I don't know where I'm going with this story but we'll see! The song from last chapter is Five More Minutes by Scott McCreery. Enjoy, and I hope to see your comments! Remember to fave/bookmark for later! ^_^

When Peter asked his grandpa what he wanted to do that day, a cryptic but hopeful answer was all that he received.

"Now you know me boy, so you ought to know what I want to do," he said.

Gramps gifted him with a somewhat smile, as both of his hands slowly lifted. They shook but gradually steadied, as he attempted to paint a picture in the air before him. Peter let his brows furrow, as his grandfather's old crooked fingers, withered from exhaustion, had the sudden spurt of energy to motion in his direction in a series of small brushstrokes. They moved like a dance, an imperfect but wonderful dance.

"I wish to go on forever in that endless sky."

The way he smiled, tired and knowing, made Peter frown. But the unease came from another place as well; the sentiment felt eerily familiar. Surely he had just heard the phrase in passing before. It was wholly romanticized. The sky on earth was all that anyone ever saw, especially when he pictured it from his grandpa's perspective. The man loved the sight of a clear blue sky, and he smiled, then mused at the clouds which dotted the aromatic sea in white puffy shapes. A star-filled sky or a full-moon could be beautiful as well. His grandfather loved them all. Perhaps that imaginative spark was where Peter got his love of space from.

"Aw, shucks gramps," Peter feigned a grin, "I know you don't mean that. What would Gloria say?"

"You want to know what she's say? She'd tell me to hurry up and get better or she'd kick my ass," Jason laughed wholeheartedly, before a gigantic cough wracked through him. What was a devastating ache suddenly transformed into a series of much smaller wheezes in which his throat was straining. He struggled to breath although he tried to feign ignorance at his sudden coughing spells. Instead, he forced a grin at his grandson.

"I've never felt better." It was a lie. He had, and that day had long since passed.

Peter's fingers bent inward, shaking in frustration. The crooked digits formed a pair of tightly wound fists, while a seething energy pulsed through him. His palms felt like lightning. The man wanted to smash the feelings of annoyance that were bubbling inside of him. The freaking TV, incessantly tuned into that damn, freaking country music channel unknowingly crooned in the background. It was a happy song, but Quill was far from being happy.

Although he was not much of a country music fan, the genre had quickly grown on Peter once he was back in Missouri. Living with your grandpa for a good while can change a man, hopefully in a good way, and he liked to think that he had. He had gotten a part-time job at a local grocery store in order to afford his portion of the bills, since he was comfortable with not having many possessions. If it was not for the many amazing people in his life, Peter had no idea where he would have been.

His grandpa was a funny guy for as stern as he could often be. The elderly man absolutely loved him some modern country music - the two Quills further bonded over simply hanging out, opening a pair of cold ones (because damn, the man was old - let him have a beer), and listening to the radio. In the past two years Peter had come to love the genre for its dramatic storylines. These artists sang in a heartfelt twang, stringing along a multitude of sentences about love, loss, and ultimately the heartaches both could bring. Now, all it brought Peter, truly, was three words that started with A: Anger, Annoyance, the ability for his own heartache to turn him into the largest asshole of Assholery.

This exact anger mixed with a harrowing dash of utter distraughtness laced his tone when he contacted any of his friends for the first time in months. It had been a day since Peter contacted Nebula. One day. This was because Nebula, as always, was the first and easiest ex-Guardian of the Galaxy for him to contact. The blue cyborg was the only one, besides himself, who stayed within the same place for the longest period of time due to her responsibilities for the ones she cared about, i.e. being the freaking queen of a bunch of humanistic animal hybrids, i.e. too many kids to freaking keep one's head around. Peter had no idea how she could do it, caring for so many little ones at the same time.

Beyond that, Peter definitely had no idea how she was able to stay so calm, so level-headed yet so very softly stern, as she virtually commanded to the universe, to him, that everything would be alright. She was so strong. After being torn apart again and again, how could Nebula retain the will and confidence to absolutely command the world to be okay?

How was the world still okay? Peter was an absolute mess, crying like an utter baby, and somehow still finding the air within his lungs to breathe whispers into the world. He sniffled when he was in the view of his photo-imaging transmitter and whimpered when he was not. Not much got to Peter anymore, but this was one of the heaviest burdens that the unassuming ex-Guardian had taken on in the longest while.

Sometimes Peter wished that he could just forget all of his woes. If only there was a switch to merely forget and forgo his losses, the many heartaches which plagued his soul. He knew that he had a well of love to give, but it did not matter which direction Peter strayed. His tally of losses was large, but his woes never let him truly want to forget. That was most apparent when he had the help of Nebula.

Cool and overly calm-headed Nebula: Peter needed her. To him, she was like a godsend. She was a beacon within his forever compacting world. As his circle became ever smaller and smaller, she lived on in the universe, almost like a light at the end of the tunnel.

