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3.
The sound pulls him out of unconsciousness slowly, two undulating signals intertwining in a bright spot in Skyfire’s mind.
It takes a while before he can produce something resembling a thought, much less identify the noise. A biosignature, overlaid by a distress signal. The shape of them is familiar, and his processor strains for a while before he realises the sound is coming from inside of him.
He wants to move, but everything moves slowly or not at all, even his thoughts. Only the signal is clear, a searing light pulled up from the core of him around which the rest of his conscious mind can congregate. His optics remain offline, but images flash in front of him despite the lack of visual input. Light, fracturing across the black waves of a strange sea. A green fire licking pillars of ice. Distant stars, growing more distant as he falls.
Skyfire fell. Has fallen, is not falling, is currently reclining on a horizontal surface. The distress signal increases in volume until it punches a hole in the world and other sounds begin to trickle in. Unfamiliar voices and the comforting background noise of machinery.
He makes another effort to bring back visuals. Skyfire’s processor rakes through his memory circuits and pulls up another image. Blue and cold. It takes a moment before he realises it’s not a memory of an actual event but a memory of an image conjured by his own mind. Arctic ice, or what he imagines it must have looked like.
The distress signal crescendos. Somewhere, someone growls in irritation, and there’s a humming all around him he can’t place.
The ceiling of the room emerges slowly, purple lights hazy and flickering like stars. Skyfire hasn’t been encased in ice for a long time.
Moving is still difficult. Even turning his head takes an immense effort, and the audio input still sounds wrong, drowned out by his own distress signal that refuses to fade. Like it was burned into his circuitry over the long, dark years at the pole and now it won’t stop; like his system remembers this even if Skyfire doesn’t.
The room where he’s reclining is unfamiliar but unmistakably Cybertronian, which is a bad sign if he’s still on Earth. Even knowing this, the fact fails to spark any response in his emotional circuitry. It occurs to Skyfire he might have taken serious damage in the fall— not a fall, he was shot down, some sluggish subroutine finally informs him.
A Decepticon ambush. Not the ice. No atmospheric disruptions, only the screaming of jet engines and null rays.
The low, familiar hum is that of a stasis field. No wonder his helmet feels so heavy. He idly wonders if he’s about to be tortured. Skyfire has never been tortured before, as far as he can recall. It seems like the kind of thing he would remember, even with his mental faculties being indisposed.
Was there anyone else with him? If he was shot down, he would have been in vehicle mode, and could have carried passengers. Cargo, too. He tries to focus, to turn his head and check the other side of the room, but his frame remains immobile and the strain with each attempt dims his optics. At some point everything goes dark.
When he can see again, only one figure remains in the room.
“Cease that racket,” Starscream says, standing just out of visual range. But Skyfire knows, would know that voice across oceans of time, half dead and buried. Has known it before, as it pulled him out of the past into the future.
He has no idea what Starscream is talking about.
“I know you can hear me. The computer has registered your neural impulses for some time now. It’s useless, anyway; distress signals are blocked from here quite easily.”
Right. The distress signal as well as the biosignature are still transmitting on an open frequency. He would like to point out that he can’t, that it’d be easier for Starscream to change or block that frequency, but whether it’s the damage from the skirmish or an effect of the stasis field he can’t move to reply.
Leaning over him now, Starscream’s face appears in his field of vision. Time collapses, his thoughts struggling to keep up with his brain as it seems to conjure an image of every version of him he’s ever known all at once: a thousand faces overlapping with each other as Skyfire’s mind tries to reconcile the memories with the stranger in front of him.
“You’re too late,” Starscream says. Some part of Skyfire is surprised by the vehemence in those words. “Many millennia too late.”
There are too many things unsaid between them. Perhaps it’s just as well he can’t speak; there are too many things unsaid, and he has no idea where he would try to begin.
Starscream huffs, annoyed. “No matter. I’ll turn it off manually when we open you up.”
For a moment, he rests one servo on the berth by his shoulder. Close enough to touch, if he could move.
Skyfire’s fingers twitch, just once.
2.
Skyfire leaves the Ark as his first morning on Earth breaks.
As soon as he steps outside, his sensors inform him that there’s moisture in the cool air. The impulse to take a reading is compelling in its mundanity, and so Skyfire follows it. He makes a note of the atmospheric composition too, while at it. As if this was any other alien planet he’s surveyed before, just the beginning of another expedition.
