C.M.D: It's update period once again! Only one chapter this month, ah well, but sure to be a great one! ...Or, at least, I hope it's great. I'll even settle for good. Anyways, thanks for stopping by and please enjoy!

i.

Impactor followed him out onto the hull of the ship some time later. Snare noticed it, in the curve of another loop around the rear thrusters, almost breaking the rhythm of his dance. He twisted a fraction of a degree, regaining momentum and continued with his patterns, always aware of the Wrecker watching but diligent to ignore him. He was forced to take notice when yellow fingers reached to skim his underbelly in passing. The reaction was an automatic, violent lurch away from the servo; heat blazing from his turbines in incandescent streams as they fired at maximum thrust.

Suddenly, the Predator was under the ship, far from the invasive Autobot. A panel on his dashboard noted that he might have scorched the purple mech too.

Good.

Gliding further from the spacecraft, cradling the zone between distant and dangerous, Snare continued his vorn-old patterns. Looping, diving, corkscrewing... Eventually, Impactor clambered back inside after some cycles had passed. A few breems later, the requesting pings to open his comm also died out. Finally alone again, the ex-Decepticon returned to his thoughtless reprieve among the emptiness and stardust. Only when his reserves had run alarming low and the ice weighed down his wings, creeping into his thrusters and crawling under his cockpit, did Snare board the ship also.

ii.

Impactor had chosen this job -and Snare could see why.

The two of them sat opposite each other, disassembling scrap for a Junkion trader, who had hit the professional goldmine in an abandoned Decepticon Warship. In an odd trait for a Junkion, their employer didn't want to dismantle everything himself nor did he have any friends he could trust to the spoils. Apparently, Junkion were extremely territorial of their junk. So he'd hired the pair but, in true paranoid fashion, ordered them to one miserable workbench while the Junkion worked on a larger table a few feet away, his optic fixed on the odd couple constantly.

The Predator despised it. He'd never felt more scrutinized in his life than he did under those two fierce gazes. He ignored it (as any self-respecting Decepticon would) until Impactor opened his mouth.

"You've been avoiding me," he whispered. The tone was non-accusatory. For now.

"I have not," the flyer was quick to reply, his attention fixed to his tasks.

He only caught the edge of motion on his peripheral before yellow fingers moved to brush across his knuckles. Snare lurched away quicker than if someone had been about to pour molten plasma over his servo. Instantly, he realized his mistake, and though the ex-Decepticon attempted to cover it up, he knew it was too late. He could feel Impactor boring into the back of his helm as Snare turned away to another pile of waiting scrap, fingers fumbling with twisted bits of metal and glass fragments.

Whatever the look the Wrecker was giving him, it was not an expression the flyer wanted to remember.

iii.

His servos bumped across the table, scattering the tech he'd currently been working on, as the ship was rocked with turbulence. Seeing that all his hard work of the last decacycle was in pieces on the floor, Snare decided to forget about the mess for the time being and head out to the deck. The turbulence worsened as he did, indicative that the ship was breaking atmosphere.

"What did we hit?," he demanded, grabbing part of the door frame to keep upright as he stepped onto the bridge.

Impactor sat in the pilot's chair, flipping switches and tapping dials as he calmly directed the shuttle through a cluster of asteroids.

"Didn't hit anything," he replied flatly.

"Then why exactly are we heading towards the moon there?," Snare asked, his wings tensing. He had yet to decide if he was angry or terrified by the Wrecker's nonchalant attitude.

"We're heading to the moon 'cause I say we are. Got a job to do."

"I never cleared-"

"Again, not your choice," Impactor interrupted.

The Predator bit his glossa deeply, feeling a part of the mesh crack and the tangy zest of pumped energon fill his mouth. Not once had the harpoonist turned to look at the flyer when he spoke; his words void of nearly all inflection. So, that's how it was going to be...

"Fine," Snare mumbled to the Autobot's back, turning to head back to his quarters. This wasn't the first time Impactor had done something like this without consulting the ex-Decepticon beforehand. In fact, this was just one more of the many similar choices that the larger mech had made without the Predator's knowledge.

Perhaps, he reflected darkly, this chapter of his life was finally drawing to a close.

iv.

