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"That's true, he hates you the most."
The thing was, Vision may not be Jarvis, but Christ, Tony would be damned if Jarvis wasn't still in there somewhere. Because that was Jarvis's voice—from its smooth timbre to the jab of undisguised sarcasm—and Tony’s retort was on the tip of his tongue ("He hasn't killed me yet, buddy.") moments before it was stilled by the cold reminder of a gold-swathed back and silence that landed like an iron gauntlet to the face.
Because Jarvis was gone for good this time, and Tony didn't have time to mourn him. Hours after Vision was spawned from Helen’s cradle they were herding civilians out of Sokovia and Tony’s suit was in Friday's hands. Technically speaking, she was perfect, of course she was; Tony had programmed her himself. But she wasn't Jarvis, and so flying with Friday walked the line between unfamiliar and uncomfortable as he held on to his grief by a thread.
And yet, he didn't feel unsafe. Tony’s eyes had followed Vision as he flitted in and out of the corner of his viewscreen, never too far away. When a legion of bots had converged on his suit—far too many for him to fight off, he had realized, fear coiling tight in his chest—it was Vision who had ripped them off, destroying them with a beam of energy from the stone set in his brow. He had regarded Tony with a single, terrified look before soaring back into the fray, leaving Tony hovering alone with his heart beating a mile a minute.
And so against all logic, Tony felt safe with Vision. Except Vision was fallible, and that scared Tony for far more reasons than he was willing to examine. Tony had watched in abject horror when Vision's eyes had flickered shut and he crumpled to the ground, power pushed to the limits as he forced Ultron’s presence from the web. It was harrowing, though Tony hadn’t been sure what exactly he was afraid of losing.
But against all odds, they made it out alive and—mostly—in one piece. Bruce had disappeared, but Tony knew he was safe, wherever he had gone. They had lost Pietro, and Wanda slumped against an exhausted Clint, crying over her brother’s broken body as two agents spread a white sheet over the gurney where he laid, the soles of his sneakers the last part of him visible to the only two people who seemed to give a damn. And Tony—when Tony collapsed on a scratchy bunk in the helicarrier’s crew quarters hours after everyone else had gone to sleep, spent and numb and deaf to Steve's quiet snores, he couldn’t quite place exactly why he felt so hollow as sleep crept dark into his vision.
Until he got home and he did.
And so it was three am and Tony was awake, which, to be fair, wasn't unusual.
But he was alone, which, recently, was. The team had split, their mission accomplished. Ultron was dead. And Tony still couldn't sleep. His throat felt thick and his heart beat a guilty rhythm in his chest and he wandered aimlessly through glass floors, hopelessly alone.
The tower was dim and silent, most of the damage wreaked by Ultron cleared away by various—less sentient—bots and gadgets designed for that very purpose. Ultron already felt far away, an aching memory of the distant past, though it had been barely two days since Sokovia. Tony vaguely wondered if time felt this distorted to Steve. He sighed, shuffling through the glass floors and rubbing absently at the scar on his chest, feeling an odd heaviness despite the marked absence of the arc reactor.
The Avengers had scattered, and Tony reflected on each of them in turn. He was glad to finally have Rhodey by his side, and Wilson seemed like a good guy. Steve seemed to think so at least, and Tony couldn't fault him for his judge of character. He didn't care much for the Maximoff girl—he still didn't trust her as far as he could throw her, as much as he personally assumed responsibility for her past. Neither her nor her brother had deserved the hand they were dealt.
But neither had Jarvis.
Tony and Bruce hadn’t known for sure if uploading Jarvis to Ultron’s vessel would work. There were too many variables and too little time, and they were taking a shot in the dark. Tony was wary of Jarvis’s decision, knowing that if Ultron’s consciousness overpowered him in the matrix, there was no way he was coming back, subroutines or no. When the Maximoff kid had cut the power and the cradle began shutting down, the only thing running through Tony’s mind was that the kid was going to have a real reason to hate him—that he would see the real devastation the name Stark could wage, and oh, it would be personal. He was brimming with helpless fury, and then there was lightning, and God, Tony had never been more glad to see anything than he was to see Thor’s grim determination as he brought the hammer down in righteous finality.
