Archive of Our Own ^beta

1

“Easy. Takes a minute for the data to settle.”

He presses his hands to the sides of his helm as rushes of light and sound and bits and bytes hit his processor. His onlining process boots up to the sensation of being suspended weightless. Wind is rushing over the canopy on his chest. Right - he’s a jet. The configuration is right there in his data, although it’s being rolled under in the tide of information that churns through his brain module. His fans kick up before he realizes he has vents that work and he rushes a gasp through his intake.

Fingers grab his upper arm. “Yeah. Don’t worry, it’s gonna be the last thing on your mind once we make the drop. What’s your name?”

His optics reset in a flutter as he looks down at the open bomb bay doors below. A metal harness brackets his body to the bulwark, suspending him above an open plunge of sky and the iron-red rocky landscape below the faded filter of atmosphere. He looks to his right at an orange and white mech suspended in a harness next to him. The other mech offers a crazed smile as wind sweeps up into his face. A hand still clutches firmly to his arm.

He plunges his processes through the cascade of data and anchors himself to an answer as soon as he finds it. “Genitus.”

“Alright, Genitus,” the other bot says easily above the roar of dropship engines. “I’m Arcana. Now, I’ve had about three minutes longer to process this than you have, so you could say I’m an expert by now. But we’re coming up on a drop point. You took your time thawing out, but unfortunately, that doesn’t mean dross to the caretakers who plugged you in. Funny, that…” He cuts himself off to laugh, a little too brightly given the circumstances. “‘Caretakers.’ Makes you think they should - you know - care? ” He shakes his helm. “Point is: they’re not gonna give you an extra minute to shake it off. So just stick with me when we’re down there, okay?”

“Yeah,” Genitus answers numbly. “Okay.”

He looks to his other side. Two more mechs are lined up next to him. The yellow and blue one closest to his left has his optics shuttered closed and is muttering to himself in some incomprehensible prayer that is lost in the whipping air currents. Another mech is pacing in front of a console near the edge of the open bay doors. Near the top of the bulwark, a light turns green.

“Here we go,” Arcana says, tilting his helm forward as far as the harness allows. “Just remember you can transform.”

Transform. Got it . Genitus swallows the knot of anxiety in his intake as a buzzer blinds his sensors and the harness breaks away from him. He’s freefalling now - the atmosphere whistles past him as wind gathers under his chest. His sluggish spark spins faster and breaks away the last bonds of ice so that his processes snap to the present with a rush of clarity. He remembers that precious scrap of information he’d picked up earlier: he’s a jet.

He transforms.

His body knows the configuration as easily as if he’s done it a thousand times already. A flurry of cladding clicks into place in concert with the orange and white mech next to him and their noses come up in an elegant arc. Already data is falling into place in his processor, clicking like gears into machined grooves: Decepticon science facility. Operation: Solar Storm.

He and Arcana land on an outcropping near a circular building, designed like a ring with a smaller structure in its center. Nearby, the blue and yellow mech and another flier with a purple and green paint job land as well. Arcana makes a series of hand gestures towards the two of them and they nod.

“You got the brief yet, Genitus?” Arcana says, shrugging his shoulder in anticipation as he steps down an embankment. “Those processes unfreeze yet?”

“I... think, yeah,” Genitus replies with a moderate lash of indignation. He didn’t like being treated like he was different; like a slow-starter. “Some compound the Decepticons developed. We’re going in to take what they have.”

“And ransack the place,” Arcana agrees. “Feeling special? They usually reserve operations like this for the big guys. The important ones. The ones who didn’t get pulled out of cold storage and dropped at the last minute. You and I, though? Deftwing and his friend back there? We’re a rare breed. Top-of-the-line models with an extra little dash of smarts.”

Genitus scrubs his neural net for any information that lines up with that. As far as he can tell, there’s no such protocol, but he supposes that information might not be something the caretakers allow to be accessed. In which case, he wonders why Arcana has such privileged information, considering he’s only a few minutes older than him. He processes it in silence as he follows Arcana down the embankment towards the facility.

“Deftwing will meet us in the middle. They’re running interference where we slip in from the other end and take the compound,” Arcana says. Genitus runs optics over the facility and frowns, still sifting the sensations through his neural net in too-sharp detail. Colors feel too bright; the rough red sand and rocks under his feet scrape too hard. His targetmaster system is running in the background as his HUD tracks tiny movements inside the facility and a corner of his processor registers a sense of panic as battle routines prime themselves in the background. He doesn’t... want to be doing this. Is that normal? Is he defective?

He follows Arcana in silence as they approach the walls of the complex. Arcana moves with confidence, following the outside wall and keeping low, shifting through the gravelly landscape as fluidly as if he’s done it thousands of times already. Genitus doesn’t feel quite so sure-footed. He trundles over the rocks behind his companion and keeps reaching a hand out to brace himself from losing his balance.

Arcana comes to a stop outside a doorway and looks it over in consideration. “Alright,” he says quietly. “Sentries haven’t caught us yet. Unique signatures, yanno?” He passes a grin to Genitus as he taps the side of his helm conspiratorially, who grimaces back. How did Arcana know this? “But we’re not gonna be invisible forever, and we need to bypass the protocols on this door without being detected as intruders. Give it a try. You should have the parameters from the facility’s specs in your database.”

Genitus is reluctant for a second. He does find parameters in his data, hazy and rootless amidst the stream of his shifting decision trees, but he can’t shake the sense that he’s missing some vital piece that Arcana seems to have gotten. “Why not you?”

“We all have our talents, Genitus,” he says with a warm sort of exasperation. “I’m not built for outsmarting security systems.”

And Genitus is? He thinks about that before nodding once, finding a little surety in the fact that he’s being relied upon for this. He goes to the panel for the door and takes the cover off the keypad with no hesitation. Arcana makes a soft sound behind him, something like surprise, maybe admiration.

“Nice,” he remarks. “You really know how to go for it.”

Genitus is still figuring out what he is. But ‘going for it’ feels right. Even so, he doesn’t bother replying to Arcana as the pathways in his processor race over the information in his databanks. He looks over the circuitry of the exposed panel and finds himself easily able to make sense of the tangle of wires and conduits. His fingers pick into it. Even freshly minted, his fingers seem to have a little difficulty bending as dexterously as he wants them to, like some small part of him had been left unthawed. He still manages to disconnect and reengage two separate wires. The door panel lights up green in response.

Arcana hisses out a subdued sound of gratification as the door slides open. Wordlessly, he circuits his way around and motions for Genitus to follow him.

On the inside, the facility is a dark network of stark corridors - dimly lit utilitarian metal panels. It seems unnecessarily gloomy, the only lighting coming from recessed emergency lighting panels that cast everything in an ominous glow, only hitting the hard edges. Genitus notes idly that these Decepticons seem overly fond of the color purple.

“You have the facility map schematics, right?” Arcana whispers, clinging his frame to one of the walls to keep himself obscured in shadow as much as possible.

Genitus checks his databanks again and finds that yes, he does have these schematics. He wanders down a corridor without copying his companion’s stealthy maneuvers, which causes Arcana to speak up again in a harsh whisper. “Hey! Be careful. They can take a look into this sector any time, you know.” Genitus turns to see Arcana’s hand pointing out of the shadows to gesture at a round, glinting fixture on the wall near the ceiling.

Genitus looks at it and finds his processor making a series of calculations. “No…” he says eventually. “No, those aren’t online. You can see the conduit that connects the main lighting to the security systems.” He points a finger to run Arcana’s line of sight along a bundle of cables bracketed inside the corners of the walls. They were a nest of wires that shot off in unknown directions and partially hidden by paneling. “Hard to tell, but it looks like only the emergency systems are active in this wing, and the cameras aren’t hooked into it.” More privately, he wonders how the Decepticons managed to be that foolish, but he isn’t going to look too deeply into their good fortune.

Arcana doesn’t leave his spot in the shadows, but the surprised cant of his optics is visible from the shape of their blue glow. “You could tell that just by looking at that… mess of wires?” he says with hushed intrigue.

Genitus shrugs. “Guess so?”

He turns himself back down the corridor, following the schematic in his databanks as he keeps it in the corner of his HUD. He hears the light scrape of Arcana moving up behind him but doesn’t give it much thought as he traces his optics over the panels of the hallway he follows. He pauses at a terminal and gives it a thoughtful once-over.

“What is it?” Arcana hisses.

“Let me just…” Genitus digs his thumbs along a seam at the bottom of the console and flicks at it. Not sure how he himself manages to do it, the bottom casing slips down into his palms. He crouches down to look into the open circuitry and pulls at a few wires. In his processor, the boards and circuits and wires all seem to catalog themselves at the speed of thought, forming an orderly array. The wires unwind in his processor in a way that he makes sense of at a glance. His fingers dig into a chipset and he pulls it free. Then he stands up and evaluates the circuit board as it dangles free from the bottom of the terminal. Somewhere in the distance, klaxons begin wailing in a distant alarm.

“What the hell did you do?” Arcana voices, stunned.

“There’s a divided corridor behind us. Anyone in the next corridor’s gonna have to go that way. I set off an alarm to clear them out. Supposing they take the bait and go check it out, they’ll be behind us by the time we come around this next hallway.” He pauses and cocks his helm in consideration. “Did you not know that? We have the same schematics, right?”

Arcana wheedles out a disbelieving laugh. “Uh… yeah, I do. But my brain just… doesn’t work that way, I think. Autobots better keep an eye on you… you’re too smart to be an MTO.”

Genitus hasn’t considered that an MTO should be too much one thing or another, but the idea of it jolts in his processor and he allows himself a moment to grin with pride. “I, uh… thanks?”

Arcana pats his arm as he continues slinking forward and continues leading the way down the corridor.

The rest of their journey goes much the same. While Genitus had allowed himself to think that he’d been rather clever in dodging the security measures - they hadn’t encountered a single one of these ‘Decepticons’ yet - he can’t help but think that the security measures are a bit suspect in how much they’re lacking. They’re close to reaching the research lab flagged on the facility map when Arcana speaks up.

“What do you suppose they’ll do with us after this?” His voice is still tucked away in a whisper, and he isn’t meeting Genitus’ optics as he speaks. “I mean, we were made for this mission, right? What about the next? Do you think we just… keep getting passed off into new missions? That all we’re good for?”

“I… dunno,” Genitus manages thoughtfully. If this is what they’d been created for, it certainly feels lackluster. He finds himself uncomfortable at the thought of being fed into another scenario like it. He quite likes the idea of more expansive horizons beyond pacing the halls of poorly secured, strangely empty Decepticon facilities. It’s… boring. “I hope not.”

“Yeah…” Arcana supplies, then falls silent before adding, “Maybe… maybe we go on to bigger things, though? Maybe if we nail this, we get something better? I dunno.” He freezes mid-stride and looks Genitus over seriously enough that Genitus has to stop as well, caught in his gravity. “You’re… you’re awful smart, you know? You deserve better than this crap. This is… this is work for grunts. You’re not that. I could tell there was something special about you before you even came online, yanno?”

That strikes Genitus oddly, considering he’d been slow to thaw. It seems to him quite literally that he’d been at a disadvantage from the start, but there’s an odd conviction to Arcana’s words - a restlessness that was much different from the ease he’d put off the moment Genitus had come online. He finds himself nodding, optics wide, not sure what he’s even agreeing to. “I… yeah. Yeah. Feels like we’re cut out for something bigger than this.”

A smile twitches on Arcana’s faceplate. He pats his arm in a fond grip. “You and me put our heads together after this… we’re gonna make something of ourselves, huh?”

Genitus clasps his hand over Arcana’s elbow, cementing their grips in the facsimile of a handshake. “Yeah…” he agrees with growing resolve. His lips twist in prideful glee. “We’re gonna take ‘em by storm.”

