War greets us all.

We fall in line.

Put discord aside,

Little Prince,

In public, unite.

Age 4

Tony's POV

'It was a dark and stormy night. The rain distorted the shadows from the streetlights. I spied from my window the outline of a figure dart across the road and then vanish into the shrubs that align the Jenkin's yard.' My eyes flew across the words on the page, and for a moment, I was there with Jason, staring out at the mysterious danger across the street. Then the jet jolted with turbulence and Dad grumbled about the crap shock absorbers on planes, and Mom quietly flipped to the next article in Vogue.

Why was it always dark and rainy when the scary stuff happens in stories? It's like authors think people are like vampires that can only be dangerous at night.

I tossed the book to the side and kicked my legs, bored. I really wanted to tinker with wires and stuff, or maybe pester Dad into explaining shock absorbers to me. Then I could try to work on that turbulence issue. The plane jerked again. I kicked my legs some more. The stupid little red light was on saying we had to stay buckled up. The plane gave a shuttering bump up and back down and I could hear my box of Legos do a slam up and back down in the plastic compartment above my head.

Turbulence meant no Legos. I'd tried one time and half of them had gone tumbling to the floor. I'd unbuckled, slipped to the floor and started gathering them up. Then Dad had gathered me up, landed 3 swats while I was dangling from his arm and put me back in my chair with the buckle on. I was crying and snot was dribbling from nose. Dad buckled up and the lecture/science lesson began.

Dad asked, "Newton's first law?"

I sucked in some of the tears because Starks are made of iron. I responded, "Things that are moving keep moving unless something makes them stop." Like my rear had been the stopping point for his hand. I squirmed and another tear trailed out.

"Second law?" he asked.

"Force=mass x acceleration. It takes more newtons of force to change the speed of big stuff than small stuff."

"What has more mass, you or your toys?"

Dumb question, but the receding heat on my rear told me it would be dumb to say so. "Me, sir," tacking on the sir because Dad must be really pissed to ask such a simple question.

"So, if the wind is providing enough newtons of force to throw your mass upwards, and it is that windy right now, and your seatbelt's off, what item is going to stop your forward moment?"

I glanced upwards, then over at Dad, then at the floor, "The ceiling, sir."

Dad was still being stern, "Third law?"

"Equal but opposite forces."

Then he lectured. "The ceiling of this plane has no give. It isn't going to bend and spread that force out to the side. It is going to exert all of it back on your skull. Cracking it. Even if it just makes you stumble, slamming your head into the plastic edge of a table tray or armrest could kill you. Obey the turbulence signs."

"Yes, sir." I'd sniffed in a bit more snot that wanted to dribble and wiped my face with my sleeve, not noticing my nanny trying to hand me a tissue.

Mom hadn't been on that plane trip, we'd been on her way to see her. But since then, if we were going to be flying in turbulent weather Dad had my nanny lock up anything fun to do and restricted me to books. Stories could be fun, but I wasn't in the mood to read.

I thought again about asking Dad to explain shock absorbers, but he was engrossed in business papers. I thought that one was really odd because words with similar spellings usually mean the same thing but for some reason engrossed didn't mean you were in the middle of being really gross. But I couldn't help having an image pop into my head of a sick kid sneezing and snot stretching out from their nose and down into their cereal bowl and then wiping off the hanging snot on their sleeve and then getting a puzzled look on their face like they're curious what snot, milk and cereal mixed together would taste like. That was definitely a better definition for engrossed, but the dictionary insisted that it simply meant being really focused on something.

Mom apparently had less compunction about interrupting Dad's engrossment. "Are you sure you need me at this luncheon, Howard? You know I don't agree with sending soldiers back to Vietnam."

"The Ross's are expecting the both of us."

"I don't know how Madison can stay married to that man. I can barley stand 5 minutes in his presence."

"It's none of our business to assess their personal dealings, Maria."

"Oh? Only the impersonal ones. It's okay to discuss the thousands of nameless boys being sent off to die, but not the relationship of our supposed friends."

"Precisely."

Mom made a growling noise and looked kind of like she wanted to throw the magazine at Dad's head, but Mom's anger tends to be the kind that freezes instead of burns. Her right leg crossed her left and started to tap in agitation. She flipped to a new page and pretended to be engrossed in, 'White House Party Secrets: Decor & Menus.'

I thought I was going to stay at the hotel with my nanny, and that maybe the two of us would go to a park or a museum. I wanted to go to the Aero-Space one.

Mom said, "Maybe tomorrow. I promised Madeline that Nanny Doreen could watch both you and Betty today."

My nose wrinkled at that, but I made the next best suggestion. "Then all 3 of us can go to the museum."

"No. Betty is barely a year old. She needs to be home with her mother."

"Then why is Nanny Doreen watching her?"

"Because all mothers deserve a break."

