Work Text:
Author's Note:
I just want Ram to have ALL the good things. This is what happened after he didn't die in "The Greatest Little Deresolution."
This is part 1 of a small trilogy within my I/O Towerverse settings. Each can stand alone pretty well, but they make one full story together. I've separated them because they have distinctly different ratings, and different levels of focus on worldbuilding and headcanons.
There's art at the end, also by me.
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*****
Party at PoMU
Part 1. Home Free
*****
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Home is... dazzling.
Ram knew, from Tron's stories and shared memories, that Tron used to have a home. Someplace he lived, together with Yori, during whatever time existed before the MCP shut everything down.
Ram did not, until now, really grasp just what a home is.
The closest thing for him is the servers of an insurance company, which he can recall in a very dim sort of way, with more numbers and abstract concepts than visual memories. The next closest thing is the pit cells, where between battles on the game grid he used to spend his downcycles staring across a tiny and featureless room at Tron, because there was never anything else at all worth looking at.
Just a few micros ago, Ram was thrown from all of that into a rejuvenated world so big and glorious that he hasn't taken one single downcycle to rest since he began his wide-eyed exploration of it.
And just this micro, he found Tron and Yori exploring the newness of this same world, and the euphoria of that reunion finally burned off the last of what had felt like a boundless energy. The moment they invited him home, he collapsed into Tron's arms (with, he is told later, a ridiculous goofy smile) and slept through being carried all the way to this... paradise.
He wakes sprawled out on a gently swaying bench, some sort of airy garden swing that looks out over a landscape of statuary and data crystallization, endless fractals of color and beauty. Spends a while just sitting there, staring out across the garden in awe.
"Nice, isn't it."
He turns to see Yori standing nearby. Finds himself shifting, almost without thought, to make room for her on the seat beside him.
She takes the offer. Her body's warm as she slides in to sit next to him.
"It's almost exactly how I remember it." Her eyes caress the garden, and Ram can tell it's hers, something loved and cultivated and cared for. "The system rerezzed it for us almost without asking. Like it knew we were meant to be here. Like it took hard work for the Master Control Program to repress this place, to keep it from us."
She's cradling an identity disc in her palms, white with ice-blue concentric circles. Just like Tron's... but it's not. The way Yori holds it, the way her energy reverberates with it, Ram can tell that's hers, too.
"You have a disc?"
"Everyone does."
"Hadn't seen yours before. And your back doesn't have any of the... markings."
"From what I understand, those markings are from how the MCP forced the discs onto new conscripts for the Games."
"Ah. Like me." Ram scratches at his upper back, above where his disc connects.
He remembers, vaguely, the agony of that procedure. He's glad not everyone had to undergo it.
Yori nods. "Yes. I mean, I suppose you didn't rez in with a disc, because other systems don't work like ours, but you still need one to function here. Those who were sent to the Games had their disc integrated... violently." She meets his eyes, sympathy in her face, and Ram nods back with a grimace. "As I understand it, they branded it onto you like that to create a certain type of connection. To make the disc a weapon, and to make sure you couldn't set it aside for long without sending alarms to the authorities. You were denied the right to keep it in a safe place, even though it was so precious, a backup of all your memory and knowledge. To them it was only meant to track you, to control you."
He keeps nodding acknowledgement; it's all true, as far as he knows. But he still knows very little of Yori's struggles, or how anyone's life went outside the cells and the games. "And yours?"
"Also meant to control me, but differently. I was allowed safety, but not freedom."
Ram waits, curiosity tangling with compassion.
Yori sighs. "My disc was very safe. It was part of the wall, part of an alcove in my quarters. I was allowed to back myself up on it once a microcycle, when I got home from work. Those syncs were what let me store long-term memories, let me maintain any sense of self, and... once a microcycle was nowhere near enough." She winces. "By the end of a shift at work, I'd be barely alive. It was hard to think anything but numbers, until I got home to my disc. I doubt I could have gone on like that much longer."
The way she hunches around that memory, somehow, makes Ram ache for Yori, his sympathy sharpened. He fights back an urge to hold her, comfort her.
