Off that trike little boy,
Cap needs his bike.
Plan and design,

make that engine purr.

Tony's POV

Dad was gearing up to go look for Steve again. Several observations led to this hypothesis.

First off, Nanny Rolanda, of the gigantic knockers, dragged me away from my foray into heat conduction a full hour early, per Dad's orders. Second, she didn't insist that I tidy up my workspace before ordering me to bathe, brush and dress for bed. And finally, the most obvious evidence that Dad was going to search for the Captain, was that he was posted in the chair by my bed.

It was S.O.P., standard operating procedure. Dad relays a memory about the Captain, then takes off for a month in search of his body. But not just his body, because that would have decayed away or been consumed by sea life. Dad insisted that the Captain was still alive and just waiting to be found.

It's bizarre, but science can do a lot of bizarre things, like turn a skinny twerp of a man into G.I. Joe. Biology really isn't my thing and I hadn't researched it enough to understand how it was possible. But I trusted Dad when he said it had happened and that he truly believed the Captain was still alive, just dormant, like a bear in winter.

I'd said, "But bears have to be really fat before winter hits so their bodies can use the fat for energy while they sleep. The Captain wasn't fat, was he?"

"No, Antn'y. But he went down in the Artic. He may have gone into a state of natural cryogenics."

"Cryo what?"

"Cryogenics, as in crystals. The water in the cells freeze, de-animating the body until it can be unfrozen."

That conversation is what had led to my heat conduction experiments. I'd been running a repetition of trials of freezing and unfreezing tomatoes and repeating the trials with different varieties of tomatoes and freezing the individual fruit and contrasting the results with freezing the entire plant, then re-planting it. In each set of trials, my constant would be the tomato type, size, and time spent in the freezer, while my independent variable was the method of conduction of unfreezing. Was it best to unfreeze the tomato slowly, in a partial insulator? Or quickly, on a metal surface? Which radiation sources worked best: the Sun, fire, a 50 watt light bulb, 100 watts? Each required multiple repetition to discount superfluous results.

Nanny Rolanda had dragged me away during a density check of tomato number 4 out of the 10 frozen Romas, invalidating the past hour's work. I was set to throw a fit when she pointed out an error in my procedure…the water displacement method of identifying the volume of odd shaped objects, may in fact, effect the heat conduction of the tomato and that with each tomato measured, the temperature of the water changed, thus changing the defrosting period of the tomatoes, as measured by a change in their densities.

Though, her pointing this out was less of a science statement on her part and more of a shock reaction to the chilly water that came in contact with her hand when she pulled my project from my hand. I would have to find a way to control the water temperature before proceeding.

Dad had order I get ready for bed early, and there he sat in the chair by my bed; something he rarely does, unless he's surmounting a Steve search.

I clambered under the covers and waited for the latest tale.

"Did I ever tell you of the time the Captain wore a German uniform?"

The fuck you say? Seemed like an accurate response, one that I overheard on a movie Nanny Rolanda was watching after she thought I was asleep when we stayed in a hotel last week. But I was wise enough not to say it, saying instead, "No way!"

"Oh, but he did. Needs must. We'd found a German base, a village where they had commandeered the local houses."

"You mean in violation of the Third Amendment."

"Those are our laws, An'tny. Each country has their own sets to follow, and in war, even those are often ignored.

"Word reached Steve that a Jewish family was hidden in the basement of one of the village's homes. Chief Jones, the Howling Commando's German translator, was a black man. He communicated with a German man who had fled the village, but as a black man, it was impossible for him to pose as part of the Arian Nation. The Captain, however, as a blue eyed, blond, could pull it off.

"But it takes more than a costume to pull off a con job. Jones taught Steve some key phrases that seemed pertinent to completing the mission. But striping from his American uniform and donning a dead, German soldier's uniform pasted a face of pure disgust on Steven's face. But needs must. He quickly shut down those feelings and stood tall in the blue-grey Fliegerbluse wool coat. He stuffed a German rucksack with two other dead Axis's soldiers' uniforms and marched into enemy territory.

