What Would You Know About Her?
@somereaderinblue
"What the Pit, Swagger? We needed Mismatch alive!"
Smokescreen was a very patient 'Bot. He could handle taunts and threats from teammates or classmates without batting an optic, he could deal with others getting short with him for reasons that were beyond his scope to deal with, he could even handle fellow Autobots treating him like scrap (it had taken a while to understand just how unfairly he was being treated by certain other 'Bots, but that was over now and he didn't hold a grudge.)
But Swagger's near antagonism the past month, particularly over the subject of his missing sensei, was something that for some reason irked him to no end in spite of his best efforts.
And the muscled Two-Wheeler's execution of Mismatch less than ten minutes ago was the straw that broke the turbofox's back.
The younger mech, his paint scheme a near mirror image of Smokescreen's own, made a dogged march toward the training area as the GroundBridge shut down in High Grand. Barely turning to him, Swagger snapped, "I was ending a threat and saving your hide, that's what. And it's not like the 'Con who took trophies from the dead would bend to anything, even torture."
A rare anger boiled inside of him, and darting forward, Smokescreen grabbed the mech's arm and turned him around. Optics wide, Swagger scowled at him as Smokescreen, keeping his hold firm against the other's attempts to squirm away, retorted, "Ignoring for a moment that the Phase Shifter was active on my wrist when he charged, you could have incapacitated him without killing him like that. Even if he didn't talk, we could've tried having Breakdown get something out of him."
"You're naive if you think a corpse desecrator would have even initiated a civil conversation with a defector," Swagger spat, his free servo darting for his Shifter. Without even taking his optics off him, Smokescreen nimbly switched servos on the Two-Wheeler's arm and pulled his Shifter wrist behind him.
As Swagger growled, Smokescreen refuted, "You don't know that we couldn't have figured something out, or even if Breakdown could have told us a more humane method for getting Mismatch to leak intel. Split second decisions might make the difference on the battlefield, but foresight wins the War!"
With a snarl, Swagger yanked his arm out of his hold, his unusual strength making it a far easier feat despite his shorter height. Turning on his heel, he ranted, "Fragging Pit, you even sound like her!"
Even as his frustrations mounted, Smokescreen's curiosity and desire to help his new teammate piqued at the outburst. Jogging up beside him, he needled, "What, I sound like your lost master? Maybe that's a good thing."
"Maybe you should bite your glossa into infinity!" he shot back hotly, glaring daggers at Smokescreen. "It's none of your business, what she was like! Stay out of our life!"
"Oh, so she's still a part of yours?" Smokescreen dug, mildly satisfied to see Swagger freeze and turn a cold gaze on him. Servos clenching into fists, the Two-Wheeler warned in a low tone, "Don't push it, Guardsman."
"Or what? You'll fight me?" Smokescreen pressed his advantage, taking a step forward and finishing, "I don't think Optimus would appreciate his subordinates tussling like street urchins, but maybe she taught you differently before leaving you in the dust."
As he'd expected, the jab did the trick - just not in the way he anticipated.
Swagger's frame shook with unbridled rage, optics wide with fury but holding a naked pain in them. His right servo twitched open, as if about to make an attempt on his voice box, before the Two-Wheeler suddenly stepped back. Turning, facing a nearby training dummy, he pulled out one of his Dynasty Katanas and, with a primal roar, threw it fully charged at the dummy. It soared end over end, connected with the dummy...
...and buried itself straight up to the hilt in the dummy's upper chest.
Even as the discharge made the dummy shudder and tumble backward, Smokescreen stood petrified in place, his surroundings turning into the Mithril Sea's infamous alleyways as he once more saw the drug addict collapse from the same executed strike.
He barely blinked as the High Grand's interior slowly morphed back into reality, his childhood memory fading as he saw Swagger violently extract his katana from the dummy.
As the Two-Wheeler swung his blade around briefly, Smokescreen lifted a trembling servo and, pointing at him with one digit, asked, "Who taught you that?"
The aridity of his voice surprised him. Even Swagger looked at him in confusion.
For a long moment, they just stood staring at each other, 'Bots once so used to the other's appearance now looking at the other as if he were a phantom of the past.
A shared past.
Finally the other mech sheathed his Dynasty Katana. Strutting toward him, arms spread out as he swung his body in a boastful manner, Swagger gloated, "Oh look, Momma's spitting image finally figured it out."
