Fic - Something to Live For, Chapter 5 of 14
Title: Something to live for
Chapter 5: Prowl, we’ve got a problem
Continuity: G1, Dysfunction AU
Rating: This chapter: R, due to themes.
Content advice: verbal sexual harassment.
Disclaimer: Just playing in the sandbox, characters not mine.
Characters and/or pairings: Vortex, Perceptor, Skyfire, Prowl.
Beta: naboru_narluin.
Summary: Vortex is stuck in the Autobot brig. He continues to make his own entertainment, until Perceptor delivers some uncomfortable home truths.
[ Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4]
Chapter 5: Prowl, we’ve got a problem
“We have an issue,” Skyfire said. Prowl checked his internal chronometer; just half a breem until the end of his shift, couldn’t this have waited? He scoured the thought from his short-term memory and tried to appear alert.
“Bumblebee?” he asked.
“Not directly, no. Our prisoner.” Skyfire met Prowl’s optics. “I think we should be very careful who goes into the brig. Vortex has… a way with words.”
“You need to recharge,” Prowl said. Skyfire opened his mouth to protest, but Prowl raised a hand. “No, you really do. You’ve been up, what, four cycles straight? It isn’t right. Go, rest, I’ll take the night shift.”
“I’m not the only one who’s been up too long,” Skyfire said. “Is Ironhide available? Or Warpath? Someone steadfast, someone who won’t be curious enough to listen to him.”
“They’ve already set off for Europe,” Prowl said. He checked the duty roster, the blue light of the datapad dancing on his fingertips. “It’s either me, Wheeljack or Perceptor.”
“Then I suggest Perceptor,” Skyfire said. “But I want a word with him first.”
* * *
Skyfire left around mid afternoon and didn’t come back. Neither did the inquisitive yellow ‘bot with the grabbable little horns.
There was a window high on the opposite wall. Vortex watched the sky shift from cerulean to umber to a glowing blue like the sign of his favourite bar back in Kaon. Eight months since they’d moved into Combaticon HQ, but it was still a novelty to watch the sky change colour. You’d never get that on the Nemesis.
As for the things you could get on the Nemesis, he could do with at least four of them, starting with a few dozen gallons of high grade, and ending with a good hard overload. He didn't care who with.
He clambered onto the narrow berth, and avoided plugging himself into the forced recharge port. Most of his systems were down, conserving energy, but he couldn’t fly so he didn’t need them. Basic functions were fine, and would continue to be fine for a while. Let the Autobots think that he was critically under-energised, it might lead them to do something interesting.
The sky had turned to a glittering black before the door to the brig hissed open and another ‘bot walked in.
Vortex lay still, optics dimmed. The newcomer had a light tread - much smaller than Skyfire, but larger than the yellow ‘bot. He walked slowly, each step measured, as though careful not to make too much noise. Concerned about waking the prisoner?
Vortex spun over as though startled, tumbling off the edge of the berth. The new mech gasped, and in that sound Vortex knew he’d played it the right way.
“What’s going on?” Vortex whimpered, scooting back to the far end of his cell and hugging his knees to his chest. “Who’s there?”
A grey face peered through the energon bars, a barrel like Soundwave’s rocket launcher on his shoulder. Not a gun, though. Vortex forced a shudder through his frame.
“I know you,” he said. “You’re Perceptor.”
“Well done,” Perceptor replied.
Hmm, not quite as easy on the eye as Skyfire, but just as easy on the audio receptors.
“I need you to stand up.” Perceptor said. He was close to the bars, but not close enough.
“Why?” Vortex summoned another shudder and gripped his knees so tightly the metal began to dent.
“I need to inspect your injuries,” Perceptor replied. He glanced at Vortex’ damaged hand and made a quiet humming sound. “You don’t have to come close to the bars, just stand up and turn your back to me.”
“I’m fine,” Vortex said. “You don’t need to see.”
“Just stand up,” Perceptor urged. There was no edge to his voice, no lurking impatience. “You can trust me.”
Curious choice of words. “I don’t know,” Vortex muttered. “I’ll…” He paused, lowered his head.
“Yes?”
“I’ll do it if you’ll talk to me.”
“All right,” Perceptor agreed. “Put your hands on your head and stand up.”
Slowly, Vortex complied.
“Now turn around.”
Vortex did so, twisting his head so that he could look at Perceptor through the cook of his arm. Perceptor did not transform, but seemed to study him via the barrel of his shoulder appendage; it was strange, but a bit dull.
“That all looks to be in order,” Perceptor said. “You may recharge now.”
