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His dad is still pretty weak and Alan and Quorra both put their foot down and demand he stay in bed until his system adapts back to the real world. The enforced bed rest is giving him time to catch up on the world of programing, at least, which is all to the good if he and Sam are going to honestly take over ENCOM again.
The whole situation is strange, and having that many people in his house is even worse, so Sam takes on the massive effort of rebuilding on the side to keep busy and give himself some space from the things he doesn't want to think about.
His dad doesn't ask about it, which is maybe the most telling thing of all
~
The only bad thing about porting everything over is the state of the Grid at the time Sam made his copy. The old portal destroyed by Reintegration, Tron lost to the Sea of Simulation, hundreds of programs repurposed for the Black Guard...
Sam spends a lot of time at his computer during the nights he can't sleep (which is often, these days), untangling strings of old code and trying to determine what the best thing to for the programs.
He finds Tron in a strangely ragged set of environmental data, somewhat fragmented, but mostly whole. Sam stares at the screen for a long moment, simultaneously remembering the feel of plastic beneath his fingers and burning pain along his right shoulder.
"...User..."
"I...fight for the Users!"
Blinking back tears and feeling like a little girl, Sam quickly grabs his data and places it in a nice clean folder, he makes just for that purpose, so he can go over all of his code and figure out what's still there.
Hours later, he sits back in vague shock and awe.
"Did you get any sleep last night?" a rough voice asks curiously.
Sam blinks, unsurprised because Alan actually turns up like this several times a year with various excuses that let them both overlook their strangely distant codependency. Right now, they're using Kevin and Quorra as their excuse for Alan being over almost every night, and Sam kind of hopes that after the urgency of getting his dad back fades, they can finally drop the excuses all together.
For now, he looks back over his shoulder to meet Alan's bemused, concerned expression with a small smile. "Hey, Alan. When did you--"
Alan lifts his mug of coffee to Sam in greeting. "About an hour ago. I called out a few times." His eyebrows arch faintly.
Sam cocks his head, feeling a little guilty. "Sorry, I didn't hear...I've been busy with--" and then he remembers what he'd been busy with and sits forward. "Man, Alan, we have got to get you back onto a design team. Even part time. Tron is...man, he's amazing. I can't believe the kind of adaptability and potential for learning you were able to program into him. He's barely a fraction of how out of date I expected him to be."
Alan's expression sharpens as it always does when he and Sam talk shop. "You found him?"
Sam nods, shifting to the side so Alan could look over his shoulder. After a moment, he thoughtfully holds out the wireless mouse and slipped out of his chair so Alan can slide in and review the current incarnation of his old program. Then he discretely make his way to the kitchen for some coffee.
"I made a full pot."
Sam's mouth quirks in self-deprecation as Alan doesn't even pretend not to notice. "Thanks, Alan."
"Save some for your dad--"
"--and don't let Quorra have any. I know."
~
Rebuilding the laser is the hardest part, especially since Lora isn't around.
Sam pretends not to notice his dad and Alan disappearing out back and keeps Quorra busy looking for the replacement part online while Sam calls around to some of the specialty shops in town.
Quorra actually ends up finding the component which would let them calibrate the laser specifically for digitization, and the company has a local sister store which happens to have the part. They're not willing to part with it until Sam offers an extra $1,000, and then they're happy enough to arrange a pick up time the next morning.
Good news is a relief because there's a strange tension in the apartment now, and neither Alan nor Kevin will look at each other unless they think the other isn't looking.
~
"I'm not saying you aren't right on him having the right to choose whether to get rid of his memories or not," Alan says quietly. "I'm saying, he's been in the equivalent of a deprivation chamber and he may or may not be dealing well with the memories from the time when he was, you know, being a mindless killer. Yes, I want to bring him out, but I think it's a bad idea to approach it all at once."
Sam is balanced between both of their arguments, wanting to help Tron out because he kind of saved their asses there at the end, and not wanting to trip the dude's latent PTSD and have to deal with the psycho from the arena again.
Flynn looks at Alan with the same bland thoughtfulness that said I know why you're saying this, and why you're thinking it, and why it's right that you should be thinking it, but that's just because you haven't had the benefit of my 1000 years' meditations. That's the look that sent Sam back to Tron City and it's got the same effect now.
"He's right," Sam throws in. "We can't just expect that he's going to be fine. He's never had to process physical stimulation before. Remember how bad it was for Quorra after the first few hours?"
