Never Did Run Smooth, Ch. 12
- - - - -
Rattrap woke up gasping, squeaking in distress and beating the walls of his chamber with little rat feet. It took him a couple of seconds to overpower the beastmode instincts and calm the slag down.
All he could remember of his dreams was a set of snapping reptilian jaws with far too many teeth, apparently hungry for his little rodent self. No big surprise there, once he thought about it. Probably stemmed from all of his anxieties lately concerning Chopperface. Speaking of which...
The rat wiggled his fingers and toes, then felt over himself experimentally. Yep, all his fur was there. No trace of the burns. The CR chambers worked fast with superficial damage, no matter how extensive. He was a bit more concerned about the energon radiation and what that might've done to him, but since he felt fine, it must not have been too serious. Weren't for Chopper though, I'd be way beyond repair by now. Slag, that was close.
Shivering, he pressed the hatch button. He didn't want to sit around in here alone.
He was hoping that Dinobot -- or somebody anyway -- might be waiting around when he emerged. But the whole command center was deserted. The spy looked around and sighed in disappointment.
"That's one thing to love about bein' a Maximal," he remarked out loud. "You never feel alone."
Of course, it was then that he noticed the lights on the other two CR chambers, indicating that they were occupied. Oh, good. Guess Big Ape an' Featherhead made it back okay. That's two people I don't gotta worry about, anyhow. Rhinox was probably in engineering, Dinobot might've gone off to refuel or returned to the battlefield, and who knew where the felines had gotten to. It'd be nice to have a few more Maximals around here. Well, with any luck, that little disc I got myself cooked over's gonna help us fix that...
A monitor beeped. Rattrap sighed dramatically. "Don't worry," he told the empty room, "I'll get it." He went to the nearest station and tapped a touchpad, activating the screen. External sensors showed an approaching Maximal signature. The identification code was Cheetor's, but he was moving pretty slowly. Scrap, don't tell me the kid's hurt, too. Rattrap switched quickly to one of the surveillance cameras.
Cheetor didn't seem to be injured, but he was dragging something. Rattrap sighed in relief. Then he got a look at the object in question, and alarms started going off in his head again. What's he doin' with THAT, for Primus' sake?
Half-afraid to know the answer, the spy lowered one of the lifts to let the kid in. A moment later Cheetor staggered into the command center, panting from exhaustion, the hilt of Dinobot's sword clenched in his teeth. He dropped it and it rolled slowly across the floor, stopping at Rattrap's feet as the spy transformed. Picking it up, Rattrap demanded, "Where'd you find this?"
Cheetor hadn't quite gotten his breath back yet. "Battlefield -- wreckage -- by the tower," he gasped. "Lying -- on the ground. Big Bot -- told me --"
"Alright, alright, don't pass out on me. Sheesh." Rattrap looked the sword over in dismay; it was charred, muddy and scratched all to the Pit. Dinobutt was gonna have a seizure when he saw this. "Best hope you didn't leave tooth marks, Spots."
Taking a gulp of air, Cheetor made a slightly more successful attempt at speech. "Sorry. Didn't have -- much choice. Tried to -- get it back here quick. Where's Optimus?"
Rattrap nodded toward one of the tanks. "Takin' a CR nap. He'll prob'ly be out soon. What'd he tell you, anyway?"
The cheetah flopped down for a rest while he explained. Apparently he'd gotten a call from Rhinox -- Rattrap had to backtrack him twice to get that bit of information -- saying that wounded were incoming and they might need an escort. Cheetor ran out to intercept and found Optimus, who told him that Dinobot and Rattrap had already gone ahead. Since Primal had his hands full (so to speak) with Airazor, he'd sent Cheetor back to the battlefield to retrieve Dinobot's sword -- warning him to watch out for Predacons on the way and to call for backup if he ran into trouble. "I didn't, though. There was nobody around, except some pieces of Inferno. Looked like the Preds got it handed to 'em pretty hard."
Hey, I'M the one who got crispy-fried, Rattrap thought, but he didn't say it out loud. The kid obviously didn't know about that (Optimus probably hadn't wanted to upset him with the details), and there was no point bringing it up now for the sake of a pity party. Besides, something was nagging at the spy. He looked at the sword, turning it over in his hands, trying to pin it down.
Cheetor, who was still babbling, eventually stumbled on it. "I can't believe Dinobot just left it there, though. He's always getting on my case about forgetting things, especially weapons. I remember once I lost my gun in an ambush and he almost looked ready to chew my tail off. Big Bot had to tell him to chill--"
He finally stopped, apparently catching the look on his teammate's face. "Hey, what's wrong? You look, like, out of it."
Rattrap shook his head. "I, uh-- Nothin'. Don't worry about it. Hey, lemme make you a deal." He produced the disc he'd made before the explosion and showed it to Cheetor. "See this? I gotta give it to Optimus soon as he wakes up from his little nap. But if you wanna hang around here an' wait for him" -- which you will anyway, if I know you, kid, an' I'd like to think I do -- "you can deliver it for me. You finish my errand, an' I'll finish yours, find Dinobutt an' give him back his favorite big pointy object. Sound good to you?"
