Flynn had called it “camping,” but it should’ve been called “torture.” At least in Tron’s experience, the whole Hiding In A Tent And Subsisting On What You Bring thing is less a fun, relaxing experience and more a necessity for survival. Right now, for example, there’s a storm ripping through the mountains outside, and Able hadn’t found it wise to return to Argon while 1.) the winds continued to be high, and 2.) the mountains continued to be steep and also mountains.
So now they’re stuck in a tent, on a mountain, in the middle of a storm, way out in the Outlands with no one else aware of their presence here, and with barely enough energy to last even a cycle.
Yay. Camping.
“Well, this is great,” Able says drily. “Juuuuust great.”
“Mm-hm,” Tron replies, his tone just as dry.
“God, I hope my garage is still standing when I get back.”
“I’m sure it will be.”
Able snorts. “Between the Occupation and a, uh, certain mechanic of mine? Sure.”
The wind’s howling past them, buffeting the tent. There isn’t anywhere to lean, as Able would like to. He just sits on the floor as dignified as he can. Tron, on the other hand, stands by the entrance, his posture stiff, on guard as always. His scars aren’t as bad for now, but he’ll need a good portion of that energy soon.
“You know, uh,” Tron says, just to fill the silence and distract himself. “Flynn called this—”
“Camping, I know,” Able says. “I was there.”
“Oh. Right.”
“Fucked up way to vacation, if you ask me.”
“I was thinking the same thing.” In more delicate terms, of course, but the sentiment remains the same.
“You know what’s really fucked up, though?” Able asks.
Tron glances at him. “What’s that?”
“This is probably the closest thing to a vacation I’ve had in cycles.”
Tron huffs. “Are you honestly calling this a vacation?”
“Well, no,” Able says. “But be honest here—when was the last time you did nothing just because you could?”
That... is a good point. And a disturbing one. Has he taken a break since the coup? Has he ever taken a moment to himself that wasn’t occupied by the uprising, by his own impending deresolution? Even before the coup, there had been few opportunities to simply... relax. There’d been too much to do, too many responsibilities to fulfill—especially toward the end, when Flynn spent more and more time away. This—being stuck in a tent, in a storm, on a mountain, way out in the Outlands, and with someone like a friend—is an opportunity he realizes he hasn’t had very often.
Able grins at him knowingly. “Just relax, man.”
Tron grudgingly sits down, but he keeps his back straight just in case.
“So,” he says. “Uh, do you remember what Flynn said happened during ‘camping’?”
Able shrugs. “Mostly eating food, I think,” he replies, “and fishing.”
“Well, we have energy, but I don’t know what fishing is.”
“I don’t, either!”
The wind batters the tent again, almost drowning out the rare sound of Tron and Able’s laughter.