it's not romantic, i swear

Status: Complete
Published: 29 August 2024
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,016
Rating: General Audiences
Tags: Mantis/Nebula (Marvel), Gamora & Nebula (Marvel), Mantis (Marvel), Nebula (Marvel), Gamora (Marvel), the other guardians are also (briefly) there

AO3 Mirror

Related Fic: under attack, about to crack (sequel)

Opening Notes:

Original AO3 Note: hello friends, i have returned with another fic! this...wasn't meant to be this long but, well, i've been told i'm a bit long-winded before, so. i've been working on another (longer) fic for the past few weeks, but i needed to take a break for it so in the meantime i went thumbing through some old files and found an unfinished wip from a while back i still liked enough to try and salvage, and now here we are :> hope you guys enjoy! as always, feel free to hit me up on tumblr if you ever wanna talk bugborg, i love these idiots <3

title from the song "despair" by leo

This is Gamora’s fault.

“Be nice,” Gamora warns.

There’s a slight edge to her voice and to the way that she looks at Nebula, and it’s frustrating how well Gamora knows her. She must have done something to tip her sister off—a slight crease in her brows, or the slightest curl of her lips, or maybe it was the way her nose starts to scrunch in irritation. Whatever it was that gave her away, Gamora had seen it. Anyone else wouldn’t have noticed, wouldn’t have thought twice about it even if they had.

But Gamora (damn her) knows her too well, so Nebula doesn’t even bother to try and pretend otherwise.

“I didn’t do anything. I wasn’t going to do anything,” Nebula growls. “Am I not allowed to express my irritation?”

“I didn’t say that. I just said to be nice,” Gamora responds coolly. “You have a tendency to be impulsive and cruel.”

Nebula’s lip starts to curl and she opens her mouth to—what, exactly? prove Gamora right?—but they’re distracted by a delighted shriek, and when they turn to follow the sound they see Quill crowing smugly as Mantis claps excitedly and Rocket huffs, “That was an easy shot!”

They were all gathered outside in the clearing where the Guardians and Nebula had arranged to meet. They had set up a row of makeshift targets using random junk scrounged from the Benatar, and had been playing a game of target practice that had quickly turned into a competition of trickshots between Rocket and Quill.

Rocket readies his gun for his turn, shouts for Mantis to pick a target, any target, because he can hit no matter what she chooses. And Rocket does, and Mantis whoops and cheers while Rocket wastes no time in rubbing this in Quill’s face.

They watch for a moment as Quill groans dramatically and Drax claps him on the back, hard enough to nearly knock him over. He asks who’s winning the competition and that sets off a new argument over who has the most points, with all four of them interjecting and shouting over each other.

“That is a game for children,” Nebula finally says, disdain clear on her face and in her voice, “and those shots are not that impressive.”

“They’re just having fun,” Gamora says. She jerks her chin in Mantis’s direction. “She’s still getting used to living without being stuck under Ego’s thumb. Don’t dampen her spirits.”

Nebula grunts, unmoved.

“Please, Nebula. Try not to pick a fight with her. For me?”

While they’re all distracted, Groot takes a small rock and hurls it at one of the targets. It hits, and the resulting clatter of the target knocking over and Groot’s proud cry of “I am Groot!” is enough to distract the others from their petty squabble. They cheer for him too.

The ornery contrarian in Nebula wants to go and do exactly that out of sheer stubborn spite, but she swallows down that initial knee-jerk reaction. She’s trying to fix her relationship with Gamora, not make it worse. She can be civil. She can.

So instead, Nebula sucks in a breath through a clenched jaw and grits out, “Fine.” Another shout and the sound of another target being hit makes her twitch, and as an afterthought, she adds, “But everyone else is fair game.”

“No, they are not,” Gamora says, but she cracks a smile, recognizing her sister (probably) didn’t mean it.

She elbows Nebula playfully and gestures to the others. “Let’s join them. We can show off our knife throwing.”

“Pass. I have no intention to perform for your idiot friends.”

