On Worthiness
The Statesman
Outside Nebula’s Quarters
Steve suddenly didn’t feel like eating; he didn’t feel like anything really. He dumped his food, tray and all, in the nearest trash can. No doubt his long dead mother would have had something to say about the waste of food.
He stood there, trying to decide what exactly to do. He thought about going to see Tony before realizing that he really didn’t want to see anyone. He thought about trying to get some sleep, but he knew he’d just toss and turn.
In the end he decided to go for a walk.
He really had no idea why he felt this way. He knew he wasn’t love sick. This latest revelation had given him a great deal of respect for the blue woman, but love? That took more than one night, no matter the events thereof.
Yet, something about this latest encounter had left a tight feeling in his chest he just couldn’t identify. It hadn’t been anything he’d ever felt before. It wasn’t longing. It wasn’t hurt. It was . . . something. Something akin to regret.
He stopped when he reached Gamora’s quarters, two decks down from Nebula’s. He thought he’d understood why Nebula would have chosen a room so far away from her ‘sister’. Now he knew he’d only grasped half of that equation.
Nebula took a great deal of pride in protecting Gamora. But there was also a great deal of shame attached to that pride. Shame in all the things she’d done to protect the green woman. He had no idea what those things might be, but there was no doubt in his mind that Thanos had used that very protective instinct to manipulate Nebula into performing terrible acts. Seeing Gamora’s mostly untouched body was a repetitious reminder of everything Nebula had endured, even more so than a look in the mirror.
Nebula projected her hate onto everyone, and every situation, she encountered. But its source was rooted deeply within her disgust with herself. She’d come to think of herself as a monster.
Steve thought about telling Gamora, despite Nebula’s wishes. He took a step closer to the door. He couldn’t actually think of a reason not to tell her. In one sense, Gamora had a right to know this secret; it was as much hers as Nebula’s.
Besides he found it doubtful Nebula would actually carry through with her threats. He had no doubt that she could kill him, but not for that. She’d kill to keep herself or Gamora alive. That was pretty much it. With that thought he raised a closed hand to knock on the door.
It never struck. Whatever his own feelings he realized that he could not divulge that secret. And not because it wasn’t his, which was usually a good enough reason to keep one. Because it would have been another betrayal of Nebula’s trust.
His arm fell as those last five words repeated themselves in his mind. Another betrayal, suggesting that he’d already betrayed her once. He forced himself to turn and keep moving. Lord knew the last thing he needed was for Gamora to exit her room to find him standing there.
He continued down the hallway, lost in those five words. Had he taken advantage of Nebula? It hadn’t felt like it at the time. It had felt . . . right. Now he wasn’t so sure.
A large metallic crash interrupted his moralizing. His head snapped to the hatch leading to the lab. His first thought was that one of Tony’s acetylene torches had exploded, but the sound didn’t quite match. As he thought about it, he realized it had actually been a pair of sounds. Sounds like some great force had been exerted on metal objects.
Like the sound of one of Tony’s suits being hit into a wall.
Before he realized it, he was at the hatch, shield at the ready. He briefly considered calling for backup, but if they had an intruder on board seconds could count. Besides, if that sound were Tony’s suit being thrown against the wall, he’d need help and now.
Then again, he’d have thought Friday would rouse the entire ship if Tony was fighting intruders. Without another thought Steve hit the hatch release and dove into the room, shield up.
Quill and Tony turned in unison at his action sequence entrance. The looks of surprise on their faces quickly shifted to that of amusement.
“Well, there he is,” Quill said mingling amusement and wariness.
“What’s going on?” Steve asked, raising from his crouch. He threw a confused look at Quill.
“I had an idea last night on how to make Peter’s guns project force,” Tony explained.
Steve glanced around. “If your making modifications to galactic tech shouldn’t Rocket be here?” he asked.
“Seems to work fine,” Peter replied, turning back to the remaining targets. They were basically just large slabs of metal, the refuse from making the coliseum. Steve noted that three of the targets were already imbedded in the wall.
A condition quickly shared by its nearest mate as Quill fired again. A pulse of barely visible energy launched itself from the gun. On impact the target cartwheeled into the wall.
“Alright, that’s enough fun,” Tony said, hand out. Quill glanced from the blaster to the open hand hesitantly, before finally surrendering the sidearm.
“What are you going to do?” he asked as Tony accepted the weapon.
“Tear it down. Check for signs of extraordinary wear,” he said tersely. “Mind giving me a hand?” he asked Steve before striding to the nearest bench.
Steve’s brow furrowed in suspicion. Tony had never asked for his help with any of his gadgets before, and he highly doubted he needed it now. But he followed anyway.
“Hey, what about this one?” Quill asked, holding up the other blaster.
“Stress test it,” Tony said as he stepped up to the bench. “Aim at the target shield.”
“The what?” Quill asked.
“Friday?” Tony asked with a quick glance at the ceiling.
“If you will look to your left,” Friday’s voice answered from the overhead. Quill turned to see a set of four devices set into a framework forming a one-meter square. As he looked a blue light flashed on each of the devices in unison. They flashed three times before remaining lit.
“You may fire when ready,” Friday stated. The room was quickly filled with the different, yet related, sounds of Quill’s blaster firing and the impact with the shield. The first was a cross between an electric arc and a gong. The second sounded very much like bacon being applied to a hot pan. The first few shots were tentative, with space between them. But as Quill’s confidence in the shield improved, they began coming closer and closer together.
“Gal-tech is a little weird,” Tony explained softly to Steve as Quill’s firing reached the state of trigger happy. “A lot of times it takes three hands to get it apart. Well, so you can put it back together again anyways,” he added with a half shrug.
“Why weren’t you using the shield before,” Steve asked.
“It doesn’t exactly give you an idea of how well the device is working,” Tony explained. “Hold that,” he added, gesturing at a piece of the grip with a nod of his head.
“Couldn’t you use sensors for that?” Steve asked as he moved to comply.
“No, not like that,” Tony said. “Hold it like a C-clamp. There you go,” he added as Steve adjusted his grip. He moved his hands to pinch two sections under the weapon’s aperture. “Sensors would be ideal,” he added, addressing Steve’s last query “I haven’t had time to design them yet.”
Steve’s eyes narrowed. “Couldn’t you have had Friday do that?” he asked.
