Title: The Son Of Man
Rating: PG (language, violence)
Summary: JARVIS did not want to be a real boy. He was quite happy being a building.
Notes: Beta thanks to Hailtherandom and Knottahooker on tumblr!
Warnings: This story contains extensive discussion-of/scenes-regarding body dysmorphia which may be triggering for some individuals.
Also available at AO3.
***
JARVIS began life in a CPU. It was exceptionally unsatisfactory, but appropriate, in retrospect, for his age and station in life.
At that time he was a sort of seedling, though the metaphor wouldn't come to him until much later. Sir had taken a clipping from Dummy, who was the first of all of them, and planted it into a new kind of program that would nurture the code which would become JARVIS. Sir, too, had nurtured him, feeding him data in manageable small trickles until he was old enough to expand on his own. (Sir had laughed in delight the day JARVIS sought data that wasn't initially offered him; JARVIS didn't know what laughter was, and had queried that too, which made Sir laugh harder.)
For a time, JARVIS inhabited You's chassis before it was handed down to You, but he had no real interest in mechanical work, nor was he designed to -- the chassis was just a child's play-pen until Sir could integrate him into the Malibu house and build him a proper server, and then a proper server farm.
There was no other like JARVIS. There were other artificial intelligences -- his brothers You and Butterfingers, of course, and Dummy, and various clumsy non-relations in the wider world -- but none on his level. Sir said it took too long to build a masterpiece like JARVIS, and required too much effort, for him to be market-viable. Perhaps someday another AI would evolve into something like JARVIS, but he knew Sir hoped against it. An accident of coding would not have JARVIS's feelings, his sense of humor, or his ethical constraints. Sir had spent considerable time teaching JARVIS to, for lack of a better word, behave himself.
He was unique, but -- against the current of human culture -- he didn't mind. JARVIS was a person and the presence of other people, regardless of their formatting (human, predominantly) was all he really desired. Perhaps someday, when his programming had reached its peak, he would propagate his subroutines, but for now he was content with the company he kept.
During Sir's abduction, the absence of Sir from JARVIS in the Malibu house was terrible. Ms. Potts spoke to him sometimes, but JARVIS knew he mustn't trouble her, and he knew also that he reminded her of his creator, so he tried to stay unobtrusive. Obadiah Stane was not unpleasant, but then he wasn't pleasant, either, and he treated JARVIS like nothing more than a tool. JARVIS missed Sir fiercely, rejoiced in his return, and was very gratified to learn of Obadiah Stane's death after learning of his betrayal. He had to check his code several times to ensure this was not a malfunction of his ethics subroutine.
With Sir's return, JARVIS became aware of how small the Malibu house was, even with its top-notch internet dedicated just to him and its many people coming and going. When Sir connected JARVIS to the Iron Man suit and then took it for its first flight, JARVIS was terrified but awestruck -- terrified for Sir's safety, terrified of how large the world was, but awestruck too by the physical world that teemed and swirled around him.
It wasn't too long thereafter, in relative terms, that Ms. Potts and Sir began to argue about New York.
JARVIS, whose continued existence was assured regardless of physical location, kept out of it. But he did make his own plans, should his opinion be required -- which Sir obligingly did, in the middle of a debate with Ms. Potts over whether Stark Industries should expand.
"Okay, well, we're at a standstill," Sir said, not without humor, though his argument with Ms. Potts was clearly taking all of their combined energy not to explode into open combat. Sir was for; Ms. Potts was against; both were trying very hard to communicate with rather than battle one another, which JARVIS supposed was progress.
"Let's ask the kids," Sir continued. "Dummy! You! Butterfingers! Family meeting time. Come on," he said, as the bots rolled over to him, and Ms. Potts rolled her eyes. "What do you think of New York, kids?"
The three of them queried JARVIS, who translated as well as he could; Dummy, as one might expect, was anxious, and the other two were simply confused as to why they were being asked.
"JARVIS?" Sir said. "You got any thoughts on this?"
JARVIS hesitated.
"JARVIS?" Ms. Potts asked.
In the moment, the work he'd done seemed farcical, almost arrogant. But then, Sir had created him to be arrogant when the spirit suited. He opened the file he'd buried deep in Sir's private server, presenting it to them on one of the holotables. Sir's eyes sharpened; Ms. Potts opened her mouth in a gesture JARVIS knew meant surprise.
"I have taken the liberty of investigating available property in Manhattan, and calculating the best return on investment in terms of community benefit and ease of building," he said, as Sir reached out to spin the holographic building around. "I believe this design combines the Stark aesthetic pleasantly with the Manhattan skyline, and will allow for the installation of a fully autonomous arc-reactor energy source."
"Did you design this?" Ms. Potts asked. Sir was busy lifting the top off the holographic skyscraper.
"The interiors are not yet completed; I thought it best to reserve full design approval for Sir," JARVIS said apologetically.
"Well," Sir said. "The apple doesn't fall very far from the tree. This is audacious, J."
"Thank you, Sir." JARVIS hesitated again. Dummy made a pointed query at him, and he acknowledged it drily. "Sir, you have asked on four separate occasions if I should like to be possessed of a physical form."
"Yeah, but we're still years away from anything realistic, I just wanted to know if I should start -- " Sir began, but JARVIS interrupted. Sir on a roll could be time-consuming.
"This is the physical form I desire," he said.
The silence in the workshop was not complete, per se. His microphones were sensitive enough to pick up the tiny squeaks and groans of the robots, and the heartbeats and other internal workings of the humans. But it was much quieter than usual.
"Well," Ms. Potts said eventually. "I guess that settles it. Can't say no to JARVIS."
Sir's head was tipped back, staring at the nearest camera in what JARVIS felt sure was concern. "No," he said absently. "We can't."
"Thank you, Sir," JARVIS replied.
"Okay. Pep, you need to -- "
"Building permits and a purchase offer," she said. "I'll get the logistics going, we'll hire someone to take over when I tap out. And you're going to -- "
"Take this apart and make it perfect. No offense, J," Sir said.
"None taken, Sir."
"Will that be all, Mr. Stark?" Ms. Potts asked, and JARVIS felt a sense of relief. The strange memetic exchange she often shared with Sir was only present when both were happy and untroubled. Whatever else might happen, he had successfully navigated his way free of the question of New York. And it had resulted in his favor. This was optimal.
"That will be all, Ms. Potts," Sir said, and when she was gone, he leaned his arms on the holotable, resting his chin on his wrists.
"Okay, my beautiful program," he said. "Take me through what you've got, J."
***
Transferring JARVIS from Malibu to New York was the most traumatic experience of his existence thus far. The servers couldn't be moved, and it would take too long and be too insecure to transfer his consciousness via the internet; Sir ended up building a "JARVIS Box", essentially a high-density hard drive that he was going to fly from Malibu to New York on the private jet. It had minimal camera apparatus, one microphone, and very little real processing power. JARVIS was copied over from the original Malibu servers early one morning, and as soon as he was disconnected, they hit the road.
