Warning: This CAN be read as slash, but it's not meant as such.

Disclaimer: The Transformers don't belong to me, and I do not make any money with this.

Wash my Sins Away

Ratchet had just finished cleaning his instruments and was wiping the cleaning solvent off his hands with a soft cloth when Hound popped his head around the door.

"Hey, Doc", he greeted cheerfully. "Mirage still here?"

Ratchet shook his head. "You've just missed him. I sent him to his quarters to get some rest when he and Cliffjumper had finished rolling around on the floor." He sounded quite disapproving, but Hound knew him well enough to realize the medic was suppressing a smile.

"Yeah, Jazz and Bumblebee told me about it", he said, grinning. "I just wanted to make sure he's alright."

Ratchet shrugged.

"Well, the Decepticons didn't treat him too gently, but he hasn't sustained any permanent damage. A decent rest and he'll be as good as new."

Hound nodded. "I'll tell him. Thanks, Ratch."

Ratchet gave him a dismissive gesture and turned back to his instruments. Hound left him to his work and set out for the crew's quarters.

--*--

He had intended to go straight to Mirage's quarters, but then decided to stop over at one of the common washrooms available on each of the Ark's decks, for not all quarters provided private washing facilities. He had returned from his patrol all dusty and dirty, and didn't want to show up at his friend's like this. Mirage hated dirt in his quarters.

The doors opened with a quiet, hydraulic hiss. Hound entered the room - and found himself not alone.

Surrounded by an assortment of sponges, cloths and bottles containing different kinds of detergents, Mirage was sitting in a corner, scrubbing determinedly at his outer armor. Hound imagined Ratchet's disapproving look, were the medic able to see that his patient was anywhere different than where he had ordered him to be.

"Hello Mirage", he greeted somewhat surprised.

Mirage jerked his head up as if Hound had caught him doing something highly inappropriate, but then he got a grip on himself and gave his friend a nod.

"Hound." His tone was polite, but cool, as always.

"I've just been on my way to see you", Hound said as he stepped into one of the cabins, separated only by low walls, and touched the control panel. A well-tempered mixture of different cleaning fluids started drizzling down on him. "Wanted to check if you're okay."

"I'm fine", Mirage answered shortly. He didn't seem very eager to talk.

The highly-concentrated solvents took only seconds to wash every last bit of dust off of Hound's body. He touched the panel again, and the fluids were replaced by a flow of warm air. Mirage in his corner continued scrubbing.

Hound watched him in silence for a while, then decided to give conversation another try.

"I've heard Cliffjumper came to his senses again", he said airily, this time coaxing Mirage into a small smile.

"Yes", he answered. "Thank Primus."

"You know, you shouldn't take this whole thing too personally", Hound continued gently. "I mean, you know Cliffjumper; he can be a bit… overzealous, but he means no harm."

"I know", Mirage said.

Hound did not like the flat tone his friend's voice had taken on. He abandoned his cabin and strode over to where Mirage was sitting and crouched down beside him.

"What's the matter, 'Raj?" he asked bluntly.

Mirage paused in his work and turned towards him. His gaze was unfathomable, as it often was.

"I wonder", he said slowly, "if many of you think about me the way Cliffjumper does."

It was such a ridiculous thing to say that Hound's CPU took a moment to process this new information.

"Mirage, nobody thinks about you that way", he answered heatedly as soon as he found his voice. "Why do you think Prime defended you? Even Ratchet stood up for you."

Mirage grabbed a fresh sponge and drenched it with a good half bottle of cleaning solvent.

"I'm not sure", he said and started scrubbing again. "It is no secret I would rather talk to the Decepticons than fight them."

Hound shook his head.

"Nobody's happy about this war, Mirage. Somewhere along the way, everyone of us has thought about alternatives to end it."

"Not Cliffjumper, I bet", Mirage said.

This was so likely true that Hound couldn't think of anything else to say. He watched in silence as Mirage struggled to reach a spot on his back which, according to common physical law, was simply impossible for him to reach. Eventually he gently took the dripping sponge from his friend's hand, crawled behind him and started mopping.

Mirage threw an indignant glance over his shoulder, hand already half-raised as if to claim the sponge back - but then he dropped his arm and cycled a small sigh through his intakes.

While he was busy scrubbing and mopping and making sure not to miss a single seam in the metal, Hound was beginning to wonder what exactly Mirage had so vigorously tried to wash off the whole time. His exo-skeleton was as clean and shiny as on the day he'd been assembled.

Except for the occasional squeak of a wet sponge on metal, the room was perfectly quiet for a while. Even so, when Mirage finally spoke, his voice was so low that Hound had to increase the sensitivity of his audio receptors by several levels to hear him.

"When this… thing was in my head… my only conscious thought was to kill as many of you as possible to win this battle… to win this war…" Hound felt a shudder running through his friend's body.

"And I wonder… was this really Bombshell imprinting his thoughts on my mind, or did his cerebro shell only bring something to the surface which had already been there? Am I so desperate to see the end of this war that I might be capable of turning against my comrades?"

Hound acted on pure instinct. He dropped the sponge, wrapped his arms around Mirage's shoulders and leaned close to him, their faces almost touching.

"I'm gonna say this just once, 'Raj, so listen up: You. Are. No. Traitor." He emphasized each word. "You've risked your life more than once, for Cybertron, for Earth, for this crew, with as much courage and steadfastness as any of us. Prime knows this. So does Cliffjumper. And so do I. I know it here." He laid his hand flat on Mirage's chest where he could feel the gentle pulse of his spark.

Mirage held himself utterly still in his friend's embrace, but Hound had not expected an immediate response. He chose a soft cloth and a mild solvent from the large assortment at his disposal and resumed his work. For a casual bystander, it might have seemed a useless task, but Hound understood now what his friend had so desperately tried to cleanse himself of.

He worked gently and slowly, giving Mirage the time he needed, and was relieved when he finally felt his friend starting to relax. Slowly, Mirage's whole posture unclenched until he sank back against Hound's chest with a sigh, resting his head on his friend's shoulder. Hound smiled when he saw that Mirage's optics were offline.

"Don't get too comfortable, 'Raj", he teased, never stopping in his washing. Mirage onlined his optics with a quiet laugh.

"You know", he said, "on Cybertron I was acquainted with some of the most famous philosophers our world had ever seen, but not a single one of them possessed your wisdom."

"Well…" Hound murmured, feeling slightly bashful. "But I'm not a famous philosopher; I'm just your friend."

"Yes", Mirage answered quietly. "Lucky me."

Hound smiled.

Author's Note: This is the first time I have translated one of my own texts into English (well, actually it's the second time, but as German author Walter Moers says: 'It wasn't me; it's so long ago, it was someone else'). It's also the first Transformers story I've ever written. So, when reviewing, please be gentle, for we all know the first time can hurt... ;-)

The German original can be found in chapter two.