In the Silence

Summary: Sometimes, it's better when things are left unsaid... but the deafness that follows might do more damage than good. Mentions of Mech/Mech slash, angst, and the abuse of high-grade. Drabble-ish. Sequel to "A spark to call my own" and "Star Journal: Entry 3046"
Rating: M

Originally posted on FF.net


It was a party at the Ark.

Jazz had the speakers blasting music to the fullest, while Blaster himself was handling the selection. If it wasn't for the fact that Prowl had already put dampeners on them, the pounding beat pouring from the speakers might of actually shattered a 'bot's audio receptors. With the SIC's intervention though, the music was thankfully just above crowd level chatter -enough to listen and dance to, but not yet enough to completely block out what the person next to you was saying.

All in all though, Smokescreen had to say that this seemed like a pretty swell party. Standing in a shaded corner of the rec room, the red and blue mech sipped slowly at his cube of high-grade; optics fixed firmly on his comrades. He was studying them, analyzing their behaviour and responses, as was his duty. After all, a psychiatrist was never not working.....

Wheeljack was coming through the doorway now, dragging a seemingly irate Ratchet along with him, but the almost invisible blush on his cheekplate arches belied the medic's annoyance. Not too far away, Hoist, Grapple and a handful of the minibots were starting their twentieth game of poker that evening. His fingers twitched faintly at the sight of flashing cards and moving energon chips, but Smokescreen remained where he was relentlessly. Another sip, and a sweep across the room, and soon the Datsun was inspecting Bluestreak at the far side of the rec room. His younger companion was swaying in time with the music; doorwings fluttering rapidly as he spoke excitedly to an attentive Optimus.

“You know you can not continue this any longer,” said a voice.

Smokescreen shifted his optics to the side, peering at Prowl from his peripheral. “Hey, Prowl,” he grinned crookedly. “I'm guessing Jazz hasn't noticed your presence yet.”

The black and white mech merely shuttered his optics, folding his arms just under his bumper. “I've found out Smokescreen,” the other Datsun replied. A purposeful flick of a doorwing answered the shrink's raised optic ridge.

“I see......,” Smokescreen mumbled, turning his attention to the cube of high-grade in his servo. “I had thought you would have discovered it sooner,” he added, shrugging nonchalantly as he took another swallow.

Prowl frowned from his position, glancing pointedly at Bluestreak. He did not need to look back to know that the psychiatrist had also followed his line of sight. “You can not keep up this affair between you and him. He's been getting attached to someone else.... Or were expecting to continue this secret even once he begins to have a relationship with Blaster?”

The red and blue mech scowled at the SIC. “I would never do such a thing,” Smokescreen all but hissed, “Whatever Bluestreak decides, I will honour his decision. I am not the one forcing him to do anything -it was a mutual agreement.”

The officer turned around, looking the gambler fully in the optic now. “But will you be able to let it all just go in the end; that's the real question.” Doorwing twitching as he noticed that his presence had finally been detected by Jazz, Prowl imparted some quick, final words to the glowering Smokescreen.

“Don't become enthralled with someone else out of simple convenience. Surely, there must be someone that you care for, deeper than as comrades or family,” the black and white Datsun said, before turning and meeting the approaching saboteur half-way across the room.

Smokescreen did not even bother to watch Prowl leave; optics glancing toward Bluestreak, smiling and chatting avidly to a curious Bumblebee this time, before he lowered them to his high-grade and left them there. In his processor, he replayed the SIC's last words over and over again, feeling his spark wither painfully in his chassis.

“.....none that would want me in return....,” the psychiatrist mumbled to himself, before shoving off the wall and heading out of the rec room.

xxXxXxx

It wasn't often that Devcon found himself grounded.

Every once in a while, during his hunts, he'd find himself beginning to run out of supplies and the like. The bounty hunter would be forced to land at the nearest planet- sparing time to rest and restock before he could chase after his quarry once more. Sometime those breaks were short, a cycle or two to quickly gather some things before he took off again. Other times, inhabitants of the planet would be so gracious that the earliest Devcon could leave was a few orns later. He hated those times the most; he liked to be able to go and leave as he wished, not be forced into someone's hospitality.

