~~MY IMMORTAL~~
By Ayngel
Fic Written for Robotbigbang 2012. Here's the last chapter, and thanks to everyone who's been reading.
Main Characters: Shrapnel, Hook, Kickback, Scavenger, Scrapper. Also: Bombshell, Bonescrusher, Mixmaster, Longhaul, Thrust, Dirge, Ramjet, Rumble.
Rating: NC 17
*Warnings:* This story contains Insecticon/Constructicon sex, sticky, P&P, tactile, oral. Explicit - please don't read if you don't like sticky. Also has a form of BDSM, violent noncon insecticon/conehead sex, prostitution, drug use and energon drinking in a quite vampiric style. Notions of procreation, of the cloning type. Definitely not mechpreg, however.
Although this fic has some dark 'moments,' I'm also warning for fluff/angst/romance - and crack.
This chapter has mild violence, near death experience, and mega fluff.
Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers, or make any money from this story.
Overall summary: Not long after their reactivation on Earth, the Constructicons struggle with various issues, trying to become functional. When Kickback is admitted to the Decepticon medbay after an attack by the coneheads, Hook finds himself deeply attracted to Shrapnel, and swept into a realm of new possibilities. Meanshile Kickback and Scavenger also develop a liking for each other. Will this destroy the Constructicons?
Or could the Insecticon agenda and the new liaisons actually improve matters?
In this chapter: Hook encounters problems when trying to stop the Coneheads, but finds he has more than one 'saviour.'
~PART 6~
EVENING
From the Journal of Scrapper, Constructicon Leader, Decepticon Command Earth Contingent 1984.
Us Constructicons really are not flying mechs. I knew when we saw the dark sky over the mainland what was coming.
I tried to focus, and not think 'what have we become?' The others bunched closely around me, strong and protective. Periodically, we clanged into each other, buffeted by the rising wind. I could not shake the sense of dread as the sky darkened, lightning forking down in brilliant gashes ahead.
I made us stay together, and try to fly in a straight line. As we neared the coast the rain came, lashing against us as the storm hit with fury.
It took some effort to cover the last distance, over the massive waves which through a mist of spray, and the rain that crashed on to the beach. It was lucky there was a cave, to which we ran, clanking, for shelter. And there we had to stay, hardly able to hear our own vocalisers over the din from the wind and the waves and the booming thunder, which seemed to go on forever.
It may not have been more severe than any other storm on this part of the globe, but under the circumstances, it seemed worse than any I have ever known. I only just stopped from breaking down, in utter despair. Even Bonecrusher and Mixmaster had gone quiet, and Long Haul sat alone, silent and pensive. The same dreadful fear was on all our minds.
But then, a ripple ran through the bond, the nascent stirrings of a familiar signature. We all perked up simultaneously. There was another. We looked at each other; then, simultaneously, all laughed - for we all knew at once that Scavenger had opened the gestalt connection. He was all right! In fact, he seemed more than all right. If a little anxious, because we were anxious.
The storm was still too intense for us to comm him. But it mattered not, the relief was overwhelming. My comrades fell into each others' arms, and I also hugged them in turn. But it was then that it became apparent, the terrible absence that was Hook, still missing. Still with the bond shut. Nobody spoke of it, but they all thought it. The mood changed abruptly. They're blaming me, I thought.
If only he would just open it and I could tell him; that I just - loved him and could not cope with that fact. That I could only admit that now, in this desperate situation, was devastating. It was as well that I could not consider it for long; that a very weak, crackly transmission came through on our comms.
It was Scavenger! Everyone was instantly happy again. But almost as soon, I was cross. He had worried us sick, and risked our lives. I did not have much chance to say this, however, for the comm cut out. He had done little more than transmit his coordinates.
Yes, we did have those. And the weather was easing, as the storm seemed to be moving away from the mainland. Soon after, we took off over the forest. It did not take us long to reach where he was.
When I saw where we had arrived - at the Insecticon lair - my fear sprang up again. In the dank, dripping forest there was nobody in sight, only three empty chairs, a dead camp fire and the remains of a meal. Three holes loomed in the cliff behind.
Was this a trap? I ordered the team to draw weapons and spread out.
But then, there was a scrabbling noise; and out of one hole came Scavenger, grinning and obviously unharmed. Behind him came the smaller Insecticon, the winged one with the antennae, the one that had gotten injured, that Hook fixed. Straight away I saw that they were holding hands.
A cheer went up. My colleagues greeted them warmly. I cannot say, however, that I was amused. After all my efforts to get the team right, all our worries, - and now this? "Scavenger, come here instantly!" I said. "Obviously, we need to talk." And I told the others to get ready straight away to fly back.