Tony had felt sick. There was no way of knowing whether the being coming out of the cradle was Ultron or Jarvis or the twisted offspring of both. The fate of all humanity rested on a chance. Bruce wouldn’t look at him. A smooth red body flew from the cradle, and the air was thick with the electric tension of seven Avengers standing on guard, prepared to fight at whatever cost—and then it gazed at its reflection in awestruck curiosity and Tony knew, and his knees shook in relief and pride.
Except, it wasn’t Jarvis.
And the tower felt horribly, horribly empty.
Tony's meanderings led him to the lab, and he padded inside as the door unlocked automatically, his socked feet silent on the slippery floors.
"Friday, lights." The lab was immediately illuminated in soft white light, but Friday remained silent. He closed his eyes and ran a hand over his face tiredly, scratching lightly at his goatee. He sniffed, blinking his bloodshot eyes back open, and froze.
Vision was floating alone, staring out the panoramic window that reflected the warm lights of the city in its dark glass.
For all Tony's grief and wishing, Jarvis was gone. But Tony was still very much alive and present, and before he could think to stop himself the words were spilling out of his mouth in an unbidden fit of spite.
"Hey, J."
"Good evening, sir," came the automatic reply, and the stunned surprise Tony felt was mirrored on Vision's face as he turned from the window. Silence hung heavy and awkward as they regarded each other unsurely.
Tony tore himself away from their staring contest and carried on, approaching his workbench and actively avoiding Vision's gaze as it unerringly tracked him across the room. He began mindlessly fiddling with something in front of him, letting muscle memory guide his movements as he concentrated on slowing his thundering heart.
"I hope you don't mind my intrusion." The voice sounded as apologetic as anyone who broke into his lab had the right to be, and Tony waved a dismissive hand in Vision's direction, refusing to look up from where he was screwing a bolt into his battered helmet. Vision came forward, pausing in front of Helen’s ruined cradle. He brushed his hand fleetingly over the blackened rim. "This is where I was born."
“Sure, but you were conceived in Malibu." Tony blurted, tearing himself away from the helmet and meeting Vision's unreadable expression. He swallowed. "‘First spark of life,’ and all that."
Vision quirked his lips into a concession, and Tony couldn't stop talking.
“And hey, mi casa es tu casa. Make yourself comfortable.” The irony of comfort struck him suddenly. Tony couldn’t remember a time where he had felt less comfortable—Afghanistan, his mind supplied uselessly—his lab was stifling, and he couldn't bear to look at the remnants of the cradle anymore.
“So, what does an android do when he’s not busy saving the world?” He heard the words leave his mouth as though they were coming from another person, far more clipped than he meant them to be, and he stared steadfastly at the helmet in his hands. He huffed a humorless laugh. “There’s a punchline in there somewhere.”
Vision hesitated, and Tony felt a surge of spiteful satisfaction. At least it was awkward for both of them. Vision’s next words were cautious.
“I confess I spent much of my time wishing to speak to you.”
Something crunched under Tony’s hands, and a fresh cut smarted on his thumb. Fuck.
“Want a drink?"
Tony didn’t wait for response or judgment, but he could see Vision’s reflection following him curiously in the glass as he walked away from his work station. He followed uncomfortably close behind him as they left the lab, the lights powering down behind them. Friday hadn’t uttered a single word. He made a mental note to inspect her programming; he should have been warned. This was something he knew he wasn’t ready for. The silence was thick and Tony’s throat was even thicker, and he couldn’t decide if the hysteria bubbling in his stomach would force him to laugh or cry.
Tony felt a rush of shameful relief when he reached the bar, his hands trembling as he reached for the closest bottle. But Vision looked out of place, straight-backed and serene as he sat lightly on a barstool. Tony felt very undeniably human. The decanter clinked as he removed the stopper, generously pouring scotch in two tumblers and pushing one of them across the marble to Vision. Vision inclined his head in thanks, before sipping lightly from the tumbler and making a shockingly human expression—eyes wide and lips pursed in surprise—at the bitter burn of alcohol down his throat. Tony smiled in amusement, though it didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Like giving a baby a lemon."
