Steve doesn't flinch when she swings the weapon around and fires; he can see where she's aiming, and it's not at him - but it's damn close. Her shouted words are right (and he did flinch at those, not at the rebuke itself, but the inherent Southerness, and the use of the word 'sugar', because wasn't that Marie's special word for everybody?), but he's been thrown for a goddamned loop, his world's been shook like a cheap tourist snowglobe - the second time that's happened in less than six months - and this is precisely the worst time for it.

There's chatter on his communicator from his teammates, and Steve turns to scan the streets while he's listening. He quickly turns back to Marie - or the woman who's a fucking spitting image of her, at any rate, since she doesn't seem to recognize anything about him - and points a warning finger at her. "Don't even think about going anywhere. We need to have a chat. Once the insanity dies down."

Turning again, he starts calling out positions and tactics as he scans the street, the skies, watching for the enemy. Slinging his shield and pummeling aliens like his life depends on it. Trying to keep her safe, even though it seems like she can take care of herself, especially with one of the enemy's own weapons.

The small part of his mind relegated to miscellaneous thoughts notes that her hair's dark, now. White streaks in the front, he thinks, but with all the dust it could be any color. It's not Marie's color, he tries to tell himself, and she'd never dyed it. But her face... her voice, the accent, even the cadence and emphasis on certain syllables... It was all Marie.

Which scared him a hell of a lot more than an alien invasion.