Song: How You Remind Me To Take On Me - Mashups of Nickelback & Ah-Has
Characters: Thundercracker, Mirage
Summary: Sometimes we don't always agree on the same things, and sometimes we become seperated, and pitted against each other in order to settle the dispute. But what if, in the middle of all the chaos, two individuals find that they are both fighting for the exact same thing?
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Remind Me To Take On Me
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War. It's amazing what three little letters can possibly bring to mind. So many have thought of the word love, and year after year, billions of songs and stories and rhymes and thoughts and lives and deaths have brought it all down to that one world. He'd read somewhere, though he couldn't remember where, maybe that library he watched Starscream burn down, maybe...but he'd read somewhere about a man in the past, Buddha if he recalled it right, Buddha had said that there was a balance to everything. Something called a yin and a yang. Autobots and Decepticons. War and Love? Perhaps that's all war was nowadays, to anyone. Perhaps that's all love was nowadays, to anyone. To him, or to the one against him.
Somewhere, there was a song playing, by that cursed Jazz. He wondered why the Autobot favored music so much, like the cassettes, like Soundwave, like the humans...It occured to him he could compare. Compare so many things from experiences, to just sitting there and listening, whether it was to Skywarp, especially Skywarp of all cases. The tales, the stories, the books, that library...He could compare to absolutely everything. But Jazz was playing a song he could compare to specifically. It was a sad song, one meant to be depressing, ever so depressing, or thoughtful, or concentrative, whatever the hell word that thesaurus in the library could have came up with, he could compare. Behind the depression, behind the thoughts, the concentration was undeniable proof of a beat speeding, flying, entitled to every wish and dream ever compensated by any mind that existed throughout time. It was happy. Ever so happy, and he could compare. The word was annoying him now, but it was only then that it started to annoy him, and it was only then that the damn thesaurus that had lodged itself in his thoughts from that library, it had disappeared from all beliefs.
He wanted to scream. That's what he wanted to do. He, of all of the seekers who wanted to be, was against the back of another back, the back of an Autobot. But he couldn't shoot, he couldn't stop thinking, he couldn't kill him. It was a damned Autobot! A somebody, of all somebodies, it was an Autobot, his dire enemy. Or so called enemy. Enemy or not, friend or foe, as he had so many on the Autobot and Decepticon side, did it honestly matter what the hell they were called anymore? There was only one word for all of this, and even the thesaurus couldn't attack his mind with other words for it. It was war.
He wanted to scream. That's all he wanted to do. And today was a perfect day to scream, because he couldn't be heard by anyone over the sounds of guns and screams and shouts. His own would be no differently interpreted by anyone if he screamed, except by himself and the one against him. He gritted his teeth, and his optics dimmed temporarily, letting the music beat closer, all the while not caring, because he couldn't be seen, except by himself and the one against him.
Mirage hated Thundercracker. He had to, he was a Decepticon and Mirage was an Autobot. But he wondered elsewhere. Jazz had that music playing, and for some reason it made no sense to him, but perhaps that was only because he had never really been able to relate to it. He couldn't really get the time in to think anymore, from the constant fights of the war to the constant bickering of Cliffjumper on his aft from time to time, questioning his alliance. Half the time, he did it himself, he didn't need some other freak doing it for him. The humans never bothered him; in fact, the humans, the ones he knew, were fascinated with him, rather than who he was with. It was in those times he thought of himself as an individual. But only then. He couldn't think of himself as anything more, and right now, he could only think of himself as one thing. An Autobot against a Decepticon. He hated Thundercracker.
He wanted to scream. That's all he wanted to do. Today was such a grand day to scream! At anyone and anything, let us scream! His mind kept processing the thoughts over and over, and he had to smile. Aside from being back to back, behind a boulder, away from the fights, against a Decepticon of all things, he had to smile. Just the thought of his mind wanting him to scream, knowing it'd go unnoticed, gave him that amusement of the day. Oh, how he wanted to scream.
"AAAAAAAAUUUUUUGGGGHHHH!!!" It was like a sword slicing through air, or perhaps a mood slicing through another's mood, or the bullet through the chest, or the metaphors through the logical thinking. That thesaurus was really digging into him, even though he never really had it to begin with. Starscream had burned it. But he was screaming, and he had enjoyed screaming until he had realized someone else was screaming. It wasn't one of those screams that usually irritated him, or even those that amused him. It wasn't one of those screams that usually escaped his throat, or another's throat, or the ones he cringed at, like a human's throat or Skywarp's throat. It was a scream just like his. Another comparison. It was a scream. But it wasn't his, even though it was like his.
