Fic - Something to Live For, Chapter 8 of 14
Title: Something to live for
Chapter 8: Bumblebee returns
Continuity: G1, Dysfunction AU
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: suggestive language.
Disclaimer: Just playing in the sandbox, characters not mine.
Characters and/or pairings: Vortex, Bumblebee, Prowl.
Beta: naboru_narluin.
Summary: Shot by his previous visitor, Vortex wakes up with a renewed will to get the hell out of there.
[ Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7]
Notes: An awesome anon made very cool art! *has epic squee* clicky for Vortex being subtly evil in the brig. He's totally planning something. :D
Chapter 8: Bumblebee returns
Vortex awoke to a world of sensation. The blazing sting of light, the stench of smoke, a low zing of electricity where someone had hooked him up to the forced recharge port.
Damage indicators pinged from his every system. The bitter tang of old energon slimed his glossa, and a light breeze drifted over him like diamond dust.
He turned on his side, groaning, but no sound came out. Slag, his auditory processors... But that wasn't right; he could hear the whirr of machinery, the distant call of desert birds.
What in the Pit… he tried to speak, but again nothing. The pings from his jaw coalesced into a tight knot of pain.
He sat up, the forced-recharge cable pulling taut. He yanked it from his socket, engine growling. But still nothing emerged from his vocaliser.
Tentatively, he felt along his jaw. Battle mask still retracted, slight tenderness to faceplates, lower lip abraded. And a Pit-spawned fragging hole through his lower mandible, right the way into his throat. Oh, the kinky little glitch. First Aid had shot out his vocaliser.
Vortex would have laughed, had he been able. As it was, he buried his face in the soft padding of the berth, quivering with the humour. If only he'd stayed awake to see what First Aid had done next. It would have been so telling.
"What are you doing now?" A familiar voice intruded. "You crying or something?"
Vortex looked up, giving his visitor an excellent view of his ruined throat and wide, gleeful smile.
"Okay." Bumblebee fidgeted. He was standing closer to the bars this time, but still out of claws' reach. "What you do that for?"
Huh? Vortex's smile vanished and he cocked his head to one side. Are you glitching? he tried to say.
"What?"
Frag, the ‘bot was stupid, couldn't even lip read. Vortex shuffled onto the edge of the berth and used his finger to press temporary letters into the springy covering. 'ARE YOU GLITCHING?'
"No. What?" The Autobot leaned forwards. "Hey, you can write English."
'HEY, YOU CAN READ. MORON.'
"Slag you," Bee said. "What happened to you anyway, you get on the wrong side of Skyfire?"
Vortex shook his head. If First Aid's visit was common knowledge, this ‘bot would probably know. And if not… well, better to wait and see. 'HIGH GRADE?'
"You'll be lucky," Bee said. "What happened to your canopy?"
That's my chassis, Vortex thought. Sigma, minibots were thick. 'LAWBOT KNOW YOU'RE IN HERE?' he wrote.
"What? Prowl, nah. Wheeljack sent me." Bumblebee slammed his mouth shut, cringing.
'WHY?'
The minibot didn't answer, as though silence now would make up for opening his mouth a moment ago.
Vortex re-emphasised the letters, then watched as the surface regained its former smoothness.
"You look like someone shot you," Bee said. "Was it Prowl?"
Sure, why not? Vortex nodded.
Bumblebee snickered. "Didn't think he had it in him."
'WANT ROTORS BACK,' Vortex wrote. 'TELL BLADES.'
This seemed to strike a chord with the yellow ‘bot. His smirk vanished and he stepped back a pace, folding his arms across his chest. "I'm not passing on messages," he said.
'SHAME,' Vortex wrote. 'COULD MAKE IT WORTH YOUR WHILE.'
"Yeah, right," Bee muttered. "Like you have anything I could want."
'HAVE? NO,' Vortex wrote. 'COULD DO? PLENTY.' He drew the pattern of Bumblebee's helm, and traced his fingers along the horns.
"You're sick, you know that?"
'YOU ARE STILL HERE.' Vortex shrugged. He transformed one finger into a claw, then back again. 'WHAT DO YOU WANT?'
Bumblebee didn't answer. He appeared to be thinking, probably searching his memory banks for something witty to say. After a few astroseconds, Vortex's thoughts began to drift towards First Aid. There was no chance he was going back in suspension after that; there was so much to live for.
"Hey, what’re you drawing now?" Bumblebee asked. "How come you can draw?"
How come you ask so many stupid questions? Vortex didn't put that one into text, but continued to trace a pattern vaguely reminiscent of a certain Protectobot's waist. An idea was starting to form, and one which could provide him with just the distraction he needed.
Bumblebee's comm. link pinged. He opened the panel on his arm, and a little hologram of Wheeljack's head projected from the mounting. "You done yet, Bee? You know it weren't meant to be a social call, right?"
