Never Did Run Smooth (Ch. 29)

Thing With No Talent

Pairings: Dinobot/Rattrap, mention of Terrorsaur/Waspinator and others

Summary: Shakespeare was right, love is never easy. Especially with these two...

Warnings: Mostly drama. Also angst, violence, snark, swearing, sex, references to rape and abusive relationships. Usually not all in one chapter, but you never know.

Notes: This chapter contains dead monkeys and dirty videos. Unfortunately, none of that is as fun as it sounds.

Mimic ran ahead a ways, then stopped and perched on a log to wait for Cheetor. She barked at him in excited monkey-speak: Hurry up! Hurry up!

Cheetor rarely had problems keeping up with anybody, but it turned out that a monkey mode beat a cheetah mode for moving through thick forest. His long legs kept tripping over roots and getting tangled in the underbrush. Mimic watched with good-natured amusement, but she looked impatient. No sooner had he caught up to her than she raced off again, leaping from branch to branch. Cheetor clawed his way over a fallen tree and followed as fast as he could.

"Where are we going?" he yelled ahead. Then kicked himself mentally. Like he expected her to answer?

"Hey, stay where I can see you! C'mon, I'll get in enough trouble for this as it is!"

Right on cue, his comm chirped. "Cheetor? Mind telling me where you two think you're going?"

Cheetor winced; he knew that deceptively calm tone well. "Sorry, Optimus. She just started pulling on my fur, trying to get me to follow her, and then she ran off. I don't know where she's taking me, honestly."

"Need I remind you that her processor's damaged? Or that she doesn't have a gun? If you two run into trouble-"

"I can handle it, Optimus. Just trust me. I'll keep her safe." Privately, Cheetor wasn't sure he should worry. He'd seen Mimic in a fight; Optimus hadn't. She was no warrior, but she seemed to be able to look after herself. Not that he was about to get in an argument with his commander over it. "We'll be back soon, okay? If anything happens, I'll radio for backup."

There was a moment's silence. Then Optimus sighed - the sort of sound he made when he wasn't happy about something, but didn't really have a choice. "Alright. Just be sure to check in, and don't let her wander too far. Bring her back by the scruff of the neck if you have to."

Yeah, if I can even catch her. "Uh, right. You got it, Big Bot. Cheetor out."

Back to chasing the monkey. At least she'd slowed down enough that he could keep her in sight now. The underbrush was thinning, a little. He could feel occasional patches of grass under his paws, where breaks in the trees allowed sunlight through. They were heading downhill, roughly following the river. He couldn't see it through the brush, but the roar of the falls behind them hadn't yet faded to inaudibility, and he could smell the water nearby.

He smelled something else, too - a hint of charred wood. He paused, climbing onto a low slanting trunk for a better vantage point, and sniffed the air deeply. Yep, they were near the site of yesterday's battle. Probably not a good place to be, but it sounded quiet so far. Hopefully the Predacons had lost interest in the area.

He was about to call for Mimic when she reappeared up ahead, waving to him from a low branch. As he came up to her, she dropped to the ground and started pacing around in a little clearing, tail waving in the air. Every few steps she stopped, threw her head back, and let out a shrill call. Cheetor winced. If there were any Predacons around, they'd hear that a mile away.

"What is it? Who are you-" He stopped, because the answer suddenly occurred to him. Really, he should've figured it out before now. "You're looking for your friends, aren't you?"

She stood listening for a moment, waiting for an answer, then darted off again. Cheetor sighed and followed. She had to be looking for the other monkeys. Why else would she be running around out here, screeching loud enough to wake half the valley? It made sense - they were her first family, and though she wasn't with them very long, she probably still identified with them. Like Tigatron had with Snowstalker. And after the attack on their home, she was probably worried about them.

"Alright, I'll help you find them. Just try not to leave me behind, okay?"

