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Cyclonus was finishing up vacuuming when he received a ping on his personal commline. It wasn't a number many mech's had, and since he and Tailgate planned to meet up with Whirl the following day, he was not surprised when the caller ID read Whirl. He was, however, surprised that it read Whirl Jr., and not Whirl Sr.
"Whirl," he answered, leaning the vacuum against the wall, "What a surprise to hear from you. Is everything alright?"
"I wish it was," Whirl Jr. sighed. Cyclonus noted the feminine tone of her voice, and how different it was since the last time they'd spoken- she was doing something very gentle and soft now, and he wondered if she'd changed frames again, "Dad fell off the balcony last night and put himself in the hospital. I'm sorry I'm just calling now, I've had a lot going on this morning. I know you were going to pick him up today."
Cyclonus straightened, concern lacing his spark, "Is he alright?"
"Well," Whirl began, pausing, before sighing and lowering her voice, "Yes and no. It knocked him offline, but it's just superficial damage. They've mostly already got him rebuilt. Hardly the worst he's had. The only reason I'm worried is, well. He fell off a balcony and hit the ground, when he's capable of vertical takeoff. The only reason I can think of for him not to have caught himself is that…"
"Ah," said Cyclonus, "Yes. I had hoped we were past that."
"Me, too. It's been a long time since he did anything like this, but… he was in Garrus 10 awhile, this time. He's not been handling things very well."
"It's okay, Whirl, I understand. Tailgate and I head right over. You're staying in Kaon, correct?"
"Yes, I am. We're at the upper side hospital. He's not awake yet, but he probably will be before you get here."
"Alright. I will see you there."
"See you."
Cyclonus hung up the call and leaned back against the counter, shuttering his optics and letting his spark wallow for a moment in whatever it felt like feeling.
"What happened?" Tailgate asked, lingering by the hallway, still holding fresh towels from the washracks under one arm.
Cyclonus sighed. "Whirl is in the hospital."
"Is he alright?" He asked, visor brightening in concern as his processor clearly ran through worst case scenarios.
"Physically, yes, mentally, unlikely."
"Ah," Tailgate responded, shoulders drooping, "I understand."
"I told Junior we would head right over. Are you ready to go?"
"Yeah, I'm good. Let's go see how he's doing."
"Ayyy, shortstop!" Called a raspy, familiar voice the moment Tailgate stepped into the room, "Didja bring the lurch with ya?"
"He did indeed," Cyclonus rumbled, stepping in behind him and holding up a little blue bouquet, "We brought flowers."
"Aw, shucks," said Whirl, pressing one of the flats of his claws to his forehead in a mockery of a swoon, "You spoil me."
"It brightens the room, Dad," said Junior, "Thank you, Cyclonus." She smiled as she took them, planting the vase on the side table stubbornly.
"Don't need brightening for too long. I'm just waiting on my rotor blades to get done now and the doc says I'm good to go, eh?"
"Wonderful!" Said Cyclonus, "We're just in time to pick you up, then."
"Aw, you don't gotta do that," Whirl dismissed, saving his claw.
"Dad," Junior interjected, "if you won't stay with them, and you can't stay with me, where are you going to stay?"
"Whirlygirly, I got plenty of places to stay!" Whirl said in a way Cyclonus suspected he believed was reassuring, "lots of people to visit I ain't seen since they threw me in the slammer."
"Dad…"
"Whirl," said Tailgate, pulling himself up to sit on the edge of the medical berth near Whirl's gangly knees, "Remember when we talked about you moving into the spare room? You said okay."
"Well, yeah," Whirl scoffed, still looking anywhere but at them, "But that was awhile ago, you know, and I been thinkin' on it, spinnin' my processor and all that, and it just seems like a waste to be tied down nowhere after I just been tied down for awhile, and-"
"Whirl, would you give us a moment?" Cyclonus asked, directed toward the younger Whirl. Her optics were sad, finials flattened against her helm, and Cyclonus could see her winglets getting fuzzy, malformed, losing shape with stress distracting her from keeping her frame straight, a habit she'd never kicked.
