[ Nebula's seen death all of her life. She knew it as a companion, as a mother figure that treated her father like a lover. Of course, she doesn't remember those days, but you never forget the intimacy that is seeing death again and again in the most gruesome little bits. She may be stalwartly a protector these days but — ]

[ — But well, that wasn't always the case. It's ironic, really, that so much of her own abilities are about breaking and mending. She knows why. It's just funny, because once she lived and died by the idea that her job was to kill and the mess was someone else's. She couldn't look back or she'd stumble, now all she was forced to do was look at a mess she didn't make and had to fix. ]

[ Nebula knows why she's there even before he asks, her gaze steady on the carnage. ]

What? You want them to write you a thesis while they mourn the loss of their family?

[ It could almost be teasing, if not for the pointed jab. It's obvious, isn't it? ]

They want to turn back time. Fix things before this happened.

[ And sadly for her, when it came to this kind of thing, she was often called. ]