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They're about to give up hope when Maria learns she's pregnant. Howard kisses her breathless when they find out, then hugs her to him while she laughs like a girl. His mind spins with possibilities in the same way it does when he gets the first threads of a new idea, but new ideas don't make his heart expand like this. They don't make his hands shake.
He's created hundreds of things throughout his lifetime, but he knows instinctively that nothing he's done will compare to this.
He hugs Jarvis and Anna after he stuns them with the news, and he doesn't bother feigning composure when he calls Peggy later.
Peggy isn't as enthused as he’d like.
"You realize that you and Maria could not raise a houseplant successfully?"
"We both do work with highly volatile chemicals, and-"
"That’s not the same thing."
"You'd think the baby's godmother would be a bit more optimistic."
"You -- oh, Howard."
She finally gives the expected congratulations, albeit with slight reluctance. Howard talks sentimental nonsense for a while longer before a phone rings in the background and Peggy says, “SHIELD business,” with genuine apology.
For a fraction of a second after he sets down the phone, Howard recalls Peggy’s initial comment and doubt makes his heart hurt.
He dismisses it.
He's always been good at anything he's put real effort into. There's no reason parenting will be any different.
Maria goes into labor a week early and he has to rush home from a meeting in Spain. She's holding the baby when he shows up, the boy nothing more than a wrinkly face poking out of a blue blanket. Howard hadn’t expected to feel anything right away, hadn’t imagined that just resting eyes on someone could be enough to create love, but warm affection roots itself firmly in his chest the moment he sees his son.
Howard reaches out and rests calloused fingers on his cheek. Tony’s eyelids flutter open, and the boy looks up at him with newborn blue eyes shaped just like Maria’s.
Howard says, "Hi, Tony."
The baby makes a face like a smile.
Howard smiles back.
The first year is probably easier for them than most new parents because Tony has a small army of people to take care of him.
Howard hasn't had an abundance of free time in years, runs on a perpetual shortage of sleep, but he helps out where he can, stopping by the nursey when he returns home from the office or business trips, eating lunch at the mansion when he’s able. Maria works from her lab at home, and she conducts her research in intervals, with a short break every few hours for time with Tony.
Jarvis and Anna help out as well, of course, and Howard hires the most qualified nanny he can find. Peggy and Sousa or Peggy or Sousa fly over more often than they normally would, and even Maria's parents make their appearances.
Howard sometimes thinks, I might actually be able to do this.
Granted, he avoids changing diapers and doesn't handle being thrown up on well, and he's very rarely the one who actually gets up when Tony starts wailing in the middle of the night, but Tony smiles when he walks into the room and a stern word from Howard gets him to stop crying just as well as Maria's humming. Even Peggy tells him once that he's not doing such a bad job.
At some point, Maria sets up a crib in the far corner of his workshop so he can watch Tony when he's not working on something sensitive. Howard soon falls into the habit of talking to his son when he gets stuck and needs a distraction.
One day, he gives Tony an impromptu lecture on thermodynamics.
"It's all about energy," he concludes importantly, in the same tone he uses when he guest-lectures at colleges.
Tony says, “En-gee.”
"What?"
He grins, as though entertained that he's nearly given his father a heart attack.
"En-gee," he says.
"Energy?" says Howard, checking.
"En-gee," says Tony.
Howard spends the rest of the day bragging about his son’s genius to anyone who’ll listen.
The day after, he pays a children's book company to make big, colorful volumes that describe things like Newton's laws and relativity in rhymes and simple sentences.
On one of his rare days off, he finds Jarvis reading to Tony in the nursery.
"Mister Newton said that when Ronald Rooster rests, Ronald Rooster continues resting,” says Jarvis. “When Milky Moo-Moo moves, Milky Moo-Moo keeps moving. Only Farmer Force stops Ronald Rooster's resting and Milky Moo-Moo's moving."
Tony says, "Roo-roo rest, Moo-moo move."
Maria appears behind him and rests her chin on his shoulder. "He's perfect, isn't he?"
"If he was perfect, he wouldn't have forgotten about Farmer Force," says Howard, and laughs when Maria hits him.
