robothell | (no subject)

(no subject)

Who: Tarn and First Aid with a guest appearance by Rampage, Tarn and Sixshot
What: Tarn has "words" with First Aid
When: a few weeks after pollen
Where: somewhere near the Autobot Medibay
Warnings: gratuitous robot violence. Seriously.

Embarrassment. It’s the only word Tarn can find to describe how he feels upon recollection of his last meeting with First Aid. The tiny Autobot had taken him firmly in hand, taking advantage of every shameful desire that he could muster; drunk with the effects of the pollen that had clogged his systems.

Worse than what the medic had seen was what he probably thinks. After how Tarn had acted, any respect or fear that First Aid had was surely long gone. And what rumors had he been spreading? Who else knew about the incident? His tanks churn at the thought.

Really, Tarn knows what he must do. The only thing keeping him contained, so far, was the thought of Megatron finding out. They had come so far, trust was just beginning to be rebuilt. Was his pride really worth shattering all that work?

Yes. It was.

Which is how Tarn found himself prowling the back alleys near the Autobot Medibay, optics scanning for a certain small red and white Autobot that he was to have words with.

Fortunately it doesn’t take him long.

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It’s a mess. A disaster. Tarn’s plan could not have ended more poorly if he had tried. Which is how he ended up in this position; crouched over a shallow puddle of water, trying to hastily scrub First Aid’s energon from his drenched frame.

it’s a futile cause; he knows that. He’ll need to find a deep pool to submerge himself in if he truly wishes to get himself clean. Or, making his way to Spinster’s shower…but he can’t. Not without running into his leader. Megatron can’t see him like this. Although,surely he knows by now. That wretched Beastformer undoubtedly brought First Aid’s brutal beating to light. In fact he’s probably being hunted at this very moment. He desperately needs to think of a way to talk himself out of this. The clock is ticking.

He’s made a mistake. Not in trying to kill First Aid; no that admission will never come. They’ll have to pry it from his cold black spark. The mistake lies in letting it become personal. He let it become a more drawn out production than it really needed to be. It should have been quick and over before he could be caught. Or, perhaps he should have knocked him out and dragged him far outside the city like he did with Drift.

Regardless, it's already been done and now he must face the consequences of his stupidity. He won’t run, and he won’t hide like a coward. Instead, after a deep vent, he simply resumes washing his plating bit by bit. He’ll have to wait this situation out.

It doesn’t take very long before he hears someone’s distant approach. Its quiet and focused, but spark wrenchingly familiar. He doesn’t turn from his work as the footfalls become closer.

“Ah. So he sent you. I can’t say that I’m surprised."

"I'd have come even if he hadn't sent me."

There's fresh, suppressed hurt in the soft spoken words. Sixshot's footsteps slow to a stop not too far away, pale armor striped by shadows from the surrounding buildings, eyes gleaming in the dark.

"Never imagined it'd come down to this. No. Wait, that," he laughs, pain laced through the sound. "That's a lie. I should have seen this coming since the beginning, but I've been making myself blind overlooking all your mistakes instead."

His optics flare and he takes a step towards his friend, towards the source of all his present grief. It was like Megatron's defection all over again but a thousand times worse, a betrayal so deep it left his spark hollowed out, the empty spaces replaced with a lead core of numbness.

"You're a short sighted and petty little mech, but I trusted you." The wolf mech takes another step closer and the hurt in his eyes turn into a cold, seething fury. His armor unfolds suddenly and he rears back into his bipedal mode, guns flipping into his hands. "You were dear to me. You still are."

"Which is the only reason you're not going to die today."

Tarn scoffs a bitter laugh, shaking his head. He doesn't turn to face the Phase Sixer, not caring to see the disappointment that surely is written across his face.

"You're a fool Sixshot. Megatron is too if he thinks he can change me."

There's no anger in his voice; just exhaustion. A flat plane devoid of any discernible emotion. After a brief pause, he continues to scrub as if no one was standing behind him, pinning him with that angry stare.

