Will locks the door once inside the apartment, knowing they won't go anywhere in what remains of day.
He puts the keys on the table and doesn't look up from its surface.
He's hurting too much inside to face the other presence in the room.
Will always knew, even before that unlikely possibility came to pass.
Broken relationships are broken, no matter how much they are mended.
And yet, finding out that Steve has been forced into medical leave from not the man, but Sanders—Dexter Sanders—is far more painful than he could have expected.
He's all too aware of each frayed end, of every edge of the pieces so bent out of shape that they don't touch anymore.
He hates himself for it.
Not for the state of their relationship, because that is both their faults, and shouldering the weight alone would be stupid.
He hates himself for his weakness.
Because his pain is bad, but he hasn't managed to look Steve in the eye since Dexter and him went to pick up the officers at the Nemesis.
The surviving children of the older Sanders threw themselves at their uncle as soon as they spotted him, barely holding back tears.
And when they let him go, the brothers embraced so tightly that it seemed they were the only beings in the world.
With them both shaking and hiding their faces against the neck and shoulders of the other, it was impossible to determine who was the one sobbing softly.
They said their goodbyes, grabbed the bags with their clothes, and started to get away.
Minus the Military Communications Officer.
Instead of going to the door, he went to Steve, who'd been watching the meeting like one would a small child near sharpened knives, his own bag resting at his feet.
The TIC slowly lifted a hand towards the non-scarred side of the Air Commander's face, but let it fall before it made contact, earning absolutely no reaction from the other man.
And then, he lifted the opposite hand and rested it on the burn scars without an instant of hesitation.
In answer, Steve splayed a hand as wide open as it could be on Sanders' chest.
Without breaking their stare, the SIC leaned forward to press their foreheads together, his free hand mirroring the other man's against the paler face while the Communications Officer's unoccupied one came to rest, also spread wide, on a red-covered shoulder-blade.
Will could only thank whoever was responsible for the meeting to happen in a private room.
The scene in front of him looked incredibly intimate, soft yet sharp at the same time, as whole conversations happened between the Military men through an unbroken stare and a couple of touches.
They separated in unison and Sanders went away with his family without a second glance or even a sound.
When they were alone, he looked back at Steve.
He didn't see the vigilant man that had been in the room when they came in, nor any of his friend's many faces, but soul-less eyes staring at the empty spaces where two other bodies should have been.
The scientist hadn't met the Air Commander's gaze since.
But now, in his apartment and with a broken pilot staring at the wall, Will forces himself to act.
The first thing he notices when he approaches the smaller man is that Steve's gaze isn't lost, but fixed on the projector sitting on the drawers.
It's a simple picture projector that, despite being capable of storing great amounts of data, houses only one image.
An old one, depicting two young and eager scientists barely fresh from the Academy, the tallest on his knees with the other leaning on his shoulder like one would a table, but both smiling brightly.
It had been the smallest of things, a new design for a little piece of the water filters, something they modified twice before Steve left for the Military, but it had been their first accomplishment, the first time they received a commendation from the Ark's Government.
A coworker took the picture after they got the message and, despite having a more proper and official-looking one with Sebastien Prime, Will has always preferred the one before them, hence its placement.
"I could barely stay upright, so badly were my knees shaking. That's why I was leaning on you."
Will smiles at the small revelation, gaze never straying from the picture.
"It took me five long minutes to get on a chair." He reminds with a chuckle, but the smaller man looks sadder at that.
The time Will takes to gather the courage to ask what is wrong, the Air Commander uses to retrieve his bag.
"Will you be alright?" That's not the question he was about to ask, but he's glad it is the one that gets past his lips.
The last thing he wants is to remind Steve of the reason why he's in his apartment instead of the Nemesis.
"My brothers were killed before my very eyes and I couldn't do a thing to help." The scientist winces at the almost nonchalant words, taking a step closer when his friend takes a pad out and sits down heavily on the sofa. "I was the wingleader, the Air Commander, the Second in Command… and I couldn't do anything."
The pad is switched on, and Will sees the data in it are pictures.
