Finding the courage to confront Tony at all had taken more than a decade, and even now it grated slightly, butting up against extensive training and fears that were almost impossible to shake. It wasn't as if he worried one day the other man would snap. After this long together, after petty squabbles and obvious disapproval, eye-rolling and sarcasm so thick it was nearly tangible, Tony wasn't going to punish him. He might lash out, but it would be with pointed words and never fists, and Jarvis had observed long enough to have his own arsenal ready to go when it was necessary to speak up rather than fold into exasperated silence.
Anyway, the more he listened now, the clearer the picture became. He tilted his head, hearing an echo of something he hadn't realized until just this moment. "You're angry no one's forced him to play by the same rules," Jarvis murmured, reaching out to slide an empty plate and napkin in Tony's direction. "No one's punished him. No one's holding anything over his head."
Not like Tony was beholden for the antidote that kept him alive, or how Jarvis had to keep his head down to avoid upsetting the delicate balance that allowed him to retain his life. They were both excellent liars and actors, and Steve Rogers clearly failed across the board to conceal even the barest distaste for the Capitol and all its decadence and rot.
Jarvis glanced aside, hiding his frown. "He's still too genuine." That was the problem. Everyone eventually bent to fit the world around them, but Rogers seemed determined to stiffly, desperately resist; as if he could ever hope to change the world instead.