A/N: Early update (slightly) so please enjoy :)!

The faction of Decepticon favoured both versatility and speciality; in the case of Soundwave, he was a bit of both which was a rarity, being extremely well-versed in the art of meta-filtration, that was to say, mind-reading – but he was also an ace as a strategist, an effective tactician, a ruthless assassin and, when the Decepticons were free from military missions, a sort of Megatron's unofficial personal assistant. Right now though, he was none of that – under his leader's direct order, Soundwave was thrust with the task to spy on the Autobots' activities, gathering useful intelligence that could later be manipulated into their own ends; specifically, to rescue Starscream from his imprisonment. The Command Centre in which he currently occupied was devoid of other mechs if one excluded the dormant Casetticons in his chest-cavity, and the silence that enveloped the place felt as solid as the Cybertanium wall that surrounded it, but not for long.

A hiss of the opening door marked the end of his solitude; the energy signature and the mentality reaching out from the entrance told the cassette-player of the newcomer's identity without the need for visual confirmation. Even without Soundwave's telepathy, any ordinary Transformer could deduct the light-sounding pede-steps came from minibot-sized mechs of whom there were only two in the Nemesis, excluding the Reflector components.

"Hey boss," the slightly squeaky voice of Frenzy greeted the Communication Expert, sounding far too cheerful that either suggested over-energizing or successful practical jokes. The thoughts that Soundwave perceived were coherent and neither was the voice slurred, as was characteristic of the Casetticon whenever high-grades came into the plot. The navy-and-white bot had no clue as who was unfortunate enough to fall prey to Frenzy's (and very probably Rumble's too) twisted idea of amusement since related thoughts of his victim had not crossed the smaller bot's CPU – and neither did he care about it, irrelevant as it was to his situation.

The crimson Casetticon continued his approach until he stood beside his master before prodding his thigh with a digit, almost timidly.

"Boss? Here it is," Frenzy squeaked, lifting the purplish object he had been holding above his helm as high as his runty height permitted. Soundwave did not avert his visored optics even once from the monitor installed in the control panel before him; a servo reached down to retrieve the offered object, which was in actuality a medium-sized energon cube.

With the threats of Megatron's rage loomed ominously over him, Soundwave had taken in spying the going-ons within the Ark very seriously; he dared not leave the Command Centre for extended periods of time, entering recharge cycle as infrequently as he could and for the shortest span of time that he could bear in a session; to date, the Communication Expert had computed that the time he spent away from this place was less than three joors – and that was over the span of two days. Nourishment was brought by either Frenzy or Rumble at regular intervals so that Soundwave could still stay energized without needing to refuel in the mess hall. His almost unceasing surveillance paid off for it revealed to the Decepticon a rather...peculiar situation, to say the least. And one that he was not sure whether it was worth delivering to Megatron – not because of its lack of importance, but rather because of the impacts it might leave on the leader's already unstable mentality. After all, a solid evidence of intimacy between Starscream and Skyfire would in no way help Soundwave to avoid getting full-body 'customization', Megatron-style.

At his side, Frenzy had already hopped into the seat before the main screen which was also the largest to be found in the Nemesis. Coincidentally, it was his turn for monitor duty this time and with the residual mirth from his latest pranks still lingering in his CPU, the cassette-'bot looked far too cheerful for someone who was about to undergo a solid two to three joors of absolute boringness. With his arms crossed behind his helm his pede propped high on the main console, Frenzy leaned back into his seat and quietly hummed to himself, a tune which to Soundwave sounded disturbingly like Earthen music – had becoming a cassette-deck finally took its toll on his Casetticons? While he had no aversion to any particular music, the idea of a Cybertronian discovered a liking for human-made songs this quickly was rather unsettling, not less because they were created by such...peculiar life-forms.

Shaking this useless concern from his processors, he lifted the energon-filled cube to his chin level; his face-mask split along the centre ridge, each half retracting in the opposite direction into the slots at either side of his helm to partly expose a face that only a lucky few had ever seen. While in public Soundwave would never be so open even to the fellow Decepticons, with his symbiotes the restrictions were gratefully lifted though he have his Casetticons promised to never reveal this aspect of his to other mechs, warning them that he would know if any of them broke the oath of secrecy. Without the mask, Soundwave appeared a few hundred vorns younger than his true age, looking even more youthful than Skywarp or even Starscream and his expressions were naked for others to interpret. Since he had taken to wearing it, the Deputy SIC never vocalized a word for his tone was uncharacteristically expressive without the Vocal Modulator his face-mask was equipped with. For these reasons, which were absolute taboos when gifted with the ability of telepathy, Soundwave developed a habit to refuel as quickly as he could when he consumed his energon through his mouth, fearing that his visage would be accidentally seen by passers-by. He DID have another method in consumption – using a special proboscis that was conjoined directly to his main fuel line, of which the end was hollow and acted some sort of straw when dunked in energon – but while it was as effective as through oral intake, it did not give him the satisfaction of refuelling.

