Title: „Drawn to White"

Status: Drabble; Complete

Fandom: Tron: Legacy

Characters: Sam Flynn, Rinzler

WordCount: 693

Disclaimer: The big mouse owns half the world, both Tron movies included.

Rating: K/PG-13

Beta: The great snare-chan! Thank you so much!

Summary: Rinzler stared down at him, far too close, and his jet black helmet tilted to one side. He was drawn to the white, that vibrant color with it's frequency unique to Users...

AN: Please R&R

Note: This is what happens when I watch movies, lately... Next OneShot soon to follow...

Drawn to White

"Detain him in Block 3."

Sam tried to clear his head as he stumbled along, pulled away by Rinzler's firm grip on his forearm. He failed miserably, skimming along the illuminated wall for some steps as he lost his balance. He was too hung up over everything C.L.U. had said, smirking at Sam with his father's face, - and wasn't that creepy? His head ringing like a church bell after being knocked out cold didn't exactly help matters, either.

He didn't pay attention to where the orange-red program escorted him within C.L.U.'s ship. Sam was pretty sure he would end up tossed into a cell – he just wasn't prepared for Rinzler going down with him.

"What the-!"

They hit the opaque floor together and at the same moment Sam's handcuffs clattered away an energy field rezzed into existence. It trapped them both in darkness, with their bodies providing the only source of light.

Suddenly, C.L.U.'s killer sat on top of Sam and straddled his hips. Under normal circumstances, say, with a Siren, perhaps, he would need to pull his dirty little brain back out of the gutter. But right now Sam was actually smart enough to stay perfectly still, lying stretched out; his bruises throbbed.

Rinzler stared down at him, far too close, and his jet black helmet tilted to one side.

The moment of utter silence shattered as Sam remembered his need to breathe. Rinzler pressed closer, as if that had been a signal. Circuitry scraped together, a warm heavy weight that rumbled dangerously. Hands started to roam roughly over Sam's black gladiator armor, each finger highlighted by a red strip of light.

It seemed as if Rinzler wanted to gouge out the light of Sam's circuits, to drain the energy through touch alone and transfer it into himself. But nothing sparked a connection between them, and why would Rinzler try this and expect something to happen in the first place?

Sam could only stare up at the visor so close to his own face, his dumbstruck expression reflected there. The vague idea of trying to topple the program off of him was a fleeting one and easily discarded.

Rinzler became more agitated by the second as nothing changed. His hands couldn't find purchase – light wasn't tangible, after all – and his rumbling growl distorted into something deeply frustrated. He was vibrating with tightly coiled musculature where he perched on Sam, his orange-red circuitry flickering and diminishing by turns.

Sam's fear melted away – he had never claimed to operate on logic. He was driven by instinct. A silent whisper in the back of his head that convinced him that C.L.U. had done something terrible to this program. Sam's presence had somehow sparked a shred of resistance in Rinzler. He had no idea what exactly was going on here, but on the Grid nothing made much sense to him, so why not roll with the flow?

"I won't hurt you," Sam heard himself say, which was quite the hilarious statement considering the vulnerable position he was lying in.

Carefully, Sam raised his right hand from where it pressed flush to the dark tiles. He kept the movement deliberately slow and obvious, as if Rinzler were not the Grid warrior who had wiped the floor with him, but a spooked animal.

The program tilted its helmeted head warily, following the movement, but didn't do anything to intercept the hand reaching for it. Rinzler stayed put, so tense it must have been an effort to do so, and didn't reach behind his back for his Light Disc to kill Sam. His distorted, electronic purr was suddenly deafening in the small cell.

"Okay...?"

Rinzler froze as fingertips settled lightly at the nape of his neck and slipped into a small indentation. The helmet derezzed, folding away in rectangular pieces.

A familiar face – through dad's stories and merchandise articles, of all things – appeared, looking haggard and empty. But under Sam's stare, the slightest undercurrent of... something became visible.

"Tron!" Sam whispered, breathless.

And as their eyes finally met, awed blue to cold gray, the white lighted energy of Sam's circuits jumped over like lightning.

End