Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It all happened in a rush.

Kaon bolted onto the bridge of the Peaceful Tyranny, frantic in a way Nickel had never contemplated the mech might be possible of attaining. In fact, Kaon was so frantic that at first Nickel found herself unable to parse the words falling from Kaon's mouth. By the time they finally made sense, it was too late.

"—the Pet!" Kaon cried as he rushed toward Tarn, Helex hot on his heels. The big smelter mech looked decidedly less than pleased, all of that annoyed anger directed at his teammate. Worse, perhaps, was the way Overlord viewed the building scene with widening optics. A slow sense of impending doom sat heavy in Nickel's fuel tank as Overlord's perpetual smile curled deeper with growing amusement.

The ball of dread only bubbled larger as the situation played out, intensifying and playing like snippets as if saving the whole to memory might prove far too traumatic. "—a pet? Oh, this is—"

Overlord joining the conversation was not good. Not good at all. Never good.

"—rescued him!"

Nickel tossed her gaze back and forth, distracted by the flood of seething darkness in Tarn's field, like a bullied sparkling about to break with the need to prove himself. Her insides hollowed as her spark casing gave the sensation of dropping into her already fear-laden fuel tank. "Tarn?" she whispered, not sure if she wanted her words to reach him. "What are you doing, Tarn?"

"—the gulf between reputation and reality could be so—"

All her misgivings screamed at Nickel to move, to do something, as Tarn reached out a hand toward Kaon. It was far too gentle. A serene show that hid something putrid and rusted completely through. Time slowed and suddenly she saw it all with perfect clarity, every second, every moment, that followed burned into her brain module.

"Come here, Kaon," Tarn said with a gentle beckoning curl of his fingers, his tone soothing. The light caught on the sharp tips of his talons, the glint a silent howl of danger Kaon would not be aware of in his blindness, but left Nickel rooted where she stood. As Kaon came into Tarn's hold, his smaller red and gold frame was pulled in a comforting embrace. One hand stroked along the side of his helm as he relaxed against Tarn's broad chest. "I never realized that you cared for that creature as much as you do."

Her own hand shifted to rest on her chest, her spark pulsing with horror as sharp and whipping tendrils of vile disappointment lashed out from Tarn's field. She'd never felt such frozen yet burning rage in the entirety of her functioning, had never felt such helpless inability to avoid incoming disaster since Prion.

"Sorry—" Tarn paused for the briefest of moments, easing Kaon back away from him just enough to cup the smaller mech's helm between his hands.

The blunt tips of Nickel's fingers scratched at her chest, scraping the paint as she forced herself to continue watching. It was incomprehensibly obvious that Kaon was far too upset to be aware of—

RRRIP! It was an ungodly sound, every time she heard something of the sort. Never here, though. Never in the heart of the ship that had become a new home, second only to the team base back on Messatine.

Nickel didn't watch the end, only knowing that Kaon's helm still rested between Tarn's hands and a good length of his life cord tangled useless and exposed from the shredded remains of Kaon's neck. Her attention instead immediately focused on the decapitated frame tumbled to the floor in front of her, biolights gone dark. Behind her, as she chased after the fallen frame, pulling it to herself, Nickel heard the sickening crunch and squelch. A glance had her biting back a purge of the energon processing in her fuel tank.

Smeared across Overlord's broad chest were chunks of her friend's smashed helm and the dimming gore of energon no longer supporting life.

Cradling what was left of Kaon against her chassis, Nickel barely listened as Tarn continued his tirade against such things as compassion or feeling anything beyond the need for perfect adherence to the Cause. It very nearly hid the spike of regret he quickly buried. Her spark lurched as she automatically reached to stroke Kaon's helm, instead finding her hand covered in the dull energon already starting to go sticky.

"What have you done…?" she cried out, her fingers catching at the edges of the open space that had once housed Kaon's neck. No answer came her way as Tarn continued his pontificating to an Overlord that seemed more disgusted at the mess decorating his chassis. Deathsaurus, at least, appeared alarmed by what he had just seen, though he made no move to do anything.

"No more waiting. No more digressions." Whatever last bit of upset that might linger in Tarn's field was hastily locked away, leaving him a solid and unmoving figure at the center of the bridge. A more heavily imposing figure than Nickel had ever seen or felt him before, his deadly voice sent a new tremble of fear through her. From the sheer strength of the flex of Tarn's ability, she knew she wasn't the only one affected. "The players are in position and the sun is nearly set. And victory… is finally within our grasp."

Nickel understood the final confrontation on this planet was very nearly at hand, even without Tarn's announcement of it. Not willing to give up the cooling frame held so close to her chassis, though, she raised her voice loud enough to be heard over the clash fields seeking domination flicking around her. "If you don't mind, Tarn, I'll be taking the—" she hoped the pause and small tremor in her voice as it struck her just what she was about to say wasn't obvious, "—spare parts to my medibay to get them cleaned for when somebody needs them."

She wasn't the least bit surprised no one moved to help her. As easy as it was for her boys to absolutely decimate anyone whose name was on the List, they were decidedly more squeamish when it came to the wounding of their own. Seeing her lug around the decapitated and quickly graying frame of the one teammate they'd all considered exempt from Tarn's worst aggressions, the one member of the squad as yet never replaced, Nickel noted they chose to not even look in her direction. For such big and tough mechs, they were certainly cowards.

By the time she reached the door of her domain, Nickel breathed thanks that despite her size she was gifted the strength given to all medics. While it might not have been enough to cart around the likes of Helex or Tesarus, it was more than enough to get what was left of Kaon to safety. If she'd left him in the presence of Tarn in his current mood or risked learning if Overlord having any respect for the dead, Nickel knew she'd have nothing left to mourn beyond her memories.

She hauled Kaon's frame inside and slapped a hand over the console to lock the door behind her. Carrying him to the nearest medslab, Nickel set it at its lowest height before laying her burden across the surface. As hard as she tried to keep it gentle, she winced as the flopping limbs banged and crashed where they would. Getting them where they should be, Nickel patted at the slowly depigmenting armor of his chest. Her fingertips played a soft ringing chime along the blades of his turbine.

"I'm so sorry, dear Kaon," Nickel said, her entire form drooping as she allowed her sadness to finally manifest. Not even the slightest thrum of life played through the metal under her hand. "I know it's not any sort of excuse, but we both know how easily Tarn is played when his pride is on the line."

Running her fingertips over the thin blades of Kaon's turbine again, Nickel bit at her lip and looked away from the medslab. She'd watched far too many she considered friends—family—go gray like this. It was, perhaps, a touch slower than all her previous experience with the phenomena, but any number of things about Kaon's unique physiology might explain it.

"Well," she said with a heave of air from her vents, "suppose we should probably get this started. Don't know how much time Tarn's plan will give me, after all. Much as he says it's almost time, you know how he likes to grandstand. I could have until the hour hits or until the end of next week."

Paying no mind to the small quiver in her hands that had her struggling with releases, Nickel set about stripping away Kaon's armor. The removed pieces held onto their color better than those that were still attached to the protoform. Not unusual, but not notably common, either, when the original wearer no longer lived.

As both a Cold Constructed mech and a spark manipulated into outlier status, Kaon was born of strange things. She didn't know the story of his creation, but she was well-aware that such combinations were far from ordinary. It didn't make her feel better about the drying gore of sticky, puddling energon that dripped in rivulets dripping from the edges of the medslab. At least the wound he bore kept his internals from being flooded by whatever energon still remained in his lines. No, all of it flowed freely outside the damaged frame, coating her, the medslab, and the floor.

"Among a group of very strange mechs," Nickel said to the helmless corpse of her friend, reaching into his side to tug out his fully intact transformation cog, "you were without a doubt the strangest in many ways." She paused and turned the transformation cog over in her hands, tracing her thumbs through the grooves that allowed a bot to transform. "I do… did—oh, scrap that! I do love you very much for all that weirdness of yours."

The transformation cog gave a small twist in her deft touch, moving precisely as it should. Her first immediate thought was to toss it in the bin with the others she collected for Tarn and his damnable addiction. She could never have enough with the way he went through them. Nickel had no more than to glance toward the shelf the bin sat on, though, before she shuddered and tucked the transformation cog into a frame pocket in her forearm. She wasn't about to let Tarn smoosh another part of Kaon if she could help it.

Her spark quailed suddenly. The smaller scales of her plating ruffled and cold swirled through her internals. She wasn't much for omens or dark tidings, but heeding such once before had kept her alive for her boys to find her. Clutching at her chest, Nickel muttered to herself as she turned back to the medslab. "Bad sign, Nickel. Bad sign."

Moving to Kaon's chest plating, she tugged loose that brassy turbine cover, revealing the workings beneath. Unlike many, Kaon had extensive shielding to separate his spark casing from wires and connectors that weren't present in a standard chassis. He hadn't needed the protection, all of his internals built to withstand the sort of voltage he'd been capable of, but Nickel figured it was a safeguard, should his power go out of control. She gave the blades of the turbine cover a small and dispirited spin before adding the armor to her carefully growing stack. They gave a soft whir around the central spindle, lacking the faint buzz of electricity she'd grown used to.

Carefully disconnecting the wiring and front panel of the built-in baffle box, Nickel hesitated before steeling herself for the sight she was about to see. No medic in her experience enjoyed opening a chassis up to find themselves face to face with a spark casing holding an unlit crystal. She let her optical shutters slip closed and cycled a few calming breaths through her ventilation system. Then, she eased the shielding out of the way and looked inside the exposed deeper cavity of Kaon's torso.

And blinked.

Her jaw fell, her optics dialed open wide as they could. Nickel dived forward over the open chassis and watched with paralyzed awe as that crystal she expected to be dark glimmered again with the faintest of burning copper blue light. No, she thought with a small shake of her helm, antennae twitching in disbelief. She couldn't have seen that, but then came yet another flash.

"Oh, by the Hand," she breathed, leaning closer still as another, even fainter flash of the pale blue bounced off her optical lenses. In her despair, she'd forgotten the properties of the baffle box made it almost impossible to detect his spark at all even at its healthiest. Had she not been under the influence of her emotions, yanking the box open might have been her first inclination. A move that would give her even just a few seconds more to hunt down one of those infernal—!

Her plating flared and she leapt into action with a flurry that would have made Vos' whirlwind scrabbling look slow. "Where are you? Where, damn it all?!"

Throwing open cabinet doors with reckless abandon, Nickel sought the store of Spark Rigs her boys had brought back from their romp through Garrus 9. She'd tossed them aside with little care—no one ever brought back a live captive in need of such a thing, after all. At that moment, though, Nickel couldn't deny how very much she wanted to kiss Tesarus. To thank him for his declaration of, "Might be useful to have a stash. You know how Tarn is," as he dumped five of the wretched things on a medslab. If only she could find them now.

"Ah ha!" she shouted in triumph as she shoved aside a container of mostly complete spark casings set aside for the Pet. Yanking the scratched and dented devices from the back of the shelf they were hidden on, Nickel didn't have time to wonder whether they still even worked or not. It honestly didn't matter as Kaon was quite literally moments away from utterly unfixable deactivation, either way. "Don't you give up on me yet, love!" she called out as she dug through for the one in the best condition—she recalled one had looked almost perfect, despite the way her lugs had handled it. "Just hold on a bit longer!"

Prize in hand, she skated back to the side of the medslab, skidding to a halt with a squeal of her wheels as she set the rig down at Kaon's side. Moments later, the Spark Rig was open and powered up, ready to receive the crystal growing ever closer to dark in the open chassis before her. Her tools were out and so very cautiously extended into the baffle box, again thankful for the lack of spilled energon.

With both hands, she sought the minuscule bolts that clamped the casing closed, letting the loosened nuts drop where they would with tiny tings! as they hit the back of the box. After pulling the top section away with much more consideration when the last bolt was removed, she carefully grasped the crystal to the gentlest of her ability with a claw tool that quickly replaced the minuscule wrench. She lifted the crystal, holding her hand underneath, on the chance it should slip loose of the clamp during the transfer.

The crystal's dying flickers reflected in the lenses of her optics as she removed it from the open chest of her friend's broken frame. She moved as quickly as she dared, her own spark twisting tightly upon itself as the crystal slumped to one side in the hold of the claw. The fright of it had her holding her cupped hand closer to the fragile essence, ready, but hoping actually touching the naked crystal would be unnecessary. There wasn't much in the research she'd read regarding it, but what little existed spoke of the chances of contamination. However small those chances might be, Nickel hoped to avoid it, already knowing the unsterilized Spark Rig risked it more than enough. Keeping her own CNA uninvolved was the least she could do for the spark, if it survived the transfer.

The thought of it not surviving now that she had the barest hope torqued her internals hard, resulting in a twitch of her hand that threatened to drop the crystal in another slip. It dangled precariously from the grasp of the claw, shifting precious microns with each passing second. She grit her dentae, trying not to think about the damage she might be causing the fragile crystal with the force of how she held it.

"C'mon, Nickel," she encouraged herself, struggling against any further shakes that threatened her task. "Don't be hasty—!" She gasped as the crystal turned on end. "No!"

Nickel watched in wide-opticked horror as the rough, double-terminated crystal jiggled loose and plunged from the grasp of the claw. The claw clacked as the graspers closed on themselves. With a soft tink! against her palm, the crystal lit up with one last brilliant flare, then bounced and tumbled into the open maw of the Spark Rig.

Of its own accord, the rig pulled the flaps of its open top closed, sealing with a hiss and click of the powerful locking mechanism… then went dark, bereft of any sign of power. Her own spark give a weak flicker, her entire being drooping as she watched the Spark Rig sit unresponsive. Only cranking her audials to their maximum found the faintest hum suggesting it remained powered. Until it stopped, falling silent.

A deep sigh, flowing from the most hidden parts of her ventilation system, accompanied the crestfallen lowering of Nickel's chin toward her collar fairing. Letting the shutters close over her optics, Nickel turned away from the medslab and started a slow roll toward the door. Tarn must be waiting quite impatiently by now, she knew, and there was nothing keeping her in the medibay.

Beep!

She frowned, optics opening in narrow red slits as she slid a sharp look over her shoulder. Another beep and a dance of multicolored lights across the power panel of the Spark Rig had her returned quickly right back where she'd been. As she watched, the lights took on a recognizable pattern, followed by a series of chirpy beeps and a few shunting clicks. A final locking sequence settled with another, louder hiss as the lights assumed a standard display and the hum of power gentled into something most definitely on, but not overwhelming. The small screen at the top of the rig scrolled a readout that Nickel rushed to read.

[Containment: initialized… complete. Signature: recorded. Contents: stable.]

Nickel clasped her hands together over where her spark sat in her chest, feeling it pulse hard and bright in its casing. Her optics bled with light and dripped with cleanser. "Oh, we did it, dearspark," she whispered in a gruff and disbelieving voice to the Spark Rig, setting her hands on top of the box with care not to disturb it. "We did it! Well done!"

She wasn't sure how she ended up dragged into the mess she found herself in this time—well, she did, but Nickel wasn't going to dwell on it. No longer alone, no longer of the Decepticon Justice Division, no longer even short-lived Commander of a Warworld. Now claimed by a bunch of bottom of the barrel idiot degenerates masquerading as Decepticons and crewing with only slightly less idiotic Autobot degenerates, she faced the possibilities of a brand-new universe.

Placing a hand over the frame pocket at her hip that held the Spark Rig and its precious cargo, Nickel could only be grateful she'd the presence of mind to never leave it behind. Without her, eventually the Spark Rig would fail and the spark inside would fade. There was every chance deactivation might take her and the fragile spark she carried, but with her, Kaon retained a chance, however small, of continuing.

And maybe, just maybe, with her growing knowledge of the Lost Light and the freewheeling nature of the disparate crew, she might stumble across a miracle. For the time being, however, she would find a place to hide the Spark Rig from all prying optics. Including Misfire on the hunt for munchies.

Chapter Text

Some handful of years later, time had made its changes. The Lost Light and its wildly disparate crew, still wild and prone to boisterous rows in the bar, was now her home and family as much as to any original crewmember.

"Nickel, are you coming?" Nautica's voice rang out across the medibay. She leaned in around the open door, a broad grin on her face. "Or are you going to let me, Swerve, and Anode have all the fun down there?"

Slapping down her wrench, Nickel threw a look Nautica's way and swung around to give the other medics on duty a rushed, "I'm out of here! Try not to break anything!" She zoomed out of the medibay with a grin and laugh of her own as First Aid and Ratchet hollered a mush of encouragement and profanities after her. Catching hold of Nautica's hand as she wheeled past, Nickel dragged her along. "Come on now, Nautica. Don't dawdle! We've got someplace to be!"

The shuttle ride to the surface of the planet the Lost Light currently orbited was a whirlwind of excitement and flurries of discussion regarding the sensor finds on the surface. The things indicated were interesting enough even Rodimus came along, dragging Drift with to serve as the landing party's security detail. Or part of it, anyway. A second shuttle carried another group of scientifically inclined crewmembers toward a different area of the planetary surface, their focus on things other than what drew together the likes of herself, Anode, and Swerve. Nickel wasn't quite certain why Nautica was joining them rather than Perceptor and Brainstorm, but she wasn't going to argue—Nautica was excellent company.

With the door open and the ramp descended, Nickel waited for the rush to be over before taking a peek outside herself. It was always much nicer to not be trampled by Rodimus and Drift. The two best friends were particularly good at nudging one another into impromptu competitions, no matter how small. Honestly, her little team of researchers would be lucky if the co-captain and his "security detail" didn't immediately head for the hills in search of a bit of fun.

Leaning out, she took in the scenery. She'd never been a fan of organic worlds, but something about this one gave her a good vibe, not to quote the likes of Drift. Setting her pedes to the ramp, she rolled down to the hard packed soil after the others. A shiver passed through her struts, going from the bottoms of her pedes to the tips of her antennae the moment she felt the crunch of gravel. Nickel shuddered, shook it off, and cast a searching look all around her before reaching down to pick up one of the larger stones.

Turning it over in her fingers, she ran a quick scan over the mineral content, giving it a lick and crunching it between her sharp dentae. Her curiosity became a scrunched face of disappointment as she sighed and tossed the rock over her shoulder. "Hope you're the only disappointment of the day," she said to the rock, dusting her hands. "The lot of us could use some real excitement without it being of the violent variety."

The sound of Cybertronian rubber grinding into gravel and rock solid soil snagged her attention, dragging her optics to watch their supposed guardians peel out of the clearing in a cloud of dust. She snorted and shook her helm—precisely as she'd called it. If she hadn't been entirely aware of their ages, Nickel would have pegged them as sparklings only freshly plucked from the field as opposed to members of the command crew.

"Duck!"

Nickel clapped her hands over her helm and dropped into a low crouch. A portable toolbox winged its way over the top of her, likely high enough it wouldn't have hit her had she remained standing, but only by the smallest of margins. Once the ringing was out of her audials, Nickel swung around and glared at Anode. Apparently, she was not the last one off the shuttle. Instead it was the nuisance probably at the top of the ramp, fisted hands perched on her hips and a grin stretching from one side of her face to the other. Her compact wings fluttered with mischievous humor.

"Sorry about that, Nickel," Anode said with a quick tilt of her helm. Her gaze moved past Nickel in a gooey-eyed look toward Lug, who had returned to the clearing to gather the mistreated toolbox. Judging from the noise and scattering of tools, she'd not managed to catch it before it hit the ground. "How does the site look, Lug? Any chance those readings were wrong?"

She sounded positively giddy. Frankly, Nickel didn't blame her.

When their shuttle set down near a clumped variety of those pings, her brain module had been left reeling for the sheer amount of them that scrolled across the screen. She'd not seen such a plentiful bounty since before the destruction of her colony. If their luck held, the Lost Light would be stocked with even the most rare of supplies the ship and crew required. The vast array of minerals the ship's sensors had picked up in even trace amounts would resupply nearly every wanting coffer from engineering to the medibay to Swerve's bar. Even personal stashes would be topped off for everyone on the ship.

Nickel followed along as Anode and Lug started through the underbrush toward their first scouting site. "If this place gives up even half of what sensors read," Nickel said, pushing aside low branches that came into her path, "we'll be set for at least a vorn on nearly everything!"

Organic detritus crunched and gave way beneath all of their pedes as they walked out the direction Lug had returned from. At the front of their little group, Lug hefted the repacked toolbox on one shoulder and replied, "Honestly, I think there's things here the sensors never picked up just from how much there is! Swerve was already scratching things out of the ground and making a list when I got Anode's comm to come back to the shuttle."

Nickel paused at the announcement. That they might have stumbled upon riches more vast than the sensors of a ship like the Lost Light could readily identify left her flabbergasted. She pushed through the low swinging limbs of the trees and entangled undergrowth to catch up with the others, trying not to grimace at the feel of broken leaves and dirt getting trapped in her wheel bearings and seams. Certainly it wouldn't be the last of the organic particulates to get into her gears, but it was always a miserable experience. Forcing that from her mind, Nickel picked up her speed and managed to catch up to Anode and Lug as they greeted Swerve in the smaller clearing that was their first stop.

It was a bit of a shock when Swerve gave the two of them no more than a brief wave as he bounded toward Nickel, instead. He skidded to a hall in front of her, grabbing hold of her arms with a beaming smile on his face and an excited glow lighting up his visor. "You are not going to believe this, Nickel," he said as he started dragging her back to the spot he'd left in his dash to her side. "I'd share with those two—" he jabbed a finger in the direction of Anode and Lug, "—but this isn't their sort of thing."

She followed Swerve's pointing for all of a moment before turning back to him. The tools hung at her middle rattled and clanked against one another with the movement. "Meaning it's my sort of thing?"

"Just wait until you see," he said, tugging her along again. Nickel would have been lying if she tried to say his enthusiasm wasn't catching.

As he dragged her from the shadows cast by the trees ringing the clearing and into the direct brightness of the golden sunlight, Nickel's optics were caught by a rainbow of glittering metals and minerals. None of them were large chunks, but Swerve had arranged the pieces like a working archive. A holdover from his days as a metallurgist, no doubt, and one Nickel couldn't help but be thankful for. Sparkling in the light from above, the raw bits of ore set her medic's spark alight with the possibilities. More than one member of the crew would seriously benefit from the display laid out before her. The rest of the medical staff would be ecstatic when she informed them.

"How is this possible?" Nickel asked aloud, her processor overclocked as she worked to categorize the samples. She could feel the needle of the gauge on her forehead wobbling back and forth as it registered the radioactivity of each. "There's things here that shouldn't have any chance of being found remotely near one another!"

"I know!" Swerve replied with his vast exuberance. He waved a hand around the clearing and jerked it back toward the display. "Some of them I found right on top of each other almost like some higher power just sprinkled them in the dirt without thinking about it."

Crossing her arms as she considered what it might mean, Nickel gave it all a long look and shifted her gaze around the edges of the small clearing. "Did you find it all inside this spot or did you manage to check outside it and get into the trees?"

Swerve shook his head and gave her a wondering look as the line of her thoughts now ran through his mind. "All of this was inside the clearing," he said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at his display. "I can't even begin to imagine the sort of stuff that might be hiding outside of it."

Kicking the grit from the pede wheels, or as much of it as she could, Nickel realized she couldn't even begin to imagine. Her spark seemed to have a taken an interest, though, given the way it pulsed strong and hard in her chest. "You keep looking here," she said. "I'll give the ground around the perimeter. Maybe we'll find something really good."

Swerve flashed her a thumbs up and another grin. "Keep me updated!"

The other three of their party still with them were already too engrossed in their own discoveries to pay any mind when Nickel headed toward the edge of the encircling forest.

"Nickel? Where are you?"

Lug's voice drifted into her audials from a much farther distance than she expected. With a startled blink of her optical shutters, Nickel jerked upright from her latest little pile of soil and turned her helm toward the clearing. She found Lug peering vaguely in her direction, one hand pressed against the side of a tree and leaning forward as if the shadowy almost-dark under the leaves was dangerous. Measuring the distance between them, Nickel realized she had managed to get a bit deep into the trees. It wasn't even the direction that led back to the shuttle, but rather the opposite. The one her memory of the maps said only became a woodland so dense that it hid things from every scan passed over it.

Brushing her hands over the collection of tools that dangled at her waist, Nickel cycled her optical irises to reset her vision receptors to the level of light around her. "Lug, over here!" she called out, lifting a hand to wave for the other bot's attention. "Seems I didn't pay much attention to where I was actually going."

The other minibot perked up as her optics settled on what was no doubt Nickel's small frame in the shadows. There was an excitement in Lug's glowing blue gaze as she gestured quite emphatically for Nickel to come her way, bouncing on her pedes like a recently forged sparkling eager to inform a caretaker of a brand-new discovery. "Come on, Nickel! You have to see what Anode found! You're never going to believe it!"

Such exuberance in the face of all that Swerve had found, all that sat in Nickel's own pile of extravagance, almost had Nickel wondering if perhaps she was in the midst of a most fanciful recharge. This was the sort of thing from which she would wake and spend the rest of the day downtrodden on realizing none of it was real. Setting her expectations low simply because it was the best way to keep herself from inevitable disappointment, Nickel gathered up her specimens and tucked them away, then headed back toward the clearing and the others. Lug met her at the leafy edge of the forest canopy.

"Come on," Lug said, catching hold of Nickel's hand and dragging her along, much to Nickel's surprise. "Anode's over this way!"

Were it anyone else in any other situation, Nickel would have yanked her hand free and made a vehement protest. Lug's utterly innocent expression of excitement, though, was a known part of her personality. So, Nickel simply did her best to keep up with the crashing race across the clearing and into the forest toward the south. She was never getting all the grit out of her pedes, she thought with a sigh.

And then the forest broke, leaving them in the middle of yet another clearing. They seemed to mark the forest like pocks. Unlike the others, however, the land here showed no sign of vegetation—not grasses, mosses, or lichens. There was a sharp line that delineated the edge of the forest from the hard ground of organic soil and gravel. Amongst all the pieces of broken crystals and minerals, a peculiar blend of silver and opalescent glint tugged at her optics.

Her wheels locked, stopping even Lug in her tracks. "Nickel? You see it, don't you? Isn't it amazing?"

She knew that glint, had seen it many times before over the course of her functioning, but it couldn't possibly be what she was looking at. Not in such an amount nor meshed into the topography like thick ribbons rather than pooled at the surface. Nickel frowned and kept her field pulled tight against her frame as she studied the odd makeup of the clearing. Her spark twisted and turned inside its casing, loud and distracting to the point that she barely heard Lug explain how Anode stumbled across the find. Honestly, it was only when Anode spoke up that any of the words started to register.

"—that's when I realized it's not just an odd little bit that might be rightly blamed on meteorite fall salting the ground."

Nickel turned to look on her, her belt of tools jangling with the movement, desperate for another to assure her she wasn't imagining things. Someone that had spent uncounted vorns working with the material as part of her profession. "I take it that's your thoughts on most of the things we found—though even that has given us more than enough to have good stock on the ship," she started, then tapped her toe in a particularly large section of the metal that had caught her attention most. "Is this what I think it is, though?"

A quick flick of her wings was followed by a tilt of Anode's helm as she crossed her arms, weight hitching to one side. "Don't you think we should get Swerve over here first? See what he thinks?" Anode grinned, tendrils of her field whipping out through the clearing in a loud flourish of only narrowly contained exhilaration. "He is a metallurgist, after all."

Rolling her optics, Nickel sucked in a deep breath and opened her mouth to holler, "Swerve, get your aft over here!"

"Sentio Metallico," Swerve announced without hesitation and a deep wash of awe that played completely opposite the shock of urgency that stormed static through Nickel's circuits. "This is unbelievable. Do you guys have any idea how much of this stuff is here? If we had the sparks, we could populate an entirely new world several times over!"

Or, Nickel thought, attempt to bring back one poor spark very nearly quenched at the hands of someone they considered a friend. A spark not given a real chance at life to begin with.

There was nothing else for it.

She was taking as much of the precious metal back to the Lost Light with her as she could manage. The hardest part would be making certain no one else saw her do it. Kaon deserved a chance and it was now right in front of her, free for the taking. She couldn't afford the questions that might come her way if anyone knew, even as a medic.

"I'm right there with you, Nickel," Anode said from suddenly right beside her, giving her a sound thump on the back. It was strong enough to send an unintended little waggle through Nickel's wings. She tossed the glare at Anode, but only got back her most crooked of grins and a wink. "We'll mark this planet on the maps, no doubt."

Making a subtle wiggle to shake off the hand that still rested on her back, Nickel replied, "An absolute must. Organic or not, it's got damn near everything we need." Her optics lingered on the rainbow gleam of the Sentio Metallico at her pedes. "We might have to call it home if somebody finds a store of energon that looks like this."

"I know," Anode said, giving her another, gentler pat. "I'm excited at all the possibilities, too." Then she moved to join Lug and Swerve as they scratched at the vein, leaving Nickel sinking a bit in relief. "We should head back to the shuttle, Lug. Gotta get some other gear and let the bosses know what we've gotten our hands on! Swerve and Nickel can keep digging while we're doing that. Right, guys?"

Nickel clutched hard at the scenario being laid in her hands, almost as if she'd willed it into being through the sheer magnitude of her need. She had her chance with no Anode or Lug, left to deal with only an easily distracted Swerve. With luck, she didn't come across too eager. It would be harder to snatch a bit of that beautiful Sentio Metallico from whatever locker they put it in on the ship. "Absolutely! Plenty of raw materials here to get out of the ground, no matter what kind it might be."

