robothell | (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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"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.