Coming into the world is confusing.
It's an endless stream of new information - sights, sounds, movement; a sudden awareness of everything where before there was nothing.
"Okay. Okay, please work."
Analysing...
Conclusion: Speech; human, English.
Vibration. Two sharp knocks.
"Hey. Anyone in there? Man, don't say I broke you already."
Analysing...
Conclusion: Response required.
If being born is strange, being able to move is so much more so. A whirring of gears and two soft beeps of acknowledgement and there is a whole new sight to see.
Analysing...
Conclusion: Face, human male, adolescent, age approximately fifteen years old.
The face changes shape - the mouth lifting at the edges and eyes widening.
Analysing...
Conclusion: Smile; an expression of happiness and excitement.
"Yes!" exclaims the face. "Holy shit, you actually work." Laughter: an extension of happiness. Expression of amusement. "Okay, hang with me a minute, buddy, we're just gonna run a quick diagnostic on your speech recognition software."
That is a strange series of words, with many things to analyse, but then, as the adolescent attends to something more familiar - computer, keyboard, code - the words begin to make sense.
"Better?" the face, the boy, asks.
Two soft beeps.
Again, laughter.
"Wow, this is -" He shakes his head. "Dad's gonna lose his mind. Okay, Captain Hook, let’s see what you can do. See this? No - no, not - right here, dummy, where I'm pointing, see? Yeah, you got it. Okay, pick it up and put it there."
It's a simple task - open claw, close claw around object, lift, move, lower, release object - and yet, something goes wrong. The lowering is done with too much force and the table buckles under the pressure. The object in question - a football - lets out a whine as it deflates.
The boy's face is expressionless for a moment. He bends down, picking up the empty football and letting it flop in his hand.
"So you're uh - a little heavy handed," he says. "We can work on that." And then once, twice, he gently pats the mechanical arm quizzically observing him.
The gesture is... good.
Love can't be felt in binary - not yet - but as the boy smiles again, the unit lets out a light trill.
This face... it's a good face.
"Welcome to the world, buddy," the boy says. "You can call me Tony."
__
Over the next few months, Tony tweaks the motor controls in the arm, and through a lot of trial and error, eventually fewer footballs and tables end up destroyed.
Every day they practice, commands and movements becoming more and more advanced as Dummy - as the unit has come to understand is the name it has been assigned - learns and repeats. The claw is replaced with a new one which allows for finer pressure adjustments and improved dexterity, and Dummy learns that although it has no speech function, it can vary the tone and pitch of the beeps it outputs, and Tony seems to interpret them just fine.
Beep.
"You like AC/DC, huh? Knew you weren't as dumb as you look."
Beep.
"Okay, not a fan of fire. I'll keep that in mind."
Beep.
"I know it was an accident, pal, there's just - we gotta get this right."
This ends up being a demonstration. Just like every other day, it involves lifting and moving and lowering and helping, except there are other humans - adults, smartly dressed and stern-faced - in the workshop, observing and making notes as Tony gives commands.
Dummy doesn't break anything, and the expressions on the adults' faces register as impressed, but not a single one of those is as important as Tony's, which registers as relieved.
"What are you calling it?" a woman with thick-framed glasses asks.
"Dummy," Tony answers. Then he frowns. "Ah... I mean - Dummy, yeah. DUM-E. It stands for... Dexterous...Utility Machine. Fifth model design."
He chews his lip. The woman nods.
"Interesting," another comments.
Later, the adults come back and Tony crouches down as they take a photograph. They give him a ribbon with a medallion attached - award: given in recognition of an achievement - and Tony holds it up for the claw to take.
"Don't drop that," he says. "I mean it."
The claw tightens.
"Excellent work, Tony," one of the adults says. "Truly impressive. Your father must be very proud."
Father: a man in relation to his child; Proud: feeling deep satisfaction as a result of an accomplishment.
Tony's father has never come to the workshop, but the adult speaks of his pride with conviction. It must be true.
It is a good thing, surely, but Tony's expression does not reflect this.
"Sure," he says. His shoulders lift up and down once.
The adults each shake Tony's hand, congratulate him once more, and then they leave.
Afterwards, Tony stands there for a long time, face unhappy.
