G1 Swindle: Prompt, Sacrifice
Although nobody else can be aware of these events (except Vortex) this is not a closed com. Anyone can call up Swindle and say 'how are you?' even though it may not be the best time to ask !
SACRIFICE
In the derelict house nestled deep within the pine forest, in the blackness of the back room, Swindle recharged on the concrete floor, exhaustion finally taking over after the events of the day - the rescue of Vortex , their flight here and, following that, their night of passion. Well - that was how Swindle would have described it.
He had managed to maneuver himself out from under the copter, and had taken up position lying up against him, taking care to hook one of his team mate's arms over him. Vortex was deeply unconscious. He had been underenergized when Swindle fetched him and every subsequent event had drained him further, the activities of the last few hours being the final measure needed to plummet him into the depths of peaceful oblivion.
There was a small part of Swindle which derived a smug satisfaction from his team mate's 'condition.' This should have been enough to keep him as deeply offline as the copter. But it had not been. On the contrary, about half of Swindle's systems were online to some degree, and he was all too aware of the floor, cold underneath him and of other sounds - the door creaking in the corridor, the sound of dripping water and forest creatures outside, and the intermittent small bangs of twigs and branches falling on the roof.
Metal clunked and scraped as Swindle rearranged himself more comfortably once again, stiffening and grimacing as the main cause of his insomnia, the dull ache in his chest, the nagging reminder of his other bond - his sparkbond - made itself painfully apparent.
Despite everything Swindle had just shared with Vortex, he could not quite manage to close the sparkbond. Nor could he prevent thoughts of his alternate self sparkmate from wandering intermittently through his processor - or forget the sensations of hurt and pain which he had clearly detected during. that brief, traumatic ‘moment’ by the river Now the bond seemed to call to him with a festering need for attention which, as the dim light of dawn began to filter through the single dirty window, became harder and harder to ignore.
Outside, the trees gave a mournful sigh as a gust of wind swept over them. Swindle moved closer to Vortex, nuzzling into him. He kept his optics strongly offline, willing the same for all his systems, wanting to be immersed in the gestalt, not wanting to wake up and face that other side of his life which had been such a disaster since his row with Swindle and departure from the caves. Not wanting to experience again the aching sense of loss and definitely not wanting to face the hurt he had caused to his sparkmate. The fact that he'd let him down. Done it again. Just like he had with his team mates in a gesture which had taken twenty five years to put right.
Barely aware that he was doing so, Swindle whispered: Vortex .... never again .... promise ..... never! In an effort to keep the sparkbond further into the depths of his subconscious, he opened the gestalt bond to Blast Off and sent images of “togetherness” with the gestalt across it, remembering their time together and hoping fervently that his other team mate would be aware of them and send something back, and that he’d be instantly so enmeshed in the gestalt bond that he’s forget the sparkbond altogether.
But it was not to be. Just as Swindle attempted to get through to Blast Off, a door banged and there was a sound of scampering in the corridor. Vortex merely flinched slightly. But all of Swindle's systems came instantly fully online. Sitting up sharply and suspending intakes, his weapons systems activated as he ran a rapid scan of the building and surroundings. Silence. And he detected no cybernetic mechanisms.
The Combaticon froze, senses on full alert, listening. Nothing further. Just an animal, Swindle told himself, reactivating his intakes. Just an animal, like that bird earlier.
Swindle sighed, turning his attention to the copter asleep on the floor. The ache in his chest was suddenly there again with fresh fervor, and Swindle knew that more recharge was out of the question. With another resigned sigh, he leaned over and gently brushed his lips against the copter's cheek, lingering for a few moments before getting up and heading outside.
...........................
Around Swindle, the forest dripped shades of green and brown in the pre sunrise dawn, the pungent scent of pine mixing with the aroma of recent rain. The trees stretched upward, the sky a mournful grey above, threatening of more weather to come.
Swindle crossed the clearing, springing in the green carpet of moss and pine needles, a soft metal rustling the only sound besides the snap of twigs beneath his pedes and the distant sound of bird calls. Further into the forest, the trunks stretched away and a thin veil of mist hung between them. Swindle walked a short way, although he made sure that he did not lose sight of the building.
