Do I Wanna Know

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bpOSxM0rNPM
**************************
Ever thought of calling when you've had a few?
'Cause I always do
~*~
Blast Off could certainly use a drink right now. Then again, he has felt that way for the last, oh, 20,000 years or so.... Ever since his last meeting with Whirl. Ever since learning the terrible secret of what Whirl did to Pursuit when she was held as a prisoner of the Autobots- how Whirl forced an interface with her, attempting to hurt Barricade and make her see what had happened to Shiftlock.... only to find *Shiftlock's own spark* inside the two-day-old femme. It had left Whirl shaken and Pursuit in mental shutdown until Feint was able to come in and repair the damage. Now Pursuit doesn't remember it- but Whirl does, and Blast Off learned the truth from Feint, and later from Whirl. But only after very pointed questions and actions. He... wasn't sure how to deal with this information. It shocked and horrified even the rather aloof and cold Combaticon, and while he wanted to forgive the cyclops and remain in a relationship- it put a strain on that relationship as well. For interfacing would mean Blast Off would SEE those memories. Of what Whirl did to Feint. He... he needed time to digest this, to deliberate upon it.
Time. Time is what Cybertronians have plenty of, right? And over time, as the Zeta Prime took power and the Decepticons became busy with everything from stealing resources for their "terrorist" efforts to trainign to energon conversion, time kept slipping away. Blast Off always meant to call. Every now and then he'd hear Whirl on Global Broadcast, and they'd exchange zings to put on a show for the rest of the planet (why no, we hate each other, of course! Autobot and Decepticon... no room for anything but hate here, right?) The time stretched on, breems became vorns, became hundreds of years.... became thousands. A blink of an optic in Cybertronian time, yet... still.... such a long time not to speak to someone. Not that it would be easy to do so, anyway. And over time, Blast Off began to wonder if he *should* just let things slip away. If Whirl *might* mean some of those things he said on the radio. If it was better to let the relationship die? And yet.... in all this time he somehow did NOT strike up a new relationship. He couldn't get the cyclops out of his head.
~*~ 
Maybe I'm too busy being yours to fall for somebody new...
~*~
And now: The PRESENT DAY. Blast Off has had many years of working as Onslaught's mercenary as well as a soldier for the newly emerging Decepticon forces. Sniping, spying and stealing as need- and transporting cargo, too. It is the plentiful raw materials of this region that bring him here today. The Combaticon has been sent to steal some of the raw materials and metals from one of Tagan Height's most high output factories- then use his shuttle mode to transport it back to Kaon. The shuttleformer stands, perched on a nearby building and scanning the area for any possible problems before beginning his strike. He watches a factory worker loading raw materials to be smelted down for processing- he needs to get it right *after* that happens. Hands gripping his ionic blaster, he waits a bit for the right time.... for time is the one thing he's had so much of. And yet... why does it seem like time is running out? Thoguhts drift once more before he focuses back on the task at claw..er, hand. HAND. *Pfft*. HAND.
~*~
Do you ever get that fear that you can't shift
The type that sticks around like something in your teeth?
~*~
Twenty thousand years. Considering how long the Cybertronian species lives, twenty thousand years is practically nothing yet so much has happened. The Decepticons ushered in a new era with the destruction of the Senate and the murder of Sentinel, Zeta stepped in as the new Prime and started pardoning everyone Sentinel put behind bars. This has resulted in Whirl coming face to face with the mech who almost killed him in prison, the former miner Impactor who once called Megatron a friend. It has really thrown Whirl's life into further chaos as Impactor has made it his unofficial duty to 'whip Whirl into shape' which consists almost entirely of making fun of him and forcing him to do things he doesn't want to. It's been a pretty rough twenty thousand years for Whirl but the new Autobot leadership and reappearance of Impactor have very little to do with that.
Twenty thousand years. That's how long it's been since Whirl saw Blast Off. That's how long it's been since they've even spoken to each other outside the occasional radio banter. Twenty thousand years have passed but not a single day of it went by without Blast Off crossing the cyclops' mind. At first he figured Blast Off just needed some time to come to terms with the whole Pursuit incident, then as time went on he started to fear that Blast Off wouldn't be able to come to terms with what happened and he started to despair. Thousands of years passed and that despair turned to anger. Anger at himself for screwing up the only good thing he had in his miserable life, and anger at Blast Off for lying to him. Twenty thousand years ago Blast Off said he would stay. Twenty thousand years ago, Blast Off said he loved him. Twenty thousand years ago was the last time they saw each other.
Twenty thousand years later, Whirl has come to terms with the that he's an Autobot and, no matter what Starscream may or may not do, he will always be one. There's no changing it, and he's accepted that. He follows orders, tries to do what he's told. He tries to keep his mind occupied with his work, doing everything he can to keep Blast Off out of his thoughts.
Currently, at this VERY MOMENT, Whirl has found himself on guard duty. Unsurprisingly, these factories have attracted unwanted Decepticon attention and Whirl, desperate for any extra Shanix he can get his claws on, has graciously (paid) volunteered his time to keep this factory safe. Or, at the very least, give the illusion that it's safe for the worker's sake. People are more productive when they don't think they're going to be killed at any moment.
Whirl saunters around the perimeter, rifle slung over his shoulders. He doesn't appear to be too concerned about any potential attacks though every now and then he stops and stares up at the stars.
Funny how in 20,000 years they haven't seen each other. Well, it's possible Blast Off caught a glimpse of the cyclops once or twice, up high and from far way- while nearly touching those stars...but never quite, thanks to the Clampdown. It's possible that he even thought of throwing caution and common sense to the wind and ascendign with a roar of engines to swoop down on the mech and profess how much he missed him. It's *possible* he even started to do that... before shifting wing elevons to once again gain altitude, maintain position and continue whatever mission he was on at the time.
Now Blast Off *has* been able to spend some days not thinking of Whirl... mainly because he's a *very* practiced hand at /denial/. Especially to himself. Every time he thought *claw* instead of hand, he's been able to convince himself it was simply a trick of the light.... every time he mistook a single yellow light in the distance for Whirl's lone optic and his spark leaped... until he realized his mistake... he has managed to convince himself it was probably a diagnostic glitch and run a brief internal scan- and yet somehow he never finds anything physically wrong. Every time... except those times he hasn't quite managed it... and then he turns to drink. Or distraction. Or even approaching Onslaught and actually *asking* for extra work.
Trying to focus now on the work at hand, the Combaticon watches that factory worker push the cart into the factory's smelting yard, where enermous vats boil and ovens bake. Other workers toil in the heat, throwing metal into the furnaces to fuel the ever-increasing needs of a planet at the brink of war. Satisfied that his window of opportunity will arrive soon, the sniper engages his anti-gravs and flies off and down the rooftop to the top of the factory itself- where he has a closer view now. He places a round in the chamber of his weapon- just a few shots are all he'll need to sow some panic and cause the factory workers to flee. He then begins scanning the area- he knows there must be a guard here somewhere. Then he catches movement- and the glint of a rifle barrel in the starlight. AHA. His blaster swings around to place the mech in his sights- and then time freezes, as do his circuits.
/Whirl./
Another cart-pushing worker passes by, catching sight of Whirl just standing around at staring at the night sky. "Hey! Aren't you supposed to be protecting us or something?" he snaps, taking a break from moving material around to yell at Whirl. "Shouldn't you be, like, patrolling or whatever? Can't you fly? Shouldn't you be flying around and making sure no Decepticons show up?"
Whirl continues staring up at the stars, picking out constellations and distant planets originally pointed out to him by Blast Off. He cringes at the thought of the shuttleformer and all the memories that begin playing through his mind. The warm glow of his energy field, the feeling of his body pressed against his, the two of them staring up at the night sky together..
"HELLO? Are you even listening to me!?" The worker crosses his arms and gives Whirl a stern look. Eventually he gives up and, with a frustrated sigh, begins pushing the cart again, leaving Whirl to stew in his own painful memories.
"Why can't I get over you?" Whirl says quietly to himself, though not quiet enough as yet another passing worker stops and stares at him.
"Uh.. were you talking to me?" the mech asks sheepishly.
