Rating: T for adult themes. Language, violence, character death.

Disclaimer: The only thing I own in this work of complete fiction is Velocity/Sira. She is mine. Everything else is copy righted and owned by some really rich people. I make no money from this, but wish I could.

Beta Read by: Benjamin Bradt. For this chapter he gets Co-Author status. He has tweaked here and there, but I shall give credit for the first section to him. He took my stumbling attempts and made it into a beautiful dance. Ben, I owe you an endless amount of thanks.

XxxX.

Work Hard, Play Hard

XxxX.

Velocity's footfalls were nothing more than soft whispers as she moved through the darkened hallways; she was restless, unable to settle down, so she paced the corridors like a caged animal, going over the same path again and again, tirelessly stalking prey that wasn't there. Her mind couldn't focus on any single topic and it was driving her feet to wander; somewhere, along the shadow corridors of her home, she hoped to stumble across the answers she longed for.

The day had been spent trying to stay off of Ratchet's radar. She had even accompanied a military patrol to avoid the perturbed mech. While the humans searched the abandoned town of Tranquility, she had a chance to see the damage the battle had wrought, and it had done nothing to help calm her state of mind. The dark, rusty-red stains that randomly splattered the pavement and buildings told of death and failure. The destruction tore at her soul and she found herself sitting alone on the blacktop of a school playground, wishing for tears she could no longer shed. She had read the reports; children had been on the blacktop when the alien war landed on top of their school. Phantom screams echoed in her head as one unimaginable scenario after another played like old movie reels behind her optics. Her imagination tried to assert itself and wash away the here and now until, finally unable to take anymore torment, she had headed back to base.

That had had been earlier in the night, and she was still haunted by apocalyptic scenes of scared children surrounded by raging war machines. Right now she was trying to focus on the dynamics of her relationship with Optimus. It was a safe and mundane place for her mind to wander, it held none of the horror or depravity that her trip into the demolished town had left her with. Unfortunately, her thoughts refused to cooperate and the events from earlier were entrenched in her waking mind. In the moments she could distract herself long enough to ponder their union there was no calming voice in her heart but only bitter cynicism. But for the intimate bond he had shared with her, he was nearly a total stranger, and the whole affair seemed eponymous of a Las Vegas Wedding.

"It's not that bad…is it?" She asked the empty hallway in a tiny voice. Her words were consumed by the half light of the powered down base, and the darkness gave nothing back in return; just an androgynous, pregnant silence. There were so many questions and no answers, it made her want to bang her head against the wall in frustration. Her heart told her to just let go and trust him, her head said she had fucked up one of the best things ever. They had been friends, pure and simple, able to talk, for hours, about any topic or sit in comfortable silence. Now, there was this new element between them, a strained and fragile unrequited need. It was nothing so simple as a carnal desire, but much more complex, an intangible prerequisite bordering on psychological and spiritual. When it came to this undefined…thing…he needed, her paucity was palpable, and the fear of failing him was akin to a death sentence in her mind.

The loudest derision was her own. In a moment of folly and weakness; she had permitted this to happen, allowing him to perform the union with her and fill her with things she could not, or would not, truly understand. Her elders had spoke about the purity of the soul. Everything that existed held a soul, big or small, and that ethereal node was the very ignition point for everything from cellular division to conscious thought. In essence, it was the organic spark; and she had allowed him to muddy her soul with his spark. She could hear the elders clucking their tongues in disapproval; her act was immoral, an aberration of order her people had once lived so stringently by. The soul was never meant to touch or to be touched. It was inconceivable, an unforgivable taboo.

"But why is it taboo?!" The demanding doubt in her voice froze her in midstep; the edge of an epiphany touched the surface of her mind and quickly receded. She closed her eyes, and could feel him with her, a warm strength that glowed deep within and lazily swirled along the bond they shared. When she concentrated, she could pick up his emotions and occasionally, Optimus would acknowledge her presence, caress her naked soul with his own as if to reaffirm her that nothing could ever be wrong, embolden her strength with his own. How can something that makes her feel so . . . safe, ever be wrong?"