But being on Earth was a little different.

The blue mech was almost overwhelmed. He'd heard rumors about the planet before; more so after he had first met with Smokescreen. Nothing though could have prepared him for the mass number of plants and organics, or the litres of water and the vast amount of sunlight that bathed the planet constantly. It was almost.... beautiful, even with all its strangeness and queer creatures.

Aside from that though, there wasn't much to be offered on Earth. Granted, they had a stock of accessible resources, but with the continuing battles taking place between both faction leaders on the planet, it made for some..... interesting company. Already, Devcon had been scolded by Optimus Prime himself for attempting to chase after Blitzwing after spotting the triple-changer in the nearby city.

That was an embarrassment that the bounty hunter didn't think he'd live down.

After that incident, he had really been expecting to be sent packing. But the truck-former was as gracious as he was reasonable. He continued to give board to the rogue Autobot, until he had everything restocked and was ready to head off again. It had been a dreadful time since then.... though Smokescreen and his crewmates had been working to try and make it more enjoyable.

Speaking of which.....

Devcon slowly walked into the rec room of the Ark, once again feeling every single optic turn to the doorway. It was a sensation that a mech couldn't get used to; that eerie crawl down spinal struts when sensors were focused entirely on one 'bot. As a point of principle, Devcon didn't like it. As a bounty hunter, that level of attention was not wanted, and increased his anxiety. It didn't help that most of the looks were of the less friendly variety.

Apparently the Autobots on Earth didn't take kindly to bounty hunters. Whether on their side or not.

Not as if he cared. Devcon was only here for two reasons to begin with: One, because he had all but crashed into the moon on the way here from lack of energon in his systems; and two, because Smokescreen had invited him to stay for a bit, and gather what he needed.

If it had not been for the multi-coloured Datsun, the other mech would not have even thought to breach Earth's atmosphere -energon or not. The bounty hunter scanned the room quickly now, trying to spot the fore-mentioned Autobot. His glancing showed that the gambler was nowhere within sight, and that left Devcon feeling slightly confused and..... disappointed. With a near indistinguishable flick of his helm, he pushed those feelings and accompanying thoughts aside; turning for the energon dispenser, intent on getting his own charitably-given ration before meandering off to find himself some solitude this orn.

“Well, what be shakin', bacon?”

Devcon tried his hardest not to scowl too much when a certain annoying, black and white saboteur sidled into his path, effectively blocking him from getting to the dispenser. Not to say that he hated Jazz, but something about his constant cheerfulness and diligent music playing just started to grate on the bounty hunter's circuits after a while.

“C'mon 'here now; no need t' be frownin',” Jazz continued to grin. He held out a servo, offering a cube of energon to the blue mech. Slowly, Devcon reached for it, realizing that he wouldn't be getting his own ration that morning. Once the proffered item had been taken, Jazz wound an arm about the taller 'bot's shoulders and marched them across the room to a vacant table near the back.

“How ya been liking your stay?,” the saboteur asked, practically forcing the bounty hunter into a chair, before sliding into his own.

Devcon felt his lip components turn downwards into a snarl, and quickly drank from his cube to hide his frustration. “Fine,” he answered, once he had gained some composure.

Jazz grinned crookedly, resting his chin in a servo as he leaned across the table. “Well, I've some news that just might cheer ya up 'here, Mr. Frowny. Tonight's a party, and everyone's invited!”

He had to choke back his mouthful before he spat it across the table. “Excuse me?,” the bounty hunter gawked, eyeing the black and white mech incredulously. “You're throwing a party?! But the war is still raging- what kind of dumb node are you?”

“Hey, man,” Jazz pouted, sitting back in his seat. “Chill, alright. It's a celebration in honour of the humans' 'Independance Day'. Just think of it as practice for when we kick the Decepticons t' the Pit and back. 'Sides, even a 'bot in war needs t' relax some.....”

“Stupid,” Devcon growled under his intakes. Just how daft were these Autobots? A party, while they were still neck-deep in war? Optimus couldn't seriously be condoning this.....

