Forlorn Hope 17: Arrangements

[niyazi-a.livejournal.com]

PG
IDW: Forlorn Hope AU
Sixshot/Jetfire
no warnings

Forlorn Hope (IDW: Sixshot/Jetfire)
FH-3
Relapse
Transgression
First
Rescue
Half Truths and Shadows
Coping Mechanism
Kiss
Of Mice and Terrorcons
Best Plan Ever!!
Resonance
Two Sides
Pespectives
Interception
Repercussions
Missed Connections

Sixshot had to wait until the next standard rotational cycle before he had a chance.  Blot had grabbed him right off the practice range, and dragged him back to their quarters, where they had had some…contest that involved many cubes of energon and attempting to bounce a ball into one.  He’d sat it out, insisting that he didn’t play games, but somehow, and he was just a little fuzzy on the ‘how’ right now, Cutthroat and Rippersnapper had convinced him it was less of a game and more of a test of skill and…that was most of what he remembered of the previous recharge cycle.

Other than that he really needed to convince Sinnertwin that sometimes—sometimes—teeth were a bad thing. Especially after Banzaitron’s little warning.

He leaned his back against the wall of the washrack, letting warm cleanser pour over his armor numb frame, the blue-purple…whatever that Blot oozed sheeting of his white thigh. 

He hit his comm.  “Jetfire.” 

A long silence.  Sixshot verified that the comm channel was open.  “…Sixshot.”  Something in the voice Sixshot couldn’t read. 

“Bad time.” 

“No! No.  It’s…not a bad time.” 

Sixshot waited for an explanation. 

“I, uh…I didn’t think you’d actually comm.”  The note of shy desire Sixshot remembered so well.  Even over all this distance, his systems purred.  He could feel the smooth plates of Jetfire’s broad wings under his hands—or wanted to.  And Sixshot did not…’want’. 

Not very well, at any rate.

“Said I would.” 

A shy sound, like he feared to disagree.  “No, you didn’t.  You said you couldn’t talk.”

Sixshot grunted acknowledgment, stepping forward into the spray of cleanser, tilting his head to allow cleanser into the gaps in his throat armor. “Implied.”

Jetfire gave a soft laugh. “I did not think you…implied.”

Sixshot blinked his optics under the spray.  “Not very well, apparently.”

“Ah, so there is something you do not excel at?”  Almost in spite of himself, the strange, shy teasing tone crept into his voice.

Sixshot growled back, but without malice.  He’d…missed this somehow. Even more than the physical contact, the lack of which now burned in his systems like some sort of hot energon. “You wanted something,” he prompted.  His memory brought him their last exchange.  He turned his head to the ground, letting the cleanser slide down the back of his neck, glossing the vertical stabilizers above his shoulders.  Jetfire had a fascination with them, and right now, Sixshot would have allowed the touch, for whatever pleasure it would have brought the shuttle.

The voice grew sober. “Yes.”  A host of meaning trembled in the syllable.

Sixshot waited. He grabbed a cleansing rag, popping open his interface hatch to scrub his equipment. He winced as the cleanser burned against his module, feeling nothing but a strange curiosity.  What was Jetfire doing? 

“I…,” Jetfire hesitated, then the words seemed to gush out of him. “I want to see you. Please. Just once more.”

Sixshot stopped, his systems tearing in two wildly different directions.  The thought—just the thought—of Jetfire’s armor under his hands, the wings shivering with desire, optics shining with something Sixshot couldn’t even name, set his systems afire, and strained at his already limited impulse control. Even after a night with the Terrorcons.

The other direction was caution: the first time when the Autobots had shown up he knew Jetfire had nothing to do with.  He had seen the innocence, the pain, in Jetfire’s optics there on the ramp of the shuttle. But again?

“Trap.”

“No! No. I swear it. I just…,” the voice trailed off, then, very softly, “I don’t know how to go on.”

Sixshot froze.  He had no ability, and he knew it, to read the currents under the words. He could barely understand his own thoughts, and…whatever this was below thoughts but somehow above the drives he had been using to distract himself. “Risky,” he said, finally. For both of them, and in more ways than an ambush.

“Yes,” Jetfire sounded disappointed.  “But…I can be at the asteroid station.  Alone.” He blurted a time, almost sounding surprised himself. "I can be there," he said, the tone ringing with false confidence.  And then, almost a whisper, “You…don’t have to decide now.” 

Sixshot struggled for something to say.  He didn’t even know what he was thinking, what he was feeling, much less how to put it into words.

“I’m sorry,” Jetfire said, hastily. “It was a stupid idea.”

“Jetf—“  The line went dead. Sixshot frowned, behind his mask, cleanser raining down upon his sudden, unaccustomed uncertainty. 


[***]

He had promised, told Sixshot he would be there. Even though it was a stupid idea, even though he was mortified he'd suddenly given voice to what had been, till then, merely a fantasy, he had to go.  To know.  He had to keep his word, even if he doubted Sixshot would show. Because there was a chance. There was a chance. And if Sixshot went and he was not there…it was the end. Of everything.

