Since this is sort of a sequel to 'Mistranslated' (I don't know how, but the two ARE related), I'll thank the reviewers for that now.
To Nurannoniel T.I.M.E, my thanks and you're very welcome.
To GamaFox, again, my thanks, and, uh, my thanks. I'm going to have to find some new words; I can't just keep saying 'thanks' all the time, it doesn't do justice . . .
To Naphtali Phoenix, my gratitude and I'm very glad you enjoyed it.
Oh, right. The fic. It is, in fact, a Starscream fic, although Red Alert gets a major part. This was me wondering, what would Starscream have said, had he been able to answer for his actions ahead of time? I'm mostly attempting to keep both 'bots in character, and to see if I can write Starscream to any decent standard, so please excuse. If any of the accounts of events seem to be inaccurate, then this fic sort-of is a slightly alternate timeline.
The Last Laugh
The hardest part about losing a teammate, Red Alert reflected, was clearing out their quarters. Looking around, at the inner sanctum of a person's private space, their possessions and the surroundings they had built around themselves, he almost felt he was trespassing. Even if a person was gone, it was their place, their home.
Memories always came to mind at times like this. He remembered the first few times, how after a few cycles or so he was always reduced to sitting on their empty recharge bunk and mourning silently. The sense of their presence was still strong in a room that hadn't been entered since they left for the last time: a monument, a snapshot of their state of mind as they stepped outside.
This time, there were no personal possessions to remove, no objects to tidy, nothing to clean or wipe down or change. This time, the room looked as though the person had thought to prepare for their departure.
Except that, whatever the others thought, he hadn't. He couldn't have known. The room had simply been kept in this manner since it had been assigned to the bot. He'd always been ready to leave; whether from this life or just this faction, Red Alert wasn't sure.
Always ready to go; he'd never made this his home. The place was blank, grey, clean. There were no ties to this place; the bot could basically leave at any time.
Another difference: this bot wasn't dead.
Somehow that made it worse.
The grief, the sense of loss, the overpowering emotion that had always prevented him from finishing the task in one go, this time was numbed by the confusion. This wasn't simple - the others were dead. Starscream had chosen to leave.
Why, he wondered. What was it that drove him back? Our accusations? No, he realised, Starscream hadn't been DRIVEN back, even if that was a factor. He wouldn't have tolerated it; he would have held out just to spite them all if he'd cared so much about the finger pointing.
Was it true he was a traitor? Had he been planning to leave with Thrust's help? Of course, he'd SAID he wouldn't stay long, but we all brushed it off; we thought he'd come around, that he was only saying that.
The science officer sighed. The only thing to do was to check the computer for any files. The colourless walls depressed him; they were a sad testimony as to just how much the bot had come to consider this as a home.
We failed him, he thought. We failed to save him, and he's lost to us as surely as any of the others. Turn-up and Excesen, he remembered bitterly, Elemagna and Freeswing, Windswerve and Slopetrack, Dive, Glide, or Sashay. . .
Sighing, Red Alert considered his friends' reactions as he activated the console. Hot Shot was openly angry and bitter, Optimus grieved, though he tried to play it down, the kids stunned, and very upset, Blurr disturbed, and all of them shocked, though in all honesty, Red Alert wasn't sure how much of that was over the loss of the Skyboom Shield.
That wasn't the main problem, though. While he understood their emotions, Red Alert just wasn't entirely happy with their discussion of Starscream. Yes, he had been difficult, stubborn and treacherous, but they had expected that.
More to the point, he disliked it because there was no way Starscream could defend himself without actually being present . . . Don't worry about Starscream; he can take care of himself, reassured part of him. He still didn't believe it. You have to be there to argue your case.
A file caught his interest, and he opened it. Two seconds later, Red Alert discovered that he was 100 wrong.
If you are viewing this, Autobots, then it is perhaps safe to assume that I have returned to my own faction. I know that I would never allow you to be able to read this while I remained with you, and so I leave this as a final note of explanation: the last laugh, if you please.
Another lesson your kind repeatedly fails to learn; never assume.
You assume that because I fight against your enemy, that because I operate under your terms, because I tolerate your existence and work from your base, that I am one of you. Don't.
I know you, Autobots, and so, you see, I know that you will regard my actions as betrayal. Betrayal? Betrayal of what? You will wonder endlessly why I did what I did, and no doubt you will consider me as a mere traitor, the lowest of the low.
What did you expect! Was I not clear at the start? Did I not state, very plainly, that my only reason for remaining with you was to obtain revenge on Megatron? Our temporary alliance was a convenient arrangement, not a conversion to your values and beliefs!
I never considered myself an Autobot. Surely you must have realised that! So why, then, will you remain so hostile beyond even the attitude normally taken towards an enemy? I never claimed to be one of you; that was something you came up with all on your own.
Betrayal? No. the fact that you are able to read this means only that the usefulness of this understanding has come to an end, and so it has been . . . terminated.
Ah, but wait, Autobots! Now, you think this means that I am apologising. That I am . . . SORRY. . . for my choice.
Forget it. I can't be certain of the events that lead up to my departure from your ranks, but I do know this; I have no regrets. To be freed of your pathetic, sickeningly weak-willed system of beliefs and morals can only be an improvement!
My . . . sincerest apologies . . . if I was not clear enough in the beginning. But again, Autobot fools; it was your own failure to heed my warnings that leave you in your current mess. I admit, it was fascinating, how blindly you allowed me, a self-declared once and future enemy, into your fold.
Did you really think you could change me? Did you assume, in your laughable self-assurance, your usual unfounded arrogance, that by the time I was any danger I would be a convert.
I'm afraid, poor wretches, that I'm a Decepticon through and through, and it is pointless to attempt to win over the truly devout.
Believe all you want, insult me as you dare, plead with and encourage me for a thousand millennia (should I allow you to live that long), but I will not withdraw this truth, will not polish the cold, hard fact so that you can bring yourselves to admire it.
For I am not one of you; I am a Decepticon, your enemy, and I am a warrior. I will not seek forgiveness for the shadows of the inevitable, nor will I repent for your own faults.
Red Alert stared, aghast, at the screen. Then he checked the file properties. It was dated the day before the accusations and suspicions had actually begun. Starscream could take care of himself, all right.
The message was scathing, the sneering tone and barely veiled taunts were typical of the seeker, but there was anger there, too.
For all that it was not an overly pleasant message, Red Alert couldn't help but chuckle. There were a few holes in the reasoning, and it would be interesting to see how many of his fellows picked up on it. Things might be looking hopeful, after all.
Glancing around, he activated the comlink to summon the others.
I'd love to know how I did here. Already, I think a part showing the Autobots' response is in order, but I'm not sure . . . Anyway, tips, hints, suggestions, comments etc. are all welcome!