They reach the center of the facility - a lab that looks like a whirlwind had stormed through it. It appears to be set up like a contamination unit. In the center of the lab is a huge chamber with clear walls, sectioned off by a heavy door. A booth sits outside the chamber with a number of questionable-looking controls. The rest of the lab is littered with misplaced technological equipment that even Genitus can’t decipher. The floor is covered with pooling serpents of cables, garbage, scraps of metal, and broken contraptions of unknown use. He paces himself through it, not sure what to think. They’d come here to pull the schematics for a specific device, but he was questioning whether the terminals were even still intact.

One terminal occupies a corner and Arcana steels himself as he heads into the lab. He draws over to it and his fingers fly across the surface of the keypad, looking over the terminal with apprehension. Genitus watches his optics dart back and forth over the glyphs on the screen, but nothing seems to come up. He takes a look around the lab while Arcana is occupied and glosses over the other terminals, but none of them are operational. He picks through some of the debris that litters the lab but comes up with nothing. “What do you think happened in here?” he voices.

“Dunno,” Arcana mutters at the terminal. He switches it off with irritation. “Dammit. Nothing. I’m thinking they cleared out… probably trashed it so we wouldn’t find anything.” He casts a glance around the lab in abject defeat. “They scrubbed this system. The others aren’t up. I think we’re out of luck here. Maybe they caught wind of us before we landed - cleaned up.” He looks at the door and heaves a sigh through his vents. “Not sure where we go from here. Maybe check for a secondary lab?”

Genitus cast a wary look at the door, then at the quarantine chamber. “We could look in there. We haven’t checked it yet. It looks like there could be something in there.” 

Arcana’s optics land on Genitus and size him up with clear uncertainty. “Not sure why they’d keep anything in there… and one of us is going to have to man the controls while the other goes in.”

Genitus shrugs. He doesn’t love the idea of being sealed into a quarantine chamber, but he also doesn’t enjoy the idea of leaving any part of the lab unturned. He finds the tech here interesting, at the very least, and if nothing else, maybe whatever is in the chamber could be of interest. He doesn’t voice any of this and instead simply says, “I’ll go in.”

Arcana looks a little unhappy at the offer but eventually nods. “Alright. Let’s try it.”

He moves to the control booth and fumbles with the controls, eventually punching a few buttons and pulling a lever to open the door. Genitus primes himself and goes in. Inside, the air is slightly stale and carries a heavy scent of ozone. He pokes around the chamber and finds evidence of energy blast damage on several of the surfaces. There are several piles of blasted scrap metal - it seems this chamber was used for testing a weapon of some sort. Genitus scrolls his optics over the wreckage and finds a gun on the floor next to some scrap metal. He picks it up and turns it over in his hands, then looks to Arcana through the adamant crystal blast walls and communicates a perplexed expression. Clearly, there was no intel lying around in here, after all. “Hey, you can - can you hear me?”

Arcana’s optics are critical. His expression is curious. He taps something on the console of the control booth. “Yes. What did you find?”

“Some sort of weapon, but aside from that, nothing useful. Literal garbage.” He punctuates by nudging a blasted hunk of metal over. “Alright, let me out and maybe we can root around nearby. I don’t see a secondary lab in the schematics, but maybe we can do some rooting around.”

He takes a long, evaluation look around the chamber to make sure he didn’t miss anything while he waits, but when Arcana doesn’t speak, he looks up at the control booth expectantly. Arcana is still standing there, watching him inside the chamber, hand poised over the control console. Genitus cycles his optics at him with incomprehension. “Arcana?”

Through the transparent walls, Genitus sees Arcana’s throat flash in a swallow. His partner’s voice transmits over the intercom again. “You’re smart,” he says, voice shaking a little. “Too smart to be an MTO. We’re meant for bigger stuff, right?”

Genitus turns fully in surprise, quirking his mouth in puzzlement. A beat pauses before Arcana speaks. Something rankles in his fuel tank. “Arcana… open the door, okay?”

Arcana shakes his head. A manic expression reaches his optics. “The intel was on the terminal. I have it.” He raises a datastick that Genitus hadn’t even noticed him use before. “I knew you’d wanna check the quarantine chamber. I thought: why go back with the intel just to be shown up by some guy who’s too smart to be an MTO? Really overshadows my potential achievements, you know?”

He stashes the datastick away as Genitus heads for the door of the chamber and throws a fist into it. It doesn’t budge. Hurt anger propels him as he butts his shoulder against the door. Arcana… Arcana had been kind to him. The only mech he’d really known in his short existence, but kind, and now…

“You can’t…” Genitus cracks through his voxcoder, feeling his new and tenuous reality crumbling.

Arcana opens his mouth to speak, but suddenly the sound of blaring alarms cuts off his voice. His hand is still on the intercom and broadcasts the sound over the speakers, but even when he removes his hand from the button, the sirens are loud enough to cut through the quarantine chamber walls. Backstepping, clutching the datastick against his chest, Arcana casts a torn, terrible look at Genitus as he starts heading for the door. His grimace turns away as he flees from the room.

To Genitus, the sirens sound far away as he stares at the lab exit through the transparent barrier, still processing. Arcana had been kind to him…

He has to put it aside. Even to his freshly-onlined processor, the danger he’s in is obvious. Numbly, he turns the gun still in his hands around and looks it over like it will give him answers. He removes a panel from the side of it, not even sure why he’s doing it, and evaluates what he’s working with.

Maybe… maybe it is the answer?

His optics take in the mess of wires, tracking them to the power source, the coils leading up through the barrel. Some kind of energy blaster. Hardly novel - even his limited database confirms that such weapons are standard issue - but designed to adjust power levels on the fly.

In which case, maybe he can crank this thing up.

Shadows move in the corridors as his fingers swiftly dig at the wiring. He fights past his own fumbling, reconnecting in a new structure. Tapping into the power cell makes the weapon hum precariously with power in his hands. He aims at the door of the quarantine chamber. Three options present themselves: either he successfully blasts his way out of here, he blows himself up, or the Decepticons find him in here and do whatever number of awful things to him. With a mental salute to his own existence, he squeezes the trigger.

Sparks fly back in his face. There’s a shallow crater in the seal of the chamber door, not quite enough for him to open it. He fires again, squinting his optics against the spray of excess energy. Again. Again.

With a shower of molten adamant crystal, the door swings open. Genitus coughs through his vents and steps out just as six other mechs flood into the lab. They raise their blasters at him, herding him to step back into the chamber. Thinking fast, Genitus quickly aims at the computer console and blows it apart, sending a spray of metal shards and exploding capacitors over the Decepticons standing nearby. He uses the distraction to wheel away towards the exit.

One of them shoots at his heels; another clips his wing. Genitus turns his blaster on a Decepticon who gets close enough that he can see the glaring red of his optics. His hands shake around the trigger. Why can’t… why can’t he shoot? Wasn’t this what he was made to do?

Instead, Genitus quickly casts his glance toward a huge server structure hanging from the ceiling. He’d dismissed it as an energy hub that fed into the light and camera systems, possibly comms as well, but now, it made an awfully good bomb, if his guess was right.

He shifted his aim and unloaded into the structure. Immediately, a shower of sparks and metal went flying around the lab. He backpedaled towards the door, raising his arm to shield his face. His targetmaster systems worked through the smoke to locate the structure again and he continued firing.

Boom.

Genitus is thrown back down the corridor from the shock of the explosion that rips through the lab. Already partially through the door, he’d managed to miss most of the damage, though he’d still been lifted bodily off his feet and thrown down again with an uncomfortable scrape of his cladding. His processor buzzes. He claws his way forward away from the lab on his hands and knees first, then scrapes himself to a stand. He can’t afford any time to check if the Decepticons are incapacitated. He has to move.

He limps down the corridor. His knee actuator is unstable - took a pretty hard hit from his fall, but all things considered, it was preferable to taking the brunt of the blast. He trudges on with the gun tucked against his chest, alarms blaring through his sensors with an oppressive severity now that his braincase is ringing from the explosion. He stumbles, relying on his schematic to circuit back to the point they’d come in through.

A lump on the floor as he approaches the exit causes him to recoil with an embarrassing sound of fear. He lifts his gun as he judders back, then his optics go wide as he recognizes the familiar white and orange cladding.

He edges forward half a step at a time. The still form of Arcana does not move. He’s on his side, turned away from Genitus. Bright fuschia fuel pools on the floor underneath him.

Genitus uses his gun to nudge Arcana’s shoulder into rolling onto his back. The expression he’s met with is one of rictus horror, frozen in a scream, optics offline. In the center of his chest, a blast hole that bore down to an extinguished spark chamber. In his fist, a datachip still clutched.

Genitus looks away from the terrible expression. It makes the fuel in his tank roil up to his intake. Moving with stiff anguish, he crouches and plucks the datachip from Arcana’s loose fingers.

“Meant for bigger things, huh?” he mutters numbly to Arcana’s corpse, putting the datachip into a compartment in his hip. “Rich.”

Movement behind him causes him to whirl, gun up. But a familiar blue and yellow mech runs up towards him and puts his hands up.

“Oh, slag,” Deftwing starts, noticing Arcana’s still body. He slows and vents out, putting his hands over his knees. “Beacon’s down too. Did you get the intel?”

Genitus has to swallow the uncomfortable feeling in his throat before he can speak. “Yeah. Got it.”

Deftwing nods solemnly, masked face obscuring the distress that his optics telegraph. Genitus idly decides he’d like one of those.

“Let’s get out of here,” Deftwing says in a sickened voice.

Genitus nods once, already turning himself towards the exit, gun at the ready. Its power thrums in his hands.

He is meant for bigger things than this. And bots like Arcana… they won’t stop him.

2

Genitus was overcharged. A fact that he wasn’t proud of, but pride had been one of the first things gone from his functions when the engex hit his systems. He occupied himself with considering the thermodynamic reactions that happened in his processor when the chemical reaction of engex mixed with his neural net. He imagined the energy being relayed up along the conduits to his brain module, the extraneous charge from his conversion systems lacing along the neural pathways and snapping at the tiny circuits and capacitors in his brain, terminating in nips of energy that fired off in his neural network like miniscule fireworks, slowing the ebb and flow of data from a rushing deluge to a comfortable lazy stream that was easier to find numbness in.

Quark had been dead for three days.

Or at least, he told himself Quark was dead, because that was the kinder option. After K’th Kinsere fell, any Autobot prisoners would likely have been taken to Grindcore. He wasn’t a religious mech by any stretch of the imagination, but if there was a Primus, he prayed every day that Quark had died at K’th Kinsere rather than survived to be taken. There were things worse than dying.

It also soothed him from going down the path of believing there was anything he could do about it.

So, instead of believing he could do anything about it, he sat here slumped against the wall of the Institute server room. Chromedome sat next to him in a state of similar engex-induced emptiness. They’d gotten to talking, and pulled out the engex, and - well...

Actually, neither of them were good at talking about things. Chromedome didn’t bring it up, but Genitus happened to know Chromedome had lost someone, too. Except his had actually loved him back.

“I could invent time travel,” Genitus posited with a sort of sad, wistful humor, holding his empty engex glass up to obscure one of the red lights glaring off of a server machine. He watched the light pinch and rotate against the bottom of it.

Chromedome mirrored the gesture with his own glass, as if Genitus had just figured out something brilliant. “Could you, though?” He voiced this only halfway with skepticism and halfway as a genuine thought.

Genitus thought it over through sluggish processes. Well, the concept of time travel had pretty much been debunked by the scientific community at large, but he had ideas on how it might go, theoretically. And he didn’t hold the scientific community’s ideas in particularly high regard. “Could I?” he thought out loud, planting a little seed of curiosity for him to check on again when he wasn’t currently overclocking his neural hardware.

“You’re the ideas guy, Brainstorm,” Chromedome said, lowering his glass to the floor next to his hip and looking at the bottle as if he were considering another drink. Genitus twitched a smile behind his mask at the name. They all seemed to adopt nicknames at the Institute - maybe because it felt a little extra cloak-and-dagger, or because it would somehow protect their old identity. Genitus didn’t feel like there was much to protect before now. If he was going to be somebody to the universe from here on out, he was going to be Brainstorm, he thought. “If anyone was gonna figure it out, it would be you. Using the worst methods possible, I imagine, but you would .”

