I'm attempting not to let 6 months go by (again?) before updating. This is technically half of a larger chapter, but I think it wanted to be broken down anyway. I can't quite guarantee at this point that the next chapter will be up very soon, but I am seriously, diligently working on getting there. As for the second half of this chapter? I'm attempting to not break the pattern I've set up in my head for the next few chapters.

Off Planet

Author's Notes Once again playing with the meaning of twin bonds. Lots of angst in here, be forewarned.

So many huggles and snuggles go to Tiamat1972, Lunenightingale, lambotwinlove and RogueRaven21 for supporting me as I angsted with my characters.

A ventilator squeaked somewhere within the empty corridors of Moon Base 1 in its fruitless effort to move air throughout the base. Rubble piled along the edges of the corridor, the only clue that told of the previous inhabitants. After being so long on a planet that deteriorated as fast as it regenerated, it was strange to see that things had not changed since they had abandoned the Moonbase. Their steps echoed in its vast emptiness, the vibrations of their steps disrupting the long-settled debris.

Prowl took it all in, already set on calculating the length of time to bring this base up to battle standards. He pressed his lips together, engine grumbling irritably as his computer gave him a number. Most of the material could quite likely be recycled from damaged components and scrap around the base.. He would have to speak to Ratchet about that. The rest would have to be fabricated from material they brought with them (and he immediately began calculating that cost).

Jazz appeared at his side, motors humming with the effort of carrying the large crate to Prime's trailer.

"Who left it such a mess?" Jazz grunted with laughter, before continuing on his way.

Prowl vented a sigh, his doorwings dipping briefly in irritation. He didn't deign a retort to Jazz's question, turning toward the shuttle to assist in the unloading.

A red hand clapped onto his shoulder tire. "Oh no you don't. We'll handle this. See if Prime wants you to do anything that's not strenuous. "

Optimus turned his wheels, lights flashing to show he heard Ratchet. "Prowl, why don't you go see if you can get the computer system up and running. Start running a diagnostic and check for any shorts in the system."

"Yes, Prime." Prowl obediently made his way to the control room.

He spent the next few cycles attempting to locate all the shorts and damaged wires and circuitry within the main terminal. A few of the buttons still didn't work, and the main screen had an irritating fuzziness and a line through the top, a problem he notated on his datapad for Ratchet to look into. He knew that Jazz had swung into the room to check on him, as had Ratchet, both with different reasons, but he acknowledged neither of them.

He would much rather bury himself in his duty, occupying even just a little bit of his processing power with this rather mindless work than face either of them.

Ratchet, who worried for a friend that refused to explain what was going on. Prowl's attempts to explain away his recharge habits as being disturbed by the preparations for Magnus' crew to come down had been met with stony silence. Ratchet did not believe him. That hurt, because Prowl had never had cause to lose the trust of any of his subordinates, or his friends. It was illogical that it hurt, because Ratchet truthfully had the cause not to trust this time. Except that there had been no logical reason for Ratchet to not believe him when he didn't have access to all the information, and…

Prowl gave a sharp jerk of his head to get himself out of that line of thought. It threatened to go into an infinite loop that would only serve to crash his battle computer.

Jazz, once again the mech made no sense in his choice of actions. Prowl did not understand what he hoped to accomplish by dragging him on this mission. He would not simply reconsider his decision to reject Jazz because of a few metacycles alone with the saboteur. (An attempt that is now a moot point due to Sunstreaker accompanying them.) Jazz had always seemed so emotional, indeed he could be very lovable—if annoying –and was known to share this 'love' with most of the base (and then he walked the lines of fraternization with disconcerting ease.). Prowl simply couldn't comprehend why Jazz was acting in the way he did.

Another sharp jerk of his head dislodged the attempt to go down that particular route. It would serve no purpose. He did not know Jazz well enough to try to puzzle out the reasons behind his actions. He could however calculate the likeliest path the saboteur would take if he wanted Prowl back in his berth.

Saboteur.

