Beck eyes snapped open as he shot up, the blankets falling to the floor at the sudden movement. His breath came in short, shuddering gasp, his dark eyes hooded and unfocused; seeing things that weren't there.
Focus, the weak thought broke through the memory.
It grew stronger, Focus.
Breathe, he told himself, in 1, 2, 3, 4. Out 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8.
In 1, 2, 3, 4. Out 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8.
Repeat.
As his breathing slowed, he closed his eyes, focusing on what he could hear and feel, rather than what he was seeing. He focused on the rough feeling of the sheet, and the sound coming from his window, the sound of lightcycles roaring and programs talking. The distraction proved to be useful, like it had been every night since it happened.
Once he was finally able to think clearly, he cautiously opened his eyes, scared of what he would see. Seeing his darkened bedroom, he let out a sigh, the tension leaving his body.
He looked down at his hands, the memory of what he did with them left Beck's stomach in knots. The guilt of the deed had consumed his every thought, every action. He felt like there was an uncomfortable pressure in his throat, that was increasing rapidly.
Lunging for the trash can beside his bed, he bent his head over it as he dry-heaved into the can. His head pounded as he gagged on nothing.
Coughing, he sat back and leaned against the side of his bed. Beck brushed his messy hair back as he regulated his breathing again.
He glanced over to the clock, the neon light telling him he had only slept for a little over an hour. He let out a frustrated sigh, this was the 12th night in a row he had got less than two hours worth of sleep.
Beck shivered from the coldness of the floor, but the cold soothed his stomach, and head. Pushing off the floor, he padded to his bathroom, where he had a box of mints stored.
Groaning as the light overwhelmed his senses, Beck reached out blindly, his arm brushing the wall as he finally flipped the light off. His toes curled as he stepped on the rough floor.
Walking up to the counter he stood, glaring at the reflection in the mirror.
Monster, it seemed to tell him.
"Stop it," Beck mumbled, his face flushing.
Coward, the reflection seemed to move, it glared back at him.
"Stop it." He repeated, stronger this time, clenching his fist.
Murderer, it snarled, eyes flashing red.
Beck blinked in shock at what he did, not registering the pain. He slowly pulled his fist back from the now broken mirror. The mechanic inspected his hand, finding his knuckles bleeding, and his fingers embedded with glass.
He sighed and started to clean up the mess he made, ignoring the throbbing of his wrist. Beck raked the shards of glass into the sink where he could throw it away later.
Looking around at the bathroom, and the parts of his room that he could see. The familiar feeling of prickling of his skin, and the slight nausea overcame him.
"I have to get out of here." Beck said to himself, trying to break the silence. Swiping a baton from his desk he quickly left the room and quietly walked to the elevator down the hall.
He could hear Mara and Zed giggling inside her room.
How innocent, he thought with envy.
He never noticed the gaze following him as he walked out of the garage.
Able frowned as he watched Beck's tensed form walk out of the garage. It wasn't that it wasn't normal for him to leave early in the cycle, but Tron's warning still rang in his head. "Keep an eye on him Able," Tron had said, "He may do something rash. If you get the feeling he's about to, tell me immediately, no matter the time."
"Why?" He had asked.
"He'll tell you when he's ready."
Watching Beck get farther and farther away he thought, better to be safe than sorry.
Taking out his data pad he typed, Tron, Beck just left the garage, he doesn't look good. What's going on?
Pressing send he reached out to sit it back on his desk when it vibrated.
Do you know where he's going? It vibrated again, It's not for me to tell.
Replying he said, No, but probably either to a quiet bar or somewhere to be alone.
Is there a bar he frequents? Tron responded.
There's one on the outskirts of town it's owned by a program called Jameson. It's easy to find, just look for the broken neon sign.
Tron's reply is immediate, I'm on my way. I'll keep you updated.
Beck stalked down the dark alley, his serious demeanor scaring off any friendly passer byes.
"Hey," A voice called out, stopping Beck in his traps.
He turned to face the voice, "You want a light?"
No. Beck's core thought, "How much?" He asked, gruffly.
The program smiled, "It's the good stuff, so about 200 credits."
He counted out the money and handed it to the program who tossed him a black container with about 50 light sticks.
"Pleasure doing business." The program nodded and walked off, Beck did the same.
Pocketing the sticks he entered the bar he found after Bodhi's death, his friends name like an open wound, gushing out blood, while the pain spread throughout him.
He was solemn as he ordered his drink, quite a bit stronger than his usual. He gave the bartender 150 credits for the tab he was going to work up by the end of the cycle.
He took his drink and walked over to the smoking side, no one dared asked what the other was smoking, just being at the bar was illegal, smoking contraband was worse.
Beck slid into the seat in the corner, the room thankfully quiet, save for the quiet murmur of voices, and the sound of glass being sat roughly down.
