This Love, This Hate: Aftermath Part 4
I have like five readers.
I love you, my five readers!
Ratchet was being unusually quiet.
Perhaps it was the shock of it all; it had, after all, been less then two days since he had been brought ought of the Decepticon ship, and most of the first had been spent in what Bumblebee had called a ‘medically induced stasis-lock’. Everything had what felt like a strange aura wrapped around it; strange, but welcome, all things considered.
Bumblebee had stayed for hours. It had been wonderful just to talk about nothing, basking in the ability to do so and to catch up on the thankfully light-sparked things that he had missed. He had never considered himself one for gossip - had sneered at it in the past - but hearing it now filled him with a joy he hadn’t known he could get from such a thing.
He had missed this. He hadn’t known he could actually miss conversation so much.
The first time Ratchet had opened the door, Cliffjumper had been certain that the ordinarily crass medic would complain about visiting hours and force Bumblebee to leave. This would have not only been normal, but it would have been expected; if there was one thing that their CMO was known for, it was being a stickler for the rules. Well, that, and thrown wrenches.
However, Ratchet had stopped, had stared back at both pairs of optics looking back at him, and then had quietly turned around and left. Not a word had been spoken.
Even Bumblebee had seemed stunned. Still, they shrugged to each other and continued their conversation.
It happened three more times after that. With each silent visit, the joy dissipated ever so slightly.
By the time Bumblebee had actually left, it was of his own accord and from nothing other then fatigue.
So, he had been left in the late hours of the night, boggling over the medic’s behavior. It wasn’t natural; Ratchet yelled, threw things at his patients, and there was simply no other way about it. Yet, now, these behaviors were absent, and Cliffjumper found it absolutely disturbing.
The only time he could remember Ratchet being this subdued and quiet had been when someone was near death. It had happened only once to someone close enough to notice it, when a particularly nasty explosion had ripped apart Tailgate’s frame. The white Autobots’ spark chamber had even lost half of it’s housing. For days, while the minibot had undergone intensive repairs, the rest of their closely knit group had been given a near silent treatment from the medic. Ratchet hadn’t acted normal again until it was clear that Tailgate would survive.
However, he wasn’t dying. Cliffjumper knew that he wasn’t; granted, he had undergone a trauma and had been gone for a while, but he had been certain that he could simply be repaired and then sent on his way. He had hoped for it, in fact. Perhaps, he had to admit to himself, he had been a bit naïve; after all that had happened these past few months, he should have expected some difference.
Still, he couldn’t help but think that this simply wasn’t right.
--------
Cliffjumper awoke with a jolt and a wash of terror.
When he did, he expected the usual jerk against his wrist as it caught against the handcuff. That lack of restraint helped to snap him a little further out of the nightmare; for a moment, he stared at the arm that should have been tied, at first not recalling what had happened and where he was.
The orange wall next to the berth helped to speed up recollection. When memory files slid back in to place, he let out a laugh of sheer relief.
That’s right. He was out of there. No more waking to pain and dizziness, no more hands and thin, ugly mouths. Certainly no more Decepticons trying to comfort him after waking from one nightmare in to another.
No more pain. With a shaking hand, he rubbed his face.
Then, he noticed that he wasn’t alone.
It was a flash of blue from the corner of his vision that caused the fear to resurface; he tried to sit up, only for his lack of legs to make the attempt at quick movement impossible. Instead, he ended up leaning up on his arms.
From a short distance away, one hand still on one of the medical screens hooked up to the minibot on the berth, Swoop stared back with wide optics and a similarly terrified expression.
“Primus.” With that, Cliffjumper fell back on the berth. He tried to stop the shaking that had overtaken his frame.
“Uhm..” Swoop shifted in place; glancing back, Cliffjumper thought that the dinobot seemed more embarrassed then anything else. “Me Swoop checking things. Me Swoop be quiet.” Blue optics turned back to the screens.
As the winged dinobot fiddled with buttons and a datapad was clutched in one hand, Cliffjumper stared. Swoop briefly glanced back, but seemed to take extra care to not return the gaze for more then a brief second or two at a time.
Swoop was avoiding him. Rather, he was trying to, and doing a very poor job of it. Cliffjumper immediately found it annoying; he grumbled to himself as he tried to slip back in to recharge.