The first one is the same in the picture projector.
Slowly, Steve goes through the others, ones the taller man has too, since they are of their years as Civilian scientists.
And then, the Air Commander stops.
The picture onscreen shows three men, two of which the blond doesn't recognize, yet he knows them all the same.
It's been taken from up and at an angle, so only the heads are showing, half of the image hidden behind the black-clad arm holding the camera.
Steve is scowling, pressed between the other two, as the one furthest, with short black hair, is in the middle of rolling his eyes, and the one at the front, with messy long hair and mischievous brown eyes, smiles widely, a hand on the blue-clad man's shoulder pressing the three of them together.
"He didn't even know our names."
"Excuse me?" He asks automatically, too taken in by the picture and the eyes seemingly staring at him to realize what has been said.
"When I got accepted in Air Force they assigned me a Wing. Sanders was the one who did it. He took me to a small meeting room, where we were supposed to meet with my wingmates, and Carter was already there. We had just stepped inside when Grant showed up, pushed us together and took the picture. And then, he asked Sanders if we were his new wingmates." Will moves from the back of the sofa to sit next to his friend, a smile appearing on his lips when he sees the one on the darker face. "They knew about each other, since they had been in the Military before I got there, but they didn't know each other. Grant called Ted 'Baxter'." They both laugh softly, and if Steve's voice is raspier, he doesn't say anything.
The next picture is an official one, the three men wearing their colorful uniforms and serious faces.
But that is not what surprises Will.
"Why are you there?" His finger hovers barely over the screen, hiding the red-clad torso of the man standing on the left. "I thought the wingleader was supposed to be in the middle."
"I had just joined Air Force and both my wingmates were far more experienced, why should I be wingleader? Yes, I was good, that was why we were put in the same Wing, an Elite Wing, but I was barely more than a baby according to Military standards." A bit of the sadness in Steve's smile is swept away by amusement, but it lasts only for a couple of seconds before he sobers. "We were sent on a routine patrol, guarding the repair drones for the scanners, to get used to each other. And we were attacked. My first time outside the Protectodome, my very first outing… Carter's wing was nicked, his maneuverability shot, and the Black Beasts fell on him like flies on rotten meat. He panicked. Grant was lost without guidance, confused as we all were by the attack… I don't remember much. They say it's normal, the battle high, they call it. But there's something I remember. I took charge. I ordered Carter to fall back, I guided Grant and the other Tetrajets on the offensive while Commander Storm arranged the ground-bound Cybertronian on the defense. I don't really know what I said, I don't know if I ever will, but… whatever it was, the first thing Commander Storm told me when we came back was that, from then on, I would be the leader of my Wing… and the Air Commander."
The next picture shows the blue and black-clad men laughing raucously with glasses filled with a suspiciously purple-tinted liquid on their raised hands and reddened cheeks, the image tilted and a dark finger showing on a corner.
Steve smiles again.
"As soon as I got out of my flight uniform, Grant appeared in my room and dragged me to his. I had a half-downed glass of High Grade in my hand before I even knew what happened."
"High Grade?" He repeats, curious, and, to his confusion, the Air Commander stiffens almost defensively.
"Alcoholic drink. Never asked what it is made of." And now Will knows why Steve has reacted so, because drinking is something the scientist frowns upon.
This time, though, he laughs.
A drunken Steve is something seldom seen, but always amusing. Even if it's just imagined.
"Before you even knew what happened? Do you expect me to believe that?" He snickers, receiving a dark glare that is an embarrassed and amused response, and his heart soars at the slow return of liveliness to the dark gaze.
"Grant will get you dancing shirtless on top of a table of the mess hall at dinner time, and you'll only notice when you realize your glass is empty and look for a refill." He sputters at that, laughter mixing with incredulous words.
"Talking from experience?" He manages to say, and Steve scowls and blushes softly, which is more than enough answer for Will, who finds himself without air as he breaks down laughing again.
"Just wait until you meet him, he'll get you…" All laughter and embarrassment and cheeriness is smothered faster than a flame in an oxygen-less glass bell.
