[Transformers G1] Placing Blame
Jul. 15th, 2012 05:38 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22a/n: Here's another part in my Apple a Day ficlet series. This one gives us a glimpse of other pairings and another clue about what prompted all the madness.
Also, I fail at writing Perceptor. But practice makes perfect, as they say so I shall keep trying.
Title: Placing Blame
Universe: G1, Apple a Day, part seven
Characters: PerceptorxJazz, Ratchet, Wheeljack
Rating: T
“I blame you.”
Perceptor nearly drops a test tube. He carefully sets down the slim vial and turns around, not surprised to find Ratchet standing in the doorway of his laboratory.
“Good afternoon, Ratchet,” he says pleasantly. “You appear well-rested and fully energized today.”
Ratchet points at Perceptor's faceplate, his expression one of accusal. “I. Blame. You.”
“In regards to what?” Contrary to proper belief, Perceptor knows how to play dumb when the situation calls for it.
Ratchet, however, isn't buying it. “You're not Jazz. That look isn't going to work for me.”
Scrap. Busted.
Time for another plan: distraction.
“I hardly see why your decision to act upon an emotional impulse has anything to do with me,” Perceptor replies, though a wise, battle-ready part of him is slowly backing away from the irate medic and carefully putting a table between himself and sudden danger.
Ratchet's armor fluffs and settles again, a clear indication of his growing ire. “If you hadn't polished some bearings and cornered Jazz, I wouldn't have been forced to meet my end of the deal,” Ratchet growls.
Perceptor cycles his optics, looking at the medic. “Then you are experiencing regret?”
Ratchet pauses in the midst of chasing Perceptor around the table, then scowls as he crosses his arms. “... No.”
“Well then.” Perceptor smiles brightly, ignoring the warning flashes of danger his logic center is giving him. “I fail to see the problem.”
Now, Ratchet is starting to look flustered. “It's the twins!” he says, with flailing arms, like that's all the excuse he needs.
Strangely devious, Perceptor nods in commiseration. “Yes, I do believe they were the focus of the wager.” And now, for the cog in the gears. “Were they unskilled in the berth?”
It's not often one gets to see Ratchet speechless. Perceptor takes a vid capture, just so he can share it with Jazz later, and watches as Ratchet splutters. More arm flailing occurs.
“No! I--”
“Oh!” Perceptor exclaims in sudden, fake understanding. “Perhaps you experienced some malfunction then? It's perfectly alright, Ratchet. Most older models suffer these issues sooner or later. It's nothing to be ashamed of.”
Ratchet gapes. Literally. His jaw drops and he stares at Perceptor. “I didn't... You... I'm not impotent!” The last is shouted, the words echoing around the lab.
Wheeljack chooses this moment to pop his helm into the room, looking about warily, though there's a hint of wicked glee in his optics. “Uh, Ratch? You wanna tone it down? You just sent the minibots scurrying for the hills.”
Ratchet turns a frosty glare onto his best friend.
“Oh, don't mind him,” Perceptor says, still with that fakely pleasant tone. “He's having interfacing difficulties.”
Wheeljack's indicators flash a sympathetic gold. “That would put anyone in a foul mood. What's the problem? Couldn't work up a charge?”
Perceptor can always trust Wheeljack to want in on a good joke. Especially at Ratchet's expense.
Ratchet's faceplate flushes with heat. His hands ball into fists. His optics blaze with anger. He's so speechless he's spitting static at them.
And then, he draws up straight, tilts his helm, and whirls on a pede, stomping from the lab. Not so much as a threat or a curse or a splutter. Trying, Perceptor supposes, to keep his dignity intact.
It's not until the storm of Ratchet righteousness is completely gone from the lab that Perceptor and Wheeljack dissolve into juvenile giggles.
“You're terrible,” Wheeljack says, his indicators flashing a myriad of shades.
Perceptor leans heavily against his table. “He shouldn't blame his indecisiveness on me.”
“Aw, that's just how Ratch is. He doesn't like to admit... well, anything.” Wheeljack levers himself up off the floor where he'd let himself sink. “I should probably go after him. Make sure he's not leaving rampant chaos in his wake.”
“Yes. Save the minibots,” Perceptor calls after the engineer.
Another laugh, more like a giggle actually, bubbles up from Wheeljack before he, too, is gone. Perceptor is once again left alone in his laboratory. He consults his chronometer. Less than five minutes had passed.
Distractions, distractions.
He turns back to his experiment in progress with a tiny frown. His chain of thought has been completely severed. He reaches for the beakers of chemicals, scanning them to identify their current configuration.
“What's this I hear about bein' cornered?”
This time, Perceptor does drop one of the test tubes. It shatters on the floor, spilling out a pale liquid everywhere. Luckily, it's nothing particularly dangerous, but still!
He whirls. “Jazz!”
Said mech grins, languid and completely at ease as he reclines in a chair. How and when he'd entered Perceptor's lab will probably remain a mystery forever. Actually, knowing Jazz, Perceptor assumes he's been here all along.
“Should probably clean that up,” Jazz replies with his usual lazy drawl. “Might be toxic, ya know.”
