Chemical Poison

No one stares at them as they walk on the footpath, both of them avoid treading on the polished black shoes of businessmen. They hadn't said much since they left the house, ignoring the morning entirely. Howard had made her a cup of tea and sat her down on the sofa - after that was a blur to her. She can remember Howard's muffled voice and the ring from the telephone. 

She would later find out when she stepped out of the bathroom dressed that Howard had cancelled work. He was seated at the small circle table - the same table she has spent thousands of meals with her father, and more recently Howard. With his reading glasses that he doesn't dare wear anywhere near the public eye, she watches as he reads the paper. She can guess the articles inside:

ITALY SURROUNDS: WAR TO FINISH BEFORE CHRISTMAS?

Captain America needs YOU to BUY bonds for OUR soldiers!

Gov. Long suffers a heart attack, see page 13.

STARK RETURNS: Can technology really beat the Germans?

It was always the same. Every day for the past week, the newspapers and the radio, the gossip and the magazines followed the same structure. It began with America's victory, whether or not America had any contribution to it. An Allied win was an American win. Then, Abraham's failed experiment would hold up a car or two; surrounded by women he would ask for donations - money that Anneliese knew was not going directly towards the soldiers.

Eventually, the paper would recount about the higher-ups. Information turned gossip once celebrities and socialites alike appeared within the fine print. Howard's name was always printed. Whether it was an article or a passing 'STARK' comment, his name would be immortalised by the technology he created.

Yet, Anneliese didn't move from her spot - refusing to know what new causalities had been counted over the weekend. She stares at him. At his glasses that momentarily make her throat flush; at the deep brown coffee in his mug that contains two sugar cubes; she stares as he continues to read information he would've received days before the press even got their ink-stained hands on it.

He doesn't look up from the paper before he speaks, "Are you ready?"

She doesn't answer him straight away as she continues to stare at him as he wets the top of his finger before he turns the page. It was a loaded question and he knew it. Howard hadn't asked her what had plagued her sleep or why she cried for hours. He had just stayed by her side, whispering her name and repeating 'You are safe, love' until her face had grown numb. 

When she had dropped the teacup earlier that morning, staining her nightdress, he had helped her towards the bathroom and into the bath. Her clothes were not removed and Howard had carefully taken to shampooing her hair - not mentioning a word about the broken ceramic on the floor. He acted as if nothing had happened and Anneliese couldn't be more grateful.

She was raised to act as if everything was fine, even when they were glaringly not. To pretend that it will all sort itself out until it does. 

Had she been raised any differently, maybe she would cry about her fears of her Uncle - fears she has pushed to the side to protect her father. Had she been taught that she was allowed to not be okay, she would hold onto Howard and not let go. Whimper about the split second she had thought her Uncle had won and he was dead. 

But no such thing had happened and it seemed she hadn't needed to tell Howard.

Over time, when their fake dating had first begun, and a real relationship bloomed through a fake engagement, and eventually to a sham marriage that felt anything but a sham - he had somehow begun to understand her in ways her parents never could.

She wanted to be weak, she wanted to be able to be vulnerable... as long as she was alone, in the dark, when she didn't need to acknowledge that she was going completely against her own breeding. But she wanted to be able to pretend that nothing had happened - to be able to escape reality briefly before she had to admit that her fear was beginning to overwhelm her. 

"Yes," she says, her voice unsure and quiet, "I think I am."

It's a lie and Howard knows it; yet, his eyes do not leave the paper as his lips curve into a small smile.

"Good," Howard says as he places the paper on the table and takes off his reading glasses. Placing them delicately on top of the header that reads 'STARK VS GERMANY'. The scratch of the chair moving against the floor, she stays still as Howard gets up and slowly slips his black blazer over his aegean blue shirt. 

 He's staring at her now and she can see the faintest look of worry. Not the same look she saw last night: raw, unguarded, and confused. It was realisation and knowing, it was understanding a secret that Anneliese didn't even want to admit to herself aloud.

She had been having nightmares of Johann for much longer than she'd known Howard, but she's never woken up gasping and screaming. Anneliese wasn't even sure how long Howard had been awake before she woke up screaming; whether she had mumbled in her sleep or if she threw a fit in the bed and forced him to be met with her violent dream. His hand is offered to her as she exits her childhood home for the last time.