Tony learns to read when he's twenty months old. Howard gets new books made for him – these ones more advanced.
Maria shows him basic chemistry. Fun stuff, like making Borax crystals and using cabbage as PH strips to test the acidity of things around the house.
Howard helps him create a circuit board and then to fix a broken alarm clock. Tony has a natural feeling for how parts fit together, and after the clock, Howard builds him a small collection of simple robots with roughly interchangeable pieces so he can tinker productively on his own.
When Tony begins to inhale their lessons faster than two busy scientists can keep up with, Howard hires him a private tutor and gives firm instruction that Tony be pushed.
"He's special," says Howard. "He can handle it."
Howard crashes back to earth when Tony is four.
Tony approaches him as he's finishing breakfast. He’s carrying an extremely basic robot. A dog, maybe. In any case, there’s a metal rod attached to the thing's ass and Howard hopes to God it's supposed to be a tail.
"I can't make it work," says Tony.
Howard downs the last of his coffee. "Why not?"
"Because it's stupid."
"I'm sure you'll figure it out." He sets the mug in the sink and heads for the door.
Tony trails behind. "Can't you help?"
"You don't need my help."
"I've been working on it since yesterday."
"A few hours isn't good enough, Tony. Work more." Howard shrugs into his coat and opens his mouth to tell Tony he'll see him that evening, but Tony speaks first.
"You'd know all about working."
The blood drains from Howard's face. "What?"
"All you do is work.”
"Tony-"
"Don't worry. I know ya got more important stuff to do than talk to me."
He turns and walks away before Howard can reply, the robot dog clutched to his chest as though to protect his heart.
Howard stays standing stock still in front of the door, staring at the place Tony just left.
He's aware that children have tempers – has seen Tony get frustrated before – but he also knows people, and those kinds of comments don't come out of nowhere.
Howard typically leaves for work around seven and gets home shortly after eight if he's not traveling, but he makes a conscious effort to find time for Tony every day. It's usually just an hour here or there, occasionally (often?) even less, but those bits and pieces cost him precious sleep or alone time with Maria or God forbid, a few seconds to himself.
His time is incredibly, incredibly valuable. He can't afford to give out more than he already does. Not without neglecting important tasks that'll make SI better or SHIELD stronger, both of which will benefit Tony more in the long run than a few extra hours with a father who’ll likely be dead before his son is middle-aged.
Howard realizes with a sinking feeling Tony likely doesn’t see things that way.
But he'll understand when he's older.
Surely, he'll understand.
The older Tony gets, the more interacting with him reminds Howard of navigating anti-aircraft fire.
Howard isn't sure what happens, exactly -- probably, he acknowledges, because he isn’t around enough to register Tony’s change in sentiment as it’s happening.
One day, Tony looks at him like the sun shines out of his ass.
Then there are tantrums that punctuate the good moments.
Then Howard loses him completely.
It’s boarding school that’s the final straw.
Tony makes it clear that Howard doesn't have enough time for him, and Maria isn't much more available. While Jarvis and Anna would ensure he wouldn't be completely neglected, and his nanny could take him to extracurricular activities, he and Maria agree that he'd be better off in a more stable environment, where he's around kids his own age and adults who're more immediately present.
Tony throws a fit, but Tony throws a lot of fits. Howard expects the anger will fade quickly.
It doesn’t.
Maria calls Tony on the first weekend, and when she asks if Tony will talk to Howard, he refuses.
Same thing the next weekend. Howard calls him the weekend after, hurt and frustrated and slightly drunk, and starts the conversation with, "Are you going to talk to me, you little shit?"
He doesn't blame Tony for hanging up that time.
But things don't improve. Howard writes a letter, but when Tony calls Maria next, he informs her that, "My father's neediness is annoying."
Howard is almost positive he said the same thing to Tony on a whim at some point, and he's pretty sure that it's on a whim that Tony throws his own words back into his face. He’s just as sure that both of them cause a lot more pain than either intends, but that’s nothing new. Hurting one another seems to have become their status quo.
To frustrate things further, Tony's school sends reports of poor behavior. Disruptive. Troublesome. Rude.