“A'ight, so, ya better be 'here!,” Jazz exclaimed, grin returning to his cheekplates. “Ya should 'ave yourself a prop'r party 'fore ya head back 'ot for space.”

Devcon shuttered his optics in disbelief. “My supplies are all here?”

“Just about. Should 'ave 'em all by this evening.”

Grinning just a little now, the bounty rose from his seat. “Now that,” he replied, “Is the best news I've heard all week.” Without even saying goodbye, Devcon took his cube and left the rec room, intent on heading for his temporary berthroom to start collecting his things.

xxXxXxx

“....What are you doing in my office?”

Prowl let the door slide shut behind him, folding his arms as he stared at the other Datsun. Smokescreen, sitting in one of the guest chairs, shuttered his optics up at the officer, before grinning foolishly.

“No reason.”

The SIC would have rolled his optics if he had been anyone else. Instead, he merely offlined them for an astrosecond, before fixing his gaze on the gambler again. “You're already over-engerized and the party has only been on for a cycle. Were you drinking beforehand?”

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no,” Smokescreen protested, shaking his helm for a few astroseconds, before it made him break into a fit of giggles.

Prowl cycled a slow, weary intake; approaching his comrade, intent on getting him back to his berth where he could spend the night burning through that excessive amount of energy without prying optics. “I had thought you were more controlled than this,” the black and white mech mused, as he helped a tipsy fellow Datsun to his pedes. “You've been acting out of place since Devcon's arrival, and....”

The SIC shuttered his optics as his processor caught up with his vocalizer. “That's it, isn't it. You are-”

“Nope!,” Smokescreen interrupted suddenly, shaking his helm from side to side. “No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no! That is lie; bad, bad prowlie!!”

With a vicious shove, the multi-coloured mech tore away from Prowl before bolting out of the office; giggling madly again. Rubbing his sore aft, Prowl picked himself off from the floor, raising a free servo to his comm link. “Jazz,” he said, initializing contact with the saboteur. “I need a little help.”

xxXxXxx

Oh, Primus.... he was so hot.

Smokescreen stumbled into a wall, servos pressed flat to it as his equilibrium chips shorted out, leaving him to feel as if the entire world was spinning on him. He could feel the vast quantities of high-grade buzzing across his circuitry, increasing the queasy feeling growing in his fuel tanks. He had thought that he might of been able to cool the burning of his chassis with some energon, but that had been a foolish idea. Now he was over-energized and charged beyond belief.

....perhaps he had been more dependant on Bluestreak and their occasional interface than he had initial thought....

“Smokescreen? Are you alright?”

Servos on his shoulder plating sent chills down the Datsun's spinal struts, making his doorwings flutter with desire. “D-devcon....,” he whispered, onlining his optics and turning to the bounty hunter.

His friend was looking at him with concern, but the worry shown was having the opposite effect on the multi-coloured 'bot. All he could think -all he wanted to do- was wrap his arms about Devcon's neck and kiss the scowl off the blue mech's lip components. “Y-you... you should be at the party,” Smokescreen choked, quickly turning his helm away. “It is p-partly your g-going away party as well...”

“It means nothing to me,” Devcon replied, trying to twist his helm and make optic-contact with the gambler. Smokescreen though kept twisting away, before entirely wriggling out of the spacecraft's hold and putting some distance between them.

“Smokescreen, what......”

“I-it's nothing!,” the psychiatrist interrupted. “I j-just need to be alone.”

“But you were heading towards the party....,” Devcon scowled, reaching for the Datsun. Smokescreen attempted to slip past him, but the bounty hunter was faster than his drunk self, and quickly pulled the other mech to his chassis.

The gambler all but whimpered as his hood pressed against the smooth metal of the bounty hunter's frame. The heat from earlier flared, burning him up from within. Weakening suddenly, Smokescreen found himself leaning heavily on Devcon, servos gripping at the blue mech's waist. Devcon had to tear his optics away from the hypnotic fluttering of the the Datsun's doorwings, to give Smokescreen all of his undivided attention. Most of which was worried.

