Tony
Tony's grip on the wheel tightens as they make the wide turn around space debris, brilliant colors splashed on one side of space, indicating what he was sure was a star and a system and something definitely very interesting he wanted to stare at for a long time.
But this is fine, too. Co-piloting a spaceship with an alien species while listening to a genuinely great mix of tunes. Who would have imagined?
"So this party isn't really your bag, then," he says finally when they are upright again, glancing over at Nebula. He is feeling physically a little better, having downed the Bottle of Unknown Substances, and he has more than warmed to the conversation with his traveling companion. Maybe even moreso given she seems reluctant, but not entirely unwilling.
He can work with that.
"I'm not built for parties."
Tony smiles at that sort-of-not-really-self-deprecating-joke. It's a lazy, slightly giggly smile as he reclines in the chair with a hand on the wheel. It's definitely going to destroy him later, how very much he's not letting himself think about It. But that's okay. Right now, this -- poking at an android and learning about the universe firsthand -- is sufficiently interesting enough to distract and he is nothing if not the king of self-distraction.
Self-destruction? Distraction. Deflection. Connection.
Something. He is fairly sure Pep called him out on one or five of those.
Whoops. Not the line of thought he wants. He feels a little giddy.
"Bet I can fix that."
"I would be careful what you threaten, Nano-Man."
"Iron Man. I can guarantee you there's nothing nano about --"
"Try to remain upright. I can't stand the stench of bile."
Tony hasn't noticed he's pretty much hanging off the side of his chair until she points it out. He shifts back to a sort of normal position and eyes Nebula.
"How does that work for you, anyway?" Tony cocks his head. "Not the fun-bits part, the organic, smell-things, breathe-things part."
Nebula hesitates before responding and Tony wonders, not for the first time, why she hasn't done more to shut him up. It always intrigues him when people who are very clearly not pushovers...don't. It makes them interesting. Or at the very least it makes him curious, if only to know who won't be in his way, somewhere down the line. It's a wavelength thing, not an ego thing. Efficiency.
"I am organic," she replies. "Thanos has just torn out and replaced several parts of me."
Tony sees pain in her otherwise unsettling eyes and it makes him a bit uneasy. Or maybe that's just the odd wave of dizziness he's feeling and determinedly ignoring.
"Does it hurt?"
"Not always."
Huh.
"What is in your chest?"
She's looking at him now, the quiet stretch of space allowing them both the opportunity to sniff and scratch at each other.
"I call it an arc reactor," he answers. "Produces a current...powers the suit, mainly."
"And you?"
"Used to." Tony shrugs it off. "Had a palladium problem, but then, you know, you start digging around the attic, find out your dad’s definitely more of a genius than you’d even thought and maybe even not a total asshole and poof, there it goes —"
"Everyone says Terra isn't advanced enough for space travel, but your understanding of mechanics seems sufficient.
Pfft. Sufficient. Tony smiles again, fingers drumming on the wheel.
"I'm a smidge smarter than most," he says, totally humbly. "Good ole Earth has its issues, I'll grant you that. Can't seem to agree on anything, actual advancement gets tangled up in rules and wars and pissing contests. But technologically speaking..."
He lets the implication settle, his mind wandering first to politics and then to Cap and then to the ridiculous burner phone Steve had left him and God, what the hell was that about, anyway? And Bruce! He fell out of the sky! And there are wizards now! Dying, self-sacrificing wizards. And crap, he needs to make a new dinner reservation. He needs to call Pepper. Get FRIDAY back online, tap into his systems. And what happened, down on Earth? Where was everybody? Was anyone even --
"You should try to rest, Stark."
Tony blinks, suddenly aware he's sunk down again, his brain firing neurons haphazardly, the subjects in his brain jumbling together in extremely non-orderly fashion, the thoughts he'd wanted to avoid. Which didn't happen. He thought quickly, made leaps others couldn't. But he didn't think randomly.
"What the--"
"Medicine," she grunts, her expression wary as she looks him over. “It might affect you differently than Quill."
"Ho, wha?" Tony is sure nothing she says makes sense after 'medicine.' "Translator malfunction," he mumbles at her, his eyes wide.
Nebula rises and reaches over, hefting Tony up on the chair and pulling the straps down securely over his body. He doesn't fight her, trying to figure out what the hell was happening to his brain.
"You may not have much time."
She settles back into her chair and he watches as the controls on his side power down. There's a roaring in his ears, but he sort of likes it. He lets his head fall back and he feels like he's floating.
Which he is. Because of the space thing and all.