In that instant, the paradigm of her mind shifted, and the imposed beliefs that she had held for so long began to crack and shatter under the weight of her questions, and from the ruinous state of uncertainty, new obstacles in the form of questions and insecurities arose to impede her path to enlightenment. What had begun as a simple evaluation of her relationship had progressed into the realm of broken beliefs and desiccated dogma. In many ways she was like the humans, and had to negotiate her way through the wickedly pointed shards of old, fragmented axioms and values. Round and round her thoughts turned as her feet headed blindly towards an unknown destination. She argued with herself long into the night, and was no closer to having the answers she was seeking than when she began.

It would have been nice to have a friend to talk to, someone to help take a different view on the situation or just give advice. She longed for her father, the pillar of rigid stability in her tumultuous childhood; he had always been there help her make sense of things, a calm voice that kept her grounded and focused. But wishing was wasting her patience and energy. He was no longer where she could talk to him; gone from this world and into the next. She doubted she could talk to any of the other mechs about her feelings and insecurities, and as much as she had come to see them as friends and a surrogate family, they saw things in a different light than she did. Perhaps being older than the human race and having positronic brains had something to do with it. She had been so absorbed in her own fretting that she didn't notice she was no longer alone until it was too late.

Movement startled her as a large mass detached itself from the shadows, cerulean optics glowing softly in the darkness. Primal reflexes overrode logical observation, and Velocity was in full battle mode in an instant, her mind already cycling back to when another had tried to confront her in these mazelike corridors. Energon burned in her veins as servos tightened and talons came bared, her body spring tight and eager to snap with a volatile fury, aching for a distraction from the maddening introspective. Her would-be opponent carried none of her blood lust, and his lack of concern stayed her attack. The chartreuse medic stopped where he was and gave her a bored look. "Are you done yet?" His tone was reminiscent of a parent dealing with a precocious child.

"Ratchet, has anyone told you not to sneak up on people?" The femme's words were dripping vitriol in response to the burning embarrassment she felt inside.

The medic ignored her comment and moved in front of her, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at the smaller femme. Suddenly, Velocity remembered that she had spent the day hiding from the CMO, and the stern gaze developed an almost sun-like intensity. Aww dammit . . .

"Why did you do it?" Even though his tone was calm, she knew that the softly spoken question was a demand for answers.

"Bumblebee and Sam would look cute waving to the nameless masses," she said with more than just a hint of sarcasm in her voice. It wasn't the best answer, but she wanted to get back to agonizing over her life, not mincing words with the surly medic. "The mindless public would…"

Ratchet, narrowed his optics at her. "This isn't some game." The tone of his voice cut like an atom-wide blade. "The agreement we had with CNN was for Optimus, and only Optimus, to appear on camera. It was too great of a risk having Sam's involvement with us become public knowledge. He and Mikaela are the most vulnerable of our group, unable to defend or retaliate against a Decepticon attack, or recover as easily as you or I. Considering the media maelstrom surrounding the controversy of human-robot relations, and the emergence of so many potentially violent protestors, they live in constant fear of those who would hurt them to get at Optimus Prime. A fact I assumed you, of all people, would have been…very…aware…of."