"Well, more walked as though on sentry amongst the homes of the village, sticking mostly to the edges of the tiny town, staying to the shadows, in the dark. He passed other soldiers with little more than a nod, making it safely to the home where the Jewish family was ensconced.

"His first altercation of the evening was actually with those he came to rescue. BAM!" Dad mimicked a fist to the gut. "Jacob Weinsten, the Jewish father plowed his fist into the dear Captain's gut. Steve was forced to reserve his natural instinct to strike in retaliation, using what little German he knew, and a whole lot of charades to import to the huddled family the need to hasten their escape and that his uniform was no more than a disguise.

"If ever you get to hear him speak, it is inspiring. Likely, it was his charisma and the spark of truth in his eyes that persuaded the Weinstens.

"Jacob, and his wife donned their own Fliegerbluse, Ms. Weinsten tucking her dress up under the front as a belly, helping to mask her bosoms with the fake appearance of one who has overindulged. Their two small children were bundled in the Captains rucksack.

"Through the dark of night and forest they snuck, and as they fled, the ground trembled with the force of the bombs, and the sky flashed with the ignited fires."

"Did they zoom away on the Captain's bike?"

"He didn't have his bike with him that evening, An'tny, the motor's too loud for covert operations."

"I bet he wish he did though, because you want to be fast when escaping bombs. Did you ever have to escape bombs?"

Howard's POV

"A few times, when assisting the Captain, but as a weapon's engineer, I was more often in labs or bunkers. An'tny…" I'd made improvements to metal detector technology. I was hoping it would help me find the plane Steve had crashed. "I'm leaving Friday. I'm going to be gone for a few weeks. I think I have a way to find Captain America's plane."

Antn'y looked at me with adoring, hero worship eyes, trusting that I could accomplish anything. "You're going to rescue Captain America like he rescued those people. I'll take over making tech while you're gone."

Anthony started carrying a rucksack full of clothes with him each day and a few times each day he'd disappear and return in a different outfit. It was my son's own version of dress-up. No costumes. Just ordinary shirts, jeans, and occasionally a suit and tie, things to make him blend in wherever we were.

Antn'y also tested out different personas, some quiet, others chatty and boisterous. Both fit my son's brilliance though. Quite times, I knew, allowed him to block out everything else and just allowed full out processing to occur. Meanwhile, the chatter was often a means of keeping others busy while his actual focus would be on devising solutions. People could be deceived into thinking you solved something instantly if you distracted them with inane conversation while you thought.

Jarvis and Anthony, Age 6

Jarvis POV

Tony had the screw halfway out of the mixer when I plucked the screwdriver from his hand. "The mixer is in perfectly sufficient working order." I put the mixer back in its proper spot.

Later that afternoon, the child had managed to remove three screws from the bottom of the blender before being caught in the act. The current nanny seemed to have been hired more for her breast and skimpy clothes rather than for any attention she actually paid the child. "The blender is also working quite sufficiently." I put the screws back in and put the blender back in its proper place.

The next day, Tony found me using a large blade to mince walnuts. "Don't you usually use the food processor for that?" he asked.

"The blades seemed a bit sluggish."

Tony's face lit up like it was Christmas morning. He raced over, unplugged the machine and had his arms wrapped around it ready to haul it off for disassembly.

"Wait."

His face fell and his fingers dug in protectively to the sides of the plastic, "You've already admitted that it isn't sufficiently perfect. I can fix that."

I lifted the plastic lid and carefully removed the razor-sharp blades from the bowl of the food processor, then placed them on a top shelf in a cupboard. "When you are ready to test your results, come to me, and I will replace the blades."

I sighed. The boy required constant attention. This week's obsession with appliances had led to me intentionally jamming up the gears of the food processor. It was the least used appliance and would therefore cause the least disruption in the kitchen's efficiency while it was 'in repairs'.

