Outer Limits: A Domestic Tale
By Nan00k

This is for LainC, who won my donation auction to help the survivors of the Japan Tsunami of 2011. :) She requested a spin-off of my story, Outer Limits, featuring Rinzler encountering the more light-sided aspects of living amongst humans. Thank you so much Lain! I hope this is what you were looking for.

There may be some minor spoilers here if you have not read chapter sixteen and on of Outer Limits, but don't worry! It's nothing too major. Just know Rinzler lives with Tom and Amy now.

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Warnings: mild language, original characters, SPOILERS for Tron: Legacy, shameless embarrassment of an otherwise badass program
Disclaimer: Tron © Disney. I only write this mess.

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Rinzler did not like the apartment.

It was small, almost claustrophobic in size, and with increasing frequency, he was left to stare at the beige walls, alone. He did not like being alone, not in this numb world known as reality. Tom and Amy were insistent at first that one of them were always there to watch him in the beginning of their unsteady unit formation, but now that he was improving with handling being human, the two programmers felt it was alright to leave Rinzler by himself whenever Sam Flynn needed them both in at the office. It didn't happen often, but when it did, Rinzler was alone for several hours.

It wasn't alright, at least, not to Rinzler's emotional state, but he didn't complain out loud. There was no point, really. Amy and Tom were working diligently on the Grid repairs and trying to find a way to repair Rinzler as well. His illness was not fading, but it had stabilized, so they agreed they should let him learn to be alone, even if it was miserable for him. Rinzler respected their judgments, even if they were just human.

Rinzler was used to both Users being around all day cycle long, or at least one of them. Gradually he noticed the work habits both had and mapped out their schedules. Tom worked nights most often, as he and Sam Flynn mostly worked together with Grid repairs. Amy was gone mostly during the day because she could do anti-virus research (something she was apparently trained in) alone when Flynn was busy. Rinzler didn't understand how the two mates could function as well as they did without seeing each other more frequently.

The rarer schedule, where both were gone, left Rinzler feeling anxious. He was not used to the silence left by only himself remaining in the small dwelling they shared. Amy was very adamant she was about to "crack" the coding of the virus sample they managed to isolate on the Grid, so she worked later hours. Tom often went in to assist her, pulling almost an entire day's worth of work without much rest.

"Are you going to be okay?" Amy asked several times before she left in the morning, Tom a little while after her on those days they left him totally alone.

Rinzler wasn't sure what kind of answer she was expecting him to give. He certainly disliked the solitude, but the real world wasn't as alien as it had been weeks ago. He didn't like it, but it wouldn't kill him. Sam Flynn didn't want him at the office when they were working either, afraid he'd do something destructive or expose their secrets even by accident.

So, he just shrugged or ignored her concern. He did not like the way they fawned over his stability at times, especially when Quorra was around and she snidely pointed out his weaknesses.

Ohh, he did not like that other program.

Tom would smile sympathetically before walking out the door with a cheerful farewell. The lock would click, an alarming sound to Rinzler, but he did not trust what was on the outside of that door. He knew he was even more fragile in this realm than on the Grid, so he was wary.

And he'd have the rest of the day, generally from eight to four, to dwell on that fact, perched on the stuffed seating (couches), listening to far off User vehicles driving, and occasionally giving the entertainment box (television) a long stare.

Waiting alone wouldn't kill him, but Rinzler did not like it.

0000

That morning was like any other, except instead for the fact both programmers were leaving, with Sam Flynn demanding a situation report plus some group work on the Grid structure. After asking many times if he was alright with it, Amy and Tom left Rinzler sitting silently on the couch, bracing himself for the wave of quiet that followed the moment the humans left the apartment. It was like they were the sole bringers of life into the room. The TV made noise, but it was dull and inanimate. Rinzler did appreciate the car chase shows, but they never lasted long. He did not like many other entertainment programs on it, as none of it was very interesting and the pictures moved too fast.

Rinzler glared out at nothing, feeling slightly empty inside. He had been researching human emotions and the words that described them and he discovered the word "lonely" fit the emptiness best. He had never been lonely before, as the Grid… well, the Grid was connected. Tom seemed to pick up on that fact faster than the others, and apologized for not having more connections for Rinzler, but words didn't help much.

Alone, he had no one to make sounds to distract him. Without noise, he felt like he was drifting in nothingness, worse than in the Sea. Alone, he was physically separated from the world. He needed the touch the humans provided. Not that they said anything about it of course. Rinzler would never ask them for anything or complain about this loneliness; he still had pride.

However, sitting there, Rinzler suddenly realized another strange, human condition that was not related to emotions as much as it was to his body. He was hungry.