“Smokescreen, are you alright? I thought you were simply over-energized but you've been acting strange this entire time. You're burning up as well.... perhaps I should take you to see your resident medic, to make sure things are ok-mmph!!”

He was getting annoyed with this. His whole chassis was aching with need, valve clenching behind his codpiece. Why did Devcon have to hold him so close; speak in that lovely rumble of his, and yet not slam the gambler into a wall before dominating him? It was driving Smokescreen mad, and he just couldn't bear it any longer. Without hesitation, the psychiatrist jumped to the tips of his pedes, smashing his lip components against the bounty hunter's. It effectively silenced the rogue's pointless blabber and at the same time brought some sort of satisfaction to the Datsun.

That joy though was short lived, as Devcon quickly overcame his shock and pushed Smokescreen away from him. “Just what has gotten into your processor?!,” the bounty hunter growled, keeping the gambler arm's length away. “Doing stupid things like that.....”

“B-be quiet!,” Smokescreen shouted back. “Whatever you may think, what I do is not stupid!”

Devcon scowled, finally letting go of the psychiatrist. “Very well.... It's wasted in either case. Just what are you expecting from me?”

The Datsun went practically rigid at the other's words; doorwings flaring in horror. Slowly, the gambler lowered his helm, staring at his pedes. The sight made Devcon cringe slightly, and he felt his spark ache in response. “Smokescreen....”

“I'm sure you're right, Devcon,” Smokescreen purred, lifting his helm and smiling coyly at the bounty hunter. He closed the distance between them again, resting his servos on the blue mech's chest plates this time. Languidly, he stroked the metal, smirk growing wider as Devcon backed against the wall. “But even a mech like yourself can enjoy a free interface, yes? I can promise you that it'll be good, and you don't even have to worry about keeping in touch afterwards. After all, I don't expect you to be able to make long distance comms while you're out in farther galaxies, chasing bounties.”

With an irritated scowl, Devcon pushed the psychiatrist away a third time that evening, folding his arms over his chassis. “You disappoint me....,” he declared lowly.

“....fine,” Smokescreen replied after a moment, vocalizer cool and doorwings unmoving behind him. He did not dare show what effect the bounty hunter's rejection had on him, and refused even less to get upset as before. “If you don't care for my offer,” the Datsun added, as he turned around, “Then I can easily find someone else.”

And without another word, Smokescreen left a stunned Devcon standing in the hallway; heading for the  rec room himself, and more processor-numbing high-grade.

xxXxXxx

The party had disintegrated into a sort of drunk fest. Everybody sensible had already left a few cycles before.... whoever was left now was chugging back sickening amounts of high-grade still, either seated at the poker table or else sloppily making out with one or two partners around the mostly empty room.

Devcon himself sat in a corner, scowling as he continued to watch the display. A part of his processor demanded to know why he resigned himself to remaining and bearing witness to this pathetic sight, when he could have easily been gone by now. His supplies had been restocked and he had made sure he was refueled for the journey..... so why was he staying here still?

Because he couldn't just leave him alone.

The bounty hunter scowled, his attention fixed entirely on a certain red and blue Datsun; as it had been for the past little while. Smokescreen was perhaps one of the more over-energized 'bots of the bunch. He could barely hold his cards in his servos, and was tilting to the side dangerously in his chair as he continued to giggle. Giggle.... that in itself was enough to make the blue mech's circuits crackle nervously. He had never thought of Smokescreen as a giggler, and really, he understood why. The sound was entirely out of place on the gambler and was actually a little creepy. Shuttering his optics, Devcon forced himself to focus again when the other mech suddenly rose to his pedes; slurring something to his companions before skipping away from their drunken groans of disappointment.

At this rate, the gambler was going to trip over his own pedes...

Sighing, the bounty hunter rose to his own pedes, but before he could even take a step, someone else was already intercepting the over-energized Datsun. That blue corvette with the white wings sidled up to Smokescreen's side, lip components whispering sweet words to the other Autobot while a black servo slid around the psychiatrist's waist. Devcon felt himself tense in disbelief, optics narrowing into a glare as he saw Smokescreen respond back to the other's advances eagerly. Doorwings fluttering wildly, the two mechs exited from the rec room; the rogue hurrying after them as silently as possible.

