Chapter Text
The sun peeked over the horizon, over the cold blue sea, vast, what can it observe from its perch?
Everything.
Though it is unable to tell, as it’s just a mere ball of gas alit miles upon miles away from the Earth. It cannot speak. But if it did; if somehow that singular star in this solar system could speak; would there even be anyone out there who would listen? Would there be a single organism out there who would be willing to take time out of their short life to lay down on their stomach, chin in hands, a grin splitting their face, eyes up, to listen to the old, old ancestor sun regale them of a billion year story? Perhaps it will take another billion years for the sun to finish its regaling. A billion years too long for any creature to listen.
Would it be worth it in the end?
Everyone has a story to tell—there just needs to be someone out there to listen—and at the right time. If the sun were a red giant and if you were to ask for its billion year story and if you were to listen for a billion years then you would be the one a billion years too late. The sun would merely turn supernova before it could finish its tale.
Gone.
Dead.
Unfinished. And nobody likes a cliffhanger.
And you cannot be a billion years too early either. The sun will have no billion year story to tell as a low-mass star. But even then, it could still tell you a million year story instead, and you could listen for a million years.
Now, would a million year story be worth it? Is it worth the same as a billion year story?
Yes, it would be.
For everyone has a story to tell: be it a billion year story or a million year story.
No matter how big or small it deserves to be listened to.
That is what Boulder believes in.
Boulder faced away from the sunrise and began to walk up the beach. There was a light breeze that tickled his metal plating as he walked along the shoreline where the waves were arriving and receding, harmonious and calming to his audials. Which just further affirms his belief: yes, Blossom Vale remains his favourite little place on Griffin Rock.
The ocean was relaxing and the dawn was beautiful. He glanced out to horizon again and this time he focused on the sky, at the epiphany of colours that pounced onto his eyes: lavender, pink, orange, yellow, teal, navy. It was all overwhelming. And it would make the prettiest watercolour painting. He could imagine himself bringing an easel, a canvas, a palette and just painting what he observes.
It would be his Elysium.
Boulder crouched down before the water, the incoming wave rushed past his feet and, as the water began to draw back, he placed down his two servos, left and right, and felt. The cold liquid grazed his metal hand as the wave returned out, disappearing into the vastness of the ocean. An imprint was left in the sand, he remarked silently, as he lifted them up, but it was not destined to stay. He knew this. Another wave came and washed away any traces left by him. Fascinating. To some: frightening. And to him: comforting.
There are many things unpredictable about the ocean but this is an aspect he can be sure of. Nothing stays forever with constant waves crashing down on and in.
If he were to sketch in the sand, an intricate and time consuming sketch, he knows the tide would just take it all away with it. All his hard work would be gone overnight. But he doesn’t find it the slightest bit disheartening, the ocean could wash his artwork away, and he wouldn’t mind. He’s the kind of mech who enjoys the journey more than the destination and that perfectly describes his relationship with his art.
Out of the corner of his eye he spotted a branch. He shook his hands vigorously, and made his way over to it. He picked it up, for a Cybertronian it was just a medium length stick but to a human it would be longer and larger than oneself. In coordinated movements he began to drag the stick in the sand, etching and sketching on the large canvas. Boulder didn’t limit himself to standing still, he stepped freely wherever he was needed to properly create one line to another. Eventually, he connected the last edge, making the final contour.
Satisfied, he took a step back and viewed his work.
A large outline of a sea turtle was engraved into the sand.
Boulder smiled at it.
Then dropped it when he heard the heavy footsteps behind him. He knew that those sounds could not be made by a man, no, he knew it was Blades. Blades was the only other Cybertronian with him at Blossom Vale.
That reminds him: the reason why he was here in the first place, why he came alongside Blades, Dani and Graham was to give this place a check up, to make sure everything was in absolute peak order. That everything was being taken care of. Boulder had told the others that he was going to survey the beach area himself, and he’s been gone for more than a while, he hadn’t realised until now. And he concluded that Blades was probably here to fetch him back.
He turned around and greeted Blades who seemed a bit cautious with his approach. It was like as soon as Boulder made clear of his notice Blades slowed down his pace, there was hesitance, in his steps and his face, he could read it on him easily like an open book. Though, what was the cause of this wariness? He has yet to find out.
Blades spoke first, which surprised him. “So…” his eyes glanced at him then looked beyond him at the sand, “oh, nice drawing you made there!” The corners of his mouth curled up.
“Thanks.” Boulder replied.
“But wouldn’t the waves just wash it away?”
“That I am aware of, and it doesn’t bother me,” Boulder gave him a reassuring smile.
“But all your hard work?”
“It doesn’t matter in the end, I enjoy the process more than the final product, but don’t you think it is symbolic as well? The sea turtle I etched will be carried back into the ocean by the waves. It will be out in the water, where all the other turtles live, its habitat—its home,” Boulder explained but when he looked at Blades he was met with a confused gaze.
“Whatever you say,” he replied, blankly.
Boulder frowned. “Hey, I can tell you have something on your mind.”
“Why, yes. I do. Boulder,” he began, “uh, what do you make of Quickshadow?”
“Quickshadow? Am I glad she’s here, she's a big help around Griffin Rock. I don’t think I could’ve held Heatwave on that cliff for long if she didn’t show up.”
“No, no. I’m asking about what you think of her.”
Boulder was a bit confuddled. “I just did?”
“Boulder, I’m asking you what you think of her as a person!”
Having been put in a bit of a spot he rushed out an answer. “Uh, well, I like her. She’s charming, she’s helpful and an experienced teacher.”
In response Blades just sighed, an exasperated sigh, and dug his hands down and up his face in repeated motion. Further confusion arose inside Boulder.