He heard the heavy pedes scuff into the galley just as he put the glass to his lip components; he winced at the hard swallow, nearly choking as he hurried to set the ration back down. Impactor managed to cross the room while Snare was distracted, one servo grasping his waist, the other sliding the flyer's mask further down the counter and out of his reach.

"Hey," the Wrecker rumbled in raspy greeting, his mouth already nibbling along the smaller mech's collar struts, "I was thinking we should-"

"No," came the Predator's tart reply. Impactor shuttered his optics slowly, pulling away from the black plating, a scowl now carved on his features.

"Why-?" Snare threw his elbow hard into the harpoonist's abdomen, interrupting the Wrecker a second time. Stunned, Impactor stumbled back a step; snapping out of his shock when he saw the ex-Decepticon try to scramble around the bar. With a roar, the purple mech sprang forward, grabbing Snare by the back of his neck and slamming him into the counter; his mask bouncing off and skittering somewhere across the floor from the violent outburst.

"What is wrong with you?!," he bellowed, pressing down harder on Snare's backstruts. "I don't get it. Everything was fine! We were fine! Why won't you even talk to me anymore?!"

The Predator's limbs flailed in panic, trying to find some sort of leverage. His heels snagged against his assailant's knee joints and Snare wisely used it to angle his thruster into Impactor's crotch, switching the turbine from rest to maximum drive in point-three astroseconds flat. Shouting in pain, the harpoonist released the flyer, grabbing him by his thighs instead and swinging him into the floor.

"S-slaggit," Impactor growled, wincing as his singed pelvis blared damage reports at him. He stomped awkwardly toward the smaller mech, still trying to reorient his frazzled sensors, an arm outstretched to grab one of those trembling wings. "This is the kind of fragging bullscrap I'm tired of! You set the rules; I've followed. Now you're not talking to me! What happened that you-?!"

Snare had just managed to roll over, trying to get his bum leg to respond so he could escape. He threw his arms over his cockpit in a panic instead as he saw the enraged Autobot close in on him; optics large and bright, shaking from helm to pede. The Wrecker stalled at the sight, all emotion draining from his face as he took in the Predator's unusually exposed features with sudden revelation.

"W-when were you...?," he tried to speak, stuttering and forgetting his words entirely. "Have y-you never...?"

The ex-Decepticon didn't answer, lip components sealed shut, forearms pressing tighter against his chestplates as he followed the larger mech's every move. Gripping the counter suddenly, Impactor moved his mouth, wanting yet unable to produce any sounds past the fist of nausea punching his insides. Feeling his legs threaten to give out under him, the Wrecker pushed away from the bar rapidly; tearing out of the room without another glance back at the Predator.

Silence fell in the galley soon after. Snare stared at the empty spot Impactor had vacated, sluggish to comprehend anything beyond his jittery intakes. His spark was still rotating in wild bursts within, shooting bolts of lightning across his circuitry that frightfully reminded him of the equally as violent outside touches upon his mind. Slowly, the flyer lowered himself back to the floor as his tanks hiccuped in distress, resting against the cool, flat surface. His arms remained wrapped around his torso protectively as the cycles passed by.

v.

They'd stopped at this half-way station at the purple warrior's insistence.

Impactor grabbed his arm before the flyer had stepped off the ramp, pulling him into the crowds as the dock lifted up behind them. "This way," he gruffed.

"What? Where the frag are we going?!," Snare snapped, pulling testily at the Wrecker's grip. He didn't have the leverage to break those yellow digits apart and the attempt put him off-balance; all of his weight crashing down on his useless leg. The Predator stifled the cry of pain that rose, fumbling to re-orient himself so as to not collapse right on the pier. He could not bear that embarrassment on top of being dragged about like a disobedient sparkling.

Impactor seemed to take notice that his companion was having difficulties, for he stopped, watching as Snare fixed his posture. Once the ex-Decepticon had the cane under him properly again, the Autobot continued his unknown trek- thankfully, a little slower this time.

"You didn't answer me," Snare spoke up as Impactor's tugging took them up from the port and into the modest town. "Where are you taking me?" He glared as the harpoonist continued to ignore him; turbines heating rapidly. If he hadn't been finding it harder and harder to transform with his bum leg, the Predator would have done so in a sparkbeat, firing thrusters in the Wrecker's face before taking off.

