Part 1: Deterioration
Part 2: Stars and Scars
At the time that I was struggling to write this part, Snee posted some R/SS art and it was almost uncanny ?
As usual, I find t.A.T.u.'s song lyrics matching up perfectly to this ship. This fic's lyrics are:
The promises
Hollow concessions
An innocent show of affection
I touch your hand—
A hologram
Are you still there?
Ratchet turned his wheels, maneuvering to avoid what he'd come to recognize as a human campsite. Though luckily there were no people around and he was able to keep speeding through into clearings with less trees. It would be fastest on an actual road, but he didn't want to risk getting stuck where he couldn't get into root mode.
He knew his tank was running low. And there was still the matter of getting a bridge to base. It was still late. Early. He needed to get as far away from the mine as he could. He hadn't a fragging clue what his excuse was. He most certainly could not just say he'd had a trade with Starscream. Well, why didn't you bring back up? Why did you go alone? The medic was hardly a skilled liar. Unlike the eloquent aerial he'd just been scraping with.
He encountered a secluded and dark mess of trees. Out of vehicle mode, servos pressed into optics.
Every plate vibrated. His vents hitched and choked.
The bot sat shaking for a good nano-cycle or two, sensors too strained to notice the foxes that'd come out of hiding to observe him curiously.
He finally settled down and took slow, deep ventilations. He needed to focus. Looking down, he assessed the paint transfers and scratches to his frame. Definite claw marks on his orange shoulders. Dents in his grill, though that was nothing to stress about. Some of the paint had been scraped from his chassis. He brushed his digits across the marred metal. It took a tremendous amount of processor-blocking to scrub at the flaking paint without starting up any unwanted memory files.
He was still scratched up, but at least it didn't look indecent. He could've... fallen. Off a little cliff. He'd done it before, much to everyone's amusement ("Drive much, Ratchet?").
The bot ex-vented and stared out at the sky. If the sun was preparing its ascent here, then the base couldn't be far behind. He was still too far and too low on energy to even dare crossing borders to make it back. By then everyone would worry anyway.
What the frag could he do?
As if thinking about it made the universe spit it out, his commlink hissed and he nearly had a spark-attack. A low, questioning beep sounded.
"Bumblebee," Ratchet answered, grinding the static that still clung to his vocalizer. "Good morning."
Three beeps now. "I—needed some fresh air. Mind bridging me back?"
Thank Primus. If it had been anyone else, he might've come apart at the seams trying to explain. Bumblebee could always be relied on not to press, though Ratchet did have to swallow the guilt of being deceitful towards their young Scout. But this wasn't really a lie. Right?
It turned out Bumblebee hadn't slept again and after some protests Ratchet got him sitting on the berth to detach his arm plating.
"Have you been stretching as I instructed?" Nothing soothed the processor like medical work. He was glad to help, though his optics burned for recharge. He needed to just focus on this and not think about a shuddering silver frame—slag it.
Bumblebee toned shyly, admitting that he'd forgotten about his stretches and Ratchet found himself smiling. He didn't think he'd ever been able to be properly cross with the yellow bot. Snapping at the others for not doing as he instructed was another story. Though Arcee would snap back, and Cliffjumper had always been there to put hands on her shoulders and calm her field.
The medic pushed down that painful string of code.
By the time he was done examining wires and circuits, the other Autobots had begun to online one by one. Arcee yawned and Ratchet handed her a warmed cube.
"Thanks," she said through a squint. "You look slagged."
Ratchet quickly retracted his field. He needed to get a better handle on it. And he'd completely forgotten to refuel. He wasn't in danger of shutting down, but now that Arcee pointed it out his tank ached. "I—" he started, pretending to look at Bumblebee's wrist. "I didn't recharge well."
Bumblebee's doorwings twitched and he blipped. Same here! He was certainly energetic for a bad night's charge. Arcee smiled into the cube, taking her usual perch atop a few overlarge crates.