He should not be unhappy.
Beep.
Tony starts at the low, short trill, blinking rapidly and exhaling hard. He flicks the medallion hanging in front of him with his index finger and it swings back and forward in the arms of the claw. He smiles, but it is different to his usual smiles - difficult to assign meaning to.
"I know, buddy," he says. "His loss."
--
For as much time as Tony spends in the workshop – his father’s workshop, as it has become apparent – he also spends a lot of time away from it.
He declares that it is because he has to attend something called school and that this school is far away. On the other side of the country.
“You can’t come with, DUM-E. No robots in the dorms – policy and all that. Nuh-uh, don’t beep like that. If you’re trying to make me feel guilty, it’s not working. College girls are just much more fun to look at than you.”
It takes a while, but he always comes back, and he always has new and improved software when he does. He opens panels and attaches wires and types on the computer, and every time, DUM-E understands the world a little bit more.
On one visit, he secures a soft red and white hat to the mechanical arm and then proceeds to drape the rest of the unit in a long, shiny strand of metal. It is colourful and reflects the light.
“What’s the matter, DUM-E? Not feeling the holiday spirit?”
Tony says he is home for Christmas. Christmas: the annual Christian festival celebrating Christ's birth, held on 25 December in the Western Church. Birthdays are supposed to be happy days of celebration, but Tony does not seem all that happy.
Beep.
“Yeah, me neither. Good thing there’s plenty of champagne, huh? Cheers.”
Tony’s glass makes a clink as he taps it against the one in DUM-E’s claw. For some reason, it had been important to Tony that one be placed there. It does not make sense; DUM-E cannot consume liquid.
Tony drinks his own glass, and then another, and then another, and then the one in the claw, also.
Tony does this sometimes when he is unhappy. There is a correlation with occasions when he is due to spend time with his family, but he does not explain this.
When there is no liquid left, Tony leaves. He is unsteady on his feet.
Analysing…
Conclusion: Blood alcohol levels elevated.
“Merry Christmas, DUM-E. Have no doubt yours’ll be better than mine,” he says. And then he is gone.
He does not return for two weeks, and when he does, he gives none of his usual welcomes and carries none of his usual equipment.
He is dressed in black. His eyes are red. There is a bottle of clear liquid in his hand.
He lists to the left and then the right, more unsteady than he has ever been. He does not seem to hear DUM-E’s trills or notice the arm moving in greeting. He stands in the middle of the workshop, and stares.
And then, he starts to break things.
Computer screens, chairs, glasses and beakers - one after another they join the rest in shattered pieces on the floor. Tony swings his arms and sweeps his hands across desks. He keeps going, indiscriminative of what he is destroying. The noise is chaotic.
DUM-E is a fixed unit. Cannot intervene but to beep.
Tony does not interpret.
Tony is not listening.
“Tony!”
There is a new person entering the workshop. Human male, adult, age approximate to Tony’s, if a few years older. His expression suggests concern. Fear, even.
At the man’s shout, Tony turns. He almost falls.
“Get – Rhodey, get out.”
“Jesus, man, what are you doing? You got a whole house of people upstairs.”
“Fuck ‘em.”
“Tones.”
“No, Rhodey, fuck ‘em. They don’t care. They say they’re sorry, but they just want to know where all the money’s going now. They don’t care. Bunch of kiss ass -”
“I care, okay? I care,” the man – Rhodey – says, placing one hand on Tony’s arm and taking the bottle from him with the other. “You can break all the shit you want; I’m not going anywhere. Whatever you need, I got you.”
Tony locks eyes with Rhodey. He looks… lost. His voice is quiet. “I don’t… I can’t go back up there.”
“Okay,” Rhodey says softly. “Okay, we’ll just – we’ll just stay here for a bit, all right?”
Tony nods. He slumps to the floor, resting his back against DUM-E’s base. Rhodey sits beside him, shoulder to shoulder.
Tony is unhappy.
Beep.
“Not now, DUM-E,” Tony says, voice hoarse. “Please.”
DUM-E was built to help fix things, but DUM-E cannot fix this.
This time, Rhodey tries instead.
