Characters: Gamora and Nebula Where/When: The training area in The Hovel / June 12, evening Ratings/Warnings: This is our fight log, take back our life log. It’s gonna be mean. Status: Complete
Nebula was in about as foul a mood as she ever got before something dangerous happened. It’d been a result of a number of small things happening all at once. The Troyjans and Ba-Bani had dared to come and fight and Nebula hadn’t been able to do enough. Sam Wilson had gone missing and worried her. Cassie Sullivan seemed to have disappeared. Gamora had pushed her to talk. And a stranger called Qui-Gon had dared to peek inside of Nebula’s head and talked about what he’d seen.
Nebula had never been good with her anger; she’d always known this to some degree, but since falling prey to The Collector, it’d seemed evident that she made stupid choices when overwhelmed by her feelings, but she didn’t know how else to let it out.
Instead of taking the nearest craft and heading in the general direction of where Thanos had last been, Nebula had gone to the training area. Hands nearly twitching with a raw, untamable energy, she started to swipe at the training bags and throw the little training knives at the practice targets around the room. She moved with a speed that spoke to her skill, hands a blur as she swiped. Nebula felt caged in this space. And when she felt that way, she did stupid things.
Things were….something. She wouldn’t say normal, because normally people didn’t get kidnapped by invading aliens. Normally there weren’t so many people around to get caught in the crossfire of their plans gone wrong. Normally Gamora wasn’t trying to juggle what felt like ten thousand things at once. Normally there weren’t missing people, returned prisoners, talk of diplomacy, and rebuilding the closest thing to a home that wasn’t the Milano. Normally she wasn’t trying to keep an eye on her Sister on top of all that.
Normally, at least not these days, she wasn’t so wound up that all she wanted to do was swing Godslayer into something, to slash it to ribbons and ruins. It wasn’t that she was angry, because at least that was a feeling she could recognize. It wasn’t that she was...did it even matter? She knew the cure, the same as she’d known the cause. What it actually was, the name for the feeling? Gamora couldn’t bring herself to care. What she wanted to to be removed from it, to cure it by the most efficient and possible way she could think of.
She knew she should have turned away as soon as she’d heard the sound of someone else in the Hovel. She knew she should have gone to the Castle instead, should have gone where someone wasn’t. That just made it worse. She should have been able to handle herself, should have been able to be in control. She shouldn’t have had to worry about being around people. She shouldn’t have been so cowardly when it came to handling this current mess. She should just swallow it and put it in the pit of her stomach, channel it into her strikes and her shots and…
All that froze when she saw just who was there. That, in all honesty, should have surprised her least of all. It was easy to recognize the pattern of strikes and blows, the momentum, the movements and it brought Gamora to a swift and immediate halt.
“Nebula.” The word was crisp, clear, a callout to the other woman from days long past. “You’re going to break something if you keep hitting it like that.” It was grand hypocrisy, but true nevertheless.
Nebula’s spine went stiff. Funny how her name barked out like that brought her immediately to days long past. She looked over her shoulder at Gamora and, for the briefest moment, all of the work they’d put in on their relationship was gone. There was nothing soft or familiar in the way Nebula looked at her sister. There was only mild contempt there.
It was easy to blame Gamora for everything that had happened lately. If she was being honest, it was only Drax and Gamora who kept Nebula tied to Knowhere. She had started to care for some of the humans, but the ties were not yet so strong that her heart would break to leave them behind. And she doubted any of them would even notice if she disappeared.
“If it is so easily broken, it doesn’t belong here,” Nebula snapped back before turning her attention back to the punching bag she was focusing all of her anger on. There was an air of defiance about Nebula, daring Gamora to say more, challenging her to try something and it hung unspoken between them.
Gamora knew that tone, that look. On any other day, at any other time, she would have liked to think it would have softened her. It wasn’t like she couldn’t understand what was happening here, wasn’t like she wasn’t doing the exact same thing herself, but that was the root of why she didn’t soften to it. They were both wound, charged, tensed and angry for a million and one different reasons. Half of them at least had nothing to do with what was in front of her, in front of them, but were instead wrapped around a lifetime where fighting was all they’d ever known. It was the one release they knew, even if Gamora had…
Even delving into the thoughts just made it worse. It made her hands flex and fingers curl into fists. It made her jaw clench and her neck roll in the same stretch she’d always done before the two squared off in days gone by. She didn’t even realize she was doing it as her eyes locked on the way Nebula moved against the bag.
“You could say the same for any of the things that were damaged during the attack.” She added coldly, referring to both the dead and the wounded with a callousness born of being defensive. “But that would not make it true.” She took a step in Nebula’s direction, and then another folding her hands behind her at the base of her spine if only to conceal how tightly she had her fists balled. She studied the way Nebula moved, knowing each movement as intimately as she knew her own. Certainly her sister had picked up skills over their time apart, but this, the state she was in now? Gamora could recognize this instantly.
“Your form is reckless and sloppy.” She chided her sister more than she meant to at all. She’d meant to critique her, to suggest she calm herself, to strike cleanly, but words had never been her forte, least of all when she herself was distracted by a hard run of denial and frustration over what had happened. “If you are going to break the thing at least do it efficiently.” She took a step forward, “Or perhaps you are simply not finding a practice bag a suitable outlet.”