"Yeah, yeah," Bumblebee replied. "I'm on my way." Huffing and muttering, Bee stomped over to the observation console and picked up a few things from the floor. Perceptor's folder, Vortex realised.
The Autobot crumpled the tiny scraps of paper together and left without another word.
* * *
Prowl dumped his empty cube in the recycling. It was a good day; clear sky, a bit of a breeze. Sunny and Sides were out on a mission, Ironhide had arrived safely in Europe, all was quiet on the Decepticon front, and Wheeljack hadn't blown anything up for a while. If only he didn't have a psychopathic helicopter in the brig and a senior officer having a mental breakdown in the lab, things would be just peachy.
As it was, Optimus was due back in thirty four minutes, Skyfire had spent yet another restless night collating data rather than recharging, Perceptor still hadn't emerged from his alt mode, Vortex had almost shorted the energon bars through sheer force of perverted enjoyment, and as for Bumblebee... Bumblebee was acting very suspiciously indeed.
"Did you just wink at me?" Prowl asked.
Bee paused, grinning. He shuffled the pile of human-scale magazines from one hand to the other, and attempted to nudge Prowl in the chassis with his elbow.
"Way to go with the psycho ‘copter," he said, giving what he probably thought was a conspiratorial nod before hurrying on.
All right, Prowl had no idea what was going on there, but at least Bee was headed somewhere that wasn't the brig.
Optimus ETA thirty two minutes and counting. Skyfire better have at least refuelled.
But Skyfire was sat in front of Teletraan One, looking distinctly under-energised.
"Where's Red Alert?" Prowl said. "I thought he was on duty?"
"Gone off to check the security relay," Skyfire said. "He was worried we had a bug."
“What do you think?” Prowl asked.
Skyfire shrugged. “I think he was worried,” he said. “Doesn’t mean we should be.” He yawned, heaving air through his vents. “How’re you doing?”
“I’m fine,” Prowl said. “Only wish I could say the same about Perceptor.”
“Do you know what happened?” Skyfire asked.
Prowl sighed, leaning on a stalagmite. “As far as I can tell, he feels bad about yelling at the ‘con.”
Skyfire stretched his arms, his ailerons fluttering. “Wish I’d yelled at the ‘con,” he said. “Wouldn’t have achieved anything, but it would have made me feel better.”
“What’s he doing now?” Prowl said. He didn’t want to ask, but with Optimus back in twelve minutes forty seconds, he thought it best to know. Skyfire flicked a switch, and a shot of Vortex’s cell appeared on the main screen.
“Oh Sigma,” Prowl groaned. “What the slag is he doing?”
Chapter 8: Bumblebee returns
Continuity: G1, Dysfunction AU
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: suggestive language.
Disclaimer: Just playing in the sandbox, characters not mine.
Characters and/or pairings: Vortex, Bumblebee, Prowl.
Beta: naboru_narluin.
Summary: Shot by his previous visitor, Vortex wakes up with a renewed will to get the hell out of there.
[ Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7]
Notes: An awesome anon made very cool art! *has epic squee* clicky for Vortex being subtly evil in the brig. He's totally planning something. :D
Chapter 8: Bumblebee returns
Vortex awoke to a world of sensation. The blazing sting of light, the stench of smoke, a low zing of electricity where someone had hooked him up to the forced recharge port.
Damage indicators pinged from his every system. The bitter tang of old energon slimed his glossa, and a light breeze drifted over him like diamond dust.
He turned on his side, groaning, but no sound came out. Slag, his auditory processors... But that wasn't right; he could hear the whirr of machinery, the distant call of desert birds.
What in the Pit… he tried to speak, but again nothing. The pings from his jaw coalesced into a tight knot of pain.
He sat up, the forced-recharge cable pulling taut. He yanked it from his socket, engine growling. But still nothing emerged from his vocaliser.
Tentatively, he felt along his jaw. Battle mask still retracted, slight tenderness to faceplates, lower lip abraded. And a Pit-spawned fragging hole through his lower mandible, right the way into his throat. Oh, the kinky little glitch. First Aid had shot out his vocaliser.
Vortex would have laughed, had he been able. As it was, he buried his face in the soft padding of the berth, quivering with the humour. If only he'd stayed awake to see what First Aid had done next. It would have been so telling.
"What are you doing now?" A familiar voice intruded. "You crying or something?"
Vortex looked up, giving his visitor an excellent view of his ruined throat and wide, gleeful smile.
"Okay." Bumblebee fidgeted. He was standing closer to the bars this time, but still out of claws' reach. "What you do that for?"
Huh? Vortex's smile vanished and he cocked his head to one side. Are you glitching? he tried to say.
"What?"
Frag, the ‘bot was stupid, couldn't even lip read. Vortex shuffled onto the edge of the berth and used his finger to press temporary letters into the springy covering. 'ARE YOU GLITCHING?'
"No. What?" The Autobot leaned forwards. "Hey, you can write English."
'HEY, YOU CAN READ. MORON.'
