#thundercracker*

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Transformers: Cyberverse → Thundercracker

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cyberverse thundercracker icons

[springarm]

DRABBLE: in which silverbolt and thundercracker talk things out WARNINGS: nsfw, spark sex, let’s all just pretend that the last nsfw fic for them was spark sex instead of sticky, okay, have we done this? alright then let’s go

The past week had been, for lack of a better word, difficult. Ever since their little ‘tryst’ in Silverbolt’s room, Thundercracker had been doing his best to avoid his co-captain. The problem was that he hadn’t realized just how much time they had to spend together to keep this blasted ship running. Thundercracker would finally get away after a shift on the bridge only to be called back because Sandstorm and Octane had done something ridiculous to the captains’ chairs again or their scanner had picked up an anomalous reading or one of a hundred other irritations. It was maddening, because every time they were close, Thundercracker would think about it. He’d think about kissing Silverbolt again, about touching him, and the desire in his spark was becoming unbearable. Silverbolt didn’t help, with those little glances he threw at him, or the way he now took any opportunity to ‘accidentally’ brush up against him. It was as if he could see right through the carefully controlled mask Thundercracker had created to the turmoil within and was actively encouraging it.

Thundercracker’s mood, as a result, had been stormy all week, and it was only made worse because, though they hadn’t spoken of it since, he knew they had to. His behavior had been unacceptable and it was his duty to put it right, no matter how uncomfortable it might be.

As they sat in the ready room the day after their weekly meeting (which had been so filled with tension Thundercracker was surprised he hadn’t snapped), crammed again behind that awful desk they still shared, Thundercracker resolved that he would do it today. He needed to stop acting like a newly-forged protoform and get it over with before he drove himself off the rails, so to speak.

“Silverbolt,” he said suddenly, breaking the silence that had lingered between them for the past cycle or so. They both held tablets detailing the crew’s current supplies and energon stores, which they’d been reviewing for a while now. “I have to talk to you about something.”

Silverbolt looked up. “Oh?” The polite interest in his tone, though seemingly innocent, was betrayed by the excited glint of his optics. It was clear what he wanted Thundercracker to say; he suppressed a sigh.

“About….last week.”

The glint brightened. “Yes?”

“When you…” He couldn’t bring himself to say 'kissed me’, “When I shouted at you. I shouldn’t have done that. You…startled me, but my behavior was unwarranted and inappropriate.” He went silent, though Silverbolt was still looking at him, clearly expecting more, so he added,

“That was all.”

“Oh.” Yes, there was the disappointment. “So you’re apologizing?”

Thundercracker grimaced. He hated that word. “Yes. I…am. Yes.”

Silverbolt still seemed disappointed, but a sweet smile spread across his lips. Thundercracker shifted, frowning. He didn’t like that. It was a very kissable expression.

“Okay. I forgive you.” He laughed, a little sheepishly. “I had meant to ask about that. Why you were so mad, I mean.”

“As I said, you startled me.” Thundercracker hadn’t meant to get so angry, when it happened; it had just surprised him, and the way he immediately began to respond, to give in, had been the real reason behind his fury. He’d been working so diligently to hold back his growing affection for his co-captain that it had angered him to slip up so easily. It was regret and guilt over allowing that anger, meant for himself, to be directed at Silverbolt that had driven him to Silverbolt’s quarters afterwards.

Not that it had mattered, in the long run. As soon as he’d stepped inside and seen Silverbolt, the long-suppressed want had come rushing up and took hold. That one moment of weakness meant it was even harder for him to resist, since he’d already surrendered once.

“I guess I understand that,” Silverbolt said thoughtfully. “I didn’t mean to surprise you like that. It had just kind of…happened. But I’m – I’m glad you came to find me. After.”

“Mm.” He knew where Silverbolt was trying to go and he wasn’t going to allow it. He’d already seen what he’d do if given the opportunity, and he had to keep that from happening again. If I can.

They fell back into silence for a few kliks, Thundercracker doing his best to focus on the tablet in his servo. He’d said what needed to be said, Silverbolt had forgiven him, and that was it. That should have been the end of it.

Unsurprisingly, it wasn’t.

“Is that why you’ve been so distant lately?” Silverbolt asked, breaking what could have, eventually, become comfortable silence. “Most of the crew have noticed.”

“Have they.” Thundercracker kept his optics on the tablet. “I have not acted any differently than usual. You are likely imagining things.”

“I don’t think so.” Silverbolt shifted in his chair, more toward Thundercracker, and their knee struts brushed. Thundercracker’s plating tightened as he said,

“I assure you I am fine.”

“I’m just saying…we can talk about it. I know you regret what happened, but we can still talk about it if it helps.” Silverbolt tilted his helm. “Because for the past week you’ve been grumpier than Ambulon.”

“I don’t regret it,” Thundercracker said quietly. Which was, to his own surprise, more truth than not. It shouldn’t have happened, but he’d wanted it too badly to truly regret giving in. That was worrying.

Then, before Silverbolt could latch onto that statement, he pulled a face. “Grumpier than Ambulon? Impossible. The only mech who comes close is Starscream when Skywarp steals his plating polish.”

Silverbolt had looked up when he’d said he hadn’t regretted what they’d done, and he’d seemed ready to say something, surprise and hope naked on his face (which was why Thundercracker was glad he hadn’t given the Aerialbot the chance). But at Thundercracker’s second comment he giggled, and then giggled harder, and then he got so bad he actually snorted. Thundercracker had to look away to concentrate on fighting back a smile of his own.

“Stop that. It wasn’t that funny.”

“I-It was – S-Starscream’s armor p-polish–” Silverbolt couldn’t stop laughing, his entire frame shaking as he tried to hide the giggles behind a servo. Thundercracker’s expression wavered, and he instinctively grabbed Silverbolt’s wrist, pulling the servo away from his face. Silverbolt replaced it automatically with the other and Thundercracker grabbed that too, holding both aloft.

“Stop,” he said, and this time it seemed to work; Silverbolt’s giggles died down, but now he was chewing his lip and his optics were on Thundercracker’s mouth. His spark pulsed, and while the more responsible part of him screamed that he needed to back off, to cool down, the want burning along his circuits overpowered it.

“You know,” Silverbolt said softly, not looking away, “We could – it doesn’t have to be a one-time thing. What happened.”

“We can’t.” Oh, but he wanted to, he truly did. His resolve was weak, and it showed. Silverbolt pressed his advantage.

“We can’t? Or we shouldn’t?” He licked his lips, and Thundercracker stuttered out a vent. “Like we shouldn’t work with Decepticons?” Silverbolt moved closer. Thundercracker let him. “Or allow them to live, if we have the opportunity to kill them? Or treat them like people instead of monsters?”

“Pat yourself on the back a little harder, why don’t you,” Thundercracker said dryly, and Silverbolt smiled. When he closed the distance between them Thundercracker met him halfway.

Silverbolt’s servos came up to rest on his shoulders and it felt good, it felt very good to kiss him again, to slip his glossa past Silverbolt’s lips and explore that mouth, to cup his helm and pull him closer. He could feel himself doing it again, giving in and surrendering to this unassuming Autobot like he had before and the ease of it hit him so suddenly he jerked away. Silverbolt made a noise of protest and onlined his optics.

“What? What’s the matter?”

Thundercracker shook his helm, frame taut. Primus, he didn’t want to stop, but… “This is wrong.”

Silverbolt vented a sigh. “Don’t do this again.”

“Silverbolt–”

“I’m serious! You said that last week too, and at the time I thought you were right. But I’ve been thinking about it and now–” His digits tightened on Thundercracker’s shoulders. “It doesn’t hold up. I already said, by that logic everything we’re doing is wrong. You and the others being out of the brig, all of us working together like this–”

“Alright, alright!” Thundercracker huffed. “I suppose you have a point.”

“Then why are you so afraid of this?” Silverbolt lifted a servo and stroked his digits over Thundercracker’s cheek, and he wished he wouldn’t because that made this all the more difficult.

“I’m not afraid of anything,” Thundercracker replied firmly. “It’s just…” He shook his helm. Now that Silverbolt had shot down his main argument, he was having difficulty coming up with another he was actually willing to share. The real problem wasn’t that he was scared, but more…worried. He didn’t like having weaknesses, and Silverbolt was very quickly becoming one. Then again, he thought begrudgingly, it was becoming clear that he couldn’t really get away from Silverbolt, either.

“It’s just…?” Silverbolt prompted. Thundercracker pulled himself out of his thoughts.

“This won’t end well,” he warned finally. “For either of us.”

“We can worry about that later.” Silverbolt leaned in again, optics on Thundercracker’s, and Thundercracker let him. He allowed himself so few luxuries, and in the face of one so tempting, he continued to find himself incapable of saying no. No matter how hard he tried, or how hard he fought. It helped if he tried to tell himself this would be just as meaningless and physical as what he used to do with Skywarp, even if he knew, on a level he wasn’t willing to acknowledge, that this was something completely different.

He should have fought harder. Tried harder. But Silverbolt’s lips were on his again and the desire he’d barely suppressed earlier came back full force.

The kiss was hasty, impatient; something he was beginning to expect from Silverbolt when it came to this sort of thing. It was clear the mech didn’t have much experience with taking it slow, and this was even more evident when he felt Silverbolt’s digits already brushing over his chassis, slipping between transformation seams and plating dividers in search of specific hinges and latches. He felt for and grabbed Silverbolt’s servos, holding them aside once more, and pulled back just enough to speak, though he was still close enough to feel Silverbolt’s vents wafting over his face.

“Be patient,” he said, as he had the last time. “Take your time.”

“I don’t want to,” Silverbolt breathed. It went straight to Thundercracker’s spark and he hissed out a vent, but if he was going to maintain control over anything in this situation it was going to be this. He moved back further, getting to his pedes and pulling Silverbolt up with him. The Autobot watched him in confusion until Thundercracker turned him around, making him face front and holding him against the desk.

“What are you doing?” Silverbolt questioned, almost worryingly, but he also rested his servos on the desk to support himself and didn’t try to turn around. Thundercracker slid his digits down Silverbolt’s sides, eliciting a pleased shiver.

“I’m going to show you the merits of patience.”

“Always so dramatic,” Silverbolt mumbled, only for it to turn into a gasp when Thundercracker ran his glossa along the edge of one wing. Using his lower body, with his pelvic plating pressed against Silverbolt’s aft, he held the Aerialbot in place while he languidly kissed and licked along the erogenous surface of the wing. He even lightly bit the furthest edge he could reach, and Silverbolt moaned, shivering in Thundercracker’s grip. He could feel the armor beneath his digits heating up, hear the quiet roar as Silverbolt’s cooling fans kicked on, and see the tiny sparks already dancing along the wiring in the gaps between armor. Silverbolt’s charge was not one that built slowly, it seemed.

That was unfortunate for him, because Thundercracker planned to make him suffer for a while yet.

He knew relatively well which places were most sensitive on the average mech – for instance, the wings on fliers – but he’d also noticed a few unique to Silverbolt the last time they’d interfaced. One particular area was the seam in Silverbolt’s lower back, and as he leaned over to kiss along the wing opposite the one he’d been servicing he rested a servo there, slipping a thumb beneath the plating and massaging the supple protoform underneath. Bright blue sparks – the same shade as the larger one in Silverbolt’s chest – erupted at the touch and grounded themselves in Thundercracker’s digits. They went straight to his own spark, fueling his desire while Silverbolt shuddered and moaned desperately against him.

“Th-Thudercracker,” he whined, voice brimming with static, “P-Please.”

“Begging will get you nowhere today,” Thundercracker replied lowly, though the effect was a bit hampered by the static intruding in his own voice. Silverbolt’s tone had shot straight through his circuits, and his patience was fraying. He forced it back, concentrating on leaning in and tracing lazy circles over Silverbolt’s wing base with his glossa.

Silverbolt bucked and cried out, but despite this Thundercracker still heard the soft click of the Aerialbot’s chassis opening.

“You’re always so eager,” Thundercracker murmured, lifting his helm to drag his dentals along Silverbolt’s neck cabling. Silverbolt’s moan was a burst of static.

“Hard….n-not to be…around y-you,” he vented, words barely decipherable between the glitching and the loud whirring of his cooling fans. Thundercracker couldn’t keep back a groan and he reached around Silverbolt, feeling for the opening of his spark chamber. Thundercracker’s digits easily found the pulsing spark within, tendrils of charge darting out to meet his servo and draw it in to the crackling blue ball of energy at the center. He pushed his servo into the core of that strangely thick force, each surge of current coursing up his arm and making his circuits sizzle with delight. Silverbolt moaned with every stroke of a digit, every movement of Thundercracker’s servo, and the sound grew more desperate and glitchy as Thundercracker continued to tease without providing the release Silverbolt craved.

