Chapter Text
Epilogue
“De-rectification is on schedule,” Jarvis reported, scanning his information pad. “Votes for the city representative elections have been collected and are being compiled, and the End of Line profits are up by 2397%.” He stopped and smiled. “Everything is going well, my lum–ah, my, uh…”
“Jarvis, darling, I told you. Just Zuse is fine.” Zuse smoothed his platinum hair and peered at his reflection in an empty glass. “I’ve been thinking green. It was so chic a few cycles ago. Do you think I can bring it back?”
“I think you can bring anything back, my, uh, my Zuse,” Jarvis replied fervently, clasping his pad to the lapels of his new white coat.
Zuse glanced at Gem where she lounged on one of his low couches. “Why aren’t you this nice to me?” he asked, twitching an amused eyebrow. “You’re my siren, but he’s the one saying these lovely things to me.”
Gem uncrossed and recrossed her legs and stared coolly. “Because you don’t want nice .”
Zuse visibly shivered and let his fingers fall to his throat. “Oh, you’re so right about that.”
“Zuse,” Tron interrupted, annoyed. He shifted his weight and folded his arms pointedly. “Why did you invite me here?”
“Ah, my apologies, my sweet. I got a little carried away, as one does when there are just so many marvellous possibilities and opportunities.” As he spoke, Zuse set down the glass, wandered to his window, and looked out over the city. “I want to offer you an opportunity,” he continued, smiling over his shoulder. “Work with me.”
Tron opened his mouth to refuse and Zuse lifted a hand to cut him off.
“Working with me will be working for the city,” he clarified, flourishing his long fingers out at the orderly lights and busy streets. “Working for the programs who call this city home. I want to protect them as much as you do.” His smile turned sly. “And I know these past millicycles have been… difficult for you. Difficult for all of us, really. Our leader gone. Our Users gone. We’re left to our own plans, our own purposes, with no one to tell us what those purposes are. Work with me, Tron. With your support, I will ease our transition to a new era on the Grid.”
“No,” Tron said flatly. “I won’t be your enforcement. I have no objection to you having authority in this city when you already run many of the industries, but I will not back any one leader. I will, however, be watching you.” He stared hard at Zuse until the program’s smile weakened and edged with worry. “All of you. I won’t allow what happened with Clu to happen again.” He had made a promise.
Zuse swallowed and chuckled lightly. “Yes. Yes, of course. Wise choice. Protective programs are going to do what protective programs do. In all of this User-less chaos, especially–”
A flash of white light cut him off. They turned, startled, to see the portal spear through the sky and flare brilliantly. The sight of it carved a line through Tron, tearing him up with unruly excitement, hope, and fear. Excitement and hope that he might see Sam again, and fear that it was someone else, or that transferring to the outer world and back again had obliterated the fragile, overwhelming link that had formed between them.
“Well,” Zuse murmured. “Perhaps I am mistaken.” He plucked up his cane. “Shall we go see who has decided to pay us a visit?”
**
Tron agreed to ride in Zuse’s limousine only because the need to see the incoming User was shredding his codes. He sat anxiously in the luxurious, green-tinted shadows facing Zuse, hands fisted in his lap to keep them from fidgeting.
As the limo approached Flynn’s Arcade, it slowed to a crawl where the street had filled with excited and curious programs. Finally, when he couldn't bear the excruciatingly slow pace, Tron opened the door, allowing the riot of noise to fill the vehicle. He gently pushed a program aside, stepped out, and began to walk instead. Around him, startled programs pressed away from him, their expressions flickering from excitement to fear. Most of them recognized his scarred face and distinctive symbol and remembered what he had done, the utter destruction and ruthlessness of which he was still capable.
For the first time since Clu had been defeated, Tron didn’t mind their fear. It allowed him to advance up the street.
Clustered around the arcade’s entrance, the mob thickened until even Tron couldn’t pass through. He came to a halt only one building away and shifted from foot to foot in an agony of need. Who had come?!
Finally, he spotted a glowing fuschia windowsill on the building next to him, took two running steps, and leapt to catch hold of it. He pulled himself up and perched on the narrow ledge, gripping it so hard that the material cracked in his hands.
He searched the milling mob eagerly, hungrily, for anyone without a program’s circuit lights, for the weight of a User.
And there he was.
Sam.
For a rare moment, all of Tron’s conflicting codes went perfectly still.
