Bite Down
The closer I am to finishing Best Laid Plans, the harder it is to resist writing more about the Terrorcons. So, instead of writing the last chapter, I pulled this one off the shelf and dusted it off. I wrote it well over a year ago (procrastinate, much?), so I've tidied it up, and voila, a short story about Sixshot and the Terrorcons! Ironically, none of the Terrorcons are actually in this story.
Triage is an OC that I created awhile back during a G1 roleplay. I liked her enough to keep her around, and she's shuffled her way into the IDW universe. All you need to know about her is that she's a Decepticon medic, who are few and far between it seems.
Title: Bite Down
Rating: T
Series: IDW
Warnings: Blatantly implied slash of the mech-on-mech variety
Summary: Triage has dealt with odd patients before, but Sixshot is high on the list of the strangest yet.
Triage didn’t know what to make of Sixshot. Taken at face value, his repairs were a simple task of hammering out the dents, buffing the dings, and adding another coat of paint. She thought the job would be better suited for someone else, instead of the Chief Medical Officer of the command hub, but Sixshot apparently believed differently. He had come to her because, as few units knew, Triage didn’t always ask questions.
At least, she didn’t record all the answers she got, and certain, more embarrassing repair jobs went accidentally unrecorded. Few knew about that policy because few deserved to benefit from it. It was reserved for her best patients - the ones that were quiet, compliant, obedient, and didn’t demand one of the Constructicons in her stead.
Sixshot, as far as the medic was concerned, was a model patient. Sure, he came to her looking like a walking scrap yard, and she was as terrified of him as anyone else, but he never once complained. Considering his line of work, nearly every time he needed repairs it meant a complete re-haul. The only times he didn’t need to be practically rebuilt were for routine inspections, physicals, upgrades, and checkups.
He did not get into hallway brawls like a great deal of other Decepticons, since no one was stupid enough to take him on in closed quarters. They weren’t stupid enough to take him on in an open arena, either, and as such Sixshot never got into petty fights. He didn’t have a temper, or much of any personality that anyone could pinpoint, so he was largely left alone. More accurately, he was avoided to the point of being shunned. Despite his reputation for utter devastation, he was disturbingly well behaved when off duty.
Triage was entirely incapable of covering her confusion when the sixchanger had walked into her medical bay covered from wing tip to tail fin in bite marks. One of the fuel lines in his neck was slowly bleeding out Energon, but he didn’t appear to mind. He just asked, very simply, if he could get repaired, no questions? Triage agreed, mentally vowing to figure out the nature of the injuries before he left.
While she looked him over, taking more detailed scans, she mulled over the basics of his condition. The bites were superficial, more cosmetic damage than anything else with exception to his fuel line. That begged the question, why? Why, if someone was going to bite every square inch of him, would they inflict no real damage whatsoever?
The lack of serious injury led into the next mystery. True, he was bitten everywhere, but there were patterns she could see with careful scrutiny. The bite marks went down his entire wingspan, but remained on the flaps and edges, never once going further in than that. Harder to get areas, like his inner arm, behind his turbines, and under his wingspan, were still affected. There were fewer dents there than just paint being scrapped off, but the gouges were consistent with the dental marks.
Despite his history of being a quiet, reserved patient, Sixshot was doing a lot of twitching during this particular session. Triage kept a careful inventory of every spot she worked on, and more than one of them got a jolt out of him when she pried too far. He had been deliberately bitten in sensitive junctures, though the medic decided not to dwell on whether it caused pleasure or pain. It was just another question for the list.
Once she reached his arms and parts of his chest plate, she discovered a second set of dental markings. The previous set belonged to an average sized mech no doubt in his root mode, though the two deep punctures with each occurrence betrayed a wicked set of canines. The set that had gotten his arms was much larger, with more teeth and a longer jaw. Did that mean there were there two assailants, or someone with a more feral alt mode? There weren’t very many of them, so that shortened the list of suspects considerably.
Moving on to his back, Triage discovered he biggest clue, which nearly made her bust out laughing. She held it back by reminding herself who she was dealing with, but how could anyone miss the long streak of white and purple paint up his backside? It wasn’t unusual for brawlers to swap paint jobs if they got rowdy enough, but this was just ridiculous. There had been a few other spots where it looked like he’d tried to scrape off the other party’s marks, but he had clearly overlooked this one.
It came down to a process of elimination, though she had a good idea as to who his amorous biter had been. The bite marks were far from unusual considering the nature of the mech, and the paint combination made it completely obvious. The Predacons were rarely ever at the command hub, and their coordinating paint scheme ruled them out. There were a few other Decepticons that saw some wisdom in a non-vehicular alt mode, but none of them were white and purple. Even if they did, she wouldn’t have pegged them for being friendly with Sixshot.
The only units the sixchanger kept company with on a regular basis were the Terrorcons, and three of them had the dentals to match the patterns. Two of them had white paint, but only one of the two had that shade of purple as well.
Convinced she had figured out, Triage finished painting the last bit of fresh turquoise over his wingspan. Once done, she picked up her data pad, walking over to her work station as she went over his vitals one last time. The fuel line had been repaired, and with some wax, he'd look as good as new. Sixshot stood up, assuming he was allowed to take his leave.
“Am I going to be seeing Hun-Grrr today?” she asked loudly, managing to catch the Decepticon war machine off guard. He looked at her briefly, glancing down at the data pad in her hands. Deleting the files would effectively prevent Sixshot from dying of humiliation, though his dilemma was nothing compared to what she had seen before.
“No,” he said flatly, hesitating for a moment when Triage raised one brow ridge. He realized his folly rather quickly, but made no move to correct or explain himself. Now that she thought about it, Sixshot was probably immune to humiliation.
“Well,” she continued. “Next time you see him, tell him to lay off the biting.”