A few hours later, we plugged in the food processor and watched the blades whirr.

"It is now working sufficiently," I stated, then inquired, "Why were you so determined to pull apart the appliances?"

"Only the ones with things that spin," Tony insisted.

"Why?"

"I'm going to fix Captain America's bike for him. I needed to know now more about how motors make things spin."

I knelt down, so to be at eye level with the child. "That is a worthy task." But I worried that the child's hopes would be forever dashed. Howard was most likely trying to retrieve the long dead soldier for his blood, not to revive him. "You do know there are other heroes you may look up to?"

Tony looked affronted. "The Captain isn't my only hero."

"Oh? Do tell."

His eyes glazed, like he'd entered a fantasy world, "Agent Q and James Bond." Then he refocused and grinned, "They're just like Dad and Aunt Peggy."

Tony's POV

Jarvis frowned, and tugged at his ear. "Peggy works at the phone company."

I smirked at the tell that always meant Jarvis was lying. "At, not for."

"That is not public knowledge."

"We're not public. We're family."

Nanny Rolanda's POV

I am a au pair, not a mechanic. I have no desire to be a mechanic, or to do any other such manly thing. This was supposed to be a cush job in a mansion. The family seemed to wish to indulge the mechanical whims of their young prodigy. As such, I convinced Edwin, that is to say, Mr. Jarvis, that Master Anthony required an assistant.

A rather gorgeous, muscular assistant. It made the ensuing weeks, trapped in a lawn chair by the garage so much more pleasurable, whilst Master Anthony tinkered on the motorbike, replacing parts, and making every inch of the bike shine.

When I was able to drag the child indoors he obsessively drew diagrams of engines. In the middle of the night, one night, I found him climbing up on the fender of the old truck Mr. Stark had bought, trying to loosen an engine bolt and getting frustrated with how his lack of strength was preventing him from achieving the task.

"What are you doing?"

"I need to test my engine ideas."

I picked him up and put his feet on the ground. "In the morning, little one. After 10:00, when Mike arrives. It's not Christmas morning, so we're not doing a 5:00a.m. wake up call."

Howard's Return From the Captain America Expedition, Anthony, Age 6 & Age 7

Howard's POV

"Dad! I came up with a design for a new engine for the Captain's bike! It'll be able to run quieter and move faster, so he'll be able to hear the bad guys better and get to them faster!"

"Wow! That's great, son," I was sincerely proud. And a bit uneasy. I'd come back alone. "Anthony, to succeed, you have to have the wherewithal to make it through the experiment stage. I'm still experimenting on how to find Captain Rogers. I wasn't able to find him."

"It's okay, Dad. The Captain's just napping. He isn't sad that you haven't found him yet." But I could tell that my son was sad about it.

Despite not finding the Captain, I helped Anthony produce the new engine design and together, we installed it on the bike.

I bragged to many about my son's accomplishment and the two of us even made it on the front cover of Mechanics magazine.

Tony's POV

"Howard, don't you think he should be dressed up. Perhaps a suit and tie for the interview?" Mom asked.

"Mom, engineers don't wear suits and ties. They wear clothes that can get grease on 'em."

"Your Dad is an engineer and he wears suits and ties."

"For sales pitches. But we're showing off my engine. You wouldn't want dress clothes to get grease on them, would you, Mom?"

"Kid's got a point Maria. Besides, the overalls are like a subtle hint, reminding people of the word engine, because they'll connect it with train engineers."

I grinned, having won the debate.

"Now Anthony," Dad's voice sounded serious, "Remember don't mention Captain America in the interview. That's a private matter, it's not for the public to know about."

"Okay, Dad."

"I still don't like the idea of a six-year-old keeping secrets. It's like we're encouraging him to lie," groused Mom.

"Ant'ny, what's Peggy's line about lies?"

"Mums the word. Just keep your mouth shut about certain things and you don't have to lie. And Obie said it's a good business practice. Lies can lead to lawsuits, but keeping your trap shut snips out a lot of grief."

