Summary: Rescue Bot teams were supposed to be one, united, fluid system... Yet Blades has been the odd one out for too long now. Put in charge of helping Optimus' newly appointed advisor, it seems that the Academy is not the only thing going through changes. Blades' life is being remade as well; it's his chance for something better. But not everyone is pleased with where things are leading... Tie-in to "Better this Way", post-ending.

Heatwave/Blades, Stormshot/Blades. Canon divergence; continuing story arc. Failing relationship, falling in love, jealousy, changes.

C.M.D: Anyone notice how Blades doesn't seem to be very involved in the Academy throughout the show? At least, compared to the rest of the original Rescue Bot crew. I did... And plot bunnies ensued!

"I thought I'd find you here."

Heatwave paused in his typing, looking over his shoulder at the white mech approaching him. He was soon to return to his assessment of the Sigma's underground docking back though, double-checking his listed inventory with a quick scroll. "I didn't realize you had gotten back. How are things in Faxian?," the firetruck asked, opening a secondary file on his datapad.

Blades, always so chipper, smiled casually as he drew to a stop beside his former team leader, taking a look around the mostly empty room. "Oh, you know- bustling as always. Hightide and Quickshadow are always discontent with that fact," he hummed, shrugging. "The mindset of the super solitary, I suppose. I, on the other hand, quite enjoy the city life. The humans always keep it so interesting and there's so many of them in Faxian!"

Heatwave nodded his helm distractedly, uttering a grunt here and there to demonstrate that he was listening. Well, sort of.

The helicopter noticed, for he leaned against his fellow mech heavily, peering at the screen of his datapad. "Working on Academy things still, are we? I figured Chase was going to take care of that."

"Chase is handling the legalities of setting up the Academy," Heatwave supplied, "But I actually need to prep for materials and class lessons... Which means turning to the Rescue 'Bots standard training formula. Unfortunately, as we all know, that sort of data was lost during the war. Boulder thinks there may be a duplicate manual somewhere in the Sigma's archives, but until he finds it, I need to pull something together from my recollection of those orns."

"Of course," he added, huffily, "That's not the only issue. Optimus has got me on a deadline for the Academy's start up date and he's only decided to inform me recently that he wants the target demographic to be... younger. I was under the impression I'd be training fully-upgraded 'bots, instead I'll be spending my orns chasing after newsparks still in need of vornly transitions!"

Blades took one look at the red Autobot's frustrated face and reached out, flicking the datapad off. "C'mon," he soothed, as upset optics faced him, "It's the first family get-together since Optimus set us with our new assignments. Chief is making an awesome meal for everyone, Cody and Frankie are setting up games- everybody will be waiting to see you again. Catch up on things. Let's just relax for a few cycles; the work will still be there later."

Heatwave opened his mouth to protest, but as he looked down on the helicopter, he could only sigh. "Okay," he acquiesced, turning towards his companion fully as an arm pulled the white mech closer. It didn't escape his notice the way Blades tensed with mute anticipation; his yellow optics glittering in adoration. Subspacing his datapad, Heatwave tipped Blades' chin up gently, laying their forehelms together.

Neural net tingling as the other Autobot laid servos on his shoulders, he whispered, "I'll go and 'party'. In a few kliks."

Blades could only let his agreement melt away into the kiss that immediately followed.

xXx

Mornings were always so bright and beautiful in Faxian.

Blades, more attuned with the planet's orbital cycle these orns, awoke good and early just to settle sleepily on the roof of the converted-warehouse bunker. It was ritual for him to sip at his morning energon while watching the sun spill golden light over the horizon, flooding the technological metropolis and glittering off the gentle swaying ocean waves for miles. When the city began to chirp with rousing humans, the white mech returned indoors for a quick shower and paint touch-up, following which, he'd catch up on unfinished reports. Paperwork had never been a preferred task of his, but Blades played the morning segment from his favourite Chinese news network in a minimized tab and it softened the monotony as he worked. By the end of the hourly broadcast, he was sending his final submissions to Cybertron's central database and pulling up his own schedule for the orn on the base's computer.