There was nothing Snare hated more than being manhandled around, with no word or indication of what was going on.

Just as he was debating whether or not to give escape a try, Impactor turned into a white building; sliding doors shutting behind the pair, trapping Snare temporarily. "Hello," greeted a white mech, walking up towards them. "Oh, you're Impactor, aren't you?"

The ex-Decepticon only stared as the Wrecker nodded to the stranger.

"Glad you could make it. Is this the one?," the mech glanced at Snare now, optics fixed on his injured leg. "Ah, yes. I can see the damage is extensive. Well, not to worry, we can repair this easily."

He was a medic! Snare finally took notice of the medical decals painted on the stranger's bulky calves; matching the ones that hung intermittently throughout the clinic. Impactor had brought him to a medi-clinic? The Predator started as gentle servos replaced the harpoonist's crushing grip, the nameless medic smiling kindly at the flyer.

"Why don't we get you to an operating room so that leg can be looked at, hm? Oh," the stranger paused, turning to look back at the silent Impactor, "Just talk to the receptionist over there by the doors." He pointed to a desk to the far left. "She'll explain what the tasks are and help get you set up."

The purple mech nodded once, then turned to walk away. He didn't look back as Snare was escorted down another hall; the flyer uncertain and more than a little confused at this turn of events.

vi.

He couldn't rest. Too weary for another long flight outside but too wound up for recharge, Snare decided to wander the ship in a half-awake daze, hoping that the exercise would ease his troubled thoughts. It didn't really but the Predator had been at it for a while now that he just didn't have the spark to break the routine. He made his way through the galley again, walking along the dimmed halls, before circling to walk up past the command deck for the umpteenth time that orn. He noticed, belatedly, that there was a glow coming from the bridge that was brighter than the usual light of instruments on standby.

Should he check it out?

The ex-Decepticon knew it could be only Impactor in there (it was just the two of them, after all) but...

His pause was reason enough to inch closer quietly, taking care to muffle any sound from his pedes. A conversation with the Wrecker was the very last thing Snare wanted to deal with right now but curiosity could not be swayed. Positioned behind the door frame now, the Predator slowly leaned forward, peeking into the room with one optic as he heard an unknown vocalizer start.

"You're certainly a hard mech to find..."

"How'd you get this frequency?," Impactor growled, hunched low over the console. The mech, barely visible on the other side, chuckled softly, without any real humor in his vocalizer.

"You're still a wanted mech, Impactor. No matter where you go, you can still be found," the stranger said. Snare's optics narrowed. He knew a threat when he heard one. "And unless you wish to be incarcerated in a box this time, I would suggest you pay great heed to my words."

Impactor looked like he might punch through the computer screen, but he only clenched his fists tightly for an astrosecond before curling further forward into the console. "What do you want, Prowl?," the Wrecker asked flatly.

Prowl?! The Predator felt his wings raise in alarm. He had heard of the Autobot's infamous tactician before... He had never been aware that the mech had a penchant for blackmail though. It made him wonder what other deceitful things the praxian might have done, under his cool-headed facade.

"I have need of your certain set of skills," Prowl was saying, his tone curt.

"So you want me to do your dirty work," the Wrecker scowled. "I thought that was against the Autobot code." No answer from the other mech. "Unfortunately, I'm not handling anyone's trash anymore. I'm reformed."

"We," came the tactician's lightning fast reprimand, "Are at war, if you have forgotten. Your feelings matter little to me, Impactor, nor your sudden growth of 'conscience'. You will accept this mission, and you will comply to every single command I give you. If you can take care of this task quickly and proficiently than I may even clear your record as reward. Think about it. You'd be a free mech again, Impactor. You could rejoin the Wreckers -Springer- under good faith."

Snare wanted to vocalize his presence at the bald-faced lie, but he felt his glossa catch as he saw the harpoonist hesitate in responding. He really was thinking about this. A crushing sensation seemed to be dragging the flyer to the floor...

"If... If I do this, you absolutely have to clear my record. Not a single charge left," the Wrecker mumbled, "And this stays hush-hush."

"But of course." The fragging praxian had the audacity to sound smug.

