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Tony dragged himself out of bed. He still felt like shit - no wonder after the palladium poisoning and the beating he got during his fight with Vanko. Stumbling in his kitchen, he leaned on the cupboard right next to the coffee maker.
His thoughts wandered back to his father’s notes and gadgets as the black liquid slowly dripped into his favourite mug. Tony still had mostly unopened boxes sitting in his damaged workroom. They had not been important during his mad search for a remedy as they clearly were some personal recordings from Howard’s time in Europe during World War II and not containing any research or inventions.
He distinctly remembered seeing some photos of the Eiffel Tower and Buckingham Palace. Tony never had heard any story that his father had spent time sightseeing in Europe during the war and now his curiosity was piqued.
Grabbing his full mug, he went to his workroom. All unopened boxes were stacked in a corner at the far end. Tony had pushed them there during his building spree of the new particle accelerator.
He dropped unceremoniously to the ground in front of the first box and took a sip of his coffee. Setting the mug aside, he reached for the cardboard flaps and pushed them open.
The box was filled with drawings and schematics of all things Captain America - his cowl, uniform, different markings for his shield and also ideas for special weapons. Of all things Tony never wanted to know, the size of Steve Rogers’ package was on top of that list. Disturbed at the images coming to his mind - how had Howard gotten the measurements? -, Tony pushed the papers back into the box.
Taking a fortifying sip of his now lukewarm coffee, he opened the next box. Bundled letters were stacked neatly inside, each labelled with names and years. Tony recognized all guys from the surviving Howling Commandos, Peggy Carter, some military guys his father had spoken of and, of course, Steve Rogers. He had never known, that Howard had been pen pals with Captain America. It certainly would explain his obsession with finding the remains of Rogers.
Tony closed the box again and pushed it a little away. He would read the letters later, not sitting on his cool concrete floor in the damaged workshop. And maybe with something stronger at hand than cold coffee.
On top of the next box Tony found old posters for classical concerts starting from 1939. He gasped. The yellowed ads were from cities all over Europe and America featuring a pianist named Maria Collins Carbonell. Had his father known his mother already during the war? With shaking fingers Tony removed the posters. Tickets, yellowed, ripped and bent, lay on top of a stack of notebooks. Stunned, he picked up each ticket and read the locations: Paris, London, Vienna, New York and so many more. At least Howard had been an avid fan of Maria if the number of front row tickets could be believed.
Tony had never really known where and when his parents had met. They always only told him it was at a party after a concert, were a mutual friend had had introduced them to each other.
Pushing the thoughts away, he picked up the first notebook. The writing on the cover was in his mother’s handwriting. “Paris 1939” was written with blue ink in elegantly curved letters. Tony opened the book and found notes, small drawings, tickets to the Paris Opera and photos inside. It was more a scrapbook than a notebook about his mother’s stay in the French capital for a season of concerts at the Philharmonie de Paris.
Fascinated, he slowly turned page after page, discovering a side of his mother he had never known. The photos of typical sightseeing points like the Eiffel Tower, the River Seine or the Louvre were mixed with photos of great concert halls, faces of musicians with no names or Maria’s laughing face at different parties. Tony was enthralled by the carefree figure of his mother. She had been beautiful in her youth, the joy of living visible for all around her.
Tony turned the last page and nearly dropped the book. The very last photo in the book, right next to a perfect drawing of the Eiffel Tower, was a faded photo of two women in an explicit erotic embrace.
A photo of his mother and Peggy Carter. Having sex.
Tony swallowed against his suddenly dry throat. Not in a thousand years had he expected to ever see such a picture of his mother.
The photo was very tasteful and captured the intimacy between the two women beautifully. If this hadn’t been his mother, Tony would have certainly enjoyed the picture very much.
Thousand questions pushed through his shock. Who took such an intimate photo? Had had Maria and Peggy been lovers at that time or was this a one-night stand? Did they had a triad with Howard? Or Steve Rogers? What about the known love story between Peggy and Steve?
Tony pushed his hands through his hair, staring at the photo. Too many questions and nobody he could ask them. Peggy Carter was living at a state home. During his last visit she had mistaken him for Howard. His parents were long gone and Steve Rogers was missing.
Tony put back everything in the box and stacked it on the box with letters. He would read every scrap of information he had and maybe, just maybe, he would finally know who his parents had been.
The end.