That first shuttle back to the Lost Light filled her with dread. The thought of being caught with multiple pockets filled to the brim with chunks of secretly stowed Sentio Metallico left her spark in a nauseous whirl. She knew with certainty no one would sign off on bringing back the unframed spark in her possession. The Decepticon Justice Division had made no friends over the course of their existence, after all. Not even Megatron had been willing to allow them a chance at redemption. She spent the entire ride attempting to draw no unwarranted attention. Kaon deserved her very best efforts and she would not willingly fail him.

On landing in the shuttle bay, Nickel stayed only long enough to help unload the crates in the hold. Bigger and stronger bots than her could get them where they needed to be beyond that. She made a quick excuse, something she knew she wouldn't remember later, and darted from the shuttle bay.

Soon enough, Nickel was deep into a section of the ship she'd discovered showed on the Lost Light's internal sensors as a bit of a hole. The ship read the halls as being there, but the finer (and not so finer) details were an amorphous blob of utterly indistinct signatures both living and inert. So indistinct as to effectively disappear. No one could figure out why, either. Thus, despite the wide opening for mischief, the area was mostly avoided due to superstitious nonsense. Considering most of the bots that made up the crew, Nickel couldn't call herself surprised. It meant, however, the halls down in the depths of the ship were consistently empty and every room unoccupied.

She stopped in front of a door labeled something she couldn't read, the writing long since scraped away either by time or previous inhabitants. Chosen because it was deep in the sensor hole, Nickel had claimed the abandoned habsuite—one of many in the section—for a private lab. An experimental clinic of sorts, she'd filled it with equipment discarded from the main medibay or scavenged from smaller medical stations not in use at various points around the ship. Moving it all herself had been quite the task, but well worth it for the secrecy it allowed her to maintain. Not that she intended to become some sort of mad scientist. The Lost Light already had more than enough of those.

No, Nickel had built her private little getaway all for the sake of the glittering spark maintained in the Spark Rig currently residing in a cabinet. The rig was not only drawing from the ship's main power, it was also attached to an emergency power source that would keep it running even if the Lost Light or the rig itself suffered a devastating blow to their systems. She had absolutely no intention of losing the spark she'd put so much effort into saving.

A touch of her palm to the locking mechanism allowed her to push the door open. Slipping inside the reconfigured habsuite, Nickel called out, "Lights, seventy-five percent—" She paused and considered the strength of the illumination, grunting annoyance when it wasn't quite enough for her plans. "Make that eighty percent."

Jabbing her palm against the inside lock panel, Nickel waited for the click then took in the space around her. Everything looked to be where she had left it. A small bit of the tension in her frame loosened, a sigh slipped from her intake, soft and relieved as her cables and joints relaxed. It was all still safe. As long as that remained true, she had little fear of endeavor going awry simply for the interference of curious hands. As much as she'd grown to love the rascal, someone like Misfire might very easily turn all her plans to ruin by merely walking into the room.

She headed toward the cabinets lining the far wall, laying her hands against the door of the most important and leaning forward to press her forehelm to the center of it. "This is it, Kaon," she murmured, letting her optical shutters slowly close. "So much sooner than expected—not that I ever really expected it—but here we are and I'm not going to complain. We'll talk it out soon enough."

Chapter Text

Nickel had no more the most basic training when it came to blacksmithing, but she'd sought out all the texts the Lost Light held in its medical library pertaining to it. Unfortunately, she didn't feel much more proficient after devouring the datapads like some sort of knowledge scraplet. Even listening to Anode when she spoke about her former profession did nothing to clear up the anxiety that niggled at the back of her brain module. There was nothing for it, though. The longer she put it off, the more chance that something might go wrong and let Kaon's spark fade.

She froze for a second as her own spark twisted at the thought, then forced her tight shoulders down and shook her helm. "Enough of that," she muttered, forcing herself to return to laying out her tools for the procedure. "It's going to work."

On a hot plate cranked to its highest temperature, the raw Sentio Metallico sat in a pot stolen from a secondary dining hall that—judging by the thick layer of particulate on every upward facing flat surface—hadn't seen visitors in at least a vorn. Unlike her secret hab, which had been cleaned extensively and, quite frankly, was one of the most well-cared for places on the ship outside the main medibay. Sanitary and sterilized to the point it would make a germaphobe weep for joy, Nickel was proud of her secret little domain.

With the cabinet holding Kaon's life-sustaining prison open so that she might entertain the thought he was keeping her company, Nickel waited with as much patience as she could scrounge for the precious metal to melt into a soup. Her research showed the purer the Sentio Metallico, the easier the sparkling's journey from photonic crystal to fully grown bot. Anything within her power to give Kaon the best start in his new life Nickel was going to give him.

The lights remained on the dim side, harkening back to the lower powered lighting common on the Peaceful Tyranny. It filled her thoughts with memories of all the boys—as terrible as they had been, they'd saved her from deactivation and the desolation of her destroyed first home. As much as they earned their deaths, terrible and violent in ways she shuddered to think of, they had made themselves her family. Nickel glanced toward the open cabinet as she sat down one final tiny set of tongs. The Sentio Metallico was very nearly ready and the most difficult part of the process of reviving that last member of her previous family, giving him a chance to be something better, loomed closer.

Just as she settled the deep pan into which she would pour the Sentio Metallico to cool on her workbench, the timer beeped from beside the hotplate. For such a simple sound, it sent a jitter of apprehension through every part of her. Nickel grabbed the filter that fit over the top of the pan, settling the slightly concave mesh into place, then approached the counter with the hotplate and turned off the heat.

She stared down into the slick and silvery surface of the Sentio Metallico, forcefully shoving away thoughts of not being good enough from her processor. She'd been a top medic on Prion and very adamantly informed anyone who asked that it very much put her in the ranks of all the other top-tier medics that populated the Lost Light medibay. Thus it was somewhat unfortunate that surety didn't quell the ripe case of trembling nerves that assaulted her.

"Enough of that," she reiterated, words firm and distinct as she curled her hands around the handles of the pot and lifted it from the cooling hotplate. "This is more important than your insecurities, Nickel."

The heat that wafted off the top of the pot was joined by the sharp and unmistakable scent of a newly forged sparkling. All it missed was the electric tingle of a glowing crystal in its mass, but that would change very shortly.

Steadying herself, Nickel hefted the pot over the pan. Then, with deepest caution and care, she slowly tilted it until the liquid Sentio Metallico started a smooth and slippery flow over the edge. It caught at the filter, impurities clinging to the mesh as the soon-to-be living metal pooled at the bottom of the pan underneath. Though in reality it didn't take very long for the pot to empty, to Nickel it seemed to take forever. Once the last drop rolled down the inside of the pot and slipped through the filter into the pan, she breathed a sigh and felt some of the tension that had built back up release from her shoulders. She knew, though, she wouldn't fully relax again until Kaon stood before her, successfully returned to a working frame.

Nickel carefully removed the filter, giving it a little jiggle to free the last few drops from the mesh. They landed on the cooling surface of the Sentio Metallico with a plip! plip! plip! that sounded far louder to her audials than they had any right to. When she was certain the vast majority of the grit left behind on the mesh was nothing more than inclusions pulled from the precious metal, Nickel set the filter aside and gazed down into the half full pan. She knew a spark would work with even a small amount of Sentio Metallico, but she didn't want Kaon to struggle forming an appropriate frame, if he needed more. Nickel didn't expect Kaon's spark would seek a frame as large Tesarus or Helex, by any means, but he certainly wasn't meant to be a minibot. Not with the sort of power that lived in his spark.

At its still molten temperature, though, the Sentio Metallico would more likely fracture the delicate photonic crystal then react to it correctly. Her research informed her it was best to fold the spark into the metal when the material retained enough plasticity to be kneaded like dough, but remained still too warm to the touch.

Judging by the way the heat was leaving the metal, she had just long enough to unhook the Spark Rig and bring it back to the workbench. She might have made the small journey a little faster than she should have, in all honesty. It gave her a few extra seconds to steady her rising case of nerves all over again. With her hands resting over the latches that held the Spark Rig closed, Nickel kept an internal temperature gauge focused on the cooling treasure in the pan.

"Almost there, my dear," she murmured to the spark inside the rig, gently tapping her fingers over the lid. "We'll have you back on your pedes like nothing ever happened faster than I can curse Tarn deeper into whatever hell he's in now!" And curse him, she would, though he would not hear it. Tarn may have been her friend, but it didn't make him any less of an aft in the long run.

Moments that took forever passed before her temperature gauge flung a notice across her HUD. It was time.

"Here we go," she said, flicking the latches open and folding the lid out of the way. She reached for the pair of tongs with the softest covering—nothing was too good for the spark under her care. If she had her way, and she fully intended to, Kaon's new life would have no reflection of the previous one.

Disconnected from external power and opened for all the universe to see inside, the Spark Rig would sustain the flicker in the photonic crystal it held for no more than five minutes. That was more than enough time, though. Sucking in a deep pull of air, Nickel forced herself to relax further as the mixture of gasses that made up Lost Light's atmosphere worked through every nook and cranny of her ventilation system. Then, closing up her vents, blades slammed closed to hold it all in and force her hands to be the steadiest they could be, Nickel closed the grasping end of the tongs around the crystal.

As she lifted it up, it let out an odd sound. A scream of sorts as if the structure of the crystal itself protested the move, like an organic infant protested emergence into the universe. Were she not so deep into maintaining her control, Nickel knew the flinch she barely held at bay would have sent the crystal flying across the room to shatter wherever it landed. Instead, she paused momentarily before continuing the short path to the pan of Sentio Metallico.

She slowly lowered her prize to the surface of the no longer viscous, but still malleable metal, not releasing until she was certain not even a micrometer remained between them.

Nickel wasn't certain what to expect, not entirely. The texts she read were vague on some of the finer details, but it was too late to seek assistance now. Her optics remained glued to the pan of Sentio Metallico and the photonic crystal that lay atop it. For long ticks of her chronometer, nothing happened. She set aside the tongs without looking away, though they clattered to the floor instead of the workbench as the contents of the pan began to react.

It started with the flicker of light slowly growing brighter and stronger in the heart of the crystal. Small waves of an achingly familiar electromagnetic field stretched out, waking up and reaching to brush against her own. Nickel sucked in a deep breath and clasped her hands to the center of her chest. She watched with widening optics as the crystal started to sink into the Sentio Metallico, the precious metal wrapping around it, hugging it close. She held her vents closed again and waited.

Seconds ticked past. Her frame growing warm as the air she held trapped took on and magnified the heat from the everyday workings of her internals. "Come on," she murmured low and pleading. "We got to this point, sweetspark. Don't you dare slack off on me now."

The interminable wait continued, setting a flutter of worry alight in her fuel tank. She didn't fight it as her face scrunched and twisted against the rising thought it might all have been for nothing….

And then the room filled with a light so bright it knocked her optical sensors offline. When they rebooted after what felt like far too long a sequence, she worried not for herself, but the spark she was trying to save. Shaking the last staticky pixels from her vision, Nickel refocused her attention on the contents of the pan. As she watched, the Sentio Metallico pulsed and folded over on itself, hiding the last bits of the photonic crystal still visible from sight. Moments later, the living metal pulled into a geometric block, narrow and long like Kaon's former frame had been—a sign he would forge a similar style frame?

As the mass settled, displaying a pattern of lines that appeared as if they might later mark the approximate edges of not-yet-formed armor, Nickel felt a faint brush of that familiar field again. A wide smile passed over her face as she returned the touch, reaching out one hand to gently stroke her fingertips along the solidified metal. It was still warm.

"First step done, sweetspark," she murmured. "Oh, I can't wait to give you a big hug when you're all grown again. It'll be better than Tarn ever did, too."

Nickel was more familiar with the next part of the process. It required her to leave the new protoform alone in an incubation pod. When she'd scavenged the pod from one of the many medical supply closets around the ship, this was precisely the use she'd intended for it. Her biggest wish, though, was that she could disregard her duties to the rest of the ship and hover over the block of Sentio Metallico and the precious spark it contained.

The protoform read on her sensors as stable every time she checked, but it hadn't shown any sign of growth, despite the passage of weeks. Had she done something wrong that wasn't yet turned foul enough to trigger an alarm?

"Are you listening, Nickel?" First Aid asked, standing closer to her then she recalled. Curious concern leaked from his posture, from the tilted helm to the uneven glow of his optics behind the visor, suggesting an arched orbital ridge, to the way his hands fluttered between reaching out to her and sitting on his hips. "I've been talking to you for the last five minutes and I don't think you've even looked at me."

Shaking off her thoughts, Nickel found a contrite expression and pasted it across her face. Through the embarrassed smile, she replied, "Oh, you know how it is when you've got things on your mind, don't you?" She waved a hand as if to brush off any worries he might have. "Just started a new personal project, is all."

That seemed enough to appease First Aid. Her medical colleague nodded and turned back to his task of going through files of recent visits to the medibay—a minor virus had started making the rounds of the crew and the young CMO wanted to be on top of it. "A personal project?" His stance told her he was smiling. "The sort of thing you want to talk about? Or is it the secret sort of personal project?"

Nickel narrowed her optics him. She set aside the freshly sterilized wrench she held in her hand, reaching for the next batch waiting to be sorted. "Never you mind that," she said, gaining a snicker from the mech. A good reaction that would make it easier to nudge him away from taking an actual interest. "It's not important to anyone beyond myself."

The look he gave her exuded a level of good-humored patience Nickel sincerely doubted she was capable of herself. With a small shrug and an acquiescing tilt of his helm, First Aid turned back to his task. "Fine, fine," he said as he set aside the datapad he'd been working through and grabbed a fresh one from his stack. "Keep your secret. They don't tend to last very long on this ship. I'll know everything soon enough."

With a snort, Nickel tried to shake off her continuing worries. It wasn't as if she'd left the developing protoform utterly abandoned down in her secret little clinic turned nursery. Every precaution available to her she'd taken, layering them to the point of perhaps overdoing it. Nothing was too good for the sparkling she was incubating in that hidden room, though. She winced as the tools she sorted clattered from her fingers, missing their bins as the tremor of nervous energy traveled her tensor cables twitched her digits.

"Sorry," she said, carefully sorting the spilled tools all over again. She could feel the optics of everyone in the medibay turned to stare at her. "My mind was elsewhere. Fingers slipped."

She needed to get out of there before her nerves absolutely shorted her ability to appear normal. If the disquiet in her spark twisted any tighter, Nickel feared the resultant release of energy might trip a fuse and stink up the place with the smell of scorched polymer as it burned the sheathing on her wires. Checking her chronometer, Nickel sighed as she discovered her shift wasn't even half over. It was going to be a long day.

Eventually, she took a break to get herself a quick cube. As per usual, no one made a big deal about it. She'd made it a habit long before they'd come across even the first sign of the planet that allowed her current situation. Of course, someone might complain about how long she was gone from the medibay—unlikely—but her priorities laid very far away from the incessant busywork that happened between crises.

Making her way toward the emptier halls of the ship, Nickel skated along without making it look like she was in a rush. Difficult in her mood, but she managed. She nodded and returned greetings that came her way, though she refrained from dealing any out of her own prerogative. She had things to do and anyone that got a scraplet up their aft port about her ignoring them, well, they could just suffer the repercussions because she didn't give a slag. As soon as she hit the sensor hole, Nickel poured on the speed. With no one else around and no way for the ship itself to track her, the need to avoid unnecessary attention vanished, leaving only the need to reach her destination.

Slapping her hand across the lock panel, Nickel's helm filled with the image of it breaking under the heavy contact and leaving the door impassable without help she didn't want. A bare second later, her audials filled with the sound of the lock disengaging. She shook away the terrible images of what might have happened as she thrust the door open and rushed to the side of the incubator, barely recalling the need to call out to the computer to turn the lights on. Pressing her face to the side of the large device, she peered through the clear plexisteel at the rectangular block of Sentio Metallico that rested in the middle of the box.

It looked precisely as it had before she'd left to start her shift.

Nickel muffled her sigh against the side of the box, fogging it up for a moment with the warmth of her vent. She set her hands to either side of her face and tried not to feel the full depth of a resultant disappointment. Better nothing changed than something gone wrong, she reminded herself. If something didn't happen soon, though, Nickel promised herself she would talk to Anode. Just a small conversation to indulge her medical curiosity should Anode inquire on the line of her questioning.

She watched over the inert protoform in silence for a few minutes longer, eventually giving into another sigh and letting her hands drop back to her sides. "I know you're still in there," she said, brushing the edges of her field gently over the tiny pulse that was her friend. "Never thought you'd be the type to take so long getting ready, though."

Again and again, Nickel returned to her hidden clinic in the bowels of the Lost Light. She earned no suspicion to her knowledge, no one ever approaching her on her disappearances, whether it be on a break or in her personal time. The closest had been a question from her boys asking why she hadn't joined them at Swerve's in over a deca-cycle. Misfire, in his most normal fashion, eventually wore her down to the point that guilt forced her to join them for a night.

"Aw, Nickel," Misfire whined, absolutely sodden, as she hopped down from the bench at the end of her self-allotted time, "why d'you gotta go so early? It's not even morning yet!"

She snorted and looked back at where he flopped across the table, dark purpley-pink wings incomprehensibly aflutter with all the engex he'd downed over the course of their family gathering. "It will be soon enough," she replied, setting her fists on her hips. "I came to spend time with you all and it's been a fine time, but I do have something I need to check on now."

"You're always checking on something," Spinister piped up from his spot in the corner, rotor blades setting up a curious quiver against the wall, chiming like small bells chased by a photovoltaic cat. "Is it important?"

Doing her best not to seem overly annoyed with them—her new team was sensitive and silly in ways the former had not been—Nickel stifled her disgruntlement at being questioned. She didn't want to draw more attention than she'd already garnered. They were her biggest potential leak. She shook her helm and waved a negating hand before herself. "Never you mind any of that," she said. "The only one it's important to right now is myself."

Ever the sharpest of the bunch, Krok narrowed his optics at her as he leaned hard against his section of the table. His half-empty mug of dull orange engex sat ignored in front of him as he considered her the best his sodden brain module could manage in the moment. "I don't know what you're up to," he said in a slow and carefully measured tone, probably doing his best not to sound drunk off his aft, "but if it's the sort of thing that might get someone kicked off the ship, don't tell us anything. Don't make us complicit."

Those words hit probably a little harder than Krok intended, but Nickel wasn't about to blame him for saying them. Whatever fallout came from her actions, she wouldn't let it drop on any shoulders beyond her own. "Don't worry," she replied, straightening as tall as she could, even her antennae standing upright. "I make a point of keeping private things private."

His optics dimmed briefly beneath the short brim that circled his helm where it sat over his orbital ridge. Then he grunted and turned back to his drink, tucking the straw into his intake for a sip before responding. "You're one of us, Nickel," he told her, stirring the straw through his engex. "We'll back you up when it catches up to you."

And her spark flipped, not at the lack of belief she'd keep her secret, but the other part. The one about standing with her. Her winglets gave a small flutter and she nodded. "Thank you, Krok."

She was waved to be on her way as her team fell back into their raucous discussion of the Lost Light's most current trauma-filled gossip. It took her a moment to realize her mouth curved into a smile, soft and sparkfelt. Her step a bit lighter now, she made a quick exit from the lazy scene at bar.

At that time of the night, very few bots were out and about, giving her free reign to zip through the halls at top speed the moment she stepped outside Swerve's. A sternly worded note from Minimus would likely sit in her inbox come morning, but she wouldn't be the first to receive such. Better to brave the unimpressed glare than worry herself sick that she might miss something that she didn't have to be away from. Thus, Nickel returned to her private clinic turned nursery in record time.

As had become the way of things, the very first thing she did on getting inside was rush to check on the condition of the protoform. No matter what scans she ran over, though, each and every one returned the very same result—absolutely nothing had changed. She didn't bother hiding her disappointment. In that space, it was only her and the dormant protoform that had seen her in far worse moods both in the now and the before.

"I'm trying very hard not to be impatient, sweetspark," she murmured against the side of the incubator, fingers tapping a gentle cadence as if it might inspire something to happen. "I understand wanting to take your time, but I'm starting to get a bit concerned at this point."

As expected, there was no reaction.

Her shoulders slumped and her plating rattled soft as she cleared her vents. If this kept up much longer, as much as she didn't want to, she was going to be forced to call in help. It couldn't be right, the interminable lack of progress. Turning away from the incubator, Nickel headed toward the cabinet where she stored a small supply of energon for the times she was hidden away down here. The small shot of the lowest grade engex Swerve had on hand, from which she had barely sipped, had been burned off in her rush to return.

It was, of course, as she pulled the cabinet door open that the bottom fell out and all hell broke loose.

Nickel didn't even have time to wince as the collective warning alarms, external and internal, blared into life. She clutched at her helm and darted immediately back to the incubator. "Shut up!" she cried at the klaxon that sounded through the room, wiping away the warning pings that obscured her vision. "Computer, turn that damn thing off!"

The alarm died with a squeal, the sudden silence bouncing through her brain module. Her fingers already worked at opening the clasps on the side of the incubator to get it open before she'd registered anything beyond a sickly green light strobing from the protoform. She grimaced and batted away a wave of fear that threatened to swamp her as she reached inside the incubator to grab hold of the block of Sentio Metallico. Unlike the last time she held it in her hands, this time what should have been a solid surface gave way like mush in her grip.

Her spark flicked hard and painful in its casing, her optics flew wide open as she carted the Sentio Metallico and the photonic crystal buried inside it to her workbench. "No, you don't! No no no! This is not how we do things!"

As she tried to mold the softening metal back into the shape it had been, the ill green light changed from a steady pulse to a sketchy flicker that held no rhyme nor rhythm she could decipher. The precious, silvery metal melted and flowed through her fingers like a square of jellied energon set out too long in the sun. It started at the edges, but she knew it would soon reach the middle where it wrapped protectively around Kaon's delicate photonic crystal. Her fear burst from carefully banked embers into a raging inferno. She did not know how to stop or even slow the process.

Using her medical clearance, Nickel forced open a comm connection to Anode.

Chapter Text

Nickel had never seen Anode anything less than perky and wide-awake. Though she came at great speed, appearing not even a minute after Nickel's emergency comm, her optics were dim and her wings drooped with the depth of her tiredness. She didn't even seem aware of Lug running into the room behind her, at least until she waved a hand toward her conjunx and said, "Lock the door. I'm assuming we don't want anyone else getting in here with us." Then she turned a tired look on Nickel and asked, "Where is it?"

"Right here," Nickel said, nodding toward the softening puddle she desperately scooped back on itself to keep Kaon's crystal covered. The flickering green light had faded to almost nothing by this point, dragging Nickel into a despair she attempted and failed to ignore. "Please, Anode," she begged, "you've got to help him! I got him this far. Don't let me lose him now when he is so close to being back!"

She felt more than saw Anode focus on the decaying protoform as the only trained blacksmith the crew had made short work of the few paces between the door and Nickel's workbench. Anode swatted Nickel's hands out of the way, a terse look on her face and her wings set high and alert on her back. "Get out of the way," Anode said, her tone gone sharp and leaving no room for argument. "Lug, keep her back because she's not going to like what she sees here."

Biting her glossa, Nickel let Lug grab hold of her arm and bravely accepted the apologetic look on her face as Lug pulled her toward the small recharge cot set up on the far side of the room. "Take a seat, Nickel," Lug said, her voice low and soothing as she did her best to coax Nickel down. "Just let Anode do her thing. She's done this before and you know it." She paused to toss a look toward where her conjunx worked with intense focus. "That's why you called her, right?"

Nickel managed a nod and made a point of craning her neck to watch Anode from the distance. "It was," she said with a tight groan at her own lack of skill. "It's just… it's important, the spark in that puddle she's got her hands in."

Lug gave her a curious look, asking for more information without saying the words. Nickel didn't feel the need to answer. She did feel a small bit guilty when Lug pulled a disappointed face and drooped a little where she sat beside her. Having seen and ignored far better blatant displays seeking to squeeze information from her, though, Nickel told her, "You can stop with that. It's not going to work."

Nickel might have felt a touch of validation at the caught out rueful look on Lug's face, but a sudden outburst of cursing from Anode took a much higher priority. Only Lug's hand catching the back of her collar fairing kept her from leaping immediately on her pedes and racing back to the workbench. She'd have scowled at Lug any other time, but the rising urgency in Anode's field and the sharp intensity of her focus on the slopping puddle of Sentio Metallico speared a bolt of dread deep into Nickel's spark.

She watched Anode's mouth move, but the words flowed at a volume too low for her to make out. Cranking up the sensitivity of her audials, Nickel winced at the scratchy blow of feedback through her processor. She didn't dial it back, though. If something had Anode talking to herself that fiercely, Nickel needed to know what it was.

"—don't know who you are," Anode growled at the decaying protoform, "but you'd best not fall apart before I make Nickel tell me. And don't you make her cry because I'm damn certain she put a lot of work into keeping you around!" She popped open the door of a frame pocket, quickly grabbing a small canister stashed inside. With an even faster popping of the lid, a heavy powder Nickel didn't recognize spilled into the metal mush Anode kneaded like a dough. The canister flew across the hab as Anode worked the Sentio Metallico harder, doing her very best to keep the photonic crystal covered. "Come on, newspark, don't disappoint your caretaker. Don't make her sad before we've even got you in a frame."

Gritting her dentae, Nickel forced herself to remain on the cot beside Lug. The other minibot didn't let up on her grip, no doubt fearful Nickel might be playing cyber-possum. Nickel didn't blame her. At the workbench, Anode's cursing grew louder and her scooping and folding of the still far too liquid Sentio Metallico became even more intent.

"Fragging little bot wannabe!" she said with an angry grimace creasing her face. "I gave you more than enough of that slag to stiffen you back up. The least you could do is show even the smallest sign that it's working!"

Nickel felt her spark pulse and squeeze hard within its casing, her hands slapping over her chest of their own accord as if to hold it inside her frame, when a flash of what could only be the photonic crystal glittered as it surfaced. "No!" she gasped, leaning forward as if she might make another break at the workbench. Lug's hand tightened at her collar. Nickel turned on her and swatted her hands away, knowing she looked desperate as she said, "I need to be over there. He needs me."

A moment of indecision, a concerned twist of Lug's mouth, was followed by an anxious flare of her field. Then, after a peek toward the workbench, she let go, forcefully nudging Nickel onward. "Go," she encouraged Nickel. "Go talk to him back into shape before things go very wrong."

She didn't time it, but it was certainly no more than a second before she was opposite Anode at the workbench again. Her spark flickered and sank deep into her primary fuel tank. Without thinking, she leaned deeper over the workbench and shoved her hands into the puddle of Sentio Metallico, as well. Anode gave her no more than a glance before she grabbed hold of Nickel's hands and directed her through working the misbehaving metal. "Like this," Anode said. "Work around the edges, fold it inward over the top." She paused briefly, then added, "And you need to talk to him however it is you did before. Give him something he remembers, something to hold onto."

Her nod quick and sharp, Nickel scooped and folded the precious metal. It was warm and smooth in her palms, pulsing with fragile life. "I'm here, sweetspark," she said, directed at the pool of alien Sentio Metallico and the photonic crystal swimming within it. "I know it's hard, but I also know you can do this! You never gave up before, even if I had to wallop you good a few times because of it."

Were her sensors not so highly calibrated as a medic, Nickel knew she would have missed a sudden firming—so slight as to be almost nonexistent—in the metal. Her optics irised wider with the sensation as she held the pace of her folding as consistent as possible.

"Good," Anode murmured from the other side of the workbench. Her fingertips brushed against Nickel's as they worked the Sentio Metallico in tandem. "Good, bitlet. You just keep doing that…."

As Nickel continued crooning to the puddle, hands gently scooping and folding, her spark danced a little lighter as the Sentio Metallico grew noticeably firmer to the touch. She cycled her optics again and leaned deeper into reshaping the protoform. "Oh, that's it, Kaon," she told him. "You're almost back where you should be!"

She vaguely noted the hitch in Lug's respiration and would have missed Anode's very briefest of pauses had they not bumped their fingers together at that moment. It was enough, however, to inform her that something in the atmosphere had quite suddenly changed. Nickel slowed not at all in her movements as she played back the words she'd spoken. She pulled in her field tight, immediately catching where she'd slipped. Anode and Lug, while they worked to their own set of rules, were ultimately loyal to the ship and co-captains. Nickel could not fool herself into the idea that the name she'd uttered went unrecognized.

"No, don't close yourself off," Anode said, her tone flat and unspeaking of whatever thoughts circled through her processor in the wake of Nickel's unplanned admission. "He's reacting to you, not me. If this is going to work, you have to be present for him."

Nickel chanced a glance toward Anode, meeting the blue glow of her optics. Her optical ridges were drawn down tight and her mouth little more than a thin line, pinched at the corners. The expression technically withheld what Nickel might call judgment, but she was no doubt sitting in the crosshairs of an incoming Discussion. Instead of dwelling on it, she gave Anode a small nod of acknowledgment before redoubling her efforts to lead the protoform back to a state of good health.

Nickel stood beside the incubator, hands in their pressed against the side as she looked a the protoform. Inside, the stabilized protoform was again shaped like a long and narrow rectangle, covered with that pattern of lines from before, engraved deeper and stronger in detail. It was almost enough that Nickel thought she might manage to discern his alt mode, given a longer moment to study them. She wasn't going to get that moment, though, she knew. Not with Anode's shadow falling over her from behind.