A particularly hard surge of energy had Thundercracker pressed tight against Silverbolt’s back, his grip slacking as he bit back a moan of his own while the charge shuddered through him. Silverbolt seized the opportunity to flip around in Thundercracker’s now-loosened hold. He opened his mouth to protest but his cockpit betrayed him by sliding aside, allowing Silverbolt to roughly bring their spark chambers together, dragging a groan from the both of them as the sensitive edges slid along each other. Silverbolt’s digits were tight on his waist, Silverbolt’s mouth hot on his, and Thundercracker didn’t need to have his optics on to know their frames were sending off bright flashes with each pulse of their merging sparks. It felt good, connecting with Silverbolt felt so good, that solid weight of another against his spark. He clung to the Aerialbot, venting against his lips, both too caught up in the electrical storm they were creating between them to keep up any kisses. Whispers of what Silverbolt was feeling echoed through the merge, a cacophony of want and yes and more that Thundercracker knew he was sending right back.

Silverbolt didn’t last very long. Thundercracker had teased him too much, too well; with a particularly intense surge from Thundercracker’s spark, Silverbolt was throwing back his helm, letting out nothing but a burst of static so loud it was almost painful to the audios. Thundercracker held him tight, burying his face in Silverbolt’s neck cabling, expecting to weather the Aerialbot’s overload without following himself. He hadn’t had the type of stimulation he’d given, so he already knew that he would have to come up with some other way of releasing the charge building inside him. And then Silverbolt, moving instinctively as he overloaded, reached up and grabbed Thundercracker’s wings for support, and that, plus the way Silverbolt’s overload exploded inside him, the feedback so strong it felt like fire coursing through his systems, that pushed him off the edge. Thundercracker bit down on Silverbolt’s shoulder as his own overload hit, muffling the strangled cry it tore from his throat. They shuddered as one, the excess charge looping back and forth between them until it finally dissipated and they both sagged against the desk.

They stood like that for a while, too exhausted to move, cooling fans filling the ready room with their steady roar as they worked to keep the bots’ wires from scorching in the heat still radiating from their frames. Thundercracker even became aware that condensation had formed on his plating; that was how hot his internal systems were. He still had his face pressed into the crook of Silverbolt’s neck and so wasn’t surprised when he felt the light touch of Silverbolt’s servo on the back of his helm. He allowed the tender stroking for a klik while he recovered, then lifted his helm to see the Aerialbot giving him a lazy, sated grin.

“That was probably, like, the best 'facing ever,” he said, voice still tinged at the edges with static. Thundercracker snorted.

“That would be flattering if your inexperience wasn’t so obvious.”

Silverbolt laughed. “Hey, I’m not – not that bad – we can’t all be beautiful, clearly sought-after Seekers - “ Thundercracker cut off his next words with his lips, but the damage was done; his spark fluttered in its casing. Primus, this was ridiculous.

“Maybe you were right, then.” Silverbolt had pulled away enough to speak. “It is better to take your time.”

“Of course I was right.” Silverbolt smiled at that and moved back in, and his kiss was soft, and sweet, and quickly became too much. Thundercracker was the one to break it this time, moving back and closing the cockpit over his spark chamber with a click. There was discharge on his chassis, a sparkling, shimmery substance given off by an overloaded spark; he absently brushed some off with a servo. He moved to leave.

“Thundercracker, wait.” Silverbolt’s chassis had closed too and as Thundercracker walked around the desk, planning to get out of here and wash himself and think about his choices, Silverbolt grabbed his wrist to stop him.

“Wait – don’t go yet.”

He had a feeling of foreboding but he turned back anyway. “What is it?”

“I–” Silverbolt looked away. “I want this to keep happening.”

Thundercracker raised an optic ridge. “The interfacing?”

“No. Well – yes. I mean. I want that to keep happening too.” Silverbolt took a deep intake. “What I mean is – you and me. Us. I want us to keep happening. To happen.”

Thundercracker frowned. “Silverbolt–”

“We already agreed it’s not really wrong, in light of everything, right?” He was starting to babble in that horribly endearing way he sometimes had when he was nervous, and it was definitely not helping. “We can just – nobody has to know. Just us. And it’s pretty clear we’re not gonna stop doing – you know. This.” He grinned sheepishly, gesturing at the spark discharge on his own chassis.

“What I”m trying to say is…I like you. A lot. And I want this. Us.”

Thundercracker searched his face, for some kind of falsehood or trickery, and found exactly what he’d expected – pure earnest honesty, with a touch of nerves. Silverbolt really meant what he was saying. Thundercracker was shocked at how his spark responded, pulsing not with lust now but with how much he wanted this too. He cleared his intake.

“You know that’s a bad idea,” he said finally, after taking a klik to find the words. “What happens when we reach Cybertron, and we’re on different sides of a war again? What will we do?”

“That’s not for months yet,” Silverbolt insisted. “We can have something in the meantime – like a, what do the humans call it, a 'summer romance’–”

Thundercracker gave a dry laugh. “It’s not that simple and you know it.”

“Why not? Or would you rather keep pretending there’s nothing there, until this happens again.”

“I–” Thundercracker ground his dentals. Silverbolt was so stubborn, and he was also right. They spent too much time together for any sort of 'let’s pretend nothing happened’ to be feasible, not without it significantly affecting their work relationship. He could be cold, and cruel, do his best to break Silverbolt’s spark now so that this topic never came up again. That’s what Starscream would have done.

The thought brought him up short. That wasn’t the type of bot he ever wanted to be, even if the alternative could be painful.

So he cycled air through his vents, aware of Silverbolt’s optics on him, and said slowly, “If we do this – if – it must be absolutely secret.” He didn’t need to look to know that there was a hopeful smile already spreading across Silverbolt’s face. “We can’t have the crew knowing about this. It would cause…problems.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever you say.” Silverbolt’s answer came too quickly, too excitedly; Thundercracker looked him straight in the optic, then.

“You shouldn’t be this willing to risk so much on another mech, especially an enemy.”

“You’re not an enemy,” Silverbolt replied simply. “And I’m gaining a lot more than I could possibly lose.”

Thundercracker barked out another laugh, unusual for him, to hide how deeply those words touched him. “You sound like one of the cheap romance stories I used to see in secondhand tablet shops.”

“Well.” Silverbolt looked away, his smile turning embarrassed. “I…used to read a lot of them. When I was younger.”

“Of course you did.” Thundercracker vented heavily and stepped forward, putting a servo on the back of Silverbolt’s neck and bringing their forehelms together.

“We’re going to regret this,” he said quietly. Silverbolt smiled and wrapped his arms around Thundercracker’s back.

“I won’t,” he said, and when they kissed Thundercracker let himself believe, for a moment, that this wouldn’t end in horrible disaster.

[springarm]

DRABBLE: in which ambulon and flatline get drunk WARNINGS: alcohol, angst lmao, fake smoking ALSO HAPPY BIRTHDAY JENN THIS IS FOR U

“Come on, just try one.”

“No.”

“One won't hurt--”

“It will, because I'll have one and you'll say, 'See, Ambulon, that wasn't so bad, how about one more?' and before I know it I'll be fendered and embarrassing videos of me will be shared around the ship tomorrow.”

Flatline chuckled. “It sounds like you're speaking from experience.”

Ambulon crossed his arms and looked away, making a face. “Because I am.”

They sat at one of the tables in the mess, off to the left of the makeshift bar counter Octane and Sandstorm had set up a few weeks ago. The whole crew – all fourteen of them, plus Raoul – were there, taking a break from their usual duties. The Alpha Bravo was in orbit around an uninhabited satellite of some rocky volcanic planet, so they didn't need anyone watching the bridge or manning the controls for the time being. Ambulon hadn't wanted to come to this – he had plenty of work to do in the medibay – but Flatline had, after a day of casually commenting on how fun Octane and Sandstorm's “party” would be, eventually annoyed him into agreeing.

His other reason for not wanting to come was sitting several tables over. Now that they'd been outed (by Jetfire, of all bots) Silverbolt didn't try to hide how he hung all over Thundercracker, gently stroking his co-captain's servo with a thumb or brushing against his shoulder as they talked or smiling whenever Thundercracker said something, smiling like his whole world brightened just because the 'Con had spoken to him. It was a smile Ambulon had craved for years.

And there Silverbolt sat, giving that admiration to someone else.

Ambulon's scowl deepened and he made a decision. “You know what? Perhaps I will have that drink.”

“Ambulon...” Flatline had seen exactly who he'd been staring at. “That might not be the best reason to drink--”

“What are you talking about? Just an astro-second ago you were practically begging me to have one. Why the change of spark?” Ambulon pushed himself up from the table.

“I'm just saying--”

“Well don't.” He walked off toward the bar, purposefully ignoring Flatline calling after him. They had been working together for a while now and they got along well enough, but he didn't think it was Flatline's place to comment on that particular trouble of his. Besides, he hadn't even talked to the 'Con about it; Flatline had somehow figured it out on his own, and would now occasionally try to get Ambulon to open up. He found it irritating. If he wanted to talk about it, he would – and he didn't, so he didn't.

He wasn't going to worry about that now, though. That's what the alcohol was for. He didn't even have to say a word when he approached the bar; Sandstorm took one look at him and slid a glass of engex his way, before going back to laughing at whatever it was Octane had just said. Ambulon irritably grabbed his drink. It seemed like everyone on this blasted ship was pairing off these days. Everyone but him.

He threw back half of what he'd gotten before he even made it back to the table. As he sat down, he ignored the flash of concern in Flatline's optics. It was easy, because the other medic immediately covered it up with a chuckle.

“Careful, at that rate you really will be fendered before you know it.”

“I'll be fine,” Ambulon said tightly. He glanced from the e-cigarette in Flatline's mouth to his empty servo. “Where's yours?”

“Hm?”

“You spend all that time convincing me to come here and drink, and you aren't even joining me?” Ambulon shook his helm. “I'm disappointed.”

Flatline, to his credit, barely hesitated. “You're right,” he said, standing up. “Be right back.”

It took three drinks (to Flatline's two) for Ambulon to begin to loosen up. As he sat there with his fourth he could feel the engex sizzling through his circuits, pulsing through his energon lines to his internal systems and back. It tingled, and though they'd been silent for a bit he laughed suddenly.

Flatline glanced at him. “What?”

“Nothing, I'm just – I'm just thinking.” That's right. Flatline was still here. “What are you doing?”

“What?” Flatline repeated. “I'm – sitting. Drinking. Talking, now.”

“I mean, why are you here? Talking to me. Why are you always so nice to me. I'm an Autobot now, you know.”

Flatline's optic ridges rose. “You're asking that now? After this long?”

“Well, yes.”

“Hmm.” Flatline's optics fell on Ambulon's half-empty drink. “Maybe you should slow down a little.” He reached for the glass but the latter huffed and slid it out of his reach. Flatline put his servos up.

“Alright, nevermind.”

“Answer the question,” Ambulon pressed. Flatline cycled air through his vents.

“I don't really understand your question, honestly. You're an Autobot; so what? We agreed to work together way back when this all started, right? Wouldn't do any good not to try and actually do that. I'm more surprised you don't want to know how that happened.” He nodded his helm at Rotorstorm, Dirge and Swindle, who were sitting together a few tables away, just as closely and familiarly as Silverbolt and Thundercracker.

“Hm. Good point. Do you know how that happened?”

“Not a fraggin' clue.”

While Ambulon was distracted Flatline leaned over and grabbed the glass from his servos, sticking his curly straw in and slurping down the rest in one gulp. Ambulon stared at him, aghast.

“Hey!”

“I gotta catch up with you somehow,” Flatline said, and even with the faceplate Ambulon could tell he was grinning. Ambulon rolled his optics and looked away, but he couldn't help the smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Remember, this was your idea,” Ambulon admonished as Flatline got up for more. “Bring me one too!”

Another drink and a half and Ambulon had Flatline's servo in his, experimentally pressing different knuckle joints to see what medical tools Flatline had loaded in his digits. The general atmosphere of the mess had gotten louder, and rowdier; a klik or two ago Sandstorm and Octane had sprinted, laughing, from the room as a very angry and now half-pink Runamuck chased after them. Ambulon wondered fuzzily who would be serving drinks now.

“See, this way's a lot easier,” Flatline was saying. “Half my tools are on me all the time; I don't have to worry about forgettin' something important.”

“But you don't have much variety in size or use,” Ambulon observed. “It's also impractical. You can't use them on highly contagious patients, when you'd have to wear protection against getting infected yourself. So you'd need a second set of everything anyway.”

Flatline shrugged. “On the frontlines that's not really an issue. I barely have time to scrub up before sticking my servos in the nearest mech, let alone worry about that.”

Ambulon frowned, releasing Flatline's servo. “You ought to be more careful. What will those same mechs do if you yourself get infected and can't help them?”

“Sounds like you're worried about me, a big bad Decepticon.” There was that pseudo-grin again. Ambulon snorted.

