Never Forget the Sun
AN: THANK YOU ALEXLUKE, GIRAFFECHAN, and RAP BEAR FOR YOUR CONTINUED SUPPORT AND FEEDBACK! YOU"RE AWESOME!
AN2: As always, I wanted to THANK each and every one of my readers/reviewers for their reviews and messages. Hard to believe I started this story almost 8 years ago! :O OMG! And we're still going strong! Lots of fun things still ahead involving our favorite Lamborghinis, their teammates, and their assorted enemies (decepticons and mud.)
Here's to many more adventurous years!
AN3: You know me, always switching up the timelines, characters, and genres. Here's something a little more dark, from the early years, at the start of the war.
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Sideswipe was first suspicious when he noted the special ops mech give a barely perceptible nod toward the Praxian. It was subtle. No other would have caught it but Sideswipe did. He had been watching the saboteur since he entered the rec room this evening. Jazz was his designation, and he was part of the group that came from Iacon to collect the scattered soldiers and refugees from Antihelix.
The twins had been escorting neutrals to transports when the Decepticons attacked. They were part of the front lines, fighting and rescuing neutrals, though Sunstreaker resented the ones who refused to fight. Some were weak framed and he could understand not being able to deal with hand to hand combat.
But surely they could hold a rifle?
But if they're constitution was as weak as their frames, then shaky hands were not good on a trigger. He still resented them and their convenient "neutrality." He had seen many in their division be slain because they were trying to provide cover for those who wouldn't fight.
When the twins returned with the rescue teams they had met the two notorious monochromatic officers. Jazz was scary on the battlefield, his attacks were sneaky and devastating. The twins respected that.
Prowl, however, was another matter all together.
As the teams limped into the stronghold of Iacon, the twins having never been to the caption city since before the war started, they were greeted with a flat, vacant expression as their wounds were sealed by patch medics. The mortally wounded were immediately dispatched to medbay.
With an almost bored voice, Prowl had asked for designations and ordered reports by the end of the cycle. It didn't matter the two mechs he was currently ordering were bloody, beaten, broken, and exhausted from their time on the front lines. They were to be patched, fueled, and have datapads filled with all pertinent details by the end of the day's cycle. They were handed thin, modern datapads and given directions to the tactician's office where they were to deposit their reports.
Sunstreaker typed a rude message on his before crushing the screen with a fist. Sideswipe laughingly wrote a touching soliloquy about how attractive he found doorwings and recounted the one encounter he had with a Praxian femme. They dropped the pads off to an empty room before heading toward the rec room. Prowl passed by without recognition as he was engrossed in several datapads he was juggling, his concentration so severe it was a wonder the pads didn't explode under his scrutiny.
The twins snickered to themselves as they entered the rec room to find it full of battered soldiers like themselves. Energon was diluted and lacked the kick the twins were used to ingesting. As they nursed their second cubes, Prowl entered the rec room, found them, and marched to their table.
"Explain these pointless expressions," Prowl demanded, dropping the datapads onto the table.
Sunstreaker quirked a brow at his brother's screen but reclined against the seat. It was times like this his brother was best suited to deal with the situation. Sunstreaker would end up terminating the person who irked him. Sideswipe was a bit more level headed. But only marginally.
"The reports are pointless," Sideswipe said, not bothering to hide his disdain over the pads. "They are a waste of time."
"They are not a waste of time!" Prowl snapped. "They are important so I may correlate the data to be used to adjust our forces." He pushed the datapads towards the two mechs and added, "I need a casualty report along with any personal observations of the enemy."
"Why?" Sunstreaker interrupted, gracing the Praxian with a heated stare that would have melted lesser alloys. He noticed Prowl was not on the battlefield, but safely behind Autobot lines during the rescue operation that brought the twins to his company. "There are hardly any family units left. What are you going to do? Put up a notice in the hopes that someone will recognize a long lost family member and claim their sparkless husks?"