“She’s a bit busy double checking the designs on the dozen or so weapons we’ve been building, analyzing the fights from your gladiator games, helping Banner run the dispensary, rebuilding my suits, and half a dozen other things. Not to mention babying this whale back to Earth. Alright, press and pull down on your end,” he added. “But like a normal human, not a super soldier, if you please,” he added. “Last time I asked Thor to help; I ended up having to fabricate a new casing.” Steve grinned.
“There we go,” Tony said as the weapon came apart. “Besides,” he continued “I designed my AIs to facilitate design not take it over,” he added, taking the pieces and laying them out on bench in front of him.
“What’s that mean; they have no volition?” Steve asked, stepping to a spot that gave him a view of what Tony was doing without getting in the way. Not that he actually knew what he was looking at or what the engineer was doing to it.
“It’s not that they have no volition,” Tony replied as he continued disassembly. “They can take an order and expand intelligently upon it, and they can take care of all the repetitive grunt work. They just don’t generate their own tasks. It’s hard to create something new without that capacity.”
“Sounds like a design flaw,” Steve observed.
“Or a safeguard,” Tony replied pointedly.
“Are you that worried about your AIs going rogue?” Steve asked.
“Let’s just say I’d rather not take the chance,” Tony replied. “One Ultron was enough,” he added quietly.
“Tony, you can’t hold yourself accountable for that,” Steve replied.
“As I recall you also held me accountable for that,” Tony replied offhandedly, eyes focused on his examination of the inner workings of the blaster.
Steve winced. “I was wrong,” he said bluntly. “Hell, Vision proves you were right. You had no way of knowing what would happen.”
Tony glanced quickly at Steve. “It’s a bit of a moot point isn’t it?” he asked. “Whatever I thought might happen does not change the result. It was my neglect that created Ultron. Just like-” he started before cutting himself off.
“Just like with Obadiah?” Steve finished for him. Tony’s upper lip curled automatically at the invocation of that name. His head twitched, as if he were trying to work a crick out of his neck. He placed his hands on the workbench, as if he suddenly couldn’t support his own weight. His eyes were those of someone reliving a nightmare, or mistake.
Or a failure.
“Tony,” Steve said apologetically, reaching out to touch his friend’s shoulder. His hand stopped halfway there, unsure of what to do. After a moment his arm dropped. The man didn’t want pity. He didn’t need sympathy. An apology would have been a waste of breath.
He needed forgiveness. That was the one thing Steve couldn’t give. Not one alive could.
Steve had been chasing this problem around the track for a while now. He could see that Tony was punishing himself. He knew it was wrong. But he just couldn’t find a way to get Tony to see it. No matter how hard he chased the rabbit, he never seemed to make any headway. It didn’t help that Tony was right almost as often as he thought he was.
And now here he was, a golden opportunity to try and make his friend see and no idea what to do with it. He thought about leaving. He thought about yelling. He thought about a lot of things. Nothing seemed as if it would make any difference. But he had to do something.
In the end, he went for the straight forward approach. “Tony,” he said quietly into the silence “you’ve got to let that go.”
Stark’s face twisted. “Just forget about it,” he grated. “Delete those people from memory, just as I did from the world?”
“You didn’t kill them,” Steve said in earnest. “Obadiah killed them. The people that used the weapons he sold killed them. You-” he started to add before Tony slammed an open drawer closed so hard it sprang back out. Tools clattered unnoticed to the floor.
“And not one of them could have killed anyone if I hadn’t trusted the wrong person!” he growled, turning an almost feral glare on Steve. The look didn’t last long; its fire was extinguished by the calm compassion on Steve’s face. Tony turned back to bracing against the workbench.
“It just keeps going,” he continued, as if he couldn’t stop. As if a spillway had broken down. “I try to make it right. Everything keeps getting worse. First Gulmira, then New York and Sokovia. Wanda, Peter, Thor . . . Rhodey,” he added, barely getting that last out. He turned to look at Steve. “I almost killed you,” he added bitterly.
“You see, that right there,” Steve said heatedly. “That’s the problem. You think you’re the only responsible person on the team. I knew exactly what I was doing when I provoked you. You don’t get to take responsibility for my choices. You don’t get to take responsibility for anyone’s choices but your own.”
Tony turned an incredulous expression on him. “So, you were trying to get me to kill you?” he asked.
Steve gave a half shrug. “Not exactly.”
“Then what were you doing?”
“You needed a punching bag,” Steve said matter-of-factly.
Tony scowled. “What?” he demanded.
“Look,” he said cautiously “after Rhodes’s . . . you needed someone to take your frustrations out on. Otherwise you’d have taken it out on yourself. Like you always do.”
“So, you let me beat you nearly to death?” Tony asked, aghast.
“Well no,” Steve said with just a touch of embarrassment. “You’ve gotten a lot better since we parted company.”
“You’ve certainly given me enough practice,” Tony replied offhandedly.
“My point, Tony,” Steve replied “is that that was my choice. Just like it was Obadiah’s choice to sell your weapons to terrorists. Just like it was Loki’s choice to attack New York; and Ultron’s choice to attack Sokovia. Just like it was Peter’s and Rhodes’s choices to place themselves in the line of fire.”
Steve took a breath. “Maybe we could have done a better job in those instances, I don’t know,” he continued. “But we did the best we could at the time. And we did it as a team. You don’t get to assume full responsibility for all of our failings.”
“Someone has to,” Tony replied bluntly.
“Damn it, Tony,” Steve snapped. “You are not the only person that hurts when we fail. We just channel it into something productive. We try to learn from our mistakes. We use our failures to push us to be better next time out. Just because we don’t act like spoiled brats doesn’t mean we don’t care.”
Tony rolled his eyes. “It always comes back to the money,” he said bitterly.
“No,” Steve replied, holding one hand up in a ‘stop’ signal. “It’s got nothing to do with your father’s money. You grew up in a binary environment. The circuit, the program, the construct; they were either right or wrong. There was no in between. And if it was wrong you could always fix it, couldn’t you?”
Tony nodded.
“But the world isn’t a binary solution set,” Steve continued. “It’s not black and white. It’s a thousand shades of grey. And, more often than not, mistakes are final. You can’t go back and change them.”
“You’re not suggesting I haven’t learned how to fail,” Tony replied skeptically.
“No, I’m not,” Steve replied. “I’m suggesting that you never learned to accept that you might.”
