A/N: ahh, the anticipated Halloween chapter! Happy monstrous weekend!

Thanks to fabulous reviewers - Quickening, DogtagXD, Freya, Subbykkaya, Anonymoose!

You guys make writing this worth it!

Enjoy!

Disclaimer: like anyone really believes I own them anyway.

"That high enough, Isobel?"

I take a step back, look up at where Bumblebee's standing. "Yeah, looks good."

One shot of the nail gun, and the banner's up. Bumblebee jumps agilely backwards off the chair. "Brilliant. That's the last one."

I look around. What was once a conference room and then a movie theatre has been turned into a den of monstrosity. Wheeljack's set up vials and beakers of a strange green liquid that glows in the dark and give off smoke continuously – because of these we had to ban marshmallows from the party as the combination apparently is quite volatile; I've decided that I really do not want to investigate too closely something that could explode if in contact with sugar candy – and he's rigged a bunch of tiny mechanical critters to crawl around on the walls. These freak me out way more than they do Bumblebee, which he of course thinks is hilarious. Add to that the hollowed-out, glowing metal jack-o'-lanterns placed all around the room, the fake cobweb that's hanging from the ceiling, and the glooping, dripping foulness that has been smeared across the windows, and the place is unrecognizable.

Wheeljack is a genius. I'm not touching any part of this room tonight.

And I'm already dreading the cleaning-up.

I join Bumblebee in the slow spin to take everything in. "Yeah. We've got Halloween."

"Excellent," Bumblebee says, sounding very satisfied. "Much better than the pink crepe paper."

I giggle. "Much better."

He spins, catches me by the upper arms. "Tell me what your costume is."

"No." I grin at him. "For the last time, Bee, I'm not telling you, you'll have to wait and see."

"Aw, no fair," he pouts. "You know what I'm dressing as."

"Yeah, but I didn't ask," I point out. "You just decided to show me. So fair doesn't really come into it." I look at my watch. "Anyway, got to run and change now, Blaster is coming in 45 to set up. Will you be able to get the refreshment stand set up by yourself?"

"You bet. Or I'll just rope in someone." He grins at me. "This is going to be awesome."

This is going to be trying, to say the least. I'll have to face both First Aid, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker tonight. I've managed to dodge all three of them all week, but that's going to be tricky in such a small space, and I know they're all going to be there, so there's nothing for it. At least it's going to be too loud and too full of 'bots and humans to do much more than grin and dance.

And I have to admit, I'm more than a little excited to see what the 'bots come up with in terms of costumes. When I talked to Lennox he indicated that several of them have been to see him to ask for details of a costume idea or other.

I'm dead curious about who's going steampunk style. Lennox had to look that one up.

Clothes – check. Black, slim jeans, tall boots with plenty of buckles and a tight black t-shirt that upon closer inspection leaves very little to the imagination.

Hurried scrimmage through closet to find another shirt.

Realizing, for the third time this week, that my wardrobe hasn't magically changed and that there is no other shirt.

Blast it. Cave and pull shirt back on.

Hair – check. Pulled back into a sloppy blonde braid that took twenty minutes to get perfect.

Makeup – check.

Now then, accessories.

I fasten the hip holsters first, then the sheath on my calf. One belt around my hips for the heavy gun, another for the smaller gun on the other hip. Leather belt goes around my waist, and heavy bullet bracelet goes around my left forearm.

I guess I'm as ready as I'll ever be.

The base is eerily quiet as I walk back to the party venue. I guess everyone's either inside getting ready or hiding somewhere. Fitting – it is the day the dead walk the earth, after all.

I giggle to myself.

Okay. Maybe I'm more than a little nervous.

The venue looks like it did, with the addition of a normal-looking Blaster setting up the sound system in the corner. There's no sign of Bumblebee.

"Hey, Blaster," I call. "Happy Halloween! Forgotten something?"

"Hey, Isobel," he grins at me. "Nah, it's pre-programmed but there's a big reveal planned. You look good – Lara Croft?"

"Black Widow," I smile back. "The blonde version."

"Nice." He eyes me appreciatively, then turn back to his wiring. "Are the guns real?"

"Real, but not loaded," I confirm. "Courtesy of the US Army."

He laughs loudly at that, then flicks a switch. Immediately, the room plunges into darkness, strobe lights light up the ceiling and windows – and oh, doesn't that have an interesting effect on the gooey windows – and 'Battle without honor or humanity' blares from the speakers spread around the room.

As if the music was a signal, Bumblebee appear, grinning madly. His grin matches the green hair and purple suit.

"Looks good, Bee, but I still say you haven't lived nowhere near long enough to pull that off." I grin to take the sting off the words.

"Mute it, Romanoff," he smirks. "I'm several millennia older than you." He looks from me to Blaster excitedly. "Okay, okay, so listen. Everybody's waiting outside." The hand movements, the wide eyes, the grin that seems wider than physically possible… He looks downright nasty.

"Well then," Blaster chuckles, "let's get this party started, huh?"

He flicks another switch, and a spot light turns on, aimed at a raised stage in the center of the room. Blaster leaps up on it easily, and then turns and beckons to me. "Come on, deadly, get up here. This is your gig, I'm just the master of ceremonies."

I turn to the purple suit. "Bee?"

"Nah, honey, I'm going to get the doors. You get up there." He leers at me, and bounces over to the door. I let Blaster hoist me up on the stage.

"You guys ready?"

There's a cloud of blue sparks next to me, and I look up curiously.

And flinch backwards. "Holy crap, Blaster."

I'm standing next to a demon.

Really. He's got horns. Big, leathery wings. His eyes are glowing, light escaping in little feelers. There's tendrils of smoke coming from his dark, shining skin. Also, he's mostly naked. What there is of modesty is preserved by straps and pieces of leather armor.

