He's just too much to be contained... ;)
Since this would otherwise take up about three or four separate reply posts, I figured I'd just go the easy route and give this fic it's own entry. This is for Hound's 28, the prompt 'Drinking Energon', as requested by Eternityedge.
Optimus had never thought it possible to be this wound up and worn out at the same time. But, he was. Of course, six consecutive days without recharging played a prominent role to his current state, as it was time he’d deemed necessary to put toward other activities. Less than a week away from their departure to search for energy, the Prime was determined to oversee every minute detail, and it weighted him heavily.
The last thirteen hours alone had been spent with Prowl, Red Alert and Jazz, as they’d debated over finalizing the roster. Prowl had differences with Jazz. Jazz had differences with Prowl. Red… if he’d had his way, Prime and he would be the only ones making the trip, as every other name on their lists had sent up a warning of some sort to be a potential risk. With a solemn promise of ‘You’ll all be sorry’ from the Security Director, the meeting had come to an end.
Now, it was up to their leader to go over the proposed roster and give the final approval, something Optimus intended to do after grabbing a private moment, and some much-needed energon.
After passing up two lounges in two different sectors already in hopes of finding one unoccupied, Prime now made his way to a blessedly darkened entrance to a vacant lounge. With a sigh of relief and a quickened stride he stepped over the threshold… to find Hound standing at the energon dispenser along the wall.
The green mech glanced up with a friendly smile. “Hello, Prime.”
Optimus paused in his approach, tensing slightly in his surprise, and hoping his disappointment didn’t show. It was harder, he found, to keep it out of his vocal inflection. “Hound,” he returned the salutation with a nod, and with slightly less enthusiasm than what’d been given. “I, eh… didn’t realize anyone was in here.”
“Yeah,” Hound responded with a bit of a sigh, slanting his head meekly, and refocusing on his flask beneath the spout. “I wasn’t sure I’d find anyone either. Was hoping to but… well, with the main generator going out in this sector earlier, and the backup being restricted to vitals…” Hound trailed off, giving a lopsided shrug while his energon filled. Then, a little softer, “Guess darkened rooms don’t attract much company.”
“I don’t doubt.”
Hound tipped his flask gently as he capped off his fill, staunching the energon flow smoothly. “So…” he said tentatively, not looking up from his ration, “what do you have planned?”
The impromptu question took the leader off his guard. Considering the circumstances and the importance therein, what did this mech think he would have planned, other than work, work, and work? Sure, Optimus had hoped for a few spared moments to rest before reviewing the roster, but… “I was just on the way to my office,” he lied, feeling horrible for doing so.
For an instant, Hound seemed to grin into his flask, before taking a drink. Then he turned on his heel to lean against the wall, smiling at the Prime again. “Want to talk?”
Optimus tried to keep his optics from flickering in mild irritation. What was with this mech? Didn’t he take hints? “Something on your mind?”
Hesitation. The tracker dropped his gaze slightly, his voice lowering in volume, “Not really, I guess. Just thought… maybe you were up for a break.”
Hound… this one was a talker, Prime recalled, highly social, he circulated in wide varieties of groups. The general opinion of him was pretty good. The mech was generous, and friendly to a fault. Although, Prime himself hadn’t interacted with him much outside of duty, and even that had been brief over their history.
For that reason alone Optimus was tempted to take a raincheck. He’d had plenty of experience in these ‘get to know eachother’ chats. Eventually, they sank into ‘let’s hear the heroic tales’. Or, it was talk of leadership, and what it’s like to be the Prime. Or, it was more personal than he liked to get, which was usually the point when he’d cut the conversations short. Under normal circumstances, Prime would have no complaints over going through it again, but it was just too mentally exhaustive a thing at present.
Still… how could he turn down an invitation to sit and talk with one of his own? It’s something he simply couldn’t do. Optics softening, Prime relented, advancing a few steps as he spoke. “I think I’ve got time for one ration.” The grateful smile he received told him he’d made the right choice.
Hound stood away from the wall, holding up a hand. “Well, go sit down!” He exclaimed with a lighthearted chuckle, waving the Prime off when he didn’t turn away fast enough. “I’ll pour a ration for you, now go on.”
“Alright.”
The tracker turned back to the dispenser, setting his own flask aside and grabbing a new one, before setting about his prior filling routine. “You know,” he began, twisting around a moment to glance at Optimus, “I used to work as a tanktender for this little establishment called The Pump… just on the way into Lyton, a neutral colony. It was this higher-class… sort of tourist resort, used to draw a lot of artistic types, business types. Ever been there?”