Whirl's gaze on the sky finally breaks as he spins around to STARE at the mech. "WHAT!? Get out of here! Don't you have a job to do!?" Whirl unslings his rifle and points it at the mech, causing the poor guy to run away screaming. Whirl is bad at this job.
Blast Off stares at the cyclops through his riflescope. He's... he's RIGHT THERE. So close... somehow so far, too. The shuttleformer's optics drink in the sight- every curve, every angle, every crack, every imperfection that is somehow so... perfect. Instantly there are memories racing through *his* mind as well- though he desperately attempts to stuff them back down into the shadows of his mind, tries to deny that they exist at all. It's just a little hard to do so, with the reality that is Whirl RIGHT THERE in his face.
The sniper wrestles with all this, even as he watches Whirl wrestling with his own focus- and irritated workers. As one stalks off and leaves Whirl to stare up skyward, then say something about *getting over* someone... Blast Off freezes once more. A sneaking suspicion creeps across the back of the Combaticon's helmet... as does a bit of disbelief as Whirl *points his own gun* at the mech. If Blast Off were anyone else, he might even chuckle at that sight. As it is, he stares. Staring... that thing he picked up. From *someone*. That leads to another trail of memories ghosting through his mind like the arm of a galaxy spiraling through a solar system before he breaks off the thought and realizes he's still pointing his OWN gun at Whirl. The scopesight is quickly lowered- though his rifle remains loaded and ready.
But... now what? Now what does he do? Shoot Whirl? He gazes down at the mech, and despite anything *else* he might think, he knows he /doesn't/ want to do that. Suddenly he's looking around... maybe he could use a distraction. MAKE a distraction. Yes, that's it. If he causes Whirl to... to GO somewhere, investigate something... then maybe he doesn't have to face him. He's not sure what to say- even after 20,000 years.
Blast Off waits for a little while as the raw materials he's here for are smelted. Then, as they are brought back out to cool- he aims his weapon and fires it- at a distant oven, causing it to shatter with a loud *BOOM*. Instantly, workers are running over to see what's going on. Meanwhile, the sniper ducks down and heads the opposite direction- towards those raw materials he's here for. If he can just cause enough of a distraction, he can grab the cart once the raw materials have been processed and GO. Yes, this will work. Of COURSE it will.
Whirl is almost positive this is going to be an extremely uneventful night.. until suddenly it isn't! One of the ovens suddenly shatters, making quite the commotion and drawing everyone's attention. Immediately, groups of workers come rushing towards it, yelling and squabbling amongst themselves about HOW COULD THIS HAPPEN? and HOW ARE WE GOING TO FIX THIS IN TIME FOR THE NEXT SHIPMENT? and other such inquiries. Since none of these guys are military, they have no idea that it was a firearm that caused this damage. But Whirl knows. He knows and he's going to find out who pulled the trigger.
The cyclops begins scanning the immediate vicinity when a flash of movement catches his optic. There's not doubt in his mind that this mysterious figure is the culprit and Whirl gives chase, sprinting as fast as he can after the assumed perpetrator. "Give it up, buddy!" the cyclops hollers as he runs, racking up his rifle and making sure it's ready to go as he does. "If you just surrender, maybe I'll let you off easy!"
Oh slag. Just as Blast Off is about ready to congratulate himself on such a brilliant plan- that yell behind him informs him it was *not*. Oh smelt. The Combaticon has a sudden flair of uncharacteristic panic, though his sense of professionalism remains intact. He picks up his pace, anti-gravs rocketing him foward and down- right into the scrapyard itself.
Heaps of raw materials, scrap metal and other resources waiting to be repurposed lie in towering piles all around. He desperately does *not* want to be seen, and the maze of metal seems a good spot to do it. He doesn't reply, for his voice would give him away. Now among the browns and grays, colors much like his, he slips into enormous, haphazard stacks of sheet metal and tries to lose himself in their shadows.
Whirl follows the mysterious perp who is most definitely not anyone he knows (no, of course not!) until.. he loses him. Well, not really, he's in here SOMEWHERE obviously, he just saw him run in here, but he can't find him anywhere. All he sees are towers of raw materials, patiently waiting to be smelted down and shipped off to where ever they're needed.
"Ohh, do we really have to play this game?" Whirl says outloud for the shooter's benefit. "You can hide if you want, but I'm just going to find you and the longer it takes me, the more pissed off I get!" The cyclops steps over to a particularly unstable looking pile of material only to throw himself against it, toppling the whole thing over and letting it all crash down. "COME OUT, COME OUT, WHERE EVER YOU AAAARRREEE~"
Blast Off makes his way through the labyrinth of rusted and pockmarked metal, one shoulder pointed where he is going as he scoots through narrow crevices, hands extended out on either side for balance and speed. That totally irrational fear follows him wherever he goes, despite that speed, and when Whirl shouts and slams against the sheets of metal and sends it toppling down, he cries out *Gahhh!* as some of those sheets topple onto *him*. Smeeeelt. Shoving the sheets away with all his strength, he fights a sudden sense of claustrophobia as the walls close in- in more ways than one. He *almost* lets out a startled *huffff* as well, but catches that *just* in time.
Whirl will indeed be able to hear the impact as metal hits metal, then is shoved away again... then footsteps- at first faltering, then gaining speed- as someone makes their way through old construction equipment. Pieces of cranes, struts, structural beams, even old concrete mixer barrels are scattered throughout the assorted junk. From the sound of it, the intruder has gained a slight limp- sounds like that impact caused a little damage, though their steps break into a more evn stride as their speed increases once more. Smatterings of shed energon leaves a trail through the maze... though it eventually begisn to peter out again.
The noise of falling sheet metal is loud but not loud enough to mask the cries of who ever dared try to do dastardly deeds while Whirl was on duty. He rushes over to the fallen pile of raw sheet metal only to find that his prey has evaded him once more. There's a huff of frustration from the cyclops before he resumes his tracking, following the sounds of footsteps through the maze of precariously stacked materials and into what is essentially the factory's junkyard. It's much harder to spot someone in here than it was in the other part of the factory but thankfully there is a trail of energon to follow.. but eventually the trail runs cold and Whirl is left by himself (or so he would think) amongst the trash.
"Tch! Maybe if the Autobots bothered to teach me hunting/tracking skills, I'd have the guy already.. Eh, whatever. I'm sure this was enough to scare him away." Again, talking to himself because there's no one else here, right? Whirl leans his rifle against his shoulder and sighs. Still.. he can't just go back to the others and tell them they're fine, so he begins walking around the piles of junk, poking at various things with his rifle in a very half-assed attempt to out whoever may still be lurking.
Blast Off would breathe a sigh of relief (if he breathed) as Whirl finally seems to give up. Maybe he can get through this without having to actually /face/ the mech and confront him. He's somehow avoided him for 20,000 years... maybe he can do it for another 20,000? Yeah... that'll work. He again stuffs down the nagging sense of just how NOT OK that really would be, or the little voice in his head screaming at him to step out and show himself and finally *talk* to the mech he hasn't been able to forget for so long. Whirl starts heading away from him, through an aisle of junk, leaving the shuttleformer to rub his face a moment.
~*~
Do I wanna know If this feeling flows both ways?
~*~
No, no... focus. Blast Off starts poltting a course through the junk that will take him somewhere he can fly off without being spotted by the other mech.... and then Whirl happens to turn and come *back* his way. The shuttleformer's sparkrate starts flaring again, and he leans back into the shadows, mind racing. What should he do? Violet optics darting about, his gaze falls on one of those crane parts nearby. A sudden inspiration strikes and the sniper sneaks over to the equipment- and pushes a lever- one that will send the hook of the crane swinging down, hopefully to snare the cyclops- or at least knock him aside! Just enough to hopefully allow Blast Off a chance to escape.
Whirl pokes at a pile of junk only to have a couple turbomice come skittering out. "Ugh! Really!?" He takes a few steps back, checking his feet in case he accidently stepped on one. "Screw this, I'm outta here." And he means it. Whirl is willing to just turn his back on this whole thing and pretend it never happened. It's just not worth it to him, and whoever was causing that trouble probably left anyway so why stick around, right? He turns around to take his leave and rejoin the workers.