Prowl knew that in a small group of Special Ops like Jazz's team, the members covered more than one area of expertise. Indeed, Bumblebee could spy almost as good as Mirage, and Mirage knew the basic mechanics of sabotage. Jazz could cover all three bases easily. He knew Jazz had utilized political sabotage on Decepticon Warlords that had become a pain in the Autobots' collective diodes in the past. Prowl knew that it was something Jazz unconsciously used even amongst his fellow Autobots to get his way (although normally it came out more as his normal charming manner, rather than outright blackmail).

Knowing now, just what Jazz was capable of, Prowl could no longer trust the mech.

Another painful twinge surged through his spark. He could no longer trust a fellow Autobot as Ratchet could no longer seem to trust him, as Prime no longer trusted him.

His doorwings twitched with the proximity of another.

He looked up from fitting wires into a circuitboard, and greeted Optimus Prime.

"Was there something else you needed, sir?"

"Status report, Prowl," Prime answered without his normal pleasantry.

Wincing internally, Prowl updated Prime on the repairs that would be necessary to maintain the main computer. He finished replacing the circuitboard so that he might turn his full attention on his commander. They discussed parts to be fabricated, or repaired, weighing them against the parts that would also be required should anyone need repair.

When they were finished, Prowl turned back to fixing the console, but paused when he saw that Prime hadn't moved yet.

"Was there something else, sir?"

Prime narrowed his optics, his posture straightening as though gathering resolve. "Prowl, I have taken the liberty to assign quarters while you have been busy." He handed a datapad to his second-in-command. "I realize that we have a lot of work to do here, and you are both capable of taking the time to work out the differences between you. We cannot afford to have personal problems affecting the war effort. I cannot spare my second-in-command, and would rather not see you crash like that again."

Prowl held himself still. "Yes, sir."

"I expect that when he is here, you two will share recharge times, am I understood?"

Power drained from Prowl's systems, redirected to stymie his processor at this turn of events. "Yes, sir," he said after a moment of redirecting power to his vocalizer.

The Autobot Commander stood in patient silence before his optics flashed, and his engine grumbled, and he turned and walked back out.

Prowl stared down at the datapad in his hand, grinding his dental plates as he couldn't break his gaze away from the room number marked as 'Jazz/Prowl'. If he would be forced to keep Jazz's company each recharge cycle, he would be burned in the Pit if he didn't make sure to find the least pleasant missions for the saboteur to go on.

It was with great trepidation that Prowll entered the quarters he shared with Jazz for the first time. He had been avoiding it all day, he hadn't even taken the time that had been provided to unpack his belongings.

Jazz stopped what he was doing, still holding the crate that he had been shuffling to a corner of the room.

"Did Prime not inform you of the rooming arrangements?"

The crate creaked as it settled on the floor. Jazz stared at Prowl, his jaw slack until his mouth snapped close in a grim line. "No, he didn't. I wondered why Brawn brought all this in here." The saboteur warily approached Prowl, as though he had a reason to be leery of Prowl. "Didn't think ya'd come get it 'til I left, though." He stopped just close enough that he might brush Prowl's cheek seam with his fingertips. "Didn't think ye'd assign us togethe'."

Prowl jerked his face away, his optics burning. "I didn't!"

Jazz's hand dropped and he silently contemplated Prowl.

Prowl didn't lower his own gaze, glaring back at his unwelcome roommate. His fists clenched tightly at his sides, his doorwings flared.

"Prime's tryin' ta help us patch things togethe'?" A smile, only barely reminiscent of his typical grin, ghosted across his face. He moved closer, wrapping an arm around Prowl's waist and tucking their chestplates together to press a kiss to Prowl's lips.

Prowl yanked himself out of Jazz's arms. "I'm not doing this again, Jazz."

The smile faded and Jazz caught a black wrist. "Prime's gonna expect us t' have scratched an' patched paint when we report next. He's gonna 'spect somethin', an' then y' can just kiss yer sweet Sideswipe good-bye." His visor hid his optics, but couldn't hide the flash of dental plates, bared in a snarl. An expression so quickly replaced by hope that Prowl wondered if he had imagined it.. "I'm yer friend, I'm just tryin' to help."

