A/N: This fic was one of two I wrote for the prompt "Arcee/Cliffjumper – 'I'm not calling you a liar'" over at tf_prime on LJ. It was written to be happier than the other one, but it didn't turn out to be that much more cheerful.
Disclaimer: Transformers is not mine, in any way, shape, or form.
In the Badlands
/Cliffjumper./ The statement fell flat and unamused across their private comm line. /Just where do you think we're going?/
/Somewhere amazing. Really!/
/We're in the badlands! There was nothing amazing here before the Decepticons bombed it to bits, and now it's practically Unicron's playground!/
/Arcee, Arcee, just trust me! It . . . doesn't look like much, but I swear it's gonna be great. Just stick with me, I know the way./ With that, the larger red vehicle accelerated, churning up a cloud of dust and debris as he turned off the beaten track worn down by vorns of Autobot patrols. /Try not to fall behind!/
His companion, a slighter blue cycle, braked hard. /Cliff! You idiot, you'll run into some crazy Neutral cannibal back there!/
/Arcee, those don't exist. C'mon, I'm getting farther ahead every astrosecond!/
/Ugh, fine./ With that, Arcee followed into the ruins of what had once been a small city. She sped up sharply, following the telltale tire tracks Cliffjuper had left. /Can you slow down? I'm not like you; too much recklessness tires my engine. Anyway, we'll get too low on energon at these speeds./
/Ugh, fine./ Cliffjumper said, mimicking her voice as he slowed down. With that change, Arcee easily fell in a few mechanometers behind him.
/Where are we going again?/ she asked, unwilling to make extra noise even in the empty shell of this old town. /I figured you might tell me, now that I've followed you off into this junk heap./
/Well, it's this old building I found./ Arcee braked, and Cliffjumper pulled himself into a u-turn to face her.
/Cliffjumper. There are old buildings everywhere! I could've stayed in the base and seen this!/
/Arcee, wait! I actually found someone's stash of high-grade in it./
There was a pause. /Liar./
/No, really! And don't call me a liar, I'm telling the truth!/
/Cliff, I'm not calling you a liar - not really. I'm accusing you of bending the truth. Sure, you could've found some low-grade in some hidey-hole back here, but this was really an excuse for you to try to woo me, and we both know it./
/Aw, Arcee, just follow through with this! I promise it'll be worth your while – I mean, I could need some help getting some salvage back to base?/
/I don't have a storage compartment. I'm a hovercycle. But alright, fine./ Arcee's engine started up again, and she began to move as soon as Cliffjumper turned around.
They drove together, in slightly less than companionable silence, until Cliffjumper slowed to a halt. /Alright, here's the place./ They both transformed, and he ducked through a hole in the wall into what was presumably someone's old apartment. Arcee stood up in the small space, the top of her helm just barely lower than the sagging ceiling. In the gloom, the only light was the dim glow of their headlights.
"Well?" she said, "Where is it?"
"Hold on," said Cliffjumper quietly, "It's right here; I hid it up again so no scavenger could find it." He walked over to a pile of torn, thin plastic tarp, stained black with some indeterminable fluid, a lifted a heavy section of away from the rest. Immediately, the room was filled with an almost ethereal purple glow, a glow that Arcee hadn't seen since the early days of the war.
"Cliff?" she said softly.
"Yeah?"
"I'm never going to call you a liar again."
"Really? Even when I tell you I can do a mission without backup?"
"Scrap, you've guessed the one thing I'll never agree to!" her tone, which had been angry not so long ago, was mirthful from the discovery of the energy they needed, that could maybe give them the edge they needed in this war.
Cliffjumper laughed, warm and friendly, without any of the bitterness that so often edged laughter these days. "Arcee," he said, "Let's taste some of this."
The look she gave him was part sad, part scornful and part annoyed. "Cliff," she replied, "We can't do that, no matter how romantic you think it would be. We've got to get this back to base – I could comm Bulkhead, he's got more cargo space than the two of us."
He reached out and touched her arm, and the look in his optics was so sad. "Arcee," he whispered, "Can't we have good things anymore? I haven't had a full ration for decavorns, and I haven't had high-grade in so much longer. Yes, I know we're saving energy so we can leave this junkyard of a planet," he said, voice rising as he saw the rebuttal in her optics, "But I want something for myself sometimes. And yes, I know that's selfish, but I've given so much to Cybertron already! What harm could this little luxury possible cause?"
Arcee didn't have an answer ready, and he saw the shock in her optics. "Arcee," he said again, "Just a little bit for you and me, and we'll bring the rest back to Optimus. I swear it. I'd never lie to you."
She nodded and gave him a half-smile. "I'm sure you've thought of what we'll drink this high-grade out of? Those are storage bars, not cubes to drink from."
"Pssh, we'll just open it a crack and drink the drips."
Arcee laughed, warm and friendly. "I have cubes in my subspace. They were for salvage, but – "
"Hey, this is salvage! Just an easier type than draining the dregs from some old power plant."
"Can't argue with you there, Cliff."
"Nobody can. Now c'mon, we can each have a drink."
Together, they sat in the shack and drank a sip of high-grade, and Arcee was glad to the depths of her spark that it had not been a lie.