His cube was emptied in less than a klik, and despite the speed in which the energon was taken, he had no problem whatsoever with clogged fuel line. Frenzy seemed completely uninterested in the revealing of Soundwave's faceplates and was already halfway into recharge mode when something caused him to wake up with a jolt.

Actually, there were three things happening altogether at once that had disturbed Frenzy's peaceful moments; first, the alarm that denoted a specific attempt at communication from Cybertron went off, drawing out a gasped "What the slag...?" from the Casetticon's vocalizer; the second was that the main entrance opened with a sharp sweesh, prompting a reflexive reaction in Soundwave's part to shield his expression again behind the impenetrable face-mask; and finally, to finish all the 'tah-dah' factors that nearly had Frenzy jumping in his seat, was the appearance of the Supreme Commander of the Decepticon. The last successfully drew a gasped "Oh frag what did I do wrong this time...?"

Apparently, if Megatron's reaction could be taken into prediction, nothing; Soundwave's telepathy agreed with his physical observation. The gun-former's mentality was ridden with strains and pressure, but nothing indicated that it came specifically from the cassette-former, appearing only mildly bewildered at Frenzy's overreactions. Megatron spared a nanoklik's glance in Soundwave's direction to grant the Communication Expert an acknowledging nod – and a somewhat approving look at the way he worked hard in gaining intelligence of the Autobot's situation – before shifting back his attention to the obviously panicked cassette-former. An optic ridge was raised that non-verbally demanded have you fried your logic circuits? at Frenzy, though his vocalization circuits cancelled the sentence in honour for a more practical demand when he noticed the beep-beep-beep resonating insistently in the Command Centre:

"How long are you planning to make Shockwave wait for connection?"

Frenzy practically fumbled for the magic button; it was as if he lost all memories concerning the functions of the many keys before him, despite being forced to undergo the long joors of monitor duty countless of times before. Under Megatron's penetrative glare, the time it took for him to press the correct button tripled; once it was done, the previous menu depicting the contact details vanished in flickers of statics before a purple mech came into view.

"Hail Lord Megatron, ruler of Cybertron."

The tyrant appeared slightly mollified at the honest flattery, deleting all traces of annoyance that he had previously showed which in return granted Frenzy's a single cycle of relieved exhalation. Shockwave's reputation in Megatron's optics appeared to come with an additional 'charm' that kept Megatron's emotional time-bomb from exploding, an advantage that right now benefitted the Cassetticon.

"Continue," the tyrant said simply; he stood with a relaxed stance, pedes set slightly apart and digits interlocked together behind him. By this, Frenzy knew that the Decepticon leader had forgotten, or choose to ignore his presence. As far as Megatron's attention was concerned, Frenzy might as well consist of invisible matter when Shockwave had his report to deliver to his Supreme Commander.

"According to the latest development on the repair of the Space Bridge, I have estimated that the Generator will be fully functional in another three orns. However, due to the energy demands involved in the process, the energon cubes supply will only be enough to power a halfway Bridge from Cybertron."

"Soundwave has told me before of the possibility of such things happening," Megatron replied, his bored voice contradicting the almost-scowl that crossed his features in a mere span of astroseconds before his mask of indifference returned on his faceplates. "But I happen to have an effective solution to this crisis. How many more cubes do you require to complete a Cybertron-Earth Space Bridge?"

"Thirty-five cubes for an opening less than half a klik," Shockwave replied.

"And how many war prisoners do you have on Cybertron?"

"Exactly two hundreds, but as much as a hundred and seventy-six individuals are tasked with the labours of fortress reconstruction or Space Bridge repairing. The rest are too under-energized for any use and are currently left imprisoned in the brigs." He did not have a countenance on which his expression could be projected but Shockwave's tone was one of puzzlement, which was rather strange coming out of this particular mech.

"Hmmph...that leaves only twenty-four disposable producers..." Megatron muttered, quickly lost in calculations and simulations of the plan that he had constructed in his CPU.

"Lord Megatron, if I might be so bold to ask – "

The Decepticon overlord cut him off with a careless waive of his servo, a cold, cruel grin spreading on his lip-components. "– about what to do with these prisoners? Think out of the box, Shockwave. Those useless scums will serve our cause better if deactivated than leaving them to rust in the brigs."