“Uplifting,” Genitus - Brainstorm - remarked ironically. “I’m so glad someone has confidence in me.”

“I do,” Chromedome said with a sober sincerity that caused Brainstorm to pause for a moment. They jabbed at each other all the time, and he knew Chromedome was one to put barbs into even his most sparkfelt compliments. It was something that Brainstorm knew about him, and it was a big reason they were friends. Rarely was Chromedome so direct with his praise.

A moment passed in contemplative silence as Brainstorm processed, tracking his optics over Chromedome’s face. He couldn’t bring himself to deflect the emotion that swelled in his chassis. “I… thanks, I think. I mean, I guess we all have reasons to wanna go back… change things. If it falls to me…” He felt coolant well behind his optic lenses, unbidden and unwanted. He was strangely vulnerable all of a sudden. When had that even happened? “Oh, I’d do it. I’d do anything to do it.”

Chromedome’s hand reached out and covered Brainstorm’s wrist. Something twisted in the jet’s fuel tank and he turned liquid optics on his friend. Chromedome’s optics were sincere and feeling. Brainstorm wasn’t sure when he’d ever been looked at with that much… compassion.

“We must look like a pretty sorry pair here, getting pistoned off of engex,” Brainstorm started with an edge of rueful humor that was softened by the way his spark fluttered faster. “On the floor of the server room.”

Chromedome let out a soft sound, not quite a scoff. It was like his voxcoder couldn’t quite synthesize it. His fingers coiled Brainstorm’s wrist a little tighter and dipped into a seam with something bordering an affectionate stroke. “Someplace you’d rather go to be a sorry pair?”

The lilt in his tone suggested something Brainstorm couldn’t be sure of, but it caused his fuel tank to flip. He drifted his face toward his friend. There were so many things wrong with what his processor was starting to spiral toward, but the engex made it easy to sink into the promise of something to soothe the burrs in his spark; something to submerge himself in that would bleed the pain off. His optic ridges quirked. “No, I’m good here,” he started in a drawl. “Could think of some other things to do, though.”

Chromedome regarded Brainstorm with a sly, sideways glint of his visor. Brainstorm idly considered that he’d always found the mnemosurgeon strikingly expressive despite the visor and mask that covered his face. He recognized the glance as one of intrigue and… perhaps a little more.

Were they both crazy? Perhaps. But just like the engex, sinking into this feeling was a comfort that wiped his processor of the fresh hurts. Only rather than a numbing snap of electricity in his fuel systems, this was like a hot coil around his spark that reached out to his extremities and made them pulse with warmth. He slid a hand over Chromedome’s knee.

Motion took both of them over as both of Chromedome’s hands rose, one to cover the one Brainstorm had pressed to his knee, the other gliding up to the side of his helm. His thumb stroked over Brainstorm’s mask as his visor dimmed. Brainstorm leaned into him until their crests touched and then both of his hands were moving as well, skimming over his frame with curious fingers that dipped shallowly into lines and seams. Their faces butted together and hummed in a masked kiss, warm vents curling through the edges and feathering together, quiet; furtive.

The heat ticking up in Brainstorm’s systems along with the grainy numbness of the engex made it easy for him to succumb to the urge to pour himself over Chromedome’s body, hands pressing into his shoulders as he rode him back onto the floor and covered his lithe frame with his own. Chromedome let out a soft vent of shock and hooked his hands around Brainstorm’s waist, thumbing into seams at the tops of his hips as Brainstorm gave a few light hums of eagerness with his mask pressed to Chromedome’s throat. Pressed like this, his chest crushed over Chromedome’s, his hands electric with desire to touch, his spinal strut curving lightly as Chromedome’s touch dove against seams… he let out a soft sound that escaped as a strangled sob - a release of the ache that still pooled around his spark. The sound made Chromedome’s feverish movements slow into something more soothing. He lifted them to stroke up between Brainstorm’s wings and pull him into a hug.

“It’s okay…” he murmured against Brainstorm’s audial, sending a static shiver down his spinal strut. “I… I can’t imagine what it’s like. I’m here for you.”

Brainstorm’s face craned down to Chromedome’s shoulder and he shook as a dam broke somewhere inside him, shivering as the flood of pain wiped out his processes and he made a strangled sound against the inside of Chromedome’s neck. He wanted more engex; he didn’t want Chromedome to stop touching him; he wanted to hide himself away and never emerge until he’d found a way to make this right again somehow. Maybe he really would invent time travel. Maybe…

His processor crawled to a slow as he parsed Chromedome’s words again, rolling them through his logic matrices a few times to try and unpick the part of them that made him pause. His voxcoder made his voice sound thick and unsteady as he vented against Chromedome’s shoulder in a desperate grasp for comfort. “Can’t - can’t imagine what what’s like?” he mumbled.

One of Chromedome’s hands came up to stroke the back of Brainstorm’s helm. The click in his voxcoder and the aborted movements of his throat against the side of Brainstorm’s face signaled his inability to find the right words. “I mean, I know… you and Quark weren’t exactly sparkmates…” The bluntness of the statement pierced through the hot sorrow around Brainstorm’s spark with a new, fresh sting. His wings tilted down and Chromedome’s hand moved to feather against the bottom edge of one with a terrible gentleness. “But to lose someone you love like that. I can’t imagine what you’re going through.”

Brainstorm put a hand against Chromedome’s shoulder and levered himself more upright, until his masked face hovered directly above his friend’s. An ugly chord struck itself in his processor. “What? What do you mean?”

Chromedome looked up at him and his hands stilled around Brainstorm’s frame. His fingers mercifully froze at the edge of a wing. “What do you mean, what do I mean?”

A twist of irritation threaded up through the incomprehension. “What do you mean - I - “ His voxcoder stumbled as he forced himself out of the circular argument. He had to force his next words through. “What about Mach?”

Chromedome cycled his optics, dimming his visor for an instant. “... Who?”

Brainstorm froze, cycling through all the potential windows for misunderstanding. He hadn’t known Mach as well as Chromedome, but he’d seen them together around the Institute. They’d been almost inseparable. The two of them had been two halves of the same whole. There was no way Brainstorm could be mistaken - no way for him to forget who Mach was.

His spark stopped spinning for an instant as Chromedome’s increasingly empty and uncomfortable expression tilted up toward him. There was a way for Chromedome to forget. His friend’s fingertips had settled between his wings and, with a lurch of realization that burned inside his fuel tank, at the back of his neck.

Brainstorm kicked himself off of Chromedome with his knee in a flurry of horrified motion, causing the mnemosurgeon to grunt. “Hey, wha—”

“Mach,” Brainstorm repeated with an almost frantic severity as the engex in his fuel tank threatened to surge back up. “Your… you… you know who Mach is.” It wasn’t a question, it was a plea to the universe.

Chromedome pushed himself upright. In his optics was the hurt of shattered dignity, but none of the depths of sorrow that Brainstorm knew. The numbness he could have attributed to the engex before, but there was an emptiness there now every time Brainstorm repeated the name. There was no loss, no pain, only something terrible and vacant.

He went to his hands and knees and vented sharply at the thought, the roiling in his tank really making him think he would purge. His fingers jittered against the floor. He had - Chromedome had - he’d… “You injected yourself.”

“What?” Chromedome repeated, irritated now. “You think I…?” He lifted his hands and looked them over as if they’d been bolted to his body without him noticing, incomprehension coloring his field. “I wouldn’t do that. Don’t be ridiculous.”

Brainstorm tilted his helm down until his crest touched the floor. The pain screwed up his fuel lines; made him feel tight and nauseous. A scrap of movement behind him signaled the way Chromedome moved before the other mech placed a hand on his shoulder to stabilize him. “Brainstorm, I don’t know what you’re - “

Brainstorm tore himself away, every new touch feeling tainted by the threat of erasure - of precious memory pulled away. How easily could Chromedome simply erase what he’d had before? How easy would it be to just make the pain go away?

Brainstorm cradled the pit of pain inside his own spark protectively, like something he would hold onto forever. He curled around himself, tipped away from Chromedome.

How easily could Chromedome forget him?

“You’ll kill yourself that way,” Brainstorm said, sliding steel into his voice, forcing his leg struts to work as he wobbled to a stand. He didn’t look at Chromedome, only heard the indignant whine of actuators moving behind him. “Like you killed Mach’s memory.”

“I didn’t - “

“I won’t forget,” Brainstorm’s voice was fierce - too loud. He wheeled on Chromedome, who sat slouched on the floor aimlessly, gazing up at the jet in incomprehension. “Maybe you can just erase it, but I won’t. Forget .”

He wheeled from the room before Chromedome could think of what to say.

He would hold onto this pain. He would let it be his lantern.

3

In Brainstorm’s opinion, working at The Institute would have afforded him a little more leverage in the scientific community.

Of course, not everyone would have seen that part of his resume as entirely positive, given the kinds of things The Institute did, but there was no denying it was cutting-edge stuff. They could call it ghoulish if they liked, but they still had plenty of reasons to be impressed.

Which was why it seemed outlandish that Brainstorm had had to beg, borrow, and steal his way into getting into Kimia. In all honesty, he didn’t have many friends in the community - he was pretty sure Chromedome was the only way he’d actually gotten considered. Kimia didn’t operate on word of mouth alone, though. Regardless of the many, many rejections in the scientific community, he’d made it clear to some bots that his ideas had gumption if nothing else. Through a great amount of trial, he’d finally wormed his way into the halls of the famed science facility.

He made a point of not seeming too overly-impressed as a stout and decidedly eager bot named Ironfist showed him the facilities shortly after his arrival. Even as he kept his head on a swivel to take in all the different labs, he felt his fingers twitch eagerly. Working at The Institute had pigeonholed him into a very particular line of work. Kimia? Kimia would - and he moderately resented the relevance of this metaphor, considering they’d mostly been a hindrance on his way into the scientific community - allow him to stretch his wings.

“The Exit Rooms are where we usually go when we’re off-duty,” Ironfist was explaining in a perfunctory way, no doubt assuming that anyone who’d been accepted to work at Kimia wasn’t interested in hearing about the off-hours stuff. Not right off the bat, anyway. Brainstorm would want to see where the action was. Ironfist took his lack of reply in stride. “There’ll be plenty of time for that later. What’s your main area? Your, um, field?” He suddenly looked sheepish, like he should have known that already. Brainstorm didn’t bother to act offended. His reputation was one he still had to engrave into the annals of Cybertronian history, after all.

“Munitions,” he answered with an air of self-importance.

Ironfist nodded in understanding. “You’ll fit right in. That’s what most of our resources are going towards these days.”

Brainstorm bristled at the implication. “I’m not trying to ‘fit in,’ Ironfist. I’m not your run-of-the-mill weaponsmith. I’m an innovator. Half the stuff I’ve done would make the Ethics Committee spring a gasket.”

“That won’t make you friends around here,” Ironfist said with a bluntness that made Brainstorm flinch in surprise. “The Ethics Committee gets the final say around here. You’re not impressing them by disregarding their authority.”

“I’m not here to make friends.” A dark edge crept into Brainstorm’s voice. Ironfist shot him a  look, then turned his optics away again as he led the way down the corridor, clearly uncomfortable.

Let them be uncomfortable. Brainstorm was here to facilitate his own goals. He dared anyone to try and be ‘comfortable’ around him.

Ironfist stopped short as they were walking, bringing a hand up to the side of his audial. “Ironfist here.” He cut another glance at Brainstorm, who twitched the tips of his wings in a stroke of impatience. “Yes, he’s with me. Yeah. We’re on our way.” He lowered his hand and turned to face the jet. “That was Slamdance - I don’t think you’ve met. He’s one of the directors here. I think he has something in mind to get you started with one of the other scientists.”

Brainstorm regarded this with a sly sort of curiosity. “With another scientist? I’m more of a solo act, you know. I don’t need the machinations of a mind smaller than mine gumming up the gears. But lead the way.”

Ironfist huffed and rolled his optics. He pivoted to lead Brainstorm down a different corridor. “Right. Come on.”

