Note: This chapter was updated 1/5/10, mostly as part of the effort to fix this story's overall narrative voice to make it consistently third-person throughout. There may be minor changes from the original, as well, but nothing plot-significant.
7: Fight or Flight
Sounds floated and flitted around Starscream, an impenetrable and incomprehensible miasma that weighed on him in exactly the way that a miasma should not weigh on anyone. Strange, but true. The sounds that comprised this weighty miasma may or may not have been words. No, that wasn't entirely true. Starscream knew that they were in fact words, although they sounded like so much gibberish to him. Still, he knew that they were words to which he was supposed to be paying attention. They were words that were, theoretically, important. Words said at mission briefings were generally important.
Except that they weren't important, not to Starscream. They might once have been important, but not anymore. The individual saying the words might once have been important, too, but not anymore. Nothing was nearly as important as desperately clinging to the one vanishingly-small sliver of sanity that Starscream still had left in his possession but that, even now, was slowly, inexorably slipping from his grasp, hour by hour, minute by minute.
Starscream was no longer entirely certain that he was awake at any given moment in time. He was no longer certain that he was ever, in fact, awake, that he wasn't simply lingering in some hallucination-plagued coma somewhere, entirely divorced from reality. Whatever reality was, of course; it wasn't as if he could remember anymore. Inflicting massive amounts of pain on himself no longer had any effect. Even channeling concentrated bursts of energy directly into his spark, for all that it was excruciatingly painful – He could now sympathize with her – hadn't stopped the hallucinations even for a few minutes. And it also hadn't killed him. The glorious release of death had indeed been Starscream's goal the first time he'd thought of attempting that particular tactic, as he'd gathered his courage and followed through with his plan…and afterwards he had been utterly horrified to discover that he still existed. Multiple reiterations of the experiment only yielded the same results: It appeared that he could do nothing but exist, despite his best efforts to remove himself from the universe.
The corner of Starscream's mind that housed the spark of a scientist wanted desperately to chew on the question of why in the universe he was still alive, why something that by all rights should have quite effectively destroyed him somehow…hadn't. But that part of him was almost entirely drowned out by her now. Everything was drowned out by her. She was a constant. The constant. Starscream was hyperaware of her all the time, every nanosecond of every day. He knew exactly where she was relative to his own position, to the nanometer, at any given moment. Sometimes, he fancied that he could even tell what she was doing or saying or even thinking. She insistently and irresistibly pulled at him like gravity, as if she had become a voracious, all-consuming black hole, the event horizon of which he'd crossed a month ago now. So now there was just a slow, inevitable degeneration until, with brutal mercy, she finally crushed him.
But until that blessed, blessed moment arrived, she merely plagued Starscream, whispering a constant litany in his mind and haunting every one of his senses. He felt her, tasted her, heard her, smelled her, saw her. Everywhere. All the time. For all that she was thousands of kilometers away, she was at times as present and as tangible to Starscream as the chair in which he was currently sitting, and there was no escaping her. There was nowhere that he could hide from her because she – or at least the need for her, the want of her – had become an integral part of him. Yet, she was forever dancing out of reach and laughing at him while she did so. Untouchable. So close and yet so very, very far away…
A nudge to Starscream's flank brought his wandering, distracted attention back to semi-coherence, semi-awareness. The nudge had come from Thundercracker, of course. He was seated placidly next to Starscream, and he was surreptitiously giving him the look that Starscream had christened simply That Look again, that frighteningly penetrating look of his that, until very recently, Starscream hadn't realized was quite so penetrating, quite so damned perceptive. He was highly aware of that now, though; it was as if Thundercracker could see into his very spark and instantly glean all of its secrets. Starscream supposed that this talent of Thundercracker's was a natural outcome of being the so-called quiet one, the imperturbable buffer who sat squarely and immovably between Skywarp and Starscream and between the three of them and the rest of the Decepticons. He was one of the few individuals in the Decepticon ranks who knew much but said very little. He was like Soundwave that way. Only much less scary. And with a better voice.