The ache in his chest intensified. Swindle came to a halt, and putting out a hand to one of the nearby trunks, he steadied himself, grimacing, intakes hissing. Uggghhh ..... this is no good .... no good .... no good at all ...no good ...
Lightheaded, Swindle took deep draughts of air, willing it all to go away. As the pain dulled a little, he turned to lean his back against the tree and then slowly slid down it, coming to rest with his knees up. Shuttering his optics, he leaned heavily against the moist, organic trunk, not caring that it was either of those things. He could not - he was forced to acknowledge - ignore the sparkbond.
Keeping his optics shuttered, Swindle struggled to put things in perspective.
I have to think this thing through. I'm a robot, for Primus sake, a being of great age and logic! I should be able to work this out without it being complicated by - "emotional stuff." It shouldn't be a problem!
But it was a problem. As the trees sighed above, scattering a small rain of droplets which pinged against his chassis as the mist swirled in swathes a little further into the forest, a host of memories flooded Swindle's processor, all of them including his sparkmate. He remembered the day he had first met his counterpart self, so soon after he'd arrived in Nexusville, the intense affinity he'd felt for this other version of himself, and how nervous he had been of making a bad impression.Then when he went to the caves for the first time , and how amazing he thought Swindle was and how they had made love almost before he was through the door. Then there were images of the days following that, when sharing each other was more or less all they did. And finally of the sparkbond , and of those final moments of ecstasy when they merged as one.
Then .....
But Swindle snapped his thoughts away from what came after that, not able to think about the row which had ended their relationship and his departure, vowing never to return.
Swindle winced, drawing his knees up and hugging them. It hurt so much to be without Swindle that he could hardly bear it. But he must - he told himself - think as he had intended, in a logical way. A host of thoughts emerged:
It couldn’t have worked out . I couldn’t stand being underground. Those caves - claustrophobic. And that one with the berth in it was too much like the box . Felt hemmed in. Yeah, yeah - far too much like the box .
Too many drugs. Yeah - definitely. Not that I’ve got anything against drugs - I mean, Primus, I’d hardly be one to talk! But that Blue stuff. Could send you over the edge. Not that it sent him over the edge or anything but it could have sent me over the edge.
It didn’t work in other ways . Too different ..... I mean - so much the same, since we are each other. But too different in others.
.... the fragging was good .... but heck, you can't just frag all the time!
Different universes. Yeah - different situations. Different values. No gestalts. In his universe.
The gestalt. Yeah - I needed the gestalt .... had to be part of it. Had to make up for what had gone before. And he couldn't handle it - no, not at all - and I couldn't handle him not handling it. So it came to an end, and that was a damned good thing!
Swindle became aware of his spark, pulsing in painful waves. He could not stop himself from following up these thoughts with another:
But I do miss him! So much! I still love him - I just wish it wasn’t like this
If only there had been some way to have both him and the gestalt!
Swindle flinched, pain sweeping through him as he drew the inevitable conclusion: But I can’t! It’s impossible! You can’t have the two bonds together …. that scientist was wrong! One of them had to go and it’s turned out to be this one.
I’ve sacrificed the sparkbond for the gestalt …..
There’s no going back. For the sake of both of us, I HAVE TO BREAK THE SPARKBOND.
Swindle clutched at his chest with one hand whilst the other reached sideways to dig into the dirt beside the tree, collecting a handful of pine needles. Rain began to fall again, landing softly between the trees, little rivulets began to run off Swindle’s helm, down his face, mingling with the tears which he was unable to prevent, his frame shaking as he was forced to face the inevitable.
…. have to end it completely. Any remnants - will just hurt both of us.
Swindle allowed the full realization to course through him, hugging his knees and pressing his face against them, buckling against the onslaught of his emotions. Around him, the forest sighed, as the light thickened a little less, the mist still hanging in swathes around the stricken Combaticon.
Time ticked slowly by. A fox passed, close, pausing to regard the strange intrusion into its domain before passing on. Lost in his own agony , Swindle heard and saw nothing. He allowed himself the luxury of that agony , the rain running off him, dripping down to sink into the pine needles around. Then it eased slightly, and as it did so, Swindle regained some control, forcing himself back to logic and sensibility.
