Chapter Text
The Nemesis, en route to Iacon, two breems after liftoff from the Badlands.
Hot Rod found Arcee - and Springer - standing by an open hatch, staring down at the clouds and ground below as the Nemesis flew back to Iacon. The sight of Springer's arm resting around Arcee's shoulders as if it belonged there made him want to storm up and loudly proclaim his presence. Made him want to slink back without making any noise. Made hot, twitchy energy rake down his circuits, and he tightened his hands into fists.
If that was how it was going to be, he could take a hint.
He'd just thought...
Hoped---
"Hot Rod!" Arcee's cry had him jerking up right, spoiler twitching. He ended up staring at a delicate hand held out to him, and into Arcee's smile. A smile that was brighter, sweeter, deeper than he'd ever seen it before. Not that any other smiles she'd sported had been insincere, but it was like a weight had been lifted off her...
Oh. Of course something had been lifted off her.
The quintesson slave shell program.
"Hey, Arcee... Springer," Hot Rod nodded, shifting on his feet. He felt utterly superfluous and while he wanted to walk up on Arcee's other side, because that was better than nothing, he didn't like this feeling. It was like any other times Arcee had been talking to someone else she'd seemed to really pay attention to, but this time it was worse than that.
"Hey, kid. Wondered when you'd come by," Springer said as he used the hand around Arcee's shoulders to wave him up, and with Arcee twisted around and looking at him... he came. He didn't take her hand, though, out of some sense of spiteful pride, no matter how rude that probably was.
"Lots of people on the ship, hard to find someone you're lookin' for, and others wanting help, you know, all that stuff. So what are we... you doing?" Forcing a grin, Hot Rod leaned against the side of the open hatch, wind rushing by sharply and rattling his frame.
"Just talking about getting to see and experience everything properly," Arcee said, optics and voice bright. And while there was still her usual restrained care in the tones of her voice, it was still... more. It was almost overwhelming how much more she currently was. He hadn't really paid much attention to Elita's group - mostly because he'd been keeping his distance since he got beaten up and kidnapped before the whole Unicron debacle - so he didn't have much of anything to compare to, there.
Arcee, though, he certainly had paid attention to.
"Least there's more to see than during the war, huh?" his gaze flickered over to Springer, and then back to Arcee, "though Springer can tell you all about it, 'course." Which wasn't something he could do. He hadn't been there. Not before the war, not even during it.
Arcee, not privy to his thoughts, laughed quietly and smiled.
"Sure is. But what's better is that I get to do that with you here. If you want to..." trailing off, she tilted her helm as he stared at her. He hadn't...
"But... Springer..?" Glancing from Arcee to Springer and then back, he gestured loosely at them and scowled at Springer's snort.
"You're the one actin' like this gotta be some sort of exclusive thing, as friends or otherwise, Hot Rod."
As Springer shook his helm, Hot Rod felt a burning curl of embarrassment and frustration sear through him - Springer always made him look so slagging dumb because he was so much more... well. More. Tall and imposing and knowledgeable and charmingly daring---
"Like I said... I'd love you both here, but that only works if you guys want it too," Arcee said with a weighted little frown on her face, emphasising the concern in her voice in a way that was wholly new in intensity and expression both.
"... I guess I could." Shifting on his feet, spoiler twitching, he looked up at Springer and was surprised at the grin. Aimed at him, and not in any way condescending. In fact, it was sort of... he shook his helm and pushed that thought away, because surely..? And he wasn't sure what to do with that either. It was like when Slipstream had been grinning at him, all heavy intent and dangerous charm, though not quite as... threatening?
Something like that.
"How could I say no to the two of you?" Laughing, Springer dropped his arm from around Arcee's shoulders and walked around her to pull Hot Rod close, trapping each of the shorter mechs under an arm each. Squirming, Hot Rod almost snapped a demand to be let free, but then there was one of Arcee's hands in his and... maybe the weight of Springer wasn't too bad.
Maybe.
At least his voice wasn't obnoxious, Hot Rod thought as Springer started to point out long-gone features of the landscape below as they passed it, and Arcee's hand in his was firm and just the right size.
--------------------
The Nemesis, half a cycle after liftoff from the Badlands.
Cliffjumper had finally managed to extricate himself from the cluster of minibots that had somehow gravitated towards him and the minibot mech that had been in the group they'd rescued from the corridor. Not that it in any way was mysterious that the two of them had somehow attracted a group of minibots. That was usually what happened, one way or another, if there was more than one minibot in a given area.
