Arcee cherished memories. She liked to reflect back on the most important moments of her life. Her earliest memories were always in Megatron's presence. She was always with him, always in his arms or at his side. Whether they were traveling around ruined cities, or in the halls of Kaon, she was always with him.

Until that one night, when she had been a sparkling and was alone on the ship. She longed for Megatron and wanted him with her. But instead of calling out to him like a sparkling, she resolved to act like the big youngling she was and find him herself.

The halls were dark, lit only by the lights that glowed faintly to give off the illusion of nighttime. She liked the silence and the dark, though at the moment, she feared getting caught and being turned over to Megatron. That would ruin her whole point of being a big kid if she was personally escorted.

She looked up, recognizing the area she was in as the hallway leading to the berth rooms. Megatron's was bound to be in one of these. She scampered down the hall, her little pedes creating small echos around her. She peeked into the open berth room, finding it empty. Shrugging, she moved on to the next one which was also conveniently open. She peeked in, hearing movement in the dimly lit space. She stepped in, trying to keep quiet.

Her pede scuffed against the floor, causing the mech in the room to spin around, his optics wide in horror.

Arcee let out a startled gasp as she gazed at the mech before her. His face was heavily scarred and disfigured from old injuries that did not heal right. She could not make out his features and could not deduce if he had ever been handsome or not. But what startled her the most was the fact that his throat was a large, gaping wound that had never been treated properly.

The mech stumbled back, servos pressed up against the desk where a helmet she recognized rested. Her optics grew wider as she once more looked at the mech, noticing the pain in his optics as he stared down at the sparkling before him.

"Soundwave?" she asked timidly, scared at what she was seeing, rooted to the spot. She wanted to close her optics and never seen this ghastly sight again, but she knew such a thought was unfair. It was not his fault that he looked like this. "Wh-what happened?"

Soundwave did not answer her, his body rigged. His servos slowly reached for the helmet, as if he was afraid to move.

"Does it hurt?" she asked, stepping forward and summoning her courage. This was Soundwave, Megatron's oldest friend. She should not be afraid of him.

He paused for a moment, glancing at her before slowly shaking his helm.

Summoning up the rest of her courage, she walked right up to him. She hesitantly reached for his servo, not wanting but forcing herself to look up at his hideously scarred face. "Can I kiss it better?"

A choked gasp escaped from Soundwave and it took her a moment to realize that he was not choking, but chuckling. The sound startled her, but she stayed still, almost too afraid to move.

Soundwave sat down, pressing a servo to his damaged face, optics glancing upward. He probably thought she would have left him alone by now, or lost interest. But that was not Arcee.

She clambered up on his lap as she usually did, situating herself so she could look up into his clouded optics. "Does it hurt?" she asked.

He glanced down at her, his optics twinkling thoughtfully. He let out a choked sigh, standing up with her in his arms. With one free servo, he reached for his mask, placing it on and covering the damage and Arcee was immediately ashamed at how relieved she felt to see it back in place. She could only stare as he carried her out of his room, the silence heavy around them. She snuggled up to his chassis, feeling intense sorrow clench at her spark.

He somehow knew where her room was located, even though she had already forgotten where it was. But this was Soundwave; he knew everything about everything. He carefully set her in her berth, awkwardly placing the blanket over her before silently leaving the room.

Megatron would later wonder why he had overheard Arcee praying to Primus to heal Soundwave's 'ouchies.' When he had asked the masked mech about it, he received no clear answer. But unknown to everyone, Soundwave's spark was lifted somewhat and the pain became slightly more bearable.

"What do you think?" a sudden voice asked, crashing through her thoughts. Suddenly, she was not on the explorer ship of her memories, but back in the femmes room, staring off into distant memories to avoid painful thoughts.

She looked up, slightly annoyed. "What?"

Windy smiled, unfazed. "I was wondering if it would be alright with you."

Arcee blinked, not quite understanding. Had Windy been talking to her and she just hadn't been paying attention? If so, what should she say? "Uh, sure. I guess."

Windy beamed and Arcee had to wonder if she had just sealed her doom. "Great! Oh I'm so excited! You will look absolutely stunning!" She grabbed Arcee's servos and dragged her out of the room and down the halls to the fancy washroom.

"Windy," she started uneasily. "What exactly-?"

"Don't worry about it!" Windy chirped happily, practically bouncing as they burst into the washroom. "I've done Moonracer's paint job before."

