Ficlet Challenge 16/100
Title: Purple
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Hound, Mirage
Summary: AU After an accident, Mirage is trapped with only a very annoying Decepticon for company.
Warnings: Some mildly lewd language
Mirage groaned at the effort it took to sit up. He rubbed at his helm, finding a dent and several scratches marring its surface. Although sore, his warning systems weren’t alerting him of any severe damage. He ran a system check and looked down at himself to be sure, but still didn’t find any significant damage. He only seemed to be a little banged up.
Personal check done, he turned his attention on his surroundings. He released a frustrated sigh when he spotted the caved-in entrance to the energon mine his memory banks helpfully reminded him had fallen during the Autobot/Decepticon skirmish he’d participated in. His optics widened at the sight of a fallen mech right beside the rubble and he scrambled over to check for vitals.
If he’d taken a moment’s hesitation before rushing over, he would’ve realized the mech wasn’t any Autobot he recognized. He didn’t and got a quick strike across the helm for his trouble. Mirage jerked back as the other mech twisted over, red optics glazed with pain and something wild as his optical sensors sought out the source of his disturbance. Mirage drew back further as they rested on him.
The Decepticon snorted derisively and started looking around the mine. “Guess we weren’t fast enough when the ceiling caved in. Told those idiots to be careful about shooting inside here, hope they all got caught under the rubble.”
“It’s a wonder you Decepticons have lived this long with the care and concern you have for each other,” Mirage said dryly.
Ruby optics landed back on him, glaring as lips twisted in a sneer. “You think your precious Autobots are gonna come digging your aft out?”
“More assuredly than any Decepticons would.”
The mech chuckled, pain hinted in the static of his vocal processor. He sat up, resting his back to the wall blocking their path. “At least I’ll know to expect it. How sure are you that those friends of yours will come for you?”
Mirage frowned and ignored the challenge, focusing instead on the energon pooled where the mech had been laying and now flowed down his shoulder. “You’re bleeding pretty badly, are you going to be able to fix that?”
The mech smirked. “You offering, Autobot?”
“Maybe if I knew for certain whether or not you’d try to tear out my fuel lines.” He shouldn’t even be considering it. However, Mirage wasn’t sure he could stand himself if he just stood by while someone died, even a Decepticon. Besides, wasn’t Prime always waxing eloquent about trying to extend a hand of peace and tolerance, even towards their enemies?
“Now that’d just be a damn waste to kill off a pretty little mech like you,” the Decepticon tutted.
Mirage gaped at the audacity, before turning his back on the other mech. “Have fun repairing yourself.” If the mech wanted to be fixed, he could damn well stand to be a little more polite.
“If you’re this uptight with those other Autobots, I really wouldn’t be surprised if they left you here.”
“They’ll come for me, and then they’ll take you prisoner and interrogate you for information. You’d better hope the Decepticons find you valuable enough to negotiate your release.”
“Yeah, well at least my faction taught me not to be dumb enough to turn my back on an enemy.”
Mirage tensed and whirled around, spark gripped with alarm that the other mech might already have a gun trained on him. Instead, the bulkier mech was examining his own wounded shoulder. Catching Mirage’s look, he grinned smugly back at him. “Made you look. Nice aft by the way.”
Mirage’s vocalizer crackled with indignation, before finally sputtering, “I could shoot you right now.”
The Decepticon shrugged with his good shoulder. “You won’t. It’s not a very Autobot thing to do, is it?”
Mirage narrowed his optics. “I think exceptions could be made.” He really wouldn’t, but this mech sure could try his patience.
“Goody,” the mech said with false enthusiasm.
Mirage narrowed his optics at the Decepticon, debating for a moment about reaching for his pistol. Instead he sat down against the wall, facing his unwanted companion. “Are all Decepticons as annoying as you, or are you just a special case?”
The mech snorted. “You think you’re so much better? Where’d the ‘bots pick your stiff aft up, a youngling center?”
“More like the rubble of my home city,” Mirage snarled, watching the Decepticon awkwardly working on his shoulder. He’d pulled out an emergency repair kit from his subspace, trying to apply some sort of salve to the broken fuel line in his shoulder, with no success so far. “And I’m not a youngling. I reached mechhood four vorns ago.”
“Aw, still just a scraplet then,” the mech mockingly cooed. He winced a moment later as his thick knuckles scratched over the edge of his broken plating.