It did make it kind of difficult to get away, however. But he'd finally managed and was trying to find the mech that, after a relieved contact over comm. had totally been ignoring him. Fragging glitching, stuck-up aft. How come he had to go find him if he'd been so slagging worried---
A sudden hand on his shoulder yanked him to a stop and then he was trapped against a chesplate with two arms around him.
"Gah! Fraggin' let go or I'm---"
"I can't believe you! Why didn't you say something?!"
Cliffjumper stopped fighting to get loose as the familiarity of the field flaring around him and the tone caught up with him. Well, all that, plus the shape and colours of the arms. Why had he thought it'd be anyone else - oh right, Decepticon warship.
With a purely mental snort, he pushed that thought away and resisted the urge to tilt his helm back to peer up at Mirage.
"'Cause you'd have wanted to come with, you stupid glitch. If somethin' was gonna happen, better it just be to one of us," Cliffjumper muttered, scowling. He tried to cross his arms over his chestplates, but Mirage's arms were in the way and he let them fall back to his sides again.
He might be leaning back into the kneeling noble behind him, though.
Maybe.
"Oh yes, because we couldn't have lost. Or I couldn't have died at any point during this," Mirage said, voice fairly dripping with snooty sarcasm. Cliffjumper didn't bother with restraining the urge to crack his elbow back and plant it in Mirage's midsection. Mirage just tightened his grip in response, even if a very offended noise escaped him. Not even pained, just offended.
"Better odds than we had anyway, but she clearly needed the slaggin' help," huffing, Cliffjumper briefly laid a hand on top of the one over his chestplate and then tilted his helm back, thrusting a finger up at Mirage, "and before you say anythin' else, you can't claim you wouldn't have done the exact same blasted thing."
Mirage closed his mouth and stared down at him for a moment. Then he slowly grinned, drumming his fingers against the metal that covered Cliffjumper's spark chamber and leaned down. Mirage didn't say anything as he brushed his lips over a horn and Cliffjumper snorted again, somehow keeping from flustered squirming.
Slagging stupid nobles.
--------------------
Iacon, Autobase. A joor after the Nemesis' return from the Badlands.
Jetfire left the medbay with some hesitation, letting the doors close on Hook's complaints about having to use substandard equipment. Starscream had insisted on getting his body back nowhere near to where Shockwave would have easy access - or rather, he'd hissed at Jetfire in the privacy of their currently joined mindscape that he'd make his life unbearable if Jetfire let Shockwave get his hand on him.
So with some finagling, it'd been possible to get Hook to agree to monitor Starscream's growing protoform at Autobase - not that any equipment in the whole of Iacon was any different, either way.
Starscream had then tried to lobby for one of the fully upgraded protoforms so he could just jump right in. Hook however, had, with a painfully slow explanation drowning in condescension, asked him if he wanted to be himself or have to fight off all the programming the fully upgraded frames came with? It would, after all, take far more effort and time to scrub one of the fully upgraded protoforms completely clean than having Starscream spend some time in a tank and allowing protoform to grow around him. Then they could just immediately upgrade the protoform, since he was hardly a newspark that needed time to adjust.
Starscream had, with sneering superiority and a comment about how Hook better not lapse in his famous care, agreed.
By Hook's expression as Jetfire had left, while the Constructicon probably wished he could sabotage Starscream's growth-cycle, he wouldn't. For his own pride if nothing else.
As such, Jetfire felt only... somewhat reluctant in leaving the medbay. He wanted to stay, not just to make sure things went all right, but... Rubbing the metal over his spark chamber, Jetfire wouldn't claim he felt... erm, lonely, or anything. But he'd had Starscream that close, and after what had - should have been - Starscream's death...
He shook his helm. This was ridiculous. He'd see Starscream again in a few days, and could go to the medbay in the interim.
For now, he had a last wish to honour.
As such, Jetfire met up with Solus Prime and Alpha Trion on the empty airstrip of Autobase, chill evening wind sliding over their metal as the suns had, by now, disappeared below Iacon's skyline.
"Jetfire. Is this about what you kept interrupting yourself from saying earlier?" Solus greeted with a small, if curious, smile.
"Er... yes," Jetfire said, rubbing his chin as he shrugged, "I was going to relay Quintus Prime's last message then, but well, considering I had a passenger and given his... ah, ambitious nature, I thought it better he continue to not know what it was about."
