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wyntir_knightTitle: The Sessions: Mirage
Fandom: Transformers: Generation 1
Characters & Relationships: Smokescreen, Mirage
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Summary: Something went wrong on a special ops mission and it's up to Smokescreen to spin it properly
Author's Note: Inspired by the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
31_days prompt "Good secrets are hard to keep" and is part of "The Sessions" series.
A/N 2: I'm not entirely sure that I'm happy with this one, so I'm going to avoid adding it to A03 just yet. I need to think on it and go over it again. Maybe add, maybe subtract. But since, I promised myself that I would try to write something every day, and this is the result of today's effort.
Mirage sat in stony silence across from me. Normally I tried to avoid meeting with Special Ops. It was hard enough to pin down that team under the best of circumstances, but when a psych session is involved, it becomes nigh impossible. And I was fine with that. Honestly.
Okay, so maybe I wasn't fine with it, but I'm nothing if not flexible, and I had put together a great system that worked for all of us. I'd stop by the Spec. Ops. office, I'd ask them how they were, they'd say fine, and I'd write some bullshit report to provide to Prime. Prime knew I was doing it. Special Ops knew I was doing it. It was all working out just fine. And then it didn't. Prowl convinced Prime that we needed a proper psych evaluation for all three members of the team. And that brought us here. Me alone in a room with a very irritated Mirage.
"Okay, look," I said. "I know you don't want to be here, but if we sit here in total silence for the hour, we're just going to have to do this again next week. And the week after. And the week after that."
Again, Mirage said nothing and I had to hold back my already fraying temper.
"Or," I continued a tad more sharply than I probably should have, "you can tell me what happened in this last mission and we can work on a proper spin to tell Prime."
Mirage finally turned to look at me, his optics steely. "I do not need the help of a con artist with a forged certification."
"It isn't forged," I replied.
Mirage's look turned sardonic. "Fine. A stolen certification. One that you did not earn and one that you do not deserve."
I wasn't going to argue the point with him but there was no point. It would only serve to waste what remained of our hour. I needed to try something different.
"Fine. But all of that is beside the point. I am the only psychologist on the base, and the only mech between here and Cybertron who can do the job. So, unless you want to wait until Rung is brought to Earth, you need to get over this, and let me help you," I said.
I could practically see the gears working in Mirage's head as he contemplated the possibilities. Even if Prime agreed to a transfer, Rung wouldn't be able to get here for at least an Earth year, and he would be bringing the Wreckers with him. It was hardly an ideal situation, given how coarse and unpredictable that team was. Add to that, if Mirage agreed to wait for Rung, Smokescreen would convince Prime to bench the noble. After all, something had gone wrong in this last mission, and that problem had somehow been Mirage's fault.
"At least you can trust me not to talk," I said gently. "I may be many things, but I take my oaths seriously. That's why I'm always careful with them. I know you don't want to believe it, but you can trust me."
Mirage was quiet for a long time. I didn't understand his reasons for hating me as much as he did. Yes, I had a less-than-honest history, but I had proven myself time and time again as both an Autobot and as a member of Special Operations and Tactical. Whatever his reasons, they were something I would have to suss out at a later date. Right now the issue was hand was this last mission. A mission that had landed both Jazz and Bumblebee in medical and had nearly blown up in all the Autobot's faces. It was a disaster than had certain mechs questioning whether or not Bombshell's cerebro-shell had actually been removed completely.
"Mirage?" I prompted softly.
He finally sighed.
"Fine," he said, managing to sound irritated and defeated at the same time. "Fine. But this doesn't leave this room. I will hold you the promise that I can trust you."
"Whatever it is will not leave this room until it has been properly spun," I replied solemnly. "I you and Jazz that much."
"You owe us more," he said, and there was actually a hint of humour at the edges of his words. He sobered and sat back in his chair, finally seeming slightly at ease.
The silence descended again, but it was less strained this time and I was willing to wait for Mirage to start speaking.
"It was supposed to be a quick in and out," Mirage finally said. "Elita One's troops were providing us with the distraction we needed to get into Darkmount. We were on a strict schedule. Each aspect had been timed perfectly with only the smallest margin for error. I was to go in first, and camp out in a specific utility closet. ... I honestly have no idea why Elita's troops were in the base proper. They were never supposed to be that far in, and since I was on radio silence, they had no way to warn me of the change ..."
Now that he was talking, I could begin my work. Once I knew what it was that they were supposed to be doing, once I knew what it was they had actually done, I could fix the spin. Now that I finally had Mirage's trust, it was easier. And hopefully it would remain that way.
