26. In which Silverbolt tells a story (Follow-up to Chapter 15)

(Warnings for mature topics: discussion of merits of physical discipline. Gets pretty intense. If it reads like a lecture, that's because I happen to feel very strongly about this.)

"Yo. Blades."

The helo turned around, wary; the voice belonged to Air Raid, which explained his reaction. Under ordinary circumstances, and especially given the confrontation they'd had only yesterday, Blades expected only trouble from the owner of that voice. But today he wasn't alone; First Aid and Streetwise sat with him, and if neither was exactly the most combative of mechs, they wouldn't allow someone to mess with their brother either. So he didn't rise to the defensive... yet. Even when he saw Slingshot was with him.

"Got a minute?" Air Raid asked, still doing the talking. Slingshot stood sullenly by his side, avoiding looking directly at the Protectobot. But then, he was the less social of the two. And Air Raid's voice sounded civil enough... Blades shrugged.

"Got a couple hours. Not going anywhere until my next patrol. Why? Do you two need flying lessons?"

There was a bit of bristling on Slingshot's part, but neither of them actually rose to the bait. Instead of a retort, what Blades got was, "We owe you an apology. I mean, kind of. You did hit Fireflight, and that... well, that's not cool. But I'm guessing you didn't mean it." The hard expression that edged his optics at that statement said that he'd better not have meant it.

Blades thought briefly about baiting them again, but decided it would be stupid, even for him. He shook his head. "I didn't see him," he said honestly. "When you're all together like that I can't tell you apart. I wasn't going after your mate, just you guys. I don't hit people who don't hit first." Well, that part wasn't entirely honest, but it was close. And it was true he hadn't been aiming at Flight, or even realized he was in the way.

That seemed to be enough to satisfy Air Raid, who nodded, relaxed again. "In that case, yeah, apology owed. We overreacted a tad. You know, Aerialbot high spirits and all." He grinned, as if he found the whole situation amusing in retrospect... which he probably did. It wouldn't surprise Blades at all.

Slingshot still didn't look happy; that didn't surprise Blades either. But all of a sudden he did something that surprised the hell out of all the Protectobots at the table (to say nothing of Air Raid). He cycled his vents, squared his shoulders, looked Blades in the eye, and said, "I'm sorry." There was the briefest incredulous pause; almost hurriedly he went on, "Sorry we ganged up on you. That wasn't really fair on our part. You don't stand a chance against one of us, let alone two. Next time I decide to kick your ass, I'll tell Air Raid to stay out of it."

He hesitated, then thrust out a hand, stiffly, unfamiliar with the gesture. "Deal?"

Blades stared at the hand. He was still in something of a daze as he took it in an uncertain shake. "Uh, yeah. Sure. Hey, did Ironhide knock some wiring loose when he smacked you guys, or what?"

Something in his face flickered, and Slingshot stepped back, suddenly hard to read -- Blades knew most of his negative reactions, and he couldn't tell if what he glimpsed was a flash of anger, embarrassment, hurt, disgust, or all of the above. Whatever it was, it passed quickly. The Harrier shrugged, "Whatever," and turned away to show that he was done with the helicopter. "C'mon, Raid, now we got that over with. I still owe you a virtual aft-kicking."

As they walked out to resume their gaming, Air Raid gave an absent-minded wave to the corner. "Hi, Bolt."

From where he had sat watching the whole exchange, entirely without interference or influence -- not even a subtle visual signal to the pair, who hadn't looked at him anyway -- Silverbolt allowed himself a small beam of pride after they were gone. He looked at Ironhide, sitting beside him, and saw a bit of that pride reflected, along with an astonishment similar to Blades'.

"Well, what d'you know?" The old warrior shook his head. "Never thought they had it in 'em. Maybe I did manage to knock some sense into 'em after all, huh?"

He meant it lightly, but Silverbolt turned a dark expression his way. It wasn't so much angry as troubled, and the Aerialbot leader reinforced that impression by sighing and rubbing his optics.

"Ironhide, I need to mention something about that. I was angry yesterday, beyond angry really, and possibly out of line, threatening you. But I don't want you to think for a minute that I didn't mean every word." He paused, looking up, gathering himself to say something, something obviously difficult. Or private.

"I can't imagine what Cybertron was like when you were young, or what kind of upbringing you had. It isn't any of my business. But I'm going to tell you some things about my team that I wouldn't divulge unless I thought they were very important, so please, listen for a moment." He turned to stare into space, and Ironhide waited, with a patience few would have thought he possessed, wondering what would have made such a young mech look like he had so much weight on his shoulders.

