His code-brother had hopped back a bit in sheer surprise, which could have been funny if Clu could just access the right reactions, or much of anything under the wave of alert flags scrolling blearily through his systems--a reminder that he was still pretty messed up. Overcharged, just not critical anymore.
Was that good or bad?
Once freed, the red crackled away from his fingertips and winked out like curls of ash, whereas the stuff on the floor had a half-life, and would need sorting out later on.
He really had overdone it.
The only thing his own systems offered him, besides the sharp tug of dirt, mess, contamination, was the gentle feedback of touch, the careful brush of a hand on his shoulder.
"Y'should," he tried, "want."
Nobody wanted to stay with him. Didn't the hacker know that by now? Clu was pretty sure it was in a manual somewhere. (Implying Flynn ever documented anything, and wasn't that a thought--
One that drifted away from him again, because he had, there was the pressing issue of hands running back and forth just in the center of his back. Just under the dock, this way, that way, gently rubbing out the shakes.
That felt extremely nice.)
"Lucky me," like an echo, sing-song, unaware that he was grinning. "Luckyyy--Luck is a girl, y'know," he announced, tongue drowsy in his mouth. "Lady luck."
His code-brother scooped him up and planted him vertical. His legs still would not quite cooperate, entirely opposed to the existence of his feet, and they shoved him back on his knees, swaying in his code-brother's braced grip.
Nice and close. If only they were dancing instead.
"We'll fix it," he agreed, inane. It felt good, to not be dying. And to be held. He knew, distantly, that he still hurt and would probably be miserable on his next upcycle. But right now? Right now he was aware of the chance of life in a strong grip.
"I'll get it, I always fix it." One problem at a time. "Sleep?"
That sounded great. Why hadn't he tried it before?
He listened, intently, face creased in concentration for the rest of what his code-brother had to say.
I care about you.
Well that was, just going directly in the memory banks, forever.
"You!" Louder than he meant, volume regulation long gone, a cheerful roar. "You, are a good program," with a hard push of his chin against the offered shoulder, "and a good person, and I--" but the right words slid away from him, left him with, "I--"
He blew air through his lips and gulped down hard on the stinging ball of pressure that had almost pushed something suspiciously like tears loose.
"I...Have the door code! So scoot," nudging, with a hum of concentration, squinting at the palm pad, "Gimme."
Nice save, indeed.
Besides, if they hustled, it would minimize any contact transfer.
no subject
Was that good or bad?
Once freed, the red crackled away from his fingertips and winked out like curls of ash, whereas the stuff on the floor had a half-life, and would need sorting out later on.
He really had overdone it.
The only thing his own systems offered him, besides the sharp tug of dirt, mess, contamination, was the gentle feedback of touch, the careful brush of a hand on his shoulder.
"Y'should," he tried, "want."
Nobody wanted to stay with him. Didn't the hacker know that by now? Clu was pretty sure it was in a manual somewhere. (Implying Flynn ever documented anything, and wasn't that a thought--
One that drifted away from him again, because he had, there was the pressing issue of hands running back and forth just in the center of his back. Just under the dock, this way, that way, gently rubbing out the shakes.
That felt extremely nice.)
"Lucky me," like an echo, sing-song, unaware that he was grinning. "Luckyyy--Luck is a girl, y'know," he announced, tongue drowsy in his mouth. "Lady luck."
His code-brother scooped him up and planted him vertical. His legs still would not quite cooperate, entirely opposed to the existence of his feet, and they shoved him back on his knees, swaying in his code-brother's braced grip.
Nice and close. If only they were dancing instead.
"We'll fix it," he agreed, inane. It felt good, to not be dying. And to be held. He knew, distantly, that he still hurt and would probably be miserable on his next upcycle. But right now? Right now he was aware of the chance of life in a strong grip.
"I'll get it, I always fix it." One problem at a time. "Sleep?"
That sounded great. Why hadn't he tried it before?
He listened, intently, face creased in concentration for the rest of what his code-brother had to say.
I care about you.
Well that was, just going directly in the memory banks, forever.
"You!" Louder than he meant, volume regulation long gone, a cheerful roar. "You, are a good program," with a hard push of his chin against the offered shoulder, "and a good person, and I--" but the right words slid away from him, left him with, "I--"
He blew air through his lips and gulped down hard on the stinging ball of pressure that had almost pushed something suspiciously like tears loose.
"I...Have the door code! So scoot," nudging, with a hum of concentration, squinting at the palm pad, "Gimme."
Nice save, indeed.
Besides, if they hustled, it would minimize any contact transfer.