Maelstrom Chapter 7.5
Marooned: Part E
Author's note: This story is part of a LONG series called Maelstrom. It is strictly Gen. 1 - sorry, but that was all that was out when I started writing back in the late 1980's. It began as a fan-publication so the first chapters are in the form of a comic book! If you have not read the nine original Maelstrom Comics and the preceding text stories, I strongly suggest you do. This is a complex universe. They can be found at http/ illmatar. deviantart. com (I have put double spaces between the URL here or FF . Net eats the link.) The comics and art which accompanies this series are there...and believe me I am a better artist than writer.
This chapter takes place between the comic issues #7 and #8.
Most chapters of this series contain strong language and violence. Rated M for adult themes! Really! Transformers characters belong to Hasbro. Critiques adored! This scene contains strong language, violence, trauma, and sex. Rated M for adult themes!
Transformers characters belong to Hasbro. Story and OC characters are mine. Critiques adored!
Continued from Marooned: Part D
They back-tracked to the Stink-Beast, and by the time they reached it Lancer seemed more her usual level of bitchy. Some of the tusked pack-predators were happily scavenging the corpse, but they were mostly sticking to the places Lancer skinned the day she killed it. A blast or two sent the beasts running off, for which she apologized and promised to make their next meal easier.
She and Rodimus designed and debated, harvested and modified, and peeled and dried. Finally, they had a pretty decent sized tent made from one large stretch of skin and numerous teeth of various lengths for poles and stakes. Lancer cut notches into the teeth to help them interlock with each other or catch the skin. Another piece of hide served as the floor, and various tendons from the face and neck served as ropes and tie downs. A few more large bits and they had some stiff blankets too. None of it was comfortable or pleasant, but it was waterproof and warm.
Off they went again, although the first night Lancer somehow picked a different campsite than the one they had spent in the rain. She also made quite sure her pack and any other chattel they had out sat squarely in the middle between them. Rodimus chose not to ask why. About ten miles went by each day with very little change in the landscape or their routine. If they weren't discussing some new tactic Lancer wanted to teach him they exchanged war stories. Rodimus learned how a little group of very diverse people harassed an entrenched network of political and financial evil, and Lancer learned what it was like to be part of a culture that was also a family - that was also an army. Goldbug's name was left conspicuously out of his stories though, as was any trace of emotion in his voice no matter what he was telling her about.
She did give him a certain amount of grief about some of the things he told her about. "So what you're telling me is the Jabez didn't inspire your death-wish, they just improved on it."
"No."
"No? Seriously? So far I've heard you tell me about sticking your hand in a Junkion sweeper machine, ripping out your own circuits to enter the Matrix, oh and LETTING a Decepticon rip your circuits out," Lancer growled.
"Well, I had to. It's my role to protect people Lancer," Rodimus said. " I'm just not that good at it."
She whacked the back of his head. Hard.
He didn't make a sound. He just stared at her.
She stared back.
He opened his mouth to protest and she whacked him again so fast her hand was barely visible.
His mouth snapped shut and he glared.
"Save it Green-eyes. You pushed the Cons right off of Earth your first term and kept the Quints in check too. The whole bullshit that went down when Op was revived should never have happened. Silva couldn't understand it and Talon...Talon was furious for some reason. They were happier when you guys announced the partnership. Both of them thought YOU were more effective. I wasn't experienced enough to have an opinion. Listening to you now though, I agree. Optimus reacts when attacked. You're more proactive...even if you can't throw a punch."
The first time they actually found a pool of clean, clear water resulted in an early campsite and Rodi's first bath. Lancer finally got her hair clean too and she grudgingly let Rodimus help braid it since her solo attempt hadn't held up very well. He got praise for being brutally attentive to keeping it taut while he learned to braid it to her satisfaction. The simplicity and novelty of the task appealed to him as something completely divorced from his former life. There was also satisfaction in seeing her grin when she was able to whip it accurately without a strand coming loose.
