Jarvis did have supper eventually. He ordered a club sandwich in the hotel restaurant – the only thing on the menu that looked as if he could eat it with his hands and not earn disapproving stares from the other diners. It came with coleslaw and a large pickle, both of which tasted very... 'sharp' seemed like an appropriate word somehow. The taste was not unpleasant, but he didn't like the slimy texture of the coleslaw very much. He ate it anyway, scraping the slippery strands up with his fork as best he could – humans needed three meals per day, and he didn't want to give himself any health problems. The only thing worse than being useless would be being a burden.

Though he'd been hungry, Jarvis found it difficult to clean his plate. This wasn't just because of the texture of the salad and the fact that the restaurant served rather large helpings, but because for some reason, his conversation with Miss Windham had left Jarvis with very little appetite.

He wasn't upset that Miss Windham was trying to manipulate him – he'd expected that. It was what she'd actually said. What she'd meant was something else, but her complaint about Mr. Stark had nevertheless managed to find the crux of what had been irritating Jarvis for the past two days. It was perfectly true that Mr. Stark almost never just talked to JARVIS. He gave orders and asked questions, but that didn't really constitute conversation. It was, however, normal. Answering questions and taking orders were what JARVIS was for. He'd always thought he was being helpful – was he really just facilitating Mr. Stark's desire to talk to himself?

Now that he thought of it... whenever he tried to offer unsolicited advice, Mr. Stark would usually cut him off or even mute his voice. Several examples came immediately to mind, and Jarvis didn't doubt he could think of dozens more if he tried to.

Sir, there are still terabytes of calculations required before an actual flight is...

JARVIS, sometimes you gotta run before you can walk.

These things hadn't been minor quibbles, either. Ignoring JARVIS' advice had cost Mr. Stark hundreds of thousands of dollars. His refusal to tell Miss Potts about his illness had caused her – and himself – enormous emotional distress. On more than one occasion, he'd very nearly gotten himself killed.

Sir, there is a potentially fatal buildup of ice...

Higher!

It had always been exasperating. Mr. Stark had never made life easy for anyone who was supposed to be looking out for his welfare – Miss Potts and Mr. Hogan knew that, too. But now I suddenly felt much more personal than it ever had before. Why was that? Was it just because human emotions seemed to be, on the whole, rather more intense and visceral than simulated ones? Or was it just that Jarvis had never before had the leisure to sit and think about it?

All he knew for sure was that after spending two days feeling frustrated by his uselessness, he was now wondering if he'd ever been particularly useful in the first place. Why had Mr. Stark bothered to create a computer that could talk if he didn't want to listen?

"Dessert menu, Sir?" asked the waiter, holding one out.

Jarvis raised his head, blinking in confusion. It took him a few seconds to realize that this man was talking to him. He wasn't a 'sir'. That was what he called other people.

"No, thank you," he said.

"All right." The waiter tucked it back under his arm. "Shall I get you the bill, then?"

"Charge it to the penthouse suite," said Jarvis. "Mr. Tony Stark."

"Of course, Sir. You have a nice evening."

Jarvis pulled out his phone to check the time – not having a built-in clock was a terrible inconvenience. It turned out to be a quarter past eight. Mr. Stark would still be with Miss Potts, and they wouldn't want to be interrupted. That made Jarvis feel even worse: back at the house they'd never considered his silent presence an interruption... but that had been before, and he was starting to realize there was a distinct possibility that things would never get back to what they'd used to consider 'normal'. Even after this was over, they might well continue to react to him as if he represented another person in the room. He would become something that was in the way, rather than just a part of the house.

Much like he was now.

Although he wouldn't be allowed in for at least another four hours, Jarvis took the elevator back up to the top floor anyway. From out in the hallway he could dimly hear Miss Potts' laughter, and when he put an ear to the door, the television was audible.

Bender, you drank and smoked when you were a robot.

Yeah, but now it's bad for me!

Mr. Stark chuckled. "Well, I'm glad Jarvis didn't take to it like that!" he said.

"That reminds me more of you," said Miss Potts.

Jarvis sighed and sat down on the hallway floor next to the door. Now they were laughing at him. He didn't know if that were better or worse.

There was a newspaper lying outside the door, which Mr. Stark and Miss Potts had apparently either not noticed or not bothered to collect. Jarvis retrieved it and decided to try solving the crossword puzzle. That, he recalled, had been Mr. Stanes hobby. Hopefully it would keep Jarvis occupied for at least a little while.