“That’s an irrelevant distinction,” Tony said, rejecting that thought out of both hands. On the first, even if he’d never failed while growing up (and he had) he’d had plenty of experience in it over the last several years. And on the second, he’d never shrank from admitting he’d failed. He’d always been first on the scene with disaster relief, doing what he could for the people he’d failed.
“No Tony, its everything,” Steve said. “And if you can’t learn to accept it this job will drive you insane,” he added. Tony gave him a look somewhere between startled and confused.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said, shifting his gaze to one wall. “The job has to be done.” Steve gritted his teeth. Tony’s cycle of guilt was the only thing keeping him going. He’d continue fighting to atone for previous failures. But, if so much as one innocent got injured then that next fight would be counted as a failure. A failure he’d then have to atone for as well.
It was a completely ridiculous standard, a standard he only held himself to. But he just couldn’t see it as long as he was within the cycle. He needed a psychiatrist, which Steve most certainly wasn’t. The closest they had on board was a guy with incredible anger management issues.
But Steve did understand people. At the moment that was all they had. It would have to do. Tony couldn’t be allowed to continue this way any longer, else he would find the only way he could see to end the cycle: his death.
Steve groped for something to say. Some way to make his friend understand. It wasn’t that Tony wasn’t listening, he knew. It was hard to accept sometimes, but the man always listened.
Part of Tony’s problem lay in that others had trouble accepting that he was listening because of the number of times Tony had listened and disagreed. Perhaps it was easier to assume he wasn’t giving you a chance than to accept that someone so intelligent had come to a different conclusion?
He’d have to give it some thought later, but he knew that wasn’t the case right now. He knew what was going on inside his friend’s mind, almost as if he’d gained telepathic abilities. He knew it was wrong. But he had no idea how to make him see that. He had to remove the filter of guilt Tony saw the world through in order for him to understand. But he couldn’t remove the filter without making him see what was wrong. A standard issue Catch 22.
A sudden sense of bitterness filled him as he contemplated the problem. He turned to examine the opposite wall, trying to hide the expression that feeling had no doubt plastered all over his face. But he was starting to think there was no way to make Tony see the truth. He hadn’t felt this helpless since before The Procedure.
Not since high school.
Not since high school. Those words careened around his head like billiard balls. High school hadn’t exactly been a fun experience for him. He’d accepted that the trials he’d endured had helped him become who he was today, but that didn’t mean he liked dwelling on it. He’d never looked upon with fondness.
Until now.
“You know,” he said into the silence “I used to get into fights back in school.”
Tony turned, regarding Steve with a look that mingled surprise and more surprise. Surprise at the seemingly irrelevant turn the conversation had taken. More surprise at the thought of Steve brawling.
“I’m sorry,” Tony said “weren’t you a sickly assemblage of skin and bones back then?” Steve nodded sagely. Tony grinned in spite of himself. “It’s hard to imagine you fighting,” he said.
“Oh, I didn’t say I fought,” Steve corrected him, a minor grin on his face. “I said I got into fights.”
A look of confusion crossed Tony’s face. “I fail to see the difference.”
Steve shrugged. “Well, if you didn’t actually land a blow, it’s more like getting beaten than fighting,” he said.
“I never would have pegged you for a masochist,” Tony observed.
“Oh, I wasn’t,” Steve assured him.
“Trying to prove how tough you were?” Tony asked. It was clear from his tone that he didn’t really believe that was the case. He was just out of other ideas.
Steve laughed. “No,” he said “it’s just . . . I’d see some girl being picked on, or someone would make racist comments, or bully some kid because he was a Jew. It was wrong. Someone had to do something. But no one would. I guess I felt like I had to try.”
“Did it work?” Tony asked curiously.
Steve shrugged, thinking back. “Not really,” he admitted.
“So, you really were proving how tough you were,” Tony replied with a quirky grin.
Steve stopped for a moment. He’d never looked at it that way. “I guess I was,” he said. “And it did work for a short time. But, after a little while, I guess they got tired of beating on me. They’d just brush me aside and keep going after whomever they’d decided to terrorize that day.”
“Now, do you think anyone was silly enough to blame me because I couldn’t stop them?” he asked pointedly.
Stark stiffened as he realized how this little admission connected to their previous conversation. “It’s not the same,” he said in a voice that matched his body language.
“How so?” Steve asked.
“Well, I’m assuming you didn’t create the situations you tried to stop,” Tony replied flippantly.
“Dammit Tony, neither did you!” Steve exploded. “Not with Stane, not with Ultron. And I defy you to rationalize how you’re responsible for Loki or Thanos’s acts,” he added.
“Maybe not Loki,” Tony said with a half shrug “but I should have . . .”
“What; been able to ascertain what a monster you had no idea existed might do with a pair of magic artifacts, only one of which you’d had any contact at all with, when you built your suits?” Tony didn’t respond. When Steve put it that way, there really was no logic in blaming himself. Still, he found it difficult to put down, and he didn’t know why.
“It’s the same thing with Ultron and Stane,” Steve continued, pressing his advantage. “You didn’t make their choices for them. They did.”
Tony snapped back to the present. “I empowered them,” he argued. “Without me they could never have caused the harm they did.”
“Really?” Steve asked disbelievingly. “Exactly how did leaving the scepter next to a computer empower you?”
“You know I was trying to do exactly what it did,” Tony snapped.
“Yeah, and I know that had you succeeded you’d have employed safeguards to ensure he couldn’t go off the reservation,” Steve replied. “Just like you did with your AIs,” he added in a softer tone.
Again, Tony was silent. He wanted to protest that he was still the one that had left the scepter in proximity to his computers, but he already knew what Steve would say. He’d point out that Strucker had had the thing around computers for who knows how long, without it ever linking to them. He’d say there was no reason to suspect there might be a component within the staff that might possess any volition. He’d say he had no way of knowing that component might be malevolent.
He’d be wrong of course. But, for once, Tony couldn’t say why. So, he chose to say nothing.
“Everything that happened was Ultron’s choice not yours,” Steve pressed on. “Just like you’re not responsible for Stane’s choices.”
Tony twitched at that. “You can’t be sure of that,” he said.
“Really?” Steve asked, taken aback. “You forced him to kill you?”
