Never Did Run Smooth, Ch. 22
Dinobot broods, Rattrap snores, and the reason for Cheetor's problems starts to become apparent.
- - - - -
Cheetor reflected, not for the first time, that his beastmode was not made for forest travel. His rangy legs had a tendency to get tangled in thick undergrowth, and his acute vision wasn't much use with so many trees in the way. He preferred patrol routes with a lot of open ground, but today it was Airazor searching the plains while Cheetor and Tigatron combed the jungle for the missing protoform.
According to his chronometer, it was almost time to return to base. He was torn about that. On the one hand, he'd been out since dawn; he was tired and hungry, and the wanderings in the forest had left his feet sore and his coat full of burrs. On the other, he hated to give up while the protoform was still out there somewhere, probably alone and scared. Not that he had much choice. If he didn't come home on time, he wouldn't put it past Big Bot to send out a search party.
He wished there was more they could do. They had rigged their field scanners to notify them of any unidentified Maximal signatures passing by, but that still left a lot of ground uncovered. Cheetor himself had suggested building a scanner with a longer range, or broadcasting some kind of continuous signal from the Axalon that the protoform might pick up and home in on, but Rhinox was so involved in salvaging parts that he wouldn't take time out to work on anything else, and Optimus had only said, "Be patient, Cheetor. We'll find it, don't worry."
Be patient. They always said that. Cheetor sometimes wondered if it would ever be time to stop being patient and start DOING something.
Today, though, he was about beat. It was slagging hot out, too. He'd have to go in and rest if he wanted to start fresh tomorrow.
Making his way back by the river, he stopped for a drink to cool his overheated systems. Between the roar of the nearby waterfall and the chorus of birds and monkeys, he didn't hear Tigatron approaching.
"Hello, little cat."
Cheetor inhaled water up his nose, leaping back with a yelp of surprise as the reflection of a furry white face appeared next to his. Bristling, he looked up to find Tigatron standing beside him.
"Geez! Give a guy a little warning." Cheetor snorted to clear his nostrils and shook himself until his fur settled.
The tiger looked amused. "My apologies. Sometimes I forget to make noise when I walk."
"Good thing you don't hang around the Axalon much, then. Dinobot would dice you into cubes for that." Cheetor meant it as a joke, but then he realized it probably wasn't far from the truth. "Find anything?" he asked hopefully, by way of changing the subject.
Tigatron shook his head. "No luck, I'm afraid. Whoever this protoform is, it's beginning to look like they don't wish to be found."
"They'd better just hope we find them before the Preds do." Cheetor glanced up automatically at the sky. "I haven't seen any all day, have you?"
"Only Waspinator, and he fled when he saw me. It's possible the Predacons have other things on their minds."
Cheetor really didn't want to think what those things might be. He shook his head. "Well, I'm heading back. Wouldn't want Big Bot to worry himself into stasis lock."
"Does Optimus really think you're that incapable of taking care of yourself? Even after you saved one of your teammates?"
The young Maximal bristled despite himself; Tigatron had managed to hit a sore spot. He'd been trying not to think the exact same thing, wondering how far he had to go to prove himself before he stopped being just the kid of the group, especially in Primal's eyes. "It's not like that," he said a little too defensively. "He worries about everybody." Which was true.
"Of course." Tigatron dropped his gaze, averting an argument. "He is a good leader. I didn't mean to imply otherwise."
"Good." Cheetor started to turn away… then turned back. "Why don't you come in, too? It's really quiet at base, Rhinox is sulking and I think Dinobot's still in CR, so it won't be too crowded--"
The tiger was already shaking his head. "Thank you for the offer, little cat. But being indoors doesn't suit me. I am more useful to the Maximals out here."
His argument reminded Cheetor of Dinobot's from a few days ago. "C'mon, enough with the excuses. You're one of us, Tigatron, and I don't get why you don't act like it. It's hard to reach you when you're never around. That whole battle with the Preds, we missed you 'cause you were off chasing some weird energy signature up on the mountain." He realized how harsh he sounded when Tigatron hung his head in shame. "I mean, I know you were just following orders, and it probably wouldn't have made much difference anyway…" He trailed off. "Sorry."