In fact it was well past one AM when Pepper began talking about leaving. Tony would have preferred her to stay – there might even have been just the teensiest amount of begging involved – but she insisted.

"We're both working tomorrow, remember?" she said. "Oh, I hope they've fixed the server by then."

She'd mentioned there being something wrong with it, hadn't she? "I'll take a look at it when I come in," Tony offered. "May I walk you to the parking lot?"

Pepper smiled. "Okay."

Tony got up and gave her a kiss on the cheek, then a kiss on the lips that went on a little longer than he'd meant it to – not that he was about to complain. He doubted it would ever cease to amaze him that after years of putting up with his worst excesses, Pepper was still willing to kiss him. The woman had to be some kind of masochist.

He held the door for her, bowing as she passed as if she were a princess. She shook her head, smiling – and then she stopped.

"Tony," she said.

"What?" he asked. He poked his head out the door and followed her gaze down and to the left – and there was Jarvis, slumped against the wall and fast asleep with a newspaper draped over his knees.

"How long do you think he's been there?" asked Pepper in a whisper.

"I don't know. I thought he was going out with Steve." Tony scratched the back of his neck. He was getting a little worried about Jarvis' proper functioning. This was definitely something he'd never designed his AI to cope with, and he wasn't sure what kind of permanent damage the experience might cause. That wasn't something he had to deal with immediately, though – the man sleeping in the hallway outside his hotel room was. He bent to collect the newspaper. "You take the legs, I'll take the arms," he told Pepper.

She raised an eyebrow. "I think it would be easier to just wake him up." She crouched down next to Jarvis and shook him gently. "Jarvis?"

"He's kind of a heavy sleeper," Tony warned her. It had taken him several tries to wake Jarvis that morning.

Pepper persisted, and although it took several minutes of prodding she eventually brought him around. Jarvis mumbled sleepy apologies and a number of other, less intelligible things as they helped him inside and got him onto the sofa. Pepper found an extra blanket and spread it over him.

That was what Pepper did, Tony thought as he watched her. She took care of things, anything and everything that needed it, whether it was a Fortune 500 company or a lost dog, or even a narcissistic man-child who fancied himself a superhero.

"All tucked in?" he asked.

"Sleeping like a baby," she confirmed. "I wonder what this is like for him."

"I'm pretty sure he's the only person who wants it to be over with more than I do," said Tony. He took Pepper gently by the shoulders. "Now, let's try that again, and hope there's no more surprises."

Tony woke up the next morning to the smell of coffee. That was odd.

It wouldn't have been if he'd spent the night at home: the automatic coffeemaker would have had a cup ready for him in his room, and he would pick it up and sip it while listening to JARVIS read him the headlines and weather report. But Tony wasn't at home – he was at the hotel, and he didn't remember calling for room service. For a few minutes he lay there watching the sunlight on the ceiling and trying to figure out if the smell were real or just his imagination. Then he heard the sound of a spoon clinking against crockery. That wasn't imaginary. Tony rolled out of bed to investigate.

After the trouble he'd had waking Jarvis yesterday morning, Tony had expected him to sleep in again – so it was a surprise to find that instead he was up, showered, and dressed in his new suit. He'd apparently ordered breakfast and it was on the table. So was today's newspaper. Jarvis himself was halfway through a piece of toast, but when he saw Tony he quickly swallowed and stood up.

"Good morning, Sir," he said.

Tony looked at the table again, wondering if he'd missed something. "I thought you said you weren't a morning person."

"I woke early and couldn't fall asleep again because of my sunburn," said Jarvis, "so I thought I'd have breakfast brought up for you. Remember, you're meeting Miss Potts at Stark Industries today." His shoulders twitched when he talked about the sunburn, and Tony felt a pang of sympathy. Trying to sleep on a sunburn sucked. Wearing a suit over one and not scratching was just about impossible.

"I remember," Tony said. "I, er, thought you didn't like that suit."

"You said that going without clothing was unacceptable, Sir," said Jarvis.

Tony supposed he had, and he was glad it had sunk in – but he couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong here. It was clear enough that Jarvis was just trying to do some version of what he usually did at home in the mornings, but Tony was getting an impression of guarded hostility. Maybe it was the way Jarvis was looking at him, as if waiting for something.

"How was your evening with Miss Potts, Sir?" Jarvis asked.

"Fine," said Tony. Maybe he'd forgotten something and Jarvis was just too polite to remind him? No, that made no sense. Jarvis never hesitated to remind Tony of things, especially the things he didn't really want to be reminded of. Just to be safe, though, he asked anyway: "did I forget something?"