"Slag you," Bee said. "What happened to you anyway, you get on the wrong side of Skyfire?"
Vortex shook his head. If First Aid's visit was common knowledge, this ‘bot would probably know. And if not… well, better to wait and see. 'HIGH GRADE?'
"You'll be lucky," Bee said. "What happened to your canopy?"
That's my chassis, Vortex thought. Sigma, minibots were thick. 'LAWBOT KNOW YOU'RE IN HERE?' he wrote.
"What? Prowl, nah. Wheeljack sent me." Bumblebee slammed his mouth shut, cringing.
'WHY?'
The minibot didn't answer, as though silence now would make up for opening his mouth a moment ago.
Vortex re-emphasised the letters, then watched as the surface regained its former smoothness.
"You look like someone shot you," Bee said. "Was it Prowl?"
Sure, why not? Vortex nodded.
Bumblebee snickered. "Didn't think he had it in him."
'WANT ROTORS BACK,' Vortex wrote. 'TELL BLADES.'
This seemed to strike a chord with the yellow ‘bot. His smirk vanished and he stepped back a pace, folding his arms across his chest. "I'm not passing on messages," he said.
'SHAME,' Vortex wrote. 'COULD MAKE IT WORTH YOUR WHILE.'
"Yeah, right," Bee muttered. "Like you have anything I could want."
'HAVE? NO,' Vortex wrote. 'COULD DO? PLENTY.' He drew the pattern of Bumblebee's helm, and traced his fingers along the horns.
"You're sick, you know that?"
'YOU ARE STILL HERE.' Vortex shrugged. He transformed one finger into a claw, then back again. 'WHAT DO YOU WANT?'
Bumblebee didn't answer. He appeared to be thinking, probably searching his memory banks for something witty to say. After a few astroseconds, Vortex's thoughts began to drift towards First Aid. There was no chance he was going back in suspension after that; there was so much to live for.
"Hey, what’re you drawing now?" Bumblebee asked. "How come you can draw?"
How come you ask so many stupid questions? Vortex didn't put that one into text, but continued to trace a pattern vaguely reminiscent of a certain Protectobot's waist. An idea was starting to form, and one which could provide him with just the distraction he needed.
Bumblebee's comm. link pinged. He opened the panel on his arm, and a little hologram of Wheeljack's head projected from the mounting. "You done yet, Bee? You know it weren't meant to be a social call, right?"
"Yeah, yeah," Bumblebee replied. "I'm on my way." Huffing and muttering, Bee stomped over to the observation console and picked up a few things from the floor. Perceptor's folder, Vortex realised.
The Autobot crumpled the tiny scraps of paper together and left without another word.
* * *
Prowl dumped his empty cube in the recycling. It was a good day; clear sky, a bit of a breeze. Sunny and Sides were out on a mission, Ironhide had arrived safely in Europe, all was quiet on the Decepticon front, and Wheeljack hadn't blown anything up for a while. If only he didn't have a psychopathic helicopter in the brig and a senior officer having a mental breakdown in the lab, things would be just peachy.
As it was, Optimus was due back in thirty four minutes, Skyfire had spent yet another restless night collating data rather than recharging, Perceptor still hadn't emerged from his alt mode, Vortex had almost shorted the energon bars through sheer force of perverted enjoyment, and as for Bumblebee... Bumblebee was acting very suspiciously indeed.
"Did you just wink at me?" Prowl asked.
Bee paused, grinning. He shuffled the pile of human-scale magazines from one hand to the other, and attempted to nudge Prowl in the chassis with his elbow.
"Way to go with the psycho ‘copter," he said, giving what he probably thought was a conspiratorial nod before hurrying on.
All right, Prowl had no idea what was going on there, but at least Bee was headed somewhere that wasn't the brig.
Optimus ETA thirty two minutes and counting. Skyfire better have at least refuelled.
But Skyfire was sat in front of Teletraan One, looking distinctly under-energised.
"Where's Red Alert?" Prowl said. "I thought he was on duty?"
"Gone off to check the security relay," Skyfire said. "He was worried we had a bug."
“What do you think?” Prowl asked.
Skyfire shrugged. “I think he was worried,” he said. “Doesn’t mean we should be.” He yawned, heaving air through his vents. “How’re you doing?”
“I’m fine,” Prowl said. “Only wish I could say the same about Perceptor.”
“Do you know what happened?” Skyfire asked.
Prowl sighed, leaning on a stalagmite. “As far as I can tell, he feels bad about yelling at the ‘con.”
Skyfire stretched his arms, his ailerons fluttering. “Wish I’d yelled at the ‘con,” he said. “Wouldn’t have achieved anything, but it would have made me feel better.”
“What’s he doing now?” Prowl said. He didn’t want to ask, but with Optimus back in twelve minutes forty seconds, he thought it best to know. Skyfire flicked a switch, and a shot of Vortex’s cell appeared on the main screen.
“Oh Sigma,” Prowl groaned. “What the slag is he doing?”