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Flynn had fully expected to die in the explosion. Somehow he’d survived, albeit he didn’t feel quite steady enough to stand up and the reintegration had taken the strength out of his body. Energy hummed in the air despite the closed portal, its column of brilliant light now gone. The wind had died down with it, now only a faint breeze whistling through the structure surrounding it remained. The sea, hundreds of feet beneath the floating platform, echoed and crashed on the black rocky pillars stuck up out of the waves, the wave of power causing the water to churn.
Strength was returning to him slowly, and he got up and made his way off of the bridge and down the stairs, leaning up on the black rocky wall, trying to catch his breath. He looked down at his body, the black fabric of his cloak, watching each finger move individually, almost amazed.
How had he lived?
He could still see Quorra and Sam’s faces being enveloped by that blinding pillar of blue and white and strings of code swirling around them. He remembered extending that explosion of energy from his fingertips, holding his arms out to embrace Clu’s struggling form as his shape and the entire world turned into a bright pulsating white.
“Flynn?” A familiar voice called, a voice he hadn’t heard in so many cycles, a voice he had never thought he would hear again. He looked up, and sure enough, walking towards him was Tron, his black mask folding off of his head, the colors on his armor glowing a bright white, even brighter than in Flynn’s memory. In the faint light, Flynn could see darkened pixels marring the program’s face- a scar stretching up Tron’s cheek, above his eye, down his neck and beneath his armor.
“Tron-” Flynn said, unsure whether he whispered or called the program’s name. The exhaustion briefly left him, and, standing up and going to him on shaky legs, Flynn met him in an embrace. “I thought-'' he reached for words, but didn’t know what to say. Even if he had thought of any words, he didn’t think he would be able to speak. For a second, he wondered again if he really had died in that explosion, that this was one last dream. But Tron’s body was
so real
against him, his hands so firmly splayed across his back. Flynn could feel himself shaking- scarcely any words had been exchanged and he was already falling apart, but he couldn't even think to care. His hands, first gingerly placed on Tron, as if doubting the reality of the program in front of him, were holding him tighter with each passing second.
“I’m… back, Flynn. I saw you and it just. It all was so clear all of a sudden.” Tron said quietly against Flynn, his shoulders relaxing. And his
voice
. Flynn had never thought he’d hear it again. He couldn’t even pinpoint the emotions he was feeling having his arms around Tron again; a renewal of mourning for the years apart, an overwhelming flood of relief, confusion and fear and worry. Years ago, he’d let himself have a glimmer of hope when he and Quorra learned of the uprising Tron had started in the far reaches of the Grid, but when Quorra informed him of Tron’s capture, he’d resolved that they would never reunite, assuming Tron had been killed. For years he’d dreamed of him, wished something had been different, was wracked by guilt wishing he hadn’t left him there at the mercy of Clu and his soldiers. “I tried to kill Clu- I thought I could make up for everything I’ve done wrong- and I’m sorry I couldn’t…”
“No, Tron, you- you didn’t do anything wrong. Don’t worry, Clu’s gone.” The sound of his apologies were almost sickening. Flynn pulled back for a moment, his hands on Tron's shoulders, looking at his face. Both of them with glistening eyes and cheeks shining with tears. Tron smiled at him, the same smile Flynn remembered so well, the one that had greeted him after countless times Tron had saved him from less-than-favorable situations, even in the first ENCOM grid where the two had met. His hands reached to hold Flynn’s head, eyes searching his face, 20 years older than the last time they’d seen each other. And Tron, too, looked older. A deeper furrow in his brow, a heavier frown on his lips and a look in his eye told Flynn that time had not been kind to him either. He figured it must’ve been an effect of damage done to his code. The scar creeping up Tron's face worried Flynn- he'd have to try to figure out how to heal it or make up for the damage that must’ve caused it. As the program regarded him, Flynn remembered just how much time had passed and shrunk away from him without thinking. His dirty blonde hair had turned to gray intershot with white, his stubble had grown into a beard, lines and creases had formed on the skin of his face. Fear gripped Flynn’s throat as the thought settled and stayed in his mind. How could he even wish that Tron might still love him after so much time had passed, after they’d both changed so much? How could Flynn even expect that Tron might not blame him for everything that had happened? After all, Clu was Flynn’s creation. Although he was determined to fix the mistakes Clu had made, he was suddenly terrified that Tron might hate him for all of the suffering that his own program had caused, all the problems Flynn had indirectly created- and not unjustifiably so.
