Sorry for the long delay, been traveling for Christmas on a cross-country roadtrip! For your reading enjoyment here is Chapter 4. There is a lot of dialogue in this chapter, but I thought it necessary in order to develop Warp and Stinger's characters. I also introduce two other characters that no Seeker story should be without! Tell me what ya think!

Chapter Four: Two Reasons You Should Mind Your Own Business

"Hey Starscream, I'm beginning to worry a little 'bout Warp," Thundercracker said as he approached his Air Commander. "It's been almost two cycles since that raid in Symkaria and we haven't heard one peep from him."

The tall, red, white and blue Seeker gave his wingmate a condescending look. "And you're complaining why?"

The big blue and red Con looked taken aback. "Well…uh…no, not really, I mean, it's just not like him to not report in."

The two Seekers strode down one of the many corridors of the Nemesis, the Decepticon's hidden underwater base of operations. Their broad wingspans forced any other unfortunate souls in the same hallway to flatten themselves like washers against the walls. Starscream and Thundercracker continued on, ignoring the scathing glares from their comrades. They soon came to the mess hall, grabbed their daily ration of energon and headed towards their favorite corner. As they sat down, Starscream could still see the worry in the blue Seeker's optics.

He released a longsuffering gust of air from his intakes. "Stop worrying, TC! Enjoy the solitude while it lasts! Things around here have actually begun going smoothly for a change."

Thundercracker raised his optics from staring at the pink swirling eddies in his energon. "Hmmph. Maybe. But what if he was shot down this time? Or taken hostage by the Autobots?"

"Then I don't pity them one bit, if that be the case," came the sarcastic reply.

Thundercracker glared at his Commander, "Good to know you care," he said with equal sarcasm.

Their mission had been simple enough. Cover the ground forces as they attacked the new solar energy plant in Symkaria. As expected, the Autobots and their human allies were soon on them like a plague of cosmic rust. The air battle was hard, and fast and with the Arialbots aiding the human jets, the scales had evened somewhat. A few breems before Megatron called a ground force retreat, most of the human fighters were severely damaged or destroyed. The Coneheads were occupying the Arialbrats and he, Starscream, and Skywarp were cleaning the skies of the remaining human filth. The sudden barrage of Surface-to-Air missiles had prompted Starscream to order a hasty retreat. In the ensuing confusion, the Seeker trine had split up with plans to meet at later coordinates; the only thing being, Skywarp never made it to the coordinates.

They then assumed that their less-than-brilliant wingmate had decided to beat them back to the Nemesis; it wasn't out the ordinary. It had now been almost two solar cycles since they last saw the black Seeker. Something wasn't right. Not that Thundercracker wasn't enjoying the relative peace and quiet; Starscream was right. Things had been quieter and smoother without their wingmate blowing something (or someone) up every few joors (as he was one of Skywarp's favorite prank targets).

"You're still sore that he snuck into your lab and switched all the vial labels on your little chemistry set," Thundercracker said, a hint of amusement in his ruby optics.

Starscream glared daggers at the blue Seeker; the statement had obviously hit the nail on the head. "So what if I am?" he challenged. "It'll serve the fragger right for toying with his superior; he should have known better than to pull that slag with me."

Thundercracker shook his head, a very small grin pulling at the corner of his lips. Skywarp had always loved irritating the slag out of Screamer. It had been an ongoing process since they were young bucks back in the Military Academy. The blue jet knew it would be only a matter of time before Skywarp reached the end of Starscream's minute supply of patience. It had just taken a little longer than he expected.

"Still Screamer, we should at least do something before Megatron notices and I've already been giving Soundwave excuses. You know he knows something's amiss; I think he's just savoring the quiet like everyone else and that's why nothing's been said," Thundercracker determined.

"Fine! Fine! We'll go and look for him! Just don't come whining to me when he gets back and starts his useless shenanigans again," Starscream conceded. He held his head in one hand, elbow propped on the table. "Primus, how did I come to command such useless, sentimental scrapheaps?"

Thundercracker merely grinned behind his energon cube.

The air shimmered with a violet haze as Skywarp reappeared on the ridge that overlooked the base. He fell to his knees with a pained groan, dropping Stinger in the process. The pilot landed hard between the Seeker's purple hands, and was about to give him one good cussing for it, when he looked up and saw just what kind of shape his partner was in.

