"'Welcome to the future.'"
The exposition's empty, the crowds long gone, the fireworks sputtered out, the spotlights dimmed.
Failure, however, marches on.
He's under the chassis, running his hands along his design, determined to discover where his invention had gone so spectacularly wrong. He knows he should just close up shop along with everyone else, roll it back to the lab and work on it another day, but that's even more of a defeat. One he's not willing to concede.
There it was. One loose magnet, that's all it took, just one, already fluttering ominously even with the current presently set on its lowest level. So much for his groundbreaking gravitic reversion technology. "Step right up, ladies and gents," Howard mutters, pulling the loose magnet out with a vicious yank, "and see Stark's spectacular flying car."
"It was spectacular."
The voice breaks through his clanging and muttering and Howard freezes. So much for being able to sulk in private. He slides out to confront this unknown. With the way his evening's going, it's likely to be a rival ready to jeer. Or possibly an investor about to discontinue association.
But not for the first time this evening, Howard realizes he's miscalculated. A kid stands before him: short, skinny, mangy blond hair. A barely-better-than-threadbare jacket covering his scrawny frame. Hands resting in the pockets of similarly cheap slacks.
Howard recognizes him. Humiliation has a way of cementing the details; in fact, Howard would bet even money that he would be able to recognize every member of this night's audience even a year from now.
"Fair's closed, pal."
"I know," the front-row spectator of one of his greatest failures admits readily, "I was walking back through, saw the car, and I just…wanted to see it again." He shrugs at his own answer.
Howard doesn't immediately reply, and the kid seems to take that as an invitation. With a slight smile, he takes a step toward Howard's automobile. "How does it work?" he asks.
Howard snorts at the question and turns away, grabbing a rag to clean off the grime that's accumulated on him. "That'd be the law of gravity, pal."
From his periphery he sees the other turn and there's no mistaking the doubt in the voice as he asks, "The law of gravity makes it fly?"
"No, it's the gravity that crashed it back to the ground."
The young man makes a face at that answer. "Come on," he scoffs – no, Howard revises, admonishes. He's just been admonished by the scrawny youth before him. Howard's not quite sure if he wants to be offended.
He's not particularly in the mood for conversation – private sulking does not count – but…it's not in him to crush an aspiring scientist. With a sigh, he gives in to the curious young man and actually answers the question. "Magnets and currents."
The stranger actually grins in response as he squats down to examine what Howard's gesturing towards, and Howard feels a little mollified to see someone still interested in his inventions. "You know how they work?"
"'Magnets and currents'?" the skinny guy repeats as he studies what's underneath the tireless setup. "Not really."
That surprises him, but then again, it might not be the hard science that's appealing to his fan. "Interested in cars?"
"Not especially," is the next, cheerfully self-deprecating answer he gets, and by then Howard's reached the end of whatever patience he had left this day.
"Then what are you doing wasting my time?" he snaps. "I'm busy here, pal. Why don't you run home before you miss curfew?"
He says it for spite, he knows by now this is a grown man before him – well, minus the grown. And he seems to have hit his mark. A beat passes before the little guy straightens from his crouch to meet Howard's eyes. The grin still hasn't faded, but it's somehow twisted itself into a sigh. "Didn't mean to bother you," is all he says.
He's not hurt, Howard knows that, it's something else. It feels like he's just met every expectation the man in front of him had about him. Expectations Howard suddenly doesn't want to meet.
"Where's your date?" he calls, halting the young man's exit. Howard enjoys the surprise he's finally managed to elicit. "The blonde, right up front," he gestures as he elaborates, "red dress, long legs." A sly smirk. "The one undressing me with her eyes."
That actually gets a chuff of laughter, and Howard's guilt immediately lightens.
"So where is she?"
A shrug. "No idea." Still smiling. "She went dancing, and I," the young man pauses, straightens minutely, "joined the army."
The joke actually makes Howard laugh, a rarity for him, a scientist who can spot the punchline from the formulaic setup miles ahead of the delivery, every time. But then his eyes narrow. "You're not serious?"
The five-foot-nothing just nods, refusing to even acknowledge there's something to be incredulous about. Howard rakes a pointed glance over the figure of the man he himself could pulverize to dust with a light slap, let alone a punch, or better yet, a Nazi bullet. "What, are we drafting geriatrics now, too?"
Another calm shrug. "Wouldn't know. I volunteered."
The second delivery, and Howard missed the punch line again. The guy's crazy - that's all there is to it. "You really think you can make it in the army?" There's a flash in the blue eyes before it's buried, so quick Howard's not sure if he can honestly say he saw it.
The young man looks to the ground, scuffs his shoe along the floor. "I think I'll last longer than your car could fly." The tone is so polite and bland that it isn't until the man's lifted his eyes to gaze back at him -calm, steady, challenging – that Howard finally registers the insult.
With a suddenness that startles even himself, Howard cranks the lever on the control board. The magnets slowly begin to move, and Howard can almost feel the copper wiring respond, pushing back against the magnetic field. The whirring gets louder, but no magnet is shaking loose this time, and finally his car is back in the air, hovering steadily above the stage.
"You fixed it!" The blond starts back towards the car. He's all wonder and excitement, not a trace of the petulance Howard had expected to elicit. The little guy meets his eyes for a moment, the happy smile still burning bright, and Howard realizes he's excited for him. "This really is the future," the man murmurs, one hand reaching out to touch the floating beauty.
Howard smirks, but finds himself admitting, "Only for the millionaires, pal. And only if those same-said millionaires want to go a very limited distance."
The little guy shakes his head, not to be deterred. "Still, maybe one day." His hand lingers on the car for a moment more, and he huffs a soft, incredulous laugh, before he's shaking his head again, his hands returning into his jacket.
He turns to Howard then, and for the first time, Howard sees an awkwardness steal across the young man's face. "I," he pauses, shrugs, "thanks for showing it to me."
Howard watches him head down the stairs. "Hey, pal," he calls. He looks at the puny figure in front of him. "Good luck."
…
He's in a top-secret meeting with every head scientist involved in this mysteriously fanciful dream of Erskine's when he sees him again. The pictures of all the potentials are on the wall – dozens of square-jawed, heavily muscled gorillas. And one scrawny runt.
This time, when Erskine announces his choice, Howard sees the punch line coming.