“I worry about everyone.” He looked up and noticed that the others were beginning to file out; with Sandstorm and Octane gone, it seemed that there really were no more drinks to be had. The only group that didn't appear to be going anywhere soon was Thundercracker and Silverbolt. Ambulon made a very uncharacteristically humorous pout face. He didn't want to be here alone with them.

“We should go,” he said abruptly, standing up. It then hit him just how much he'd had to drink when his pedes didn't work quite correctly and he stumbled against his chair.

“Whoa, hold on there!” Flatline stood too, not much more steadily than Ambulon, and threw an arm over the Autobot's shoulders. “Let me help you out.”

“I don't need your help,” Ambulon scoffed, even as he put an arm around Flatline's mid back and didn't try to pull away as they walked out of the mess. They definitely looked odd, he thought, supporting each other like this, but it was much less embarrassing than the last time he'd drank. And he was grateful, honestly, for Flatline's help; the mech was sturdier on his pedes than Ambulon was at the moment.

Especially when he turned his helm and for some reason his optics zeroed in on that thing Flatline always had sticking out of his faceplate, which distracted Ambulon from walking. He caused them to wobble when he reached over and snatched the e-cigarette.

Flatline's optics stuttered in surprise. “What're you--”

“Why do you always have this?” Ambulon asked, turning it over in his free servo. Every few kliks it let out a  puff of energon smoke. “It's not real. You can't actually smoke it. What's the point?”

“The point,” Flatline said, slurring a little, “The point is that – is that – it looks cool. That's the point.”

“It 'looks cool'?” Ambulon's helm spun and he put a servo against the wall for extra support as they laboriously made their way down the hall. “Your definition of 'cool' may need work.”

“Please, like you know what 'cool' is,” Flatline teased, not unkindly. He gently (as gently as he could, anyway, with his motor skills being what they were right now) took Ambulon's servo and guided it toward his mouth. They had to stop for an astro-second for him to push the e-cigarette against Ambulon's tightly-closed lips.

“Come on, try it. Trust me.”

“How can I? I've seen how you work in the medibay.” But Ambulon allowed the end into his mouth, and as they resumed walking he turned to Flatline.

“So do I look 'cool' now?”

“Hmm. Almost.” Flatline shifted the e-cigarette to the corner of Ambulon's frown. “Don't hold it so firmly. You gotta let it dangle. Makes you look laid-back and chill.”

“You have spent too much time around humans,” Ambulon said, and tried to do as he was instructed but the thin rod ended up tumbling out of his mouth. Both scrambled to catch it and though Flatline succeeded they knocked helms in the process. Ambulon stumbled and had to catch himself on the wall.

“Are we almost there yet?” he complained, helm throbbing where it had hit Flatline's, and Flatline laughed and pulled him upright.

“I think so. Where were we going?”

“Um...” Ambulon tried to think. “I'm...not sure?”

“We could just go in here,” Flatline suggested, disentangling himself from Ambulon to go over and squint at the sign beside the door closest to them. “This is the...oh. It's the medibay.”

“Perfect!” Ambulon forced himself to walk as steadily as he could to the door, barely wavering as it slid open and he stepped inside. Unfortunately, that took a lot of concentration so he also managed to nick his hip strut on the door frame, and grunted irritably while he went further into the room, aiming for his desk.

“Careful,” Flatline said unhelpfully from behind him as he followed.

“It's pointless to say that after I've already hurt myself, don't you think?” Ambulon finally reached his desk and leaned gratefully against it, both servos clutching the edge to support himself. His processor was nowhere near peak operating capacity, and he temporarily offlined his optics, taking a klik to collect his thoughts. The engex was supposed to take his mind off of things, but now that they'd stopped moving he found it instead kept replaying the images of Silverbolt and Thundercracker sitting together and casually touching each other like long-time lovers.

“You okay?” Ambulon onlined his optics to see Flatline standing beside him, almost touching but not quite as he copied Ambulon's posture in leaning against the desk. Ambulon realized he was grimacing.

“Oh, yes, I'm fine.” For some reason (most likely the engex) he began looking at Flatline, really looking at him, for the first time. His fellow medic was attractive, in a sharp way...where Silverbolt was broad and strong, Flatline was more streamlined, edgier. It wasn't a bad thing, he thought. In fact, he found that right now it was very appealing.

Flatline tilted his helm. “What?”

“Nothing. I was just thinking.” Somehow it all kept circling back around to Silverbolt. He felt incredibly lonely.

“You're staring at me like you want to dissect me,” Flatline said. Ambulon blinked.

“Sorry. I was just – do you have a mouth?” he asked bluntly. He should have been more subtle, probably – for some mechs it was a sore subject – but he didn't really have the ability for subtlety at the moment.

Flatline, thankfully, laughed in surprise. “Do I have a – why?”

“Just curious.” Ambulon shifted a little closer. “Sometimes I think you're smiling but I can't be sure. Do you?”

“I – yeah. Yeah, I do.”

“Can I see it?”

Flatline shook his helm, but said, “Sure, I guess. But why the sudden interest?”

“I told you, I'm just curious.” He didn't know why himself, if he were being completely honest. He just had a very strong sense of show me, mixed worryingly with a little touch me but he wasn't yet ready to act on that one. Flatline eyed him, somewhat suspiciously, then reached up to unhook his faceplate. He worked something along the sides until it came off, then placed it on the desk. Ambulon's mouth formed a little 'o'.

“What?” Flatline asked again, almost self-consciously. Ambulon gave a wobbly chuckle.

“Why do you wear a faceplate when you have a face like that?” he said flirtatiously. Flatline's optic ridges rose but his lips still curled in a grin, exposing fangs.

“Now you're just trying to butter me up.” The grin broadened. “It's a nice change from the grumpy act you usually give me.”

“Grumpy! Me?” Ambulon shook his helm, wavering a bit. “No way.”

“If you say so.” Flatline wouldn't stop smiling and right now Ambulon found that very attractive, along with those teeth and that sharp nose and the smooth lines of his cheeks where they met the rest of his helm. Before he could stop himself (if he could stop himself at this point) Ambulon reached out and brushed his thumb over Flatline's lips, letting his digit tips rest on the other medic's cheek.

Flatline's optics widened but he didn't pull away. “What are you doing?”

“Exploring.” Ambulon brought his other servo to Flatline's face, cupping the 'Con's helm and ghosting his thumbs along the surface beneath those fiery red optics. His own were focused on Flatline's mouth.

“May I?”

There was no question about what he meant. Flatline's venting was slightly heavier as he said, “This might not be a good idea.”

“You're right,” Ambulon replied, smiling. “It's a great idea.” And then he didn't have to wait for an answer because Flatline stuttered out a huff of air and leaned in, bringing their lips together. It started out slow, experimental, with Flatline moving so he was in front of Ambulon instead of beside him, servos settling hesitantly on Ambulon's hip struts. Helms shifted as they worked to find the best angle for their mouths to meet. Ambulon carefully pulled Flatline closer, sliding his glossa along Flatline's lower lip and the Decepticon gave a little shudder that had Ambulon smiling. Flatline returned the favor by nipping at his lip and it surprised him so much he actually moaned and then Flatline pressed him harder against the desk, growling while he took advantage of Ambulon's open mouth to slip his glossa inside it. Ambulon clung to him, the desk digging uncomfortably into his back but he didn't care, and it didn't matter anyway an astro-second later when Flatline lifted him and set him on the desk. He instinctively wrapped his legs around Flatline's waist section.

Ambulon met Flatline's glossa with his own, running the tip over those glorious fangs and he could feel Flatline's frame heating up beneath his digits as he ran them down the 'Con's broad back. He brought them to Flatline's aft, and, on a whim, cupped it with his servos and gave it a firm squeeze. This earned him a pleased chuckle from his fellow medic that turned into a staticky groan when nimble digit tips dug beneath the plating, expertly plucking and stroking the wires and protoform beneath. He liked the way Flatline reacted, the little noises he made as Ambulon worked his way up his back and sides, the way he kissed hotter and harder with each thing Ambulon touched. By the time he came near Flatline's shoulders the Decepticon was arching against him, servos gripping his hip struts so tightly he might leave dents and that made Ambulon moan again.

And then Flatline murmured, “Ambulon,” and he shuddered, legs tightening, and his servos slid to Flatline's chassis, tracing transformation seams, searching for specific hinges and clasps hidden between the plating. When he found them he pressed with his digits, wanting them to open, to reveal the pulsing spark beneath so he could touch and please and be touched in return--

Flatline went still, pulling back. Ambulon gave a little noise of disappointment at the loss of those lips but when he onlined his optics he found Flatline staring at him, studying him as intensely as he had been studied by Ambulon earlier.

“Why'd you stop?” Ambulon asked, voice full of static. He reset his vocalizer. Flatline watched him for another klik.

“As much as I'd like to,” Flatline began finally, running a digit tip down Ambulon's spinal strut that had him shivering again, “...We can't.” He pulled away completely then, carefully unhooking Ambulon's legs from around his waist and taking a step back. Ambulon stared at him, systems still hot and circuits sizzling, now without an outlet for the extra charge.

“We can't? Why not?” He sounded whinier than he'd meant, but he couldn't help it. He couldn't figure out what he'd done to make something so wonderful stop. “Is there something wrong? Did I do something wrong?”

“No, no, you're fine, it's just--” Flatline vented a sigh, dragging a servo down his face. It stopped over his mouth for an astro-second before he dropped it completely and said, “You're not doing this for me, are you?”

“What?” Ambulon stared at him, affronted. “What does that mean? Of course I am!”

“No, you're not.” Flatline put his servos on Ambulon's shoulders, voice gentle but firm. “You're doing it because you're drunk, and lonely, and the bot you really want is with someone else right now instead of you.”

Ambulon was so stunned that it took him a moment to remember how to speak. The nerve of this mech, to bring that up now! “That's – that's ridiculous! I'm not – I wouldn't--”

“Hey, it's okay.” Flatline smiled sadly, and Ambulon felt a jolt of anger at how kind he was being, not condescendingly so but it felt like it anyway. “We all do it. I'm not mad or anything.”

“Well I am!” Ambulon pushed his servos away as he spluttered, “That you would accuse me of such a thing is – it's – it's absolutely ludicrous--” He jerked when he felt something wet hit his leg, and he looked down to discover a drop of thinned energon on his plating. As he stared at it more appeared, and he clenched his servos on his thighs while the tears started coming even faster.

“It's okay,” Flatline said soothingly. “Let it out.” Ambulon grit his dentals, trying to regain control, but when Flatline's arms came around him and his forehelm ended up resting gently against Flatline's chassis the dam broke. Ambulon choked on a sob, servos coming up to clutch at Flatline's shoulders like they were a lifeline that could save him from drowning in the sorrow welling up from his spark.

He clung to Flatline for Primus knew how long, the sobs racking his frame, causing him to shake with the force of it. He knew he was embarrassing himself but he couldn't stop; all he could do was cry and cry, tears staining Flatline's black chassis a washed-out pink, until the sobs began to calm and the tears wouldn't come anymore, and he was left weakly resting against Flatline's embrace. The pain was still there, an ache in his spark, and on top of that he felt drained and empty. His helm throbbed.

“I'm – I'm sorry for that, I just--” he said eventually, voice thick and hoarse, like he hadn't used it in centuries. He didn't have the energy to reset it. “I wanted to feel...wanted.”

“I know, and it's fine. I told you I wasn't mad.” Flatline stroked his helm and neck cabling, but Ambulon shook him off.

“I'm a disaster, and a mess.” He let his servos slide off of Flatline's shoulders. “And I've ruined your night.”

“That doesn't sound like the Ambulon I know,” Flatline teased gently. “Where's the grump who knows better than me about everything?” That got a hollow chuckle out of Ambulon, which surprised him. He hadn't thought he could laugh right now; but that had always been a talent of Flatline's, getting him to laugh when he didn't want to.

“He'll be back tomorrow, after I've slept.” And he was, Ambulon realized, absolutely exhausted. His medical protocols were kicking in, telling him he needed rest and some rehydration with non-alcoholic energon. Ah, that was right. He'd been drinking. No wonder his processor was beginning to hurt.

“I'll get you back to your quarters.”

“No, that's fine. I'll recharge on one of the medical berths.” Ambulon carefully pulled himself out of Flatline's arms, shakily standing with one servo on the desk for support.

Flatline frowned. “You don't have to do that. Your quarters aren't that far away--”

“I'll be fine. I've done it often enough.”

“Yeah, I thought as much,” Flatline said, and Ambulon shot him a look. He was rewarded with a lazy grin.

“Ah, there he is.”

“Can it.” Ambulon chewed his lower lip, then looked away. “Though...I have to thank you. For what you did. Just now.” He cleared his intake.

“And I'm sorry for...touching you. And everything.”

