#trying SO HARD not to be an acquisitive fountain pen bitch

[dorevenge]

where ignorance is bliss - chapter 7: about to billow

SUMMARY: Howard's research is stolen by an unknown group, and Maria reaches out to someone for help. [AO3 LINK]

CHAPTERS: 1 2 3 4 5 6 [7] 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 ☆

December 22, 1959 – Manhattan, New York City, Stark Manor

The house is littered with S.H.I.E.LD. agents when we arrive, dusting for fingerprints, hunting for footprints, desperately searching for any indication of who might have raided us. Howard goes straight to the office to try to write down a list of what might be missing and what S.H.I.E.LD. will need to look out for. The list is endless, and it’s a fruitless endeavor to try to recall everything he might have created in that mind of his. The agents won’t let me make tea in the kitchen, as there was an “active investigation” and I couldn’t “contaminate” so I sit idly by, helpless.

I wander over to the study where Howard and Peggy have been at it for hours, and when I arrive, the air is tense.

“Why would you even invent this? You’d think you’d have learned something after Leviathan.”

“Peg, I obviously didn’t know someone would steal something that isn’t even finished!” Howard returns Peggy’s stressed tone. “And in my own home.”

“The potential your reactor has, Howard, is irresponsible. The way you described it, if it’s unregulated… Maria.”

Howard relaxes at the sight of me and continues, his voice instantly calmer. “That’s why I haven’t released it. It’s gonna take years to perfect, decades even. A lifetime. If I create the arc reactor, it would be my highest achievement as a man. I want it perfect; I don’t want it tarnished by some dimwits trying to replicate it and ruining its potential.”

“It was your arc reactor plans that were stolen?” I ask Howard.

“Yeah. I’m starting something… Tentatively called the Unity Project.” Howard explains. “The Tesseract is this cube that creates insane amounts of energy, and we’re trying to figure out how to replicate that energy. The arc reactor is the key to our future – sustainable, unlimited energy – not relying on fossil fuels anymore.” He collapses in a nearby armchair. “But it’s not ready yet, and it could hurt people if it’s made before it is.”

I move over to his side. “I wish I could tell you some magical thing to make it all go away. What would we look for if these prototypes get made?”

“Neighborhoods would get leveled. Hundreds, even thousands, of people hurt as soon as it’s turned on.”

Peggy asks, “Do you remember what elements were in the plans? We could search for those, who’s buying them. tracking the isotopes. I can ask my people on the black market”

“I’ll add them to the list.” Howard slumps in his chair further. “I’ve been doing everything I can to stop the death toll in my wake, Peg, honest. I don’t want the Stark name to become a dirty one.”

“We’ll find the plans before anyone gets hurt. That’s what S.H.I.E.L.D. does,” Peggy assures us before leaving, taking Howard’s updated list with her.

Howard stands and pulls me into him, his nose buried in the side of my neck, his apologies blurring into sobs.

“It’s alright, dear,” I whisper, over and over, brushing his hair out of his face.

After a short while, once the shaking stops, he says, “I’ve never felt this way before. I’ve never felt so hopeless.”

-

By the next day, the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents had gotten everything they needed and were out of the house. It was just Howard and I again, picking up the pieces. I haven’t even been a wife for a month yet, and I feel like I’m failing. I make dinner, clean house, everything my mother did for my father, everything I was taught to, but it feels like I’m not doing enough. He sat in his study all day, no appetite, lifeless until I open the door, then he’d smile for me, but it’s not the same smile he had in Monaco, in Rome, in Vegas.

“Howard,” I say softly as I open the door.

“Hey, doll,” he responds, blueprints and sketches in front of him.

“Here’s the paper and some coffee. Please let me know if I can help at all.”

I set the tray down and walk into his open arms. Howard says, “Your pretty face helps more than you know. I’m sorry I’m distant, it’s just if anything happens, it’ll be because of me.”

The newspaper falls open as I pour him a cup of coffee, and the deadline reads, “Stane Int. Declares Bankruptcy, Bachelor Genius Down on His Luck.” I skim the article, the following lines catching my eye.

 “Mr. Obadiah Stane recently cut ties with Roxxon Oil Company after an internal scandal, kept hush-hush, regarding their unregulated weapons division. Last week, the New York Times reported on how half of Roxxon’s inventory went missing, and no theft was reported to the police department after the incident. The misplaced weapons were traced to shipping crates sent back and forth to Russia, and our sources say they were supplying Communists with weapons directly. The bad press must be why our dashing young Mr. Stane abandoned his contract with Roxxon, but without their funds, his pockets are empty and declaring Chapter 11. We reached out to the office of CEO and owner Giulietta Nefaria for Roxxon’s response, but we have not heard back from either party. Is this the end of the road for one of the greatest minds of the 50s?”

“Howard, dear, you said you’re not able to make this reactor on your own, right? What if you got help?”