He doesn't need to look into his friend's eyes to know they're empty again.
The tanned hand trembles softly as it moves towards the pad, which displays a main view of all the pictures saved in it with a simple order.
The touch is feather-like, but strong enough for the device to recognize it.
The three men on the screen are smiling, one a soft curve of pale lips, another a blinding grin that flashes teeth. Short black hair not restrained by meticulous brushing mixes with darker brown slightly tousled, and longer strands that have escaped from a louse ponytail frame a stubble-covered pale face.
Tanned arms around paler shoulders bring the three together, heads resting against the middle man's darker temples with an ease and warmth born of familiarity.
Three pair of eyes look into the scientist's own, and he knows that despite there being no blood shared, he's watching a family portrait.
As he cradles his broken friend against his side, trembling hands not letting go of the pad and tear-filled eyes never leaving those he'll never see again, Will wonders.
Wonders how it happened, how three became one and one went to nothing.
Wonders if he will manage to recover his friend.
Wonders if Steve Reeds will ever come back.
"So…"
Jazz leans against the console and says nothing else. Dexter stops his typing nevertheless, giving him a curious look before resuming his work.
"So?"
There's some beeping from a machine, signaling a call the Communications Officer must answer, but it isn't the reason the Enforcer stays silent.
Speaking things out loud makes them seem real, and the real world is becoming more hurtful the more they find out about it being… not fake, but wrong.
And they keep losing people. How are they supposed to find anything out and solve it if every time they make a breakthrough something happens?
There's a tap against his arm and he almost jumps out of his armor.
He blinks down at the curious and slightly confused cherry-blond man, his mouth moving but what comes out of it is nothing but gibberish—
"—fine, Jazz?"
"Huh, yeah, sure. Just… thinking."
What happened?
Is he losing his mind? Did it happen to Prowl before his breakdown at Enforcer Headquarters? Will he suffer one too? Or will he start suffering physical problems, like the Military Officers?
There's no tapping on his arm this time, but the silence is even more attention-catching.
Dexter's looking up at him with worry, and he realizes he must have been asked something.
"Ah, sorry. What were you saying?"
"I said, you were pretty deep in thought. What's going on?"
His smile doesn't waver, his relaxed stance doesn't tense, but he's cursing loudly inside his head.
"Nothing, man. Just all this mess with the Military and the change of officers. It's making my job more difficult than it should." The other man's smile is equal parts understanding and sad, so he sobers before voicing the question that was first on his mind. "How's your bro taking things?"
Dexter looks down at the controls, seemingly playing a bit with them as his sad smile thins and, finally, vanishes.
"Not good. Better than the first day, but still not good. I… I don't know if…" He bites his lower lip and looks away, and Jazz knows he's not going to finish that thought.
He doesn't blame him. Said out loud, fears become more real.
"Have you thought about bringing him here? Familiar place and routine, family, friends…" The cherry-blond man is giving him a stunned look that quickly morphs into a pensive one. "Not right away, you know, but I kind of think he'd feel better being with you, and since you have to be here… If you talk with Shepherd, I can clear you with the Commander." The look he receives is almost worshiping.
It's familiar. And eerie.
It's so familiar it's eerie.
Kind of like a deja vu thing, but with all his instinctive alarms going off.
There's something important there, in the worshiping look the smaller man bestows upon—
Stop, hold it, hit the brakes.
Smaller man? Dexter's his height, why does he think he's—?
He's sitting down. And Jazz's standing.
Oh.
So, something important about smaller people looking up at him like one would a God.
Or a kid a high ranked Enforcer like himself.
Rust.
He actually yelps and jumps when he feels something warm fall on his arm, earning himself a bemused look from his companion, whose hand is still up, when he manages to turn to him again.
"The Pit, man? Give a mech a warning!"
"… Say what?" And Dexter is now analyzing him with an intensity that would make Shepherd proud, which is not a good thing.
"Just… stressed. Tired. Didn't sleep well last night—" He hasn't finished the sentence, but Jazz knows it's the wrong thing to say even before the cherry-blond man jumps upright with worry clearly seen on his freckled face.