That wasn't a problem. The ground was becoming more open, and Cheetor was able to weave a path among the tree trunks and keep Mimic in sight as she raced through the branches overhead. Every now and then she stopped, scanned the area, and called again before moving on. Cheetor figured she was looking in all the monkeys' favorite spots. He was no Tigatron, but he noticed a few signs of the troop's activity wherever she stopped - tracks, droppings, half-eaten fruits lying on the ground. All the signs were at least a couple of days old, though. Mimic barely gave them a glance.

The scene of the Predacon attack, with its blast marks and burnt trees, she gave a wide berth. Cheetor didn't blame her. He doubted the monkeys would be returning to that particular grove any time soon. Besides, a few of them had been killed there, and Mimic probably didn't want to see the bodies.

She stopped to drink at the river, and Cheetor joined her. He was absently looking upstream when a shadow swept over them. Mimic let out a sharp guttural bark and leaped back. Cheetor bared his teeth in a snarl, expecting one of the Predacon fliers…

It was only a vulture. He sighed with relief, glancing at Mimic. "Scared you too, huh?"

She made a face and turned away, pretending to pout. Cheetor laughed. He turned to watch the vulture soar away downstream. It banked over the trees, flying low. Really low, in fact.

His hackles prickled. The unease returned.

"Hold on…" He moved down the bank a few yards to gain a clearer line of sight through the trees. He could see two or three other vultures wheeling over a clearing in the trees less than half a mile away. The one that had just flown overhead was headed the same direction. As he watched, zooming his optics for a better view, one folded its wings and dropped down to feed.

It could be nothing. Animals die out here all the time. Maybe Dinobot killed something. Still, Cheetor had a bad feeling about it that he couldn't shake. He turned around. "Hey, Mim? Maybe we should-"

Too late. She knew he'd seen something, and immediately ran up a tree to see for herself. After staring for a few seconds, she darted back to the ground and, without pausing to wait for Cheetor, took off in the direction of the vultures.

Slag! He didn't bother to shout after her. Time to do what his beastmode was built for. He raced forward in pursuit.

Only after the stench of burnt wood and smoke from the battleground cleared from his nostrils was he finally able to smell what lay ahead, and a sick feeling gripped his Spark. But when he finally cleared the last of the brush and came out into the clearing, not even his imagination had prepared him for what he saw.

"I told him to check in," said Optimus, frowning at the monitor.

Rhinox shrugged. "You're surprised?"

"He's gotten more responsible lately. I just hope they didn't run into trouble."

"If there's no distress call, it's a safe bet they aren't up to their necks in Predacons," the engineer pointed out. "No news is good news. You worry too much, Optimus."

"The minute I stop worrying, something goes wrong. Besides, I don't like not knowing where half my troops are. I haven't seen Dinobot all day, and Primus knows where Rattrap headed off to." There was a conspicuous lack of response, causing him to glance up at Rhinox. "I don't suppose you know?"

Slowly, the engineer shook his head. "Mmm… I was there when he came out of CR, but where he planned on going after that, I don't know. He's not in his room, or any of his usual work sites. Either he's crawled into an access shaft somewhere or he went for a walk." I shouldn't have driven him off. After that little conversation, he probably won't turn up for a while.

"Maybe he went looking for Dinobot." Two and two usually made four, in Optimus' book.

"What for? To finish the job?" Rhinox let out a snort that sounded oddly like his beastmode. "I hope he knows I'm not cleaning up the mess this time."

His commander frowned reprovingly. "That was an accident, Rhinox. We discussed this." They had, in fact, spent nearly two hours discussing it the night before. Optimus didn't care to start it up again.

Apparently, Rhinox didn't either. He leaned back against a wall with his arms folded and sighed. "I know, I know. You're probably right. There's nothing I can do about it, anyway. But I don't have to like it."

"Nobody said you did."

"Those two were trouble in a can before. Now they're shaking the can."

