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Description
“Oh Talonstrike, why d'ya have t’ be so stupid sometimes?”
Mirage sat restlessly in a substandard chair beside the repair berth assigned to Talonstrike, her partner in the Peacekeepers. They had both been damaged following her botched attempt to arrest two Cybertronian slavers but he had come off worst, taking the brunt of a sonic attack from the MetalMaster creature they were hunting. She came off relatively lightly, considering – she’d only been the subject of an attempted rape, her chestplate prised open to show off her spark to the world.
It had only been a week since the attack, and she had been cleared for duty by the medics, but Talonstrike still had a few more weeks in medbay, so long as he regained consciousness.

She felt guilty. Guilty for going in there without support, guilty for getting her partner hurt, guilty for her arrogance. The femme sighed, resting a hand on her partner’s shoulder plates, hoping beyond hope that the simple gesture would wake him, but to no avail. No change.
“Ah’m so sorry, Talonstrike,” she whispered, taking one of his servos in both of her own, “Ah didn’t mean t’ put you in danger.”
The femme shook her helm, hoping he was listening somewhere in the void of his unconsciousness.

This was silly, she’d decided, why was she doing it? Perhaps it was to let her partner know she was there for him, or to return the favour for saving most of her dignity, or perhaps to soothe her guilty conscience. She couldn’t pin any single reason why.
What mattered was that she was there for him, whether he was conscious or no. She just sat there, holding his servo between her own and praying to any deity that would listen that he pulled through.

Mirage frowned, denta clenching as she wondered what the quack would say later in her psychological debrief. She looked down at her newly-immaculate chestplate, admiring the handiwork of the medical officers in Peacekeeper HQ. The crumpled sections of metal had been systematically reforged and reshaped, meaning it was now impossible to detect what damage had been done to her chassis.

The femme blinked, drinking in the mutated Cybertronian's form. She remembered him when Atrocity had first... "changed" him, and she could remember the utter distaste, the hatred and spite she felt towards him those long five years ago. Now, however, she looked on him with pity, and as somewhat of a kindred spirit; they were both outcasts. He was a mutated freak, reviled and treated with suspiscion by those he may have once worked with, and she was a Predacon, pure and simple. That, and there was the minor matter of having been one of Atrocity's Lieutenants back on Murphy's World.
Looking at him, Mirage could gradually see how handsome he had been, through the horrendous mutation of his exoskeleton, the peverse fusion of Cybertronian and bird of prey. Had things turned out differently, Mirage may have found herself attracted to him more easily, but right now she couldn't place where her feeling lay.

Thoroughly confused by the conflicting emotions dancing around her processor, Mirage leant back in her seat and allowed her gaze to wander over her partner's physique, resisting the temptation to touch the warped metal and flesh.

Her musing was cut short by the abrupt entrance of a pretty young nurse; Mirage turned to look at the new arrival, her medical scrubs crisp white with those mint green panels signifying her position, datapad and stylus in hand.
"Detective Mirage? Doctor Mitchell shall see you now."
The femme's optics blinked a few times. She was meant to see the quack at about 1900 standard Terran hours, and that was still another hour and a half away, surely?
Mirage checked her internal chronometer once, twice and then three times for good measure. She'd come into the room at 1700 hours, and had been sat there ever since. She'd been with Talonstrike for a full two hours.
The femme sighed in disbelief, looking down at her servos as they grasped at one of her partner's.
"Thank you, Nurse," she murmured quietly, as if she didn't want to disturb the sleeping mech, "Ah'll be over shortly."

Mirage smiled weakly at Talonstrike as she stood up, pressure building in her spark with embarrassment at what she was about to do. She moved closer and leant in close to her unconscious partner. Taking a gentle hold of his cheek, she kissed him. It was not a long, hard kiss reminiscent of those star- cross'd lovers, or the short, shy kiss of friends. It was somewhere in between.
She broke off, faceplate heating up slightly as she wiped her lip components on her palm. She lingered there for a few moments, her faceplate inches away from his, before leaning in close to his audio, whispering to him.
“Thank you, Talonstrike. For everything.”

And with that, she straightened up, turned, and silently followed the waiting nurse to see the psychologist.

