Fic: Damage
The Saturday started normal enough.
Leaving Sam (and, hopefully - though not very probably - Alan) to sleep in, Tron took the two ISOs to watch the sunrise over the river, something they all liked. Park the bikes a bit away, walk onto one of the bridges and feel the first rays of light on their faces. The dark head and the fair lifted in that direction in almost identical postures, slightly different expressions.
Not that he watched them too much, Xia knew he liked the sight of the sun appearing on the horizon barely less than them himself, they'd talked about it from previous times. But he stole glances. Mostly at herself, and it was nice to meet the blue eyes this bright and clear. Not that they'd been too troubled lately, not after Clu was definitely getting better, but it was different, out here in the light. In the newborn light.
Users made words such as that have so many meanings, some of them not easy.
Then they headed back towards the two bikes, parked safely about a block away. Quorra first on the narrow sidewalk between two buildings, her step quick and certain (sometimes Xia wondered if hers would ever get that confidence, but most of the time she was just happy to be able to walk on dry land at all, no need to bother with nuances), then Tron, elegant and proud, and then herself, watching the two of them with a smile on her lips.
Until as she passed the corner behind then, she felt somebody push her into the side street and for a moment saw a hand coming up towards her face - it was enough to try to call out. The cry came out half-strangled, but it was enough for Tron, she could see him turn, blue eyes suddenly alarmed and even more so when he caught sight of what was happening behind him. Then she was yanked aside, other figures in front of her eyes, two more, and one on the other side, she could hear the scuffle and then Tron's voice as he gasped.
"Now look what you made us do," the words were grumbled right behind her ear, and she was pulled back around again, only to see Tron fallen to his knees on the ground, hands around the hilt of a knife coming out of his stomach and a lot of red... of blood, she made herself think, spreading down his clothes towards the sidewalk. "You couldn't have just come along quietly, and no-one the wiser..."
And then Quorra hit them.
The last man, the one who had stabbed Tron, got a flying kick sideways along his chin, his head flying up and away, and he was falling towards the pavement, groaning, when the other ISO turned onto the man holding Xia. Who managed to roar out, "what the..." before he got a punch in his side which made him curl crookedly and release his grab of Xia enough that she could wiggle out, stomping on his foot on the way as she danced, quickly, out of reach. By the time she looked about, he was also falling on the ground.
Quorra muttered at her, "call for help. NOW." And then she had her attention full on the last two men.
Xia had heard about Quorra as a fighter, she'd seen sometimes her and Tron spar - but seeing her in action was something else. It almost distracted her from the task she was assigned. She fumbled for her phone, dropping to her knees so Tron could lean against her - by now, he seemed to need it - and called Alan. Because the trouble was with Tron, and he had to know what to do, right? The User got exact instructions how to get there and told her to not touch the knife, and she could hear in his voice the panic that was twisting her own mind. "Quickly," she said, her voice quiet and as steady as she could make it. "I have only seen these on films and such, but he doesn't look good."
"We're coming." And he cut the call.
Whatever fascination she may have had in Quorra running off the last two of the gang (or running them down, she didn't care at this point), it evaporated when she felt the feeble hold of familiar long fingers on her arm around the front of Tron's chest. She tucked the phone away and huddled more around Tron, bigger than her as he was. And she made herself look at him, at his head lolled back on her shoulder.
His face wore an expression she didn't know, but his body looked and felt familiar, from those bad first days when he fell to them, and she clamped her teeth tight, before taking a breath. "They're coming, Tron. It'll get better."
"It..." his voice was faint, weak. "I don't like it... it's all sinking..." He tensed up, another familiar reaction from when he was first hurt... from when she had first seen him hurt. This time, it had the unfamiliar result that it made more blood well up around the blade, and her arms tightened around him.
"Don't try to scream, don't try to talk, things are different here, it'll get better, please just relax. Tensing up is making it worse. Nothing bad will happen, they'll make it all right." Dimly, she was aware that Quorra was now kneeling beside her, but she just kept talking, trying to get him to relax again. "It's going to get better again. They'll find a way to make it better."
One of the four men on the ground stood up and lurched at them, and Quorra growled at him. He stared for a moment, then swore, and started trying to help the other three up, and they slowly limped away. It took a long time, and Quorra was up into a crouch within a minute or so of that, just in case they tried anything, but at last they were gone.
"Is there anything I can do?" Quorra's whisper was tense, insistent.
Xia's hand caressed the cheek, cold under her fingers, and shook her head. "If there is, I don't know what it is. Flynn and Alan should know." Shouldn't they?
As a matter of fact, they did.
