#clippet

Clippet

Eclipse: Best friends….

Clippet come back:(

Again, I honestly need some clippet art.. I'd make it myself but my art motivation declines really quickly!

The lab was dim, lit only by the hum of blue screens. Eclipse stood still, back turned, hands hanging at his sides like a statue carved in silver and shadow.

Puppet had been standing in the doorway for several minutes, watching. She didn't call out—just observed. He always knew when she was there. And as expected, he finally spoke, voice flat:

“You’ve developed a nasty habit of hovering.”

Puppet stepped in anyway. “And you’ve developed a habit of disappearing.”

“I prefer solitude. You prefer confrontation. Here we are.”

He didn’t turn around.

There was no anger in his voice—just that carefully balanced neutrality, the kind that kept others guessing whether he was about to ignore them or tear them apart with precision.

She stayed quiet, walking slowly around to face him. His gaze was fixed on a monitor showing static code—just lines and symbols looping endlessly. Puppet followed his stare for a moment.

“What are you looking for?”

Eclipse tilted his head slightly. “Signs of functionality. Proof that I still serve a purpose.”

“Don’t you already know the answer?”

He finally looked at her.

There it was—that look. Cold, sharp, unreadable. A shield crafted with clinical perfection.

“I do,” he said smoothly. “And the answer is no.”

Puppet blinked, surprised by the bluntness.

“You’ve been pushing too hard,” she said quietly. “Even for you.”

“I’ve been tolerating more than I should,” he corrected. “Including this conversation.”

He turned away again, walking to the far side of the room where half-dismantled drone parts littered a table. His movements were precise. Controlled. But Puppet noticed the slight hitch in his grip as he picked up a servo.

“I’m not broken,” Eclipse said softly, “but I am… misaligned. Misused. And inconvenient.”

“You’re not inconvenient to me.”

He chuckled under his breath—a dry, sarcastic sound. “How sentimental.”

“I’m not being sentimental,” Puppet said, her voice calm but firmer now. “You’re trying to justify isolating yourself again.”

Eclipse didn’t respond.

So she kept going.

“You’ve done terrible things,” she said, blunt but not cruel. “You’ve made mistakes. But so have I. So has Sun. So has Moon. So has Monty and Lunar. Hell even Earth. You don’t get to set yourself apart like your sins are somehow more righteous in their failure.”

“I didn’t fail,” he said, tone sharpening just slightly. “Everything I did was calculated. Intentional. Including hurting people.”

“And yet here you are,” she said gently, “punishing yourself like someone who regrets it.”

His shoulders tensed. That was the only tell. Nothing else moved.

“I don’t regret what I did,” he said. “I regret what it cost. There’s a difference.”

Puppet stepped closer.

“You don’t get to decide if you’re worth saving,” she said. “You don’t get to measure your value in how efficient or functional you are. You’re not a tool, Eclipse. You’re a person.”

He turned his head slightly, almost like he wanted to protest—but he didn’t.

“I chose to stay,” Puppet continued. “Not because you’re perfect, and not because I think I can fix you. I stayed because I see you.”

He stared at her for a long moment.

The silence stretched between them.

“I don’t want you to depend on me,” he said at last.

“I don’t,” she said, stepping closer. “But I do care. And I’m not leaving just because you’re afraid I’ll break.”

He looked away again, finally setting down the servo in his hand.

“You’re exhausting.”

She smiled faintly. “So are you.”

Another pause.

Then, quieter, almost like it wasn’t meant to be heard:

“…But I suppose… if it had to be someone… I’m glad it was you.”

Puppet didn’t say anything. She simply stood next to him, shoulder brushing his just slightly, her presence steady and wordless.