if i try hard enough

Tony as a child had been infuriating, exhausting, cheeky and, if the family butler were to be believed, an absolute marvel. He was all skinny legs, knobbly knees and a mop of dark hair careening around the halls on homemade, self-propelling roller skates (until they were confiscated, much to his displeasure).

As a baby, he'd held Maria's attention for all of five minutes before she was handing him over to Jarvis with a wince, brows pulled tight and a hand flapping softly at him. "Just for the afternoon, Jarvis," she'd sigh, "until this headache has gone." He exchanged her son for a Martini glass and left her to it.

Jarvis was there when he woke in the middle of the night - "Jesus Christ, Jarvis, I'm on the phone to fucking Japan. Get him out the kitchen; I can hear him down in the workshop. Jesus." - for late night bottle feeds, Tony's large brown eyes gazing up at him as he suckled, cheeks damp and lashes clumped. He was there when he lifted his head up on his own, he was there to respond with his own smile when he laughed and giggled, there when he rolled over and when he started to crawl (and subsequently, the one who ensured any space that Tony occupied was baby proofed, because that was one curious little boy).

He felt robbed that he wasn't there when Tony took his first step. Maria handed Tony over to Jarvis, holding him at arms length awkwardly, mouth curled. "His diaper needs changing. Oh," she added, once Jarvis gathered him in his arms, and Tony cuddled closer. "He isn't to have any dessert. He absolutely refused to keep still for the photographer, running all over the place."

"Running, Ma'am?"

"Yes. I do wish you'd have told us he could walk. I would have made sure to have had something on hand to calm him down."

He inclined his head. "My apologies." Waiting until Maria had rounded the corner, he tickled Tony's tummy. "Running before you can walk? Let us hope this isn't a sign of things to come, Master Tony. Come on," he spoke to the toddler with such fondness, hitching him up his hip as they made their way to Jarvis' personal rooms. "I have some chocolate - the real kind - and I know the perfect little genius to share it with, if you can keep a secret."

Tony squealed, hugging him tighter and pressing a sloppy kiss to Jarvis' cheek.

While Tony advanced much quicker than his peers in all those important milestones of life, he simply refused to speak until he was three and a half and came out with a full sentence. Before then, Jarvis had been worried, ensuring Tony was booked in for hearing appointments, but he hadn't pushed him. For all he couldn't talk, he could still get his demands across perfectly well and Jarvis knew Tony had him wrapped around his little finger, but he hardly cared. Howard called him retarded and Maria simply patted him on the head as though he was a dog. They didn't see the burgeoning little genius in their laps who took apart television sets and alarm clocks and made them better.

They mistook his curiosity for misbehaviour.

"Oh for God's sake-Jarvis! Jarvis! I thought I'd told you to keep him out of my damn workshop." Howard had hold of his son by his arm, his grip strong, and he shook Tony. "I don't have time for your nonsense, Tony. I'm busy. Stay the fuck out of here. Is that penetrating through your thick skull? Get him out of here," he pushed Tony over to Jarvis, who put an arm around Tony's shoulders and back when he latched onto his legs. "And get him a haircut. He's starting to look like a damn queer."

Jarvis felt Tony flinch.

He waited until they were alone in a bathroom, Tony sitting on the countertop, legs swinging and eyes red. "Why where you down there, Master Tony?" Jarvis sighed, running a damp cloth across heated cheeks, cleaning away some of the workshop grime from his face. "You know your father is very busy and that it's dangerous down there. He just doesn't want you to hurt yourself."