Velocity narrowed her optics at Ratchet, barely suppressing the urge to leap upon him and dig her claws into his armor. How dare he assume that she had, even for an instant, stopped thinking about Sam's and Mikaela's situation? She had begun life as an organic, and was more than aware of the weaknesses of being so small and soft, especially when the small and soft get caught up in the affairs of the Cybertronians. "Fuck . . . you . . ." she drew the simple statement out, balling her fists, razor like talons digging into her own metal skin. "Who the hell do you think you are, assuming that even for a second, you know what it's like trying to live with giant robots. Why do you think everyone around here takes up running? It's not to keep the fat trimmed off or the cholesterol down, its because being able to run and run quickly is the best, and sometimes only, way to survive." She shifted to mimic his pose. "And for the record, Mr. Know-it-all, This is a game. It's a time honored, human tradition to see who can garner the most public appeal. We have to get the media on our side and the support of the populace will follow. If we don't have public support, then you can kiss any chance of an alliance with Earth good bye. I know that CNN violated the contract when the cameraman showed Sam's face to the world, and now 'Samuel James Witwicky' is a household name. I didn't make the cameraman turn that way; it isn't my fault that his life is over, so go lay the blame somewhere else!"

The mech snarled, "Do you really believe that? Sam was spotted on the set, with a hundred other humans. Was he a sympathizer? Maybe he was just a newsroom intern, or the son of one of the camera men, whose dad gave him the 'once in a lifetime chance' to meet a giant robot? He was a normal, unassuming human, to the eyes of the world, until you made him wave. That made him a part of our group. That made him stand out from the other humans there. That made him a point of interest. You made him a point of interest. That is your fault!"

"There is no way he could have gone unnoticed! I can promise you that, at this very moment, there are hundreds of obsessive nut jobs, sitting in their basements, agonizing over the interview frame by frame, identifying and researching every face on the set, every nuance Optimus makes. 'Was he looking at, or away, from the person he was talking to' or 'was he trying to intimidate the person by calling him out on his nervousness'. Sam would have been less conspicuous if he'd held a blinking, neon sign that said 'I play with space robots'. Waving and making him and the others seem cute, only serves to endear you to the humans."

"I highly doubt that Optimus would deem publicly outing Sam as an Autobot sympathizer and ally would be a justifiable risk to make him appear 'cute'," Ratchet's tone was aggressive, and the fury in his face made him look like he was going to blow a gasket.

Velocity rubbed her temples with her finger tips. Frustration eating away at her already brittle temper. "Maybe you should trust me, for once, and leave the predicting of human actions to the one of you who is used to dealing with humans! I could not have survived amidst the humans for as long as I did if I didn't understand them and how they tick; how they perceive actions, and how to manipulate their perceptions of those actions. Shockingly, this is something I am quite good at. The only way we're going to make mankind empathize with us is if they see us as individuals. A thousand people can die in a natural disaster or war and the people will look at it as if they were a dead bug on the kitchen floor; but if one individual of public notoriety dies, the world stops to mourn. Now, the world knows Sam and Bumblebee are connected; they are no longer part of the faceless masses, they are individuals. Giant alien robots are as intimidating as hell, have you actually looked at that rotary blade you wear on your arm? To you it is a necessary tool for battlefield surgery, but to a soft bodied human, it conjures images of a grisly, bloody death. We have to make them think we're more friendly than fearsome. We have to have them accept us as people and individuals. Maybe then Sam can go back to living a normal life, someday."

"How endearing," the medic sneered at her, "I'm sure Prime will feel so much better about Sam's public lynching when the world shows up at his funeral." Velocity flinched at the harsh sting of his words. "You keep going on about 'your experiences' and 'your way of handling things' and how 'you know how everyone would respond to you'. This is about Sam, Mikaela, and how they're going to handle having to look over their shoulders and wonder who around them is going to try and kill them for being associated with us. The only part of this that is about you is how you made the decision to put them at risk because you thought that it'd be CUTE!" He pointed an accusatory finger at her, "You need to stop going on about all of this like it's a game, and you can just walk away from it. Maybe you haven't noticed, but you aren't human anymore; you're an intimidating, giant, robot. Whatever means you used to make people think you were just another faceless organic won't work, because we're not faceless organics. We are intimidating, giant, alien robots, and although it would take a lot before they hurt us, there is a cute, endearing little human mascot who can be hurt."

