Unsacred Responsibility Chapter 6 - Tell Me

“Can you see me?”

“Yes!”

“How about now?”

“You are… somewhat see-through.”

“Now?”

“Ah! You’ve gone invisible! But…”

“But?”

“Your eyes are glowing!”

Nebula patted her head twice, seeking to correct the visual glitch. She extended her hand into a set of omnitools and got to work on making slight alterations and adjustments. Mantis, the ditzy woman, swung her legs idly on the bed, munching on a piece of thoroughly dried meat Parker called beef jerky. She was clad breezily, casually, in a T-shirt and a set of white undergarments, holding in her hands some sort of gaming device she had prior attempted and failed to understand.

“Now?”

“Oh! You’re invisible! But…”

“What now?”

“I can see your clothes! It’s like, clothes only!”

Nebula scowled, making some further adjustments again. The technology of the Dark Elves was surprisingly more complex than she anticipated; moreso, with it, she began to understand what Parker meant by technology and magic being one and the same thing. The cloaking capabilities were borderline magic, as far as Nebula was concerned, as it did not follow her traditional understanding of how alien technology was meant to function.

Asgardians are gods, Parker said. They’re aliens… but they’re also gods. The Dark Elves were a race that fought against gods.

Parker said that the ships of the Dark Elves were good enough to be undetectable even by Asgardian means, which was the only reason they were still here, as he had decided to make some ‘minor upgrades’ to the Milano before they departed towards their next destination.

Nebula grew interested in said cloaking capabilities. Incorporating it into her body, adding a few more upgrades to her already mechanical form was something she placed as a priority, especially watching Parker decimate an army with a flick of a wrist, after watching hundreds fall to his magic.

If you can kill an army of a race of aliens who fought against gods with so little effort… What does that make you?

Nebula would never admit fear of anyone or anything. She had not been raised or brought up to comprehend or accept fear. Thus, she would only call her newfound attitude towards Parker an attitude steeped in ‘prudent vigilance.’ She became intimately aware that she was the only one who considered their ‘alliance’ an ‘alliance.’ The truth was that she was in a subordinate relationship; she was at the whims and will of an insane, powerful wizard and his ditzy, air-headed lover.

Parker had made it clear from day one that if he wanted her dead, it would be an easy task to accomplish, but Nebula had never taken such words seriously until she stepped through the remnants of that massacre. 

Some of the flecks of gray matter and blood still had not fully washed off her boots.

Upgrades were needed. More upgrades, not to be able to match Parker in a fight, because she had no delusions of such a thing. Rather, to avoid being useless or completely outmatched by whatever foes the man would inevitably face off against. Power incited a challenge, and the very existence of a powerful man meant inevitably encountering powerful enemies. That much, she learned, in the years of training under her father, that much she saw for herself, in the legions that came to challenge Thanos and his throne, the multitudes who sought the head of the Mad Titan, believing that claiming it would grant them greatness and glory, that it would have their names sing as champions throughout the galaxy.

Many of those fools never made it past Proxima Midnight, let alone Ebony Maw.

“Now?”

“Your clothes are still visible!”

Nebula stepped in front of a mirror in the room, finding only a slight, light shimmering distortion in place of a reflection, and, predictably, a set of worn, battered clothing, seemingly floating in the air with nothing else. She made a few adjustments, removed a few redundancies, and tried to understand what it was that made her clothes not go invisible with her.

She clicked her tongue and began taking them off, slowly, one by one. Once she was done, her form became difficult to see. She checked a few more options, scanning for heat signatures, and scanning to ensure she was also masked on radiation scanners, to ensure her cloaked mode worked as fully intended. 

It functioned as intended. 

The problem was that it required her not to wear clothes.

There must be a way to fix this.

For a while now, Nebula had been contemplating Parker’s offer to return her body to full flesh, and decided it was not something she could accept. She could not take it, not here. If she were made of flesh, Nebula was not certain she would be able to survive this place, this Void, and the enemies that she would need to face, to defeat. There would be more disadvantages than advantages, and as it was, survival was her utmost priority. She had seen from her collective network just how many Variants of her died, and how easily they died.