He was trying. Trying to be an asset. Trying to help. Trying to play the role of Rodimus Prime...saying what Rodimus would say...doing what Rodimus would do. His heart still raced when things touched him unexpectedly. There was still an urge to fly into a rage, or dwell on the whirlwind of hate in his mind, but he wanted to help her, so he fought those urges down. All Lancer knew was she saw much less of One, Two, and Three, but she was afraid asking why might set him back. She wasn't terribly sorry to see them go either.
Unfortunately, they weren't gone, just repressed.
To her, One and Three were the most distressing. They were the violent ones she had to guard against. Two was just annoying because Rodimus got sluggish and suicidal. Two also worried her because when Rodimus drifted into that state it was a silent transition. One and Three had the courtesy to announce themselves at least.
Internally though, there was no distinction between the three of them. The difference was just in the direction his pain lashed out. The state she knew as Two was the most viciously damaging to Rodimus himself, because his violence turned inward.
It had started in the torture chamber...body bound...all Rodimus could do was think and observe obsessively. Frantic escape plans rose and fell - all contingent on a lapse by their captors that never came. Watching for that moment of weakness made him afraid to even pass out from the pain lest he miss a chance. Questions without end whipped around his head. How can I save Goldbug...how did we get here...what did I miss...why won't they listen...what can I do to make them stop for just one moment? Eventually all of that had turned darker. How can I kill them? What should I use when I kill them? How long will they last if I do that to them? It was like a whirlwind of guilt and horror in his mind and it shredded his sense of self like a sandstorm shredded skin. Not one of his questions had been resolved, and where the whirlwind swirled the torture chamber still functioned. He was there in totality, body, mind, and soul - reliving every detail in full while he vainly searched for answers. There was only one way out and he knew it. Death. Sometimes, just overwhelmed by the maelstrom, he sought death out.
Then there would be peace. Silence.
It was when Lancer interrupted his chances to die that he turned on her.
Damn her.
Sometimes he wanted her death to be...special. Like the ones he planned for the Jabez. He had some very special ones planned for certain members of the torture team especially, but they weren't here, and what a shame to waste his creativity. Certainly, she was significant enough to deserve some time, some patience, some pizzazz. She liked to cut herself up, but he could do it so much more beautifully.
Ah...but Rodimus Prime didn't do such things when he was busy being helpful. Primes being helpful and all. Best wait...set things aside for the right time and place.
Any time his mind idled, Rodimus would catch himself wandering between memories of pain and failure to plans of hurting himself or the Jabez...and the Jabez sometimes pulled in Lancer as a pinch victim. The shattered remnants of his rational mind tried desperately to stay focused, but it was impossible to stay busy all the time. Anything Lancer could find for him to do, he did to the point of overkill just to fill his waking minutes with sanity and productivity. Going to bed exhausted also meant there was less chance of him going after her in his sleep – although he had yet to make it through the night without attacking her at least once.
She didn't sleep much. He knew it was his fault she was so tired. One part of him felt guilty. The other waited for its chance.
He started hounding her for things to think about. Where were they going? Why south? Why the equator? How would they know if they made it there? Could they do anything to improve their tent, their pace, their food supply? What about his clothes, her clothes, the weapons? Could they fix the teleporter? Boost the communicator? Make the music louder?
On and on he questioned until she lost her temper. He would subside for an hour or so. Then he'd start up again. The whirlwind in his mind prodded him and the only way to suppress it was to outpace it with other things.
Mostly though, he wanted to know how to kill things better and she gleefully obliged.
Suppressing all of this during the day had two significant consequences. One, Lancer found him useful, if a bit obsessive and annoying. Two, it almost killed him.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Lancer banked the fire for the night and savored the warmth. She had her skinning knife and her whetstone in her hand. The thin shrubs in the area weren't good for much, but if you asked Rodimus for firewood he came back with enough for two nights. Awesome. No rock heating duty for her tonight. She felt positively spoiled.
