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Tony actually arrived at work…not bright and chipper, first thing in the morning, but at least he was sober. Or he was doing a really good job at pretending to be sober. Of course, even as he closed himself into his office, it's unknown as to whether or not he was actually doing any work — there might be the sounds of a desktop pool-game going on if one listens carefully. But instead of calling Pepper in to refill the liquir cabinet, he's only asked for a coffee…and returned it when it wasn't the coffee he wanted so some port Intern had to go trekking all over New York to find someone who carried the beans he requested.
There may be murmuring debates among the staff as to whether or not drunk Tony is easier to deal with than sober Tony. The jury is still out.
*
Outside of the office there's some sort of commotion going on, for a few moments anyway, before the doors swing open. From the other side of the door is Howard, dressed in a dull grey suit to match his slowly greying hair. There's a purpose in his stride as he moves one perfectly polished dress shoe in front of the other making his way back into what had been his office. "Tony, we're going to have a talk."
There's a newspaper under his arm, or rather the business section of the morning paper. Howards tone is calm and level even as he closes the door behind himself having brought himself into the building. His hair is perfectly sculpted into place with the liberal use of a nice pomade, and he smells of expensive tobacco, like always.
*
Tony doesn't even glance up from the mini pool table that's been set up on his desk. He has a mini cue in hand as he's trying to sink a shot, "I'm sorry, Tony Stark isn't in the office right now. If you would like to make an appointment, please contact Pepper Potts. Appointments are only made three months in advance from the hours of 1:30 to 2:30pm. Thank you and have a nice day." The cue moves, the tiny little pool ball rolls to it's intended target and the other ball drops into the pocket.
He goes to set up another shot, moving around his desk a couple of times to get a good angle before he moves to sit on the surface and whatever papers and reports are there. There's a pause as he looks over, "Oh. You're still here. It screws with Pepper's organization when I have unannounced office visitors. Did you at least sign in at the front?"
*
Howard stands at a straight angle for a few moments quietly pulling out a cigarette from the pocket of his suitshirt to place back into the corner of his mouth. A small vibranium lighter comes out from the same pocket but he doesn't light up, instead just flicking it open for the white flame within, then flicking it back shut.
"Yes, I signed in just fine." Howard speaks calmly one hand returning back into the pocket of his grey suit-pants. "I'm a lot of things but forgetful isn't one of them." He looks over to the table moving to get a better look at it. His cigarette bounces in the corner of his mouth with each word.
*
"Window," Tony says, as if that's all he's going to say about the cigarette being smoked in his office. The only ash tray is there, perched on the sill, as if saying 'I've been banished to the corner'. Maybe he figured it was too much temptation so it was put way over across the room. As Howard moves closer, the younger Stark barely glances over before murmuring, "Personal bubble." He goes to sink a shot, but the ball curves.
There's a frustrated sigh as he turns to face his father, still seated on the desks and reports, "What do you want, Dad? I'm a little busy running the company you abandoned."
So busy.
*
"Fifteen degrees lower and you would have sunk it." Howard comments idly still leaving the cigarette unlit in his mouth while looking towards the table. His stance is almost akin to a statue of himself as he takes the time to work out the math in his head. He places a single hand down onto the pool table making sure his lighter goes right back away.
"Tony…" It's the first words out of his mouth after a drawn out silence, a lot of thought gone into it but not much output. Suave as he could have sometimes been talkative and ready for anything there was always something a little bit different when dealing with his son. "How long does it go on like this? I try to schedule a meeting and you're booked the next four years, I offer to take you out for drinks and you're fine locking yourself up."
*
"Yeah, well, there's this wind blowing…probably ruined my trajectory," Tony starts. He then throws up his hands as Howard places his hand down on the mini pool table. Hopping down from the desk, he moves towards the mini-bar (so many minis) in the office but doesn't pull out a glass. "Now you ruined my game. What else are you going to ruin today?" He looks back to his young-looking father, his eyes narrowing some at the question.
"You're about thirty years too late for that, Dad. Maybe you should have thought about what might happen when you shoved me at all those Boarding Schools and Nannies while you went traipsing about the world on a whim." He lets out a breath and turns from the bar, his hands going into the pocket of his suit pants, "Fine. You want a meeting? Let's meet. Sit down."
*
"I was thinking next I'd ruin your sex life, and follow that up with burning the company to the ground." Howard states in a calm voice, before turning back round. He's about as bull headed as Tony in some ways, but that's a given.
Moving back over to the first open chair without another word Howard grabs himself a seat. It used to be his office at one time but there have been some changes since the last time it actually was his.
*
"Honestly, it wouldn't surprise me if you tried and even if you burned the building to the ground, you know as well as I that the company would still continue." Between the two of them, at some point in their careers, made sure of that.
