Lost, Yet Found

The smoke was thick and acrid. Hard to breathe. Nauseating.

The explosion had drawn them out from inside, because, unlike normal people who would run from fiery explosions, they ran towards them. It seemed reasonable to them, was so ingrained into their natures that it didn't seem irrational. Especially since the explosion erupted from nowhere on their tower. The obvious conclusion was 'threat', the next being 'eliminate it'.

But they hadn't been expecting the smoke to clear to reveal this.

Steve’s fists were clenched. Muscles taught from a mixture of confusion, hesitance, and the lingering fight-or-flight impulse coursing through his veins from the explosive blast that had brought them all onto the landing strip of Avengers Tower. He wasn’t sure what to make of this. None of them were.

Well…most of them. One of them did. He’d already made up his mind on what to think of this the moment his eyes had locked onto the familiar-looking newcomer standing before them.

“Who the hell do you think you are to be wearing that?” came Tony’s mechanical snarl from beside him. Stark’s hands were raised, repulsor beams open and ready to fire, directed at the stranger.

“Tony—” Steve began. He should have known better than to expect his co-leader to let him finish his sentence; the guy hated being addressed by his first name on the field as it was, much less being interrupted in his anger by it.

“No, Captain,” he growled, head turning towards him slightly to focus laser bright robotic slits in his direction. “This fuck’s wearing my armor. I want to know why…and how,” he added, looking back to the stranger.

The stranger, however, was being far from passive and willing to talk, mimicking Tony’s battle-stance. The offensive demeanor was probably no thanks to Tony’s reaction, or Hawkeye’s. The archer had been standing completely still, bow at full draw, for the past few minutes. Steve wouldn’t be surprised if the man hadn’t even blinked since the stranger’s arrival.

“I want to know why you’re wearing my armor,” the stranger countered. Steve could only describe the tone as being venomous.

“Your armor?” Tony seethed, repulsor beams expanding out of anger.

“Yes, my armor, are you fucking deaf?” scoffed the other.

When Tony got into confrontations with S.H.I.E.L.D. agents (or Stark employees…or waiters at restaurants…or another Avenger), Steve always looked to Bruce for some guidance. He was the only other voice of reason on their team aside from Steve, so he relied on his friend and teammate as a backup-judge as to how to address certain situations. Unfortunately, Bruce wasn’t around. Hulk stood in his place, looking as if he were about to pulverize the stranger at the smallest sign of movement. Steve was afraid that any look he sent him would be interpreted as, “Smash.”

He looked to Widow, who just stared blankly back at him. She was probably waiting for Tony and the stranger to kill each other so she could steal their armor and sell it on the black market. He glanced at Thor, hoping to gain some guidance in this situation, but to no avail. The Asgardian was staring ahead, brow furrowed, looking as grave as ever.

Steve directed his attention back to the armor-bickering pair, studying the newcomer. The armor was around the same height’s as Tony’s, spare a few inches. It was slimmer, somewhat more form-fitting. The pitch of the stranger’s voice, though robotic, lead him to assume that whoever wore the suit was female. Other than that, there was no difference between the two.

He was pulled from his thoughts when the stranger addressed him. “Why aren’t you doing anything?” she asked, an angry plea.

“What?” he blinked. “I don’t know you.”

“Cut the shit, Cap, of course you do—”

“—I’ve had enough of this,” Tony growled. Steve heard the deadly whine of the repulsor beams about to fire off.

“Stark!”

“What?”

He’d expected Tony to snap at him.

He hadn’t expected the stranger to do the same.

It took only a few seconds of heavy silence for Steve’s brain to begin functioning again.

“Lose the helmet,” he ordered, stern. “Both of you.”

“Both of—You know me!” Tony shouted.

“Just do as I say!” he fired back. For once, he wanted to add.

After a begrudging pause, both Tony and the stranger’s visors flipped back to reveal the face behind the metal. Past their differences, the similarities were chilling. Both were scowling, brown eyes shining with a glint of steely annoyance. Though mostly covered by the rest of her helmet, the stranger had Tony’s exact shade of dark hair. At first, the two stared at each other, repulsors sealing shut with a melancholic whine. The woman broke eye-contact first, scanning the faces of the others with an expression torn between understanding, confusion, and the flickerings of panic.

“I’m calling Fury,” Romanoff said, tone even and collected. “I suggest we take this inside, seeing as the explosion alone has probably already caught the media’s attention. That is, if our guest can remain civil.”

Her statement was more of a hinted question, to which the stranger slowly nodded, looking unusually pale as her arms dropped to her side in a defeated fashion.

“I’ll be damned,” Barton muttered, watching the stranger be lead inside as he finally withdrew from his at-ready stance, placing the unused arrow back into its container.

Steve couldn’t agree more.