Quintus had, after all, remained very... obscure about why he wanted Solus to have the gem. Jetfire was almost sure he'd pieced it together, but he hadn't wanted some stray comment to reveal anything while Starscream would be able to overhear. So he'd waited until now that Starscream's spark was safely tucked away in a tank, drawing protoform around it to form the first components of the protoform.
Pulling the gem out of his subspace, he handed it over to Solus, whose optics had gone wide and bright - Alpha Trion's optics had widened as well.
"He didn't... precisely, explain what it was, but it's not just some... ah, memento, is it?" Jetfire asked as he watched Solus turned the gem over in her hands, then allowing Alpha Trion to hold it as she looked up with a dry, lopsided smile.
"No, it's not. Even if it certainly is that as well. You might have figured it out, I take it..?" she trailed off, her optics glittering even if there was a heavy cast to her EM field, drawn suddenly tight around her as it was.
"However it works, that gem is what he used to... create? the species he explained to us that he did. The quintessons among them. Apparently Unicron had some... influence on their creation and he didn't notice."
"The Emberstone, yes," Alpha Trion said with a nod and a faint sigh as he handed the stone back to Solus, "it's capable of instilling life in mechanoids in another - if similar - way to that of our sparks. Quintus called it warm-wiring. There was theorising it'd work for organic species as well, but as far as we know, there was no confirmation of that."
Solus and Alpha Trion looked at each other, Jetfire shifted on his feet, wanting to get his hands on the Emberstone - but knew it was better than he didn't. He or anybody else. So instead he straightened up and looked for words.
"I'm... ah, sorry for your loss."
Solus looked back at him and shook her helm, stroking a thumb over the Emberstone. The energies within seemed to follow the motion of her thumb.
"Thank you. And thank you for bringing this back. It will be safeguarded. And we're used to loss, by now. All lights are lost when separated, but only until all are one," Solus said, and Jetfire nodded, somewhat startled at the phrase.
But it made sense, didn't it?
He left the two there on the airstrip and walked back inside, considering the phrase. It'd been a farewell, once, that 'until all are one' phrase. Meaning that even if something should extinguish one of the speakers, they'd meet again in the end, even if that end was the (supposed) Well of All Sparks. The whole phrase strengthened that supposition... and it wasn't odd that it might once have only referred to the farewell given to or by those grieving, yet hopeful, who'd lost someone close to them.
Jetfire felt somewhat like he and Starscream had cheated in a way - all lights weren't, apparently, lost when separated. Not when they somehow returned. Of course, he'd also felt very lost until he knew Starscream had survived, so it still... applied.
All lights are lost when separated... and the last of Primus first would have to wait a bit longer until they were all one.
--------------------
Iacon, the rebuilt Tower of Pion. Two days after the slaves were freed.
"You're sure this will work?" the Prime shook his helm as he stared into the opened chest cavity of the oldest of the two clones. He sounded incredulous, but Slipstream was rather sure it was for what he was looking at more than her suggestion. She didn't begrudge him his incredulity, because who wouldn't be when they found out the clones' cyberstatic charge was confined to a lattice structure where the spark chamber ought to be?
It wasn't even enough to make a whole spark, and once again faint revulsion shuddered through her. She pushed it aside however and snorted, giving the Prime a faint grin. He seemed vaguely... unsettled by it, and she then had to push aside her amusement.
"Unless Solus Prime has some other suggestion, I was hoping that the introduction of more spark energy would prompt the protoform to rearrange the lattice and build a proper spark chamber." She was pretty sure that mech... Megatron, would be displeased at what she was attempting. But these were clones of her, and if they couldn't be full cybertronians, if this didn't work she wanted them killed.
Of course, the Prime might object to that, at least for the older clone that actually displayed some burgeoning initiative. But even drones, especially old ones, could show initiative and what sometimes seemed like strains of personality. She'd find a way around both of the Prime and the Lord of the Decepticons if necessary.
"I can plug in, and if the additional spark energy doesn't trigger such a command, I should be able to do some adjustments on the fly," Solus said as she rubbed her chin thoughtfully. Slipstream was still quietly and extremely well hidden amazed at the fact that one of the original Primes was right there.
The Prime nodded, straightening up while his optics narrowed with a nearly thoughtful determination - that, however, made it easy to see why he was who he was. Slipstream didn't know this Prime, but he seemed alright.
"I don't see why we shouldn't try. If it works, they certainly deserve the chance."