"Of course," she sighed, servo lingering on the berthframe a moment more before she stopped out of the room, shutting the door behind her. Cyclonus turned back to Whirl Sr.
"What are you doing?"
"Whadya mean?"
"Must we go through the motions of convincing you to stay with us again? You know we want you to. I don't understand why you're pretending you don't know that."
Whirl narrowed his optic, before shaking his head. “I dunno.”
“Whirl had to bridge all the way from Earth to take care of you. You know how important school is to her.”
Whirl cast his optic to the floor, “I know. Wouldn’t believe the favour I had to pull to get her in that place.”
“What was it?” Tailgate asked. Whirl’s optic cycled open again, shoulders picking up.
“Remember that story ‘bout the bomb in Nominus’s noggin?” Whirl asked, voice immediately taking on a mischievous, prideful tone.
“Surely you haven’t been holding onto that one since then,” Cyclonus interjected, “It’s been millenia.”
“What did I ever want from Mr. Hot Shot Big Bot himself anyway, huh? Didn’t need nothin’ from him till Whirlygirl wanted to go to his fancy Earth school. Can you imagine her as a copper? She’s gonna put me in prison someday, bless her spark.”
Cyclonus sighed, “Whirl.”
“I know, I know,” he sighed, waving a claw dismissively, “Stop bein’ so reckless, Whirl, let people help you, Whirl, stop pushing us away, Whirl.”
“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” Tailgate said, tilting his helm, “Will you still come and take the spare room?”
“Only cuz ya asked so nicely, pipsqueak,” Whirl snorted.
“Thank you,” Tailgate said, putting one of his tiny servos on Whirl’s claw. Whirl tilted his optic away, awkwardly.
“‘S nothin’.”
They took the train back home rather than fly the whole way. Tailgate was happy to clamber up onto Whirl’s shoulders, arms wrapped around his long neck, pointing out new buildings and landmarks as they passed them.
Whirl was still carrying Tailgate when they arrived at the new habblock, a two story affair in the suburbs of Tetrahex, facing the Mithril Sea. The garden out front teemed with flowers, and Whirl recognized the ones he’d been brought had been cut from them. The silver-tang scent of Mithril was thick in the air, sweet and heavy, and avianoids perched on the white-painted metal fence, twittering about, unconcerned with their arrival.
“Wow,” said Whirl, feeling deeply intimidated, “What a pretty picture of suburbia. You two sure did grab the idea of settling down by the balls, eh?”
“By the what?” asked Tailgate.
“Don’t explain that to him,” Cyclonus interjected, “But, yes, I would say so.”
“Come on, then!” said Tailgate, leaning forward, as if he were directing a horse, “There’s an inside, too, you know!”
“What?” Whirl scoffed, acquiescing to his jockey’s directing, “I assumed that it was just, like, a big rock.”
Cyclonus unlocked the gate and Whirl eyed the avianoids as they passed them on the lawn, as if they were waiting for something. He suspected someone had been feeding them fairly frequently to gain such loyalty.
Tailgate hadn’t been lying about their being an inside. Whirl found himself noting with curiousity the oversized front door that didn’t force him to duck when entering, the roomy foyer and the tall ceiling. Tailgate, still on his shoulders, wasn’t even at risk of bumping anything.
“Fancy digs,” he commented, “Y’all went real roomy, huh?”
“Well, some of our friends are quite tall, you know,” Cyclonus mused, closing the front door behind him. “Down here is the living room, the kitchen, dining room, the library- the berthrooms are upstairs.”
“Yeah,” said Whirl, absently, looking around. It was all very modern decor, very clean and tidy, with white painted walls and a whole side of windows that looked out over the gentle silver sea outside.
