“I call it — the Chameleon.”
Tony Stark extended his arm out wide, the helmet dangling perilously from the center of his palm. The unsaturated white glimmered from the reflection of the sun, basking through the glass ceilings of the Avengers compound and sending rays of light bouncing off the walls.
Sitting on one of the many couches, Steve cocked an eyebrow at the sight. “Like the animal?”
“Better.” Tony tossed the helmet briefly in the air, catching it with his other hand. “The microchip, nanobot technology scans and recognizes up to 1.4 billion facial features — analyzing the appearance of any moving, walking, talking thing to duplicate via electrical impulses through its sensors.”
Not far from where Steve sat, Clint matched his expression — eyebrow high, with one eye narrowed tight.
“It just looks like one of your many Iron Man helmets," he dryly said.
Unenthusiastic to the conversation, and with her eyes focused only on the magazine down in her lap, Natasha made a sound from her throat.
“Kind of looks more like Vision,” she remarked, her fingers nonchalantly flipping through the pages of Vanity Fair.
“I agree,” Wanda's accent was thick on her tongue as she spoke up. “And I do not think it is wise to create another Ultron.”
Before Steve could respond — which Tony could sense he was going to, a lecture so obviously burning on the tip of goody-two-shoes tongue — he quickly spoke up.
“No — no Ultron. This here is state of the art replication engineering. The nanites utilize holographic technology that allows the user to change his,” Tony turned to the couch that situated Natasha and Wanda, “or her, appearance at the push of a button.”
“Why?” Sam didn't hesitate to ask, leaning forward on the sofa with both elbows on his knees. “Just…why?”
“Why?” Tony gaped, feigning dramatic offense. “Why have the upper hand on your enemy? Why make undercover strategical missions twice as easy on the team? Think about it, Wilson. We need to get somewhere, preferably sneak somewhere, and what’s our biggest hindrance — what gets in the way more than anything else?”
The room burst into responses, all speaking at once.
“SHIELD,” Wanda stated.
“Hydra,” Clint said.
“Your ego,” Rhodey muttered, crossing both his arms.
“Our faces!” Tony's tone was sharp and his eyes halfheartedly cold on Rhodey. “Our faces have become our biggest roadblock. Even our second faces, as gorgeous as the Iron Man suit truly is, are world renowned. And…while still painful to admit, mistakes were made with the Accords.”
Tony looked around the room, taking in every couch and every person that sat there. It was strange; remembering that just a few short months ago, the Avengers wing of the compound had all but been vacant of most the team.
Despite all the headache of their problems, he never liked that. It never felt right.
Now, and no different than those months prior, the couches were filled with the tenants that made the Avengers compound the Avengers compound. Steve, Rhodey, Sam, Clint, Wanda, and Natasha all sat around him, lounging on the sofas while Vision stood in the back corner of the room; observing and storing away information without particularly engaging.
It was a work in progress, but they were getting there. Slowly. And certainly day-by-day. They were like cracked and dried up glue, barely holding on by a foundation that once was.
The look on Rogers face — the one of clear disapproval to his invention — was testament to that much.
“Mistakes were made, we can’t escape that." Tony cleared his throat, returning his focus to the conversation. "The headlines were read, the stories were spread — you get the gist of things. If we want to continue to do our job — preventing another New York incident or worse...then we need to step it up.”
“And...I’m sorry, sir,” Vision finally spoke, the red of his hand glistening under the skylight when he slowly raised it into the air. “How does…pretending to be other individuals help us with such an issue?”
Sam wagged a finger his way. “I’m with the Android on this one.”
“No…no, I think I understand Stark with this.” Natasha looked up from her magazine, her interest slowly piqued. “It's a tactical advantage. The ability to hide our identity’s outside of masks and armor could greatly play into our hand.”
The room fell silent. Natasha adjusted herself on the couch, going to sit one leg underneath her as, at the same time, she turned to look at Steve.
“Imagine if you could have disguised yourself as Ross to get everyone off the Raft," she said.
Steve shook his head, lips tight. “No, I wouldn’t —”
“Or even one of his henchmen. A guard. A food transporter — Steve, you could have had them out in days. Not weeks,” Natasha finished.
