This Love, This Hate: Aftermath Part 12
Did Huffer just tell a joke?
After a moment, Brawn burst out laughing. Bumblebee wasn’t long after, and then the humor spread around the table. Only Huffer himself did not laugh; instead, he continued to glare at the cube and appeared slightly put off by the amusement that he had caused.
“This can’t possibly taste like exhaust.” Windcharger said again, looking from the cube to Cliffjumper and back again. “Can I..?”
“Sure, go ahead.” Cliffjumper grinned, feeling better then he had in a very long time. He slid the cube over.
Windcharger took the cube with some hesitance; slowly, he took a sip. As soon as he did, he pulled back and coughed loudly. “Holy slag..!” He pushed the cube away; somehow, he managed to cough, laugh and grin all at the same time. “It does taste like exhaust..! What is in that stuff?!”
“Told you.” Huffer groused.
Cliffjumper took the cube and took a large swing; he gulped it as quickly as he could and tried not to wince at the taste. No matter how many times he drank it, it still managed to stay as disgusting as ever.
Windcharger stared at him in amazement. “And you have to drink this for how long?”
Cliffjumper forced himself to gulp more of the fuel; the sooner he got it down, the better. “Ratchet said something like.. Two months?”
“Two months? Why?”
The reactions were instant; Bumblebee’s cube came down harder then usual on the table. Several faceplates turned to stare at Windcharger; quite a few glared.
Cliffjumper rubbed his face; he didn’t know which he hated more, the fact that the question had actually been asked or the overprotective stances being taken in response to it.
“’Charger, seriously?” Gears stared.
“Sorry.” Windcharger seemed to shrink in to his chair. “It just came out, I didn’t -“
“My fuel tank shrank.”
Once again, they all turned to stare back at him. Cliffjumper didn’t look up at any of them, instead focusing on what was left of the foul medical grade fuel.
“Cliffjumper..” Bumblebee set a hand on his shoulder; he knew that his friend was likely giving him a concerned stare. That same, pity-filled stare.
“I’m fine. It was gonna come up. Someone was gonna ask.” Cliffjumper let out a breath. “My fuel tank shrank. Ratchet said it can’t take regular energon yet.”
“Shrank..?” An unusually subdued Beachcomber seemed to squeak from the back of the table; he had been unusually withdrawn the entire time. “What, they.. Didn’t feed you?”
Cliffjumper winced and shut off his optics; he really didn’t want to think about how his internals had ended up the way that they were. Certainly hadn’t wanted to answer the question.
At least they weren’t trying to get the details that Ratchet had wanted.
“Didn’t get a lot in me in there, no.” He still had his optics shut off as he took a new gulp.
Everything was silent, again, for a few long seconds.
“We’ll get ‘em.” Warpath’s voice came in oddly quiet. It wasn’t quite a whisper, but it wasn’t the boisterous yelling that the tank was known for. “We’ll get ‘em for what they did, CJ.”
There was no doubt that they would; Cliffjumper simply hoped that he would be able to be there with them, healthy and gun in hand, when they did.
After a moment, Brawn burst out laughing. Bumblebee wasn’t long after, and then the humor spread around the table. Only Huffer himself did not laugh; instead, he continued to glare at the cube and appeared slightly put off by the amusement that he had caused.
“This can’t possibly taste like exhaust.” Windcharger said again, looking from the cube to Cliffjumper and back again. “Can I..?”
“Sure, go ahead.” Cliffjumper grinned, feeling better then he had in a very long time. He slid the cube over.
Windcharger took the cube with some hesitance; slowly, he took a sip. As soon as he did, he pulled back and coughed loudly. “Holy slag..!” He pushed the cube away; somehow, he managed to cough, laugh and grin all at the same time. “It does taste like exhaust..! What is in that stuff?!”
“Told you.” Huffer groused.
Cliffjumper took the cube and took a large swing; he gulped it as quickly as he could and tried not to wince at the taste. No matter how many times he drank it, it still managed to stay as disgusting as ever.
Windcharger stared at him in amazement. “And you have to drink this for how long?”
Cliffjumper forced himself to gulp more of the fuel; the sooner he got it down, the better. “Ratchet said something like.. Two months?”
“Two months? Why?”
The reactions were instant; Bumblebee’s cube came down harder then usual on the table. Several faceplates turned to stare at Windcharger; quite a few glared.
Cliffjumper rubbed his face; he didn’t know which he hated more, the fact that the question had actually been asked or the overprotective stances being taken in response to it.
“’Charger, seriously?” Gears stared.
“Sorry.” Windcharger seemed to shrink in to his chair. “It just came out, I didn’t -“
“My fuel tank shrank.”
Once again, they all turned to stare back at him. Cliffjumper didn’t look up at any of them, instead focusing on what was left of the foul medical grade fuel.
“Cliffjumper..” Bumblebee set a hand on his shoulder; he knew that his friend was likely giving him a concerned stare. That same, pity-filled stare.
“I’m fine. It was gonna come up. Someone was gonna ask.” Cliffjumper let out a breath. “My fuel tank shrank. Ratchet said it can’t take regular energon yet.”
“Shrank..?” An unusually subdued Beachcomber seemed to squeak from the back of the table; he had been unusually withdrawn the entire time. “What, they.. Didn’t feed you?”
Cliffjumper winced and shut off his optics; he really didn’t want to think about how his internals had ended up the way that they were. Certainly hadn’t wanted to answer the question.
At least they weren’t trying to get the details that Ratchet had wanted.
“Didn’t get a lot in me in there, no.” He still had his optics shut off as he took a new gulp.
Everything was silent, again, for a few long seconds.
“We’ll get ‘em.” Warpath’s voice came in oddly quiet. It wasn’t quite a whisper, but it wasn’t the boisterous yelling that the tank was known for. “We’ll get ‘em for what they did, CJ.”
There was no doubt that they would; Cliffjumper simply hoped that he would be able to be there with them, healthy and gun in hand, when they did.