"Don't apologize, Cheetor. I regret that I wasn't there to help." He looked up. "Still, my place is out here, in the wilds. I wouldn't fit in too well with the others."
The younger cat huffed. "Least then I'd have somebody to talk to," he mumbled. "You're the only one around that doesn't treat me like a kid."
The tiger smiled. "You don't have to leave. We can stay out here and talk as long as you like." He rubbed the side of his big head against the other cat's cheek.
Cheetor shivered a little. "Actually, I'm pretty tired." He gulped as Tigatron nuzzled his shoulder. "And, uh, I think I've had enough of the great outdoors for one day…"
The larger cat chuckled. "Suit yourself. But you could really stand to be cleaned off first."
He swiped Cheetor's neck with his tongue. The cheetah gasped, but held himself still, tensing up just a little as the tiger began to groom him. He'd only recently been introduced to this activity, since about the time Snowstalker died, and it still felt a little weird to him. The cheetah part of his mind kind of liked it, but the rest of him… he didn't know. Still, he knew Tigatron wouldn't harm him and he didn't want to hurt the other Maximal's feelings, so he let him do it.
"He-ey, that tickles!" He twitched as Tigatron cleaned between his shoulder blades. "Isn't this what washracks are for?"
"Washracks are good for metal, little cat. Not so good for fur." The tiger moved on down his spine. Cheetor tried to relax, wondering what his fur tasted like, if he tasted more like an animal or a robot…
"The blood tastes best when it comes from living creatures. It's why I built the web, you see…"
Cheetor shuddered violently, pulling away without thinking. Tigatron gave him a puzzled look. "Is something wrong, little cat?"
The younger Maximal barely heard him over his fuel pump kicking into high gear. "I'm… I'm kinda low on energy, that's all." The sensation of vitality being slowly drained away was suddenly sharp in his memory, while his own voice sounded faint and distant. "I think I'll go in and get some fuel."
"Feeling tired, cat? Don't worry, it will be over soon."
Tigatron nodded, apparently not picking up on the strength of Cheetor's reaction. "Go and replenish yourself, then. We can continue searching after--" He froze, whipping his head around. "Wait. Listen!"
It took Cheetor a second to drag his mind out of the shadows of the past. Then he quickly picked up on the commotion. Actually, if not for the ambient noise of the waterfall and wildlife, it would be difficult to miss. Whoever it was, they weren't being subtle…
"I think I smell smoke," he said, inhaling sharply. Well, that answers the question of 'who'.
Tigatron was already bounding ahead downstream. "Hurry, little cat! He may have found our friend!"
- - - - -
The rat was snoring now, sleeplessness and stress finally taking their toll. Dinobot had rarely seen him so still for any length of time, and found himself quite content to lie exactly where he was, studying the familiar curves and lines of the spy's small body at leisure.
Of course, his Inner Predacon was having a field day with this. Looks good enough to eat, doesn't he?
Dinobot scoffed. Don't be repulsive. His stench would kill any appetite.
Judging by your proximity, it seems to be losing its effect.
The warrior smirked to himself, trailing a claw along the back of Rattrap's arm and watching him twitch in recharge. Okay, so his predatory inclinations toward the vermin had not entirely abated, but at least he was learning to control them. Among Predacons it was not so unusual to love someone and want to eat them at the same time, but Maximals seemed to find it --
He caught himself in mid-musing. Love? Was he really in love with this obnoxious, foul-smelling, glitch-ridden scavenging pest?
He stared down at the spy, dubious. Rattrap shifted in his sleep with a wordless murmur, and the warrior's gaze softened. …Of course I am. Stupid question. Otherwise I would have killed him.
His Inner Predacon chose that moment to jab him. Do you think he'd be sleeping so peacefully if you had told him everything?
