Shadows Surround Us

[niyazi-a.livejournal.com]

PG-13
IDW
Drift/Perceptor
angst, ref to interfacing
for acidgreenflames This is one of the ones I'm not entirely happy with, so I may return to it to rewrite it later. 
set right after “Everything in its Place”

Drift twitched in his recharge, one leg flicking, the footplate whacking against Perceptor.  He woke, just enough to curl back, apologetic. Perceptor hadn’t been recharging: lying awake, his own frame still feeling too new, the proportions still strange and skewed.

And, of course, watching Drift. It still felt like something close to a miracle, having been saved, rescued from Turmoil’s ship, flung to safety. And he remembered the roar of open air, the strange silence of the ship exploding above them, concussion and color, but above them all, the strong white arms around his chassis, and the swinging, lurching sense of freefall.

And then, Drift had come to him, following him to his lab after they’d rescued Hot Rod. Drift had waited, patiently, seated on the floor, Great Sword held in the crook of his arm.  Waited. And waited. Until even Perceptor had to admit that Drift wasn’t likely to be there to sow more insults. Blaster’s had been enough.

He’d checked, every cycle, and Drift had stayed, unmoving patient, and a silent witness.  Perceptor had locked himself in, overcome with emotions he knew he couldn’t master—disappointment, despair, betrayal, failure, that terrible sense that even though he’d done his best, he had still lost.  And knowing Drift was out there, able to hear through the door, had protected him from the worst of his thoughts.

He’d opened the door eventually, shyly, and Drift had stood up, moving with that animal grace Perceptor found himself already envying.  They hadn’t said anything, words just…failing them, for a long moment. And then Drift had simply tilted his helm, a tentative smile playing over his mouthplates, and he’d said, “Thank you.”  The words Perceptor should have said to him. 

It had said everything between them, and they’d withdrawn to Perceptor’s worklab, Drift’s hands exploring Perceptor’s new body. Perceptor found himself being drawn out of his fugue, sensornet alive with response, betraying desires he’d thought to master.

They’d collapsed into recharge, drained, sated, and at peace. Until this.

“What?”  Perceptor’s voice broke the tension between them.

Drift shook his head. “Just a memory purge.” He rolled to his back, spaulders flattening against the berth’s surface, optics studying the ceiling. 

“Of?” He wasn’t sure if he should be asking.  Everything, suddenly, seemed a minefield of rejection.

A scrape of metal, a half-hearted shrug. “Before.” The blue optics flicked over. “Before the war, even.”  His hands found each other, twisting almost nervously. 

It was something—he wasn’t shutting Perceptor down. And the strange anxiety in his frame goaded Perceptor to push more, like a pressure that needed release.  “Was that worse than the Decepticons?”

A long, studying look, and Perceptor quailed.  He’d always blurted words out before, regardless of the consequences, trusting that intent would be all. He’d learned differently. 

“In a way.  In the war, I had a purpose.  I had power. I could change things.”  A rueful shrug. “Just changed…the wrong things.”

“We all did.”

A deep cycle of air.  “I did it…worse than most.”  A smile flickered on the corners of his mouth, then faded.

“Before was worse.”  A hesitant prompt.  He wanted to touch Drift, to comfort him? Comfort himself? Perceptor didn’t know. And he wasn’t sure it would be welcomed, so he simply shifted his weight closer, till their EM fields brushed.  Contact enough, he hoped.

“No purpose. No power.  I think that’s why I was so easily…led.”  Another shrug, his face fixed to the ceiling, as though afraid to see Perceptor’s reaction. 

Nothing Perceptor could think of to say would help. He risked the touch, resting one hand on one of Drift’s restless forearms.  Acceptance, if not consolation. Drift looked down at the black hand spread over the white of his armor.

“I…got them killed, Perceptor.” A wary look. “Everyone who tried to get close to me.  Gasket. Wing. They died. My fault.”

“Gasket.” 

A snort. “Friend. From the gutters.  And Wing…,”  he shook his head, a tremor running through his frame. Whoever Wing was, he had not released his hold on Drift. 

“War,” Perceptor said, quietly.  “It takes the best from us.”

“This wasn’t war.  Either one.” The mouthplates ground together. “I betrayed the city. I could have killed them all. Everything I said I wanted—it was right there, and I wanted it destroyed.” The blue optics coruscated with emotion. “…why?”