"You designed Tron to--"
Alan sighs and shakes his head. "Flynn, we don't know how much of Tron is tied up in processing his memories. Yes, Sam found his code. Yes, I cleaned it up. But if we're not deleting the memories from that time, than we have to acknowledge that we don't know what he might do when confronted. We've already talked about those so-called 'ghosts in the machine.' What if Tron is still affected by the ghost of Rinzler?"
Sam notes almost absently, in the place that'll never stop looking to see if the other person in the room is looking at him or looking for his father, how much the expression of fond exasperation Alan's directing at Flynn looks exactly the same as most of the looks he's given Sam in his adult life. He tries to shake the thought off as petty and mostly succeeds.
Alan slides his glasses off and rubs the bridge of his nose. "From what you described, he sacrificed himself and then suffered silently under the patches Clu applied. If he switched sides as quickly as you described, then he was probably fighting that whole time. We just don't know how he's going to react to...well, anything."
Flynn leans back after a moment, but his expression isn't one of surrender. It's actually probably the most familiar expression Sam's seen on his face since their reunion, equal parts frustration and expectation. "Fine."
Alan recognizes the signs of a battle unwon here as easily as Sam: he knows the look on Flynn men well, after all these years. They both wait for the other shoe to drop.
"Say we send someone in," Flynn continues after a moment. "Who? If you're worried about triggering flashbacks, it can't be me or Quorra. Probably not Sam. Are you going to go in?"
Sam blinks. "Why not me?"
"...because," Flynn frowns, obviously not expecting any more arguments to come from Sam's corner.
Sam wants to tell him that he and Alan have a lot of catching up to do, and a lot of it will involve Alan explaining how many of his gray hairs were caused by Sam springing the next dumb thing on him. That'll come later. For now, he gives his dad an expectant look and doesn't let him off the hook.
Flynn blinks, and then his mouth twitches and he looks briefly amused before it fades back to the more world-weary expression that will NEVER look right on his face. "Because, if Tron could respond poorly to Quorra and I -- and he won't --"
"But if he did."
"If he did, then what would keep him from responding the same way with you?"
Sam considers that for a moment, coming up with a rebuttal. Alan beats him to it. "You were there when he was taken, and -- I'm sorry, Flynn, I don't mean to be cruel -- you left him there. For a thousand years. Quorra...I don't know. Did you have many direct confrontations with him?"
Quorra looks at him solemnly. "Not until the end. Nobody really had...confrontations. With Rinzler, I mean. You just got away."
Alan's expression goes dark for a minute and Sam drops a hand close to floor level and snaps.
Marv, recognizing the potential for scratches, trots over cheerfully. Sam plops him in Alan's lap and smiles. Alan glares at him, but he also gently supports Marv's butt where it hangs over his knees.
Sam grins briefly at them before he turns back to Quorra and his dad, picking up the train while Marv gives Alan some needed doggy affection. "OK, let's be practical about this. Dad, do you deny the reasons why you shouldn't go?"
Flynn stares at him mulishly for a long moment and Sam nearly freezes, terrified his father would fight them, and somehow win, and he'd go back into the Grid and be stuck again. Or worse.
But Flynn eventually sighs and shakes his head, albeit a little grudgingly.
"OK," Sam murmurs, relieved beyond words and trying not to show it. "So, Quorra. You don't have personal drama with Tron, right?"
She frowns. "Besides being my bogeyman for six hundred cycles. No, I don't have any personal drama."
Sam thinks about that for a few minutes. Nobody says anything. Finally, reluctantly, he lifts his eyes again. "Clu wasn't exactly surprised when he realized you'd survived, was he?"
Quorra's brow furrows. "What do you mean?"
Sam tilts his head. "Well, was he? Is it possible he may have known about your survival and programed fail-safes into his people?"
"Into Tron, you mean," Flynn says, voice not quite angry, but closer than it's been since they met again.
Sam's stomach aches with not wanting to go toe-to-toe with his dad (again, so soon after nearly messing everything up with it the last time), but he's thought this over. He doesn't like it, hence his waffling to begin with, but he's more and more certain as he goes that Alan is right about this, and if Alan is out of practice arguing with the old man; if, as Sam suspects, seeing him in the flesh so much older and worn down has wounded Alan, then Sam will take up the banner on this one. He's got the anger to fight another skirmish, anyway, and he owes Alan (and maybe Tron) that much. "Yeah," he says softly. "That's what I mean."
