The darkest hour is just before dawn? Whatever human being said that had never seen the hour after the Autobots' return from battle. Of course, there was an exception to every rule (was there an exception to this maxim?), but this wry supposition seemed to keep its veracity. Perceptor looked up to watch an agitated Ratchet burst through the door with four seriously injured Autobots dragging themselves behind him.

"Did you hear the alarm at all?" the CMO snarled. "You were supposed to be out there defending the base with the rest of us!" Ratchet heaved Gears onto the medbay table as Wheeljack helped Ironhide lay down a few meters over. "Don't tell me you were caught up in another experiment! You'd better have just escaped from Starscream or so help me-"

"Yell later! My circuits are burning!" moaned Gears before the scientist in question could get a word in edgewise.

The white mech growled furiously. "Perceptor, if I don't see you elbow-deep in transistors by the time I come back from disinfecting myself you'll have a tough time tooling around without your slaggin' ARMS!" There was a white blur in his peripheral vision as the red Autobot put down the laser gun he had been working on and began to clean up. Ratchet's growl motivated him to hurry as he moved in to get a better look at the just-arrived Sideswipe.

Sunstreaker had carried his brother in his arms like a bride over the threshold. He placed the wincing red mech onto the table, bellowing for someone to get their tailpipes moving or else.

"I am NOT amenable to threats!" Perceptor protested, transforming back into microscope mode to get a better look at the gaping hole in Sideswipe's chassis.

"You'd prefer my FIST?" Sunstreaker was lead away by Grapple as he shook his clenched hand at his brother's assistant. "Fix him right or get ready to walk funny for the rest of your existence!"

Typical. There was never a dull moment in med bay, but after a battle the area was downright unpleasant when laden with anger, fear, and pain. Perceptor longed for the quiet of his laboratory. If only Wheeljack hadn't blown it up in their first attempt to modify the blaster...but this was not the time to dwell on it. The smoke clearing out of Sideswipe's wound called for his attention.

"This is an unfamiliar laser wound," Perceptor observed.

"Megatron's got a new cannon," Wheeljack called from across the room.

"It bloo up in his fayce af'er shot seyven," chuckled a speech-impaired Ironhide. Half of his jaw had been blasted off.

"You'd know that if you'd BEEN there," Ratchet growled, leaning over Gears.

Perceptor tried to ignore the tone. He didn't want to admit that he'd meant to render aid the minute the alarm went off, but he thought he had reached the conclusion of his blaster developments. He was so close to perfecting a gun that could combat Megatron's ion cannon…if only he had a few more moments to work on it. Not only had he lost his sense of time, but this latest intelligence made his work a moot point. Ratchet didn't follow Optimus Prime's method of assuming that whatever Perceptor did he had good reason.

"Can you fix it?" The scientist almost jumped at the low, gentle voice closer to his audios than he'd expected. Discomfort had modulated his usual flippant tones, sounding like a soft bassoon instead of his slightly squeaky English horn. It caught Perceptor off guard. Sideswipe was trying to keep his sense of humor through the panic but the sparkle of his personality was slightly off-kilter by anxiety. Even while he was sitting up in panic, his attempts to mask the fear were engaging. The scientist realized he was expected to reply.

"Ah-of course. Although I am not familiar with your body-"

"Want to be?" his patient interrupted, navy optics glowing mischievously.

Perceptor fell off of the table in response. ("That had better be the sound of you dropping dead!" Ratchet called.)

"Lay off him, Doc," Sideswipe replied, flopping onto his back with a satisfied chuckle.

Perceptor didn't want to get up off of the floor and face the Autobot. The shock, nay, DARING of Sideswipe!

Actually...Perceptor rose with a stately expression and resumed his work. He liked it. Sideswipe hit on everyone in med bay but him, keeping any interaction with the scientist purely professional, until today. It felt good; almost energon pump-stopping.

Sideswipe remained silent as he watched Perceptor finish the job and endure the humiliation of Ratchet insisting on checking his work.

"It looks decent," Ratchet admitted, shutting the Lamborghini's chestplate with a clang and ignoring the microscope's dismay as he returned to Bumblebee. "Now go take a look at Sunstreaker. He says he's all right, but the day he comes out of a battle without a scratch I'm retiring and YOU can have my job."

Sideswipe hopped off of the table and patted Perceptor on the arm. "Thanks!" he called as he hurried after an eager Sunstreaker, who was in turn chased by Perceptor, following Ratchet's orders.

"I told you, geek, I'm OKAY!"

"You may presume that you emerged unscathed, but I am required to inspect you for internal dissention-"

Sunstreaker wheeled around to brandish his blaster in the scientist's face. "I. Am. FINE. Beat it!"

There was no need to tread where he was not wanted; instead other, more important, less violent mechs were attended to as the chaos of the repair area settled into a dull roar that decrescendoed into a low murmur as the last Autobot with problems (Optimus Prime) had his check-up. Ratchet had a quiet talk with their leader, one Perceptor paid no attention to now that he had a new priority in finding an antidote to deflect Megatron's new cannon. He had no idea he'd been called until he felt the tap of a blue hand.

"Status report," Prime commanded, ignoring any called-for preambles.

"In regarding the blaster: work has been subjugated by uncompromising interruptions. I am in need of better facilities than those currently accommodating me."

"Are you saying that med bay isn't good enough?" Ratchet would have a vein throbbing if he were human. Even the calm Wheeljack made a noise of annoyance over that.

"It is sufficient-" Perceptor calmly fitted the gun together. "-but the atmosphere is stifling at times."

Optimus Prime held up a hand to silence the onslaught of protests emitted from the others. "Circumstances being what they are, I am sorry that this is all we have to offer. Your distaste has been registered. Unfortunately, Hoist and Grapple are recovering from the stress of the battle right now, instead of rebuilding the laboratory. You'll have to work with what you have." Optimus turned away, after reminding Perceptor that time was of the essence.

"I'm aware of that, you idiot!" Starscream was in a bad mood. Blitzwing was getting on his last iota of patience-something that was easy to do on a good day-but, AGAIN, the Air Commander had been blamed for their recent failure to capture the Autobot's newest development.

The triple changer didn't care. "The cannon had a thermal event," he reiterated. "You have to fix it. You have until Megatron's internally repaired to get it up and running."

"Leave. I have my assignment." Starscream pushed this irritation out of his laboratory and got to work with the remaining cannon scraps he had. Rumble, bored with nothing better to do, came in to watch Starscream trying different alloys.

"Megatron's mad," the smaller Decepticon declared.

"It took you this long to figure that out?" demanded Starscream, leaning into his task.

"No, this time he's pissed." Starscream had no idea what that word meant; he decided it wasn't good. It explained why one of Soundwave's tapes was sent here to watch him. Even if it weren't as obvious as Laserbeak, anyone sentient knew Rumble would snitch him out in a minute, making Starscream cautious with his words.

"I surmise he will bring us together for another speech, one that will encourage to us to be more ruthless than ever in battle, as the need for energon is at its most imperative." 'Blah blah blah,' he added to himself.

Rumble shook his head. "Nah. He's planning something with the Constructicons and Soundwave. No speech."

"Intriguing..." Something else occurred to Starscream at that moment. "Why wasn't I invited?"

Rumble grinned devilishly. "I told ya he was mad…at you."

Peace reigned throughout the ark that night, with the only oasis of noise in the desert of quiet pervading from the twins' room as several Autobots congregated in the double-sized room to party!

Blaster had the music going loud, which was fine since the hosts were smart enough to invite their neighbors. Energon drinks flowed and the amusement continued into the night, except that halfway through the festivities Sideswipe disappeared. Sunstreaker didn't care. He had a bet going with Jazz as to how well he could beat him at Doctor Mario, and he was very close to losing. Besides, Sideswipe could take care of himself. Hound and Mirage were making out on the couch; Bluestreak was learning to breakdance with disastrous (but funny) results while Trailbreaker threw darts with Powerglide and Skids. Whatever Siders was doing, he would return shortly.

Sideswipe had gotten bored. Well, not exactly bored; more like apathetic. Parties were fun, especially theirs, but something was nagging at him as he walked the dark quiet hallways around the ark in search of more guests/energon providers. He knocked on Gears' door.

"Go away, Skyfire!" bellowed the other side of the door. Sideswipe decided to let him be. The nagging thought was a strange one: how the medics, mostly impersonal hands (and one LOUD voice) had never really registered in his database as real mechs until he had seen the disconcerted expression on Perceptor's face after his casually flirtatious joke. He had not recognized the scientist's existence until that moment.

He wasn't bad looking. Now that Sideswipe considered it, he was kind of...well...cute. His face was, at least. How about the body?

Sideswipe walked into the med bay (after discovering a compromising situation involving Tracks) when a noise caught his attention. Perceptor had fallen asleep in microscope mode again, his snoring rattling the beakers around him. Usually when he was like this the twins would move him around or some other prank, but Sideswipe had another motive this time. He rapped on the doorway.

"What? Who?" Perceptor transformed in sleepy confusion and looked around. "Skyfire? Oh. Hello." He awkwardly tried to look cool by leaning on the table, missing it completely and nearly falling to the floor. Sideswipe smiled his friendliest at the awkward mech as he tried to ignore the embarrassing moment. "What time is it?"

"Party time," the Lamborghini replied, leaning against the doorway and looking a lot cooler than Perceptor. "We're having a get-together at our place. Come on over."

The scientist looked down at his hands as he shook his head. "Thank you, but I am in the middle of a project that is imperative to our defense."

He had a beautiful body. Sideswipe witnessed an interesting fantasy ease into his mind, one that made him smile wider as he tried to concentrate on what the other was saying. "Really?" He walked into the room and sidled up to Perceptor, using his 'bright and curious' voice. "What is it?"

As he launched into a lengthy technical diatribe the fantasy in Sideswipe's processor became more elaborate. Against the wall, in Prowl's office chair, both screaming their vocalizers out. Now, how would he get this mech to agree to something like that? Perceptor was not the most outgoing person. He was friendly, usually polite, just... (the word Sideswipe was looking for was 'condescending')… not down with the rest of them. Well, Siders could fix that. The scientist accidentally brushed against him while gesturing enthusiastically. The touch was electric.

He did not know that although Perceptor was deeply involved in his description, another train of thought was passing through the scientist's processor: Sideswipe was very attractive. For some reason both he and Sunstreaker had this amazing charisma guaranteeing that wherever they went, life would follow. They could captivate a crowd. Like two sides of a magnet forming a powerful pull, the two together attracted all they came in contact with. Right now Perceptor felt a little warm looking at the more positive side. It was not a good thing, though, since both Lamborghini brothers had done something unspeakable to Skyfire, forcing Perceptor to fight his desire more than he might if this were, say, Prime. He tried to focus on something else.

"-therefore, we can utilize the blaster proficiently against Megatron's attacks with said magnification." Sideswipe nodded, commenting on the usefulness of something like that. Perceptor enthusiastically smiled, not used to having someone hang onto his every word. Sideswipe leaned over to see the blaster, elegant fingers resting lightly the lab table, navy optics glittering with lighter blue sparkles as they peered into the gun's barrel. Perceptor was entranced. For a moment, no one spoke.

As if some unspoken cue woke him up from a dream, Sideswipe stood upright. "I should get back to the party. Are you sure you don't want to come?" Perceptor politely declined the invitation, claiming work. "That's okay. I'll talk to you later." He glanced over his shoulder at the doorway to see if Perceptor was watching him leave. Embarrassed, the scientist realized he'd been caught and tried to recover by dropping the weapon. Sideswipe left chuckling to himself.

The Constructicons had plans for a bomb that would be cleverly disguised as a doomsday device. It looked like a ray gun...it drew energy from a nuclear power plant like a harvester...and it had space bridge parts to further confuse Mirage and/or Skyfire/Wheeljack when they came to inspect it. Scrapper and company promised foundation results by the end of the week. In the meantime, the Decepticons would fix the wounded while those not seriously marred by battle would go on an excursion and Starscream would create a better ion cannon, one that was not like anything else seen by Autobot or human, therefore impossible to combat.

Megatron hated spreading his forces so thin, but he was yielding few results when they were concentrated, and for this latest trap to work he had to better confuse the enemy. Cursed Autobots! They outnumbered his force on this planet almost two to one, forcing him to constantly scheme and plot in order to gain the upper hand. This plan would work. Their attack had uncovered that Perceptor (absorbed in his lab as usual and failing to notice Ravage and Buzzsaw reading his notes NEXT TO HIM) had a plethora of new ray guns. A few even had some chemical compounds Megatron was sure Starscream hadn't tried.

Once they were back at base Buzzsaw played back the information, including notes and drawings. When Starscream admitted that yes-although human chemistry was vastly inferior to theirs, some of these combinations could produce a few lethal weapons-Megatron charged him with finding a way to make one of these an explosive. Starscream would work on that day and night with progressive results, somewhat pleasing not just Megatron. Giving his Air Commander homework made more than one Decepticon happy.

That should keep him busy. It gave the silver mech time to make a decision: Starscream had outlived his purpose, nearly destroying his leader with the latest gun fiasco, still loudly proclaiming his one day usurping him, being a genuine irritation, etc. Megatron was sick and tired of him. Starscream had to go.

The party broke up early when Ironhide walked in and threatened to put them all on oil change duty if they didn't get a decent night's recharge for tomorrow's company-wide meeting.

Sideswipe came in later and didn't say much until after the conference, where Optimus Prime announced that he had made contact with Ultra Magnus again, although there was nothing going on at home. When the meeting broke up Sideswipe stopped to talk to Mirage about the party; the corner of his optics aware of Perceptor as he consulted with Wheeljack and Hoist over something. He saw that the microscope was staring at him almost openly. Sideswipe smiled and waved, causing a moment of confusion. Perceptor nervously waved back and excused himself, to the visible relief of his audience. The scientist's reaction had the Lamborghini thinking.

Sunstreaker looked up from rifling through their cabinet as his roommate sauntered in. "I think Tracks has been stealing my polish again," he grunted, glancing at the small container. "I could swear I had a full can yesterday."

His growling was ignored. "What do you think of Perceptor?" Sideswipe asked abruptly. He and his brother always spoke in an emotional shorthand that produced discomfort to anyone who thought they should pad their dialogue with subtlety and refinement. They had better things to do with their time.

Sunstreaker smiled sardonically. "He's the one that hangs out with R2D2, right?"

Sideswipe uneasily laughed. "Yeah, I guess so."

Now the bright yellow Lamborghini regarded him suspiciously. "Why?"

"No reason."

"Yeah right. You have a thing for geeks." Sunstreaker didn't want to remind his brother about the Skyfire Incident until he had a decent bon mot to accompany that particular nasty recollection. "This is why I know how to pick 'em and you end up alone."

"Your choices weren't that great!" Sideswipe sneered indignantly. "Bluestreak? Mirage? Hound? That pink medic on Cybertron? What about that jet, what's-her-name-"

"Watch this." Sunstreaker opened their chamber door and called a passing Trailbreaker over. "Who would you rather do, Starscream or Perceptor?"

"Starscream," the black mech replied without hesitation.

"Uh-huh. Hey, Ironhide! C'mere! Informal poll," he explained as Ironhide, Skids, AND Powerglide sauntered over. "You and Perceptor and Starscream are the last mechs on Cybertron. Who would you get with?"

"Stahrscream."

"Depends. Can we shoot Starscream when we're done?"

"Cut my wings off, Starscream, Perceptor, Astoria, DEATH. In that order."

Sunny grinned. "Gears! Informal poll: Who'd you do, Screamer or Percy?"

"I hate this poll. But, if I can take an acid shower after, Starscream."

"I get the point," Sideswipe muttered behind his brother as more Autobots came over to throw in their own opinions.

"Screamer, if his vocalizer's been shot out."

"Perceptor's kind of cute." That was Huffer, most likely being contrary for the heck of it.

"Oh, come on! GRIMLOCK's kind of cute! Perceptor is a pain in the tailpipe!"

"Perceptor. Starscream's a lousy kisser."

Red Alert had to duck projectiles as more than one Autobot shrieked in horror. "How in the Pit do you know THAT?"

"I've known him longer than you have!" he retorted.

"You're not allowed to fight him one-on-one anymore!"

"Can we just shoot ourselves and avoid both of them?"

Brawn broke the whole congregation up by telling them if they didn't quit slamming Perceptor he'd kick their skidplates into next Tuesday. Sunstreaker asked him the same question.

"Starscream," he answered. "Perceptor's never been kissed 'cause he promised his creator he'd wait until he was bonded."

Sunstreaker closed the door after Bluestreak came in to tell them what was up in his neck of the ark. "Why the poll? It seems like a weird either-or to me. Maybe if it were one of you guys versus the other, now that's a toughie, I mean, you're both pretty hot, or if it were Sunny versus Tracks-"

"Siders' thinking of going to the dark side," Sunny stated, face solemn as he inspected the underside of his arms in the wall-length mirror for visible polish lines. Sideswipe glared. Bluestreak would have it all over the ark before nightfall.

"Good grief! You have a thing for STARSCREAM?"

"Shhh! No, I don't. We were kidding." The red mech whapped his brother on the back a little bit harder than usual. "Sunny thought I was doing something funny to Starscream the other day when I kicked his afterburners and the joke kind of got out of hand."

"Oh, right. Sunny can do that," the young mech said understandably. "Like that week he had everyone thinking they forgot my birthday and I had to keep telling them no, it wasn't my birthday, but he'd said I would say that 'cause I didn't want anyone to make a fuss over me and so they planned a party-"

"Yeah. Like that." Sunstreaker eyed his brother sitting back on the couch, arms behind his head, legs crossed at the ankles, staring at the ceiling with an intensity that suggested he was planning something. "So why are you really here, Blue?"

Bluestreak gave a mock-hurt expression before smiling sweetly. "I thought you'd like to know that Mirage and Hound broke up again."

If Sunstreaker were a sleeping cat his head would have popped up at the news. "Did you hear that? Somebody's in need of comforting." He grabbed his blaster and ran for the door. "Dibs on Hound!"

Sideswipe looked away from the spot above him that had merited his concentration and shook his head in disgust, sitting up. "You're a WHORE!" he shouted at Sunny's retreating back.

"And you want Starscream!" came the reply. Slag. Bluestreak's optics widened to the size of Ultra Magnus' and it took firm assertions that it was a JOKE to narrow them back to normal, but the Lamborghini was pretty sure the damage had been done and he'd better get to work on Perceptor before the whole Autobot faction gave him the same disgusted look Red Alert received this morning.

When energon fields are shared, it produces an amazing euphoria that, coupled with sensory overload, makes for a pleasant distraction. Sideswipe would have called that an understatement. "Processor-blowing electric explosion worth chasing tailpipe down to get" fit more into his personality. Unlike spark-linking, it was not a melding of souls but more of a sharing of electrons; similar to humans exchanging body fluids. An often stifled consideration was that in organic co-mingling the sapient beings picked up the resident bacteria of their partner. This is comparable in Transformer play when a residue of one's own electrons remained after an interaction with another mech.

Unless the Autobot had never done it before.

If what Brawn had said was true, then an untouched mech walked among them, a pool of electrum no one had ever dipped a toe into, a blank canvas waiting to be painted on, something so rare (in an era when almost everyone's first time was with their mentors) the very idea sent Sideswipe's energon into overdrive.