"See," Dad gestured a hand between me and Mom, "He gets it."

Maria's POV

I sighed. My husband and son were locked stepped in their ideas of how the world works, and as hard to budge as a boulder.

Tony's POV

"So, Anthony," started the reporter.

"Tony. I want to be Tony for the article."

"Tony. Why did you build this engine?"

My eyes went wide for a moment. The very first question was one I couldn't answer honestly, because I couldn't mention Captain America. And I couldn't just sit here, staying mum in an interview. So my brain calculated and came up with the closest thing it could to truth and omitting the truth. "Soldiers need quieter engines, so the bad guys don't know they're coming. And they need to get there fast so the enemy doesn't have time to make plans. So I designed a quieter, faster engine." There. The truth, with Captain Roger's name omitted.

"What is different about your engine?"

"I added extra cylinders and changed their dimensions, to give it the power boost and I added in a layer of material to absorb some of the sound."

"Can you be more specific on that, Tony?"

I glanced at Dad, who just rose a brow, waiting for me to give the rehearsed response, "Trade secret. I have a patent. You'll have to wait the requisite years for its release or negotiate a sales price for it."

The journalist chuckled, then asked the next question. "A salesman and an inventor. You're a bit small to be building engines. How did you go about it?"

"You have to start with blueprints first. I drew up a bunch of designs and ran some test on an old truck we have at home, and Jarvis got me some other old engines that I could test things out on."

"Jarvis?"

"Our butler. Dad was out of town, so I had to wait 'til he got back to cast the dye for the engine I designed."

"So, Mr. Stark helped with building the engine too?"

"Society doesn't work on individuals. It works on teams. Does the fact that Canon made his camera," I pointed to the cameramen's camera, "make him any less of a photographer? I designed the engine. I assembled it. But it took a team working together to get the parts cast, but I was there for every step." I looked over at Dad. Dad did deserve to get some of the credit. "Dad did help with lifting a few things and he paid the employees that helped cast the parts."

"How old are you, Tony?"

"I just turned 7, but I designed and made the engine just before my birthday."

"And this isn't your first patent, is it."

I shook my head, "No, my first one was for a computer circuit board when I was 4." I grinned. "It made things go faster too."

"How about you demonstrate the engine for us, and we'll get some pictures?"

"Sure."

The photographer took several pictures. The one with Anthony and Howard posed by the motorcycle, with the newly designed engine installed, captured the cover of the magazine.

Howard's POV

Tony had been moping and I wanted to make my kid smile, and well, he had made the engine for the bike. He deserved a ride. Though it made me a little sad, thinking of Steve, I still got a kick out of seeing Tony run off to put on a Captain America shirt before we got on the bike.

He wanted to be called Tony now. A child's way of exerting control over his life. Everyone else already called him Tony, just by course. After hearing him make the request during the interview I decided to give it a go too. "Alright, Tony, let's say you and I take the bike out for a spin."

The kid was practically bouncing with glee, but exclaimed, "Just a sec!" and ran off. Returning a few minutes later in a new outfit. "Now the Captain can ride with us," Tony showed off the blue shirt with the shield on the front. "Now the Captain can ride with us."

I may have not found the Captain yet, but things were still on track for my son and him to work together in the future; Tony adored the man.

Maria was going to pitch a fit. Which is why we were taking this ride while she was at one of her social club meetings.

Tony wanted to put the helmet on himself, but I wasn't trusting a 7-year-old to secure it properly. "Dad. I can do it myself." He said in a whiny voice as he tried to brush my hands away.

"I put it on or you don't ride." He clapped his mouth shut and put his hands at his sides.

I climbed onto the bike then picked Tony up and put him on the seat behind me. "Put your hands here." I showed him where I wanted him to hang on. "This isn't a roller coaster ride with a belt or a bar to hold you in place. Your hands stay there the whole ride, you understand me."

"Yes, sir."

