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“Don’t say it.” Hook warned.
“I wasn’t going to say anything.” Scrapper lied.
“You were thinking it.”
“Bet you were thinking it too,” Long Haul accused, and Primus, he wasn’t wrong.
“Everyone’s thinking it!” Scavenger panicked, wringing his servos together. “What are we gonna do!?”
The gathered Constructicon gestalt stared down at the tiny shifting lump of armour that was their Lord and Commander’s much adored new-sparked creation. Hook had been pleased when the bitlet had emerged strong, vocal, active, and healthy. But was somewhat less so that the sparkling was also bright fragging red, blue, and white.
Autobot colours.
“Paint him.” Bonecrusher grunted.
“We’re not painting a new-spark.” Scrapper growled. “We are not painting Megatron’s new-spark.”
“He’s asleep. He won’t know.” Mixmaster reassured.
“No!” Scrapper snapped.
“He looks like an Autobot!” Scavenger whispered, peaking at the recharging new-spark from behind his servos.
“I said not to say that!” Hook hissed through his denta.
“No, you said not to say what we were thinking,” Long Haul reminded him.
Hook glared at him in exasperation, “And what were you thinking?”
Bonecrusher leaned around and answered for him, “That Megatron got himself sparked up by Prime.”
It was too much for some. Scrapper turned around and braced himself against the nearest bulkhead, helm bowed.
“That- that’s a treasonous accusation.” Scavenger said shakily.
“Not as treasonous as clanging the leader of the enemy faction,” Mixmaster reminded him pleasantly.
“We don’t know that.” Hook waved his servos, trying to regain control of the situation. “There is such a thing as recessive traits.”
“Megatron is grey.” Long Haul said, in case anyone had forgotten.
“He has a bit of red,” Mixmaster stroked his chin thoughtfully.
“Not this shade of red.”
“Autobot red,” Bonecrusher nodded sagely.
“Stop saying ‘Autobot’.” Scrapper lifted his helm, still braced against the bulkhead. “If he hears you we’ll all be killed.”
“Pretty sure most of this faction ain’t colour blind,” Long Haul muttered, “Killing us ain’t gonna bleach off those ‘Bot colours.”
“Megatron hasn’t seen him yet.” Scrapper was beginning to sound desperate. “Maybe we should paint him?”
“We’re not painting him!” Hook burst out.
His shout woke the sparkling, and their leader’s potentially Autobot heir began to stir with a soft whine of annoyance, which quickly grew into a loud unstoppable wail. Loud enough to wake his creator resting in the next room. The Constructicons started to panic, stumbling into each other as they all attempted to flee the area surrounding the crib at once.
“Hook?” Megatron’s low, tired rasp called. Hook froze with a cringe. Emergence took a lot out of a carrier and he had hoped Megatron would be out for the night. Then he’d have had a few hours to figure out what to do about Optimus Prime Junior.
“Bring him to me.” Megatron ordered from the next room.
“No one say anything,” Hook whispered furiously, bending to lift the sparkling, supporting a heavy head in the crook of his elbow. “Not one word!”
Megatron was more awake and alert than he’d been hoping for, having pushed himself up and swung his legs over the berth edge. Beside him was Soundwave. As their leader’s oldest, closest friend he must have come to meet his creation. Hook’s spark pulse picked up at the presence of a telepath in a time like this. He fought desperately to think of anything but Optimus Prime and whatever involvement he might have had in the making of this sparkling. It didn’t work very well.
Hook made sure to keep the mesh fabric the sparkling was swaddled in secure around the tiny frame to keep any colour hidden. But it was a very bright red, and a very pristine white, and a pretty obnoxious shade of blue.
As subtle as a fusion blast to the face, his gestalt were wandering in after him, too curious to go back to their duties. Thankfully, Megatron didn’t notice the audience, too taken with his sparkling to care. Hook passed the bitlet over, trying not to look like he was doing so eagerly.
“Everything appears functional. No defects detected.” He said, very professionally.
“Naturally,” Megatron nodded, having not expected anything different.
Soundwave leaned over Megatron’s shoulder to look, and Megatron, oblivious to the cyber-cat he was about to let out of the bag, brushed aside the mesh fabric so Soundwave could see better the sparkling better.
Showing off that very red, blue and white paint job.
“Oh.” Megatron said.
Soundwave paused.
Hook stopped breathing.
His gestalt were vibrating with morbid curiosity in the doorway.
“...Starscream.” Megatron blurted, speaking as if suddenly remembering the existence his second in command. He began nodding to himself, voice growing in confidence. “Yes, Starscream. Starscream is the sire.”
Hook sucked in a much needed breath of relief. Of course. Of course Megatron wouldn’t have had dalliances with his mortal enemy! Starscream didn’t adhere to the typical colour scheme of a Decepticon, and the red, blue, and white of the sparkling were close enough to his own shades that it was entirely viable he was the mystery sire.
Though as far as Hook was aware Megatron didn’t get along with Starscream well, at least it wasn’t treasonous. But no wonder he hadn’t told anyone.
Soundwave, as always, was unreadable in his reaction. He was nodding at Megatron’s words though, taking in the sight of the squirming sparkling from behind that intense red visor. Megatron seemed to relax himself, his shoulders slumping as he smiled proudly at what he’d made. Hook was glad he hadn’t agreed to the ridiculous painting idea now.
Until the sparkling’s optics began to shutter open, blinking online one at a time.
Bright Autobot blue.
Soundwave straightened up and folded his arms, turning his visored gaze on Megatron, clearly waiting for an explanation.
Megatron just sighed in exasperation. “Great.”