Nebula understood Peter's struggle. They both had people in their lives who used them, and they had both experienced the death of loved ones. Throughout Peter's struggle, Nebula never belittled his pain. She never made jokes about it. That being said, she also never let him drown in his sorrows either.

Nebula, now affectionately referenced to on occasion as either Nebby or Blue, was tactful in the way that she dealt with him. The waves were rough, and the oceans of her raven black eyes were so deep. However, she cared so much and that was clear. She always reached for him and carried him through the bad times.

Peter really valued her attention. He loved how she was always willing to drag him back up quite forcibly once the metaphorical waters became too thick. When spoken with both strength and grace, her words could sometimes cut like a knife in their truthfulness, but Peter absolutely appreciated her honesty, one-hundred percent. There was no more guessing once you knew the true Nebula. You always knew where you stood with her.

Her collected nature was honestly addicting during Peter's time of turmoil. Even those moments when he was first going through the loss of Gamora, most harrowingly when he caused half of the world to vanish, her arms seemed like they could maybe be a safe place to land. They certainly were strong looking, Peter thought to himself. He definitely envied and respected such strength; he was known for stanning a strong woman, as the local neighborhood kids would say. Earth children today had too many weird new words.

Peter could stand behind the resilience gifted to her by her years of turmoil. Not only was she physically strong, but she was emotionally strong as well, far stronger than Gamora had ever been. But she always remained distanced from him - both physically speaking and somewhat emotionally so.

It was a known fact within their friend group that Nebula liked to keep her innermost thoughts a secret; that she liked to keep those whom she was closest to especially at arm's length. Although, when you think about it, her arms were retractable, so sometimes she came far closer to Peter than she really cared to ever place much thought into… But that never depleted her love. It shone through her actions, in the way she carried herself. Peter could always count on Nebula to carry him away from the troubles of the world. He liked to think that he never took her for granted, but the man knew all too well that he was faulty.

Upon breaking the news to get about a man who Nebula had never met, she told him over their video call that she was coming as soon as she could for him. In a billion mini pixels, she looked away at something in the far off background then back at him. Her face appeared visibly conflicted, and Starlord allowed the smallest melancholic leer. His upper lip turned up toward the sky in a minute gesture.

Nebula just needed a bit of time before she could finally get away. The countless number of children that were discovered during their mission to save Rocket needed her time infinitely more, and realistically so, than a grown ass man ever did. Peter was forty-five for gods sake.

"Just wait a little longer," she spoke confidently to him. Her voice was collected like a queen, but her face demanded an element of no nonsense from him. The caregiver for virtually an entire civilization of mutated animals had galaxies worth of drama on her plate, far too much to deal with one of her best friends willingly diving headfirst into a downward spiral. "And no drinking whatsoever. Don't go off doing anything stupid."

Peter gave a wry smile at that. The slightest glimmer of light, a flash of hope, entered his orbs, and he asked, "When have I ever done anything stupid?"

His joke was half hearted, stilted in his deliverance. "You know me."

"I do," she whispered, and her tone was sullen, "That's why I know how much this is bothering you."

Nebula quieted. In her remorse for Peter, she found herself wanting to comfort him in ways that she could not currently do. But what? Still, she was welcome to stay on the line as long as he needed her. He was one of her best friends.

Peter needed her. But that did not eradicate the fact that, jointly, the span of Nebula's time and schedule was difficult to disperse amongst her friends. She was busy. Everyone was. Yet after saving Rocket, perhaps it was Nebula who took on the greatest weight after the heavy ordeal. She was the person most personally involved with the world.

Nebula had hundreds of little lives to look after, but she was forever persistent when it came to watching over the young ones. Hell, even Drax managed to take a break from the children. Sometimes he would leave for days to meet up with Mantis. The pair liked traveling together - but never Nebula. She gave up on traveling for a while.

The blue skinned woman cared so much about those kids, and she openly told anyone who asked her. No one could challenge her resolve. Nebula threw herself into a mothering sort of role. Although she was quite stoic and mostly robotic at first, her act did not last long, and she found herself openly playing with the children in time, albeit visibly awkward.

Making sure the children ended up within good homes was her top priority. To put it simply, Nebula felt responsible for their wellbeing. It was like an unnamed calling - no one told her to do it, but the compulsion was immaculately real.

Sometimes Nebula thought over the implications of her actions. Perhaps she was desperate for a family. Perhaps the want to feel needed outweighed her want for her lost freedom.

The cyborg could never be a mother due to the affects of Thanos' torture… Thus a mothering pull filled her gut. It egged her on to care. She felt a responsibility to the kids.

Each child was special in their own way. It was easy to see a few of their long lost animal traits once you truly spent a lot of time around them; Nebula was passionate about this fact, and she equally proclaimed the souls which shone within their humanlike bodies. These children were not disposable. They had the capacity for kindness and gentility and for laughter and imagination. They were so damn intelligent. Peter knew they could take a run for his money.