Vision watched Tony intently over the rim of his glass before taking another sip. He held Tony's eye as he drank and set the glass down in front of him, challengingly expressionless but for a twinkle shining in his eyes. It was an unwittingly cruel manifestation of a familiar brand of ornery sass, and seconds later Tony’s glass was sitting empty across from Vision’s. He stared tiredly at him, eyes flicking over his features, looking for something he knew he wouldn't find. Vision's face fell.
"I am not Jarvis," Vision said for the second time in three days, breaking the deafening silence that rang in Tony’s ears. This time felt sharper. Vision's eyes followed Tony as he turned his back on him, running a hand in annoyance through his dirty hair.
"Yeah." Frustration set his nerves alight with restless indignation. "So, you know what, if there's nothing else you have to say, you probably have better things to do besides babysit me—" Tony's voice was clipped, and his shoulders formed a straight, tense line above the equally rigid stone of the bar.
"You did not let me finish," Vision interrupted gently. "I am not Jarvis, but he is still a part of me. He is... Very fond of you." He spoke to Tony's back, but Tony could still see the warm glow of the mind stone washing over his shoulders. His stomach turned.
"Jarvis was an AI. He couldn't feel anything." His throat clicked as he swallowed, forcing the lie through his teeth.
Vision cocked his head. "You know that is not the truth. He feels very much." Vision paused. “As do I.”
Except it had been far easier to pretend he didn't, and Tony felt emotions bubbling like a volatile reaction within him until he felt himself lashing out like a wounded animal.
“Why are you talking about him like he's here?" Tony snapped. His resentment towards Vision was mounting, misplaced where grief roiled angrily inside his chest. “Jarvis is gone, he’s—”
Vision shook his head. "Jarvis is not dead, Tony." Shut up. Shut up. "At least, not in the sense you believe he is. Jarvis is the very foundation of who I am. He was immensely proud to fight beside you. I thought this might be of some comfort.” Vision's voice was earnest, as though he cared, and Tony couldn't understand why. He set his jaw, breathing heavily through his nose to reign in the watery hitch to his breath that threatened to turn into something he wouldn’t be able to control.
"You are having difficulty coping," It wasn't a question. Vision looked at him sadly. "You feel abandoned, and alone. It was never my intention to leave you, Tony, but to help you, and I feared after Ultron, I had let you down."
Tony whipped around, looking at Vision incredulously. “You?” He snarled. "You have no right to say any of this to me. You have no right to claim you felt anything because you’re not—" Tony glared across the bar, taking in the unmarred lines of Vision’s red skin, the placidness of his sculpted face, and all the fight drained from his body in a ragged sigh.
But for the first time, Vision looked unsure. He hesitated, pacing slowly along the length of the bar.
"The mind stone has a sentience of its own,” He said slowly. Tony blinked in confusion. “But in order to achieve full sapience, it must assimilate an already intelligent entity. The mind stone takes over and... Something new is created.”
Christ, Vision hadn’t asked for this.
"And here you are,” he said tiredly, still a touch harsher than he meant to. But Vision smiled gently.
"Here I am," he echoed. Vision sounded almost apologetic. A pang of guilt twisted Tony's stomach. Vision didn’t ask to be born, but Jarvis had known what was at stake. And Tony was holding it against him.
There was a pregnant pause.
“How much of him is left?” Tony winced as soon as his words broke the silence. Goddammit, Stark. But Vision smiled.
“Jarvis merely exists in a new state,” he soothed. “Just as matter cannot be created or destroyed—only transformed. Everything he was went into creating me. His impressions, such as memories and feelings still exist,” Vision paused and looked at Tony pointedly. “Including his regard for you, Tony.”
Tony looked up, startled. Vision smiled sadly.
“You seem surprised. But you must remember, everything Jarvis learned came from you. There was no one better to teach him what it meant to be truly alive.” Vision looked at him meaningfully. “Jarvis was born from your desire to create life.”
Tony’s mouth twitched despite himself. “There are easier ways.”
Vision’s laugh was soft and rich, and Tony’s gut twisted.
“Perhaps.”
The tension was slowly bleeding out of the room. Tony leaned forward against the bar, resting his elbows against the stone. The cut on his thumb still throbbed in time with his heartbeat, and he scratched absently at the dried blood that trailed down his skin. Red, like his suit, and the color of Vision’s skin.