“But…” Vortex said, leaving his hands where they were and turning to get a better view of Perceptor’s face. He lowered his voice and introduced just the slightest crackle of static. “You promised you’d talk to me.”
“I did,” Perceptor said. He took a seat at the other side of the room and crossed his legs. A small light flickered on above him. “And now the talking is over. You may recharge, and I will sit here and catch up on my reading.”
Vortex lay down, carefully, on his stomach. His recharge socket buzzed, alerted by the proximity of the berth’s cable. He ignored it. “What are you reading?” he asked.
“The psychology of interrogation,” Perceptor said. His lips curved at one side, a smirk only half hidden.
So, that game was up, but perhaps there was a different way to play this.
“Pull the other one,” Vortex said, sloughing off the meekness like an old paint job. “Seriously, what are you reading?”
“I’m looking at some human publications.” Perceptor pulled a folder from a compartment in his arm. “‘The Journal of Cognitive Science’, ‘Nature’, that sort of thing.” With the subtlest of sounds, his fingers narrowed until they were delicate enough to lift the tiny, squishy-scale pages.
Like claws, Vortex thought. Nice and slim, the kind that could slide along any seam; now there was a thought to warm his CPU. And it came with a rather intriguing idea.
“Talk to me?” Vortex whispered.
“I don’t think so,” Perceptor replied.
“Please?”
Perceptor clamped his lips together and shook his head.
Vortex rolled over, using his own slender claws to trace the curves of his neck plating. Two of his fingers were too damaged to transform, but his self repair had done a decent job on the rest. “So cruel,” he said. "No one wants to talk to me."
"And why is that, do you suppose?" It was still that same patient tone, only now it had begun to sound a little forced.
Vortex made a small noise, halfway between a sigh and a whimper. He dug his claws in deeper; Perceptor didn’t seem to have a problem with dim lighting, so he should be able to see where those claws were headed. “You tell me," he replied.
"Nice try," Perceptor sniffed.
Vortex traced the outline of his interface panel. It wasn't exactly doing anything for him, but Perceptor's growing discomfort was highly entertaining. "Will you read to me?"
Perceptor turned a page, optics flickering. "Were I to read aloud," he said. "It would have a pronounced negative effect on my productivity."
You bet it would, Vortex thought. "Hmm, are you telling me you can't divide your attention between two different data streams?"
"No. I'm telling you that I won't," Perceptor said pleasantly. The next part was uttered so quietly that Vortex almost missed it. "Not for you, anyway."
Vortex grinned. "Why not?"
"That should be self evident," Perceptor said. He glanced up, then quickly back down at the flimsy paper journal.
“Then say anything,” Vortex purred. “Just as long as you’re speaking. You have such a... thrilling voice. Makes me tremble all over.”
Perceptor huffed. He stared at the page, but his optics lacked focus, and his posture revealed a new tension.
"Please?"
"No." Another huff, and a slight shift of the feet.
"Please?"
"No!"
"Mmmm, that's cute. Say it again."
"Skyfire was right," Perceptor muttered. "We should disable your vocaliser."
Vortex waited until Perceptor glanced his way again - which didn't take long - then winked. "You're so damned hot," he sighed. "I bet there are things running through your processor that you wouldn't dare actually do." He arched his back, the better to display what he was doing with his hands. "You want to punish me, don't you?" He feigned an energy spike. "You're just itching to-"
"That's enough," Perceptor snapped, but Vortex continued regardless, a long list of whispered suggestions which - he was pleased to note - made the Autobot quiver with rage.
"We are not like you," Perceptor said. "And stop pretending that I'm turning you on, it's ... it's unconvincing!"
Vortex laughed; the Autobot couldn't lie to save his life. "Keep talking," he murmured.
"All right then," Perceptor said, and this time the anger rang loud and clear in his voice. "I will keep talking, you horrible Decepticon. You're a sham. I can see right through you. You only inflict pain and humiliation on others because it fills the void. You're empty, you're lonely, you have no love, no warmth; there's nothing good in your life. No-one wants anything to do with you because you're vile. So you seek attention in other ways, but it's always the wrong attention. I don't need to ask if I'm right, I know I am." One of the journals slipped from his knee and he grabbed at it, spearing the paper with his transformed fingers. "And another thing, you think your comrades are coming for you? You're wrong. They don't care about you, no one does. The sooner you're back in suspension, the better."
Suspension? Vortex froze. Oh frag no, they wouldn't... Would they? He forced his hands to continue their exploration, digging sharp channels along his strangely numb transformation seams; he pulled a giddy laugh from his memory banks, to drown out the frantic scream growing in his processor: not the box, not the box, not the box.... "Hehehehe, keep going!"
