Summary- In which Tailgate receives respect.
AN- A longer chapter this time around because Team Chaar demanded to get one. Also, again, in this fic, Sky-Byte gets to have the delightful face that he was originally given in the Allspark Almanac II (seen on his TFwiki page, which will not allow a link to) before the Stunti-Con Job was posted and gave him a separate aesthetic.
Cyclonus never really talked about his job and whatever it entailed. All Tailgate really knew was that he lived somewhere in decepticon territory. That was a pretty wide margin for options. The exact system or planet was never volunteered up. Neither was the name of his job or any details given on his team other than that 'one' of them had been the mech to introduce him to the literature he seemed to care about more than anything else. Tailgate had gotten used to that kind of talk. It was just the kind of stuff Cyclonus said; he didn't really seem to approve of any other 'possession', talked like the universe was doomed, and overall did not allow any light shed on the kind of things he cared about. At least, not other than a few things: ancient poetry, nigh-extinct languages (that one rather interested Tailgate, considering how the mech made mentions of how cybertronians would be extinct eventually and all forgotten; for such an attitude, he'd held onto ancient civilizations rather closely), and Tailgate's opinion. The latter was never outright said, but, really, neither were the former. As a whole, Cyclonus didn't like to be very forthcoming in opinions. Did he like his mysterious team? Did he like what they did? Tailgate had no clear idea. He didn't know who the team was or what sort of decepticon business they got up to. The topic never really came up.
So this sudden volunteering in information on them took him a bit off guard.
The comment came one cycle when Tailgate was out getting himself some energon goodies and the newest brand of oil that the closest bar was serving. It was a little longer than he'd come to expect from simple greeting messages, which was the first warning that it would be relatively unprecedented. He distractedly crushed the energon goody into liquid to inject into his fuel port while reading it.
The team I work alongside is taking shore leave. It does so on occasion and takes the currently active members together for this leave. As there is no ulterior job, there was a session of suggestion to find a place to go.
Alright...
Tailgate didn't quite understand the urgency this apparently should elicit. At least he now knew that, whoever this team was, they did do things like shore leave. It sounded like a chance to vacation or something. He wrote back to say as much.
Time off sounds fun!
There wasn't the usual delay this time. Cyclonus sent his reply quickly. They picked Viianta.
It sounded far from happy. Why? Tailgate didn't know. Why would he? It wasn't like he'd heard anything about what the other's coworkers and him did on their shore leaves.
Alright. You'll be here to visit then! he tried, at a loss of what direction this conversation was taking.
The optimism wasn't shared.
They picked it to get at me. Text or not, he could almost hear the seething behind that. I don't know how he found out, but he's trying to cause a problem for me.
This just got more confusing. How who had found out? It wasn't making much sense. Tailgate tried to get some clarity on that last elusive sentence.
Who?
That never got an answer volunteered. Instead, Cyclonus sent back a warning.
Don't interact with any of them. If you see them coming, find somewhere else to be. Whatever game they're trying to play, I won't allow it.
A bit too stiff, a bit too demanding, but more than a bit worrisome as well. Tailgate couldn't help but wonder what this 'game' consisted of if Cyclonus was this worried about him meeting any of his coworkers.
He promised he would try (and demanded some descriptions of the others, because how was he supposed to avoid them if he had no idea how to recognize them? It'd finally gotten the flier to budge and give out some information on his mysterious team) and then reiterated a happiness to see the other soon. Cyclonus had come back to visit Viianta four times now. Even if this time would be more tense and possibly full of sneaking around (Tailgate found himself more than immature enough to be enamored by the stupid excitement of that idea), it was still coming even sooner than either could've planned when based only in Cyclonus's 'off time'. As much as the other seemed stuck on the negatives of this upcoming visit, the minibot himself was far more focused on positives.
Nothing came of it for a while. There'd been no comm to warn him that Cyclonus had arrived on the cycle he had, but Tailgate was able to adjust pretty quick to surprises. A towering purple grumpy warframe waiting for him outside to grab a new delivery (for whatever reason, the delivery bay was Cyclonus's favorite place to greet him every time he arrived on Viianta) qualified pretty well as a surprise.
Anyway, the point was, they'd had a few cycles without anything happening to warrant how stiffly on edge Cyclonus was. They mostly stayed in the shop. His friend seemed to find it more comfortable. Especially the extra storage rooms. Maybe because they had no windows. Poor guy really did not want any of his teammates interacting with them, did he?