Optimus shrugged. "Well, at least they finally took the lid off. All that pressure was going to make someone explode sooner or later. And since we're talking Rattrap, I might just mean that literally. This is probably better for everybody."

The walking voice of pessimism gave him a slightly annoyed look. "Doesn't anything bother you anymore? I'm starting to wonder what it'd take to make you concerned."

"…A transmission from Megatron."

Rhinox snorted. "Aside from that."

"No, I mean I'm receiving one." Optimus pointed to one of the myriad lights on the console, now flashing insistently. "Looks like a pre-recorded vid-file. Just came in a few seconds ago."

"What?" Rhinox uncrossed his arms and came to stand by Primal, looking over his shoulder. "Hmm. What the slag does he want?"

"I don't know. He doesn't usually contact us directly, unless he thinks it's important." And if Megatron thinks it's important…

"I wouldn't touch it, then. There's no message attached. It could be anything - it might not even be from Megatron."

Optimus shook his head slowly. "If a Predacon thought it was important enough to send without getting clearance from Megatron, all the more reason to have a look." Without waiting for further protests, he punched up the file onscreen.

Immediately he saw that the recording was an older one, for it was clearly set on Cybertron. Despite the changes - metal where beastflesh would later be, panels and treads in place of claws and scales - Optimus had no difficulty recognizing the two mechs on the screen. The face of one was unmistakable, and the other, who stood with his back to the camera, spoke in a deep smooth voice that Primal would know anywhere.

"I don't recall giving you permission to leave yesterday, Dinobot."

The warrior replied in a surly low tone. "I didn't ask."

"Ah, yes. I suppose that would explain it." The hulking figure of Megatron took a step towards Dinobot, half blocking him from view. "May I inquire as to what you were doing?"

"Drinking. Quite a lot, actually." Primal gave a start at this. He'd never known Dinobot to get willfully intoxicated, and it seemed like strange behavior from him. But it explained the slightly dimmed optics and the way Dinobot was standing, not quite as rigidly straight as usual, his weight shifted slightly to one side. His speech, too, was different - not the voice itself, but the tone and pacing sounded casual, almost careless, compared to his usual slow and deliberate picking of words. His sword half-hung neglectedly from one hand, stained with fresh mech fluids… and now that he looked more closely, Optimus could see that he was injured, though not severely so. A few armor panels were ripped up and there was wiring exposed in one shoulder.

"I can see that, yes. And fighting, too, by the looks of it." Megatron reached out and plucked a shred of torn metal from Dinobot's arm. The warrior flinched slightly, just enough for Primal to see it, but didn't make a sound. "Rather reckless of you, warrior. It's not like you to seek such entertainment on a whim. Is there something on your mind?"

The dull optics flickered, then glanced away from his commander's face. The reaction was impossible to miss. Suddenly Megatron's hand was gripping Dinobot's chin, forcing him to look up. "Well? Do tell." The tyrant's voice still oozed mock concern, but there was a dangerous edge to it, more audible by the moment.

Dinobot glared back, optics flaring brighter in sudden anger. His posture was defiant, but he made no attempt to grab Megatron's hand or pull away. Optimus stared - he couldn't imagine doing that to the warrior and getting away with it. "Do you control my thoughts now, too? I was not aware of that part of the contract."

Instantly the grip shifted to his neck. Dinobot was slammed back against the wall by the throat, his sword hitting the floor with a loud clatter. "Don't play games with me, lieutenant! You couldn't hide anything from me if your life depended on it. I know you were planning to leave!"

Now Dinobot was clawing at his wrist, trying to pry him off. The warrior's expression, however, had shifted from anger to panic. Optimus felt something in his tanks turn. For him to show such open terror and desperation…

"No!" The voice was muffled, straining past the constriction of his throat. "I came back-"

"Because you lost your nerve, yes." Megatron leaned close, his head blocking Dinobot's from the screen. "But you had considered it, hadn't you?"