And he knew that something was up with Starscream, Thundercracker did. Starscream acknowledged that, likely, Thundercracker wasn't the only one who knew this, for he was certain that it had to be blazingly obvious even to the morons that surrounded him. But Starscream figured that Thundercracker was likely the only one who cared, or at least that he was likely the only one who wasn't spending all of his free time trying to figure out how to use Starscream's current, deeply addled mental state against him. Thundercracker was watching him closely, Starscream knew, but for some perverse reason Thundercracker's watching was comforting rather than threatening. Starscream felt as if he had to watch his own back less because Thundercracker was already watching it, as he always did. Even when he grumbled about it, as he always did.
Over the past couple of weeks, Starscream had, in desolate, despairing moments of semi-sane quasi-clarity, seriously considered the notion of confiding in Thundercracker. Since his wingmate was a watcher, he also tended to be a good listener, and if one could get Thundercracker to say anything at all, one quickly came to realize and indeed to appreciate the fact that he had an intelligence that was almost as penetrating as the looks that he could give. He was, therefore, a good one with whom to bounce around ideas, as Starscream knew somewhere, vaguely, that he had done on occasion in the past.
But in this case, confiding in Thundercracker would be dangerous. For both of them, naturally, but more so for Thundercracker because it was rather likely that he wanted to continue to live. But that wasn't really what had stopped Starscream from blabbing everything to his wingmate. No, in the end the thing that had stayed his hand was that, often, what was told to Thundercracker ended up being found out by Skywarp. And what Skywarp found out had a curious habit of being blabbed to absolutely everyone. And that just wouldn't be good. So, Starscream continued to suffer alone, and poor Thundercracker would just have to do with giving him speculative looks. And timely nudges, when prudent.
Prompted by this latest nudge from his curiously faithful wingmate, Starscream looked up from his rapt and very detailed inspection of the scratched tabletop in front of him to find himself eye-to-eye with a very disgruntled-looking and apparently expectant Megatron. He spouted some gibberish. At least, it sounded like so much gibberish to Starscream, although he was certain that, in the reality from which he was almost wholly disconnected, Megatron had said perfectly coherent words, no doubt a demand for an explanation for his inattentiveness or something of that sort. But it didn't matter. Because for some reason, the look on Megatron's face sparked in Starscream only vast and completely inappropriate amusement, and before he knew quite what was happening, he was laughing. Loudly.
It was exactly the wrong thing to do. Dimly, as if from far, far away, Starscream heard Megatron emit Enraged Noise #847 in his repertoire of approximately a thousand distinctly different enraged noises. Number 847 was a particular bad one, one that had always boded very ill for Starscream. In fact, it was one that, now that he thought about it, Megatron reserved pretty much solely for him. Perversely, now, it only made him laugh harder.
Moments later, there was, of a sudden, a flurry of intense movement that erupted all around Starscream, as Decepticons barreled en masse for the exit, as if they were a flock of birds and someone had spooked them. Whether they left because they had been so ordered or merely because they didn't want to be caught in the crossfire, Starscream didn't know. Or much care, really. The only individual who didn't immediately leave was, perhaps not entirely unsurprisingly, Thundercracker. The blue Seeker stood up, but he otherwise didn't move, his fists clenching and unclenching indecisively, his gaze nervously flitting from Megatron to Starscream, back and forth. Starscream almost had to admire his foolish courage in the face of Megatron's displeasure, but in the end, he jerked his head toward the door, silently indicating to Thundercracker that he, too, should leave. Thundercracker frowned down at him, clearly not liking the idea of leaving Starscream alone to face Megatron's wrath, but in the end he behaved like a proper Decepticon for once in his life and saved his own hide, heading for the door. But he did make it a point to do so in a slow, calm, collected, and decidedly reluctant manner, sending a clear message that Starscream was certain that he would pay for in some manner, later. Thundercracker gave Starscream one last reproachful look over his shoulder before leaving.
Once the doors slid closed in Thundercracker's wake, Megatron turned back to Starscream. He'd gathered his few remaining wits by then, quieting himself and trying to push away the noise in his mind so that he could concentrate on Megatron, so that he could hear and understand whatever he might say. Megatron had calmed himself as well. At least, he had done so on the surface; one rarely knew what was boiling in him just under the surface until it came spewing out of him in all its glory. For a long moment, though, Megatron seemed content simply to stare at Starscream appraisingly, eyes narrowed and glowing dangerously. The moment seemed to stretch on forever before he said anything. And while Megatron stared, Starscream slowly, unthreateningly, got to his feet, determined to keep the table between himself and his leader. His mind was hazy, cloudy, and he wasn't entirely present, but enough of him was there to comprehend the notion that he might need to move, and quickly, in the very near future. Best to be prepared.
