Tony Stark (itsanalloy) wrote in pastprologueic, @ 2015-01-18 10:41:00 |
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Entry tags: | !type: log, character: tony stark, npc: edwin jarvis |
WHO: Tony Star & Jarvis, the original (as wonderfully npc'd by Gail)
WHEN: Spring, 1986
WHERE: Stark Mansion, Long Island, NY
WHAT: After the Starks' deaths, the prodigal son returns -- the first time.
WARNINGS: Some very brief sexual references, prostitution, and slavery. Howard Stark's A+ parenting.
___
The long trip home from Budapest to New York, from private jet to private car, was mostly conducted in silence. No, Obi had had his say already after rescuing Tony from a nasty spot of trouble (somewhat of an understatement), and his heavy air of disappointment could say all the rest after.
As the car made its way back to the Long Island mansion, Tony slouched in the back seat and pressed himself against the far right window, sweatshirt hoodie up and slung low over his eyes, refusing to look or talk to Obi who sat on the other side. His clothes were new: hastily purchased in Hungary as he had no possessions of his own. As the car rolled through the familiar neighborhood, he felt nausea and anxiety roll through him. He didn’t want to go back to that place, had very intentionally left it -- and his whole life -- behind. Being dragged back months after the fact did not mean the problem had gone away: the mansion loomed large and forbidding, now more for what it lacked than what it contained.
The car finally cleared the iron-wrought gates and pulled into the circular driveway, pausing in front of the mansion’s grand entrance. Tony didn’t move, though he felt the weight of Obi’s gaze on the back of his head.
“Tony,” Obi sighed and reached out to land a large hand on Tony’s shoulder, causing him to flinch away and shrug him off.
A phone call from the airport let Edwin know that they were on their way. Calculating the estimated time of their arrival, he was standing outside on the driveway, in front of the entrance with an umbrella to shelter himself from a light drizzle. His face was a little more careworn, since Howard and Maria’s accident, a little more grey at the temples. If the Starks’ deaths weren’t horrible enough, the sudden disappearance of their son sent Edwin into a perfect tizzy.
When he spotted the car pulling through the gates, he straightened his posture to receive them. Through the foggy window, he could see Tony was seated on the side closest to him, and he went forward to open the door. “Master Tony,” he said, by way of greeting, and then to Obi, “Mr. Stane. Thank you very much for bringing Master Tony home. If that will be all, I’m sure he is very tired from his long journey. We shall keep in contact with you.” Edwin spoke politely, but curtly, to strongly convey that he didn’t wish Obi to come in, much less get out of the car.
Obi met Jarvis’s gaze with raised brows and cool amusement. He was well aware of the butler’s dislike of him; he didn’t particularly care. Howard had named him Tony’s guardian and executor of his will. It was only his distaste for hands-on child rearing that had prevented him from dismissing the impertinent butler altogether. “I’ll be back tomorrow morning,” he said to both Jarvis and Tony, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I trust you’ve been informed as to what our little errant boy here got up to. See that he gets some rest.”
With Obi behind him and Jarvis’s expectations in front, Tony reluctantly got out of the car, squinting at the mist before being afforded the protection of Jarvis’s umbrella. He turned and glanced back at Obi briefly before silently and sullenly trudging back to the mansion.
“Good day, sir.” There was little kindness Edwin’s voice as he saw Obi off. Edwin protectively placed his hand between Tony’s shoulders to gently guide him away, glancing back at the car and its smug occupant with a frown. He saw how Obadiah had behaved after Tony disappeared, and he didn’t feel like he had Tony’s best interest in mind.
Up the stairs and through the door, which Edwin opened, he first shook the umbrella out on the porch before inserting it into a stand beside the entrance to dry, but his attention was fully upon Tony. His forehead creased with worry as the very next thing he did was to position himself in front of the young man to have a better look at his face. He opened his mouth to speak, but caught himself, out of fear that he might be behaving too forwardly, but decided to plug on despite his reservations. “Are you alright? We’ve been terribly worried about you.” Instinctively, he brushed some drops of rain that had collected upon his shoulders. “It’s good to have you home, Master Tony.”