Gamora tries to hide her disappointment, but Nebula knows her sister just as well as Gamora knows Nebula, and something squirms guiltily in her chest, though she tries to smother it. It’s not enough to change her mind, but she does try to soften the disappointment with an excuse. “I should start assessing the damage to my ship.”

Gamora doesn’t argue; it would be a futile effort. Instead, she wishes her luck and then hurries down the Benatar’s boarding ramp and shouts, “Hey! Let me join!”

Nebula lingers briefly, watching as the Guardians whoop when Gamora joins. They crowd behind her while she picks a target and readies her stance. Nebula turns away before Gamora throws her knife, but the ensuing cheers and laughter follow her as she heads deeper into the ship.

Nebula is acutely aware of a presence just outside the room, but pretends not to be. Whoever it is should move on when they realize it’s Nebula in the room, sees that she’s polishing her knives. Most of her sister’s friends tend to steer clear of her (unless they’re drunk and feeling particularly brave (stupid) enough to try to wrangle her into their antics), especially when she has a weapon in hand.

But whoever it is hovers there, just outside the room, and it starts to piss her off.

She had been fortunate enough to be left alone so far, a few days into her stay with the Guardians, but it seems it wouldn’t last long.

“Either come in or get out,” she finally snarls, impatient.

A pause, and Nebula expects whoever it is to bolt, but instead she’s surprised—surprised that it’s Mantis, and surprised that she actually comes in, first poking her head through the doorway, then her whole body.

“Sorry. I was not trying to sneak.”

“Good, because you are very bad at it.”

Nebula isn’t joking, and she doesn’t say it like she is, but Mantis laughs anyways, suddenly seeming much bolder than she was a few moments before as she enters the room proper, as if the ice has broken and an invitation extended. She approaches Nebula with an almost reckless fearlessness, and an unwarranted sense of comfort as she leans against the back of Nebula’s seat.

“What?” Nebula asks, her hands very still.

Mantis blinks. “What?” she echoes.

Nebula bites back her irritation, and Gamora’s words echo in her head like a warning.

Be nice.

She tries again. “What do you want?” Why are you bothering me?

“Oh.” Mantis shrugs, jostling Nebula’s seat. “You were alone in here. I just wanted to see how you were.”

“I’m fine,” Nebula says curtly, hoping that will be the end of it, that Mantis’s curiosity will be satisfied and she’ll leave her alone.

She isn’t that lucky.

“You aren’t injured?”

Nebula glances at her from the corner of her eye. “Why do you assume that?”

“Gamora said you would be joining us for a while, to recover and repair your ship. She made it sound like you were injured.”

Nebula snorts. “She worries too much. My ship took most of the damage.”

“Oh,” Mantis says. “That’s good.”

Maybe now Mantis’s curiosity will be satisfied, and Nebula can be left, peacefully, to her own devices. She determinedly returns her attention to her knives, hoping Mantis will take the hint and lose interest when Nebula ignores her.

Nebula realizes quickly that she will not be let off the hook that easily, because Mantis seems to think Nebula is the most fascinating thing on the Benatar right now. Instead of being dissuaded by Nebula’s gruffness, Mantis only seems to grow more interested.

Nebula clenches her jaw, feeling the tension rising within her the longer Mantis is there, watching her. She isn’t even saying anything; she’s just there, still leaning against Nebula’s seat, and her presence is so loud. It makes it hard to focus on the task at hand.

Mantis doesn’t seem to notice—or at least, doesn’t care—about Nebula’s growing annoyance, just watches Nebula intently as she works on her knife.

Be nice, be nice, be nice.

Nebula repeats Gamora’s words in her head like a mantra until it’s all she can think of; she’s barely even thinking of her knives, moving strictly on autopilot.

“You’re good with knives, right?” Mantis asks suddenly, breaking the silence so abruptly that Nebula startles, then twists around in her seat to stare at Mantis, who is watching her with very open, eager curiosity.

“What?”

“Knives,” Mantis repeats. “You’re good with knives, right?”

“…yes,” Nebula says slowly, not quite sure where this is going.

Mantis leans in closer. “Is your aim as good as Gamora’s? When you throw them?”