Sure enough, the young cat's face brightened. "Cool! Hey, thanks, Ratbreath. It's a deal." He transformed and gingerly accepted the disc from Rattrap. "I'll take good care of it, I promise."
The spy grinned. "You better. It might just help us get all our friends back from orbit."
"Really?" Cheetor squeaked, nearly dropping the disc in his excitement. Rattrap shook his head as the kid scrambled to catch it before it fell. "That's great! Wait'll I tell Optimus!"
"I'm sure I can leave it in your capable hands, Spots. Just, uh, don't break anything, alright? I almost got myself vaped acquirin' that data."
"Hey, you can count on me." Cheetor grinned cockily, spun the disc on one finger, and nearly sent it flying. "Um. Meant to do that."
Kids. Gotta love 'em. I'll give 'em that, you gotta love 'em.
- - - - -
When searching for Dinobot, Rattrap decided the simple approach was probably best. First, he tried comming him. There was no response, which could indicate any of a wide range of things (he was asleep, he was patrolling somewhere out of range, his comm had been damaged during the fight, or he just didn't feel like talking), so the next step was to look for him at home. His quarters were usually vacant during the day, but it would be silly to go searching the rest of the ship without stopping by there first. And Rattrap knew the passcode. He knew everybody's passcodes. He wouldn't normally dare use Dinobot's to enter without permission, but for the sake of returning a sword, he thought he might be excused this time.
Of course, it would be rude not to at least TRY knocking first (even knowing how unlikely an answer would be, whether Dinobot was there or not). So Rattrap reached his quarters and knocked.
Nothing. No big surprise there.
"Ahem. Yoo-hoo! Chopperface! I got somethin' of yours, thought you might want it back." He waited about thirty nanos, plenty of time, then knocked again and listened. No reply. Might as well've been shouting into a tomb.
The thought unexpectedly chilled him, making the fur stand up along his back. Rattrap shivered and started keying in the passcode. If he's in there, he's probably asleep, and I can explain myself before he makes it across the room... I think. Otherwise, I'll just leave the sword here and wait outside 'till he comes ba--
The door opened, and Rattrap immediately dropped the sword. Dinobot was slumped against the wall next to his energon dispenser, not moving. His head lolled forward at an unnatural angle and his optics were dark. Rattrap didn't think, he just panicked. He hit the floor next to the warrior and started shaking him hard. "Chopper?" he asked frantically. "Dinobot! Can you hear m--"
There was an unholy scream from the warrior, dark and wild with terror. One long arm whipped out, and Rattrap slid across the floor before fetching up against the side of Dinobot's berth. He rubbed at the back of his head where it had impacted the metal, slightly dazed. "Guess he heard me."
Red optics were suddenly fixed on him. Rattrap instinctively froze, but it wasn't a hunter's gaze. Dinobot looked confused, blinking rapidly. He glanced down at himself, then around at where he was. Finally he looked at Rattrap again and his optics narrowed. "I suppose you're really here this time," he said quietly. Another few seconds for reality to kick in, and his face settled into a customary scowl, his voice rising to something resembling its usual snarl. "And therefore not in a CR tank, where you should be."
Rattrap picked himself up. "Heh. Thanks for your concern, but I healed up just fine, Lizardface. Good as new, thanks to you." Calmly he dusted himself off, then burst out indignantly, "An' whaddya mean I should be in CR? Look who came home and fainted from energon depletion after carryin' home a half-dead rat!"
"I did not FAINT," the raptor hissed, but he looked more uncomfortable than outraged.
"Course not, what was I thinkin'. You just suddenly decided to take a nap, on the floor, with the berth not ten feet away, an' decided not to wake up when I yelled an' pounded on the door an' then broke into your room--"
Dinobot growled, loudly, and Rattrap shut up, though he did not stop glaring. For a moment they held a contest of dirty looks, something they'd practiced frequently since they first met. Then the warrior looked away. Surprised to see him lower his shield so quickly, Rattrap moved cautiously forward. "Anyway," he offered in a lower tone, one of almost-but-not-quite conciliation, "I just came by to give you back your sword. You kinda came home without it."
Dinobot stiffened at that, but he still didn't look at Rattrap. The spy knelt down again, this time just out of reach. "You okay? Need a hand or anythin'?"
The raptor showed his teeth. It was more an expression of frustration than anything else, and Rattrap waited. Eventually, after a tense silence, Dinobot managed to grit out, "I... can't seem to move my legs."
"Oh." Now he understood the warrior's embarrassment. It was bad enough, he guessed, for a guy like Dinobot to pass out from "weakness." It was worse to be found in such a state. But to be physically unable to get up off the floor... man, he could only imagine what Dinobot would feel like if Primal saw him like this.
"Hang on a sec." Rattrap went to close the door, fetching the sword as he did so. He came back and placed it on the floor beside Dinobot, within easy reach. He figured the warrior would feel at least a bit more comfortable with his weapon at hand. "Alright, so tell me. How much fuel did you actually get into yourself?"