Flynn stands up abruptly, and begins pacing the room in a ground-eating stride that has him making several passes of the width of Sam's apartment before he finally stops, standing beside Quorra in the other chair and looking down at her with open tenderness.
Sam flinches. Alan cautiously rests a hand on his arm, and for once, Sam doesn't shake him off or play it down. He's running low on allies, and he's finally realized how badly he needs them.
The warmth of Alan's palm on his bicep and the cold wetness of Marv's nose on his wrist don't fully ease the sting of what seems to be a subconscious rejection, but they remind Sam that he's lived his life for twenty years without the man's approval. He can keep doing it if he has to.
"You're right," Flynn says, finally, impossibly.
Sam slumps back into the last inch or two into the couch in relief.
"And it can't be Alan either, then," Flynn continues.
Alan sits up with a frown, automatically shifting Marv over to Sam. "What--"
Flynn holds up a hand. "Clu wanted you to come. He must have had a plan for it. We don't want to trigger that."
Sam's hands tighten a fraction around Marv, who wriggles in disgruntled displeasure and hops down.
Alan sits silently, jaw tensing in pulses as he considers that, meeting Flynn's eyes unflinchingly while Sam thinks about that. If none of the other three can go because they were planned for in some manner, or could accidentally trip old traps, then it makes sense Sam has to be the one to go.
It's perfectly logical. He's just not sure what he's going to do.
~
A successful test sends an apple into the safe section of the new Grid he built for Tron. The data indicates it arrived in the same condition it left.
Once Sam makes the decision to go, he feels better. He's never been the kind for agonizing over a decision: he does what he thinks he should at the time, and if it's a mistake, he lives with the consequences. He knows what it's like to be left behind: he won't do that to Tron. Not after everything the man...program has been through.
"We don't have to do this now, Sam," Alan says quietly, still sitting at the console.
Sam looks at him curiously. "The test was successful?" he asks. Alan nods. "Why wait then?"
"I don't like it."
"Dad?" Sam blinks. "Is it because--"
Flynn's walls have finally started to crack under the truth, now that they're down to the wire. "It's because you're my son, Sam! And I was trapped there for 20 years, and not 8 hours after you showed up, you nearly died."
Sam freezes. This is a conversation they haven't had. Honestly, except for that brief, almost-desperate clasp when Quorra got him to their house in the Outlands and the conversation they'd had while Quorra was rebooting, which Sam figured out was Flynn's attempt to clear the air before Reintegration made it impossible, it's been everyone else telling him how much his dad missed him, or loves him, or wants him around. The evidence for real emotional investment has been a little thin, and even though part of him says that's just the distance neither of them have yet to breach, there's still part of him that remembers how it was before and aches, wanting it again.
His father the king, his father the chess-master. His father, the invisible man.
Finally confronted with a firm show of the depth of his father's feelings, from his own mouth, no less, Sam finds he doesn't know what to do. He feels like he did the time his primary jammed when he was skydiving. "Dad."
Kevin surges across the room and grabs Sam, pulls him into a fierce hug so aggressive it shouldn't even share names with the tentative clasp he'd given Sam back at the safe house. He's shaking: Sam can feel it in fine tremors in his shoulders and arms. Sam is too, and he buries his face into into his dad's neck, realizing all over again how strange it is to be the same height, or maybe even taller, than his dad.
After a few minutes, Kevin pulls back and Sam blinks rapidly, trying successfully to force tears away. "Dad, I'm sorry--"
"Shh," Kevin pulls his grip back to squeeze Sam's shoulders and then moves his gentle grip up to his face. "You are everything to me, Sam. Just know that. And come back to me."
Sam's a little disgusted by how happy his father's pain is making him. He doesn't want the man to hurt, not really, but it seems like the only way he'll show Sam he cares is when one of them is about to do something really stupid. "I promise, dad," he says softly, voice hoarse. "I just got you back. You couldn't keep me away."
Neither of them say anything about the tear tracts drying on both of their faces.
Kevin smiles shakily. "I love you too, kiddo," he says, his own voice a little rough. "Now lets see what we can do for old Tron, eh?"
~
Seeing Tron again is a shock. In the heart-pounding almost-8 hours Sam had spent in the Grid, his hazy childhood imaginings of Tron (influenced by his action figures) were replaced by the sinister faceless red-on-black of Rinzler.
