A/N: Here's the third and almost final chapter. The next one is just a tiny little epilogue. Please review if you like, I'm contemplating making a Valentine's day sequel and it would be helpful to know what you think :)

Arc 1: 'Tis the season

Chapter 3: A time for believing

The party was coming to an end. This late in the year the sun didn't rise until mid-morning, but the night was more than halfway over, and despite Sideswipe's excellent efforts with the high-grade, the mechs in the clearing were slowing down.

"Well, that's that," Ratchet sighed, raising his cube in a toast.

Soundwave echoed the motion. "Affirmative. Soundwave: did not take own advice. Got heavily overcharged."

Ratchet chuckled. "Nah, you're not so bad, Sounders. I've seen worse." He looked around the clearing. "Pit, I can see worse from here."

"Yes," the masked mech intoned. "Coneheads: can't handle their high-grade." He sipped at his cube. "Sparklings."

Ratchet snorted a laugh. The Decepticon spymaster had a sense of humor. And here they'd wondered if he was actually a drone.

Soundwave put down his cube and turned towards Ratchet. "Query: party considered a success?"

"I don't know what criteria Prowl and Prime are using, but from where I'm sitting?" Ratchet eyed the mechs in the clearing, from the pile of recharging Coneheads, to the Constructicons singing softly along with Mirage on one of the old Towers songs, to Thundercracker sitting calmly sipping his energon with a recharging Fireflight in his lap, stroking his wings gently. "Yeah, I'll say so."

"Good." The navy mech picked up his cube again and emptied it. "War: been going on for too long. Cassettes: never seen peace." He turned his head towards Ratchet again. "Soundwave: also tired of constant fighting. Autobots and Decepticons: same species. Must move past this hatred. Or else we will not survive. Maybe this will help."

"Maybe it will," Ratchet agreed. He was still surprised that Soundwave's mode of speaking had evened out the more high-grade he imbibed, suggesting that it really was a conscious choice. "Maybe it will." He lifted his cube again towards the other mech. "I'll drink to that."

Soundwave raised his empty cube, knocking it against Ratchet's.

"I want to thank you," Optimus said, smiling slightly.

Starscream leaned back, looking up at the Prime. "What for?"

"For the most pleasant evening I have had in a long time," the Autobot leader replied, looking down at the Seeker leaning up against him.

Starscream sneered at that, looking away.

"No, I mean it," Prime insisted, one hand lifting to stroke the edge of one wing gently. "It is… invigorating… to talk to someone who remembers as I do. I am deeply fond of my friends, but none of them save Ironhide and Ratchet remember those days, and neither of them think of the socializing with joy. I am glad to have been allowed to remember this, to reenact it." The hand moved against the wing edge again. "You are good company, Starscream."

It was hard work keeping an irritated mask when his wings were being teased so delightfully. "I suppose it has been nice," he conceded with ill grace.

Prime chuckled. "Is it so difficult to accept a compliment?"

"Those seldom come without barbs, nowadays," Starscream replied, though slag it all to pit if he knew why he bothered. There was no point to telling Prime any of these things.

Then again, there had been no point in talking to Prime this entire evening, either, reminiscing about Vos and the Academy, the festivals to the glory of Primus that they'd both had to attend, and the feasts that invariably followed them. It was all pointless.

But still he'd done it.

"Yes, I can imagine," Optimus sighed. "This war has taken its toll on all of us, Megatron as well."

There was silence for a long time. Then…

"Is it wrong to not be happy with the way things are, Optimus?" Starscream asked quietly. "Is it wrong to long for something better?"

He blamed it on the high-grade, really. It had to be. There was no way he'd come out and say all these things if not. It really was a most excellent vintage.

"Of course it is not," Prime sighed, hand briefly squeezing Starscream's shoulder. "That is why we fight, after all. For something better."

"Not me," Starscream snorted, the undignified sound marred with disdain. "Not us. That's not the Decepticon way."

"Why do you fight, then, Starscream?" Optimus asked softly.

He didn't know. By Primus, he didn't know anymore. It used to be for something – it used to mean something, once. That time was long past.

Prime interpreted his silence correctly. "Perhaps, my friend, it is time to stake out another route."

Starscream had never entertained that thought before. But here, now, leaning back in Optimus's arms, he could believe it.

Yes, for tonight, he would believe it.