No words were exchanged on the journey to Fifth Avenue. Sounds of cars racing, bells ringing, and the chatter from women dressed in the finest fur coats filled the streets of New York's shopping district. Anneliese, also dressed in a similar fur coat, kept a tight grip on Howard as they managed the busy footpath of a Friday morning.

For the first time in a while, she could pretend she was anyone but Anneliese Lorenz and that he wasn't America's most desired - secretly married - man. It was as if a weight had been taken off and she didn't need to carry the burden of her past and Johann's torments. No one stared at her and she could breathe.

They entered store after store. Anneliese selected a tulip pink coloured cushion for the sitting room whilst Howard spoke to the store attendant about acquiring the large oak bookcase hidden at the back of the store. She would point at the Italian-made crystal and he would remind her that the older Russian glasses were much better. An argument would happen every few minutes as she informed Howard that she would not live in a house where navy blue bed sheets were used in the guest room; he would clip back that the hard anodised cook sets were significantly better and she really shouldn't have an opinion because she's a terrible cook.

It didn't get much better when they got into a heated debate over the colour of the dinner set. He wanted white because it was sophisticated. She disagreed and wanted the pale beige for her close friends and a decorative off-white for higher-up visitors. A compromise was made and all three were brought.

By the time they arrived at the registers with three shopping carts. Howard steered the tallest of the three - filled to the brim with parfait spoons he swore they would never be used and placements that Anneliese barely could stand to look at. The other two trollies were pushed by two male shop clerks - Gregory and Matthew, or at least that's what she read on their name badges. 

Anneliese stood to the side as she watched the female shop clerk, Kristina,  begin to wrap up the fine china in a soft brown paper. Her fingers were skilful; mechanical as each item was packaged in a meticulous order: soup bowls were five to a pile; saucers went without their cups; knives were together with extra paper at the tip. The other two weren't as effective: for every one plate they wrapped she finished a bundle of four. 

"I still hate the white plates," Anneliese muttered as Howard stared at her from behind the shopping cart. His arm was resting on the handle as his eyes flickered to her from his conversation with Gregory.  "I might accidentally drop them", she continued.

A grin danced across his lips as he flashed his teeth at her but he didn't say anything. His eyes remained on her as more of the larger items (stockpot, three-tiered strainer, and a six-piece knife set) were taken from his shopping cart and wrapped in brown paper. Even as Gregory and Matthew spoke harshly to each other and Kristina continued wrapping, the crackling of paper being her only conversation, Howard continued to stare at her. 

They stayed like this: him staring as if she was a puzzle he had figured out; Anneliese deciding whether a bottle of Pinot Noir would be enough to sleep dreamlessly tonight. It wasn't until Matthew read out the total, seven hundred and seventy-two dollars and a quarter, that Howard's eyes finally left hers. She watches him as he easily signs his name on a check that could nearly buy a downtown apartment. Had her father been here, he would have been screaming blasphemy! - he never understood her mother's eye for finer, more expensive, goods. Alexander, however, would've somehow made the items cost closer towards one thousand six hundred and two dollars... and then buy an apartment for nine hundred and twelve dollars and one quarter. 

Kristina says a warm goodbye before she moves on to help a new customer as Gregory and Matthew assist in moving the shopping carts out to the bustling street. Howard had called Mr Jarvis two stores ago when Anneliese was unsure whether they should get the high loft mattress topper or a woollen underlay. He had told her to just get both and left to make a call.

She waited on the street as she watched the clerks, Mr Jarvis, and Howard all fill up the trunk of one of Stark Industrial's larger car builds. It was only then, about half past three in the afternoon, that the men and women of Fifth Avenue began to stare. Now, she was Anneliese Lorenz and he was Howard Stark again - America's most desired man. 

Some stopped to stare, eyes growing large as Howard took his suit jacket off - passing it to Mr Jarvis - as he lifted the large box containing two saucepans. Anneliese hadn't realised that morning how tight the Aegean blue shirt was. Her breath escaped her as she noticed the way the sleeves rippled slightly as he lifted yet another box. 