Prowl slapped Jazz's hand away. "Help me? Help me?"

"Yeah, helpin' ya. Won't y' let me do that?"

Prowl's vocalizer practically hissed and spat his words. "And so you 'help' me by volunteering my presence where I don't want to be, and refusing Sideswipe accompanying us. You 'help' me and expect my… my body as repayment, this is how a 'friend' helps?" Prowl's doorwings drew back, his joints locking one by one in rage. "You 'help' me by blackmailing me. You 'help' me by using that information to rape me."

Jazz stiffened, his optics flaring behind his visor. "Rape? You call what I did 'rape'?"

Prowl hissed between his dental plates, "I seem to recall Sideswipe using that same word. You didn't react then."

Jazz advanced on Prowl to jab the Datsun's grill. "Sides ain't you. An' what about that time y' were comin' ont' me? Was that 'rape' too?"

Prowl froze, guilt plunging its icy hand through his processor. "That was…" he grimaced at the unbidden images and sensation of his hand stroking over the other's hood, "a mistake."

A nasty grin broke out on Jazz's face. "Yeah, I'm not surprised t' hear ya say that. I thought I'd finally gotten through t' ya, till I found out about Sideswipe." He laughed softly, derisively. "Man, did that ever take me fer a crazy spin. I can't imagine how you and Sideswipe even fell for each other. Yer nothin'-"

"I'll not discuss my relationship to Sideswipe with you. I don't owe it to you. I owe you nothing." Prowl waited for an objection and when none came from the stiff figure, he allowed himself to relax a margin. "I am depleted. I'm only here to recharge." He turned toward the berth.

"Prime's still gonna expect us ta look like we've been-"

Prowl suddenly spun about and charged Jazz. He caught the saboteur on the neck, slamming him into the desk. Jazz glitched a sound, surprise bared in his grimace as Prowl pressed his chin up.

"You want your paint scratched, Jazz?" Prowl swung the other mech about, slamming him into a nearby wall. "Is that what you want?"

"Couldn't we do this in a more pleasant way?"

Prowl's doorwings drooped even as his anger rose and he shook his head. "No…" the word growled out from between his dental plates

Jazz pushed at the arm holding his chin up. He suddenly leveraged his feet against Prowl's torso, kicking him away. "I'm serious. Prime's expectin' us to work this out. He will get suspicious if we don't look like we've been interfacin'."

Prowl tucked his hands under his bumper. "The humans make their mates 'sleep on the couch' I believe when they have disagreements."

A black hand smacked into the visor and Jazz burst out laughing. "Man! You're the last mech I ever expected to hear that from. You been hanging around Hound too much or somethin'?"

Prowl shot a glare the saboteur, one that the other didn't even notice as he continued his peals of laughter.

"I don't know if you ever noticed, Prowlie, but we ain't human." He buried a snicker in his hand, yet the laughter burst out like it had been forced from his vocalizer. Prowl wondered if he was attempting to alleviate the tense air in the room. "Prime ain't gonna buy that, and y' know it." He stepped forward, reaching out to brush his fingers over Prowl' arm. "Besides, I could still tell Prime about you and the twins."

Prowl jerked back. "No."

"Do ya really think he'd believe-"

"Stop! That's not going to work on me this time. You can't use Optimus against me anymore. You would be in just as much trouble for blackmailing me, for lying to him-"

"Ya think he's going to believe Sides and Sunny? Ya think he's gonna believe you? He ain't gonna listen to nothin' ya say. Cause, what's to stop me from sayin' that you threatened me t' get me t' play along? An' when I came in slagged that time, was cause I was gonna spill the energon to Prime. An' who's he gonna believe? Me or you? You who lied to him fer how long?" As he spoke, his hand traveled up Prowl's arm, gripping the upper strut to pull the Datsun closer.