He did not like his body either. It did strange things without his awareness, when on the Grid, he could mandate through internal commands what it should have been doing. Here? He had almost no control and that was the most disturbing aspect of all this. The humans assured him that it was "natural" in the real world, but nothing about this place was natural, not to him.

The worst part was that he did not like eating. It was one of those self-done commands that might have served a purpose, but it didn't make it any more pleasant. He did not like the texture of food, outside of water, which was easy to drink once he mastered the skill of swallowing on his own.

He liked pancakes. They were the first food he had received and while he wasn't fond of eating at all, pancakes were not that offensive compared to other foods (he despised the texture of meat and the concept behind where it came from was terrifying). They could be sweet, a sensation that was new to him, and he grew to like having the taste. Spicy foods were his least favorite, but pancakes were rather neutral.

A disturbing gurgle echoed across the vacant room made Rinzler cringe. He had been walking among humans for several weeks now. He knew the different biological signs well enough. He was… hungry.

If she had been there, Amy would have scolded him for skipping breakfast, again, because he hadn't felt like eating then. Of course now that both humans were gone, he was in fact hungry. They had left cold sandwiches in the fridge for him (meatless) for lunch, but he had already eaten them earlier. He was still hungry. The choice was clear.

Rinzler had to make more food.

He could do this. He was—had been—the fiercest warrior on the Grid. Nothing except the Grid Master could have overpowered him. This world was strange and unfamiliar, but not overly difficult. Just… strange.

Standing on still-unfamiliar legs, Rinzler peered out at the small kitchen Amy often worked in. There, she made food. On the days he stood around her when she was at home, he watched her make various substances out of other substances. It seemed almost miraculous at times. He had seen her go through the motions of making pancakes several times before, so he was almost certain he knew the steps.

It seemed that easy at the time. If only it really had been in hindsight.

There were some basic ingredients that made up a whole finished meal, he had learned early on. Some foods were basic, like just heating up chicken fingers, or some required many smaller things to make something bigger. Pancakes needed a powdered substance, water, the heat from the stove and things to put on top, like butter. He remembered where all of those things were, so Rinzler suddenly felt confident.

The kitchen was narrow, with cabinets and machines on both sides. He moved carefully, but things were looking easier than they had been before. He could do this. The water came from the sink, the pan was already on the counter having been used earlier that morning by the Users, and the mix was in the shelf above the sink.

The order of the cooking process was probably going to be the trickiest to figure out. Rinzler filled a cup of water from the faucet before looking around for his other supplies. He remembered Amy adding the water to powder to make it into a liquid, which she then put on the heated pan. He had to heat the pan while he mixed the two items together.

There was his first problem.

He stared at the stove and realized that he didn't know how to activate it. He touched the dark grate over where the flames were supposed to come up from, but they were cool to the touch. He opened the bottom compartment, but it was cool and dark inside there too. He tapped the screen at the top of the machine, where the time (which moved absurdly slow here in the real world) was displayed. Nothing worked.

Sometimes Amy talked to the appliances when they wouldn't work for her. Rinzler figured out early on that her vocal commands didn't actually do anything, but maybe there was something to it that helped.

"Work," he ordered out loud. His voice was startling loud in the usually silent apartment.

Rinzler froze, not because the stove turned on, because it didn't, but because he suddenly felt eyes peering at him. His senses were muted horribly in this world, but something Tom called 'instinct' hadn't faded. Rinzler turned and looked downward, expecting to see someone there.

It wasn't a person. Ruggers, the black and white cat Tom adored, was sitting soundlessly in the opening to the kitchen, watching Rinzler with a dulled expression. Seeing it out in the open was odd; generally the animal avoided Rinzler and Rinzler did the same to it.

He glared at the feline.

"I was not speaking to you," he told it shortly. Ruggers glared back, its tail swishing once before the cat picked itself up and sauntered out of sight around the corner. Good riddance.

Turning back around, Rinzler took in the problem he was currently facing, mind racing. This had to have a simple solution. Problems in the Users' world typically did. It was just trying to reconcile his own conceptions of how things worked with how it did here that was difficult.

His eyes turned down to the front of the stove. The little black knobs on the front of the stove—were those the controls? Rinzler tried to turn the one but it wasn't moving far. He tried again, but it was stuck. The other four were also the same. Eyes narrowing in frustration, Rinzler stared at the controls, now sure that they were how to turn the fire on. He tried to remember exactly what Amy had done—

One of the knobs pressed in when he put pressure down on it instead of to the side. Rinzler stared at it before slowly, while pressing down on it still, turning it to the side. A small click could be heard and then a blue flame reared up on the part of the stove closest to him.