Soundwave did not shudder, but his inner self almost quailed at the focused, cruel thought that came from the silver mech's meta-processors. It contradicted most ironically with the concern for Starscream's situation bubbling just underneath this layer of sado-masochism; it reminded the cassette-player just why Megatron was deemed the cruellest Transformer to have ever walked on Cybertron. Soundwave might appear unaffected, but even he was unsettled at the consequences of such actions, and being a telepath did not at all make matters better. Nothing was as horrifying as experiencing first-hand the sensation of Sparks being extinguished and yet continued to live after such agonizing tortures. Such concerns were non-existent for Megatron, who was no telepath and was nothing like the sympathetic Autobots.

Shockwave too seemed to have grasped the idea lurking behind the inquiries – and looking shocked once understanding dawned upon him. He was no prisoner-sympathizer, least of all to Autobots who accounted for almost ninety-eight percent of the population of war prisoners held in Darkmount, but it did pose problem in some other aspect. "But Megatron, using brainwave energy for energon production is impractical on such deprived Transformers. At least three meta-processors are required to amass enough energy for a single energon cube; it will cost them their activations and Darkmount requires the slaves for restoration after the attacks. It will be more practical if I operate on the remaining cubes to open the incomplete Space Bridge and have Astrotrain deliver the cargo to the point of –"

" – I will NOT be sending Astrotrain or any other Decepticons away from Earth!" Megatron roared, fists balled and optics flashing with menace, causing Frenzy to flinch and lifting up his servos above his helm as if expecting blows from the enraged warlord. "I expect better from YOU, Shockwave! Drain the prisoners even if that permanently deactivates them! Take the slaves if you have to – just make sure that the next Space Bridge will be opened here ON EARTH!"

Shockwave was taken aback by the extreme reactions but dared not to argue further; far away from Megatron as he was, it was never a good thing to add oil to the flame, especially if the flame was already at the magnitude equivalent to an exploding volcano. "I will see to it as best as I can, my lord."

A notch placated, Megatron's vocalizer was reset to its default volume though his optics maintained the murderous glow. "You better be, Shockwave. Megatron out."

The warlord all but punched the button to severe the Cybertron-Nemesis communication line, still hissing with displeasure. In any normal circumstance, Shockwave's words would be listened and rightfully considered; however, this was not exactly what it would be called 'a typical orn in Nemesis', with his mind concentrated largely on Starscream and his anxiety to get the energon cubes delivered safely to Cybertron – his self-appointed responsibility to restore the planet to its glory was still a top priority, only now its importance was equal to saving Starscream from the Autobots. Torn between those two, the only way he could keep tabs on both was to remain on Earth, where the Seeker was and had the Space Bridge opened here, and not on some other alien planet. Soundwave understood this, having read the reasons straight from the warlord's mind, but Frenzy, who was as much telepath as Soundwave would ever be a Kaon-prowling slut, looked simply befuddled at Megatron's insistence.

"Resume monitoring," Megatron said to the red Casetticon without really looking; instead, his optics was on Soundwave. The communication officer felt a chill growing in his Spark when he was asked, "Have you found out anything yet?"

He did – about the increased security measures and patrol frequency around the Ark; about Starscream's loss of wings and he had been disarmed, but the former was of small enough concern and the latter was naturally expected ; that he was held in the brig whose location was known, guarded constantly by two guards during the day and monitored closely via the security cameras during the dark hours; that Starscream fraternizing with the enemy, and that the enemy was, of all Autobots, Skyfire; and worse, the shuttle also happened to be the lead engineer in the wings construction and the one charged with the duty to bring the Seeker his daily sustenance. Soundwave indulged all that he discovered to the silver mech except for the last two information. Other than it would likely fan the still-seething anger in his leader, it was also rather irrelevant in planning for Starscream's rescue.

Megatron listened and accepted the conveyed intelligence with a nod; it was not enough for any real planning, but it was a good enough start. "Excellent. Continue with the surveillance then, gather every bit of information that is available. In three orns, we WILL have the energon cubes safely delivered...and Starscream WILL be among us again."

Behind, Frenzy let out a surprised gasp which he hastily turned into a hacking cough, but the Decepticon Supreme Commander paid him not the slightest mind. His optics, now glittering with determined glow, were trained upon Soundwave, not once faltering in his gaze. "I will be expecting a report on your collected intelligence in two orns – and after that, we will have to come up with double battle-plans on our two scenarios during the pre-battle meeting. You have any objection on that?"

Of course, Soundwave recognized a rhetorical question when he heard one; with Megatron, whatever question that came out from his vocalizer would have to be answered with only reply as he expected. "No, my lord."