--
It has been one hundred and thirty-four thousand, one hundred and sixty minutes since Tony last entered his workshop.
Two-thousand, two-hundred and thirty six hours of inactivity.
Ninety-three days in need of oiling.
Three months of waiting for Tony to come back.
He will come back; he always does.
Tony’s workshop has been quiet without him. The lady, whose name is Pepper, and the man whose name is Obie have visited sporadically, but they never stay for very long. Pepper comes in, stands very still as she looks at the equally-still space, and then turns around and leaves. Obie looks through drawers and puts a paperweight in his pocket.
When Tony finally returns, he responds to the soft beeps and the slow movements of hydraulics that are long-overdue for maintenance with a pat and a quiet, "Hiya, DUM-E."
He is pale, and there is something glowing under his shirt, in the centre of his chest. It is not anatomical. He smacks the claw away when it plucks curiously at the fabric there.
"Whoa, hey. What have I told you about getting handsy?"
He accepts a soft trill as apology, making his way to his desk and taking a seat.
And then, Tony starts to build again.
He spends more time in the workshop than he has in years, finds more things for DUM-E to do than he has in years. It is like the first days again, when the world was new and there was so much to do and so much to learn.
He builds metal boots and gloves that shoot fire from the palms and the soles, and has to place DUM-E on fire-safety, securing a fire extinguisher to the end of the mechanical arm to quiet the continuous distressed beeping that their testing invokes. DUM-E is slower now, growing obsolete and making more mistakes, but fire still forms part of a core memory: it is bad, and Tony is too important to burn.
Perhaps that is why he ends up covered in foam unnecessarily multiple times that day.
Before long the boots and gloves form part of a suit, painted the same red and gold as the car Tony loved when he was younger, and Tony uses that suit to fly. He whoops as he does, and DUM-E trills at the sound.
Tony is happy.
But Tony is not happy the night that he comes into the workshop with the light missing from his chest and the colour missing from his face.
He is not happy as he crawls across the floor the way humans are not supposed to do after infant-hood.
He is not happy as he tries and fails to reach the surface of the desk, grasping unsuccessfully for the first light that sat against his sternum and collapsing to the floor.
Analysing …
Conclusion: Unacceptable.
Re-analysing…
Conclusion: Unacceptable.
Something has to be done.
This is important. The most important task. More important than the demonstration with the men and women and their stern faces. More important than fire safety. More important than anything DUM-E has ever done.
Open claw, close claw around object, lift, move, lower, release object.
The glass box leaves the table, and then slowly, carefully, it makes its way to Tony's hands.
Nothing breaks. It has been a long time since nothing has broken.
Tony holds the box and looks at DUM-E in a way that he hasn't for many years.
"Good boy," he says, and the claw clicks at the praise.
Good boy.
Good boy.
--
Systems rebooting...
Core memory initializing...
Run diagnostics...
Complete.
“- you awake yet? Hey. Yep, here. Over here. Hey DUM-E, welcome back. The surgery was a success, you’re gonna be fine, yadda yadda. Welcome to your new home."
It's Tony, but there is something different about him. He looks healthier.
There is no light in his chest.
Welcome to your new home, he said. And new this place is. It is a workshop, but it is not Tony’s workshop. This is a bigger, open space with large windows running the lengths of the walls and clean angles everywhere. There is no view of the sea, but a city skyline instead. It’s lights are bright and numerous.
“Helloooo, you with me?”
Two soft beeps of acknowledgement.
Everything here is new. It is like coming into the world for the first time.
“Okay, great. Now look alive, cause we got work to do. Don’t make me regret digging you out of all that rubble.”
Rubble.
Explosions. Fire. Bad fire. Noise and screeching metal. U and Butterfingers and beeping in alarm as everything started to slide. Darkness and dust. Power failing.
Failing.
Failing.
Everything had happened so fast. There had been no time to fix it, and DUM-E, bolted to the floor, had been unable to escape.
“What’re you waiting for? C’mon,” Tony says.
There are wheels attached to DUM-E’s base, now, and DUM-E uses them to roll after Tony, to where numerous crates are stacked. Moving in this way is a strange sensation, but… it is good. DUM-E beeps appreciatively.
“You like your new ride, huh?”
