"No, no, no, no!" you yell as five soldiers charging down the hole-riddled street spot you.
You let off a couple of shots, killing one, before sprinting down an alleyway, dodging in a zig zag pattern in order to make yourself a more difficult target. As you reach the end of the alley, you run around the corner and into a doorway, where you're faced with a flight of steps. You quickly scale them and when you reach the top, you find yourself in an empty room with broken windows and singe marks all over the walls. There's no escape in sight and you can't jump through the window, so you crouch in a corner by the door and wait for your pursuers to come charging in. Three soldiers run through in the next moment and you dispatch them all in rapid succession. You're waiting for the fourth when you hear a loud crack. The next millisecond, a bullet enters through the window and buries itself in your skull, causing you to collapse to the floor like a puppet that's had its strings cut.
"Boom! Headshot!" Clint whoops in triumph from the other side of the couch. You're sitting on a larger couch in front of multiple screens showing the perspectives of three players, their guns large in the foreground. All the way on the left is a fourth screen flashing your "game over" for everyone to see.
"Ok, I'm calling hacks," Tony whines as he mashes buttons frantically, "And how the frick are you doing that, Rodgers!?! You're 25 and 0! You were frozen when videogames were invented!"
"Military training," Steve deadpans as he takes out five more virtual soldiers with a single grenade. "Plus, the other team sucks."
"Welp, I'm dead. You're on your own, Stark," you sigh as you let your controller fall to your lap.
"What do you mean, I'm on my own? I have 15 other players backing me up."
"Yeah, but as Steve said, they suck like whores."
"Language!" Clint yells over the loud booms of sniper rifle fire.
"Sorry, buddy, but you're gonna die," you state as you pat Tony on the shoulder. The game is over within minutes with Steve at the top of the leaderboard. Clint is just below him with 15 kills to Steve's 36 due to the fact that he had refused to switch out his sniper rifle for the entire game.
"You guys up for another game?" Tony asks as he clicks back to the main menu.
"Sorry, not sorry, Stark, but I was actually wondering if _________ would like to go shopping with me, instead," says a voice from the doorway behind you. You turn to see Nat standing in the hall, purse in hand.
"Sure!" you reply as you set your controller down on the couch and stretch. After some obscene popping sounds from your back, you feel limber enough to rise from your seat and join Nat.
"Awe, come on, __________!" Clint whines. "Now we're not going to have any challenging opposition."
"I'm right here, Bird Boy," Tony says as he gives Clint an offended look. "Are you going to need glasses to match your hearing aids?" In response, Clint pulls out his phone, promptly turns off said hearing aids, and begins to play My Heart Will Go On at full volume through the hidden speakers in the room.
"I think this is where we should take our leave," Nat yells over the music and Steve and Tony's screams. You both hurry down the hallway to the elevator. A few minutes later, you are exiting the lobby and heading towards one of Nat's favorite shops, which is only a few blocks away.
"I swear, they're aging backwards!" Nat complains. "They become more and more like children every day."
"Well, then I suppose the world's lucky that they have us to keep them in line," you say, earning one of Nat's rare laughs.
You push your hands into your empty pockets and suddenly realize something. "By the way, I don't have very much money, and no offence, but I doubt that you have much either. How exactly are we paying for these clothes that we're going to buy?"
Nat slips a rectangular piece of plastic out of her purse and waves it in the air like a trophy. "One of Tony's credit cards," she declares triumphantly. "He really should keep these things in safer places than on the coffee table."
You chuckle and shake your head. The journey to the store passes quickly from there as you and Nat chat while you walk.
"So, how are you enjoying life as a true Avenger?"
You shrug. "It's not really that much different from regular life with you guys during those first few weeks. Tony's the same child that he always was, Steve's still a gentleman, and I'm still... sick and tired of people staring at me." You raise your voice slightly at that last statement and aim it at a group of teenagers standing in a doorway to your right. They look like the usual fuckboys that you would see clustered in pods in a high school hallway, not that you would know. They all have the same basketball shorts, the same snap-backs, the same know-it-all, superior expressions.
Smirking at your outburst, they go back to whatever they were talking about before they had spotted the scar that snakes along the left side of your face. You self-consciously reach up and touch it when it connects to the corner of your mouth as you once again fall into step beside Nat. Whenever you're with one of the Avengers, you completely forget about the scar, and before them, you had bigger problems than an imperfect face, but before the business with Hydra, you had always hated your scar. It had been one of the main reasons that you had had extreme difficulty in getting adopted and when you were on the streets, it was a source of constant embarrassment and anger. Mothers would pull their children to the other side of the street in order to avoid you. Passersby would either stare or glance at you and then put their head down and try not to make eye contact as they rushed past you. You could never decide which reaction was worse. After so much time in the tower with people that could care less about your physical imperfections, you had almost begun to wonder why you had ever hated it in the first place. It's amazing how a few people staring at you can make reality come crashing down around your ears.
"Hey, you okay?" Nat asks, bringing you back to the present.
"Yeah, I'm fine," you say as you let your hand drop back to your side. "Just thinking."
"Mm," Nat hums. "Yeah, sure. If it helps at all, we've all got scars."
You stare at her in surprise. You've been living with these guys for how many weeks now? Sure, you've seen wounds, but you've never seen scars. Their skin seemed so perfect that you'd always assumed that Tony worked some sort of scientific magic on them to erase the scars after their wounds healed. You had always considered asking him to do the same for you, but you were afraid of sounding too obnoxious or needy.