The sun rises in a haze, turning the mountainside red. Judging by the environment, the weather will soon be dry, perhaps even arid, but for now tiny drops of dew cling to the needle-like foliage of the tall plants that cover vast areas of this region. From above Earth had looked so blue; standing on its surface, the sky stretches from orange into violet, like the horizon has caught fire.
If Skyfire stands completely still, he can almost imagine no time has passed at all. If he stands completely still and doesn’t turn around, he can imagine Starscream is still back at camp, putting their equipment into order for the day.
The trees sing for him as he stands there, only watching them. It takes a while for him to notice the small, round creatures that hop from branch to branch. Once he does, he can’t stop seeing them everywhere, making the same repetitive trilling as they move between the tall, shadowy trunks.
There’s a war on, he thinks to himself, feeling out the shape of the words. His servo finds the outline of the Autobot insignia on his chest. There’s a war on and Starscream shot me.
Too much has happened too fast. Waking up, and then Peru… he’s been unconscious twice in the short time since he came online again. A sense of unreality has begun to set in; it’s possible his system has been operating in a state of emergency and is only now beginning to process the full scale of the stress he’s been under.
Skyfire is about to run a quick diagnostic when a voice calls for him. He stops, servo hovering, and turns around.
“We missed you at the morning debriefing,” Optimus Prime says, sounding neither disappointed nor reprimanding. He cuts a striking figure against the mountainside, striding forward with purpose. Skyfire wonders if he knows how aggressive his body language reads to a war mech.
Maybe that doesn’t matter much, these days.
“I wanted to see what it’s like,” Skyfire explains, turning his gaze towards the forest again. “Since it will be… home, for some time. I meant no disrespect.”
“You’re all clear,” Optimus Prime says with ease. “I understand if you’re feeling disoriented, under the circumstances.”
If there was a debriefing session already, others might appear soon to go on patrols or reconnaissance missions. How many of them could there be, taking the size of the Ark into account? Two dozen, at least. All strangers to him, across time and until recently across factions. The ones he’s already interacted with were kind, but still strangers.
“I’m only a couple of millennia behind,” Skyfire says dryly, belying the vertigo that strikes him as he says it out loud. Six millennia, at least. If he has any friends left on Cybertron, they’ve all kept aging without him. Some of them might be enemies now, if they still live. As strange to him as the Autobots now, familiar faces turned foreign and cold.
And isn’t that funny, how Earth in all its alien beauty seems more welcoming to him right now than anyone from home.
“I wanted to introduce you properly to everyone. And I’m sure our medic is keen on giving you a proper physical, considering the state the Decepticons found you in. Not to mention the one they left you in.”
Starscream, Skyfire’s mind supplies, unbidden. Starscream found me.
He doesn’t know for certain if that’s true. He wants it to be, and wonders if he should be worried about what that says about him.
There’s a war on and Starscream shot me.
His voice box hums as he tries to think of a response, but one of the small avians in the trees takes that moment to land in the middle of his palm. Skyfire feels it as a spot of warmth that leaps across his open servo, miniscule claws barely even tickling him. It’s a burnt yellow, drop-shaped, with black and white stripes on what he assumes is its back.
“Seems like you’re already making friends with the locals,” Optimus Prime says. Skyfire tries to laugh, grateful for the distraction, but it sounds strained even to his audials.
The way it moves is strangely comforting. A little more mechanical than he’d expect; quick, jerking motions of the head as its small, shiny black optics take in the surroundings. New to him as they are, there’s a softness to them Skyfire associates with other organic life he’s interacted with before.
He wants to say something about it, and Optimus Prime waits patiently as he tries to find the right words.
“Regardless of shape or size, this is what most of my encounters with alien lifeforms have been like.”
Some of the avians seem to lose interest as they realise there’s no sustenance to be found on him. Optimus Prime doesn’t reply, but he can tell he’s watching him.
“They're curious,” he continues, recalling the bodies and faces of so many aliens before these. “Scared, sometimes. Hostile only in exceptional cases. Even if they’re organic, or much smaller than me, or unable to communicate with me… most only want to carry on with their lives in peace.”
He follows the small, flying things with his gaze as they depart for the trees again.
It’s worth it, just for this: the sense of wonder that unfolds, warm around his spark, something gentle to ward off the harsh reality he’s woken up to. How many cycles of studies it would take for him just to begin to comprehend the intricacy of the ecosystem on this patch of earth, much less the entire planet.