Description
“Oh Talonstrike, why d'ya have t’ be so stupid sometimes?”
Mirage sat restlessly in a substandard chair beside the repair berth assigned to Talonstrike, her partner in the Peacekeepers. They had both been damaged following her botched attempt to arrest two Cybertronian slavers but he had come off worst, taking the brunt of a sonic attack from the MetalMaster creature they were hunting. She came off relatively lightly, considering – she’d only been the subject of an attempted rape, her chestplate prised open to show off her spark to the world.
It had only been a week since the attack, and she had been cleared for duty by the medics, but Talonstrike still had a few more weeks in medbay, so long as he regained consciousness.

She felt guilty. Guilty for going in there without support, guilty for getting her partner hurt, guilty for her arrogance. The femme sighed, resting a hand on her partner’s shoulder plates, hoping beyond hope that the simple gesture would wake him, but to no avail. No change.
“Ah’m so sorry, Talonstrike,” she whispered, taking one of his servos in both of her own, “Ah didn’t mean t’ put you in danger.”
The femme shook her helm, hoping he was listening somewhere in the void of his unconsciousness.

This was silly, she’d decided, why was she doing it? Perhaps it was to let her partner know she was there for him, or to return the favour for saving most of her dignity, or perhaps to soothe her guilty conscience. She couldn’t pin any single reason why.
What mattered was that she was there for him, whether he was conscious or no. She just sat there, holding his servo between her own and praying to any deity that would listen that he pulled through.

Mirage frowned, denta clenching as she wondered what the quack would say later in her psychological debrief. She looked down at her newly-immaculate chestplate, admiring the handiwork of the medical officers in Peacekeeper HQ. The crumpled sections of metal had been systematically reforged and reshaped, meaning it was now impossible to detect what damage had been done to her chassis.

The femme blinked, drinking in the mutated Cybertronian's form. She remembered him when Atrocity had first... "changed" him, and she could remember the utter distaste, the hatred and spite she felt towards him those long five years ago. Now, however, she looked on him with pity, and as somewhat of a kindred spirit; they were both outcasts. He was a mutated freak, reviled and treated with suspiscion by those he may have once worked with, and she was a Predacon, pure and simple. That, and there was the minor matter of having been one of Atrocity's Lieutenants back on Murphy's World.
Looking at him, Mirage could gradually see how handsome he had been, through the horrendous mutation of his exoskeleton, the peverse fusion of Cybertronian and bird of prey. Had things turned out differently, Mirage may have found herself attracted to him more easily, but right now she couldn't place where her feeling lay.

Thoroughly confused by the conflicting emotions dancing around her processor, Mirage leant back in her seat and allowed her gaze to wander over her partner's physique, resisting the temptation to touch the warped metal and flesh.

Her musing was cut short by the abrupt entrance of a pretty young nurse; Mirage turned to look at the new arrival, her medical scrubs crisp white with those mint green panels signifying her position, datapad and stylus in hand.
"Detective Mirage? Doctor Mitchell shall see you now."
The femme's optics blinked a few times. She was meant to see the quack at about 1900 standard Terran hours, and that was still another hour and a half away, surely?
Mirage checked her internal chronometer once, twice and then three times for good measure. She'd come into the room at 1700 hours, and had been sat there ever since. She'd been with Talonstrike for a full two hours.
The femme sighed in disbelief, looking down at her servos as they grasped at one of her partner's.
"Thank you, Nurse," she murmured quietly, as if she didn't want to disturb the sleeping mech, "Ah'll be over shortly."

Mirage smiled weakly at Talonstrike as she stood up, pressure building in her spark with embarrassment at what she was about to do. She moved closer and leant in close to her unconscious partner. Taking a gentle hold of his cheek, she kissed him. It was not a long, hard kiss reminiscent of those star- cross'd lovers, or the short, shy kiss of friends. It was somewhere in between.
She broke off, faceplate heating up slightly as she wiped her lip components on her palm. She lingered there for a few moments, her faceplate inches away from his, before leaning in close to his audio, whispering to him.
“Thank you, Talonstrike. For everything.”

And with that, she straightened up, turned, and silently followed the waiting nurse to see the psychologist.