Interlude
They started closer to New York, since the plane's instruments failed to send in any location readings.
They wouldn't let him start until after the war ended, and even then they refused to give him the proper equipment to care for a soldier that would be coming out of those conditions. Howard kept up hope that Steve was alive, that the person who embodied a successful experiment wouldn't perish that easily. He couldn't perish that easily because Howard saw the notes on the serum. Not that they went into detail with Steve about the effects, but it took a lot to kill anyone infused with the serum. It was damn near impossible, actually.
Peggy came along with him for the first few years before she had to pull him aside and tell him that it was insane, the project was insane. They needed to stop this. Howard let the degrading names fall from his drunken lips, Peggy walked out, and he never heard from her again. He tried to stop going to the bottle after that, but the amber liquid always called him back.
The search was too slow, always too slow, and Howard found himself caught between his company and Steve. He hired the best men he could find, the best he could trust, and sent them out when he couldn't go. He hated every single one of them; when they left full of hope, and especially when they came back full of defeat and frostbite.
Every time they came back empty-handed, Howard would stand in the entrance of his mansion and tell them that Steve, that Captain America, would be disgraced by their lack of commitment. Sometimes men didn't return, sometimes they returned dead, and sometimes they picked up their things and ran as soon as they were finished with a search.
Howard stopped going out when they found the Tesseract, buried in the button of the ocean. Howard tried to call Peggy and ask if Steve mentioned when that was lost, but the woman refused to answer her phone. Howard sent her letters, and they were all returned unopened.
A man approached him a few months later, introduced himself as Peggy's "future husband," and told Howard that if he didn't stop harassing her, he would make sure the engineer's life became a living hell. Howard had smirked and made a comment about Peggy and soon found himself on the floor, his lip bleeding.
He started going out twice a year again, needing something other than his company to distract him from the fact that his only friend was the family butler, Marshall, and his obedient son, and future butler, Edwin. Even then, Howard doubted they enjoyed his company.
When that didn't work, they spread out, going further north before sliding to the southern tips of the ice.
Howard tended to hire people that were pleasing to the eye, so it wasn't a surprise when his eye caught one of the mission's workers. Most were always men and he wasn't stupid enough to go after them, but every now and then an extraordinary woman came along. Maria was one such woman, reminding him of Peggy and Steve all at once. She didn't hold back when it came to berating him, but she would then turn and blush, her eyes showing her attraction.
At this point, all Howard saw was a willing body who wanted him.
Despite her want, it took Howard weeks to seduce Maria into his bed. After their first time, it took him another two days to get her there again, and then she never left. Nobody aboard that particular ship said much toward it – they weren't about to talk about the one who signed their paychecks.
She put up with his drinking, his public groping, and his bedding of other women in stride. Neither of them asked for anything past what they had, and Howard generally didn't care.
He was home for a month when Maria showed up on his doorstep, drenched from the downpour outside and looking scared. Howard had barely remembered her name at the time, but he had some fond memories of her face. Though he barely recognized that through the haze of liquor flowing through his system.
Two months later, before she could show her pregnant belly, Howard and Maria got married in a church just outside of downtown New York. They separated into their bedrooms that night, and Howard was gone the next morning on a business trip in Europe. Maria stayed around the mansion, letting the maids and press fawn over her and her new husband.
It was just luck that Anthony Edward Stark was born late and they needed to do an emergency c-section to get him out. But to the press and the people of the world, Anthony Edward Stark was a premature baby who almost died in the womb and had to be removed early. Howard was there for the birth, held his son and heir for a full twenty minutes, and then he was off on his yearly mission to find Steve.
Maria didn't care anymore; she had a son, she had a stable home for her son to grow in, and she would want for nothing material ever again. If she had a running affair with one of the chefs, well, nobody had to tell Howard about it.
Not that Howard cared when he found out.
The longer between clues, the more he drank. There were never any clues.
Howard was working on his fifth glass of whatever Jarvis poured him when his pant leg moved. A little sluggishly, he pushed his maps aside to look down at Anthony. The boy was still small, his mind slow and unable to grasp anything. Maria might have yelled at him about Anthony being young still, but Howard didn't like it. Children should come out knowing things; he had no patience to teach them how to read or use the damned bathroom.
"What are you doing down here?" he asked, trying to focus on one of his son's images as they swirled. Maybe he had too much to drink. The boy was reaching toward him. "Son, I need to work."