Before long, Bulkhead and Optimus were in the main room as well. Ratchet welded Bumblebee's arm plates back into place, triple-checking that the overlaps weren't too tight and making sure his hinges weren't crooked.
"Let it cool," Ratchet said, even though Bumblebee knew it. The young bot gave a chirp of thanks before standing from the berth.
Ratchet saw Optimus looking at him and knew what he was going to ask, so he picked the prism up from where he'd left it at the console. "I did some scans," he explained almost too quickly. "It's modified, as you suspected."
The Prime's optics turned down thoughtfully. "Please handle it with care. For all we know, it could be a weapon in disguise," he said. Ratchet continued to pretend he didn't know what was in it. Or what he'd been told was in it. "We must keep an eye open for other signals. Megatron may already be on the path to unearthing another relic."
"Yes, Optimus." Ratchet set the prism back down and checked his computer's functions. "If you're planning on patrolling today, Bumblebee just needs to let his welding set."
"Understood."
Optimus, Arcee and Bulkhead bridged out. After the swirling tunnel closed, Ratchet pointed at Bumblebee. "You, to recharge." The Scout toned high and raised his shoulders. But Ratchet shook his helm. "I will rest soon. You may be needed on the field, and we can't have your processor doubling yesterday's coding. Finish your cube and rest."
Finally the young bot yielded and Ratchet was left alone. He poured himself a cube and nearly downed it in one shot. The others would be out for a while. And the children wouldn't wake until much later, so it wasn't like anyone needed to get them anytime soon. Setting the fuel down and forcing his hand to steady, the medic opened his subspace and pulled out the small hard drive. The sigil was dark and deep, visible only when light struck it at the right angle.
Alright. He looked at the different cables and adaptors available to him, almost wishing he didn't have a compatible link. But as luck would have it, he had just the right size. Halting ventilations, he connected the device and stood up straight to look at the monitor.
He booted his audials up to maximum. Nothing? Perhaps after all this time it was a dead drive. He was about to check its connection when the computer whirred and clicked, and a window popped up.
Ratchet held a ventilation and maximized it. Less thirty files of varying type. Some documents. Some data scans. Seemed like so little. He scrolled through the list. They were named by stardate, sorted by vorn. He scrolled over a document labeled SKY-F, and paused before shaking his head and continuing.
This was Starscream's personal drive, he reminded himself. He gave it to him, hadn't he? Why should he feel bad about snooping? If there was something he wasn't supposed to see, then why would he give it to him? He had leaked energon taking it out, for Primus' sake.
Even so, Ratchet ignored it in favor of an older file dated the very cycle before Vos fell. Logs. Countless logs. These could be nothing more than useless energon cafe receipts for all he knew. He really wouldn't be surprised if the aerial was trying to throw him off.
Again he felt like a fool. What had he expected, a cure-all formula? A key to fix everything? Megatron's secrets?
Slag it. He needed to recharge now anyway. Like the Pit he was losing more rest over Starscream.
With a self-hating snort, Ratchet ejected the drive and made for his berth.
• • •
Slender digits skittered over keys with tactical precision. It was what had made Soundwave lethal in the arena. Most gladiators were all armor and brute strength. But the lithe Cybertronian was exact. Focused. Perfect.
Though the chance to demonstrate his skill in battle was rare in their time on Earth, the communications expert had no objection to datawork. While other Decepticons groaned about being put on technical duty, Soundwave relished the time spent gazing up at the holodisplay. It calmed the spark and soothed the field. And Laserbeak could stay nestled into his chest for long hours while he worked, just enjoying the quiet.
Though at this time, the Nemesis was anything but peaceful. The moment Knock Out returned to the ship empty-handed, Laserbeak's plating went shaky from the unforgiving weight to Lord Megatron's field.
Soundwave sent soothing messages to the mini 'Con, and discreetly swept a servo over its small wing before continuing his typing.