I guess I know now why Bumblebee thought Blaster might go a bit overboard. Just a tad. Slightly.

He shoots me a truly evil smirk. His teeth are all pointed. "Unholy, my girl."

Well, obviously.

"Come on, strike a pose," he says, looking me over. I do so, feeling ridiculous.

Blaster shakes his head. "Nah, that won't do." He starts moving me like a mannequin - pull one arm back, push one of my legs forward, tilt my hips and raise my chin.

"Nice," Bumblebee calls. "Are you guys ready now?"

"Finishing touches," Blaster promises. He pulls a gun from one of my holsters and presses it into my hand. "Hold this. Look cocky. Come on, you're a double agent assassin secret weapon, look the part. Better."

The music stops suddenly, and Blaster turns to the door, striking a pose of his own – wicked grin, arms out like a circus master, fully functional wings spread. He looks terrifying. "Okay, lil'Bee, on three. One."

'Thriller' blasts from the sound system.

"Two."

Bumblebee grins widely and takes hold of the double doors.

"Three!"

The doors are thrown open, and all hell breaks loose.

There are so many of them. And I can't recognize a single soul, they're all strangers, all with a wild look in their eyes, all grinning madly – the faces that aren't behind masks, at least – and the strobe lights are messing with everyone, so no one looks real.

It's a sea of faces. If I hadn't stood next to Blaster when he changed, I wouldn't even have recognized him.

"Welcome, one and all, to the greatest gathering of madness this side of the war!" Blaster shouts loudly. "Come in, join the insanity! Just tune in, turn off, drop out, drop in, switch off, switch on and explode!"

A dead man in the crowd laughs and tips his elegant top hat to Blaster.

The sea of bodies parts around our stage and fills the room, and still I haven't recognized anyone. It's unnerving. Very unnerving, in fact. I'm almost feeling a little dizzy. Many of them are looking at me, but none greet me, and I can't even recognize the ones I look back at when they're staring.

I'm becoming really, really uncomfortable up here. Like I've fallen down the rabbit hole without even noticing it, and suddenly everything's askew.

When a winged apparition leaps up to join us, I almost fall off the stage.

She's beautiful. Skin all shadows, pale silver hair held back by a web of pearls, fluttering butterfly wings of soft grey and black, short dress made of leather and silk ribbons.

The creature throws her arms around the Blaster-demon and kisses him, before turning to me, eyeing me with wide silver eyes under dark eyebrows and smiling.

"Isobel! You look fantastic!"

It's Arcee.

Of course it's Arcee, and suddenly the world is back on it's normal axis. The people around me are normal – well, normal-ish – again, and I recognize Jazz underneath the top hat, Bluestreak in green with a giant sword, Sideswipe with dreadlocks and pirate's trappings.

My pulse slows back down, and I return the fairy's hug with a grin of my own.

"Arcee, you're bending the rules a bit."

She winks at me. "Everything but the wings moving could be achieved using traditional human means." She gives me a gentle push. "Go on, get down there, mingle. Let me enjoy the master of ceremonies."

I raise my hands, take my finger off the gun's trigger. "Go ahead, you're welcome to him. I prefer my guys less chaotic evil, anyway."

Arcee takes hold of my shoulders and spins me around. "Have fun, precious."

These Autobots like their nicknames. At least I understand what that one meant.

Dead man Jazz appears below me, holding his hands up. "Help ya down, sweetspark?"

Now, that's one that doesn't make too much sense yet. I'm adding it to the list of words to ask Optimus or someone about.

I tilt my head. "I don't know. You look pretty scary."

He does. Jazz has gone full-out day of the dead – black suit, white shirt and black bow-tie, black top hat and skeleton makeup. But not the garish heavy black-and-white contrast; every shade bleeds seamlessly over in the next, so his face looks like it's made of light and shadow. The blue eyes in the back of dark, almost black eyeholes is especially disconcerting.

He grins at me, and I shudder. "So do you, sweetspark. Do ya even know how to use those things?"

"I can hit the broad side of a 'Con," I grin. "Comes from having too much free time on an army base."

That has Jazz laughing, and he reaches up to lift me down with that insane holoform strength. I grasp onto his shoulders and let him lift me – but instead of putting me down, he places an arm around my legs and carries me away from the stage.

"Um. Jazz? Are you kidnapping me too?"

"Nah, Isobel," he chuckles. "We're goin' ta find Blue, he wanted ya to approve his costume. See him anywhere?"

I stretch, standing arrow-straight in Jazz's arms, and look around. "He's over by the drinks, with Bumblebee."

"Great!" Without further ado, I'm dropped to the ground. Jazz takes my arm and semi-pulls me over to the corner where Bumblebee's set up the refreshment stand. Apparently, the holoforms can't process food or drink, so the table's full of human snacks that the Autobots are just eyeing speculatively.

Bluestreak bounces up and down to the music, but he stops and grins when he sees me. "Isobel! Hey, you look great! I didn't know you liked guns. Or, I guess you don't have to like guns to wear them, it sure looks good on you though, but I don't know if you like them or not, I guess it's a bit rude to assume, isn't it? Can you actually shoot them? Because I would love to go the range with you if you can, you can bring those and I've got my rifle, you've seen that, right? I love it, it's custom-made for me and there's barely any recoil, but I guess those you have don't have any either since they're so small. Did you have something to drink yet?"

I let the stream of consciousness wash around me. There's not much else to do with this puppy-dog Autobot. "Hey, Bluestreak, no, I haven't. And these aren't mine, I've borrowed them from Lennox for tonight." I take out the Colt and the Beretta from the holsters on my hips and give them to him. "They're not even loaded."

"She can shoot'em though," Jazz smirks. "Says she can hit the optic of a 'Con at three hundred meters."

I twist, stare at him. "What? No! I'm not a good shot, I just hit my target on the practice yard. Mostly."

