“You don't need to do that,” Tony Stark said, concentrating on the task at hand.

He was sitting at a table inside the Guardians of the Galaxy's ship. He had just flicked a small piece of silver paper, folded up in a triangle across the table, and in between Nebula's thumbs.

Goal.

With her swift reflexes, however, Nebula had caught the paper football. She grunted, and looked at Tony.

“Because, uh, you're just holding the position,” he explained. Then he put his hands on the table, index fingers outstretched and touching. Both thumbs pointed upward. He nodded for Nebula to take her shot.

Balancing the football on one pointed end, Nebula flicked the piece of paper with a finger, and watched as it sailed through the air over the table, missing the goal completely. It landed on Tony's arm.

“Oh yeah,” Tony championed her attempt. “That was close.”

Nebula grunted. She took the paper football in her hand, and set it up once more. This time, she flicked the football a little more toward the right. It sailed over the table, right between Tony's thumbs.

“That's a goal,” Tony confirmed, a smile in his voice.

Nebula straightened visibly, and put both of her hands on the table.

“We are now one apiece,” Tony proclaimed, keeping score of the game.

“I would like to try again,” Nebula determined. She was fascinated with something so simple as a game, in particular one that didn't involve actively trying to defeat a foe by pummeling them into submission in an ill-fated attempt to please her adoptive father, Thanos. But her life history also provoked her competitive nature.

She flicked the paper football again, missing the goal. Then Tony took another “kick.” The football went through the “goalposts.”

Tony was ahead.

But Nebula was a swift learner. Another flick of the football, and she made another goal.

“We're tied up,” Tony stated for her benefit.

Nebula placed her hands on the table to form the goal again. She looked down at her hands, then across the table at her adversary, assessing him.

“Feel the tension? It's fun,” Tony noted, playfully. Then he flicked the football, watching his shot go horribly awry. “That was terrible. Now you have a chance to win,” he explained gently, if a bit patronizing.

Taking the football once more, Nebula placed it on the table, flicked it. The piece of paper went right in between Tony's thumbs, landing on his lap.

“And you've won.” He smiled.

Nebula sat back. The words “And you've won” were not ones her ears were accustomed to hearing.

“Congratulations! Fair game.”

Then Tony did something that both surprised and baffled Nebula. He extended a hand across the table, and held it there. She didn't know what to do at first, but then she thought ... does he expect me to take his hand? To what, rip it off ?

Then she thought better, and extended her hand slowly in kind. Then she grasped his hand. Following Tony's lead, the two shook.

“Good sport,” Tony said. “Did you have fun?”

“It was fun,” Nebula admitted, and she couldn't believe it.

* * *

Another game of football later, and Tony had retired to the flight deck of the spaceship. He was sitting on the cold, metal floor, holding his Iron Man helmet. The headpiece was battle-damaged, and wouldn't serve as a fully-functioning helmet unless Tony enacted some major-league repairs. But his resources in space were limited.

And repairing the helmet wasn't what he had in mind.

He reached inside, and found a small button. Pressing it, Tony activated the helmet's recording function. A beam of light shone out from the helmet's eyes, directed at Tony. He leaned back, sighed, and stared into the eyes of the helmet.

“This thing on?” he joked. “Hey, Miss Potts. Pep. If you find this recording, don't post it on social media. It's gonna be a real tearjerker.”

The light from the helmet continued to flicker, as it recorded Tony's every move and word.

“I don't know if you're ever gonna see these,” Tony said, referring to the many messages he had recorded in his time away from her. “I don't even know if you're still ... Oh, God, I hope so.” He took a breath, trying not to think the worst of what may have happened to the woman he loved.

Tony looked up at the hull of the ship, then out the cockpit of the spaceship into the vast starry universe that surrounded him.

“Today is day ... twenty one? No, uh, twenty two,” Tony figured, trying to keep count. “You know, if it wasn't for the existential terror of staring into the literal void of space, I'd say I'm feeling a little better today. Infection's run its course, thanks to the Blue Meanie back there,” Tony relayed, referring to Nebula. Nebula, who had nursed him through the worst of his wounds from his battle with Thanos.

“Oh, you'd love her. Very practical. Only a tiny bit sadistic,” Tony teased, hoping that Pepper, if she did ever see the message, would laugh. “So, the fuel cells were cracked during battle and we figured out a way to reverse the ion charge and bought ourselves about forty-eight hours of flight time.”

Tony found himself unable to talk for a moment, his throat dry. Then he pressed on anyway. “But now it's dead in the water. Thousand light years from the nearest Seven Eleven.”

He thought about the lack of food aboard the ship. They had used the last of their rations just that morning. Tony had offered them to Nebula, but she refused, giving hers to Tony instead. She knew she was stronger than he was and could last longer without them. Or maybe she was just being kind. Or maybe they just tasted terrible.

“Oxygen will run out tomorrow morning, and that'll be it. And, Pep, I know I said no more surprises, but I gotta say I was really hoping to pull off one last one,” he confessed.

Tony exhaled, looking out into space beyond the windshield. “But it looks like ... well, you know what it looks like. Don't feel bad about this. I mean, actually, if you grovel for a couple weeks, and then move on with enormous guilt ...”

His voice trailed off as he lacked energy for even his usual dark humor, and Tony became light-headed. “I should probably lie down for a minute. Go rest my eyes. Please know ... when I drift off, it will be like every night lately. I'm fine. Totally fine. I dream about you. Because it's always you.”

Tired beyond words, Tony reached inside the helmet, found the OFF switch, and deactivated the recorder. The lights turned off. Then he put on his jacket, and spread out on the floor, turning onto his side. Using his arm as a pillow, Tony closed his eyes, and drifted into an uncomfortable, unsettled slumber.

* * *

Nebula walked onto the flight deck, and saw Tony asleep on the floor. She marveled at how he was even still alive. He hadn't been trained as a warrior by Thanos. He hadn't battled against a master assassin like her adopted sister Gamora for nearly his entire life. Then how had he become so hard to kill?  She admired his resourcefulness at the same time she appraised his weakened condition. He may be a fighter, but it appeared he was finally losing the fight.

Standing over him, Nebula rolled Tony onto his back. Then she got him to his feet, and hefted him bodily into the captain's chair of the ship.

Tony did not waken through it all.

She touched his shoulder in a rare gesture of camaraderie and comfort, then moved away, walking toward the interior of the ship. But behind her, she realized something was glowing outside the ship's cockpit.

An attack ? That was her immediate thought. But when nothing immediately collided with the ship, she wondered if perhaps it was a comet.

The light grew brighter, and Nebula saw that Tony was now awake, and trying to shield his eyes from the brightness with his hand.

Both were stunned when they saw the source of the brilliant light—a woman, floating in space, clad in red and blue.

The woman smiled. C3qKIXKZ/h3kqHtzHCHsPUImlO1kvsrgFS9t2pBh9O1q1YkW1dokAJZNzx65CKyQ