Grounded Ambition

Armada. Missing-episode set up, placed shortly after Starscream joins the Autobots. After a Minicon mission gone wrong, Starscream contemplates the situation he finds himself in… (Starscream's POV)

Sighing, I have nothing better to do than stare at the ceiling. It's bright. And annoying. I've been in this medbay for most of the night, and left to my own devices, I'm bored out of my skull, left to wander through my own thoughts. Which is generally not a good idea, since it usually means that I start to brood, and when I start to brood, I think of Megatron, and when I think of Megatron, I become angry, and when I become angry, it usually means a plot to overthrow Megatron—so basically, it means havoc for myself and everyone in the general vicinity.

Of course, the Autobots don't know this, nor could I probably cause havoc since my systems haven't stabilized yet, but that's beside the point. Actually, I forgot what the point is.

I halfway realize that my thoughts are more scattered and random than even my rather unstable mind usually is, but to find or think of the reason for this does not seem to be particularly worrying.

The metal table beneath me is distinctly uncomfortable, as I lay on my back facing the ceiling, but I basically have no other options. I had vehemently argued against it when Red Alert had insisted I stay in the medbay for the night for observation, but the medical 'bot had eventually won out. I had heard a couple of the Autobots talking once when they were off-duty—I don't even care to remember which ones it was who were talking—about a particular incident after a battle, where Hot Shot had been hurt and had to stay in the medbay, much like I am now. Hot Shot, forever the annoying one, had insisted that he was fine, but Red Alert was doubly insistent that he should stay, just in case. When Hot Shot continued to protest, so I heard, it ended with Red Alert tying Hot Shot down to the table, and through all of it, the ever-calm medical officer never even raised his voice. Lesson to be learned: do not push the medic. And never trust the quiet ones.

So not wanting to tempt fate, I stay here, because a seeker grounded is bad enough, but a seeker grounded and restrained is pure hell.

...Oh. Right. That was the point. I lost my wings.

Slag.

My systems spasm into a shudder thinking about it. I hadn't honestly forgotten, but rather chose to bore it out of my mind, just so that I could think of anything besides the fact: I. Have. No. Wings. Some critical part of my mind thinks caustically that perhaps Red Alert is just leaving me here to see how long it will take before I crack (at this rate, it won't be long), but a more logical part realizes uneasily that Red Alert is probably away trying to figure out how precisely to reconstruct my wings. Changing sides isn't unheard of – in fact, it happens a lot more often than either faction would like to admit, but the true numbers of it is lost because both sides are unwilling to acknowledge the treacheries in their hurt pride – but the seeker design is a purely Decepticon model, and though there are Autobots flyers, they are usually models suited for space flight, like Jetfire, so Red Alert has rarely worked with the intricacies of a seeker's wings. To make it worse, the inner workings and configurations of my own wings are distinctly complex, because of the added variable of my wing sword.

I bite back a spiteful sigh—how far the great have fallen. Here I am, former Second-in-Command of the Decepticons, worrying that a slagging Autobot will tie me down. A short time ago, I would have blasted him as soon as he came into my line of sight—now I rely on him to fix me.

I utterly loathe irony.

And I loathe even more dependence. Is it so slagging hard to install a CR Chamber so we can simply mend ourselves? Dependence, honesty, teamwork, blah-slagging-blah. Autobots truly are imbeciles. I should leave. I can leave. But I don't…

Another sigh. It was my carelessness that landed me here wingless,in the Autobot's medbay, in the first place—but there's nothing new about that, is there? Feh.

It all started when a Minicon panel activated, and naturally, both sides rushed out to try to retrieve the miniature energy-leech. What wasn't natural was that it had been the first time, technically, I accompanied the Autobots on a mission. When Optimus initially told me that he wanted me to be part of the team to go retrieve the Minicon, my first thought was to tell him to shove it up his tailpipe because I wasn't about to help Autobots. But, forcibly reminding myself that I might yet need their help—though I would certainly never tell them that—I managed to keep myself quiet. Barely. With only a grunt for a confirmation from me, we "rolled out." (Optimus really does need a new catch-phrase.)

Looking back on it now, I should have just told Optimus to shove it, because it would have saved me a lot of trouble. It also would have landed me aft-first in solitary confinement most likely, but that is nothing in comparison to being—w-wingless. Slag, I have got to keep my mind off that…

When we found the site that the signal was coming from, Megatron and the rest of the Decepticons was already there. It still sends a pang through my spark to say "Decepticons" and not directly associate it with myself—not that in way fraggin' way I'm an Autobot. Absolutely not.

But I distinctly remember wanting, at that moment, to turn right around and fly back to the base, just to avoid facing Megatron again after… that incident. But my dignity—already broken and bruised from our last explosive encounter—wouldn't allow me to show him I was afraid. Oh, no. Even if my spark was pulsing so hard it felt like it would burst right through my canopy, I refused to let him have a victory over me again. At least, that's what I told myself.

That moment was also the moment that I decided had to be the one to grab the Minicon first. Not for any service to the Autobots, far from it—but just to prove to Megatron he has no power over me. And though I did succeed in getting to the Minicon first, the outcome was… less than satisfactory considering my current state.

