There is a collective sigh that runs through the air when the bodies of the battle have been collected. To be melted down and reused, as any other Cybertronian would do. For the first time in weeks, it’s quiet. The night has befallen Chaar’s burned husk of a planet, empty of unnecessary casualties, the perfect place to be alone without anyone coming to stab you in the back. At least that’s how Tormentor sees it.
He’s been sitting just outside the outpost, replaying a message received over and over again. The Decepticon got it the day before, and he’s been contemplating it since. In reality, most who receive what is basically a death sentence would run. Escape and hide in some corner of the universe until they were forgotten about. Not this Decepticon though. No, he sits and waits for their arrival, rubbing his thumb over an Autobot badge. He’s had to lie about his alliance to live thus far, had to claim he was an Autobot when he never defected from the Decepticon cause. Maybe that’s why they’re after him. It’s just some big misunderstanding that he needs to clear up and everything will be fine.
“Too many red badges in one place?” A monotonous voice asks as it comes closer, sitting beside the enormous tank. Tormentor’s lieutenant, in more than one way, settles himself in the way he normally does when he’s open to listening. Hand in his lap, legs folded and out beside him, wings spread out comfortably. Tormentor snorted, “What gave it away? The death glares? The judgemental looks and whispers of how can you guys trust a Decepticon?”
Lieutenant gives a solemn nod, recalling all those other Autobots who were so skeptical. After ages of fighting alongside Tormentor, it seemed so normal. The Autobot hands his commander a cube of energon, “Do you want me to change the passcodes on all their doors in their base, sir?”
There’s something to consider as Tormentor takes the cube. “When we leave.” Might as well be petty, life is currently too short not to be, and technically it’s not he who is doing it anyway.
The two stay together for a while longer in silence beside one another, it’s peaceful. Tormentor loves these quiet moments of just being in each other’s presence, anticipating before intertwining hands together. It took so long to get to this point, a shame it just might have to end.
The use of the avian’s real name means something serious that requires all his attention, and it gains that reaction. Tormentor looks at those calm gold optics, seeing in them the concern behind. He pulls out the message he received and passes it along. Lieutenant doesn’t say anything when he takes it, and throughout the message, he’s silent. The curl of his fingers, the twitch of his audio fins, and that narrowing of his optics show disbelief. The news is taken as though it couldn’t be, but understanding that this is real.
“The Decepticon Justice Division.” The Second-in-Command lets out, Tormentor pokes a claw at the avian’s freckled cheek.
“Come on, use that processor to form more words.” The Decepticon urges, “We knew this day would come once I busted your aft out of the slammer.” The day he had to use his forged profile to fake being an Autobot, with the help of his crew to prove Lieutenant’s innocence. It was after all that when they talked about the possibility of what to do should the D.J.D. ever come to claim Tormentor. “It’s time to go.”
Lieutenant clutched the datapad, uncertainty clear in his expression, “Tormentor, we planned for a spontaneous attack. They gave you time, does that not concern you? We should plan further, evacuate the other Autobots here until the D.J.D. have gone.”
The gargantuan rolls his massive shoulders, leaning further back, “Ace, the others are going to be safe. The D.J.D. only target the defected. It’ll be just me they’re after.”
“Then I will be with you.”
Tormentor shakes his head at his lieutenant, “Not the plan, unless you forgot you are supposed to keep everyone away when they arrive.” His lighthearted jab only succeeds in gaining a narrowed glare. Serious avian is almost always serious, and this approaching situation doesn’t waver it anymore. “Right, not the time.”
Lieutenant sighs, his hand squeezing tighter in Tormentor’s. Slowly, the metaphorical mask fades away as he leans into the larger mech. “I would rather be there,” he admits quietly.
The tank embraces him with a side hug and warm smile, “I know, Ace. The fact of the matter is though, they find out I have an Autobot with me -an Autobot Conjunx no less- I don’t like to think of what they’d do to use you to get to me. They tend to hate commitment outside of commitment to their list and Decepticon cause.” Silence follows as that information sinks in. The avian, displeased with what he hears, climbs into his Commander’s lap to rest his helm again his massive, warm chest.
“You worry me, nonetheless, Tormentor,” Lieutenant admits heavily, his weight pressing against the Commander’s frame as he deflates. His metaphorical mask cast aside as he thoroughly seems uneasy. A hand gently falls upon the Autobot’s helm, two fingers falling to the side to rub at his audio fins. After all their time together, after the millions of years they had spent side by side, they knew each other well enough to know their thought processes. Tormentor understood that at this moment, words wouldn’t bring the avian peace. The quiet overtakes them once more as the broader mech pulls his second-in-command closer to rest his chin on the top of his head. They’ll move the crew to Colossal later, right now, they need some time together.