"Alright, let's ride." I tilted one of the safety mirrors so I could see Antn'y's reactions to everything. The second I started her up a grin bloomed across his face.

Antn'y whooped in excitement as we flew down the road, wind whipping the edges of his hair, peaking out from under the helmet.

I got a bit of a cold shoulder from my wife and butler for the next few days, Jarvis showing his displeasure by 'mistakenly' buying decaffeinated coffee. But I didn't care, I'd made my kid grin.

Flashback

Steve used what little German he knew, and a whole lot of charades to import to the huddled family the need to hasten their escape and that his uniform was no more than a disguise.

Avenger's End Game

Okay, Thor I got. His family had been visiting Earth for millennia. People had told tales of their valor and hailed them as gods. And apparently King one-eye had instilled his spawn with something called All-Speak. Thor and Loki knew English. Made sense.

But where the hell had Squidward learned it?

Wizards were apparently a thing on multiple planets. Perhaps All-Speak was some sort of telepathy wizards could perform.

Planet Titan

Seriously? What the fuck? A girl with antenna, a green skinned lady, a racoon, and a guy who literally took everything literally all know English. Is it a galactic language? Or had Mr. Wizard cast some voodoo on my while I wasn't looking, giving me All-Speak. If I get back to Earth I seriously need to get alien blood under a microscope. Maybe they're using some form of microbots to perform the translations. Or could it be quantum entanglement of electrons in each organism's brain, linking their speech centers. That one seems the most feasible, despite being the most challenging. Challenges are fun. I could use a new project; assuming Pepper doesn't murder me for going on this adventure. But first, I've got to use every neuron and nano-bot with me to prevent impending death by destroyed moon, ala-Titan Asshat.

Flashback

Howard's POV

"Dad! I fixed Captain' America's bike! And I came up with a design for a new engine, that runs quieter and moves faster, so he'll be able to hear the bad guys better and get to them faster!"

End of Avengers 1

Tony's POV

"Hey, Cap, I've got something to show you." I nodded my head for him to follow. I was jittery. Like 8 Starbuck trentas jittery. And anxious and as bouncy as a 7 year-old hyping on a bag of Halloween candy. I hope he liked it. I hoped he didn't mind the modifications. People can get finicky about nostalgia, about some little new detail messing with cherished memories, or some crap like that.

But tech needed and deserved to be improved. I'd tuned her up since hearing of Steve's re-birth, but she was running off the engine I'd made for her when I was 6. I'd given her a test run after the tune up, not wanting to be accused of putting Mr. Apple Pie on a death trap. Before that, the last time she'd been ridden was when my Dad and I had taken her for a ride after installing the new engine.

Steve was eyeing me bouncing on my toes on the elevator ride down. "Everything okay, Tony?"

"Huh? Yeah." I tried to still my legs but the energy moved to my hands. I tried to disguise the twitching by running my hand through my hair. "Everything's good, Cap."

The elevator dinged, and I might have snagged the nonagenarian's hand and tugged him along to his gift, at least I'm guessing that's what happened as he was staring at his now empty hand rather than the shiny bike 3 feet in front of him.

Then Steve looked up and his jaw dropped and his eyes got wide and he said, "My bike."

"Fixed it up for you."

Steve was running his hands over it.

"Dad helped too. We'll I've pretty much re-done everything he helped with. That was 36 years ago. We were getting her ready for you. Dad went looking for you pretty much every year. Never found you. But we got your bike ready just in case." I kept talking, needing to fill any potential silence. "It has my first engine. Came up with the design when I was 6. It runs quieter, so you can…." I trailed off. Steve was watching me.

"Thank you, Tony. Really, thank you."

I shoved my hands in my pocket. "Take her for a spin. She's all yours."

Steve climbed on, kicked her on, and took off out the bay door, grinning like a loon. I was too.

I proofed, and I proofed, and I proofed, and my proofer got tired. I've melded a couple of chapters in this one. If you notice any inconsistencies or typos, feel free to message me. Thanks.

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