A nasty gash razed Skywarp's right side, spewing sparks and a pinkish fluid that he could only surmise was the bot's life blood. It dribbled onto the snow, creating a loud hiss and vaporizing the white powder on contact. Stinger shuddered as a brief image of what that stuff could do to his skin flashed in his mind. The soft glow from the fluid provided enough feeble light for the pilot to see the various other scorch marks, old and new, that marred the black and purple paint; there were also several bullet holes in the jet's wings. The acrid smell of burnt metal filled his nostrils, nearly bringing tears to Stinger's eyes.

He stepped over to the side just as the mighty jet fell heavily into the snow. "Skywarp? Are you OK, man?"

For a long moment there was no response and Stinger feared that the Decepticon may have shut down for good.

"What the slag do you think, squishy?" came a very soft and pained reply.

Stinger allowed himself a small grin. He slowly made his way to Skywarp's face and knelt down before the very dim and flickering red optics.

"What can I do to help your sorry ass?"

A gust of air escaped Skywarp's vents in his equivalent of a huff. He was in a sorry state and he knew it. His half-baked, suicidal plan had actually worked, but the victory had come at a cost. His energy stores were almost completely depleted; the warp jump out of the base had left him barely functional and within a hand's breadth of emergency stasis lock. Ironically, the raid that was supposed to help him recover from his injuries seemed to have only served to give him more. The only good thing: his warp field generator was still online and had been undamaged in that final volley. As much as it pained him to admit it, he needed that fragging human now more than before.

Skywarp lowered his head just a smidge. "On my left side there will be a bomb bay open. I need those drums of oil stored there. If you could get them and roll them to my hand, I might be able to avoid going into emergency stasis lock."

The lieutenant nodded his head once then proceeded to head to the designated spot. There was a large opening in the Seeker's body, revealing a somewhat spacious storage compartment. It was filled with stolen equipment from the base: wrenches, sockets, grease guns, metal sheeting and even a portable welder. It seemed as if Skywarp had literally cleaned the Latverians out. He entered the compartment and barely discerned the five 55-gallon drums piled in one corner. The pilot gave an involuntary shudder. This just didn't feel right, walking around inside an alien being, who was only your mortal enemy barely 24 hours ago.

He wrapped his arms around one of the hefty drums and muscled it to the opening. Once out into the snow he laid the barrel on its side and proceeded to roll it towards Skywarp's outstretched left hand.

"Here…you are," Stinger panted, as he rested the barrel against the Decepticon's fingers.

Skywarp made a feeble grab for the barrel and punctured a hole in its top with a fingertip. He then rolled as far to the left as his damaged wing would allow and downed the contents of the barrel in two large gulps.

The pilot watched in amazement as 55-gallons of refined oil disappeared within a matter of seconds. "Damn, son! I'd hate to get into a drinkin' contest with you anytime soon."

"Undefeated champion back on the Nemisis," Skywarp quipped raspily. "Fetch me another, will ya?"

A flash of annoyance crossed Stinger's features. He bowed mockingly and replied, "Yes, master."

"Well, at least now you're thinking in the right direction, squish," Skywarp said. Already his energon converters deep within his fuel tanks were beginning to break the oil down into useable energon. It wasn't the highest quality by any means, but at least it would keep him functioning, for a little while.

"Keep it up, tincan, and I just might be tempted to get this welder out and tack your trap shut," Stinger said irritably. He received a low chuckle for his gripe.

"Tell me something, Skywarp."

"Maybe."

"Just how in the hell did you get us out of there?" the pilot asked, as he began to unload more of the oil.

Skywarp drank another barrel before he answered. "Are you sure you little squishy brain could understand?" he said sarcastically.

"I graduated Texas A&M with a degree in Mechanical Engineering; try me, smart ass."

Skywarp gave a small shrug of his shoulders. "Well, I'm not sure exactly how the thing works myself, but Screamer says I have a special system called a 'warp field generator' that somehow rips holes in space and allows me to teleport from point to point within a given area."

Stinger listened with rapt fascination. "A warp field generator, huh? Sounds like you're delving into the realm of Stargate if you ask me. Awesome!" He paused for a moment in thought. "But I thought you said all your major systems were down; wouldn't that one be included?"

