justprompts: "He travels fastest who travels alone." - Rudyard Kipling
A/N: Set in Miracles 'verse, Sunday after the overhaul of Clu. Clu is sys_operator, Tron and Xia have no journals, but are used with permission and love. Sam is hisfathers_son, Alan is legacyguardian, Quorra is quorrathexplora.
Kevin Flynn wasn't going anywhere, right now.
He was sitting in the temporary peace of his friend's apartment (which meant, since Quorra was there, that she was either occupied with something that kept her quiet, or was meditating herself), in a dignified pose and with his breathing and his mind under control.
There was no Kevin Flynn. He was an illusion.
The work he did in the world was passing. All was passing, part of the samsara.
The good that he did...
Flynn's greatest problem with this stuff was that while it tried to achieve non-self, it constantly called attention to the self. He'd gotten over that, a long time ago, learning to turn the meditation not into a sword that hacked into ideas, but into a vessel that he let ideas fill, then a sieve, letting ideas float away and leave peace, comprehension. Compassion.
Perfect love. Perfect compassion.
Yesterday's work seemed well done. For the first time in a long, long time, he could see Clu's eyes not clouded and confused. For the first time in a long, long time, he could meet his creation's eyes and find tentative... peace? Joy? Things that his rashness had deprived Clu of for so long.
(And 'yesterday' was relative; Clu'd been out for about fifteen millicycles, and they'd been there most of that time. Even with the breaks, Sam'd worked on things for close to eleven days between Monday morning and Saturday evening. But his eyes were brighter today, too. Not because anybody told him anything, but because he knew work well done as well as anyone.
Yes, Flynn was proud of his son all right. And in the time since he'd known him, he'd found no reasons not to be. Sam wasn't perfect, but then, he didn't have to be. He was a person, of his own and complete, and miraculous.)
They'd worked together. All of them, him and Sam, and Alan, and Quorra, and Tron and Xia, and Clu himself. Even if it had been difficult for some, no, probably for all of them. For Sam and Alan to let him spend some time inside; for Clu to let him go when he left for the world outside. Tron had been so worried for his friend, even if he knew that with their best efforts, they might not manage to achieve the effects necessary for Clu to be fully operational...
... who was he kidding. For Clu to be able to be happy, without destroying who Clu had been.
And Quorra and Xia... even if Xia had practically ignored it, because she had practically not known Clu to have done what she knew he'd done, he was the one who tried to eradicate their kind. And very nearly succeeded, too.
And yet they had both been there for Clu. For all of them, giving support and ideas and input and help, as much and wherever it was needed. Even as they themselves still needed guidance and support, too. Not about some things, Quorra had reminded him the day before. Sometimes, he was still like a child who needed to be told what to do and when.
They had all reached this point in time, together.
And it was a better place than he had known for most of his life.
No, some actions could not be taken back. They couldn't return the lives of the ISOs slaughtered, or the lives of so many programs lost in the games who should have been working to their purposes. The time couldn't be recovered.
But at least one of his creations was hurting less, now. Healing, hopefully. And with him healing, others would heal, too.
Clu had already began working to undo some of the damage he'd caused, and it'd only been a day, out here, since their work on them was completed.
Sam was smiling, and Alan seemed... content, and Flynn would be lying to himself if he thought it was because of the long weekend. (No, the warmth in the blue eyes and the low voice was because he was seeing something that warmed his heart; Flynn knew Alan enough to be aware of that.) And Tron was easy, relaxed, and Xia with him, the three of them working without the familiar tension in Clu's stance creeping back too much.
Quorra had chosen a place where she wouldn't complicate things for anybody, and the results seem to content her. As did waffles with cherry preserve and chocolate sauce.
And himself...
Life has a way of moving you past wants and hopes, he'd told Sam when they'd all been about to set foot on this journey.
And now, to his immense surprise, he was learning that life had a way to brining hope back.
