep as long as possible.
If she awoke while he was gone, she’d no doubt think he’d just been using her. As strong as she was in some ways, she was very brittle in others. And honestly, he wasn’t sure waking her himself would have gone any better.
He’d lay there next to her for some time feeling the back and forth tug of war. He didn’t want her to think he was just another person using her, even if only for a few minutes. And lord knew she was a stubborn one. Once she’d decided he was using her it would be very hard to convince her otherwise.
But he couldn’t exactly rule out the possibility that waking her before leaving wouldn’t leave her with the exact same conclusion.
In the end his bladder had cast the final vote in the form of a filibuster. Or an ultimatum, he wasn’t really sure which. It’s hard to think with a full bladder. Besides, he was just planning on making a two-stop circuit; first the head, then the mess. Odds were, he’d be back before she woke up, and with food.
“You have fun?” a venomous voice asked from the shadows of the corridor as he latched the door. Steve turned to see Gamora lounging against a bulkhead. From the looks of things, she’d been there for some time.
The statement was an obvious trap. If he said yes, he’d confirm that what had passed between himself and Nebula was just a bit of fun, that he’d been using Nebula. If he said no, he was a manipulative coward.
Steve refused to play that game. “I’m really not sure how to respond to that,” he said, starting down the corridor.
As he came abreast of the green woman she struck. She started with a lightning fast hook to his jaw. The short travel time made it impossible for him to block. There was barely enough time for him to roll with the strike, thus saving his jaw from being fractured.
Her attack may not have broken any bones, but it was enough to throw him off balance. Gamora never let him regain it. As he stumbled, she stepped closer and threw him against a bulkhead.
He came to being pressed -back first- into a bulkhead, one of Stark’s fancy new neutronium blades pressed against his throat.
“I don’t know what game you’re playing,” Gamora hissed venomously. “But you stay away from my sister.” A part of Steve’s mind couldn’t help but wonder if all of Thanos’s children had to take a class on how to threaten people as sinisterly as possible. The rest was becoming incredibly angry; for some reason her statement had struck something deep within him. He wasn’t sure why it pissed him off so much, but it did.
He considered overpowering her; experience had proven out that they were fairly equal as fighters. He was stronger, but she was faster. And in pressing close to maximize her intimidation factor she had forfeited most of her advantage. It was very tempting, but he managed to force that down.
“She’s a big girl,” he said instead.
Gamora pushed the blade slightly closer to his throat. “I won’t let you manipulate her,” Gamora replied, eyes afire.
Steve’s flashed to match. Now he knew what about Gamora’s statements had pissed him off. Gamora had benefited from Nebula’s constant sacrifices for years. She wouldn’t be the person she was without her sister. And here she was suggesting that the only reason he’d have anything to do with her was to use her or manipulate her. That she wasn’t worthy or deserving of what had passed between them.
Steve never really thought about his next action. One moment Gamora had him pinned to the wall, knife at his throat. The next, he’d grasped her wrist and twisted the knife up to her throat. He pushed off of the wall, pivoted and slammed Gamora’s back into the wall he’d been up against.
“Of course, that has to be it,” he whispered savagely, face bare inches from hers. “It couldn’t be that I’ve seen something in her, something you’ve never taken the time to notice. It couldn’t be that she’s . . .” he started before trailing off. Not for a lack of words, but from a realization of where those words would lead.
Nebula had asked him not to tell Gamora. Well, technically she’d threatened him. He wasn’t worried about that threat; he doubted she’d actually carry through. But that didn’t change the fact that this was her secret, not his. He might think of it as a mistake to keep, but that made no difference.
So instead he pushed himself away from Gamora, gave her one final glare, and continued down the corridor. He slammed the knife into the nearest bulkhead up to the hilt without altering stride.
“Couldn’t be that she’s what?” Gamora called from behind him, feeling her throat.
Steve stopped part way down the corridor. He almost told her right then. But he refused to betray Nebula. Lord knew she’d had enough betrayal in her lifetime.
Yet, he knew he couldn’t just leave things as they were. He couldn’t give Gamora the truth, but he might be able to give her half of it.
“There is a light burning inside your sister,” he said quietly, without turning. “It burns so brightly, that everything that monster did could only dim it,” he finished. He started back down the hall, before he said anything more.
Gamora remained silent behind him, a slightly puzzled look on her face.
>>
Nebula had many dreams, but the last was the only one she remembered. It was the dream, that dream.
It was the memory.
She’d dreamt this dream so many times. Little details changed each time, but no matter how she yearned for it, nothing could change what had happened that day.