She spread her hands and stepped back even as she gave the Prime another slow, thoughtful look and smile - they all straightened up and turned to the open balcony that was attached to the room as engines approached, though. The red and black jet that appeared hovered at the balcony for a moment, then flipped around and transformed. Slipstream relaxed and the two Primes turned back to the clones, Solus plugging into the older one.
"... Windblade? Already back, then?" tilting her helm, Slipstream waved the slender aerial over after she'd landed. She'd assumed Windblade would've been gone for longer, if only because it was something of a flight between the Iacon and Vos states. The expression on Windblade's faceplate was soft and wide, nearly wounded but not exactly. It was an expression she didn't like on Windblade.
::How did the trip go? The memorial?:: Slipstream asked, optics narrow as she let Windblade fit herself against her side while they looked on as Optimus let his chestplates part, revealing the incandescent glow of the Matrix.
It stirred light and brightness within her, and Slipstream rolled her optics at her own reaction. The Matrix should be afforded reverence, yes, but this automatic reaction was a bit annoying. Windblade shifting beside her, wings twitching where they were angled down to avoid Slipstream's, called her attention back to the mech beside her and away from her exasperation at herself.
::The memorial... it's... I thought all the shifting over so much time would've destroyed it. It's above ground now, Slipstream. It's above ground and whole.:: There was that expression again, but the glittering, nearly glitching words over the comm. frequency revealed it for the joy that it was.
::Where it should have been when we made it,:: she commented with a nod, optics locked on Optimus cradling the clone against him as the glow from the Matrix flared, reaching out and into the open cavity in the clone's chestplates. At first, nothing happened. Solus frowned... and then the lattice started to shift as the raw protoform metal the lattice was attached to started to move, reforming with the flowing ease of water.
::I'm just glad it survived. He didn't deserve---:: Windblade cut off into static, the glowing happiness falling away for a brief flash of old frustration, rage and sadness. Slipstream snorted sharply and shifted her hand to pinch one of the protrusions on Windblade's helm, and the shorter aerial barely kept the yelp to the comm. only.
::Did any of us? Caminus was home, but a lot of places was home to people before the quints yanked us all away. He will always be remembered.:: By some more than others, but then, given that Windblade had been Caminus City's custodian, it wasn't that strange that she'd still be moved by her charge's passing.
::... yeah. I know...:: Windblade mumured, but at least her emotions had settled. She also slumped against Slipstream and that just wouldn't do... but remedying that situation could wait for a few more moments.
The Prime stepped back from the clone, making it possible to see the new spark chamber forming around cyberstatic charge that was coalescing into a proper sphere, no longer strung up or too little to form an actual spark. Vicious pleasure flickered through her - the quintessons would have nothing of them. Not even this would keep their taint.
As the spark was finally ensconced in its new spark chamber, the clone's pale gray and lavender colours started to darken into black and vivid violet. It was surprising but not wholly unexpected. Then as the metal closed up around the spark chamber, the clone staggered, clutching his helm and then looked around with a slow, confused wonder in its optics.
Windblade stared at the clone and then smiled faintly. Terrible origin or not, what they were looking at right now was a protoform fresh in wonder at the newness of everything. All it had was a bit more background to it than otherwise.
"So what will you name him, until he's decided whether it fits him or not?" As she spoke, the clone looked up at her, and then at Slipstream, who huffed.
"... Hotlink. The other one will be Bitstream. They can decide for their own if they want sky-names later or whatever," Slipstream said with a shrug while she eyed the second clone as Optimus held it close and the Matrix flared bright again, pulsing out more cyberstatic charge to fill out what was already there into a proper spark. The names weren't very inspired, but slag, whatever. They were at least better than something even more flatly stereotypical like Wing or Tailfin.
The second clone's colours darkened and then went past purple into blue, while the grays lightened into white instead. When Optimus stepped back, after a moment of dark-optic swaying the newly sparked clone suddenly snapped to focus. His gaze went from around the room in a slow sweep to fall on his own hands, turning them over and flexing them. Then he looked up again and immediately walked over to the newly dubbed Hotlink, who reached out and trailed a finger down Bitstream's nasal ridge.
"They're going to need proto-hatchers, or at least mentors," Windblade murmured and Slipstream shook her helm, holding a hand up sharply.
"Don't look at me, brightspark. I'm no caretaker. Lyzack isn't either, no matter how much she clamours over protoforms being cutely useless. Megatron can go find some for 'em, since he was so adamant they were his," as she spoke, Slipstream's expression turned from guarded annoyance into nearly smugly pleased amusement. Windblade sighed, though there was a smile at the corner of her lips.
