tanks4thememory (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
tanks4thememory) wrote2020-12-09 10:29 pm
tanks4thememory) wrote2020-12-09 10:29 pm
Two heads are better than one
Who: Clu1 and Clu 2 (a_perfect_end)
The life and times- and sexytimes of Clus One and Two in the ABO universe, collected here for the sake of convenience and avoiding page clutter. Multiple scenarios, lots of fun. Mostly of the NSFW variety.
Where: Their User world abode and possibly other places
When: Some undetermined time post Legacy and after this thread
What: ABO sexytimes and maybe other things; a Clu on Clu catchall
Warnings: VERY NSFW. Multiple kinks, ABO related warnings, sorta incest depending how you view programs from the same User, basically enter at your own risk if you're not into that sort of thing
The life and times- and sexytimes of Clus One and Two in the ABO universe, collected here for the sake of convenience and avoiding page clutter. Multiple scenarios, lots of fun. Mostly of the NSFW variety.
take five, take care, take cover - cw: substances (alcohol), consent issues, self-destruction~
Instead--
The extent of what happened was terribly clear within moments: four full lanes of highway simply buckled, pitched into the Sea by girders snapped like broken fingers.
Clu dismissed all external settings and got to work on why it had happened, head down amid the screaming of alarms, with ever more data drifting in from the wreckage, but never any survivors.
A shift passed in that fashion, then two. Then three. Then there were no more alarms: no one else was coming.
Jarvis dared approach him on the fourth milicycle, tentative and thrumming with anxious solicitation disguised as a tray. And on that tray were a neat row of glasses: three green and two blue chased with one white soft as candles in a fussy, delicate dish. White, harmless as milk.
Imagine! Like Clu needed steadying or could be handled, the way you'd distract a beta. As though he could be bribed from his office with the lure of a treat.
Clu snarled at him and dismissed all incoming traffic down to the packet level, and locked the damn door behind him.
None of this would be happening if he had just worked the whole problem himself in the first place. Instead, his eyes were crossing at the totals, blurred with fatigue and stung with something more. Something worse.
It had all started with something so mundane. One tiny error somewhere. One little false that had cascaded into all this--until a motorway the width of a city block folded up like a child's puzzle and vanished.
Everyone inside was gone before the derezz even finished.
Clu would find that fault himself. He'd chase it to its origin if it took the rest of his runtime.
Six milicycles in, six shifts without pause, and the tray was calling his name--just gently, with the subtle tug of green flags around a good memory: here was energy, here was the power to keep at it. This might shake the processes he needed loose.
Clu scrambled about for a stylus in the stacks of data he still had to go, and stirred white and blue together.
The frisson of charge put his ideas back into sequence with a harsh, sudden lurch: he should have left this to Shaddox, but Shaddox was gone, too. Unrecoverable.
And if he could just find the origin, all would become clear. There was nothing wrong with the structure, according to the wireframes: maybe something in the mapping? Maybe it had been overbuilt.
He was not a designer. He should not have pushed so hard. Clu folded his head in his hands, curled on the desktop, and just didn't move a while, the feeds still rolling on one wall above him: all the lights going out, again and again on a loop. Lives dancing out of existence, bright as fireworks.
Maybe it was just him?
Seven milicycles. Another glass. His people needed answers, and Clu had none. He did have a tray full of green, though, and that last lonely blue.
He shook them together until they burned a violent fireplace red, held his breath, and took a swig that almost knocked him over. Reality crashed through in a scalding rush--the fault wasn't in the design and it wasn't in any of the maps.
It was in the Sea.
Or, in what he'd made of the Sea.
Everything was running exactly as he'd made it.
They should have been celebrating.
Clu couldn't quite remember how to dismiss a feed. Or, he could remember, but. His fingers wouldn't do it right.
...The glass was empty. The tray was empty, but it was still there. Easy enough to call for more. Clu reached into his accounts--into every scrap of energy he was owed for the last seven shifts, and poured out red after red.
How the door got open was beyond him. As was when, precisely, or how--without his say-so? Jarvis with his skeleton keys, weird name for a hash key, latch-key, for ding, dong, ditch...
The door was a mystery. But the figure waiting there was too familiar: straight and stern as though carved like it, and unbearably concerned.
Not Tron. Broadcasting way too much for him, way too loud, scorching signal bright as a halo.
"F--" no, not for ages, and never, ever again. "You."
Clu drew himself up to his full height--and promptly slouched over, instead. Red didn't want him vertical, or in any sort of order, really. Not that it stopped him from trying, scrubbing his hands in his hair, going for the smile, try, try again.
Get it perfect.
"You're a tough one to find," only swaying a little, crooning, "What kept you?"
no subject
The admin was right about one thing, at least; the programs of the Grid needed answers. And since he wasn't the only one capable of investigating, his hacker brother had also lent his skills to finding out what the glitch had gone wrong. But where the admin spent time searching through datafeeds, Clu's methods were more hands on. Literally in this case; pieces of the highway that were too large to derezz on their own had been fished out of the Sea by recognizers and once they were on dry land, Clu had gone over them with his inbuilt code-reading abilities, looking for any hint as to what may have caused the collapse.
At first he found a whole lot of nothing; most pieces he was able to examine were so damaged by the collapse itself and their albeit short time in the Sea that any potential evidence had been wiped away. But then, a few millicycles in, a sizable chunk of one of the main structural supports was found, and it was there that he found it; the telltale signs of a gridbug nest. Ordinarily, this would have been no issue; the span had been designed to withstand damage from small to medium gridbug incursions. But these particular gridbugs had chosen to nest in a nigh inaccessible nook of the support, burrowing in instead of spreading out, and gradually eating away at the support's inner structure with not a program the wiser.
If Clu's hunch was correct, the gridbugs had likely finally found their way to the weakened support's main energy conduit, which would have caused a massive short almost immediately. Given the state of the support, that could have done it. And if that were true... well the whole thing would likely have been a complete fluke. A tragic accident that not even the most thorough design or stats programs could have predicted. Clu had returned to HQ to compile his report, which he'd then submitted to stats an analysis to double check, and see if their findings matched the scenario he thought most likely.
