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tron_genfic2011-06-25 02:07 pm
"Up & Apart": PG; (2.0/Legacy); S. Flynn & J. Bradley Part 3/3 END
Title: “Up and Apart”
Rating: PG (language)
Author: Allronix
Characters: S. Flynn and J. Bradley
Summary: Even the closest of brothers grow up...and sometimes grow apart.
Disclaimer: Monolith Games and Buena Vista Interactive came up with Jet, Disney proper owns the rest.
Note: This is an attempt to do a canon mash-up between 2.0 and Legacy, so I've had to fudge some details in regards to the fate of Lora Baines-Bradley. This also postulates that 2.0 and Legacy both happen in 2010.
The club is this hole in the wall clear out in Anaheim. The place is dark, mostly anonymous, and no one asks questions. It's a favorite with celebrities and drug dealers alike – a place to ditch the notoriety for a few hours. Jet's nursing his gin and tonic while Sam's on his second boilermaker.
“And here's to another successful annual check-in,” Sam says, downing the shot, followed by a sip of the beer. He pats Jet on the back. Sam's always been tactile. Uncle Kevin was the same way. “Thanks for being at my back, Jet.”
Jet says nothing, but returns the gesture. Why does he feel so bad about a success?
“We got out before the cops got called. That's better than last year.”
Jet shrugs and pushes his glasses up. “I almost got caught. The guard outside was someone who would have recognized me.”
“Did you get caught?”
“No. Ducked behind the dumpster,” Jet answers. “Sam, why are we doing this?”
“Why? Seriously, Jet? All the time, I hear about how the upper management is screwing the customers and programmers, and when we actually do something about it, you look like someone shot your dog.”
Jet takes a drink. The tonic is pleasantly bitter, and fits his mood. “What we did won't help. Thorne's going to be pissed.”
“Let him be pissed. You always said that guy is a petty tyrant with delusions.”
“He might take it out on some of the guys who were on shift. It's not their fault – we were the ones who broke in.”
Sam shrugs it off. Jet takes a large swallow to buy himself a second to calm down. A screaming match against Sam Flynn won't going to help any more than tonight's stunt will. It's like they've come to a fork in the road. Sam's taking one direction, but it's one Jet won't take with him.
“Sam, if you want to change things at Encom, get in and change them. Walk into that boardroom, look those jerks in the eye, and call them on their bullshit. I've had it with this sneaking around. People are going to get hurt.”
“Jet...”
“I'm dead serious. This was fun for the first couple years out of college, but it's not right. It's a joke. It doesn't change what needs to get changed and doesn't help who it needs to help. Meanwhile, I'll show up at work on Monday and pray I still have a job Tuesday.”
“What? Your old man scores you a job as a code monkey and suddenly you're drinking the company kool-aid?”
“I didn't want to work there at first, but I...I like it. I like the game division. They treat me like everyone else and they don't bother with the stupid rumor mill.”
“I also know that the suits push you guys to roll out half-finished games, charge the end user fifty bucks for the privilege, and then have them pay three times the amount if they want the downloadable content that makes it playable,” Sam fires back. “Do you want to hear the numbers on royalties they stiffed the old Tierra programmers when they bought the properties? They're treating you guys like cheap whores – use you up and toss you out.”
“Tell me something I don't know,” Jet grumbles. “And before you say anything about it; I know they'll probably do it to me eventually.”
“Then why are you putting up with it?”
“Same reason you resort to code-kiddie pranks once a year instead of stepping up like you should be doing.”
Sam scowls and slams his beer on the counter. “When did you turn into your old man?”
“Don't start. He's been pushing for me to take some level six position and I've had to 'disappoint' him.” Jet grimaces. “Not looking forward to that lecture. Might be a moot point after tonight.”
“They don't know that you've been my silent partner during my visits, do they?”
“Dad suspects it, but he doesn't have proof,” Jet admits. “And I'm a little old to get grounded. But...things haven't been easy since...you know. It's like I'm losing him, and having to lie just makes it worse.”
Sam nods and puts a hand on Jet's back, silent support and understanding. “Yeah.”
“I guess part of me took the job so that I could keep an eye on him,” Jet says.
“Understandable. Someone's got to look out for Alan. Glad you're up to it. So, same time next year?”
Jet winces, and Sam probably felt it. “No.”
The hand's off his back, and Jet looks up from his drink to see Sam's face. It's almost physically painful to look into his eyes. His mouth's set in a firm line, trying to cover any sadness with anger. Jet gets it – anger's a lot easier than sadness. He'd like to be angry, too. Mom's accident almost killed her, and the docs in DC can't seem to do anything for her. Dad seems to be drowning in a job that takes more out than it's giving back, and now he's about to napalm the closest friendship he has.
“No, I'm not going to go in with the pranking, Sam, because I need more than that – Encom needs more than that. I need something that actually hits the people who are screwing us. I need something that makes the rumors go away, and to think about something other than Mom's body breaking down on her and Dad trying to kill himself with overwork. I need...” Jet stops himself. “I need you at my back, Sam.”
“I thought I was,” Sam says harshly. He throws a twenty on the bar to cover his drinks.
“Sam...”
“Don't worry. I'll keep your little secret. Wouldn't want Alan to get 'disappointed.' Enjoy the company kool-aid, Bradley.”
Sam marches out the door, and all Jet can do is watch him leave. With a sigh, Jet finishes off the gin and tonic and requests a refill.
Growing up sucks. Growing apart sucks worse.
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Great job.
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So, if I were do another team-up with the pair, I'd write it as Jet needing Sam's aggression and Sam needing Jet's perspective, with Quorra balancing the boys. Make sense?
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