"Talking of Lyzack, where is she?" she asked as they both bowed to Solus as she took her leave, meeting up with Alpha Trion at the doorway before she continued past as he came in.
"Someone said something 'bout her reminding them of someone they knew, so she ran away to make a call," Slipstream said with a little grin curling about her mouth, then she walked over to Optimus and gave him a proper salute, "and thank you for your time and assistance, Prime." No matter what people thought of her usual behaviour, Slipstream was fully capable of acting more seriously.
Well, some of the time, anyway.
"I'm honoured to be able to give them the chance... regardless of who teaches them," the Prime said, the quiet pleasure in his voice giving over for arched dryness and an arched upper optic ridge as he said the latter. Slipstream laughed and saluted Alpha Trion as well before she went back to Windblade, smile already coming back at Windblade's attempt to hide her impatience. It had been a bit rude to just cut over to Optimus like that, hadn't it?
Slipstream kept from laughing as she came back to Windblade and tapped the crest on her helm with an easy grin, ignoring Windblade's huff.
"Leozack? Her brother's still alive? That would be amazing..." Windblade shook her helm slowly and cast a glance out towards the sky that could be seen beyond the balcony.
"Pretty much. And what would you like to do?" Pointed little question that made Windblade frown up at her. She could tell something was behind that, even with Slipstream's smile usually holding a quality that made people wonder what she knew - it came naturally to her, but she never let it turn into a know-it-all smugness. No, it was far more satisfying to annoy people with just a 'know something' smile. It usually made them more antsy than full blown smugness anyhow.
Like now.
"I... don't know. This is home, after all, but..." Windblade turned back to Slipstream and dropped her gaze to the floor, worrying her fingers, "but without Caminus... Slipstream, would you stop that and tell me if you know something!" Windblade huffed and reached out, slapping Slipstream's arm as her grin widened into a shameless smirk.
"If you insist, sweetspark. I happen to know these Autobots have a metrotitan as their base on Earth. He's young, too. Newly sparked and everything," she tilted her helm, watching Windblade's annoyance melt away into stunned hope that left her optics bright and wide.
It almost hurt to see that after all this time. After Caminus died in the quintesson invasion, there hadn't been much of any other emotions than steely determination to survive and quiet mourning for all that was lost - and then they had been captured.
"Slipstream..."
"I'm sure he could benefit from a Cityspeaker who's well-versed in the needs of a metrotitan, and has a weak spot the size of Cybertron for protoforms. Pretty sure Lyzack will be clamoring to go to Earth as well, considering that's where Leozack supposedly is. And we wouldn't want to disappoint her, now would we?"
Windblade stared up at her grin, her optics still wide and bright in that way that was nearly painful, and just when Slipstream wondered if she should've used another approach, Windblade literally flew at her. They clattered together and Slipstream staggered but remained standing, stance widening to keep her balance and her arms reflexively coming up around the smaller mech.
"We're going."
--------------------
Iacon, Decepticon Enclave. Four days after the slaves were freed.
Normally it wouldn't take only four days for a protoform to grow to full viability, but then, Starscream wasn't a newly created spark. He was old, and he knew what a protoform was for and he wasn't going to wait around forever. So it'd taken little more than a third of the time it'd normally take for a protoform to form all the relevant bits.
It still felt too long in his opinion, but at least he had a chassis now.
Jetfire had been there, of course. He knew Skywarp and Thundercracker had been there as well; he could tell by the faint residual vibration in the air. Skywarp was acting like a slagging protoform, but considering who he was talking about, that wasn't anything new.
But he would deal with that soon enough. Staring at Jetfire as he onlined, feeling everything as his own for the first time in a while, he'd wanted to stay.
Well, to be honest - if he had to be - he'd wanted to slam the overgrown jet against a wall and snarl at him that it was all his blasted fault that he wanted to keep the giant idiot close enough he couldn't ever lose him again. And that just wouldn't fragging do, so he'd said he needed to take care of business and gotten out of there. Not because he was embarrassed over his own reaction, of course.
Not at all!
He had told Jetfire he better wait and not go anywhere, of course. After all this blasted effort and annoying emotions, he wasn't going to accept anything less than that they do something about it.