“You’re welcome to anything in the kitchen any time you’re hungry, of course,” said Tailgate, patting Whirl absently on the head, “This is your home now, so you don’t need to ask permission to use anything.”
“Home,” Whirl repeated, “right.”
“Welcome home, Whirl,” Cyclonus said, touching him gently on the shoulder.
“Right, welcome home!” Tailgate chipped in, excited, “Let’s go see your new room then.”
“‘Kay,” said Whirl, vaguely, starting to feel like he wasn’t really here, but he let Tailgate lead him to the stairs and point out the master berthroom, theirs, and his, across the hall.
“We kept it fairly simple,” Cyclonus said, as Whirl stepped inside and looked around, “So you can decorate how you’d like, but there's some empty shelves, a new terminal, and-”
“And check out the desk!” Tailgate interjected, scrambling down Whirl like a ladder and rushing to the desk centered against the far wall. He pulled open the first drawer to reveal a shimmering new set of watchmaker’s tools, still wrapped. “We went to the watch repair shop in town and asked what to get to set you up! If you need anything else, we can get that, too.”
“Huh,” Whirl said, simply, stepping up to the desk, touching the toolset gently, with one claw. Tailgate tilted his head at him as if that wasn’t exactly the response he had anticipated. “Uh, thanks.” He added, pathetically.
“Take a bit of time to decompress,” Cyclonus said, lingering by the doorframe, “We’ll make dinner in a few hours, if you’d like to join us, but you’re welcome to take some time to yourself, too, if you would rather.”
“Alright,” Whirl said, absently, still staring at the toolset as if doing so would suddenly make it make sense, thought it didn’t. Tailgate patted his servo before climbing down from the desk and heading into the hallway with his Conjunx. Whirl didn’t move when he heard the door shut, didn’t shut the desk drawer until he heard their pedes on the stairs. He sat down on the berth with a thump, feeling heavy.
What was he doing here? He felt like a petro-rat in a dollhouse, a foul, destructive thing that didn’t belong. He briefly considered sneaking out when they weren’t looking and taking off, but he’d already caused enough stress for everyone by falling off the roof, and he wasn’t feeling particularly motivated to indulge in that much self pity in one week.
He hadn’t realized how long he had been sitting there, lost in thought, before there was a soft knock at the door and he checked his internal chronometer and noted over an hour had passed.
“Hey,” said Tailgate, peeking in, “You okay?”
“Yeah,” said Whirl, absently, “Whadya need?”
“Well,” said Tailgate, who quickly looked behind him, before sliding into the room and shutting the door, “Cyc said I should probably leave you alone, but, I know you have a tendency to wallow, so I wanted to come check in on you.”
“Nah, I’m alright,” he assured him, “Just settlin’ in is all.”
Tailgate pulled himself up next to Whirl on the berth, patting his thigh, “It’s alright not to be alright, you know. We’re not expecting you to be.”
Whirl wanted to insist he was fine, but begrudgingly listened to the nagging voice reminding him he’d already been enough of a stubborn nuisance, “Alright.”
“Sorry if it was too much,” Tailgate said, “The tools, and everything. I don’t want you to feel guilty or anything. We just wanted you to know we were excited for you to move in.”
“Aw, you know I’m gonna think anything you give me is too much,” Whirl chuckled, “But I’ll try not to say so.”
“We are glad, though, that you came. We’ve missed you a lot.”
Whirl wasn’t sure how to respond to that kind of sentiment, so he didn’t.
“I’m gonna go help Cyc with dinner. You can come down if you want, and just hang out on the couch, or help out, or stay up here. Whatever you feel like doing, okay?”
Whirl thought about it for a moment, ducking his optic down in consideration, “Yeah, alright, I’ll come hang out while y’all do that, then.”
