#falcon-chill

Nebula closes her eyes and takes a deep inhale, feeling her lungs, now a grotesque combination of flesh and metal, expand, then contract.  “I saw you and Quill dancing last night.  I want you to teach me to dance.”

A pause falls between them, and Nebula wonders if this is what normal sisters do.  Ask for advice, whisper insecurities, teach each other things.

She remembers being eight years old, remembers the fresh pains in each of her legs when everything below the knees had been replaced with steel and springs and gears, and their father - not her father, not her father, not her father - had looked into her eyes and waved her into the small arena.  She remembers a moment of hesitation, looking into Gamora’s eyes, and then the next moment, lights that are too bright in a room that hurts, and Thanos watching her with a sour smile on his lips.

“Okay,” Gamora says, and pats the grease off her hands and onto the nearest rag.  “I’ll teach you how to dance.”  She tosses the small, square music device to Nebula, something that she’s heard Quill call a Zune.  “There’s a ‘Slow’ playlist on there.  Choose something that feels right.”

Nebula isn’t sure what she means by that, so she chooses the first song on the screen.

A lulling Terran melody fills the cockpit, and Nebula watches a slow smile rise to her sister’s lips.  “Good choice.”  When the older of the two offers her hand, Nebula doesn’t wait to take it.  “Now put your hand on my waist…”

“Why not your hand on my waist?” she snaps back, but does it anyway, not missing the deliberate sway of Gamora’s hips with the gentle beat of the music.

“This is how I’ve learned it,” Gamora says, her voice much softer, much lighter than Nebula surely deserves.  “You go back and forth with your feet.  Small steps.  Follow me.”

It takes a few minutes of watching Gamora’s pacing, listening to the pacing of the music to guide her feet, her hips, her shoulders, to get the slow hang of where her body is supposed to go and when.  Gamora instructs her to hold her arm up as she spins under it, but not to let go of her hand.  Nebula’s fingers are clumsy when they’re not wrapped around a gun, or a knife, but after about three more tries, the move doesn’t feel as unnatural as before.

They dance well into the following song, until the steps have finally started making sense, and Gamora looks genuinely pleased with her progress.

“That’s good.  A lot better, actually.  You’re a fast learner.”  Gamora fetches each of them a fresh canteen of water, then switches off the music.  “Are you going to tell me why you need to learn how to dance?”

Nebula brushes her fingers over the Zune, eyes training hard over the song title.

“No.”  She pauses a moment, and then looks up.  “Thank you.”

Nebula has already started up the stairs to her quarters on the upper half of the starboard wing of the Benatar when Gamora answers.

“You’re welcome.”

Not needing to sleep means not dreaming, but late at night Nebula lets herself think about the sparse things that have brought her joy over the past four years.  The music, though many times she doesn’t understand it.  The fresh tang of a ripe Yaro root.  Skies merging with seas on planets they visit once, for less than a day at a time.  Mantis’s never ending questions about the things Nebula has seen in the galaxy, things she’s done.

“You have piloted a ship before?”

“Yes.”

“A large one?”

“Yes.”

Her large, wide eyes had searched Nebula’s for a long moment.  “Was it fun?” Mantis whispered, and no one had ever accused Nebula of being good with emotions, but there was no mistaking the gleeful conspiracy in her voice.  When Nebula simply looked at her, nonplussed, she continued, “To pilot the large ship, on your own.  I’ve never been allowed.”

“Why?”  The word left her mouth flat, emotionless.

Mantis seemed almost shocked that she’d even responded.  “Ego did not want me to.  His ship was part of his consciousness.  An extension of his own mind.  There were no real ships on his planet.  I think piloting a ship would have given me too much control.”  Something like a laugh escaped Mantis’s lips.  “I think it is funny, because he gave me control over his emotions, but I could not be trusted to fly a ship.”

The day after, while the others were on a mission, Nebula took her out in the Benatar and taught her the basics of flying, and when they landed back at the meeting point, Quill at least bit his tongue looking at the scratches and dents on the bottom of the ship.

The morning after Gamora teaches her to dance, Nebula goes on a recovery mission with the rest of them, leaving Kraglin in defense of the ship.  It goes as well as she expects, with the raccoon ready to double-cross their buyer at the last moment, but a stern glance from the tree, who seems to grow larger by the hour, keeps him from following through with his half-hatched plan.

After the mission is over and they’re all still tense from the shock that comes with the surprise of the change of plans that was nearly sprung on them, Mantis walks past each and every one of them, presses her hand to their shoulders.  When her skin makes contact with Nebula’s a wave of relief washes over her, but that spike of nerves, that fleeting hope rolls through her stomach at the same time.

Nebula feels something tug at where her heart used to be, and a flicker of fear, certain that Mantis knows exactly what it was she felt when they touched.  Mantis’s wide, innocent eyes widen just a bit more, and she cocks her head to the side with her curiosity.

“What do you mean?”

“What?”  The word isn’t meant to come out as quickly as it does, but the abruptness is enough to make Quill raise his eyebrows and shuck his thumbs through his belt loops.

“Gamora, did you need me to check on...on the, uh…”  He gestures feebly behind him, quickly making eye contact with each of the other occupants of the ship before starting off to his quarters, hand closed around Gamora’s.  One by one the rest of them eventually make their way out, and Nebula feels her chest tighten and burn with the sheer awkwardness of it all.

Mantis, for her part, doesn’t just stand and ogle her.  Instead, she falls into the seat beside Nebula and taps at the buttons overhead to close the open hatch of the ship.

“What did you mean, when I touched you?” Mantis asks, her eyes directed down at her feet.  “You were very warm, but I don’t think you were warm before I touched you.”

Nebula swallows the heavy feeling in her throat.  When she looks up again, Mantis is listening with gentle intent, her head tilted to the side and her antennae bobbing in the air.  Nebula forces a deep inhale before answering.

“I want you to dance with me.”  She inhales again, feeling the air jet through her nose and down into her chest.  “Maybe then you can help me with some of the...feelings I’ve had.”  She stands, perhaps too quickly, and wonders whether this abruptness has become the recent trend of her life.  Mantis lets her eyes linger for a long moment on Nebula’s outstretched hand before taking it and standing as well.

Nebula makes sure to press play on the Zune before leading Mantis to the the small runway near the cockpit.  As the Terran singer begins to croon, Nebula can feel the sweat collecting at the base of her back, and although she knows Mantis is absolutely aware of the way she’s feeling, aware of the way her chest is always tight and hot when Mantis looks at her, aware of how it’s gotten tighter and hotter with Mantis’s hand in hers, she begins to sway.

“This is a nice song,” Mantis says softly, a quiet smile on her lips when Nebula places her other hand at her waist.  “It makes sense that you picked it.”

Nebula frowns, but doesn’t stop swaying to the easy beat of the music.  “Why do you say that?”

Mantis takes her hand off Nebula’s shoulder and lets her knuckles skim the lines of her jaw, the tips of her antennae glowing a tender, shimmering golden.  “It’s unexpected.”

She stands on tiptoe to press her forehead to Nebula’s, her hand drifting to the back of the taller woman’s neck, and when they kiss, it’s as though a balloon has inflated inside her chest and then popped, leaving a trail of molten...something slick on her insides.

She didn’t know it was possible to feel this way.

She didn’t know she was capable of feeling this way.

“I love you.  Mantis.”  The words are almost unnatural, almost mechanic coming out of her mouth, but she needs to hear them.  She needs Mantis to hear them.

Nebula may be awful with emotions, but she’s nearly certain that there’s a light in Mantis’s eyes that wasn’t there before.