Velocity opened her mouth to speak, when a very small "excuse me" drifted up from the floor, and the two mechanoids turned to look at the tiny figure of Mikaela standing between them. The girl's black hair was plastered to her forehead with sweat, and her normally healthy olive tan skin was pale. The poor girl looked horrible as she stood there, shivering and swaying on her feet. "Ratchet, I haven't been feeling well, and I keep throwing up-"

The green robot scooped her up in mid sentence, fixing Velocity with harsh optics. "You think you can predict the actions of nearly eight billion, violent, little primates? You had better be right." He spun on his heel and hurried toward the medbay, not giving her a chance to respond.

For an instant, she considered following Ratchet; whether or not they could see eye-to-eye on how the current situation would best be resolved, they both valued the well-being of their two human friends above anything else. Standing in a pool of incandescent light amid shadowy darkness, the femme wanted to scream at the retreating figure of the medic; she knew she did the right thing, and this wasn't a game she would walk away from, even if she could. There was too much at stake to do that. She was just as furious about Sam's exposure as Ratchet was, but she was trying desperately to start swaying the opinion of the average American, not fume and pout. They didn't have time to argue all possible out comes. There were going to be times that would have to act, not react. Of course she knew she was a giant robot; she knew this every time she looked down at the humans about her knees, every time she refueled on energon, every motion of her metal form reminded her she was no longer a frail organic; and what of these frail humans that associated with them, had they figured it out? Had they figured out that their lives were likely to be short and end painfully at the hands of a Decepticon? Assassination by another human would probably be a blessing. A quick bullet to the head was preferable to becoming a plaything for a sadistic mech. Had she been given those options, she had no doubt which one she would have taken.

She did what she did to help them, all of them, human and mech alike. She would stand by her actions, but they needed to do so much more if it was to work. The interview with Optimus was the tip of the iceberg. The mech would never be faceless; they would always stand above the crowd and be noticed. There were two ways to slip into the mainstream and receive acceptance; be mundane and humble, or be a rock star. Her instincts told her they had to be both.

In the end, she did not follow them, deciding that perhaps a race across the desert would be preferable to risking another bout over the CNN broadcast; she had energon to burn, and thinking seemed anything but productive anymore.

XxxX.

Sitting on the floor with her legs crossed in front of her, Velocity carefully striped the insulation off the end of a piece of wire. An open palm appeared in front of her and she placed a randomly selected tool in it. The hand belonged to the mech that was stretched out on his back near her; half of his upper body was consumed by an access panel of the new workstation he was installing in Central Ops. The original one had been obliterated by a now very deceased Decepticon. Wheeljack had commented once that the 'Con had done them a favor; with the impending arrival of Teletraan-1 they were going to have to expand and remodel the area to accommodate the AI anyways….

The hand quickly reappeared and with a dramatic flourish, dropped the erroneous tool in her lap. Fingers snapped in annoyance when she didn't produce the correct utensil quick enough. Humorously, malicious thoughts of using the nippers to relieve the engineer of his fingers flashed through her mind. Instead she placed five different items in the demanding hand. She heard Wheeljack chuckle as he playfully tossed the tools in her general direction. "Wire," he chortled.

"Then say so. I can't read your mind, nor would I want to," she retorted with an almost audible roll of her optics as she handed him the wire she had just finished stripping.

It had been like this for two days. He would hold out his hand and she had to guess what the mech wanted. If she produced the wrong tool, he would pitch it aside and hold his hand out again. Once he even playfully thumped her on top of the head with something not quite resembling pliers when she had called him a few choice names. The entire ordeal was annoying, but it forced her to pay close attention to what he was doing, and anticipate what he needed next. It was vexing and fun at the same time. If nothing else, it kept her out of the way of a foul tempered ambulance and busied her mind enough that she didn't spend much time thinking. Thinking had become her worst enemy and it did more damage than good.

As Wheeljack worked, she adjusted the spool the wire was on so it would unwind with ease. "Hey, V. Hand me the cutters," he said. His voice echoing slightly in the confined space.