The silver gun-former was pleased by Soundwave's obedience and left the Command Centre with less depressed thoughts, having transferred part of the burden for Soundwave to manage. Frenzy caught the immense scope of expectation Megatron had on his master and voiced out exactly what Soundwave had in his CPU:

"Two orns? To do all that stuffs? He gotta be kiddin', right?"

Soundwave did not answer, again recognizing the rhetorical quality in Frenzy's inquiries – but he had never hoped as fervently as he did now that Megatron did have possessed the humour to joke about such strenuous demands. A burden as large as this could have put any lesser Transformer into instant haywire – and it was probably a comparatively better fate than one that he was facing right now.

Shedding all depressing notions from his processors, Soundwave focused back to the reconnaissance task at hand; this ruckus had better ended in three orns as Megatron had estimated. Longer than that, he could not be sure that even his endurance could keep up with such strains – and he doubted it that Megatron could too, if the building lust-rage that he detected coming from the tyrant was anything to go by.

Ratchet had worked unceasingly on Red Alert ever since Prowl, with occasional help from Jazz, brought him to the med-bay. The Security Director was currently offline – Ratchet could have simply rebooted his processors to remedy that, but fearing his latest glitch had caused more damages than which was visible, the medic had taken the pains to examine his entire systems for unseen faults. So besotted he was in his element, the CMO had not realized the extent of joors he had spent in working on his latest patient, even forgetting to refuel himself – whatever happens, he had to make sure that Red was stabilized first before he could spare time for self-indulgences. From morning till evening, time passed without Ratchet noticing even an astrosecond of it missing – and he would have not noticed it well into the night had someone did not interrupt him in the middle of his works.

Ratchet had assumed that the door was opened because of Wheeljack – instead, the pede-steps that echoed in the med-bay were rather hollow-sounding where else the Autobot inventor's got rather solid pedes. That alone had not caused the CMO to falter in his progresses, any other smaller 'bot could have caused the light steps, but it was rather the call of "Ratchet?" that had him by surprise that caused his digits to tremble slightly, an effect that none other had on him except for –

"Skyfire?"

The name spilled out automatically when his processors identified the summoner and his Spark gave an unhelpful squirming when Ratchet turned around and had his guess confirmed. Filling the entire doorway of the medical bay was indeed Skyfire, his great height forcing him to stoop a little upon entering or risked banging his helm on the sill. Ratchet's optics followed the flyer's movement as if entranced until the shuttle caught him staring and inquired:

"Are you alright, Ratchet?"

The tone was neither anxious nor angry but that did not stop Ratchet from berating himself for allowing such childishness to show, especially when he still had a patient to resolve before him. He exhaled a calming cycle of air to steady his shattered nerve-clusters, he replied, "No, I'm fine. Just...Just tired, I think."

Only he knew how he hated being himself at that time when hearing the quaver in his voice. The medic could only pray that Skyfire's audios were not so sensitive so as to detect the flaw in his speaking fluency – or that he would associate it with his 'tired' state, if even that given reason was believable.

"I see," Skyfire answered simply; his optics came to rest on the person lying on the berth before Ratchet, half of his chassis obscured by the CMO's back. "And you're quite busy at the moment, I see that too. I think it's better for me to leave you alone for now –"

"No!"

Ratchet's whole chassis stiffened at the suddenness of his reaction, the word reflexively coming out of his vocalizer in response of his barest wish that he had buried deep beneath his stoicism and professionalism – and apparently, it was not deep enough. His vents furiously cycled air to cool his internals and stuttered, "I...I mean, you can stay. I'm almost finished."

Skyfire was puzzled at the uncharacteristic behaviour, at the very least. The rise of his optic ridge was subtle, but Ratchet had long learned that the shuttle's faceplates were not very expressive compared to other mechs he had encountered (Optimus Prime was clearly excluded, seeing that he had a battle-mask to keep his emotions unknown) – beyond that, who knew what thoughts and assumptions might be brewing in his (frightfully) analytical processors? Thankfully, he did not chose to venture further on this subject and proceeded to the waiting area, where he treated himself to sitting down on the couch there. He did not speak afterwards, and for that, Ratchet was immensely relieved while he returned his attention back to the prone form before him.

What kind of virus was invading him that prompted Ratchet to act so? None, as his internal scan told him and it was worrying; he had no other reason for him to blame upon except his secret attraction to the shuttle and he would rather chopped off his whole arm before admitting that to Skyfire. Embarrassment was one thing, but knowing that the shuttle had his interest on someone else was the definite blow to Ratchet. No, whatever the cost it took, his more-than-just-friend admiration had to be kept a secret – Well, Wheeljack knew about it already, but he was the only one...and the last to know. There would be no other, not even Skyfire himself.