He stared at Sam’s easy smile as he listened to the programs around him, touched their arms and shoulders, spoke to them. Like his father had been so many cycles ago, he seemed bemused by the attention, a curl of disbelief at the edge of his mouth. He had reverted to his original appearance: tufted, light brown hair, shady User skin tone, pale blue eyes. He wore a black jacket and his disk had returned with him, sitting on his shoulders and silently recording his existence on the Grid. Although his appearance was unrefined compared to his smooth and glittering siren interface, Tron felt he had never seen anyone so beautiful.
Sam.
Tron’s codes revved back up to speed, all of them clamouring for attention. He’d half expected to see Sam and feel only the protective directive and perhaps the deep friendship he’d felt for Flynn, but no… no, this was different. He ached to touch him, to hold him, to fluster him, to catch him, to listen to his voice and conjure expressions to his face, to just… just exist next to him. He wanted him . He shook with that ache so badly that he lost his grip on the windowsill and dropped to the hex pavement below, scattering a few unlucky programs.
With his line of sight broken, Tron shook his head and palmed his face.
I have to get out of here. If he got close to Sam like this, he’d lose control. His ruthless Rinzler codes were already snapping their teeth, demanding that he slash his way through the crowd to take possession of the User who belonged to him. He couldn’t risk leaping on Sam only to discover that Sam’s previous interest had been based solely on his siren programming. He couldn’t risk damaging whatever friendship could still remain between them. He had to get away until he could calm down.
Still fighting himself, Tron turned and stalked away. He tried to hurry, desperate to flee, but the crowd had become more and more tightly packed as the entire city thronged the street to see who had come.
“Out of the way,” he muttered, trying to shove through. “I said move! Go!” One program, his eyes wide and oblivious, just stood directly in front of Tron as though stunned. Tron waved at him, swinging out an arm to make it clear what he wanted the program to do.
His hand struck something behind him.
Something soft but firm. Warm. Vibrating with power.
Tron whirled, his circuits electrified with horror. He stared at his gloved hand, splayed on the black garment under Sam’s coat. He lifted his gaze to Sam’s face and couldn’t speak.
The edge of Sam’s mouth lifted. He laid a hand over Tron’s shivering fingers. “I accept,” he said, huffing a laugh.
“I–” Tron started, but his voice died.
Sam’s grin widened and he released Tron’s hand. “I know,” he said. “It’s not the same when you do it.” He stepped closer and clasped Tron’s arm, his gaze darting over Tron’s face. “Tron. Rinzler. You’re okay. I… I wasn’t sure what I would find.”
“I’m okay,” Tron echoed numbly.
The amusement faded from Sam’s expression, replaced by worry. "I know you said not to come after you," he admitted, "but I needed to know–"
"No," Tron choked. His hands twitched at his hips, trying to reach but unable to, the fingers on one of them still tingling with Sam’s power. "No, I'm glad you're here."
"Me too." The smile returned, soft and wondering. Then Sam glanced around at the crowd pressing in on them. “Is this going to happen every time I come back?”
He’s going to come back. And keep coming back.
The joy in that thought weakened him. “They… they’ll get used to it," he managed hoarsely. “There were always crowds when your father came, but not quite like this.”
“Can we go somewhere quieter?”
“Yoo-hoo! Son of Flynn!” Zuse called over the din. His fluorescent green limo edged closer, pushing the mob out of the way, and the program himself sat on the edge of a window, practically falling out. “May I offer you a personal suite in the End of Line's building for your stay on the Grid?”
Sam smirked and raised his voice. “I don’t need to dress up to go in, do I?”
“Oh, no, darling, it’s an interface optional establishment.”
Laughing, Sam looked at Tron and nodded. “Then yes, I’ll take you up on that.”
**
After an excruciatingly slow limp back to Zuse’s building in the limo and a hasty celebratory drink at the bar, Tron and Sam finally pried themselves out of Zuse’s grip and retreated to Sam’s suite in the penthouse just below the club itself.
When the door shut behind him, Sam leaned against it and laughed, shaking his head. “I didn’t think there would be a crowd,” he admitted, looking up and finding Tron in the low light.
Tron, increasingly on edge in the suite’s dim lounge, where low, soft furniture invited program and User bodies to sink and explore and connect with each other, backed away to the glass doors leading to the suite’s balcony. He stepped out and nodded at the portal. “As soon as they see that, they know you’re here. And now the city is de-rectified and they are free to welcome you.”