"You knew," Smokescreen realized, anger returning and shifting into something between rage and pain. "This whole time, you knew who I was. Who Chromia was, and who our mother is."
"I knew who she was," he answered spitefully. Stepping forward, optics blazing, Swagger continued, "You want to know who my sensei was? Fine. She was a defector of a 'Con who saw a War orphan and took him in, probably because his former size and colors reminded her of her real son. She took him in and trained him, had him up before the crack of dawn and learning how to fight, how to survive. She made him train until his muscles ached, to make him stronger because the universe is a mess and if he wanted to live, then he needed to understand that he had to push himself. And I did! I went through the Pit of training she put me through! I learned all the forms, all the techniques! I saw who she was, all of her! Her pain, her grief, her remorse, her fury, all of it! And despite it all, despite all our time together, Drift still abandoned me!"
Swagger was practically up in his faceplate, and this close, they could more easily take in the other's features. Smokescreen saw just how young he was in spite of the creases in his faceplate, and that in spite of the venom the Two-Wheeler had just ejected, he was in pain from loss.
The loss of a mother. Something Smokescreen knew all too well.
His anger was still there, but the pain of the fleeting moment he'd had with his mother was greater than it.
"So that's why you never told us who she was. Never told me," he muttered, consciously letting his frame relax. Swagger's expression wavered, clearly thrown by the reply, but he still hissed, "Yeah, 'cause you look just like her. Didn't need the reminder any more than I was already living with it."
"She did care," Smokescreen breathed, optics darting around. "That time in the alley...it wasn't a one time deal."
Swagger audibly groaned, spurring Smokescreen to look at him. Watching the other mech drag a servo down his faceplate, the Two-Wheeler insisted, "You still don't get it. If Drift really cared, she wouldn't have abandoned me, and you'd have seen her more."
"Do you have any idea what the penalty was for the lower castes to meet their parents, vice versa, or if either party even initiated contact?" Smokescreen asked pointedly. As Swagger looked at him skeptically, he pushed on before the other could respond, "The children alone would have been thrown into the mines for civil service lasting seven centuries. The parents would have had their T-cogs removed before being sent to the gladiator rings until they died in a fight. And if that didn't kill them, then the smelting pits were the preferred execution."
Swagger didn't move, nor did his faceplate betray emotion. But the short burst of shock and horror in his optics told him he understood.
"You were just a youngling when the War broke out," Smokescreen continued, choosing empathy over wrath as he reached out and put a servo on Swagger's shoulder. "It's a miracle you lasted as long as you did, never mind that your father managed to keep you with him. Abandoning Chromia and I was the best choice either of our parents could have made, and maybe Drift - Mother...left you to protect you from her past. She defected from the 'Cons, she would have been putting you in danger if she kept you with her."
Swagger blinked at him, looked down at the servo on his shoulder, and shrugged it off. Turning away, he crossed his arms and responded quietly, "You don't know that. You never even met her. You can't just say that that was even on her processor when she ditched me."
Singular this time and he hasn't walked away. Progress, he mused distantly in the back of his helm.
"And that doesn't mean we can't give her courtesy for what she did do for us," Smokescreen noted. When Swagger side-eyed him, he pointed out with a tiny smile, "That move you just used is the same one she used to save me. She saved you by taking you under her wing. The least we can do is offer her the benefit of the doubt."
For a long time, they stared at each other, the atmosphere still thick but becoming a little clearer. Scuffing a pede against the floor, Swagger glanced up at the balcony where the humans would oversee the training and mission areas of High Grand. Casting a quick look at the floor, he decided gruffly, "I'd better report to Doubletake about Mismatch. I'll see you after that."
Turning, he began walking over to the doorway that lead to the general room. Unable to help himself, Smokescreen called after him, "Any chance you could show me some of what Drift taught you after the fact?"
The Two-Wheeler didn't stop his march, but as he neared the exit, he answered casually, "Maybe. Depends on the audial-full I'm gonna get."
"I'll take it," Smokescreen replied as Swagger disappeared from sight.
He had a lot to digest, never mind figuring how to tell Chromia about this revelation.
But maybe - just maybe, the family unit he'd always longed for for the both of them was possible after all.
Drift - Mother, if you're out there still, wait a little longer, he thought, turning and making a dash for the recreational wing. I want a chance to know you, and maybe Father too if he survived this long.
Please, don't deny us that much.