Chemical Poison

A man plays the piano in the foyer. It's an old piece, or at least Anneliese assumes from the brown tea stains that threaten to tear as the pianist, an elderly man, turns to the next page. She stops in her steps to watch, the slow delicate notes dancing across her mind as she tries to recount exactly how she knew the piece for it to be old. 

She pulls Howard gently towards the pianist as she observes the black shine of the grand piano as his fingers continue to press more than seven keys at a time. It's melodic and Anneliese is unsure how she has never noticed the man before, or the piano, or the tune that is itching to be remembered. 

Anneliese stands just behind the piano as she watches, curiosity getting the better of her as she glances at the music - trying to make sense of a piece that is all too familiar. Closing her eyes, she tries to remember a time she's seen the composition. Surely, if it was old, she would've seen or heard or even played it before. She was no piano prodigy, but there was a level of freedom in exploring the cream keys of a piano without the cane stick of a piano tutor.

The piece continues and she watches the pianist turn the page with a decade of experience. When she was eleven, forced to perform a recital of a sort, much like most upper-class children, and she played songs from Handel, Beethoven, Chopin, and some pieces her tutor had composed. All in all, she wasn't nearly as musically gifted as Maria, who had sung each evening on the boat from France to New York, and then nearly every other day after until she officially began a career in opera.

"We are going to be late," Howard whispers in her ear. He pulls her hand slightly as he takes a step towards the elevator.

Anneliese ignores him as she continues to watch. He pulls her hand again and she stands still. A sign leaves Howard's mouth, and in the corner of her eye, she sees him drag his hand over his face. The corner of her lip curves into a smile as she returns her attention to the pianist.

"Madam, can I help you with something?", the man finally says as the song nears the end and only a gentle four-note melody strings against the frosty October morning air. He lets his fingers slide away from the keys to face her and Anneliese feels the air leave her mouth.

"I didn't realise we had a pianist in the foyer," she barely whispers before she can stop herself.

The man raises his eyebrow and Anneliese notices that his skin seems to move. No. Not move.

It had rippled.

Does aged skin ripple?

"Most do not, Miss Lorenz," he replies with a shrug. "It's often hard to hear the gentle notes over the loud mess of business."

Raising her eyebrows she pulled Howard back close towards her, pulling him further away from whatever conversation he had picked up with one of the security personnel. There was something strange about this man. The more she studied his face it all seemed off: his eyes too sunken in, his wrinkles too symmetrical and even the tone of his face struggled to match the colour of his neck.

"Indeed," Anneliese replied as Howard offered his hand to the man.

"Howard Stark", he said with a firm handshake.

The room grew cold as the pianist replied.

"Bertie Smith."

Anneliese's eyes jumped straight to the collar of his shirt at the outrageous colour combination of matching grey with a maroon red. On closer expectation, it looks expensive, almost Egyptian cotton expensive. The tie stayed in place with a golden tie pin, one that Anneliese had seen Alexander sport at countless meetings and often bragged about its Italian finishings. By only studying a portion of his shirt she knew it was far more expensive than most Americans could even afford.

Surely pianists don't get paid that much? 

Maria certainly didn't earn enough to warrant the purchases of night and day pearls much to her bitter dismay. But maybe that had more to do with Maria being a woman than a man, maybe male musicians do get paid a lot and Howard is just in the wrong business.

"Your mother named you Bertie?", Howard muses as his attention is caught by Alexander entering the foyer.

He presses a kiss to her temple and whispers, "See you upstairs," before his fingers leave hers and he joins Alexander's loud voice towards the elevator.

"No," Bertie replied. His voice seemed more familiar and less American than before. As if malice had dripped across his tongue and his lips were coated in it. 

Anneliese takes a step back and Bertie catches her wrist. He pulls her in, forcing Anneliese to share the seat with him. There, with Bertie far closer than Anneliese is willing to be with any man who isn't Howard, she realises that there is something entirely wrong with his face.

