First Aid kisses his way up my leg. He manipulates it gently, angling my knee so he can reach the tensile cables, nipping and sucking every inch. One finger delves into the transformation seam, teasing and dragging charge along its wake as his mouth finally descends on the gap between my thigh and my hip and sucks.

I can't keep quiet. I'm sure they can hear me upstairs, but I don't care.

Behind my back, sitting up against the wall, Groove licks up one of my finials and takes it into his mouth. He's suckling at the end, tongue doing all manners of sinful things to the sensitive metal. His hands are on my waist, sliding over my stomach, teasing up my chest, and I can feel how turned on he is through the cable plugged into me. It's all I can do to grab his wrists and hold on.

First Aid smirks at me as his tongue probes into my other hip. I can see the sparks dancing between our plating, the way his armor flares to release excess heat. He's burning hot against me.

When he plugs in as well, I overload. Loudly.

Not that that means they're done with me. Oh no. First Aid and Groove have this down to an art by now. The charge passes from one of them to the other through me, ratcheting my own charge up without ever offering something to hold on to, and if I weren't anchored between them I think I would have been floating. I'm barely aware of my limbs, they're weighed down and heavy and yet threatening to float away from the rest of me, and all I can see is the glow of First Aid's visor. All I can feel is the way they love me.

The charge volleys can't last. They never do. And when Groove overloads, sharply and loudly, he pulls the rest of us along. First Aid groans against my neck, and I'm panting hard with my cooling fans on full, and it still feels like I'll overheat.

"Sparks," Groove grinds out, and yes, please, yes, I want their sparks. I need to feel them in me. I wait until First Aid has detached his plug with trembling hands before shifting sideways against Groove, until our chests form a small triangle and all our sparks can reach each other.

The light is blinding. For a moment, everything is perfect, suspended in the air, and I'm not me anymore, and they're not themselves either, we're IsobelCynosuraGrooveFirstAid, all part of this glorious whole that was never meant to come apart.

Yet come apart we do. First Aid collapses backward first, chest plating closing and hiding that beautiful spark from view. Another second and my own chest slides shut automatically, cutting off the green, vibrant light. Groove smiles gently at First Aid, then at me, as his chest finally closes. Everything is suddenly very dark.

First Aid tugs me against his chest, positioning me until I'm sheltered in his arms with my back towards his chest. Groove turns in front of me, pressing close enough that every part of me is in contact with some part of him. I wouldn't have it any other way.

We're not going to be able to have this much longer.

Dear diary,

It's weird how time speeds up when you don't want it to. We're leaving in just a few days.

I'm still worried that not everything is ready. That the Stunticons will fall apart without regular treatment – and Smokescreen is far from ready for them yet. That Starscream won't be able to handle the flight, even though Skyfire's coming with us for the express reason to be Starscream's transport. That Sunstreaker will relapse in space, freak out about everything and try to tear himself apart.

That I won't be able to help any of them. To save any of them.

First Aid knows I'm worried, of course. He keeps trying to calm me down, but his ideas aren't really working. I can't seem to shut my mind off. Which sucks, because in a few more days I'll be leaving him behind. And I'm wasting the time I have with him being stressed and miserable.

I know the others aren't doing so well either. Ratchet has the shortest fuse I've ever seen – it got to the point where Hook kicked him out of medbay under threat of reformatting if he came back. It wouldn't normally have worked, but Prime turned his puppy-eyes on him and got him out of there. Ratchet has been glued to his mate's side ever since.

It's impossible to tell how Soundwave is doing. I'm using Thundercracker as a yardstick, and Thundercracker is stressed enough that every sudden motion spooks him. He's always tense, always looks like he's expecting something bad to jump out.

Starscream is, surprisingly, remarkably calm. I know I'm not the only one who's waiting for him to explode, but so far, he doesn't seem inclined to do so. Everyone but Cliffjumper and Skyfire walk on eggshells around him.

I hate this waiting. There's nothing more I can do, no more treatments I can offer or solutions I can plan. We've acted on everything we could. Not it's just a matter of letting the day come when we finally leave. It's not that far off.

Primus, I don't like this.