Dinobot picked up the sword and laid it across his lap, resting both hands on it lightly. Almost immediately his composure seemed to return. He nodded toward the corner, where an empty energon container lay on its side. "Only that much. I don't think I finished it."
"Well. That would explain some things." If Dinobot's reserves were still low, he'd be bound to experience a few malfunctions. Like losing motor control in his legs after sitting too long. "Easy enough to fix, though. Hang on just a nano-klik, Chopperface -- we'll have you up an' stompin' around again in no time."
He snatched up the container, filled it, and handed it to Dinobot with a flourish. "Drink up, an' don't hesitate to ask for refills. I ain't goin' anywhere until you can stand."
The raptor grumbled a bit at such a fuss being made over him, but proceeded to drink without argument -- a victory by the standards of any day. While he was sipping his fuel, Rattrap took the liberty of giving him a once-over, since he was quite certain Dinobot hadn't spent any time in a CR tank today himself. For the most part, he looked none the worse for wear (You're built to last, Lizard Lips, I'll give you that), but Rattrap was perceptive enough to notice how gingerly Dinobot was holding his cup, almost by the tips of his claws. His other hand was resting kind of funny, too. Slowly, not wanting to cause another explosion by moving too suddenly, the spy reached for Dinobot's wrist and turned his free hand over.
"Slaggin' son of a-- You weren't even gonna mention this to me, were you?" he exclaimed over the burns on Dinobot's fingers and palms. The raptor's only response was to grunt moodily into his energon.
It took quite a lot of restraint not to smack him upside the head. Instead, the rodent began to swear, very colorfully. Dinobot just raised his eyebrows and drank while Rattrap took great care in cursing the raptor, his stupidity, his stubbornness, his ridiculous tolerance for pain, and his complete and utter refusal to admit that he was mortal. As the rat was calming down -- or possibly just running out of breath -- Dinobot finished and wordlessly held out his cup for a refill. Rattrap found the wind for a second round as he got up and fetched more energon for an ungrateful lump of metal and scales who, he was now sure, had to be smirking at him behind that stoic mask.
"-- an' Sigma's Core, how the slag did you ever make it this far on your own? I swear, you need more lookin' after than Cheetor. Maintenance? Who needs maintenance?" He handed Dinobot the cup, then searched his compartments until he found a familiar roll of tape. "Gimme your other hand, Scalebelly."
The raptor resisted, drawing his free hand closer to his body and scowling. Rattrap scowled right back. "Hey, it ain't my fault I gotta do this. You won't take care o' yourself, someone's gotta make the effort." His voice softened slightly. "C'mon, it's not like I'm gonna hurt ya."
There was another moment of hesitation, then Dinobot held forth his hand, wearing a Do Your Worst expression. Rattrap grinned. "That's more like it."
To the warrior's immediate consternation, he then plunked himself down in Dinobot's lap, shifting the sword out of the way so he could pin the raptor's legs solidly to the floor. "Just makin' sure you stay put 'till I'm done," the rat told him, still grinning as innocently as a protoform. He got to work, while Dinobot mumbled incoherently into his second cup of energon.
The tape wouldn't do much, but it would keep out foreign debris while his tissues were repairing themselves, and help protect the wounds from further tearing. Dinobot wouldn't have bothered with it himself -- and most likely would've been just fine without it -- but it made Rattrap feel better, and it gave him something to do, some small way of paying the warrior back. After all, Dinobot wouldn't be injured if it wasn't for him. Maybe the raptor understood this, because Primus knew why he was playing along otherwise. He could easily have propelled Rattrap across the room with a single sweep of his arm (again), but instead he just sat there and griped a bit while drinking his fuel like a good patient.
Of course, Rattrap didn't mention this out loud. Probably would've jinxed it if he did. Maybe he's just too tired to bother with fightin' me, for once. Or maybe he kinda likes someone fussin' over him. It's not somethin' he's used to, but it prob'ly feels nice. 'Course he'd die before he'd ever admit it.
By the time he finished bandaging the left hand, Dinobot was through with his energon. He set the container aside and Rattrap glanced up. "You want another refill?"
"Hm. It should be adequate. My strength is already returning." Dinobot tipped his head back to rest against the wall and darkened his optics. "I will rest here for a moment."
Rattrap smirked. Yeah, just for a moment. Sure. "Well, gimme your other paw while you're at it."
He took his sweet time wrapping Dinobot's right hand, in no hurry to leave his position on the warrior's lap. In addition to burns, he found a rather nasty scrape on the knuckles of this hand. SOMEbody got the slag punched out of 'em today, that's for sure. Too bad I missed seein' that.