Clattering outside of the room broke his focus, but it was the hushed cursing that really piqued his interest.

Rushing towards the open doorway, Blades nearly tripped over a crate before he caught himself; looking up, he found another Autobot kneeling in the middle of the toppled boxes, sweeping them into an uncertain pile.

"Oh, Stormshot!," the Rescue 'bot exclaimed, moving forward. "Are you okay? Here, let me help you."

"I... apologize for the mess," Stormshot grumbled faintly, copying Blades as he stacked the crates against the warehouse, no more than three high. "I forgot to be aware of the surroundings below knew joint level. Humans are quite tiny."

The pair of them stood up after the boxes had been safely secured once more, the helicopter stalling on his response as he faced the other mech. Stormshot was a formidable sight to behold. It was the third time he'd made a mental note of that, yet his companion's appearance continued to awe all the same. Blades, graced with the standard Cybetronian height, was easily shorter than Stormshot by a whole foot. It was not often the rescuer had to crane his helm up towards a 'bot in conversation; that honour was typically reserved for Optimus Prime, or even Heatwave, who was a good, several inches on the helicopter. Stormshot was exceptional though. Not only was he uncharacteristically tall, he was also donned in heavy battle armour, splashed red and blue against a backdrop of white. Turbo thrusters could be seen from the edges of his shoulders and large, sweeping wings in matching colours flared out from behind his thick chassis. Tack on the contrasting red visor against an ocean blue helm, with the serious expression (a natural occurrence on the Autobot's faceplates), and was it any wonder that Blades found himself momentarily speechless in the other's presence every time?

Realizing that he'd been staring for far too long, the Rescue 'bot let out an awkward, little chuckle, fidgeting with a servo mindlessly. "I-it's okay. It can take a while to adjust to living with humans; not even our drones on Cybertron are as small! The important thing is that no one was hurt," he chirped merrily. Stormshot appeared less than content with the smaller flyer's dismissal, but before he could comment on it, Blades found his optics drawn to the simple packing box held in the other's servos. "Are you planning on delivering something?"

The other Autobot glanced at the box, shaking his helm. "No, these were in the room already. I presume that they are young Wedge's things. I took the liberty of collecting them in his stead."

"Oh!," Blades recalled, flushing with embarrassment. "Y-yes, those are probably his. I'm so sorry about putting you up in his room last night. It completely slipped my processor that I hadn't cleared it out yet, given... well... All of yesterday's events." The helicopter vented softly, his archives pulling snippets of the memory to replay at the forefront of his mind. Such a messy, horrid affair... The only good thing was that Wedge had been accepted back into the Academy and his relationship with Hot Shot was clearly on the road to mending. Blades was honestly happy for the two recruits. "Thank you for helping the younglings out, by the way. I meant to say that before. I can take those things off your servos, if you'd like; I'm hoping to meet Boulder this evening and he'll be able to give the box to Wedge."

"No," the jet replied curtly, tucking the box under an arm, "I will take it to the recruit personally. I must give the Academy a thorough investigation and sit down with Heatwave again to continue our discussion on the institute's operation."

"You're not returning to Cybertron?," the shorter mech asked in surprise.

The neutral line on Stormshot's face pulled downwards slightly, annoyance colouring his tone. "And why would I be leaving? Optimus Prime specifically placed me in charge of overseeing the Rescue Bots' program," he answered. "Ensuring that the Academy runs proficiently, outputs a high percentile of certified graduates and keeping an open channel between here and Cybertron will be key points of my role as liaison. How could I accomplish that if I were to make my office off of this planet?"

