Summary: Tough-as-nails Autobot Sunstreaker suddenly falls in love, but is it meant to be or a tragedy waiting to unfold? No OCs, all G1 characters.

Chapter 1: Obsession

Location: The Arc, Autobot Headquarters; Washington, USA

She was ill-tempered. She was sarcastic. She was hot headed. She was the little son-of-a-glitch the Autobots had never thought to have nightmares about. She was an all around class-A troublemaker.

And to Sunstreaker, she was the most wonderful thing he had ever laid his optics on.

But little had Sunstreaker known the challenge he had set for himself in winning her spark. As antisocial and self absorbed as he was, he had noticed her, along with her narcissistic attitude, the minute she set foot in the Arc. However, as far as she was concerned, he didn't even exist. After her third day on the Arc, and after he had carefully planned his words to her, he approached her cautiously in the refueling area. Other mechs had warned him of her outright rudeness towards everyone – it was clear she was only here because she was a good warrior, and the Autobots needed more good warriors on Earth. But Sunstreaker saw her as no one else possibly could; someone who was more like himself than no other, even more like him than his often jubilant twin brother, Sideswipe. He had to speak to her, to tell her how perfect for each other they were…

But as he made his approach and made optic contact with her, she glanced him up and down and cast him a glare that could only mean one thing – STAY AWAY FROM ME. He hesitated, and in that moment she vacated the vicinity, almost sauntering her way out.

Sunstreaker was not easily deterred, however. Day after day he attempted to approach her and engage in conversation, never even getting as far as a greeting. It frustrated him, it maddened him, but it did not lessen his want for her. In fact, it increased it.

When she was not at either the firing range practicing her sharp shooting skills or at the refueling area, she was spending her time alone in her quarters. One day, after too many failed attempts at introducing himself to her, he took a dangerous risk – he went to her quarters and knocked politely on her door.

If he had been in his right mind he would have let her be and simply moved on, forgetting about her presence on the Arc and resuming his usual routine. But he was not in his right mind – he wanted her more than he had ever wanted anyone or anything else in his entire life. His obsession over her gave him confidence in place of caution.

Even so, he was not prepared for her terse reaction.

The door whipped open faster than he expected, revealing the dark red and orange femme holding her sniper rifle in one hand and a cleaning rag in the other. Once she realized it was not a superior officer knocking at her door, she immediately shut it with a slam in Sunstreaker's face, leaving him with his mouth half open as he was about to speak to her.

Sunstreaker stood in silence for a moment, bewildered. Then he was slightly angered. No one treats him that way! He knocked on the door again, louder and more demanding this time.

"Go away!" Came the muffled response through the door.

"I won't until you give me one chance!"

"One chance to do what?"

"To talk to you. All I want to do is talk, and you've been avoiding me like I have rust disease!"

"You look like you have rust disease!" Came the stark reply, and Sunstreaker could just hear her smirking through it. The nerve she had! To say something so blatantly untrue! He waxed his golden yellow paint every chance he could get, everyone knew that. Not to mention he was a handsome mech to begin with.

She was toying with him. Sunstreaker knew these types of mind games; he played them on the other mechs all the time. She wanted him to break, give up and leave.

She had underestimated him.

"I'm not leaving until you give me a minute of your time – that's all I'm asking for. Sixty earth seconds to talk to you!"

"About what?"

"About…" Sunstreaker wanted to get her to open her door again, so he thought about what to say. What would get a femme like her to come to her door…

"…About the way you saunter when you walk!" He sneered, that should do it.

Three, two, one… and the door whipped open for a second time. But once again, Sunstreaker was not prepared for the intensity of her response.

CLANK!

Sunstreaker stumbled backwards from the hit. She had punched him! He held a hand up to his cheek; it wasn't in an awful amount of pain, but it wasn't feeling too pleasant at the moment either. It stung a little and he was beginning to feel his facial plating seizing up because of it. She had put a light dent in his left cheek plating.

He looked down at her, and she glared up at him. The assault of accusations and insults he expected from her never came, she just kept glaring at him. Sunstreaker recognized this tactic as well, he used it when he was in the worst of moods – glare at your opponent until they give up under the pressure and leave. He wasn't about to leave, he had finally gotten her attention! Albeit not quite as he had planned, and now he had a dent to repair, but it was her attention nonetheless. He put his hand back down at his side, not wanting to appear affected by her punch in the slightest.

"Now that I have your attention," he began with a slight smile, amused by the moment, "I'm Sunstre-"

"Sunstreaker, I know. I know everyone stationed on the Arc. I'd be no better than a fresh Autobot Academy recruit if I didn't. Now go away."

She went to shut her door again, but Sunstreaker stepped in her way. Optics met, mere inches from one another, one set glaring in annoyance, the other bright with the love of a challenge.

"Do you want both of your facial plates dented tonight? Because I can make that a reality for you."

Sunstreaker smiled flirtatiously. "You can dent any plate on me you want with those beautiful hands." He wasn't normally one to use dumb pick-up lines, but he couldn't resist. She was so gorgeous when she was angry – which, she was always angry as far as he could tell.

The angered femme scowled at him. "Listen. I don't want to talk to you. I don't want to get to know you. And I don't want to hang out with you."

"I never said I wanted to hang out, I just wanted to talk with you."

"I know how you mechs are. And I don't want any of it. Leave. Me. ALONE."

Sunstreaker could see the deep anger in her optics and could tell this was going to get nowhere. He slowly let up on his hold on the door, not breaking optic contact with her. She slammed it shut and locked it as soon as he was clear.

She's been hurt before, he thought as he unhurriedly retreated to his own quarters for the night, once again defeated and perplexed by the femme of his dreams he never knew he had.

"Firestar" was her designation. How beautiful, and how suiting for her, Sunstreaker thought. He looked her data up in Telletran One's database. What he found impressed him. Firestar was a sharpshooter; weapons of stealth are her specialty. She had set a new record at the Autobot Academy for combined speed and accuracy with small to medium sized hand held weapons. She was also an excellent infiltrator and spy. However, she also had a record for disobedience and insubordination. This didn't surprise Sunstreaker one bit, and it brought a smile to his face as he read the details. She had even more in common with him than he previously thought.

The weeks passed by, and Sunstreaker let her have her space. At first he had figured she might forgive him for being so forward with her and become friendlier given some time, but he found that he was wrong. She ignored him even more now. At the mere sight of him entering the same room as her she would get up and walk out.

Sunstreaker was hurt by this. He still wanted her. She was still everything to him – the new center of his universe. He wanted to tear down the defensive walls around her and see what lay underneath, and show her his true self as well. He wanted to show her the side of himself no one else would ever see, or even thought existed.

Weeks turned into months. Although he pretended to stay away from her, he kept a close optic on her during battles with the Decepticons. She was more than well prepared to take care of herself, of course, but nonetheless he always watched her back when he could, ensuring her safe return to the Arc. He kept a more than respectful distance from her though, as getting caught would surely mean more dented plating and a hurt ego.

While recharging at night, his processor would flash images of her in his mind – images of what could be if things were different. Images of them entering battle together, slaughtering all Decepticons in their path. Images of them pulling pranks on the senior officers in their downtime, and laughing at the results when Sideswipe was blamed and punished for their doing. Images of sleeping side by side in the same recharge bunk, exhausted after a night of heated passionate activities.

Then the accident happened.