Tony, Age 6
Showing your pain
only generates more pain, little prince.
Hide it behind a charming smile,
And just maybe, you'll survive.
Maria and Howard Stark choose to have Anthony skip kindergarten. He was already reading chapter books and his ability with numbers was already well beyond simply counting and adding and subtracting small numbers. Academically, there seemed little point. And school didn't particularly fit into their schedule or lifestyle.
Stark Industries had factories in California and R&D departments in both California and New York. The headquarter for sales and most of the office work was in New York. Howard regularly travelled to D.C. to schmooze politicians and made trips to other continents for sales negotiations or to confer with other scientist and engineers. Maria was not a homebody. When Howard traveled Maria, Tony, Jarvis and a nanny did too.
They had the legal right to say no to kindergarten. They didn't neglect their child's education, per se, it was just unconventional, consisting mostly of: exposure to other cultures, Jarvis or a nanny taking him to historical sites, museums or national parks, and all the things he learned by tagging along with Howard to work.
But at age 6, they had to either enroll him in a regular school or officially submit documents for homeschooling. Neither parent had the time nor the inclination to be a teacher. They traveled far too often to enroll him in a day school. So they enrolled Anthony in a boarding school, paying an extra fee to convince the principal to allow a child so young to live at their facility.
It did not go well.
Tony's POV, Age 6
It was Saturday, in late August. Nanny Doreen and I had spent the afternoon making cherry pie. I usually have black grease stains on my clothes and hands. Today they were spotted with red cherry juice.
Nanny Doreen insisted I wash up and change my clothes. I think she thinks that my parents will think she's doing a crap job as a nanny if they see me covered in stains. I told her, 'Kids are supposed to get messy.'
She retorted, 'And adults are supposed to make them clean up afterwards. So go clean yourself up.'
Sigh.
And maybe I would've done so, but when I got to my room Mom was moving all of my clothes into a suitcase. Like, all of them. There were a couple of half open drawers already empty and a bulging suitcase was already zipped up.
"Mom? What's going on?"
"Oh, Tony! I thought you were making pies with Nanny Doreen."
"They're cooking. Where are we going?" I eyed a cardboard box that contained a few of my other things. "Are we moving?"
"Um, well." Mom looked nervous. "You are. Sort of."
I didn't like that. I know because my heart started fluttering. Something was very, very wrong. "What do you mean?"
"It's time for you to start school, sweetheart."
Sweetheart? Mom used that kind of endearment when she wanted to make me feel better about something bad. But it never made the bad thing any better. "But why are you packing my stuff? Are we all moving?"
"It's a boarding school. You're going to live at the school."
See? Sweetheart meant bad things. "People don't live at schools. They go to school and they come home. Unless they're in college. Then they live at the school." I was certain what I said was true. I'm mega-smart, I mean, I'd already designed a circuit board for a computer, like two years ago. And apparently that's odd because photographers came and were taking pictures and writing articles about me instead of about Mom or Dad. But I wasn't college smart yet, so there was no way I was starting college. I hadn't even been to regular school yet. And kids don't live at regular school.
"Boarding schools are different. You'll have fun Tony. You'll get to play with other children."
"Like with lame Johnny Wilkerson who isn't allowed to use scissors and can't read or count. No thanks."
"Be polite." Mom looked at me pointedly.
"What? He isn't here to hear me call him lame. So what does it matter?" I'd heard Mom talk bad about people after being nice to them at parties. Obie and I even talked about it and he'd explained that you show them the face you need them to see when you're with them, then speak the truth when they're not around. It's a good business practice, and Mom was an expert at it. I hadn't gotten around to asking her about acting lessons, but I really should. But there were more important priorities right now.
Mom sighed, but didn't say anything else about me being rude, so either she agreed with me that it didn't matter, because we were in private, or she agreed with me that there were more important priorities at the moment, like my forced internment.