Well I’ve made the decision. Now I have to do this! I’m a Combaticon, for Primus sake - when we make decisions we act on them! We don’t just sit and wallow in misery! I must think of the positives. Think how much better this will make the gestalt. Think how proud Onslaught will be of me when he gets here. Think how pleased Vortex and Blast Off will be. Because they will, won’t they?
Or will they not be that bothered about it ?
In the wake of that doubt, the sparkbond was suddenly never more present. It slammed through Swindle forcefully, and he was drawn to it, like a moth to a candle, and could not help sending a barrage of data and feelings across it, the desperate loss he felt at having to do this. Pain struck again, cutting like a knife as he sent another wave of sensations crashing through - just before he registered - just before he realized he could feel …..
Nothing.
There was a complete blank on the other end of the sparkbond. Swindle has closed it anyway!
Shock horror rebounded through Swindle. The memory of Vortex slamming shut the gestalt bond was suddenly with him in all its cold, horrible clarity. First, Vortex. Now, his sparkmate. Swindle shuddered, as though gripped inside by a cold hand, a touch of indignation at the same time making itself known. How can he do that when I can’t? But simultaneously, his resolve deepened:
OK …. well I hurt him …. I have driven him to this! All the more reason for ending things.
Swindle paused, feeling the emptiness of the closed sparkbond - worse than Vortex’s continued closure of the gestalt bond because with that, at least, he had the copter’s presence and he had Blast Off. Pain struck him again and a small muffled cry issued from his vocalizer, the memories with him once more.
This is the end! And I never even had the chance to say goodbye!
But he forced himself once more to think: I must stay positive. He glanced through the trees at the building and his thoughts went to Vortex, and to the gestalt, and he immersed himself in them, pushing the sparkbond once more away. The gestalt will only get better. And Vortex will open the bond again - one day. He had to believe that.
Swindle forced thoughts of his team mates into his conscious awareness pool, allowing memories of the previous night - and also of his time with Blast Off in the desert - to flood his processor. Gradually, the sparkbond receded, like a train disappearing into a tunnel. Swindle followed its passage with a great heaviness, his spark aching as it prepared to wink out of sight. And yet, just before it did, there was a stirring across it, faint, but definite. Swindle paused, his thoughts wandering again, his attention diverted once more as it dawned on him:
I haven’t broken it yet. And it’s not gone yet. I can’t reach Swindle, but he can reach me!
Despite his decision, Swindle’s spark brightened at this development. Maybe if I receive his thoughts he will open up to me …. maybe we can talk …. maybe I won’t have to go so far as to end it … And in sudden impulse - and hope - Swindle opened the sparkbond wider.
Across the bond, straight away, came a series of fleeting sensations, sweeping into Swindle in a barrage. He was bombarded with a sense of, not surprising - as he thought warmly - that his sparkmate was really a very controlled person. Then there was pain, but then triumph, too and satisfaction. A fairly intense satisfaction, from what Swindle could register. But straight away, that cold feeling made itself present again. There was something not right about it all. Then … Swindle’s optics widened. He could feel extreme pleasure. Which would be nice if it meant his counterpart was thinking about him. Except that ….
Swindle froze. None of it was about himself. Nothing! On the contrary, all of it unquestionably involved - Swindle’s optics widened in horror - other mechs.
Swindle rose slowly to his feet, his optics widening further, his hand against the tree for support. As his processor digested this fascinating new information, a slow fury started to simmer within.
So that’s why he has his end closed! So he can ‘do things’ - PLEASURABE things with other mechs! And of course - he wouldn’t want me to know that, would he? Not after the fuss he made about the Blast Off!
The smoldering anger started to burn fiercely.
That’s just great! I mean - here’s me sitting here all guilty, all distraught about the distress I’ve caused him and contemplating ending this thing because I can’t bear to see him suffering and he isn’t suffering at all. On the contrary. He’s having a great time. And It’s me that's suffering!
Swindle clenched his fists, rage coursing through him. And to think how he went on about the gestalt! What a load of rot! And to think I felt bad about that because I thought he loved me!
