Chapter Text
Cyclonus did his duty, taking him back to their shared home and searching for every first aid datapad he could find. He stopped the bleeding and produced medical-grade energon, hoping Tailgate could recover the rest through self-repair, but it wasn't working.
He had to review all the complete guides while the little one rested; because he wasn't going to abandon him during any moment the minibot was conscious; he was looking for some way to repair him or make the self-repairing nanites do their job, as they had with him and his incident with the sandworm. The answer is colder and more forceful than usual, nanites are less effective the older the robot is, and Cyclonus was a few centuries old, but Tailgate is older than Kup and Ultra Magnus.
— [hope is a lie] — he wants to destroy the datapad out of pure rage and impotence, he wants to shatter it in his claws, throw it at the mirror with hatred, but he holds it back, perhaps the information there could help Tailgate at another time, so he ends up unloading that rage on his face, a large scratch covers his face diagonally, he could feel every centimeter of torn metal burning and he didn't care, it was better that than feeling the impotence of being a warframe who could kill so easily and not a doctor who could help the person he loves.
— Cyclonus?
— ! — he went to his bunk — What's wrong? Does anything hurt? How are you feeling? — he knelt down nearby, trying to get as close as possible to the little robot without hurting him
—I'm fine — he sounds tired and weak —Nothing hurts — he's a skilled liar, but even a Decepticon can deduce that it's a reflection of compassion towards him — does your face hurt? — he tries to raise his hand, he can still move his upper limbs well and he can reach his face, it's a good sign.
—No— he takes his hand and plants a kiss on the palm and back of it—it was a reflex, it'll be fine, don't worry about it—he completely forgot what he had just done, he needs to be more careful, he shouldn't worry the little one —I'll get you something to read
— No, no thanks, I… I got a little dizzy last time, I'd rather not read — doesn't sound happy, Tailgate loved to read
— I understand — [reduced processor speed, causes discomfort in normal activities such as reading, is a bad sign for recovery] — what do you want to do?
— Can you sing me a song? — he says in a slightly pleading tone
— whenever you want
Quite some time passed like this. Cyclonus did everything for the little robot: he sang to him, read to him, cleaned him, fed him, and took care of every detail. If Tailgate felt cold, he would put him in his cabin, and if he was hot, they would go outside to a shady place with a cool breeze.
[happy] [together] [while it lasts]
Cyclonus shuddered at the thought "while it lasts," asking him various questions, listening to what Tailgate said even if it was a story he had already heard; it kept him active, his dialogue was fluid and there were no inconsistencies, although sometimes he seemed to be in pain, but Tailgate excused himself by saying that it was just that he used the voice box a lot; even though he wasn't speaking even a small fraction of what he used to say.
—So… to defeat the worm I did the exact opposite of what the transport and containment manual said energon …my supervisor would be horrified — he chuckled, thinking of the huge mess he'd made spilling, spreading, and igniting the energon like that, but it didn't last long before the armor rattled and the minibot had to adjust itself
—What hurts? — He placed a hand on his armor.
— It's nothing — there was a silence in which Cyclonus looked at him accusingly — it's maintenance, I can't do it anymore… the joints seize up, my supplies run out… it's natural, there's nothing you can do
— I can get you whatever you need, anything at all. If you need me to apply the antioxidant, we still have that emergency container.
— That's it… Cyclonus, that's the problem. I'm the one who produce it. My systems produce what I need, not just antioxidants, but also anti-corrosives, wax, lubricant, coolant, or insulation. But I can't anymore…
He was distracted and was knocked down by the creature. He resigned himself and stayed on the sand. He thought Tailgate would abandon him if he asked. It's his mistake, it's his fault
— It's not your fault — he extends his slightly stiff hand and grasps the jet's claws
— I didn't say anything… —he leaned his head close, letting all his weight fall where Tailgate could reach him; the situation is slipping out of his hands, he sees no way out.
— He touched as gently as possible what remained of the cuts Cyclonus had made on himself, but his joints were clumsy — what is your favorite color?
—... — he looks directly at his beloved, without looking away, seeing his spark through his optics — blue…
—Yes, excellent— he's still able to smile at him with such joy in his radiant optics — what's your favorite song?