“Can’t say that I have,” Optimus replied while settling into a seat, resting his elbows over his knees. It was nice, at least, to get off his feet.
“Well, the first thing they taught you at The Pump was how to pour the perfect flask of energon!”
There was so much animation in Hound’s voice alone, Prime couldn’t help but to laugh. “The perfect flask, you say?”
“Mm-hm!” Hound nodded enthusiastically. “See, it’s all in the flow rate. If you pour too fast, the energon lets off a lot of vapor. And what many don’t realize is that the vapor contains chemicals that contribute to the taste of the energon. You end up with a really sharp, acidic aftertaste without that stuff.”
“Huh… I’d always assumed that that was the way energon was supposed to taste… hence the variety of additives.”
Hound giggled at that, giving a single impish nod. “Eh, well… additives can be good, too.” He looked over his fender at Prime now, optics twinkling in the dark, and with a clearly sheepish grin. “Not so sure it’s a good idea for me to admit this… but, my favorite is the Solar Siphon mix.”
This surprised Optimus, and it showed in his widened optics. “That’s a pretty loaded concoction.”
“Tried it?”
“No. But I’ve heard about it from others.” A certain Autobot CMO entered his mind. “They say it’s named for how fast the drink sucks the consciousness out of you… you’re overcharged and laying on the floor before you can finish it.” Prime paused as he watched Hound turning back to his task, finishing the fill with a careful tilt of the flask. “I hope you don’t mind my saying, but you really don’t strike me as the Solar Siphon type.”
“Nah. Everyone tells me that. Honestly, I’m not real big on the high-grade,” Hound added while turning around, both hands holding a ration. He headed over to where Optimus had seated himself, further into the lounge, and away from the door. “But, when I’m gonna take it, I figure I might as well take it all!” A comically triumphant raise of his arms and a good-natured chuckle accompanied this last bit. Then he leaned slightly, holding a flask out to the Prime before rotating on a heel and sitting down next to him. “There, try that! Best of The Pump, on the house!”
Optimus accepted the flask with a sarcastically skeptical, “If you insist.” Then more sincerely, “Thank you.”
Hound nodded once, beaming.
Two refills and as many hours later, Optimus found himself reclined back in his seat, his feet resting over the armrest of the seat across from him and crossed one over the other. Hound was in a likewise position, but with his feet still on the floor. They were laughing almost identically. Far from what’d made Optimus wince in the beginning, this talk with Hound may well have been the best thing that could’ve happened to him at this time. No, no question… Prime was sure it had been.
Right from the get-go, Hound had made Optimus comfortable. By sitting beside him rather than across from him, he’d eliminated the roles of storyteller and audience and made it just two mechs talking to one another. Rather than putting any sort of focus on Optimus - asking direct questions - Hound had woven the Prime easily into topics of common interest, related memories of places and people, and, very lightly, even some personal details. The leader was actually surprised with how much he’d willingly given up to this young tracker, and was now equally surprised that he felt okay about it.
They had joked and giggled - and Prime was sure Hound was the first outside of his closer command element to hear him giggle in a long, long while - and reminisced. Hound even taught him how to do that special pouring technique, so Prime would never again have to drink harsh-tasting energon. Optimus was certain he now knew more about his crew’s individual quirks and embarrassing mishaps than he’d ever known, including a rather comical incident involving Jazz… apparently the saboteur hadn’t thought to mention this particular detail to him.
He now knew a lot more about Hound, too. The mech had told him of his very speckled history, the wandering he’d done, the multitude of work avenues he’d pursued, and the interests he had. There was a lot more to this Autobot than Optimus had figured. He was a bright and passionate spark, with a lot to offer.
Now, Prime tilted his head over the backrest and stared at the ceiling. With an almost wistful sigh, he announced, “I have to get back to my work.”
“Okay, well… fun while it lasted, huh?” Hound replied with a grin, watching the other.
“Too fun, as you’ve successfully diverted me for the last two hours.”
Hound shrugged with all his mustered innocence. “I’m bad at telling time.”
Optimus laughed again, as he leaned forward, dropping his feet, and began to rise from his seat. “Hm… must be an effect of those Solar Siphons you drink.”
“I haven’t had that many in my life!” he replied in humored exasperation, and also stood.
Both shuffled their way toward the door, dropping their empty flasks into the automatic washers beside the energon dispenser on the way. The spilling light from the corridor increased as they approached, and the Prime slowed just ever so, waiting for Hound to make his way beside him.
“May I ask you a question, Hound?”
“Well, sure.”
There was a clear hesitation before the next words exited Prime’s synthesizer. “What made you join the Autobot army?”
