Mr. Howard Stark already had to face something emotionally heavy and complicated today, but before he'd even left the house that morning, he'd gotten into a huge argument with his son.
Bang!
"You've got plenty of nerve yelling at your old man. Why don't you try living like a decent human being, fuck! Is MIT's education really just about inventing a machine for drinking contests, then playing 'bumper cars' all the way home?"
The upstairs door slammed shut again, reigniting old Stark's anger. He roared back like a lion, his voice far louder than the slam.
He was already in his sixties, but judging by the vigor with which he lost his temper, he could easily live another twenty years.
His wife, Maria, hustled Howard out of the house, urging him to get on with his business and finally putting an end to the argument.
As he huffed and tugged at his tie, old Stark settled into the car and said quite naturally:
"Edwin, let's go. Order Whip headquarters."
"Uh, yes, sir."
The young new driver froze for two seconds, then quickly recovered and started the car. Without needing an explanation, Mr. Stark let out a slow sigh and gradually straightened the tie he'd just pulled loose.
"Sorry, Allen. Old habit."
The driver only shook his head with a smile and said nothing more. Silence settled over the Rolls-Royce for a long while.
Howard thought that in the past, at a time like this, he would have vented to Jarvis, listened to his elegant, composed words of comfort, and then received a few tactful suggestions.
Thinking of his old friend Edwin Jarvis, who had passed away not long ago, old Stark felt as if a hole had been gouged out of his heart and haphazardly stuffed with a lump of