Nebula dislikes that—how close Mantis is, how comfortable she feels getting so close—but she (stubbornly?) refuses to back down.

“Better,” she asserts immediately. A flash of that old competitive streak burns through her, even if she isn’t entirely sure that it’s true. Gamora has always been exceptionally skilled with blades.

But Mantis just grins widely, says, “Show me.” Her voice is low, quiet, but excited. She isn’t good at hiding it.

Nebula looks away, refocuses on the knife in her hand.

“I’m not a circus act. Go ask Gamora if you want to see someone throw knives.”

“I would,” Mantis sighs, slumping heavily against the back of Nebula’s chair with no regard for Nebula’s comfort, “but Gamora is busy right now.”

The chair has shoved forward at an uncomfortable angle and Nebula feels another spike of annoyance. She repeats her sister’s words in her head again, clings to them with gritted teeth.

She will not ruin what progress she has made with her sister.

“Busy?” she repeats, unmoved.

Mantis nods. “Dancing with Peter.”

Of course she was.

“Anyways, I’ve seen Gamora throw knives before. I want to see you throw knives. Please?”

“Go ask one of those idiots to entertain you.”

“I don’t want their company right now. I want yours.”

Nebula turns around again and slits her eyes at Mantis. “Why me?”

“I know everybody else. And I like them all, truly. They have been very kind to me. But you are rarely ever here, and I would like to get to know you, too.”

Nebula frowns, and doesn’t answer. Mantis leans somehow even closer, propping her chin on Nebula’s shoulder, and the action makes Nebula’s chest feel hot and tight. She can’t bring herself to move, too stunned by Mantis’s daring, let alone shove her away.

“I bet you would not miss a single target,” Mantis presses, sounding dead-serious. “I’ve seen you fight. I know how skilled you are.”

“You’re trying to flatter me,” Nebula says flatly.

Mantis eyes her. “Maybe.”

“That’s a cheap tactic.”

“I do mean it. I know you are very skilled,” Mantis insists. Pause. “…is it working?”

She wants to say no, of course it isn’t, because normally it wouldn’t. Flattery is cheap and worthless and Nebula is not so easily kneaded into compliance, not like that.

But Mantis is staring at her with an intensity that Nebula doesn’t know what to do with, and with a start she realizes that Mantis’s flattery isn’t just empty praise. There’s an earnestness there in her face that Nebula wasn’t expecting; she’s nearly buzzing with it, with the anticipation of what Nebula will say next.

“Set up a target,” Nebula finally says, and she kind of hates the way that Mantis lights up, and the funny way it makes her feel to have such a reaction directed at her. She’s almost immediately regretting this, almost takes it back and tells Mantis to forget it and get out.

Mantis stares at her with bright, glittering eyes. “Really?” she breathes.

“Yes. But only this once. Don’t ask me again.”

“What should I…?”

“Doesn’t matter. Just grab some junk or something and meet me outside.”

Ten minutes later, they’ve left the ship and found a spot outside for Mantis to set up the targets. Nebula watches as she flits across the field, setting up the random junk she’d taken from the ship. She has an assortment of things—some little bits of scrap metal, a couple of drink cans, and what looks like someone’s old shirt among them.

Nebula gives her a look at that last one. “What? Peter won’t notice,” Mantis says, and Nebula rolls her eyes. Whatever. It wasn’t her problem.

Mantis rejoins her once she’s finished setting up to find Nebula has laid out a small assortment of bladed weapons. Mantis crowds behind her, studying the assorted weapons over Nebula’s shoulder. Nebula’s feeling a little twitchy at the proximity, and she snaps, “Do you have to be so close?”

“Oh. Sorry.” Mantis backs away, wilting a little bit, and Nebula immediately feels a twinge of guilt for snapping.

Goddammit. She was going to have words with Gamora later, Nebula thinks to herself as her sister’s words circle in her head yet again, haunting her like a ghost.

Nebula sighs. “Pick one.”

Mantis hesitates. “What?”