Leaning back on a boulder she took stock. Rodimus was snoring softly and regularly in their hide tent. She was glad it seemed to be dreamless sleep for now. They were making better time; food and water were easier to find, and fuel was becoming more plentiful. The air was generally warmer and the non-stop fucking wind from the desert had toned down to a breeze. This made the temperature easier to bear and best of all kept the fucking dirt on the ground. If they ever got back anyone who dared suggest a beach vacation to her ever again had better run for their lives. She had pulled enough sand out of her eyes, ears, hair and any every other cranny to last a lifetime. How it got down past her skin-tight armor was beyond her, but Rodimus was not the only one with chafed skin!
On top of it all her top-heavy, broken-wheeled, overbalanced piece of luggage was becoming a person. She still didn't fully trust him not to walk deliberately off a cliff, but at least he was cooperating most of the time. Except meals. He still thought charcoal was an acceptable form of prepared meat. Little things like complete lack of nutritional content were less important to him than lack of taste or resemblance to any sort of animal.
Lancer snorted to herself. She could see why the Jabez hadn't really broken him, and why his robotic enemies hadn't defeated him. He was too damned ornery. Once he got an idea in his head, he dug in his heels and did whatever he could to see it through...even if it was just seconds at meal-time. Lancer grinned. Rodimus had yet to find a successful strategy for avoiding seconds, but he still resisted on principle. You had to admire the tenacity, if not the crude means he tried to resist her. Getting less crude though, if she did say so herself.
Oh and the ideas he concocted to latch on to. Everything was analyzed and up for debate. Everything was open for revision. So far he'd improved his shoes, her so-called sewing, and their tent. He noticed absolutely everything about the land around them and had a real knack for finding the safest route across any obstacle they came across.
She could do that, but for him it was as natural as breathing. …. Nope. MORE natural than breathing.
How then was this super observant, intelligent, critical thinker so fucking clueless about the Jabez and the Slavers who exploited both Earth and Cybertron right under his observant nose? Where did all of those critical thinking skills go when it came to the war he and his partner were supposedly trying to win?
The Maelstrom had already run across several Terran and alien government officials that had knowledge of the slave trade and turned a blind eye, or even benefited. Lancer had seen to the questioning and disposal of some herself. Robert had also destroyed a few – not with blades, but with information. There wasn't a computer system anywhere that could compete with Sigma Beta, and evidence of bribery or other indiscretions could at least force the Sponsors to start over bribing someone else. Of course sometimes that meant they just Converted someone with the job they wanted. Lancer got to clean that shit up with her blades too. Rarely, the Maelstrom even found someone who knew, and didn't want to help the slavers, but had to because of threats to loved ones or things like that.
The assumption on the Maelstrom had been the Autobots had fallen in one of those groups, with the hope being they had just been unable to act. Turns out they were in the category of "Clueless" instead. Rodimus frustrated her to no end. He could tell her all about the overt politics, economics, defensive and offensive capabilities of every planetary system she could name. He also knew absolutely nothing about the slave rings, smugglers, drug lords, private arsenals, assassin's guilds, and covert alliances which made up the real power in those systems.
Autobots. Wonderful, huge, and betrayed by their own natures. They only saw threats as huge and blundering as themselves. So indestructible they never learned to dodge destruction. So comfortable in their immortality that they never got around to making the changes they needed to survive. Instead they stagnated in the kind of conflicts the rest of the universe resolved in a generation. Millions of years and it wasn't just the same war, it was the same warriors! Optimus vs. Mega/Galvatron...STILL! They were like a pair of stags with their antlers locked together. They couldn't stop butting heads – couldn't see anything but each other – neither realizing they would both starve before they got free.
Worst, they congratulated themselves for it, and the rest of the universe laughed, took pictures, and went about its business. Lancer just wanted to put them out of their misery. Anger at the stupidity of it all made her feel choked.
She poked at her fire with a twig, watching the embers flare. She wasn't sorry there was at least one Autobot who knew better now, although he'd had one hell of a wake up call. Suddenly she straightened and looked around. Something was wrong...different. She scanned with her powers...no odd life-signs. Her ears shared only silence. The air felt heavy, like she couldn't breath.
