Nebula
The man wearing broken nano-tech is drinking from the cup she's found for him.
Nebula understands his name is Stark, that he is Terran and had traveled with the child (his son?) and the magical one to Titan. She's glad he seems less catatonic now because she has been uncertain how to deal with a dying creature that would not move.
She watches him watch her while trying to adjust her arm, considering what her options are now that her father has actually carried his plan through. Has actually killed Gamora and obliterated half the universe.
She wants Thanos to suffer indefinitely.
The sound of metal touching metal interrupts her thoughts as Stark sets the cup down and struggles to stand, clutching his side. His eyes are strangely bright and she wonders if he might attack her, whether he is such a brash, emotional fool like Quill, if that is simply a Terran trait.
"Can I see?"
She must be more affected than she thought by the battle because it startles her just a little to see Stark suddenly so close, his attention so focused. His tone, too, is gentler than she expects, his voice rough, dry. He indicates the mechanism failing inexplicably to hinge her arm.
Nebula is uncertain what he means, but allows Stark to touch. She is not precious about her body and knows it would not take much to kill him if she needs to do so.
"Didn't catch your name, during all that," Stark muses at her while he handles the gear. Nebula scrutinizes him closely, but decides to answer.
"Nebula."
She feels something lock into place, more smoothly than she'd been able to get before getting hurled away by her father. She doesn't intend to thank Stark, but she is surprised by the gesture and his technical know-how.
"I thought Terrans were primitive."
"Oh, we are," Stark assures her, his tone carrying that deceptive lightness she knew how to identify, but not to understand. "Ill-equipped. Not ready for the big leagues. Red carpet. Met Galas. All of that."
"You speak nonsense."
"English, actually. But I'd guess you wouldn't know that. You all wear some kind of translators, don't you? Input and output."
He stands back a little, his head tilted with that same focused look directed her way, at the base of her neck and the implant below her ear. She realizes -- her readings are telling her -- he is burning out very quickly, that this sudden energy was a distraction, a last gasp.
"Everyone does," she confirms to him before continuing, "You will not last an hour if we do not find some sort of medical kit. And sustenance. Perhaps on the Guardian's ship."
“Great. While we stowaway, you can fill me in on these Guardians. What they are to you. What you are. You know, the works. I’d ask for a file, but..."
He shrugs like even he doesn’t care for what he’s saying. It’s an abrupt change. Nebula doesn't know how to read this Terran, whose suddenly light and demanding nature is at odds with the broken and dying man he'd just been.
"I am a daughter of Thanos."
"Like Gamora."
"Yes."
There is a brief moment before something changes again in Stark's eyes.
"I'm sorry for your loss."
Nebula's expression tightens and eases before she offers a response.
"I am sorry for yours, too."