She made some more adjustments on the fly, trying to change some things, until, the invisibility vanished. She stood in front of the mirror, staring at herself, but yet, finding it hard to truly accept it was herself. Her naked body was almost doll-like in its anatomy. Her breasts were steel, smooth, perhaps as a mockery, intended for others to be aware she was female, rather than male. The nipples had been removed, with there being no true reason for such a thing to exist. Her stomach was coated with varying metals, her legs and thighs both thin, similarly being more steel than flesh.

Reproduction was not a feature her father considered paramount or necessary, in her service to him, so the parts of her that would ever have brought new life into the world were gone. Yet, the sexual organ in itself had uses, she was told. No matter where in the galaxy, there were foolish men who would let their guards down the moment they entered the warmth of a woman. Thus that part of her was meant to be in service, thus, even that part of her had been altered. The ‘biological weaknesses’ were removed, and the ‘lethality’ was improved. Functions existed that she had not used, that she had never needed to use, because the subtleties involved in reaching a moment where she would need to use such a thing had always been beyond her.

Nebula often wondered if her sister Gamora ever truly had any idea as to the sheer depths of the modifications done on her, or if she had the slightest idea as to how much had been taken from her. 

Nebula suspected she did. Gamora did. Gamora knew, and that was why Gamora never wished to lose.

“You…”

Nebula turned around. She’d almost forgotten that the ditzy woman was present. The woman’s hand extended towards her. Towards her chest. Nebula caught her hand, holding it in place.

“What are you doing?”

“It’s… Sad.”

Nebula felt something in her throat. “These improvements allowed me to survive—”

“You didn’t want them!” 

The ditzy woman yelled. Nebula took a step back. Tears stained the corner of the woman’s eyes. Veins bulged on her throat. She was biting down her lip, on a quivering, shaky lip. 

“You didn’t want to be improved.”

Mantis grabbed her hand, intertwined her fingers, and stared into her eyes. 

“You didn’t need to be improved.”

Something bubbled in her throat.

Tell that to my father.

Tell that to my sister.

Tell them… that. 

Something churned in her stomach. A flutter. A breeze. A lightness. A… a… warmth.

She saw Mantis’ antennae glowing.

Nebula smacked her hand away from the woman.

“W-what are you doing to me?”

“I was trying to—”

“Stay the fuck out of my head!” Nebula snarled. “I’m not some broken pet you can pick up and fix with a few soft words and that stupid look on your face! I— I’m…”

She choked on her words. Mantis had done something. The woman had done something. Messed with her emotions. She’d known the woman was an Empath, and could calm Parker down from his madness, his rages, but she had no knowledge of just where the limits were in the ditzy woman’s powers. Now, she did. Nebula was feeling things she didn’t know how to explain. Things she did not want to feel.

She can make people feel… whatever she wants?

Mantis had thought Parker was the true monster between them, but she was wrong. This woman’s power was more terrifying than Parker’s madness or his strength or his rage, because it was more insidious, more subtle. Nebula could handle physical blows, hits, and attacks, but she had no defenses against something that could affect her from within. 

Something that could change her from within.

Her chest was burning. Her chest was tight. Her breath was coming out short, raspy, and heavy.

What is this… this heaviness?

Nebula exited the room, fleeing from the woman as quickly as she could with dread in her chest.

“Nebula! Wait! Your emotions are—”

Nebula wanted to punch her. She couldn’t. Parker would probably demolish her if she did. So, she couldn’t hit the ditzy woman. She wouldn’t dare hit her, but there was a bubbling of sentiments she couldn’t express that demanded she take it out somewhere. Somehow. She wanted to punch something. Hit something. She wanted something to hit her. That was what she was used to. That was what solved all unnecessary thoughts. That was what solved all complex sentiments she could not or did not understand. All the things she suppressed.

She would go out, and she would find something to fight, something to kill, and she would scream, and everything she was feeling would be channeled there. There would be no need to think unnecessary thoughts, no need to address such meaningless, pointless, complicated sentiments.

Nebula needed something to punch. Someone to attack. Someone to punch her, someone to attack her. 

