Terminus

[niyazi-a.livejournal.com]

R
IDW
Jetfire/Sixshot, First Aid
ref to pnp, tactile, and unsurprisingly, it got angsty. 
for tf_rare_pairing January Challenge.

It was the laugh that stopped First Aid as he headed down the corridor to his quarters: the soft, open laugh he’d never heard before, muffled but clear enough through the door of Jetfire’s quarters.  Jetfire, laughing.

It was almost unthinkable. Jetfire wasn’t ill-tempered by any means, but he seemed, well…too steady to have things as disruptive and ephemeral as emotions.

And more than a laugh, now—a sultry purr. “Wish you were here, too.”

First Aid quivered on the blade’s edge of curiosity, the electric tone of Jetfire’s voice traveling through him, leaving little eddies of jealousy. Who?  Who was Jetfire talking to? Who could elicit that purr, that fond, promising laugh? Who could have what First Aid had been –politely—rebuffed from?

Optimus? Perceptor?  Both seemed improbable, somehow, but then again, who didn’t? 

“All right.” The voice, through the door, and First Aid caught himself straining to hear. “I would say ‘be careful’.” Another laugh, soft and teasing. ”But…just know I’m thinking of you.”

First Aid would give anything to see through that door: the broad span of wings, lower lobes flicking with eotion. Was he standing? Pacing?  Or was he on his berth, the large white limbs spayed open and comfortable? What did the shuttle look like in arousal?

First Aid could  practically feel the shimmer of desire as though the EM field sang through the air, calling a resonance in his own field, his interface systems pinging on, driven by that soft laugh, maddened by the teasing affection aimed at someone else. He heard himself whimper with longing.

A dismayed cry and the arousal guttered, snapping off.  A moment later, the door whisked open,  the corridor’s lights limning Jetfire’s armor as he stood in the darkened doorway.

And First Aid might have seen alarm and worry on the shuttle’s face, if he hadn’t been busy running away.

[***]

Jetfire was humming, the way he did when engrossed in some science, rotating a chemical’s shape in his cortex, or following a path of a gravity well, as he hunched over the datapad in the refectory.

First Aid took a seat beside him. “What are you working on?”

Jetfire startled, looking guilty for a klik before schooling his expression. “A-an expedition,” he said, finally. “Another of the Regenesis planets.”

First Aid nodded.  “Wish I could come.”  He could be useful, maybe.  Not that there lacked work for a medic in the middle of a war, but this would be helping, perhaps, end the war. If they could find out Shockwave’s science, they could find a way to harness the process, produce energon safely.

One of the large wings twitched.  “No, no. It’s…very dangerous.  If I didn’t have my armor mods, I wouldn’t risk it, either.” 

“I could come with you and stay in orbit?” First Aid’s optics were wide and earnest.  “You’ve…gotten injured before.”  The last three times Jetfire had gone on an expedition like this, he’d come back bumped and scratched and dented, but buoyed by success.  He was lucky it hadn’t been worse. And a scientist should know, First Aid thought, that more serious injuries were simply a probability away.

“I’ll be fine,” Jetfire said, distractedly.  “Honestly. I need to go alone.”  He managed a smile; it looked stiff and rusty.

Maybe, First Aid thought, he was thinking of the Calabi-Yau crew, the danger he'd put them in at Thunderhead Pass. Maybe he felt better risking no one but himself.

“I’ll be fine, First Aid,” Jetfire repeated, his voice kind but lacking the fond warmth he had heard the other night, through the door.  “Thank you for worrying.”   He stood up, clutching the pad to his chassis with an air of finality.

[***]

“I’m just worried,” First Aid said.  His hands nearly wrung themselves as he stood before Ratchet’s desk. The desk was littered with datatracks, requisitions, and here and there, a part he had pulled aside to search for in stores.

Ratchet shot him one of his patented Meaningful Looks that said ‘yeah right’ louder than a megaphone.  “If you want to keep lying to yourself, sure,” he said, blandly, tilting back in his seat.  One hand toyed with a ball joint casing.

