Forlorn Hope: Half truths and shadows.

[niyazi-a.livejournal.com]

 

PG-13
IDW/G1, Forlorn Hope AU
Jetfire/Sixshot, First Aid
No warnings
Jetfire attempts to cope with his unwanted rescue


ch 1: Forlorn Hope
ch 2: Relapse
ch 3: Transgression
ch 4: First
ch 5: Rescue

Jetfire tossed on the narrow berth of the medbay.  It was too small for him in the best circumstances, but he would rather suffer here than move to the forward cabin, where they would ask the most uncomfortable questions, the most damaging words, and for the kindest of reasons. 

Coward. He always had been. But in a way he was not committing the worst cowardice: he was not letting himself run away from himself any longer. He was going to lie here and let it seep into his systems what he had done. 

What had he done?

He had repaired the enemy. That might be forgiven; preservation of life was, after all, an Autobot ideal. But…he had done more.  And he hesitated even lying in the cool, dim silence of the abandoned medbay, naming what he had done.  He forced himself, feeling his wings twitch: he had interfaced with Sixshot. He had initiated the contact, he had had the first lustful thoughts. He had let his physical desires overwhelm him, override his better sense.  He had opened himself, made himself vulnerable. Trusted.  Known. 

He had allowed himself to become wanton, as though Sixshot’s reserve had polarized him.  He remembered one time, tilting his face into one of the other mech’s caresses, lipping a finger gently, then shifting to draw it into his mouth, teasing it with his glossa, tasting Sixshot’s armor, exploring the fine seams of his digits, optics hot and heavy-lidded as he turned a sultry gaze to the red optics, shy and wanting, surrendering to his own desires.  The Phase Sixer’s optics mirrored his hot intensity, burning with want and inexpressible need.

Jetfire wormed on the narrow berth, trying to coil into himself, both around the image, as if to protect it, and away from it, as if it were too painful.  They would know. Eventually, the Autobots, his rescuers, would know. Already they had constructed the skeleton of the narrative of his time with Sixshot—that he’d been held against his will, forced to repair the mech.  And when—not if, but when—they discovered that Jetfire had interfaced…they would write an addendum of sympathy: that he had been forced, against his will, taken, with violence. 

They would never believe that he had given himself, willingly, enthralled; that he had longed for, devoured the intimacy. He had wanted; he had been wanted.  It had been…something beyond faction. Beyond politics.  Beyond ideals. Beyond everything he had thought mattered.

Or they would believe it, and any trust he had with them would evaporate.

He…did not deserve their trust.

“I’m fine,” he’d responded, tiredly, when they’d asked if he’d wanted their team medic to check him over.  Not entirely a lie. A prevarication, perhaps, a delay of the inevitable.  A quibble, because in the way they intended the question, he was fine. His systems were functioning well and cleanly.  It was just his thinking that was a muddled, discontented mass, and no medical checkup could clear that up. He was not fine. He was a wreck, and the worst of it all was the thought that Sixshot hated him, that the last time he’d been touched it had been in hostility, that he had not gotten one last, warm caress to sustain him.

Where was he? What was he thinking?  The Phase Sixer’s cortex was a fantastic well of mystery for Jetfire, and the little glimpses he’d had into that world had fascinated him. He’d even begun to fancy that he could penetrate the programming, and given time and trust and access to Sixshot’s codes, maybe disarm the swelling madness that he had felt jerk the other mech awake in the middle of the recharge cycle.

He tried to find a position on the berth that was new, that didn’t instantly call to mind Sixshot’s touch—the broad, white, killer’s hands roaming over his body, possessive and exploring both at once.  It was almost impossible to find one that didn’t summon a ghostly tingle of an imaginary hand over his body.

Jetfire heard a scrape of approaching feet.   He thought fleetingly about feigning being in recharge, but no. He would not commit to a total lie. “Yes,” he said, into the darkness.

First Aid had paused in the doorway. “We’re sorry it took so long to get to you.”

Cutting irony, all the sharper that First Aid was entirely sincere. “There’s no need to apologize,” Jetfire managed, hoping, praying that the questions he most dreaded answering wouldn’t come up.

First Aid’s fingers curled shyly around the doorframe. “Was he…too awful?”

Jetfire felt ill, torn between betrayal or a truth that would destroy him. “N-no.”

“I can’t imagine what it must have been like, knowing he could kill you.  He’s…unstable.” The medic’s optics were wide open pools of innocent worry. 

“He needed something from me,” Jetfire said, hating himself. Truth, but…misleading. He wished he had the courage to say the truth, the total truth: that there had been something raw and earnest and needy in Sixshot.  That he had no fear that Sixshot would kill him.  Even at the end, he had been, well, resigned to it, perhaps, as he stood, alone on the ground outside the shuttle. The other mech had yielded to him: he opened himself, in that moment, utterly to Sixshot’s control, as he had done all along, since the first time, giving himself over to something larger than himself, and his paltry science.

“Well, if you need anything from us…,” First Aid offered. “Just to talk or anything?”

“No,” Jetfire said. “I’m fine. Truly.”  A lie, utterly and completely. He ground his optic shutters together.

First Aid started forward. “You’re in pain?”

Yes.  Pain worse than any injury. “No,” Jetfire said, and thought, with a wild bitterness, that he was beginning to sound like Sixshot.

 Next: Coping Mechanism

Comments

[wicked3659.livejournal.com]

That last part is so bitter sweet. My heart goes out to Jetfire, now taken from the very thing he wants most.

I just wanted to say that I love this story and this pairing and really hope there's lots more to come <3

[niyazi-a.livejournal.com]

Poor Jetfire's in for a bit of a bumpy ride. :C

[evvj.livejournal.com]

=(((((((( <-- this was what my face looked like when I was reading this.
Aww, Jetfire. =( You poor dear. All he wants is acceptance, and when he finally got it it came from someone it shouldn't have, and now what does he do?

[niyazi-a.livejournal.com]

Jetfire's going to struggle with Autobots and their Nice for a while. :C

[eerian_sadow]

D: poor Jetfire.

[niyazi-a.livejournal.com]

He has the WORST track record of romantic partners, doesn't he?

[eerian_sadow]

he really does. i feel for him.

[shanfiction73.livejournal.com]

A large part of me wonders what Sixshot was (and is) really thinking and feeling. Jetfire is using his own judgment of his actions as he thinks that Sixshot would interpret them... but he is again failing as a scientist, since he is ignoring the data that says he consistently expected Sixshot to react more negatively and more violently than he actually did during their time together... once Sixshot is away from a threat, and has time to reflect on what happened would he really believe that Jetfire seduced him into staying longer so that he could be captured? That's a bit illogical (seriously, seduced *Sixshot* of all mechs? that is not a logical plan AT all), and I think Sixshot has more complexity of thought and better judgment than that.

But that's just my thought!

Either way I feel sorry for Jetfire's misery in being away from him and thinking that he is no longer cared for (and never can be again).

[niyazi-a.livejournal.com]

Yeah, Jetfire does a lot of projecting into Sixshot's head. Which is odd because he has such a bad track record of it. I don't think Sixshot believes it--whatever belief he might have had I suspect he lost at the ramp of the shuttle.

I wouldn't say much about Sixshot's 'better judgment'--he's BFFs with the Terrorcons...? :D

Thanks for your comments!