It took Mirage a moment to realize he'd been screaming, that it had just escaped him without permission or even a second thought. But while he had screamed, someone else had screamed, at the same time, in the same space, in the same tone and rhythm to the beat of that music that continued to play out on the battlefield. That ever so happy-go-lucky music that maybe had happy-go-lucky lyrics to add to it. Mirage never really had that happiness, or maybe he never really had that luck. Unless one counted the amount of Turbofoxes he'd slain and taunted countless times on Cybertron, he never really had that happiness or luck. Here, he questioned that notion. Here, it was then that he questioned his hate. His alliance.
In fact, it was here that the both of them had frozen up, joints unnerved, yet not shaking, as if time was supposed to freeze, but it had instead caught them. If one of the others would of even been able to see either of them, momentarily, one of the others would of noticed the scaringly comparsion between the both of them---if they weren't already scared to death by the straight line that slid down between them, ever so thin, ever so ready to break. It would turn horizontal at most, or maybe there'd be another line that straight that'd snap in both of their minds, like one of those television shows the humans watched to express an emotion or a realization. Realization that the thought had struck the both of them at the same time, that the line was itching, stretching, screaming, just as they had, to break.
"Are we having fun yet?"
"Yeah."
"No."
With every question, or every response, in this case there were only two and one question, they answered it the same. The only thing different? Nothing really, unless you exploited their alliances, their voices. But the tone was the same, the actions the same, the stance the same, the doubts and the questions and the answers and the minds racing the same. It was all the same. How could they stand on two different lines, or across from each other and stare into each other's optics and actually be so different? So what if one could fly and one could drive. One could go as fast, just as much as the other. So what if one was bad and one was good. One could go as evil, just as much as the other can go good. There was no difference. Both of them thought the same thing. One had to move.
Thundercracker struck first, even though he considered himself the black piece on the chessboard. White usually went first, but he had to strike first. The other didn't seem to do anything though. He expected the attack, and the both of them fell to the ground, one of the only things Thundercracker could ever really hate. Being grounded. But here, while touching the ground, he was on top, and the Autobot was on the bottom. Now that they were face to face, they could actually see each other, and realize what had made them so different.
Mirage stared at the Decepticon logo on Thundercracker's wings. He wasn't going to stare at the seeker's optics, for he knew what he'd see. He'd seen it before, and he pondered if the other had even noticed. Even if he did, they'd be where they were before, frozen together and staring, realizing. The logo itself however proved more of a distraction that the optics staring at him. If you switched perhaps, one, two, maybe it was three. Yes, three lines. If you switched three lines, that logo would be no different from the Autobot's. Unless you counted the fact one was purple and one was red. Both were lovely colors really, now that Mirage thought about it. Both were really "cool", as the humans put it, to look at. Both.
"Stop it." Thundercracker muttered, though it escaped him rather painfully. He forced his weight onto Mirage, but the Autobot barely flinched. Tackling more than enough times in the past had built up the immunity. He stared at the Autobot, waiting. But he couldn't really wait, because he knew exactly what to expect. So what was he waiting for? Even the thesaurus laying in ashes on the street of St. Herald Boulevard wouldn't tell him.
"It's not like you didn't kn---"
"I KNOW. STOP IT." Thundercracker interrupted him. That's what he was waiting for. To finish off the comparisons, that thesaurus was flipping itself through his mind, page after page, word after word, similarity after similarity. It was here and now that he just wanted to throw away everything he ever knew. Even knowing was comparing to the Autobot beneath him. His fists clenched, but it only squeezed the dirt between them into smaller grains; grains that would simply escape him later when he didn't give a damn about them.
Mirage heard the fists squeak ever so slightly as they tightened, but nothing on his person ever creaked or painfully registered in return. Unless one considered the aspects of the mind itself, which, in Mirage's case, as well as Thundercracker's, was screaming pain from every neuron that a human could ever posess in one lifetime. He temporarily pondered if Thundercracker realized he was breathing excessively hard, the air intakes perhaps straining with pressure. He temporarily then pondered if Thundercracker did know that, and in essence, Thundercracker was questioning him just as well. The silence was frightening, in other thoughts. Other thoughts that probably just transferred from Thundercracker Academy, if there was such a place, which there probably was in Thundercracker's mind. That was the whole point. He shook his head, and put his gun on the ground, taking his free hand and pushing on Thundercracker's cockpit.