Behind him, Megatron paced heavy and measured. Knock Out was all smiles but the way his armor turned downward was telling.
"Ah, Lord Megatron," the red 'Con started. He raised a finger in a flourish. "I wouldn't be too upset about it."
Megatron didn't stop his pacing. "And why is that, Knock Out?"
A gleaming grin shone as the medic brushed dirt from his arms. Lazy and preening as always.
"Well," he said, squinting at a mark to his armor. "I had the item before the Autobots arrived. It seems those Iacon entries are not all important artifacts. What possible use could a toy be to us?"
Megatron slowed to a stop, looking down his spiked shoulder. "A toy?"
Soundwave stopped typing, turning his helm ever so slightly to his master.
"Yes, my liege." Knock Out connected his index and thumb fingers to create three points. He raised it optic-level and peered through the triangular hole. "A Bedlam Prism. Probably a practical joke, don't you think?"
The Decepticon leader stared, optics large. After a tense moment he snarled and whipped to Soundwave. With an understanding nod, Laserbeak was loosed and flew past a startled Knock Out's helm.
• • •
Pink light played across the floor before shifting into a sparkle.
"Try blue," Jack said, motioning at the prism with his fork.
He watched how the light reflected off of Miko's pink bits of hair. She shifted forward to touch a speckle of blue color and dragged her hand down to where the pink light originated from, and the blue followed.
"Be careful with that," Arcee called from the medbay. She scraped a large clump of earth from under her pede and looked back up when she heard a noise.
Ratchet dragged his pedes into the common room with a sigh that told of inadequate charge.
"You just onlining, Ratchet?" Bulkhead asked from his seated position by the kids.
They hadn't seen him since sunrise. Though his presence was generally soundless unless disturbed, doing work or fixing tools, it was strange not to have to tread carefully around to avoid bristling their grumpy medic.
"Doc's a night owl," Miko said, grinning when the prism shone green.
"A what?" Ratchet scoffed either in offense or poorly onlined audial receptors.
Arcee chucked gunk into a slagbin and noticed his dimly lit optics. She discretely looked to Optimus, who turned slightly from the console when he felt her gaze. His mouthplate stayed thin, but she knew him well enough to decipher guiltily pinched ridges. Perhaps he had been pressuring Ratchet into too many late nights with the prism. It wouldn't do to have their medic suffer a sudden shut down from lack of charge.
"Arcee," the Prime said, closing an application on the computer and turning his gaze downward in consideration. "It is getting late."
Understanding immediately, the two-wheeler rose up. "Time to go home, everyone."
She waited until Bee and Bulkhead were out of the base first before shifting to vehicle mode for Jack, and with a final mirror-tilt glance at the medic, accelerated out.
Optimus looked to his old friend, who was very groggily searching for a tool in one of his many bins. Receptors detected a clear whine from his hydraulics, the grinding of tired gears, the hitching of vents.
Ratchet felt an energy field behind him and turned to find the Autobot leader with a cube of fuel and a warm smile.
"You look undercharged, old friend."
The bot took the cube meekly. Of course this wasn't unexpected from the Prime. No amount of conflict with the Decepticons could ever make him forget to keep an eye on his team. He needed to be sure they were healthy, both in systems and in processor. And so Ratchet recognized this gesture and took a seat, waiting for Optimus to speak.
The Prime's smile became less apparent, but his field was a reassuring hum to let his friend know this wasn't a confrontation.
Why would Ratchet think it was a confrontation? That was silly. Ha. He looked at his cube blankly.
"Your work with the Bedlam Prism is essential if we want to stay ahead of the Decepticon threat," he said finally.
Ratchet kept his optics down. "I am trying my best." It was hardly defensive. Guilty. Suddenly he felt a servo on his shoulder armor and peered up.
There was that smile again. That stupid trusting smile.
"I know. And as always, I value you as a member of this team. As do the others."