Then all of a sudden WHAM! Whirl is struck by a zombie crane that has miraciously come back to life with the sole intent to murder him. The hook manages to impale the cyclops through the shoulder with the gut-wrenching sound of shredding metal. Immediately Whirl's sensors start going crazy, sending signals of pain throughout his body to warn him of the trauma he's experiencing, as if he needed the heads up. "AUGH WHAT!? ARE YOU KIDDING!?" He beats on the crane hook with both sets of claws in a poor attempt to dislodge himself. "HOW DID THIS EVEN HAPPEN!?"
The tactic works well- a little *too* well. Blast Off finds himself wincing as the crane winds up doing more damage than he intended (why does this sound familiar?). More memories- shameful ones- flicker through his mind, once again shoved down through sheer determination and practiced ease at denial alone. And yet.... *wince*
The Combaticon stares as Whirl beats on the crane hook with those claws, torn between trying to help and making his getaway while he still can. He looks at Whirl... then that nice little cleared area just off to his right... then back at Whirl... cleared area... back at Whirl...back at...*OH SMELT IT ALL.*
Maybe there's a way to do both? He reaches up, trying to release the lever and completely unattach the hook from the crane, which would let it fall uselessly to the ground and free the other mech. Then he turns and darts out, ducking under a tangle of scrap metal as he makes his way to that cleared aisle not too far away, though in his flustered state he fails to notice one small, rusted piece of metal lying on the ground that makes a loud *snap* as he steps on it.
There's a faint *drip drip drip* as energon trickles down Whirl's body and patters against the floor. In all honesty, the hook hurts A LOT but the damage isn't nearly as bad as it may look. Besides, Whirl's has worse things happen to him, things like getting shot in the head.
The cyclops was about to accept this turn of events and live here, attached to this crane for the rest of his life (maybe he can have someone drop off energon rations for him?) when suddenly the hook is detached, falling to the ground and literally /tearing/ itself out of Whirl. There's a cry of pain over more sounds of tearing metal but hey, at least he's not stuck to a crane for another twenty thousands years. The cyclops presses his claws against the wound, trying to stem the bleeding. Surely this factory has some kind of nurse on the property in case of such accidents? He wonders how he's going to explain THIS one. Then there's a loud snap of metal that most certainly didn't come from him and Whirl snaps his head around to face the source of the noise. Could this be.. the shooter he's been looking for? Or maybe it's another turbomouse? Or maybe it's..
"B-Blast Off?!" Whirl can only STARE at the shuttleformer in what might be disbelief if he had anything to emote with. "Am I... hallucinating? From fuel loss?"
Blast Off freezes (yet again) at the *snap*, wincing a thousand-fold inwardly at both that and the sound of pain that comes from Whirl. He hunches his shoulders briefly as if in pain himself as he hears his name called and knows he's been spotted. Still facing away, his optics dim as he braces himself, mind reeling as everything falls to pieces around him. It's like the whole scrapyard just vaporized and he's left exposed and bare. He's been trying to avoid this moment for 20,000 years, after all. Whirl's confusion only makes it all worse and the shuttleformer feels a flair of dread again.
He should focus. Focus on the task at hand. Yes, that's it. Get his job done and not let personal distractions prevent him from accomplishing his task. He whips around, bringing his ionic blaster up and aiming it at Whirl, trying to look calm and aloof- though he feels anything but. "....Don't... don't make me shoot you. I just..." He glances away, towards that cart of processed goods he came here to steal. "I just have to...get something and go."
That can't really be Blast Off, right? This is just.. a fever dream or something, right? Whirl hasn't seen the guy in thousands and thousands and thousands of years, why would show up now? It doesn't make any sense and Whirl is ready to chaulk it up to some kind of trauma-induced hallucination but it's just.. it's just too real.
And then there's that blaster pointed right at him, the same one Blast Off uses. The same one that struck him through the head all those years ago, when Whirl first started to fall for him. And that voice, that unmistakeable voice. Yes.. Yes! This is Blast Off alright! This is the real thing, it has to be! Everything is just too perfect to be a figment of his imagination.
"If you shoot me, that would be your choice and your choice alone," Whirl says, taking a step forward, threatening to close the space between them. "Just like it was your choice to lie to me." Another step forward, the cyclops staring directly into Blast Off's optics the entire time. "You said you were going to stay but you disappeared! You left and I never heard from you again! How could you do that to me? How could you lie to me like that? WHY would you lie to me like that!?" Clearly this is something that has been bothering him for a long time (approximately 20,000 years) as he has no problem blurting all of it out instantly.
As Whirl steps towards him, Blast Off steps away, weapon still aimed at the Autobot- yet still not firing. He stares back, continues trying to look *quite* unaffected by all this... though the occasional nervous wing elevon twitch hints at something else. Another step back, then he finally lets out that delayed *huff* of indignation.
"Lie? I... what do you..." Another step back. "Well, I just mean that..." Now he glances back to the cart as the questions- the accusations- stream out at him like a torrent of acid rain, permeating through his carefully cultivated shields like they don't even exist and stinging to the core. Violet optics snap back to the cyclops. "I..." Another pause as his mind races, weighing all the possibilities. "I... I did not lie, that would be *uncouth*." *HUFF*
"...But one thing led to another, and I simply got... *busy*! There were things to do, and we're starting a *civil war* in case you hadn't *noticed*, and... well, what do you expect? You're an Autobot, I'm a Decepticon, and... that's... that is just the way things *are*."
Yes, he's handling this *so well*.
"Don't give me that crap!" Whirl takes another big step forward as if he was daring Blast Off to pull the trigger and shoot him. Hey, why not? Can't be any worse than taking a hook to the shoulder and Blast off had no problem pulling THAT stunt. "You never cared about the Autobot/Decepticon thing before. Remember what you used to say? How you don't let other people dictate your life? How you make your own choices? You and you alone?"
Whirl shakes his head. "No.. you straight up lied to me, Blast Off, and you continue to lie. You really expect me to believe that you just happened to get super busy immediately after our conversation? After I told you about.." He hesitates, fighting with himself to speak her name. It's still so hard to think about what happened, still so much guilt. "..Pursuit. That's why, isn't it? Why you left me?"
The cyclops' voice becomes strained and shakey and he actually diverts his gaze as he chokes out the rest of his words. "You told me you'd stay and.. and you never even called! You never even called me, Blast Off! Do you know what that was like for me!? Do you even care!? If that's what you wanted, why weren't you upfront about it with me!? Why did you let me think that you.. that you still loved me?"
Blast Off just blurted out the first lame excuses he could think of, trying to justify the lack of communication- but it appears Whirl isn't buying it. For once, neither is Blast Off- especially as the cyclops continues unleashing 20,000 years of hurt. It's an emotional assault the shuttleformer isn't quite sure how to deal with. He takes a step back once more, then two, again failing to shoot the other mech. Like so many things with Whirl, nothing in his previous experiences ever taught him how to deal with subjects like these.
The attempt at looking aloof continues to falter as his gaze breaks away, especially at the mention of Pursuit. "I..." Those violet optics start darting around as if he's trying to find some hole big enough to hide in- and despite there being some rather large places to lose oneself in- nothing seems to appease. "I... Well, I had to *think*. About that, about what happened, about... yes, about what you...did. I... took a long time to..... think, I guess. Longer than I... expected." Whirl's final accusations cause the shuttle to look away once more. "...But I didn't lie. Not about... that. I... well," He starts slowly shaking his head miserably, gesturing helplessly with one hand, then trying to wordlessly line up each excuse neatly in a row as if that helps them all make more sense, "...There were the radio broadcasts, and... I just wasn't *sure*, I needed some time, then I missions I had to do, and... "
Suddenly he turns around and glares at Whirl, spare hand dropping. "And speaking of which, why didn't you call ME?! You could have called me you know!? I'm not the only one at fault here!"
Blast Off takes a few steps back and Whirl takes a few steps forward, surely but slowly closing the gap between them. His gaze never leaves the shuttleformer as he struggles desperately to answer the barrage of questions thrown at him. It goes about as well as one would expect what with Blast Off trailing off and making up excuses that may or may not be true.. basically saying a lot without actually saying anything. Whirl is not pleased with this and he grows angrier the longer it takes for Blast Off to actually admit what he believes is the truth: that Blast Off just wasn't interested in him anymore. But then the question is turned around on him and it's Whirl's turn to make up excuses.
