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shadow_vector2012-10-15 11:39 pm
Aurora part one
IDW
Perceptor/Drift, First Aid, Ratchet
sticky, spoilers for MTMTE Annual?
Alleged start of an alleged kink meme fill, basically can I come up with yet another way to un-kill Wing? CHALLENGE ACCEPTED.
This ends up as a prequel.
“He comes with us.” Drift, his white armor splattered with the green blood of the Galactic Enforcers, optics narrow and dangerous.
“He’s…dead, Drift,” Rodimus said, cautiously. The others ranged in an unwary circle around Drift, who was nearly vibrating with emotion. The cheery mech they knew from the Lost Light was nowhere to be seen: this was almost Deadlock, from the hard set of his mouth, to the rigid posture.
“He’s a Cybertronian. He doesn’t stay here.” The white and red jet hung limply—dead—in his arms.
“Drift.” Ultra Magnus stepped forward, frowning.
Drift twitched back, turning the jet’s body away from him. “They lied. We can’t leave him here. They’ll—“ He couldn’t even finish the sentence.
“He’s right,” Ultra Magnus said, after a moment of stern consideration. “The Galactic Council troops would not be trusted to treat the body well, if they believe he died in our fight.” He sounded unhappy, as though the answer tasted bad, either the ‘siding with Drift’ or the ‘disagreeing with the Galactic Council, no one could tell.
“Fraggin’ ridiculous,” Whirl said. “Whole stupid thing is..stupid.” He waved his claws, unhappily.
“Thanks for that insightful comment,” Brainstorm rolled his optics. “Yes, no? Our window’s closing.”
“Yes,” Rodimus said, quickly, “Do it. Whatever happens, it certainly can’t hurt him.”
Drift barely had time to snarl at Rodimus when Brainstorm fired his miniaturization pistol and the world dissolved into a crackle of white blue energy.
[***]
Perceptor knew he’d find Drift here. The mech hadn’t left the medibay since they’d returned, sitting in some tense vigil by the slack, empty frame of the jet he’d brought back from Theophany. Whoever had taken him after his death had lavished the same repairs on the frame as if there were some hope of recovery—the spark chamber was reconstituted, the chassis armor replaced, welds clean and tight and new. Only the spark’s vital pulse was missing, only the glow in the amber optics.
Drift looked up as he approached. “Sorry,” he said, quietly. “It’s just….” He gave an inarticulate shrug. “I never thought I’d see him again.”
“I understand,” Perceptor said. He didn’t, not entirely. But he knew if anything happened to Drift, he’d have a hard time leaving his frame, even if he knew, from all scientific bases, that the spark was extinguished.
Are you jealous of a dead mech, Perceptor? Yes. He was jealous of the way Drift looked at this Wing, reverent, almost worshipful, jealous of the way Drift’s hand stroked down the jet’s cheek. And he was jealous of Wing, who was just se ipsum, beautiful. Even dead, even devoid of life, the jet was a beautiful creature, elegant design, lovely, precise proportions, the white armor’s polish pearlescent and deep. He wasn’t sure he could bear the optics, lit from within, gold as the brightest suns.
“You need some rest. And fuel,” he said, mastering his own petty emotions. And a run through the washracks, he added mentally. Drift was still stained from battle, charred and clotted with gore.
“I should,” Drift said, with a tense smile. “I just…there’s so much I never got to say.” The blue optics floated down to Wing’s face again, the mouth pulling with emotion. And Perceptor knew what it would be: Drift had said the same words to him, but he hadn’t been able to reciprocate, the words too huge and raw and dangerous.
Drift pushed to his feet, hands lingering on the mediberth. “It’s…not like he’s going anywhere, though, right?” A bitter joke, black as ash, one Perceptor could only nod at. Drift’s optics shimmered with emotion and Perceptor could feel his EM field flutter, disrupted. “I’d give anything to talk to him again. Just once.” A lopsided, wounded smile as he turned his gaze up to Perceptor. “Stupid, isn’t it?”
“I don’t think so,” Perceptor said, wanting nothing more than to reach out, fold Drift in his arms, but knowing it would do no good. Nothing he could do could heal this.
Or…could he?
“You should get some rest, Drift,” he said, absently, his mind racing. It was worth a look, at any rate. If nothing else he’d learn about their repairs, the strange mix of archaic and advanced that marked their technology.
Drift gave a nod, his shoulders drooping as though suddenly weary. “I should. I’ll,” he grimaced, as though realizing for the first time that Perceptor might have been worried, might have sought him out out of concern, “I’ll see you later?” A question, not wanting to bank on the answer.
Perceptor was willing. Always, for Drift. “Yes.”
[***]
It wasn’t impossible. Perceptor studied the scan again. It wasn’t impossible. The way the repairs had been done, the small induction node on top of the spark chamber…it was like they knew there was a way to revive him and had just chosen—for some reason—not to.
Why?
