Don't know that I will
But until I can find me
A girl who'll stay
And won't play games behind me
I'll be what I am
A solitary man
Johnny Cash (doing a Neil Diamond song)
Thundercracker's retreating back had become a familiar sight to Mixmaster. Perhaps if he weren't constantly trying to get the larger mech's attention, then he wouldn't be swallowing this constant feeling of desperate frustration that just PULLED him to the object of his desire like a godly planet's gravity. He was irresistible.
"Th-th-th-thundercracker?" he called.
The bright blue and white body never rotated. The legs alternated, the hips swayed slightly, and the head continued pointing forward. "Skywarp gave you the last part of the repair payment," Thundercracker rumbled, pace accelerating slightly (or was that Mixmaster's imagination?).
"I was wo-wo-wo-" curse this faulty vocalizer! Both Hook and Scrapper had yet to find the source of it, and it seemed to short out at the WORST moments!
Thundercracker didn't give him even a backwards glance before slamming his chamber door in the Constructicon's face.
"-Wondering if you wanted...to..." Oh just give it up. Why did he even make a second attempt after the colossal fool he'd made of himself the last time he'd admitted his attraction? Because it had initiated a rift between Skywarp and Thundercracker, one that had the large blue jet actually flashing a few secretive smiles in the Constructicon's direction, making him feel as though he'd made some headway. But that had dried up as quickly as it had emerged, and Mixmaster was back to being ignored.
Skywarp seemed to materialize from behind (but he didn't at the base because it ticked off Megatron) and shoved him aside with a lot more force than was necessary. "He doesn't want you, loser. Go find one of your freaky buddies to talk to."
He lay there, pondering the meaning of life, until Bonecrusher called him up for repair duty.
He had never known an ecstasy like this. Wave after wave of some kind of cooling red balm, one that smoothed rough edges and completely erased all of the hurt and made him feel beautiful, loved, accepted - it all emanated and pulsed and hit a hot blue energy field like a tennis ball on a cement wall, bouncing back to him and hurting a little.
Jazz snickered at the noises made. Mixmaster didn't care. So THIS was what everyone had been talking about: how one minute you were trying to kill each other, the next a nasty Autobot was on top of you, sliding his hands around places his fingers shouldn't know about and making you feel so good you couldn't see anything in front of you. Shockwave had warned them about mixing - how you never knew how a blue field would affect you, how Autobots had different microbes living in them and they might give you a virus, what giving that kind of lower-class scum power over you would do - but it had happened so wonderfully fast Mixmaster hadn't time or inclination to object. The sheer reaction of their different fields…he'd wondered…it felt better than any rapturous conquest, more exhilarating than any magnificent structure, and Jazz-
-was getting up. "They're playing your song, honey," he purred, pulling Mixmaster to his feet, turning him around, and giving his backside a saucy smack. Sure enough, Megatron had called for a retreat. "Better run along home."
"I had fu-" he wanted to ask Jazz to meet him somewhere and do this again. He wanted to feel those hands all over him one more time. He wanted Jazz to stop transforming but the Decepticons were taking off above him and the Porsche had peeled away and the slightly unsavory sensation that this had not been passion overtaking both of them but a very cruel distraction was clinging to his conscience like residual oil at the bottom of a beaker.
"Where were you?" Scrapper snarled upon Mixmaster flying up to join them. "We couldn't form Devastator!" Implied was that this was the reason the Decepticons were soundly defeated. Mixmaster's feeling of being used increased tenfold, crushing whatever pleasure had lingered.
"I was distracted," he reported glumly, realizing that it would be a LONG time before he'd be allowed near any of his cohorts, who would regard him as 'tainted' for this sin he'd committed.
"Jazz?" Scavenger asked. Mixmaster stared back, his astonishment unconcealed. He nodded.
They comprehended. "He fights dirty. What did he do, pretend to surrender and then open fire once you got close enough? He did that to Bonecrusher."
"Starscream, too."
"He got me by waiting 'til I was trying to fix something he'd broken on the generator," Hook supplied.
"He got me when I was moving parts," Longhaul complained.
"I was ambushed in a dump," Scavenger admitted.
It was all Mixmaster could do to keep from wanting to hit something. Although he was forgiven, even getting empathy, it was for the wrong thing. Their testimonials were for Jazz being excessively violent, not tender. Unfortunately, Jazz was creative, sensing what each one of them needed, and using it to his advantage. He'd somehow figured out what Mixmaster badly desired and exploited it for his own devices. The depression hit him like rain, cascading down and saturating him. He'd been used. Deceived.
"Hey Mixmaster! Yer wanted in the throneroom!" Rumble called, sounding gleeful.