"I didn't call you because I thought you needed time! I mean, you did, didn't you? That thing with Pursuit.. it was a lot to take in, a lot to think about. I haven't stopped thinking about it.." Whirl withdraws, taking a step back and fidgeting with his claws. "Then things got really busy. Zeta took over, lots of things were overhauled. A ghost from my past reappeared and I had to deal with that.. Then so much time passed that I figured you just.. forgot about me."
Blast Off continues his backwards retreat, which is a bit clunky and awkward when he's busy staring at the other mech and trying to think up assorted excuses and look *aloof* (while being anything but) and... and ... and. He also keeps stumbling into things as a result, given that he doesn't have optics on the back of his helmet, and there's a *ding* there and *clang* here as he knocks into scrap metal and sends it flying to the ground. Trying to glance back occasionally and keep clear, shoving a few things aside, he's apparently too flustered to remember he could just *fly off*... but then again Whirl is getting awfully close and he *could* just transform and try flying after him if a quick grab or punch or weapon blast didn't work first.
So the backward tango continues, leaving the Combaticon to make excuses- and then listen to them. At that he stops with a small *huff* as he feels yet another pile of scrap bump behind him, just as Whirl finally stops his advance. One hand reaches back and just rests on the pile as he stares at the cyclops. "Of course I didn't forget you! But ...yes, I needed time, and you needed time, and then you never called ME either, and I thought you were probably busy doing...doing *Autobot* things... I heard you were in Kaon at one point, /killed/ some Decepticons."
There's a glance away at that, then he returns once more to Whirl. "So I figured you were getting indoctrinated to hate all Decepticons anyway. To hate me. And then there's just... just..." his weapon, still in his hand, is raised once again- though not directly at Whirl. "Maybe it's better this way anyway."
The mention of what Whirl did in Kaon causes the cyclops to freeze. Of course Blast Off would know about that, why wouldn't he? He's a Decepticon, afterall. And Whirl.. Whirl is an Autobot. Not just any Autobot, of course, he's also got the whole 'monster who beat Megatron in prison' thing going on too. That makes him even worse than your average Autobot. And Blast Off.. Blast Off is a Decepticon AND a fugitive to boot. Both of them could stab the other in the back, turn them over to Command and get a nice slap on the back for it. Maybe even be regarded as a hero (more likely in Blast Off's case) yet here they are, facing each other down not with weapons but with words. Heavy, emotionally involved words. Whirl thinks he prefers the weapons.
"You think I hate you!? How could you think I hate you!? WHY would you think I hate you!?" Whirl throws his claws up in exasperation. "I'm pissed as hell that you practically cut me out of your life completely, and I'm PRETTY UPSET that you impaled me on a crane hook just now." He looks down at the wound in his shoulder for a moment before looking back at Blast Off. "But I don't hate you! If I hated you, I wouldn't be so upset about all this right now! If I truly, absolutely hated you, you'd already be dead."
He moves to take a step forwards but stops when Blast Off lifts his gun. "...Is this what you want?"
Indeed, there are a thousand outside forces all demanding and cajoling the two to hate one another and even to fight to the death- to follow the script, dammit, and stop ad libbing. Normally Blast Off has no qualms and no issues about giving all these outside forces the big *middle finger* (or Cybertronian equivilant)... but after all this time, and given why they stopped talking in the first place... he's less certain right now. It's been so long, and maybe he *should* just stick to the script.
He certainly would be more likely to live longer that way. 20,000 years of no Whirl in his life has also been a safety net for him- it's thrown some of the hounds of hell off his trail- the ones that, if they caught a whiff of cyclops on him, would tear him to shreds instantly. Like Megatron himself. It's afforded him some "breathing" room... and maybe he should just play it safe and continue this path?
His gaze flickers to those claws briefly as Whirl throws them up, memories threatening to derail his resolve again. No, he needs to decide something and stick to it. "I...WELL IT IS DIFFICULT to TELL who hates and why and what. Especially in the situation we find ourselves in!" He is about to say something else, when Whirl's comment stings at his pride. "What do you mean, I'd be dead by now? More like the other way around, when I would have shot you in the head again while you were marching around the perimeter below me and you would never have seen me coming!"
Another *huff. Then... he pauses at the last comment. "I...I don't know..." His grip tightens on his gun and he tries to envision himself shooting Whirl again. Somehow doesn't happen though. "...What do YOU want?"
While the time apart may have been beneficial for Blast Off, it's been nothing but hell for Whirl. He missed talking to the shuttleformer. He missed hearing his voice. He missed those haughty sniffs and snobby huffs. He missed being able to talk to someone so openly, without fear of being judged or mocked for his opinions and thoughts. Blast Off was his friend, probably his best friend, and he missed being with him. Both socially and physically. Twenty thousand years may not seem like a long time for their species, but it's a long time to go without an interface from someone who is essentially your cojunx endura or close enough to it that the time apart has affected Whirl on a much deeper level than he thought it would.
"OH PLEASE! You keep hanging onto that whole 'shooting me in the head' thing like it was something amazing but it really wasn't! Do you know how many times you missed before that? I had to put myself right in front of your gun and DARE you to shoot me! That's /hardly/ an accomplishment." Whirl lets out a HUFF that might rival even Blast Off's. "Anyway, it doesn't matter because you didn't. You just.. ran away instead."
Whirl gives the gun in Blast Off's hand a quick glance, taking notice of the way his fingers tighten around it as if he's debating whether or not to pull the trigger. "What do /I/ want?" The cyclops begins walking forwards and doesn't stop until the barrel of the shuttleformer's weapon is pressed against his body, at which point he just leans in towards the other mech. "What do you THINK I want?"
Benefical, yes... but pleasant? No. Blast Off has missed the other mech, too. Missed having someone he could talk to, as well. Be himself around. The shuttleformer has built so many behavioral walls around himself, making a fortress that prevents most other people from looking inside and seeing what he's really like when he's not being all *aloof* and *better than thou*. The relief of being able to let down his guard and not have to *pretend* all the time is enormous, and he's missed it far more than he cares to admit, but he wrapped even that up in his customary denial- that defense mechanism which built those walls in the first place. And phsyically? Oh smelt yes. Again, as one who walls himself off, who barely even allows a *pat on the back*... being deprived of physical intimacy for 20,000 years- and he has not had any- has taken a toll as well.
And speaking of physical intimacy, as Whirl steps forward, presses himself up against the barrel of the Combaticon's gun, he starts getting close enough that the shuttleformer can feel his EM field- and that draws a sharp hitch of his vents. Shaking his head once, he tries to clear it of distracting thoughts and return focus on the task at hand- the question Whirl is pressing in on him. That hand tightens... then starts to tremble almost imperceptibly as Blast Off stares up at the taller mech. "I...I simply wasn't *focused*, is all, and I... well, there was the whole situation with Shiftlock back then, and I..."
He leans away as the cyclops leans in, pressing back against the scrap metal pile until he can't move back anymore. At the final question, his own optics start to flicker from his gun to Whirl and back again... but that trigger still isn't squeezed. His ventilation systems seem to be kicking up a notch, though. "I... I don't /know/."
Shiftlock. It all comes back to her, doesn't it? She was the sole common factor between them, the only reason the two mechs even bothered to put up with each other and the reason why the two of them got so close. She's gone now but a part of her will always live on in them.. and in Pursuit somehow, but Whirl's not going to think about that right now.
Whirl counters Blast Off's attempt to gain his personal space back by leaning forwards, the tip of the gun scraping against the plating of his chest with the whine of metal on metal. "You don't know? You don't even have a guess? Maybe I can help you understand.." The cyclops practically looms over the other mech, that yellow optic of his bearing down on the shuttleformer, his stare so intense it could burn a whole into his very core. "Pretend just for a moment that you're me. You're messed up in the head. You don't handle things well. You're angry. You're scared, and that just makes you angrier. You've been violated, abused, shamed by the world around you, telling you that you are unworthy of anyone's love until you believe it. You're a monster. Everyone hates you. Then someone comes along and tells you different, tells you that there's still some good in you. You let your guard down, the one you've kept up your whole life, for this someone and you let yourself believe that love, that thing you were told you did not deserve, was something real."