But staying in the shop forever was really not ideal. Tailgate rather liked going to what he was now considering their neutral bar. He liked getting taken on flights over all the wasteland areas of Viianta. He liked going on walks, even if it did draw some stares sometimes (he had a feeling they could be a whole lot worse, considering how distant and neutral Viianta was compared to what he heard of more important central worlds). During one of those walks on this visit, Cyclonus had frozen up. They had been strolling along a half wall separating one busy area from a slightly less busy industrial area. It was more than tall enough that Tailgate couldn't see over it. His much taller walking companion very much could, in contrast.
It had been Cyclonus that had steered them this way to start with. The industrial side over here was mainly just factories and storage bays and overall pretty nondescript; the hope was that they wouldn't really run into a lot of tourists out here. Judging by how those red optics lay glued to some sight on the other side of the concrete half-wall, that hope had let them down.
"Um..." Tailgate pulled gently on Cyclonus's servo; the claws had gone tense under his fingers. "Cyclonus? You alright?"
Despite trying to pull attention downward, Cyclonus didn't look back down at him as he spoke up; his optics glared off at something unseen.
"Excuse me."
And then he was stepping over the half-wall, servos twitching. Tailgate pulled himself up enough to poke his helm over the wall and vaguely see the giants in the shadows that Cyclonus was ushering away.
Something dimly luminescent shifted towards where his visor was peeking over and he was left feeling the uncomfortable certainty that the acid green glow had been staring back at him before it too turned back to get shoved away by an angry Cyclonus.
That had been his first exposure to what he finally learned afterwards was 'Team Chaar'. They were a very dangerous decepticon force supposedly made up of some of the most skilled warriors the renegade people had to offer. Tailgate felt almost prideful at finding out that meant Cyclonus counted as 'one of the most skilled warriors' in that regard. He'd figured for a long time that the mech was some sort of great warrior. Maybe it was the height or the glowy swords or just how pointy the other was. He'd managed to make friends with a top tier swordsmech. Tailgate couldn't deny that he would like to see some sort of demonstration. He didn't press for it yet. If Cyclonus had wanted to hide all of this, then he either wasn't proud of it or he was shy about admitting to it all. Should one of his storage rooms ever be used to demonstrate what someone who actually knew how to fight could do, it would come at that guy's own call.
Anyway, back to the point here. This Team Chaar group was here on Viianta, supposedly not for the first time (although the first time didn't get explained other than Cyclonus snipping that the planet had seemed tolerable and he'd chosen it for his own off time for that reason alongside the fact that it wasn't a decepticon world; his subtle preference for neutrality was just another unanswered piece of the mystery). Their presence here was explained like a conspiracy when it came from Cyclonus's words. He seemed to think he couldn't leave Tailgate's general proximity in case some of them showed up to...do something. Whether that ranged from killing him to just having a benign talk to gossip about his purple pointy friend, Cyclonus never said.
The cycle that their walk had gotten interrupted, he'd commed to tell Tailgate to go lock up in his shop as discreetly as possible and then wrote that he would try to be out there after making sure the team was back in their hotel. Tailgate had just asked why the interruption had happened in general.
Because one of them followed me early today and called the others over. I could have expected nothing less, Cyclonus tagged on after and, as text, there was no saying whether that was bitter or just slagged off.
But Tailgate hadn't accepted enigmatic replies and had demanded the full(er) story once he had reached his shop. And locked up inside of it, because why not play safely? If Cyclonus was worried, there was probably a reason other than simple jealousy or embarrassment.
So he got the name of Team Chaar and its individual members' names to match to the descriptions that had been sent orns before. And he got the conspiracy-esque story on why they were there. Piecing it together just made it sound like one of them, 'Oil Slick', and his 'pest' (or 'Scalpel', if Cyclonus was using actual names other than furious insults), had found out where Cyclonus was spending his offtime and had pushed the rest of the team to coming here for...some unknown but menacing purpose. If there was anything the autobot could get out of the story, it was that his friend really didn't like either of those two mechs.
Despite attempts to warn them off, Cyclonus had sounded unnervingly despondent that they'd bust in anyways one night over high grade. They won't stay back, he'd muttered. They're boneheaded fools. If they plan on being correctional about what I have here, they will be acting on it.
It was getting to be a very uncomfortable visit, at this rate. Tailgate hardly had some magic solution for that ready. Still, there had to be something.
"What if we stopped delaying it then?" he finally interrupted another quietly stilted set of worries the next morning. Bleary ruby optics had glared at him (as it turned out, Cyclonus did not have the best response to getting overcharged).
"You're suggesting just walking up to the rest."
Tailgate shrugged.
