Series: The Ghost Unit
Title: Perception (19)
Setting: IDW Transformers, inspired by the "What's Wrong with a Little Destruction" 'verse by ajremix
Note: Many thanks to rexlapinii and ajremix for beta-ing!
Summary: In which Deadline explains Callsign's condition to Longshot, who does not take it well at all.
Note: Posting a bit early this week as I'll be away on a business trip for part of the week and likely unable to post this otherwise.

Perception
"The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched. They must be felt with the heart."
~ Helen Keller

It had taken some time for Longshot to realize something was slightly off about how Callsign maneuvered when grounded, mostly due to the fact that the flier spent every possibly moment in the air, going so far as to hover in recharge whenever he could get away with it. The large flier had attempted to explain it once, even landing to allow Longshot to examine the resonance of the shield mesh covering his form while he moved about in his awkward gait, but the sniper had still been left with the nagging sensation that there was something about Callsign's condition which remained just out of his grasp.

The next step – talking to Deadline – had been the only logical path to follow. What had ensued had yet again redefined Longshot's respect for the medical engineer's genius, right up until Deadline had tried to explain to him the nuances in how Callsign's sensor specifically interpreted... touch.

"Wait. You mean his sensors don't map data properly unless the shield mesh is there to filter out the noise, right?"

"I'm afraid you misunderstand. His sensor mapping ability was never flawed, quite to the contrary. His abilities in that domain are superlative. He is... phenomenal in what he can accomplish, if allowed to do so without having to constantly filter unfathomable amounts of pain." He paused, primary hands moving to clasp behind his back. "Callsign's direct sensory management program was corrupted at the very core, affecting a very precise portion of his sub-routines. There never will be the possibility to ‘patch it' or affect any sort of repair on the code itself. The previous medical experts who delivered the diagnosis were quite accurate in their assessment of his condition." The sniper noted how tightly controlled Deadline's voice was as he spoke, even more so than usual. Far more so than usual. And while he normally would have stopped, never would have wanted to cause the remote mech any more pain than he was already dealing to himself, Longshot also knew it was important he understand what Deadline was trying to clarify for him.

"I don't understand..." He trailed off, fighting off a numb sense of foreboding creeping through him.

Deadline looked at him for a moment, as though the depth of Longshot's distress was only now finally clear to him, drawing him out of his own dark thoughts to look at the sniper with an indefinable glimmer of an emotion in his optics. He somehow seemed almost gentle as he continued, putting words to the dread coiling tightly within the sniper.

"In order to allow Callsign the ability to fly without restriction, I had to look at something other than his sensory management program to resolve the issue. Thus, the shielding mesh he was equipped with essentially removes his ability to experience somatic sensation." The surgical engineer paused, waiting a moment as Longshot processed what he was being told. "In order to fly and be able to perform his primary function, Callsign lives in a state of permanent tactile anesthesia."

"He can't... feel anything..." Longshot whispered the words, an aching desolation reflected within his optics as he shook his head slowly in powerless denial, moving backwards until the wall stopped his motion.

"No. He does not. For the entirety of his existence, Callsign will either experience extreme agony, or nothingness. There will never be any other sensation for him."

Silence reigned between them, stretched on as Longshot looked down without any further word until Deadline turned away and started to walk towards his office in order to offer the other some privacy and a chance to regroup.

The sound of something creaking, metal slowly giving way to pressure stopped him though and with a flare of comprehension he whirled about and lunged for the sniper, snapping out a sharp command.

"Stop that." The medic seized Longshot's hands in his own, holding the trembling fists until he resorted to slipping delicate, sensitive fingertips through the sniper's own in order to break the tension and stop the mech from damaging himself.

"Longshot..." A low, muted whimper answered him and Deadline tightened his hold on the other, ever so slightly. "You must understand. What you view as an unfathomable loss… to Callsign, the ability to not feel anything at all is a blessing." There was no hesitation, not a single iota of doubt in Deadline's voice as he spoke, and Longshot found himself clinging to each word and to the utter certainty of the conviction behind them as though his very spark depended upon it.

"Since his very first moment of awareness, all Callsign ever felt was endless physical agony. And the result of this not only affected his primary function to extreme degrees, it also made him a social outcast, compounding the pain to an emotional level as well. It is a wonder he did not go insane, or attempt to end his existence." He stepped in closer as he spoke, preventing the sniper from twitching away as such a stark statement, to somehow deny what had been an everyday reality for the gentle flier. "Callsign does not regret his decision to join us. He treasures being able to fly without pain. He thrills in having a purpose, in being able to fulfill his function, in being part of a social unit which values him and his contributions while allowing him his idiosyncrasies without judgment." Still the sniper looked down, and though he kept clinging to Deadline's hands, the edge of desperation to his grip seemed to have waned. "And he is grateful to have found a friend such as you."

Longshot looked up then, optics wide and vulnerable, shaking his head once more as though to deny the words that had just been spoken. And where his own hold slackened, Deadline's tightened, not allowing the sniper's hands to slip away.

"Come now. Did you truly think," Deadline asked, with a touch of asperity, "that he did not find as much worth in you, as you do in him?"

The lost look to Longshot's expression shattered at that, denial slowly replaced by bewildered acceptance, anguish easing into the beginnings of understanding. Finally, he bowed his head slowly, leaning forward until his helm came to rest wearily upon Deadline's smooth chestplate, muffling his whispered words.

"Thank you."

Current Mood: contemplative