Title: Dog Days

Warning: Spoilers for MTMTE, domestication, a very angry, grieving widower, BDSM mentions, and awkward robots.

Rating: PG

Continuity: IDW AU where Nautilator survived.

Characters: Black Shadow, Blue Bacchus, Sixshot, Fortress Maximus, Red Alert, Nautilator, and the Decepticon Justice Division. And Deathsaurus.

Disclaimer: The theatre doesn't own the script or actors, nor does it make a profit from the play.

Motivation (Prompt): The remains of a D.J.D victim found by someone who cared a lot about that traitor, and Because Gone Fishing needs a cross-over.


Part Four: Some Cohabitation Issues


[* * * * *]


Tarn sat with the rest of his mechs in the Warworld's canteen, trying very hard not to acknowledge the silent pool of awkward surrounding their table. It was a difficult task made all the harder by their unwelcome table decoration.

They were sadists with a taste for gruesome execution. Yes, they knew that. However, even the Justice Division had limits.

Blue Bacchus had plowed right through it. He'd strode into the canteen and slammed a momento from his dead endura between their trays right at the start of the meal, spitting, "Here. Have some company. I hope you choke on it."

Since it wasn't an active attack, Deathsaurus had shrugged uncomfortable acceptance, and that seemed to cue everyone else to allow it. The D.J.D. would have moved tables or thrown the grisly memento away, but they could feel the mood of the room. Quite frankly, the rest of the Warworld was of the opinion that Blue Bacchus was being entirely reasonable about the whole thing. If he wanted to make the murderers of his endura eat in the presence of Black Shadow's severed hand, then they should shut up, sit down, and be respectful of their new dinner companion.

The hand contributed nothing to the conversation but a tiny puddle of noxious fluid. Strangely, nobody at the table was hungry anymore.


[* * * * *]


Technically, Sixshot didn't fall under Fortress Maximus' jurisdiction as the Duly Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord. Technically, the Enforcer was aligned with the Autobots as a neutral force activated upon violation of the inter-factional agreement. Technically, that meant the Enforcer was duty-bound to aid one of the most notorious killers of the entire war right here and now. Decepticon Phase Sixer and former Warrior Elite or not, Sixshot hadn't violated a single clause of the Tyrest Accord. Since the war was - again, technically - over, Fort Max couldn't even take a step back to act as an Autobot instead of the Duly Appointed Enforcer. All war crimes were conditionally pardoned by orders from Cybertron, and hadn't that been a fun conversation to have, because Starscream.

Ugh.

So. He couldn't arrest him, couldn't treat him as a criminal, couldn't even classify him as a threat. In short, Sixshot was free to go.

Fort Max was beginning to understand the weary look on Ultra Magnus' face whenever Drift came up in conversation.

To add insult to injury, he was obliged to offer help to all victims of this violation of the Accord. Sixshot undeniably needed it, although he hadn't accepted more than Fort Max's help getting the muzzle and cuffs off. The Decepticons were all rather chary about letting an Autobot take a look at them, but Sixshot was positively skittish. Fort Max's initial impression of his injuries placed Sixshot in immediate need of emergency medical care, damages well past what the rest of the Roboids had endured, but the winged wolf wouldn't stay still long enough for him to get a good look. He ghosted around the edges of the warehouse, disappearing if Fortress Maximus even looked in his direction too long.

That kind of vanishing act made Fort Max intensely suspicious. Having Red Alert in constant contact didn't abate his concerns.

Fortunately for his sanity, all the duty in the universe didn't dictate how he approached the Decepticons post-reversal of the domestication process. Fort Max only had to offer aid to current victims. Further crimes would reclassify the Decepticons as criminals, even if not criminals the Duly Appointed Enforcer had jurisdiction over. As an Autobot prison warden, he could act to arrest anyone who broke the terms of their pardons.

It was almost a relief to have something concrete to investigate. He didn't know if that was what was going on, but better safe than sorry.

Fortress Maximus ducked out a side door of the warehouse into a small clearing of empty Roboid boxes. "A little bird told me you've been behaving suspiciously."

The little bird in question chirped meekly from inside.

Sixshot glanced over and cocked his head, studying Fort Max. What looked like a jointed, stubby tail hung out of his mouth. Was that a tail? Sort of a tail. Those were definitely legs. Eight multi-jointed legs hung limp on either side of the winged wolf's mouth like bizarre whiskers. Two big claws hung down below them, almost dragging on the ground. The Autobot suffered a sudden fear that he was too late. The mech in Sixshot's mouth looked dead.

When Sixshot chuffed dismissal of the Autobot, however, the stubby tail flexed. Fins fluttered underneath, and the powerful fin on the end flared as if its owner were attempting to swim.

Fortress Maximus had his sidearm out and pointed at Sixshot's chest in a split second. "Let him go. That's an order!" he boomed, reaching for intimidation. For as much as he'd like to think he could hold his own against any Decepticon gutted and mode-locked into beast form, this was Sixshot. "We've got a situation," he subvocalized to Red Alert. "Get me an I.D. on the victim. Aquatic beast mode, eight legs, claws."

Aquatic altmodes in general were fairly rare, and the details narrowed it down quickly. Red Alert gasped through the connection as a hit came back on the search. *"Nautilator; Seacon, last seen without a head due to Whirl. I had him classified as deactivated after Temptoria."*

"Obviously not."