The skin around his eyes seemed unattached to his eye and her gaze dropped to his neck where a familiar burn mark was only half hidden. It's only then does she realises that his face wasn't his own; Bertie was wearing a mask.

"I believe it was you who decided that name was better than Herbert."

Eyes widening, Anneliese let out a gasp as she felt a metal blade rest across her hip. Dropping her eyes, she sees a dagger that she had become too intimately familiar with when she strolled down the hallways of Schmidt Manor. The dagger or knife or executioner's axe, depending on the family members' choice of blade, that stayed as a reminder for centuries of the family's motto: sanguis rosarum semper vincet.

The blood of roses will always conquer.

How true that statement has been.

The handle was engraved with the gold emblem of the Schmidt family rose. Her eyes couldn't look away as the blade inched closer towards her waist until the sharp edge stung against her skin. After years of abuse from a blade in her childhood, Anneliese has never gotten used to the cold metal-cutting skin.

"Not going to ask why I am here?", he asks in a rough whisper.

Not staring up at him, Anneliese glances across the foyer for a familiar face. Suddenly wishing she had taken Howard's cue to leave for their meeting. She had only been back in the office for about two weeks and the SSR was already demanding the process of new machinery to combat Hydra.

The irony of them all sitting together in a room eight floors up when Herbet, most likely a high-ranking official Hydra, sat right next to her. 

"Are you still trying to find a wife?", Anneliese bites as she continues to search the floor, "Papa told me you weren't nearly as desirable with your burn."

A whimper leaves Anneliese's mouth as the blade presses harder into her skin. Glancing down at the burning sensation she can see blood quickly soak into her pale pink skirt and white blouse. She flinches as he twists the dagger and rests the bloodied dagger against her clothes.

"Schatzi," Herbert says, mimicking her father's northern accent. "You forgot you're the one who left me disfigured."

She had been left alone with just her cousins, maids, and staff for the weekend. Herbert was breaking her dolls and Oskar told her that she had to learn to look out for herself in the family. One thing led to another and Herbert had been chasing her until they reached her uncle's laboratory. Without thinking, she had thrown a flask with an orange liquid at him just as her uncle entered the laboratory.

"Oh, I have not," Anneliese hisses back, "He made me walk on broken glass as he cut pretty pictures in my back."

The mask crinkles again as Herbert's lips curled into a sneer.

"Why are you here-" Anneliese finally asks as the dagger twists again and resumes cutting into her skin slowly.

A cough interrupts her.

"Miss Lorenz, are you not attending today's meeting?"

Colonel Phillips stands in front of the piano with a puzzled look in his eye. She doesn't blame him. She's sitting with an elderly man at the piano and neither one of them is playing a note.

Staring up at him, she hoped she could communicate that she had a blade to her waist. She could tell him that she was sitting right next to a high-ranking Hydra leader without giving away her familial relationship. Surely someone in charge of a unit trying to rid Hydra would realise she was next to the enemy's line, that no white flag was waved as the enemy crossed over to their side.

"Oh yes, the meeting," Anneliese says with fake shock. Turning to face Herbert, her lips turn into a frown, "You must excuse me."

Herbert's eyes narrowed at her for a few seconds before he withdrew the knife from her waist and nodded his head. 

"Lovely to see you again, Anneliese."

Brushing her skirt before she stands up, she quickly clutches her waist to hide the blood stain and to stop the blood from leaving the cut.

"I wish the same could be said," she mutters as she silently walks with Colonel Phillips towards the elevator.

Once inside the elevator, Anneliese sweetly smiled at the attendant to step out and that she could manage the buttons. As the door closed, she collapsed into the side of the Colonel. 

"Miss Lorenz!", the Colonel says as he catches her. The pain splinters across her skin and a cry leaves her throat. Blood had already begun to coat her hand, growing sticky as she tried to hold pressure against the open wound.