Nickel dropped her hands, cycled a deep breath through her vents, then turned around to face the former blacksmith. She could feel the concern that filled Lug's field from where the other minibot still sat on the cot. It did little to dull the intensity of Anode's unflinching regard. Anode stood with one hip cocked to the side, slim arms folded over her chest, exuding barely contained disapproval.

Casting a glance back at the incubator, Nickel steeled herself, standing straight and tall as she could manage with her diminutive size, locking optics with Anode. Her hands curled into fists at her sides simply for something to do with them, she said, "Well, get on with it, then. I'm ready as I'll ever be."

Anode groaned and rolled her optics. Her wings drooped and her arms dropped as she sighed, shaking her helm in a show of disbelief. She waved a hand toward the incubator over Nickel's shoulder. "Who is he really?" she asked, giving no hint whether she preferred confirmation of Nickel's slip of the glossa or an adamant denial. "Nothing will happen because I don't believe any newspark should be harmed, but I'd like to know for certain who I just helped save."

The renovated hab fell quiet as Nickel silently debated how best to explain the situation. In all her imaginings of getting this far, she'd never managed to consider what would happen after. A wibble of fear had her pausing a touch longer than necessary, but she pushed on, giving the side of the incubator a gentle stroke of her fingertips. "It's him. Just like you heard me say. I won't pretend otherwise."

Anode groaned again and made gestures of aggravated dismay before coming up beside her and peering down into the incubator, as well. From her spot on the cot, Lug started to say, "Anode—," but whatever words had been on her glossa fell away as the protoform shifted in an entirely new way.

As the first nub of a limb popped into being, reshaping the block of Sentio Metallico, a wash of hushed excitement swept over Nickel's private little medibay. With her face pressed against the side of the incubator, Nickel spoke with breathless anticipation. "Oh, there you are, sweetspark," she said, wanting nothing more than to throw the incubator open and pull the protoform from its small prison. "We've waited so long for this, you and I. Come on, let us see who you are now."

Three more little nubs appeared in quick succession, gaining excited gasps from all three of the bots watching, Lug having swiftly moved to join them. When one end of the brick began to form into what was obviously the helm of the emerging sparkling, the waves of adoration likely would have knocked over a titan.

The limbs grew more defined with each passing second, the central core of the new frame stretching as the protoform expanded toward whatever size it might attain. Graven into the Sentio Metallico, the lines of Kaon's fresh armor split and shifted to allow for articulation that grew finer with each additional extension of the unfolding form. It was a magical sight that Nickel could only barely recall having seen before in the course of her functioning. When those growing limbs stretched far enough that they thumped against the walls of the incubator, however, Nickel found herself beaten to the punch by Anode. She watched with wide optics as the enclosure was opened and the thin, elongating frame lifted from a space rapidly growing too small to contain it.

Hurrying after Anode toward the workbench, Nickel caught sight of something entirely unexpected. Kicking in the full speed of her wheeled pedes, Nickel threw herself in the way before Anode could lay the protoform down on its back. "Wait!" she cried out, waving her hands to impede Anode's progress. "Nubs! On the back!"

The whole situation stalled. The swiftly developing protoform dangled in Anode's grasp, moments away from being laid out over this with surface Nickel currently blocked. Anode frowned and cocked the protoform around just enough for her to get a glimpse at Nickel's discovery. The sound of pedes clipping along the floor announced Lug's joining them, coming up beside Nickel and bouncing on her toes when she caught sight of the new nubs, as well.

"He's going to have wings!" she exclaimed, a grin stretching across her animated face as she clapped her hands. Lug froze, blinked her optical shutters, and turned a curious look on Nickel. With her hands clasped before her, she asked, "Did he have wings before?"

Nickel shook her helm and barely refrained from reaching out to touch the nubs as they began to stretch out into a slim, elegant upsweep she'd only rarely seen. "No," she answered, watching with awe. "Before he was lucky whatever engineer designed his frame decided to give him some form of locomotion beyond his pedes."

Along his lower legs, a familiar texture rose in the bubbling Sentio Metallico. Nickel reached out with a curious hand and traced her fingers along the unmistakable heavy tread of continuous track. The segments hadn't yet separated at the joints, but the shape was undeniable. Kaon's pedes were mostly familiar in shape, as well, though less boxy—whatever flight frame the protoform was seeking to build, it appeared it would be a more streamlined root mode. Not that Kaon had ever had any real bulk to him, Nickel thought with a soft laugh to herself.

She and Lug both stepped back when Anode grunted with the effort of hefting the already much more sizeable mech-to-be up onto the workbench. With a care the sparkling's previous life had not earned him, Anode held him gently upright in a sit on the edge. His half-formed helm leaned forward, chin against a more rounded chest devoid of the brassy turbine fan Nickel remembered. There looked to be two of those forming, instead, at his shoulders, fronting a pair of flight turbines in place of the biolit spheres in his previous frame.

"Did you have any memories to feed him when you joined the crystal with the metal?" Anode asked, shifting a hand to carefully tilt Kaon's sharpening helm up and let them get a look at his face.

Nickel's hands flew to cover the shocked "o" of her mouth. Of all things, she'd never considered he might come back with optics. She couldn't see the lenses for the way the shutters lay closed over them, but gone were the gaping holes she'd known. Leaning in closer, Nickel realized his face was otherwise exactly the same. And atop his shoulders, those new jet turbines with familiar intake fans, the electrical spires with their hardened porcelain dampeners below the spherical coils….

Already, so very much about this new frame seemed to draw on what Kaon had been before. "Why do you look so much like yourself?" she asked aloud in an awed hush. Her spark twirled with an unexpected joy that was shattered when a swift kick to her ankle had her hissing and turning a glare on Anode. "What was that for?"

The hard look she got in return wasn't quite a glare, but Nickel felt the brush of a decidedly contentious field against her own. "Did you," Anode said, most very definitely repeating herself—Nickel only vaguely recalled the first repetition, "feed him any memories?"

Nickel gnawed at her bottom lip and stepped close again to help hold her friend-turned-sparkling as his frame hurried through the burst of growth. "I…," she started, then stopped. She couldn't rightly lie. Not in this situation. "No, I didn't. Nothing actually told me how, not a bit of all I studied." The fingers on one of Kaon's hands curled in a bit before releasing again. Her spark danced, then dipped again as she continued, "I didn't know him very long, really. Not in the whole scheme of things, you know? The way he was done so wrong by Tarn, though…. I couldn't just leave him to fade when I found his spark still glowing."

The expression on Anode's face twisted from judgemental toward thoughtful. Her hold on Kaon gentled, the speculative hand on Kaon's chin tilting his face into a better position to see it. "He'll hold memories in his spark, if he retains any at all," she said. "There's no telling if he'll ever have access to them if they do exist."

"I know," Nickel replied, nodding. "The texts did mention that." When his armor started to flood with color, taking on the iron rust red and shining brass he'd worn before going gray, she clutched both his newly darkened hands tight and held them over her spark.

"He more than likely will never be the mech you remember." This time it was Lug, moved closer behind her with comfort in her field. "I only got my memories back because of Anode having so many to jumpstart them."

Nickel's spark quailed at the thought that Kaon wouldn't remember at least her. However, if he didn't remember anything from his previous life…. "Maybe that would be for the better," she admitted, reaching out with a hand again to pet his slack cheek. "If he doesn't know who he was, he can be someone else without all those terrible things to weigh him down."

Then, it happened. A slim, glowing line of amber gold escaped the edges of optical shutters just beginning to part. Nickel cycled her optics and grabbed hold of his hands again. That was not Decepticon red.

"Hello," she greeted the newly awakened mech, keeping her voice low. "Are you awake, sweetspark?"

Those shutters slowly blinked open, revealing innocent golden optics in full. The irises cycled as the sparkling that was Kaon turned his hazy, newspark optics on Nickel. A tickle of the faintest static danced over the spires on his shoulders. "I am?" he said, so very obviously unsure of himself. "Awake, yes. I am." He tilted his helm a little, much like a photovoltaic kitten as Anode let her hand fall away. "Who are you?"

Nickel did her best not to be disappointed. She'd been warned to expect it, after all. "My name is Nickel. I'm a medic. And your caretaker." She nodded to Anode. "That is Anode and behind me is Lug. They're friends."

Kaon blinked, the golden light of his optics brightening and his narrow frame sitting up straighter under his own power. "Nickel," he repeated, then turned his helm one at a time to the others. "Anode. Lug." His mouth stretched wide in a smile Nickel had only seen him wear when interacting with the Pet, the set of wings on his back narrow and swept upward, fluttering and exuding a rising happiness. It was matched by jubilant swirls in his unhindered field, something Nickel could only suspect lay in the very newness of his return. "Hello, Nickel, Anode, and Lug. I'm Amp."

Chapter Text

"Amp! Are you ready for your lessons?"

He looked up from the datapad that played entertainment vids for him in Nickel's absence from the small habsuite-turned-medibay-turned-habsuite-again he'd been stuck in since onlining. With the touch of a finger, he paused the vid without even looking. "I'm ready for anything," he told her, setting aside the datapad. He sighed and stretched out his wings, the tension grown thick in the joints. "There's only so long I can spend watching movies and reading stories."

His caretaker skated closer, her familiar shape lightening his spark from the doldrums he'd been sinking into for the last half-movie. Nickel gave him a look he couldn't quite read, his lack of experience not giving him the words he needed. She stopped in front of him. "Let's take it to the table, shall we? Anode and Lug sent along a few new things for you to pass the time, as well."

"Did they?" Amp asked, perking up at that. Anode and Lug were very good at making sure he had something new and unique to occupy himself with, though they unfortunately agreed with Nickel's instruction that Amp remained within the habsuite for the time being. (He hadn't even been out to fly yet! What good were his wings if he didn't use them?) He held out a hand for whatever Anode and Lug had sent for him. It was hardly polite of him to turn up his nose at a gift, especially as they spoiled him quite rotten in Nickel's estimation. She mentioned it every time.

Nickel snorted and handed over a neatly wrapped package—Lug's work—watching with amusement as he tore the flimsy covering off with little regard for the scraps that landed on the floor around him. He frowned at the box revealed and gave Nickel another look, face scrunched in question.

"What is it?"

She reached out and took the box from his hand, giving it a look before handing it back to him. A sneaky smile curved her mouth. "Open it."

Amp narrowed his optics and cautiously set the box on his crossed legs. The box was square and half that length tall, plain, and made of a material he'd never seen before. He gave her another quick look before catching the lip around the lid with his fingertips and tugging it upward. The bottom half of the box lifted up with it until the suction broke and dropped the bottom back into his lap, revealing the contents to him.

Glowing little cubes of… jiggly energon? He'd never seen the like. Of course, he only had few weeks of experience and rarely even peeked out of the habsuite, so he hadn't seen much of anything at all that wasn't on a vidscreen or datapad. He poked at one with a curious finger, impressed by the way it squished under the touch and bounced back to its perfect shape afterward. Amp frowned again and picked up the cube to give it a sniff, glancing Nickel's way before sticking out his glossa and testing the cube against it. He blinked in surprise and pulled the cube back to stare at it. "It's sweet!"

"Yes," Nickel agreed, skating closer and reaching into the box for a cube of her own. She held it up and squished it enough that it ended up misshapen a bit longer than Amp's when he'd poked it. "Now pop it in your mouth and give it a good chewing."

After only a small pause, Amp did so, letting the squishy cube of weird energon soften across the heat of his glossa. Oral lubricant flowed as he shifted it to one side between his dentae and began a slow and deliberate crushing of the cube. A gush of more liquid energon, sweeter than even the exterior. Amp was certain he looked very silly, the way he was no doubt making rapturous faces.

"Good, yeah?" Nickel asked, smug as she popped her own cube into her mouth. "They're called energellies. One of the better sweets available to us here on the ship."

"Oh?" Amp pondered the question that pressed immediately at the front of his brain module. "They must be made on board then, yes?" Nickel nodded—she'd been quick to explain the constraints of their home, a ship from another universe with no allies to their name. A sad place for them all, with such a limited number of possible companions. That pushed him to his next question, his own possibilities limited even further than that with no good reason why given yet. He nudged a second goodie in the box as he asked, "Could I maybe meet the one that makes them?

"No," Nickel shot back with a quickness that stung. "You're not old enough just yet." She plucked the box from him and set it on the workbench among his schooling supplies. "Now, get over here and let's begin."

"Yes, Nickel." Amp sighed and shoved to his pedes, his wings drooping low and his spires giving a dreary buzz.

Nickel gave his electrical spires the same narrow look she always did when she heard the sound, muttering under her breath about needing to do something about "that," whatever "that" was.

Rodimus looked around the medibay, hands planted on his hips as he turned back to First Aid. "So, she's not here again, is what you're saying?"

"No, she's not," First Aid answered, tapping the end of his stylus against the edge of his datapad. "It was a small thing, her disappearing every now and then during a shift for a bit, but now? She's cut most of them down to half time and usually with very little forewarning." The masked and visored CMO held back a flood of annoyance that Rodimus would easily bet on as stronger than Ratchet's—especially now the former CMO had his own personal relaxation mech.

"Have you tried asking her?" Rodimus questioned, going for the obvious first. His spoiler wings flicked in askance.

Even behind the visor, it was so very clear that First Aid rolled his optics. "Of course, I asked her," he replied with a level of grouch he'd come to expect of the best medics. "Do you take me for a—"

"Don't ask that, Aid! It's Rodimus," Velocity interrupted from the other side of the medibay, a snicker only slightly hidden in her tone.

First Aid grunted and shook his helm, tossing his stylus down on the table on top of his datapad. "Look, Rodimus," he started again, "I don't know what's going on with her. I do know it doesn't involve the Scavengers because I asked Spinister—"

"Uh huh," Rodimus broke in, face puckered in beleaguered concern. "Spinister."

"Don't you get started," First Aid warned, wagging a finger at him. "Look, all I'm asking is that maybe something could be done to check up on her? Make sure she's all right? She obviously doesn't want it from friends so maybe in a more official capacity, higher up the ranks?"

Rodimus gave him a long and quiet look, glancing toward Velocity as well to find her paused and attentive. They were both worried about Nickel, he could see it. He guessed the entire medical staff probably had concerns if they were finally bringing it up to command—they usually took care of their own. "Yeah, I can do that," he told them, nodding acceptance of the task. "I'll see about getting someone on it right away, if I don't do it myself."

"Thank you," First Aid said, setting his hands down on the edge of the table, relaxing them from the tight fists they'd been curled in. His visor dimmed as he shuttered his optics behind it for a moment.

"Not a problem," Rodimus said, waving it off. "Honestly, it's been so boring on this ship lately, I'm willing to turn anything into an adventure."

"Do not turn it into an adventure," First Aid chastised immediately.

"Oh, come on! It won't be anything over the top, I promise." Of course, not over the top for Rodimus was decidedly more exciting than most anyone else on the ship considered it.

"Don't."

Rodimus' sigh was deep and childish, his spoiler wings dipping low behind him. "Fine…. Nobody has any sense of fun on this ship, anymore."

It didn't matter how long Nickel left him alone, Amp found himself immensely bored within shorter and shorter amounts of time as the days and weeks passed. There was only so much he could learn without wanting to actually get out and see his world, as limited as the space of the Lost Light might be in comparison to a planet, like his datapads and educational vids spoke of.

So many datapads. So many educational vids.

The datapad he held ended up tossed onto a messy pile on his desk. A button pushed on the remote turned the vidscreen off with a quick belch of static—a sign of its immense age.

Amp eyed the door of the habsuite, turned less and less like a medibay as time moved forward. A lot of the bigger medical items had found their way into a vacant hab across the hall. He hadn't been allowed to help, urged instead to work on his lessons. Always his lessons. Except when Nickel allowed him to make the decisions on the new decor, a chance to exert some sort of control over his life, she'd said. At least she understood the sort of prison she kept him in without his own growing understanding being required to point it out. Not even the near constant supply of candies from Anode and Lug on top of that, though, made him less inquisitive of the world outside.

Without realizing he'd even moved, Amp discovered himself standing at the door. He laid a hand over the locking panel, sighing when nothing happened—it wasn't set up to work for him, after all. His wings flicked behind him, small sparks licked along the length of his shoulder spires, in a show of his upset.

He grit his dentae and struggled to regain control of the tiny flares. Nickel warned him that it was a dangerous ability he carried, said that he could never let it get out of hand for the sake of others around him. All his datapads on taxonomy and biology referred to as an outlier ability, something ingrained in his very spark, and that most were something that could be controlled. Nickel wasn't ready to let him learn, though, when he'd asked about it, citing instead that artificial control would be best. She'd hurried to add that she meant only at the start when he questioned her reasoning.

He idly tapped his fingers against the lock panel, as if it would do anything, and was startled when the door opened without warning. He blinked and stared at his caretaker, who stood outside. "Nickel."

"Amp," she said, returning the greeting. Then, her antennae wiggled a bit. With a touch of suspicion, she glanced at his hand still resting on the panel and asked, "What are you doing?"

Knowing he was caught, Amp shrugged a little and attempted to look pathetic. "I was getting lonely. You didn't tell me when you'd come back."

"I'm back at the same time every night now," Nickel reminded him. She took hold of his other hand and tugged him back into the middle of the hab as she closed the door behind her. "It's just about time for dinner. I brought a little something special. Swerve mixed up a new blend of mid-grade and I thought you might like to try it."

He let her guide him to the table and sit him down, accepting the mug she poured from a larger pitcher of energon. The scent of copper and minerals he didn't know the names of yet teased his olfactory sensors. "Thank you."

With a mug of her own, she sat across from him. After a sip, she asked, "Did you finish your schoolwork?"

"No," Amp admitted, clamping his rust red plating tight. Sparks danced again along his dampeners and coils no matter how he tried to stop them. He tried to meet Nickel's gaze, but couldn't seem to lift his optics from the smooth surface of the table between them. "Nickel… do you think I could meet Swerve?"

"There's no need for that," Nickel answered quickly. Too quickly. "Not yet."

"Nickel—"

"How long have your spires been sparking today?" she asked, cutting him off before he could do more than even begin to question her deeper. "Are you having more problems controlling it?"

That gave Amp a moment of pause. While they certainly hadn't been sparking more than a usual this particular day, stopping the small display was indeed growing more difficult as time went on, as if it wanted to be more than it was. The question was if he wanted to admit it to her. Was it the correct thing to do? He turned the mug in his hands, gazing down on the pinkish fuel and the glittering sparkle of additives it contained. Forcing himself to take a drink first, he eventually decided to answer truthfully. To do otherwise with Nickel felt wrong.

"I…," he said in a false start, fumbling for a second as he drummed his fingers along the side of his mug. "It hasn't been much today, the sparking. It's not been easy at all, though, trying to stop it completely."

Nickel hummed in her own particular thoughtful way. "Finish your fuel," she said after tossing back another sip of her energon. Swirling the last few sips around the bottom, she leaned her chin in her hand and said with one of her more patient smiles, "I'll figure out how to do something about it soon enough. I've got something special for you tomorrow, though! But only if we get through the next chapter of your history lessons tonight."

He eyed her, curious at the expression on her face—he'd never seen that particular glimmer in her optics before. A cautious excitement touched his spark, despite the surprise history lesson. "All right."

It was too late by the time Lug realized she should have acted sooner.

"You would not believe the sort of things going on in the bowels of this ship," Anode said in a drunken drawl. She was leaned halfway across the table she and Lug shared with Blaster and a few of his usual hangout buddies. It wasn't the usual crowd Lug was used to when they came to Swerve's, but when an already well past tipsy Anode spotted the open seats at the table, Lug had been helpless to stop her from joining the group.

"Anode, come on," Lug said, attempting to tug her conjunx away before something unfortunate spilled from her engex loosened lips. She offered the mechs around the rest of the table an apologetic smile. "I'm so sorry for the intrusion, guys. She's just had a bit too much already. I'll just get her out of the way and let you mechs enjoy your night without further distraction."

"No, no," Blaster replied with a small wave of one hand. One corner of his mouth quirked upward in half gone to the wind amusement. He shared a look around the table, garnering a couple amused chuckles. "Let her talk. Looks like she has something important to say."

"Yeah," the big, red fire rescue mech a couple spots down said in agreement. Inferno leaned forward to be seen around Smokescreen, hands wrapped around his mostly empty mug of bubbling yellow engex. "Let her talk. Considering the things we've had come out of the basement around here, I'm all audials."

"Me, too," Smokescreen added. Nods and mumbles of assent rose from the rest of the table, the likes of Toaster and Hound joining in.

Lug knew they were all well into their cups, but that certainly didn't mean someone wouldn't recall come morning. Her spark squeezed in distress. Amp was just a baby, no matter what he'd done before! This was one secret she couldn't let get out. "No, you don't underst—"

In Lug's distraction, Anode slipped loose and crawled across the table until she laid in front of Blaster and Smokescreen, chin propped in the cup of one hand. The grin on her face was the only warning Lug had moments before Anode said, "So… it turns out Nickel is a whole lot naughtier than one might expect."

"Anode, no!"

She was ignored as more than one mech at the table suddenly looked a little more curious than before. Her grin spreading wider and her optical shutters lowering in that way Lug knew meant trouble was coming, Anode continued, "Do any of you boys happen to recall who Nickel worked with before being adopted by the Scavengers?"

Thoughtful looks were passed around the table. It was Toaster that asked, "You mean Deathsaurus and his crew?"

"Yeah," Smokescreen piped in. "Wasn't she their commander or something at the one point for like… a whole or so?"

A round of drunken laughter filtered around the table. Anode kicked her pedes in the air, pulling them out of Lug's reach just as she lunged for them in hopes of dragging her off. She growled and climbed atop an empty stool, ready to fling herself across the table and slap a hand over Anode's mouth. The move was too late, though—again with the too late—as Anode was already saying, "No, the one before that, the death squad." Anode tapped a finger against the tip of Blaster's nose, obviously enjoying the way his optics spiraled wide. "Guess who brought one of them back?"

With a groan, Lug flopped face down on the table. "Anode, why are you like this?"

Chapter Text

"That device of yours better be working!" Nickel hollered at Anode, who was busy going over a small black box stuck on the wall several times Amp's height.

"I tested it this morning!" Anode called back. "Not a single blip of a signature visible!"

Amp heard, though he was far more curious about the large chamber around them. There wasn't an indecent of room, not like a wide open horizon on a planet—or so Nickel said, but the massive space of the oil reservoir was larger than anything Amp had experienced since coming online. Plenty room enough to stretch his wings and do the one thing his spark had been aching to do—fly. His excitement was so great, in fact, static danced up and down his spires in wider bolts than ever.

"If there's going to be an issue," Anode said, landing beside them with a muffled thump, "it'll be because you didn't keep him cloaked as well as you should have on the way here. Yowch!" Anode yelped as a white-purple streak of jagged electricity leapt across the space between them and gave her a jolt. "Fragging Primus," she cursed, rubbing at her arm just below her shoulder where her paint had been singed black. She brushed away Lug, her conjunx attempting to look at the injury. "That was a stronger jolt than any others you've given me yet, Amp!"

Just as he had every other time, Amp flinched and shrunk in on himself a bit. His wings dipped and gave a mournful little flutter. The dance of electricity along his spires died down, though it didn't stop completely. "I'm so sorry," he apologized in a rush, wringing his hands together. "It's just getting harder to stop."

Nickel, also giving the burn on Anode's arm a peek, quickly skated over and wrapped his hands in her own. Like the soft-sparked caretaker she was, she looked at him with love in her optics and understanding on her face. She rubbed her thumbs along his knuckles, obviously doing her very best not to react to the small crackles of charge that followed the movement. "Don't you worry, dear," she said in a soothing tone. "That's just one more thing I've been working on for you, like I said I would. We'll take care of it when we get back to the hab. Right now, it's time for you to stretch those wings a bit finally."

She squeaked and yanked her hands away as Amp's burst of excitement was accompanied by another, more vibrant, display of pale purple-ish static from the top of his helm to the tips of his pedes. Amp stepped back a little, apology and dismay radiating through his field. The electricity sang and danced along his spires and the edges of his plating, his wings dissipating some with each flicker in a small shower of sparks. "I'm so sorry!"

"I know what you need, Amp," Anode announced, breaking into the conversation again. Her hand came toward his sparking shoulder, but stopped before she actually touched. It earned her a few small zaps, but nothing to garner more than a small grimace and shake of her hand. She put on one of her broad grins and waved toward a large box shaped… thing. "That there is a Portable Energy Device, rechargeable—"

Amp blinked, not understanding and not at all sure how the thing had gotten there as he certainly hadn't seen it before. Beside him, Nickel snorted, fists settling on her hips. "And why is that here? They keep those things in the shuttle bay storage closets for away missions."

Waving Amp toward the immense battery, Anode continued smiling as she said in a tone that suggested trouble, "Don't worry about that. Let's just get some of that extra charge drained then get you some flying time, Amp."

With supreme caution, Amp gave her a questioning look, but made his way toward the device. Lug stood beside it and patted at a pair of obvious terminal posts, just the right size for wrapping a hand around. "Grab hold of these," she said with an encouraging smile. "You don't have to do anything else. The PED will take care of everything!"

As much as Amp trusted both Anode and Lug, he still shot a look toward Nickel. She was his caretaker, after all, and wouldn't lead him wrong. Rather than immediately agreeing with Anode's plan, Nickel threw her hands in the air and huffed a loud vent. With her mouth twisted down in a scowl, Nickel gave him a bit of extra guidance, though he had little doubt she'd be having words with Anode and Lug later without him around. "Lower your spires," she said. "Touch them to the terminals, instead. Just to be safe, considering the level of voltage we're talking about here."

Amp curled his fingers and pulling them away from the posts. Giving his caretaker a nod, he initiated the transformation sequence that folded his spires down from his shoulders and settled them into a mounted position along the outside of his lower arms. (He figured it must be some sort of protective weaponry formatting, though Nickel said nothing when he asked her.) Carefully turnin his loosely held fists inward, away from the spheres that tipped his spires, Amp set the spheres one at a time to each of the terminals.

The first touch was quiet, eliciting only a quiet buzz. The second, though, sent out a thick spark that startled even him and a loud crackle of the air condensing in the small pockets of emptiness left behind as he jerked his spires away, the small bolt quickly disintegrated. He didn't think the irises of his optics could spiral any wider in reaction.

"Why the frag does that thing have a charge?!" Nickel demanded, her vocalizer squealing with feedback through a few of the words in display of her anger. She skated across the space between them, getting in Anode's face and wagging a finger in it. "Are you trying to cause an explosion?"

While the two of them got into it, Amp shifted his gaze between them and the not so innocent PED. With the greatest care, he touched the tip of one spire to a terminal. The small buzz returned. He glanced toward Lug when he felt the brush of her field against his, worried and questioning. Not giving her an answer—not out loud, anyway—he looked back to the second terminal and didn't let himself hesitate as he touched the sphere of his second spire against it.

Blaster sat at the comms station, allowing Blades more practice in the sunken pit that was the navigation console. Or that's what he told everybody. The choice might have actually had something more to do with the lingering overcharge of a night at Swerve's. Unlike most on that type of morning, Blaster came onto the bridge for his shift with a serious visage. No one would know unless they'd been at the bar with him. This particular morning, he took on double duty, combing the comms with keeping an optic on the security console, as well. It was probably a good thing as most wouldn't have noticed what he did.

There and then gone. A signal on the ship's scanners that didn't belong to anyone that was on the crew manifest. He frowned and isolated it, running it through the database for a match. When a profile of a dead mech popped up, Blaster's spark guttered and his brain module latched onto the memory of Anode's drunken storytelling. He'd written it off as no more than a fanciful tale and too much engex, but the ship's database said otherwise.

"Slag!" he bit off in a hard mutter, swinging around in his chair, his spark now a hard electric beat in his chest. "Captain! We've got a signature that shouldn't exist that just blipped on the internal scanners."

"Blipped?" Turning his chair on its swivel base, a scrutinizing look scrunching his face, Rodimus sprawled loose-limbed. He waved a hand in a vague gesture of question. "What do you mean blipped?"

Blaster groaned. Of course Rodimus would latch onto the wrong part of it. "Exactly what it sounds like it means, Captain," he said, the overcharge making him perhaps a bit sharper than necessary. "The signature of someone that shouldn't be on the ship just blipped. It showed up long enough to register, then disappeared again. I've checked the log twice."

The stress on the specific wording he wanted Rodimus to hear caught Rodimus' audial this time, straightening him in his seat. He leaned in Blaster's direction, spoiler wings suddenly perked high and alert. "Someone that shouldn't be on the ship?"

Blaster swept his gaze around the bridge, a heavily guarded look on his face. Hopefully Rodimus realized the rest of the discussion was better done without the presence of the other bots on duty. All of them put up a careful front of not listening, meaning anything said in front of them was moments away from being the next headline of the Lost Light Insider. Luckily, Rodimus got it.

Pulling a hand down his face, the co-captain jerked his helm toward the ready room closed off at the rear of the bridge. "Let's go have a private chat, shall we?"

Blaster nodded curtly, on his pedes and following Rodimus before anyone else could find the wherewithal to get outwardly and actively curious. As soon as the doors were closed behind Blaster and the privacy protocols engaged, Rodimus crossed his arms and gave him a nod.