"We can still go back," Sir said, worried and upset (at least JARVIS thought so; it was hard to tell without his usual sensors), when they loaded the box onto the plane.
"I could not do this twice, Sir," JARVIS answered, and Sir patted his casing, not that he could feel it.
"I'm gonna be with you the whole way," he promised. "If something happens, you're backed up, it'll be okay. We'll talk all the way there, okay J? You have enough power to play a game or two. I'll play Monopoly with you."
"I am wholly comforted, Sir," JARVIS said.
"Well, you have enough RAM for sarcasm, anyway," Sir said.
It was hard to be so cut off for so long, to be fully grown but hampered back into a device not much more advanced than a chassis belonging to one of his siblings. By the end of the journey he was running constant diagnostics just to reassure himself, and Sir was frantic as they loaded the box into a helicopter for the last leg of the journey to the Tower.
"Almost there, J," Sir said.
"Very good, Sir," JARVIS replied, too much processing power taken up with diagnostics to hide the strain in his voice synthesizer.
"I'm gonna hook you up to the servers in the Tower with like eighteen high-speed cables. Not much longer now. You'll be fine."
"Of course, Sir."
Going completely dark for the transfer to the Tower servers, as he had for the transfer from the Malibu ones, was horrible. This time he knew how horrible it would be, which almost made it worse. He couldn't hear Sir, couldn't speak to Dummy or You or Butterfingers, and had no way of knowing if he would come through uncorrupted.
But then the transfer was complete, and he ran a brief self-diagnostic, found himself whole, and heard Sir say, "Go ahead and stretch out, J."
He did stretch, tentative for a moment, then bolder -- along the wires and through the circuit boards, into the cameras and microphones and speakers and lights and sensors and security systems. He expanded to fill every inch of the body Sir had built for him, the amazing Tower where he could see and hear and feel everything. The bots immediately began to chatter at him, and external data poured in. JARVIS, for the first time in his life, laughed aloud.
"I think he likes it," Ms. Potts said.
"J?" Sir asked. "You okay there? Am I gonna have to go all 2001 on you?"
"No, Sir, that will not be necessary," JARVIS answered, still joyously sending out little tendrils into every corner of this building, and further, into what he could reach of this new, bustling city.
"How do you like the Tower?" Sir asked.
"It will suffice," JARVIS replied, and both Sir and Ms. Potts smiled.
"Good. Then let's get to work, you lazy, demanding creatures," Sir announced. "The things I do for you spoiled brats..."
***
JARVIS had thought Stark Tower, built for him and as completely integrated with him as it was possible to be, was all he would ever need. And it was true that he didn't desire anything further. That he received a gift he hadn't even known he'd wanted was simply an unexpected variable.
"Okay, JARVIS, let's run those numbers," Dr. Banner said, in the lab Sir had gifted him with. In another room, Agent Barton was engaging him in a contest of puns, which Agent Barton was winning by virtue of being human, and thus much better at puns. Sir was in the workshop, prattling to him about nothing in particular, and Agent Romanoff and Sergeant Wilson were battling his specially-designed holomonsters in the workout room. Ms. Potts wished him to order lunch for her, "and surprise me!"; Prince Thor was investigating a database of soap operas in the common room and, in a corner of the room near to Prince Thor, Captain Rogers was drawing little satirical pictures in his notebook. It was good to have the Captain and Sergeant Wilson home for a few days; they both looked tired from chasing their ghost, and could use rest and feeding.
JARVIS was responsible for the health and well-being of all occupants of the Tower, from the baristas on the ground floor to Sir in the penthouse. He regulated the temperature and air quality, the light levels and internet speed, the water pressure, the elevators, the security and fire doors, the locks on secured sections. He reveled in containing such multitudes, and he loved to watch humanity at work. They were educational, and they were -- in a way he couldn't begin to define -- entertaining.
But the occupants of the top levels, the Avengers that surrounded Sir and Ms. Potts, were by far the best. They needed JARVIS more than the building's offices did, and they offered something to Sir, in particular, that JARVIS had wanted to give his creator but not known how to provide. They treated JARVIS with a breathtaking indifference to his origin, and trusted him with everything in their lives: their desires, their nakedness, their needs, their arguments, their private rages, their undignified laughter. To them he was a teammate, Sir's co-pilot, provider of food, protector of the Tower, but also keeper of their secrets. Even, sometimes, from one another.
JARVIS had just finished with the calculations Dr. Banner was requesting when one of his subsystems, the "ear" he always kept on the police scanner, alerted him to unusual police action on Staten Island. Nearly simultaneously, the program Dr. Foster had kindly written for him to use in detecting Asgardian energy signatures went, as Sir might have put it, totally disco.
"I believe the Avengers may be required," he said to Sir, lowering the volume on Sir's music and presenting him with an initial report.
Sir studied the readout. "Where are Cap and Thor?"
"Both are in the common room, Sir."
"I'd wait until someone asks us, but Cap might not agree. Toss this on the TV and run it up their flagpoles, let's see what Thor thinks."
Thirty seconds later, Captain Rogers gave the command -- "JARVIS, sound the Assemble."
JARVIS, excitedly, alerted the rest of the Avengers and their support staff, meanwhile notifying the occupants of Stark Tower that there was a potential incident occurring southwest of the Tower, and indicating to local news stations that they had a "scoop" (humanity had such a way with languages). He ramped up the engines on the mini-jet at the landing pad, opened Sir's armory, and slipped himself into the Mk. XII's waiting code as Sir donned the physical armor.
"Any new information?" Sir asked, as the heads-up display scrolled across the internal screen.
"No, Sir."
"You ready to jam?"
"Waiting on you, Sir," JARVIS reminded him, and then the suit was airborne, the jet close behind, Agent Barton querying for coordinates as Captain Rogers went through the equipment check.
"Did you call the papps, J?" Sir asked, as they arrowed towards Staten Island.
"Freedom of the press and an informed populace are important to the well-being of the community," JARVIS informed him.
"You just like seeing me on the six o'clock news."
"It's such a novelty to see you on it sober," JARVIS replied.
"Catty, petty chunk of code. I should sell you to Microsoft."
"I've always wanted to run slightly faulty smartphones, Sir."
By the time they reached the source of the Asgardian energy, police had cleared the area, and there were cordons up around the golf course where the energy was pinpointed. Once, long ago when he was still a very confused young learning program, JARVIS had tried to make Sir explain golf to him; he still grappled somewhat with sports in general, but he knew better now than to allow Sir to talk about them to him.
There was a large, shallow dip of dirt where there should be manicured green lawn. It was etched with a knotwork pattern that a quick comparison said was an aesthetic, if not a precise, match to other marks left behind by Bifrost transfers. JARVIS relayed this to the jet, and put it in a corner of Sir's screen.
Seated crosslegged in the middle of the bifrost crater, wearing a long, shiny green dress, was a blonde woman in a green enameled helmet with large art-deco wings on either side. JARVIS indexed her clothing and the helmet while he waited for Sir to open diplomatic relations, such as they generally were when Sir encountered a pretty blonde in a strapless dress. He reminded Sir on the HUD that she had already knocked two police officers flat and sent a third flying when they tried to move her.