“Smoky,” the corvette purred. “You're practically steaming, love. What's gotten you so charged, hmm?”

“Wouldn't you like to know,” Smokescreen flirted back, servo rising to stroke along pale wings. “I dare say you're just as charged, Tracks.”

Tracks swallowed back a moan at the tentative touches, turning and pushing the gambler against the wall, mindful of his doorwings. His lip components mashed against the Datsun's for a moment, before the corvette pulled back, sultry smirk on his face plates. “Well, I suppose knowing won't make that much of a difference. Care to take matters back to my quarters?”

Smokescreen gasped as Tracks nudged a leg between his thighs; gripping the other Autobot's waist tightly and yanking the corvette close to him. A moan escaped them both as their heated frames pressed flush against each other. “Primus....,” Tracks panted, “Can't wait until I can see that pretty, little valve of yours.....”

“That will have to wait.”

Tracks was flung back from a dazed Smokescreen, smacking into the opposite wall and sinking to the floor. Shaking his helm, the corvette turned a furious glare to the rude mech stupid enough to interrupt him, and had to swallow back the yelp that arose from the sight of a blaster point being held right before his faceplates. Overcoming his initial shock, the multi-coloured mech glared again at the bounty hunter on the other side. “What does it matter to you who Smokescreen spends the night with? He's a big mech; he can make his own choices.”

“Maybe,” Devcon growled threateningly, cocking his weapon. “But you sound much too sober to be making any advances on him.”

With a frown, Tracks got to his pedes, dusting himself off before dutifully turning around and heading back towards the rec room. When Devcon was sure that the corvette was gone, he faced the Datsun, who was still leaning against the wall; cheekplates flushed and confused optics shuttering up at the bounty hunter.

“Where go Tracks?,” Smokescreen murmured, looking around, completely lost.

“Away..... hopefully for good,” the blue mech replied, stepping toward the gambler. Subspacing his blaster, Devcon slid an arm around Smokescreen's waist, pulling the other 'bot's arm over his shoulders. “C'mon, let's get you to the berth.”

Smokescreen let himself be led away quietly, but by the time they had neared the bounty hunter's temporary room, the conflicted thoughts in the psychiatrist's processor would not be suppressed any longer. “How come you not touch me?”

“....what?,” Devcon asked, guiding the Datsun into the room and sitting him on the berth. Just what was Smokescreen talking about? Wasn't he touching him right now?

“Y-you.... not touch me,” the red and blue mech muttered, flopping onto his stomach as the other mech walked away to palm the door shut. “E-even if I say will that offer.....”

“You're drunk.....,” Devcon sighed.

“N-not!,” Smokescreen protested, shooting up on the berth. Quickly, he retracted his codpiece, showing his wet valve to the bounty hunter. “S-see!,” he shouted at the stiff mech. “Y-you touch not still!”

“Cover up....”

“No.”

“Do it.”

“No!”

“Fraggit..... Cover yourself up now, Smokescreen!”

The Datsun grit his denta at the other's harsh demand; letting his codpiece slide back into place before jumping to his pedes. He tried to storm for the door, but Devcon cut off his path, grabbing the gambler by his shoulder plating.

“Where do you think you're going?”

“L-let go!!,” Smokescreen shouted, flailing wildly in the bounty hunter's grasp. “I, I go now! Any place better is here than!”

“I don't think so....,” Devcon scowled, forcibly steering the psychiatrist back to the berth. He made Smokescreen lie down, before sitting at the edge himself; a servo pressed firmly against the other's back struts to keep the Datsun from getting up again. “You're over-energized and charged..... you need to relax your systems before you short something out.”

At Smokescreen's incredulous look, the bounty hunter frowned further. “Just because I refuse to interface with you, doesn't mean I'm an idiot. Nor am I about to let you wander around, drunk, waiting for someone to assault you.”

Shamefully, Smokescreen lowered his helm again on the berth, doorwings lowering at his sides. “.....why?,” the psychiatrist whispered from behind his servos. “....why so nice?”

