Arcade Baby Blues

Title: Arcade Baby Blues

Category: TRON

Author: Sakura123 (weber_dubois22)

Rating: T

Characters: Alan Bradley, Jet Bradley, Eva Popoff

Summary: [AU] TRON: Legacy/2.0 (Subroutine 'verse): The old arcade sign flickered in the harsh light of the morning, Journey roared within, a testament to the ghosts that lingered with boy inside.

Written: 4/6/2011

Completed: 3/6/2011

Updated: 8/19/2018

Disclaimer: Tron/Tron 2.0/Tron: Legacy and all things related are property of Steven Lisberger, Bonnie MacBird and Walt Disney Studios (and some other guys I'm probably forgetting but can't care to remember).

Author's Note: Another semi-non-canon storyline based within the universe of Subroutine. There's no need to read aforementioned storyline as it hasn't quite gotten to this point of history and details are subject to change. Any errors will be corrected when I get the chance to revisit this, so apologies in advance if you find any.

Alan wouldn't normally do this unless he had no choice in the matter.

In this case, he does have a choice, he doesn't have to be here, but he'd do anything for Lora, even sacrifice his own objections to visiting the hallowed halls of Flynn's Arcade. Once upon a time, the place had seen a big increase in business after the disappearance of Kevin Flynn, business that quite nearly overwhelmed the remaining employees that ran the place.

As the arcade culture began to fade in the wake of the home entertainment and gaming consoles, the arcade started to become as barren as the office that Kevin once occupied until it was ultimately reverted into museum of the lost days. By the mere will of his father, Sam owned all rights to the property, but he never did a thing with it.

Sam never did a thing with it until September of 2000. Jethro had officially removed himself from the premises of the Bradley residence in Washington and was looking for a place to stay in Los Angles. Sam, comfortable in the living the space he created himself down on the docks, gave him the keys to the building without question, his only request was that Jet pay the electric bill on time.

Jet had been living here for the last ten years, building and living a life of his own. He never forgot his parents, he made it a point of keeping in touch, even if it was sporadically. And it was one those sporadic contacts that brought Alan to the doors of the old arcade. He'd arrived home, tired from "work" when Lora entered the living room, expression creased with concern.

"Hey, what's the matter?" He remembered saying in way that promised he could make all her troubles fade with a hug. "Jet called," She told him. "He sounded drunk, he sounded upset about something."

Alan was prepared to brush it off, knowing these sorts of things happened, but the look on her face told him she wasn't going to drop this, not until either he or she went over to see him. And knowing how their son could be when it came to the more emotional aspects of their relationship, Alan volunteered to go. Lora wouldn't push Jet, she never intervened with his personal problems until he wanted help. Alan, however, could push him until he got angry enough and said what he was feeling without meaning to.

Alan exhaled slowly as he ran a hand through this gray hair, he looked up from the sidewalk with hesitation. The old arcade sign flickered in the harsh light of the morning, Journey roared within, a testament to the ghosts that lingered with boy inside. He hated that group with a fiery passion, he couldn't understand how his son had become so attached to them, Flynn or no Flynn.

As he stepped forward, the heavy oak doors swung open with surprising force. On the other side stood none other than Evan "Eva" Popoff. Not sure what to say, Alan nodded his head by way of "hello". Always immaculate in appearance, the business woman straightened her white blazer, checking her wide-leg pants over for imperfections.

She finally took a moment to regard him, managing a pleasant smile in the processes. "He's upstairs sleeping it off," She replied. "Good morning Mr. Bradley." She stepped down and walked past him without another glance, Alan watched her go for a moment. If there anything he could say about Evan, it was how out of place she looked in the run down district.

Hell, she looked out of place next to his son, whose adoration for the woman confused him like nothing else.

With a bemused chuckle, he went on ahead inside the arcade-turned apartment complex. The amount of space in the absence of the arcade consoles surprised him. Most he noticed had been moved against the walls, others were probably gone, moved into the storage (or sold, knowing Jet and Sam), all with the exception of one. The TRON console remained against the wall, the center of the lobby's attention. The lack of dust and empty soda cans littered at its feet let him know it was still in use, heavily so.