He released his grip, and Dinobot gasped, rubbing at his throat. "I needed to think," he explained, sounding uncharacteristically nervous. "Recent setbacks had… left me uncertain. I went out to… to get myself together. I didn't expect to encounter trouble."

"Of course you didn't." Megatron raised a hand again, and Dinobot turned his face away… but the tyrant ran his fingertips gently down one blue-plated cheek, stroking him like a pet. His voice was soothing, understanding. "You were simply confused, weren't you? Just needed to drink your doubt away." He withdrew his hand and then, lightning-quick, backhanded the warrior across the other side of his face. "And to build up your courage! I read your logs, Dinobot. You intended desertion!"

Primal wasn't aware of how tightly his fists were clenched, or how loudly his vents were hissing, until Rhinox's hand settled on his shoulder. He looked up briefly. The engineer's expression looked as dark as he felt.

"Turn it off, Optimus. I don't think we need to watch this."

Optimus couldn't agree more, but his optics returned to the screen anyway. The universal magnetic force that draws the eyes of witnesses at a traffic accident or keeps an audience riveted to a horror movie had him in its grasp.

Megatron had retrieved Dinobot's sword from the floor, and was running the tip of the blade between his fingers, caressing it in a highly unsettling manner. Dinobot wasn't looking at him now. He didn't confirm or deny his commander's suspicions, probably because there was no need. He stared off into an undefinable point in space as Megatron continued speaking. "I knew that something was amiss, so I checked your personal logs, and it's fortunate that I did. Really Dinobot, you're terrible at hiding these things. If you want to live a long and happy life as a Predacon, you simply must learn how to lie."

"Forgive me, my lord." The voice was low and subdued. In Primal's experience, Dinobot only sounded like that when he honestly thought he had done wrong. "I was weak to doubt. It will not happen again."

Megatron half-turned, and Optimus, from a vantage point Dinobot did not have, saw his grip tighten on the hilt of the sword. "Oh, my dear lieutenant. You are already forgiven. But forgiveness does not preclude punishment, no."

Primal almost shouted a warning before he realized it wouldn't do any good. Nearly frozen in horror, he watched as Megatron spun to face Dinobot, charging up the sword at the same time. He rammed the spinning blade through the warrior's body, nailing him to the wall as decisively as he had pinned him to the battlefield several days ago. Dinobot's reflexes were slowed enough that he didn't react in time, although his hands closed around the hilt as it rammed against his abdomen. His mouth opened in shock and he made a sound, not quite a scream, but with a terrible strangled quality that made Optimus physically ill to hear. The spell was broken at last and the Maximal leader turned away, averting his optics from the screen.

"I think I've seen enough," he said quietly. His finger stabbed at the console without looking, cutting off the transmission.

Or trying to, at any rate. The console didn't seem to be responding…

Optimus shot a quick glance at the screen, where Dinobot was still pinned and Megatron still looming over him, and then jabbed the button again. And again. "Rhinox, what's wrong with this thing?"

The tech was already leaning forward, tapping out commands. "I was afraid he'd do something like this. Must've encoded a virus into the transmission. It's hijacking the playback function, overriding the shutoff command-"

Don't lose it. There's no reason to panic. Except that the video was still playing and Megatron was doing something with his hands that was hard to see, but made Dinobot cry out again, and Optimus was trying frantically not to look- "Can't you shut it off manually?"

"On it." Rhinox knelt and began removing a panel from the base of the console. Primal's traitorous optics strayed back to the screen, where Megatron was busy prying something off of Dinobot's torso. It took him a few seconds to figure out what. Then his Spark lurched and coolant froze in his lines. No, it can't be- No! I can't see this!