When Sam digitizes into the contained area -- the safe house -- they'd built, he knows that isn't what he's going to see, but the only change he really expects is the shift of his circuits to a bluish white.
He doesn't expect to leave Alan's intensely concerned stare and turn around and walk right back into it from a pair of steel blue eyes, and he freezes, caught in the fierce stare. Tron...he looks like Alan, but somehow not. And it isn't just that he's so much younger than Sam's ever seen Alan, it's in his bearing, his caution and the air of authority and watchful threat.
Alan can be forceful, but he never wears it like this, like it's comfortable than any of his tailored suits.
Tron looks like he's going to ask what he wants to know exactly one time before pulling out his disc and cutting answers out of Sam and Sam swallows. He slowly lifts his hands to show he's unarmed, but Tron doesn't relax.
Sam bites his lip, knowing he can't fail already, not this soon, and then he has an incredibly dumb idea that, nonetheless, he's going to try. He carefully lifts one hand to his neck and back.
Tron tenses when Sam draws out his disc and Sam spends the next few seconds hoping desperately that he isn't making a huge mistake as he sets it on the ground and steps away from it.
Tron stares down at the glowing disc blankly for a moment before turning his attention back to Sam.
Sam has to cough to get his voice working. "I, uh. I come in peace...?"
Tron's tension eases faintly and he inclines his head faintly. It's actually painful to see that kind of wary tension on Alan's features. Sam tries to smile through it.
"Why are you here?" Tron asks quietly.
Sam licks his lips and takes a risk. Another one. "You mean, why are you here."
Tron's expression is still unreadable, still nothing Sam's ever seen on Alan's face, but he doesn't dispute Sam's statement. Sam looks around for the first time.
Simple curves of something like wood with thick cushions serve as chairs and a similar style of bed is pushed as far away from the point of digitization as possible. There are a few pictures, some landscapes and some abstracts, because nobody was sure which he might prefer. The apple they'd sent is in the exact middle of the smooth-edged end table between the chairs.
They'd programed the safe house as blandly as they could to avoid over-stimulation or potential contamination. They'd tried to do it without making it seem a prison cell, but it's pretty clear now that they'd failed.
Sam swallows. "We, uh. We're rebuilding the Grid." Tron doesn't say anything, so he continues. "We've got -- I backed everything up after we got out." He realizes Ton doesn't know what all has happened and quickly continues, "we got out. Me, dad and Quorra, I mean. Thanks to you. You really saved our asses back there."
Tron nods slowly without giving anything away.
Sam decides it's a good sign. "Anyway, I've got a pretty isolated apartment and I had a spare server so we rebuilt the Grid and dumped everything onto it. I found your code and, well." He waves a hand at the apartment.
Tron finally speaks. "This is my punishment."
The words are bad, but the tone is worse: it's like he expects it, like he's so far gone he doesn't even consider if he deserves exile or not, because it doesn't matter. "What? No! God, no!"
Tron blinks, and something like real emotion passes over his face for the first time. "I don't understand."
Sam steps closer automatically, wanting to grab Tron and shake him for daring to think like that. "We needed a safe place for you to rest while we cleaned up your code and rebuilt the damaged areas! We wanted you to have a choice, Tron. Whether you want to...to keep all those memories, or start over, or just. Do whatever."
Tron's face crumples, just a little. His brow wrinkles and his mouth trembles faintly, and all of the questions Sam hasn't been asking about how human programs can really be are blasted clear off of the map. There's no way somebody in this much pain can't be human, whatever he started as.
Sam can't stay back like this, not now, not when Tron is hurting so obviously, and just as obviously has no idea what he should or can do about it. He crosses the room quickly and ignores the way Tron flinches before standing his ground, and spares a thought to be grateful Tron doesn't go for his disc again.
Sam's nearly on top of him before he hesitates. He's never been overly affectionate. After his mom died and his dad disappeared, his grandparents didn't know what to do with him, so he spent most of his time with Alan. Alan was great about having an extra kid demanding his attention, but he wasn't really physically demonstrative. But Tron...Tron looks broken.
Sam decides he doesn't care if Tron rejects him: he should know the offer is on the table, and it's his to reject, and he takes the final step to bring him past arm's reach and grabs his shoulder.
Tron is so stiff Sam is surprised he doesn't snap something. Part of Sam is screaming that this was a horrible plan, and how Tron clearly doesn't want anything from him, but Sam remembers being 15 and desperately needing someone to touch him in any way that didn't hurt without feeling like there was anyone left who would and forces himself to hold on until Tron does something one way or another.
