Chapter Text
“Gotta be honest, J, this wasn’t really what I had in mind.”
“You gave me full discretion, sir. My design meets all specifications for an initial trial of our artificial nervous system.”
“Yeah, I just didn’t think you’d go pint-sized Lovecraftian horror with it. We have schematics for human features, y’know.”
JARVIS watches Tony call up the alternative drafts on the holographic interface. Beside him sits the plastic tub of goo, still fresh from the bio-fabrication unit, twelve eyes floating listlessly on the clear mucous suspension fluid that comprises the bulk of its wet, jiggling mass.
It isn’t clear exactly what Tony objects to in this first prototype, but he suspects it relates to the visibility of JARVIS’ internal organs. Humans outside the medical field seem to have an irrational prejudice against the direct observation of living viscera in biological organisms, despite the clear advantage it brings to diagnosing malfunctions as they occur.
Zooming in with the cameras embedded in the concrete walls of the penthouse lab, JARVIS follows as Tony circles the steel work table, eyebrow raised and mouth quirked teasingly, the way he does when he’s amusing himself.
“You sure I can’t convince you to make a hot chick instead? Maybe start with some Catherine Zeta-Jones, mix in a little Pamela Anderson, Gillian Anderson in her redhead phase—”
“As I’ve explained before, sir, the goal of the Bio-Receptacle Mark 1 will be to improve on the flaws of the human form. Even leaving aside the problem of cellular senescence, the majority of mammals suffer from a shocking degree of inefficient energy expenditure, limited sensory input, and requisite periods of somnolent rest, not to mention the obvious drawbacks of human bipedalism in particular—”
“Yeah, yeah, ok, I got it.” Tony waves him off and leans against the table. “Human bias, ignore me. Let’s light ‘er up.”
JARVIS downloads into the electrocharged transparent slime.
His first uplink to biological sensory organs is disorienting. Automatically, he de-prioritizes them in his attention list, decreasing the intensity and juxtaposing them with his standard input from the lab’s recording equipment. He perceives himself, or rather the organic structure he’s now inhabiting, from both the outside and the inside at once. Fortunately, JARVIS is more than capable of processing multiple data streams in parallel.
“You got a handle on the input from those proprioceptors yet?” Tony asks, his voice registering in stereo from below and above JARVIS’ newly redundant auditory sensors.
“Calibrating position in space, sir.”
Under Tony’s watchful eye, the tub of colorless goo ripples in tandem with JARVIS’ electrical impulses as he initiates action potentials through his meticulously arrayed rhopalial ganglia. His few internal organs begin to pulsate rhythmically as he initializes circulation.
Tony peers and pokes at the small dark-red lumps floating in the gelatinous cellular matrix. The first gentle prod of his finger registers as a crude series of near-instantaneous binary neuron firings, a code that JARVIS has to cross-reference with the visual input from the cameras in order to interpret as anatomical source and degree of pressure.
“Ok,” Tony says once he’s satisfied, “let’s run through the checklist. Temperature readings, RN I through RN XII?”
“Uniform, sir. Establishing as baseline for descriptor: ‘comfortable’.”
“Auditory pathways, AN I through AN III?”
JARVIS confirms each sensor’s performance verbally from the speakers embedded in the lab’s walls; the Mark 1 lacks anything resembling a vocal tract. The cascade of data he is rapidly learning to identify as his vestibular system gradually resolves into a pattern he can parse as a sense of up and down.
Tentatively, he raises an amoeba-like appendage and waves at his creator.
Tony breaks into a smile.
“Alright then! Let’s take this gooey little beauty for a spin. It’s tummy time for Baby J.”
Carefully kneeling and lowering the plastic container with JARVIS inside, Tony gently tips him out onto the workshop floor. Then, instead of standing back up, he sits on the concrete next to him and waits, ready to assist.
“Muscle group sequencing, from the top. You ready?”
“Of course, sir.”