Fandom: Transformers: Generation 1
Characters & Relationships: Smokescreen, Mirage
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Summary: Something went wrong on a special ops mission and it's up to Smokescreen to spin it properly
Author's Note: Inspired by the
31_days prompt "Good secrets are hard to keep" and is part of "The Sessions" series.A/N 2: I'm not entirely sure that I'm happy with this one, so I'm going to avoid adding it to A03 just yet. I need to think on it and go over it again. Maybe add, maybe subtract. But since, I promised myself that I would try to write something every day, and this is the result of today's effort.
Mirage sat in stony silence across from me. Normally I tried to avoid meeting with Special Ops. It was hard enough to pin down that team under the best of circumstances, but when a psych session is involved, it becomes nigh impossible. And I was fine with that. Honestly.
Okay, so maybe I wasn't fine with it, but I'm nothing if not flexible, and I had put together a great system that worked for all of us. I'd stop by the Spec. Ops. office, I'd ask them how they were, they'd say fine, and I'd write some bullshit report to provide to Prime. Prime knew I was doing it. Special Ops knew I was doing it. It was all working out just fine. And then it didn't. Prowl convinced Prime that we needed a proper psych evaluation for all three members of the team. And that brought us here. Me alone in a room with a very irritated Mirage.
"Okay, look," I said. "I know you don't want to be here, but if we sit here in total silence for the hour, we're just going to have to do this again next week. And the week after. And the week after that."
Again, Mirage said nothing and I had to hold back my already fraying temper.
"Or," I continued a tad more sharply than I probably should have, "you can tell me what happened in this last mission and we can work on a proper spin to tell Prime."
Mirage finally turned to look at me, his optics steely. "I do not need the help of a con artist with a forged certification."
"It isn't forged," I replied.
Mirage's look turned sardonic. "Fine. A stolen certification. One that you did not earn and one that you do not deserve."
I wasn't going to argue the point with him but there was no point. It would only serve to waste what remained of our hour. I needed to try something different.
"Fine. But all of that is beside the point. I am the only psychologist on the base, and the only mech between here and Cybertron who can do the job. So, unless you want to wait until Rung is brought to Earth, you need to get over this, and let me help you," I said.
I could practically see the gears working in Mirage's head as he contemplated the possibilities. Even if Prime agreed to a transfer, Rung wouldn't be able to get here for at least an Earth year, and he would be bringing the Wreckers with him. It was hardly an ideal situation, given how coarse and unpredictable that team was. Add to that, if Mirage agreed to wait for Rung, Smokescreen would convince Prime to bench the noble. After all, something had gone wrong in this last mission, and that problem had somehow been Mirage's fault.
"At least you can trust me not to talk," I said gently. "I may be many things, but I take my oaths seriously. That's why I'm always careful with them. I know you don't want to believe it, but you can trust me."
Mirage was quiet for a long time. I didn't understand his reasons for hating me as much as he did. Yes, I had a less-than-honest history, but I had proven myself time and time again as both an Autobot and as a member of Special Operations and Tactical. Whatever his reasons, they were something I would have to suss out at a later date. Right now the issue was hand was this last mission. A mission that had landed both Jazz and Bumblebee in medical and had nearly blown up in all the Autobot's faces. It was a disaster than had certain mechs questioning whether or not Bombshell's cerebro-shell had actually been removed completely.
"Mirage?" I prompted softly.
He finally sighed.
"Fine," he said, managing to sound irritated and defeated at the same time. "Fine. But this doesn't leave this room. I will hold you the promise that I can trust you."
"Whatever it is will not leave this room until it has been properly spun," I replied solemnly. "I you and Jazz that much."
"You owe us more," he said, and there was actually a hint of humour at the edges of his words. He sobered and sat back in his chair, finally seeming slightly at ease.
The silence descended again, but it was less strained this time and I was willing to wait for Mirage to start speaking.
"It was supposed to be a quick in and out," Mirage finally said. "Elita One's troops were providing us with the distraction we needed to get into Darkmount. We were on a strict schedule. Each aspect had been timed perfectly with only the smallest margin for error. I was to go in first, and camp out in a specific utility closet. ... I honestly have no idea why Elita's troops were in the base proper. They were never supposed to be that far in, and since I was on radio silence, they had no way to warn me of the change ..."
Now that he was talking, I could begin my work. Once I knew what it was that they were supposed to be doing, once I knew what it was they had actually done, I could fix the spin. Now that I finally had Mirage's trust, it was easier. And hopefully it would remain that way.