Hello everyone! Here in Colorado, it is a rainy morning - perfect for writing. I hope all of you are having a lovely morning wherever you are (or afternoon, or night - whenever you read this).

Thank you for reading, following, reviewing - or even just for taking a look. Writing this has made me happy, and I hope it's made some of you happy, too. Or at least, less bored. :-)

And now, on to the date!

Chapter 13 - November 21 - 1943

Despite what Stark had said, fondue was a lot more complicated than just cheese and bread.

After an endless two weeks of intelligence-gathering and strategizing, the Howling Commandos were leaving for France the next day. That afternoon, out of the blue, Howard Stark invited Stevie back to the warehouse-cum-lab. He said he had "something to show her."

Why now? She wondered as she walked across the gravel lot in front of the building, the white stones crunching under her boots. What could he have come up with that I haven't already seen?

Stevie was surprised to find the lab empty when she arrived. During the past few days' frantic preparations, the workroom had been bustling with assistants at all hours - arguing with each other, wielding strange tools, taking things apart and putting other things together, running to get parts and flip levers - all presided over by Stark, who called out orders like a general directing his troops. Now the empty room looked strange, eerie. It was dark outside, and the floodlights the team had set up turned the vast space into a surreal chessboard of light and shadow.

"What do you think?"

Stark stood at a table in the center of the room, wearing, of all things, a tuxedo. Stevie had to step carefully over snarls of wire and around chunks of disassembled machinery to reach him.

"I think a tux is a strange choice for lab wear," she responded.

"I meant, what do you think of these?" He gestured expansively towards the table, at what looked like several long, rectangular bricks made of black metal.

"Go ahead, pick one up," he continued. "They're harmless without the detonator."

He even had a boutonnière - a red carnation. How on earth did he get a hold of that, in November? Stevie hefted one of the bricks in her hand - it was lighter than it looked, cool to the touch. She thought she could feel a slight buzzing vibration under her fingertips.

"What is it?" she asked.

Stark smiled. In the past few weeks, Stevie had learned that he liked nothing better than to talk about his creations to an appreciative - or at least tolerant - audience.

"Basically, it's a mine. It's based on the Miznay-Schardin Effect." His speech quickened with excitement. "See how one side is curved?"

One of the rectangle's long sides was, indeed, bent inward, with a stenciled message that read "Front Toward Enemy." Stark continued.

"When an explosive detonates against a hard backing, the blast is directed outward. In this case, from the curved side. Add a little of the blue stuff and the results are...dramatic."

"That's what's in here?" Stevie asked. That would explain the buzzing - it was subtler than the original blue energy core she had taken back from Kreichsberg, like a sound so high you felt it rather than heard it. "Dramatic is right. Didn't you blow up your old lab testing that?"

Stark had tried to direct an electric current through a fragment of the energy core - a drop of the blue, plasma-like substance at the center drawn off into a prism the size of a grain of rice. One touch with a spark and he had blown his quonset-hut laboratory to pieces - and been banished from the base by Colonel Phillips under the threat of a painful death.

"I've refined the process since then," he said, defensively. "I've added several safeguard mechanisms."

Stevie raised an eyebrow at him.

"Look," Stark took the device from Stevie. "The facility you're going after - it's underground, right?"

She nodded. One of the black triangles on the map she'd duplicated corresponded to a small French town called Magny-Danigon, just a few miles from the Swiss border. The Colonel had contacted a group of analysts called the "Bad Eyes Brigade," who, through some kind of research magic involving newspapers, radio transmissions, and export ledgers, had verified unusually high troop movement in the area, centered around an abandoned mine. The most reasonable explanation was that Hydra was using the mine to make or store something secret - some kind of weapon was Stevie's guess.

Stark pressed a stud on the side of the device and barbed metal prongs popped out of the rectangle's four corners.

"You can stick one of these boys on a cavern wall - or a ceiling," he said. "When you're outside, you use a transponder to signal the device. Goodbye mine, goodbye Hydra. And you and your team are safe outside with no tricky wires to deal with."

"That's great," Stevie said. "But shouldn't you be showing this to Dernier? He is our explosives expert."

"I already did," Stark said. "But I thought, as captain, you would want to be familiar with all the weapons at your disposal." He set the device back on the table and busied himself with folding the prongs carefully back into its sides.

"Also, I thought it might impress you a little."

"Impress me?" Stevie asked incredulously. "Why would you want to...wait." An impossible idea came to her. "Is that why you're wearing a tuxedo? Is this a date?"

Stark looked at her mischievously and cocked his head. "Come on. I've got something else to show you."

She followed him to the breakroom and was surprised to find it transformed into a scene out of a café - a table set for two with a checked tablecloth and candlesticks, a bottle of white wine, a loaf of bread, and a strange little pot set up over what looked like a Bunsen burner.

"Fondue," Stark said, pulling out one of the chairs.

"I should have put on lipstick." Stevie sat and considered the pot dubiously. It was full of creamy, white, melted cheese. "So...how do you do this? Do you use a spoon?"

It turned out, you were supposed to use long, slender forks - Stark demonstrated, tearing off a bit of bread and dipping it in the pot. It was harder than it looked; Stevie caught a blob of cheese in her free hand just before it would have fallen into her lap. She licked it off her fingers, then belatedly realized that wasn't exactly good table manners.

"Sorry," she said.

"Don't worry about it," Stark said magnanimously. "Fondue takes practice."

"You seem like a man who's had a lot of practice. Fondue-ing."

