Once again, this story is based off of "Can you keep a secret?" by Sophie Kinsella and I do not own Transformers.

Ok, so here is Chapter 2!

Sparkling - Newborn

Youngling - Child

Breem - 8.3 Earth minutes

Joor - About 6.5 Earth hours

Orn - about 13 Earth days

Cycle – About 3 Earth weeks

Stellar Cycle – About 73 Earth months

Vorn - About 83 Earth years

Enjoy!

Can you keep a secret?

Chapter 2

After all that, I screwed it up.

As I drag my feet across the concourse at Gygax Shuttleport, I feel completely dejected. Ultra Magnus was quite sweet in the end. He said he was sure the stain would come out of his armor, and promised he wouldn't tell Sentinel what happened. But he didn't change his mind about the deal.

My first big chance—and this is what happens. I feel like calling the office and saying, "That's it. I'm never coming back again, and by the way, it was me who jammed the photocopier that time."

But I can't. This is my third career in four vorns. It has to work. For my own self-worth. For my own self-esteem. And also because I owe my dad four thousand credits.

I've arrived at the shuttleport with a joor to go, and have headed straight for the bar, "So what can I get you?" says a Tyger Pax bartender, and I look up at him in a daze.

"Ern…" My processor is blank. "Er, white special high-grade. No, actually, a coolant and tonic. Thanks."

As he moves away, I slump down again in my stool. An air hostess with a pink helm comes and sits down two bar stools away. She smiles at me, and I smile weakly in return.

I don't know how other bots manage their careers, I really don't. Like my oldest friend, Bumblebee. He's always known he wanted to be a lawyer—and now, ta-daah! He's a fraud barrister. But I left the academy with absolutely no clue. My first job was in an estate agency, and I only went into it because I've always quite liked looking around houses, plus I met this femme with amazing red lacquered armor at a career fair who told me she made so much money, she'd be able to retire when she was 800 vorns old.

But the breem I started, I hated it. I hated all the other trainee estate agents. I hated saying things like "a lovely aspect." And I hated the way if someone said they could afford three hundred thousand we were supposed to give them details of housed costing at least four hundred thousand, and then kind of look down our nose plates, like, "You only have three hundred thousand credits? Primus, you complete loser."

So after six stellar cycles I announced I was changing careers and was going to be a photographer instead. It was such a fantastic moment, like in a film or something. My dad lent me the credits for a photography course and camerabot, and I was going to launch this amazing new creative career, and it was going to be the start of my new life…

Except it didn't quite happen like that.
For a start, do you have any idea how much a photographer's assistant gets paid?
Nothing. It's nothing

Which, you know, I wouldn't have minded if anyone had actually offered me a photographer's assistant job.

I heave a sigh and gaze at my doleful expression in the mirror behind the bar. At least I wasn't the only one who didn't get anywhere.

Out of the eight bots in my course, one became instantly successful and now takes photos for Toxic, one became a photographer for bonding ceremonies, one had an affair with the tutor, one went traveling, one had a sparkling, one works at Snappy Snaps, and one is now at Raiders.

Meanwhile, I got more and more into debt, so I started temping and applying for jobs that actually paid credits. And eventually, eleven stellar cycles ago, I started as a marketing assistant at the Praxus Corporation.

The barmech places a coolant and tonic in from of me and gives me a quizzical look. "Cheer up!" he says. "It can't be that bad!"

"Thanks," I say gratefully, and take a sip. That feels a bit better.

I ought to comm Sentinel and give him a report. But I just can't face it. Anyway, he's probably still out at his awards lunch. He won't want me disturbing him on his comm. unit. It can wait until Monday.

I'm just taking a second sip of coolant when my comm. starts to ring. I feel a beat of nerves. If it's the office, I'll just pretend I didn't hear.

But it's not; it's our home code flashing across the link.

I press 'answer.' "Hi," I say.

"Hiya!" comes Bumblebee's voice. "Only me! So how did it go?"

Bumblebee is not only my oldest friend but my roommate, too. He has gleaming yellow armor with a few black plates and an IQ about 600 and is the sweetest bot I know.

"It was a disaster," I say miserably.

"It can't have been that bad!"

"Bumblebee, I drenched the marketing director of Glen Energon in crusted energon!"

Along the bar, I can see the air hostess hiding a smile, and I feel myself flush. Great. Now the whole world knows.

"Oh, dear." I can almost feel Bumblebee trying to think of something positive to say. "Well, at least you got their attention!" he says at last. "At least they won't forget you in a hurry."

"I suppose," I say morosely. "So, did I have any messages?"

"Oh! Erm, no. I mean, your dad did comm, but, um, you know, it wasn't…" He trails off evasively.

"Bumblebee. What did he want?"

There's a pause.

"Apparently your cousin's won some industry award," he says apologetically. "They're going to be celebrating it on Saturday, as well as your mom's birthday."

"Oh. Great."

I slump deeper in my chair. That's all I need. My cousin Tracks triumphantly clutching some best-office-furniture-salesperson-in-the-whole-planet-no-make-that-universe trophy.

"And Prowl comm, too, to see how you got on," adds Bumblebee quickly. "He was really sweet. He said he didn't want to comm. you during your meeting, in case it disturbed you."

"Really?"

For the first time today, I feel a lift in spirits.
Prowl. My boyfriend. My lovely, thoughtful, boyfriend.

"He's such a sweetspark!" Bumblebee is saying. "He said he's tied up in a big meeting all afternoon, but he's canceled his drinks party especially, so do you want to go out to supper tonight?"