"Hey, V?" she question with a highly insulted tone.

"Yes…V. Where are the cutters…V?" he said mockingly. She carefully handed him the cutters and kicked his leg. The mech grunted, but continued working. The length of wire went slack and Velocity obediently coiled it back onto its spool. The pearly white mech began tossing tools and bits of debris out of the access panel he was lying in. She gathered them up and heaped them into a lose pile while the engineer shimmied out of the opening.

Rising to his knees, Wheeljack attempted to power up the console and the new computers it housed. A low hum filled the room and the blank screen started glowing as Cybertronian glyphs moved across it. The mech slipped an arm around her hips and gave them a triumphant squeeze. She wiggled out of the embrace. If 'Jack noticed her discomfort, he ignored it. "Let's get a drink while the computer goes through its start up sequence." the jubilant mech suggested.

Velocity couldn't help but laugh. "What? It's Miller time already?" Wheeljack gave her a confused look. She waved it off and tried to come up with an excuse to not drink with the engineer. He wouldn't be dissuaded, they were going to have a drink, he wanted to reward the best assistant he had ever had. She snorted. "I'm probably to only assistant you've ever had."

"Not true, but you have lasted the longest," he admitted with a sheepish grin.

It took several trips to return all of the tools to 'Jack's workshop. Velocity still couldn't figure out how the mech produced anything useful in there. The only clean surface was the worktable in the middle of the room. The counters were piled full of random odds and bits. While she was standing there, one such pile collapsed and purged its contents onto the floor. Wheeljack looked at her and demanded that she not touch anything. She didn't even try to explain that she had been across the room when the crap fell unaided; it just wasn't worth the effort. As Wheeljack stowed his tools away, she hesitantly pulled a length of grey piping out of a mound of junk. The pile it came from quivered slightly, but remained in a semi stable heap. She froze in place, cutting her optics to the mech across the room, and waited to see if he noticed she had disturbed his clutter. He didn't. Giving the tube a flick with her finger caused it to ring out in a crisp, clear note. Her attention immediately side tracked, she started digging around and found several similar pipes.

"Hey, Jack. Can I have these?" she asked as she held up the pilfered piping.

The mech nodded in affirmation, never looking around as he rummaged through a cabinet. Velocity took his lack of concern as permission to carry on and continued her scavenging. She procured a couple of flat metal discs, some short lengths of wire, a tear drop shaped piece of glass or similar material and several more oddities that caught her optics. The femme laid her finds on the worktable and examined each item in turn. "What are you going to do with that junk?" the engineer asked as he sat a cube of high grade in front of her.

"I'm making something. I need to cut these pipes down, whacha got?" Wheeljack played assistant and teacher for the femme. She would request a tool, and he would show her the proper way to use the equipment he handed to her. In turn she listened and learned. It was evident the inventor was curious to see what she was making. She teased the inquisitive mech, telling him he was just going to have to wait, and chuckled when his shoulders sank sullenly.

Velocity didn't realize how much she had missed working with her hands. It had always been more than just an income, it had been a passion. The happiest she had ever been was when she was molding a piece of metal into something extraordinary. Before fate had destroyed her life and a Decepticon had destroyed her body, she had been a renowned jewelry designer. She made and sold tiny works of art for the sole purpose of adorning the human body.

None of her exclusive clientele knew she had been a half human; a freakish crossbreed, something that never should have lived. He mother's people had been an ancient species that learned how to harness the elements and bend them to their will. Her ancestral line specialized in fire conjuring, but her father's human blood mutated her abilities. She had received mankind's affinity for metal, making her one of the few that could shape all alloys to her will. When the Autobots attempted to save her life, they moved her consciousness and soul into a metal construct of their design. Being able to listen to the tune and harmony of her new body, made parts of her adjustment easier than expected. But it had come with a price. She could no longer use her powers. The first time she had attempted it left her drunk on the power surge. The second time had taken her hand, and she was surprised that had been all she had lost. Now that she was sitting as a living metal mechanoid, drinking high grade and receiving pointers on how to make cleaner welds was mildly…ironic.