"We're good here," he said, stern and commanding in that way he only did when things got interesting. "Now tell me who the hell is on my ship."

Rodimus and his three mech team reached the doors of the oil reservoir, finding them locked. That only made him more insistent on proving Blaster totally and completely wrong. Lots of strange things had happened over the course of Rodimus' life, but coming back from the dead? All right, so it hadn't never happened, but it hadn't happened often. He held firm to the notion that it hadn't happened this time. Not when the initial rumor came from an overcharged Anode, a known gremlin even on her best behavior.

"You're thinking too hard," Ratchet announced in a loud grouch beside him, the medic ignoring the quiet but remonstrating "Ratty," from Drift on Rodimus' other side.

Rodimus rolled his optics and replied, "You didn't have to come, you know. I could have done this all on my own or asked First Aid if he wanted to come along. He actually asked me to check up on Nickel not too long ago. Said she was acting weird."

"Which is precisely why I'm here." Standing with his arm crossed in that judgemental way of his, Ratchet eyed him with one orbital ridge arched high. Behind him, Drift looked like he was doing his best to not jump in and halt the discussion before it got heated. Ratchet shot a glance at his conjunx before continuing. "First Aid wants to know what's going on, but we both know he can't be trusted not to immediately start slinging accusations if what you told us is right."

Allowing himself a tight sigh of misgiving, Rodimus stood with slouched shoulders and drooping spoiler wings. "If Blaster's right, you mean." He met Ratchet's optics with his own and a flick of his spoiler wings. "I'm sure you're very well aware of exactly how much I hope he isn't. And not because it'll be bad if he is, but because I just don't want to deal with that kind of slag right now. With luck, it's just Anode being Anode."

"Doors locked and reservoir chamber's a dead zone on internal scanners," Ratchet snorted and reached for the lock panel beside the double doors. Rodimus didn't try to stop him—medical clearance let the mech get in everywhere on the ship, should the need arise. Even no longer serving as CMO, Ratchet had retained access by sheer magnitude of his long experience in the position. "Something is going on."

Moments later, the doors opened.

Leaning in to peek at the goings on, nefarious or otherwise, Rodimus paused in surprise before he walked inside. He tilted his helm back to watch Anode chase, then lead, then chase another bot in circles and loop-de-loops around the high ceiling of the reservoir chamber while Nickel and Lug whooped and cheered below. The flying alt mode with forward swept wings and a double set of rear thrusters in rusty red and aged brass was utterly unfamiliar. "What the hell? Who is that?"

Beside him, Drift dropped into a ready stance, his hands clutching hard and fast at the hilts of the swords at his hips, not drawing quite yet. To the other side, Ratchet stood stiff and focused on the stranger. "Get security in here. Blaster's right. It's him."

"Go, go, go, Amp!" Lug cheered, laughing and clapping. Rodimus could only assume it was the new mech she urged on. Nickel brimmed with a bright joy he'd never seen in her before, adding a booming "You've almost got her!" to the cheer squad.

Rodimus turned a grim look Ratchet's way, then looked back to the new bot playing so carefree with bots he'd come to trust. He grimaced as he opened up his internal comm. "Hey, Minimus? That trouble I hinted might be happening?"

::You mean the impossible trouble?:: Minimus responded near immediately, on the ball as always.

"Yeah, that trouble," Rodimus replied, catching Nickel's gaze as she seemed to suddenly realize they weren't alone anymore. He made a point of letting her see his fingers pressed against his temple, signaling he was actively on comms. "We need a team capable of handling high electrical voltage to the reservoir immediately."

Whatever joy Nickel had been getting from the display above them vanished. She straightened her shoulders and called out, "Amp, Anode, please join us on the ground!"

Rodimus' frown deepened. He watched as Anode and the mech identified as Amp landed—Amp coming in a little rough, like he wasn't sure of himself. Nickel and Lug rushed over to him as he unfolded into root mode, checking on him. Drift's swords sang as he pulled them free, audial fins standing alert, readiness tense in his field. Rodimus glanced toward Ratchet, noting the inscrutable expression the medic plastered over his face, the way his armor and field were pulled tight to his frame. "Ratchet?"

The medic made no move to respond, his focus on the new bot in their presence. Rodimus didn't have time to worry further, though, as Nickel approached him. And it was definitely him she was approaching, the way she studiously ignored Ratchet patently obvious. She carried herself with the firmness of any longtime medic, intentions held close to her plating. Stopping in front of him, Rodimus wasn't surprised when she leaped right into the matter at hand with no beating around the twinkle bushes.

"It's him," she said. Only the way she wrung her hands together gave away any sign of nervousness. "If you're here, it's because you figured that out already. Not entirely sure how, but…. yes, it is him, but it's also not him."

Rodimus flicked one spoiler wing, crossed his arms, then flicked the other. He didn't like to be confused, but there he was. "What?"

Before Nickel could find whatever words she was looking for to explain, Ratchet heaved a blustering sigh and shook his helm, optics closing as he looked toward the floor. He set his hands on his hips. "Put the swords away, Drift. She did the same damn thing Anode did with Lug," he said for Rodimus' sake—and Rodimus was grateful for it. "You filched some of that Sentio Metallico, no doubt. The biggest question is how and when you saved that bastard's spark."

That jerked a much more standard reaction from Nickel. Her face twisted in annoyance and she wagged a finger in Ratchet's direction as she told him off. "Don't you dare call him that! He's little more than a sparkling now and doesn't deserve that kind of treatment!"

Rodimus opened his mouth just as the doors flew open and the security team he called for burst in, blasters ready, Minimus at the front, Fortress Maximus holding up the back—and filling the doorway near entirely. Both Anode and Lug moved instantly to shove the reborn mech behind them, taking protective stances to ward off anyone that came too close. "Everyone, stop!" Rodimus called out, throwing out a hand in a strong gesture of command. "I may have been a bit hasty in calling you all here."

The looks he got were not unexpected. He'd had plenty of time to come to terms with the way people reacted to him. From the front of a small party, Minimus narrowed his gaze, then holstered the blaster he held. "Stand down!" He waited for the other blasters his small company of security mechs held to be lowered before giving Rodimus a little puckered look of objection. (Max looked very reluctant, optics locked on the new guy.) "This is going to require a very good explanation, Rodimus."

"It's got a very good one, don't you worry," Nickel said, skating closer and lowering her voice. She peeked over her shoulder toward the trio near the edge of the reservoir. Cycling a slow breath through her vents, Nickel met each of their optics, one at a time, Ratchet, Rodimus, Drift, and Minimus. "Please," she said, a touch of pleading in her tone, pitched as quiet as she could while still being heard, "don't hurt him. He doesn't remember anything. His name is Amp and he's a flyer and he adores science and he's… got an outlier ability."

"The ability to conjure and direct high voltages of electricity, I imagine?" Minimus asked, pressing fingers to his temple. The tight line of Nickel's mouth said everything they needed to know. "Should I summon Megatron to join us?"

"Nah," Rodimus replied, letting himself relax. "He'd just say everyone deserves a second chance. And if this guy really doesn't remember anything?" He shook his helm, feeling a bit more captainly as he made decisions. "Look, Nickel, I appreciate the loyalty to an old team member, I do, but this guy—"

"I swear, Rodimus," Nickel interrupted, a tinge of desperation coloring her words as she skated closer to him, "the only memory he seems to have retained from that life is his name—if that's even the name he had before, I don't know for certain. Nothing more. He didn't even recognize me! He's never once mentioned anything that might hint that he recalls any of it."

Rodimus couldn't deny the twinge of sympathy that speared through his spark. He shared a look with Ratchet, then with Minimus. Ratchet blew a sharp vent from his nose. "His ability, we'll have to contain it until we know without question. Maybe even then."

"I was going to do that, anyway," Nickel conceded, her wings giving a small flutter as she tossed a mournful yet not truly sad glance over her shoulder at the young mech. "He's got little to no control over it so far, though it hasn't gone and shown itself to have the sort of intensity it did have. I don't—and didn't—want to chance me being wrong."

The sigh Minimus gave was significantly more dignified. Rodimus had little doubt Minimus was running all sorts of scenarios on how everything could go wrong. Rodimus was well-aware this time, however, of just how bad a decision he might be making. Minimus shifted his gaze to Amp, judging as he spoke. "I'll pass word on to Megatron, then, shall I?"

Bright and golden yellow optics watched from behind Anode and Lug with an innocence Rodimus wanted to say couldn't be faked, but he had experience in his life that said otherwise. Still….

"Yeah," he said to Minimus. "Let him know. We'll figure out what we're telling the crew when I get back to the bridge." He eyed the three other security mechs ranged between Minimus and Max, then added, "This goes nowhere before then, got it?"

A quick chorus of "yes, sir" answered him.

Chapter Text

The very moment it dawned on Amp exactly what Nickel negotiated with the strange new mechs, his spark flickered and danced in his spark casing. He very carefully contained his growing excitement, preparing for disappointment, just in case. The barest hint that all the doors Nickel kept closed and tightly locked could possibly be opening for him, though… He wanted to make a good impression on these bots as they looked important. No squirming like a newforged sparkling, even if that's what he was.

As they continued to exchange words with Nickel, Amp did his best to slip around Anode and Lug. They weren't particularly agreeable to his plans, shifting with him to block his escape. Amp sighed and slumped in defeat, giving his wings a hard jerk that created a small snap in the air. An echoing electric crackle followed as static made a fuzzy display over his spires.

"Oh, don't you act like that," Anode chided, turning to wag a finger at him. She flared her wings wider and higher when he tilted his weight to one pede as if to try again. "Amp, don't you dare. I'm not much for rules, I know, but this is serious."

"It's very serious," said the other mech, one Amp was fairly certain was a medic like Nickel, judging by the markings he wore. Amp wasn't certain, but the mech seemed cautious in his approach, almost like he was afraid of something happening. As if Amp were something to approach with caution. Both hands held up to show he meant no harm, the medic slowly eased his way closer. "I'm sure neither your caretaker nor these two thought to inform you of just who these mechs are. Am I right?"

Anode huffed and rolled her optics, but Lug stopped whatever response wanted to roll off her glossa with a look. She tugged Anode aside, giving the medic clear access to Amp, making it obvious she trusted him—meaning he should, as well. The medic was larger than him, the first bot he'd interacted with to achieve such a thing. It had Amp pulling in his plating tight and his field tighter. He didn't back away, though. Mostly because the edge of the reservoir wasn't too far behind him and he rather hoped to avoid the embarrassment of falling in. "...sir?"

The medic paused, blinked, and huffed a small laugh with a shake of his helm. He dropped his hands, catching his thumbs on the panels at the front of his pelvic span. "I'm Ratchet," the medic said, introducing himself with a gentle but rusty smile. "What's your name, kiddo?"

Without prompting, Amp's wings gave a small and tightly controlled flutter behind him. Though gruff, the medic—Ratchet—sounded so very kind. A gentle brush of an unfamiliar field against his armor urged him to believe the assessment. He tossed a glance toward Anode and Lug, finding them a mixture of reactions to Ratchet. Anode actually looked quite prepared to start throwing fists should Ratchet make any sort of move she didn't approve of. Even with his lack of experience regarding bots beyond his very small circle, Amp knew that would be a bad idea.

Taking the chance offered by the situation, Amp shoved down the tingle of discomfort and slid around Anode to stand closer before Ratchet. The medic watched him curiously as Amp stood himself tall and straight, unable to help the curling pulses of electricity dancing around the hardened cyberporcelain dampeners lining his spires up to the spherical coil and back down. It was the sort of thing that happened a lot when he was nervous, the most difficult to control, the sort of thing Nickel didn't want to keep happening. Clearing his vocalizer with a small reboot, Amp said, "Hello, Ratchet. My name is Amp."

He tried not to be embarrassed as the turbine fans at his shoulders clicked on with a soft whir as his nerves kicked up a notch. Another soft laugh escaped Ratchet, his soft blue optics crinkling at the corners. "Welcome aboard, Amp. I'm sorry we had to meet like this. Your caretaker should have taken the time to let us know about you well before it came to interrupting your playtime."

Amp narrowed his optics and tilted his helm a small bit. He wasn't sure he liked having Nickel's actions questioned like that. While she was quite stern about keeping him away from all these other bots that were now all around him, his caretaker only did so to protect him. She told him so whenever he asked to meet the others she mentioned. Amp looked over the rest of the new bots. They'd come in with weapons drawn—or, in the case of the one with the swords, ready to draw. (And the swords didn't seem quite right for him. He frowned, imaginging the mech with blasters instead.)

Turning his attention back to Ratchet, Amp nodded toward the group of armed bots and said, "Is that how every new person on board is greeted?"

As his experience with other bots was decidedly limited, Amp wasn't sure what happened after he spoke those words, but the effect they had on Ratchet surprised him. A tension Amp hadn't been aware of broke and the older medic's face fell into a broad smile, the accompanying laugh much more real and mirthful. It was a change so noticeable that it attracted the attention of everyone else in the chamber.

"Amp," Ratchet said, reaching out toward Amp's shoulder. That broad hand stopped before touching, impeded by the placement of Amp's spire, then shifted down to give him a short and friendly grip around the upper arm, instead. He ignored the crackle of static that flickered over his hand. "Amp, you might just fit in here better than even Megatron."

An odd pulse flashed through Amp's spark, joined by a crimp in his brain module. He pressed a hand to his chest over the dark tinted canopy glass, giving Ratchet a quiet grimace and another tilt of his helm. "Who?"

If the sudden flash of concern on the medic's face was anything to go by, Amp wasn't sure he wanted to know. "Don't worry about it," Ratchet said, catching hold of his elbow. "How about we get you to the medibay and give you a full checkup, hm? I know Nickel is perfectly capable—" This part was no doubt said to fend off the words that wanted to follow the loud scoff from Amp's caretaker. "—but she is closer to the situation than is proper, medically speaking."

"You keep him safe, Ratchet, or I'll take it out of you aft!" Nickel exclaimed, the tools at her middle jingling against one another as she swung around to glare. "And your conjunx's, too, if he decides to get in the way."

The swordsmech shoved his swords away and held his hands aloft, implying a lack of resistance. "No worries, Nickel. If he earns it, he earns it."

Ratchet snorted and rolled his optics, gently tugging Amp along with him as he headed toward the doors of the reservoir. "C'mon, kiddo," he said. "Let's get this done and you can come back down and get some more air time after. Maybe we'll handle that static problem, too, hm?"

"Yes, sir," Amp replied, really hoping he managed to keep from zapping anyone they might meet in the halls.

When word went out—not over the ship-wide comms, but a more low-key passing of the word from the higher ups in the form of gossip that traveled like a vine to those that would listen—watching First Aid stiffen and close himself off was a reaction Blades could only wonder at. Defensor might have connected them at levels that went deeper than even the protoform, but they couldn't read each other's minds. Not unless they were combined and even then they were still capable of hiding things from one another. Blades figured, though, if First Aid wanted him to know what was up, First Aid would say something.

The new guy hadn't yet ventured anywhere on his own and Blades couldn't imagine Nickel had any intention of letting him do so anytime soon. Until she did and he walked… well, more like sneaked through the door of Swerve's like a naughty sparkling not sure if he was ready to be a troublemaker. He didn't look like a guy that had once been a member of the most feared squad of Decepticons ever, the sort of person that made even Drift's plating rattle. In fact, he looked very much like a normal mech Blades might just walk right up to and introduce himself, right then and there.

So he did.

Not stopping to get a gauge on what the rest of his team might think about his suddenly stepping away from their booth, Blades took a moment to flutter his rotors into their friendliest presentation. It was always best to make a good impression, after all. He heard First Aid grumble something angry, thankfully shushed by the other three before it could evolve into First Aid trying to physically stop him.

He slipped and swooped his way around everyone, rotor blades clattering with irritation and rolling his optics every time someone stepped his way. It was amazing how good the crew of the Lost Light were at making annoyances of themselves whether they knew they were doing it or not. Unlike Blades, who always knew because everyone was very keen to let him know. He was pretty sure it was because of the copter alt—Whirl seemed to get a lot of the same sort of comments. Not that any of that mattered in the current situation.

(He was pleased, however, that shoving a half-drunk Pointblank into a laughing, just as drunk Sureshot resulted in a terminal case of staring deeply into one another's optics in the process of making his way across the bar. Good work, he congratulated himself.)

Finally, his path clear of obstacles, Blades bounded toward the multi paneled doors where the ship's newest crewmate stood looking exceptionally lost. "Hi!" he greeted, shoving his right hand forward. "My name's Blades. I heard we had a new person on board and I don't recognize you, so you must be him?"

A glorious pair of golden yellow optics turned his way, open wide with surprise. They closed in a slow blink as the young mech considered him. Slim, upswept wings painted in a rusty red accented with a wire-brushed brass fluttered a bit before the mech offered him a tentative smile. He tilted his helm to one side, glanced toward the hand Blades extended, and replied in a voice that held just the smallest hint of static. "I suppose I must be. I'm Amp."

Blades supposed he shouldn't be surprised his hand went mostly ignored. Of everyone on the ship, Amp most definitely had never been to Earth, birthplace of that particular custom. He grinned and instead used the hand to scratch at an imaginary itch behind in audial. "So, can I show you around? I mean, a place like this can be kind of awkward if you don't know anybody."

Flashing pale purple, a tiny flicker of electricity danced along one stack of porcelain dampeners that lined Amp's shoulder spires. Word had it his outlier ability had been suppressed via a high-power inhibitor. Just a tiny reminder of who the mech had once been. Not that Blades had ever met him before this moment, having only caught glimpses of the mech from First Aid's memories when the team combined—something that didn't happen anymore, so it was an old and time-scratched memory.

Oh. First Aid's memories and Amp from before. Maybe…. Blades shook the niggle of worry off and offered his arm. "Join me?"

Amp swept a slow look around the crowded bar before quickly throwing out a hand to curl around Blades' forearm and scoot closer. A small fizzle of anxious static danced across Blades' plating under the touch. Nothing more than a tickle, Blades was pretty sure it would be enough to set First Aid alight with distrust worthy of Red Alert.

"I take it that's a yes?" Blades asked, cautiously laying his hand over Amp's, ready to pull it away if the younger mech showed any hesitancy.

He didn't. In fact, the tension that had held his frame tight drained away, Amp's smile becoming more truthful as he accepted Blades' offer. "Yes," Amp replied, sounding decidedly relieved, his interesting wings fluttering sweetly. "It is very much a yes." He paused, then added with a mischievous smirk, "You seem the sort Nickel might not entirely approve of, but she hasn't actually warned me away from anyone on the ship."

Blades laughed and fluttered his rotor blades in response. He took a step forward, easing his new acquaintance away from the door and toward the bar counter. First Aid was not going to be happy with him. Oh well. "Come on, then."

He spotted a couple open spots not too far from where they were, thankfully. Blades figured it was better than sitting poor Amp down with the rest of the guys at his team's usual booth. Of all things Amp was going to be introduced to that night, First Aid probably should not be among them.

With all the noise that filled the bar, Blades still managed to hear the odd thump and crack as Amp's wings caught and clanged against an unsteady bot every now and then. He said nothing, though, keeping himself to a tightly contained smile as Amp ducked away and apologized. Most everyone was too overcharged to even notice, but a few woozy stares followed after them. Fortunately, no harsh words or confrontations resulted.

Blades guided Amp toward one of the open barstools with a light touch to his back between those slim and upswept wings. Then, he leaned back against the counter, postured so that he might see Amp's face. "Getting around with those must be new to you," Blades said, nodding toward the wings now tightly pulled in. "Usually, flyers are pretty good at not bumping into people and things because we're used to all the bits and pieces."

Amp turned a thoughtful look Blades' direction. He blinked those bright and astoundingly innocent yellow optics. "I am new, so it would make sense it's new to me."

"Yeah, I guess you are." Blades grinned and waved a beckoning hand at Swerve. "Hey, Swerve! How about you get me and my new friend a couple of drinks?" The minibot acknowledged him with a quick thumbs up and a "Comin' right up!" before turning to grab a couple mugs and heading for the colorful row of tall engex decanters lining the wall behind the counter.

He swung around when the mugs were set down with sloshing thunks. The way Amp eyed the fizzing highgrade, a vivid yellow a few shades lighter than his optics, had Blades' face stretching wide with a smile that probably would have Streetwise slapping stasis cuffs on him. Not that he intended anything untoward, of course. Watching a bot try engex for the first time, though, always made for a good night.

To say Nickel wasn't pleased with him, however, when he stumbled to the door of the habsuite she still shared with the young flyer, Amp slumped against his side and reeling in the grasp of his first overcharge? Well, it would send Minimus into grammatical fits about the depth of the understatement. His audials rang without even needing to hear it. When he showed up back at the hab he shared with Groove and his gestalt mate questioned the small, hand-shaped dent on his cheek, courtesy of a certain small medic? Worth it.

Having run of the ship beyond the hidden habsuite-turned-medibay-turned hab again had Amp wandering the halls at all hours, though Nickel admonished him when he returned at an hour she deemed too late. The embarrassment he felt on telling his new friends he needed to be home before curfew was immense. Fortunately, none of them had poked fun at him.

Except Blades.

Although, when Amp really considered it, that was likely what made him most fond of Blades. The others, they seemed more reserved, if Amp were forced to label the way they acted around him. Not that they were unfriendly by any means! None of them managed to treat Amp like just another person they enjoyed being around, though. Like they were waiting for something to happen. It was a difference that stood out and Amp appreciated it more than he knew how to articulate.

"Are you heading out with that misbegotten rotary again?" Nickel called out from the room of their suite she claimed as her own. "I swear to Primus I'll give him another set of dents if he brings you home drunk one more time!"

He leaned through the open door, hands catching at either side of the frame, chortling as he said, "You act like I'm a newforged sparkling, Nickel. Didn't you tell me yourself that Cybertronians are fully capable of being treated as adults in the span of a few weeks? Something I am more than by this point?"

Nickel paused in her task, folding towels newly cleaned for their more or less private washrack just down the hall. With a towel hanging over her forearm, she glared at him, not nearly as strong as she turned on anyone else, but still enough to say precisely how annoyed she was. "Amp, I will sit you down with a box of nuts and bolts to sort if you keep the sass up. And you'll do it tonight, rather than spend all night running around with Blades and whoever else was going to join you."

Subduing himself appropriately, Amp lowered his wings a bit and offered a suitably chastened face. "Sorry, Nickel."

With luck, Blades would take him to movie night with the usual crowd, like he'd mentioned. Bad for him snacks and a horror film had made for an excellent time more than once since escaping Nickel's constant watch.

His shift so far had been anything but interesting. A new universe they might be in, but even it had long stretches of nothing worthy of note. Blaster figured it was probably for the best. He understood from hard experience the exhaustion of unending action. In the middle of long stretches of nothing, however, it was easy to forget just how much better off they all were.

Blaster couldn't lay the entire blame on just the lack of action, though. It had been his choice to take the communications console again rather than navigation on this particular shift. Unfortunately, that knowledge didn't really do anything to tame his boredom. He was very much considering pulling up a game on his HUD by the time something finally happened.

The whoosh of the bridge doors sliding open caught his attention. He wasn't the only one, either. Everyone on the bridge, almost as a single unit, swung around to see who stood at the door. Likely all of them were just as hopeful as Blaster that it was someone with a quest or a chore or something that might break the doldrums they'd fallen into. He wasn't entirely certain how to react to what they actually got.

Interesting was definitely a word for it.

The new kid appearing on the bridge had Megatron—current co-captain on duty—on his pedes at considerable speed and slapping at his comm. Switching out his command post with Minimus as quickly as possible slapped Blaster with a thick case of confusion. It took Blaster a few moments, but he did put the pieces together.

As Blaster watched, Megatron did his best to avoid interaction with Amp. The former leader turned traitor to the faction Amp's former team played loyalty squad for? Even if Amp recalled none of it, Blaster didn't think he'd risk it, either. Megatron seemed so intent on avoiding him, in fact, the once Decepticon leader downright hustled his way off the bridge as soon as Minimus appeared to take his place.

Slipping past Amp, who turned to watch him with a pained curiosity, was decidedly awkward. Minimus managed to draw the rusty red flyer just far enough onto the bridge for the doors to slide shut.

"Welcome, young Amp," Minimus greeted their newest crew member, taking Megatron's seat despite the size difference—he'd explained once that one could never be certain if Rodimus had left a boobytrap in his. Until after it had been triggered, anyway. The minibot waved the obviously curious flyer to join them. "My name is Minimus Ambus. I'm second in command of the Lost Light after our co-captains."

"You were at the reservoir, I remember," Amp replied. He paused, his golden yellow optics dipping briefly toward the floor. The small dip of his wings alerted Blaster to a touch of fear the kid tried to hide. "You led the armed bots into the chamber."

Minimus stilled, obviously picking it up as well, then rubbed a hand along his jaw as he visibly considered how to proceed. "Yes, I did," he said. "I must apologize. The situation was not handled as best it could have been, I admit. Please come in, though. If you're out and about like this, you should at least give the stations a look. See if anything interests you?"

To Blaster's refined audials, Minimus' tone seemed slightly more standoffish than usual. Blaster flicked his gaze between the two mechs, struck by the sudden realization that the two of them shared something scarily intimate in common, despite having never met face-to-face until quite recently. Dominus Ambus, brother of one and… Blaster wasn't quite certain what all the mech had been to the other. Considering who Amp had been, though, and what had become of Dominus Ambus, Blaster could only imagine it hadn't been pretty. He held no jealousy of Minimus' predicament, nor the glossa-lashing Megatron probably had coming later.

The young flyer blinked his yellow optics at the offer. His wings fluttered behind him, before being pulled tight again as if embarrassed at what they might be saying. "Thank you, sir," he said, proving himself to at least be polite. He wrung his hands together in front of his chest, a display of nerves if Blaster had ever seen one. "Nickel doesn't know I'm here. You won't tell her, will you? This was the one place she told me not to come. Said I wasn't ready."

Blaster watched as Minimus gave the young mech a thoughtful look, sitting back in the too large captain's seat. He thought he might be imagining it, the small upward quirk of one corner of Minimus' mouth. "Have no fear," Minimus said, gesturing for the young mech to venture deeper onto the bridge again. "You would hardly be the first troublemaker in her life."

At the cordial words, Amp perked up and finally approached where Minimus sat. The faintest buzz of electricity danced in the air around him, leaving a ticklish trail of static behind him. Blaster knew an inhibitor had been installed to make Amp's outlier ability inaccessible, though it appeared the ability was strong enough it couldn't quite entirely be contained. If the tickly cloud of ultra-low voltage was the extent of what he could accomplish, though, Blaster figured they were safe.

Hoped they were safe.

Really, really hoped to Primus they were safe because the sort of power Amp's previous self was reported to have left Blaster with a case of chills that rattled his plating.

"Could…," Amp started, definitely unsure about talking to someone of such a high rank, "could someone show me around? I don't want to interrupt if everyone is busy."

That had Blaster on his pedes before Minimus managed anything more than opening his mouth to speak. He could absolutely handle this! The fact that it would alleviate his boredom was more than enough encouragement. "Don't worry, sir," Blaster said, giving Minimus a small wave. "I've got it."

"Thank you, Blaster," Minimus replied, leaning back in the captain's chair he'd been halfway out of. "Do remember to pay attention to your console, of course?"

"Of course!" Giving the minibot a lazy salute that earned him a reprimand that would be administered later, Blaster grinned and headed toward Amp. He patted the slim mech on the back of his nearest shoulder, one of his thrusters in alt mode, careful to avoid the spire that currently lacked even the barest hint of static. "So, Amp, as you heard, my name's Blaster and today I will be your tour guide."

"Oh, thank you very much!" Amp responded, polite in ways most bots Blaster knew weren't. Up close, the eager mech was of an average height, perhaps crest to crest with Rodimus. Much like images Blaster had seen of Amp's old frame, he was on the slim side. Considering the strength of his outlier ability, Amp had very little need for bulk. As such, Amp slid along behind him with ease as Blaster began the rounds of the Lost Light's bridge stations.

It was easy to tell which of the crewmembers had heard the news about Amp. They were the ones that twitched and watched his every move as the curious bot followed Blaster. The worst of them hunched low over their consoles and made little room for Amp to see as Blaster pointed out and explained what each was. By the third time this happened, Blaster new Amp was definitely aware of it. The kid's field was pulled close, occasional tendrils stretching out with a zip of bewildered disappointment.

Perhaps it was best Blaster saved navigation and communications both for last. While the Scavengers were Decepticons and at least one of them had very much been on the List, the team had accepted Nickel as one of their own, thus also extending acceptance to her new ward.

"—and that's when the whole thing started to fall apart," Crankcase said as he rambled through an old story regarding the travels of his team. "I tried to tell Krok that it wasn't going to work from the beginning, but he just kept on clicking and ignoring me. As usual."

"I… see," Amp responded, giving the mech a look that was clearly lost. It was certainly better than the continuing disappointment, at least. As an active spark jumped across Crankcase's exposed brain module, an answering curl of static danced along the shoulder spire farthest from Blaster. "Is this the sort of thing that comes up often when one is a navigator?"

Crankcase eyed Amp, working his jaw from side to side as if to work out tension from the cables and gears. "If you got a boss like Krok," he eventually said, "it happens all the damn time."