But the Insecticon – whose name is Kickback, it turns out – laughed. "Storm's gone out to sea," he said. "You really think you're gonna get through that now Shrap's had a go? And anyway, hey – lighten up! We got this place to ourselves, and I got energon."
"He's got more than just energon," Scavenger giggled.
I did not, of course, know what they meant. Nor was I particularly inclined to find out. But to my chagrin, the others showed interest - and then, they were walking away! I watched helplessly as Bonecrusher sat down in a chair whilst Mixmaster started to play with the fire. Well I was not having this. "Constructicons, pay attention!" I said. But they didn't.
Kickback disappeared into another hole next to the one from which he and Scavenger had emerged.
"Please …" Scavenger was looking at me imploringly; and then Long Haul clapped me on the shoulder.
"He's right Scrap!" he said. "Besides, I reckon you need a drink. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em."
Mixmaster had gotten the fire going. Kickback had returned, with bottles and cubes which he cracked open. Wood smoke blended nicely with the aroma of high grade, and twigs crackled as the fire got going. It looked cosy. "Hey!" Kickback said, "Come an' join us."
Bone and Mix looked at me encouragingly, Long Haul was sitting down, a grin on his face. Kickback threw his arm around Scavenger and jerked his head towards the third chair. His antennae twitched encouragingly.
I gave in. And here we are now. I'm watching Mixmaster and Bonecrusher consume energon of a curious shade which I have not seen before. Obviously an Insecticon brew. It seems to be making them very happy indeed. Long Haul has not partaken of that, but he is having fun just the same.
Scavenger, meanwhile is rapt in Kickback. I do not think they have been apart since Kickback went to get the cubes. He seems happier than I have seen him in a long time. For this reason, I have grudgingly concluded that the Insecticon is 'good' for him.
I am not drinking the strange energon, however, and nor am I drinking more high grade. For, now we have sorted one of our problems, the other never loomed so sickeningly. Hook. Still cut off, still no word. What if he really has gone?
Perhaps I should let my team mates party. In a while, they may never forgive me.
…
Pacific Ocean, off the North West coast of the USA
Buffeted by strong winds, rain lashed Hook's plating, stinging in its intensity. Far below, the sea churned, an ugly grey seething mass. If ever he had felt like a mech not built for flying, it was now, But Hook surged along, determined to stay in the air.
It had still taken him a while to lock down his crane and hurry to the tower.
"Constructicon aerobatics day is it?" Rumble had said. And although Hook had felt murderous, he'd smiled sweetly at the cassette. It had worked. He'd learned that between his team mates leaving some time ago and then the Insecticons, nobody else had departed.
Then Hook had cursed the fact that despite Scrapper's modifications, the tower still took forever to telescope properly, that the lift moved at a snail's pace. It had seemed to take forever to get to the surface.
But he'd still had a head start.
The moment Hook had stepped on to the platform, the force of the wind had knocked him sideways as rain hammered, stinging between his plating. His nerve had nearly failed him. Surely he would ditch before he got anywhere? But then, he'd caught flashes in the distance.
Looking up, he'd seen the distant storm front, an approaching army of towering clouds, between which lightning flashed like combatants in a primordial circus. Below was a dark curtain of rain. It stretched as far as the optic could see in either direction.
That should have scared Hook further. Surely, no way in the universe, was he going to get through that? But he'd thought of Shrapnel, memories of the last hours tumbling back. Insecticon business, Shrapnel had said. Was the storm it?
Hook had thought of the power, the softness, the ecstasy of the sensations. He'd felt stronger. If Shrapnel was out there, he would help him. Wouldn't he?
If he was, and if the Coneheads didn't get him, Hook now thought as he battled the elements. He had to just hope they didn't. Beyond the storm lay the mainland; and whatever else, beyond were his team. He must get through. He must get them to safety.
The sense of urgency warred with fear of the approaching weather, and Hook nearly opened the bond. But no - they would feel his fear, his panic, and not know why. It would not help. Hook needed to talk, to explain why. He must stay calm. He must fly through the storm, and get within comm range; get them safe. Quickly. If he calmed, he might be able to open the bond.
Wind buffeted him, tearing at his crane shaft as the rain hammered at his panels. The storm loomed closer. But still he clung on, stubbornly refusing to give up.
Hook thought he caught movement in the clouds ahead, a flash of silver.
"Shrapnel," he mouthed. "You haven't made this easy." But still, it gave him fresh courage. Steeling himself, he boosted his thrusters and surged forward.
…
Poised between the walls of billowing thunderhead, Bombshell watched as Shrapnel dashed into the cloud again. Lightning followed swiftly, blasting out tendrils into the other cloud. It answered with blinding flashes of its own, and instant deafening thunder.
