Author's Notes: Thanks for the reviews. Megatron does not know about Pyxis but wants answers to Prime's behavior. Prowl wants a more complete report and Starscream still needs repairs while Elita is almost back to normal. Now Elita will face Red Alert, deal with Sideswipe and try to raise a normal sparkling mech. But not yet. It's party time!
TR TR TR TR TR TR TR TR TR TRANSFORMERS
NEST Base, Diego Garcia Island
Autobot Recreation Room
Sounds of lively music filled the air of the recreation room as vocals of both mechs and femmes interwove with the sounds of moving gears and adjusting hydraulics. No humans attended, allowing them a private party.
The occasional loud vocal rose over the rest to be followed by sounds of metal on metal or an arguing vocal in return. The Transformers laughed or watched those discussing so animatedly, celebrating the recent victory and remembering better times together. High grade sat alongside regular energon cubes on the main table for each bot to choose. The heroes of the battle received less attention than the unofficial guest of honor seated in his specially made high chair.
"How's my little party mech?" Jazz said, leaning in close to the sparkling. His larger black and white frame overshadowed the chair.
"Functional and no more energon treats," Elita's tone was firm even as tiny arms reached outward. Fingers made a grasping motion as Jazz held his empty armored hand out. All five of Pyxis' digits wrapped partly around one of the bigger mech's white armored fingers.
"Ahh, not even one? He's so cute," the spy and saboteur pretended to pout. His blue visor retracted, showing dim blue optics. They spun in and out trying to focus as a second little hand joined the first to wrap around his finger.
"Every bot here and some humans have been giving 'one treat' to little cute shell there. I do not want him purging his tanks from overfilling. I could throttle Wheeljack for making those. A small square of weaker energon that won't fill a line gap in our tanks and he makes buckets of them," the rose colored femme complained.
::But he deserves kindness and love after recent events:: Bumblebee sent. He held a yellow armored fist full of treat chips. He shook his head side to side in a clear "no" in front of the sparkling as Pyxis released Jazz's finger and reached for the treats. Venting softly, the young scout opened a wrist hatch, dropping the treats inside for later as little blue optics watched.
"He's a sparkling. His memory core will not recall this past week a joor from now. First shell is basically a containment shape to teach them outside world experiences as their coding adjusts. His processor focuses on likes and dislikes. Like energon from Elita and dislike of bright lights. Likes being held and dislike being woke from recharge early," Ratchet stated. The yellow green medic sipped on his high grade, allowing the others to continue.
"Like cool bots," Jazz quipped, his blue visor snapping back into place.
"And dislike grumpy medics," Ironhide commented, walking up behind the group. His foot pads rested on the concrete floor, allowing his mass to move quietly.
"I wasn't talking to you," Ratchet's blue multi faceted optics narrowed. He straightened to his taller full height, turning to face the ancient mech.
"No, you're boring the one mech that can't escape you Ratch," he sipped at his high grade.
"Escape? I'll remember that next physical," the medic growled, his fingers transmorphing to injectors and armor removing tools.
"Can't wait to get your servos on me huh? You really need more time with Moonracer," the weapon's specialist quipped.
"I'll servo you! How about I remove your cannons and implant them up your," Ratchet began threatening.
"Stop!" A baritone vocal commanded. A familiar red and blue frame stepped between them before moving to stand alongside his femme. Optimus' helm swiveled back and forth before he tried looking stern. "Prowl, make a notation to discuss what constitutes an appropriate conversation around a sparkling at the next command staff meeting please."
"Is that necessary? How about I restrict those two from being spark sitters, at least at the same time?" He suggested, the barest hint of amusement to his vocal tones.
"Bee!" Elita warned, leaning out and around her sparkmate's larger chassis to glare at the mini bot.
::I couldn't resist:: he admitted, ducking his yellow helm as the sparkling sipped energon from the treat chip clutched firmly in both hands.
"Mini bots major problems," Elita grumbled, leaning back to rest against her taller sparkmate. Bumblebee pretended to scuff the floor with a footpad, hands tucked behind him before venting sadly and moving away from the still reaching sparkling.
"Speaking of mini bots, where is Huffer?" Optimus scanned the room, seeing no sign of the orange mini bot.
"The twins, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe borrowed him," Ratchet answered as his tools transformed back to fingers.
"What do you mean borrowed?" Ironhide asked.
Alongside him, Prowl stiffened as his tactician mainframe ran scenarios. Blue optics dimmed then brightened even as his black and white wing doors sagged down. "Prime, would you reconsider allowing exile as a punishment?"
"No Prowl, never again on earth," he chuckled, snagging out an armored arm and wrapping it around Elita's rose-colored hip plates. Both turned at clicking sounds.
Seeing them watching, Pyxis moved his tiny lip plates before bouncing up and down in his high chair. Leaning forward, he wiggled faster than they would have thought possible out of the safety strap. And kept wiggling upward.
"No!" Half a dozen vocals shouted as his tiny frame tipped forward over the protective bar. Bumblebee's yellow chassis scraped across the floor underneath, armored hands catching and cradling him. Vents and sighs of relief drowned out his soft excited clicks and whirrs.
Pyxis began tapping the wrist compartment of Bumblebee's hand, opening it. Energon chips fell out in a shower of blue squares except the one a tiny hand grasped and pulled to the equally tiny mouth.
"How did he?" Optimus' optics spun wide in disbelief.
"He is half yours," Elita commented, lifting their sparkling up and firmly removing the partially drained energon chip from his grasp.
"He didn't get that from my half. Deviousness in getting what you want is your trait femme. As Commander I carefully consider my actions and their ramifications," he teased. He nodded at Bumblebee, making a mental note to leave a bucket of the chip treats for him to find in his quarters as a personal reward for catching his son.
Pyxis fussed, arms and legs kicking but allowed himself to be tucked back into the high chair, the strap tightened by his mother.
"Right. That little bundle of leap first process later is definitely your offspring," Ratchet commented.
"From two of the most authoritative," Prowl continued
"Weapon carrying, battle trained," Ironhide added.
"Cybertron made bots around," Jazz finished.
"We're doomed!" They all chorused before breaking into laughter.
NEST Base, Diego Garcia Island
Autobot Recreation Room
Hours Later
"Ssshhh, party is over and it's time to go. The sparkling is recharging," Jazz whispered as his hand moved over the control pad, dimming the lights.
"I am not a sparkling," Prime rumbled softly from his chair, his optics unshuttering. His massive red and blue armored form reclined even as his hands remained cupped together over his son. Pyxis curled on his side in the warm darkness, one tiny hand clutching his yellow and black striped blanket.
"That's your opinion," Elita chimed in, opening one blue optic as she lay out on the nearby couch.
"Mine is the only one that counts as Prime," he teased.
"I'll remember that next time you need an armor repaint dearest. I'll pick the colors and you can give me your opinion after you're painted," her vocal tone carried a false sweetness.
"Any color but purple," he chuckled, forgetting and shifting with his mirth. His hands moved as he pointed a stubby finger at her. "And that's an order femme. Or back to the brig with you."
CLICK CLICK CLACK WHIRR
"Ah man, you woke Pyxis. What did he say?" Jazz asked.
"He wants to play and go for a walk what else?" Elita translated, sitting up and opening both optics.
"It's 3 am local time. Time to recharge not go for a walk," Optimus groaned, shifting to a fully upright sitting position.
"That's your opinion Prime," Elita and Jazz chorused together.
To be continued...