That had been several millicycles ago. Several millicycles since Jarvis had approached him, looking even more nervous than usual; he'd been unceremoniously ejected from the admin's chambers after daring to interrupt him to bring him some energy, and privately mentioned his concern about how his admin had looked. Several millicycles since the admin had locked himself in those same chambers and cut off all external feeds. Several millicycles of everyone trying to function normally despite the tensions buzzing in the air. Several millicycles of Clu respecting his brother's privacy and trying to similarly pretend.
Until he couldn't any more. Late into the seventh millicycle since the disaster, creeping up on the eighth, Clu was done waiting. Whatever this was, it was well past the point of his code-brother's usual stubborn dedication. So Clu got to work. All in all, it didn't take him too long to bypass the encryptions on the door; he'd need to talk to his brother about upgrading them later. But that was shunted firmly to the bottom of the tasklist by what he saw when he entered.
In contrast to his brother's usual somewhat obsessive neatness, there were energy containers of various sizes- glasses and bottles mostly, but he thought he saw a pitcher in there too- scattered carelessly about. And what they'd contained was obvious; the harsh, static-heavy residual signature of Red was so prevalent in the room it was detectable even from the doorway. And it became even stronger when Clu stepped fully inside closing and relocking the door behind him. Judging by the evidence, his code-brother had likely drunk enough of the stuff to kill most lesser programs. And given the still partly filled bottle sitting next to his chair, it didn't look like he intended to stop any time soon.
His code-brother initially offered him a somewhat slurred curse by way of a greeting, before getting unsteadily to his feet to approach him. Really the fact that he could walk at all was remarkable just then, but Clu doubted it would last long, judging by his overbright and fluctuating circuits. "I could say the same for you," he said, unmoved by the overcharged crooning. "You've been in here for nearly eight millicycles now. Though I have a feeling I know what's been keeping you, at least recently. How much red have you had?"
cw: in which vomit does not quite happen, but it absolutely will
The first recovery team were still in repairs, but they'd brought reports with them: the few good sectors had been quarantined, and the signature that remained stank of bugs. Standard structural mischief had been prevented in pylons 10 through 16, repelled by their precautions and built to last. There had been a cyclic anomaly in 15, something in the harmonics, absorbed by the distribution around it. Still well within tolerance--above nominal, in fact.
The physics were beautifully correct. According to every available input, there were no errors to report. And yet moments later, pylon 17 went critical and dumped its total power payload straight down, a torrent of energy that kicked off a massive short--
Probable conclusion: the error had originated in the Sea.
Only, Clu couldn't say it, his parser jagged and sticky and full of ugly words. All he wanted to do was stomp and swear, and that just made him angrier.
"Really? Y'wanna start there? And not with--" why did his feet not seem to understand where his legs were, "Not--literally, anything, else? Where's, your," oh, oh what were they called, zing, "priorities?"
He tried to sit--he tried to fall--and pushed himself up again with the arm of the chair.
But standing was a mistake. Something roiled in his torso, a hot wave of alarm that he almost didn't swallow down. He gasped, pushed the words out from underneath his prickling tongue.
"Get off my case, man, if y' know's good for you."
Very scary, indeed.
Oh it definitely will.
The bug damage to the surface, the damage that would have warned them of the impending danger had the bugs behaved normally, was indeed minor. It hardly would have been worth noting, in fact. But Clu's own, more direct sensors had shown what the structure's inbuilt sensors could not. Just like the mass of data logs that the admin had been searching through provided him with points of comparison, a baseline to judge his own sensor readings against. Two differing approaches, that- while either too broad or too narrow to be entirely effective on their own- supported and complimented each other.
At least they normally did. But with all external feeds blocked and now the admin seemingly attempting to drink himself to deresolution, that effectiveness went straight into the recycler. Clu wasn't sure what conclusion the admin had drawn that would lead him down such a decision tree- though he had a few guesses- but the results were clear, and helped no one.
His code brother could be quite menacing when he wanted to be. While he lacked the advanced combat protocols of a security program, he was just as dangerous- if not more so- in a fight due to his sheer strength and durability. If it came down to a one on one fight with both of them at their best, Clu knew that the odds would be firmly against him.
But that menace joined their effectiveness in the recycler in the admin's current state, and Clu stood his ground without fear. Though with a solid mix of exasperation and concern. "My priorities," he said, "are currently to make sure this system's admin doesn't drink himself into an unrecoverable state, which you seem to be trying to do. My other priorities have already been discharged and my report submitted, which you'd know if someone hadn't blocked all external feeds."
"And no can do, because someone clearly needs to be on your case right now. You've restricted Tron's programming too much for him to be of much help, and Jarvis would rather cut off his own arm with a glitchy disc than do anything that could be construed as confrontational. Which leaves me as the only option. Besides... I'm just worried about you." Clu suspected a number of programs were. But it was much more personal for him than most, for a variety of reasons.
cw: program puke is gnarly, serious don't like don't read territory
Calm. Implacable. Not to be budged.
And worried about him.
Clu squinted for that, trying to piece together threads that no longer wanted to merge into coherent findings, not with all this power tangled inside him.
Was he trying to die? Maybe he was trying to die. It hadn't started exactly that way, but. He'd needed the energy, at least at first, and then once he'd reached a conclusion--all he'd wanted was to rinse it out again.
The line between finally not processing anything and not existing was razor thin. Flynn had built him sturdy.
And Clu had sent them all to drown.
What came out was: "...Why?"
No accusation, small and sharp, all puzzlement and something almost soft, something weaker he would have hated if he had the capacity left.
Speaking at all had been the wrong choice. The last nudge on strained, aching resistors, and he barely had time to raise a hand, arm braced to get his fingers over his mouth as his insides gave an enormous twisting heave--
And liberated the excess. Harsh wet feedback rushed slick and foul through his grip and lingered noxiously on him and on the floor. Even as his circuits twinged in outraged disgust he tried to remind himself that this was natural, that free-standing energy in any form could be returned to the system--
He could feel where he was shivering, heard himself make a miserable, tiny noise, and retched harder. He was starting to panic, sides heaving after air he didn't need. There was more, how was there more, what had he done--
Just when he thought it might actually burn a hole in his throat, it was over. There was nothing more inside him, despite a last dry cough. Equilibrium achieved.