Jazz is laughing at me. Aft.

"They look good," Bluestreak says, handing the guns back. "Tiny, though, but I guess they'd have to be, because you're not that big, are you? Sorry, was that rude? I'm sorry, here, let me get you a drink."

He turns, showing off the long sword and blue and silver shield on his back. Not that I needed those to have him pegged – the green shirt and hood and the white pants did that already.

"Thanks, hero of time," I say as he hands me a glass, and he beams at me.

"Hey, you got it! That means it's good enough, right? You knew who it was! I had such trouble because there are so many pictures, and I was afraid to get something wrong, and I've never played the game so I don't know anything about him, but Sideswipe suggested him for me and I thought it was really cool."

I grin at him. "You look awesome. You should come over to my place and play some time, I've got all of the games."

"Can I come too?" the Joker grins at me.

"Not looking like that, you can't," I say, pursing my lips. "I don't tend to invite homicidal maniacs into my home."

"What about me?"

I look sideways at Jazz. "Nah, you're dead. Dead people don't play video games."

"Can I come then? I'm not dead. Or evil."

My heart drops straight down to my heels, and my stomach's suddenly full of fairies with black and silver wings. I turn towards the owner of that voice.

Oh my.

First Aid's a Jedi.

And he looks good.

He shoots me a shy grin. "So can I come?"

I grin back. It's hard not to, with this mech. "Absolutely. We can play multiplayer." I pause, try to get raging crazy butterfly fairies under control. "You look good."

"Thanks. So do you." He looks down at himself. "Did I get it right?"

"Absolutely." There's even a lightsaber hanging from his belt. I reach out, touch it tentatively. "That thing work?"

He unhooks it deftly, activates the blade. It glows a bright blue.

"Wow," I whisper. "That's the coolest thing I've ever seen."

First Aid looks inordinately pleased at that. Carefully, he takes my hand and places the lightsaber into it.

"It works away from you?"

"It does if you stay close like this," he replies. "If you move away, it'll vanish. I can't extend it like Blaster can."

"An elegant weapon for a more civilized age," I breathe. I take a step closer to him and swing the lightsaber through the air carefully. It goes 'hzzmm'.

Okay. Heavy nerdgasm there. I'm practically bouncing on my toes.

"It's even making the right sound!" I squeal and beam up at First Aid. "This is so awesome!"

"Heh. I'm glad you think so." Small smile, a flash of blue under those eyelashes. A hand lifts, touches my neck gently. "How are your muscles? You haven't had your weekly massage this week."

And that, right there. That's why I was avoiding this mech. How the heck do I salvage this?

Do I even want to salvage this?

Yes, you do, Isobel. He's an alien. Don't get emotionally entangled.

But oh, it's so tempting to lean into that touch.

"Yeah, I'm good," I reply quietly. I don't dare meet his eyes.

"I have barely seen you this week," he says, in the same soft tones. "You've been so busy."

I nod, trying not to notice the way that settles his hand across the back of my neck. Instead, I'm studying that lightsaber intently. It's very interesting, yes, I'm completely absorbed in it. Definitely not noticing anything else.

His hand's very warm.

"Ladies and gentlemen, mechs and femmes! Step right up, step right up, it's time for tonight's entertainment!"

Thank you, Blaster.

I turn towards the stage, watching the demon prancing back and forth on top of it. Bluestreak materializes at my elbow, chattering excitedly over Blaster's continued presentation.

"Oh, great, Bumblebee mentioned this! It's the Costumed Character DeathMatch ShowDown!"

I can hear the capitalization. "The what now?"

"Any Autobot who dressed up with a weapon will be summoned to fight someone else who dressed up with a similar weapon! See, Sideswipe's going up against Mirage because they both have swords. And then winners battle winners until there's only one left! It'll be so cool!"

This is news to me. Bumblebee must have planned some surprises on his own.

"What about those of you with guns?"

Bluestreak frowns. "I don't know. They can't really shoot each other on stage, can they? That'll be messy and stuff, and besides, we shouldn't shoot at each other, the 'Cons do enough of that. Maybe it only works on other types of weapon?"

I look up at the stage. Blaster is standing to one side, with Lego-Eject on the other, acting as referees. Sideswipe the pirate is doing his best against Zorro - and even if Bluestreak hadn't given away who was under the mask I would have recognized that grace anywhere - but it doesn't seem to be an even fight.

"Mirage probably learned bladefighting as part of his upbringing in the Towers," First Aid says.

"Yeah, probably," Bluestreak agrees. "Sideswipe is used to fighting with two swords, and not in holoform. Look, he's not compensating for the different center of gravity, plus Mirage is faster and more agile." He grins. "Sides isn't taking it seriously, either, and Mirage is. Looks like one of us has to take on 'Raj."

I turn to First Aid. "You're fighting?" Something about that doesn't add up

And he shakes his head. "No, I'm not. That's not something I do."

"No, that's true, you don't, do you? Wonder who I'm fighting then." Bluestreak grins. "It certainly won't be Sideswipe."

No, it won't. Sideswipe is on his knees, weaponless, grinning madly with the point of Zorro's blade against his throat. "Quarter!"

"Winner!" Eject bellows, taking Mirage's arm and lifting it above his head. "Mirage goes on to the next round!"

The giant TV screen at the end of the room lights up with a line of pictures along the bottom. Sideswipe's pirate is crossed out, and Mirage's Zorro is raised to another level.

"Next!" Eject calls as Mirage gives Sideswipe a hand and pull him up. "The merc with the mouth, and the hero of time! Also known as Skiiiiiiids and Bluestreak!"

Eject is having so much fun with this, it's ridiculous. The one and only chance for a cassette to act as a sports commentator.

Bluestreak grins widely and leaps up onstage, while Deadpool climbs up on the other side.

