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In the complex and turbulent chaos of Nebula’s life, there has been a fair few surprises.
The biggest of them all by far is Tony.
Nebula remembers hearing Thanos talk sometimes; curious musings about a man who offered the promise of bringing something interesting to the table of war they’d all been playing on for so long.
So when she finally lays eyes on the only being alive to ever truly rattle the nerves of her father, it hardly shocks her when she sees gleaming armour equipped with powerful weaponry; a warrior of metal and strength that hits back again and again with no signs of stopping.
But then the suit breaks away, a young boy evaporates to dust within helpless arms, and Tony Stark is truly revealed to her for the first time.
And as Nebula soon learns, the reality of Tony Stark is something much deeper than the suit of metal, something more profound than the notion of a one man defender of the Earth.
She offers him a ride off Titan when it's all over, finding herself unable to simply just walk off and leave him behind. He doesn’t say a word as he follows her onto the ship and remains silent for the first day, only making a sound when the agony caused by his injury finally becomes too much.
"You are a fool to have left this untreated," she hisses as she pokes the swollen, red skin around the wound, making Tony groan.
"I’ve had worse," he says gruffly and Nebula knows that his words are no exaggeration. "As have you by the looks of things."
She looks up sharply, a vicious snarl already curling her lips back, but the grim shadow of understanding on his face catches her off guard. He doesn’t quite smile exactly, but there’s a glimmer of something in his eyes that tells her that he knows some semblance of how she feels.
"You’re still a fool," Nebula eventually says, pushing him into a chair before heading off in search of medical supplies.
"Yeah," Tony’s voice follows her, fractured and sad, "I know."
Treating Tony’s wound is somewhat of a formality at first, a courtesy borne not out of care but out of close proximity and a stand of defiance against her father; a silent declaration of you won’t take this one too, like it will somehow make a difference at all.
But then it becomes necessary, as does the sound of Tony’s voice, incessant and oddly comforting throughout the frigid quietness of the ship as he complains about the size of Quill’s clothes or laments the lack of something called cheeseburgers.
Nebula doesn’t know much about humans outside of Quill’s mannerisms, but she does know pain and it’s written all over Tony, blazing like starfire in his dark eyes and digging lines into the worn skin of his face that can’t be hidden by the smiles he quickly starts to give her.
He’s hurting deeply and yet he never lets himself give in; never lets it sour or harden the way he treats her.
Gentleness isn’t something Nebula is used to. It confuses her, leaves her torn between a state of suspicion and trusting, looking at Tony through wary, narrowed eyes as she tries to understand what this means, why he seems to care as much as he does.
He parades positivity and determination even as the ship starts to die, opting to forgo the use of Nebula’s name in favour of referring to her as things like Bluebell and Blue Meanie, words Nebula doesn’t recognise but doesn’t mind after the first few times she hears them. With each passing day, Tony nudges Nebula’s defences and seeks to know her better over games that she actually wins with no consequence and refuses to accept more than his fair share of food even though he needs it more than she does.
Time rapidly loses all meaning, the endless days stretching out like weeks, and somewhere in it all, Nebula finds herself caring for Tony too. Watching him waste away is painful, a physical kind of ache that reminds Nebula of the aftermath of her many ‘improvements’: the pulsing twinges in her bones and cybernetics that set her teeth on edge and make her want to scream until she runs out of air first.
When she finds him on the floor of the flight deck beneath one of Quill’s old jackets, skeletal and small, so still that she has to kneel down and check for any signs of life, the ache twists into something vicious and spiteful, another gouge in her chest to reside by the gaping hole left behind by Gamora.
To put Tony in the Captain’s chair is the only measure of dignity Nebula can give, so she does it with all the softness and care that she can, letting her fingers linger on the bony edge of his shoulder as he sighs softly in his sleep.
Nebula doesn’t expect him to wake up.
Nor does she expect her life to take the path that it does for the next five years.
Thanos lies dead in his garden, friendships are formed with the unlikeliest of allies, suffering planets start to move on with her help and Tony Stark remains a constant presence throughout it all, tethering her to all that remains in the wake of so much pain and loss.
For once in Nebula’s life, being alive doesn’t seem to hurt so much.
