The cable sizzles for a bit before finally detaching and Rumble is quick to grab it before it can get lost in the mess they're dealing with.
"Got it! Where to now?" The Cassette asks, turning to look up at Rattrap, who is examining the new connections they've been making for the past two hours.
"Eh, I'd say here, but give me a sec, Short Stuff."
"Need to reboot that old thing you call a processor, Garbage Muncher?"
"You've got no right to call me that when you eat as much as I do, you furry snake. Even worse!" The Maximal protests, glaring at the smirking Predacon.
"Nuh huh, I don't eat things that two days before were known as 'food going bad'." The smaller mech retorts, shaking the cable dangling from his servo as he waggles a dactyl.
"It wasn't fully bad. Besides, it was just once!"
"That's not what Dinobot says."
"Dino-butt says a lot of things you shouldn't listen to." The Rat deadpans, holding a servo out. "Now give me that, I need to connect these two and then we're done here." He adds, shrugging the topic off with ease as he taps some of the machinery they're fiddling with.
Rhinox said the shock wave from the transwarp explosion that changed them should be reaching Cybertron by now, which means someone will finally be able to track them down and take them back.
But it also implies Megatron acting bolder, more desperate, to try to do something before such an event.
So, everyone is working their hardest to improve the Axalon's defense, the eagerness and hope almost literally palpable… as are the uneasiness and fear from the Predacons in their midst.
Dinobot is resigned, an air of defeat tampered by something resembling relief surrounding him at their approaching chance to return home, and the reason is, obviously, the trial and consequent punishment awaiting him.
Even though Rattrap has promised to call in all the favors even the lowest of scum he dealt with owe him to give him a slap on the wrist instead of a full blown penalty, there's no getting rid of that pessimism.
Because both of them know it will be a hard battle to win.
And then, there's the rest of Predacons.
Ramjet is uncomfortable, nervous, looking to Starscream even more than usual for any kind of guidance, and growing clumsier due to his agitation by the day. Most often than not it's amusing, but, sometimes, it's annoying.
The Cassettes seem to be taking it better, but there's no mistaking the worry in almost their every move, how they're beginning to act like the newsparks they always deny being, and that makes the Maximals and Dinobot wonder and worry.
And then, there's Starscream. Instead of worrying, the Flier is getting frustrated, snapping more easily and always busy, though there's nowhere near as much work as whatever he's doing.
Or seems to be doing.
For all they know, he could be working on an escape plan, or something of the like, for as soon as they get to Cybertron.
After all, he is the one with the darkest situation awaiting him.
So, no, Rattrap doesn't think it weird, even if it's really uncomfortable to deal with the Seeker in his perpetual bad mood.
The cable being put on his servo brings him back to the present, so the Maximal shrugs those thoughts away and focuses on his task.
"I wouldn't do that."
The two of them jerk around at the voice, startled not to see Starscream approaching him, but the void of emotion in his optics and faceplate.
"What? Did something happen?" Rumble asks, worried, and the Flier answers with an empty smile that gives the Rodent the chills.
"I have a way to go back."
For a moment, there's nothing as they process those words.
And then, the Weasel falls on his butt, so much hope on his faceplate that it's almost painful.
"You… You can…"
The empty smile softens, warmth seeping into it, and the next thing to escape the Cassette's mouth is a sob that has the Flier kneeling next to him in an instant, embracing him carefully but firmly.
"We'll go back… We'll go back…"
"Of course we will, you furry pest. I promised, didn't I?"
"You're the best, Creator, you're the best…"
When he finally notices he's smiling, Rattrap is quick to turn away to try and hide it.
He is not a mushy mech, he's not.
Which means he focuses on the thing right in front of him now.
The open panel.
"Wait. We have a way to go back too. They're coming for us, remember?"
"They will come. There's no way to know if they will take you back." Starscream answers, and Rumble tenses in his hold at the darkness in the Flier's voice.
"What?" Rattrap manages to get out, though it sounds so strangled it's barely more than a crackle of static.
"You know about the Council's machinations, their wanderings into the creation of immortal soldiers. And you think the Predacons would take any Maximals back, especially those with the knowledge of their rising urge to make a grab at power?" The Falcon explains, and, this time, it's Rattrap the one to sit down to digest his shock.
"You're wrong. You can't be right."
"For your sake, I hope so. But I do not leave the safety of my allies, of my family, in the servos of something as fickle as luck and good wishing."