“It’s rather sad watching you try to fix yourself. Like some mechanimal licking his wounds.” His tone wasn’t mocking; he was merely being blunt about what he actually thought. That it might annoy the Decepticon was just a bonus.
“If it’s so sad, why don’t you park that smart aft over here and help me?”
“Depends, will you attack me?”
“Not if it keeps me from being patched up. Don’t know why you’d bother. Can’t help yourself from doing the right thing or something?”
Mirage walked over, watching the mech for any signs of aggression. Although honestly, he didn’t get the impression that the green mech was violent. He seemed to be having more fun irritating Mirage. “Please, I’m not doing this for your benefit. I just don’t fancy the company of an offline body over a living mech, even one as annoying as you.”
“You sure it’s a good idea to be this close to a big bad Decepticon, Sweets?” the mech asked in a husky tone right next to Mirage’s audio.
“Are you sure it’s a good idea to irritate the mech who’s offering to repair you?” Mirage snapped. If he were the sadistic sort, Mirage would have dug his fingers into that burn hole and pulled whatever delicate circuitry he came across. Instead, fingertips touched lightly upon the green plated and burned shoulder, gold optics surveying the damage. “And don’t call me Sweets. If you must address me, call me Mirage. Otherwise you can just fix yourself.”
“Fine, whatever.” The mech leaned back against the wall, tense and watching the other mech critically. Just because he was fixing him didn’t mean he could trust the Autobot. “So, you sure you know what you’re doing? ‘Cause if you screw up, accidentally or purposefully, I can still snap your neck.”
Mirage resisted flinching at the threat, concentrating on the other mech’s injury. “I have some basic first aid training. It’s just enough to get me by when I’m on my own.” Mirage eyed the Decepticon issued repair kit with irritation. “This is what the Decepticons give their soldiers? These supplies are downright pitiful. You don’t even have anything to numb the pain.”
The mech smirked. “No Decepticon is worth the scrap he’s built from if he can’t handle a little pain.”
“There is nothing ‘little’ about your injuries,” Mirage scoffed. He pulled out his own repair kit. It was nothing like what a medic would carry, but it served Mirage well. Mostly it just kept him together long enough to get real repairs. He pulled out what he needed, setting to work on the shoulder.
Hound grinned in mischief. Oh, the mech had walked right into that one. “There’s nothing little about something else of me either,” he said, solely to taunt his companion.
“Your ego?” Mirage retorted, quick as a whip.
The Decepticon actually guffawed. He was starting to like this mech. “Too bad you’re with the Autobots, you’d be a lot of fun to annoy on a daily basis.”
“Thank Primus we’re not on the same side then.”
“Aw, don’t you want to get to know me better? We could be best buddies if you’d give me a chance.”
Mirage sent a silent plea to Primus to lend him the patience to not shoot this mech. As loathsome as his behavior was, Mirage wasn’t the sort to kill without reason. Or even stand by for a death, even an enemy’s death. It didn’t sit right with his conscience to do something so cruel to another. “Yes, that would be wonderful for my image. I always wanted the label of traitor added onto my list of titles.”
“Along with twit-with-a-rod-up-his-aft, I imagin- ah!”
This time Mirage did pinch an exposed circuit, tired of the mech’s thankless attitude. A hand grabbed his arm, fingers holding tight as red optics narrowed on Mirage. “Don’t do that again, or next time your arm comes off. You may be helping me, but we’re still enemies, and I don’t like being alone with someone I’m supposed to kill.”
Mirage glared right back, unfazed. “And I don’t like being treated like the grime on the bottom of your pede.”
The Decepticon snorted, letting go of Mirage’s arm. “That’s funny coming from a noble.” He let his optics trail up and down the lithe body and smiled at Mirage’s widened optics. “You think it’s that hard to tell you’re a noble? Give me some credit. You look too expensive to be anything else. You nobles even smell different from the rest of us.”
Mirage turned away, putting his remaining supplies back into his repair kit. “I’ve done what I can for your shoulder. It should be enough until you can have it seen by an actual medic.” He sounded almost subdued, keeping his optics averted from the other’s as he retreated to the other side of the dilapidated mine.
“What? Did I hit a sore spot?”
“Considering the destruction of the Towers, yes. You can’t blame me for being a little bitter.”
