G1 Swindle. Prompt. Afterthought(s).
Afterthoughts
Swindle still thinking about the death of his sparkmate and events afterwards, and plotting payback against the Autobots. Links to here.
Pleased at having wormed his way out of Cyclonus’ clutches, Swindle slipped quickly out of the Decepticon medbay, keeping a careful lookout for Terrorcons and other unwelcome impediments. Engaging alt mode, he headed for the river, relieved to be free. Nervous tension simmered inside at what he and Vortex had spoken of. But Swindle pushed it aside for now, and did not call the ‘copter. He needed a little time alone to marshall his thoughts. To plan.
Reminding himself that he had been badly damaged - as a broken sparkbond surely fell within the ‘badly damaged’ category - and was still under repair, the smallest Combaticon drove slowly, choosing to focus on the satisfying feel of his tyres in the rough gravel to prevent his spark from starting up its aching all over again from the death of his mate and the anguish he felt towards the Autobots.
In no time, Swindle arrived at the spot by the river and transformed, glancing around, strangely pleased to be back at this now familiar place where it had all begun. As usual, a soporific atmosphere prevailed - the large and silent rocks scattered on the bank, the soft rushing as the river meandered over the rocky bed, and the distant sound of the pines on the slope behind swaying gently in the breeze. Swindle sat down on his favourite rock and was motionless for a few moments, staring at the water, his chin in his hand as a fit of sadness seized him.
This place carried many memories. It was right here that he'd met his alternate self. Right here! Such a long time ago it seemed now. Thinking of it fondly, Swindle remembered - he’d had to go off and see Starscream after that. But he’d soon gotten in touch with Swindle again. Then there was that first time in the caves, and all the memorable times they’d had after that and the plans they’d talked about for the future.
Except that they broke up. And then he went and died - like that. The sparkrepair had spared Swindle from the memory, erasing certain files, but Swindle knew full well how it had happened, thanks to Fireflight's log.
As Swindle found himself playing the file again, a darkness descended over him. Would he ever get that image out of his processor? He did not know which was worse - that or the vision of his dead sparkmate that he’d had in the dream.
Picking up a small stone, Swindle tossed it into the river where it made a small splash. There was something worse, much worse than either vision of Swindle’s death and that was the deep rooted, lurking notion that it could have been avoided, that it was all his fault. Neglecting his sparkmate; paying too much attention to the team; his ‘obsession’ with putting things right with Vortex and Blast Off. Self blame rumbled inside Swindle - despite his reminding himself that he’d been going to return to the caves once he’d ‘improved matters’ with the team. He winced. The thought that he’d ‘gone off’ and not explained things properly, that everything had happened because of his needs was the worst nightmare of all.
But had it? The sound of wings fluttering sounded from the other side of the river. Looking up, Swindle saw that some of the white birds had returned and were perched among the branches of the low trees opposite. He thought, then, of Vortex. Yes - It was because of Vortex, what had happened to his sparkmate. Vortex’s own ‘needs’ for him. If he hadn’t gone and got his team mate out of the brig, hadn’t flown in him to this spot, hadn’t gone to that house in the forest where he and Vortex had …. spent time …. while they plotted to murder his sparkmate ….
But Swindle could feel no ill towards the copter and, on the contrary, his spark warmed fiercely to his team mate. His gestalt partner, who was right now doing everything he could to help Swindle get over this. Stirred at the thought, Swindle sent a swathe of appreciation over the bond, vowing that he’d never let Vortex down again or not be there if needed. It had to be that way. It was the only thing which made the loss of the sparkbond worthwhile.
Birdcalls floated across the water. Swindle’s spark ached, and his optics pricked with the tears he was becoming so sick of, so frustrated by. What was this, that he sat at the river, crying like a sparkling? He was a Decepticon, for Primus sake, a Combaticon. More than that - an accomplished arms dealer and one of the most successful players on the intragalactic stock market! Dealer extraordinaire - with a reputation as a fierce hustler who could sell anything. This - tears stuff - it was ridiculous! And it wasn’t his fault. Or Vortex’s. How could he even think that? Of course it wasn’t. It was the Autobots.
And then, that cold fury building within once more, Swindle allowed himself to think of the Autobots. Of what they’d done to Swindle and what they’d done to him. That sly, self satisfied ‘gaugy’ prime - as Vortex so aptly called him. All self righteousness and sanctimony when he was nothing more than leader to a bunch of killers. Angrily, Swindle got up and paced along the bank, a bitter humour creeping in to his processor. The peace loving Autobots! Ha! Well they’d decided to play some not so peaceful games and as far as Swindle was concerned then bring it on. His mind went to the copter again and he chuckled to himself, thinking how good it was going to be, watching Vortex in action. He just hoped things were proceeding excellently with Megatron and Starscream; that very soon they would all be reminding everyone of who was in charge in this place.
And with that much more cheerful image in mind, Swindle commed Vortex, wondering vaguely what had happened to Rumble.
(ooc - it’s not a closed post - this particular ‘spot by the river’ is fairly well hidden, but that doesn’t stop anyone from happening by!)