Tony finally looked up to Jarvis’s concerned face, felt a stab of guilt for worrying the man who had been a better father to him than his own, and consequently let his face smooth out in an attempt at a carefree demeanor. Instead, he shrugged. “I was having the time of my life. Why wouldn’t I be, Jar?”
There was so much of Howard in Tony’s face, it made Edwin quirk a fond, yet wry smile. “Don’t think I can’t see right through you. I know better.” After all, he watched Tony grow since the day he was born, and Edwin knew all Tony’s tricks. “Come, I have lunch waiting in the kitchen. I do hope you’re hungry. I can’t imagine the meals on the flight were any good.”
In truth, Tony hadn’t eaten at all -- couldn’t. He had always been an apathetic eater at best (only Jarvis’s cooking had ever gotten him to eat without protest), but the past few months had erased any semblance of appetite altogether. Beneath his too large sweatshirt, he was paler and thinner than ever, speaking to his prolonged spartan existence.
But he followed Jarvis without protest, mostly because it felt familiar, if more painful now. Through the big empty rooms and halls, it was as if nothing had changed really -- his father was away at work or down in his lab, often for days at a time. His mother was at a luncheon hosted by one of the many organizations she was a part of or vacationing in the Riviera. They were not often all under the same roof together, and Tony could, at least, pretend for now. “Obi had them serve oysters.” He wrinkled his nose. He never liked eating in the formal dining room with its big empty table. This, in the kitchen, was warmer, cozier.
It was all very much the same, and yet not. Tony was aware of the weight of all the many unsaid things hanging in the air. He nervously picked at his sleeves, finding a loose thread that he immediately began pulling. “If I worried you...I’m sorry.”
There was a little breakfast nook in the corner of the kitchen, near the bay windows overlooking the garden. Edwin had decided it would be a more comfortable place to dine, where they could be private. “Oysters?” Knowing Tony’s tastes, Edwin shook his head in disbelief and went over to the stove to retrieve a pot that was being kept warm. “It sounds like Mr Stane was considering his appetite more than yours. I’m afraid we’ll have to make do with soup and sandwiches.” He ladled out a bowl and carried it over to the table on a tray that also had a neatly made sandwich on a plate, Tony’s favorite. Edwin sat across from Tony without a portion of his own, waiting and watching for Tony. “Tuck in.”
In response to Tony’s apology, Edwin simply replied, “You were grieving. Grief makes carries us to do some rather… impulsive actions.” A small pause. “A message would’ve been welcome. To let us know you were you were.” And by us, Edwin meant himself. “It’s fortunate that you were located. And in the nick of time, I might add. You found yourself in a spot of trouble. Budapest of all places! Why there?” His words were kind, without a hint of accusation or anger.
From past experience, Tony knew Jarvis wouldn’t back down, so Tony sighed and picked up a spoon. The soup, beef vegetable, was hot and did smell good -- bringing a deep, comforting sense of home with it. It was rich and hearty -- comfort food, as it were.
“I didn’t mean to end up there. I was in Paris.” Those men hadn’t given him a choice in the matter, though, picking him up, tying him up and blinding folding him before throwing him into the trunk of their car. Various bouts of drug-induced unconsciousness later, he found himself in a musty-smelling cellar waiting to be sold to the highest bidder, which, as it happened, was Obi. That’s coming out of your trust fund, was the first thing Obi said to him.
“I...didn’t want to be found. I knew that if I were, I’d be forced to come back.” And here he was. “I just didn’t want to be a Stark anymore.” He didn’t want his dad’s company. He didn’t want his dad’s name or legacy or expectations.
“And being a sex slave was the better option?” Edwin bluntly asked, raising his eyebrows. “What’s the matter with being a Stark?”
Tony couldn’t help but flinch at the blunt phrasing. “I didn’t intend on that turn of events.” But finding himself in Europe under an assumed name and not wanting to touch the money left to him (not wanting to tip off Obi as to where he had gone), Tony had found himself for the first time in dire material straights: and he had loved it. The basic worry for the necessities of food, clothing, and shelter made for a great distraction from the messier things that had plagued him.