The rest of their walk was free of Ironfist’s commentary. He led them to a lab in a more remote corner of the facility, Brainstorm meanwhile considering which scientist here was about to cramp his style. He had to play by the rules, at least for the moment. Once he was settled, he had no compunctions about letting the full gamut of his scientific acumen flow freely, consequences be damned. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. In his opinion, ethics were antithetical to scientific advancement.

Two mechs stood in the lab as Ironfist opened the door, one a minibot with blue and red armor - Brainstorm could guess that this one was Slamdance. Because the other mech - the red one with the shoulder-mounted scope - could be no one else but the esteemed Perceptor of Vespertine Blue, luminary of the Iaconian Academy of Science and Technology and all-around muckety muck in the scientific field.

Brainstorm’s fists curled at his sides.

“Hey, you’re the newest scientist, right?” Slamdance perked up as the two mechs entered and offered a hand. Brainstorm bustled past it as he stepped into the lab and scrutinized it, noting orderly stations and neatly tucked away implements. The only indication that someone was working here was a few chemical devices set up on the workstation behind Perceptor, who sidestepped in annoyance as Brainstorm encroached into his personal space. Slamdance synthesized clearing his throat.

“That’s me,” Brainstorm answered belatedly. “I’m guessing you called me here to put my genius to work on some new cutting-edge compound. What are we talking, some sort of projectile-guided adhesive that will fuse a bot’s circuits together? A psychoactive nano-chemical compound to invade the brain module and make someone think their protoform is melting?”

“No such thing,” Perceptor cut in, looking appalled. “It’s Brainstorm, isn’t it? I suspect you have a skewed perspective of the sort of work we do at this facility. Our end goal is not simply to aid the war effort but to aid Cybertron as a whole. I advise you to moderate your expectations when it comes to the sorts of scientific advancements we focus on. The Ethics Committee - “

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Slamdance interrupted. “This particular project may not be grand-scale, but that doesn’t diminish its importance. I thought this would be a good opportunity for our newest recruit to put his skills to use.”

“Easing me in? Don’t bother,” Brainstorm said dismissively. He looked Perceptor over, quickly at first, then with a more obvious sweep of his optics that made his colleague shift uncomfortably. The secondary anatomy was obviously that of a microscope, even if he hadn’t known the other mech by reputation. He squashed down the uncomfortable surge that went through his spark. A little obviously, he said, “ Sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”

Perceptor seemed caught off-guard by that. Clearly, he was used to being recognized. Brainstorm intended to nip whatever sense of superiority the other mech might have over him in the bud. Whether he caught the irony in Brainstorm’s tone was unclear. “Of course. My apologies. I am Perceptor.”

“So you’ve heard of me, huh?” the jet mused. “No doubt you’ve read my academy dissertation on using quantum threads to reroute energy into creating a bomb out of a neutron star?”

“I knew your name because Slamdance disclosed it to me,” Perceptor said flatly. “I did, however, read your dissertation. I hadn’t realized your name was attached to it. I found your claims about quantum thread theory to be unverified, and the idea of weaponizing an entire star system - while inventive - too reprehensible to be considered as anything but an unconscionable fantasy.”

Brainstorm’s wings stiffened until the tips vibrated. “You—”

“Brainstorm,” Slamdance cut in again. Brainstorm whipped a look at him as he felt indignation boil under his cladding. “I understand your frustration, but we’re going to need you to think outside of weapons of mass destruction. Munitions aren’t the only thing we do here, and it’s not the project I have in mind for you and Perceptor.”

Brainstorm took a second to sweep a look towards Ironfist, who was backing towards the doorway. A grip of hot anger closed around his spark. “Me and Perceptor working together, huh? Just so long as his lack of vision doesn’t get in my way, I suppose.”

If he had to work with a fellow scientist, he wasn’t sure he had a preference - anyone besides himself wouldn’t be adequate. But if he had a chance to show what he was really capable of to someone, Perceptor would be a fine bot to make a first impression to. The pompous fool clearly thought he was better than the jet already. But he’d show him. He’d make him see.

“With all due respect, I don’t believe he’s suited to this task,” Perceptor said to Slamdance, looking away from Brainstorm and speaking as if he weren’t there. Brainstorm felt the pressure in his fuel pump rocket up.

“Excuse me, o high-and-mighty Perceptor, but no one has even bothered to let me in on what it is I’m supposed to be working on. Why don’t you let me judge what I’m suited to? Do you think I’m not genius enough to take on a project outside of my usual field, or are you just worried you’ll be overshadowed by my superior intellect?”

“So far, you have done nothing but tout your own imagined achievements while downplaying the sorts of scientific advancements Kimia is actually capable of,” Perceptor spoke like the crack of a whip. Brainstorm trained his wings to stay straight and proud as his fellow scientist approached him and jabbed a reprimanding finger to his chest. “You are rude, egotistical, and frankly, dangerous. You will not last long on this station with that sort of attitude.” He rounded towards Slamdance again. “I will not work with him.”

Brainstorm reconciled the feeling that lanced his spark as being hurt by that. Judged and discarded again. Typical.

What was new?

He gave no sign of that. Only hiked his wings up self-importantly. “Like I’d wanna work with a pompous pillock like you anyway!” He looked at Slamdance, who held his hands up non-confrontationally as he shot worried optics between both scientists. “You know what? I refuse to work with him. Make sure you make note of who said what in the records: I refuse to work with him, got it?” He made an aggressive stomp towards Perceptor, who frowned in exasperation as the jet flared his wings out to look bigger, then wheeled away from both mechs and rejoined Ironfist, who had all but shrunken through the doorway. He stormed down the corridor as the minibot pulled himself away to follow him, though Brainstorm barely noticed.

Turned out Kimia would just be more of the same.

4

Brainstorm hated having to physically meet for exchanges. He could usually play himself off as being too busy or too easily compromised to do it himself. He usually leaned into the idea of being too important to risk it—better to have an underling make the trade. A small guy. Brainstorm? He’d dealt with the DJD. He was a big deal. He was on the cutting edge of Decepticon intelligence.

Okay, he wasn’t that big of a deal. But playing into it made him look like a better Decepticon. It also usually kept him from having to do this.

This wasn’t the first time Deluge had sent him an encrypted message to make an exchange in person, usually in some inconspicuous street corner that Brainstorm sort of thought was conspicuous by virtue of the fact that it seemed like exactly the sort of place someone would have a clandestine meeting.

In all fairness, if he had to worry about anyone seeing through Brainstorm’s ruse—his half-hearted attempt to pretend at being a Decepticon because it just happened to be lucrative —it was Deluge. He’d dealt with him enough times to know he was a qualified scientist. He was smart. He halfway suspected he could piece together what sorts of things Brainstorm was working on based on the requisitions he’d put in. Deluge was high enough in the food chain that Brainstorm knew he could also find someone else to trade off parts for him. But perhaps he didn’t trust anyone else to receive the information Brainstorm had to deliver. Or maybe he just wanted to keep a personal hand in things.

He was also a huge creep.

Brainstorm transformed out of his jet mode and landed in the shambles of a street. He’d taken the shuttle from Kimia and said that he was off to pick up some research materials. He’d been treated with suspicion, but he always had been. He suspected it had more to do with what he might do with his research and had little to do with any potential secret alliances. He kept a fist around the handle of his briefcase as he started toward their appointed meeting space. He’d cuffed it to his wrist for good measure. He couldn’t risk this getting too far. He’d put enough work into it that he couldn’t risk it flying out of his hands for some unforeseen reason. And he certainly couldn’t risk leaving it in his workshop back at the facility. Being muzzled by the Ethics Committee wasn’t enough invasion of the sanctity of his masterworks. He knew someone would snoop. And someone would pay the consequences for it. 

A telltale stir of dark blue armor and shifty red optics told Brainstorm he’d found the right place. He gave a perfunctory look around before sliding into their appointed meeting space. Deluge’s smile was ill-meaning.

“Heh… you’re a bit late, Brainstorm.”

Deluge’s wheedling voice always tapped into a direct bypass of the part of Brainstorm’s processor that allowed him to feign patience. “I got here, didn’t I? Can’t exactly drop everything without getting suspicious looks in my line of work.”

Deluge smiled with too much dentae showing. “Of course. I understand. You have the data, then?”

“Yeah. Right here.” Brainstorm pulled a data slug from a compartment in his hip. While it had been a difficult task to keep himself apprised of Decepticon intel on top of his duties on Kimia (not to mention his more personal projects), he’d made a point of spinning old information into something that looked new. It wasn’t out of any great love for the Autobots—since when had they done him any favors?—as much as a distaste for the messiness of the Decepticons. Besides, if he was an Autobot at heart, he knew which side was statistically more likely to show him mercy, and it wasn’t the one with their own murder squad for deserters.

Statistically, that was. He’d worked at the Institute, after all. He knew all too well what the Autobots were capable of. Brainstorm fancied himself pretty knowledgeable about the atrocities on both sides of the war.

“Hmm, yes… heh. Thank you for your hard work, as always.” Deluge plucked the data slug from Brainstorm’s fingers and tucked it away into a compartment in his chest. “I’ll take a look at the contents after our meeting. I trust there’s new information on it, this time?”

Brainstorm concentrated on not letting himself flinch. “Whaddya mean, ‘this time?’”

The blue mech steepled his fingers. “You do me too little credit, Brainstorm. With one of my goons, your ruse might have gone undetected. But I’m something of a data analyst, heheh… I know redundant information when I see it.”

The world tilted in Brainstorm’s processor. Despite the mounting panic that balled in his chassis, he kept his outward demeanor as calm as ever. Breezy, even. “Deluge, information is like matter. You can create it by expending energy, but it can’t be destroyed. If there’s redundant info in there, it’s only because there’s a limited supply.”

“Ahhh,” Deluge dropped his voice in a way that clearly meant he was getting more serious. “Once or twice, I would believe that. But everything you’ve handed me? Heh, that seems unlikely. There is plenty of new intel out there. You just aren’t giving it to me.”

Brainstorm was silent for a beat. He’d been careful, dammit. He’d worked double-time to make it look like new intel, reworded everything; changed a few names. It hadn’t been obvious at all. But Deluge had a keen eye. Probably his only positive trait.

“You’re very intelligent, Brainstorm,” Deluge continued, putting a hand over the jet’s forearm. Brainstorm pulled his arm back abruptly and Deluge considered him with a sickly glint to his optics. “Very intelligent. I almost didn’t catch it. No one else has, either. And I suppose no one needs to… provided…”

Brainstorm narrowed his optics as he considered. He wasn’t keen on going all in with the Decepticons. If he really betrayed Autobot secrets, he’d be screwed on both ends if he ever got found out. But he was also a real Decepticon; brand and all. If he ran afoul of them… well, there were things worse than death they could put him through. And that really didn’t work with his current timeline.

Reluctantly, he took the prompt. “Provided what? ”

Deluge’s grin sharpened. “Brainstorm… heh, don’t think I don’t sympathize with you. I know what it’s like to have my brilliance overshadowed. I tried to be an Autobot once, and they spurned me.” A lip twitched, making his smile a sneer. “I—heh—I think your cover with the Autobots has gotten too deep for your own good. But…” He reached out and walked his fingers up the middle of Brainstorm’s chest. “If you’d like to continue the way things are, I can keep your secret. It will only cost a small favor, heheh.”

The squeeze inside Brainstorm’s fuel tank was hard enough to make him feel like he might purge. Deluge’s fingers on his chassis made his cladding crawl, but he held himself still. He didn’t need to be a genius to figure out what Deluge was getting at.

Was it worth it? If he said no, what would happen? Deluge would out him to his superiors? Brainstorm would become a traitor to both the Decepticons and the Autobots? What little standing he had in the scientific community would fall? Hell, would he end up on the DJD’s list?

For a second, all of that sounded preferable to letting Deluge touch him with those dirty fingers of his.

But it wasn’t worth the risk. In the end, he had a schedule to keep. Soon… soon everything would be right again. And maybe, maybe, he could make it so this had never happened and let the memory of it slip away into the blissful aether of non-existence.

