Right. This wasn't at all alarming in any way. It was hardly the first (or even the thousandth) time Jarvis had watched the barely-leashed, frenetic energy that seemed to possess Tony when he was working, in which he was all tumbling movement and grandiosity that couldn't be followed by the eye or the brain- or at least not Jarvis' brain, anyway, because he was no genius even if he liked to think himself clever enough. No one compared to Tony, and having been in a place to clean up the aftermath for half his life, Jarvis could only hope that he wasn't going to walk in and find more than he could possibly hope to process without time left to him to step away, breathe deeply, and count to... two hundred. At a conservative estimate.
Arching a brow when he was presented with a tiny device, Jarvis hesitated. It wasn't that he didn't trust its make. Tony was brilliant and always had been. But no one gave their servants gifts that weren't double-edged somehow, likely to bite the unwary, and life had taught Jarvis to be cautious in how he approached the unexpected and unknown. There were only so many body parts someone could lose, and he was one over the limit as it was.
The gesture he made was a clear, Me?, accomplished with a wave of a hand between the device and his chest. Eyes were wide, and there was a clear doubt communicated between body language and expression. Still, when Tony made no move to jerk it away or call out a gleeful just kidding, he reached to accept the... whatever it was, long fingers gently cradling it as if there might be the passing chance he could do it damage.
Write something, Tony said, and after a moment of studying the keyboard, Jarvis typed a careful, What is this?