The first floor had been filled, moderately, with personal affects and everyday necessities. Desks pushed against the corner in the far right were littered with computer parts and stacks of paper that were beginning to wrinkle, walls were plastered with strange sketches and doodles. Alan could imagine every idea his son ever had for a game was over there, maybe even a reality if he ever bothered to look up the name of the developer he was working for.

Adjusting his glasses, Alan made his way over the entrance that would take him upstairs. He spotted more arcade consoles underneath the stairs, wrapped in tarp that long since began to yellow from disuse. One hand on the railing, he crept up the stairs as quietly as they would allow. The shag carpet was gone, replaced by smooth hardwood flooring. More drawings were pinned to the wall in a haphazard manner.

The smell of Flynn, sweat, coffee and odorous deodorant he could never remember the name of, was replaced by the stagnant smell of dirty clothes, cigarettes (definitely belonging to Evan) and burgers. The once empty door frame now had a door, old and rustic, matching the chaotic state of the bedroom inside.

Alan sighed inwardly at the volume of the radio sitting on the couch, "Don't Stop Believing" was now repeating itself and the figure lying on his stomach was unaware of the world around him. He was careful to step over all breakable items as he made his way over to radio. Jet laid with one arm hanging out of the bed, covers wrapped oddly around his waist, he wore no shirt to speak of.

Between the corresponding space of shoulder and shoulder blade, the tattoo of white rabbit resided. Its red eyes stared quizzically up at him. The involuntary flex of Jet's muscles almost gave it the appearance of glaring. Sitting down on the couch, Alan turned the radio off and waited for a reaction.

It took a total of six minutes, but Jet began to move in a sluggish manner that indicated that he had been drinking. He sat up slowly, casting a bleary glance over his shoulder. Alan felt his lips stretch into an automated smile as he waved to his son. "G'morning, Jethro," He greeted. "Sleep well?" Jet stared at the man sitting on the couch for another moment as his mind caught up with his state of half-awareness.

Reaching over, he picked his glasses up from the table and put them on. Alan came into focus, the memory of his phone call to his mother replayed in his mind and he groaned. "Oh, God," Jet flopped back down on the bed, pressing his face into the pillow. "Go away."

Alan ignored the meager request. Rising from couch he strolled over to the bed until he stood at the head of it. "I'm afraid I can't do that, Jet," Alan sighed. "Your mother is worried about you."

"It was just a drunk dial, I didn't mean to call home, tell her to stop worrying," Jet's voice rumbled against the pillow. "Don't you have Sam or someone else to bother?"

"Nope, not t'day. Just you," He couldn't hide the amusement in his tone.

"Oh, I feel so honored. The great Alan E. Bradley has found me worthy of his presence," Jet continued to gripe. "I feel faint."

"Alright, smartass, that's enough sass for one morning," Alan reached over and pulled the pillow from under his son's head. Jet's head bounced on the mattress, eliciting a wince from the young man. "Damnit, dad, I'm hungover!" He proclaimed loudly, wincing again. "Where do you get off stealing my pillows, this is my apartment."

"Well, you're most coherent hungover person I've ever met," Alan commented dryly, ignoring the rest of Jet's angry rant. "Where's your kitchen?"

"In the backroom downstairs as you reach the stairs of my room, you can't miss it," Jet groaned. "Give me my pillow." The impulse to refuse, hold his pillow ransom until Jet got up from bed was hard not to act on. Alan constantly had to remind himself that Jet was not thirteen anymore, and further refusal to relinquish his pillow simply would end in confrontation. He tossed the pillow, it bounced off the top of Jet's head, resulting in a disgruntled groan. Biting the inside of his cheek, Alan shoved his hands into his pockets and began to walk away from the bed.

"Lora said you were upset about something," Alan stated by way of restarting conversation.

Jet rolled his eyes at his father as he climbed out of bed, his legs trembled as he attempted to balance himself. His head swam, his stomach rolled in protest to the sudden lack of stability. "I got into a fight with Eva over my position as head programmer at Elfwood studios," Jet muttered offhandedly.

"Is that right?"

"Yeah. She reoffered me a big position in Future Control Industries, if I gave up the goods on the game we're developing right now. I told her no, we got into a fight, and then we had incredible makeup se-"

Alan raised hand, halting Jet's sentence. "I get the picture, Jet," He grunted. There was a moment of silence, Jet watched his father's brow wrinkle with evidence contempt and confusion. "Why are you with this woman, again?"

