That Which Ties

By: Vierge

A Transformers: Generation One Fan Fiction Piece

DISCLAIMERS: Transformers belongs to Hasbro/Takara. Original characters are mine. Anything and everything else belongs to their respective owners. Understood? Good.

NOTES: This is a semi-continuation of sorts of my earlier story "Dancing Shadows." Whereas "Dancing Shadows" introduced my OCs Shadowrunner and Nightraid, basically bringing them to Earth, this one will expand a little more on what's happened since they arrived.

RATING: PG-13/T

TEASER: It has been a while since Shadowrunner and Nightraid moved into the Ark, and the time has come for them to choose their alt-modes.

The sound of metal winging through the air towards his head caused him to duck and roll, knowing that if that thing – it was actually a foot – so much as clipped him, he'd be down and out for the count, and there was no way in the Pit he was going to let that happen. He was one of the best fighters in the Autobot ranks, for Primus' sake!

As he got back to his feet his sensors screamed an alert, and he lifted his arm just in time to block an incoming punch with his hand. Metal clanged loudly against metal as he caught the fist that had intended to make a landing on his faceplate, and smirked at his opponent, preparing to wrench the arm downwards and lay said opponent flat on the floor, helpless and most assuredly defeated.

Unfortunately, he had forgotten he had beaten his opponent far too often in the past, and that his opponent had been watching plenty of kung-fu movies and instructional videos in order to beat him one day. Hence he did not expect the low, sweeping kick that knocked him clean off his feet. He landed on the floor with a massive crash, and frowned as he stared up at blue optics that glowed with amusement. "You cheated."

An optic ridge went up at his statement. "That was a perfectly legal move."

"Yeah, well, if it's a move I don't know, then it's not legal."

"You do realize that you are…what do the humans call it again? Sour-graping?"

"Knock it off, 'Runner."

Shadowrunner's lips twitched slightly in what could have been a gloating smirk – if Shadowrunner had been given to gloating. "Then admit I won this round, Sideswipe."

Sideswipe sighed, long and loudly. "Fine, fine, you win."

"Thank you." With that Shadowrunner held her hand out to him, which Sideswipe took, and she pulled him up from his supine position on the floor. For most other Autobots Sideswipe wouldn't have accepted that helping hand – wouldn't have conceded the match, either – but for Shadowrunner, he'd make an exception. She was, after all, family. There was no shame in losing to family every once in a while – especially when said family could take down even the Autobot SIC without aforementioned SIC getting enough time to let his battle computer kick into gear.

Sideswipe swallowed a chuckle at the memory. He hadn't been there to see it with his own optics, but Nightraid had told him all about how the whole thing went down, and he had to admit, the idea of Prowl going down without firing so much as one blast was priceless. And to think that it was his own sisters who did that…well, it was a heartening thought, to know that the same creator that had put him and Sunstreaker together was also the same one responsible for the femmes who had managed to sneak past Red Alert's tight security net and take down five well-trained warriors – himself and his twin included – to get to Optimus Prime's quarters.

"I really have to thank Blaster for lending me those DVDS," Shadowrunner remarked as they walked out of the sparring room and headed to the rec room, intent on getting some energon after their little bout. "I learned a lot of interesting moves from them."

Sideswipe snorted, grabbing a cube of energon for himself and another for Shadowrunner. "Are you talking about those flying kicks and all that slag? Humans need wires and harnesses in order to make any of that work."

"I know that, but it's still interesting to watch. As I said, I learned a lot from watching them." Her optics brightened in amusement as she accepted the cube from her brother. "After all, I did beat you."

"Shhh! Not so loud!" Sideswipe glanced around to make sure that no one had heard what Shadowrunner had said. After making sure that no one was within audio range, he turned to her, glaring. "'Runner, don't ever mention that you win out loud! Sunny and I have reputations to maintain around here!"

Shadowrunner cocked an optic ridge at him as she sipped from her cube. "Why are you so worried about your reputations? I don't quite understand that."

"Pride, sister: all about pride."

"So I am not entitled to my own?"