I watch as Astrotrain transforms down in the spot Wheeljack indicated for him. He rocks on his stabilizers for a moment before calming. "Okay. Do your worst."

Wheeljack's helm fins blink merrily as he moves. "Sure thing, mech! We'll have you fight-worthy in no time."

I lean closer to Prowl, next to me. "Is this really necessary?"

He purses his lips before nodding. "It's bad enough that I have to send all of you off. I'm not sending you away without knowing you have adequate means to defend yourself."

It's an approved plan. No mech will be a walking arsenal, the way it was during the war, but everyone will have some kind of inbuilt weaponry. Even me.

The shuttles are also fitted with upgraded shielding. Space isn't as empty as it looks from a distance, and it took one mention of that fact before Prowl mandated full shielding and weapons upgrading for both Astrotrain, Skyfire and Blitzwing.

Wheeljack is efficient, though. His hands are quick and thorough, mounting everything on Astrotrain's frame. Behind him, on the other side of the workshop, Hook and Scrapper are double-checking his work. We're taking no chances.

When Wheeljack finishes with Astrotrain, he motions me forward. I'm more than a little apprehensive about this. He's just outfitting me with a pair of blasters, even the Neutrals have that, but it feels very final. I'm not used to walking around armed. And I don't really have time to learn to master them. Jazz is taking me to the firing range after this, to make sure I at least know which end to aim, but there's no time for me to become more than passingly proficient.

Part of this feels familiar, though. Coming to Wheeljack for help, for upgrading. I remember doing so once before, except the weaponry wasn't integrated back then.

Back then, I was arming myself to defend against Decepticons. Now, a Decepticon gives me a smile as he steps aside for me, so I can be armed in case the humans decide to hurt me.

Not that we're really expecting trouble from the humans. They're too invested in this, got too much riding on it. Even Prowl's most dire calculations show small chances of the humans attacking. And even in scenarios where that kind of attack pans out, it's usually a rogue group, which means it's easy enough to fight back.

He's far more worried about the Intergalactic Alliance. And when Prowl's worried, the rest of us prepare.

"There ya go." Wheeljack tightens the last screw and lets go of my arm, watching as the panel transforms back automatically to hide the small weapon now nestled along my arm strut. "That should do it."

My arms feel heavier. They're not, really, considering the blasters Wheeljack fitted are small enough to disappear completely under my plating and my arms aren't exactly chunky to begin with. It's more a psychological weight.

I'm distracted as I thank Wheeljack and move aside, letting Scattershot step into my place. I finally learned the Technobots' names, learned to tell them apart. Discovered they have their own issues we should have worked on, just in time to not have time to work on them.

I guess no one came through the war completely unscathed.

First Aid kisses across my jaw, down the cables on my neck, sucking and licking. His hands are sliding over the plating of my waist, teasing as they go. I can feel every movement doubly, both on my plating and through the cables connecting us.

"You two are so fragging gorgeous together." Groove is practically purring behind us. "I should film this."

The idea is more intriguing than I'd thought it would be. I think I would like to watch this as well.

Hmm. Maybe I can.

"Can you transmit pictures through the bond?" The question turns into a moan as First Aid find a particularly sensitive spot. I arch into his hands.

First Aid chuckles and nips my neck cabling again. "Not in the way you think. But…" He looks up at me and winks, and damn but First Aid can look smoldering when he tries. It's good I'm already horizontal, or I'd be heading there in a hurry. "You can over comms."

On cue, an information packet appears in my comm queue. I don't really have the mental presence required to actually open it, not with First Aid mouthing me the way he does, but somehow I manage.

It's a series of images. Of us.

Quickly, I save them for later viewing. Something tells me they're going to be treasured.

And boy, do we look hot. We should definitely film this at some point.

"… and when it comes to the Stunticons, stay away from the ones in jail. Leave them to me. In fact, leave everyone in the prison to me. You need more training before you're ready to handle that." I spin on my heel, pace the other way. "Most of the more difficult clients are going with me to Earth, but you'll have your hands full anyway, I think."

Smokescreen looks up at me, shaking his head exasperatedly. "I do have this under control, you know."