The suddenly serious tone in his leader’s voice made the tracker glance up with an inkling of unease, the first he’d shown all this time. “I… I wanted to do some good. I wanted to help.”
Optimus sighed. “In that I have no doubts,” he affirmed, noting Hound’s abrupt shift from amiable to guarded. He placed a supportive hand at Hound’s back, as he continued in softer tones, “But there are other routes that could’ve been taken. Sciences that you are, I believe, very capable of picking up on, mapping and exploration fields…” Here, he moved slightly ahead of Hound, just before they reached the door, and stopped him. He stared him in the optics sincerely. “Why this?”
Hound said nothing for a long moment, obviously confused. “I, uh- I’m not sure what… you’re getting at…” He trailed off with a slight dimming of his optics; the grin he’d held onto shrank a bit at the corners. “Are you… trying to say I shouldn’t be here?”
“Of course not,” Prime responded quickly and kindly, giving a light and reassuring squeeze to the younger mech’s shoulder. After a pause, a shimmer touched his optics, and he chuckled. “Come on, Hound. You got me to sit with you for two hours, doing nothing but drinking and talking. Did a wrenching bit of good work taking my mind off things for a while. And I very much appreciate that.” To this he tilted his head gently, continuing in even gentler tones, “What I appreciate more is that you did it by just being you. You’re genuine. Don’t stop being that mech because of how you think I may react.”
To this, Hound nodded his understanding. “Okay.”
“So… why did you volunteer for this army? Why be a soldier?”
“I guess…” The green mech looked away, optics absently scanning the wall in thoughtful search, “Because…” and now he returned his gaze to his leader, “because I’ve never been one before.”
“Hm.” Optimus gave a single slow nod, processing Hound’s reply. Then he patted the other’s shoulder and said, “Good night, Hound,” before turning and walking away. A moment later, he paused to glance back once again. “And thank you.”
Now, Optimus wasn’t sure if it was just the influence of over-exerted systems, the lulling sensation of full energon vessels, or just being in such a relaxed state of mind after spending time with the tracker - maybe, it was all of it - but he couldn’t deny that that was probably the best answer anyone had ever given to that question. What’s more, he had this impulsive notion to replace the name of the previously recommended tracker with Hound’s on the proposed roster. Red Alert would short his CPU when he found out, and Prime was sure he’d never hear the end of it from him. But, it would be worth it to have a mech like Hound with them.
Optimus had never thought it possible to be this wound up and worn out at the same time. But, he was. Of course, six consecutive days without recharging played a prominent role to his current state, as it was time he’d deemed necessary to put toward other activities. Less than a week away from their departure to search for energy, the Prime was determined to oversee every minute detail, and it weighted him heavily.
The last thirteen hours alone had been spent with Prowl, Red Alert and Jazz, as they’d debated over finalizing the roster. Prowl had differences with Jazz. Jazz had differences with Prowl. Red… if he’d had his way, Prime and he would be the only ones making the trip, as every other name on their lists had sent up a warning of some sort to be a potential risk. With a solemn promise of ‘You’ll all be sorry’ from the Security Director, the meeting had come to an end.
Now, it was up to their leader to go over the proposed roster and give the final approval, something Optimus intended to do after grabbing a private moment, and some much-needed energon.
After passing up two lounges in two different sectors already in hopes of finding one unoccupied, Prime now made his way to a blessedly darkened entrance to a vacant lounge. With a sigh of relief and a quickened stride he stepped over the threshold… to find Hound standing at the energon dispenser along the wall.
The green mech glanced up with a friendly smile. “Hello, Prime.”
Optimus paused in his approach, tensing slightly in his surprise, and hoping his disappointment didn’t show. It was harder, he found, to keep it out of his vocal inflection. “Hound,” he returned the salutation with a nod, and with slightly less enthusiasm than what’d been given. “I, eh… didn’t realize anyone was in here.”
“Yeah,” Hound responded with a bit of a sigh, slanting his head meekly, and refocusing on his flask beneath the spout. “I wasn’t sure I’d find anyone either. Was hoping to but… well, with the main generator going out in this sector earlier, and the backup being restricted to vitals…” Hound trailed off, giving a lopsided shrug while his energon filled. Then, a little softer, “Guess darkened rooms don’t attract much company.”
“I don’t doubt.”
Hound tipped his flask gently as he capped off his fill, staunching the energon flow smoothly. “So…” he said tentatively, not looking up from his ration, “what do you have planned?”