"I don't want to fight anymore," Skywarp slurred.

"Skywarp, you're overcharged," Silverbolt murmured quietly from his position against the Seeker's side.

"Course I am," the teleporter snorted. "That was the point. And it's irrel – irrely – it doesn't matter. I still don't want to fight anymore."

"But it's your job," the Aerialbot replied.

"Slag that," Skywarp sneered. "I ain't gotten paid in currency worth having in vorns, Megatron pounds my trine leader into slag for every real or imagined slight, and we barely have the energon to survive. We're stuck between the Autobots and Megatron's fusion cannon. No, this ain't a job. There's just no other choice for us." He sighed heavily, warm ex-vent ghosting over Silverbolt's plating. "But I wish there was."

"You'd never be saying this if you were sober," Silverbolt said.

"You're right, I wouldn't. I'm not stupid."

"Contrary to popular belief," Silverbolt joked lightly, eyeing the black and purple flier. He tried sitting up straighter, but instead ended up keeling slightly over into Skywarp's lap.

Apparently, the Decepticon wasn't the only one who was overcharged.

Skywarp laughed, though, hands gently steadying the sliding Autobot. "Hey, I worked hard to get that rep. Better not ruin it. Come on." He tugged the white shoulders gently. "The party's winding down. Megatron's prob'ly gonna call the retreat any minute now." He grinned at his own joke. "C'mon Silverbolt. You can't recharge in my lap, unfortunately."

Silverbolt twisted, looking up at the Seeker's silver faceplate. "Would you want me to? If we could?"

Skywarp's grin faded, turning into a sad smile. Purple fingers ghosted across Silverbolt's cheek. "Yeah. Yeah, I would."

That had to be good enough, Silverbolt decided. No use pining after what he couldn't have.

After all, Skywarp was right. There wasn't that much of a choice involved.

Thundercracker stroked red and white plating gently. The recharging Aerialbot in his lap was so young. He couldn't get past it.

If this was Cybertron, back before the war, Fireflight would never even have been let near a weapon yet. He would still be sheltered, protected, cared for within the youngling training centers of Vos. Instructors would be teaching him aerial tactics and military history, and they would be working on his focus and concentration, trying to get him to stop flying into things.

He should have been sheltered and protected. Instead, he'd been thrust into a war within the vorn he'd onlined for the first time, expected to carry burdens that mechs many times his age struggled with.

And all Thundercracker could do about it was sit there and stroke the red and white plating. Giving him at least one night where he didn't have to be a soldier, where he could act the youngling he still really was.

Thundercracker looked up at the sound of approaching pedes. Silverbolt came towards them, slowly, swaying a bit. Skywarp followed just behind him, one arm around the younger flier, purple hand resting on white hip.

"Hey," the Aerialbot said, sinking gently down on his knees in front of the dark blue Seeker. "Thanks for taking care of my baby brother."

"It was my pleasure," Thundercracker rumbled softly, hands never stilling over the flier in his lap. "Thanks for taking care of mine."

"I'm not sure who took care of whom, really," Silverbolt replied, smiling softly up at the black and purple mech behind him. Skywarp sat down with a tired grin, pulling the tricolored Autobot into his lap.

Thundercracker smiled slightly at the sight, shaking his head. "Don't let Megatron see you. Or Starscream."

Skywarp grinned brightly. "You're kidding, right? Have you seen what Screamer's been doing with Prime tonight?"

Thundercracker frowned slightly. "I saw them dance…"

"Yeah, that was nothing," Skywarp replied, a wicked smirk on his face. "Look."

Thundercracker turned his head in the direction his brother was indicating. He stared. Then he rebooted his optics. Not that it helped – he could still see them.

Starscream was sitting in Prime's lap, under the trees. The Seeker watched, incredulous, as his trine leader leaned back, looking up at the Autobot leader's face, grinning at something the Prime was saying.

Thundercracker hadn't seen that smile in vorns.

And then…

"Primus," Silverbolt snickered. "Is Optimus…?"

"I think he is," Thundercracker mumbled, not quite able to conceal the surprise on his face. "Well, that takes you off the hook, Warp. Though Megatron is probably going to kill Starscream."

"Nah, he won't," Skywarp grinned evilly, tightening his hold on Silverbolt in the process. "Look over there."