Right now, however, he did have some other things to take care of. Things like storming through the temporary Decepticon base to Megatron's not-throne room. It actually just looked like a proper office, for once. Pretty understated and almost tasteful and Starscream was almost surprised... but then, they hadn't been on Cybertron long enough for Megatron to start redecorate. Also something to take into consideration with the lack of overblown decorations was if Megatron was planning on moving elsewhere, which he undoubtedly was.
"I hope you're not too disappointed?" Starscream said with a smirk and his helm cocked as he stopped in the doorway, leaning against it. Megatron sat back in his seat, a quirk to an upper optic ridge.
"Probably less than you were when you found out your attempt to finish me off by blasting me into space had failed." Megatron's amusement rankled, not the least because that should have worked and yet Megatron had somehow survived... Then that amusement suddenly flattened out, and Starscream immediately straightened, ready for... whatever may come.
"So what will it take to kill you?" Megatron stared at him, the glow from his optics muted, impenetrable.
Well. That wasn't too bad, so Starscream flicked his wings into a jaunty flare and smirked.
"Nothing you can do, it seems like, oh mighty Megatron." He stood his ground when Megatron stood up and came close. Megatron stared flatly at him for a moment that could just as well have been an eternity (and he knew eternity, being stuck in the quintesson flagship had been more than one) and then grabbed his arm, hand wrapping around the armour in a firm grip. Automatically, he mirrored the grip on Megatron's arm.
"Pray that hypothesis will never be tested, Starscream. And you're lucky I didn't get the chance to promote Leozack to your positions." Megatron let go of his arm, and Starscream's aborted sneer at the sharp, deadly smile Megatron had aimed at him got lost in a flush of outrage.
"Leozack? That outdated, verdigris-dripping hack?!"
Megatron, who'd walked past him and out his office at Starscream's outburst, didn't stop.
"He is competent, Starscream."
He could hear the taunting amusement in Megatron's voice, but that didn't stop him from whirling around and following, briefly delaying his other visit. It was a bit hard to ignore the sharp static roughing down his wiring, after all.
"Competent? Are you as much of a bullethead as you seem to be? He's a cat that's lost his claws!" How dare Megatron think of replacing him with that useless hunk of rusted-over junk!?
Not that anyone would've been an acceptable replacement, but Leozack rubbed him the wrong way more than usual. There was just something with his attitude. Megatron laughed, a quiet, amused rumble that Starscream was almost surprised to hear, but he wouldn't let the mech know that.
So instead he strutted alongside him and started to poke into Megatron's plans, smirking as Megatron's amusement flattened out into arched, barely accepting annoyance.
As it should be.
--------------------
"Impossible rustheap..." muttering as he wandered the corridors in search of the next two mechs he was looking for, Starscream huffed. They'd gotten things squared away and, well, as settled as they probably would ever be. He couldn't believe he'd still have to deal with Megatron, after everything. On the other hand, it also helped... make things feel normal, even if that was a completely abhorrent thought.
Talking of mechs he had to deal with who weren't rusty bucketheads, Starscream stopped at the door the very helpful signal had led him to and opened it, planting his fists on his hips.
"If I ever have to go looking for the two of you again..."
"Says the mech who was the one who left," Skywarp said with a sniff, turning away from the doorway to sprawl on the berth. Thundercracker, sitting on a chair and shuffling through several different datapads, dragged a hand down his faceplate and raised his upper optic ridges at Starscream.
"Skywarp..." He had to put a stop to this now, before Skywarp got any more worked up. The idiot was way too dependent on having people pointing him in the right direction (which was also a superb quality when it worked for Starscream), and Starscream had been doing that for... well, a long time now. Which was why Skywarp was acting like a complete glitch at the moment.
Skywarp flicked his wings, scraping designs into the sides of the berth with a vibro-knife without even looking - at least he wasn't destroying the charge conductive mesh the berth was padded with.
"Skywarp, I want you in the air in a br---"
"Y'know, for someone who claims they don't like pain, y'keep exposing yourself to it."
That was a smirk.
He could hear that smirk and it left Starscream caught between a sputter and a growl. Thundercracker was staring at Skywarp like he'd grown a second head and then groaned, deep enough the walls seemed to vibrate with it and tossed one of the datapads at Skywarp and threw the rest at Starscream in a seldom seen flurry of exasperation.
Or frustration. It was hard to tell with Thundercracker sometimes.