So why not the world’s oldest profession? He loved sex. It had worked for thousands of men and women before him. He was not unaware that his features lent themselves to a certain kind of appreciation (women of all ages, his schoolmates, and even some of his father’s business partners when they didn’t think he had noticed). “You know what everyone is saying and going to expect. It was expected of me before I was even born. I’ve been whoring out my mind for Dad since as far back as I can remember -- whoring it out in Europe didn’t seem like such a big leap.”
“How novel,” Edwin said, calmly folding his hands in front of him upon the table. “Somebody paying to have sex with a Stark, instead of the other way around.” Considering Tony’s age and their relationship prior to this, Edwin had never been so candid with Tony, especially concerning sexual matters. But given the predicament from which Tony had been saved, and the fact that he was now Master of the house, Edwin felt like he could be more straightforward.
Edwin’s mouth sealed shut into a sharp, angry line, before speaking. “Obadiah Stane and the rest on the Board of Directors can bloody well bugger off. Right now, the only thing that’s expected of you is finishing that soup. Nobody can force you to do anything, and nobody is going to, if I have anything to say about it.” It was out of protectiveness that he spoke, out fierce loyalty. Even though Tony was nearly an adult, still saw him as a boy that needed minding. However, Tony’s comment about his father was upsetting, and he added, thoughtfully, “You father wasn’t whoring your mind, as you put it. He was helping you see your potential.”
The unexpected remark had Tony sitting up straighter, taken off-guard. It was true: Jarvis had never spoken like this before. By reflex to that sharper tone, he shoved another spoonful into his mouth, but that last comment had him setting down his cutlery once more, the old resentments rising to the fore again. “I guess he died forever disappointed, seeing as how he made it clear he didn’t think I could ever achieve it.”
An uncomfortable sound escaped from Edwin at the topic, and then a sigh. “He wasn’t disappointed. At least, perhaps not in the way you think. Your father was a man driven by his work, and he expected the same out of you. Whether you believe it or not, your father loved you. It’s just...he didn’t do a very good job showing it, I’m afraid. Your genius blinded him, and he treated you more like an adult before you were ready.”
On this point, Tony thought he and Jarvis would always disagree, and his skepticism was made clear on his face. He didn’t say anything, though, not wanting to start his first hour back in a full blown argument. Instead he stared back down at his soup, suddenly finding the hearty broth too rich, so he picked up a sandwich instead and nibbled on a corner. “How was the funeral?” he asked, unable to look up. He was sure his absence had been well noted.
The skepticism was well noted, but Edwin was glad when Tony decided not to pursue it further. Tony was still young, he didn’t have the same perspective, he didn’t know Howard. Nothing could convince Edwin, otherwise - he would remain ever loyal to Howard, supporting him even after his death. The topic of the funeral was a somber one. “Tasteful. We managed to keep the service small, despite....” At this point, his voice choked up and he couldn’t continue. Edwin grimaced, awkwardly, and looked down at his hands, for despite his exterior, he too have grieving over the loss. It took but a few moments to collect himself. “They’re buried in Green River Cemetery.” He wanted to suggest that Tony ought to go see his parents, but he didn’t want to push him, especially so soon after he arrived. “Would you care for something to drink with that, Sir?”
Seeing Jarvis lose his composure, however briefly, caused more guilt to rise up in Tony’s throat -- the only funeral Tony had ever attended in his life had been for Jarvis’s wife when he had been two, and though he had been too young to truly understand what had happened, he remembered the immense sense of loss, how Jarvis had been as brittle as a hollowed out husk.
He had absolutely no plans to ever see his parents’ graves.
What little appetite he had managed to summon had completely dissipated, and he set down the sandwich. A scotch, he wanted to tell Jarvis, but knew that would only invite a tongue-lashing. “Water’s fine, Jarvis. Thanks.”