This was simple.

That's what he told himself when he had put the pan on the flames to warm up and he reached up over the counter and pulled down the white bag of powder that would make the actual pancake substance.

And then by miscalculating his grip, he dropped the bag.

Rinzler flinched backward the moment the bag fell, not trusting what could happen if it hit the counter. He had been expecting, logically, the bag to hit the counter and perhaps roll to the side.

He had not been expecting the bag to explode up into a cloud of white, all over the kitchen.

Oh, by the Grid, it was everywhere. Rinzler stared at the powder falling in front of his face, eyes going crossed when he tried to follow one particular waft of white that drifted down in front of him.

He was going to be derrezzed for this. Or at least, as Sam Flynn once said, he was going to have his "ass handed to him."

Stepping backwards, Rinzler saw the extent of the damage fully. The pancake mix had exploded outwards, quite like water, and from the epicenter at the counter, it had spread out in a large arch all around the narrow kitchen.

How…did that even happen?

His feet leaving impressions in the powder, Rinzler tried to think of the next best thing to do, to fix this. He had watched Amy and Tom clean the floors before. They had used—had used a mop. Spinning around, Rinzler went to the supply closet toward the end of the kitchen. He found a tall and narrow piece of wood with what looked like gray hair at the end; the mop, or at least that's what Amy called it once.

Turning to face the white-coated kitchen, Rinzler tried to figure out what the next step was. How was the mop going to fix this? How could it pick up all the individual particles that were still floating in the air? He couldn't remember the next part of the process; Amy only had to clean accidental spills up every once in a while, not all the time.

He dropped the gray hair-like extensions into the dust and moved it forward. It only spread the dust around and didn't seem to be picking any of it up.

Something began to smell awful. Rinzler peered at the pancake mix on the floor, wondering if the smell was originating from that, but he soon realized it had to be something else. He looked up at the stove and saw the pan was smoking now, though nothing was on top of it.

Before Rinzler had the option to wonder why it was working without food on top of its surface, the pan's center decided to catch fire in a bright orange flame.

Rinzler's eyes widened to their maximum size. Without thinking, he grabbed the pan from the stove and threw it into the sink. Water negated fire. That was the first thing Amy had told him when he entered the kitchen. If there's a fire, use water—

The moment he grabbed the faucet and turned the water on, it was like the pan exploded. The fire was replaced by a shockwave of steam and smoke. Water splattered everywhere and Rinzler flinched out of the way of the heat. Gripping onto the refrigerator's side to keep upright, he saw the water splashing up, hitting the pan as well as the counters on both sides of the sink.

At least the fire was out. Rinzler inhaled, feeling his chest tighten. Apparently he had forgotten to tell his body to breathe during the whole ordeal. He saw the water making a mess all over the counter and floor, and since the fire was out, he had to stop the water now.

Limbs trembling, he turned the faucet off, wincing at the still-steaming pan. It smelt terribly and he was almost awed by the charred remains of the cooking pan's center.

Obviously, empty pans were not supposed to be left on the stove while it was operational. Rinzler made a mental note to remember that. It seemed important in hindsight.

The apartment had been rendered as silent as the Outlands the moment he had turned the water off. He was glad he had turned it off when he had, because thirty seconds later, he heard another sound: the front door unlocking and opening.

He had exactly enough time to rush over the powdered mess on the floor, stumble to the kitchen's entrance and stare out over the living room in total horror—before he found himself staring down two surprised humans just entering the apartment.

Oh, shit.

Tom noticed him first, his expression morphing from pleasant to stunned in record time. "Rinzler—whoa, what the heck? !" he blurted, dropping his workbag in his shock. Amy noticed Rinzler and gasped, eyes widened in an identical way.

Rinzler stared back and suddenly felt very small.

"…I underestimated the amount of work creating pancakes would be," he replied at great length, unsure what sort of emotion he was feeling now. Oh, right, that was terror. He disliked that feeling more than hunger or loneliness combined.

Both Users continued to stare at him, mouths hanging open and eyes widened. Rinzler swallowed, nervous.

"…I stopped the fire," he offered, voice far quieter than he was comfortable acknowledging. He held up the mop that was almost glued to his hand after gripping it so tightly. "I could not figure out how to work the mop, however."

When he glanced back up at them, Amy had recovered slightly and held a hand up to her mouth. "Oh, Rinzler," she breathed, voice soft.

Rinzler winced, expecting her to yell or get angry. He was startled when he saw that, behind her, hand, she was smiling. It wasn't just her either. Tom had moved to the side slowly, but seemed more surprised than anything else.