Seriously. Deadpool.

Not a guy in a Deadpool costume, no. The holoforms don't work like that. He's programmed it to be Deadpool.

Cue another bouncing-on-toes-high-frequent-squee-mad-grin nerdgasm.

First Aid shoots me a confused smile, and the hand on my neck drops down to rest against my back. "I take it you like his costume?"

"I love Deadpool," I nod, still grinning. "But he's a tough bastard to pull off, I'm curious to see if Skids can manage."

It's apparent fairly quickly that he can't. "Ya didn't download programming for fighting two-handed, ya glitch!" Jazz crows from somewhere in the crowd, and I giggle. Skids is trying to block Bluestreak's attack, but he doesn't seem to know what to do with his left hand, and whenever he tries to use it he fumbles. Bluestreak barely needs to fight him – Skids is doing a fair job defeating himself.

I shake my head sadly. "A pale copy, nothing more. How disappointing."

"Winner!" Eject calls as Skids' picture is crossed out from the screen. "Next. Fistfight flurry of claws and webs – raise your hands for Chromia and Muuuuudflap!"

We watch as Eject enthusiastically referees the Spiderman/alley cat showdown, and then a Terminator/Robocop match where Prowl thoroughly trounced Ironhide. It's hard to say how he managed – one moment they were rushing each other, and the next, Ironhide was on the ground.

Prowl as Robocop. I didn't know he possessed that kind of self-irony.

"Winner!" Eject is grinning so widely I'm surprised he can even talk. "Next, and last of the preliminary rounds – our only gunslinger duel! Let me present the witch hunter versus steampunk Doc Holliday – Wheeeeeljack and Rat-cheeet!"

I stand on my toes, straining to see. "Ratchet went with steampunk? I was sure it would've been Wheeljack!"

Wheeljack climbs up on stage first, grinning madly and turning. "Where are you, old man? Afraid to face me?"

"I am not afraid to face someone who beats on women for a living," comes the sneering response.

I'm bouncing so badly First Aid has to steady me to keep me from falling over.

They look so cool! Wheeljack is all leather and buckles, grimy shoulder plate armor, tall boots, and long, weathered leather jacket. Ratchet is clean-cut and prim; white shirt under black vest, black pants stuffed into shined boots, dark hat – and metal everywhere. His arm is encased in some form of external strut system with hydraulic joints, one eye is bionic, and his left leg is partly exposed moving metal.

I have no words. I spot Optimus under a cowboy hat in the crowd – he doesn't seem to have any words either.

The two on the stage are busy trading insults and smirks, circling each other, hands inching closer to holsters on hips.

"They must have rehearsed this," I say breathlessly, leaning into First Aid's support.

"Ratchet and Wheeljack have known each other for millennia," First Aid murmurs in my ear. "I'll bet they can wing it off each other without even trying. It might all be improvisation."

I nod, eagerly eyeing the duelists. It's like a well-choreographed dance up there. I turn my head slightly, murmuring against First Aid's cheek. "So who do you think will win this one?"

"Hard to say." His chuckle tickles my throat. "Ratchet never loses easily – but then again, Wheeljack knows all his tricks."

I nod, turning my attention back to Wheeljack's taunting of Ratchet's inability to hit the broad side of a planet without aid. And then I freeze.

Wait.

Wait just a blasted second here.

When did First Aid get so close?

His arms around my waist, holding me close to his body, his head next to mine with his chin resting lightly on my shoulder.

Not only that. But I've got my hands on top of his, somehow. My head is leaning back against him, tilted slightly to touch against his cheek.

Holy epic mindfuck.

I rewind quickly in my head. Hand on neck turned to hand on back, turned to support on waist when Deadpool emerged, turned to two hands on my waist as the crowd moved to let Ironhide get up on the stage, turned to two hands around my waist as Prowl got back down, turned to me stepping into that embrace as we were pressed towards the stage as Wheeljack and Ratchet made their appearance.

Wow.

This is one sneaky Protectobot.

"You okay?" Warm lips brush against my ear.

I look past the stage to see Optimus looking at me, a small smirk on his face. I guess I look as shocked as I feel.

My plan to keep an emotional – if not physical – distance and keep First Aid at arm's length just crashed and burned. There's no way I can push him away now – not just because I myself really don't want to, but because there's no way I could hurt him like that.

I stand nailed to the ground as that realization hits me.

He wants this.

He wants this.

If he didn't, there's no way he would be holding me this tight.

Our interactions over the last few weeks just take on a whole new meaning when I see them in that light.

I nod, still more than a little shell-shocked by my epiphany. "I'm good."

The crowd roars around us, but I have no idea why. I don't know what's going on up on the stage, who's winning there and who's losing.

First Aid's arms tighten, squeezing me gently. "I'm glad." Those lips close to my ear again, warm breath ghosting over my cheek.

My mind short-circuits.

But my body doesn't. My fingers gently trace First Aid's knuckles, like they've been doing for at least the past ten minutes without me noticing. I lean my head sideways into his neck, feeling the mild, electric thrumming that's distinctly holoform – no heartbeat for these guys, no; instead, a warm, gentle, constant vibration reminiscent of the resonance of electronic equipment.

Up on the stage, Bluestreak is losing spectacularly to Mirage – Blue's sword is too big for him, and he's having trouble countering Mirage's swift attacks. I look past them, find Optimus in the crowd again. He's talking quietly to Ratchet, heads close together, one hand on the metal-encased shoulder.

It might look normal, but for those two, it's the equivalent of Sideswipe kissing Sunstreaker's jawline.

Or like First Aid holding me so tightly.

Suddenly, it's too much.

I twist slightly in First Aid's arms, turning towards his face. "Aid, could you give me a minute? I need to go be human." Go freak out. Have a minor panic attack. I don't know.