“Huh?”

“Why are you so nice to me?,” came the weak whimper, louder this time for Devcon to discern. “Y-you.... I don't get you.”

“What do you expect, kid,” the bounty hunter sighed. “We only met once on Monacus -briefly, I might add. What's there to get?”

“That doesn't explain why you're doing this.....,” Smokescreen continued. “My status doesn't concern you.... so why are you taking all this time to look after me? And you still refuse to interface with me?”

“You're drunk....,” Devcon explained lamely, turning his helm away.

“But I asked for it! I want you to touch me, a-and, and we're here, alone, in your room..... Anybody else would have already accepted my offer by now? So why don't you.....? Answer me!”

At the choked demand, Devcon finally turned his helm back to the gambler, and was stunned to find coolant gathered about the Datsun's optics. He felt his spark wither at the sight, and couldn't stop the twitching of his fingers as he fought the urge to reach out and cup those flushed cheekplates. At the bounty hunter's continued silence, Smokescreen shuttered his optics, turning his confused and hurt expression away from his friend.

“Go to sleep, Smokescreen....,” Devcon murmured.

“C-can't,” the psychiatrist choked out. “Too tense.....”

The blue mech glanced back at the other Autobot, noticing that Smokescreen had his face pressed firmly against the berth, arms surrounding his helm like a wall. The doorwings on the mech's back flickered intermittently; sharp, rigid motions that cut through the air, reflecting the Datsun's tension. Silently, Devcon reached out, servo hovering uncertainly before he brought it down, stroking the closest doorwing's edge. Smokescreen gasped at the unexpected touch, helm snapping back to look at the bounty hunter.

“Lay down, Smokescreen,” Devcon rumbled softly. “Recharge.”

“Y-you..... okay,” the multi-coloured mech acquiesced, swallowing back the request he had been about to make and stretching out across the berth. The rogue's servo continued to massage at his doorwing, rapidly easing the gambler's nerves and lulling him into recharge.

Devcon continued his gentle caress, long after Smokescreen had gone to sleep.

xxXxXxx

“What happened last night?”

Smokescreen slowly turned his helm to Prowl, feeling his processor-ache twinge in annoyance at the slight movement. “What are you talking about?,” he asked, seriously hoping that the SIC would not follow up with a reply.

Of course, Prowl did, no doubt curious as hell about what had become of the psychiatrist. “I had sent Jazz to escort you back your quarters, but he was as much energized as you, and couldn't seem to find you. Though I believe that may have more to do with the fact that you were seen coming out of Devcon's room this morning.”

A glare.

“Red Alert kindly informed me,” Prowl answered dully. “I must understand, Smokescreen. I thought you weren't interested in long-term relationships..... I grasp the fact that you and Bluestreak felt a need to.... connect..... from time to time, but I am completely boggled -excuse my use of the human term- at your presence in the bounty hunter's berthroom. Did anything happen last night that I need to know of?”

Slag Prowl and his need to know everything. Honestly, one had to wonder who was more paranoid -the SIC or Red Alert? “Nothing happened, Prowl,” Smokescreen said, turning away from the energon dispenser and crossing the rec room.

Prowl followed. “If he did anything-”

“He didn't,” the gambler repeated, cutting off the officer. “He just.... put me to recharge; that's all.”

Prowl fell silent, watching as Smokescreen took a seat; slowly sipping at his ration. “But you wished something had, don't you?”

A blue doorwing flicked in response, the action too fast for its owner to restrain. Painfully, the psychiatrist lifted his optics away from his cube, locking gazes with the black and white Datsun.  “Some things are better left unsaid, Prowl.”

“....sometimes, yes,” Prowl whispered back, doorwings fluttering their own silent message to Smokescreen.

“He'll come back, Smokescreen,” the SIC said one last time, before turning on his pede and leaving the other mech alone to his thoughts.

“Maybe.....,” Smokescreen muttered softly to himself, sipping again at his energon. But considering Devcon had left the Ark, before anyone else had woken that morning, it seemed unlikely that the bounty hunter would ever return.