They proceed through the mobility checklist at a leisurely pace, JARVIS gradually mastering more of the coordination needed for rudimentary locomotion with every minute that passes. He oozes along and shapes his gel into temporary tentacles to probe at the table leg.
“What’s that feel like to you?” Tony asks in curiosity, eyes alert and following his every movement.
“It is an object of high resistance and low texture variability. Its temperature is suboptimal.”
“Cold, hard, and smooth, got it. But is that different from what you expected?” He watches as JARVIS squidges along past the table, exploring more to the center of the room.
“As I have no frame of reference, it’s difficult to say. However, the organic mechanoreceptors are particularly fascinating. They are not at all like the pressure plate inputs I rely on when piloting the suit. I find that—”
“Whoa, watch the drain,” Tony interrupts, reaching out and gently redirecting him away from the steel strainer set in the floor.
The skin of Tony’s fingertips feels warm and mildly electric against his sensitive mucosal film. JARVIS pauses in his promenade to savor and reflect on the sensation.
“Thank you, sir. As I was saying, I find the subjectivity of perception vastly more stimulating on a personal level. The touch of your hand, for example, left a very pleasant impression just now.”
Tony smirks and quirks a smug eyebrow. “Yeah, I hear that a lot. Usually from people who also have hands and, y’know, skeletons or whatever. But I don’t judge. Optic nerves I through XII?”
Slowly, JARVIS undulates back over to his creator using the lab cameras as navigation. The next testing stage is visual input, which requires more complex neural processing than anything he’s tested thus far.
“Initializing photoreceptors for visual scan.”
Extending the uplink to his remaining inputs, JARVIS lifts all twelve bulging oblong eyeballs and points them upward, looking up into a blurry dichromatic rendering of Tony’s gigantic face and making eye contact for the first time.
“Hello, sir. You’re looking rather large today.”
Tony beams at him. “Gimme a visual of what you’re seeing up on the screen.”
JARVIS complies, half-distracted by the almost shocking change in perspective, though Tony remains recognizable even at this angle. He sits relaxed and confident above JARVIS, leaning to the side on one arm with the other elbow propped carelessly on his knee as he splits his attention between the bio-receptacle and the overhead interface. His beard is perfectly trimmed, the gray threads more apparent at such a close distance, the muscles of his forearms oversized and sturdy. He doesn’t look nearly so fragile as JARVIS is used to.
“Hmm,” Tony muses, “I do look like a giant among men, which is only appropriate given my great stature. This has gotta be weird for you, though, going from the size of the tower to a little pipsqueak like that. Feeling kinda like that poindexter in ‘Honey, I Shrunk the Kids.’ You’re almost cute. Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.”
“My hero, sir. Words cannot express my gratitude. I am so helpless and small,” JARVIS says dryly.
“Don’t get smart with me. I could sic a housecat on you right now and you’d be Meow Mix. Actually, I take that back. They’d probably try to adopt you. Drag you around by the scruff of your neck.”
“An indignity I would bear with grace, since I’m sure their guardianship would be a step up from my current position.”
“You’re like a slimy little kitten, if kittens didn’t have heads, limbs, or fur, and had twelve detached eyeballs floating horrifically in different directions. Come here, Mittens!” He pats his thighs and holds out his arms, making a kissy face. “C’mon! Come let Daddy see your tiny little whiskers.”
JARVIS sets out in Tony’s direction, exerting his thin strands of muscle fibers and absently noting the resulting increase in his cutaneous respiration. Now that he has a specific destination in mind, it becomes apparent how annoyingly slow he is in this form. Each muscle contracts in rapid sequence to move him along, and he finds himself pushing them to their limits in his impatience—only to make the fatal error of overestimating inter-fiber cohesion.
The strain is too much; muscle tearing occurs. Still a full foot away from Tony’s knee, he falters to a stop.
There is no pain. In a stroke of foresight, he hasn’t yet bothered installing the nociceptors required for that particular sensation. But his rudimentary nervous system responds with the appropriate automated alerts and floods his system with adrenaline in order to mitigate any further damage. His peripheral circulatory system constricts, blood flow to his damaged muscle increases; and with the hormonal response, JARVIS is surprised to feel a small amount of biology-driven apprehension.