Ratchet worked hard and fast, motivated by his determination to stay distracted from Skyfire's proximity. Unfortunately, it meant that his task finished sooner than he had expected with all the focus he had poured into it and before long, Red Alert's entire chassis had been checked, re-checked, and triple-checked; there were no more damages that must be fixed. The Chief Medic ignored the mythical feeling of having his back plating bored by Skyfire's optics while jumpstarting Red's vital systems, waiting patiently as electricity cracked along the Lambo's chassis, jerking the limbs into movements and shocking the dormant CPU into activation.

"Ugh...w-what happened?" Red Alert groaned as soon as his sensors registered online; his helm-horns sparked briefly as the charges dissipated to his surroundings. The optics took their time to reboot, the blue glow returning slowly to the covering glasses.

"Your glitch, that's what happened," Ratchet answered without looking at the other; his attention was fully on the telemetries displayed upon the monitor beside the berth, occasionally nodding as he interpreted the cryptic information on Red Alert's health. "I've told you before to wait for a few joors before your systems stabilize, but no, you have to tear away from my med-bay and headed for the Command Deck all alone. Thank goodness I have Prowl and Jazz to help me or else...I could have the evening all to myself, resting, but instead I have to spent joors checking and rebooting your systems!"

Red Alert gave a weak smile all the while he listened to Ratchet's rants and replied once he was finished, "Thank you, Ratchet. I appreciate it."

The Chief Medic harrumphed once, momentarily stumped by the word of gratitude - he rarely got verbal 'thanks' for his works. "Now do yourself a favour and rest. Rest! Tomorrow, you should be fit enough for duty – and please avoid from blowing your processors all over again."

"I can go now?"

"Yes, but straight to your quarters. I'll have Omega Supreme spank you if you ever step a pede in the Command Deck today." Ratchet was detaching the various cables from Red Alert's medical ports and turning off the monitoring machine when he said these. In any other circumstances, mechs would run with their tail-pipes between their legs if they were threatened like this, but the smile in Ratchet's voice, tinged with worry though it was, erased the horrific images of the guardian mech's gigantic palm landing on his small aft. Still, it was unwise to disobey the medic's commandment, having gone against it once and paying dearly for it.

"To my quarters. Right. Straight away," Red Alert replied as he made to slid off the side of the berth. Ratchet helped him to stand, and when the Lambo-former assured that his pedes were sturdy enough for walking, the medic let him go completely, guiltily wishing that Red Alert would have asked for his escort back to his quarters – anything from being left alone with Skyfire in the med-bay.

The moment the med-bay's door slid close, he knew that the last hope to get away was gone along with Red Alert – and his Spark thumped with a combination of excitement and nervousness when he realized that his fear/wish had now came to reality.

"Are you sure that Red Alert is safe? I can go accompany him, if you want," Skyfire's voice floated to his audios from behind, causing his Spark to accelerate its pulse to twice its usual frequency – at least, it did felt like it.

Now that would have been a great idea if only it had been voiced earlier – his CPU had not came up with such solution in the turmoil of his emotions, and to ask the shuttle for it now would seem a bit rude – and besides, Ratchet could not bring himself to request it, knowing that to do so would mean having Skyfire to leave. His Spark and his logic circuits warred upon the control of his vocalizer and his motors, yes, please and no, don't go battling for the right to be vocalized.

In the end, his desire won the orn as his glossa wound itself to say, "There's no need. It's a short trip to his chamber." Ratchet persuaded himself that it was the truth, even if the bulk of his reason came from wanting to be left in Skyfire's company with no one else to disturb this hard-earned peace.

"If you say so."

Ratchet could almost imagine the shuttle's shoulder-struts lifting in a shrug at these words. Pretending business by clearing the operation berth and the mobile table from the many medical tools he had used upon Red Alert before, the CMO mumbled, "Why do you come?"

"I was thinking to show you...but you seem exhausted enough already. Maybe I shouldn't ask of you just yet."

"No, please," the white-red-mech cursed himself for the accidental plea his vocalizer circuits chose to intone and tried again, "I'm fine. I can do it. Just tell me." Whatever it is, Ratchet silently added.

The hollow pede-steps resonated again in the area as Skyfire pushed himself to his pedes and approached the medic from behind. Though Ratchet absolutely refused to look at Skyfire in the optics, not knowing where he exactly was and depending upon the sound of his coming turned out to be far worse for his Spark pulses, which increased even more to his mounting excitement.