When he comes home for Christmas, Howard calls him to his office.
Tony stands in front of him, eyes expectant.
Howard says, "I've heard from your school-"
"I'm too smart, right? Clearly too smart. I saw my grades. You'll have to find a better school, maybe-"
"I don' t care how smart you are," snaps Howard. "Your teachers have made it clear that you don't apply yourself! You're, you're – I don't have words, Tony. You have the privilege of receiving one of the best educations the country has to offer, and you act like it means nothing." He slams his hands on his desk and says, "Do you have anything to say for yourself?"
Tony's whole face crumples. Howard doesn't realize he's extending a hand to comfort him until Tony sees and flinches.
Howard's hand falls to his desk with a thud as his blood turns to ice.
Tony takes a step backwards. "Y - you don't have to yell.”
Howard collapses into his chair. "Goddammit, Tony.” I shout. I bluster. I wasn’t going to hit you.
"Sorry. Sorry. I'll be better."
Howard can't look at him. “We’re done here. Just – go.”
Tony scurries away.
Maria finds Howard staring blankly at his desk nearly an hour later.
"Tony complained to me." She hands him a mug of hot chocolate. "I took your side, and he… did not react well. Jarvis, I think, is trying to explain why we're upset in gentler terms than either of us are accustomed to using."
Howard frowns at the hot chocolate. "No alcohol?"
"You don't need to be consuming a depressant right now. Serotonin and phenylethylamine will actually help."
"Helping implies they'd do something to improve the situation." But Howard takes a drink. Anna's recipe. Either Maria made it from scratch or went to Anna and asked her to do so. The warmth of the gesture takes the worst edge off his surliness.
Howard leans back into her, and she kisses the crown of his head. "Are you okay?"
"He's so damned sensitive, Maria. He's bratty, and whiny, and -"
"Many other things you never had the indulgence of allowing yourself to be."
Howard grunts in affirmation. "Genghis Khan made sure his sons were raised as rough as he was so they didn't grow too soft to maintain his empire. Starting to think he was on to something."
"You would rather cut off your own hand than leave Tony in the Lower East Side and tell him to make something of himself."
"Lower East Side's nothing like it used to be. The whole culture has degenerated. He’d be more likely to get shot or become a drug addict than anything else. But I'm sure we could find a decent substitute. Don’t think thugs have taken over in- Ow, ow. Get your nails outta my neck, woman."
She loosens her hold. "I do recognize when you’re attempting to derail a conversation."
"Is there that much more to say? Tony has everything he could possibly want-"
"You can't resent him for that."
"I don't resent him,” says Howard honestly. “I just can't understand him."
Maria rests her cheek on his head. "I expect Tony feels the same way about you. Perhaps more so, because he goes to school with children whose parents did not live through the Depression or the war. He does not only misunderstand you, but…"
"His friends tell stories about parents who aren't emotionally constipated, and he wonders what's wrong me with me that I'm such a bitter old asshole. Believe me, Maria. I'm perfectly aware of that."
"I imagine he entertains similar thoughts regarding myself,” she says gently. “My life hasn’t been as difficult as yours, but emotion has never come easily to me either. We only get along better – slightly better – because I do not intimidate him so much."
"Y'know, this is one time when it's not reassuring that we're in the same boat."
"I know. It's... not a good situation. I hate - sometimes I hate us for not being what he needs. But I don't know how to fix it. I have no idea whether we should attempt to be more demonstrative with him, or if doing so would only injure him more in the long run. He's so emotional. If he doesn't grow stronger, the world will hurt him badly."
Howard laughs darkly. "I tried being demonstrative in the only way I know how. I wasn’t good enough, and now he hates me. Makes the conundrum a bit moot."
Maria makes a noise like a sob.
Howard holds out the mug of hot chocolate. "Serotonin and phenylethylamine?"
She shakes her head. "I don't think I could keep anything down."
"Maria, I'm so sorry. Sorry I'm not - that we're not-"
"Shh. I know. I'm sorry too."
