Thank you for any and all feedback!

It should be noted that when I first started writing/planning this way back in 2013, before the rewrite of early 2016, More Than Meets The Eye was very early in its run. That vastly influenced my take on what the TFA versions of the DJD would be like, including the names for most of them.

(of drinks and Outliers)

The Devil's Own was more of a hole in the wall joint than a bar; small and cozy, it was considered to be one of the exclusive places, yet it somehow maintained that relaxed, casual air. Right now, it was empty save the bartender, her sleeping ornling, and Krok. The rest of his Unit elsewhere.

Radar and Fulcrum had absconded into one of the many bunkers within a three hundred kilometre radius and Krok was not looking forward to dragging them out, even though Radar was, technically, Fulcrum's guard; Misfire had somehow become entangled in a game of Auto-Con; Flywheels was at one of the Temples to Primus; Crankcase had been dragged off by Spinister towards the main medical area, while Firebug had taken off to another temple for one of the many minor faiths that had sprung up.

Krok needed a drink or ten, and the megacycle was barely half done. Dieties, he felt old, if not pleased that some of the traitors had been brought to justice. Was it overkill? Yes.

Did he care? Not particularly.

"Something stronger this time, 'Kill," he called, pushing the empty shot glass towards Diamondkill, ignoring his bitty baby sister's sigh. But as long as he didn't wake the ornling, he was welcome to as many drinks as he paid for.

If only his attempts to get drunk had lasted.

"Never took you for drinking, Krok."

Of course that voice came just as he least wanted it.

"Kaon." He jerked slightly, yet barely glanced up from the drink he'd yet tasted, unwilling to face the D.J.D. mech. "They don't have it."

"I'm not here for that, traitor."

Krok straightened to hide the flinch, optics narrowing dangerously at his ex-lover. "I heard you made Voltage watch your playtime."

"Yes," the D.J.D. mech hissed, air crackling with electricity and an open threat that told Krok he was walking a thin line as far as the other Outlier was concerned. Yet it gave Krok all he needed to know: Kaon was drunk. Possibly high. Likely both, and it was just wonderful. Krok inhaled as if he could will himself slightly more sober for this. Kaon didn't seem to notice or care. "He is mine."

The monoformer exvented heavily, refusing to allow neither fear nor painful memories of Kaon -no, Flashpoint- to cloud his resolve. For frag's sake, they were both within the Command-Cohort and about the same rank, Megatron's favoured or no, and it'd been vorns since it'd last happened. "He's also mine."

Though, technically speaking, Krok was the higher ranked of the pair, and unlike the last time they'd spoke, he'd been sober and not a near transformation into his drink, which made all the difference in how willing he was to deal with this. Again.

Even if some part of him still loved Flashpoint despite knowing everything had been a lie, that he'd been used. Yet, that was then and this was now, and Krok did not want to fight; the only reason he wasn't raising his voice. "He's mine, and I have right to him."

It was also most funny the way Kaon's face was an ugly snarl of denial and anger for all of a klick before it morphed into a look of shock. Sparks and electricity crackled, but extended no further than maybe a foot from his body, as if some sort of shield were around him. "Y-You-"

Krok's smile was more a tired smirk. He might not throw his power around, but, he was an Outlier of the same calibre Soundwave had been. Kaon had seemingly forgotten that. Or perhaps grown cocky with his rise in rank.

"We've been over this," Krok continued as he looked back at his drink, ignoring the fact Kaon and his electricity were pinned in place. "We," he waved the now half empty glass between him and the D.J.D. mecha, "were but a fling that you decided meant more."

As if Krok wanted more than flings.

"We had a sparkling-"

"We were a fling for all of two orns. Do you know how many flings result in brats?" Around a third of them, and Krok still wasn't sure how he even felt about it. "I thought I made it clear, but..." he shrugged, taking another gulp of his drink. "I was wrong."

If Kaon had any retorts, he didn't hear it even if the D.J.D. mech had been able to speak, and neither did his sister.

/Tarn. I suggest you come retrieve Kaon. Now./

He didn't get a reply, but he knew Tarn would show up soon enough; likely in a mood, but Krok didn't care. In the meantime, he pointedly ignored Flashpoint's look of venomous hatred. He needed like twenty more drinks, just to deal with this. "Hey, 'Kill. 'nother one?"

His sister handed him an unopened bottle of Energex. "Y'sure know how t'pick 'em."

He dipped his head with a slight, mirthless shrug. There was a reason he'd taken to deep space in the last megavorn and it started, and ended, with Flashpoint.