“I’m listening,” Brainstorm answered, forcing his engine to give a pulse.

5

The meeting with Prowl had gone about as well as all meetings with Prowl went.

Which was to say, Brainstorm had nodded and said “can do” to a long list of morally reprehensible demands while Drift and Rodimus stood next to him, clearly fussed over the idea of bringing a phase sixer on board, regardless of how paralyzed he was. Like Brainstorm didn’t know what he was doing or something. Silly of them.

Naturally, he trusted Prowl as much as the next person: not at all. But the slow cell was sound technology, especially with the safeguards he’d put painstakingly into place already. Besides, the opportunity to study and replicate a phase sixer? He didn’t need to go as far as liking Prowl to agree that the scientific applications were downright tantalizing. So long as they were all on the same page - and Chromedome would be, eventually - Operation: Tragic End would go off without a hitch.

… He was still workshopping the name.

He was avoidant of Drift, who was making his rounds amidst the small crowd that had gathered at the docks of a ship called the Last Light. Or was it Lost Light? Point being, the correct ship for him to be aboard. He didn’t see Rodimus anywhere, but he planned on giving him a wide berth as well. The one he was looking for now was Chromedome, though he thought he had little chance of catching him without his diminutive conjunx bolted to his hip.

He thought he saw a familiar set of broad shoulders somewhere above the median height of the crowd and almost bumped into a fellow flier with blue and yellow armor. He jerked his briefcase up high out of the way and had “Watch the briefcase!” halfway out of his mouth before realizing who it was he’d bumped into. The other mech arched his optical ridges in recognition. “Whoa! Is that really you, Gen—”

Brainstorm seized him by the upper arm hard and clapped a hand over his face. Not very effective, considering the other mech had a mask, but he shut up anyway.

A few of the other bots standing nearby spared a skeptical look at the two of them. Brainstorm suddenly threw an arm around the other mech’s shoulders and affected a lively grin as he walked the two of them a little further toward the edge of the crowd. “Deftwing!” Brainstorm said jovially. “That’s right, it’s your old pal, Brainstorm .” He added a biting edge to his own designation to ensure that Deftwing got the message.

Under his arm, Deftwing tilted his wings uncertainly. “R-right, um…”

Once they were far enough from the next nearest bot, Brainstorm clenched his arm around Deftwing a tighter so that his grip bit into his neck. His former squad mate gave a small yelp of alarm. “H—”

“Listen to me real carefully,” Brainstorm said coldly. Deftwing’s helm was practically crushed against his own as he hissed in a dangerous whisper. “Genitus? Solar Storm? Not me. That was a different guy. So you’re gonna call me Brainstorm, and you’re not gonna bring up either of those names to anyone. Got that?”

“I—”

“It’s Brainstorm. You got it? ”

“Yeah!” Deftwing shunted the word out in one urgent gasp. Brainstorm released him from his hold and the other flier reeled back a step, rubbing a hand against his collar armor. Then he shuffled away from his former teammate, avoiding the curious onlookers as he pushed his way through the crowd away from the scientist.

An unfortunate but necessary step, Brainstorm reasoned.

He cast a look out across the small sea of mechs and was irritated to find that he’d lost Chromedome’s silhouette. Not that he wouldn’t have plenty of opportunities to talk to his friend, but he was the type who liked to get the ball rolling early. He swept a look around as he shouldered his way between the mechs standing near the platform, awaiting the appointed time to board. Prowl had made it clear he didn’t foresee many joining Rodimus’s crew, but all told, there had to be at least two hundred bots here. If there was any sense of trepidation over how many bots were now at risk under their little classified project, he pushed it down hard.

As he was making his way towards the last spot he’d seen Chromedome amidst the crowd, he was surprised when he nearly bumped into a familiar red mech, with a familiar shoulder-mounted scope.

“Perceptor!” he said automatically, bringing himself up short. He swung his briefcase behind his hip and put his other hand over his chest as he found himself giving his colleague a stunned once-over. Perceptor had always had a functional build for a science class mech; squared off and practical. But now, the microscope had been modified with the streamlined edges of a warrior. His build was lighter, with panels shaped and reinforced for combat. A targeting lens sat over his right optic. The jet found himself mute. 

“Brainstorm,” Perceptor answered. The evenness of his tone was hard to unpack. Polite, maybe. Wary, perhaps. In their time working on Kimia, they’d forged a barely functional working relationship after their first encounter. Brainstorm would balk at calling them ‘friends’ so much as ‘intellectual rivals,’ but there was at least some respect there. No doubt because Brainstorm had managed to prove his mettle as the superior scientist, though Perceptor no doubt didn’t see it that way. “It has been a while.”

Brainstorm firmed himself. The alterations Perceptor seemed to have made to his frame were proving… distracting. “You disappeared there for a while,” Brainstorm said carefully. “The rumor around Kimia was that you joined up with the Wreckers. Did my intellectual prowess finally scare you off?”

Perceptor didn’t seem amused or irritated. He didn’t see much of anything, in fact. Even if he was quick to brush him off, the microscope usually had something to say to such posturing in the past. Brainstorm had expected to feel some form of satisfaction at the lack of argument, but instead, he felt strangely empty. “I did work with the Wreckers for a time,” Perceptor answered plainly.

Brainstorm wasn’t sure what to make of this. It wasn’t… it wasn’t any fun if Perceptor didn’t bite back. Perceptor was a pompous aft, but he was cunning, and astute, and quick as a neutronian phase-whip. This Perceptor was cold. Detached. There was something dangerous roiling behind those sharp blue optics.

Brainstorm’s spark gave an uncomfortable turn.

“Pah, look at us,” Brainstorm said unexpectedly, most of all to himself, as he blurted out a slightly bitter laugh. “A microscope on the front lines and a jet in the lab. Are you going back to your research, or are you more of a point-and-shoot guy now?”

“Drift approached me about the mission,” Perceptor said thoughtfully. His lips parted reluctantly before going on. “He said he had me in mind to be the chief science officer.”

Brainstorm’s optics narrowed as a lance of jealousy went up his spinal strut. “Oh he did, did he? You’re gonna have some catching up to do, you know. While you were busy knocking elbows with the Wreckers, I’ve been making some pretty big moves on Kimia.”

“So I hear.” His colleague indulged him with a mildly testy undertone. After a pause where Brainstorm gave a familiar flitter of his wings at the criticism Perceptor left in the subtext, he was surprised when he spoke up again. “For the record: whatever misgivings I’ve had about your work in the past, you do belong in a lab, Brainstorm. More so than on a battlefield. I hope that the occasional hostility between us on Kimia didn’t convince you that I thought otherwise.”

That took Brainstorm aback. He tilted in surprise. “Well. Well, obviously,” he stammered. He reconciled with the sensation of an icy grip suddenly easing somewhere inside his chassis. “Why would you even say that?”

“‘A microscope on the front lines,’” he repeated patiently. “‘And a jet in the lab.’ You say that as if there’s something amiss. But a lab is always where you’ve been at your best.”

What was this? Not quite flattery, but… well, if he was being honest with himself, Perceptor had never seemed to care as much about their feud as he did. Being acknowledged was the closest thing he recalled as being even close to praise from his peer. He fought himself not to flutter bashfully. “Well,” he said again, easing the slightest warmth into his jovial tone. “You were obviously doing the soldier thing pretty well if you were rolling with the Wreckers. But for the record, you belong in a lab, too.” As if he feared the sentimentality sinking in too far, he added swiftly, “How else am I gonna show you up?”

A line eased between Perceptor’s optical ridges. “Brainstorm,” he started with a familiar exasperation.

“Hey, Percy!” Rodimus appeared from the crowd as he called out, working his way between two other mechs deep in conversation. He put a hand on Perceptor’s arm. “Exactly who I was looking for. Ultra Magnus was saying something about an inspection on the quantum engines? And something about… you know what? I definitely tuned out after that. Anyway, any conversations about the engines need to involve you.”

“Rodimus, I think—” Perceptor started.

“Nope, I don’t care if he’s talking about something as simple as what color he wants the lighting to be in the engine room. You’re the one here for engine conversations.”

Brainstorm froze in indignation as Rodimus waved at him without looking at him. As he was tugged away, Perceptor gave him a brief nod of goodbye. Brainstorm puzzled over the last thing Perceptor had said so deeply he almost forgot to be offended that Rodimus acted like he wasn’t even there.

“Crazy,” a voice said softly behind him.

Brainstorm wheeled in surprise to see Ratchet had stopped nearby. He looked just a little sheepish when the jet turned to him like he hadn’t realized he’d been eavesdropping.

“What, that he’s chief science officer and not me? Because I agree.” Brainstorm disparaged.

Ratchet shook his helm, not sparing a reply to the last comment. A ripple of something sad flitted off his field. “Just… haven’t heard him put more than five words together since what happened with Turmoil’s crew.”

He shrugged thoughtfully before turning away from Brainstorm, who watched him go in surprise. He glanced off in the direction Rodimus had led Perceptor and clutched the handle of his briefcase just a little tighter.

6

Perceptor had barely kept track of Brainstorm after stepping back onto the Lost Light after their misadventure on Luna 1. He’d fallen to the grim task of helping Ratchet and First Aid along as the two of them hobbled from their own ordeal, both covered in spilled energon. Ratchet had been making a good show of keeping up morale on his end and helping the mechs who’d been more seriously injured in the aftermath of Tyrest’s killswitch, but First Aid was mute and unfocused in a way that made Perceptor’s internals lurch.

He supposed they’d all seen some troubling things, after all.

The loss of the Matrix - or at least Rodimus’s portion - had stricken him in an odd way. A fragment of one of Cybertron’s most sacred relics had been destroyed for the benefit of saving a good portion of the Cybertronian race. He wondered if he should feel bereft at the loss. But after watching Brainstorm drop to the floor and have his spark energy bleed off in the most horrific way imaginable, he knew it was a sacrifice he would have made a thousand times.

He caught the sight of the teal jet moving with purpose at the head of the gangway. Perceptor glanced up at him and put an apologetic hand up to excuse himself from Ratchet’s side. Ratchet barely spared him a nod as Perceptor paced up the gangway.

Brainstorm fiddled with the clasps of his briefcase, optical ridges pinched in consternation as his thumbs juddered clumsily over the latches, barely watching where he was walking. Perceptor caught up to him easily and paused to push a hand to his shoulder. Brainstorm flinched with a look that was almost guilty.

“Brainstorm,” Perceptor said briskly, somewhat caught off-guard by the look of vulnerability that crossed the jet’s expression before being covered up by his normal pinpoint intensity. It threw him from his previously intended purpose to check on him, making him hesitate. “I… wanted to check that you were alright.”

Brainstorm’s field gave an awkward pulse. Even obscured by his mask, he gave a twisted expression, uncertain and perhaps a little bashful. “What makes you think I wouldn’t be fine?” he preened, looking at his briefcase rather than at the microscope.

Perceptor cycled a blink. “I can’t imagine having your spark pulled halfway from your body was a pleasant experience. Has Ratchet or First Aid had a look at you yet?”

“Hm! I didn’t know you cared, Perceptor,” Brainstorm said with a brassy laugh. “I’ve had worse than that in the lab. This was nothing.”

Perceptor gave him a sidelong look that was equal parts concerned and unimpressed. He had no doubt about how much danger Brainstorm had put himself in but had sincere doubts that he’d done something quite as extensive to himself as extracting his own spark. He felt his lips move, wanting to state how difficult it had been to watch his life energy leave him like steam from a vent. Instead, he observed, “When you said you marched for anti-apartheid…”

“Don’t,” Brainstorm cut him off with a sudden severity. Perceptor brought himself up short. “I might be smarter than you, but I know you’re smart enough to know you shouldn’t say another word.”

Perceptor eased himself, irritated at the way Brainstorm pushed back against something so irrational. The microscope turned the present information over in his processor to realize his fellow scientist had outright lied about being constructed cold, but wouldn’t allow for discussion. As if he were ashamed of it, after all.