He knew, very well by now, that it was impossible to die of shame.
"You can go," ragged, harsh, still hunched over, not looking, "if you want. I--" Wanna crawl into a hole somewhere "I have your report. Well done, program."
Thin praise, but the best he had right now.
He knew better than to expect, or to even dare to want, any sort of comfort. And he had a mess to clean up.
Re: cw: program puke is gnarly, serious don't like don't read territory
Though strangely his expression shifted from overcharged aggression to something that would have been thoughtful, had the admin not been so unfocused. He stared at Clu as though he were a string of data he couldn't quite read, a puzzle he couldn't quite find the solution to. Clu wondered what he was trying to piece together about him. Then a simple, one word question. Just as puzzled as his expression, and softer in tone than he'd ever heard his code-brother speak before.
It was an easy question to answer, but Clu was delayed in doing so by that 'something' that had been going to give doing so, suddenly and somewhat violently. He half jumped back and to the side slightly in startlement; true, he'd been expecting basically this to happen, but not so abruptly or with such force. Nor quite so much of it; just how much Red had his code-brother drank? And should he move to assist, support him so he didn't collapse?
Before he could reach the decision gate though, it was rendered moot, as the admin's systems finally reached some semblance of equilibrium and the energy purge ceased. Not enough to spare him from the consequences of this massive bender; there was no way he wouldn't feel like a recognizer had crash landed on him when he came online for his next upcycle. But he was at least out of the real danger zone.
Immediate concern from the admin's life was replaced by something gentler at the weak, ragged dismissal. And the admin was likely in for a surprise, as he'd feel a gentle hand on his still faintly trembling shoulder. "Well," Clu said equally gently, "lucky for you then that I don't want."
The hand shifted to lightly rub his back below the disc dock for a moment to hopefully soothe away a bit of the shaking before Clu's whole arm went around his back, securing itself under his arms and disc dock to haul him as carefully has possible to his feet. Letting him lean as much of his weight as he needed to on the hacker. "Come on," he said. "Let's get you to bed so you can sleep the rest of this off. The mess can wait."
A bit of a sidestep to get clear of the puddle, and once Clu was sure the admin's feet were as under him as he could manage, he began guiding them slowly toward the room's other door. The one that led to the admin's private quarters. "And to answer your query, I'm worried because you clearly need someone to worry about you. And because no matter what else you are-", sysadmin, would-be tyrant, sometimes complete glitching idiot, "-you're still my younger code-brother, and I care about you."
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.
no subject
The admin was truly the architect of his own misery in a lot of ways. Clu wondered if he'd perhaps inherited that from their User.
But regardless of how they'd gotten here, they had to deal with the situation as it stood. And standing... wasn't really something the admin was capable of just then, as evidenced by the way he sagged in Clu's grip, the hacker supporting nearly all of his densely-coded weight, which made their progress toward the bedroom a bit more awkward than planned. Words drifted through his processes, a slow musical cadence, 'He ain't heavy, he's my brother. So on we go...' Had he heard them somewhere before? They felt familiar, but he couldn't place them. They still resonated though, and he found them fitting for the situation.
He simply nodded in agreement at his code brother's assertions that he would fix it the mess he'd created. In actuality, Clu intended to spare him that and clean it up for him while he rested, but he was willing to indulge the admin's need for tidiness and order even while overcharged. It would still get done either way, which was the important thing.
He flinched slightly at the volume of the admin's next words so near his ear, but couldn't help but smile a bit too at what was said. And what wasn't quite said. The smile turned a bit wry, though at the mention of the door code. "Yeah, we'll need to talk about your door codes once you're not completely fragged," he said. "It was way too easy for me to get in here." Nonetheless, he scooched them over slightly giving his code brother easier access to the palm pad.
What he picked up from both touch and broadcast was too garbled and fragmented to make any sense of, which was to be expected. But there were a lot of emotions there, much more than the admin willingly showed when sober, feelings swirling and tumbling around each other like a resolution of excited bits. And just about as hard to grasp or pin down.
After a likely moment of fumbling on the admin's part, the door opened and they stepped inside. Clu closed and relocked the door behind them, ensuring an extra layer of privacy, before heading toward the bed that was the room's central feature. Large enough to accommodate three or four programs comfortably, and so neatly and crisply made that one could've probably bounced a data-hex off of the dark sheets, it suited its owner to a t. The rest of the room's furnishings followed suit. Luxurious, some items even beautiful in an angular way, but all so neat and rigidly controlled that it would be difficult for a stranger to tell the room was even lived in. Clu found that a bit sad.
Reaching the bed didn't take all that long and Clu helped his overcharged code brother to sit down on the edge of it. "There we go," he said. "Now let's just get this template off. Doubt you want any of this stuff on your nice, clean sheets." Some of the less processed red that had ended up on the floor had also ended up on the admin's clothing template, and it would be far simpler to just derezz this copy and rezz up a new one later. Besides, the more circuits exposed, the easier it would be to bleed off excess heat- because all that extra energy had the admin running very hot- and assist in dissipating a bit more excess energy into the environment.
If the admin didn't do so himself, Clu would gently undock his code-brother's disc and slot it into the bedside charger. Then- again if the admin didn't derezz the template himself- he'd press two fingers to a specific point under the edge of the disc dock, causing the template to derezz away from the neck down until the admin sat there with just his bare shell. Like Clu, the admin's anatomy was a mirror of their User's, at least in form, though his code brother possessed a bit more bulk and muscle. And of course a different configuration of circuits, though there were a few key nodes that both of them shared.
"OK, let's get you settled properly," he said. "I wish I could say you'll feel better when you come back online, but I think we both know that's off the table at this point. But sleeping the rest of this off will still help, at least."
no subject
What to do about it escaped him entirely. Often to the point of rage, almost always destructive--he was a big part of the reason Jarvis was, like that, one great perpetual jitter in program form.