The cyclops lashes out and slams his claws against the pile of rubble on either side of the Combaticon, trapping him between his arms. "Then that someone disappears and you don't think you'll ever see them again. You don't know what happened to them. Are they dead? Are they in prison? Maybe they're just avoiding you. Maybe they had a change of spark, decided you weren't who they thought you were. Maybe they never believed anything they said to you and they wanted a convenient way out. Then one day, by pure chance, they enter your life again. You finally have them in arms reach. Twenty thousand years of pent up anger. You want to know what I want, Blast Off? Do you REALLY want to know what I want?"
Whirl leans in and presses the featureless box that passes as his face against Blast Off's cheek, whispering into his audio receptors. "I want /you./"
~*~
So have you got the guts? Been wondering if your heart's still open and if so I wanna know what time it shuts.
~*~
Yes, Shiftlock. Tha larger than life presence that entwined their lives together, though the Pursuit incident helped tear it apart for 20,000 years. And yes, Blast Off *does* have a guess, but he's still trying desperately to cling to the status quo he's gotten used to. A miserable status quo, but it's just been easier on so many levels not to think too hard about this, to let the tides carry the both of them the way it seemed to want to go: seperately. Not to mention his unease about what happened with Pursuit and how much easier it got just not *having* to deal with it, not having to face it. Then the cyclops starts talking and Blast Off begins to realize just how very wrong he may have been to just run away. Just how much his customary denial may have hurt the *both* of them.
The shuttleformer keeps trying to retreat though, keeps attempting to hold onto those last vestiges of the previous 20,000 years... but Whirl knocks them away as he slams into the pile of rubble. Now there *isn't* any more retreat, and Whirl's heat and electricity washes over him, nearly causing his knee servos to buckle right then and there as physical *need* slams into him too. Now it's Blast Off's turn to freeze, staring up at that yellow optic as Whirl leans in and whispers in his audios.... and with that, his gun hand trembles once, then drops away... his blaster clattering uselessly on the ground at his side. Ventilation systems cycle rapidly as he leans against the rubble for support now- he'd be swaying quite a bit otherwise. Violet optics stare up at the other mech, almost dazed.
~*~
Simmer down and pucker up, I'm sorry to interrupt. It's just I'm constantly on the cusp of trying to kiss you.
I don't know if you feel the same as I do, But we could be together if you wanted to.
~*~
There's a long moment of silence, then Blast Off's hands reach up to grab either side of Whirl's head and draw him even closer. Feel that heat again. Feel those memories wash over and reawaken every sense, causing every circuit inside to buzz and crackle, to sing with everything *right* in the Universe as they flood and wash away the last 20,000 years like they never even happened. With a hoarse whisper, he's got just a select few words.
"Shut up and *interface me already*."
Whirl is an Autobot. Blast Off is a Decepticon. There's no way in a million (or maybe even four million) years a relationship between two people on opposite sides of what will no doubt become a full on war will ever last. There's too much at risk, both of them could easily wind up dead should they ever be exposed and, let's be honest, they aren't exactly the greatest at keeping secrets. The nature of their relationship has almost gotten out several times but between the televised debate and the 20,000 years they spent avoiding eachother, it seems that that's not longer an issue. Whirl knows it's better for both of them if they ended this sooner than later, and it's something he thought about during those thousands and thousands of years he and Blast Off were apart. Maybe a part of him didn't want to call because it knew that it was best for everyone.
Even now, with Blast Off trapped between him and the rubble, he considers doing what neither of them are strong to do and end this now. The shuttleformer drops his weapon, disarming himself and leaving him unable to effectively defend himself should Whirl decide to sink those claws into his mechanical guts. The thought crosses Whirl's mind but he hesitates, finding himself lost in the shuttleformer's violet optics, the two of them staring at eachother in silence; the noise of their ventilation systems cycling air the only thing heard between them.
After what feels like an eternity, Whirl feels those hands against his head, fingers gripping him tight and drawing him in until their foreheads touch. The cyclops pulls his claws from the rubble and wraps his arms around the shuttleformer, pulling their bodies together and squeezing him tight. For the first time in 20,000 years, Whirl is content.
Then Blast Off says THAT to him and who is Whirl to say no?
Claws snake their way across Blast Off's body, their tips scraping against the delicate armor that covers him until they reach that familiar panel, the one that conceals the Combaticon's interface, the one that Whirl expertly pops open like he's done so many times before. It only takes a moment for Whirl to do the same to his own, taking the cable betwixt his claws and plugging directly into the other mech's systems. The connection has been made and already there is a steady stream of output from Whirl's end. Flickers of memories that transpired during their time apart, the feeling of joy at having Blast Off in his arms again as well as the feelings of despair at having been without him for so long. There's also something else just lurking underneath the surface, something neither of them are looking forward to confronting.
Indeed it would have been better...right? But who's to say what better is, anyway? Keep their candles dim and sheltered safe against the wind, or acknowledge that the light that burns twice as bright burns half as long- and *embrace* the flames. Blast Off chooses the latter and finds the same contentment as Whirl as they are consumed with the heat of passion. He wraps his arms around the cyclops, gasping as that deliciously familiar sensation of claws trailing down his body stirs the fire even higher, and given how truly /long/ it has been he's nearly ready to overload right then and there. All he cares about in this moment is wrapping and joining and merging as thoroughly as possible, all consequences be damned. The perfect cleansing pyre, turning all to ashes only to rise again.
The Combaticon's hands rove and his arms lock the cyclops in a fierce embrace, his engines starting to rumble as Whirl connects. The shuttleformer gasps again as the stream sensory input suddenly floods in and their seperate flames are merged into a bonfire. The joy and sorrow is shared- and returned. Whirl will be able to see that (no surprise) the aloofness and distance was merely an act, and Blast Off has died a little inside every cycle for the last 20,000 years that he's been so isolated from the other mech... so /alone/. How much he missed the cyclops. How much he's tried to stick to what he thought might be best for the both of them, keep focused on duty, and keep that distance, keep the charade. Trying to decide what the right thing is when surrounded by a world going so very, terribly wrong. The sense of how very, terribly *right* everything is right now, here in Whirl's arms, embracing against a scrap heap.
The winds are a constant for the past 20,000 years. Winds of change as civil unrest turns to civil war, and Blast Off has been sent out with increasing frequency on mission like this, to steal, shoot or scout out. The wing under his wings, lifting, buffeting, coaxing and rollercoastering the shuttle as he soars through the air... though never quite up into where the air cannot live- up in space, and his yearning for that great wide void remains as strong as ever. The partial lifting of the Clampdown only made that sting even more... so close and so far away, like a distant glaxy that shines through the stars but can never quite be reached.
Missions and orders from Onslaught. Mercenary work. Team maneuvers with his fellow Combaticons- almost the only time he didn't feel totally alone. Annoying? Yes. And yet still family. A smattering of other pleasant times- talks with Swift Blade, occasional discussions with other Decepticons... but always a sense of incompleteness. How whenever he happened by Altihex, Blast Off always found an excuse to stop by their bench. And finally, visions of quiet nights alone, spent looking up at the stars.... and holding a certain pocketwatch in his hands- lovingly.
All these memories and more swim through the depths of his consciousness. He shares them with Whirl, shares every true feeling and loving memory. Pain at hurting the mech he loves and having to pretend to hate him. And yes.... the pain of that shadow... that thing that neither of them really want to confront. Blast Off braces himself and swims further in.
The more Blast Off shares with him, the more Whirl responds in kind. This flickering memories begin to clear, becoming more and more focused until they're as vivid and detailed as they were when they first happened. They consist mostly of Whirl moping around the new Autobot base, going through the motions and doing what he's told; trying desperately to squash the feelings of guilt and despair that constantly stir inside him. Unfamiliar faces flash before him, each one belonging to an Autobot he's met during the reign of Zeta Prime. Very few of them look like they could fire a weapon, much less hold one, but all of them have lost their previous way of life and were brought here, recruited by Orion Pax.