Bombshell avoided the filaments, pleased as always to see Shrapnel in such a state of exhilaration. But he was mildly annoyed. "Can you tone it down a bit? He called out. "I'm trying to work!" But Shrapnel had not heard him, so caught up was he in his handiwork.
Oh blast – it would be easier to just get out of this for a moment.
Violent currents tossed Bombshell around as he made his way to the front of the storm, emerging through the clouds. Instantly, he realized his mistake. He should have gone the other way, darn it! Now he was going to have to fly ahead of the thing. No matter how many times it happened, this this storm stuff really wasn't his thing.
Still, it was not impossible. He felt rather grand, in fact, pushed along by the force of Shrapnel's creation; a lone crusader, riding on the wings of the might behind him. "Ah, Shrapnel,"he sighed. "If only on Electraan we had had these powers…"
Our time will come. But there was no time now to dwell on it. It did inspire the old Coleopteran, however, as he primed the device in his horn, the cerebroshell which he now set to stun mode. That was his thing. Oh yes, it most certainly was.
Now the real agenda, Bombshell thought. The Coneheads would be on their way soon, flying into the storm. They would spot the Coleopterans and give chase, believing their Insecticon energy spent, an enthralling hunt at the culmination of which they would bring down their kill on the mainland – in what they thought would be a spectacular show of force.
Except that little did they know. Oh how much Bombshell liked Soundwave, appreciated the deadpan manner in which he had duped them. So well were they going to work together in future aeons.
Shrapnel can have some more fun with that red and white imbecile, Bombshell thought. Deal with the remaining 'payback' element. But the blue and black one is mine. Meanwhile, the Seekers could play among the clouds. They liked that.
Oh yes, more dangerous than even Megatron realized, Dirge was far too interesting a sample to pass by. Not a clone candidate maybe, but useful in other ways, he would be. Perhaps it was a pity he would not come willingly.
The cerebroshell was ready. Looking west, Bombshell picked up in the distance four shapes low in the sky, skimming close to the surface of the turbulent sea. Ah, here they were! So predictable. Behind them came a fifth. Lazerbeak, Bombshell thought, pleased that Soundwave had taken up his suggestion to record Dirge's implant.
He was about to turn back into the cloud, to get Shrapnel, to wait for the moment they would strike. Except that something else caught the Coleopteran's keen sensors; another mech, flying alone, ahead of the rest and headed directly this way. Even from here, Bombshell could see who it was.
"Damn!" he said out loud. Of all the things that could really frag everything up, this was surely it. And he could not help but be dismayed, and rather irritated with Shrapnel. Clearly, Hook had been encouraged to come watch his lover at work. It simply would not do. And he'd gathered Hook was keen, but not this keen.
The Constructicon would never make it through those clouds. If the Coneheads didn't get him first. Oh well, Bombshell thought, Shrapnel could deal with this. He had work to do.
"Shrapnel!" he bawled. "I think your new cloning partner is going to require saving."
…
Hook felt them before he saw them, felt the sickening lurch, the coldness of the Dirge horror.
The formation of Coneheads and Seekers were well below him. Dirge powered along at the helm, the strong winds barely seeming to affect him. Ramjet flanked him. The space where Thrust ordinarily would have been was empty.
Behind sped Skywarp and Thundercracker, and behind them a fifth figure trailed. Lazerbeak. Hook's spark churned with bitter dismay. The Seeker presence was bad enough. But Soundwave was in on this too? And he had thought the telepath was all right. Obviously, however, he disliked the Insecticons too.
Did so many Cybertronians hate anything different from 'the usual order?'?
Yes, they do, Hook thought. Autobots and Decepticons alike. I have lived with that all my life. The thought was misery making indeed.
The squadron was getting ahead. And now Hook felt panic rising, that his team would bear the brunt of the Conehead's own special species aversion, and he would be able to do nothing about it. Frantic, Hook willed himself to go faster. But he was no flyer. The gap between them was opening, fast.
And now the flyers were soaring up, changing formation as they sped towards the storm. Obviously, it deterred them not at all. The front lit up ahead, closer. Where were the Insecticons?
Panic struck again. Maybe this had nothing to do with them. Storms happened, didn't they? They were a feature of Earth, part of the weather. Maybe the Insecticons were right now back at the lair, all of them and his team, oblivious of their impending doom.
Hook's spark ached with sudden overwhelming sorrow, far beyond any prospective discomfort from gestalt detachment. And it was that - the thought of having nobody left in the Universe to care for or to care about him - that gave Hook the inspiration he needed.
Steeling himself, he tuned to Dirge's frequency. "Look behind you, you pointy headed coward!" he ground out.
It worked. Dirge had heard. The whole squadron was sweeping around, and now they had seen him, and were headed back in his direction.