The words of Bumblebee came back to Swindle then “if your sparkmate loved you he would accept the gestalt ….”
“Exactly!” Swindle roared. “Well he didn’t did he? What a load of slaggin’ scrap !"
[ He probably only said all that to get me out of there so he could - do whatever it is he's doing now! ]
There was a loud “doof” as swindle’s fist slammed against the tree trunk. “You slagging hypocrite, Swindle! “ He yelled: “Love me? Hah! OH YEAH! SURE! I don’t think so! I WAS VERY EASILY REPLACED!
Swindle watched, shaking, as bits of bark and tree fell in a pile at his feet from the hole he’d created. Turning, he started furiously back towards the building.
As he went, he muttered: “ Well this farce is coming to an end all right! And not for your sake, Swindle! For mine! And for the sake of my team mates. “
How could I have been such a fool!
He stormed between the sodden trees, muttering to himself:
“ And to think what I put up with! Living underground. And I suffer from claustrophobia for frags sake! But I sat there - and you spent day after day tinkering with stuff I couldn’t stand it! I’m an action mech , for Primus sake. A Combaticon! The type that needs to be ‘out there. But I put up with it! oh yeah - I put up with it because it meant something to me!”
"Madness! Mad mad mad!" Swindle yelled as he neared the building. “Yeah - that’s what it was. A great big mad stupid mistake. The worst one I ever made in my life! Yeah! I was taken in by all that “alternative me” garbage. Well it didn’t work out! And you can do what you like because I'm going to end this thing!
But about halfway into the clearing, Swindle paused, as another thought came into his processor.
How, exactly, do I do that?
He stopped, intaking deeply, looking at the building ahead and considering the prospect. It could be done, of course. Of that Swindle had little doubt. It was not like the gestalt programming, too intricately connected to make severance possible. But who would do it? Swindle considered his options.
The great Cyclonus, he thought, just had to be capable of such a feat. Maybe he would do it gladly, driven on by the unacceptable notion of a Decepticon doing something as Autobottish and fluffy as sparkbonding. But Swindle shivered. It was hardly an attractive option, given that he had just busted Vortex out of the brig. Swindle imagined trying to broach it nicely:
“Cyclonus - hey - just wondering if you could do me a little favour. What? Vortex? Escaped? Oh well, not surprising really - he’s got a ‘thing’ about small confined spaces. Like me, see. Heheh! It’s a Combaticon thing, see! Was bound to get out of there sometime. Me? No - don’t know anything about it. And I haven’t seen him. Honest! Now about that favour …. you wouldn’t happen to be a dab hand at breaking sparkbonds would you?
Swindle grimaced, thinking of the expression on Cyclonus face when he looked at him in normal circumstances, let alone in those. No. Not a good idea. He thought again. There was that medic, of course, Scorpanok. Such ‘procedures’ were undoubtedly within his capabilities. But that didn’t appeal either. Swindle hardly knew the mech and besides - he was creepy. To make matters worse, Swindle had never come up with the medbay stuff he was supposed to get for him - ages ago.
Slag it!
Then Swindle had a thought. There was another possibility. He started slowly forward again. That scientist. Perceptor. The one from the other universe.
The one who got me into this mess. Well he did! He said it would be OK and all. Well it isn’t. So how fitting that he’s the one gets me out of it! He’s a scientific type! He’s bound to know how.
Resolved upon this course, Swindle paused at the doorway and opened the com. Then he closed it.
I can’t comm him all angry! Autobots - go funny - about that sort of thing. They get all ‘sensitive.’
Swindle took a few moments to compose himself. Then he activated the com once again and said - as conversationally as possible - // Hey - uh - Perceptor? \\ He tried to sound casual, laid back, as though this were a mere social call.
There was no response. The mech was probably busy, Swindle concluded. Doing scientific stuff. Or whatever else it was that Autobots filled their days with. // If you could give me a call when you’ve got a moment - I’d appreciate that!
Leaving the comm. channel open, Swindle preceded inside, leaving the dripping forest behind, muddy imprints from his feet decorating the floor as his footsteps echoed hollowly in the empty building against the ever present sigh of the trees outside.