“Sorry? You kidding? That was great.” Ambulon snorted, but Flatline was still grinning. “Seriously, don't apologize. We were drunk, we made out a bit, it happens. I think we can maintain our professional relationship of you telling me what to do and yelling at me all of the time.” The grin broadened and Ambulon slanted a look at him, but found he wasn't actually angry in the slightest. It was rather amazing, how Flatline could say something insulting or upsetting and make it sound almost like a compliment. It was a gift that made his bedside manner much better than Ambulon's (though he'd never admit it).

“Yes, we'll be just fine,” Ambulon said dryly. He pushed away from the desk and carefully walked across the medibay to the nearest medical berth. He heard Flatline following, and when he had pulled himself up on the berth and sat down he looked over to see that Flatline had reattached his faceplate.

“Do you want me to stay?” Flatline asked. The joking manner was gone, for now; worry took its place. Ambulon shook his helm.

“No, I'll be alright.”

“You sure...?”

Ambulon vented a sigh. “I'm not newly forged, Flatline. I promise I can take care of myself. Now you go get some rest; I expect you back in here and ready for work at first shift.”

Flatline laughed, servos on his hip struts. “Glad to see you're recovering so quickly. You get some rest too, big guy. And....comm me if you need anything.” As Ambulon laid down on the berth Flatline left, stopping once by the door to look back, but Ambulon had turned on his side facing away by that point. He waited to hear the sound of the door sliding shut behind Flatline before he allowed himself to curl up on the cold medical berth, silent, dry sobs rattling through him until he finally fell into a fitful recharge.

[springarm]

DRABBLE: in which swindle and rotorstorm pull a con job WARNINGS: n/a

Swindle had never been aboard the space station Xerxes, but it was no different than the others he'd been to. The layout was the same – a promenade for the bulk of visitors to use to set up stalls and hawk their wares, as well as other levels where one could find anything they wanted, whether it be companionship, escape, or a quiet room alone. Even the smells were the same, the tang of disinfectant, the musty odor of organics and the sweet oily smell of energon. The only difference was the ever-changing faces of the crowds.

This was the kind of place where Swindle thrived. Everywhere he turned was a new opportunity, a new sucker he'd yet to exploit, a new chance for him to make a quick credit. This time he was here on a mission to get supplies (mostly more food for the human on their ship) but that didn't mean he wasn't in his element. Just being amongst the rabble made him grin.

Rotorstorm, meanwhile, was definitely not enjoying himself.

“They keep touching me,” he mumbled, doing his best to avoid any organics that passed within a meter radius of him. Swindle laughed. His phobia of anything non-mechanical was....cute, in a way.

“You volunteered to come with me, so don't forget that it's your own fault you're here.”

“I couldn't let you go alone,” Rotorstorm said defensively. Swindle's spark pulsed.

“I would've been fine, trust me. I managed just fine for the last few million years without you around.” He earned a dubious look. “Though I appreciate the sentiment.” This time he got a snort and a crooked smile, and then Rotorstorm went back to making faces at every organic they saw.

Out of the corner of his optic, Swindle watched him for a klik. Even he couldn't believe how he'd lucked out with this one, this Wrecker who fell to Swindle's charms after only a few well-placed words. It wasn't the first time he'd done this, of course – a bot his size in his line of work almost always needed some kind of back up, some muscle to add weight to his words – but none had been quite so easy to wrap around his digit as Rotorstorm. All he had to do was compliment the mech. Sure, it was a little troubling how easily the kind words and flattery came to him, but he wasn't going to waste time worrying about that.

Right now he needed to focus on where he was going. On both sides of the promenade were shops and stalls, some permanent businesses of the station and some temporary visitors who would pack everything up and be selling their wares somewhere else tomorrow. There was one stall in particular that he was looking for, one that he should be able to spot despite the colorful chaos that filled the promenade; she always managed to be at these places whenever he was, no matter where in the 'verse he ended up.

“Aren't we supposed to be getting more food for the human?” Rotorstorm asked, looking over at the fourth stall selling such things (it seemed to be mostly colorful, oddly-shaped fruit) as they passed it.

“We are. There's just somebody I gotta see first.” Swindle smirked when he finally spotted it – a medium-sized stall tucked away in a corner of the promenade, with long white tarps obscuring its contents from view. There wasn't anyone else loitering near it; it didn't stand out very much and its owner wasn't shouting at passersby like everyone else, so only the truly curious would even bother. Not a very good business plan, in his opinion, but every time he brought it up she assured him that she was doing just fine.

Rotorstorm followed him over to the stall and through the opening in the tarps, making it clear by narrowing his optics and huffing out a burst of air that he found this whole idea dubious at best. Inside the stall was brightly lit, and filled, almost claustrophobically so, with tables loaded with all sorts of odds and ends, from mechanical parts to organic clothing, to a lot of other stuff that could be described most accurately as 'knick knacks'. Presiding over all of this was the lady herself, a brown-skinned organic with pointed ears and a rounded frame. She'd almost look human, if not for the small ridged snout and the fact that she was ten feet tall.

She was standing near the back when they came in, so she didn't notice them at first. Swindle grinned and put his servos on his hip struts.

“Hey, Azane.”

She took her time in looking over to see who it was, but when she recognized him her good eye (the one not covered by a metallic eye patch) widened.

“Swinnie!” She hurried down the narrow aisles between tables toward him. Swindle already knew what to expect, so he had his arms open when she threw herself at him and hugged him hard. He heard Rotorstorm give an exvent of distaste but luckily for him it was lost behind Swindle's grunt at the impact. For an organic, Azane hugged very tightly, and his seams were straining beneath her grip.

“I haven't seen you in rotations.” Azane smiled fondly as she stepped back, hands on Swindle's shoulders while she looked up at him. “My, how you've grown!”

“I'm the same size as last time, Azane.”

She pursed her lips. “In frame, maybe.” Then her eye was on Rotorstorm, and Swindle didn't have to see him to know he was squirming. “Who's this? I like their colors.”

“You do?” Rotorstorm cleared his intake. “I mean. Thanks. Me too.”

“That's Rotorstorm,” Swindle said, amused. “He's a friend of mine.”

“An Autobot?” Azane tilted her head. “Aren't you two meant to be enemies? At least, from what Swinnie has told me, that's what I thought.”

“It's...complicated.” Rotorstorm fidgeted beneath her gaze. She wasn't the type to look away when she found something that interested her. “You could take a picture; it'd last longer.”

She stared for another klik before laughing, low and rich, the sound rumbling up from deep down in her belly. “I like him.”

Swindle grinned at her approval. “He's not why we're here. I was hoping to ask you for some help.”

“What're you looking for, sweetie?” Azane swept her gaze over the contents of her stall. “I've got plenty. Even got some new stuff from when you stopped by last. There's this precious stone, azurite – worthless, honestly, but it's pretty and rare and you could easily fool someone with it--”

“I'm not here for that, either,” he interrupted reluctantly. It was very tempting, and he tucked the information into the back of his processor for later use.

“We're looking for human food,” Rotorstorm explained.

“And by that he means the best deals.” Swindle smiled innocently at Azane. “And I know you always have info on the best deals.”

She studied him, not intensely, but still directly enough that Swindle found himself fidgeting. It was a particular talent of hers, looking at customers like she could read their CPUs with one hard stare.

“First an Autobot, now human food... you are in a very interesting situation, Swinnie.”

“Tell me about it.”

Azane put her arm around Swindle's lower abdomen and pulled him deeper into the stall. Rotorstorm followed, glancing curiously at the objects set out for sale. He picked up one, an odd metallic device with a spring attached to the top, and carefully turned it over in his servos.

“What is all this stuff?”

Azane glanced back, peering at what he held, then shrugged. “Not sure. Most things in here I picked up in my travels.”

“Azane is actually a genius engineer. This part is just a hobby,” Swindle said, bragging for her. She smiled and patted his cheek.

“This is my weekend job,” she corrected. She let go of Swindle and moved around the makeshift counter she'd set up at the back of the stall. Swindle stood in front of it, and he felt more than saw Rotorstorm come up beside him as she laid out a crude, hand-drawn map of the promenade. She'd drawn rectangles and squares along the edges to represent the different shops and stalls located on this station. She pointed at several of them.

“These will be your best bet for human food. They don't look like much, but their goods are quality, and trustworthy.” She pointed to another small rectangle representing a shop and added, “Don't go to Myral's. I know for a fact that half of his stuff is rotten. It may look good, but don't be fooled.”

“What would I do without you?” Swindle said with a grin. Azane mirrored his expression and fondly patted his servo.

Rotorstorm, however, was staring at the map. “How did you do this? This station is pretty big, and from what Swindle said the market changes every day.”

“I've learned not to question it,” Swindle answered. Azane gave Rotorstorm a mysterious smile. The confused and suspicious look this earned from the Autobot was adorable, Swindle thought.

“Thanks for the help, as always.” Swindle took one last glance at her map, committing the places she'd pointed out to memory, visualizing in his processor where each spot would be along the promenade.

“You forgot your payment, m'shana,” Azane said as he turned to leave. Swindle stopped, chuckling and shaking his helm.

“You're right, I did.” He turned back to her and waited as she came around the counter and gave him one last hug before standing up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. He almost felt bad for Rotorstorm when she turned expectantly to him and said, “You too, Ro.”

It was impressive, honestly, how Rotorstorm bent down for her without any complaint. And when she kissed his cheek he even smiled. Swindle realized he was smiling too, an unguarded, sincere smile, and he toned it down a bit.

As they left the stall, Swindle waving goodbye to Azane, things went back to normal; as soon as they were out of sight Rotorstorm grimaced and wiped his face, then shook his servo as if it was covered in some unsavory substance.

“She seemed nice,” he said finally. “Handsy, but nice. How'd you know she'd be here?”

Swindle shrugged. “She always finds me, somehow. I gave her my comm number once; I think she tracks it.”

“Uh-huh.” Rotorstorm side-eyed him. “You acted like you liked her. Like you were friends.”

“Yeah? Because we are?”

“Well. I'm just saying. I didn't think you liked anybody.” Rotorstorm looked away. “You're a con mech, right? Dirge told me about it. I guess it's kinda weird to see you act so....I don't know.” But Swindle did know, and as Rotorstorm fell silent, so did he. Dirge. Of course he would have said that. He'd started seeing Swindle as a threat. Anger and despair battled for dominance throughout Swindle's systems. He'd need to be careful, if Dirge was trying to undermine him here....instead of reassuring Rotorstorm that he was wrong, which the Autobot would expect, Swindle stayed quiet. And after a klik, as they walked down the promenade to the closest shop Azane had pointed out, he said finally, barely loudly enough for Rotorstorm to hear, “Is that what you really think of me?”

Rotorstorm jerked as if shocked. “I – I mean. That's just what he said.” And then he recovered, as he always did, and added with a grin, “You think I'd be here if I really believed him? I have great taste in the bots I hang out with, so don't worry.” And just like that Swindle had him again. He almost felt guilty, doing this, but by now it was second nature. You had to be cruel sometimes to get what you wanted.

He gave Rotorstorm a grateful smile, one he actually meant. Something else he'd picked up over time was that the best way to sell a con was to pepper it with the truth.

Rotorstorm relaxed. “Where did you meet her, anyway? Azane.”

“A place just like this, but in the Troch system. I kind of...stumbled on her stall. Tried to con her, actually; she saw right through me.” He laughed. It had probably been the luckiest day of his life, finding that little stall. She'd been one of his greatest assets for decades.

“We talked a bit, and after that, I kept running into her.”

“Huh,” Rotorstorm said thoughtfully. “She seemed really....mysterious. Like one of those fortune teller types from stories about magic and scrap.”

“Don't tell her that. Last time someone came in asking for a fortune she chased 'em out with her broom. She's a scientist, not --”

“Well well well, if it isn't my favorite little bot in the 'verse.”

Swindle froze in his tracks. Rotorstorm, not recognizing the voice (or that it was directed at them) like his companion had, took a step or two further before stopping and looking back to see what was wrong. Swindle wished they'd both had the sense to bolt when a huge black servo landed heavily on his shoulder.

“H-Hey, Ironbull!” he said, their grip forcing him to do a 180 turn to face them. “Long time no see, huh?” Swindle laughed nervously. He didn't dare look at Rotorstorm; maybe if he didn't draw attention to the Autobot, Ironbull wouldn't notice him.

He should have known better. “Hey, who're you?” Rotorstorm butted in, servos clenched. Apparently the sight of a huge black and brown Decepticon with big bull horns sticking out of their helm was not enough to intimidate him. Swindle, meanwhile, was shaking on his pedes.

Ironbull looked at Rotorstorm and smiled, showing sharp teeth. “This the type you hang out with now? Autobots? Who would've thought.” Ironbull's grip tightened as they sneered down at Swindle. “Then again, you always were a weasel. I'm not surprised you're a traitor too.”

