Chapter Twenty Three

Plenoptic

I have a friend who is apparently under the impression that we are growing apart. I've known her since (GRADE WITHHELD) and you'd think that maybe she got it into her thick skull that I'm not turning on her anytime soon! (Mwa ha ha…goin' Decepticon). Thus, I figured it was worth it to write something about friends who can stay true even if they WILL eventually grow apart. Set before Amendments, to the…uh…two of you who read it. What do you people have against Jetfire?!

By the way, to all of you G1 fans, I realize Jetfire is WAY out of character, but I didn't meet him until I started watching the Armada series way back when, and this is just how he came across to me. So for my sake and yours, please just go along with it. Oh yeah, and this does not follow the PreCybertronWar setting of Things Not Spoken, and also takes place long before Amendments.

Pre Cybertronian War

Current leaders: Lord Megatron, Commander Optimus Prime (Elita One)

Stupid internal alarm system.

It's way too early for this.

What time is it…?

Okay. Wait. Too early. Not internal alarm.

So what…?

Elita One grudgingly brought her processor online, and for the briefest of moments panicked--Wait, stop, optics not working!-- before she realized she'd had her optics shuttered. With a groan she brought them online as well, automatically adjusting her vision to the darkness of her shared quarters with Optimus Prime.

She didn't have to strain her audio receptors to pick up faint thuds and booms from somewhere below; already, the sounds of tens of mechs scrambling to battle stations could be heard. Forcing her systems to boot up faster (it really was too early for this), she attempted to lift herself out of the recharge bed, only to fall on top of her still sleeping sparkmate.

"Oh, for the love of Primus," she snarled under her breath, jabbing her lover hard between the vents.

"Ow," Optimus grumbled in protest, bringing drowsy optics online. "What was that for?"

"Wake up, you stupid lug," she growled, hitting him again, and this time it brought him to full consciousness.

"Elita!"

"Shut up and listen!"

Both froze, and he cocked his head. At the sound of another tumultuous crash, his optics widened. "Holy frag of Primus. What is that?"

"Think we're under attack? They had the siren on just a second ago, slaggin' woke me up."

"I don't know…here, up you go."

He gentlemanly helped her out of the recharge berth before swinging his long legs to the ground. He paused and felt the warm bunk he had just left, frowning. "Lita? My mask?"

"Oh, frag, dropped it somewhere…here, right here…"

She pulled him down by the chest plates and snapped his facemask easily into place, sighing slightly as she did so. "I hate this thing, by the way."

"Sorry," he replied, his optics twinkling in amusement. "Come on."

The entire lower portion of the base was poised for attack; captains shouted orders across the halls, pausing only to salute their passing commanders. Optimus frowned; the more he thought about it, the less likely an attack seemed. The rebels and anarchists simply didn't have the manpower to stage an attack on Decagon…although a mutiny within the base was possible. He'd always pegged that Sideways for a troublesome one.

"It's coming from the lab," Elita murmured, and he glanced at her.

"What?"

"The noise. It's coming from Jet and Screamer's lab."

Both commanders immediately slowed their gait at this realization, and Optimus felt his spark relax. With a sigh, he opened up his intercom, having every intention of contacting Prowl, only to find a stream of yells coming through from at least a dozen different mechs.

"Prime! What's going on--?"

"I heard some weird noise downstairs--"

"Are we under attack?!"

"Optimus? Do I need to get up for this?"

"Is anyone dead yet?"

"Is anyone gonna be dead?"

"Where are we being attacked?"

"How many?"

"Who's attacking us?"

"Should I run for my life or--"

"What the Pit is going--?"

"Alright, alright, one at a time, please," Optimus groaned, opening his comm link frequency to accommodate all of them. "I do not believe we are under attack. Elita One has her suspicions that there has been a mishap in the main science lab. I am not sure what's going on. I do not believe you need to get up, Jazz, don't worry. No one is dead yet, I do not believe anyone is going to die, thank you very much. All of you please relax and leave it to us officers."

There was a murmur of consent, and a dozen comm links closed. All except one.

"Trouble?" a sarcastic voice drawled, and Optimus scowled.

"Yes, just a little. I think Jetfire and Starscream have made a mess in the lab."

"It shouldn't surprise you, Brother."

"Do I sound surprised?"

"You sound tired. I would assume you were interrupted from a session with miss Elita?"

The femme commander scowled in Optimus's general direction, and he grimaced apologetically. "Listen, just get your aft down here, okay?"