Steve worked his jaw, noticeably, going so far as to look away from Natasha as he spoke.
“No, we didn’t need it — I didn’t need it," he insisted. "Everyone got out. Scott Lang is home with his family —”
“Speaking of which,” Clint interrupted, “I promised my wife I’d be home for dinner at six. So let's wrap this up.”
“Whipped,” Tony muttered, spinning the helmet around in the palm of his hand.
Steve continued on despite Tony's remark. “Sam, Clint, Wanda — they’re all here. They’re safe. We didn’t need to assume someone’s identity for that to happen. That's something that could ruin any possible reputation they’ve spent their lives working on. We can't be responsible for that sort of damage."
Natasha paused, her eyes locking on Steve even as the man focused his gaze elsewhere.
“But it would have helped." Despite her frown, her expression remained sincere.
And despite looking to the doorway, Steve could see it. He bowed his head just slightly, trapping a sigh in his lungs that he refused to let out.
Even he couldn't deny her being right. It took weeks to get his team back, with measures he wasn't overly fond of resorting to. They needed Tony's help — he needed Tony's help.
And in hindsight, he was shocked to have received it.
If he was being honest with himself, Steve never expected to see Tony again after they left Siberia. It didn't matter that Bucky was in Wakanda for rehabilitation. The damage was done.
But with Tony's technology, General Ross was left clueless as to how the remaining Avengers escaped. And after, they began to put things behind them.
Realistically, Steve knew that the chances of making that escape by himself were slim to none. They had tried, many many times had they tried, but the Raft was sealed tight. Stark's technology — more specifically, his ability to disable technology, played a large part in getting the others out.
Tony didn’t even gloat about it; in fact, few remarks were made in their exchange. One of which being an apology Steve still felt fresh on his tongue — perhaps he had never stopped saying it, all these months later.
Their team had been disassembled at their own hands, and deep down inside, they both knew it was time to repair the damage they had done.
Within months, they had the Sokovia Accords repealed and out of their hair. And without the Accords, and with Barnes slowly but surely exonerated, there weren't any crimes committed to keep them from returning home.
And so they did.
It was a truce of sorts, a white flag to the whole disaster that left them broken and empty inside. A way of saying ‘let this be a lesson, but this doesn’t have to be the end.’
No more conflict. And no more secrets. With that, they could let bygones be bygones.
Tony's technology saved them back then, so it was hard to admit that history wouldn't repeat itself again.
Maybe Steve was putting too much doubt in the helmets possibilities.
“It’s not morally right,” Steve insisted, his fingers rubbing harshly at his temples. Conflicted didn't begin to describe how he felt about the whole thing.
Tony saw that.
And he rolled his eyes.
“I’m not suggesting we start assuming the identity of your local senator and get them into their latest sex scandal, Rogers," he sarcastically tossed back. "I’m saying that sometimes, taking on the face of the bad guy can be a good thing.”
“We are not the bad guys.” Wanda appeared confused, looking to the others in hopes of getting an explanation. “We are the good guys. Why would we want to become bad guys?”
For as many people as there were in the room, no one ran to answer her question.
“I do not believe Tony is implying we change sides, Wanda,” Vision was the one to finally say. “I believe he is saying that...in dire times, we may need to assume the face of the enemy. Perhaps to gain access to what they have hidden — trades, secrets, possibly even locations for our own purposes.”
Tony snapped his fingers.
“Hey — I knew I did something right with him.” Laying the helmet down on the glass coffee table below, Tony stood upright with a sudden clap of his hands. “So, who wants to know how I created this beauty?”
Groans, moans, and sighs were all received at once.
Tony's expression fell flat, an insulted frown resting on his lips.
“Ah hell no, I’m out.” Rhodey stood up from the sofa, his leg braces sounding against everyone's mutters of discontent. “You know your scientific mumble jumble gives me a migraine, Tones.”
“Oh — what — come on, Platypus!” Tony exasperatedly whined, watching as he and the others began to leave. “Romanoff? You seemed interested, I can tell you all about how I got the nanobots to —”
“Sorry Tony,” Natasha not-so-apologetically said. “I’d pretend to care, but you and I both know we’re past that.”
“Oh." Wanda perked up. "If we do not need to be polite, then I will be retreating to my room.”