Dinobot frowned. I told him enough. He'd been more open with Rattrap in their last conversation than he'd ever been with another being in his life, and nothing he'd said was untrue. Of course, there was quite a bit he hadn't said. He had glossed over his fights with Megatron because he wanted the vermin to think they were just that -- arguments that escalated into violence. It was easier to explain, and far less pride-damaging, than the truth of their rather… complicated relationship. And on that subject, there was another matter he had avoided mentioning completely, even though Rattrap seemed to be steering him towards it…
You edited the truth. You, who pride yourself on honesty. You don't want him to know why Megatron was so determined to recruit you, why he kept you around in spite of the conflicts, and why you stayed. You don't want to tell him about the cameras, the touches, the barely-concealed looks. If the vermin knew that once you'd allowed him to--
He shook his head to knock that train of thought off the rails. It was the very last thing he wanted to have on his mind right now.
Clearly, lying here with nothing to do but brood was a bad idea. There was no way he was joining Rattrap in recharge; he'd been out long enough in CR, and besides, he knew damn well his dreams weren't going to be pleasant. His abdomen twinged uncomfortably where Megatron had stabbed him, and knowing it was only a sensory memory and that his wounds had actually fully healed did not make it any easier to ignore. Carefully, so as not to wake the rat (not only out of concern but because he didn't want awkward questions), he rose from the berth. Rattrap's snoring didn't falter.
Why does a robot even snore? I don't. At least, I'm quite sure I don't. He added it to the long list of things about the spy that didn't make any sense. At this rate, he was going to need an external harddrive to store all his unanswered questions.
The twinge in his gut reminded him that he'd come out of CR without his sword. Not that that worried him; it wasn't the first time, and he was sure the other Maximals had secured it for him. Still, he preferred having it on him, even inside the base. A mech did not live with combat and the threat of attack as long as Dinobot had without developing at least a touch of paranoia. An unarmed warrior was a nervous warrior.
The sword was right where he knew it would be. Optimus, the only Maximal allowed in Dinobot's room when Dinobot was not in it, always returned it to the same place when the warrior was out of commission: the seldom-used rack on the wall near his window. Carefully Dinobot took it down and looked it over. Primal had made an attempt to clean it off, but there were traces of mech fluid (his mech fluid) between the rotating segments, and the sheen of the metal was dull. Well, only he really knew how to care for the thing, after all. It wasn't easy to clean.
At least now he had something to do.
He'd requested his own cleaning supplies shortly after joining the crew, because he sure as the Pit wasn't going to leave the care and maintenance of his weapons to anyone else. Dinobot had been trained for self-sufficiency, and liked having everything he might need in one place. It didn't take much -- a couple of decent soft cloths, some oil and solvent, and a steel brush that didn't scratch right through the alloy. Every so often he ran out of solvent or wore a cloth to threads, and simply plundered new materials from Rhinox's seemingly endless stash. If the engineer even noticed (which was doubtful), he decided not to say anything. After all, it was less work for him if Dinobot took care of his own equipment.
Seating himself cross-legged against a wall, the warrior laid his sword across his knees and set the maintenance kit beside him. He applied the solvent carefully to dissolve and break up the chemical bonds of the dried mech fluid that remained, then started scrubbing it away, segment by segment. His killing hands with their long unwieldly digits became precision instruments for this sort of work, their movements well-practiced, their touch surprisingly light. Soon the calm and concentration focused on those hands began to travel up his arms to his shoulders, which relaxed slightly, and through the rest of his frame, tension bleeding away almost imperceptibly. Eventually even his face assumed a peaceful expression. As the stains were lifted one by one, darkness seemed to lift from his Spark as well.
The quiet was apparently contagious. The racket from his bunk gradually ceased, and only by listening carefully could he detect the slightest hum and whir of Rattrap's internal systems. It didn't disturb his concentration at all. In fact, he'd become so accustomed to taking the rat's presence for granted, he failed to realize the significance of this situation entirely. Sleeping or no, in roughly two centuries of existence he had never let his guard down so far while in the same room as another living being.
