Sloe Fizz

[niyazi-a.livejournal.com]

PG
TFA Inamorato AU
Wing, Kup, Arcee
no warnings.
Written because lol, Wing. I am a sucker. Also, because I feel immensely guilty, still, over a year later for making Rodimus into a bad guy in a story. I've since come to love Rodimus, and so this is hopefully the start of a redemption. 

“Here you go!” The perky voice, almost chirpy, pierced through Kup’s reverie, as he watched the white jet, some new server, put the fizzy green cylinder of Kup’s fifth Sandokan Sloe Fizz in front of him, and then, with a flourish, a plate of fried rust crisps.

“I didn’t order these.”  Kup had been drunker—way drunker—and even three solarsails to the wind he hadn’t ever ordered food and forgotten about it.

“On the house,” the jet said.  He leaned over, nudging the plate closer.  Kup saw a name-magnet on the other’s chassis, proclaiming him ‘Wing’, with little glittery cartoon wings around the name.  “You need something in your tanks or you’re going to be feeling it tomorrow.”  A slight dimming of the high-voltage smile, before flickering brighter again. “Besides, they’re really good!”

Feeling it in the morning was kind of the whole point, Kup thought, to have something big and painful and putting a heavy load on his processor queue; something to feel other than guilt, something he deserved, something else he could blame himself for.

“That’s great,” Kup said, blandly. “Don’t worry about me. I’m just fine.”

The blazing smile Kup was beginning to think could be used as a weapon, like a laser flashed in the optics.  “Then you can be fine and eating a delicious snack.”  The jet lowered his serving tray, waiting.

“You’re not going to leave until I do.”

“Nope.” A bright flicker of the optics, almost amused at having been figured out.

Kup grunted. Figured.  “Losin’ your tip for this,” he muttered, snatching one of the crisps off the plate.

Wing shrugged.  “All right.”

“What? You don’t like money? Independently wealthy or something?” Maybe the jet was some kind of playboy, slumming here.  Who knew what entertained that lot? He bit into the chip with suitable ill grace.

Another shrug. “I care about money, but I care about mechs more.  And you seem…in pain, friend.”

Kup’s mouth stopped, mid-chew.  “…friend.” I ain’t your friend, he thought, but the words never made it to his vocalizer, blocked by a sudden lump of emotion.

“Yes,” Wing said, and after a hesitation, dropped into the booth next to him. “What troubles you?”

Kup found himself crunching another chip, studying the white jet.  Everyone had an angle: he couldn’t figure this one’s.  But all that high grade had disconnected the cortex-vocalizer filter. “Kid I know,” he heard himself say. “Knew.”  Did he really know Rodimus anymore? That was the whole problem.

“What happened to him?” Wing prompted.

“Cosmic rust.”  A twitch of the mouth that Kup buried in a deep drink of his Sandokan Sloe Fizz.  “At least, that’s the start.”

Wing winced sympathetically. “I’m sorry.”

What you got to be sorry about? Kup thought, but once again, the words didn’t come.  It was like the jet had some sort of forcefield that blunted pointed remarks.  “Yeah.”  An old-timer’s attempt to pull all of his experience, all he’s witnessed, around him as some bulwark against the pain of the present. As though a long and storied past made one above hurting. “He got better. Physically.”

A soft sound, almost a whimper.  “But he has changed.”

“Yeah.” The word stuck in his throat.He pressed on. “Or maybe I didn’t know him as well as I thought I did.”  He’d thought of Hot Rod as, well, a protégé. A friend.  A kid with promise.

“Trauma changes a mech. If he appears different to you, it may be the same for himself.”

Kup’s veteran’s shrug came a bit easier this time. “Maybe.”  It hurt to think of the change in Rodimus: the violent temper, the sullen, implacable hatred of their former enemies.  Kup struggled with peace, with the idea that ‘Cons were now forgiven, pardoned, as if they’d never been enemies, but Rodimus lashed out.  A ‘Con symbol was enough to send him into rages at times. Kup had heard of beatings, assaults. Worse. 

