Catharsis

Chapter II

The genuine severity with which he spoke had taken Quickshadow by surprise.

It was jarring, and would have been frightening, if only his words were not as unfounded as she would have liked to believe.

This mech had been crashing and faltering in the flames of his inner demons, just as she had been with her own for the last millennia. They had been treading similar paths. And while she was usually not one to complain, a small part of her couldn't help but feel that… it was all just, so unfair. To her, to him, and everyone else misfortunate enough to have been caught up in the mess their kind had admittedly gotten themselves into.

A mess that costed millions of Cybertronian sparks, and their own home.

The very thought made her insides turn.

"What I said was… uncalled for. I apologise."

The femme turned about swiftly, no longer able to stand the tension that wavered between her and the firetruck, who had already fallen victim to his personal melting pot of memories. She too, was beginning to experience the same, a flood of her own memories shifting through her processor. They were taking a heavy toll on her hold over her emotions.

With her grip starting to slip, she knew she needed to finish this as quick as she could, and so transformed into her vehicle mode without another word, preparing to take off and end things right there and then.

"Wait!"

Quickshadow immediately ceased the powerful rev of her engines, though a sigh nonetheless, escaped her as she swivelled her tires about to face the red rescue bot, now freed from his stupor.

"What?"

The tinge of urgency in her voice didn't go unnoticed by Heatwave, his optic brows knitting themselves together in a tightly held frown.

"This isn't over, y'know."

His words seemed to hold enough ground to get the Ausley Benton to stay parked in place, rather than go running off– or perhaps, driving off would be a more appropriate word– like she did the first time.

He paused for a moment, contemplating his next move. If he was going to get anything out of her, he really needed to watch his wording. Venting a tired sigh through his fans, he brought his servos behind his neck, head tilting back slightly in thought.

This femme's more trouble than she's worth…

His elongated silence prompted a rather non committal remark from the female Cybertronian, accompanied by a huff.

"Don't tell me you're still worried about me now. Honestly, I'm perfectly capable of making rational decisions and taking care of myself. I do not require you acting as my personal guard."

It honestly shouldn't have come as any surprise to him that Quickshadow was as quick to deliver a witty remark, as she was swerving from topics she did not wish to discuss. The word 'quick' practically made up half of her name (or was it her name? He still wasn't too sure).

It was only natural that her broad skill set included an almost virtuosic ability to manipulate people's thoughts and statements in her favour, knowing when to mince and not mince her words. She was an individual well versed in communication and all forms of verbal expression.

Very unlike that of himself.

The fire bot was not one to convey his thoughts and opinions through speech. He was always one to rely on his actions to do the talking for him, a philosophy he stuck by closely all his lifespan. However, it was because of his adamancy to remain rooted to his personally held beliefs, that eventually proved to be his downfall upon arriving on Earth.

Back on Cybertron, before the War, before the strife and conflict… he was just one of the many firebots deployed into the field, with only one sole purpose: to save lives. That was it. His sole programming. He had no other plans to deviate away from what he had been sparked to do. Be a rescue bot.

But after finding himself suddenly thrust into a new world, a new way of life, a new reality… he had since been forced to change his way of thinking. He had to relearn and adapt to the position Primus had so suddenly decided to put him in; to learn the ways of humans and earn their trust in return.

It was no secret to anyone that that had been especially difficult for the mech. And while he had come a long way since then, he still found himself incapable of properly expressing himself to most, even to his own team… his own family.

He continued to eye Quickshadow, a conflicting look unknowingly distorting his features. She shifted uncomfortably under his gaze.

"Are you quite finished?"

"I'm coming with you."

His abrupt response managed to catch the normally composed femme off guard.

She nearly stuttered in her cautious response that followed.

"... I beg your pardon?"

The red plated autobot's reply failed to present itself in the form of words, rather, he simply transformed into his vehicle mode with a determined rumble resonating from his chest.

"You could use the company."

Quickshadow's engine roared immediately in protest. It bordered on juvenile. Had Heatwave been in robot form, he would have rolled his optics at her playing martyr.

Or maybe recalcitrant youngling would have been a more fitting description.

"Alright, Ms. Grouchy, enough with the theatrics–"

"Excuse me–"

"–Where're we headed?"

A very uncharacteristic noise, akin to a growl, slipped past the Ausley Benton's lip components, aggravated at his sheer obstinance. However, she grudgingly arrived at the conclusion that having yet another argument with him would accomplish nothing. She resisted a long suffering sigh.