"Ugh. I know." I dump into the closest chair, drop my head into my hands. The resulting clang is still strangely unfamiliar, but I'm getting used to it. "I know. I'm sorry. It's just…"

"You're nervous," Smokescreen finishes for me. "You're nervous and worried and scared and feel too responsible for everything going on and everyone involved, which means you're stressing out. It's fine. It's okay." He offers me a smile. "We'll be okay."

I give him a dirty look. "You're using what I taught you against me."

"Well, someone has to." He stands up and stretches. "Seriously, Cynosura. Cybertron managed without you for almost a vorn. And yes, things are much better with you, but we can survive you being gone for a bit. Especially since you're bringing," he holds up a hand and counts on his fingers, "no less than, let's see, two three four six and a flock of the worst off." He takes me by the shoulders and physically turns me toward the door. "Now, go on, get out of here. I know how your processor works, you won't be able to relax before you've checked on everyone and everything."

Smokescreen's not wrong. There are a million things I need to do before the launch. "Thanks, Smokey."

"No problem." He smiles and opens the door for me. "I'll come see you off, and you'll bring back some good news when you return, okay?"

"I'll do my best." We're all hoping for that outcome, after all.

"He's doing very well." Mirage offers me a smile. "I'm… actually happy to have him part of our household, which I had not expected."

"I'm glad he's fitting in well." Not that I'd had any doubt. For all that his gestalt as a whole is borderline insane, Dead End is by far the most functional. "Is he home?"

"No." Mirage glances at the window. "Hound took him out, wanted to introduce him to some mechs closer to his own age. For all their physical size and attitude, the Stunticons are very young." He flashes me another smile. "Making friends will be good for him."

Mirage seems happy. Ridiculously so, even. I can practically feel the weight falling off my shoulders at the sight. "That's true. Hey, Mirage?" I wait for him to turn back to me. "In your opinion, how close is Dead End to a functional reintegration with society?"

"Honestly?" There's a soft smile on Mirage's face. "I think all he needed was a chance to be away from the more unstable elements of his team. He's still fatalistic, but not quite as excessively so as he was." He chuckles. "You should see him playing vidscreen games. He's such a child, it's adorable."

Oh. Oh ho.

Looks like having a youngster in his home has made Mirage positively broody. Maybe I should expect more sparklings when I come back.

Breakdown is harder to get a handle on. Inferno gives me an apologetic look as we stand outside the locked door.

"He doesn't come out often. I'll ask, though." He knocks on the door. "Hey, Breakdown? It's Inferno."

The comm system on the wall hums to life. "You're not alone."

"No, I'm not." Inferno looks apologetically at me again. "Cynosura's here with me. The one who brought you to live here, do you remember?"

"The psychologist," Breakdown replies. "I remember." His voice turns guarded. "I don't want to talk to you."

"That's fine." I hadn't expected anything else, really. "Inferno's told me that you're doing well, I'm glad to hear that. I came to tell you that Dead End is doing well, too, so if you want to get together with him, your guardians can set it up."

There's silence for a moment. The comm is active, though, so I try to be patient. "…okay," Breakdown says finally. "He's safe?"

"Safe and happy," I confirm. "Playing games and making friends."

There's a noise from the comm that sounds almost like a snort. Inferno stares at me in surprise.

"I'm not surprised," Breakdown says, and yes, he sounds less stressed than he did. "He's so shiny."

Shiny?

I'm definitely going to encourage Red Alert and Inferno to let these two hang out. Breakdown already trusts Dead End, for a certain measure of trust anyway. It would be a good way to coax Breakdown out of hiding.

Inferno sighs as we walk away. "I'm sorry we haven't made more progress with him. I'd hoped, once he was comfortable…"

"I'm going to stop you right there." I shake my head, smiling at him. "He's doing better. A lot better, actually. This is a hard case. And for him to be comfortable enough to talk to me, to discuss his gestalt brother like that? Even asking questions? Trust me. You're doing great."

Inferno's smile is one I'll take with me as I go to Earth. I'm glad at least these two Stunticons are doing well.

Jazz is the one to open the door for me. He looks relaxed, happy, but I know no one can act like Jazz.

