Snowflake

Summary: *AU* Swindle had gotten First Aid, and now Vortex was bored. He needed a distraction. Could one Autobot do the trick? Mech/Mech slash
Rating: M

Chapter 7: Regrets



It had been days since he had last seen Fireflight.

Days spent pacing his room angrily; longer nights pounding whatever 'bot he could get his servos on, and still not being satisfied at the end of it. His brothers seemed utterly fed up with his behaviour. Swindle was pissed at him for trying to frag First Aid, and both mechs had taken to avidly avoiding the house and him because of it. Brawl kept muttering on about missing the youngling's presence and never having the chance to hug him, while Blast Off told him to keep his “pathetic, self-pitying atmosphere away from me and my books.”

His sire, Onslaught, seemed intent on drinking himself under the table every night since the incident.

It was at this point that Vortex was forced to analyze himself and think..... maybe, just maybe..... he had made a mistake.

And possibly, he just might have developed..... feelings.... for Fireflight, after all.

xxXxXxx

Silverbolt slammed the plates into the sink filled with sudsy water, grabbing hold of the sponge with an infuriated growl. At the sound, Trailbreaker looked up from his newspaper, sitting at the small kitchen table with a steaming mug of oil to keep him company.  “What's wrong, love?,” he asked, in that low, gentle tone he always spoke with.

“What's wrong?,” the white Autobot almost hissed. “What's wrong is that my lil' sparkling is upstairs, still crying over the mech that had the audacity to break his spark -and I wasn't even aware of the fact that Fireflight was seeing anyone, let alone crushing on a 'bot!! And now it's too late for me to help!”

Seeing how angry Silverbolt was, Trailbreaker got to his pedes, large fingers gently massaging the trembling wings. “Come now, honey,” the camper truck soothed. “I don't think any of us were expecting Fireflight to date anybot, let alone keep it a secret from us, but that doesn't mean it's too late. Our sparkling is still hurting inside and he needs his momma to hold and comfort him.”

The concord's lower lip component trembled a little, despite how strong he tried to appear. “But.... h-he doesn't want my comfort. He wants nothing to d-do with m-me!” It was really tearing him up inside, knowing how much he longed to help his baby, and yet having the phantom jet refuse him so violently. He understood it was because Fireflight was hurting inside, but that didn't make it any less painful for him either.

Trailbreaker didn't know what else to say to his mate. He continued to stroke his wings placatingly, before gently easing him away from the sink and into a chair. “Here, let me do the dishes, 'Bolt,” he requested. “I'll take care of them while you relax for a moment. You just need some time to calm down, same as Fireflight. When he's grieved for some time, he'll tell us all about what happened and how we can help.”

Though the words were smart, Silverbolt didn't exactly care to hear them. He frowned at he camper truck for a moment, but only a kind smile shined back at him, and the white mech was forced to relent. Sighing softly, he clasped his servos atop of the table, staring at the fridge. Pictures, only a few weeks old, decorated its face; drawn by Fireflight's own servo and depicting all sorts of happy things such as petro rabbits, flowers and energon goodies. “I just want to hug my baby.....,” he whispered sadly.

The grey mech leaned in, kissing him softly. “I know,” Trailbreaker said in empathy. “I know.”

xxXxXxx

“Hey, Vortex.....”

The voice stirred his attentions, even in his haze of indifference. He recalled the way blue optics glimmered, Fireflight turning his helm to look back at the larger mech. Fingers were pointing to the store shop window, where toys and dolls seemed to glow in the special lighting.

“Aren't they beautiful?”

Honestly, he hadn't thought so. At the time, he was more concerned about getting the youngling into a private corner and molesting the slag out of him. He cared more about his moans and mewls then, rather than the things he actually said. Not that the Autobot had noticed, of course. He had simply pressed his servos to the glass, staring into the window with an undefinable joy.

“Each one is made ever so preciously, waiting until the moment when they are picked for that special mech or femme. Do you wonder if they get sad when they sit for so long, without a sparkling to call their own?”

What an odd question..... Toys were toys. Who cared who played with them? But Fireflight was enraptured with them, his smile soft and serene as he continued to gaze at the various items. He had been strangely annoyed with the expression.

“I bet they do. I know I would. Stuck on a shelf all that time, until someone finally picks them. I'd pick them all if I could, and give each of them my love equally. So that they'd never feel sad or lonely again..... Oh, hey! Look, a juggler!”

Sparklings laughing ripped Vortex from his thoughts; annoyed, the helicopter glared in their direction, restraining himself from getting up and bashing their little helms in together. It almost felt like they were mocking him..... in the worse case, it reminded him too much of Fireflight.

Why had he come to the park again?

Oh yeah..... he was trying to escape the suffering atmosphere of his own home at the moment, fed up with Brawl's whimpering and his sire's ire with him. That's why he had even bothered to come outside, feeling that a walk might do him some good. Or maybe find him someone to frag to pass the time. Wandering into the nearest park hadn't exactly been part of his plan, but then again, neither had thinking about Fireflight been on his list of things to do this orn.

He shouldn't have been thinking about the little jet at all....

Vortex growled irritably, annoyed that his thoughts were still lingering on the Autobot. So he'd “dumped him”, so what? He should have already moved on by now, getting himself a new toy to play with. And yet.... he couldn't.