"Oh," I say, pleased. "Oh, well, that'll be nice. Thanks, Bumblebee."

I cut the connection and take another sip of coolant, feeling much more cheerful.
My boyfriend.
It's just like the bot said, Windcharger, or something like that. When the turbofox bites, when the sparks stings…I simply remember I have a boyfriend—and suddenly things don't seem quite so completely fragged.
Or however she put it.

And not just any boyfriend. A tall, handsome, clever boyfriend, whom Marketing Week called "one of the brightest sparks in marketing research today."

I sit nursing my coolant, allowing thoughts of Prowl to comfort me. The way his armor shines in the sunlight and the way he's always smiling at me. And the way he upgraded all of my software for me without my even asking, and the way he…he…

My processors gone blank. This is ridiculous, I mean, there's so much that is wonderful about Prowl. From his…his long legs. Yes. And his broad shoulders. To the time he looked after me when I had a virus. I mean, how many boyfriends do that? Exactly.
I'm so lucky. I really am.

I do a double check of my chronological timer. Forty breems before the flight. Not long to go now. Nerves are starting to creep over me like organic insects, and I take a deep gulp of coolant, draining my cube.

It'll be fine, I tell myself for the zillionth time. It'll be absolutely fine. I'm not frightened. I'm just…I'm just…
Ok. I'm frightened.

11. I'm scared of flying.

I've never told anyone I'm scared of flying. It just sounds so lame. And I mean, it's not like I'm phobic or anything. It's not like I can't get on a shuttle. It's just…all things being equal; I would prefer to be on the ground. I'm called a grounder for a reason.

On the way up here this morning, I was so excited about the meeting, it was almost a distractions from my fear. But even so, I kept feeling bursts of panic. I kept having to turn of my optics and take deep breaths. And ever since I landed, it's been ticking away at the back of my processor: I have to fly back again. I have to get on a shuttle again.

I never used to be scared. But over the last few vorns, I've gradually got more and more nervous. I know it's completely irrational. I know thousands of bots fly every orn and it's practically safer than lying in a berth. You have less chance of being in a shuttle crash than…than finding a mech in Iacon or something.

But still. I just don't like it.
Maybe I'll have another quick coolant.
By the time my flight is called, I've drunk two more coolants and am feeling a lot more positive. I mean, Bumblebee's right. At least I made an impression, didn't I? At least they'll remember who I am.

As I stride toward the gate, clutching my briefcase, I almost start to feel like a confident businessmech again. A couple of bots smile at me as they pass, and I smile broadly back, feeling a warm glow of friendliness. You see. The planet's not so bad after all. It's all just a question of being positive. Anything can happen in life, can't it? You never know what's around the next corner.

I reach the entrance to the shuttle, and there at the door taking boarding passes, is the air hostess with the pink helm who was sitting at the bar earlier.

"Hi again!" I say, smiling. "This is a coincidence!"

The air hostess stares at me. "Hi. Erm…"

"What?" Why does she look embarrassed?

"Sorry. It's just…Did you know that…" She gestures awkwardly to my front.

"What is it?" I say pleasantly. I look down, and freeze, aghast.

Somehow my red armor chest plate has been unscrewing itself while I've been walking along. Three screws have come undone and it's gaping at the front.

That's why those bots were smiling at me. Not because the planet is a nice place but because I'm Unscrewed-Red-Armor Mech walking around with part of his spark showing.

"Thanks," I mutter, and quickly screw back the bolts with fumbling fingers, my face plate how with humiliation.

"It hasn't been your orn, has it?" says the air hostess sympathetically, holding out a hand from my boarding pass. "Sorry. I couldn't help overhearing earlier."

"That's all right." I raise a half smile. "No, it hasn't been the best orn of my life." There's a short silence as she studies my boarding pass.

"Tell you what," she says in a low voice. "Would you like an onboard upgrade?"

"A what?"

"Come on. You deserve a break."

"Really? But…can you just upgrade bots like that?"

"If there are spare seats, we can. We use our discretion. And this flight is so short." She gives me a conspiratorial smile. "Just don't tell anyone, Ok?"

She leads me into the front section of the shuttle and gestures to a big, wide seat. I've never been upgraded on a shuttle before in my life! I can't quite believe she's really letting me do this.

"Is this first class?" I whisper, taking in the hushed luxury atmosphere. A mech in is tapping on a datapad to my right, and two elderly femmes in the corner are plugging themselves into headsets.

"Business class. There's no first class on this flight." She lifts her voice to a normal volume. "Is everything Ok for you?

"It's perfect! Thanks very much."

"No problem." She smiles again and walks away, and I plop down into one of the coziest seats I've ever seen.

Wow. This is lovely. Comfortable seats, and footrests, and everything. This is going to be a completely pleasurable experience from start to finish. I reach for my seat belt harness and buckle it up nonchalantly, trying to ignore the flutters of apprehension in my tank.

"Would you like some highgrade?" It's my friend the air hostess, beaming down at me.

"That would be great," I say. "Thanks!"
Highgrade!
"And for you, sir? Some highgrade?"

There's a mech in the seat next to mine who hasn't even looked up yet. He has blue and red armor with shining gold flames across his body and is staring out of the window. As he turns to answer, I catch a glimpse of dark midnight blue optics, a deep frown etched on his forehelm plating.

"Just oiled coolant. Thanks."

His voice is dry and has an accent that sounds like he's from Crystal City. I'm about to ask politely where he's from, but he immediately turns back and stares out the window again.
Which is fine, because to be honest I'm not much in the mood for talking either.

Here's the next revised chapter. Not much that changed but still a little bit.

Thanks