He wound up getting a little distracted by the hands themselves. Rattrap had a deep love and appreciation of mechanics, and Dinobot's hands were a marvel. In beastmode, the long fingers retracted almost entirely into what became the foot, and the flesh folded over, leaving only the claws exposed. In robot mode, however, the digits extended into multi-jointed precision instruments. They were flexible enough to bend backwards, yet strong enough, when curled into a fist, to smash into reinforced armor without breaking. The double thumbs usually functioned together, but could split and move independently if Dinobot wished. Rattrap, who could work minor miracles with own relatively stubby fingers, wondered what these hands could really do... if they weren't usually wrapped around a sword or buried wrist-deep in some unfortunate mech's wiring. He also wondered if these beauties had been designed on Cybertron or were the result of the beastmode reformatting. He thought it was probably the former; if anything, the design of Dinobot's hands seemed incongruous with the transformation into velociraptor--
Something brushed against the back of his helm, and he froze. Either it was his imagination, or those were clawtips. Very careful clawtips. They traced lightly over the thick ridge that protected the back of his head, and Rattrap held still, picturing their every movement vividly in his mind's eye. They stopped on a particular spot, tapping gently.
"I didn't realize I damaged you."
It took Rattrap's fogged processor a second to realize what he was talking about. "Huh?" He reached up and felt his own head where Dinobot was poking him. He had to press hard to find a slight unevenness in the metal that could, perhaps, charitably be called a dent. "What, that? That ain't--"
"It was unintentional. You startled me. A warrior's programming can be... difficult to override."
Slag, he actually sounded upset. "Um, Chopper? I've been barbecued today. A whack on the head ain't nothin'. Don't worry about it." Rattrap patted the back of one scaly hand reassuringly. "Sheesh, you've sent me flyin' plenty o' times. I know you don't mean it. I mean, ain't that pretty much how Preds shake hands?"
Dinobot emitted a wry snort, a sound Rattrap had come to interpret as meaning You Have A Point. Then he went and twisted Rattrap's words from the previous day right back at him. "But that 'doesn't make it right', you said -- referring to yourself. So, should I be held to a lower standard of behavior than a vermin?"
For a moment, Rattrap sincerely hated him. Well, at least his logic. The worst part being that it was so damn hard to argue with. "That ain't exactly my point, Chopperface." He went back to taping up Dinobot's hand, working more quickly now, suddenly wanting this over with. "Point is, you may be a big smelly reptile an' a Pred turncoat to boot, but you deserve some respect. You've earned it. Me, I usually get what I got comin' to me."
The hand he was bandaging pulled suddenly out of his grasp. Rattrap stifled a squeak of surprise as it wrapped around his chin... and turned his head, slowly, gently, until he was face-to-face with the warrior. Dinobot was so close that Rattrap could count the perfect triangles of his teeth as he spoke. "And what exactly have you done to earn this, rodent? You say I deserve respect, and I am far from innocent. Your crimes against this galaxy must be grave indeed if you are not entitled to the same."
He didn't receive an answer, because his partner in conversation was -- for once in his life -- utterly speechless. It wasn't just that Dinobot was practically breathing down his throat, or that the raptor was so slagging eloquent when he wanted to be and wielded words with the same skill that he wielded a sword... those would have been enough to stun him, sure. But pricking at Rattrap's cocoon of self-doubt was like punching him in the gut. His whole identity was centered around the image of a lowlife scavenger who was worth nothing to anyone except himself. Being a rat was nothing new -- he had always seen himself as vermin. He'd even found a way to make it a point of pride. Showing him respect had the same effect as showing Dinobot mercy. It threw his whole world off-balance.
Dinobot, of course, had no way of knowing this. Rattrap couldn't even articulate it to himself. All he knew was that he felt something close to panic at the thought of being validated, by Chopperface of all people. This wasn't supposed to be happening. Where were the insults, the threats? What happened to the game of Toss The Rat? He was the raptor's chew toy, for Primus's sake!
Inspiration siezed him. Remembering what had happened the last time, he closed the short gap between them and planted his lips on the warrior's. He'd surely get thrown on his aft again, which would be painful, but at least it would be normal.
Silence. There was no resistance at first, surprisingly, so he pressed on, waiting to be flung away. Any minute now the hand on his chin would tighten, yanking him off, or perhaps lifting him up for a good shake before throwing. Or it would move down for a better grip on his neck, or his chestplate, or reach up and grab the back of his head...
Slowly, the hand moved. It released his chin and drifted to his shoulder, resting there lightly, tentatively, while the other hand returned to cup the back of Rattrap's head. At that point the spy realized his plan wasn't working. He had dimmed his optics in preparation for violence, but now he brightened them again and found Dinobot's looking right back at him, with no discernible hint of anger. The spy broke away abruptly, staring, and Dinobot actually smirked.
"Are you going to end all arguments this way from now on, or only those in which your wits fail you?"
Rattrap was speechless. Again. Finally he managed to blurt out, "Slagger!" and thumped Dinobot's chestplate with his fist, a gesture of frustration with no real force behind it. The warrior chuckled, a deep sound, and Rattrap looked away in embarrassment.
"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. Always happy to entertain." He fumbled for his roll of tape, dropped somewhere in the midst of the drama, and stiffened when he felt a claw under his chin again -- just a single claw this time. Sullenly he raised his head to meet the warrior's amused optics.
"If you're going to make a habit of it," continued the raptor, "at least show me how to retaliate in kind."
