[ti]Ep 3[/ti]Rock Me [Closed, Neon]

[Deleted]

"Don't—" Neon hissed, stopping himself after that single word. He felt it, all of it. The swelling tension, the immense dread, and the sudden silence. Even just a small glimpse of Sparkplug's emotions felt like pure torture. How could she live like this? It did not feel right. This was not how things worked—at least not in Neon's experience. People couldn't just suffocate their feelings from second to second. Not unless they were conditioned. Something felt intensely wrong about all of this, how Sparkplug's field swelled and then disappeared. He did not want to jump to conclusions but that did not stop him from worrying.

"Don't say it's okay. I know it isn't."

Neon knew it was not his fault, but he could not help but feel a deep and profound emotional attachment to Sparkplug's tragic tale. His own master—Directa—stayed behind to defend against the Decepticons. As far as anybody knew, she made the ultimate sacrifice that day. But what if she didn't? What if they did to her whatever they did to Sparkplug to make her think like this? This single thought filled him with transcendent fear.

He should have stayed with her. He shouldn't have run away. Just like the Autobots should not have abandoned Sparkplug to the Decepticons. They should have looked for her. But they didn't or if they did, they did not try hard enough. They were to blame.

"You're hurting because of us. We were so busy waging a war that we forgot to look out for our own."

He broke through another wall of rock, venting in and out heavily. This place did a number on his body and mind. Clearly, Neon was deathly tired without saying as much.

"And we let them do this to you. Autobots are supposed to be better than that."

The Autobot hunched over, resting his arms against his knees after the magenta blades faded into nothing. He then closed his eyes for a while before opening them again, turning towards Sparkplug. Those big, blue optics practically begged to be given the opportunity to turn back time and make things right. But if such things were possible, they would not be here on Earth—and so many more of their friends would be alive today.

[Sparkplug]

Sparkplug pulled a face in the dimness as Neon told her that it wasn't okay. That he knew it wasn't okay. Did they really need to keep on about this? She got caught, these things happened, and it was for the best, anyway. If she hadn't been taken in, she wouldn't have ended up working for the Decepticons.

Or-

Her thought processes juddered slightly, like a stride interrupted by catching the tip of her pede on a subtle ridge on the floor. She couldn't have kept working for Him, not after what he'd done. So it hadn't mattered whether she'd gotten caught; if she hadn't, she'd have had to... sneak away? Cross the lines alone?

She frowned. That didn't feel right.

...it didn't matter, anyway. That was the ancient past. A past which she'd have been perfectly happy to let alone, if it weren't for Neon needling her, saying they'd hurt her. Well, yes, they'd hurt her by trampling over her desire not to build weapons, not even pretending they weren't gunning up everything she made. Hurt her by tossing away the All-Spark.

She didn't need looking out for. She wasn't one of their own, she was a Decepticon. Primus's cavernous exhaust vent, was Neon still going on about this? It didn't matter. Her field surged with frustration, tangling around her as she made her way through the dripping caves behind the dark mech, half-inclined to protest again, half-inclined to just stay quiet and hope the topic would die of its own accord.

More rock; dripping and crumpled. His blades flashed and carved, but slower than before. The poor thing was clearly growing exhausted; the only consolation was that there shouldn't be too much further to go. Then they could just leave. Yes, that sounded good.

She ducked her head, slinking through the space he'd opened, aiming her headlight beam down the dark, rubble-laden path before them as if to encourage him on. Instead, as he hunched over in exhaustion and let his energy blades sputter to nothing, he spoke again.

"And we let them do this to you. Autobots are supposed to be better than that."

You let them do this to me.

The words swelled up from somewhere in the lowest recesses of her processor, a deeply etched darkness echoing his words back in her own voice with a freight of bleak, terrible bitterness and resignation. A memory, or the memory of a memory.

Sparkplug flinched, pressing one hand to the green-lit roundels that housed her audials. "You're giving me a processor-ache." Her voice was low, without heat or emphasis. "It's fine. Sometimes you just lose. It doesn't matter."

Rubbing her right hand over her long left arm, feeling the dents and experimentally shifting the small mechanisms beneath, she added in a less lifeless tone, "I can try cutting through the next barrier. I've got a grinder. Just have to be careful to make sure my arm is intact enough to deploy properly."

[Deleted]

It shouldn't have been like this. But those were the cards Neon and Sparkplug were dealt. This was the way of things and there wasn't anything they could do right now to change that. It was time to let go of the past and focus on the here and now. Reluctantly, Neon nodded, trying his best to forget everything he had learned or thought about his willful companion.

"I guess you can try."

