Hey! so I haven't written in a looooong time, and I've never written for the MCU (only for x-men, basically). Disclaimer: I do not own anything except my oc. Constructive criticism appreciated and welcomed, as long as it's actually constructive. This series is a slow burn steve/oc, but as far as the events of the first avenger, it's basically completely howard stark/oc. hope y'all enjoy!

Prologue

Stark Tower, June 1994

There were three things Anthony Edward Stark knew to be absolutely true about his late father. First, that he was a shitty parent whose emotional constipation ruined his relationship with his son. Second, that he was a celebrated war hero who had worked with people like Peggy Carter and Captain America. Howard had made Captain America's iconic shield, worked with Dr. Abraham Erskine on the Super Soldier serum, and, most controversially, was a part of the Manhattan Project. A war hero by most counts, even if he did, you know, help develop nuclear weapons.

And finally, Tony knew for a fact that before he had met Maria Collins Carbonell in 1956, Howard Stark had been a rich, genius, womanizing playboy who flirted incessantly with anything in a skirt. (Only one foolish employee had ever dared to point out the similarities. Needless to say, the poor woman found herself out of a job within the hour.)

But that was beside the point. Tony stared at the old, wooden box in his lap. After the car accident, he had gone through his mother's things first because of the affection he held for her. And if in doing so he was postponing the inevitable confirmation of Howard's disgust for his only child, well, that was simply coincidence.

But now, two and a half years after the death of his parents, Anthony Edward Stark was finally forced to face his father's memory. So here he was, sitting amidst the dust in his father's untouched study, holding an old wooden box that he'd discovered under a false back in the drawer. Gingerly, Tony opened it and pulled out the parchment on top.

It was a letter, brittle and yellowing with age. Tony unfolded it, and something fell out, fluttering to the floor. Brow furrowed, the young genius picked it up.

It was a series of old, black-and-white pictures, clipped together and faded with time. Tony examined the first one. His father stood with his Aunt Peggy in front of an aeroplane, both smiling. His Aunt Peggy was staring a little bit left of the camera, and sources claimed she was looking at Captain America. His father's head was turned to the right, mid conversation. The picture itself was famous, but the commercial version had been obviously cropped at Howard's shoulder. In this, presumably the original, another man was on his father's right side, with light hair and laughing eyes that were looking directly at the camera. The strange thing about this was that Howard was holding this man's hand, their fingers interlocked.

Tony frowned. His father, despite his various flaws, had never been homophobic—he'd been a vocal advocate for AIDS awareness during his final years—but Howard Stark himself was just about as straight as could be. Something was off here. He glanced at the back of the picture. In a foreign, loopy script, it read,

1944 - Peggy, Howard, and Billy in Paris, post liberation. Photograph taken by Bucky Barnes.

Tony's brows furrowed further. Billy? Not the mysterious Lieutenant Billy Hubbard, who had been integral to the war effort but had disappeared shortly after helping to start SHIELD? His father had never mentioned knowing Billy Hubbard as more than a colleague in any interviews, but it was clear from this photograph that they were far closer than mere acquaintances. Quickly, Tony moved on, his mind racing.

The next picture was perhaps more baffling, and certainly far creepier than before. It was the portrait of a young woman who wasn't Tony's mother, smiling straight at the camera in a way that conveyed both boundless joy and immeasurable sorrow. She had dark hair that curled wildly—not the popular glamorous curls of the 1940's, but frizzy, don't-care curls that framed her face. She had on long pants and a mens' shirt that was far too large for her. Behind her was what Tony recognized as a chemistry lab. This photograph had no caption, he noticed with frustration, and so he moved on to the letter.

28 October 1947

My dearest Howie,

My, you've gained quite the reputation as a doll dizzy fellow, haven't you? I know we agreed to keep our marriage quiet, but you really did all you could to keep this poor broad out of the spotlight. Really, darling, thank you for protecting the truth about Billy Hubbard. The part of me that is him thanks you, even if I am outrageously sore.

Not to worry, Howie, I'm only yanking your chain. I know we agreed on this. You bring the dames home, give 'em the Stark Special Bracelet (lovely name, by the way, I couldn't help but laugh when Jarvis wrote and told me), and tell 'em to act as if you spent a wonderful night with them. I trust you, my love, to keep your vows.

On to business, then. I have been somewhat successful in my recreation of the Super Soldier serum—and I say only somewhat because I'm hesitant to test it out on someone even though I'm confident it is exactly like the original. I've destroyed the work Dr. Erskine and I did on it, because if it falls into the hands of some fat-head in cahoots with what remains of HYDRA, we're done for.

Speaking of HYDRA, you wrote me that you've asked Arnim Zola to join SHIELD. Dearest, you're absolutely brilliant when it comes to machines, but I do think you've quite lost it with this one. Zola's bad news, and you know it! I can't believe you, Peggy, and Colonel Phillips let him in without even consulting me. I don't trust that man as far as I can throw him. And don't you dare accuse me of blowing a fuse irrationally! You know quite well the atrocities he's responsible for—not to mention what he did to my brother. You're lucky I didn't write the minute I found out. I've had months to calm down, very long months of pondering and imagining what my brother would say, or what Steve would say. Neither of them would approve, and to be frank, I can't say I do either. I love you, Howie, but I cannot forgive you for this.

But I have learned too well the meaning of mortality, and I know Bucky and Steve would want me to move past this, and so I am trying. I see their shadows at night, advising me to live my life fully, for them.

My work here is almost complete; you can expect me home for Christmas. I can't wait to see my mother and sisters again, and Jarvis, and Peggy, and you, of course.

Love always, despite my current anger,

Your Wilma

P.S. Enclosed are two photographs I thought you would like. The first, if you recall, is from after Paris was liberated. Peggy's making eyes at Steve, and he was staring right back. The second is of me, from earlier this month, and goodness, I look like a woman again! I figured you might like to see what your wife looks like when she isn't pretending to be a man.

Yours,

Wilma Barnes (Stark)

Tony stared disbelievingly at the old letter in front of him. Slowly, mechanically, the twenty four year old lifted his head and called into the hallway, his voice shaking.

"Jarvis?"

The old butler walked stiffly inside, his gait revealing his age. When he saw the box Tony held in his hands, his face fell, and sorrow wrote itself over his features. Tony looked at his beloved father figure, face pale, hands trembling slightly.

"Jarvis, who was Wilma Barnes?"