Mom was starting to sound impatient and like she wanted a break from me. So why couldn't I go to the museum. It sounded like the perfect way to give her a break and I said so, "Isn't the best way to do that to let us go to the museum today."

Mom was about to respond but Dad beat her to it. "Maria, stop letting him control the conversation. Antn'y, do as your told. Get ready to go."

"Yes, sir."

Lieutenant Colonel Ross and Dad talked business poolside with Mom and Mrs. Ross at their side. Nanny Doreen was sitting on the pool steps holding the baby. I was stuck in the shallow-end and not allowed to cannonball off the diving board or even jump from the side of the pool because there were no adults in the water and the Ross's didn't have floaties my size. I tried to tell Nanny Doreen that I'm a good enough swimmer to be in the deep-end on my own. She told me no, but I continued to plead anyway because if you pester adults log enough sometimes they'll say yes just to get you to stop.

But some instinct was giving me the willies of impending doom. I glanced over and both Lt. Col. Ross and Dad were glaring at me. I'd kind of forgotten Dad was there. He's a stickler for the, 'Obey your nanny without complaint,' rule.

I zipped it and settled for tossing the red plastic ring onto the shallow-end's floor and diving in after it.

A little bit later Nanny Doreen ordered, "Time to get out of the pool. Miss Betty needs changing."

"But Mom and Dad are right there!" I pointed to the round, stone table with the yellow umbrella awning. "Can't I stay in? I promise to stay in the shallow-end!"

The baby was crying and fidgeting and Nanny Doreen looked frustrated. If I gave one more push and refused to get out she might have no choice but to leave to take care of the baby while I stayed in the pool. "I swear I'll stay in the shallow end. Please!" I pleaded.

Nanny Doreen got her stern voice, "Out. Now. Or I'll find you a corner to stand in."

My checks flushed red in anger and embarrassment. I glanced over and Dad looked ticked enough to land a swat. I had to get out, but I found my own way to obey. I wasn't going to use the steps like she probably wanted me to. I put my hands on the edge of the pool and pulled myself up, but one of my hands slipped and my chin slammed into the cement, crashing my teeth together. Mom rushed over and pulled me the rest of the way out of the water. I was crying and wet and I just hugged her to me.

"Shh. Shh. It'll be alright." My teeth hurt and my chin hurt and her rubbing my back made me want to hug tighter and cry more, but she was easing me back and taking a hold of my chin to tilt it this way and that. My breath wobbled and I tried to get it under control because Starks are supposed to be made of iron and there was a lieutenant colonel watching me cry like a 3-year-old. Mom's white blouse was stained with a slobbery mess of my saliva, tears and blood. I had a new image for engross, because in that moment I had been really engrossed in being gross.

"Let's get you cleaned up. Madeline, where do you keep your bandages."

"Top drawer, downstairs bathroom, just across from the kitchen."

Nanny Doreen disappeared to the baby's room; Mom and I went to the downstairs washroom. I sat on the toilet lid while she wiped my face clean. Then she got out the bottle of iodine and dabbed some on a cotton swab. I leaned back trying to avoid it because I know that stuff hurts even if it does clean wounds. I couldn't get far enough away and it touched. I clenched my fingers around the toilet seat and let out a hiss, and maybe another tear or two, because it was just Mom and me.

Then Mom bandaged and kissed the cut on my chin and gave me one more hug. I sort of wanted her to carry me, but I was almost 5 and too big for Mom to carry. She held my hand and we went back out to the table. Mom had me sit between her and Dad.

Listening to adult talk is just about as bad as corner time. Less embarrassing, but equally boring. I wanted to go see what the baby and Nanny Doreen were doing. If the baby was going down for a nap, maybe the two of us could do something fun and if the baby was awake maybe I could play with her toys. Not that a baby's toys would be all that great, but they had to be better than adults talking about boring stuff.

But I was kind of stuck on the stone seat between my parents. Another big rule of Dad's was, 'Don't interrupt adult conversations.' Basically, the modern version of the, 'Children should be seen, but not heard,' saying.

Today was the first time I wondered if that saying was meant to be literal. Maybe it was more like what Dad and Lt. Col. Ross were talking about, that it's important to see and be aware of the issues effecting soldiers, but soldiers are meant to follow orders and not question them, so you can't just let yourself hear all of their complaints, else nothing will get done. It'll just be one huge bitch fest.

I should probably stop speaking like that in my head because if one of those words actually pops out soap might actually pop in. But Dad talks that way all the time, so it's hard not to.

Lt. Col. Ross said, "We're going to need a lot more troops if we're going to fight back the commies. Doesn't look like Ford's going to get the approval for that. Hate to say it, but it looks like we're in retreat mode. Plans are being put in place to evacuate any American's on South Vietnam shores, along with any fleeing Vietnamese. We still need your help, Stark. When the next fight comes, and there will always be a next war, we got to be better prepared than we were for this one. You got any ideas in mind to keep us from being rough shod like we were over there?"