Tarn feels as if he at least owes Sixshot an explanation since he won't be receiving an apology.

"I hold myself to a certain degree of pride. Your pet Autobot was challenging it in a way that I could no longer ignore."

"My pet Autobot," Sixshot throws his helm back and laughs, a sharp, bitter sound. "Oh, that's rich coming you. You realize I can smell him on you every time we've talked, right?"

The laughter stops as suddenly as it started and Sixshot's voice turns icy. "I could've flattened Pharma a thousand times over, but I spared that skeevy little cog for your sake." The sound of light footsteps echo out behind Tarn as the Sixer makes his steady, decisive way down towards the other mech.

"Shall I track him down then? I'll cut him apart for you nice and slow. I'm sure Megatron won't mind in the least once he knows the guy's sordid little history."

“As you wish. He is of little use to me here. Pharma certainly hasn’t been providing me with Transformation Cogs. That role seems to have fallen to Spinister; intentional or not. ”

Tarn stands from his crouch, turning to finally pin Sixshot with an equally icy stare. Energon is still smeared in a vivid streak across his mask, a sick reminder of what he had just done. Even as the Phase Sixer stalks closer, Tarn doesn’t back away. He remains steadfast, squaring his shoulders in preparation for whatever was to be thrown at him. He's not going to run.

"I hadn’t pegged you as one for petty revenge. Perhaps there is hope for you yet."

"You wretched-"

Tarn was a head and more taller than him in root mode, but that doesn't stop Sixshot's free hand from finding his throat. The smell of First Aid's energon envelopes his senses in a sickly miasma and it takes every once of his control not to flex his fingers down and crush that prized, deadly vocalizer despite everything telling him to do exactly that.

"You have changed for Megatron," he uses his grip on Tarn's neck to draw him down to eye level, optics burning livid red despite the sudden, strange softness of his words, face mask inches from the DJD commander's audio. "We have all changed for Megatron. The one you changed for turned his back on us and left our hopes and dreams in ruins. Follow his path if you'd like, but I have a future to protect and someone better to change for."

And then he's rearing back to try and use the the grip on Tarn's throat to throw him through the nearest wall.

He can't kill Tarn and the young Megatron would actually probably disapprove of murdering Pharma, so this will just have to do. Sixshot never pegged himself for petty revenge either, but here they go.

He’s wrong. It’s all he can think as Sixshot lays into him. This Megatron could be better than the last. He could fix what became broken. All it would take would be a gentle nudge in the right direction. It doesn’t have to be different, they just need to pick up where they left off.

The next thing Tarn is aware of, he’s lying in a heap of rubble, staring through a large hole in the wall. He quickly rights himself, stepping rather shakily through the crumbling building. He’s suddenly overcome with a sick feeling of deja vu; a reminder of their first meeting upon waking on this wretched planet. The ridiculous fight and his mortifying breakdown….

Much has changed since that day.

“Sixshot…” the name comes with a low warning as he staggers closer, within range to whisper. “Don’t make me hurt you. I would prefer for us both to walk away from this."

"We are going to both walk away from this, Tarn," Sixshot says, lethally calm as he strides towards the shaky form staggering towards him, ignoring the way the purple mech's voice made his spark flicker. "Megatron asked me to bring you to him. Alive."

"He didn't oppose the idea of you being a little chewed on, though." Sixshot might have been wearing a mask, but it didn't do much to cover the sadistic smile that'd curled on the edges of his lips.

"You tortured someone I cared about." He draws his hand back, optics blazing. "You broke my trust."

The fist comes up fast enough to break the sound barrier, the shockwave cracking thunderously through their surroundings.

Sixshot’s fist connects squarely with Tarn’s face, snapping his head back sharply. He hisses in pain, stepping to the side as he tries to get his processor to stop spinning from the blow. After a moment his mind clears. It take’s more effort than he is almost able to muster to tamp down the fiery anger brought with the pain of being struck by someone he cares so deeply for. He must try a different tactic.