Tron. Shaddox. Even his own Maker: he'd hurt them when they threatened his sense of order. When they didn't, couldn't, live up to his idea of perfection. He'd almost wiped away a miracle because they didn't fit the spec, and without a clean Sea, those few survivors would gradually age, like a User, and like a User--expire.
Die.
He could never make it up to them.
No more than he could retrieve the programs lost--
Was it really still today? His internal clock was fried, giving him back only alert and caution every time he moved. Or, while his code-brother walked them and he followed along as best he could.
The clearest thing radiating up from that juncture was a stray bit of--of music, and Clu couldn't really follow it, but it drifted warm through their proximity just the same. Something mellow and sort of, tender, like The Cetera Stuff that an age ago Flynn had teased him for, but kept bringing him more of anyway.
Until he'd ruined everything.
That would have to wait. There was the urgent matter of the door (not quite a big door, but with the same frisson of excited tension bristling from somewhere, dream or memory) and good or bad, Clu was the one with the auth here.
Even if he'd been distracted a bit for the smile, it vanished with a rude, wet snort for fragged--even though it was clinically true.
The code was right, and Clu knew it was right, but the input refused to accept his combination. Growling a little, he reached in and shoved until he was through the surface, through its concept of itself, until the idea of the door was pushed into EKEYREVOKED...
And in they went.
"Hah," smirking. Open, says me. "Told you."
His code-brother was clearly in awe of his impeccable powers of decoration.
Still, it was good to sit down, even if he needed some help. Template? Off? Yes. Breadboards above, if it meant he'd feel even a little less like he were melting, naked would be good. Useful.
And preferable to, he was still wearing it, a sticky spatter of backcycled red that made him grit his teeth on a sudden wave of pressure so strong it might as well be nausea--the thing was filthy and he needed to get it off, get rid of it--
Only, when he nudged to dismiss it, it stayed put. Great. Now he'd touched it. He hissed in frustration and scrunched his eyes shut in a bid for calm.
They flew open again for the gentle but unmistakable tug of self-separation from his disc.
"Hey!" Squinting, arms doing something ridiculous in the bid for a motion that would neither smear the sheets nor topple him over, "That's, mine--!"
But his code-brother only glanced down at it, turned it lateral, and saw it safely racked and stacked.
When his his code-brother touched him, Clu squirmed. All the hacker wanted was to help him. It was no different than Clu undressing himself for bed, except for the part where he was too charged to manage it, with a pang of dirt, gross; you're the reason he's touching dirt--
Just. That spot. There were a lot of connections there, circuits feeding out to the dock and inward to the trunk line. Reaction varied across individuals: some programs were ticklish. Others couldn't take the intensity and flinched away.
And for a few--
Clu shivered into it and didn't quite manage to smother a low, hungry sound.
This needed doing. It had to come off; he was running too hot. Hotter yet with the suit finally coming apart--so bright he could see himself, gold to the edge of crackling, like something molten.
"Cool it, huh?" Rueful, but not ashamed, and not pulling away. "S' too good."
They did not have time, and his code-brother probably didn't even want, to play with him.
no subject
Which he suspected was the glitch in the whole thing. His code brother couldn't get his vocal functions to produce the necessary words, because doing so would be dangerously close to admitting his own imperfection. And if even he himself was imperfect, to him at least, it would be admitting to a failed directive; one of every program's greatest fears.
What the admin needed was a new definition of perfection. Or a definition at all really. Flynn's directives tended to be very broad based. On one hand, this could be a good thing, as it allowed his more flexible programs a greater degree of freedom to interpret their directives as they saw fit. But on the other, it could leave more rigid and structured programs like his code brother feeling lost and unmoored, leading to logic faults that multiplied exponentially as decision trees branched out from them.
The admin had at least managed to realize his own faulty logic, and was gradually working to correct it. But with such a tangled mess of decision trees, justifications, consequences, and regrets, it was slow going. Clu could only hope that his decision to get completely fragged would end up garnering a net positive.
And speaking of him being completely fragged, he wondered briefly if he should bring in a basin of some sort, just in case, as his code brother looked like he might bring up more partially processed red for a moment. Thankfully, that wasn't necessary, and he got the admin's disc undocked and safely on the charger with no issues aside from some vaguely comical motions of protest before his code brother quite realized what he was doing.
Derezzing the outfit though. Ah... yeah, he probably should have thought that reaction might be possible. Ordinarily such a brief touch wouldn't have done much, even there, but with the amount of charge coursing through the admin's systems, it wasn't too surprising. Though it did turn his expression somewhat awkward for the first time in their encounter.
Doing something more would probably be a bad idea. Overcharged interfacing nearly always was, in one way or another. And besides, it was... just a bit weird. There wasn't really anything taboo among programs about code-brothers interfacing, it was just very seldom done unless the programs in question were specifically designed for it. Largely because most code-brothers simply didn't have the sort of relationship that would even lend itself to the idea.
Of course, he and his younger code-brother were far from a normal case in any number of ways. But the fact remained that it was... an odd notion. And that now was probably an especially bad time to explore it, even if they wanted to.
Clu's expression shifted to a bit of a smile, though the awkwardness remained. He gently patted his code brother's upper arm, far enough down to avoid any of his larger circuit nodes. "You should... probably lay down and try to get some downtime," he said. "And I think you can take that from here. So I'll just leave you to it." Another slightly awkward pat on the admin's arm, and he straightened back up, turning to go.
no subject
And he had compounded his error in red. Maybe he really was slipping, or maybe everything was too much for him. Maybe he was imperfect. If he was perfect, then everything was his fault, and if he was not perfect, then he was the source of the problem--and so, it was his fault. A neat little circle. Perfect loop.
He was still sort of doing it, flooded in error of another kind, running hot and flustered for what was probably just courteous, polite, necessary touch. Not least because, with one thing and another, it was the most he had been touched in a very long time.
Only, somehow he had messed it up already.
This close, he could--not quite feel--more detect it, notice it, a flash of something hesitant in the core contact, however brief. His code-brother was not sure they should be touching, with or without things like culture norms in their way.