Rattrap's processor crashed.
Rattrap woke up gasping, squeaking in distress and beating the walls of his chamber with little rat feet. It took him a couple of seconds to overpower the beastmode instincts and calm the slag down.
All he could remember of his dreams was a set of snapping reptilian jaws with far too many teeth, apparently hungry for his little rodent self. No big surprise there, once he thought about it. Probably stemmed from all of his anxieties lately concerning Chopperface. Speaking of which...
The rat wiggled his fingers and toes, then felt over himself experimentally. Yep, all his fur was there. No trace of the burns. The CR chambers worked fast with superficial damage, no matter how extensive. He was a bit more concerned about the energon radiation and what that might've done to him, but since he felt fine, it must not have been too serious. Weren't for Chopper though, I'd be way beyond repair by now. Slag, that was close.
Shivering, he pressed the hatch button. He didn't want to sit around in here alone.
He was hoping that Dinobot -- or somebody anyway -- might be waiting around when he emerged. But the whole command center was deserted. The spy looked around and sighed in disappointment.
"That's one thing to love about bein' a Maximal," he remarked out loud. "You never feel alone."
Of course, it was then that he noticed the lights on the other two CR chambers, indicating that they were occupied. Oh, good. Guess Big Ape an' Featherhead made it back okay. That's two people I don't gotta worry about, anyhow. Rhinox was probably in engineering, Dinobot might've gone off to refuel or returned to the battlefield, and who knew where the felines had gotten to. It'd be nice to have a few more Maximals around here. Well, with any luck, that little disc I got myself cooked over's gonna help us fix that...
A monitor beeped. Rattrap sighed dramatically. "Don't worry," he told the empty room, "I'll get it." He went to the nearest station and tapped a touchpad, activating the screen. External sensors showed an approaching Maximal signature. The identification code was Cheetor's, but he was moving pretty slowly. Scrap, don't tell me the kid's hurt, too. Rattrap switched quickly to one of the surveillance cameras.
Cheetor didn't seem to be injured, but he was dragging something. Rattrap sighed in relief. Then he got a look at the object in question, and alarms started going off in his head again. What's he doin' with THAT, for Primus' sake?
Half-afraid to know the answer, the spy lowered one of the lifts to let the kid in. A moment later Cheetor staggered into the command center, panting from exhaustion, the hilt of Dinobot's sword clenched in his teeth. He dropped it and it rolled slowly across the floor, stopping at Rattrap's feet as the spy transformed. Picking it up, Rattrap demanded, "Where'd you find this?"
Cheetor hadn't quite gotten his breath back yet. "Battlefield -- wreckage -- by the tower," he gasped. "Lying -- on the ground. Big Bot -- told me --"
"Alright, alright, don't pass out on me. Sheesh." Rattrap looked the sword over in dismay; it was charred, muddy and scratched all to the Pit. Dinobutt was gonna have a seizure when he saw this. "Best hope you didn't leave tooth marks, Spots."
Taking a gulp of air, Cheetor made a slightly more successful attempt at speech. "Sorry. Didn't have -- much choice. Tried to -- get it back here quick. Where's Optimus?"
Rattrap nodded toward one of the tanks. "Takin' a CR nap. He'll prob'ly be out soon. What'd he tell you, anyway?"
The cheetah flopped down for a rest while he explained. Apparently he'd gotten a call from Rhinox -- Rattrap had to backtrack him twice to get that bit of information -- saying that wounded were incoming and they might need an escort. Cheetor ran out to intercept and found Optimus, who told him that Dinobot and Rattrap had already gone ahead. Since Primal had his hands full (so to speak) with Airazor, he'd sent Cheetor back to the battlefield to retrieve Dinobot's sword -- warning him to watch out for Predacons on the way and to call for backup if he ran into trouble. "I didn't, though. There was nobody around, except some pieces of Inferno. Looked like the Preds got it handed to 'em pretty hard."
Hey, I'M the one who got crispy-fried, Rattrap thought, but he didn't say it out loud. The kid obviously didn't know about that (Optimus probably hadn't wanted to upset him with the details), and there was no point bringing it up now for the sake of a pity party. Besides, something was nagging at the spy. He looked at the sword, turning it over in his hands, trying to pin it down.
Cheetor, who was still babbling, eventually stumbled on it. "I can't believe Dinobot just left it there, though. He's always getting on my case about forgetting things, especially weapons. I remember once I lost my gun in an ambush and he almost looked ready to chew my tail off. Big Bot had to tell him to chill--"
He finally stopped, apparently catching the look on his teammate's face. "Hey, what's wrong? You look, like, out of it."
Rattrap shook his head. "I, uh-- Nothin'. Don't worry about it. Hey, lemme make you a deal." He produced the disc he'd made before the explosion and showed it to Cheetor. "See this? I gotta give it to Optimus soon as he wakes up from his little nap. But if you wanna hang around here an' wait for him" -- which you will anyway, if I know you, kid, an' I'd like to think I do -- "you can deliver it for me. You finish my errand, an' I'll finish yours, find Dinobutt an' give him back his favorite big pointy object. Sound good to you?"