Nebula gestures to the weapons she’s laid out. “Pick one and I’ll throw it at whichever target you choose.”

Mantis lights up again, her smile returning as she turns her attention back to the knives. She scoots closer again, jostling Nebula’s shoulder as she looks over each one until she makes her choice. Nebula grits her teeth at the contact, but says nothing.

“That one,” Mantis decides, pointing to a particularly wicked looking blade. As soon as Nebula picks it up, Mantis springs up to pick a target. She takes her time, scanning their setup before pointing. “See that bit of scrap metal? With the big crack in middle? Aim there.”

Easy enough, Nebula thinks. She’s hit smaller targets before, harder targets.

Nebula takes her stance, rears back, and sends the knife sailing straight into the crack. The impact of the knife sinking into the tree bark makes the scrap tremble and rattle against the blade.

“Oh! That was great!” Mantis laughs delightedly, and then runs to pick another knife. She brings her selection to Nebula—she handles it delicately, almost reverently, that almost makes Nebula snort—and then points to the old shirt, which Mantis had pinned to a tree.

“That target—wait. Stand further back,” Mantis orders.

Nebula raises a brow at her tone. “Aren’t we bossy,” she remarks, but she indulges Mantis anyways, backing up until Mantis says,

“There! There is good.” Mantis whips around to face the target again, considers for a moment, and then adds, “Aim for the little red logo on the upper right.”

Nebula aims. Mantis holds her breath.

And—thok!—Nebula has sent the knife hurtling at the shirt, where it embeds intself into the little red logo. Mantis whoops delightedly, and when she turns back to Nebula her eyes are sparkling and she’s grinning broadly.

Before she can realize what’s happening, Nebula feels her mouth start to pull into a smile of her own.

Her joy is…infectious, Nebula realizes with a start.

But before Nebula can worry about that, Mantis has brought her another one of her knives and is eagerly offering it to her, ready for the next throw. So Nebula smothers the weird, staticy-fuzz she’s feeling for now, and takes the knife.

Time passes quickly from there. Nebula is ready to consider it done when she’s thrown each knife once, but as Nebula trudges across the field to retrieve them one by one, Mantis bounds after her and asks, “Can we do another round?”

“What, you want more? This can’t be that interesting.”

“It is,” Mantis insists. “And you said this would be the only time you would do this. We should make it count.”

Nebula glances at Mantis, which perhaps was a mistake, in hindsight, because she’s staring at Nebula so hopefully, and that seems to be infectious too, because it gives Nebula pause.

Nebula glances at the Benatar.

“Please?”

Nebula sighs.

Well, at least she wouldn’t have to deal with the rest of the Guardians while she was outside.

“Okay, fine, fine. Last round,” Nebula says, and Mantis lets out a cheer.

“Yes! Thank you!” She makes a move almost like she wants to throw her arms around Nebula and hug her, but she catches herself (Nebula tenses anyways) and instead reaches out and quickly brushes her hand along Nebula’s upper arm.

Nebula gives her a weird look. She isn’t quite sure what to make of this (friendly?) gesture, but Mantis’s hand has already retracted and she’s moved on before Nebula can decide how to react.

They gather the remaining knives quickly and put some distance between themselves and their targets, and start their little game again.

Mantis is still, somehow, every bit as excited with each throw, each target hit, as she was the first time. Nebula doesn’t really get it, personally. This is basic stuff, easy, uninteresting. But she can’t deny that there’s a pleasant buzz of satisfaction that comes every time Nebula hits Mantis’s chosen target and she celebrates.

Eventually Mantis brings her the last knife again. Her enthusiasm is a little muted, now that their game is nearing its end.

Nebula considers her next move only for a moment. “Come here,” she orders, not yet taking the knife. “You’re going to throw this one.”

Mantis startles. “Wait…are you sure? I’ve never thrown—I’ve never even handled a knife before.”

“I’ll help you. Come here.”

Mantis hesitates, but her curiosity and excitement quickly win over and she lets Nebula lead her closer to the targets. “We’ll set you up closer.”