"Touchy. I'll be there in a moment. Must collect myself, you know--we don't all have femmes to guzzy us up."

"Cute. Prime out."

The science lab was a mess. Various chemicals ran off of countertops and to the floor, some melting straight through the tiles to the cleaning stalls below. The femme cleaning stalls.

Oops.

"Jetfire, Starscream!" Optimus roared into his comm link, struggling to see the alleged culprits through raining debris. "What the Pit is going on here?"

There was a metallic thud; one of them had obviously punched the other. "Optimus, just for the record, it was all Starscream's fault!"

"What?! That's a lie and you know it!"

"I don't tell lies like you do, Screamy."

"Don't call me that!"

"Both of you shut up, alright?" Optimus snapped irritably, rubbing his nasal plates. I cannot believe I got out of bed for this. "Get your afts out here, you've got some serious explaining to do."

Ignoring the sounds of the squabbling mechs clambering out of the mess they had made, Optimus turned to the collection of mechs who stood uncertainly around the lab's perimeter, guns held at the ready. "No need for those," he said stiffly, indicating the rifles. "There's no danger here. All of you, as you were. And Bumblebee," he added, spotting the young scout between his seniors, "would you please go tell Prowl to announce over the intercom that we are not under attack?"

"Yessir," the near youngling said, bobbing his head up and down excitedly, and took off, a yellow blaze amongst many grumpy mechs.

Elita nudged him, and Optimus turned disdainfully to see his two chief scientists shoving each other back in forth in what used to be the lab's doorway, both sporting dents and several burnt patches of armor (they'd been warned not to keep too much acid lying around, and look what had happened?).

"Jetfire. Talk," Optimus growled wearily. "What the Pit was going on?"

It was Starscream who launched into an explanation. "He was boiling an unknown substance! I warned him it was dangerous, but--"

"Wait," Optimus cut in, holding up a hand. "Why were you boiling it, Jetfire?"

"To find out its boiling point," Jetfire said in exasperation.

"…Then doesn't it make sense to boil it?" Optimus asked carefully, looking at a very heated Starscream.

"We didn't know what kind of reactions it would have at temperatures below the boiling point!" Starscream snapped angrily, glaring at his best friend.

"Look," Jetfire said pointedly. "It had a perfectly stable electron configuration--"

"No, that was the other one from this morning! This one's final shell was one electron away from stability, it was like a loose cannon! And you saw fit to just go and boil it!"

"Well, I can't figure out why it would explode in the first place!"

"That's what I don't understand," Elita put in. "I mean, as long as you guys had the experimental chamber filled with argon, nothing should have happened. So I wonder why…?"

Both Jetfire and Starscream had donned looks of complete horror.

"Guys?" Elita said cautiously, arching an optic ridge. "You did remember to fill the chamber with argon…didn't you?"

"…Jet?"

"…Screamer?"

"Okay, we forgot," Starscream moaned miserably, his thin frame slumping in defeat. "But--oh, slag," he added in a hissed whisper, and both Elita and Optimus turned.

Megatron stood a short distance behind them, his optics wide and his mouth gaping. A few straggling mechs--along with Jetfire and Starscream--bowed slightly with murmured formal greetings.

"Hey, Megs," Optimus said casually, grinning at his twin.

"…They blew up the lab," Megatron said numbly.

"Yup. Third one this orn."

"…They blew up the lab. Again."

"Really? I hadn't noticed," Elita snorted, rolling her optics. "Listen, I'm going back to bed. See you in a few," she added, smirking at her suddenly hopeful mate. One naughty hand ghosted over his chest plates. "Have fun, love."

"Will do," he replied brightly, smiling as she turned and made her way back down the hall. "You're drooling, Megsy."

Megatron snapped his jaw shut, glaring at his slightly older twin, then turned to the scientists. "What the Pit happened?"

Jetfire and Starscream mumbled something indistinguishable; Megatron was much more likely to erupt in fury than were Optimus and Elita.

"They were just experimenting, Megs, that's all," Prime said soothingly, clapping his brother on the shoulder. "It's no big deal, right?"

Megatron stared at him, disbelieving. "No big deal? Optimus, look at this place. It's a wreck. You think we have the finances to pay for it all, with the Senate drawing the strings so tight around our throats?"

"Don't be so dramatic," Optimus snorted lightly. "Jet, Screamer--"

"Don't call me that!"