(Flynn had sort of explained, once, over the ceaseless din at the End of Line. Only, Clu had been in Shaddox's lap at the time, and so his exact recall was, vague. But it was a thing, for Users, and kind of a thing for programs, too--it was, a little weird, to want real close to your own fork. More because they tended to share a task set, and so pairs like that were usually built bundled together.)
"Wait," softly, for the careful, awkward pitter-patter on his bare arm. It gathered to a shout, for the goodbye smile, for the way his code-brother's back was turned. "Wait, wait!"
He lurched to his feet, a heavy lunge vertical from the edge of the bed, bodily draping his code-brother tight with both arms before he lost the chance.
"Stay?" It wasn't a command. It wasn't. It was feedback-loud, clarion want bright in his veins, jagged with something too small to be hope. "Stay, here, with, me?"
And with the request finally loose, more words came. "You're a good program; you're too good. I'll--" he made a small noise, sharp and rough, into the side of his code-brother's neck, "I'll ruin you, if you stay, but I don't want you to go."
no subject
When he was able to focus on the embrace itself, though... No, it was too desperate to be called anything as gentle as an embrace. His code brother was clinging to him as though Clu was the only thing keeping him from derezzing. And what he felt along with it was equally desperate. It was all a bit jumbled still, of course, but the want was crystal clear. There was also something small and jagged that was harder to read; maybe something that wanted to be hope, but didn't quite dare to be.
It was the intensity of it all that was most surprising. Being overcharged tended to disable one's inhibitions, but it didn't produce emotions out of nowhere. How long had this been building up for? And what exactly did he mean by that last bit?
Clu's concern was evident, but so was a degree of understanding. He reached up and patted the admin's forearm, the motion only made awkward this time by the fact that his upper arms were currently somewhat pinned by his code-brother's grip. "I wasn't gonna go far, you know," he said gently. "But alright, I'll stay. Not sure what you mean by thinking you'd 'ruin me', though." Since the admin seemed willing to talk for the moment, he'd best take advantage of it to get some clear data.
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Clu blinked, considered, and hung on. He had acted with more force than he meant, coiled and desperate. Surprise and concern washed bright up the mains where they hadn't quite collided, where Clu was still tightly wrapped around him. Something else, too--was it worry? Curiosity? Maybe shock?
Too fuzzy, all jumbled with surprise, and he was still running on too much power.
For his part, Clu was sure of two things: he might be hurting the hacker, and he did not want to let go. Especially not when his code-brother patted his arm, pinned a little awkwardly by Clu's grip. After all, his code-brother hadn't been planning on going far, and he'd said he'd stay.
...Still.
"Don't go," Clu insisted, low, not quite growling, "At all. Stay here. It's nice here. Or, it, it can be."
Maybe if Clu weren't squeezing him so. As for the rest of it--Clu let out a tiny sigh.
"Please," a foreign word, slow with the energy and heavier with disuse, "here, sit."
Relinquishing his grip only to dance one arm around his code-brother's waist, underhand instead of the User shoulder-grab--more polite, because it avoided his disc dock, and yet more personal, a clinch of camraderie that thrummed with every offer except escape.
Sure fit their sides together nicely, though. Felt real good. Might be better if they were both on the bed.
Was he stalling? He was stalling, and it made him squint.
"You know," wry, "y'were reading me the riot act a bit ago, huh? Jarvis, Shaddox, Rinzler," pointed use of his new name, arch, "even...the old man--I--"
"I break as many as I fix. Results don't lie." Smiling, empty predator grin to hold his voice steady. "And I've wanted you a long. Time. Almost since I met you."
And before he could think twice about it, he patted the mattress with his free hand for emphasis.
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The fear of losing another connection. Losing the progress they'd made together. Of falling back into old, destructive patterns without the hacker's stabilizing influence. The fear of just... being alone. Because if one thing had become abundantly clear, it was that despite his independent circuit color, the admin really didn't do well alone.
"It is a nice room," he agreed. "Would be nicer if it looked like someone actually lived here, but... we can work on that." A promise to stay and a subtle promise that it'd be for longer than just this downcycle. That he wasn't just humoring his over-charged code-brother.
He slipped an arm around the admin's back in similar fashion, keeping him supported and balanced. It was significantly more comfortable than the previous hold, and let him accept his code-brother's offer to sit in a somewhat dignified manner, carefully guiding them both to sit back on the bed somewhat gently rather than being pulled by the overcharged admin's weight and just flopping over. He settled them back onto the mattress as his code brother spoke, their sides fitting together even more comfortably once seated.
He chuckled a bit at the claim that his code brother had wanted him almost from the beginning. "Really? What was it that made me so attractive back then? The function binders? Maybe the free code fragments stuck all over me? Or maybe it was the fact that I probably looked like I wanted to take your head off when we first met?" He was mostly joking about those things, of course. But he genuinely did want to know what had sparked this particular desire. After all, their initial meeting hadn't exactly been friendly.
His expression softened though, as he gently rubbed his code-brother's side with the arm he had slipped around him. Still more a soothing gesture than anything else, though there were a few circuits there and on his back that would get a little friction from it. "You have caused a lot of damage, yeah," Clu said. There was no denying that, really. "But you've realized your error and are trying to correct it. To undo the damage you can, and make up for what you can't. To be the kind of program you were meant to be, the kind of admin the Grid needs. There's a lot of work to do yet, but you're getting there."
"And I for one intend to stick around and help you keep doing that. Flynn once called me 'dogged and relentless', and it's as true now as it was then. I'm not going anywhere, brother. You can count on it."
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Unsteady. He was literally unsteady, still running too hot, and off-balance in a number of other ways. At least his code-brother was helping him to stand. And gradually, to sit.
And--slagging his flawless taste?
"I do live here," gruff, but without anything to it, half a sigh into his shoulder. "It's efficient."
Then it registered: it filtered down that his code-brother had said, they could work on it. Like. We could. As in, us.