Thundercracker turned again, towards where the red Lambo twin was packing down his energon stand. In the shadows next to them, the towering grey warbuild was barely visible. And next to him, looking tiny in comparison, a small yellow shape.

"Is that… Bumblebee?" Silverbolt asked, astounded.

"Yep," Skywarp said, popping the 'p'. "He's been sitting there all night. Don't know what they're doing, really, but I heard Megs laugh a while back so it can't be all bad." He turned to his brother. "It's going to be the gossip of both bases tomorrow, TC. How come you missed it?"

Thundercracker shrugged, careful not to jostle the figure in his lap. "I guess I was distracted."

Silverbolt gave him an understanding smile. "He is very distracting, isn't he?"

"Very." Black digits ghosted over Fireflight's pale faceplate. "He's so… innocent."

"Yeah." Silverbolt sighed, leaning back against Skywarp's chest. "I hope he never loses that. But the longer this war goes on…"

"I know what you mean." Thundercracker eyed Silverbolt – the way he was relaxing into his trine mate, the way Skywarp's arms rested around the Aerialbot's waist. "Are you all that young?"

"We're all the same age," was the reply. "And we're adults – though barely. Flight just seems younger because of his fascination with everything. He has an almost sparkling-like nature."

"I noticed," Thundercracker murmured, stroking the square helm. He had spent the entire evening noticing. Fireflight was eager, excited, interested in the world around him in a way Thundercracker had never seen before, and though the young Aerialbot had been scared of him at first, he'd still come over to ask about his sonic booms, hanging onto Thundercracker's every word with wide, fascinated optics.

Thundercracker had quickly become completely captivated with his young audience. He hadn't talked to another mech all night.

Much like Skywarp had spent all evening with his optics glued to Silverbolt's form, and Prime hadn't walked away from Starscream.

What in the pit was happening to them? And what the hell did it mean?

His gaze wandered to Megatron again as the grey mech laughed, mock-punching the little minibot next to him. Almost knocking Bumblebee to the ground in the process – his leader was not used to dealing with minibots, and he certainly wasn't used to pulling his punches. Judging by the stack of empty cubes next to him, he was far past the ability to think that he even should.

Thundercracker felt a dread settle in his tanks at the sight, and unconsciously pulled Fireflight closer. What would happen when Megatron woke up tomorrow?

Who would he take it out on this time?

Bumblebee righted himself with more effort than he'd usually need, thanks to the stack of empty cubes next to him. A small stack, true, compared to Megatron's, but then again, the Decepticon leader was at least twice his size.

"So," he giggled, pushing himself back against the grey plating, "so the squid actually got sucked into his intakes?"

"Yes," Megatron grinned. "It took Hook a whole day to get it all back out. Turns out they're soft little critters, so Wildrider's intakes pretty much pulverized it." He took another sip of his cube, one of the last Sideswipe had prepared with the zinc/nickel mix. "It stank, too. Hook will tell you the smell lingered in the repair bay for at least a week."

"Priceless," Bumblebee snickered. "I have noticed that the Nemesis tends to attract ocean creatures. Must be the light."

Megatron looked down at him, humor in his red optics. "Yes, you're quite the little spy, aren't you?" He took another swig. "I imagine you know my ship better than I do myself."

Bumblebee shrugged. "It's my job. So, yeah. But I think Soundwave's cassettes knows it better than we do."

"Let's hope so," Megatron grinned. "They're on my side, after all. You, little spy, are not." Grey fingers pushed down at Bumblebee's helm carefully, and Bumblebee grinned.

He barely kept back the question of why there had to be sides at all. Overcharged or not, mellowing or not, he doubted Megatron would take kindly to that question. He'd probably get pummeled into the ground.

Megatron stood, looking down at Bumblebee's empty cubes. "Another?"

Bee shook his head regretfully. "Not if I want to get back to the Ark under my own power tonight. Thanks, though."

Megatron just grunted, walking over to Sideswipe and picking up a pair of cubes. Coming back, he handed one to Bumblebee. "Low-grade," he said, lowering himself back to the ground with a sigh. "It'll help diffuse the charge. Your red hellion says he's shutting down the high-grade and making sure everyone has some of this."

"That's clever," Bumblebee replied, taking a swig of the nearly colorless energon. Then he giggled. "I don't want to think of the state most of us will be in tomorrow."

Megatron chuckled quietly. "You're probably right. More than a few of my Decepticons have drunk themselves into a stupor tonight."

