Smokescreen figured he'd gone through all of the possible emotions during this whole disastrous mission. Pride at being selected for the mission, fear followed by relief at how close they'd come to getting captured by the DJD, disappointment that Prowl, err, High Command didn't seem to be worried enough about them to send out a search party, frustration when it became clear they didn't have the right parts to repair their ship, fleeting excitement when they were first contacted by the salvage ship, and then horror when Smokescreen realized who was on the salvage ship. Not to mention whatever it was he'd felt when he saw Devcon's reaction when he told the bounty hunter who Swindle was.
In all the galaxy, in all the systems, of all the ships, the one that found them first wasn't just helmed by a Decepticon... It was helmed by Swindle.
Smokescreen was sure Primus had it out for him.
He'd been so excited to go on this mission. Finally, he had a chance to prove himself: both for his own knowledge, but also to show Prowl what he knew he was capable of. Every time an opportunity to go on a mission had come up, Prowl had found a reason to keep Smokescreen nearby: they needed his analysis skills, or they needed an escort for a low-risk cargo delivery, or he was required for some other menial task. But when Smokescreen volunteered for this mission, Prowl finally did not come up with a reason why Smokescreen could not go. Finally, Smokescreen had a chance to make his stoic brother proud.
And then the mission ended badly: there was no information for them to retrieve, and the whole thing had been a trap. They were stranded on a dead ship, with no way to call for help. And Command hadn't sent anyone to look for them.
Smokescreen thought that's what hurt the most: knowing that Prowl had the ability to arrange a search party, and apparently had not. The rational part of Smokescreen's processor echoed the words that he'd heard multiple times from Prowl's own mouth: "The needs of the Autobots as a whole must come before the needs of any one mech." He also knew that other mechs – including Devcon – had been stranded for far longer than one measly year. He knew that when resources were available, Prowl and Command would send someone to find out what had happened to them.
But the irrational part of Smokescreen's processor insisted that the reason there was no search party was because Prowl was disappointed in him.
Smokescreen pressed his lips together and tried to clear his thoughts. This wasn't any time to fall into self-recrimination and despair. He glared out the window of the salvage ship, staring at the tiny speck of light in the distance that was the Trade Consortium station that Devcon had flown to.
He hoped Devcon hadn't run into any problems. He hoped that Devcon would make it back safely.
Smokescreen sat up in the passenger seat as much as he was able when he heard Swindle's heavy step on the decking behind him. The yellow mech flopped down into the seat beside Smokescreen, a cube of fuel in one hand and his blaster in the other. Swindle took a noisy sip from the cube, smacking his lips dramatically, before smiling at Smokescreen. "When I did the inventory of your cutter I noticed how little energon you had in reserve. You must have been running on strict rations. Did you want some?" Swindle held up the cube and wiggled it back and forth slightly, and a bit of fuel spilled over onto his fingers.
Smokescreen's tanks were low. He had been running on near fumes for months, even though he'd been making sure to keep his fuel expenditures at a minimum. He hoped Swindle couldn't hear the low rumble of desire from his tanks at the sight of the fuel. Smokescreen shook his helm. "No, I'm good," he said.
But he must have stared longingly at the cube for just a split second too long, because Swindle's smile twisted into a smug grin. "You sure?" Swindle sucked the dribbled fuel off of his fingers, and then took another slurp from the cube.
Smokescreen shrugged, tugging on the cuffs around his wrists, which were bound behind the chair he sat in. "Not like I can drink it myself, anyway," he said. He glared at Swindle and added, "And I'm not really interested in having you line-feed it to me, thanks."
"I'm sure we could work something out," Swindle said. "I could get a fresh one for you. I'll even give you a straw." Swindle's voice had slipped into the smooth tone he used whenever he bartered. "In exchange, you could give me a little bit of information."
Of course. Everything with Swindle was transactional. Smokescreen shook his helm firmly and turned his gaze out the window of the ship, mostly so that his optics would stop drifting back to the cube in Swindle's hand. "I'm not telling you anything," Smokescreen said.
"I'm not looking for anything classified," Swindle said, in that 'I'm being perfectly reasonable' tone that always made Smokescreen grind his dentae together. "Just tiny details of little consequence. Like... Where you were dispatched from, for example. You've been out here a year, right? Information that's a year old has little value, but it might be worth a cube of fuel." He jiggled his cube again.
"Get fragged," Smokescreen snapped.
"Run empty, then," Swindle replied with a shrug, and took another drink from his cube.
They sat in silence for a while, with the thrum of the salvage ship's engines and the soft tapping of Swindle's fingers against the cube the only sounds in the cockpit. Smokescreen let his helm fall back onto the rest and stared out the window, wishing for Devcon to appear in the distance. Even the short time with Swindle had reminded him of all the reasons he'd ended things with him in the first place, and reinforced Smokescreen's feelings for friendship with Devcon.