Slowly, Megatron folded his arms over his broad chest, the room's pale lighting seeming to accent the huge fusion cannon mounted on his forearm. And then he spoke, his voice deceptively quiet. When Megatron went quiet, Starscream knew that he needed to be on high alert, and that was somewhat difficult at the moment, as distracted as he was.
"What," Megatron asked, almost softly, "is the matter with you, Starscream?"
Starscream hesitated before he answered, kept hesitating for as long as he thought he could get away with it. In his addled mind, he was trying to decide how best to answer Megatron's very simple question. In the end, he decided to try something entirely new: The truth. Or at least a slightly modified version thereof. The truth was simple, and simple was just about all that Starscream could handle, at the moment. This was the level to which he, always a consummate master of weaving a complex web of deceit and lies, had been reduced. It was an irony that was not lost upon him.
"Her," Starscream muttered quietly, his voice shaking in a very pathetic sort of way. Even as he said the word, he could hear her laughing at him in his mind, and he had to fight hard to resist the urge to tell her, aloud and indignantly, to shut up.
At that, Megatron stared at Starscream for a long beat…and then he laughed. Long and hard. It wasn't a pleasant sound at all.
"So Soundwave wins that bet," Megatron announced to no one, and when Starscream just gave him a quizzical look in response, he added, "Tell me, were you stupid enough not to…take care of her…before you killed her, then?" he asked. "Because you should be over this by now, Starscream. It's been…what? A month?"
"You think I don't know that?" Starscream growled peevishly at him. "You think I want to be like this?"
"Knowing you as I do, Starscream," Megatron barked with a humorless laugh, "it wouldn't surprise me if you did." At that, Starscream glared at him, but Megatron didn't respond, his expression instead turning thoughtful and speculative. "Still, I need you…not crazy. I need you awake and alert. Since she's dead – She is dead, yes?" he asked, nonchalantly interrupting himself, and there was suddenly a knife in his voice.
Starscream regarded Megatron squarely, locking their gazes, and unflinchingly lied, "Of course."
Megatron nodded and continued, "Since she's dead, perhaps you should consider…someone else. It might not work…or it might work quite well. And if I'm not mistaken, Thundercracker seemed willing enough just a…"
Megatron's voice trailed off as the conference room's doors slid quietly but unexpectedly apart and Soundwave strode with his customary aplomb through them. He gave Starscream a long and, so it seemed, deeply speculative look, and the look froze him, sent shivers dancing through his frame as dread suddenly and completely consumed him.
Without pausing even for half a beat, Soundwave strode over to the controls of the room's currently-inactive vidscreen. Almost nonchalantly, he dropped the cassette form of one of his minions into the console, and the vidscreen came immediately to life, immediately began to display the images that whichever of the cassettes it was had recorded. Soundwave gave Megatron a look that was nothing if not smug, and then he turned an even more smug – if that was even possible – look on Starscream.
Because, of course, the cassette contained footage of her. And according to the date stamp, that footage had been recorded a mere two hours ago.
Starscream's innards lurched at the sight of Swoop, his gaze riveted to the vidscreen as memories of their encounter immediately began to flood his mind and senses, effectively shunting aside the warnings about the extreme danger that he knew that he was in now. For a long moment, though, no one moved. No one made a sound. Not Starscream, not Megatron, not Soundwave; all three of them simply stared at the image on the screen, watching Swoop as she glided and banked gracefully on the screen. For some bizarre reason, Starscream fleetingly wondered whether the Autobots had actually let her out of her cage or if she'd managed to sneak out. She had to be near term now, so he couldn't imagine the former happening…
It also occurred to Starscream that Swoop looked completely different now, for some reason. Her form was sleek, stylized, and streamlined where once it had been boxy, primitive, and somewhat clumsy. Her color scheme was altered in a most pleasing fashion, too, now all dark blue, bright silver, and majestically-shimmering gold that sparkled dazzlingly where it caught the brilliant sunlight. Her coloration was reminiscent of Soundwave's now, actually, which Starscream found briefly amusing. Except that she, of course, was much prettier than Soundwave was.