"Yeah, sure," he smiles shyly. One hand lifts to my face, fingertips running across my cheek.

Holy smokes, if he hadn't been holding me up I would be on the floor right now.

"Will you come back?" (Again. Afterwards. To me.) He doesn't say the extra words, but I hear them anyway. His palm cups my cheek, thumb running gentle strokes across my cheekbone.

I look up, caught suddenly in brilliant blue eyes under long eyelashes. For a moment, I can't move. It's like I'm in a bubble – I can't hear anything, can't see anything, just loose myself completely in those blue orbs.

Then I blink, and the spell is broken. "I will," I whisper. "I'll find you again."

First Aid lets me go reluctantly, arms dropping by increments until I'm free, but still standing up against his chest. That step away from him is almost painful, but I need some space, and I need it now. The music hits me like a wall of noise, and the room seems too crowded. I make a beeline for the bathrooms in the back of the room.

Up on the stage, Chromia is facing off against Prowl, and everyone's looking that way. It makes it fairly easy to skirt the back of the crowd without getting interrupted.

Past the bathrooms, there's a back door that opens up to a little used track. We used it earlier to get Wheeljack's contraptions into the room without anyone else noticing. I make for the door, pushing through it hurriedly, and escape out onto the sand.

The air, warm but still cooler than inside, does wonders for my breathing. I pace for a while until my pulse is almost back to normal.

Holy crap.

Now what do I do?

Staying away didn't work. Not that I managed in the first place – the island is only ten square miles of dry land, there's limited space to avoid anybody. Even if I had been willing to put that much work into it.

Okay. Calm down, Isobel. Hyperventilating isn't going to help.

Unless I faint, and First Aid has to take me to the med bay and keep watch on me all night, because he'll do that, and then he'll –

I stomp on that line of thought hard enough to shut it down completely. That. Is not. Helpful.

I am in way over my head here. He's an alien, for Pete's sake.

I stop pacing, realize I've moved up to the small height from where I can see the base. Didn't really mean to walk this far from the party, but here I am.

I can't make head or tails of my thoughts or my feelings tonight, everything's one big intertwined snarl of chaos. On the one hand, I want to run back to First Aid, crash into him and have him spin me around and around and carry me away into the sunset.

Ha. Hopelessly childish romantic idea.

On the other hand, I want to run away. As far away from this craziness as possible, back to a life where there are no such things as giant metal aliens and extra-high security clearance and holoforms and living pictures of a dead planet.

Yeah. Like I could run that far. Like I could ever forget.

Deep breaths, Isobel. That's it.

I square my shoulders. I'm going to go back to the party, and tell First Aid that I'm tired and am going back to my apartment. And then I'll go back to avoiding him until I've figured this out. And if I never figure it out, I'm going to put in for a transfer to another base. An all-human base.

Yeah right. Stop kidding yourself, Isobel. You'll never transfer away from this.

Mind made up, at least as much as possible tonight, I turn and walk back down the hill.

The party hits me like a punch to the face when I walk back inside. The stage is full of dancers now. I spot Jazz doing some sort of hip-hop routine, and Blaster and Arcee – both taking up way too much space with those wings – doing something that I'm pretty sure is illegal in public in several of the fifty states. I move at the edges of the crowds again, looking for that blond hair and the brown robes. In the strobing lights, it's hard to discern anyone for sure – it's even hard to tell where one person stops and the next one begins. Especially in cases like Ironhide and Chromia, or Wheeljack and… Bumblebee?

I'm not going there. Nope, didn't see that. I know nothing.

I do see Optimus and Ratchet standing near the wall, talking, Optimus wearing that small smile and looking at Ratchet while one hand gently plays with the medic's fingers. That makes me grin. There's hope for those two yet.

I'm so busy looking for First Aid and trying not to see anything else, that I don't notice Sideswipe until I crash into him.

For a moment, we just stare at each other with surprise. Then he mumbles an apology, turns and walks the other way.

Well, blast it. I might as well fix this, it'll be exhausting enough avoiding one mech. Besides, I'm not angry with them, not anymore.

"Hi, Sideswipe."

He slows, turns against me questioningly.

I give him a slight smile. "Hi, Sideswipe. You look good."

At that, he grins so widely it almost makes me wonder if he's tweaked the holoform's coding somehow.

"Hey, Isobel!" A careful step back towards me. "Thanks! You look awesome, that's a very good look for you, especially the hair. Um. Sorry, I didn't mean to – um. I'm. That's." A deep breath, and then a more normal Sideswipe-grin. "Great party!"

"It is, isn't it?" I look around at everyone. "I think Bumblebee's after-war career should be as an event planner."

Sideswipe chuckles at that. "I don't know, I think he needs someone to keep him in line or he'll go completely overboard with everything. Especially if he's working with Wheeljack. That combination is downright dangerous."

"Like now?" I raise my eyebrows, tilt my head in the direction of the Joker now sitting in the witch hunter's lap, mouths pretty much glued together.

"Ah. Well. They're good friends, the road to fragbuddy isn't that long." Sideswipe runs a hand across his head and gives me a sheepish look. "Listen, Isobel, we really are very sorry. We didn't think. And we certainly didn't mean to scare you or hurt you in any way." He takes a deep, unnecessary breath – holoforms don't need oxygen, after all – and looks up at me under dark eyebrows. "Can you forgive us?"

I sigh. "I forgive you, Sideswipe." I hold up a warning hand against the wide grin that threatens to split his face in half. "But you're going to have to work to earn my trust back."

"I understand." That look. "Thank you, Isobel."

"It's okay. Now, where's your brother? I'd like to talk to him too."

"Really?" And here I thought that grin couldn't get any wider. "Oh, that would be brilliant! He's been beating himself up over this, and he really wanted to show you his costume." Another sheepish smile. "That was actually what we wanted to talk to you about on Monday."