"You glitch. Here you had me worrying I'd have to fragging drag the two of you apart or lock you in a room together to get you on speaking terms with him again, and you're---"
"Are we done?!" Starscream shouted, finally having managed to rescue all the datapads - they were all moderately important, unfortunately - from falling to the floor after Thundercracker's snit. Thundercracker stood up and snatched the datapad Skywarp was waggling in the air with a grin that could shear putty in half like it was a hot knife going through butter. Then he stomped past Starscream and slammed the datapad against his cockpit to join the others.
"I guess so. At least you can be useful again and do your job---"
"A breem. You two. Out on the street. We're getting this over and done with and if you don't move right this moment I'll make this slagging unpleasant for you," Starscream hissed as he crossed the room and dropped the datapads on the desk Thundercracker had been sitting by, already filled with a very familiar, itching burn.
That, though, much like having to deal with Megatron, made things feel... normal.
Made his chassis feel like it wasn't still bonding to his protoform in tickling little bursts of sparks and static. Made the pathways of electric impulses in his processor clusters feel settled and comfortable, not new and having to be forced through to create those paths. The blasted normalcy of having to deal with the two mechs he'd had as trine for more than a million years by now was, annoyingly enough, helping.
"Aye-aye, aerospace commander Starscream," Skywarp clattered off a lazy salute against his cockpit and promptly cheated by warping out of the room, leaving Thundercracker and Starscream to follow behind. But even that was normal, helping, even.
Well, they had to be good for something, Starscream had to admit as he exchanged a glance with Thundercracker and they left the room. Maybe after this time they wouldn't end up having to reestablish trine sync after just another few years.
--------------------
Outskirts of Iacon, Alpha Preserve. Six days after the slaves were freed.
Starscream had been circling the Preserve - something between a park, forest and what the humans would probably call a natural reserve - for almost two breems now. He totally wasn't avoiding the white shape standing by an energon spring, a thin rivulet of oil in a little stream bubbling along nearby.
Of course he wasn't.
He was just... savouring. Yes. Savouring the ability to fly again, to feel the air currents over newly calibrated sensors and his EM field flexing about him.
... And, maybe, just a tiny bit, savouring the nearby echo of the synchronised spark pulse he shared with the mech below. It was mad, the faint urge that still burned beneath his plating. Utterly, completely ridiculous and too sentimental to really be given even half an astrosecond of thought before being discarded.
But the thought of letting all this go to... waste? Basically, yes. Of letting go of all this now that he'd been reminded of how easily it could be lost, even with his apparent resilience, made Starscream consider the lunacy this urge was.
The crystals around the pool were opalescent, probably from the oil rivulet, and only sported a faint pinkish cast to their otherwise white colour. Seldom-seen purity, so no wonder Jetfire had chosen to wait in that spot, running careful fingers down the crystals every time he made a circle around the pool, then stepped away.
The crystals weren't large enough for the radiation to be harmful, but Jetfire had always been careful.
Being careful, however, wouldn't necessarily always help, and Jetfire didn't have his resilience towards extinguishing, as far as anyone could be reasonably sure. And Starscream had wandered through the war on the suppressed but diamond-encased certainty that Jetfire would fall by no one's hand but his own.
But that couldn't be guaranteed, as the fight in the quintesson city had shown. Had he not interfered (and he shouldn't have had, that had been a momentary lapse in his processor) Jetfire would've died. And that... flaps trembling, Starscream had to fight to get his proper course back, sneering to himself.
All right, so maybe he couldn't abide by that. So maybe the thing to do was to make sure he knew exactly where he had Jetfire.
With a snort, Starscream abruptly dove down, transforming and flipping around right before his thrusters hit the ground, scorching the metal.
"Jetfire."
Turning around, Jetfire pretended he hadn't been waiting for Starscream to land before he did turn around, and tilted his helm in greeting.
"Starscream."
This felt... somewhat banal.
After all that it'd taken to get them standing here, after the emptiness of Starscream being gone, this was... surprisingly, achingly, familiar.
There was a frame's length of metal and tiny crystals spotting said metal between them, and it seemed as expansive as the whole of Cybertron itself. Which was needlessly melodramatic and clearly Starscream was finally rubbing off on him. But the feeling lingered, contrasting sharply with the implicit closeness of their synchronised spark pulse.
Jetfire wasn't even aware he'd brushed the metal over his spark chamber - and where his Autobrand was - before Starscream's optics strayed to focus there. He dropped his hand and smiled faintly, the dry expression lightening the tension in his own circuits if nothing else. The motion seemed to have charged the air around them further, however.
