![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
niyazi-a.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
shadow_vector2011-06-17 10:18 am
Parallax part 3
IDW Parallax AU
Drift, Perceptor, Wing, Kup, Springer
sticky non graphic
Wing had told him to verify, and even if the jet hadn’t, Perceptor was too much of a scientist, still, to take one source of information. He waited, catching Drift alone, as the smaller mech scrolled fitfully through a datapad. “Who is Wing?”
The datapad nearly fell from Drift’s hands—the white mech lunged to catch it. “Wing?” His optics seemed to coruscate, telling Perceptor everything he needed to know. He could read the fleeting impulse to lie, prevaricate, evade, and saw Drift shove those aside. Perceptor took heart from that: Drift did not lie to him. “He’s from…Crystal City. Where I was.” A strange shift of Drift’s expression. “He’s dead.”
Perceptor caught movement from the corner of his right optic—a white blur resolving itself into Wing, face stricken, hands wringing at their helplessness.
Drift’s optics narrowed. “Where did you hear that name?”
“You,” Perceptor said, quietly. “Two nights ago. Your bad memory purge. You called it out.”
Drift frowned, at himself, as though he had betrayed something.
“I was with him,” Wing murmured. “In his dreams, that night. I…didn’t know he thought they were nightmares.” He reached out a helpless, misty hand, stroking down Drift’s shoulder, as if trying to caress away the pain he might have caused. “I’ll stop.”
“No,” Perceptor answered, realizing too late that Drift was here, and could hear him, and had no idea what he was talking about. He turned to Drift. “Do you want them to stop? Those dreams?”
“No.” The answer, fast, sure and hard, the white-armored hands clenching into fists, as though he’d fight to keep those dreams if he needed to. “In them,” he added, awkwardly, “everything’s just…so much less complicated.” His gaze dropped to his hands.
Wing gave a pleased chirr, mechanisms he no longer owned revving with a shy pleasure. Perceptor caught his gaze, nodding. “Thank you,” Wing whispered.
Perceptor shrugged. How could he be jealous of a ghost who lived in dreams? How could he deny him that small comfort when he had Drift, awake, alive? Wing had had Drift first, had made him who he was. Perceptor had no right to complain, no right to draw boundaries, to exclude the phantom jet. Wing swept forward, and Perceptor felt a warm rush of energy, as the white arms flung themselves around him in a quick, ephemeral embrace. He shivered at the contact, electricity shimmering through his systems. “I’ll leave you alone now,” Wing murmured.
“But—“
“Just for tonight,” Wing added, resolving behind Perceptor, his hands pushing gently at the red shoulders, nudging him toward Drift. “Please?” It was a needless courtesy, but all Wing could offer.
“’But’ what?” Drift said, cocking his head. “Everything all right?”
The hands pushed at him again, and through them Perceptor could feel Wing’s honest, pure intention—that Drift be happy, that Perceptor be happy. It was…dizzying, unreal, that a mech could so purely desire the happiness of others. He was humbled before it. And in front of him, Drift was quirking that half-smile, his optics curious, his mouth almost calling to Perceptor. He leaned forward, mouth seeking Drift’s, arms wrapping around the white frame with a solidity and force he knew Wing must envy. “Yes,” he murmured. “Everything’s fine.”
[***]
Perceptor caught the white flash of Wing’s body as Drift pulled him down on top of him. The jet had left, quietly, politely, every time. And every time managed to look more and more heartbroken. He lifted his head. “Stay,” he said, softly.
Wing stopped, uncertain, turning by the doorway.
“Planning on it,” Drift murmured, growling into Perceptor’s upraised throat. “Planning on making you stay, too.”
Wing hesitated, drawn to Drift’s voice, his movements, the white and black hands tugging around Perceptor’s chassis.
Perceptor tilted his head in invitation. He didn’t want Wing to feel he had to leave: he doubted there was much the jet hadn’t already seen, huddled in the sword’s gem. Wing reached a pale hand, brushing it over Drift’s shoulder. “He’s so beautiful,” Wing said.
Perceptor nodded.
“You make him so happy,” Wing said, his voice distant and sad, that he could see Drift happy...but have no part in it.
Perceptor found himself savoring the words—Wing saw; Wing knew. And he tried—he tried to make Drift happy, make all that he’d been through pass and fade. He hung in a haze of the words, until Drift raked his hands down Perceptor’s back.