"Huh." I grin at that. "In retrospect, maybe you should have just come out and asked me."

He nods, smiling. "Yeah. In retrospect, we definitely should." He turns away from me, leading the way. "Come on. Sunny's over there."

This feels familiar. It's not the first time I've followed Sideswipe through a party to find Sunstreaker lounging up against a wall, eyeing everyone with slight disdain. Except this time, he seems to be mostly focused on the floor.

I remember thinking he was insanely gorgeous last time. This time… There really are no words.

Sunstreaker's a fallen angel.

Black, feathered wings arch from behind his shoulders, throwing most of his face into shadow. He's changed his hair-color from dark to a pale gold, reminiscent of his bipedal color, and it's long enough to hang into his eyes, curling around his ears and at his neck. Black trousers ride low on his hips, showing off every perfectly sculpted abdominal and pectoral muscle to perfection. Because, apparently, angels don't wear shirts. Or shoes.

I manage not to gape like an idiot. But it's a close thing.

"Sunstreaker, you're exquisite," I murmur, stepping closer. "You're absolutely beautiful."

He looks up at me in surprise. "Isobel?"

"Hey, Sunstreaker," I whisper, walking up to him. "Are you okay?"

He stares at me, wild-eyed. "Isobel, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have touched you. If I could undo it, I would, I swear."

"Shh," I murmur. "It's okay. You're forgiven."

"We'll earn your trust back, Isobel," Sideswipe says from behind me. "You just watch us." He walks past me, takes Sunstreaker's hand. "We'll earn it."

Sunstreaker looks from me to his twin and back to me. "Yeah, we will. I want the chance to do that." He straightens up and stands away from the wall, letting one hand move up to cradle Sideswipe's neck. Sideswipe purrs happily, leaning into the touch.

"You'll get it," I promise. Then I grin at them. "Damn, I wish I had a camera, you guys look awesome."

"He's breathtaking, isn't he," Sideswipe smirks, letting his lips graze Sunstreaker's cheek.

"He's a masterpiece," I agree. "That's not a costume, Sunstreaker, that's a work of art."

That comment is rewarded with the very first true smile I've seen on the golden twin's face. I guess there's hope for us yet.

"We'll talk more another time," I promise. "I have someone I have to go find."

"Sure," Sunstreaker murmurs, smirking at me, smooth lips already chasing Sideswipe's mouth.

The pirate twin dodges the oncoming kiss to grin at me. "Thanks, Isobel."

I grin as Sideswipe surrenders to his gorgeous twin brother, letting that insistent mouth claim his own and lifting both hands to caress soft hair and smooth wings. "Bye, guys."

I'm very satisfied with myself as I walk away. I did that right, at least. Sneaking a glance back at the twins, I'm rewarded with the surreal and incredibly hot sight of a fallen angel pretty much ravaging the pirate. There's laughter and cat-calls of 'get a room', and Sideswipe lifts one hand off of a silky black wing and flicks a middle finger to the room at large, without letting go of his brother's mouth.

They're so sexy together it should almost be outlawed. Or at least come with a fairly strong warning. Parental guidance advised.

"Thank goodness, I thought they were never going to get going again," a voice says next to me. I turn to see Bluestreak smirking at the twins. "Sunstreaker's been so broody all week, he hasn't let Sideswipe near him. I know Sides was getting desperate, they usually don't let it go more than a couple of days apart, it's apparently almost painful. I can't really understand it, I mean, no one can, really, the only other pair of twins we have here is Skids and Mudflap and they're not the same at all." He turns that smile to me. "I don't know what you did, but thanks."

I shrug, raising an eyebrow. "I told Sunstreaker he looked like a work of art."

Bluestreak laughs loudly at that. "I guess that'll do it. He really does look amazing, doesn't he? He spent hours and hours poring over earth images of angels, trying to get it just right. I think I've looked at a thousand pictures and sketches that he did, several paintings too. And he's tried out five actual holoform designs that I know of, including one with red wings, if you'd believe that. Apparently he found it in a graphic novel."

"Sunstreaker paints?" I turn an incredulous look on Bluestreak.

"Yeah, didn't you know? I guess you didn't, he probably didn't tell you, did he? He doesn't show his pictures to many people, but he's really skilled. He made a living from it, back on Cybertron. I've seen some of his work from back then, it's amazing. Maybe he'll show you if you want, he seems to like you."

I grin as the idea hits me. I have to talk to Optimus – or maybe ally myself with Sideswipe – and get some art supplies for my office.

"You're fairly close to them, aren't you, Bluestreak?"

He nods easily. "They're good friends of mine. Sunny'll come off as an arrogant bastard, and Sideswipe never seems to take anything seriously, but they're good mechs at heart. When you constantly have each other's backs in battle, it's very easy to become friends."

I smile at that. "One of those things you can't share without ending up liking each other."

"Yeah, sounds about right. Is that a quote? It sounds like a quote."

"It's a quote," I confirm, smiling. "Listen, Bluestreak, I promised I would find First Aid, have you seen him?"

"Last I saw him, he was talking to the other twins over by the front windows," he replies, turning and pointing. "Want me to show you?"

"Nah, that's okay, I'll find him. Thanks, Bluestreak." I look over his costume again. "You really do look awesome. I hope someone's taking pictures of this."

"Oh, Rewind's been filming all night," he grins. "I'll bet he'll give you a copy."

"Sounds great. See you around, Bluestreak." I reach out and give his shoulder a squeeze before moving into the crowd. Bluestreak's a good mech, too.

I find the Jedi where Link indicated, talking to Deadpool and Spiderman over by the gooey gloopy windows.

"Oh good, it's the expert!" Spiderman exclaims as I walk up to them. "We have a question for ya, doc. My glitch bro here says that Deadpool could take Spidey down one-handed, but I say that Spidey wouldn' let 'Pool get that close. What do you say?"

