Noblesse Oblige
Chapter Twelve
After the first section of this chapter, we skip forward another three stellar cycles. So they've been together about thirteen at this point, for those of you who are keeping track.
Maybe practice doesn't make perfect, but it sure does help.
It doesn't hurt when it's fun, either.
Having discovered the joys of interfacing, Mirage was hooked. For a while, it seemed to be all he thought about. Fortunately, he had Jazz, and his attendant was every bit as eager and enthusiastic as he was. It was hard at first, not allowing the intimacy that arose during their play at night to bleed over into his behavior during the day. Sometimes he wondered how Oblique and Pacer managed it. And then he would swiftly resolve not to think of Oblique and Pacer.
After a while of experimenting with his attendant, Mirage summoned the confidence to try out his moves for real. At first he considered starting with one of the mechs he wasn't as interested in, as a trial run. But an unexpected moment alone with Torchlight and a little bit of some exceptionally fine high-grade energon sparked his courage. Before he knew it, he was asking and Torchlight was accepting (!), and from there…oh sweet dear holy Primus.
Mirage was grateful for his practice sessions with Jazz; without them, he'd doubtlessly have made a fool of himself. As it was, once Mirage was alone in the semidarkness with the orange mech, he found his processors working overtime, summoning all the tricks he knew and working to combine them in new, hopefully interesting ways. When it all was over and Mirage had recovered enough to online his optics, he swept his gaze over Torchlight. He was sprawled gracelessly on his back, limbs akimbo as if he'd been dropped from a great height. Mirage could hear his vents panting air raggedly. Blue optics slowly regained their focus, and when they turned to him with a look of sincere amazement instead of their usual smug self-satisfaction, Mirage felt a rush of victory.
Of course, he didn't stop there. He wanted Torchlight again…and again…and again, and he found the other 'bot more than willing. After awhile, Mirage remembered Oblique's advice about not letting interfacing get him attached to any one particular 'bot. So Mirage began to reach out to other mechs in his circle of friends, and he found that Torchlight had been spreading rumors about him. Good ones. No one turned him down, and though Mirage felt a certain amount of pressure to perform up to expectations, it was a heady rush he'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy.
Interfacing with the other Tower brats was different from interfacing with Jazz. Interfacing with Jazz was sheer fun, full of curious trial-and-error exploration. There was no ego involved (well, maybe a little). Mostly there was a sense of adventure alongside someone – the one person – with whom Mirage felt completely comfortable. 'Facing with the Tower brats was, like everything else with the Tower brats, a competition. And Mirage was winning. Not to say he wasn't having fun – he was. It seemed that prowess in the berth was the new status symbol, and Mirage was on top of the heap.
Solar cycles slipped by, and then stellar cycles. Not much changed, at least not for Mirage. He was distantly aware of tumultuous events outside the Towers that made Jazz mutter uneasily, but they didn't touch him, so he didn't care. Their tutoring and other sundry lessons continued, but for Mirage they began to be interspersed with more time spent with Oblique, learning to manage the estate and various businesses. Truth be told, Mirage wasn't exactly chomping at the bit to immerse himself in the world of adult responsibilities.
Oblique didn't push him too hard. It took a long time for Tower mechs to grow to maturity, much longer than regular 'bots on the outside. Like any other mech, they didn't actually physically grow as they aged – their bodies were fully formed at birth – they just developed strength. But whereas it took many stellar cycles of training and education and careful raising for a mech from the Towers to be considered an adult; regular mechs were thrust into their lives almost immediately, learning a trade or going to the Academy or one of the other schools.
Oblique was openly disdainful: "It's pathetic - sparklings barely out of protoform pretending to be merchants or builders or what have you. And that Academy? Ha! You know how fast they churn the younglings through that place? A couple of stellar cycles, on average. Like a factory. That's what passes for education out there. Be grateful, Mirage, that you live somewhere where we value quality over quantity. Quality which can only be achieved with time and care. And the results speak for themselves. You get out of things what you put into them. And you, Mirage…you are my life's work." And then he would smile fondly and Mirage would have to resist the urge to beam stupidly at the pride in his sire's optics.
So Mirage didn't rush, and Oblique didn't push. They had plenty of time. And while Mirage wasn't actively seeking a greater role, he wasn't about to shirk his responsibilities. So on days when Oblique told Mirage to accompany him as he went about his business, Mirage did so.
Such as today. Oblique didn't have much outside business to conduct, and so he was showing his son the finer points of managing the house and estate. Jazz had stayed behind in Mirage's quarters, and Pacer was in the other room doing something-or-other, so father and son were alone. Mirage was paying…selective attention, at best. His thoughts wandered to the turbofox hunt that was scheduled in several solar cycles' time. He reminisced about the interfacing he'd had with Shade a few solar cycles ago, and looked forward to the interfacing he'd be doing with Jazz later that night. Mmmmmm.
