#there’s a hint of ponypoly in here too

[itsnotamatterofif]

Oooh sure, I went down the Leccywatt route if that’s okay! I’ve never written 24!Lectra before, so I hope this is okay :D was a fun new thing to try. I hope I wrote them in character, please ignore any egregious OOC-ness.

✨Want a mini fic? Send me an ask!✨

His placement at the door to the shed has become muscle memory, these days. Admittedly, Killerwatt is used to this kind of monotony - enjoys it, actually. The silence means a significant lack of rabid fans trying to scrabble for an ounce of Electra's precious time, or press demanding answers to inane questions they could have simply asked the last interviewer.

The quiet is relaxing, calm; he must admit, he's getting a bit too used to it at this yard. For all its uncouthness, the rolling stock here are simple, and once they managed to control themselves around Electra, most of the engines are either polite or civilised enough to leave them be. The few that aren’t have been dispatched by Killerwatt personally enough times for them to know better and to learn from their mistakes.

Much like the yard outside, the electrics shed is quiet. Most of the other components are off today, required at various events and shows around the capital, but Electra requested Killerwatt personally to remain by their side whilst their other aides took care of business. As expected, frankly, as Electra is still recovering from the damage sustained in that race against the rusting tank engine and that foul-smelling diesel.

Watching Electra stretched out in front of the large floor to ceiling window, half repaired wiring sparking in the shadows cast by their own frame, he knows he should have stepped in.

In the light of the setting sun, their silhouette is one that ought to be framed; a picture of elegance, with their legs stretched out to one side across the chaise longe whilst leaning on their elbow. Volta had very excellently secured them a very nice shed, far away from the rest of the rabble, with a beautiful window that looked out onto the city before them that glittered like stars across the valley, and Electra was incredibly fond of gazing at the view as if it were a piece of fine art.

“I can feel you watching me, my sweet,” Electra suddenly calls, voice as smooth as glass, and it knocks Killerwatt out of a trance he didn’t realise he was in, “can I help you with anything?”

“Nothing, syr,” Killerwatt confirms, voice as even as he can make it, “merely wondering if you were comfortable.”

“As I can be.” Electra slowly swings to their wheels, stretching out their damaged leg carefully as they do so. “You sound as if you were deep in rumination, Killerwatt - I’m interested to hear your thoughts.”

He needs to remember this. There is no lying to Electra.

“I was thinking about how quiet it is,” Killerwatt states - a half truth, admittedly, but not a whole lie, “and how grateful I am that this yard has learned its place - you need rest, Syr, and you wouldn’t get that with a rabble at your door.”

“Quite right, too,” Electra adds, voice distant as if lost in thoughts of their own, and they take one last long look out the window before making their way over to Killerwatt’s post. Even hobbling slightly, they’re a picture of elegance, of style, LEDs faintly glowing in the stark white light of the room. They tower over Killerwatt as they get closer, angled face casting sharp shadows beneath them, and Killerwatt has to hold a breath as to not shudder from the closeness.

Every component wonders if one day they’ll be lucky enough to have Electra’s eye, even if just for a beat of time. Volta received a grateful kiss once, at a previous championship, and she did not silence herself about it for weeks.

“How lucky is one then, to have such an attentive security guard to teach them as such?” They tease lowly, one spindly hand reaching up to stroke Killerwatt’s jaw agonisingly slowly, “I fear I do not tell you how I appreciate you as regularly as I should.”

There’s that smirk on their face, akin to a fox toying with prey, that makes Killerwatt’s internal systems speed up and whir.

“It is enough to know that we are appreciated,” Killerwatt returns modestly, and hopes to whatever Control is out there that his body does not betray him, “I am simply doing my job, Syr.”

“And you do it ever so well,” Electra purrs, before they put shift their weight, and hiss in pain as their sparking leg objects to the pressure, “apologies, I think-“

“Apologise not, Syr,” Killerwatt interrupts, holding his arms out for Electra to lean on, “can you move?”

Electra cracks a pained smile, the barest hint of a guard coming down. “I got over here, did I not?”

He daren’t offer to help, but the fact that Electra allows him to lead them over to the chaise lounge is telling in and of itself. They never accept help, especially when offered, but apparently their repairs are going so slowly they have no choice. Tenderly, he helps them sit, and they groan in relief as the weight leaves their leg.

“That blasted injury is giving me more jip than anticipated,” Electra hisses in frustration, “that ignorant oil truck has dues owed.”

Killerwatt frowns, concern shooting through them. “Shall I summon Wrench-?”

“No, no,” Electra utters, shaking their head as they hiss through their teeth, “I shall be fine, simply a connection that gets caught in the plexiglass, it will right itself eventually.”

They reach out, laying one delicate hand over where Killerwatt is gripping the couch, and the contact is simmering, sizzling, although Killerwatt isn’t sure if that’s not just his internal computer beginning to work overtime.

“After all,” Electra continues with a smile, strangely genuine, “aren’t you enjoying the quiet?”