TF: Luck of the Draw
Rating: PG13
Series: G1
Pairings: Future Smokescreen/Prowl
Summary: Smokescreen joins a card game and gets in over his head.
Warnings: Non-graphic violence - I didn’t go into much detail
Disclaimer: As per usual, the good things in life are not mine to have, but belong to someone else... in this case Hasbro, Takara and IDW and anyone else I’ve forgotten…
Authors Notes: For the tf_speedwriting Wednesday 3rd November prompt 1 - Master Prompt List - Beginner’s Luck (June 5th). It wasn’t until reading ace_of_the_arts' drabbles that the pairing really seemed to make sense to me. So I suppose this is my potential take on it.
Feedback makes friends. Flames dealt with by the masters of paranoia and fire, Red Alert and Inferno.
Prompt: 1
Time: 1 hour and 15 minutes
Smokescreen stared at his cards. He’d only joined the game on a whim, not expecting to win anything. Now he’d amassed a small amount of credit chits in front of him. And it looked like his next hand could very well net him some more.
“Show your cards mechs.” Strake laid his cards on the table, a smug grin on his face. Smokescreen waited until his turn and fanned the cards out face up on the table.
“How on Cybertron!”
“I don’t fragging believe it.”
“Beginner’s luck kid.” The other mechs at the table grumbled good-naturedly, watching as Smokescreen raked the chits towards him. The light in Strake’s optics narrowed to thin slits. He’d lost more than he normally would since Smokescreen had joined the game.
“I think it’s more than beginner’s luck.” He growled. “I think you cheated.”
“I haven’t been cheating!” Smokescreen protested.
“Just because you’re losing Strake, no need to take it out on the kid.” One of the other mechs defended Smokescreen, for which he was grateful. He was new in town and the last thing he wanted to do was make enemies before he’d even settled.
“Yeah well, I ain’t playing anymore.” Strake shoved away from the table hard enough to spill the cubes of energon on it. Smokescreen looked after him, a mix of shock and horror on his face.
“Don’t worry about him kid, he’s just a sore loser.”
“All right.” Smokescreen didn’t sound so sure.
“Think nothing of it. Besides, it’s not as if you haven’t lost tonight.” Another mech reminded him. It was true; Smokescreen had started off losing until he’d gotten the hang of the game. And once he’d done that, he’d started winning more hands. But he didn’t win every hand.
“True. Ya were losing dreadfully when you joined.”
“Don’t remind me.” Smokescreen groaned, collecting his chits together. “I’m guessing I’ve caused the game to end early?”
“Yeah, but don’t worry about it. Don’t want to play with Strake when he’s in that sort of mood.”
“At least let me buy you all a drink to apologise.” Smokescreen offered, smiling in relief as they all agreed.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
It was hours later when Smokescreen finally made his way out of the club, more than a little the worse for wear. Between them, they’d drunk a fair amount of their winnings, laughing and joking about the game. Smokescreen stumbled down the street, intent on heading for his temporary quarters and recharging. And to hopefully not wake up with a Pit of a processor ache in the morning.
The mechs came at him quickly; the first one swiping his doorwings and sending pain shooting through his systems. The second landed a punch to his abdominal plating, causing Smokescreen to double over. Then he felt his chin impact with something solid and he hit the ground, instinctively trying to curl up to protect himself.
“This’ll teach ya ta cheat at cards.” One of the mechs told him, landing a solid kick along his dorsal plating. He arched, crying out in pain, and the other mech took advantage, stamping down on one of his doorwings. His scream echoed through the night.
Suddenly, lights shone out, illuminating the two mechs standing over Smokescreen. They muttered something to one another, and with one last kick aimed at Smokescreen, transformed and raced off. The lights dimmed as a mech chased after them. The other mech made his way over to Smokescreen.
“Can you hear me?” He crouched down next to Smokescreen and placed a hand on his shoulder. Smokescreen just groaned. The mech looked at him, checking his injuries before calling for a medical team.
“Who were they, do you know?” He asked quietly, voice earnest and not at all unpleasant. Smokescreen onlined his optics, one flickering fitfully as he stared up at the mech. An enforcer. With doorwings and a chevron. If Smokescreen was surprised, he didn’t have chance to show it as his systems finally protested the violent treatment and shut down, sending him into a forced stasis.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
When he next onlined his optics, Smokescreen felt a lot more comfortable. A quick systems check revealed that his injuries had been repaired.
“Where am I?” He sat up slowly, wings flexing as he checked them.
“You’re in the medical center. How much can you remember?” A medic crossed the room to help him sit up.
“Not much.” Smokescreen said slowly, trying to remember what had happened.
“You were attacked. The enforcers will be by later to ask you some questions.”
“Enforcers?” Smokescreen could remember seeing an enforcer, hearing his voice before his vision had faded. “They were the ones that found me, weren’t they?”
“Yes.” The medic nodded, checking over his systems before leaving Smokescreen alone with his thoughts.
He remembered the enforcer with the chevron and doorwings, the frame type so similar to his own he could hardly forget it. And that smooth soft voice.
“Excuse me.” That smooth soft voice. Smokescreen looked up, torn from his thoughts, to see the enforcer standing at the foot of his berth.
“Hey… The medics told me you’d be coming round to speak to me.” Smokescreen smiled. In the light, the enforcer looked much better than his memory banks had told him he was. Black and white paint immaculately clean and shined to an almost mirror finish.
“I’m Prowl. I’d like to ask you a few questions about last night.” Smokescreen nodded, indicating the chair next to the berth.
“Take a seat. The name’s Smokescreen, and I should be thanking you for rescuing me.”
“I was just doing my duty. Unfortunately, we were unable to catch the mechs who attacked you. Do you have any idea who they could have been?”
“No idea.” Smokescreen shrugged, wincing as a doorwing reminded him of the damage he had suffered. Prowl’s own doorwings flickered in sympathy.
“How do you feel?”
“Like I got attacked by two mechs?” Smokescreen offered with a wry smile, gratified to see a glimmer of a smile on the other’s faceplates.
“And you have no idea who could have sent the mechs?” Prowl asked, straight back to business. Smokescreen paused. He knew that it was Strake who’d sent those mechs. The warning he’d been given had made that much clear. But if he told this enforcer, Strake would likely make his life a misery. Plus, without definite proof…
“No idea.” Smokescreen shrugged again. “I just know they came at me after I got out of the club. And if you hadn’t been there, I wouldn’t be sitting here now.” Prowl tilted his head in acknowledgment of Smokescreen’s thanks.
“Unfortunately, without knowing who attacked you, we cannot be sure that it won’t happen again. Here…” Prowl handed Smokescreen a data chit. “This is my comm. frequency. If you remember who might have sent the mechs, or if you have any more trouble, don’t hesitate to call me.”
“Thank you.” Smokescreen took the chit, subspacing it and watching as Prowl got up to leave.
“I hope you recover fully.” Prowl said before turning sharply and leaving.
Smokescreen sank back onto the berth, wondering how long he should wait before calling Prowl. After all, he was in trouble. He was rapidly falling for the enforcer.