“Well, aren’t you?  Look at what those crystals did to Kup!”

“Jetfire can handle himself,” Ratchet shrugged, adding darkly.  “Not the fraggin’ crystals he has to worry about.”

First Aid blinked, confused. “Then what?  What is it, Ratchet?  What should he worry about?” 

“Nothing. Never mind.” Ratchet rolled to his feet, bustling with a slightly insincere air of ‘let’s get back to work’.  He dropped the ball joint on the desk where it clunked heavily against the datatracks.“He’s made his own choice, First Aid.”

That sounded more ominous than reassuring.  Then again, Ratchet wasn’t much known for sugarcoating truths.  Nor, however, was he one for painting an issue too darkly.

“But…?”

A shake of the head. “But nothing, First Aid.  We fix ‘em when they’re broken. Some things, though?” Ratchet shook his head, his chevron catching in the light, “we can’t fix.”

[***]

First Aid tried to shift his position. It was cramped in the storage bin, but he’d  had very little choice. He had to know what was going on.  Something was going on, and no one was telling him about it.  More than that it was something that hurt Jetfire. And maybe Ratchet didn’t care, or had given up, or something, but First Aid wouldn’t.  He wasn’t afraid…much.

The small craft seemed to vibrate all around him, thrumming down from hyperdrive.  First Aid settled his medical kit against his chassis.  He’d find out. He’d help. All he had to do was wait until Jetfire left the ship before he popped out of the bin.  And he’d patch Jetfire up right here, and maybe…and maybe…be included on more expeditions. Once he’d proved himself.

Energon, he thought. He could warm some energon.  And prep an oil bath. And perhaps the decon, as well.  Yes. That would be nice. Jetfire would come back and he’d feel taken care of. And he wouldn’t have to keep secrets, and he wouldn’t have to be alone. 

The thunking of the landing gear  shook the small cargo bay, and First Aid could swear he heard the whine of atmosphere against the hull. Was Jetfire going to land?

Apparently—the gentle bumps of landing pedes against some surface, the slow settle, with whining struts, as the ship’s weight settled into ground.  The bumps and clicks of landing and then the long whirr of a ramp.  Landing, definitely.  First Aid fought the temptation to pop open the bin, ducking even smaller in the bin as he heard footsteps, almost eager, pass him for the ramp. He tensed, waiting, readying himself to move, lifting his repair kit off his chassis. 

A thunder of sound, suddenly and then footsteps, ringing fast across the deck, a startled cry splitting the air.  A hard crunch, jarring the bin First Aid lay in sideways. 

“Eager, are you?” Jetfire’s voice, teasing, aroused.

“Not one to talk.”  Another voice, flat, hard.  An engine revved, loud, filling the space, vibrating the bin First Aid crouched in.  “Know what I want.””

Another clatter, and then the heavy crash of a body falling.  And then moaning, soft, pitiful, swallowing words.  Whatever it was, First Aid thought, it had just gone horribly wrong.

First Aid’s fingers found the clasp of his kit, working it open to grab a laser scalpel. Whoever that was was attacking Jetfire.  And this wasn’t much of a weapon, but it was something. Ratchet had taught him, and reinforced, with that stolid glower under his helm’s rim, that the scalpel could be a dangerous tool. 

“Know I like the noise,” the cold voice said, echoed by a cry of pain. A growl, and the rasp of metal on metal.

First Aid gathered his feet under him, hefting the laser scalpel, his other hand reaching for the lid of the bin. He’d have to time this right, tilting his head to try to find the source of the noise. There, to his right. 

What was he thinking? Whoever it was had overpowered Jetfire. And he was…he was a medic. With a scalpel.  What could he do?

He could try. He had to try. That’s what Autobots did.

Right.

He burst up, flinging the bin’s lid behind him, trying to leap over the bin’s rim.  Leap out of this, and onto the attacker, and with any luck, the scalpel would find a line. He could be a hero. 