Sure enough, the young cat's face brightened. "Cool! Hey, thanks, Ratbreath. It's a deal." He transformed and gingerly accepted the disc from Rattrap. "I'll take good care of it, I promise."
The spy grinned. "You better. It might just help us get all our friends back from orbit."
"Really?" Cheetor squeaked, nearly dropping the disc in his excitement. Rattrap shook his head as the kid scrambled to catch it before it fell. "That's great! Wait'll I tell Optimus!"
"I'm sure I can leave it in your capable hands, Spots. Just, uh, don't break anything, alright? I almost got myself vaped acquirin' that data."
"Hey, you can count on me." Cheetor grinned cockily, spun the disc on one finger, and nearly sent it flying. "Um. Meant to do that."
Kids. Gotta love 'em. I'll give 'em that, you gotta love 'em.
- - - - -
When searching for Dinobot, Rattrap decided the simple approach was probably best. First, he tried comming him. There was no response, which could indicate any of a wide range of things (he was asleep, he was patrolling somewhere out of range, his comm had been damaged during the fight, or he just didn't feel like talking), so the next step was to look for him at home. His quarters were usually vacant during the day, but it would be silly to go searching the rest of the ship without stopping by there first. And Rattrap knew the passcode. He knew everybody's passcodes. He wouldn't normally dare use Dinobot's to enter without permission, but for the sake of returning a sword, he thought he might be excused this time.
Of course, it would be rude not to at least TRY knocking first (even knowing how unlikely an answer would be, whether Dinobot was there or not). So Rattrap reached his quarters and knocked.
Nothing. No big surprise there.
"Ahem. Yoo-hoo! Chopperface! I got somethin' of yours, thought you might want it back." He waited about thirty nanos, plenty of time, then knocked again and listened. No reply. Might as well've been shouting into a tomb.
The thought unexpectedly chilled him, making the fur stand up along his back. Rattrap shivered and started keying in the passcode. If he's in there, he's probably asleep, and I can explain myself before he makes it across the room... I think. Otherwise, I'll just leave the sword here and wait outside 'till he comes ba--
The door opened, and Rattrap immediately dropped the sword. Dinobot was slumped against the wall next to his energon dispenser, not moving. His head lolled forward at an unnatural angle and his optics were dark. Rattrap didn't think, he just panicked. He hit the floor next to the warrior and started shaking him hard. "Chopper?" he asked frantically. "Dinobot! Can you hear m--"
There was an unholy scream from the warrior, dark and wild with terror. One long arm whipped out, and Rattrap slid across the floor before fetching up against the side of Dinobot's berth. He rubbed at the back of his head where it had impacted the metal, slightly dazed. "Guess he heard me."
Red optics were suddenly fixed on him. Rattrap instinctively froze, but it wasn't a hunter's gaze. Dinobot looked confused, blinking rapidly. He glanced down at himself, then around at where he was. Finally he looked at Rattrap again and his optics narrowed. "I suppose you're really here this time," he said quietly. Another few seconds for reality to kick in, and his face settled into a customary scowl, his voice rising to something resembling its usual snarl. "And therefore not in a CR tank, where you should be."
Rattrap picked himself up. "Heh. Thanks for your concern, but I healed up just fine, Lizardface. Good as new, thanks to you." Calmly he dusted himself off, then burst out indignantly, "An' whaddya mean I should be in CR? Look who came home and fainted from energon depletion after carryin' home a half-dead rat!"
"I did not FAINT," the raptor hissed, but he looked more uncomfortable than outraged.
"Course not, what was I thinkin'. You just suddenly decided to take a nap, on the floor, with the berth not ten feet away, an' decided not to wake up when I yelled an' pounded on the door an' then broke into your room--"
Dinobot growled, loudly, and Rattrap shut up, though he did not stop glaring. For a moment they held a contest of dirty looks, something they'd practiced frequently since they first met. Then the warrior looked away. Surprised to see him lower his shield so quickly, Rattrap moved cautiously forward. "Anyway," he offered in a lower tone, one of almost-but-not-quite conciliation, "I just came by to give you back your sword. You kinda came home without it."
Dinobot stiffened at that, but he still didn't look at Rattrap. The spy knelt down again, this time just out of reach. "You okay? Need a hand or anythin'?"
The raptor showed his teeth. It was more an expression of frustration than anything else, and Rattrap waited. Eventually, after a tense silence, Dinobot managed to grit out, "I... can't seem to move my legs."
"Oh." Now he understood the warrior's embarrassment. It was bad enough, he guessed, for a guy like Dinobot to pass out from "weakness." It was worse to be found in such a state. But to be physically unable to get up off the floor... man, he could only imagine what Dinobot would feel like if Primal saw him like this.
"Hang on a sec." Rattrap went to close the door, fetching the sword as he did so. He came back and placed it on the floor beside Dinobot, within easy reach. He figured the warrior would feel at least a bit more comfortable with his weapon at hand. "Alright, so tell me. How much fuel did you actually get into yourself?"