Blades, taken aback by the tone, stammered out, "I-i'm sorry, I... O-optimus never informed me, a-and due to my a-active assignment here in Faxian, I-i wasn't involved in-depth on the Academy's proceedings." His glossa curled back in on itself, poised to add to his statement but unable to choke the words out. "B-besides," he huffed instead, brief sadness swapped for budding indignation, "It's not as though you were very up-front about what your new job was, either. Telepathy is not in my resume, you know."

Stormshot's face twisted queerly at the switch of attitude in the helicopter, astroseconds dragging on between them in silence. Finally, the other Autobot vented heavily, his shoulders relaxing an inch at the action. "You are right," he began slowly, his vocalizer returning to polite neutrality, "I assumed and did so wrongly. I apologize for the miscommunication; I should have informed you appropriately of my role and all that it entailed. I hope you can forgive me for being so short with you."

Blades shuttered his optics in surprise at the amendment, smiling shyly in return. "It's okay. Really," he replied, hugging his forearms loosely. "I jumped to conclusions, too. If you're going to be staying on Earth, then please, let me know if there's anything I can do to help."

"I'm glad to hear that, despite my incivility, you are still open to assisting myself," the larger flyer shared. "It is especially fortuitous that you wish to be my host, given that Optimus Prime recommended that I rely on your guidance and knowledge of all things Earth while I adapt."

"W-WHAT?!"

The corner of Stormshot's mouth looked as though it had turned upwards a millimetre at the rescuer's alarmed reaction, but surely that was just in Blades' imagination. "I-i-i-i- The P-prime didn't say that; he c-couldn't have," Blades squeaked out, cheekplates burning hot in his flustered state, "I m-mean I enjoy Earth and its' culture, b-but that's- I'm not worth Optimus' praise!"

"The Prime does not give flattery on a whim. If he said it, he meant it sincerely and I find that Optimus Prime is never wrong in his assessments," Stormshot assured, serious.

The beeping of his chronometer distracted the smaller mech, and he tapped at his comm to clear the notification from his HDU, still a bit frazzled from the situation. If he didn't leave now, he'd begin to fall behind schedule and Blades couldn't afford that. He turned his attention back to his companion, about to explain himself, but Stormshot beat him to the punch.

"I can see you that you need to be elsewhere," the other Autobot started, adjusting the box under his arm, "So I won't keep you much longer. That said, may I ask that you arrange for a meeting between myself and your primary contact in Faxian? It is vital that I establish ties with your human allies as soon as possible... I also require a terrian-form. The Prime's orders."

This was so surreal, Blades thought, momentarily mute by the unfolding events. Optimus had already made the absurd decision to place the helicopter in charge of two veterans back at the start of the Scrubber initiative; now he was thrusting a third former soldier into the rescuer's charge? The matrix-bearer's colossal faith in his abilities was enough to make his rotors fly right off his swash plate -if his spark didn't snuff out first. Torn between ecstatic, humbled, and doubtful, Blades quickly nodded his helm to show that he heard his companion's request. "I actually have a meeting with Dr. Szeto at noon, barring any emergencies, of course," he informed, already piecing together a message for the Faxian scientist on his internal display. "Why don't you join me for it? I'm sure she'll be able to find you a suitable alt-mode scan and you'll get a chance to introduce yourself at the same time."

"That sounds agreeable," Stormshot replied. He drew a simple chip out of subspace, placing it into Blades' free servo. The white mech nearly jolted as it pulsed shortly, a new link appearing for his commlink on his HDU. "My private frequency. Should you need to reach me in a timely fashion."

"T-thank you," Blades stuttered, clearing permissions for the additional contact. He smiled in gratitude at the taller flyer. "Sorry, but I really must hurry along to my patrol. You'll need to stay grounded but the space bridge is open for your use. I'll be sure to send you a reminder ping before I meet with Dr. Szeto."

"I'll adjust my settings to await your hail," the multi-coloured Autobot said, nodding his own helm as he received the rescuer's comm details via ping. "In the meantime, I'll head to the Academy. Have a good morning, Blades."