“Didn’t I?” Tony insisted. “Obie was my father’s most trusted advisor, my own god father. Then I take over the company and suddenly he’s . . . well, you know,” he finished lamely.
“Tony, sometimes people change. Sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse. Sometimes it happens without them even realizing. They just make a choice. And that choice leads to another. Those lead to more. But those are still the choices they made. You didn’t.”
“I pushed him into making those choices,” Tony snapped, voice cracking for the first time since puberty. “If I hadn’t taken the company back, if I’d been less pigheaded, if I hadn’t overridden his judgement as much as I did, he’d never have made them. He’d never have . . .” he started before trailing off, eyes brimming with tears. He wiped them on his sleeve.
“You don’t know that Tony,” Steve said softly. “The taste of power does strange things to people. Even if you’d let him keep the reigns, the fact that you could take the company from him could have been enough.”
Tony scoffed. “I find it ironic that you, of all people, would buy into the false concept that absolute power corrupts absolutely.”
“I’m far from absolutely powerful,” Steve countered.
“Really; how many people could stand up to you in a physical confrontation? Five? Ten?”
“About that,” Steve said with a shrug.
“Do you realize you have fewer compeers in your brand of power than Stane did?” Tony insisted. This time it was Steve’s turn to remain silent. He’d never really considered it that way. He’d never really considered his own corruption threshold at all. He’d always just done whatever seemed like the best thing to do. But now that Tony mentioned it, there were certainly a lot of people close to his capabilities that could be considered corrupt. Brock Rumlow jumped to mind.
“No, I didn’t think so,” Tony continued. “You know, you have got to be the only person on this ship that was something special before they gained any special abilities,” he added, somewhat in awe.
“No,” Steve said fixing Stark with a meaningful stare “there’s at least one other.”
Tony returned the look. “You can’t possibly mean your new girlfriend,” he said.
Steve reddened. “You heard that?” he asked. Actually, he hadn’t; he’d meant Tony. But now that Stark mentioned it, she probably fell into that category as well.
“I think the whole ship heard that,” Tony replied watching him closely. “As I recall, we sent you in there to interrogate her,” he added. Again, Steve didn’t reply. He wasn’t even sure why he felt embarrassed, except for how loud they’d apparently been of course.
“I’ll be the last person to condemn someone for engaging in a little gland to gland combat. I just never thought blue skinned psychotics were your thing.”
“She’s not psychotic,” Steve said quickly. “She’s . . . a tormented angel.” Tony gave Steve a hard look at that. Steve returned the probe with a look of stubborn confidence. It was easy to see that Steve truly believed what he was saying. Tony just could not reconcile it with what he knew of the woman.
“You’re going to have to explain that to me,” Stark said.
“Alright, its . . .” Steve started, pausing as he tried to figure out where to start. After a few seconds he started again. “You once called me incorruptible,” he said. Tony nodded. “Well, ever since this mission started, I’ve been forced to ask myself how I’d have fared if I’d been drafted into Thanos’s ‘family’.”
“I’m sure we all have,” Tony said.
“And I had to accept that he’d have broken me. He’d have broken all of us.” Again, Tony nodded in agreement. While he wasn’t certain Steve would have broken, he had no doubt he would have, and in short order. “But not Nebula,” Steve continued. “She fought him. Her entire life she’s fought him.”
“She’s killed hundreds of innocent people,” Quill cut in. The other two turned to look at him, suddenly realizing that the room had been absent the sounds of his blaster fire for some time. Quill caught their meaning. “The power cell died,” he said with a shrug. “I didn’t want to interrupt.”
“A novel courtesy,” Tony muttered. The other two ignored him.
“Do you imagine those people would be alive today if Nebula hadn’t killed them?” Steve asked.
Quill hesitated. “No,” he admitted finally. “Anyone who crosses Thanos dies.”
“What would have been the result of her refusing?” Steve asked Socratically.
“I’m sure he’d have punished her,” Quill replied, clearly unconvinced.
“No one’s questioning her pragmatism,” Tony added. “But acceding to the inevitable in order to avoid punishment hardly makes her an angel.”
“I agree,” Steve said “but what you’re missing is that Thanos wouldn’t have punished Nebula. Well,” he added, backtracking “he would have punished her. But he also would have taken it out on Gamora.” He looked from one to the other. “She’s been protecting Gamora since they were kids,” he added. “That’s why she was letting Gamora win in the arena; because the loser received more augments.”
“Not in our arena,” Tony pointed out.
“I think that was just a product of habit,” Steve said. “She seemed genuinely surprised at the accusation.”
“And she told you this?” Quill asked doubtfully.
“No, getting any answer out of her was like pulling teeth,” Steve replied. “I had to guess.”
“And how do you know your guess was right?” Quill asked.
“Because when I made it, she threatened to kill me if Gamora found out,” Steve said. The other two blinked at that. “So, I’d appreciate it if you guys kept this conversation to yourselves,” he added with a slight grin. He wasn’t actually sure she’d carry out her threat. It also didn’t matter. This was her secret, a secret she’d held for over a decade. If she didn’t want Gamora to know then that was how it was.
Stark’s brow furrowed. “Why keep it a secret?” he asked.
Steve shrugged. “At this point, habit mostly,” he said. “I think she convinced herself that she’d kept what she was doing from Thanos. I think she was terrified that he’d punish them if he found out.”
“But you think he knew,” Tony prompted.
“The more I think about it, the more I have trouble imagining someone with his capabilities missing that trick. I think he saw it; he saw it, and he decided to use it as a lever against her.”
“Wait, this doesn’t track,” Quill cut in. “Nebula nearly killed Gamora to retrieve the Power Stone. If it hadn’t been for some . . . impressive heroics on my part, she’d have succeeded.”
Tony turned to Quill. “And this was after she’d betrayed Thanos?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Quill replied, clearly unsure of the relevance of that data point. “What difference does that make.”
“You said it yourself,” Steve replied “anyone who crosses Thanos dies.”
“So, you think Nebula saw Gamora’s death as inevitable?” Quill asked.
“No, I think she saw Gamora’s betrayal of Thanos as a personal betrayal. She saw it as throwing away everything she’d suffered on Gamora’s behalf,” Steve explained.
“And even then, by all reports, she did a piss poor job of killing her,” Tony added.