Parker… where is he?

She went down into the engine room, where she saw him.

“Park—”

The entire engine room shook. Her voice died in her throat. She steadied herself to stop herself from falling.

Is he taking the ship apart?

Minor upgrades, Parker had said. The ship needs minor upgrades.

Nebula rushed forward. She found him there, Parker, topless, sweaty, having just physically ripped out the entire fuel compartment of the spaceship, and he was covered partially in grease and oil.

Nebula found herself staring at the man’s body, covered in grease and oil.

He has no scars…?

His body had no scars that she could see. Not one. No blemishes, no imperfections, no evidence that this was a person with profound combat experience, nor any signs that this was a person who had been wandering the Void for a long time. It appeared young, youthful, bursting with life, near endless life, even.

Both the Pectoralis Major and Pectoralis Minor on the chest show more development than I’ve seen on any other, bar none, as though he eats, breathes, and lives for physical exercise —

The Trapezius, Rhomboids, Biceps Brachii, Triceps Brachii, Brachialis, Sternocleidomastoid, and Levator Scapulae all show signs of wear and tear that cannot be generated through copious amounts of strenuous activity alone—

She was staring. Staring. Analyzing. Observing. Appreciating.

There was a heat building up in her systems.

Parker would be considered at the absolute peak of the Terran male form…

The heat was growing.

This must be that woman’s work—

Distract yourself. Control yourself.

“What are you… doing?”

Parker turned to her. He lifted a brow. “What does it look like?”

“How do you expect us to be able to fly this vessel without a fuel compartment?”

“We’ll be running on clean energy with three miniaturized arc reactors powered by Tony’s Element. It’s a…”

His words were going in one ear and out the other. Her eyes were locked on his chest. They trailed down. They wandered his body. They roamed. The buildup of heat grew.

“....also technically, it’s called Badassium. I’m not calling it that,” he paused, noticing something amiss. “Do you need something?”

Nebula opened her lips. Her breath came out as a needy rasp. “Fight me.”

He lifted a brow. “While naked?”

“As if you’ve ever looked at me like I’m a woman.”

“That’s not—” Parker pressed the bridge of his nose. “I’m too busy for this,” he waved his hand. “Go spar with Mantis.”

“No.”

“No?”

She grabbed a wrench from a toolbox, gripping it as hard as she could. Gripping it to calm the conflict in her stomach.

“No.”

She lunged, swinging the wrench overhead. Parker caught it with one hand. His grip was like steel. She tried to grab it away from him. It was to no avail. Parker’s raw physical strength was beyond her understanding. It made her shudder in ways she should not have shuddered. The knowledge of that physicality, that strength. She let it go and aimed a punch at Parker’s chest with all her might. A scream echoed as her mechanical hand bent backwards in half. It took a moment for her to realize the scream came from her own lips.

She dropped to her knees, clutching the arm. The pain sent waves of something down her that made her bite her steel lips hard. Parker dropped the wrench with a deafening clang.

He casually reached out and bent her arm back into place. Nebula bit down the scream, swallowing it with a grunt.

“Not a great plan.” 

She tried to headbutt him. He took the impact as if he were made of steel. Her own head almost caved in as she reeled back.

“Alright—”

Parker grabbed her by the wrists and lifted her into the air as if she were a petulant child. He pushed her against the steel walls of the engine room. She lashed out with her right leg, but he caught it, effortlessly. She lashed out with her left leg, but it made no difference.

Her legs wrapped around his waist. Her glare intensified. He locked his gaze with her. There was a momentary flicker of something, not fear, never fear, that made her tremble as she met his eyes. 

“You need me alive,” She bit out. “You— you can’t kill me.”

“I need your collective network,” Parker countered. “Not you. Unless you explain yourself, I’ll start thinking of ways to have the former without the latter.”

Nebula trembled. The heat grew. The threat was real, and it was raw, and it made her bite her lip hard to force down a filthy sound.

“I… cannot stand her,” Nebula spat. “Your little… lover. Toy. Whatever she is to you. I cannot stand her. The way she is… the way she talks, the way she acts—”

“Is this because of Mantis?”