Optimus pulled his hand back and looked to where the prism lay on the floor after the kids played with it. "Take a few solar cycles to rest your systems."
The cube almost slipped from Ratchet's grasp. "Optimus, that isn't necessary—"
The Prime held a servo up politely, halting the medic's protest like so many times before. The smile returned.
"Thank you, Optimus," Ratchet said, rising up with an embarrassing groan of plating.
Perhaps this was for the best. He could spend time defragging and clearing his processor. And this way there would be no temptations. No chance to answer late night messages.
On his berth, the medic stared into the untouched cube and ex-vented deeply.
No temptations. No jets.
"I am a medic," he said to himself. "And an Autobot."
He set his fuel down and felt a tremor rising again.
• • •
When you'd cruised around on an alien motorcycle for this long, you learn to read every brake, every turn, every acceleration. Arcee rode differently when she was happy or recently refueled or having a bad day.
Jack didn't say anything quite yet, and tightened his grip as Arcee sped past a tow-truck. Yeah, something was definitely on her processor.
In the garage, the human stepped off slowly, mindful of the hole in his sneaker.
Jack wasn't the type to pry. Miko, sure—and Bulkhead wasn't very strong-willed when it came to things like that. That girl probably knew a few things she wasn't supposed to know. But Jack felt funny about it. Not that he thought Arcee wouldn't want to answer, but it was just his way of showing he respected her boundaries. And she did the same.
But there were times, late at night, on top of the base or after a long shift at the drive-thru, when they talked. About Jack's dad. About Tailgate and Cliffjumper. Jack asked about Arcee's early life, and she his.
They'd learn to read just when it was okay to ask.
"Everything okay, Arcee?"
The motorcycle shifted quietly before transforming to root mode. She remained half-crouched as always in the garage, optics down. Blue and spiraling and strained.
"Things have been kinda crazy since Optimus got back," Jack tried, leaning against the little table.
Arcee lowered her other knee slightly, hydraulics giving a sigh. "I can handle crazy." Her optics shuttered fully now. She'd survived the Arctic and Ratchet on Synth-En. And Jack's attempts at flirting with Sierra. And... Miko.
Yeah, she could definitely handle crazy. She could handle battles and 'Cons and by now—sitting by Cliff's cairn.
After a tired ex-vent, she geared down into vehicle mode. "Still giving Sierra a ride tomorrow?"
"Oh, she has a family thing—but we were thinking of getting yogurt on Thursday."
She would've been smiling if her faceplate were visible. She was thankful to Jack. For Jack.
Arcee said goodnight and under the blanket of a Nevada night, took the long way home to clear her processor.
• • •
Ratchet hadn't realized how desperately his systems needed these few days off. The first night he'd powered down so fast and hard that he only awoke fifteen hours later because Bumblebee had checked on him to be sure he was still functioning. After a brief refueling he knocked out again. Recharging had never felt so great. Except perhaps at home.
When he did finally emerge from his room, everyone noticed his glow. Optics were bright and there wasn't any groaning or popping from his frame and most of all, his energy field was as soft as a bunny rabbit.
The other bots had been taking turns manning the ground bridge in the medic's absence, and Bulkhead was on duty when Ratchet decided he wanted to get some fresh air.
Ratchet rotated his shoulder as he accessed coordinates in his processor before supplying them to the other mech. There might be a human or two driving along the roads but it had a calming view of the sea, which was something he had come to admire on their time on this blue planet.
Bulkhead pulled the lever. "Sure you don't want backup?"
Ratchet waved a hand. "I am just going for a drive, Bulkhead. Try not to break my things while I'm gone."
It really couldn't have been a more beautiful Earth day. Clouds were absent from the curve of the cerulean sky, the ocean was a sparkling sheet across the horizon and best of all, Ratchet had only passed one car so far. The ambulance drew in a deep ventilation and took a leisurely turn down the rocky hills to be closer to the beach he so adored.