They didn't go with that. No more than they went for either of Cyclonus's preferred options: murdering them all or ditching the planet in secret (or both, in that order) (both of which were also not truly options when the mech would mutter something about 'can't risk Galvatron' or similar, none of which Tailgate had any way to decipher). He really did not react to stress well for someone so notoriously apathetic.
Instead, after much deliberation, they'd decided to walk up to one. Just one for now. And not so much walk up as invite him to meet up at a different location. Even though Cyclonus was certain his teammates already knew the location of the shop, he still didn't want any of them showing up in a wide perimeter near it.
Tailgate had managed to convince the grim mech to let him sit up on his back for the walk over to the bar. Even if it had gotten a scowl when he'd first asked, Cyclonus seemed more content like this. Awkward teammates trying to interfere in their lives or no, Tailgate rather liked getting his piggy-back rides and getting to see the world from a tall place for once.
They didn't get the chance to let him slide off and enter the bar together like mature people. Some really big mech had turned a corner from a separate street at around the same time they had exited their own sidewalk and Cyclonus had stalled up short.
"Sky-Byte," the mech whose neck Tailgate's legs were wrapped around spoke up flatly. The big mech jumped in surprise and turned around. Big shoulders shifted to let a big neck swing a big head over to face them and Tailgate stared hard.
All three were awkwardly silent for a moment.
"We'll be heading in there," Cyclonus nodded incrementally at the bar despite how obvious the statement was. "But since we have already run into each other, I will introduce you now."
A finger pointed upwards at the minibot perched up between his shoulders.
"It's Tailgate. The name you all were after. Tailgate."
And said bot went ahead to say his first words to the first of his friend's teammates he'd run across:
"Oh wow." Tailgate's optic band was wide. Sky-Byte's visage was looking between Cyclonus's face and his own. The sophisticated first words continued to spill out. "That's a lot of teeth!"
Instead of getting mad, Sky-Byte just lifted and dropped his shoulders.
"So it is," he agreed, said 'teeth' parting as he spoke.
They got along casually enough for the rest of their meeting.
Most all of the talking occurred between the autobot and Sky-Byte. Cyclonus had sat next to Tailgate and both stared ahead at where their guest sat across from them, but he did not add to the conversation much. His unhappiness at the meeting made the minibot a bit sad. Still, he hadn't tried to put a servo on the mech's leg for comfort after the first time trying had ended up with it getting shifted off.
Sky-Byte asked quite a few questions and Tailgate engaged best he could. Which, honestly...was pretty good. He was an easy guy to talk to, once his face had been adjusted to. For the most part, they talked about his job, Sky-Byte's job, their hobbies, some entertaining stories. Then, conversation moved to him and Cyclonus. The poet had expressed his surprise at having originally heard that his silent teammate was wandering around with one of the townspeople; other than museum visits and discussions over ancient literature, it seemed Cyclonus hadn't left his teammate with much of an impression stating he was looking for connections. There was no anger at finding out otherwise, from what Tailgate could measure from the healthy laughter and seeming happiness at finding out his purple ally wasn't "a complete hardaft". As to their proximity and meetings themselves...
"And you are consorting?" Sky-Byte pointed with his cup between both.
Cyclonus didn't answer. Tailgate didn't know the answer.
"What about you?" he shifted the conversation cheerfully. "Do you have a- umm- consort?"
It was a popular word amongst decepticon culture, from what he could gather. During his original time, people had just said sparkmates and that was it. A long time had passed since falling into that cave. He'd learned to just accept the changes.
"I'm afraid not," the large mech sighed, still smiling. "Other warriors are only interested in battling and I find myself desiring more from a consort. It seems, however, in that regard that, despite my galactic fame in poetry, most potentials run off the moment they see my visage."
Tailgate crossed his arms and narrowed his visor.
"Well, that isn't fair."
Sure, it was a startling face, but...
But Cyclonus could be called startling too. Dangerous, deadly in appearance and his constant frown did nothing to dissuade that. And Tailgate didn't notice it. The weight of that purple armor next to his own as they sat together left him more than happy that he'd never been stalled by that kind of first impression.
Sky-Byte glanced between them again and his optics crinkled into a smile again.
"Perhaps it is not," he returned. "But it is so rare to find someone who thinks such."
It was a vote of approval.
Tailgate knew, by the end of that visit, that he and Cyclonus had won over an ally with at least one member of his team.
If he'd thought Sky-Byte was big, he really wasn't steeled to see the rest of them. Granted, he wasn't supposed to see the rest of them in the first place, but things hadn't gone to plan. After meeting "the most tolerable" of Cyclonus's allies (his words, of course; Tailgate had cheerfully found him more than just tolerable), there had been no attempt to meet the others.