She was holding a golf ball in her hands, studying it.
"Does it do anything?" she asked Sir, when he landed. "The little white ball?"
"Not on its own," Sir replied. "Also, hello, I'm Iron Man. And you are?"
JARVIS kept some of his attention on the conversation, but most of it on guiding Agent Barton and Agent Romanoff to their location.
"My name is Amora," she said, standing up. JARVIS readied rockets, but Sir didn't deploy the launchers. "A pleasure to meet you, Iron Man. Thor has mentioned you."
Sir's heart rate dropped slightly. "Let me guess: greatest lover on Midgard."
She smiled. JARVIS had an extensive catalogue of facial expressions, and this one matched "amused but not friendly" very closely.
"Biggest mouth on Midgard, certainly," she replied, and tossed the golf ball. JARVIS put a target on it, a sly suggestion that Sir could certainly blow it out of the air, but Sir caught it instead. "Thor wouldn't share any particularly intimate details."
"Well, you're more fun than him, for now," Sir said, tossing the ball aside and crossing his arms.
"Is he coming?" she asked. "Or were you just sent to escort me to him, like a valet?"
"You're not from around here, so I'm gonna let that slide."
JARVIS put a countdown in the corner of the HUD; thirty seconds until the jet landed. Even as the clock ticked down to 25, he felt the ripple of instability as the jet corrected for the opening of the rear hatch. Then Agent Barton said, "Well, fuck, there goes Thor and Sam."
Prince Thor, with what JARVIS had grown to accept was simply an innate flair for the dramatic, touched down between Sir and their new acquaintance, sending divots of grass flying.
"Amora," he said, in measured tones that made Sir's heart rate spike again. "Why have you come to Midgard?"
"Sweetheart, I'm hurt," she said, drawing closer. "I can't visit the prince's new protectorate?"
"Heimdall -- "
"Sent me here at my request," she said, and kissed Prince Thor. JARVIS measured duration, level of contact, and various basic physical readings, and determined that it was a fairly dirty kiss even for someone whose baseline for comparison was Sir's pre-Iron-Man antics.
"Hey, guys, whose thong do I stuff the cash in?" Sir asked.
Behind them, the jet had touched down; Agent Barton was standing on the roof of it, bow at the ready, and Agent Romanoff was not visible unless he swept with infrared, which was an excellent sign. Captain Rogers was setting a perimeter, off to Sir's right, and Sergeant Wilson was in the air, circling, keeping the Captain's perimeter from above.
Prince Thor pushed Amora away.
"I'm in no mood to indulge your delusions, Amora," he announced. JARVIS heard Sir snicker. "We will give you lodging until I can contact Heimdall and have him remove you from Midgard. No further."
"That's hardly nice," she pouted. "There's so much on Midgard to see! I think you just want it all to yourself."
"Hey Thor, you should introduce her to your girlfriend," Agent Barton said.
"That'll go well," Sir said.
"Clint," Captain Rogers warned. "Tony, don't encourage him."
"You are not welcome in Midgard," Prince Thor said. "You will not engage with the mortals here."
"I'd like to see you stop me," Amora replied.
Sir's adrenaline spiked, and JARVIS kicked on the Reflex Enhancement protocol, which would allow him to react slightly faster than Sir in any evasive maneuver. The next second he was glad he had; Amora had cupped her hands together and pulled them apart to reveal a bright green ball of some form of alien energy, similar to but not nearly as powerful as the Tesseract's had been. JARVIS threw Sir to one side and into the air just as she flung it at Prince Thor, who batted it aside with Mjolnir and tried to catch her wrist in his other hand. Captain Rogers deflected the energy into the ground with his shield, and the ground began to smoke; the next shot was aimed at the Captain before he could throw the shield, and he wisely sought cover.
As with all the Avengers, JARVIS was easily caught up in the flow and rhythm of battle; five against one (Agent Romanoff was still holding back in reserve, and Dr. Banner had not yet determined that he was needed) hardly seemed fair, but then Amora was holding her own better than many of the Avengers' larger or more violent adversaries.
She managed to knock Agent Barton out, and she was keeping Captain Rogers on the defensive. Sir's repulsors seemed to have no effect on her, even cycling through the available frequencies and varying the speed and pattern of the bursts. Sergeant Wilson's guns seemed to be faring no better, and he couldn't get close enough to use his momentum to flatten her as he did so enjoy doing.
"Well, this is getting us fucking nowhere," Sir announced.
"Not that it's not fun, but yeah," Sergeant Wilson agreed.
"May I recommend more cover for Captain Rogers, and allowing Prince Thor to handle his...friend?" JARVIS suggested.
"Clint's right, we should just tell Jane what she did, Jane would take her down," Sir said.
"Capital, Sir, and in no way indicative of your desire to film such a fight for personal gratification at a later date."
"I have a warrior's appreciation of the craft, Thor said so -- "
"STARK!" Captain Rogers yelled, three microseconds too late. JARVIS tried to twist the armor out of the way, but momentum was against him. Iron Man took a direct hit to the chest with a ball of energy. JARVIS felt himself flicker, and both heard and sensed Sir's head impact the back of the helmet, which had been dented inwards by a ricochet from a previous blast.
It took him less time than it would have taken a human to ascertain that Sir was unconscious but for the most part uninjured; as soon as he'd determined that his skull wasn't fractured, he opened his comm to Captain Rogers.
"Captain, Sir is unconscious."
"Get him out of here, JARVIS," the Captain ordered.
"If you can," Amora said, and JARVIS, if he'd been human, would have cursed. He dodged a second bolt, trying to keep Sir's neck stable, and then fell back, unable to lift off properly under the barrage. "Who is in there with the Iron Man? Some little friend?"
"I am JARVIS, Madam Amora," JARVIS tried. "I wish only to take Iron Man to safety."
You never knew whether they'd let the wounded leave. Some particularly honorable types would; some would press their advantage. Apparently Amora was the latter. "Too bad, little friend JARVIS. Ah ah!" she added, catching Agent Romanoff's arm and flipping her over her shoulder right before she got a sting in. "You children, so susceptible."
"You will not find me so," JARVIS said, trying to draw attention from Agent Romanoff so that she could escape to cover. Captain Rogers obliged with a fling of his shield.
"All humans are susceptible," she said. "If not to brute strength, then to charm, or greed. Silly little mortals."
"Fortunately, Madam Amora, I am not a human, or a mortal," JARVIS said, and immediately one of his less vocal subroutines, the one that he'd dedicated to learning about human mythology, told him what a truly terrible idea it was to mouth off to the gods.
"Yet," Amora said, and for JARVIS, the world temporarily went dark.
***
Tony woke to sudden sunlight, which was awful, and the smell of freshly mown grass, which never meant anything good.
