-/"It is only those who have neither fired a shot nor heard the shrieks and groans of the wounded who cry aloud for blood, more vengeance, more desolation. War is hell." --William Tecumseh Sherman/-

-What's Left-

The room was so quiet.

He wasn't used to that. Just days before, had he dared set one shiny silver foot in there, it would've been nearly bitten off by an irate velociraptor, hissing that he wished privacy... not intrusion by a smelly rodent.

Now, it was just an empty room, littered with reminders of someone Rattrap told one too few times that he was one of his best friends.

Problem was, that one too few was none.

He sighed, running his hand over his face. It hurt to think about. Before he left that fateful day, to literally give everything he had against no less than six Predacons to save a valley of pre-humans, Rattrap had questioned his loyalty, his comraderie... everything.

He had questioned everything he knew Dinobot upheld, and he hated himself for it. Hated himself for not forgiving, when he somehow knew Dinobot's reasons would pan out... that they would make sense. When he knew that beneath the spark of a Predacon beat a warrior with a code of honor that rivaled the greatest of Autobot heroes.

Leaning against the wall, he stared at the sword that lay in the light, thin beams glinting off the rotoblades. And for a moment, he thought he could see the raptor, glaring from a sullen seat across the room... just waiting for the right moment to pounce.

But as suddenly as the image had appeared, it was gone, and again the saboteur was staring into a darkened, empty room.

It didn't feel right. He had been right there, watched as Dinobot had slowly faded. Hell, he had held the raptor's hand.

He had been the first one to stand and salute when the warrior's dying spark had faded, joining the Matrix for all eternity.

But it still didn't seem right. Dinobot had been there so long that it had been like he was with the crew all along, shouting insults back and forth with the rat, never once backing down or giving any quarter. Rattrap had always enjoyed their little games, tossing insults like a pro. Neither one had ever won or lost... but now and again, it would take a while for the other to think of a good barb to return, and that kept it interesting.

Now, he was swallowed by an unnerving silence. Silverbolt insulted him as well, but it just wasn't the same. That almost noble edge took off the fierceness Dinobot had shown. He hated it. He didn't even try to play the Game with Silverbolt... he couldn't match Dinobot.

Thinking of it that way, he supposed that was how they had become friends. The insults that had been so hateful at first had become, over time, the only way they could relate. They both knew their place... and they had started to enjoy the strange little game.

Oh, it had definitely become a game. And through it, Rattrap found he really could tolerate the raptor, and vice-versa...

And just when Rattrap had started to settle into the fact that somehow, the raptor had become one of his closest friends... he was gone.

Sighing slightly, he shoved off the wall, walking across the room and almost cringing at the way his footsteps echoed into the hollow silence of the room. He should walk softer... this place needed - no, deserved - silence.

He had come here for a reason. He didn't want to forget. Kneeling, he lifted the sword that stood as tall or taller than himself, surprised to find it much lighter than he had expected. Dinobot had certainly not been weak, he knew that, but he was a good fighter... the lighter sword must've provided greater dexterity in combat.

As he lifted the sword, he turned. The door had slid open, and his mouth was already open, a retort ready on his vocalizer... until he saw it was Rhinox standing there, a slight frown crossing his face. "Oh, uh... big green... I, uh..."

"There's no shame in missing someone, Rattrap," the scientist interrupted.

Rattrap shrugged in dismissal of the thought, shaking his head. "Who says I'm missin' chopperface?" he questioned. "Just gettin' the room ready ta seal off... and I wanted a little souvenir."

Rhinox's brow raised, but Rattrap said nothing more, simply brushing past him and out the door, still holding the sword as his old friend watched him from the corner of his optic.

He knew that Rhinox knew better, but if he didn't say anything affirming or denying the horrible pressure of guilt he felt, no one could accuse the old rhino of covering for him if they asked.

Slipping into his own quarters, he keyed in the lock code and sat cross-legged on his berth, staring at the sword for a long moment. Was this really all that was left of a once-great warrior? It was a shame... a terrible shame. But hind-sight was 20/20... and he couldn't change the past.

/We may notta gotten along all the time, pal... but in the end, I knew where ya stood. And I guess, in a way, I knew all along./ Carefully, reverently, he sat the sword on an empty space where he kept old keepsakes of Cybertron. /...and it doesn't hurt to have something to help me remember that in the end... you did good. Speed'a th' Matrix to ya, Chopperface./ He paused. He had to admit it sometime... if only to himself. To stop the hurting. /...I'm gonna miss ya./

-End-