Six months after ‘joining’ Thanos’s family it had finally happened, the one thing she’d dreaded more than anything else. Thanos had matched her against her own brother.
She still remembered stepping through the doors of one of the pits on the coliseum deck and seeing him for the first time since that horror had begun. At first, she hadn’t recognized him. Neither of them had looked much like they had the last time they’d met; both were sporting several ‘upgrades’. It had been a shock to see her older brother, her protector looking that way. It had also been a reminder of how she looked.
Worst of all, Thanos and Corvus Glaive were watching their match from above. There was usually someone watching her fights from the deck the innumerable fighting pits were sunken into. Rarely were there two. Never had Thanos taken direct interest. At first, she’d thought he was just there to make sure they fought.
And they were fighting; they’d learned long ago that refusal was not a good option. But to say that their hearts were in it would have been stretching things. They were, after all, brother and sister. More than that though, they were all they had of their former lives.
They’d broken apart for the fourth or fifth time when Nebula heard Corvus’s recommendation, thanks to her cerebral implant’s audio enhancing features.
“I highly recommend you terminate both of their training,” he said in a manner commiserate with ordering dinner. “Neither of them will ever be useful to you.”
“I disagree,” Thanos rumbled. “The brother may never amount to more than a slightly mobile punching bag, but he will do fine as an object lesson.”
“And Nebula?” Corvus asked.
“Nebula shows the greatest natural fighting talent I have ever found,” Thanos replied. “It is something that cannot be trained. One day she will be the greatest of all of my children. I will not give that up.”
“Sire, she will never fully cooperate,” Corvus replied, trying his best to mask the resentfulness Thanos’s comment had enkindled. “She is simply too empathic. Her actions during her bouts with Gamora should be proof enough of that,” he added flippantly.
Thanos cast a glare at Corvus. “Do not presume to tell me what I am and am not capable of,” he growled, causing his general’s fact to pale.
“Sire, I meant no disrespect,” Corvus groveled, face pointed at the deck in contrition even as his resentment for Nebula swelled.
“Perhaps it is time to remind you of who sits at the head of this family,” Thanos said thoughtfully. Corvus knew better than to respond to that trap. No argument or plea had ever been effective at forestalling punishment.
“Yes father,” Corvus replied eventually. Best to just get it over with. Nebula had found a grim satisfaction at the thought of their task master being punished, but she’d done her best to hide it. No doubt he’d take it out on her either way, but she saw no reason to invite reprisal.
“But that can wait for later,” Thanos stated, still as if just talking out loud to himself. “For now, rest assured Nebula will fall into line.”
“May I ask how exactly you intend to break her?” Corvus asked in a voice equal parts respectful and fearful.
Thanos savored that sound for a moment before replying. “I won’t break her,” he said matter-of-factly. “She’s going to break herself.”
Corvus’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Sire, I don’t understand.”
“You see Nebula’s empathy as a set of wings that would free her from my will. In fact, it shall be the very thing that chains her to it.”
“How?” Corvus asked.
“Simple,” Thanos told him, looking down at the pathetic fight in the pit. “Nebula will kill her brother, right here, right now.”
“And if she refuses?” Corvus asked.
“Then I will kill Gamora.”
Nebula froze as those words made it to her. Kill her brother? She couldn’t. She wouldn’t. He was her brother. And yet, for reasons she could not explain she could not condemn Gamora either.
Seeing her momentary indecision her brother attacked. It was a sloppy, haphazard attack. It was more the attack that he was required to make than an attack he wished to make. Nebula beat it off with ease, never losing focus on her sudden moral quandary.
This decision should be easy. He was her brother. How many times had he shielded her from her father’s temper? How many beatings had he taken to spare her and their mother that treatment?
And what had Gamora ever done for her; let Nebula let her win? Let Nebula take far worse punishments than her brother ever had for her?
No, she wouldn’t. Gamora didn’t deserve to be protected. She certainly wasn’t worth her brother’s life. She wouldn’t kill him.
As that internal struggle resolved itself Nebula’s attention snapped back to the present, to see that she almost had. Without even thinking about it she’d knocked her brother to the ground. At that very moment she was poised over him, artificial arm held over her head ready to strike. Ready to kill her brother.
She followed his gaze up to that metallic fist in horror at what she’d almost done, what she’d been prepared to do. Her eyes locked on it, on the symbol of everything she’d endured.
“Do it,” her brother whispered, drawing her attention back downward.
She nodded, hearing both what he’d said and the way he’d said it. There was a note of plea in his voice, in his eyes. She had no idea what he’d been through already, but he was sporting three more augments than she was. As she stared at him, she realized that was her fault. She’d brought this on him.
