Series: The Ghost Unit
Title: Coalescence (11)
Setting: IDW Transformers, inspired by the "What's Wrong with a Little Destruction" 'verse by ajremix
Note: Many thanks to rexlapinii and ajremix for beta-ing!
Note 2: Backdated an entry - you can find the chapter Distractions by following the link.
Summary: In which we see how the team each come to view things as they settle into new shells and new lives.

Coalescence
"Change is the constant, the signal for rebirth, the egg of the phoenix."
~ Christina Baldwin

Callsign
Salvo's upgrades had been tested easily enough, and the mech had been long ago banished to the spectator's seat along with Wildside, the latter so quiet he often went unnoticed by his teammates despite his size. The both of them had watched intently as the others were run through their paces, Salvo more often than not looking noticeably ill at watching Callsign's meandering, unpredictable flight patterns. The sensor laden flier had taken some time to master his new form and shielding, as though afraid the slightest of motions might spell disaster. And yet, when he'd finally figured out the balance of thrusters and anti-grav stabilizers, there'd been no stopping him. No course, no flight pattern had seemed to fluster him in the slightest as he went through the most confusing paths to gather the data he'd been instructed to get... and then started to go for more, the stream of data he sent back to Fallout growing more complex and multi-layered with each additional outing. He'd finally settled on upward of roughly 350% more data gathered than had been projected as necessary for his tasks. Fallout had more decimals for that number, but no one bothered remembering them.

The air didn't hurt anymore. He wasn't sure other things - other bots - wouldn’t still, but he wasn't anywhere near ready to try that yet so it didn't matter. But flying was no longer both blessing and curse, and instead had become everything he had ever been told it was, everything he had dreamed it to be... Callsign flew and flew, and then when he should have stopped instead he just flew more. The skies were the safest place for him to be, even with Salvo conducting target practice with dummy rounds with him as the target. The one time he'd been wing-clipped by the mech had nearly driven him to ground from fear of the expected pain - but as Deadline had promised, the filtering shields held and Callsign recovered, resuming a meandering, dizzying flight with ecstatic joy. He would hurt again one day, he knew. One day a shot would get through the new shielding he now had, or a directed data burst would impair him and send him crashing to the ground. But as the air danced around him and Salvo laughed down below, Callsign didn't care. Flying had been all he'd longed for, even when it meant constant, crippling pain. What he had now was worth something far, far worse happening in exchange. Flying didn't hurt anymore.

Longshot
The sniper's turn for testing had arrived then, Longshot having completed the solo portion of his training long ago. That portion of his training had been mere formality, however, and this he knew only too well. The true test began with the second phase and adjusting to the data which Callsign gathered for him. It had thrown him off so badly at first that after the first day of missing his targets in disastrous, humiliating ways the sniper had withdrawn, refusing to even come out of his room for days. This has lasted until somehow Callsign himself, of all bots, had managed to talk him outside. In fact, whatever had been said to him had so motivated the sniper that he'd gone from his room straight to the training field, Callsign floating high above and neither mech had then left until an exhausted Longshot had somehow mastered the flow of data sent his way and began nailing every shot perfectly once more.

The rush of information coming at him from Callsign had been so strong Longshot had nearly fallen on his aft during the first attempt at link-up, prompting concerned sounding pings from the flier above until he'd been able to send a feeble reply in return. Ever since, each time he'd tried to take control, to retrieve the data he needed for the perfect shot, everything had spiraled away from him, slipping from his fingers like smoke in the wind. Sheer anger at himself had driven him from the range for the very first time in his life, sent him stalking to his room to sulk as though one newly-sparked. He’d stewed until Callsign had come to get him and then he’d forgotten all about his anger at the sight of the awkward, angular ground-bound flier trying to fit through the door to his quarters without touching any of the edges just to talk to him. It had taken them a while to sort out the breadth and height of the flier’s limbs but eventually Longshot had managed to free him from the doorway, feeling suddenly small and stupid for his earlier anger. Callsign had winced then smiled each time Longshot had had no choice but to resort to touch to untangle him from the frame and the cheerful words “It’s all right, it didn’t hurt!” had been said just as often. The white mech’s evident glee at something any of them took for granted had chased away all traces of ire and finally Longshot had done what he should have done all along and just asked the flier how he did it. Callsign had been more than happy to explain to him how he handled the unfathomable rush of data he collected and shared with him. Figuring out how to ride it, how to just go with the flow and not try to control it or even understand it had been almost easy once he stopped trying to decide where the data should go. And the exhilaration had been like nothing he’d ever felt before. It was, he thought, probably exactly how Callsign now felt every time he took to the air.