After a moment, there's a servo resting on the Rodent's knee joint, and, uncaring about when he lowered his helm, he slowly looks up to see Rumble's confident smirk.
"Come on, Cheese Lover, cheer up! Screamer said he has a way to get us back, so we will get back, even if whoever is sent for us doesn't really take us. So, up and about! The sooner we help him build his contraption, the sooner we go back home!"
A chuckle escapes his voice box before he can stop himself, but, after a moment, Rattrap decides what the Inferno, and starts laughing earnestly, standing up as soon as he's able to.
"Alright, alright! You better get us to our Cybertron though, you hear me? If I end a minute further from the time we went away, I'm going to pluck out every single one of your feathers, Screecher!"
"Screecher?!" The Seeker shrieks, fuming and snarling, but his dangerous expression turns to simple annoyance when the Weasel starts rolling on the floor in laughter.
"Primus, of course! He doesn't want to-to be called Screamer, so we c-call him something else! Why didn't I thi-think of that?!" The Cassette chortles, clutching his lower torso as his mirth racks his frame.
"'Cause I got a thing you don't, Furry Bug. It's called a processor." The Maximal answers, earning an annoyed yelp from the smaller mech and a snort from the Flier. "Now, what do you need us to do?"
Back to the serious topic, any previous emotions are wiped off the Predacons' faceplates eve before the Rat can reboot his optics.
Creepy.
But, well… He's kind of used to it by now, anyway.
"I'm going to need more material than what we have available, but it should all be easily obtainable from Megatron's jamming towers and the planet's natural reserves."
"Right, just one problem with that." Rattrap interrupts, scratching the back of his helm, and the grimace on the Falcon's faceplate tells him they're both aware of what he's going to say next. "I doubt the Boss Monkey will let you waltz out of the ship to pick up the materials when the Preds are practically at our doors. And, by the way, since when do you know any engineering?"
And Starscream looks away, a faraway look in his optics and his servos clenching in tight fists.
"You don't spend as much time around scientists as I did without picking things up."
That makes no—
Oh. Oh.
"I thought you didn't remember about…"
The humorless smirk appearing on the Predacon's face silences Rattrap and makes Rumble take a step closer to the Maximal.
"That I don't want to remember doesn't mean I can't."
Well, slag.
And, talking about Starscream's origins…
"Are you going to come back with us? You know, as soon as the Maximals know who you are—"
"Are you going to betray us?" Rumble asks, moving away from the larger mech with horror and so much hurt on his expression that the Rodent feels a stab of pain in his spark.
"No! Never! But… I can't speak for the others. I mean, Optimus won't say a thing, and neither will Rhinox, you've proven yourself, after all, but… Spots' a kid, he babbles a lot, and I know he won't do a thing of his own volition but… You know how he gets when telling tales of old battles… And Bolt was terrified of you. Sure, it looks like he calmed down, especially after the thing with the scarecrow—" And Starscream tenses, his optics brightening in realization. "Yeah, you can't really know what he'll do, not unless you can—"
"Get into his processor." The Seeker finishes, and the tone he speaks with is more than enough to make all of Rattrap's alarms blare so loudly he almost misses the Weasel's dumbfounded cry.
"What in the name of my great aunt Arcee are you planning?" He asks carefully, stepping back at the considering look on the Flier's faceplate, but especially at the tentative clawed servo rising to rest on reddish feather-covered chest plates.
"Nothing. You just gave me something to think about."
"And I'm a Pred." The Rodent deadpans, and that manages to make the smaller two focus back on the present.
"Always thought you weren't all that Maximal." Starscream answers with a tiny smirk, easily sidestepping the punch the silver and brown mech throws at him. "No, back to business now. I'm not planning anything that could harm you." He adds, serious once more, and, somewhat reluctantly, the Rat huffs and calms down. "If it works, that is."
The Maximal tenses once more, mouth opening to tell the once more smirking Predacon and his almost breathless laughing companion just what he thinks of their jokes—
When he realizes that this is the first time since Rhinox told them the news of their chance to go back that the Predacons have sincerely smiled, not to say laughed as carelessly as Rumble is doing now.
The glint in the Flier's optics as his smirk turns to a grateful smile lets him know he's realized what the Rodent is thinking, so the Maximal just huffs and turns away.
And, with his back to the other two, allows himself to smile.