Bumblebee nodded. "The Autobots, too. Will you be able to get them home?"

The grey mech nodded. "They usually move if I threaten to shoot them. If Skywarp and Astrotrain are online still, they might take some of them. If not, they'll have to get home on their own power."

"You wouldn't make sure they got home safely?"

Megatron snorted. "That what Prime does? Sounds like his thing. No. If they're dumb enough to get overcharged to the point where they can't walk, they deserve to be left behind and good riddance to them. They usually manage to move, though. They know the punishment that awaits them if they don't." He paused, his eyes roving the clearing, looking for somebody. "Except Starscream. Starscream always manages to slag me off to the point where I'd rather deactivate him." He looked down at Bumblebee. "Don't know why I'm telling you this."

"Me neither," Bumblebee said, and he really didn't. The form of discipline practiced aboard the Nemesis sounded more like tyranny to him than actual leadership. He decided to risk his plating to try to enlighten the Decepticon leader. He would probably be okay, even if he ticked Megatron off - Ratchet was probably still online, and even if he wasn't, First Aid definitely was. The Protectobots never got overcharged to such a degree.

Well, except for Blades. But that was another story altogether.

"Prime encourages moderation, at least in public," he said. "We have some pretty wild parties aboard the Ark, though. Last time, Wheeljack fell asleep in the rec room doorway and everyone just stepped over him to get in and out. Sideswipe pulled him off to berth in the end. We tend to tidy them up when the party ends."

Megatron laughed quietly. "So you're telling me that the little red demon and your trigger-happy weapons specialist will be carted home?"

"Ironhide is no problem," Bumblebee grinned. "He'll wake up when Ratchet prods him. Cliffjumper and the others, well…" He looked at where his fellow minibots were lying, the red devil in question leaning up against Brawn with Windcharger curled up in his lap. "Prime will probably take them back himself. They can fit in his trailer."

"Prime will haul them back himself?" Megatron stared at Bumblebee incredulously. For a brief moment, Bee wondered if he'd given too much away, but he didn't see the danger in Megatron knowing that Prime took care of his overcharged team. It was pretty much a given, considering the nature of the Autobot leader.

"Yeah," he nodded. "It's what he does. He cares."

"You're implying that I do not," Megatron says, looking into his cube.

Bumblebee turned towards him, feeling particularly brave. "I don't know you well enough to tell. But I think that if you do care, you have a strange way of showing it."

Megatron grunted. "It's the way they expect."

Bumblebee nodded. "That's as may be. But is it what they expect because it's the way it should be," he asked, eyeing Megatron shrewdly, "or is it what they expect because it's what you trained them to expect from you?"

For a long, long while, Megatron just stared at him. Bumblebee forced himself to remain still. He was fairly certain that if Megatron had had his fusion cannon, he would have been shot a long time ago. From his viewpoint in the Nemesis vents, he'd seen the warlord shoot his subordinates for less. But, the brave feeling still remaining and not chased off yet by the low-grade, he decided to push some more.

"Why do they follow you, sir?"

"Because they want to fight to free Cybertron from oppression," was the answer. It sounded like something Megatron had learned by rote – the default answer to such a question. Bumblebee shook his head.

"That may be why they followed you at first. But not now. Cybertron is dead. Its inhabitants are dead or scattered across the known universe. The Senate is gone, Sentinel is gone, everything's gone. Only Prime's left, and he's mainly fighting because you are. So why do you fight, sir? Why do they follow you?"

The silence this time was even longer, stretching past uncomfortable and well into unbearable. Megatron was simply staring into his cube, swirling its contents around and around.

"Tell you what I think?" Bumblebee asked, slightly hesitant. The warlord finally looked up.

"Why not," he sighed. "I haven't been able to stop you so far."

"I think they follow you because they think they have to," Bumblebee said. "There's no other choice."

"By that logic, there's no other choice for you, either," Megatron pointed out. "You have to follow Prime."

Bumblebee shook his head. "No, we don't. That's the difference. We choose to. Every one of us, every day, chooses to follow him. If we were to leave, head for a Neutral colony or something, he wouldn't stop us. He'd stop anyone who tried to defect to you, yes, but not if we genuinely, truly just wanted to leave." He took a last swallow from his cube, emptying it. "I think you would shoot them if they tried to leave."

