Multiple ratings within
Chapter 7: Blast Off and Cosmos II
Title: Loathing
Rating: PG
Summary: He hates himself alot
“Hey, Cosmos you busy?” Wheeljack
knocked at the door quickly before walking into the office, looking
around for the tiny astronomer. The grin he wore dropped as he
finally spotted the other autodog; hunched over and shoulders
shaking, with his helm buried in his folded arms, sitting at his
desk. Concerned, the bulldog hurried over to his co-worker, hovering
about Cosmos anxiously.
“C-cosmos, you..... what's wrong?”
Startling at the engineer's closeness,
the pyrenees shot up from his desk, turning his tear-streaked face to
Wheeljack. “Wheeljack?! N-no, I mean....,” Cosmos choked, wiping
hurriedly at his cheekplates.
The white mech's gaze softened; he
reached out, grabbing hold of the astronomer's servo and gently
pulling his fingers away from his face. “C'mon,” Wheeljack kindly
said, patting the other's shoulder plating with his free servo.
“Let's get you calmed down.” At the engineer's prodding, Cosmos
allowed himself to be lifted from his seat and lead out of his
office.
Ten kliks later found the two autodogs
outside; the pyrenees nursing a cup of warm oil in his servos as he
sat at a bench, staring down at his pedes. Sitting beside him was
Wheeljack, slowly swirling the dregs of his own drink. “So.....
This guy you've been talking to a lot, he... he turned out to like
you. And he's been the 'secret admirer' that's been dropping off the
gifts at your office lately?”
Cosmos nodded his helm weakly, coolant
filling his optics again. “I.... I didn't know. A-and,” the
astronomer sobbed, “H-he left s-so suddenly. He w-was.... s-so mad
t-too. Wh-why? Why w-was he mad?”
Wheeljack wrapped an arm around the
smaller mech's shoulder, giving the plating a comforting squeeze. “I
don't know why he was mad, Cosmos,” the bulldog replied softly,
“But.... maybe you should talk to him? I mean, try and sort this
out. I mean, it sounds as if he really likes you, and you, well....
You do too, don't you?”
The pyrenees rubbed frantically at his
optics.
Exhaling quietly, the white autodog
rubbed at his companion's backstruts, hoping to calm him down
further. “Say..... Cosmos.....,” the engineer hesitated, after a
moment of silent pondering. “You said that you didn't believe that
you actually had a secret admirer in the beginning. Why is that?”
Cosmos did not answer, tucking his chin
in more and crying harder.
Title: Silence
Rating: PG
Summary: It's nothing but silence
all over again for him
The kittycon household was an
intoxicating prison of eerie silence and palpable tension. Brawl
fidgeted uncertainly on the far right side of the couch, glancing
between his sire, Blast Off, Vortex and then back to Blast Off again
finally. Onslaught said nothing, but it was obvious that he was
sneaking peeks at his children over his newspaper every few
astroseconds.
The quiet was shattered as Vortex let
out a long, weary sigh, falling backwards and lying spread eagle
across the living room floor. “Would someone just pinch the glitch
already?”
“Vortex,” the serval growled.
“Well, I mean, c'mon! The mech's been
sitting there, all mopey and slag for the past couple cycles. It's
booooooooring.” Vortex completed his complaint with a pout,
crossing his arms over his chestplates and glaring at Blast Off
upside down. The siamese did not react; servos folded in his lap and
dim optics staring flatly at the wall across the room.
Onslaught lowered his newspaper
completely now, his gaze noticeably concerned.
“You know what I think?,” the lynx
started snidely from the floor. “I think he's just upset because
his 'mechfriend' dumped him before he could even take the dweeb on a
date, which means he's not getting any. That's why he's so miserable
right now -'cause he's horny and in luuuuuuuuurve.”
Stunned silence filled the room this
time. Brawl shifted on the couch, scooting closer to his older
brother. “Do you want a hug?,” he kindly asked, arms already
stretching out. Onslaught was almost glad when he saw Blast Off
finally react to the question; grey optics narrowing and fangs
peeking out from under his upper lip component. With a muted huff,
the siamese rose to his pedes and marched from the room, making sure
to kick Vortex in the helm along the way.