The only sounds in the room were the faint clicking of the datapad and the soft whirring of various machines. After several seemingly long minutes, the shuffling of footsteps went through the room.
The door slid open. Before it closed, Cliffjumper could hear Swoop release a deep breath of relief.
Then, the door finally slid shut, and he was left disturbed.
--------
For several hours, recharge seemed just out of reach. Although brief moments of rest were attained, the deep, long sleep that Cliffjumper wanted didn’t seem to want to grace him with its presence. It was more annoying then anything else; the first time that he could really relax without fear of molestation and he couldn’t get hold of it.
After a while, he simply gave up and lay on the berth and to stare at the ceiling. A rather lovely orange ceiling, to be granted; far different from the purple he had stared at for weeks on end, but still a ceiling nonetheless.
Much like the time spent tied to the berth, he fantasized on the many ways he could kill Soundwave. This time, however, it was actually more enjoyable to do so; this time, he had hope of actually succeeding, now that he was out of there.
It wasn’t until the door slid open again did he snap out of reverie.
Bumblebee peered in.
Immediately, he grinned, only for the joy to vanish at the worried expression on his friends’ face. It took a moment more to notice that the yellow scout wasn’t alone.
Cliffjumper sat up as quickly as he could as Prowl and then Optimus Prime walked in. Ratchet took a few steps in, but huddled in a back corner. The private room was small, and it seemed cramped to have so many people inside. The door probably wouldn’t have been able to close if Ratchet didn’t press himself as far back as he was.
At first, no one said a word. Bumblebee rushed to his side and immediately grabbed hold of one of his hands with both of his own.
Something was wrong.
“What’s going on?” Cliffjumper frowned, glancing from his best friend to Optimus in worried consternation.
“Cliffjumper.” Optimus Prime’s expression, even with mask in place, appeared worried. “It’s good to see you again.”
Cliffjumper frowned deeply. Prime never started a conversation with a formality like that unless he was about to deliver some very bad news. Usually, he just got to the point.
Although, he had to admit, he had been gone for some time. Was it possible that Optimus simply didn’t know how else to address his absence?
“..Yeah.” He couldn’t think of what else to say. “Yeah, it’s good to be back.”
At once, the Prime’s stance shifted; he almost seemed to deflate, blue optics aimed down at the berth-ridden Autobot.
Cliffjumper braced himself for bad news. Although, he couldn’t even think of what that bad news might actually be.
“Cliffjumper.. I am sorry to have to ask you this question, especially after everything that you have been through.” The Prime’s words came slow, as if every syllable was taken with particular care to utter. “However, we have to know..” A pause.
Dread began to form in the pit of his tanks.
Optimus took a short intake. “Did Soundwave act alone?”
The dread faded slightly; he wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, but that hadn’t been it.
Cliffjumper shifted uncomfortably, wondering why they would even need to know those kinds of details. “Uh.. Yeah. It was.. Just him.” A shaky breath was taken as memory files came up unbidden. “I mean, no one else fragged me if that’s what you’re asking.” A short, bitter laugh.
Silence passed for a moment more; from behind Optimus, Prowl frowned deeply, glancing away with a thoughtful expression.
Optimus, however, continued to stare. It took several seconds for the Prime to speak again. “Did Soundwave attempt to rename you?”
With that, confusion overtook the fear. Green optics flickered in thought; Cliffjumper wondered why it mattered. “Yeah. He..” Another uncomfortable shift. “..He was trying to make me look like a dead bot. Called me by his name.”
“Carerra?” That came from Prowl.
Cliffjumper looked to the second-in-command in shock. “Yeah. How..?”
“We found the real Carerra’s information.” Prowl frowned, but otherwise seemed to be his ordinarily stoic self.
He wasn’t entirely certain how to respond to that. “..Oh.”
“I am sorry, Cliffjumper.” Suddenly, Optimus appeared.. Sad. Cliffjumper wondered if months of looking at Soundwave made him better at gauging the reactions from masked mechs. “But this changes the situation.”
Cliffjumper tried to sit up; it took Bumblebee’s help to do it. His fellow minibot even balanced a pillow behind him to lean against. “Change? What change?”