“It's not,” Perceptor huffs, heat flooding his faceplates. “Why must you insist on startling me?”
“Because it's fun?”
“You should consider redefining your idea of entertainment.” Perceptor turns back around, hunting for a cleaning rag of some kind.
“And ya could stand ta have a little more.” There's a noticeable pause, Jazz's tone taking on a note of seriousness. “Or is that what sharin' my berth was 'bout? A night of fun?”
Perceptor abandons his search, a queer sensation in his spark, a mix of terror and longing and dread and anticipation. “You think I am the sort to berth hop, casual as I please?”
“Lot of mechs are.”
“Well, I'm not.” Perceptor bristles, though he's not sure why, and turns to face the saboteur, who's looking as serious as Perceptor has ever seen him.
Come to think of it, Jazz's expression closely resembles the one he'd bore the night Perceptor had kissed him out of the blue and then subsequently dragged Jazz to the nearest berth. Oh, the high grade and the bet had given him courage, but he'd still been shaking in his transistors.
Jazz tilts his helm, his arms braced along the edge of the table. “By the way ya crept out of the berth, I couldn't help but wonder.”
Shame colors Perceptor's faceplate and he buries himself in his hands. “I apologize,” he says, voice muffled by his hands. “That was incredibly disgraceful of me.”
“I'm a forgivin' mech,” Jazz replies, and then there's a gentle touch on Perceptor's hands, pulling them away from his face. “Provided I get an explanation or three. Mebbe a confession?”
A confession? How very human-like of him to think so.
Nevertheless, Perceptor's spark performs a little happy-skip within his chassis. “I have had an interest in you for quite some time, Jazz,” he admits, much to his own mortification. “Though only recently did I work up the spirit to actually approach you.”
“Yeah, I heard. Somethin' bout a bet.” Jazz grins, his visor lighting up with a cheerful flash of blue. “So if I said, Perceptor, why don't you come to the rec room and join me fer a cube, what would ya say?”
“I've already refueled,” he answers honestly, but a smile curls his lips. “But I would enjoy the socialization.”
Jazz looks at him for a long moment before he bursts into laughter, fingers squeezing around Perceptor's. “Fine. I'll drink and ya can talk.”
“It's a date.”
***
a/n: Rare pairings, ahoy! This one and many more will be cropping up in this fic. Hold on to your thrusters, folks, cause there won't be a familiar common pairing to be had. *rubs hands together out of glee*
With that said, I hope you got at least a giggle out of this. I had too much fun writing it. Got two more ideas on tap, just got to type them up and polish them. I have no idea when and where this fic is ending. :)
Reviews are very, very welcome.
Also, I fail at writing Perceptor. But practice makes perfect, as they say so I shall keep trying.
Title: Placing Blame
Universe: G1, Apple a Day, part seven
Characters: PerceptorxJazz, Ratchet, Wheeljack
Rating: T
“I blame you.”
Perceptor nearly drops a test tube. He carefully sets down the slim vial and turns around, not surprised to find Ratchet standing in the doorway of his laboratory.
“Good afternoon, Ratchet,” he says pleasantly. “You appear well-rested and fully energized today.”
Ratchet points at Perceptor's faceplate, his expression one of accusal. “I. Blame. You.”
“In regards to what?” Contrary to proper belief, Perceptor knows how to play dumb when the situation calls for it.
Ratchet, however, isn't buying it. “You're not Jazz. That look isn't going to work for me.”
Scrap. Busted.
Time for another plan: distraction.
“I hardly see why your decision to act upon an emotional impulse has anything to do with me,” Perceptor replies, though a wise, battle-ready part of him is slowly backing away from the irate medic and carefully putting a table between himself and sudden danger.
Ratchet's armor fluffs and settles again, a clear indication of his growing ire. “If you hadn't polished some bearings and cornered Jazz, I wouldn't have been forced to meet my end of the deal,” Ratchet growls.
Perceptor cycles his optics, looking at the medic. “Then you are experiencing regret?”
Ratchet pauses in the midst of chasing Perceptor around the table, then scowls as he crosses his arms. “... No.”
“Well then.” Perceptor smiles brightly, ignoring the warning flashes of danger his logic center is giving him. “I fail to see the problem.”
Now, Ratchet is starting to look flustered. “It's the twins!” he says, with flailing arms, like that's all the excuse he needs.
Strangely devious, Perceptor nods in commiseration. “Yes, I do believe they were the focus of the wager.” And now, for the cog in the gears. “Were they unskilled in the berth?”
It's not often one gets to see Ratchet speechless. Perceptor takes a vid capture, just so he can share it with Jazz later, and watches as Ratchet splutters. More arm flailing occurs.
“No! I--”
“Oh!” Perceptor exclaims in sudden, fake understanding. “Perhaps you experienced some malfunction then? It's perfectly alright, Ratchet. Most older models suffer these issues sooner or later. It's nothing to be ashamed of.”
Ratchet gapes. Literally. His jaw drops and he stares at Perceptor. “I didn't... You... I'm not impotent!” The last is shouted, the words echoing around the lab.