"What do you need to establish your reputations for anyway? Ever since you took down Prowl the first time you came here, everyone in the Ark knows that no one messes with you and 'Raid. Besides," and here he grinned again, "as long as they know that you two are our sisters, they wouldn't dare lay a finger on either of you unless they want me and Sunny on their afts."

Shadowrunner was about to answer that, but then she stopped and frowned – a look that Sideswipe recognized as the one she got when she was receiving a message via her internal comm. link, and was paying close attention to it.

She looked up at him eventually, and there was a small smile on her face. "Wheeljack wants me to come to his lab."

Sideswipe smirked teasingly. "You sure you want to do that? You never know what's going to blow up in your face if you do."

Shadowrunner shook her head, smiling. "He says that it's time for me and 'Raid to choose our alt-modes. Do you want to come along?"

Sideswipe grinned. He had been wondering when this day would come. "Sure."

Nightraid stuck her head in first, and blinked when she saw no one around. "Hello?" She stepped inside, ignoring the little odds and ends that were lying scattered about, as well as the soot marks that seemed to decorate the walls, floor, and even ceiling of the room. She had been here many times before, since she was on very friendly terms with the room's usual resident. "Wheeljack?"

Wheeljack lifted his head from behind the data pad that he had been reading, his optics bright blue, and his communication indicators flashing cheerfully. "There you are, 'Raid! How're you doing?"

"Great!" Nightraid walked in, beaming at the Autobots' chief engineer. "It's not as busy here as it is on Cybertron. I have to admit, all this inactivity makes me jumpy."

Wheeljack chuckled. "You'll get used to it. It's been real quiet right now, but the 'Cons will eventually come out and do something nasty. In fact, Red Alert's just about ready to tear his circuits out from the waiting."

Nightraid felt a little twinge of guilt then. "Speaking of Red Alert: how is he?" She remembered how he had reacted when he found out that she and Shadowrunner had managed to get past his security system without him being the wiser: he'd promptly shorted himself out. She remembered Elita-One telling her and her sister that the Security Director was a paranoid mech, but she hadn't imagined he could be that paranoid.

"Oh, he's doing just fine. His circuits short out often enough that we're all used to dealing with it by now."

"Yeah… Jazz told me that it'd be okay, but 'Runner and I really weren't expecting that to happen." She chuckled, and shook her head at the memory of Jazz reassuring both her and Shadowrunner that Red Alert would be just fine.

"Speaking of Jazz, how're you taking to him?" Wheeljack asked as he started shuffling away some data pads. "I heard that Prime put you under his command."

Nightraid beamed. Optimus Prime had put her and her sister under Jazz's command, since he was the Special Operations Commander for the Autobots on Earth, and given her and Shadowrunner's skills, the appointment was no surprise. "It's been great working with him! He's real nice, and he knows so much about Earth and humans! And he really knows what he's doing too."

"That's real good to hear," Wheeljack said, and from the brightening of his optics, Nightraid suspected that, if he didn't have that faceplate covering the lower half of his face, he'd be smiling. "Nice to know that you're settling in just fine."

She tilted her head at him then, sensing something in Wheeljack's manner that puzzled her: a wistfulness of some sort that she couldn't quite pinpoint. She opened her mouth to ask, but before she could, the door slid open again, and this time, Shadowrunner and Sideswipe walked in, with Jazz, Prowl, Ratchet, and Sunstreaker trailing behind them.

Shadowrunner smiled in greeting. "Where have you been, 'Raid?"

"Out on the shooting range with Mirage and Bluestreak. You?"

"Sparring room with 'Swipe."

"Oh! Did you- Oof!" Nightraid glared Sideswipe, who had just elbowed her in the side. "Hey!"

Sideswipe promptly ignored her, and shot a grin at Wheeljack. "So it's time for my baby sisters to choose their alt-modes, huh?"

Ratchet snorted. "Baby sisters? As far as I can tell 'Runner and 'Raid are a lot more mature than either you or Sunstreaker. At least they don't come walking into my med-bay after beating each other up."

"Or draggin' each other in," Jazz chimed as he leaned against the doorframe, his trademark easygoing grin on his face. "That happens a lot too, y'know."