She had known Howard was well-defined. It was painfully inappropriate how many times she had seen him shirtless before they were married, and well - the man didn't particularly wear a shirt to bed either. But there was something peculiar in seeing him in the same light as everyone else. To try to guess what was under the cotton blue of his shirt.

"Not going to give us a hand?", Howard teased from the car, his voice loud enough to compete with the traffic, "Or are you too busy staring?"

Heat rushed to her cheeks as she pulled her fur coat closer to her skin. She knew her cheeks had to be aflame now as Howard's grin only grew as he picked up a tray of cutlery from Mr Jarvis and squeezed it sideways between two boxes. 

Howard dusts his hands as he scans the secretive glances from bystanders. She watched as he exchanged whispers with Mr Jarvis and made his way towards her. Within the second, he is towering over her with his head tilted to stare down at her. She can feel her cheeks burning as he leans down to whisper in her ear, "Let's walk."

They had walked in silence for well over an hour. Sometime between four and four-thirty, they had found themselves in a park where the clouds grew darker and the rush of traffic became a whisper of life. Leaves were orange and disintegrated on the ground as brown mud layered the floor below. Time passed on further and she found herself in a smaller district with orange lamps glowing against the setting sunset of grey, purple and hints of a burnt pink. 

Howard had stopped them in front of a store Anneliese didn't quite recognise, but appreciated regardless as her heels were killing her. She quickly sat outside the store and began inspecting the back of her heel. It was a mess of blood, staining her stockings red and Anneliese reprimanded herself for being so foolis-

- roses and metal and blood and knives and roses and frostbitten fingers and fourteen lashes and blood and roses and metallic knives and fros
t bitten wounds and rose-scented knives and metallic blood -

"-Love," she heard - roses dipped in blood and frost-bitten knives and - "You are safe", the voice repeated.

She could see the rose petals falling onto a floor made of glass, bleeding out and smelling of metal. There were roses and petals and a glass-made floor - blood-soaked skin and cherry red knives and-

"- You are safe," the voice says again, "breathe for me, love"

The back of her throat felt heavy as the scent of bloodied roses flooded her mind. She couldn't focus on anything but the blood on her heel and the metallic sounds of knives together and frostbitten roses falling to a glass floor-

"-Ana"

A small cry escaped her throat as she saw Howard in front of her and he was covered in red roses and knives made of German steel. She flinches from the autumn breeze, the wind biting against her neck like the glass in the room with the camera and Johann and Oskar. She is cold, so so cold-

-A hand cups her face and brings a warm drink to her lips. Sweet, dark, rich and coats her tongue before she can register the liquid. She drinks it and the bitter chocolate slowly warms her. The cool of the ceramic mug leaves her lips and she feels fingers wiping away from the corner of her lips.

She blinks once.

Then twice.

And then three times.

She can still smell the metallic aroma of roses and blood but she can see: Howard staring directly into her eyes, kneeling between her thighs, and holding an Egyptian blue ceramic mug filled with a richer brown colour than his usual coffee order. The light from the store glows green with le chocolat chaud and Howard's hair moves ever so slightly with the wind.

Howard moves the mug back to her lips and this time Anneliese savours the rich chocolate taste. It was thick like the hot chocolates she would be treated to at Christmas time back in Germany. It reminded her of Cologne during the winter when her father visited a university and bribed her with hot chocolate to stay quiet while he lectured on his research. The mug went to leave her lips and Anneliese's paralysed moved, reaching out and grabbing the mug from Howard's hands.

He chuckled as he moved his hands from the mug and placed each hand on her thigh. Anneliese was grateful for the mug covering her face and the limited lighting, otherwise, he would've seen her eyes grow large and her cheeks impossibly redder.

"Better?", he tentatively asks.

Anneliese doesn't say anything as she lowers the mug towards her lap. Silence passes as she stares at Howard, forcing on his eyes.

Longing. Understanding. Curiosity.

But there was something she couldn't quite decipher. She knew his eyes were golden like the coins in his pocket; that his riches rivalled Icarus' desire to be one with the sun; and that his lips burnt the same as vodka. He smelt of cinnamon and gunpowder, and yet she stared at him as if she didn't know him.

As if she was seeing Howard as her heart always had. 