Nebula circles her, eyes sweeping up and down and all over as she prods Mantis into the proper stance. She’s firm and brusque, but there’s a surprising—it’s not gentleness, not quite, that would be inaccurate—but she isn’t rough, either. No, she’s careful as she nudges Mantis into position.

“One foot forward—yes, like that. Keep your weight on your back foot for now. When you throw, your weight will transfer for your front foot, almost like you’re taking a step. Now, keep your wrist locked when you throw—don’t flick your wrist—and keep your elbow tucked…”

Nebula gives Mantis one final appraisal before finally nodding her approval and stepping aside. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Mantis nods. She moves her arm slowly in the motion of her throw, but doesn’t throw just yet. She does this once or twice, familiarizing herself with the gesture. She half expects Nebula to say something, hurry her along; Nebula doesn’t seem like a very patient person, from what Mantis has seen. But she says nothing, just watches and quietly waits.

Finally, Mantis feels ready. She rears back like Nebula had shown her, and throws.

Her aim is off; she doesn’t hit the target she’d been aiming for, but she does hit the tree behind it. But the knife doesn’t stick, either, bouncing off the tree and falling to the ground. Despite that, Mantis still feels a little thrill at having done it at all, and she turns to Nebula, to see if she had seen.

“Not bad,” Nebula says. Mantis’s grin broadens at the praise—because it was praise, coming from Nebula—and the reaction threatens to pull the corner of Nebula’s mouth into a slight smile.

“This was fun,” Mantis tells her, still beaming. “Thank you for indulging me. You are very good with your knives, just as I thought.”

“This was child’s play,” Nebula says dismissively. “Next time we can try moving targets—those are more of a challenge.” It slips out before she can stop herself, and even then the meaning of her words doesn’t truly sink in until she realizes Mantis has gone very still and quiet.

“Next time?” Mantis echoes, almost demanding. “You would be willing to do this again? Earlier you said—”

Dammit. Why had Nebula said that? Did she even want there to be a next time?

Nebula’s mind races, but she realizes she needs to say something, because Mantis is staring at her, intent and hopeful. “Maybe—maybe. We’ll see.”

Mantis grins at her, and Nebula knows that despite how vague she had tried to keep it, now that she’d said this, it may as well be a promise. Mantis certainly would not let her forget.

“I—look. Let’s just hurry and pack up already,” Nebula growls, pointedly avoiding looking at Mantis.

They collect their things quickly—Nebula her knives, and Mantis the makeshift targets. They’re half-finished when they realize they have company.

“So that’s where you went!” Quill’s voice comes drifting from the top of the Benatar’s boarding ramp. He’s joined by Gamora, and they’re both watching the scene below with open curiosity. “Whatcha up to, Bug?”

He’s smiling a little, but there’s a subtle tension in his face, and he eyes Nebula a little suspiciously, especially given the knives she is currently holding. Mantis bounds off to meet them at once, cheerfully filling them in on how she and Nebula has been spending the afternoon.

Gamora casually makes her way down the ramp, eyes flicking between Mantis and Nebula. Nebula knows what’s coming; she sets her jaw and stubbornly focuses on collecting her knives.

“Nebula was showing me how good she is at throwing knives!” Mantis explains cheerfully as she reaches the ramp.

“Oh really?” Quill doesn’t hide his surprise, and he glances at Gamora to see if she’s surprised, too. “How the hell did you manage that?”

“I may have pestered her into it,” Mantis admits, looking a little sheepish, “but we had fun! Nebula’s aim is very good.”

“Oh yeah? Sounds like you made a new friend,” Quill teases. He sounds and looks amused, and Mantis’s smile comes back in full force.

Nebula wants to wring his stupid neck.

Gamora has reached her by then, and she watches Nebula take an unnecessarily long time to retrieve one of her knifes from the tree it had been driven into, as if she were trying (hoping) to outlast the others and avoid any interaction at all by allowing them to return to the ship first.

Gamora watches Nebula wiggle the blade in the tree a bit. “Having trouble?”