"Well, that was an excellent introduction to the position," Blaster said, breaking in before it could go any further. He slapped on a smile worthy of a game show host and slipped a hand between Amp's wings to guide him away from the console and the cranky mech manning it. As they walked away, Blaster called over his shoulder, "Thank you, Crankcase. We'll talk later."

Amp allowed himself to be led away with no protest. He also didn't look like a mech that had found anything he was interested in. "Is there anything else that happens on the bridge of the ship? We haven't looked at your station yet, right?"

With a soft hum, Blaster urged Amp toward the communications console and the empty chair that sat before it. "As a matter of fact, we haven't looked at it yet. Gotta save the best for last and all that."

That earned him the first glimmer of a laugh from the younger mech. The set of his wings relaxed, the narrow upswept panels wafting a gentle breeze. "I suppose you're right," Amp said, settling into the chair, perched on the edge as he studied the rows of buttons and switches with wide optics. "Show me how much better communications is compared to the rest of these positions!"

"A challenge I can win without even trying," Blaster told him, throwing him a crooked smile and a wink.

By the time it was all done, Blaster was shocked by just how strong an inclination toward communications Amp showed. He absorbed every bit of information like a sponge, almost as if it were only being reawakened in his memories rather than newly learned. Of course, on reflection, it occurred to him that Amp had indeed been the communications officer of his team in his previous life. No words he might mark as dangerous, though, fell between them in their conversation.

As he stood behind the mech, watching his dexterous gray fingers dance over the array of manual controls and touchscreens, Blaster found himself issuing an unexpected invite. "Say, why don't you come hang with me and my buddies at Swerve's tonight? You can even bring Blades if you can talk him away from his team."

Amp paused just long enough to glance back at him, grinned and nodded, then went right back to working the communications console as if he'd been forged for it.

Chapter Text

It happened again and again, an excitable young Amp showing up outside the doors of the bridge, waiting for an invitation like some sort of mythical creature that couldn't enter without one. Minimus wasn't quite certain why that amused him, but it did. Almost as much as watching Megatron find a reason to be elsewhere every time Amp appeared. It was tempered, of course, by the knowledge of the part the enthusiastic new communications apprentice had played in Dominus' life and the end of it.

Watching Blaster patiently guide Amp through increasingly complicated simulations working the communications console, Minimus now believed he was seeing the mech Amp might have been in a different world. If Dominus had seen even a small bit of what Minimus was witnessing—the enthusiasm for learning, the brightness of his smile, his joy in simply existing—Minimus understood exactly what would have drawn him close. Even knowing the things Amp had done as Kaon, Minimus himself discovered a growing fondness in his spark.

He watched those wings perk and dance with each newly learned skill, no matter how tiny, and felt a bit more of the hardness he reserved for the Decepticon Justice Division soften toward this one former member. If he could even truly refer to Amp as such taking his missing memory into account.

Minimus did his best to slow the gentling of his spark, but he knew it was a lost cause. The mech sitting on the other side of his desk, though, maintained a level of apprehension no others seemed to hold—even Drift, once on the List, didn't avoid contact with the vociferous ferocity of the former tyrant. "Megatron, there's been no sign of him remembering anything. Will you at least introduce yourself? No one is trying to make you sit down and share a meal with him. He's really quite an enthusiastic fellow, keen on learning and perhaps more friendly than he should be."

Pinching at the bridge of his delightfully prominent nose, Megatron avoided responding for a good deal longer than Minimus expected he might. When he finally dropped his hand, Megatron looked at him with a despairing expression written across his tired face. "And when he does remember? You can't say he won't and I am the most likely trigger of such an event. What chaos will be loosed on the ship then?"

Elbows rested on the edge of his desk, Minimus leaned forward. He folded his hands together, setting them in front of himself. "He's only one mech, Megatron," Minimus said. "Even in the event he does remember, what can he do?"

A scowl passed over Megatron's mouth and he gripped the arms of the chair tight enough to leave dents. "He can—"

"No, Megatron, he can't," Minimus cut him off. "His ability is hindered by the inhibitor Ratchet himself installed. An inhibitor built by the combined efforts of Perceptor and Brainstorm and the rest of our highly capable science team. It won't fail, even at the sort of voltage released at Amp's full strength."

The brunt of Megatron's quiet glare and the rumble of his voice from somewhere deep in his chest didn't come anywhere near activating the reflexive need to defend himself like it once had. Instead, Minimus waited it out in silence, offering an arched orbital ridge in question as Megatron spoke. "If Amp recognizes anyone from his past, if his memories are reawakened, the blame for the result will lay on me. My actions are what created him. Even you can't deny that. And that inhibitor has never been tested at all, let alone against an outlier in a full rage."

"Well, no, it hasn't," Minimus agreed, leaving the rest of it alone as Megatron would only dismiss anything that attempted to absolve him of guilt in that moment. "It only has to dampen a burst once, though. There are plenty of bots on this ship that haven't yet given up the idea that we're playing with fire… well, electricity, I suppose. There are always optics on him, even among those that have offered some sort of friendship. I'm fairly certain even he's noticed at least the most intent of them. First Aid alone—"

Megatron groaned and caught his face in his hands. "Please, Minimus, can we not mention First Aid? It's bad enough to consider my own actions around Amp. Our CMO is a beast unto himself in this situation."

There wasn't anything Minimus could say to deny that without lying, so he didn't. "So, instead, you'll leave Amp to wonder what he's done? Wonder why you ignore him?"

"Yes, I will," Megatron said, "and we'll all be better for it."

"You've been so angry since he came aboard," Velocity said, passing along freshly sanitized tools for First Aid to put away in the drawers. "Or, well, since he was found out, I guess is a better way to put it. You haven't even taken the time to get to know him. He's a sweet kid, Aid."

"Don't tell me you've forgotten who he was?" First Aid asked with a hard snort, shaking his helm and shoving the medical implements away with perhaps a touch more force than necessary.

"I haven't, but he doesn't have to be that mech anymore, does he?" Amp's situation was well known to all of the ship's medics. She held over a stack of wrenches for him to take, holding onto them as he grabbed the other end. "Seriously, Aid—"

"No, seriously, Lotty," First Aid interrupted, tugging the wrenches away from her. "The memories are in there, somewhere. Why did his frame get rebuilt the way it did? With the electrical spires, the shape of his helm, the same face? If I ran into him in a dark hallway somewhere on the ship, I'd know him for who he is just from his silhouette." He yanked open another drawer and began separating the wrenches into the slots inside by size.

Velocity watched quietly, fiddling with the next batch. "Is all this anger why you spend so much time organizing things here now? Don't want to take it back to your hab? Or out drinking with your teammates?"

Even with his face hidden behind the mask and visor, Velocity could tell his expression matched the tense set of his shoulders. With how tight his plating was pulled to his protoform, she had little hope in getting another response out of him any time soon.

"All right, then," she said, mostly to herself. "I guess the rest of this shift is going to be a quiet one."

Everywhere Amp touched was a trail of tingles. Nothing inappropriate—Nickel would kill him and Blaster would never consider it, anyway—but even just an accidental brush of Amp's pede against his under the table bubbled through his lines faster than Nightmare Fuel. The way the static squealed feedback from Blaster's speakers when the buildup became too much never failed to send the rest of the table into a round of sniggering into their mugs. Blaster took it with aplomb, long used to such attention.

He grabbed Amp's mug of a fairly weak brew and tossed the rest of it back himself, offering Amp a consoling pat on the arm when the move garnered him a pitiful look. "Don't worry, it's for the best," Blaster told him before plunking the empty mug back down in front of him. Curling a hand around his own, he added, "Nickel will be happy you weren't dragged back in a drunken stupor to the habsuite at the end of the night for once."

"Listen to him, Amp," Smokescreen said from the other side of the table, waving his own mug toward the young flyer. His door wings wobbled through a complicated pattern that probably meant something, but Blaster couldn't decipher it for the haze of engex. "We had a buddy that was so bad, he had the fun of drinking knocked out of him permanently. You don't want that. Leave that to the rest of us!"

An odd little stretch of silence fell over the table as just who that buddy had been filtered through the collection of sloshed brain modules circled around it. Blaster was quick to lift his mug to his mouth and chug back most of what was left. Beside him, poor Amp shifted and gave them all a confused look. His wings flicked and he lowered his optics to eye his empty mug despondently. Blaster sighed and reached over to pour the last bit of his engex into the mug. He tossed an awkward look of reprimand toward Smokescreen, who fortunately already appeared more than a little self-admonished.

"Never mind that!" Blaster declared, nudging the engex toward Amp. "There's no way you'll ever be that bad. No worries about gaining Megatron's attention."

Amp's wings flicked and static jumped along the porcelain dampeners lining his spires. A faintly pained look washed over his face, his fingers curling around the mug as he tilted it to look into the measure Blaster had given him. "Is it so bad to gain his attention? I've never even spoken to him. He seems important, being a co-captain with Rodimus. I should know him, shouldn't I?" He paused and turned an unhappy face Blaster's way. "Is he one of the ones that doesn't like me? Is that why my spark feels weird whenever I hear his name?"

If that had an answer, it was far beyond what Blaster was capable of putting into words that might be helpful. It surprised him to realize he didn't like not having adequate words of comfort for the young flyer.

"Like I said, don't you worry about that," Blaster ultimately said, giving Amp a playful scruff to the helm with his hand. Amp scowled and swatted the hand away, but did seem a bit more cheerful after.

Crisis averted, Blaster thought. For the moment, anyway.

Rodimus watched as First Aid paced back and forth in front of his desk, occasionally tossing a glance Drift's way. The meeting with the medic had been in session for longer than a debrief with Minimus—there was nothing brief about a debrief with Minimus. He put all his desire to end the whole thing and go race in the lower halls into the look he gave Drift. Drift, however, appeared to be much more understanding of First Aid's ranting. The apologetic shrug and matching twist on his face threw Rodimus into a grump that he didn't bother hiding.

"Hey, First Aid," he said, breaking into the mech's pacing and the obviously less than pleasant thoughts trying to find a nicer way to be spoken whirling in his head. "Do you mind sitting down? The pacing thing is kind of distracting."

Obnoxious, too, but Rodimus didn't say that.

Stopping not quite centered on the far side of Rodimus' desk, First Aid swung around to face him. The way the medic held himself spoke of his continued desire to rail against the presence of Amp on board the ship. Rodimus sat back in his chair, doing his best to appear captain-like, not that it fooled anyone in the room. "Aid, please sit so I don't have to keep watching you wear a rut in my floor. And tell me what you think we need to do so I can tell you why we don't need to."

First Aid rolled his optics so hard it was visible through his visor, but he did finally sit in one of the two chairs on that side of the desk. He leaned forward, looking the meanest Rodimus had ever seen him look. In comparison to someone like Drift or Megatron at their Decepticon-y worst, it wasn't particularly terrifying, but it still had him widening his optics in surprise.

"You can get him off the ship, captain," First Aid said with a force he rarely used. "You know who he was. I know who he was. He's going to remember because that's just the way it works on this ship. He needs to be not here when that happens."

Rodimus favored him with a long and studied gaze, sitting back in his chair, elbows on the armrests and hands folded across his belly. Then, he sighed, tossed another glance toward the silent figure that was Drift, hoping for some input from his best friend. He wasn't particularly surprised when it didn't come. "Great," he muttered. Directing himself toward First Aid again, he pressed his glossa against his dentae, working his jaw a little before saying, "Sorry, Aid. Can't do that. Thanks for the talk, though."

"That's it? Can't do that?" First Aid shot back at him. "I don't even get a bad explanation?"

"Fine, explanation time," Rodimus said with an annoyed grunt. "I'm not going to throw someone off the ship just because they might remember they were a member of a maniacal Decepticon death squad? It's not like we don't have the former leader-slash-founder of the Decepticons on board or," he waved a hand at Drift, "fragging Deadlock."

"Rodimus!" Drift blurted at him, decidedly displeased at the unexpected exposure of his former designation. "Not cool."

First Aid, on the other hand, had fallen into a round of his own silence. He stared at Drift, visor gone bright with the intensity of his optics. Slowly rising to his pedes, First Aid stood on the other side of the desk again, tapping his fingertips idly against the edge. He shifted his gaze from Drift to Rodimus. "Well, I knew he used to be a 'Con, but that's more than I expected. Are there any other Decepticons of note,—" It was pretty obvious he actually meant notoriety right there. "—former or otherwise, on the ship I should know the names of?"

"No," Drift answered for Rodimus, only the blinking of his optical shutters giving away the flinch when First Aid slapped a hand down on the desk.

"I didn't ask you," the angry medic said, voice low and scathing. He leaned farther over the desk, getting in Rodimus' face. "I asked you."

"You treat your teammates like this? Maybe just Blades? We both know he's got the hots for Amp, after all. Gets all starry-eyed when Amp's around. Has he earned this kind of treatment?" Rodimus asked, playing it cool, a carefully curated smirk quirking up one corner of his mouth. "Or am I just special? Please say I'm just special. I like hearing it."

First Aid glared harder than ever—Rodimus would have sworn he could feel his armor melting. "Frag you, Rodimus."

He left no opening for Rodimus to respond, spinning on his heel and stalking out of the office. Of course, Rodimus could have called him back, yelled out after him, or made any of a number of attempts to dissolve the tension that lingered in First Aid's wake, but he instead shrugged and swung around to face the reprimand he knew was coming his way from Drift. "Go ahead, get it over with."

Drift snorted and shook his helm.

Seeking out the Protectobot was an exercise in great caution. He'd learned from Rodimus that First Aid was not dealing well regarding the introduction of Amp to the crew. Megatron related perhaps better than he admitted to anyone, but it was not First Aid he sought out. No, it was Blades, a fellow Protectobot that had apparently taken quite the shine to Amp, much to the displeasure of his teammate. Catching him privately without the accompaniment of any other Protectobot—especially First Aid—was a trial and a half, though.

Finally, Megatron resorted to using his position as co-captain, something he'd wanted to avoid as it made the whole thing more official than he desired. He straightened as the door of his chosen meeting spot opened.

Looking this way and that, the rotary took in the otherwise empty training room. His rotor blades ruffled and shivered behind him, speaking unrestrained of his nervousness. Despite the new reputation Megatron worked so hard to build among the crew, his past lingered. He knew it would likely never entirely go away, to his great sadness. Blades made his way closer, the door sliding shut behind him.

"So, uh," Blades started, attempting to stand at attention. He was obviously not as calm as he no doubt wanted to project while in the presence of Megatron alone, "What did you need to see me for, sir?"

It occurred Megatron that Blades seemed infinitely more at ease around Amp, once member of the DJD, than he did around Megatron himself. The oddness of the realization spoke very loudly of precisely the sort of spark that had been despoiled to create a mech such as Kaon. Yet another weight on his shoulders, Megatron thought with a sigh, earning a confused look from Blades.

"Sir?"

Megatron threw off as much of the shadows hanging over him as he could, reaching out to lay a hand on Blades' shoulder. He supposed he could at least take comfort in the fact that Blades stood steady under the touch. Not every bot on the ship could claim as much. "I need your expertise on something, Blades," he started, letting his hand slip away and folding his arms behind himself. "I've noticed you spending a very great deal of time around our newest crewmember."

"Oh, yeah," Blades said, his tension melting away as a broad smile stretched across his mobile face. "Amp is a wonderful person! You wouldn't expect it, if you know about his past, definitely. And he really doesn't remember anything, you know? Everyone is so worried about it, but they're not making much effort to find out one way or the other." The flutter and stretch of his rotor blades indicated a great pleasure in the subject. Once, Megatron might have found it irritating, but time and growth had given him a new understanding and regard for such vibrant personalities.

"I'm very pleased to hear that," Megatron admitted to the Protectobot. "I deeply regret my part in making his previous life what it was. It's better he has someone like yourself this time."

That caught Blades off guard, judging from the clatter of rotor blades and the wide-opticked look he gave Megatron. "You really think so?"

"Absolutely," Megatron assured him. He let quiet sit between them for a moment before he turned to the most pressing of his concerns. "Are you certain he has no memory of before, however? He's had no reaction to anything that might indicate otherwise?"

Blades seemed at least a little taken aback to have the questions leveled in his direction. It made sense, though, as Megatron's knowledge of the mech said he did not often find himself in a position that placed him as an expert or leader. He crossed his arms, one hand rubbing at his chin as he considered how to answer. "Well, I'm not around him all the time, but there's been a couple of times he's definitely complained about a weird feeling in his spark when your name comes up. Nothing he ever takes to a medic, unless he's mentioned it to Nickel. Do you think that means something? Sir."

Unfortunately, Megatron didn't know if it meant anything, but feared he was right to keep his distance from Amp. Thoughtful, Megatron knew he wasn't going to get more information of worth on the matter from Blades. He gave the Protectobot a curt nod. "That will do for now. Please bring anything you learn further to me… and continue to be a friend to Amp."

That got him a sharp salute and a fully meant: "Yes, sir. With pleasure."

"Dismissed, Blades," Megatron said with a small smile touching his face. "We'll talk again soon."

The Protectobot bounded out of the training room with a spring in his step that he hadn't shown on the way in. Without needing any deeper knowledge of the mech, Megatron knew Amp was in good hands with that one. Not everyone was lucky enough to be gifted the companionship of a fiercely protective rotary frame.

The kid was rubbing his hands over bleary golden optics, obviously feeling the effects of whatever Misfire had given him. His slim wings hung low as they could, uneven in the way they slowly swished behind him. Krok sighed and wondered just how they were going to explain what happened to Nickel. It was bad enough when it was their turn to drag Amp in a bubbly stupor back to the hab he shared with her. To take him back with an unknown narcotic making him too loopy to even know his hand from a pile of iron chunks? None of their frames would be found the next morning, even Grimlock's. She'd probably dismantle Swerve's to top the whole thing off, considering it played such an integral part to her sparkling's burgeoning degeneracy.

"How much did you give him, Misfire?" Krok asked, wanting nothing more than to send the grinning flyer to the brig. "And what exactly did you give him?"

"Just one! It was an energelly dusted with that starshine mica Brainstorm's been playing with in his lab," Misfire replied, shoving another square of the sweet-disguised recreational in question into his mouth. Asking him how many he'd had was useless, Krok knew from far too much experience. It didn't seem much to affect him, but Misfire's tolerance to most anything illicit nearly matched his reputation with firearms for how well known it was. His subordinate gave him a sloppy grin and, holding up a sparkly-powdered energel cube, asked, "You want one, too?"

"No, I don't," Krok replied. The glare he laid on Misfire went entirely unrecognized for the amount of the strange new substance working its way through his lines. Of course, it went the very same way without the substance, as well, but it always seemed a touch worse when Misfire was hopped up on something.

Across the table, looking completely blitzed out of his brain module as the flickering rainbow of lights from the bar's dancefloor glittered across his optical lenses, Amp slumped against Spinister's side. Spinister, rather than reacting as he might have with anyone else, simply lifted his arm and let the smaller flyer snuggle into him. It was Fulcrum that left the table and returned a few moments later with a mug he sat in front of Amp. Krok threw him a sharp look, but his concern was waved away with a lazy hand as Fulcrum explained. "It's just midgrade heavily diluted with coolant. Swerve doesn't have anything less potent in here. It should be low-powered enough to help the kid sleep it off okay."

"Doesn't matter," Crankcase said over the rim of his own mug, sitting on Amp's other side. "Nickel is going to kill us all." He nudged the mug Fulcrum had sat down for Amp closer to the barely aware young flyer. "Not only is he drunk again, he's also gotten into slag Brainstorm made."

"Not his fault," Grimlock said, big hands curling around another mug. He leaned over the table to get a better look at Amp, an amused glint flashing across his visor. "We should know to watch Misfire better by now."

"Hey," Misfire said, wings perking up when he realized he was being talked about, "why are you guys talking about me?"

"Because you're a pain in the aft that's going to get us all slagged," Grimlock volunteered, unlocking his mask to take a deep chug of his engex. The mask clicked immediately back into place afterward. "You drugged up Nickel's sparkling on top of the booze she already doesn't like him getting into."

Misfire's tolerance level was being severely tested at that moment as he made an obviously concerted effort to fully comprehend Grimlock's words. Krok despaired that he would ever attain that sort of prominence in Misfire's attention span, sober or otherwise. Once it sunk in just what Grimlock was telling him, the color drained from Misfire's optics, leaving the lenses bled out to almost white. "Oh. That's not a very good thing, is it?"

"No, it's not," Krok grunted at him. "That's why you're taking him back and telling her all about it without the rest of us."

"What?!" Misfire was on his pedes so fast he wobbled before plopping right back down in his chair. It creaked under the stress. Shaking his helm, wings standing tall and flicking hard swats against the air with the strength of his agitation, he quickly added, "I am not doing that. She'll kill me!"

From across the table, Amp managed a few words, though they were muffled against Spinister's plating. "I'm ready to go home," he mumbled, patting a hand against Spinister's chest. "Can someone take me home, please?"

Krok looked at Misfire, narrowing his optics and making certain to wait until the flyer slowly turned to look in his direction before speaking. "Well, there's your cue," he said, modulating his tone to brook no argument. "Better get him back home to Nickel, hadn't you?"

Misfire groaned, but said his hands against the table and slowly pushed to his pedes. "All right, all right," he complained. He appeared decidedly less than enthusiastic regarding his new task. "Come on, Amp. Let's get your stoned aft back to Nickel. Maybe I'll get lost on the way there and you'll be sobered up by the time we get to the door!"

"And they had Misfire bring him back to the hab! Misfire was blasted out of his damn mind, as well!"

Minimus sat behind his desk, chin resting on his folded hands as he watched Nickel lambaste her little team of Decepticons with expressive gestures and loud words. Sat down quietly in a chair near the door, poor Amp looked quite ready to find somewhere to hide. His optics were dim, likely an aftereffect of the events Nickel was expounding on.

She stopped and turned to face Minimus, heaving a sigh bigger than her frame, antennae drooping with disappointment. "I do love them, the idiots," Nickel said, sounding exhausted, "but they're corrupting a sparkling!"

Waiting a few moments to be certain she was finished, Minimus considered his response carefully. He lowered his hands, weaving his fingers together with the movement, and set them thoughtfully on the flat surface of the desk in front of himself. His face scrunched a little as chose his words with precision, mustache bridging a bit and optics crinkling at the corners. "All things taken into regard, Nickel," he said, doing his very best not to set her off on another rant, "you were not unaware of the propensities held by the Scavengers when you allowed them to… mingle with Amp. Also, despite his short existence, he is considered an adult at this point in his life. As a medic, I know you're aware of this, as well."

"Just because he's grown doesn't mean he's ready to be left alone," Nickel replied, a bit snippy in her tone, but she refrained from another fit of pique. She cycled a gusty vent and shook off the remnants of her argument. "Sorry, Minimus. Suppose I just needed someone to throw it all at and you were the closest audial of authority on this damned ship."

He wondered if he should assure her that it was part of his job, listening to the woes of the crew, but it really wasn't. Not in this particular fashion, anyway. He certainly didn't wish to encourage further unloading of personal problems on him. While qualified for many things, therapy was not one of them. Across the room, Amp spoke up before Minimus could figure out how to relay this to Nickel.

"Sir, it was all my choice," the young flyer said, wings giving a small wag behind him, diffident and shy. Not that Amp was shy by any means. Minimus knew very well, having spent several shifts on the bridge while Blaster helped him learn the ins and outs of the ship's comms system. "Nickel is being overprotective and really shouldn't have brought it to you."

Nickel scoffed and swung around to glare at Amp, fists propped on her hips. "You're awfully cheeky today, aren't you?"

A flash passed through his optics, brightening the yellow lenses to a normal setting for a moment as a small grin curved his mouth. With such a personality to him, Minimus found Amp very hard to hold a grudge against. Amp was most assuredly not Kaon, he was sure of it, Megatron's worries be damned. He wondered again if there had been enough of Amp in Kaon for Dominus to see. His brother would have been quite taken with him, no doubt.

Minimus very carefully did not think of the Pet.

Instead, thinking of the trouble Amp might further be led into if not given something more substantial to do with himself, Minimus met Amp's tired gaze and asked, "How do you feel about joining away missions?"

Chapter Text

His third mission off the ship as a member of the crew, for all that it was really no more than a jaunt on a random world that held little danger, was utterly exhilarating. Certainly, it was chosen specifically to let everyone cut loose and flex their alt modes, though no one outright said it. He was joined in the air by a number of other flyers—quite possibly every flyer on the Lost Light, even. The unhindered space the open atmosphere offered him led him to wonder, if only briefly, how he would ever go back to being stuck in the comparatively cramped expanses of the ship.

"Amp, don't go so high!" Blades called out as Amp shot past him, climbing nearly vertical into the pale green sky. "I'm a helicopter and can't exactly leave the troposphere, let alone get up into the thermosphere like you!"

Swinging around in a tight curve that he knew made bots like Brainstorm jealous, Amp zipped back down to Blades' position. He spiraled loops around him, laughing. "Oh, don't say that like I couldn't blast right out of the whole atmosphere if I wanted!"

It had been fun learning that he was capable of spaceflight, from full takeoff to reentry sequences. On the away mission where he'd first experienced bursting through the planet's atmosphere, Amp's frame had activated coding subroutines that lit up his HUD with more information than he'd known what to do with. The science team had been instantly enamored. Of course, Nickel threw a fit the likes of which Amp hadn't seen before, then clutched at his hands and begged and ordered him to be careful.

With his spires tucked under his wings, doubling as both weapons and sensitive information collection devices, Amp was in his element as the electricity in the air itself swirled and coiled around them and danced over his plating as it dissipated. "Maybe I need to do it, gather more data on how our communications abilities interact with another new sort of atmosphere?" Amp teased Blades, flipping a few more dizzying spirals around his dear friend. "Don't you think the science squad would like that sort of thing?"

Blades sighed, his rotors beating a comforting thwump!thwump!thwump! against the air. For all that he was acting in a huff, it was obvious to Amp that the rotary was merely teasing him in return. "I'm sure they would, but are you really that much of an overachiever? I mean, they didn't actually ask for it, did they? And I'm pretty sure we stopped here because someone realized we flyers needed some real flight time before we went spare."

It didn't stop Amp from a low and discouraged whine of his engine as he made a deep swoop below the slower helicopter. "You're not very fun today, I hope you know."

Before Blades could do more than start to say something, Amp caught sight of an unusual glint in the distance and poured on an immediate burst of speed that left the helicopter wobbling as he ate dust. His voice broke over Amp's internal comms with a squeal. ::Not cool, Amp!::

All he sent back was a warble of laughter.

Then he stopped. He dropped to the ground, unfolding from his alt to land with the crunch of sun-dried grasses under his pedes. Sitting in front of him, a pedestal very much not of natural origins blocked the entrance to a dark space that delved underground. Amp frowned, shifting his spires down to cock along the outside of his forearms, their weapon form in his root mode. He cranked up his audials and made a slow circle around the pedestal and cave mouth, one arm lifted slightly should he need the spire—not that it had much amperage with the inhibitor. It would release enough of a charge to stun any organic that might attack him, though.

The pedestal was definitely purposely shaped, the lines that made it up far to even and deliberate to be natural. In particular, the pentagonal shape bore engravings on each side that stood out distinctly as art and most definitely more than one example of written language. The stone was rough and weatherworn, but had at one point been smoothed to a polished surface. Metal plaques, oxidized blue-green but with enough gleam remaining to catch the sunlight and thus his attention, decorated each flat, as well. He couldn't make out what they might have borne on their rectangular shapes, but the rivets bolting them to the stone erased any plausible deniability that the rest might have any sort of natural explanation.

Touching two fingers against his temple, he reached out to Blades, knowing the Protectobot was undoubtedly following along behind him. "Blades, I thought this planet didn't have sapient species?"

::According to the science team, it doesn't,:: his friend replied, the sound of his whirling rotor blades drawing closer.

Amp's frown grew a little deeper as he kneeled beside the dark cave mouth behind the pedestal. Not having any built-in lamps, Amp popped open a pocket on his left forearm and pulled out his handheld. It clicked on and lit up the opening, though not having enough strength to find the bottom. Most interesting, however, was something else he found.

"Did he mean now or ever?" Amp asked. "I've found not only a constructed pedestal with obvious writing on it, I've also just found stairs that are very much not natural."

::Seriously?! Hold on, almost there. You can show me.:: The comm closed with a moment of static that fell into silence. It wasn't long before his audials picked up the unmistakable sound of Blades coming in on his position, those slim rotor blades beating at the air.

Turning to watch his friend come in, Amp kept the light focused down the hole with the staircase lit for as far as the beam of the handheld lamp would reach. "It's over here!" he called out. "We should contact someone about this, yes?"

Blades, in root mode, hustled over, giving the tall pedestal a wide-opticked look as he walked by it. His rotor blades quivered behind him. "Um, yeah…," Blades said, drawing out the response far longer than he really needed to. He stopped beside Amp and stared down into the only partially lit cave mouth. "Holy slag. Oh, yeah. We definitely need to tell someone about this."

Leaning over to peer down again, Amp dipped a pede to test the strength of the top stair. It held, though he didn't try it with his full weight. A minibot would have no trouble, he figured. Someone like Nickel or Lug or Swerve. Perhaps, though, being a flyer, he might be able to descend without needing to use them. He crouched lower and leaned farther over the opening. Beside him, he could make out Blades reaching out to the others. Word would get to Perceptor and their other science types before long. When they showed up, the chances of them allowing an untrained mech like Amp to join any exploration seemed rather low.

