InsaneJournal

It’d been a muggy, uncomfortable weekend to pair with Nebula’s horrible shift in mood. Before the Doctor had gotten sick, she’d been more or less stable, just managing to stay put in Texas and not go completely stir crazy. But things had taken a turn once the Doctor had forgotten her, and her moods had gone from surly to outright self-destructive. She hadn’t been to the Avenger’s Mansion or to the only partially complete Guardian’s ranch, instead opting to wander and take shelter where she could. She hadn’t quite been able to bring herself to leave, though she’d been tempted. She’d wanted to know more about the Doctor before disappearing; there was a part of her that still hoped he’d be cured, even if she couldn’t admit so aloud. And she felt she owed something to Gamora before leaving without a word, though she wasn’t entirely sure what that something was.

Over the sweltering and rainy weekend, Nebula had fought two Asgardians, but had otherwise hidden herself away, behavior that brought to mind her early days with Thanos when there was nowhere to go and nowhere to hide, but damn if she didn’t try anyway. Thanos was always on Nebula’s mind and it’d only gotten worse as the Doctor had grown sick. The concept of losing a man she cared about made the shadow of her father and his abuse grow longer and darker in her mind. This was why she’d asked to battle strangers; she’d wanted to let loose some rage and only knew how to do so in old, familiar ways. This was why she hadn’t spoken to anyone she knew in days. Because connections hurt and she wondered if perhaps things had been better in the old days when she’d relied only on herself.

Nebula had woken on Monday morning to find snow outside and she’d sneered, not especially a fan of the cold. She’d checked the network to see a message from the Doctor and had immediately shut the device off. It was all too much and her feelings were sharp and uncomfortable and difficult to deal with. So instead, she went to the familiar spot that she’d taken to fighting in over the weekend. Even with the snow falling, she trained her body, treating it harshly in the hope that she’d tire herself out and sleep again soon.

The sound came first, the roar of an engine in the distance, getting louder, coming closer, the glare of a single headlight shining through the blinding winter storm. In a matter of moments, the source of this commotion came into view - a powerful snowmobile came zooming through the blizzard with ease, a solitary person driving it, whose features were completely hidden behnd a helmet. The snowmobile came to a skidding halt a few feet from Nebula, and once the man took off his helmet, she could tell who it was. “There you are!” the Doctor exclaimed, frantically. “I’ve been looking all over for you! You haven’t been responding to your tablet.” Before she could have time to protest, he quickly continued, “No time! Get on, I need your help! Do you think you could drive this thing? I need both hands free.” From his pocket he pulled a small, rectangular device, which had many buttons and a blinky light at the top.

The stranger had found himself with a blaster pointed in his direction the moment he’d been close enough to hit. Nebula’s weapon didn’t waver even as he took off his helmet and launched into a speech. Her dark eyes looked him up and down, brows furrowed and mouth a tight thin line. So he was better and now she knew for certain and it was a small relief, but it also somehow didn’t bring her the comfort she thought it might have. “You don’t need my help,” she said, not believing him. If she’d learned anything about the Doctor since she’d met him it was that he was silly and ridiculous and wasn’t beyond lying or pretending to get the things he wanted. “You have plenty of others to help you. What do you want?” She was suspicious and tired and angry and hurt and trying very hard to keep her face blank and not let any of it show.

The Doctor glared at the blaster and told her in a very straightforward manner, “Either put that blaster away or shoot me now, make up your mind. I don’t have time for this. The only other person I’d trust for this mission is River, and I need her at the TARDIS to keep track of the instruments. You’ve both got the skill and the nerve. So either you’re going to stand here in the snow and keep feeling sorry for yourself, or you’re going to join me! What will it be?” He revved the engine loudly.

There was a long moment where Nebula stared at him, tempted to shoot him somewhere that would hurt but not kill. But she didn't know his anatomy well enough to know what spots wouldn't do serious damage; Time Lord physiology was a mystery to her. So she sighed, knowing she wouldn't shoot him, she didn't quite have the nerve to risk endangering him. And she could almost hear her father’s voice in her ear telling her what a disappointment she was. She holstered her weapon, but didn't step closer.

“You were sick,” she said in an accusatory tone. “River let you leave?”

The Doctor rolled his eyes and bobbed his head back and forth in a manner which meant to convey how stupid he thought Nebula’s question was. “I’m better, you idiot. If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t even remember you. Nebula. Sister’s name is Gamora. I took you both to the Greek Isles last month. We met on Knowhere. It’s all returned, and I’m as good as new. Do you think River would really let me loose if I was still daffy? Let me rephrase that. If I was daffier than how I usually am?”

Because she had never been especially good with her emotions, Nebula kicked snow in the Doctor’s direction, letting out a frustrated huff as a harmless amount of snow flew into his face and hair. “I’m not an idiot, you’re the idiot!” she said sharply. He could pretend all he wanted that things were back to normal, like nothing important had happened, but Nebula remembered how afraid he’d seemed and she still felt her own fear of being forgotten by someone that she cared about. For a moment, emotion wavered on her face and it took control to tamper it down with anger. “You forgot me.”