Tell the guy whose brother has suffered brain hemorrhaging because of migraines and insomnia that you're not sleeping. Really clever.
"Dex, Dex, Dex!" He has to swat his hands away when they reach for his shoulders and arms, easily changing the odds to be him the one holding the other man. "Easy! Just meant that I've been working a bit too late, what with getting things ready for those guys from Iacon."
There's another beep, and the Communications Officer forces himself to calm down.
"Alright. Alright. But if you start to—"
"Have real trouble or feel bad, I'll go see a medic, I promise." Dexter presses his lips into a thin line, but nods and puts his headphones on again, already fiddling with the controls.
The Head of Special Operations gives him his signature grin and turns around to leave the room, but a hand around his arm stops him after only a couple of steps.
"—clearing you for docking, stand by." A look from the cherry-blond is enough to make the Enforcer turn around to wait, and the hand goes away to join the other dancing on the controls. "All clear. Captain Smith will meet you at the docks."
"Who am I—"
"Aaron Blake."
And that's all Jazz needs to wave a hand and rush out the door.
He feels the same uncomfortableness and wrongness as he gets into his hover car as he's been feeling lately, though his thoughts are not on it.
Aaron Blake is back.
The Transports Officer, whose last location was the Iacon Protectodome, and who was tasked with the safe delivery of the resources both Commanders Prime and Storm requested.
Material and human resources.
As the Civilian Third in Command, it is his duty to organize transportation between Protectodomes, and as thus it has to be him who greets the new Air Commander.
He's not eager for that, but he won't shirk his duties, nor let Blake go to his quarters without having to deal with the Jazzmeister for a bit.
His grin widens when he reaches Civilian Dock 1 to find that the newcomers have yet to come out.
The Protectodome's outer shield is, as the name implies, a shield. Defense. The inner shield, on the other hand, is the structure, the base the Protectodome stands on, in a way. But between them…
The decontamination area is more than the name implies. It is, of course, where crafts coming from the outside are rid of the Black Plague that inevitably coats them, but it also serves to relocate them to their appointed docking areas.
The Protectodome stands over the city. The whole city, and the surrounding farming lands. There's even a mountainous area, which is a city sector the ground of which hasn't been levered, keeping instead the hills of the pre-Black Beasts' geography.
A Protectodome, any Protectodome, is so big it's easy to forget you're under one.
Also, they're circular.
And, since the Black Beasts can approach from any angle, they need to be able to deploy the Cybertronian from any spot of the outer shield to counter them.
The Nemesis lies against the inner shield, as much part of it as the inside and the inner area, but it doesn't stretch to all of the inner shield's circumference.
It isn't needed.
The Nemesis houses the Military Cybertronian's docks, but once inside the decontamination area, a complex system, the workings of which are completely unknown to Jazz, moves the crafts through the inner area to the point they exit the outer shield.
Which is one of the reasons Protectodome maintenance is so important. If a part of the lower outer shield, completely made of carefully sealed gates that allow entrance and exit to the Cybertronian, gets damaged, it could mean not only inability to access those gates, but contamination of the inner area too.
And that last one would mean death, to both those inside and outside the Protectodome.
Jazz shakes those dark thoughts off the instant he sees a well known purple and white-clad giant of a man walk out of the door behind which are the docks for Civilian Cybertronian.
"Aaron Blake! Fancy meeting you here!" He chirps happily, approaching the sandy-haired man, who snorts when he sees him.
"Jazz Smith. They still keep you around?"
"They can't live without me." That earns him a hearty clap on the shoulder that forces him to stumble a couple of steps, but his smile never wavers.
"Cheeky bastard!" Blake laughs, clapping him softer before stepping back. "What a mess with the Military, huh? Sebastien Prime was pissed to know Commander Storm had asked replacements for his Second, Third, Air Commander and Communications Officer. I swear, you could hear the shouting from the docks." The Enforcer lets his smile widen with a chuckle despite the clenching of his heart.
"But did he send them?"