And standing in the middle of a battlefield as Thanos and his army turn to dust, with Gamora right by her side, it feels better than Nebula ever believed it could.
Until she sees Tony.
Tony, scorched and marred and ruined, collapsed against a piece of the wrecked compound, gazing almost vacantly at Pepper as she softly talks to him, his hand covering hers against the fading glow in the centre of his chest.
Tony, the man who never feared Nebula for a single second; the one who had somehow saved her simply by letting her do the same for him; dying in front of her eyes once again.
The grief overwhelms Nebula before she can even fully comprehend what’s happening. She sees Rhodey turn away from the sight, his face crumpled with sorrow and tears coursing down his cheeks as he clutches the boy Nebula recognises as Peter close to his side, holding the kid up with one arm as he sobs loudly.
Gamora’s hand presses firmly into Nebula’s shoulder. "Nebula…"
"No," Nebula whispers, something hot and frantic taking hold of her, just as it had done when she had realised that Gamora was dead on Vormir. "No."
She looks around; looks at all those standing nearby, crowding together as the despair starts to spread, and spots Strange, watching on with an unreadable expression on his face.
Nebula doesn’t hesitate in storming towards him and pinning her blade against his neck.
''Do something!" she hisses furiously, pushing against the hilt of her weapon until Strange flinches. "Or I’ll kill you where you stand."
Strange’s eyes flicker with regret. "There isn’t anything I can do. I looked, I saw every single possibility - "
"What if there’s more?" Nebula argues, glancing back at Tony, heart constricting as the light in his chest grows ever fainter. "What if you’re wrong?"
"I’m not - "
"What if you are?" Nebula snarls. "Do not mistake me for someone who doesn’t understand the complexities of the universe, conjurer. I survived the tyranny of Thanos and healed the man who would one day kill him." She shoves the blade harder against Strange’s neck, drawing blood, and leans into his face. "And I will not stand by and let you watch Tony Stark die."
Strange regards her for a moment longer then looks at Tony again. There’s more crying now, none louder than Peter, his hoarse pleas of Tony’s name cutting into Nebula like jagged metal.
Then Strange steps forward and the world is full of whirling orange and desperate hope once again, and it’s all Nebula can do to follow along.
It’s a long time before Tony opens his eyes again, but when he does, Nebula is one of the first to see it happen.
She never strays too far after that.
It’s early morning when Nebula arrives in the yard of the Stark’s cabin. The air is warm, the sun is already high enough in the sky to cast vibrant rays across the sparkling lake, and Peter Parker’s snores fill the air along with the typical birdsong.
The sight of him stretched out on the porch swing is hardly unusual. Finding Peter asleep in different locations at the cabin, like the ceiling, has become a regular occurrence for Nebula over the past seven months, though this marks the first time she’s seen him do so with a furry creature resting upon his chest.
It cracks open an eye to look at Nebula as she approaches, revealing a vibrant amber gaze that makes her pause to regard it curiously, if not a little warily.
Then it stretches, limbs extending and fur standing on end, small claws appearing from its paws and lightly scratching against the front of Peter’s shirt.
He stirs slightly, eyes peeping open for a moment, then falling shut once again. A burst of fondness flares in Nebula’s chest, growing stronger as the front door swings open and a small figure rushes out, heading straight towards her.
"Aunt Nebula!!"
Nebula kneels down just in time to catch Morgan against her chest. "Hello, Morgan."
Daddy said you wouldn’t be here ‘til tomorrow," Morgan says, wrapping small arms around Nebula’s neck and squeezing tightly.
Nebula smirks. "I fly fast."
"Where’s everybody else?"
"Still sleeping. Our last mission was...tiresome."
Morgan pats her back sympathetically, leaning back to give her a smile. "Did you kick ass?"
Nebula’s smirk shifts into a proper smile. "Do I ever not?"
A strange noise makes them both look over at the porch. The creature on Peter’s chest appears to be fully awake now, sitting upright and looking over at them. It’s an odd looking thing, its features squashed and flat, a lone fang poking out from its mouth and its eyes gigantic and bright amongst its dark fur.
"Kitty!" Morgan gasps in delight and hurries over, vibrating with joy as she crouches beside Peter. "You’re so pretty!"
Pretty isn't quite the word Nebula would use.