She took another sip from the drink as Howard leaned down towards her feet and slowly slipped her stiletto from her heel - gently moving them away from her battered foot. Then she sees the blood again, it's illuminated in green and before she can lean forward, she's stopped.

"Take another sip, love", Howard says, his eyes trapping her in place as he begins removing her other stiletto.

Doing as she was told, Anneliese takes another sip of the thick hot chocolate. It reminded her of her first Christmas in America when her father had gone without breakfast and lunch to be able to afford to buy the richest chocolate he could get his hands on. She had woken up to the smell of home: her father stirring a thick brown pot of hot chocolate as he slowly added heavy cream and milk. There had been a time when her father was doing exactly that as her mother finished setting the table filled with cold cuts and cheese. It was just the three of them, intimate. Christmas Eve celebrations were for him but Christmas morning was just for her family. Now, she works through Christmas and her father cannot stand long enough to manage the pot. 

Yet, she finds herself with a hot chocolate in hand and Howard between her thighs staring up at her. He slowly rises as she takes another sip and feels some hot chocolate escape her mouth, slowly trailing down her lip. She froze as he moved the mug from her hands and onto the space next to her. He's eye level now and Anneliese's heart stops, unable to stop thinking of anything outside of Howard's lips near hers and the trail of hot chocolate falling slowly down her chin.

And he kisses it. Gently at first, as his lips meet the skin below her lips. He moves away. His eyes twinkle a brilliant gold as his lips curl into a grin before he returns to her lips - as if it were where he belonged. She can taste the hot chocolate, rich and warm, and the cinnamon of his custom tobacco sticks. He's warm. Their lips tentatively dance against each other; it feels new. She's discovering him and he's, well, Anneliese was too afraid to open her eyes to find out what he thought through his eyes.

He pulls back again slowly and her eyes flutter open. Howard's eyes are on her lips and she's willing to bet they had never left her lips. His stare was a pool of gold and desire, and Anneliese felt her ears ringing. 

"Howard," she breathes, her voice shaking.

Then his lips slammed onto hers. There was nothing tentative or calm about the way his lips expertly part her lips - his tongue seeking out her own. She finds her hands in his hair as he pulls her closer towards him, his fingers gripping deep into her waist. His hand had snaked up her back to the base of her neck pulling her down to him. 

More of his teeth nipped at her lip as she breathed a whimper, using her free hand to pull him from the collar towards her. She wanted more. He wanted more - his lips moved against hers in a rampant manner, as if he was afraid he would never touch her again. It compelled her to freeze, unable to feel anything but the feel of his tongue and his fingers gripping the back of her neck.

Then she heard it. A nearly absent groan from the bottom of Howard's throat. It vibrates across her lips and she nearly crumbles from the sound. It was all-consuming as his lips slowly trailed past the safety of her lips and wandered to her jaw, he was worshipping the skin near her clavicle and she whimpered again a little louder this time.

Her toes curl as he finds a tiny patch just below her ear and kisses it as if he were starving: roughly, skittishly, and without any caution. She hadn't known the spot had existed but she was left panting, face flushed red, and unable to do anything more than to tangle her fingers in the curl of his dark hair. 

For a short time, Anneliese can see nothing but white and she nearly forgets how to breathe completely. She's flushed, the fur coat is far too warm for wear, and my god, Howard's lips move back up her neck, past her clavicle and slowly, delicately, against her lips again. 

A curse falls from his lips against her own. Her skin is prickling with heat and need, only wanting more. And then she hears the bell of the storefront open and Anneliese is woken from her daze.

Slowly, she untangles her hands from his hair uses whatever willpower she has left and uses her palm to gently push him away. He mumbles against her lips, Ana, and she nearly folds. His voice had come out as a deep throaty rumble and her mind was spinning. She's left in a daze as their lips move in sync; he tastes as vodka feels and she is addicted. 

She's left cold as his lips move away from hers, and she traces her lips, bruised and plump, as Howard stares at her hungrily.

"Let's go home Ana," he whispers, his breath warming the cheek of her face.

The taxi trip was a short trip, but it felt infinitely longer with Howard's hands on her thigh. All she could do was remember the way his lips tasted on her hot chocolate-coated lips and the warmth of his tongue against her skin. From the way Howard glanced at every few seconds, she was willing to bet he had a similar idea in mind.

