Work Text:
Razer can hear the Green Lanterns arguing about him, even through the walls of his room. He lies on his bed and stares at the ceiling. It isn't really much of a bed in the first place, more like a metal cot that folds into the wall when not in use. Apart from it, the room is completely bare, save an empty desk and a chair which he has yet to sit at.
"You didn't even ask!" says the Bolivaxian. (Kilowog, Razer remembers. Not that he cares, but he does remember, and the information may prove useful.) "I've had your back since boot camp, but do you think to consult me before bringing the murderous Red on board? No!"
Murderous. Not an inaccurate description. Razer shivers.
"He's not a stray mutt, Jordan!" yells Kilowog, presumably in response to something Hal said that was too quiet to penetrate the metal walls. "I know you feel for the kid, but there comes a point where you have to face facts! Listen to reason! Have you forgotten that he tried to kill hundreds of people without batting an eye? That he did kill Shyir Rev, and who knows how many other Frontier Lanterns?"
Razer marvels at how far he's strayed from the young man who just wanted to protect his wife. Even so, the emotion is detached, as though he's considering the downfall of a character in a book, or a dream that will pass upon waking. It has to be like that, even if he hates himself for it. If he thinks about Shyir Rev for one more second-
"You seem to have forgotten that he risked his life to save us from the man-eating spiders- and, oh yeah, willingly gave us his ring at the end of it. He's obviously trying to do the right thing, and if you hadn't noticed, we're not exactly swimming in recruits," says Hal, just loudly enough that Razer can make out the words.
"Well, don't come crying to me when he tries to kill us in our sleep."
"If you're worried about it, lock your door. He's here. He's helping. Deal with it."
Kilowog mutters something unintelligible, but Hal Jordan seems to have won the argument. Razer rolls over and tries to sleep, wishing he knew whether to feel relieved or disappointed.
***
The Nav AI is insufferable, not least because Hal Jordan insists on treating it more like a child than a device. Razer can admit that it's a very complex device, but that is all it is.
"You have not worn your Red Lantern ring since returning to the ship. Is there some obstacle keeping you from using it?"
Correction. It's a complex device that acts like a small child, questioning him ceaselessly. He's not sure it's even possible to keep the thing from intruding when he's alone in his room. All he can do is curl up on the bed and face the wall, which makes him feel like the petulant child in the conversation. "I don't want to talk about it."
"Ah," says the AI, as though he's just said something very interesting. "Do you intend to leave your sleeping quarters in the near future?"
"No."
"Do you require nourishment?" It sounds almost hopeful. "I have predicted your likely dietary requirements, and-"
"I don't want to talk."
"Oh," it says, sounding disappointed. Whoever programmed the thing was a genius. Razer wishes he could punch them.
He waits for the AI to disturb him again, but it doesn't.
***
On the second day, Hal Jordan knocks on the door until Razer opens it. The Green Lantern is smirking in a way that makes Razer want to inflict bodily harm on someone. If he were wearing his ring, it would be glowing. "What do you want?"
"Hey, you're a member of my crew now, right? It's my job to make sure you're OK."
"I'm fine," says Razer, then moves to shut the door again. Hal reaches out to stop the door from closing, and the automatic sequence stops dead. Razer doesn't try to restart it. The other man's smile has been replaced with an expression of grim determination, and Razer doesn't fight that, either.
"Look, Razer, I realize all this must be hard for you. Being uprooted, then asked to work with people who you considered enemies until sometime last week. It's not an easy situation for any of us, but that doesn't mean you can just hide in your room all the time."
"I see," says Razer. He should have realized their hospitality was conditional. He's technically still a prisoner, after all, even if he isn't confined to a cell. "What would you have me do?"
"Get some air, first off. Look around, get to know your way around the ship. If you're feeling up to it, we have a bridge station set up for you now."
Razer's eyes narrow in suspicion and confusion. "I had not expected such a high degree of responsibility." Or trust, he doesn't say.
"Well, yeah, but you may have noticed that we're a bit shorthanded at the moment," says Jordan, awkwardly reaching for the back of his own neck. "But you know what? I have faith in you. You've got serious potential, kid, that much is obvious."
He doesn't know what to feel. Pride? He has no way of judging whether the compliment is genuine, so he tells himself not to give it much thought. "I will examine it," he promises, coolly.
A few minutes later, he finds himself keeping that promise. The display is in pristine condition, a stark contrast to the equipment Razer is used to working with. Part of him is hesitant to touch it, lest he sully it somehow. He is acutely aware that this is not where he belongs.
"Would you like me to explain the functions of your station?" asks Aya.
This, at least, is not an unreasonable function for a shipboard computer. "Fine."
The movement of the eye on his display suggests excitement. Razer dismisses this. Sentient life forms are remarkably eager to see themselves reflected in things that cannot possibly share their experiences. He might not be able stop himself from subconsciously misinterpreting her mannerisms as indications of emotion or intelligent thought, but he can at least be aware of what he's doing.
"You have been assigned the engineering terminal," says Aya. "While I am capable of controlling and monitoring my own systems without assistance, this station allows you to control many of the ship's systems manually. This would be especially useful if something were to disrupt the main computer."
"Such as?" asks Razer.
"It is unlikely that such a situation will ever come to pass," says Aya, matter-of-factly. "However, a sufficiently advanced virus could present a threat even to me. If that were to happen, it would be essential that someone on board knew how to operate the ship without my assistance."
"And you think that someone should be me," says Razer. He doesn't try to hide his skepticism.