He takes a deep drink of the coffee. “Who did you have in mind?” I hand him the paper and watch his dark eyes take in the article. “Obadiah Stane, your ex-fiancé. You think I should work with him?”

“He’s brilliant. And he’s down on his luck. You might need a mind like his in your corner.”

Howard continues reading. “Good morals, I suppose. I’ll meet with him, and if you vouch for him, why not give him a shot?” He stands, planting a kiss on the side of my face. “I have to go in to the office today, but I’ll have Jarvis give him a call and set something up.”

“Mr. Stane said no,” Edwin Jarvis, Howard’s nervous butler, says, hanging up the phone, looking somewhat disgruntled. “Quite rudely, too.”

“You called his office? And he answered from there?” I ask, and Edwin nods. “Take me there.”

“Take you to the Stane International offices?”

“Yes, please.”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Obadiah sits alone in his office on the second floor, swallowed up by the darkness, no lights on in the whole building. He, for the first time, looks small, behind his giant desk, empty now except for a fountain pen and a bottle of whiskey. It’s half-gone, which surprises me; Obie was never much of a drinker, and when he imbibed it was the fruitier cocktails.

“I have an offer for you from Stark Industries.”

“Yeah, I know. Howard’s goddamn butler called me earlier. Probably saw the article and wants to rub my face in it, couldn’t do it himself.”

“That’s not true, Obadiah. Howard and I-”

He looks up at me, shooting daggers with his eyes. “Howard and you?” The light from the window illuminates the diamond on my hand, and I’m not quick enough to hide it. He laughs, a joyless laugh, to himself, shaking his head.

“You married him? You married this son of a bitch after leaving me? Do you remember how you left me? It was without a single word, Maria. You left my ring on my pillow and went off, and you married Howard fucking Stark? What did I do to deserve to always be second to him? He steals my inventions, he steals my investors, my spotlight, and now he steals the love of my life?”

“It’s not like that, Obie-”

“Don’t Obie me, Maria. Did he knock you up, like he’s done countless models and bimbos?”

“That’s not why I’m here.” I swallow hard, clinging to my pride. He ignores me and keeps going. I grip the envelope in my hand tighter.

“Are you happy? I hope you’re happy, and I hope the two of you drive each other off the road. I hope you produce his bastards, and I hope you drown with him. That man destroys everything he touches. And that’s what he’s doing to you, Maria. He’s destroying you, and because of his ring on your finger, the two of you will go down together.” He sits heavily back into his armchair.

“Are you finished with your tantrum?” I ask, refusing to cry. I will not let him see how he hurts me, I won’t.

“Just leave me alone, Maria. Just go.”

“Believe it or not,” I say, “I am here purely for business. I have a proposal for you.” I realize my poor choice of words before he makes a face at me at the word proposal.

“Of course he’d send you to do his business. Come to rub my defeat in my face, Mrs. Stark?” Obadiah spits his words out. “Laugh at my misery?”

“Not at all. Howard respects you as an inventor and a businessman. We both do. You took a risk, and it didn’t work out this time, but he wants to work with you,” I say.

He laughs half-heartedly. “I’m bankrupt. I’m worth no one’s respect.”

“I’m here with an offer from Stark Industries to purchase Stane International,” I say again. Obadiah looks at me skeptically as I continue. “The potential acquisition is outlined in great detail, I wrote it myself, including how the $220 million Stark Industries is offering would be dispensed to cover your debts and resume your research. Presently, Mr. Stark would like your attention on the Unity Project, his current focus on arc reactor technology and clean, sustainable energy, work directly with the Tesseract.” I hand him the packet of papers and step back. “I’ll leave the proposal with you, and we’ll await your response.”

“How much of this was your doing?” he asks, holding the papers in his hands but looking at me instead of them, still in disbelief.

“I always knew you would do great things, Obadiah. I think you deserve the chance to do them. If you think this is an offer out of pity or arrogance, you’re greatly mistaken. It took a fair bit of work to get Howard to realize he needs help, and the two of you will do great things together.” I lean towards the door again, anxious to leave his office.

“Maria,” Obadiah stands, the chair screeching below him, but he doesn’t approach me. He searches for words and can’t seem to find them. His breaks eye contact, looking down.

I leave the room, silent on the ride home with Edwin.

[countingnothings]

i've spent the last year with green ink (iroshizuku in shin-ryoku) in a purple pen (the ohto dude, fine nib) and purple ink (iroshizuku in murasaki-shikibu) in a white pen (vintage pen, medium nib), and at today's blessed stationery store annual sale i treated myself to grey ink (iroshizuku in fuyu-syogun) and a green pen (lamy al-star, ultra-fine nib) and now. now i have the conundrum: do i continue being anti-conformist with what colour ink lives in what pen, or do i finally colour-coordinate? or do i go based on which colour i want to use with which nib size??