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Rattrap thought he had noticed something. Just once, at first, without meaning to.
He entered the main control room at the base. Optimus and Dinobot stood at the center table. Optimus turned, and went to check something on the sensors.
And Rattrap saw Dinobot’s optics linger on Optimus, as his back was turned.
He thought nothing of it, sort of. Admittedly, it was a bit weird to him.
Then the solar cycles and deca-cycles passed.
And it kept happening.
When Optimus entered the room. When Optimus left the room. When Optimus left the base. When his back or his helm was turned. When he wouldn’t notice the former Predacon’s cold, red gaze.
Why am I not surprised, Rattrap thought. Chomper Face has tried to scrap Optimus before. ‘Course he’d wanna do it again.
Plateaus of rock towered above Dinobot and Rattrap, with the wind lifting sand off the ground, and the Sun continuing its journey west. They had been paired together on a simple scouting mission.
Rattrap felt an itch. Something gnawing at him. He couldn’t keep his mouth shut any longer.
“Tell me, Dinobutt,” Rattrap said, “what, ah, what’re you plannin’?”
Dinobot turned around and stared at Rattrap hard. “What do you mean by that?”
“Oh, you know, what’re your goals for the future? Hm?” Rattrap said, feigning sincerity, putting a dainty hand over his spark. “Thinkin’ ‘bout goin’ to Snake-cademy? The school for smooth-brained lizards?”
Dinobot sneered. “I was unaware that so-called life forms, such as yourself, were capable of conceptualizing something as abstract as the future.” He paused for a nanoklik to consider Rattrap’s question. “If you truly want to know,” he said, “my wish is to defeat the Predacons, or to die trying. Not that I expect you to believe that.” He turned to continue forward.
Rattrap scoffed. “Yeah, how can I? I know what you’re really thinkin’. I’ve seen your not-so-sneaky peeks at Optimus.”
Dinobot froze. He felt his internal cables tense, his spark nearly shoot out of his chassis. His face, twisted in a snarl just a moment ago, fell into shock, into rage. The mere thought, the apparent fact, that Rattrap knew… That he was mocking him…
“That,” he said, turning back to Rattrap, dentas bared, “is none of your concern!”
“Oh? None of my concern? Really? And just how is that possible?” Rattrap jabbed a digit at Dinobot. “You wanna scrap Optimus, so yeah, it is my concern!”
Dinobot’s expression softened slightly in surprise.
“And just for your information, bud, us real Maximals ain’t gonna let that happen! If you wanna scrap him, you’re gonna have to scrap all of us!”
“Hm,” Dinobot growled. He hid his dentas, relaxed his cables, raised his helm. “Well, vermin, though I could terminate all of you with ease, you should know that I have no desire to usurp Optimus’s position. Besides, if I were to attempt that, there would be no Maximals left to lead, according to you. Such an endeavor would be… pointless.”
Rattrap grumbled something unintelligible, and the two of them continued forward.
Rattrap hardly felt at ease. He’d still keep his guard up, his optics open.
Dinobot had never thought that an error on Rattrap’s part would actually play to his advantage, and yet exactly that just happened. He thought to himself, though, that he should keep the glances at a minimum. If he could. It wouldn’t be the easiest thing to do. But he could manage it, somehow.
Maybe when it was just the two of them. Optimus and him.
He could manage that.