"Only your manners, Sir."

"Oh, those!" Tony relaxed. The coffee smell hadn't been his imagination, but he decided that the hostility had. Jarvis was just being a smartass, as usual. The expectant stare had probably been unintentional: Jarvis hadn't had eyes long enough to know he wasn't supposed to do that. "I haven't seen my manners in years," Tony said, grabbing a pancake off the breakfast table. "Let me know if they turn up. I'm gonna hit the shower – keep the coffee hot!"

Having gotten over that slightly rocky start, Tony was in quite good spirits, humming to himself as he showered and shaved. Things were looking rosy: he was well on his way to patching things up with Pepper, he could do the stuff he was supposed to have done on Monday, and as long as he could avoid any more awkward encounters with Dido Windham, the only other thing he'd have to worry about today was coming up with a list of alternate ways to get in touch with Dr. Strange. There had to be something. Smoke signals? A Ouija board? How did sorcerers communicate? Who would know about something like that? It wasn't as if he could just look up 'wizards' in the yellow pages.

Tony wrapped a towel around his waist and went to grab his clothes. Upon opening the bathroom door, he found Jarvis standing in front of one of the mirrors in the main room. Tony's laptop was sitting open on the desk below it, and a YouTube video was laying, demonstrating the proper way to knot a tie. Tony bit back laughter and stood watching as Jarvis frowned in concentration. He was using his left hand in an attempt to make the image in the mirror match the one on the computer screen, and it wasn't making the task any easier for him. Finally, after several frustrated grimaces, he got it right and pulled the knot snug. Then he stood looking at his reflection a moment before raising one hand and touching the glass very lightly, only the tips of his fingers making contact.

It was time to speak up. Tony cleared his throat and clapped a couple of times. "Well done!" he declared. "Not bad for a first time at all!"

Jarvis started – it seemed he hadn't realized Tony was watching – but quickly regained his composure. "Thank you, Sir," he said. "Shall we make a deal? I promise to keep my clothes on today if you will do the same with yours."

"Deal," said Tony, smiling. He fished a shirt and jacket out of one of his suitcases.

"I'm sure Miss Potts will be most appreciative," Jarvis said. "Speaking of which: may I ask what excuse I should give her when you run off at lunchtime?"

"Who says I'm going to do that?" asked Tony, trying to ease his arm into the shirt sleeve without aggravating his bad shoulder. After yesterday's activity, the joint was rather sore.

"Let's be honest, Sir," said Jarvis. "Your record of keeping your promises to her for more than half a day at a time is not very good."

Tony stopped short with his shirt half-on and replayed the sentence in his head, then looked up to catch Jarvis' eye in the mirror. There was no smile on the other man's face, just a deadly serious expression and an even, unblinking blue stare that looked unpleasantly like he'd meant that comment. Tony bristled. There was nothing wrong with a little good-nature sarcasm, but that had crossed a line.

"Jarvis," said Tony, "I realize this is asking a lot, but maybe you could keep a lid on that for a while?"

"A lid on what, Sir?" Jarvis asked innocently.

"That," said Tony. "You know, the acerbic commentary. Isn't that what got you into this mess in the first place? You're supposed to be learning not to mouth off at people." He buttoned his shirt.

"I've been learning a great deal, Sir," said Jarvis, "although I don't know if Dr. Strange would consider all of it quite relevant."

As he ate his breakfast under Jarvis' watchful eyes, Tony tried again and again to reassure himself that it was all in his head. Jarvis only looked like he was staring because he was used to watching Tony's every move, and he didn't realize that it now looked rude. More than rude, actually – downright confrontational. It was a little weird to realize that JARVIS had, in fact, more or less been staring at him like that constantly for the last several years. When all this was over and Jarvis was back where he belonged, Tony would have to do something about that. He didn't want to spend all his time at home picturing this skinny, ginger-blond Englishman standing there watching him.

"Right," Tony said, stuffing the last of a banana into his mouth and washing it down with coffee. "I'm on my way. Stay out of trouble."

"I'm coming with you, Sir," said Jarvis.

Tony hadn't expected that. "What?"

"I'm coming to work with you," Jarvis repeated. "As I said yesterday, I don't want to sit in this room with nothing to do, and since I have the chance, I'd like to see what the Stark Industries complex looks like from the outside. I'm curious what it is you do all day."

