Title: In A Tight Spot
Content: taunting, attempted psychological manipulation
Characters: Bluestreak, unknown (but not an OC!) Further notes at the end.
Verse: G1
Prompt: 2. Scenario: intimacy in a confined space. Any kind of intimacy - physical, emotional, psychological, up to you.
Notes: Written for prompt #2 at tf_speedwriting. These prompts were for the week of April 14-20, 2012 and each one is only allowed 120 minutes for writing, editing and posting.
Bluestreak snarled as he used his rifle to swipe at the helicopter tormenting him.
"Come, now, little one, surely you can do better than that."
::Bluestreak, target the joins on Devastator! The Protectobots were injured and can't form Defensor!:: Prowl's voice came over his comm unit, and Bluestreak found himself able to focus. He snapped off a shot at the hovering helicopter, driving it away temporarily, then focused on the huge form of Devastator. Now on task, he was steady and his first shot hit the mark, with Devastator exploding into his component mechs. Gleefully, Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, Gears and Brawn fell on the mechs before they could regain their bearings.
The helicopter came back. Bluestreak was steadier this time and began shooting at him, which the copter seemed to expect. He was very good at dodging Bluestreak's shots.
The helicopter swooped down…just as Megatron's fusion cannon struck the cliff behind Bluestreak. The wall of rock exploded outward.
Bluestreak cried out as warmth fell on him, along with rock and dirt. When the dust finally settled, he found himself trapped in the dark, unable to move very far without raising more dust or unsettling the rocks surrounding him.
He sent out a comm call, unsurprised to find his comm unit broken. Since that didn't work, he sent a pulse through his mentor bond and was unsurprised to receive a comm from Jazz.
::Prowl's busy. We're working on it, Blue. Hang in there.::
Bluestreak let his head fall back against the rock, dirt, whatever was behind him and startled badly when a silky smooth voice came to his audios.
"Aw, little Bluestreak, are they leaving you here all alone?"
Frantically, Bluestreak looked around. Just over his left shoulder a red visor gleamed at him. He tried to remember…the helicopter! This was the helicopter! What was his name?
"I'm shocked, little Blue, that your comrades aren't here right now, trying to dig you out and get you away from me. Bad, bad Autobots, leaving such a lovely innocent here, just for me. We'll have fun, little Blue, so much fun. What games shall we play?"
"None," Bluestreak quavered, "I don't like games with bad bots like you."
A laugh and the visor pinned its gaze on him. "Bad bots like me? I'm guessing you can't even remember my name, little Blue. Should I share it with you, or let you guess? Oh, that's a good game. We'll play guess the 'Con's name! What a good idea. You're so smart, little Blue. Too bad the Autobots don't recognize that about you. They don't let you contribute, do they? They ignore your advice. Tsk, tsk, they're not making the most of their resources, are they?"
"You shut up!" Bluestreak shot back, "I'm valued!"
"Of course you are. My mistake." The voice was silky smooth, weaving itself into Bluestreak's audio receivers and tearing his precious self-esteem to shreds with its hidden claws. "Now, your first clue. I'm named for my most fearsome weapon."
"Oh, of course. Your most fearsome weapon, so you're called Mouthy?" Bluestreak was scraping for his courage right now.
"Very funny! I like a sense of humor in my…associates," the voice purred at him.
Bluestreak sent a desperate wish through the mentor bond and was relieved to get a pulse back from Prowl, warmth and affection tingeing the pulse. Bluestreak basked in the feelings for a moment, then returned his attention to his situation.
"Well, I aim to please," Bluestreak replied.
"Indeed, and you do it so well. Do your hands shake afterwards, little Blue? Perhaps you're not as good as this as you think you are. Perhaps you're a detriment to the cause, rather than a help. After all, we can't all be good, can we?"
Bluestreak suddenly stopped being afraid. The pulse from Prowl, Jazz's reassurances through the comm unit, his own doubts that had long been silenced by his abilities…he lost the grip he had on his self-restraint.
"Really? I would have thought that applied to you more than to me. I know my worth to my friends. But, oh, you're a Decepticon. You don't have friends. Let me see. You're one of the gestalt members, right? Too bad. I hear that Megatron only values those mechs as long as they can combine, but take one of you out, and you cease to be worthy of energy, attention, praise…how hard do you have to try?"
"Very nice! Little Blue is trying to make it in the big leagues. Look at the cute little Autobot, pretending he's a real mech. You're delightful, little Blue. I'd like to keep you."
"No, thank you," was Bluestreak's prompt response.
"So quick off the draw with that! One would think you'd had that kind of offer before. But that would be surprising to me. Such a sweet innocent as yourself…no, no, you'd ruin my image of you."
"Slag off!" snarled Bluestreak.