A little after seven, they arrived at their new home; a place where both of their names were written together with no sight of 'war' or 'industrials' to be found. The light was on and Howard had whispered that Mr Jarvis had set up most of the more mundane purchases and left the rest in boxes within the lounge room. Anneliese had stepped out of the taxi as he paid and slowly walked in just her stockings towards the gate of their home.

She turned to face Howard holding her stiletto in one hand, his grin growing wider by the second.

"It's ours," Anneliese whispered, "It's not theirs"

It was a house that belonged to her and Howard. A house not plagued with memories of roses and blood and knives and frostbitten glass. A house that reminded her of safety; rooms that haven't seen the horrors of being a Lorenz and a Schmidt. This house was entirely Stark and Anneliese felt herself breathing freely for the first time in twenty-four years.

From the way Howard looked at her, she knew he understood. He hadn't mentioned her cries or screams from the night before, he hadn't mentioned his name or forced her to talk to him about it. He had let her grieve her nightmare. He had let her breathe and overcome the terrors of her family in the only way she knew best: avoidance. 

He understood her nearly better than she understood herself. He distracted her first. Knowing that shopping and arguments were enough to keep her mind busy and away from Johann's fingers curling around her throat. Then, he had let her walk in silence by him. He allowed her to think and ruminate about the night before... which eventually ended with him distracting her thoughts again with hot chocolate.

Howard had been there, he had always been there and maybe it wasn't a bad thing. He's still there. Standing a foot away from her and the gate to their new home grinning from ear to ear. She knows she must look the same: smiling, eyes glistering with what could be tears, and a sense of understanding.

Time pauses as he walks towards her and slowly lifts her in a way she has only ever seen in romance films Maria dragged her to watch. He had an arm under her knee and another supporting back - his face inches from her own.

"I think it's time for my wife to be carried over the threshold", he whispered. 

My wife. 

The words rang dangerously around her mind and she was in a daze - drunk on the sound of his low voice. He walks quickly across the yard and onto the front door, opening it in one quick motion. 

Gently, he lowers her back down onto the ground and intertwines his fingers with hers and Anneliese is left giddy - a small giggle falling from her lips as Howard sends her one of his devilish grins. She follows his lead past the mountains of boxes covering the hallway and towards the stairs.

With a quick pace, she races up the stairs with Howard - still giggling - as she reaches the top and Howard pushes her against the wall. His lips are firm against her own and his tongue moves her lips apart, seeking entrance as Anneliese lets out another whimper.

Her hands return to his hair again and Anneliese knows she could live the rest of her life with his taste on her lips and her hands in his hair. Hungry hands hold her firm against the wall as she tries to arch her back, completely awash. She's lost in thought until she hears Howard mumble something between frantic kisses.

"Ana," he says, his teeth sucking on her bottom lip, "Are you ready?"

It was another loaded question. Was she ready? At first, she knew, it was a question of whether she was mentally ready to see the world outside. A world that she feared could be taken away from Johann and his warning. It was a question of if she was ready to be okay and if she was ready to pretend that she hadn't spent all night in his arms in tears.

Now, it was completely different.

His lips leave hers. His breath is heavy and warm against her mouth as he waits.

Was she ready? 

Anneliese wasn't completely sure if she would ever be truly ready to be loved, but with Howard by her side... she knew should try. And that seemed to be enough for her to slide her hands from his hair to the nape of his neck and slowly down to the collar of his shirt. With slow precision, she begins unbuttoning his shirt. Each one shows more skin but she doesn't look at his tanned muscles; instead, she stares up at him as her fingers trace down to the next button. 

He's breathing heavily against her lips, his eyes growing into a fire and she sees hints of red - a red she'd never seen. A red that could not be described as blood red or rose red, nor the red of a traffic light or the petals of a tulip. She was certain this red was just hers to know and hers to cultivate. A red to protect and a red for her to keep.

Reaching the last button, Anneliese slips the shirt off Howard and he's standing bare-chested. Her eyes slide down to see it move, heaving with his inconsistent breath. Without much deliberation, she takes his hand in hers and slowly walks him towards the door at the end of the corridor. She pauses momentarily as she stares up at him.

"Take me to bed Howard."

And he does.