The two of them talked about nothing of importance while she worked. When the mech began his second cube he started telling her about how he and Ratchet met. She couldn't help but laugh when she heard the embarrassing details about their first drunken interfacing, and how, after several millennia, they decided they were stuck with each other and bonded. He told her how their duties kept them away from each other most of the time, and they never really had much of a chance to establish a proper bond.

She asked what he meant and the laid back mech shrugged. He explained that the more joining or sharing there is between a couple, the stronger the bond; the stronger the bond, the more the mechs involved depended on each other. He and Ratchet had a bond, of sorts, they could experience each other's emotions, but they could also go long stretches without being near each other. In the end it had worked for them, so they saw little reason to change things. She briefly considered telling 'Jack about her dilemma, and then rejected the idea. Optimus was their leader. He was respected and admired by the others; she wasn't sure if divulging that type of information could damage their image of him. Also, Prime was a rather private individual, what they shared was behind closed doors. She was becoming used to the differences in the way he treated her when the others were present, verses when they were alone, and she doubted he would appreciate anyone talking about him. Perhaps, she could figure out some way to ask Wheeljack questions without them being too obvious.

She meticulously removed any burs off the metal pieces, and 'Jack sat a second cube in front of her. She watched him with a tiny amount of trepidation as he started his third. "Did you hear about Mikaela?" he asked out of the blue.

Velocity looked up from where she was securing a piece of wire to the end of a pipe. "No. I've been meaning to ask if she was feeling better."

The mech's optics twinkled with delight. "Ratch said that she is only suffering from Dawning Illness," he slurred slightly.

It took Velocity a few seconds to figure out what the drunkard was trying to say. "She has morning sickness! How far along is she? Does Sam know she's pregnant?" Velocity felt a rush of excitement knowing a friend was going to have a child. New life was always something to celebrate.

"Shhhhhhhhhhhhh. It's a secret. Only Mikaela, Ratchet, Optimus, 'Bee, you, me and maybe the twins know. She doesn't want anyone to find out until after the wedding."

Velocity wondered who "anyone" could be since apparently only Sam was left out of the loop on this one. She dismissed it as none of her business and raised her cube of high grade in a toast. "Here's to future Witwickies, may their kind always grace the surface of the Earth and forever stand under the sun. Here's to it being her and not me." The mech looked at her quizzically, and shook his head. He brought out two more cubes and placed them on the table.

The femme looked at them suspiciously. Maybe, she should cut lose a little, after her run in with Ratchet she was in need of some relaxation, and her favorite form of relaxation was in Washington. Taking the offered cube she let the room temperature liquid make its way into her system and processor. What could it hurt? She was with Wheeljack after all.

XxxX.

KABOOOOOOOM!

The concussion wave knocked her smooth on her aft, and her audios were ringing so badly, she doubted she would ever hear again. Velocity looked to her left to see that Wheeljack was still standing; a look of radiant pride in his optics. The mech was saying something to her. She knew this because the little thingies on the side of his head were lighting up like strobes, but for the life of her she couldn't hear him. Hopefully, it wasn't important.

Velocity was desperately trying to control the giggles as the engineer reached down and took the detonator form her hands. He had been right, that was the fastest way to get rid of the rubble pile that took up space at the furthest end of the airport. It had been the remains of a couple of buildings a seeker had leveled. There wasn't much left now, just a big, gaping, smoking, charred hole.

Flaming debris started raining down on them; splinters of lumber, some rocks, and various other charred bits fell to earth as gravity reasserted its dominance over the air born clutter. Velocity winced as a couple of larger pieces bounced off her armor and dirt poured from the sky. If it bothered Wheeljack, she couldn't tell, the mech never flinched, even when a twisted ball of sheet metal clipped his shoulder. He was oblivious to the debris dropping from the sky around him.