She couldn’t admit it to herself, about why she was here. She couldn’t pin it down, but she could absolutely project it without realizing.
After so many years of being treated like a thing, it was very easy to slip back into old routines. At the harshness of Gamora's words, Nebula felt transported back to a time when Thanos would have been sitting a few feet away on his throne, watching with that terrible smile on his face, waiting to see his daughters try to utterly destroy one another. He would anticipate Gamora's victory, because he always did. And he would relish the punishment that would follow to be doled out to the loser. He never had to call Nebula a loser to ensure that she felt like one.
Nebula grit her teeth hard enough that she could feel a dull ache around her temples. The thoughts returned to her that Cassie Sullivan was gone, that Thanos was still free to reign terror, that Peter Quill could and often did tell her what to do. She was always second best and her sister had the audacity to correct her, even here. Her back was still to Gamora, but she stilled again, tension building to an impressive point as her fists tightened in midair.
"Don't tell me what to do!" Nebula hollered suddenly, like a crack of thunder announcing the onset of a sudden storm. She turned, eyes blazing, and she launched herself at Gamora.
In all honesty, in this instance, Gamora could have done without the sense of normalcy that was Nebula lunging at her. She’d thought, as of late, that they had been doing well, though perhaps simply ‘better’ was the right word for it. Since their talk after Nebula had attacked her with the ship, there had a least been a pathway to improvement, something that removed them from the age old patterns of constant, literal, battle against one another. Even the trip off station, where she’d been show safehouses, where they had talked of alternate plans in case Thanos had come for them, was something Gamora, perhaps naively, had chosen to take as a sign those days were behind them.
Which wasn’t to say that her muscles had forgotten the memory of their fights, or that she was even remotely surprised when she’d been lunged at by the woman.
“I would not have to if only you would learn!” Her own voice was loud and sharp, the age old rivalry rushing to the surface of her personality as the blows, emotionally charged much like the way her sister’s eyes were, came flying at her. It was easy to drop her stance into a defensive one, to keep her hands up and moving, shunting the blows into ineffective strikes as her feet began rapidly moving to keep pace, and thus herself moving, with the onslaught.
In a different time, a different moment, she might have been able to appreciate this, been able to try and shape and mold into something more than just a combat against Nebula as they’d done countless times. Here and now however, with her own mind warped and wrapped in the stresses as of late, in the feelings and emotions she had limited means to process and understand, there was nothing but ferocity in her words as she continued to process the erratic pattern of Nebula’s assault and look for an opening in which she might attack or counter on her own.
Nebula’s greatest weakness in battle had always been the ease with which she could fall prey to her anger. It started a messy feedback loop in which Nebula would get mad, be easily stopped by Gamora, and then get even madder.
She was feeling this now, a loud growl coming from her throat as Gamora proved herself again, of course, to be the better warrior. “Shut up, shut up!” she shouted, movements rough and harsh as she aimed to hurt.
This was a pattern Gamora knew and she knew it all too well.
“If you want me to shut up then make me!” Gamora shouted back, her hands continuing to move and block Nebula’s strikes. Her plan, such as it was, was maybe to just let her sister tire herself out, to let her exhaust whatever rage she might feel dissipate in a series of impotent blows that Gamora deflected away without thinking. It was a good plan, or at least it would have been if not for the fact that Gamora was distracted.
Which was exactly how one of Nebula’s blows managed to slip past her defenses.
The feeling of a solidly connecting strike, throwing Gamora off her balance, bringing with it the radiating warmth that should have been pain...it shattered her plan. It sent it to ruin and all at once Gamora turned herself to the offensive.
“And if you want to fight me then I will fight you!” Gamora howled, ready to launch herself into the fight they’d had probably a million times if not more.
There was satisfaction to be had in landing blows. As frustrating as it was that Gamora always seemed a step ahead of her in battle, those few times where she could connect and make it hurt brought a mean smile to her face. Fighting like this was second nature; Nebula could have done this half asleep with a few missing limbs. And so she moved ruthlessly, trying her best to be unpredictable.
As long as she’d been on Knowhere, and even before, Nebula could feel resentment for her sister like a pulsebeat under her skin. It was always there, though it sometimes softened when they found themselves on common ground. In this moment, they seemed miles apart, enemies once more. “You think I’m scared?” Nebula spat out, challenging her sister. She could be called lots of things, but Nebula was no coward. She kicked out a foot and felt it connect to meat and she smiled again.
“I think you’re a fool.” Gamora hissed her reply through a fierce clench of her teeth. “How many times? How many times?!” With each, unfinished, question, Gamora was continuing to shift further and further away from the defensive. Even as Nebula connected, even as the strikes broke through Gamora’s defense, it would only seem to further seem to spur her into more. She would let Nebula have her strikes, would begin to plot where she left her openings, doing her best to lull her into a sense of confidence, treating Nebula like nothing more than an opponent she could goad into throwing a punch exactly where Gamora wanted it to go.