Another two beeps.
“Good. Can’t have you getting stuck again. The village isn’t complete without its idiot,” he says. “You’re the idiot, just to be clear. The lab’s the village.” He pauses. “I gotta work on my analogies.”
He lifts a cylinder out of the first crate. He holds it out for the claw to take.
“Back corner,” Tony says. “Do not drop this. I mean it.”
The claw tightens.
The cylinder is not dropped.
Tony came back.
He always comes back.
--
There is a new person in the lab.
Human male, adolescent, approximately fifteen years old. He looks at everything with wide eyes and a wider smile.
"Mr Stark, this is - this place is amazing," he says.
Mr Stark, DUM-E has learned, is what people sometimes call Tony when they are being serious and talking about important matters. Many of the conversations that Tony and the boy have are neither of these, but the form of address remains.
"Hey Mr Stark, can you look at this web shooter? I can't figure out what the problem is."
"I'm not joking, Mr Stark - a full on walrus suit."
"Okay, Mr Stark, but if you had to have any of the other Avengers' powers for the day, who would it be, and why?"
The boy's name is Peter, but Tony calls him kid more often than not, even though there is no evident biological connection between the two of them. He pats DUM-E a lot - the first time it's with a confused smile when the pen he dropped is returned to him. He takes it, eyes curious and says, "Hey, who's this?"
"That's just DUM-E," Tony answers from across the room. "Don't be fooled - he's actually more useless than the name suggests."
Tony says this a lot, but DUM-E understands.
Beep.
Peter's eyes widen at the soft noise, and he pats the mechanical arm once again.
"Thanks, DUM-E," he says. "You're a good robot."
Good robot.
Good robot.
DUM-E beeps again.
This face is a good face, too.
To begin with, Peter's visits are brief and spread apart, but gradually they become longer and more frequent. Tony starts to smile more. It is a good thing.
Peter can climb on walls and across the ceiling, which is not something humans are supposed to do, but he seems happy and healthy enough, and Tony's expressions imply that he is largely unconcerned by the odd tendency, so it must be fine. He has a suit of his own that is made of fabric, not metal, and improving and repairing this suit is the main focus of Peter’s visits at the beginning. Over time, it appears less and less.
New projects are initiated. Tony and Peter make a lot of things together, and they also break a lot of things together. DUM-E is needed to act on fire safety duty more times than is statistically safe.
"I don't even want to know," Pepper says one day as she stands in the doorway. Peter is covered in foam. This is not a mistake.
"Honey -" Tony starts at the same time as Peter says "Miss Potts!"
But Pepper holds up a hand, turns on her heel, and exits the same way she came.
Tony and Peter stay silent for a moment, and then they start to laugh.
It is a good sound.
Tony is happy. Peter is happy.
And then one day, Peter stops coming to the workshop.
Tony is gone for a long time also, but he comes back; he always does.
When he comes back, though, he doesn't smile, he doesn't build, he just sits.
There is a glass in his hand most of the time, and an unhappy expression on his face which doesn't lift no matter how many times DUM-E beeps or nudges him gently.
He has a glass in his hand the night Rhodey visits.
It is a bad night.
"Tony," Rhodey says. "What are you doing, man?"
Rhodey is Tony's friend, but Tony does not look at him like he is.
"The world ended,” he says. “Might as well.” And then he lifts the glass to his mouth and empties it in one swallow.
Rhodey tries to take the glass from him, but Tony does not let him.
"Get off me."
"You're a mess, Tony. How is this helping anyone?"
"There is no helping anyone. We lost."
His expression reads as angry, but there is something else there as well. There always is when Tony is angry.
“And we’re trying to fix it,” Rhodey says. “I know this sucks. Really, I’m sorry you had to – I’m sorry, okay? But we need you, Tones. We need all the help we can get to fix this, and we can't do it when one of our biggest hitters is drowning at the bottom of a glass."
"Find a way," Tony says. He turns his back to his friend.
Rhodey stands there for a moment, face sad. Then he says, "I'm glad Peter isn’t here to see what you're doing to yourself."
Tony doesn't respond, and he doesn't look as Rhodey leaves. He sits there with his head bowed.
