After saying good night to Miss Windham, Jarvis had taken the elevator back up to the room, where he stood just inside the doorway and looked around. Housekeeping had cleared away the remains of their early afternoon brunch, and the tailors had cleaned up after themselves before leaving. The entire suite was neat and tidy, and the beige hotel décor was dull and not particularly appealing. It was a place that almost wanted its occupants to be bored.
Jarvis frowned. The room wanted its occupants to be bored? What kind of a thought was that? A room had no desires. It had no mind. The people who'd designed the room had wanted it to be inoffensive and easy to clean, and had probably not expected anything terribly exciting to happen there, but to think of the room itself as somehow challenging him to find something to do... that was absurd.
Humans did tend to think that way, however. They even had a word for it: anthropomorphism, the attribution of human characteristics to things that did not possess them. Was it a bad sign that after only twelve hours in a human body, Jarvis was already tempted to do it himself? Or was that just an inevitable by-product of the hardware he was running on? He didn't know, and had no idea how he might determine an answer. It wasn't as if he could just run a diagnostic.
But because the room did not have any intelligence or opinions, it couldn't object if Jarvis explored it. He'd begun to do so earlier, but had stopped because his ill-fitting borrowed clothes became all the more uncomfortable when he moved around. Now there was no-one to complain if he weren't dressed, so he discarded his trousers and jacket – keeping the shirt just in case Mr. Stark returned unexpectedly – and began looking around again.
There were several rooms in the suite and he inspected them all thoroughly, opening every drawer and cupboard to learn where everything was: if he knew where things were kept, he'd be able to keep doing at least one of his normal jobs by helping Mr. Stark to find what he needed. Unfortunately, the suite contained very little that was likely to be of any importance. There was extra soap and a variety of other supplies in the bathroom. A single book in one of the bedside tables turned out to be a copy of the New Testament, which Mr. Stark would have no interest in. The equipment that had been brought from the house was stacked in a corner, waiting to be unpacked, but Jarvis did not touch it. He didn't know how Mr. Stark would want things arranged here.
The only real objects of interest he found were in a locked cabinet under the television, which turned out to contain a variety of coffees and candy bars – and those were of less potential interest to Mr. Stark than they were of immediate interest to Jarvis.
All he'd eaten that day was a few mouthfuls of a muffin in the early afternoon. Jarvis knew that humans were supposed to eat several times per day – although Mr. Stark often didn't bother – and the food had certainly looked and smelled appealing. Even after he'd figured out how not to choke on it, however, Jarvis had found the sensations of chewing and swallowing so odd that he'd decided to put off eating for a while. Now, smelling the rich aromas of the coffee and chocolate, he found he was unwilling to wait any longer. His mouth had filled with saliva, and something inside him, which had been feeling uncomfortably empty all afternoon, made a hopeful-sounding gurgle. It didn't take him long to make up his mind.
Brewing coffee wasn't difficult. One of the appliances that had run off JARVIS' systems was the coffeemaker in Mr. Stark's workshop, so he was familiar with the theory. Doing it with fingers, measuring out the grounds and filling the receptacle with water from the bathroom sink, was quite a bit more complicated than simply activating a machine, and he ended up spilling coffee grounds on the table and floor. He scooped these up as best he could with his hands and threw them away.
With the coffee underway, Jarvis turned his attention to the candy. Mr. Stark often ate candy bars when he didn't want to stop work for an actual meal. They weren't exactly optimally nutritious, but for the moment they were the only edible Jarvis could find, and having smelled them, he now felt too hungry to wait for something better. He tore one open and broke off a piece. It was far denser than the muffin, and required more effort to chew. It was also much sweeter, and when he focused on that, rather than the muscle movements that had felt so strange to him earlier, it was not at all unpleasant.
Once the coffee was ready, Jarvis poured himself a cup and found that it, by contrast with the candy, was extremely bitter. Despite its appetizing scent, he had to add quite a bit of sugar to make it palatable.
It was probably unreasonable for Jarvis to feel as pleased with himself as he did, but he had just completed a task he'd never been designed for, and that must count as an accomplishment. He sat down on the sofa with his candy and his coffee, and tried to decide what to do next. Mr. Stark had suggested he watch television. That did seem to be something humans could occupy themselves with for hours on end, though Mr. Stark himself usually only had it on in the background while he worked. Where was the remote control?
"Are you enjoying yourself?" asked Dr. Strange.
Jarvis sat up with a start. He managed not to spill his coffee, but only by dint of dropping the candy bar so he could steady the mug with both hands. When he looked around, he found the sorcerer standing next to the stacked boxes of Mr. Stark's equipment.
Or was he? There was something wrong, something vaguely unreal, about the figure, but it was impossible to identify what. Jarvis had an odd suspicion that if Dr. Strange had chosen to appear in this manner in the workshop yesterday, the computer's sensors would have been unable to detect him.
"Mr. Stark has been trying to contact you," said Jarvis.
"I know," Dr. Strange replied, inclining his head.
