Notes: This could kind of maybe be a follow-up to "Speech Therapy," I suppose. It's meant to stand alone and was written as a little character study of Mudflap to examine how fighting in a real battle might have changed him, I suppose.

-

growth
–noun
1. the act or process, or a manner of growing; development; gradual increase.
2. development from a simpler to a more complex stage.
3. something that has grown or developed by or as if by a natural process.

-

The USS Roosevelt swayed gently on the current, chugging along towards its distant destination. Waves, glistening in the light of the sinking sun, crashed against the hull, sending foam spraying upwards.

On deck, there was the usual hustle and bustle of military personnel and civilians, planes gliding to a stop on the massive aircraft carrier's runway, mechanics hurrying here and there. Moving among them with surprising ease were mechanical beings of considerable size -- The Autobots. Some were being tended to by medics while others were indulging in some much deserved relaxation, chatting with the soldiers or each other as the boat powered towards home.

Towards the aft section of the ship sat two of the smaller robots. They were tiny, by Autobot standards, standing only about eight feet tall or so, and almost mirror images of one another, distinguishable only by the slightest of variations to their frames and their coloring.

The rust-orange one was curled in on himself, hands in his lap, the one remaining wing-like appendage on his shoulder drooping. He was staring morosely out over the ocean, brooding as if his team hadn't just had a major victory over the enemy.

The lime green one couldn't seem to contain himself any longer; he shot upwards, nearly falling over his own feet as he paced behind his companion, arms waving as a stream of words fell from his mouth, relating a tale the other didn't need to be told -- He had been there.

"Frag, when that thing sucked you up, I thought it was th'end. Didn't think I'd see ya evah again! Scared the slag outta me, but man! When you came bustin' through the fragger's optic, that was so sweet! Sucka didn't know what hit 'im! And then you was all like 'nobody gonna eat me!' and we kicked so much aft, man!" The pacing was due in part to nervous energy; the green mech didn't know how to cool down after a particularly riveting battle. He was too wound to sit still; too excited over everything he had seen and done that day. Skids finally paused for a moment, jerking to a stop and looming over his brother, bending to peer down at him and grin, "You done good, bro. Real slaggin' good."

The words didn't make Mudflap feel good. He moved only to glance up at his brother, then lowered his gaze back to the dark waters. He sat still and hunched, curled in on himself, hands balled into fists in his lap. It didn't matter what his brother said. He had still messed up, big time, and it had nearly cost him his life. Their lives.

He was the better fighter of the two; he always had been. He knew this. They both did. But he also knew that he wasn't near as confident as his brother and that was what usually tripped him up in the end. He was always second guessing himself and his abilities, wondering things like 'what would Prime do?' and the results of this usually left his comrades with the impression that he was a bumbling screw-up.

Skids was still behind him, jabbering about how awesome it was when he exploded through Devestator's optic, gesturing wildly as he did a one-bot reenactment of the fight. This was normal behavior for the green twin, he liked to chatter about anything that was on his mind. The miming of the fight was also a regular occurrence; it wasn't enough for him to just talk about it, he had to enhance it with gestures as well.

Mudflap ignored him; ignored the cackling laughter, the loud rambling and the retelling of the story over and over and over. Skids could ignore the fact that it had been scary; he was already over that part and seemed to have forgotten that he'd nearly lost his twin.

But it had been real and horrifying and Mudflap only wished he could be like that as well.

There were a lot of reasons for his near-demise during the battle. They had been up and running with little recharge for the past two days or so and neither of them were at full power. They were no longer functioning as a combiner unit; they had been far more effective when they were. It was easier to match their movements and share their thoughts when they were joined in such a fashion and they fought better when they moved in unison. That was why they'd been chosen for the combiner programming to begin with. They were young and fairly inexperienced in actual battle. They didn't know what they were getting into when the Constructicons were merging into Devestator to begin with…

Mudflap had been terrified -terrified- when he had been sucked into the behemoth's vortex. He had been scrabbling to find purchase, looking for anything -a wheel, a pipe, a shrub, anything!- to grab hold of and he had failed, flying through the air towards the grinding-gear jaws of the monstrous Decepticon. It had seemed like a lucky break, catching hold of the 'Con's armor and had hurt like a muthafucker when his doorwing had been ripped off. He had tried to hold on -this was his life- but he couldn't; he couldn't and he was dragged in, fingers slipping loose from their hold, life flashing before his optics.

As Devestator's jaws had clamped shut on him, he felt his brother's anguish screaming over their bond and he knew he couldn't let himself be eaten. So he had fought for his life, tearing at wires, armor, anything he could do to survive. And he found himself exploding through delicate wires and glass as he shattered the giant Decepticon's optical sensor, propelling himself outward -- Towards the hazy desert sky, towards light, towards freedom.

Towards life.

He hadn't done it for himself. If his own stupidity had gotten him killed, it would have been no one's fault but his own. No, he had done it for his brother, because he could only imagine the devastation he would feel if anything ever happened to Skids. He had heard whispered rumors that if one twin offlined, the other would soon follow. He didn't know if it was true -he didn't want to know if it was true- just the thought of it was bad enough.

If his stupidity had gotten his brother killed…

He stared long and hard at Skids for a moment, as if really seeing him for the first time. Skids considered himself to be the "smart one," but Mudflap wasn't so certain it was true. Skids was exceedingly stupid when it came to battle, after all; he seemed to think he was indestructible, which lead to his making poor choices or not taking the time to think at all. And knowing this, as well as knowing he was the better fighter, Mudflap felt as if it was his responsibility to keep his brother out of trouble.

A responsibility which he had failed to handle, considering he'd nearly gotten himself digested by a fraggin' huge Decepticon.

He had failed.

His gaze dropped back to the deck, completely missing the annoyed expression that crossed his twin's face.

"Yo, man…Stop mopin'!"

Mudflap squawked, jumping about a foot when his brother's fist came thumping down on his head and, suddenly, Skids was grinning down at him. He glared in response, rubbing at the back of his head as the green twin started yammering on again. "Whatchu poutin' for anywho? We won; we should be celebratin'! Ya know Ratchet'll patch you up, make ya a new doorwing an' all, so it ain't like you gonna be busted fo'evah. And some one's bound to have a stash of highgrade somewhere. So stop bein' an idiot and c'mon. Lessee 'bout gettin' some fuel and then findin' Leo! He gone too long wit'out seein' our smilin' faces."

"I don't wanna celebrate." Mudflap grumbled, turning his back on his twin and hunkering down again, shoulders squared, the remaining wing flaring up, stiff and tense, as if he were on the defense. He wished…He really wished Skids would just shut up. Mudflap didn't want to be near any one else, especially any one who would want to hear about Devestator again.

He just wanted to think and thinking was hard.

"Whatevah." Skids cuffed him in the shoulder, then clomped off in the other direction, calling over his shoulder as he went, "When you get sick a sittin' here and bein' stupid, come find me." His parting gift was a rude hand gesture, and then he was gone, disappearing among the larger mechs and machinery.

And Mudflap was left staring out over the ocean, wondering what how Skids could act like nothing had changed at all when everything had.