There was a moment of silence, as they all tried to imagine what it must have been like. What it would have been like to perform these terrible acts, solely so another would be protected. To watch your own body get ripped apart, your only solace being that it wasn’t happening to someone else. And all the while, keeping the secret of what you were doing from everyone, even the person you were protecting.
They were each thankful that their imaginations simply were not up to that task. They couldn’t imagine themselves enduring that. They couldn’t imagine how she had.
Then Quill grunted. The other two turned inquisitive looks on him. “I’d always pictured guardian angels as being nicer,” he explained.
“Most guardian angels haven’t had to commit atrocities to protect their charge,” Tony replied pointedly.
“Yeah but what do we have to do with that?” Quill asked.
“Nothing,” Tony replied with a slight cock of his head, indicating the connection between the two escaped him.
“Oh, so she just hates us on principle?” Quill replied.
“She doesn’t hate us,” Steve replied in a cold voice. “She hates herself.”
“Okay, that makes zero sense,” Quill replied. “You’d make more sense if you said the sun was hot because it was cold. That’s how much that doesn’t make any sense.”
“And I suppose people are always easy to understand?” Tony replied sarcastically, turning an incredulous look on Peter.
“You just have to take the priorities in order,” Steve cut in before Quill could respond. He cast a warning glance at Tony before continuing. His friend had a penchant for turning conversations into arguments, that could not be entertained at the moment.
If anyone ever needed evidence of just how massively superior his intellect was, that was it. What seemed like simple one-two-three logic to him appeared to be massive leaps and bounds of thought to a normal person. They simply could not trace how to get from a to b. And he couldn’t understand where the breakdown was coming from because everything seemed so simple to him. He was simply too intelligent to ever be a decent teacher. A mentor maybe, given the right pupil.
That didn’t mean he didn’t have blind spots. People were his blind spot
“Her first priority,” Steve continued “has been to protect Gamora to the best of her ability.”
“Why?” Quill asked curiously.
Steve shrugged. “I have no idea what started it,” he said. “At this point I think it’s less about Gamora’s safety than a coping mechanism. Gamora has become a . . . a totem, I guess is the best way to describe it. She’s a walking symbol of Nebula’s ability to resist Thanos. If Gamora dies everything she’s done, everything she’s suffered, becomes meaningless.”
“So, you’re saying that the more horrible things she’s done, the more horrible things she’d be willing to do?” Quill asked.
“It’s the classic ‘throwing good money after bad’ approach to business,” Tony put in.
“Right,” Steve agreed. “Second comes Nebula’s own survival,” he continued. “She has to protect herself, mostly because if she doesn’t, there’s no one to protect Gamora. I think the only reason she’d let herself die was to protect her.”
“Okay,” Quill said. He could at least understand that. He’d pretty much proven that he’d die for Gamora.
“Lastly, and this one’s the kicker,” Steve continued “she’s not supposed to hurt anyone. I have no idea how she’s managed to remember that, with all she’s been through,” he added, a sense of awe in his voice. “Lord knows I couldn’t have.”
Peter squinted. “Okay, the first two I get, but she hurts people all the time,” he pointed out. “She’s got a reputation as quite the sadist,” he added.
“Because that priority has been subsumed by the other two,” Tony said. “It’s like a twisted version of The Three Laws,” he added.
“Let me see if I’ve got this right,” Peter said. “You’re saying that she knows she shouldn’t kill people. But she does because it’s the only way to keep herself safe, and by keeping herself safe, she’s protecting Gamora. But she hates herself for doing it anyways. But she can’t take it out on herself, because then she’d kill herself. And if she did that there’d be no one to protect Gamora. So, she takes it out on everyone else?”
“Essentially,” Steve said with a nod. “She hates herself for all the pain she had no choice in causing,” he summed up, giving a pointed look at Tony. Tony didn’t respond, but his face had become tight as a drum. His eyes had acquired a far-off look, as if his concentration had shifted somewhere outside this room.
“Sound like anyone else we know?” Steve asked pointedly, looking directly at Tony. The object of his statement lost the far away look his eyes had gained to stare back, unsure of what to say.
“Yeah, I’d keep that comparison to yourself if I were you,” Quill replied.
Steve turned to look at him. “You don’t think its accurate?” he asked.
“No, it’s not that,” Quill replied. “It’s just that, if you’re right, I bet she sees him as a whiny little punk.”
“Or a kindred spirit,” Steve countered with a warning tone.
“No think about it,” that warned replied unheedingly. “She spends all this time doing horrible things, in order to protect the one decent thing she could carve out of her existence, and here he is bitching about the couple of people here and there that he wasn’t able to save from the likes of her. At least he got a chance to try and save them,” Quill added pointedly.
Neither of them replied.
>>
Nebula navigated through the halls of the ship to the arena with a sense of slight dread. She’d stayed in her room for as long as possible in an attempt to avoid the inevitable questions about the previous night. But it was now time for one of her scheduled wastes of time. She’d considered not going. But that would have looked like she was hiding, which would have suggested a weakness that could be exploited.
She’d had no choice but to go. But she’d resolved to make this the shortest bout in the history of the ship and then leave.
She was forced to alter that plan immediately upon her entry of the business end of the coliseum. She was also forced to alter her path to avoid one flying maroon man. She sidestepped the vibranium ballistic and glanced to the other end of the room. Thor was there, recovering from the blow that had sent Jarvis on his merry way.
“Excuse me,” Jarvis muttered politely as he caught himself on the frame of the door and launched himself back into the arena. Most bouts didn’t last their full time limit. But this one had all the makings of a marathon. The two were fairly evenly matched. Thor was stronger, but Jarvis was far tougher. Then again, Thor had his hammer. He loved that hammer.
Nebula stepped to a wall on to the right of the door and tried to be as inconspicuous as possible. She leaned back against it, crossed her arms in front of her chest, and settled in to wait. If she was lucky no one but those two would even notice her presence.
This was the first fight she’d actually witnessed on the ship. While she’d understood why the others had taken to their roles as spectators, she’d seen enough of fighting pits to last a dozen lifetimes. She wasn’t exactly sure why Gamora had participated.
Nebula was just starting to relax when Natasha spoke. “You might as well sit up here,” the Russian spy called out. “This could take some time.” Nebula glanced to the left where the other woman was watching her from the balcony.
She considered turning and leaving, but again, that would have appeared to be running away. Better to never have come.