Glancing towards the tent she knew. The silence was the problem. Rodimus' sleeping form was contorted – back arched, hands digging into the soil, face twisted in agony. His skin was blue. She launched herself across the camp from her sitting position like a cat – landing hands first at his side. He wasn't breathing and panic made her reckless. Grabbing his shoulders, she shook him hard. The rough hands on his body set off One, and he attacked her wildly. His eyes were open and bright but he still didn't inhale. She was feeling dizzy and lightheaded herself. Her right hand smacked his face hard enough to bruise. His eyes saw her...followed her motion.
Breathing did not happen. His skin was almost purple.
"RODIMUS PRIME! WAKE UP!" she roared. "BREATHE you stupid sonofabitch!" Reaching behind herself she grabbed one of the water jugs and dumped the entire contents on his head.
He gasped a long, shuddering breath and she collapsed to the ground and panted as hard as he did. Neither of them spoke or moved for a while.
Finally, "What the fuck was that Rodi?"
" I had a nightmare," he explained.
"Yeah. Why the additional festivities?" Lancer inquired flatly.
" I was...me. Robot me."
"Even AFTER I woke you up?" she asked.
" I was still sort of flashing...it didn't dawn on me to start breathing," he told her.
" It didn't 'dawn on you' to breath? Every kid born has an instinct to breath Rodi, it doesn't have to 'dawn on them!'" she said, and then immediately regretted her choice of words.
It hit both of them at that millisecond. He hadn't been born. Breathing was not automatic, and if he turned it off it didn't automatically turn back on again.
He could get out of this life any time he wished.
Lancer grabbed the front of his skin shirt. Her head shook slowly...furiously.
"Don't you dare! Don't you do it Rodi!"
He turned his head a bit away from her, but not his eyes.
"Rodi! No! So help me don't you dare!"
He smiled ever so slightly. Galvatron would have recognized the expression. Then, he simply stopped breathing.
"Oh you fucking asshole!" Lancer screamed, panic jamming her voice. She shook him, smacked him, and swore at him. Her voice faded.
He smiled. He felt himself starting to black out. The whirlwind slowed down...stalled. For a second there was silence. He was free.
Then two sensations hit him at once - her mouth on his forcing air into his lungs and a sizable electric shock kick-starting his heart.
When his eyes flared open in rage he found hers right on top of his. She was lying right on top of him with her clawed hands digging into his chest. All he could see was her glowing, pupilless stare. Her voice waxed so demonic it was almost incomprehensible.
"You are not getting away that easily. What was it you swore to Optimus? That you would fight? On your honor wasn't it? Did he let you out of that? DID HE? I will NOT give up on you! I will force your heart on beat by beat if I have to. GET THAT?! You will wish you were back with the Jabez if you fuck with me like this again! You bring on Three and I'll teach him a few designs of my own!"
One part of him had the sense to be intimidated. Another thought Wow, she's really upset. Unfortunately anything rational was buried under his disappointment at being denied death yet again. He flipped himself up off the ground, lifting her weight effortlessly and throwing her off. Then he charged. She didn't try to restrain him like she usually did. She didn't hold back either. The green-eyed madman and the demon fought for almost half an hour.
She seemed to be everywhere – slashing and biting. Under his legs. Over his back. She dodged and struck – if not to kill, then certainly to hurt. Blood flew. He wasn't as skilled as she, but he was both stronger and faster so when he did hit her body flew away as if launched. He caught her, lifted her over his head, and threw her down. She landed on her hands and pushed back at him – catching him on the chin with both heels.
Rodimus got to understand the term "saw stars" at last. When those cleared he pretended to still be reeling to draw her close and caught her in the ribs again. Hearing her wheeze was beautiful, but the crackle of energy he heard next warned him the mutant was gearing up to fry him at last. He rolled and hand-sprung away from her.
Blast after blast struck right where he had just been. If he hadn't moved he'd be toast – and yet... She's missing! She NEVER misses. She knows how to lead a target! Rational suspicions of mercy aside, he decided to circle back around for a counter-attack. If he was right he could get to her and if he was wrong he'd be dead. Win either way. The glowing, tail-lashing demon crouching at the center of camp certainly hissed like it was planning to gut him.