The day Tailgate knocked on Whirl's door and found his room empty, tidied up and straightened like a show room, he hadn't been entirely surprised. It had been three days since Heatwave had denied his request to visit the Earth base where Junior and her classmates were training. He had blown it off and said he had expected as much, played it cool, but Tailgate had been waiting with baited breath for the inevitable meltdown. He wondered if he would have preferred something more showy, the way he used to, destroying the room in a fit of rage, tearing off one of his own arms and beating someone with it, perhaps. Those seemed so much easier to manage, bizarrely, than these quiet, solemn breakdowns he had picked up the past few years.
He hadn't been difficult to track down, since he left a fairly easily traceable ion trail all the way to Polyhex. He was lingering by the end of the sea of rust, tossing in rocks and watching them sink slowly into the corroded metallica as it folded and chipped and cracked beneath such gentle weight.
He didn't look up at them as they landed and transformed, even when they waited to see if he would, but he just quietly threw another rock into the wastes.
Tailgate was the first to approach, and sit down next to him, putting a hand on his knee and pressing against his side. He had collected a pile of stones behind his crossed ankles that was quickly diminishing.
"What's up, shortstop?" He asked after a long moment. Cyclonus sat down on his other side, silently.
"You haven't been back to Polyhex in awhile," observed Tailgate, "Missing home?"
"Polyhex ain't home," he mumbled, "ain't been in a long time."
"So what brought you here?" Cyclonus asked, gently.
"Dunno," said Whirl, picking up another rock to toss into the waste. "Figured I'd toss some rocks in the rust, and when I ran out, maybe I'd go for a swim."
"You know we don't want that, right?" Tailgate asked, squeezing his knee.
"I know," said Whirl, rolling a stone between his claws absently, "You prob'ly should, though."
"We couldn't even if tried," Cyclonus said succinctly, daring to put an arm around Whirl's labyrinthian shoulders. "Your home is back in Tetrahex, with us."
Whirl dropped the stone back into the pile. "Yeah," he sighed, "I know."
Whirl was the one that scrambled like a sparkling to open the door when the bell rang. Whirl Jr. stood on the stoop, smiling and admiring the blooming garden.
"Dad!" She beamed, opening her arms and preparing herself to be vaulted into the arm and swing around like a well loved sack of potatoes in a Whirl sized hug.
"Oh, Whirlygirl, it's so good to see you!" He said, setting her back down in the foyer, "Look at you! Did you get taller?"
"I restructured a little bit," she commented, "I'm about six inches taller. I can't believe you noticed that."
"Of course I did, I'm your pops, I know everything about you," he chided, pulling her into the living room.
"Cyc, Whirl's here!" Tailgate called into the library, skittering down the hall to greet her. "It's been ages! You need to visit more."
"I've been busy!" She laughed, "School has been crazy. Now that I actually have a professor with a flight based altmode, he’s actually calling me on my flubs. I can’t get by on “ooh, flying!” anymore, it turns out.”
“I toldja to practice your vertical takeoffs,” Whirl scolded, waggling a claw at her, “Betcha that’ll impress ‘em.”
“What I really need practice with is counterbalance,” she sighed, “I’m terrible at compensating.”
“You should practice by giving Tailgate a ride,” Cyclonus said, closing the library door, “It’s certainly made me an expert.”
“Ooh, yeah! We should go flying,” Tailgate agreed, “It’s a beautiful day for flying.”
“Sounds like a plan,” she chuckled, “But you don’t get to complain if I drop you.”
“Meh, I’ll catch him,” the older helicopter dismissed, “He’s precisely cube sized. Perfect for catching. Gimme a minute, I’ll go clear off the helipad.”
“What’s on the helipad?” Whirl Jr. asked, as the elder exited the side door facing the ocean.
“Just some canvases,” Cyclonus answered, “Whirl’s taken up painting recently.”
“Really?” she blinked, “He didn’t tell me about that.”
“Well, to be honest, he’s not very good,” Tailgate admitted, “Which is probably why.”
“But he seems to be enjoying it anyway, so he can make all the terrible paintings he wants,” Cyclonus chuckled, “We’ll have a spare room full of them at this rate.”