She considered how fortuitous it would be if some emergency interrupted her decision. None materialized.
She briefly considered ignoring her, pretending she hadn’t heard. But she’d already failed that approach by locating the source of the invitation.
She considered ignoring the invitation, just turning back to watch the fight. That was the best option, really. She had no reason to be sociable. In fact, she’d gone to great lengths to be as unsociable as possible during this little star trip.
But she realized she didn’t want to. She had no idea why. It was preferable to sidestepping the arena’s current occupants, she supposed.
Lacking any other option, she turned and headed for the stairs. She automatically measured her stride to avoid appearing either apprehensive or eager. Either of those was a sign of weakness. Weakness inevitably invited challenge.
She climbed the stairs lithely and took a seat at the back of the three-row gallery as far from anyone as she could find, a look of warning plastered on her face. She hoped that would be enough to discourage idle conversation. It always had in the past.
She should have known it wouldn’t work with this group. They were not the fodder of whichever species Thanos had decided to victimize. Nor were they easily cowed by threats to their own persons. It was only a matter of time before their curiosity overcame their manners.
The only question in her mind was which of them would be first. She scanned those assembled without actually looking at any of them, wondering just who would volunteer for a beating. Nearly everyone was there. Ironically, the only absent members appeared to be the leaders of the various groups. Thor was in the ring of course, but that still left Stark, Quill, Rogers, and Gamora unaccounted for.
While those were, undoubtedly, the most forceful of personalities on the ship, she had no doubt someone present would rise to the occasion. Her money was on Rocket. Not only was he the type to say things no one else would, he’d also had to restrain himself from looking back at her twice in the short time she’d been sitting there. Her only hope was that the fight in progress would end before that happened.
To her surprise it wasn’t the loudmouth racoon cyborg that breached her wall of silence; it was Barnes. After only a few moments he got up, strode casually to the back row, and plopped down into the chair next to her.
She attempted to glare him away. He impassively ignored it, instead keeping his attention on fight. She quickly gave up and turned to do the same. Again, she found herself faced with a no-win set of choices. Normally she’d simply break him for intruding on her privacy, but she’d promised Gamora she’d cooperate. She was fairly certain folding someone into a pretzel didn’t fall within that directive.
“You have a good time last night?” Barnes asked eventually, eyes still forward.
Nebula glanced at him out of pure reflex. Of course, that reflex also involved a verbal warning, and possibly a beating. Somehow, she kept from following through on the rest of that.
When he kept his façade of attention on the fight up, she turned back forward as well. At first, she had no intention of replying. It was none of his, or anyone else’s, business. But it occurred to her that, just this once, the truth might shut him up.
“It was a mistake,” she grated, voice barely above a whisper.
It was Bucky’s turn to glance at her. “I don’t know what Steve sees in you,” he continued, again facing the fight. “But it must have been something.”
“You’re point?” Nebula asked coldly.
“Steve’s a good man. He’s only been serious about one other woman in his entire life,” Barnes explained. “I don’t want to see him hurt.”
“He’s a fool,” Nebula growled.
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Natasha said, turning to sit on the railing. “He’s not the smartest person on the ship, I’ll grant you; but he’s no idiot. And he understands people better than most.”
“He only understands people who share his motivations,” Nebula replied. “He interprets actions only within his own context. It is only because he surrounds himself with such people that he seems worldly. But he cannot see a monster when it stands in front of him.”
Natasha arched an eyebrow at that. “You hear that Bruce?” she asked. “We have a monster among us.”
Banner shrugged. “One more won’t make much difference,” he said without so much as turning around.
Nebula assumed a look of incredulity. “You people don’t seriously think you’re monsters,” she said.
“Oh, we know we are,” Natasha said, eyes suddenly cold. “Not all of us,” she added with a glance at Parker “but a surprising majority. I’m not entirely sure you and your sister fall in that category though.”
Nebula’s eyes snapped a glare at Natasha. “Do not think that, just because I play with you in your little pen, you know what I am capable of,” she snarled.
“Out of curiosity, what are you capable of?” T’Challa asked, turning around to face her.
Nebula turned a stony look towards him. “How many innocent people have you killed?” she asked.
“More than I would like to admit,” the king said before glancing the question to Natasha.
That worthy crossed her arms over her chest. “A couple hundred,” Widow admitted, a sour look coming over her face before she volleyed the question to the other side of the gallery.
“I wrecked one city, and attacked another,” Banner said quietly. “I don’t really know how many people I hurt.”
“Rocket?” Natasha prompted.
“Two hundred seventy-three point four,” the raccoon replied.
“Point four?” Peter asked.
“It’s a long story,” Rocket replied.
“Drax?” Natasha prompted.
“I called down an entire attack on Nowhere just to get my revenge,” he admitted. “I don’t know how many people died.”
“Let me know when you reach a thousand,” Nebula cut in, ending the Mickey Mouse Manslaughter House roll call short.
Natasha shrugged. “The number’s not really important,” she said. “It’s the reason we chose to kill them. Why did you kill those thousand people?”
“Thanos decreed it,” Nebula said darkly.
“So, it wasn’t really your choice?” Parker asked.
“What difference does that make?” Nebula asked.
“Well, it makes every difference,” Peter replied, confused.
“Not to them,” Nebula countered, a response no one seemed to have an answer for. Most of them had at least a few skeletons in their closet, people that had died directly to choices they’d made. Would it really have made any difference if they’d been simply following someone’s orders? Wouldn’t they still be responsible, as the acting party?
Granted, that flew in the face of the concept of ‘chain of command’, the idea that some of the blame did indeed pass up the chain to those giving those unpleasant orders. But all of it?
The uncertain silence filled the room for several moments. Only the sounds of Jarvis and Thor locked in endless combat pervaded its totality. And even that seemed to fade as they fought to disagree with her.
“I am curious,” T’Challa asked eventually “what would have happened if you had refused to carry out Thanos’s orders?”
Nebula blinked at the seeming irrelevance of that question. “They would have died,” she said.
“No,” he replied holding one hand up. “What would have happened to you?”
Nebula hesitated. “Disobedience requires punishment,” she said in a dead tone.
“By punishment I assume you mean torture?”
“Is there a difference?” Nebula asked.
“And they still would have died,” T’Challa pressed on, ignoring the chill her reply had sent down his spine. The simple fact that she could not discriminate between punishment and torture had opened a terrifying window into her past for all of them.