The sky behind the mountain is blue by now, the sun perched atop the treetops. Skyfire feels the air of this atmosphere cool in his vents.
“It’s something worth defending,” Skyfire says. Mostly to himself, but he thinks Optimus Prime’s expression softens behind the inscrutable battle mask.
This is not the hardest part. The decision has already been made, and Starscream shot him for it. He’s done this before, thrown himself into the darkness of space and focused solely on making it safe to the next destination. And if he keeps going fast enough, without looking back, maybe the past won’t reach him.
“Let’s go back to base,” Optimus Prime says. “Everyone’s waiting for you.”
1.
Skyfire wakes up when something touches his face, an insistent and repetitive tapping that reminds him of an old engine cooling down.
His system comes back online slower than usual. When his optics start processing visual input again, only a blackness punctuated by distant stars greets him. The planetoid was a dark, barren thing when viewed from orbit, but Skyfire can’t remember the last time he recharged in a more comfortable spot.
Then again, long-distance flights are more exhausting when he’s carrying cargo. Mineral samples, mostly, as usual; some organic specimens that may be of interest to the xenobiologists at home. Fronds and ferns, fossils and ferrous rocks, all nestled inside of him in their designated boxes, numerous enough to escape subspace and make Starscream complain about how cramped he is now. Not to mention how he needs to be unloaded before being able to transform.
And there’s Starscream, a warm and comforting weight resting snugly on top of him, tapping his chin with one finger.
“You’ve been recharging for ten astrohours, Skyfire,” he says. “We need to move on soon if we want to make it back to Cybertron on schedule.”
Skyfire’s engine rumbles quietly, warming up for the long journey ahead. The schedule is, as always, more of a suggestion than a list of hard rules that need to be followed to the letter. Starscream always includes the possibility for delays in his navigational calculations; they learnt to be prepared for the unexpected after the first two centuries of expeditions through space.
The calculations don’t usually account for Starscream’s impatience.
“Were you bored?” Skyfire asks, lighthearted. “I’m sorry I can’t entertain you while recharging.”
He places a servo on the Seeker’s back, relishing the vibrations of his internal machinery before tracing his fingers along the base of one wing. Starscream doesn’t move, only relaxes into the gentle pressure of his touch.
“I forgive you,” Starscream says magnanimously. Skyfire laughs, and before he knows it Starscream is halfway off him and pressing his vents to Skyfire’s side, pushing hot air directly into his frame.
That wakes him up properly. The wave of heat rolls through him, raising his internal temperature for only a moment, but long enough to make him dizzy. He can feel it graze his neural cables, as if his insides have been suddenly submerged in hot oil, before it’s expelled by his own vents. The sound of surprise he makes turns into a low moan with it.
“You like that,” Starscream says. He sounds incomparably smug despite the fact that they have done this many times before.
Skyfire hums in agreement as he traces the edge of Starscream’s wing, almost all the way out to the tip. His other servo finds Starscream’s thigh, and his thumb maps out the quickest way to the sensitive seam where his leg joins the rest of his frame. They’ve done this many, many times by now, and Skyfire slips into the familiar motions with contentment and clarity of purpose.
“I thought we didn’t have much time,” he says, before busying himself with the servo Starscream is caressing his plating with, bringing it to his lips and nuzzling the intricate joints.
“We have enough time for this,” Starscream says, a little petulant. “We’ll always have enough time.”
Skyfire laughs, and moans as another wave of heat rolls through him, and thinks about how good it is to know someone and be known in turn.
0.
Interplanetary expeditions involve a lot more paperwork than Skyfire could have anticipated when he began his studies.
“I told you we should have signed with a private contractor,” Starscream mutters, triple-checking the list of supplies and documents that need to be acquired and signed on the datapad in front of him. “To start with, our budget constraints would have been considerably less tight.”
“A private contractor won’t hire us without better credentials and practical experience,” Skyfire says, for what feels like the thousandth time. “Not a reliable one, anyway.”
Starscream huffs and drops the device onto the table, wings flicking in righteous indignation. The café is mostly empty at this hour, but at the sudden noise a pair of smaller bots glance nervously at the two war rigs seated three tables away from them. Skyfire tries not to pay them any mind.
“Credentials,” Starscream says venomously, glaring at the datapad as if his gaze could burn right through it. “What nonsense.”
