Howard Stark's fingers slowly drummed against the wooden table as he waited for what seemed like the millionth shot of bourbon of that night. Blurry mind, dizzy eyes — he had almost forgotten why had he decided to turn to alcohol on that misty October afternoon. He remembered crisps of black hair, giggly shrieks and his wife crying ever so silently as he left the house. It had been a rough nine months, but he could still remember the heavy discussion they both had found themselves engaged into when he first found out that, in fact, Maria Stark was expecting their first child.

How had he come to this? Howard had never liked children. He had sworn long ago that he would never raise kids of his own — he disliked those reddish, toothless creatures that women cooed at in Central Park too much. When little they were loud, messy creatures; when older they became ungrateful and turned their back on their parents as soon as they could. He had always told Maria that he did not want kids, and for a few years she seemed quite content with it.

But then — boom. The entire castle of glass that had been Howard's life until then seemed to shatter down when he first heard about his wife's pregnancy. It would have been easy enough for him to think that she was only trying to play some sort of unpleasant joke on him, or that it was a mere way to complain about the fact that he spent more time inside his workshop than he did enjoying his wife's company — but when Maria started throwing up daily and decided to go to the doctor, he knew that there was no way she could be lying. They had screamed at each other, he had yelled, she had cried; he had stormed out of the house and returned hours later just to kiss her sleepy forehead and curse himself for what had just happened. They had done everything but have a ball at the fact that they were having a baby.

Perhaps the baby, Howard would later reflect, was a punishment for all he had done wrong throughout his life. Perhaps this upcoming baby was a reminder of what he had always been told as a teenager by his strict father — fooling around with girls is never a good thing. His family had always tried to make him focus on marrying a wealthy woman and getting his head on studying Law, Economics or perhaps something else that would make the Stark family's forlorn prestige resurge once again.

But in spite of that, Howard had always been fond of girls. In fact, he liked him nearly as much as he liked Science. He took a pleasure in them; he loved flirting and enjoying their presence. Most girls adored him and he used to think no female in the state of New York could resist his charming ways and his capturing smiles. Had he been asked about any girl he knew, he would have gaily scoffed and replied that the poor girl would have been at his feet if he asked her to.

That is, until he first met Maria Collins.

Maria came from a wealthy family, and amongst her hobbies the most notorious one would have been her queer interest in everything related with the Victorian Era. She was a dark-haired, witty woman who had always tried to escape her family's bourgeois-y tendencies and spent nearly all of her free time wandering around New York by herself. Not that she cared about being alone all that much — she genuinely enjoyed the eerie feeling of loneliness that brought the idea of being all by herself in the midst of the huge crowd that was the Manhattan population.

They had first met in a small café near Times Square, during one of the young scientist's short breaks from his job. Truth be told, he was so passionate about his machines and engines he hardly had any free time at all — just a few minutes to nourish himself every day and a short night's sleep. She, on the other hand, had somehow winded up at the small pub, enjoying a coffee and a few biscuits. Howard, who recognised her from one of those parties his parents had always forced him to go to — his family, not unlike Maria's, was one of the wealthiest of New York — greeted her with a warm smile. The young woman, slightly put off by his good looks and the ease of his greeting, remained silent until he spoke again.

"What're you doing here?"

The girl's eyebrows rose as he looked at the young scientist carefully. She then pointed at her coffee. "Drinking."

"Oh. Interesting," He took a seat next to her, eyeing the girl with a light smile on his face. "And may I ask — why are you not enjoying one of your mother's teas? Isn't coffee, say . . . a little bit common for a Collins?"

Maria's eyebrows rose. "What do you mean, common? Do you think I'm some sort of stuck-up fine upper class lady or something of the sort?"

The girl's answer shocked Howard in a good way. He took a sip from his drink — a freshly served first shot of bourbon, which was his favourite alcoholic drink — and eyed Maria Collins carefully. She definitely looked nothing like the last time he had seen her; she was now a grown-up woman, and her big dark eyes and her slightly tanned skin looked more attractive than ever. He offered her a half-crooked grin as he asked, "Would you mind a short conversation, miss Collins? I've a few minutes of break from work today and it's definitely been ages since we last saw each other."

Now it was Maria's turn to smile ever so lightly. "I don't see why not, Mr. Stark."

And so they engaged into a conversation that lasted for what seemed like ages, and did not really stop until they got married a couple of years later. Howard genuinely loved Maria, and she loved him as well — despite the fact that he spent almost all of his time trapped within engines and motors. They had been through their ups and their lows — the loss of Steve Rogers, the end of the war and the scientist's obsession over Project Manhattan, to name a few —, but they always managed to struggle through them together. Though Howard's days were devoted to Science, his nights were only Maria's.

That is, until the moment his wife went into labour. He had commanded Jarvis to phone the doctor, and all through the delivery he had been repeatedly told that it would be better for him to be with his wife, but Howard could not manage witnessing the birth of a baby he had tried to grow fond of over the last nine months. He could not; he would not be able to love that little child that Maria wanted to name Anthony if it was a boy and Peggy if it was a girl. The thought of having a little kid wandering around the house and fiddling with his tools daunted him, although not as half as much as the thought of not being able to love his own flesh and blood did. That was why, upon seeing the bundle of crisps of black hair and toothless smiles that was his newborn son, he had stormed out of the house and ridden his car, driven by his own memories, until he arrived to a small café near Times Square.

And so there he was, sitting all by himself as the waiter cleaned a few tables in a slumberous manner. He swirled his bourbon distractedly, staring at nothing in particular as he reminisced the toughest episodes of the last few years. How he had helped fighting Red Skull, Bucky and Steve's death, the Project Manhattan and the abrupt ending of the war. His marriage to Maria, those few years they had calmly spent together with their rows and Maria's forgiveness. She was a brave woman — in that moment Howard silently wondered why hadn't she left him years ago. She must have really damn loved him to stay with him after all those years obsessing over his work, he reflected.

Just as he downed his last drink, Howard realized that Maria was a truly brave woman.

He glanced up at the clock, the fuzz he had felt a few minutes ago now completely gone. He should be heading home, and yet he seemed incapable of facing what was now inevitable — his newborn son, his tired wife, Jarvis's reproachful tone upon finding him half tipsy, half angry at the door. But then again, that would be his everyday life from that point onwards — he might as well start getting used to it already.

Perhaps he could learn to love the boy. Perhaps he could teach him all about machines and try to be a good father. He knew it would be an almost certain failure, but there was still a small possibility that, in spite of everything, little Anthony Stark — or Tony, as his mother had lovingly adressed him before Howard left the house — could become a worthy successor of the Stark family after all.

Howard payed the count and, with a slight nod, walked out of the café into the dark New York night.

What has to be, he thought quietly, as his mind wheeled back to the first sight of his son's firm brown eyes, Will be.

I saw Captain America: The Winter Soldier yesterday and I had a lot of Howard Stark feels — how shocking — and somehow ended up writing this. Hope you enjoyed it.

-cluelessclown.