The Minicon had been activated in a mountainous area a fair distance from any human cities, in the middle of their sleep cycle, so the moon hung high and bright in the middle of the cloudless sky, guarded by the millions of pinpricks of the stars, one of which just might be Cybertron. Ever since I left the moonbase, I've come to detest the sight of the moon. With its strangely face-like visage staring down at me whenever I see it, the silver orb is a constant reminder of what it seems like I can never escape.

Distracted by the moon, I almost hadn't seen it when, true to Minicon style, the location of the Minicon panel was revealed with its trademark green glint off in the distance. I saw it high up buried in rock on a mountain-side, nestled perilously on the edge of a small cliff. It could only be reached through flight, so as soon as I saw the flash of green light, I rocketed off to retrieve it, hoping to grab it before any of the others had even confirmed its location.

But of course, nothing ever turns out that easy.

Cyclonus was the only other flyer since Jetfire had remained at the base, so he quickly got in on the race to the Minicon having followed my line of sight. I easily reached the panel before Cyclonus and snatched up the green and blue disk, feeling the sweet satisfaction of victory wash over me—but that was short lived.

"Oh, no ya don't!" I remember Cyclonus calling as he barreled into me at full speed, making us both crash hard into the mountain-side, rocks tumbling down in our wake. Caught off guard, I almost dropped the panel, but still managed to hold onto it. Sharp rocks bit into my side, but I brushed it off. Turning to Cyclonus, I was ready to blast him out of my way, except—unfortunately for me—our minor scuffle had attracted the attention of Megatron, who had been down far below, grappling with Optimus in a near-deadlock.

Seeing that I'd retrieved the Minicon panel, Megatron's optics flashed with a deadly, silent anger. It was the exact kind anger that I'd long ago learned meant pain, an anger that burned deep inside him and pierced me straight to core, an embodiment of our constant power-struggle and the motives that lay behind it.

For a moment our optics met for the first time since I'd left the Decepticons in my impromptu fashion, and I barely managed not to visibly flinch, completely forgetting where I was or what I was doing. For a blinding, terrifying moment, it was just me and Megatron, suspended in time and space. Just as I was unwilling to lose to Megatron, he was unwilling to let me win, I realized.

But as quickly as the feeling washed over me, the moment shattered, soon forgotten. Brought back to reality, Megatron managed to break away from Optimus by head-butting then kicking the opposing leader viciously in the fuel-tank. The force of it sent Optimus reeling back for only a few seconds—but a few seconds was all Megatron needed.

"Cyclonus—move!" Megatron commanded harshly. Cyclonus opened his mouth to protest, but seeing Megatron rear his cannons to the front, he suddenly changed his mind and pushed away from me as fast as he could. But since Cyclonus' push had thrown off my fragile balance hovering in mid-air, I couldn't move away from the impending blast in time, and instead only manage to swivel out of the way.

Though the move potentially saved my life, when I felt the burning blast rip through my left wing and partially through my right, I momentarily thought that a quick and relatively painless death would have been much preferred. Having been torn from my ability of flight, I fell to the ground, tumbling and rolling down the jagged rocks of the mountain side. I tried to stop myself, to find some kind of leverage, but the whole situation felt like it had been in fast forward, so that I didn't have time to ever stop and think.

Falling with a screech, I blacked out to the sickening sound of crumpling metal as I hit the ground.

When I came out of stasis lock almost a cycle later, the first thing to greet me was the glaring, annoying lights of the Autobot medbay's ceiling. For one crushing moment, I almost couldn't remember why I was there—but a quick system scan reminded me in an instant why. Feeling the stubs where my wings were rightfully meant to be, I felt an icy terror freeze over me, and almost completely panicked. A small logical part of me whispered that they would be mended, but that little part was promptly eradicated by the spark-freezing realization that—I have no slagging wings! I probably would have had a complete meltdown had I not forcefully reminded myself where I was, yet again—in the Autobot's medbay, where they could probably all see me. And one thing that I certainly did not want to do was show utter weakness to the Autobots—even if I was more than ready to kill the next thing that moved.

And yet again, the Autobots showed how little they understand about Decepticons. After I'd come back online, Optimus and a few other of his cohorts came in at different times, saying that I did well, that I did the right thing, thinking that they were actually encouraging me—but they didn't realize that they only made me want to get out of this hellish place as soon as possible. They just… do not understand Decepticons, nor do I understand Autobots. If a Decepticon is injured, it's simply common decency to leave them alone until we're fully mended. We don't like showing weakness in general, so 'visiting' an injured 'Con while we're injured is basically akin to flaunting their weakness for everyone to see. Autobots, on the other hand, seem to think it is "nice" to "see how we're doing."

Morons.

But if there's one thing that I've learned since I've joined (No, not joined... joined insinuates something permanent. 'Unavoidable and temporary alliance,' might be more appropriate) the Autobots, it's to know when to hold my glossa. So I just nod as respectfully as I can stand to their "encouragements," and let them fly away into their deluded fantasies that they've reformed the "evil, evil" Decepticon.

Not that I would have ever held back what I have to say with Megatron. It might have almost always ended with me having several extra dents in my outer shell, and an uncomfortably long time spent in the CR Chamber, but to remain silent would be to concede an advantage, which I refuse to do ...not anymore, at least. But with the Autobots, that would only be showing weakness—more than I already am.

Sigh.

But that is neither here nor there. I'm here, and for now, I'm stuck here. All I really want right now is a really, really long recharge…