Chapter 11
Soon the art contest would begin, Grapple thought. He'd spent the last night setting it up with Hoist in the lounge. Grapple would have been content to work through the night, but Hoist persuaded him to turn in for recharge at last. Recharge had been restless however. Now Grapple wanted to get to the lounge early for some last minute preparation. He figured he still had an hour or two, if he had his Earth time units right, before anyone else filed in for their morning energon and the start of the contest.
Optimus Prime had thought the contest a good idea. The Decepticons had been quiet lately and any new experience that further exposed the Autobots to Earth culture in such times was always appreciated. Contest though was perhaps too strong a word. There would be no judging. Grapple wanted to encourage rather than discourage participation. He remembered Sludge's reluctance to show off his work, not to mention the mystery artist. Perhaps both would overcome their shyness. The art show would last all week to allow everyone time to complete their entries.
No one in the Ark had admitted to owning the notebook, but Grapple felt that all the artist needed was some gentle persuasion since no one had asked for it back either. Hoist had checked the security cameras in medical to see if he could catch anything since that's where the notebook had originated, but the cameras must have recycled their tape for the month and recorded over the incident already because he'd found nothing. With Hoist's help, Grapple had then convinced Optimus Prime to allow the display of the notebook at the show, on the condition that if the artist requested the removal, Grapple and Hoist would immediately comply, which seemed perfectly fair. But Grapple doubted the mystery artist would refuse once he saw how Grapple had displayed his work and saw the admiration of his peers.
He'd carefully removed the pages from the notebook and framed each one, setting them up on easels or hanging them on the walls in the lounge. Well, all except the last picture, too wrinkled from Sunstreaker's actions to display. Grapple hoped that the shy artist would realize the worth and splendor of his art as an inspiration to everyone and for this very contest.
As Grapple approached the lounge, he heard someone inside. Was Hoist already in there moving some pictures around? Grapple heard the crash of glass, followed by the clatter of a collapsing easel and the ripping of paper.
Oh no!
Grapple ran to help only to freeze in the doorway at the sight of horror he now witnessed. Not just one, but all of the pictures – destroyed! Glass covered the floor, all the easels lay toppled, and the drawings themselves were torn and strewn across the room in deliberate abandon as if the lounge had been turned into a battlefield. And at the center of the chaos stood the guilty party – Sunstreaker!
"HOW DARE YOU!" Grapple felt hate flare up within him as he recklessly charged the yellow warrior.
Grapple had never liked Sunstreaker. His egotism was enough to drive most away in itself. His very aura was one of superiority and anything that dared to challenge that notion Grapple had learned didn't last long in his presence. But for someone who had once called himself an artist on Cybertron to allow such jealousy to…to…Grapple could not allow this…desecration to go unchallenged.
A picture frame hurled by Sunstreaker collided with Grapple's midsection with such force that the architect dropped to one knee. His charge impeded, he raised his arms to block the shards of glass from flying into his face. Grapple faced his attacker as contempt blazed in Sunstreaker's optics.
"You had no right…" Sunstreaker hissed, "…to display my work like this!"
HIS work?!? But that would mean that – The clues were all there.
Sideswipe: Hey, Sunny isn't this yours?
The way Sunstreaker had handled the notebook with a gentle familiarity.
Blaster: The dude's just jealous. Mirage: I'm not so sure. Sunstreaker really is a talented artist. Or at least he was back on Cybertron.
Jazz's wall mural.
Jazz: Sunstreaker's vain, yet…it's hard to imagine much better than what's already in that notebook…Sunny's the best artist I've seen.
The mystery artist was Sunstreaker!
Grapple had suspected for a little while, but he'd been deliberately lied to by the twins. It didn't make any sense! And it only made Grapple's anger fester. Why would Sunstreaker be such a "Liar!"
The last word slipped out and golden wrath stared him down. Grapple had seen first hand Sunstreaker's delicately deliberate mutilation of those who had ended up in the repair bay after getting on Sunstreaker's bad side. He remembered Jazz's story of interrogation and the rumors he'd heard of Sunstreaker being able to take a bot apart based on a calculated look. Anger turned to panic as he now saw himself as the yellow Lamborghini's next victim.