Frankly, Edwin was surprised Tony hadn’t asked for something stronger. And Tony might’ve been surprised that Edwin would’ve given it to him, despite the fact he was below the legal drinking age of this country. There was no doubt in Edwin’s mind that Tony got drunk and did drugs and had all sorts of things in his mouth while he was on his European bender, and would most likely do it again. Edwin reasoned that he’d rather serve Tony a drink than have him get drunk behind his back; at least it would be all up front. However, “Yes, sir. Water it is.”
Going to the fridge to retrieve a pitcher of filtered water, and then to the cabinet for a glass, Edwin said, “Tomorrow, when Mr. Stane comes to see you, I shall tell him you’ve fell ill and are unable to see anybody. I believe the company you kept with him on the ride home was more than enough to last a lifetime. Sadly, he is your legal guardian, so I’m unable to stave him off for very long, but you don’t deserve to have responsibilities thrust upon you so soon after returning, corporate or otherwise. I do strongly suggest seeing a physician.” He turned and handed Tony the glass. “You can’t be too careful. Who knows what you might’ve picked up.” Again, he was non-judgmental, speaking as a matter of fact. Heaven knows how many times Howard slept around. But Howard was always protected and Tony… well… prostitution was such nasty business.
At the announcement that he wouldn’t have to see Obi tomorrow, Tony nearly sunk back into the bench in relief. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Obi. The man was his father’s best friend, and he’d always been, well, simply nicer to him. Obi had always tried to mitigate the worst of Howard’s criticisms when he felt he was going too far -- but Tony could never quite relax around the man for those very same reasons. And after Obi had seen him at his worst...like that, frightened and dirtied and vulnerable, he would rather hide away in his shame than face the other man any time soon.
“I was always careful,” Tony tried to assure. He might have been reckless and impulsive in running away to become a European prostitute in the first place, but he wasn’t that reckless. But then, of course, there were those worrying moments of unconsciousness with less than reputable people...so who really knew? “Fine. Make the appointment.”
And those were the things that needed to be taken care of the immediate term. But what about in the next week, the next month? He’d have to go back to school. He was in the middle of finishing his first master’s after all. Rhodey was probably equally annoyed and worried. But...that was it, wasn’t it? That was all the people Tony really had in his life who cared about him now. The thought was staggering. “What do I do now, Jarvis?” he couldn’t help but ask, voice thin and cracking.
Edwin regarded the young Stark and remembered his own experience, overcoming the grief of Anna’s passing. “You carry on,” he said, sincerely, in a very British manner. “The best you can. Some days will be worse than others. At times, the memories will haunt you. But it won’t always be this way.”
It won’t always be this way. The pressure in his chest, which had not mere moments ago threatened to sink him, eased a little. That Jarvis looked at him so steadily and with so much confidence helped, knowing there was at least one person in the world who believed in him. “I think I want a shower. And then I could sleep for a million years.” It was a rare admission: he slept about as well as he ate, which was to say, not much. But the experience of the past few months had exhausted him and the weariness was now heavy in his bones.
“Very good, sir,” Edwin replied, noting how little Tony had eaten. “You’ll find your room is as you left it. Shall I...save this for later?” He gestured to the neglected meal. “Or perhaps you might be interested in ordering a pizza?” He knew what Tony liked, and hoped this might encourage him to eat. “You’ll find some things have changed around the manor. I fear we had to let go of most of the staff.” He managed a terse smile. “Currently, it’s just me and a handful of cleaning ladies. And...a number of items have been placed in storage.” Mostly personal effects that had belonged to Howard and Maria, such as clothes. Not everything - Jarvis was still hard pressed to clear it all away. And now that Tony was back, well, he ought to have a say on what remained, didn’t he?
When Tony got up out of his seat, Edwin mentioned, “Did you know that I met my wife in Budapest? Under quite different circumstances, I assure you.”
Tony could only nod tiredly along with the stream of Jarvis’s suggestions. Food? Sure. Pizza? Even better. He missed secret pizza nights with Jarvis. He had tasted the real thing in Italy, but Italy had nothing on New York -- the taste of home. But it was the mention of Anna that caused him to freeze, curious in spite of himself. He had been too young to really remember her, only the vaguest impressions of a kind face and a warm smile. She enjoyed giving him dollops of honey, he remembered. He had liked her so much as a baby, he knew. After she had died, Jarvis only ever mentioned her in passing, and Tony could never bring himself to ask. This, now, was rare and important. He sat back down. “Yeah? I didn’t get to see much of it, but it looked pretty from the car. Why were you in Budapest?”
