Bomb out

[niyazi-a.livejournal.com]

PG
IDW/G1
Ironfist/Verity, Perceptor (dammit he's creeping into everything lately!) vague mentions of other Wreckers
sap? 
Takes place sometime between Ironfist joining the Wreckers and Garrus-9.
fortf_rare_pairing  Ironfist/Verity 'friendship in fighting'

“Perceptor?” Ironfist waited until the quiet mech had finished welding the integrated circuit in position. 

Perceptor looked up, nodding for Ironfist to continue. ‘The stoic Perceptor, tough, competent, his optics gleaming a steely blue’, Ironfist thought.  No, wait.  You’re not writing this…yet.  A-and maybe this wouldn’t be a particularly good chapter. But still. Notes.  He was taking notes. 

“I, uh, can I ask you about Verity?”

Perceptor tilted his head. Ironfist could hear the reticle whirring target locks as Perceptor considered, a sort of signal that he was thinking, like a cursor blink.  “Verity is from Earth,” he began. “She has an endoskeletal structure, no integrated weapons, and a considerably miniscule lifespan.”

“Miniscule?” 

“Eighty or so of their orbital cycles,” Perceptor said. “Though, as one of us, it is doubtless considerably shorter. “ Either it wasn’t much of a joke, or Perceptor didn’t have much of a sense of humor. In his time with the Wreckers, Ironfist was leaning toward the latter.

“She…why is she here?”

A ghost of a smile, the closest Perceptor came to breaking his dour demeanor.  “Why are any of us here?”

Ironfist’s shoulders sagged. “I know why I’m here.” To do something before I die. He...hoped that wasn’t why Verity was here.

Perceptor nodded. “We’re all here for a reason that is personal to us.” 

“What’s your reason?”

Perceptor’s smile faded. “I do what I can.”  As if that was the answer. “But you were asking about Verity.” 

“I just…it seems strange, you know?  We’re fighting for Cybertron.  What’s she fighting for?”

Perceptor cocked his head. “I can’t answer for her.”

“But…I…,” Ironfist stammered, then cut himself off, realizing that his sudden awkwardness probably told Perceptor more than Ironfist wanted anyone to know. “I was just curious. That’s all.” 

Perceptor gave a gracious nod, that did not agree with Ironfist’s claim for a microklik, but simply refused to argue.  “She would not mind you asking, Ironfist.” 

Which was exactly what Ironfist didn’t want to hear.

[***]

“Verity?”  Ironfist edged into the rec room, where Verity sprawled on the floor, stretching.   Her power suit lay in a disassembled heap next to her.  She was…very flexible, Ironfist thought.  He certainly didn’t think he could bend that way.  That was one of the things that fascinated him about her, the differentness, despite the outward similarities of a bipedal mode: legs, hands, faces.

And after all, it was all she had.  She couldn’t transform into anything. So maybe it was right that her one mode have some advantages.

“What’s up, new guy?”  Verity straddled her legs out wide, rolling forward.  For a moment, Ironfist hesitated, worried she’d pop one of her thigh gyros out of join. 

“I, uh, it’s Ironfist,” he stammered.  “And please be careful?”

She blinked. “Be…careful? I’m stretching, for frag’s sake.” 

“Oh.”  Ironfist drew back.  “I’m sorry. I’m unfamiliar with your…design.”

She gave him a weird look.  “Yeah, whatever.” 

That…didn’t sound encouraging. 

“What?  You got something you wanna say or you just staring?” 

This was not going well at all.  Ironfist inched back toward the door. “I…uh….”

A klaxon blared over the internal comm, lights snapping off, replaced by the low dull red glare of emergency lighting.  Verity hopped to her feet.  “Well?” she snapped, reaching for the pile of red plates on the ground. “Don’t just stand there. Enemy contact! Hull breach!”

Oh.  He knew this.  Frag. He’d written it how many times?  It just seemed different, actually seeing the lights and hearing the blaring sounds.  And…looking stupid in front of Verity.  “Yes. Uh…I’ll just go…?”

“Armory, Deck three,” Verity said, straightening up from snapping  on the boot part of her armor, already swinging the torso plating around her shoulders.  The way she said it made it sound like she thought Ironfist was…pretty hopeless.

And…he kind of agreed. It was so different in stories.

[***]

“Down! Get down!”  Springer shoved Ironfist’s shoulder toward the ground.  A shot scorched the air where his head had been.  He clutched, at his gun, feeling pathetic.  Hopeless. They were all…so much better than he was. And every single one of them knew it, and they probably resented—hated—the strings Prowl had pulled to get him here.  Even so, he thought, miserably, they were still doing their best to keep him safe.