Wheeljack chooses this moment to pop his helm into the room, looking about warily, though there's a hint of wicked glee in his optics. “Uh, Ratch? You wanna tone it down? You just sent the minibots scurrying for the hills.”
Ratchet turns a frosty glare onto his best friend.
“Oh, don't mind him,” Perceptor says, still with that fakely pleasant tone. “He's having interfacing difficulties.”
Wheeljack's indicators flash a sympathetic gold. “That would put anyone in a foul mood. What's the problem? Couldn't work up a charge?”
Perceptor can always trust Wheeljack to want in on a good joke. Especially at Ratchet's expense.
Ratchet's faceplate flushes with heat. His hands ball into fists. His optics blaze with anger. He's so speechless he's spitting static at them.
And then, he draws up straight, tilts his helm, and whirls on a pede, stomping from the lab. Not so much as a threat or a curse or a splutter. Trying, Perceptor supposes, to keep his dignity intact.
It's not until the storm of Ratchet righteousness is completely gone from the lab that Perceptor and Wheeljack dissolve into juvenile giggles.
“You're terrible,” Wheeljack says, his indicators flashing a myriad of shades.
Perceptor leans heavily against his table. “He shouldn't blame his indecisiveness on me.”
“Aw, that's just how Ratch is. He doesn't like to admit... well, anything.” Wheeljack levers himself up off the floor where he'd let himself sink. “I should probably go after him. Make sure he's not leaving rampant chaos in his wake.”
“Yes. Save the minibots,” Perceptor calls after the engineer.
Another laugh, more like a giggle actually, bubbles up from Wheeljack before he, too, is gone. Perceptor is once again left alone in his laboratory. He consults his chronometer. Less than five minutes had passed.
Distractions, distractions.
He turns back to his experiment in progress with a tiny frown. His chain of thought has been completely severed. He reaches for the beakers of chemicals, scanning them to identify their current configuration.
“What's this I hear about bein' cornered?”
This time, Perceptor does drop one of the test tubes. It shatters on the floor, spilling out a pale liquid everywhere. Luckily, it's nothing particularly dangerous, but still!
He whirls. “Jazz!”
Said mech grins, languid and completely at ease as he reclines in a chair. How and when he'd entered Perceptor's lab will probably remain a mystery forever. Actually, knowing Jazz, Perceptor assumes he's been here all along.
“Should probably clean that up,” Jazz replies with his usual lazy drawl. “Might be toxic, ya know.”
“It's not,” Perceptor huffs, heat flooding his faceplates. “Why must you insist on startling me?”
“Because it's fun?”
“You should consider redefining your idea of entertainment.” Perceptor turns back around, hunting for a cleaning rag of some kind.
“And ya could stand ta have a little more.” There's a noticeable pause, Jazz's tone taking on a note of seriousness. “Or is that what sharin' my berth was 'bout? A night of fun?”
Perceptor abandons his search, a queer sensation in his spark, a mix of terror and longing and dread and anticipation. “You think I am the sort to berth hop, casual as I please?”
“Lot of mechs are.”
“Well, I'm not.” Perceptor bristles, though he's not sure why, and turns to face the saboteur, who's looking as serious as Perceptor has ever seen him.
Come to think of it, Jazz's expression closely resembles the one he'd bore the night Perceptor had kissed him out of the blue and then subsequently dragged Jazz to the nearest berth. Oh, the high grade and the bet had given him courage, but he'd still been shaking in his transistors.
Jazz tilts his helm, his arms braced along the edge of the table. “By the way ya crept out of the berth, I couldn't help but wonder.”
Shame colors Perceptor's faceplate and he buries himself in his hands. “I apologize,” he says, voice muffled by his hands. “That was incredibly disgraceful of me.”
“I'm a forgivin' mech,” Jazz replies, and then there's a gentle touch on Perceptor's hands, pulling them away from his face. “Provided I get an explanation or three. Mebbe a confession?”
A confession? How very human-like of him to think so.
Nevertheless, Perceptor's spark performs a little happy-skip within his chassis. “I have had an interest in you for quite some time, Jazz,” he admits, much to his own mortification. “Though only recently did I work up the spirit to actually approach you.”
“Yeah, I heard. Somethin' bout a bet.” Jazz grins, his visor lighting up with a cheerful flash of blue. “So if I said, Perceptor, why don't you come to the rec room and join me fer a cube, what would ya say?”
“I've already refueled,” he answers honestly, but a smile curls his lips. “But I would enjoy the socialization.”
Jazz looks at him for a long moment before he bursts into laughter, fingers squeezing around Perceptor's. “Fine. I'll drink and ya can talk.”
“It's a date.”
a/n: Rare pairings, ahoy! This one and many more will be cropping up in this fic. Hold on to your thrusters, folks, cause there won't be a familiar common pairing to be had. *rubs hands together out of glee*
With that said, I hope you got at least a giggle out of this. I had too much fun writing it. Got two more ideas on tap, just got to type them up and polish them. I have no idea when and where this fic is ending. :)
Reviews are very, very welcome.
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