"Of course I would," Megatron snorted. "Deserters are cowards. Wait." He turned to Bumblebee again, and this time, the force of his glare was enough make Bumblebee move backwards. "You're saying they follow me because they're scared of me."

Bumblebee hesitated, then nodded. "Yes. And desperate. Because they've got nowhere else to go."

This time, he did get punched. Bumblebee supposed he deserved that.

Jazz watched as Soundwave moved among the mechs in the clearing, gathering up his cassettes.

"Ravage: return."

The cybercat slunk over, taking care not to step on anyone as he made his way to his master. He leapt, transforming on the fly and slotting himself into his master's chest.

Jazz had seen it many times before. But never so unhurried, so relaxed. Soundwave wasn't ordering Ravage into safety, he was telling the cassette that it was time to go home. And Ravage came, easily, calmly, taking his time.

Laserbeak and Buzzsaw followed, flying in and docking quietly, and Soundwave turned in a slow circle, looking for the other three. Jazz stepped forward. "Frenzy'n Rumble were with Ironhide earlier," he offered. "Over there."

Soundwave turned in the direction he pointed. "Thank you."

Jazz grinned. "No problem. Ah know Blaster's really attached to his little family, Ah bet y'are to yours as well."

"Cassettes: vital to the Decepticon cause," Soundwave replied. Then he turned to Jazz. "Also: parts of my own spark. My bonded family. My loved ones."

Jazz nodded, falling into step next to the navy and white mech. "Figured. That's what Blaster says, too." He looked around for signs of the Decepticon twins. "No matter how much trouble they cause, how mad he gets at'em, he always forgives'em, always welcomes'em back."

Soundwave nodded. "Soundwave: different. Cassettes must behave. Decepticons: dangerous."

"Yeah, Ah guess it's different for your guys. Ya have ta be more wary."

"Soundwave: also not different. Always welcomes cassettes back. Always a safe haven." One dark hand moved, gently touching the glass in front of his cassette deck. "Always loved."

Jazz grinned. There was almost emotion in that strangely-timbred voice.

Soundwave turned, heading towards the edge of the wood where a pile of mechs were heaped up. Jazz spotted at least three cassettes, one recharging Skydive, Hound, half of two Constructicons and what looked like Trailbreaker's legs sticking out beneath it all.

"Rumble: return," Soundwave intoned.

No one moved.

Jazz chuckled. "Can ya force-transform him, Soundwave? 'Cause Ah think this group is all out cold. Hang on, Ah'll comm Blaster, have him pick up his two miscreants."

"Assistance: appreciated," Soundwave grunted, shifting Skydive off the pile to reveal Scavenger's head.

Blaster came walking over, Hot Spot, First Aid and Hook following. First Aid sighed as they reached the pile of recharging mechs, shaking his head. "There will be a lot of sore processors tomorrow."

Jazz nodded with an easy smile. "Still, probably worth it, doncha think? C'mon, Spot," he said, looking at the tall Protectobot, "ya have the strength ta move these mechs. Help us detangle'em, huh?"

"Yes, sir," Hot Spot replied, taking the still offline Skydive from Soundwave and placing him carefully against a tree. Blaster moved in then, picking up Eject and triggering the transformation that let him be slotted into the cassette master's chest. Steeljaw followed, actually onlining enough to do the transformation himself.

Jazz helped Hook pull Scavenger and a slightly twitching Mixmaster from the pile. "C'mon, mechs," the Constructicon medic said gruffly, "online already. You know Megatron'll leave you if you don't get up."

"Here," First Aid said, kneeling down and injecting some sort of fluid directly into the recharging Constructicons' lines. Hook stared at him, and First Aid looked back, a small smirk on what was visible of his face. "That'll help with the hangover, and hopefully get them on their feet long enough to manage the trek." He pulled at Hound's arm, injecting him as well, before moving to Trailbreaker. "It's Ratchet's recipe – he calls it the 'vial of vile'. Because if you have to take it with your energon in the morning, as most do, it turns the whole cube a nasty green color."

Hook stared for a moment longer, then nodded and prodded his team mates with his pede. "Thanks. C'mon, you pests, up."

Soundwave picked up an offline Rumble, stroking down his back to trigger the transformation sequence. "Rumble: told not to get overcharged."