— … — he hums softly, overwhelmed by the helplessness of watching the person he loves slip through his fingers
Tailgate lets out a whistle, trying to follow Cyclonus's lead in the song. They harmonize, and he doesn't mention how his hands feel damp as he caresses the jet's face. The warframe feels this is the most real thing he's ever experienced, in the worst way, because that sensation was happiness mixed with such devastation that it tore at his spark. He'd never felt so much pain, not when the worm crushed him, not when they replaced his wing, not when panic gripped him, not even the notion of his body being torn apart to become something new…
— What will you do when I'm gone? — he continued singing to him
—... — he ignored him and continued singing
—Will the universe end, will everything be annihilated, and will none of it matter anymore?
— Why are you so calm? This is real, your world is ending.
—It's always real— he has some trouble speaking and pauses a few times— Cyclonus, I should have died when I fell into that hole, then I should have died every time I went into a dangerous place trying to be important, trying to be loved; I don't know what will happen to the universe, but I know I'll die before it ends… the universe always ends for those who die— he takes his hand— but you should keep enjoying it
— … — shakes his head — I can't
— Of course you can, you could call the Decepticons, you lie and say that… that you finally found me and found me dead, you stole my radio…
— I won't do it
— Yes you will, you have to live outside of this place, outside of here. If I die, you'll die, the rust will consume you, and I don't want that.
—Then don't die—he shuts down all logic, he's stubborn and won't let go, especially not before it happens—just don't die, that's all
—Even if I survive, I can't apply the antioxidants to you like this. My non-vital systems have stopped working, the antioxidants will run out, and if we're not careful, we'll both end up rusted if you don't leave. And if we don't have enough fuel, you'll have to call the Decepticons to get out.
—they're going to record your memory
—I don't know, cut off my head or something
—They'll scour the desert looking for the head, they'll make me do it— he was more forceful about the outcome, although he wanted to say simply, I won't cut off your head, period—you won't get away with this with your lies
—... delete it
— What?
—You heard me, it's a simple process. They were maintenance instructions. Since we had magnets, the instructions said that if we used them on a comrade who wasn't wearing their mask, it would completely corrupt their memory. It's irretrievable. The camp has several magnets as strong as mine. Just... lower my mask and place it there. You can escape. Say I did it. I have a built-in magnet. They'll believe you, and you can escape without any problems— His voice trembled, his visor sparked and dripped. He managed to say everything, but he couldn't hide how horrible it all was. —The memory of a dead man doesn't matter, Cyclonus. Don't feel sadness for things that aren't worth it.
— … — he hugs him — you're worth it, you'll always be worth it — Tailgate says nothing, Cyclonus keeps him close, hiding his field because he doesn't want the minibot to experience such unpleasant and painful emotions
—If I'm worth it, you'll be sad for me… if you think about it… it's a miracle I met you, the time, the frame, the war; be glad it happened, I'm glad, I'll die happy, I promise you, I promise you've made me the happiest mech in the universe, I'm happier than Rodimus surfing on lava or First Aid with a Springer autograph… I told you, happy while it lasts.
Time passed like this, Cyclonus didn't let go of him, they settled together, Tailgate filled the void by rambling, slow, calm, talking to him about everything he thought might cheer him up
He told him their whole story together, how heavy he was when he had to drag him around the dunes and how handsome he looked sleeping, how much he loved his voice, how warm and comforting is his spark; he told him about his friends, how grateful he was for every moment lives in this time, even though it was difficult at times, how their life together became his happy place, he talked and talked beyond the tiredness, because he was afraid of forgetting to tell him something, he talked until Cyclonus started singing him lullabies, and he talked again when he felt tiredness calling him to sleep.
—Cyclonus… Could you do me a favour?
—Tell me what I should do…
—...Live — Tailgate didn't want to say more, he didn't want anything else and he expressed his affection for touch until he fell asleep
— … — Cyclonus didn't stop singing, he touched his face, dampness, something very common lately. He had already made a decision so he stood up holding Tailgate in one of his arms; he readed all the medical datapads just like the Autobot; if the little one was talking about dying, a topic he had been deliberately avoiding mentioning all this time, it was because he was starting to lose strength and if that was the case he had to act fast, Cyclonus would protect what was precious to him, no matter the price
/
— … mnh … — vision is blurry, murmurs can be heard around, mentioning that he moved or is waking up, there are several attempts to reset the optics until clearer images are obtained
There were some smiling robots asking him questions, but one stood in front of him, making them stop.