“You think all of your Towers friends and you were completely faultless, the poor little nobles who were killed by the big bad Decepticons… We were treated like the grime under your pedes first.”
Mirage’s hands trembled with the intensity of the emotions running through him, anger, grief, pain, and that ever present loneliness. “I know. And I live with that every day.”
It was the Decepticon’s turn to be shocked by his companion. This was the first he’d ever seen a noble admit to their mistakes. He almost smiled, maybe this mech really was as different as he seemed.
“But that doesn’t mean we were all corrupt. My sire-” Mirage’s vocalizer faltered with static. “My sire always upheld himself to the highest standards. He was not corrupt like you say.”
“Oh, I’m sure you knew everything going on with him, huh?”
“Practically. I handled our company’s finances. I monitored where every credit went, he was legitimate.”
“As far as you know anyway. But fine, maybe he was different. Pit, maybe there were even others like him in the Towers. You think they made up for the… what? Hundreds of thousands of corrupt mechs who used the lower classes like resources?”
“Is this better then? Are the displaced families, burnt out cities, and dead soldiers and civilians worth it?”
The Decepticon slammed his fist back against the wall, snarling, “Of course it’s not. But we’ve gone too far to turn back now, when we can finally change Cybertron for the better.”
“Better? How do you expect things to be better with someone as ruthless as Megatron in charge?”
“At least we know where we stand with him. He may not be some ‘shining pillar of morality’ like how you see that Prime of yours, but when he rebuilds Cybertron, it’ll be for the workers like me who broke our backstruts for the senators and socialites.”
“And where does that leave me? If I survive to see the Decepticons win, what do you think will happen to those of us that remain of the ‘old Cybertron’?”
A frown marred the Decepticon’s lips. “I don’t think you’ll like the answer.”
“I know I won’t, but you are going to tell me because I know Megatron must speak of it often.”
“He says he wants to see any remaining upper class mechs brought lower than any Decepticon has ever been. He wants them to toil, and suffer, and be degraded for all they did.”
“Do you think I deserve it?”
The Decepticon narrowed his optics. “The nobles deserve to suffer for what they put us through. I doubt most who remain are in any way decent, just because-”
Mirage tossed some debris at his head, narrowly missing him. “I didn’t ask about them. Do you think I deserve to end up working to my death in a mine or being the prized asset of some brothel?”
“I don’t even know you!”
Mirage smiled in triumph. “Precisely. You can no more pass judgment on me than I could you.”
The Decepticon snorted. He looked ready to reply, but paused before he could get the words out. Mirage remained silent as well, trying to listen for what had caught the other mech’s attention. After a few moments he could hear the faint tapping of tools against metal.
“I guess you were right. Looks like your friends have come for you.”
“How do you know they’re not Decepticons?” Mirage asked.
“I recognize some of the energy signatures. Couple of them are even your Special Ops friends.”
Mirage suddenly felt faint as comprehension dawned on him. When he’d joined Special Ops, Jazz had warned him about the mechs notorious for rooting out agents like them. The three with perhaps the highest body counts to them were Soundwave, his cassette Ravage, and the tracker Hound. It was said Hound could sniff out or sense the energy signatures of any Autobot agent.
He knew Hound was aware he’d figured out his identity by the way the scout grinned. “What’s wrong, Mirage? You don’t look happy to know your friends are coming.” With some noticeable effort he got up on his pedes and started over for Mirage.
Mirage turned his pistol on Hound, just about to fire when his optics were bombarded by a continuous stream of light and colors. He fired anyway, but knew he hadn’t hit his target. A hand seized his gun, wrenching it from his grip and he heard it clatter across the ground as Hound tossed it aside.
His vision was starting to clear as Hound’s heavier weight settled on his thighs. He flung a fist at where he hoped Hound’s injured shoulder would be and was gratified to hear the scout gasp with pain. It was a short lived victory however as Hound grabbed his wrist, then maneuvered it to pin his other arm by crossing forearm against upper arm. Although he could move his other forearm, he couldn’t reach anything that could hurt Hound.
“For fixing me, I’ll give you that shot. Now, you’re going to be a good little Autobot and listen to me before you try something like that again.” Mirage’s vision was finally clearing and he could see Hound’s disapproving glower. “I’m not going to hurt you so long as you don’t give me away to your friends out there. I’m gonna stay in that corner over there,” Hound gestured with a jerk of his helm to the corner of the mine farthest from where the other Autobots were digging. “And you’re going to keep quiet and let your friends lead you off to be hugged and teased and give you atta-mech slaps on the back. When you and your friends are gone, I’ll head along on my merry little way. Got it?”