"Hey, sweetspark." He smiles at me. "Come on in."

I haven't even closed the door behind me properly before he's got his arms around me. In this form, he's actually a little shorter than me. It's not much, but it's just enough to make it difficult to rest my head on his shoulder. I can feel the thrum of his spark against my plating. "Hi, Jazz."

He doesn't reply, simply secures his arms around my waist and tugs to make me follow. I don't fight it. I know what he's got planned, and it sounds like just what I need tonight.

Sure enough, there's a couch, and Prowl's already sitting on it. He opens his arms for me, and Jazz pushes me into them, and then I'm sandwiched between them again. It feels like coming home.

"I'm going to miss you two so much." I sigh and rest my head on Prowl's shoulder. "Keep Cybertron on track for me, okay?"

"We'll miss you too, Isobel." Prowl's voice is soothing, his touch even more so. "I'm glad you had time to come over tonight." He pulls me tighter, kisses the top of my head. "I'm so very proud of you, dearspark."

"We both are." Jazz squeezes my hand. "Now, I know ya ain't goin' t' Earth t' make waves, Isobel. But waves tend t' happen regardless. Ya ready for that? T' see what your planet's come to?"

"Not really," I admit. "But… this is my planet now, too. I'm not an Earthling anymore, not completely anyway. It's not like going home, because everything's changed. The things I were familiar with will be antiques. Tech that was new and impressive will be old news. Heck, even the fashion will be different. Do you know how much clothing styles changed from the eighteenth to the twentieth century?"

Jazz laughs. "Ya expectin' Hunger Games Capitol fashion or Firefly?"

Trust Jazz to distract me. "Neither. Hopefully. It'll be interesting to see, that's for sure."

"Mrs. Clarke wears a rather timeless uniform," Prowl muses. "With her hair tied back. That doesn't give anything away."

I know he's not really curious about current Earth fashion. But he's participating in the discussion anyway, for me.

I love these two. They're like the parents I can't quite remember. "Maybe everyone wears uniforms now."

"Maybe." Jazz hands me an energon cube. "Here. Wanna watch something?"

"Sure." I settle in between them like I belong there, which I kind of do. "Bring it on."

There's no me, no boundary between what is normally me and what is normally First Aid and Groove. We're blending together, sparks merging, losing our individuality in favor of the whole. I can feel faint echoes of other presences, bright and clever and sharp, but my focus – our focus – is on here and now. And here and now is endless. Limitless.

I float back to my own frame gradually, slowly. It takes time to recognize which hands are mine, which feeling comes from the touches to my plating. As soon as feeling comes back, though, I'm not wasting any time.

First Aid's frame is warm and trembling under my hands. He's pressing into the touch, moaning, optics flickering up at me, and I can't resist leaning down to kiss him.

There's a flavor of desperation there we don't usually have. I can taste it in the pressure of his mouth and tongue, in the way he clings to me until Groove leans down over me and takes his hands, pushing them up over First Aid's head. And incidentally giving me free room to go to town on his frame.

Afterward, we're all a sated pile of cooling plating and tangled together in such ways that it's hard to tell which legs are mine and which are First Aid's and Groove's. I cling to both of them, no intention of letting go, ever. But I'm going to have to.

We're leaving tomorrow.

For tonight, I want to just forget about everything.

I don't think I'll ever get tired of watching shuttleformers transform. One moment Astrotrain is a mech, at least a third again as tall as me and twice as wide – and that's without counting the smooth wingspan on his back – but still, a mech. One flashy transformation sequence, and he's a space shuttle big enough to fit a contingent of full-size mecha. He dwarfs even Optimus Prime. It's really fascinating to watch.

And I might be using it as a distraction from what's going on.

I force myself to look away from the three shuttles waiting on the landing strip, ramps down and ready to be loaded with energon cubes and supplies. Sideswipe and Swindle are standing at the base of Skyfire's ramp, clearly arguing about something – though from the grin on Sideswipe's face, I doubt it's very serious.

Sideswipe isn't nervous about the trip. Then again, he gets to bring the other half of his spark. I'm kind of feeling like I'm leaving a third of mine behind.