“We were prepared to tell the others that you had been tortured, but not assaulted, in order to protect your privacy and to ensure a much more smooth transition back in to your life.” Optimus’s gaze only had that deep, dark fear creeping up again. “However, the manner in which Soundwave acted and the nature of the.. Alterations forced on you.. I’m afraid that other Autobots may be in danger of a similar attack.”
Cliffjumper jolted in shock. “Wh.. What, you think Soundwave would do this again..?”
“You were altered too much.” Prowl spoke up again, tone even and faceplate stone. “It implies that Soundwave wasn’t after you specifically, but after your frame type.”
For a moment, he felt insulted. “What are you talking..” Then, it hit him.
They were right. Everything had been repainted, surgically altered and otherwise changed to the point that even he had thought in those early days that it was akin to a frame transplant. Very little hadn’t been remade in some way.
Soundwave had threatened to reprogram him. It wasn’t even his spark or mind that he had been after.
What had happened had absolutely nothing to do with him. Not specifically; Soundwave had seen a physical similarity and had ‘fixed’ what was different. It could have been done to just about anyone.
It had nothing to do with him.
“Cliffjumper?” Optimus’s voice snapped him out of the horrified musings.
It was only then that he realized that he had been silent for quite a few minutes.
“..You have to tell everyone, huh?” He stared at the floor by the Prime’s feet, voice unable to rise above a hushed whisper.
A moment of silence. “Yes. I’m afraid so.” Another slow intake from the Prime. “I’m sorry.”
The hands holding his own clutched tighter.
If it was true, then there was nothing to say that Soundwave wouldn’t try it again. The next time, reprogramming might not be a secondary option; if Megatron allowed another minibot prisoner to land in his third’s hands, they wouldn’t get the chance.
Slowly, he nodded. He didn’t even know if he needed to grant permission or if this was nothing more then a warning, but he granted it anyway.
“I’m sorry.” Came from the Prime again. “We’ll keep you informed.”
Cliffjumper’s gaze shifted to what was left of his lap. He heard the door slide open and closed again.
The yellow hands clutching his own held firm.
I love you, my five readers!
Ratchet was being unusually quiet.
Perhaps it was the shock of it all; it had, after all, been less then two days since he had been brought ought of the Decepticon ship, and most of the first had been spent in what Bumblebee had called a ‘medically induced stasis-lock’. Everything had what felt like a strange aura wrapped around it; strange, but welcome, all things considered.
Bumblebee had stayed for hours. It had been wonderful just to talk about nothing, basking in the ability to do so and to catch up on the thankfully light-sparked things that he had missed. He had never considered himself one for gossip - had sneered at it in the past - but hearing it now filled him with a joy he hadn’t known he could get from such a thing.
He had missed this. He hadn’t known he could actually miss conversation so much.
The first time Ratchet had opened the door, Cliffjumper had been certain that the ordinarily crass medic would complain about visiting hours and force Bumblebee to leave. This would have not only been normal, but it would have been expected; if there was one thing that their CMO was known for, it was being a stickler for the rules. Well, that, and thrown wrenches.
However, Ratchet had stopped, had stared back at both pairs of optics looking back at him, and then had quietly turned around and left. Not a word had been spoken.
Even Bumblebee had seemed stunned. Still, they shrugged to each other and continued their conversation.
It happened three more times after that. With each silent visit, the joy dissipated ever so slightly.
By the time Bumblebee had actually left, it was of his own accord and from nothing other then fatigue.
So, he had been left in the late hours of the night, boggling over the medic’s behavior. It wasn’t natural; Ratchet yelled, threw things at his patients, and there was simply no other way about it. Yet, now, these behaviors were absent, and Cliffjumper found it absolutely disturbing.
The only time he could remember Ratchet being this subdued and quiet had been when someone was near death. It had happened only once to someone close enough to notice it, when a particularly nasty explosion had ripped apart Tailgate’s frame. The white Autobots’ spark chamber had even lost half of it’s housing. For days, while the minibot had undergone intensive repairs, the rest of their closely knit group had been given a near silent treatment from the medic. Ratchet hadn’t acted normal again until it was clear that Tailgate would survive.