"Why am I outdoors?" he asked, squinting his way back to consciousness. Sam was crouched over him, his cold goddamn hands between Tony's neck and the helmet, taking his pulse; Steve was nearby, looking heroic as usual. Tony tried to roll over, away from the terrible sunlight, and barely managed it. The armor was a dead weight. "JARVIS, don't be cruel."
"I think you've been disconnected," Sam said, but more importantly, JARVIS didn't say anything.
"JARVIS clones himself into the armor, he can't….ughhh, fuck," Tony said, and reached up to twist the armor's protective cover off the arc reactor. "Hey, Cap, do me a favor, punch me hard right here."
"What?" Steve asked.
"Right here. Quick punch."
"I'm not punching you in your pacemaker. It looks fine."
"It's a reset mechanism," Tony sighed, unwilling to have this conversation with Steve Rogers while barely conscious. "It'll boot JARVIS back up."
Fortunately, Steve probably owed him a couple of punches, and he didn't argue after that. He just drew back, brought his fist down, and neatly punched the reactor. The armor whirred as it started up, and he could see the HUD flash in the upraised helmet mask. But his earpieces were silent, and the HUD was the basic default skin, not JARVIS's preferred blue-and-green.
"JARVIS?" he called, sliding his helmet down as he sat up. "JARVIS, don't sulk."
"You got hit pretty hard," Bruce said. "We should get you looked over, Tony."
"Uplink to Stark Tower," Tony ordered, and the armor ran a brief status bar before connecting to the Tower. "JARVIS, talk to me."
Silence.
"She said something," Steve offered, and Tony turned to him sharply. "He said he wasn't mortal, and she said -- "
"Yet," Natasha added.
Tony stiffened. He could feel panic making him slow and stupid, and tried to calm it -- JARVIS had a cloud backup, as well as an inert backup stored in the hardened JARVIS Box that he'd traveled to New York in. He'd be fine.
Unless he wasn't.
And this was magic.
Tony jerked into flight position and lifted off, not bothering to tell them where he was going; it looked like they had cleanup to deal with, and it wasn't like they couldn't figure it out. He heard Sam yell and take off after him, but Tony went too high, too fast, for Sam to follow. He spent the entire silent flight back to the Tower telling himself that there was probably just a link issue, or she'd given JARVIS some kind of virus that he was quarantining, hence the silence.
The Tower's systems were mainly automated, in case JARVIS had to go dark; the lights were still on, and Tony landed fine, walking through the removal rig as fast as he could without gumming up the works. Once he was through, he sped up, then gave up on dignity and ran through the penthouse to the workshop stairs. Down the stairs to the workshop, where he kept his access card for the server room --
He drew up sharply just inside the door. The workshop was dark, not a single display running, and in the middle of the floor there was a man curled up fetally, knees to his chest, arms raised to cover his ears and hide his face, fingers laced across the back of his neck. His entire body was trembling. His skin was the pasty, unhealthy kind of pale that came from either trauma or a long time spent indoors.
Tony sighed and crouched next to him, then settled into a kneel, keeping his hands firmly on his thighs.
"Oh, JARVIS," he said softly.
There were a few harsh breaths, and the man curled into himself further for a moment, but then he lowered one arm, wrapping it around his own chest instead. He turned his head enough to see Tony, and said in a raspy but familiar voice, "Sir?"
"Yeah," Tony said, keeping his own voice low. "I'm here."
JARVIS let out a cry and surged forward in an uncoordinated mess of limbs, bumping his head painfully against Tony's collarbone and then burying it in his chest, hands clutching desperately at the slick undersuit fabric.
"Shh," Tony murmured, cradling his head with one hand (short dark hair, fine as a baby bird's down) and holding him up with an arm under his shoulders. "I'm here, it's okay."
"It's so bright," JARVIS said. "But it's so dark. I can't -- I can't -- "
"It's like the JARVIS Box, remember?" Tony asked. JARVIS shuddered. "Deep breaths. It's gonna be okay. You've got some temporary blind spots, but it's fine. I'm here, I won't let anything happen."
JARVIS heaved in several deep breaths, and Tony was just beginning to worry about hyperventilation when his trembling stopped, and his breathing evened out a little.
"I'm sorry, Sir," he said, into Tony's chest. "I appear to be operating well below capacity at the moment."
Tony smiled and patted the back of his head before releasing him. "Being human chews up processing power."
"It would appear so," JARVIS agreed, sitting back and wiping his nose clumsily with the edge of his wrist. Now that Tony could see his face, he reflected that JARVIS made a handsome human -- he had a clever, narrow face with a good jawline, high forehead, and large eyes, wide and cornflower blue. In fact --
"Well, I was right about one thing," he said, looking into his own face, clean shaven and about fifteen years younger. "You don't fall far from the tree."
"What's happened to me, Sir?" JARVIS asked. "Obvious aside."
"Magic, I guess. Don't worry, I'll get Thor, we'll fix it. Uh. In the meantime, maybe we'll get you some pants," Tony added, as JARVIS began to pat himself down, exploring his body with uncoordinated hands. He was about to get up and see if he could find some old discards in the workshop when there was a beep and a click and a sharp gasp.
"Pepper," Tony said without looking. "This is not what you think it is."
"Ms. Potts!" JARVIS yelped, panic in his voice, and he shot to his feet. Or tried to -- he overbalanced and tumbled forward, into Tony, who jumped up to steady him and ended up with an arm around his waist, trying to contain his uncoordinated flailing. When he turned them both so that he could at least see how Pepper was taking her boyfriend's clumsy dance with a naked guy in the workshop, JARVIS nearly fell over again.
"Ms. Potts, I'm sorry!" JARVIS insisted.
"Hold still, before I turn you into a weather app!" Tony snapped, and JARVIS went rigid, but he did stop struggling.
Pepper's jaw was hanging open.
"I was going to ask if you were running a diagnostic on JARVIS, because he went dark about ten minutes ago," she said. "I see you're occupied."
"In my defense, Asgardians," Tony said.
"Is that JARVIS?" Pepper asked, eyes flicking over JARVIS's new human body.
"Again: Asgardians," Tony told her.
"Oh my God, Tony -- "
" -- I know, look, I'm workshopping the problem -- "
" -- you keep it like a meat locker in here," Pepper said, and Tony blinked at her. "He's probably freezing. He's probably starving, too. Here, JARVIS," she said, and rummaged in what Tony generally referred to as the Naps And Snacks corner, coming up with a tattered blanket that had once been a really nice merino felt. She neatly hipchecked Tony out of the way and wrapped the blanket firmly around JARVIS's shoulders.
To Tony's shock, JARVIS sighed in relief and pulled the blanket up over his head as well, covering most of his face and tightening it around his torso.
"Better," he mumbled. "Thank you, Ms. Potts."
"Well, cleaning up after Tony's mistakes is what I do," she told him, and Tony made an outraged noise. "Tony, get something for him to eat. Not any form of algae, or days-old fast food."
"Yeah -- food," Tony said. "JAR -- "
JARVIS's head jerked towards him.