"Yeah, it would have been, but it looks like my self-repair system got it up and functional again," Skywarp responded, taking a third barrel.

"If you have a self-repair system then why in the hell do you need me to fix you up?" The lieutenant challenged, shooting a pointed stare at the jet.

Skywarp returned the glare with one of equal vehemence. "Because, squishy, my self-repair can only fix so much. Damage like this," he gestured forcefully at his right side and damaged wing, "is too much for my system to handle; it'll stabilize me, but not fix me completely. Believe me, I would much rather submit myself to Hook's 'kind and courteous' care than allow your grimy hands to even touch my paintwork, let alone my wings." His tirade over, Skywarp flopped over on his back, the equipment in the bomb bay clattering loudly. He winced a little, but said nothing more.

Stinger realized he had touched a nerve; actually more like stomped on it would be more accurate. But he was beginning to tire of the Con's pompous attitude towards him. He walked over to the side of Skywarp's helm and squatted down into the snow. He didn't say anything for several minutes as he was trying to collect his thoughts and express them in the best way possible.

"Look," he began, "I know you hate me and my kind with a passion, and I have to say before all this went down, I hated your nuts too. But I've come to realize your race and mine ain't really all that different. You hate, we hate. You love to fly, I love to fly. And we're both too full of pride for our own good. We've got some common ground. And you know something? I could walk away from here right now, and stand a better chance at getting out alive than you would, especially with the shape you're in right now." Skywarp's features darkened ominously. Stinger continued, "But you know what else, I've chosen not to because after tonight, I've gained a lot of respect for you. You could have killed me the first night, but you didn't. Hell, you could have left my carcass back in that base, saved your own hide when things got hot. I expected you to, but you didn't. That wasn't a 'human-be-damned' sort of thing to do, but a soldier's thing to do. You ignored the fact we're enemies and decided to help me, damn it! You accepted me as a soldier, as an equal then, why can't you do it now?"

Skywarp's features were still hard-set, but his optics had lost their fiery fervor. The human was right. He was prideful, too prideful. He had started out with the intent to use the human for what he was worth and then dump him like a load of scrap, but fate had turned on him. When he had the chance to actually walk away, he didn't take it and now if he wanted to live to see the next vorn he had to rely on Stinger. Just the thought of being reliant on anyone, let alone a human, grated his circuits. But Stinger was right about another thing. He didn't know what had come over him during the heat of the battle at the Latverian base. He didn't know what had made him stop and rescue the pathetic pilot from certain capture, only he had. In that brief span of time, he had treated the human as he would have one of his wingmates. It had been automatic, instinctual. He off-lined his optics and released a great gust of air from his intakes.

Stinger slowly stood and made his way to the open bomb bay. With deep determination he began to extract the tools and equipment from the bay and laying them out in an orderly fashion. After assessing the equipment, he then walked over to the wounded side and began to assess the injury.

"What are you doing?"

There were two fairly large lines spewing the pink fluid as well as several frayed wire ends. Grabbing two large clamps the pilot proceeded to climb up Skywarp's chassis, being mindful of the spewing liquid.

"What the slag are you doing?"

"I'm trying to save your ungrateful, metal ass," Stinger bit out around the clamp in his mouth. He careful hooked his legs into an opening of Skywarp's chassis and lowered himself over the injury. Being extra cautious to avoid the deadly fluid, Stinger grabbed one of the lines and began to slip the clamp over the broken hose. He then began to tighten it down until the flow of energon ebbed and then eventually stopped. Lifting himself back up he then moved on to the next line and did the same procedure.

During the entire process, Skywarp remained stock still; he didn't so much as flex a finger joint. With the threat of energon poisoning contained, Stinger quickly and methodically began soldering and splicing the frayed wires back together. It wasn't a neat job by any means, but if he could patch the worst of the damage, then Skywarp's so-called self-repair system could take care of the rest.

Several minutes later Skywarp's voice cut into his concentration. "Why?" A pause. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because…it's the right thing to do."

Nothing more was said between the mech and the man for almost an hour. Stinger continued to solder and splice the wiring, the little clicks and zaps of his work the only sound in the dark hours just prior to dawn.