Nature chose to intervene at that moment by dumping a jug of water on both of them. Another fast moving front had blown in while they fought and the downpour soaked them both with icy rain.
They both stopped cold and looked up at the sky.
Rodimus felt his brain switch from fury to irony. This whole scene was just so... so... stupid. Two crazed warriors, beating each other bloody over nothing really, stopped dead in their tracks by rain. He started laughing. It was hysterical, unhinged laughing, but it was apparently contagious enough to set Lancer off too. He laughed until his sides hurt from more than just being kicked in the gut. Her demon disappeared as she joined him, although he was pretty sure she wasn't holding her sides from mere mirth. She wandered over, still howling to sit on the rock nearest the steaming thing that had been their fire.
"HAHOwOWOWowHAHAHA!" she laughed, although by the time he sat down across from her the sound had changed. She curled up so her head was buried behind her arms and knees, but the hitching sounds she made sounded suspiciously like sobbing instead of mirth.
"Lancer?" he asked.
"What?! What do you want you snot-fucker?!" This came from somewhere between her knees.
"Are you OK?"
His answer came as the largest bolt he'd ever seen her throw. It vaporized the boulder to the left of one he was sitting on.
"Ask me another stupid question! I dare you! Of course I'm not OK! I can't do this! I'm worn out from watching you already! How am I supposed to keep you alive when you can just turn your body off whenever you want?"
"Are...are you crying?"
"NO! I'm laughing. It's fucking raining Stupid Autobot," Lancer snarled.
Raining. Right. "I'm sorry!" he tried.
This time the dirt on the right of him got hit. The rain made the hole into a small pond almost instantly.
"Do NOT lie to me. Sorry has nothing to do with this. Selfish yes. Sorry no."
"Selfish? Lancer, I don't want YOU to die. I just...don't want to live."
"Bullshit. You don't want to die. You want the pain and the guilt to stop. There's a difference Moron. Seriously though? What do you think happens to me if you cash out? You think I can make it here by myself? You don't realize having you to watch out for helps me put one foot in front of the other too? What about your people? You'll die for them but not live for them? How many times do we need to have this conversation? The Jabez are coming for your people. Maybe you're too broken to lead them anymore but you're the best weapon they'll ever have. I don't remember much but I remember punching you in the groin and you didn't even flinch."
" I didn't feel it, but thanks for bringing it up so I can enjoy the aftermath," Rodimus grimaced.
"Yeah. You deserve it. I hope it lasts too, you shit," she spat.
"Hey! I thought you didn't blame me for my symptoms!" Rodimus complained.
The blast hit the ground right at his feet and he had the impression he was about to be on a boulder with a moat.
" I don't! I don't blame you for your symptoms! I blame you for your rational choices though and this was YOU Four that pressed the damned Off Button! You weren't flashing, you weren't dreaming, you weren't having a psycho moment. You just fucking DECIDED to stop breathing! I can't trust you...I can't trust ANY part of you!" Behind her knees, he could see her eyes were pulsing erratically from the light that flared and ebbed while she spoke. "Let's be really clear – you do this again and I will kill you just so I can revive you and kill you again! You completely set my demon off with this shit and let me tell you for once I am NOT feeling guilty about it."
"No I didn't," Rodimus told her. "Look, I get that I screwed up. I'm sorry. I swear I won't decide to do this again...at least when I'm rational, but I didn't 'completely set your demon off.'"
This time she glanced up at him and glared.
He shrugged at her. " I'm still here right? You didn't fry me."
"You're an idiot. I don't remember much but I can count craters. Looks to me like I blasted you plenty. Congratulations on finally learning to dodge and land a punch!" She had her face back down between her knees and he could see her shivering.
Rodimus suddenly felt as guilty as he'd ever felt in his life. He slid off his island (stepping in several inches of "moat" as he did) and approached her. She didn't look up but she growled from behind her knees.
"Come on...let's get out of the rain at least. Get in the tent," he tried.
"What tent?" she asked. He turned and found their structure flattened.
"Oh. When did we do that?" he asked.
"You don't remember either?" inquired the muffled voice from Lancer's knees.
"No."