“It's, uh, haha, it's complicated--”

“Let go of him,” Rotorstorm growled, and even as Swindle's spark surged he wished the Autobot would stop being so stupid. If he didn't stop trying to play hero he was going to get the both of them killed.

“Seems your friend doesn't like me much,” Ironbull observed idly. “You better tell him to cool his jets. We're just gonna take a little walk, right, Swindle? The Autobot can get acquainted with Trailhawk and Wrangler while we catch up.” They turned him around again and he saw a very angry looking Rotorstorm as well as the two matching (but unrelated) grounders he remembered from Ironbull's crew. Rotorstorm clearly hadn't noticed them until they came up just behind him; he whipped around at the mention of their names just in time for them to grab his arms.

“Hey!” Rotorstorm tried to struggle, but each one pressed a small blaster into his side. He went carefully still.

“Just so you don't try anything funny,” Ironbull sneered. Swindle recognized this as the moment to keep his mouth shut, so he was silent as Ironbull led him away from the crowds of the promenade and through the halls, toward the outer ring of the station. He couldn't believe he'd been so spacey as to let this happen – he should've paid more attention, should've been on his guard. There were plenty of mechs out there that would love a chance to scrap him and usually he was a lot better at keeping an optic out for them in public forums like this. He waited for Ironbull to explain what they wanted, knowing he wouldn't have to stay in the dark for long; they loved the sound of their own voice almost as much as Swindle did.

“You know, I've been lookin' for you since you ditched us,” Ironbull began, digits still digging into Swindle's shoulder. “Hasn't been the same without my second in command.”

“O-Oh? Ha, I can't see why, I was never very good at it,” Swindle said, panic rising. “You have those other guys still, right? They were all great bots, I'm not that special compared to them--”

“They're a good crew, sure. But with you they were perfect.”

He didn't like the sound of that. “I don't know, I think nostalgia may be clouding your judgment. It was fun, I won't lie, but I'm at a different place now, doing different things—”

Ironbull's digit tips dug painfully into his plating, making him cut himself off with a quiet yelp. “Don't give me that slag.” They entered one of the docking areas, one on the opposite side of the station from where the Alpha Bravo currently sat, and Swindle's fuel intake took a trip up into his chassis. “You pulled a fast one on me before, but since I'm a pure-sparked bot, I'll forgive you.” He saw their ship, a craft he'd expected never to see again, and felt himself sinking into hopelessness. Ironbull had been difficult enough to escape the first time, and now they would be extra wary around him. It was like walking back into an old nightmare.

He almost forgot he'd gotten Rotorstorm into this too until they'd all been led up the open ramp into Ironbull's ship and the two of them were brought to the main control room (despite the number of crew Ironbull's ship was not large, and the trip was short) and shunted off to one side while Ironbull regained command. The rest of the crew were present, the other three Decepticons Ironbull had chosen to join them (whether the mechs liked it or not) scattered around the room. Swindle forced fluid down his intake.

With Trailhawk and Wrangler by the door, and Ironbull booting up the ship, it was clear they weren't expected to escape, which was why the two of them were left to stand in the corner alone. This allowed Rotorstorm to lean over and whisper, “How do you know these people?”

“I, uh, used to work for them.” Swindle kept an optic on Ironbull, who was barking orders at one of their mechs to start the liftoff sequence. “They 'recruited' me after the Simanzi Maneuver, said I showed promise. And you don't really say no to Ironbull.”

“Simanzi Maneuver?” Rotorstorm gave a harsh laugh. “Pretty sure we called that the Simanzi Massacre.”

Swindle stared at the floor. “Yeah. I know. Sorry.”

“Swindle?” Another familiar voice – one much more welcome than Ironbull's – had Swindle jerking his helm up. He grinned at the big black and pink bot that had come over and was now looking down at him through pink shades.

“Starstruck! Been a while.” Out of the corner of his optic he saw Rotorstorm tense. “How've you been?”

“Fine.” Starstruck tilted his helm. “Why'd you bail, man? It's been a drag since you left.”

Swindle shrugged, looking away almost shyly. “You missed me, huh?” he said, still grinning.

“Well, yeah. No one else listens to my tunes with me. Gyro says they remind him of a dying turbofox.”

“He never did have very good taste in music.” Swindle could feel Rotorstorm watching. It made his grin broader. “You still have that mixtape I made you?”

“Yeah. Don't listen to it much, though,” Starstruck answered. The corner of Swindle's mouth twitched. “I mean, it's alright, but... you didn't even have any Rihanna on it. What kind of mixtape doesn't have Rihanna?” He laughed, and Swindle laughed too, the sound threaded with a false note that Starstruck didn't seem to notice.

But then Rotorstorm leaned over and complained quietly, “You never made me a mixtape.”

Starstruck turned his attention on the Autobot, as if seeing him for the first time. “What're you doing here?”

“Haven't decided yet.” All three looked over as Ironbull came back. They stopped, arms crossed and optics on Rotorstorm, then added, “We could kill 'im, but I think it'd be more profitable to sell 'im to High Command. Megatron would love having another pretty little flier to play with.”

“Actually,” Rotorstorm said, surprisingly calmly in the face of what was probably the most terrifying scenario Swindle could imagine, “I was hoping I could join your crew, too.”

Swindle stared at him, wondering what bolt-brained thing he was trying to pull now. If he just stayed quiet, Swindle could probably get them out of this.....eventually....but now it was likely he'd make it worse. Ironbull, however, looked amused. Their lip curled.

“Five kliks ago you were ready to brawl, and now you wanna join me?” They laughed. It put Swindle's circuits on edge. “Why the sudden change of spark?”

“You can't say you'd be too happy about some strange bot kidnapping you out of nowhere, can you?” Rotorstorm replied easily. “You know I'm an Autobot, but what you don't know is that I'm a Wrecker, too. You ever hear of them? We're the first in, last out, and most of all, we're cannon fodder. I've gotten pretty sick of it, to tell you the truth, and this could be my way out.”

Starstruck gave a low whistle. “Slag, yeah, I've heard of them. I've seen five of 'em take out a whole platoon before. The whole lot's tough as nails.”

“And, according to our High Command, entirely expendable.” Swindle watched Rotorstorm as he talked, wondering how much of his con held the truth. “Like I said, I'm tired of it, and I could do worse than work for you.”

“You don't even know what I do,” Ironbull pointed out, though they were still grinning.

“'S not hard to figure out.” Rotorstorm looked around the room, observing the setup and the bots there. “You didn't scrap me on sight, so you're not the usual Decepticon soldiers. And with a small crew like this, and what you said about getting a bounty for me, I'm guessing...bounty hunters? Pirates?”

“Impressive,” Ironbull purred, and Swindle could see by the glint in their optic that they meant it. Whatever Rotorstorm was doing, he was playing right where they were weakest: they loved strong, capable bots, and they loved a good gamble.

“We're pirates. It was the second one,” Starstruck added. He was doing a poor job of hiding that he was impressed, too, and Swindle felt a mixture of jealousy and pride. It was good to know, at least, that he'd chosen well from Silverbolt's mechs.

“But it's not that easy to join my crew,” Ironbull was saying as Swindle tuned back in. His circuits sparked with dread. He'd been worried about this.

Rotorstorm, though, was apparently prepared. “I didn't think it would be. I was just about to suggest a way to prove myself.”

Ironbull tilted their helm. “I'm listening.”

“When we were on the station, I saw something, a rare gem – azurite, I think. Worth a fortune. How 'bout we get it for you?”

He was either brilliant, or suicidal. Swindle watched Ironbull's face, keeping his own carefully blank. He was starting to get an idea of what Rotorstorm was planning, and the Autobot was playing a seriously dangerous game. Swindle didn't realize he was holding air in his intake until Ironbull finally nodded and he let it out in a silent huff.

“The job's yours. Gyro! Bring us back down, we’re not leaving yet.” They jerked their horns at the two bots closest to the control panel. “You can take Highbeam with you.” Highbeam, the bigger of the two (who had a rack of floodlights on his shoulders, clearly the source of his name), looked up and frowned when he heard them.

“Actually...” Rotorstorm glanced at Swindle. “I was hoping to take Swindle.”

Ironbull flashed their fangs again as they smirked. “Don't trust my crew, eh? Smart mech. Sure, take him too.” They backed up a step, gesturing for Starstruck to leave. “Don't keep me waiting. If you try to run, Highbeam won't hesitate to blow a hole in your brain module.” Glancing over their shoulder, they called for Highbeam to come over, and he did, scowling all the while.

“Highbeam, you remember Swindle.” Swindle grinned, which had no affect on Highbeam's dour disposition. He'd never had much luck getting this bot to warm up to him, so he wasn't surprised. “And this is Rotorstorm. You're going with 'em on a job.” Ironbull looked Rotorstorm straight in the optic; to his credit, he held the gaze.

“Keep an eye on 'em. Make sure they grab what they're after and come right back.”

Highbeam let out a long-suffering huff. “Okay.”

With a wave of their servo Ironbull said, “Get to it,” and turned away. Highbeam sullenly waited for Rotorstorm and Swindle to start walking toward the ship's open ramp before following them.

They walked side by side, and once they were off Ironbull's ship and back in one of the Xerxes' docking bays, Rotorstorm turned his helm a bit to the side and said softly into his comm, “I can't believe that worked.”

Swindle dared a quick glance at him. “That was some quick thinking back there. Where'd you learn how to be such a good con man?”

“From watching you.”

Pleasure sparked along Swindle's circuits, and it took some effort to keep from beaming as he murmured back, “Good thing I'm the best, then.”

“Hey!” Highbeam pushed between them. “You two say something?”

“Nope, not a thing,” Swindle replied innocently. Highbeam looked from one to the other, and though he didn't push he also stayed between them all the way to the promenade.

They hadn't been gone that long and the crowds hadn't ebbed at all, but the area in front of Azane's tent remained empty of passersby. Swindle was glad; he was already worried Azane might not understand any signals he planned to give, and it would be that much harder if she had a customer. Highbeam stuck irritatingly close as they approached, and took up the rear while Swindle led the way through the opening in the tarps.

As soon as they were inside and Azane had looked up Swindle put a digit to his lips and winked an optic. Azane seemed to understand, because she didn't let on at all that she knew them, and even gasped when Rotorstorm pulled a small blaster from one of his hip compartments. She was a good actress, Swindle thought proudly.

“Just stay calm, lady, and this doesn't have to get ugly,” Swindle said, as Rotorstorm and Highbeam flanked him. “We're just here for the azurite.”

“The azurite...?” Azane's eye widened, and Swindle thought he saw a flash of amusement in it, but it was gone too quickly to be sure. “But you....that's my most valuable item!”

“That's the point.” Swindle gave a lopsided grin. “Hand it over or my friends here might have to hurt somebody.” Highbeam cracked his knuckle joins menacingly, and it was all Swindle could do not to burst out laughing. Highbeam was the only one who wasn't acting.

Azane started trembling – a nice touch. “Please, it's in the glass case, just, please, don't hurt me.”

The case in question, the one she'd pointed out earlier, was off to the left of the counter behind which she stood. Highbeam immediately went over and shoved his elbow through the glass protecting its contents and Swindle winced, giving Azane an apologetic look. She responded with a subtle shrug, and he made a mental note to get someone (not him) to pay for a replacement. Highbeam reached into the display and plucked the azurite from the stand in which it sat, optics widening at the way it caught and reflected the light. Swindle had to admit, Rotorstorm's plan was genius; the gem may be worthless, but it sure didn't look worthless, not by a long shot. Now he just had to figure out how Rotorstorm meant to get them away from Ironbull...

Azane was truly outdoing herself by beginning to cry softly as Highbeam led the way out of her stall. Swindle gave her a thumbs up while saying, “Don't think about callin' nobody, got it? Or we'll be back for you next time.” He turned just in time to see Rotorstorm slip something casually into a compartment as they walked out, and Swindle shook his helm in amazement. So that was his plan. Swindle was beyond impressed; he hadn’t even noticed that when they were here, and for Rotorstorm to form a whole plan around it in such a short span of time...the bot was a lot smarter than he’d thought.

Once they were back on the promenade Highbeam started to run but Swindle put a servo on his arm to stop him.

“Come on, mech, you've been doing this how long? You gotta act natural.”

So they walked, quickly but not too quickly, away from the promenade and back to the docking bay where Ironbull's ship was located. Highbeam kept the azurite palmed so it wouldn't attract attention, and once they were safely inside he started admiring it again. Swindle glanced at Rotorstorm while they headed into the ship's control room where Ironbull and the others were waiting, and Rotorstorm gave a tiny tilt of his helm. Be ready.

“We got it,” Highbeam said, immediately going up to Ironbull and handing the gem to them. Rotorstorm and Swindle stood a bit further back. Ironbull took the gem and as they looked over it Rotorstorm casually placed the other item he'd grabbed on the closest computer terminal. Everyone was too busy to notice, except Swindle.

