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Howard Stark was worried. Inviting the general over for dinner had seemed like an excellent idea. While they waited for the meal to be served, Howard had been talking up the new Stark Industries line of ballistic missiles. (The politicians could blather about détente all they wanted; Howard and General McClellan were clear-headed, practical men who knew that the only thing better than a weapon that you never have to fire was an entire arsenal of them.) The clacking of balls on the pool table was a pleasant and almost serene counterpoint to the clinking of scotch glasses and manly, convivial laughter.
And then the damn kid had to go and throw a shit fit right outside the door.
When the boy’s ridiculous caterwauling continued with nobody coming to clear him away, Howard gave the general what he hoped was an apologetic smile despite his gritted teeth. “Excuse me for a moment, won’t you?” he asked, opening the door of the billiards room and stepping out into the hall. He picked up the yowling and wailing creature and stormed off in search of someone who wasn’t currently trying to make a sensitive business deal. Jarvis looked up in surprise as Howard burst into the kitchen. Howard thrust the sobbing boy at him while growling, “Deal with this.” He turned on his heel and stormed back the way he came, putting his company face back on before returning to the billiards room.
Maria Stark was worried. When her son wasn’t wailing as though he’d just lost his best friend in the entire world, he was solemn and withdrawn or sometimes downright sullen. She’d missed any number of luncheons and tennis dates at the club to take him to different doctors and therapists, all to no avail. He was in top physical health, all of the psychological tests came back normal, and his IQ had tested at a genius level. Plus, all of the experts had assured her that the child was entirely too young for this moodiness to be caused by any kind of emotional bleedover from his soulmate. To hear his preschool teachers tell it, he was a clever boy, truly delightful and so charming when he allowed himself to be. Well, he certainly wasn’t being charming right now. In her bedroom, she repositioned the ice pack on her forehead and sighed. Just one more pill. Just to take the edge off before dinner with the general.
Edwin Jarvis was worried. Mr. Stark hadn’t even waited to see whether Tony was secure in his arms before returning to his scotch and his business deals. Unfortunately, the kitchen had been so noisy that Jarvis hadn’t even heard the boy’s cries. “Hush now. Hush, my sweet boy.” Jarvis rocked him gently while stirring the hollandaise as best he could. As the last of the butter slowly incorporated into the sauce, Tony’s sobs began to abate.
“Here now, young sir, have a seat right here on the countertop while I spoon this over the asparagus, and then you may lick the spoon.”
The child sat quietly and hugged himself through a few more silent sobs while Jarvis and Ana put the finishing touches on the evening’s meal. Jarvis handed him a spoon that probably had more hollandaise on it than was strictly necessary and watched him take tiny little licks of it. “There. Is that better?”
Young Master Stark nodded while continuing to give all of his attention to the spoon he was licking. “Then I am glad,” said Jarvis.
“Is there anything amiss that I can help you with, young man?”
The boy swallowed and looked down at his feet. “No. I dunno. I don’t think so.” He looked up at Jarvis. “I don’t like this, Jarvis. Dad wants me to stop and I don’t know how. Mama says when I feel sad I need to tell myself to be ‘happy happy happy’. But it doesn’t work!” Tony’s lip started to tremble again.
Jarvis saw Mr. Stark’s anger and Mrs. Stark’s detachment and young Master Stark’s bone-deep knowledge that this sadness, whatever the cause, was an inconvenience and a disappointment to his parents. Jarvis, of course, would never breach decorum so far as to say anything directly against his employers. However, Jarvis spoke fluent subtext.
“Come, now.” Jarvis pulled the boy to him and ran his fingers gently through his hair. “Let us take a moment and share some tea, young sir. What I have found about sadness is, the harder you fight it the longer it wants to stay. So sit with me, and be sad as long as you must. I love you regardless.”
Encased in the ice of the North Atlantic, Steve Rogers slept on with a grief as deep as the Mariana Trench and as raw as yesterday.