Perceptor sighed, his face in his hands. "I'm not cut out for this."
Chapter 5: Prowl, we’ve got a problem
Continuity: G1, Dysfunction AU
Rating: This chapter: R, due to themes.
Content advice: verbal sexual harassment.
Disclaimer: Just playing in the sandbox, characters not mine.
Characters and/or pairings: Vortex, Perceptor, Skyfire, Prowl.
Beta: naboru_narluin.
Summary: Vortex is stuck in the Autobot brig. He continues to make his own entertainment, until Perceptor delivers some uncomfortable home truths.
[ Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4]
Chapter 5: Prowl, we’ve got a problem
“We have an issue,” Skyfire said. Prowl checked his internal chronometer; just half a breem until the end of his shift, couldn’t this have waited? He scoured the thought from his short-term memory and tried to appear alert.
“Bumblebee?” he asked.
“Not directly, no. Our prisoner.” Skyfire met Prowl’s optics. “I think we should be very careful who goes into the brig. Vortex has… a way with words.”
“You need to recharge,” Prowl said. Skyfire opened his mouth to protest, but Prowl raised a hand. “No, you really do. You’ve been up, what, four cycles straight? It isn’t right. Go, rest, I’ll take the night shift.”
“I’m not the only one who’s been up too long,” Skyfire said. “Is Ironhide available? Or Warpath? Someone steadfast, someone who won’t be curious enough to listen to him.”
“They’ve already set off for Europe,” Prowl said. He checked the duty roster, the blue light of the datapad dancing on his fingertips. “It’s either me, Wheeljack or Perceptor.”
“Then I suggest Perceptor,” Skyfire said. “But I want a word with him first.”
* * *
Skyfire left around mid afternoon and didn’t come back. Neither did the inquisitive yellow ‘bot with the grabbable little horns.
There was a window high on the opposite wall. Vortex watched the sky shift from cerulean to umber to a glowing blue like the sign of his favourite bar back in Kaon. Eight months since they’d moved into Combaticon HQ, but it was still a novelty to watch the sky change colour. You’d never get that on the Nemesis.
As for the things you could get on the Nemesis, he could do with at least four of them, starting with a few dozen gallons of high grade, and ending with a good hard overload. He didn't care who with.
He clambered onto the narrow berth, and avoided plugging himself into the forced recharge port. Most of his systems were down, conserving energy, but he couldn’t fly so he didn’t need them. Basic functions were fine, and would continue to be fine for a while. Let the Autobots think that he was critically under-energised, it might lead them to do something interesting.
The sky had turned to a glittering black before the door to the brig hissed open and another ‘bot walked in.
Vortex lay still, optics dimmed. The newcomer had a light tread - much smaller than Skyfire, but larger than the yellow ‘bot. He walked slowly, each step measured, as though careful not to make too much noise. Concerned about waking the prisoner?
Vortex spun over as though startled, tumbling off the edge of the berth. The new mech gasped, and in that sound Vortex knew he’d played it the right way.
“What’s going on?” Vortex whimpered, scooting back to the far end of his cell and hugging his knees to his chest. “Who’s there?”
A grey face peered through the energon bars, a barrel like Soundwave’s rocket launcher on his shoulder. Not a gun, though. Vortex forced a shudder through his frame.
“I know you,” he said. “You’re Perceptor.”
“Well done,” Perceptor replied.
Hmm, not quite as easy on the eye as Skyfire, but just as easy on the audio receptors.
“I need you to stand up.” Perceptor said. He was close to the bars, but not close enough.
“Why?” Vortex summoned another shudder and gripped his knees so tightly the metal began to dent.
“I need to inspect your injuries,” Perceptor replied. He glanced at Vortex’ damaged hand and made a quiet humming sound. “You don’t have to come close to the bars, just stand up and turn your back to me.”
“I’m fine,” Vortex said. “You don’t need to see.”
“Just stand up,” Perceptor urged. There was no edge to his voice, no lurking impatience. “You can trust me.”
Curious choice of words. “I don’t know,” Vortex muttered. “I’ll…” He paused, lowered his head.
“Yes?”
“I’ll do it if you’ll talk to me.”
“All right,” Perceptor agreed. “Put your hands on your head and stand up.”
Slowly, Vortex complied.
“Now turn around.”
Vortex did so, twisting his head so that he could look at Perceptor through the cook of his arm. Perceptor did not transform, but seemed to study him via the barrel of his shoulder appendage; it was strange, but a bit dull.
“That all looks to be in order,” Perceptor said. “You may recharge now.”
“But…” Vortex said, leaving his hands where they were and turning to get a better view of Perceptor’s face. He lowered his voice and introduced just the slightest crackle of static. “You promised you’d talk to me.”