But Swoop didn't, unfortunately for Starscream, look different enough that Megatron wasn't instantly aware of who, exactly, she was. And Starscream certainly knew who she was. Even though she was just an image on a vidscreen, she called to him stridently, like a siren from out of human myth, and he found himself taking several involuntary steps toward the vidscreen – and therefore toward Megatron. He was utterly mesmerized by just an image of her; he felt as if, somehow, he could simply reach into the screen and pull her to him and then blissfully devour her.
But then slowly, ever so slowly, dangerously slowly, Megatron turned to Starscream, and Starscream turned his head to look at Megatron. The look on Megatron's face was indecipherable for a moment before it went ice cold, utterly devoid of any emotion whatsoever. It was his most dangerous not-expression, one that Starscream remembered well; he had seen it for the first time moments before Megatron had destroyed the queen, and he had, so far as he could remember, never seen it since…until now.
"Well," Megatron drawled, his voice lethally quiet, "no wonder she still plagues you, Starscream."
What happened next was something of a blur. Starscream had thought that he was suicidal, that he would welcome death however it chose to claim him because he'd convinced himself that death was infinitely preferable to raving, irretrievable lunacy. But he'd been wrong. There was still, somewhere within him, something that was clinging desperately to the idea of self-preservation, of staying alive at all costs. The instinct had always been particularly strong in Starscream, and it had more than a few times kept him alive and kicking when by all rights he should have been destroyed. As a side effect, it had also earned him a reputation for cowardice, but he'd come to accept that status over the years, even in some ways to embrace it. He'd realized, once all the fairytale illusions and ideals had been pushed aside by the grim reality of war, that cowards stayed alive while the foolishly brave didn't, and he had long ago decided that he preferred remaining a living coward to becoming a dead hero.
Self-sacrifice was entirely not in Starscream's nature. Not for anything. Not for anyone.
And the self-preservation instinct was apparently still there, strong as ever in the face of the prospect of death – or worse – at Megatron's hands. Long ago, as the once-trusting relationship between the two of them had slowly frayed and tattered beyond repair, to the point that Starscream was keenly aware that Megatron now tolerated his continued existence only because his abilities were valuable, Starscream had vowed to himself that he would never give Megatron the satisfaction of destroying him, should it ever come to pass that Megatron's abhorrence of him overcame his usefulness to him. It had meant eternally walking a very fine line, annoying Megatron for his own amusement but not too much. Betraying his "trust," but not too much. Poking carefully at limits, stretching boundaries to within millimeters of breaking them but never actually breaking them. Starscream knew all the particulars of those limits, where it was safe to tread and where it wasn't. He understood his limits well. And when he'd decided to let her live, he had been very aware that he had made a decision that completely and irrevocably shattered those limits. Starscream had simply decided that, despite any future consequences, the possible future benefits were worth it.
Of course, that was before she had started driving him out of his mind…
But now, somewhat sooner than he'd expected, Megatron had discovered that Starscream had utterly and willfully overstepped a boundary that had always existed, unspoken, between them: He could push Megatron so far but no farther before he would lethally retaliate. So, the moment had finally arrived when he had outlived his usefulness to Megatron, when treachery and betrayal had finally overshadowed talent. He knew it deep down in the core of his spark. And he'd thought that he would welcome it, that he would view this moment as nothing but a release from his burdens. No more walking fine lines. No more games. No more insanity. No more her. No more…anything. Just the peace of oblivion. Yet, when squarely faced with the prospect of death at Megatron's hands, right there and right then, Starscream found the concept still to be unbearable, abhorrent on a very deep and very primal level. He discovered a strong desire to prevent Megatron, specifically, from killing him.
"Fight or flight" was a universal concept. Pushed to a limit, faced with destruction, one decided in a split-second which of the two possible courses of action one was going to follow. In Starscream's experience, the foolishly heroic – and the plain old foolish – always chose to fight, and often they died in their attempt to be nobly heroic. Cowards like Starscream, on the other hand, always chose to flee, but this meant that they lived to fight or flee another day, which to Starscream had always seemed infinitely preferable. So here he was, making the choice again, and not surprisingly he made the habitual one.
