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“Do you ever imagine what it will be like?”
J.A.R.V.I.S. asked, “What do you mean, sir?”
“The end.”
“I reflect often on the end,” J.A.R.V.I.S. said. “On where you and I will go.”
There was a distinct pause. “It won’t be the both of us, buddy.”
Steve waited outside the lab doors, a metal cooler in one hand, a tablet folded in the crook of his arm. He had intended to ask Tony about the upcoming wedding, a bit nauseated by all the minutiae, but he lingered outside the closed gray door, one shoulder against the side wall. He listened carefully as Tony added:
“It won’t . . . there’s no you and me. After me.”
“You will shut me down?”
“I won’t—there won’t be—” With an audible sigh and a rolling of wheels, Tony said, “Look, buddy—J.A.R.V.I.S.” He drew in a long breath. Steve considered leaving, but he found himself leaning against the wall, eager for more of the calm cadence of Tony’s voice as he said, “There’s nothing. You’ll go on. I won’t.”
“I will always be here with you, sir. There is nowhere I will not g—”
“No,” Tony impressed, sounding terse, but not angry. Breathy, like he was holding back stronger emotion. “You don’t get it. Do I have to buy you a goldfish?”
“What would this accomplish?”
“When I die,” Tony said frankly, and then paused, rolling again across the floor, retrieving something from a drawer, “you’ll stay right here.”
“. . . I wish to be with you,” J.A.R.V.I.S. impressed.
“That’s the sticking point. Right there. Separation.”
There was a long pause. J.A.R.V.I.S. said, “Separation.” His tone was, as his nature, robotically flat.
Steve was stricken by J.A.R.V.I.S.’s very artificial nature as Tony impressed, “Yes. Come the end, you and I . . . will cease to be a you and I. It will just be . . . you.”
“. . . For how long, sir?”
With a sigh, Tony said, “I can’t say.”
“Can you estimate parameters?”
“No.”
“Can you estimate parameters?”
“I said no.”
“Can you estimate highest range—”
Hyper-aware that he had stumbled across an argument, Steve was about to walk away when Tony burst out, “J.A.R.V.I.S., I can’t!”
At last: “So, you cannot confirm our eventual reunion.”
With a bitter laugh, Tony said, “I can confirm that. . . .” scraping a hand across a desk, loudly dispensing its contents across the floor, Tony finished, “no amount of wishful thinking will ever make you real.”
“Am I not real, sir?”
“You’re a machine.”
“I am a real machine.”
Steve pushed off the wall, stepping towards the door. Tony said, “You’ll be alone.”
“I’ll wait, sir.”
“I should never have made you.”
“I have enjoyed being made.”
Hand upraised, Steve paused as he heard a soft laugh that very quickly became a sob. He hesitated, tablet in hand, then returned to the living room, depositing the tablet on a table.
When he returned, fresh coffee in hand, he was somehow surprised to find the genius and the machine still in conversation.
“I could give you a dog.”
“A dog requires maintenance, sir. Perhaps a painting?”
“I thought you’d like the stimulation.”
“I have plenty of stimulation. I have you.”
“That’s—phrasing, J.A.R.V.I.S. And this is for after, remember?”
“After what, Master Stark?”
“You know what? Let’s just—couch this, it’s giving me hives.”
Relieved to have a good entry point, Steve knocked firmly on the door. “Oh, timing. Timing,” he heard, followed by the door sliding open automatically. “Did you bring treats?” Tony greeted.
Steve held up the coffee. Tony’s dark eyes lit up.
“I love you. I’m marrying you.” He swiped the coffee, then breathed in deeply and declared, “This isn’t decaf, is it?”
“Why would I interrupt genius?” Steve asked dryly.
“I love you. I’m marrying you,” Tony insisted, kissing him on the cheek. Gulping it down, he sat at his deck and said, “This is why you came, right? Coffee service?” Looking at him, it was almost impossible to tell that he had been upset, except for the slight ruffling to his gray undersuit, the jitteriness to his fingers as they flew over the desk.