'This isn't happening again. No, no! We had stopped this. We had control of this.'

Except, Jazz had a point. It would be difficult for them to refute that claim. Prowl would need time to think up a counter to it. Time he didn't have right then. He had just slammed Jazz around. Primus, he could see fingerdents on the saboteur's neck, the telltale denting and scrapes of excessive force. If Jazz went to Optimus then…

'This isn't happening!'

"Jazz, don't do this."

A black finger tilted Prowl's head up to allow wide optics to meet the dim visor. "I just want to help."

Prowl's vocalizer glitched, and panic seized his systems as those hauntingly familiar lips drew closer. "Don't…"

"Please understand, Prowl. That's all I'm trying to do."

Tender, so tender, belying the harsh words of a bare breem ago, those lips brushed his. Trembling. Needing. Wanting.

'Not again...'

"What the frag is your malfunction?" A red fist slammed onto the desk on the last word.

Prowl jumped at the sound. Despite the unexpected rest he had gotten, at Ratchet's insistence after a check-up revealed that his systems had not yet recovered from their lack of recharge, Prowl still felt almost unaccountably edgy. Almost, for he truthfully knew the reason he could get no rest and relaxation. That reason had departed for Cybertron this past megacycle. He calculated that Jazz would be gone for the better part of the next few decacycles. It would be a short reprieve. He didn't know what to do again. He highly doubted that Sunstreaker would care much beyond ripping Jazz apart, which would, truthfully, not help their case any. He would have been obligated to bring it up to Sideswipe this time, if his lover had actually been stationed with them.

"Prowl!"

Prowl jumped again, looking up at Ratchet in surprise. "I apologize, Ratchet." He paused to run through his auto-recall, but flicked his doorwings when he didn't receive anything. "What was it you said again?"

"You're processor glitching, Prowl?" The medic regarded him silently for nearly a breem, his systems revving moodily. "Who is it?"

Prowl puzzled that question over for a small while, staring at a spot on the crates that made up Ratchet's desk. "Who is what?" he finally asked.

Ratchet threw hands up. "Who is doing whatever it is that's causing your systems to glitch you online." He scooted the datapad on his desk around to face Prowl. He pointed at one of a series of readings on the screen. Each of the lines varied in spikes and valleys, but Prowl had a feeling he knew what they represented. "This is your normal processor activity." He pointed at another that lay flatter than the first with a series of large bumps. "This is your normal recharge activity." His curved fingertip slid down to another line. "This is your processor activity when it's stressed." The medic pressed his lips together, his optics narrow slits. "Like it is now." He moved his finger back up to the top line in the series. "This is what your systems have logged during what's supposed to be normal recharge cycles."

Prowl stared at the nasty-looking jagged line that spiked and dipped its way across the top of the screen. He pressed his lips together before turning a carefully neutral gaze on the medic. "It does not look... normal."

A snort exploded from the medic's frame. "Oh, no slag!" Ratchet idly spun the datapad with his forefinger, resting his chin on the edge of his hand. He pulled the datapad toward him, and placed a second one next to it. "These are the readings I've been taking these past few decacycles."

Prowl's doorwings lifted and his optics widened. "What?"

Ratchet didn't answer as he set them side by side, staring at them for a long moment before turning the datapads to face Prowl. He pressed his lips together, his gaze shifting between Prowl's face and the two pads. Finally he spoke, his voice soft, and distant. "They're almost exactly identical. They shouldn't be. You haven't suffered anything like this..." The medic's optics flashed. "You haven't suffered like this since Halifax."

Prowl didn't even twitch at the name. But with it came the memories of blue hands ripping into his doorwings, and a presence within his processor; unwelcome, invading, taking.

"I'm your friend, Prowl." Ratchet leaned forward, his expression earnest."I'm asking, as your friend, tell me what's going on with you?"

"You are making a supposition. There is-"

"Prowl, please. I'm not going to tell anyone. Who is it? It's not Jazz, is it?" The medic's expression darkened. "Or Sunstreaker? Sideswipe?"