Alan's car pulled up on the curb right beside them, and Flynn spilled out of the passenger side, energy palpable around him even out here. "We get him in the back seat, very carefully. Xia, go in first, propping him up might be best." And, at Alan and Quorra, "we go carefully, trying not to change his position, and especially the position of the blade. On three. One, two, three." Xia'd scurried inside the car, and as soon as he was lifted enough, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and helped them settle him against her. "Q, you'll have to follow on the bike."
"Where to?"
"The Arcade."
"But..."
"We don't know enough about your physiology out here to be sure that the emergency care will be able to do for him what needs to be done. Inside the Grid, I can take care of it." He frowned a moment, then added, "actually, I want you to get a quick - and I mean quick - detour to get something we can use as a stretcher." There must have been a questioning look, Xia couldn't see, but Flynn explained, "we do have to get him downstairs as comfortably as we can. We have enough muscle, but it'll be inconvenient." Then he lowered the voice with instructions for Quorra, and then Xia could see her shooting back towards the bikes, even as Alan and Flynn loaded up again.
In the rear-view mirror, she could see Alan's lips thinned and white, and his eyes homing in on the wounded program when he was waiting on lights. And his hands were tight on the steering wheel, even after Flynn reached, at one intersection, and covered the back of his palm with his own. Alan looked over, and then nodded slightly. Xia didn't think she'd heard him say a word yet, after the phone call.
They had to wait for a couple of minutes for Quorra, and Xia wasn't sure Tron was conscious, at least his eyes were closed, and she didn't kno if that was good or not.
There was pulse, though, if sort of faltering at times.
Among the four of them, they got him downstairs and directed the laser to the couch, where they'd laid him up. Quorra took the seat behind the keyboard. "I'll be out here. Call Sam, too, when you're inside." Watch over everything, she didn't say. Flynn and Alan nodded; Xia was massaging Tron's cold hand, trying to do something that may possibly help. Maybe.
Then Quorra turned forward, and the familiar moment of disorientation came quickly.
An instant later, Tron's eyes snapped open, even as Flynn reached between them to grab his disc, setting it beside them. "Lean back now, Tron."
The wound had changed. Instead of blood, there were bits spilling around the cut. Flynn made a gesture over it, and there was a narrow set of streaming code that seemed to pulse with the same rhythm as the wound. Then he reached towards the hilt of the knife, giving Alan a look. "Be ready to staunch that?"
"How..."
Flynn's fingers touched the image of the code as it hovered over his other hand. "Here. And here. Do you see it?"
"Yeah." He took a deep breath, then straightened, settling steady and close. "Right. Ready."
"Good." And then, smoothly and steadily, he pulled the blade out, tossing it aside to disintegrate, ignored and unwanted.
The two Users worked quickly, and soon the spilling of bits trickled, then faded off altogether. Flynn reached, without even looking, for the disc, while Alan touched a few more things up on the code hovering over the cut, before turning his attention to the disc as well. Except now he just watched, eyebrows raised, as Flynn's hands moved fast and certain.
She heard Clu's steps in the almost-silence before she looked up to see him approach, stop, and then run to them as he recognized what was happening.
"What's wrong with him?" As neither Alan nor Flynn answered, Xia told him, briefly, watching with alarm as the familiar face darkened, the whole body of the program tensed, before he leaned to hover over his creator's shoulder, watching, maybe. After a moment, she reached up to touch Clu's arm and tug him closer to her instead, and when he complied, after a short hesitation, took Tron's hand and touched it to Clu's own.
The former system administrator paused a moment, staring at the three hands so close together, then his palm turned to accept the almost lifeless one, and his other hand closed on top of all of them.
Xia could see the counting of nano-cycles behind the blue eyes shifting this way and that, the way it went in her own mind, until finally Flynn straightened, holding up the disc. Clu grabbed it first, and helped her seat Tron up to attach it - then in turn held the too-quiet program against himself.
"He'll need a bit of time to restart. But he'll be as good as new... well, okay, as good as if he'd never been wounded." Small headshake, and the User's eyes rested, concerned and warm, on the three of them. Alan sat for another moment, then he sharply got up and stepped away from them, facing in the distance. In a bit - but not immediately - Flynn rose to his feet and followed.
"He could have..."
"But he didn't."
"You knew what you were doing, when you made the call to bring him here."
"Known variables. Even with the unusual damage, I knew I, we, could keep things under control here." His arm reached around Alan's shoulders, and the taller user paused, then leaned against him. "It's well now."
Or would be.
They had an interminable amount of time to wait, or it felt so, until Tron came to.
Shortly, Xia almost wished they were outside, so she could cry. She'd never felt the need to, before.
Her place was in there, though. Her hand rested on Tron's shoulder, and she scuttled closer to Clu, somewhat leaning on him. He didn't seem to mind.