“Why what?” First Aid said, leaning to examine the notes on the pad, and only then did Perceptor realize he’d spoken the question aloud.
“I was just wondering,” Perceptor said. “About this node.” Maybe he interpreted it wrong. Maybe it wasn’t what he thought.
“Hmmm.” First Aid peered at it. “It seems like it’s a new addition, the same installation as the repairs. See the weld flux?” He nodded to himself. “And that means that, if we got a scan from,” he looked up, over to where Wing lay on the slab, tugging one arm gently aside, “If we got a scan from this angle, we could probably see a small capacitance node.”
Perceptor nodded. So he thought so, too.
“And that means,” First Aid said, reaching for the scanner, just to make sure, “that he could be revived.” He looked up. “But why wouldn’t they?”
“I don’t know,” Perceptor said. “Maybe they were interrupted, by whatever…removed them.” It had been eerie, moving through the ruins of the dead city, sensing the strange rush of flight and the long ages of abandonment battering against each other.
“Or maybe,” First Aid’s optics tilted, studying Wing’s face. “Maybe there’s a reason, you know?”
“Such as?” He couldn’t imagine a reason, not to keep a mech dead. Not if Wing was anything like Drift had told him he was.
“Well,” First Aid shifted, uncomfortably, fumbling with the datapad in his fingers. “What if, I mean, would you want to come back to life only to find someone you loved was gone?”
No. No he wouldn’t. And the thought made him look at Wing, alluring and beautiful even in death, with a kind of mix of sympathy and envy. A worm of doubt twisted in his mind, but he thrust it aside. He couldn’t turn away now, not if they had the chance to bring someone back from the dead.
“I don’t suppose,” Ratchet’s voice cut through Perceptor’s speculations like a laser scalpel, “either of you are going to do me the courtesy of telling me what you’re doing in my medibay.”
“We’re, uh, we think there’s a chance to revive him,” First Aid stammered, holding the datapad up like a shield between them.
“If there was, don’t you think I’d have done it?” An accusation, the blue optics angry and weary at the same time.
“Uh, with a sort of, you know, experimental procedure,” First Aid squeaked. “Like I did for Fortress Maximus.”
“And note how well that worked out,” Ratchet scowled. “Still finishing up repairs from Max’s little rampage.”
“Ratchet, that’s unfair. First Aid’s actions brought a mech back to life, and saved a lot of mechs at Delphi.” Ratchet should know this: he was there.
“Not all of them,” First Aid said, drooping.
“More than anyone else could have,” Perceptor said. Strange how he would defend others so ardently, but never himself. And it was worth it to see Ratchet back off. At least a bit.
“So. You think you have a plan.”
Perceptor nodded. “It shouldn’t be difficult.”
Ratchet looked between the two of them, his shoulders high and tense. “Show me.”
First Aid exchanged a nervous look with Perceptor, before swiveling the datapad toward the chief medic. “It shouldn’t be that difficult,” First Aid began, before Ratchet silenced him with a chop of his hand.
“Hnf.” Ratchet handed the pad back. “Possibly. You get one shot.”
“One?”
Ratchet frowned. “One. Any more than that’s going to be desecrating a corpse.”
Perceptor nodded. Clear enough: one mistake and whatever advantage the Crystal City medics had given them would be lost. “We will be extremely careful.” He had to be. For Drift.
[***]
It was cycles later before he gave up for the night, determining that the only thing he really needed was to put his notes aside and look at them in the morning with fresh optics. Right now, all he wanted to do was recharge.
No, that wasn’t all he wanted to do, but that was, he figured, the surest thing he could hope for. Right now he couldn’t handle any more disappointment.
Perceptor coded the key to his quarters, air gusting from his ventilation system, shoulders drooping, tired. Yes. Recharge would be good, a sensuous indulgence of the sort he desperately needed.
He stopped, inside the door, light spilling in from the hallway, lighting on the white and red shape of Drift, curled on his berth.
The swordsmech had cleaned himself up after the battle: Perceptor could smell cleanser and polish from here, the light glazing over the white armor. The story was readable, even from here: Drift, wanting him, coming to his quarters, using his command cadre overrides…waiting. And staying, Perceptor thought, stepping closer so the door closed behind him, wrapping them both in darkness. It took a moment for his optics to adjust to lowlight, as he moved closer. Wake him? No. Drift was exhausted, doubtless after the exertion and the stress of the day. Better to let him recharge, Perceptor thought, levering himself onto the berth, curling himself behind the smaller mech. He insinuated one hand over Drift’s ribstruts, weaving it against Drift’s chassis, sighing with contentment.
Drift stirred against him, giving a soft, drowsy sigh, wriggling back against Perceptor’s frame. And all of Perceptor’s nascent jealousy seemed petty, suddenly, his worry baseless, and all he wanted, and all Drift wanted, was to twine around the dearest thing in his world.
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Yes, Perce, do twine. <333
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