But the ordeal is all behind them, he reminds himself. Maybe later they'll need to cry over it in each other's arms-- but now still feels like a time to enjoy the relief of all this change. And despite all of Tron's stories, he doesn't feel like he knows Yori well enough, yet, to offer the sort of comfort he feels like giving.
Even though she did already kiss him.
He remembers that, all too vividly. Might've even been part of what crashed him.
A kiss, as they'd welcomed him to this new free system, to their promise of home. Lips on lips, mouths tasting and making love to each other, so simple, so intimate-- and Ram had never done it before. Oh, he'd put his mouth almost everywhere else it could go on another program, but somehow, not there? He wonders if there was some system glitch blocking permissions on it, up til now.
Because otherwise he can't imagine why he never thought to try it. Not until Tron and then Yori did it to him, one after the other, in such quick succession it was dizzying.
A touch of minds in it, too, data transfer riding along on the touch. The name, "kiss," was in the metadata of the act, saved and recorded from wherever they learned it.
He very strongly suspects where that was. Same place Ram learned to overload so hard from the touch of User-power that he phased through the floor of a Recognizer, leaving one strangely oblivious User probably still assuming he was dead.
That Flynn certainly changed everything he touched.
"Are you, um, syncing with it now, then?"
"Just finished." Yori smiles brightly at him, as the glow of the disc dims a little. "We were thinking we'd go out soon. There's a club. A place where programs meet and charge up together. We used to go there before. And now it's, well, reopened. We're looking forward to seeing it again." Eyelids lower, lips turn upward. "You're welcome to come with us. I know the I/O Tower is high in your priorities, but you'll need a good charge before going there, right?"
For a nanocycle Ram isn't sure. He's awfully conscious, right now, of how he's spent his entire time in this system so far. Fighting. Being in prison. Not the sort of things Yori's friends at the club would probably admire. How is he supposed to behave at a place like that? Could he even learn?
He fumbles for words, staring at his lap. "I... you know I was... with Tron, in the cells..."
"I know. He's told me all about you." Her look is warm, understanding, from under the lids and lashes of her eyes. "And I know it wasn't just about, mm, satisfying needs. He loves you, very much. I hope you know that."
Ram nods, flushing, smiling. He does know. Of course it's a different sort of love, the love of comrades-in-arms-- very unlike what Tron has with either his counterpart or his User, no matter how similar the sensations it can stir. And it's not like Tron spoke very freely about any of that. Ram does know, but... the warmth of hearing it is still wonderful.
Yori seems to have taken his words as reminiscing about Tron, rather than worrying about his own manners. And now Ram's not sure which of those directions he should go with the conversation. He knows which is more pleasant, though.
"Tron, um, told me about you too. He..." But then the thought trails off. The same words about Tron's feelings for Yori would just be so obvious as to sound ridiculous.
"He also said you'd be willing to share." Yori's voice drops low, knowing, the implication unmistakable. "To be shared."
And then Ram's eyes close in overwhelm at the hot burn of his circuits... sudden, delicious vulnerability.
Oh, yes, Tron would have told her that... would have told her in much more detail than she's volunteering now. Would have told her (probably even given her the memories, in full-sensory format) of how the very whisper in Ram's ear-- Tron's voice low and husky and full of promises of what Yori and Tron would do to him together-- had so often been enough to push Ram over the precipice into gasping, trembling overload.
Oh.
He's too close to that edge even now, just from thinking of it-- from thinking of Yori thinking of it. From the presence of Yori, from the power of her that he can feel, through her proximity, even with his eyes shut tight and his lashes fluttering against hotly blushing cheeks.
It's not just how beautiful she is. Ram sees beauty in everyone, but at the same time, what attracts him to another program has never been anything in the visual render, so much as the intoxicating pull of energy beneath it. He's never met a willing program whose touch he couldn't enjoy, but there have been a few whose energy made him swoon with desire on another level entirely.
Tron, on his own, is an electromagnetic blaze of power that Ram's been utterly helpless to resist since the first moment he felt that touch.
And what Tron has with Yori... oh, that is an amplification of Tron's pull that Ram could barely have imagined possible. So intense that he's felt it burning in the touch of Tron's mind since long before he ever thought there was a real chance he'd meet Yori herself.