Their sire ignored the indignant “Hey!”
from his other son, lifting his newspaper and sighing softly as he
tried to focus on the editorials. As unsettled as he was by Blast
Off's phase of depression (coming from a mech that was usually quiet
and subdued with to begin with, this extra pessimism was highly
disconcerting), there was nothing really the older kittycon could do
to help the siamese.
He could only sit and hope that
eventually his son's spark would recover from his apparent rejection.
Title: Intervention
Rating: PG
Summary: Wheeljack tries to help
The bulldog shuttered his optics at the
house before him, before turning his helm down and squinting at the
piece of paper in his servo. The number on the door matched the one
scrawled in the note he held, but he was having a hard time believing
that this lovely, little three-story house belonged to Onslaught and
his kids. Shrugging, because after all it wasn't really his place to
judge, the bulldog walked up the driveway, ringing the doorbell.
Barely a klik later the door was being opened, a green and blue
kittycon greeting him on the other side.
“What do you wa- Oh, wheeljack? Is
that you?”
“Umm, hey, Onslaught,” Wheeljack
greeted; a servo lifting behind his helm and scratching at an ear in
embarrassment. “I hope I'm not bothering you or anything.”
“No, of course not,” the serval
smirked, stepping to the side. “C'mon; come in! Let's grab some oil
and talk.”
Quickly, Wheeljack took a step back.
“Oh, but I don't want to intrude or anything. I just came by to-”
“Nonsense,” Onslaught interrupted,
reaching out and grabbing the autodog before he could back away
further. With a quick tug, he yanked Wheeljack indoors, shutting the
door behind him and leading the engineer to the kitchen. “It's been
a while since we last talked. How goes the lab? You made anything
explode again?”
“Hey now.... I don't always make
things explode!,” Wheeljack pouted.
“Organisms from another dimension,”
the serval shot back. Immediately, the white mech shut up. “In
either case,” Onslaught continued as they stepped into the kitchen.
He helped Wheeljack to a chair. “Since that is a classified matter
considered 'non-existent', let's talk about some other things, hmm? I
do so enjoy that marshmallow generator you made- Brawl plays with it
frequently.”
“Does he?,” the bulldog asked,
finally settling in. It was kind of hard not to when the kittycon was
being quite hospitable, and his home radiated warmth. “You know,
I've gotta confess Onslaught, I'm a little surprised....”
“Hmm?”
“Well, I mean, uh.... Not to be rude,
but this wasn't quite what I was expecting when I came by. You're
home, I mean. Well, that is to say-”
Onslaught waved off the rest of
Wheeljack's words, coming back to the table with a fresh pot of oil
and two mugs. “Don't worry about it. I already know the typical
stereotype: Mercenary sire with five kids, each with their own raps,
should be living in some slum on the other side of Kaon or some
bunker in the woods. I know my house is too 'Betty Crocker' for the
rest of those mudflaps to comprehend. Yet, mercenary or not, I am
still a military mech and I believe that a good home is one that
sticks to tried and true regulations of cleanliness, order and hard
labour. Plus, I like the neighborhood.”
The bulldog was unable to stifle the
smile at that last statement. Catching the serval's wink, Wheeljack
understood immediately that the final bit was meant to be a joke and
he chuckled for a moment before taking the drink offered to him.
“Good to know.”
The kittycon hummed, drinking deeply
from his cup for a klik before turning his full attention to the
autodog again. “Speaking of which, that does bring to mind a
certain inquiry,” Onslaught began, “Why are you here, Wheeljack?”
The effect was instantaneous. The
engineer tensed up, before sighing and pushing away his mug.
“Honestly, I wasn't expecting to come here myself. But when I found
out that it was your son involved....”
The other's blue optics narrowed.
“Wait. Which son?”
Swallowing sharply, Wheeljack
stuttered, “B-blast Off....?”
The serval shuttered his optics in
surprise. “Blast Off? My oldest son Blast Off? Are you sure he's
the one responsible for whatever trouble that's happened and not one
of the others? Like, Vortex per say. 'Cause I know-”
The bulldog quickly raised his servos,
waving them wildly. “Oh, no, no, no!,” he hurried to explain.
“It's nothing really bad like that! I mean, well.... Let me
explain.” Onslaught set his servos on top of the table, leaning
closer in his seat, showing that Wheeljack had his undivided
attention. Cycling a deep intake, the autodog prepared himself to
continue.
“There's a co-worker of mine -a
really sweet, nice person- and well, recently, I've seen him upset.
And I mean, I've never seen him so sad before.”