Oblique was discussing annual household expenses. His computer screen displayed lists of…lists. Mirage's laptop was linked to his sire's computer, so he had access to the same files. He clicked through them rather…well, listlessly. Then one file caught his eye – the list of annual employee salaries. He opened it and scrolled through. The figures seemed a bit low to him, but since he tended to view money as infinite, he was probably a little biased. To be honest, he really didn't have an idea of what a fair wage was – that was what today was for, right? Besides, come to think of it, he guessed servants didn't really need that much.
Wait – he was missing something. He scrolled back through the list, but it didn't seem to be there. His curiosity was piqued enough for him to speak up. "Oblique? Sir?"
His sire had been in the middle of a sentence, but oddly didn't seem annoyed at the interruption. "What is it, son?"
Mirage pointed to the list on his screen. "Where's Jazz?"
Oblique leaned over to see what his son was looking at. "What do you mean, 'where's Jazz'?"
"On the list," Mirage explained. "What's Jazz's annual salary?" He had been curious on this point for awhile.
Oblique furrowed his brow, giving his son a concerned look. "Mirage…" he said slowly, "I thought you understood. I don't pay Jazz."
"You don't…pay…Jazz?" Mirage repeated. What? "Why not?"
His father sighed and leaned back in his chair. "I think you know why not, Mirage."
"No, I don't." This didn't make sense.
Oblique folded his hands. "Jazz…has always been a problem. Pacer and Swing – they're goodsparked, but shortsighted. It's a typical failing." He shrugged. "So when they had Jazz…they were ill-prepared, to say the least. And when their sparkling turned out like that – helpless, unable to fend for himself…" he shrugged again. "I pay them both a fair wage, but they couldn't possibly support a third mech entirely, especially not one with Jazz's…special needs."
"So that's why…you gave him to me?"
Oblique nodded. "Yes. That's why. We hoped Jazz would learn enough to earn his place here, despite his difficulties. Though, to be truthful, I never intended for the arrangement to be permanent – I thought it'd be a good test of character for you, nothing more. I didn't think he would actually become useful, or that you would grow attached to him as you seem to have."
"But – he is useful, now." Mirage protested.
"Let's be honest, Mirage." His sire fixed him with a serious look. "Jazz remains here as a favor. A token of my appreciation for Pacer's vorns of dedication. While you may be content with the level of service he provides, the fact remains: Jazz is not, and never will be, a real attendant. And he cannot expect to be compensated as such – he understands that. He earns his keep here, but that's it." The firmness in his voice indicated that he considered the subject closed. "Now." He turned back to his own screen. "I was saying – maintenance is key in managing energy efficiency and keeping costs down. During the colder months of the stellar cycle…"
Mirage didn't hear anything he said – he was concentrating on feeling sick. All this time working for him and Jazz hadn't earned a single credit? There was a name for that sort of arrangement, they'd learned it from ancient history 'tracks. A mech working for no pay, with no way out… Slave. Was Jazz his slave?
Mirage ran over Oblique's explanation of the arrangement again and again, hoping his processors would make sense of it. They couldn't. And he couldn't think of a convincing argument that he could make to Oblique to change the situation. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
He endured the rest of the afternoon by nodding or shaking his head when he thought it was appropriate. None of the information being passed on to him by his sire was being absorbed. A horrified numbness crept over him; all he wanted was to put as much distance between himself and his father as possible. He excused himself at the earliest available opportunity, grateful that years of training allowed him to disguise his desperation to leave with politeness.
Once he was out of the offices, Mirage forgot all about his 'noble bearing' and just ran. He hadn't run in the house since he was a very, very young sparkling and had learned better. He passed Pacer in the hall at a full clip, and barely registered the older mech's head whipping around in disbelief as he flew by. When he got to his quarters, he looked for Jazz.
He found him bent over the computer with the scheduling program open. Before Mirage could get a word out, Jazz held up a finger over his shoulder. "Just a nano-klik," he said. He typed something, and the computer's neutral voice confirmed it. He straightened and turned to Mirage, his smile bright as usual. "Someone's got an art gallery opening to attend!" he teased in a singsong voice. "Sorry, couldn't get you out of this one," he said apologetically. "It's on the fourteenth…Mirage? What's wrong?" The smile melted off his face, replaced by concern.
"Why didn't you ever tell me?" Mirage demanded. He was surprised at how angry he sounded. Come to think of it, he was surprised at how angry he felt – as though Jazz had been deceiving him for as long as they'd known each other.
"Tell you what?" Jazz was confused.
"That…that…" Mirage was having trouble saying it.
"That what? You have to tell me what I did wrong!" Jazz was alarmed now.
"You didn't do anything- Why didn't you tell me that you weren't getting paid?"