“I did,” Perceptor said. He took a seat at the other side of the room and crossed his legs. A small light flickered on above him. “And now the talking is over. You may recharge, and I will sit here and catch up on my reading.”
Vortex lay down, carefully, on his stomach. His recharge socket buzzed, alerted by the proximity of the berth’s cable. He ignored it. “What are you reading?” he asked.
“The psychology of interrogation,” Perceptor said. His lips curved at one side, a smirk only half hidden.
So, that game was up, but perhaps there was a different way to play this.
“Pull the other one,” Vortex said, sloughing off the meekness like an old paint job. “Seriously, what are you reading?”
“I’m looking at some human publications.” Perceptor pulled a folder from a compartment in his arm. “‘The Journal of Cognitive Science’, ‘Nature’, that sort of thing.” With the subtlest of sounds, his fingers narrowed until they were delicate enough to lift the tiny, squishy-scale pages.
Like claws, Vortex thought. Nice and slim, the kind that could slide along any seam; now there was a thought to warm his CPU. And it came with a rather intriguing idea.
“Talk to me?” Vortex whispered.
“I don’t think so,” Perceptor replied.
“Please?”
Perceptor clamped his lips together and shook his head.
Vortex rolled over, using his own slender claws to trace the curves of his neck plating. Two of his fingers were too damaged to transform, but his self repair had done a decent job on the rest. “So cruel,” he said. "No one wants to talk to me."
"And why is that, do you suppose?" It was still that same patient tone, only now it had begun to sound a little forced.
Vortex made a small noise, halfway between a sigh and a whimper. He dug his claws in deeper; Perceptor didn’t seem to have a problem with dim lighting, so he should be able to see where those claws were headed. “You tell me," he replied.
"Nice try," Perceptor sniffed.
Vortex traced the outline of his interface panel. It wasn't exactly doing anything for him, but Perceptor's growing discomfort was highly entertaining. "Will you read to me?"
Perceptor turned a page, optics flickering. "Were I to read aloud," he said. "It would have a pronounced negative effect on my productivity."
You bet it would, Vortex thought. "Hmm, are you telling me you can't divide your attention between two different data streams?"
"No. I'm telling you that I won't," Perceptor said pleasantly. The next part was uttered so quietly that Vortex almost missed it. "Not for you, anyway."
Vortex grinned. "Why not?"
"That should be self evident," Perceptor said. He glanced up, then quickly back down at the flimsy paper journal.
“Then say anything,” Vortex purred. “Just as long as you’re speaking. You have such a... thrilling voice. Makes me tremble all over.”
Perceptor huffed. He stared at the page, but his optics lacked focus, and his posture revealed a new tension.
"Please?"
"No." Another huff, and a slight shift of the feet.
"Please?"
"No!"
"Mmmm, that's cute. Say it again."
"Skyfire was right," Perceptor muttered. "We should disable your vocaliser."
Vortex waited until Perceptor glanced his way again - which didn't take long - then winked. "You're so damned hot," he sighed. "I bet there are things running through your processor that you wouldn't dare actually do." He arched his back, the better to display what he was doing with his hands. "You want to punish me, don't you?" He feigned an energy spike. "You're just itching to-"
"That's enough," Perceptor snapped, but Vortex continued regardless, a long list of whispered suggestions which - he was pleased to note - made the Autobot quiver with rage.
"We are not like you," Perceptor said. "And stop pretending that I'm turning you on, it's ... it's unconvincing!"
Vortex laughed; the Autobot couldn't lie to save his life. "Keep talking," he murmured.
"All right then," Perceptor said, and this time the anger rang loud and clear in his voice. "I will keep talking, you horrible Decepticon. You're a sham. I can see right through you. You only inflict pain and humiliation on others because it fills the void. You're empty, you're lonely, you have no love, no warmth; there's nothing good in your life. No-one wants anything to do with you because you're vile. So you seek attention in other ways, but it's always the wrong attention. I don't need to ask if I'm right, I know I am." One of the journals slipped from his knee and he grabbed at it, spearing the paper with his transformed fingers. "And another thing, you think your comrades are coming for you? You're wrong. They don't care about you, no one does. The sooner you're back in suspension, the better."
Suspension? Vortex froze. Oh frag no, they wouldn't... Would they? He forced his hands to continue their exploration, digging sharp channels along his strangely numb transformation seams; he pulled a giddy laugh from his memory banks, to drown out the frantic scream growing in his processor: not the box, not the box, not the box.... "Hehehehe, keep going!"
Perceptor sighed, his face in his hands. "I'm not cut out for this."