Skywarp was puzzled over this human's commitment to him. If he were in the same position, he probably would have left his own aft. But even after all the derogatory comments, the name-calling and the put-downs the pilot remained; not only that, he was willingly fixing him. It was something that didn't occur often in the Decepticon ranks, therefore, this type of perseverance was new to the Seeker. Was this what it was like to be an Autobot? Knowing someone would be there even after all the slag you put them through? Was it really weakness? Thoughts like these continued to plague the black Seeker until the first tiny hints of dawn began to crest the snowy mountains. So consumed was he in thought that he never noticed that Stinger had finished the necessary repairs to his side.

"Are you gonna let me fix those wings?"

Skywarp turned and cast a wary glance at the pilot. His optics dimmed to a muted crimson as he made his reply. "Yeah, go ahead."

Stinger motioned for him to roll over onto his cockpit, allowing the pilot full access to the Seeker's back. It was a slow, tedious, and in Skywarp's case, painful process. With the right wingtip almost fully detached, Stinger had needed to go back and smooth out the rough edges with a grinder before beginning the actual welding process. Each buff from the grinder (in a human comparative) felt as if someone were using an air sander on your bare back—in short, excruciating pain. When Stinger began the welding process it was all Skywarp could do to not leap out from under the pilot. He dug his fingers into the icy ground leaving deep, dark brown furrows in the permafrost. He also silenced his vocalizer so as not to cry out in pain and give away their position (as well as to not look weak in front of the human). Four pain-filled hours later, Stinger rose from his crouched position and cut the torch off. He stiffly climbed down from the Seeker's back, settling into a sitting position against a nearby tree.

"Well big guy, that's the best I can do for now. Let's hope it's enough for your self-repair system to integrate 'em."

"It should be," Skywarp replied, sitting up and running a hand over the weld line in the right wing. It felt as smooth as glass, not a bump was to be found. He reached over with his opposite hand and gingerly touched the metal sheeting that Stinger used to patch the holes in his left wing. Hook himself could not have done a better job. Satisfied, the black Seeker turned back towards the pilot. "I'm…impressed, human. Where did you learn to weld like that? I'm sure they didn't teach you that in flight school."

"Yeah, you're right there," Stinger drawled, "My daddy taught me. Used to run a machine shop in Virginia after he retired from the Services. That's where I learned a lot of my mechanical know-how."

"Hmm." Skywarp narrowed his optics and cocked his head to one-side, his optic ridges were creased together and his mouth turned down in a slight frown. "What made you want to fly?"

Stinger shifted restlessly against the tree and then cast his glance skyward. "Well, daddy always told me that as long as I applied myself, the sky was the limit." A light laugh escaped his lips, "I guess I took him a little too literal." He grew serious once again. "My granddaddy flew in WWII. He used to tell me stories of fighting the Japanese or the Germans. He told me that each battle he flew away from he thanked God for his mercy and being able to fly another day. He would also tell me what it was like to fly, to feel that sense of freedom that only comes when you're touching the clouds or in his words 'touching the face of the Almighty Himself'; I wanted to feel that for myself."

Skywarp accepted the pilot's answer. For once, he could agree whole-heartedly with what the human was saying. He loved the feeling of flight as well, feeling the wind brushing your fuselage, skimming the cloud banks at altitude, or just enjoying the serenity that only the skies could offer, whether in times of peace or times of war.

They sat in peaceful silence, taking in the last few moments of rest before moving onward. The Latverians would be out in full force after their sneak attack; staying in one position for too long could be hazardous to both of their healths.

"I guess we should get moving," Skywarp suggested after a few moments. He stood to his feet and rustled his newly welded wings. He ran a quick diagnostic. "I should be flight worthy in another 36 earth hours, so long as I don't get shot up all over again."

"You mean, as long as I don't get you all shot up again," Stinger quipped, also rising to his feet. His comment earned him a sly smile.

"So what's the plan?"

The pilot began to pick up the equipment and setting it in pile, in which Skywarp would store the tools in their compartment. "Honestly," Stinger began, "I want to know what in the hell is happening. Latveria isn't supposed to have robots. Hell, you guys and the Autobots are the only robots we know about and if ya'll don't claim 'em, then where'd they come from? Something doesn't smell right."

"I don't smell anything," Skywarp said, reaching for the portable welder.

"No, no. What I meant was this whole robot thing doesn't add up. Where did this little bitty country come up with the technology to create those things, let alone lasers that can put you in a world of hurt."