Jazz instantly calmed down. "Oh, that." He made a flicking motion as if the subject was a fleck of dust in the air.
"Yes, that!" Mirage wasn't reassured in the least. "Why didn't you tell me?"
Jazz furrowed his brow. "Um…I didn't think it was important?" he tried. "I thought you knew?"
"I don't! I mean, I didn't, not until just now. I just found out. I -" Mirage realized that despite an afternoon's worth of inner turmoil on the subject, he didn't know what to say.
"Mirage, maybe you should sit down." Jazz looked concerned. "Are you feeling okay? Can I get you a drink or something?"
"NO! I'm fine! You don't have to get me anything!" Mirage caught himself yelling; he could hear his vents cycling air. Get a hold of yourself. Calm. "I'm fine," he repeated, in a more normal voice.
"If you say so." The attendant looked unconvinced. "Mirage, what's bothering you?" he asked carefully.
"What do you think is bothering me? Doesn't it bother you?"
Jazz shrugged. "No, not really. Not anymore, if it ever did. I don't really think about it."
"Why not? It's not fair to you at all."
The look on Jazz's face was one of sad amusement. "Mirage…I don't know whether it's escaped you or not, but there's a lot about life that isn't fair." The sarcasm in his voice was gentle. "My life isn't fair. Most people's lives aren't. That's the way things are."
"It's not right," Mirage insisted.
"So? That's life. Get over it. I have." Jazz's tone was gentle and friendly, despite the harsh words. "Besides, there's a whole world full – a universe full of people who have it much, much worse than you or I do."
"But you should get paid. You're not a sparkling anymore. Maybe if Pacer asked-"
"No. Mirage, you have to understand my position. I owe my existence – everything – to your father's good graces. I can't afford to test that. If I lost this job, if he kicked me out…I don't have a whole lot of options. Like, any. I need this."
Mirage felt miserable and guilty. "All this time…I've been making you do things...you didn't have a choice-"
"Mirage, what is this about?" Jazz asked.
"I don't know!" he wailed, throwing up his hands. "I don't know! It's just not right! It's-" Strong black hands caught his in midair and brought them down. Mirage hadn't seen Jazz cross the room, but he was standing there, holding Mirage's arms still, calming him.
"Mirage. It's okay. You don't have anything to feel bad about." Jazz looked him in the face, pale optics glowing softly, and gave him a small smile.
"But-" Mirage started to protest, but Jazz cut him off.
"Shhhh. No. Listen. We all have things we have to do, whether we want to or not. You don't 'make' me do anything. It's my job. And, lucky me, I happen to like my job. I like you. Even when you're being a spoiled, arrogant menace. It's my pleasure to serve you. I mean it."
"I bet it's not what you would have chosen." Mirage sounded petulant.
"No," Jazz said honestly, "it's not. But it's good, anyway. I have a good life, Mirage. It's not like yours, but I'm healthy, I have enough energon. I have amazing sires who love me very much. I live with a bunch of really great mechs who I like. And I get to spend my days with someone I...um...with you."
Mirage didn't know what to say. He avoided Jazz's optics. Suddenly, he felt the other's arms around him, pulling him close and holding him tight. It wasn't right. Touching was supposed to be reserved for interfacing. This sort of emotional intimacy was different, and very inappropriate. But Mirage felt himself give in to it. He wrapped his own arms around Jazz and wilted into the embrace. "It's okay…" he heard his companion murmur, stroking the ridge that ran down his back, "Everything's okay."
After awhile, Mirage pulled away and Jazz let him go. "Are you all right?" the attendant asked. Mirage nodded, wondering how he had come to be the one needing to be comforted.
"Jazz?" he ventured.
"Yeah?"
"What would you have done, you know, if…" Mirage trailed off.
"…if I could see?" Jazz prompted.
"Yes. If things were different, what would you have done, if you had the choice?"
Jazz smiled, and his optics looked far away. "I'd have gone to the Academy. Become an Autobot," he said without hesitating.
"Really?" Even though he'd kind of suspected that, Mirage still found himself surprised at the answer.
"Yeah. You know, fighting the good fight, bringing justice to the universe, all that slag." Jazz nodded a little dreamily.
"But…you've said yourself, the Autobots get it wrong sometimes."
Jazz laughed, and the faraway look left his face. "Mirage, no one gets it right all the time. Besides…" He grinned. "...the Autobots and I have something in common. We both try real hard."
I want to (again) thank everyone who has been reading and reviewing. I know I say this every time, but it really does mean the world to me.
I also want to gently reiterate what I said at the beginning of the first chapter - that Noblesse Oblige is a prequel to other things, with different pairings. Also, I want to gently point back to the note about angst in the warnings. While much of the angst up to this point has been of the 'melodramatic teenage inner monologue' variety, that's not always going to be the case. Fair warning given? Okay.