After a klik (in which Swindle's spark contract tightly; if Ironbull figured it out now, after everything, he might just explode) Ironbull looked up and grinned with satisfaction.

“Good job, boys! Looks like you're in after all.” Ironbull clutched the gem in their fist. “Under probation, of course. Just don't give me a reason to crush your helms like organic melons and you should be fine, yeah?”

Rotorstorm gave a relieved laugh. “What a relief. Glad to be here.” He put a servo on Swindle's shoulder. “Swindle, can I talk to you for an astro-second?”

Ironbull didn't try to stop them as Rotorstorm steered him toward the back of the ship, though Swindle could feel Ironbull watching them. The two kept it cool while Highbeam began reporting what they'd done.

“They didn't try to run,” Swindle heard him say. “We got it, grabbed it, and got out. It was an easy job, one of the easiest we've pulled. The two of them did well, I'll give 'em that--” And then Swindle could practically hear the frown as Highbeam said suddenly, “What's that? On that terminal right there. It's blinking...”

They'd reached the back of the room by then, and Rotorstorm said, “Well, that's my cue,” before dragging Swindle around the corner and pressing the small remote in his servo. They heard Ironbull yell, “Hey!” and then the localized EMP device Rotorstorm had set on the terminal activated. The next thing they heard was the loud metallic thuds of six bots hitting the floor.

“We better get out of here; that won't keep them out for long,” Rotorstorm warned, though he was beaming. Swindle couldn't help himself from mirroring the expression.

“Already on it. Alpha Bravo, this is Swindle. Lock onto our coordinates and bridge us out of here.”

He looked at Rotorstorm as the light engulfed them. One unpleasant teleportation later and they were on the bridge of the Alpha Bravo. Once he could speak again Swindle said, “How'd you know we'd be out of range of the EMP?”

Rotorstorm's grin turned sheepish. “I didn't.”

“EMP?” The two of them looked up to see Silverbolt and Thundercracker standing there. Silverbolt had his servos on his hip struts. “Do I even want to know?”

“Where are the supplies we sent you to retrieve?” Thundercracker asked. “And why did we just bridge you off of another ship?”

“I'll tell you everything, but first we better get the frag out of here,” Swindle said, laughing nervously. “Before Ironbull wakes up and tears the station apart looking for us.”

“Ironbull--?” Thundercracker didn't hesitate; he pivoted on his heel and barked over the railing, “Tracks, Octane, we are leaving. Immediately.”

Silverbolt, watching this with confusion, asked Rotorstorm, “Who is 'Ironbull'?”

“Someone we don't wanna mess with.”

As the ship left the docking bay and took off into open space, Swindle and Rotorstorm explained what had happened. As they talked, Silverbolt's face grew more troubled, while Thundercracker's tightened.

“You should have called us to bridge you back as soon as you were able,” Thundercracker scolded. “Now they'll be more likely to come after us!”

“Actually, they won't.” Swindle clapped his servos together. “See, if we'd bridged out, they would've tracked us and attacked us. But instead we got them something they think is valuable. Ironbull will be pissed and want to get back at us, yeah, but above all Ironbull cares about one thing – money. They'll try to hawk that gem first, and by the time they realize it's worthless--”

“--We'll be long gone,” Silverbolt finished for him. He nodded thoughtfully, looking at Rotorstorm. “That was a good plan.”

Rotorstorm grinned and made digit guns. “I know.”

Thundercracker vented a sigh. “We'll have to gather human food somewhere else, then. I will inform Jetfire to synthesize more in the meantime.”

Silverbolt surprised them all by stifling a giggle. “Raoul won't be too happy about that.”

“You two are dismissed,” Thundercracker said, eyeing Silverbolt out of the corner of his optics. “And next time be more careful, Swindle.”

When they left the bridge Rotorstorm immediately excused himself to use the solvent showers, saying he felt “contaminated from being so close to organics for so long”. Swindle, meanwhile, went back to his quarters. He had a portable computer there that he wanted to use, and he also wanted some privacy. They should still be close enough for his personal comm to be in range, and he needed to make sure she'd gotten out in time--

She picked up almost immediately. “Swinnie! Did you get away from those bad people?”

“Yeah, all thanks to you.” He leaned back against the chair in his quarters, circuits surging with relief. “You were amazing! You should quit the day job and go into theater.” His digits clicked on the computer keys as he talked.

“Oh no, that's not for me. Too much drama.” She laughed. “And don't worry about the cabinet, sweetie. Helping you was repayment enough.”

“You know I'm still gonna bring you something nice next time I see you.” Swindle looked up as his door bell pinged. “Listen, I gotta go, but first – did you get away okay?”

“Yes. I packed up as soon as you left. I'm in the wind now.” Another laugh. “Metaphorically speaking.”

“Good, good.” The door pinged again. “I'll catch you later.”

“Bye, Swinnie.”

The call disconnected and he cycled air through his vents. They'd lucked out after all. Someone out there must be looking out for him; or something.

“Come in,” he called, remembering his visitor, and was only mildly disappointed when Dirge stepped into his quarters. He turned back to work on his computer.

“What's up?”

“What happened? Is he okay?” Swindle glanced over his shoulder to see Dirge hovering nearby, twisting his servos in worry. Swindle felt a flash of irritation. Dirge never fretted over him like this.

“Yeah, he's fine. He's just washing up.”

“We left so suddenly, and then I didn't see either of you, so I thought--” Dirge stopped, taking a deep intake. “I was worried.”

“I can see that.” Swindle turned away again. “But don't. He's fine. In fact, he got us out of a pretty tough spot.” He smiled to himself, glad Dirge couldn't see. “I get why you like him so much.”

He heard Dirge exvent heavily. “Just – next time, take me with you.”

“He's a grown mech, he can take care of himself.”

“It's not him I'm worried about,” Dirge snapped. Swindle frowned, loading what he'd done onto a data slug connected to the computer before twisting in his chair. He opened his mouth to say something in retort when the door pinged again.

“Pit, who is it now?” He vented a sigh. “Come in!”

“Whoa, are we havin' a party in here?” Rotorstorm grinned as the door slid open and he stepped inside, freshly-washed plating glinting in the ceiling lights. “I come to check on you just to see I didn't get an invite? For shame.”

“Rotorstorm!” Dirge brightened, which caused Swindle's mood to drop further. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I'm good. Were you worried?” Rotorstorm clapped a servo on Dirge's shoulder. Dirge smiled and shook his helm.

“No, 'course not.”

“Ahem.” Two sets of optics turned to Swindle. “You guys done? I'm kinda busy here.”

“What're you working on?” To Swindle's surprise, Rotorstorm came over, leaning down to look at the computer screen. Swindle cleared his intake and gently closed the lid.

“Something for you, actually.” Swindle unplugged the data slug and offered it to Rotorstorm. “It's a mixtape.”

“A mixtape? For me?” And there it was, that flash of unguarded vulnerability that made him so easy to manipulate and had Swindle's spark feeling like it was doing flips in his chassis. This time, though, instead of switching back to his usual arrogance, it morphed into a genuine smile of pleasure as Rotorstorm gently took the slug from Swindle's servo.

“Thanks. I'll listen to it right now.”

“Yeah. Sure thing.” Swindle watched him go, and noted with triumph that he didn't look up as he gave Dirge a little wave of goodbye. Dirge turned, wide-opticed and mouth open, to Swindle once Rotorstorm had left. Swindle wasn't trying to rub it in (okay maybe a little) but he couldn't have hidden the broad smile stretching across his face if he'd tried.

“A mixtape?” Dirge said aloud, almost to himself. “Why didn't I think of that?”

“Couldn't tell ya,” Swindle replied, though he knew it was a rhetorical question. Dirge worried his lower lip with his dentals, then left without another word. Swindle didn't mind. He also didn't care that he'd probably just started something Dirge would try to compete with him on. He was too busy leaning back in his chair, servos behind his helm as he took his time re-imagining the look on Rotorstorm's face when he'd taken the data slug.

[springarm]

Gabrielle Aplin - Please Don’t Say You Love Me

[springarm]

DRABBLE: in which jetfire and runabout meet  WARNINGS: this one’s longer than usual; also ableist language and animal cruelty i guess?

“Here's the deal,” Silverbolt said, looking down at the tablet in his hand. “We're running low on energon, we know there's a deposit on one of the planets in this system, and we need you to lead an away team to mine some.”

Jetfire shifted in his chair. He was sitting across from Silverbolt's desk in the ready room reserved for the captain of the Alpha Bravo. Silverbolt and Thundercracker had squeezed themselves behind it, and Jetfire found himself distracted by the way they were constantly jostling each other for space.

“I could probably build you another desk,” Jetfire offered politely.

“We have more important things to do with our time than build furniture,” Thundercracker answered testily. Beside him, Silverbolt glanced over without moving his helm, then gave a tiny nod at Jetfire's suggestion.

“Oh. Of course we do. Um...anyway.” Jetfire twiddled his thumbs. “You were saying?”

“Right.” Silverbolt took over, pretending like he hadn't done anything. “So basically we're sending you and two others to the planet, Sigma 6, to mine energon that we'll then bridge back to the ship to process. Shouldn't take more than a few cycles; you have all the equipment we need, right?”

“Yes.” Jetfire listed off his digits. “Hover trolleys, mining drills, energon detectors – I've got everything necessary for mining energon.”

“Good.” This time it was Thundercracker who spoke. “In eight cycles we will be bridging you, Runabout and Runamuck to the planet's surface closest to the energon deposit.”

Jetfire tilted his helm, lips curling in a sheepishly disbelieving smile. “The Battlechargers? No—no one else? No second Autobot?”

“They won't hurt you, if that is what you're afraid of,” Thundercracker replied. He didn't sound very happy at Jetfire's insinuation, which was confusing. Jetfire couldn't understand how a Decepticon hadn't expected that he, an Autobot, would be suspicious of two Decepticons. Especially two Decepticons who also happened to be the Battlechargers.

“Oh, yes, of course not.” Jetfire turned his attention back to Silverbolt, optics pleading. “So it will be just the three of us?”

“Yes, that's what he—we—decided.” Silverbolt pursed his lips. “Runabout's had experience mining and processing energon, and Runamuck will be there in case you run into any trouble.”

“What...what kind of trouble?”

“Sigma 6 is uninhabited,” Thundercracker said, unceremoniously taking the tablet form Silverbolt, who fumed but said nothing. “At least by sentient life. However, it does have some indigenous organic lifeforms that populate the tundra where you are headed. Runamuck will be able to take care of any such lifeforms that may threaten the mission.”

“And me?” Jetfire asked quickly. Thundercracker looked up at him, face blank. “I'd like to be sure that he'll protect me, too.”

“Yes. He's there to protect you and Runabout while you mine the energon,” Thundercracker replied monotonously.

“You'll be leaving when we reach the planet.” Silverbolt plucked the tablet back from Thundercracker, ignoring the irritated look he earned. “So try and be ready by then. Dismissed.”

Jetfire left in a daze, the sounds of Thundercracker and Silverbolt beginning to bicker cutting off as the door closed behind him. It wasn't the mission that worried him, though; he'd done things like this countless times in the past for the Autobots. If Optimus needed some science-ing done he'd always call on either Perceptor, Jetfire, or Wheeljack (depending on how extreme the science was). No, it was the 'left alone on a frozen planet with two Decepticons' bit that was bothering him. There were very few Decepticons he would ever trust to watch his back, and the Battlechargers were none of them.

But he had a job to do, and from his experience with Silverbolt's failed 'move night', he knew Thundercracker actually meant it when he said he'd punish his mechs if they got out of line. So he should be fine alone with those two, because if they hurt him they'd pay the price for it....right?

He still couldn't stop worrying as he bustled around his lab for the next few cycles gathering the equipment he'd need for this mission. It wasn't a large room, and was therefore somewhat cramped because of everything in it, and though he thought of himself as neat the tables and shelves were cluttered with things he always meant to organize but somehow was never able to. He had a vague sense of where everything was, anyway, so it didn't take him too long to gather what he required inside the one hover trolley he kept by the door. He'd have Silverbolt bridge it with him when he and his two Decepticon 'companions' left for the planet's surface.

Shortly after he was done he heard the door ping and, though he still had almost two cycles until the away mission, expected it to be Silverbolt and therefore called out, “You may enter!” When he turned to greet his captain he found, instead, that it was one of the very duo bots he was about to accompany – Runabout, if he wasn't mistaken.

“Oh. Hello.” Jetfire worried his lip between his dentals. “May I help you?”

“You're Jetfire, aren't you?” Runabout stood in the open doorway, choosing, for some reason, not to move any further.

“Yes, that's me.” The silence stretched for a klik too long until Jetfire grew tired of it and added, “Would you like to come in?”

