I need to write something happy...
Title: Empty Cube
Continuity: G1
Characters/Pairings: One sided!Red Alert/Prowl, Prowl/Bluestreak
Rating: PG
Warnings: Sadness
Summary: Red Alert thinks about what he didn’t see.
Notes: This was for the January challenge attf_rare_pairing Through Another’s Eyes, but due to RL constraints, this was finished a little too late. Originally, this was going in a different direction, but then Red Alert decided that he wanted to be more angsty. If you see any errors, let me know so I can fix them.
“Wasted too much time, should’ve seen the signs
Now I know just what went wrong.”
- “Wanted You More” by Lady Antebellum
Red Alert sat alone in his quarters, staring into his cube of high grade, and wondered if at the bottom of it, there would be an answer as to how things had ended like this.
Red Alert had always frowned on other mechs who drank continuously, searching for their answers at the bottom of a cube. He had always considered them below him, Drinking the high grade was only going to mess with their processors, it wasn’t going to help them any. In fact, Red Alert had been of the opinion that it had made things worse for those mechs, with the hangovers, sluggish processors, and sometimes even losing joors of the night before.
But, Red Alert had decided that there was no way for this to get worse, so he picked up the cube and began to drink, remember, and maybe he would find his answer at the bottom.
He remembered how, when he had first met Prowl, they both had just been promoted to work with Sentinel Prime, and Red Alert had been suspicious of the Praxian that he had just met. The Praxian’s willingness to put up with his new coworker’s persistent paranoia to an extent that no other had, was in itself, suspicious. But Prowl’s persistence to work with Red Alert and flawless work had won over Red Alert, and even the security director was able to admit that had not been an easy task.
And how, out of all the mechs that Red Alert had worked with over his entire existence, he enjoyed working with Prowl the best.
How Red Alert had come to consider the black and white Praxian as his friend, his only friend.
They never talked about much about anything other than work, and even then when they did talk, it took only a small fraction of the time that other mechs in the Rec Room took to talk to their friends. But Red Alert had always valued the content of his conversations, the length was insignificant.
It didn’t stop him from wondering how others could keep talking to others after joors; didn’t they run out of things to say?
Red Alert had once thought that it would have been nice to talk to Prowl for joors, but Prowl’s time was far too important to waste with trivial conversation.
Besides, Red Alert had assured himself, there would always be plenty of time to converse once the war was over.
So, Red Alert worked tirelessly. Joors upon joors and orns upon orns, just to meet his own level of perfection to do his own part to end the war faster, but Prowl never had anything more to say beyond “Good work,” and a pat on the shoulder. Red Alert always knew that he never heard any more from Prowl because his plans were lacking somewhere, somehow.
So Red Alert buried himself more and more in his work, wanting to be just as perfect as Prowl.
To get more than a faint smile.
To have more than that faint brush of servos.
To hear more than a simple “Good work” from the mech that his spark called to.
But no matter how much work Red Alert put in, nothing changed.
Nothing changed for vorns.
Until now.
When Red Alert had seen Prowl pat Bluestreak on the shoulder and quietly murmur a “Good work” to the young gunner, and Bluestreak grinned back with a wide smile. It was something that Prowl had done countless times with Red Alert, but had eventually stopped.
Red Alert had thought it had been because he had been lacking, but now, now everything clicked into place.
He had never felt more blind or stupid, but there wasn’t anything to be done about it, and if he did, then Red Alert would be betraying his friend.
Because Prowl was happy, his posture more relaxed, and his optics shone a little brighter. Red Alert could not begrudge his friend the happiness that Prowl so rightly deserved and that Red Alert had unknowingly given up.
And Bluestreak was happy too, and as much as it burned like acid down his intake because the gunner was the one Prowl loved, Red Alert was honestly glad that the two had found solace in each other.
And if Prowl’s reports came in a little late after a hard battle, that had resulted in Bluestreak’s injury, then Red Alert was fine to turn a blind optic to it. Because that’s what friends do for each other, and, Red Alert concluded, finishing the last of his high grade, that was all he would ever be, a friend.
So, alone in the quiet dark of his quarters, Red Alert pondered the folly of lost chances and remorse for a life he could have lived, staring at the empty cube of his life.