He let it rest. Instead, backing down, he said, “I’m glad you’re alright.”

Something unreadable crossed Brainstorm’s optics. He glanced away from Perceptor, his field pulling in tight beyond where Perceptor could feel it. “Glad enough to break the Matrix about it?” he jabbed with something approaching guilt in his tone. Before Perceptor could even open his mouth to answer, he added. “Hope I’m worth it.”

“Half the Cybertronian race was worth it,” Perceptor clarified, though his spark gave a strange lurch over the idea that he might have broken the Matrix on Brainstorm’s behalf alone. Which should have been ridiculous, and yet…

“Yeah, well…” Brainstorm continued, lowering his cocky guard just enough to let the barest glimpse of gratitude through. “I wasn’t finished showing you up, so… thanks for the save.”

Perceptor brushed the boastfulness aside and gave a small nod.

“Now if you’re done being clingy,” the jet continued, curling a protective hand over the edge of his briefcase before starting to step away, “I have to have someone to talk to.”

Perceptor let him go but stood with a strange sense of apprehension. He filtered onto the ship with the rest of the away crew, anticipating the damage done while they’d been away. A mech he recognized briefly passed by on a stretcher slab, quite dead, blue and yellow armor graying. Deftwing, he recalled his name to be.

He stared at the corpse as it was carted away, morose, before casting himself off towards the lab, into the safe embrace of logic rather than the swirling chaos of other mechs and the pitfalls they put inside his spark.

7

It was unusual for Perceptor not to have a precise plan before heading into something. Which was why he found himself somewhat baffled even as he made his way down to the brig, datapads tucked under his arm as he headed for Brainstorm’s holding cell. He politely talked his way past Aquafend, who stood guard at the entrance of the holding area. He’d been given no uncertain parameters not to try anything while he was in here, which frankly, Perceptor resented.

Aquafend unlocked the holding area. Perceptor stole through and paced the row of cells. All were empty, save one at the very end.

Brainstorm sat in his cell, the sinister violet glow of the stasis bars illuminating the side of his body. His arms folded over his knees, head hung, wings tilted down over his frame as if shielding himself. The shadows his own armor cast on his face made it hard to see, but the gold of his optics was bright in the shadows. They fixed on the floor. Their light moved as Perceptor approached, but his fellow scientist made no other move at his arrival.

Perceptor took a stool sitting against the wall and pulled it over, then sat outside the cell. He found himself at a greater loss for words than he’d anticipated. Brainstorm bristled in the silence.

“What do you want?”

Perceptor hadn’t recalled Brainstorm’s voice ever being so cold. There was nothing of the sly, capricious mech he was familiar with. It was as if he were seeing someone else entirely. Or perhaps simply seeing them for the first time.

Perceptor realized a reply was prudent here. He frowned lightly. “I came about your work. I had hoped I could discuss it with you.”

Brainstorm looked up. With a start, Perceptor realized he didn’t have his mask. He was aware of some of the facts—that Brainstorm’s duplicate on the other Lost Light had been found with a Decepticon insignia behind his mask. He hadn’t seen it confirmed. And he could only recall a few times when he’d seen Brainstorm without his mask, even in the long time they’d been colleagues on Kimia. He was treated to the full fury of indignation that crossed the other mech’s features as he looked Perceptor over with incandescent optics.

“You want to discuss my work with me.” He repeated it in bitter disbelief, not bothering to form it as a question. “You want to discuss my work with me.”

“Yes,” Perceptor answered. He had no reason to be frightened by Brainstorm, but the utter outrage rolling off of his frame was enough to make him flinch with the consideration that this had, perhaps, not been a great idea. He’d been eager to learn more—he’d been caught up in his colleague’s achievement to the point that he’d perhaps overlooked the lack of decorum in questioning him on it while he was in the brig.

He had thought this through—at least somewhat. He cleared his voxcoder and crossed his leg over his knee primly. “Brainstorm, I’m not certain what the outcome of your trial will be. And I’m not certain what will become of your work. But I came here to ask in case… well, in case I don’t have another chance. At least not for the foreseeable future.”

“Oh god,” Brainstorm quailed a bit. “Do you think they’ll execute me or something?”

“Of course not,” Perceptor said hastily. “Though exile might be more realistic.”

Brainstorm’s mouth turned down. He looked like he might be ill for a moment, but the expression passed quickly. He looked down at the floor again. “Why d’you wanna know about it? It didn’t work.”

“What you did was something I hadn’t previously thought possible,” Perceptor explained. He pulled up a datapad and began swiping through it quickly. “Of course, I took as many notes as I possibly could, though the most prudent research would have been done as I was in the midst of using your auxiliary cases to aid in the teleportation of Rodimus’s away team, and I hadn’t the time to write it all down. It was all I could do to pick apart what you’d done and work with the information I had quickly enough to provide support for Rodimus and the others—it was brilliant. The ramifications of temporal manipulation… not to mention the loop you’d generated to account for the paradox locks—it was only theoretical until—“ He caught himself, wincing reactively in anticipation of a curt request for him to be silent.

One never came. Brainstorm watched him, optics glassy; expression hollow but slightly wistful. He didn’t reply. Perceptor found himself making up the ground for speaking, disconcerted at the fact that his usually talkative fellow scientist was not.

“I’d like the chance to understand it better,” Perceptor summarized. “If you’re willing to discuss it with me.”

Brainstorm gauged him, then spilled out a bitter laugh as his face turned away again. “Discuss it,” he repeated. “Yeah, Perceptor. I can discuss it. I spent hundreds of years of my life pioneering time travel technology only to blow it at the eleventh hour. I panicked. And then I made a unilateral decision that could have changed our entire timeline, and I wouldn’t even have been around to see what I’d done. Big coward move. I would have saved some, yeah. But others wouldn’t even be the same person.” He swept a look over Perceptor’s frame in a way that made his fuel lines freeze. “And some wouldn’t even get a chance to exist. All because I got cornered. What kind of idiot am I?”

Perceptor shifted the datapad in his hands and laid it on his lap, watching Brainstorm’s face. There were a great number of meanings he could take from that explanation, but he needed to be sure. “You wouldn’t have been around to see it?”

“I’m an M.T.O.,” he admitted. His wings wilted at his shoulders. His fists balled up where they rested over his knees and he looked away. Perceptor saw a sliver of disgust before his expression tilted beyond where Perceptor could see it. “Genitus of Operation: Solar Storm. That’s my real designation. Only without Megatron, Operation: Solar Storm didn’t happen. I didn’t happen. No war, no me. No M.T.O.’s.”

In all the centuries Perceptor had worked with him, he hadn’t known that Brainstorm had ever gone by a different designation. He recalled the mission to Luna-1, when Tyrest’s kill switch had brought every cold-constructed mech low, including the boastful Brainstorm, who’d professed to be Forged only a few hours before. He’d known Brainstorm was constructed cold. Learning that he was an M.T.O. shouldn’t have been a further surprise, but perhaps Perceptor was not so immune to the conditioned response to Functionist ideals as he’d hoped. He held himself from making any indication. He didn’t think less of Brainstorm for it. If anything, he found himself with a renewed sense of admiration. Perceptor had been Forged; science class from his very ignition.

What adversity had Brainstorm had to overcome to stand amidst Cybertron’s greatest scientific minds? Perceptor’s light suddenly felt very pale by comparison.

“You don’t have to stick around,” Brainstorm said after a moment, taking the silence that had lapsed to mean that Perceptor was now disgusted.

“You didn’t make that decision,” Perceptor finally said. “I heard the brief when Rodimus and the others returned. You stood down.”

“Yeah, then Rewind stole my thunder,” Brainstorm joked weakly, voice sticking with static. His optics were glossy with coolant. He brushed his forearm across his face impatiently.

Perceptor’s fuel pump gave an uncomfortable squeeze. He’d come here to ask about Brainstorm’s research and hadn’t expected the conversation to turn quite so personal. Perhaps that was shortsighted on his part. He’d been so caught up in Brainstorm’s work that he’d failed to consider how personal his reasons had been for the work in the first place.

“Brainstorm…” he started and stopped when Brainstorm’s leaking optics turned on him with a bitterness that wrenched his internals. He wasn’t good at this part of it. He had to take a moment to collect his words before pressing on. “Whatever the outcome… whatever you did or didn’t do… what you accomplished from a scientific standpoint was remarkable. You didn’t avert the war, but you did travel through time. An achievement like that is to be applauded.”

Brainstorm’s optical ridges pinched together, skeptical. He said nothing, watching for Perceptor to continue.

Perceptor gave it some thought. Brainstorm hung on the silence, grasping at anything that could pull him up from it. “It couldn’t have been easy, considering that you finished the final stages in that cluttered workshop of yours. I can’t make any promises about what the outcome of the trial will be, but… if you do remain on the ship afterward…” And he found that he hoped Brainstorm would remain. “I wondered if you might like to partner with me in the lab.”

For a second, Brainstorm looked like he might be offended at the jab at his workshop—stated as a fact, not as a criticism, it was cluttered. Then his expression froze in a look of abject shock. His mouth worked for a moment before managing to speak. “You want me to be your lab partner?”

“If you’re to conduct experiments on this scale,” Perceptor said crisply, “it seems only proper that you have an adequate environment for it. There will be protocols to adhere to, mind you. I shudder to think what you let slide in that workshop of yours.”

“You want to be lab partners?” Brainstorm said again, still catching up.

Perceptor had to keep himself from smiling. Was it so unbelievable? Belatedly, he remembered his somewhat heated dismissal on Kimia and his expression eased into one of regretful understanding. Perhaps it was.

“With protocols,” he said gently. “Yes.”

Perceptor barely caught the way Brainstorm’s fists curled, as if the jet were wrestling some unseen force. It caused his spark to bob uncertainly. Perhaps being partnered wasn’t what Brainstorm wanted, after all. Their arrangement had been tenuous before, perhaps he’d miscalculated—

“Yeah…” Brainstorm vented out shakily, his frame hitching as coolant started down his facial mesh again. “I’d like that, Percy. Yes. That’s… hah…” His expression turned away. His wings bobbed lightly as what Perceptor realized were silent sobs caused his body to shudder. “Good idea.”

Perceptor forced himself to still. Watching the wily weapon engineer fall apart like this clutched something in his internals with a tight squeeze. He fought down the urge to extend a hand through the bars. Instead, he said, voice gentling reasonably, “I hope this ends favorably. I look forward to conducting work with you in the future.”

Brainstorm let out a strangled laugh, still keeping his expression tucked away. “Thank you… thank you, Percy…” he managed.

Perceptor pursed his lips, replacing the urge to touch his fellow scientist by standing up and tucking his datapad under his arm. “I will… see you at the trial, Brainstorm.”

“Thank you…” Brainstorm repeated, sliding amber optics in Perceptor’s direction for just a second; molten golden pools striking down straight to his spark. The corner of Perceptor’s mouth twitched. With a nod of departure, he turned and left the brig with a strange ache in his spark that he hadn’t expected.

8

Perceptor stood in solitude in Brainstorm’s workshop.

Given what everyone had learned about Brainstorm’s work with the time case, it was likely the best place to perform calculations and tests on the quantum intricacies of the Warren that Getaway had spoken about. And yet he hadn’t had the spark to cross the threshold of this room until now.

Would it make his work easier? Objectively, yes. The tools at his disposal in this workshop were much more suited to the task at hand. Subjectively, however… subjectively, he couldn’t bring himself to focus on the task at hand when this workshop was so conspicuously lifeless.

He’d come in here under the pretense that it might aid his research, but he found himself instead passing a hand along the edge of Brainstorm’s workstation. He stood in the darkness where he hadn’t bothered to turn on the lights, frowning as he mused on the hours Brainstorm had likely spent here working on his Unmentionable. His time machine. The most brilliant masterwork Perceptor had had the pleasure of seeing created in his recent functioning. His palm smoothed flat over the surface.

Was Brainstorm alive?

Something in Perceptor’s spark promised that yes, if anyone had a chance of outmaneuvering the DJD, it was Rodimus. And if anyone could invent their way out of a situation, it was Brainstorm.

