Disclaimer: I do not own Captain America or characters thereof.

Chapter 1: In which Howard faces deadlines and textile production.

"…I said it shouldn't have side effects, not that it didn't. Hello…hello?" Howard was talking to a dead line. The inventor sighed before dropping the phone back onto the hook. He walked back to his steel blue switchboard and flopped into his chair with enough momentum that he spun a few times before coming to rest. The lights on the switchboard blinked, but Howard was not in the mood to keep working. He twisted off a sequence of switches and pulled down the blue lever. Ah, the blue lever. Usually when people questioned the amounts of shiny lights or switches on his switchboard Howard would explain to them why this switch was shaped like it was or why that light blinked green and why all these details were of vital importance. In the case of the blue lever however, Howard could have easily made a simple, inconspicuous switch; but really, when your switchboard could turn a ninety-pound man into Hercules it's not like you're being overly dramatic by adding a blue lever. He liked his useless blue lever. Yet today, not even his lever could elicit any positive emotion from him and he decided to go back to his workspace.

Calling his space an office would be a bit of a stretch even by Howard's standards. Literally speaking it was a tiny desk with a lamp and two metal tables pushed together in the corner of a busy basement with no windows and a severe lack of estrogen. He was lucky enough to have a desk with drawers. He eyed Richards' desk, it too was covered in a storm of paper. However, unlike Howard's, Nathaniel Richards' desk did not have drawers—a small consolation, but a consolation nonetheless. Still, Howard couldn't help but think of his home office, or his office at Stark Industries. Then again, working with the government did have its perks. He had dental now. Ladies dug dental.

Though if Howard was honest with himself, he couldn't quite decide what his feelings were about women. On the one hand, he found them neurotic and unpredictable though on the other, they did bring something to the table that men couldn't and this intrigued him endlessly—that and Howard wasn't too fond of cuddling men. It wasn't that he didn't like women or had difficulties finding them—Howard could find ladies like a Lassie found Timmy—but finding a woman that intrigued him for more than a few hours was another matter entirely and there were several nights that he went to sleep dreaming of a female version of himself to lay next to.

For whatever reason today had felt more taxing than most days and when Howard reached his double-table he had a strong desire to punch out his card and head home. Instead, he turned on his stool and stretched to reach into the top drawer of his desk. He pulled out his flask and held it for a moment, staring at its faux wood surface. Without opening it, he dropped it back into the drawer and slid it closed. There was something about the place that amplified Howard's less-than-savory traits.

He took a deep breath and turned to the stack of schematics for the shield he was supposed to be making. Scattered over his tables were the various projects he had to finish this week. In blue pen were the plans for the new radio system; in red were thoughts on a deadlier assortment of explosives; on brown paper was the design for the new binoculars and, leaving the biggest trail of paper and undoubtedly, the icing on the cake, the new Captain America suit. Howard groaned and plopped his forehead on a stack of fabric swatches. The amount of work he had was bordering on frustrating and he would have liked nothing more than to go back to his office at Stark Industries and work out the kinks of his hover car. But he was a Stark, Howard Walter Stark, to be specific and if his parents had ever taught him anything it was that quitting was equivalent to failure and the Starks did not fail—especially not Howard. He paused for another moment, leaning into the swatches as he thought. Think of the funding.

Howard didn't believe in squandering opportunities and everything he had, he'd worked tooth and nail for. Howard Stark was a man that took what life gave him and rolled with it. He was an inventor, a scientist. He pulled the stack of Cap' uniform sketches closer to him and thumbed through them until he found the copy that he'd been most at peace with. After sifting through several layers of loose paper he found his special pad of yellow, lined paper. Howard took a worn black pencil from his shirt pocket and began to sketch. He would sketch furiously, then stop, lean back, contemplate, bite the end of his pencil and return to sketching again.

"He needs a helmet…" Howard muttered scribbling away. What about… He sketched a pilot's helmet but in place of goggles, the helmet simply covered more of the face and had eye holes chiseled into it. "I'm brilliant," he said with a grin and slipped the pencil behind his ear. He wiggled his fingers a bit shaking off his sketching induced cramp. He was happy with his breakthrough, but his fingers itched for invention—science, creation. Clothing design was all fine and dandy, but it didn't give him the same high as solving a problem with a new gadget or taking something apart and reassembling it into something totally different. Howard yearned to be elbow deep in chalk, covering black boards in conceptual sketches and measurements. In his fantasies 'Stark Industries' was a household name and he had single handedly created a whole new way of life. He sketched as he drifted through these thoughts. He would need to use what he was given, what was available…What if he wove nylon for the Cap' suit…

"Mr. Stark," said the blonde secretary inexplicably standing beside his desk. Howard mentally shook himself to attention.

"Yes?"

"I need your signature to finalized this," she said sliding a stack of documents clipped to a clipboard in front of him.

"Right." Howard looked down at the clipboard and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He decided almost instantly that he wouldn't be bothered to read through the entire stack of governmental nonsense. "And what exactly am I signing?"

"We need your signature to finalize the decision to harvest vibranium."

"Sir," Howard said rummaging through the disarray of his desk and finally fumbling through his jar of pens until his fingers found a plain silver pen.

"Sir?" she asked, confused until she realized she hadn't addressed him properly—she was more than slightly put off by the realization. Howard signed his consent swiftly and with surprising grace. He slid the document back across his desk with a warm smile. The blonde scowled and Howard watched her walk away, shoes clacking as she went. He tapped his fingers along his desk. Back to work then.

Several hours passed before Howard had a solid foundational design for a functional, practical, and flattering Captain America's suit.

"Mr. Stark?" Ah and she returns. He smiled.

"Yes ma'am?"

"The higher ups are requesting to know the time you intend to do your weapons demonstration tomorrow, sir." 'Weapons demonstration' he thought. What weapons demonstration? He twisted the end of his mustache. …Oh! Dammit.

"Mr. Stark?"

"Are you sure they want to see the demonstration tomorrow?" he said knowing, without the slightest doubt that they did.

"Yes, sir," answered the blonde secretary with a bored expression.

"Could you just…double check please," Howard said, with a smile that was slightly too wide. The secretary, though visibly displeased, nodded and walked back to her desk to double check. As soon as she was out of view, Howard rummaged through papers like a tornado. He had definitely begun to brainstorm ideas for new grenades, but where did he put that piece of paper? He could hear the vague clacking of her shoes approach him from a distance. Shit. Shit! Howard had two choices; wait at his desk and then tell his secretary that he didn't have weapons to present or… oh who was he kidding. He grabbed his flask from the drawer of his desk, snatched up his coat from the back of his desk chair, and raced to the exit opposite the clacking.

"Mr. Stark?" said the secretary baffled by the empty desk, but Howard was already in his coat, flask at his lips and well passed security clearance.