Stealth wasn't that difficult, at least when done correctly. Everyone assumed Wheelie (en tandem with Daniel) ALWAYS ran around Cybertron using the same obstreperous pace as a herd of wild ponies, but no mech would survive a planet of Quintessons and Sharkticons if their method of travel gave Carly a headache. He could be furtive when necessary. Wheelie inched his way around the TV room, taking advantage of the darker corners that would mute his bright orange body better and keep him out of the detection level of most Autobot sensors. His prey was not elusive as much as it was never around unless sought; Wheelie spent a lot of time seeking him, and even more attempting interaction and not FAILING as much as not getting anything other than a lukewarm response. Not today.

Warpath knew he was there. Wheelie may have been something inscrutable in the swamps of some far-off hellhole, but on Cybertron he was not that talented. It helped that Warpath knew he was coming. He had grown to expect it.

"BAM! Hey there little guy!" he greeted.

Wheelie paused. Admit defeat or wait to see if Warpath would dismiss his suspicions?

"I -ZOOM! heard you open the door and-POW! saw you duck behind the energon dispenser."

Well....piston crud. He came into the light with a softly sullen expression. "I tried to creep about, but Warpath found me out."

'Creep' was the right word. What was with this kid? "Can I -BOOM! help you with something?"

Here the small orange car hesitated. "Don't think me indiscreet, but I think you're really neat." He took a step closer and smiled as he did it, fingers lifting up to the darker red Autobot in a gesture that befuddled the tank.

"That's nice." He was confused. What did he mean 'neat'?

Wheelie's smile faded. Didn't he know the universal hand gesture for "I want to date you?" Either he didn't or he was ignoring him. It couldn't be the latter - Warpath was far too polite for that. (It should be noted that one mech's 'polite' is another mech's 'affection' is another mech's 'distant but not completely nasty.')

"Warpath, I think you're grand. I like you...understand?"

He did. But nobody liked him, and Warpath thought he was being made fun of. "Go play with Daniel - CLUNK! I'm busy." He sat down at the table and clicked on the television, where they were getting a transmission of "Friends." Ross was complaining about his love life and Chandler was being sarcastic.

Wheelie stared. That was the rudest Warpath had ever been to him. It had to be a fluke.

Warpath stared at the television as hard as he could. He would not look at Wheelie, he would not see where he was, where he was going, what he was doing, nor would he see who had carefully placed himself on the chair alongside of his.

So it wasn't a joke. It was worse...the truth. "WHAP! Listen, kid. I'm bad news. I like ME, not anybody else." Ask any Autobot. "I won't be nice and I won't -BANG! make you happy."

Wheelie stretched out his arm and clasped his fingers around Warpath's, circuits warm with his own audacity. "I don't ask for much. Just a smile, a wink...a touch."

Stupid kid. He wasn't listening...and Warpath didn't feel like repeating himself. In fact, now that his palm and fingers felt the gentle pressure of someone else's, he didn't feel like making any kind of rebuff. He felt satisfied. Nobody ever really paid attention to him, except for Wheelie, and this had been a secret source of miniscule pleasure for him, like finding a long-lost blaster or getting a Christmas present from Spike. Why fight it? Wheelie was happy; he didn't ask for anything too exerting. This could work.

"If that's-CRACK! all you want," he said, voice not as boisterous as usual.

The smaller mech nodded. "I don't lie." He squeezed the hand in his grasp a little tighter.

Warpath returned his focus to Rachel and Monica yelling at Phoebe and smiled to himself.