A/N-It's been so many years since I last wrote fanfic. I decide to try and come back to this field again, though I'm pretty sure that my English skills must have gone blunt due to a lack of use. So, please be patient with me. I also apologize for any OOCness because this is my first attempt at Transformers. I only watch the live-action movies Transformers, ROTF and the cartoon G1 and grasp the personality of all characters from fanfics around here and Wiki.

Disclaimer-I don't own Transformers, just borrow them for the sake of fun

Summary-A secret from the past. What did Sunstreaker hide from Sideswipe? Was it too late for a confession?

Spark Capture

-1-

It all started like a regular show of prank and punishment that all members of the Ark were so familiar with. Unfortunately, the damage to Red Alert's circuit was quite serious that Ratchet threatened to burn the twins to bits for making those false fire alarms, which had sent Red Alert's processor into overheat in his frantic attempt to locate the fire's origin. Only this time, Prowl decided to change the pattern of punishment. Ignoring their protest, the SIC added the separation as an extra punishment instead of just throwing them together into the brig. As a result, Sideswipe spent five days in the brig while Sunstreaker took double shifts on patrol in place of his brother's absence from service.

This seemed to have more than a little unpleasant effect on both of them as Jazz might put it. He visited Sideswipe a few times and his attempts to cheer him up were all backfired since the red twin turned deaf audio receptors to him, merely sat and sulked his time away.

Still, the worse could be said for Sunstreaker. His usual nasty mood escalated to downright scary. He rarely spoke to anyone. And there were no 'Hey, watch the paintjob!' or 'Get out of my way!' or any other curses thrown at mechs who accidentally bumped into him or brushed past him in the hallway. One might ask, how was that scary? Well, he didn't have to express it demonstratively or vocally. The silent fury shone in his ice blue optics was more than enough warning and everyone could feel the uneasy tension build up in the Ark like a calm before a storm. Keeping his observation, Jazz made a mental note to give a word of advice to Prowl later that he should never order this form of punishment on the twins again.

Five days passed without the incident, much to everyone's relief. Sideswipe was released from the brig and Jazz accompanied him to the twins' shared quarters. The red twin seemed to return to his normal self, though looking a bit tired.

"Sides, get some rest," Jazz patted his shoulder comfortingly. "Looks like ya need it."

"I'm not that bad, Jazz," Sideswipe shrugged, giving a small reassuring smile. "Just a little tired, that's all."

"Hey, what 'bout refreshing with some nice music?" Jazz offered with a grin. Receiving another shrug as a sign of 'I don't mind', the saboteur made his way to the shelf near the set of bunks and reached for a stack of CDs. He was shorter than the twins by a head and couldn't quite reach to pick a CD on top of the stack. Instead, he succeeded to topple the stack, scattering all CDs on the floor, a few went disappeared under the bottom bunk.

"Oops, Sorry!" giving a sheepish smile, Jazz dropped to a crouch, quickly picked up the CDs. He stuck his head under the bunk to retrieve the stray CDs and blinked at what he saw.

"Sides, what's this?" his voiced muffled from under the bottom bunk.

"What?" Sideswipe asked in return.

"There's a box here, ya put it?" Jazz declared his discovery.

"No," Sideswipe frowned, having no clue of this mysterious box, which happened to be under his recharge birth in his room without him knowing its presence at all. "Bring it out."

Jazz backed out from under the bunk, dragging a dull metal box with him. Sideswipe gestured him to put the box on a desk beside the bunks. After a few minutes of regarding the suspicious box, the two mechs leveled their gazes to each other's faceplates.

"Well," Jazz started, "if it's not yers, then it gotta be Sunny's."

A frown reappeared on Sideswipe's faceplates. He didn't need Jazz to point out the obvious fact; the fact that bothered him far more than five blasted days in the brig. Really, it shouldn't bother him that much – everyone had private belongings, right? – and yet it did. What irked him was that the box was under Sunstreaker's bunk, which meant that Sunstreaker deliberately hid it from him.

Him-his twin, his other half.

Sideswipe felt a pang of anger burst in his spark despite the weariness that threatened to overwhelm his system. When had it started, the secrecy between them? Maybe, if he could think straight, then he would be able to figure out that it was unreasonable to be upset over this trivial thing. But, he was too exhausted to think with his processor and decided to just feel with his spark instead. Why was he so tired? The confinement had never had such a drastic effect on him before. Then again, it had always been the both of them sharing the same fate in the brig, bickering and trading insults with one another from each separated cell. This time, however, he had endured it alone. Alone, behind energy bars, missing half of his spark, it was just like those days-No! It's not! Primus, all he wanted to do right now was to climb up on his top bunk and take a few precious hours of recharge while he could until it was time for him to go out on patrol. And here there was this slagging box, annoying the pit out of him, courtesy from his brother. Great, that was just great. He would have to thank the slagger later with a good beating-him-to-a-heap.

With that determination set in mind, he grabbed the lid to open the box.

"Should ya open it?" Jazz interrupted, nudging his side. "Sunny's shift's over by now, he'd be back any moment."

"Why not? It doesn't lock anyway." Sideswipe glanced at Jazz briefly and opened the lid. Both of them peered down at the content in the box.