And they shouldn’t.  He was a liability. 

He slumped back against the wall.

“Hey, new guy.” A tap at his shin plating.  He looked down: Verity, looking as calm as all the other Wreckers, her miniature weapons reading hot on his IR scans. 

“Sorry,” he said, lamely. “Just, uh, catching my breath.”

She shot him a doubting look before continuing. “You used to like do research and stuff, right?”

He nodded.

“So…you think you could rig a little surprise for the ‘con ship? Docking hub?”  Her eyes glinted behind the clear glass of the faceplate. 

He looked down at his gun. Set to cycle, with a small incendiary charge? Yes. Easily.  He nodded.  Verity grinned. “Great. Come with me.” 

She wheeled away before he could say anything, her weapons blazing. He had no choice but to fold down into his alt, racing after her. “Sho-shouldn’t I lead?” he asked. 

“Frag, no, new guy.”  Verity dodged between the legs of one of the attackers, raising her gun to fire right into his crotch.  Ow.  Ironfist winced, but had to admit it looked pretty cool.  “You’re the goods with the crazy improv-bomb skills. I’m just the escort.” 

He was the goods?  He felt his spark swell within him. Yes! He did bring something to the team. And he felt a surge of…something for Verity, for knowing it, for giving him this chance.  He tore down the corridor, bowling over the mech Verity had dropped, his cortex already racing with other things he could do. More actively upgrade the weapons.  Improve Verity’s suit—the heat tolerances were way off when firing that gun.  

He followed her down the corridor, empty now, skidding to a halt on the cross-path to the docking hub.

Verity had circled back, to cover the mouth of the docking tube. “Do your thing, brainboy,” she said. “I’ve got your six.” 

He knew better than to hesitate this time, pushing to his feet, snatching a small incendiary and his…pitifully unused blaster pistol. If he blew it up, he thought, sadly, no one would know he hadn’t fired it even once.  He ran down the tube, and found the sealed hatch leading into the ‘con craft’s light ramship.  Here…no. Here.  A small access hatch to the main systems, necessary for the door, but also linking into every other system on the ship.  He snatched the hatch open, hoping the returning ‘cons wouldn’t notice the scratches and dents his eager fingers left on the panel.  Setting the bomb was a matter of a few kliks, and he felt a certain touch of pride that he’d figured the unlock system as the detonator. As soon as they entered the access code it would start the countdown and they’d be far enough away when it blew not to endanger the Wreckers’ own ship.

He dashed out along the tube, hearing firing heading their way.  Verity raced after him, down a side corridor.  He pulled her into a small alcove just before a group of retreating Decepticons thundered past.  He felt the heat from her weapons warm against his lower chassis.  He froze, mortified, realizing…where that left her face.  

“Uh, sorry,” he squeaked, trying to pull his hips as far away from her as he could in the narrow space. 

Verity laughed, the sound ringing over his audio.  “Hey, what’s the point of joining the Wreckers if not to have some adventures, right?” 

It was a joke, but it answered his question: why she was here. “Yes,” he said, shyly. “Adventures.  Me, too.” It was much better than that other reason.

Verity wriggled out of his grasp, sticking her head into the corridor. “All clear.”  She turned back, smiling up at him.  “Know what?  I like you, new guy.”   

“I, uh, me too. I mean. Not I like me but....” Oh frag. Why was he so good with words when writing the Declassified but so…awful here? 

Verity laughed again, and it was different now, better now, because he could see the way her non-optic optics glowed.  “Yeah, I got it, Ironfist.” She shrugged. “Now let’s get back to the others so we can watch your bomb blow and tell them how fragging awesome we are.” 

Ironfist shut up and followed her, his spark burning with a fierce joy. 

 

Comments

[chibirisuchan.livejournal.com]

*deep breath* SOOOOO CUUUUUUUUUUUUTE! ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ I admit all I know about the Wreckers is from ficspace but I have the impression something Massively Unpleasant is Looming for Ironfist out there in the future somewhere, so it's nice to see him getting excited about helping and getting his feet under him before the doom hits omg. Overgrown puppy just wants to be loved and scritched. awwww. :D

[niyazi-a.livejournal.com]

Oh it's a good series, really just about the best (other than Driftchankawaaaaiiiiiiiidesu) IDW's come out with recently. (Except for the Big Bad's Big Weird Lips. Srsly).

Yes, bad and very angsty things happen to adorkable Ironfist. ;_; Icon is relevant.