Prowl resolutely met Ratchet's gaze. "I don't wish to drag you into this, Ratchet. This is not your concern."

Ratchet's engine grumbled as he huffed. "So, there is something going on."

Prowl stiffened as he realized his mistake. Too late to retract his words, Prowl fumbled in his processor for a response. He needed more recharge than what Ratchet could spare him if he was making mistakes like this. "It is nothing more than a spat between Jazz and myself. There is nothing to be done about it until we work ourselves through this."

Ratchet narrowed his optics, unconvinced. "You and Ultra Magnus had your tiffs, I remember, and I know there were some big ones, but none of them made you react like this. The only time I've seen this kind of reaction from your systems was after that whole fiasco in Halifax. You couldn't recharge then, said you could feel Starscream in your systems.

Prowl sat silent, his hands tucked under his bumper. He stared at the datapads, calculating the lengths of each line, the angle of each peak, the width of each valley. He frowned at Ratchet, finally collected enough to meet the medic's optics. "I'm dealing with it."

Ratchet threw his head back with a guffaw, forced as it was. "Yeah, sure. You're 'dealing with it.' That's why I keep having to call you back to see how much recharge you're not getting." He suddenly straightened, slamming his palms flat on his desk. "Slag it, Prowl! Don't try and pretend like there is nothing wrong! I'm a doctor, I can't help you if I don't know what's going on!" His optics flared, and he vented a sigh. "I don't have to tell Optimus, if that's what you're worried about. There's doctor-patient confidentiality."

Prowl huffed a laugh, the corner of his mouth lifting in amusement. "I can't believe you're trying that on me. I do know better."

Ratchet shrugged. "Was worth a shot." He leaned forward. "But that's the problem, isn't it? Optimus can't know, whatever it is?"

"If you are done with your exam, I have duties to attend to."

Ratchet frowned, but leaned away. "Yeah, I'm done."

Prowl stood, holding himself stiff to keep from swaying. "Thank you, Ratchet." He turned to go.

"I'm here, if you ever need to talk."

Prowl paused at the threshold. He didn't look back. His systems revved but he didn't say anything, couldn't say anything. Cybertron didn't have the same laws as Earth; something like this, if Ratchet knew, would have to be taken to Optimus. He turned down the hall.

He would have to find an alternative place to recharge while Jazz was away on missions. He… couldn't relax in that room. Even with Jazz not there.

He needed more personal belongings. Jazz practically overflowed the room, even leaking into Prowl's little corner: souvenirs from his missions, from Earth. CDs that he enjoyed listening to, trinkets he occasionally messed with. Prowl's corner, on the other hand, reflected the strictly utilitarian personality of its owner: a box of Firestorm, another of chess, and then a small locked chest that held his meager collection of personal items. The crates Jazz had shifted about before, had been datapads erringly brought to the quarters, but intended for his office.

Prowl stared ahead, particularly at his corner. Not at any one item, but just as a reminder that this was his quarters as well. Anything that wouldn't remind him of the mech spooned against his back.

The arm draped over his side.

He could almost fool himself into thinking that Sideswipe pressed up against him. At least until the other shifted and a bumper scraped against Prowl's canopy.

Then there was no fooling himself that the black hand that stroked his headlights belonged to his lover. Prowl struggled to maintain his lately tenuous hold on his emotions. Five metacycles of constant stress on his systems was finally beginning to take its toll.

Five metacycles.

Over five years on Earth, and they had sped by where that one metacycle had dragged. He counted endless breems, instead of eternal seconds. Megacycles instead of days. Decacycles instead of weeks.

They had flown by far faster than Prowl considered possible. Time defined by the presence at his back, or lack thereof. Time defined by black hands that didn't belong to Sideswipe stroking his panels, pale lips on his neck. Time defined by short stints of recharge in cramped spaces and abandoned accessways.

He couldn't think.