As they drew close, fear rose, sickening and poignant. "Well now," Dirge drawled. "Lookie lookie. What have we here? It's our medic, in whose hands we trust. 'Cept he leaves his patents to chase after his bug-friends."
"He won't be doin' it again!" He heard Ramjet's high pitched cackle as the mech cut in front of the others, firing a volley which grazed Hook's leg, making him cry out with pain.
"Aww Ramjet. Thought you were gonna save him for me?" Dirge's voice cut in like an icy sword. And worse still than the fear it engendered was the bleakness, the hopelessness, the embodiment of futility that was life. He knew then that there was no hope, that salvation was not real. There was no immortality. He would die, and his team would die, and Shrapnel would also die. The clones would never be.
No – this is not real. Dirge - this is what he does - he is causing this. But the small voice which spoke failed to convince Hook. This was the end. There would be nothing beyond. He had been right. There was nothing but empty oblivion forever.
Hook was dimly aware of the Seekers hanging back. Why did they too not get into the fray? There was a glimmer of hope; but then another shot caught Hook in the helm and he sprawled, reeling, barely able to stay in the air.
Dirge transformed. He hovered in front of Hook, a horrible leering spectre framed before the storm. "Never did know why Megatron reactivated y'anyway," he was drawling. "Combination mechs – waste of energy if y'ask me. Gonna be interesting to see how th' others'll go without you …. we'll need some more sport when we've finished the bugs."
"You leave them ALONE!" It broke through the despair, galvanized one last ditch attempt. Pulling out the gun he'd stashed in his arm, Hook fired at the abomination that was Dirge. But the Conehead only laughed, his laughter like bells left to rust in a forgotten tower.
"Say doc, know what? I don't kill that easy!" he said. "Reckon that team o'yours is gonna find that out too." Then Hook knew again that all of them were doomed. How could he have thought otherwise? Even before Dirge fired back he was falling, spiralling downwards, hurtling away on his own path to oblivion.
As he fell, Hook hoped that somehow it was just him, leaving the Universe. That somehow everyone else survived, that one of his clones could take his place. And he opened the bond, wanting them only to know that they did matter, that all was not lost and that whatever happened next, they should fight.
Then he succumbed to the fall, the universe greying out as he plummeted downwards.
….
Back at the Insecticon Lair
Kickback was confused. Everyone had been having a ball, rolling around as they laughed at jokes which wouldn't have raised a titter with Bombshell and Shrapnel. He'd felt brilliant! Then suddenly, they'd all frozen. Now, they stared at each other like Hivers hit by a stun gun.
"H-hook?" said the one with the funny voice.
"He's in trouble!" said the larger good looking one, the one called Bonecrusher who seemed to be the funny voiced one's frag partner. He stood up.
"He cares about us!" the one called Scrapper, the leader appeared incredulous at this fact. And enraptured. "We have to help him."
Only the one called Long Haul looked less affected. "Trust him!" he said. "Just when I finally get to relax!"
"Long Haul! How can you just sit there?" Scavenger, half hysterical, was already priming his thrusters. Soon, the others were doing the same. Kickback watched open mouthed as they readied themselves, a sudden flurry of activity flowing between them.
Clearly, somebody needed to take control. "Now wait a minute!" he said loudly, walking into their midst. "Just where d'ya think you're all going?" but they paid him no attention.
The activity continued, the whine of machines powering echoing through the forest. Well that was nice! He might as well be invisible. And here he was thinking he had some status with this lot. Well he was gonna have some. Besides which, this was ridiculous.
Pulling out his gun, Kickback fired a shot into the air. It did the trick. They stopped their preparations and looked at him. "Will someone kindly tell me what the frag's going on?" he said.
"It's Hook," wailed Scavenger. "I think he's – dying."
Oh yeah. The medic. He wasn't here. Scavenger had been worried all night, although Kickback hadn't known why. He was probably recovering from a going over from Shrapnel.
The others were wailing agreement. And now they seemed distraught, all over the place, like they'd completely lost the plot.
"Listen to me!" Kickback was delighted at the authority in his own voice. Was it ever one in the optic for Bombshell? He even sounded a bit like Bombshell. "One, you're gonna take off, but where you gonna go? Two, you ain't never gonna get through that storm. And three – well if anything's wrong with Hook, Shrapnel will sort it. He's hardly gonna let his cloning partner fade out right now, he?"
The machines powered down. The silence which settled as thicker than the thickest forest thickets. Scrapper was looking at him with wide optics. "What?" he said.
Oops, he'd definitely said too much there. Was he gonna be for it when Bombshell got back. But it seemed to have done the trick.
Until Scavenger wailed. "It's too late," he cried. "We lost him."
...