It's a meeting now, so Tony moves to sit at the desk in the Big Chair (tm), his hands laced before him as he looks, neutrally (he hopes), at his father. "Well? What are we meeting about? You wanted a meeting."
*
Howard gives a slow nod back towards his son from across the desk, setting in a rather authoritative and confident position "Tony I'd never intentionally interfere with another mans sex life unless it was Sousa, and I was really bored" Who Sousa is would be anyone's guess but he still speaks calm and collected with that business air about him even as he's joking about.
"Tony I've never been much of a father," Howard starts from his stance not really softening up his tone too much. "Spent more time with the SSR, or trying to find myself then I did at home." He looks towards his son. "But I know I don't have all the time in the world, hell I knew it then, that's why I tried my damnedest to build something you could be proud of." He takes his cigarette out from the corner of his mouth and holds it between his index and middle finger loosely leaning a bit forward. "To get to the point Tony, I'm working on a project, and I want your help, can I get it done on my own?" He pauses. "Of course, but I want to make it something we can do together, catch up for some lost time, get drunk, and do some science."
*
Tony starts to respond but then holds a hand up and murmurs, "Don't want to know. Just…don't want to know." Too Much Information.
However, he listens, trying to maintain a poker face — when he wants to, he can really do it. There is a pause as his father starts the explanation before he answers, "You can submit your proposal in triplicat to my Executive Assistant. Please allow rour to six weeks for processing. Don't call us, we'll call you." Then, he breaks that formal, robotic character and stands, resting his hands on the surface of the desk, "Are we done? You can't just walk in here and say 'Hey, kid…remember me? I'm your father who ignored your existance for thirty years. Let's suddenly be best pals.' Doesn't work that way, Dad. I don't know what television shows you're watching that gave you the idea that it did."
*
"Tony, let me lay a few things on the line." Howard speaks in a very stern and commanding voice as he comes back to a stand. "I've had cancer since 48, in 57 I was told my liver was failing." He adjusts his tie. "In 60 I was told I had four months left to live at most. Call me anything you want, shut me out, lock me out, but I was dieing, I was afraid, and I didn't want you going through what I had to watching my dad comatose in a bed rotting away."
He flicks back up his lighter into his hand starting to walk away from the desk. "I wanted to actually tell you this over drinks but by that point you were too busy being just like me to actually hear it, so I faked my own death to try and find a cure. Figured it'd be better if your old man died out in the south pacific looking for some new treasure then comatose in a bed hooked up to life support."
*
Tony crosses his arms at his chest, not looking terribly convinced. "I was born in 1933, Dad." He starts to slowly pace around to the front of the desk, "That's twenty-four years before you knew your liver was failing and twenty-seven years since you were given four months to live. Your timing is lousy." There's still no softness or sympathy.
"If you've somehow found a cure for cancer and you're not discussing it with the medical community, then that's possibly the most selfish thing I have ever, -ever- heard of, and that's coming from -me-."
"You lived," he uses air quotes, "twenty-two years after your initial diagnosis and you still didn't see fit to tell me anywhere along the way about it. You didn't want to repair the relationship that YOU BROKE for all those years. And you wonder why my behavior is like your's?"
Tony leans back on the front of the desk, his arms crossed back at his chest, "I learned it all from you, Dad. You should be proud that your son is -just- like you, huh?" There is some definite cynicism in his voice.
*
Howard walks over to the window, before finally flicking back open that Vibranium lighter of his. There's a pause before he simply starts puffing away. He looks out at the view of the city wordlessly one hand inside of his pocket, the other pulling the cigarette from the corner of his mouth to knock off some of the ash before putting it back into his mouth.
There's not a single word that escapes his lips as he gets that far off look in his eyes looking through the horizon. He takes a few more long drags in pure silence expression turned hard as stone. The wheels of his mind keep on turning as he just leans up against the frame in the corner smoking to himself.
*
Tony just lets the silence hang for a good minute or two. Two long, long minutes. "What were you expecting? Me to jump up and say 'Sure, Dad, let's go throw some baseballs and have a soda pop and have a grand old time'? Sorry to disappoint you…" he starts but then he cants his head, "No, I'm not sorry. I'm not sorry at all, actually." There's another glance at the mini-bar before he moves towards it…not to make a drink, but to fiddle with some of the glassware and plastic swords ready for an olive should he want a martini.
"I get you're trying to make up for lost time. But it's not by your rules anymore. You don't get to boss me around or pull the 'I'm the Dad' card." One of the plastic swords is pulled out and inspected, "I'll think about it. That's the best you're going to get. Take it or leave it."
*
Howard finishes up his cigarette leaving it back in the ash tray. The entire time simply looking out to the city bellow, when he finally speaks up it's in a somewhat quiet voice. "No this is exactly what I expected Tony, because you are my son." He pulls the pack of expensive cigarettes from his pocket popping up the cigarette just enough to get his mouth round it. "You're also Maria's son."
