re_alignment_logs | and what are you made of [closed]

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and what are you made of [closed]

WHO: FoC!Perceptor & Wheeljack
WHERE: Perceptor's lab
WHEN: Post-Pillar Expedition | Evening | Dec. 5th
WHAT: Perceptor returns from his expedition a little bit... changed.
WARNINGS: None

[It was... an adventure, to be sure. What else, he wasn't sure yet. Other than his newly acquired complete and utter inability to touch anything. Anyone. He wanted nothing more than to retreat to his lab and experiment. Both to understand the nature of his sudden condition, and to see if he could solve it.]

[Or... at least, make it so he could refuel at some point. That was what worried him most, right now. If he couldn't touch anything, if he passed through everything and everyone, then that posed a serious threat to his health, somewhere down the line.]

[The lab, therefore, seemed the most important thing.]

[He didn't bother informing anyone he'd returned. He was certain others would handle that aspect of things. Not to mention, he wasn't even sure if he could access the Link in his current state. Best not to worry anyone with an ominously blank message.]

[... another problem, he supposed, with his sudden attachments ...]

[He entered the proper temple, all but tripping through the door as he realized he was putting his feet through the decorative portions at intervals.]

[Great.]

[The approach to his lab was, mercifully, uneventful. He didn't even make noise as he walked.]

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[He can see Perceptor's odd behavior, but...then again, it's not like the scientist never avoided him. Strange, but nothing to question.]

Right. Busy with that...thing, I guess. Was gonna go down and check up on it, heard it was taken care of.

It was, right?

[Because he's missing a few people from the expedition.]

[Good. There's no pressing. There's no sudden leap over the table or attempts to touch him. He can manage this.]

[Provided he doesn't try to pick up anything on his workbench, this should be easy enough to divert.]

Yes. Yes, it was.

[He nods, rubbing at his face -- at least his hands don't go through himself.]

It's finished. That... thing won't be bothering anyone any longer.

Good. Wanna know what went down. Figured you're my best source. Can't find Bulkhead, but he's probably in the medbay.

Not steppin' in there unless I have to.

[Especially after losing an audial.]

Irritated the medics lately, have you?

[He's careful to keep the table between them. If Wheeljack moves at all, he'll shift to counter it, as if busying himself about. Not that he can actually touch anything, but... he can pretend, right?]

It's... complicated, to say the least. The short version being that wretched pillar won't be altering anyone in the foreseeable future.

When don't I.

[There's a soft smirk at that. Really, it's one of the few things he can joke about with Perceptor. Always to the medbay, and never anywhere else. It wasn't meant to be humorous, but it showed how jaded you were to this place.]

Good. Go on.

[He wants to know more.]

Ya get yourself looked at?

When you're unconscious.

[He meant it to come out less solemn than it does. He's avoiding Wheeljack's optics now. Focusing on the desk, pretending to type. It's... incredibly frustrating. But there's nothing else to be done.]

[Save to launch into an explanation of what happened down there. What they'd found. What he'd found. He doesn't skimp on the details. Whatever he learned, whatever he saw, Wheeljack is informed.]

[... He owes him that.]

There's nothing to look at. No damage to report.

[Which is true, at least.]

[And for a rare moment, Wheeljack listens, taking in all that information. He needed to be in the know here. He couldn't afford not to be now that they'd dealt with two Phase Sixers.

But he notices how concise and...almost rushed Perceptor's saying this.]

Ya sure? I mean, you're the only one I found who came back.

[He's worried.]

[He can hear that concern. He knows Wheeljack too well by now not to. His shoulders draw up, and he turns his head away, the lights along his paneling brightening, even in his current state.]

[This is harder than it should be.]

Everyone who went down there survived. I'm certain of it. They all came back out again.

[He finally looks Wheeljack in the optics.]

You have my word.

[Perceptor's mannerisms weren't matching up. It was enough to put a hint of...worry in there. He takes a step closer, to get a better look at him.]

I believe ya, Sarge.

[He had no reason to doubt it, after all. They'd been on this rock for longer than anyone should have.

Then...he reached up to give a punch to the arm--

Only for it to go right through, those eyes widening at full brightness. He couldn't have been more shocked if he tried.]

Good, I--

[He sees Wheeljack step nearer. He sees him start to move.]

[But he sees it too late to duck out of the way. Not completely. His arm remains well within reach before he can pull back.]

[And as that fist ghosts through what should have been solid metal... he sags in place. His optics shutter, going offline. He lifts a hand to his face, covering it. As if he can't bring himself to look at the Wrecker right now -- doesn't want to see the fear, the concern, he knows will be there.]

I'm fine. I... simply don't... know why this is happening.