- - - - -
Cheetor reflected, not for the first time, that his beastmode was not made for forest travel. His rangy legs had a tendency to get tangled in thick undergrowth, and his acute vision wasn't much use with so many trees in the way. He preferred patrol routes with a lot of open ground, but today it was Airazor searching the plains while Cheetor and Tigatron combed the jungle for the missing protoform.
According to his chronometer, it was almost time to return to base. He was torn about that. On the one hand, he'd been out since dawn; he was tired and hungry, and the wanderings in the forest had left his feet sore and his coat full of burrs. On the other, he hated to give up while the protoform was still out there somewhere, probably alone and scared. Not that he had much choice. If he didn't come home on time, he wouldn't put it past Big Bot to send out a search party.
He wished there was more they could do. They had rigged their field scanners to notify them of any unidentified Maximal signatures passing by, but that still left a lot of ground uncovered. Cheetor himself had suggested building a scanner with a longer range, or broadcasting some kind of continuous signal from the Axalon that the protoform might pick up and home in on, but Rhinox was so involved in salvaging parts that he wouldn't take time out to work on anything else, and Optimus had only said, "Be patient, Cheetor. We'll find it, don't worry."
Be patient. They always said that. Cheetor sometimes wondered if it would ever be time to stop being patient and start DOING something.
Today, though, he was about beat. It was slagging hot out, too. He'd have to go in and rest if he wanted to start fresh tomorrow.
Making his way back by the river, he stopped for a drink to cool his overheated systems. Between the roar of the nearby waterfall and the chorus of birds and monkeys, he didn't hear Tigatron approaching.
"Hello, little cat."
Cheetor inhaled water up his nose, leaping back with a yelp of surprise as the reflection of a furry white face appeared next to his. Bristling, he looked up to find Tigatron standing beside him.
"Geez! Give a guy a little warning." Cheetor snorted to clear his nostrils and shook himself until his fur settled.
The tiger looked amused. "My apologies. Sometimes I forget to make noise when I walk."
"Good thing you don't hang around the Axalon much, then. Dinobot would dice you into cubes for that." Cheetor meant it as a joke, but then he realized it probably wasn't far from the truth. "Find anything?" he asked hopefully, by way of changing the subject.
Tigatron shook his head. "No luck, I'm afraid. Whoever this protoform is, it's beginning to look like they don't wish to be found."
"They'd better just hope we find them before the Preds do." Cheetor glanced up automatically at the sky. "I haven't seen any all day, have you?"
"Only Waspinator, and he fled when he saw me. It's possible the Predacons have other things on their minds."
Cheetor really didn't want to think what those things might be. He shook his head. "Well, I'm heading back. Wouldn't want Big Bot to worry himself into stasis lock."
"Does Optimus really think you're that incapable of taking care of yourself? Even after you saved one of your teammates?"
The young Maximal bristled despite himself; Tigatron had managed to hit a sore spot. He'd been trying not to think the exact same thing, wondering how far he had to go to prove himself before he stopped being just the kid of the group, especially in Primal's eyes. "It's not like that," he said a little too defensively. "He worries about everybody." Which was true.
"Of course." Tigatron dropped his gaze, averting an argument. "He is a good leader. I didn't mean to imply otherwise."
"Good." Cheetor started to turn away… then turned back. "Why don't you come in, too? It's really quiet at base, Rhinox is sulking and I think Dinobot's still in CR, so it won't be too crowded--"
The tiger was already shaking his head. "Thank you for the offer, little cat. But being indoors doesn't suit me. I am more useful to the Maximals out here."
His argument reminded Cheetor of Dinobot's from a few days ago. "C'mon, enough with the excuses. You're one of us, Tigatron, and I don't get why you don't act like it. It's hard to reach you when you're never around. That whole battle with the Preds, we missed you 'cause you were off chasing some weird energy signature up on the mountain." He realized how harsh he sounded when Tigatron hung his head in shame. "I mean, I know you were just following orders, and it probably wouldn't have made much difference anyway…" He trailed off. "Sorry."