Orion Pax. There's another memory now, one from Whirl's stay in prison. He's sitting in a cell, looking up at the former Rodion cop, lamenting the loss of his hands and selling out the Senate in the hopes he will someday get them back. Now Orion is gone and another mech steps in his place. He's huge and he bears the yellow and black warning stripes of a miner. He's angry and he's ushered into the cell where he immediately begins to pummel Whirl into a state of unconciousness. His name is Impactor and when he's finally taken out of the cell, right before Whirl loses conciousness, the cyclops is glad to see him go.
Impactor. He bears the symbol of an Autobot now. There's another memory, one from Impactor and Whirl's first meeting since prison. There's a feeling of dread as Whirl lays his optic upon the former miner and then the pressure of his throat being crushed underneath his large hand. Impactor tells him that if he ever steps out of line, he'll finish what he started.
Another memory. Whirl is sitting in his quarters, debating whether or not to make that phone call. He's thinking of Blast Off, imagining his arms wrapped around the shuttleformer, his claws buried deep underneath the seams of his armor. He's coaxing groans of pleasure from the mech, watching him as his face twists in ecstacy. Then there's screaming, not from Blast Off, but from someone else. It's gets louder and louder until the cyclops can't take it anymore, rising from his berth and slamming his claws in the nearest wall over and over and over again, stopping only when manages to break one of them. He soons collpases in a heap in the corner of his room and sobs to himself.
The screaming persists and now it's source becomes clear. As Blast Off dives deeper into Whirl's conciousness, he's greeted with the sight of an interrogation room, the same one Acuity dragged Blast Off into during his stay in the SecF prisons. There's a black-and-white femme sitting at the table, restrained by an inhibitor claw on her back. It's Pursuit and she's glaring at Whirl from over her shoulder as he bears down, holding her tight against the table after he brutally slams her into it. There's an almost overwhelming feeling of anger, and the memory flickers slightly as if struggling to remain visible through the cloudy haze of rage that consumes it. Pursuit, defiant as ever, tells Whirl that Shiftlock deserved everything she got, everything bad that happened to her, because she chose to associate with the monsterous empurata, Whirl.
The screaming grows louder, now clearly coming from Pursuit's vocalizer as Whirl pries her panel open and forces a connection. Whirl is on the warpath and he's ready to decimate any defense Pursuit throws at him but.. there are none. There's nothing at all, only 48 hours worth of life experiences that amount to a blink of an eye to their species. He sees the love she has for Barricade, the love she has for Soundwave; the two mechs she considers her primary caretakers and elected fathers. She's filled with joy and wonder and curiosity for this new world she's found herself in and she's eager to experience it all.
There's something different about her. Something different yet extremely familiar. It's Shiftlock and she can be felt deep inside Pursuit, in her purest form. Before Cipher. Before Ratbat. Before Mercury. She's at her purest, untainted by the cruelty of this world and for the first time ever.. she is at peace.
Until Whirl unwittingly floods her with every single memory he's ever had of Shiftlock, including but not limited to the development of his relationship with Blast Off as a direct result of her impact on both their lives. Whirl is shocked, dismayed, and extremely disturbed by this. He pulls his cable free and physically severs the connection. It's the only thing that makes Pursuit stop screaming and as soon as she does, she falls into stasis lock. Whirl sits on the floor, arms wrapped around himself. He stares at the unconcious form of Pursuit and he begins to lament everything that has just happened. The guilt and shame he felt at that very moment returns, flooding his concious as he's forced to confront what he's failed to put behind him.
First the fires of passion, then the winds of change, now the deep waters of the psyche. Blast Off plunges into its depths, watching Whirl's memories swim by like turbofish. All sorts of sizes, shapes and colors: and most of them bite. The shuttleformer is unfazed by the first snatches of the past- unpleasant, yes, and mental notes are made about this Impactor mech should he meet him later- but the Combaticon plunges deeper in. He can handle this. These are turbulent waters, but he stays on course.
And then there it is. A familiar spark, a scene of violence, an unspeakable act. Now Blast Off falters for the first time, feet kicking back as he treads water and tries not to drown among the flood of shame, guilt and sorrow. His hands reach up to his audials and he shakes his head, if not literally but inwardly. He just wants the screaming to... stop. The Combaticon is not a particularly compassionate individual, no, but this disturbs him- and Shiftlock's presence makes it even worse.
Drowning. His hands reach up, fingers rigid, clawed, as he flails and slams against the pyschic assault. He feels Whirl's 20,000 year anguish while also feeling revulsion at what the cyclops did, and the sudden pang of knowing that someone he cared about, who he thought lost forever, is alive yet so distant, far away and foreign is nearly too much. All his own guilt and shame at not being able to be there for her, not being able to stop whatever it was that happened to cause her to inhabit this new body. To stop Ratbat. Relief, too, at the sense of peace she had... HAD. Does she have it now? Feint seemed to indicate she would not remember anything, but... how can he know for sure? The undertow sucks him down, and there's no defense against a current that strong. It sucks him all the way down- all the way into the bottom of the ocean of thought and memory.
He retreats then, burrowing down into the earth of his mind. Seeking a crack in the mud to hide, to shield himself from facing the reality that is now /his/ to deal with as well. Having the mental link means he experiences it like he himself /was/ Whirl, forcing his will onto this young innocent, and he just cringes and burrows further down. He doesn't want to see. For this moment, he can't. For this moment, he cocoons within the damp and dirt and gives himself a moment to pause, to equilibrate. To seek refuge not among the stars but the within the deepest cracks of the earth.
Pursuit's youth and her innocence was something Whirl didn't know about. How could he? He knew nothing about her. All he knew was that she was close to Barricade and that's all he really cared about. He wanted to hurt him in the absolute worst way possible, he wanted to force him to make a choice: does he cast out Pursuit the same way he did Shiftlock? Or does he hang onto her, knowing that Whirl had already sunk his claws into her. He wanted to hurt Barricade. He didn't mean for all of it to happen the way it did. He didn't mean to almost kill the femme, he didn't mean to crush her innocence underneath his foot like the monster her kind believe him to be. He didn't mean for any of this to happen. He wasn't thinking, he was only feeling, acting out on raw, unfiltered emotion. Acting out on anger. Acting out on guilt.
But it doesn't matter what his intentions were, what he did or didn't know. It doesn't even matter that he regrets everything, that he wishes he could take it all back. What matters is that it happened and not only is it his cross to bear, but now it is Blast Off's as well.
Whirl can feel Blast Off withdraw, trying to hide and spare himself the pain of experiencing this horrible memory for himself. It's not unexpected and Whirl would be doing the same thing if he could, and Primus knows he's tried, but he just can't. This..thing he did, it's part of him now and he doesn't want to go through it alone. He /can't/ go through it alone or he will succumb to the guilt and be lost forever.
Blast Off pulls back and Whirl reaches out, begging for forgiveness. Begging for help. Begging to be loved again.
For all his scoffing at "groundpounders", all his customary sneering at those who cling to the safety of the earth and don't even know *how* to reach for the stars... Blast Off is finding the cocoon under his mental ocean's floor a safe, sheltered refuge right now. Its embrace is soothing and the damp darkness is one he is in no rush to leave. No, no he could just stay here forever. Not have to see, not have to think, not have to feel.
Then there is a ping. Distant at first, but growing over time. A staticy pulse of electricity emanating from somewhere far away.... no, some*one* far away. It grows more insistant, and eventually Blast off recognizes the familiar electrical field of Whirl... his anguish, his cries. Blast Off winces as if hit with static shock. Gears and circuits pulse again, and the shuttleformer sorts through each pulse as he attempts to channel the energy into something that makes sense.
As much as the normally aloof sniper would like to ignore those cries for forgiveness, he finds that he cannot. Slowly, he unfolds from his retreat and lifts his head, emerging from the darkness back into the murky depths of that ocean. Pulses and flashes from his own thoughts and memories begin drifting back to Whirl. The first things that come to his mind.
Is Blast Off saddened by what happened? Yes. Is it the kind of thing that is unforgiveable- the sort of situation that causes judgements to be made, hatred sown, and people to turn their backs? Yes. And yet the Combaticon keeps moving forward, towards Whirl's consciousness. He sends a memory: What he went through after he shot Whirl in the head and nearly killed him. That was also a time that hatred and revenge would have been understandable- even expected. How when Whirl sought him out afterwards, and Blast Off walked away... he felt miserable about it. He was lost at that moment, certain he was unforgiven and about to be subject to acts of revenge- and how could he not expect such a thing? ....And then Whirl surprised him. That hug, that act of forgiveness broke him so much more than any bullet or claw ever would have: and broke him in all the right ways. The power of forgiveness. The power, eventually, of love. Foreign concepts to a military mech raised for war, or focused solely on his job as a space transport and sniper.