He lifted himself back up, ready to follow after Sparkplug and making ample room for the Decepticon to get in front and try her hand at clearing out the rubble. Even if her tool of choice was not as effective, they were very likely close to the exit by now. She would not have to work at the stone for long.

This would give him some time to think and process, hopefully.

[Sparkplug]

"Alright, let me see how functional this is. Fantastic piece of work, the number of systems I've crammed in here is just art, but it does make it a bit delicate to being smacked around. Precision machinery, you know?"

Focusing intensely on her left forearm, feeling the movement of every little sub-mechanism, Sparkplug began to transform it. Her slim hand split apart into three sections, each folding away slightly differently, and the spiral-cut plating down her arm twisted, opening gaps for the components to slide into. Slender articulating mechanisms emerged, plucking and shifting, helping guide new sections of machinery into place before retreating back inside the limb. Normally a lightning-fast blur, here the reconfiguration was slow and careful, illuminated brightly by Sparkplug's surviving headlight, every step of the process playing out like a slow-motion ballet of tightly-designed complexity. She took no effort to hide the display from Neon, fully occupied by amending the sequence on the fly to account for the impact damage to her mechanisms.

Nodding slowly, Sparkplug spun up the new-formed angle grinder blade, shifting it this way and that. "Well. That didn't feel so good, but the sequence went okay. Figure it'd have gotten snagged half-way through if I'd done it fast, though, there's definitely some grit in there and some of the sub-assemblies are warped. I'll fix it later."

Stepping up to the wall of broken rock, Sparkplug deployed small, clear eye shields over her optics, rather like octagonal spectacles, and began to cut.

...she was angry, and she didn't know why. It wasn't coming out in her tone, and barely brushing her field, but it was in there, deep down. Not the familiar vengeful fury that surged when thinking about a certain mech, but something older and hotter. Something jarred loose by Neon's words that she couldn't quite reach or understand.

Better to stop thinking about it.

Shifting to short-range radio to avoid the screech of her grinder against rock, she 'spoke' in a mild, wry tone.

::Those energy blades are fantastic. So tightly controlled; that takes serious expertise in field projector geometry. Not dumb enough to think you'll tell me anything about it - war, all that - but Primus's Aft, I do want to know how you did it. I tell you, I could spend vorns playing around with a bit of work like that. Hope you've published your work in Autobot circles, at least. You deserve the recognition::

Lifting her grinder, Sparkplug cocked her helm thoughtfully, then kicked at the loose rubble a couple of times. A large rock broke free and rolled to the side, the small impact of her pede the last little thing it took to jar it loose, and a patter of smaller stones followed it. Leaning into the gap she'd just made, Sparkplug began cutting again, trying to sever the rough protrusions of the biggest chunks to make it easier for them to separate.

::Been gone so long, I don't even know if you publish papers anymore. Hope so. All the academic squabbling, the petty sniping, the arguments, the claims and back-claims about who thought of something first when accounting for light-speed delay - that's home, you know? Is Highbeam still spamming the comms net with all those 'accomplishments' he supposedly came up with? Every time he steals an idea, he wheedles it into a promotion. Way things were going last I heard, he should be Grand Scientist Marshal of the whole damn galaxy by now::

There was a wistfulness beneath the casual tone; a hint that she'd been more than a little starved of the language that researchers like her and like Neon spoke.

[Deleted]

Neon kept a good distance from Sparkplug as to not get caught in the way of the rolling rubber. Going about the task with a grinder was bound to be a lot messier than with tools literally made from a grid of projected energy. Speaking of which, Sparkplug's questions made him uncomfortable. Not only because the blades themselves were contrary to his philosophy, but because she was a Decepticon trying to inquire about them. He understood that Sparkplug was probably just trying to make small talk but he couldn't afford himself to let anything slip.

Naturally, Neon also never published his design and most definitely never told anybody how to replicate it. In fact, he never even said just what sort of energy the blades were composed of. Either an electrical or a plasmic projection was the safest bet, the latter of which was the actual case. Theorizing about anything more than that would be pure conjecture. The reason for this secrecy was twofold. Firstly, Neon did not want the Decepticons to chance upon his research. And tying into that, he did not want anybody to weaponize it.

Neon never cared about recognition. He only cared about what his technology could do to save lives. It's not surprising then, that Sparkplug's words received less than a lukewarm reception as he shook his head with a sigh. Not like that could be heard over the flurry of rocks and discordant noise. With her eyes focused on that, Sparkplug would've likely not even noticed the disapproval.