He can’t help but smile at that. In the half cycle they’ve been planning for this, Starscream has yet to accept the fact that no one is likely to hire two rookie scientists on nothing but raw skills and potential. The few academic referrals they have are modest as they are; Skyfire is under the distinct impression that the head of the faculty hates both of them, if for very different reasons. On Starscream’s side, the feeling is mutual.
Instead of answering, Skyfire sips his drink and returns to his own datapad. There’s a new comparative study on the energy consumption of techno-organic species he’s put off reading all week, and Starscream seems to be increasingly absorbed by work again, only occasionally muttering to himself.
They slip back into companionable silence, Skyfire glancing up from the text once in a while to check on Starscream and smile.
At some point, he goes to get them both refills. When he comes back, Starscream has put the datapad down on the table and started gazing out of the window instead. The lights outside glitter and pulse, even at this hour, and they cast reflections on Starscream’s face, spots of blue and purple and green scattering across the dusky metal of his cheek.
Carefully, Skyfire places the refilled cubes on the table before sitting down again. His fuel lines seem very loud in his own audials, but Starscream doesn’t seem to notice.
“Before we leave, I wanted to ask you—” he begins, resets his voice box, then tries again. “That is, I thought—”
“Yes?”
It could be his imagination, but he thinks Starscream sits up a little straighter.
“Maybe we could exchange biosignatures.”
Starscream blinks at him from across the table. From Skyfire’s nerve-addled perspective, the action seems stretched out, painfully slow.
“If you want to,” he adds lamely, hearing how ridiculous it sounds. Keeping track of others’ biosignatures isn’t standard procedure for non-military personnel; most distress signals will have the sender’s identity encrypted to begin with, easy to decode by most vessels in this sector of space. Certainly every Cybertronian one.
It’s non-vital information, unless you have reason to believe someone would fake it, or if you’re looking for someone with that particular biosignature to begin with. Skyfire’s request is intrusive; he knows that, but he still couldn’t help but ask.
“Sure,” Starscream says, placing his servo palm up on the table between them.
Without another word, Skyfire mirrors the gesture, lining their servos up side by side. Like this, the difference in size between them is apparent. He wants to trace the shape of them, gently pry apart each finger to touch every joint, map out Starscream’s servos like they’ve mapped out the route they’re going to take. Like he’s begun to map out this formless thing that’s growing between them.
Instead, he extends the cable from his wrist and connects, swift and impersonal. Skyfire pulls up the relevant information and begins the data exchange.
He’s not sure if he imagines the rush of heat that rakes across his circuitry when Starscream connects to his port in turn, or if it’s intentional. Starscream’s eyes are bright as they stare at him from across the table. Skyfire is struck by the uncanny notion that if he just says the right thing, right here and now, something is going to happen. But he has no idea what the right thing would be.
The exchange is swift, but the final 30% drag out a little.
“Do you doubt my abilities, Skyfire?”
Skyfire blinks. The question seems like a complete non-sequitur, pulled completely out of the blue.
“No,” he answers, honestly. And even if there were someone more qualified, I wouldn’t want to do this with anyone else. “Why do you ask?”
The final 11% blink at the back of his mind, so close to the finish line.
“You want to exchange biosignatures for safety reasons, I presume,” Starscream continues in a low, restrained tone that’s usually followed by a verbal evisceration of someone’s thesis. “On the mission we planned, following a route I drew up. Do you doubt my navigation skills?”
He knows Starscream well enough by now to tell the wounded pride beneath the accusation. Starscream’s mind always seems busy analysing everything and everyone around him, thinking twice about remarks Skyfire takes at face value. That’s a little embarrassing; he can’t admit safety wasn’t exactly his primary concern, now.
His port tingles as the downloads finish within nanoseconds of each other.
“Quite the opposite,” Skyfire says and smiles, fingers twitching slightly as the cable retracts back inside of him. “I feel better, knowing that if I get lost, my navigator will find me.”
He meets Starscream’s gaze head on as he says it, until the other mech’s optics stray to the side and his wings twitch, flustered. His fingers curl loosely against the table’s surface. Skyfire can’t tell if that’s good or bad, but at least the irritation seems to subside.
“And what about me? ” he cries suddenly. “What will you do if I get lost?”
He’s not sure he follows that train of thought, either. But he knows the answer to that question immediately.
“I won’t leave you behind, Starscream.”
Their servos still rest side by side on the table. Tentatively, Skyfire reaches for him, their fingers close enough to touch.