Most Autobots did not view it that way. As a mech did not go to the newly-created medic when wounded, no one went to the untouched for social comfort. Sideswipe, self-proclaimed connoisseur of energy fields, desired the scientist's innocence like Lina Inverse would Dragon Cuisine. It would be better than Skyfire's "I've only had two" and MUCH better than Gears' "I haven't had Red Alert."

Seduction is a game of its own, requiring a fine-tuned sense of psychology and manipulation, two things a warrior did not posses. The challenge called to Sideswipe, promising a status to impress anyone and an amazing benefit. Brawn's comment had been inspiration to undergo the most arduous task of the Lamborghini's peacetime occupations: outsmarting Perceptor.

The doomsday device needed some kind of authority to lend itself authentic to the Autobots, suggesting that they use a devious number of visual tricks to establish this.

The first had been to plan to hook it up to a nuclear power plant in Toledo, Ohio to make it more of an energon harvesting threat. Rumble wanted to know why they didn't hook it up to the one in Springfield, which prompted an investigation leading to the realization that Rumble watched too much TV.

Their second trick was to produce it as an elaborate (but not too elaborate) weapon development that might suggest they were planning another hostile takeover.

The third trick would be the clincher: they had to concoct a legitimate threat that would convince the Autobots to storm the bomb as one unit, so that when it went off and caused a nuclear holocaust NO Autobot would survive, not even from the fallout. Rumble asked if any would become radioactive superheroes, which caused him to be sent away with the task of convincing Starscream to be the one to operate the doomsday device: to make it look real, and the added bonus of getting rid of the troublemaker.

That was a ploy Rumble seemed to anticipate with pleasure.

A few hours later Sunstreaker returned with a sour expression and a sharp tongue. All he wanted to do was rile his brother over his latest interest.

"Make sure you take your shoulder missile off before you get it on." Sunny never missed a moment to taunt him. Sideswipe snickered at the idea, encouraging his brother to surmise that Perceptor would use a protractor to find the exact angle to get Sideswipe most excited. This made them laugh harder. His surly mood melted, leaving him slightly more jovial than a pit bull.

"Speaking of shoulder accessories, how's Hound?"

Sunstreaker grunted in disgust as he put his old blaster away and retrieved a new one. "I had to get in line, so I left and did target practice for the rest of the day. Let's go, we have patrol." The mech paused for a moment, swearing that Tracks was going to get it, there was more polish missing. Sideswipe shrugged, asking why Hound didn't let Sunny cut in front of the line, being the second most desirable Autobot in the group. Sunstreaker had no idea. "Just as well. He'll be back together with Mirage by tomorrow morning."

"Or he'll cut into your chase for the nerd."

"There's a line for him, too." Perceptor's first and second loves were his work.

"I bet. Watch out for that one, bro, or he'll turn psycho on you like Skyfire did."

Both walked out to report for work with the eagerness of a child on his way to the dentist. "Skyfire wasn't that stable to begin with. Besides, this is Perceptor."

Perceptor...who would suspect? It was perfect. Sideswipe had to have someone, so it might as well be a mech who knew four syllable words and how to split atoms. It was kind of cute, not like the cute but stupid loudmouths Sunstreaker seemed to prefer. (Sunny took offense to that.) And if what Brawn had said was true, well, that just made it more appealing. How flattering to be the set precedent for all future encounters!

"It still sounds bad to me."

"Glad I'm the one doing it, then." Sideswipe smiled to himself.

The main issue was how.

Starscream's newest weapon had impressed few; only he knew how to use it. Megatron, immersed in the doomsday device and still mad at Starscream for an unexplained reason, snarled through the telecom that he'd better start building user-friendly versions or he would be picking his wings up off the floor while he still stood upright.

Rumble watched him as he threw things around his lab in irritation. "Don't have a cow, man."

"Are you going to speak Cybertronian or may I begin calling you Jazz?" Starscream sneered in response, annoyance changing directions mid-impulse. "Megatron is making plans without me! How can he do anything without the aid of his Second-in-Command?"

"Third," Rumble supplied. "He moved Soundwave up to your spot until he likes you better."

Starscream stared. "WHAT!"

Rumble nonchalantly shrugged. "I guess you're not trying hard enough."

There was a moment of heavy silence as this was mulled over. The small cassette wondered if he had pushed too hard, blowing his cover and ruining the fun. Starscream's optics smoldered a furious lava red.

"We shall see about that," he hissed, turning back to the ion cannon pieces. "If you are going to hover like a drone, be of some use to me! Go to the supply closet and get me twelve of these!" The scientist held up a common part, ignoring the other mech's protests and presenting his null ray. "I don't care if you're only here to watch! Mobilize!"

That was it. Rumble obeyed, trying not to crack up at how easily Starscream could be lead to self-destruction.

Wheeljack devised a new blaster for the Autobots to try out, one that used Perceptor's new laser concentration to combat Megatron's next cannon creation. Being a prototype, they needed mechs who were not afraid to try it out, and who would be technical enough to be able to make constructive criticism. That penned the twins and Bluestreak to test it and report back. The gun went to Sideswipe first.

This was his big chance.

"I shall transport it to him," Perceptor volunteered.

Ratchet shrugged and tossed over to the scientist, who did not catch it properly, causing it to crash and break. "Fix it," the CMO commanded. "Spare parts are in the closet in section 6-B."

It had a broken mirror but that was about it. As he repaired the problem Perceptor planned his attack. He had to be bold, completely out of character. He would assault Sideswipe with kisses (he hoped he had seen enough from earth TV and Spike to get the idea of what to do), and tell him how bad he wanted him. Sideswipe would take it from there, Perceptor hoped, and lead him through the machinations. Should the scientist's attempts be rebuffed, he could deny any backlash from others by claiming he would never be that impulsive.

Now, the ruse that would bring Sideswipe to him, that was the tough part. After much consideration (and moments to cease what he was doing to calm down the nervousness that superceded his logic while dodging the irritated Ratchet who demanded to know what was wrong with him for Primus' sake) Perceptor had an idea. He carefully jiggled the barrel of the gun loose enough to be noticed upon closer inspection by the average Autobot and immediately by the more enthusiastic blaster users. Perfect.

The hallway to the twins' chambers seemed to telescope into something long and arduous. Perceptor kept his calm by slowly reciting the earth's periodic table of elements in his database. Hydrogen, atomic number 1, weight 1.00794. Helium, atomic number 2, weight 4.002602. Lithium, atomic number 3, weight 6.941. He was up to Sodium, number 11, weight 22.989770, when he knocked on the twin's chamber door.

Sunstreaker appeared on the other side, a contemptuous smile emerging, one that made Perceptor very uncomfortable.

"What?" he demanded with hostility.

"I need Sideswipe." That didn't sound right. Perceptor kept his composure. "Is he available for discussion?" Magnesium, number 12, weight 24.3050.

"Oh, yeah… Hey, Siders. The geek wants you. Bad. Right?" Sunny looked back at his guest with a nasty leer.

"I beg your pardon?" Now the scientist was off guard. Had Sunstreaker figured out his attraction already? Perceptor's processor reeled as he told himself to remain calm. Aluminum, number 13, weight 26.981538. Silicon, number 14, weight 28.0855.

Sideswipe shoved his brother aside, grin slightly embarrassed. "What's up, Perceptor?"

Phosphorus, number 15, weight 30.973761.

"We have developed a new blaster to combat Megatron's revised ion cannon," he explained, handing it to the waiting black hands. Both nodded, having experience this kind of consumer product testing before.

"No, wait, the barrel's too loose." Sideswipe handed it back to Perceptor, who backed away instead of accepting it.

"We must have utilized the wrong barrel type," the scientist recited, recalling his concocted script. Sulphur, number 16, weight...oh...he knew this..."What is the classification number?"

Sideswipe took a step closer, checking the engraving on the handle. "52678, LTPA." Again he made a move to return it, to which Perceptor responded by beginning to walk away, calling that it was the right barrel, but maybe a 52679 would be more suitable, and if Sideswipe would like to accompany him, he could try one out there. 32.065, that was the weight. Chlorine, number 17, weight 35.453. Sideswipe, who was used to being delivered his accessories, watched Perceptor walk away, pause, turn back and ask if he were coming, and resume his walk. Sunstreaker, amused, hissed for Sideswipe to go ahead, maybe he'd get something useful in the closet.

The walk was long. Sideswipe did not walk next to him, either, making it more awkward. Perceptor was afraid he was walking alone, so he did not say anything to him. That and he was too nervous to do anything but continue the periodic table, as well as the plan.

They would get far enough into the closet that all Perceptor would have to do was pretend to reach over for the barrel behind Sideswipe and-oops!-wrap an appendage around him. Then he would DO this. Another part of him analyzed the physical activity that riled his body as he tried to imagine what Sideswipe would be like in his arms. Another part feared a negative reaction. Tin, number 50, weight 118.710.

He walked in and turned to the left, hearing footsteps behind him, followed by the door closing them inside. For a moment it was dark, airless. Perceptor wildly groped around and found the light, turning it on to see that he was face-to-face with the Lamborghini.

He was incredibly handsome. Some said his brother was perfect, but Sideswipe was so much more approachable, so much more...real. His face had expression, his shoulders nobility, his arms power. His chestplate bore a scowling Autobot symbol that seemed out-of-place with the playfulness his own face displayed when he walked, or when he ran and his lips curled in determination, like a charging rhinoceros. Sunstreaker scowled while Sideswipe smiled, making a bright spot in their yin/yang pairing. 'I have to do this now,' Perceptor thought to himself. Antimony, number 51, weight 121.760. The gun handles were behind the red and black mech. 'Just reach over and do it.' Tellurium, number 52, weight 127.60.

Sideswipe, his almost-black eyes glowing with a sweet amusement, held up the blaster like a rare gift, beatific smile perfect. Perceptor's energy pump stopped beating. "So where is it?"

Suddenly the microscope lost his nerve. He couldn't do it. He wasn't that kind of Autobot, and never would be, no matter how much he wanted to change to spend time with this mech. Fear overtook him as he quickly reached around Sideswipe and handed him the piece, hurrying past him to go outside while cursing his cowardice. It was not meant to occur.

"Perceptor?" The voice was still amazing to his audios. He sounded as though any minute he would crack up laughing. That made sense, considering what a joke it was to think someone as amazing as Sideswipe would even respond to someone like him...

Trying to mask the disappointment he had for himself, Perceptor turned back and kept his countenance professional. "Yes?"

"What are you doing tonight?"

That was a strange question. "I will be in the repair bay, naturally," he explained. "Unless there is another battle." Why did he want to know that?

Another smile, this one wide, warm, and lacking any pretense. It fanned Perceptor's spark significantly. "Do you want to come over and hang out?"

In a fog of confusion nothing was processing. Hang out? "What is that?"

Now he laughed out loud. "Sit around. Talk. Watch movies."

Perceptor recalled what the phrase meant, feeling foolish for not being able to remember the definition faster. Be in a room and be awkward with this perfect specimen of a mech for an undetermined amount of time...the idea filled him with terror. He took a step back.

"That seems isolating."

"We could double date," Sideswipe offered hopefully.

A double date with Sideswipe, his evil twin, and an unknown party; where if he didn't go he'd miss the entertainment opportunity of a lifetime, not to mention building rapport with Sideswipe. Perceptor decided to accept the invitation, if not for sociological reasons, then for the sheer amusement it would bring. "Certainly," the scientist replied, moving quickly for his escape so no one would see his wide smile.

"Are you crazy?" demanded Sunstreaker, throwing his arms in the air in exasperation. It would have been more convincing if he weren't facing the mirror as he did it. "You want me to risk my reputation-OUR reputation-by going on a double date with the second most boring mech on the planet?"

Sideswipe wanted to point out that the first, Ultra Magnus, was on Cybertron, but that was irrelevant. "Help me out," he begged. "I'll find someone for you to talk to. Somebody fun. Please?"

Sunstreaker sighed in defeat. The 'P' word was not used often, keeping its potency alive. "They'd better be hot."

Hot or not, the two were late. Sideswipe kept his energy level calm, mindful of all of the actions he'd taken this evening to keep it interesting, and how the whole stack of cards would fall if ANYONE was later than they already were and their dates wasted another minute getting here-

"Hello!" called a mellifluous voice in the hallway.

Sunstreaker turned away from the mirror to glare at his brother. "Tracks? You got me Tracks?"

Sideswipe shrugged, opening the door for their arch-rival Autobot. "Talk about polish." He didn't get the joke. "Seriously, bro, he was the only one who would do it, and that was because I blackmailed him." Tracks should learn to watch his back when he was doing something wrong. The blue Corvette swept in regally, a slightly sheepish Perceptor following close behind. "Sorry we're late. Someone, and I'm not saying who, almost lost track of time working in his rebuilt laboratory." Tracks grinned, handing Sunstreaker a new bottle of Turtlewax. "I assumed you had no interest in flowers."

Sideswipe covered his mouth as Sunstreaker stared incredulously at the product, unsure how to react to this. He didn't have to; Tracks was already asking Sideswipe what they were doing tonight, since he'd just been through the wash and was DYING to show off his new bodywork.

"I'm not going ANYWHERE in public with either of you two," Sunny snarled as he threw the wax into his cupboard. "I'd never get laid again!"

Tracks' grin never wavered. "Excellent! I win either way! What is the night's entertainment, Siders-may I call you Siders?"

"No." Sideswipe checked his internal chronometer as he exchanged a secret smile with Perceptor, who hadn't abandoned the doorway. "You can come in," he called softly.

"Yeah, he took his missile launcher off." Sunstreaker was NOT going to let this be easy.

"Don't listen to him," Sideswipe snorted, grabbing Perceptor's hand and dragging him farther away from the only escape route. He lowered his voice. "He's in a bad mood 'cause he realized I'm the better looking guy."

"You may have the looks, but I have the brains," Sunny replied, playfully shoving his brother and scaring Perceptor enough to make him retreat over to where Tracks stood.

"Primus help us if that's true," Tracks interjected.

Perceptor smiled quietly, no quip provided. He had run out of earth elements, Cybertronian elements, and any other elements he could think of to calm down, now he was just nervous. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker exchanged glances as someone pounded on their door.

"The entertainment's here!" exclaimed Sideswipe, motioning for all of them to follow him.

He had worked himself and Rumble to a frenzy (no pun intended), but the results left the Decepticon leader unimpressed. Megatron tried the gun outside on a passing human airplane, nodded approval at its explosion, and dismissed his Air Commander once they were back inside.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Starscream prodded.

"No." Megatron didn't have to hide his sadistic bend on making Starscream miserable, but it added to the effect when he did.

"Megatron! I am your most valuable asset! How can you justify making SOUNDWAVE your Second-in-Command?" He didn't want to sound like a whiny child but it came out that way, to the Seeker's dismay. Maybe it was a defense mechanism in that making the complaint sound petulant would keep Megatron from knowing what really hurt Starscream's feelings.

"Recall," the silver mech snarled from his throne, "How during our last battle with the Autobots, which was against your wishes, you proclaimed that should anything happen to me you wanted my head for a souvenir."

"You heard that?" The blue arms wavered from the exasperated pose they had dramatically held.

"I hear everything you say to me." It was a lie. Starscream was easy to read and his fellow minions were tattletales.

"I-I-I-"

"Cease your sniveling! When you can prove to me your loyalty I MIGHT restore your position!" Megatron waved his dismissal, which was Scrapper's cue to come in and state they needed a controller for their energon collector.

Starscream was more than willing; he was insistent. Like shooting Autobots stuck in the mud. Everyone's mentality should be this malleable.

Prowl motioned for the brothers to come out into the hall. Seeing an elephant and a llama in their room were the only other things that would surprise him more than Tracks and Perceptor's accompaniment. Luckily, Prowl was good at suppressing his reactions.

'So they finally ran out of mechs to harass,' he wryly concluded. Sunstreaker wouldn't look at him.

"When I ordered you to find out who was stealing my office supplies, I assumed you were going to ask Red Alert to install a security camera. NOT," here he gestured to the other Autobots who glowered en masse, "coat everything I own with Superglue."

Sunstreaker's face deepened into a scowl. He knew what was coming. As he searched the crowd, his processor raced. Jazz, sheepishly grinning, held up the telephone receiver stuck to his hand. Warpath had a stapler. Grimlock shook his body, trying to dislodge the chair attached to rear end, to no avail. Optimus Prime had half a datapad; Prowl the other. Powerglide held his hand up to reveal the stack of pens adhered to his arm. A thinly restrained chuckle came from the red twin.

Shooting Sideswipe a 'you owe me' glare, Sunstreaker put a vise grip on Tracks' arm and broke into a run. Grimlock, Powerglide, Warpath, and the now-detected Mirage (waving a printer cartridge in their direction) followed suit as Prowl turned back to the responsible party. Perceptor stepped in front of the red Lamborghini and smoothly volunteered to find an antidote.

Optimus Prime nodded at Prowl's questioning expression. "You have one hour."

It was unknown as to when Megatron acquired the talent to read Starscream's thoughts.

All the Seeker knew was at the most inopportune times his commanding officer could glower him for unuttered resentment and Starscream knew EXACTLY what had happened. When he asked other Decepticons about it, they all shrugged and admitted that yes, he had heard their inner processing from time to time, but it was not a big deal. Megatron owned them.

The day Starscream had demanded to operate the new energon collector Rumble confessed how this phenomena had occurred: Soundwave had implanted cookies into their processors after an energetic victory celebration knocked most of them out cold. Megatron had no control over which cookie his processor had access to at what time, but when the planets were aligned the right way-POW! Starscream got into trouble.

"You were the first one to notice," Rumble commented, shrugging.

"Those petro-rabbits wouldn't know they'd been manipulated if Megatron told him himself!" Starscream howled, jabbing a fist in the air. "Rumble! Get my tools! I'll remove this cookie in an earth hour!"

Megatron was right; Starscream was great entertainment.

They crouched in a corner of the supply closet in section 6-B in the dark, waiting for anyone to be foolish enough to try to break through the locked door and get them. Grimlock's heavy tread, accompanied by the skidding of the chair glued to his behind, occasionally passed by to remind them that they couldn't lock themselves in there forever. Powerglide went to find someone with a key and a hearty dislike for Sunstreaker. Luckily, Prowl was busy.

"You had nothing to do with this. So why are you taking the credit?"

Tracks wasn't within reaching distance, to which Sunstreaker was sorry. Instead he snarled back a response that supported his brother's attempt to get to know Perceptor in a more comfortable environment than what a scary yellow mech and a pompous blue idiot could offer.

"What a relief! Here I assumed this was a ploy to get me into a closet and seduce me!"

Sunstreaker found an unseen object and hurled it towards the direction of the voice, where it knocked against something with a loud clunk. He was unsure if it hit the intended mech, but it shut him up nicely, until he cursed Sideswipe for doing this to them. Sunstreaker didn't miss that time; he tackled the source of the irritation himself.

CRASH!

Tracks fought back, but not before Sunny bent one of his wings into a nasty ninety-degree angle. They called a truce when Grimlock announced that Jazz would be there soon with a key. He was looking forward to cornering them like the prey they were.

"Don't," was Sunstreaker's only warning into the mech's audios before pointedly slamming Tracks' headhood onto the floor and returning to his original spot. He heard the Corvette re-arrange himself, growling in that Thurston Howell voice of his that this day couldn't get any worse.

"It could. You could be stuck in a closet with Tracks." The reason the blue mech had agreed to be Sunstreaker's date was still a mystery. "So why did you come over?"

He heard the low chuckle, one he gave when he thought he knew something better than his audience. "Sideswipe caught me in a rather embarrassing moment."