“She said I didn’t need to be improved,” Nebula wheezed. “She said that. Look at me. Look at me. What part of me… what… part of this… didn’t need improvement?”

Nebula didn’t know why she was saying this, saying any of it. She believed it was the ditzy woman’s power. That woman’s power. It was the reason. It was the only reason. The reason behind the heat in her chest. The fire burning in her throat, and the warmth gathering elsewhere.

“She looks at me… with those eyes of hers… the way she is… as if she understands, but she doesn’t. Just because she can feel what I feel doesn’t mean she understands what I feel! She has not suffered—”

“Is that what you think?” Parker shook his head. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but she has endured things worse than anything Thanos ever inflicted on you.”

She snapped her head towards him. “You expect me to believe—”

“I don’t care what you believe.”

Parker lifted her higher. Her legs wrapped even tighter around him.

“From where I’m standing, all I see is that Mantis makes you feel safe, and makes you feel accepted, and that scares you.”

“I do not know fear!”

“No? You ran away from a person telling you about how you were already perfect to meet me, a person you hope will beat the shit out of you, because somewhere in your mind, you’ve convinced yourself that this—”

Parker slammed her against the wall hard.

“Is what affection is supposed to be.”

Nebula gasped. The impact rattled her. Shook her. Trembled her. She tightened her legs around him.

“And where… where was I to learn?”

Parker frowned. “What?

“Where was I to learn?” She repeated. “When my family was slaughtered? When I was taken away from my home and brought up as a living weapon? When the only person I started to care for, my sister, fought with me day after day, cut me, stabbed me, burned me, beat me? When I was ripped apart and put back together, again and again and again, because I couldn’t do the same?!”

She pushed her head towards his.

“Where was I to learn? What other form of affection am I meant to know?! Tell me! TELL ME!” 

They stood, like that, for seconds, in silence.

When his lips hit hers,  Nebula’s synaptic processes worked hard to compute the gesture, compute his tongue entering into her mouth, passed between her lips, and began roaming around the inside of her cheeks, dominating her own tongue and pressing it down into submission. She, never one to refuse a challenge, never one to back down from a fight, tried and failed to compete with his own tongue, which almost melted into subservience as it found itself quickly and thoroughly outmatched.

She did not need as much air as others did, and, as their mouths remained connected, as Parker’s tongue explored hers from seconds to minutes, she learned, neither did he.

Once they separated, a thin line of drool connecting their lips, she gazed into Parker’s eyes, and he did the same. There, both knew this was his answer.

“You can fight me.”

Nebula rasped. “What…?”

“Challenge me. However much you like. Whenever you like. To your heart’s content.”

Parker let go of her. She dropped to the ground in a shaky, uneasy, unsteady mess.

“And if I win?” She asked, hotly. “If I win…?”

Parker was smiling. Smiling. The way he was looking at her... it made something stir in her stomach. 

“Has it ever been about winning?”

Nebula trembled.

She opened her lips to offer a rebuttal—

And she closed them without a word.

=====)+(=====

Within a week, Nebula tasted Parker’s knuckles more times than she had eaten meals.

Parker was preoccupied with installing the upgrades to the Milano, and her challenges, her random attacks, and unscheduled ‘spars’ were all accepted. Nebula would attack him with one hand, Parker would defeat her, and every time he did, he would give her something.

Sometimes, it would be like before, a long, heavy, impromptu battle of their tongues that left her legs trembling and her synaptic drive overheating. Other times, it would be a pat on the head, in which he would call her two words to her chagrin, her mortification, and to his twisted delight.

Those pats on the head were the most degrading thing Nebula ever experienced, and she would always attack him even more furiously afterwards, but Parker’s combat capabilities vastly outstripped hers, and the man could, and did dance around her fury, as he kept doing that, kept calling her—

“Good girl.”

Other times, still, after she lost her fights, he would give her random trinkets from his list of belongings. Useless doodads and items of almost no practical value, from necklaces to earrings, to articles of clothing, a blonde wig, which she’d wanted to set ablaze almost the instant he gave it to her.