Leaving Sam (and, hopefully - though not very probably - Alan) to sleep in, Tron took the two ISOs to watch the sunrise over the river, something they all liked. Park the bikes a bit away, walk onto one of the bridges and feel the first rays of light on their faces. The dark head and the fair lifted in that direction in almost identical postures, slightly different expressions.
Not that he watched them too much, Xia knew he liked the sight of the sun appearing on the horizon barely less than them himself, they'd talked about it from previous times. But he stole glances. Mostly at herself, and it was nice to meet the blue eyes this bright and clear. Not that they'd been too troubled lately, not after Clu was definitely getting better, but it was different, out here in the light. In the newborn light.
Users made words such as that have so many meanings, some of them not easy.
Then they headed back towards the two bikes, parked safely about a block away. Quorra first on the narrow sidewalk between two buildings, her step quick and certain (sometimes Xia wondered if hers would ever get that confidence, but most of the time she was just happy to be able to walk on dry land at all, no need to bother with nuances), then Tron, elegant and proud, and then herself, watching the two of them with a smile on her lips.
Until as she passed the corner behind then, she felt somebody push her into the side street and for a moment saw a hand coming up towards her face - it was enough to try to call out. The cry came out half-strangled, but it was enough for Tron, she could see him turn, blue eyes suddenly alarmed and even more so when he caught sight of what was happening behind him. Then she was yanked aside, other figures in front of her eyes, two more, and one on the other side, she could hear the scuffle and then Tron's voice as he gasped.
"Now look what you made us do," the words were grumbled right behind her ear, and she was pulled back around again, only to see Tron fallen to his knees on the ground, hands around the hilt of a knife coming out of his stomach and a lot of red... of blood, she made herself think, spreading down his clothes towards the sidewalk. "You couldn't have just come along quietly, and no-one the wiser..."
And then Quorra hit them.
The last man, the one who had stabbed Tron, got a flying kick sideways along his chin, his head flying up and away, and he was falling towards the pavement, groaning, when the other ISO turned onto the man holding Xia. Who managed to roar out, "what the..." before he got a punch in his side which made him curl crookedly and release his grab of Xia enough that she could wiggle out, stomping on his foot on the way as she danced, quickly, out of reach. By the time she looked about, he was also falling on the ground.
Quorra muttered at her, "call for help. NOW." And then she had her attention full on the last two men.
Xia had heard about Quorra as a fighter, she'd seen sometimes her and Tron spar - but seeing her in action was something else. It almost distracted her from the task she was assigned. She fumbled for her phone, dropping to her knees so Tron could lean against her - by now, he seemed to need it - and called Alan. Because the trouble was with Tron, and he had to know what to do, right? The User got exact instructions how to get there and told her to not touch the knife, and she could hear in his voice the panic that was twisting her own mind. "Quickly," she said, her voice quiet and as steady as she could make it. "I have only seen these on films and such, but he doesn't look good."
"We're coming." And he cut the call.
Whatever fascination she may have had in Quorra running off the last two of the gang (or running them down, she didn't care at this point), it evaporated when she felt the feeble hold of familiar long fingers on her arm around the front of Tron's chest. She tucked the phone away and huddled more around Tron, bigger than her as he was. And she made herself look at him, at his head lolled back on her shoulder.
His face wore an expression she didn't know, but his body looked and felt familiar, from those bad first days when he fell to them, and she clamped her teeth tight, before taking a breath. "They're coming, Tron. It'll get better."
"It..." his voice was faint, weak. "I don't like it... it's all sinking..." He tensed up, another familiar reaction from when he was first hurt... from when she had first seen him hurt. This time, it had the unfamiliar result that it made more blood well up around the blade, and her arms tightened around him.
"Don't try to scream, don't try to talk, things are different here, it'll get better, please just relax. Tensing up is making it worse. Nothing bad will happen, they'll make it all right." Dimly, she was aware that Quorra was now kneeling beside her, but she just kept talking, trying to get him to relax again. "It's going to get better again. They'll find a way to make it better."
One of the four men on the ground stood up and lurched at them, and Quorra growled at him. He stared for a moment, then swore, and started trying to help the other three up, and they slowly limped away. It took a long time, and Quorra was up into a crouch within a minute or so of that, just in case they tried anything, but at last they were gone.
"Is there anything I can do?" Quorra's whisper was tense, insistent.
Xia's hand caressed the cheek, cold under her fingers, and shook her head. "If there is, I don't know what it is. Flynn and Alan should know." Shouldn't they?
As a matter of fact, they did.