Dinobot picked up the sword and laid it across his lap, resting both hands on it lightly. Almost immediately his composure seemed to return. He nodded toward the corner, where an empty energon container lay on its side. "Only that much. I don't think I finished it."
"Well. That would explain some things." If Dinobot's reserves were still low, he'd be bound to experience a few malfunctions. Like losing motor control in his legs after sitting too long. "Easy enough to fix, though. Hang on just a nano-klik, Chopperface -- we'll have you up an' stompin' around again in no time."
He snatched up the container, filled it, and handed it to Dinobot with a flourish. "Drink up, an' don't hesitate to ask for refills. I ain't goin' anywhere until you can stand."
The raptor grumbled a bit at such a fuss being made over him, but proceeded to drink without argument -- a victory by the standards of any day. While he was sipping his fuel, Rattrap took the liberty of giving him a once-over, since he was quite certain Dinobot hadn't spent any time in a CR tank today himself. For the most part, he looked none the worse for wear (You're built to last, Lizard Lips, I'll give you that), but Rattrap was perceptive enough to notice how gingerly Dinobot was holding his cup, almost by the tips of his claws. His other hand was resting kind of funny, too. Slowly, not wanting to cause another explosion by moving too suddenly, the spy reached for Dinobot's wrist and turned his free hand over.
"Slaggin' son of a-- You weren't even gonna mention this to me, were you?" he exclaimed over the burns on Dinobot's fingers and palms. The raptor's only response was to grunt moodily into his energon.
It took quite a lot of restraint not to smack him upside the head. Instead, the rodent began to swear, very colorfully. Dinobot just raised his eyebrows and drank while Rattrap took great care in cursing the raptor, his stupidity, his stubbornness, his ridiculous tolerance for pain, and his complete and utter refusal to admit that he was mortal. As the rat was calming down -- or possibly just running out of breath -- Dinobot finished and wordlessly held out his cup for a refill. Rattrap found the wind for a second round as he got up and fetched more energon for an ungrateful lump of metal and scales who, he was now sure, had to be smirking at him behind that stoic mask.
"-- an' Sigma's Core, how the slag did you ever make it this far on your own? I swear, you need more lookin' after than Cheetor. Maintenance? Who needs maintenance?" He handed Dinobot the cup, then searched his compartments until he found a familiar roll of tape. "Gimme your other hand, Scalebelly."
The raptor resisted, drawing his free hand closer to his body and scowling. Rattrap scowled right back. "Hey, it ain't my fault I gotta do this. You won't take care o' yourself, someone's gotta make the effort." His voice softened slightly. "C'mon, it's not like I'm gonna hurt ya."
There was another moment of hesitation, then Dinobot held forth his hand, wearing a Do Your Worst expression. Rattrap grinned. "That's more like it."
To the warrior's immediate consternation, he then plunked himself down in Dinobot's lap, shifting the sword out of the way so he could pin the raptor's legs solidly to the floor. "Just makin' sure you stay put 'till I'm done," the rat told him, still grinning as innocently as a protoform. He got to work, while Dinobot mumbled incoherently into his second cup of energon.
The tape wouldn't do much, but it would keep out foreign debris while his tissues were repairing themselves, and help protect the wounds from further tearing. Dinobot wouldn't have bothered with it himself -- and most likely would've been just fine without it -- but it made Rattrap feel better, and it gave him something to do, some small way of paying the warrior back. After all, Dinobot wouldn't be injured if it wasn't for him. Maybe the raptor understood this, because Primus knew why he was playing along otherwise. He could easily have propelled Rattrap across the room with a single sweep of his arm (again), but instead he just sat there and griped a bit while drinking his fuel like a good patient.
Of course, Rattrap didn't mention this out loud. Probably would've jinxed it if he did. Maybe he's just too tired to bother with fightin' me, for once. Or maybe he kinda likes someone fussin' over him. It's not somethin' he's used to, but it prob'ly feels nice. 'Course he'd die before he'd ever admit it.
By the time he finished bandaging the left hand, Dinobot was through with his energon. He set the container aside and Rattrap glanced up. "You want another refill?"
"Hm. It should be adequate. My strength is already returning." Dinobot tipped his head back to rest against the wall and darkened his optics. "I will rest here for a moment."
Rattrap smirked. Yeah, just for a moment. Sure. "Well, gimme your other paw while you're at it."
He took his sweet time wrapping Dinobot's right hand, in no hurry to leave his position on the warrior's lap. In addition to burns, he found a rather nasty scrape on the knuckles of this hand. SOMEbody got the slag punched out of 'em today, that's for sure. Too bad I missed seein' that.
