Title: Fall From Grace
Challenge Set: #2
Challenge: Tarnished (#1)
Rating: PG
Word Count: 813
Pairings: none
Summary: He realizes that he's not the only one who's flawed
Other Notes: Flattop is nearly 1 million years old. No spoilers.

Flawed he had called him. Imperfect. Nothing the sparkling did was ever good enough. At first it hadn't been so bad; after all, Triggerpinch had never had a creation of his own before. He'd been eager for a student to mold and shape from the start, and Flattop had been just as eager for instruction. Yet as time went on, young Flattop learned that his creator's patience for new life had dried up quickly.

"Again," the engineer radioed him from the ground, watching the young 'bot go through his aerial exercises in the newly acquired alt form. He was in training, Pinch told him. But training for what? He had never told Flattop and the young one was too nervous to ask.

Doing as he was told, Flattop banked hard to the left, dodging invisible pursuers. He knew better than to let his mind wander, but the endless boring exercises were beginning to wear on him. He knew this already, why were they still working on it? And what made Pinch think that he knew how one should train for dogfights? His alt was a transport vehicle for Primus' sake. He'd never flown under his own power in his whole life, however long it might be.

Yet Flattop didn't argue with him as he moved into a series of barrel-rolls, sure to put in an extra trick or two for his sisters' sake. His grouchy creator probably just watched one too many war holo-vid and thought he knew everything. As usual.

Throwing himself into a forced stall, the young mech dived nose-down at top speed, letting gravity do most of the work. He may not have had this jet form for very long, but already he knew every nuance of it. It was as natural to him as his own robotic body, just as easy to manipulate and move the way he wanted.

A fact that he proved as he purposely buzzed right over his creator's head, hoping to give that old spark a good scare.

He laughed to himself hearing Triggerpinch hiss out a curse as he ducked to the ground. "You little…" his words were quickly left behind as the young one banked to the side again to resume the course. He could hear his sister cry out in delight; she always loved watching him.

Once not so long ago, the engineer may have laughed as well. He might have found amusement that his child and student had mastered flying so well to feel confident in his skills. Triggerpinch did, contrary to popular belief, have a sense of humor. He was capable of laughter and smiles and even affection when the fancy struck him.

Flattop used to live to make his creator laugh. It felt good to know that he could bring about something so rare from Triggerpinch when no one else could. It was why he didn't object too much at being worked so hard. It was why he kept striving to please him; hoping to see a smile of approval, or maybe even a pat on the shoulder.

The more he tried to reach this end, the more futile the endeavor seemed to become. Today looked like it would be no exception.

His paces run and fuel running low, Flattop descended at last to the ground where his creator waited. Another bot was with him, a mech he'd come to know as Strikelast. Pinch's old friend often came these days to watch Flattop fly, sometimes offering tips on how to improve his technique or speed. The engineer said it was because he would be going to the War Academy soon and many people would be watching his progress.

When he was younger, Flattop had never questioned these explanations. Today and many times in the past few months, the sparkling had often thought twice about what he believed.

True to his prediction, Pinch was less than amused with his little 'smart-afted' stunt earlier. But from the bemused expression on Strikelast's face, at least someone had appreciated it for what it was.

He let the harsh words wash over him, barely letting them make it into his audios. What did it matter what the engineer shouted anymore? It was all the same slag filled with the same criticisms and insults. All it boiled down to was the fact that Flattop just wasn't good enough. Flawed. Imperfect.

Once he might have done everything in his power to please his creator. Triggerpinch always seemed to hold the answers before. He had been perfect. But now that the sparkling was older, he could see him for what he was. A mean-spirited mech who acted twice as old as he actually was. A mech who didn't know half of what he said he did and who would find himself alone if he continued to be the way he was.

Flawed. Imperfect. Just not good enough.