"What happened?"

"Nothing."

"We've got time. Talk."

"I would prefer not."

"I can hear it from him or from you. Which one do you think will make you look better?" Sideswipe was bored sitting here, and if he had to wait for Perceptor to save them he might as well get in a bit of entertainment before Grimlock burst through the closet door and made Tracks' day worse.

"It's nothing I'm particularly proud of." The voice was getting softer, more hesitant.

"Tracks. The left one's jealous." The Corvette's unmarred wing remained in jeopardy as long as he refused to elucidate. Sunstreaker heard a long, drawn-out sigh.

"Hypothetical situation...no, wait. Did you know I had brothers?"

"I've heard of Spokes." Most Autobots did not discuss their pasts, but Tracks' bondmates/fellow triplets had been legendary. Mags was not mentioned, until now. After a pointless story with no real end Sunstreaker reminded him of the particular in the monologue he really cared about. Tracks sighed again.

"I lost my brothers due to an unmitigated Decepticon attack."

"Okay..."

"After wandering the planet I came across a small faction that accepted me, gave me sustenance. There I...I met...someone."

"Okay..." Sunstreaker prayed this wasn't another meandering anecdote.

"I left him on uncertain terms. He was uncertain if he wanted me around, I was uncertain if he was alive. I came here angry with him, but guilty for being upset."

"And..." these dramatic pauses were interminable!

"Think for a moment. Who is your best friend?"

"Siders."

"Besides him. If Sideswipe died tomorrow-" Tracks dodged another projectile. "-something that could happen, you know - and if he were gone, who would you turn to?"

This was not an enticing issue. It was bad enough that particular thought kept him awake at night in fear; he didn't need Tracks' functioning reminder.

"Nobody," he said sulkily. "Thanks for bringing that up."

"If you did, and they sent you away to a place where everyone hated you, where you were miserable, would you forgive him?"

"I don't know! Get to the part where Sideswipe blackmailed you!"

"Think about this: You think you hate him until the moment you hear his voice. How would you react?"

"Can you tell a story at all? It was a one-sentence answer! Anything! You were stealing office supplies! You were killing puppies! Starscream was in your chambers! Primus!" Sunstreaker stood up and walked over to the closet door. "I'd rather deal with Grimlock than your stupid hypothetical situations. Forget it, I'll ask Siders."

Grimlock was easy to placate: all Sunstreaker had to do was give him a push and he rolled down the hall on the chair's wheels.

"Sideswipe! Are you done yet? There's a cube of high-grade with my name on it at home!"

The antidote was more difficult to concoct than originally surmised, thanks to the pleasant company distracting him.

Sideswipe didn't do much except pull up a stool and watch, but somehow everything he said was as animated as the rest of him. Perceptor just wanted to gaze at him instead.

"So what do you do after you put in the dissolvent?" he asked, as though this were more entertaining than the prank he'd engineered to create the problem.

"We test it on a part of the object with glue," Perceptor replied, transforming into microscope form. "Observe how the structure causes the compound to lose its bonds and become less adhesive."

He was looking through the lens intently, whistling in amazement. Perceptor felt something twinge. Sideswipe claimed he couldn't get a clear view of it and lightly placed his fingers on the knobs to fine-tune his view.

Fear, like the hand of Megatron, gripped Perceptor at this touch. His processor shrieked for Sideswipe to get away. Trying to remain calm, the scientist dismissed his impulses as puerile and transformed back to robot mode, smile hurting his face.

"We still have forty-five minutes," Sideswipe intoned. His body was still too close.

"Forty-seven," Perceptor habitually corrected, backing away. "Perhaps we might be able to grant Tracks and Sunstreaker amnesty-"

"Or perhaps not. Perhaps we should go somewhere else and perhaps you could tell me more about chemistry." Even with a mocking tone the offer sounded arousing.

'This is what you wanted. Take it!' "Perhaps," he replied, showing he had some humor.

"What's over there?" he asked, heading towards an adjacent door where a recharge plate could be seen. Perceptor had forgotten to close it again.

"I...my...um..." he hurried after his date to block the way, protesting that the room was a mess.

"Looks pretty clean to me." His voice had gone down to that lower bassoon timbre, making the listener slightly shaky.

Perceptor lamely gestured to the door on the other side of the laboratory, the one that lead to the hallway where Sunstreaker and Tracks no doubt awaited them, hand quivering slightly as Sideswipe took it.

"We've got time. So what are you worried about?" he asked softly, putting Perceptor's fingertips to work tracing the Autobot symbol on the Lamborghini's chestplate as he pushed him further towards the open chamber doorway.

'You! Me! Everthing!' "That Starscream is a better kisser."

That was the icebreaker Sideswipe had been waiting for. He threw his head back and cracked up, not relinquishing Perceptor's hand as he walked around the slightly taller mech, guiding him along. The joke eased the tension enough to make his leading the scientist into the back room more of a footnote than the whole dissertation. They were inside in no time. Sideswipe faced him as he closed the door to seal out the rest of the ark.

"Who told you that?" he impishly asked.

"Bluestreak."

"I see. What else have people been saying?"

"Well, those I asked-" Perceptor looked down, embarrassed to admit that he'd been "fact" collecting.

"It's okay. You're a scientist. I knew you'd do that."

"Really?"

Not really. Sideswipe was a good enough thinker on his feet to know what the mech wanted to hear. "Sure. It's part of your programming." He was rewarded with a grateful smile, a relaxed posture, and all of the information he needed to hear for a fine day of retaliation tomorrow as he maneuvered the mech over to his recharge plate.

"Mirage told me you like to be on top."

"Lies!" Mirage is going have a hard time staying visible once Sideswipe painted him pink. They had to stop walking; Perceptor's legs were at the edge of his recharge plate.

"Tracks says you worship your appearance more than he does."

"I really hope you didn't believe that." Sideswipe really hoped Tracks enjoyed hearing Prowl yell at him tomorrow for eavesdropping on a classified transmission with Cybertron the higher-ups had last night.

Perceptor stared at his hands, even as Sideswipe reached for the other one. "Skyfire...well, Skyfire, he, ah-"

"-told you that we hurt him."

The scientist nodded bashfully.

"And if Skyfire told you the alternate hypothesis had a higher correlation than the null hypothesis even when it was clear the dependant variable had a higher correlation coefficient, would you believe him?"

Perceptor's jaw dropped and he gracelessly dropped onto the recharge plate in shock. Sideswipe tried to hide his jubilation. He mentally thanked Wheeljack as he leaned over the seated scientist.

"I have a lot of hidden talents, Perceptor. All you have to do is sit back-" he gently pushed the other mech away to force him to lean against where two walls joined. Their optics met, causing the scientist to sit upright in anxiety. "-and let me help." Without warning, Sideswipe rotated so that his back touched the scientist's chest while he sat on the plate. "Here." He settled into the mech's arms and placed his hands on his, creating a melding of black and charcoal gray as fingers interlaced. Their feet rested on the floor. Sideswipe leaned his helmet against the blue and red chest. He could near the inner workings of Perceptor's system racing.

"Turn your optics off."

"Why?"

This was more work than it should be. He tried to keep his voice light and sweet to prevent any more panic. "Trust me. I'm not going to hurt you."

After some deliberation he responded. "Indeed. They are off."

Thank Primus for small favors. "Tell me the coolest thing you've ever done."

Perceptor considered this. "I created a random chain of explosives proficient enough to allow Sky Lynx escape from Cybertron to bring us here."

"Really?" As the scientist told the tale of intellectual triumph Sideswipe proved that he was trustworthy. This had worked long ago for Sunstreaker with Bluestreak, it worked for Sideswipe today: put an uneasy individual into an intimate setting and give them power over the situation by being in their arms, put your hands where they can see 'em, and get them talking about themselves. Sideswipe felt Perceptor ease up enough to unfreeze and loosen his body to the point of leaning back against the wall. Sideswipe debated making any sudden moves when he felt a hand loosen from their entanglement and gradually drift down to rest on Sideswipe's thigh. It jerked back into its previous place. False alarm.

"Sideswipe?" Sunstreaker was in the main laboratory dodging a seated Grimlock trying to kick him.

Sideswipe sighed as he felt Perceptor hastily scramble out of their cuddling to free the Dinobot.

"Be right there, bro!"

It wasn't until they were sitting on the couch in their chambers drinking energon that Sunstreaker remembered to ask what Tracks had done to get himself in trouble with Sideswipe. His brother told him.

"He was crying."

The yellow mech put his beverage down in shock. "You lie."

"I'm not. He was leaning against the wall, listening to Prime's conference with Ultra Magnus, bawling his optics out like a minibot."

Sunstreaker shook his head, still not believing. "Didn't Prime hear it?"

"Nah. The static was so bad you could only hear bits and pieces of it. Ultra Magnus was barely intelligible."

"Intelligible. I slaggin' knew it. You hang out with a geek for one night and you're already using big words."

"Goes with the territory."

"Like not getting to first base." Sunstreaker stood up to stagger over to his side of the room. They had another meeting tomorrow morning, this one earlier than the last one.

"Only a matter of time, bro," Sideswipe replied confidently, turning off the light.

Starscream couldn't sleep. All he could think of was how Megatron was monitoring his thoughts. He hadn't been able to find the blasted cookie. Rumble laughed at him the whole time. Disjointed, angry, barely lucid thoughts drifted in and out of his processor like slowed-down electrons, touching his conscious thoughts and rambling away again.

He could feel Megatron hovering over him, a silver cloud with red optics warm and cold at the same time. His mouth was not visible but the condescending tone reverberated.

"You are mine."

"No!" Starscream groaned. "I will supercede you! I will be the new Decepticon leader!"

"Your meager resources could not lead antdroids to a picnic! You will go nowhere until you give yourself to me completely." A black hand reached over and gripped his throat. "Surrender!"

Starscream's hands pulled at Megatron's desperately. Surrender meant death. "Never!"

The hand slackened in disgust. "Without me, you are nothing. Until you realize that I will have to take you by other methods." The cloud smeared until it became the lights that turned on at 6 am, leaving a terrified Starscream online and afraid to leave his chambers.

Megatron smiled from his position watching Starscream slowly sneak into the hallway. He almost laughed at how high the Seeker jumped when his name was called.

"I have new assignment for you."

"Yes, mighty leader." Starscream appeared to be on another planet, rubbing his optics instead of following protocol and kneeling as was custom.

"Lead Dirge, Ramjet, and Thrust to the spacebridge for energon transportation and await my orders."

Starscream nodded, appearing to have heard none of it.

"Perceptor!"

Sideswipe was addressing him in public. The studious mech smiled, wryly aware of the incredulous expressions from his fellow laboratory workers as an eager red warrior jumped into his line of vision to recount the latest rash of pranks going on in the ark.

"A bunch of guys woke up painted pink this morning."

"Amazing!" They continued their walk to a special meeting called for a select group of Autobots. "What warranted this malicious feat of hooliganism?"

"Wha?" Sideswipe asked, exposing his perspicacity, or lack thereof. His grin seemed to belie intelligence.

Skyfire, glowering over all of them, explained that Perceptor wanted to know what jerk painted Bluestreak, Mirage, Tracks, Jazz, and himself a festive shade of dusty rose last night. The red mech smiled innocently.

"I wonder who," he chirped. "I was with Sunny and Perceptor all last night."

"You were?" Skyfire asked after a VERY long pause.

"Of course," Perceptor interjected, trying to sound convincing as Sideswipe shook next to him. "We were removing the Superglue from Prowl's office and to expedite the operation I employed two assistants."

"What he said," Sideswipe often had to pretend his vocabulary was only limited by how many polysyllabic words he could listen to before getting bored. He liked listening to Perceptor talk. He had a velvety voice and a perfect word for everything, like he was painting a picture with every color in the Universe. He placed a hand on Perceptor's free shoulder and murmured something Skyfire couldn't pick up but had the microscope nervously nodding. This deepened the white jet's scowl.

If Sideswipe wanted to play that way, so be it. Skyfire would have the last laugh when Perceptor dumped him flat.

"We have a special concern," Optimus Prime intoned. "Megatron has a new personal weapon that must be countered with one even more powerful. More urgent an issue than this arms race is the lack of skilled Autobots trained to use it."

"None of 'em can hit the broad sahde of a barn," Ironhide inserted enthusiastically. Prime stopped to give his Third-in-Command a measured look.

"Affirmative. Therefore, we've decided to put together a series of classes to better acquaint the Autobot forces with weapons other than those to which they are accustomed."

"And so they kin learn t' shoot." Ironhide got another stare for this intrusion.

Sunstreaker, the designated communicator, leaned forward, suspicious. "What do you need us for? The targets?"

"The teachers," Prime replied. He SOUNDED serious. Both twins shifted incredulously in their chairs, not bothering to stifle the laugh.

"We don't know how to teach!" Sunstreaker whooped, whapping Sideswipe on the shoulder as they enjoyed the joke.

Optimus Prime, with the comfort of a facemask, kept his tone patient. "We have seen you work with others and have decided differently. This is an opportunity to make the Autobot army stronger." As reality hit them both looked less amused and more disbelieving.

Ironhide reassured them that they would not be doing it alone; there was actually a faculty: for instance, Bluestreak focused on long-range skills, Skyfire, Swoop, and Powerglide would instruct the best defense for aerial assault, Brawn was doing hand-to-hand combat, the rest of the Dinobots made excellent tackling dummies-

"What would we do?"

Optimus Prime and Ironhide exchanged glances. "Close-range blaster techniques."

"The broad side of a BARN," Jazz chimed in emphatically. This time Optimus did not glare.

Sideswipe hated the idea immediately. He didn't want to teach, he didn't want to mold any minds, and he ESPECIALLY didn't want to be held responsible when the trigger-happy minibots proved that they couldn't hit an injured Starscream in the face with a bazooka. Sunstreaker frowned deeply.

"What if we refuse?" he asked.

"You can do that," Prime craftily responded. "Your alternative is to enroll as students like everyone else."

Sideswipe protested for them. "We ACED the Cybertron Academy! Why should we have to go to a third-rate day camp?"

This earned chuckles from a few. Ironhide glared, offended that all of his hard work and coercion was going down the drain by a flippant remark. "Because if ya don't, then someone'll hafta tell Prahme about the Skyfar incident." When Ironhide got annoyed, his accent thickened.

"The what?" Optimus asked as both stood up and shouted "We'll do it!"

Ironhide did not hide his smugness. "We'll stahrt next week. Turn in yer curric'la and measur'ble objectives to Perceptor in fahve earth days."

Dirge dropped the last cube into Starscream's cargo hold just the right way, causing a chain reaction that nearly blew them both in two, until the Air Commander tipped over and spilled the rest of the cubes out before they almost destroyed him.

"You. Idiot!" Thrust yelled, too halting in his delivery to convince anyone but a panicked Starscream. "You were supposed to-to do that from the air!"

"Do what?" the "Third"-in-Command shrieked, an echo of Rumble's warning thundering in his processor.

"Nothing," Ramjet babbled. "Nothing at all. We don't know what you're talking about. It's not like Megatron TOLD us to try to kill you." It was true. His exact words were 'see what transpires.'

"You're injured. Let me take a look," Dirge offered, being the best thespian of the three.

"GET AWAY FROM ME!" the Seeker howled, the second part of a small tape's prophesy unfurling like a flag in the wind. If he allowed them to touch him, they would have him bleed energon to death and steal his processor for experimentation. With difficulty Starscream flew home to Megatron's wrath, not registering that perhaps the Coneheads were laughing at something different from what he thought they were.

Optimus Prime went over more details with his planning committee once the twins were dismissed. As soon as the room was almost empty he mentioned the threat.

"I already know about 'The Skyfire Incident,' Ironhide."

"Yeah. But they don't know ya know."

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe ran outside to get away from the urge to laugh themselves sick.

"This is a joke!" Sunstreaker exclaimed, tripping over a cactus and barely regaining his balance. "Nobody will take us seriously! We're slagged!"

Sideswipe shoved his brother's head down to complete the fall, both transforming to gain speed. "We'll do it the same way we do everything: wing it."

"I'll wing it. You convince Perceptor we're doing a good job." Implied were many things, mostly snide commentary. The highway called invitingly.

"Easy. So am I the good cop or the bad cop?"

Sunstreaker waved it off as unimportant by tearing ahead. "Whatever."

"Stop!"

Barely getting into what they were doing and Perceptor was already calling it off. Sideswipe had been nowhere near doing anything remotely invasive, merely touching the exostructure (not even close to circuitry). Still, to prove he was a nice guy, the Lamborghini halted his advances when his partner said so, no matter how tempted he was to ignore the command and continue.

Perceptor admitted his innocence to Sideswipe quickly, a move that would have cost him anywhere else but thanks to Autobot gossip granting foreknowledge Sideswipe handled it beautifully, confessing that Perceptor's history was not important to him as being with him, as long as he was comfortable with Sideswipe, tying it up with a pretty ribbon by promising to be honorable and trustworthy at every turn.

As it had been every time they got together, he pulled away and they went back to talking. Slowly, slowly, Sideswipe had been making headway, the only reassurance he had being that sooner or later this mech would be his, an unspoiled energon reserve just begging to be consumed with a thirst only Sideswipe could provide. No matter how slow the process, the red warrior could wait for something that rare.

Rumble had bumped it, Megatron set it up, and Soundwave moved in for the spike by informing Starscream that the order for processor upgrades had to be completed before the end of the week. These upgrades were not vital, but useful as technology evolved. Each Decepticon had them rarely enough that the coincidence of Rumble's information made it suspect. Starscream ran out of the room, yelling that he was not that easily fooled.

Soundwave would have grinned if he could.

Sunstreaker had four people over when Sideswipe returned home a few hours later, smiling stiffly. Sunny said nothing, leaning back on the couch as Hound and Jazz continued their argument over who was getting their aft beat on "Super Mario 3." Blaster greeted him with a hoot.

"Date number five. Did you get past cuddling?"

Sunstreaker answered for him. "You know they didn't."

Sideswipe continued to walk to his side of the room, where he added to his collection of dents on the wall by pounding until the impression was an imperfect dimple, adding to the giant golf ball effect his partition had accumulated. He stormed out the room to readjust the other side (a storage closet), growl racing out of his vocalizer before he slammed the door.

"At least tomorrow we start shooting."

The sun was already blazing down onto the Autobots as the curious crowd mulled around. They had been put into a weekly rotation, each one of them taking different classes once day, thus leaving the twins six different opportunities that week to 'wing it.' Sometime while their first class sat on the ground socializing Perceptor approached Sideswipe to inform him he hadn't received their curricula and measurable objectives.

"I guess you'll have to come over and hammer something out with me," Sideswipe replied, noticing his double entendre fell on uncomprehending audios and elicited a disgusted grimace from Sunny, who had not moved from his moping spot.

"Certainly." Perceptor, distracted, continued typing on a datapad.

"Uh, okay." The red mech decided to get the class started by calling everyone to come forward and get a blaster from the pile at his feet, but to make sure they got a kind they were not used to having. He handed Perceptor one that had been snatched out of the heap before the rush, informing him that the best way to gauge them was to participate. Uneasy, but warmed by the encouraging grin, the scientist smiled his thanks. Once the momentum began the miasma was difficult to calm down until Sunstreaker stomped out from his shady rock, heading towards the stuffed dummies Ironhide had ordered the minibots to set up earlier.