"Since you insist..."

Thump...Thump...Thump...

Oh Primus, Ratchet exhaled upon hearing the velvety voice entering his audios, feeding to his hunger as if energon would to an under-energized Transformer. The feel of something huge looming over him was exciting him to his very laser core – and suddenly, a shuttle-shaped shadow fell upon him before shifting to the side as Skyfire moved to stand at Ratchet's left, their chasses so very close together that the medic feared the shuttle feeling the heat from his excited Spark. It was impossible unless they touched physically, but the possibility of it seemed valid as passion further set his inside on fire.

.Thump.

Oh Primus, Ratchet repeated; against his will, his helm turned to the side. Skyfire's huge chassis filled his entire view – they were so close, so very close, his helm was almost touching the side of Skyfire's hip-armour. He was glad that the movement of the other's servo served as a distraction from being overwhelmed by the sheer hugeness of the flyer. Ratchet had always the self-restraint from succumbing to the demands of his optics to roam across the shuttle's chassis and drinking its tantalizing details, but he found himself losing the battle against his desire this time. Ratchet knew that he was being woefully unprofessional, but he could not help himself. Not now, not when the image of Starscream's slight frame being tenderly cradled by Skyfire's arms were playing so vividly in his processors. How would it feel to be enveloped so by his powerful limbs, his faceplates so close to his own that their heats were practically pouring on each other? The feel of his lip-components –

Thump-thump-thump...

"Primus."

"Excuse me?"

Ratchet jerked as he realized that he was drowned too far in processor-drift to the extent that he had accidentally vocalized it out loud. Mentally shaking himself out of the residual imaginations swirling around in his CPU, he forced his optics to lift upwards, right into the blue depth of Skyfire's optics. The reassuring gaze that he offered was fake enough, but the smile he gave to the shuttle was even more so.

"Are you feeling okay?" Skyfire asked worriedly, one servo pausing in his sub-space pocket in honour of bestowing Ratchet his full attention.

"O-of course. Now, what is that you're going to show me?"His smile grew, getting wider, faker. Ratchet hated himself for it.

"Um, alright." Skyfire shrugged his concern off and retrieved his servo from the sub-space along with a rod of inactivated datapad held between his massive digits. The cylindrical limbs worked deftly to push the button to activate it; a blue screen popped in between the split metal rod, the halves of which were held gingerly by the white servos of the Autobot flyer. It was schematic images of a Seeker's wing, the few spaces which had been left blank the last time he had seen them were now completed with servo-sketched drawings which were obviously not Skyfire's. A wave of sadness came out of nowhere to engulf his systems in yet another depression, forced to relieve the moment of revelation that was better left unknown...

"I see you've done your job," Ratchet began unsteadily and hating his wavering voice even more than he thought was possible.

"With a little help – only Starscream knows the exact schematics," the shuttle agreed. Next, he was plunging into added details of the modified blueprints, pointing here and there for corrections and exact designs – and Ratchet found himself unable to focus on the single word he was saying. Again and again his processors drifted from the confines of his med-bay, back to the Starscream-occupied brig where his last shred of hope of ever gaining Skyfire's affection was destroyed by the gentle kiss he had imparted so freely to the Decepticon...

Thumpthumpthump...

"Ratchet."

Said medic shook himself out of the processor-drift upon the calling of his designation. His optics reflexively jumped upwards where the others' were located, and found a look of concern clouding within them.

"Yes, Skyfire?"

"You do not look very well," the shuttle observed; the datapad was now nowhere to be seen, presumably having been deactivated and stowed back in the sub-space pocket whence it came from.

"Uhh...yes, I think so." No point pretending that he was otherwise – the real reason would have to be kept unknown to the other, though. "I need to sit down."

"I'll help you," and he lifted one huge servo to do so, already sliding halfway to the medic's back when Ratchet flinched instinctively from the digits trying to reach his armours –

– and the tips of them happened to brush across Ratchet's ambulance-form front-mounted windshield, causing his Spark to lurch powerfully at the fiery trail it created on the sensitized glass. The unexpected sensation of pleasure wrenched an unwilling gasp from the CMO's vocalizer, one that caused his chassis to freeze in horror and a sudden withdrawal of the huge digits from his person. His unbecoming reaction was nightmare enough to Ratchet, but that Skyfire must have felt the incredible heat coming off from his Spark would be far, far more embarrassing – many factors could have contributed to heated, sensitized armours, but only a Sparkling could have not known that lust brewing in a mech's systems was one of those causes. His servo flew upwards to shield the heated part from Skyfire's view as if fearing that the heat would somehow visibly showed – and to prevent further contacts there.