Meanwhile up in the clouds …
Hook was already falling when Shrapnel burst out beside Bombshell. It only took one look at the falling medic, the flyers circling like sharks surrounding a stricken swimmer for the small fragment of self control the Coleopteran possessed to evaporate completely.
"Bombshell, we have to save him, him!" He took off, Bombshell following.
"That's what I was trying to tell you," Bombshell yelled as they sped towards the scene. "Well you'd better do that. You concentrate on him. I'll deal with the rest."
Nevertheless, as they approached, Shrapnel gathered his energy and fired. A stream of lightning poured from his antlers, hitting Ramjet head on.
The jet's scream rose above the wind as he spiralled down. The Seekers and Lazerbeak scattered. Dirge turned sharply. Shrapnel had a glimpse of the sheer hatred on the mech's face. He itched to blast him. No matter what Bombshell intends, you are dead, he hissed to himself. There is nothing more certain. But then he was diving after Hook as his lover fell down, down, down…
In his peripheral vision, Shrapnel saw Lazerbeak, saw Bombshell motion to the bird, saw the Seekers circle and head away towards the storm. But Dirge was squaring up. The last thing Shrapnel saw was him freeze – in the way that they always did. It was some consolation. Even Dirge couldn't fight a cerebroshell implant.
Now, he had to catch Hook. And he was nearly on him. The mech looked lifeless, unconscious. Sudden fear pierced Shrapnel's spark. Transforming, he caught Hook, and pulled him in close. He was warm, and through his armour, Shrapnel felt his spark pulsing. Relief overwhelmed him, so much that he forgot to check his fall.
The swell raged, huge, the waves flecked with foaming white. Shrapnel went in between the crests of two of them. He hung on to Hook, hugging him tightly as they both plunged into the ocean depths.
…
Back in the forest …
"We've lost him, we've lost him!" Scavenger's wailing had been quickly joined by the others, who wrung their hands and reeled hopelessly, apparently at a loss for what to do. All except the leader who at that moment assumed, for the first time that Kickback had observed, something like a leaderish role.
"Constructicons unite!" he yelled. "Join! We must combine our wills and save him."
And then – oh no, as if by the Hives there hadn't been enough surprises today, they were all transforming before Kickback's optics; and not just transforming, but flying into the air, and joining together.
Kickback's jaw fell open. He had a brief glimpse of vehicles, of trucks and those other types you got fixing human roads and stuff. There was a barrel thing, shovels and scoops. Briefly, he saw how Scavenger's tail fitted the scheme of things. But then, Scavenger changed again; and now he was the right arm of this huge great giant green mech.
The mech towered above him, stretching up to the treetops. And the thing was amazing, and it would have been awesome – except that it had no head.
And somehow, although Kickback tried to tell himself hat should be all right, it just simply wasn't.
I'm stuck in the forest with a giant headless mech, Kickback despaired. And I thought the Coneheads were scary!
Suddenly, he really missed Bombshell and Shrapnel.
…..
Meanwhile over the ocean …
Down, down Hook plunged, fading out, sinking into Dirge's world of nothing and extinction. This was the end, the black nothingness he had always so dreaded. He wanted to cry out, to ask for another chance. The bond was still open, and his team were there and they cared, and they were trying to reassure him. But it wasn't going to make any difference.
"Goodbye," he murmured. "I'm sorry I failed you." As now the cluster bombs would surely get them, and that would be the end of them. He would never see them again, as there was nothing after death. Hook was certain of that now.
Yet even as he drifted out of consciousness it seemed there were arms around him, strong and reassuring. A warmth was against his chest. An afterlife guide? Some mechs believed in them. He never had – but maybe this would not be so bad after all…
He slammed into something, with force. Pain ricocheted through his frame. I can't be dead yet? Then the pain faded and he was still falling, but slowly. A liquid coolness was all around.
So this was what it was like? Falling through water. Well it was not as bad as he had thought. And still he was held. Firmly, lovingly. A glimmer reached him through the bond. His team! They were together, united, bidding him farewell. Goodbye, he murmured again.
He'd come to a stop. And he could still feel, still was. Sensations ran through his body – and they were physical. He couldn't be dead. Could he? The cool liquid it was – water. The scent of sodium chloride and organic matter. I have fallen into the ocean.
And now, the arms were no longer around Hook, but he felt a grip on his hand and he was rising up, up, the water rushing cool against his panels.
And even though his optics were not online, it seemed that a being of bright, white light had hold of him, was pulling him up and away from the depths of nothingness. He could not make it out, but it was familiar, leading him to a sanctuary. Hope rose, just as his team burst through strongly, urging him to live, wanting him to be one of them, to always be a Constructicon.
Dirge had not won. And in that light and the strength from Hook's team all that Dirge stood for faded, ashes blown away by something so much more powerful.