Whirl was quiet for a moment, watching the mech she called her father move stacks of canvases and paint from the helipad outside the patio windows. “Thank you,” she said gently, “For taking care of him.”
“You don’t have to thank us for that,” said Tailgate, “We like having him here.”
“I’m glad,” she said, her voice soft, “Not many people do.”
Cyclonus put a hand on her shoulder and gave her a reaffirming squeeze, “Don’t worry about him so much. He’ll be alright.”
“I have to worry about him,” she sighed, leaning into Cyclonus’s side, “Somebody has to.”
“We’re doing a pretty good job of that, I like to think,” he said.
“You know, I remember when we’d just moved back to Cybertron, I got kicked out of a NAIL education program for chewing on the building, and he got in a big fist fight with the owner and spent the night in jail, and I remember sitting at home and crying all night and when he got back the next day, I’d stress eaten half the apartment, and he didn’t yell at me or anything. He just picked me up and swung me around like I was a sparkling until I finally got some sleep.” Her optics softened, like the memory was heavy to hold onto, “Every time I get a call he’s gotten arrested again and I need to come bail him out, I’m worried someone is going to tell me he’s gotten himself killed for real this time. That he’ll just be gone, and I’ll be the only one at his funeral. I think that’s my worst nightmare.”
“You aren’t the only one who loves him,” Tailgate reassured her, “Even if he makes it hard sometimes.”
“I know,” she sniffed, wiping at her optics absently, “I just wish he wouldn’t.”
“Hey!” said the object of the conversation, poking his long helm through the patio door, “Helipad’s clear. Let’s ride some updrafts, eh?” he dipped back out, and Whirl leaned off of Cyclonus.
“He’s doing better,” he promised her, picking up Tailgate and plopping him onto her shoulders, “Come, Tailgate demands a ride.”
“It’s true,” Tailgate confirmed, patting her on the head, and she giggled, wiping the last of the moisture from her optics and following her dad outside.
“I really liked the opening Aria,” Tailgate commented as Cyclonus unlatched the front gate, “But I thought most of the ensemble pieces really fell apart.”
“Far too baroque for my tastes, in both cases,” Cyclonus scoffed, “I expect something more modern from Maxima, she’s clearly not got a grip on writing libretto for classic Opera.”
“You wouldn’t have liked it if it was modernist, anyway,” tsked Tailgate, “You only like classical.”
“Well,” Cyclonus hummed, “perhaps I would have at least appreciated it more.”
Tailgate opened the front door and was immediately struck by the scent and sound of boiling energon and Cesium crystalizing.
“Hey!” rasped a voice from the kitchen as Whirl poked one optic around the corner to glare at them, “You weren’t s’posed to be back for another half hour!”
“Traffic was lighter than expected,” Cyclonus mused, “What are you making?”
“None of ya beeswax,” said Whirl, disappearing back around the corner, “Not for another half hour anyway.”
“I think he’s asleep,” Cyclonus commented, and Whirl looked away from the holovid at the minibot in his lap, curled up against his stomach beneath his cockpit, legs kicked over onto Cyclonus’s lap, spread out to take up as much space as he could.
“Looks like,” Whirl confirmed, “He never was a big fan of action flicks.”
“Well, in his defense,” Cyclonus chuckled, “You do the same thing during romance films.”
“It’s tactical,” Whirl shot back, “Skip the drama, get straight to the snoggin’.”
“I would not have pegged you for being a fan of ‘snogging,” Cyclonus remarked.
“Hey, I was great at snoggin’ when I still had a mouth, I’ll have you know,” Whirl said, waving a claw at him idly. On screen, a motorcycle jumped over a helicopter, briefly claiming his attention, “Used to be great at it.”
“Only used to?” Cyclonus asked idly, watching the motorcycle on screen skid to a halt as it landed on top of a skyscraper in front of an explosion of flames.