"Fashionably late?" Simple, banal words, and Jetfire barely kept from twitching. Starscream shrugged, his expression relaxed - but there was tension in every line and angle of his chassis.
"This isn't a time-sensitive experiment, so why not? And I had business to attend to. Some of us are the second in command and aerospace commander of the Decepticon Armada, Jetfire."
He couldn't help it and laughed, shaking his helm as he dragged a hand down his faceplate.
"You never cared about coming in on time for those either. Not even when we had launch windows to keep for missions," Jetfire said, hiding the grin under the hand still covering the lower part of his faceplate. Starscream snorted, flicked his wings and started to slowly walk forward.
Stalk, really, his wings held high and quiveringly tense.
Jetfire pretended not to notice, and he didn't move.
"I didn't have to, so why should I? You usually had things well in hand," Starscream said with a dismissive wave of his hand that Jetfire tracked with half his intent attention - the rest on Starscream himself. On the burning crimson of his optics, the twisted tilt of his lips and the way that warped the darkness of his faceplate, the sweep of his wings...
For several millions of years, that attention had been necessary, but to avoid getting killed.
Now... now it reminded more of other times. Earlier ones. Of staring at Starscream, either directly or out the edge of his vision as the Seeker ranted over some slight – imagined or real – or practically burst out his seams over some discovery. Sometimes both at the same time, and Jetfire letting all that intensity and nearly aggressive attention and brilliance both wash around him and spur him on---
"Pay attention!" Starscream's hand connected against the armour-glass of Jetfire's cockpit with a reverberating, ringing noise. A null-ray powering up followed that and Jetfire reflexively took a step back, refocusing on Starscream.
"Always," Jetfire said with as near shameless a grin as he ever would sport, optics sparkling in the light of the late midday sunlight. Starscream stared up at him, optics narrowed... but the null-ray quieted its' threatening hum, and Jetfire reached out to trace a finger along it. Charged electrons seemed to trail in the wake of his touch, and despite that their EM fields were barely touching, the air was heavy.
"Not nearly enough," Starscream said with a snort and pushed - and Jetfire followed the push instead of simply absorbing it and standing his ground. He went down, pulling Starscream down with him with his hands on those red hips.
Starscream folded to sit on top of him with a grace that was as much inborn as it was taught by Starscream's own sense of drama and ego, all flowing lines and arrogant flare of his wings.
"'Fire. Open up." Starscream hissed intently, staring up at Jetfire and tapping his fingers on the metal covering Jetfire's spark chamber. His other hand seemed to have a life of its own as it traced out the curves and angles of Jetfire's metal, from the left chest vent to the arm and to the base joint where the left wing was connected to the flight array.
Jetfire stared, optics having widened at the nickname and too distracted to suppress the tremble from the touch sliding like lightning across his chassis.
Most of Starscream's nicknames were lobbed at others as insults and takedowns. The few he used that weren't could be counted with less than all fingers on one standard hand, and they weren't used often. Jetfire hadn't heard this one in millions of years, before the war. And it hadn't been used more than a handful of times either.
"And how could I refuse such a charming request?" Jetfire said with a smile, soft enough to have Starscream grit his teeth against the blushing flex of his EM field and his touch going hard for a brief moment.
Jetfire didn't mind, and let one of his hands stray up from Starscream's hip to brush down the side of his helm. Starscream's optics narrowed as he huffed and his grip tightened again after having lightened - in clear contrast with the tiny, amused smirk on his faceplate.
And Jetfire did open up in a smooth flow of metal sliding aside. Starscream stared for a quiet klik, not quite touching the bared and opened spark chamber as the light gilded his metal in whitish-blue. Then he mirrored Jetfire, slowly. Slowly enough the hesitation was easily read, but Jetfire didn't mind. He just tightened his grip where he was cupping the side of Starscream's helm and brushed his thumb over Starscream's lips and chin guard.
The light from their sparks lit up their metal in a blue-white glow, and the synchronised spark pulse could now be seen as well as felt as the subtle ripple of each pulse through the coalesced sparks glittered in unison.
Joined before they'd even reached for each other, but then, arguably...
They'd been joined for a lot longer than the coming together now would create.
Years or miles apart, sparks synchronised yet or not, it seemed they'd been stuck together since that moment Jetfire hadn't let himself be run out of the lab by an irritable, territorial Seeker.
This was just... finally, acknowledging it.
Their sparks came together as their lips met, cascading towards the only possible conclusion.