He rubbed his temple as he stared at the dark blue liquid in his cup.
They'd hate you if they knew what you did. Imagine the horror on their face if they found out their best friend was a murder.
He could imagine their face to, horror and disgust creasing every line on their face. They would back up slowly, with no small amount of fear in their eyes.
His hand shook as he reached for his drink, the high concentrated energy burning his throat when he downed what was left of the drink.
He just wanted to forget everything for a night. He didn't want to remember the scream that had pierced the air when his disc landed true. He didn't want to remember the program turn to cubes nanos later.
Another drink was placed in front of him without a word.
Taking a sip he pulled out the container with the lights in it, he knew he shouldn't smoke, but who gives a fuck? He thought, pulling one out and inspecting it.
It was black with a white cap on the end, and a circle of blue on the opposite side, he popped off the white cap and watched as the end of it lit up, and gave off the familiar smell.
Beck slowly brought it up to lips, the smoothness of the lightstick caught on the roughness of his lips. He wetted his lips, these things can kill you ya'know, the familiar warning told to everyone wrang in his head, but he ignored it.
Here it goes, he thought as he took a test drag from the light.
"Holy shit," He wheezed, the stick overwhelming his senses. It felt like he just inhaled a smoke bomb, he dropped the lightstick in his rush to get his drink.
Taking a big gulp of the cold drink, calmed the raging storm in his throat.
He looked to the light he dropped on the table, and was overcome by the urge to try it again. As if he wasn't in control he reached out and brought it to his lips again, a sort of cool worked itself into his system. He took a smaller, more manageable drag from the light, Beck exhaled, his lungs not contracting as much as they did before.
He lost himself in the repetition of it, not noticing that he was doing it until the light was a small bud. He flicked the bud into the tray in the middle of the table, missing his drink by inches.
He took another drink of the energy, draining the glass, he signaled for another, not paying attention as he reached for another lightstick. He missed the taste of it on his tongue, and the taste complimented his drink.
He popped off the the cap and raised it to lips when someone grabbed his wrist.
Beck narrowed his eyes and tensed, he opened his mouth to reply, but the program interrupted him.
"What in Flynn's name are you doing?"
Beck relaxed slightly as his mentors voice. He yanked his hand out of Tron's hold, "What do you want Tron?"
Tron raked his eyes over his apprentices body, it was skinny, frail even, his face was pale and had dark rings orbiting his eyes. "I'm here to check on you."
Beck laughed bitterly, "Well I'm fine, you can go."
"I'm not leaving you here like this."
"Then shut that door and sit down, cause I'm not leavin' for a while." Beck told him, closing his eyes as the room spinned.
Tron quietly did what Beck said, and slid into the seat across from him.
"Want one?" The younger program asked, holding up a lightstick.
He shook his head, "Those things will kill you, you know."
Beck took a long drag of the light, "That's the point."
Tron's eyes snapped to meet Beck's, worry fueling his words.
"I think you've had enough of this." Tron said, reaching over to take Beck's drink.
Beck put his hand over his drink and held it still, "That's not for you to decide," He practically growled, a spark of anger in his eyes, "I'm a grown man, I can drink as much I want."
Tron nodded and let go, "Fair enough."
Beck took a drink from the energy, "How did you find me anyways?"
"Able told me where to find you." Tron answered,
"I don't need a babysitter Tron."
"No, you don't," Tron agreed, "But I think you could use a friend."
Beck's eyes flickered,"Yeah…" He said softly, " I could use one of those."
"How are you Beck? Really." He asked, collapsing his mask.
Beck shifted and took a rather large sip from his drink, what was it Bodhi called it? Liquid courage.
"Not good." He barked out a bitter laugh, "Really freaking terrible." He bent over the table and put his head in his hands.
Tron sighed, "I hoped that the time off would help, as well as your friends."
Beck scoffed,"If I'm their friend then they treat their friends real shitty."
Tron's eyes narrowed, "What do you mean?"
He didn't answer, instead finishing off his drink, "You might want to put on your mask for a nano." He warned Tron, as he waved for another drink. He left his hand up, "Do you want one?"
Tron nodded, but had no real intention of drink it.
Beck put up two fingers.
"How many have you had?"
"Uh, I don't know, maybe my fourth or fifth. It's hazy."
Tron frowned at the off wording of Beck's answer, but didn't have the chance to comment as he rezzed his mask when the bartender knocked on the door.
"Come on in," Beck invited, sitting up straight.
The bartender walked in with three glass, two of which were dark bluish green and one lighter one.
Seeing the confused look on Beck's face he explained, "I thought you could use some regular energy." The program sat the drinks on table, "I might be overstepping, but if you're trying to forget something, -and you look like you are- you should smoke the ones with the green ring, they pack a hard punch."