Only…he didn’t leap high enough, stumbling forward, his feet getting tangled in the bin, to slam face first on the floor, scalpel skittering from his hand.

The sounds stopped, abruptly. Too abruptly. First Aid looked up, to see the cold black eye of a gun’s barrel staring at him. And above that, a long white arm, heavily armored, powerfully rated.  And above that, red optics that glowed with hostility. Decepticon optics.

Sixshot, torso turned to face First Aid, his lower frame straddling Jetfire’s. “Explain.”

“G-get away from him,” First Aid stammered, trying to cram his voice full of bluster. 

“No.” That simple, a flat refusal, calling the bluff they both knew was all First Aid had. 

“Sixshot.”  Jetfire pushed to his elbows, one hand brushing the other shoulder. “Don’t kill him.”

“Give me a reason.”  A hesitation, a correction. “A good reason.”

“He’s my friend.” Jetfire’s voice was soothing, calming, aware of the danger, tense, yet strangely unafraid. 

“Friend.”  Sixshot spat the word. “You Autobots stowaway on your friends?”

“That’s not what I--,” First Aid cut himself short. Well, yes, that was exactly what he’d done.

“Or is this a set up.” A flick of the white helm back to Jetfire, the optics hard and angry and somehow hurt. 

“No!” Jetfire said, hurriedly, his fingers curling over the jut of Sixshot’s spaulder. “No, Sixshot. I wouldn’t.” 

A tense moment, and all First Aid could do was stare at the black fingers tightening over the triggerwell. A low growl, seeming to emanate from the gun that didn’t waver, staring him between his optics.  And then, and only then, did First Aid see the shadowed box shape of an open interface hatch on Jetfire’s chassis, the cable coiled, where dropped, in a slithered line to the floor.

“Please,” Jetfire said, “lower the gun.”

Sixshot’s optics twitched. “Scalpel. In his hands.”  He pointed with his free hand at where the laserscalpel had skittered against another bin. 

“He’s unarmed now, Sixshot. He’s no threat to you.”

A strange snarl that sounded almost like pain. “Threat to you,” Sixshot said.

“I’ll handle it.  Really.”  Jetfire’s hand stroked one of SIxshot’s shoulder stabilizers: a gentle, intimate caress, coaxing Sixshot back from violence.

“How.”  A flat, hard word. The optics never left First Aid’s face, as the smaller mech sat up, raising his hands, open and helpless. 

“I’ll…figure something out.” Jetfire rolled up, twining his arms around the teal chassis, and First Aid realized how matched they were, size for size, power for power. 

A grunt, and Sixshot turned, holstering the gun in a gesture so smooth it was deeper than instinct, and he pulled Jetfire against him, nuzzling against his audio for a long moment, optics dimming as he rerouted a process.

Now was the time to attack, if there ever was one, but First Aid found himself frozen as all the pieces fell into place: the overheard conversation, everything.  It was unthinkable, but here it was: they were lovers, meeting in slivers of time, like this, in these tiny gaps between the war.

“I missed you,” Jetfire whispered, husky and warm, trying to step the other mech off the edge of violence.

“Better have.” Something almost like color and warmth in the Phase Sixer’s voice, that faded, like a dying leaf, and the posture grew harder, more rigid.

Sixshot rose, abruptly, Jetfire’s embrace tearing from his chassis. He stood, for a long moment, red optics drinking in Jetfire’s sprawl, the beautiful lines of the white limbs, the red banded wing panels trembling with emotion. A tense, crystalline moment, shattered when the mech spun on his heel, and left.  

His heavy treads rang on the ramp, knelling into the distance before either of them moved: Jetfire turned, one hand outstretched as if calling Sixshot back, seemed to shudder, as if in pain. First Aid lowered his hands.

“Jetfire--,” he began but, as the moment stretched around the word, he didn’t know what else to say.  Ask? Accuse? Apologize? 