There's a crowd of mecha gathered to see us off. I can't look at them, not yet. I'll have to, soon enough, but for now…

For now, I watch Sideswipe and Swindle bickering about what to load where and how, and pretend it's got to do with something else entirely.

First Aid's arms are warm around my waist. I plan to enjoy them for a while longer.

It's not a luxury I get for long. Sooner than I'd like, Reflector turns as one and walks towards Astrotrain. Cliffjumper laughs and slaps Bumblebee on the back, then almost jogs over to where Bluestreak and Skywarp are standing. Hot Rod appears from a huddle of Springer and Arcee, and drags Kup along to board Blitzwing.

Soon we can't postpone anymore.

There's no official send-off. No grand speeches. Optimus shakes Ultra Magnus' hand, pulls Jazz and Prowl close for a moment, murmuring something that makes Prowl blush and Jazz grin widely. Then he smiles and waves at the crowd, as if nothing is wrong. Ratchet is gruff where he waits, giving nothing away, shaking his head wryly at his mate when Optimus walks up to him. First Aid and Ratchet just nod at each other before Ratchet walks away. Nothing more is needed, considering that they've spent the last week making all possible plans for Ratchet's absence, but it still feels off.

First Aid pulls me closer and nuzzles into my neck. "I'm not going to say you'll be back before I'll have time to miss you, because that would be a lie. You haven't even left yet, and I'm already missing you like crazy."

I snort a laugh. It's that or cry, really. "I know what you mean." I turn around in his arms so we're face to face. "At least this time I know I'm coming back. The absence is finite."

"That's true. And I at least get to feel you." He rests his forehead against mine. "And we're both much safer than we were. Even with the Alliance in the picture."

He's right about that. For millions of years, the biggest danger to Cybertronians has been other Cybertronians. Now that that danger's passed, there's not much else that's strong enough to take us on.

I don't feel unsafe. Just unhappy.

But I need to go. And he needs to stay. And it's finite, we're coming back. We might not even be gone for longer than an Earth vacation. Who knows.

So I kiss First Aid, clinging to him until I can bear letting go. Then I wave at Jazz and Prowl and Springer and Arcee and Blast Off and Scrapper and all the other familiar faces. Watch Groove hug First Aid close for a moment, laughing and promising to take care of me. Then, finally, I let go of First Aid's hand and take Groove's. Together, we walk away from First Aid and the crowd, up the ramp and into Skyfire's cabin.

I can almost physically feel the distance increasing.

Skyfire's cabin's changed since I rode in it last. Gone are the seats against the wall and the crash harnesses. Instead there's a long hallway with a series of narrow doors. When we're through that there's an open lounge with eight low seats, and then an open doorway to the bridge. It seems bigger than before, somehow, even though I was smaller then.

Starscream is already seated in one of the low lounge seats, arms around his knees. He doesn't seem afraid. Just watchful.

Next to him, Thundercracker's soothing Soundwave. Laserbeak is sitting on her master's shoulder, chirping softly at him.

I'm glad Ratchet suggested that Starscream and Soundwave be allowed to board in private. Soundwave could probably have handled the waiting crowd outside, but it would have made Starscream uncomfortable. More uncomfortable than he is already.

Skywarp walks in, towing Bluestreak by the hand. They're still beaming, blissfully happy together, unable to let each other go. Cliffjumper is right behind them, and he wastes no time in moving to stand behind Starscream. Starscream relaxes minutely.

"That's everyone," Skyfire says, his voice coming from all around me. "Closing the ramp now."

It feels very final.

I sit down on one of the seats. Groove wastes no time sitting down next to me. He leans in against me, forehead resting against my head. "We'll be okay. He'll be okay. You know that."

I do know that. Intellectually, I know that. Doesn't make it feel any less like I'm about to leave half my heart on the other side of the galaxy.

"Who wants to play a game?" Skywarp says brightly. He's somehow managed to sit down without detaching himself from Bluestreak – in fact, I don't think those seats were that close together a few minutes ago. Which means that either the chairs can be pushed around, which would be impractical on a space shuttle, or Skyfire can shift around his internal components.

