Disclaimer: I have no idea what the heck I'm doing, enjoy, I guess. You might die laughing, or cringe, or cry, or just die in general. Your choice.

Not until the illumination of sunlight was blinding, and the crystal-clear was devoid of clouds, did Colonel Philips deem at an appropriate time to stop running laps around the campsite. It was ridiculous, as he was making you and Howard do the running. This was not at all standard procedure. Was he delirious this morning? What had struck him so hard that he decided you two needed immediate exercise? He was doing this, for motives inexplicable. You gazed dully ahead as you felt the adrenaline coursing through your veins. Your boots, thumping heavily across the murky grounds, caused mud to splash up your leg. Blistering and blaring was the sun that was pouring distress on your face, which was now rose-red with the flow of blood greatly increased. There was a looming sense that you could be the victim of merciless dehydration. You waited for the heat to incinerate you to ashes, but it never came. All you know is that every ragged breath sends an ice-cold searing pain, your heart pounding.

As you recounted feverishly, you came to the conclusion that this was your 45th mile. Howard had given up on the 2nd. And that, you laughed, for you were sure the millionaire playboy had plenty of exercise declared ' frivolous '. Instead of fatigue edging you on, the only difficulty you faced was dehydration. And the cold. Well, that was a technicality. But you decided that this was enough. You needed to drink water before you collapsed. Even you couldn't handle this much. You picked the moss layering the neighboring trees, picked up your flask of water and drank deeply. From the corner of your eye, you saw the entire division gawking at you. You knew what they were talking about, and instead of feeling pride at this accomplishment, you burrowed yourself in the impending blanket of shame, knowing you had pushed yourself too far.

Now the others knew part of your capabilities. Your strength. The intricate facade Colonel Philips had woven for you, thread by thread, now had a hole seared through the arrow of realization. Besides, what more normal could be about a woman sprinting in her blazer? In the open?

You saw a figure trotting in the distance, on the verge of collapsing. After a few long minutes of silence and staring, the nosy crowd dismissed. Finally. You walked briskly over to who you knew could possibly rescue you from the conversation bound to follow. Ugh. You hated being reprimanded.

Instead, you focused on the mess of a human being in front of you, catching him before he fell.

"Howard. Howard, look at me."

"Hey, sweetheart. Sweethearts. Two sweethearts. There's two of you. Why?" Howard slurred. 

The strong scent of alcohol hit your face. You recoiled in disgust. It was only then that you noticed him carrying a bottle of whisky. You walked him over to your tent and lay him down on your bed, sloshing the alcohol all over his murky clothes.

"Howard, you idiot, have you been drinking? Who drinks at 4 in the morning, you chucklehead?" you hissed. "You know you'll get into so much trouble for this. Tomorrow, you have a conference with Senator Brandt. And we both know it takes forever for you to - "

He cut you off by enveloping you in a bone-crushing hug, and you flinched. You were about to push him away and punch him as hard as you could for trying to crack your ribs but stopped short after the sensation of fast-flowing tears soaking the collar of your shirt. Howard Stark, crying?

Alright, this was it. No more alcohol for him. You calmly coaxed his bottle out of his hand, threw it across the grounds, and patted him on the back, caressing his tousled locks. His chest was rising and falling rapidly as he took sharp breaths. You pulled away gently and looked him in his flooded eyes. He opened his mouth, closed it again, and gulped.

"It's... the day my - my dad..." he whimpered. He wiped his eyes with his sleeve, hiccoughed, lay down on the bed and scrunched up his eyes, trying to fall asleep.

You stared at him in disbelief. He'd never mentioned any of his family before. Did he have siblings? You didn't know. Did he have a mother even? Was she alive? Was she well? Now, the news of his father dying tore a hole in you that you didn't even know was there. He had lost his father. And you hadn't even heard of him. But wait.

You had. He had mentioned him before. Back when the war had only started. Back when you were on a mission to stop Leviathan.

The scene crossed your mind. And it turned into something bigger.