"Don't apologize, Cheetor. I regret that I wasn't there to help." He looked up. "Still, my place is out here, in the wilds. I wouldn't fit in too well with the others."
The younger cat huffed. "Least then I'd have somebody to talk to," he mumbled. "You're the only one around that doesn't treat me like a kid."
The tiger smiled. "You don't have to leave. We can stay out here and talk as long as you like." He rubbed the side of his big head against the other cat's cheek.
Cheetor shivered a little. "Actually, I'm pretty tired." He gulped as Tigatron nuzzled his shoulder. "And, uh, I think I've had enough of the great outdoors for one day…"
The larger cat chuckled. "Suit yourself. But you could really stand to be cleaned off first."
He swiped Cheetor's neck with his tongue. The cheetah gasped, but held himself still, tensing up just a little as the tiger began to groom him. He'd only recently been introduced to this activity, since about the time Snowstalker died, and it still felt a little weird to him. The cheetah part of his mind kind of liked it, but the rest of him… he didn't know. Still, he knew Tigatron wouldn't harm him and he didn't want to hurt the other Maximal's feelings, so he let him do it.
"He-ey, that tickles!" He twitched as Tigatron cleaned between his shoulder blades. "Isn't this what washracks are for?"
"Washracks are good for metal, little cat. Not so good for fur." The tiger moved on down his spine. Cheetor tried to relax, wondering what his fur tasted like, if he tasted more like an animal or a robot…
"The blood tastes best when it comes from living creatures. It's why I built the web, you see…"
Cheetor shuddered violently, pulling away without thinking. Tigatron gave him a puzzled look. "Is something wrong, little cat?"
The younger Maximal barely heard him over his fuel pump kicking into high gear. "I'm… I'm kinda low on energy, that's all." The sensation of vitality being slowly drained away was suddenly sharp in his memory, while his own voice sounded faint and distant. "I think I'll go in and get some fuel."
"Feeling tired, cat? Don't worry, it will be over soon."
Tigatron nodded, apparently not picking up on the strength of Cheetor's reaction. "Go and replenish yourself, then. We can continue searching after--" He froze, whipping his head around. "Wait. Listen!"
It took Cheetor a second to drag his mind out of the shadows of the past. Then he quickly picked up on the commotion. Actually, if not for the ambient noise of the waterfall and wildlife, it would be difficult to miss. Whoever it was, they weren't being subtle…
"I think I smell smoke," he said, inhaling sharply. Well, that answers the question of 'who'.
Tigatron was already bounding ahead downstream. "Hurry, little cat! He may have found our friend!"
- - - - -
The rat was snoring now, sleeplessness and stress finally taking their toll. Dinobot had rarely seen him so still for any length of time, and found himself quite content to lie exactly where he was, studying the familiar curves and lines of the spy's small body at leisure.
Of course, his Inner Predacon was having a field day with this. Looks good enough to eat, doesn't he?
Dinobot scoffed. Don't be repulsive. His stench would kill any appetite.
Judging by your proximity, it seems to be losing its effect.
The warrior smirked to himself, trailing a claw along the back of Rattrap's arm and watching him twitch in recharge. Okay, so his predatory inclinations toward the vermin had not entirely abated, but at least he was learning to control them. Among Predacons it was not so unusual to love someone and want to eat them at the same time, but Maximals seemed to find it --
He caught himself in mid-musing. Love? Was he really in love with this obnoxious, foul-smelling, glitch-ridden scavenging pest?
He stared down at the spy, dubious. Rattrap shifted in his sleep with a wordless murmur, and the warrior's gaze softened. …Of course I am. Stupid question. Otherwise I would have killed him.
His Inner Predacon chose that moment to jab him. Do you think he'd be sleeping so peacefully if you had told him everything?