"Rhinox-"

"Just a minute." The tech was up to his massive elbows in a snake's nest of wires and power cords. Unfortunately, the comm systems were specially designed not to shut off easily with the flip of a switch. They had backup power sources, redundant energy routes…

Megatron was talking. Optimus had blocked out most of the words, but some filtered through. "Lest you forget to whom you belong…"

At that moment, every other screen in the command center activated and began displaying the video. Still looking at Rhinox, Optimus found himself staring over the engineer's shoulder at the very image he'd been trying to avoid looking at. It was only an instant's glimpse, before he shut off his optics completely, but every line and ugly detail of it burned itself permanently into his CPU.

Oh dear Primus. DINOBOT.

As if answering a summons, a bolt of green light seared past his shoulder, so close it singed the fur, and smashed into the console. The screen exploded in a burst of light and a cacophany of spitting sparks. The surge must have blown a circuit, because the rest of the screens went instantly, blessedly black.

The first thing Primal felt was relief. The second was a kind of dull dismay at the destruction of a console which would take valuable time and materials to repair… though the part of him that cared about that was very distant indeed.

The third was fresh horror, as he realized where the blast had come from.

Dinobot stood in the lift, fists clenched, chest heaving, optics slowly fading back to red. Beside him was Rattrap, mouth open, too shaken to muster a single snide word. As Optimus met his optics, the spy turned away, leaning against the wall to steady himself and hiding his face behind one hand. Dinobot's destructive gaze fixed itself on his current commander, and Primal flinched inside.

Not a word. Do not show me pity, Optimus. Let me keep what pride I have left. He didn't have to say it; it was written all over his face. Primal could only meet his optics for a moment before turning away.

Rhinox had backed out of the tangle of wires with a muffled curse as the console exploded, and now he turned to glare at first Dinobot and then Optimus, his own expression communicating plenty. What the hell? What was on the monitor? What set Dinobot off THIS time?

Optimus didn't look at him long, either. Don't ask, said the averted optics.

Everyone was talking without saying a word. The command center was so quiet, it was painful.

Finally Dinobot drew a ragged breath, vents shuddering slightly. "Well," he said in a tightly controlled tone, "Megatron's sword has dulled, if the worst he can manage is this petty humiliation."

Petty? thought Optimus incredulously. But he could hear the strain in the warrior's voice, and knew he was just barely holding together. Probably not for long, at that. So he didn't attempt to strip him of this fragile defense.

Instead, he turned to Rhinox. "Better check everything - make sure the virus didn't affect any other systems." He knew the comm systems were isolated for exactly this sort of reason, but it wouldn't hurt to be sure. Besides, he needed to give orders right now. It kept his mind off of other things. "Don't worry about the console for now; we still have plenty of working ones. I'm more concerned with getting the system back online."

The engineer sighed wearily. "Right. Well, that's gonna take a couple of hours. And I'll probably need Rattrap's help with rewiring this mess. I can't even reach the main power supply without removing a whole section of cabling back here."

Optimus glanced at the spy, wondering if he was even up to the task. Rattrap looked stricken, arms wrapped around himself as if to ward off a chill, and wasn't looking directly at anyone. He did seem to be watching Dinobot out of the corner of one optic, but if the warrior noticed, he gave no indication.

Abruptly Dinobot turned and exited the command center at a swift stride, his retreating footsteps echoing loudly for some distance down the corridor. Rattrap hesitated briefly, then started after him.

"Wait," said Optimus. "I don't think he wants company right now."

The spy shot him such a seething, venomous look that Primal was actually taken aback for a second. But then a resigned slump overtook his posture. His arms dropped to his sides. "You're prob'ly right," he muttered. "Not like I can do anything for 'im, anyway. Not after that."

Not for the first time recently, Optimus found himself sincerely wanting to hug him. Giving in to impulse, he took a step towards the smaller mech, reaching for his shoulder. "Rattrap-"

But the spy shook off the would-be friendly hand, along with whatever melancholy was trying to grip him. He pushed past Primal to the console where Rhinox was working and knelt, shouldering the engineer out of the way despite their difference in mass. "Let's get this slagger fixed," he said as his nimble hands plunged into the maze of cables, "an' wipe that Primus-forsaken record outta the databank."