Most ‘recruits’ didn’t survive more than a week without breaking. Many simply continued breaking, going utterly insane. Those were executed. Those that could not fight were executed. Nebula had often wished they’d do the same to her, even as the fear of punishment pushed her forward. Pushed her to hurt others.
But her brother, her brother was too empathic. He would never have made a fighter. He would have been executed too. But he hadn’t. Now she knew why; for this moment.
So she could kill him.
She recoiled at that. Pure stubbornness, the very stubbornness that had seen her to this point, demanded that she refuse. To hell with the consequences, she was not going to kill her brother.
“You heard him, Stish,” her brother prompted, using her birth name, a name from before the nightmare. Yet she hesitated. “It’s going to happen anyway.”
Nebula shook her head. “I can’t,” she whispered. “I won’t,” she added, fist unclenching, arm falling back to the ground. And she meant it. At that moment in time nothing would have convinced her to change her mind.
But moments in time were just that; they don’t last. Something always moves things along. A change of scenery, a change of feeling, new information. It could be anything that would change the moment. But something always does.
In this case it was just four syllables. “Kill Gamora,” Thanos ordered Corvus without looking. Suddenly Nebula knew why she couldn’t let that happen, why she’d been ready to kill her brother just moments ago.
She’d suffered so much to protect Gamora. At first it hadn’t even been a conscious choice, just a reaction. But that didn’t matter anymore. What mattered was that if Gamora died then everything Nebula had suffered would be wasted. Everything she’d endured would be pointless. The thought of that was terrifying.
It was even more terrifying than becoming a monster.
“Yes, sire,” Corvus replied before turning about face and marching from the pit. As his footfalls grew quieter Nebula’s arm came back up. Again, it hovered above her head, as if being held back by an unseen force.
“Make it count,” her brother whispered, eyes on the instrument of his deliverance. Gamora nodded, and her arm fell.
She made sure the first blow killed him instantly. But she wasn’t done. She should have realized Thanos wouldn’t let her off that easily.
As she removed her arm from her brother’s face the same repair protocols Thanos had installed in her began to reconstruct the damage. She stared in horror as the realization that she would have to kill her brother over and over flooded her with an even greater horror.
But she’d made her decision. And he’d made his. There was no going back at this point.
Her arm raised and fell again. Then again, and again. Then the other arm joined the first. She howled in rage and loathing as she continued over and over again to beat her brother.
She pounded the body of her brother long after the repair protocols had become too damaged to function. Her organic fist was a bloody mass of bruised flesh and broken bones and still she pounded. Her brother’s head became a mass of mush that barely impeded her falling limbs and still she pounded. Pounded and howled. Howled and pounded.
Over and over, until she passed out.
When she came to, she found herself back in her cell. But instead of the bare floor she’d slept on since her arrival she found herself lying on a new bed. Her right hand had been healed while she was asleep.
Nebula woke from the dream/memory as fast as she could. She took a shuddering breath as she tried to shake off those memories and started to get up.
She froze as the argument in the corridor outside her room registered. She heard Gamora ask “Couldn’t be that she’s what?” Then came Steve’s response, so quietly delivered she almost couldn’t make out the words.
But she could make them out. And, try as she might, she simply couldn’t make herself believe them. It had been a pleasant fiction to believe for a moment that she wasn’t a monster. But that’s all it had been. Nothing could ever change what she’d done, what she was.
In some ways, the worst part was that she knew he truly did believe she wasn’t just that. As misguided and ignorant as he was, he truly believed what he’d said. She couldn’t even get angry with him. But nor could she agree with him. He didn’t know all the horrible things she’d done in her life; she did.
And the memory she’d just woken from was but a spark in a supernova.
She got out of bed to dress. He’d be back soon, if for no other reason than to prove that he hadn’t been using her. She knew that wasn’t the case. But she also knew he was wrong about her.
Oh, she could play at being the abused angel he so clearly thought she was. It would certainly be easier than admitting to the monster she truly was. He’d seen only a very small part of her. He had no idea what she was capable of. He had no idea the horrors she’d personally committed.
More to the point, he trusted her aim. She knew how foolish that was. She’d eventually end up killing him. She killed everyone. It was what she was good at. Not for the first time, she cursed the part of herself that had made her such an effective fighter. Not for the first time, she wished she’d died in the attack on her planet with her family.
She was dressed and sitting in an arm chair she’d strategically placed at the opposite end of the room from the door when Steve returned.