“Yeah, thanks.” Runabout looked around as he entered, optics shifting from one table to the next. Jetfire stood at the other end of the lab, still holding the phase converter he'd been examining to see if he should bring it along as well. He was rubbing small circles into its metal surface with his thumb as Runabout took everything in.

“Did you need something?” Jetfire prompted finally. Runabout jumped a little, as if startled.

“Oh! Yeah, sorry. You just...your lab is incredible.” He stopped at one of the workstations strewn with robotic parts and circuitry. “What's this?”

“An assistant, potentially. I've been fiddling with artificial intelligence, and while I believe I've gotten very close, I--” He cut himself off. “Um, right, what was it you needed again?”

“Hm? Oh. Uh.” Runabout stopped a table away and fidgeted. “Well, we're going to Sigma 6 together, at least that's what Thundercracker told me, and I just...wanted to introduce myself, I guess.”

Jetfire studied the Decepticon, wondering what his angle was, or if he even had one. Jetfire certainly couldn't think of an ulterior motive here...then again. He'd never been very good at thinking like a Decepticon, even when he was one.

“Well, it's, um, nice to meet you.” Jetfire fiddled with the phase converter. “You're Runabout, correct?”

“You know my name?”

“Yes, I know both of your names,” Jetfire replied, confused by the Decepticon's confusion. “And your brother is...Runamuck. Yes, that's right. You're the Battlechargers.”

Runabout wore a faceplate, but if he had a mouth underneath Jetfire got the impression that right now he would look very, very sad.

“Yeah, that's us,” Runabout said. “I hate that nickname. He does too, but for a different reason, even though he's the one who came up with it.” He picked up a lugnut from the table beside him, looked at it, and put it back down.

“Usually bots don't bother learning our real names,” he went on. “Let alone which one of us is which—ah. Sorry. I'm rambling.”

Jetfire managed a smile. “You're fine.”

“Ha. Thanks.”

“You're welcome.” Jetfire finally put the phase converter down. “And I'm Jetfire, though, um, I suppose you already said that you knew that...”

“Yeah, Thundercracker told me.” Runabout rubbed his servos together and crossed his arms, looking around again. “He told me you were the lead scientist on board, too, so I really wanted to come see your lab--”

The door pinged, interrupting him, and Jetfire thought that this time it was definitely Silverbolt and said, “Enter!”

“Jetfire.” Red Alert walked straight in, optics on Runabout the entire time as he made a beeline for the area where Jetfire was standing. “I have something for you to sign, if you have a klik.”

“Oh, uh, sure.” Jetfire smiled apologetically as Red Alert handed him a tablet. His optics widened unconsciously when, instead of a form or some other kind of paperwork, the screen showed only the words IS EVERYTHING OKAY.

“Um...I should go.” Jetfire looked up as Runabout gave a little wave, optics nervously shuffling between Jetfire and Red Alert, who hadn't stopped staring at the 'Con since he'd come in. “Nice meeting you and I'll....see you in a bit, I guess.” Jetfire waited until Runabout had completely retreated from the room before turning to Red Alert.

“Everything was fine,” he reassured the bot, who was watching the closed door like Runabout might come bursting back through it at any moment. “Unless something happened that I don't know about...?”

“He was standing outside your door for half a cycle,” Red Alert answered, frowning. “Mumbling to himself about pinging the bell and talking to you. I could hear him from my office.”

“You came to check up on me?” Jetfire smiled shyly and lifted a servo, then, remembering, added, “May I touch your shoulder?”

For the first time since entering Red Alert looked up at him and nodded. “You may.”

Jetfire rested his servo gently on Red Alert's shoulder. “Thank you for making sure I was all right. In this instance, however, I think Runabout was simply extremely nervous.” His lip quirked down in mild confusion. “Though I'm not sure why.”

“He's going to the top of the list.” Red Alert pulled out a smaller data pad and pen.

“Are you sure? He didn't seem malevolent--”

“Any 'Con who acts so suspiciously around my friends is a high level threat,” Red Alert said firmly. Jetfire gave another small smile.

“Alright. You know what's best.”

-x-

Two cycles later, Jetfire stood ready in his lab beside the pile of equipment he'd prepared to bring with him. It was all still collected neatly in one of the hover trolleys he'd designed, one of five he'd created (the other four of which he kept in the storage bay and would be used to hold the raw energon they'd be mining). He'd also placed a tracker on this trolley, and all of the others, that would allow the ship's ground bridge to read their coordinates.

“I'm ready,” Jetfire said over the comms.

“Okay,” Silverbolt responded. “We're bridging the three of you to the same location, near the mouth to a cave where we've detected the largest energon deposit. There are a few organic life signs in the area but none big enough to be threatening. Contact us when you're ready for pickup.”

Jetfire took a deep intake to steady himself. “Copy. Ready for transport.”

“Bridging you in 3...2...1...now.”

Jetfire's world erupted into shining, pixel-like blue particles that formed a cylinder around his frame. He experienced the familiar yet disconcerting feeling of having his atoms broken apart and shunted through spacetime, and he wondered, as he always did, why his consciousness was still intact enough for him to wonder why it was still intact, and did he truly, by the laws of his people, exist at this moment. Was he still, actually, alive? Would he be the same person when he was reconstructed by the bridge, or would he be a slightly different Jetfire, altered in a way he could never be able to perceive--

Jetfire's optics stuttered online, sensors adjusting from the blinding blue light to the dim gray that now surrounded him. A cold, lifeless tundra stretched as far as he could see, all frozen grass and flatland. Not so much as a hill for kilometers. He glanced beside him to make sure his equipment and first hover trolley had made it safely (it had) then looked to his other side and saw the duo bots who'd been assigned here with him. Runabout noticed his gaze and gave a little wave, though halfway through he apparently thought better of it and dropped his servo.

“Hey, you!” Runamuck gestured curtly. “Cave mouth's over here. Come on.” He was carrying a pretty big gun, Jetfire noted uneasily as he followed the white Decepticon, the hover trolley following obediently behind him (because of his remote control). He could see, after a moment, what Runamuck was referring to – the 'cave mouth ' was a jagged crack in the ground several meters across, large enough for them to fit, though only one at a time. The three of them reached the edge and stared down; the hole quickly descended into seemingly endless darkness, but when Jetfire picked up a small stone and tossed it in, it hit the bottom relatively quickly.

“Looks like we won't need the mangovator after all,” Jetfire observed, turning to rummage in his equipment pile.

Runabout watched him. “'Magnovator'?”

“An elevator-like platform that uses magnetic fields to lift and lower itself and its passengers,” Jetfire explained. “It's quite large, so I leave it in the storage bay, which is why you didn't see it in the lab.”

“Incredible!” Runabout breathed. Runamuck rolled his optics.

“You two done being huge nerds?”

“Not quite.” Jetfire finally pulled out a long gray rod with one rounded end from the hover trolley. He moved back to the edge of the crack and switched it on, a brilliant beam of light bursting from the bottom half of the rod and illuminating the hole. Now they could clearly see that it was maybe ten meters deep, and sloped downward into more darkness from there.

“Would you care to do the honors?” he asked Runamuck, gesturing at the hole.

“What?” The 'Con shifted. “Why me?”

“Because you have the biggest gun,” Runabout pointed out. Runamuck glared at him.

“Shut up.” He stepped forward and hopped over the edge, landing easily on the dirt below. Runabout and Jetfire waited a beat and when they didn't hear any laserfire or shouting they followed, the hover trolley coming right behind them like an obedient human dog.

“Remote control?” Runabout asked once they were all inside and the trolley had carefully descended to the floor beside them. Jetfire nodded and smiled.

“Yes. Though it didn't always, so sometimes I forget and manually move it anyway.” He shrugged. “Old habits.”

“I hope you're not gonna just blab the whole time, cuz it's annoying.” With his gun, Runamuck gestured at the sloping tunnel before them. “You've got the light, Doc, so you go first.”

Jetfire held the rod aloft. He towered over the duo bots, so it was easier for him to illuminate the entire tunnel for several meters ahead of them.

“I'm not a doctor,” Jetfire mumbled as he descended, the Battlechargers coming behind him. A quick glance back showed that Runamuck was covering their rear, which was only a little reassuring. He didn't like the idea of walking into darkness with two Decepticons at his back where he couldn't keep a constant eye on them. He already knew from experience how kind a Decepticon could appear on the outside and how vile they could actually be beneath it. So as he led the way deeper into the cave, the trolley floating just behind him, Jetfire kept glancing over his shoulder at his companions. He also couldn't help his growing unease over how smooth and regular this tunnel was; it was definitely not naturally formed. Something had dug this and, judging by the fact that they could all fit comfortably inside it, the 'something' was very large. For the moment, he was comforted by the knowledge that Runamuck had such a big gun.

He used the energon detector as he walked. The pinging sound it made was getting steadily louder and faster, so at least they were on the right track. He only hoped they didn't run into whatever had dug this tunnel before they could gather some energon.

“We're not far,” he called over his shoulder, and as if on cue, energon veins started appearing in the rocks around them, glittering pink streaks that glowed in the darkness outside of Jetfire's light.

“So what? We start minin' here?” Runamuck said from the back.

“No.” Runabout answered before Jetfire could. “There should be a cavern with more easily accessible deposits. We got a really good scan back on the Alpha Bravo.”

“Runabout is correct.” The deeper they went, the more frequent and brighter the energon veins grew. “The cavern he described should be just around that corner.” Jetfire pointed ahead, where his light and the energon's illuminated a clear bend in the tunnel. As they approached it Jetfire switched off his light; it was bright enough now that they didn't need it.

The cavern itself, when they reached it, was glorious. It was a huge mostly circular hole in the earth with a ceiling that stretched far above them, and covered in jagged outcroppings of glittering energon. Jetfire grinned as they walked further in. They'd hit the--

“Jackpot!” Runamuck shoved unnecessarily past Jetfire, spinning to take it all in. “You were right, Doc! This is awesome.”

“I told you I'm not a--”

“Don't bother,” Runabout said gently, coming up beside Jetfire. “He's not going to stop now that he's nicknamed you.”

Jetfire cycled air through his vents. “I guess it could be worse.”

“Yeah.” Runabout chuckled. “You should hear what he calls Silverbolt.” As they followed Runamuck toward the center of the cavern, though, Runabout grew troubled.

“Did you notice the...?”

“Yes,” Jetfire replied uneasily. His optics were sweeping the walls of the cavern and he, like Runabout, had seen how many tunnels led here. This was clearly a favored haunt of whatever had made them.

“We'll just have to be quick.” They turned just shy of the center toward one of the more heavily laden walls diagonal to it. Jetfire stopped the trolley  few meters away from it and tried his comms.

“This is Jetfire to Alpha Bravo, do you read?”

“It's a little staticky, but yeah,” Silverbolt said over the line, though he sounded distant. Most likely because of how thick the rock was above them.

“Bridge the four hover trolleys from the storage bay to my coordinates, please. They should all have trackers on them.”

“Yup, I got 'em. Four hover trolleys coming your way.”

Jetfire took a few steps back and they appeared, four empty hover trolleys neatly levitating in a line beside the one he already had. He rummaged through the one full of his stuff and pulled out two hand held mining drills, one of which he tossed to Runabout, who was standing by the cavern wall.

“The two of us will mine and collect the energon while Runamuck keeps watch.” He glanced warily at the tunnels around them. “Does that sound alright?”

“Yeah yeah, just hurry up. I'm bored already.” Runamuck turned his back to them as Jetfire and Runabout got to work.

They worked in silence for a cycle, first drilling the energon out of the rock, then sifting and shoveling the pieces into the empty hover trolleys. Together they filled and sent two back to the ship during that time, which was a good pace, for which Jetfire was glad. He still grew steadily more anxious the longer they took, though; the creature (for he was sure it was a creature, as Thundercracker had said there was no sentient life on this planet) could be back at any moment.

It definitely didn't help his nerves when Runamuck started shooting at lizards he saw in the cavern.

The first burst of laserfire made both Runabout and Jetfire jump – Runabout even dropped his drill. They turned as one to see what the threat was and instead saw Runamuck laughing as he disintegrated another pale, sightless lizard crawling on the ground nearby.

“Runamuck! What in the world do you think you're doing?!” Jetfire yelled, louder than he'd meant to.

Runamuck cocked his gun. “Just havin' some fun, Doc. It's just a bunch of lizards, or do you Autobots get up on your energon box over those too?”

“It's not about the lizards!” Runabout picked up his drill and put it back in Jetfire's pile before storming up to his twin. “You could attract the attention of something worse!”

“Then I'll just shoot that too, won't I?” Runamuck said mockingly. “And why're you siding with that Autobot, anyway? I'm your brother!”

Jetfire shifted uncomfortably. He hated when people argued around him. He turned, planning on leaving them to bicker while he went back to work, and froze when his optics hit the tunnel closest to them.