"The pianist," Anneliese gasps between silent sobs, "Is a high-ranking Hydra official."

Using the Colonel to pull herself up, she let out a cry as she took a step towards the door as the elevator opened to the eighth floor. 

"What do you mean," he asks as he slowly helps her down the corridor. She turns right instead of left, and after a few painstaking minutes, she reaches her office. 

The Colonel helps her to sit on her desk as Anneliese points at the red and white first aid kit sitting on top of the bookshelf. She untucked her blouse and unzipped her skirt to expose the bloodied skin.

"Bloody hell," the Colonel mutters.

"Pass me the bloody needle and catgut."

"The what-"

"-The needle and thread inside the first aid kit, pass it."

With needle and thread - or catgut, which the Colonel would've known had he ever read a medical textbook - in hand, she made quick work of wiping the wound as much as she could. Not that the blood still oozing from her wound was allowing her to achieve much. 

"Do you have a lighter?"

This time the Colonel didn't question her and pulled out his silver case, flipping the lid with his finger as he pulled the trigger to light it. Anneliese hovered the needle over the flame for a little bit over twenty seconds before she pierced her skin and began the arduous process of slowly knitting herself back together. Halfway through, Anneliese allowed her cries to leave her mouth. With only two loops left, the tears began to stain her cheeks.

By the time she finished, the Colonel had already prepared a small bandage that he gently wrapped around her waist. Placing the bloodied needle roughly onto her desk, Anneliese's hands found her eyes as she sobbed. Horrible, howling cries left her mouth as her left waist was aflame, burning her inside out as the pain reached her throat.

Wiping her tears with her fingers, Anneliese hiccuped as she tried to catch her breath. The Colonel did not say a word until her breathing was steadier and she was back on her feet. Using the Colonel as support, she walked to the other side of the office to her emergency wardrobe and pulled out a simple navy blue dress.

"He would be long gone now," Anneliese mutters bitterly as the Colonel closes the blinds on the window looking out to the busy street and the office hallway.

She began undressing with the Colonel's help. In a normal circumstance, she wouldn't have allowed any man to see her in such a vulnerable situation, yet there was something about the Colonel that put her at ease. He was usually a commanding and slightly impolite man; however, he seemed wise in the same way her father was. It was hard to explain why she felt safe around him when all he'd done was bring pain.

After all, Stark Industrial would've never been brought into this mess had it not been for the Colonel himself.

Steading herself as the Colonel zipped the dress up, he helped her back towards her desk and onto the seat. He takes the seat opposite her and pulls out his notepad.

"Tell me everything."

And she does.

Within the first half an hour she's recounting her childhood, sparing the unnecessary details that Oskar couldn't resist kürtőskalács or any bread with cinnamon involved. When she spoke about her Uncle, she made sure to avoid the hallway of knives and the way his eyes brightened with pride when she recounted by memory the discovery of radium. With her mother's death, she skips the struggles of being an immigrant and by the time she reaches the ordeal of Herbert in the foyer of Stark Industrials, it is well past midday.

"Well," the Colonel first says as he closes his notebook. "I believe we have a solution to this war."

Raising her eyebrow at him, she watched as he leaned over the desk and took her hands in his. She felt like a child as he looked up at her. With his wrinkles more pronounced and his balding scalp catching the golden light from the floor lamp, it reminded her of her father's colleagues. She had spent summers travelling with him as he lectured students and researched, or really anyone interested in his understanding of some sort of chemical engineering that Anneliese had always struggled to understand.

Her father said it's the only thing he's disappointed in her for.

Of course, she knows his disappointments span longer than her inability to learn his theories. It stems from childhood. It's the way she can fit in with the Schmidts with her appearance and mentality; how she has caught herself in the middle of a war he sacrificed everything to keep her away from; when she started to fake date Howard that ultimately ended in a marriage without his initial blessings. 