"Ah, don't be too mad at him, boss," Frenzy piped up from behind them. He was walking up alongside a slightly worse-for-wear Rewind, supporting the older cassette with one hand under his elbow. "Rumble's processors stalled when Prime danced with Starscream, and he's been trying to clear out the image since then."

Jazz couldn't blame him. He'd been trying to forget that sight, too. Especially the sickeningly pleased look on Screamer's faceplate.

"Frenzy: return." Soundwave said, and the cassette complied with a tired grin. Rewind stumbled over to Blaster, looking up at him pathetically.

"Yeah, come on, little mech," Blaster said softly, opening his deck. "Come recharge." The cassette docked with a tired sigh.

Soundwave moved away from the now-awakening – thanks for First Aid and the vial of vile – pile of mechs, looking around somewhat anxiously at the stirring mechs across the clearing.

"Ya missin' one, Sounders?" Jazz asked, knowing the answer.

"Ratbat: unaccounted for," Soundwave replied, still scanning the clearing. "Ratbat: tiny. Youngest cassette. Unused to high-grade, never sampled. Easily overlooked if offline."

Jazz understood. "Ya're afraid he'll get trampled."

"Affirmative." The nervous way Soundwave moved belied the calmness of his words. The cassette master was worried.

Jazz turned his comm on, sending out an Autobot-wide broadcast. *Jazz here, mechs. Anyone got eyes on Ratbat? Soundwave's gettin' twitchy.*

*He's here,* Bluestreak replied. *Hang on, I see you. I'll bring him.*

Jazz nodded, reaching out and taking hold of Soundwave's elbow. The Decepticon turned sharply, visor aimed at his own. "Easy, Soundwave," Jazz said softly. "They're bringin' him now."

He let the spy-master go, and Soundwave turned in the direction Jazz indicated. Bluestreak was weaving his way through the unsteady or still recharging mechs in the clearing, a bright smile on his faceplate, his hands cradled close to his chest.

"Hey, Soundwave," he said in greeting as he came up to them. "I'm sorry, Ratbat fell into recharge with us a while back, and I didn't have the heart to wake him, he's so cute when he's sleeping. He didn't get overcharged, just tired, so I've held onto him for a while, I hope that was okay." He lowered his hands, letting Soundwave see the recharging cassette form nestled in his palms. "He's an adorable little guy, really, isn't he? You must be very proud of him."

"Ratbat: priceless," Soundwave said softly, reaching out and picking up his smallest cassette carefully. "Also, young. Soundwave: grateful."

"Yeah, no problem," Bluestreak grinned. "As I said, he's really adorable, and he's been asking us all sorts of questions and talking himself into recharge. Even Sunny liked him, said he's not bad for a sparkling, which is high praise from him, you know."

Soundwave carefully transformed Ratbat and tucked him into his chest next to his brothers. "Ratbat: would be offended. Not a sparkling anymore. Youngling now, by several vorns." His visor flashed, and Jazz just knew the Decepticon was grinning. "Ratbat: wrong. Still sparkling inside, though youngling frame."

"Like Fireflight," Skydive snorted from his position near the trees. "Except, y'know, adult instead of youngling."

"Comparison: accurate," Soundwave nodded. "Thank you, Bluestreak."

Jazz just grinned. Whatever had possessed Prowl to invite the Decepticons to this, he doubted his tactical computer could have foreseen this outcome. Still, he would be lying if he said he didn't think it was absolutely amazing.

He squeezed Soundwave's shoulder once, and left to find his mate.

Prowl watched as Optimus Prime walked to where Sideswipe had just finished dismantling his energon stand and turned to the assembled gathering. Some were swaying unsteadily on their feet, some were still sitting down, and Cliffjumper and the Coneheads were still recharging despite the vial of vile that First Aid had been administrating to everyone. Starscream was staring enraptured at Prime, which was almost enough to make Prowl's processor glitch, and what was worse was that Prime was gazing back just as fondly.

Then again, the reason he'd set this up was to make both sides see each other as friends instead of enemies. He just didn't think it would work quite this well. And it wasn't just those two, either.

"Autobots, Decepticons," Prime began, "Cybertronians. I think it's about time we call this a night, don't you?" A few chuckles greeted that, and Ironhide shook his head wryly. "I want to thank you all for a great evening," Optimus continued. "It's my hope that we've all discovered new sides to ourselves and each other tonight. Maybe we can move forward on a more common ground. Megatron?"