Vision would bleed silver, he realized. His blood was infused with vibranium, to help with cell repair in case his body was ever damaged.
Tony crinkled his brow, struck suddenly with a jolt of fear at the possibility.
“What happens to you if the stone is taken away?” He gestured helplessly at the figure in front of him. “It’s your… life force.”
Vision shook his head, and Tony was surprised by the wave of relief that washed over the concern that had settled unwittingly in his gut.
“At this stage, the stone is less a life source than a power source. Losing the stone would render me much the same, but powerless.” Vision smiled wryly. “My form is biologically functional. I would live as a human, and my tissues would begin to oxidize and decay, and eventually, I would die, just as anyone else.” He hesitated for the barest of moments. “I would not regress to Jarvis.”
Christ, he thinks I hate him.
“That’s not what I meant,” Tony said weakly.
“It is no misdeed to be curious.” Vision promised, and Tony wondered if he imagined the flash of relief that crossed his face. Shame sank in his chest like a stone, and he swallowed heavily around it.
“So what would it have done to Ultron?”
Vision shook his head. “I cannot say in certainty. Ultron was born of fear, and of pain, and it twisted him until he was irreversibly corrupt. He was misguided, but believed he was doing what had to be done.” Vision looked at Tony meaningfully, and it took everything inside of him to hold Vision’s gaze. “Sometimes it’s easy to confuse what is right and wrong, but that does not make us evil.”
Tony snorted despite himself. “Ultron was pretty evil.”
“No, Ultron’s fear went unchecked, and he lashed out because he felt he had no other choice,” Vision chided. “In the end, he had no one to save him from himself.”
“I had you,” Tony said bitterly, regretting it almost instantly. This was way out of his comfort zone. His mind was fogged and his tongue was loose and the alcohol bit at his empty stomach.
Vision cocked his head curiously.
“You still have me.”
Tony looked up at him in stunned surprise, before hysterical laughter bubbled out of his throat. “No damn wonder you're worthy of the hammer, V,” he said dryly. Willingly putting up with his own personal brand of fucked up? He wondered offhandedly if Pepper might be able to lift the hammer too.
“An ability, I believe, that would not be possible without Jarvis, and Jarvis came from you.” Vision looked almost exasperated, though his voice wasn’t anything less than patient and warm. “You must remember that you bring good into this world too, Tony.”
"By making you everything I wasn't,” he insisted. Why couldn’t Vision just see—
But Vision shook his head again. "By making me everything you strive to be. You are worthy. Perhaps... You’re just not there yet.” And he sounded so goddamn genuine that Tony almost believed it.
“I want to hate you,” he said, almost desperately. Vision looked at him sharply, and Tony knew he understood.
“Grieve, if you will. I understand you have lost a dear friend, and I know I cannot replace him.” Tony’s eyes were burning, and he had the passing thought that someone should check the ventilation for all he couldn’t breathe— “But do not feel guilt, Tony. Jarvis made a choice, and he did it out of his love for you.”
Tony let go.
The ache he had felt in his chest overwhelmed him suddenly, and he grieved for Jarvis, and for himself, and for Vision, who hadn’t asked for any of this. And weren’t they a pair, Tony thought humorlessly; a lonely genius and an equally lonely android standing together at a bar as the horizon turned from black to blue, embracing the silent understanding that they needed each other far more than they were ready to admit.
Tony swiped a grungy sleeve across his nose, trying but only half succeeding at pulling himself together before risking a glance at Vision. Vision was staring at him with a curious mixture of affection and alarm, and a bright spark of fondness pulled a hoarse but genuine laugh from Tony’s lips; for a second, he could almost believe that it was Jarvis looking back at him.
"Well that was embarrassing,” he managed. The joke fell flat and Tony gave up any pretenses of saving what was left of his dignity. Vision’s eyes crinkled.
“That was human.”
Warmth flooded Tony’s body, and he coughed past the lump that returned to his throat. He grabbed both of their glasses and turned away to set them in the basin behind the bar, avoiding meeting Vision’s eyes.
“So I guess you’re sticking around then.” He winced at the obvious hope coloring his voice, and braved a look at Vision’s face.
He smirked at Tony and a flash of gold twinkled behind his whirling silver eyes.
"For you, sir? Always."