“Well, duh,” Whirl snorted, “Ain’t got a mouth no more to snog with.”
“What?” Cyclonus said, suddenly paying attention with a startled, confused laugh, “Are you trying to tell me you’ve not kissed anyone in the last four million years?”
“No?” said Whirl, with a bizarre, querying uptick in tone, as if he was startled his answer hadn’t been an obvious one.
“Me and Cylonus kiss all the time,” Tailgate yawned, visor still clicked off, “and I don’t have a mouth either.”
“Yeah, well,” mumbled Whirl, peeking down at the minibot fidgeting in his lap, “That’s different.”
“How is it different?” asked Cyclonus, curiously.
“Well,” he said, sounding like he was struggling to come up with a reasonable answer, “Y’know.”
“Has no one really kissed you since Polyhex?” Tailgate asked, finally onlining his visor, genuine concern creeping into his voice.
“Well,” Whirl said, looking away, uncomfortably, “No.”
“I’ll kiss you,” said Tailgate, and Whirl snapped his optic back down to him, looking up with a brightened, unblinking visor.
“What?” he laughed, confused.
“I said ‘I’ll kiss you,’” Tailgate repeated.
“W- why would you do that?” Whirl stammered, like he was struggling to process the concept.
“‘Cuz I think you oughta be kissed,” Tailgate replied, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world.
“That’s just- I mean- Cyclonus, come on,” Whirl said, looking up at the other side of the couch.
Cyclonus shook his head, “Don’t look at me, I think he’s right. I think you should kiss him.”
“No, but that’s- nah, nah, he can’t do that,” Whirl laughed, in a weird, high pitched tone, “He’s your junxy, that’s like, gotta be against the law or somethin’, right?”
“First, that’s ridiculous, that’s not a law,” said Cyclonus.
“And second,” interjected Tailgate, “Kissing you doesn’t mean I don’t still love him.”
“Right, right, okay,” said Whirl, sounding increasingly anxious, “Yeah, okay, I get it, it’s just a kiss, it don’t mean nothin’.”
“I didn’t say it didn’t mean anything,” Tailgate stopped him, “I love you, too, you know.”
“What?” said Whirl, drawing back, “No you don’t.”
“Tailgate,” said Cyclonus, conveying something wordless that Whirl couldn’t parse, which was only winding him up more.
“No, but I do, though!” said Tailgate, rolling over to sit on his knees and lean up onto Whirl’s cockpit, laying his palms flat on the glass, “We both do.”
“No,” said Whirl, shaking his head rapidly, “You know you can’t play jokes on me like this, I ain’t someone to be joked on, you know, I can’t tell when people are jokin’ on me-”
“He’s not joking, Whirl,” said Cyclonus, and Whirl snapped his optic up to look at him, claws clamped around the edges of the couch.
“No, no, no,” Whirl said, standing and dumping Tailgate directly onto the floor as he backed up, holding his claws out defensively, “I don’t fall for jokes like that, not no more, y’all know better than to wind me up-”
“Whirl, calm down, it’s okay,” said Tailgate, picking himself up.
“No, no, it ain’t okay, y’all know better, and- and I- I’m goin’ flying, don’t bug me, I don’t wanna be bugged, you got it? You hear me?” Whirl stammered, voice becoming louder and more alarmed with each word and he backed into the patio door, fumbling desperately with the lock, unwilling to break his gaze, before the door opened and he whipped around, transforming and taking off with a running start, casting out over the Mithril sea and sending spray and foam in every direction as he fought to get lift over the shoreline.
“That went extremely poorly,” Cyclonus sighed, after a moment.
“Do you think he’s gonna come back?” Tailgate asked.
“No, probably not,” Cyclonus sighed, “We should go after him.”
They didn’t find him until the following morning when Cyclonus got a call from the Whirl they hadn’t been looking for.