"I'd love to," the voice purred back at him.
Bluestreak forgot where he was, attempting to swing around and hit that maddening voice away. All he caused was a cloud of dust that clogged his filters and a laugh, low and scary, somehow, to his audios.
"Ah, there it is, the fire and passion I'd been told you were capable of. Wouldn't it be nice, little Blue, to have some…alone time? Just you and I, exploring this…anger you have toward me. I'm really nice, you know, little Blue."
"The Pit you are. You're a sociopathic liar, that's what you are!" Bluestreak snapped.
"Oh, dear one, you shouldn't throw terms around that you don't understand. I'm a straight up psychopath, I am. However, you did get one part right. I am a pathological liar. So clever of you, little Blue, to spot that."
"Primus, save me," Bluestreak said, dropping his head so he didn't have to look at the visor above him.
"No one's going to save you, little Blue. It will be you and I here forever, together. Won't that be nice? We can go to the Matrix together. I'd like that, being in your sweet company for eternity."
Bluestreak cracked an optic and looked up at him, "No, you wouldn't. You'd get bored with me after a vorn and then where would you be?"
"Thinking up new and clever ways to torment you, my dear little Blue," purred the voice.
::We're here, Blue, give us a location ping.:: Prowl sent suddenly.
Happily, Bluestreak did so, turning on his location beacon and sending a pulse through the mentor bond to Prowl.
The dirt and rocks around them started moving as the Autobots began digging them out.
"They won't come for me, huh? Oddly enough, it's my side out there, digging us out, not yours," Bluestreak said triumphantly.
"You sound so sure, little Blue. It might be my side, digging me out, not you," the voice said silkily.
Bluestreak suddenly realized how to beat this one. Certainty alone would stop the insidious voice, the deep kind of certainty he had from his mentor and friends. "I know it's the Autobots. I'll leave you to figure out how I know."
The slab of rock that was protecting them was suddenly lifted away by Brawn, light pouring down on them. Rapidly shuttering his optics to clear the dust and minute grit out, Bluestreak looked up at Trailbreaker, using his forcefield to keep the rocks above him out.
Prowl slid in under the forcefield, already inside it, and looked at the mech above Bluestreak. He spoke quietly.
"Consider yourself a prisoner of war, Vortex."
"Yeah, man, locked up and with no one to call. Too bad!" Jazz was also cold, and cuffs were on the mech before Bluestreak could shutter his optics again.
The excavation of their bodies took little time, now that the bigger rocks were out of the way and Trailbreaker was holding the rest of the slide up. They had to move quickly, because Trailbreaker couldn't sustain that large a field for very long, but it was enough time to get Bluestreak out from between the two boulders holding, but not crushing him, fortunately, and to release Vortex from the rocks holding him. As he was pulled free, Bluestreak was swung into Ironhide's arms and carried away to Skyfire for a lift to the Ark. He looked back over Ironhide's shoulder as he was carried away to see Vortex put in a waist chain and pulled away just as Trailbreaker released his force field. A great cloud of dust roiled through the air.
As Ironhide carried Bluestreak up the ramp, he looked over. Vortex was between Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, and both looked ready to kill him at a signal. Glad to have escaped, Bluestreak returned his attention to Ratchet.
"I heard you were trapped with Vortex. Did he do anything to you, Bluestreak?" Ratchet asked, scanning Bluestreak and pulling out cleansers to clean the dust out of the cuts Bluestreak had gotten.
"He tried to make me doubt myself, my friends and my cause. Nothing noteworthy, Ratchet. He's insidious and nasty, but he doesn't actually have enough information about me to really hit me where I doubt, so all he did was make me mad." Bluestreak told him, watched the cleanser come out from between his plates thick and brown, then clearing to its usual pale blue as Ratchet flushed all the dirt out.
"Standard operating procedure for that one," Ratchet said, "well, if he did say anything, you know you can come and talk to me."
"Yes, Ratchet, I know that, and I can talk to Prowl or Jazz or the twins and they'll understand. But it's OK, he really couldn't poke at me very well, so right now it's kind of more funny than anything else. He'd be really scary if he knew enough about a mech to really get under their plating, though."
"Yes, he would be. He excels at that. He's a trained interrogator. Well, Blue, minor dings and scratches. You have a bent strut in the left leg, so I'm glad you're on the transport because you can't change modes until we get that straightened, but you got lucky." Ratchet picked up his tools and moved to Powerglide, who was missing a wing, and bent over him to continue working.
Bluestreak looked around at the mechs that had become his family and said softly to himself, "Yes, Ratchet, I got very lucky."
The End
Notes: I struggle with the difference between psychopathy and sociopathy. I did my best, but please forgive me if I got it wrong. Also, please educate me in non-medical speak as to the difference.