The front door opens again just as she starts to walk up the porch steps, revealing a slightly rumpled looking Tony in his dressing gown. His prosthetic arm is missing and his glasses sit slightly wonky on his face, but his good eye is sharp and clear as he turns to look at Peter.
"Oh for god sake," he grouses, "you’d think he’d never been taught how to use a damn door or something, the amount of times I’ve found him out here lately." He points at the animal. "What is this? Why is there a cat here?"
"Maybe it’s for us!" Morgan says excitedly.
"No way, nope, nu uh," Tony says, waving his hand. "I’ve picked up enough strays to last me a lifetime.''
He looks over at Nebula then, a smile lighting up his face that softens the trail of scars on his cheek. "Ain’t that right, Bluebell?"
Nebula scoffs as she moves to stand beside him, accepting his arm as he throws it over her shoulders. Such a move would have had her flinching or drawing a weapon in the past, but it’s a familiar touch now and she feels no sense of embarrassment or weakness as she leans ever so slightly against Tony, their weight supporting each other.
"Did you just get here?" Tony asks. "Where’s the rest of your merry band?"
"There was a celebration after our last victory. They’re still sleeping it off."
"Thor break out the Asgardian liquor again?"
"Not this time. It was an unmarked bottle from Rocket’s personal stash."
Tony whistles. "You sure they aren’t dead?"
"I checked," Nebula affirms.
Morgan makes another happy sound as the cat rubs its head eagerly against her hand.
"No bonding or connecting, Maguna. We’re not keeping it."
"Rude," Peter says suddenly, lifting his head to squint at Tony. "S’your birthday present."
Tony sighs, removing his arm from Nebula’s shoulders to rub his forehead exasperatedly. "Why would I want a cat for my birthday?"
"’Cause she’s homeless and May won’t let me have a pet so you have to keep her instead."
Morgan gives a soft cry and fixes a very wide, very pleading gaze on Tony. "Daddy, we have to let her live with us!"
A devious smirk flickers onto Peter’s otherwise sleepy face. It quickly turns into a genuine smile when he notices Nebula. "Hey, hi, how are you? Did you just get here? How long have I been asleep?"
"You tell us, genius," Tony says. "What is it with you and sleeping out on the porch? What’s the point in giving me a cat when you already behave like one?"
Peter shrugs, reaching up to scratch the cat behind one of its ears. "Just thought you might like to experience the warmth and companionship of a pet, that’s all."
"That's what I have Gerald for.”
"But Gerald doesn’t like you."
The glare Tony gives Peter is twitchy, flickering between fond and mildly irritated. He points a finger at Peter and says, "No blueberry pancakes for you."
"Oh come on, Mister Stark - Tony!" Peter scrambles to his feet, cat clutched protectively in his hands. "That’s not fair, you’re not serious, right? Are you serious?" He plants the cat on the swing and rushes after Tony into the cabin. "Tonyyyy!"
Morgan meets Nebula’s gaze and then shakes her head, looking very much like her mother.
"He’ll let us keep you, don’t worry," she coos to the cat, sitting down beside on the swing and stroking a hand slowly down its back. "He just likes pretending to be grumpy, especially near his birthday."
Nebula drops into the space on the other side of the cat and lifts a hand tentatively, tensing as the cat immediately bumps its head into her palm. It purrs loudly and Nebula relaxes, running her fingers through the pleasant softness of the fur by its ears.
"What," she asks slowly, "is a birthday?"
She instantly feels Morgan’s eyes on her, thoughtful and curious like they always are whenever the differences between them, aside from the obvious, are made apparent. Much like Tony, Morgan takes it in her stride, like they’re discussing nothing more than the colour of the trees around them, and says, "A birthday is the day you were born, and each year you get to celebrate. Sometimes you can have a party for it and people bring you gifts and you get to eat lots of birthday cake!"
Nebula likes cake. Due to Tony’s obsessive need to feed her, born out of some misplaced guilt from their journey back from Titan, she’d developed quite a taste for it during her visits. She and Tony would sit up on sleepless nights, forks in hand and gigantic slices of cake on pretty plates, and quietly wait for the sunrise to appear and chase all the ghosts away for a while.