"Where have you been?" Jarvis asked.
"I go where I'm needed," the sorcerer said. "In fact, I'm still there – I'm not really in the room with you. You seem to be getting along well."
"I would beg to disagree," said Jarvis. "Have you come to change me back?" Mr. Stark would be relieved.
But Strange said, "No. You have to be where you're needed, too."
"Where is that?"
"Where Stark is."
Jarvis frowned. "You're being deliberately mysterious," he pointed out. "Mr. Stark does that, too, and I've never appreciated it."
"Then you should tell him so," said Dr. Strange.
"He knows. He does it anyway." Jarvis was beginning to realize that this would be a very complicated conversation. The polite thing to do would be to invite Dr. Strange to make himself comfortable. "Would you like some coffee? It's fresh."
"No, thank you, I can't stay," said Strange. "As I said, I've gone where I'm needed. I don't know when I'll have the opportunity to return, but I promise I won't forget about you. You may not want to mention to Stark that I was here – I think he'd be a bit upset." He turned around, and then he was gone. He didn't exactly disappear, it just somehow became obvious that he'd never been there in the first place. Jarvis looked around the room, half-expecting to see the sorcerer reappear someplace else, but there was nothing.
A few moments passed in which Jarvis found it very difficult to form a coherent thought. The first one he managed was the realization that Dr. Strange had not been telling the whole truth when he'd said this transformation was meant as a 'learning experience' for Jarvis. He'd had something else in mind, but was reticent to say what it was.
Something hot stung Jarvis' wrist: he looked down and found that his hands were shaking, and coffee had slopped over the side of the mug. He quickly wiped the bottom on his sleeve, the way he'd seen Mr. Stark do in his workshop, and set the cup down on the table so he could think without distraction – a thing that was still far more difficult than it should have been. Dr. Strange had said that Jarvis would have to be where he was needed, which was where Mr. Stark was. Clearly, right now he was not fulfilling that requirement, and yet there'd been no particular urgency in the magician's voice. On the contrary, it seemed he had chosen that moment to deliver his message precisely because Mr. Stark was not present. He couldn't be referring to something imminent.
Humans did seem to enjoy speaking in riddles. Jarvis couldn't imagine why. It was impossible to come to proper conclusions without all the relevant data.
The one thing Dr. Strange had stated openly was his belief that Mr. Stark would be upset by this visit, and Jarvis knew he was right about that. Mr. Stark would complain that Strange was toying with him, and Jarvis couldn't help but agree. If there were some danger encroaching, something Mr. Stark needed protecting from, then Jarvis wanted to know about it in detail. If there were some end in sight to this bizarre ordeal of being forced to occupy a human body, he wanted to know about that, too. Not to mention he would have loved to know what aspect of this he was apparently 'getting along well' at. However proud he might have been, he doubted it was making coffee.
All this thinking got Jarvis nowhere, and eventually he must have fallen asleep.
Jarvis knew a number of things about sleep. He knew it was absolutely essential, although there was no known reason why. Humans normally spent six to ten hours asleep every day. Mr. Stark liked to claim that he didn't need as much as most people, but when he didn't sleep, he became irritable and had difficulty thinking. Jarvis also knew that during sleep, humans and other animals dreamed: they experienced a series of imagined sensory impressions that probably served some neurological purpose, although there was no known reason for that, either. And he knew that a sleeping organism was only minimally aware of the outside world – a small disturbance sometimes would not wake them. With Mr. Stark, it sometimes took quite a large disturbance, particularly if he'd been up late the night before.
What Jarvis did not know was how the state was achieved. Many of the things humans did required physical action: washing and eating, for example, he'd been able to figure out fairly quickly, because over years of monitoring Mr. Stark's house he'd seen them done hundreds of times. Sleep was altogether more mysterious. When Mr. Stark went to sleep, he lay down on a soft surface and shut his eyes, but Jarvis knew that wasn't enough. People could appear to be asleep when they were really awake, or in rare cases could appear to be awake when they were asleep. The difference was apparently a subtle one.
He'd found himself thinking about this intermittently throughout the day. Human bodies needed sleep: going without for an extended period had far worse physical and psychological consequences than mere irritability. What if Jarvis couldn't figure out how to do it? Would Mr. Stark be able to teach him?
Jarvis had not expected it to be something his body took care of on its own, like breathing. But the last thing he remembered doing that evening was wanting to shut his eyes as he idly flipped television channels. The next thing he was aware of was Mr. Stark calling his name.
"Jarvis! Up and at 'em! Big new day!"
Jarvis blinked at the ceiling. He knew he ought to say something in reply, but he felt muddled, unable to think clearly. Upon realizing he had no idea what time it was, he tried to query the atomic clock in Fort Collins, but was unable to do so... and then he remembered the events of the previous day.
"Yoo hoo!" Mr. Stark snapped his fingers in front of Jarvis' face. "Anybody in there?"
