Thundercracker slept for two shifts. He was still out in the third when Tempest began to fuss hungrily. Mirage debated rising from the pillow heap to find the bottle the Seeker had mentioned. The sparkling had been happily resting on his chest alternately investigating his plating or dozing while the noble read aloud. Tempest wouldn't likely object to Mirage feeding him.
It wasn't part of the spy's plan to coax the bitlet away from his carrier. He could frag with the Seeker by playing mind-games, wrapping Thundercracker around his digits. A useful asset and if he'd been on-mission, Mirage wouldn't have hesitated. Sowing discord among the Command Trine especially if they were already arguing would have been immeasurably useful during the war. Jazz had once got a sub-commander to defect with only the rumour of their conjunx's infidelity.
That mech hadn't lasted a vorn as an Autobot before self-destructing. His wronged conjunx had killed two POWs then led a suicidal assault against their forces that had caused more than a thousand casualties. But the sub-commander's intel had thwarted a major Decepticon offensive and liberated a mining colony. Jazz had been commended.
Jazz had gone to every funeral.
Mirage woke Thundercracker.
The Seeker came alert as soon as his bitlet was in his arms. Tempest grizzled unsure but was quickly calmed by feeding. He patted Thundercracker's ventral armour then tried to stick his tiny digits into one of his carrier's turbines. Mirage watched as the 'Con cried, cuddling his sparkling close and felt his own tension ease just a little. He'd never forgotten the Decepticons were fellow Cybertronians though many had made it hard not to Other them.
But the blue jet's happy tears at his creation's simple interaction validated the noble's beliefs solidly. Mirage wished Cliffjumper was on-planet so he could rub the mini-bot's face in this and make him understand. Simultaneously, he knew that whim was futile. There were Autobots who would never see purple without seeing the enemy.
After Tempest had drunk himself into a doze, they went to the market. Thundercracker, flying high with relief, would've walked out of their quarters with dried optic fluid on his face had Mirage not suggested they both wash up. They presented a tidy if not shiny pair as they took the lift down to the exit.
The open air shopping district barely filled a block. It looked more like a pop-up fete than a proper mercantile zone, a sentiment that shamed Mirage for thinking when he heard it echoed by a Neutral sashaying past. No faction badge and lightly bolted composite armour designed more for aesthetics. No mirror gloss polish at least, that ultra-high maintenance finish being the cliché sign of a non-combatant.
"The architectural plans are still in committee." Mirage remarked to the Neutral, his glyphs in an unmistakable high caste register. He continued lying for no motivation other than irritation. With himself, mostly. Chic arcades would not be a reconstruction priority, no matter how much nostalgia longed for them. "There are so many considerations in formulating a fresh style." He flicked his optics to the Neutral's chassis. "No one wants to be derivative."
"I was merely observing I had expected more considering how long we had to wait to return." The Neutral, yellow and cerise with a non-Cybertronian alt, drew himself up on his cantilevered legs so he could look down at the racer. "You Decepticons made a big show of announcing the cessation. The least you could have done was ensure facilities were operational before trying to lure us back."
Mirage was stung at the accusation he was a 'Con. He had heard it so often he shouldn't be surprised. Tempest stirred against him, disturbed by the change in spin of his spark. Only a blip, one the spy could quell without trouble. He patted the sparkling soothingly, glancing down to check everything was alright then realising the source of the Neutral's error. The bitlet sling covered his badge.
"You can hardly be lured if you were waiting." Thundercracker pointed out logically, citing definitions in his glyphs. "Now, if you'd said 'anticipating' or 'longing' that might sound more credible. Or maybe 'entice' might work. Lure has hunting connotations." His optics brightened to an aggressive crimson. "If we were hunting you, you wouldn't know."
The Neutral left hurriedly. The Seeker tapped his elbow against his conjunx's and laughed.