“And I will follow you,” Vision calmly said, right behind her as they departed into the hallway.
Wanda smiled softly as she laid a hand on his shoulder. “I would like to be alone, Vis.”
“Okay.” Vision didn’t falter in his steps. "Then I will be alone with you.”
As the others left, Sam and Clint regrettable realized they were the only two remaining. The wide, almost toothy grin on Tony’s face was all but terrifying — a sign of what was to come; the never-ending explanation on his latest technology, so long winded and without cessation, and yet they'd be trapped until he finished his every word.
Sam leaned over, his mouth practically pressed into Clint’s ear. “You think your wife would mind setting out an extra dinner plate?”
Clint snorted.
Tony made a face.
“That's fine. I don't need either tweedle or twiddledum," Tony snapped, bending over to retrieve the helmet from the coffee table. “I have plenty of people just waiting to hear how this remarkably amazing life-changing invention was crafted by my beautiful hands. People who are actually invested, who can actually comprehend more than elementary school math.”
“Like who?" Clint loudly scoffed. "Cause I think Bruce is a little preoccupied to answer his cell these days."
The mention of Bruce's year-long absence brought a sour look across Tony's face.
“I have more than just Bruce. I know other people,” he defended, his voice faltering in a way that made the other two men raise an eyebrow each.
Tony made another face at that.
“I do. I have a dozen other people I can talk to about this." A beat seperated the pause that brought on a smirk to Tony's lip. From there, it only grew. "In fact, I know someone who’ll be extremely impressed.”
“Oh my god, Mr. Stark, this is like, the coolest thing ever!”
Tony rolled his eyes and rubbed his forehead, a tension headache quickly brimming behind his eyeballs.
“I know, kid. You’ve said that about thirty-six times now.”
“No, no no, it’s not that, it’s just…" Peter held the helmet in his hands as if it were gold, his eyes bright and wide, and his feet bouncing with excitement. "Dude, this is the coolest thing ever!”
Tony could feel his eyes roll to the back of his head. If he looked hard enough, he possibly could've seen his own brain — throbbing with the growing headache that caffeine may or may not fix.
Excitement was always an element the kid brought along with him, anytime Tony invited him along to work in the lab. And as exhausting as it was to deal with, there was no denying how the unbridled glee managed to always brighten his otherwise sour mood.
But while he wasn’t necessarily expecting an in-depth discussion regarding the scientific findings on his latest project, he also wasn’t expecting a broken record to play on repeat. The kid was usually better than that.
Usually.
“You say the word ‘coolest’ and ‘thing’ and ‘ever’ one more time, Parker... " Tony massaged his forehead harder. "And I assure you this will be the last time you and DUM-E get to play patty-cake together.”
Peter’s head snapped up like a broken rubber band, and slowly, he put the helmet back down on the desk below him.
“Wha-why-what…no. No, I want to — I just thought…” he repeatedly cleared his throat, going on to nervously straighten his back. “Okay, so, I gotta know…how did you get the holographic chip to store facial data recognition?”
Tony scoffed, mildly amused. “Jesus kid, that’s the best question you can come up with? That part was borderline child's play.”
“Yeah, well, no, it’s just—” Peter stumbled for his words, scooting his stool closer to where Tony sat. And then closer after that. “Facial recognition typically uses bio metrics for its body measurements and calculations, to—to you know, refer to metrics related to human characteristics, but its used in access control, never memory stored control. And I can’t imagine a simple storage unit could hold all this information and relay it back to the recognition program in time to provide results, so…" Peter finally took a breath, "how'd you do it?"
Tony hummed, giving a short and sharp nod. If there was one thing he could always count on, it was that Parker could talk his head off when it came to science. And while he had days where he doubted supplying the kid with so much technology to support his vigilante heroism — six months ago, for example, when the Ferry Incident was still fresh in his mind — it was moments like this that renewed his confidence in the young lad.
He wouldn't admit it aloud, but it made him proud.
Or some mutated form of the emotion he hadn't quite figured it out yet.
“Impressive, kid — smart thinking," Tony began. "But whacha think about multimodal biometric systems?”
Peter paused, his eyes darting back and forth, his small brain easily working a mile per second.