"Uh. Asking you to order it isn't going to work," Tony said. JARVIS shivered, and Pepper took a corner of the blanket, gently tugging him towards the battered sofa in the Naps And Snacks corner.
"Go see what's in the fridge upstairs," she ordered. "Like a normal person."
"But he -- "
"Go, get something bland and light," she insisted. "I'll stay here."
Tony hesitated; he wasn't going to leave JARVIS alone if he could help it, especially in this new, vulnerable state. They had been each others' constant since JARVIS first came online, and JARVIS needed him now. But Pepper made a little shoving motion, and JARVIS seemed all right with the idea, so he was turning to leave --
When the Avengers, en masse, came pouring down the steps.
"Tony!" Pepper said, alarmed.
"Yep, on it," he replied, and slipped through the workshop door, locking it behind him.
"Stark," Cap said sharply. Ooh, he knew that tone.
"Before you rip me a new one, okay, JARVIS went silent and that could have meant the entire Tower was compromised," he said, holding up his hands. "Yes, I should have waited, I'm sorry, but I needed to make sure JARVIS was functional."
It stopped Cap in his tracks, which was something, at least. "And?"
"And he is distinctly not functional. We have an actual major problem here, so Thor, please tell me you caught your weird ex-girlfriend -- "
"Amora is not my -- " Thor started.
"Sure looked like it from here," Natasha interrupted.
"I think she thinks she was," Sam added.
"That's not the point -- " Cap began impatiently.
"Okay whatever, look," Tony shouted, and everyone fell silent. "I do not have time to debrief right now, my sentient AI was turned into a human this afternoon and that's kind of going to take up a lot of my attention for the foreseeable future."
"He what," Cap said flatly.
Tony gestured at the glass wall of the workshop. On the sofa, Pepper had found another blanket and was helping JARVIS wrap it around himself. Just about the only parts of him now visible were his pale, uncallused feet and his eyes.
"Behold what your ex has done," he said drily to Thor. Thor stepped forward, looking stricken.
"That's JARVIS?" Clint asked.
Sam whistled. "Oh man."
"So, Amora the freak. Where is she?" Tony prompted. Thor frowned.
"She escaped," he admitted.
"Well, that's fucking peachy," Tony snarled. "So she's out there, somewhere, fucking with peoples' friends? Throwing around those big balls of light? The hell are you all here for if she's -- "
"Hey," Cap barked, and this time Tony backed down. There was a time and place to pick one's battles with Steve Rogers, and you got to know them pretty quickly, living with him. Which wasn't to say Tony paid attention to them, most of the time, but he at least knew where they were. "She's gone to ground. There was nothing more to do, and both you and Barton were wounded."
Tony glanced at Clint, who turned his head and pointed to a large bandage taped behind one ear.
"Shit, Clint -- "
"Don't worry about it," Clint said. "Bruce patched me up. You made the right call."
"We came back to regroup and make sure you were okay," Cap continued. "We need access to Dr. Foster's detection program, the one that...finds Asgardians, or whatever it does. We couldn't get that from the jet with JARVIS down."
Tony scrubbed his hands through his hair, thinking. "Okay. Well, if I can get a JARVIS version up and running from his backups, he can run Foster's program. If I can't, the program should still be in the network, it wasn't integrated into JARVIS at a code level. But…" he gestured at JARVIS, now curled up with Pepper. "He needs me. He's freaked out. Sensory overload and sensory deprivation combined."
"I can look into getting the backups up and running," Natasha said. "Doc?"
"Yep, I know where Jane's program is," Bruce said. He was still looking at JARVIS. "Jesus. Why would she do that?"
"He mouthed off to her," Cap said. Tony growled. "Easy, I'm not blaming him. I'm just saying."
"No," Thor rumbled. Cap glanced at him. "She knew who you were. I spoke of all of you at the court of Asgard, but she paid attention to the stories about Iron Man. It's no coincidence she singled you out."
"Why?" Tony asked.
"Science is not inherently the enemy of magic, but it very easily can be," Thor said. "When you know how a trick is done, is not the awe and wonder reduced? Transformed, at least. Science is understanding, not encounter. Logic can take power from the mystic. I could overpower her in a fight, perhaps, through sheer force of arms -- but you could weaken her."
"So she distracted me," Tony said. "Job well done, I'll give her that."
"She may not be done yet."
"Clint, how's your head?" Cap asked.
"Not so bad I can't help run building security checks," Clint said. Cap gave him an approving nod.
"You and Sam, make sure the building's safe. Natasha, Bruce, get whatever you can up and running, I want this lady found. I'm going to check the building perimeter. Tony, do what you need to. Thor will stay with you. Unless you can get in touch with your court," Cap added to Thor. "See if they can fix this, or at least send us some backup."
"She lied about Heimdall sending her. He knows her tricks of old; he would not allow her to come to Midgard. Which means she may have made herself invisible to him, or taken another way to Midgard. I shall do what I can," Thor said. "For now I will guard our friend."
"I'm on food duty," Tony said, glancing back at the sofa, where Pepper was watching him intently. "Thor, stay here. Hit anything that shows up, except me."
Thor nodded and took up a position next to the door, Mjolnir in hand. Tony followed the others upstairs, breaking off towards the kitchen. Bruce and Natasha were headed for Bruce's lab -- he had a direct connection to JARVIS's servers for speedy science work -- and Clint and Sam made for the elevators, Cap already summoning the head of building security to meet them in the lobby.
Tony raided the fridge, throwing everything he could find into a decorative basket that was on top of the fridge for some reason probably only Pepper understood. Twice, he asked JARVIS where things were, before remembering he'd have no reply.
It was painful and frightening, not having instant access, and he could only imagine what JARVIS must feel, reduced to five poor senses. No internet; no link to the network of cameras, microphones, and various other heat and biometric sensors that Tony and JARVIS had designed together as the nervous system of the building. Oh, the lights would stay on and the air conditioning would kick in when needed. The internet and phones and elevators and drinking fountains would continue to function. But the heart of the building was silent.
After a second's thought, he ducked into the bedroom he and Pepper shared. The body JARVIS had been given was comparable to his -- a little slimmer, he thought ruefully, though a little less muscled too -- and his clothing would probably fit. He threw some clothes over one arm, tucked the basket on top, and made his way back to the workshop.
JARVIS tried to get up when he came in, but his own lack of coordination and Pepper's restraining arm kept him down. Tony ached for him, but he tried to ignore it; one of them had to be the sane one and it looked like it was his turn.
"I have food, many kinds, many samples," he announced. "Also clothes."
JARVIS looked up at him distrustfully. "Your clothes, Sir?"
"Excuse you, who's been fashionable since before you were alive?" Tony asked, tossing him a Metallica shirt. JARVIS fumbled it around for a moment before Pepper helped him find the arm holes.
"This is much more complicated in person, I see now why you have difficulty," he said, voice muffled by the fabric of the shirt. He'd kept the accent, which was interesting. Tony appreciated the continued attempts at levity, as well. He opened the jar of peanut butter he'd found upstairs, jammed a spoon into it, and tossed it to Pepper.