“Now, now, let’s be reasonable Sixshot…” His fists clench at his sides. He wants to strike back but he can’t.The situation is wrong. The Autobot had become too important to his lover. More important than he, perhaps, realized. It only makes Tarn wish he had succeeded even more.

“What use does beating me truly have? Will it make you feel better to cause me pain? If that is the case, then by all means, hit me. I will not fight you. “ He drops to his knees staring up at Sixshot, daring him to proceed. “I’m waiting."

"Why not?" Sixshot comes to a stop a step away from his lover, optics narrow slivers of contemptuous red. "Tearing First Aid apart seemed to be your solution. What was he going to do you exactly, Tarn?"

Despite himself, despite his rage, the Sixer finds himself reaching out, cupping the side of Tarn's dented face with his hand.

"I don't understand," he murmurs, "We were doing so well and now you've gone and undone it all. Between us and the Autobots, we have medical supplies and half decent energon. You were always complaining about the heavy lead content Spinister's stuff had. How are we going to make up for it if Megatron doesn't manage to maintain the peace? How are the others going to survive?"

Because Sixshot isn't really going to be the one affected by a shortage of energon and medical supploes here, is he?

Tarn huffs and shakes his head, turning away from Sixshot’s palm. He doesn’t understand the blindness of his fellow Deceptions. Had they not fight the same war that he had? They are so eager to allow the power to fall into the hands of the enemy without second though. Without thinking of what might be done with that power as it inevitably becomes corrupt over time.

“We can’t be dependent upon them. The Autobots want us weak, and pliable, and at their mercy. Megatron is willing to let us get pulled under but I will not stand for it. We can deal with spinsters energon if it means being self sufficient.”

He stays stubbornly silent on the turn of evens that lead up to this point, refusing to go into detail. “I will not apologize for what I did, nor do I regret my actions. First Aid is lucky that help came when it did.”

"Partnership isn't dependence and compromise isn't weakness," Sixshot draws his hand back, spark achingly heavy. "If you really wanted strength and self sufficiency, you would concert your efforts with the rest of ours and present the Autobots with a united front. You acted as a rogue agent instead."

He stands there for a long moment, expression unreadable and half hidden behind the hand he'd covered his face with.

"... I don't really know why I'm trying anymore." The Sixer's voice drops to a whisper, static laden and exhausted. "You can't undo anything anyways."

Slipping his gun back into his inventory, he transforms once again into his wolf mode, shadow falling over his kneeling lover's form.

"Megatron is waiting. You can come with me or I can make you."

A sharp stab of anxiety hits Tarn at the mention of Megatron. He has no idea what his leader intends for him, but he knows it isn’t good. For the first time since this fiasco started, the idea of running crosses his mind. He could go someplace and wait for this all to blow over…

Tarn quickly tamps down the thought. Sixshot is far faster than he is and would surely catch him. It is better to face this with dignity than be dragged in like some common felon.

Sighing, Tarn looks up at Sixshot’s hovering form.

“Very well. What is to be done with me?”

"He didn't say," Sixshot says, turning to leave.

It was true. Megatron didn't say.

But Sixshot was Megatron's hound and no good hound didn't get by without learning to read their master's moods. This Megatron was young, but that just made it all the more obvious: where the older Megatron controlled and suppressed, the younger mech's fury roll off of his frame in tangible waves instead.

This was probably Tarn's last day.

Tarn pauses briefly, before getting up to follow several paces behind Sixshot. He’ll be receiving a verbal thrashing for certain; perhaps even a physical one. But, if Tarn has learned anything from his time here, it is that this Megatron is soft. He quickly manages to convince himself that he is in no danger that he can’t handle.

It shouldn’t be overly difficult to talk to miner’s rage down to a manageable level.

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