Here's that third thing.
"A User? You're not serious. That's impossible." Beck's head was turned by an interest he couldn't control.
The dark figure slid off the edge of the roof, he landed in a crouch on the ground, in the black shadow of the building. Beck stepped forward into the light, and Tron could see the curiosity lighting up his face like a newly rezed program seeing The Grid for the first time.
"What is that stuff?" He asked, lip curling up in disgust.
"Its blood, it means he's hurt. Do you have a vehicle?"
"There's a hanger that way." Beck told him, pointing down the street to his right. "It has some gunships that can seat three programs. We'll steal one."
"I call the guns!" Beck shouted.
Without waiting for a reply he clamored up the side of the ship and into the gunner's seat. The pair of sentries guarding the ship lay sprawled on the floor, out cold.
Tron set Alan down in the passenger's seat. He went around the jet and jumped up into the pilot's chair. Beck considered the User, head lolling to the side at an awkward angle.
"He looks just like you man, it's kind of creepy."
"Let's just get him home before he dies, alright?"
"Ok. Ok. No need to snap at me."
As Tron started up the ship, its circuits flashed from crimson to blue.
They took off. The ship flew low over the other military vehicles in the hanger, before clearing the wide wall to wall door, and rocketing up toward the clear sky. Argon stretched out below them, a billion shining lights.
Beck's hesitant voice broke the silence.
"I uh…"
"What is it Beck?" Tron's harsh tone didn't seem to affect the other program.
"I'm glad you're still not dead. Or you know, enslaved."
"Thanks." He deadpanned.
"No really. Even though you're still a complete as-jerk."
Tron flinched. He opened his mouth to say something, but Beck beat him to it.
"I forgive you by the way." Beck's head was turned away, he rested his chin against the heel of his hand and was looking out at the view.
"How did you- I didn't even apolo-"
"I knew you were going to say it." He informed him, a smug smile on his face.
"I wasn't- I mean I was-"
"I just knew alright? I'm nice aren't I? I'm awesome that way. You have to say that, if you really do want the full forgiveness package. Admit that Beck – no, his most awesomeness- is the greatest program on The Grid. Also, he's better than Tron in every way. He's stronger than Tron, more good looking than Tron, he definitely gets more girls that Tron. Thrice-ly, Tron is an idiot. Fourthly, Beck was right. Of course, because Beck is always right-"
Tron closed his eyes, he took a deep breath, resisting the urge to throw Beck off the jet so all that would be coming out of his mouth were his screams as he plummeted five hundred feet.
"I'm not saying that." He said, managing to keep his voice even.
"Don't worry. I'll get him to say it." Beck stage whispered to the unconscious User in the passenger seat, still grinning.
Tron gazed out the window overlooking the beautiful view of the outlands, the rising and falling stone formations were the only form of nature this world had to offer. His hands were folded behind his back, and he wore his usual severe expression. His User slept, soundly behind him.
Everything was peaceful and quiet. Beck had retreated to another room, and had fallen into recharge. The rhythmic sound of his User's breathing, as his chest rose and fell, put him at some sort of ease. But just because he had managed not to kill his own User didn't make what he'd done any less unforgivable.
He had made another terrible irreversible mistake, only this time his User had taken the fall for it. Not Flynn, not himself, not the system. Alan One had shoulder the burden of cleaning up his mess. It was the ultimate failure of his programming.
He wasn't worthy of anything Alan One had given him, not his life, not his purpose. He already failed to protect everything else, now he had failed to protect the person who had given him a reason in the first place. He wondered if he was capable of making any of the right choices at all, certainly he couldn't raise an uprising now.
He couldn't be trusted with the responsibility of lives, as he led programs quite possibly to their deaths, not when he acted so recklessly, so foolishly.
Tron withdrew from the window. He moved toward the center of the room where a white slab, like a table without legs, hovered. Alan was lying on his back, Tron couldn't read the expression he was wearing in his sleep.
Beck and Tron had done their best to stabilize his condition, but there were terrifying hours when Tron believed his User was beyond saving. Eventually they exhausted any medical knowledge they might have shared between them, all that could be done was wait.
Beck tried to get him to sit, Tron just paced and paced and paced in this spot in front of Alan's sickbed, for the entire millicycle. Beck had though he was going to wear a circle into the floor deep enough for them to make a basement. Slowly but surely Alan's wounds had healed on their own, in that miraculous way User's had of healing themselves.
His fingers ghosted over the white edge of the table. Tron bowed his head.
"I'm sorry." The words tumbled out from his mouth in a strange voice he didn't recognize.
He was startled when a hand grabbed his.
A pair of cold, angry blue eyes stared up at him. Tron froze. His blood, if he'd had blood, would have turned to ice. He wondered with detached curiosity, if Alan One was going to derez him. He would accept his User's judgment, it was nothing less than he deserved.
"You have nothing to apologize to me for-" Alan stopped scolding his program when he saw Tron's face, all hard lines as if it were carved out of stone, and certainly pale as white marble. Alan's expression morphed into an innocent kind of worry. He gave Tron's hand a reassuring squeeze. "Are you alright? You look like you're staring death in the face, maybe having a staring contest. I think you're winning to."
Tron shook his head, no. He wasn't alright.
"I'm the one who should be sorry. I should have known about all this." Alan gestured around at the room with his free hand, meaning The Grid, meaning programs actually being living, feeling people, meaning everything. "I should have been there to stop Clu at the beginning…" Alan's words trailed off into a sigh. A kind, optimistic smile lit up his face, banishing any despondence. His User's eyes glanced around the room. "It's over. We're both alive?" Alan asked, unsure himself. It was difficult to be sure of anything the way the day had gone.
Tron nodded.
"What is there to be sad about then? That's the best news I've heard all day. You made a mistake, so what? You can learn from it, it will make you a better person. That's why mistakes were invented in the first place. If we didn't have them we would all be really terrible, ignorant people." Alan said. "Don't repeat it." He told him, with all seriousness. Hissing in pain, he struggled up onto his elbows. "Help me up will you? We have a rebellion to start, and an empire to conquer."
Tron's eyes widened in alarm, immediately his hands were on Alan's shoulders, pushing him back down. Was he trying to hurt himself again?
He obviously didn't understand how things worked in his house.
Tron's voice ripped from his throat with a growl.
"Not so fast. You need to rest first, then you need battle training, extensive laborious painful battle training. That has to be the stupidest thing anyone's ever done. You can't burn your soul like gasoline. It won't be happening in the future." He ordered.
Alan laughed.
"Alright, alright. You're the boss."
Alan wore a victorious grin at the upward tug at the corner of his program's lips that might have been a smile.