To protect himself, the Doctor lifted his arm and blocked the kicked snow, but otherwise waited to hear what Nebula had to say. “That wasn’t my fault,” the Doctor defended himself, but without the same bite as before, lowering his voice sympathetically when he saw her expression waiver. “It’s not like how in Knowhere I went inside the TARDIS and left without telling anybody. That was a choice, the neural block wasn’t. The point is that I remember you now. And I’ll warn you right now, it doesn’t matter how much you try to push me away, because it’s too late. You’re stuck with me. Like it or not, you’re part of my tribe, and you always will.”

Nebula had only heard such a sentiment once before, from Gamora. It'd been difficult to hear it from the sister she'd loved and hated in equal measure for most of her life. She'd never expected someone that she hadn't been irrevocably connected to to say that she belonged, even if she was shitty and argumentative and shoved him away. Her vision wavered but she didn't bother hiding it because it was too obvious for him to miss. Instead, she swiped at her eyes with the back of a sleeve in a rough, angry gesture. Like she was mad at herself for daring to show emotion. And it made sense for her to feel this way. After all, she'd only ever really been punished when she'd shown anything other than rage growing up.

Still, once they'd started, it was hard to stop the tears that caught in her lashes and she pointed her face down, staring at the snow and willing herself to stop. Nebula hated this feeling, it made her stomach turn anxiously.

Silently, the Doctor watched her, waiting to see what she might say or do. When it became obvious that she was too overwhelmed, he finally spoke: “If I give you a hug, will you blast me?” It was asked jokingly, but he was serious, too.

“Maybe,” she said, her voice wavering slightly as she attempted to regain her composure. She was guarded (as she always was) but her hands weren’t near or gravitating toward her weapons. It was starting to hit her that the Doctor was back and that it was a good thing; that she’d missed him and been worried for him. She swiped at her face again, still rough with herself, like she didn’t properly know how to be gentle with herself.

“Guess I’ll have to take my chances.” Shutting off the snowmobile’s engine, the Doctor then trudged through the deep snow to reach her. He paused, then tilted his head down to check Nebula’s face and to give her a fair warning of what he was about to do - wrap his arms around her and hold her close, letting Nebula bury her head in the crook of his shoulder. There was nothing else to do, nothing else to be said - he let the hug speak for itself.

Nebula was stiff in his arms. It was clear from the way she awkwardly put one arm partially around him that she wasn't used to such touch. The tears started anew when she could not longer see his face and she left out a soft, sniffling breath, trying to hide it. They remained together for a long moment, and it felt longer to Nebula, who felt half like she wanted to stay there for a long time and half like she needed to run. Eventually, they broke apart and she wiped at her face and felt the bubbling emotions calm some.

“I am…” she hesitated a moment, picking her words, “glad they could fix you. I wasn't sure they would.” Then, quickly, “And if you tell anyone we hugged, I will shoot you.” She was joking. Probably. Mostly.

There was a time, not too long ago (according to Time Lord reckoning) when the Doctor refused hugs, when he stoutly fought against them when Clara tried, and behaved much like Nebula had when he finally gave in and let himself be held. Hugs were good, he said, only because the other person couldn’t see your face. So, the Doctor knew exactly how it was to be in Nebula’s boots, and so he did his best to not get emotional, himself, and make the situation more awkward for her. “I’m glad to be back,” he said. “Thank you for helping me when you did, on the network, forcing me to remember even when I stubbornly insisted that everything was alright.” He took a step back to further the distance between them and help make Nebula more comfortable. “Your secret is safe with me. Now. Are you getting on my snowmobile or not?”

If he remembered that she'd talked to him, he remembered what she'd talked about. It made her feel vaguely embarrassed that she'd been so honest, but thankfully he wasn't lingering on the topic or saying how sorry he was about what she'd gone through. “Fine,” she said with a little sigh, stepping forward and taking the front seat. She hadn't driven a vehicle like this before, but she was confident she'd handle it. She turned the key and it came to life and she glanced over the controls.

With Nebula’s back turned so he couldn’t see him, the Doctor smirked, happy that she finally came around. He followed and got on the snowmobile behind her and pointed his finger out into the expansive field of untouched snow that stretched before them. “Go that way.”

Nebula didn't wait a moment, taking off like a shot and speeding down the flat snowy plain. “Where are we going?” she asked over her shoulder. He'd clearly been lying about there being an emergency, but she didn't especially hold that against him.

“Anywhere you want,” the Doctor answered, shouting to be heard over the roar of the engine. “I just thought you’d like to zoom really fast through the snow. Isn’t this cool?”

Nebula scoffed, amused. “Idiot,” she murmured, voice not holding the sharp edge it normally did. The snowmobile didn't slow, though, and she noticed a pile of snow that was a bit higher than the rest and aimed them toward it. She wasn't worried about injury; she'd certainly heal if they wiped out. And she wasn't thinking enough to worry over the Doctor’s head. When they took the jump, there was a moment where Nebula couldn't stop herself from grinning and then they landed with a hard thump, but otherwise intact. The rush wasn’t quite like a ride in her spaceship, but it was better than anything else she’d done since arriving on Terra.