"It’s his way of coping," Rhodey explained during one of their missions together, a tub of muffins resting on his knees. "A way of sugarcoating all the regret he feels."
So it became a regular event, an unspoken tradition of sorts that they fell into without any discussion. Tony would bake things and always insist that Nebula had the bigger portion of whatever he made. Batches of cookies, pies full of dark, oozy fruit, cupcakes covered in sticky sprinkles and cakes decorated with sweet frosting were just some of the offerings he would present to her, but Nebula doesn’t recall hearing Tony ever mention anything about birthday cake.
In fact, Nebula knows that there’s never been a mention of a birthday or celebration of any kind beyond the message that she had received to say that Morgan had been born safe and well.
Morgan’s hand patting hers pulls Nebula from her thoughts. "Don’t be sad. You were busy doing important things up in space. We didn’t mind."
Though she accepts this as the truth, there’s still an odd feeling building up inside Nebula; something heavy and uncomfortable that settles in her chest and presses hard.
"Mommy says that Daddy is super hard to buy gifts for," Morgan adds, "so you’re kinda lucky."
Nebula has never given a gift to anyone in her life. Thanos gave her plenty, deeming his adjustments and additions to her body as gifts of mercy that she did not deserve.
To give a gift to Tony would be different.
There’s no time to dwell on any of this however, as Morgan’s happy call of "Star-Lord!" alerts Nebula to the dishevelled figure stumbling out from the trees.
Quill blinks at them as he approaches, eyes wide and confused. "How did we get here? When did we get here?"
"How are you conscious?" Nebula asks suspiciously. "Where’s everybody else?"
"Hogging my bed," Quill grumbles as he makes it to the porch. He ruffles Morgan’s hair before collapsing onto his front on the deck. "S’goin’ on?"
"We’re having pancakes," Morgan says. "I’ll go tell Daddy you’re here so he can make enough."
Quill grunts and waves a hand in thanks. Nebula continues to stroke the cat and wait for Morgan to disappear inside, then kicks Quill in the ribs.
"Ow! What - "
"Where do I get a birthday gift from?"
Quill rolls onto his side and peers up at her. "Aw," he grins slowly, "you wanna get me a present?" The grin quickly drops. "It’s not gonna hurt, is it?"
"Are they supposed to?"
"What? No, it’s meant to be a nice thing, a happy thing. My mom used to make me tapes with all her favourite songs on them." A wistful look passes over Quill’s face, turning his tired eyes soft. "Those were always the best."
"So it has to be something meaningful?"
Quill shrugs. "Hell if I know, I haven’t had a birthday since Yondu came and got me. Not even sure when it is, or how old I am anymore."
"You don’t know how old you are?" Peter scoffs as he steps back outside, half a pancake wedged in his mouth and a stack of them on a plate in his hand. "Dude, that’s messed up. I bet we could find out, look up your birth records or something."
"Nah," Quill says, rolling back into his front. "I sorta like not knowing. Adds to my mysterious charm."
Nebula rolls her eyes. The cat seems to share her incredulous opinion and purrs loudly. Peter smiles at them as he sits down, cheeks bulging as he crams another pancake into his mouth. He offers the plate to Nebula, balancing it on the tip of his finger as he waits for her to take a pancake.
"Are you trying to work out what to get Tony for his birthday?" he asks, pushing the plate into a gentle spin with his thumb.
Quill rolls over again. "It’s Stark’s birthday?"
Peter throws a pancake at him. "What did you think the party invite was for?"
"You don’t need a reason to have a party," Quill says, shoving the pancake into his mouth whole. He chews for a moment, then grimaces. "I’m not so sure I should be eating yet."
His face turns an unattractive shade of green and he lurches to his feet, swearing under his breath as he clutches his stomach and rushes inside the cabin. Tony shouts something that Nebula can’t quite hear but Peter laughs loudly as he consumes another pancake. The cat crawls into his lap, arching her back as she rubs against his chest before curling up into a small ball, eyes closed and still purring, a sound that reminds Nebula of the humming engines of Quill’s ship.
Peter prods Nebula’s leg with his foot and she jerks sharply to look at him. He smiles back at her, so open and bright, never once afraid or unnerved by her, and as he nudges her again, Nebula is reminded once again just how alike Peter and Tony really are, their lack of blood relation doing nothing to change the similarity of their smiles.