“Reintegration…” Tron said quietly, half question and half observation.
“Yes- Clu’s gone, and you’re here. You’re back.” Flynn said again, smiling back at him, trying to wipe his eyes with the dark fabric of his sleeve, unsuccessfully ignoring the gnawing dread wondering what Tron might think of him now, fearing the worst. Flynn wanted to say he had missed him, but he didn’t know how that would ever explain it sufficiently. “It’s been too long, Tron.” He was once again at a loss for words- everything he could think of felt like an understatement.
So much time had passed since they'd last seen each other. So many moments that should've been spent together had been lost to the cycles. Flynn didn't know what to say, how to ask Tron what had happened to him, how to even begin to think about it all.
He used to dream about this, about them making it out alive together- both a heaven and a hell. Only asleep could he see the program he loved; piecing together memories of his face, his voice, the feeling of being sheltered in his arms. Imagination and memories of comfort were always overshadowed by the belief that they would never reunite. The solitude of his exile was unforgiving, there was rarely anything to distract him from the crushing reality once the brief hope was gone. But before ceasing entirely, his dreams turned to nightmares in which Tron resented him for what had happened, where Flynn begged Tron to kill him and end his involuntary exile. It was preferable to living through it all, to thinking- if only in his dreams- that the program he loved now hated him.
Tron seemed to see Flynn’s hesitation and took Flynn’s hand and placed it on the defining symbol on the collar of his armor, pulling him closer, pressing his cheek against Flynn’s. The electricity hummed, surrounding them both, and that overwhelming trust Flynn remembered clearly was so apparent in Tron's face, and the way he held Flynn's hand against his body. The symbol of light beneath Flynn’s palm glowed a soft purple tint.
Tron moved his head back and kissed Flynn softly, almost cautiously. It was like their first kiss again- here at the portal, reminding him of another time. For a moment, he let himself be taken back to then: both of them so young, so unaware of what was to come. Flynn remembered thinking nothing could get in their way, he remembered fantasizing about a future together, how it all felt so meant to be, how it was so close to being within their grasp.
They broke apart, both smiling. Flynn had to remind himself that it was real this time, not just a dream he'd wake up from too soon. Until now he hadn't realized the extent that he missed this- or maybe hadn't let himself. Flynn reached out and touched Tron's face, gingerly running a thumb over his scarred cheek, barely touching it.
"We're going to have to do something about that," he murmured, seeing Tron's barely noticeable grimace. Did he want to know the extent of the scar below Tron's armor? What torture had been inflicted upon Tron to sustain such an extensive and persistent injury? And what of Tron being Clu’s willing soldier? Flynn figured Clu must’ve installed a virus that had corrupted Tron, held him under the dictator’s control- but somehow it seemed to be gone. He was the same security program; fiercely loyal and remarkably trusting, so intelligent and logical. Flynn kept thinking it over and over, how it didn’t feel real even to him. Seeing Tron corrupted on Clu’s rectifier, the distinct 'T'-shaped insignia on his chest burning a bright orange-red, Flynn had realized that Tron was still alive- at least the shell of the security program he’d once known. Relief and terror had struck him; Tron was alive, but he was not himself. And earlier, the same cycle, before Sam’s arrival, Flynn had dreamed about Tron for the first time in
years
. Maybe, by some mystery of the Grid, he’d been able to subconsciously feel Tron struggling against the virus upon seeing a User- but it was all speculation. He thought, for a second, about how long he'd spent within the system and how so many of its inner workings still remained mysterious. He didn’t quite know Tron had been able to fight it and find himself again. As much as he might try, calculations probably couldn’t explain it. Still, Flynn wanted to run through the code just to make sure that he'd do what he could. He didn't know about the scars, though. He'd barely touched Tron's programming since he’d asked Alan to port him over to his personal system.
Alan…
Sam had mentioned Alan still had the pager, the one Flynn had given him so many years ago. Alan, Flynn’s business partner, one of the only people who he could talk to about the Grid- his best friend.