Continuity: G1
Characters/Pairings: One sided!Red Alert/Prowl, Prowl/Bluestreak
Rating: PG
Warnings: Sadness
Summary: Red Alert thinks about what he didn’t see.
Notes: This was for the January challenge attf_rare_pairing Through Another’s Eyes, but due to RL constraints, this was finished a little too late. Originally, this was going in a different direction, but then Red Alert decided that he wanted to be more angsty. If you see any errors, let me know so I can fix them.
“Wasted too much time, should’ve seen the signs
Now I know just what went wrong.”
- “Wanted You More” by Lady Antebellum
Red Alert sat alone in his quarters, staring into his cube of high grade, and wondered if at the bottom of it, there would be an answer as to how things had ended like this.
Red Alert had always frowned on other mechs who drank continuously, searching for their answers at the bottom of a cube. He had always considered them below him, Drinking the high grade was only going to mess with their processors, it wasn’t going to help them any. In fact, Red Alert had been of the opinion that it had made things worse for those mechs, with the hangovers, sluggish processors, and sometimes even losing joors of the night before.
But, Red Alert had decided that there was no way for this to get worse, so he picked up the cube and began to drink, remember, and maybe he would find his answer at the bottom.
He remembered how, when he had first met Prowl, they both had just been promoted to work with Sentinel Prime, and Red Alert had been suspicious of the Praxian that he had just met. The Praxian’s willingness to put up with his new coworker’s persistent paranoia to an extent that no other had, was in itself, suspicious. But Prowl’s persistence to work with Red Alert and flawless work had won over Red Alert, and even the security director was able to admit that had not been an easy task.
And how, out of all the mechs that Red Alert had worked with over his entire existence, he enjoyed working with Prowl the best.
How Red Alert had come to consider the black and white Praxian as his friend, his only friend.
They never talked about much about anything other than work, and even then when they did talk, it took only a small fraction of the time that other mechs in the Rec Room took to talk to their friends. But Red Alert had always valued the content of his conversations, the length was insignificant.
It didn’t stop him from wondering how others could keep talking to others after joors; didn’t they run out of things to say?
Red Alert had once thought that it would have been nice to talk to Prowl for joors, but Prowl’s time was far too important to waste with trivial conversation.
Besides, Red Alert had assured himself, there would always be plenty of time to converse once the war was over.
So, Red Alert worked tirelessly. Joors upon joors and orns upon orns, just to meet his own level of perfection to do his own part to end the war faster, but Prowl never had anything more to say beyond “Good work,” and a pat on the shoulder. Red Alert always knew that he never heard any more from Prowl because his plans were lacking somewhere, somehow.
So Red Alert buried himself more and more in his work, wanting to be just as perfect as Prowl.
To get more than a faint smile.
To have more than that faint brush of servos.
To hear more than a simple “Good work” from the mech that his spark called to.
But no matter how much work Red Alert put in, nothing changed.
Nothing changed for vorns.
Until now.
When Red Alert had seen Prowl pat Bluestreak on the shoulder and quietly murmur a “Good work” to the young gunner, and Bluestreak grinned back with a wide smile. It was something that Prowl had done countless times with Red Alert, but had eventually stopped.
Red Alert had thought it had been because he had been lacking, but now, now everything clicked into place.
He had never felt more blind or stupid, but there wasn’t anything to be done about it, and if he did, then Red Alert would be betraying his friend.
Because Prowl was happy, his posture more relaxed, and his optics shone a little brighter. Red Alert could not begrudge his friend the happiness that Prowl so rightly deserved and that Red Alert had unknowingly given up.
And Bluestreak was happy too, and as much as it burned like acid down his intake because the gunner was the one Prowl loved, Red Alert was honestly glad that the two had found solace in each other.
And if Prowl’s reports came in a little late after a hard battle, that had resulted in Bluestreak’s injury, then Red Alert was fine to turn a blind optic to it. Because that’s what friends do for each other, and, Red Alert concluded, finishing the last of his high grade, that was all he would ever be, a friend.
So, alone in the quiet dark of his quarters, Red Alert pondered the folly of lost chances and remorse for a life he could have lived, staring at the empty cube of his life.