To be swept into that magnetic field between the two of them... oh, the swell of energy that builds in him just from that thought... he has to keep his eyes shut, count the time of his breaths, for nanocycles before he trusts himself to look at Yori and even try to speak.
"I... Yes. Yeah." He nods, at last, biting his lip. And of course Yori can see it, the strength of that yes, the sheer intensity of how bad he wants it.
"Ooh. That much, hmm?" Her voice is bright amusement with just a little touch of worry, like she didn't expect him to heat up so much, so fast. It's not as if they're in a place (either mentally or geographically) to just throw themselves at each other right now and start--
No-- don't think that-- He can't bring his eyes to meet hers for long. He keeps closing them again; the very sight of anything feels like too much.
It's Tron who manages to save him, finally, just by being there.
A wash of relief goes through Ram when he sees that familiar figure come into view, hears the familiar call of greeting. Somehow, it's the grounding he needed to keep himself from shorting out.
Of course, it's not as if Tron isn't just as capable of driving Ram into a frenzy of arousal. But they've got enough other history together, by now. Enough cooperative lightcycle runs, enough companionable silence across the pit cell. The presence of Tron, the meaning of it, is complex.
And yes, the combined energy of Tron and Yori is still overwhelming. But in Tron's presence it transmutes, little by little, from having one single incendiary meaning to... something calmer.
He breathes.
"Yori was telling me about the, ah, the club." Ram finds words a bit easier now, addressed to Tron. "What's it like? Do I need to know anything about... what to do there, or..."
"It's very accepting," Tron assures him. "Open to all kinds. You'll meet some fascinating programs there. And you can do pretty much whatever you like." His voice lowers slightly, reminiscent of Yori's, all of a sudden. "We can do whatever we like."
Oh. So much for Tron being calming.
Ram blushes in two waves. One pulse of deep violet that tingles, heavy and slow, down every circuit... and then a second one chasing after it, a hotter magenta shade, in the realization that the two of them both saw that first one.
For a nano he's just burning, staring at Tron and panting to catch his breath.
"You're gonna kill me," he finally half-gasps, half-laughs. "Trying to overload me before we even get out the door?"
And it turns out Tron's presence is still saving him, even after that. Because he wouldn't have been ready yet to joke like this with Yori. And, as much truth as there is in his attempt at humor, it's still helping ease the tension, just a bit.
Yori joins in the gentle laughter, and oh, this whole encounter is still full of that deliciously vulnerable feeling in Ram's core, but no longer quite so overwhelming. "So you'll come with us?" she asks, as her giggles finally die down.
Ram puts on as much bravado as his face can manage right now.
"You know it."
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*****
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It's bright and calm outside, after they leave Yori's garden through the elegant halls and doors of her home.
The club where Tron and Yori are taking Ram is almost next door. Just a few nanos' walk from their house. They don't speak much on the way, but by the time Ram can start feeling awkward about that, they're already there.
"Ah!" Yori lights up with a smile, catching Ram's arm to turn him toward the entrance. "This is it."
An open door in a dark wall. His companions seem to know it only by the multicolored glow from within. And by the sparkle-robed program who greets them at the door, saying "Welcome to PoMU!" and guiding them inside.
Ram blinks, stock still for a moment.
Takes him a while to adjust. It's difficult at first to make out any of what's going on in there. Seems dim, this sudden shift from outdoor light to this ubiquitous rainbow luminescence of circuits. And there's so much. So many programs, so much color... motion... energy.
"Busy, isn't it!" Yori murmurs to him. "I mean, of course it is. Give programs freedom, and free power, after all that... of course they'll go wild."
She looks a little wild herself, and Ram flashes her a quick grin. The graphics she's wearing are delightful, replacing her usual geometric blue circuitry with rivers of red-orange glowing down her sides, and a shimmery drape over her shoulders that flickers around her as if she's cloaked in pure light. The headpiece is gone too, and her hair shines around her face, wisps and curls escaping everywhere from a half-attempt to tie it back in a loose braid.