"Why would you…be one I mean?" Grapple stammered.
Instead of advancing on him, Sunstreaker's expression turned to one of disgust as if the architect wasn't even worth turning into something worthy of the junk heap.
"None of your slaggin' business," he snarled.
"I – I think it is," Grapple found his courage again. "You lied to everyone! Your brother lied to me! You could have just asked for your slagging notebook back you know! I wouldn't have said another word…"
Grapple could see Sunstreaker grinding the gears of his jaw servos, then stop as if consciously remembering a bad habit.
"And how was I supposed to quietly do that after the three ring circus of hot potato I walked in on?"
Three rings of hot what? Grapple wondered, obviously some Earth term he didn't know, but the jist and mocking quality of Sunstreaker's voice was unmistakably. But Grapple did feel a degree of guilt. Hadn't Hoist warned him about this? How quickly it had gotten out of hand.
"I'm sorry."
"What?" It was a surprise to see Sunstreaker draw his head back in confusion.
"I'm sorry. You wanted privacy. I did have no right." Grapple looked down at the glass picture frame he'd impacted with a few feet away from where he still kneeled, his ego just as broken. "But it still doesn't excuse your lies."
"Then why all this!?" Sunstreaker gestured at the former display of his work, not ready to accept any apology.
Grapple's head snapped up to face Sunstreaker. "That's what I'd like to know!" he shot back. He tried to keep the strain out of his voice, but the loss of such beauty made him want to cry out in despair. Everything he'd created or seen created lately ended up destroyed – his solar tower, now the notebook. During the latter's abandonment, he'd come to see himself as its guardian and keeper. But how could he fail as keeper of something that was never his to begin with? To destroy one's own work was inconceivable! "Why do this!?" he gestured in kind to the scene surrounding them. "Was it for spite?"
Sunstreaker's disgust returned.
"Was it not good enough?"
"Of course it was!" Sunstreaker sneered, his ego still very much in tact.
"THEN WHY!?" Grapple demanded with a force even he surprised himself that he had. Then he sagged, weary and tried of it all.
"Get up!" Sunstreaker again looked at Grapple with as much displeasure as he would a grease stain on his finish. "You're pathetic!"
"I'm what?" Grapple rose to his feet.
"You think because you're an artist, because you create things, that you're anything like me? You're NOT! I don't create anymore, I DESTROY! That is my function now! That is what a warrior does! My 'art' is now the art of death! WE ARE AT WAR! Soldiers who build solar towers with the enemy are naïve dreamers. They are traitors whose idle actions will get their teammates KILLED! Understand that!?"
Grapple felt the blows of each word but stood his ground. He was no traitor! He may not be a warrior, but he was every bit as worthy a soldier in the Autobot army for his own function was – that was it! He wasn't angry anymore and he knew why. He wasn't afraid of Sunstreaker anymore either…well, okay potential mangling was still very scary, but he now knew that – "You're scared of dreaming. That's why you did this!"
Sunstreaker glared and this time took a menacing step forward.
"You think who you were doesn't matter anymore. But you're a liar!"
Another menacing step.
"Otherwise why carry yourself like a living work of art."
Several more steps. Grapple backed into the wall close to the doorway.
"You're right. I'm nothing like you. What others destroy, I rebuild. Who others damage, I fix. That is MY function!"
No where to run now. Grapple was trembling but confident as a hand reached for his throat.
"I can't stop being what I am, even in war." Grapple stared at his attacker optic to optic. He felt the grip loosen on his throat as another panicked voice entered the lounge.
"Sunny you didn't!" Then Sideswipe saw the scene before him, both room and rampaging brother and whispered, "Primus, no!"
Sunstreaker glanced to his brother and Grapple felt himself released without further incident. Sunstreaker stalked out of the lounge without a word heading for who knew where. Grapple was certain the red twin would follow, not unlike before. So he was surprised to see Sideswipe stay and start picking up broken picture frames to help clean up the mess.
They continued working in silence for a long while until most of the debris was cleared and Grapple said, "It didn't have to come to this."
He didn't expect to hear Sideswipe reply, "I know."