"Yeah, it's definitely stuff that came from an intelligent species," Blades said, stepping closer behind him. "And if you guys don't let Amp tag along, you'll have a very disappointed young mech on your hands."

Amp tossed a look at him, rolling his optics—Blades made a bigger effort of pointing that out than even Amp's caretaker for some unknown reason. He set his hands to either side of himself and sat on the edge of the cave mouth, pedes dangling over the edge. "Whatever they're going to do, tell them to hurry up. I need to know whether it'll be more exciting than just going back to flying."

"Did you hear that?" Blades asked whoever he was in contact with, laughing and rotor blades abuzz with his good mood. "Yeah, he's great."

Knowing it would only urge Blades on, Amp refrained from further comment. Were he there, Blaster would have defended his honor, but Blaster had remained aboard the Lost Light this time. He flicked his wings in a display of annoyance, grown much more confident in them and their weight with the passage of time. Slowly shifting the beam of light from the lamp around to break the darkness below, he asked, "Who's coming, then?"

"We just got a lot more people wound up about this place, especially after they caught a look at the pictures I sent of this stuff," Blades said. "No worries about any of the smart guys. Most of them are coming down now, even Perceptor—even though he was the one that wrote the whole place off!"

Amp smirked, just a little, and leaned deeper over his lap, though the move didn't particularly bring him any more insight regarding the depths of the hole. The idea that he found something to perk the audials of a mech like Perceptor was a treat. He kicked his pedes a bit, knocking free small chunks of dirt and stone from the side of the opening. It was a very long time before there was any indication of anything hitting bottom.

He made room for Blades to sit down beside him. Both Amp and Blades stared down into the darkness, pressed shoulder to shoulder as the time passed, until they simply ignored the sound of a shuttle setting down on the dry grasses just far enough away it wouldn't disturb the site.

"That's a lot deeper than I would have expected," Blades said, rotor blades aflutter. "I've never heard of an organic species interested in going so far beneath the surface of their world. Even in their mining operations, they've tended to spread out rather than dig down in my experience."

The response didn't come from Amp. "And you have such vast experience with organic species, I'm sure."

As one, Amp and Blades swung around to find Perceptor walking in their direction. Coming along behind him were Brainstorm and Rewind, a handful of others dragging out equipment set up camp. "Does this mean we are staying longer?" Amp asked, eyeing all of the work going on. "That's an awful lot of busyness."

It was Rewind that answered, swooping around Perceptor to offer Amp a bright and cheerful look as he said, "That's exactly what it means! Rodimus wasn't so sure, at first, but then both Drift and Megatron recognized the words on the pedestal plaque. Needless to say, that was all it took to change Rodimus' mind."

Same as happened every time the name Megatron passed over his audials, Amp's spark fluctuated in his chest and static tingled along his spires, tickling the plating of his forearms. It was very disorienting, almost enough to drown out the pinch in the back of his brain module. The static messed with the hand lamp, sending the light it emitted into a quivering blink.

Quickly shifting the spires back to his shoulders, Amp shook off the wobble of his spark as he had every other time, not wanting to bother anyone with something that likely had a quite silly explanation. Instead, he threw on a smile and nodded. "Oh, that's very good. I'd quite like more time to fly in an actual sky."

Returning to the Lost Light a few weeks later, enough flight time under his belt to count him among the top tier flyers on board. Or so he'd been told by a good numbers of those flyers, anyway. The praise didn't mean much when he found himself in the medibay being given a check-up by Ratchet by demand of Nickel—who stood nearby, arms crossed and watching the whole ordeal as if Ratchet might do something wrong. Ratchet, of course, merely rolled his optics and didn't bother to try shooing her from the medibay.

"Wouldn't have worked, anyway," Ratchet confided to him, smirking at the snicker Amp couldn't contain, then urged him onto the medslab. "Up you get."

A quick hop had him sat on the edge, resisting the temptation to swing his pedes like a newly forged sparkling. Being in the presence of bots other than Blades made him strive for more adult behavior, rather than the silliness he got up to with the Protectobot. As Ratchet completed his scans, already looking them over, Amp asked, "Do I pass inspection, sir?"

In another section of the medibay, a low and angry huff of air drew Amp's attention. Running scans over another bot recently returned from the planet's surface, he noted First Aid making an obvious point of ignoring them.

As Blades' teammate, something Amp found absolutely fascinating, First Aid might have been expected to at least offer a greeting, but he'd barely looked at Amp when Blades had finally introduced them. Blades no doubt knew exactly what the issue was, though he denied it whenever Amp asked. It was notably worse than the constant disappearances of Megatron and a handful of others that had been identified to him as former Decepticons, with the exception of Drift making an occasional short but friendly appearance as Ratchet's conjunx endura.

"Amp?" Ratchet calling his name regained his attention. He looked back to the older medic to find a concerned look on his face. Holding up another device—another form of scanner, Amp decided—Ratchet asked, "You all right, kiddo? Nobody mentioned any bumps to the noggin to me."

"Oh, yes, I'm fine," Amp replied, giving First Aid another glance. "Unless your scanners say something different?"

Ratchet followed his gaze, taking in the sight of the Protectobot with his back turned to them. He grunted and shifted to block Amp's view. "You don't worry about First Aid. His issues are his own problem."

Amp made a face, not entirely happy with the dismissal of his concern. Whatever was bothering First Aid had something to do with him and he couldn't begin to guess what he might have done. "But—"

"No buts," Ratchet interrupted, putting a shushing finger against Amp's mouth. "You let him work it out himself."

Tilting slightly to the side in an attempt to peer around the much more substantially built Ratchet, Amp sighed and gave it up as Ratchet moved with him. "Yes, sir."

"Better," Ratchet said. "Now, you want to explain to me how you got such a nasty build up of dirt and pebbles in your seams for a mech that was supposed to be spending most if not all of his time in the air? It looks like you went rolling in the stuff. You're going to need a good scrubbing, better than your usual, you hear me? I don't want it turning into something worse."

Knowing better than to roll his optics—he'd learned the hard way, as they all did with Ratchet—Amp nodded. "Yes, sir. Better scrubbing."

Ratchet snorted, undoubtedly well-aware that Amp was humoring him. "Get someone to help with those wings of yours. Doesn't matter who, but it's probably better to find someone else with wings so they know what they're looking at."

One name came immediately to Amp's mind. He shot a glance toward Nickel, a moment of regret touching his internals as he broke her spark when he said, "I'm sure I can get Blades to help me."

What he didn't expect was the harsh clatter of a handful of medical tools slamming down on the stainless steel surface of one of the many medibay counters. He wasn't the only one that turned a shocked look toward First Aid. The young CMO still stood with his back to the rest of the medibay, at the counter nearest his work station, shoulders hunched and tension high throughout his frame. The mech sitting on First Aid's medslab looked ready to make an escape, checkup finished or not.

Amp knew the reaction was because of him.

"Mind telling me what the frag is wrong with you, First Aid?" Ratchet asked, setting aside his scanner. He set a hand on Amp's shoulder to keep him from slipping off the medslab a second before it even occurred to Amp to even do so.

"I do mind, actually," First Aid answered, straightening up and cycling a slow and obvious breath through his ventilation system. He made a point of gathering the scattered tools and setting them into the collection bin. "I'll be in my office if you need me. We're done, Strafe, get out of here."

Everyone watched as he left the counter and vanished into the small room Amp could only guess was the aforementioned office. The door closed with more force than necessary, making his anger all the more evident. Amp slumped a little where he sat on the medslab. While he knew he couldn't expect everyone to like him, he wished he could figure out why some people seem so very intent on never giving him a chance to begin with.

"Don't worry yourself," Ratchet said, tone encouraging as he gave Amp a little shake as if to knock away the heaviness that had fallen over him. "Aid will come around. He'll see who you are eventually."

"I hope so," Amp said with a sigh. "I don't like feeling like I've done something very wrong without knowing what it was."

Clean and refreshed, Amp found himself dragged along behind Blades toward Swerve's bar. He'd expected a chance to recharge a bit first, but apparently—

"—and you're the mech of the hour because you found it!" Blades exclaimed, his grin wide and infectious.

"I don't even know what it is that I found," Amp protested, laughing while he nearly tripped over his own pedes with the speed Blades was pulling him down the hall. They swooped and ducked around any number of fellow Lost Lighters along the way, fortunately not earning more than a couple grouchy demands to watch where they were going.

"I don't, either," Blades said, slowing down to ease them around Fortress Maximus. "I guess it's really special, though."

Amp paused, causing Blades to come to a halt with him, his spark pulsing in surprised delight. He'd discovered under the watchful optics of all his teachers—especially Blaster—that praise highly motivated him. "Special?" he asked, narrow wings aflutter and spark dancing like the static jumping along his spires. "Really special?"

"Well, yeah. If we listen to Groove, that is," Blades laughed as he urged Amp to follow along again. "Let's get inside and make him tell us the details before command announces it and gives you a trophy or something."

That's when Amp stopped to look and discovered that they were indeed already outside the doors of Swerve's. As he stood there staring, the doors irised open, spitting a couple of wobbly on their pedes bots into the hall with them. Amp recognized them as Pointblank and Sureshot, noting the pleased grin on Blades' face as they clung to each other to stay upright. He hadn't quite figured out what to think of his friend's meddling in the affairs of others, other than to be relieved it hadn't yet resulted in anyone throwing fists. "It's going to backfire on you someday, you know."

"What is?" Blades asked, doing a rather good impression of not having a clue what Amp was talking about. The little chime of fluttering rotor blades gave him away, though.

"You're charming nature," Amp told him, feeling a wobble in his internals at his bravery. That certainly wasn't warmth flooding his cheeks, nor a sparking influx of electricity to his spires, trickling along the edges of his wings, no. Of all the things he could have said in answer, that most decidedly had not been the one at the forefront of his mind. Nickel was going to laugh herself silly when she found out. If he told her. He wasn't sure she wouldn't do something terrible to Blades just yet.

Then the doors spiraled open again as a pleased-with-himself Hound slipped inside with a laughing Bluestreak. From the interior came a rumbling voice, filled with learned culture built on a base of hardships Amp could not hope to understand. Blades caught hold of his wrist again, urging him to head inside, as well. "Come on, Amp. It's your night, after all!"

"That's him,, isn't it?" he asked, continuing to hold back as the voice rolled out to them again. "That's Megatron. He's here, isn't he?"

Blades stopped and gave him a somewhat confused look. "Well, yeah. He is co-captain with Rodimus. It would be weird if he wasn't here for something like this, don't you think?"

"But he's never been there for anything I've been at before!" Amp exclaimed, his wings dancing nervously behind him and optics wide. The static grew, crackling aloud with greater potential for zapping an errant bot. "He's actually turned around and walked the other way when I've run into him in the halls, even! I'm lucky I know what he looks like!"

The look Blades wore shifted from confused to not quite concerned. There was a touch of it in his field that soothed Amp's unexpectedly tense reaction. Not entirely, but enough that the danger of a jolt to the system of anyone passing by might feel more like brushing against a small loose wire rather than having a snapped power cable dragged along one's underside as they drove over it. Or so Amp imagined, not having a ground-based alt mode. The fact that none of it seemed to bother Blades meant what did escape the confinement of his inhibitor and growing self-control remained at a tolerably low voltage.

Blades tilted his helm a little to one side, amusement crinkling his face at all the appropriate corners. His fingers wiggled against Amp's. "You're getting much better at that."

"I'm trying," Amp admitted, letting himself be eased toward the doors of Swerve's. They'd started closing again, only to iris back open when they got close enough to activate the sensor. He stopped, though, before he could fully see inside, Megatron's voice rolling out over them again. Amp sucked in a deep breath and holding onto it almost too long as his spark pulsed and his brain module grew hazy and tight. His cooling system clicked on, fans starting to whine by the time he noted how close Blades had gotten.

"Hey, Amp," he murmured, catching Amp's upper arms and giving him a small shake.

Amp let the heated air gust from his suddenly wide vents. "Blades?"

"With me again?" Blades asked, the concern returned to his face. The Protectobot tossed a glance over his shoulder into the bar, then met Amp's gaze once more, shifting a little awkwardly on his pedes. "We don't have to go. I mean, there's no reason to force yourself if you really don't want to."

Giving himself a moment before answering, Amp eventually shook his helm and cycled another breath through his ventilation system. "No," he said. "No, it's all right. It's not like I need to avoid him. It's him that's doing it." He paused and tilted his helm questioningly. "Right?"

A grin burst out across Blades' face. He gave Amp's arm a reassuring squeeze. "That's the spirit! He's the one doing the avoiding. It's not you, definitely."

Fortunately, the first thing Amp saw on actually looking into the bar was Blaster and his cohort at their usual table, sharing a boisterous round of engex. On the other side of the bar, as well, sat the Scavengers. Their rowdiness dropped into something more subdued when they noticed him—likely recalling the scolding they'd received from an incensed Nickel. Misfire, at least, retained some of his exuberance, flashing Amp a double thumbs up and face-stretching and encouraging smile. Amp muffled a snicker, noting the glare Misfire was earning from both Krok and Fulcrum.

Then Amp allowed Blades to pull him across the threshold and into Swerve's properly. He held his wings still, almost expecting the crowded room to react weirdly to him, like the first time he'd stepped inside. Much to his relief, it wasn't. Instead, it remained as it had become with a handful of greetings thrown his direction from those he'd come to know as at very least almost friends—not many, really, but more than he could count on both hands by name.

His hard-pulsing spark settled and his wings relaxed into a decidedly less defensive position, though something tight remained at the back of his helm. He took great care to avoid actively seeking a look at the co-captain that spent so much time actively avoiding him, almost like it was a pact between them now.

"Oh, hey!" Blades said, practically bouncing on his pedes beside Amp and waving a hand toward a corner booth along the same wall the doors were on. "My team is here. Wanna go sit with them tonight?"

Amp followed the gesture, seeing it was all of them, including First Aid. Experienced enough in the art of hanging out at the bar with others to know it wasn't really very fun with someone that didn't like him, Amp did his best not to make an unpleasant face. Blades had joined Amp's friends so often, it was really only right to make an exception, Amp supposed. Putting on a smile that probably looked as fake as it felt, he gave Blades a nod. "Sure."

He made a point of taking the outside end of the bench when they reached the booth. Though the welcome was mostly warm, Amp felt the chill directed his way from the only slightly less than blatant glare from the ship's CMO. Hopefully, the mugs of various emptiness already scattered across the table would keep anything between First Aid and himself cordial, if only for the sake of the rest of the Protectobots.

"Jeez, Aid," Streetwise said, coming to Amp's defense, "cool it on the drilling holes into the guy with your optics, huh?" The mech always stepped out in moments of trouble, a trait Amp couldn't help but appreciate. "He's just here with Blades to grab a drink or two—"

"He's also the mech of the night!" Blades interjected, slinging a friendly arm around Amp's shoulders in that graceful way only other flyers had. Amp found himself yanked tight against Blades' side in the mech's enthusiasm. "He found the thing, remember."

"Yes!" Groove joined in from the other side of Blades, leaned back against the wall. "Another round, Streets! These two need to catch up."

Streetwise snorted and rose to his pedes, not yet deep enough into his cups to show any signs of over-ingesting. "I knew I shouldn't have taken the end spot," he said as he headed toward the bar. "You guys always use me to run drinks."

"That's because you're never less than steady on your feet," Hot Spot quipped, joining in on the merrymaking, offering Amp a wink of one ruby optic.

"Shove it up your exhaust, Spot!" Streetwise called back, barely audible over the noise of the growing crowd and tossing a rude gesture over his shoulder.

Were it not for First Aid's continued glaring, Amp might consider himself a welcome part of the group. He did return a smile to Hot Spot, though. If First Aid didn't want to come around, Amp wasn't going to let it stop him from being on good terms with the rest of Blades' team. It didn't take long for Streetwise to return, loaded with fresh mugs of engex in skilled hands that had obviously performed the task more than once before.

Taking a sip of the mug set in front of him, Amp settled in and finally let himself take in the rest of the room. It was indeed decorated for some sort of event. The thought that it was being held in the bar rather than the larger space of the docking bay, a space that would hold every member of the crew, made him wonder. Perhaps it wasn't such an important announcement that everyone needed to be there for it at once? The science crew had been very excited, though.

Most of the bots he'd been told were called the Rod Squad due to their closeness to the co-captain sat around a large circular table near the bar counter. Not all of them, though. Drift was most prominent among those missing. With Ratchet also not there, it might have been they just hadn't arrived yet.

His mind on bots he'd had little interaction with, Amp's attention focused on the big, silvery gray mech that stood near Minimus Ambus, regaling the small mech with some sort of recitation. Amp wasn't intimidated by his size—he'd made friends with more than one big mech in his time on the Lost Light. He couldn't quite decide what kept Megatron away from him. The mech had a very kind look to him that made Amp feel a sadness at not being allowed to experience it. Amp's entrance must have gone unnoticed for Megatron to still be there. He might have a chance at last to learn a bit of who Megatron was outside of a fleeing backside.

Holding his mug between both hands, Amp watched and listened to the words Megatron spoke. The cadence tugged at something deep in Amp's spark, almost a sharp bite. Like he'd heard it before and it had meant the world to him. Cleanser built at the corners of his optics unexpectedly and static zapped along his spires.

"Hey, Amp, you okay?" Blades asked, leaning closer, tone curious and concerned. He stroked a soothing hand along the slim panel of Amp's nearest wing.

Shaking it off as best he could, Amp pasted on a small smile and turned toward Blades. "Oh, yes, I'm fine. Don't worry about me," he said, blinking away the pooling lens cleanser. "It's just… I didn't realize Megatron was such a gifted speaker. He always seems to be where I'm not until just now, you know."

"Yeah, I've noticed that," Streetwise said from across the table, grinning and swirling his mug of bright blue engex in front of himself. "You should hear him when he talks about actually important stuff. That will totally shake your worldview."

"...I imagine so," Amp said, gaze drawn back to Megatron as the big mech laughed at something said by Minimus Ambus, the haze returning to his thoughts. "Should I… go speak to him, do you think? Introduce myself at the very least? He is a co-captain."

There was an odd quiet as the Protectobots all shared a look with one another. Amp eyed them all with a narrowed gaze, not sure what it was about other than it undoubtedly regarded something including himself and Megatron.

"Amp—" Blades started, but stopped when he met Amp's gaze.

Another round of buzzing static tripped up and down the length of his spires where they sat on his shoulders. Apparently, it was rather loud as he quickly became aware the attention of the bar had fallen in his direction. Perhaps it was the disturbance his electrical ability created n the sound system, reaching out strong enough to garble the music and induce a screech of feedback despite the inhibitor.

His spark flipped as he turned back to the room to find Megatron's optics locked on him, a strange knowing on his face.

Something dark flickered in the back of Amp's brain module.

Chapter Text

Setting down his mug, Amp slowly rose to his pedes. Blades' hand slipped along the length of his wing, falling away as Amp stepped away from the booth.

"Amp?"

He waved a hand behind him at Blades, a simple gesture to let him know it was all right. Setting his shoulders back and his spires at a subtly curious cant, wings held still but for tiny flicks he couldn't stop, Amp made his way toward the large gray mech. It was quickly obvious Megatron was caught off guard, falling silent in the middle of speaking to Minimus and staring down at Amp with undisguised shock.

Catching his hands behind his back, Amp tilted his helm back and gazed up at Megatron. Starting with a deep breath in faint hopes of lessening the buzz in his brain module, he said, "Hello, sir. I'm sure you're aware, but in case you're not, my name is Amp. I'm a new member of the crew and have been eager for an introduction for some time."

His wings fluttered beyond his control, not that he was trying too hard at that point. Larger sparks than ever jumped along the porcelain dampeners and spherical coils of his spires. He couldn't quite decide what was going through Megatron's mind as those red optics first spiraled wide, then narrowed as they stared at him. Very suddenly, Amp wondered if he'd made the right decision. His spark damped low in its casing, a moment of uncertainty and pain. He slapped a hand to his chest plating, over where his spark lay. The darkness at the back of his brain module fluctuated again, though he had not the awareness to question what it might mean.

In the background, the music played on. Distant and little more than a hum lost under the droning buzz of his own electrical output, it was easily ignored. Around the table, however, it quickly became apparent that all communication among the Rod Squad had ceased. Fallen into silence, they watched the interaction between Amp and Megatron with a strange air that wavered between curious and oddly tense.

"Amp, yes," Megatron began, the tone of his speech layered over hesitance that Amp didn't understand. One of Megatron's big hands sought out Minimus' small shoulder, fingertips resting there lightly, while the other hand hovered near his own waist, curled into a light fist. "Have no fear. I've been quite aware of your existence on our ship."

Somehow, it felt very wrong to hear his name fall from Megatron's mouth. He knew the confusion of this showed on his face, the tension on Megatron's face growing more stronger. Oblivious to the sensation, Amp set a hand against his chest and scratched lines in the paint, dug gouges into the glass of his chest plating. His spark. The flux and flare was suddenly hard and painful. The darkness pulsed through his helm, turning the visual feed of his optics to utter black long enough to stagger him on his pedes.

"Whoa there, Amp," spoke another voice—Blaster—as familiar hands caught him and held him steady. "You all right?"

Despite a slight fizzle around the edges of his optical lenses, Amp nodded and clutched at Blaster's dark hands. "Yes, I'm good. Just a little bit of dizziness. I'll have to ask Streetwise what precisely it was he got me to drink, I guess."

"Are you sure?" Blaster asked, backing off a little. "That's an awful lot of static all over those spires of yours."

With fascination, Amp noted that little flashes of bare electricity were indeed dancing with an intensity he hadn't seen, including before the inhibitors were installed. "How strange…."

He made an attempt to rein the surge in, but made not the slightest dent in the display. Lifting his gaze back up to meet Megatron's, Amp only vaguely heard a freshly arrived Ratchet making a comm to Nickel. It was much more interesting, however, to see a flash of worry pass through Megatron's optics.

"I should perhaps make my way to the bridge now," Megatron said, shifting in a way that spoke of a need to remove himself from the situation. His fingers moved, gripping Minimus' shoulder in a fashion that spoke of something that didn't need spoken aloud to be understood. "Would you like to come with me, Amp?"

Again, the name was said. Again, it felt so very wrong.

Amp tilted his helm in question, not certain what he should answer. A wisp of the darkness spiraling deep in his helm flashed across his mind like a coronal ejection, flickering and threatening to grow larger. The electrical output leaping along his spires crackled and buzzed even louder as if seeking to escape containment. He barely noticed when Blaster's hands dropped completely away as he stepped back in a hurry.

"Are you sure that's a good idea, Megatron?"

Amp glanced away from Megatron toward the speaker. The brilliantly white mech with accents of black and red, arrived with Ratchet, didn't look right. Those were not the colors Deadlock wore and the badge was very much not from the correct faction. A seed of anger appeared in a tight curl within his spark. He paused and blinked. Of course those weren't the colors Deadlock wore—they were the colors Drift wore because he wasn't Deadlock anymore. The war was over and none of that mattered. Not that Amp had even existed during the war.

So why did the little knot of rage burning inside his spark exist?

"Yes, Lord Megatron," Amp asked, turning his gaze back to the co-captain, a strange, irreverent complacency entering his tone, "is it a good idea?" The tension in the room cranked higher still, more than one bot straightening in their chairs as if to ready for… something. Amp tracked his gaze across those nearest, noting the influx of alertness and wariness. Returning his attention once again to a Megatron gone stiff, he repeated the question. "Is it?"

"I'm beginning to think it very much is," Megatron replied, optics blazing with intensity. He reached out a hand toward Amp's shoulder, no doubt intending to guide him from Swerve's establishment. The dark in Amp's mind swirled and grew, electricity crackled through his frame, sparking behind his own optics with flashes of… things he couldn't remember knowing. Megatron winced and yanked his hand back as a powerful jolt of electricity leaped from the nearby spire. Smoke drifted from the delicate joints and electrical burns webbed through the black paint, reaching upward into the silver of Megatron's lower arm. He shook the limb as if to clear away any last bits of charge, staring at Amp with optics widened as far as they would go.

Amp clutched at his chest armor again, scratching and digging deeper into the metal and glass. He clenched his optical shutters closed and cycled slow breaths through his vents and intake. The shadows in his mind swirled and spun like a storm ramping toward terrible destruction. With a grimace, he opened his optics again, lifting a look toward Megatron that he knew was shadowy and filled with a burgeoning alarm. "What's happening?"

Images… no, not images. Not visual ones, anyway, but maps drawn of some sonic tracery flashed across his HUD. Vicious mechs of immense size, bearing a smelter and a massive grinder in their respective torsos, both doing terrible things and also laughing at the silliest of jokes.

"—should call her now!"

"Already did! She's on her—"

A small and spindly mech, speaking in a language Amp thought he should understand, pulling off his faceplate to reveal a terrifying array of drilling spikes. An intimidating mech, wearing a Decepticon symbol for a face… a commander. A friend?

Movement happened behind him. The door? He paid no mind, unable to turn away from the feed continuing to flash into the front of his mind like a geyser emptying its chamber. Like the turbofox with the raggedy audial, transforming into a mech of sharp edges and optics that slipped from kind and loving to unrepentant and defeated to unceasingly loyal.

He didn't know these faces. And yet, he did—

"What's going on here?!"

Nickel. Something tenuous in his mind broke. Dropping to his knees and falling forward onto his hands, Amp lost all sense of the reality around him. What he could only think of as empty spaces in his mind suddenly flooded full of things he shouldn't remember. Memories that belonged to someone else, but also somehow him.

"Amp!" And then Nickel was beside him, hands braving the leaping and sizzling electricity that spiraled around his spires and even flickered along his shoulder kibble. She hissed in quiet pain near his audial, but didn't let go. "Amp, can you hear me? What's happened?"

He wanted to tell her, but couldn't make the words work around his glossa or his grimace. Instead, it became the other inside him, wings flaring as he pounced on her. Nickel landed on her back, staring up at Amp with wide optics. It was only shock, though, no fear—the other wouldn't expect it of her, though. His other self understood Nickel had never been given reason to fear him.

"Nickel," Kaon cooed in a soft voice that wouldn't be out of place were he speaking to the Pet. He stroked her cheek. His spark pulsed and twisted in its casing, memories starting to zip together, to be understood. "What is this? Why are we here among Autobots? Why can I see? I imagine that's what this new sensory feed to my brain module is." Lifting the hand from Nickel's cheek, he traced curious fingertips along the edge of what should have been an empty optical socket. "I have working optics? When—"

Then, Nickel cut him off, saying the name she shouldn't know again. "Amp—"

He slapped his hand down over her mouth before she could get any further in whatever she was attempting to say. "Why are you using that name?" he asked, eyeing her in confusion. His wings flicked with consternation…. Wings? Yes, his wings. Kaon glanced over his shoulders one at a time as he repeated the action. Static danced along the upswept edges with the movement. Optics. Wings. Something he had no working memory of had happened, he had no doubt. He slowly moved his hand away from Nickel's mouth, giving her the chance to explain. "Nickel…."

Her optics narrowed before flying wide again with what could only be comprehension. "Kaon."

He tilted his helm in greeting and smiled. "How wonderful to see you. Now… do you care to tell me what happened?"

Megatron realized what was happening before Nickel had come into Swerve's bar. As he'd feared, his presence and acknowledgment of Amp started a cascading release of memories locked away in the depths of Amp's spark. He knew the small medic joining the scene would only make it worse faster. Interrupting the moment between them only asked for even more furtherance, but he saw no other choice. "Are you all right, Nickel?"

She stared up at him from the ground, the despair in her optics and the set of her face strong enough to tug at Megatron's own spark. Before she could say anything, however, Amp… no, Kaon lifted his helm and looked Megatron directly in the optic. A pleased smile stretched across his mouth as he shoved back to his pedes, vibrant and growing sparkles of electricity glittering along his frame. "Lord Megatron," he greeted again, standing at the puffed up attention Tarn no doubt drilled into every member of his team. "I am pleased to—" he started, then stopped as a frown creased his face. His hand reached toward the center of Megatron's chest, stopping only a short distance before brushing against the red face that was emblazoned there. "Sir, why do you wear this badge?"

Megatron didn't answer. If Kaon's memories returned in full, he would remember why. It didn't take long for Kaon to prove he did recall.

His fingers curled and he pulled his hand back. "You betrayed the Cause," Kaon murmured, almost as if to himself. Then, he refocused on Megatron with angry confusion. "You betrayed us."

To the side, Rodimus and Drift both rose to their pedes, ready to act. Even Ratchet and others around the bar appeared on the verge of joining the possibly coming fray. Megatron glanced their way and gave them a small shake of his helm. Minimus seemed conflicted, as did Blaster. The Protectobots—Blades in particular—and the Scavengers all gave the impression of great dismay.

"Did I?" Megatron asked. He tossed another glance toward Minimus, aware he was about to step into dangerous territory with the sole survivor of the Decepticon Justice Division. Minimus didn't offer more than a small frown, leaving Megatron free to elaborate, "Was I the greatest betrayal in your life, Kaon?"

"Of course you were," Kaon scoffed. "You turned your back on us! You—"

"No, I turned my back on a way of life fallen into disease and rampant with the vilest of our kind," Megatron interrupted. "I could no longer place myself among them, among you, once my eyes were opened to the truth of it."