"Tony will love anything you get him, you know."
Nebula looks away from Peter’s face, shoulders tensing almost defensively for having been so obvious in her feelings. "How do you know?"
"’Cause he loves you," Peter says easily.
Love still doesn’t make much sense to Nebula. It’s complex, confusing and a terrible weakness. There aren’t many people in the universe that she cares about, much less loves.
But Tony is one of the select few, and if that means she is supposed to get him a gift for his birthday, then that’s what she’ll do.
Later that afternoon, after being introduced to Flux, the cat that Tony has named but still refuses to agree to keeping, Rhodey takes Nebula shopping. Morgan insists on coming too and Peter, having been all but banished by Tony after Flux decides to attack Pepper’s favourite potted plant, has no choice but to accompany them. He’s hardly put out and gleefully declares that he’s going to buy Flux "soooo many toys, Tony, like, a gazillion at least!" before running from the cabin, Quill’s cackling and Tony’s disgruntled cursing following him all the way down to the car.
Rhodey takes them to a store called Target, a gigantic place that apparently sells everything but things related to weaponry of any kind.
"Well, you might get a dartboard," Peter says as they head inside. "Or one of those bow and arrow kits with the suckers on the end, but no actual weapons."
"Then the name is misleading," Nebula huffs.
Peter rushes off almost straight away, leaving Rhodey and Nebula to accompany Morgan down the aisle full of candy. Nebula recognises many of the packets and boxes from the times Tony had shared them with her; sour shapes that made her tongue burn and long strings covered in sweet powder and crunchy little spheres that came in lots of colours.
Morgan lets out an excited shriek. "Uncle Rhodey, look! They’ve got War Machine candy!!"
"They do?" Rhodey exclaims, matching the excitement in Morgan’s voice. He drops the basket he’s carrying by her feet. "Go wild, baby girl."
Morgan grins up at him and promptly does as she’s told, grabbing packets full of small, rubbery looking War Machines and throwing them into the basket.
"You know what," Rhodey steps forward and with one arm, sweeps the entire lot off the shelf, sending Morgan into a fit of delighted laughter, "let’s just buy them all. That’s my gift for Tony sorted."
Nebula cocks her head curiously as he grins smugly. "Why would food in the shape of your armour be a good gift for him?"
Rhodey waves a hand and chuckles. "Tones will get a kick out of it, trust me."
Eating miniature versions of a friend seems odd to Nebula, but then most of what she knows of Tony and Rhodey’s friendship is built upon oddities. Their bickering is near constant, as is their need to physically touch one another. There’s always an arm around a shoulder or an elbow pressing into a rib, and they’re nearly always laughing at each other. Even now, Rhodey’s already laughing at just the thought of Tony’s potential reaction, so perhaps the choice of gift isn’t as strange as Nebula thinks.
Somehow, this makes choosing one of her own even harder.
She leaves Rhodey and Morgan in search of Peter, browsing the many aisles as she goes. Most humans are used to the appearance of what they call ‘aliens’, so Nebula only receives a few strange looks as she scans the shelves, poking at small figurines standing on shelves, squinting at rows of ugly shirts and jackets and trailing her fingers along the leaves of artificial plants, waiting for something to jump out and inspire her.
"Check this out!" Peter cheers when Nebula finally finds him, sitting on the floor and surrounded by a large collection of toys. He picks up a stick with a ball of pink fluff attached to one end and waves it at her. "Flux will love this."
"I thought we were here to find things for Tony," Nebula says, watching Peter throw the toys into a basket.
"That’s what I’m doing. Flux is his gift and she needs toys, so technically they are for him." Peter grins at her, though it quickly shifts into a sympathetic smile. "You haven’t found anything yet?"
Nebula shakes her head.
"Honestly, you can get Tony anything," Peter says confidently. "You could buy him his favourite takeout and he’d be happy, or make him a friendship bracelet and he’d wear it like it was Armani or something. Not that he even wears that much Armani anymore besides his slippers ‘cause it doesn’t fit the whole retirement aesthetic he’s got going on but - "
"Friendship bracelet?"
Peter pauses at her question, then his face lights up with triumphant glee.