Why aren't they answering?

Cheetor had tried calling the base several times, but all that came over the line was static. Whatever was going on back there, nobody seemed to feel like answering the comm. He and Mimic were alone now except for the bodies of monkeys.

Bodies lay everywhere in the clearing. The whole troop must have been surprised in their sleep. For the most part, they looked as if they could still be sleeping - eyes closed, faces slack, arms and legs splayed limply. Only the utter stillness and the fact that they were on the ground instead of the trees gave away the truth.

That, and the puncture marks on a few of the small corpses showing where they had been neatly drained of fluids. And the three that had been dissected, skins peeled back, viscera laid open to the air like laboratory specimens.

No predator Cheetor had ever heard of would mutilate so precisely, without taking so much as a nibble of flesh. He knew what had done this. The puncture marks, in particular, made him turn away with a queasy shudder of familiarity. After surviving the brutal aerial attack and the burning of their favorite grove, the monkey troop had run afoul of Predacons once more. Except Tarantulas was more stealthy and thorough by far. Most likely, none of the little primates had seen what hit them.

Which didn't make it any easier to see the lifeless faces, the carnage. Or to listen to Mimic's disconsolate whimpers.

She was huddled at the far end of the clearing, arms folded, head bowed. She didn't move when Cheetor cautiously approached her again. The first time he tried to drag her away, she'd hissed and struck at him, almost feral. Now he wasn't sure what to do.

"Mim. Listen... We gotta go back. I can't get an answer from Optimus, or anybody. They don't know where we are or what's happened. We have to go tell them."

She didn't respond, and he reached for her shoulder with a paw. "Come on. We have to go."

Mimic raised her head, and Cheetor started back, because he saw what she was huddled over. A baby monkey clung to her chest. Its fur was a smoky gray, darker than the adults, with white on the limbs and forehead. Its huge ears, which stuck out on either side of its head like handles, were pale pink, as was its tiny wrinkled face. Its eyes were closed. Cheetor assumed it was dead until he saw the sides fluttering with rapid, shallow breaths.

"It's alive," he said in amazement. "I can't believe it. Mimic, maybe we can-"

He stopped as soon as he looked at her face. She didn't say anything, but she was staring down at the baby in her arms, and her expression was as bleak as when she'd looked at the corpses. And now that he took another look, Cheetor realized why. Much as his optimistic nature wanted to see hope here, his senses told him differently. He saw how weakly those tiny fingers were gripping Mimic's fur. He detected through heat vision that the little body was dangerously chilled. He heard its erratic breathing, the faintness of its heartbeat. Probably for hours this little one had clung to the cold form of its mother, trying vainly to nurse, calling for her attention. It clung to Mimic now only because it had nothing else.

The baby's head lolled limply as Mimic tried to raise it. Its mouth moved slightly, but nothing came out. It was past the point of making a sound. Cheetor turned away, sick to his Spark.

"I'm sorry," he told her, not knowing what else to say. For whatever reason, Tarantulas hadn't bothered to kill this one. But it was doomed anyway - just taking longer, was all.

Cheetor started to walk away, shaking his head. "We have to go. There's nothing we can do. You can bring... the baby. Maybe, maybe we can do... something. I dunno. Maybe Tigatron knows."

All around, the smell of death mocked his words. Cheetor walked quickly, desperate to escape that smell. A short distance from the clearing, however, he stopped, listening behind him. After several minutes he heard a faint rustling and crackling of twigs. Mimic was following, moving slowly, still bearing her burden from the sound of things. Cheetor didn't turn around to check. He couldn't.

"Let's go home," he said, so softly he wasn't sure she heard him.

As the two Maximals left the killing ground, the vultures descended again, returning to their feast.