Scrap.
Cliques. In-groups. Gestalts. Trines. Whatever. Hierarchal structures had their place, but when it came to chasing metal, they SHOULD, in theory, be classified as a secondary concern. At least Mixmaster thought so.
Not as such. Everyone had a group of people, everyone had an agenda, and none of it gave room for HIM. He felt as though he were intruding on some kind of sacred fraternity any time he attempted rapport with his fellow Decepticons.
"Beat it," Ramjet snarled.
"Get out of my way or I'll tear you apart!" Motormaster bellowed.
"Leave him alone or I'm telling Megatron!" Skywarp brandished his guns for emphasis.
"What do YOU want?" Blast Off sighed, as though ONE more inconvenience to his day were just too much for his finite patience.
"Um-um-um-" He hated stumbling all over himself. He got so unnerved he began to cackle to himself, making communication even more difficult.
"GET OUT OF HERE!" Brawl thundered, looking as threatening as he sounded.
The problem with his own gestaltmates was that they were too close to him; it invalidated what he was trying to do. They of course didn't know this, and assumed it was loneliness. They had made it abundantly comprehensible that they did not think of him that way and would NOT, because they knew him too well and barely tolerated him as it was.
"Hook?"
He kept staring at that door as though he expected someone to walk through it. When it became apparent that the entrance would remain unoccupied, Hook finally tore his visor away from it to address Mixmaster.
"What?"
Mixmaster braced himself, ready for the onslaught of annoyance yet to come.
"Can you help me?"
Hook didn't need further clarification. "Who is it this time?" he sighed.
"Blast Off."
Hook shuddered. "I hate your taste in mechs." After a moment of suspense, the crane came up with a scheme: one of the satellites needed repair, and although it was not high on the list of Constructicon priorities, it could be made that way. Blast Off would take both of them up to repair any and all damage.
"Perfect," Mixmaster announced.
"My plans are," Hook retorted.
It was bizarre, but Hook had an amazing talent of being able to get Decepticons to talk about their favorite subjects.
"I prefer shorter missions, to the Moon or something nearby," Blast Off explained, steering them clear of a careening human satellite. "There's something to be said for traveling far enough away to not hear Starscream yet close enough that you will not miss him being reprimanded."
"Hehehehe," Mixmaster giggled, perhaps a little too much. Hook didn't show it but he was internally frowning. Blast Off had been discussing Starscream nonstop ever since takeoff. It was disconcerting, especially when Mixmaster gave him another elbowing to prompt him.
Hook hated being Mixmaster's mouthpiece/enabler. The talking-up never worked. All it did was make them both look like fools and it crushed his gestaltmate and made HIM wonder what was wrong with his delivery. But every time the crane wanted to say 'no' he couldn't bring himself to do it. Mixmaster's disappointment in the hands of another, not Hook, was the easier option. He'd better say something, he was being elbowed again.
"And who doesn't want to miss that?" he asked. Quick, change the subject! "You must get lonely performing these missions on your own."
"I do," Blast Off agreed softly, "but I would rather deal with the occasional loneliness than having to tolerate another Decepticon relationship. When we get back home I'm finding a neutral and enjoying a long, uncomplicated interaction."
Mixmaster chuckled. He hadn't gotten the point. Hook did. He immediately began discussing their mission, although it annoyed his fellow Constructicon to the point that on their way back he FINALLY spoke up for himself.
"Would-would-would you like to come down to my lab when we get back?" he asked, fingers fumbling over themselves as they clicked together. It was a nervous habit that he thought he'd eradicated long ago.
"Whatever for?" Blast Off asked off-the-cusp. His attention was more focused on atmosphere re-entry.
Mixmaster was at a complete loss. "Um-um-um-"
"He wants to get to know you better," Hook interrupted, tired of all of this social stumbling. "He finds you moderately attractive." That was his own word, 'moderately.' Hook had found it a good insult that no one took as such, the sloppy mechs that they were. Decepticons had such LOW standards...
Mixmaster wanted more than that. He wanted to fling open the doors of his inner sanctum and show Blast Off everything, let him see the quirks, the endearments, the intimate, the silly, the sweet, just please come in and be welcome! Be his. Be somebody to be proud of. Be somebody who meshed well with him. He waited as the entire vessel shook and the dangerous part of their journey finished.
"I'm busy," Blast Off replied. "For the rest of the cycle." He did not offer another time. He did not offer anything. Mixmaster nodded, Hook turned away to retrieve their cargo, and Blast Off turned his focus to landing.
Omega Supreme was missed by only one Constructicon.