Resigned, resolved, maintaining his rage because it usefully masked the terrible hurt and despair he felt within, Swindle headed for the back room.
SACRIFICE
In the derelict house nestled deep within the pine forest, in the blackness of the back room, Swindle recharged on the concrete floor, exhaustion finally taking over after the events of the day - the rescue of Vortex , their flight here and, following that, their night of passion. Well - that was how Swindle would have described it.
He had managed to maneuver himself out from under the copter, and had taken up position lying up against him, taking care to hook one of his team mate's arms over him. Vortex was deeply unconscious. He had been underenergized when Swindle fetched him and every subsequent event had drained him further, the activities of the last few hours being the final measure needed to plummet him into the depths of peaceful oblivion.
There was a small part of Swindle which derived a smug satisfaction from his team mate's 'condition.' This should have been enough to keep him as deeply offline as the copter. But it had not been. On the contrary, about half of Swindle's systems were online to some degree, and he was all too aware of the floor, cold underneath him and of other sounds - the door creaking in the corridor, the sound of dripping water and forest creatures outside, and the intermittent small bangs of twigs and branches falling on the roof.
Metal clunked and scraped as Swindle rearranged himself more comfortably once again, stiffening and grimacing as the main cause of his insomnia, the dull ache in his chest, the nagging reminder of his other bond - his sparkbond - made itself painfully apparent.
Despite everything Swindle had just shared with Vortex, he could not quite manage to close the sparkbond. Nor could he prevent thoughts of his alternate self sparkmate from wandering intermittently through his processor - or forget the sensations of hurt and pain which he had clearly detected during. that brief, traumatic ‘moment’ by the river Now the bond seemed to call to him with a festering need for attention which, as the dim light of dawn began to filter through the single dirty window, became harder and harder to ignore.
Outside, the trees gave a mournful sigh as a gust of wind swept over them. Swindle moved closer to Vortex, nuzzling into him. He kept his optics strongly offline, willing the same for all his systems, wanting to be immersed in the gestalt, not wanting to wake up and face that other side of his life which had been such a disaster since his row with Swindle and departure from the caves. Not wanting to experience again the aching sense of loss and definitely not wanting to face the hurt he had caused to his sparkmate. The fact that he'd let him down. Done it again. Just like he had with his team mates in a gesture which had taken twenty five years to put right.
Barely aware that he was doing so, Swindle whispered: Vortex .... never again .... promise ..... never! In an effort to keep the sparkbond further into the depths of his subconscious, he opened the gestalt bond to Blast Off and sent images of “togetherness” with the gestalt across it, remembering their time together and hoping fervently that his other team mate would be aware of them and send something back, and that he’d be instantly so enmeshed in the gestalt bond that he’s forget the sparkbond altogether.
But it was not to be. Just as Swindle attempted to get through to Blast Off, a door banged and there was a sound of scampering in the corridor. Vortex merely flinched slightly. But all of Swindle's systems came instantly fully online. Sitting up sharply and suspending intakes, his weapons systems activated as he ran a rapid scan of the building and surroundings. Silence. And he detected no cybernetic mechanisms.
The Combaticon froze, senses on full alert, listening. Nothing further. Just an animal, Swindle told himself, reactivating his intakes. Just an animal, like that bird earlier.
Swindle sighed, turning his attention to the copter asleep on the floor. The ache in his chest was suddenly there again with fresh fervor, and Swindle knew that more recharge was out of the question. With another resigned sigh, he leaned over and gently brushed his lips against the copter's cheek, lingering for a few moments before getting up and heading outside.
...........................
Around Swindle, the forest dripped shades of green and brown in the pre sunrise dawn, the pungent scent of pine mixing with the aroma of recent rain. The trees stretched upward, the sky a mournful grey above, threatening of more weather to come.
Swindle crossed the clearing, springing in the green carpet of moss and pine needles, a soft metal rustling the only sound besides the snap of twigs beneath his pedes and the distant sound of bird calls. Further into the forest, the trunks stretched away and a thin veil of mist hung between them. Swindle walked a short way, although he made sure that he did not lose sight of the building.