“And your disc,” Flynn said, realizing he hadn’t felt one secured to Tron’s back. They had a few cycles at best, but if Tron didn’t get his disc back, he could start losing memories- maybe all of them. Flynn had no idea how they could track it down, whether it was lost over the Sea of Simulation or somewhere in the Outlands. Maybe if he could get Alan to help him, he could fashion a new one. He'd never tried anything like it before, but it was the only hope they might have. Flynn couldn't bear the idea of Tron losing his memories or himself again.
“Listen, I’ve still got this ship,” Flynn gestured down to the damaged light-plane parked near the stairs up to the portal. “It's beat up, but it should get us back to the city, I’ll work on getting communication up with Sam and Alan on the way.”
Flynn had been able to get in contact with Sam and Alan back at the arcade. The light-plane glided over the Sea of Simulation, leaving the darkened portal farther behind every minute. The explosion’s shockwave had crumbled many of the smaller pillars of black rock that dotted the Sea, leaving their route clear- the plane probably couldn’t turn very well with its damaged engine.
“Are you going to go home?” asked Tron, his expression unreadable as ever. Tron, in the pilot's seat, didn’t say it, but Flynn knew what he really was asking was “Are you leaving again?”
His questions were as serious as Flynn remembered, so different from his emotions during their recent reunion. Home? Flynn knew Tron meant California, knew he meant some house in the city and a place at ENCOM. Flynn hadn’t known a home like that in twenty years- even more time on the Grid. Was that really where he wanted to be? Maybe not, but Flynn couldn’t just leave his son again. He couldn’t just leave Tron and the Grid to rebuild without him, either. There was time now to spend with him, time that he'd always wished for. Flynn looked away.
“I don’t know yet.” If anything, he’d have to wait to talk to Alan and Sam. “We’ll all talk about it.” Flynn took a breath and turned in the seat. Tron was watching him. Their eyes met, Flynn looked away again, feeling that all too familiar weight of shame and hatred for the decisions he had made, the frustration with his naive past self and his futile chasing of perfection. “I don’t want to mess it up too much this time. I created this all, it was my fault what happened. I put too much expectation on you and Clu, and I left you guys without any help while trying to handle my life outside, running a company, trying to raise my son. I don’t want it to happen again. The Grid is more of a home to me than LA will ever be, especially now, anyways.”
Flynn paused, looking back at Tron. He gently placed his hand on the program's leg. “And Tron- I don't want to waste any more time that I could be spending with you." Tron stayed silent but took one hand from the steering mechanism and reached down to lace his fingers with Flynn's. It was comforting and familiar, even after so long. Flynn's heart hurt thinking of all that wasted time, all those unspoken misfortunes that had befallen the both of them. They needed to talk about it all. Flynn thought, with brief relief, about how they would have that time soon.
This time Tron broke the silence. “You don’t hate me, Flynn?”
“What? No- no, Tron.” Flynn squeezed his hand earnestly. "Not at all."
“I just, after all this time, how could you forgive me?" An edge of real concern hardened in Tron's voice.
"Forgive you? If anyone’s to blame, it’s me. You did everything you could’ve done- more than that. I mean, I screwed it all up from the beginning, that whole ‘perfect world’ bullshit I was on." Flynn looked back out the front window, the Outlands fast approaching, green-blue lightning in the distant dark sky momentarily illuminating heavy clouds. "I wanted more. It was stupid."
"But the coup-"
Flynn interrupted, shaking his head. "You’re the only reason I’m still alive, Tron. If anything, I shouldn’t have ran, I should’ve stayed to help you. I- I spent so much time thinking about it, and when I knew you had made it out alive, I could barely live with myself, knowing that I just
left you
- "
This time Tron interjected. "I told you to run."
Flynn bit his lip. The last words he thought he ever heard from Tron, the last time he thought he’d see him, was Tron tackling Clu, yelling for Flynn to go. He’d listened and looked back just once in his hurried departure, only to see Clu standing over Tron with a disc, striking a blow. As Flynn turned back around, he heard Tron cry out. He thought he’d been derezzed. Once the adrenaline wore off, the terror and the shock remained. He’d spent
years
living with guilt and the thought that because he had not stayed, Tron had been killed by Flynn's own creation. But he knew Tron was right. Quietly he relented. "You did."