A view of the pocketwatch- giving of one's most precious possession out of love. An act of selflessness. Again a foreign concept to the Combaticon. One that touched him in ways he never would have expected. The watch remains safe, even 20,000 years later, and serves as a reminder of those truly noble, admirable traits.
Love. Forgiveness. Selflessness.
All traits Blast Off learned from ..... who? Some notable Autobot hero reveling in the glories of his righteousness? A Decepticon thinker who truly believes in "Towards Peace" and must work within a tumultous system? A neutral rebel striving to make a difference in the world? No. Traits learned from a mech who struggles with imperfections, foibles, and failings- yet still finds a way to put one foot in front of the other each day. Who still has those qualities within him, despite being branded a monster- both mentally and physically. A mech who stumbles and falls, who is plagued with shadows just as Blast Off is, yet has never entirely lost his own inner light. And it is that light, that electricity, that the shuttleformer reaches for now.
The day that Blast Off shot him in the head is one Whirl remembers quite well. They were arguing about Shiftlock, or rather, the fact that Blast Off had information on her that he was unwilling to share. There was a scuffle and Blast Off ended up putting a round right through his optic, just barely missing his brain module. Anything that happened immediately after.. he doesn't remember THAT. There's a small gap in his memories there, completely empty due to the trauma induced stasis lock. The next thing he remembers is coming to in complete darkness, nothing but Panacea, the medic who helped him, and her voice to guide him. He remembers using the sensors of his alt mode to navigate, finally reaching Torque's workshop and having his optic replaced. He remembers the anger he felt in his spark for the person who put him through all of that, the person who tried to kill him all because he didn't want Whirl to learn more about Shiftlock. Blast Off wronged him and he intended on paying him back.
But it didn't happen that way, did it? Time passed before he and the shuttleformer crossed paths again and during that time he had a lot to think about. During that time he deliberated everything that had transpired, coming to the decision that he would've done the same thing if the roles were reversed. By the time he saw Blast Off again he had come to realize that there was something about the shuttleformer, something he liked and wanted to know more about. That is what prompted his act of forgiveness and the hug that out into motion what would eventually become a strong friendship and eventually relationship.
Whirl reaches out and Blast Off responds in kind, the two of them meeting eachother halfway and joining as one. The cyclops embraces the shuttleformer both mentally and physically, drawing him close and holding him tight. Those intense feelings of guilt, shame, and remorse begin to lessen and the screams, once loud and piercing, grows quieter and quieter until finally they are silenced.
Love. Forgiveness. Selflessness. Without these things, Whirl would be lost in the darkness. With them, he is finally at peace.
The electricity grows stronger until with a bolt of lightning Blast Off finds Whirl again and they embrace. Fire flares, winds soar, waters flow deep, earth moves and electricity crackles as he is bathed within the elements of their sparks. The shadows fall aside, unable to hold any power faced with their joined light. The silence and peace is wonderful and Blast Off mentally grabs Whirl's claws (or are they hands in this space?) as he lifts them back up- this time towards the stars.
They've both spent enough time in the muck and grime and now it is the endless promise of the galaxy itself that awaits them. His memories boost the experience as he spirals upwards into dizzying heights, resting finally in a slowly spinning panaroma of galaxies, planets and stars burning bright in the darkness all about them. Together they can shield off the shadows and find a pathway of stars. The light may not be as intense as the sun's, but it is enough, and it has a calmness to it that the flaming solar orb could not hope to achieve.
The shuttleformer embraces Whirl physically as well, still there on the scrap heap. For the first time in 20,000 years, he doesn't feel *alone* anymore. He's right where he wants to be, in Whirl's arms. No more pretending, no more shows to put on. For once, he really is as calm and collected as he usually wants people to believe. Having learned these positive traits from Whirl, he sends waves of that peace and comfort back to the other mech, soothing while also being soothed.
Somewhere in the factory, where all this started, the workers have finally calmed down enough from the shock if having one of their ovens blown up that they've started to focus on repairs. They're seperated into groups, one to clean up the mess and recover anything salvageable and another to retrieve parts from wherever they can, including the junkyard that Blast Off and Whirl are currently interfacing in.
While comforted and finding solace in Blast Off's mental embrace, Whirl is exhausted from the connection they shared and his mind begins to grow weary. It's a pleasant kind of weary though, the kind you'd expect after such a climax of mental intensity. The cyclops lets out a sigh and the tight embrace of his arms lessen, claws starting to trail almost lazily across the seams in the shuttleformer's armor. He pulls his head back to allow himself to fully gaze upon the other mech, the glow of his optic dimmed but steady.
"I've missed you.." the cyclops says quietly, speaking outloud for the first time since he plugged in. A claw is raised and it's tip drags along the length of Blast Off's cheek, edging the seam where his faceplate locks in.
A final bright, hot burst of electricity, of roaring flame as he spins in the solar system of their joined mind.... and then all fades into a sense of peace. Now the Combaticon enjoys a pleasant calm, the burning intensity changed to soothing starlight. He becomes a little more aware of the surrounding area now, sensing the workers beginning to move about not too far away- though the lovers remain hidden for now amongst the piles of junk.
Blast off smiles as Whirl begins trailing his claws along his armor- gently now that the heat of passion has subsided into hazy afterglow. The contentment remains- a contentment he has not felt for so very long. As Whirl brings a claw up to his faceplate, this draws an even wider smile- and the cyclops will soon be able to see it as the shuttle's own hand reaches up and removes the faceplate. Placing it down, he leans in to kiss Whirl on the metal frame just above his optic, arms still wrapped around the other mech, as his hands begin caressing the armor and rotors he can reach.
He gazes Whirl right in the optic, his own violet ones dimmed. "I missed you too." There's a sigh. "I hate having to pretend otherwise. I... I think that since we *have* had some time apart, perhaps that can be of some help- help draw pursuers off our trail... but..." He leans in for a gentle headbonk. "I do NOT want to ever, ever go that long without seeing and being with you... ever again."
For the first time in twenty thousand years, Whirl gets to see Blast Off's face and it's just as handsome as it was when he first saw it. The wide smile the mech gives him only makes it better, the cyclops a firm believer that Blast Off looks best when he's smiling.
The kiss to his forehead, or what passes for it, fills Whirl with warmth. Shuttleformer kisses always made him a little sad as it's just not the same without a face, but right now? After all this time without even the most simple of physical affection? Those kisses are absolutely *wonderful.* And those fingers caressing him, tweaking his rotors and causing his entire body to shiver? That's even better.
"I hate it too," Whirl says with a sigh, his head bonking against Blast Off's when he leans in. "And I would also prefer that we don't go another twenty thousands years without seeing eachother. I know it's going to be hard to sneak away like this again, what with how serious this conflict has gotten but... it's worth it to me." He snakes an arm behind Blast Off and gives that backside of his a good squeeze. "And next time, don't impale me on anymore crane hooks, okay?"
It's nice that Whirl appreciates that smile... for it is rare that Blast off smiles and even rarer that anyone sees it. The shuttleformer leans into that squeeze, returning it with looping his arm around Whirl's neck and giving the antennae that sticks off on one side of the cyclops' head an affectionate tweak. As the other mech speaks, the smile remains but fades just a little. "....It is worth it. The whole rest of the world can go jump into a smelting pool if they try to tell us otherwise." There, now he sounds- and feels- more like his usual rebellious self. It's as if he finally awoke from a near zombie-like lockstep with the status quo and he has found life and individuality and FREE THOUGHT once more.
The grin returns at that last comment, and his finger trails along Whirl's antennae and then the contours of his head. "Okay, I will not impale you again." Slag-eating grin. "Not without /asking/ you first, at least~." With that, he leans in to bring their chests together as he *revs* his engines playfully. Who knew? He's still feeling a bit... frisky. Whirl may very well be about the only person on Cyerbtron even aware that Blast Off is *capable* of being *frisky*. "Let me make up for this, though..." The shuttleformer turns his head and stretches up to kiss Whirl right on the edge of the wound he inflicted earlier, then send a trail of tender kisses down the mech's shoulder.
