It’s the clarity of Rinzler’s voice that strikes Alan first. The familiar distortion that usually marks the program’s words is gone and what’s left is sharp and precise and angry in a way Alan has never heard from Rinzler before. It’s enough to give him pause… if only for a moment.
“So do you. But neither of us are going to get it if we stand here arguing.” The frustration in his voice mirrors Rinzler’s own. Alan can’t deny that there’s something wrong with him anymore, but there shouldn’t be. There’s no reason for him to be hurt, no reason for him to be blind, and it feels like a cruel joke that it should come now, when they’re so close to safety. If Rinzler would just listen to him…
“We’re going to the engines first,” he says, pain making his voice harsher than he means it to be, “I’ll find a way to get help afterwards. I just--” He stops suddenly, expression changing to one of surprise as his gaze stays fixed on his program. The light is faint at first, just the slightest gradation against a wall of pitch black -- but it’s undeniably there. And as it resolves itself into one eye, somewhere past the wave of sheer, breath-taking relief as hazy vision returns, Alan is hit with the immediate sense that something isn’t right. Rinzler’s lights, smudged and dull as they are, are all in the right place, but the color is wrong. And there’s only one other color they could be.
“Rinzler?”
The focus and direction of Alan’s gaze makes it clear he can see the program in front of him -- but when he speaks, it’s in the quiet, uncertain voice of someone who’s no longer sure who he’s speaking to.
no subject
“So do you. But neither of us are going to get it if we stand here arguing.” The frustration in his voice mirrors Rinzler’s own. Alan can’t deny that there’s something wrong with him anymore, but there shouldn’t be. There’s no reason for him to be hurt, no reason for him to be blind, and it feels like a cruel joke that it should come now, when they’re so close to safety. If Rinzler would just listen to him…
“We’re going to the engines first,” he says, pain making his voice harsher than he means it to be, “I’ll find a way to get help afterwards. I just--” He stops suddenly, expression changing to one of surprise as his gaze stays fixed on his program. The light is faint at first, just the slightest gradation against a wall of pitch black -- but it’s undeniably there. And as it resolves itself into one eye, somewhere past the wave of sheer, breath-taking relief as hazy vision returns, Alan is hit with the immediate sense that something isn’t right. Rinzler’s lights, smudged and dull as they are, are all in the right place, but the color is wrong. And there’s only one other color they could be.
“Rinzler?”
The focus and direction of Alan’s gaze makes it clear he can see the program in front of him -- but when he speaks, it’s in the quiet, uncertain voice of someone who’s no longer sure who he’s speaking to.