The drink, with its frothy layer, made Jarvis want to take it, slap the back of Tony's hand, and fix the beverage properly. If he was going to drink, he might at least enjoy imbibing something made with a precise balance of acid and fire, enough to burn pleasantly all the way down without eating a layer off the tongue. Whether or not it mattered at this point was strongly in doubt, but Jarvis did want to mitigate what he could, when he could. Tony liked to make it difficult.
It was practically the family motto. Starks make life difficult. For themselves, for others.
Up swept a very pointed, very eloquent brow. "The result is something with which we are both painfully familiar?" He asked, drier than the most arid of arenas, not the barest hint of real emotion in his artificial voice. There was a flicker of something in his eyes, but Jarvis was very well-practiced by now at concealing things he didn't want seen. Secrets were never in short supply in this house, even if he never lied or attempted to deceive Tony outright. It wasn't in him.
Deft hands caught up the towel he'd been using to mop at condensation on the tabletop, twisting it roughly. "He listens to Barton," Jarvis pointed out, having something of a soft spot for the man in question. Then again, there were enough similarities between Tony and his former mentee that it was obvious why Jarvis might feel partial to him. "You two both have a singular method of communicating, and yet he still manages to get a point across." Shrugging, he moved to push the other chairs back into place. "Why do you think that might be?"