Palimpsest

[niyazi-a.livejournal.com]

PG
IDW-G1
Sixshot, Hun-Grr, Blot
maybe spoilers for Spotlight: Sixshot?  Also my first time writing Terrorcons, so, yeah. Lower the bar. 
For tf_rare_pairing  weekly request

Hun-Grr wondered, seriously, why Sixshot put up with them.  Not him, mind you.  Hun-Grr was just fine.  Which meant that he, well, he wasn’t blind to the, uh, fact that some members of the Terrorcons were, well…awfully hard to like.

Like Blot, for example. Who was sitting right across from Sixshot in the pickup shuttle, trying to touch him with his knees.  Which struck Hun-Grr as monumentally unfair.  HE should be the one playing kneesies with Sixshot! If any of them did, that is. 

Sixshot didn’t seem to notice.  His emotions were always hard to read, especially compared to, well, Cutthroat and Rippersnapper. And…well, who cared what Blot was thinking?  Honestly.  Probably had something to do with smelling bad.

And watching Blot try to bump his knee against Sixshot’s was making Hun-Grr kind of angry. And hungry, while he was at it.  Huh. These pickup shuttles normally had some rations up by the pilot’s cabin.  And he could definitely use a change of scene. And air. 

And it probably wasn’t very subtle the way he stomped on one of Blot’s feet as he passed, but Blot wasn’t much for subtle. 

Hun-Grr was a bit surprised, though, when he sensed something move behind him. Sixshot, getting up, damaged gears grinding, dented armor plates whining against each other.  Sixshot himself, said, showed nothing. So stoic. 

His spark chamber pulsed.  Oh wow. Sixshot was following him. Following…him! 

He straightened, wincing as it strained one of his heads, but determined to make a good impression.  No post-combat fatigue here.  No weakness at all. Nope. Just a little hungry.  That’s all. 

Hun-Grr stopped by the cabin, optics scanning the various compartment hatches.  Ah, here it was, rations.  His tanks seemed to ache with anticipation, his mouths champing on air. He popped open the compartment, digging through the rations.  He’d gathered up a double handful when he thought of Sixshot.  Oh. Right.  Distracted.

He turned, awkwardly.  Sixshot stood right by him.  Just..standing there. One of the plastic ration packs slipped, splatting onto the floor.  “Uhhhh, ration?” he offered, a bit embarrassed.

The optics stared at him, curious. Sixshot reached over and took one ration pack. “Happened to you.”

It took Hun-Grr a klik to realize that that was a question.  Well, Sixshot didn’t need to do questions the way others normally did. Of course not. “Me? Oh, uhhh, one of the Reapers kind of whonked me.”

“Whonked.”

What?  Why did the word sound weird when Sixshot said it? “You know, with his weapon.”  Hun-Grr mimed a buttstroke to the head.  Which meant that another bunch of ration packs scattered onto the floor. Frag.  He squatted down to gather them up, just as Sixshot did the same.  Their heads clanged together, Hun-Grr’s vid feed blanking out, then resolved back in a shower of white stars.  Wow.  Sixshot had a really hard head.  Hun-Grr raised a hand to his helm, rubbing the new dent.  He’d…cherish it forever. 

“Here.” Sixshot thrust a pile of the ration packs at Hun-Grr as he stood up. He still held onto the one Hun-Grr had given him. 

“Thanks,” Hun-Grr said, clumsily.  He felt suddenly kind of like, well, a bit of a pig, looking between his pile of rations and the one Sixshot held. “Probably not really this hungry,” he said, sadly.  He fumbled with the rations.

Sixshot shrugged, opening the ration, and pulling an autoinjector from one forearm.  “Might as well use it while you’ve got it.”  There was something…deliciously chilling in the words, Hun-Grr thought. Some big adventure. He scrambled to begin feeding one into his own feed tube, feeling as though it had been authorized by the Phase Sixer.  More, that Sixshot was eating with him. 

He let his optics roam over Sixshot’s body, taking in the battered armor, sometimes scored down to naked metal.  So many scars. So many battles he’d been through, and alone.  So many stories written on that white armor, in the scrapes and dents, in the rough patches, the dented stabilizers, the globs of hastily patched hoses barely visible through gaps in the six-changer’s armor.

 And the new ones, already almost blending in.  Ones he had gotten from the Reapers, while rescuing the Terrorcons.  The scars almost ran into each other, a palimpsest of Sixshot’s history, erased, and rewritten with every repair.  This last batch—their history, written onto Sixshot.  In a way they were part of him now. 

Sixshot disconnected the autoinjector, the ration pack an empty husk of discolored plastic.  He caught Hun-Grr’s gaze on him. “What.” 

Hun-Grr blinked. “I….uh…you have a lot of scars.”

Sixshot looked down at his green chassis armor. "Guess I do." His voice was thrilling to Hun-Grr. 

“Do-do you remember the stories of each of them?” He heard the embarrassing eagerness in his voice, but, what the frag.  Sixshot had come all the way to Mumu-Obscura to find them. He wouldn’t mind—if he’d even register—a bit of overzealous gratitude.

Sixshot ran one white finger over his green chest armor.  “What’s the point in remembering pain.”   Hun-Grr felt his face fall.  Yeah, so…Sixshot would probably forget which of the dents and dings were from rescuing them. They weren’t special after all. Too soon another battle would hammer those dents into background noise and nothing more.

Then again, maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. Not exactly their, uhhhh, finest moment.

Did they...have any 'finest moments'?

Sixshot’s optics rested heavily on Hun-Grr.  The Terrorcon’s autoinjector chimed that its ration pack was empty, but he didn’t move.  Sixshot tilted his helm. “Remember the mechs I killed,” he said.  And Hun-Grr realized, suddenly, that in his own way, Sixshot was trying to make conversation. He was…just about as bad at it as Hun-Grr was. 

“And us?” 

A strange snort. “New category.” He reached over, helping himself to another ration pack. He jerked his chin up. “Rescues.”

The way he said the word made Hun-Grr’s spark pulse, hard enough to hurt.

And suddenly, he wasn’t hungry anymore.

 

Comments

[dfastback68.livejournal.com]

Ahhhh I love you for this :D Conversation is so awkward for these guys, it's almost painful to watch/imagine. Blot manages to be adorable and Hun-Grr at the end made me smile ♥

[niyazi-a.livejournal.com]

Sixshot is not...chatty. I figured I'd try to write Hun-Grr and if I totally failed, well, you'd maybe forgive me.

And Blot. EVERY gestalt needs a smelly moron! :D

[albinocthulhu.livejournal.com]

Dawwwww just dawwww.

[niyazi-a.livejournal.com]

Hun-Grr will bear the dent in his helm from Sixshot's head with pride! :D

[niyazi-a.livejournal.com]

Thanks! The Terrorcons have such little characterization in IDW, but...'fanboy'? I can do that. :P

Sixshot's just your basic (vaguely sexy) psychopath. :D

Glad you liked it, since I think it was your prompt!