"All too often, slaggit," Ratchet grumbled under his breath.

Prowl approached Wheeljack then, his face as impassive as ever and determined to ignore the banter of the others. "What do you have for us, Wheeljack?"

Nightraid scooted over to stand next to Wheeljack, while Shadowrunner moved to stand on the opposite side – and almost immediately, Jazz occupied that spot next to her sister, flashing a smug smirk at Sideswipe, who tried, unsuccessfully, to nudge him from his spot.

Nightraid sensed the presence of someone who was most assuredly not Sunstreaker next to her, and out of the corner of her optic she saw the black-and-white police car markings that could only mean Prowl.

Ever since she had heard the other femmes talk about the mechs who had gone missing on the Ark, one of the ones she had been most curious about was the one called Prowl, the respected second-in-command to Optimus Prime. She wondered how a mech could operate entirely on logic alone, and she had to admit, that didn't make much sense to her. Though she and her sister had come online during a war, it wasn't as if she had to think about it all the time. There had been time to laugh and enjoy the company of her sister and Moonracer and Chromia and Elita and the other femmes.

Her spark dimmed a little when she glanced at her sister. Well, there had been time for Nightraid to laugh… It had been a different story for Shadowrunner.

Before her thoughts could wander further down that dark path, Wheeljack cut in, his cheerful voice chasing away the darkness. "I've brought up a database for all known car models made in the last couple of years, including some of the recent concept cars that have come out at the last few auto shows." He tapped a few keys, and leaned back. "There we go! Make your choices, ladies!"

Nightraid leaned in, her optics glowing as she took in the different kinds of car models, including their specs. She frowned just a little. "So many choices…"

"Something sleek and not too angular," Shadowrunner murmured. "We cannot have frames that are too bulky."

Nightraid nodded in agreement. "I guess that means we aren't going to look at any trucks or vans or heavy-duty vehicles. And some of these cars just look way too chunky."

"I have an idea," Sunstreaker announced, and he leaned in, tapped in a few commands, and brought up two pictures: both were sleek and low-slung silver sports cars, and both looked almost alike except for a few edges and curves, and the other one had a spoiler in the back.

Nightraid stared, her optics roving over the smooth curves and angles of the cars. "Ooh. Those look nice."

"Those are Lamborghinis," Ratchet muttered, optics narrowing at Sunstreaker.

"They wanted sleek; the only thing that's sleek and slick enough are these Lamborghinis," the yellow mech replied, and looking quite proud of his reasoning. "The 2008 Lamborghini Murcielago LP640 Roadster and the 2008 Lamborghini Gallardo Superleggera."

"Besides," Sideswipe chimed, "they're our sisters. It's logical for them to have the same alt-modes as us."

"Not when there are car models that could quite possibly be sleeker than a Lamborghini," Prowl deadpanned.

Sunstreaker shot a challenging glare at the black-and-white Datsun. "Oh yeah? Like what?"

"The 2007 Locus Plethore." Prowl leaned in and flicked a few buttons, bringing up another low-slung sports car, this one matte-black like Shadowrunner, and indeed consisting of smoother curves, but with a larger front end.

The yellow Lamborghini gave the car a disdainful look. "The front chassis looks enormous."

Jazz chuckled quietly. "C'mon, 'Streaker, that's not a disadvantage. Y'know how human femmes feel about having large front chassis."

"My only concern about the Lamborghinis," Shadowrunner commented then, cutting into the argument as cleanly as one of her knives cut into a cable, "is that the color is far too conspicuous."

"That won't be a problem at all," Wheeljack replied. "Teletraan-1 scans the form, but everything else will remain the same – including your paintjob."

Nightraid grinned. "If that's the case, then I want that one." She pointed at the Gallardo.

"Okay." Wheeljack glanced up at Shadowrunner. "'Runner? Made your choice?"

Shadowrunner was quiet for a moment, glanced at Nightraid, Sunstreaker, and Sideswipe, and sighed, her lips curling in a smile of amusement. "Since you seem quite serious about this whole family thing…" She pointed at the Murcielago. "That one will do just fine."