“Yes,” he said, he hoped calmly, to Optimus. “In our haste to depart, I’m afraid I left many of my notes there, and more than a few in-progress projects that I might be able to salvage.” He clung to the truth—this part of the truth. He would not lie.

He would try not to.

Optimus looked down at the datapad. Jetfire had written the mission specs himself, dredging up old knowledge from the vorns when he’d led the Calabi-Yau expedition. He tried not to ruffle at the way that Optimus looked…impressed. He was not a warrior, yes. That did not mean he did not know how to lead.

Or at least, how to do the paperwork.

“You might want company.” An offer, for a start. Jetfire knew it would escalate.

“Thank you but…that isn’t necessary.” His first refusal. He had made a list of possible objections, and his responses. Determined to make it right, trying to compensate for his weakness with overpreparation.

“First Aid has expressed interest in—“

“No,” Jetfire said, sharply, too sharply. He winced. So much for the lists. Not First Aid. No. If Sixshot did show up…. “I mean, I can handle it easily myself.”

“It might be lonely.” The same point, just worded differently, more targeted.

“I have been alone before,” Jetfire said, drawing himself up.

“But,” Optimus said, optics tilting with sympathy Jetfire did not deserve, “You are revisiting a place with…troubling memories.” Jetfire heard the hesitation over the adjective.

“It is best that I go alone. I have,” Jetfire paused, cycling a vent of air, “some dignity.”

Optimus nodded. “Well, if not First Aid, is there anyone you would choose to accompany you?” Thinking, apparently that First Aid was the problem.

First Aid and his strange affection for Jetfire was a problem. Just not the problem. Jetfire shook his head.

“Perhaps Ratchet? Prowl?...myself?”

Jetfire blinkered his optics, feeling his control slipping. He wanted to do this. It had to be alone. It wouldn’t work if someone came with him, if Optimus pushed the point. He had to get this right. “No,” he said, quietly. “You and Ratchet and Prowl are needed here. And while my projects can be useful, they are not immediately high priority.” He steeled himself at the risk. He’d calculated that it would work. “I would rather not go than take a mission-essential mech from where he is needed.” He tried not to hold his ventilation. An ultimatum he’d realized it would come to. Because it had to. He either went alone or there was just…no point. And not going at all was better than going with someone who might attack Sixshot, or…be attacked by Sixshot. It was a reality he didn’t want to face.

He could feel Optimus measuring him, as though on some scale that worked in unfamiliar increments. And the balance of the room seemed to tilt, as though the ground were tipping against him. He felt vertigo, everything slipping out of his grasp. He cycled a tense, nervous ventilation. “Optimus,” he said, wincing at the quaver in his voice. “I cannot explain it, but this is something I must do. For myself.”

Truth, but a grey, slippery one.

Optimus nodded, slowly, handing the datapad back across the console like a sacred thing. “Of course. I understand.” He pushed to his feet, but even so, Jetfire loomed over him. “And Jetfire?” His voice was rich with sympathy. “I trust you.”

Oh.

I don’t trust myself. “Thank you,” Jetfire said solemnly, an agony of hope and deceit warring within him, knowing what trust he was breaking, and what he swore, swore he would not. “I will not betray your trust.”

Only one chapter left.

Comments

[kamiraptor.livejournal.com]

D'aawwwing at the first half. *rolls in glee*

And then more d'aawwing at Optimus, but this time tinged with a hint of trepidation - will he let Jetfire go???


And then a WHOOSH of relief and a little niggling feeling inside at that last paragraph.

^_^ I love this story so, so hard. *purrs*

[niyazi-a.livejournal.com]

Considering they started as a crack pairing, I'm surprised how much they've grown on me. :P

Glad you liked it!

[chibirisuchan.livejournal.com]

*bites nails like mad* ohmigosh. I doubt Optimus would say that meaning to put a menacing mafia knuckle-crack behind it, but I can certainly hear Prowl's addition to that tagline for Skyfire's edification: "He trusts. I verify."

*whiiiiiimper* omg omg omg worried for them... ;______;

[niyazi-a.livejournal.com]

Sixshot is not...a genius, but he takes care of himself fairly well. I wouldn't be too worried. ^^

[kisaracrystal.livejournal.com]

This is good but will it end well for Sixshot and Jetfire? I am so worry, I have no idea what will happen except this nagging feeling that something bad that will happen and both Sixshot and Jetfire will have pain in their spark. Oh, why can't thing ever end well with the couple that I like? But still this is very good, oh, I just hope nothing will go wrong...But as the title suggest this will not end well after all if all hope is abandoned then what left is there for you to grasp? Can't wait for the next chapter, best to get my tissue box ready for it.

[niyazi-a.livejournal.com]

I can't tell you....~! ^___^

Glad you like it!