Well played.

While it was rare, she knew when she was beat.

"The beach," eventually replied the femme, driving herself onto the road that would lead them to the town's coastline. The firetruck automatically followed at a comfortable distance behind her.

"I take it that won't be much of a problem, will it?"

Her companion gave a reluctant groan, though contrarily, he showed no signs of wanting to turn back. After a pregnant pause, he quickly muttered his answer.

"I'm not too fond of the ocean."

Quickshadow hummed, amusement lining the edges of her voice. "Hydrophobic, are we?"

He scoffed disbelievingly.

"You kidding? I have a fire boat as one of my alt-modes. 'Course I'm not. I'm just not exactly what you would call a huge fan of… salt water. Chafes my chassis."

"A fan? I wasn't aware you had the ability to transform into a household appliance."

"... Funny."

"I endeavour to be."

Heatwave vented for what felt like the millionth time that solar cycle.

The firetruck had never taken himself as an individual with any particular sense of aesthetic or style, deciding long ago that fretting over these sorts of things was a waste of his time; a concept that had been drilled into his hard drive ever since his early cadet days, where sensibility was favoured over all else, as well as the simple things in life. The bare necessities.

He had always thought of himself as practical, pragmatic, with no time for fuss or nonsense when it came to carrying out his duties, and he prided himself on that; his work ethic.

And yet, when his optics finally laid themselves across the sandy shores of Griffin Rock's bay area, he begrudgingly admitted to himself that the sight was honestly… quite astonishing.

The coast looked different somehow, managing to transform into something else entirely. There were no words to properly describe it.

Still and quiet, with no impending danger of ships crashing against the rocks, or crazy metal sharks on the loose. The waters were calm and steady, lapping gently against the beach in a steady rhythm, frigid and laced with graceful whitecaps. The shore looked almost as if it had been bleached as grains of sand caught the moon's luminescent light.

He had been here so many times, countless of times, for emergencies and the usual like.

That was probably why, until now, he'd never truly taken notice of how… nice, it was.

Quickshadow was first to convert to her bipedal mode when they arrived, wasting no time in seating herself silently by the waters, optics shuttered closed and legs crossed in front of her, venting deeply.

Heatwave followed soon after, albeit he took more of his time than she did, slightly taken back at his surroundings.

The beach felt soft beneath his pedes. The sensation was strange, but not unwelcome.

Lowering himself wordlessly beside the femme, who's optics remained fixated on the darkened horizon ahead, he attempted to interrupt the long silence that hung suspended between them. It was starting to suffocate him.

"Quicksha-"

"I wonder how many of us are left."

The firebot's jaw components tensed, snapping closed with an audible clunk, whatever speech he had lined up for her, cluttering into an incoherent mess in the recesses of his mind. He resolved instead to follow her gaze as she gestured up towards the night sky littered with stars, continuing.

"To think our population has dropped down from billions, to only a hundred or so of us. Perhaps even less." The Ausley Benton lowered her servo, resting it lazily against her knee joint. "I doubt we'd even be able to fill half of this small portion of galaxy."

Her last sentence felt cold and was spoken in a harsh, joking manner, with just the slightest tinge of venom.

"Where did it all go so wrong?"

Heatwave rumbled, disconsolate.

Was that honestly how she felt?

"You're wrong, Quickshadow," he snapped in a sudden wave of what felt like determination before he could stop himself. His servo balled into a tight fist. "We're recovering. Real slowly but… we are."

Her gaze tore away from the black expanse above their heads, directing themselves at the mech to her left. "How can you be so sure of that?"

"I'm not."

The femme's features contorted in obvious bewilderment at his contradictory answer.

"That doesn't make a spot of sense."

He met her gaze collectedly. "It doesn't have to."

Quickshadow's optics squinted disbelievingly. "... Let me guess, it the Prime that told you that?"

The firetruck's demeanour steeled slightly at her dismissiveness of their leader.

"Optimus told me that."

"Of course he did," she mumbled, now looking over to her right and out into the deep navy of the ocean's waters.

Keeping his temper under control at her snideness, the firebot then proceeded to carefully inquire, "got a problem with it?"

The femme turned back to face him properly, unwavering in her stance on the matter.