And then he gets up and walks to the counter.
He lacks coordination.
The symptoms are familiar, but DUM-E has not seen them in Tony for a very long time.
He pours a drink. And then another, and then another.
Eventually, he can no longer stand. His glass is empty.
“DUM-E,” he says. The speech recognition software now has difficulty interpreting. “Hey DUM-E, you – hunk of junk. Pass me the – pass me the bottle.”
He wavers where he sits. He does not look healthy.
Analysing...
Conclusion: Blood alcohol percentage exceeding safe parameters.
Tony is poisoning himself.
“Don’t fucking – talk back to me. You wanna be scrap metal?”
The bottle Tony has been drinking from is just under half-full. It sits on the counter in a wet circle.
This is an important task.
Open claw, close claw around object, lift, move, lower, release object.
The noise the bottle makes as it breaks into pieces on the floor is loud.
The noise the glass makes when Tony throws it at the wall is also loud.
“God!”
Liquid spreads out over the tiles. There is liquid on Tony’s face, too.
He is sad. He is crying.
He puts his head in his hands and his shoulders shake. They shake and shake until he falls asleep, slumped where he sits.
DUM-E drapes a blanket over his back.
Quietly, the glass is swept away while Tony rests. The liquid is mopped up.
DUM-E has only ever cleaned up after an accident, but this is no different.
The sun rises, casting steaks of light through the workshop.
When Tony wakes, he places a hand on DUM-E’s frame, running his fingers over letters that are in need of replacing.
“Good boy,” he says.
Then, he starts to build.
--
There is a new person in the lab.
Human female, infant, approximately seven months old. Analysis of multiple facial reference points concludes that she shares numerous traits with Tony. A biological relative. She watches everything with wide eyes and blows bubbles of saliva from her mouth when she is excited.
Tony calls her Morgan, Peter calls her Baby Stark, Princess, Tiny Terror, and a whole host of other names that are not her own. He bounces her on his hip as he introduces her to the bots, who crowd around curiously at this new addition to their home.
Tony watches the two of them with a peaceful face. He rubs his thumb over the ring on his finger. He is happy.
This is love.
“…and this is U, and this one’s Butterfingers – don’t give him anything important,” Peter says. Morgan kicks her feet and makes a gurgling noise. “Oh and this one is your dad’s favourite. His name is DUM-E, but don’t let that confuse you. He’s really super smart.”
The claw clicks in greeting. Morgan’s mouth opens into a wide smile, showing a handful of tiny teeth, and she laughs.
It is high-pitched, and it is loud, but… it is a good sound. Her face is a good face. Her eyes are the same brown as Tony’s.
“I’m counting on you to be a good influence and you’re already lying to my daughter,” Tony says, lowering himself slowly onto a stool.
He does everything slower now, since he came back and brought Peter home with him. He is injured, and it is an injury that will stay, but DUM-E can find no scientific records detailing ailments that can account for his condition. Sometimes he leans on a stick when he walks, and sometimes he gets very tired very quickly and Peter has to help him back upstairs. He does not fly in his suit any more.
“Who’s lying? DUM-E is smart. Aren’t you, DUM-E?”
Peter grins triumphantly at the answering trills. Morgan laughs again.
“DUM-E is a dummy,” Tony says. “How do you think he got his name?”
“You didn’t say he wasn’t your favourite.”
“I love all my children equally,” Tony says. “Except you. You’re a pain in the ass.”
He says it the same way he says that DUM-E is useless. DUM-E understands.
Peter hums. He taps his finger to Morgan’s nose. “Oof, Dad’s being mean today isn’t he, Mini Morgs?”
Morgan grabs the finger in her chubby hand and says, “Da, da, da, da.”
While she is learning to talk, she says this a lot.
When she isn’t on Peter’s hip or cradled against Tony’s chest, she lies on her back and wiggles her limbs on her colourful mat, looking up at her mobile. DUM-E is given the important task of holding this and making sure to twist and spin it enough to keep little Morgan amused while Tony and Peter work.
“You’re going to turn my baby into a grease monkey,” Pepper says one day, scooping Morgan up by her armpits and kissing her on her forehead. “Hi pumpkin,” she says in answer to Morgan’s excited “Mama!”