It's good to have things back to some semblance of normality. And, hey, if all goes well, maybe they won't have to change when they get back. Maybe no one will tell about who the Predacons really are, and maybe Dinobot won't be as severely punished as they all fear.
And maybe he's being way too optimistic, but they need to be, more than any other time before.
Besides, it wasn't like their odds of surviving the Beast Wars when they first crashed were any better, but they managed.
Minus Tigatron and Airrazor…
But, if they're going with maybes, maybe they were just taken, so that means they will be able to get them back once they're on Cybertron and have the Council's resources available to them.
Maybe.
For once in his function, Rattrap is willing to bet on that.
Meaning…
"You know, if you really can get us to Cybertron, I know this little place we could go celebrate." He starts, casually slinging an arm over the suspicious Flier's shoulders, though careful about the sensitive feathers adorning them. "You can get dirty mech fluid with just a touch of radium. I'll take your head right off!" He puts the tip of his dactyls to his lips in a little kissing gesture to emphasize just how good it is, and the Seeker looks more than a little interested. "And not only that…"
"There's more?" Rumble cuts, optics wide and hopeful and eager, and Rattrap's processor freezes.
Newspark detected. Initialize subtlety.
So, the Maximal leans even closer to the Predacon under his arm, lowering his voice to a whisper, and recovers his smirk.
"Not only that, but the serving bots are walking around minus their torso plates, you know what I mean?"
The Weasel's optics widen in realization before breaking down in loud cackles once more, and Rattrap curses in his processor.
Slag, just what do Preds teach their newsparks for one to understand that kind of innuendo?
And then, the Maximal blinks and finds himself crashing against a wall with a pained yelp, an irate shriek piercing his audials.
"Sheesh, Screamer, easy!" He whines, awkwardly sitting up and rubbing his aching helm with a grimace. "How was I supposed to know the brat would get—"
The words die when the blade is buried to the hilt where his helm had been barely half a second before, a white-streaked black frame with voids of light for optics growling at the terrified mech scurrying away.
Slag slag slagslagslagslagslagSLAG!
The reinforced metal forming the walls is cut with barely a sizzle, the feather blade tightly clutched in the Flier's servos detaching with the ease of a hot knife from a chunk of butter, and Rattrap's back hits the wall.
Never ever again doing any kind of dirty comment in front of the newsparks—if I survive!
"Starscream, what the Pit are you doing?!" Rumble shouts from where he's lying on the floor, shaking in terror. "What's so wrong about a stripper's club?!"
To the Maximal's increasing fear and growing hope, the Flier stops growling.
And Rattrap finally manages to online his voice box again.
"I'm sorry! How was I supposed to know he would get that reference?" He squeaks, his voice so high-pitched it almost hurts his own audials.
Slowly, the black coloring recedes, leaving a slightly shaking Seeker standing in the middle of the corridor with his null-blades in his tremulous servos, soft pants escaping his frame as his pale optics stare sightlessly at the ground.
"It… was supposed to be… innuendo?"
"Yes!" The Maximal almost shouts, relief turning his frame to a puddle of melted metal. "What in the name of my great aunt Arcee did you think I meant?!"
The null-blades clatter to the ground, and Rattrap's relief turns to tension once more as the Predacon clutches his own helm with terror and pain clear in his faceplate.
"I… I'm not X."
The Rodent's spark turns to a chunk of ice in its chamber, all his systems freezing with horror.
"You thought I was telling you that… that the kind of bar… that the club was… a buffet?"
The Seeker's whimper and the way he steps back are more than answer enough.
If Rattrap was organic, he would have emptied his stomach right there and then.
"By the Matrix, Starscream, I would never… You know I don't think of you like that, you know I'd never say anything remotely close to that! I know you're not Rampage, I know you're not the Decepticon Starscream, I know! So little do you trust me?" He lets out, his horror and pain clear in his voice and grimace, but, even though the Flier stops shaking and drops his servos, he doesn't look at the Maximal.
"I trust you, Rattrap. I don't trust myself."
Silence.
Unable to find a way to answer that, the Rodent decides to do what he does best.
Misdirection. Distraction.
"Well, then you will be the one to show me some new bars. Hey, imagine that! Me in a Predacon bar!"
The Seeker snorts, and Rattrap counts it as one of his biggest victories yet, especially when Rumble stands up and joins them once more.
"I don't do bars, Garbage Muncher."
