dracoqueen22: (deceptibot)
[personal profile] dracoqueen22
Title: Now Hiring
Universe: IDW 2005, pre-canon
Characters: Deadlock, Tarn
Rating: K+
Description: Some mechs can’t take a hint. Deadlock has zero interest in joining the DJD.


Deadlock was exhausted.

He was covered in energon. He reeked of ash and smoke. He had a hitch in his left hip joint, and the medics couldn’t see to it until tomorrow at the earliest. He wanted to get clean, down some engex, and recharge.

Not necessarily in that order.

“Deadlock!”

His shoulders hunched. He knew that voice.

He limped a little faster.

Tarn, however, was not one to be deterred.

“Deadlock!”

The current leader of the Decepticon Justice Division caught up to Deadlock before he could stumble into the lift, and Deadlock swallowed a sigh. He twisted his lips into a sneer, and fixed Tarn with his darkest look.

“I’m busy,” he said curtly, finger jabbing the door-closure button.

Tarn shoved his hand into the sensor before the doors could close and invited himself onto the platform. “This will only take a moment of your time,” he said as the doors slid shut behind him, and the lift started to rise.

Far too slowly in Deadlock’s opinion.

His fingers twitched. He crossed his arms so he wouldn’t reach for his guns. Shooting fellow Decepticons was frowned upon, unless that Decepticon had done something pretty vile.

Being an irritation didn’t count, especially when said Decepticon was in Megatron’s favor.

“I’m sure you’ve heard that there’s an opening on my team,” Tarn said.

Yeah.

Deadlock knew this was coming. “Is there?” he grunted.

“Yes. Tesarus met a rather untimely demise, and now I am forced to replace him.” Tarn’s field spilled a healthy mix of irritation and exasperation. “If I do not find a suitable candidate, I may have no choice but to accept open applications.”

“How unfortunate for you,” Deadlock said.

The lift stopped. The doors opened with a cheery ding, and Deadlock made his escape, moving as swiftly as his hip would allow. Tarn, of course, followed him.

“As you know, the Decepticon Justice Division only recruits the most talented and loyal Decepticons. We perform a very valuable service for Lord Megatron,” Tarn said, and if this wasn’t the third time Deadlock had heard this particular spiel, maybe he’d actually listen to it.

“Someone like you is the perfect candidate,” Tarn said.

No engex. No washrack. Just his quarters where Tarn couldn’t follow him, that was the plan. “I’m not interested,” Deadlock said.

“We have special privileges,” Tarn pointed out, never one to be deterred when he thought his standing with Megatron was on the line. Deadlock knew very well it was less his skill Tarn was after, and more Deadlock’s intimate association with Megatron. “Priority access to the medics for example.”

“I’m fine,” Deadlock growled, and he picked up the pace as his door came into sight. His hip squeaked and rattled, but it was fine. He was fine.

He only needed to make it to his habsuite.

Tarn made a noise of disbelief. “You’re dripping energon.”

“It’s a mesh wound.” Deadlock all but threw himself at his security panel, shoving his palm against the reader so it would scan his field. “Thanks, but no thanks. I’m not interested. Go find some other idiot.”

“Idiot?” Tarn, predictably, bristled, his engine growling as he drew himself up straight.

“You heard me.” His door opened, and Deadlock limped inside, swinging around to bar Tarn following him with the barrel of his blaster aimed spark-center.

Tarn reared back, optics narrowing behind his mask.

Deadlock smiled, all fang, no joy. “Good luck with your recruitment drive.” He saluted with his blaster and slammed his fist on the panel, causing the door to slide shut on Tarn.

Fragging Pit.

Deadlock flopped on his berth, hip twinging in protest. He buried his face in a pillow and resolved to recharge just like this. Eventually, Tarn would have to go away.

Some mechs just couldn’t take a hint.

***
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