"Fine. I'm yours," Impactor complied heavily, his whole frame sagging.

The Predator was already heading down the staircase from the bridge as silent as he had come, when he heard Prowl's poisonous vocalizer echo into the halls behind him. "Glad to hear it. Next time, don't deliberate so long; we both know what type of mech you really are."

vii.

"What... what are you doing in my room?"

Impactor paused, looking back at Snare standing in the doorway and couldn't even compose his face into some sort of emotion. It took all over the flyer's effort not to simply crush the energon ration in his servo as the Wrecker turned away from him again, continuing on in his task before the ex-Decepticon had arrived.

"Hello? Hey, I'm talking to you!" The Predator stormed up to the purple mech, giving him a shove. "Why the slag are you sneaking into my room while I'm out?!"

The Autobot merely closed up the case he had laid out on Snare's berth, facing the other calmly. Snare opened his mouth, ready to snarl another demand at the intruder, but stumbled as he noticed the fresh coat of paint standing out clearly on the other's chestplates.

"Is... You painted over your faction m-?"

"We'll be reaching a galactic ship port shortly," Impactor interrupted, refusing to acknowledge the finger pointing at the obvious alteration on his frame. "You can disembark and proceed from there. I've already ensured you are packed and ready to go."

"Go? What-?"

But the Wrecker was already brushing past and exiting the room. Snare stood rooted in place, struggling to process what had just occurred. Hesitantly, he stepped forward, numb fingers opening up the case. Inside sat his few things and enough rations for a decacycle, alongside a couple other knick knacks. There was even a blaster, armed and loaded, suited for his smaller servos. Intakes cycling shakily, the Predator locked the case back up, leaning against the lid heavily as a wave of vertigo hit.

So... this really was the end...

Snare's optics slowly offlined as he quietly absorbed the implications of this sudden change.

viii.

As soon as they'd landed, Impactor had lowered the dock door. He'd already been in communication with some traders over the open lines while flying and had some merchandise, along with fuel and energon, waiting for pick up. He was in the middle of pulling aside some crates for bartering, after ambling down to the cargo bay, when he noticed Snare walk past.

He walked surely, helm held high, as he stepped down off the dock and into the port crowd, suitcase bouncing against his repaired hip.

There was no goodbyes. No second glances or final touches. Just the strong tap of those smaller pedes... and then the Predator was gone from sight. Fingers curling tighter around the crate in his grasp, Impactor turned stiffly and continued to load up the shuttle's hover-dolly. This, he told himself, was how it should be.

He would not listen to anything stating otherwise.

ix.

For the massive size and respective noise of the engines, it was unnervingly silent throughout the ship. From prow to underbelly, the absence of sound resonated, almost as if the vacuum of space inhabited the insides of the craft. It kept the Wrecker up as the orns passed in never-ending monotony; pacing the empty halls and bridge in a desperate search to find anything to fill the void. Every cycle ended the same: unsuccessful.

He'd have to trade the ship, Impactor rationalized. Without Guzzle or Snare... Well, there wasn't much point to all the square footage for a simple mech like the Wrecker. Not to mention, he'd need a more inconspicuous craft for the tasks Prowl had lined up for him. That's what he'd do, the purple warrior decided, pushing down the uncomfortable twisting in his fuel tanks at the thought of parting with the ship. Maybe, just maybe, he'd finally get some recharge in when there were less nooks and crannies for the silence to spread...

A ping sounded loudly in the quiet bridge.

Impactor turned about slowly, almost marvelled anything could still make noise on this Primus-forsaken vessel, when he realized nearly a klik later that the ping was actually coming from him. Someone was hailing his private frequency...

The Wrecker answered it at once, grinding his denta tightly in preparation for Prowl's obnoxious vocalizer. Instead, to his surprise, silence reigned for a long time... to the point that Impactor was poised to sever the link, when a series of clicks and beeps echoed out over the void- cryptic bits of sound used in place of verbal comms when in dangerous territory. The sequence was, oddly, a mix of Autobot and Decepticon.

'So, that's really it...?'

The harpoonist stood rooted in place. Snare? The knotting worsened, even as his spark jolted at the translated message. Was it really the Predator though? It had to be! Not many had access to the Wrecker's comm frequency and it had been decacycles since the minibot had shoved off on his own... There was only way to find out. The link was still open; the sender still transmitting a signal. Impactor loomed over the bridge dashboard, his fingers flying across the controls as he hurried to trace the unknown messenger.