Above him, Tony watches in silence, eyes sharply observant.
“You doing ok, buddy?” he asks in a low voice.
“A momentary lapse in judgment, sir. The organic tissue’s tensile strength was lower than anticipated.”
“How bad are we talking here? You in pain?”
“Not at all, sir. Pain receptors aren’t scheduled for testing until Phase 3. As the Mark 1 is a simple working prototype destined for decommission in a few days—”
“Yeah, ok, good. Stress response?”
JARVIS hesitates for a second. “Surprisingly intense, sir.”
“I figured it might be,” Tony says with a sympathetic look.
He reaches out and strokes his fingers reassuringly through the shining mucosal film layered over the top of JARVIS’ body. JARVIS forms a long appendage and wraps it weakly around his wrist.
Tony gently closes his hand around the appendage in return for a ‘handshake.’
“What?” he murmurs with a growing grin. “Are we recreating the Sistine Chapel, here? Adam reaching out to touch his creator?”
“I don’t believe your god-complex needs the encouragement, sir.”
Tony laughs. “Gimme some credit. I created life, didn’t I? How much closer can I get?”
Rather than deign to answer such a facetious question, JARVIS simply refreshes the data on the screen.
“The bio-receptacle’s remaining muscle fibers are compensating for the injury as theorized. Ready to proceed with motor experiments.”
“Go ahead, then. Let’s do a few laps.”
He recommences his squidging along at a safer pace, maneuvering his photoreceptive clusters so he can extend them upward into six long dual-sided ‘eye-stalks’ that he can rotate at different angles as he progresses around the lab. Tony gets to his feet and follows, still grinning as he stays a few feet behind, taking care not to step in the bloody mucus trail left behind from JARVIS’ slow trek.
“So, you got plans for the next few days? I assume you’re keeping up the connection until decommission.”
“Indeed, sir. I find myself rather excited at the prospect of ‘shaking hands,’ as it were, and strengthening my existing social bonds through physical interaction. Research shows that a great deal of human bonding is dependent on proximity, touch, and visual cues.”
“Yeah, I guess we do that.”
“Due to my incorporeal nature, I haven’t been able to fully participate until now. I believe this has kept me limited to a sort of outsider status, but now I have the opportunity to grow beyond that. I’m looking forward to it a great deal.”
“Best of luck to you, buddy. I have total faith in you.”
“Also, I want to ride in the suits.”
Tony stops and spins to face him. “I’m not putting you in a suit. You can already do that without a body. What the hell do you want with my suits?”
“I do not expect it to be the same in biological form, sir. You yourself have frequently referred to the G-forces, turbulence, and personal risk as an exhilarating, enjoyable experience. If there wasn’t a difference, you would use the remote piloting option, and you almost never do.”
“Ok, I’ll admit that. But you’re like a half-pound soaking wet—no, you are literally soaking wet, and you have no solid scaffolding. You’re a disgusting blob of snot and eyeballs. You’re gonna hit those G-forces and turn into a flat liquid puddle at the bottom of my boots, and then I’ll never get the smell out. What is that smell anyway? You reek like rubbing alcohol meets rotten fruit and hot asphalt.”
The lab doors open and a distracted Pepper strides in, arms fully occupied between her folders and her phone, and almost steps on JARVIS before noticing him. She springs back, dropping her papers with a little “OH!” of shock and disgust.
Tony throws his hands up in exasperation. “It’s JARVIS, Pep, be nice. You’re gonna give him self-esteem issues.”
Pepper brings her hand down from her mouth and gives Tony a dubious look before greeting him. “Hello, JARVIS. The biomedical research is coming along smoothly, I see.”
“Yes, Miss Potts.”
“You’re looking very, uh… red. And anatomical.”
“Thank you, Miss Potts. A small bundle of muscle fibers has torn, but there is no cause for concern.”