Said femme looked up from buffing her armor, her optics wide. "You're letting Windy do your armor?" she asked in surprise.

Oh, so that's what this was about.

"Yes she is!" Windy exclaimed excitedly.

"Whatever possessed you to agree to that?" Firestar asked as she walked by. Moonracer shot the other femme a warning glare.

Arcee could not respond as she found herself shoved into a stall. "I've got it all figured out," Windy said, her optics sparking.

"Good luck," Moonracer mouthed to Arcee as she scurried out of the washroom. Arcee could only stare helplessly, her mood not lifting at all.

She submitted herself to Windy's makeover, closing her optics shut and not wanting to even look. She had many paint jobs done before, courtesy of a certain Decepticon medic who was thrilled with styling her up when she was younger, but she was not used to strangers doing her own paint job for her. But Windy seemed trustworthy and she looked like she had good intentions.

Good intentions or not, the paint job was horribly done and the bright, pink color was awful. Arcee could only stare at her reflection in growing horror, wanting to fall to her knees and scream, or moan at her situation. Anything to unleash this torrent of emotions. But Windy looked so pleased, so hopeful that Arcee did not have it in her to snap at the femme.

"Wow," was all she managed to choke out. Primus, she looked hideous. The paint was not applied right and it was way too bright of a color. She looked like a youngling! Shame filled her at once and she just wanted to be left alone. As soon as Windy was gone, she would try to fix up the paint. As much as she didn't want to hurt Windy's feelings, she did not want to show up looking like a fool and ruin the Decepticon reputation.

Her optics narrowed. Or maybe this was an Autobot scheme to hurt the Decepticons. But another look at Windy made her realize that she was jumping to conclusions. She needed to avoid doing that. Look at what happened to her and Bumblebee.

She pushed that thought away, not ready to deal with it.

Windy beamed. "I've been wanting to try out that paint color but it doesn't really go too well with my complexion. Then I saw your pink highlights and thought that you might like the color pink and I couldn't wait to ask you if I could style you up. And you looked so down that I wanted to cheer you up!"

She was rambling, and it was all Arcee could listen to at the moment. She resigned herself to her inevitable fate, hoping Windy would leave much sooner than it seemed.

The washroom door slid open and Arcee cringed, knowing that she looked less than stunning. But looking up, she wished that she could just melt into the floor and end her life.

Elita-One stood in the wash room, her optics wide, the only sign that she was startled. Other then that, her face remained expressionless as she looked Arcee up and down. "What an interesting choice," Elita said with a raised optics ridge. "Quite the change, don't you think?"

Windy nodded excitedly. "Yes ma'am. I wanted to help cheer Arcee up and-"

"Thanks, Windy," Arcee said quickly. She did not need Elita-One to hear about how negative she was feeling. "But I think you should get ready for the event."

Windy waved a servo. "I'm already ready. No worries."

"Windy," Elita-One said gently, yet there was a hidden authority in her tone. "I would like to be alone with Arcee for a moment, perhaps add my touch of style as well." Arcee flinched at that, a movement that Elita-One noticed but chose to not point out.

Windy nodded once more. "Of course, ma'am." With that, she practically skipped out of the wash room, leaving the two pink femmes alone.

Arcee wanted to snort. Elita's pink paint looked amazing and not at all like the mess Arcee was in. Elita sighed. "There is a right way to wear pink, and a wrong way." Arcee had to agree with that. The older femme gestured with her helm, signaling that Arcee should follow her. "Come with me. We'll see about getting this fixed up in time."

Arcee doubted that, but she followed Elita-One out of the washrooms, trying not to notice the stares she got at the few Cybertronians in the room. Elita's steps were not hurried, but brisk and elegant. Arcee had never before felt like the way she walked was wrong, but right now, she could not help but check her pace and posture.

They were inside Elite-One's and Optimus's chambers before long and Arcee felt like she could breath once she was behind closed doors, away from prying optics. Elita strode over to a large vanity, pulling out several canisters. She looked back at Arcee with a thoughtful frown. "Alright," she said, a hint of glee in her optics. "Let's get started."

Arcee did as she was told without saying anything, allowing Elita to remove the slowly, drying paint. Her servos were gentle, yet quick as she worked and Arcee was surprised that she liked the feeling of someone styling her up. Before long, her blue paint was back, though not all the pink was removed. She started to move when Elita's firm servo kept her in place. "We are not done," she said with a small smile.