However, he wasn’t dying. Cliffjumper knew that he wasn’t; granted, he had undergone a trauma and had been gone for a while, but he had been certain that he could simply be repaired and then sent on his way. He had hoped for it, in fact. Perhaps, he had to admit to himself, he had been a bit naïve; after all that had happened these past few months, he should have expected some difference.
Still, he couldn’t help but think that this simply wasn’t right.
--------
Cliffjumper awoke with a jolt and a wash of terror.
When he did, he expected the usual jerk against his wrist as it caught against the handcuff. That lack of restraint helped to snap him a little further out of the nightmare; for a moment, he stared at the arm that should have been tied, at first not recalling what had happened and where he was.
The orange wall next to the berth helped to speed up recollection. When memory files slid back in to place, he let out a laugh of sheer relief.
That’s right. He was out of there. No more waking to pain and dizziness, no more hands and thin, ugly mouths. Certainly no more Decepticons trying to comfort him after waking from one nightmare in to another.
No more pain. With a shaking hand, he rubbed his face.
Then, he noticed that he wasn’t alone.
It was a flash of blue from the corner of his vision that caused the fear to resurface; he tried to sit up, only for his lack of legs to make the attempt at quick movement impossible. Instead, he ended up leaning up on his arms.
From a short distance away, one hand still on one of the medical screens hooked up to the minibot on the berth, Swoop stared back with wide optics and a similarly terrified expression.
“Primus.” With that, Cliffjumper fell back on the berth. He tried to stop the shaking that had overtaken his frame.
“Uhm..” Swoop shifted in place; glancing back, Cliffjumper thought that the dinobot seemed more embarrassed then anything else. “Me Swoop checking things. Me Swoop be quiet.” Blue optics turned back to the screens.
As the winged dinobot fiddled with buttons and a datapad was clutched in one hand, Cliffjumper stared. Swoop briefly glanced back, but seemed to take extra care to not return the gaze for more then a brief second or two at a time.
Swoop was avoiding him. Rather, he was trying to, and doing a very poor job of it. Cliffjumper immediately found it annoying; he grumbled to himself as he tried to slip back in to recharge.
The only sounds in the room were the faint clicking of the datapad and the soft whirring of various machines. After several seemingly long minutes, the shuffling of footsteps went through the room.
The door slid open. Before it closed, Cliffjumper could hear Swoop release a deep breath of relief.
Then, the door finally slid shut, and he was left disturbed.
--------
For several hours, recharge seemed just out of reach. Although brief moments of rest were attained, the deep, long sleep that Cliffjumper wanted didn’t seem to want to grace him with its presence. It was more annoying then anything else; the first time that he could really relax without fear of molestation and he couldn’t get hold of it.
After a while, he simply gave up and lay on the berth and to stare at the ceiling. A rather lovely orange ceiling, to be granted; far different from the purple he had stared at for weeks on end, but still a ceiling nonetheless.
Much like the time spent tied to the berth, he fantasized on the many ways he could kill Soundwave. This time, however, it was actually more enjoyable to do so; this time, he had hope of actually succeeding, now that he was out of there.
It wasn’t until the door slid open again did he snap out of reverie.
Bumblebee peered in.
Immediately, he grinned, only for the joy to vanish at the worried expression on his friends’ face. It took a moment more to notice that the yellow scout wasn’t alone.
Cliffjumper sat up as quickly as he could as Prowl and then Optimus Prime walked in. Ratchet took a few steps in, but huddled in a back corner. The private room was small, and it seemed cramped to have so many people inside. The door probably wouldn’t have been able to close if Ratchet didn’t press himself as far back as he was.
At first, no one said a word. Bumblebee rushed to his side and immediately grabbed hold of one of his hands with both of his own.
Something was wrong.
“What’s going on?” Cliffjumper frowned, glancing from his best friend to Optimus in worried consternation.
“Cliffjumper.” Optimus Prime’s expression, even with mask in place, appeared worried. “It’s good to see you again.”
Cliffjumper frowned deeply. Prime never started a conversation with a formality like that unless he was about to deliver some very bad news. Usually, he just got to the point.
Although, he had to admit, he had been gone for some time. Was it possible that Optimus simply didn’t know how else to address his absence?