Regardless, he continued, grabbing the rim of his fireman's headpiece and tilting it slightly over his optics as he leaned backwards onto his other servo. "He's our leader, the last Prime. What other choice does he have? It's part of the job description to keep up morale. 'Specially during times like these."

"That fails to answer my question."

The rescue bot gave a tired huff.

"What? Where it all went wrong?" His optics shutter closed, his HUD flickering dully in his vision, notifying him of the fatigue weighing down on his consciousness. "That really doesn't matter anymore, we can't keep focusing on the past." He tiled his helmet back up, pausing for a moment as his optics remained shut, allowing his words to resonate with Quickshadow.

He leaned back further onto his servos.

"We've gotta look ahead and keep pushing on if we're going to even think about fixing anything, let alone finally get out of this pile of slag we dragged ourselves under."

He cleared his vocal processors in a terse huff.

"Trust me. Where you are right now? I've been there. Really I have, and for the longest time too, but… my team, the Burns', Optimus… they eventually got me to wake up, open my optics and focus on what was really important, even if it did take a while for it to get through my thick processor, and understand what they meant."

When Quickshadow said nothing in response, speechless, Heatwave cracked open a drowsy optic. "You'll get it eventually."

Her lip components tilted sardonically. "My, my, Heatwave… Quite the sage, aren't you? ahead of your years and continuing to grow in leaps and bounds."

He snorted. "Don't push it."

Peals of laughter tumbled out of her, causing Heatwave's optics to snap open, dumbstruck.

What he was hearing wasn't her usual, proud laugh, the small smile that had so quickly spread on her faceplates blatantly telling him otherwise. What was even more jarring was that… a small part of him actually felt pleased, seeing this side of her– happier. His spark skipped a beat. But he would never admit that.

"What did I say?"

"Oh, nothing in particular," she managed between chuckles, "simply that… I think I understand now, what Optimus had in mind when he appointed you leader of your rescue team."

The mech sighed absentmindedly at her comment, "oh, really?"

She made a wide, sweeping motion with her arm, out towards the spread of celestial bodies suspended above them in the open sky.

"I can see it now. Heatwave Prime. Certainly has a nice ring to it," she playfully announced, "no?"

Now it was the firebot's turn to laugh, a deep chortle that resonated from his chest warmly, reverberating in the cool night air. "Right…" he drawled disbelievingly, "a Prime? Give me a break."

"Well, I certainly don't see the harm in it? If anything, why ever not?"

Heatwave's optic brows furrowed at her tone. She was no longer joking.

"I personally believe that you have the makings of a great leader of not just this team but… for all of us. The entirety of our faction."

The mech sat up, his helm shaking to and fro as he quickly began to mutter a string of "no, no, no's", a servo raised and waving in a gesture of ardent dismissal.

"Look, you've got me pegged all wrong. I'm not a Prime. I'm a rescue bot, through and through."

He turned to stare the femme dead in the optic. "Nothing more, nothing less."

"I beg to differ," she retorted, her reply almost instant.

"Okay, I think we need to take a step back here."

His back strut ramrod straight, Heatwave pointed a warning digit towards Quickshadow.

"I'm not fit to be a… a Prime. And that's that."

He then moved to pinch the bridge of his olfactory sensors, praying that the femme would hurry up and just drop the subject already. He wasn't in the mood to get into another argument. Primus knows how long that would last.

Naturally, Quickshadow's sentiments matched that of the firebot's as she settled instead, for a small smile, ending their conversation on the topic with an ambiguous:

"Whatever you say."

A/N: I'm so sorry this took so long you guys ;u; I've been incredibly busy with a whole bunch of other projects I'm working on. Anyway, for this chapter, I really wanted to focus on Heatwave's maturation and development over the course of the series, and tried to showcase that growth in his conversation with Quickshadow.

Over these past four seasons, we've seen Heatwave really grow as a character, and he's become really rooted in his role as leader, as well as developed a genuine attachment to the Burns family and the rest of of his team. He's come to seriously trust in them, enough to feel comfortable with occasionally showing moments of weakness or just him being the big softie he is.

I also wanted to convey the irony of how, in spite of Quickshadow's extensive experience, she still has a lot to learn.

So... yeah. That pretty much sums it up. I'm not too sure when my next update will be but I promise you, I have no plans on giving up on this fic. Thank you so much for reading and bearing with me! Until next time, feel free to review/favourite/follow!