Then she segued wistfully into talking about the Autobot scientist community and Neon picked up on the longing. Sparkplug clearly missed her own kind. That is not to say Autobots, but real, genuine researchers. Neon did not know much about his Decepticon counterparts, but he guessed that people like Shockwave and Starscream were probably not very conducive to making friends of their colleagues. Certainly not in any way that mattered.

Despite his current mood, he decided to brighten Sparkplug's terrible day and indulge her just a little bit. Though they've lost many good Autobot thinkers over the war, some big names were still around and kicking. Such a shame there was no way of visiting them on the fly from Earth. Not having a SpaceBridge and all made it kinda difficult.

"Things are a bit slow these days. Fewer relays to go about, more distance between us and stuff. But that never stopped Highbeam from being annoying. I'm pretty sure he has a private set-up just to flex on us now. He would have such a field day if I told him you're still alive."

...

"I mean...Not that I will."

He twiddled his thumbs innocently. There were some things best left unsaid, especially with people like Highbeam. He'd probably find a way to retroactively appropriate Sparkplug's patents if Neon told him Sparkplug was a Con now. There is great respect that comes with being dead in the scientific community...Not so much with being a defector.

"Oh! And Gate has a new pet. (You know Gate, right? System development?) She sent us a picture some time ago. Never quite understood where she finds the time to feed those things...But I'm pretty sure that if you give her enough of it, she'll find a way to weld them to her frame and officially become the one and only Turbofox carrier."

Neon giggled a bit. While he set out to lift Sparkplug's spirits, he didn't know that this was a conversation he needed himself. Oh, he missed terribly being closer to everybody. Now they were so distant—scattered to the winds as Arcee would have them say it. He really felt like this was something he and Sparkplug could bond over. Mutual acquaintances, shared interests. He would've almost forgotten that she was technically the enemy.

This was fun.

And then he had to go and say it.

"You know...It's never too late to come back."

[Sparkplug]

The screech of the angle grinder against stone filled Sparkplug's audials, a lengthy spray of orange sparks spattering across the rocks as she cut. Thank Primus some of the tension in the air was fading; they had enough to worry about without getting at each other's throats.

Neon's discomfort, his unwillingness to share his scientific research not with her, but with his own side, was so out of her expectations that she simply didn't notice it at all. Perhaps it was inevitable; while the bigger mech might have been incredibly perceptive, with a true gift for seeing through the obfuscations of others, Sparkplug was cheerily oblivious to such matters. Such mismatched abilities to read each other were always going to make the conversation asymmetrical, and it might have been for the best that she hadn't even noticed that much.

She was surprised when he said that he wouldn't be reporting her survival, though.

"Huh. I... yeah, okay. Guess that's how it is."

It was a strange feeling to think she was formally dead, and her right hand came to rest over her chest, unconsciously rubbing up and down her breastplate over her fuel pump. Of course no one she'd ever worked with would be happy to hear she'd gone over to the Decepticons. It was better that they didn't know she still existed. Wasn't it? She hadn't really... thought about them. In a really long time.

The mention of Gate was a sudden respite from her uncomfortable, tangled thoughts. "Gate! Yeah, I know her! Messy, untidy, genius. She's still on the turbofox thing?" Sparkplug broke into laughter, near-shouted over the shriek of the grinder. "I'm not even sure where she finds them! She's got more? Last I talked to Buffer, he was threatening to smear nutrient paste over her research station and see how much she liked them when they'd eaten her central database."

Of course, that had been a long, long time ago. As fun as it was to imagine nothing would have changed, it simply... wasn't realistic. A note of wistfulness crept into her field, coiled around her laughter like a climbing vine, even as she gossiped about mecha she hadn't seen in countless millennia. Knowing she was indulging herself, she spoke the old names, sharing a nostalgic little interlude with Neon that reached back along deep roots into her ancient past.

One that was cut short at the exact point that he opened his mouth and suggested that she rejoin the Autobots.

Slow down the moment. Take each instant as it comes. There's a flash of old memories of her Autobot days, fresh and bright in her processor; some good, some bad, but undeniably present. A self that seems unimaginably far away. Clashing memories of the fondness she holds for Decepticon scientists she worked with since her defection, ones she misses even now. There's a surge of deep feelings for her current lover, the space they built together; things she is unwilling to give up. A bleak, crushing hatred for Optimus Prime that quickens her fuel pump and coats the back of her tongue with acid.

Her angle grinder lifts from the stone, bringing a sudden silence.

And then, from the darkness behind her thoughts, a surging hammer blow of iron denial that reverberates through her entire frame, overwriting everything else. Absolute hostility, pure and sharp as a thrown knife.

"NEVER."

