Author's note : This is the sequel to "The First Time". Please leave a review if you like it. :)
Chapter 1 : Making A Plan
Motormaster's meetings with his team were typically short and to the point, and the other Stunticons gathered in his quarters because there was an unspoken sentiment that the common room was their territory. Not that they could have stopped Motormaster from stalking in at any time he wanted, but it still felt like theirs rather than his. Breakdown had a vague feeling that that wasn't very teamlike, but since he didn't have much to compare their gestalt dynamics to, he accepted that as normal.
And at least in battle, they were a team. As Motormaster had just pointed out, their crazy headlong charges had worked against groundbound Autobots and still terrorized humans beautifully, but were failing against the Aerialbots, who not only worked with more coordination, but had the advantage of superior height and speed. You know you're a threat when the enemy has to create a whole new gestalt to deal with you, Breakdown thought with a touch of pride.
He didn't know if the idea he'd come up with would work, but Motormaster had thought it was worth a try, and had then grinned at him in a way that suggested Breakdown was slagged no matter what the outcome. If the plan failed, he'd take the blame; if it succeeded, he would be called upon to provide more such inspirations in the future. So Breakdown tried to stand as much behind Wildrider as he could while the four of them listened to Motormaster.
"We keep a low profile until we get to the human settlements," Motormaster was saying, "'cause the Aerialbots aren't going to be sent into cities to fight. Too many casualties that way."
"But once we're out on the open road, we're easy targets," Dead End pointed out.
"Yeah. So one of us hits the thrusters and draws their attention. They always fire on anyone who's nearer their level than the ground. But while they dump altitude and get into position for that, they don't expect anyone to do the same to them – and that's when another of you gets them in the tailfins."
"And I suppose I'll be the unfortunate bait in this trap?"
"Sure. You keep yourself all shiny for a reason, right? One that does some good for us as a team?" Motormaster's grin vanished as though it had never existed. "Now get lost and practice that maneuver."
"Would be cool if we had a jet to practice it with," Wildrider whispered as they filed out.
Dead End sighed. "I keep noticing a certain size discrepancy in a fighter plane attacking a Porsche." He looked down at his gleaming chassis as if he was laying optics on it for the last time.
"Um," Breakdown said hesitantly. "Wouldn't you attack them even if you were larger than them?"
"Well, of course," Dead End said. "But what's your point? We're all driving down the road to dusty death, you know. I just prefer the Aerialbots to be ahead of me on that particular route."
Drag Strip was silent, as usual. He had stood beside them and listened with no reaction, and now he went to his room as if nothing had been said. Wildrider caught Breakdown's questioning look and raised his optic ridges. Dead End tilted his head very slightly towards Motormaster's room and Wildrider's hardly discernible nod finished the silent conversation.
They had only been online for a month, in Earth time, but they could communicate without a single word being spoken. Breakdown supposed it was part of being a gestalt.
Not really a complete one, though, he thought. When they merged, certainly. But when they were merged they were Menasor, and that was a whole new level of being a gestalt. When they didn't merge he felt as though it was just him, Wildrider and Dead End, with someone missing. And not Motormaster, who was well aware of his position as their leader and would never have lowered himself to join them in anything except missions and battles.
Drag Strip's absence seemed to have an effect on the rest of them as well, because they drove to the commissary in unusual silence, and Breakdown couldn't shake the feeling that a bright yellow racecar should have been tearing ahead of them, determined to be there first. He could guess that Motormaster had finally gotten tired of Drag Strip's attitude, and had proceeded to knock some sense into him, but that shouldn't have produced so much of a change.
"We gotta do something about it," Wildrider said when the three of them were back in their common room with their energon.
No need to spell things out, not in a gestalt. "Such as?" Dead End said.
"I dunno, but I kind of miss having him around." Wildrider shrugged. "I mean, even being a jerk is better than being all quiet."
"But why would that make him so… well, different?" Breakdown said, puzzled. "I mean, we've all been in Motormaster's berth and none of us are so withdrowned."
"Withdrawn," Dead End said. "Good point, though. Wildrider, what was Drag Strip like after the two of you first interfaced?"
"Me?" Wildrider said. "We've never done it. I asked once and he said no thanks." He frowned. "No, he didn't say thanks."
Breakdown shook his head even before Dead End could look at him. He didn't particularly like Drag Strip, and certainly didn't feel confident or comfortable around him, so propositioning him would have been out of the question. "Wait… you didn't either?"