He just hoped that Devcon hadn't been walking into a trap. He didn't want to calculate the odds on that, though.
"So, are you seeing anyone?" Swindle asked suddenly, interrupting Smokescreen's thoughts. "That shuttle, maybe?"
Smokescreen rolled his optics. "Primus, are we really doing this?" he asked.
Swindle had finished his cube and had set it on the console. His blaster was cradled in his arms, much more comfortably than Smokescreen had ever thought Swindle would be around a weapon. "I noticed the way you and him looked at each other," Swindle said. His smirk was back. "Did you two pass the time by crossing cables? Is he any good?"
"That's none of your business." Smokescreen's engine revved, anger sending a course of power through his lines. "And if I was crossing cables with him, I'm sure he'd be better than you ever were."
"So you didn't 'face him, then," Swindle said. He leaned back in his chair and propped his pedes up on the control console. "So, what, did he turn you down?"
Typical. Fragging typical. Swindle didn't get what he wanted from Smokescreen, so then the cruelty comes out.
Smokescreen wasn't even surprised. What he was, though, was angry. After all the other emotions he'd been through, anger was the only one left. And Swindle, of course, was managing to push his buttons just as if they were picking up exactly where they'd left off. Swindle had always seemed to know just where Smokescreen's limit was, and then stepped well past it just to show that he could.
"How about you, huh?" Smokescreen replied. The words came out of his vocalizer even though he knew he shouldn't give up this sort of information to a Decepticon. But hey, it had been a year... Like Swindle had said, anything Smokescreen knew was old news. "We heard you got hooked up with a bunch of thugs in a combiner team. I recognized some of the names from Iacon's prison records. How'd they talk you into that – binding your spark to a bunch of lowlifes? I mean, that shuttle on the team was pretty well-heeled, but the others were some real gutter trash. Or so we've heard." Smokescreen felt a glimmer of satisfaction as he saw Swindle's optics narrow. "It doesn't seem like the sort of thing you'd agree to voluntarily."
"You're going to want to shut your hole," Swindle said, his voice low and dangerous.
"It was voluntary, right?" Smokescreen flicked one of his wings upwards questioningly. When Swindle's engine growled, Smokescreen gloated internally. It looked like the intelligence they got was correct after all: the Decepticon combiner teams weren't all volunteers like the Autobot ones were. "What did you get out of it?" He tipped his helm to the side. "You did get something out of the deal, didn't you?"
Swindle's upper lip curled into a snarl and his hand tightened around the blaster. But before he could bring it to bear on Smokescreen, the comm chimed. "Devcon to Azure Dawn, I'm inbound. Please reply."
Swindle slapped the comm without taking his optics off of Smokescreen. "Acknowledged. Come around to the docking ring." Then he stood and gestured with his weapon again. "We'll finish this later." A slippery smile appeared on Swindle's face. "After I've dealt with your friend."
A moment later, the door to the cockpit shushed closed, and Smokescreen was alone again.
Frag. Smokescreen slumped in the seat. Maybe that wasn't such a great idea, riling up Swindle like that. But also – frag that was satisfying. It was rare seeing Swindle on the verge of losing his cool.
Smokescreen's satisfaction lasted until he saw an alert pop up on the ship's console. There had been energy discharges near the docking ring. Someone had fired a weapon. The sensors had picked up a few blaster shots, it looked like.
Fear ran through Smokescreen's lines like iced coolant.
He sat helplessly in the seat for several minutes before the cockpit door shushed open behind him. Smokescreen tried to twist around in his chair, but he was bound too tightly. "Devcon?" he asked frantically, craning his neck in an attempt to see the doorway. "Swindle, if you hurt him-"
Swindle's limp frame was thrown onto the floor near Smokescreen's pedes, a smoking hole in his right shoulder.
"Are you all right?" Devcon leaned down over the seat, peering into Smokescreen's face. "He didn't hurt you or anything, did he?"
Smokescreen gaped at Devcon for a moment, relief settling over him, before he was able to answer. "No. No, he didn't hurt me. I'm fine. But – how...?" Smokescreen trailed off as he saw Devcon set an unfamiliar weapon on the console before he started rifling through Swindle's compartments.
"He won't be out for long. I can already hear his engine restarting. I just have to find the key for your cuffs, then we'll put them on him," Devcon said in a clipped, business-like tone. "Then we have to get out of this sector as quick as we can."
Smokescreen felt himself relax just slightly. "I'm really glad you're all right," he said.
Devcon paused and looked up at Smokescreen with a smile. "I'm glad to see you're still in one piece, too." He pulled a keycard out of Swindle's compartments with a satisfied sound, and waved it at Smokescreen. "Now, let's get you out of these cuffs."