This close, he could hear the waves more clearly. The cadence of the shore was somnolent and coaxed the spark to a slow turn. His audials even detected high-pitched bird calls.
He slowed. Bird calls? He knew of the seagulls, but they didn't sound like that.
The moment he realized what the sound was, everything went up in a blinding flash and he found himself airborne.
The Autobot geared to root mode as soon as he crashed into hot sand, spark alight in his chest and systems screaming proximity warnings. Before he had a chance to focus his senses, a thunder of transformations sounded behind him and he turned just as something fast and small swooped down past him—Laserbeak.
Optics landed on a swarm of Vehicons around a tall silver aerial—what the frag?
Ratchet barely had a moment to consider the cluster of conflicting processor dialogs before a blast nearly knocked him off his feet again. Swiftly he unleashed his blades, deflecting a hit aimed for his head.
A drone charged him and he hopped back with an arm up defensively. With a clang their metal met, and Ratchet freed a servo to grab his attacker by the shoulder. The medic was stronger than he looked and threw the drone into a rock wall hard enough to knock its systems offline. The crashing waves helped too.
He used this fleeting moment of non-attack to put two fingers up to an audial, running towards the fight in which Starscream was the center. Figures this would happen during his vacation. Primus, what was this? A punishment?
"Bulkhead—bridge—" Fuzz. "Ratchet to base!" Static. Frag it all. Laserbeak was probably packing a signal scrambler. The minicon hovered, chirring noisily as always, and blasted at Starscream. Ratchet leapt and drove a blade into a Vehicon's back with precision that came from vorns of being a field medic.
Starscream looked just as surprised as he was to see him, but quickly focused his attention back to firing at Laserbeak. A drone came up behind the aerial and Ratchet was quick to helm-punch it away.
Seeker and medic came back to back. Starscream fired blasts and Ratchet slashed. There was no time for questions, but that hardly stopped their energy fields from clashing with equally baffled messages of what the frag are YOU doing here?!
Starscream growled over the pandemonium. "Distract the drones," he ordered before leaping into the air and transforming. Ratchet nearly squawked at being ordered around—But, scrap, what choice did he really have?
The mech pivoted on a pede to keep a Vehicon from jumping him, and ran through the noisy shore. He peered up and the jet raced by with the cassette 'Con on his tail.
He knew the Seeker was on the run, he knew he'd been in a scuffle before. But why Laserbeak and a handful of drones? If they wanted to capture him they'd need to try harder than that. Unless they had a different agenda. No doubt the cassette was sending a live feed back to its carrier.
Frag it, that wasn't good. Ratchet jumped back, shifting to vehicle mode and speeding further down the shore. As predicted, the remaining drones followed—Ratchet attempted a direct signal to the jet but it was still being jammed.
Spraying sand, he accelerated and blared his sirens.
The jet peered over, ascending to evade a scatter of lasers. He saw the ambulance weaving in and out of the waves. The water...
Starscream pointed his nose high, zooming into the clear blue sky with the persistent minicon on his tail. Higher and higher they went, and when the moment was right, he spun out into his root form and slammed long claws down onto the tiny Cybertronian.
Ratchet shifted back as well, tripping as he watched the two Decepticons fall from the sky. They smashed clean into the ocean. Blue optics cycled large and he distantly recognized the feeling of a proton blaster against his helm.
He withheld ventilation and kept his eyes on the sea.
Water sloshed noisily—and Starscream rose. Beside him Laserbeak popped up with a mangled trill, wing planes sparking tellingly. Seawater in his plating. Soundwave was not going to be happy.
Starscream quickly pointed his weapon, daring the 'Con to even try anything. And so the little one flew up over his head, uttering a cry to the Vehicons. Transformations sounds clamored all about the medic and he found himself free of drones. One of which allowed Laserbeak to nestle into his underside before they soared.
And just like that, they were alone. The Seeker stood knee-high in the ocean, staring with claws turned out and shoulders slumped.