He pulls his head back leaving the cigarette in the corner of his mouth. "And thank god there's more of her in you then me." He looks back over towards Tony. "And Tony you've never disappointing me, that's the good thing about being a failure of a father." He places both hands in his pockets. "You can only do better."
Howard slowly starts to move back towards the door hands deep down in his pockets. "Just want you to know, your mother would be proud of what you've managed to do with this company." As he tucks down his head for a bit.
*
"Well, I only knew her a little better than I knew you…so I'll just have to take your word for it." Is he bitter? Not really, because that was just his life. Maybe at one point he was, wanting that family dynamic, but he quickly gave up that ghost and sought affection elsewhere.
"You mean, stop it from making weapons that kill people and try to turn it into something more viable and life-affirming? Gee, thanks." He has to maintain that sarcasm. If he doesn't, that means he has to deal with all of this on an emotional level. It's far easier to be an escapist.
"I don't need your approval."
*
"Nagasaki, Heroshima, Elugelab. Yeah hundreds of thousands dead, more killed by our chemical weapons, Napalm, Atom bombs, mustard gas, neutron bombs, bigger and better ways to murder people for the government." Howard stops for a long moment in place getting that far off look in his eyes as he just stops to think for a long moment lost in memories looking through as if he could see for miles, his cigarette shakes in his hand for a long moment, before he just drops it to the ground. "No one should, Tony."
He kneels down slowly to try and pick up the cigarette from the ground pausing as he takes hold of it barely able to keep himself steady. "You did what I never had the balls to do, and I don't expect you to want approval from an old murderer, but I wanted to give it anyway." He just stays there for a long moment trying to hide the fact he can't quite properly stand on his own. "Deserve a lot more."
*
Tony shrugs, "When I was twelve, I probably thought that was the best way to do things too," until they realized the consequences. "Now, they have fewer options if they want to go do that. Yay…" he does a little finger-cheer with the plastic sword. Dark eyes watch as the cigarette falls to the ground and his father bends over to pick it up. At least there's that. As Howard stays there though, he then rolls his eyes, "Get up, you old coot." It's not said too harshly…but he also doesn't want to think that his father might actually be begging.
*
Howard takes a deep breath trying to stand back up without falling over but he can't hardly manage it, just stuck down towards the ground. He forces his arm down hard doing what he can to get back up but his legs don't quite bend so much as they used to. "How long'd it take you?" He asks out of the blue from his spot on the ground seemingly out of left feild
*
When Howard doesn't seem to be able to stand up, Tony goes over to his desk, presses a button, and then moves to offer a hand for assistance. "Take me for what?" is asked, still a little suspcious. He knows himself…he thinks he knows his father.
*
"The reactor." Howard comments as he's lifted back up. For as healthy as the man looks on the outside there's a lot of padding to his clothing and not a lot of man under it, skin and bones for the majority of it have been worn down hard over the years. It's far too difficult for him to stand on his own but with the help he's actually able to properly get back on his feet. "How, how long did it take to get it working?"
*
One of the admins steps into the office and looks at the scene, Tony helping his father up off of the floor. Looking over his dad's shoulder, Tony offers, "Call a doctor and get my nap room ready." There's a look to Howard, "And a sandwich. A reuben." The admin looks a little confused for a moment but Tony just gestures to her, "Shoo," and then looks back to the elder Stark.
"Not that long. Once I figured it out, it just took some adjustments." It was just putting things on a larger scale once he figured the smaller one out. "Basic ratios, really." At least, it was 'basic' to him.
*
"Never thought I'd live to see it working." Howard comments his breathing somewhat labored even if he is a bit more firm in his stance. He forces himself back up into his own proper upright positioning. "Thought it was" A pause. "Too far ahead of its time."
*
Tony does his best to guide his father back to the chair to wait for the doctor to arrive. It's neither tender nor particularly rough. He'd probably offer the same to any stranger in distress. Although he can't help an arrogant little smirk at the comment, "It is." Too far ahead of its time. Yet he got it working and working steadily. He's just a little proud of that.
"Just sit," is offered as he moves to the door to try and intercept the doctor before he arrives. There's a swift turn back around at the doorway, "Don't touch my booze." He's going to make sure that the doctor hears his side before he has to deal with whatever Howard tells him.
Tony's like that.
*
Howard is rather easily guided back to the chair finding himself sat down without a problem. His cigarette goes right back into the corner of his mouth but of course it's unlit as he waits in place. His own attention goes back off to the far side of the room.
The Dr. Who arrives on scene is an elderly man with white hair that is slicked back over his ears down into place. In his hand is a large black bag and he's dressed in a pitch black set of rather odd looking clothing. His face is a friendly one with cool blue eyes. "Got here soon as I could." He checks his watch. "Always running out of time you see."
*