"Momma! Why does my chest always hurt? I don't like it... make the pain go away momma, like you do when I fall over!"

"Oh my sweet little angel, come here." Her slender arms coiled around him, embracing him against her powder pink breast plates. "Is this making it feel better?"

"A little..."

"I'm sorry my darling," She kissed his chest plate, then blew a raspberry into his stomach, making him squeal and laugh.

"When is papa coming home?"

"Soon my beautiful little prince; very soon."

Why am I always so alone?

"Papa, why are you going away? I don't want you to!"

"I know my son, I'm sorry. This is for the good of Cybertron." His father's strong arms encircled him tightly, and he whispered into his audio receptor. "Take care of your mother for me Sunstreaker. You've always made me so very proud of you, my son."

I can't stand being alone. I don't want to be abandoned!

He forced a sharp intake as he shot up, bolt upright on the berth. He rubbed his bright blue optics, clearing the static as much as possible. Why had he been having these dreams lately? Something was wrong.

A timid knock at the door caught his attention, and he momentarily recognised the soft raps.

"M-master, may I c-come in?" A voice asked from the other side.

"... Yes, you may." Bluestreak pressed the entrance button and trotted in, holding a bucket of cleaning fluid and a mop. He began cleaning, as he did every morning, as the bright yellow mech climbed off of the king sized berth. Sunstreaker watched the dirty silver mech work for a moment, those cute little door wings twitching, knowing he was under scrutiny. He then settled at the small, glass table at the side of the room, which Bluestreak scurried to immediately.

"Hot oil, sir?" He asked timidly, servos folded elegantly in front of him.

"Yes, and some energon. And put some iron filings down too." Bluestreak bowed and obeyed. He brought the energon and filings first; neatly arranged on a shimmering blue platter with embedded neon strands curling in pretty patterns, simply for effect. Once the oil boiled, he brought the pot over, pouring it into the delicate cup by his master's wrist, then placed the pot on the table and went back to cleaning.

Sunstreaker quietly read the datapad he'd been hooked on for quite a while, sent to him by his father, who was off world. Optimus Prime was constantly thinking about his son and bonded, despite being in the middle of a war. The story was about a pair of Earth creatures – humans, if he recalled correctly – who were madly in love. Alas, their families hated each other, and they could not be together. Sunstreaker found he enjoyed the forbidden romance and poetic quality of Romeo and Juliet.

"Bluestreak," He suddenly said, making the smaller mech jump. The Datsun peeked back at his master shyly, clutching his mop handle against his cheek. "Is my mother in today?"

"Y-yes master; Lady Elita has n-no reason to b-be out t-today." The adorable little maid always stammered when in Sunstreaker's presence, and the yellow mech liked it. The reason was probably from how Bluestreak knew his master was infatuated with him, along with the occasional slap of the aft he received while working. Bluestreak was Sunstreaker's favourite servant, and the only one he allowed within his quarters.

"I see... any news from my father?" Bluestreak shook his head.

"Nothing b-but his usual good wishes and l-love, master." The only son of Optimus Prime leant back in his seat and nodded, twiddling his thumbs in thought. Bluestreak returned to his cleaning, not daring to ask his master what he was thinking about. It was a well known fact that for some unfathomable reason; Sunstreaker was absolutely insane. Always had been, and no one understood why. Ever since he was a child, he'd been caught talking to himself, slamming his head against walls, and even going so far as to slice open his own energon lines. But as he got older, he began abusing the servants, rather than himself.

Except Bluestreak.

He liked Bluestreak.

Still, he would occasionally yell at the little mech for either being too talkative, nosy or simply rejecting any of his master's advances. And his mother, Elita 1, never scolded her brat for it. Sunstreaker found that one of Bluestreak's older brothers, Prowl, was very amusing in how he never hesitated to come to his younger sibling's rescue; if Sunstreaker yelled at Bluestreak, Prowl yelled right back. The yellow maniac got a sick enjoyment out of punishing the funny, white Datsun.

So Bluestreak did his best not to upset the master of the house.

Sunstreaker leaned forward on the table, pressing his fingers into a steeple. The oldest Datsun, Smokescreen, was with his father on Earth. Apparently, a war needed a psychiatrist, even if they were petty gamblers. Truth was, Smokescreen only took the time to learn how to read people in such a way so he never lost one of his games. Sunstreaker's father either didn't see that, or didn't care.

"Bluestreak, let me ask you a question." It wasn't a request. Anything from his master's lips was never a request. The youngest Datsun slowly turned; overly wide optics coated in a nervous shimmer. "... Do you ever miss Smokescreen?"

"I... yes, m-master. Prowl and I b-both miss Smokey..." He nodded. There was a pause, then Sunstreaker gestured for him to elaborate. "Uh-um... I mean, after so l-long, I even miss that h-horrible smell when ever he l-lit a cigarette!" In order to maintain his special modification, Smokescreen constantly had to top up his smoke supply. That was the reason Sunstreaker had no qualms with sending him away; he hated the stink of that smoke.

"I see... absence makes the Spark grow fonder, correct?" Bluestreak nodded quickly. "... I suppose I kind of miss my father, in the same way." Despite what people believed, Sunstreaker really did care for his parents. They were the only ones he did care for. The little Datsun nodded again, then bowed.

"I understand, m-master." Crystal blue optics stared at the servant mech, watching how those door wings tilted with each little shift of emotion.

"Bluestreak," His voice took on a commanding tone. "You are never allowed to leave me." He stated. The Datsun blinked, door wings twitching in surprise, then drooping in discomfort. "Ever."

"Sir?"

"I don't want to ever be alone. Ever." Bluestreak stared at his master, then bowed. Deep within his spark, the little maid couldn't help but feel pity for the lone Prime son.