“I have a test today,” she fretted, “I don’t think I have time to come and bail him out, but I can’t just let him sit all day, he’ll get in a fight with someone, and then he’ll just get another sentence- can you please go get him? I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry,” Cyclonus soothed her, “We’ll go get him. Call me next time, too. You should stay at school, we can take care of Whirl.”
“Thank you, Cyclonus. Tell him I’m sorry, okay?’
“Of course, Whirl.”
“What did he do?” Tailgate fretted.
“Well,” said Cyclonus, “It appears he went to a bar, propositioned a sex worker, punched him, and then tried to escape by climbing onto a moving train.”
“This is my fault,” Tailgate murmured, “I pushed him too far.”
“Don’t beat yourself up,” Cyclonus consoled, “All you did was tell him the truth. All we can do now is go pick him up and fix it.”
The local precinct in the city wasn’t terrifically busy when the landed. Tetrahex was a fairly low crime area, and Cyclonus resisted the urge to sigh when they were immediately recognized as they walked in.
“Hey,” said a blue and white Headmaster, pushing himself up from his desk and trotting over, “I didn’t expect to see you two, today, he was pretty insistent I call his daughter.”
“Good to see you, Goshooter,” Cyclonus said, formally, “She’s at school today and was not able to make it, unfortunately.”
“Kinda figured, honestly,” he said, waving them back toward the holding area, “but I told him I was gonna call you guys to come pick him up and he threw such a fit. He slept it off, though, I think, he’s just moping around now.”
“Is there anything left he needs to sign?”
“Nah,” said Goshooter, “The guy wasn’t interested in pressing charges, I think he felt bad for him. He barely clocked him in the first place, I don’t think he was too worried about it. He got everything cleared a couple hours ago, but, you know, we don’t kick people out in the middle of the night if they don’t got nowhere to go.”
“Right,” said Cyclonus, absently, eyeing the sleeping, tangled up shape of Whirl in the back corner of a cell, legs and wings sticking out at bizarre angles, making it look less like he was sleeping on a bench and more like he was awkwardly floating near the wall.
“Whirl!” called Goshooter, tapping on the cage as he fiddled with the keys, “Your ride is here!”
“Mmf,” mumbled Whirl as he pushed himself up, sleepily, shaking his head, “Sorry ‘bout this, Whirlygirl, I-” he turned, optic focusing on Cyclonus and tailgate, cycling down and open again before dimming dejectedly, “Ah. She called you, then.”
“She did,” Cyclonus responded, “She has a test today.”
Whirl looked at the floor, then up at the door as it swung open, “Yeah,” he said, absently, pushing himself to his feet. “See ya next time, ‘Shoots.”
“Better not, Whirl,” Goshooter sighed, patting him on the back, “Go home.”
Whirl trailed behind them on the way out, silent, lingering like a scolded pet. He didn’t say anything until they were outside, and he shook his head, blinking away from the sunlight.
“‘S too bright this morning,” he mumbled, “Ain’t had enough sleep.”
“Do you wanna take the train home?” Asked Tailgate. Whirl coughed, uncomfortably.
“Uh, nah, I don’t think they would be too excited to see me today.”
“Oh, right,” said Tailgate, tapping his chin thoughtfully, “we’ll call a cab then.”
He didn’t have much to say on the way home, either. He pressed himself as far as he could into the sidewall, avoiding any contact he could, platelets folded inward, winglets held tightly straight back.
He wobbled away from the yard when the cab pulled up to the drive and transformed, collapsing on the beach by the water as Cyclonus paid the cab. Tailgate followed after him, sitting down beside his chest and leaning against the side of his cockpit.
“I’m sorry I freaked you out,” Tailgate said, gently, voice reverberating through Whirl’s chest plating. He stared up at the sky absently, hoping the sand might suddenly split open and swallow him whole.
“I ain’t got a good sense of humour,” Whirl mumbled, “I don’t like bein’ the butt of jokes.”
