Disclaimer: I own nothing in relation to the Transformers, which are the property of Hasbro/Takara, blah, blah, blah.

There are a great number of FINE women out there.
But not all of them bring you lasagna at work.
Most of them just cheat on you.
-Clerks.

Survival:

"Over here, over here!"

Moving his back up against the large piece of rubble that kept him out of range of the gunfire and laser blasts sounded off above his head, Blackout stared out over the expanse of bedlam. And over to the broken ship, Inferno trying to coax him to safety. He was so scared. He'd already taken a huge risk just moving this far out into the chaos…

The little tracker sucked in some non-existent air to calm himself and think.

'Be brave. Be brave like Demolisher. Just one more time…'

Mind made up and with the hope that one of those stupid Bulks fighting around wouldn't notice and/or step on him, the Mini-con sprung out of his hiding spot and towards the ship.

Inferno stayed in the entrance while calling and encouraging the younger mech forward. They didn't like each other very much, but at the moment, that wasn't at all as important as their survival. Alone, they would most certainly be offlined or captured, and neither of them wanted to die or become someone else's tool. They liked their own current partners too much…Even if they had lost them and were nowhere on sight.

But, that hadn't been Demolisher or Thrust's fault. They had been injured and hadn't known they were missing, because neither Mini-con had cried out.

Not Quite a Phoenix:

Skyfire looked at the femme holding his creations like a man who was looking at a Grim Reaper delivering fluffy, bright eyed kittens.

He'd been panicking for the last several hours because those hacks that were running the third Decepticon Base on planet Brilig had allowed their base to be overrun and set on fire by the Autobots. And of course, he'd left his offspring there because those in charge had appeared to have their act together and the jet would only be one base away cleaning up some technical glitch in the computers. It was only when he'd finished his word did one of the lower officers come and tell him the news of the Third base's destruction.

Thrust had been in the hall when the massive white jet had collapsed, rushing to Skyfire as the severity of the situation hit him. It was like what happened a month ago all over again, only this time there was little hope that his sons would come back. The base had been blown up and there were reports that the Autobots had made sure that there was nothing left, waiting just outside the blaze to gun down any who stepped out.

Then, two hours into being thrown into misery and grief, Thrust had gotten a rather strange comm. from a flyer who said to have Skyfire waiting at the base's entrance as soon as possible. The white jet hadn't heard the actual conversation, but from Thrust's side of it, he was either talking with someone of the same rank who he hated a lot, or someone he hated and had to deal with on the most unpleasant of occasions. One way or the other, when the caller cut the line, Thrust kicked the wall like a sparkling and then hauled the much larger mech outside.

Still feeling horrible and rather despondent, Skyfire watched the sky like the cone headed tactician (without tapping his ped in impatience) for someone who was probably just going to give him more bad news.

What he hadn't expected was to see a Seeker whose model type he hadn't seen before, left side seeming to be on fire, with smoke trailing after it. He vaguely registered Thrust making a squawk as the flyer did a deep roll, hitting the fence line that surrounded the base and barely landed correctly five feet in front of them. There was still a tiny flame clinging to the tip of its left wing as it settled to the ground, little whines coming from its cockpit. The soot from the flames made the flyer appear quite black and in pain, but it didn't switch to robot mode, deciding instead to direct a muffled, if not a very fragged off question at Thrust.

"Good evening Squidhead, is this Skyfire?"

Biting back that usual snap he had prepared for anyone who called him that, Thrust took a step forward and slapped the flyer's right wing irritably, "Yes, it is. And why the Pit are you here…on fire?"

"Special delivery."

Without any preamble whatsoever, the flyer's cockpit sprung open, burnt paint flying off with other debris and ash in the process to reveal three sets of very bright optics that got very excited at the sight of Skyfire. The white jet's sparklings each gave a sparkmelting round of chirps and beeps and reached for their creator, the Seeker who had carried them to the base giving a little chuckle, but remaining in alt mode until Skyfire snapped out of the daze that set in at the sight of his offspring and lunged forward to pick them all up in his massive arms.