"Siders, get ready," he snarled in passing. Never something an Autobot wanted to hear. Sunstreaker looked over his congregation like a pastor about to elicit damnation and hellfire. A silence settled around as they gaped to see Sunstreaker, the homicidal maniac, fly about the dusty target zone in an unprovoked rage.

"You call yourselves AUTOBOTS! Who has to LEARN how to shoot after all these vorns? Did your creators forget to remove the plastic wrap from your processors before they installed them?"

"I should've been the bad cop," Sideswipe muttered, afraid.

"These targets are a joke!" Sunstreaker snarled, kicking the mannequins down as Bumblebee gasped. He stormed back to the awed crowd and grabbed his brother's gun as it dawned on his twin what exactly the yellow mech had in mind. "Do you think the Decepticons are going to stand still while you aim! Get real! Decepticons MOVE! Sideswipe! Are you ready for a demonstration?"

So he had been thinking in that direction. Sideswipe looked at his brother, annoyed. "Are you serious?"

The mech cocked the weapon at him with a click. "Get moving."

Sideswipe crouched down and bolted for cover, contemplating what to do to avoid death as he wove around the cacti. "Notice how he's not running away as much as he's planning his next move."

"Keep tellin' yourself that," sneered Cliffjumper.

"Can we shoot at him, too?" Bumblebee asked hopefully.

"Shut up, I'm teaching." Sideswipe lunged behind a rock closer to his brother as Sunstreaker continued talking. "Decepticons are cowards when they're outnumbered, but if you're wounded and alone, here's a tip: they'll take a lot longer to get to you if you can shoot them before they're close enough." To demonstrate Sunstreaker shot part of Sideswipe's cover into pebbles.

"Watch it! That thing's loaded!" Sideswipe protested indignantly, ducking another shot by hiding behind the clump of minibots. Sunstreaker smirked.

"Classic Starscream move right there. Living shields."

"Hey!" Sideswipe's head popped up only to go back down as minibots scattered. He took the hint and sprinted back to the ark before his brother called him back.

"Don't EVER shoot a Decepticon when they retreat. Prime'll give you some slag about it being dishonorable, but that's not it. They're at an advantage being in the air, and keeping up the battle will give them ideas they're too stupid to think of right now. As of last week, they still don't shoot as they leave. For the love of Primus, LET THEM GO."

"That," Sideswipe reminded from behind his brother as he yanked the blaster out of his hand. "And if you piss one off enough you'll be the first one he looks for next time." For added emphasis he flipped Sunstreaker onto the ground.

"Watch the paint!"

"Now, I know Brawn's telling you HOW and WHAT to hit." He looked at his class, who were enthralled with the pageantry around them. "We're here to show you WHY and WHERE."

"Line up and we'll see what you can do," Sunstreaker ordered from the ground.

"Sideswipe?"

He didn't want to hear it. When Perceptor took that tone it meant only one thing.

"Yeah?"

"Cease your endeavors."

It took all of his inner strength to keep from throwing the fist his hand had curled into at the scientist. Good thing the lights were off.

"Sure." He rolled onto his side but didn't cease momentum until he was sitting upright and getting away from Perceptor as fast as he could before violence ensued. "It's getting late, anyway."

"You may leave the light off. Good-night."

"See you tomorrow."

This time he smashed his fist through his chamber wall, waking up Sunny and Hound to expose his humiliation.

"It's not worth it," Hound reminded him.

"It will be." The old Autobot tale of the first time being the best had yet to be contested, and Sideswipe was eager to test its veracity. He would, too.

He was almost there.

A large portion of being a megalomaniac was waiting for the right moment to attack. Megatron had tarried for the best minute to lead his troops against the inexperienced peacetime Autobot fighters to cause the faction to collapse under his might. He had bided his time to allow the depletion of resources to give the enemy a disconcerted sense of urgency regarding their energon supply, forcing half of their viable warriors to flee Cybertron and crash-land on earth. He would wait an eternity to kill Optimus Prime. Because he could not manipulate time and space Megatron began to fill the time watching earth television.

When Cops was boring, Megatron watched Sunstreaker and Sideswipe sluggishly push their troops towards surprisingly unfathomable success. A combination of erratic techniques and correct instruction, as well as the bizarre behavior of both Lamborghinis kept classroom attendance high six times a week. The best moment was Sunstreaker's speech to his class on day twelve.

"Some of you are pretending that this is a shooting gallery!" he yelled at the lineup of Autobots. Sideswipe grimly sulked on the north side as his co-teacher paced. "It ISN'T! You need to get it through your thick helmets that this is WAR! Lucky for you, I saw 'Full Metal Jacket' last night." He paused in front of Hound and snorted with a pleasant memory. "Well, most of it. Okay, I was busy. So sue me. But I saw the cool part while Grumpy over there was gettin' cockblocked again."

"Fuck you," Sideswipe snarled, pose unchanging.

Megatron never had any idea what they were talking about (neither did their pupils, judging by the stymied expressions), but he loved watching the Autobots march in the dust chanting "This is my blaster, this is my gun. This is for fighting, this is for fun!" past a quizzical Optimus Prime.

It was disturbing to note that the Autobot aim had improved for close-range combat; how this had occurred the Decepticon leader was unsure, since neither twin taught any significant target shooting. Perhaps the sniper Bluestreak had a talent for instruction that carried over to the other classes.

"You summoned me, mighty Megatron?" Starscream interrupted sluggishly. He looked terrible. Nights of not recharging were taking their toll on his daily routine, thanks to the paranoia Rumble helped instill into him. As he dragged himself through his duties, stress levels phenomenal, the depleted jet had decomposed into a more docile and accommodating being. This was only the beginning of Starscream's mental harassment. Megatron could never resist a chance to rile his "Third"-in-Command.

"Your appearance is deplorable, Starscream. Perhaps late nights with your newest appliances are interfering with more productive activities."

"As you wish, my leader," droned the mech, unaware of what was really being said to him but too proud to admit exhaustion as an impediment. He saw the ruby eyes glow and found no reserves in his processor to allow him to make a clever remark.

"I cannot have Decepticons overworking themselves." Megatron tried not to laugh at his next sentence. "You are to retire to your chambers until Soundwave declares you fit for battle."

Starscream stood up straight. So Rumble had been right when he said that Soundwave wanted to kill him, and Megatron was going to find any excuse to imprison him so that the other could do the deed!

"That is unnecessary! I am fit for battle and you know it! I could lead the Decepticons to victory at this very moment!" he shrieked, null rays pointing at the screen where Buzzsaw's transmission showed.

The television broadcast Sunstreaker having the Autobots practice summersaults with their blasters. Inferno's headgear refused to allow him mobility, keeping him bent in half. Tracks was whining, to which Sunstreaker sarcastically asked him what was he going to do about it, cry? "I do not doubt that," Megatron retorted wryly.

"Then let there be no more discussion regarding my functioning abilities! When are the Constructicons going to complete the device?"

"In time, Starscream. Return to your laboratory and order Rumble to come here. Soundwave requires him." Perhaps Starscream could get some sleep if everyone left him alone. Until then, it was almost time for Unsolved Mysteries.

Tonight, Sideswipe was deliberately two hours late. He wanted his quarry to know what it was like to be frustrated, since nothing was worse than having to wait for personal satisfaction. As he walked into the laboratory he realized, AGAIN, that he had no idea what he was doing.

Skyfire was helping the red microscope perfect another experiment that needed fine-tuning, both scientists so immersed in their work that the Lamborghini's greeting was all but ignored. Perceptor acknowledged him after an impatient Sideswipe pilfered their slides, but told him that perhaps tonight wasn't a good night. He would talk to him tomorrow.

As the black and red mech tried to hide his aggravation behind a facade of casualness he heard Skyfire snort in delight. He would show him.

"I'm busy tomorrow. Prime's got me testing munitions with Hound for the rest of the week." If anything would make Perceptor jealous, it would be Sideswipe performing experiments without him. Experiments with explosives.

Perceptor sighed. A long, invidious sigh. "Will you transmit me the results?" he asked wistfully. He wanted to come along; even Skyfire saw that. Sideswipe hid the grin as he sauntered out.

"If I remember to, I don't know: I might be working too much. See ya next week."

He could hear the whispered conference as he waited. Four...Three...Two...

"Sideswipe?" Perceptor could hurry out to the hallway pretty fast from microscope mode. "I have to-wait a few hours for my results to finish procreating." His hopeful expression warmed a few things from where the warrior hadn't expected heat to emerge. "Would you like to tell me about tomorrow's assignment while I wait?" He held his hands out and Sideswipe eagerly took them, allowing himself to be pulled past a scowling Skyfire and into the back room.

Tonight the two took another step: gloriously vulnerable spots were pleasantly discovered; reveled. With all of the rapturous exertion a slight warm aura seeped out of Sideswipe, causing his recipient to pull away in fright. Although perturbed, the Lamborghini took it in stride, merely laying back and holding Perceptor while stroking the top of his helmet softly, telling him it was fine. Everything was fine. The scientist chuckled softly at some unknown joke as the lateness of the hour took its toll.

"I wish you could spend the whole night holding me," he drowsily whispered, barely knowing what he was saying.

Not yet. "I will. When we're ready."

One small step for a mech; one giant step for Sideswipe.

Gray skies occasionally came to the desert. Today the clouds surrounded the earth's source of light and gave everything an eerie, filtered feeling. Sunny sat in front of his favorite rock, high-grade energon in his hand, drunkenly brooding as Sideswipe approached, still sore from his latest brush-off from Perceptor in which he almost kissed him twice. It was the second-to-last week of shooting class, revivied after a week off.

"I don't want to be here," Sideswipe groused.

"Neer d'I." Sunstreaker swayed, optics blank. "Hound wen' backta Raji."

"Ouch." Sunstreaker did not show his more positive emotions but even Hound had to figure out that this mech liked him more than was good for him. Every time the Jeep and the race car broke up/fought/ignored the other, the yellow Lamborghini was there to keep Hound happy. Unable to entertain the idea that Sunny had purer motives, Hound assumed Sunstreaker considered it a union of convenience, making him guiltless when the Lamborghini's services were no longer needed. It made a very unsatisfied Sideswipe and an inebriated Sunstreaker wonder where the justice was.

"'Sokay." The muted light made his yellow a more depressed brass, darkening ever further under a thicker cloud as he tried to stand up. "Lemme teach."

"How about I try something and you watch out for Prowl and his spies?" Sideswipe suggested, easing the mech back down. Sunny slightly nodded, weakly leaning against the rock.

"Yeah."

Sideswipe groaned and turned to the congregation of Autobots who were too far away to hear their conversation but astute enough to see that Sunstreaker was not in the best of states. A minor whisper buzzed about while Sideswipe stepped forward and demanded to see how much they had retained since their last class.

"Line up and start shooting!"

His first victim was Bumblebee. "The whole time you've been here we've been telling you that you're aiming too low. I know you're short and all, but LOOK!" Sideswipe crouched down and grabbed the gun while the minibot let go. "Hold on to it. Since you are shorter, you need to use some basic trigonometry to figure out the angle to shoot." After mathematical prodding and physical guidance Bumblebee's adjusted shot hit its target better. "Now pretend it's Rumble! Where do you shoot?"

"Is he moving?"

"His back is turned because he's making an earthquake. Get him! Much better. Keep at it," he called, moving on to Cliffjumper, who was shooting the crotch out of the Ironhide dummy Sunstreaker had deviously placed out in the middle of the Decepticon mannequins.

"Are you kidding me?" Sideswipe demanded. "What are you going to get doing THAT?"

"Personal satisfaction," Cliffjumper replied. "It's easy to hit."

"If you do that on the field you'll have a pissed-off Thundercracker! This isn't pro wrestling! Shoot him in the chest! Get his energon pump!" Scowling, Cliffjumper moved to the larger but harder target to shoot properly.

"Armor, armor, armor-aim for the weak spot-armor, armor-are you even listening to me?-armor-"

"I can't do it when you're over my shoulder yelling like that!" the red minibot hollered.

"You won't be able to do it when Ravage has you pinned down and Blitzwing's coming over to finish you off, then, either." Sideswipe lent his physical guidance to show Cliffjumper he had a nasty habit of aiming off to the left. Once realigned the smaller bot hit the vital chest area fifty percent improved.

"Better!" Sideswipe remarked, moving on to the next pupil.

Tracks hit the target every time. To test him, Sideswipe gave him different guns, which seemed to present little challenge. Next Tracks was told a certain spot to shoot, followed by the same exercise but different dummies, concluded with his shooting at Sideswipe himself with a stun gun. Sunny staggered over to watch that. The other Autobots applauded, to Tracks's fake modesty.

Sideswipe lined them all up again and told the Corvette to take a break while he finished his evaluation.

Perceptor. Sideswipe silently observed the scientist taking careful aim of his subject, shooting quickly, and waiting for the smoke to clear before pointing the blaster again, which took up too much time. He eagerly awaited his teacher's praise for hitting the target two out of three shots, smiling sweetly.

Again, the fantasy of shoving him against the wall in Prowl's office chair flitted into his mind, immobilizing him long enough for Perceptor to ask him if he were all right. Before he could answer Sunstreaker announced that class was over (it wasn't) and that he and Sideswipe had just been called to an emergency meeting. The yellow mech must be sobering up if he could enunciate again.

The doomsday device sparkled beautifully in the sun. Megatron surveyed the Constructicons' structure with an appraising scan. Every part was in place, every possible aesthetic detail perfected. Starscream, shaking next to him like a quasar, demanded to know how he was supposed to operate a device without decent controls. Where did they get this equipment, the U.S. Army?

"Starscream, you have not been processing correctly since your first day of functioning. Hook has already briefed you. Hook!"

Tittering, the Constructicon revealed the rudimentary procedures that Starscream would have normally realized were a gimmick if it weren't for the total abandonment of his faculties to paranoid fatigue. He was so tired he could barely move as he pressed buttons to 'operate' the controls.

Megatron smiled to himself as he crept up behind his intended victim to squash him a little harder.

"Having pleasant moments offline?" Megatron hissed in the F-15's audios. For extra effect he traced his finger across a sensitive wingtip.

"Yes," Starscream lied in response, not making any sudden moves but quaking harder.

"That will change," replied his leader, smiling while he recalled the elaborate prank he'd played on Starscream last night involving a holographic machine and Megatron's greatest thespian performance since the Shawn Berger incident. The Seeker couldn't last much longer, and as soon as his mental barriers were down Megatron could enter his mind and take over, learning the secrets this irritation contained before Starscream's inevitable demise. How often this traitor had conceived ideas vastly superior to his leader's, as well as found the plot holes no other Decepticon could muster the courage to utter were far too innumerable for Megatron to count. He would posses the processor for his own use; capturing the genius inside of the insanity and disposing of the rest. As he slipped away out of the corner of his optic he saw his "Third"-in-Command waver, leaning on the doomsday device for a strength it would never provide. Soon.

Optimus Prime revealed that Sky Spy had seen a doomsday device being built by a nuclear reactor in Toledo, Ohio. It was necessary to plan a battle, and soon. Improvement in each class now had to be gauged so that Prowl could coordinate their strategy. That, and the students who had improved the most were promised first choice in new quarters, thanks to Hoist and Grapple's completion of an auxiliary wing of the ark.

"Who has developed into the most proficient student in your classes?" Optimus Prime asked.

In unison, without conferring with any data sources or each other, the two replied, "Tracks."

Optimus Prime's optics dimmed. "Who else?"

"Maybe Inferno," Sideswipe offered while Sunstreaker countered "Gears. Why?"

"Tracks is ineligible," came the scornful reply.

Still not completely sober yet, Sunstreaker stood up aggressively. "What's so bad about Tracks? Sure, we all hate 'em, but he's gone from being afraid he'll get a scratch to handling that black beam gun pretty well. He's living with GEARS for Primus' sake! Give him a home less like an Iaconian airfield."

The Autobot leader loathed repeating himself, letting Ironhide inform them that Tracks was an inappropriate subject for consideration and to name someone else. Sunstreaker glared, refusing to speak. Sideswipe followed suit.

"We need a name or we'll ask Perceptor t'give us one based on his own infermation."

"He'll tell you the same thing we just said," Sideswipe informed him.

"Y'all know whay," countered Ironhide superciliously.

"That has nothing to do with it!" Sideswipe protested hotly, wanting nothing more than to punch that sneering old Autobot's face in.

"No," Optimus intervened. "Perceptor's data is not influenced by outside sources. We'll look at that. Even so, Tracks is ineligible."

Sunstreaker offered no other opinions or information for the rest of the meeting. Sideswipe did the same, telling them in response to every question to contact Perceptor. They resented their opinion being disregarded just because Prime held a grudge against one of their own, especially at the risk of the twins' own judging capabilities. Sunstreaker decided not to take this lightly. If they wanted to show him up like that, well, there were ways to get back at Prime, even if he had to collude with those he normally avoided to do it.

The chromatids were not going to opposite poles in his forced Mitosis. As Perceptor zoomed in to get a closer look as to why they did not respond to radiation someone twisted his course adjustment knob.

"Sideswipe?" he guessed, transforming. "When did you get here?"

"You've said 'hi' to me twice already," the mech replied with a barely concealed irritation. "Are you done yet?"

"My apologies. I was observing the reaction of radiation during telephase-" He was silenced by the mech's scowl. "-but that is irrelevant." To his horror, he realized that his internal chronometer was NOT broken, it was 9:27pm and the movie had started at eight. Sideswipe had agreed to come over early so that they could get a decent parking spot. (That had been his joke.) "I am sorry."

Sideswipe shrugged, using a tone that did not sound sincere. "We'll see it some other time." It made Perceptor feel worse. His mind raced with alternatives and the most obvious one, he was certain, would elicit a most enthusiastic response.

"I am admissible to suggestions regarding a more viable utilization of our leisure time." The red mech paused from playing with a Bunsen burner to look up with a smile.

"Such as?" he asked, almost hopping off of the stool he sat on. Perceptor held him back.

"Remain in your current position for a moment." Perceptor had experienced enough of Sideswipe to whet his curiosity. Now would be a good time to exhibit a few new tricks.

He held the Lamborghini's head in his hands, foreheads touching. Right hand straying from the chin, Perceptor's fingers lightly grazed down the mech's neck, down to his chestplate, and back up to his lips. Sideswipe playfully nipped at the tips, optics pleading underneath the sparkle.

No, he couldn't, he wasn't ready. It had to be perfect.

Instead of doing what he'd planned, Perceptor moved up to kiss Sideswipe on the forehead while he pinched the points of his helmet horns and shook them slightly. He heard the Autobot groan (in frustration or pleasure, he wasn't sure) and felt his hands encapsulating the barrel on his shoulder.

"I have no feeling in that section of my structure," he warned, trembling slightly from the excited noise he'd just heard.

"Happens," Sideswipe muttered, fingers reaching for the back of Perceptor's neck where there was the smallest spot of helmet that flared beautifully when pressed just right. A few tries later, Sideswipe had it.

"There," Perceptor said unemotionally. "That is correct."

Sideswipe laughed softly. So formal. So precise. So Perceptor. "Do you ever do anything illogical?"

"Once I attempted to gauge the outcome of running a humidifier and dehumidifier at the same time to test the air quality..." the scientist replied absent-mindedly. He was not prepared for Sideswipe to take advantage of the distraction by shoving himself off of the stool to crash his lips into Perceptor's.

"Mm!" It was the strangest sensation; as though someone had shocked the spot they were joined with a small electric current. Perceptor felt a wave of dizziness that, combined with the other's momentum from leaping off of his seat, knocked them to the ground with minimal resistance. His spark shot spires of electricity, numbing his arms enough to cause the scientist to worry. He tried to move them to test if they worked.