"I'll tell them to stay back and- with any luck- Sky-Byte will back me up on that," was the exact phrasing for said attempt. The comms implied that the plan had been going well enough. Though also full of mocking directed at Cyclonus that seemed to be irking him. The latter frustrated Tailgate. He wasn't just going to stand for this! He wouldn't let his friend get harassed just because he happened to be friends with him. Nuhuh. Nope. A nice, strong sentiment that he unfortunately had no way of backing up himself.
Or hadn't, at the least, until an opportunity had presented itself in the now.
They'd been at the shop again. There was a single customer, side-eyeing the big flier that was standing next to Tailgate's desk but doing nothing other than that. Incredulous expressions like that happened on occasion, but it wasn't an issue. The expressions waiting outside after a couple knocks had rapped against the main doorway, on the other servo...
The doors were big enough to admit even tall guys like Cyclonus, but at least one of the mechs outside was not going to manage to squeeze in judging by how only some part of his chest was reaching the top of those doors. The rest were hardly that much smaller. Maybe the spiky one with the arms that nearly draped against the ground or the red one that had decided to make a fashion statement by wearing a cape, but the rest? It was his turn to make an incredulous expression as he stared dead at the door. They shadowed the door. The current customer glanced over at the commotion and eeped, disappearing into the shelves (Tailgate couldn't blame him). The ones with visible faces were grinning, though it didn't exactly look reassuringly friendly. The spiky one lifted one of those long arms and gave him a wave that matched his grin. He had the strong feeling that he was being threatened by the cocky gesture.
Next to his desk, Cyclonus had started shaking in withheld fury. Since his shop was not a place that needed to get ripped apart by a fight, Tailgate hopped down and approached the door before his friend could do anything to start one. The doors keyed open manually and he offered a wave of his own.
"Hi there! Welcome to Tailgate's."
While Cyclonus picked himself off the ground from the shock that had hit him after Tailgate had casually marched to the door to say hello, the minibot craned his neck up to look at his...erm...customers.
Far above, one pair of red optics decorated in black paint narrowed.
"So. You are Cyclonus's little distraction here," the bulky con started slowly. Her voice sounded filtered, though the mask over her face may not have been a mask at all and the voice may have just been her natural one. "I did not expect that distraction to be an autobot."
Well, she made that sound like some sort of vile curse word when said like that.
"Vy not?" a different voice piped in. Tailgate glanced around until he found its source: a tiny silver mech with a bunch of sharp pointy legs sitting on the green arm-guy's shoulder. "Ve hardly know enough about our newest teammate to assume anyzhing on his tastes...or loyalties."
Oh? He was doing a good job sounding like an aft.
The mech and his perch matched two descriptions pretty well; the descriptions Cyclonus had seemed to hold the most actual emotion towards. Scalpel and Oil Slick. Well, when it came to first impressions, they weren't doing a great job endearing him either.
"St-" At last nano, he considered that maybe he'd pacify them better if he tagged on some ranking that these war people apparently held nowadays. "General Strika," he corrected himself. "Right? Hi."
Smooth.
The optics so viciously painted around in black symbols narrowed even further.
"Can I help you all with anything?"
Or are you here to waste time?
"Cyclonus." Strika looked over the mech, where he'd finally positioned himself a bit in front of the minibot. "If you'd told me you wanted to go search for a consort, I could've given you advice."
There it was again, that word and whatever it definitively meant. That definition may have been unknown, but Tailgate knew when he was being insulted. Just because of his size? No, the creepy little science guy was way tinier than him. It was the little red symbol he had on him. A symbol he'd always had, because all civilian frames were given one from the moment they came into existence. That much hadn't changed in 10 million years.
He crossed his arms pointedly.
"What I told you was to stay away, general," Cyclonus said lowly, a restrained, livid calm, in response. "This is not Team Chaar's business."
There was a short, gurgling laugh. It stole his attention away from the big general to the pair of scientists.
"Right, right! This is our offtime. It's meant to be spent enjoying ourselves and that's what he's doing."
Oil Slick's comment didn't put Cyclonus at ease one bit, if the flexing servo shifting just ever slightly up as though to grab a blade meant anything.
"Enjoy yourself elsewhere," the flier growled.
At least no one had started shooting anything. All in all, this seemed to be going quite well. Insulting, offending, a little scary, but nothing too bad!
"You've been hiding much," Strika spoke up again, stepping closer to Cyclonus; he just looked at her flatly enough. "You've always been rather secretive. I can't say it improves the unit, this...lone turbofox act of yours."