"Whatever. Both of you need to pick it up. Fix it. Whatever you can't fix, you pay someone else to fix out of this deca-cycle's pay check. Got it?"

His punishment immediately met a tirade of complaints.

"Prime, wait--"

"Optimus, please, don't do this to me--"

"I needed the creds--"

"I've got a life, you know--"

"I've got a girl to take care of--"

Three pairs of optics were immediately drawn to Starscream at the last statement.

"No way," Megatron said, disbelieving.

"No way in Pit," Optimus added.

"Bull slag," Jetfire confirmed.

"It is not!" Starscream snapped heatedly. "I've got a femme!"

"No slaggin' way! What's her name?" Jetfire demanded.

"Thunderblast," Starscream said proudly.

Optimus snorted loudly; Megatron, on the other hand, immediately burst into a fit of laughter. Both scientists blinked, confused by their leaders' mirth. Optimus, polite though he was, turned away momentarily to hide the chuckles that shook his frame. Megatron was a little less subtle.

"Tell Elita," he choked out, nudging his brother, and Optimus collapsed back into giggles.

"What's so funny?" Starscream demanded heatedly, and both leaders straightened up instantaneously.

"I don't know, Starscream--do you find anything funny about this, Optimus?"

"Not at all, Megatron, not at all," the commander replied, his optics alive with glee. "Good going, Starscream."

"Right. Nice catch," Megatron added, smirking broadly.

"But anyway," Optimus interjected quickly. "Both of you, it's time to get to work. You're not getting off shift until you've got this place fixed up. And no, you can't make Bumblebee help you," he added flatly, and Jetfire deflated. "Get a move on."

Starscream kicked dolefully at a broken glass vial, and it rolled into the garbage unit he'd positioned in the middle of the floor. A joor after their scolding, the lab didn't look much better; namely because they'd used a lot of junk for an impromptu hockey match for the first half joor or so. The seeker sighed heavily and scratched his head, taking in the mess they'd made. Jetfire was bent over the holes in the floor, peering down into the cleaning stalls below. He scowled; completely vacant. Elita had probably warned them to use a different facility for their showers that morning.

"So how come I've never met this femme of yours?" he asked, breaking the silence.

Starscream shrugged. "I dunno. Why do you think it was so funny that I'm dating Thunderblast?"

"No idea," Jetfire replied truthfully. "Who's better looking--Thunderblast or Elita One?"

"Elita," Starscream admitted. "But my Thunder's cuter than Firestar and Moonracer. Here…" He withdrew a photocube from sub space and chucked it across the room to his friend, who caught it easily. Jetfire frowned slightly as he scrolled through the images, then shook his head and threw it back to its owner.

"You're out of your processor, Screamer. Yeah, she's cute, but I like Firestar and Moonracer way better."

"You would," Starscream growled, narrowing his optics. "You just go for the bigger breastplate."

"Not true," Jetfire said, offended. "I look at afts, too."

Starscream snorted appreciatively. "Touché."

They both sighed in nearly the same moment and resumed their less-than-vigorous cleaning. After a long moment, Jetfire looked up.

"Hey."

"Yeah."

"What do you think Optimus looks for?"

Starscream paused, frowning. "…Huh. I dunno. I mean, we could say a lot about Elita One, but…he just doesn't seem the type, you know?"

"…Or does he?"

"…I wonder…"

They pondered it for a good breem before moving on to Megatron, which was harder as he had no femme they could base a theory off of. No evidence, no theory, Starscream concluded, so they let it drop.

"You know, we've been at this for a joor," Jetfire said, throwing down his rag on the countertop and turning to his friend. "Let's go."

"But Prime said…"

"Forget what Prime said," Jetfire sniggered, grinning. "He's a cool dude, he'll let us off…if we don't tell him where we're going."

"Jetfire, you are the patron saint of brilliance and deviant behavior."

"Starscream, you are the best lap dog a guy could ever hope to have. C'mon, buddy--Maccadams awaits."

. T R A N S M I S S I O N . S C R A M B L E D

TRANSMITTER OVER ENERGIZED

PLEASE EMPTY HIGH GRADE FROM SYSTEMS…

Yes it is a drabble, but I had a lot of fun writing this. Love Starscream, love Jetfire, love Megatron, and I lovey mah Oppy bear! I'm not expecting many reviews for this, but hey. Sometimes it's good just to write stupid stuff. Review if you feel the need.

Please?