CLOSED-Decepticon Architect

Doesn’t matter. He tried to distract himself from the returning queasiness by tuning out Pipes and listening very closely to Scrapper instead. Right! Their next stop came to his mind and he hastily nodded.

"Yes, we will! In a couple of days, anyway. If I calculated the distance right." He made the last sentence sound like a humble understatement of his own skill, when in fact it was the opposite.

But before he could even try to right the impression of him that Pipes must have had created, Scrapper caught his full attention again. Even if those words hadn’t been meant to freak him out more, they achieved exactly the opposite, although the flier at least managed to not let it show enough to keep the volume of his voice down. No need to make the situation worse for everyone.

At Scrapper’s question, Pipes stirs slightly, half-raising himself again. “I got bit by a lot of things,” he answers, quite honestly. “Could be something like that got me. I dunno.” He gestured to the various scratches and gouges on his frame (the most distinct of which are tooth-punctures across his hood). He pauses to vent, and his speech becomes choppy as a fresh wave of nausea slowly rises. “All this. Chewed up. Death zone. Lots of monsters. Tend to run together… after a while.”

'Are we landing at a port anytime soon? I am a medic, but I'm not sure how much I can do for the both of you with the supplies on the ship...'

Misfire seemed creepily attached to Pipes, which he worried could pose a problem for their escape. Fortunately Misfire also seemed rather invested in remaining alive and not dying of a horrific wasting illness, so he would have to try and play that to his advantage. 

Any other mech would have been more alarmed about what they could infer from the conversation about Misfire's actions, but after spending so much time in the Decepticon base, Scrapper's standards of what could be construed as sane and rational behavior had become even more lax than usual.

There was no doubt for the flier that Pipes was indeed poisonous, as was obvious to him by what he had done to the floor. But he didn’t believe that this mysterious illness even required being bitten. He wouldn’t even be surprised if he was told that it was transmitted by mean looks. The dark humor went over his head completely.

"He didn’t, b-but he touched me at least once. Or I him. Or both- I-…" Realizing that he was starting to make no sense again, he fell silent for a moment, then started a more collected attempt. The sixchanger being mentioned made him realize that he hadn’t even considered yet that not only he himself might have fallen sick. And while he wouldn’t have minded being tripped over (since Sixshot most likely wouldn’t get hurt by that) it had still contributed to making his momentary disorientation worse.

"Misfire follows me around a lot," he mumbles, "in general."

As the other goes on he prepares another message. I don’t know what’s up with him. Power of suggestion or something. There’s a pause. Not going to lie, it’s kind of funny. I wonder if that makes me a bad person. Pipes doesn’t feel too guilty, considering the things Misfire has put him through: most of them petty, all of them unpleasant, and only one of them actually serious. 

Receiving Pipes transmission, he gave a slight nod in response. He was taken aback by Pipes offhand comment about finding Misfire amusing. Wondering if he was a bad person? Especially at a time like this? Although he appreciated Pipes almost ever-present sense of levity, it was a strangely...Autobot thing to say. But right now he had to make it seem like they should both be ejected from the ship at the nearest port. 

Misfire's mystery illness wasn't something he'd been mentally prepared for-he was worried if he verbally misstepped they'd be ejected into space instead. He tapped his chin thoughtfully, a plan forming. 

'It looks like you dragged this minibot out of a scrap heap. Did you decontaminate him before bringing him aboard? He probably has all kinds of diseases. Contagious ones, maybe even fatal.'

After a suitably dramatic pause he continued on before anyone could interrupt 'There are a number of pathogens that can destroy a mech from the inside out. Some of them have a significant incubation period, making them highly contagious, showing no symptoms until...' He trailed off. He wanted Misfire scared, not hysterical.

As Scrapper enters and more or less interrupte confession time, his sight once again reminds Misfire of his terrible sickness…well, actually Pipes’ sickness, but he’s managed to convince himself that he feels *at least* as equally miserable as the Autobot. Despite trying to calm himself down only a few moments ago, he finds himself panicking again.

Out loud, he croaks, “Purged. Don’t touch the floor.” After a moment, he clarifies, with an unsteady wave of his hand towards the corroded hole in the floor, in which the table is leaning somewhat unsteadily, “There.” Pipes, of course, has failed to mention that any energon he regurgitates shares the same corrosive quality as his gas, but that’s not something he felt would be prudent to bring up while trying very awkwardly to woo an enemy soldier from another dimension. 