"Really? Where?" You ask, realizing too late that that question might be a bit too personal. "Well, I mean-"
"It's all right," Nat interrupts with a chuckle. "I have one right here," she points to a spot on her ribs, "from a sniper. I know that Tony has a few from the shrapnel that entered his chest when he was attacked by those terrorists and Steve has some bullet wounds on his legs where his shield doesn't cover him. Clint has a few cuts and holes that I know of. I don't know about Banner and Thor, but I'm sure that even a god can get scars."
You shake your head in wonder. "You know, this really shouldn't come as a surprise to me, considering what we all do for a living, but you never really think about the aftermath. I mean, I've seen the aftermath, but I've never really thought about it before. I've seen a few of you get hurt before, seen you get stitched up, but it's almost like you're untouchable. It's crazy, but I've always thought of you guys as invincible, un-markable."
She laughs again. Wow, two in a row. "It may seem that way, _________, but we're only human. Well... some of us are. We can be hurt just the same as everyone else. And your scars are nothing to be ashamed of." She peers at you as you near your destination, her eyes conveying her sincerity. "They show just how much you've prevailed over. It doesn't hurt that they make you look like a total badass, either."
A laugh explodes from your lips, drawing glances from passing pedestrians, but you don't care anymore.
"Thanks, Nat."
"Anytime," she replies as you enter the store.
-------------------------
You stare at the pile of clothing on your bed in dismay. Shopping can be incredibly fun, especially when you have a seemingly limitless supply of cash, but finding places to put everything afterwards can be a pain in the butt. After spending three hours going from store to store, you and Nat were so weighted down with bags that you had to catch a cab in order to get back to the tower. Now, all you have is a small bedside table and a dresser that Tony bought you last week to store this huge pile in. You really should ask for a room with a closet, but you could never leave this one. It was your first impression of the tower. Also, you wouldn't trade the view from your window for anything.
You're gazing through that window at the setting sun and the artist's pallet around it when you hear someone rap their knuckles on the doorway behind you. You turn to see Tony leaning against the wall, a small smile on his face.
"Wow, is everyone a ninja around here?" you ask. "I swear, even with my powers, someone always manages to sneak up on me."
"Yeah, I trained for twenty years, jumping on posts and waxing cars to become a master in the martial arts." He rolls his eyes. "I came in here to ask you if you've seen my...oh," he pauses as he sees the huge pile of clothing on your bed, "So that's where my credit card went."
You hold up your hands in mock defense. "Hey, it was Nat that took it, not me."
"No, it's fine," he says as he waves you off. "I live to serve. I'm also apparently everyone's personal source of income around here, since none of you deadbeats can get a steady job." He grins to take the sting out of his words as he meanders over to the foot of your bed and pokes the pile. "I must say, I'm impressed. This is almost as much as my usual haul. Where did you..." He trails off as he spots something on your bedside table. He stares for a few seconds before slowly walking around your bed.
"Tony, is everything okay?" you ask as he picks up your mother's photo. You bought a simple, wooden frame for it while you were out with Nat and the first thing you did when you got home was to properly frame the photo that had been living in dirty pockets for years. It felt only right that your mom should get a proper home, too.
"Is this you?" he asks as he points to the small bundle in your mother's arms.
"Yep. I was tiny, wasn't I?" You walk around to stand behind Tony. "That's my mom, obviously. Her name was Clara, or at least that's what the headmistress told me." Tony jumps a bit when you say her name, but you just assume that it's his reaction to you appearing behind him.
He clears his throat before attempting to speak. "She looks just like you."
"Really?" You had never noticed before.
He turns to face you. "Yeah." He glances between the photo and you. "Same hair, same chin, same eyes. You could be sisters if you were just a few year older." You grin at his analysis. "And there! Same smile," he states triumphantly. His smile cracks a bit as he glances back down at the photo. "I... I don't see a father. Do you know...," He pauses awkwardly as you gently take the photo from his hands and examine it.
"Apparently, according to the headmistress again, I was a product of a one-night-stand. My father left my mother alone with me and with no way to raise me." You walk around Tony and place the photo gently back on the nightstand. "I have no idea what he looks like or if he ever really cared about my mother. I don't know if I'll ever completely forgive him, but over the past month, I think that I'm beginning to." You turn back to face Tony. "I mean, if he had been there, I would have never gone to the orphanage and I would have never gone through everything that I needed in order to meet you guys." You smile at Tony, who suddenly pulls you unto a hug.
"Whoa, Stark, didn't know that you could be so emotional," you laugh as you happily hug him back.
"I'm happy that you came here, too, _________," he mumbles as he awkwardly steps back. "I'd better go find Nat now. You never know what havoc she could be wreaking with my card." Suddenly his cocky smile is back in place as he leaves the room to search for her. You shake your head and smile wryly as you turn back to your previous predicament.
Out in the hallway, Tony has turned a corner and started pacing back and forth, carding his fingers through his hair with worry over his recent realization.
It couldn't be the same Clara, he thinks. I mean, how many Clara's are in New York? A hundred? A hundred fifty? There has to be at least three Clara's that look similar in that crowd. It couldn't be the same Clara. You were careful. It couldn't be the same Clara. With that mantra in his head, he begins to head down to hallway in his original search for Nat, firmly squashing down any doubt that your Clara could be his Clara. It's completely impossible.
He couldn't possibly have a daughter. Right?