Sideswipe had to keep from shouting 'IT'S ABOUT SLAGGIN' TIME!' as the mech underneath him clung to his shoulders. After all of this waiting, the cool and collected Perceptor was melting at his embrace, frantically groping for something to make Sideswipe happy while riding the rolling tide of mutual gratification. He guided the Autobot's hands to the small of his back, where the black met the white.

"Right there, baby," the sports car gasped, moving up to kiss him again, deeper this time.

"Baby? Am I an infant?" Perceptor sounded a cross between hurt and confused.

It was too much to explain. "Human term of endearment." He pressed against him desperately, savoring the lightest taste of energon. 'Come on, Perceptor! Just let it go.' The scientist was warming up nicely. It was gradual, like the encroachment of the tide, but Sideswipe could feel it all the same. Expanding, flaring, it was similar to the surface of the sun, blue and hot and brushing the fringes of the Lamborghini's own field. Comparable to sharks and the smell of blood, Sideswipe went into a frenzy. It was better than he could ever imagine, spurring his desire further and flooding his processor with euphoria. 'Good PRIMUS it's warm and soft and even a little sweet oh it's incredible more more more-'

Perceptor broke away, as though he had heard the inner monologue. "No! No more."

The smaller mech started shaking uncontrollably, startling the Autobot underneath him. He audibly gasped, a ragged choke that sounded like a death knell. After a moment of enraged silence, Sideswipe picked up his hand, opened it up, and slapped his palm against the floor to push his still-shaking chassis off of Perceptor.

"I am sorry, Sideswipe."

Another ragged gasp. "No, I'm sorry. I got a little carried away."

Both felt terrible, for different reasons: Sideswipe physically hurt from having an aroused energy field stopped cold, while Perceptor wondered if he were pushing the mech too far and would lose him before being able to asses and catalog these unusual sensations. His curiosity outweighed his promise to his creator to WAIT until bonding. Above everything was fear.

"You did not. But soon..." he stroked the Autobot's cheek, taken aback at how warm he felt. He could not audibly finish the thought.

"Soon..?" Sideswipe prompted, wanting more than an empty allusion. He heard nothing. "Perceptor, I really like you. Really. It's just that...you can't keep me hanging like this."

"You like me?" although it was obvious, the scientist had not heard his friend utter the words aloud. It made Perceptor drunk with power. "Are you enamored with me?"

Sigh. "No."

The microscope nodded, leaning over to trace the warrior's lips with his fingertips. "That is comprehensible." At least he was telling the truth. "However, this unfounded apprehension is encompassing me to the point of an impasse, and I am afraid I have no reassuring words to alleviate the tension you must be experiencing-"

He reached up to stop the soft tickle. "You'll have to talk to Smokescreen then, or Wheeljack. Or Gears. I can't help you with that part." Slowly climbing to an upright position, Sideswipe refused proffered assistance. "Talk to you tomorrow."

Perceptor could only miserably nod from his reclining position on the floor. "Good night."

Officially, when a mech needed someone to confide in, the go-between was Smokescreen; however, the unofficial Autobot psychologist was Wheeljack. Any problem, quandary, query, trifle, neurosis, psychosis, symptom, obsession, or crossword puzzle clue could be solved by a few words of his wisdom. Unlike his mechanical endeavors Wheeljack worked wonders on the Autobots' mental and physical well-being, partly because he was linked to the greatest mind of all, Ratchet.

That left Gears. The first time Perceptor knocked on the door he was rebuffed with "If you don't leave me alone I'm calling Prime, Skyfire!" Knocking again, he was greeted with a scowling face that turned to one of shock.

"Perceptor! Don't tell me: you're ready to crack the restraining bolt."

The scientist blanched at the vulgarity. "I beg your pardon?"

"Why else would you be here, interrupting my only day off to bang down my door like that crazy fiend you work with? Do you have any idea what he does to my exostructure?"

Perceptor ducked into Gears' room before someone heard him. "I require your assistance on a delicate subject."

"Praise Primus! You ARE going to crack the bolt!" Luckily the door was closed, sealing sound in, or Perceptor would have fallen over in embarrassment. "Though I thought you were with Sideswipe. You know, Siders is a pretty good choice, 'though if I had my pick I'd have to go with Prime, he'd make any mech melt like a-"

For the first time in his life Perceptor interrupted somebody else's oration. "Shut up. Please." He didn't want to be here but talking to Wheeljack was out of the question. The risk of the antagonistic Ratchet overhearing his problem through his mind-link with the engineer and using it as something to taunt him with left the scientist no choice but to turn to Gears, who in spite of his grating personality could take a secret to the junkpile. "You are my only hope."

"Well, Gibi-wan Kenobi doesn't work for free," the red and blue mech replied, holding his hand out.

"What you are offering in exchange is not what I require." Perceptor sat on Gears' recharge plate and folded his hands neatly on his lap. "I am having difficulty relating to a certain Autobot on a non-platonic level." Gears looked at him quizzically. Perceptor stared at his hands harder, mentally cataloging the scrapes and dents that covered the appendages, all with stories of scientific exploration pertaining to their origin. Gears walked over and held his opened palm out again, clearing his vocalizer. In response the microscope pulled out from subspace a small but potent glowing purple rod of energy, the concentrated battery only a few Transformers had access to. They could be dangerous for the average user but the high they produced kept a mech awake and independent from recharging for at least a month. Perceptor had acquired this rod from Megatron when he'd saved him from Cosmic Rust, planning to save it for an emergency.

Gears' optics flashed purple to match the object. "Holy slag," he whispered reverently, stuffing it into his own subspace compartment for later. "Let's get busy. Which do you like, top or bottom? I like top since it's not as bad for my struts, but, hey, you're the mech." Perceptor pushed him onto the floor with the alacrity of one evading a Decepticon and the terrified expression to match. "AHA!"

"What is the matter with you?" the scientist asked, standing up and looking for a weapon of any kind to fend off this crazy Autobot.

"That's the problem right there: you're scared."

Perceptor sighed, sitting again. "I would have revealed that had you given me sufficient allotment for discourse."

"So what makes you so jumpy?" Gears pulled up a chair. When Perceptor didn't reply the minibot leaned back and smiled at him in an almost friendly way. "Do you want to do it?" No answer. "Well, do you? It's not one of those multiple choice questions."

"I do not know."

"You know. You're hoping I'll tell you what you want to hear, or something that you haven't already thought of, which knowing you isn't possible. Do you like him?"

"Affirmative."

"Why?"

It was the way he asked it that made the scientist pause. Gears smiled wryly.

"Uh-huh. Let's try this: tell me what you have in common."

"We both are interested in science." He looked up at Gears' snort. "He likes hearing about my work-"

"When you first started going out or recently?"

Perceptor did not respond.

"Has he acknowledged you in public?"

"Yes, he constantly approaches me and we converse." It felt as though he were defending Sideswipe more than analyzing Gears's probing questions. "He invites me to his social gatherings as well. He is humorous and gentle and has never lost his temper even when I don't want to…to…" Gears, staring off into space, snapped his head to attention. "…do what he desires."

"You're not as enthusiastic, are you?"

"Negative." Perceptor stared harder at his hands. Was he abnormal?

"I'm gettin' a good idea of what's going on, but I want to make sure. Start from the beginning and we'll go from there."

Once the sordid tale and obscure vocabulary were comprehendible Gears, perplexed, scratched his head. "What's a mandible?" he asked. After the definition some pondering continued as Perceptor mentally berated himself for coming here instead of seeking the advice of the sagacious Wheeljack.

The minibot leaned forward, scowl emerging. "Three things come into my processor, Percy: the truth, good advice, and my own opinion. Being a smart mech (and one who should get his energon's worth) I think you need to hear all three. What do ya think?"

Perceptor nodded, melancholy setting in. He should have gone to Wheeljack. "Continue."

"Got it." Gears kept his aggressive posture and began waving his arms to demonstrate his point. "My advice is simple: do it and get it over with."

He should have known. "Why?"

"It's really nice of you to be saving yourself for someone you really love, but LOOK AROUND! We're in the middle of a war stuck on an alien planet! Your creator made you take that vow when? The Golden Age is gone, buddy, it's not like there are Autobots banging down your door to make a commitment. There's twenty-six of us here until Primus-knows-when, and I'd rather deal with what you're going through than what Red Alert is. Slaggit, he can be a toaster. You know that's why nobody likes him. If he'd just let me get my hands on him he'd be a whole lot more likeable...forget it, he doesn't care, and you don't either.

"Anyway, you have someone who revs your engine, somebody who normally wouldn't even notice you unless you took a shot at him or his crazy brother, someone who's wanted pretty bad by more than one guy around here, so take it! When you meet the one you'll bond with you can give him your spark, your soul, every chance to make him happy, whatever! You don't have to give him your body. He already has one." The smaller mech's smug smile prompted Perceptor to postulate for the truth, hoping it was not as self-serving.

"The ugly truth: Siders only wants One Thing. I might be wrong, but I've been around these guys long enough to know love from sport. When he gets it, he might not stick around. If you don't want to compromise yourself, then don't. It's your life, and it's you you're gonna have to live with. Be true to it. Let him go and any pain or bad feelings will fade sooner or later. Just tell him now."

Perceptor had been certain that was what had been holding him back. He didn't like that particular realization, instead deciding to dwell on Gear's schizophrenic pronouncements. "Two diametric recommendations do not auger your guidance, Gears. I had expected you would attune your perspective to something efficacious."

"Try using words with one syllable instead of four. Your mech'll like it better too."

"What is the third thing you wanted to tell me?" he sighed, defeated. No one in this ark knew how to build a vocabulary!

"Much better. My opinion is better than my advice, so here goes: you can't win the way you're playing the game now. You need a new strategy, or a new perspective." Gears stopped waving his hands to meet his audience's optics. "Percy, he's giving you things as he goes in hopes you're gonna do the same."

"Explain."

"I have to explain...oh for...my struts aren't what they used to be. I can't sit like that for long," he moaned, standing up and cracking his back. "Ah. Perceptor, think about it. You're letting him into your chamber to play, but you decide when it's over and you get to tell him what to do and now that he's expecting a return on investment for all this power he's given you you're running to me - not Wheeljack, which says a lot - to tell you what to do. I'm tellin' ya, and you don't like it. So if you don't want to do what he wants to do, talk to him, not to me. You two are the ones having the problem. I'm the one who has a whole new stash of energon to enjoy."

Perceptor nodded and politely thanked him (for nothing) and hurried out before anyone caught him.

He was almost seen: Gears had another visitor waiting around the corner to hear the departing slam of the door, the cue that his last interview was over. He ALWAYS left a sign out to show when it was appropriate to approach his chambers, asking for others to respect the privacy of anyone who visited him to wait for the signal. No wonder Tracks wandered the halls at night and recharged in the more contained public plates: his roommate was never alone.

"Did I miss Skyfire?" Sideswipe teased as he barged in without knocking.

Gears hastily shoved something back into subspace and threw an empty polish can from under Tracks' plate at his guest. "What do YOU want?"

"Desperate times call for desperate measures, my good buddy. What do you have for the 'bot who needs a little creativity in his love life?"

"An empty treasury," Gears replied snottily, holding his hand out.

The red mech's left cheek curled up, richly enjoying the sardonic joke of Gears expecting something from him other than a heavy beating.

"Knock off your sneering; it makes your pretty face look old." The minibot produced what looked like a television remote attached to wires. "I don't know why you're wasting your time with Percy when there are many more appreciative Autobots out there."

Sideswipe handed him some homemade high grade energon and snatched the toy. "You cost too much," he jovially declared as he bounded out of the room.

The small mech hurried out to get the last word. "I meant Skyfire!" he called.

Ratchet cornered Perceptor outside of med bay to ask him when he planned on coming back to duty rotation, seeing as how the counter-laser had been completed a long time ago.

"I have been perfecting my fighting skills in our featured classes," the scientist genially responded, glad to show up the snarling CMO with a legitimate excuse.

"Good. Then I'll see you showing off in battle. OR I'll see you when I smash your lenses in for 'forgetting' to fight again." Ratchet leaned over and patted Perceptor on the arm fraternally. "'Til then."

Starscream couldn't take it any longer. Visions haunted him day and night. Every noise made him jump. Anyone who looked at him twice must be planning his demise. He stormed into Megatron's throne room with his null rays ready.

"I assume control TODAY, Megatron!"

"Starscream?" cried Blitzwing, shocked. "Since when do you do anything this stupid?"

"Since when doesn't he?" Astrotrain snorted as Megatron stood up to confront his enemy.

"I accept your challenge." Decepticons backed away quickly to get a better view of the entertainment as Megatron motioned for Starscream to attack.

It had been a long six weeks. No time offline, no greater amount of energon to compensate for the loss, Rumble's constant suggestions of subterfuge too obvious to ignore; combined with haunting nightmares, Starscream walked through a processing fog on a good day. On a bad day the thoughts were clear and the body refused to work.

Megatron dodged his first shot by squatting down, and, using the potential energy in his legs to leap forward, tackled the Seeker flat.

"That was quick," one of the triple-changers commented.

"Leave us," Megatron growled, grabbing Starscream by the shoulders and pounding his back against the floor. His head snapped back with each recoiling but his grim expression never wavered. His leader's legs moved again, this time surrounding either side of the Seeker's body to allow Megatron to stand up while holding fast to his prey. The room emptied quickly.

"Tonight you cease being my antithesis," the silver mech announced smugly, punching Starscream so hard he turned one hundred eighty degrees and fell against the wall, helpless to move. Megatron's right hand reached for his "Third"-in-Command's arm and pulled it behind his wings while the left pressed against his back. Metal snapped.

"Stop! I yield! Megatron, mercy!"

"Sniveling coward," he snarled in Starscream's audios, releasing Starscream and watching him slide down to the ground. Starscream on all fours. Megatron was sick of seeing it. He kicked him in the stomach area hard enough to roll him onto his back. "Stand up!"

All the Seeker wanted to do was lie on the floor and contemplate revenge fantasies while he self-repaired, but Megatron had to be obeyed. When the jet did not rise in an expedient manner he had rough assistance. Megatron threw him against the wall and thrust his mind into Starscream's like a rock into a puddle.

"AUGH!" The Seeker flailed his arms, as though that would help, but his leader's processor had a grip on him beyond any hand around his throat.

It was like the time they had gone to the jungle to recover the Heart of Cybertron. Starscream had been attacked by a constricting animal, one that hissed on top of his head and squeezed hard enough to trigger hopeless panic. 'Get this thing off of me!' he'd screamed, fingers scrabbling to free his vulnerable areas with no one assisting him as that thing imprisoned him.

Prowl paused from inspecting Perceptor's notes to watch the class fire at Sideswipe, face impossible to read. It was Sunstreaker's turn to be the target, but he was still worse for wear from yet another binge. (Sideswipe didn't know who to be angrier with: the cause of or the reaction to Sunny's misery.) Their yellow instructor bellowed unintelligible commands that only his twin and Tracks seemed to understand, causing Cliffjumper to threaten to start shooting the stationary Lamborghini just be able to hear something elicited normally. Prowl took this as a cue to end the exercise and discuss something with the teachers again.

Sunstreaker staggered over to the Second-in-Command, frown deeper as they were confronted regarding a horrible incident that occurred that morning: Gears had overdosed on some concentrated energon and fried entire circuit boards. While Ratchet and Wheeljack worked overtime repairing him, Autobot officials had a list of suspects and wanted to question the brothers about their supplies.

"Perceptor, we need you in med bay. Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, follow me. The rest of you: class is dismissed."

Megatron had been in every single one of his Decepticon's minds with the exception of Starscream's, due to a lack of interest. When the silver mech had decided to rid himself of this pest, but still glean the important parts out of the conglomeration of knowledge the Seeker contained, invading him had become necessary.

Every processor was different. Each of his minions had different thought patterns, from the chaos of Thundercracker's to the octopus-like network of Soundwave's to the convoluted shortcuts in Mixmaster's. Starscream's was fascinating. Colorful matrices flashed in front of Megatron like the solar light show he'd witnessed at the North Pole, each one with reactions and soundbites. He must be in the persona section; there were mostly memories of interactions with others.

'Die, PRIME!'

'I promised the earth creatures no harm would come to them. This is wrong.'

'One of these faces doesn't belong.'

'You try my patience, Starscream!' The intense fire of hatred for his leader blazed up at this recollection.

"Get...get out..." his captive moaned. Megatron ignored him, moving onto Starscream's planning functions.

It was a mess. If his emotional section was a beautiful tapestry of light, his logic section was a nasty brown lump with flashes of red that came together to form barely cohesive thoughts. Ray guns. Coups d'etate that did not work. In front of Megatron's figurative optics a flash of red light illuminated the figure of Rumble, whispering conspiratorially how Soundwave and Megatron were trying to kill him the moment his back was turned. Behind Rumble another object emerged, the image of Soundwave's possible attempts. Anything from battery acid in his chassis while offline to shooting him down by 'accident' in battle to Megatron holding Starscream down while Soundwave cut his wings off. Another flash of hatred for Megatron erupted, encapsulating the Decepticon leader's own processor. (That was different.) Usually this was a one-way link, a trick Megatron's own creator had taught him. He redoubled his efforts to keep this connection unrequited.

The sight of Starscream in an old-fashioned cape and crown recalling the days of ancient monarchy as he was crowned leader of Cybertron came next. The cheering crowd gasped as Megatron's head was elevated over the jeweled accessories. Suddenly, the dismembered object's optics glowed and the head enlarged to bite its prey. A surge of fear knocked both bodies to the floor and nearly broke Megatron's concentration. Actually, it did, for a moment; however, re-entry was not difficult. The rest of his mind was without purpose: space junk floating around with the occasional interesting trivia but absolutely nothing viable.

Starscream's cry was like that of the dying as Megatron, disappointed, retreated from the madhouse his underling called a processor.

"Your mind is as worthless as the rest of you," he snarled as Starscream completed his descent to the metal floor, optics downcast. "Get out of my throne room!"

He crawled out, whimpering. The other Decepticons were waiting to taunt him, but he didn't seem care. Through the link Megatron felt Starscream thinking that no matter what, he had to leave, had to recover, had to get away from there, before the reality of what happened sunk in.

Megatron watched him go, feeling an unfamiliar trepidation rankle his processor as yet another unwilling Decepticon recovered from forging a one-way bond with his leader. This union had not been uncommon, but something disquieted the silver mech regarding Starscream's.

Something had gone wrong.

Sideswipe was held in Prime's office for well over half of the day. Perceptor asked Sunstreaker about it, only to get a brusque dismissal. He didn't have much time to dwell on it, being Ratchet's verbal punching bag.

"He needs entire circuit boards replaced! Who fraggin' DID this?"

Perceptor had no idea how to tell him. Ratchet continued to yell and swear until Wheeljack booted him out of his space, telling him to recharge. Ratchet proceeded to kick things until the suspense killed him and he chased out Perceptor to give a report to Prime.

He was allowed inside to give the report, although Optimus knew the details already: a heavy dose of energon had fried almost a quarter of his systems, necessitating replacement. Ironhide played interrogator as Prime growled his grievances.

"Sideswipe's home-grown energon could not have done this," the Autobot leader stated ominously, staring at the shelving unit on the wall opposite of his desk. An old blaster held his attention better than Perceptor. "Ratchet found the vial, half-used. Where did Gears get such a large application of energon?"