Arcee frowned, but did not move as Elita opened several canisters before she began repainting. Arcee could not help the groan that escaped her mouth. "Pink again?"

Elita smiled. "What? You do not like the color?"

"My past experiance with pink has never been pleasant," Arcee replied. She paused. "Besides, Megatron did not like the...feminine color."

Elita huffed. "He's one to talk. Pink is a wonderful color and can be used to distract your enemies in the heat of battle. Your opponent would never expect such a dangerous fighter when colored in pink." She looked up with a sly grin. "It has worked for me."

Arcee had grown up hearing the stories up the famous Elita-One and her troops. They were dangerous and a thorn in Megatron's side during the war. Their fighting styles were different and many did not come back from the dangerous missions they were sent out to perform. But they made a name for themselves and were a force to be reckoned with. A part of Arcee wished she could have seen Elita-One in action.

"But then again," Elita said, picking up another canister. "Megatron needs a femme in his world to show him certain things in life that mechs cannot see on their own."

Arcee smiled sadly. "I fear that such an opportunity is long past for him." She had often wondered what it would have been like to have a mother. She was raised mostly by mechs and a few femme nurses, but they were never the motherly type.

"It is never past," Elita said softly. She looked up, her optics full of lost memories. "I often wondered about you; wondered if you would have needed a...maternal figure in your life. But I see that Megatron has done well with you." She smiled. "He has surprised me in many ways."

Arcee averted her optics. "It is who he is." Only she got to see the real Megatron and she wondered if Optimus and Elita knew the real Decepticon as well as she did. "Was he different back then?" she asked.

Elita briefly paused in her work. "He was a troubled mech, fighting on the side that was doomed to fail. But that did not stop him. He was a fighter, willing to win by any means necessary; doing so meant he would live to see another day."

Arcee nodded, her spark heavy. "Then not much has changed."

"He had his moments," Elita said. "You would see his compassionate side. Life was not kind to him. But I give him credit for trying to make a change. He surprised us all when he wanted peace when we thought such a thing was long past us." She sighed. "Mechs are such confusing creatures."

Arcee's mind flickered back to Bumblebee and their argument. "Yeah. As is life."

"Well, it's what makes life interesting," Elita said, gently lifting Arcee's arms up to apply some paint. "And it will help you learn. Take from the experience and apply it to the future."

"How did you adjust to it?" Arcee asked, craning her neck so Elita could apply some paint to the helm. "How did you...walk away from the war?"

"I didn't," Elita said. "I am in a different war, one that I had to adjust to. You either adjust, or rust. But...accepting it was not easy. Megatron hurt us, and I am sure we hurt him." She looked troubled. "We have yet to address those issues of the past. But we put that aside and focused on what needed to be done. We communicated, we negotiated and we did not fight. We came to realize that we had to put aside our anger and pride if we wanted what was most important to us." She stepped back with a satisfied nod. "Oh, much better."

It was then Arcee truly looked at herself. Gone was the terrible pink paint job Windy had done. Elita had scrapped all that away and replaced it with a dusted, faded pink color. Arcee's bright pink highlights on her helm and legs stood out in the light color, her blue optics shining like sapphires.

"Wow," Arcee said, examining her new look. She looked at Elita with true gratitude. "Thank you."

Elita smiled. "Well, I couldn't have my future daughter in law walk around looking like she fell into a tub of paint." She chuckled. "I do my own paint and style it, but Chromia doesn't like that sort of activity." She nodded approvingly. "It was a pleasure." She looked up with a frown, as if struck by a thought. "I believe we are fashionably late." She gestured for Arcee. "Let's go. We will make an entrance if need be."

Bumblebee did not know if he wanted to avoid or seek Arcee out. Guilt wormed its way into his spark once more and he felt ashamed for even hiding. He took in a deep breath, thinking over the two simple words. I'm sorry.

Or should he make it three and say I am sorry?

"You seem really tense," Smokescreen said, making Bumblebee jump, startled. "You looking for someone?"

"Kinda," Bumblebee said, optics still shifting around the bustling room.

Smokescreen frowned, cocking his helm as he observed his friend's actions. "So is it a good someone or a bad someone? You're looking around in fear and your doorwings are twitching nervously."