The kittycon nodded his helm in
understanding.
Wheeljack glanced at Onslaught
uncertainly, before going on. “Well, you see, I had a talk with him
and it turns out that he and this other mech had been running into
each other from time to time and talking frequently. They were really
hitting it off and becoming good friends. Well, at the same time
Cosmos -that's my friend, you see- he'd also been receiving gifts
from an anonymous sender. When he found out that they were coming
from Blast Off, well-”
“Woah, hold on there for a klik!,”
Onslaught interrupted a second time. The larger mech stared down at
the autodog. “Are you telling me that your friend is the one that
Blast Off had a crush on?”
“Y-you... you knew?!” Wheeljack
shuttered his optics in surprise.
The serval shrugged. “Well, I knew
that he was supposedly shot down shortly after I found out there was
someone he liked,” he replied.
The engineer frowned. “Well, from
what I could gather from Cosmos, he was surprised by Blast Off's
impromptu visit. Understandably, he was shocked when he found out
that your son was also his secret admirer. But before he could
respond, Blast Off apologized and said not to worry about anything
anymore, then promptly left. Cosmos has been in such a state since;
he's taken sick leave, he's been crying so much!”
The mercenary lifted a servo to his
face, scratching at his chin. “I see....,” he hummed. After a
moment, Onslaught rose to his pedes. “Did you happen to have your
friend's address, Wheeljack?”
“Well, no, but-”
“Never mind then. I'll find out from
someone else.” The serval gestured to the kitchen doorway, and
slowly, Wheeljack stood up as well. Silently, the autodog followed
the larger mech back down the hall to the front door.
“Just what are you going to do,
Onslaught?,” the engineer asked, pausing on the front porch and
facing the kittycon.
Onslaught reached out and patted the
bulldog's shoulder plating reassuringly. “I'm not going to hurt
your friend or anything, if that's what you are getting at. I'll
simply have a talking to with my son, and have him go over and talk
to this Cosmos himself. If anything, it sounds like both of them are
in a misunderstanding and it'll probably resolve things if they
discussed the matter face-to-face.”
It was a good, logical answer.
Appeased, Wheeljack nodded his helm, waving at the other mech as he
started down the porch steps. “Well, good luck then! Oh, and we
should totally have some oil again, or at least some high-grade. You
know, to really chill with.”
The serval chuckled lowly. “Of
course, pup. Have a good day, Wheeljack,” he called, before turning
and shutting the door. Onslaught paused, staring up the stairs before
he sighed heavily. “Now if only my stupid sons could stop being
such bolt-heads.....”
Title: Persuasion
Rating: PG
Summary: Onslaught makes his move
now
“Soldier,” the serval called, as he
saw Blast Off stalk towards the front door. Onslaught closed the oven
quickly, marching over to the doorway. “Where do you think you're
going?”
“Out,” his son clipped dryly. The
siamese chanced a glance over his shoulder plating and bared his
fangs in return to his sire's own glare.
The older kittycon decided not to
comment on the disrespect, crooking a finger and gesturing for Blast
Off to follow. Silently, the brown mech did; arms crossed over his
chestplates and tail stiff behind him as he walked into the kitchen.
“We need to talk,” Onslaught said as he headed back to the stove,
grabbing a spatula and flipping his sizzling steaks. The grease
splattered and popped with the action.
The siamese remained silent to the
announcement.
“Tell me about what happened with
your crush,” the serval continued. “You approached him and were
rejected; that's the story, right?”
Blast Off whirled on his pede and
stormed out the kitchen.
“Soldier!,” Onslaught roared. “You
turn about face and march right back in here before I court martial
you! Do not test me!!” With a snarl, the younger mech stopped,
turning around and stomping back into the room a few astroseconds
later.
“At ease....,” the green kittycon
grumbled, when Blast Off did nothing but glare at him. Scowling, the
siamese dropped down heavily into one of the kitchen chairs.
A klik passed in tense silence as
Onslaught tended to dinner, leaving his son to sulk at the table.
When he was satisfied with the frying of his steaks, the serval
turned off the stove top, removing his apron and facing the younger
mech. “I am quite aware you're upset with me,” he started coldly,
deciding to ignore the hateful look Blast Off sent him. “But I do
believe I have a right to bring this matter up.”
“How?,” snarled the siamese lowly.