“Hey! Shut up, you two!” he hissed.

“Don't you tell me to shut up, Autob--” Runamuck was shocked into silence when he saw what Jetfire was staring at. Runabout turned too and gasped, involuntarily taking a step back.

In the glow of the energon veins an enormous, sleek mottled white head could be seen, slowly turning this way and that as it looked at the three of them. Except, no, that wasn't right – Jetfire noticed that it didn't have any eyes. It was listening for them. This was proved correct when he tried to step back and his pede crunched against the rock – the creature's head swung toward him, great nostrils flaring, and it slid a little further into the cavern. He froze again, watching it closely. It didn't seem to be able to smell them – they probably smelled like the energon that was already here – so it was relying on sound to find them.

Jetfire carefully turned his helm and put a digit to his lips. He gestured at the hover trolleys, then tapped his helm slowly, trying to indicate that he would quietly call for Silverbolt to bridge them back to the ship. Runabout nodded.

Runamuck, however, wasn't having it.

“Slag that,” he growled and, before Runabout could stop him, raised his gun and fired.

The creature screamed and thrashed as it was hit with laser bursts. Jetfire immediately ran to where he'd left his mining drill, ducking past the flailing snout. When he bent to grab the drill he didn't see that the animal had slid further into the cavern, or that its huge clawed foot was blindly swiping out at him.

“Jetfire!” He automatically looked up when he heard his name and grunted in surprise as Runabout tackled him, throwing him to the ground and out of the way of the creature's foot, which slammed down where he'd been standing.

“We have to get out of here!” Runabout yelled over Runamuck's continued laserfire and the squeals of the creature. Jetfire nodded and, not bothering to push Runabout off or get up, activated his comms.

“This is Jetfire to the Alpha Bravo, lock onto our signals and bridge us out of here now!”

The cavern shook as the animal's thrashing body slammed into the tunnel walls. Rock and chunks of energon were already crumbling to the floor when the familiar blue particles engulfed the bots and the remaining hover trolleys. Jetfire looked up through their light and saw a huge boulder falling toward him and Runabout, and he unknowingly clutched at the Decepticon, thinking this is it we're not going to make it this is the end I'm going to die--

When he onlined his optics he was on the bridge of the Alpha Bravo, gripping Runabout's arms so hard he'd left dents. He quickly let go and reset his vocalizer.

“Um. Sorry.”

“Don't worry about it.” Runabout didn't seem bothered at all as he stood up and held out a servo to help Jetfire. He hesitated barely an astro-second before he took it and pulled himself to his pedes.

“Thank you.”

Was Runabout smiling? “Again, don't worry about it.”

“What the hell happened?” Silverbolt jogged over to the two of them. Behind him, Thundercracker was holding an agitated Runamuck's gun. “We had to grab that guy's laser before he blew a hole in the ceiling, and Sandstorm says one of the hover trolleys is completely crushed.”

“There was—there was a creature,” Jetfire replied. He was angry, extremely angry, but he bottled it and clenched his servos tightly at his sides. “Runamuck shot at it and very nearly caused a cave in.” He wanted to confront the duo bot, shout at him, but the very idea of a confrontation made him tremble. Or maybe the trembling was from how close he'd just come to death.

“He almost got Jetfire killed,” Runabout added hotly. Jetfire gave him a grateful look.

“Is this true?” The three of them turned as Thundercracker and Runamuck came over. Thundercracker's optics flashed when he looked at Runamuck.

The duo bot threw up his servos. “Don't look at me! You told me to shoot any threats, and that's what I was doing. Not my fault if the good Doc was too stupid to get out of the way.”

Silverbolt caught Jetfire's optic and mouthed, 'Doc'?

“Is that what happened?” Thundercracker was looking at Jetfire and Runabout now.

Jetfire fidgeted. “Well, technically, yes, but--”

“Then I don't see the problem.” Runamuck was smug until Thundercracker turned back on him. “Though you do need to be more careful. These are your crewmates now. Treat them as such.”

“Aye aye, sir,” Runamuck grumbled irritably.

“Dismissed.” Thunercracker watched Runamuck sullenly walk out of the bridge. “And you two: Sandstorm is in the storage bay with the energon you gathered. Report to him so we can begin refining it for use.”

Jetfire risked a glance at Silverbolt, who nodded, and then said, “Yes, of course.” He stiffly pivoted and headed to the door, Runabout following without another word. When they were gone, Silverbolt turned to Thundercracker.

“Don't you think you should've been a little harder on Runamuck? He clearly didn't care if he got Jetfire killed.”

Thundecracker moved forward to the railing that surrounded the captain's balcony, resting his forearms on it and looking at the viewscreen. Below them, Octane and Tracks were busy keeping the ship in orbit.

“Don't worry, I'm going to deal with him later.” He glanced back as Silverbolt came up beside him. “I did plan for this, you know. I knew Runamuck would be less inclined to diligence when it came to Jetfire's safety, so I sent Runabout along too. I didn't choose him just for his experience; he's soft-hearted, like you. I knew he would watch out for Jetfire in a way Runamuck wouldn't.”

“I know you mean that as an insult but I'm taking it as a compliment.” Silverbolt warily watched Thundercracker out of the corner of his optic. “I guess your idea is working a lot better than mine did.”

“So far.” Thundercracker was watching the viewscreen. Through it they had a fairly up-close view of Sigma 6, a sphere of icy blue fading into darker shadows of navy and purple. Slate-gray clouds rolled lazily across its surface.

Quietly, Thundercracker said, “It's beautiful, isn't it? The colors. The way the surface dips and curves beneath the ice. Or perhaps because of it.” Silverbolt glanced at Thundercracker and was shocked to see that the Seeker was smiling. That he was enraptured by this frozen planet in this backwater system. Silverbolt's spark pulsed once.

It lasted for less than a klik. Thundercracker stood straight, smile gone, and turned away from the viewscreen.

“Best we get moving. That was the only energon deposit we detected on this planet. We'll have to find another.”

Silverbolt coughed. “Yeah. Let's go.”

Runabout caught up to Jetfire in the hallway as the latter stiffly and swiftly headed for the storage bay.

“Hey, Jetfire?” Runabout asked tentatively as they walked. “You okay?”

It took an astro-second for the question to register. “Hm? Oh...yes.” His movements became more fluid as he slowed down somewhat. “I'm sorry. I didn't see you there.”

“That's okay.” Runabout matched Jetfire's pace, though he had to walk a bit quicker to keep up with those long legs. “I'm sorry about Runamuck. He – he's not very good with other bots, I guess...but he's not a bad guy once you get to know him.”

“You don't have to apologize for him,” Jetfire replied. “He's his own person, not your responsibility.”

“But he is my responsibility,” Runabout insisted. Jetfire slowed, eventually stopping in front of the duo bot.

“Runabout..” He had to say something. Decepticon he may be, but Jetfire owed Runabout his life. “You said – remember, you said no one ever thought of you two as separate, right? Well, it might help to actually let him be separate. Does that make sense?”

Runabout stared at him, then looked at the floor. “Oh, yeah, you're right, sorry, I just wanted to explain--”

“Oh yes, I understand!” I screwed up, he thought. “I understand what you're trying to do--”

“It's just, he doesn't really have anyone else but me, and I don't want anyone to hate him over this--”

“He was doing his job, really, it happens--”

“I'm sorry for bothering you with this--”

“You haven't,” Jetfire said firmly, putting his servos on Runabout's shoulders before he remembered himself and dropped them. “You're trying to help him. There's nothing wrong with that. I apologize for saying there was.”

Runabout relaxed somewhat. “No, I, I understand, he almost killed you--”

“And you saved me,” Jetfire interrupted. “Thank you.”

Runabout, Jetfire decided, must have a mouth beneath that faceplate, because he was definitely smiling now. “Yeah, sure, uh. No problem.”

“I really appreciate it.” Jetfire started walking again; they still had to get to the storage bay. “Um...after this, if you'd like, I could show you more of my lab?”

Runabout walked beside Jetfire, not looking at him but still radiating pleasure.

“Yeah, I'd like that.”

[springarm]

DRABBLE: in which the ‘cons join the ‘bots WARNINGS: death mention

“You’re lucky I haven’t thrown you all back in the brig.” Silverbolt crossed his arms. “Though I haven't found a reason why I shouldn't.”

Thundercracker didn't look back at his mechs. To do so would display weakness. Instead he stared Silverbolt straight in the optics, posture rigidly straight, a picture of strength.

“You can hardly blame them. Trapped on an Autobot ship with no hope of escape, a lifetime's sentence in an Autobot prison waiting for them when this is over?” Thundercracker's voice was firm. “Can you tell me you wouldn't have mutinied, if our positions were reversed?”

Jetfire, on Silverbolt's right, leaned in and said in a loud whisper, “He's got a point, Captain.”

“Not helping.” Silverbolt vented a sigh. Jetfire was a good bot, but he was a lot bigger than the rest, with more chest room, so volume control was an issue. Addressing Thundercracker again he said, “So what you're saying is we can't trust you, so I should put you back in the brig?”

“Not at all,” Thundercracker replied, though it overlapped with Runamuck's “You just try'n shove me back in there, I swear--” Runamuck was cut off by a sharp glare from Thundercracker, who then continued, as if nothing had happened, “On the contrary, I'd argue that you need us. Without Swindle's quick thinking back there, that Quintession would have killed us all. I find it difficult to believe he would have been as helpful from the brig.”

Silverbolt exchanged a look with Jetfire. Clearly his audios were malfunctioning. He hadn't heard what he thought he'd heard, not from Thundercracker, one of the highest ranking Decepticons he knew of; no one that far up on Megatron's list would be suggesting what he thought Thundercracker was suggesting. But the jet was still staring at him without any indication of falsehood or tricks.  Thundercracker was a legend, true, but he was no Swindle, and lying wasn't something he was especially known for.

“You're saying...we should work together?” Silverbolt asked finally. He felt more than heard his crew shifting uneasily behind him. A quiet buzz of whispers broke out among both groups when Thundercracker nodded.

“It is clear to me that, barring death or ejection, none of us are leaving each other's company until we reach Cybertron. And though this mutiny was....unfortunate....it won't happen again. You have my word.”

“Whoa, boss, what're you saying?” Swindle pushed past Runamuck to stand beside Thundercracker. “You can't be makin' deals like that with Autocreeps!”

“Hey, we're not the creepy ones here!” Rotorstorm cut in. Silverbolt shot him a look, to which he raised his servos, palms out. “I'm just saying.”

Thundercracker, meanwhile, hadn't even glanced at Swindle. “These Autobots saved our lives, and as much as we may loath it, current circumstances call for a truce.” Thundercracker held out a servo. “I believe we should co-captain this vessel until the voyage is over. Honor dictates that we owe you our lives, and if any of my crew attempts to act against you or yours again, I will personally see to their punishment. Does that sound acceptable to you?”

Obviously not having learned his lesson, Rotorstorm butted in with, “That's not a very Decepticon attitude.”

Thundercracker finally turned his optics on the Wrecker and Rotorstorm's ever-present grin faltered. “It's my attitude.”

He turned back to Silverbolt, who was wringing his servos together to hide his nerves. His first (extremely unhelpful) thought was to ask Thundercracker to teach him what he'd just done, because Silverbolt hadn't been able to shut Rotorstorm up ever since they'd left Earth. His second thought was that he shouldn't have accepted this assignment. He wanted to put the decision up to a vote but that wasn't what a captain did, was it? He was supposed to be the one making all the decisions and taking all the responsibility, right? No matter how difficult it was to even think when he already felt buried beneath Thundercracker's powerful, sure presence. No, no, he had to push past that. Silverbolt had been the one to decide on saving these Decepticons, and he had to face the consequences for those actions. And if that meant faking confidence in his decisions, well then, so be it. He allowed himself a klik to calm down and think, so that when he took Thundercracker's servo in his own, his didn't shake. Neither did his resolve. Not noticeably, anyway.

“Deal.” They held it just long enough to be official before Thundercracker dropped Silverbolt's servo as if it was a dead Earth insect that had begun to decay. “But if I even get a hint that you're going to act against us,” Silverbolt continued, “I'm throwing all of you out of the nearest airlock. Got it?”

“Of course, though that won't be necessary.” In the background the other Decepticons were already leaving, heading off to the rooms Silverbolt had assigned them earlier upon releasing the group from the brig. His own mechs were also sidling away, no doubt to gossip about how horrible he was as a leader.

“I can only wonder,” Thundercracker said softly, when it was only he and Silverbolt left on the bridge, “if the Autobot softhearted enough to rescue us would find it in him to do something so callous as that?” Silverbolt met his challenging gaze, optics unwavering for once, and the only answer he gave was a curt “Good night” before he followed the lead of his crew and got the heck out of dodge.