Repost!
Week's been a mess between work schedule and computer problems. I'm not really feeling up to the idea of scrambling to get something written today or tomorrow, so I'm pulling out something I posted at The Cell back in October.
Title He Doesn't Judge
Characters/Pairings Mirage/Jazz (unrequited), Prowl/Jazz (implied)
Warnings None
Summary When all others have turned aside, you remain; head turned, expression intent, nodding in all the right places.
x-posted to
transficsationand
mecha_erotica
You listen.
When all others have turned aside, you remain; head turned, expression intent, nodding in all the right places. Even Hound, who has the patience of a cyberwolf, has long since tired of hearing of my glories, of what I lost.
Perhaps, what turns his head is not how often I speak of Home, but rather, the means by which I long held the Towers. We nobles are known to have made our wealth on the bodies of our rivals and our servants, our slaves. When Megatron came, promising riches beyond measure, and Optimus came with nothing more than empty dreams; our course was as predetermined as the programming that moved us.
For the longest time the Towers -- yes even my Towers -- supported the Decepticon cause. We loaned supplies, and bodies. And I say loaned, for the expectations were that the Decepticons would pay us back, with a substantial amount of interest for the services rendered.
Yet the war dragged on, and nothing came of our loans. Future interest, on which there have been no payments, can only hold loyalties for so long. One by one, the Decepticons set examples with those who no longer wished to support their cause.
In the end, it wasn’t Optimus’ words that drew me to the Autobot cause, nor any kind of belief in their values that has long held me. I stay because to do otherwise is death. Death from the Decepticons for betraying them. Death from the neutrals that harbor hatred in their sparks for the memory of those we sacrificed for our own wealth, the memory of those I sacrificed for my own wealth.
The Autobots know, if not my own reasons, my methods; it stirs no great amount of trust from them and much contempt for myself. They tire quickly of my words, for in their sparks they have judged me, and found me wanting.
Even Optimus has judged me. I saw the reproach in his optics when I came crawling to him, using my singular talent to evade the Decepticons seeking me.
But you...
You know of my flaws and there is no censure in your visored gaze.
You don’t judge, for you know that your hands are no cleaner than mine. None of us have come through this war without tarnish to our sparks.
You listen.
There are no words to express my gratitude, my appreciation for that simple act. But words are all I have to offer.
For you, in the end, will turn to another. Another who, like me, finds himself censured by the others. Whose cold logic is not always tempered with Autobot compassion. Whose emotionless facts and numbers earn him no friends among those he orders into battle, unable to guarantee a safe return.
How I envy him. For, in the end, he has you.
Title He Doesn't Judge
Characters/Pairings Mirage/Jazz (unrequited), Prowl/Jazz (implied)
Warnings None
Summary When all others have turned aside, you remain; head turned, expression intent, nodding in all the right places.
x-posted to
transficsationand
mecha_erotica
You listen.
When all others have turned aside, you remain; head turned, expression intent, nodding in all the right places. Even Hound, who has the patience of a cyberwolf, has long since tired of hearing of my glories, of what I lost.
Perhaps, what turns his head is not how often I speak of Home, but rather, the means by which I long held the Towers. We nobles are known to have made our wealth on the bodies of our rivals and our servants, our slaves. When Megatron came, promising riches beyond measure, and Optimus came with nothing more than empty dreams; our course was as predetermined as the programming that moved us.
For the longest time the Towers -- yes even my Towers -- supported the Decepticon cause. We loaned supplies, and bodies. And I say loaned, for the expectations were that the Decepticons would pay us back, with a substantial amount of interest for the services rendered.
Yet the war dragged on, and nothing came of our loans. Future interest, on which there have been no payments, can only hold loyalties for so long. One by one, the Decepticons set examples with those who no longer wished to support their cause.
In the end, it wasn’t Optimus’ words that drew me to the Autobot cause, nor any kind of belief in their values that has long held me. I stay because to do otherwise is death. Death from the Decepticons for betraying them. Death from the neutrals that harbor hatred in their sparks for the memory of those we sacrificed for our own wealth, the memory of those I sacrificed for my own wealth.
The Autobots know, if not my own reasons, my methods; it stirs no great amount of trust from them and much contempt for myself. They tire quickly of my words, for in their sparks they have judged me, and found me wanting.
Even Optimus has judged me. I saw the reproach in his optics when I came crawling to him, using my singular talent to evade the Decepticons seeking me.
But you...
You know of my flaws and there is no censure in your visored gaze.
You don’t judge, for you know that your hands are no cleaner than mine. None of us have come through this war without tarnish to our sparks.
You listen.
There are no words to express my gratitude, my appreciation for that simple act. But words are all I have to offer.
For you, in the end, will turn to another. Another who, like me, finds himself censured by the others. Whose cold logic is not always tempered with Autobot compassion. Whose emotionless facts and numbers earn him no friends among those he orders into battle, unable to guarantee a safe return.
How I envy him. For, in the end, he has you.