Nebula pauses, then wrenches the knife from the tree with more ease than she was feigning just a moment ago, and glares at Gamora. Nebula says nothing as she stalks over to the next one. Gamora follows, just behind at first, then continues past Nebula to another target with a knife still stuck in it.

“You know, when I told you to be nice, I didn’t expect to find you two out here playing—what did you call it, a game for children?” Gamora glances at the target. “Is that Peter’s shirt?”

“She was being a pest,” Nebula mutters. “She wanted to see me throw knives.”

“And you agreed? I would have expected you to just send her away.”

“It seemed to be the fastest way to get her to leave me alone. If I sent her away, I’m certain she would continue to pester me at a later time.”

“How practical of you.”

Gamora frees the knife from where it had stuck in Quill’s shirt, and offers it back to Nebula, who eyes her suspiciously, as if this were somehow a trap of some sort.

“This means nothing,” Nebula says seriously.

“Sure.”

“I mean it,” Nebula insists. “She caught me in a tolerant mood. I will not do this again.”

“Of course.”

Nebula glares at her sister, who seems decidedly not at all convinced by her words. The cool, casual look on her face, paired with the slightest amused crook of a smile, is infuriating. Nebula snatches the knife from her hand and turns to start stomping back to the ship.

Quill and Mantis are still at the top of the boarding ramp, waiting for them. Mantis has her back to them as she chatters. She still seems quite animated, and Nebula doesn’t think her good mood will fade anytime soon. The thought is both strangely satisfying, but painfully disconcerting at the same time. Quill seems more relaxed now, now that he knows Mantis hadn’t been in any danger, and really he seems far too amused by the whole situation.

“She’s weird,” Nebula says, watching Mantis. Mantis is miming a knife-throwing gesture, and Nebula is pretty sure she’s telling Quill about how she had actually thrown one.

Gamora glances at her.

“She likes knives,” Nebula clarifies. “She doesn’t seem the type, but she does.”

Gamora lets out a little huff of laughter. “Yes, I’ve noticed. She was far more interested in target practice when it was knives being thrown instead of guns being fired.”

Mantis notices their approach, and she waves cheerfully. Gamora returns the gesture, and even Quill follows suit. Nebula offers a tentative wave of her own, and Mantis’s smile widens.

“Here,” Nebula says suddenly, fixating on a shop in the distance.

Gamora follows her gaze to what she’s looking at, and finds that her sister has picked out a weapons shop further down the street. “Don’t you have enough weapons?” Gamora asks, mostly teasing, but Nebula has already set off for the shop, so Gamora follows.

Up close, Gamora can see the shop specializes in bladed weapons—knives, swords, axes and the like. Ah, that would explain it. Nebula must have been looking for something specific, then.

The shopkeep greets them pleasantly when they enter, but falters a little when Nebula stalks past without a word. “Don’t mind her,” Gamora tells him as she trails behind.

Nebula seems intent on whatever it is she’s looking for, so Gamora leaves her be for the moment, instead choosing to check out the selection of weapons. She does a loop around the store. Axes don’t particularly draw her, so she doesn’t linger there, but there’s a nice selection of swords, and she does take some time to admire them.

Eventually Gamora makes her way across the shop and back to Nebula, curious to see what her sister has found. Nebula is looking at an assortment of knives, picking each on up and closely examining it from the handle all the way to the blade tip, one at a time.

Gamora watches her sister compare a couple before selecting one herself. She turns it over in her hands, feeling its weight. The blade is short, but wickedly sharp. It’s the kind of knife that makes for a nasty surprise when cleverly hidden.

“You could hide this in your cybernetic arm,” Gamora muses. “Keep it hidden in your forearm, maybe.”

Nebula glances at it only briefly, looking largely uninterested.

“That’s not what I’m looking for.”

“What are you looking for? If I knew what you were trying to replace, I could help—”

“Not for me.”

Gamora pauses, the small blade still in her hand. She hadn’t expected that. Slowly, she returns the knife to its place. “You…aren’t looking for a knife for yourself?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Okay. Why are we here, then?”

