Full title is Are you sure you're not a fëanorian?

Maglor re-entered the bridge with an annoyed expression on his face, Phil Coulson trailing after him. The aircraft had leveled itself again, he noted, so one of the down engines was back online, if not both.

The battle had died down, the invaders having left with Loki. Only Tony Stark and Steve of the other five "Avengers" were on the bridge and only they looked up when Maglor and Coulson entered the room.

Steve shot up and embraced Maglor. "Thank the lord you're alright." He whispered, but Maglor shoved him away. "Cänä? Are you alright?"

Maglor nodded fiercely and limped over to a chair. "Sorry I seem to be late." He grumbled, his damp shirt clinging uncomfortably to the wound he had only just noticed was there.

Fury was watching him with careful eyes. "Get Loki with that sword of your's?"

Confused, Maglor shook his head. "No, why?"

"Because you're dripping blood everywhere." The one-eyed man said dryly and Maglor looked down.

"So I am." He commented, just as dry. "Anything else you wish to point out, Captain Obvious...or maybe I should say Director. Director Obvious Fury...hmm, has a ring to it."

Tony snorted, but everyone else just looked annoyed. "How bad is it, Cänä?" Steve appeared to be dancing from one foot to the other and back again. Maglor thought it made him look like he had to go to the bathroom badly. Then he snapped back and shrugged.

"Beats me. I just noticed it, so I haven't really looked at it. Did you see me peel my shirt back to do so?"

"Mäkal-" Fury started, but was interrupted by Tony.

"Hey, let a guy make a few smart-ass comments here and there. From the looks of it, he just got stabbed, so now is defiantly a good time to make smart-ass comments."

Everyone stared at Tony in silence for a few seconds, but that silence was swiftly broken by Maglor bursting out into laughter, stopping because it hurt, then shrugging and going right back to the beginning.

"You would make a good fëanorian, Stark." He said cheerfully. "You have the sarcastic attitude down pretty well and your ego is as big as my father's."

"That's...a good thing? The last one?" Steve looked confused, and Maglor shook his head, still laughing.

"Of course not. But neither is telling someone they'd make a good fëanorian. Though both are true."

Maglor winced and shifted slightly to put less strain on the now-throbbing cut on his side. At least it felt like it was coming from his side, but it also could've been his stomach.

When they wouldn't stop looking at him, Maglor groaned. "I'm fine." He snapped testily.

When no one's expression changed, he shot to his feet and glared. "You don't believe me."

"Well, of course we don't robes." Tony said, eyebrow raised. "You're bleeding all over the place. That normally means you're not okay."

Maglor sighed. "You've got annoyed down pretty well too."

Steve sighed. "Cän-" He started, but Maglor cut him off; looking fairly annoyed.

"Who here has been fighting in skirmishes, battles, and wars for more than a thousand years? Me. Therefore, I think I am qualified to tell you that I am fine. And who's an elf. Me. I think I know what's 'fine' for an elf and what's not!"

Maglor swung around and stormed out of the room without turning back.

Once he was a safe distance away and after checking to make sure he was completely alone, Maglor peeled back the bottom of his shirt to reveal the wound and winced as he looked at it. "When did I get that?" He wondered aloud, and then shrugged. "Probably a bullet. And all that rapidly crouching down wouldn't have helped."

Pulling his shirt back down to cover the slash that had been worked open to a gapping hole in his side, he hurried back to the room he had been assigned and shared with Steve.

Upon reaching it, he pulled off his shirt, careful of the throbbing circle of revealed flesh. It took only a minute of rooting for Maglor to find something to wrap his side and he painstakingly cleaned the wound before wrapping it and covering the bandages with a clean shirt. Right as he did so, Steve burst into the room.

"Good grief Steve. I was changing into a clean shirt." He threw the blood-crusted shirt at the solider, a joking smirk on his face.

Steve looked relieved as he caught the shirt and tossed it into the sink that Maglor had just emptied of bloody water. "You're sure that you're alright?"

Maglor sighed. "Not completely. But if I'm not alright, then I'm out and I'm tired of acting useless when I can do something." He looked at Steve. "Understand what I'm saying?"

Steve looked a little nervous, but he nodded and there was unveiled and true understanding in his eyes. "Just be careful."

Maglor smiled faintly. "I will be. I didn't survive Eru knows how many battles by being careless."

Steve returned the faint grin. "I suppose you have a point there. I really do need to stop forgetting about that, don't I?" Maglor nodded in agreement.

"How bad is it really Cänä?" Steve was suddenly the perfect picture of concern and Maglor couldn't help it; he had to roll his eyes.

"Bad enough. It'll scar, but will heal. Now drop it. It's just a scratch, remember?"

"Awfully juicy 'scratch,' wasn't it?" For a minute, Maglor was confused, but then he smirked.

"You've been around me too long Rogers."

"Yeah, you and Stark." Steve grumbled jokingly.

"Eh, it couldn't possibly have been him. He isn't sarcastic at all. In fact, if you looked up the dictionary definition for whatever word means 'opposite of sarcastic' the only thing that would be there would be either a picture of him or just the name 'Tony Stark.' Depending - of course - on what dictionary we're talking about." Maglor pushed back the loose stands of hair that had slipped from the tail he had pulled it into.

Steve sighed. "Okay, too sarcastic." Maglor snorted. "Come on, let's go."

"Go where?" Maglor asked curiously, strapping his sword back into its normal position around his waist.

"Stark Tower." Maglor rolled his eyes. "You know I have no clue where that is."

"Manhattan, Cana. The island of it."

A/N: Hahahaha. No, seriously. Tony would make a good fëanorian. He's just a little too good. (joking. His goodness is just more...obvious then any of the fëanorians)

Maglor talks to himself a lot, doesn't he? I think that's a habit he would've developed after thousands of years alone; his memories his only constant companion. Yes, he has Daeron, but in my mind - though they share a house, it's not exactly common that they're both there at the same time and either way he's been alone longer then he's been living with Daeron. I have this image in my head whenever I think about it hard enough of Daeron and Maglor alternating between talking to themselves and being the one to think that the other is talking to them, and constantly getting on each other's nerves for the first hundred years or so because of it. (if that made no sense whatever [or my ramblings in earlier chapters about Maglor and Daeron]; go read The Harper and the Flutist.)

And Steve does know exactly what Maglor means. *girly voice* MY FEELS!