TFP - Freezing Absence

6. Misunderstood

"Don't you think he's wonderful?" Flare asked, sketching images into the metal floor with rocks the troops had retrieved from the planet below them. "What do you mean, who?" She asked. "My sire, of course. He's wonderful. He can get mad sometimes, and he's not really happy often, but he's a good mech . . . Of course he's a good mech. He just hurts a lot. And it's okay to hurt because sometimes you need to hurt. He just hurts more than some others. I mean, wouldn't you hurt if part of your spark died and you could feel it go?

"I don't care what you say, I think he's wonderful," she insisted firmly, her hands working diligently to create some sort of artwork the likes of which was beyond uncommon on the Decepticon ship. "I mean, he's the reason I even exist. He cared about my carrier. He cared so much he still can't get over her. That's . . . What would that species call it?" Flare paused, squinting at her sketch. Something was missing. Something was always missing from the things she drew.

"That's love, right?" She tilted her helm, still not looking at anything but the things she drew, adding more and more detail as she went, through the appearance of it was still rather crude. "I mean, I can't think of a better way to describe it. They were apart for so long, and they hadn't seen each other in vorns upon vorns but they still had feelings for each other. They still cared about each other. That has to be love, doesn't it? I mean, what else would it be?"

Flare paused again, though her hands kept moving, then she adamantly shook her helm. "No, no, no. You don't understand. Love. That's what they had. It was powerful and intense and when Sire stepped into a room where Carrier was, you could feel the electricity . . . He never hated her . . . He never hated anybody . . . He's just misunderstood."

~~~

Flare talked and drew on the floors of Nemesis for hours that day, adamantly defending her Sire at every turn when his spark was called into question. Certain she was right about him, she never gave in to the possibility that maybe her Sire's spark wasn't as pure as she'd always seen it to be. It wasn't until much later that Soundwave found her, walls and floors of her room completely decorated. She took one look at her guardian and knew it was time for recharge. As he assessed her room, she began to panic slightly. During the day, she hadn't thought about what her Sire might think about this activity.

"Soundwave please don't tell Daddy!" She blurted out, dropping the rocks she'd been using onto the metal. "Please, I didn't mean to make a mess! I promise I'll clean it up! Tell Daddy I've been good!"

Once again, there it was. She was eager for his approval. Juvenile activities such as this certainly wouldn't be approved, would they?

"Soundwave, please!" She tried again, swearing she could feel her spark shaking in her chest. "Please, I'll be good."

Silently, Soundwave swept Flare off the floor and placed her on her cot.

"Soundwave . . . ?" Flare asked nervously as the mech turned to walk away from her.

"Promise." The word rang out from Soundwave, but Flare knew her Carrier's voice. Perhaps her memory had become a bit rusty because she hadn't heard it in vorns, but Flare still remembered it. A small wave of calm swept over her and Flare nodded, optics downcast, as she laid down to recharge.

"Thank you," she murmured, suddenly not wanting to look at him anymore.

Soundwave paused for a moment, then played back a few choppy recordings he'd garnered from the day while Flare had been playing in her room. "You're ... Not bad ... Just misunderstood."

Flare's embarrassment rose when she realized Soundwave had likely been monitoring her all day and never said a word. Of course, that was just his style, wasn't it?

"You heard that?" She asked, turning over, but her guardian was already gone, the door sliding shut silently. With a slow vent, she tried to calm herself, and looked at all the drawings in her room. The lines were everywhere, depicting so many different scenes, most of which didn't even make sense to the young femme herself. It drove her insane to think that the images had come from nowhere. Her imagination was a restless thing, wasn't it? Sparklings simply weren't common in Cybertronian culture, so raising one was difficult.

For a warlord to raise one was even more so.

He was misunderstood. And maybe his troops didn't understand that, maybe his enemies didn't understand that, but his sparkling certainly did.

Now if only he understood the same of her.