Quite suddenly Silverbolt began to speak again. "We have no secrets from Superion, you know. Through him, we know everything about each other's strengths and weaknesses... and more. Through him, I know that Skydive was the only one of us lucky enough to have been raised without violence." Ironhide blinked. Silverbolt wasn't looking at him. "The excuses are easy. There's a war on, you know. People are fighting everywhere -- why should the young mechs in training have it any different? For me, it began with my first flight. I had a fully qualified mentor, one who had showed patience with me in everything else. The time came for me to make my first launch, off a platform about ten stories tall. Good height, you could get above the buildings that way. He was standing beside me, ready to assess my takeoff." The voice slowed, became pained. "I... couldn't. I looked over the edge and for the first time I imagined what it would be like to fall so far. It paralyzed me. I transformed, took a step back, and told him I couldn't do it."

He forced himself, it seemed, to look at Ironhide. "He pushed me. No warning. I was still frozen. I managed to transform back and fired thrusters, but I had no steering, no control. I crashed." Optics dimmed, shuttered. "I needed extensive repairs, but the medics couldn't do anything to erase the fear that was embedded in me that day. My mentor never uttered a word of apology. He said he did what he had to, and it worked." A bitter laugh. "It worked all right. I never let myself hesitate again. But... sometimes I wonder if... if there wasn't a better way to teach me that. To this day, I hate flying. I do it with the feeling that I have to, that's all. I never hesitate... but I still feel the same old terror. If I hadn't been pushed that day, I might enjoy flying as much as the others do. Maybe not. But I might."

Ironhide looked away, because he had to, and picked up his energon cube even though it was empty. He didn't say a word as he stared into the crystalline container. Not a damn thing he could think of to say.

Silverbolt recovered admirably. He sounded a little shaken, but he picked up and drained the rest of his own cube, then went on calmly. "Well, we all have our issues. At least, after talking to a bunch of psychs, I was able to pin down mine. Poor Fireflight, though... No one knows why he loses focus the way he does. I think it was the way he was made, not something that was done to him. But that doesn't stop the fact that a lot of people have done things to him, trying to change him. Trying to 'make him pay attention'." An angry snort. "Needless to say, it worked about as well with him as it did with me. He never could stick with an instructor for long, they'd give him up in disgust, but the last one he had -- from what Air Raid's told me -- thought for sure he could fix him. Unfortunately, he was one of those mechs who thought fixing a broken piece of equipment meant yelling at it and pounding on it with a wrench." The anger in his voice rose, was checked forcefully. "Kid still had dents in his head when I met him," he finished quietly.

"Primus watch over them," Ironhide murmured softly, the old prayer falling from his lips without a thought. Silverbolt went on as if he hadn't heard.

"Air Raid was luckier. He took quite a few smacks, both in fights and from would-be disciplinarians, but it never seemed to stick with him. He just got more and more unruly. Took me forever just to get him to listen to an order that didn't have some kind of threat behind it -- that's how out of control it had gotten. He'd had so many people lose their temper with him that it just didn't faze him anymore. He's still difficult, Primus knows, but he does listen now, and he'll stand up for me or his team till Unicron comes. He's a hero. He always was, dammit -- just no one saw it. All that recklessness and high-spiritedness they were trying to stamp out, has saved our afts more times than I can count.

"And Slingshot... oh, Slingshot. His privacy means a lot to him, I don't want to take that away. But I can tell you that every cruel thing you've ever heard him say to another mech, he's heard that himself, and worse, time and again. My whole team is just starting to chip away all of that slag that was knocked into his skull. When you lashed out at them yesterday, he backslid a little. He does that sometimes. It's not usually serious, but it keeps him from recharge. He stays up and games all night to drown out the yelling voice in his head."

There was a long, shaken pause, the air still vibrating with words not strong enough for what they were trying to convey. Silverbolt seemed to be waiting for Ironhide to speak, but at length, when it became apparent he wasn't, the Aerialbot commander finished. "I believe you had good intentions. I believe that you did what you thought was right. But that doesn't matter. It doesn't matter if it's done out of anger or necessity or, or for 'someone's own good'. It messed up at least two of us, didn't do two others any good at all... and I'm not going to let it happen again. You keep your beliefs, Ironhide, and your methods. If they work with your recruits, and if Prime approves them, it's none of my business. Just don't lay a hand on my team again."

Without another word he picked up his empty cube and left. Ironhide had plenty of time to reply, or shout something after him, but didn't. He sat staring into his own for many more dragging minutes, then picked it up and crushed it in his fist.

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I am so writing something lighter next chap. Apologies, but I'm exhausted. No reader replies tonight. I'll catch up next chapter, okay?