"Come on, I’ll show you."
The next day brings rain and a very bewildered Thor. He trails wetness all over the floor as he enters the cabin and smiles gratefully when Tony shoves an entire pot of coffee in front of him. Nebula uses this opportunity to sneak out of the cabin with Morgan and set up base in the flowery tent in the yard. It’s cosy inside with all the thick blankets and pillows, the falling rain bouncing pleasantly above their heads.
Peter appears shortly after, sleepy and wearing one of Tony’s coats, just as Morgan is tipping a box of brightly coloured thread and beads onto a large pillow. Peter stretches out on his stomach and rests his chin in his hands while Nebula picks up a strand of blue and looks at it closely.
"How is this supposed to form a bracelet?"
"Easily!" Morgan says. "Watch me."
So Nebula sits and watches, just like she did when Tony taught her the rules for playing paper football, eyes never moving from Morgan’s hands as they carefully weave the coloured threads together, linking them in appealing patterns and tying them in neat little knots.
Nebula looks at Peter. "You’re sure Tony will like this?"
"I came downstairs this morning and found him facetiming May so she could see Flux eating her breakfast," Peter says, leaning over to grab some red and dark blue threads. "Trust me, he’s gonna love it."
Morgan repeats the process again, narrating as she goes. "So then you twist the blue thread like that, then do the purple one again, pull, then get the blue one again…"
Nebula follows the instructions intently, carefully looping and twisting her chosen bits of thread together with meticulous care. The process is reminiscent of all the times she’s had to rewire her parts, the threads resembling the loose connections after a fierce battle, the naturally frayed edges reminding her of the misplaced hatred and corroding resentment that has existed in nearly every part of her life for as long as she can remember.
"Okay, pull that bit, then that one…"
Pulling the threads together smooths the raggedy parts, the connections meshing and forming something new, something sturdier and stronger. It’s not perfect by any means: the loops are lopsided and run thicker in some places and thinner in others, but the intricate inconsistency of it feels reassuring nonetheless.
This is something that Nebula has made with her own hands; the same hands that destroyed and maimed nearly everything in her path as she stormed across planets and dove through cosmic fires in pursuit of her father’s head; the same hands that gently cradled a tinier version of Morgan when she was only weeks old.
Nebula finishes the bracelet off by securing two beads, one red and one blue, to each end and then holds it up for inspection. Morgan claps happily and Peter gives a little cheer.
"That looks great," he says earnestly. "Tony’s gonna love it. I’d bet money on him crying if I had any, but he absolutely will."
Morgan reaches for more thread; red and yellow this time. "Now we have to make one for you."
Nebula frowns, confused. "Why?"
"’Cause that’s how friendship bracelets work!" Morgan explains cheerfully. "You have one, Daddy wears one, and that means you’re best friends. Right, Peter?"
"Sure does, Mo. Hey," Peter reaches over to poke Morgan gently in the belly, "does that mean you’re gonna make me one?"
"No, I’m gonna make one for Flux!" Morgan screeches, wriggling away as Peter gasps loudly in mock hurt and continues to try and tickle her.
Nebula watches them contently. A moment like this would have seemed foolish to her a few years ago; after all, what purpose did sitting in a tent making bracelets with two human children serve when compared to learning how to shoot a gun or how to kill someone a hundred different ways?
She looks down at the bracelet in her hand, rubbing it gently between her fingers.
Being able to create instead of destroy; that serves a purpose too. The decision to make something, even just a little something, has made Morgan smile and Peter laugh, and will hopefully do the same for Tony, if Peter’s promises are to be believed.
There’s a time and a place for needing to know how to kill someone a hundred different ways, for the rage that she’ll always carry to be unleashed in what Gamora calls a ‘productive’ way, the purpose of guarding the galaxy serving as her driving force.
Here, in the world that she followed Tony into, Nebula gets to have moments like this.
And she hopes the bracelet shows Tony just how grateful she is.
Tony’s birthday kicks off like most mornings that Nebula’s been privy to: with Tony and Peter bickering over breakfast and Pepper threatening to cut off their bacon supply if they carry on. The eventual emergence of Gamora and the rest of the team, looking far better than Nebula had expected them to, adds a new layer of chaos to it all, and by the time all the other guests arrive, the kitchen has been ransacked and the garden party is in full swing with Flux receiving more of a fuss than Tony, though he hardly seems bothered considering the size of the smile on his face.