As a warrior, Starscream's body considered weapons systems vital, so they still had full power at the cost of denying certain other systems that any non-warrior would consider far more vital than weaponry. So for perhaps the first time in his life, Starscream found himself appreciating the skewed physical priorities of his caste. It meant that even in his weakened state, he could launch every weapon at his disposal at Megatron. He had no illusions of destroying Megatron, of course; he sought simply to create some buffering distance between them as well as a distraction. And then, quite literally, Starscream flew; it was faster than running. He transformed, razed the bulkhead with laser fire, and then escaped through the ruins of it into the corridor outside, artfully dodging enraged fusion cannon blasts as he went. It took skill, focus, and concentration to navigate the corridors of Headquarters while in flight, and skill Starscream had, in abundance. Focus and concentration rose to the occasion out of necessity, in the face of the very real possibility of his own death, so suddenly unwanted.
Starscream knew that he needed to escape, and to do that, he knew, suddenly, exactly where he needed to go. The docking tower was the obvious choice and was therefore not an option. But there was another way out of Decepticon Headquarters, one that not many thought about, but one of which Starscream, forever walking that fine line between Megatron's tolerance and a painful, humiliating death, was keenly aware.
What had eventually become the main part of Decepticon Headquarters had once been a spacegoing vessel. As such, it had emergency escape pods. The pods themselves had been cannibalized for parts long ago…but the launch tubes were still there, completely intact. Lowering protective force fields and opening up all of the tubes at once, scattered as they were throughout various levels of Headquarters, would almost entirely flood the main part of the base very quickly, which would be a very good diversion. And once the tubes were open, Starscream had only to hop into one of them, endure a relatively short "flight" through water, and then there would be freedom. Of a sort, at least.
So instead of heading up toward the topside of Headquarters, where the docking bay was situated and where, no doubt, there would be a welcoming committee waiting for him, Starscream headed instead for the ship's bowels, its very underbelly. Down there was one of the three auxiliary control rooms, from which he knew that he could open all of the escape pods' launch tubes. And just down the corridor from there was a tube that was his ticket out of there.
He encountered few individuals on his way, and all of those that he did encounter he incapacitated – permanently or not, he didn't know – so as not to have his position or intended destination reported too quickly. Alarms blared, Megatron's enraged voice boomed over the comm, and confusion generally reigned, but Starscream was in short order ensconced, unharrassed, in the auxiliary control room that was his destination. Once there, he immediately communed with the computers and quickly ordered them to systematically open the launch tubes, blowing their physical hatches and simultaneously lowering the force fields that were an additional level of protection against someone doing exactly what he was doing: flooding Headquarters. He left the tube through which he intended to escape for last.
As Starscream worked, the voices over the comm. became less and less concerned with him and more and more concerned with the rising floodwaters and collateral damage, and he allowed himself a smirk, satisfied with his handiwork. His fellow Decepticons would have their hands full for quite a while, indeed, with hopefully not a thought to spare for him.
And then, very shortly, once all of the comm squawkings were all about water and the disgusting things that were coming in with it, it was time to go. Rising from his seat, Starscream headed for the door and poked his head cautiously out of it, glancing up and down the corridor. No one was about, and the corridor was bathed in dim red emergency lighting in the face of the crisis at hand. Voices, some of them now panicked cries for help, still squawked over the comm channels, but Starscream paid them no mind as he slipped quietly into the corridor.
Since there was only one escape pod tube on this level – which was why he had chosen it – the water wasn't very deep yet, only halfway to Starscream's ankle, so navigating was no problem. As he neared the tube, he could hear the water pouring in, crashing loudly as it spewed from the wide interior opening of the upwardly-canted tube and onto the deck plates and against the opposite bulkhead. The force of the incoming flood made it quite difficult to enter the tube, but Starscream managed it, transforming as he did so, the width of the tube easily accommodating his wingspan. "Flying" against the incoming tide was difficult, too, but also manageable with thrusters at maximum. Once through the tube, overcoming the currents that wanted to suck him back into Headquarters like one of the disgusting organic creatures about which his comrades had been complaining was easier still, and soon Starscream was fully away, slipping unseen and unchallenged into the eternal, abyssal, and silent darkness that shrouded Decepticon Headquarters. He headed for the surface with all possible haste; "flying" underwater was categorically not his idea of fun.
