Ep 1 - History Lessons (closed)
Sept 5, 2012 1:14:00 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Sept 5, 2012 1:14:00 GMT -5
<<Jazz/Shadow; takes place directly after Jazz finishes talking to Smokescreen in Catching Up>>
Jazz's casual mention of being a Con - as if it was nothing, a minor note to be filed and ignored - had hit Shadow hard, and all the harder for all the time she had spent ignoring and justifying the less overt clues he had dropped. It hit and dug in deep, like the worst kind of betrayal, even though he had never really hidden it.
She had refused to see the truth; her fault, not his.
Her reaction sent her out of the base and on patrol well before her shift started, while the party was still in full swing; she spent the hours with her comms off and the bare minimum of processor threads navigating the roads and sending out cursory sensor sweeps, the majority analyzing and re-analyzing every word, every interaction.
Every time she had voluntarily turned to him for comfort. Every time she had sought him out for advice.
She had stripped her defenses bare, let him into her processor, told him everything she knew about Labyrinth's security measures and let him disable them over the weeks which followed.
I handed myself over to a Decepticon. The initial ragged refrain, glyphed with self-loathing, burned with the heat of Labyrinth's anger that she had wanted something badly enough to blind herself to the truth.
Except, of course, that no matter how she analyzed Jazz's actions, no matter how hard she tried...she couldn't make Jazz into a monster.
Miles sped soothingly beneath her wheels, reason slowly gaining ground over reflexive hatred of the enemy. Jazz is still Jazz, a few more rational processor threads surfaced to point out. Still Jazz, still cohort. Ironhide trusts him; Blue trusts him; Prime trusts him. They all know exactly what he is...what he was...and they trust him.
She trusted him, too, Shadow finally, reluctantly, admitted to herself, and that trust had nothing to do with what insignia he wore. He had earned the trust that he wouldn't hurt her; at the very least, she owed him enough trust to believe that if he had been a Decepticon, he had had good reason.
Steeljaw was back on monitors by the time she returned, and more than willing to fill her in on the new Autobots who had arrived during her patrol. Shadow barely listened as she logged her patrol report, grateful that Jaws pretended not to notice her distraction, and didn't ask about her abrupt departure from the party.
Slag, she thought wearily. Jazz was probably still AT the party, particularly if he had two new mechs to welcome.
Fine. She could wait.
Refusing to use this an excuse to avoid seeing Jazz until absolutely necessary, Shadow settled her back against the wall of the corridor where Jazz and Ironhide's quarters were located, and waited.
Jazz's casual mention of being a Con - as if it was nothing, a minor note to be filed and ignored - had hit Shadow hard, and all the harder for all the time she had spent ignoring and justifying the less overt clues he had dropped. It hit and dug in deep, like the worst kind of betrayal, even though he had never really hidden it.
She had refused to see the truth; her fault, not his.
Her reaction sent her out of the base and on patrol well before her shift started, while the party was still in full swing; she spent the hours with her comms off and the bare minimum of processor threads navigating the roads and sending out cursory sensor sweeps, the majority analyzing and re-analyzing every word, every interaction.
Every time she had voluntarily turned to him for comfort. Every time she had sought him out for advice.
She had stripped her defenses bare, let him into her processor, told him everything she knew about Labyrinth's security measures and let him disable them over the weeks which followed.
I handed myself over to a Decepticon. The initial ragged refrain, glyphed with self-loathing, burned with the heat of Labyrinth's anger that she had wanted something badly enough to blind herself to the truth.
Except, of course, that no matter how she analyzed Jazz's actions, no matter how hard she tried...she couldn't make Jazz into a monster.
Miles sped soothingly beneath her wheels, reason slowly gaining ground over reflexive hatred of the enemy. Jazz is still Jazz, a few more rational processor threads surfaced to point out. Still Jazz, still cohort. Ironhide trusts him; Blue trusts him; Prime trusts him. They all know exactly what he is...what he was...and they trust him.
She trusted him, too, Shadow finally, reluctantly, admitted to herself, and that trust had nothing to do with what insignia he wore. He had earned the trust that he wouldn't hurt her; at the very least, she owed him enough trust to believe that if he had been a Decepticon, he had had good reason.
Steeljaw was back on monitors by the time she returned, and more than willing to fill her in on the new Autobots who had arrived during her patrol. Shadow barely listened as she logged her patrol report, grateful that Jaws pretended not to notice her distraction, and didn't ask about her abrupt departure from the party.
Slag, she thought wearily. Jazz was probably still AT the party, particularly if he had two new mechs to welcome.
Fine. She could wait.
Refusing to use this an excuse to avoid seeing Jazz until absolutely necessary, Shadow settled her back against the wall of the corridor where Jazz and Ironhide's quarters were located, and waited.