Clutching a glass of fruit juice with a swirly straw poking out of it, Nebula watches the events unfold curiously, trying to notice every detail. There’s garish decorations hanging from every available space, music playing loudly, a table covered in a huge spread of food of which she only recognises a few dishes, and another table piled high with objects wrapped in bright paper and ribbons.
It’s very much like the celebration that had taken place once Tony had recovered from the injuries caused by the stones. There’s so many smiling faces, so many people surrounding Tony, touching and embracing and laughing, their affection returned tenfold as Tony greets and hugs and thanks every single one of them, the smile on his face growing ever wider.
"Let’s do presents now!" Morgan yells once everyone has arrived, throwing something large wrapped in pink sparkly paper into Tony’s lap. "Open mine first!"
As Tony does as requested, Nebula slips her hand into her pocket to touch the bracelet she had made. She hadn’t known she was supposed to wrap the gift, and it’s too late to do so now.
"Hold on," Tony chuckles, finally pulling the last of the paper away to reveal some sort of elaborate looking structure. "This is for Flux, not me!"
"Peter says if it’s for Flux, it’s for you too."
Tony slowly twists to look at Peter who stares back at him, the picture of innocence. There’s a pause, and then everybody breaks out into fresh laughter as Tony grabs Peter by the arm and pulls him low enough to wrap an arm around his head in a loose hold.
"You’re such a little shit," he says, ruffling Peter’s hair into a wild mess. "Worst child ever."
Peter eventually frees himself but doesn’t go far, choosing to lean against the back of Tony’s chair as Tony accepts each new gift with a smile and a typically witty comment, the affectionate warmth in his voice loud and clear. He seems particularly pleased with the large bucket of War Machine candy, struggling to catch his breath for a moment as he and Rhodey laugh wildly together and scuffle playfully. A pile of torn paper steadily builds up by Tony's feet, as does the selection of gifts, and Nebula’s grip on the bracelet tightens as the doubt of its worth quickly grows.
Unsure if she’s being foolish or not, and feeling scornfully frustrated by the lack of understanding, Nebula slopes away and heads off to the lake. She walks out onto the dock and sits on the edge, looking down at her reflection in the water. An almost angry face looks back up at her, eyes narrow and jaw clenched, and Nebula kicks at it until the ripples banish it away.
Only a short amount of time has passed when she hears a familiar voice and footsteps on the dock behind her.
"There you are."
Nebula looks over her shoulder to see Tony approaching, carrying two plates of cake. He gestures to her with them. "Been looking for my cake buddy."
He hands her one of the plates and sits down with a loud groan, a few joints popping loudly. Two forks appear from one of his pockets and he passes one to her. "You’re gonna love this one. Nothing beats birthday cake frosting."
Nebula looks at the cake. It’s covered in white frosting and rainbow sprinkles, the many layers dark and tempting. She glances at Tony’s plate and, sure enough, his piece is at least half the size of hers. She lifts the fork and scoops a small chunk of cake into her mouth.
"Good, huh," Tony says as he takes a bite of his own slice. "A Happy Hogan special."
They sit quietly as they eat, much like they always have done. Flux appears and curls up between them on the deck, directly in a small patch of warm sunlight, and Tony’s hand quickly settles on her back, swirling shapes into the softness of her fur. Nebula' watches his hand for a while before she lifts her gaze to Tony’s face, only mildly surprised to find him already looking at her.
"You’re wondering why I never told you about my birthday," he says, waiting for her to nod before continuing. "Truth is, I couldn’t bear the idea of celebrating it. We made a fuss for Morgan because, well, that’s what you do, but for me...it was just another reminder of another year gone by with me still here and Peter…"
His face twists with unforgotten sadness and he sets his nearly empty plate down with a sigh. "I just didn’t need another reminder, y’know?"
Nebula thinks back to all the times Rocket would try to talk to her about what they had lost; how he would ask for more details about the fight and Gamora that Nebula just couldn’t bring herself to talk about. Closure or relief was never going to be found in doing so, and it burned like fire in her heart just to even imagine how scared Quill and the others must have been; how hard her sister must have fought back as Thanos threw her to her death.