But she supposes the ignorance of not understanding her father's work is much better for her mental well-being.

"What does my depressing life story have to do with ending a war?"

His grin is nearly identical to the same toothy smiles of professors who had argued against her father and ended up agreeing and offering a partnership of a sort if he researched at their university. He looked like men in business realising they could get away with tax fraud if they had enough money or blackmail against the First Lady. It's as if the information she's given was the missing piece of the puzzle he had started without completing the edges first.

"They sent assassins after Erskine, the serum, and your father," he began. His fingers crept up her own until he twisted her engagement band and the smaller and thinner gold wedding band next to it, he stared down at it for a brief second before he spoke again. "But they sent, who you assume, a high-ranked official to scare you."

"He's more family than anything-"

She pauses as the Colonel separates the engagement ring with her wedding band.

"- That's the solution," he muses as he continues to twist the wedding band, completely ignoring the press-favourite diamond engagement ring. "When war is between soldiers, men use the mind and look at the numbers: the casualties, the soldiers on the fronts, the tanks, the bullets lost. When war is between family, men use the heart and their decisions are blinded."

Scoffing, Anneliese rolled her eyes. "Johann doesn't have a heart, and even if he did..." she drifts off, "I'm certain he wouldn't be using it to guide him."

"Oh, I am certain he wouldn't use his heart," the Colonel laughs, "But I do think it would be a great distraction. If he's obsessed with the women in your family, then what stakes would he be willing to risk to capture you?"

Pulling her hand away from him quickly, Anneliese winces from the pain in her side at her fast movement. 

"You want me as bait?", she slowly says.

He nods his head.

The idea was ridiculous.

"Just to lure him out and to keep him busy whilst we infiltrate his Austrian Weapons Facility."

"You want me to go back to Europe," Anneliese deadpanned.

What part of "fleeing Europe" did he miss in her story?

Colonel Phillips leans back in his seat as he pulls out a cigar and lights it. Tilting her head at him, she pursed her lips in displeasure as he took a deep breath. Smoking was a revolting habit she already had to put up with Alexander and Howard, let alone the Colonel.

He sucks in another breath before he speaks again. "It would be around the first of November," he states as he blows out a breath of tobacco, "We just lost around one hundred and fifty soldiers in Azzano and between Stark modifying the tanks to meet the bloody magic those Hydra fuckers-"

"Language!"

"Apologises," the Colonel mutters. "Regardless I'm willing to bet the sight of a pretty lady will encourage them to act much better than the snivelling mess they have become."

Rolling her eyes again, she leaned back in her chair, waiting for him to continue.

"The newspaper, like all the other times, quickly takes note of the second Stark and his fiancee leave the country. I'm not a betting man, but I'm willing to bet that with the sheer size of Hydra, they will quickly realise you have entered the European continent within a day of your arrival. If my plan works accordingly, Schmidt himself may visit the facility and organise a personal attack to collect you which opens a great opportunity to attack and rid Hydra of their advantage."

"And what if your plan doesn't work? What's to stop them from shooting us out of the sky? Bombing the military base? To kill me instead of just kidnapping me?"

A grimace reveals itself on the Colonel's face. Perhaps displeasure is a better word for it.

"I may not know the man as you do but I am a man after all. When we value women as a treasure or something we own, we want to be the one delivering the final blow."

"He does not own me!", Anneliese snaps.

The Colonel shrugs as he takes another blow of his cigar. Even now, she sees the resemblance of her father in him. It could be the green military uniform that is all too familiar to the green suit her father would often wear to the universities.

"I suppose not, especially with the wedding ring on your finger. I wonder what Schmidt would think of you once he knows you're Stark's wife."

Against her better judgment, Anneliese stood up roughly. A small whimper leaves her lips as she feels her stitches tug at her skin and she quickly clutches her waist. The Colonel was already standing up and by her side, before she realised.

"You wouldn't dare," she hisses, the malice in her voice lost to the pain.

