Taking Note

[niyazi-a.livejournal.com]

PG-13
IDW MTMTE
Red Alert/Drift
no warnings
for tf_rare_pairing weekly request: Red Alert/Drift: watcher

Red Alert liked routines. And Rung had affirmed that routines were good for him, as well. They gave him structure, stability, something he could feel in control of.  At least in part.  Because he was never—fully—in control.

Case in point:  Every morning he’d taken the new habit of drinking heated energon while looking out the forward bow window of the Lost Light. Some mornings, the half-cycle he scheduled to do this flew by, some mornings they crawled and he found himself checking and rechecking his chrono.  Not even that much control over himself.  No, he needed these rituals, live for, and through, them.

Today, something disturbed his ritual: Rung told him to keep records, to track what happened outside and in. He opened a small log. “Drift, outside the ship.”  He frowned, looking down at his energon. He didn’t want to be here; he fought being in this room, feeling his spark flutter like a trapped bird. He stood, in a sort of inner agony, for 15 microkliks. “Going outside.”  Rung had told him to follow impulses.  He said it was Red Alert’s strength, his intuition, and that it should be honored.

He had to steel himself at the doorway, asking himself if he really wanted to do this. Yes.  He didn’t know why, but he wanted to go out.  Impulse. Intuition. 

The sunrise pinged heat from the Lost Light’s hull, gilding the forward bow, the dull shine on metal, and the gloss over glass. And below him, on the sand cut orange and purple by the rising sun, was Drift, his swords drawn, running through a complicated series of movements.  Sunlight dazzled off blades that moved faster than Red Alert’s optics could track. It was beautiful, the light prisming as though Drift cut it into colors as he moved. 

But for all the movement, all the dynamic force, the powdery sand kicked up from the lunges, the wide sweeps of the swords, Drift seemed…still. Centered, focused, calm. Everything Red Alert was not. Even as he watched, Red Alert felt the old thread of fear spinning through him, like a dark, twisting ribbon.

He didn’t want to look away, trying to puzzle out the other mech’s secret, the serenity in the mech’s movements.  With Drift’s history, he was the last Red Alert would expect to be…peaceful.

It was a mystery.

And for a moment Red Alert felt the anxiety thaw, watching Drift’s movements, the smooth sweep of the sword, the backwards shift of weight, hundreds of the kind of minute details a mech like Red Alert had been forged to notice, collate, tag—what another mech, a less sententious one, might call ‘appreciate’.

He tried to spot any trace of Deadlock in the casual liquid grace of the mech before him.  He saw only vestiges, translucent and thin, glimpses of Deadlock’s intensity, the determination under all the well-practiced moves.

Below him, Drift finished, stowing his blades after one last sweeping gesture, almost like a salute, to the sun’s now full-risen orb.  The shadows were no longer stretched and purple, but small things, fuzzes of grey. 

Drift believed, Red Alert thought, like Deadlock. Drift believed in the Knights of Cybertron with the same headlong passion as he had believed in Megatron’s eloquence.  Strange how the traits were admirable or hateful, depending on what sigil you wore. Red Alert noted that thought for Rung: another anxious instability in the universe. 

Movement, white, in his field of vision: Drift, just below him on the ramp.  “I hope I didn’t disturb you,” Drift said, a smile glancing on his mouthplates, like a reflection of the rising sun.

“No,” Red Alert said, absently.  Though Drift did disturb him—his past, his mysterious calmness, his faith, his intensity.  How could that not be disturbing?  “I was just watching.”

The helm canted, tilted optics curious. “Looking to learn swords?” The grin grew a little wry. “I’m not sure I’m much of a teacher.”

“No,” Red Alert said. The last thing he wanted: swords were sharp and dangerous and there was just too much of a potential for a training accident.  “Just…it was…,” he flicked his gaze away, “beautiful.” 

The bitter edge left Drift’s smile and for a moment, they merely looked at each other, awkward, hesitant.  Red Alert felt the world seem to spin, and he couldn’t even come up with words to log it in his notes beyond ‘unsettled.’ 

Drift moved—that swordsmech’s grace—and Red Alert felt the sudden gentle brush of mouthplates against his own, the contact so light it was almost a tickle. Red Alert clutched onto the other’s shoulder, registering the solar heat, the glossy polish, and the solidity.  Even his armor felt centered, grounded. He felt his mouth against Drift’s shift and move, pressing for more contact, feeling the graze of Drift’s heavy nasal against his cheek. 

He felt wildly out of control, dizzy and spinning. It felt terrifying. It felt wonderful.

Drift pulled back, slowly, with one last teasing gesture, a flick of his glossa, against Red Alert’s mouth.  His optics grew curious, considering, and then he gave a brisk, small nod. “You should smile more,” he said, quietly, the compliment sweet in the air between them. 

Red Alert wanted to protest, wanted to say that that sort of thing was entirely out of control, reckless;  that it would tear down the safe box he was so carefully constructing with his rituals, his journals, his notes—trying to capture each day, each moment, in words. He wanted to say all of that, but instead, he leaned forward, mutely asking for another kiss.  Impulse, intuition.  Maybe Rung was right.

Comments

[http://users.livejournal.com/__wilderness__/]

I love your Red Alert.

[ravynfyre.livejournal.com]

Oh wow.... oh WOW!!! With such deceptive simplicity, you convey the mind of deep-rooted trauma and psychosis... and then just as swiftly and beautifully illustrate it's first steps of healing.

You, my dear, amaze me. Please, never stop! Also? These two are lovely together.

_{and now, of course, part of me wants to see Perceptor quietly falling apart in the corner watching them.}

[birdiebot.livejournal.com]

*clutches fic to bosom* :D

[silaphet.livejournal.com]

am so envious of your characters - through your words i can see/taste/live their world, their emotions. your ability to arouse our/my core fears(red alert), hopes (drift), fantasies (everything) is nonpareil. fascinatingly terrifying. -humbly thankful & indebted.