The grey warlord walked forward from the back of the clearing, making his way through the mechs. They moved aside for him quickly, darting out of his way before he came close.

Friends in the ranks are all well and good, Prowl thought. But it's him we need to consider.

Megatron stopped when he was still some distance from Optimus, standing opposite him but still outside the crowd. "Prime. Thank you for the high-grade."

Prowl fought his rapidly-crashing logic circuits. There wasn't a smidge of sarcasm in the Decepticon leader's tone.

"It was my pleasure, Megatron, believe me," Prime replied, inclining his head slightly. "Now. There are still a few hours left of the truce, but we both have mechs who will not be able to get home under their own power. Will you grant an additional four hours to allow safe returns for all our mechs?"

Megatron sneered at the offline Coneheads, then nodded. "Granted."

"Thank you," Optimus said, and Prowl could tell he was smiling again. "Then there is nothing left to say. Except, I suppose," and here his eyes twinkled merrily, "happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night."

"Sirs," Thundercracker said, stepping forward. "Requesting permission to stay behind, making sure everyone gets home safely." Megatron stared at him. Prowl wasn't surprised – that was a distinctly Autobot request. Maybe it had something to do with the still half in recharge Fireflight that the Seeker was cradling.

"And me," Skywarp added, following his trinemate. Unsurprisingly, Hot Spot and First Aid stepped forward as well.

"Of course," Optimus nodded, eyeing the Protectobots. "Megatron?"

"If you must," Megatron grunted. "You will be back before the truce ends. Astrotrain!"

"Lord Megatron?" The hulking dark mech shuffled forward.

Megatron, strangely, hesitated. And then, even more boggling to the mind, he looked at Bumblebee. "Take the Coneheads back to the Nemesis. And anyone else who can't make it back themselves."

Now it was Prowl who stared, completely astounded. Based on the wave of gasps and sharp intakes making its way across the clearing, he wasn't the only one to be surprised.

To his knowledge, Megatron had never taken such care of his mechs before. It was always up to the gestalt leaders or trine leaders to get any errant or wounded mechs out of the fray.

Maybe there was such a thing as Christmas miracles. Then again, he wasn't too sure he should be happy about something that made life easier for the Decepticons.

As the gathering began to disperse, he sought out Jazz. His mate was standing near the edge of the clearing, watching everyone.

"Merry Christmas, Jazz," Prowl said softly, letting his arms slide around the saboteur from behind. "Did you enjoy your gift?"

Jazz twisted, that blue visor looking up at him. "Ya mean t' say that this was f'r me, Prowler?"

"Yes. Well, for you and Hound and Sunstreaker and Bluestreak and Wheeljack and the others who helped you make my gifts. And for Prime. Did you enjoy it?"

Jazz's hands came to rest on top of his own, interlacing their fingers. "Ah did," he grinned, leaning his head against Prowl's. "Ah can't believe this. Have ya seen what ya actually did t'night?"

"What do you mean, love?"

"Look," Jazz said. "Look at Starscream and his trine. Look at Soundwave, and the Constructicons. Pit, look at Megatron. Do ya see it now?"

Prowl did. He saw it in the tender way that Thundercracker was cradling the young Aerialbot in his arms, in Skywarp's constant glancing at Silverbolt and the latter's smiling back. In Hook, one hand on First Aid's shoulder as they walked, and Mixmaster, talking to Hound and Trailbreaker and grinning as all three supported each other as they walked away.

Soundwave and Ratchet, side by side, walking towards the path from the clearing together, helms together conspiratorially. Starscream and Prime, standing in front of each other with identical goofy grins on their faces, Prime's hand on the Seeker's waist.

That would have been the most astounding of all, except that behind them, Megatron was kneeling down in front of Bumblebee, putting them on a more level height. The Decepticon warlord, fierce, strong and fear-inspiring, was grinning at the yellow minibot. And Bumblebee was laughing. Laughing hard enough, it seemed, to warrant the one hand holding on to the Decepticon's forearm for support.

"Prowler, Ah think ya jus' ended the war," Jazz said quietly.

"That would be much more than I hoped for," Prowl replied in equally dulcet tones.

"What didya hope for?"

"Hope," Prowl replied simply. "I hoped for hope."

"Well," Jazz said, turning to look at the dissipating crowd again. "That, Ah think ya managed."