The impromptu question took the leader off his guard. Considering the circumstances and the importance therein, what did this mech think he would have planned, other than work, work, and work? Sure, Optimus had hoped for a few spared moments to rest before reviewing the roster, but… “I was just on the way to my office,” he lied, feeling horrible for doing so.
For an instant, Hound seemed to grin into his flask, before taking a drink. Then he turned on his heel to lean against the wall, smiling at the Prime again. “Want to talk?”
Optimus tried to keep his optics from flickering in mild irritation. What was with this mech? Didn’t he take hints? “Something on your mind?”
Hesitation. The tracker dropped his gaze slightly, his voice lowering in volume, “Not really, I guess. Just thought… maybe you were up for a break.”
Hound… this one was a talker, Prime recalled, highly social, he circulated in wide varieties of groups. The general opinion of him was pretty good. The mech was generous, and friendly to a fault. Although, Prime himself hadn’t interacted with him much outside of duty, and even that had been brief over their history.
For that reason alone Optimus was tempted to take a raincheck. He’d had plenty of experience in these ‘get to know eachother’ chats. Eventually, they sank into ‘let’s hear the heroic tales’. Or, it was talk of leadership, and what it’s like to be the Prime. Or, it was more personal than he liked to get, which was usually the point when he’d cut the conversations short. Under normal circumstances, Prime would have no complaints over going through it again, but it was just too mentally exhaustive a thing at present.
Still… how could he turn down an invitation to sit and talk with one of his own? It’s something he simply couldn’t do. Optics softening, Prime relented, advancing a few steps as he spoke. “I think I’ve got time for one ration.” The grateful smile he received told him he’d made the right choice.
Hound stood away from the wall, holding up a hand. “Well, go sit down!” He exclaimed with a lighthearted chuckle, waving the Prime off when he didn’t turn away fast enough. “I’ll pour a ration for you, now go on.”
“Alright.”
The tracker turned back to the dispenser, setting his own flask aside and grabbing a new one, before setting about his prior filling routine. “You know,” he began, twisting around a moment to glance at Optimus, “I used to work as a tanktender for this little establishment called The Pump… just on the way into Lyton, a neutral colony. It was this higher-class… sort of tourist resort, used to draw a lot of artistic types, business types. Ever been there?”
“Can’t say that I have,” Optimus replied while settling into a seat, resting his elbows over his knees. It was nice, at least, to get off his feet.
“Well, the first thing they taught you at The Pump was how to pour the perfect flask of energon!”
There was so much animation in Hound’s voice alone, Prime couldn’t help but to laugh. “The perfect flask, you say?”
“Mm-hm!” Hound nodded enthusiastically. “See, it’s all in the flow rate. If you pour too fast, the energon lets off a lot of vapor. And what many don’t realize is that the vapor contains chemicals that contribute to the taste of the energon. You end up with a really sharp, acidic aftertaste without that stuff.”
“Huh… I’d always assumed that that was the way energon was supposed to taste… hence the variety of additives.”
Hound giggled at that, giving a single impish nod. “Eh, well… additives can be good, too.” He looked over his fender at Prime now, optics twinkling in the dark, and with a clearly sheepish grin. “Not so sure it’s a good idea for me to admit this… but, my favorite is the Solar Siphon mix.”
This surprised Optimus, and it showed in his widened optics. “That’s a pretty loaded concoction.”
“Tried it?”
“No. But I’ve heard about it from others.” A certain Autobot CMO entered his mind. “They say it’s named for how fast the drink sucks the consciousness out of you… you’re overcharged and laying on the floor before you can finish it.” Prime paused as he watched Hound turning back to his task, finishing the fill with a careful tilt of the flask. “I hope you don’t mind my saying, but you really don’t strike me as the Solar Siphon type.”
“Nah. Everyone tells me that. Honestly, I’m not real big on the high-grade,” Hound added while turning around, both hands holding a ration. He headed over to where Optimus had seated himself, further into the lounge, and away from the door. “But, when I’m gonna take it, I figure I might as well take it all!” A comically triumphant raise of his arms and a good-natured chuckle accompanied this last bit. Then he leaned slightly, holding a flask out to the Prime before rotating on a heel and sitting down next to him. “There, try that! Best of The Pump, on the house!”
Optimus accepted the flask with a sarcastically skeptical, “If you insist.” Then more sincerely, “Thank you.”
Hound nodded once, beaming.
Two refills and as many hours later, Optimus found himself reclined back in his seat, his feet resting over the armrest of the seat across from him and crossed one over the other. Hound was in a likewise position, but with his feet still on the floor. They were laughing almost identically. Far from what’d made Optimus wince in the beginning, this talk with Hound may well have been the best thing that could’ve happened to him at this time. No, no question… Prime was sure it had been.