[It's more hesitant than he meant it too. His voice comes out rougher, more tired. Some part of him twists, abruptly wracked with a bizarre guilt.]

I... I'll figure something out.

[I'm sorry.]

Edited 2013-12-17 06:56 (UTC)

[That hand remains ghosted inside of Perceptor for a second, before the Wrecker yanks it out like he just stuck it inside acid. Those eyes widen, then narrow, hand curling into a fist and throwing it down to his side.

This isn't happening.]

Ya said everything went fine, Sarge.

THIS.

[He sticks his hand in that arm again, waving it around.]

Isn't fine!

What would you have had me do?

[He doesn't shout. His voice is barely above a murmur. If he could, he'd have leaned against his table. He cant'. And as a result, simply stands there, head bowed and arms folded.]

[Tired. Defeated.]

It would have harmed the others... or the rest of you, here, if I'd done nothing.

[They'd all had to do something. And this was as nonviolent a solution as there had been.]

[He avoids Wheeljack's optics.]

Something.

[He doesn't yell either. It's more of an irritated growl. And as if momentarily forgetting the situation, goes to shove the scientist.

Only to go right through him, hitting the wall.

A small grunt of frustration and a punch to the wall follows, turning around. If he couldn't HIT something... No, he's not going to face it. He doesn't want to face that. The fact that this might be permanent.

Perceptor didn't just leave, he got stuck in limbo. Teasing him.]

Something.

[He keeps his head down. He doesn't even try to stop Wheeljack from trying to push him, or from punching the wall. Maybe he deserves the shove. The anger.]

[He wishes he didn't -- he wishes things were different.]

They would have died. And I would have known I was partially responsible.

[Or injuries. Deaths or injuries, he'd still blame himself. And, even though he'd tried -- there's still something here for him to blame himself for.]

[There was nothing to take it out on. He couldn't blind himself with rage and punch something. And it irritated him to his core.

There's a third attempt, hoping maybe the first two--somehow--were flukes.

But no, once again he's phased through.]

...NGH...

[He's defeated. It wasn't something Wheeljack ever witnessed, not without severe consequences. And it shows, in how he looks up at Perceptor.

Almost...confused]

I...You're right. You're right.

[He actually flinches this time, when Wheeljack tries to touch him. He flinches -- but it's not out of pain. It's regret. Shame.]

[He never wanted to make the Wrecker's life harder. Far from it.]

I...

[He still can't bring himself to look at him. He just stands there, with his head bowed, arms tight across his chest. Metal would have creaked from the tension in his grip, if it could have.]

... Primus, I never thought it would feel atrocious to be right.

I'm sorry.

[He can't look back anymore, slumping against the wall. He really needed thicker skin, like he had before he came here. He got too soft... too attached to everything.

Maybe he just needed to return to that.

The worst part was...he didn't want to.]

You better fix it.

Swear to Primus.

[He hates seeing this. He hates knowing he's caused it. When he arrived, he wouldn't have cared in the slightest. He'd been detached. Aloof. It worked better for scientific study.]

[But now...]

[Now it makes his spark ache to see what he's done -- that he's hurt the other bot, somehow. He knows why. He wishes he didn't.]

I will do all that I can.

You have my word.

[It takes a few more minutes before Wheeljack begins to move, to head for the door. He'd gotten what he came here for--the information about the pillar. It was more than he bargained for, to say the least...

but he got it.]

If there's anythin' I can do.

[call me.]

I...

[There's a slight half-step forward. An outstretched hand. As if he means to stop the other bot from leaving.]

[Or ask him not to.]

[But he restrains himself. He steps backward, arms folding over his chest. It would be wrong of him to ask that, after everything. This is his fault, isn't it?]

Of course.

[The 'I' is enough to stop him, to make him spin on his heels an look back. Was he needed? Something he could do to fix this? Because he'd do it, no matter how risky it was.

He was not losing one of the only two things keeping him sane here.

Not anymore.]

Sarge...

[Reporting for duty.]

... You don't have to leave, if you wish to stay.

[He doesn't know what else to say. Or do. He can't even use his equipment, like this. Anything he wants to try, to fix this, wouldn't be possible.]

[He slumps, where he stands, clearly defeated.]

[A rare sort of pose, for the big scientist.]

...I can't do much, Sarge. I only know fightin' and bashin' scrap.

[Which, from the looks things, is the most useless thing in this situation. What use could he be?

It irritated him beyond belief.]

I'm here.

... And I can't do anything, right now. Not even bloody refuel. My work is... impossible like this.

[What he wants to say, however, goes unspoken. He should have said it. But the words stick. They choke.]

[How can he ask this?]

[Help me.]

...

[Fortunately, his unspoken words are loud enough for Wheeljack to hear. He's a little slow at this, but he's got it.]

Where do I start.

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