Sparkplug twisted around violently, her back slamming into the rock, luminous green optics wide. The glow of her headlight snapped off as it folded away, her twinned missile racks thrusting from her shoulders, the hexagonally symmetric barrels of her gatling blasters punching outwards from irising ports in her waist. Mechanisms ground against each other as her weapon arm tried to reconfigure at full speed and failed, metal catching and twisting, components wrenched out of place, the first third of her arm splitting open with an ugly grinding, scraping sound.

Pain arrived.

"Auugh!" she cried out, clutching the half-transformed, splayed open limb against her chest in the darkness, incomplete machinery exposed. The laser-focused violence of her aura shattered, and she slumped backwards against the rough stones, venting heavily to cool her overstressed systems. The spiral shutters over her optics tightened, leaving mere slivers of green in the darkness as she turned her helm away from the mech standing over her.

"...don't talk to me," she gasped, her voice thin.

[Deleted]

This was all wrong. So very wrong. Neon knew something was up. He knew they had done something to Sparkplug. He just wasn't quite sure what exactly. But now he knew. That sudden void. It wasn't right. It just was not. This was not how people worked. And then the shooting, painful rage. Neon felt it every bit as strongly as Sparkplug. It was terrifying.

He lurched forward, grabbed his helm, and dug his fingers tightly into it. So much noise and hurt.

Make it stop! Make it stop! Make it stop!

This was suffering! Every sensation amped up to eleven. Sparkplug was hurting. Badly hurting. And then her arm came undone before his very optics. Neon saw only a haze but he could tell from the sounds. This was physical now. Whatever he brought to the surface, it went so deep that it could affect Sparkplug's subroutines.

This was Shadowplay. No questions about it now.

"Sparkplug! Can you hear me?!"

"...don't talk to me..."

Neon wanted to sulk about it all. If only the Autobots came back for her. But this was not the time for self-flagellation. His fellow scientist needed help—urgent help. He has sworn to never turn his back on people in need. Never ever. Not after what happened to Directa.

But he was no field medic! Even if he could remember every bit of anatomy, biology, or technology, he still didn't have the tools for the job. This stressed him out insanely, optics racing from Sparkplug's helm to her damaged arm. He was completely helpless!

What am I gonna do? What am I gonna do? I wish Ratchet was here. I wish Patch was here. This can't be happening. Pull yourself together.

One erratic thought after the other. No amount of scientific knowledge could help Neon now. He had to focus, find a way out like he always did...

There. That was an idea. Find a way out.

Maybe he couldn't fix Sparkplug, but he could still get them out of this mess.

"Hang in there, Sparkplug. I'm getting us to the surface. Whatever it takes. And we're not leaving you behind..."

Neon then ignited his elegant weapons and rushed towards the rockface past Sparkplug. It didn't matter that he was exhausted. He would work for as long as it took. No matter the obstacle, he would not accept failure as an option. Not today. Sparkplug deserved better than this, better than life dealt her. And so many other people did as well. Thunder, and Optimus, and Directa, and Patch. None of them deserved to suffer because of one bot's hubris.

"...Not today."

With a decisive strike, Neon broke through the first layer of rock and then continued. His systems were firing off red signals all over. Fuel? Low. Strength? Low. Subsystems? Low. But he'd endure, even if he had to fall dead on the ground after it. He wouldn't give up on Sparkplug. That was a promise.

Not today—not ever.

[Sparkplug]

Curled around herself in a tight little ball, Sparkplug hugged her damaged, malconfigured limb against her chest, trying to find a still point amidst the pain. Quick, harsh vents whistled in and out as her autonomic processes tried to flush the heat of her oversaturated systems through filters clogged with stone dust. It hurt, freighted with the horrible tactile awareness of her mechanisms twisted and bent, locked half-way through a transformation. Her processor was fogged with overrides, conflicting demands and clashing impulses; a low, wordless sound escaped her as she hunched forward, optics closing.

Amidst it all, Neon's words half-filtered in, parsed into a notion more felt than understood: she wasn't being abandoned to her fate. Gathering her legs under her, helm low, Sparkplug carefully rose. Her field fluctuated, swelling and sinking, streaked with muddled, tangled emotion as she stumbled over the rough tunnel floor in the Autobot's wake.

Slowly, little by little, the chaos within her cranial circuitry subsided into a brittle, glassy calm. She didn't speak, but began to actively aim the light of her surviving headlamp at the rocks the dark mech was cutting through. It was too hard to think about what had just happened, and she flinched away from trying; she locked herself in the now, and followed Neon with blind, automatic faith. The sleek black comms cable led onwards, a tenuous string guiding them out of the underworld.