Right from the get-go, Hound had made Optimus comfortable. By sitting beside him rather than across from him, he’d eliminated the roles of storyteller and audience and made it just two mechs talking to one another. Rather than putting any sort of focus on Optimus - asking direct questions - Hound had woven the Prime easily into topics of common interest, related memories of places and people, and, very lightly, even some personal details. The leader was actually surprised with how much he’d willingly given up to this young tracker, and was now equally surprised that he felt okay about it.
They had joked and giggled - and Prime was sure Hound was the first outside of his closer command element to hear him giggle in a long, long while - and reminisced. Hound even taught him how to do that special pouring technique, so Prime would never again have to drink harsh-tasting energon. Optimus was certain he now knew more about his crew’s individual quirks and embarrassing mishaps than he’d ever known, including a rather comical incident involving Jazz… apparently the saboteur hadn’t thought to mention this particular detail to him.
He now knew a lot more about Hound, too. The mech had told him of his very speckled history, the wandering he’d done, the multitude of work avenues he’d pursued, and the interests he had. There was a lot more to this Autobot than Optimus had figured. He was a bright and passionate spark, with a lot to offer.
Now, Prime tilted his head over the backrest and stared at the ceiling. With an almost wistful sigh, he announced, “I have to get back to my work.”
“Okay, well… fun while it lasted, huh?” Hound replied with a grin, watching the other.
“Too fun, as you’ve successfully diverted me for the last two hours.”
Hound shrugged with all his mustered innocence. “I’m bad at telling time.”
Optimus laughed again, as he leaned forward, dropping his feet, and began to rise from his seat. “Hm… must be an effect of those Solar Siphons you drink.”
“I haven’t had that many in my life!” he replied in humored exasperation, and also stood.
Both shuffled their way toward the door, dropping their empty flasks into the automatic washers beside the energon dispenser on the way. The spilling light from the corridor increased as they approached, and the Prime slowed just ever so, waiting for Hound to make his way beside him.
“May I ask you a question, Hound?”
“Well, sure.”
There was a clear hesitation before the next words exited Prime’s synthesizer. “What made you join the Autobot army?”
The suddenly serious tone in his leader’s voice made the tracker glance up with an inkling of unease, the first he’d shown all this time. “I… I wanted to do some good. I wanted to help.”
Optimus sighed. “In that I have no doubts,” he affirmed, noting Hound’s abrupt shift from amiable to guarded. He placed a supportive hand at Hound’s back, as he continued in softer tones, “But there are other routes that could’ve been taken. Sciences that you are, I believe, very capable of picking up on, mapping and exploration fields…” Here, he moved slightly ahead of Hound, just before they reached the door, and stopped him. He stared him in the optics sincerely. “Why this?”
Hound said nothing for a long moment, obviously confused. “I, uh- I’m not sure what… you’re getting at…” He trailed off with a slight dimming of his optics; the grin he’d held onto shrank a bit at the corners. “Are you… trying to say I shouldn’t be here?”
“Of course not,” Prime responded quickly and kindly, giving a light and reassuring squeeze to the younger mech’s shoulder. After a pause, a shimmer touched his optics, and he chuckled. “Come on, Hound. You got me to sit with you for two hours, doing nothing but drinking and talking. Did a wrenching bit of good work taking my mind off things for a while. And I very much appreciate that.” To this he tilted his head gently, continuing in even gentler tones, “What I appreciate more is that you did it by just being you. You’re genuine. Don’t stop being that mech because of how you think I may react.”
To this, Hound nodded his understanding. “Okay.”
“So… why did you volunteer for this army? Why be a soldier?”
“I guess…” The green mech looked away, optics absently scanning the wall in thoughtful search, “Because…” and now he returned his gaze to his leader, “because I’ve never been one before.”
“Hm.” Optimus gave a single slow nod, processing Hound’s reply. Then he patted the other’s shoulder and said, “Good night, Hound,” before turning and walking away. A moment later, he paused to glance back once again. “And thank you.”
Now, Optimus wasn’t sure if it was just the influence of over-exerted systems, the lulling sensation of full energon vessels, or just being in such a relaxed state of mind after spending time with the tracker - maybe, it was all of it - but he couldn’t deny that that was probably the best answer anyone had ever given to that question. What’s more, he had this impulsive notion to replace the name of the previously recommended tracker with Hound’s on the proposed roster. Red Alert would short his CPU when he found out, and Prime was sure he’d never hear the end of it from him. But, it would be worth it to have a mech like Hound with them.