Salvo
He hadn’t been subjected to the intensity of training the others had been and at first this had confused him. It has also made him suspicious, wondering if all of what they’d offered really was somehow too good to be true. Until he realized that the long talks with Flagship were somehow genuinely interesting as opposed to heavy-handed psycho-analysis, and that the visits with Deadline were quiet and uneventful until he blurted out something before the calm drove him insane. He wondered why he had been chosen for the task, when he was told he would be the one handling the combat training of the principal field operative they had until he gave up asking himself why they’d give him of all people that sort of responsibility. He had a chance at something though he still hadn't wrapped his processors around what it might be just yet, so he contented himself with just going along while trying not to stand out too much.

It was when he stopped twitching each time one of the others walked by that Salvo realized his time during basic wasn’t so much about training as it was about mending. He took to standing in the light outside whenever he could under pretext of watching the pale, ghostly flier drifting above, just because he could and just because he needed to prove to himself that no one would creep up on him to try and take him by surprise. After a storm drove Callsign from the sky in a frightened whirlwind of loops to land and transform on the ground, angular limbs curling together for protection, Salvo was the one to find him and bring him inside, crooning at the panic stricken flier reassuringly the entire time. It wasn’t until after they were inside that he realized Deadline was watching intently, not saying a word. It wasn’t until he walked up to the medic – Callsign still wrapped around his bulk, trembling in the lingering throes of terror – and asked for help that Salvo realized what had changed. This unit and the ones in it were not a threat to him, nor could he bring himself to see them as such or treat them as such as he’d had every other unit before. He started training Fallout the next day.

Fallout
When she’d first woken up, the physical changes of her refit had seemed so drastic she hadn’t even been sure that walking was within her capabilities. She was taller (though not that any of the mechs would notice so much) and bulkier and her joints were different in subtle and not so subtle ways. It took her a long time to feel comfortable again doing the simplest of things and she spent long hours just pacing the base, setting down data pads in different locations only to pick them up again on her next circuit. Salvo was the one to train her in combat and though she’d expected the large, sometimes crude mech to give her a hard time he said nothing, instead putting her through grueling workouts that left her feeling as though she’d never even conceived of the true meaning of the word “training” before. When the serious combat training began – training she was told would last long after the team was out of basic – she thought perhaps she wasn’t meant for this after all. So she took refuge in managing the team's schedules and ensuring their medic didn't work himself into exhaustion before training was even over. And then when he proved particularly dense about that point, she promptly enlisted the rest of the team to assist her in the matter.