But he couldn’t really blame the mech. He supposed he’d hold a grudge, too: a bright future snuffed by Oil Slick and that one vial.  Even in the hospital when Kup had visited the kid, he’d seemed more upset he’d let down his team than anything. So it hadn’t started then, in the moment. That was the Rodimus Kup wanted to know, wanted to believe was still in there. The one it was getting harder and harder to see.

“Does he know your thoughts?” Wing reached over, taking a chip before nudging the plate back toward Kup.  Just like they were friends. Just like they had this kind of spark-to-spark all the time.

“No.” He found himself taking another chip.  “Don’t know how to say anything without setting him off.” Give Kup a gun and he was fine. Give him a raw recruit and he could manage.  Give him a terrified soldier facing his first combat, and the words just flowed.  But this? No, because the stakes were personal.

“But saying nothing….”

“Yeah. Not working.” He felt like he was watching Rodimus slowly die in front of him.  Not the body this time, but something more important. And saying nothing was almost like saying it was okay.

“Tell him.” The gold optics glinted with confidence. “Tell him this: that you fear alienating him, but that you say unpleasant things because you care, and that it hurts to see him hurting.”

Part of Kup wanted to laugh.  A stranger, who had drawn cheery little cartoon wings on his name badge, was giving advice that seemed to strike through his very spark.  “Too easy.”

“I assure you, it’s not as easy to do as it may sound. But he will know you care, and sometimes...that is everything.”

Kup reached for a cy-gar. Nah, no way. Cheap advice.  It was some romantic streak in him, some overblown optimism that made him even consider it.  He chomped the cy-gar, jerking his chin at the bar. “Ain’t you got a job to do?”

Wing nodded, and rose to his feet, as though he’d been waiting for just that cue.  “My break’s almost over,” he explained. “I hope you find peace, you and your friend.” 

And just like that, the jet bounced off, back to the bar, stopping to take a refill order from a crowded booth of ‘Cons, the same perky smile on his face, leaving Kup alone with echoing words and a Sloe Fizz he suddenly wasn’t sure he wanted.

[***]

“I saw you met Wing,” Arcee glanced over his shoulder as she pulled up his tab from the central computer.

“Yeah.” Kup grunted. “Cute kid.”

“A Neutral,” Arcee said. 

“What’s his deal?”

“He’s some kind of monk, or trying to be.  Working here is part of his vows.” She held out a chit reader.

“Not really a monk place, here.” Kup slotted his credit chit through the reader. 

“Something about knowing the world before he renounces it?” Arcee gave a curious, sad sort of smile.  She’d lost her memories of the whole war—in a way, she’d lost knowing the world.  She could forget, and Kup had been envying that.

Had been.

“Yeah.” Kup shifted the cy-gar from one side of his mouth to the other, pulling a fifty shanix piece from his storage. “Here. Give him this. Tip. Or something.” He dropped his gaze, almost embarrassed at himself.

Arcee’s smile grew bemused. “I swear he makes more tips this way….”

But Kup didn’t hear. He’d turned away. //Hey. Rodimus?  Gotta minute?//

Comments

[muffins-of-god.livejournal.com]

The more I read of this verse, the more I wanna read. I'm gonna have to go back and read the rest of it when I get a moment!

[ravynfyre.livejournal.com]

Wing is seriously weaponized awesome. I want to cuddle him with extreme prejudice! He's like a novice kestra'chern or something! They totally cannot lose him to the Order!

[playswithworms.livejournal.com]

Love Wing's namebadge, and his "should be registered as a deadly weapon" smile, lol. Poor Kup, and Rodimus ;_;

[acidgreenflames.livejournal.com]

Oh I loved this! So much cuteness! I love how you write Wing, it just makes me want to squee and cuddle something fuzzy.