He wound up getting a little distracted by the hands themselves. Rattrap had a deep love and appreciation of mechanics, and Dinobot's hands were a marvel. In beastmode, the long fingers retracted almost entirely into what became the foot, and the flesh folded over, leaving only the claws exposed. In robot mode, however, the digits extended into multi-jointed precision instruments. They were flexible enough to bend backwards, yet strong enough, when curled into a fist, to smash into reinforced armor without breaking. The double thumbs usually functioned together, but could split and move independently if Dinobot wished. Rattrap, who could work minor miracles with own relatively stubby fingers, wondered what these hands could really do... if they weren't usually wrapped around a sword or buried wrist-deep in some unfortunate mech's wiring. He also wondered if these beauties had been designed on Cybertron or were the result of the beastmode reformatting. He thought it was probably the former; if anything, the design of Dinobot's hands seemed incongruous with the transformation into velociraptor--
Something brushed against the back of his helm, and he froze. Either it was his imagination, or those were clawtips. Very careful clawtips. They traced lightly over the thick ridge that protected the back of his head, and Rattrap held still, picturing their every movement vividly in his mind's eye. They stopped on a particular spot, tapping gently.
"I didn't realize I damaged you."
It took Rattrap's fogged processor a second to realize what he was talking about. "Huh?" He reached up and felt his own head where Dinobot was poking him. He had to press hard to find a slight unevenness in the metal that could, perhaps, charitably be called a dent. "What, that? That ain't--"
"It was unintentional. You startled me. A warrior's programming can be... difficult to override."
Slag, he actually sounded upset. "Um, Chopper? I've been barbecued today. A whack on the head ain't nothin'. Don't worry about it." Rattrap patted the back of one scaly hand reassuringly. "Sheesh, you've sent me flyin' plenty o' times. I know you don't mean it. I mean, ain't that pretty much how Preds shake hands?"
Dinobot emitted a wry snort, a sound Rattrap had come to interpret as meaning You Have A Point. Then he went and twisted Rattrap's words from the previous day right back at him. "But that 'doesn't make it right', you said -- referring to yourself. So, should I be held to a lower standard of behavior than a vermin?"
For a moment, Rattrap sincerely hated him. Well, at least his logic. The worst part being that it was so damn hard to argue with. "That ain't exactly my point, Chopperface." He went back to taping up Dinobot's hand, working more quickly now, suddenly wanting this over with. "Point is, you may be a big smelly reptile an' a Pred turncoat to boot, but you deserve some respect. You've earned it. Me, I usually get what I got comin' to me."
The hand he was bandaging pulled suddenly out of his grasp. Rattrap stifled a squeak of surprise as it wrapped around his chin... and turned his head, slowly, gently, until he was face-to-face with the warrior. Dinobot was so close that Rattrap could count the perfect triangles of his teeth as he spoke. "And what exactly have you done to earn this, rodent? You say I deserve respect, and I am far from innocent. Your crimes against this galaxy must be grave indeed if you are not entitled to the same."
He didn't receive an answer, because his partner in conversation was -- for once in his life -- utterly speechless. It wasn't just that Dinobot was practically breathing down his throat, or that the raptor was so slagging eloquent when he wanted to be and wielded words with the same skill that he wielded a sword... those would have been enough to stun him, sure. But pricking at Rattrap's cocoon of self-doubt was like punching him in the gut. His whole identity was centered around the image of a lowlife scavenger who was worth nothing to anyone except himself. Being a rat was nothing new -- he had always seen himself as vermin. He'd even found a way to make it a point of pride. Showing him respect had the same effect as showing Dinobot mercy. It threw his whole world off-balance.
Dinobot, of course, had no way of knowing this. Rattrap couldn't even articulate it to himself. All he knew was that he felt something close to panic at the thought of being validated, by Chopperface of all people. This wasn't supposed to be happening. Where were the insults, the threats? What happened to the game of Toss The Rat? He was the raptor's chew toy, for Primus's sake!
Inspiration siezed him. Remembering what had happened the last time, he closed the short gap between them and planted his lips on the warrior's. He'd surely get thrown on his aft again, which would be painful, but at least it would be normal.
Silence. There was no resistance at first, surprisingly, so he pressed on, waiting to be flung away. Any minute now the hand on his chin would tighten, yanking him off, or perhaps lifting him up for a good shake before throwing. Or it would move down for a better grip on his neck, or his chestplate, or reach up and grab the back of his head...
Slowly, the hand moved. It released his chin and drifted to his shoulder, resting there lightly, tentatively, while the other hand returned to cup the back of Rattrap's head. At that point the spy realized his plan wasn't working. He had dimmed his optics in preparation for violence, but now he brightened them again and found Dinobot's looking right back at him, with no discernible hint of anger. The spy broke away abruptly, staring, and Dinobot actually smirked.
"Are you going to end all arguments this way from now on, or only those in which your wits fail you?"
Rattrap was speechless. Again. Finally he managed to blurt out, "Slagger!" and thumped Dinobot's chestplate with his fist, a gesture of frustration with no real force behind it. The warrior chuckled, a deep sound, and Rattrap looked away in embarrassment.
"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. Always happy to entertain." He fumbled for his roll of tape, dropped somewhere in the midst of the drama, and stiffened when he felt a claw under his chin again -- just a single claw this time. Sullenly he raised his head to meet the warrior's amused optics.
"If you're going to make a habit of it," continued the raptor, "at least show me how to retaliate in kind."
Rattrap's processor crashed.