"'Derivative'." He cycled down his lighting routines before mecha thought he was spoiling for a fight or a frag. "I like that." Thundercracker grew contemplative. "Though the cool yellow, like that Earth fruit in all the drinks, is new. Everyone yellow I've seen has been a warmer hue 'cause of the gold undercoat."
"I don't think he cares about rust-proofing." Mirage grasped thankfully onto the idle conversation. "You can get a crisp yellow with a titanium oxide substrate."
"Anyone driving around with titanium paint is just asking to be eaten." War-frames used that element in almost everything. A shortage of it, and there had been shortages throughout the war, slowed the integration of repairs and left micro-fractures between new and old metal. "We should sign up with Glit for art classes." Thundercracker clarified. "Hobby ones."
"Are you interested in art?" Mirage liked looking at it. He had never had much talent in making it despite a thorough cultural education.
"Yeah, I suppose." Thundercracker eyed a stand selling polish. He needed some of the good stuff. "I like talking about it. Gets dull writing 'the walls were a nice green'. I once read a fic that described an Aerial's wings as translucent aquamarine, with a sheen like dawn sun on shoals." He sauntered up to the polishes to check labels. Some of the heavy stuff peeled right off at speed. "My creators weren't into the gallery scene. The parties were always dull, my carrier said."
"Do you enjoy writing?" He had guessed by the datapad collection that the Seeker was well-read but literati were very different from authors.
"When I can." His wings twitched in a shrug. "It's getting the time." Thundercracker picked two tins. "These, and whatever my conjunx wants." He said to the vendor, making a point of not just grabbing something for the 'Bot. "I've posted a few works on the Hub but mecha don't review."
"This one, thank you." Mirage selected a product he had used before that was good for smoothing plating. More subtle than slapping filler on chips then hoping paint would cover the flaws. "And those two." He would need to spend time gently layering his finish until his nanites recovered. Although he hadn't lost any colonies, at least Hook had not mentioned any losses, it would take a while before he looked presentable.
Thundercracker paid and they strolled on, vaguely heading towards the food stands. They'd just joined the queue for slushies when the squeal of tires, a loud impact, and blistering obscenities disrupted the market chatter. The Seeker swept proximity, muttered a curse when his scan showed no other officers in the immediate area, and headed off to investigate. Mirage followed a pace behind like a good Iaconian peripheral; his decorum solely to keep the Decepticon between him and trouble.
The disturbance was Wildrider axle deep in a fuel additives stall, canisters of gel burst and oozing into a growing puddle. Drag Strip stood nearby crowing making no attempt to aid his teammate. Thundercracker noticed Breakdown hiding behind a stack of crates already spooked by the attention. Motormaster was conspicuously absent. Because controlling his gestalt was someone else's problem.
"Pull him out." Thundercracker snapped the order to the yellow racer as the Ferrari's wheels spun spraying oil over the bystanders. Drag Strip made a rude human gesture with a single digit before complying. Neither Stunticon seemed troubled by the mess. As soon as Wildrider had traction again, they both sped off scattering pedestrians in their wake.
"Who's paying for the damage?" The Neutral Aerial stall-holder asked as though ballistic grounders overturned his merchandise every cycle. A smaller mech with bifold wings bustled forward with buckets to try to salvage what they could.
"Motormaster." The Seeker set the truck's IDent to the merchant over the public comm channel used for trade. Legal trade, anyway. "Tally your losses. You'll need an itemised list to claim compensation." Thundercracker sent the template of the official form too. The paperwork would ensure Shockwave harassed Motormaster into resolving the complaint. "The yellow one was Drag Strip. The black one was Wildrider."
"What about the blue one?"The Aerial pointed his mop in the direction of the crates where Breakdown still cowered. "Or the other blue one?" This last had a touch of exasperation as though the Neutral didn't know why there were so many grounders with the weird rubber disk kibble. The other blue one was Mirage, who had sidled over to the Stunticon to make soothing noises.
"I'll handle them." Thundercracker frowned. He was not going to shout at his conjunx in the middle of the market. Not even if he really wanted to.