"What kind of game?" Cliffjumper sounds a bit suspicious, and I don't blame him much. "If this is another attempt to get a big group together to play Truth or dare…"

"… or Chase, 'face, erase," Thundercracker adds.

"… because we know how that went last time, and it wasn't well," Cliffjumper finished.

I can't help being curious. It sounds like there's a bunch of stories here. "What happened last time?"

Cliffjumper smirks. "Skywarp almost restarted the war."

"He did not!" Bluestreak is laughing, loudly, his one free hand smacking Cliffjumper's shoulder. "Shut up. He didn't almost restart the war."

"Only because the Aerialbots are more easygoing than we thought at first," Thundercracker replies, grinning. "And because Fireflight thinks Skywarp is cute."

"I am cute." Skywarp winks. "And I totally wasn't going to restart the war. You know I would have caved way before anything serious happened. And Slinger doesn't even hit that hard."

"Not what Hook said when he had to fix your broken cheek strut," Starscream murmurs, and I know I'm not the only one who's surprised that he not only speaks aloud, but clearly remembers. That's a good sign.

Thundercracker stares at him for a moment before chuckling. "True. You whined like a baby too, 'Warp."

There are so many stories to be told here. Maybe it's good we have a couple of weeks on a space shuttle ahead of us. It doesn't sound like we'll have any problems spending the time, anyway.

"I'm taking off," Skyfire says. "Astrotrain and Blitzwing will follow me. If you want to look outside," a series of shutters move to unveil windows I hadn't noticed before, "now's a good time. I'll need you strapped down as we leave atmosphere, but you can watch for a few minutes."

I'm not the only one getting up and moving over to the windows.

The angle is wrong for me to see the crowd at first, but then Skyfire moves forward. We pass Astrotrain, and I see Streetwise looking out of one of his windows. He grins and waves at us, and then we're past him.

Skyfire turns, enough for me to see the crowd of mecha still standing at the edge of the runway. They're mainly a blur of color from here – a dash of black and white in front that I know has to be Prowl and Jazz, a big green blob that has to be Springer. I don't know if they can see me, but I wave anyway.

And then we're airborne.

Skyfire gains altitude quickly, and I get to see Pax Novum from above again. It's prettier than last time, somehow – part of that might be because I'm feeling wistful, not knowing when I'll be back. But it also might actually be prettier. Goodness knows the Constructicons never stop working.

I can see Astrotrain and Blitzwing taking off as well, angling in to flank Skyfire on either side. I wonder how they decide who's flying center – back on Earth, I would have thought that would've been Blitzwing, since he's carrying the Prime. That's something I can ask Skyfire during a quiet moment, maybe.

We level out at high altitude, and Skyfire's voice comes through the cabin again. "Okay, that's it. Pick a seat and strap in."

No one hesitates to do as they're told.

I end up between Groove and Bluestreak. Blue smiles at me. "Happy to be going home to visit?"

I shake my head, but I smile back. "I'm not going home. I'm not human anymore." I glance out the window again, even as the shutters slide closed again. "That's my home, down there. Earth is… Have you heard the phrase, 'you can't go home again'?"

Bluestreak looks confused, but Skywarp looks like he gets it. So do Thundercracker and Skywarp, for that matter.

"It means, you can't go back to the way things were. You can revisit a place, but you can't go home. Because everything changes."

"You can't wade the same river twice," Groove murmurs, squeezing my hand.

I nod. "Exactly. Earth… It's my past, and yeah, it's my planet. But I'm two hundred years out of date, and all my friends and family are gone. I'm a Cybertronian now." I glance at the rest of them. "My friends and family, my home, all of that is on Cybertron."

No one says anything for a moment.

"It's why we're not rebuilding Vos," Thundercracker murmurs. "Or Tyger Pax. Or Praxus, or Simfur, or Polyhex. We can't go home again."

"No," Starscream says, and his voice is firmer than I've heard it in a while. "But we can do better. We can make something as good, just as pretty, but without the class divide. Without the war." He looks down. "When this is over."

"When this is over," Skywarp echoes, maybe in agreement, maybe not. "I look forward to that."

Me too.

I look at the last little sliver of Cybertron I can spot past the mostly closed shutters. This trip can't be over soon enough.