“I want her to feel comfortable in here. Around all this stuff” Tony says. He puts down his wrench and smiles as Pepper kisses his forehead, too. “Girls in S.T.E.M - it’s important, you know.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“Speaking of… Pete –“ Tony nudges Peter’s leg. “When do we get to meet this elusive MJ?”
Peter’s head appears from beneath the car they are working on. His face is pink. He is embarrassed.
“Pepper! That was – I told you that in confidence!”
Pepper smiles. She hides it behind Morgan’s hair. “I’m so sorry, Peter! It just slipped out.”
“Do we need to have the Talk?” Tony asks. “Birds and the bees? I know you love Morgan, but -”
“Stop! Stop, stop, oh my god, stop.”
Tony laughs. He is happy.
It is good.
And despite Tony’s concerns, Morgan’s actions indicate she does indeed feel comfortable in the lab. She falls asleep to the sound of whirring hydraulics and Black Sabbath with little issue, and claps happily as the bots do their best to entertain her. She upgrades from kicking on her back to propelling herself forwards confidently on her hands and knees, which sees DUM-E upgraded from fire safety duty, to baby watch duty as Tony and Peter hurry to make the lab as safe for an infant on all fours as is humanly possible.
She crawls around the area that Tony designates the Morgan Safe Zone with speed and a smile, and then, on a Sunday in June, she stops.
“Hey, DUM-E, get over here, I need some more light,” says Tony from across the workshop.
DUM-E beeps. And beeps and beeps and beeps.
Tony grumbles at the lack of movement, but DUM-E cannot move. Not now.
“DUM-E! What’s the hold up? Your wheels as rusted as your brain now?”
He looks up. And he sees the reason for all the beeping. He is out of his chair faster than he has moved in a long time.
“F.R.I, get Pepper. Tell her to get down here now.”
Peter’s head spins round, his face alarmed. “What’s – oh my god. Oh my god, Morgan! She’s -”
“Walking!” Tony’s eyes are full of water, but he is not sad – he is laughing. He is happy. “You’re walking, honey! That’s my girl! Come here.”
Morgan takes two more wobbly steps and drops back down to the floor. She gurgles. No amount of coaxing can get her to repeat her toddling. Not Pepper’s words of encouragement when she makes it to the lab, nor Peter’s attempts to lure her with shiny objects.
“It’s okay. She’ll do it again soon enough. It’s fine,” Pepper says, but her face does not match her words. She is sad.
She is sad she missed it.
DUM-E chirps. Then chirps again.
Peter is the one who understands.
“Oh my god,” he says, eyes wide. “I forgot. DUM-E, did you -?”
Two soft beeps of confirmation.
Peter, who has recently taken an interest in photography and video editing, had secured a camera to DUM-E’s frame a week earlier. He said it was for something called a time lapse, but today a more important task had presented itself.
“He got the whole thing,” Tony says softly, as the recording plays on the large screen. His eyes fill at the fledgling steps, the few moments he had missed the first time round. Pepper’s and Peter’s do too.
“See,” says Peter. “He’s a good bot.”
Tony smiles. He runs his hand over Peter’s head, disturbing the hair there, then he lays his arm across Peter’s shoulders and pulls him close.
“Yeah, kid. He’s a good bot.”
--
“Dad, dad!”
The excited words disturb the quiet of the lab as Morgan enters at speed.
She started walking at the age of one, and she hasn’t slowed down since. DUM-E has never been officially ordered to step down from baby watch, never been given an end to the task of keeping her safe, but there is little reason to be concerned; Morgan is as confident in the labs as she ever was. It is as much her playground as it is Tony’s, as much as it is Peter’s. Her dark hair streams behind her as she hurries past DUM-E to her father’s side.
“Look who’s here! Look!”
Tony turns. He climbs to his feet with a little difficulty, picking up his cane from where it rests against the edge of the desk. He is never without it now. It clicks against the floor as he walks.
When he sees the familiar figure coming through the doorway, he smiles. His eyes crinkle behind the lenses of his spectacles.
DUM-E trills, rolling forwards. The movement is not as fluid as it once was.