By unspoken agreement, Ram and Tron have both kept their usual renders-- it's still hard for him, and Tron too probably, to embrace anything beyond who they've been for the past couple hundred micros. Maybe that inhibition will ease up, too, in time. For now, though, the familiar white armor and blue circuits feel safest.
Their only concession to the informality of this place is their uncovered heads. Helmets stayed at home; the air of this place tickles softly through Ram's curls and enlivens the play of light over Tron's majestically spiky hairdo.
And the sight of that is stirring things in Ram. Back in the cells, the only time those helmets came off was when they had enough privacy together to risk it... to bare each other's heads and run fingers through hair, trailing tingles to echo the sparks below as the circuitry of their bodies slid together.
Ram's hands itch to reach out and do that, even now. But he makes himself focus on their surroundings, on the pulsing light and music, the chaos of the crowd. He keeps staring into the colorful turmoil, his senses beginning to process the shapes and movements a little more clearly.
The near vicinity, Ram can see now, is mostly furnished with long winding couches and benches. Programs sprawled across them are taking their charge in liquid form, sipping the pale-blue glow from transparent goblets, setting them to rest on low tables in between.
There's a lot of cuddling and touching, here. A large and voluptuous program, draped in something between leotard and toga, lounges between her two companions, both slender and androgynous and gazing at her in adoration, dipping fingers into their glasses to trail liquid along her circuits. Not too far away, a tall thin program takes languid drinks from a similarly tall thin glass, as she stands inside the translucent column of bead-strings that dangle from her clothing. It forms almost a privacy-screened chamber... but not quite enough to stop Ram from seeing the smaller program crouched within, giving very deliberate attention to all the parts of her body concealed under that bead-curtain. Shocks of pleasure flicker now and then across her pale face, interrupting her sips of energy.
There's variation in the power itself, too. In a corner beyond the seats and tables and glowing beverages, Ram notices more programs all over the cushioned floor, basking in an intense ever-changing wash of color. All shapes and sizes, from a warrior in armor like Ram's own, to a trio of curvy ladies in what appear to be dance costumes, and even, it seems, a large four-legged creature with a luxuriant coat of fur. But all of them display the same lazy smile of peace, looking half-asleep as the spectrum shines and shifts across them.
Energy can come in the form of light, too, Ram remembers... watching the calm bliss on these strangers' faces, wondering what it feels like to absorb it that way. Charging is charging, but the graphic-interface of this world can make it look and feel so many different, wondrous ways...
Then a tremor of recognition hits him. Along another side of the room, as his head turns, he can just make out the active patterns of an energy wall. One that goes on for quite a distance, station after station lit up ready for hands and heads and backs... and nearly all in use, already. Bodies lean splayed out. Arms cling as though magnetized to the charging surface; shoulders and spines arch against it.
Ram draws breath through bared teeth. It jolts him for just a picocycle, to see that, when his only firsthand memories of those walls involve watching his fellow warriors get tortured. But then, with a blush, the secondhand memory surfaces... one of the ones Tron shared with him.
Tron has experienced energy walls the way they were meant to be configured. And ohh, that way feels nice.
Ram's circuits flare hot with the rush of excitement. He wants it all. Wants to experience everything. Every type of power, every way of getting charged... every way of enjoying his companions while he does it.
There's only so much he can do this time.
But he'll have other times. Lots of them.
It hits him, then. An unprecedented sense of the realness of it. Of other times. Future times. The wild idea that he has a future, untold cycles ahead of him, full of the mystery of experiences yet to be had... oh, Users, it's like seeing his life suddenly rotated another ninety degrees, along an axis he never knew existed. A whole new dimension revealed.
"Ram?" Yori's hand is on his shoulder. "Are you all right? You're shaking."
He blinks back tears. "Yeah. 'M happy."
The hand on his shoulder tightens, and then Ram feels the more familiar touch of Tron's hand join it. There's a catch in Yori's voice, choking up with emotion that seems to echo Ram's own. "Oh... oh, good. I'm glad. So glad... Mmm, let's find a place to sit and something to drink, okay?"
Ram just nods, the tears still bright and hot in his eyes.
Yeah. Happy.