“To find a knife,” Nebula says crossly, as if Gamora had asked the stupidest question she’d ever heard. She plucks another knife from its place and studies it intently.

“Right,” Gamora acknowledges, “but why? You just said it wasn’t for you.”

“Why do you care?” Nebula snaps. She glares at Gamora, who remains unaffected, before turning her attention back to the knife in her hands. She seems to like this one, given she hasn’t put it back yet.

“Just curious.” Gamora shrugs. Shes gone back to looking at the knives on display. Her eyes flash over them, trying to decide if she wants to get a new one herself.

Nebula doesn’t respond right away; her face is scrunched as she considers the knifes, before finally deciding this was the correct choice. “It’s for Mantis,” she finally—begrudgingly—admits.

Gamora stares at her sister, her own knife quest immediately forgotten. She wonders briefly if she’d heard her right.

“I found what I need,” Nebula declares, seemingly satisfied with her selection. She looks as if she’s going to say something else, but then she sees the way Gamora is staring at her and scowls. “What?”

“So this is a gift? For Mantis?”

“That’s what I said,” Nebula growls. She makes her way to the counter to make her purchase, already regretting telling Gamora anything.

“Huh.”

“She likes knives,” Nebula says, as if it had been that Gamora had been confused by.

“I’m well aware,” Gamora says. “You know, when I told you to be nice to her, I didn’t mean for you to start buying her gifts. I think you may have developed a soft spot for her.”

She’d only meant to tease, to poke a bit of fun at her sister, but the reaction is instantaneous. Nebula bristles, slamming the knife onto the counter and rounding on her sister. “It’s not a soft spot,” she snarled. “It’s practicality. If she’s going to be a Guardian, she should know how to handle weapons, and if she’s learning how to handle weapons, she should have her own to grow comfortable with.”

“I have not known you to ever gift anyone anything. I think it’s fair to say you have a little bit of a soft spot for her.”

“I’m not soft for anyone,” Nebula hisses, nearly spitting.

The shopkeep nervously interrupts with the cost of her purchase, flinching when Nebula snaps her attention back to him. She transfers the required units and snatches up the knife, now safely tucked away in a simple black case. She shoves past Gamora and stalks out of the store.

“It’s not a bad thing to care about other people,” Gamora tells her.

“Shut up. I shouldn’t have told you anything.”

“Nebula—”

Nebula turns abruptly and shoves the thin black case into Gamora’s hands. “She’s your friend so you can give it to her,” Nebula snaps, and stomps off, leaving Gamora holding the box.

Gamora sighs. She briefly considers going after her sister before deciding it would be better to let her cool off on her own. She carefully tucks the box into one of the bags from an earlier purchase and sets off for the Benatar.

Nebula does, thankfully, return to the ship, eventually. It’s hours later, in the early morning hours, but she does return before they’re due to take off, meaning that they don’t have to delay their departure to track her down. So, at least there’s that.

She returns to her room to find the simple black box, containing the knife she had intended to gift to Mantis, sitting on her bed. Still agitated and irate even hours later, Nebula immediately storms back out of her room, box in hand, to find Gamora.

It’s easy enough—all she has to do is follow the sound of music to its source, and there’s Gamora, listening to music with Quill in the common area while he thumbs through the Zune’s playlists. They both glance up at her when she stomps in.

“Yeesh, Nebula, would it kill you not to look so—” Quill sees the look on Nebula’s face, stops, and looks between her and Gamora before deciding not to finish that sentence.

“Peter.”

“Yup, got it. Just pretend I’m not here,” he says, putting his earbuds back in and making a show of cranking up the volume. He pretends to go back to skimming through his music choices, head turned down to the Zune, but he keeps his eyes up, flicking between the two of them, and looks ready to spring out of his seat at a moment’s notice.

“Stay out of my room,” Nebula growls.

“I was only returning your purchases. I didn’t touch anything else.”

“It’s not mine. I don’t want it.”

“It’s your gift to give,” Gamora says coolly. “Give it or don’t, but I won’t give it for you.”