“I wasn’t joking,” Tailgate reaffirmed, “I do love you. I wish you believed me.”
Whirl puffed static through his vocalizer, wordless emotion, and Cyclonus came and sat down on his other side, putting a servo on his shoulder pauldron.
“It’s okay to let people love you, Whirl,” he said softly, his voice a low rumble, “You don’t have to fight so hard to push everyone away.”
“That’s not how it works, though,” Whirl faltered, his voice raspy, tired.
“It is how it works,” Cyclonus answered, “I love you, Tailgate loves you. We love you. That’s why we come and get you every time you run away.”
“Sorry,” he mumbled again, listening to the mithril sea as it washed in and out against the shore, a dull roar that let him feel like the world ended just at the edge of his senses.
“You don’t need to be sorry,” Tailgate soothed, “We love you as is, flaws and all.”
“Just seems like a poor choice, is all,” he muttered.
“Do you think you could choose not to love Junior anymore, if it wasn’t convenient?” Cyclonus asked.
“Nah,” Whirl sighed, “Not for nothin’ in the world.”
“There’s a lot of choices in love,” Cyclonus said, rubbing his shoulder pauldron, “To make the right choices, to stay with things even when they’re hard, but the simple act of love itself,” he looked down at the dirty helicopter lying spread out in the sand, “It’s something more than that.”
“Alright,” Whirl wheezed, “I guess you’re not kidding.”
“Nope,” said Tailgate, turning around and scooting forward to face him, kicking his legs over whirl’s shoulder, leaning against the front of his cockpit, “You just gotta face facts, you’ve been loved.”
“Guess I do,” he chuckled, awkwardly, “How weird.”
“Do you want a kiss, now?” Tailgate prompted.
“Tailgate-” Cyclonus started, but Whirl cut him off.
“Yeah. Yeah, okay. But don’t get on me for bein’ a bad kisser, then, alright?”
“Of course not,” said Tailgate, leaning forward and taking Whirl’s head in his servos, palms below the wider tusks on the bottom of the front cone, touch gentle, like he was holding something delicate, breakable. He slipped his face between them, pressing the front of his mask against the lip of Whirl’s helm casing, fitting in just perfectly, like a glove, a ripple of static electricity passing between them where their faces touched, and Whirl shuttered his optic with a strangled intake, shoulders sagging, tilting his face into the gesture. Tailgate pulled back.
“See?” he said, “You’re not a bad kisser at all.”
“I dunno,” he laughed nervously, “I’d probably be better, with more practice.”
“Oh, nooo,” Tailgate said, teasingly, his visor brightening, “However will we get you that?” he asked, dipping forward to kiss him again, giggling.
“Too hard on yourself, as usual, hm?” Cyclonus chuckled, and Whirl sniffed, sitting up and grabbing Tailgate in one fell swoop with a startled yelp, setting him on his cockpit, sitting on it crosslegged.
“Don’t rub it in,” Whirl snorted, “I don’t talk about your clawed up guilt face, huh?”
“Well, not the second time,” Cyclonus smiled, ruefully, “Come, then. My turn.”
“Alright,” said Whirl, leaning forward and letting Cyclonus kiss the lip of his helm, touch more tender than he had anticipated, full of revelry and appreciation, while Tailgate stroked his cheek, humming softly.
“Hey,” Whirl murmured, kneading his claws together in his lap, clicking the tips together softly, “Would it be okay for me to say, uh, I love you, too? And thank you, for, you know, everything, and stuff.”
“Yes, Whirl,” Cylonus said, pressing his forehead gently to Whirl’s, “That would be okay.”
“Okay, then,” he said, staring down at the sound, “I, uh, I love you guys, then. Yeah.”
“We love you, too, Whirl,” Tailgate said, leaning against his helm, servos soothing his anxiety with gentle circles, the mithril sea rolling in and out in the background, sun rising over the end of the ocean, light shimmering across its silver surface as the new day began.