Perceptor slid his hand down the wrist, curling it over Drift’s hand.  He felt the wrist turn under his, fingers lacing together.  His own hand felt strange, new, as he squeezed Drift’s.  “I don’t have that answer.”  His own optics cast down, disappointed. He wanted to help, to say something, to do the right thing, to earn Drift’s estimation.  “I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault.”  Drift shrugged, squeezing back. “I was just…wrong.  All wrong.” His audio clinked against the berth as he turned his head, meeting Perceptor’s gaze. “You’ve seen my file. Deadlock.”

Perceptor nodded. He had.  Deadlock was hard to ignore. In the early days of the war, he had been in Megatron’s inner circle.  A bodyguard, more than a confidant, perhaps, but that early notoriety had just been the foundation. “Things change.”  He hoped.  At least for himself.

“Not so sure,” Drift said.  “Wing said…,” another pause, optic shutters folding down to mask some inward pain, “he said that I was just led astray. I don’t know if I want to believe that or not.”

Neither did Perceptor.  Could you remake yourself? Or were you always, somehow, doomed toyour roots?  Perceptor had told himself, endlessly, floating in the regen tank, that he would change everything about who he was—the wordiness, the neediness, all of it. He would be different, and different would be better.

But he found himself throwing that away, pushing forward to wrap his arms around Drift.  It was naïve, innocent, perhaps foolish, and for a moment Drift was rigid under him. But then the arms wormed out from between them, wrapping awkwardly over Perceptor’s heavy chassis. All Perceptor knew was that the touch, the long press of metal against metal, their EM fields compressed, thick and rich, was like comfort, and the arms around him were the arms that had pulled him from Turmoil’s ship. Only this time, he felt, he was doing the rescuing, and he hated that he didn’t feel self-assured.  

Perceptor pulled away after a long moment. “You don’t have to tell me. Any of this.”

A smile, shaky but genuine. “You deserve the truth. Should have told you…before.”  His optics flicked to the berth, their linked bodies.

“Why?”

The hands stroked lightly over his sides. “Know what you’re getting into.  Or get away.” The hands lifted, letting him go.

Perceptor felt his own mouth quirk, the smile flat and stiff. Of all of them, here was Drift, giving him choice. Here was Drift, when the others had abandoned Perceptor to die, shy and feeling unworthy. He pressed closer, sensitive for any resistance. “That’s what you were. There’s what I was, too. We’re not that anymore, either of us.” 

“Then what are we?”

Perceptor could feel Drift’s hands, hovering over him, not daring to touch. He disentangled one hand, guiding Drift’s around his back. “We can find out. Together.”

Comments

[acidgreenflames.livejournal.com]

ooooooooh I loved it! It was perfect how both Perceptor and Drift were so unsure of themselves and what they have become, yet could find comfort in each other. I loved the bit where Perceptor was a little more forward by putting Drift's hand to his back. Thank you so much! I love it XD

[wind-on-wave.livejournal.com]

So... really touching text, especially last phrase from Perceptor, that they "can find out. Together".
Hope that they really will do it.

[ravynfyre.livejournal.com]

*grabs onto this with both hands and covets like oxygen*

[ladyofdragons.livejournal.com]

I'm just... gonna roll around in this lovely thing because good god I need fluff in the worst way right now. I just love this portrayal of how their relationship starts. *pets it*

[tainry.livejournal.com]

LOL @ Drift as unquiet bed companion. XD
New bodies must be interesting.
Love the sensory description of their fall from Turmoil's ship. I love that panel in the comic.
This does a good job of feeling very much like right after those events, where everything is still raw and jagged for both of them. Blaster's words...after all that buildup of Blaster being The Voice...the impact that must have had, even subconsciously. Though Perceptor held his own for as long as that argument lasted. One wonders if Blaster let it drop after that, especially with how Kup is now suddenly treating Perce like the golden boy.
And this is all massively what seems to drive this particular 'ship, edge-on. (And I'm old-school enough to hope most of the canon writers never figure out just what they breed with their flippant, thoughtless dialog [trying to be Whedon, without the computational chops] and action sequences plotted on "cool" rather than "makes sense" axes. XD)
(Although I'm also enjoying the Misadventures of Roddy and the Derp Squad... XD)

[renegadewriter8.livejournal.com]

This was bittersweet, I loved it! ^^