"No." The visor and mask made it impossible to see Dead End's facial expressions, but Breakdown could hear the mild surprise in his tone. "Well, well. It appears as though Motormaster got there first."
Wildrider let out a low whistle. "You think that's why…"
"Perhaps. Drag Strip did look somewhat unkempt afterwards. I know I'd be depressed if I had so many scuffs and scrapes to fill in and repaint."
Breakdown decided not to point out that Dead End was already depressed and seemed likely to stay that way. "So what do we do about this?" He couldn't help wondering, if Drag Strip continued to be so closed-off and solitary, would Motormaster try beating him into shape yet again? That kind of pressure would tear anyone apart.
And they were a team, or supposed to be one. Only Motormaster had a good reason for his relative separation from the rest of them – and even he wasn't as distant as Drag Strip.
Dead End tipped his cube up, then seemed to realize that it was empty, so he just looked down at it as if it had personally disappointed him in some way. "One of you may want to persuade Drag Strip that there's something to be gained from this type of camaraderie, pointless though it is."
Breakdown didn't understand the last part, but the first was all too clear. "Wait, what do you mean, one of us? What about you?"
"How're we supposed to persuade him?" Wildrider said at the same time.
Given the choice of questions to answer, Dead End always went for the easiest one. "Ask him if he wants to join us here, and if he refuses, suggest interfacing instead. After all, we're much more palatable in that regard than Motormaster is, so he should be quite amenable to it. That should improve his mood."
"So, in normal-talk, ask if he wants to frag 'cause we're better than the boss?"
"Oh, that plan's bound to succeed," Breakdown muttered.
"Give it a try, Wildrider," Dead End said, ignoring him, so Wildrider tossed back his cube, finished Breakdown's as well – perhaps fortifying himself for the job – and bounced out of the room. Dead End put on a DVD and made himself more comfortable on the couch.
"We really need a large-screen TV," he said after a moment.
Breakdown made a noncommittal sound. Even if he had been able to devote all his attention to the film, it wouldn't have done him much good – although the human actors seemed to be speaking English, he couldn't make any sense of what they were saying.
Dead End seemed to have noticed his distraction. "There's a battle at the end. Everyone dies."
Oh, what fun. I can hardly wait. Breakdown checked his internal chronometer.
Before five minutes had passed, the door opened again and Wildrider ambled in. Breakdown knew he wasn't very good at choosing the best word for anything, but he would have been even more hard-pressed to describe the look on Wildrider's face.
"I take it you were unsuccessful?" Dead End said, sounding as though he had expected such an outcome all along.
"Yeah." Wildrider sat down on an arm of the couch, optic ridges drawing together. "Man. That was weird. He said okay, but it was like… I dunno, being with a drone or something." He grimaced. "I didn't even finish. It just wasn't any fun."
Breakdown leaned to one side, lightly bumping Wildrider's leg with his shoulder-tire. Wildrider pressed back, some of the confusion fading from his face. "You want me to try again?"
"No!" Breakdown said quickly. Wildrider meant well, but his approach was always open, direct and infused with his own particular brand of crazy enjoyment, all of which seemed to be the exact opposite of Drag Strip at the moment.
"No," Dead End agreed without looking away from the screen. "You'd better take over, Breakdown."
"Me?" Breakdown said. "Why not you?"
"There's still an hour left of Hamlet, and I want to watch the 'To be or not to be' monologue. Besides, why should I bother? It doesn't matter to me one way or another."
"But we'll need to function as a coherent team in battle."
"I believe you mean cohesive, and if you feel so strongly about it, that just backs up my point about you dealing with Drag Strip. Anyway, you're the scout. It's your job to investigate unknown territory before the rest of us arrive on the scene."
Breakdown sighed, conceding defeat. "Oh, all right. I'll do it." He turned sideways on the couch, resting his head against Wildrider's thigh and putting his feet up on Dead End's lap.
Wildrider looked down at him expectantly, while Dead End stared deliberately at the feet before finally meeting Breakdown's optics. "What?" Breakdown said, enjoying the moment. "I'm not going to march in there right after Wildrider failed. Drag Strip will know at once that we're all working together and he'll shut off even more."
Dead End tilted his head a little in concession. "When will you do it, then?"
"After I've had time to think about it." He knew he would need a subtle, slow approach to get past Drag Strip's guard.
A hand settled on his helm and began to stroke it. "You're hot when you get all thinky," Wildrider said, "and I'm still kind of revved up…"
Breakdown shook his head. "Can't frag. Planning."