"Would that affect the likelihood of you breaking it?" Bell wonders. "If you don't like being watched or it'll make you liable to slip, then I won't. But I don't want to go talk to people while I don't have it on me to review the conversations later, either. So yes, all else equal."
"It won't make a difference as long as you don't distract me right at a critical moment or throw stuff at my head or whatever," he says, "and I bet you won't do any of that."
All in all, it takes him two hours.
When he seems done, she says, "Do they have what the original had on it, or not?" Pause. "Oh. And thank you. Thank you so much."
"Not yet," he says. "You'll have to do that part yourself; I can't touch the data without your authorization. The encryption tricks in this thing are flat-out sexy, I'm definitely stealing them."
"The guy who gave it to me taught me to use it, but he didn't include an instruction for making backups. Do you know what I have to say to it?"
"'Back up'," he says, "conveniently enough. And you already know how to specify a data set."
Her recorder whirs. A little green light goes on.
Bell beams and spontaneously hugs Tony.
"And now you have three of it," he says. "Keep one close by and one somewhere safe and synchronize them every so often, and let me know if I need to make you a new one."
"I will," she says, letting him go at length. "I think I'll leave one in my room here, which is safe if not always particularly accessible - though more so soon, assuming we follow through with Sherlock's plan of me moving in with you and I can just slip through your doors sometimes."
"I'm still sort of hoping we find a way to cheat massively before I go home and write a note to tell my parents I'm running away to Atlantis and stow myself on your train."
She picks up her recorder. She pets it. She also picks up and pets the backups. She puts them all in her pocket.
Bell realizes this only after she puts the last one away, and then she looks embarrassed. "I got into the habit of doing small, visibly eccentric things at home," she says. "The 'some kind of touched in the head' reputation works for me. And here people are never from home and don't know if it's normal for me to pet things or talk to myself or eat my potatoes counterclockwise."
"Okay." She leads the way, tracing a line on the wall with her fingertips as they go.