"See you later!," Blades chirped, skipping to the warehouse's exit with a smile and a wave. He didn't expect Stormshot to return his farewell, but it was nice all the same when the larger mech did so -even if he seemed confused by his own actions.

It looked like this orn was going to be a good one.

xXx

Blades was just ending a fire emergency with Quickshadow when Stormshot appeared.

"-took notice of some exterior damage from where the blaze was strongest. Run a scan of these four floors, above and below, and let the chief know if there is any infrastructure concerns within the building," the helicopter told Quickshadow, demonstrating on a projected screen critical points in the architecture. "The engineers need a clean bill of health before we can restore power to the high-rise and I know the council will want a copy of the reports. District inspections are coming up for the new years' funding meeting."

"Of course," Quickshadow replied, turning away from the helicopter.

"Thank you!," Blades beamed, his optics flitting away from the assassin's backstruts to land on the advisor making his way through the emergency barriers. "Oh! Stormshot! You're back already? I haven't had the chance to comm you yet."

Stormshot's expression was twisted in a fierce scowl, wings hitched high on his back. "Yes. Your unit's leader is infuriatingly difficult to work with," he grit out sourly, helm turning as he surveyed the current scene.

The white mech's expression softened sympathetically. "Oh, yeah... Heatwave is very," he enunciated slowly, "Opinionated."

The other flyer gave a snort that said he had a great more fitting synonyms for Heatwave other than opinionated, but he kept them to himself out of professionalism. Instead, he began with, "You had a fire?"

Blades nodded, not minding the switch in conversation. "A unit oven blow-out. We were able to perform an exterior rescue and the humans suffered minor injuries. The rest of the floor does have some fire and smoke damage, but the biggest concern is some fracturing in the window structure of the apartment," he explained. "Quickshadow will be aiding the fire brigade in a full-scan of the affected areas and ensuring there are no other worrisome surprises. Once that's done, construction crews can be called in to do repairs and get these poor people back in their homes."

Stormshot nodded, his helm tipped up to the blackened hole in one side of the high-rise; the surrounding brick and glass cracked and crumbling under a layer of soot. "Are all terrarian establishments this feeble?," he asked.

The Rescue 'bot patted his arm gently, surprising the advisor. "They do the best that they can with the substances on their planet. If you talk to Boulder, he'll even dazzle you with the way that humans have managed to reconfigure organic substances on a molecular level to fabricate even sturdier materials. And every year they get smarter and better at it; one day, they might even be able to create homes as sturdy as Cybertron's own!"

"In either case," Blades continued, pulling away and weaving carefully around the series of parked emergency vehicles, "I'm running a bit late for my meeting with Dr. Szeto but she is still available for another cycle. She is very eager to meet you and she told me she has an alt-mode vehicle ready for you to scan. Care to join me?"

He glanced back, just in time to catch some of the stiffness seep out of Stormshot's frame. "...You are a lot more adept at leadership than you seem to be aware of," the larger mech said, following the other Autobot's path. Blades waited until Stormshot had pulled up to his side before he started walking down the sidewalk in pace with the veteran. "Even... you called her, Quickshadow? Even she does as you ordered, exactly as you say it, without twisting your directive or striking out on her own. That is very uncharacteristic of her."

Blades snapped his helm up at his companion at that comment, tone both curious and awed. "Oh, did you know Quickshadow in one of her other aliases?," he asked excitedly.

Stormshot hesitated on replying, optical sensors flashing behind his visor as he glanced quickly at the white mech. "Yes," was all he confirmed.

"...I don't suppose you're going to tell me more, huh?," Blades asked, lip components twisting wryly.

"No."

Sighing, the helicopter shrugged. "Ah, well. So much for her background arc. Just this way, Stormshot." Blades turned the next corner up ahead, walking down the centre of a large courtyard that the pair now found themselves in; his pedes leading them up to the squattest silver building out of a set of six different offices. A security force blocked their way, a couple yards from the nearest lab entrance, but speaking to them quickly in an unfamiliar Earth dialect, Blades was able to get them entry and they finished their walk to the building.