For the second time in less than a cycle, the purple mech was left stunned by his findings.

x.

There was nothing more unsettling, then to online with every joint and piston aching, to find a grim face looming over you. But given other previous wake ups, Snare decided this one probably wasn't as bad.

"...What the slag were you doing frozen to the hull of my ship?," Impactor growled, after a lengthy silence of watching wing tips and fingers cautiously wiggle on the flyer's frame. Snare opened his mouth to reply, yet only managed a nasty spit of static before realizing that his vocalizer hadn't rebooted fully still. "And why the frag are you even here?," the purple mech demanded when he got no response, slamming his fists against the berth, bouncing his smaller guest. "I told you to shove off!"

Snare managed a glare despite the Wrecker's low snarling, shuffling to try and roll over.

"Oh, don't even bother!," the harpoonist snapped, turning away as his frame began to rattle with pent-up frustration. "It's a wonder you didn't snuff your spark out; you were practically a block of ice! How long had you been there, huh?! That settlement I left you on is orns away!"

"I-i...,"Snare croaked, finally managing to push himself up into a sitting position out of sheer stubbornness, "I may ha-have h-hesitated in contacting you t-too long... I a-am assuming you g-got my comm..."

Impactor spun around angrily, ready to throttle the smart-aft jet. He froze in place though as he saw the Predator slowly unclip his mask, pulling it away as he looked up at the Wrecker. The open, naked expression there forced his vocalizer to mute instantly.

"L-listen...," the ex-Decepticon began, static warbling between his words a little still, "Listen closely, because I am only going to say this once. I-i... I've done some thinking. I'm staying."

"No...," the purple mech shook his helm rapidly, pacing away from Snare as he spoke, "No, no... No, you are not staying! I am not doing this again. It's become quite apparent that none of this is working; you're done, free! You're getting off at the next stop and you're not getting back on, understand?"

The Predator frowned, and Impactor tried desperately not to think about how it made that soft face look so cute. "And why not? Nothing's different than before!"

"It is!," Impactor roared, finally losing his patience. He vented heavily, turned away from the flyer, clenching his fists as a means to direct all the anger, and fear, and uncertainty... "That orn in the galley -you were terrified of me! Of...o-of what I would do..." A fist punched the wall as the Wrecker fought against the sudden wave of nausea. "I d-didn't... I wasn't aware that you never hard-linked before! Most of us older generations know it -did it- before external interface gear became more than a fad and ultimately replaced traditional methods. It's, it's not like a spark-bond b-but... but I would have never made you do it if I'd known..."

Snare stared quietly at the harpoonist's back, unable to find a single syllable with which to utter. A servo, unwittingly, had slid up his torso and clutched at his canopy tightly; torn between fright at the too-fresh memory and disbelief at the other's confession. He wasn't all that young, by any means really, but had... had he really onlined after such a pivotal point in their evolution?

"I'm... going back to the Wreckers," the purple mech sighed, so exhausted as the wild flux of emotions settled down. He tried desperately not to think about the isolation that would resume once he got rid of Snare again... "I'm better and I've got things to d-"

"I know about Prowl." The Predator's soft words cut Impactor off; alarmed, he glanced over his shoulder to the flyer, watching as green optics rose from the floor to lock with his own. Without the mask, Snare's unmarred face exponentially reflected the flicker of concern in his gaze. Concern for the ex-Autobot.

"I overheard... Don't follow him, Impactor. He's full of lies. You've...," Snare scowled ferociously, leaning forward on the berth as he continued passionately, "You are better than he thinks! You've made so much progress; I know your friend Springer would be proud of you. Don't throw that away for some fragger, desperate to choke you with your past faults! The war is over for you. You don't need to fight his battles. If you think you do, then you're a bigger moron than I've ever known!"

Impactor was only staring. Snare realized this after an astrosecond, his wings hiking up in mild discomfort. "What?," he mumbled.

"...Why," the Wrecker started slowly, "Did you free me on Garrus-9?" The Predator gave him a look that clearly said 'this again?' but the harpoonist only pressed on. "The truth."