Howard, who was shamelessly living in your 'women-only' apartment, and parading around with the other residents, had just told you that he needed you to steal the Blitzkrieg Button, a titular device which contained a vial of your blood, which Howard was stealing to research to replicate your pyrotechnic abilities, which could lead to medical advancements, seeing as you were devoid of sickness and injury. But Howard being Howard, there was a hidden motive behind this philanthropic deed; his own selfish agenda. Needless to say, after he foolishly sent you to retrieve your blood, it turned out badly. You regretted punching him, but you were in a rage. Why was he using your blood, even just for an experiment that could hurt so many people? He already knew the consequences of your powers, yet still acted against it. He knew the destruction it caused, setting ablaze everything harmless in its path. The incineration, the pain. Because fighting with fire burns the match itself. He didn't know that using your powers took up every last bit of your energy, and if you used too much of it, it reduced to a sleeping lump. You hated fainting.

After finding out why he had stolen your blood, you interrogated him to no ends, horror-stricken. He had been your friend for years now, which obviously meant that he would know how terrible it was in the absence of heat, the absence of control. You didn't believe him at all when he said he was doing it for health purposes. Since when had he cared about the country at all? And you kicked him out, mad at him, mad at your colleague, Edwin Jarvis, for not telling you anything at all, mad at Thompson, mad at Sousa.

You had trusted Howard. You had trusted him, you had been there for him at a time when the whole country thought he was a criminal. The conversation was still etched into your brain, and you couldn't forget it.

"You USED me! You lied to me!" you had yelled. You clutched the vial tightly in your hand. Howard was tenderly massaging the purplish lump on the side of his head with a pack of ice.

"You hit me!" he said, exasperated.

"You don't get to use my reaction to your lies as the REASON for your lies!"

"Y-yeah, I do." He had held his game hard, but was faltering. "I knew that..."he took a deep breath. " I knew that this isn't really ideal to take your blood," he looked at you as you scoffed, begging you to make eye contact, "but won't you sleep better knowing that you can give these people your power, as a form of medicine? I mean, think about it, all those people you could save. I didn't want you to know because... I was protecting you."

"Oh, don't pretend this is about me and my emotions. You were out to protect you." 

"Listen, I-"

"Oh, what? You finally have a good reason? "  you asked him, and crossed your arms. "Well, I'm willing to wait for it!"

He hung his head in shame. Your resolve to hang on to implacability was withering when you saw the hurt. No. You couldn't let this go. It was wrong. It was wrong, and so was he and... maybe it was not his fault. The look in his eyes, the utter guilt did not insinuate selfishness. At least not with Howard. If he cared so deeply about something, he would only feel anger if things did not go his way. Not trepidation, or whatever it was he was showing. He was a terrible actor, and couldn't pull of any other expression than a mask of egoism. So, where was this apprehension, this liability coming from? Maybe he really was doing it for the good of the nation. Maybe he was set out in the hopes of progress. Maybe the theft of your blood really was beneficial for aiding others. Maybe you could forgive him. Maybe you could -

"I didn't want to see this turmoil that you're in. Look at you."

Look at YOU? What had you done to deserve such judgment from him? Were you really that conflicted in your outward appearance? Were you broken? Or was it how you behaved around others? Were you cold, calculating? Heartless? What was it about you that had impacted Howard so negatively?

As these thoughts swam around in your head, your confusion was replaced with anger. It obviously was not important to him how your felt after he stole your blood. He really was a criminal.

"I TRUSTED you, Howard!

Howard was now aggravated. "Yeah, I know and I was wrong. But you have to understand, Helen, a kid like me doesn't get to where I'm at-"

"What? Wanted for treason?"

Your eyes gleamed dangerously, but so did his. He moved forward to your face, until he was  inches away. "I grew up on the Lower East Side. My father sold fruit. My mother sewed shirtwaists for a factory." he said. His voice grew more distressed with every word. "Let me tell you, you don't get to climb the American ladder without picking up some bad habits on the way. There's a ceiling for certain types of people based on how much money your parents have, your social class, your religion, your sеx." he paused to survey your expression.