Clu squinted. That felt--weird, but good. Very good, to suppose he might not be hearing more Yes, Your Eminence out of a careful and observant program. Maybe his code-brother did want to stay. It was a hope he hadn't quite held out until now. Clu had started his runtime as part of a set, circuits coded a bright operations blue that blazed almost white: User management, stainless as an echo. But he couldn't go on like that. He couldn't remain as he was made and still do as he must, and so--
Like any good, true scientist, one with courage, he'd tested himself first. And with rectification intent made almost no difference: it hadn't gone down easy just because he wanted it. But it had to be done. After all, somebody had to do something about the way things were. And so he'd looked within, reached right down into himself and realigned every line by hand: it had to be perfect.
Clu swore not to any one person, and not to any creed of protection, but to the System.
The System had answered him with his present power, and everything that came with it--including all the responsibilities he'd just tried to rinse away for good. The System needed him, and he, alone, was failing it.
But his code-brother had been rezzed to the gold. Had always been able to rely on himself and always gone his own way, sure and strong. And now their paths were branching together for a time.
Clu intended to hang on for as long as that might be.
We can work on it.
"Hah!" He turned the idea over, slowly, with a shaky grin. "...I'm, picking the linens."
His code-brother gripped him in turn, braced an arm around his back so that they were balanced close against each other. Compared to the tangle he'd snaked them into, his code-brother's touch was downright comfortable, an embrace that tucked them both neat to the mattress, secure and safe. Clu considered that with a pensive hum.
He'd just have to try harder if he wanted to pull both of them down onto the bed--a heady, bright buzz of an idea that sadly skirled off into nothing effective. He still couldn't quite grasp the exact tasks he wanted, or not in the right order, and he might not for some time.
Maybe that was okay. His code-brother would be there.
That chuckle glided warm through Clu's processes and neatly held his attention, snared by the almost jaunty tone that went with it, salted and dry.
Clu considered that night, hummed grittily with the sudden, vivid memory of their first meeting. He nodded to his code-brother's points, almost keeping tempo, and only just managed to avoid expressing whatever wanted out about the binders. That was--treacherous and almost spiky up the mains, a harsh square wave of something hot and cold that he'd make a mess of fer shure, something that nonetheless tugged his tongue flat in his mouth a moment. There was a definite charge there.
He actually growled, before the words he wanted found their way out.
"Y'were fearless," a rough, sudden crow of admiration. "Even when you knew I had you! Coulda done anything," that twinged, same as the binders; he felt himself flicker, "to you, at all, and you were not afraid. Y'were ready to glass me," he acknowledged, wry, "but not afraid."
Something, something, and tidings of great joy--those, or Chicago lyrics, hazy with warmth and the idea of mellow strings.
Clu shivered pleasantly for the warm weight of his code-brother's arm, for steady soothing touch, even the crisp crackle of feedback it roused. It was nice, somehow--there was something nice about it. They were warm together. And it kept him listening, even through everything he couldn't make up for. Even through the outline of all he'd done.
The kind of admin the Grid needed? If his code-brother truly saw that in him, well.
Maybe it was really there.
"Careful, man, I'm gonna hold you to that." But he said it soft. Clu ducked stinging eyes shut tight against him with a nudge. "Maybe just, hold, you for a bit."
He leaned into his code-brother's grip and gently returned it, pulled snug beside him.
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Not that Flynn had ever left him hanging. Clu had always known that his User was watching his back from somewhere in the Invisible Realm, and Flynn had always done his best to make sure he was as prepared for any mission as he could be. But once he was sent out, he was largely on his own. He couldn't really say he preferred that sort of life, living out of his tank more often than his own in-system quarters almost; having a comfortable bed and a handy defragger was definitely a good thing. But there would always be part of him that itched for the next mission, the next challenge. For the giddy energy rush of successfully evading security, of solving another puzzle. For the static buzz of danger, clambering over rugged code formations, avoiding gridbugs and recos, hiding in dark corners waiting for a security shift change.
The system had been so much wilder then. And he'd been designed to overcome whatever it could throw at him. Maybe this still new connection to his code-brother was the latest challenge thrown his way. A challenge not to overcome or evade, but to nurture and steady. To be a force for balance instead of chaos. Well... maybe a little chaos; he was still a hacker after all. But not the same sort of chaos he'd been sowing on the Grid prior to his capture.
He'd been secretly uploaded with Flynn's last monitor, rerezzed, revamped, updated, and upgraded and tasked with investigating the troubles on Grid quietly, from the shadows, the way the likes of Tron and Anon never could. Just in time to see his investigations rendered moot, and for everything to come crashing down around him. After that? After that had been disturbingly familiar territory for quite some time. Infiltrating a hostile system with a power-mad dictator at it kernel. DO everything within his power to harry and confound that dictator's efforts toward familiar destructive ends.
His current situation was a twist he never would have predicted. But all in all? He wasn't complaining.
"Oh it's certainly efficient, alright," he said regarding the room, his tone clearly implying that he didn't think the design had much else going for it. But that tone broke into a slight chuckle at the comment about linens. "Deal. Maybe we can get some other colors in here, at least; everything on the Grid is so monochrome." That was something he definitely missed about the old system; compared to the Grid, it had been a riot of glowing colors, as diverse as the programs who called it home. Everything on the Grid felt just a bit flat by comparison, even if the resolution was much higher. He wasn't sure if that had been Flynn's idea or his code brother's, but it made the whole place a bit bland and depressing, at least to his processes.
The admin processed over his other question, seemingly struggling a little to get his vocal functions to cooperate enough to properly answer the query. Clu noted the odd flicker at the notion of him being at his code-brother's mercy, filing it away to process more later. He smiled wryly at the notion that he wasn't afraid though. "Oh I was afraid," he said. "Would've been stupid not to be, at least a little bit. But I was way more angry. And definitely ready to glass you." His tone shifted to something a bit more serious for a moment. "Though really, once you've already derezzed once for what you believe in, having to do it again doesn't hold quite the same terror anymore."
He'd never told Flynn that he retained the memory files of his last moments. And probably wouldn't even if he were to have the opportunity. Flynn had seemed upset enough by the knowledge of how Clu had been lost originally the one time he'd met him in this life; there was no need to compound that unless his User specifically asked. Which he doubted he would.