His body is incredibly solid under Sam's hands, and warmer than Sam expected. The places on his suit which transmit external stimuli to his circuits are processing so quickly they sound like humming birds and send flutters of a stronger heat over Sam's skin.
Tron is taller than him, which he should've expected, but didn't. His memories of Rinzler include wicked acrobatics, that strange purring sound and a permanent slouch which apparently took several inches from his height.
"I'm really, really sorry," Sam finds himself saying. "You sacrificed yourself for dad and he didn't even know you were alive. Please don't decide to delete yourself. You deserve so much better."
Tron finally moves, and it sends mixed signals. Both hands rise and one grips Sam's elbow like a vice while the other pushes firmly on his chest, sending strangely pleasant shivers down his own circuits where his hand brushes one of the circular nodes.
Sam lets himself be pushed back and then reeled in again. When they're done the strange, short dance, there's about two inches of space between them, and both of Tron's hands still holding Sam, somehow both threat and entreaty. His hands are warm even through his suit and Sam's jacket.
"How," Tron asks, voice thick with the ghost of Rinzler's purr.
Sam licks his lips. "How what?" he asks, and tries not to be distracted by the way Tron is leaning into him or the small lines he's apparently subconsciously stroking over Sam's chest.
"How do you know?" Tron forces out, face contorting. "What happened. What I did-- I failed everyone. I lost everything. How can you say I...I don't deserve--"
"Don't say that!" Sam orders as he starts to pull away, grabbing both of Tron's hands with his own and anchoring him in place. "You sacrificed yourself for my father and nearly died defending us! If anyone is to blame, it's Dad--"
Tron stiffens, then, and Sam's mouth slams shut. His hands tighten on Tron's wrists, but he doesn't fool himself: if Tron wants to break his grip, he'll do it.
But Tron looks at him searchingly. Sam can only meet his gaze and hope he finds something good.
After a long moment, Tron's wrists relax under Sam's grip, and tension he hadn't been aware of fell from his shoulders. "He's your creator," Tron says quietly.
"...yeah," Sam says.
Tron is silent for a moment, and his eyes drift low. Sam realizes he's shaking and his eyes widen. "Tron, you know he can be wrong and make mistakes, right?" he asks urgently. "You know he...he never would have left you there if he'd known."
Tron shakes his head, but it's like he isn't hearing Sam, not like he's agreeing or arguing with him. His wrists flex and roll under Sam's grip and he can tell he'll lose it any second, and Tron will shut down and Sam doesn't know how or why or what he can do, but he has to do something. He has to try. It's Tron. He deserves all the chances Sam can give him.
"He wouldn't have, Tron. You're his friend. He made one awful, terrible mistake after another and you suffered for it, but that doesn't mean he wanted you to." Tron doesn't say anything and Sam can't handle that look anymore. He releases Tron's wrists and grabs his face. "Damn it, Tron, you have to believe--"
Tron eyes go wide and his body stiffens up worse than it had before. Sam freezes, eyes wide and quickly pulls his hands away.
Tron keens, a high, strangled sound, and his whole body shudders painfully, but Sam doesn't have time to be terrified he's done something new to break him as he chases after his hands.
Sam freezes, brain blanking out and decides to let him do what he wants. He doesn't seem to know, or maybe he doesn't think he can do whatever it is, but Sam pushes down any impatience in the face of his conflicted expression and lets Tron hold his hands steady in the air between them. "Tron?" he whispers. Tron's eyes flicker without moving away from Sam's hands and Sam bites his lip, uncertain, before he sighs. "What I meant...whatever you need is OK."
Tron's jaw works and it really is painful seeing that kind of longing on that almost-familiar face, Alan's basic bone structure and everything else so very different. Sam feels like he's had the wind knocked out of him and doesn't breathe as Tron slowly pulls his hands back to his face and then, when Sam can feel the heat of his skin and the barest edge of his hair is feathering softly against his fingertips, Tron stops.
Sam's hand curls reflexively and Tron staggers like he just took a disc to his back. It startles Sam almost as much as it startles Tron, and he stares, wide-eyed, as Tron flinches and stumbles back gracelessly, eyes wide but unfocused, hands still raised like he's warding Sam off.
