The ride back to the arcade was mostly silent. Lora did the driving, Alan sat glumly in the shotgun seat, Flynn slumped in the back, trying to watch out the window. They were talking among themselves, and Flynn didn't really pay attention, their voices just blended in with the car noise and the city streets.
Who am I really seeing? Alan and Lora? Tron and Yori? The whole digital world…did that really happen, or was he just dreaming it all? The latter would be easier to believe. Maybe that's what it needed to be - just a dream. Chalk up that whole bit with Roy(someone he shouldn't have recognized) to some weird deja vu and convince himself it all never happened.
The only problem - his arm ached ever since he pulled that stunt on the Sailer, channeling the beam. He couldn't figure out any other reason for it to hurt.
They were stopped at that notorious traffic light – the one that took forever, even in the dead of night with no traffic, and parked directly under the street lamp, and of course Alan wouldn't just run the red, even with no oncoming cars. He rolled up his sleeve to rub out the ache.
On first pass, his arm looked perfectly normal. It was only when he tilted it slightly…It took rubbing his eyes and having another look to be sure, but his forearm had scarring…no, circuitry…under the skin. It was the exact same pattern as the one on his armor.
You're losing it, Flynn. Okay, roll down the sleeve and just try to ignore it. Chalk it up to seeing things.
Lora parked in the alley, and the three of them trudged upstairs. Flynn pointed the two of them in the direction of the shower while he sagged back on his couch overlooking the closed arcade. Deep breath in, deep breath out, rub out the ache in his forearm, look again…
Still there. Faint, visible only if you tilted it at just the right angle in direct light. Shit.
"Flynn?"
His head snapped up. Alan was in front of him, wearing nothing but boxers. Okay, score one for Lora because he had no idea Alan was that well-built under those oversized suits. After seeing Tron, it shouldn't have been a surprise. More bruises and cuts were visible all over Alan's torso, but the arms and hands had the most visible signs of a fight. Flynn gestured to the long, empty span of couch next to him, then found the fridge and pulled out a pack of frozen peas. Alan caught it when tossed and applied it to the big bruise on his jaw.
"Thanks."
"How is she?"
"They didn't get to hurt her seriously – just some scrapes and bruising. The shock hasn't worn off. Hasn't for me, either."
Flynn pointed to Alan's bruised forearms and knuckles. "Looks like you kicked their asses."
"I…slowed them down. They still got to Roy faster than I could."
"Even so? You protected her—thanks."
Alan's gaze was fixed on the bathroom door, listening intently. After a few moments, he sighed and leaned back in the cushions, closing his eyes. "I think I have enough to fuel my nightmares for the next fifty years after tonight."
Flynn sighed and leaned forward, staring at the big neon sign reading "SPACE PARANOIDS!" and its Recognizer logo on the far wall of the arcade. "None of this was worth people getting hurt, man."
"Thing is…you're probably going to think this is crazy."
Flynn tried to think of a good reply for that. He still couldn't come up with a good way to start explaining a tenth of the things he saw. "After tonight, dude?"
"Point taken. I know that the official explanation is likely to put all of this at Dillinger's feet, or cover it up as a terrifying computer malfunction. I know that's the explanation we're going to have to give to everyone if we get a chance to talk about it at all." Alan shifted the ice pack to his right hand, shaking out his heavily-bruised left.
"Dillinger's greedy and stupid, but….yeah, he wasn't the one pulling the strings."
"That...thing. I knew it was dangerous. It just kept getting smarter, integrating with more and more systems. Something about it felt wrong, especially when it started talking back." Alan shook his head. "Did you see just how far Master Control had extended those claws? It had compromised the servers at Strategic Air Command, was attempting to start World War Three, a countdown was already in progress, and between my Tron program and some crazy hacking on your part, it likely prevented Mutually Assured Destruction from being a reality."
Flynn had an inkling that was Master Control's endgame but was too occupied in trying to survive the situation on the other side to really think about it. "That's why he tried to kill us."
Alan nodded. "We did the right thing. Even if it lands me in an eight-by-ten for life, I know that it was the right thing."
"You still didn't have to help me, man. You had every reason not to help me because..."
"Because of Lora."
Alan had gone back to staring. "I love her. I loved her from the moment I saw her. The house, a big family, growing old. I want it all with her – and only her."
Flynn wanted to remark on just how sappy that sounded, but...No, Alan had it bad. Puppy dog, over the moon, completely twitterpated bad.
"Before tonight, I hated your guts, too. Flamboyant, charismatic, witty, good looks, all kinds of natural talent – everything I'm not. And yes, I was worried when Lora insisted on coming over here."
"Thought I'd sweep her off her feet and she'd ditch you or something? Alan…dude…women fool around with guys like me. Then, they get hip to our bullshit, leave, and marry guys like you."
"Guys like me?"
"Y'know. Sane guys, safe guys. Guys who get the tract house out in the suburbs, put the white picket fence around it, takes the two and a half kids to Little League, and gets excited when the neighbors invite them over to show off vacation slides." Flynn realized he had shoved his foot in his mouth. "But yeah. Anyway, you break her heart or her spirit, I'll try to kick your ass. Well, or screw up your bank statements and sign you up for a bunch of obnoxious magazines."
Alan responded with a raised eyebrow. "You really think you could win that fight or break through my security?"
His pride wanted to argue the matter. His good sense shoved a dirty sock in pride's mouth. "No."
"I'd die for her. Almost did tonight."
I thought you were nothing more than a boring stuffed shirt company drone, happy to toe the line and follow every rule and regulation to the letter if it got him an equally boring and safe middle management position. I thought you were a joyless asshole who would be good husband material on paper but suck the life out of the most brilliant woman I ever knew.
The sound of the shower stopped. Flynn got up and patted Alan on an un-bruised part of his shoulder. "Thanks for taking care of her."
By the time he had his turn in the shower, the two were sacked out in his bed, Alan on the far-right edge, Lora in the center. They were facing each other, stripped down to their skivvies, and their hands were clasped together.
Nothing classes up the joint like a clean-cut young couple...
Without their glasses and in the dim light and neon flashes of the arcade, the resemblance to their Programs hit even harder. Worse, he just didn't have it in him to be jealous. Tonight, they'd risked their reputations and their lives for him, just as Tron and Yori had. Sure, there would be fallout to deal with and hell to pay for the stunts they pulled and the thousands of man-hours that got flushed with Master Control. If luck was with them, most of that would rain down on Dillinger's head for signing off on the AI from hell in the first place.
Tomorrow, the things he saw and the things he survived could go back to being a bad dream. Tomorrow he might be able to turn on a computer and not think of that beautiful, terrifying world. Maybe he would someday forget and think of them all – Tron, Ram, Yori, Crom – as just lines of green colored code on a screen designed to give the poor User a headache.
It wasn't tomorrow yet.
He craned his neck skyward, and said it as solemnly as he could manage, "Okay. Right here, with God – User of Users – as my witness...and anyone else watching from the arcade. I swear to love them. I swear to protect them, and I swear I'll give my life for them if I have to."
He said it, he meant it. The only replies were the faint noises of dozens of arcade machines. Fair enough.
Flynn sighed. In the name of decorum, he knew really should stagger back to the couch to sleep this off.
Fuck it. This was his apartment, he was dead tired, he sprung for the California King for a reason, and decorum was never his long suit. As gently as he could manage, he slipped in behind Lora and reached over, putting his hand – the one with the circuit marks - on top of theirs as though to solidify the vow he made.
The next morning, their hands were still joined.