"Sure did. In fact, we wouldn't be here without them. Those accursed Black Beasts tried to get us on the way here, and Commander Reeds' presence was about the only thing that let us—"
"Stop right there! Commander Reeds?"
Aaron gives him a confused look before his face brightens with realization.
"You mean they didn't tell you who—?"
"Air Commander Shawn Reeds." Jazz turns around sharply, quickly finding the owner of the new voice. "Pleasure to make your acquittance."
His hair is cropped and dark brown, his skin is tanned, and his smirk is almost screaming his mightier-than-thou complex to the whole docks.
If it wasn't for the lack of burn scars, the glaringly bright yellow flight uniform and the incredibly pale blue eyes, Jazz would have sworn he was in front of Steve Reeds.
"Yes, that's him, the Air Commander Iacon has sent. And that is the Military Communications Officer, Raleigh Sanders."
"Sanders?" He squeaks, gaze snapping to the young man he hasn't noticed until now despite being by Reeds'—he shudders mentally at the name—side.
He wears a black dressing uniform jacket and silver pants, with a black and silver bag slung over one shoulder.
His skin and cropped hair are black, his expression is as empty as one can be, and he wears yellow-tinted glasses that make his pale eyes seem golden.
He looks nothing like John Sanders… except, he does.
The calm and serious demeanor, the straight posture, the detached and completely professional air.
A blink, and he doesn't see them.
He sees Sanders and Reeds, but…
He doesn't see Raleigh and Shawn.
He sees John and Steve.
And realizes that those who wear those names aren't them anymore.
They are Soundwave and Starscream.
Or should be, if they hadn't been broken by circumstances.
Reeds and Blake are talking, and Sanders is observing them calmly.
Jazz starts to tremble.
Replacements. Almost perfect replacements for the men they were before realizing the truth, those who were efficient Military Officers with only a professional relationship between themselves and the Civilian ones, and that didn't snoop around in files they had nothing to do with.
Replacements that go so far as to wear their names.
Almost the same personalities, looks that, despite being different, are theirs too, and those names…
As he smiles politely and guides them to the exit, explaining about the Ark Protectodome with the same ease and professionalism he exhibits for every newcomer of high enough rank to merit his guidance, Jazz can't help but think, ponder this new development, and reach an unpleasant conclusion.
He needs to talk with Prowl, and with Soundwave and Starscream if they are still themselves.
Deep within himself, Jazz has the feeling the mystery about the missing officers has just been solved.
He just needs to piece it together before a new Captain Smith becomes the Head of Special Operations.
AN: Hint for the interpretation of the 'intimate' scene between Starscream and Soundwave: Imagine them as their Transformers selves and read it again.
More characters! Remember: Named character = Cannon character (one of them is from his Dreamwave comics' self, but it's not needed to have read them, since he's practically cannon with all the fannon he's gotten... In fact, I didn't know he wasn't G1 cartoon cannon until I watched the cartoon! XP).
I know this was requested long ago, but I needed to get the other two Geek Notes first, and two in the same chapter seemed too much...
GEEK ALERT: Headcanon on sparks and bonds:
Sparks are masses of energy that are usually believed to come from Primus himself. Vector Sigma supports that theory, since it is said that Primus' body formed the planet Cybertron, and that his spark is what keeps it alive. Since Vector Sigma is a connection to Cybertron's own core, Primus' alleged spark, and is able to create newsparks, the belief that sparks are parts of Primus' own is common knowledge among Cybertronian.
Sparks sustain themselves by burning Energon, a highly-charged and highly-energetic substance usually found in crystalline form, and that is commonly liquified to allow its consumption. It can also be created artificially from other less concentrated energy sources, like sunlight or oil.
The spark consumes only the purest and most energetic Energon, called High Grade, while the rest of the frame runs on the less charged, and thus less corrosive, Mid and Low Grade.
Sparks are spherical bodies of energy arranged in different layers. At the very center of the spark is the laser core, plasma so highly concentrated that it's in constant fusion reaction (not nuclear fusion reaction, a different one possible because of Energon). The laser core is where the Energon is consumed, and it has a codependent relationship with the other layers of the spark, in that it radiates the energy and gravity that sustains them, but is kept together and stable by their presence.