"Do the humans not speak a unified vernacular?," Stormshot inquired, confused.

"Hm? Oh, no. No, not quite," Blades replied, glancing back over his shoulder as he tapped an entry code into a set of hangar doors. "Earth has around seven thousand languages, and easily a hundred more dialect distinctions dependant upon geographical location. English, the variant you're currently set with, is certainly a very common one -and quite a number of people across the world speak it due to education or business- but you'll find just as many people are unable to converse fully in it. We can download a speech-packet for Mandarin and Cantonese back at base, if you wish to expand your language parameters."

"That would be most appreciated," the multi-coloured mech said, feeling a processor ache come on as the entry pad beeped; the hangar doors sliding open with only a mute grind. "But this was unprecedented news. Will I be able to speak at all to your human associate?"

"I think we shall converse with each other just fine, Stormshot," a thin, human woman piped up, standing in the hangar's open doorway.

Blades smiled. "Stormshot, meet Dr. Meili Szeto," he introduced, pausing to bow slightly toward the scientist. "Dr. Szeto, this is Stormshot. Optimus Prime's designated liaison and new administrator to the Rescue 'Bot training program."

Stormshot followed the helicopter's lead, bowing at the same time as the human did. "It is an honour to meet you, Doctor," he greeted.

"The honour is all mine," Dr. Szeto protested good-naturedly, straightening up first. "Earth's future is brighter than it has ever been, in thanks to your fellow Cybertronians. The bridges we make -in exploration, scientific advancements and quality of life- are the jewels we pass down onto our children. Sharing our land so that you may educate future rescuers to aid your planet and our own, is the least we can do to show you our gratitude."

"But before we sit down and discuss the requirements for making such an expansion possible, I am aware that you need a more fitting form while on our planet," she added, walking away and beckoning the Autobots to follow with a sweep of her arm.

It took a little nudge from Blades, but the larger flyer followed cautiously; scowling a tad as they drew up to a large aircraft parked further in the hangar bay, a C-17 Globemaster III. "Is that what I am suppose to scan?," he demanded, clearly askance at the prospect. "A cargo ship?! I am one of the most prolific warriors in the Autobot forces! I have dominated more aerial battlefields than the Decepticons have infantry- I require something fast, maneuverable, heavily-equipped!"

Dr. Szeto gave the helicopter a concerned look, but the white mech only stepped in front of the larger flyer; standing pede to pede with Stormshot as he stared up into the other's angry face. "Earth is working towards a future without war... and Cybertron is trying to do the same. I understand you are more accustomed to jet-forms," Blades spoke, his tone firm yet kindly, "But I have no need of another two-to-four seater aircraft. We need a 'bot who can load up more humans, or humanitarian aid, or medical equipment as the situation arises. Someone versatile. You're not just a liaison, Stormshot, you're a Rescue 'Bot now, too."

"This is not what the Prime had commanded of me," Stormshot grumbled out lowly, still caught between offended and attempting to remain polite in the human's presence.

"Maybe. Maybe not." Blades shrugged, his green optics shining brightly as he smiled at the advisor. "Optimus did say to adapt as needed to Earth. Besides, if you're as good a warrior as you proclaim, losing a couple mach on speed shouldn't detract from your abilities."

The multi-coloured mech shuttered his optics quick behind his visor, thrown by the smaller Autobot's brazen statement. Lip components pursed, he kept silent for nearly a klik, before venting heavily and facing the transport aircraft. "Very well," Stormshot conceded, glancing momentarily at his companion as he activated his scanners. "You certainly do not shy away from being blunt."

Blades only beamed at his side brightly.

C.M.D: If he's been keeping Faxian safe on just a three-mech crew all this time, Blades has mad leadership skills. Even if two of said crew used to be soldiers... I don't care; that 'copter is talented. Anyways, everybody aboard the angst train! We're kicking off into another chapter fic!
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