Perceptor looked at Sideswipe, who slouched in his chair, scowling with stubborn indignity. Prime was scowling too, at the blaster on the shelf.

"Wher'd'y'git'it?" Ironhide demanded, drawl making him barely distinguishable.

"Get what?" the questioned replied.

"Tha hahgh-grayde thayt pot'nt." Ironhide was in Sideswipe's obdurate face. "Tahk."

"Optimus Prime, if I may speak to you-"

"Later." The blue helmet didn't waver, staring at the gun more intently as his intermediary moved in to intimidate the alleged perpetrator. "Gears almost DIED, and yore playin' dumb wi' me. Ah'm sick o' this, Sideswipe. Sick o' you an' yer disregard fer e'eryone 'round ye. Sick o' yer problem-causin' that's wreckin' whate'er happiness this army c'n git-"

"Prime!" Perceptor interrupted, shocked. "A word, please!"

"LAYTER!" Ironhide snarled in his stead. Sideswipe didn't waver, although the full volume of the red mech's wrath was aimed at him.

"But it was MY fault!" the scientist cried.

"What?" all three replied. Sideswipe looked most shocked.

"Please, Optimus, may I speak to you alone?"

'There has been no cookie placed in your mind.'

It popped inside of him, like a bolt of lightening; his voice. Starscream should have known. No cookie. His informant had been lying, as usual. Starscream would have completely ignored Rumble if not for-

'Fool. I would have found a way into you.' Megatron's voice burned him like acid.

It didn't have to be like this. Well, yes it did. If the Decepticon leader had desired access to his processor, the only way he would get to it was to torture and assault his "Third"-in-Command.

Starscream felt lost, like the day he had to relinquish his search after Skyfire had disappeared. What could he do to free himself?

His processor churned as one of the muddy waters of one of those disgusting earth rivers, revealing no clues.

"I make the high-grade in my laboratory," Perceptor explained. "In exchange for his...company."

Optimus Prime nodded, relieved that so many paradoxes in the Autobot gossip chain had been explained in a plausible manner. "I am sorry we accused your companion," he growled, still upset but easing into disappointment. He called for Ironhide to let Sideswipe go and for Perceptor to be detained in his chambers until Friday.

"One more thing: From now on you will keep a log of your scientific endeavors, which will be audited by either Prowl or Ratchet. Heavily audited."

As one red mech passed the other two, the scientist serenely smiled at his newly-freed associate. He could see disbelief, appreciation, and something else in the navy blue optics set in a sweet white face. It dissolved Gears' ugly truth, dismissing it as a jealous mech's invidious grumble.

"Come and visit me tonight," he whispered to the Lamborghini before departing.

That night he completed Starscream's humiliation by calling him into the throne room to hear the announcement that Skywarp had been promoted to Third-in-Command.

Starscream crossed his arms defiantly, willing himself not to care. This whole currying for Megatron's favor was a farce, as far as he was concerned. Why did his leader spend so much time worrying over what Starscream did, instead of killing him outright? Had it ever occurred to him that an assassination would bring about more fear and respect from his troops than character dismemberment?

Apparently not. As was custom, each one stepped up and swore their allegiance to Megatron and his Commanding officers: Soundwave, Skywarp, and-to augment the degradation further-Scrapper. Starscream provided the appropriate lip service without flinching, although the smirk on Megatron's face clearly told him that the anguish had been felt through the link. Starscream had to find a way out of this, and fast.

They walked in to hear someone singing (HORRIBLY) "I Wanna Sex U Up."

"Let me take off all your clo-oh-oh-ah-ohs. Disconnect the phone so nobody kno-oh-oh-ohs! Let me light a candle so-oh we can make it bay-ter-er-"

"FOR THE LOVE OF PRIMUS, STOP!" Jazz howled. Sunstreaker wanted to shoot his twin NOW, before anyone else heard him singing. Sideswipe paused from his concert to glance away from the mirror.

"Siders! Don't sing that slag if you don't want your tailpipe kicked!" the yellow Lamborghini protested, looking slightly embarrassed at the sight of his guest, usually impervious to social anomalies, putting his hands over his audios in shock. He got over it.

"Jazz's gonna teach us some new dance steps," Sunstreaker announced, as Sideswipe returned to preparing himself with some 'borrowed' polish for his big night with Perceptor.

"Good. Even PRIME can do that lame 'running man' dance you think is cool." The red mech grinned as his larceny and repartee were rewarded with a smack across the back of his head and a glare.

"I'd like to see that!" Jazz exclaimed, setting up the boombox to play whatever was on the radio. He flipped the dials, settling on the local Top Forty station playing "Summertime." He snapped his fingers as the hook lead into Will Smith (not the Fresh Prince and DJ Jazzy Jeff anymore), topping it all off with the dance in question.

"You and Megatron. Later." Sideswipe ignored their pleas to stay and learn the 'Roger Rabbit,' claiming he had a date. Sunstreaker scowled and turned back to Jazz, who was trying to do the 'Hammer' and failing.

"Are you sure these are cool?" he asked, swearing he'd seen better steps on MTV.

"Are you questioning the Jazzmeister on what is fly?" demanded his teacher, collapsing on his back when his hands didn't catch him the right way.

"Forget about it. I need to talk to you about business." After recounting his humiliation with Prime's refusal to take their recommendation seriously, Jazz shook his head.

"It's not you, man. He hates Tracks."

"Why?"

"No idea," he replied unconvincingly, ducking down again to fail another attempt at 'The Hammer.' Vanilla Ice came on, causing Sunny to reach for the station switch. Geto boys claimed that "My Mind is Playing Tricks on Me."

"I think you do."

Jazz looked around, as though someone might be listening in on the conversation. "I don't know if it's true, but I have a source-" This would be Prowl. Prowl collected and Jazz dispersed, keeping the gossip wheel going. "-who told me that Tracks used to have a thing with Ultra Magnus."

Sunstreaker was not the most astute individual. None of Tracks' previous story brought retrieval cues. "So?"

"So? Who do you think Prime obsesses over? It ain't Grimlock."

"Tracks?" They HAD been acting funny that time Spike taught them how to play basketball. Touchy-feely. Standing too close to the other when they had to play point guard. Sunstreaker dodged the polish rag hurled at him.

"He hates Tracks because Tracks got what Prime didn't: Ultra Magnus. He even ordered Tracks down here so he could keep them apart."

Click. Sunstreaker suddenly recalled the details of their closet encounter and asked Jazz if he minded another dance aficionado joining them. Jazz said sure, the more the merrier, but he would GET this 'Hammer' dance down soon, so Sunny had better be ready for that and the 'Roger Rabbit.'

Buzzsaw had a busy week, what with all of the spying on eclectic Autobots while the rest of the Decepticons entertained themselves. He thought he'd get a break by Thursday but Megatron had other ideas. Buzzsaw was to watch Starscream, to follow him wherever he went, and make sure he was obvious, but not obviously obvious. Pretend he didn't want to get caught.

The tape, not as highly favored as Laserbeak, scowled to himself while keeping a tight rein on his flying pattern behind Starscream. He deserved a vacation like everyone else, and wasn't getting one! All Starscream did was fly in aimless circles, as though he were wasting fuel so he could go offline without any trouble.

"Land with me, Buzzsaw," he called softly through their radios. Apparently he had not been as obviously obvious as ordered. Buzzsaw touched rock a safe distance from the Seeker and watched him stare off into space for twenty minutes before speaking.

"What did you bring me down here for?" the buzzard demanded through a series of screeches and caws.

Starscream held his arm out invitingly, a bit of energon between the fingers of the other appendage. Although the spy was not allowed to accept gratuities, his annoyance with Megatron allowed him to rationalize that this one time wouldn't hurt.

The energon was not as sweet as it could be; a slightly bitter taste suggested that this energon had been part of the Dinobot Island heist. Who cared? Buzzsaw gobbled it down and flapped his wings in appreciation. Starscream smiled back, carefully easing his free hand over to gently massage the top of the cassette's head. Buzzsaw's beak dropped appreciatively and his optics glowed.

"Poor Buzzsaw," Starscream sighed in a voice lacking his usual biting sarcasm. "Megatron truly under-esteems you."

His accompanist was inclined to agree. Another treat was offered, another gentle caress, this time in the space between his optics. Buzzsaw would have purred if he could. He asked Starscream what he wanted. The Seeker sighed.

"Nothing. Merely someone to talk to."

The jet received a snort of contempt. The day Starscream wanted something without a giant return on investment was the day Buzzsaw witnessed Autobot flight without the aid of Megatron's cannon. The buzzard informed him he belonged to Soundwave as a tool of espionage, not a counselor.

"I am well aware of that," Starscream hissed. "What I believe you are ignoring is that you may belong to Soundwave but you are far from being as beloved as you could be."

Buzzsaw jumped off of the proffered arm, radioing Megatron to tell him that Starscream was trying to collaborate with him.

"You ungrateful pile of bolts!" snarled the jet, waving his arms in an attempt to catch the bird as he flew away. Starscream sunk back onto the rock, his processor swirling. That had not worked; now what?

Sideswipe had to go Gears' room to ask a question and was greeted by an armload of junk preceding Tracks.

"Grab a box and get moving!" called Gears from inside. Although still bed-ridden, the minibot yammered instructions to Skyfire and Bumblebee while gesturing for the Lamborghini to enter. "Tracks got awarded a new room for getting the best marks in all of his classes. Go figure."

Skyfire was above petty Autobot gossip, but Bumblebee was not. "That's not true. Prime still told him 'no' when Gears started nagging him about having his own room." He cast an admirable glance at the scowling Autobot. "That was pretty nice of you to let Tracks have the room, since Prime was gonna give it to you."

"Prime needs to recall that I can't move, I'm repairing. Sideswipe! Pour me another, would you?" He held his glass out for more high grade.

"I was coming in to borrow some more batteries and check up on you, but you seem okay," Sideswipe commented as three of the five mechs trooped out with Tracks' possessions.

Gears tossed the extra Energizer DD batteries into Sideswipe's waiting hand. "My plate's lonely without your fine tailpipe in it, but other than that, things are copacetic here. Have you tried the device yet?"

Sideswipe's frown over the first sentence dissipated to a grin at the second. "I'm on my way over now."

Gears nodded, guzzling his high-grade as though he hadn't just fried half of his motherboard. "One thing, Siders. Come over when it's done and tell me what it was like." Gears had cracked more than one restraining bolt in his career and thought it nice to discuss the experience with someone else. Besides, there was a 95 change the microscope would back out of it, and however Sideswipe convinced Perceptor to give it up would be a technique Gears wanted to know about.

"How about I call you in the middle of it so you can tell him what he's doing wrong?" Sideswipe retorted.

"Go to the pit! But first, I need a refill."

Gears would have to wait for Bumblebee to return; Sideswipe had business to take care of. He left, lousy singing voice calling "don't be shy, girl come to meeeee. Open up your heart and I'll set you free" to drown out Gears laughter.

Optimus Prime hadn't realized he'd been staring until he heard Sideswipe greet him from the other end of the hallway. Perceptor looked up at that moment and greeted him too, asking what he could help him with.

"I came to hear your report on the status of the new blaster," Optimus explained quickly, walking in from his position at the doorway. How it had turned into twenty minutes of watching the red scientist working quietly was beyond him.

Perceptor held up the second version they decided to create in case the first did not work, explaining that it was still experimental, but the major glitches had been fixed and more testing would be needed first. He spoke in a calm, cool manner, his face serious and professional, but at the sight of Sideswipe peering behind Optimus the microscope allowed a private smile. One not given often.

The Autobot leader shrugged it off. It didn't bother him. At least, it shouldn't. Frankly, he was a little disappointed in Perceptor's idea of a decent companion. Sideswipe enjoyed the hunt, not the time it took to get to know the Autobot he was squiring. Did the warrior know anything about Perceptor, like his favorite part of earth (the beach: there were always new things to explore) or how the scientist recited the periodic table of elements when he was nervous, or how when he accomplished something impossible he would get so excited he forgot his calm demeanor and physically LEAPT for joy? Probably not. He had more than likely encountered Perceptor's addiction to work, which was as strong as Prime's, and probably didn't respect it at all. Seeing the two stand next to each other as Optimus inspected the gun gave him an inexplicable feeling of irritation. He was sure the energon that nearly killed Gears was Sideswipe's doing. Now he was corrupting Perceptor. What next?

Prime didn't like the way his train of thought was going. He put the blaster down, told Perceptor he was doing a good job, and bid them both good night. On his way out he encountered Tracks moving into Gears' new room. Tracks stammered out an explanation of his roommate's generosity that did not make Optimus very happy. Upon confrontation Prime was further agitated by Gears being over-energized. ("You almost DIED!" "I'm sorry, Prime." "Not as sorry as you'll be when I tell Ratchet!") His day was going from bad to worse as he stomped into the main control room and sat at the chair, sighing loudly. The room was so quiet. Everyone had somewhere to go and somebody to be with, except for Optimus Prime. Well, that was the fate of the Matrix-bearer. He turned back to Teletraan-1's scan for Decepticon activity and tried to get the image of Perceptor's smile for Sideswipe out of his database.

Sideswipe looked fantastic. His body gleamed like a jeweler's amalgam of onyx, ruby, and white gold. Perceptor could smell the sweet tang of fresh polish/oil when the mech sidled up to him, watching Prime leave with a malevolent glance in his sapphire optics.

"What did he want?" he demanded, placing a fragrant arm around the scientist's waist possessively.

Perceptor didn't care. He had been thinking about Sideswipe's reaction to being saved, juxtaposing it to Gears' speculations for a long time, realizing that the real fear he had was losing control over his emotions. Sideswipe had admitted he didn't love Perceptor. He was very nice to him, though. The scientist had no inclination to lose his current moderately disinterested position, something that was getting more and more difficult to prevent as Sideswipe smiled at him in that sweet way and leaned in to kiss him. He had to like him, Perceptor was sure of it.

"You taste like heaven," the Lamborghini sighed, a statement that hadn't made sense the first time he'd employed it, but after its explanation made it seem like an exotic inside joke, like knowing a foreign language. (Carly had whispered "Je t'aime," to Spike once, to his confusion, until Perceptor had translated it for him.)

Skyfire, eliciting a long-suffering sigh, reminded Perceptor that he had a room. Sideswipe didn't miss a beat. Not even acknowledging the large mech he grabbed the microscope's arms and walked backwards, lip-work never ceasing.

The door slammed behind them and he pushed Perceptor against it, breaking the embrace so that he could lean his head on the free shoulder and murmur into someone's audios in a low voice. "I got you something."

Such a low, intoxicating voice...it made the mech shiver. It was like the warm wind caressing Perceptor's face when the sun was setting at night outside of the ark in the summer. It was impossible not to adore him. He had for almost a month, if he really wanted to admit it, the next step being into an unknown chasm. All he had to do was jump off the cliff and see what happened. Perceptor tightened his grip on the Lamborghini's back, to keep his balance. The jolt that shot up both his arms caused him to gasp in surprise.

Sideswipe's optics lit up to finally hear his prey make some kind of impassioned reaction that didn't sound rehearsed. All it took was the right toy. Gears had been inspired by an episode of Cops he'd seen on television involving the use of a tazer gun and electrodes. He'd rigged up something for Autobot consumption, one that brought a smile to the user.

"What was that?" Perceptor demanded, waving his arms in shock.

"What did it feel like?" Sideswipe eagerly whispered, sliding a free hand up the scientist's back with the confidence of one who knew his partner couldn't resist detailing anything new.

Perceptor would have blinked if he could. "It was as though my arms were radiating...joy...up into my chest cavity...and...oh my." The bolts of ecstasy rippled up into his body again, with enough intensity (and a low enough electric charge to delight a mech his size) to cause him to tighten his grip on Sideswipe from "balance provider" to "foundation" status.

He was smirking, Perceptor was sure of it, but coherent thought was slipping fast as another of the applicators fumbled in hands searching for the perfect spot on the back of the scientist's neck. If he found it, the microscope realized, alarmed, there would be no turning back. Perceptor found the electrode fastened to his left wrist and clipped it to the small of the warrior's back, somewhat amused that the minor action went unnoticed in the preoccupation to find the right spot, one Perceptor had purposely lied concerning the whereabouts every time.

Sideswipe was sure he'd found it. Perceptor had squirmed slightly at a certain area. This was it. He cranked the intensity to "9" and pressed the button, anticipating fruition. Finally.

"AUGH!"

A thousand bolts blasted through the most receptive place in the cracks of his armor, making his processor swim and every circuit to flare at once, causing the mech's energy field to explode with a vicious pleasure that knocked him and Perceptor to the floor.

"Oh sweet Primus," he gasped, hands twitching so hard he dropped the remote that would have cut off this rapture. "Oh no, there it goes again! Augh!" He burst into hysterical laughter as Perceptor was awash with someone else's joy.

In a tangible form of warm, sweet, blue light, emotion splashed around him, giving the scientist a stronger sensation of power than any of his other games with the mech. Sideswipe was helpless, calling-for what was unclear, but the noise was making something mean twist inside of the scientist, glad to hear his cries-and it made his entire core flare. The two lights touched for the barest of moments, causing Sideswipe and Perceptor to both bolt upright; Perceptor in horror, the Lamborghini with delight.

'But did it count?' Sideswipe wondered as the scientist ended the sweet agony by turning off the device and flipping the light on. A harsh illumination put things into better perspective. 'No. Not technically.'

"Are you all right? Do you need repair?" the red, teal, and black mech asked, worried. His partner tried not to laugh at the automatic quote from another robot popping into his processor. 'If any of my parts or circuits will help, I'll gladly donate them!'

"I'm okay. Just give me a minute." The son-of-a-toaster actually pulled a fast one on him! The red and black mech laughed at his own expense, the scientist regarding him suspiciously. Perceptor wasn't a bad guy. He might actually get used to having him around. Slag, he was two steps away from...from...

The thought had him recoiling in shock, standing up quickly. He pulled the electrode out of his back, breaking it by accident.

"Is there something wrong?" Perceptor asked, alarmed. He had finally upset Sideswipe enough to merit abandonment. Did that mean that whatever fragile understanding he thought they had was false?

"I have to get out of here," he stated, reaching for the door handle.

"Leaving is unnecessary. I apologize for the legerdemain-"

Perceptor's date didn't stop ask what that meant. He rushed into the hallway, fear overtaking him before the scientist did.

Buzzsaw returned to Soundwave to report that the Autobots had detected their doomsday device and were planning a strike at dawn.

"What took them so long?" demanded the new Third-in-Command, getting far too casual with his address now that Starscream had been reduced to being merely a foot soldier and no longer demanded Thundercracker beat protocol into their databases.

"They were assessing our weaknesses, moron!" Scrapper snapped, already sick of his promotion. He liked it better when he commanded his team of contractors-for-hire, not following the Boss around like a medieval courtier. "So now we bring the bait in, right?"

Megatron shook his head to himself. He would never admit it, but he had grown accustomed to the status quo as much as those under him had. Starscream's absence was noticed. Although the Decepticons welcomed change that gave them more power the issue of losing Starscream unsettled his troops enough to initiate chaos in the ranks. He wasn't too thrilled with it, either; but Megatron pretended he was not one for illogical sentimentality. Starscream had to go. As the silver mech reaffirmed his decision, he skimmed the minds of his one-way linked minions to see if a moment of compassion would boost morale and make them feel any different about the former Air Commander's departure. Apparently not. They had all assumed he and Starscream were a couple long ago (Megatron grimaced), therefore a figurative pat on the back to his best but most disloyal soldier would not cause any notice. It must be a holdover from his Gladiatorial days if he wanted to let Starscream have one last honored moment before the slaughter. Besides it would drive the Seeker even crazier.