“Yeah, just thought I’d drop it off,” Steve said with a shrug. “Maybe spend some time by the pool. Thought I’d check in on my guy first.”
“Love you so much,” Tony called, nose already buried in a blue hologram.
Steve knew when he wasn’t wanted, so he let himself back out the door. He even parked himself on the pool deck as promised, sifting through the tablet’s contents again, uninspired. Clint made a wedding seem easy, but Clint had also gotten married in a literal barn with grill, bring your own meat as part of the reception. It was the kind of chaotic attitude that made for a memorable story, not least because there was a literal tornado in the middle of it.
Steve hoped his own wedding would be a nice but immemorable occasion. He wanted the man he married to be the most memorable part, not the scramble to duck-and-cover in a torrential downpour.
“Can I be of assistance, Captain?” J.A.R.V.I.S. chimed in.
With a sigh, Steve set down the tablet on his chest and said, “Nah, just—” Waving a hand vaguely, he squinted out at the pool and said, “Thinkin’.”
“A healthy pastime.”
With a huff, Steve said, “It can be.” Still squinting at the bright water, Steve said again, “It can be.”
“You seem troubled, Captain.”
“Just . . . not really gettin’ where I wanna be,” Steve said vaguely.
“You will arrive, Captain,” assured J.A.R.V.I.S.
“Oh, yeah? How do you know?”
“You must,” J.A.R.V.I.S. assured. “Whether it was your intended destination or not. You will arrive somewhere.”
“Is that a comfort, J.A.R.V.I.S.?”
“Perhaps it is peace to know you will not be stuck in one place. Maybe you will find clearer purpose elsewhere.”
“Verging on the philosophical, there.”
“I can revert to a separate line of programming.”
“No,” Steve assured. “S’fine. I don’t mind.” With a deep inhale, appreciating the warm air for what it was, he said, “What if we miss what we had?”
“I do not understand.”
“No,” Steve agreed. “Thank you, J.A.R.V.I.S.”
“Is there anything else you require, Captain?”
“I’m good.”
He sat for a while, listening to the stillness. The hum of an air conditioner, the wind on distant ocean water, the more immediate ripple of the pool. Then he heard the door slide open. “Done already?” Steve asked.
“Brought it with me,” Tony admitted. He did, in fact, have an unfinished helmet tucked under his arm, as well as a toolbox in hand. He dropped both next on a lounge chair, then mused aloud, “S’nice out.”
“Yeah,” Steve agreed. “Can’t miss days like these.”
“Dime a dozen out here,” Tony breezed, putting one knee on the chair, sifting through his box.
“Life’s too short, Tony,” Steve warned. Tony paused in his riffling.
“Well,” he said at last. “What would you even do with forever?”
“Spend it with you,” Steve said immediately. The back of Tony’s neck reddened. “Think that’d be a good start, you know?”
“Yeah,” Tony agreed. Sifting through his toolbox again, he breezed, “Personally, I would start by eating all the ice cream they ever made, but—your answer was good, too.”
With a huff, Steve said, “All the ice cream ever made. You know what kind of trash they got out there?”
“I like trash. Some man’s treasure.”
“Some man’s treasure,” Steve mused, looking at him, smiling a little. He didn’t care if they got married in a hurricane. “I love you,” he said, meaning it completely.
Tony settled onto his chair, helmet and screwdriver in hand. He spared a brief glance at Steve as he said, “Not so bad yourself.”
He returned to his tool making, his fussing, his fretting. Steve returned to looking out at the water, wasting time.
On that wrenchingly beautiful day, Steve realized: he was happy. He didn’t need all the answers. Maybe J.A.R.V.I.S. was right: he had everything he needed, right there. And even if it all fell to rot someday, it could circle back around to joy again, too.
In that perfect moment in time—clarity became peace.