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shadow_vector2011-05-31 11:01 pm
Mabaya ch 17 Renegotiating
IDW
Drift/Deadlock, Perceptor, Turmoil
warning: Turmoil doin' his thang.
The Sword had said nothing to Deadlock all that night, nor the day after, nor the following. Still, he’d clutched it—some talisman from some distant reality, as if he were willing to shed the Autobot Drift, but cling, somehow, onto the Drift Wing knew. The one who had, momentarily at least, some clarity of vision, when the red haze of violence had cleared. He could almost…see.
He wondered if he’d ever see anything that clearly again.
He recovered. Slowly, he felt the radiation receding from his system, drawn into the isotopic blankets they lay over him, the fluids they changed. It was complicated and tedious and involved, a visible testament of Turmoil’s investment, that he would authorize this much. For Deadlock. For whatever he thought Deadlock was.
“Your quarters,” Turmoil said, standing officiously by the door, self-satisfied, as though he’d always known this would happen.
Possibly had.
Deadlock pushed past him, trying his best to ignore the cool waft of Turmoil’s EM against his side. Turmoil followed him into the room, pausing by the doorway.
“What do you want, Turmoil?” Weary challenge in Deadlock’s voice.
“Merely taking you in,” Turmoil said, his voice going to a husky purr. “The sword and all.”
Deadlock whirled, just to keep his body between Turmoil and the Great Sword, as though Turmoil could snatch it away. He realized, too late, that that fear was a testament to what power Turmoil had gained over him
Let him try.
Turmoil laughed. “Well,” he said, spreading his hands, “you wanted that sword to kill me, yes? Here’s your chance.”
Deadlock’s hand flew to the hilt, tempted, but waiting. This was…not how it was supposed to be. “No,” he said. Still too weak. The Sword would kill him, and maybe he’d miss. Maybe he’d die for nothing, in a useless swipe that only dismembered Turmoil, but left him alive. He had to wait. Until he was sure he could survive it. Just…that long. He had no dreams of living beyond that. Just…end this.
“No?” Turmoil sounded amused. “The weapon but not the will, now?”
“I pick when. I pick where,” Deadlock snapped. “Not you.” Yes. No will. No point. Better use the sword against myself. Perceptor’s dead. I’m…beyond dead.
He had no idea why he didn’t. Revenge or suicide…both the same thing. But here he was, once again, rebuilt and clinging onto life for its own pathetic sake, as he’d done, as he’d always done, even in the gutters. He’d seen mechs who had chosen death, and felt a nothing but a hot stir of contempt for their weakness. No. he would not be weak. Not…that weak.
Turmoil shook his head. “Grasping after control,” he tsked.
And Deadlock was, and he knew it. Because without even that illusory control, rote resistance, he’d spin away into nothing. He thrust his hands on his hips, fingers curling over the edges of his scabbards. “You think I’ll fight for you again, you’re…,” he tossed his head in derision.
“And after all the fighting I’ve done to get you back, that’s a little…ungrateful,” Turmoil said, placidly. “But I entirely understand. You need some time to grieve your Autobot friend.” He moved, as if he’d thought about touching Deadlock’s shoulder, then thought better of it, his hand falling back to his side. “Should you need anything,” he said, over his shoulder, turning his back to Deadlock, “contact me.”
And with a silent movement, Deadlock was left alone with his thoughts.
Where he least wanted to be.
[***]
Perceptor sat stiffly across from Turmoil, the Decepticon commander obviously at his ease. Around them the repair equipment beeped quietly, the small closet-sized room halfway between a cell and a rest bed. “You understand,” Turmoil was saying, and for a moment Perceptor had a hard time matching this voice, this demeanor, to the mech who had so brutally tortured him on his capture. Perceptor let his optics drop to Turmoil’s hands, forcing himself to remember. Those hands. So much pain. Careful, surgically precise in their infliction of agony. “Repairs at that level are costly. We do expect some…return on our investment.”
“Investment,” Perceptor echoed.
Turmoil reached over, tapping the energon ration in front of Perceptor, significantly. “Or,” he said, as a mild threat, “you can refuse to refuel, and we will simply…force you.”
Perceptor’s hands moved slowly to the ration, hated that he was obeying, but knowing full well that Turmoil did not speak idly. He tried to convince himself that he needed to fuel, to stay strong, to keep his cortex functioning. Until he could find a way out. Or…better…, “I can work on Drift.”
Turmoil laughed. It was a strangely genuine sound. “Persistence,” he chuckled. “But again, I am forced to refuse your generous offer.” He tapped the autoinjector of his own ration, slowing the feed. “Counteroffer: you work on some other project of mine. In a…scientific capacity.”
“No.”
Turmoil laughed again. “You’re…new at negotiations, aren’t you?”
“I will not work on your weapons.” Perceptor hid the sigh as the energon hit his systems, autorepair soothing itself on. It felt like a betrayal, or contamination at the least, to take the enemy’s fuel in his company, even though he told himself it was merely to find some strength, to find a way to get to Drift. He had a purpose, now, for the first time since his capture. A real purpose, that burned in him like a star in the darkness. He would find a way to see Drift.
“Did I say weapons?” Turmoil tilted his helm. “It would be, at the very least, unwise to let an Autobot near my ordnance.”
“I want to see Drift.”
Turmoil stood up. “I think, perhaps, you forget that you’re a prisoner.” His palms slapped flat on the table, looming over Perceptor, silent, dangerous. “Do you need a reminder?” His hands curled, gouging into the table, crumpling the metal. “I can,” he said, his voice dangerously soft, “extract some…entertainment value from you, at least.”
Perceptor leveled his optics into the orange gaze. “I have nothing to lose,” he said, clearly, flatly. “And nothing else to offer.”
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I can see all sorts of bad stuff happening here. Especially with Driftlock not knowing Perceptor's still alive.
*wibbles*
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and it's deliciousno subject
friggen Turmoil. such an evil bastidge.
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