It was really weird to hear Lt. Col. Ross talk about us losing the war. I heard him and others on the news and they always made it sound like we'd won that war, even if all the caskets being carried across the screen kind of contradicted that claim.

I listened while Dad described some of his weapon ideas.

Then the four of them started talking about the Babylift program. The Navy and Air Force were supposed to take Vietnamese orphans here to be adopted. Mom and the others couldn't seem to agree on any of it.

One would say, "Kids need parents."

And someone else would retort, "But are their parents dead, or just missing?"

Back forth and round and round they went.

"Does the military have the right to take these kids? It sounds like kidnapping to me."

"Kidnapping for a good cause. The North Vietnamese army is moving further and further south and it's comply or get killed; and sometimes they aren't given the option to comply. Taking them is saving them."

"But what then? Will we strip them of their language? Their culture?"

"Modern day Conquistadors killing the adults then refusing to allow the children to use their own language or celebrate their own culture. Why do you think all of South America speaks Spanish?"

"Same thing happened here with the native tribes. It's been decades, but were still taking backlash for that."

"Is it really such a bad thing to bring them into the modern world? Proper plumbing. Functioning electricity."

"Our lifestyle isn't for all."

"Agreed. What's so wrong with living off the land, being in touch with nature? Gather what you need to survive, then while-away the rest of the day. No schedules to keep. No bills to pay. It has it's benefits."

"You turning hippie on us? Just try a resort week at one of their camps and you'll be running back to spa treatments and grocery stores."

"I didn't say it's how I want to live, just that there's no harm in letting others do so."

They went on for a bit. It was really weird. They all gave their points for or against the Babylift program, and couldn't seem to agree on much. Then suddenly, they're talking about a press conference tomorrow and how all 4 of them were going to get their photo taken together and they were planning on what the headline would say, things like, "Stark Foundation Sponsors Babylift." Then they talked about the main points that should be in the article such as:

the date and location of the event,

that the event was intended to help find parents for the orphans,

and to sponsor funds for their care until parents could be obtained.

How was it that they all of a suddenly agreed on something that they disagreed so strongly about?

On the plane ride home, I asked Dad to explain. "How come you and Lieutenant Colonel Ross say we won the war when you're on T.V., but act like we lost when you were talking yesterday?"

"Ross and I have a lot of power, but not ultimate power. We're told to claim America won, so we do so. It's better for morale then claiming a loss, particularly when so many American's were against us going over there in the first place. It would give them ammunition to say we were wrong."

"Were we wrong?"

"Every battle is wrong from some person's perspective, Anthony."

"Kind of like with the Babylift thing? You guys kept going on and on about all the perspectives."

"True."

"But Dad, why did all of you suddenly agree to do the Babylift fundraiser if none of you seemed sure if it should even happen. You even did that press conference about it today and you all seemed to be on the same side."

"The Babylift initiative is going to go into effect, regardless of our opinions on the matter. So we follow the motto, 'United in public.'"

"Huh?"

"There is a time and place to disagree, and that place is in the privacy of hearth and home. In public, we are united."

"Why?"

"Unity is strong. Ideas should be challenged, in private. But in public, Stark Industries and its allies, and your mother and myself are united. And I expect the same from you. You've got a little leeway to speak your mind when it's just me, or Jarvis, or your Mom, assuming your tongue stays civil, but in public, you side with me, no questions asked. Let's call it a family motto. United in public."

Dad said really confusing things sometimes. "How's my tongue supposed to stay civil? Wasn't that a really big war?"

"Civil means be polite. Don't take a tone and don't use bad language. Though we disagreed about the Babylift initiative none of us raised our voices or got angry at each other about it. We were civil."

"Then how'd that become the name of a war?"

"I'm not sure exactly. Perhaps because siblings and cousins fought on either side of it, trying to kill each other by day, then getting together to play cards at night."

"Really!?" That sounded weird. My brain tried to work out why the soldiers would do that.

"Not all of them, but some did."

I came up with a conclusion. "Maybe they were spies, trying to figure out what the other side had planned for the next day."

"Could be," answered Dad. "And I'd harbor to guess that some of them were given false information to spread to the other side. Information is currency in war." The plane jolted. "Buckle up."

I got in my seat and put the seatbelt on. "Dad, can you show me how shock absorbers work?"

"Sure."

Then he looked down at his boring papers and I knew Q&A time was done. I pulled out the book. '…I spied from my window the outline of a figure dart across the road and then vanish into the shrubs that align the Jenkin's yard. A howl rent the night air and a chill went through my spine.'

Note: I am not in support of Howard's viewpoint of, "… in public, you side with me, no questions asked." I wrote it like this because there are indications in the movies that Tony was raised in a patriarchal home where the man of the house's word was law. He tries to pull it on Pepper and she just rollers her eyes and goes on about executing her own plans while Tony pouts in the background or she argues with him and says he's wrong and that there is no way they are staying in a house being targeted by a terrorist.