The ache in his chest intensified. Swindle came to a halt, and putting out a hand to one of the nearby trunks, he steadied himself, grimacing, intakes hissing. Uggghhh ..... this is no good .... no good .... no good at all ...no good ...
Lightheaded, Swindle took deep draughts of air, willing it all to go away. As the pain dulled a little, he turned to lean his back against the tree and then slowly slid down it, coming to rest with his knees up. Shuttering his optics, he leaned heavily against the moist, organic trunk, not caring that it was either of those things. He could not - he was forced to acknowledge - ignore the sparkbond.
Keeping his optics shuttered, Swindle struggled to put things in perspective.
I have to think this thing through. I'm a robot, for Primus sake, a being of great age and logic! I should be able to work this out without it being complicated by - "emotional stuff." It shouldn't be a problem!
But it was a problem. As the trees sighed above, scattering a small rain of droplets which pinged against his chassis as the mist swirled in swathes a little further into the forest, a host of memories flooded Swindle's processor, all of them including his sparkmate. He remembered the day he had first met his counterpart self, so soon after he'd arrived in Nexusville, the intense affinity he'd felt for this other version of himself, and how nervous he had been of making a bad impression.Then when he went to the caves for the first time , and how amazing he thought Swindle was and how they had made love almost before he was through the door. Then there were images of the days following that, when sharing each other was more or less all they did. And finally of the sparkbond , and of those final moments of ecstasy when they merged as one.
Then .....
But Swindle snapped his thoughts away from what came after that, not able to think about the row which had ended their relationship and his departure, vowing never to return.
Swindle winced, drawing his knees up and hugging them. It hurt so much to be without Swindle that he could hardly bear it. But he must - he told himself - think as he had intended, in a logical way. A host of thoughts emerged:
It couldn’t have worked out . I couldn’t stand being underground. Those caves - claustrophobic. And that one with the berth in it was too much like the box . Felt hemmed in. Yeah, yeah - far too much like the box .
Too many drugs. Yeah - definitely. Not that I’ve got anything against drugs - I mean, Primus, I’d hardly be one to talk! But that Blue stuff. Could send you over the edge. Not that it sent him over the edge or anything but it could have sent me over the edge.
It didn’t work in other ways . Too different ..... I mean - so much the same, since we are each other. But too different in others.
.... the fragging was good .... but heck, you can't just frag all the time!
Different universes. Yeah - different situations. Different values. No gestalts. In his universe.
The gestalt. Yeah - I needed the gestalt .... had to be part of it. Had to make up for what had gone before. And he couldn't handle it - no, not at all - and I couldn't handle him not handling it. So it came to an end, and that was a damned good thing!
Swindle became aware of his spark, pulsing in painful waves. He could not stop himself from following up these thoughts with another:
But I do miss him! So much! I still love him - I just wish it wasn’t like this
If only there had been some way to have both him and the gestalt!
Swindle flinched, pain sweeping through him as he drew the inevitable conclusion: But I can’t! It’s impossible! You can’t have the two bonds together …. that scientist was wrong! One of them had to go and it’s turned out to be this one.
I’ve sacrificed the sparkbond for the gestalt …..
There’s no going back. For the sake of both of us, I HAVE TO BREAK THE SPARKBOND.
Swindle clutched at his chest with one hand whilst the other reached sideways to dig into the dirt beside the tree, collecting a handful of pine needles. Rain began to fall again, landing softly between the trees, little rivulets began to run off Swindle’s helm, down his face, mingling with the tears which he was unable to prevent, his frame shaking as he was forced to face the inevitable.
…. have to end it completely. Any remnants - will just hurt both of us.
Swindle allowed the full realization to course through him, hugging his knees and pressing his face against them, buckling against the onslaught of his emotions. Around him, the forest sighed, as the light thickened a little less, the mist still hanging in swathes around the stricken Combaticon.
Time ticked slowly by. A fox passed, close, pausing to regard the strange intrusion into its domain before passing on. Lost in his own agony , Swindle heard and saw nothing. He allowed himself the luxury of that agony , the rain running off him, dripping down to sink into the pine needles around. Then it eased slightly, and as it did so, Swindle regained some control, forcing himself back to logic and sensibility.