Eventually, visibly exhausted, half-burnt out, the black-painted mech in front of her swiped with his sputtering energy blades one more time.

Daylight.

Dim, with the graininess of deep shadow, but light.

"...thank Primus..." she whispered, not really aware she'd spoken. She followed Neon, squeezing after him through the last obstruction. The cave mouth was half-collapsed, the signal relay a glittering box of junk pinned beneath a particularly emphatic rock, but it didn't matter. There was enough clear air to transmit through, without the suffocating signal degradation of megatons of rock overhead.

Rescue. She could call for rescue. The mere possibility of relief from the pain wracking her small frame only made it worse. But, as damaged as she was, as crushed as her spirit was, she managed a flicker of a smile towards Neon.

"Thanks. I would have..." her voice trailed off, and she gestured mutely towards the collapsed tunnel with a jerk of her helm. Hugging her mangled limb protectively against her chest, she seemed much smaller in the light of day. "Sorry."

The apology could have easily been for a lot of things. Perhaps she didn't know herself.

[Deleted]

Neon went through a lot today and couldn't help but be exhausted. Emotionally and physically.

He staggered and fell forward, quickly placing his hands in front to not slam into the ground face-first. He faced hardships before but today was...different...in more than one way.

Then he hoisted himself up and faced Sparkplug. Saw that faint smile and smiled back.

"Sorry."

"It's okay."

Perhaps a lie but Sparkplug didn't need truth right now. She needed peace.

But then the smile faded from Neon's lips. His thoughts changed.

"What happens next?" He asked, still not quite sure what to make of everything that transpired. His field was beaming confusion and uncertainty and...fear. Yes, fear. He was afraid. For himself, for Sparkplug. There were so many ways this moment could still sour, many things he could've said that went unsaid, many things he could've done that went undone.

It was difficult to look at a person and know that they are not "them." Not the old them. Not the "them" that thought for themselves and the "them" that was independent. They took Sparkplug's agency. They took her freedom. Her free will.

But it must have been so long ago. She was gone for ages. This new Sparkplug, she was also a person. The same person but also a different one. As much herself as somebody else. But even then, all of this was forced upon her.

It didn't feel right to just leave Sparkplug like this. Neon had to find a way to fix this.

Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow...

...Maybe not in another four million years—but I will.

Promise.

[Sparkplug]

There was a deep, quiet tiredness that bled from Sparkplug, saturating the air; a feeling that perhaps they could both share, could connect through. The haze of pain dulled her senses, but the ache of fear radiating from Neon was too potent to ignore. Maybe he suspected that, after all that had happened, she might choose this moment to betray him.

It wasn't unfair. They'd argued. She'd shot at him. They were at war. But despite everything, she still wasn't that kind of mecha. That was her trouble. No killer instinct.

"What happens next?" she echoed, slumping back against the hard, ancient rock of the cave wall. "We're done here. I'll call for a bridge out. No need to mention you. That was the deal, wasn't it?"

Her smile flickered again. "Besides. I'd get in a lot of trouble if any mecha learned that I'd spent all this time with you, and barely tried to kill you."

Her optics closed as a spasm wracked her damaged arm, small mechanisms stirring in an abortive attempt at retracting. It hurt. Oh, it hurt. And yet, there was something that she couldn't put a finger on, some reluctance to end all of this and just leave.

...perhaps it was linked to the strange, distant sadness that came over her when she recalled again that Neon wasn't going to report her survival, or any hint of her continued existence. The pieces of her past didn't fit together nicely. She could think about the way it was, or the way it used to be, but to try to connect them...

Better not to think about it.

She vented a sigh, with a puff of dislodged stone dust. "I'd better go. Don't go screwing around with old mineshafts like this. Isn't safe."

Her helm turned towards the gleam of sunshine filtering in through the mouth of the cave system, filtered and dappled by overhanging vegetation. Opening a comms channel, she echoed the broadcast in the clear, letting Neon overhear her.

::Research Officer Sparkplug to base. Damaged by cave-in, but capable of walking. Request emergency bridge, and medical team on arrival. Nothing salvageable left here::

Cutting the channel before any reply could be made, she slowly pushed herself up from the rock that supported her with her left hand. "I'd say to-" she began, then stopped. No point in passing on cheery good wishes to Skystone or the others she'd briefly met; they were enemies, the demolition of Haven had ended any goodwill that might have existed, and she was dead. She had to remember that.

Teal and white blazed, flooding the dimness with light as reality twisted and tore. Lifting her intact hand, Sparkplug said simply, "Be seeing you. Bye, Neon."

And without a backward glance, huddled forward over her damaged limb, she walked into the light.