*"Obviously. Be careful. He's part of one the Decepticon gestalt projects. Limited combination ability into a combiner named Piranacon, who's known for being out of control and nearly impossible to stop."*

While Red Alert talked, Sixshot had fallen back into the slow, deliberate movements he used whenever Fort Max turned his attention on him. The exaggerated motions broadcast his lack of aggression. Except he still had another mech in his mouth, so the Autobot kept his gun aimed.

"Put him down," Fort Max ordered, pointing his free hand at the ground in stern command.

Sixshot ducked his head in a graceful motion made slightly jerky from the way the finned tail hanging out the front of his muzzle flopped vigorous protest. Claws clacked. Sixshot opened his mouth, and Nautilator spilled out into an undignified pile of flailing limbs. Dumped into the dirt, it took him a moment to reorient himself.

Sixshot kept his head down as if guarding the lobster flopping about under his chin. His optics stayed cautious on the gun pointed at him, wariness in every tense cable. Fort Max took a few steps closer, ready to help the Phase Sixer's panicked…meal?...retreat.

Nautilator didn't notice him at first. Annoyed clicks snipped up at the winged wolf as the lobster grumpily waved his claws at the much larger Decepticon. He apparently hadn't enjoyed being carried around like a favored chewtoy.

Then he turned, took one look at the looming Enforcer, and skittered backward so fast he nearly ran up Sixshot's forelegs. He rear-ended into the bigger Decepticon's chest.

The sidearm didn't help the reassuring image, probably. "I'm the Duly Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord," Fort Max repeated for what had to be the thousandth time this evening. Trauma from the domestication process had left most of the Roboids a bit fried. They didn't process facts about the situation well until he'd repeated it a few dozen times. "I freed you. I reset your programming. Vox boxes are an easy fix. A surgeon is standing by at the base for our return, and the T-cog dents keeping you in beastmode will self-repair once we reset your internal systems. I was alerted to your situation and am here to help you. Please step away from him, and I will escort you to a safer location." He beckoned with his free hand, trying to make it clear the gun was pointed at Sixshot alone.

Instead of fleeing his captor to the safety of Ultra Magnus, the lobster attempted to become one with Sixshot's chest. Sixshot, strangely enough, settled down on his belly as if to make it easier for the smaller technimal. Nautilator responded by burrowing between the winged wolf's forelegs and hissing at Fort Max, claws open in defensive threat.

*"Max,"* Red Alert started, sounded thoughtful.

"Yeah," Fort Max said. He jerked his chin at the two Decepticons. "Do you two know each other?"

Sixshot snorted. When he shook his head, it started at his nose and went all the way down his back, shaking his whole body in a twisting motion, but he looked vaguely annoyed a minute later, probably from the amped-up beastmode protocols that were messing with all the former Roboids. Fort Max doubted he'd meant to do that at all, and he had no idea what Sixshot had intended it to mean.

Nautilator paused. After a moment of looking up at the Phase Sixer, he looked back to Fortress Maximus and hissed a hesitant affirmative. Nervous claw clacking followed the sound, and he backed up a little further as if hiding under Sixshot's chest.

Fort Max wasn't sure if he trusted that. A victim could be terrified into agreement. "Any sort of link I'm missing?" he asked Red Alert.

*"Hold on. I'm not finding anything on Autopedia. There was a suspected combiner team network among the Decepticons, but its existence was never confirmed."*

"Sixshot's not a - "

*"No, but the Terrorcons' Autopedia entry is riddled with references to the degree they idolize him. It's a possible connection through them. The only other connection is a rumor about a liaison between Naitilator and - oh."* Red Alert cut himself off oddly. The silence felt fragile. Fortress Maximus wasn't sure how else to describe it.

"Red?"

*"I'm going to classify that as unsubstantiated at best. Nevermind."*

He didn't like it, but he trusted Red Alert. "Alright." He snapped the safety back onto his sidearm with a loud click and straightened to glare down at the winged wolf. The only reason he could was because Sixshot was lying down, which didn't make him feel any better about saying this. "Fine. I'm going to go back inside and finish cleaning out Demus' sales files. I'm leaving my little birds to watch you." A chorus of scared cheeps came from the doorway. "They'll tell me if you do anything to him," he pointed at Nautilator. "Got it?"

Sixshot blinked at him. Nautilator crouched lower, trying to dodge the finger pointed at him. Fort Max narrowed his optics and waited for a nod.

He got it, but the tense staredown didn't break until Sixshot dropped his head down on top of the lobster between his paws. Nautilator hissed, shocked, and Fort Max almost lunged forward. Unconcerned by Autobot and upset lobster alike, Sixshot offlined his optics and sighed.

Many-jointed legs wiggled around under his jaw, pinned down by his chin, but a second later Nautilator's claws flopped into the dirt as the genericon surrendered to his fate. He seemed resigned to being a pillow. Disgruntled hisses accompanied the scratch and scrape of rust scratched up by his many legs as he shifted around to get comfortable. Sixshot tolerated the wriggling and ignored the Autobot hovering over them both.

Fortress Maximus made a mental note to call Ultra Magnus after this. He needed to talk to someone who understood what it was like to deal with this kind of slag on a daily basis.


[* * * * *]