There once was a time when Edwin couldn’t bear the memory of Anna - he missed her so dearly, it felt like stabs to his heart. But enough time elapsed that now he could smile fondly - a living testament to what he had just told Tony regarding how it wouldn’t always be so horrible. “It was before the War. I was serving in Her Majesty’s Army, as aide-de-camp for a certain General. We were stationed in Hungary.” Becoming thoughtful, he went back to the cupboard, where, on the top shelf, he pulled down a bottle of sherry. “My wife worked at a hotel in Budapest. As a matter of fact, this was where I also first made acquaintance with your father.” He poured out two small measures and placed one on the table in front of Tony.
For as long as he could remember, Tony had never seen Jarvis drink anything stronger than champagne, and only to test whether the quality was good or not. The presence of it now -- the good stuff, he knew, having indulged in his father’s reserves on more than one occasion -- unsettled him, but he wasn’t going to turn it down.
“I didn’t know you were a soldier.” And wasn’t that...simply extraordinary. Tony had to look at Jarvis -- fussy, restrained, stiff upper lipped Jarvis -- in a whole new light. He tried to imagine Jarvis in fatigues. He tried to imagine him with a rifle, for god’s sake. Or, heavens forbid, with smudges of dirt on his cheeks. Wrinkles in his clothes. It didn’t compute at first.
But there had always been an undeniable spine of steel there. A steady and unwavering strength. Jarvis did not bat an eye at very much, and this was a man who had been exposed to two generations of Starks. Perhaps Jarvis was more soldier material than Tony thought.
“Oh yes,” Edwin replied, quite cheerfully. “A Junior Officer, a Lieutenant. Though, I didn’t see much battle. I, ah...ran into a spot of trouble, myself. It was your father that helped me out of it. He then hired me as his personal butler, and Anna as Housekeeper.” He lifted his glass as a silent gesture to toast Howard’s memory, before taking a sip.
Tony did as well, though less so in honor of Dad’s memory than to swallow the knowledge of Jarvis’s life prior to arriving at the Stark household. There was a whole life lived there, he had begun to realize, that he didn’t even know. “That’s a big change, going from soldier to butler.” The insinuation was there: what would you have done if life had not unfolded as it had? What would you have done if you hadn’t been so obliged?
“Hrm. Not as far from the mark as you think. An aide-de-camp is a rather fancy way of saying that I was the General’s batman. By which I mean I was his personal servant. I acted as his valet, as well as secretary. I helped with his correspondence and often drove him places. I’m fortunate enough never to have seen the inside of a foxhole.” Edwin became silently introspective. “It was a very different time, then.”
And with that statement, Tony knew Jarvis would reveal no more and had, perhaps, revealed more than he had ever intended. He finished the last of his sherry in one go -- sure to cause a wince in the more appropriately behaved -- and as if something about the situation silently signaled to his body that he was home, that he was safe, with belly warmed by drink and Jarvis’s comforting presence to safeguard him once more, Tony found himself listing forward, barely able to keep his eyes open anymore.
Tony’s behavior drew Edwin from his thoughts and memories back to the present. Internally, he chastised himself - he’d been so wrapped up in the past that he neglected his real responsibility. Tony was that responsibility now. No time for sentimentality. He rose from his seat and went over to Tony’s side. “Shall I show you to your room, Sir?” It was less of a question and more of an instruction, helping Tony to his own feet, giving him the support needed to walk. Instead of taking the grand staircase up to the second floor, Edwin judicially used the service elevator to make it easier. Once in the bedroom, he quickly turned down the freshly laundered bedding and let Tony collapse upon the mattress, removing his shoes first, before covering him with the sheets. If and when Tony needed him, he would know how to ring.
“It’s good to have you home, Master Tony,” he murmured, then turned out the lights and shut the door.