A choked sound—a laugh—broke though the stifling silence. Amy moved forward and Rinzler did his best not to wince as she reached out and took the mop. "Here… here, let me…oh, man," she said, still smiling. She looked in at the kitchen, bit her lip and then gave Rinzler another smile. "Shower first."

"I…" Rinzler began, mind reeling.

Amy put the mop down and then took Rinzler's arm, gently pulling him toward the bathroom. "It's okay. Really, it's okay," she said, still calm and smiling. "I should have made you more food. I'm sorry."

He didn't understand why she wasn't angry. He had ruined the kitchen (most likely the pan as well). Amy had always been very particular about cleanliness in the past. Rinzler wordlessly obeyed her order to get clean, Tom helping him the rest of the way toward the bathroom as Amy handled getting rid of the mess in the kitchen.

"Rinzler? You okay?" Tom asked as he helped Rinzler peel off the soiled shirt he was wearing. The pancake mix had congealed thanks to the water that had sprayed on him. Tom smiled kindly at the program, as if nothing was wrong. "We're not mad, honest."

Throat abnormally constricted, Rinzler averted his eyes. "…Don't…" he began, though he knew it was a bad idea. "Leave tomorrow."

Tom was quiet for a minute before speaking. "…Okay. We're due for a day off anyway," he said. He handed Rinzler a bottle of cleaning fluid for hair (shampoo) and smiled again before leaving. "Here. Wash your hair real good to get the powder out."

Rinzler couldn't really hear the two humans talking while under the spray of the shower, and when he stepped out wearing clean clothes Tom had given him, both were already seated in the living room. They looked up when he approached and Rinzler felt dread rise up inside him again.

Amy motioned for him to sit next to her. Usually, he would either do it without thinking or, if he was feeling particularly uncomfortable, he would continue to stand and they'd allow it. He certainly didn't feel like sitting down now, but after everything he had done wrong, he figured he had better comply with all their wishes for the time being.

He sat down as far away as he could from Amy, on the opposite end of the couch from Tom. Both humans looked at him and then at each other. They smiled again.

"You're not angry," Rinzler stated, and then jerked back, surprised that he had even said anything. Sometimes his human vocalizer would malfunction and he'd speak without thinking through the words he wanted to say. He hated that, even if Tom said it was normal.

Tom just laughed quietly and tilted his head to the side. "It was an accident," he said, shrugging away Rinzler's concern. "No harm done, Rinzler."

Amy nodded, enthusiastic. "I'm just happy you weren't hurt, Rinz," she said, butchering his name for some reason. She did that infrequently, but it was still odd sounding every time he heard it. "I can handle a few kitchen disasters here and there. This gives me the chance to show you how to make food later, too."

"Not now," Rinzler muttered, looking at his hands before back at them. He had had enough of the kitchen for a while.

Tom laughed again and shook his head. "…It's really like having a dog, isn't it?" he asked after a moment, sounding tired, though he grinned over at his girlfriend.

"Tom!" Amy said, sounding irritated. Rinzler was glad the reaction was not directed at him. She was smiling, however, and leaned slightly into Rinzler's shoulder before leaning away again. "Don't listen to him. You're better than a dog."

He knew what a dog was, but he had no idea what one had to do with himself. "…I don't understand," he said, feeling tired after everything that had happened. He mimicked Amy and drew his legs underneath his body, huddling toward the one arm of the couch away from the humans.

Eyes bright, Tom looked at Rinzler, apparently happy. "What would you like to do tomorrow?" he asked, his tone totally open for discussion.

"Not make pancakes," he mumbled, not caring if they understood what he had said. Apparently, they did.

Both humans laughed again and Rinzler fought the urge to smile back. He had only smiled once before and since then he knew what it felt like, he knew how to anticipate it appearing on his face. He didn't feel like that kind of reaction was warranted for something so unimportant, so he stopped himself.

He did of course enjoy the smiles on his guardians' faces. Those smiles seemed more than acceptable for the occasion.

"What do you want for dinner?" Amy asked, standing. She grinned down at the program. "Want me to teach you how to make tacos?"

Rinzler wasn't sure he wanted to, considering how much trouble he had already caused, but something in her eyes caused him to nod and stand instead.

It took far longer to make the meal than it normally would, Rinzler realized, and without the pan to cook the meat, it took two trips with a smaller one to make enough for all three of them. But when they all sat down at the table and he saw how easily they forgave and just accepted him—it was all alright.

He could get used to this.

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End.

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Notes:
-I decided Rinzler would be a vegetarian (quite possibly Quorra as well) because the idea of consuming parts of another living creature would most likely be incomprehensible (and terrifying) to computer programs ahaha. It's a little different than just absorbing energy from the Grid…