Exhaustion had long snatched away his ability to concentrate on more than duty, and refueling. Ratchet was beside himself in rage, beginning and ending each visit with a demand for an explanation, one that Prowl obstinately refused to give.

Lips suddenly brushed his audio receiver. "Ain't ya s'pposed ta be rechargin'? Ratchet'll fritz if y' continue t' operate without a proper charge."

Prowl dimmed his optics, relaxing his face to give the illusion of recharge.

Jazz remained silent, hovering over Prowl. One of his hands stroked what were likely supposed to be reassuring circles on a black and white doorwing, only serving to tense the Datsun even more.

He finally laid his head down at the back of Prowl's helmet, a sigh rushing from his vents. "Is it because of me?" His fingers twitched on the panel. "Is it cause of what I did?"

Prowl said nothing, but his joints squeaked, tightening at the unwanted touch.

Jazz's hands clenched and he stayed quiet for a good five breems. Prowl had counted each astrosecond.

Suddenly the saboteur climbed over Prowl's thighs.

Prowl jerked, optics flashing on, expecting the worst. Worn gears and hydraulics tensed in anticipation.

It only seemed to intensify whatever emotion moved Jazz, sapping his grace as he stumbled to his feet and stalked out of the room. He didn't even look back.

Prowl huddled in on himself, his optics locked on the door that had closed behind Jazz. He stared until his internal alarm chimed for him to report to duty.

Still, Jazz hadn't reappeared by the time Prowl left the quarters.

Prowl sat at a console in the control room, adding onto a list of needed armament to defend the base. His thoughts, however kept wandering back to the saboteur who'd never made an appearance during the following recharge cycle.

Not that it mattered.

Even without Jazz in their quarters, the memories remained.

"We could probably use another turret in Sector 37."

Prowl started, surprised by the smooth voice above him. He looked up, mumbling a greeting to Sunstreaker "What was that again?"

"A turret. In Sector 37?" Sunstreaker tilted his head, a frown pinching his lips. "You've been staring at those same lines for over three breems. I figured you couldn't think of anywhere else to fortify."

Prowl reset his audio receptors and optical systems a few times before acknowledging Sunstreaker's tactical advice. "I was…thinking. Thank you, Sunstreaker." He entered the location into his list and another as it occurred to him.

Sunstreaker crossed his arms over his chest, leaning his hip against the console next to Prowl. "Are you and Jazz still fighting?" He bit that last word out with all the loathing he normally gave the minibots.

Prowl stared at the screen for a long half a breem before saving his work and closing out of the file. He stood and walked out.

Telling Sunstreaker would accomplish nothing except to escalate the situation. He couldn't afford that. He wouldn't be able to think his way out of it.

He was just so tired.

He had only just slipped offline when his proximity alarms went off, jolting him conscious. He looked around in alarm, grabbing at the hard edges of the crate he leaned against, and pulling himself upright to find for the source of the signal. Bleary optics finally focused on a figure silhouetted against the crates that sheltered his little dark corner.

Gold flashed beneath a horned head and the figure resolved into Sunstreaker. A curious expression lay upon his normally sour face, his optics flickering wildly in an unusual manner.

Prowl straightened, stretching locked joints, pushing away from the crates that had pillowed his head.

Sunstreaker moved then, approaching Prowl with jerky motions that lacked his normal grace.

But the way he walked… The way he held himself…

It wasn't right…

And it was so hauntingly familiar.

"Sunstrea-"

Golden arms wrapped Prowl into a close embrace. "Primushk… Prawwl… what's goinnk on?" Sunstreaker's vocalizer glitched and spat, like a transmission broken by interference.

Brow ridges drawn together in confusion, Prowl couldn't help but to lean away from the suddenly demonstrative mech. He pushed at the gleaming chestplate, recalling almost belatedly to be wary of scratching the smooth finish. "Sunstreaker, what are you doing?"

Unaccountably, Sunstreaker began chuckling, laughter broken by the hissing static that seemed to plague his vocalizer. The strong hands tilted Prowl's head up. His face hovering alarmingly close, optics narrowed as though in concentration. "Only doin' this fer Sides," he breathed, vocalizer suddenly ungarbled and clear.

