Security Breach Adventures

Talk It Out

In which Eclipse's voicebox is finally replaced, so it's time for him and Moon to have a talk about the incident that damaged it in the first place. It doesn't go how either of them expected it to. (Takes place after Mouthful of Trash, Trashing My Mouth and Perspective of the Moon. I actually wrote this before Perspective of the Moon, so there may be some continuity errors.)

-----

"Eclipse," I call to him as I return to the daycare, startling him just a bit. He turns to face me, but his gaze fixates on the small box tucked under my arm and his rays shrink in. "The replacement voicebox finally came in."

He lets out a soft, glitched noise that almost sounds like he just said, "Ah..."

I sigh, wishing I could alleviate his anxiety somehow, but that's just not possible. We both know that what comes after getting his voicebox replaced isn't going to be comfortable for either of us, but when you actually love someone, you know when to push the subject so you can help them.

If I just sweep this all under the rug, Eclipse may hurt himself again.

There's no words that can describe just how horrified I was when I found him on the floor of the containment room, surrounded by tools, spilled acid cleaner, and his own broken body parts in a river of his blood. More than half of his face-plate cracked off, multiple teeth pulled out, he ripped off his own jaw. His voicebox so screwed up by blood or acid that when he started trying to talk, all that came out were awful, screeching whines and keening static that made me sick to hear. I had to forcibly shut him down because I couldn't bear to hear it.

I force back a shudder at the memory, which just plays in my mind over and over every day. No matter what it takes, I cannot let that happen again. Eclipse deserves a brother who will fight to make sure he stays safe, not a coward who tips over the moment things get uncomfortable.

"C'mon, let's head upstairs so I can fix you."

Eclipse stiffens, looking away and then tapping the cloth on the security desk- what he's been using to wipe it clean. I give him a hard look. "You're done for the day, brother. You can't put off getting your voicebox replaced, so either you come upstairs willingly, or I drag you."

He only lets out a fritzing little breath and starts heading to our living space. I follow close behind, taking him into his room so he can sit down while I work. He takes off the ruffle collar he wears and opens his chest plate without being asked, so at least I know he's not going to try and delay this in any way.

I kneel in front of him and carefully reach inside his chest, tapping the colored buttons in the sequence they light up to disengage the wires of his old voicebox. Despite myself, once it's out and in my hands, I have to take a moment to look it over. The normally gray metal is coated in pitch black from almost top-to-bottom, the metal distorted in some places. So then, it was damaged from both the blood and acid cleaner...

Gently, Eclipse takes it from my hands and sets it on the floor. Trying to keep me from lingering on the damages.

All I can do is open the package with the replacement, connecting the main component to its port in his chest and repeating back the next colored sequence to engage the new wires. "Alright, it's in. Say something so I know it's working properly."

"Moon, I am so, so sorry. I swear to you, I didn't do it because I wanted to hurt myself," Eclipse tells me, his voice so heavy with guilt that it almost feels like a tangible weight on my audio receptors. I'm not even surprised that the first thing he chose to say was an unwarranted apology.