Nightraid laughed while Sideswipe crowed in triumph, and Sunstreaker shot Prowl a gloating smirk. She glanced at Shadowrunner, and noticed her smiling in genuine pleasure at their brothers' antics. The sight made her spark a bit brighter. At the rate things were going, it might not be long until they managed to get Shadowrunner to laugh again…

"Right!" Wheeljack stood up, and though Nightraid could not see his mouth due to the mask that covered the bottom half of his face, she could tell from the brightness of his optics and the way that his communication indicators flashed that he was quite happy and excited. "Teletraan-1's got everything scanned and ready to go. Let's get you ladies fitted out."

"Whee!"

Ratchet watched as a gunmetal blue Gallardo spun round and round on in a tight circle, kicking up a cloud of dust in its wake even as the scent of burning rubber irritated his olfactory sensors. Not too far away, a matte black Murcielago also went through maneuvers that most human drivers would have extreme difficultly pulling off.

Beside him, Wheeljack chuckled. "Looks like they're having fun."

Ratchet snorted in response. "At least we both know 'Runner's responsible enough not to get in too much trouble," he muttered, optics narrowing as the Gallardo played a high-speed – and hence far more dangerous – version of the game Chicken (1) with a yellow Countach, each car heading straight for each other at top speed until one of them swerved away at the last minute, accompanied by the high-pitched squeal of tires. Then again, that was why he and Wheeljack were there in the first place: to make sure that nothing was wrong with the femmes' alt-modes, and to fix them up if that were the case. "I worry about 'Raid, though."

Wheeljack shrugged. "She's obviously younger than any of them, but you can tell Elita-One and the other femmes were a good influence on her. So's 'Runner."

"At least that one was raised right," Ratchet muttered with a snort.

Silence settled in between the CMO and the Chief Engineer, both of them content to let laughter and squealing tires fill it in for them. At length, Ratchet sighed, and lifted his optics to the sky. "Did you ever want to ask them?"

Out of the corner of his optic, he saw the Lancia incline his head in his direction. "About what?"

"Matchlock."

"Oh." Wheeljack looked away. "Sometimes, yeah, but I know better than to ask now. Still too soon, I think. And even then, we don't know if either of them can still remember what happened."

Matchlock was the creator behind the Lamborghini Siblings, as Ratchet had decided to call them as a group: a mech who also happened to be mentor, of a sort, to both him and Wheeljack. It was through Matchlock, after all, that they first got to know each other on Cybertron, long ago. At the time, Wheeljack had been an eager young engineer, while Ratchet had been an equally wide-opticked aspiring doctor at the Academy. Matchlock was a bit of a recluse, living in quiet solitude on the outer edge of Iacon, but both Ratchet and Wheeljack had made it a point to come and visit him every so often, both to learn from him as well as to talk to him.

They had both learned much from him – both in terms of their respective disciplines as well as about life itself, for Matchlock had been as generous with his wisdom as he was with his knowledge. When the civil war finally exploded, neither Ratchet nor Wheeljack had ever had the time to come and see him again, and eventually, they assumed that he had been killed when the war finally started encroaching on Iacon. It was only vorns later that they found out he had still been alive all along, when they first met Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. By then, though, the two of them were too consumed by more pressing duties, and they had no time to so much as drop by. Their departure from Cybertron and subsequent landing on Earth was the final straw on that matter, as the humans liked to say.

But the arrival of the two femmes had brought back, with poignant immediacy, the memories of their old mentor, and at the same time, memories of their life on Cybertron. When he learned from Shadowrunner just who their creator was, Ratchet felt guilt creep up and wrap itself tightly around his spark. When he looked back on all that time that he had spent learning and talking to Matchlock, and then never going back to see him during the war…

"You know, I think old Matchlock would like it if we kept an eye on them."

Ratchet looked up at Wheeljack's words. "Huh?"

The Lancia made a gesture to the Lamborghinis. "I just think that Matchlock would've appreciated it if we kept an eye on his creations." He turned a cheerful optic to the red-and-white Vanette. "You remember how soft he was on sparklings and younglings, right?"

