The thing of it was this -- Tony was sure that there was room for most everyone so long as they weren't a completely irredeemable dick. Nebula hadn't been that -- she'd been terse, sure. She still was. But there'd been a lot going on at the time, a lot of bad and she'd shown remorse and sadness and they'd both needed someone. Even if it was just to die in the depths of space with.
Well, they hadn't died but Tony'd never made it that far in his own time.
But Nebula had, and Tony was glad of it. And glad to know that they'd kept up whatever had been starting between them even in the future. "Good," he said almost absently, finishing up his painting and then setting a timer for several minutes out to let it dry. "I'll bet she loves you. Do me a favor, huh? If we ever get back to where we're supposed to be, keep an eye on her for me." Nebula's firm caring and compassionate nature without the bells and whistles of theatrics was something he thought everyone probably needed in their life.