First Aid shoots me a slightly exasperated smile.

I look from one masked mech to the other. "One on one? No backup?"

"Backup is for wussies," Deadpool brags.

"I'll remember you said that the next time Jazz has to send Mirage and Bumblebee to pull your ungrateful afts out of the fire," First Aid murmurs, a sly smile on his handsome face. "It'll give you a chance to prove yourselves."

Spiderman twists and stares at him. I giggle at that – these twins are just so young. Or, I think they are – I've never actually talked to them before now, never seen their faces before, and the masks they're wearing aren't giving away much.

"If it's one on one, I'd say Deadpool wins," I muse. "They're both very agile, very athletic, but the merc has two swords and almost unlimited regeneration. Spiderman's got webbing and a fancy extra sense. Plus, Deadpool's bat-shit crazy and just plain old refuses to die. That'll win it every time."

Spider-Skids snorts. "Hear that, bro? Ya crazy as Starscream."

I frown slightly at that. I hadn't thought about it, but the comparison is quite apt. And I'm not sure I like what it says about this war of theirs. Looking up and meeting First Aid's eyes, I realize that the implications aren't lost on him either.

Then again, I don't know – the Autobots aren't that easy to kill either. Hopefully, the comparison won't stretch that far.

Mud-Pool smacks his brother in the back of the head. "Hey, I'm way more stable than that glitch. He's got scrap for a processor."

"High altitude fried his connectors," Skids sniggers.

First Aid just shakes his head at them.

I grin, and interrupt the youthful bragging. "Hey, I believe I owe you two thanks for the flowers that suddenly appeared on my doorstep."

Both twins instantly radiate smugness, and then turn into mirror images of abashed embarrassment, complete with lowered heads, twitching hands and awkward stances. This is hilarious.

"Sorry we put ya in the med bay, Isobel," Skids mumbles.

"Yeah, we didn't think," Mudflap adds. "Dat was a really dumb prank."

"It's okay, guys, you're forgiven," I grin at them. "On one condition."

Twin heads turn back to focus on me. "What?"

"Loose the masks for a moment." I raise an eyebrow at them. "I don't even know what you guys look like. We haven't actually officially met."

Pale mask-eyes look at each other, and then the blue sparks fade away to reveal identical, wild grins. Dark brown hair stands in all directions, and a sprinkling of freckles adorn two pale faces. They're as young as I imagined – not young-seeming, like Bumblebee, but actually young, teenagers. And they're absolutely identical, more even than Sunstreaker and Sideswipe. I can't tell them apart at all.

"Hey, Isobel," Skids grins, reaching out a hand to shake mine. "Nice t' meetcha."

"Hi, Isobel," Mudflap echoes his brother. "I'm Mudflap."

I shake one hand after the other. "Nice to meet you too, guys. Great costumes."

"You too, you look kick-ass," Mudflap replies. Skids nods. "Totally dope."

I laugh at that. "Never been called that before. Thanks."

"Okay, you got to ask her, now go," First Aid says, smiling at them. "Eject was waiting for you, remember?"

"Slag it, that's true!" Mudflap exclaims, taking off. "Bye, Isobel!"

"Hey, ya mask!" Skids calls, running after him. "Put ya mask back on, slagger! Bye, Iz!"

Iz. I shudder.

First Aid notices, of course. He notices everything. "Something wrong?"

"Nah, it's okay. But if Skids starts spreading that name around, he'll be unforgiven real quick."

That earns me a laugh, and I have to consciously school my legs to stay rooted to the spot.

When First Aid laughs, he gets dimples in his cheeks.

Those blue eyes fasten on me, accompanied by that shy grin. "Isobel - d'you want to dance? With me?"

Hell, yes. More than anything.

And there's no way in the world I'm going to.

"I would love to, Aid, but I'm actually dead on my feet." I make a face. "It's been a long bitch of a week."

First Aid is all sympathy at that, reaching out and placing a hand on my arm. "Do you want me to walk you home?"

Another very tempting offer. I'm on the verge of refusing – but then I notice Mirage looking at me from near the stage. Smirking at me, rather, and I know that look. That's the I'm-coming-by-your-bed-later look.

He looks hot as hell in that outfit – Mirage is always sexy – but for once it's easy to ignore. I need to sleep, and and I need to get some distance. If I leave the party alone, Mirage will see it as an invitation. And as great as the sex is, as easily uncomplicated and comfortable as that relation is, I really don't want to see his face anymore tonight. Masked or not.

That leaves me with just the one option.

"That would be good," I sigh, smiling slightly at First Aid. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it," he grins at me. "It's my pleasure."

Yeah, mine too. That's what worries me.

When First Aid takes my hand, I don't stop him.

The air outside is even cooler than it was – not the crisp and cool I would expect of late October, but as close as we can get on Diego Garcia. First Aid's thumb rubs little circles on the back of my hand as we walk.

"So why a Jedi?" I ask idly.

"Heh." He smiles, looks down shyly. "I like the philosophy, I guess. The humility, the mindfulness, the refusal to dwell on hate and anger."

"The saving and defending the innocent," I point out, and he grins at me, squeezing my hand slightly.

"Yeah, that too." He chuckles. "What about you? Why Black Widow?"

"Honestly? She could be set up with the resources I have here."

He laughs at that. "That's the only reason?"

I shake my head. "She's incredibly cool. You can't keep her down, she doesn't take crap from anybody, she's never weak, and she's very intelligent. She's savvy. I like her." I shrug. "I'll be glad to get out of this outfit again, though. These guns are heavy."

First Aid laughs again, pulling me close and nuzzling my hair. "I'm glad. They don't really suit you."