“..Yeah.” He couldn’t think of what else to say. “Yeah, it’s good to be back.”
At once, the Prime’s stance shifted; he almost seemed to deflate, blue optics aimed down at the berth-ridden Autobot.
Cliffjumper braced himself for bad news. Although, he couldn’t even think of what that bad news might actually be.
“Cliffjumper.. I am sorry to have to ask you this question, especially after everything that you have been through.” The Prime’s words came slow, as if every syllable was taken with particular care to utter. “However, we have to know..” A pause.
Dread began to form in the pit of his tanks.
Optimus took a short intake. “Did Soundwave act alone?”
The dread faded slightly; he wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, but that hadn’t been it.
Cliffjumper shifted uncomfortably, wondering why they would even need to know those kinds of details. “Uh.. Yeah. It was.. Just him.” A shaky breath was taken as memory files came up unbidden. “I mean, no one else fragged me if that’s what you’re asking.” A short, bitter laugh.
Silence passed for a moment more; from behind Optimus, Prowl frowned deeply, glancing away with a thoughtful expression.
Optimus, however, continued to stare. It took several seconds for the Prime to speak again. “Did Soundwave attempt to rename you?”
With that, confusion overtook the fear. Green optics flickered in thought; Cliffjumper wondered why it mattered. “Yeah. He..” Another uncomfortable shift. “..He was trying to make me look like a dead bot. Called me by his name.”
“Carerra?” That came from Prowl.
Cliffjumper looked to the second-in-command in shock. “Yeah. How..?”
“We found the real Carerra’s information.” Prowl frowned, but otherwise seemed to be his ordinarily stoic self.
He wasn’t entirely certain how to respond to that. “..Oh.”
“I am sorry, Cliffjumper.” Suddenly, Optimus appeared.. Sad. Cliffjumper wondered if months of looking at Soundwave made him better at gauging the reactions from masked mechs. “But this changes the situation.”
Cliffjumper tried to sit up; it took Bumblebee’s help to do it. His fellow minibot even balanced a pillow behind him to lean against. “Change? What change?”
“We were prepared to tell the others that you had been tortured, but not assaulted, in order to protect your privacy and to ensure a much more smooth transition back in to your life.” Optimus’s gaze only had that deep, dark fear creeping up again. “However, the manner in which Soundwave acted and the nature of the.. Alterations forced on you.. I’m afraid that other Autobots may be in danger of a similar attack.”
Cliffjumper jolted in shock. “Wh.. What, you think Soundwave would do this again..?”
“You were altered too much.” Prowl spoke up again, tone even and faceplate stone. “It implies that Soundwave wasn’t after you specifically, but after your frame type.”
For a moment, he felt insulted. “What are you talking..” Then, it hit him.
They were right. Everything had been repainted, surgically altered and otherwise changed to the point that even he had thought in those early days that it was akin to a frame transplant. Very little hadn’t been remade in some way.
Soundwave had threatened to reprogram him. It wasn’t even his spark or mind that he had been after.
What had happened had absolutely nothing to do with him. Not specifically; Soundwave had seen a physical similarity and had ‘fixed’ what was different. It could have been done to just about anyone.
It had nothing to do with him.
“Cliffjumper?” Optimus’s voice snapped him out of the horrified musings.
It was only then that he realized that he had been silent for quite a few minutes.
“..You have to tell everyone, huh?” He stared at the floor by the Prime’s feet, voice unable to rise above a hushed whisper.
A moment of silence. “Yes. I’m afraid so.” Another slow intake from the Prime. “I’m sorry.”
The hands holding his own clutched tighter.
If it was true, then there was nothing to say that Soundwave wouldn’t try it again. The next time, reprogramming might not be a secondary option; if Megatron allowed another minibot prisoner to land in his third’s hands, they wouldn’t get the chance.
Slowly, he nodded. He didn’t even know if he needed to grant permission or if this was nothing more then a warning, but he granted it anyway.
“I’m sorry.” Came from the Prime again. “We’ll keep you informed.”
Cliffjumper’s gaze shifted to what was left of his lap. He heard the door slide open and closed again.
The yellow hands clutching his own held firm.