"Of course not," he said gently. "But I wouldn't be surprised if he already knows. Rumours spread quickly across the spy network."

Glancing up at him, she feels so small.

"And if I don't want to do this plan of yours?" she began as she slowly straightened her back. "I don't want to leave my father without any family. He's already lost too much."

"I wouldn't let you die, Miss Lorenz."

"No need for formalities," Anneliese whispers, "Especially not when you're discussing a potential suicide mission."

Silence drained the room. Nothing moved but the subtle tick of the clock and the few clanks of heels on the hallway floor outside.

"Don't you want to finish this war?"

Her mother's voice rang in her mind: Promise me you will finish this war.

"Don't you want it to end? To live without fear or being stabbed by the foyer pianist?"

Promise me that you will end this... no matter what.

"Don't you want to end this war for good?"

She's not sure if she mentioned her mother's final words to him or not when she explained her life story but his reasonings and her mother's words were too similar. Her heart ached at the thought of her mother dying so she could flee and believe that she could do good. That she could end the pain that comes with being a Schmidt.

They slowly walk towards the door as the corridor grows loud with Howard's voice and some random SSR agent. Even from the other side of level eight, she could distinctly hear their conversation about the new secret underground bar nearby. Well, with Alexander's yelling the address she doubted it would be a secret for long. 

A life without Schmidt lurking behind her shoulder is a life she has never been able to imagine. Even with an ocean separating him, she still senses him everywhere. From the roses placed in the laboratory before Abraham died the red dress that Alexander had selected for his birthday party. He has always been there, the fear of him had stopped her from living and it certainly caused her to never consider a life that she wants.

She wanted security. 

Her work ensures financial security, even without it, she has Howard for that.

Yet she doesn't feel very safe anymore.

She's watched her community be attacked by Americans. Radio stations have recounted German businesses' windows being smashed or graffiti with slurs and statements like 'death to the Nazis'. Anneliese has been attacked by Howard's staff based on her relationship with him and her nationality. Her father has more protective services than the president.

And now she was stabbed in the foyer of one of the most secure buildings in New York. A building that refused to let her enter without showing ID for over a year.

There was nothing safe about a world with Schmidt still in it. 

She wanted more in life than this fear. She wanted a proper wedding with Howard: a white wedding dress, her father walking her down the aisle, Maria smiling at her as she kisses Howard in front of a priest. She wanted children who called Alexander their uncle and a new generation to learn Lorenz family traditions and not Schmidt ones. She had aspirations of holidays in Australia and Rome; gaining an education in chemistry or maybe even business.

It was then Anneliese realised she wanted more than a life of war.

As she reaches for the door handle, she pauses and closes her eyes.

Yes, she thinks, a life past war is what she wants.

"You're not to tell Howard about Herbert or the stabbing," she begins as she opens her eyes and turns to face him. "You will tell him it's better to keep me with him for security measures and that there is nothing safer than that military base. Under no circumstances will he find out the true purpose of why I am there."

"Noted," he says.

Taking a deep breath, Anneliese continues. "My partnership comes at a cost. My father will continue to have the finest agents providing security personnel. He is not to die or experience any pain. In the circumstance of my death, my body or whatever remains will be returned to America and my father will choose what happens to me. The cost will be at the expense of the S.S.R., okay?"

He nods again. Gods, they're truly desperate.

"Lastly, my familial connection to Hydra is to not be leaked or spoken to anyone outside of us. If I am to die, it's due to my connection to Howard."

The Colonel's lips curve into a grin, "That's what I was thinking."

Taking a final breath, Anneliese offered her hand.

"We have ourselves a deal."

Anneliese finds Howard in the break room on level five. Much to his usual antics, he's found surrounded by a crowd of female staff as he asks them about their lives. Alexander is also with him and it's Alexander that notices her first, leaning against the beam of the door.