He lowered his hand and took another step into the room. 

Pipes certainly looked like he was dying. He thought the minibot was prone to understatement, so he became very concerned that Pipes wasn't going to be alright at all. But what in the name of Unicron was wrong with Misfire? Well, a lot of things were wrong with Misfire, but some were more urgent than others. 

Under different circumstances he would have rushed to Pipes side. He took a few more halting steps forward, but stayed at a safe distance, stopping just out of vomiting range.

'I'd prefer it if you didn't. I don't know where the airlock is and I'd rather not leave your bodies just lying around for Sixshot to trip over.' 

He took a long and hard look at Misfire, who was watching him with wide cyberpuppy optics. 

He gives Pipes another worried look, a little discouraged in his hopes at the sight of the curled up frame. “Better don’t thank me yet” he mumbles.

Falling silent for a moment afterwards, he suddenly remembers the reason why he wanted to see Pipes in the first place, and he starts wondering if now is really the right time for confessions. But who knows, it might actually be the best time. Maybe Pipes won’t even catch a lot of it in this state, which might not be a bad thing.

Or maybe he’ll appreciate the distraction until Scrapper arrives? Either way, Misfire has already started talking anyway.

"Yeah," he responds, speaking slowly and carefully, "I regret a lot of things. I don’t think I’ve purposefully ticked off anyone seriously, at least not recently. Heh, I’ve been trying,” he snorts, “to be more impulsive lately. I think it’s not meant to be.” 

Misfire’s being too vague and Pipes is feeling to miserable to give him any sort of detailed and helpful advice. Still, he tries to be helpful, even if each word is obviously dragged out of his vocalizer with great effort on is part. “I guess you just gotta roll with the punches. If you did something stupid, focus on dealing with the consequences instead of worrying about the fact that you did something stupid.” 

He responded to Misfire's vague comm, and after entering a few storage rooms by mistake, found his way back to where he'd left Pipes. He stepped into the room and stopped dead in the doorway, lifting up one hand slowly to smack it against the top of his helm.

For some reason he could not fathom, there was a smoldering crater underneath a table between himself and the port window. Misfire and Pipes were sitting on the ground in front of the couch rather than seated on it, looking jittery and wretched, respectively.

His optics darted between the two mechs, confused about why Misfire was sitting there hugging his knees with his wings hiked up nervously, next to a miserable-looking Pipes, who had folded in on himself like he was trying to transform into a lump of coal.

Scrapper ran through a mental checklist of who was in the base right now, wincing at every name. He'd been keeping himself busy with general maintenance work, but he was suddenly struck by the concern that there wouldn't be anything habitable to return to if he ever made it home. He took a deep vent and scratched under his chin pensively. There wasn't much to return to anyway.

Oh.

He blinks, taken momentarily aback, mentally scrambling for the words he was going to say, but all he can think about is that, from this angle, he’s looking directly into the Constructicon’s visor, and he can just faintly make out the bright curve of his eyes… “Yeah,” he manages, somewhat quietly.

Pipes blinks and cracks a half-grin, “Yeah, I… thanks,” he manages to finish quietly, letting his gaze drop. “And speaking of rest, I should probably go ahead and get some. I’m pretty sure I’ll be needing it soon.” He adds, his tone dryly humorous.

He leaned back again, sitting up straight to watch as Pipes stood, also noting that they were almost at eye level with Pipes standing.

He glanced down at his hand when Pipes touched it, then back up to look into Pipes eyes. 

He wasn't sure how to respond, the ship wasn't that big afterall; before the pause could get awkward he replied with the simple 'As will I.'

'Rest well.' He added in a more tender tone. He wondered what Pipes would be like when they weren't in very immediate physical danger. Due to the nature of the war, neither of them would ever truly be safe, but there were much more comfortable places for them to be than on the ship of an infamous six-changer (and his peculiar...pets). 

Tomorrow is when the plan itself goes into effect, and Pipes is still a little nervous about purposefully making himself sick. His last experience with illness had not been pleasant, to say the least. The side effects seem like they’d be manageable, but even so… well, there’s no helping it. It’s honestly his best shot of getting out of here without ending up somewhere he likely doesn’t want to be. He will simply do what has to be done. 