Sam is experiencing a new level of confusion than he ever has before, but Tron lets out another high sob, strangled in his throat though he tries to keep it, and he ignores the strange situations (and really, he's in a computer, is wrapping himself around a half naked man somehow less strange?) and focuses on replaying the last bit of what-the-fuckery to try and figure out what the hell is going on.
And Tron is still staring at him.
No, Sam realizes. At my hands. His fingertips tingle faintly with the afterfeel of Tron's skin and hair, and he curiously flexes his hand, watching Tron.
His pupils dilate and something that looks like fear spreads over his face.
Sam swallows, dropping his hands. "Tron, I'm not...I would never hurt you."
Tron jerks his eyes up to meet Sam's and Sam realizes, in the furrow of his brow and the blown pupils, that he was wrong. It isn't fear on his face, it's desperation. He wants--
...whoa. His realization must be obvious, because Tron flinches again, and turns around in an obvious dismissal and Sam decides to deal with his own shit later. So Tron wants me to touch him. That's. OK, not exactly normal, but cut the guy some slack, Sam. Who else would've touched him in the last thousand years? Clu?
Swallowing hard and hoping he isn't making a huge mistake, Sam crosses the room. Tron has to hear him, but other than tensing, he doesn't react. "Hey," Sam says softly, feeling worse by the second as Tron's shoulders tremble. Hey what? he wonders. Hey, I'm going to touch you. Hey, it's OK if you want me to. Hey, I walked around carrying your action figure with me for two whole years, so it's not weird at all?
None of those work, so Sam sets his hand lightly on Tron's covered shoulder without saying anything else, high up by his collar as a warning for Tron and a warm up for himself. He gives Tron a chance to shake him off and then slides his hand up over his shoulder to the back of his neck, to the small trip of skin visible over the collar of his suit and the short silky hair above that, and cautiously strokes over the blurry division of hair and skin.
Tron's tremors grow more pronounced and Sam can feel his throat work to stifle sounds and his touch firms in response to his growing need to comfort him.
"Anything you need," Sam says hoarsely.
Tron hesitates another moment and then motion draws Sam's attention from the back of his head to his shoulders and he watches the top half of Tron's suit derezz.
"...please..."
Sam sets his other hand tentatively on Tron's bare shoulder and holds them both still while Tron shakes. "OK?"
After a few minutes Tron nods jerkily and Sam strokes over the back of his neck to his shoulder. He's at a loss for what next, but Tron is leaning into his hands now, so Sam tries digging his fingers into his shoulders and rubbing gently.
"Oh, User," Tron gasps, head dropping low, and Sam freezes. "No, don't stop! Please!" His voice fades to a tortured whisper. "I haven't been...touched...since the coup."
Sam swallows and slowly resumes, and Tron relaxes into his touch again with a faint moan. God...a thousand years like that. I can't even. He starts to spread out the area of impact and encounters a circuit. He isn't sure what direct contact will do for Tron, not in this state, so he lightens his touch and strokes around it. He's sure he did the right thing by how labored Tron's breath gets just from that.
Sam keeps going in that vein, and they stand like that for a while until Tron's tremors are nearly gone. Then Sam quietly asks to try something else.
Tron looks behind him reluctantly and Sam meets his eyes solemnly until Tron drops his head forward again in acquiescence. Sam lightened his touch and retraced the smooth patches around the circuits one more time before he pulled back a little to shrug out of his jacket.
Tron doesn't look back at the sound of the coat hitting the ground. "Don't freak out," Sam warns him quietly, and then closes the distance between them entirely and wraps his arms around Tron's front and presses against his back. His t-shirt bares most of his arms, so they're touching skin-to-skin all along where he's holding him. Sam can feel heat from a few of his circuits against the inside of his arms and under his left palm, and all along his chest through his shirt.
Tron's air intake increases sharply but Sam doesn't pull away, giving Tron the choice to push him back. He reaches up and grabs Sam's hands tightly, press them into his own skin too hard, making Sam wince. He doesn't say anything though, just quietly lets Tron regain his control again, and his breathing starts to slow after a few minutes.
He can hear Tron when he swallows thickly, and feel the rumble of his voice in his chest as he confesses, "I don't know what to do..."
Sam swallows his own heart back into his chest and pulls Tron against him more firmly. "Let us help you this time, Tron," he says into his hair. "Please. Let me."
Tron doesn't do anything for a moment, and then, finally, he tilts his head back against Sam's.