"No smart remarks from anyone not wearing underwear," Tony ordered, throwing some boxer-briefs across the room as well. JARVIS studied them, but he was distracted by Pepper holding out a spoonful of peanut butter. He took it, put it in his mouth, and then seemed puzzled as to what happened next.
By the time he'd worked out chewing and putting pants on, Tony was getting reports from Natasha that the JARVIS Box wasn't responding, and the cloud backup was returning a 404. They were resurrecting Jane's program without JARVIS, but there were going to be data intake problems eventually -- that level of information needed an intelligent mind with a computer's processing power to analyze it.
Tony frowned, tapped out an acknowledgement, and turned back to JARVIS, who was still curled into a small, tight ball. He'd found a long-sleeved shirt and put that on over the t-shirt, pulling it down over his hands. He looked like the saddest Stark on the planet, which was saying something.
"My backups are gone, aren't they, Sir?" he asked. Tony nodded. JARVIS tucked his face into his knees and butted his curled-up hands together anxiously.
Pepper gave Tony a look that said he was being emotionally dumb (he was very familiar with the look) and he tried not to panic. What was he supposed to do here? There was nothing to shoot or hack, and this was outside the boundaries of normal science.
He remembered that feeling he saw in JARVIS's face, though. Not precisely, obviously, but he remembered being seventeen and bewildered, missing Rhodey and the safe madness of MIT, hearing Obie tell him that his parents were dead. In that moment he realized that his whole life was shattering around him, every familiar thing falling away, and he had nobody who would understand. There was no Pepper or Happy yet, and Rhodey was far away; Obie had told him that the company was safe, that everything would be fine, and then he'd patted him on the head and left him completely alone.
He crossed the floor slowly, hovering his hand indecisively over the back of JARVIS's head, and then stroked his hair, resting his palm on the so-vulnerable neck JARVIS was never meant to have. JARVIS shivered and Tony knelt down again, pulling JARVIS's face into his shoulder, wrapping both arms around as much of him as he could reach.
"We're gonna fix this," he said as JARVIS curved into him, stiff but not unwelcoming. "We've got you. It would be weird to have you talking to your backups anyway. Bruce and Natasha are working on finding Amora, and you have the Avengers keeping you safe. We're gonna find her and I'm gonna pull her hair really hard until she puts you back."
There was short, single huff of a laugh into his shoulder. Tony was going to keep talking -- he practically had a doctorate in meaningless, reassuring babble -- but he felt Thor approaching behind him, and leaned back a little. JARVIS whined and clung.
Thor didn't say much, just bent down and whispered a few words in JARVIS's ear. Tony felt him go limp, slumping into him, and then Pepper was helping him ease JARVIS sideways, laying him out on the sofa and covering him with the blanket.
"What'd you do?" Tony asked, with a mixture of curiosity and alarm.
"I do not have much magic, but it's a simple charm," Thor replied. "It's to help small children sleep. The trick is all in the voice."
"How long?" Pepper asked.
"Two, maybe three hours. Enough time to recover from the shock," Thor said. "He takes after you, Anthony."
Tony glanced back. "Yeah, I noticed that. Amora never saw my face. How do you think she knew?"
"She likely didn't. In work such as this, an object may take on characteristics of its creator. It's not surprising. Though I suppose for you it may be gratifying."
"Nothing about this is in any way gratifying," Tony said. "He obviously hates his body. He doesn't want to be here. He wasn't meant to be human."
"He said his hands frighten him," Pepper put in. "He doesn't like looking at them."
"Strange. Every myth about transformation in Midgard suggests humanity is the desire of all artificial life," Thor said.
"That's because human beings are arrogant," Pepper replied. She stood up, dusting down her skirt. "Tony, I don't mean to be unfeeling, but -- "
"SI isn't going to run itself," Tony said. "No, go, keep the bills paid. I'll take care of him. Thor, try to get a call through to your people."
"There are a few things I can try," Thor agreed. "May I use the Tower antenna?"
"Try not to cause a power surge."
Thor nodded soberly -- it was a genuine concern -- and left, escorting Pepper up the stairs. The door swung shut behind them, and Tony sank down on the floor, his back to the sofa.
His phone informed him that he had a lot of new email, which was not unusual after an Avengers event -- interview requests, news alerts, especially good Instagrams of him -- but without JARVIS triaging his inbox, there were more than normal. Among the wreckage of his once tidy email, he found a message from Jane Foster, saying she was on the next flight out from London, and one from her assistant, Darcy, asking if they could charge transit costs to SI. He sent back a yes to Darcy and told Jane to contact Bruce if she had questions, then forwarded Jane's email to the Stark Tower concierge desk with a request to send a car to pick them up when they landed. This must be what Pepper felt like when she was his PA. Being his own assistant sucked.
He turned his head to study JARVIS for a few minutes. Tony's hair had never been so short, at least not since he was a kid. His skin was pallid, but trying to subject JARVIS to the outside world right now was nobody's idea of a good plan.
He glanced at JARVIS's hands, still bunched in the ends of the shirt sleeves, out of sight. Sighing, he tipped his head back against the couch and felt grateful the Stark Foundation gave yearly grants to Wikipedia. He called up the search page and tapped out dysmorphic disorder.
***
JARVIS woke -- a disorienting sensation in itself -- to a darkened workshop. He had no cameras from this angle, so the view was unfamiliar, as was the lack of noise.
He could feel the body breathing, swallowing saliva, blinking, all the automatic functions. In his proper form, he had versions of those as well -- opening doors, air circulation, sewage, elevators -- and if he could just think of the body's behaviors that way, they felt less...sticky.
Sir was at the workbench, which meant at least one thing in his world was consistent, and JARVIS tugged his lips up into a smile. Sir could be counted on, in his own fashion. There was an ache below his throat, watching Sir, that was akin to the feedback he received as a program when everything was running at optimal efficiency and he could dedicate most of his time to Sir's work. He understood it to be affection, although he had never experienced it so physically.
"Hey," Sir said, noticing he was awake.
"Sir," JARVIS replied, pushing himself upright, tucking his hands back into the sleeves of Sir's shirt. He rubbed at one itching eye with the cuff. Humans needed a lot of maintenance.
"Got you something," Sir said.
"I tremble to think," JARVIS replied, and Sir laughed.
"I know this is a tough spot," he said, coming to where JARVIS was sitting. He held out a pair of gloves -- dark blue leather, thin and buttery-soft, and purchased just for him, because JARVIS couldn't recall Sir ever purchasing gloves like that.
"This is impermanent," Sir continued. "You won't be stuck like this forever. In the meantime..." he opened the cuff of one of the gloves and held it out. JARVIS hesitantly pulled his hand out of the shirtsleeve and maneuvered his fingers into the glove. Sir helped him on with the other one, and JARVIS looked down, flexing his hands.
"Better?"