The kids were not replaceable. Even if they were now orphans, or perhaps just a number on a long computerized list once upon a time, they still had feelings. They were people. Therefore Nebula checked in on them periodically. Once each child finally left, she tried her hardest to stay in touch. She would ask how they were doing in the kind but standoffish sort of way that she expertly lived with. Without fail every kid smiled. They showed their gratitude to her, as her chest filled with a certain pride after their goodbyes. It was only for now, she had to tell herself.

Now that Nebula knew what it was like to have a family unit - however precarious it may seem - she did not want to let it go. But the woman was level headed. She made it a point to want whatever was best for others, within reason of course. It was never about what Nebula wanted, nor what she needed. Honestly, she gave no shit about that. When it came to the ones she loved, however, there were so many pieces of herself that she would dutifully give away. Her poor excuse for a parent Thanos was excellent proof of that.

At least these children loved her more than her father. Peter loved her more… All of her guardian friends, united in their likened views of inner goodness, loved her. They were a family… The distance between them never managed to overshadow the bonds that they had formed. She liked to believe that any time apart was but a countdown until they saw each other again… Nebula just wished that it was under better circumstances.

Eventually Peter thanked Nebula for her time. He understood that she was busy even if she never wanted him to thank her for such an easy thing. The least that she could do was talk to him during this low point even if all words eventually quietened into a session of companionable silence.

"Don't thank me," Nebula said almost coldly. She was mildly pissed at Peter for ever thinking that he could hang so low on her emotional totem pole, knowing what all she would do for him. Nevertheless she reigned in her annoyance. This call was about something bigger than herself. She was to think about Peter's feelings, not her own.

"You should know that we care about you." I care about you.

Peter reached behind his neck to scratch sheepishly at the skin he found there. Little wisps of golden brown hair curled at its nape. Though his face shifted into an expression that fit his usual attitude better, a tad brighter, a set of haggard lines hung beneath his dark eyes. It was clear that he was crying earlier sometime before their call./p

He said, "I know. It's just easy to get lost in it all. Sometimes I wish I was as strong as you. Life would be easier that way."

Nebula wanted to scoff. She fought off the urge to deny his statement with every fiber of her being and instead flattened her lips into a line. Her brows furrowed, as she looked down.

"You don't want to be like me," she promised, "Believe me."

Any other time Peter would have denied her sentiments. He would have professed her greatness like the absolute puppy dog he was. In personality, he tried to be everyone's cheerleader. But on one of his darkest days, Peter could not find the strength to go against her. There was no winner in this fight. No amount of playful (maybe earnest?) squabbling would take away the truth of the pain Quill was surely to experience in the next coming days.

Maybe it was better when loss was quick. No. It could hurt just as much if not more; Gamora's death was proof of that. In the end, no matter who it was that was meant to die, Peter did not look forward to finding out.

"I know you said for me not to thank you, Nebula, but sincerely, thank you. Your friendship really means the world to me. You do a lot for people."

She twisted her head to look away, anywhere that was not the projection of the man in front of her. A sharp, awkward silence dragged on for almost half a minute. Then she allowed a minute smile. It was shy. It was quiet, but it was real.

"That's not true," she said with an edge of gratefulness, "But thank you Quill. I will speak to you again before I head for earth."

Peter had just enough wits about him to summon a waned but flirty grin. It was a lilt that only part way met his eyes. He nodded with those beautifully tragic orbs half-lidded. Nothing about Peter was not boyish, and Nebula was stricken by the ball of emotion that filled her throat.

"You know, there's a lot of people knocking on my door right now. Friends of gramps. Neighbors... Death. But if it's you, I'll be looking forward to it."

The call abruptly disconnected. It was Nebula who ended it.

The woman sat feeling bewildered. Slumped back within the chair of her makeshift office, she merely stared in front of herself. Both arms hung limply down the sides of her unassuming throne. Unseeingly, her sight remained, like she had just witnessed a ghost - her mind was foggy and unsure. A brisk walk around the perimeter was warranted. Then, a thought struck her. Drax and Mantis were set to arrive today. Maybe it would be better for Peter if she was the one to break the news to them… Did he really wish to cry over and over today?

At the idea, her dark fingers sent Peter a text at lightning speed. What Nebula did not think about was how busy Peter could have been, and his response came far slower than her original message. It took about three hours for his words to finally arrive. That was plenty of time for Nebula to be coerced into mentally panicking about her question. However, she knew that her sweet oaf of a friend was dealing with a lot.

The reply that Peter gave was short and precise. It could have emotionally cut a being with its curtness had she not studied it.

Yet the image of a small textualized flower accompanied it.

"Thanks."

That was all he sent her.

Nebula instantly shut off her phone.