His sire bared his fangs in return. “By
the fact that Wheeljack came here just the other day, telling me that
one of his colleagues is suddenly missing work at the moment because
one of my screw-loose creations upset him!”
Blast Off shuttered his optics
nonchalantly.
“You,” Onslaught added, stomping up
to son and looming over the sitting kittycon, “Will go to see
Cosmos and apologize for your misconduct. Whatever may of happened,
you were in the wrong for leaving things in a state of chaos.”
“But, he-”
“YOU. WILL. TALK. TO. HIM!!!,” the
serval roared, cutting off the other's hiss. The siamese bit his
glossa quickly, his optics thin slits. Reaching into his pocket,
Onslaught pulled out a folded sheet of paper, slamming it onto the
table. Huffing, the older mech pulled back, retreating to the stove
again.
“Dinner will be ready in about a
couple cycle's,” he informed, opening the oven door and checking on
his roast again. “You have until then to go and see this mech and
resolve this matter between the two of you peacefully. His address is
written there. You are not to come back until you've talked.”
Onslaught glared over his shoulder
plating. “And I will know if you have or not. So don't even try
being wise like your idiot of a brother, Vortex.”
Tight-lipped, Blast Off rose to his
pedes, grabbing the paper off the table and stalking from the
kitchen, fuming. The sound of the door slamming shut heralded his
exit.
Title: Wrong
Rating: PG
Summary: Blast Off wonders if he
really needs to apologize
There was a small, little cafe just
across the street from Cosmos' apartment. Tucked in between an old
bookstore and an aging natural healing pharmacy and centre, the cafe
only had about five tables and fourteen chairs, but the oil was fresh
and the smell of home-made biscuits was pleasant enough for Blast
Off. Of course, what really sold the place to the kittycon was the
fact that there was only two other customers aside from himself and
they were all keeping quietly to themselves. He'd almost call this
place heaven, if it weren't for the fact that it was really
purgatory.
His sire had threatened that he would
not be allowed home until he'd talked to Cosmos..... dinner was in a
cycle, and the siamese was nowhere closer to being able to cross the
street and buzz the autodog.
Blast Off's grip tightened a smidge
around his mug as he hurried to suppress his scowl.
Did he really need to apologize and
make up? What for?
After all, he had been the one who'd
been made a fool of. Irrational or not, he felt quite justified in
his response. And besides, it wasn't as if he'd flown off the handle
or anything, like his brothers were more prone to do. He had been
curt and quick; leaving before either of them could have embarrassed
themselves further.
Maybe he had been a little too
hasty......
The siamese chastised himself silently,
tearing his gaze from the window and his constant vigil over Cosmos'
building. This debate -and the fact that Onslaught had made valid
enough points- were what had carried the kittycon this far as it was.
Either cowardice or pride was holding him back from crossing the
street and taking the last step. If he could only make up his mind
which of those two were responsible, and if he really felt guilty
enough to humiliate himself some more, then maybe he'd finally be
able to do something other than just sit there, debating.
Apparently just thinking about himself
being a coward was the last straw.
Silently, Blast Off rose from his seat,
throwing his unfinished oil into the trash and heading out the door.
Title: Answers
Rating: T
Summary: Issues are finally brought
to light, and some insight is given
“C-coming!,” Cosmos called
hoarsely, wiping at his optics and shuffling for the door. Figuring
it was Wheeljack come to check up on him again, or possibly even
Bulkhead, the pyrenees opened the door, sighing softly.
“Listen, really, I'm al-”
The rest of his words were cut off when
he looked up and saw Blast Off staring back at him silently.
“Bl-blast Off....,” Cosmos whimpered frightfully. He backed away
quickly. “Y-you're not.... You sh-shouldn't be here! I mean-”
The kittycon reached out, slapping a
servo on the door before the autodog could slam it in his face. “We
need to talk,” he declared, pushing the door open more and walking
into the other's apartment. Cosmos meekly let himself be backed
further into the room, his optics wet with tears and his servos
anxiously clenched in his sweater as Blast Off locked the door behind
him.
“P-please.....,” the astronomer
begged quietly, “Pl-please.... j-just go. Please, l-leave.”
The kittycon crossed his arms behind
his backstruts, lowering his chin, trying to appear less threatening.
“If that is what you really want of me....,” he replied flatly,
“Then I shall do as you request. But first, I must know: Why are
you crying?”