He raises an eyebrow at her. Anneliese wasn't a woman to lean and after all the etiquette lessons of her youth, her tutor would be quite upset to see her now. The concern quickly leaves his face the second Howard spots her and quickly leaps to his feet. In a matter of seconds, he's inches away from her.

"You weren't at the meeting?", he says as he cups her cheek.

Rolling her eyes, she stared past Howard's shoulder to see the women and some of the men in the break room watching them. It wasn't every day they saw Howard Stark as a committed partner and not America's playboy of the century.

"I ran into Colonel Phillips in the foyer," she began, "and we both thought the meeting would be a drag and decided to just finish the reports closing Project Rebirth."

Howard stared at her for a few seconds before Alexander muttered "Get a room" which set the women off in the break room. Groaning, she flickered her eyes back to Howard and nodded towards the exit. He seemed to get the message and began to guide her towards the elevator. Once inside, the two remained silent as he instructed the elevator man that he wanted to go to the top floor.

Sometime between the ride up in the elevator and the walk to Howard's office, she ended up leaning on him for support. By the time they reached his office, she launched herself onto the couch and quickly laid down. She closed her eyes, knowing that Howard's eyes would be a mix of concern, curiosity, and downright confusion.

Howard lifted her slightly as he made himself comfy on the couch and rested her head on his lap. It's a comfortable position, Anneliese realises as his fingers slowly begin to pull out the pins from her hair until it is completely undone. 

"The Colonel also told me something else interesting," Anneliese whispered.

"Oh?", Howard muses as his fingers slowly begin to massage her scalp.

"You're going to Italy to help a military camp with their equipment."

His fingers stopped for a second and then resumed their descent to her neck. He reaches a knot and Anneliese feels a moan slip from her lips before she can stop it, she's embarrassed quickly as Howard chuckles to himself as he continues to massage the area.

"I suppose I am."

"I thought we were going to Italy for a holiday?"

"Did you really think we both would be going?", he whispers, "I can't lose you."

Anneliese's heart begun to race as she slowly opened her eyes to stare up at Howard's. He's an addiction that she knowingly embraces. An awful, tooth-rotting addiction that she's too selfish to give up.

"The Colonel says it's best for me to follow you there, that greater security can be maintained if we stay together, especially in a military base."

"Absolutely not."

Sighing, Anneliese closed her eyes.

"A secret for a secret?", she mutters.

A chuckle leaves from Howard before he speaks. "You can't use that against me any more love, the answer is final."

"Answer the stupid question," Anneliese hisses.

She waits a minute before Howard replies.

"I would give this all up for you. The machinery, the war, the money. All of it. I think I finally understand why my parents did what they did, choosing each other over me."

It's a tragic thing. Howard's parents loved each other too much to sacrifice themselves for their child whereas Anneliese's parents loved each other too much to be able to sacrifice themselves for her. To some degree, Anneliese has a feeling they're both too much like their parents, but with the way Howard stares at her, it's hard to remain smart with his smile.

"A secret for a secret, my love?", he says.

Quirking her lips into a smile, Anneliese can already tell that maybe she's the fallout. Her secret is more of a demand, a way to cause the inevitable. Her actions have more of an impact on those around her than on herself. In death she simply stops living, yes the pain of the method of death will hurt but only for a mere few seconds or days.

Grief is what Howard would face if he isn't also killed.

So she supposes she's the fallout. The perfect judge in an execution.

"My lips and my legs will remain closed until you let me go to Italy with you."

Howard's lips curve into a smirk.

"Ah, there it is," he says in a low voice, "the only poison that forces me onto my knees."

He leans down and his lips hover over hers. As a woman who keeps her word, she uses her hand to cover her lips.

"You're actually serious," Howard chuckles as he gently moves Anneliese's fingers from her lips.

"Dead serious."

"Then I suppose you are going to Italy then."

His lips meet hers and somewhere in Anneliese's heart shatters.

Would he still have a wife come Christmas?