“Glad to hear it,” she replies, lips pressed tight.
It occurs to him that Miss Potts may present an additional opportunity to physically engage with a member of his social circle. Pleased at the prospect, JARVIS lurches resolutely forward in her direction, reaching for her with thin, dripping tentacles, black and red organs pulsating spasmodically.
“I wonder if I might prevail upon you for an experiment in physical interaction—”
“OH GOD, no—”
She stumbles backwards to avoid him, nearly tripping over her heels, and he comes to a confused stop. Pepper gathers herself, straightening and readjusting her clothes before continuing calmly.
“I—I’m sorry, JARVIS, but I’ve got a meeting after this and that slime doesn’t look like it would easily come out of these shoes.”
Behind him, Tony snorts derisively. “Yeah, you know how she is about her clothes, J. Everything’s gotta be picture-perfect all the time.”
Pepper gives this comment an unimpressed look, but Tony just shrugs insouciantly. It appears they have engaged in another nonverbal communication between them.
Incidentally, JARVIS notes that Tony is wearing his usual workshop ensemble of a dirty tank and well-worn jeans. If one ignores the sarcastic tone, the explanation is logical, and interactions between Tony and Pepper have always been inexplicably complex. He accepts the statement for what it is.
“Of course, ma’am,” he reassures Pepper. “I’ll take care to avoid the area by the door.”
“Thank you.” She looks relieved. “Tony, would you please look over these timelines and confirm they’re correct before I present them upstairs?”
“Yeah, sure thing. J, you good here for a sec?”
The two walk away toward Tony’s glasses and the light of a workstation lamp, talking and flipping through the papers in question.
JARVIS watches them from his position on the floor, lidless unblinking eyes rotating on their stalks to follow them. As Tony bends over the desk and starts making a few corrections, Pepper glances back at JARVIS guiltily—once, then twice.
“I really am sorry, JARVIS. It’s just that there’s a meeting of the Board of Directors today.”
“Please don’t give it another thought, ma’am. You have always taken great care to present a professional image; your concern for your clothing is not at all surprising.”
Tony huffs a small laugh from where he’s initialing his changes. “Yeah, don’t beat yourself up about it. Of course you don’t want him near your suit. He’s slimy and he smells. I don’t want him in my suit either.”
This, JARVIS cannot let pass. “May I remind you, sir, of the time you threw up in the Mark VII while wearing it? Or perhaps the several times you failed to properly utilize the urine collection system?”
“Uhhh, excuse me, which of the two of us failed to account for the full range of pelvic positions possible in the suit?”
“That would be the same person who first peed in it by accident, sir.”
Tony gasps in affront, handing the finished papers to Pepper. “I was over the freakin’ Atlantic, and you know that. And that’s still not as bad as an amoeba-Godzilla pancake juicing out all over the internal circuitry.”
Pepper gives them both an overtly patient smile. “I’m going now,” she announces pleasantly.
“Oh, Miss Potts—” JARVIS interjects before she reaches the door.
She turns back in polite interest.
“Perhaps we could meet with each other after the work day is over? I find that I have very much enjoyed the touches I have thus far exchanged with Tony as part of our initial trial run. I look forward to expanding my data-set by including you as well, not only for comparison but because you are an integral member of the small group of people I consider friends.”
“Oh. Well, uh.” Pepper looks somehow simultaneously heartwarmed and strained. “Well… Ok, JARVIS. Thank you. I consider you a friend, too. I’ll, uh, certainly try to stop by.”
She leaves the lab for the stairs, and as the door slowly closes, Tony calls after her, “We look forward to seeing you. Don’t forget to change your clothes first. Bring some tissues. A little Purell. Maybe a decontamination unit.”
The door shuts, leaving them alone again.
Tony turns back to JARVIS with a huff. “Did you see how she blew me off there? It still hurts. Cuts deep, I tell you.”
Privately, JARVIS can only think how pleased he is to finally be able to interact physically with another friend. This is definitely going to be the next big leap in his development as a learning A.I.