"Skyfire ..." Ratchet croaked, too ashamed to say anything further and instead opted to see for himself the shuttle's reactions upon this. To his puzzlement, the shuttle's was neither of surprise nor anger – the blue optics gazing down at him were softly glowing with a look of concern.

"My apologies – It seems you are more exhausted than I thought."

It was true – pain or even discomfort at high enough intensity could have caused a sudden increase in a Transformer's core temperature, whether from increasing Spark-pulses or from overheating internals. Yes, Ratchet could still get away with this...

"N-no need to worry...I just need a little rest." Lies. All lies, but what choices did he have? He could only hope that Skyfire would not try 'helping' him again – Ratchet was uncertain to how he would react to the shuttle's touch, no matter how innocent its intention was.

Fortunately, his much-needed saving grace came into factor just at that critical moment – the med-bay's door opened once again to admit the entry of a certain Wheeljack who paused automatically upon setting his optics on the prominent figure of Skyfire before shifting to Ratchet whose servo was shielding over the portion of windshield exactly where his Spark chamber was housed underneath.

Fighting the quaver struggling to make itself heard, Ratchet called out to Wheeljack as casually as he could, "Yes, Wheeljack – What do you want?"

For a moment, the Lancia-former seemed intent on walking away before thankfully stepping into the area, head-fins flashing in what Ratchet had learned to be amusement. If only Ratchet had his favourite wrench in his servo right now, Wheeljack would have sported a nice dent at the side of his helm.

Meanwhile, Skyfire seemed to have come to the conclusion that his presence was no longer necessary for he turned to regard the medic with the same gentle concern he was showing ever since Ratchet had finished working on Red Alert and said, "Wheeljack's here. I take it that I can leave you to his care?"

"Yes, certainly. If anything, he can scold me if I try getting back to work."

Skyfire's chuckles were sudden and pleasant as always – again, his Spark seemed to somersault underneath Ratchet's chest plating, further warming the already heated armours.

"Indeed. I'll take my leave for now."

The desire to keep Skyfire with him resurfaced, stronger than ever, and Ratchet's vocalizer almost surrendered to the urge from his still-tingling Spark when Wheeljack, bless his understanding, cut him off the moment he opened his mouth to shout:

"Bye, Skyfire!"

Skyfire nodded, satisfied with the assurance he received and turned to leave the place. His huge form soon vanished behind the closing door of the med-bay, but not before he imparted to the medic an apologetic smile, perhaps still thinking that it was he who caused Ratchet's 'exhaustion'.

Wheeljack certainly did not believe that was the case and pretended scolding as soon as the sounds of Skyfire's leaving pede-steps faded completely from their audios, "What on Cybertron was that all about?"

Ratchet, whose core temperature had plummeted the instant Skyfire left the med-bay, managed a scowl of his own, realizing that the Autobot inventor knew – or at least, could have guessed – well enough what had transpired between Skyfire and himself. Wheeljack understood the sharp glare the CMO gave in his direction, one that could have sent even the naughty Lambo-twins scrambling away from the medic but that could only caused his long-time friend to shrug carelessly.

"Fine. I know, you and Skyfire and all that. But really, Ratch, how long are you going to keep it a secret?"

All traces of the irritable image Ratchet was so famous with were shed when he was shot with this million-energon-chip question. The medic now looked so exhausted that one would doubt whether this mech could have possibly the energy still to participate in the Great War. "I don't know, Wheeljack. I just don't."

Ratchet beckoned towards the couch where Skyfire had previously sat in waiting for him. Wheeljack made his way to it and took his seat beside his medic-friend. They were silent for a while, each immersed in their own swirling processors before Wheeljack's head-fins flashed once again as his next words came out from his hidden vocalizer:

"You can't stay silent about this forever, you know."

"I'm not sure about that, Wheeljack. With the war constantly raging around us...it seems like it's never going to happen. Either of us could get permanently deactivated every time we step beyond the Ark's security line..." Ratchet flinched inwardly at the mental image playing in his CPU the moment he finished saying these, of Skyfire's body, broken and damaged beyond repair, his Spark chamber empty of any living light. The CMO fought the fear rising in his systems and focused on his present where Wheeljack was figuring out a counter-argument for this.

"All the reason to tell him, then. Seriously, I see no reason why you would shut your vocalizer and continue to hurt yourself like this."

Because Skyfire's love is not mine and I've seen the proof; this is a contest I'm going to lose no matter how hard I fight, not with Starscream as the competitor, Ratchet wanted to answer that, but he could not – Wheeljack knew only his secret affection for the shuttle but not the fact that Skyfire himself had had his own to woo over, one who was not an Autobot and was far, far more alluring. So he said instead, "Because I just can't. You won't understand it."