"I don't fondue with just anybody, Captain Rogers," he said, pouring her a glass of wine and wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"Just starlets and chorus girls."

"Lucky for me, you're both."

Stevie put down her fork.

"Stark," she said.

"Howard," he interrupted.

"What's this about?"

He dabbed his mouth with a white cloth napkin before he answered. The ancient radiator in the corner hissed and popped in the silence.

"I remember you walking into that lab in Brooklyn," he began, his voice soft and earnest, nothing like it had sounded a moment ago. "Tiny little thing with big, coke-bottle glasses. I thought, a room full of generals and she has more guts than all of 'em, because she's really putting it all on the line."

There was no grin on his face, for once. No dimples. His eyes were focused on Stevie with an almost hypnotic intensity. They were so dark they looked black, and she could see the candlelight reflected in them, tiny glittering flames.

"When they sealed you in, the look on your face gave me goosebumps. You were so...determined. And then you stepped out of the pod," His smile came back, languid and slow. "I saw my work and thought, Stark, you are a genius."

And just like that, the grandstanding show-off is back.

"Your work?" Stevie said. She didn't know whether to feel offended or amused. "Didn't Dr. Erskine have something to do with it?"

Stark waved away her objections.

"So you're Pygmalion," she continued. "You're falling for your own creation."

"I've been called a pig before," Stark said, taking a sip of his wine. "But never a Pygmalion."

"There's a first time for everything," Stevie replied, trying the wine herself. It was dry, crisp. She hadn't had much wine, but it tasted expensive.

"True," said Stark. "Take me for example. I've dated a lot of beautiful, talented women." Stevie rolled her eyes at him. "But you - you're a genuine American hero. And I've never met one of those before. Well, except myself, of course."

Stevie didn't know what to say. Stark could change from sincere admiration to unbridled egotism in the blink of an eye. But the way he looked at her - no one had ever looked at her like that before, as if she were something rare and precious. Stevie felt caught between excitement and anxiety, like the blue energy core was buzzing deep inside her chest, and, in her agitation, she fumbled her little fork.

"Oops! Oh...jeez," She managed to catch it without burning herself, but the bread had disappeared into the pot without a trace. "I think I lost it."

"Here," In a moment, Stark had deftly retrieved it, holding it out to her on the end of his own fork.

"Thanks," Stevie said, taking the fork from his hand. She was beginning to think fondue wasn't worth the trouble. The Swiss must have steady hands and a lot of spare time.

"Sorry for the table manners. I didn't go on many dates back home."

"No problem," Stark said, as she returned his fork. "I'll take my kiss now."

"Beg pardon?" Surely she had misheard him. Demanding...no, not even demanding, expecting...a kiss was arrogant even by Stark standards.

"If you lose your bread, you have to kiss whoever gets it back for you," Stark explained, to Stevie's incredulous expression. "It's tradition."

"That's bull. You made that up."

"It's alright," he shrugged. "You don't have to kiss me. If you're chicken."

"I'm not afraid to kiss you, Stark," she said. "I'm not afraid to kiss anyone."

"Whatever you say, Rogers," he said. And then he actually began making clucking noises.

"Stop that! What are you, twelve?" Stevie meant to sound stern, but she couldn't help smiling. He laughed, and she could see why so many women liked him. He had a sweet smile, soulful eyes, a nice mouth. At the thought, she saw a flash of Bucky's face in her mind, disapproving, but she shook it off. Sure he didn't like Stark, but she hadn't liked all his girlfriends either and that hadn't made any difference. Stevie had never kissed anyone before, and tomorrow she was leaving for France.

Why shouldn't I kiss Howard Stark?

She walked slowly around to his side of the table - his dark eyes fixed on her face like it was the most important thing in the world. Stevie's heart was hammering in her chest; the stupid thing couldn't seem to tell the difference between going on a date and going into battle. Stark stayed sitting, hands in his lap, letting her take the lead. She cupped his face in both hands, took a deep breath, and kissed him, quickly, before she could lose her nerve. His lips were soft and warm under her mouth, and his moustache prickled her upper lip. After a moment, she let go and pulled away, face hot, hands shaky.

If he says something smart, she thought. So help me, God, I will knock his block off.

He smiled. "Eight," he said.

"Huh?"

"A strong start, with some room for improvement," he continued by way of explanation.

"Are you...are you giving me a score?"

"Care to try for a nine?"

Stevie balled up the nearest napkin and threw it at him. "I don't know why anyone likes you," she said, but she was laughing as she said it.

You know, this is probably the most successful date Stevie's ever been on. Think about that for a second. Howard Stark is sort of half charming/half jerk, so let me know how well I struck that balance.

Lots of notes for this chapter:

The devices Stark is showing Stevie are based on the original blueprints for the M18 Claymore mine. A bit ahead of its time, but Howard Stark is a genius. (And he'd be the first to tell you so.)

On the same line, the Miznay-Schardin Effect is real, and was discovered during WW2 - by a Hungarian and a German. Howard, how have you been getting research notes from enemy scientists?! Chalk it up to excellent military intelligence.

The Bad Eyes Brigade get a mention here - they were an elite research unit, and more info can be found at the War is Boring blog.

Magny-Danigon is a real French town, with a real abandoned mine outside of it.

In the language of flowers, a red carnation means "I admire you."

My mother-in-law, a legit Swiss person, assures me the fondue kiss is a real tradition. So Howard Stark, surprisingly, did not just make it up.

Next week - the Howling Commandos blow stuff up!