A/N: Yep, see? I haven't fallen off the face of the planet after all!
Title: He Could've Said Something
Challenge Set: #2
Challenge: Fever (#8)
Rating: T
Word Count: 1,508
Pairings: Flattop/Pursuit
Summary: His mind's ablaze and he can't cool it down
Other Notes: No spoilers. Flattop is around 10 million years old here. This is after the Ark is awakened, and Pura and Blue Wing sent to Earth. This is left purposely vague in some areas, but if it's confusing in the wrong sort of way let me know and I can always fix.
"He can't do this!" Another expensive ornament sailed into the wall, shattering into a million pieces.
"Topper, you have to calm down…" her pleas fell on deaf audios.
"He can't! Primus fraggit, he's supposed to be… aargh!" this time a small end-table went flying.
"Top, that's enough!"
The furious blue and red turned to his mate, wings perfectly parallel to the floor and such a glare on his face that Pursuit could tell without a doubt whose son he was. "It's not enough. It's never enough! Not for him!"
Truthfully, Flattop's temper always took Pursuit off-guard at least a little every time it reared its ugly head. He was often unpredictable, sometimes lashing out in his rage. Yet to this day he had never once come close to striking her or another female. Unfortunately whatever sway femmes had over him didn't extend to mechs and Pursuit knew that if she didn't stop this now, he would just go out and pick a fight somewhere again.
It was for this reason that she stood her ground, knowing it was better to catch this cyberwolf around the neck before it got the chance to bite. "Calm down, Flattop, we can figure this out."
"There's nothing to figure out!" he cried. "The mech is completely obsessed! You weren't there, 'Suit, you don't know. He's supposed to…"
"Supposed to what, Top?" she scowled, putting her hands on her hips. "Supposed to be dead? Well we all know he's not."
"No slag, Pursuit," he snorted, lifting his chin. "I kind of figured that one out all by myself."
Her lazuli optics narrowed. "Don't you talk to me like that, Flattop. This isn't my fault."
"Oh and I suppose it's mine, huh?" he grabbed a crystal glass and threw it at the wall where it joined the shattered remains of half a dozen other belongings. "Just like it's mine all the other times too? You know who you sound like, Pursuit? You sound just like…"
"Shut up!" the smaller femme roared, marching right up to him and slapping the irrational, fevered mech across the face. That had been her favorite glass too!
The blow, while didn't actually hurt, acted like a bucket of cold water, silencing him just long enough for his frustrated mate to take over this one-sided conversation. "Listen to yourself!" she cried. "You've completely lost your mind!"
"Me?" His optics grew wide incredulously. "What about him? You didn't hear him, you don't know! He just goes on and on about them! Totally obsessed like…"
"Like you?" she interrupted curtly. "Who's the one that's obsessed here, Top? Him or you?" She didn't let him so much as open his mouth to answer before she ploughed on. "All you've done since he called you is go on and on about him! You're the one obsessed, Flattop, and worse than he'll ever be."
"But he didn't so much as ask about Tri or me. He didn't even say…"
"Say what?" she demanded, cutting in again. "What did you expect him to say? That he was glad to see you? That he missed you? That he was relieved you and Triage survived?"
The angry but pained look on her bondmate's face told the ebony femme that that was exactly what he expected to hear. What he wanted to hear. And honestly she couldn't blame him entirely for that. It's what he'd always wanted to hear and after so many millions of years, at a time like this, if ever there was a time to say such things, it would be now.
"Look, Top," she said, her voice more gentle than it had been before. "Did you really expect him to say that? After all this time?" She reached out and touched his unmarked cheek, not surprised to feel how taut he was. The jet was ready to snap again at the slightest provocation. But this needed to be said, however he would react.
"He doesn't love you, Topper, and nothing you or anyone else does or says will ever change that. He's incapable of love. You have to stop obsessing over this before it turns you into another bitter lonely version of him." Her lips curled into a sad smile, seeing so much of the father in the son already. Too much of this and he would be pushed irreversibly onto the same path and it was not a path she would walk with him. "I'm asking you not to let this happen. The Flattop I know is very capable of giving love and receiving it. Don't waste all that love on someone who refuses to accept it."
"But he could have said something," the flyer said in a tight unhappy voice. Primus, sometimes it seemed like the normally joyful mech was as old as the stars, aged before his time and full of experience. Sometimes his energy and enthusiasm would rival any young mech fresh from the Academy. And other times, times like these, he was just another sparkling still striving for the love of a parent. Triggerpinch didn't deserve him.
"Yeah he could've but he didn't, and that's what you're so mad about. He doesn't own you, Topper, you don't have to do what he says. You shouldn't."
At this he let out a heavy sigh, taut wings sliding back down the side to rest at a more comfortable, if not yet normal, 60 degrees. "And that's where you're wrong."
The femme shook her head. "What do you mean?"
"I already told him no, 'Suit. But that slagger…" both wings twitched. "He knows some of them or something. Got them to make it a formal request." He snorted in absolute disgust, fists clenching. "I leave in a week!" The Intelligence officer couldn't help another hate-filled kick at a poor dented couch. "He didn't fragging ask me, he told me! And all for them!"
"Topper, stop it," she took hold of her lover's shoulders, bringing his mind back into focus. "Ssh, love. We'll find a way."
"What way?" he asked. "There is no way aside from desertion, and they'd kill me before we even got the chance to try."
"Then… then we'll find some other way to deal with this." She smiled weakly for his benefit. "I can wait a little while when you do your spy thing."
"No," he insisted, shaking his head. "It's permanent."
Permanent? Why that sneaky conniving… Pursuit was beginning to feel the urge to kick and throw things as well, though unlike her headstrong mate the femme knew it didn't always solve problems.
Flattop went on, pulling away from her to pace again. He never was able to stay still for long, especially as upset as he was now. "He's having Tri help him get settled in, but he wanted me to go down to report their progress personally." His dark blue optics narrowed angrily. "They're slagging adults now and he still won't leave them alone."
Like he won't leave you alone, she thought. Yet outloud she said, "I want you to go, Top."
That stopped him right in his tracks. "What? You want me to do what he wants?"
"I didn't say that," she said with a wry smile. "I said I wanted you to go."
"Why? They hate me, 'Suit. If I go…"
"Then you can make your peace with them. Go down and tell him what he wants to hear. But this feud you have with those two has gone on long enough. Now you have the power to change things."
"And what about you?" he asked with a raised opticridge. She was up to something, she always was.
The femme smiled at him serenely. "I'm going too of course."
The wings slid back up a fraction. "No. No. Absolutely not…"
"My two are down there too, you forget. I haven't seen them in years and this is as good an opportunity as any."
"But what would you do? They can't just house civilians, 'Suit."
"I'm sure I could find something out there. Besides, I'm an officer's mate. If I can't convince them, I have no doubt you could do it."
That sneaky little femme…
His gaze wandered to a nearby workbench where many various silver and red parts were scattered. "But we were going to have…"
"And we will." Pursuit stepped forward and cupped his cheek again. "We have time. But you have to do this. And for Primus' sake, you need to control your temper."
He chuckled softly, wings finally shifting down to normal. "Sometimes I wonder if you're my mate or my mother."
She laughed and nodded. "Sometimes I wonder which you need more."
Lowering his head to kiss her, the flyer grinned. "A mate. Definitely a mate."
"Well then, my mate, go call who you need to call. I'll start arranging our things."
"And that?" He indicated toward the workbench again.
"We'll take him with us. Now go on," she gave him a gentle shove. "The sooner we start the sooner we can leave."