— the robot is taller than him, orange and vermilion in a flame pattern — hello, I am Rodimus Prime — he smiled at him, his voice was soft, but his eyes had droopy eyelids — do you remember me?
—Rodimus? … — a hand passes over his visor, he sees the hands and the image begins to distort, sparks jumping in front of his eyes, he had a very uncomfortable feeling as if it were a nightmare
—Calm down, calm down, tell me what you remember, there are no wrong answers, take it easy— the Prime puts his hand on his shoulder offering some comfort
—I… my designation: T4-116473 — there's movement in the room, they didn't look happy, the minibot shrinks into place — I'm sorry…
—No, don't panic—Rodimus's hands try to guide him to focus on him—it's okay, First Aid and Red Alert said it could happen in the condition in which we found you. Listen, your name is Tailgate, you're part of Team Athena, we rescued you from— he takes him a moment— a bad situation. You're safe, you're at the medical center. Tell us if you feel any pain, we want to help you. You're our friend, we're not going to abandon you Tailgate.
—Tailgate…— His vision blurs slightly, but stabilizes with a quick wipe of his hand.
—Yes, you're Tailgate— the Prime smiles at him— our friend— then he lets the doctors examine him and talk to him
Everything was viewed on a screen; Team Char analyzed the culmination of a plan that could have been a failure.
Cyclonus reported his position and how he captured the target. He didn't answer any more questions; as always, he didn't speak to anyone.
Oil Slick analyzed the robot, a useless acquisition; he barely managed to get a sample of the antioxidant; without that, it was just a useless and destroyed shell that he had to stabilize before checking the memory: empty, corrupt and useless files. In frustration, he almost plunged a scalpel into the horrible lack of a face, but a claw stopped him.
Cyclonus was adamant that if he couldn't extract value from something like this, it would be a failure of Oil Slick's part, and a failure was weakness; that he couldn't even find someone who could do it in his place was unforgivable. They have a perfect pawn, an agent valued by the enemy, still alive. With the right equipment, they'll have an internal source of intelligence.
Using reverse engineering and medical equipment, they installed an observation device, utilizing the space in the helmet that should be for facial functions; a back door with transwarp technology to connect and monitor the Autobots from within without raising suspicion
Then they arranged an exchange: resources for the agent. Although some would have preferred to free Megatron, they ended up accepting whatever they could get. Cyclonus personally carried out the exchange, arguing that if anyone else did something stupid, his hard work would be ruined. Strika agreed, adding that he would crush him if he failed. The jet wouldn't fail, even if it was a trap and the Autobots tried to attack by surprise; he would return Tailgate safely. He transported him securely in its cockpit, guarding his spark like a treasure.
Rodimus kept his word. They received a large amount of energon in exchange for the minibot, a quantity that would surely anger Sentinel. Cyclonus didn't say a word, he's delicate. He left Tailgate lying on the ground, then took the energon.
The Prime is just as the little one described him, a reliable leader who carried Tailgate in his arms even though it exposed him to an attack. The Decepticon looked him straight in the eye; neither was intimidated nor did they back down. Cyclonus is satisfied that he is the one who will safeguard the safety of his precious companion; although he would like to do it himself.
Now they are there, watching the screen, some of them talking about things that Cyclonus didn't care about. He has a fixed gaze and a hard, inflexible posture. He wants to hear that the minibot's recovery was a success, that it will be fine and have no long-term difficulties.
— Red Alert said, noticing his patient looking around and touching his hands — what's wrong? Your face is screaming it all over the place
—I don't know, I feel strange— the doctors asked him to elaborate while checking his diagnoses and his vision, considering some kind of dizziness due to an altered gyroscope— it's a feeling, something's missing and I don't know what, but…— he nervously touches his hands— I really feel like someone's missing, does that make sense?
—You're distressed — The doctors exchange glances before First Aid continues — Tailgate, you've lived a long time, a life no one here saw, and known people you didn't want to talk about. You said something about how the pain of the past can't be fixed; maybe you miss someone from back then.
—I don't understand, how would I know if someone is missing? I don't even know who you are.
— That's the thing, the mind forgets, but the spark always remembers. If you meet someone important, truly important to you, they'll be in your spark.
A sob is heard and the screen blurs. Cyclonus contracts his field, hiding the direct hit to the spark and the agony of hearing his beloved suffer without being able to support him, hearing how they try to comfort him. Tailgate couldn't let him go no matter how much he had tried to keep him away for his own good.