"You are here," says Aya. Before he can reply, the eye disappears, replaced with a collection of readouts that appear to pertain to the ship's various sensors- gravity, radiation, life signs. "Due to the small size of the ship's current crew, stations have been reconfigured to allow individual members of the crew to serve multiple functions. Primary sensor readings can now be accessed from the engineering terminal. Do you require assistance understanding this data?"
"It seems clear enough," says Razer. If nothing else, time in the Red Lantern Corps certainly allowed him to expand his understanding of science and engineering. The Interceptor is obviously more advanced than any of the ships he's worked with, but not exponentially so. "What does this panel do?"
"That is intended to allow Green Lanterns to channel their power through the ship. By drawing power from the Interceptor's main battery, a Green Lantern can produce much more powerful constructs than when using a ring alone. Unfortunately, your Red Lantern ring is most likely incompatible."
"I expected as much." One more reminder that he isn't the sort of person who's supposed to be on this ship, at least not outside the prison cell.
"I am certain that you be able to contribute to our cause in many other ways," says the AI. It sounds like it's trying to cheer him up. It's a pitiful gesture, but that doesn't mean he doesn't appreciate it on some level, even as it simultaneously annoys him.
***
"Razer, you have not eaten since the destruction of Shyir Rev's colony. It is apparent that this is having a negative impact on your health. If your intent is to bring about your own death by starvation, I will be forced to alert Green Lantern Hal Jordan and determine a solution to the problem."
"I'm not trying to kill myself," says Razer, curled up in his bed and facing away from the rest of the room. At least, if he is, he isn't trying particularly hard. "You simply don't have any food that interests me."
"I can prepare a list of all available provisions," says the computer. "You will eat."
Eating does appear to be the path of least resistance, at least once Aya ushers him out of his room again and begins explaining the various options to him. None are particularly appetizing, but eventually he discovers a type of meat that isn't too objectionable. Eating is a chore, but a necessary one, and he forces himself to eat an entire meal, bite after bite.
Hal Jordan walks in about halfway through this enterprise. Razer can't say where Kilowog is; the Bolivaxian appears to be avoiding him. Razer doesn't particularly mind. Jordan, however, seems to roam the ship freely at every hour. Razer expects that if the doors to people's rooms did not have locks, Jordan would walk freely in and out of them as well, unaware that he might not be wanted.
But perhaps he's being uncharitable, thinks Razer, as Hal goes about his business and makes no attempt to disturb him. The human nods politely and then ignores him. Razer doesn't try to interpret it, for fear of driving himself mad with constant over-analysis.
"What is our current course?" asks Razer, at last, unease giving way to curiosity.
Jordan blinks at him, apparently caught off guard. "Uh. Second star on the right."
"That is not a useable system of coordinates," says Aya, before offering a far more technically correct and equally incomprehensible answer.
Razer frowns. "And the purpose of our heading?"
"We're still tracking Shyir Rev's ring," says Jordan. If he notices the way Razer's hand tightens on his fork, he does not say anything about it. "We don't have enough firepower to do anything about Atrocitus on our own, so reinforcements are our top priority."
"You will not defeat Atrocitus with three lanterns," says Razer.
Jordan smiles. "No, I don't imagine we will. But we don't need to. The Interceptor is undergoing repairs right now, but as soon as that's done, we'll be able to bring as many additional lanterns to the forgotten zone as we need. That's a long way off, though, and I'll rest easier if we have more people working with us on this end, especially if our new friends are intent o destroying more worlds. The more strength we have on our side, the better our chances of protecting others."
Razer looks down at his half-eaten piece of meat. He forces himself to finish it.
***
That night, Razer slips the ring back onto his finger.
The pain is... difficult to describe. He's been injured before, certainly; he's not sure he can even say that putting the red ring on is the most physically painful thing he's ever experienced. He hasn't ever been set on fire, but the ring feels like he imagines fire must, a burning sensation that travels along his limbs and seeps into his internal organs, threatening to consume him. It is always over in a matter of seconds, though, so he doesn't mind it as much as, say, being grabbed by a Bolivaxian and thrown against a metal wall hard enough to leave significant bruising.
"Does the transformation cause you pain?" asks the computer, when he is finished.
He can imagine himself snapping at the program, yelling none of your business! and watching the eye retreat back into the wall. Yesterday, he would have done exactly that. Today, he answers the question. "Somewhat."
"Why do you tolerate this?"
"Pain is a small price to pay for the chance to accomplish one's goals."
There is a pause. "I hope your goals are worth this, Red Lantern Razer."
For three years, there has been no one in Razer's life who could offer such a sentiment without appearing ridiculous. He would immediately suspect that anyone who tried had ulterior motives. There was no one in the Red Lantern Corps who cared about his wellbeing on such a basic level. There were some— Razer has been tempted to think of them as friends— who would note a temporary loss of function, and who might respond to it with concern, rather than immediately trying to take advantage of his weakness. But pain? Agony, even? No one could possibly hope for him to avoid these things. No one has any reason to.
It's shocking to realize that these Green Lanterns may care more about his personal welfare than Atrocitus ever did. It is, perhaps, even more shocking to hear such sentiments from the computer— not because he believes the computer capable of genuine sentiment, but because someone had to program it, and that someone was so concerned about the comfort of alien beings thousands of lightyears from Oa that they felt the need to make the computer say things like I hope your goals are worth this.
"As do I," answers Razer, and thinks he will be proud to accomplish them here.