Before Prowl could say or do anything else, Sunstreaker pressed his lips against the tactician's, molding them over Prowl's own. Prowl nearly froze in shock at this occurrence, but the way Sunstreaker kissed… The way he held Prowl's face… and knowingly caressed the joining of his faceplate and helm…

Primus, that wasn't the way he kissed.

That was… That was…

Prowl's knees buckled, smacking him against the warrior's chest. Sunstreaker caught his shoulders, clutching the tactician to his frame, needful.

"Si~des?" Prowl had never known he could sound so petulant.

"You lookhaarrible. Whahhht'zz goin' ahn?" The arms tightened, Sunstreaker burrowed his face in the crook of Prowl's shoulder.

"I… I…" He couldn't form the words. He couldn't process this scene before him.

He couldn't comprehend how this was happening. How it was possible.

He crashed.

"Prowl. Prowl! Slaggit Prowl would you come online already! No, fraggit Sideswipe! I'm not hitting-" The hands shaking him suddenly stopped, and the grip changed, easing. "Pzzzrowl?"

He didn't want to look. He wanted to lay there and listen to that sweet (if very off) voice. "How are you doing this, Sides…Sunstreaker?"

"Notchhhimportant,"said the Sideswipe tone. Fingers caressed his face, and Prowl leaned into the familiar touch. He didn't want to see the golden hands that touched him; he only wanted to envision the black ones from his memory. "Just khtell me what's wraang."

Arms pulled him against a warm frame. "It's Jazz, isn't it?" Sunstreaker snarled past the static of Sideswipe's warmth.

"I can't think of anyway out of it. I'm just so tired." Finally he activated his optics, reigning in his disappointment when it Sunstreaker's countenance greeted him.

The loving concern seemed so out of place on the golden twin's face. Anger flashed through those optics; familiar, and tangible as a memory file. They shared the same anger, Prowl noticed, absently comparing the anger witnessed far too closely from both mechs.

A golden thumb stroked along his cheek, and the mech sighed. "Wish Ahhhkould be there fzzhhoor you."Lips brushed against Prowl's. "Can't shkktay." The voice strained for a moment, and the light in Sunstreaker's optics dimmed. "Can't hkkold on."

A smile twitched Prowl's lips and he reached through the haze of his confusion to stroke Sunstreaker's face. Words trembled on his vocalizer, something he'd been meaning to tell Sideswipe for a while. Something he'd wanted to say before he'd left. "I love you."

The optics brightened, and a smile played across the mech's mouth. So strange and out of place on the golden twin. His mouth tilted in a manner Prowl identified as distinctly Sideswipe. "Lhhheeeeet Sunneeee kheelp. Promishhhhhk he'll dhoooo what dhyou tell 'im." Even as the words were said, Sunstreaker's face scowled disagreeably.

"I'll keep it mind."

"Cansshhh- holkhh." Panic seemed to overtake the strange face. "I-" The mouth snapped closed and Sunstreaker's systems suddenly reset.

Prowl watched, optics wide in worry, hand hovering uncertainly, until the blue optics powered back on.

Sunstreaker-and somehow, Prowl knew that it was Sunstreaker, with no trace of Sideswipe- pulled away from Prowl. He winced, rubbing at his head and chestplate. He glared around the room, avoiding Prowl's gaze. "Well?"

Prowl stared blankly. "Well?"

Sunstreaker scowled. "Yeah." He dragged himself to his feet, offering a hand to a much surprised and very confused Prowl.

Prowl let the other mech pull him to his feet, catching Sunstreaker as he nearly toppled over. Sunstreaker rested against Prowl for a moment, only serving to add to the tactician's confusion.

"Yeah," he said again after a moment. "Well, what-"

"-th' frag is goin' on?"

End Note I hope you all realize by now how much I love cliffhangers. (Hanging from a cliff!)