"Ahh, OK I get ya, squishy," replied Skywarp, finally catching onto to the subject. "So let me guess. You wanna stick around and figure out what's going on." Skywarp put the last piece of stolen equipment in the bay, the door slowly closing with a hiss. He then gave Stinger a dubious look.

"Well, yeah. First they shoot at us without any warning whatsoever, then we find they've been building giant robot drones armed with laser cannons that seemed to have come straight from Star Wars. I don't think my government knows what's happening here and we already know you guys are in the dark, so why not?" The pilot questioned.

"So saving our own afts have no appeal to you whatsoever?" Skywarp challenged, purple hands on his hips. "Need I remind you I'm grounded, squishy? Not to mention my weapons are still off-line?"

"And I'm any better off? At least you have size on your side as well as that teleportation thing. Look, by the time we make it out of here and back to our allies this place could be ready to start World War III. And with as big as a wallop as those drones are packing, they could make short work of Decepticons and Autobots alike, especially with the element of surprise. And frankly, I'm a little pissed these guys stuck their noses in a fight that didn't belong to them. So why not make things a little rough for them?"

Skywarp pondered over the pilot's words. He didn't like being at a disadvantage with anyone. And having the element of surprise would certainly put the Latverians one up. And honestly…he too was a little rankled that he had more or less been sucker-punched. Maybe it would be good to stick around a little longer…

How long until you're flightworthy again?"

"Maybe 36 earth hours. My right engine was hit pretty badly so it'll take a while." The black jet seemed to hesitate for a brief moment and then knelt down on one knee, extending a purple hand palm-up.

Stinger glanced up, surprise written across his face. He seemed hesitant with good reason, after all, not too many hours ago he had given the jet one good butt-chewing. Not many humans (none as far as he knew) had done that to a Decepticon and lived to tell the tale.

"Well, come on squish! We don't have all day!"

Stinger cautiously stepped onto the hand. He held his breath involuntarily as Skywarp wrapped his hand around him in a firm grip and then deposited him on his shoulder. "Which way?" the Con asked, turning his head to look at the pilot.

Skywarp's voice brought the pilot back to reality and he slowly exhaled. "Well, are you up for a little game of 'I Spy' or are those big, bad robot drones too much for a Decepticon like you to handle?" Stinger goaded. If there was one button he knew how to push in their short time together, it was Skywarp's pride. He had seen the slight hesitation in the Con's optics earlier and decided to use that opening to his advantage. It seemed to be just the right amount of nudging needed.

The purple and black jet's optics blazed like fire. His wings tensed up and he opened and closed his fists in agitation. "There ain't no ground-pounders too much for me to handle!"

"Well then, let's do this. Let's find a place to hole-up and give them wings of yours time to finish healing as well as me time to take a look at that engine—maybe I can speed the process up or even try and get your other systems to come back on-line, then we can sniff around—see if we can find any clues as to what's goin' on here."

Skywarp furrowed his brow plate in thought. He still didn't like the idea of sticking around in this icebox any longer than necessary, but Stinger's offer to look at his systems was mighty tempting. The pilot had proven he was a competent welder as well as a mechanic. And the pilot's little speech earlier had certainly opened his optics to harsh reality. If they could find a place to lay low for a while and get his major systems back online (namely his weapons), he would like nothing better than to dish up a little revenge on the tiny country who had dared to shoot him out of the sky. One Decepticon against a whole country—now those were the odds he liked! He could make things "uncomfortable" to say the least, before he left.

"All right squish, if you can get my major systems back online I'll show you and this puny country just why they call me one of Cybertron's Elite."

A malicious glint appeared in Stinger's eye. "That's what I thought!" He glanced up at the sky, which had turned a dark, sullen grey over the course of their conversation. "Looks like another snow storm. Perfect, it'll cover our tracks as well as your form and slow down their little search parties. We crossed a river not two miles back; let's head in that direction. Maybe we can find a cave or something."

"All right. Let's do it."

Skywarp slowly began to make his way southward, Stinger sitting comfortably on his shoulder just inside the intake. Both were a more than a little nervous about capture, but were willing to throw caution to the wind if it meant a good fight in the future. Stinger had been right—they were more alike than he ever thought possible.