"Well," he finally vocalized, static crackling over his helm. "I don't remember calling for backup."
The medic stepped forward in the shallow water. As usual he did his best to ignore the Seeker's remarks. "How did they find you?" he panted.
"How should I know?" Starscream snapped, taking two shaky steps forward. "I would've lost them if you hadn't shown."
This time Ratchet really did squawk. That ungrateful—He had barely started to respond when the aerial suddenly collapsed into the water.
Ratchet almost yelped and ran to lift the Seeker from the sea. He was limp. Scrap. He'd need to get the aerial to the shore to scan him properly. With a grunt he heaved the long-limbed mech over his shoulder and dragged his legs through the water and wet sand. His pedes were surely going to be full of gunk.
With an unceremonious plop, he set his "patient" down in a shaded area on the sand. Tall, rocky land jutted outward around them and it reeked of tobacco but at least they were out of plain sight.
The medic activated his scanner while he tugged a vine of seaweed from the jet's wing. Energon level critical. He knew the Seeker had been surviving on very little to begin with, and a fight like that would surely wipe any mech out.
"Online," he said, lifting Starscream to sit up.
Crimson optics opened with a petulant glare. "I am." In an instant those optics widened and Starscream put a servo on the medic as he turned away. Seawater and rocks were expelled from his intake in raspy, hacking coughs.
Ratchet gave him time, keeping his gaze on his HUD as he took a few more readings. When the coughing ceased, he urged Starscream to sit back against the rocks.
He needed fuel. Ratchet hadn't packed a full cube, stupidly believing nothing could go wrong during his leisurely drive. This really must be a punishment.
"This is all I have." He held out a servo with tiny little blue squares. Concentrated energon. It'd been processed and resolidified into something like hard candy. Arcee always sucked on them when she was too lazy to get up and pour a cube and Ratchet liked them because they were small and didn't make a mess.
Starscream grabbed one and gave a suspicious squint, but nonetheless popped it onto his glossa.
The Autobot shook his head and performed another scan at the jet's midsection. "Let me see," he said with a sigh, moving a lithe arm out of the way. He tried not to question that he was helping him again and just did his damn job. His mentors at medical school would be proud. I think. Would Optimus be proud?
Fingers smoothed over the glass of the jet's cockpit. A long crack ran down the middle, splitting off into tiny lines. It wasn't a devastating injury, but it surely wasn't painless and it was likely that seawater had gotten inside. It would dry up and leave salt crystals and sand behind. There was nothing he could do about that. In the meantime he needed to at least seal the crack.
He had only a few bandages on him, but it was better than nothing. Ratchet measured and cut them before application while Starscream crunched on his treat.
The silence lasted not a minute.
"Are you going to tell me what is going on?" Ratchet asked slowly, eyes down.
Starscream hissed when a bandage covered the largest crack, then shattered the rest of the hardened fuel in his intake. "Why should I do that?" He didn't look at the doctor.
Ratchet's mouthplate pressed thin and he was gentler with the next bandage. He shook his head before vocalizing softly, "I am giving you medical attention." That's the way this was, right?
And to this, Starscream's optics were on the bot in all too condemning roll. "Oh?" he said, lilt returning to his vocals. "Are we still pretending this is about trading services?"
The doctor's servo hovered over cockpit before resting there lightly. He hadn't realized it until then, but he was shaking. Shaking and with spark racing and field tangled.
A spindly set of talons settled on top of his hand and Ratchet met the 'Con's gaze in confusion.
Never in a million vorns could Ratchet explain why he held that hand right back. Or why he eventually closed the space between them or why he brought his mouthplate to Starscream's.
It was hardly the same rushed scraping of mouths as their last encounter. It was slow, almost familiar, and tasted of the ocean and energon. He could smell the burn of old fuel on the Seeker. The smell of a malnourished mech ignited many memories of the war. Of dim and weary optics.