Kaon sputtered and struggled to find words as the static billowed into bolts of a size it should not have been able to obtain under the inhibitor. More than one bot around the room tensed at the rise in unhindered energy. "You betrayed Tarn! He was the best of us, my lord! He worshiped you and everything you stood for!" Electricity fizzed around the edges of Kaon's golden yellow optics. He curled his hands into fists before stretching his fingers out in the claw-like display he used when about to display his mastery of electrical currents. "I don't know where he or the others are, but I will finish this myself if need be!"

Oddly, Kaon's gaze shifted to Minimus, in a brief moment of renewed confusion. A moment precariously balanced on the similarity of appearance between Minimus and Dominus. Minimus took the brief lull to speak a quiet truth. "They're dead, Amp."

"So's your brother," Kaon spat back at him, vicious and angry, crackling with the intensifying electrical static. It was meant to hide the undercurrent of emotional pain that rode the words, but Megatron heard it, as did Minimus, judging from his lack of reaction. Megatron had only heard in passing the great affection Kaon held for the Pet, but to see it displayed, however backwards, heartened him. With the new upbringing he'd received on the Lost Light, maybe there was hope.

"I know," was all Minimus said in reply before Kaon ignored him again.

A ball of purplish electricity formed in the palm of one hand as Kaon watched, lifting his sparking optics to Megatron. "Is it true, my lord?" he asked in a curious voice touched with a strange innocence no doubt held over from Amp of the Lost Light. "Are Tarn and the others dead? Am I the last?"

Megatron cycled a long breath, straightened his shoulders, then offered, "No, you were the first."

The words… made no sense.

In his palm, the ball of lightning fizzled in the shower of sparks that mostly died on their fall toward the floor. Not taking his optics off Megatron, Kaon rifled through his returned memories. Having served Megatron for more vorns than he could rightly count, he knew the mech did not make such pronouncements without reason.

At his pedes, still laid out on the floor, Nickel gasped and brought her hands to her mouth. "Oh, Kaon! You're not ready! How could you, Megatron?!"

Kaon looked down on her and scowled. He crouched over her, flicking his finger at the badge that sat central on her chest. "It's still purple, but you sound as if you're moments away from joining our dear leader in going red. What is it you don't want me to know?"

She watched him with a fear he had never seen in her optics before, the dance of electricity along his spires reflecting in her ruby red lenses. His answer came from Megatron, though. "I know you're going through those memories that have been restored to you," Megatron said as Kaon redirected his attention again. "Tell me, Kaon. What is your last memory of Tarn?"

Watching the big mech for any sign that he might be attempting some sort of trick, Kaon followed the thread that was Tarn in the memory paths so recently blazed into his brain module. And wasn't that funny? For all that these were old memories, there was no sign they had ever been written into his brain module until now. Fresh and startlingly easy to read, so very different from ancient memories given time to degrade. He glanced toward Minimus, a flash of the Pet being taken captive by none other than Deadlock. His optics shifted to the mech responsible, Drift tilting his chin up as if to ward him off, then returned his gaze to Megatron.

His spark ached and he laid a hand over the marks he'd made there in his armor. "Deadlock stole the Pet. I returned to the ship, the Peaceful Tyranny."

Below him, Nickel made a noise that sounded like a muffled whine of wretched anguish.

He looked down at her again. "You were there, I remember. So was Overlord. I don't remember what I interrupted, but I… I begged Tarn, I pleaded with him, the necessity of rescuing the Pet. The Pet was so very important," Kaon said, not hearing the snap and sizzle of electrified emotion breaking apart his words. Not feeling the minute fractures forming along the delicate edges of optical glass as the intensity of his ability ramped higher again, battering against the inhibitor holding it in check. "Overlord said something. I didn't hear it."

Nickel keened. "No, Amp. Please, you don't need to remember this."

"I think he does," Megatron replied. There was a sadness in his voice that pulled Kaon's attention back to him. "This happening now is proof I was right. Who he was is still a part of who he is. He can't be on the ship without remembering, not with triggers such as myself here."

Flicking a shower of sparks from the tips of his wings, Kaon glared at Megatron and let the charge build in his palm again. He let it spill into his other hand, drawing a long bolt of electricity between them. "I should just kill you all," he said with a sneer. "Take my revenge for the team, the family, you no doubt stole from me."

"Finish the story, Kaon," Megatron urged. He showed no fear as was only right, Kaon suppose. "What happened with Tarn?"

The question had Kaon shaking the electricity from his palms again, letting it sit in the thruster turbines at his shoulders instead so that he might rub at his aching optics. "Why is this important?"

"Tell me, Kaon. Tell me and you'll know why it's important."

Pressing the heels of his hands harder against his optics, Kaon mentally clawed the memory Megatron wanted him to see from the still shadowy recesses of his brain module. As the contents played out across his HUD, Kaon dropped every bit of his raised power as if it had suddenly been wrung out of him entirely. He could only imagine the fizzle and fade of the sparks made for quite a show, but he himself had no interest in them. Instead, he placed one hand around his neck, feeling the warmth of his life pulsing through the cables and lines.

Right before the end of it, he paused the memory and slowly replayed it, examining every small detail. The strength of Tarn's arms curling around him, the sweet and understanding tone in his powerful voice, the hope in his own spark that everything would be all right. Whatever last words Tarn spoke to him, Kaon didn't know them. Those were cut from his audials with the burst of pain and then nothing that followed having his helm torn from his body at the neck.

Kaon's spark guttered in its casing as he played the memory a third time and he choked on stuttered ventilations. He stumbled but maintained his pedes as he stepped away from Nickel. Though he didn't realize it, he'd made it halfway back to Blades before he finally stopped and turned back to ask, "Why am I still here? How am I still here?"

It was Nickel that answered, easing her way back onto her wheeled pedes. "I did it," she said, voice firm. "I didn't think it would work, but when I found your spark still pulsing after what Tarn did, I couldn't just let you fade. What he did was wrong."

"And so you brought me back into a world that doesn't need me?" he asked, finger still playing around the curve of his neck. "I was dead and you brought me back to a life where my friends are gone? Where my family is gone?" His mind buzzed as his electrical ability jolted back into action. "Why would you do that, Nickel? What is there for me in this world where everything I knew no longer exists?"

"Kaon—"

"Why did you do it?!" Kaon exploded at her, his electricity palpable in the air and buzzing loud enough to block out the rising distress of everyone else in the bar. One or two may have called out to him by his other name, but he was not going to be distracted until he had his answer. "What am I supposed to do, Nickel?! I don't belong here in a place where Decepticons and Autobots cavort and play as friends!"

The tiny medic set her hands over her spark and gave him a look of earnest love and defeat. Her little wings drooped behind her, his own playing copycat. "I had to. Am I not your friend, too? Would you have left me alone in this world?"

Oh, how he wanted that to be enough. The pain in his spark, however, reminded him Nickel was very much not alone. "Alone?" he repeated, tilting his helm in question. He started a slow collection of power in his hands once more, turning a leisurely circle to take in the room around them. "This very much does not look alone to me, dear Nickel."

She stiffened up in that way that meant she was about to unleash on the team with her vibrant sense of the Medic's Always Right. "They're your friends, too!"

"Are they?" Kaon shouted back at her. "Or are they Amp's friends?"

"They're the same mech!"

Without a thought, Kaon growled and threw a blast of electricity at her. It was weak, held back by the inhibitor, but it still knocked her from her pedes again, sliding her across the room until she hit the front wall of the counter. After her shocked scream ended, her vocalizer refused to work correctly, warbling through whatever she tried to say. That was all right, though. He didn't want to hear it. The static was back in his own vocalizer as he pushed more and more power into his hands, thick bolts dancing along his spires, pounding against the leash of the inhibitor. "We are not the same! We couldn't be further apart!"

"Kaon," Megatron said, finally speaking again. Why did he take so long? Was he truly such an Autobot coward now? "Stand down. There is no more war, no more need to fight our own—"

"No matter their allegiance?" Kaon cut him off, mocking his once leader. "Sir… I am a new mech," he said, holding his hands with their dripping electrical sparks, "and yet… I am also not. Forgive me my confusion at no longer being certain of my place."

"Then stand down, Kaon," Megatron reiterated, taking a slow step toward him. He reached out a hand toward Kaon, his face calm, his field a flood of soothing energy that sat so incongruous with his dark reputation. "Let us learn who you are now, together."

Kaon growled and shook his helm, wincing at the flaring electricity that spilled from his optics. He curled his hands into fists, squeezing the balls of electricity that sat in each, bursting them with the pressure before rebuilding them faster than ever. Electrical webs danced along his spires and the shape of his wings, spilling sparks as the inhibitor worked overtime to control all of it.

And then it all changed as a hand touched the flat of his wing, a familiar voice spoking his name. "Amp—"

His rage—no, his fear and sense of being utterly lost exploded as Kaon swung around to slam his hands against the torso of the mech that dared to touch him. He poured the deadly current of a high voltage into the mech with a ferocious snarl on his face, inhibitor be damned. Chaos erupted around him, though no one seemed to know what to do, the distraction allowing him to see the screaming face of his victim.

"Blades?" he whispered. The world froze around him, time coming to a halt.

The disruption in his focus let the nearly overwhelmed inhibitor pounce into action, bouncing the power back into himself with a force that threw him backward. Kaon staggered and dropped to his knees again. He panted and clutched at his chest as the power of his outlier ability played havoc on his internals in a loop of unrestrained feedback. It looked for a break in the circuit, trapped in his own frame by the inhibitor. Then it found a way.

A howl flew from his mouth as the biggest weakness of his frame gave under the assault, pain receptors burning away to nothing as the electrical current flowed. His helm dropped back and the already cracked glass of his optical lenses shattered, bolts of power scribing webs across the ceiling and blowing out all of the overhead lighting.

When the lightning stopped, suddenly and completely, leaving the bar dark but for biolights and the decorative lighting along the walls, Kaon slumped down to curl on his side. He was only vaguely aware of the smoke that drifted from his once again empty orbital sockets.

His audials picked up the sound of someone slowly making their way toward him. They might have been speaking to him, but he couldn't make anything out. All of his sensors had been glitched into a garbled mess in the aftermath. He knew one thing, though—it was very much not Blades. His spark twisted with a hurt that had nothing to do with the explosive blowout of his optics. Slowly crawling to his hands and knees, Kaon called out to whoever it was, his vocalizer a shorted out mess. "No, stay back. Leave me alone."

Even if he tried, there was no way they'd accept him as one of them again. Not now. Did he want to be accepted again? He didn't know, couldn't begin to consider it. More important was just getting away, struggling to maintain his pedes with his gyros knocked off kilter and returned to a state of blindness. Did he—?

A quick check showed him his new frame held the echolocation equipment that had been bestowed on his previous frame. Despite the dizziness of blowing his optics and damaging the inhibitor—and who knew what else—he found himself still capable of reading the pings the system gave him. Before anyone could get brave enough to ignore his command, Kaon lurched forward and reeled his way out of the bar.

It was time to disappear before they… what, he wasn't sure. Took advantage of his current weakness? Luckily, he knew a place they would never find him.

Chapter Text

"We have to find him," Rodimus repeated, pacing the floor of the ready room. Megatron had long lost count of the back and forth. He sighed and shared a glance with Minimus. Despite numerous failed attempts to search the ship for the missing mech, Rodimus refused to give up on it. Typical. "I don't like having anyone lost and injured on my ship."

"Of course, Rodimus," Minimus said, not bothering to even watch the co-captain wear a rut on the floor. He scanned through ship schematics instead as he replied. "None of us are against looking for him or actively hindering the search, no matter how often you phrase it thus."

Peering over Minimus' small shoulder, Megatron grunted in agreement. "This is just a task that's going to take something you have in very short supply, I'm afraid."

Rodimus rolled his optics and swung around to face them, spoiler wings flicking in irritation. "And what would that be? Wait, no," he said, catching them and waving them off before one could offer an answer. "Don't tell me. Patience. Am I right?"

"Very good," Minimus quipped, flicking to a deeper level of the ship on the schematics. "You're learning."

Megatron buried a chuckle politely behind a small reboot of his vocalizer. He should have known better as Rodimus swiftly proved himself unfooled. "Oh, ha ha. You're a couple of real funny guys." The flame-colored mech sighed and dropped into the nearest open chair, propping a pede on the edge of the table. Minimus tensed at the impropriety, but Megatron settled him with a small brush of his field. "Okay," Rodimus continued, "tell me why I can't just go looking for him again? I'm pretty sure I have a good idea where he is now. I'll grab Drift as backup, even."

"No, you won't," Megatron said, putting the brakes on that idea immediately.

"Why not?" The fact that Rodimus managed to not whine in the span of those two words was frankly amazing. Megatron shared an impressed look with Minimus that sent Rodimus into a sparkling-like pout with furrowed optical ridges and crossed arms. "You guys suck. Fine, whatever. I won't go looking for him again."

"It's for the best," Minimus said, looking away from his datapad. "I don't honestly think you're the sort best suited to talking down a member of the Decepticon Justice Division."

"But he's not—"

"Yes, he is," Megatron stopped him again. He shook his helm, letting his gaze drop toward the floor as he pinched the bridge of his nose and refrained from yet another sigh. Setting his hip against the edge of the large table, Megatron looked up again to catch Rodimus' annoyed face. "Whoever he became before the memories were released may not exist anymore, Rodimus. Amp as the crew came to know him may be buried under all the heavy history of Kaon by this point, but you are not suited to the task of finding out."

"And you are?" Rarely had Megatron wished Rodimus actually sounded petulant. It would have made that short sentence hit so very less hard.

"Precisely why neither one of you are going to continue the quest to find him," Minimus said, jabbing the decree between them like a well-aimed dagger. Megatron knew better than to protest that he hadn't even begun—Minimus did not take kindly to flippant remarks when he was being decisive. Not from someone he trusted not to make them, anyway. Fortunately, it appeared Rodimus thought better of doing so, as well.

Instead, Rodimus' spoiler wings drooped and he flopped deeper into his chair, slumped and unhappy. "So what do we do, then?"

"We give him time to breathe while we narrow down where exactly he might be," Minimus said, laying down the datapad with a portion of the ship's schematics zoomed in to the deep section where Nickel had hidden them both at the start of the whole situation. "And I have my suspicions on the answer to that question."

Minimus made a point of making certain word passed around the ship that no one was to seek their missing crewmate out, not yet. Having spent a few days listening to Blades be angry and complain about it, though, was more than enough to push First Aid toward taking action, not that he mentioned it to anyone. Feeling the distress that sat like a hard ball of crystalized energon rolling around the bottom of his spark casing, bouncing uncomfortably against his photonic crystal and stirring up his innermost had every chance of pushing him over the edge if he didn't do something. Sometimes, First Aid regretted being such a dedicated medic and loyal teammate.

"I'm fine," Blades continued from the medslab he'd been confined to since the incident. "You said so yourself, Aid. Amp's not, though!" He gestured fiercely with one hand balled into a fist. His rotor blades would have rattled were he not laying atop them. "He hurt himself saving me from his power, that's what you said. I know you don't like him, but that's what you said happened."

First Aid also didn't like having things like that repeated back at him, especially not when they referred to a guy that he had bad history with. Sighing, First Aid rested his hands on the edge of Blades' medslab and closed his optical shutters for a few moments, glad for the shield of his visor and mask once again. When he felt he could reply without saying something less than appropriate—not that Blades hadn't heard it all from him before—he kept his voice calm and quiet. "I know what I said, Blades. It's also a fact that no one knows exactly where he is yet. No one knows his current state of mind. No one—"

"Then you need to go and find out," Blades interrupted. His optics were ardent and hard. "Are you CMO or not?"

"Command says—"

"Since when do you care about what command says?" The look in Blades' optics grew incredulous. He shifted onto his side to free his rotor blades and batted First Aid away as he tried to stop Blades from sitting himself up, legs dangling over the edge of the medslab. And there was the chiming rattle of rotor blades the confrontation had been missing. "Didn't you get over that ages ago?"

There were so many things First Aid wanted to say in response to that, but he thought better of it, biting his glossa with a vengeance. He'd worry about any dents he left later. Instead, he turned to check the readouts on the handful of scanners still hooked up to Blades. They said the same thing they had before—Blades was indeed fine. What electrical shock had poured through him had done little more than fry a few wires. The aftermath of an attack that had taken down more bots than they had an accurate count for proved Kaon held back a great portion of the power he'd been wielding despite the inhibitor inside Swerve's. As much as First Aid didn't like admitting he might be wrong, it was obvious Kaon wasn't the mech that had so callously and brutally deactivated Trailcutter. Not entirely.

"Aid?"

Tightening his grip on the edge of the medslab instead of the fists he wanted to slam onto the surface, First Aid bit back a growl then started yanking loose the cords connecting Blades the freestanding scanners. "You're right," he said, only barely stopping himself from throwing the loose cords haphazardly toward their respective machines instead of bundling them neatly. Blades blinked at him curiously for a moment, then the grin started to stretch across his face. In response, First Aid tugged him off the medslab and pointed him toward the door of medibay before he could start whatever upbeat thing was crossing his brain module. "Don't say anything and get out of here before I change my mind."

First Aid stood stiff and unmoving beside the medslab until he heard the doors slide close behind his giddy teammate. There'd been a pause right at the end and First Aid knew Blades had stopped to look back at him, contemplating a few words before deciding against just taking his leave.

Alone, First Aid let the tension that had built up in his shoulders drain away, slumping forward until his forehelm connected with the medslab and groaned. "Frag my life."

They weren't doing anything to find her sparkling. It didn't matter that his memories were back and Amp was Kaon again, she had reforged him into a new frame. He had experienced learning things about life all over in a way that she knew he'd never experienced before. The returned memories wouldn't change her mind that he was a new mech. Something better than he was before.

Nickel understood the reasoning behind Megatron's assertion that Kaon be given space while they narrowed down his whereabouts, but as the days stretched out she grew more and more upset with the situation. Her sparkling was vanished into the depths of the Lost Light, injured—no one knew how badly—and going through a memory reintegration entirely on his own. Who knew what sort of glitches might happen without someone to watch for them? She fully intended to take her misgivings and make them be known, currently zipping her way through the halls toward the office of Minimus Ambus.

When she reached the hall, she slowed and approached the open door. From inside, she heard not only Minimus, but Megatron and two of her fellow medics discussing the very thing she was there for. Rather than interrupt, Nickel folded her field tight around herself so that she might not be noticed and listened.

"You're sure that's where he is?" First Aid asked, sounding very much like he wasn't sure he wanted to be there. "It's not an easy place to get to."

"Between Ratchet and myself," Minimus said in response, "we can pinpoint the precise location of everyone on the ship if need be. I've no doubt young Amp is there and it's high time we reach out to him. It's a matter of finding the correct bot or bots to do so, should he want to lash out at whomever we might send."

Ratchet snorted and Nickel imagined him shaking his helm, thumbs tucked into the belt of his pelvic plating. "I'd say it's past time."

"It would have been sooner, should have been sooner," Megatron admitted with a sigh, "but we did lose track of him once he entered the dead zone."

"Then I'll go grab my gear and go after him," First Aid announced. "I can fit into those places, have a good understanding of both sides of him, and can treat any injuries if he'll let me close enough."

An awkward silence sat in the room, leaving Nickel uncertain about what was happening. She narrowed her optics and dared to peek around the edge of the open door, dipping back when Minimus' gaze shifted in her direction. Pressing her hand over her hard-pulsing spark, Nickel waited for her presence to be announced to the rest of the group, but it didn't come as Minimus instead said, "Can you be trusted not to seek vengeance? He is not the same mech that killed Trailcutter."

First Aid's voice grew louder as he turned toward the door and started to make his way out into the hall. "I'm a medic first, sir," he said. "I might think you're wrong, but I won't harm him unless he tries to harm me first." He paused in the doorway, one hand curled around the edge and looked down the hall opposite the direction Nickel stood. "He wouldn't be the first monster to get a second chance on the ship, anyway." A soft huff joined the smallest upward quirk in one corner of his mouth. "Besides, Blades would never speak to me again."

Waiting to be discovered, Nickel pressed tighter against the wall. She had no way to hide her eavesdropping. Then the universe decided to play in her favor once more. First Aid pushed away from the door and headed in the direction he'd been looking. One of the mechs inside the office triggered the door to close, hiding away the rest of their conversation, but also giving her the freedom to breathe again.

When First Aid made it far enough away, she fluttered her plating, letting her vents clear. She watched First Aid turn a corner, considered her options, then cautiously trailed after him. Nickel was not willing to risk being informed she was not a good candidate for the task of rescuing Kaon again.

Standing outside the panel that would slip aside and allow him into the maintenance tunnels of the Lost Light, First Aid checked through his gear one last time. Other than blowing his optics, First Aid could not begin to guess at the sort of issues Kaon may have developed during his time hidden away. As angry as he wanted to continue being towards the mech, his training forced itself to the forefront—he was there to help a distraught and injured mech in an unknown amount of pain. It didn't matter who he was, with the war over and done—although Ratchet and the other medics on board might not agree with that quantifier—no one deserved being denied medical treatment.

Thoughts settled regarding the action he was about to take, First Aid closed up his kit again and reached out to grasp one edge of the panel. Without learning otherwise from Minimus, he would never have known the thing existed. Like so much on the ship, it was simply another day-to-day surprise. Other than a small tug to unlock it, the panel slid aside with an ease that suggested it received more maintenance than First Aid would have guessed. No doubt, someone had been using it for private means for quite some time. His thoughts drifted to Skids for a moment, a small and sad smile curving his mouth as he surveyed the darkness within the maintenance tunnel.

"Here goes nothing, I guess," he murmured to himself, clicking on the small lamp magnetized to his wrist and stepping inside. Unfortunately, one of the few things that didn't work in the maintenance halls and shafts turned out to be the lighting systems, necessitating the use of an illumination device. Under the glow of his lamp, it didn't seem as terrible as Swerve's Earth movies would suggest, the hidden hall showing no sign of disrepair and actually quite neat in appearance. It certainly wasn't big enough for the largest mechs on the ship, though. Hot Spot would never make it through.

He almost left the panel open, but in the last second decided against it. Even in the dead zone, nothing was safe from the curiosity that ran rampant on the Lost Light. Considering his mission, it was better that no one else stumbled on these interior ways of the ship. Not until after the situation with the last surviving member of the Decepticon Justice Division, if one didn't count Nickel, was handled. It was in the best interest of both of them that nothing startled Kaon with a sudden and unexpected entrance into his hidden safe place.

Sliding the panel shut, First Aid made his way slowly through the maintenance hallway.

The schematics Minimus had shared with him suggested a small chamber with access to all sorts of important conduits and circuitry—all very sensitive to electrical disruption—only a relatively short distance from the sliding panel he'd used to enter the maintenance tunnel. He cranked up the reception on his audials, paying close attention for any sounds of life ahead. When he finally made out the soft cycle of venting air, he couldn't ignore the hitches of pain that caused a stutter every inhalation.

"Kaon," he called out, pausing before rounding the last turn in the hall to announce his presence, "it's First Aid, Blades' teammate. It took a long time to find you, you know?"

The ventilation cycle altered, probably the best acknowledgment First Aid was going to get.

Easing his way around the corner and letting his field stretch out to radiate his very real concern, First Aid widened the beam on his lamp to cover as much of the chamber as possible. He gasped quietly on finding Kaon tucked as far into a tiny alcove as he could get, his wings pinched uncomfortably behind him and his blown out optics burnt black holes in his face. There looked to be singed golden shards clinging to the edges of the optical sockets, no doubt a source of great pain to the mech. First Aid couldn't imagine any pain receptors remained in the empty sockets themselves.

"I've brought my field kit," he called out, not attempting to cross the chamber just yet. He clutched at the carry strap of his kit. "Would it be all right if I tried to help you?"

The voice that answered was quiet and scratchy, the vocalizer obviously damaged. "Why would you help me? I thought you hated me. Do you not hate me anymore for what I did?"

First Aid couldn't outright deny it. He grimaced and slowly worked his way toward Kaon, letting his field inform the mech of his approach just as much as the sound of his pedes shifting across the floor. Kneeling down beside him, First Aid laid down his kit and undid the latch, opening the case to reveal his collection of tools. "Look, I'm not going to lie. I don't like you, but I'm a medic. Taking care of people that are hurt is what I do." He took in the stiffness that remained in Kaon's frame, likely a combination of his perceived vulnerability and pain of his wounds. That needed to change. "Not only that, Blades likes you. Do you have any clue what sort of payback I'd be bringing on myself if I didn't help you?"

As expected, that earned him a laugh that was quickly buried under a pair of hands slapped over Kaon's mouth. He didn't bother to fight the smile that stretched across his own mouth beneath his mask. While it didn't do anything about his misgivings regarding Kaon, it did at least prove the connection to Blades hadn't died with the return of his old memories.

"For Blades, I suppose," Kaon finally answered, voice crackling throughout. "He might treat me just as badly if I refused."

"I'm sure he would," First Aid agreed. He reached into his kit for a pain patch. It wouldn't be as good as turning off any remaining pain receptors in the area, but it was less intrusive. He had no way to judge how much Kaon would allow. "We'll start with something to help with the pain, all right?"

He waited only long enough for Kaon to give him a small nod before ripping the patch in half, placing one than the other under each optical socket with gentle fingers. The shards of remaining optical glass he'd noted from across the room looked set deep in some areas, barely holding on in others. This close, he could also see divots in the blackened face mesh where his optical shutters had one existed—the only trace of them that survived the electrical blast. Kaon's soft hiss was fortunately not accompanied by any stray release of electricity. He couldn't help but wonder if it was the inhibitor, by some slim chance, still working or a sign that Kaon had his ability firmly under control again.

As he waited for the patch work, First Aid decided to take a chance and asked, "May I run a hardwired diagnostic? I can do it without plugging in if you prefer, but the readings will be better if you allow it."

An almost interminable length of time passed before Kaon lifted an arm and popped open the panel that hid one of his diagnostic ports. "Nickel never asked," he said in that scratchy voice. It didn't disguise the faint layer of amusement. "She only ever demanded access."

First Aid arched an orbital ridge as he stretched out one of his cables to plug in. "Would you have listened to her otherwise?"

"Probably not," Kaon replied. The golden shards blinked and flashed in the light with each movement of Kaon's face. It was terribly disorienting to watch, making First Aid wince in sympathy.

His diagnostic programs butted up against Kaon's firewalls, initiating a quick handshake before gaining access to the medical details he needed regarding his patient. He really didn't want to look at the long history, not wanting to know the many things a villain such as Kaon of the DJD had gone through. It didn't matter. Only the things he'd gone through since being reforged would have any physical connection to him now, nothing of his current frame being made of the old. Maybe it might help someone ease the mech through the mental trauma he no doubt held, but that was outside First Aid's job description.

Containing his focus to only the newest details, including strange issues he made a note to look into later around Kaon's photonic crystal, First Aid told him, "I'd like remove the glass shards from the edges of your optical sockets. Is it all right if I start that now?"

A quiet flush of sadness lost through the cable and Kaon's field as he carefully eased from the tiny prison that was the nook he'd shoved himself into. "Yes, please. They'll do me no good where they are, anymore."

She'd never held her field so very tight, folded so close someone would have to get under her armor to even begin to sense it, nor could she believe First Aid hadn't noticed her following him. That he'd missed the light spilling into the maintenance hall when she'd cracked open the panel to slip in after him only spoke of how very intent he was on his quest. It meant her own was a lot easier, though.

Skimming along the narrow maintenance hall distant enough to stay undetected, yet close enough to use the light thrown off by First Aid's lamp, Nickel continued her tail of the Protectobot until she found herself watching him interact with Kaon in a way that she'd never have suspected. First Aid, she knew, had good reason to have ill feelings toward Kaon, tales of Kaon and Vos dismantling a friend of his in front of him chilling even her spark. An event prior to her joining the crew of the Peaceful Tyranny, but it didn't surprise her.

The mood changed when First Aid's teammate was mentioned, the tension lessened enough to be palpable. Of course, they would find something to bond over in that rascal Blades, Nickel thought with a small roll of her optics.

She tried not to be jealous of the way Kaon so easily allowed First Aid to cable. Her spark felt small as she watched First Aid plug in. Was she really so awful?

Holding himself still while someone not Nickel played fingers around his optical sockets was not easy. He did his very best not to flinch as the small pieces of optical glass were plucked from the tracks they sat in to stay implanted in the sockets. Under the combined numbing of the patch halves and the lack of sensors remaining in the empty sockets themselves, he didn't actually feel anything more than a small tug, but that was enough to cause a nauseous reaction and desire to squeeze closed the optical shutters he no longer had.

There were small tings! as the shards landed somewhere other than the floor.

"You're not just dropping them all over, are you?" he asked, curious.

"No, I'm not," First Aid assured him. "I'm collecting them in a small jar so you and anyone that happens to come down here at some point in the future doesn't end up getting the pieces stuck in the seams and other sensitive places of their pedes."

That sounded reasonable, Kaon supposed.

"All right, that's all the big pieces," First Aid announced. "I'm going have to use a pair of tweezer to get out the rest and need you to hold real still for me."

The thought of having sharp points so very near to parts that had only a short time ago been highly sensitive made him a bit nervous. He'd grown used to a visual feed and protecting his optics, grown used to feeling the very existence of the parts involved. He settled himself with deeper inhalations, letting them out his wide open vents slowly. "Go ahead, I'm good."