Alan's car pulled up on the curb right beside them, and Flynn spilled out of the passenger side, energy palpable around him even out here. "We get him in the back seat, very carefully. Xia, go in first, propping him up might be best." And, at Alan and Quorra, "we go carefully, trying not to change his position, and especially the position of the blade. On three. One, two, three." Xia'd scurried inside the car, and as soon as he was lifted enough, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and helped them settle him against her. "Q, you'll have to follow on the bike."
"Where to?"
"The Arcade."
"But..."
"We don't know enough about your physiology out here to be sure that the emergency care will be able to do for him what needs to be done. Inside the Grid, I can take care of it." He frowned a moment, then added, "actually, I want you to get a quick - and I mean quick - detour to get something we can use as a stretcher." There must have been a questioning look, Xia couldn't see, but Flynn explained, "we do have to get him downstairs as comfortably as we can. We have enough muscle, but it'll be inconvenient." Then he lowered the voice with instructions for Quorra, and then Xia could see her shooting back towards the bikes, even as Alan and Flynn loaded up again.
In the rear-view mirror, she could see Alan's lips thinned and white, and his eyes homing in on the wounded program when he was waiting on lights. And his hands were tight on the steering wheel, even after Flynn reached, at one intersection, and covered the back of his palm with his own. Alan looked over, and then nodded slightly. Xia didn't think she'd heard him say a word yet, after the phone call.
They had to wait for a couple of minutes for Quorra, and Xia wasn't sure Tron was conscious, at least his eyes were closed, and she didn't kno if that was good or not.
There was pulse, though, if sort of faltering at times.
Among the four of them, they got him downstairs and directed the laser to the couch, where they'd laid him up. Quorra took the seat behind the keyboard. "I'll be out here. Call Sam, too, when you're inside." Watch over everything, she didn't say. Flynn and Alan nodded; Xia was massaging Tron's cold hand, trying to do something that may possibly help. Maybe.
Then Quorra turned forward, and the familiar moment of disorientation came quickly.
An instant later, Tron's eyes snapped open, even as Flynn reached between them to grab his disc, setting it beside them. "Lean back now, Tron."
The wound had changed. Instead of blood, there were bits spilling around the cut. Flynn made a gesture over it, and there was a narrow set of streaming code that seemed to pulse with the same rhythm as the wound. Then he reached towards the hilt of the knife, giving Alan a look. "Be ready to staunch that?"
"How..."
Flynn's fingers touched the image of the code as it hovered over his other hand. "Here. And here. Do you see it?"
"Yeah." He took a deep breath, then straightened, settling steady and close. "Right. Ready."
"Good." And then, smoothly and steadily, he pulled the blade out, tossing it aside to disintegrate, ignored and unwanted.
The two Users worked quickly, and soon the spilling of bits trickled, then faded off altogether. Flynn reached, without even looking, for the disc, while Alan touched a few more things up on the code hovering over the cut, before turning his attention to the disc as well. Except now he just watched, eyebrows raised, as Flynn's hands moved fast and certain.
She heard Clu's steps in the almost-silence before she looked up to see him approach, stop, and then run to them as he recognized what was happening.
"What's wrong with him?" As neither Alan nor Flynn answered, Xia told him, briefly, watching with alarm as the familiar face darkened, the whole body of the program tensed, before he leaned to hover over his creator's shoulder, watching, maybe. After a moment, she reached up to touch Clu's arm and tug him closer to her instead, and when he complied, after a short hesitation, took Tron's hand and touched it to Clu's own.
The former system administrator paused a moment, staring at the three hands so close together, then his palm turned to accept the almost lifeless one, and his other hand closed on top of all of them.
Xia could see the counting of nano-cycles behind the blue eyes shifting this way and that, the way it went in her own mind, until finally Flynn straightened, holding up the disc. Clu grabbed it first, and helped her seat Tron up to attach it - then in turn held the too-quiet program against himself.
"He'll need a bit of time to restart. But he'll be as good as new... well, okay, as good as if he'd never been wounded." Small headshake, and the User's eyes rested, concerned and warm, on the three of them. Alan sat for another moment, then he sharply got up and stepped away from them, facing in the distance. In a bit - but not immediately - Flynn rose to his feet and followed.
"He could have..."
"But he didn't."
"You knew what you were doing, when you made the call to bring him here."
"Known variables. Even with the unusual damage, I knew I, we, could keep things under control here." His arm reached around Alan's shoulders, and the taller user paused, then leaned against him. "It's well now."
Or would be.
They had an interminable amount of time to wait, or it felt so, until Tron came to.
Shortly, Xia almost wished they were outside, so she could cry. She'd never felt the need to, before.
Her place was in there, though. Her hand rested on Tron's shoulder, and she scuttled closer to Clu, somewhat leaning on him. He didn't seem to mind.