His code-brother gripped him back, twining their hands gently together and taking a moment to process things they'd never quite said before, never out loud like this. They'd never quite hashed the data out between them, nor ever discussed it--not only was his code-brother's skillset important, but he, as a personality, was a unique and unifying harmony in their suite.
Clu wondered if maybe he was clinging too tight, if maybe it was unfair of him to be so upset, when his code-brother was used to being in danger, clearly programmed to expect and handle a certain amount of risk, and after all was made as sturdily as he himself was--
And if it was harrowing, to listen to his code-brother describe solitude as his default, a calculated state embraced of pure necessity--well. Clu also understood that. Clu, who was less flexible than his fellow functions, but more intricate and many orders more powerful, such that he was forever holding himself a bit rigid, because when he did lash out, it was often permanent.
He had done a great long list of irrevocable things, but. He could not have imagined doing any of them alone. Not truly. And he never was, never had been, except once--and then only because he had pushed it, or pushed himself outside of it--
Still.
Central was one unit, of which his core team were another, smaller part, the linchpin of a vast and complex system. He could not imagine a Grid without them in it. In which they did not all affect each other, for good or ill; bound together in weakness or in strength. Clu amplified whatever he was put to. Drew out whatever could be made, perfect and entire, from the potentials before him.
And his-code brother was shifting that in new and important directions. For all of them.
Clu thrilled to their shared appetite for narrow margins in speed and escape. Held close their common tendency to carve a problem to its bases. And he'd come to rely on the hacker's bravery--more than Clu had ever realized! Especially at first.
But never once had it occurred to him that this...might be hurting his code-brother. Or at the very least pushing him to take damaging risks. Had been from the start, since they'd plunged into what he'd made of the Sea herself and done their level best. That wound in the system still wasn't closed, might never be completely whole.
He could not linger long on that thought. Not with everything they'd just gone through and everything around them still very much the way it was.
Besides--
"Well, I mean, Jarvis is the embodiment of a hard-coded argument in favor of decaf, but yeah he--" How to put this? Precisely, if not perfectly, and with gentle affection: "he doesn't hover for just anybody, man."
Mostly for the two of them. And it got on Clu's nerves--like, totally--but it was also invaluable to be reminded to eat, to drink, to rest, tirelessly by someone whose own anxiety was his main fuel in turn. It dawned on Clu, holding his code-brother's hand and listening to him talk of the odds forever growing longer, and how new it was to have someone waiting up for him, that Clu should tell them more, show them more, how very much he appreciated that.
So Clu held his hand, and just listened, even as something sparked along their grasp--realization, or epiphany: as it dawned on his code-brother, or quietly between them, just how important he was to all of them.
No fanfare. No parade. No fireworks. There would be no statue.
But--
"I've watched you," Clu said at last. "I've studied you very carefully. And y'know what? You take risks like others breathe, and you do play the odds, but you also call me on my nonsense, and look out for the others, too--even with me in your way!" A well of feelings he wasn't sure what to do with, frustration and worry and affection and--oh--something more, too, something so ancient he was afraid to use its name, fierce and bright.
It roughened his voice. "But do you know what the data says? Because the data don't lie."
"Every time, you went out of your way, you took the outsize risk," Gently, so gently, leaned down to put his pressed his lips there, just over their hands, because it wouldn't hurt him that way and it couldn't hurt to demonstrate, "you were doing it to help."
He snorted softly, drew to standing, but didn't let go and didn't look away.
no subject
Clu wondered if maybe he was clinging too tight, if maybe it was unfair of him to be so upset, when his code-brother was used to being in danger, clearly programmed to expect and handle a certain amount of risk, and after all was made as sturdily as he himself was--
And if it was harrowing, to listen to his code-brother describe solitude as his default, a calculated state embraced of pure necessity--well. Clu also understood that. Clu, who was less flexible than his fellow functions, but more intricate and many orders more powerful, such that he was forever holding himself a bit rigid, because when he did lash out, it was often permanent.
He had done a great long list of irrevocable things, but. He could not have imagined doing any of them alone. Not truly. And he never was, never had been, except once--and then only because he had pushed it, or pushed himself outside of it--
Still.
Central was one unit, of which his core team were another, smaller part, the linchpin of a vast and complex system. He could not imagine a Grid without them in it. In which they did not all affect each other, for good or ill; bound together in weakness or in strength. Clu amplified whatever he was put to. Drew out whatever could be made, perfect and entire, from the potentials before him.
And his-code brother was shifting that in new and important directions. For all of them.
Clu thrilled to their shared appetite for narrow margins in speed and escape. Held close their common tendency to carve a problem to its bases. And he'd come to rely on the hacker's bravery--more than Clu had ever realized! Especially at first.
But never once had it occurred to him that this...might be hurting his code-brother. Or at the very least pushing him to take damaging risks. Had been from the start, since they'd plunged into what he'd made of the Sea herself and done their level best. That wound in the system still wasn't closed, might never be completely whole.
He could not linger long on that thought. Not with everything they'd just gone through and everything around them still very much the way it was.
Besides--
"Well, I mean, Jarvis is the embodiment of a hard-coded argument in favor of decaf, but yeah he--" How to put this? Precisely, if not perfectly, and with gentle affection: "he doesn't hover for just anybody, man."
Mostly for the two of them. And it got on Clu's nerves--like, totally--but it was also invaluable to be reminded to eat, to drink, to rest, tirelessly by someone whose own anxiety was his main fuel in turn. It dawned on Clu, holding his code-brother's hand and listening to him talk of the odds forever growing longer, and how new it was to have someone waiting up for him, that Clu should tell them more, show them more, how very much he appreciated that.
So Clu held his hand, and just listened, even as something sparked along their grasp--realization, or epiphany: as it dawned on his code-brother, or quietly between them, just how important he was to all of them.
No fanfare. No parade. No fireworks. There would be no statue.
But--
"I've watched you," Clu said at last. "I've studied you very carefully. And y'know what? You take risks like others breathe, and you do play the odds, but you also call me on my nonsense, and look out for the others, too--even with me in your way!" A well of feelings he wasn't sure what to do with, frustration and worry and affection and--oh--something more, too, something so ancient he was afraid to use its name, fierce and bright.
It roughened his voice. "But do you know what the data says? Because the data don't lie."
"Every time, you went out of your way, you took the outsize risk," Gently, so gently, leaned down to put his pressed his lips there, just over their hands, because it wouldn't hurt him that way and it couldn't hurt to demonstrate, "you were doing it to help."
He snorted softly, drew to standing, but didn't let go and didn't look away.
"I'm amazed you didn't notice that we noticed."