When Clu relented, so had Gana: after all, she was chiefly responsible for his code-brother's well-being, and wouldn't hesitate to ban even the administrator of the Grid, if he made a nuisance of himself. But he hadn't. At least, not when it came to finally admitting he could use a rest, even as he'd scrubbed the yawn away with his hand like he could erase it.
He nodded his thanks, but she was already on her way to finalize arrangements. Her subordinates were busy over their monitors, optimizing a dataflow he could detect but not read, not from here--and he wouldn't have pried into it. Their function was to support Gana, and hers to see that his code-brother healed as well as they could manage.
Clu would do his best to help. By fits and starts, he was learning not to interfere with experts, trusting them to know their tasklists better than he did. This was in no small part due to his code-brother's efforts, that constant and steady urge by word and deed to work together, to trust more in others and rely on their abilities without controlling them so tightly. To do better.
He'd stormed down here all ablaze, fearing the worst was in progress or had already happened, and instead he'd found an elite operating unit taking excellent care of his code-brother. He was utterly superfluous to that and maybe a bit of a risk; a delegated visitor who clearly hadn't read the whole thing--or really, any of it--before slapping Yes and launching himself at the pointer.
Raised eyebrows were the least he'd deserved from Gana, for that, and damn well better than he'd have managed if their positions were reversed.
Still. Their dedicated work and tireless expertise didn't mean his code brother was out of the woods yet. Not by a long shot--the scans of him blooming red as a fireplace poker, bitter orange like a house on fire, were proof enough of that--echoed in Gana's detailed reports and in her monitoring suite, who were still actively coordinating an impressive energy management routine, power so dense through the environment he could half feel it, even though it was tightly routed to their patient.
His code-brother, who settled back on the medical bed with a deep, gauzy sort of sigh and a slight squint, an almost tremor not quite blocked out by what had to be an intense and thorough relief script.
Clu did not stare at the network of surgical tape and instead looked down at himself, even as he moved to take his code-brother's hand.
Clu looked down at their hands. He looked at his feet. Felt the quiet hum of the room sort of stretch out between them.
Gasped on the inhale for that soft, matter-of-fact question. "Of course I--" but it was surprise, not anger, that lifted his voice a few notches. "Yes! I thought," unmentionable, terrible thing that might still happen; Clu held it at bay with the truth: "you are very important to me, and I was, I am, worried about you." There was no way to gentle that, but: "You know, Jarvis is losing his mind about it--like, more than usual? We all care about you, man; the whole suite. I had to get down here and see for myself," grinning, tiredly, "but for them, too. We're glad you're okay." Softly. "I'm glad."
no subject
He nodded his thanks, but she was already on her way to finalize arrangements. Her subordinates were busy over their monitors, optimizing a dataflow he could detect but not read, not from here--and he wouldn't have pried into it. Their function was to support Gana, and hers to see that his code-brother healed as well as they could manage.
Clu would do his best to help. By fits and starts, he was learning not to interfere with experts, trusting them to know their tasklists better than he did. This was in no small part due to his code-brother's efforts, that constant and steady urge by word and deed to work together, to trust more in others and rely on their abilities without controlling them so tightly. To do better.
He'd stormed down here all ablaze, fearing the worst was in progress or had already happened, and instead he'd found an elite operating unit taking excellent care of his code-brother. He was utterly superfluous to that and maybe a bit of a risk; a delegated visitor who clearly hadn't read the whole thing--or really, any of it--before slapping Yes and launching himself at the pointer.
Raised eyebrows were the least he'd deserved from Gana, for that, and damn well better than he'd have managed if their positions were reversed.
Still. Their dedicated work and tireless expertise didn't mean his code brother was out of the woods yet. Not by a long shot--the scans of him blooming red as a fireplace poker, bitter orange like a house on fire, were proof enough of that--echoed in Gana's detailed reports and in her monitoring suite, who were still actively coordinating an impressive energy management routine, power so dense through the environment he could half feel it, even though it was tightly routed to their patient.
His code-brother, who settled back on the medical bed with a deep, gauzy sort of sigh and a slight squint, an almost tremor not quite blocked out by what had to be an intense and thorough relief script.
Clu did not stare at the network of surgical tape and instead looked down at himself, even as he moved to take his code-brother's hand.
Clu looked down at their hands. He looked at his feet. Felt the quiet hum of the room sort of stretch out between them.
Gasped on the inhale for that soft, matter-of-fact question. "Of course I--" but it was surprise, not anger, that lifted his voice a few notches. "Yes! I thought," unmentionable, terrible thing that might still happen; Clu held it at bay with the truth: "you are very important to me, and I was, I am, worried about you." There was no way to gentle that, but: "You know, Jarvis is losing his mind about it--like, more than usual? We all care about you, man; the whole suite. I had to get down here and see for myself," grinning, tiredly, "but for them, too. We're glad you're okay." Softly. "I'm glad."