Nebula feels anger rising in her like bile, and for a second it looks like she might—fuck, she doesn’t quite know what. Yell, pick a fight, throw a punch maybe. Instead, she repeats, “Stay out of my room” through gritted teeth, slams the box on the nearest surface, and storms out.

As she does she hears Quill say, “What the hell was that about?” But she’s gone before she can hear Gamora’s response.

Two nights later, when Nebula’s anger had faded from a frothing roil to a steady simmer, she finds the box in her room again, neatly placed at the foot of her bed.

This time Nebula only feels a small spike of irritation, and then another spike at herself for getting so worked up about it again.

She sits at the edge of her bed, chin in her hand, and glares down at the would-be gift, the knife still safely tucked away in its sleek black case. Something burns in Nebula’s chest, hot and throbbing like a wound, and oh, she hates this.

Was Gamora right? Could she really be getting soft?

Ugh.

She was nearly tempted into to trash the stupid thing and just be done with it. She didn’t want to give it to Mantis and deal with whatever her reaction would be—

(and she knew it would be far too delighted, knew Mantis would want to throw her arms around her and cling, because she was obnoxiously affectionate and far too touchy)

—especially with the risk of the other idiots on the ship being close enough to witness it. But she doesn’t want to keep it, either. That would almost be worse, she thinks.

…it would be worse.

“I need to get off this fucking ship,” she mutters to herself.

“You’re leaving already?” Gamora frowns, watching as Nebula preps for departure in the Benatar’s hangar. “I thought you were going to help us collect this next bounty.”

“I need some time alone. I can’t stand being around so much chaos for this long like you can. And you don’t actually need my help.”

“That doesn’t mean your assistance is unwanted. It would certainly make things simpler.”

Nebula snorts. That was a generous assumption. Nothing had ever been made simpler by involving Nebula, least of all when it also involved the Guardians.

Gamora sighs. “If you insist. Come here.” Gamora pulls her into a hug before Nebula can protest, and Nebula goes awkwardly stiff. She’s become just the tiniest bit more tolerant of Gamora’s hugs, even returning the gesture on the rare occasion she’s in the good mood—

(feels sentimental enough)

—when they say their goodbyes, but the initial contact always makes her tense up in anticipation of a fight.

“I wish you weren’t so stubborn.” Gamora squeezes her tight. “Be careful. Don’t do anything reckless. Or stupid.”

“Don’t tell me what to do. And let go already, you’re squeezing too tight.”

“Stop me,” Gamora challenges, and somehow manages to squeeze harder.

Nebula makes a show of trying to struggle out of her grasp, but it’s half-hearted, and eventually she gives in with a sigh and lifts one arm to hug Gamora back.

“Visit soon,” Gamora says, finally releasing her.

“I make no promises,” Nebula grumbles, turning to board her little ship.

Gamora rolls her eyes. “Hey, so what did you end up doing with that knife you bought? Did you ever…?”

“I left it in her room,” Nebula says quickly, guarded. “I didn’t want to listen to her get sentimental about it.”

“That’s the coward’s way out.”

Nebula grunts. “It was either that or not giving it at all.”

“I can’t believe you sometimes,” Gamora says, shaking her head. “At least you gave it to her.”

“Yeah, well.” Nebula shifts impatiently, desperate to finally get going. “Teach her how to use it. It’s a useless gift if she doesn’t know how.”

“Or if she hurts herself,” Gamora agrees.

“With any luck, she’ll hurt someone else first. Drax, maybe, or Quill.”

“Don’t be mean.”

“They would deserve it.”

“I’ll make sure to teach her,” Gamora promises. “Next time you visit, she’ll be good enough for a lesson from you.”

Nebula looks startled at the suggestion, fumbles. “I—maybe. But you had better teach her well, because I won’t coddle her.”

The corners of Gamora’s mouth pull into knowing smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of her for you.” She can’t resist one final, playful jab.

Nebula’s expression goes truly venomous, and she stomps off up the boarding ramp to her ship. “See if I ever come back after that!” she shouts, cursing Gamora’s existence.

Gamora’s laughter follows her all the way into her ship.

Ending Notes:

N/A