"I guess they don't, at that," I reply as his arm settles around my waist. I take out one of the guns and fiddle with it – mostly to have something to do with my hands that doesn't involve clinging to First Aid. "Hey Aid, why didn't you want to duel in the epic showdown?"

He watches the gun in my hands. "I'm not a fighter at heart. Some of us see fighting, or sparring, as a good way to burn off excess energy, something that has worth in its own right. I don't. I'll fight if I need to, to protect those I care about –" an extra tightening of his arm around my waist there, and I'm trying very hard to not think about the implications of that at all "- but I don't see it as entertaining. So I opted out."

"It's an interesting attitude for someone who's been fighting a war for millennia," I observe. "I'm impressed you've managed to keep it."

He grins at that. "Thank you. It helps that Groove's even worse than me. He won't even kill a 'Con if he can avoid it. He'll fight, sure, and when we combine and form Defensor he pulls his weight along with the rest of us, but he's a pacifist at heart. His weapons aren't even deadly."

I stare at him. "When you do what, did you say?"

"Oh." He looks down, blushes slightly. "I guess I haven't told you about that. You see, me and my brothers, we're a gestalt team. We can combine our forms into one giant form, called Defensor."

I'm still staring. "I don't understand."

He sighs, run a hand through his hair. "It's hard to explain. I don't want to freak you out."

I snort at that. "Freak me out? Please. First Aid, how much weirdness and alien shenanigans have you guys thrown at me in the last three weeks? Have I freaked yet? Come on, I even took it in stride that Sideswipe's fragging his brother, which, you know, pretty big stigma on Earth."

"I guess." He grins, and his hand slides down again to take mine. A big part of me wishes he would have left his arm around my waist, where it was, maybe put his other arm around me as well… I derail that train of thought. "The only thing I've seen really upset you was those pictures."

"Yeah, but that wasn't aliens, that was war," I sigh. "Of course I was upset by those. Especially in that setting."

"Yeah, it was fun up until that point." His lips curve in a soft smile. "So you're okay with me explaining this?"

Now it's my turn to squeeze his hand. "I won't freak out, I promise." I smile up at him and start walking again. "Tell me about this thing with your brothers. You said you combine? What does that mean?"

First Aid frowns thoughtfully, thumb idly tracing my fingers. "I'm not sure how to explain it. The simplified version is that the five of us trigger a special transformation, and become one big entity known as a combiner. His name's Defensor. I'm his left arm."

That has me giggling. On the list of surreal sentences I never thought I'd hear, that one is right near the top. "Left arm, huh? He must be big."

"Huge," First Aid confirms, smiling slightly at me. "Anyway, we combine into him when it's needed. It hasn't been that often, lately, which is why my brothers are all in Europe while I'm here."

"Do you miss them?"

The arm sneaks back around my waist. It fits perfectly there. "All the time. But we talk often, and I can feel them through the bond, so it's okay."

I raise an eyebrow at him. "You lost me again."

He chuckles and pulls me close, leaning his head against mine. Oh my God. "I'm sorry, Isobel. It's so easy to forget that you don't know this." A gentle hand squeezes my waist, thumb rubbing softly against me. "My brothers and I share a bond, that's what being a gestalt means. It lets us feel how the others feel, where they are, lets us communicate. They're too far away for me to know much more than that they are alive and well right now, but any closer and we'd have no problem."

"Huh. That sounds…" I lean back into the touch, sighing. "That sounds nice, actually. It must be good to be that close to your brothers."

"It is." Warm breath on my cheek. "What about your family?"

I shrug. "Not much left of it. My mother died when I was young, and my father raised us alone. Then he died of a brain aneurysm when I was a student. I lost my brother a few years after that. I have an aunt in Washington, but I've barely met her."

He pulls back, stares at me. "You don't have any close surviving family?"

"Well, no." I look sideways at him. "You don't have to look so appalled, you know. It's not my fault."

"What? No, of course not! Primus, I'm sorry, Isobel." Suddenly he pulls me close, arms around me, face pressed to my hair. My arms go around his waist – of course I didn't actually make a conscious decision to place them there, no, really I didn't. "I didn't mean to get so surprised. It's just hard for me to imagine having no family. I've always had four brothers in my head, for good and bad."

"It's okay." I grin against his shoulder. He smells good. "I didn't actually think you meant it like that. And I've done my grieving. I still miss them, but they're gone, and I've accepted that.

"Still, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have reacted like that."

"Don't worry about it. I've forgiven far worse than you today." I push away slightly, and shoot him a smile. "It's okay."

He hesitates, then nods at me. "If you say so." He steps back, pulls me along. "Let's get you home."

It's not that much further, and before I'm quite ready to let First Aid go we're standing outside my front door.

"We're here," First Aid says, unnecessarily.

"So we are," I agree.

Then we're both silent, in that kind of awkward silence that usually follows first dates. Not that this was one.

"So what are you doing tomorrow?" Blue eyes flash at me under long eyelashes.

"As little as possible," I grin. "I have a meeting with Jazz and a few of the others, and then there's party clean-up duty, but after that I plan to spend the rest of my day on my couch or something."

"Want company?" A hopeful smile, and those dimples, oh my God...

"I don't know yet," I hedge. I don't have the heart to tell him no outright, especially not tonight. "Let you know?"

"Absolutely." He grins, then leans in and presses his lips to my forehead. "G'night, Isobel."

Holy crap.

I only stare. First Aid smiles somewhat smugly at me and then vanishes, the blue sparks enveloping me before they fade away.

A/N: whew, long chapter was long! I love Sunstreaker to bits, can you tell?

Anyway - this is a warning that the next chapter may be more than a week away. I'm working on it as you read this, but I have family visiting until Monday, so half my writing time disappears. And since I have a job and family and stuff in the real world, I can't really spend all my time writing. But it will certainly be no more than two weeks away, that's a promise.

Let me know what you think!