The admin curled a bit closer, returning his grip and half-hiding his face against Clu's shoulder. A gentle smile crossed his face, though it was laced with just a bit of mischief. "I can handle being held," he said. "And returning the favor. Although... if you still want to do more than that, I'm gonna have to disengage for a nano here shortly. Gotta get my own disc and outfit off, you know?" Oh yes, definitely a bit of mischief in both his smile and his tone, even as he leaned his head gently against his code-brother's.
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"He used to say we'd add that later," muttered Clu, sad without understanding why. "What's, why, what--" there was nothing wrong with his aesthetic preferences--halogen gold, mellow streetlight orange. They couldn't be wrong and still be perfect, and so instead of asking what was wrong, he changed thequery parameters, blurting: "Why!"
The overcharge, again. Pushing him to reactions he wouldn't normally allow.
Clu didn't quite sigh. He let his head roll back with it, carefully mellowing his next words until they came out sly and curious.
"What's your favorite? We could get some of it up here." After all, under the right conditions, gold and gold made purple. "Don't really know what it was like," he admitted. "The old--! The last system, I mean. Encom's. Yours."
He liked the being braced snug against his code-brother, but man! Man, oh man, he was positive he did not want--whatever it was that was so compelling about standing over his code-brother like that--out on the table between them just yet.
This was all so, new. Better to nip down his runaway tongue for now.
"Bull," a soft snort, though he still had no idea what el toro really had to do with lying, conceptually. "You forget, man, I have stacks of data and a whole pile of logs, now that I know it's you--Reckless and relentless."
But the words were fond. Somehow, at the bottom of this tank of red, Clu had discovered that he was fond of his code-brother. And when he talked of belief, of derezzing for it, something went tight and brilliant deep in Clu, live-wire hot.
"Y'won't have to do that, ever again." It was almost a vow, from someplace deep. "Not with me."
Clu had settled in firmly, discovering that once he was allowed to, he liked that very much. The glint of his code-brother's mischievous smile only just caught his eye.
Something about needing out of his clothes, to which Clu could entirely relate. Even naked, he still felt almost grilled, radiating heat and other energy castoff.
"Yeah," wry, even as he thrilled quietly to the way their heads rested together. The steady nearness of a fond presence. "Yeah, you don't wanna overheat either."
And for the offer of more he let himself gleam in return, circuits and eyes the same kind of bright, a certain sudden laser focus piercing the veil of red.
He meant it for a gradual smooth lean and ended up flopping back onto the mattress, caught a nano in the richness of soft, dark sheets.
"No kidding?" He huffed out a laugh, just a little grit to it. "Man, don't let me stop you."
With a great big grin, all teeth, gazing up at his code-brother with something bright and intense that was too gauzy with energy to be worship.
Clu had never passed up the offer of a show.
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The mention that his code brother didn't know the old Encom system gave him a bit of an idea though. "I could show you, if you want. I've got plenty of memory files, not just from Encom_511, but from a lot of other systems I visited. I could copy some over to a readme, and we could use that as a starting template. Not just for here, but for other places on the Grid too. It wouldn't be too hard to update most structures to reflect the design." Of course doing it Grid wide would be a huge, ongoing project, just due to the sheer scale of it. It would take time. But it would be eminently doable.
He chuckled at the way the admin refuted his claim to having a normal sense of fear. What even was a bull, honestly? In context he knew that it meant 'lies' or 'nonsense', but that was clearly just a euphemism. Were 'bulls' especially dishonest or something, so much so that the terms had come to be interchangeable? Or was there some other connection that he was missing due to not having a User's frame of reference? Probably the latter.
"Just because I don't tend to show fear as often as some doesn't mean I don't feel it. After all, hacking wouldn't be nearly as much fun if I wasn't afraid of getting caught, and the consequences of what that would mean. But for what it's worth, I'm glad that that's one particular fear I don't have to worry about any more."
When his code brother shifted out of his grip, Clu didn't resist, echoing the slight laugh for the way he flopped back. He really was so, so fragged. He made a note in his priority queue to be sure the admin would have something to take the edge off when he woke up, but for now there were other tasks to attend to.
Like pulling his boots off and settling them in front of the little table that housed the disc charging station. An odd action, perhaps, as he could have simply derezzed them with the rest of his clothing template, but old habits died hard. In any case his Grid suit covered his feet, so it didn't really reveal anything, though the fabric wasn't nearly durable enough for extended use walking outside.
Boots set aside, Clu stood up and removed his disc, placing it on the charging station with his code-brother's, noting thankfully that the rack was designed with two charging ports. A hopeful gesture on his brother's part, maybe? Or just the standard design that he'd felt best fit the room? Either way, it worked out, as now he wouldn't have to stack their discs awkwardly on top of one another; it was doable, but not really recommended.
That done, he derezzed his outfit, doing so a bit more slowly than normal from the top down to give the admin a chance to appreciate the view. The circuits revealed largely mirrored those on his default template, at least on his upper body, though the further down they were the more differences became apparent. Perhaps the most obvious difference was the palms of his hands, though, criss-crossed with such a complex web of delicate circuits that they almost seemed to shimmer. A hacker's hands were his most valuable asset, designed to facilitate the optimum connection to the system and make reading and working with code and energy as easy as possible, but Clu's were complex even by hacker standards. It was no wonder Flynn had called him his best.
But his derezzing template also revealed the evidence of how hazardous being a hacker could be, as a number of scars were in evidence. They were obviously long since repaired and well healed, but they were there; mildly discolored bits of surface render that spoke of long ago injuries. Many of them jagged lines that left circuits slightly dimmer where they intersected; clothing templates evened everything out, but on bare shell, the effect was difficult to miss.
Still if Clu was at all self-conscious about them, he didn't show it, instead spreading his arms slightly and turning around once, slowly, so that his code-brother could get a look at him from all angles. "Well?", he said. "What do you think?"