Well I’ve made the decision. Now I have to do this! I’m a Combaticon, for Primus sake - when we make decisions we act on them! We don’t just sit and wallow in misery! I must think of the positives. Think how much better this will make the gestalt. Think how proud Onslaught will be of me when he gets here. Think how pleased Vortex and Blast Off will be. Because they will, won’t they?
Or will they not be that bothered about it ?
In the wake of that doubt, the sparkbond was suddenly never more present. It slammed through Swindle forcefully, and he was drawn to it, like a moth to a candle, and could not help sending a barrage of data and feelings across it, the desperate loss he felt at having to do this. Pain struck again, cutting like a knife as he sent another wave of sensations crashing through - just before he registered - just before he realized he could feel …..
Nothing.
There was a complete blank on the other end of the sparkbond. Swindle has closed it anyway!
Shock horror rebounded through Swindle. The memory of Vortex slamming shut the gestalt bond was suddenly with him in all its cold, horrible clarity. First, Vortex. Now, his sparkmate. Swindle shuddered, as though gripped inside by a cold hand, a touch of indignation at the same time making itself known. How can he do that when I can’t? But simultaneously, his resolve deepened:
OK …. well I hurt him …. I have driven him to this! All the more reason for ending things.
Swindle paused, feeling the emptiness of the closed sparkbond - worse than Vortex’s continued closure of the gestalt bond because with that, at least, he had the copter’s presence and he had Blast Off. Pain struck him again and a small muffled cry issued from his vocalizer, the memories with him once more.
This is the end! And I never even had the chance to say goodbye!
But he forced himself once more to think: I must stay positive. He glanced through the trees at the building and his thoughts went to Vortex, and to the gestalt, and he immersed himself in them, pushing the sparkbond once more away. The gestalt will only get better. And Vortex will open the bond again - one day. He had to believe that.
Swindle forced thoughts of his team mates into his conscious awareness pool, allowing memories of the previous night - and also of his time with Blast Off in the desert - to flood his processor. Gradually, the sparkbond receded, like a train disappearing into a tunnel. Swindle followed its passage with a great heaviness, his spark aching as it prepared to wink out of sight. And yet, just before it did, there was a stirring across it, faint, but definite. Swindle paused, his thoughts wandering again, his attention diverted once more as it dawned on him:
I haven’t broken it yet. And it’s not gone yet. I can’t reach Swindle, but he can reach me!
Despite his decision, Swindle’s spark brightened at this development. Maybe if I receive his thoughts he will open up to me …. maybe we can talk …. maybe I won’t have to go so far as to end it … And in sudden impulse - and hope - Swindle opened the sparkbond wider.
Across the bond, straight away, came a series of fleeting sensations, sweeping into Swindle in a barrage. He was bombarded with a sense of, not surprising - as he thought warmly - that his sparkmate was really a very controlled person. Then there was pain, but then triumph, too and satisfaction. A fairly intense satisfaction, from what Swindle could register. But straight away, that cold feeling made itself present again. There was something not right about it all. Then … Swindle’s optics widened. He could feel extreme pleasure. Which would be nice if it meant his counterpart was thinking about him. Except that ….
Swindle froze. None of it was about himself. Nothing! On the contrary, all of it unquestionably involved - Swindle’s optics widened in horror - other mechs.
Swindle rose slowly to his feet, his optics widening further, his hand against the tree for support. As his processor digested this fascinating new information, a slow fury started to simmer within.
So that’s why he has his end closed! So he can ‘do things’ - PLEASURABE things with other mechs! And of course - he wouldn’t want me to know that, would he? Not after the fuss he made about the Blast Off!
The smoldering anger started to burn fiercely.
That’s just great! I mean - here’s me sitting here all guilty, all distraught about the distress I’ve caused him and contemplating ending this thing because I can’t bear to see him suffering and he isn’t suffering at all. On the contrary. He’s having a great time. And It’s me that's suffering!
Swindle clenched his fists, rage coursing through him. And to think how he went on about the gestalt! What a load of rot! And to think I felt bad about that because I thought he loved me!
The words of Bumblebee came back to Swindle then “if your sparkmate loved you he would accept the gestalt ….”