The helicopter found it physically impossible to find someone else. It was already a struggle just to frag some other 'bot, and even then, he never really enjoyed himself. His thoughts were too wrapped up in Fireflight and he was loathe to admit that he was actually missing the flyer.

....he hadn't even broken his final seal yet.....

Not that that should really be the focal point here, but the fact was he was still regretting that in favour of thinking about..... everything else.

Vortex grumbled to himself angrily. So this was how he worked on not thinking about Fireflight? By thinking about him even more? Slaggit, he needed a drink. A good, stiff drink. Getting to his pedes, the Decepticon began to meander off aimlessly, his optics searching for any bar open and serving at this time of the orn. He knew come evening he'd be lucky if he could still recall his own name.

xxXxXxx

After a few days, he found that the tears stopped flowing.

“....'Flight?”

But that didn't mean the pain had gone away. Indeed, it felt even worse now.

“Fireflight?” Air Raid peeked around the door anxiously, stepping into the room slowly. His brother did not respond to his call, lying on the berth half-curled into a ball like he had been for the past few days. Seeing as he yet to receive a negative response, the older mech continued into the room, approaching the berth slowly.

“Fireflight..... are you hungry?,” the eagle jet hesitantly asked, crouching just within the other's view. He smiled, forcibly, because the sight of those emotionless optics staring unseeingly back at him could make any mech cry. “Well, I, uh..... I got you some of your favourite treats. I-if.... you want them.”

Air Raid pulled the bag of rust sticks out of subspace, placing them on the berth between himself and his brother fearfully. He didn't know if the phantom jet would accept the gift or throw it back in his face. It was amazing that Fireflight even recognized the offering. Still, he made no move to take or give them back.

Feeling as if he had over stayed his welcome, the older Autobot got to his pedes, inching for the door. He tried his hardest not to glance over his shoulder plating as he went. He did stop though at the hesitant call of his name.

“...A-ar-Ra....?”

Intakes hitching, Air Raid turned to face Fireflight, seeing the youngling pushing himself weakly up off the berth. Dim optics were glittering again with tears as he looked pleadingly at his elder brother. Even if Fireflight hadn't used his nickname from their sparkling days, the arms held out hesitantly for him would have been enough to draw the eagle jet's full attention.

“P-please.....?”

Nothing more needed to be said. Air Raid rushed back to his brother's side, wrapping Fireflight up in a tight hug. Comforting the other flyer as he again began to cry.

xxXxXxx

It had been pure chance on his part that he had seen the Autobot on the street.

Even over-energized, Vortex was a master stalker, and he tailed after the white and red mech all the way through the streets and alleys. He wasn't entirely sure which of Fireflight's brother this one was, but it didn't matter. He had mentioned the phantom jet on his comm link and even had a bag of treats for the flyer -proof enough that he knew the youngling intimately. At first, the helicopter thought to interrogate the Autobot into telling him Fireflight's status, but his sly processor settled on a different plan of action. One that he was thankful for following now, as it led him all the way to the jet's home.

Hanging back, Vortex watched as the one he had just been stalking entered into the large, white home; shutting the door behind him as he went. It seemed unlikely that the eagle jet had noticed himself being tailed, but the grey mech waited a few kliks more before coming out of his shadowy corner and approaching the house. All was silent as he crept across the lawn.

With a well-practised ease, he glanced into each window, scanning the rooms within quickly for any sign of his flyer. On the ground floor, he saw nobody but Fireflight's two creators. The youngling, he suspected then, must have been upstairs. Vortex pulled back, studying the house. There were at least eight different windows for the second level, most of which were dark. If he had to guess which room Fireflight might have been in, it'd probably be one with a light on. Just as he started to plan which window he would climb to first, a light on the far right of the house turned on.

Beneath his mask, Vortex grinned, knowing that was the room he wanted.

Quickly, the helicopter scaled the wall, swinging himself up onto the patio's small roof silently, and tip-toeing in a crouch for his selected window. He was practically grinning in delight as he peeked over the window sill.... a grin that was quick to fall from his faceplates again when he saw the scene within.

Irrational jealousy tore through him, making him hiss in disgust and hatred. The Autobot he had followed to Fireflight's home was currently stretched across a berth, his arms wrapped tightly around the phantom jet. The Decepticon could see his lip components move softly, whispering something to the other, but Fireflight only shook his helm at the unknown words, clutching tighter to his brother. The older flyer sighed sympathetically, kissing the youngling's crown; servos massaging shivering wings as tears began to pour again from the smaller one's optics.

Fireflight was his!, a voice growled within him. He should be the only one holding the Autobot, touching his wings and kissing him. Not that other jet, and certainly none of Fireflight's family either.

They didn't deserve to!

But....

He didn't either.

Vortex dropped down to the tiles, feeling his fuel tanks twist painfully with his sudden shock. He had no idea where that last thought had come from, nor did he care to know. He shook his helm viciously, trying to shake the words off, but they were already digging in deep; rooting into his processor firmly. Again, he felt ready to purge, and the helicopter was decidedly not pleased with this variation of pain.

This is all your fault, the voice pointed out snidely. You are the one that made him cry; made him run.

He hesitated on one more peek over the sill -seeing Fireflight still caged in comforting arms as he wept- before Vortex turned away completely, slipping down off the roof and to the ground below. He was almost fleeing himself as he tore back down the lamp-lit streets, eager for another drink -anything that would erase the sight of the flyer crying and the unwelcome twisting of his fuel tanks from his processor.