Dinobot frowned. I told him enough. He'd been more open with Rattrap in their last conversation than he'd ever been with another being in his life, and nothing he'd said was untrue. Of course, there was quite a bit he hadn't said. He had glossed over his fights with Megatron because he wanted the vermin to think they were just that -- arguments that escalated into violence. It was easier to explain, and far less pride-damaging, than the truth of their rather… complicated relationship. And on that subject, there was another matter he had avoided mentioning completely, even though Rattrap seemed to be steering him towards it…
You edited the truth. You, who pride yourself on honesty. You don't want him to know why Megatron was so determined to recruit you, why he kept you around in spite of the conflicts, and why you stayed. You don't want to tell him about the cameras, the touches, the barely-concealed looks. If the vermin knew that once you'd allowed him to--
He shook his head to knock that train of thought off the rails. It was the very last thing he wanted to have on his mind right now.
Clearly, lying here with nothing to do but brood was a bad idea. There was no way he was joining Rattrap in recharge; he'd been out long enough in CR, and besides, he knew damn well his dreams weren't going to be pleasant. His abdomen twinged uncomfortably where Megatron had stabbed him, and knowing it was only a sensory memory and that his wounds had actually fully healed did not make it any easier to ignore. Carefully, so as not to wake the rat (not only out of concern but because he didn't want awkward questions), he rose from the berth. Rattrap's snoring didn't falter.
Why does a robot even snore? I don't. At least, I'm quite sure I don't. He added it to the long list of things about the spy that didn't make any sense. At this rate, he was going to need an external harddrive to store all his unanswered questions.
The twinge in his gut reminded him that he'd come out of CR without his sword. Not that that worried him; it wasn't the first time, and he was sure the other Maximals had secured it for him. Still, he preferred having it on him, even inside the base. A mech did not live with combat and the threat of attack as long as Dinobot had without developing at least a touch of paranoia. An unarmed warrior was a nervous warrior.
The sword was right where he knew it would be. Optimus, the only Maximal allowed in Dinobot's room when Dinobot was not in it, always returned it to the same place when the warrior was out of commission: the seldom-used rack on the wall near his window. Carefully Dinobot took it down and looked it over. Primal had made an attempt to clean it off, but there were traces of mech fluid (his mech fluid) between the rotating segments, and the sheen of the metal was dull. Well, only he really knew how to care for the thing, after all. It wasn't easy to clean.
At least now he had something to do.
He'd requested his own cleaning supplies shortly after joining the crew, because he sure as the Pit wasn't going to leave the care and maintenance of his weapons to anyone else. Dinobot had been trained for self-sufficiency, and liked having everything he might need in one place. It didn't take much -- a couple of decent soft cloths, some oil and solvent, and a steel brush that didn't scratch right through the alloy. Every so often he ran out of solvent or wore a cloth to threads, and simply plundered new materials from Rhinox's seemingly endless stash. If the engineer even noticed (which was doubtful), he decided not to say anything. After all, it was less work for him if Dinobot took care of his own equipment.
Seating himself cross-legged against a wall, the warrior laid his sword across his knees and set the maintenance kit beside him. He applied the solvent carefully to dissolve and break up the chemical bonds of the dried mech fluid that remained, then started scrubbing it away, segment by segment. His killing hands with their long unwieldly digits became precision instruments for this sort of work, their movements well-practiced, their touch surprisingly light. Soon the calm and concentration focused on those hands began to travel up his arms to his shoulders, which relaxed slightly, and through the rest of his frame, tension bleeding away almost imperceptibly. Eventually even his face assumed a peaceful expression. As the stains were lifted one by one, darkness seemed to lift from his Spark as well.
The quiet was apparently contagious. The racket from his bunk gradually ceased, and only by listening carefully could he detect the slightest hum and whir of Rattrap's internal systems. It didn't disturb his concentration at all. In fact, he'd become so accustomed to taking the rat's presence for granted, he failed to realize the significance of this situation entirely. Sleeping or no, in roughly two centuries of existence he had never let his guard down so far while in the same room as another living being.