The wicked finally gets its rest.
The entire galaxy was at peace, the entire world was at harmony. Nebula figured that it was about time that the normal flow became even more normal, the peaceful becomes more peaceful, and the happiness becomes more happier. It would've looked like something out of her childhood dreams, something to laugh at and something she can only dream of. Wicked, as things and she might be, she finally accepted that it was in the past. Whatever murder weapon she turned into, those were in the horrible and hideous past. Maybe a folded corner of a book or two, a tear in an immaculate shirt, a splinter in a delicate hand, they all can be healed and fixed but not forgotten all the same; just like her past actions that she tried to hard to redeem.
The wicked finally gets its rest.
She was a Guardian now, although it still seemed a bit laughable and funny at some times, she's come to terms on how amazing it feels. Looking back at missions and saving and stuff, that's something she's becoming used to; unlike trying to forget about the faces of the victims she mercilessly slaughtered like it was all she knew to do. Now, for the good and the better, she fought; and mercy, it seemed so right, like a missing final puzzle piece, a destiny that seemed to good to be true. Nebula was with her sister, her sister's family, her family. She loved it; she loved every single part of it more than how words and cybernetic parts can fully and accurately describe.
The wicked finally gets its rest.
It was Gamora who first told her that she was not wicked at all; defended her from herself, told her that she was raised in such an environment that deserved to rot in hell. She would believe it every single time her sister says it, but every scream and hopeless cries in her dreams made it hard for her to do it again, to try to forgive and forget again. She's still coping and stumbling and falling and getting up again; tiresome, as how her old self might have described it, but Nebula, the real Nebula, loved it nonetheless. She loved having a chance, she loved having something to look forward to that doesn't include besting and defeating someone close to her heart. Maybe it's too lovely, but Nebula's still trying to work in that field too.
The wicked finally gets its rest.
Family was not foreign to her; in fact, it was a pretty familiar and unfamiliar concept all at once. The thought confuses her, how it works and who even she considers as family; she never gave it much thought anyways. She killed and killed and persevered to get the same amount of love and trust and admiration and proudness, but all she got was words about how worthless she is. Not so much from someone she considered her father, perhaps, but that's all she's got. For years. So when Rocket invited her to look over some batteries, when Groot subtly smiled at her, when Gamora embraced her and calls her her sister, when Quill shared some tracks and songs with her, when Drax cracked a joke, and when Mantis smiled at her lovingly, she wondered if she was doing it right. She wondered if this was family, if this was the thing that she's been wanting all her life. And countless nights of her staying up to think about it later, she's finally answered yes. This was her family.
The wicked finally gets its rest.
Nebula grew closer to Mantis in a short span of time. The empath was really hard to dislike, hard to snap at, hard to ignore, and definitely hard not to acknowledge. The light from her antenna was probably as bright as her aura and cheerful feelings, Nebula figured one day while they were seated at the back part of the ship. Mantis smiled and smiled and smiled, and goodness knows how Nebula spent time about it thinking how sore her face probably is. She was a breath of fresh air (the whole team was) but there was something about her that makes Nebula want to smile. An enigma, Mantis was, but she felt like the ship, she felt like Gamora, she felt like the Guardians, she felt like home.
The wicked finally gets its rest.
Nebula finally forgave herself.
The wicked finally gets its rest.
And now, she's looking at Mantis, peacefully curled up against her, smiling contently in sleep. And maybe, just maybe, Nebula wasn't wicked at all, maybe she's not too wicked because how else would she deserve Mantis? Their intertwined hands sit in silence, the other one sleep-heavy, the other one loving and appreciating all the same. As she closes her eyes, she knew that she doesn't care if she's wicked or not anymore, but she knew that she finally got her rest. Mantis, the Guardians, her sister, and everything that came afterward. They are her rest, and she wouldn't ask for a better one.
The wicked finally gets its rest.
"I love you, Nebula."
The wicked gets rest, after all.