Suddenly, and all too characteristically, he jumped up from his stool.
“Oh my god! Oh jeeze, that’s — wow, that’s — dude, that’s genius!” Peter stammered with a borderline intoxicating excitement. “So you installed multimodal biometric systems to use multiple sensors to overcome the limitations of unimodal biometric systems?”
Tony's lips twitched into a grin.
“And what can multimodal biometric systems do that unimodal biometric systems can’t?” he asked in return, using the moment as a teaching opportunity.
It was funny; he never once imagined he would ever have the patience to teach anyone anything.
But there was something about Parker brought that out of him.
“They aren’t limited by identical limitations," Peter immediately answered. "They can obtain sets of information from the same marker or different bio metrics! Oh man, that means fingerprints, skins, eyeballs — oh, even vocal chords can be stored away no matter what its integrity is. That is—”
Tony held up a finger. “Don’t say it.”
“—so cool!” Peter snatched the helmet right into his hands. “So when do we get to try this bad boy out? Hey, I saw this really old movie last night, Blade Runner, maybe we could try downloading—”
As if on cue, a low but audible beeping came from Peter’s backpack.
Not a second too soon and he scrambled for the bag, the helmet juggled in one hand as the other dug for his cell phone — he nearly dropped the helmet along the way, earning a heated look from Tony when it almost crashed onto the floor.
“Aw, man,” Peter moaned, silencing the alarm that sounded from his cell. It was the only thing that reminded them both that their time together was over. Without it, he and Tony would spend far longer together than arranged — that was discovered by accident, and a very unhappy May Parker in the aftermath.
At that, Tony took the helmet straight out of his hands.
“Not tonight, kiddo.”
“What? No!” Peter gawked, carelessly and quickly stuffing his things into his backpack — any faster and the whole thing would've ripped open. “We can try it before I leave. I’ll be quick — uh, we’ll be quick, I mean—”
“Nope, you know the deal." Tony was already walking across the lab, approaching the furthest wall where he scanned his palm for biometrics, accessing the array of different enclosures that contained his Iron Man suits. "I get you back home when Aunt Hottie wants you there, and you get to keep wearing that unitard of yours around town.”
The white helmet found its place inside the glass casing, sealed away beneath layers of clear glass and sandwiched between two different Iron Man suits — one gold, one made of nothing but gray metal pieces. The latter was far from finished, and clearly still in the beginning stages of construction.
Briefly, Tony turned back to Peter, finger wagging and all.
“And we are not repeating the infamous Homecoming fiasco. I have spent my whole life around some intimidating powers that be, and none have come close to your aunt after she found you in your blue and red underoo’s.”
Peter’s head dropped to the floor as he swung his backpack over his shoulder, dragging his feet to the front door like a beaten puppy.
“Yes, Mr. Stark.”
Tony raised his hand in the air, his back still turned to the kid. “Hold your horses.”
Peter paused just as the automatic doors to the lab slid open, turning around confused yet slightly excited at the possibility of staying.
Tony turned around, a small stack of papers held in his hands as he approached Peter.
“Reading material for the ride home.”
Eyebrows furrowed, Peter reached out and took the pamphlets from him. His eyes skimmed over the papers before — and suddenly — his shoulders fell with a heavy sigh.
“Mr. Stark, I told you —”
“Ah-ah!” Tony interrupted. “I don’t rehash old conversations.”
Peter noticably chewed on his lip.
“Yeah, I know, I-I just…I...I can’t.” Peter took a couple of steps forward, his arm outstretched with the brochures; a meek attempt to return them.
“You can’t what?" Tony craned his head around, eyebrow raised high. "Focus on your future? Better yourself? Use that craze-brain intelligence of yours for something outside of city vigilante work?”
“No, no, it’s not that, it’s—” Peter dropped his arm back to his side, the pamphlets still tight in his grip. Yet his posture was deflated, all confidence lost in the moment.
“It’s not?" Tony's lips drew tight, and his hips twisted sharply as he faced Peter head on. "Then you’ll need to explain what it is, because I’ve never had someone turn down a free ride to MIT before — gotta say Pete, this is a first. I don't have many of those left.”
For a moment that felt much longer than it actually was, neither of them spoke. Only the technology around them made a sound; soft hums that came from the very walls enclosing the lab.