And then things slowly changed. Interacting with the team and working with them to ensure their medic got some downtime helped. Her processor augmentations continued as scheduled, and between one phase and the next her body started to feel right, motion no longer a challenge but rather a calculation of infinite paths and trajectories, turning every movement into an infinitely varied stream of data. But the first time she truly felt as though this had been the right thing to do without any doubt at all was when Deadline finally gave her permission to transform to her alt mode for the first time. While her root mode had originally left her feeling entirely out of place and sometimes sprawled on her aft when something didn’t move as it should, the first thrum of a cycle's thrusters had brought a wild, electric feeling to the fore. She’d taken to the testing tracks they’d made for her as though chased by every demon of the Pit, and they’d had to talk her away from them through both promises and threats alike. The sheer bliss of speed, the perfection of motion she’d always sought when racing down a road had been home and comfort, a refuge from thoughts of failure and defeat. She was faster now than she’d ever dreamed possible, equipped with processing power she was barely beginning to tap – and stronger too. By the time Deadline started talking about making adjustments to her upgrades she was practically haunting the medlab whenever her duties allowed. He took it in stride and included her suggestions in his work when he felt they had merit. They discussed her processor augmentation and what it meant, and Deadline gave her a precisely calculated timeline as to when each portion of her new data streaming capabilities would be unlocked for her. And when she pushed things further, with suggestions most couriers only considered in their wildest dreams, he'd turned to actually look at her for a moment, then told her he’d see what he could do about those too.

Wildside
He took to shadowing Salvo early on, recognizing the tenseness about the other mech instantly. He radiated calm and safety because it was what he did best and eventually he started doing that around some of the others as well, shedding the façade of stupidity for one of quiet serenity. It took him only a short while before he realized who their leader was - had been. When he figured it out he stopped walking from the sheer astonishment and quiet joy, a following Longshot colliding against him and falling on his aft before the sniper realized Wildside was the wall he'd walked into. The large mech had stared ahead in empty space for a while though as the black and red eventually stopped staring and hauled himself upright, until Wildside realized what had happened and moved, one large hand assisting the smaller mech upright. With that done, Wildside left without a word to find Flagship.

He remembered that day still. He always would, just as any of the few who had survived Haven and hadn’t yet taken their own sparks would always remember. That day haunted him and he kept searching for a sign. What perhaps had been missed, what might have been done differently. He remembered the aftermath of Haven in searing detail whenever he paused from his work, and still sorrowed at the slow and steady destruction of the best commander he’d ever served under. When he realized Flagship was that very same commander he said nothing. His patterns adjusted slightly however, so that the same calm and serenity he’d shared with his teammates now included his unit leader as well. Whether Flagship guessed that he knew or not didn't matter - they never spoke of it. And when Deadline came to him and explained the Breaker Unit in excruciating detail, not stopping until Wildside told him to stop explaining, the decision was easy to make. After all, he knew the measure of the mech who would hold the key to his sanity.

Flagship
The first prank involved glue "borrowed" from Deadline's medlab and ended up with an entire section of their rec room thrashed nearly beyond repair. Salvo chased Longshot about the base for days afterwards, peeling off after the sniper in refreshed indignation at every snicker and giggle he heard. Callsign took to lurking about in the sky to either disclose the location of the sniper-in-hiding, or at other times to warn the entire base of a rampaging Salvo's location instead. Flagship could have sworn a few of Longshot's closer calls with capture involved cleverly concealed traps and tripwires installed by his second, but she kept a straight face each time, even showing disapproval when the mechs' antics went too far now and then. The day Longshot managed to find a way to set up the wash racks to spray paint only for specific mechs also happened to be the same day a suddenly very pink Wildside wandered off to find the sniper, picked him up then solemnly went right back to said wash racks with a squirming Longhost tucked under his arm in order to even the score, Salvo cheering the proceedings along with unabashed satisfaction. Most of the pranks were easy and swift, a few more complex and elaborate, but they soon became part of their way of life, only one of the many ways acceptance and unity were expressed. He kept track of each of them, sometimes even keeping captures or vids when possible - the "secret" souvenir of the team's training days.

One day Wildside came to him with a question and the both of them ended up wandering the base as they discussed some of the finer points of the new emergency extraction tactics they'd devised for the team. When he returned to his office nothing seemed untoward and it took him days to realize that someone had seeded the entire room with magnets, and then used oppositely charged magnets on every single item available. Once he’d determined he wasn’t losing his sanity nor that actual ghosts were haunting his office, he laughed long and loud in the privacy of his quarters. Deadline did not mock him for the several visits to the medlab prior to the prank being figured out, for which he was grateful, but he could have sworn their normally somber medic actually snickered as he left. The captures that made their way to his desk the next day could only have been taken by Callsign, due to the location of his office, and the texts accompanying each one were easily discernable as coming from each of his team's members. It was the older capture included with the ones chronicling the prank which held his attention the longer. It showed the entire team mugging for the camera, the picture taken early on during one of their less formal outings "We thought something was missing from the family album!"