The first sign of his return was the slow rotation of the door’s lever. A flash of anger wafted through Nebula’s being at the implied intimacy of entering her quarters without permission, even as she admitted it wasn’t the first time. She’d had to stop herself from killing him then.
The door came open far enough for him to see her sitting across the room, waiting for him. He was carrying two trays of food, one in his hand, the other balanced on his forearm. He almost stepped into the room, but her gaze seemed to pin him in place. Everything about her posture, position, and expression was hostility.
They both stared at each other awkwardly, Nebula’s patented hard-as-obsidian glare meeting Steve’s more concerned gaze.
Finally, Steve cleared his throat. “Sorry,” he apologized. “I’d hoped to return before you woke up.”
Nebula let that statement fall into an uncomfortable silence before responding. “Why?” she asked coldly.
Steve seemed taken aback by the one syllable question. He glanced at the ruffled bed, the sight of their previous . . . interaction. Think like Tony. The thought ran through his head again.
“Well, I figured I owed you a meal at least,” he quipped, turning his attention back to the blue woman.
“Great, you’ve brought it,” Nebula said. “You can leave.”
Steve paused again. He wasn’t sure what to say. He wasn’t exactly sure what this encounter would bring. He’d considered her pushing him away as the most likely outcome. Yet it hadn’t seemed real. Now it was.
But he couldn’t just leave. He had a fairly good idea what was going on in her head. But he’d seen past her rough augmented exterior to the person underneath. She could try to convince herself that the exterior was all there was. He knew better. And he would not leave her to think that was all she was.
He filled the silence by setting one of the trays on the table next to the door. As he did so he noticed that his shield had been propped against one of its legs. He did his best to pretend he hadn’t seen it, instead turning back to her.
“I understand,” he said at last. “But I need you to know that last night wasn’t a mistake.”
“Then you’re a fool,” Nebula replied. If her previous levels of bluntness had been a meteor strike this was more on the order of a planetary collision.
Now it was Steve’s turn to be blunt; “Why?” he asked.
Nebula’s upper lip twitched ever so slightly at the question. “You judge others via your own motivations.”
Steve shook his head. “No judgement of mine will change what you’ve been doing for Gamora all these years,” he said.
Nebula’s lip twitched again, this time in a more obvious sign of disgust. “Get out,” she uttered menacingly. Steve opened his mouth to point out that she was avoiding the issue, but a memory long passed reared up and smacked him on the nose.
It was a couple of years before he’d managed to get into the Army, back when he was still in high school. There’d been girl who’d taken an interest in him. Amy Patrell. He’d been so certain that her interest had been motivated by pity that he’d continually pushed her away. The harder she tried the harder he’d pushed.
Since his ascendance he’d often wondered if she hadn’t seen something -perhaps something one German scientist had also seen a couple years later- in him. What if she’d truly liked him for who he was? He’d wondered how his life would have been different if he’d accepted her interest as genuine. Would they have gotten married? Had kids? A life? He never would have become Captain America, but sometimes he wondered if the trade might have been worth it.
He snapped back to the present, finding himself staring at Nebula’s increasingly enraged face. He knew that look. She wouldn’t listen, just as he hadn’t listened to Amy. And the harder he pressed her, the harder she’d work to convince herself that she was just the monster Thanos had created.
He wouldn’t do that to her.
“Alright,” he said, slowly reaching down to grab his shield. “But if you need to talk, you know where to find me,” he added before turning to leave.
“I won’t,” Nebula declared.
Steve sighed. “Has it occurred to you,” he asked without turning “that, were you the evil monster you’re so certain you are, you’d be perfectly happy using me until I stopped being useful to you?”
Nebula paused. When she spoke again it was on a different subject. “If Gamora finds out . . .” she repeated, leaving the rest of the obvious threat open for imagination.
Steve’s head twisted around to pierce her with a look of utter compassion. “I rest my case,” he said softly, before kicking the door closed.
Nebula closed her eyes and leaned back in the chair, trying to calm down. Her heart was racing. Her brain was flitting from one thought to another like a hummingbird on a caffeine overdose. And it was taking all of her self-control to keep from hyperventilating.
She hadn’t felt like this in years, not since her early training. At least then she’d known why she was so frightened. But this was . . . something else. She tried to trace the source of the feeling, but couldn’t. She knew it had something to do with Steve’s last words; that much was easy to figure out. But why had his words affected her like this? She’d heard far worse things from far worse people most of her life. Their threats and insults had always rolled off of her like rain.
As the source of that feeling failed to resolve she became irritated. She focused on that irritation, pushing those other feelings to the background. Her irritation shifted to Steve for causing her distress. Her heart and brain began to slow down. Maintaining her breathing became easier.