"I understand," she says.
"Good," Tony replies, the sadness melting away as he smiles. "Besides, this is the birthday I want you here for out of all the others. I’m glad you’re here." He reaches over to swipe a bit of frosting from her plate with his thumb. "You don’t judge me for my sugar intake and god knows I need that kinda support in my life."
It feels like a signal of some kind and before she can second guess it, Nebula sets her plate down and reaches into her pocket for the bracelet. She lets it lay flat in the palm of her hand and holds it out towards Tony.
"It’s not wrapped," she says as his eyes dart all over it, taking in every single detail, his face morphing into a look of surprised pleasure.
"For me? Aw, my favourite blue meanie, you shouldn't have."
Nebula scowls as best as she can, no heat in it at all, and gestures for him to take the bracelet. He does and, to her surprise, loops it around the wrist of his metal arm instead of his flesh one.
"So we match," he says, nodding at her as he fiddles with the ties.
Nebula glances down at where her own bracelet, made of red and dark yellow threads, sits on her cybernetic arm. "Morgan made it for me."
Tony hums, still fiddling. With a roll of her eyes, Nebula reaches over and knocks his hand away to tie it herself.
"Ah!" Tony extends his arm out to inspect when she’s done, the red and gold metal glinting in the sun, somehow making the colours of the bracelet stand out despite their darker shades. "Look at that. Better than anything by Gucci or Prada, don’t you think?"
"What are you talking about?"
"Nothing," Tony laughs, lowering his arm. "I’m touched, I really am. You didn’t need to get me anything."
Nebula looks down at Flux, sleeping contentedly between them. "Peter got you a cat."
"Peter is a little shit," Tony chuckles warmly. "He knows I’m a sucker and he likes to exploit it."
"Everybody else gave you extravagant gifts too."
Tony sniffs. "I wouldn’t call the inflatable Iron Man chair that Sam gave me extravagant, but..." He pauses and eyes her curiously. "Did you think a birthday gift needed to be extravagant?"
"I’ve never given a gift before," Nebula says. "I was uncertain of its worth when I saw the other things you had been given."
"Worth?" Tony holds up his arm so she can see the bracelet again. "This is worth a hell of a lot. You made it for me, that’s what counts here. Check me out, best friends with one of the most fearsome warriors in the galaxy. Doesn’t get much better than that."
A mix of fondness and pride flutters in Nebula’s stomach. "Peter said you would love it."
"Smart kid."
"And Morgan said I had to wear one too, as that’s how friendship bracelets work."
"Also a smart kid," Tony beams, so very proud, before lifting his arm over her shoulders, knuckles playfully nudging her cheek as he does so. "You’re gonna have to make one for Rhodey too, you know. He gets very jealous."
Nebula shakes her head with a snort as Tony chuckles and gives her a quick squeeze and says, "Seriously, thank you, I love it.''
''Good,'' Nebula says. ''I wanted to give it as a way of saying thank you.''
Tony's face creases into a bemused frown. "Thank you? What for?"
Nebula looks down at her reflection in the water again. The face that looks back at her now isn’t so angry anymore. There’s still traces of trauma, old scars and marks that she’ll never be rid of, but there’s something else there too: something that she’s needed a long time to get used to in order to recognise it for what it really is.
Happiness.
"Nebs?"
Nebula’s lips curl into a smile as she looks at Tony once more. "For a lot of things. I'm grateful to you. You...'' she takes a deep breath, then allows the words to rush out of her mouth, ''mean a great deal to me.''
A sheen covers Tony’s eyes, one that makes the brown swirls within them shine almost gold.
"Right back atcha, Bluebell."
"Is he crying yet?" Peter’s voice suddenly yells from behind them. "He better be, or I owe Happy thirty bucks that I don't have!"
Tony gives Nebula a pointed look as he brushes a hand under his eyes, laughing quietly even as the odd tear escapes down his scarred cheek.
''No,'' Nebula calls back, ''he's fine.''
Tony's laugh grows louder and Nebula soon joins in, the happiness rising up to turn everything bright as she leans against her friend, so very glad to be here with him on his birthday, and for every other day that will come.