"What's the difference?" Beck asked.
"The blue ones have a little thing called nicotine in them, that's what makes them addicting. Now the green ones, they only have a smaller amount amount of nicotine in them, but it makes up for it by adding powdered energy. The lighter the green on the lightstick, the more it has." He picked up the empty glass, "Since it's obviously the first time your smoking, I'd start the with the darkest one and work your way up."
With that he left, closing the door behind him.
"Beck," The mechanic looked up at his name, and the look on his face tore Tron to shreds. He had never seen a program look so helpless, or so broken. Beck's eyes were wide, and misty, showing Tron just how young his apprentice was. Much too young to shoulder the burden of taking a life. Much too young to look so beat down and tired. Not just tired from lack of sleep, -which he was-, but the kind of tired that you felt in your code, the type where it was always present, no matter what.
Tron shook himself from his thoughts, "Please don't do it."
"Why?" The simple question was choked out, "I don't want to remember, I want to forget, I want to forget being a monster, to forget -" Beck let out a shuddering breath, and began to continue, but didn't have the chance to.
"Don't you ever say that again." Tron growled, fire burning in his eyes, "You are not a monster. Do you understand me? If you were really a monster you wouldn't feel like this."
Beck snorted and glared at Tron, "I'm not a monster?" He laughed, the noise a cutting sound, "I killed a program. That program might have people who cared about him, he can never go home again, or do anything, and it's all my fault." Anger colored his voice, "What more proof do you need?" He spat.
"Proof?" Tron asked rhetorically, "How about proof that you're not a monster."
He leaned forward, "Why you were fighting the soldier in the first place?"
"The other program," He answered, avoiding Tron's gaze..
The monitor tapped the table, drawing Beck's attention to him, "Did you immediately attack him?"
"No," Beck said, brushing his thumb over his scars, "He attacked me."
"Did you draw your disc before then?" Tron asked, already knowing the answer.
The mechanic looked up at his mentor, "No," Beck told him, shaking his head. "I drew it once I figured out there was another program near us. I couldn't let an innocent be hurt."
"Would you have turned on your disc if there hadn't been another program?"
Beck sat back, his face etched with surprise, "No." Hope filled his voice.
"Why did you kill him?"
The younger program flinched at the blunt wording, "To protect the other program, the soldier had cut my chest. I could barely move, so I threw my disc, to stop him from killing the other program."
"Exactly. That's why you're not a monster, you killed in righteousness, to protect someone else even as you were hurt. That's not what a monster or a murder kills for. They kill for fun, or hatred, and so on."
Beck looked up at him, eyes alight with wary hope, and the longing to trust his words.
Tron scooted Beck's drink away from him, and pushed the box of lightsticks to the side. He stood slowly and took a step over to his apprentices side. The monitor laid a gentle hand on Beck's shoulder and gave it a light squeeze.
"You're a good man, Beck." The younger program gaped at the rare praise, "The best man I've ever had the honor of knowing."
Tron let his hand fall back to his side, "Now, do you want to go home, or to the garage?"
"Home, please." He requested quietly. He didn't know when he started to consider the hideout as home, rather than the garage.
The monitor nodded, "We can fly there, though you'll be flying in the passenger seat of my jet."
"What? Why?" Beck asked, affronted.
"Because, one, you're drunk. Two, you don't look like you've slept since it happened. Three, I don't think you've drank anything besides this for the last several cycles, and Four, because I'm worried about you." Tron's voice was soft as he finished listing.
Beck looked up at Tron, blinking several times to try and focus before nodding slowly.
He pushed himself out of his chair and…
Fell to the ground the moment he put weight on his feet.
"I think you're right 'bout that first part." He groaned, rubbing his temple.
Tron was kneeling by his side in an instant, "Easy," The voice comforted, "I got you."
"I know," He mumbled in reply.
The hand on his arm froze, but began to move again a nano later.
Tron pulled Beck up into a sitting position, "That last drink was a mistake," He complained.
He ignored the mechanic, instead asking a question, "Do you feel okay?"
"Yeah. But I'm seeing two of you so imma just close my eyes."
Tron cracked a smile, "Let's get out of here," He said, looping Beck arm over shoulder and standing.
"You were right, by the way." The younger program told him.
Tron furrowed his brow, "About what?"
"About me needing a friend."
"Anytime." He promised.
They took a couple steps before Beck started to talk again.
"What about the lightsticks?" The question wiped the smile from Tron's face.
"Do you want them?" Tron asked, his voice grave.
Beck was silent, "Nah, I don't think that's a great idea."
The relief in the monitors voice was almost palpable, "Okay."
Tron stopped in front of the door, "You're going to be okay, Beck."
The firm, but gentle, underlying promise that he wouldn't accept anything else comforted Beck.
"Yeah," He said slowly, "In time."