Starscream's energy levels were laughably low as he breached the surface of the Pacific, rocketing out of it and into the piercing sunshine above in a glittering arc of spray and noise. Most of his peripheral systems had shut down long ago, in the face of weeks of little-to-no recharge and even less energon, and now some of his diagnostics were reporting that some of his vital systems were starting to give up the ghost, too. Other systems, some of them still fully powered, hadn't been at all happy about the swim. And he had a journey of a few thousand miles ahead of him, most of it over ocean. Given his condition, Starscream was dismally aware that it was unlikely that he'd be able to complete the journey without meeting up with that ocean again at some point along the way.
But he had no choice now, he grimly realized as he adjusted course. He had saved his own hide in a somewhat spectacular fashion…but now there was simply nowhere else to go but his new intended destination. Starscream was quite certain that, assuming that it/they survived the unexpected flood, Decepticon Headquarters and its inhabitants would never welcome him again, not after this. So now there was only one person in the entire universe who could conceivably help him. And if she wouldn't or couldn't help him, then at least she was likely to cheerfully reduce him to a zillion tiny bits.
And if it came to that, that worked for Starscream, too. If only because she wasn't Megatron.
Hee hee…Screamer's destructive when crazy, isn't he? But I guess we all knew that already. I mean, this is the guy who tried to blow up the Earth. Twice. He's rather like Marvin the Martian that way…
Speaking of crazy, though, meet Starscream's theme song for this fic (Copypasta, remove spaces):
http:/ www. youtube. com/watch ? v= GUXfrkBHqhg
*snicker*
For those of you who might be disappointed with this chapter because of a lack of real confrontation between Starscream and Megatron…Well, just wait. Trust me, the big confrontation will happen and…Well, let's just say that it will change things drastically. *laughs* But it's not ready to happen yet. To have had a big confrontation here would have made the later confrontation redundant and perhaps even a bit anticlimactic. So, sit tight. We'll get there…eventually…
Now, review replies!
Shadir: You hear that, Mirage? Stop spitting!
Mirage: *confused* What?
Never mind!
OK, so maybe the gentlemen can't help Starscream with that particular problem… :) You'll still have to share him, though. And it's funny that you should mention karma. The title of this story is a shortened "What goes around, comes around," which is basically the meaning of karma, that what you do eventually comes back to you, for better or worse. This story is really all about karma. No less than four characters get to experience it in big and small ways. I'll bet they're all thrilled…
Carmilla: Well, a surprise bad ending would have been terribly mean of me, wouldn't it? Plus, I can't kill Swoop! Luv da Swoop, whatever version I cook up of him…her…whatever. ;) Besides, I like happy endings! Happy, I say! Well, eventual happy endings, anyway… OK, temporarily happy endings, maybe. Ambiguously happy endings? *cough* I think I missed my calling as a soap opera writer…
Blume: Poor Mirage. Much as I don't really like his canon self, seeing him as annoyingly whiny among other things, I do actually feel quite badly for this version that I've cooked up of him, probably because I have determinedly made him non-whiny and more of a – Dare I say it? – grown-up. In fact, I think I actually like this version of him. Scaaaaary… :) He isn't really a coward, though. Just…a bit overwhelmed, at the moment. He'll deal with it, though. They both will. Mostly because they have no choice.
Starfire: Yup, Mirage is feeling his way, definitely. He kind of has to because, once again, it's paradigm shift time for the poor lad. Usually, people only experience one of those in a lifetime, if they experience one at all. Guess Mirage is just…lucky? And yes, one of my goals with this story (and with subsequent ones if I choose to write them) is to grow him up a bit and to remove the whininess that greatly irritates me while still retaining the wistfulness and a certain level of righteous outrage. I guess I want to bring out the noble in him, in a sense.
And yeah! A "bit" demented. What? I like dramatic understatement! ;) And…Well, now you know about Soundwave. Pope John Paul II was called "The Fisherman." Frankly, I think the title better suits Soundwave.
Next time: Unexpected guests. They're always just so much fun, aren't they?