Deadline
They are all so intent on reaching some goal still not tangibly defined to them that it both bewilders him and drags him along for the ride. Flagship needs constant supervision during the most intense part of the training, night terrors knocking him clean out of recharge at a rate which worries Deadline until he notices that his leader slowly begins to settle down. Wildside is often nearby and says nothing, other than to offer the medic a small, quiet nod of acknowledgment before going about another of those long strolls of his, joined by another of the team now and then for part of the way where he was alone before. Salvo makes crude jokes and laughs loudly and lurks about when he thinks no one is aware, watching over them without even realizing that's what he's doing until he's in far too deep to do anything else anyway. (This would amuse Deadline to no end were he not pertinently aware that has he trapped himself in the same behavior loop, only faster than Salvo has.)

Fallout would drive herself to exhaustion if allowed in her attempts to meet expectations both real and imaginary, the hardest evaluation coming from the femme first and foremost. But when he sets limits she listens and she works on the schedule he's set for her - in return she packs every single iota of training he allows her to the fullest and deftly argues for more when she can. He grants her the freedom of the track at night sometimes, not for racing but just to idle around and she practices slow figures and curves just because she can. Her adaptation ratio to the processor augmentation process has been perfect and without any of the possible problems encountered in previous field tests and subjects, and he feels endless relief that his decisions in that matter were correct and that this particular augment won't end in the tragedy the previous one did. The memories of his last patient sometime keep him awake from recharge and he wanders the base those nights, eventually ending up at the track to watch the cycle curve slow and steady patterns, faculties clearly still intact.

Longshot has become the light of the team well before training is done, always ready to jostle someone from their worries and self-doubts, even as he relies on Callsign to do the same for him without ever realizing he does so. Callsign lives in the air now, rarely touching ground at all and Deadline fancies they can count the number of times the flier has landed on a single hand since the shield meshes were installed over his sensors. Every single one of them eventually guesses what the life of the flier must have been like before, and every single one of them cannot help but respond to the occasional appearance of the mech, shy wing waves and silent smiles acknowledged and returned every single time.

He stands apart of them all and watches intently. He mends and upgrades and monitors and heals as best as he can and then he tries some more, not only because it is his function to do so, but because he fervently wishes to do so as well. There is no one to tell him to break instead of fix, to harm instead of help. Even by the time training nears its end he still catching himself waiting for an order he can no longer follow but it never comes, leaving him feeling off balance and disoriented until someone walks up to him to ask a question, or Longshot invades his medlab to pry him away from his work console for some frivolous outing or ten. He'd curse the black and red soundly only it's not something he does anymore and he supposes it would be hypocritical of him to do so anyway since bringing in the maniac was entirely his idea in the first place. The one time he tries to resist Longshot calls in reinforcements by way of Callsign and the sight of the large flier trying to fold himself through his office doors are more than enough for Deadline to abandon his work and follow them outside. By the time training has ended he's no longer on the edges as he'd always planned to be. He thinks this over one night and finally shrugs and moves on, accepting his own place within the team with amused resignation. Even the best laid plans can sometimes go awry. That's not always a bad thing, he's coming to realize.

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From Wikipedia: Coalescence is also a term used in welding. Two (or possibly more) pieces of metal are bonded together by liquifying the places where they are to be bonded, coalescing these liquids, and allowing the coalesced liquid to solidify. At the end of this process the two pieces of metal have become one continuous solid, and if the weld has been made properly, it will be as strong as the original work pieces.