"You know, I’ve never been to a beach," he says, somewhat wistfully. "The only two planets aside from Cybertron I visited were that one with the forest—you’ve seen it." That planet had been extensively featured in the video files that Pipes had compiled for Scrapper. "Lots of trees, but no beach that I ever found. And before that was… was Delphi." Pipes pauses nervously, his features momentarily drawing themselves tight, and then he immediately feels stupid for the sudden spike of anxiety that lances through his spark. Come on, mech, it’s been over a year. Just don’t think about it. He gives his head a little shake, glancing to the side.

As he does so, a movement out of the corner of his eye catches his attention, and he glances to the side. Knucklehead is watching him again, but makes no move to come any closer. The minibot waves him over and the machine slowly rises, taking its time and stretching, catlike, before it trots over. He takes this as an opportunity to cover up his little stutter, a bit embarrassed about it. As Kuncklehead draws near again, he strokes the creature’s arched back. 

Scrapper blinked slowly when Pipes mentioned sleeping arrangements.

Pipes must have been very tired because that was an appallingly phrased statement. 

'....yes. There are lots of beaches on Earth-the planet is mostly water. Even our base is on the bottom of the ocean. But who knows where we'll end up? Hopefully somewhere more amenable to hitchhikers. And with a more comfortable place to rest than a closet.'

'I think you've done enough fighting, you deserve some rest.' he added after a moment, leaning forward so he was optic-level with Pipes. 

Who cooks: Hmm…tough decision there but my vote is for Scrapper. I think he makes elaborate meals.

Who does the laundry and other chores: Probably Pipes. He’ll make sure their figurative sandbox is nice and neat.

How many children do they have: I think three! I bet one would want to be a musician.

Who’s more dominate: Oh that Scrapper. He’ll be pushy on his wants. Hehehehehe…

Favorite nonsexual activity: I want to say that they build mansions for homeless animals.

Their favorite place to be together: The “backside” of a construction lot. No one goes there.

Any traditions: Playing dominoes using buildings~

Their “song”: “Dead Man’s Party” by Oingo Boingo

What they do for each other on holidays: Hand-make all their decorations and bake cakes!

Where did they go for their honeymoon: They toured the Incan ruins and looked at the structures left behind. Pipes tried to adopt a tapir but Scrapper wouldn’t allow it.

Where did they first meet: On a very slow freeway. Bumper to bumper traffic. They had time to chat it up.

Any pets: A gecko!

What do they fight over: The correct placement of doors and their heights.

....

....

A beat. 

He grins again, tapping at his collar with a free hand. “After all, you’re the one who showed up and decided to embark on a very daring rescue.” It only seems to register then with Pipes that he’s touching the other mech again, and he draws his hand away. “Ah, sorry!” Perhaps it’s provoked the significance of the circumstances, or perhaps it’s just a desire to be close to someone safe after his various misadventures over the past few months. Pipes is much more used to physical contact than Scrapper is, and that’s something that he’s going to need to constantly remind himself so that he doesn’t get carried away and make his… his… well, the word “friend” doesn’t quite cut it anymore, does it? Oh Primus he thinks it’s starting to sink in. 

The future is full of uncertain and vaguely frightening things, but he isn’t going to have to face it alone. 

Pipes brings his hands together, fingers worrying one another nervously. He gives a little laugh. “I’m grabby tonight, I guess. But yeah, I—ah. But you…” Pipes is inwardly mortified at his ability to make himself sound even more ridiculous than he thought possible. “I’m sorry, I just—I don’t know what to say. Except that I’m…” He looks back down at his hands, and says softly “I’m… I’m really happy about this.” 

Away from the workplace politics of his home base, it's easier to be less guarded. Right now, with no one watching, he doesn't need to worry too much about his feelings for Pipes being used against him-or Pipes himself. Unless Sixshot were to suddenly burst into the room, of course, but he'd be surprised if he couldn't sense the Six-changer coming.

As Pipes sat and stared at his hands, Scrapper watched him with fond tenderness. Although he was in a sorry state of disrepair, Pipes was certainly not broken. He seemed to almost glow with tenacity and life. 

Pipes admission gave him a giddy tingle all over. He was glad that Pipes felt that way, although happy wasn't a word he would use to describe his own feelings, which were churning in his spark in a wild mix of guilt and elation.

'It is going to be quite an adventure, isn't it?' He said, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. Being here in Pipes presence had finally managed to crack the hard shell of ennui that had settled over him in recent months.