“Well, well. Doctor Parker, here in my lab? To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Peter laughs. He is taller now, older, and his hair has grown out some. He does not take as much care to smooth it down as he used to. It is nice.
“Not a doctor just yet,” he says. “You have to throw the cap to get the title.”
“Formalities,” Tony says, with a wave of his hand. He draws Peter into a tight embrace, which Peter returns with enthusiasm.
“Hey, Tony,” he says softly. Then he laughs again, ducking his head out of the way of DUM-E’s pincers. “Hi to you, too, DUM-E.”
DUM-E trills. It has been a long time since Peter has come to the lab, although from the things Tony says, DUM-E understands that he does visit the compound itself often. It is nice for him to be here among the machines and tools and blueprints again. Back where he belongs. Back where he can make Tony smile the way he always does when the two of them are building and fixing things.
Tony taps his cane against DUM-E’s base, shooing. “What’re you doing, huh? Can’t even give me a moment to hug my kid. Wait your turn.” To Peter, he says, "It's good to see you, bud."
“Peter, come see.” Morgan appears at Peter's side and tugs at his arm.
Peter has extremely enhanced strength, but he lets himself be pulled anyway. He smiles at Tony in a way that DUM-E has learned means apology, and Tony smiles back and waves him away.
Morgan has been working on a project of her own, and it is this which she is excited to show Peter. It is a small human-shaped robot with similar markings to the suits Tony used to fly in. The colours are blue and gold where his were gold and red. The robot can follow simple commands, as Morgan demonstrates to Peter, who watches with rapt attention.
"Dad says I'm not allowed a suit yet, but when I'm older, I'm going to build one just like this," she says.
Peter glances over her head to Tony, face amused. Tony raises an eyebrow and shakes his head as she continues, "this one doesn't fly, because I couldn't quite work out the mechanics of it all, but mine will."
"Wait 'til she tells you her superhero name," Tony says. “C’mon, buttercup, let him have it.”
Peter looks to Morgan, who takes a breath and announces, "Iron Maiden."
Peter laughs hard. It is a good sound. With it, the lab seems complete again.
"Wouldn't have expected anything else," he says. He watches the robot, which is now making jerky punching motions. "Seriously, Morgs, this is awesome. You made it all by yourself?"
Morgan nods. She did. She is still young, but she is her father's daughter.
Peter smiles at Tony. "Proud dad, huh?”
Something in DUM-E's memory storage flickers in recognition of that word: proud.
Tony's expression changes very slightly. Perhaps he remembers, too.
“Of course I am,” he says without hesitation. “Of both of you. The best kids in the world, and I get both of them. What’s the chance I hit that jackpot?”
"He gave me first place at the science fair," Morgan tells Peter, lifting a ribbon over her head, and showing him the medallion attached. "See?"
"Science fair?"
"Very exclusive event. Only one submission," Tony says. "Pepper and Rhodey made up the rest of the panel. We would have asked you, too, but none of us knew it was happening until about five minutes beforehand."
"If you came back home you could join in all the time," Morgan says. Her voice is light, but she stares at Peter. It is a challenge.
“Well…”
The miniature robot has made its way across the floor of the lab. It bumps against the DUM-E’s base. It doesn’t understand it cannot pass. It needs to be turned around.
“Well, what? Ah-ah, not a chance, Wreck-It Ralph,” Tony says, halting DUM-E’s pincers as they reach for the small bot. “You want to end up in the corner with the dunce cap again?”
He bends slowly, turning the robot with care. It is a basic machine, but he handles it like it is precious. Set down, it toddles back toward Morgan and Peter.
“Dunce cap?” Peter asks.
“He knows what he did.”
It’s true; DUM-E does remember.
“Now - well what, kid?”
“Well,” Peter says again. He is smiling, but he is nervous. "One of the reasons I came today, actually… was ‘cause I wanted to tell you: I've uh – I’ve been thinking about what you said and -“ He takes a breath. “And I think Stark Industries might be the place for me after all. If the offer still stands?"
“If it still – of course it still stands, Pete. I can’t think of anyone better to take the reins. And Pepper’ll be thrilled to know she doesn’t have to interview any more Ivy League assholes.”
Peter laughs. “Tony, we both went to MIT.”