"Affirmative. Soundwave! Summon the other Decepticons."

"As you command, Megatron. Laserbeak, eject. Operation: congregation." The condor swooped out and flew out to find the numbers of Decepticons who conveniently ignored their radios when they felt like it. Megatron grinned. Soon, all of this would come to its apex, ridding him of the Autobots once and for all.

"DON'T TURN ON THE LIGHT!" shrieked three voices in the dark of their room. Sideswipe prayed it wasn't what he thought it was. "Primus, tell me you're developing pictures."

"Desert landscapes, and if you slagged this one up with the hallway light I'll bust your tailpipe," replied Sunstreaker, hanging the picture on the clothesline with the others as Mirage and Hound swirled the remaining proofs in the liquid of Sunny's impromptu darkroom.

It happened once in a solar eclipse: Sunstreaker had a need to take out some of the rolls of film he'd used when he went through his 'photography' phase and develop them, to see what he'd done. Mirage and Hound would help him out.

"Back already, huh?" asked Hound, sounding vaguely sympathetic. Jazz and Blaster had left-together-about five minutes ago.

"Yeah," the newest arrival replied tiredly, flopping onto his recharge plate. "I don't want to talk about it."

In the safety of the blackness Mirage gave a dignified snort. "Manipulating a defenseless Autobot tires you out, I suppose."

Sunstreaker showed an amazing amount of restraint (most likely in deference to Hound) by simply stating "Don't hate the player, hate the game."

"I can hate the player if I want," came the response. "He's the one perpetrating the stupid game."

Sideswipe had no idea why Sunstreaker put up with either of them. Mirage was a toaster and Hound the rollbar refused to see it. If the red Lamborghini had his way, he'd prefer hanging out with Bluestreak, Jazz, and Trailbreaker, instead of he and Sunny constantly being insulted by Mirage and his sense of superiority.

"Okay, time to go," Hound commanded from across the room, glad he hadn't seen Sideswipe's supposed nasty hand gesture. The Jeep dragged his compatriot away, trying his best to keep the light out.

In the dark Sideswipe felt pressure on his left side and a small glowing flask of potent energon being slipped into his hand. "What happened?"

"I couldn't do it." It was all he had to say.

Sunny let out a frustrated groan/sigh. "Seekerslag," he replied.

"What do you mean?" Sideswipe wondered if his brother was still drunk. 'This may be the end of the energon', he rationalized, imbibing it quickly.

"You did not put this much work in to give up at the finish line, and since I know Gears' toys work every time, and that now he's probably lying on his bunk trying to figure out what went wrong, I think it's SEEKERSLAG that you're even talking to me about how you 'couldn't'." He pulled his brother up. "Get going. I'm throwing you out. You need a place to go offline tonight." Blue optics gleamed in the dark. "But you won't."

"I'll be asleep before you," Siders replied dully, heading out the door.

"That's the spirit!" Sunny called after him.

Blaster had better things to do with his time than petty revenge schemes for Sunstreaker. The Decepticons were swarming like angry hornets in Ohio, to Prime's disquiet. Prowl, who had nothing better to do at night, was sitting at Teletraan-1 and calculating every possible movement Megatron might make before their morning onslaught. Far more interesting was the way Jazz had kissed him goodnight.

"We need to roll out before sunrise," Prowl finally announced from his chair.

Optimus nodded. "Assemble the army in an hour," he growled, hurrying out the door for a last-minute conference with med bay.

Starscream looked at the controls and saw his way out of this mess. When the time was right, he'd aim the gun at Megatron and blow him sky-high. NO! No, that wouldn't work, either. What he wouldn't give for a decent recharge period to allow him to process better. All of his ideas were lower than third-rate (one-hundredth rate, no doubt). Time was running out.

The Doomsday device sparked nastily, inspiring Bonecrusher to pound on it with his fist. Just as suddenly as a leaf picked up by a tornado Starscream realized that his time had run out. Megatron DID want him to die, thus the mind invasion. This doomsday device was it. He had to fly out of here, leave.

But where would he go?

Megatron looked up at him at that moment and beckoned him over. Putting a heavy hand on the former Air Commander's shoulder, the silver mech's optics flared under the strong lamp the Constructicons provided. With the harsh florescent light shining on both of them, there were no shadows, no places for the dark to hide, and Megatron's face elicited what appeared to be regret, but was more than likely sardonic amusement.

"You have not had a complete recharge as of late. Rest for awhile," his leader said. "I will watch over you."

When they had all been underground fighters the Seekers had cuddled with each other for mutual energy restoration (not to mention protection). Megatron had rested with them, an equal in their nest, until the time came for him to fulfill his delusions of power. So there WERE strains of contrition in his patronizing.

"What happens after that?" Starscream responded without emotion. He was going to die, and Megatron's expected gloating was nonexistent.

His leader didn't hear him; or he ignored him. He pointed to a cord to plug into and settled next to the Seeker, putting an arm around his "foot soldier's" waist and watching the Constructicons continue their work. Starscream laid his head on Megatron's shoulder and fell offline remembering the recharge periods of a more united/less hierarchal Decepticon army, when potential for conquest was at its highest. Sleeping in his leader's safe, firm grip before his execution wasn't too bad of a way to spend his last moments.

A pity he would never allow Megatron to take him out that easily.

The only way for a calm, rational thinker to ease the turbulence of the most recent activity around him was to go back to work. The blaster was shaking in his hands, forcing Perceptor to steady himself by reading the boring work logs he had to fill out that accounted for every fifteen minutes of his day. Bureaucracy at its best, thanks to his fabrication to Prime. For the affection of a mech who ran out of the room for unaccountable reasons. What was he processing? He should have known that the Lamborghini would be upset that things weren't going his way. Did this mean Perceptor wanted his advances? Then why was he still so frightened? He berated himself for being defensive until weary of internal dissent he turned everything off and turned back to his recharge plate in time to hear a sharp rap on the doorframe of the laboratory.

Sheepishly, the red mech in front of the scientist smiled that same warm, unassuming expression he gave when he wanted the Autobot in front of him at ease. "Sunstreaker kicked me out." He stepped into the lab with an unassuming gait, hand at his neck in a sweet embarrassed gesture. "Do you have a spare plate I can recharge on?"

Temptation to lead him to Skyfire's was superceded by a mere pivot, walking into his own room and gesturing to the plate with accommodations for a mech and a half. The fear made Perceptor shake slightly.

"Thanks." Sideswipe crept onto the plate and scrunched himself against the wall to allow the microscope enough room for his usual offline position. Perceptor insisted Sideswipe make himself comfortable, he had more work to do.

Odd, considering Perceptor had been shutting everything DOWN when Sideswipe had arrived. Oh well. He turned his optics off and relaxed, stubbornly adherent to what he'd told his brother.

After pacing the laboratory for about ten minutes (HOW could he have missed this obvious seduction tactic?), Perceptor decided the best thing to do was to face the fear and be prepared to fling the mech off of him if need be. This was ridiculous, fluctuating from desire to paralysis over someone who had been respectful and nice to him throughout their time together. He should just do it and get it over with. Perhaps he would not be so petrified of affection. All Perceptor had to do was lay there and take it, and it would be over before he could panic and all that had to be done was to open the door and lay down.

Sideswipe lay sprawled over the entire plate, optics dim and machinery humming as the electric surge recharged him. He was offline. Perceptor was worse than Red Alert. All doubt in Sideswipe's true intentions disappeared. Relieved, the scientist calculated a good way to lay down without disturbing the mech and tried to settle, but it felt strange having someone else with him. Sideswipe had such an angelic smile while he slept, one that made his face radiate warmth even when his navy blue optics were unlit. Perceptor moved to lay on top of him, lost in the scrutiny. His fingers slowly traced the face around the helmet as the scientist got his first decent look at the one under him.

There was a great sense of control in being able to inspect the mech under him without feeling uncomfortable. Perceptor was able to inspect the face intently, seeing the beauty of the more realistic twin at his own pace. What would it be like to kiss him while he was inert?

The warrior's lips were soft and cool as Perceptor pressed his face against his, but not to kiss. This ability to analyze him had made the anxiety disappear. At long last, the scientist molded his own lips to fit into Sideswipe's as he eased his body completely onto the other mech's.

With a flash of blue optic, the warrior was awake; he did not stir. He lay perfectly still while the Autobot above him continued his inspection.

Perceptor paused to see if his friend would begin his usual amorous attack. When Sideswipe remained motionless Perceptor leaned in and traced the chestplate with his fingertips, continuing his wait. The Lamborghini did nothing.

Then, the slightest noise scratched up to Perceptor's hearing range. The red mech's hands were balled into fists as he tried to control the urge to take the scientist by force. Something flashed inside of Perceptor, a rush of power and desire that twinged his core so hard a flare of blue light flashed outside of him. Sideswipe smiled as Perceptor stared, startled.

"Don't fight it, just let it go where it wants."

"I do not think a mere light eruption is worthy of internal contention," he retorted, annoyed with the Lamborghini for breaking the spell.

Sideswipe's optics became less luminous at that pronouncement.

"Then what," he hissed jovially, smile looking fake, "is the fraggin' holdup?"

Perceptor wanted to immerse Sideswipe into his newfound belief that it was fear of a loss of control, or not being appreciated when it was over, but it all seemed...pointless. Sideswipe would do and think whatever he wanted. His perfect navy optics barely illuminated his adorable face as it looked at him, frustrated, confused, and harried by the maze of contradictions. Words were only a meaningless form of sound for him, not a means of communication. Actions spoke in the Lamborghini world.

He threw it all away: the protest forming on his lips, the offensive concept of bowing to someone else's whims, everything, rationalizing to himself that the faster he got it over with, the sooner life would return to normal.

Sideswipe had lost his patience. If Perceptor was going to awaken him from the fatalistic sleep the red mech had plunged into there'd better be a good reason. He did not expect to be slowly played with. Now...now, finally. Finally. Finally. Perceptor's energy field was growing, lapping at Sideswipe with the constancy of ripples in a pond. Should Perceptor change his mind again, the warrior decided he would have to kill him. Enough was enough.

If it was real, if it was another test, neither of them knew. They proceeded with the aplomb of sightless, deaf mechs into the abyss of amorous endeavors. Sideswipe heard Perceptor gasp slightly and felt a flare tickle him the right way. It wouldn't be long now. Finally.

It was a dreamless sleep, disappointingly short.

"Awaken," Megatron commanded, shaking the jet online as the bustle of the Decepticons accelerated. They were coming forward for the final rundown of what was expected. As with the dawn of every anticipated battle, Megatron performed a pep talk.

"We have among us the greatest Decepticon warriors in the galaxy!"

"Yeah!" the others responded. These were the times that they became enthusiastic about their affiliation. If Megatron weren't such a gifted orator, perhaps morale would not be as high as it were for a faction often losing the battles they wanted to win; fortunately, their leader had a tongue as silver as the rest of him.

"We are brave, skilled, ruthless warriors who will crush any puny weakling who stands in our way!"

"Yeah!"

"Get the ground-pounders!" yelled Skywarp.

"YEAH!"

Megatron raised his arms for the congregation to settle down. "Our superiority is what will lead us to victory. Therefore..." he turned to his 'foot soldier.' "...we are prepared to embrace our destiny when you are ready, Starscream."

With a flash of inspiration, the Seeker knew what he could do to destroy Megatron and become leader.

"I am ready!" he cried, arm up for the Decepticon salute. "Hail, Megatron!"

"Hail Megatron!" cried the others. The Seeker allowed a small smirk in relish in that he, too, could lead a crowd into energetic enthusiasm.

The hour of reconciliation was at hand.

No rapture, no pleasure, no ecstatic cry could adequately equate the tactile sensations the microscope experienced. Every touch had reverberated into the most amazing feeling, culminating even as Sideswipe practically begged for him to do it already. Withholding was more fun. Even so, the buildup ached slightly, causing the scientist to allow the beginnings of a release. Carefully, slowly, the energy flaring eased out of his body, meeting the mech's under him like the ocean meeting the beach. Sideswipe shook, fingers digging into Perceptor's back as he moaned. The fear soared to near panic-attack levels, distracting the scientist and forcing him to berate himself to concentrate. He had to do this.

Alas, it was not meant to be.

The alarm screamed so loud that both jumped. "The Decepticons are attacking," he sighed, disappointed as his energy died and he begun momentum to climb off of the Lamborghini. Should he be relieved or disappointed? He had no idea.

Sideswipe grabbed the microscope, grip like a vice, and for the first time in their limited relationship whined like a wounded animal. "No! Stay here. IGNORE IT." He was peppered with kisses as enticement.

"We cannot. Ratchet has threatened to break my lens if I do not accompany him into battle-"

He threw him off of the recharge plate and held him down. Snap. "If I have to solder you to the ground I will."

"Sideswipe!" he had heard of psychological 'snapping' but didn't think a physical noise accompanied it. "Unhand me! I'm already on probation, it is un-" Lips met his desperately, hands refusing to relinquish their hold. The microscope pushed as hard as he could against him, to no avail. Panicking, Perceptor was able to escape the kiss and call for help. Skyfire banged on the door and told him he would get the master code and come in. This threat gave Perceptor leeway enough to pry himself free from Sideswipe's denting embrace.

Skyfire opened the door at the same time, allowing the scientist escape. Sideswipe stood up with difficulty, his optics blazing so bright they illuminated the dark chamber. Skyfire allowed the smallest smirk, asking him if he enjoyed the turnabout, before slipping out into the hallway to join the army.

Sideswipe had trouble walking at first, but the wrath that had exploded inside of him built a momentum of destruction he'd not encountered in awhile. "Do you have any idea how many others I could have had in all the time you led me on, you slagging geek?" he whispered furiously at the silent room. No reply given, the warrior raced out of the laboratory determined to make this battle short.

Prime called for them to roll out as Perceptor, lagging behind after having trouble finding his blaster, ran to catch up.

"There you are!" called Wheeljack. "Jump in!" The microscope gratefully transformed into the Lancia and nervously tried to get comfortable for the first battle he had joined in a long time.

"What am I to expect?" he asked, hoping he didn't sound as uneasy as he felt.

"The usual. The Lambos go flyin' in, Cliffjumper and the rest of us sweep up behind, Skyfire bails us out if Megatron isn't keepin' Prime busy, Prowl radios us to tell us where to move, Mirage sneaks over to turn off the machine, Trailbreaker puts up a force field, and Hound throws them off with his holograms. We got lucky Omega Supreme came in last week with Smokescreen; that's changed it up a little."

He was so flippant about it. Perceptor was not comforted by this attitude, especially when Cliffjumper breezed past them calling for anyone to 'let me at 'em!' Kup and Hot Rod had this attitude back on Cybertron, and it seemed to the scientist that the cockier they got the harder the losses were.

"Sideswipe, this is Prowl! Fall back into formation!" Their radios all linked up to the same frequency, thus whatever anybody said was fair game. "Sideswipe! Come in!"

"He's just ready t' kick some Decepticon tailpipe, Prowl," chuckled Ironhide. "Ah feel the same way!"

"So where are we going?" Spike, the human ambassador to the Transformers, had caught up to them on his way back from writing a long term paper. He sat inside Bumblebee and eagerly bounced up and down in anticipation.

"Ohio," Jazz announced, plugging in an earth song that proclaimed "Cleveland Rocks!"

"Will you turn that off? It's rattling every bolt in my chassis!"

"Aww, c'mon Gears! It's just a little fun!" Jazz protested, laughing.

"Prime!" called Gears in his whiniest voice.

"He is correct Jazz. We can not make a surprise entrance if they can here us coming."

"Laserbeak will tell them if we're coming," the Porsche replied, almost sounding put-out. He slowed down to complain to Wheeljack about it. The Lancia made sympathetic noises but for the most part did not contribute. Perceptor supposed Jazz resented Gears' blatant biased treatment from Prime almost as much as Gears disliked Jazz's total disregard for the preferences of those around him. For one thing, the microscope would have rather had this time to mentally prepare for their battle, as well as unwind from the unsettling scene with Sideswipe; instead he had to listen to Jazz pitch a fit over 'the squeaky wheel' who 'needs to be replaced.' Eventually Jazz felt better, thanked Wheeljack for lending an audio, and left.

"Was that necessary?" the scientist inquired.

"He does it before every fight, so I guess so," Wheeljack replied. "I think it's easier for him to forget where he's goin' if he can whine about Gears. You know…change the dirty so that the machine can run cleaner? It's his version of a processor oil-change."

"I suppose." He was glad he was not a psychologist. They rode in silence until Prime's voice came through on the radio a few hours later.

"Autobots, be ready for an attack in about thirty astro-seconds. We'll be at our target by then."

"All rahght! Let's git 'em!" Ironhide called exuberantly, racing ahead of everyone but the missing Sideswipe. Where was he?

"Probably waiting for the rest of us so that the party can start!" called Cliffjumper in response to Sunstreaker asking the same thing. The yellow Lamborghini was not happy to hear this, being used to having his partner in crime alongside to back him up.

"We're here!" called Ironhide, practically jumping up and down in excitement as he transformed. "Let's kick some Decepticon tailpahpe!"

Perceptor leapt out of Wheeljack and looked around. He had expected it to be raining, explosions everywhere, Decepticons jumping in front of him wherever he walked…not a semi-abandoned parking lot on a slightly windy day with Autobots stretching while griping about the length of the trip. It was so informal, as though he had expected the wedding and saw only the rehearsal dinner. Prime and Prowl murmured to each other while various cliques of Autobot clumped together and talked. Blaster was quickly summoned to Prime's tete-a-tete with Prowl. After a few moments of frantic radio calling, he faced Optimus with a shrug. Sunstreaker hovered over Hound, glancing around in agitation, until Mirage appeared with a worried frown and bad news for everyone.

"I found Sideswipe," he intoned flatly.

"Where?" several demanded, heads swiveling in the direction Mirage's finger pointed. As if he had heard, Ramjet soared overhead with Sideswipe riding on his back in a style Ironhide would have envied.

"TAKE THAT, YOU OVERSIZED HANG GLIDER!" he could be heard over the engine noise – barely. Optimus Prime had no time to duck from Megatron's shot, crumpling to the ground, barking out orders.

"TAKE COVER! WE CAN'T AFFORD TO HIT ANY PART OF THE POWER PLANT!" He managed to dodge Megatron's next shot as it took out Windcharger instead. "Roll out!"

"SHOW NO MERCY!" Megatron ordered, another shot from his arm crippling Brawn. Ratchet and Wheeljack tried to drag Optimus out of the way but could not when Megatron and Soundwave were blocking their route. Ratchet looked around and noticed a shell-shocked red mech standing amidst the carnage, relatively ignored.

"PERCEPTOR! GET YOUR LAZY SKIDPLATE OVER HERE AND HELP ME!" Ratchet bellowed.

"Of course; my apologies." His reply went unheard over the scream of firepower and the screeching of Decepticon jets. He raced over, aiming his blaster for Soundwave and completely missing, accidentally blowing up the human car behind the tape player. Wheeljack was already taken out and Ratchet tried to block both assailants to protect Prime as Perceptor threw caution to the wind and tackled Soundwave. His tapes jumped on him, piledrivers causing the inexperienced scientist to flinch at the pain. He was thrown off of the large blue Decepticon with ease, but the exercise was not completely futile: the injured Brawn had managed to drag Prime to safety as the medic distracted Megatron. Perceptor tried to fire again, blasting the patch of asphalt behind Ratchet's heels to pebbles.