Surrounding it is the intermediate layer, also known as the data storage, a liquified mix of plasma and electricity always in constant movement and that is responsible for the stability of the laser core with its exchanging of energy between it and the halo. It's also where the Cybertronian's self originates from, since it contains the coding that determines the frame-type, personality and even the primary color scheme, all of which is copied to the processor when the spark is transferred to the Newspark Protoform. It keeps coding from past spark-merges, sometimes for mere breems (Cybertronian minutes), others for vorns (Cybertronian years) or even for the rest of the Cybertronian's life. It's believed it's able to also store memories, but such a theory hasn't been confirmed. It is the part of the Cybertronian with one of the higher, if not the highest, ability to adapt.
The outer layer of the spark is known as the halo, and it is completely composed of electricity. It is responsible for the laser core's state as plasma, and for keeping it together. It regulates energy output, be it the pulses from the laser core or the signals from the personality part of the intermediate layer, by modulating the charge so that it doesn't fry the Cybertronian's circuits, but allowing it to be strong enough to reach its destination and register. It also evaporates the High Grade Energon fed into the spark chamber by specialized Energon lines, and carries the highly charged molecules into the spark so they can reach the laser core, where they are 'consumed'.
Despite the name, in a spark-merge, the only part of the spark that takes part is the halo, and it doesn't really merge, but mix with the other spark's, exchanging energy and coding sent from the intermediate layer and laser core. If the amount of energy is sufficient, a newspark may form, and it will be pulled into the spark chamber of the 'carrier' spark, the one with the highest levels of energy, anchored by the halo.
A bond is an energy connection between sparks. As thus, that enables some sort of communication between the bonded, as well of knowledge about physical status, location and similar. This means a bond's 'functionality' is restricted to a certain range, since, the bigger the distance between bonded, the harder it is for the sparks to maintain the energy flow. Due to them being energy connections, bonds are regulated, sustained and established by the halo.
There are different bonds, according to their nature. The main ones are:
Familial bonds: Between twins, creator-creation and carrier-creation. They are formed when the sparks separate/are created, and allow status reports, emotional exchange and knowledge of the bonded's location. They can be nurtured to allow communication, too, though that usually happens only between twins, who have a higher compatibility, meaning the energy that forms the bond is more easily exchanged, due to them being a single spark that split in two. The carrier-creation bond is stronger than the creator-creation one because of the maturation time.
Fraternal bonds: Between creations sharing one or both creators, or between unrelated Cybertronian. These bonds don't occur naturally, since the sparks haven't been in contact to form the energy bridge that grows into a bond. Instead, those happen with interaction between the will-be-bonded. These bonds form slowly and, usually, without knowledge of the bonded until reaching a certain stage of their 'development'. They allow knowledge of the bonded's location and a certain degree of emotional exchange, as well as feeling extreme physical reactions. As with all bonds, they can be nurtured to grow stronger and enable further knowledge of the bonded's status.
Mate bonds: Between Cybertronian who have undergone spark-merge. This type of bond allows full knowledge of the bonded's status, physical and psychical, as well as emotional exchange, location knowledge and communication. As the other types, they can be nurtured to better communication, which is barely more than acute emotional exchange at first. There's a myth about the deactivation of a Cybertronian with a mate bond leading to the bonded's deactivation. This extreme case happens only when the bond is extremely developed, to the point the spark can't sustain itself without the energy received through the bond, though it can happen that the bonded deactivates due to their frame being unable to endure the pain reflected through the bond, in cases when the mate's deactivation is painful.
Trine bonds are a special type of fraternal bonds, unique to the Seeker frame-type. They are three-way bonds with emotion-based communication capabilities between the three members of the Trine, a social group characteristic of the Seeker frame-type.
Bonds can occur consciously, in spark-merges, unconsciously, like the familiar bonds, since they are simply a consequence of the newspark's creation, or accidentally. Accidental bonds are fraternal bonds, but not all fraternal bonds are accidental.