I am alive! Hook thought, coming back to consciousness. The moment of euphoria was brief however. Looking up, a towering wall of water headed his way.
But his saviour had hold of him again. And, of course, it was Shrapnel. Why had Hook not known this before?
"Hang on, on!" the Insecticon was saying. "We're gonna have to ride this one!"
…..
Back in the forest...
"I can feel something, "Scavenger was chattering excitedly. "Hey – Hook's OK!"
"Yeah!" Bonecrusher echoed. "He's in the land of the living!"
Happiness surged between the Constructicons. "D'you think we could d-disengage, then?" Mixmaster asked. "It's kinda fr-fr-freakin' me out that D-d-devastator ain't got a head."
Scavenger agreed. He was pleased, at that moment, that they'd saved Hook for this if for no other reason. Poor Devastator – he couldn't even go anywhere, like this.
"Indeed," said Scrapper; and Scavenger thought he had never sounded more leaderlike. "Constructicons! De-unite."
As he landed and transformed, Scavenger remembered Kickback. And there he was, looking all perplexed and left out. Scavenger felt instantly guilty. Running over, he swept Kickback into a hug. "Sorry about that," he exclaimed. "Just something we had to do. You could call it – Constructicon business."
Kickback's antennae still twitched uncertainly. He looked far from reassured. "Er - what was that?" he asked.
"His name's Devastator," Scavenger said. "And when he's got all his faculties, he's really an OK guy!"
"Your attention please!" Scrapper was talking. "We know only that Hook is all right. We still have to reunite him with us. There were murmurs of agreement all around.
"I've got an idea!" Kickback said; and Scavenger was pleased to see that he was his usual cheery self again. "Why don't we go to the beach? Shrapnel always goes there after storms. He likes seeing how high the waves went. We can ask him about Hook."
The Constructicons were nodding agreement. "Seems like a good enough idea," Scrapper said. "Yeah," Long Haul agreed. "That way we can see how the storm's doing, whether its safe to go."
Scavenger hoped they wouldn't have to do that. Not for a while, anyway.
They were already attending to their thrusters. "Which way is it?" Bonecrusher asked.
Kickback puffed his chest out, strumming his wings. "I'll lead the way!" he said. "But I want Scav beside me. He's a good flyer. I think you should follow me an' him." Grabbing the radio, he transformed. "I'll take this too. Follow us!"
"Kickback's d-definitely good for Scavenger!" He heard Mixmaster jabber they took off.
…
In the Pacific Ocean…
Rain lashed Shrapnel and Hook as they rose up the side of the wave, as helpless as space debris caught in the currents of a solar wind. Shrapnel's energy was almost spent, and his antlers were no use at all. But he kept a hold of Hook, hugging him firmly. They bobbed over the wave crest just before it broke; before they plunging down into another grey, heaving valley.
Shrapnel steeled them for the next wall as rain obscured the view and the storm, which had finally caught them up, bore down. It was still intense, even though the lightning had all but ceased.
"Hang in there, there ," Shrapnel muttered; and whilst Hook did not reply his fingers tightened on Shrapnel's antlers, which was encouraging.
There was a flurry above, a shape in the wild weather. Shrapnel looked up to see Bombshell hovering in root mode, wavering in the fierce wind. From one hand, Dirge dangled, his feel trailing in the foaming waters. Optics stared, seeing nothing. Just as they always were after implant, if Bombshell chose it that way.
Which might have pleased Shrapnel, except that surely it wasn't the time or place and why the heck didn't Bombshell get them out of here right now?
Bombshell, however, seemed to think the same. "What the name of the Great One are you doing down there?" he yelled. "We need to get back to base. I just heard from Kickback and that one's team has been worried sick." With his free hand, he indicated to Hook.
Another wave came then, and Bombshell swept out of view. Clinging to Hook, Shrapnel took them over the crest. Then Bombshell was there again.
"Bombshell, in case you haven't noticed I haven't got the strength to get out of here, here," Shrapnel hollered. "It's not contra the Insecticon Way for you to give us a hand, you know, know!"
"Oh! Yes I'd forgotten how much energy you'd used up."
For a class one Quintesson mod and Electraan elder, Bombshell really could be dense sometimes.
There was a fortunate lull in the waves, then. Dirge stirred, his head turning to stare at the Coleopteran with the same blankness.
"Your team mate is crashed and floating in the ocean just north," Bombshell yelled. "You will retrieve him and then you will return to the Decepticon base. You will report to Soundwave, and wait for me. Do you understand?"
Dirge nodded. Bombshell let go. Without hesitation, Dirge transformed and took off.
Looking up, Shrapnel saw another huge wall of water coming their way. This time, he knew it would break before they reached the crest. "Bombshell-shell!" he yelled.