That had been Getaway’s gravest error. Leaving mechs as tenacious as them unaccounted for. Because he knew - he knew it had been intentional. The nudge gun. The DJD. All of it. Because an escape artist like Getaway didn’t leave loose ends unaccounted for.

Perceptor paced further into the workshop. He picked up a datapad that had been tossed aside onto one of the benches.

“Brainstorm,” he muttered aloud to it. “It’s much quieter without you, you know.”

His spark sunk.

He switched on the datapad and scrolled through it curiously. Perhaps it wasn’t his place, but his curiosity got the better of him. A number of things had changed since Brainstorm’s trial, most notably the fact that they’d become lab partners. Perceptor had given many new projects his oversight, especially in light of the mistrust Brainstorm’s actions had caused amidst the crew. Lately, he’d been given a bit more autonomy outside the lab, because Perceptor knew him well enough that he had no wish to hurt the crew. He never had. Without Brainstorm here, he felt a little guilty over prying into whatever it was Brainstorm had been working on, but it wasn’t out of mistrust for his partner. Only a desire to see what else a mind like his might come up with.

He scrolled through a few pages of disjointed notes and data. As he read on, he saw the scrawlings and speculations start forming into a somewhat coherent design: a starfield generator that sent signals between nearby star systems and relayed their energy using quantum refraction. The notes implied that this would aid in recharging the quantum generators at least thirty percent faster - though it notably bypassed a few safety protocols, but then it wouldn’t be a Brainstorm idea otherwise, would it? It also promised to be quite a spectacle as quantum energy traversed along quantum ley lines between the stars.

Remarkable.

Perceptor laid down the datapad and cupped his chin in his hand. Every time Perceptor thought he could predict his partner’s ingenuity, he surprised him again with something he hadn’t previously thought possible. It was true that Brainstorm thought outside the box - more than that, he hated the box. And while this led to some outlandish and unconventional outcomes, Perceptor couldn’t deny the results, nor could he help but admire them.

After a moment of thought, he picked the datapad back up and skimmed a fond thumb over the edge of it, mapping the starfield generator in his mind, tracing lines of quantum energy with mathematical precision and delighting in their astral design.

“You’ll be back,” he mentioned to the datapad, before turning with it in his hands and respectfully shutting off the lights to the workshop.

9

Brainstorm was unpleasantly surprised by the feeling that settled in his fuel tank as Quark’s hand folded around his, leading him toward the omnipresent matrix in the sky where his teammates were gathered. It wasn’t long-suffering satisfaction. It wasn’t a feeling of soul-deep fulfillment and the gratification of all his meticulously calculated hopes and plans of seeing Quark again. It was… surprisingly hollow.

He was, of course, thrilled to see Quark (his sparkmate? It rang false somehow. Incomplete. Unworthy of even his most self-indulgent fantasies). He was relieved to see him alive, whatever that meant—so much so that he’d abandoned every rational thought in his processor. There was no logicking this one out: afterspark or not, real or imagined, dead or alive—Quark was here and his spark sang and… and…

It wasn’t everything he’d hoped it would be.

He kept his grip firm around Quark’s as they walked together and found himself staring at their interlocked hands, past the point of reasoning how any of this could be possible. He cycled his optics as if he were being pulled through some sort of dreamscape, too enraptured to let go, too paranoid to fully embrace it as the knot of uncertainty lumped in his fuel pump. 

“Hey, Quark?” he voiced eventually, feeling his voxcoder on the verge of betraying him. His words came out uncharacteristically meek.

Quark looked at him and offered him a smile that was insufferably soft. The kind of smile he never recalled Quark giving him in the past. It hit his spark with a wave but it pulled an undertow of disbelief along with it. “Don’t worry, Brainstorm,” he soothed. “I know it’s a lot to take in. Once we get to the Matrix, everything will make sense.”

“Yeah,” Brainstorm vented out in tepid agreement. “Yeah… I guess. Because right now it… kinda doesn’t? It really doesn’t.” He forced the words out, scared to admit to himself that this felt wrong. How could it, after everything? He’d bent the laws of reality on Quark’s behalf— invented time travel just for the chance to see him again. He was betraying himself by admitting that something was off. Something beyond the sheer strangeness of the situation. “Can we… stop for a sec?”

Quark stopped and peered at him above the rim of those insufferably cute glasses. Brainstorm shifted his optics away shyly, equal parts enamored and haunted to have his former colleague here with him like this.

“You called me Brainstorm earlier. You never called me Brainstorm. Before, I mean. Even when other people did, back at the Institute. You always called me Genitus.”

“Would you prefer I called you Genitus?”

“No. But you did. You always did before, even though I’m not Genitus anymore. Even though it was a lifetime ago. I think... I feel like this isn’t real.”

Quark’s smile was patient. “You have quantifiable data in front of you. What do you think is real?”

Brainstorm could reasonably be called a skeptic. He didn’t decry the spiritual or unexplained as vehemently as Ratchet did, so much, but whatever interest he had in the metaphysical was of a scientific curiosity. Since arriving here, he’d gone in search of answers before even considering anything like a spiritual deliverance, all the way up until Quark had shown up. Now that the initial shock had passed, something rang false, like the knock of some artificial replica that echoed when he rapped it with his knuckles.

“I think my mind and my optics can play tricks on me,” he said helplessly. “I think if I thought I wanted something bad enough, my processor could tell me it was real.”

“And what does your spark tell you?”

Brainstorm shuttered his optics unhappily. Quark’s smile seemed to ease away as a pit of uncertainty opened between them.

“I think it’s all wrong,” he admitted, though his hand still curled tighter around Quark’s. “I think even if it’s real, it’s wrong.”

“Why is it you think that?”

“You know, I can really tell you and Nightbeat were friends,” Brainstorm interjected with limp humor. “I guess it’s because...” He had to flounder for a few seconds, past the uncertainty, past the disbelief, past the stress and the hope and the incredible pressure on his spark as it turned painstakingly in his chest. “I guess because it was too easy?”

Quark looked at him seriously. His other hand moved to take Brainstorm’s, delicately holding his fingers over his own with aching fondness. Brainstorm’s processes swirled at it. “Do you find it so unbelievable that I have feelings for you?”

“I...” Yes, was what he believed - what he almost answered. But that wasn’t all of it. It wasn’t what kept him from embracing this whole insane scenario, no matter how remote in its likelihood, no matter how deep his desire to immerse himself in its truth. “No. It’s my own feelings I’m having trouble believing.”

“Ah,” Quark said with surprising ease, slipping into a knowing smile. He drew one of his hands up to adjust his spectacles. “It’s someone else now, isn’t it?”

Brainstorm took that reply as hard as a gunshot through his chassis. He fell back a step, his fingers only hanging onto Quark’s by the tips as his optics cycled wide. His spark burned hard. “That’s...”

Not true. Was it?

He’d broken time for Quark. He’d gone back. He would have erased it all - erased himself. For Quark.

Or... had he just gone back for a memory, and a whispered hope in the corner of his processor, and a scar that had healed over even if it left a mark in his spark chamber?

The lump that lifted into Brainstorm’s throat threatened to short out his voxcoder as he dug for words, desperate for a handhold in the landslide of emotions he found himself carried down with. He loved Quark. Had loved - still loved... even as the thought of someone else had haunted his processes lately. Even as the fantasies that plagued his recharge took the shape of a different mech pulling him into his embrace. It made him feel pathetic and fickle, at the whim of any mech who gave him the time of day to toss him even the most meager of praise. He drew in a sharp vent to reply when someone else suddenly approached them. He had to blink damp optics and pull himself back from his thoughts to register that it was Whirl, of all bots.

“Hey, not sorry to interrupt the reunion,” he said with a strange gravity to his voice. He placed an unwieldy claw on Brainstorm’s shoulder and didn’t even bother to look at Quark. “But uh: teensy, tiny update on the situation: we’re on a planet-sized euthanasia clinic, and all these bots who showed up aren’t real.”

Brainstorm didn’t even register for a second. He locked optics with Quark, whose optical ridges eased in resignation. He cycled his optics before looking at Whirl. “A huh? ”

“Geez, try to keep up, will you?” Whirl somehow managed to sneer. “Listen, it’s a long story I have to tell to a lot of people, can you at least try to use your scientist brain and help me out a little?”

Brainstorm’s voxcoder worked before he could even help it. “Mederi center...” he said softly, unspooling the details in real-time. Euthanasia clinic... not real...

“The irony of saying this here isn’t lost on me, but thank god, ” Whirl said, already stepping past. Brainstorm’s hand tensed around Quark’s. “Anyway, wrap it up with your personal ghost. Rodders is about to shut it down.”

Whirl left before Brainstorm could think of what to say, already heading towards the next group of mechs about to have their reality casually shattered.

Brainstorm stood in the aftermath, still hand in hand with Quark, as he processed. It washed over him with a numb, clinical sense. Yes, of course... of course there was an explanation for it. There was always an explanation. A part of him had abandoned his best sense as a scientist, but this wasn’t real, this wasn’t the afterlife. An illusion that he would have to work out later. His voxcoder clicked as he tried to make it work a few times. If it wasn’t real, why did it still hurt?

“That true?” he managed after a beat where Quark waited patiently, watching Brainstorm with understanding optics.

“I’m afraid so,” Quark replied with a faint, sad smile. “Other projections might deny it, but I won’t. You’re too curious for that, and you won't be fooled. We’re based on your psyche. We show you what your spark desires most before it can finally be at peace.”

Brainstorm struggled internally over the truth Quark had plucked out of his spark, one that he hadn’t even put a name to himself. “Then... why am I seeing you instead of... someone else?”

“Because you’re lying to yourself, Brainstorm. You’re holding on to something your spark has made peace with,” Quark gentled, putting a delicate hand over his chest. His smile canted fondly. “You always were stubborn.”

Brainstorm felt coolant spring to his optics and resented it. His spark guttered with regret and a soul-deep sickness but surprisingly - paradoxically - relief. “I still love you,” he managed through a thready voxcoder, only gathering the courage to say it by telling himself that he was speaking to a ghost.

“You always will,” Quark nodded. “But you have room in your spark for more than me.”

He put his hands up to the sides of Brainstorm’s helm and pulled him down so that Quark could place a kiss to the front of his crest, a longing ache of gentleness pressed there, lingering but chaste. He lowered his hands as a bloom of light and sound pounded from the building in the near distance. Brainstorm looked at it with panic as a band of white light started sweeping out over the barren landscape. He looked at Quark, mute with panic. Even if it wasn’t real, having this end now felt so... so final. Like he really was letting go, once and for all.

“And, Brainstorm,” Quark said with a warmth of finality. “Tell him.”

Brainstorm seized Quark by the hands and held them, ducking his helm down and letting out a strangled sob as he kept a hard grip around his fingers. He shuttered his optics as the light swept past them both, and his hands were empty.

10

There was nothing to be in the lab for now that the Lost Light was on its final lap - their so-called “lap of honor.” Brainstorm found himself pulling away from the festivities at Swerves and retreating there anyway. He skimmed a hand along the wall of the corridor to steady himself as he went. The crew was doing its best to remain upbeat, but he knew he wasn’t alone in thinking that all of them were about to lose their home.

What came after this? His time on the Lost Light had been more than just a voyage or a quest with any one significant end goal. It had been a metamorphosis. No bot here was the same person they’d been before the Lost Light had taken off. He reluctantly admitted that he was a prime example of that. This ship was home to them now. And the other bots? They were family.

He didn’t know what he was looking for as he ambled into the lab. His hand came up to turn up one set of lights. He jumped when he noticed the shape of Perceptor seated and hunched over a workbench, helm canted thoughtfully as he tilted a half-full glass of engex around. He eased a glance over to Brainstorm as he stood in the doorway. Brainstorm’s wings tipped questioningly, slanting the light that filtered in from the hallway.

“Sitting alone in the dark and drinking? Sounds like you’re having one hell of a victory lap,” he joked. He forced his voxcoder to stay steady.