Flynn had to say something, the quiet was getting the better of him as he anxiously toyed with the bracelets on his wrists and tried to
think
. "I need to get Alan in here to make sure your scar won't do any more damage, and see about your missing disc. He’ll know what to do, I’m sure,” Flynn murmured. Tron raised his eyebrows. Flynn had looked through Tron’s code, making sure there was nothing left of the virus that Clu had installed- but he couldn’t fix the persistent scar on Tron’s face. Nor could he fix that missing disc, not by himself at least. “Guess you’ll finally get to meet your user, Tron.”
Seeing Alan again was refreshing, almost overwhelming, strange. He was- much like Tron, much like Flynn- changed. The years had taken his hair from brown to white, formed deeper furrows between his eyebrows and the creases of his cheeks, and rested a thicker pair of glasses on the bridge of his straight nose. So strange how familiar Alan Bradley looked, orangey morning light filtering into the arcade, despite the two decades since Flynn had been here.
And the arcade. How oddly comforting to be there again. The windows were mostly covered up, only letting some light in. Cobwebs laced the corners, dust drifting through the stale air was highlighted by the shafts of sunlight. Machines wrapped in half-opaque plastic stood like monoliths in a cemetery, and a lamp overhead illuminated the two reunited friends standing like ghostly visitors beneath it. Spectre-like silver hair and the seeming impossibility of this reunion made the scene appear even more supernatural.
Flynn had this heavy feeling that he had stepped into a dream, or something he’d let himself hope for years ago. After their initial reuniting, Flynn brought Alan's attention to the Grid, how Tron needed their help within. He couldn’t help but watch Alan as they spoke; thinking about the years that had passed, worrying that the renewing of their friendship might be overshadowed by the accumulated time spent apart, that even hours of conversation couldn’t begin to cover everything that Flynn wanted to know. Even so, there was comfort in the way that Alan spoke the same, the way that he proposed solutions how Flynn knew he would.
Alan told Flynn that Sam had returned with Quorra. Flynn couldn’t waste too much time asking him more details right now, or explaining any of his own. Alan didn’t know about the coup, or anything in between it and their reunion, and it wasn’t just something to explain easily in a few sentences. Flynn gave him a disjointed summary. Something about the hint of tears in both of their eyes eyes, the echo of footsteps down the staircase into the basement, the smell of human-populated cities, made it hard for him to find words. He promised Alan that he’d tell him more when they got the chance. He thought this whole scene quite comical in its implausibility- one old man giving another a bullet-point summary of the last two decades that he’d spent within another realm. Flynn wished they could sit down right there, or maybe climb back up to Flynn’s apartment overlooking the arcade floor with its long-shuttered windows and sink down into that couch and talk through everything for hours. But time was limited, and they had to get back to the Grid.
“Here,” Flynn said, gesturing to the chair in front of the desk. “Just sit there, I’ll deal with the rest.”
Alan’s brow was furrowed, a curious expression on his face, but a sparkle of impossible trust in his eyes. A very similar expression to one Tron might have. Alan had never been down here before, at least not when it was a fully finished office as Flynn had left it the night he never returned home.
“I know you probably would prefer to do this from the outside. But, please trust me, it's even easier there… and it means a lot to Tron that you're going to meet him,” Flynn continued. All business. It was overwhelming to think about how he used to daydream about bringing Alan here and showing it all to him, about how he was forced to give up on any dream of that on the day that he watched the portal shutter closed from the inside. “Once you’re there, just hang tight and I’ll be in in a moment. I should be able to quickly reroute the enter and exit portals to the same place, and install a way to open it from the inside. But don’t worry if it takes me a little longer than you expect- time works differently there.” He wanted to curse himself for how he sounded like an instruction manual. He could barely reckon with the twenty years he’d spent missing his best friend, and he half expected to double over with the force of it.
Flynn had never seen the digitizing process himself. A flash of light washed over the basement as the laser scanned Alan and, in an instant, he disappeared. Flynn tried to blink away the flash of light burned into his retinas as sat down in the office chair, quickly regarding, with a frown, the years of heavy dust cluttering every surface around him. There wasn’t time to waste looking around. Everything looked the same, an odd feeling that made Flynn feel the need to remind himself once again that he wasn’t dreaming. Refocusing himself, he looked back down at the screen embedded in the desk, and ran the still-familiar commands in their blocky white font, the laser behind him looming.