Mirage hastily nodded and said nothing, afraid his vocalizer might fail him if he tried to speak. Hound grinned, patting Mirage’s cheek in a mocking gesture. He leaned in close, taking in Mirage’s scent. “Mmm, just as rich as I imagined a noble to be. You’d better be careful from now on, I know what you smell like, and when I catch something I like I don’t let it go easily.”
“L-like?” Mirage gasped, suddenly terrified of something other than death.
Hound chuckled, the low tone sending small vibrations through Mirage thanks to their closely pressed bodies. “You don’t have to be so scared, we’ve got no time for anything like that, but you never know what the future has in store for us.” Hound finally climbed off of Mirage, taking the spy’s pistol with him as he pressed himself into the farthest corner of the mine. “I’ll give you credit, you’re a better sort than most, for an Autobot or a noble. When the Autobots lose, and if you’re still alive, I’ll have to look you up and keep you for myself. You are too good to rust away in some whorehouse or energon mine.”
“If the Autobots lose. Just as you said, you never know what the future has in store for us, right?” Mirage retorted. He kept his optics on the wall Hound had been leaning against and hoped for the swift arrival of his friends.
Hound let out a short laugh and erected a projection of the mine wall over himself. “True, but even if you get rid of us, Cybertron will just return to how it was before, and we’ll be right back here again. Remember, keep your vocal processor shut about me and I won’t be surprising anyone with a shot to the spark chamber, got it?”
“Yes, I’ll keep quiet,” Mirage said, intending to do as told. He didn’t value the idea of dying or seeing one of his friends shot. After several minutes Mirage could hear the tell-tale scraping of tools get louder, and he didn’t have to strain his audios to hear them. He rose, his optics darting to the corner he knew Hound was in before walking over to the wall barring him from the other Autobots.
“I’m in here!” he shouted, audio pressed close to the wall to listen for a response. He heard nothing but the continued scratching and concluded no one could hear him. He sighed, leaning against the wall and continued to wait for rescue. He could have tried communicating by knocking on the rubble, which likely would have been more effective, but he didn’t want Hound assuming he was trying to warn the others of his situation.
Several more minutes passed by and Mirage jumped back as the wall shifted. A black helm poked in and Jazz grinned at Mirage. “Hey there, beautiful, come here often?”
Mirage normally would have groaned at the silly line, instead darting forward and surprising both himself and his superior by hugging him. He hadn’t realized how much being trapped with Hound had been getting to him until he’d seen the welcoming face of a friend. He still had the sense to pull back, flushing at his lack of impulse control.
“My apologies, Jazz, it’s just a relief to see you.”
Jazz shrugged, helping Mirage climb over the debris still partially blocking the newly made exit and wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “It’s cool. C’mon, there’s a shower an’ energon cube with your name on ‘em back at base.” Jazz turned to the other mechs assembled in ruined mine. “He’s good, guys!”
As the other Autobots surrounded and enveloped Mirage in their welcoming warmth and relief, Mirage smiled and his spark swelled. He knew they’d come for him, but he hadn’t thought they’d be so happy to see him alright.
He thought to warn Jazz of Hound hiding in a corner of the mine, but decided against it. The mech was crafty and would likely shoot the first mech to dare step inside his hiding spot. The Autobots would likely attempt to kill him rather than capture him, or set off an explosive in the mine and re-trap him to starve. He was as reluctant to see Hound dead as the scout had been to kill him.
It was a dangerous move to play, allowing a skilled tracker to return to the Decepticons and potentially hunt him one day. He couldn’t help feeling, however, that the future did have more in store for the pair of them. Regardless of the consequences, Mirage was curious to see what that future was.
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A/N: Sorry that it was obvious that Hound was the Decepticon and I still kept beating around the bush, but I was going for a limited third person perspective from Mirage's POV and it didn't really give me room to use Hound's name. It felt kind of ridiculous calling him 'the Decepticon' and 'the mech' over and over, but I couldn't write myself out of it. You may yet see more from this AU, however; it was fun writing Hound and Mirage bickering and arguing with each other, and Hound was such a fun jerkass to write.