“You weren’t there last night in the control room, but I’ll tell you what happened.”
Boulder’s eyes widened, the others had a meeting without him? He wondered what was discussed. So he leaned in and listened closely to what Blades had to say.
“Last night I stumbled onto a very serious scene. Heatwave and Chase were there in the control room talking about Quickshadow, her database profile was there on the screen. I wondered why, and the atmosphere was so tense and Heatwave’s energon was boiling. He kept on shouting on and on about his suspicions of Quickshadow, he kept on berating me and yelling at me. I think he has paranoia, Boulder. But now that he had brought it up: it is sort of suspicious Quickshadow has a Rescue Bot insignia. But I was so happy to meet another Rescue Bot—alive! So I never questioned it.”
Heatwave, paranoid? He wouldn’t put it past him but he had his own hunch that Blades was exaggerating some points.
Heatwave and Quickshadow left on strong ground. What could have happened?
“Suspicions? Suspicions of what exactly?” he asked.
But Blades shrugged and let out an, “I don’t know.”
“She has proved that she is legitimate, she is in the database.”
“The Autobot database, I tell you. We don’t have access to the pre-war Rescue Bot database, at least I don’t think we have. But even in the Autobot database her profile is nearly blank, she doesn’t even have a city of origin.”
“Have you tried contacting Bumblebee?”
“Yep. No answer.”
Conflicted and unsure of what to do or say next Boulder did the sensible thing and kept his mouth shut, humming and stroking his chin. He needs to investigate this all first before coming to solid conclusions.
Heatwave felt alone, alone and unheard. He sat on the couch staring at the blank television in front of him, his reflection in the black screen staring back with nothingness. The couch was too small for him so he adopted a slumped posture, legs spread, and elbow stabbing his thigh, chin in hand. Though it was small for him it was large for humans. Graham found it in storage and decided to install it in this area; kind thought but inconsiderate. To Heatwave at least. Heatwave, being a fire truck, is considerably huge, just barely surpassing the late great Prime’s chin. His other teammates are significantly shorter, only Blades reached up to his own chin. This makes him question, what was Quickshadow talking about?
She made a comment when they first met that irritated him back then and still irritates him now. “I expected someone taller,” she said. How tall of a Bot was she expecting? As tall as a Titan? He himself is considered more than above average in height, thank you very much. Who was she to say anyway, she is barely taller than Chase herself.
‘Big talk coming from someone so small,’ he should’ve countered back but he was too stunned at the revelation of a once thought mindless vehicle actually being a fully formed, energon flowing mech with thoughts and a smart mouth that needed to be sealed shut.
Heatwave growled to himself—missed opportunity.
He then buried his face in his hands, realising he was thinking of her again. It has been nonstop since last afternoon. A constant series of suspicions. It was a borderline obsession. Retract that. He didn’t like to think of it in that way.
A sigh escaped from his vocaliser.
Fortunately a voice called out for him from behind and thus was delivered from his obsessive intrusive thoughts.
Thank Primus.
“Sorry, I couldn’t answer your call before,” Bumblebee scratched the back of his neck, “Cybertron’s been hectic.”
“I can imagine.”
Heatwave was pleasantly surprised as to how quickly Bumblebee got back to him, well it was faster than the Prime at least.
“So,” he smiled awkwardly beyond the screen, “how are Optimus’s plans coming along?”
“Well, last I checked the Training Centre was nearing completion. Now,” changing subjects, “I called because I need background information on Quickshadow. She’s too secretive for my liking, too much I don’t know. Her profile is in the Autobot archive but it’s all blank, a city of origin is not even listed. I need more information on her before I can judge if she is… safe.”
Bumblebee shifted uncomfortably at Heatwave’s glare, which Heatwave wasn’t even aware he was doing. Still with that realisation his features didn’t soften.
“I see… but the thing is I don’t know much about her either. I know that she is Optimus’s trusted spy, I know there are things that will remain confidential to only him and her. And now that Optimus is… absent only she can tell you anything now. I’m just a scout- was- (sorry) I couldn’t just be told everything. What’s in the archive is all I have on her.”
“But I need answers,” he growled back.
Bumblebee jolted, taken aback by the sudden demanding voice Heatwave gave him. Even Chase beside him made sure of his distance.
“Why don’t you ask her yourself?” Bumblebee suggested, his professional tone slipping.
“Easier said than done, she dismissed me already.”
Heatwave thought back to when he had confronted her and how she had insulted him. “Maybe you should expand your horizon of friends” He rolled his eyes at that memory, he didn’t care that Bumblebee saw his rude action.
Let him.
When he adjusted his gaze back to the screen there was a frown upon the former scout’s face.
“Well, then she’ll tell you when she’s ready,” Bumblebee argues.
“I’ll tell you this. You know nothing about her as well, so, tell me how could you trust her? Who knows what she’s hiding?” His palms gripped the edge of the control panel.
“Optimus trusted her,” he said as a response, finality in his tone. “I wish you well, Heatwave, Bumblebee out.” The last sentence was hurried out unnaturally. It was clear that Bumblebee just wanted this conversation to be over. Perhaps Heatwave’s behaviour was starting to irk him, testing what little patience he had after a long day managing Cybertron.
Still, it was rude, he didn’t even let Heatwave return a farewell before he ended the call. He disappeared and all that was left was the dead blue screen. Teeth grinded against each other, fingers curled around the edge tighter, but in a twist he let go. All that build up, all that tenacity, tension amounted to nothing. His arms kept to his sides stiff as bricks as he started to walk away from the site.
Finally, he acknowledged Chase with one sentence.
“I’m going to let out some steam.”
And nothing more.