"Perfect," she shuddered from her ball. "That's perfect. All this is perfect! What a pair we are! Two crazy people marooned together – at least there's no one else here to hurt."
Rodimus grimaced, thought for a minute, and nodded. " I'll go fix the tent."
" I'll help you in a minute," the shivering curl told him.
"No. This is my fault."
It didn't take him long to set up the tent. It was down but not too damaged, although there was one new window that started with two long gashes he had to patch. He suspected demon toes.
"Come on. It's ready," he announced.
The ball on the rock came apart one limb at a time. The motion was slow, stiff. When she finally stood upright she hissed. She shuffled towards the tent.
"Hey! You're really hurt!" Rodimus cried.
" I gave as good as I got Hamburger Man!" she snapped.
" I didn't mean it that way. What's wrong?"
She titled her head at him and narrowed her eyes. He could practically hear her debating internally about whether to tell him or not. His heart sank. Any trust or respect she might have had for him was gone and he found to his surprise that it mattered to him.
"You broke my ribs again, I can feel deep bruises all over the place, and..." she hesitated.
"And?" he prompted.
She growled, "And I think you bit my tail."
"Your tail?"
"Yeah."
"But your tail is gone right now," he pointed out, confused.
Another growl. Another glare. "Right genius, but the injuries aren't. They just compress down to the point of origin which happens to be my tailbone!"
"Your tailbone?" Rodimus' eyes widened in horror. No wonder she was so mad at him.
"Right. Essentially you bit me right on the ass, Mr. Prime, Sir. It hurts like a bitch and makes me want to return the favor. OO...best of all you're gonna have to clean it for me. Bite wounds are notorious for getting infected.
Rodimus contemplated that. He remember how far she'd gone to try to maintain some privacy at the beginning, before finally surrendering to the inevitable. She was never, ever going to forgive him for this.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * The battlefield became their camp for longer than they expected. Rodimus had numerous cuts and bites that should have been stitched, but they had nothing to stitch with. The gauze Lancer had been so carefully preserving and trying to sterilize with hot water and self-produced UV light was falling apart. Nevertheless he healed without infection or scarring within a week.
Lancer did not. Other than the bite mark she had only minor cuts. It was the broken ribs that made her not want to move or breath...and she was only too prophetic about the bite. Rodimus did everything he could to clean it out, and she cauterized it when he was done, but by morning she had a slight fever. By afternoon she had a high one and a cough. Using her Jabez scanner on herself revealed a body temperature of 103.
"What do I do?" Rodimus asked her. He hated the ashen tone to her skin, her shallow, wheezing breathing, and the way she glared first and answered second.
"You do everything. You watch the fire, you find the food and water, you make sure I drink enough. If my fever gets any higher it will fry my brain. You may have to find a cold pool to throw me in. However if it gets bad enough to make me start hallucinating you RUN. Got that? You fucking RUN and leave me to die! YOU do not get to die even if I do!"
For once, Rodimus had the sense not to argue.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * She was sick for days. Her misery was palpable and he did everything he could do to ease it. It didn't help his guilt that she talked a lot in her sleep. All of her fears about being marooned in general to the particular challenges of one Rodimus Prime were his to enjoy while he bumbled his way through caring for her.
Some things she was able to talk him through before getting too sick – like boiling some of their meat down to a broth she could swallow. Others, like cleaning her up after she threw up the broth or failed to make it outside to relieve herself were pretty self-explanatory. He was glad their sleeping hides were waterproof. The fact that cleaning them,and her, in no way disgusted or embarrassed him did nothing to alleviate her disgust and embarrassment. She said nothing to him about it when she was awake, but when she was asleep he got an earful.
She dreamt he was dead with wrenching regularity. He got used to talking to her even when she was unresponsive because it seemed to reassure her. Unfortunately, he couldn't always stay in camp. There was firewood to gather, water to collect, and food to find. He couldn't bring himself to hunt while their was still meat in their pack, but the few edible plants in the area got no mercy. The broth he made from those seemed to agree more with her stomach anyway.
