16. Bath Time

Backwards Time Skip - Polyhex, Cybertron

By the time Sunstreaker gets to the wash racks they're empty, the lighting dimmed, the room silent. He pauses outside the door, arrays tuned to their highest settings. Not even Ravage can sneak up on him like this. After a moment, he walks in, leaving the lights on low. He doesn't need them, prefers not to use them.

The spray heads come on with a groaning hiss and he stares straight ahead as the streams wash over his frame. He reaches up, grabs two of the course brushes and goes to work, very carefully not looking at his hands. He doesn't need to see to know where to scrub. He can feel the filth crusting his knuckle joints, gumming the seams of his wrists. There are spatters up to his elbows and he knows without looking that his torso is no better. Slag, there's even some on his face.

This is going to take a while.

It couldn't even have been considered a battle, really. Just a single squad of Autobots caught in the wrong place at the wrong time behind enemy lines. Another orn in the glorious war. They'd fought back, of course, which was why he'd disregarded Shrapnel's orders to take them alive, take them for "questioning." At least, that's what he's going to tell Decepticon High Command in a few joors when they summon him to the command chamber.

Two had tried to flee when they saw him but a well-aimed shot from his 'launchers had taken out their legs, and they'd fallen to the ground shrieking. The other three had shot back, not that it did them much good. One of the first things he'd done was upgrade his armor. He could take a direct hit from a plasma cannon and it would do little more than singe his epidural layer and leave a nasty dent. So they'd fired and screamed and called for backup right up until he plowed into the cluster, arm-blades unsheathed. Then they'd just screamed.

It's hard to avoid getting spattered. Sliced energon lines tend to spew and as good as he is he does not always manage to twist away in time. It was impossible when he had to reach into the chassis of one Autobot in order to rip his spark casing out—he's sure that that one had been responsible for the mess on his left hand. At which point the second Autobot, having witnessed the disposal of his teammate, glitched out and leapt on top of him, reaching down between his torso plating and tried to rip out his coolant lines. Sunstreaker had crushed that one's head in, which was where the filth on his right hand had come from.

So messy.

He finally dares to look down and frowns when he sees that he's gone a little overboard and dulled his coloring again. It will be irritating until it heals but he doubts anyone will notice. Even if they did, no one will say anything. They won't dare.

He reaches up and kills the spray, feeling his cables loosen a little as the tension slides away. It always makes him feel better to be clean. Internal fans kick on and his surface temperature rises, the fluid beginning to steam off.

A hit of energon is starting to sound good.

As he steps towards the doorway he catches a flash of gold to the side and turns, spotting his own reflection. He stares for a long while, pivoting to the left and right until he's satisfied. Golden armor perfectly buffed and shined; not a spot to be seen.

Perfection.

With that thought he forces a smirk to his face and turns to the door.

Augh! Washington is flooding! There's a small pond in the front yard and a brand new fountain down in the basement. With a stream.

To Exie the reviewer, alas, I couldn't find you on the site to pm a response. Thanks to everyone who reviewed!

Next chapter: Daring

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