Several men in fatigues were running in their general direction. They were followed by one pissed off looking ambulance, which came to a sliding stop and transformed into an even more pissed off looking Ratchet. She didn't move. She couldn't; the white mech next to her had started listing to one side, and nonchalantly, put a hand on top of her head to stabilize himself. This drew another snicker from her vocal processor; they had to make a cute image.

"What in the name of Primus's pistons are you doing!?" Screamed the really pissed off medic. Everyone present covered their auditory receptacles, except for Wheeljack; had he let go of her head, she was sure he would have toppled over. A lap full of drunken 'Jack was not on her list of things she wanted to experience before she died.

"Hiya' Ratchet." the blitzed engineer yelled back. "Did you know the human military has some really nice stuff called thermite, and they keep some right over there?" Wheeljack pointed to a newly erected building nearby. "Anyways. I was thinking with little reworking, it could be used to get rid if the slagging slag pile that had been littering up the grounds. And it worked," the engineer sounded like that was the most surprising part of all of this.

The CMO stammered several times before he could articulate his thoughts. "Why the frag is she here?" He demanded pointing at the dirt and soot covered femme.

"Why's who here? Oh, her? She's my assistant," Wheeljack exclaimed proudly. Velocity did her best to look as assistanly as possible; it was difficult with her aft in the dirt and her legs splayed out in front of her, but she thought she managed it rather well.

Ratchet narrowed his optics and glared at her. "She's over-energized!" he exclaimed. Looking at his partner with the same intense stare, he threw his hands in the air. "You're both over-energized. How much have you had?"

Velocity shrugged, she had lost count at three, but held up two fingers, just to be safe. Wheeljack had lost all interest in the conversation and was watching a nearby two-by-four burn.

The human corporal ordered all of his men back to their posts. "The Autobots can work out their issues without an audience." The dark-skinned man walked away pinching the bridge of his nose, while pulling out his cell phone. He might want to take something for that headache the femme thought to herself.

As they were being taken back to the base, Velocity nudged the engineer. "That was fucking awesome!" She exclaimed in soot covered glee.

"Yes it was," agreed Sideswipe, who had witnessed to entire event with his twin. "You know, dear brother, had we attempted that we would have already been dismantled."

The yellow warrior snorted with disgust. "That's because we aren't tweaking the Boss Bot's diodes."

"Wait, I thought Wheeljack only made service calls for Ratchet."

XxxX.

A/N: I have forgotten to thank everyone for adding my little drabble to their favorites list or alert list. Thank you.

Any mistakes are mine and mine alone. There may be a few this week. It's just not safe to type while jacked upon Tylenol Cough & Cold and green tea.

To Northwest Sage - Thank you curtsy. To Punk Autobot - Glad you found Sides amusing. Enjoy it while it lasts, the twins will get to show their nasty side later. Poor Sam. He is going to have to get use to a different life. To Crimson Starlight - LOL. You're not a glitch. Thank you for reading. Reviews are loved, but not mandatory (even the crazy rambling reviews that make me laugh.) Ramble away, deary. I am glad you are enjoying this so far. There is lots of drama planed for the future. To Ladyofthebookworms - Sam's life has changed on so many levels; he just doesn't know it yet. To Okami-chan - Thank you. Velocity is very aware of what she has lost. To PandylBas - Pity Keller. He has his hands full protecting the country and babysitting a bunch of alien robots, which have their own agenda. To Novamyth - Here ya' go!! To VAwitch - Thank you. Hey, Lady. Where have you been? I haven't seen much of you on the net. wanders to journal Damn woman, don't work so much. It'll kill ya. Glad you're reading, sit back and enjoy. To Benjamin Bradt - blush thank you. You deserve credit for this and you know it. Let RL calm down and I'll send you the next chappy.