“Boring you?” Drift teased. “Can make it more interesting.”
Wing’s engines revved at the tease, his optics molten with want. “His helm,” he said, his hand drifting to brush the long finials. “Have you ever?”
Perceptor shook his head, before bending down, letting his mouth trace along the upper sweep of the white shape, his glossa probing gently at the tip. Drift shuddered, beneath him, clamping his thighs around Perceptor’s leg, grinding his pelvic frame into Perceptor’s body. Perceptor caught a wink from Wing’s optic, the jet settling down by Drift’s head, his hands stroking gently at the other finial. Drift groaned, squirming under Perceptor’s weight.
“Think he can feel me?” Wing asked, face alight with hope.
Perceptor nipped at the finial, before looking up. Drift had shivered at the touch. Aroused, his EM field was sensitized, registering even the ghostly fuzz like some feathery, phantom touch. “Yes.”
The jet’s optics shuttered in a tremulous sort of happiness, that he could somehow still reach Drift, alive, even that much, not buried in the cocoon of dreams.
“Yes?” Drift echoed, his voice rough with need. “There better be more to this.”
Perceptor and Wing exchanged a rare, precious smile.
[***]
“Got a problem.”
Of course. Springer only came to Kup when there were ‘problems’. Which meant, in translation, ‘slag Springer didn’t want to deal with.’ Which tended to have a lot of overlap with ‘Things Springer can’t solve by punching something.’ “What is it?”
“Perceptor.”
Well, there’s a name Kup hadn’t expected to come up in the ‘problem’ category. “Perceptor. Okay, what’s he been doing.”
Springer shrugged, uncomfortable. “Talking to himself, a lot. In his workshop, mostly. He’s talkin’ like havin’ a regular conversation, only…no one’s there.”
Kup looked at Springer from under the rim of his helm. “It’s Perceptor.” Seriously. Perceptor, talking too much? That was like saying Sunstreaker was ‘too vain’. Fell under the category of ‘no slagging kidding’.
Springer gave an angry sort of huff. “Okay, fine. Then how’s this?” He slotted a datatab into the console, cueing it up. A scene: regular ship surveillance, the rec room. Kup read the time-hash—early morning, when only the virtuous were up, which meant the Wreckers were dead asleep, or drunk, or both.
“Xenobiology,” Perceptor muttered, stepping into the shot. “this time, I think. History later.” He walked to the holovid display, the case underneath, bending to rummage through the collection of vids. He looked up, and the camera caught a flash of his reticle. It looked, for all the world, Kup thought, like someone had said something to him. “Music later. All right.” Perceptor dug out a few vids, slotting them into the reader, in queue. He straightened. “If you need anything….”
And he turned, and left. Just like that, just as the first vid, a documentary about Quaal, began. Springer leaned over, snapping the display off with one jabbing finger. “See?” he said.
Yeah, Kup saw. He sighed. “So he talks to himself. So he plays holovids to an empty room. Maybe he’s got himself an imaginary friend.” He tried a blustering shrug. Perceptor was too good a mech to deserve Springer’s judgment. “Look, Springer. We all got issues.” He lifted a cy-gar from the table beside him. “We all got our ways to cope.”
“Cope.” Springer’s gaze flattened.
“Well, what do you think it is?”He had a feeling he knew the answer.
“Drift,” Springer said, spitting the word.
Yup. “So he’s with Drift, and gets an imaginary friend. Interesting relationship side-effect. Don’t remember hearing that one before.”
“You’re not taking this seriously,” Springer snapped.
“I’m takin’ it plenty seriously, Springer. Just that, till you prove to me this is actually a combat liability, it ain’t a problem.”
“By the time he’s a liability,” Springer retorted, “it’ll be too damn late.”
“Fine.” Point, though Kup hated to admit it. And they needed Perceptor. He was calm, quiet, reasoned. He brought something to the team. “I’ll handle it.”
Springer frowned, but…after all, that’s what he’d wanted Kup to say anyway. “See that you do.”
no subject
I wonder how Kup will take "I'm talking to a dead mech" as an explanation...
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
Drift is not going to take Springer's concerns very well, methinks. One thing to dubt *him*, but now to doubt Perceptor just because they're together? He's... I don't imagine that will go over very well.
no subject
no subject
can't wait.
no subject
no subject
no subject
Kind of him to give Wing a diversion though. Kind, and very giving of him to share Drift too.
no subject
no subject