"You'll be with older kids most of the time. You're probably going to have to go to 1st grade for a week or two, but they are supposed to do some test with you to figure out which grade you should be in."
I was curious about that too. I'd taken an I.Q. test and Dad said I scored high on it, but finding out what grade I belonged in was different. Dad liked to remind me that a high I.Q. just means I have an easy time learning new things, not that I've already learned everything, and that there's plenty left for me to learn. So I really had no idea what grade I belonged in. But I didn't want to go to boarding school to find out, that's for sure.
Mom had continued talking. "Usually, you have to be at least 8 or 9 to live on campus, but we arranged it so you could stay even though you're 6, so you'll be with older kids most of the day."
"Arranged it? You mean Dad gave them extra money, like he does when he wants politicians to agree to things."
Maria's POV
I really wished my child wasn't already so versed in business dealings. I'd heard the old colloquialisms such as, 'They grow up so fast.' Or, 'You blink, and suddenly they aren't children anymore.' If it weren't for the cherry-stained hands, dots of red cherry juice on his shirt and the red smudge on his cheek, I'd have thought those years had already passed him by.
Tony was in such a hurry to be like Howard. The other day, he had arranged Barbie and Ken dolls ('action figures, not dolls Mom') around a couch cushion, which was evidently substituting in as a conference table, and he was running a board meeting. He was giving them a sales pitch about how Stark Industries needed people-conveyor-belts, like the ones at the airport. He'd even made an erector set version to demonstrate with.
At first, I'd just watched from the doorway, but eventually I'd walked into the room and inquired about what he was doing. He didn't break character.
"Mrs. Stark, please be prompt to board meetings in the future. If you would, please take a seat." Then he paced back and forth in front of his board of trustees, hands clasped behind his back. "Better living through technology is our duty. The motto we live by. And though this typically applies to the things we create and sell, it should apply within these walls as well. The use of the people conveyors will give weary legs a respite," I tried to keep my lips from twitching. One of Tony's only complaints about S.I. was the long walk through the endless halls in the S.I. buildings. His monologue continued, "It will increase the time spent at workstations, and employees will be pleased that after a long workday, their trek home will be that much easier. Through technology, we can provide a better life for the employees of S.I."
I supposed it was normal for children to mimic adults when they played. I just doubted that most of them were so proficient at the task.
Tony's POV
Mom didn't respond, but she didn't need to. I knew the answer. Of course Dad paid them off. And that hurt. Dad paid extra money to get rid of me.
Mom pulled another stack of shirts out of the drawer and was going to put them in the suitcase. I didn't let her. I grabbed a shirt from the middle of the stack and pulled and the whole stack came unfolded and slipped to the floor.
"Tony!"
Before she could start scolding, I started emptying the open suitcase, throwing the socks and shirts out of it and across the room. I wasn't going anywhere.
But I was wrong.
Nanny Doreen rushed in the room, apologizing for not keeping a better eye on me, and for not keeping me occupied while Mom finished packing my stuff. My eyes narrowed. So, Nanny Doreen was in on it too. By the time she started yelling at me I'd already unzipped the second suitcase and was working on distributing its contents across the floor. She tried to get ahold of me, but I slipped passed her.
I hid in the bottom of a linen closet. If they couldn't find me, they couldn't make me go. They called for me. They demanded that I clean up the mess I made and that I re-pack the suitcase. That was like ordering a death-row person to wire their own electric chair! NO. They tried bribing me with cherry pie. I ignored it all. I pushed the stack of blankets towards the closet door and curled up in a ball behind them. I knew it wasn't a great hiding place. I'd hid there from Nanny Doreen before when we played hide and seek. So if they didn't find me, they didn't want to find me.
It felt like I was in there for hours. They didn't come get me. They already didn't want me around.
I think I fell asleep because I woke up in my room. Someone must have found me and carried me there. I don't remember.