Jet rubbed his eyes. "Because I love her," He replied without hesitation.

"You're in love with a woman who's willing to bribe you to get what she wants for her own company's gain?" He said. "She clearly has no respect for you."

"I get the distinct feeling we've had this conversation before, pops," Jet huffed, rummaging through his draw for a clean shirt. Shirk the conversation, that's what he always did when they came to the subject of Eva.

He met the now-FCon executive sometime during 2008, she was only twenty-one at the time, yet she had somehow managed to capture the heart of his twenty-five year old son. Eva seemed pleasant enough at first, maybe a little reserved, but polite enough to carry on conversation with. However, no sooner than she was promoted to executive in 2010, her personality shifted like a Polygraph needle. She adopted a cutthroat attitude that belonged only in the meeting rooms and applied it to everyday situations. She rarely displayed any kindness when in the presence of himself and Lora (and if she did, it was clearly forced) and worst of all, Jet behaved as if were normal behavior.

And if that was the case, Alan found himself more troubled by their relationship than he cared to admit. "We have had this conversation before, or at least tried to," Alan remarked. "You always -"

"Change the subject, yes, and for good reason," Jet snapped, slamming his dresser drawer. "I mean, seriously dad, if I were having any problems with Eva, I would've called."

"Like you did last night?"

Jet's mouth opened and closed in the same instant, there was no defense against that. "Whatever, listen, I don't need relationship advice from you, alright?" Jet complained. "If things go sour, then I'll be man enough to admit you were right, okay? I'll eat crow." It wasn't a compromise in the least, but it would have to do. Alan nodded. "Fair enough," He agreed.

"Okay," Jet repeated. "Now that's out of the way, you can leave now. Tell mom not to worry, alright?" His expression softened. "Tell her I'm sorry I made her worry." At the very least, that was something neither of them liked doing. Making Lora worry was next to committing grand larceny, and there wasn't anything Jet and Alan (usually) wouldn't do to correct that mistake.

"Actually, I have a better idea."

Halfway into his hoodie, Jet peered at his father in wary curiosity. "Yes?"

"Why don't you come over? Lora would appreciate hearing this from you," Alan said. Almost immediately, Jet's expression became noncommittal. Alan suspected he was counting how many hours he would have to be in the car with him, unaware that Lora was at waiting in their apartment in the city.

"Is mom here, or in Washington?"

"She's here," Alan assured.

Jet seemed to think about it before shaking his head. "Nah, I've got a lot of stuff to go over today before I go into the office," He groaned, rubbing his temple.

"Jethro-"

"Tell her I'll see her around, though, huh?" The dismissive tone of his voice wasn't hard to miss, Jet wanted him gone already and he was in no mood to deal with the inevitable reconciliation cycle if he stepped into the car with his father.

On some strange level, Jet understood his father's tendency to pressure him, especially during the time he was just using any outlet to cause trouble. But, his patience for being told what he should be doing as opposed to what he wanted had long since run out. He was afraid if he got in that car, the words that would be exchanged would shatter their "pleasant" situation, and their relationship would be worse off. And as usual, their fight would would start over nothing, something Alan probably thought was harmless, and Jet couldn't stand to talk about. Their arguments always started out like that, the myriad of ways in which they escalated into greater issues amazed him still at the age of 28.

Alan watched his son maintain his focus on the wall ahead of him, face muscles twitching whenever his eyes would start to divert in his direction. Scuffing the floor with his foot, Alan nodded his head. "Alright, I'll tell her," Alan breathed, heading for the door. Halfway out, Alan turned and raised a finger. "Oh, we'll be in town for another week before we head back to Washington. Don't be a stranger."

Jet grimaced at the sudden time limit that had been brought to his attention. "Okay, I won't," He replied.

"It was good seeing you again Jet," Alan said. At his son's quizzical expression Alan just smiled before he headed down the stairs.

Jet rolled his tongue across his teeth, realizing his father had just played the guilt card on him. Now he just felt rotten for being so reticent. Now he would have to go visit them before they left.

(FIN)