“I just…I-I don’t know, Mr. Stark.” Peter hesitantly set the brochures on the work table, stepping back with caution. “I can’t leave New York. What about Spider-Man, protecting the little guy? I can’t do that from MIT. And—and I can’t—”
“You can’t what?” Tony snapped in a way that was purely controlled, a vibration of intimidation that shook Peter’s core. If looks could kill, he'd surely be six feet under from the piercing glare the billionaire gave him.
It was something about Parker's response that stirred a reaction he hadn’t been expecting. Maybe it was the fact the kid was fifteen-years-old and worried more about the entire damn world as opposed to himself. Maybe it was the fact that he was being told 'no' yet again — first a spot on the Avengers team, now his college education — it was like the kid wanted to test his patience.
Peter bowed his head, his eyes glued to his dirty and scuffed sneakers.
“I can’t leave Aunt May.” His words were quiet, his hand rubbing at the nape of his neck. “She needs me, Mr. Stark. I-I can’t just leave her...not yet.”
Suddenly, Tony’s shoulders dropped.
The squeak in the kid's voice was the final straw.
He could feel his frustration melt away, dissolving despite how badly he wanted to hold onto it — and boy did he want to hold onto it. Frustration was easy to control, he knew that emotion like the back of his hand. Sympathy and comfort was a world he hadn’t yet learned; and tonight was not the night he’d be experimenting with it.
“God, you’re going to be the death of me,” Tony mumbled, waving his hand to the door. “Go. Scadaddle. Get. Happy’s waiting for you outside.”
Peter pulled awkwardly at the strap to his backpack. “Can I come back? To see how the Chameleon works?”
His question was so innocent, it almost made Tony angry; his hand repeatedly shooing him out the door while the other squeezed the bridge of his nose.
“Go! I’ll call you, or text you, or — gosh, just go before you manage to give me a stroke.”
Peter smiled and sprinted out into the hallways.
Tony almost crashed into a table chasing after him.
“And do not go through the east wing!" Tony's holler got louder the further Peter ran away. "I don’t need the whole world knowing I’m hanging out with a pubescent teenager!”
Peter raised his hand in the air as an acknowledgment. “Thanks, Mr. Stark! Sure thing, Mr. Stark!”
His footsteps faded out of earshot and Tony didn't hesitate to return into the lab, collapsing onto the stool he'd previously been sitting on.
Looking at his watch, he realized it was still relativity early in the night. Still, the idea of further work left a sour taste on his lips.
He mindlessly tossed a screwdriver in the air, barely taking note of when his phone let out a ding — followed by a message brightening his screen.
Tony's foot began to tap the ground, faster by the second. His eyes diverted to the MIT brochures that were placed too close to his cell phone — too much for him to deal with right now.
It was the third time now Peter had shot him down, though only the first he provided a genuine explanation. His stubbornness was resilient, and subconsciously Tony wondered if Howard Stark was laughing at him from beyond the grave.
Karma. It had to be karma.
He quickly responded to the text on his StarkPhone, his fingers gliding across the screen with speed.
Tony sighed. School night — for Christ's sake, the kid was fifteen.
When he was fifteen, his biggest concern was where he could find the nearest booze and how much money he could blow in one weekend.
It was never how he was going to keep a whole city safe, or when he could join the a team of self-sacrificial wanna-be heroes who banded by luck and stayed together with sheer luck.
It stirred an unfamiliar pain in his chest.
A part of Tony was still worried he was stripping the kid away from his youth. The only comfort he had was knowing if he took all the suits and gadgets away, Peter would still be swinging around the city in his damn pajamas.
Homecoming — God, what a disaster. Tony swore to Peter, and swore to himself, that he'd never let something like that happen again.
After all, it was him that started this crazy world of superheroes for the next generation to look up to.
In a demented way, he sort of owed it to the kid.
Tony stood from the stool with purpose, ignoring as his phone vibrated again, deciding the messages could wait. The day was wearing thin on him and upstairs in his quarters on the east wing was a tall, slender redhead awaiting his company.
“FRIDAY, lock up for me, will you?” he spoke nonchalantly on his way out.
“Of course, boss.”
The lights turned off as he left the lab.