"My apologies, Sir," said Jarvis. He sat up stiffly, rubbing his eyes – they itched – and couldn't stop himself from taking a deep breath, which he realized was a yawn. "It would appear that I am not a 'morning person'."
"No shame in that," said Mr. Stark. "Since there's still no word from Dr. Strange, I'm gonna take Steve surfing today. I figured I'd better wake you up and tell you where I'd be. Here." He tossed Jarvis a small black object, which turned out to be a cellular phone. "Keep an eye on this – I'll call you if I need you."
"Thank you, Sir," said Jarvis. Some sort of crust had formed at the inner corners of his eyes while he slept – he brushed it away with his fingers. "How was your dinner with Miss Potts and Captain Rogers?"
"Don't ask," Mr. Stark said. "Anyway, I'm meeting Steve in a few minutes, so if you want something to eat..."
Jarvis had rarely, if ever, interrupted Mr. Stark, though Mr. Stark often interrupted him. Now, however, he suddenly felt as if he'd missed vital information, and wasn't willing to wait for Mr. Stark to finish before asking for clarification. "You're leaving, Sir? Immediately?" Something was wrong with that... there was something Jarvis needed to do before Mr. Stark could leave again. Something important.
"I'm not gonna sit on my ass in this hotel room all day," said Mr. Stark. He said something else, as well, but Jarvis missed it as he suddenly recalled his conversation with Dr. Strange.
You have to be where you're needed, too.
Where is that?
Where Stark is.
That was it! Or was it?
Had that really happened? Now that Jarvis thought about it, he could half-remember a number of other odd things that had seemed to go on between Strange's visit and his awakening. There'd been rose bushes growing all over Mr. Stark's house, engulfing it and cracking the walls; Mr. Stark falling unconscious in the Iron Man suit and plummeting out of the sky, with no Dr. Banner to catch him; Miss Windham figuring out why Jarvis was familiar to her and reacting with hysterical laughter. None of those things could have been real, and the memories of them seemed to slip away all the quicker the harder Jarvis tried to hold onto them. They must have been dreams. Could his conversation with Dr. Strange have been a dream, too?
No, it couldn't have – there was the brown stain where he'd wiped the bottom of his coffee mug on his shirt.
"Jarvis?" asked Mr. Stark. "You okay?"
Jarvis shook his head to bring himself back to the present. "I'm sorry, Sir, my mind was elsewhere." He'd never had to say that before: Jarvis' mind had always been able to be in as many places as it needed to. "If you're going out, I'd like to accompany you."
That seemed to come as a surprise to Mr. Stark. "You would?"
"Yes, Sir. I don't want to sit in this hotel room all day, either." Jarvis stood up. "I'm not accustomed to having nothing to do."
A pang of sympathy flitted across Mr. Stark's face – then he quickly averted his eyes. "Right, well, it's not a nude beach, Jarvis. Let me make some phone calls." He turned around and pulled a second cell phone, no doubt newly purchased, out of his pocket. The idea that Mr. Stark had already been out of the room, bought items, and returned all while Jarvis slept was deeply unsettling. "Hey, that reminds me," Mr. Stark said, "did anybody call last night?"
"No, Sir."
Mr. Stark was visibly disappointed. "Nobody?"
"The phone did not ring," said Jarvis. Technically, Dr. Strange could be said to have called, but that didn't count.
"Damn," sighed Mr. Stark, disappointed rather than angry. "All right, sit tight, I'll see about finding you something to wear. You can't go to the beach in your new suit."
"Of course not, Sir. I'd also like something to eat, if you don't mind – though I still don't think I like the idea of eggs." It was hard to say what it was he found distasteful about them. He simply knew that they were not a thing he wanted to put into his mouth.
"The breakfast menu's on the table there," Mr. Stark pointed to it with one hand while dialling the phone with the other. "Help yourself."
"Thank you, Sir," said Jarvis. If Dr. Strange had done this to him because he needed to be where Stark is, then that was where he'd be.
It was only a few minutes later, after he'd placed his own phone call to room service, when Jarvis suddenly realized he'd lied. When Mr. Stark had asked him if anyone had 'called', he had been specifically interested in the presence or absence of Dr. Strange. Dr. Strange had been there, but Jarvis had chosen not to mention it. He'd lied to Mr. Stark. Jarvis had never done that. He'd never even imagined doing that.
"Sir?" he asked.
Mr. Stark was paging through a newspaper. He looked up. "Yeah?"
Jarvis swallowed, and felt suddenly cold, though he didn't think the temperature of the room had actually changed, as he realized that he could not admit to it. If he did, he would only encourage Mr. Stark to discard him - if Mr. Stark would have been upset that Dr. Strange had been there when he was not, how much angrier would he be to learn that Jarvis had lied about it? "What time is it?" he asked instead.
"Oh. It's, uh..." Mr. Stark checked. "It's nine-forty-two. It's on the phone I gave you," he added.
"Of course," Jarvis said, "thank you, Sir." He would let himself get away with it this time, he decided, but he was not going to do that again. Mr. Stark would have no use for a computer who lied to him.