Most of them had their reasons: the guardian was old, outdated, had assaulted them when he assumed that they were manipulated by the Robo-Smasher, his refusal to join with them had ruined any goodwill, etc. Mixmaster didn't care for the reasons behind the fallout anymore than he cared to recall the uncertainty and discomfort they'd went through in the time leading up to the end; all he remembered was the positive. He did not voice his pining, preferring instead to spend more time in his laboratory concocting greater chemicals of doom.
Hook thought nothing more of it. He was more relieved that Mixmaster had ceased his attempts to conjoin himself with those who considered him undesirable. The clueless nut did not understand that they were just not interested. Mixmaster was far too different and, to tell the truth, closer to what would be classified as 'ugly.' Thundercracker had revealed what was wrong with Mixmaster when he'd demanded to know what the Constructicon would do for HIM and Mixmaster had been mute. If one could not bring something to elevate the status of the other, there would be no interaction. It was that simple.
Omega Supreme had loved Mixmaster the best. The mixer was Omega's favorite, someone who lit up the gruff giant's entire face and made him laugh. They had an amazing chemistry that he seemed unable to replicate, even today. Mixmaster rooted around for scraps of high regard and always came up empty. Omega's lack of presence continued to be a source of grief for an unwanted, ugly, crazy mech.
Megatron found out. Nobody knew who had told him, perhaps Blast Off and Starscream WERE a little more chummy than others had assumed, and given Starscream's tendency to talk...when their fearless leader discovered an injured dolphin leaking blood in his pool of lust he was not a shark to overlook an easy meal.
Mixmaster had been called down into Megatron's throne room and led out of there by their leader so fast the only thing the other five could do was stare in shock at them passing on their way to another part of the ship. Megatron had snarled "Discover what happens to those who are FAR too preoccupied with my soldier's personal interests!" to them over his shoulder, stalking down the hallway with a frightening mien, continuing to shout orders to the remaining Constructicons to wait for Mixmaster's return. Whenever that would be.
Hook slunk down with the others into repair bay and reticently bore the Seeker's taunts and insults and horror stories.
"When he had ME pay homage I couldn't stand up straight. Remember how long it took you to fix that, Scrapper?"
"The first time he did that to Frenzy he cried for a cycle."
"Did not!"
Even Soundwave wanted to get in the act. "Megatron: rough."
Starscream was the worst. "He heard that Mixmaster was looking for love in all the wrong places!" he sneered, not needing repair but taking time out of his hectic life to see how Blast Off was doing. "The least he could do was to help your friend out!"
"I always wondered why he never forced you to show your respect," Blast Off mused.
Starscream leaned into the doorway, followed by Ravage. At last! Hook knelt down and accepted the cat's paw in his hand, giving a time and a place. Ravage purred softly and glided out again. He'd been spying on the Autobots all this time, which was why he'd been to busy to visit. Or so he claimed. Hook took it for what it was worth and continued to pay no attention to those determined to obviate themselves.
"Is it because you are his creator?" Starscream demanded, no longer taunting. He really wanted to know and was guessing.
"Repairs are complete," Scavenger announced, beginning to clean off his tools. Starscream tilted his head as he watched each Constructicon move away from him like an oil spill from a drop of detergent. His questions would not be answered. Starscream debated pulling rank, and as he did Mixmaster tottered down the hallway looking like he'd been pounded by a plague of Jazzes.
"What happened to YOU?" He leered, already laughing as he planned the report to his trinemates. He didn't need to ask, he knew. It was fun to ask though.
Long Haul ran over and do a quick check and found nothing vital injured, but still, maybe he should let Hook do a diagnostic, just in case. Hook came forward with the others at his heels. They seemed almost relieved to see him not upset.
"I want to be alone," Mixmaster announced, brushing the rest of his team away. "Don't touch me." He marched into the laboratory and shut the door behind him with a loud, upset slam.
Scrapper shrugged. "He wants to be alone." That was fine with him. Listening to his gestaltmate whine about the hurt heaped upon him sounded about as much fun as listening to Rumble's idea of good music. The Constructicons had not been given any orders other than 'wait until he comes back before you leave,' therefore they took a vote and decided to stay until nightfall, when they could escape easier.
Mixmaster, dented and scraped up and slightly lightheaded, listened to them leave before he leaned against the door and let his body slide down. He'd been grabbed. He'd been pushed, pulled, bent, pinched, fondled, and ravished within every inch of his body. The combination of physical, mental, and psychological energies was AMAZING. Perfect.
The cackling erupted and didn't stop for a very long time. The vibrations only made the discomfort of his injuries intensify, and eventually the pain won out over the elation and Mixmaster had to go find Hook to patch him up.
After a mixing like that the solitary life didn't sound so bad now.