Tony stays with Peggy and Daniel the summer after he turns nine. Peggy doesn't have time for it, but she thinks Tony needs to get away, and her daughter is spending time at home anyway and has no qualms about doting on him.
Howard allows it and Maria doesn't protest because it's a better environment for Tony than the constant tension of the mansion.
When Peggy returns him in August, she tells Howard that she wants to speak with him alone.
"What's he done this time?" says Howard, because the kid has always been a troublemaker.
Peggy gives him that look, the one she gave him after learning the role he played in the Manhattan Project, and when he'd manipulated her into stealing Steve's blood, and the look she gave when he told her the US needed to use heavier weapons in Vietnam. The sometimes you absolutely disgust me kind of look that makes him wilt in a way absolutely nothing else can.
Howard usually reacts with some degree of composure, but it's so unexpected now that he visibly flinches.
Peggy advances like a tiger stalking its pray. "What is wrong with you?"
"I-"
"Howard, I've never met a boy so starved for attention! He reacts to every compliment someone gives him like he's never heard one before in his life, and he nearly fell out of his chair whenever Daniel offered to play catch or take him to a movie. Before he left, he told me that he wished he didn't have to go home because he likes spending time with people who think he's good enough. He said he'd rather Daniel and I were his parents, because we're nice to him.
Howard stares.
Starved for attention? The boy is constantly surrounded by people, people who fawn over everything he does. Even Howard and Maria still occasionally offer to let Tony help them with their work, although he usually reacts with bitterness.
And he doesn't know how to even begin addressing the claim that he doesn't think Tony is good enough. He's said a lot of stupid things to his son, but those words have never once fallen from his lips, no matter how heatedly they argue.
He's never thought that Tony is in any way insufficient. Only that he's wasting his immense potential.
But – but the last part.
The last part strangles him.
He lifts a hand to his throat, as though that'll help him breathe.
"Shit," he says. "Shit. Shit. Shit."
Peggy mistakes horror for anger. "You're not going to hold this against him. He didn't tell me to talk to you-"
"Peggy." Howard and Peggy startle when Maria appears in the doorway, her eyes narrowed nearly to slits. "Daniel is waiting. It's time that you leave."
"I'm not through here-"
"Jarvis will show you out," says Maria, with a kind of sharp, brittle grace that stalls even Peggy's protests.
She goes, but not before delivering a final parting shot. "He says you’ve never even told him you love him."
He would laugh in my face, thinks Howard.
Maria shuts the door abruptly enough that it probably hits Peggy’s ass, but when she faces him, there’s no satisfaction in her gaze. Instead, her eyes shine with tears.
Howard winces. “You heard…?”
“Yes. I… I heard.”
He pulls her close. Maria buries her face in his chest and cries silently while he runs shaking hands through her hair, taking deep breaths in an effort to suppress his own tears.
Neither of them speaks.
Really, there’s nothing they could possibly say.
When Tony is fourteen, he approaches Obie about learning the details of designing and producing weapons.
The only time Howard ever hits his son is when Tony tells him this two weeks later, in a tone like he’s proud of himself.
By that point Tony hates him more than he's afraid of him. The slap to the face surprises him enough that he staggers, but he recovers quickly and it only takes a second for him to paste on a smirk. There's only the slightest outline of a mark on his cheek and Howard thinks maybe he should've hit harder.
"Well, that was pathetic," says Tony.
"What are you thinking? Asking Obie about - you shouldn’t be interested in those things."
Tony takes a pointed step forward, throwing himself into Howard’s face. "I'm not a kid. Besides, if I'm going to take over SI someday, I'll need to know this stuff."
"But-"
"Or are you mad that I'm wasting your precious COO's time?"
"Tony-"
"Because he's perfectly fine with it. He even encourages me, although God knows you wouldn't know that that means-"
"I never gave Obie permission to-"
"Ah, so that's the problem. You didn't give him permission. You would've been fine if I'd gone through you first."
"No. No. You're fourteen, Tony. You shouldn't-"
"Oh, just shut up. It's always shouldn't with you, isn't it? I shouldn’t do this, or I shouldn't do that, and when I finally decide that maybe you'll like me if I'm more like you, if I get involved in something you’re interested in, you see something wrong with that too. I'm starting to think that the reason you never tell me what I should do is that there's nothing I can do. You'll never be happy with me."