An accidental bond is the one that isn't the result of spark-to-spark contact, like familiar and mate bonds are. Bonds are established when the sparks' frequencies are well-known, whether by extremely close proximity of the implicated Cybertronian, like would be the case of best friends who spend a lot of time together, or by correlations between the sparks, which is when they are similar enough in one or other way, be it because of sharing coding from the same creators, or by the intermediate layers' energy pulses, something referred to as the sparks 'calling' to each other.
Bonds established by 'calling' sparks are so varied that it is unknown exactly how they operate, or the reason of their formation. Examples range from a Cybertronian saving another's life to a usual customer and the shopkeeper.
Two Cybertronian can only have one bond between them, meaning that a fraternal bond will become a mate one if they spark-merge, instead of developing the mate bond while still keeping the fraternal one. A mate bond can't be turned into any other, but enough of its capabilities can be blocked to act like another type.
Regardless of type, all bonds begin with the ability to sense the bonded, which can be used to locate them, and grow to enable emotional exchange, knowledge of physical and, later, psychical status and, at last, real communication. This last one is wordless, but it is said to be able to become word-capable if the bond is strong enough.
All bonds can be nurtured by proximity to the bonded, but especially by use. Bonds can be blocked, either completely or partially, but keeping them 'open' is more than enough to allow them to sustain themselves and, slowly, strengthen. If, in addition to being unblocked, a bond is made use of, whether with something as simple as locating the bonded or something more complex, like emotional exchange, the bond's strength will exponentially grow.
The stronger a bond, the easier it is to sustain it, even during long times of inactivity, or even during blockage of it, and more, and more clearly, can be felt through it.
On the other hand, all bonds weaken with distance, but, most importantly, with disuse. In the same amount of time, a bond that has been blocked will weaken ten times more than a bond that has become inactive due to distance.
When a bond weakens to a certain point, it will simply vanish, no longer acknowledging the bonded's spark nor sending energy to it.
The number of bonds a Cybertronian can establish depends on the spark, but they will grow weaker with each new one the spark forms, to the point well cared for mate bonds could grow to be like the weakest fraternal bonds.
An easy way to avoid accumulation of large number of bonds is to block those unwanted, which will automatically redirect the energy flow to the active ones, and increase the blocked bond's weakening rate.
The type of bond two Cybertronian share is, in no way, a reflection of how they feel about each other, since bonds are categorized according to their formation. The state and strength of the bond is the real indicator of the relationship between bonded. This means that two Cybertronian who hate each other may share a mate bond from a previous spark-merge, most likely completely blocked and, depending on how long it's been since its creation, almost gone. On the other hand, two others who are deeply in love may be united by a fraternal bond if they haven't spark-merged, but said bond may be as strong, or even more, than a normal mate bond.
END GEEK ALERT
Holy... that was a long one...
Angel Heart: Double review again! Yay! XD Now, on to things... Keep trying, I've read at least one good story where Prowl and Jazz have a SIC-TIC relationship only. Though... Prowl wasn't one of the main characters... Well, kinda, since all of the Autobot officers were a bit of main characters... Well. It's possible. I believe in you! :D
I hurt my own heart too, I didn't mean to kill the three of them, but the bunny said otherwise... Why?! T.T But, yes, I have everything under control ;)
Lester... is a hard guy to write. Every time I think I have him figured out, and try to make him do something... Well, you know how this character is. I can never get him to collaborate ¬¬ But hey, he writes himself well enough, so I'm going to let him do his thing... Even if it means kicking two of his officers out of the Nemesis. I have to work with that, you plot-killer! *waves fist*
It makes me happy to know people understand what I'm writing! :D I'm going to follow your advice and leave that scene alone. I'm going to go back to check for typos and misleading spots, and see what I can do once I get that far back. I'll let you all know how that goes.
That... the chart... Would you believe me if that made my eyes teary? *sniff* As for plot... Well, you tell me after this chapter ;)
Thanks for everything and take care! (And don't worry about clicking the review button before time, it makes me laugh XD)