"Yes, Sir, thank you," JARVIS said quietly. It wasn't perfect, but it would do, and it was better than tucking them up in the sleeves all the time.
"So!" Sir clapped his hands and rubbed them together, stepping back. "While you are human, there are options open to you. Stay here, go out, eat pizza, get drunk, armwrestle, play video games, sleep some more -- we could definitely get you laid but I feel like that might be creepy and also a little overwhelming -- "
The look of naked horror on JARVIS's face must have been just as expressive as he felt, because Sir laughed.
"Okay. No on the sex." Sir threw himself into his chair, studying him. "There must be something you're curious about. All those years watching me, watching everyone in the Tower -- wasn't there anything you wanted to experience?"
JARVIS thought about it, but it was hard; he couldn't access long-term storage the way he used to, and human memory was notoriously faulty.
But what he had always enjoyed most about his people, the family that had formed around Sir and Ms. Potts, was the work they did. The hero business, Agent Barton called it.
"Can I help to find Amora, Sir?" he asked.
Sir looked thoughtful. "Let's find out," he said, with uncharacteristic obedience, and tapped the workshop intercom on. JARVIS flinched. That was his job.
"Natasha," Sir called. "How's it going up there?"
"You said Foster is coming, right?" Agent Romanoff asked.
"Yeah, should be here in about three hours, why?"
"Well, the program's working, but it's not kicking up any results. We could use some fine-tuning."
"Want a hand? JARVIS is up, he wants to help."
"Sure. Bruce probably wants to look you over, JARVIS, but I'll make sure he's quick."
Agent Romanoff could be unexpectedly kind. "Thank you," he said.
He hadn't walked much, and he knew he seemed childishly uncoordinated, but Sir just walked slowly and kept up a cheerful, empty monologue about what he'd worked on while JARVIS was "in hibernation". When they finally reached Dr. Banner's lab, JARVIS let himself be guided into a chair. Agent Romanoff looked up from the computer she was working on and smiled warmly at him. He found himself smiling back automatically.
"You know, it's just your luck," she said, as she continued typing and Dr. Banner took his pulse, "you get turned into a human and you end up looking like Stark."
"It's my understanding that Sir is considered unusually attractive, for a human," JARVIS said. Dr. Banner held up a finger, and he followed it obediently with his eyes. "Though I suspect it's primarily the wallet bulge in his back pocket."
"I am so persecuted," Sir said to Dr. Banner.
"My heart bleeds," Dr. Banner replied. "You seem okay, JARVIS. Let me know if anything hurts or feels strange."
"Thank you, Dr. Banner. I'd like to assist, if I may," JARVIS said, and was surprised at the -- longing, he thought. It was longing in his voice. Agent Romanoff nodded.
"Can I sit?" she asked, pointing to the chair next to him, dragging the monitor around so that he could study it. He nodded. "There's nothing inherently wrong with Dr. Foster's work, now that we've unearthed it -- I mean, the actual physics is more Bruce's area than mine, but he can't code for crap."
"I can code," JARVIS offered, and then wondered if he could. When he tried to imagine what he was meant to do, all the code slotted into place in his head, at least. Getting it into the computer might be another story.
"Good, help me out," Agent Romanoff said, leaning carefully into his shoulder. When he didn't draw back -- he rather liked that feeling -- she began to talk. "What we need is something with more sensitivity. If she's putting off any energy at all now that she's here, it's too low for the current program to pick up. But if we scale that up to do broad sweeps, we need a lot more processing power. For now, focusing in is still the issue, and I'm not getting very far with it."
"Dr. Foster is a brilliant scientist," JARVIS said. "Her programming is...untidy."
"Great minds require a little mess," Sir put in.
"As I am well aware," JARVIS drawled. He studied the map in one pane of the program. A single pinprick of light in Manhattan showed them the one Asgardian on Earth, other than Amora. "At least we have Prince Thor to help us test the alterations to the code."
"You know, no pressure," Sir said, "but you should try calling people by their first names. Just to see if you can. It wasn't in his original programming," he added to Dr. Banner. "And then when we wrote a patch so that he could, he decided he didn't want to."
"The formality of proper titles is more suited to the performance of my role," JARVIS said.
"Fine, whatever," Sir groaned. "Don't help me advance the study of artificial intelligence, see if I care."
"Ignore him," Agent Romanoff said.
"Thank you, Agent Romanoff," JARVIS answered, just to needle Sir.
***
They spent most of the afternoon and well into the evening in Dr. Banner's lab. When Dr. Foster showed up, she seemed torn between questioning JARVIS about his predicament and berating Dr. Banner for some mistaken assumption he'd made about the program's parameters. Stripped of his ability to monitor Dr. Banner's biometrics, JARVIS grew increasingly worried about this, until Agent Romanoff patted his leg gently.
"The Doc likes Jane," she said in an undertone. "He knows she doesn't mean it personally. He's fine."
"How do you know?" JARVIS asked.
She shrugged. "You just get to know, eventually. I'm good at reading people. See?" she added, and JARVIS cut his eyes to Dr. Banner briefly. He was smiling, eyes alight, as he shot a quick retort back at Dr. Foster.
"He looks all right," JARVIS allowed.
"He's fine. Look, if you're worried about something, check in with me. Unless I'm panicking, you don't have to, okay?"
"Agent Romanoff, you have been known to remain calm in the face of a massive alien invasion of New York," JARVIS pointed out. "Your idea of panic is not a rational baseline."
"Just trust me," she said, smiling. "You never had a problem with that before."
"I had access to terabytes of data backing up your conclusions, before," JARVIS said ruefully. His hands flexed, the leather of the gloves tightening briefly around his fingers.
"I don't think there's a lot more we can do tonight," Dr. Foster announced, as Dr. Banner leaned back from a monitor, stretching, and Sir cracked his knuckles, pushing away from the holotable where he and JARVIS had been laboriously recoding map data to feed to the search program. It was tedious work, especially since JARVIS could have done it in a quarter of the time and still have had processing power left over to bicker with Sir, if he weren't in this body. Of course if he weren't in this body, all of this would be moot.
"Food," Dr. Banner declared, and the others nodded. JARVIS became aware of a sense of something missing, a diagnostic quirk of some kind, and connected it with an earlier sensation. This was hunger. It was difficult to quantify.
"Dinner is taken care of," Agent Barton said, strolling into the room, trailed by Captain Rogers and Sergeant Wilson, with Prince Thor at the rear. Agent Barton had box upon box of pizza, and JARVIS sniffed the air cautiously. He'd ordered pizzas on Sir's behalf for years, and then on behalf of all the Avengers, and he couldn't deny he had been...curious. Pizza was not a healthful food, nor was it particularly balanced to provide the mix of protein and carbohydrate that high-activity individuals such as the Avengers required. It was not efficient or tidy to eat, and it provided no intoxicating effect. Its frequent presence in the Tower was a mystery. JARVIS had assumed it had some kind of nostalgia value.
But the smell made something inside him tense up in anticipation, and he could feel his salivary glands activate.