You were actively trying to avoid his gaze, but were failing miserably. With every second, your face grew hotter, and tears threatened to spill.

"And the only way to break through that ceiling sometimes is to lie, so that's my natural instinct... to lie. I shouldn't have lied to you. For that, trust me, I am truly sorry." Howard finished off. He breathed deeply as if he had been trying to get this off his chest for a terribly long time now.

All of a sudden, you were burdened with the feeling of being awful. You really were awful. You hadn't even known even a bit about his family. His parents, how he grew up. You assumed that his mannerisms, his behavior, the way that he spoke, all stemmed from one root: Childhood coddling.

But your assumptions lead to your downfall. They always did.

Howard hadn't been brought up in a lavish home, showered with gifts, smothered with affection. He too had a rough childhood. Who knows, he may have lived worse than you could ever imagine. He probably did. His parents, with their jobs, probably couldn't even scrape a bare minimum of $1000 a year. Even compared to the living standards of the Great Depression, the Stark family had suffered too much.

And you knew all about poverty. Even thought you hadn't had the misfortune to be born into it, your uncle, a veteran, was part of a humanitarian charity. As a little girl, nothing gave you more pride than to provide the needy with things that made their lives better.

You'd known Howard since you were 7. You went to the same school. Yet you had not once thought to ask him anything about his family. Not once thought to ask him about his home. His family must have sacrificed so much to support him in pursuing his education. You had learnt that the hard way, but you couldn't let this situation go just yet. Some might say you were making too big of a deal about this, that you were being cruel, but then again, wounds left untreated evolve into scars. Intricate with shame.

So, instead of outright accusing him, you took on a different tact. To calm things down.

"Why did you really have my blood, Howard?

He cleared his throat. "You know, when we had that initiation ceremony - well, more like experiment - for when you joined the army, I was one of the lead scientists for Operation Inferno. Eleven vials went to the government, one vial went to me."

He sighed. " Does the SSR know they have the vial?"

You didn't understand. Bewilderment snapped you out of the conflict that had been rising in you.

"Why shouldn't they have it?" you asked.

"The government's almost through their supply. If they know they have mine, they'll never give it back, even if you clear my name."

"How would I know if you really were going to use it for... well, for good."

"Helen, please." He looked at you with desperation in his eyes.

But now you were torn between 2 decisions : Should you allow him to conduct research on your blood, even though you knew the consequences, or should you take it back, possibly putting an end to medical advancement?

No matter how many times you tried to balance this argument, the scale always tipped to taking back your blood. Who knew what could possibly happen if people were transferred your blood. Would they suffer the side-effects, the cold, the pain, the fatigue, or would they rise from misery, burn bright, immortal, like a phoenix?

You knew life was too short to live stuck on decisions like these, each lingering moment devouring a part of your resolve. But what about decisions like these?

Decisions that can impact something greatly. Or terribly.

UGH! Why did you have to be so indecisive at a time like this?

What was wrong with you?

You always knew the answer, the solution to a problem, they path out of the maze. Yet you were lost in it. Wondering, helplessly. Every turn you took lead you back to the same spot. Each rose garden brimming with thorns, contact leaving your skin in passionate kisses.

But you knew that sometimes, your own opinion really did not matter.

Not compared to the greater good.

So what was the greater good?

You knew the answer. The solution. It felt like a rope entwining you, pulling you out amidst this calamity. As you ascended upwards, your option was clear. You had to give him the blood. Just today, you received intel that there was a mass murder in an area caused by an invention deemed "Item 17", yet you hadn't an inkling of what it truly was. You knew for a fact that in the future, it was possible that the few unfortunate ones who would survive such an incident would have to go through the agony of amputation surgery bereft of anesthetics.

You could spare them the pain.

You looked Howard straight in the eyes, jaw set. You placed his hand on top of yours, and placed the vial in it.

He paused for a minute, and rammed into you to entangle you in a hug that had too much intensity. You let out a half - strangled sob, and buried your face in his neck.