It didn't matter. Meat came to them. He was walking back from finding firewood when he heard the distinct snuffling sounds of a pack of tusk predators. He dropped what he was carrying and sprinted for camp...noting with some disgust that he was stupid enough to think of transforming as he ran. The sight of three of them circling the tent with one's backside actually hanging out of the doorway only made him run harder.
He roared, ran right past the beasts in the camp, and landed on the one in the tent. The rage he lived with constantly focused down his arm and he plunged his hand right through the beast's heavy skull. It dropped instantly – the skin blanket it had pulled off Lancer still in it's jaws.
She never stirred.
He shook blood, bone, and brains off his hand as he ran out to face the other three. Only then it dawned on him to draw his knife. One pounced. He dodged and the knife found its eye. Another was already coming at his back but he whirled and stabbed up under its chin. The last was already running away. For a moment, the rage told him to follow, but only for a moment.
He turned to check on Lancer and found her still unconscious and unaware of the 400 pound corpse on her feet.
Several things dawned on him at that moment. She really did need him for one. If nothing else he needed to control his impulse to die long enough to see her off this world. It was the first beast he killed that really caught his attention though. That skull was almost an inch thick and he'd just smashed through it. He was almost positive that even in her rage Lancer had held back fighting him. He couldn't imagine how he was still alive if she'd really been out to kill him, but now he realized something else.
If he could punch through that much bone bare handed, Lancer should have been pulverized.
He'd been holding back too.
"That's interesting," he said out loud. Then he set about dealing with all the corpses and their awesome associated shit puddles.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Hours later she started raving again.
"NO! No don't do it! Rodimus don't..."
"Hey, I'm right here," he assured her, " I'm right here."
She didn't seem to hear him this time and the sobbing broke his heart. This was not the person he ever expected to hear cry like that over anything, let alone him. Then again, he never expected anyone to grieve for him. He was so...into... the idea that they'd be better off without him that the little notion they might be sad never really dawned on him. For the first time, he really felt like he should go home – if only to tell them what happened. If only to tell them goodbye. He was getting a headache again.
His patient called him a moron and an asshole. He felt it a fair assessment. He pulled her gently up and rested her in his lap. " I'm here Lancer. I'm OK. Don't cry anymore OK?Please?" She'd lost weight and felt like a bit of hot nothing in his lap.
The Jabez scanner still made his skin crawl and forced him to endure a few flashbacks, but he managed to get a temperature reading. 103.7 He washed her face with cool water for a while and a some point when he wasn't looking she opened her eyes.
"Rodimus?"
"The one and only," he smiled at her, shrugging.
"You aren't dead?"
"Not today."
"Oh." He watched the grief in her eyes change to relief, then anger, as usual.
"What's that smell?" she asked.
"Tusker guts."
"You hunted a tusker?"
"No. A tusker hunted you and I killed it and a few of it's pals."
"Oh," she sighed, closing her eyes for a moment. "When?"
"Um...I think that was officially yesterday by now. When you're better you will really have to teach me how to skin and cook them – it hasn't gone well," he confessed.
"You skinned them? What about...?"
"What about the flashbacks I get whenever you do that? Let's just say it took a while, and it's good that I like the meat better really, really well done cause it's pretty burned."
" I don't remember anything," Lancer said.
"You're still a pretty sick lady," he told her, bathing her face.
"How long?"
" I think it's been five days," he informed her.
"Five days...and you're still breathing?" She sounded incredulous.
He sighed. " I had that dream a couple of times, but yeah I'm still breathing."
"Oh," she said. She stared up at his face for a few more minutes and he felt obligated to stare back. The anger she'd been aiming at him since the fight just sort of seeped out of her expression, and he felt her muscles let go. She closed her eyes and slept quietly for the rest of the night. By dawn her fever had broken.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * She was still in no shape to travel, and Rodimus quickly discovered that an awake Lancer was way harder to care for than a feverish Lancer. She was bored, cranky, uncomfortable, and critical of things done to alleviate those problems. Mostly, she could not be trusted to wait and/or ask for help when she needed something. He began to understand her earlier need to keep him on a leash. Unfortunately, staying with her all the time meant running out of firewood and water. Not an option.
