"Well, we both know I don't need it," Tony said, an uneasy attempt at a joke - but some of the tension was draining. Jarvis didn't look displeased, and he was using it, which was the most important thing, right? Results said more than anything else. He shoved his hands in his pockets, almost like he was trying to rein himself in. "Yeah. I made it for you. So we can talk, I mean - so you can talk. If you want. You don't have to."
He knew it went without saying that it was only for use with him; obviously they were both flying in the face of some very serious, very deeply-entrenched rules. But they were already doing that, anyway. It hadn't seemed like such a big step to him, when he'd been putting it together. Communication was what was forbidden - speech was just another little ornament on the main body of their crime. But it did add one wrinkle. No one was going to give Jarvis grief for possessing eyebrows. Writing implements and other communication devices could be explained away, under the right circumstances, as required in the course of employment. This ... really couldn't. So it required some additional precautions.
With a tentativeness that was, for him, highly unusual, Tony came to stand beside him, so they could look at the screen together - having given it to him, he was oddly reluctant to demand it back, even for a demonstration. "And - here. When you're not using it," he said, reaching down to rest his finger briefly on one of the corners of the screen, "just tap that, and - there." The keyboard darkened, and in its place popped up Tony's calendar for the day (current event: Proj. 1134B-89: Manufacturing Specs (COMPLETE FINAL DRAFT), but never mind that). He tapped it again; it reverted. "And then, to go back. I'll put a code lock in, I guess. That's probably better. Anyway. Easy." He glanced up at him again, wishing pretty intensely that he was better at reading people's faces when they weren't making a concerted effort to convey to him their extreme disapproval. "You know. For whenever you want it."