Sixshot did not dignify that with a response, simply turning and walking out of the medical bay. There were days when she hated her function; today was one of the few that reminded her why it was worth the hassle.
Triage is an OC that I created awhile back during a G1 roleplay. I liked her enough to keep her around, and she's shuffled her way into the IDW universe. All you need to know about her is that she's a Decepticon medic, who are few and far between it seems.
Title: Bite Down
Rating: T
Series: IDW
Warnings: Blatantly implied slash of the mech-on-mech variety
Summary: Triage has dealt with odd patients before, but Sixshot is high on the list of the strangest yet.
Triage didn’t know what to make of Sixshot. Taken at face value, his repairs were a simple task of hammering out the dents, buffing the dings, and adding another coat of paint. She thought the job would be better suited for someone else, instead of the Chief Medical Officer of the command hub, but Sixshot apparently believed differently. He had come to her because, as few units knew, Triage didn’t always ask questions.
At least, she didn’t record all the answers she got, and certain, more embarrassing repair jobs went accidentally unrecorded. Few knew about that policy because few deserved to benefit from it. It was reserved for her best patients - the ones that were quiet, compliant, obedient, and didn’t demand one of the Constructicons in her stead.
Sixshot, as far as the medic was concerned, was a model patient. Sure, he came to her looking like a walking scrap yard, and she was as terrified of him as anyone else, but he never once complained. Considering his line of work, nearly every time he needed repairs it meant a complete re-haul. The only times he didn’t need to be practically rebuilt were for routine inspections, physicals, upgrades, and checkups.
He did not get into hallway brawls like a great deal of other Decepticons, since no one was stupid enough to take him on in closed quarters. They weren’t stupid enough to take him on in an open arena, either, and as such Sixshot never got into petty fights. He didn’t have a temper, or much of any personality that anyone could pinpoint, so he was largely left alone. More accurately, he was avoided to the point of being shunned. Despite his reputation for utter devastation, he was disturbingly well behaved when off duty.
Triage was entirely incapable of covering her confusion when the sixchanger had walked into her medical bay covered from wing tip to tail fin in bite marks. One of the fuel lines in his neck was slowly bleeding out Energon, but he didn’t appear to mind. He just asked, very simply, if he could get repaired, no questions? Triage agreed, mentally vowing to figure out the nature of the injuries before he left.
While she looked him over, taking more detailed scans, she mulled over the basics of his condition. The bites were superficial, more cosmetic damage than anything else with exception to his fuel line. That begged the question, why? Why, if someone was going to bite every square inch of him, would they inflict no real damage whatsoever?
The lack of serious injury led into the next mystery. True, he was bitten everywhere, but there were patterns she could see with careful scrutiny. The bite marks went down his entire wingspan, but remained on the flaps and edges, never once going further in than that. Harder to get areas, like his inner arm, behind his turbines, and under his wingspan, were still affected. There were fewer dents there than just paint being scrapped off, but the gouges were consistent with the dental marks.
Despite his history of being a quiet, reserved patient, Sixshot was doing a lot of twitching during this particular session. Triage kept a careful inventory of every spot she worked on, and more than one of them got a jolt out of him when she pried too far. He had been deliberately bitten in sensitive junctures, though the medic decided not to dwell on whether it caused pleasure or pain. It was just another question for the list.
Once she reached his arms and parts of his chest plate, she discovered a second set of dental markings. The previous set belonged to an average sized mech no doubt in his root mode, though the two deep punctures with each occurrence betrayed a wicked set of canines. The set that had gotten his arms was much larger, with more teeth and a longer jaw. Did that mean there were there two assailants, or someone with a more feral alt mode? There weren’t very many of them, so that shortened the list of suspects considerably.
Moving on to his back, Triage discovered he biggest clue, which nearly made her bust out laughing. She held it back by reminding herself who she was dealing with, but how could anyone miss the long streak of white and purple paint up his backside? It wasn’t unusual for brawlers to swap paint jobs if they got rowdy enough, but this was just ridiculous. There had been a few other spots where it looked like he’d tried to scrape off the other party’s marks, but he had clearly overlooked this one.
It came down to a process of elimination, though she had a good idea as to who his amorous biter had been. The bite marks were far from unusual considering the nature of the mech, and the paint combination made it completely obvious. The Predacons were rarely ever at the command hub, and their coordinating paint scheme ruled them out. There were a few other Decepticons that saw some wisdom in a non-vehicular alt mode, but none of them were white and purple. Even if they did, she wouldn’t have pegged them for being friendly with Sixshot.
The only units the sixchanger kept company with on a regular basis were the Terrorcons, and three of them had the dentals to match the patterns. Two of them had white paint, but only one of the two had that shade of purple as well.
Convinced she had figured out, Triage finished painting the last bit of fresh turquoise over his wingspan. Once done, she picked up her data pad, walking over to her work station as she went over his vitals one last time. The fuel line had been repaired, and with some wax, he'd look as good as new. Sixshot stood up, assuming he was allowed to take his leave.
“Am I going to be seeing Hun-Grrr today?” she asked loudly, managing to catch the Decepticon war machine off guard. He looked at her briefly, glancing down at the data pad in her hands. Deleting the files would effectively prevent Sixshot from dying of humiliation, though his dilemma was nothing compared to what she had seen before.
“No,” he said flatly, hesitating for a moment when Triage raised one brow ridge. He realized his folly rather quickly, but made no move to correct or explain himself. Now that she thought about it, Sixshot was probably immune to humiliation.
“Well,” she continued. “Next time you see him, tell him to lay off the biting.”
Sixshot did not dignify that with a response, simply turning and walking out of the medical bay. There were days when she hated her function; today was one of the few that reminded her why it was worth the hassle.