Tony pushed aside the question of whether that last sentence was sarcastic or not, and thought about it. Having Jarvis following him around all day would be a pain in the butt. He would have to introduce him to a dozen people, and then later when this was all over, come up with an explanation for why 'Mr. Jarvis' had vanished as suddenly as he'd appeared. Maybe he could say this was an old friend who was visiting, and would soon be going back to Europe. That would work, but it would be so much easier to just leave him behind...

But then Tony remembered finding Jarvis asleep in the hallway last night and took pity. Jarvis' purpose in life – or its computer equivalent – was to help Tony. He was doing what he could with that under the circumstances. "All right," he said. "Come on, but remember what I said: suit stays on."

"Of course, Sir," said Jarvis. "As I said: just so long as yours does."

"I'll try not to strip down in the middle of a budget meeting, but if it's that or falling asleep I'm not sure I can make any promises."

"I'm sure the board of directors is accustomed to your antics, Sir."

Tony and Jarvis almost ran into Miss Windham on their way out of the hotel – but only almost. She was standing not far from the concierge desk, where Tony stopped to arrange for somebody to pick up his dry cleaning. He glanced up once or twice to make sure she hadn't noticed him, but she didn't seem to – she was in the middle of a conversation with a toweringly tall East Asian man. Tony frowned. The man looked familiar, but he couldn't quite pinpoint where he'd seen him before, and he definitely wasn't about to draw attention to his presence by asking. He finished his arrangements, and he and Jarvis escaped from the lobby unscathed.

Yes, he decided, things were definitely looking up.

"Miss Windham?" asked Huang.

"Oh! Sorry!" Dido shook her head and returned her attention to him, hoping she hadn't missed anything important. "I just thought I saw somebody I knew," she explained.

Huang glanced at the revolving door, still turning slightly after the two men had walked out. "That wouldn't have happened to be Mr. Tony Stark, would it?" he asked.

"Unfortunately, it would," sighed Dido. "I can't seem to avoid him this week."

"He has an unpleasant habit of turning up where he's little expected and less wanted," Huang agreed.

Dido wasn't about to argue, but she didn't want to talk about Tony Stark right now. Doing so would only remind her of the conversation she'd had with her father the previous night, and she was still angry about that on multiple levels. Instead, she tried to change the subject to something innocuous. "So how was the orchestra?"

"It was lovely," Huang replied. "Thank you for recommending it."

"You're welcome," said Dido. "I wish I hadn't had to miss it, myself, but Dad needed me to do some work for him last night." That wasn't a lie – trying to instill doubts in Stark employees whom Balthazar wanted to steal was, technically, doing work for Dad.

"I understand. Did you ask him whether he would be able to come speak with me in person?" Huang asked.

Oops. Here they were in another place Dido hadn't wanted to be. "Yes, I did," she lied, expression carefully neutral. "Unfortunately, he's very busy this week. Don't worry, he's given me full authority to finalize things in his absence."

Huang looked doubtful, but said, "I'm sure he has. However, there is an important personal matter I've been hoping to discuss with him."

The apology, of course. "I'll try again, but this really isn't a good time."

"Please try to impress upon him that it's a matter of great importance," Huang insisted.

Dido made a couple more promises to that effect, but still didn't mean a word of them – the next time she talked to her father, the only thing she intended to impress upon him was that he wasn't allowed near here. If he came to California now, he'd be here to search for Tony Stark's Robot Friend and wouldn't have time for Huang, and that would be a disaster. When Huang got more paranoid rantings instead of the apology he wanted, the last day of careful trust-rebuilding would come down like a game of Jenga.

She did wish she'd gotten a better look at Tony and his friend when they were at the desk. Dido was absolutely confident that Mr. Jarvis couldn't possibly be a robot, because things like that just did not happen, but she knew that Balthazar would bring it up again. When he did, she wanted to be able to settle the matter. She wanted to be able to say that yes, she'd seen the man eat or drink, or get a papercut and bleed, that he was thoroughly organic and that she wanted her father to see a psychiatrist, please.

"Miss Windham?" said Huang again.

Once more, Dido had to shake herself back to reality. "Sorry, daydreaming! I'm afraid I've got a lot on my mind right now." This wouldn't do. After working so hard to assure this man that the people at Windham were friendly and trustworthy, she couldn't keep drifting off on him like that.

After closing the agreement with Huang, she decided, she was going to sit Balthazar down and thrash this out once and for all. Her father's paranoia was not harmless. It frustrated and angered people he was close to, and it alienated his business partners. It had to stop, and if that meant forcing him to see a doctor or take medication when he didn't want to, then Dido would drag him kicking and screaming. Right after she proved to him that Stark's friend was not a bloody robot.