Maybe, just maybe, if Howard called him 'son', Anthony would start acting like a Stark. There was no such luck and the baby continued to grab at the air, a strange gurgling coming from him. Howard didn't have time for this.
"It won't kill you to have him sit in your lap," Maria said as she stepped into the room. She smiled (Howard did always like her smile) at Anthony before wiggling her fingers at him. Anthony reached toward her and she laughed, picking him up off the floor. "He's a good boy."
Before Howard could argue the point, Anthony was placed into his lap, his bum right across the file he had on the plane Steve went down in. Howard huffed and forcefully pulled it out from under the boy – the baby didn't seem fazed at all and simply clapped his hands together.
This was not how he imagined his evening going, but he figured he could try. Maybe the boy would get some sense out of the papers. He held them so Anthony could see them and reread from the beginning. Soon enough, he was deep into his thoughts and could almost ignore the weight on his lap. Anthony had fallen asleep and Howard didn't care.
At least, not until Anthony wrinkled his nose and soiled himself, some of it dripping from his diaper and onto Howard's pants. He never allowed Anthony into his lap again.
Marriage and a family was a formality. If Howard couldn't find Steve, Tony would. Tony would do it.
Howard was not a bad father – how could he be? He told Anthony stories of heroes and greatness. He gave his son a goal to reach and a person to become. When Anthony was eight, his mind finally growing into what a mind should be, Howard had told him nearly every story he could on Captain America. Anthony, through Howard, had the biggest collection of Captain America memorabilia. He couldn't touch any of it, but Howard did let him press his face against the glass from time-to-time.
By the time Anthony was twelve, his smile didn't reach fully across his face when Howard brought up Captain America. Panicked, because nobody should dislike the Captain, Howard switched tactics and asked his son if he ever told him about a man named Steve Rogers. As he knew it would, Anthony's curiosity spiked and he stepped closer to hear the story.
So Howard told him about the boy behind Captain America. He told Anthony about the stick-thin kid who turned into a hero. He told Anthony about the man with high morals who would do anything for the good of the world. He told Anthony about the man who helped him become someone good. He told Anthony about the man the changed his life.
Most of all, he told Anthony about how important it was to return all of Steve Roger's good deeds by finding him. Because Steve Rogers was invincible. Steve Rogers couldn't die and he wouldn't let anyone down, least of all Howard. Steve Rogers was Howard's best friend and ally, and he was someone that owed the Starks a lot since they made Captain America. They made sure the country was safe during the world. They made sure children could sleep well at night.
Steve Rogers owed the Starks, but the Starks had to find him first. They had to make sure Steve knew that the Starks were the ones that never gave up looking.
Anthony was fifteen when he gave Howard a small idea to help the hunt. It was a good idea, Howard knew, but he didn't like that it took his son to think of it. His son's time would come and he could try it later. He could try it if Howard failed to find Steve.
Howard told him it was a horrible idea, that it wasn't thought out enough, and that Anthony needed to do better if he ever wanted Steve to appreciate being found.
It was an illusion.
There was a small hatred for having to bring Anthony to the conference in London. Anthony pulled in people more than Howard ever did. Anthony always had new ideas, better ideas, and Howard didn't know how to reign his heir in. Yes, his son was supposed to be as smart as him, but not smarter. Not better at creating things. That robot and the basic notes of an intelligence program scared him. How was he supposed to live up to that?
This would have to do. "Come on, what do you say to seeing what this car can do? We've got some time before we need to be there."
Anthony straightened in his seat and Howard felt some small sense of victory that he could still control his son when it counted. He would just need to play around with variables more, change things when Anthony began to get comfortable. Keep him guessing.
"Come on, dad," his son said, "let her go. I bet she can push a hundred and twenty."
The car sped along, Anthony laughed, and…
Nothing more than a lie.
…Harry pulled himself out of the memories and promptly emptied his stomach over the floor, arms shaking and heart racing in his chest. He barely felt as Neville's hand came to rest between his shoulders.
"I can't do this."
The relationship Howard raised Tony to believe, and the one Harry knew should be there instead, would be way too hard to pull off. Hero-worship mixed with jealous anger never mixed well. He shut his eyes and leaned back when Neville pulled him against his chest. A cool hand came to his forehead and all Harry wanted to do was sit here forever.
"I can't do this," he said again, forcing himself not to cry the frustrated tears that desperately wanted to fall.