/
Several star cycles passed, and the plan wasn't unfolding as quickly as the Decepticons had hoped. They discussed the limited value of the information, how Tailgate, without his memory, was merely a novice recruit without privileges, even though Rodimus refused to abandon him. They planned to wait until they encountered someone important, like Magnus, to detonate a bomb they had hidden inside him. Fortunately for Tailgate, that would have to wait, as Team Athena had been assigned to an Outer Rim planet used for Autobot training.
Cyclonus didn't stay to hear the details; he had to find out the method for the detonation and how they received communications with the spy camera.
He completely destroyed every wave receiver, every computer, every hard drive, and all around it. Just in case, he sprayed everything with cosmic oxide taking advantage of the fact that he had his own antioxidant stored away; but that wouldn't work on the other Cons, Oil Slick had already synthesized the antidote, so he was immune, as was Strika, the 2 members who had detonators according to the records.
Oil Slick was the first to fall. He tried to use Circuit-su after the cosmic oxide failed, but as Cyclonus always suspected, he was a fraud and easily took him down. Two swords in hand for information; he got one of the detonators, kept it in case careless destruction activated it, then knocked him out. He avoided stabbing him in case the chemical had an unpleasant surprise inside. He would have liked to kill him; he's not sure why specifically, but he couldn't waste any more time, the security alarms were already sounding and they would soon come for him.
The encounter with Strika was more complicated; she searched for the intruder, but the cameras were destroyed, they didn't know where he was, and with the distraction, Cyclonus destroyed Strika's room searching unsuccessfully for the detonator; she must have had it on her.
Strika figured it out, and it ended up being a one-on-three fight: him against BlackOut, Strika, and Spittor. The jet was more agile, but the number and size of the opponents overwhelmed him. Fortunately, they couldn't coordinate well in such a confined space, so they ended up hurting each other while also hurting Cyclonus, who was keeping his wings and thrusters in the best possible condition to leave-not for himself, but for his promise; he had to live.
He resorts to a plan, saying he wants the bomb's detonator, boasting that the glory was his and trying to mimic the delusions of grandeur he saw in some Decepticons. When Strika pulled him out to negotiate or distract him, Cyclonus took out a shiny object with many lights, which he found in Oil Slick's lab, and threw it at Blackout, who quickly deactivated it with an EMP stomp.
The detonators stopped working; he stole the second detonator by cutting off his former boss's fingers and escaped. He shattered both devices with his own claws, but sure to keep all the pieces. He crossed the corridors in his emaciated state, escaping in his jet form as fast as possible; alone, aimless, without a destination, with only one mission: to do what Tailgate asked of him, to live.
He drifted for a while, accelerated too much, and was left floating in the middle of nowhere; driven by inertia, he was already lost, after all.
One place seemed familiar, as if he'd flown there before, but according to his records it was impossible. He must have landed on a nearby planet, in the twilight of the night far from the light of a fortress, venturing deep into a cave to try and recharge. Tomorrow he would think about what to do; now he was too exhausted and hungry to think.
He woke up with a start in an instant. He heard movement, alarms; the kind that sound when there was a dangerous Decepticon in the area; search and rescue operations. A wave of fear washed over him. His stupid self-preservation instinct was still there, and he couldn't turn it off, not now that he just wanted to live. He wasn't even looking for anything elaborate; he didn't want to live well, just to live, and the universe was making it so difficult for him. He only saw images of endless battles, always fleeing and killing to survive. Tailgate, as the Autobot he was, looked at him like a rabid, unrestrained monster, fearing him, hating him. That vision was pure agony that he couldn't contain, he couldn't stop.
— He saw a light, jumped, turned around, and was blinded — AAAH! — his expression shifted from fear to rage, threatening the stranger with his swords
—Wait, wait, wait! Don't be afraid
—His anger lessened; it was unusual, perhaps the commotion or the echo in the cave, but everything seemed strange and familiar at the same time—…—his swords were still out; it could always be a trap
— Are you okay? — A small robot with headlights peeked out — I'm not going to hurt you — It dimmed its lights until it was clearly blue and white — Look at this face. It's the friendly face of a harmless robot. Look at it.
— ... — he dropped his swords as he felt his spark stop
—That's it— he pulls out an energon cube and offers it to her, moving closer— don't worry, I don't bite— he flashes a wide visor-smile grin— I don’t have teeth
Everything made sense again.