"I want better for you."
"No, you want better than me."
"Tony, I just-”
"'You know what? Screw you. I don't have to listen to this."
Tony storms away.
Howard closes his eyes.
“I just couldn’t stand it if you end up like me,” he says to an empty room.
MIT is good for Tony's brain, even seems to challenge him every now and then, but it also gives him the freedom to behave in a way that’s reminiscent of Howard at his worst.
Howard doesn't realize there's a problem until Tony's second year, when he has to pull strings to cover up the kid's first minor.
A month later, a picture of Tony with his tongue in a bikini-clad girl's mouth shows up in a magazine under the title, LIKE FATHER LIKE SON. Howard rarely puts much stock into those kind of articles, but his people quickly confirm this one. They also verify the magazine’s claim that bikini-girl is one of a long list.
Howard supposes he could give a lecture. Tell Tony not to make the mistakes he had.
But Tony wouldn't listen and he'd rather not start an argument when it won't help anything.
This logic offers little comfort when Tony’s behavior only grows more irresponsible.
Howard hadn't understood Jarvis and Peggy's constant frustration with his thirtyish-year-old self until he's watching that kind of behavior from the outside. But at least Howard’s playboy persona had been cultivated. He walked through days feeling like his smile was pasted on his face, used social events to make business connections and overindulged to compensate for too many years in which he'd had nothing or was too steeped in war to enjoy what he'd earned. He’d played a part he consciously created to act as a shield for the pieces of himself he didn’t want anyone else to see.
He worries that the parties and sex and alcohol are just who Tony is.
Maybe Tony Stark the teenage playboy is a mask.
Maybe not.
Howard doesn't know Tony well enough to tell, but it’s been a long time since he’s had much optimism where his son is concerned.
Tony stumbles across a box of his baby things when he's home the summer after his graduation.
Howard comes home late from work to find him at the kitchen table, sorting through pieces of memory.
The stupidest desire to snatch the things away hits him so hard he can barely breathe. Irrationally, he fears that by touching them, Tony will poison Howard's most sacred memories with the same vitriol that characterizes their current relationship.
Wordlessly, Howard approaches the table and picks up the blanket Tony had been given at the hospital. The one he'd been wrapped up in when Howard saw him for the first time.
He smiles like he'd done then, allowing a brief moment of indulgence in a past that feels like a dream.
Then Tony makes an ugly noise and Howard comes back to himself. His eyes go to his son, who's flipping through one of his old science books with unconcealed derision.
"You started in on me early, didn't you?"
Howard never lets Tony get away with disrespect. It's one of the reasons they can't stand to be around each other.
But he just-
He can't.
He stalks silently from the room.
He makes it down two hallways before he can't walk anymore. He slides to the floor, back braced against the wall, and breaks.
Ugly, painful sobs wrack his body as he’s hit by the totality of everything he’s let slip through his fingers.
Several times, Howard attempts to approach Tony about SHIELD.
Now that he's an adult, he should know. So says Maria. So says Peggy.
Howard even believes it. Sometimes he thinks that if Tony understood him just a little better, it'd give them some small place from which they could attempt to rebuild their relationship.
But there's never time. Neither Howard or Tony are home often, and when they are, Tony leaves at the first sign that a serious conversation might be forthcoming.
The last time Howard suggests they need to talk, Tony says, "We can do it later."
"Your mother and I have that gala tonight."
"I'm sure our chat can wait until tomorrow."
"Tony-"
"Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow morning,” he allows.
Tony rolls his eyes. “Yeah, whatever. Hope really hard, and I might just force my ass out of bed.”
Tony Stark stands in front of his father’s desk the next morning, echoes of I’m so sorry, Mister Stark and, There was nothing we could do ringing in his ears.
“I got up,” he says to the empty chair. "You - you must've hoped an awful lot."
He stares at the place his father should be.
“I – I’m ready to talk now," he says.
But the silence replies, "It's too late."