Anon request from Tumblr.
Fair warning: This will not give you warm fuzzies.
#Sorrynotsorry
:P
Torso thrust. Block.
It was a sparring match like any other. Once every three cycles, Beck had to go through the usual regiments, keep himself in shape. And Tron was all too willing to make sure the young Program was in his best shape.
Although he never said it, competitive fighting was one of the few things Tron could indulge himself in, try to have fun with. Users know, a Program was hard-pressed to find any these cycles.
Forward slash. Parry.
He never held back, not then, not now. Their discs were on low settings, unignited, so no one was accidentally derezzed.
Kick to the knee. Down.
And Beck was no slouch, either. In the equivalent of three User months he had changed greatly, learned much, and was constantly improving - at least in his skill with a disc, not so much his strategic abilities (Tron was still the best in that regard). And while Tron would never compliment if he didn't have to, he had to admit that had he been coded different, Beck could've made a perfect monitor.
Arm up, blocked strike.
It reminded him of better times. Of Encom, of when Flynn was in charge - had stayed in charge. When Tron wasn't busy protecting the Grid, he spent his free time in the Arena, testing his skills and that of other prospective fighters.
Foot swipe, Beck down.
It happened a thousand times. Beck nearly always lost (there was one time he got the drop on Tron, a moment he refused to speak about in Beck's presence), so it wasn't surprising for Tron to deliver the 'last blow' of sorts. Then Beck, as Tron's disc came towards his chest, did one thing he never had before.
He flinched.
It was small, almost unnoticeable -squinting eyes, hunched shoulders, rising hands to protect his face, or plead mercy - it would have slid under any other Program's radar, but Tron was particularly gifted with noticing these sorts of things.
"Dead." the word left Tron's mouth before he could rethink it - it was the standard phrase whenever Beck was cornered, an inescapable position.
"Ugh," the boy closed his eyes, head dropping against the floor in frustration. All signs of fear gone, in an instant, as though it had never been there to begin with. "Bits, not again."
"You did better this time," It was almost faint praise, said in what was maybe sympathy, or concern. Tron still had no idea what just happened.
He drew back, blinking, wondering if what he saw was real. The fear in Beck's eyes had almost been palpable; perhaps the meaning of the phrase "deer in the headlights" that Flynn always used that made absolutely no sense. Well, it sort of did, now. But it didn't make sense. What did Beck have to be afraid of? Was it because he lost? That was hardly knew, the kid was used to it by now. This was hardly a simulation, either, just the regular training room. What was different this time?
As Beck picked himself up, Tron wondered how he could ask. Then he remember he didn't particularly care how it sounded, so long as Beck understood. "What happened?"
"What do you mean, what happened?" Beck rubbed his sore shoulder, wincing.
"I mean," Tron sighed. Words did not come to him as easily as it did to Flynn, or even Ram. He had no idea how they could just speak so easily, be so charming. How did they get everyone to like them? Tron continued, "You flinched. Why?"
Beck's momentary confusion shifted, his gaze flicking to Tron, then away again. "Nothing. I was about to, you know, derezz. It's, like, instinct or something."
"Users have instincts, not Programs." Tron replied, frowning. He had the distinct feeling Beck was lying to him, not a hard bet but certainly not one easily proved. Beck's version of honesty depended on his mood which, as Tron was loathe to realize, was a little like himself in that regard. "You were distracted. You could've blocked me, but you didn't. Why?"
"I-I don't know," Beck huffed, shrugging his shoulders helplessly. "Does it matter? It's too late now."
That wasn't good enough, but even as Tron opened his mouth to speak again, the answer hit him. While he couldn't truly know what Beck was thinking at any given point, he had a good feeling this time.
What Beck had seen. What he was thinking as Tron defeated him once again.
Dyson.
Of course. What else could it be? But was it just Dyson he was afraid of? Or was Beck scared of Tron as well? Tron knew he had let himself get carried away. He knew that not even Flynn would have been selfish or uncaring enough to willingly hurt his own friends to get revenge. What would he think now of Tron, a once great warrior now hobbled with old grudges and a blind drive to punish traitors? Could he be forgiven for such acts? How could he have forgotten all of this so quickly? Tron couldn't imagine what Beck must think of him now.
It was like Tron missed a step down the stairs and had to catch himself. That feeling of uncertainty, falling, vertigo, panic - all at once, in horrifying unison.
His voice betrayed none of that. "You've been thinking about what happened. With Dyson."
"Uh, yeah." Beck's reply was startlingly straightforward and cold. "Not exactly something i'm going to forget any time soon."
The resentment in his voice, the set of his jaw made it very clear that Beck hadn't quite gotten over the events, which in the end didn't surprise Tron in the least. Still, it hurt to hear, and there was no blame to be thrown back - it was all Tron's fault, after all. There was no one at fault here except for himself.
"Look, Beck, I'm sorry -"
"Apologies aren't going to make a difference," Beck cut him off, shaking his head and turning away, as if he couldn't look at Tron anymore. "How can I believe them when you'd probably just do it all over again?"
Tron opened his mouth to retort, but found that he had none. Beck was right. If Tron had another chance, if he thought he could do it right this time, then yes, he would very much do it all over again. He would hurt Beck again if it meant Dyson would be a pile of voxels at his feet by the end of it.
And he hated it.
Beck, sensing this, just threw him a scathing look. "Wow, seriously? You're not even going to pretend that you've changed? Would you really do that all over again, just because of Dyson? You can't see past any of that, even after everything's that's happened?"
It was wrong. It wasn't how this was supposed to go. Tron knew this. What could he say that could make this right, that would be the truth? But he couldn't calculate any possibilities. They just weren't there.
Still, he had to say something. "Beck, you don't understand. It's not that sim -"
"You know what, I can't hang around to hear your excuses. You can't take it back." Beck just raised a hand. Normally, Tron would reprimand him for such flippancy, but he didn't have the right, nor the desire to.
"I've got to head back, Able's waiting for me. At least he won't lie to me."
Tron grit his teeth, clenched his fists. That stung. Beck turned around, headed towards the door without another word. There was still time, Tron knew, to fix this. He still had a chance. He just had to say something. Say anything. Do what Flynn did and just keep talking until the problem fixed itself.
But he wasn't Flynn, and this wasn't something that could be solved by words alone. So he said nothing, did nothing as Beck walked out that door. Beck's footsteps echoed, then faded. Then, in the distance, Tron heard the roar of a lightcycle tearing across the Outlands.
The lights in the training room dimmed, until only a few remained, trapping Tron in a small cone of light. He sighed, closed his eyes and bowed his head.
Failure.
Alone again.