On Sunday, I hid my toothbrush and toothpaste, because you can't travel without those, but instead of looking for it, Mom pulled a work around, telling Jarvis to buy me a new one on the way there. Jarvis is supposed to be taking me to the school. We're supposed to stay at a hotel near the school tonight and then while I'm in class he's supposed to setup my room.
I tried hiding again, but they didn't let me stay hidden this time.
I tried clinging to Mom, but she let Dad pull me from her arms and carry me outside and put me in the car.
I got out of the car when he went to get one of the suitcases. Embarrassing, but I pleaded and cried. "Please. Please don't make me go. Please." And I tried to get him to let go of the handle. "Please. Put it down!" I even unsnapped one side and was reaching for the other snap to try to open it to make all the clothes fall out.
He did put it down then and roared, "ENOUGH!" Landing a record hard swat and ordered, "Get in the car, or I'll give you a dozen more of those."
I got in the car.
I was angry and scared and sad and too many other feelings to feel. I put my feet up on the car's seat, even though feet aren't supposed to be on car seats, and wrapped my arms around my legs.
Howard's POV
I nearly crumbled at the fear and frustration in my child's eyes. I'm not a demonstrative man and found the best way to deal with uncomfortable emotions was to attack or avoid them. I'd done both. First, I ignored the problem. Then when the tantrum was coming to a head I'd attacked.
Now I'd gone back to avoiding the issue. I'd sent Jarvis to take my child away from me, to abandon him at a school. Then I fled to my home workshop and buried myself in work.
I liked tinkering in the workshop with my son, when I'm not too pre-occupied with deadlines. I didn't want to send Ant'ny away. But keeping him with us just wasn't practical. Ant'ny couldn't attend school and travel constantly.
Showing your pain
only generates more pain, little prince.
Hide it behind a charming smile,
And just maybe, you'll survive.
Flashback
"Be polite." Mom looked at me pointedly.
"What? He isn't here to hear me call him lame. So what does it matter?" I hadn't gotten around to asking her about acting lessons, but I really should.
Adult Tony's POV
I never did get around to those acting classes as a kid. Genuine is easier to pull off anyway. People accept you more when you just put it all out there, flaws and all. It allows them to feel connected to a rich a-hole who can say, buy, or do anything he wants.
I can throw on a façade when I need to. Let them see what I need them to see. And when I can't, I throw on a quality pair of sunglasses to hide my eyes.
Plus, it's a good gimmick. Give the public 92%, and your friends 94%, of your reality and you can hide an awful lot of big stuff in that 6-8%.
Flashback
He did put it down then and roared, "ENOUGH!" Landing a record hard swat and ordered, "Get in the car, or I'll give you a dozen more of those."
I got in the car.
I was angry and scared and sad and too many other feelings to feel.
End of Captain America Civil War
Adult Tony's POV
Showing your pain only generates more pain. But sometimes it can't be helped.
"He killed my Mom!"
After decades, I had a target to unleash upon all of the pain and anger over my parent's deaths. He'd taken my Mom. Howard, like me, had always been a target for our weapons designs, and might in someway have it coming to us. But Mom had done nothing to harm anyone.
Murdered. There had been speculation when they died, that someone had put a hit out on Dad, and that it had been made to look like a car accident. But the final conclusions, on the coroners and police reports had been that it was an accident on a slippery road.
I put it all out there. Released every hormone of anger upon Barnes, and Steve, when he got in the way. And what did I get in return? More pain. Both of the physical and emotional variety. Let me tell you, it really kicks you in the balls when your friend and childhood hero goes punch for punch with you, smashes the battery to your superhero suit, then hightails it with your parent's murderer.
All hail for King T'Chala for showing up to tear me out of the damaged suit and for giving me a lift home. Seems he went for subduing his dad's murderer. Good on him. Not my style. I've found destroying and conquering anything sent to harm me ends a lot of my angst. But I got bested today, so all I'm left with is pain.