The first morning he caught her trying to crawl her way out to pee. She cursed a blue streak when he insisted on carrying her and holding her upright while she did it. Embarrassment radiated off her body like her fever had.
"What are you worrying about? Who do you think has been taking care of this while you were out?"
She cussed him out in Drazi.
"Humans are stupid over this stuff. Every single human has had to do this and you all still act like there's a problem with it," he informed her. When she was done he picked her up and carried her back to the tent. He got to learn some more special Drazi words as a prize.
Eventually though, he figured out she wasn't embarrassed about needing to urinate – just needing help with it. He learned to be stealthy about aiding her. Not in a "sneaky assassin" sort of way, but more in a " I'm just doing this because I am, not because you can't walk 5 steps without wheezing" sort of way. The casual, no comment fashion in which camp chores got done was bullshit and they both knew it, but as long as he didn't make too much of a scene about it, she kept her curses to herself. The casual, no comment way she slowly began doing things on her own again also worked for them.
It seemed to take forever. Rodimus longed for a way to just fix her. Two weeks in the same camp and he was thinking of moving boulders around just to change the view.
"That's a good idea," Lancer told him.
"Did I say that out loud? I wasn't serious," Rodimus sighed. " I'm just feeling a bit..."
"Pent up? Stir crazy? Sick of looking at the same damned patch of dirt? Camp chores becoming monotonous? Bored of dealing with a worthless bitch?"
"You were doing OK until the last part," he frowned at her. " Is it normal for this to take so long? Daniel got sick a few times growing up, but it never seemed to last like this."
"Well, I'm sure Ambassador Witwicky's son had the finest medical care Earth could provide. As we have no antibiotics or other such luxuries I suppose we are lucky I'm getting better at all. I'm sorry it's taking an eternity."
" I'm the one who bit you and broke your ribs," he reminded her. He looked at her side-long and then sat down next to her. "How much do you remember of that fight?"
"Not much. I've told you – when I'm berserk I pretty much don't think. Flashes here and there are all I can ever remember when I'm fully demoned out."
"Don't you think you held back because it was me?" he asked.
"Um...no. I don't think I care who it is when I'm like that," Lancer growled.
" If that's true, then why am I not barbecue?" he challenged.
"Because my demon-self doesn't think? Because you're faster that I am? We already had this conversation, why are you bringing it up again? We got lucky, barely. There's nothing more to it," Lancer averred.
" I think you're wrong," he said. " I think you are more aware than you remember. I've seen your aim when you're fully fanged. You hit that tiny eye on the stink beast with one shot but you missed me over and over. What's more, I'm pretty sure I held back too."
She stared at him skeptically and gestured for him to continue.
"When that tusker pack hit our camp, the leader was already in the tent. Lancer I didn't even have the sense to pull a knife. I just landed on it and put my hand THROUGH its skull. If I can do that when I'm not even in mode Three, why did I only break a few of your ribs?"
"Um...armor?" she drawled.
"Um, not on your face," he pointed out in the same "duh" drawl.
"Maybe you think I'm a Decepticon and it's against your programming to kill me," she snapped.
Instantly, he had a migraine. A powerful urge to attack her came from somewhere, but he just assumed it was Three getting agitated because she was arguing with him. Rodimus pushed the mood away with some annoyance. He understood that certain things would set him off but this just seemed stupidly petty to him. He internally berated himself for being childish. Hot Rod will you PLEASE grow up already? She has a point there. he thought.
"Give yourself a break," Lancer told him. "You fought it down. You may have a point about holding back. You've done very well this week controlling yourself, but you're wrong about me. Don't go telling yourself that I'm safe to be around because I think you're cute or something. We got lucky. Next time we won't." He's getting better, but I never will. How can I get him to understand that's he's just hurt and I'm corrupted?
"We aren't that different. If I can get better so can you," Rodimus said.
She heaved a huge, exasperated sigh which set off a violent coughing fit. By the time the drink he got her and the awkward back-patting helped her he'd decided it was time to drop it and get some more water.
Continued in Marooned: Part F