Skyfire decided that this was probably the second best feeling he'd felt in his life. The first when he'd lost his sons a month ago and gotten them back via Starscream and Demolisher. But, it was pretty much a tie, considering it was on equal ground and he felt like the weight of the world left him each time. He wanted to scream in joy, but was content to let Greyshift, Stormtrooper and Acidstreak make the noise as they chirped and cuddled his faceplate contentedly.

The white mech didn't quite register the sounds of transformation until he heard Thrust make a surprised sound in the back of his throat and start fussing over burns and other injuries on the flyer.

"How do you keep letting these things happen? Starscream's going to wring my neck when he sees you like this!"

"I fail to see your point," A rather young feminine voice replied, finally causing Skyfire to look up from his little ones and see who'd brought them to him.

Thrust was talking to a very young and by design, very short femme Seeker who may have been a sort of mix of green had she not been covered in grime and soot. The cone head was right, though. She did have an awful lot of burns on her left side, left wing also giving off sparks as she glared at Thrust, arms crossed and making her look quite regal despite it all. Skyfire couldn't help the guilt rising in him as he realized that she'd probably gotten her injuries from getting his creations out of the base.

Teen Hearts Beating:

Big servos carefully and gently worked into the seams of Carlos' gaping shoulder strut wound and Thundercracker found himself wondering why the Pit he was even bothering to repair the strange two-wheeler. True, Starscream and Skywarp and a large portion of the Decepticon army had come to view the post-humans with respect and a morbid fascination, but most didn't see themselves throwing away their careers and reputations to help them.

'Well, maybe that's not true,' The blue Seeker thought in an almost chastising way as his fingers worked to plug some of the leaking energon lines that most Transformers didn't have in their arms, absently noting at the same time that the so-called energon spilling from the lines was a rather odd color red, 'Demolisher was certainly willing to put his aft on the line for this one and the other two-wheeler.'

Ignoring the unconscious groans that came from Carlos, his left arm trying in vain to lift itself and slug Thundercracker in the face, the blue Seeker continued his work with little more ease than a third-rate medic on his first day on the job. He hardly knew what to do when a normal mech was injured, let alone this scrawny little thing like this. He smelled like iron and a lot of things that Thundercracker decided he really didn't like and the weird energon coating the flyer's servos, which according to Starscream would not come out with regular cleaning fluid.

Again, the eldest of the Seeker brothers wonder why he was even bothering.

Small Words:

Optics like blue fire looked up into equal blue pools as Hot Shot onlined his optics and finally registered just where the Pit he was. Wheeljack had taken him to his own berth in the Decepticon private rooms generally only used for recharge and interfacing and had treated the burns as best he could. Considering how badly the yellow mech had been hurt, Wheeljack did an excellent job.

There was still pain in Hot Shot's system, but he didn't make a sound as Wheeljack wordlessly traced his servos over the Autobot's faceplate. When Hot Shot had been seizing a mere hour ago, the black and gold mech had been afraid out of his mind. Now that Hot Shot was stable, he couldn't bring himself to be mad about the situation foisted upon him by some sick entity.

Instead he just kept looking at him and couldn't think of anything else to say other than, "…Hey."

Tick-Tock, Tickety-Tock:

The morning's energon dribbled all over the table as Firestar tried to compose herself. Some of the energon still fell from her mouth and this, she felt, was the most embarrassing thing that had ever happened to her to date. Certainly wouldn't be the last, but it was in the top ten.

"Uh," Fred hesitated, handing his girlfriend a piece of fabric that hung from his shoulders to help her clean up, "I'm sorry. That was inappropriate, wasn't it?"

"No," Firestar replied, sarcasm dripping from every word, "It's okay. If I had a credit for every time a mech asked me if I wanted to have sparklings with them I'd have… one credit. What is wrong with you today?"

Fred, the big ebony sweetheart, suddenly looked very twitchy. His fingers were twiddling and he kept looking over his shoulder to make sure nobody, most of all Sentinel, was walking their way before replying in a whisper, "I…think…I may…be pregnant."