The more she fought Parker, the more she lost, and the more rewards he gave her, and the more Nebula learnt of Parker’s superhuman abilities. Against him, Nebula did not believe even her sister, Gamora, would stand a chance, and against him, Nebula did not believe that even if they worked together, they would have a chance.

Yet, despite losing to him, despite always losing to him…

Nebula did not… hate it.

She did not hate… losing.

Anytime she had unnecessary thoughts, any time she felt muddle-headed, any time she felt something she did not know how to put into words, or things she could put into words but did not want to,  she would meet Parker, and they would fight, or rather, more bluntly, he would defeat her with a single punch, pat her head, engage in a tussle of tongues, and she’d be set free of those burdens.

If she came at him with a weapon, he would disarm her, end the fight with a punch, and use that hand to gift her a useless item. If she came at him with two weapons, he would disarm her, end the fight with a punch, and gift her back the upgraded weapons. If she came at him with projectile weapons, he would extend his hand out, shatter reality, and send the bullets she fired into somewhere called the Mirror Dimension… and defeat her with a single punch.

Then, he would call her "Naughty Girl" with a wagging finger and a tone that made her want to crumble and scream.

Nebula fell into a routine. Wake up. Challenge Parker. Lose. Be rewarded. Train. Scour her Collective Network with Parker. Perform upgrades. Challenge Parker. Lose. Be rewarded. Eat breakfast. Perform repairs. Challenge Parker. Lose. Be rewarded. Perform repairs. Eat lunch. Challenge Parker. Lose. Be Rewarded. Perform repairs. Perform upgrades. Challenge Parker. Lose. Be rewarded. Eat Dinner with Mantis and Parker. Sleep. Wake up. Challenge Parker. Lose. Be rewarded. Train. Scour her Collective Network with Parker—

Rinse. Repeat. Rinse. Repeat.

By the end of the month, it became common to randomly attack Parker, and it became common for Mantis to cheer her on, as it did for the girl to cheer her defeats.

“Congratulations on your tenth defeat, Nebula! I made bakeys!”

“Yay! You’ve lost fifty times! I made this special pancake to celebrate!”

“Seventy-five losses! I wrote seventy-five on the waffles with ketchup! See!”

Nebula did not mind the ditzy woman as much as she did before, if any longer. There was always Parker there, to fight, and to clear her thoughts with, which made her not care as much for the ditzy woman’s touches, her words, her odd insistence on skinship, her strange, infectious cheer.

She had been worried that Mantis would have some form of objection to Parker’s rewards, especially the first time she walked in on the man’s tongue deep down her throat, and Nebula had almost panicked, only for the girl to give her two thumbs up.

Afterwards, she pulled her side, nuzzled her face, and only told her—

“We are going to be the best Friends of Girls!”

Even now, Nebula did not understand the woman.

But… 

Nebula was starting to realize she did not need to.

=====)+(=====

Parker sat down in the pilot’s seat of the Milano, with her strapping in to the left, and Mantis to the right.

“Are you ready, girls?”

“Aye, aye, captain!” Mantis cheered.

“Nebula?”

“The Variant that encountered the Asgardian we’re searching for is approximately zero-point-zero-one lightyears away by my calculations,” she replied. “Giving this ship’s speed… if we do not find functioning Jump Points…”

Their journey would take a while. Longer than Nebula anticipated. These two, Mantis and Parker… she would be spending a lot of time with them. Living with them, here on this ship, eating with them, training with them…

For many years, when Nebula thought of the notion of freedom from her father, she imagined something like this, travelling the galaxy freely, with people she did not particularly hate. She did not need to like them, no, she did not even need to be fond of them, just as long as she did not hate them, it would have been enough.

They were not in the free galaxy, but the Void, and it was in this unlikely place…

“Nebula?”

Parker and Mantis turned to her.

“You know, if there’s anything wrong, you can tell us!” Mantis said. “Or tell me, and I’ll secretly tell Petey later.”

“It's not a secret if you tell her you’re going to tell me.”

“Oh…”

Nebula would not say she smiled, because she could not truly remember the last time she did so. But, she would say, at this moment—

“Let’s just get this journey started.”

She did not hate living.