Ratchet chuckled. "I do. He always seemed to have them hanging around just outside his house, back in the day." He focused on the Lamborghinis again, who had now switched back to their primary modes and seemed to be discussing something amongst themselves. "You are talking about 'Runner and 'Raid, right? I don't think the Twins need any minding."

Wheeljack laughed aloud. "I was thinking the same thing. Besides, the femmes are easier to manage."

"Right you are. Better-tempered, too."

"Let's just hope that none of your foul temper rubs off on them."

Ratchet gave Wheeljack a look. "What?"

"Ratchet! Wheeljack!"

Ratchet focused on Nightraid. "Yeah?"

Nightraid grinned cheerfully as she jerked a thumb at the road. "We're going out for a drive! I want to see just how fast my alt-mode can go."

Sideswipe nudged his sister. "Why're you even telling them about that? When we want to go out, we just go. No need to tell Hatchet where we're going."

"It's only right," Shadowrunner stated. "If we run into trouble and we aren't able to contact the base, they are quite possibly the only ones who will be able to tell anyone where we went."

Sunstreaker snorted. "'Runner, really: do you think that, between the four of us, trouble could survive?"

"No, but trouble certainly follows," Ratchet muttered, knowing all too well that trouble tended to follow the brothers wherever they went, and he could only hope that Shadowrunner and Nightraid would be able to steer them well clear of it so that they did not end up pummeling each other like they always seemed to.

Wheeljack had a chuckle at his statement, before he replied: "You four go on ahead. We'll tell Jazz and Prowl where you headed off to. Just be back before sunset!"

His last sentence, however, went unheeded by Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, since they had already transformed and were off at a tearing speed. Nightraid had barely stayed long enough to give him a nod of acknowledgement before she too had transformed and was racing after her brothers. Only Shadowrunner nodded, and waved a brief farewell before she transformed, and drove off after her siblings, catching up to them with ease.

Ratchet watched them go, shaking his head as he did so. "I think I should go back inside and prep my med-bay. Knowing the Twins, something's bound to happen and they will come back completely slagged."

Wheeljack chuckled as the two of them headed back to the Ark. "We can always hope that the femmes will keep them in line."

"Have you ever heard of a Lamborghini staying in line? I swear to Primus, I think that alt-mode does something with the basic programming of anyone and everyone that adopts it and just makes them outright problematic…"

"Hey, shouldn't we be going back by now?"

Sunstreaker gave Nightraid an idle look, one optic ridge cocked lazily. "And why should we? Not as if we're going to get hurt out here."

Sideswipe nodded, his gaze focused on the swiftly-darkening desert landscape. "Sunny's right. They're not going to miss us much. Besides," here he glanced at Shadowrunner, "I don't see 'Runner complaining."

"That's because I radioed the base," Shadowrunner responded from where she was lying on her back, staring up at the sky. "I told them that we might be staying out here a while longer. Red Alert didn't sound very happy, though."

"Red's rarely happy about anything," Sideswipe declared as he, too, inclined his head upwards to look at the stars. Somewhere, in the deep darkness between those bright points of light, was Cybertron: home. Primus, he couldn't wait to get off this dust-ball of a planet and just go home.

He looked around himself then, and smiled to himself as he took in the sight of his siblings – his family – around him. He had always thought that it was just him and Sunstreaker in the entire universe, and he had never imagined that he had sisters. But now that he knew, he had to admit, he was very happy about the fact.

For Sideswipe, it was always about family – dysfunctional though it might be. And though the return to Cybertron still seemed to be a long ways off, he knew that his brother and his newfound sisters would make the wait just a bit more bearable – and a lot less boring.

"You know," he drawled as he turned to look at Nightraid and Shadowrunner, "I've been thinking: have you two ever really thought about what you two could do with your skills in terms of…pranks?"

NOTES:

(1) I don't remember the precise name of that game, but I am aware of one wherein two cars drive straight at each other until one of them swerves away to prevent collision. Another one (which I think I saw in an old James Dean movie) involved driving to the very edge of a cliff, each driver stopping at the very last minute possible. In both cases, the driver that loses his or her nerve first is the "chicken."