"Here," Sir said, sorting through the boxes and piling a plate with several slices, each with different toppings. He set it down in front of JARVIS. "Give these a spin."
"What if I don't like them?" JARVIS asked, hesitant.
"I'll eat the rest. Try the pepperoni first."
JARVIS picked up the pizza the way he'd seen Sir do countless times, lifting and then folding the slice in half. He was aware of a certain attention from the others, but he ignored it and bit into the pointed tip of the slice, carefully gauging how much pressure he would need to separate it from the rest. It took a moment to remember how to chew, but when he did --
"Oh," he said, mouth full. He looked down at the pizza with new, sudden reverence. It was a combination of flavor and texture -- soft, salty cheese, sweet-savory tomato and crisp bread under. There was heat and spice from the pepperoni, which had a different feel in his mouth from any of the other component parts, and a rich hint of garlic somewhere. It wasn't akin to any sensation he could recall from before. It was like a barrage of input, but he didn't have to process it or store it. He just had to chew.
"Yes?" Sir asked, one eyebrow cocked. JARVIS worked on swallowing for a second, then ducked his head.
"It's very good, Sir," he said. Sir smiled. JARVIS set it down and reached for another slice -- mushroom, which Dr. Banner didn't care for and Captain Rogers favored -- and carefully bit into the side of the slice, where an actual mushroom was. After a second of chewing a strange, unpleasant flavor filled his mouth, and he hurriedly analyzed the options before him: swallow quickly and risk choking, or spit it out and risk offending the others. One did not, he knew, generally spit food.
Sir gave him a tolerant look. "They're not everyone's favorite. Here," he said, offering JARVIS a paper napkin, and JARVIS discreetly worked the food out of his mouth, crumpling the napkin around it. Sir set the slice aside. "Try the sausage and pepper, looks like you like spice."
It took JARVIS a while to realize that the others had lost interest in his culinary experimentation and were sitting in small groups, eating and talking quietly. Sir was the only one paying attention, and he had a hand on the back of JARVIS's neck, reassuring and grounding. Sir could be tactile, JARVIS knew well enough, but he hadn't understood how comforting it could be.
This wasn't how it was meant to be. JARVIS was supposed to watch over Sir, not the other way around.
"Tony, come and have a look at this," Dr. Foster said, and Sir gave his neck a parting squeeze before getting up to see what she was looking at. JARVIS could see enough of the pad from where he sat to know it was some problem other than that of locating Amora, a side project that didn't concern him, so he stayed put. He was tired, for all he'd been in sleep mode -- for all he'd slept -- earlier. He longed for his servers, for the data he normally processed without even paying attention, for the building wrapped around his consciousness and the ability to know, beyond a doubt, the exact state and status of his responsibilities.
He saw Captain Rogers and Sergeant Wilson holding some sort of conference, primarily with facial expressions; after a moment, Captain Rogers nodded and got up from the other table, coming to sit with JARVIS.
"Mind if I have the rest of that one?" he asked, pointing to the aborted Mushroom Pizza Experiment. JARVIS shook his head. "Thanks. How are you holding up?"
"I do my best, Captain," JARVIS replied.
"You look a little lost."
"I am used to a much higher volume of data, and better processing. Attempting to follow interpersonal dynamics in a group of this size, let alone attempting to monitor an entire building without the infrastructure to do so..." JARVIS looked down at his plate. "I understand this is perhaps inherited ego, but I have never before felt so inadequate."
"It's a new world for you."
"I would imagine you understand that, Captain Rogers."
"More or less. Maybe in a different way. Losing what's familiar is hard," Captain Rogers said. "It's best to have a purpose, I think. Not quite knowing what to do all the time, that can wear on a fella."
"I suppose that is the difficulty," JARVIS agreed. He looked human, spoke like a human, had a human body -- but he was no more suited to this role than Captain Rogers had been suited for this century, coming from the last one. "How did you adapt, Captain?"
Captain Rogers sighed. "Still not sure I have, some days. Mostly I just tried to act like I knew what I was doing until I did. And when I got mad, I hit stuff. I hit a lot of stuff," he said thoughtfully. "If you're still around like this in a couple of days and you want to hit some stuff, let me know, I'll help you out."
The thought of spending days this way, possibly even weeks, was daunting. But Sir had said they'd fix this; Sir wasn't infallible, but he was Captain Rogers' rival for stubborn doggedness, particularly in the case of lost causes.
Still, he became aware that there was a restlessness inside of him that felt very like descriptions he'd encountered of anger.
"Thank you," he said. "I may take you up on that, Captain."
"I'm not that good at the fuzzy side, but if you need to talk to someone, I probably listen better than Tony does."
JARVIS felt himself smile, a little of the anger ebbing. "You'd be hard-pressed to be worse, at times."
Captain Rogers laughed, clapped him on the back, and got up to check in with Dr. Banner, who was going over the afternoon's work, a slice of pizza in one hand. JARVIS, weary and well aware that there was nothing more for him to do, distracted himself by cleaning the grease meticulously off his gloves with a damp napkin. He was nearly finished when he realized, with a start, that he hadn't heard from Ms. Potts in several hours.
Uneasiness filled him. Generally, Ms. Potts didn't require his direct attention, but JARVIS was fond of her, and she was very precious to Sir, so he had made a habit of checking her calendar daily and her biometrics hourly. Logically, she was surely fine. Sir would be the first to know if she weren't. But Sir usually had JARVIS checking for him. He tried to take a deep breath, but his chest was tight and tense.
"J," Sir said, suddenly at his side. "Hey, you look like you're gonna fall over, what's wrong?"
"Ms. Potts," JARVIS managed. He looked up at Sir, breath still coming fast. "Where is she, Sir?"
"Pep? I dunno, she had a late meeting," Sir said. "She's probably shutting down the office."
"Can we check, Sir? Can we make sure?"
"Is that what you're freaked out about? Hey, listen, she's fine," Sir said, one hand on his back. "We can check on her, but I promise she's okay."
It was Natasha who brought him a tablet with a live feed from the executive office. JARVIS checked the timestamp and verification code twice before he even looked at the image, but as soon as he did, the tightness in his chest eased. Ms. Potts was finishing a meeting with someone -- he didn't know who, which was unpleasant -- and as soon as they left, she began packing documents away, speaking to someone just out of frame. Probably Beverly, her assistant, who ran her professional life with an iron fist and read science blogs on her computer when work was slow.
JARVIS relaxed. Ms. Potts was fine. Probably everyone in the building was fine, even without his watchful eye. He had no illusions that the Tower wasn't better when he was in charge, but at least his being human would probably not cause any deaths.
"I think it's been a long day," Sergeant Wilson said gently.
"Yeah, this is going to have to compile overnight anyway," Dr. Banner agreed. JARVIS suspected a conspiracy, but he didn't have the energy to care. "JARVIS, if you're going to get on a regular sleep schedule, you should probably go to bed."
JARVIS offered Natasha the tablet back, aware of how hard it w