It hurt almost as much as letting go of it, even if he was prepared for the pain this time. Even if he could take it and embrace it and flow with it now, the pain was there. Alleviated by the way Alan smiled each time he acted even a little bit like he'd used to. And by Sam's reactions, man, the boy was growing with days, skills-wise. And that was a good thing, even with the conversation with Alan earlier, he was worried that it was all coming too soon. Not because Sam did not have capacity to handle it, but because he was so young, and everyone had a breaking point.
Did he ever know it, now. Now, after he'd broken, directly or not, so many. No, he'd brought Clu past his breaking point, the one he'd set him up with, and then Clu had broken others in turn.
Flynn included.
And now healing was happening. Healing of wounds caused with intention and without, wounds that were tangible and not, wounds that were opened long ago or recently, that had festered or that had scarred. Healing.
Healing lives.
Slowly, and taking up much more effort than inflicting those wounds had.
Old man Rudyard Kipling (very funny, old man) had been absolutely correct when he said that he travels fastest who travels alone.
Flynn was in no hurry now. He was done with rushing past good sense and good future. Done with rushing past perfect love and perfect compassion.
Done with the pride that he could or had to do it all on his own.
He had his family now. A family that had welcomed just now its wayward son, after so long. And after so much work to make sure he was both himself and yet the broken place was mended and strengthened so it would be no source for such issues in the future.
For the first time in over a thousand twenty years, his family was complete.
If all men count with you, but none too much... There, Kipling had been wrong. Likely wrong, at least. He didn't know why that advice was given, but he suspected that whatever the reason, it wouldn't have stood for a millennium, even with the one who experienced it.
And Flynn himself... Why would he want to get anywhere, fast or alone, when he knew where that path led?
And what if this path leads nowhere better?
Then he would have tried it, rather than shy away in fear.
I shall not fear.
Fear is the mind-killer...
Tomorrow, they would rest some more. In and out of the Grid, however things would be.
The day after that, his first big project for Encom in a very, very long time would fully commence. Not that more than three people AT Encom would ever know; credit was not important. Putting things to rights, making them better, did.
Later, he would finish the communication device for in-out of the Grid.
One day, the time would come, he hoped, when they could take Clu out here, finally. Not in fear, but in love.
Not fear. No hurrying. No stupidity that could be avoided.
No loneliness, even in solitude.
Love.
Kevin Flynn wasn't going anywhere, right now.
He was sitting in the temporary peace of his friend's apartment (which meant, since Quorra was there, that she was either occupied with something that kept her quiet, or was meditating herself), in a dignified pose and with his breathing and his mind under control.
There was no Kevin Flynn. He was an illusion.
The work he did in the world was passing. All was passing, part of the samsara.
The good that he did...
Flynn's greatest problem with this stuff was that while it tried to achieve non-self, it constantly called attention to the self. He'd gotten over that, a long time ago, learning to turn the meditation not into a sword that hacked into ideas, but into a vessel that he let ideas fill, then a sieve, letting ideas float away and leave peace, comprehension. Compassion.
Perfect love. Perfect compassion.
Yesterday's work seemed well done. For the first time in a long, long time, he could see Clu's eyes not clouded and confused. For the first time in a long, long time, he could meet his creation's eyes and find tentative... peace? Joy? Things that his rashness had deprived Clu of for so long.
(And 'yesterday' was relative; Clu'd been out for about fifteen millicycles, and they'd been there most of that time. Even with the breaks, Sam'd worked on things for close to eleven days between Monday morning and Saturday evening. But his eyes were brighter today, too. Not because anybody told him anything, but because he knew work well done as well as anyone.
Yes, Flynn was proud of his son all right. And in the time since he'd known him, he'd found no reasons not to be. Sam wasn't perfect, but then, he didn't have to be. He was a person, of his own and complete, and miraculous.)
They'd worked together. All of them, him and Sam, and Alan, and Quorra, and Tron and Xia, and Clu himself. Even if it had been difficult for some, no, probably for all of them. For Sam and Alan to let him spend some time inside; for Clu to let him go when he left for the world outside. Tron had been so worried for his friend, even if he knew that with their best efforts, they might not manage to achieve the effects necessary for Clu to be fully operational...