“Exactly!” Swindle roared. “Well he didn’t did he? What a load of slaggin’ scrap !"
[ He probably only said all that to get me out of there so he could - do whatever it is he's doing now! ]
There was a loud “doof” as swindle’s fist slammed against the tree trunk. “You slagging hypocrite, Swindle! “ He yelled: “Love me? Hah! OH YEAH! SURE! I don’t think so! I WAS VERY EASILY REPLACED!
Swindle watched, shaking, as bits of bark and tree fell in a pile at his feet from the hole he’d created. Turning, he started furiously back towards the building.
As he went, he muttered: “ Well this farce is coming to an end all right! And not for your sake, Swindle! For mine! And for the sake of my team mates. “
How could I have been such a fool!
He stormed between the sodden trees, muttering to himself:
“ And to think what I put up with! Living underground. And I suffer from claustrophobia for frags sake! But I sat there - and you spent day after day tinkering with stuff I couldn’t stand it! I’m an action mech , for Primus sake. A Combaticon! The type that needs to be ‘out there. But I put up with it! oh yeah - I put up with it because it meant something to me!”
"Madness! Mad mad mad!" Swindle yelled as he neared the building. “Yeah - that’s what it was. A great big mad stupid mistake. The worst one I ever made in my life! Yeah! I was taken in by all that “alternative me” garbage. Well it didn’t work out! And you can do what you like because I'm going to end this thing!
But about halfway into the clearing, Swindle paused, as another thought came into his processor.
How, exactly, do I do that?
He stopped, intaking deeply, looking at the building ahead and considering the prospect. It could be done, of course. Of that Swindle had little doubt. It was not like the gestalt programming, too intricately connected to make severance possible. But who would do it? Swindle considered his options.
The great Cyclonus, he thought, just had to be capable of such a feat. Maybe he would do it gladly, driven on by the unacceptable notion of a Decepticon doing something as Autobottish and fluffy as sparkbonding. But Swindle shivered. It was hardly an attractive option, given that he had just busted Vortex out of the brig. Swindle imagined trying to broach it nicely:
“Cyclonus - hey - just wondering if you could do me a little favour. What? Vortex? Escaped? Oh well, not surprising really - he’s got a ‘thing’ about small confined spaces. Like me, see. Heheh! It’s a Combaticon thing, see! Was bound to get out of there sometime. Me? No - don’t know anything about it. And I haven’t seen him. Honest! Now about that favour …. you wouldn’t happen to be a dab hand at breaking sparkbonds would you?
Swindle grimaced, thinking of the expression on Cyclonus face when he looked at him in normal circumstances, let alone in those. No. Not a good idea. He thought again. There was that medic, of course, Scorpanok. Such ‘procedures’ were undoubtedly within his capabilities. But that didn’t appeal either. Swindle hardly knew the mech and besides - he was creepy. To make matters worse, Swindle had never come up with the medbay stuff he was supposed to get for him - ages ago.
Slag it!
Then Swindle had a thought. There was another possibility. He started slowly forward again. That scientist. Perceptor. The one from the other universe.
The one who got me into this mess. Well he did! He said it would be OK and all. Well it isn’t. So how fitting that he’s the one gets me out of it! He’s a scientific type! He’s bound to know how.
Resolved upon this course, Swindle paused at the doorway and opened the com. Then he closed it.
I can’t comm him all angry! Autobots - go funny - about that sort of thing. They get all ‘sensitive.’
Swindle took a few moments to compose himself. Then he activated the com once again and said - as conversationally as possible - // Hey - uh - Perceptor? \\ He tried to sound casual, laid back, as though this were a mere social call.
There was no response. The mech was probably busy, Swindle concluded. Doing scientific stuff. Or whatever else it was that Autobots filled their days with. // If you could give me a call when you’ve got a moment - I’d appreciate that!
Leaving the comm. channel open, Swindle preceded inside, leaving the dripping forest behind, muddy imprints from his feet decorating the floor as his footsteps echoed hollowly in the empty building against the ever present sigh of the trees outside.
Resigned, resolved, maintaining his rage because it usefully masked the terrible hurt and despair he felt within, Swindle headed for the back room.