“Hello, Brainstorm,” Perceptor answered with a faint smile that he could just barely glimpse in the relative darkness.

Brainstorm debated turning back. He had noticed that Perceptor had slipped away from the crowd at some point, but hadn’t considered where he’d gone to. It seemed they’d both had the same refuge in mind to be with their thoughts. Maybe it would be better to leave Perceptor alone to brood in peace, but…

He left the lights dimmed and went over to join his lab partner at the workbench.

Perceptor didn’t seem to mind. He pressed one index finger to the bottle of engex he’d brought along and slid it in Brainstorm’s direction.

Brainstorm settled himself at the workbench and poured himself a glass. It took him a moment to register that Perceptor had brought two and his tank flipped at the implication of it. More nonchalantly than he actually felt, he removed his mask and set it aside before taking a drink. He couldn’t help cringing a little at the taste. Some sort of Tetrahexian ale that had been filtered so many times it tasted like medgrade. Typical Perceptor drink of choice. “So,” he began with an exvent of resignation. “I guess it was a hell of a ride, eh, Perce?”

Perceptor watched his face curiously, enough that Brainstorm almost ventured to feel uncomfortable. His partner’s optics flicked like two blue knives in the darkness that could easily cut Brainstorm if he looked at him the wrong way. He tried not to imagine it. “It’s hard to believe this is really it,” he said softly, mercifully pulling his optics away to look at his glass. “After everything we’ve been through. Everything we’ve discovered.”

Brainstorm nodded once, feeling a fond ache fill up his spark despite himself. No matter their differences, he and Perceptor were still both scientists. Still curious to a fault. What was Cybertron anymore when they had the Lost Light; the entire galaxy to uncover? They could do it forever and still never want for things to discover. “Yeah...” he said at length, agreeing but too heavy-sparked to come up with more.

“What will you do?” Perceptor said with sudden curiosity. It caught Brainstorm unaware and made him fiddle with his glass before taking another thoughtful sip.

“Been thinking about some new quantum tech…” Brainstorm said thoughtfully at length. “Probably throw myself into that. Some stuff that the stick-up-the-aft scientific community will laugh me off the stage for. You know, the usual.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Perceptor replied evenly. Brainstorm felt his fuel pump give a hard squeeze.

After all this… they were going to go their separate ways. Now, when Perceptor finally saw him… finally understood his designs. His partner made him feel transparent, but not invisible. Seen in the most fundamental of ways, and he…

He couldn’t lose that. He couldn’t lose someone. Not again.

“What about your experiments with time travel?” Perceptor offered after the silence had stalled into something heavy.

“No,” Brainstorm said, unusually vulnerable. He tipped the engex toward his mouth again and tasted it thoughtfully before continuing. “We know how that turned out.”

“It has more merit than you give it,” Perceptor insisted. “It was brilliant.”

The word lanced right through Brainstorm’s chassis; lifted him up to some height he never thought he’d reach. He set his glass down sharply and ticked his fingers stiffly against it. “Yeah, also unintentionally created a whole multiverse, no thanks to you,” he jabbed with no actual bite behind it.

“Ah, yes,” Perceptor smiled thinly, now toying with his own glass. “Fascinating, isn’t it?”

Brainstorm could kiss him. His optics fell to Perceptor’s mouth for a second before bobbing back up to meet his glance. “Yeah…” he said warmly. “It is.”

Perceptor tipped his empty glass against the table so that the bottom edge met the surface and he rolled it around idly, making a circle. “I regret there’s so little left of your work. We salvaged that was left on Necrobot’s planet, but I fear there’s little left to salvage after everything it’s been through.”

Brainstorm felt a nag inside him. Part of him wanted to cast away all the time research - like it was some part of himself that he couldn’t bring himself to face anymore - a failure; a monument to years he’d spent molding his pain into something that had ultimately been useless. It would be so much easier to let go of it all, no matter how much pride he held onto for the achievement itself.

He uncomfortably shifted his hand over his left wrist, rubbing at where the familiar tug of the briefcase had weighed his arm down for over eight hundred years. Compelled by the longing in Perceptor’s words, he reached into a compartment in his hip and produced an object that glinted a dull orange in the dim light of the lab. He felt Perceptor lean towards him with curiosity. Brainstorm slid his hand across the table and produced the broken cuff of his briefcase. The end of the links were broken, and the metal was warped and scarred. He slid it towards Perceptor with his fingertips.

Perceptor didn’t say anything at first. He looked at the cuff, then at Brainstorm. He picked it up and examined it, running the pitted metal between his fingers. “This was attached to your time case,” he remarked.

“The last remaining piece of the final case,” Brainstorm said softly, skimming a finger against the rim of his glass. “My control case. Not the prototype Necrobot used.” Turning his optics away from his partner, he said. “Keep it. I don’t want it anymore, anyway.”

He felt Perceptor’s sharp optics on him, even with his face turned away. His wings hitched at the sudden wash of embarrassment he felt. “I know it’s useless. No tech for you to pick apart in a broken handcuff, I guess I just thought you might…”

“Thank you,” Perceptor interrupted. His voice tilted in a way that pulled a tether inside Brainstorm’s spark. The jet looked at him suddenly as Perceptor turned the cuff in his hands, regarding it with the utmost care, like a relic of incalculable value. “Thank you. It… means a great deal.”

Brainstorm felt his chassis flood with a new warmth, sweeping the embarrassment away as his optics locked with Perceptor’s. His partner smiled at him in a way that was plaintive, but unbearably fond. “Don’t mention it,” Brainstorm managed, too captive by those blue optics to say anything more intelligent, which he resented.

“I think, if you entrust me with this,” Perceptor joked dryly, “I’m less likely to quantum-split realities again.”

Brainstorm drifted in Perceptor’s direction, magnetized, pulled in by the idea of kissing that beautiful, studious expression, when the microscope’s words suddenly struck something in his processor. A snap of realization went across his face. “Quantum split…” he repeated, turning the information over in a flurry of probability matrices.

Perceptor didn’t speak, only tilted his helm the tiniest degree. Brainstorm suddenly shot to a stand. “Quantum split,” he repeated, more firmly this time. “Oh, Perce… you’re a genius.”

“Ah?” Perceptor answered, startling slightly when Brainstorm grabbed his shoulders but smiling in a way that might have dazzled him if his processor weren’t racing at the idea that had just manifested.

“Oh, we may not be done with the Lost Light just yet, my dear Perceptor,” he crowed, giving his partner’s shoulders an excited shake before wheeling off toward one of the lightboards. “Get Nautica. We’re extending this lap of honor indefinitely .”

11

In some other universe - in a million; a trillion other universes -  the split quantum jump hadn’t worked.

In this one, Perceptor found himself wandering back towards the lab in the aftermath of their celebration. In the excitement that had carried up the entire crew upon the successful jump into adventures that would go on unending. He carried the tide of success in his spark, along with the burst of glowing, irresistible energy that Brainstorm had cast over him.

They were, indeed, simpatico.

Which was why Perceptor knew he would find Brainstorm here in the lab again as the festivities died down and the crew of the Lost Light settled into their new journey into the endless stars. The jet was at one of the lightboards that he, Perceptor and Nautica had hastily scribbled a set of equations over, astutely evaluating their combined work.

“Brainstorm,” Perceptor announced through the doorway.

Brainstorm half-turned, lighting up at seeing his partner, then subduing his expression as he stilled the upturned tilt of his wings. Perceptor smiled at him. “Hey, Perce,” he started, something reluctant and hopeful in his voice.

“Brainstorm,” Perceptor answered, crossing the distance and bringing himself close to his partner. Brainstorm flinched, bringing a hand back against the lightboard to keep himself from backing into it. “I know I said it before, but I wanted to tell you again… you’ve done excellent work today.” He felt his own features soften at the flit of warmth and gratitude that escaped from Brainstorm’s field. “You were outstanding, as always.”

A moment lingered between them as Brainstorm eased, letting himself stand before Perceptor, sincere and hopeful. “Couldn’t have done it without you,” he mentioned with a gentleness Perceptor never thought he’d hear from him. He knew such an admission wasn’t easy for Brainstorm, whether it was true or not. Which made his spark flutter over it all the more.

Another pause went by as Perceptor gazed into Brainstorm’s optic, tracing the growing perplexity in their expression. The jet started to turn away, a burst of bashfulness coming off his field, but Perceptor caught his wrist before he could leave. “Brainstorm,” he said, spark throbbing harder in his chassis at the thought of his partner walking away from him.

Brainstorm looked at him again, almost frightened. Perceptor soothed a thumb against the wires at the inside of his wrist and all the tension seemed to drop from his frame for an instant. “I have something to show you,” he continued.

Brainstorm didn’t speak, just waited. Rather than answer in words, Perceptor guided him by the wrist out of the lab.

Behind him, the jet was mute, following Perceptor dutifully, his wrist still caught in his hand. Perceptor didn’t want to let go of it. He held on until they made it to one of the observation decks on this level of the ship, then finally slipped his hand away so that he could withdraw a device he’d been carrying in one of his hip compartments.

“What is it?” Brainstorm said nervously, looking around the observation deck. They were the only ones here. His field was becoming nervous again.

“I could explain it,” Perceptor said as he typed something out on his device. The calculations for this project had been complex - borderline reckless, in his opinion - but given the circumstances, such methods seemed apropos. “But I believe it will be more succinct to show you.”

Brainstorm raised an optic ridge at his crypticness, which caused Perceptor to allow himself a very small smile. He punched a code into his device with finality and then looked out the viewport that took up most of the wall of the observation deck. Brainstorm didn’t speak, and didn’t ask what he’d done, but followed his gaze outside the viewport.

If Perceptor had been thinking rightly, he would have been overjoyed at his accomplishment. He would have allowed himself a sense of scientific achievement for the second time that day. Instead, all he felt was a sort of adoration as Brainstorm’s optics tracked the stellar ley lines that lit up the viewport in flashes, like comets streaking between nearby stars. He watched his partner’s enthralled expression as his gaze flitted around the light show. The gentle glow of the dimmed lights silhouetted him, and he was beautiful.

“The starfield generator,” Brainstorm said. “I’d… left that research behind. I didn’t think you… I mean, you probably think it’s…”

“It’s genius,” Perceptor said gently, extending his field to smooth out the burrs in his partner’s. “ You are a genius.”

Brainstorm practically shook where he was standing, looking at Perceptor with something that threatened to snap him. Perceptor didn’t let that happen. He reached for Brainstorm’s hand and captured it with his own, threading their fingers together. His other hand set the controller device on the ledge of the viewport so that he could reach up to Brainstorm’s mask.

Brainstorm mentally released the clamps keeping his mask in place and Perceptor removed it, pulling it aside as he leaned up to press a kiss over Brainstorm’s lips. The jet’s body eased, struts loosening. Slowly, hesitantly, his hand came up between Perceptor’s shoulder and anchored him there. Perceptor didn’t stop kissing him until he was certain that Brainstorm wouldn’t run away.

“Heh… you have… one hell of a way of showing appreciation…” Brainstorm said through heavy vents when Perceptor finally pulled back.

Perceptor gave him a wan smile. An ache formed in his spark when Brainstorm moved his hand to touch the side of his face, thumbing along the high points of his features with an expression that was naked with vulnerability. The jet eyed him over with warm optics. “Do you mean this?”

Perceptor’s spark softened. He understood Brainstorm perfectly in that moment. How often had this brilliant, energetic, incredible mech been cast off by those who saw less in him? Perceptor admitted to himself that he saw an entire universe in him, and he counted himself very lucky to be allowed the opportunity to explore it.

“If you’ll have me,” he murmured, pressing his face to Brainstorm’s palm slightly.

Brainstorm’s arms were around him in the next instant. They clutched Perceptor almost too tight and held him there, clinging to him like he was the only thing mooring him to this moment. His face lowered to Perceptor’s shoulder and he panted there. Coolant slid from his optics into the seam of Perceptor’s shoulder.

Neither of them needed words. They held each other as the ley lines between the stars streaked by the viewport and linked them in a silent dance.