... who was he kidding. For Clu to be able to be happy, without destroying who Clu had been.
And Quorra and Xia... even if Xia had practically ignored it, because she had practically not known Clu to have done what she knew he'd done, he was the one who tried to eradicate their kind. And very nearly succeeded, too.
And yet they had both been there for Clu. For all of them, giving support and ideas and input and help, as much and wherever it was needed. Even as they themselves still needed guidance and support, too. Not about some things, Quorra had reminded him the day before. Sometimes, he was still like a child who needed to be told what to do and when.
They had all reached this point in time, together.
And it was a better place than he had known for most of his life.
No, some actions could not be taken back. They couldn't return the lives of the ISOs slaughtered, or the lives of so many programs lost in the games who should have been working to their purposes. The time couldn't be recovered.
But at least one of his creations was hurting less, now. Healing, hopefully. And with him healing, others would heal, too.
Clu had already began working to undo some of the damage he'd caused, and it'd only been a day, out here, since their work on them was completed.
Sam was smiling, and Alan seemed... content, and Flynn would be lying to himself if he thought it was because of the long weekend. (No, the warmth in the blue eyes and the low voice was because he was seeing something that warmed his heart; Flynn knew Alan enough to be aware of that.) And Tron was easy, relaxed, and Xia with him, the three of them working without the familiar tension in Clu's stance creeping back too much.
Quorra had chosen a place where she wouldn't complicate things for anybody, and the results seem to content her. As did waffles with cherry preserve and chocolate sauce.
And himself...
Life has a way of moving you past wants and hopes, he'd told Sam when they'd all been about to set foot on this journey.
And now, to his immense surprise, he was learning that life had a way to brining hope back.
It hurt almost as much as letting go of it, even if he was prepared for the pain this time. Even if he could take it and embrace it and flow with it now, the pain was there. Alleviated by the way Alan smiled each time he acted even a little bit like he'd used to. And by Sam's reactions, man, the boy was growing with days, skills-wise. And that was a good thing, even with the conversation with Alan earlier, he was worried that it was all coming too soon. Not because Sam did not have capacity to handle it, but because he was so young, and everyone had a breaking point.
Did he ever know it, now. Now, after he'd broken, directly or not, so many. No, he'd brought Clu past his breaking point, the one he'd set him up with, and then Clu had broken others in turn.
Flynn included.
And now healing was happening. Healing of wounds caused with intention and without, wounds that were tangible and not, wounds that were opened long ago or recently, that had festered or that had scarred. Healing.
Healing lives.
Slowly, and taking up much more effort than inflicting those wounds had.
Old man Rudyard Kipling (very funny, old man) had been absolutely correct when he said that he travels fastest who travels alone.
Flynn was in no hurry now. He was done with rushing past good sense and good future. Done with rushing past perfect love and perfect compassion.
Done with the pride that he could or had to do it all on his own.
He had his family now. A family that had welcomed just now its wayward son, after so long. And after so much work to make sure he was both himself and yet the broken place was mended and strengthened so it would be no source for such issues in the future.
For the first time in over a thousand twenty years, his family was complete.
If all men count with you, but none too much... There, Kipling had been wrong. Likely wrong, at least. He didn't know why that advice was given, but he suspected that whatever the reason, it wouldn't have stood for a millennium, even with the one who experienced it.
And Flynn himself... Why would he want to get anywhere, fast or alone, when he knew where that path led?
And what if this path leads nowhere better?
Then he would have tried it, rather than shy away in fear.
I shall not fear.
Fear is the mind-killer...
Tomorrow, they would rest some more. In and out of the Grid, however things would be.
The day after that, his first big project for Encom in a very, very long time would fully commence. Not that more than three people AT Encom would ever know; credit was not important. Putting things to rights, making them better, did.
Later, he would finish the communication device for in-out of the Grid.
One day, the time would come, he hoped, when they could take Clu out here, finally. Not in fear, but in love.
Not fear. No hurrying. No stupidity that could be avoided.
No loneliness, even in solitude.
Love.