The seeker looked down at the action, and it didn't even take that much of a push. As if on command, like a cassette to Soundwave, he just backed off. Neither of them were here for the fight. Neither of them were ready for it. Not this one. Not this time. Maybe another time. Another time when there was just enough anger to throw away everything in either of their minds.
Standing, neither of them looked at the other's optics. Mirage simply picked up his gun, his back towards Thundercracker, and walked from behind the boulder. He didn't take a shot at another seeker, for it reminded him too much of Thundercracker. He didn't even answer his comrades when they shouted to him, but made his way back, as himself, never the vehicle, to the Ark, located five miles away.
Thundercracker watched him as he left, and turned, thrusting himself into the air. He didn't take a shot at another Autobot, for it reminded him too much of Mirage. He didn't even answer Starscream's orders, Megatron's scream, or even Skywarp's questions. He made his way back to the Decepticon headquarters, located five miles away.
I was waiting on a different story.
Mirage paced Teletran-1, waiting ever so patiently, or as patiently the pacing seemed to hint to. He didn't want to know anymore than he already knew, and it was enough knowledge to last him the universe. After an hour, he was done waiting, and simply sat down on the floor, uncaring. He thought back to the times on Cybertron, before the wars had begun, before the planet called Earth had been named, before he even knew of Optimus Prime or Cliffjumper, or before he even failed at an attempt to meet his friends for their weekly cycle of Turbofox hunting. He realized the life he had now was so different from then. It had to be. This was war, and back there it was peace. Or at least, it was a war he had never knew of, or begun to fight. He'd been wanting a different story from Thundercracker. He'd been wanting to see hatred, simply because it was Mirage. Simply because he alone had a spark worth having, and was fighting for something Thundercracker hated. But he'd never gotten that story. He had picked up the wrong book at the library before those damn seekers had burnt it down. The one he picked up had told of wars for centuries, and he even had a fancy little dictionary to tell him all those words he couldn't process correctly. Thundercracker however, gave him a different book. Maybe it was the right book, and maybe in essence, both of them were supposed to read it---or maybe they weren't. Perhaps the latter, for then, they wouldn't be having this particular war. Well, he'd been wrong before.
I'm sick of sight without a sense of feeling.
Thundercracker soared over the first two miles, but then he had to stop. Below him, a small town echoed and it hit him then that there was a sign worth reading. He had stopped and landed, and he had looked at the sign, ignoring those around him. He pondered momentarily, then kneeled down near the marble stairs of the library. As if he'd never been evil, he questioned a small boy who marvelled at the size of the seeker, and with a nod, the boy dashed off. Not out of fear or fright, and he didn't even dash down the road. Instead, he disappeared behind the glass doorway of the library. A moment passed before the boy returned, and in his hands he grasped a thick tome. He held it up to the seeker with a grin, and the seeker had to return it. He looked around, and wondered if there was maybe a better way of thanking him, but all the small boy wanted was an autograph. It was a little difficult with the small items, smaller than the boy! But Thundercracker managed, and handed the notebook back to the grinning human. Backing away, Thundercracker lifted back into the air, and thought back to the time when he had read that Buddha nodded to everything he wished to thank. He'd nodded, at least, he'd thought he did, as he returned to the headquarters. Landing there, he looked at the tome in his hand, and disappeared inside, feeding it through the scanners. Within minutes, the information was in his hand, at a more proper size, for him to run through. While Starscream may of destroyed the library on St. Herald Boulevard, Thundercracker had found another more convienent one located on Sunstroke Avenue. This time, he wouldn't lose the thesaurus. He kept it to himself, even after the many hours of battle had waded away and the Decepticons had returned, and he would take an hour out of the day, when he wasn't needed, to read it. Over and over again.
Somewhere in the world, or outside of it, or near Cybertron, or any other world out there, there was a satellite so sophisticated that it had picked up thought waves. Somewhere, that satellite was transmitting the same message from an Autobot and a Decepticon, who's sides fought so differently, yet thought so similarily, that it locked up, and fell to its home planet in a fit of rage that it couldn't process it. Six simple words, that even the thesaurus didn't need to help Thundercracker translating. Six simple words, that even the dictionary didn't need to help Mirage defining.