Jetfire shook his head, mouth squeezing around emotion as he pushed to his feet, optics blinking rapidly as he coiled and stowed his interface cable.  He moved, slowly, as if half-rusted, tapping the code to stow the ramp, seal the ship and prepare for departure. 

“We’re leaving?”  First Aid clambered to his feet, following. “But, the samples?”

“He brought them.” A vague, drifting gesture toward a black banded cargo crate. One lower lobe quivered, alive with emotion, unable to even bear the pronoun.  “He always does.”

First Aid thought of the samples Jetfire had, the maps to Regenesis planets. All those little trips. “But how do you know they’re real?”

A look of scorn and hurt over the broad white shoulder. “He wouldn’t do that.”  Absolute, lambent faith in the other mech. 

That, First Aid thought, was what love looked like, what it felt like, and he had been close enough to touch it, to see it. And he hadn’t, too wrapped in his own notions, his thin domestic fantasy of warmed energon and buffing out scratches.

“Buckle in,” Jetfire said, his voice tight but courteous, kind, as he sat himself in the chair, fingers that had once held his beloved flicking impassively over the shuttle’s controls. 

And First Aid sat, obedient, quiet, in the miserable dark awareness that he had ruined something sacred.

Comments

[evvj.livejournal.com]

Oh my goodness I am so happy to see more of this pairing from you. So. Happy.

Gonna go reread the whole series now.

[totso.livejournal.com]

Hah! You completely summed up everything I was thinking

[d-lueth.livejournal.com]

Damnit First Aid! >:(

Not cool! Listen to Ratchet, will you? Ratchet Knows Best!

[ravynfyre.livejournal.com]

*cries like a baby*

Oh First Aid, how could you?

[eerian_sadow]

oh, i knew this wouldn't be happy when i encouraged you to write it, and it still broke my heart. this is glorious even as it's so very tragic.

excellent work, hon.

[wicked3659.livejournal.com]

I loved this!! So much angst I do not know what to do with. I adore the terse hard exterior of your Sixshot, yet you can tell there's strong emotions running just under the surface. I can't help but feel sorry for First Aid, poor bot shouldn't have gone prying into business that wasn't his ^_^;; *hugs him*

Excellent fic!!

[ultharkitty.livejournal.com]

Beautifully dark (in an angsty, melancholy way), I really like this. I also really like your characterisation of First Aid. So well-meaning and naive.

[playswithworms.livejournal.com]

Oh, Aid...Well, on the one hand, he did just try to save Jetfire from Sixshot armed with a scalpel, which is kind of awesome (even if it there was a bit of "maybe I'll be a hero and save him and he'll like me!" in there) but on the other hand...*facepalm*

Poor guy - in addition to misinterpreting things rather royally he also gets to find out how completely opposite-of-Jetfire's type he really is *pats*

Poor Jetfire, too! All he gets are these rare, too-short moments, and this one got cut even shorter. Still, I hope Aid and Jetfire can find a path back to friendship - I'd say they've got better odds than most, between the two of them ^^

[nan00kwrites.livejournal.com]

Can I just say that Jetfire/Sixshot is like my favorite OTP in Transformers? Because of what you've written with them? I almost screamed when I saw you had written this. Oh god, I love your little, angst-filled universe here. It can be so beautiful and so heart-breaking and I absolutely LOVE it.

With First Aid knowing now... oh gosh I'm legit nervous right now about where this might end up for Jetfire especially. Please please please tell me you're planning/considering a sequel to this installment? That would be absolutely amazing!!!

Thank you so much for sharing this with us and adding to the nearly non-existent collection of Jetfire/Sixshot stories for me to read a million times over and cherish! <3

[kamiraptor.livejournal.com]

First I danced cuz there was more. :3

Then I facepalmed at First Aid falling more than leaping to the rescue. :D

Then I cried, because Jetfire is so so sad. D:

[okkkkay.livejournal.com]

You know I was so late catching up with IDW-verse I didn't get the regenesis part of the story before. Now I adore how Sixshot is playing behind Shockwave's back :D Yay science.