Cosmos let out a little gasp, recalling
belatedly the tears that had streaked down his cheekplates. He spun
away from Blast Off, hurrying to wipe his face some more and smother
his sorrow in the presence of the siamese. The autodog was caught off
guard when a larger servo grasped his, pulling it away from his face.
He found himself face to face with the
kittycon, the brown mech staring back at him, kneeling on one knee
joint to be more level with the pyrenees; waiting still for the
answer to the question he had asked.
“I-i....,” Cosmos stuttered. He
shook his helm suddenly, pulling himself out of the other's grasp
violently. “It's n-not as if you care!”
The flat gaze narrowed at the
accusation.
“Was it your younger partner? Has he
rejected you?”
“No, he- I mean..... what?” The
astronomer shuttered his optics up at Blast Off in confusion,
actually forgetting about his tears and the like for one moment.
“W-what are you talking about?”
Blast Off straightened up, his arms
once again folding behind his backstruts. “That autodog pup; the
mastiff. The one who looked at you with utter adoration in his
optics.” The siamese's lip component slightly curled at that last
bit, his disgust barely concealed behind his mask of indifference.
Oh, how he hated that mutt.
It took astroseconds for what the
kittycon had said to register in his processor. Gaping in shock,
Cosmos waved his servos about desperately, his cheekplates darkening
in his flustered state. “N-no, that's, th-that's not right!
Bu-bulkhead is only a f-friend! A friend! H-he o-only worships a
h-handful of us f-for our sc-scientific achievements -nothing
m-more!”
The brown mech was silent and slowly,
the pyrenees lowered his servos back down by his sides. On the tip of
his glossa was a question he just didn't have the courage to ask, and
a thought to himself that maybe, just maybe, Blast Off had been.....
jealous?
“Then clearly I was in the wrong,”
the siamese spoke up after a klik, startling the astronomer. “I had
presumed too much, and upset you needlessly. I apologize.....”
Anxiously, Cosmos smiled up at the
other 'bot. “It's.....it's alright. Really.”
Blast Off looked almost disbelieving at
his statement, but did not refute the autodog. Instead, he bowed his
helm, slowly turning towards the front door. “I'm sorry that I
caused you trouble. I will leave now, as I had agreed.”
“W-wait!”
The siamese paused at the brazen cry,
turning to face the smaller mech again. Cosmos was looking up at him,
optics crinkled slightly with his anxiety and his servos trembling as
he twisted them in his sweater's hem. Swallowing sharply, the
pryenees glanced to the floor quickly before bringing his gaze back
up to the other mech. “C-could,” he stuttered, his courage
quickly faltering again. Cosmos cycled an intake shakily, steeling
himself for the rest of his question. “C-could we.... could we
still be friends? If, if y-you don't mind that is. I-i mean, I-”
“Yes,” the kittycon answered,
halting the other's doubts before they could overwhelm him once more.
Glancing upwards, Cosmos was almost stunned to see a sliver of warmth
reflected in the taller mech's grey optics. His spark pulsing in
response, the autodog struggled to keep both his fears and the giddy
little smile from rising to his face.
Blast Off crossed the apartment again,
grasping the astronomer's servo as he bent low again to be level with
him. “I will remain near you, as long as you will it,” he said.
He raised Cosmos' servo a little to his face, as if he was about to
kiss it, but stopped before the other's knuckles were even close to
his lip components. Grey optics shuttering slowly, the siamese
quietly stroked the back of the pyrenees' palm with a thumb before
releasing his servo entirely.
“Goodnight Cosmos,” Blast Off
politely continued, rising to his full height again. “If you do not
mind, I will call on you tomorrow. Would that be acceptable?”
“O-of course,” Cosmos replied,
smiling this time. He had been unable to keep it back for long.
With a nod of his helm, the kittycon
turned around for a final time; leaving the apartment for the rest of
the evening and a calmer autodog in its space. Padding up to his door
and locking it after the other's exit, Cosmos turned and leaned
against the door heavily, his optics fixed to the floor beneath his
pedes as he swooned slightly.
His gnawing doubts and fears were
returning again in Blast Off's absence, but even they could not
strangle the shred of hope within his chassis. That he might have not
completely lost the siamese's friendship amidst all this confusion
put the autodog at rest. Cosmos felt ever so glad.
Tonight, he mused, perhaps he would be
able to get some proper recharge.
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