The ex-Decepticon opened his mouth as though to say something else, but, he hesitated; gaze dropping to the floor an inch. "I... I meant what I said before. I believed in you. I had nothing else."

"And coming back... even now...?"

Snare picked at the edge of the berth with his fingers. "Where else should I go? There's... I just want to be here... No place else."

He barely registered the first step before Impactor had suddenly crossed the room, scooping the Predator up and capturing him in a heated kiss. Stunned, it took all of five astroseconds before Snare began to struggle, punching the larger mech in the gut to break the lip-lock. "W-what the slag was that for?!," he snapped, green optics blazing indignantly.

"Couldn't help it," Impactor grinned smugly. "You're real cute without that mask to hide behind. Now, come on," he grunted as the flyer snatched up his mouthguard. He rested a servo gently on Snare's arm to stop him from snapping it back in place. "At least when it's just us... Can you not wear it? You're so fragging unreadable otherwise and I'm trying really hard here not to frag this up."

"Fine," Snare acquiesced after some deliberation, subspacing the mask for the time being. He had never gone longer than a few moments without it on and already he was feeling exposed. Especially with the Wrecker studying him so intently. "I'm not cute."

"Sure you aren't."

"And you're an aft," the Predator hissed, shaking off the other mech's arm.

"Don't doubt it," Impactor replied, turning and sitting on the berth beside the ex-Decepticon with a groan. Clearly he was more tired than he'd initially let on. Once comfortable, he held up his servo. "Could I...? Just for a bit longer. Kinda like feeling you."

Snare rolled his optics in exasperation but nodded, finding that he really didn't mind the servo wrapping around his waist, pulling him just a little closer to the Wrecker's broader frame. His circuits still felt chilled from his too-long exposure out in space's numbing cold and the heat from the tank was welcome; so long as it didn't immediately follow with other more nauseating "pastimes". "I hope you don't expect an interface every klik," he informed stately, trying to fill the lull in conversation.

"It doesn't really happen much now," Impactor frowned in confusion.

"Exactly. I'll... make an effort... occasionally. The rare occasion," the Predator elaborated. His mouth twisted in a slight scowl at the thought of any spike nearing his loathesome valve, yet he noted to himself that he wasn't lying. Not like before. "Maybe do the hard-link thing. Again. Since you like it."

"How sweet," the harpoonist chuckled, kissing the side of the flyer's temple. He received an annoyed swat that only made him chuckle some more, before burying his face in the groove of the smaller mech's neck, cycling deeply. He would not be jostled from his spot, even when Snare shook his wings.

"I'm not going to magically change either. Nor have some sort of 'interfacing epiphany', got it?"

Impactor only nuzzled in deeper to his chosen resting place and the Predator, surprisingly, let him. "Glad to hear it. I can live doing just this... mostly... and I kinda like you the way you already are now. Even when you piss me off so bad sometimes that I wanna slam your helm into the wall. Repeatedly."

A small, soft snort escaped Snare at that comment. He didn't have anything to say to that, because, well, he knew what the Wrecker's temper was like. And in some ways, he liked that about Impactor too. He didn't want the purple warrior to change neither. How peculiar that they'd both come to admire these less-than-positive traits about each other. Pulling his knees up to his torso, the flyer decided to enjoy this unusual moment of rest with the harpoonist slumped up against his frame. It had been such a long time since he could last recall having such a reprieve... He knew there were still many unknown variables: where to go from here, what to do, how to keep away from Prowl and other such toxic mechs, that he could reasonably not dismiss them so on a whim. But for now, right here, everything felt okay. From the flaming pits of Garrus-9, through misadventure after misadventure with a crew as marred as he was, it looked as if he had finally found a place to belong.

Snare's lonely journey had come to an end.

C.M.D: And we, dear readers, have finally reached the end. Hard to believe that just over a year ago I started this fic... A great deal of thought and love went into this project and though I had a million ways that I could have taken this story, this is ultimately where my fingers led me. And honestly, I'm really happy with the results. Thank you for joining me (and Snare) on this eventful journey and I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did writing it! Now I got about seventeen months worth of comics to catch up with...
Before you go: be kind, give me your mind~ REVIEW, please?