Sam followed him, his humour fading. His gaze on the portal and the city, he asked, “Can you show me the Grid?”
Surprised, Tron answered bluntly, “You’re looking at it.”
Sam scoffed. “I mean… more of it. My dad used to tell me stories about you, about what you showed him. I want to know that part of the Grid. All I’ve seen is the mess Clu made of it. And maybe…” He shrugged uncomfortably. “Maybe I could even… be a part of it.”
Tron’s circuits had been trembling since Sam stepped foot on the Grid, but now they felt like they’d fall apart. “You want me to take you places?” he asked shakily. “You want to… be here?” With me?
“Yeah.” Sam smiled softly. “As much as I can, anyway. This world is strange, but, you know, kind of beautiful.”
Like you.
“Unless you’re busy,” Sam added. “I shouldn’t assume you’d just drop everything to take me on a tour.”
“No, I’m not busy. Forgive me, I just… I didn’t think you’d come back.” Tron tried to smile, but even he knew he sounded desperate.
“I wanted to get back sooner, but after so long in the system, my dad's body collapsed when he was de-digitized."
Concern spiked in Tron’s processes. "Is he–"
"He'll be all right,” Sam quickly assured him. “But we had to get him to the hospital. Then we had to wait for Alan to come and fill him in on what happened. I took Quorra to my place–she and Marv are best friends now–and then I came back to the arcade." He took a deep breath and let it out in a rush. He looked over at Tron and self-consciously tugged on the edges of his jacket. "I haven't… I haven't actually slept or showered yet, so you should probably keep your distance."
The mere thought of it made Tron’s Rinzler codes shift with displeasure. Before he could stop himself, he'd stepped closer and reached for Sam’s arms. Just before touching his sleeves, he flinched and pulled back. "I… I can't," he admitted tightly. "I can't keep my distance from you."
"Oh." Sam didn't move away, but he turned toward the city, leaned his forearms on the balcony rail, and clasped his bare hands together. "Is it because I'm a User?" he asked the glowing cityscape.
"I don't know." Tron echoed his posture, but had to clutch the rail to keep himself from reaching out again. "I was written to fight for the Users, but I was never drawn to your father like this. I never wanted to…" He trailed off and dared to glance over. Sam met his gaze and Tron let his stare drop pointedly to Sam’s wry smile.
Sam wet his lips; even without the temporary circuit, the movement of his pink tongue was captivating. "Is it because I accidentally tried to become your supporting function?" He smirked as he spoke, but it was without humour.
"I don't know," Tron said again. "There's a lot I don't know, Sam. But I want to find out."
Sam’s eyes darkened and a red shade tinged his face and neck. "I just…" He blew out another sigh. "I don't want to take advantage of you."
"Take advantage of me?"
"Make you think you want something that you don't actually want. You spent long enough with someone else controlling you."
Tron bristled. "I know what that feels like," he said roughly. "This is not that. You're not controlling me." To demonstrate, he finally allowed himself to touch him, grabbing his arm and forcing him to turn. He slid his other hand into the small of his back, tugging him close so he could finally, finally make contact with the small circuits on his abdomen and chest. Even without circuits of his own, Sam radiated energy, making Tron shiver and crush him closer, savouring the feel of his slightly shorter body, his density. "I'm doing this because I want to," he murmured against Sam’s cheek. "Not because you do." Experimentally, he pressed his lips to the corner of Sam’s jaw, marvelling at the rough texture of his skin. "I just hope that you do, too."
Sam laughed shakily and angled his head away, leading Tron down the line of his throat. His tentative hands found Tron’s hips. "Well," he rumbled. "I do want you to, so I'm not sure your reasoning is conclusive."
"I'm not going to wonder why." Tron kissed the skin above Sam's collar. "It's enough that I want you. It's enough that you're here. I'm going to enjoy you while I have you."
Sam’s uncomfortable chuckle came again. "How am I supposed to argue against that?" he asked plaintively. "Come on, man, I'm trying to be a good User."
"I don't want a good User," Tron growled, Rinzler’s demanding rasp threading his voice. "I want my User."
"Oh, damn," Sam groaned, his grip tightening.
Tron nudged him back inside. “I’ll show you anything you want, Sam.”