"STOP THAT!" Ratchet hollered as Megatron took a step back, hand over one optic.

"Get the microscope!" he ordered. Ratchet attacked from Megatron's blind side and shoved him to the ground next to Soundwave, who had lost an argument with Prime's gun.

Prowl was there after Skywarp appeared in front of Perceptor, to fend off Decepticons while radioing a specific request: go find out what kind of doomsday device they were dealing with. Prowl would cover him, as long as the scientist didn't try to shoot anything himself.

Perceptor took off, trying to dodge whatever came after him. His shoulder circuits blazed in agony at a shot that found its target. He couldn't focus on anything but getting to that giant gun Starscream was aiming in his direction.

With an inevitable demise looming over him like the sword of Damocles Starscream was feeling rash. He would finish them all off at once: Autobots, Decepticons, EVERYBODY, in one fell swoop. Whoever survived would follow him no doubt. He'd start with the large red mech running towards him.
"He's activated the gun!" Perceptor told the strategist as he stumbled on the leg that got shot. He had to get over there and stop Starscream, no matter how many of Soundwave's tapes got in his way. Dirge came down from the sky to further impede him, until Perceptor fired his gun and hit him, bringing the wrath of the other two Coneheads upon him.

"Autobots!" called Prowl through their internal radio. "Starscream has activated the device! Move in!" Decepticons surrounded the gun to protect it, but there were more Autobots than they could fight, thanks to the arrival of the Dinobots. Starscream kicked Bumblebee as hard as he could away from the controls, demanding Megatron use his new arm gun or this project would be an exercise in futility.

No response. Megatron was curled up in a ball, being dented by Sideswipe and Sunstreaker until Slag showed up to hinder the mech's attack by proclaiming Megatron was his. The yellow mech stepped aside, but Sideswipe focused his attention on the Dinobot who dared get in his way. Slag and Megatron took off to fight in the sky at a velocity that left a boiling Autobot on the ground, firing up his jet pack to go after both of them.

"WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?" Sunstreaker demanded, running after his brother, exasperated. Even for his usual foolhardiness in battle Sideswipe was being recklessly self-destructive.

"I WASN'T SLEEPING!" the red mech screamed at his brother.

Sunstreaker stared for a moment, stifling a smirk. "Oh."

From behind the red mech a low growl emerged as the land shook. Rumble's chasm swallowed them whole as he called something about watching their backs, but the two barely heard it. Sideswipe grabbed his brother and turned on his warmed-up jet pack.

"Head over to Starscream!" Sunstreaker called, letting go to fall onto Soundwave as they soared in the sky. "Slag has Megatron!"

Sideswipe may be a rampaging fool, but when his brother told him to do something in a battle he obeyed. He focused on the jet busy picking up minibots and tossing them at Optimus Prime to keep him at bay as the machine behind him started glowing a bright red.

"STARSCREAM! YOU'RE GOING DOWN!" The Decepticon scientist looked up to grapple with a red blur of wrath descending upon him. Black fists flew, piledriving into the jet as he jumped back to avoid a more serious beating.

His opponent's optics flashed angrily, his motions flared, his voice was desperate, his head jerking around as though searching for another vent. This was beyond the anger of the average Autobot fighting spirit. It was not the uncontrolled fury of one who had just lost those closest to him. It was...ah, yes. A well-acquainted attitude, one Starscream was far-too-familiar with, thanks to Skyfire.

Bumblebee was back, tapping superfluously at the controls and yelling that nothing was happening. Skyfire ran over to echo the smaller mech's announcement. Now what?

The black fists were stopped, gripped in a primitive pushing match. Sideswipe was still fueled on frustration and won easily, pushing the Seeker against the doomsday device easily. Starscream laughed; a low, silky, inclusive laugh. "Your energy field is radiating fifty percent higher than normal." His fingers curled around Sideswipe's, sliding in a circular pattern affectionately. "Did our attack interrupt a special moment?"

No reply. Not that Starscream would have heard; Sideswipe shoved him against the device hard enough to scramble his circuits and knock him out cold. It didn't stop Sideswipe from pounding against the Seeker, not even when there was nothing left to flatten. His fist slipped on the mechfluid and jarred the panel next to him loose to reveal the mechanisms inside. Perceptor had come up behind him to try and calm him down, terrified at the beast unleashed. Sideswipe didn't always act like this in battle, did he? Perceptor mentally kicked himself for not going to other fights for a control to this variable. The unease changed to panic as he recognized the pieces showing.

"Sideswipe! This is a bomb!"

The Lamborghini grabbed the scientist and took off, radioing the bomb code 1041 over the airwaves. Autobots scattered like leaves in the wind to get away from it, except for Perceptor, who pushed himself away from Sideswipe (shunning intimacy even when his LIFE was at stake! This mech would send him to the recycling bin!) and landed on the ground, running back.

"Where are you going?" yelled Sideswipe.

"To stop the bomb!" he called over his shoulder.

"You geeky nut!" Sideswipe shouted, turning back to help.

Pain ran deep inside of Starscream, radiating like the sun. He couldn't move, he couldn't process, all he could do was feel the agony. Would it ever stop? Panic pervaded him, making it difficult to do anything but hang on to only one thought, the impulse of a desperately frightened Decepticon.

'Megatron...help me.'

Megatron stopped pushing against the Dinobot's tricorn to sharply glance towards the east. He frowned for a moment, indecision evaporating as time progressed. "Rumble! Rescue Starscream before we retreat!"

The last thing any of them wanted to do was go back to a giant bomb and retrieve the most annoying member of the team, but arguing with Megatron was the worse of two avoidance issues. Rumble landed by the rattling edifice and shook Starscream's shoulder, what was left of it. "Get up! We gotta get outta here!" The mech didn't respond, optics dark and mouth slightly open.

"Starscream, wake up!" He looked up to see two Autobots running toward him. "Oh no ya don't!" There was no way he could make an earthquake, forcing him to pull a firearm from subspace. His blaster shot down the red and black one, but his own gun was knocked out of his hand by the other red mech's blaster. He tried again to revive the jet beside him. "C'mon, Starscream!"

Perceptor raced up and inspected the control panels, for all the good it did. The screen remained blank. He moved over to the panel where the two Decepticons waited, fiddling with the circuitry until he realized he was lost. This was not a system he had ever seen before. How did they know what he could and could not do? He transformed to get a better look.

Sideswipe was up and moving again before he knew it. Rumble couldn't leave without Starscream, no matter how much he wanted to. The bomb rattled again as the periwinkle mech grew hysterical. "Don't just stand there! HELP ME!"

Sideswipe looked at Perceptor, who was more intent on a solution to the problem than escape. Heaving a sigh, the Lamborghini grabbed the microscope and hauled him away in one hand and the jet over his shoulders. Rumble flew next to him, supporting the Seeker who was groaning as they flew. Disgusted, the smaller mech wrenched him free as Sideswipe landed. The jet lifted his head in a feverish delirium, barely functioning. Perceptor stared at the bomb in agitation.

"I have to formulate a solution!" he cried. "Or the nuclear meltdown will be disastrous!"

"Why don't you channel Trailbreaker's force field to contain it?" demanded a delirious Starscream, finally being lifted by two Coneheads and taken away. Perceptor, gazing at the plant as his processor worked in overdrive, snapped his fingers for inspiration.

"Why don't I channel Trailbreaker's force field to contain it?" he exclaimed. "Using the new blaster!"

"I thought that thing was highly experimental!" This was insane!

"There are no other options. Trailbreaker! You are needed in coordinates N 42-19.952', W 83-4.114'! Expedience is of the utmost importance!"

The doomsday device roared, shaking the ground so hard it knocked a hurrying Trailbreaker to the ground. Sideswipe helped him up and dove for cover, hoping Perceptor remembered everything he'd learned in shooting class.

Megatron flew his troops out while cradling Starscream in his arms like a young child in his father's grasp. There was nothing paternal in this mech's spark, though: Starscream had tried to kill them. Worse, he had done something unprecedented, something that had to be analyzed. Once Megatron figured out how Starscream had managed to contact him first, as well as disconnect the mind link, Megatron could fine-tune his attacks. Then he could kill Starscream.
There was no time to debate. Trailbreaker glanced at Perceptor as he connected his forcefield mechanisms to the blaster and wished that they weren't going to die…because he'd offered to shoot the field himself and Perceptor had turned him down.

"This device will magnify your field capacities exponentially," the scientist explained as he cocked the gun at the nuclear power plant. He aimed carefully as Prime ran towards them, ordering Perceptor to wait, let Bluestreak-

KA-BLAM!

The seismic waves tossed the Autobots about like paper cups in a tidal wave…but Trailbreaker's forcefield kept the nuclear reaction contained. Cosmos put his own forcefield around the whole mess and chugged it out into space, leaving a huge crater…but NO RADIATION.

"HE DID IT!" screamed Ratchet, leaping in the air in a series of sporadically located jumps, fist pumping in the air with the joy reserved for basketball championships.

"He did it!" cried Trailbreaker incredulously, too drained to be as exuberant but just as thrilled. Ratchet helped him up, finally calming down.

Sideswipe cautiously rose from his hiding place, searching for Perceptor and not seeing him. Sunstreaker leapt into his face.

"You fraggin' idiot! You gave away our position!" Sideswipe ducked a yellow fist coming after him. "I missed half the fun 'cause I was pinned back with Hound!"

"Yeah, I bet you hated every minute of it!" Sideswipe returned the volley, tackling his brother in relief as they tumbled around the ground, trying to kill each other. Sunny had a weird way of telling him he was glad his brother was safe.

Optimus Prime carefully propped a battle-weary Perceptor up into sitting upright, gently shaking him online. The mech's optics lit up after a moment. He rubbed his injured shoulder uncomfortably.

"Did it-"

"Affirmative. You saved us." Prime supposed he could yell at Perceptor for jumping the gun and disobeying orders some other time. Right now all he wanted to do was hug the scientist-but he couldn't. Perceptor was with somebody else. They were in public. It wasn't right for a Prime to favor certain mechs. He had to content himself with one arm around the scientist while he regained his faculties.

Perceptor looked into the grayish blue optics and leaned back on the strong red arm in relief. So they were going to be all right. The earth was safe. He felt blue hands timidly pat the healthy shoulder and a disquieting thought struck Perceptor as odd. He wasn't scared. Being this close to Prime felt safe. Secure. There was no pressure to do the unknown, there was no worry of rejection or fear of being hurt, only the joy of being with someone whom he respected.

That was how it should be with Sideswipe…but it wasn't; it was more like a fight for supremacy instead of a mutual attraction. This was how it should feel and it wasn't. The thought was interrupted by Autobots calling for Optimus's help. As he pulled away Perceptor accidentally made a noise of disappointment. Prime paused before asking if the mech would be all right.

"I will be…fine." He smiled at the masked leader. He would be fine, as soon as he reassessed a few perspectives.

In the Decepticon med bay there was no medic. Most repaired themselves or begrudgingly allowed Starscream to fix them. Hook worked on Megatron alone, leaving the rest of them quick to master their own systems. Fortunately there were fragile alliances and clones and gestaltmates to aid with the more threatening repairs.

Starscream had no one willing to bring him back, except for a reluctant Constructicon who preferred his leader to be somewhere else while he operated, instead of observing the process over his shoulder.

Only Rumble was brave enough to ask. "What did you ask me to save him for?"

Megatron lied about many things, the most recent regarding how well he could read his Decepticons' thoughts. The mental connection was not the best, being that he killed his teacher before perfecting the technique. It was more of a scare tactic than a real asset to mental manipulation, which is why he was surprised with Starscream's communication.

Rumble's indignant demand needed to be answered. As Megatron watched Hook piece his enemy together he thought quickly. He didn't have to, knowing he could claim some ulterior motive not yet to be revealed, but the Decepticon leader told the truth often enough to keep his forces trusting him when a lie needed to be believed. Right now, a partial-truth was in order.

"I need him for a higher purpose," he explained carefully. Rumble asked what it was, and Megatron replied he would elaborate when Starscream was conscious.

He didn't offer any other details. Rumble let it go. Most of the Decepticons groaned in disappointment at Hook's proclamation that their Air Commander would live and abandoned the premises. Only Megatron remained, waiting.

"None can talk to me where you did, Starscream," he hissed into useless audios. "You were not strong enough to counter a mind link in your condition when I invaded you. You were too injured to contain the ability to disconnect our link, yet somehow you did. Explain yourself!" No reply. He had heard Starscream beg for help as though he were alongside Megatron fighting the Dinobot. It disturbed Megatron's assumptions, ruined his paradigms and plans, and forced him to completely reconsider the way he controlled his army.

The Decepticon leader waited for communication and received none. Annoyed, Megatron left to plan his next move.

Soft loving darkness flowed where pain ebbed, releasing the crushing panic that held him captive and made everything less heavy. He must have been repaired. For a jet, this feeling of weightlessness was a release all its own. Starscream sighed in his offline state and could now relax enough to dream.

It was simple enough: Cybertron, in all the glory of its Golden Age crumbling as Decepticon power overtook Autobot inaction. Megatron lead his forces to yet another victory. As they cheered their leader, he held his arms up for an announcement: he had chosen a successor.

"Starscream."

More cheers. Smiling to himself, the Seeker turned on his leader and shot him dead to the thrill of the mob below him. The planet was his!

Too simple. Megatron was a force to fear, a force to mistrust. Starscream could not do anything but anticipate his chance, since this maddening Decepticon awaited his perfidy at every turn. Megatron owned him, controlled him, watched over him with a proprietary attitude that seemed almost paternal but was more like possession. Someday Starscream would break free of this hold. First he had to come online.

When he awoke he was surprised to find himself alone. Surely Megatron would have waited for him, at least kept some kind of vigil for the Decepticon who had prayed to him like the god he was. Like human deities, Megatron appeared when it was within his whims, not when necessary. Relieved, Starscream was glad he hadn't shown that particular vulnerability.

It gave him time to plan his next move.

Repairs took forever. Ratchet thoroughly chewed him out for the entire duration of his work, adding to Sideswipe's already overflowing irritation. He told the CMO more than once to hurry up.

"Hot date?" he asked flippantly as he tapped the mech on the shoulder to demonstrate the end of the job.

"Yeah." Now to find the hiding Perceptor, who had been MIA in med bay, except for repairing Prime.

He was walking away from the closet in section 6-B with an indistinguishable part in his hands. Sideswipe reached for him and dodged the microscope barrel as he swung the purpose of his search to face him.

"Now where were we?" he asked mischievously, pushing the microscope against the wall. Finally.

Perceptor put a hand up to block the white and black face. "I require a different type of interaction, first." His voice and face were both grim, making him a mood-killer.

Sideswipe pulled back, smile fading quickly as he struggled to keep it on. "Shoot."

Perceptor solemnly positioned himself perpendicular to his original spot to avoid being cornered by the overeager Lamborghini. "I was considering our...activities, and I realized that although you are inordinately kind, I have to rescind my offer and decline your advances."

Those big words were just as much a turn-on as before. "Meaning?" he prodded, reaching for the scientist eagerly.

Perceptor physically held him back with a strength Sideswipe had never seen before, one equal to Sunstreaker's. "I want to wait until I'm bonded," he declared, optics granite.

So Gears had been right. Sideswipe had stared at the scientist for a moment, frozen, and then stormed down the hall in spite of Perceptor's entreaties to return. There had been no assurances of devotion from the mech, no hurt exclamations, and certainly no attempts to reach an understanding. Perceptor frowned in regret. He was sorry to lose such an agreeable compatriot; however, as the minibot had warned him, Sideswipe only wanted One Thing. As indecisive as Perceptor was to share this One Thing with him, he was certain that he was not prepared to withstand the emotional fallout of being considered yet another conquest when it was over. The mech's behavior in the last twelve hours had been a significant indication that there was no real feeling between the two.

Still...Gears' opinion stung more than the advice and truth. It had been a tradeoff; Quid pro quo in a situation where he stood to lose more than he was willing to give.

Perceptor mentally shrugged at the sight of Sideswipe's retreating back and sadly returned to his one true love: science. The pain would go away, he supposed, sooner or later. Until then...there were other things to concern himself over. At least he got his first kiss, and from a Lamborghini brother no less.

Sunstreaker lifted his head up from fixing the prototype blaster (and more often than not checking himself out in the mirror) to see Sideswipe crash into their chambers and throw everything he could put his hands on against the frequently abused wall. Crash. Clank. Smash. If the plates weren't nailed down he would have thrown those too. When there was nothing left to tacitly destroy in his frustration, Sideswipe turned to his vocalizer. "AUGH!"

"Told you so," his yellow counterpart said, handing him a glowing energon cube. Sideswipe yanked it away and ran out the door. Sunstreaker reached for the phone.

He leaned against the doorway, smirking with the triumph of a mech glad to have been around to catch Sunstreaker's call. Easy energon was his specialty, along with his capacity to bear heavy loads. Someone might contemptuously say his job as morale-booster was taken a bit too seriously. Those were the ones who obviously didn't have anything better to do but complain.

Sideswipe stomped over, optics flashing navy and lips turned upside down in a furious half-circle. His arms swung madly as his speed accelerated upon sighting his target.

"Slow down! You're sloshing my energon." If Sideswipe registered the protest he didn't show it. Gears ducked into his room to avoid a collision.

"...wants to wait for someone to make a commitment he can slaggin' RUST in that fraggin' lab of his..." Sideswipe thrust the energon into Gears' waiting hands and flopped onto his recharge plate. "C'mon. I just want to forget the whole thing."

Gears poured some of the energon into two flasks and offered one to his guest, as was custom. "Don't be so hard on yourself. That's my job." Sideswipe drained the larger container and held it out for more. "Just watch it; my struts are still out of whack from battle."

Tracks inspected the tape he'd found attached to his door with suspicion. It was unmarked, but had a note that merely said "Sory its just odeo." Well, what the heck. It was not likely to have a recording of New Kids on the Block tunes, as it had last time. Tracks put it into his standard issue player and sat at his desk to find the datapad with his latest journal entry.

(Static)

First voice: Optimus Prime, come in!

Tracks stopped his search and lifted his head to face the speakers, mouth open. His hand slowly moved to cover it.

Second voice: Ultra Magnus, this is Jazz. What's up in your neck of Cybertron?

Ultra Magnus: We have been forced to relocate again, losing track of the female Autobots. Requesting information pertaining to a communication wave frequency.

Jazz: Frequency is 2.220 X 1010000000 Code Beta Omicron.

Ultra Magnus: Frequency accepted. We will await their response.

Jazz: Any other requests?

Ultra Magnus: (Long pause. Guilty tone.) No. None.

Jazz: (Voice softer.) Your mech's doing better, now that he's got a new pad to crash in. (Even softer, almost unintelligible.) He's thinkin' about you, Magnus. Don't worry, I'll let you know what he's doin.' I got your back.

Ultra Magnus: (Relieved) I know. Thanks.

Jazz: (Full volume.) Jazzmeister out.

It was almost impossible to choke the grief back, but somehow Tracks wiped away the fluid leaking from his eyes and reached to rewind the message...

...and in the hallway, Sunstreaker smiled to himself in satisfaction before returning to his room, exhausted. Take that, Prime.

To be continued…