"I won't let you down, Queenie."

Maybe this snob really did have a heart in him. You felt something that you hadn't felt in very long time : pure glee.

___

You were brought back to reality as a twig snapped outside tent. You realized it had become dark. Quite dark. Howard had slept for the entire day, and into the evening. You suddenly felt famished, and rubbed your belly.

"A new dish for the English Dish." a sweet voice said. You recognized it almost immediately.

"Angela!" you exclaimed, but slapped a hand to your mouth when you realized Howard was asleep, and was stirring when you had yelled so enthusiastically. You quickly wrapped him up in your blanket, and went outside the tent. There she stood, with two parcels in her hand.

"Oh, Angela! What are you doing here? And how did you even get in?"

"Oh, ya know, standard procedure this, standard procedure that, blah blah blah." she explained. "Also, what the heck are C-rations? It sounds gross to me."

"Well, they're just canned rations. Mostly, we get field rations type C and E here."

"...Yeah, okay. So, I got you your favourite: chocolate souffle!" Angie remarked. She knew you really did love them. She shoved the parcels in your hand, and grinned triumphantly.

"Thank you so much, Angela." You hugged her lightly and handled the parcel gingerly, and a question approached you. "I thought your cafe had closed down. How did you get this?"

"Well, I make 'em too you know. I'm not just a waitress. God, I need to get a better job." she added. Before you could stop her, she entered your tent.

"Helen, you heard anything about - Whoa! Who's this dreamboat?" she muttered under her breath as she saw Howard, who was sprawled onto his stomach on your bed. You'd forgot to take his shoes off, making this sight even more peculiar.

"Oh. Yes, about that." you breathed out.

"Well?" Angie demanded, her hands on her hips.

"He's Howard." you stated simply. She knew who he was.

"Oh, that's the guy ya keep talking about. You're obsessed." she snickered.

"Angela, I've talked about him two times."

"All the time, two times, same thing." She giggled at her own joke. It was good to have a friend like Angela. She was caring, charismatic, and very funny. You found yourself smiling at her silly joke too. But stopped when she turned to Howard, and said, "I could eat this guy with a spoon." For some reason, you turned completely red at this comment, and pretended not to hear it.

Instead, you stared at your hands. Wow. They were very pale. You should get out more.

Angela started staring at your hands, too, to see what was so interesting, and enquired, "So, you two together?"

No.

"Heavens no, Angela! Why would you think that? Of course not!" you said, shocked. You looked up to see her puzzlement. 

Oh, wait. She didn't know him that well. Never mind.

"Why not?" two voices said in unison. One was Angie, and, to your utter dismay, Howard. He was standing straight, rubbing his eyes. When had he woken up?

Angie turned around to face him, and waved. "Hey mister," she said flirtatiously.

"Hey," he said, smiling. He looked at you and raised an eyebrow. "So, what's wrong with me, Helen?" he asked, sounding amused. Angela inched closer to Howard, and placed her hands on her hips just like Howard had done, mimicking his posture.

"Yeah, Helen. What's wrong with him?" she echoed, teasing you.

You froze. You couldn't answer without laughing, but he looked so serious. And angry. You suppressed your laughter, tried to keep your face pleasant, and tried to come up with a good-enough reason. Okay, you had one. You cleared your throat and said,

"Well, someone like you deserves someone so much better, Howard. Like Angela here. She's amazing." 

Phew. You had diverted the attention from you to Angela. Howard looked a little more prideful than before, but then, he looked Angela up and down. Someday, you were going to tell him off for doing that to every woman he met.

"I mean, Angela, you sure look like a doll." he rumbled in a voice much deeper than usual.

"You too, mister." Angie giggled. She tucked her hair behind her ear, and sighed.

This was too much for you. You exited the tent, walked a few paces forward, and burst into laughter. Clutching your torso, you tried to take breaths to stop laughing, but every time you were close to going back to normal, your brain created an image of Angie and Howard flirting with each other, and you couldn't control yourself again.

Wow, those two really were your favourite.