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you've spent some time with Drift," First Aid said with a quiet snort as he began the careful removal of smaller glass splinters. "Deep breathing exercises are his thing, after all."

Kaon frowned as he considered that. "He's a very weird mech, Drift." He almost didn't continue, but he'd never really been one for being too quiet, so he allowed himself a little gossip. "His reputation as Deadlock aside, rumor had it he was more than a little weird as a Decepticon, as well."

The tweezers slipped, dragging a slight scrape along the interior of an empty orbital socket. Kaon was sure First Aid reacted to it more than he himself did, leaning forward to peer inside, whatever light he had no doubt being used to see into the darkness. "Just a small scratch that will heal itself before we're done here," he eventually announced. "Let's get this finished, then we can talk."

Settling for a quick grunt of acquiescence, Kaon said, "Didn't even feel it," before forcing himself to hold his glossa as First Aid finished his task.

When the medic finally moved back, the saved glass found its way into a frame pocket from the sound of it and the tweezers were returned to the field kit. He unplugged from Kaon's diagnostic port and spooled his cable away. "Well, it seems in the blowback, your power just magnified itself several times over, vaporized the inhibitor, and scraped the route through your optics clean as the easiest escape. There's absolutely nothing left of your optical sensor net. I don't know that we could even begin the process of rebuilding it from scratch."

It wasn't a surprise, really. If he was going to be himself, having working optics didn't fit, did they? Kaon's mouth twisted in a barely existent rueful smile. "A most appropriate reintroduction to myself, don't you think?"

First Aid didn't respond to that, instead going somewhere else entirely. "You pulled back when you threw that big bolt at Blades. And you wouldn't let it just go wherever it wanted, either. That's why you got the feedback and the overload of power that blew it all out."

It made Kaon uncomfortable to have it acknowledged like that. The set of his wings probably said it all, too. He was quietly relived by the knowledge that First Aid understood none of it, by Blades' words. "Maybe. It's not something I had time to think about first."

"Unlike other times, right?" There was something dark under First Aid's question. The Autobot medic shifted moods with a quickness that could only mean one thing in Amp's experience.

Kaon decided to bite the bullet, knowing he was perfectly capable of defending himself should he need to. "Who was it? Who was the friend of yours that I killed?"

It was no surprise he was correct. First Aid stiffened and anger built in a tight knot that might quickly become rage if not tempered. "His name was Trailcutter. He, I, Mainframe, and Bluestreak found you and the other guy, Vos, on Ofsted XVII, drained of charge and well on your way to death—"

"Ah," Kaon interrupted. "That one." He frowned as he shuffled through the memory. "You told me the war was over." He tilted his helm as he asked, "Were you close to him? The one I killed?" For Amp, it was a terrible and devastating question. For Kaon, it was merely another day. He wasn't sure he liked asking it as Kaon. He certainly didn't like the vicious reaction it got out of First Aid.

A strong medic's hand caught him around the throat, slamming him against the wall. "I should kill you," First Aid muttered. "It would be so easy right now. You're not nearly as strong as you think you are, you know, not anymore."

Another voice broke over the shadowy chamber as Kaon clutched at First Aid's hand, trying to get loose from the hold without releasing the growing swirl and buzz of electricity that danced along his spires, that lit up his internals. "No, First Aid! Stop it!" Nickel cried out as she grabbed hold of First Aid's arm. "You can't hurt him! What about your sense of ethics?! Are you a medic or not?!"

It was enough to throw First Aid's off, but it also shocked Kaon. "Get out!" he howled at Nickel. "Get out, get out, get out! I don't want you here!"

The moment First Aid let him go, Kaon scrambled back toward his little nook, tiny bolts of electricity escaping to trace a web across the floor that kept him isolated from both First Aid and the frantic Nickel.

"What's going on here?" First Aid asked, obviously shocked free from his anger. "Nickel?"

She watched Kaon with despair in her optics, her little wings low. "Kaon, please, let me help you. I know better than First Aid how to take care of you! Please, sparkling."

Kaon growled and purposefully sent a bolt arcing toward her. Ever the protector, First Aid shoved her aside, taking the jolt himself, instead. No doubt he was surprised to find it little more than a warning slap, easily shaken off. "Go away, Nickel," he told her again, scratchy voice firm as he could manage. "I don't want your help."

He didn't notice First Aid making an emergency comm.

Word of Nickel sneaking her way into the maintenance halls and interrupting whatever discussion First Aid had been conducting with Kaon didn't really surprise Minimus very much. Nickel's insistence that she'd only broken the interaction apart had been because of First Aid physically assaulting Kaon, however, did.

He took the briefest moment to question himself, but then threw himself into his alt mode and raced through the halls. The shocked looks and comments at seeing a small turbofox race through the ship never even breached his attention. There was a much more important situation to deal with in the lowest levels of the Lost Light.

Finding the sliding panel left open wide enough for a slim turbofox to slip through, Minimus scrambled into an only barely lit chamber. Nickel clutched First Aid's arm, not having given up her hold on him yet, likely hoping to ward off another lunge at Kaon. Minimus couldn't even begin to wager which might win the fray, medics having a well-earned reputation for superior strength. First Aid and Nickel both stared as he unfolded and approached them both with a hard look on his face. He crossed his arms and narrowed his optics. "Might I ask what is going on here and get a reasonable answer?"

The medics stumbled over one another's words so badly that Minimus knew immediately that he was going to get nothing resembling an actual idea of the situation without separating them.

"Out, both of you," he commanded. He grunted at the reluctant looks they both gave him, his own face scrunching tight with irritation. "I'll take care of it from here. Probably should have done so to start."

"Sir—"

"Now, First Aid," Minimus told him before he could get started, then turned to Nickel. "Do I need to reiterate to you, as well?"

The medics both glanced toward Kaon.

"Now."

He waited until he heard them both leave the maintenance hall, the panel sliding closed behind them, the chamber still lit by the lamp he assumed had been brought by First Aid. While he couldn't have said whether they actually moved on or were sitting outside the panel instead, Minimus didn't really care. There was someone far more important that needed attention. Someone that needed something better to focus on than the altercation he'd just been subjected to, as awkward as the one connecting thread Minimus knew the two of them had to successfully interact might be.

"Amp?" he murmured, slowly walking toward the mech, taking in the black holes that had once held such lovely golden optics. He looked even more like the mech that he'd been now. "May I still call you that?"

The response was slow, but only because Kaon seemed unsure of the change in his situation. "...if you must."

"Well, I don't know that I must," Minimus said as he walked closer and made a point of easing down beside Kaon, "but I do wonder if it's what he called you."

"He?"

"My brother, Dominus," Minimus explained. He didn't know if Kaon bore enough knowledge in his memories to realize the connection between himself and the Pet. "You knew him as Vos, once. The Pet, I believe you called him later on."

"...your brother," Kaon repeated, his face paling in the low light. "Of course, your brother. Dominus Ambus." He refused to turn his helm Minimus' direction, his wobbling field shrinking like a deflated balloon. "He… he was a wonderful mech, despite it all. I… he…."

"Treated you kindly," Minimus finished for him. He didn't need to know how deep that kindness might have gone. Dominus had always been one to take things further than Minimus might consider decent, thus his relationship with Rewind.

"Yes," Kaon replied, calm making a slow return to his field again. "Very kindly."

"I'm glad you treated him as well as you could, despite the terrible things your team subjected him to," Minimus tried, hoping it wasn't too much, but wanting to say it. Kaon very much could have easily mistreated the Pet, instead of caring for him as was best possible under the watchful optic of a mech like Tarn.

Kaon turned his face toward Minimus, brushing a soft ping of echolocation that only just registered on Minimus' own sensors. "He was a good friend," Kaon murmured. "I miss him."

"I'm glad to hear that." And Minimus was. "Are you better? Or would you like me to sit with you longer?"

Expecting to be dismissed, Minimus softened when Kaon said in a smaller voice than ever, "Longer, please?"

"Of course."

Chapter Text

Kaon wasn't sure what turned things around to bring First Aid back to him as a medic rather than someone that wanted to tear him apart. They talked, First Aid offering healing of wounds that grew smaller and less painful with each visit. First Aid also brought him things that made his hidden chamber more comfortable. Energon to fill his empty fuel tank. Datapads full of things to read or listen to.

Like a friend.

And it merely grew from there.

After assuring First Aid once again that he was quite all right with the knowledge his optics would never be able to be replaced, Kaon agreed that maybe he was ready for someone other than him and Minimus to visit his little sanctuary. First Aid told him all he would have to say to end a visit would be to simply tell his visitor such. He wasn't sure how he felt about saying "go away" to his first visitor, though, so he didn't.

"When First Aid suggested this," Kaon said, doing his best not to sound anxious, wings aflutter at his back, "I hardly expected a visit from you, Lord Megatron." Honestly, were he less inclined to uncertainty in that moment, his echolocation pinging an image of the large former leader of the Decepticons squeezed into a location obviously not meant to hold his bulk might have been humorous. As it was, Kaon instead curled a bit tighter into his chosen corner of his safe space, glad for the soft comfort of the chair First Aid had brought him. "I can't imagine you have anything good to say to someone like me. Not with the badge you now wear."

Megatron gave him a soft grunt, arms curled around his knees much like Kaon's were and shoulders hunched to fit in the space. "You might be surprised, then," the big mech said. There was a kindness in his tone that caused a pulse in Kaon's spark, feeling of unworthiness. Megatron must have noticed as he reached out a gentle hand and curled it around Kaon's shoulder, carefully avoiding the electrical spire. Despite First Aid's best care, the lack of equipment did not allow for a complete replacement of the inhibitors and static more often than not danced a soft crackle along the porcelain bowls and sphere coil. His control was not as rock steady as they'd hoped.

Undeterred, Megatron didn't move his hand when tiny bolts zapped him. "I was very much surprised when I first learned of your survival, yes. I will also admit to my initial thoughts being less than supportive of your continued existence."

Only his time under Tarn kept Kaon's flinch from being exposed outwardly. Or so he thought. A mere moment later, Megatron cursed softly and pulled his hand away to shake off a small shower of sparks. "I'm sorry, sir."

"No need to apologize," Megatron said, sighing and keeping his hand to himself. "It was perhaps the less than appropriate way to phrase that. What I mean is all I had to go on was knowledge of who you were. Even though I made every effort to avoid you, well-aware of what it might trigger, I could hardly remain incognizant of the very different person I saw finding his place in my crew. A very wonderful new person that made friends among those who knew what he had once been."

Oh, the sweet twist that sent through his spark almost had him wishing he still had the optics and related mechanical bits that would allow the cleansing fluid to well in the corners as the emotive sparks flashed brighter. It was enough to leave him feeling quite foolish. He flicked his wings and relaxed from his tightly held pose. "Do you think, after everything," he began, pausing to clear away the staticky emotion that started to garble the words, "that they might still be my friends?"

An amused hum filled the comforting blanket of Megatron's field as it drifted over Kaon. "I can't say for certain," he replied, "but I'm aware there are those that do indeed miss your presence among them." Megatron fell quiet and thoughtful for a few moments, then added, "What happens next is entirely up to you. No one will force you to become someone you aren't nor will anyone force you off the ship because of the past. The Lost Light is now your home as much as it is anyone's."

Kaon had often wished for Tarn's eloquence, but he didn't know if even Tarn would be able to find better words in that moment. The static was back in his voice as he spoke. "Thank you, sir."

There was heavy rustling as Megatron climbed back to his pedes, reaching out to offer one last pat of his hand on a shoulder. "No need to thank me. You earned that place yourself. Now," he said, gruff and a tad embarrassed, "I'll leave you to your privacy as I'm sure you're uncomfortable with me here. Whenever you decide to return to the world, remember my door is always open to you."

"Yes, sir."

A short visit, yes, but Kaon couldn't help but feel it was a very productive one. He wondered who would visit him next.

He couldn't have been prepared for the attack hug that sent him sprawling on the floor had he been warned of it beforehand. Instead, with no warning, Kaon lay on his back and only managed to hold back from throwing a stunning jolt at his assailant as he realized it was none other than Blades wrapped around him like a boron-constrictor.

"Why have you been hiding down here?" Blades asked, rotor blades rattling behind him in distress. It came out as anger in his words, but Kaon was used to that sort of thing from Blades and prior companions in his life. "Do you have any idea how worried I've been?!" He sat up, dragging Kaon along with him.

Kaon took a moment to let himself simply drown in the worry that flooded Blades' field, laying a hand on Blades' chestplate to sense the flicker and pulse of his spark beneath the thick white armor. "No," he eventually answered, amused at the situation and letting the rotary mech hold him tight enough that his own armor creaked in protest, "but I could hazard a good guess, I imagine."

His only response was a hard snort and an even tighter squeeze. Another presence joined them in the chamber. "Hey, hey, there room in this snugglefest for one more?"

"Blaster, too?" Kaon could only ask with a laugh. He held out the one arm he could get free of Blades' hold toward the mech that was both mentor and friend. It appeared Megatron had been correct in his assessment of the bots Kaon had come to enjoy the company of.

"Well, actually, if you're willing, the whole gang's here," Blaster said, scuffing the floor with a foot as if he were actually any kind of diffident.

Kaon snorted and waved them all in. "Come on, then! Come explain to me how silly I've been."

He was not prepared for the size of the pile he found himself in, but the way Bluestreak and Smokescreen pet his wings made up for it.

"You don't expect us to call you Kaon now, do you?" Bluestreak asked from behind him, nudging someone somewhere near the bottom of the pile with a pede—probably Hound. "I mean, I've gotten used to Amp. Don't know about anyone else."

Quiet and thoughtful, Kaon gnawed at his bottom lip before answering.

"Please talk to me?" Nickel begged him, her wheeled pedes carrying her across the chamber to stand far closer than most would have considered safe, taking his sudden change in mood into account. "I am so sorry for any of the pain I've caused you by putting you through all this. I… I never thought it would go so badly to get you where you are now. I only wanted you to have a chance that Tarn didn't give you. Please don't hate me."

He didn't hate her. He could never hate her. He could, however, hate what she'd done. While it may have found a way to work out better than he ever thought it could, Kaon couldn't help but wonder still if it might have been best for his team to have gone to the Afterspark one and all. It would have been so much simpler, really. The utter lack of permission she'd had, as well, destroyed him most. So much of his life had been dependent on following the orders of someone else. To not even be able to fade into nothing—or be saved from it—without being asked his opinion sat like compounded rust in his fuel tank.

Flicking his wings in resentment, Kaon kept his back turned to her. Static shivered along his spires, crackling loud enough to be heard with its distinctive sizzle. "Don't make me call Minimus to escort you out again, Nickel," he said. "If I change my mind, I'll let you know."

Counting the seconds, Kaon wondered if he'd have to repeat himself, but Nickel finally relented. Everything about her drooped, he felt it in her field, saw it through the reflection of his echolocation. He remained unmoved, the frown marring his face deepening.

"I'll wait, then," Nickel said, her sigh the saddest thing he'd ever heard. And then she was gone, leaving him alone in his chamber once more.

He opened a comm to Blades.

::Amp? Are you okay?:: came the immediate response.

His spark calmed, his frown softened into a much gentler expression. "I'm fine, now," he replied, heading toward his small store of energon and datapads to find something to distract himself with. "Nickel stopped by again."

Looking around the chamber, Krok realized it was neatly outfitted, but very much not appropriate for his youngest Scavenger. "Come on, Amp," he said, refusing to call him by that other name because that's not who he was, anymore. Amp didn't complain, so he wasn't about to stop, either. "I know your friends have made it comfortable… ish, but this isn't a good place for you to stay forever."

"Why not?" Amp asked, not getting up from the chair he'd been sitting in sideways when Krok tromped in on him. He was plugged into a datapad of something Krok suspected was more entertainment than educational.

Dropping himself down on the center spot on the couch Amp's gang of Autobot friends had somehow smuggled into his hidey hole, Krok bent forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He watched Amp idly scroll whatever he was perusing in silence for a while. Eventually, the kid would stop and give him the proper attention the discussion he was attempting to have wanted. If he'd still had optics, Amp would have rolled them as he finally unplugged from the datapad and set it aside.

"Speak, Krok," he said, obnoxious in the way only a sparkling could be. His memories might have been returned to him, but his brain module had not actually lived through the experiences, nor his frame. Maybe it was a weird spiritual thing. Cybertronians were odd that way. While his mind was ages old, the age of his frame could now be counted in fractions of a vorn—that sort of reality did strange things to a bot. Not even Lug had escaped it, entirely, despite her memories being returned to her so much earlier in the process.

"I've heard things," Krok started, shifting to lean against the back of the couch.

"Like?" Amp prompted.

"Like you've absolutely refused to leave this place. Have you at least wandered the rest of the maintenance halls? Gotten some exercise to keep your cables loose, your flying sharp? Maybe snuck into a washrack once or twice?" Krok really hoped the last one had happened. He knew precisely how bad it could get, having Misfire on his team. "Don't make me send Spinister or Grimlock down here to cart you off to a public 'rack…."

Amp looked positively aghast at the thought, narrow wings hitched high and folded back as far as they would go. "Of course I've bathed! Who do you take me for? Misfire?!"

Before he could stop himself, Krok laughed and shook his helm. A small crackle of electricity was quickly dampened into nothing. Krok shot a look at Amp, surprised. "You controlled it."

With a shrug, Amp replied, "I'm learning. Or relearning, I guess. Megatron and Drift are helping to fine tune it."

Krok blinked and found himself staring. "Really?"

"Yes." Amp looked quite pleased with himself. A smirk played at the corner of his mouth. "They're very good teachers now that they're not big, bad Decepticons, you know."

"But they've been coming to you, not the other way around?" Krok asked, catching him with that detail. The smirk fell away.

"I don't want to be out in the halls without being able to control it, Krok. It's not good to rely on an inhibitor, as we've clearly seen, and I don't even have one right now," Amp said, closing in on himself physically. It was painful to watch. "I could have killed Blades. Or anyone in Swerve's that night."

"But you didn't," Krok reminded him. He rubbed a hand across the top of his helm. "Were you like this when you first discovered your ability after you were constructed?"

Amp turned in the chair, pulled his legs close, and slumped against his thighs, chin resting on his knees. His wings pushed softly at the air, starting a gentle breeze through the chamber. His voice was almost too quiet to hear when he answered. "No, they wanted me to kill. My only training was to learn to do it on command."

Stroking his chin, Krok considered the options. "I know you don't want to leave here, but I think you should give it a shot."

"I won't go back to the hab with Nickel," Amp quickly asserted.

"Are you still angry at her, then?" Krok asked.

"Wouldn't you be?"

Krok shrugged. "Don't know. Not a situation I've ever been in," he admitted. "I can help with not wanting to live with her anymore, though. There are plenty of empty habs still around the ship, you know."

Again, he caught Amp off guard. "So… are you saying you would get me my own? All by myself?"

"If that's what you'd like, I'm sure the captains would approve it," Krok answered. "One, at least, must be fond enough of you by now." Never in all his functioning did Krok ever expect a noted killer to fling himself across a room in an attack hug. He discovered himself not upset to be the victim of it, either.

"This never happened," Amp muttered against his audial, not bothering to let go. "You'll tell no one."

He gave Amp a gentle pat between the wings. "Of course not."

He never would have expected such an amount of helpers. From Minimus Ambus and the Protectobots to Blaster and his cohort, Amp had a more than ample amount of strong arms. After informing Nickel of what was happening and politely waiting until she was off shift so that she might be there to observe, it took all of one trip for all of his admittedly sparse things to be moved to his new and private hab. Amp's friends were even kind enough to offer to move Nickel back to her old habsuite, as well, making no more than a second trip and leaving only her collection of medical equipment in the dead zone habsuite. Amp heard her offer all of that to the main medibay, should First Aid and the rest of the medical staff wish access to it without having to travel to the lowest decks of the ship.

For such a big undertaking in his new life, it was completed in such a very short time.

When it came to actually speaking to Nickel regarding their new arrangements, the new expression of their relationship, Amp braced himself and faced her bravely. He felt Blades standing nearby. "I… appreciate all you did for me, Nickel," he told her, mostly truthful—he might appreciate it more with the passage of a greater span of time. "Things may change in time, but we're not very good for roommates, anymore, are we?"

"No, I suppose we're not meant for it," Nickel replied, every sense he could make out of her dripping sadness, but accepting. "I'll never be able to apologize enough, I know, but I was only trying to—"

Amp set his fingers against Nickel's mouth, hushing her as gently as he could. "No more of that, Nickel. Maybe some other time, but I can't do it now."

She vented softly and nodded. "Don't forget me."

"Never," he told her, tilting his helm just a touch. "We're still on the same ship. We'll see each other every now and then, right?"

"I certainly hope so," Nickel said. "Remember where my old hab is. I've got yours memorized."

"Yes, Nickel."

"Ready to go, Amp?" Blades spoke up, the silly rotary breaking up a conversation that threatened to grow awkward—his hero. He stepped beside Amp, slinging an arm around his shoulders that made Amp's spark flutter in a way he wasn't sure it ever had before.

"Oh, yes," he answered, tossing a smile toward Nickel. "Have a good evening."

He did his best not to pay attention to the heavy sigh that gusted behind them, Nickel sniffing as she tried to scoot out of the hall before she broke down.

Chapter Text

"I have something for you."

That was a voice he hadn't expected to hear outside the door of his private habsuite. Amp—because he was Amp now, fully and truly—turned away from First Aid, letting the imaging from his echolocation stop him as he reached the speaker's position to his side. "Nickel."

She sighed and he could feel the waves of regret and sorrow wafting off her. "Look, I can't possibly say I'm sorry often enough, I know this," she said. Her words came fast enough he knew she was trying to get it all out before he could stop her. "You probably still don't want much of anything to do with me, all things considered. I… I do have something for you, though. It might be best given in private."

Amp narrowed the black holes that had once housed golden yellow optics in this new frame of his, uncertain, but settled when First Aid's hand touched his arm. He lowered his chin and turned back to his door, reaching out to touch his palm against the lock mechanism. "Thank you, First Aid," he said quietly. "We'll speak more later?"

"Yeah," First Aid replied, his tone kept light and encouraging. "See you at Swerve's. Streetwise is ready to kick your aft at poker again."

That quirked a brief grin across his face. "I'm sure he is," he said. Then gesturing slightly toward Nickel, he added, "Please tell Blades not to worry when you mention this to him?"

"No worries. I'll keep him under control."

Amp waited for First Aid to bid farewell to Nickel before opening his door and stepping inside the darkened hab, only belatedly recalling Nickel might appreciate a little light. He called out to the habsuite control interface, "Lights on, three-quarters power. No, make that eighty percent."

Stepping inside, he head toward the shelves lining the far wall, a source of comfort, the items on them chronicling his new life. He'd placed everything on them before he'd moved from the hab he shared Nickel with the guidance of the optics he'd had for such a short time. He had no need of the visual input to know where each item sat. Not really. Each one was burned into his memory, a memory so much fuller now than when he'd first woken in the basement reaches of the Lost Light.

Moving the shelves after falling out with Nickel had been a process. Rebuilding the layout had centered him in a way Drift's laughing attempts to teach him meditation hadn't. Amp was many things, but spiritual wasn't one of them, Tarn's cultish behavior notwithstanding. Behind him, the door remained open, Nickel hesitating outside in the hall.

"You came to me, Nickel," he said, not bothering to look her way. His wings stretched wide, then pulled back in tight. All that returned memory and the focused help others had given him made regaining all the control his reforged self had not known simpler, allowing him to hold tightly the sparks that sought to slither across his plating, dance along his spires. He wasn't angry, not really. Not anymore, anyway, having been on his own for several weeks and allowing himself the time to reflect. "If you wish this to be private, come inside and close the door behind you. I'm quite happy to leave it open, otherwise."

That was enough to get her moving, her wheeled pedes skating her inside, pausing as she made sure the door was closed and secured behind her. Then, she slowly made her way toward him in silence. He returned the favor. As he'd said, she came to him.

There was a lot of hemming and hawing as she attempted to start whatever was on her mind. His audials perked when she popped open a panel on her frame, reaching inside the pocket. She held in his direction whatever she'd pulled out. "I wasn't going to let him have this. Not considering what he did to all the others he got his hands on. Not after what he did to you."

Amp frowned and finally turned to face her. "What are you talking about?"

"This," she said. "Give me your hand?"

He tried to feel her out, having full control of his ability back getting in the way. His mastery over terrifying levels of electricity had always dampened his ability to feel emotion in personal fields. While Nickel sounded sincere and his initial rage toward her actions had faded, he wasn't yet entirely free of a small reticence to accept anything unquestioned. "You're not trying anything funny, are you?" he asked, hoping it sounded like he was making a joke. "First Aid would actually protect me now, you know."

Fortunately, it seemed he achieved his goal as Nickel huffed a small chuckle and relaxed beside him. "Is that so? Quite a change of things. I'm proud of you. And him. That took a lot on his part, as well."

"Yes, it did," Amp said, wishing he was better at hiding the touch of sadness that lingered in those words. Both he and First Aid put a lot of energy into avoiding speaking of Trailcutter most of the time still, though they had definitely only just started cleared the air when First Aid had sought him out. Pushing the thoughts aside, he held out his hand to her. "So, what's this thing you've got for me?"

"Like I said, he wasn't getting it. It's yours. You should have it," she said, catching hold of his hand for only long enough to hold it steady.

A metal sphere was set in his hand, gear markings and mechanical lines obvious to the sensors that lined his palm. He scrunched his face curiously. Amp turned the sphere over in his hand, letting it roll into the palm of his other hand. There was no doubt what he held. "Mine?" he asked, wondering if he should feel odd about holding it. "Nickel, this is my T-cog? From before? Are you serious?"

"I'm dead serious," she told him, her hands returning and curling around his, holding the transformation cog between them. "You know what Tarn would have done to it."

And there it was. Amp softened, touched that she would have done something like that for him. He leaned down to press a little kiss against the radiation meter that sat centered on her brow. "Thank you, Nickel. That was very kind of you and quite brave."

He could hear the flush of energon that rushed to her face and smiled as she let her hands fall away from his and the cog he held. "Well, it won't do you any good now, seeing as you have a shiny new one with that pretty flying frame of yours. It might make a nice knickknack or something, I suppose."

Amp turned it over in his hands, tilting his helm a bit to the side as he considered. "You might be right. I do have space on my shelves yet, after all."

"...might get a few weird reactions from your friends," Nickel said, the grimace obvious in her words.

"Maybe," Amp told her, turning back to his shelves. He pondered a few moments before lifting an unerring hand toward a mostly open spot and slightly shifting aside a sizable quartz point Drift had given him. It was a place he'd been keeping for something special—his own transformation cog certainly counted as special, he thought. He bounced an echo off the shelves, letting the picture of them with what it might look like with the new item build in his mind. Yes, he decided, it would fit there nicely. "Even the softest of the crew has things in their own collections that might horrify anyone else that saw them, though. Just ask them. Not all of them can say the one of the worst pieces is from their own frame, however."

Nickel was quiet for long moments before grunting. "I suppose so. Are… are we all right, you and me?"

He was quiet as he considered the question, long enough that Nickel started to make nervous little shifts on her wheeled pedes. Amp let her hang for a bit, carefully reaching onto the chosen shelf and setting the transformation cog down between quartz point and a small, clear cube of shattered yellow optical glass First Aid had given him. Then, he lowered his chin with a soft sigh. "Are we all right?" he repeated, flicking his wings a bit. "Make no mistake, I'm still angry with you… with everything, but I do understand, I guess."

Beside him, Nickel seemed to shrink in on herself at that, field wrapping tight to her frame. "Oh. That's a step in the right direction, at least."

Amp gnawed at his lip, then added, "Don't mistake me. We're not good. Not yet." He tapped his fingertips along the edge of the shelf. "But we're not bad anymore, either. So, maybe we are all right?"

That perked Nickel up as if he'd just told her she was the singular winner of a very large jackpot. He found a small smile curving his mouth as he heard her slap her hands together, relief filling her field as it fluttered out against him. "You've no idea how much that means to me, Am— Oh. Do I… do we still call you Amp, then?"

He turned to her, knelt down in front of her and caught hold of her hands. "Yes, please," he said, explaining, "I am only Amp now. Kaon is no more, the first to fall, same as the city he was named for. Dead as the rest of the DJD as he should be."

A soft clank filled the air as Nickel leaned her forehelm against his. "As he should be," she murmured. Moments later, her tone turned teasing. "So, Amp… have your returned memories changed anything between you and Blades?"

"Nickel!" he exclaimed, pulling back from her in amused shock, wings perked high. "That's none of your business!"

Chapter Text

These sketches and idea buildings moments work best on their own, I think.

Designing Amp's new frame and alt mode was a joint effort with flayyr and definitely a fun time. 🥳

A few quick notes: Amp's new alt mode is based on a few different models of drone aircraft with the intention of being meant for climate/weather data collection as it effects communications. Interestingly, a little research found that there were attempts to use tank-style tread on aircraft at one point during WWII, I believe, though it never worked out for humans. I choose to believe it works very well for Amp as a big point of a lot of his new frame/alt mode was making sure that while he's now a flyer, he's still very recognizably himself. Like his spark had worn the old frame for so long, it just held onto some of the specifics while forging the new one. (He really just needed that tread on his shins to complete the look. 💜)

The piece is definitely viewable at a larger size, so don't be afraid to right-click and open the image in a new tab!