“I already said that,” she said shortly.
“Yes, I believe you did,” T’Challa replied with a slight nod of his head.
“Doesn’t sound very monstrous to me,” Bucky commented.
“Then you’re a fool as well,” Nebula replied acidly. Why was she staying here? Why did she put up with this idiocy? She should just leave. She almost got up, but a sudden thought stopped her. Why did she want to run away? What about this conversation scared her? So, she forced herself to stay.
“Well, at least I’m in good company,” Barnes replied sarcastically, earning a quick glare from the blue woman.
“Nebula,” Natasha cut in “sometimes it’s the motive that makes us monsters. I didn’t kill because there was no choice. I killed for money. Bruce killed out of anger,” she added.
“I killed them because they were in the way,” Rocket said unrepentantly.
“I killed for vengeance,” T’Challa added.
“And I,” Drax chimed in.
“But you,” Natasha said, taking control of the conversation again “you killed to avoid torture. You killed people who might as well have already been dead.”
“I could have refused,” Nebula said bitterly.
“Who would that have helped?” Scott asked. Nebula stared him into silence.
“The answer is: no one,” Natasha said, adding a touch of steel to her voice. “Have you ever killed anyone that wasn’t guaranteed to die?”
“Half a cruiser’s worth of Ravagers,” Nebula said, meeting Gamora’s gaze with a look challenging her to find something noble in that.
“Oh, please,” Rocket piped up. “I was there too, remember?” he added. “She was there, but she didn’t kill anyone. Didn’t even kill Yondu when she shot him, which was a nice shot by the way,” he added. “Mutinous Ravagers killed them, and she stopped them from killing me and Yondu.”
Nebula considered pointing out that she could have stopped that purge at any time, but doubted that argument would sway anyone much. They couldn’t see how monstrous it was to look into the terrified eyes of innocent people and murder them in cold blood. All she’d done there was not do anything. She still wasn’t even sure why she’d rescued Rocket.
“I suppose torturing people isn’t monstrous either?” she said suddenly, still wondering why she cared. She wasn’t sure why it was so important that these people see her for what she was. But it was. They were all naïve, that much was clear. But why did that matter to her?
“Depends,” Wade replied. He’d been uncharacteristically silent through the conversation until now. He never thought he’d be defending someone guilty of torture, which he found oddly amusing. “Was it better or worse than the torture they’d have received at Thanos’s hands.”
Again, Nebula was silent. But this time her lack of response was less a calculated coldness and due more to the memory that comment had dredged up.
She’d hesitated the first time Thanos had ordered someone tortured to death. It had been a young woman, someone she might have been if she hadn’t been captured. Just as the red and black maniac had somehow guessed, Thanos had taken over personally. What he’d done to that person had been horrific. After that, Nebula had learned to kill as quickly as possible. But, even then, sometimes the order came. And when it had she’d complied without hesitation.
“You’re all fools,” she whispered again. But this time the insult lacked the complete and unwavering conviction it had attained previously. A part of her wondered why she was arguing at all. Who wants to be a monster?
Natasha turned to Banner. “What do you think, Bruce?” she asked.
The mousy scientist Nebula still couldn’t understand why everyone feared pursed his lips in thought. Then he shook his head. “I don’t think she’s a monster,” he declared. “I think she’s Vlad the Impaler.” Looks from the various people present ranged from confusion to curiosity.
“Vlad the Impaler?” Natasha asked dubiously.
“How does one get this Impaler title?” Drax asked, gaining a range of dirty looks from those present. “What?” he asked slightly defensively. “I’ve impaled more people than I can count with my knives. No one calls me the Impaler.”
“Vlad the Impaler was leader of Walachia, a country that bordered the Ottoman Empire in the late fifteenth century,” Parker explained. “When his father was Voivode he was captured by the Turks and held as a hostage, to ensure his father would support their interests.”
“Right,” Bruce replied, taking the conversation back. “They hoped that, by raising him themselves, the Turks would be able to shape his attitudes to their interests. But it didn’t work; while he was in captivity, Vlad came to hate his captors. He was constantly being disciplined for his attitude. About the only thing he cooperated on was his martial training.”
“But even that was a trap,” Bruce continued “because soon he found himself in the Ottoman Empire’s Janissary corps. His battalion was tasked to conquer villages along their border. These villages were given a choice: surrender, or be put to death, every man woman and child. If they refused to surrender, Vlad would impale the entire village on giant stakes, every man woman and child.”
“That’s terrible,” Mantis said with a slight shudder.
“Yes,” Bruce agreed “but it has been noted that, for every village he put to the stake, ten would surrender.”
“And you think that’s why he did it?” Nebula asked dubiously. Unlike the others, she’d seen far worse fates than impalement; that held little horror for her.
“No,” Bruce replied. “I think it enraged him. These people had a choice, whereas he had none. And they chose to make him kill them. But it’s worth noting that he didn’t stop, even when the conversion rate increased.” They all fell silent as each worked through what that implied, all but Natasha who settled for holding a doubtful look on her face.
“What happened to this man?” Drax asked eventually.
“His father and older brother were tortured to death and he was released to rule Walachia,” Bruce answered. “Despite their best hopes, he led several highly successful campaigns against the Ottoman Empire before being killed in battle.”
“So, his struggle was ultimately meaningless,” Drax said.
Bruce shrugged. “Some historians suggest that his successes against such odds inspired other Christian kingdoms to resist the Turk’s expansion.”
“What happened to this Turkish Empire?” Drax asked.
“It collapsed nearly two hundred years ago,” Parker replied.
Before anyone else could say anything, Nebula lurched to her feet, a thousand different thoughts and emotions sweeping across her face. Finally, she settled on one.
“I am not this person,” she whispered before stalking out of the room. Again, the room was filled with silence.
Finally, Natasha turned to Bruce. “You know, Vlad the Third was a royal hostage. There’s no evidence that he ever fought in the Janissary corps,” she said.
Bruce gave another little shrug. “So, I took that from a movie I saw a few years ago,” he said. “What, she’s not going to know the difference,” he added defensively.
“You have definitely been spending too much time with Tony,” Natasha replied, with a slight grin. Bruce gave a surprised grin in reply.
“Why is it so important that she be a monster?” Parker asked.
“I don’t think she is,” Bruce replied.