"'Course you do! How do you get overcharged then? At home watching soap operas?" Both Predacons laugh loudly at that, and, though he's happy to have elicited such a reaction, the Maximal feels like he's missing some kind of inner joke.
"Pit, no. I just don't get overcharged."
"Prude."
"I do drink, Rattrap." Starscream answers, his tone very clearly stating just how big an idiot he thinks the Rodent is. "I just don't get overcharged."
"Well, then I'll have to teach you! It's just a matter to drink until you feel happy and warm and fuzzy, and then drink more!" He returns cheerfully, standing up and once more slinging an arm over the Falcon's shoulders. "As easy as pie!"
"Your teaching talents are astonishing." The Cassette mocks, but Rattrap simply answers with as exaggerated a bow as he can sketch while not releasing his grip on the older Predacon.
"I do not get overcharged. That means I can't get overcharged. Literally."
That makes the Maximal step away from the Flier in shock.
Though the tension in his frame, the way he crosses his arms against his chest plates almost protectively, are a hint of what he's not telling.
Most likely, neither the original Starscream nor Rampage can get overcharged either.
Seeing how he's already filled his quota of Stupid Things to Say at the Wrong Times that Will Get Me Killed, the Rodent stops for a nanoklik to think of something that will probably let him keep his spark in his chest plates, thank you very much…
And smirks.
"No wonder you're so cranky all the time."
Rumble snorts, Starscream glares, and the world is right again.
Until, back at the bridge to try and subtly convince Optimus to let them go 'sabotage' the Predacons instead of allowing Megatron to take the fight to them, Silverbolt comes back to the ship.
"So, where've you been, Bird Dog?" He asks casually, but the Fuzor tenses slightly nevertheless.
"Uh, scout patrol."
Stuttering. Clue number two.
As for three…
"Oh, yeah, yeah, scouting the enemy, yeah… Find any new positions?"
And Silverbolt attacks him.
Strike three, you're out!
Fortunately, Optimus stops the Flier before he can do more than give the Rodent a couple dents, but the look Dinobot gives them both tells the spy that he's not the only one that knows their dear Bolt is tangled in a web.
"What's going on here?" Primal questions, walking to the two mechs, and Rattrap immediately turns his frown to one of indignation.
"How should I know? This hotheaded hound just went postal on me!" He exclaims still from under the Flier's pede, and, after moment, Silverbolt relaxes and steps off of him.
"My… apologies. I… overreacted." He answers, bowing his helm and lifting a servo as if to hide himself in shame.
"Believe me, I know Rattrap can have that effect. But now is not the time. Back to your posts." Optimus orders calmly, voice low to sooth his crewmech's high-strung wires.
"Rattrap… or the truth." Starscream adds offhandedly from where he's standing next to the projector, and the Fuzor tenses once more, ears pulling back in a defensive reaction once the Falcon turns a knowing look to him. "The origins don't dictate who they become, Silverbolt. Yes, mechs can change… but it isn't always for the better. And if there ever was something like 'Maximal inner goodness', don't you think X would be here, helping you out?" With every new sentence, the white Flier tenses even more, starting to shake, and Rattrap almost gasps when he realizes why.
"Yeah, you can't really know what he'll do, not unless you can—"
"Get into his processor."
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me…"
"You are here." Silverbolt hisses, and the smirk Starscream answers with is the other side of Cybertron from sane.
"But you don't know why."
The whole crew shivers at that—immediately accompanied by the ship shaking at the impact of a shot against their shields, sending them to the floor or against the consoles.
"We're under attack!"
"No, really?!"
AN: I'm baaaack!
And I've got the best job ever. I mean, do you know of any other job that welcomes you with "All hail Megatron!"? ... I found it really funny the first day it happened, but since it still happens, I can't help but feel like it really is the best job ever XD Imagine it, my day is like:
"All hail Megatron! We need three mixed salads!"
"As you command!"
(I work in a restaurant, in the kitchen XP)
My apologies for the first part, it... happened. But since it couldn't not happen, the chapter was complete a lot sooner than I expected.
I hope you enjoy it, and I'll try to post the next one next week, but no promises.
Giddy: Thanks a lot for telling me about the filler-like chapter ^^ It really helped me a lot.
And about the other review... I'm glad to know Dinobot is still as amusing as ever XD And Starscream's new 'ability' does indeed have interesting possibilities... *evil smirk*