And then, Bombshell had his hand; and the older Coleopteran, with so much more brute force physical strength than he, was pulling them to safety. Hook and Shrapnel rose from the water, plucked away seconds before the wave which would have separated them crashed down in a mass of seething foam.
Hook was conscious. "Shrapnel?" he said weakly as Bombshell pulled them upward.
"It's me …" Shrapnel still held him tight. But now he didn't know what to do. If Bombshell let go of him they would fall again, he was sure.
Bombshell, as always, knew just what to do. Kickback could complain all he liked. Really he knew, just as Shrapnel knew, that Bombshell was not only strong but ingenious. Both qualities had saved them over the aeons more than they cared to remember. "Transform," Bombshell said. "Hook? Hang on to his back and grasp his antlers."
"Did you hear that?" Shrapnel murmured.
Hook hesitated. "Yes," he said weakly. "But you said not to touch."
Bombshell chuckled, seizing hold of Hook. "That is most times," he said. "Right now, however, I think we can make an exception."
As Shrapnel transformed, he thought his spark might burst with the sudden rush of strong and really very alien sensations. Never had he felt the way he did just then for Hook. Not for another Insecticon, another Cybertronian, anyone.
Bombshell manoeuvred Hook into position and they sped away, Shrapnel relishing the warmth on his back, the hands around his antlers, but wanting them to be somewhere he could hold Hook again as soon as possible.
….
Without Shrapnel's input, the storm was blowing itself out. The clouds were dispersing and as they flew through them. The evening sun broke through, lighting up the sky in hues of pink and orange. Colours glinted from Shrapnel's antlers, from the other sleek Coleopteran flying beside them.
Hook shuttered his optics and enjoyed Shrapnel's warm body, the rush of cool, evening sea air. A light rain fell, and he pressed close to Shrapnel and squeezed the antlers, laughing quietly when he managed to get a spark from one which rippled through his body.
"Perhaps, I am not completely spent, spent," Shrapnel said.
"Apparently not!" chuckled Bombshell.
There was a flurry of wings, flashes of black and purple and blue. The Seekers passed them, sweeping in a wide arc and turning back. Hook ceased his enjoyment of the surroundings and tensed. So it wasn't over yet. "Shrapnel!" he whispered.
But Bombshell only chuckled. "It's all right. They're on our side!" he said.
Sure enough, Skywarp circled. "Great storm, Shrap!" he yelled. "Worth coming out here for that!"
"Yeah, even more for the rest," Thundercracker laughed.
"Thank you," Bombshell answered. "And thank you for your assistance."
Turning his head sideways, Hook saw that Skywarp had swooped in next to Shrapnel, apparently intrigued at the sight of Hook clinging on the beetle's back. "Hey – like your style, doc. Happy landings!" he said. "Don't forget – you still owe me a tuneup sometime!"
That's right. Hook did, too. "When I'm in slightly better shape myself," he managed a smile.
"Warp! C'mon…" They were gone, sweeping away to the west.
"By the way, Kickback stole one of your spare antlers," Bombshell said. "That was how he made a radio call."
"Always something with him, him," Shrapnel sounded weary. "But I think he is forgiven for today, today, I have not the energy left to deal with it, it."
There was affection in his voice. Touched, Hook fondled Shrapnel's antler, thinking of Scrapper, and Scavenger, and all the others. How he longed to see them, to make up, to say he was sorry for everything and Scrapper please not replace him. Even though he didn't think Scrapper would, now. But if he could just see them all…
He must have drifted off, lulled by the steady hum of the Insecticon's spark. When he came to, the rain no longer soaked his back. Hook looked up to see the mainland ahead, the sun reflecting from the cliffs. Sand and waves broke in shallow water. A light mist hung over the beach; but through it, Hook thought he could see figures.
"Ahh – the welcoming committee," Bombshell said.
As they got closer, joy surged through Hook, for there was no doubt who the figures were. For there was Scavenger's tail. And Mix's barrel. And Scrapper, and Bonecrusher, and Long Haul, all with their unique bits and pieces.
They were all there. And they were waving!
Shrapnel landed, splashing into the surf's edge; and then the Insecticons were transforming. Hook scrambled upright - and then, in the slanting shadows of evening, his team came running towards him.
And then bodies were against him, arms around him, hands patting, stroking. He helt fingers curling on his shoulder, saw Mixmaster's helm buried there. An arm went round his waist, as Scavenger sobbed against his chest. "I'm sorry!' he was saying again and again. Hook pulled gently at his tail and kissed him on the helm. He was, for more than a few astroseconds, too choked to say anything.