He pulled away and looked down, field in an anxiety-ridden buzz. Another claw stroked across his chest plate, slow, without a drop of salacious intent.
Ratchet's ventilations hitched a few times before he was able to vocalize. "I don't understand you," he whispered with almost shuttered optics.
The claw pulled away. He somehow had the courage to look back up and there he saw something very dark and impossible to comprehend in those glowing red optics.
It was but a terse few nano-kliks before there was a response. "I'm not asking you to."
Despite himself, Ratchet clenched the claw still in his hold. His processor felt on the verge of shorting out. He didn't know what anything meant anymore. He didn't know what he was doing. All he knew was something iced his tank, something that had been nagging at him, something he'd questioned and denied and resisted.
Starscream's hand returned to his chest, and Ratchet felt a forehelm against his own. The Seeker gave a shaky, exhausted, unguarded sigh and that was all it took for the medic to desire connection again. Fingers rose up to the silver aerial's faceplate, and he took his mouth once more.
He let the Seeker's own field cover his own in a gentle wash and they shifted, sustaining the link. Starscream tugged and slid into the sand, trying to get Ratchet to settle over him, and after a pained cry the medic broke the kiss.
He apologized with the warm flutter of his field and switched them so that his back was to the sandy rock wall. Starscream climbed onto his lap immediately and went right back for his mouth.
Ventilations matched up, fields entwined, fans hummed softly. The crash and pull of little waves filled Ratchet's audial receptors as Starscream began rolling his gray hips in a perfect counter rhythm to the ocean. Their sensornets buzzed from the gentle grinding of metal.
The bot held onto waist gingerly, afraid of upsetting another injury. He pulled that lissome frame against his, optics at full attention, watching how every crackle of energy made those wings quiver and incline.
Starscream overloaded in a broken cry, optics in a gleam and expression compressed with pleasure. Ratchet's own was stripped from him in a long groan of static, and the Seeker continued rocking slowly above to allow the medic all the time he needed.
After, when the Autobot sat watching the horizon and letting his systems cool, he turned his helm to look at his... companion. Starscream lay in the sand on his side with legs drawn up to his frame. Such languor was rare when it came to the air commander, and it had initially stunned the medic. He'd dozed off almost immediately after settling there and Ratchet had stared with large optics for a good minute before just letting it be.
Blue gaze returned to the ocean and he thought of base. He hadn't been gone quite long enough for anyone to worry, but knowing Bulkhead he was bound to ring his commlink soon. That wasn't really what he was worried about. He looked to the other mech again.
As if sensing optics on him, Starscream stretched with an audible pop of joints. Wings twitched rapidly to shake sand from under plates and Ratchet found himself oddly charmed by the action. Though he would never admit it.
The lean mech pushed himself up to stand, brushing additional pebbles from his legs.
Ratchet's vocal gears jammed. Starscream stood in equal silence, the slant of his wings impossible to read.
Words then burst from Ratchet out of his control. "What is in the prism, Starscream?" He stared at the aerial's back. "You said it was more files. But it's not. Is it?"
After a flock of seagulls passed overhead, the Seeker turned his helm meager inches but said nothing for a few shaky-breathed seconds.
"Were you able to access the drive?" he asked suddenly, still not facing the other.
"Yes, " Ratchet answered slowly, unsurely.
Starscream became silent again, looking at the empty space in front of him like he was searching for something. Talons clenched.
"And?"
Ratchet flinched in surprise and almost tripped over his words, "I—I looked at it briefly."
Now Starscream turned, wings pointed high, optical ridges down, gaze piercing. "Leave no document unread. No file unopened." There was wildness in his field that Ratchet could feel from where he sat in the sand. If his fear and deranged growling in the mine had been unsettling, this restrained display made Ratchet's plating go tight.
He'd never seen the Seeker so—scared.
"Read everything."
Starscream then turned and leapt into the air. Seams shifted and limbs disappeared in a swift flip, and after a boom of thrusters, he vanished into the sky.