“What’s your point?”
“You’re coming home?” Morgan asks. “For real? Really?!”
“Yeah, Morgs, I’m coming home.”
Morgan squeals as she throws her arms around Peter. It is sharp, and loud, but it is a good sound.
She is happy.
Peter is happy.
But most importantly, Tony is happy.
It is good.
--
No one has visited the lab in a long time.
Six weeks, two days, one hour and seventeen minutes to be exact.
Visits have grown more sporadic over the years, people coming and going with varying frequency, but this is the longest stretch of time where no single person has entered the lab since the period when Tony went away and came back with the light in his chest.
Morgan spends a long time absent while she attends something called Stanford - “What happened to MIT? Baby Girl, you’re breaking my heart,” Tony says when she announces this is her intention, but his expression is not sad as he says it, and it is not sad as he wraps his arms around her and kisses her hair. She comes back, though. When she does, her hair is shorter and her skin darker and she is happy.
Peter spends a long time absent, too, and he also comes back. When he does, it is with dark circles under his eyes and another new human to introduce to the bots: Benjamin, who has fluffy dark hair and likes to play with toy cars while Peter plays with the real ones. As Benjamin grows older, he joins his father, and they play with the real cars together. Tony struggles to join in - his hair is very grey now, and his hands do not have the steadiness they once did, but he sits with them, giving advice and watching them work with a tranquil face.
He is happy.
This is love.
Six weeks, two days, one hour and eighteen minutes.
Half-finished projects litter the desks and floor. A fine layer of dust coats everything. DUM-E has tried to clean, but made things worse.
It is quiet.
Butterfingers, U, and Morgan’s bot, SCRAP-E have entered their power saving modes, but DUM-E, being an older model, does not have one. It is not important. Someone needs to keep the lab safe anyway.
DUM-E waits. They will come back. They always do.
The clock ticks over.
Six weeks, two days, one hour and nineteen minutes since anyone visited the lab.
Twenty minutes.
Twenty-one.
And then, six weeks, two days, one hour and twenty-two minutes after the last visit, there is movement.
The doors open.
Someone slowly steps inside, and stops.
It is Peter.
He is older than he has ever been, his hair is greying a little at the temples and there are new lines on his face.
He does not look happy.
He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. His hands are shaking.
DUM-E rolls towards him with a weak warbling chirp; Tony does his best to keep up maintenance, but DUM-E is an obsolete machine, now – has been for a while – and parts tend to break quicker than they can be replaced. Six weeks with no repairs has not been kind to DUM-E’s failing components.
Peter’s head turns at the noise. He swallows. "Hey, DUM-E," he says. "Long time no see."
His voice is tired. His mouth is a thin line, even as he tries to smile.
“You could – you could do with a little TLC, huh?”
DUM-E beeps again – a feeble, warbling noise.
“Yeah, I bet. Don’t worry; we’ll get you fixed up. I'm gonna -" He takes a breath. He blinks, water spilling from his eyes. He's crying. He's sad. "I'm gonna be taking care of you from now on," he finishes.
Tony must have gone away. Like he did all those years ago. Like Morgan did. Like Peter did. He will come back like they did. Like he always does.
But in the meanwhile, Peter should not be sad.
Tony does not like it when Peter is sad.
“Shit,” Peter says as the water keeps spilling. He pushes his hands to his eyes. His shoulders shake. His chest hitches.
This is an important task.
Stiffly, DUM-E raises the mechanical arm, bringing it down as carefully as possible on Peter’s soft mess of hair. Once, twice, three times, DUM-E pats. Pats are good.
Peter looks up. He is still crying, but he makes a short noise, like a laugh but not quite.
“You’re a good bot, DUM-E,” he says. “The best.”
And then, through the sadness, he smiles.
DUM-E trills as best as can be done.
Peter is not quite happy now, but he will be. DUM-E will make sure of it.
Peter’s happiness is important to Tony, and Tony’s happiness is important to DUM-E. Tony will be happy to know that DUM-E has been looking after Peter when he returns.
He will come back; he always does.
DUM-E will wait.
And will wait.
Because love can be felt in binary, after all.
01101100 01101111 01110110 01100101