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Clu was aware that he was--touchy--and intensely vain, but something in the hacker's explanation pinged to related ideas, echoed somehow down into his own most private suspicions: that maybe not everything in Clu's own life needed to be a utilitarian monument to his conquests?
And, that, was intriguing.
"Hmm," rumbled Clu, drawn out long through a squint, ending in a puff of air through his nose. Not yes or no, but-- "I mean, it's worth a try."
And at the mention of a readme, at the chance for new data, Clu grinned sharp. The two of them with their heads bent together over a datapad, solving the same problem and cuddling on the same couch, was an abrupt, bright concept that burned warm in his overtuned circuits.
"Yeah, man! If you want, I'd," the thought went slippery, and he finished, "that'd be great."
"You must have seen so many interesting things," with a soft wistfulness he never would've let escape otherwise. Clu caught himself spending far too long wondering what outside was like, how Flynn's world must be, as it was. Tron had looked askance at him for that, asking if he wanted to be like the User--or if he wanted to be him. A ridiculous impossibility and foul sacrilege.
Like most things with Clu, the truth was more direct and much more dangerous: he was curious.
That same curiosity was focused now on the hacker in front of him, his mercurial forked sibling who insisted that he felt fear, all right--and that he felt the joy of facing that fear while achieving his objectives, and that tantalized Clu.
"Oh," gruff, sing-song, "I dunno. You're," how would he have put it in a gloating mood, "wrapped up in my lair, pretty good."
He was sure bull must be some class of monster, a crafty one that always lied. There was a vague concept tag of a tiny man waving something red, and that factored into Clu's hypothesis. The bull itself made no sense, but the useage was clear: any flatly untrue data, often given in an attempt to impress.
But his code-brother was only more impressive for admitting his own fear.
"Oh, I'd like that." To see the whole Grid bloom in the promise of more, a diversity of options he hadn't contemplated. He blinked. "I think."
"Reskinning wouldn't take that long to start," thoughtful, gently letting the idea grow between them out loud, skyscrapers shining in a waterfall of colors sparkling in his processes. "Although it'd choke stuff at scale. Let's--" oh, just maybe--"Let's start with our apartment, huh?"
Ours. It was a hope gently delivered, but unmistakable. He could always plead out, c'mon, I was cooked when I said it: an exit for both of them, no harm done. Clu might be the only one interested in more, and he knew he was--he knew--
It was difficult to hang on to any one specific thought for long. Anyway, he didn't want to chase off such a strong talent, and his code-brother would be staying awhile either way.
The answering laugh had him grinning a bit. His vision was finally straightening out, but his equilibrium was just, gone, and everything felt like it was, sort of hovering. He really was entirely fragged.
Tomorrow would hurt. But that was tomorrow.
Clu sat up a little, swaying, craning his neck for the way the hacker neatly settled his boots by the table, arranging them when he could have dismissed them: it felt like being let in on a secret. And his disc fit the charger elegantly. Clu hadn't quite planned it--that was the charger that came with the table template--but it made for such a nice symmetry.
His code-brother took his time, turning slowly and giving an almost languid tap of dismissal above his collarbone. The template dissolved down his frame in a bright band of disappearance, inch by gleaming inch, betraying geometry only in glimpses. His signature matched his template only so far as the shoulders, and rapidly spread in algebraic intricacy. He grew almost in affine fractals, spiked in complex branches that put Clu in mind of feathers: something intricate and fragile, turned with inifinite precision by an unseen hand. Those magnificent circuits curled up his wrists,, and where Clu himself terminated in the fingers, broad and hot as fangs--his code-brother's lattices ended there, in his palms, in cupped traces so delicate that they seemed to disappear on their edge--
Clu had bright ideas of silk, of web, of lightning, a wash of concepts in User reference that rolled through him in sheer awe.
An entirely different and no less complex feeling boiled through him for the understanding that some of these were scars, one or two thick as rope above dimmed interconnected circuits. Each was a lesson, an act of desperation or bravery knit into his brother's code and worn vivid on his skin.
(What was a net? What was a cobra?)
"Man," low, slow, gone ponderous with heavy regard and the weight of his own tongue. He coughed, once, tried again, trying to sit, straightened. "Man, look at you," But of course he couldn't; Clu did not allow mirrors, not at all, not in his own private space--except--
"You are really something else, you know that?" Bright and forthright. "Classic lines, perfect tuning," grinning, "You are, you're beautiful, and I--I mean," at least 1024 things jammed the queue at once and what escaped was, "Do they hurt?"
Soft concern, with a quiet huff for how it sounded, how it wasn't quite what he'd planned.
"I mean, do they, bother you, will it bother you if I--" red made his tongue fearless even as it slowed him down, "do more than look?"
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Did he want more? He wasn't entirely sure. It'd be something they'd need to discuss when both of them were sober before any real changes were made. But now that the offer was out there for him to consider... he found it interesting, if nothing else. He'd never roomed with anyone else before, and had seldom shared sleeping space with anyone but Bit. What might it be like to take the alliance, and friendship, with his code brother in what for both of them was a new and untested direction? Once things had settled, he was game to find out.
In the present, he allowed the admin to look at his circuits for as long as hi liked. The old systems had favored intricate, narrow patterns, while the Grid favored bolder, thicker circuit lines in simpler arrangements. It proved an interesting contrast, and another graphical shift that he'd privately wondered about. That much had to have been Flynn's idea, and he'd like to know what had prompted it.
Being called 'beautiful' though? That was a new one. His smile broadened, not fading as his scars were mentioned. "At the time they happened, they definitely hurt,", he said. "But now, no. I could probably get rid of them if I was vain enough, but each one of them has a story attached. And I'd rather have the stories than a pristine render."
"So you can touch, if you like." He moved right up against the bed, the circuits on his calves contacting those on his code-brothers as he straddled him while remaining standing. Already touching and eminently touchable. And able to touch in return. He combed the fingers of one hand through the admin's usually (perfectly) neat hair, down the side of his neck to linger on the circular node near his collarbone. His fingers traced the ring, a deliberate tease, judging by the hint of mischief that lit his eyes and turned his smile into a true hacker's grin. "We're going to be doing a lot more touching in a nano anyway."