She wasn’t fighting her sister right now. Guilty as it would make her feel later, when the heat of rage and frustration gave way to clarity, right now Gamora was fighting an enemy. Maybe that enemy was her actual feelings, or the lack of the grip she had on them, maybe it was because she was getting closer to Nebula and that was making her feel vulnerable (a feeling Gamora had never dealt with well), but Gamora likely wouldn’t have an answer there for some time. Right now she didn’t have the clarity for that kind of thinking. All she could think of was where the blows were going to land, where she’d strike next, and how she was going to win this fight.
“How many times do I have to beat you?!” She was practically screaming, though she was completely unaware of that as she snatched Nebula’s next strike by the wrist and attempted to counter it with a punch hard enough to dislodge them for a moment.
Nebula was knocked back and rolled, instantly launching herself after Gamora. While her anger made her sloppy, her experience with this sort of fight was a strength. She could handle blow after blow after blow and wouldn’t even appear especially winded. Pain was something that Thanos had gotten all of his children used to at a young age. So when she felt a sharp jab to her side, a familiar green hand finding flesh in a sea of metal torso, Nebula grimaced and roared, but kept fighting back.
For some time the two circled one another and exchanged blows. Nebula tasted blood on her tongue and felt the distant pain that meant she’d be really hurting later. But it didn’t matter. She just needed to show Gamora that she was no coward, that she’d always be there to answer her sister’s punches with strikes of her own. She felt good when she got to hit Gamora, even if she couldn’t do it as often as her sister did.
They might’ve gone for hours like this; they’d certainly had day long events when Thanos had kept them. But after a long enough time that Nebula knew they’d need to stop soon or pass out, she felt a boot land on her chest and was sent flying backward. She righted herself and exhaled loudly, the fight finally showing on her.
“You think,” Nebula said, glaring up at her sister from a crouched position, practically spitting fire her way, “that every battle you won was of your own merit? You think in all our years of fighting that you never once left yourself open to my attack?” Her voice rose steadily as she went on, anger fed by her sister’s arrogance. That Gamora couldn’t even fathom that Nebula might have just let her win all of those times spoke volumes about the realities of their relationship… if it could even be called that.
Nebula swiped the back of her hand against her bleeding lip and breathed. “It seems you win again,” she said contemptuously. “What prize would you claim this time, sister? My other eye? My left foot? Would you wear my skin like a cape to proclaim yourself victorious against me?” She shouted, “What do you want to take from me now?” Without entirely meaning to, Nebula’s fist shot out and connected with one of the walls of the room. It made a horrible sound as it dented and Nebula felt her hand click in a way that meant she’d probably damaged it. In this moment, she didn’t care. Rising to her feet, knowing she needed to get away, her eyes never left Gamora’s. “It’s no wonder you were Thanos’ favorite,” she said, words brimming with loathing. Without saying anything more, Nebula turned and stalked off, deciding that the damage she’d left behind wasn’t her problem.
On a better day, Gamora would have seen this for the thing that it was and she would have put a stop to it. A good spar with Nebula, something where the two of them were calm, at their center, using their skills at the peak, was something she might have enjoyed but that was not what this was for either of them. She’d regret it later, the way she fell into old patterns, the way she lost her grip on her control and her own emotions. She’d regret the way she came at Nebula with everything she had, slowly slipping more and more away from a friendly spar and into that which was decidedly aggressive and looking to win. This battle would gnaw at her for days, weeks, to come....but right now such thoughts were far removed from her mind.
Each time she connected with Nebula, or was struck in return, her own blows would get faster, harder, and more precise. Each time the surge of pain radiated from blue fist to green skin, Gamora felt muscle memory take over more than control. Her jaw would set and her eyes would lock, growing quieter as Nebula grew louder. Her breath would steady while her heart rage and, after a time, it got to be that she would only make a sound when she felt the hard connect of her own fist find purchase against Nebula.
She wouldn’t even let the words Nebula spoke register, her mind tuning them out as they were purely some raged induced baiting to a trap in which Gamora simply would not step. It would be yet another thing to add to the list of words while the two continued, carrying on to the point that even Gamora began to feel strain in her muscles. Unfortunately, for them both no doubt, her mind wouldn’t let her stop, not until Nebula yielded -- until her sister had dropped back and wiped the blood from her mouth and shouted those words at Gamora.
“I would take your childish tongue if only to make you shut up!” Her own voice was loud, much louder than she had intended even, and it was only then that Gamora saw the truth of the moment. She saw that she wasn’t as calm as she’d thought, that her chest heaved with anger and rage and frustration. She saw the swelling in her hands, the blood -- both hers and Nebula -- that glossed her knuckles. The pain and the ache, at least, were numbed by the anger for now, but they were already beginning to seep into her bones by the time Nebula had decided to simply leave.
“...You say that like it was some blessing.” Gamora spat in a bitter mutter, flexing her fingers to begin working them out of a fist and not at all caring if she was heard or not. Whatever this fight had been, whatever the root of it would be seen as, there was one thing Gamora knew was true.
She’d be sequestering herself in the Milano for at least a day and, like Nebula, wanted no further part in the mess they’d created at the moment.