The Lancia-former was intrigued by the loopholes-filled reply Ratchet gave to his question and was about to venture further down that route when his experiences befriending Ratchet advised him that to do so would only pursue a blind end. "If that's how you put it. But if you ask me, I'll say this any given orn – Just go and say it to Skyfire straight away, I love you or whatever, then let him turn you down or frag the sense out of you. Case closed."

Ratchet's vents hitched at the suggestion and the vivid imaginations it inspired; Skyfire, his faceplates full of disgust upon hearing the revelation of Ratchet's Spark, refusing to ever meet the medic ever again and flew off with Starscream, who cackled and mocked at medic's disappointment; on the other servo was a totally different consequence if he followed Wheeljack's advice, of the shuttle's arms wrapping around his smaller chassis and, as his friend had bluntly put it, 'frag the sense out of him'. Neither scenario was realistic, but it gave the CMO a confusing mix of fear-embarrassment that had his systems in flux in reacting to equally-powerful emotions.

"That's very 'helpful'." Ratchet replied, ignoring the fearful twinge his Spark sent in response to his fear and the embarrassment-induced warmth spreading on his cheek-plates.

"The point is," Wheeljack ventured on, choosing to ignore the sarcasm strong in the ambulance's answer, "You're upsetting yourself for invalid reason. Who knows what's his answer might be?"

"I'm gambling with dangerous holo-cards here," Ratchet almost snapped, then softened his tone to an apologetic note when realizing his unbecoming manners, "If he said no –"

"Ah, see? You're winning the argument for me. If. It's uncertain whether he'll reject you or not. If he said no, then I'll let you sulk in peace –"

Ratchet scowled; no matter how Spark-broken, he was not that kind of mechs who locked themselves in their chambers and drained their reservoirs of their optical fluid. Wheeljack pretended not to notice.

" – or if he said yes..."

Wheeljack craftily left his sentence hanging, spurring yet another fresh imagination from the Chief Medic's CPU – this time involving the shuttle's servos trailing over his chest-piece, inducing pulses after pulses from the aroused Spark that heated his armours that it felt like fire was burning in his Spark chamber...

"...maybe you're right..."

The fins on either side of Wheeljack's helm brightened with glee, almost as if saying to Ratchet of course I'm right. Ratchet hated to admit that the Lancia-former had a valid point in his argument, but the memories of Skyfire and Starscream, together in the brig with their lip-components locking with each other, uninterrupted and unknowing of the accidental audience watching their unfolding intimacy, remained burned into his data-banks. Recalling it, Ratchet did not know whether he would ever be able to gather enough courage to make his Spark's desires known to Skyfire, whether indirectly or not.

"Anyway," Ratchet quickly said in his effort to not linger on the sorrowful notions that threatened to dispirit him, "Why do you come? I suppose you want something from me?"

"Trying to change the topic, I see – but you're right; I've come because, um, this..."

The Autobot inventor hesitantly lifted his left arm to reveal the charred metal underneath, the centre of which dented and cracked open, as if something sharp and extremely hot had tried to bury into his armour. Sheepishly, he explained, "I was experimenting with a tracking device that use extreme heat to automatically weld itself to the target's armour...problem is, it won't stop drilling and, well, you see the result."

Ratchet's optics flickered in annoyance although he was already making his way to the operation table, red servos deftly sorting through an assortment of tools that he had arranged neatly upon its surface before. "And you use yourself as the lab retro-rat, I suppose."

"Err, no. It's an accident, sort of; I didn't realize that I had it turned on when I happened to rest my arm on the table..."

"Whatever. I still have to work overtime...just don't tell Skyfire about this; I told him that I was exhausted before he left."

Wheeljack could not suppress his laugh from escaping despite having an irritated Ratchet gesturing to the nearest operation berth where he would be subjected to the CMO's mercy for the next few kliks. He would get his audios tortured shortly after this for his recklessness, but for now he would laugh.

Ratchet gave that characteristic huff when he was forced to deal with ridiculous damages and set to work immediately when he had Wheeljack right where he wanted. He was grateful that no distractive thought of Skyfire or Starscream chose to bother him the instant he began cleaning the filthy armour in preparation for more thorough fixations. Only at times like this, when he had himself a patient waiting for his treatment, he felt himself momentarily freed from the anguish that had been eating at his Spark; he was the Autobot's Chief Medical Officer now and nothing personal must come into play when he had a responsibility to fulfil.