That done, he rests his forehead against Whirl's for awhile, enjoying their proximity. His smile begins to fade once more as somber thoughts drift through his mind. "It *is* going to be more difficult, however. This conflict is getting worse, not better. We're well on our way to being members of opposite factions in a *war*." Optics dim once again and he sighs. "You remember that talk we once had? How we might be forced to shoot each other? ...*Kill* each other?" His gaze drops down as he stares at some random piece of junk. "That is becoming only *more* likely all the time."
Looking at Blast Off, one wouldn't think he was capable of being frisky. Talking to Blast Off, one DEFINITELY wouldn't think he was capable of being frisky. He's stuck up, haughty, and distant; always putting walls up between himself and the world. Breaking down those walls has been difficult and there were many times that Whirl got frustrated, unsure if it was worth the effort to even TRY to get close. But it was. It was worth every bit of frustration and Whirl feels.. honored to be the one that Blast Off brings those walls down for, to be the one that Blast Off is willing to bear hs true self to.
A shudder runs through the cyclops' frame in response to the tweaking of his antennae. "Oh yeah? And how do you plan on making up for tha- ah!" Whirl tries not to cry out when Blast Off pays special attention to his wound but he fails when those kisses continue along the length of his shoulder. It's been a long time (for him, at least) since he's had this kind of physical intimacy so every little touch, every brush of the shuttleformer's lips, it all drives him wild and sends ripples of pleasure throughout his systems.
Their foreheads resting together, Whirl brings his arms around Blast Off's waist, holding them there and just enoying the other mech's company. The subject that comes up is troubling, and Whirl would rather not think about it but the truth of the matter is that it's a very real thing that both them will have to learn to accept. "I know." There's a silence that follows that as Whirl considers. "But if anyone is going to kill me, I would want it to be you. I know you would make it a quick death, you wouldn't let me suffer and linger." There's a shrug of his shoulder, the one that didn't have a hook through it earlier. "And it would be ideal if you were the last thing I ever saw."
The walls Blast off has built over all these years are ones there for a number of reasons, and so entrenched it is not easy for him to break them down, or show who he really is without fear of ridicule, betrayal or worse. So to be with someone who appreciates the effort it's taken for him to get to this point, who values seeing who he really is and feels honored to know that... Whirl might never know just how much that means. Or he might not if not for the interface link they still share. He also feels honored- to know Whirl like he does... to have the chance to let this mech, labeled a "monster" and branded as an unforgiveable criminal by society, know just how worthy he really is. Why he matters. Is he perfect? No. But who is, anyway? As far as Blast Off is concerned, the cyclops is a thousand times better than so many of the righteous and arrogant fools who deign to look down their noses at him.
Whirl's arms wrap around his waist and he happily lets the other mech pull him close, his own arms still draped around the other's neck and shoulders. He listens and... it is both spark-renderingly touching and incredibly tragic. Optics dim as he nuzzles his head slowly into the crook of the other's neck and stays there a long moment. The thought of killing Whirl makes him sick now, but he's right. "...Never. I would never let you suffer." Optic ridges wince down at that. "...And I know you wouldn't... let me, either. If I do have to die, I'd rather die by your claws."
A hand reaches out to stroke one of said claws fondly. "I... I don't want to die, I don't want *you* to die... but if either of us do, it is far better to go out in a way of our choosing than the sort of fate that... that others would have in mind. To still have some kind of... choice, even if choices are limited. To die by a lover, not an enemy."
"If it ever comes to that, I promise I'll make it quick." Out of context, that would be extremely messed up to say to your significant other but considering the conversation they're having right now, it could be seen as reassuring.
The claws not currently on the receiving end of Blast Off's affection raise up, their tips dragging along the length of his neck. "A major fuel line runs through the neck. A quick snip and you'll leak out in a matter of seconds. I know it sounds bad, but it's really not. You get a kind of high feeling as your fuel lines run dry, it's actually quite nice."
As they stand there, embracing eachother and just.. enjoying having eachother there to embrace, Whirl forgets where they are; the outside world means nothing and right now there is only him and Blast Off. Until the footsteps of factory workers is heard, echoing off the piles of rubble that surround them. Suddenly he remembers why he's even here in the first place: guard duty, and part of that duty was chasing down the mech who blew up the oven, the mech who intended on robbing the place blind. The mech currently nuzzled against his neck and stroking his claws.
"Blast Off.. you have to get out of here like right now. If they find us together, I'm going to have to arrest you to keep both our covers and I don't want to do that."
Despite the rather horrific nature of their conversation, Blast Off finds himself leaning in to that claw as Whirl strokes his neck. He says nothing, just gives a nod to show he understands. Meanwhile, one hand comes up to hold the other side of that claw as he gazes into that one singular yellow optic. He understands- and he forgives in advance.
He could stay this way forever, and it almost seems like maybe they could. Maybe they can just stay like this another 20,000 years and make up for lost time. But the footsteps intrude with the cold echo of reality. Violet optics glance towards the sound as Whirl speaks, and unfortunately Whirl is right. The shuttleformer looks a little sad now as he gazes back up into Whirl's optic- then again speaks with a nod. He lingers a moment anyway, as his hands come up to cup either side of Whirl's head and give him another kiss.
Reluctantly, he reaches down to unplug their connection, but just before he does he takes one last moment to say, "I love you", sending that love through their connection, trying to nourish the other mech for harder times ahead. Then he gently ends their interface, closes his interface panel and steps away. He lets his hand brush against the other mech as he does so, then he turns to face him. "...I will call. I will see you. Soon."
Then he pauses, stopping by a pile of scrap- and his fingers trail along the edge of a sheet of one of the more valuable metals lying around the junkyard. He glances back. "...It's just one sheet.... I doubt they'd notice it was gone..."
Whirl really wishes they didn't have to do this old game again, going years without seeing each other until they can find an opportunity to sneak away from their duties for a quick frag. As excting as it is, it's not exactly what Whirl wants. In a perfect world, they don't have to hide or keep secrets. They don't have to lie or put on shows. But this world is far from perfect and they have no choice.
The cyclops leans into Blast Off's kiss, savoring everything about it while he still can. "I love you too," he says just before the connection is terminated and the two are left to make themselves 'decent,' Whirl wrapping up his cable and tucking it back into his interface panel. His body is warm against the fingers that brush over him, a feeling that will persist long after their encounter has ended. This whole thing has done wonders for Whirl's psyche, the cyclops no longer having to agonize over his past mistakes and wrongdoings. Yes, he still feels bad about what he did to Pursuit and that will never change, but at least now he'll be able to recharge at night without being plagued by nightmares.
He hangs back a moment to make sure Blast Off is able to get away safely but the shuttleformer stops at that pile of scrap metal and looks to him for.. permission to steal? Whirl crosses his arms over his chest, staring hard at the other mech. "Take two."
After the question is asked, Blast Off has a sudden doubt about doing so. Perhaps it was uncouth to put Whirl in that spot. He didn't think about the potential professional or social repercussions, just that it would be better for him as a soldier if he went back with *something* as opposed to coming back empty-handed. As he waits, getting a little nervous as the cyclops crosses his arms, he is just about to fasten his faceplate back on when Whirl responds- and gives him carte blanche.
The shuttleformer's head tilts slightly and his hand drops just a bit, exposing a slowly growing grin. "I love you more all the time, you know that?" And he just stands there a moment, grinning at the cyclops, before he thinks to fasten the faceplate back on. *Ahem* professionalism. Work. Duty. Yeah.
Reaching down to grab *two* sheets of the metal, he lifts them up and places them under an arm. His weapon already subspaced safely away, he now has everything he needs. Everything except the most important things, he thinks as he looks back to Whirl... but he has him too- maybe not as much as he wants, but he's still in his life and that makes everything better. He gives the other mech an affectionate nod, then darts away through the maze of junk to kick in anti-gravs and make his getaway.
~*~
Maybe I'm too busy being yours to fall for somebody new
Now I've thought it through
Crawling back to you