Eventually, Hook looked up, and along the beach. He saw that Kickback was here also, and that he was with the other Insecticons. Kickback had his arms around Shrapnel and they hugged enthusiastically; and then Kickback hugged Bombshell, but with more restraint. He returned to Shrapnel, who swept him into another embrace, this time kissing him in a way which was really quite tender.
Hook's spark flared with feeling and appreciation for the Insecticons. Then his team were still lovingly all around, their own affection and appreciation obvious. But there was one thing missing. Hook broke from them gently and looked around. Scrapper stood back form the others, watching. Hook gently disentangled himself from the caring arms and went over.
"Scrap?" Hook said quietly.
Scrapper looked at him. There was a moment's hesitation. And then it was so good feeling Scrapper melt into his arms, the final reassurance Hook needed. "Don't you ever disappear on me again," Scrapper murmured.
"You're not gonna replace me, then?"
"Reckon you're pretty irreplaceable."
Hook shuttered his optics, hugging him close. "We're good then?" he asked.
"We're good."
…
Epilogue
From the Journal of Scrapper, Constructicon Leader, Decepticon Command Earth Contingent 1984.
We are still at the lair, where R&R is in full swing. Much as it is a fact that despite all that has happened, the Transfixatron STILL awaits, I cannot bring it upon myself to break up the revelries of the Constructicons and the Insecticons. So we will stay a little while longer.
Besides, I wanted to ask about this cloning thing. Once we were back at the lair, and settled, and everyone was back in their places by the fire or – in Shrapnel and Hook's case – in Shrapnel's hole, I decided I needed some answers.
"Oh, Kickback told you about that, did he?" Bombshell looked reproachfully in Kickback's direction. I felt a little guilty about getting the small one into trouble, although from what I had seen, I did not think Bombshell would be too hard on him. There is much history between these three, which makes the time we have been Constructicons seem short indeed. And history, I have learned, means a lot.
Nevertheless, I came straight to the point. "I think if you are going to use a member of my team for such a purpose, the least you could do is let me know," I said.
He is reasonable, this Bombshell. Wise. And very intelligent. He did not take this badly at all. "You are right," he said. "I apologise. It was remiss."
Now I've heard lots said about Insecticons over the aeons and most of it not complmentary. I have to say I was impressed by this; I mean - does your average Cybertronian admit himself at fault like that? Bombshell went on to tell me about their plans for the colonies, the place they intend to establish for themselves in the Cybertronian sector, the revenge they intend to have on the Arachnids. Then he bade me say nothing, to anyone.
"Why are you telling me this?" I asked, chuffed at being taken into his confidence, but a little nervous nonetheless.
"I am telling you this, my new friend," he said, "partly because Shrapnel has chosen your team mate, and partly because in the not too distant future you may need us. All Cybertronians may need us more than they imagine. Do not think that the Arachnid threat will stay within the confines of our quadrant. Or that there are not other equally threatening menaces out there. To ruin your own protection by disclosing our plans to those who would fail to see the value of it as yet would be foolish indeed, would it not?"
He went to get himself a drink. That was food for thought indeed.
But for now, there was R&R to be had. For the others, anyway. Hearing laughter and the beat of music, I looked across to see that Kickback had a small drum, and that Longhaul had gotten up on the table and was dancing, Mixmaster and Bonecrusher were clapping in time, as Scavenger twined around Mixmaster.
Ah well. It warmed my spark to see that they were all having a good time, so united. But now I could not help being just a teeny bit sad that Hook had gone with Shrapnel, and not with me. Though I could see why. It was Shrapnel, really, who saved him. And he was a lightning maker, and he was beautiful. There was no way I could compete that sort of talent, or with that face, or those antlers.
Yes – and the way they has been looking at each other? I know that never in the whole of the rest of the universe is Hook ever gonna look at me like that.
Yet, I was trying to be happy for him. Had I not wanted him to feel all right? So I resigned myself to the rest of the evening alone, and made ready to go into Bombshell's habitation hole, which he had kindly said I could use.
But a voice said: "Scrap?" I turned to see both Hook and Shrapnel. They had emerged form the hole and I had not heard them, so deep in thought had I been.
Hook came over. He put his arm around me. "You OK?" he said.
I nodded. Shrapnel looked sympathetic. "For now, we have just the one Hook, Hook," he said. "He needs to be with you as well as me, me. But when he has cloned there will be many versions of him. We will maybe have a few each, each?"
Now there was a thought. Hook looked mildly alarmed. I couldn't help smiling. "I guess I have a few ideas to get used to," he said. "Me too," I agreed.
Bombshell had come back with some cubes. He handed them out and then standing up, cleared his throat. "If I could have your attention please – I would like to propose a toast …"
I stood up too. And I beat him to it. "To Insecticons and Constructicons," I said.
And nobody disagreed with that.
THE END
FOR NOW …