The content appeared to be a neat pile of several paintings, if the one on top was any indication. It was a painting of random scenery on Cybertron, a city Jazz didn't recognize, and yet he had to admit it stirred some kind of longing in him, seeing the harmony of colours, the peaceful atmosphere radiating off the dim glint of metal buildings stood in pale light of the dawn. The thought of home struck the saboteur's processor even though he didn't know the place in the picture at all.

"Wow," he breathed an appreciative sigh, noticing the scribbling of the artist's name at the bottom of the picture. "Impressive. I've never thought Sunny's such a talented artist."

True, Jazz knew of Sunstreaker's ex-career before the war – being a member of the command unit, he had seen every soldier's profile stored in the database – but never did he see any tangible evidence to the information other than the warrior's vainity in beauty and perfection. Who would ever imagine the yellow warrior capable of creating the piece of fine art if they were to witness his ferocity in battle anyway?

A choked sound brought Jazz's attention back to his friend as he looked up to see Sideswipe's rigid faceplates and wide blue optics.

"What's wrong, Sides?" he asked, mild concern laced in his voice.

"…No way. They were all destroyed…ages ago. Sunny said so," Sideswipe stammered, more likely to himself, gaze roaming over all details in the painting.

Of course, he remembered it! It was one of Sunstreaker's most precious works back when they had been civilians on Cybertron. When Sunstreaker had been an artist and he had been a merchant. It was the painting of their hometown,Tytra-a beloved city, which had been annihilated in the war. He remembered how much his brother cherished it, that he had saved it along with some other pieces of work for his own collection and turned down all attempts to buy from those who had admired his works. He had last seen it during the early invasion of the Decepticons against their city before they had gotten separated amongst the commotion. When they had been reunited – a month later – and decided to leave Tytra for Kaon, his twin had turned all bitter and vicious, vowing that he had buried his past living as a weakling already. And he never touched a paintingpad much less held a paintbrush again.

His spark clenched painfully in his chassis as the realization finally dawned on him. Sunstreaker had been keeping these paintings all the while as well as keeping him in the dark. Why didn't he tell him? How slagging foolish he was to believe his brother had abandoned the art, a part of his self! He should have known how dear to spark his twin held these paintings.

Numbly, he picked up the painting to see another beneath it. Again, he remembered it was one of Sunstreaker's favourite pieces. The shimmering landscape of Crystal City, the most beautiful city on Cybertron. Faintly, he heard another appreciative sigh from Jazz, but paid it no mind. Setting down the one in his hands on the desk, the red Lamborghini reached for the second inside the box, intending to go through all of the secrets his other half had hidden from him. The third was a glorious sight of Iacon, proud and grandiose as it had been back in the Golden Age of Cybertron. He had no doubt that these paintings' value had to be priceless, neither because of their beauty nor because of the artist's fame, but due to the painfully obvious truth that they were the captured moments of these cities in the peaceful era, which had been destroyed long ago and, most likely, would never be seen again.

There was only one secret left now. Sideswipe realized as he reached to pick up the third paintingpad. Lifting the picture of Iacon, he caught a brief flash of blue and his spark gave a loud thud, which resonated from within his spark chamber throughout his whole frame. To his utter surprise, the last one at the bottom of the box was none other than his own portrait, looking back at him with intense blue optics.

"Hey, it's ya!" Jazz exclaimed cheerfully, draping an arm around his back to grasp his upper arm and squeeze it lightly. "Aw~ it's sweet, isn't it? He keeps da painting of yers!" he drawled out teasingly.

However, Sideswipe was far from being flattered; he boggled and eyed his own portrait warily.

"It's weird," he said, unable to tear his gaze away from the picture. "Sunny didn't often make portraits. Actually, I've never seen this painting before."

The red warrior seemed to hesitate a few moments before gingerly picked up the last painting from the box and set it down on top of the stack he had managed on the desk. There was something disturbing about this painting, something he couldn't quite put his finger on. Sunstreaker had rarely made portraits if he hadn't been paid for. Sideswipe had asked once and been given answer that his twin would paint only what had captivated his spark and by his standard there had been no mechs or femmes who had been able to do so. Sideswipe had pouted and said Sunstreaker could have made his portrait then since he had been his twin. In which, the artist had merely laughed off, saying he would rather have made his own portrait because he had been more beautiful than the red twin. And as far as he remembered, there had been no portrait in Sunstreaker's collection. So, where did this mysterious one come from?

Still, what disturbed Sideswipe the most wasn't the painting's origin, but what it displayed instead. The painted Sideswipe's physical appearance was exactly as same as his, though without the Autobot symbol on the chestplates, which meant that it was a reflection of his before joining the Autobots. It looked eerily too calm, emotionless even, almost like a statue, features smooth, lipplates pressed in a thin line.

Its optics, however,…

Another thud echoed in his spark, pushing him off balance, forcing him to jerk a step backward and his hand went to grasp his chestplates over his spark chamber.

"Whoa, Sides! Man, ya okay?" Jazz caught and helped steadying him.

"I'm fine," he replied distractedly; gaze still fixed at the phantom in the picture. Was it just him, or did the painted optics really glow? He focused all attention towards the portrait and he swore to Primus, the painted optics glowed again! His spark vibrated softly in its chamber as his portrait stared back at him emotionlessly, but oh so intensely as though it was becoming alive while his own life seemed to slowly seep out of him, leaving him dazed and numb.

That was until a familiar voice snapped.

"What the frag are you doing?"

*****