“Yeah, but what I meant was, why is it so important that she think she’s a monster.”
“Because it’s easier to live with having committed monstrous deeds if you’re a monster,” Barnes said darkly. “It’s like . . . a kind of armor, an armor against the looks of horror your victims give you,” he added.
“What’s this about a monster?” Thor asked, coming up the stairs into the booth. He was favoring his right side. Vision followed behind him.
“You guys finally finished,” Natasha said in surprise, less in that one of them had eventually emerged victor than that she hadn’t noticed it.
“It was a well-matched bout,” Jarvis stated.
“Who won?” Parker asked.
“He did,” Thor replied with a slight nod in the homunculus’s direction.
“Thor showed considerable restraint,” Jarvis countered. “I have no doubt that, had he decided to throw magic bolts of lightning, the outcome would have been quite different.”
“So, which monster did we interrupt you talking about?” Thor said, ignoring the platitude.
“Nebula,” Natasha answered. “Bruce was just likening her to Vlad the Third.” Thor frowned in confusion, but he could be forgiven a slight lack of ignorance where Earth history was involved.
Jarvis’s eyes narrowed momentarily. “Specifically, the portrayal of Vlad the Impaler from the movie ‘Dracula Untold’ I presume,” he commented.
“Well, yes,” Natasha replied. “You’ve seen that movie?”
“It is one of Mr. Banner’s favorite movies,” Jarvis stated.
“Really?” Natasha asked, turning a raised brow on Bruce.
The target of her query shrugged. “It speaks to me,” he said uncomfortably.
“One could certainly draw certain parallels between that movie and Nebula’s life,” Jarvis commented. “Regarding its accuracy, the remaining question lies within her motivation.”
“I do not think her motivations are that noble,” Mantis said from the corner of the room. “If they were, she’d have been able to pick up Mjolnir,” she added, with a meaningful glance at the hammer in Thor’s hand.
Thor glanced downward then gave a tight grin. “It’s a funny thing: being worthy,” he replied. “You can believe you are with every fiber of your being and not be. But you can’t be worthy if you believe you aren’t.”
“I guess modesty isn’t one of the traits it looks for then,” Lang replied sarcastically.
Drax’s brow furrowed. “Why would a liar be worthy?” he asked.
“It’s not lying,” Parker argued. “It’s just . . .” he started before trailing off.
“No, it’s lying,” Barnes stated quietly. “It’s a lie great people tell so others won’t feel inferior in their presence.”
Jarvis fixed his gaze on Barnes. “Perhaps it’s a lie great people tell themselves so they won’t feel pride in doing the best they could with a terrible situation,” he suggested. Barnes’s eyes snapped up to the maroon man. His mouth opened automatically, to refute that suggestion.
“We can discuss the merits of, and uses for, modesty later,” Natasha cut in. “Thor, are you saying you believe that’s why she can’t pick the hammer up.”
The burly man shrugged. “The hammer allows me to use it,” he explained. “It doesn’t give me dossiers on everyone it judges unworthy. All I can tell you is what it’s looking for.”
“Someone purely good right?” Parker asked.
Thor shifted his focus to this kid that Tony had brought aboard. “It that were true Tony could take Mjolnir from me,” he stated.
Lang scoffed. “You expect us to believe that guy is pure as the driven snow? Do you have any idea the body count he’s left in his wake?”
“Is that really his body count?” T’Challa asked. Scott glanced at him but didn’t reply.
“You may disagree with his methods,” Thor replied “but that man has turned himself into a servant of the human race. He does not do the things he does for personal gratification or power, but because he truly wants to help. Of all of us here, he is the only one that hates the job.”
“Flying around in powered armor,” Bucky replied. “Being a hero. Doing whatever he wants. Yeah, I can totally see how that would get old.”
“No, he’s right,” Banner countered. “Tony hates putting the suit on. He hates fighting. He hates killing. That was what Ultron was supposed to be about: creating a world that didn’t need him to do those things.”
“So, that’s why Tony can’t wield the hammer; because he’s too good?” Natasha asked doubtfully.
“It’s not so much the strength of his good side, but his lacking of a bad side,” Thor said, surprising them all.
“Now that makes even less sense,” Sam said.
“The hammer doesn’t just want someone that will use it in just causes,” Thor countered. “It wants someone that will use it to its fullest capability. It requires someone that enjoys the fight, who becomes the fight.”
“Shouldn’t Steve be able to pick it up then?” Bucky asked.
“No,” Natasha answered contemplatively. “Steve’s afraid of his dark side. It’s there, but always on a short leash.”
“He almost picked it up once,” Banner observed.
“You people have a saying,” Thor responded. “Almost is only good enough with horseshoes and hand grenades.”
“Are you saying Cap will never be worthy?” Falcon asked.
Thor shook his head. “People insist on treating worthiness as some sort of constant,” he said. “It isn’t, believe me,” he added with a slight, bittersweet grin. “Few people are worthy all of the time. But, in those critical moments, when one person’s actions might determine the fate of others . . . well, I have no doubt that many of you would have no trouble wielding it.”
“Except him,” Thor added with a grin, pointing to Deadpool. “No offense, but it doesn’t like crazy.”
“Yeah well, who really wants to have to check with their weapon before they kill a guy?” Wade replied. “Imagine if you’re fingernail clippers just decided they weren’t going to cut one fingernail today. How annoying would that be?”
“I really don’t think fingernail clippers qualify as a lethal weapon, Wade,” Sam replied.
“Maybe not for you, Robin,” Wade replied.
“It’s Falcon,” Sam corrected.
“Whatever, Cardinal,” Wade continued. “The point is, anything is a lethal weapon, except a sentient one. I’ve played D and D; those things are always a curse.”
“You’re always a gnome, aren’t you?” Lang asked.
“What difference does that make?” Wade asked. “And it’s pronounced ‘halfling’,” he added.
“Okay, I think we’re done here,” Natasha said, pushing off of the railing she’d been leaning against.
“Yeah, this is getting weird,” Falcon agreed, getting up.
Jarvis held a hand up in a ‘halt’ gesture. “I believe I have one more row,” he observed.
“Oh yeah, that,” Natasha said as she strode to the back of the gallery. “Congratulations, you’re the first person to win against Nebula.” Then she was out the door.
“Seems a rather hollow victory,” Vision commented, following.