Again, no blows yet, no shots fired. Had to speak for something. Ugh. Tailgate almost wanted to just lay down and tell the ground to swallow him now. He hated feeling this awkward.
A pede landed near him and then the spiky one of the group was crouching down next to him, skull-face smiling behind the green fog of his helmet.
"Come now, you all," Oil Slick tilted his helmet affably. "We're scaring the little thing."
Not too badly, they weren't. Not enough that he didn't feel confident glaring up at that smug face. Or rather, smug faces, he supposed. Scalpel's optics were all narrowed at him gleefully too.
"Civilians, you know. Such a delicate constitution. I'm sure we don't need to crowd."
In contrast to his condescending words, Oil Slick drew a servo over the minibots head to crowd even more.
"After all, if such a useful compatriot as Cyclonus thinks the bot has a purpose, I'm sure we could find one too." One claw plopped on his helm and lifted to drop down again. Tailgate realized he was getting patted. Not even in a condescending way so much as a threatening one; it was a statement to Cyclonus. A threat to watch Cyclonus squirm or eg him into a fight. Was that how Oil Slick wanted to play it? Not on his watch.
Tailgate dropped his crossed arms and then swung one up to punch the helmet that had gotten way too close for comfort. He was a tiny bot in comparison to gigantic warframes, but he'd been built to carry and tug very heavy loads of waste around. The punch sent Oil Slick off balance from his crouch and onto his aft, both elbows of those long arms hitting the ground behind him to check himself. The weird fog or liquid or whatnot in his helmet kept moving around and making it hard to see, but he was pretty sure he caught sight of an open mouth. The shock made him feel just a little vindictive. He was not about to be some tool that was used as leverage or threat against someone he really liked. The last person that had tried to make him a tool was long gone now and Tailgate planned to keep it that way. If Getaway had gotten thrown out of his life, these afts could as well if they kept trying to be jerks like this.
For a moment, the rest of the crowd had just stared at the little scene. The giant quiet guy (Blackout, he thought) looming over them all looked like he was shaking in laughter. Strika's optics had lost their more antagonistic glare. Then the moment broke as Scalpel jumped down from Oil Slick's shoulder and skittered over to him.
"How very cute," the small scientist hissed. "But you really shouldn't have-"
Feeling overconfident from not getting immediately slagged upon punching one of their own, Tailgate kicked out at the silver con and watched the tiny body's little legs flail in the air as he got bunted over to crash into Oil Slick's chest.
The contagious confidence faded right after that moment and he nervously glanced back to where Cyclonus and Strika had been facing off. He hoped he hadn't declared war, he hoped that wasn-...
The worries subdued. Strika had joined the giant behind her in shaking with laughter. Hers was far more audible, though just a short bark really. The red con flashed a rude gesture over to where Oil Slick was standing up again, Scalpel shielded in his palm looking murderous; judging by the gestures sent back, this was just their normal form of amused interactions. Despite his smaller partner's expression, even Oil Slick's scowl had shifted into amusement. Maybe vindictive amusement. Maybe promising an assassination later. It was hard to say.
The general grabbed one of Cyclonus shoulders and gave him a short shake; her optics were still amused when they glanced back down at where Tailgate was shuffling in semi-embarrassment. He hoped that none of this was going to get into the newsletters later this cycle (what would that even look like? Local shop owner attacks innocent visitors? Hah).
"Perhaps you did not misjudge," she said to Cyclonus even as she kept her attention on the autobot's still-clenched fist rather than the red symbol on his hood.
Hearing that they weren't about to get stuck in a fight, or comments on how he was 'plucky' for a minibot, or the bit of 'friendly' ransacking of his shop that followed by semi-cheerful warriors, was all good and nice and whatnot. He was happy to find out that he wasn't going to get slagged that day and that Cyclonus wasn't either, sure. And the respect offered after getting into a scuffle was reassuring too. But the reactions of Team Chaar didn't really matter that much in comparison to just one of their member's.
When he'd glanced over to Strika and her subordinate after punting Scalpel, Tailgate had perfectly seen the expression on his companion's face. Cyclonus's optics were burning. It was a hungry approval that matched the slight upward curve of one side of his mouth. It was more passion than he remembered ever getting to witness from the mech before then.
It was not the last time he saw such slips of emotion from him after, though at least he didn't tend to have to punch someone to earn it most of those times.
AN- Next chapter will be the last from Tailgate's POV. I've really enjoyed writing for him here and figuring out what to pull from other continuities (apparently, him being punch-happy got to be one of those traits) and what to spin differently for him in TFA here. He's been a fun ride and I hope you enjoyed reading from his perspective as much as I've loved writing it.