Grapple remembered the hedgy brush off Sideswipe had given him before when he'd first suspected Sunstreaker of being the mystery artist. He wondered how much Sideswipe really meant that statement. But as Grapple replayed their conversation he realized Sideswipe hadn't lied to him so much as misled him. He'd been protecting his brother. Could Grapple really blame him for that? Wouldn't he do the very same for Hoist? Grapple also remembered Sideswipe had been nearly as horrified at his brother's desecration act. Just because he was loyal didn't mean he approved. The architect repeated his apology, this time hoping for better results.
"I can keep a secret Sideswipe."
Grapple felt the red twin probing him for reassurances of that truth. He briefly regretted that meant Hoist would never know who's notebook he'd found, but Hoist would understand. His friend had tried to convince him of the need for privacy all along. Finally, Sideswipe seemed satisfied at Grapple's words and gave a nod of acceptance.
"Is Sunstreaker really so ashamed?' Grapple asked.
Sideswipe raised an optical ridge quizzically, "Ashamed?"
"Of what he was before the war? What changes someone so much, even in war, that they could do something like this?" Grapple's thumb and forefinger pressed into the scraps of drawings he'd collected off the floor. "Did it happen over the course of one battle or over the vorns of many?"
Sideswipe remained impassive for a long moment as if wondering how much to say. "Ever heard of the siege of Nova Cronum?"
The question was rhetorical. Every Autobot knew about one of the worst massacres in Cybertronian history. Sideswipe's words were delivered with a combined hint of sarcasm and sadness. "Sunny had a very promising art career when…"
"Primus!"
From the way Sideswipe trailed off and looked away, Grapple knew there were details the twins preferred to keep private. But the red Lambo didn't need to say anymore. Grapple knew what it was the see his works, his buildings and constructions destroyed in war. He hadn't been there at the destruction of Crystal City by an unknown party, but he'd seen some of the aftermath, felt the rage and despair Sunstreaker also must have felt at Nova Cronum. He found himself telling of it to Sideswipe who nodded with a certain understanding.
There were times when Grapple wondered if he would ever draft again. But somehow he always found a way to keep going. For the true loss of places like Crystal City or Nova Cronum wasn't the loss of art and beauty, though it hurt down to his spark core, it was the loss of life. It had taken lots of destruction and a stern talking to by Hoist, but he'd finally learned that lesson.
Cities, buildings, bridges, they could all be rebuilt in time but people always couldn't, Grapple mused as he absently tried to match the pieces of a torn up picture back together before abandoning his effort. Still, he could never stop trying as a medic or an architect to fix and repair. Decepticons destroyed. Autobots rebuilt. If they forgot that, if they lost that hope, what made them any better than the enemy?
Sunstreaker had abandoned that hope. And the very little he had left he hid, denied, destroyed. It was a dangerous combination. No wonder both friend and foe feared Sunstreaker.
"Still, for Sunstreaker to give up what mattered to him most…" Grapple mused.
"Who says he did?" Sideswipe replied with a sad, mysterious, lopsided grin. And again Grapple knew that there was still so much he could never fathom about the twins. But before he could guess what Sideswipe might mean, the red Lambo added, "I hope my brother's little rampage doesn't mean that the art show isn't still on."
Grapple thought for a moment. Someone could come in at any moment. He scoped up the last of the picture fragments off the floor and hastened them to the waste disposal unit. The strewn mess was gone, fixed by him and Sideswipe, the room good as new.
"It's still on!" Grapple assured him with sudden confidence.
"Good," Sideswipe's lopsided grin broke into a full face-splitting smile. "Wait 'til you see my entry!"
"You draw too?" Grapple asked, now curious. It was the first time he'd contemplated if such art talent "ran in the family" so to speak.
Sideswipe laid a finger aside his nose in a confidential gesture Grapple didn't understand but it did remind him to ask something else.
"How did Sunstreaker's nose…?"
"He deserved it."
Yes, there were some things about the twins Grapple would never understand, but he found himself smiling all the same. He was glad Sideswipe had stayed. That's when Grapple remembered something else. The architect unsubspaced a folded piece of paper.
"I do believe it's past time this was returned."
Sideswipe unfolded the paper and brushed a hand over the wrinkled drawing inside. The last surviving picture of the "mystery" notebook would soon be back with its artist again…where it belonged.