Bumblebee glanced at his friend, grateful for the distraction. "You're very observant tonight," he commented.

Smokescreen shrugged. "You're not one to get so easily nervous. Face it Bee, you may be better in the political fields then me, but you still need to work on your poker face."

Bumblebee clapped the white mech's shoulders. "That's why I have you around."

Smokescreen chuckled, taking a sip of his drink. Bumblebee hoped that when the Selection was all over with that Smokescreen would remain by his side, either as a knight or a senator, though the position of knight seemed most likely. Roles and positions were promised to all those who were in the Selection, and Bumblebee had been thrilled when he found that his closest friends might still be with him even when the Selection had ended.

His optics landed on a small, light figure on the far side of the room. At first, he had thought it was Elita with a lighter paint job. But when the femme turned and he saw her optics, he realized he was wrong.

His spark stilled as he saw Arcee, her newly painted armor the color of a light cloud in front of the fading sun. Her blue optics seemed to stand out, the silver and dark pink accents in her armor shining as they caught the light.

"Woah," Smokescreen muttered, but Bumblebee was already making his way toward Arcee before he even realized that he was moving.

Arcee seemed to have noticed him, though her optics became suddenly very interested in the pillar she was leaning against. She looked so calm and poised. She was watchful, alluring.

He was standing in front of her, suddenly mute. All he would have said now faded away and he found himself staring.

She smiled hesitantly, though it was not a full smile. "Hey," she said softly.

Her voice brought him back to reality. "Listen, Arcee." He swallowed. "I'm...sorry-"

"Ah, Arcee," a certain voice said, making his way over to them and Bumblebee barely resisted the urge to bristle. "What a lovely finish," Starscream said as he looked Arcee up and down. "It is different and not something I would have expected." He then seemed to have noticed Bumblebee. "Oh, and who is this?"

Bumblebee scowled. Starscream knew full well who he was. Though he had never liked the seeker, he knew when someone was being subtly rude to him.

A guarded look seemed to have slipped over Arcee's face. "Starscream, this is a friend of mine, Bumblebee."

"A pleasure," Starscream said with a small nod which Bumblebee stiffly returned. "And how did you two meet?"

"Through friends," Arcee said simply.

Starscream nodded, though his optics narrowed slightly at the lack of information. "Starscream," Bumblebee said suddenly, catching the seekers attention. "How have you and Arcee come to be acquainted?"

"Our roles in the Decepticon life have allowed us to become close compatriots," the seeker said. "Though I must say that seeing you two together is a welcome surprise. It is very rare for Decepticons and Autobots to be conversing on such civil terms."

Oh no, they were not starting up that conversation again. "Then you should come by at the Hut sometime," Bumblebee said smoothly. "I am sure it will change your view on things." He tilted his helm. "But I would understand it if you were unable to make it. Life in the political circle can be very busy."

Starscream frowned. "Indeed it is."

Bumblebee hoped that Starscream would take that as his cue to leave. But the opposite happened as another Decepticon whom Bumblebee could not name joined in. Before long, there was a circle of senators around them, chatting and trying to earn some subtle favors from Bumblebee. Though not all of them knew who Bumblebee was, enough were already informed that he was the Heir.

He could feel his impatience starting to unravel as he tried to speak with Arcee, but the other guests made it almost impossible. Arcee herself seemed to be pressing herself against the wall, trying to make herself unseen.

Bumblebee did not even think as he grabbed her servo and led her away from the group. He took it as a good sign when she did not pull away from his hold. He turned to face her, looking into her optics. Though her averted his gaze, suddenly uncomfortable. "Arcee," he started. "What I was trying to say was…"

"I know," she said, interrupting him. "I'm sorry too." She hesitated. "I am not going to allow a petty disagreement ruin our friendship. It's not worth it."

Bumblebee's spark soared at those words. The fact that she valued their new friendship and felt as he did made this evening slightly more bearable. A weight had been lifted from his shoulders and he felt himself smiling.

Out of the corner of his optic, he saw Starscream approaching them once more. His optics narrowed slightly as he watched. Looking back at Arcee, he got an idea.

"Do you want to escape?" he asked, inclining his helm. At this moment, he was feeling bold and adventurous.

Arcee looked at him with a spark of curiosity. "To where?"

He took her servo, marveling how it seemed to fit into his own as he lead her out if the extravagante halls of the party. "I'll show you," he promised.