Several bots in the surrounding area went silent.
"Finish the report or find yourself confined to the brig until you comply," Prowl said dangerously.
Sunstreaker's brow quirked in interest. No one was dumb enough to provoke the duo. Prowl must have cast iron bearings to think he could get away with it. Every bot in the vicinity looked at him with something akin to awe and pity. They knew what the twins were capable of and they wished Prowl's spark a speedy journey to Primus. Even Jazz's group fell silent, staring at the primary match up. The twins continued to glare, matching Prowl's stare and much to their surprise, his doorwings fanned wide in a display of dominance and his optics flared to a brilliant glacial blue.
"Get. The. Reports. Done. Or. Spend. Time. In. The. Brig." Prowl gritted before spinning on his heel and nearly knocking over bots with his doorwings.
The twins were suitably impressed. Had they not seen it, they never would have guessed the Second in Command had such emotions. Sunstreaker grasped the pad and began typing the highlights. Sideswipe watched his Praxian adversary with intense optics.
Which is why when the Third in command gave the Second in command a barely perceptible nod before departing, and it was acknowledged in kind, Sideswipe's interest was piqued.
When they had escorted the refugees into the complex, the two officers ignored each other and when they did speak, it was cordial but clipped.
Jazz laughed with his friends for a few moments longer before shuttering his optics in a sleepy gesture. He bade his friends a good cycle and exited the rec room. Little did he know he had two observers.
"Let's see where Loudmouth is going," Sideswipe said, earning a thrum of affection from his twin with the nickname.
Being spark split twins had it advantages. They communicated their surprise as Jazz exited the rec room, his pedes no longer providing sound as he walked away. He was as silent as a shadow, blending into the darkness despite his frosted coloring. He crossed the junction that acted as the center hub, several tunnels converging like spokes on a wheel.
Jazz opted to turn toward the washracks and when he reached the door, he keyed a code into the panel and shut the door behind him. It beeped to alert those outside of the door that it was now locked down for cleaning or repairs.
The twins exchanged a look. No such lock was built that could keep them out. Most would have attacked the keypad but Sideswipe was an old hand at manipulating the electronic locks. He walked two paces to the left of the control pad and removed the access panel. Deft fingers pulled out the wires and started to dissect which ones opened the locking mechanism.
Several minutes passed, Sunstreaker stationed on the opposite side of the door, acting as sentry in case a bot came down to bathe. It was highly unlikely, seeing how it was now late and those who had morning shift were already charging. The door offered a soft beep before releasing its hold and sliding back. Curious but cautious, the twins stepped over the threshold. The door shut behind them without a sound.
The first room was a stripping room, where one removed their armor and placed it on washing racks for soaking and scrubbing, or if the armor was already clean, it was put away on racks that polished them. Bots would then walk into the washing room in their protoforms and scrub off any accumulated filth. The majority opted to keep most of their armor on, seeing how the scrubbing racks of the first room rarely worked and it was easier to scrub everywhere when there were others to help you with the process.
Autobots were naturally social and washrack time was usually spent in company, talking, complaining, laughing, all the while taking turns scrubbing inaccessible points to various frames. But when the twins entered the washroom, it was to find a different scene all together.
There was a row of benches that ran the center of the racks where bots could talk and rest, or wait in line for a cleansing station to become available. The faucets arched over partitioned cubicles, preventing solvent from invading a neighbors body while they cleaned. It also prevented cross contamination if a bot was exposed to something while on patrol or engaging the enemy.
But none of the stations were in use. Jazz and Prowl were seated side by side on the bench halfway down the aisle. Both were stripped of their chest plates. They were bent over their removed plating, tiny little welders burning red in their grip as they worked in silence.
Jazz, ever the keen, overly sensitive type, sensed he was being watched and looked up. His gaze fell on the two guilty mechs who had dared follow him. His optics narrowed as he extinguished his welder and sat up a little straighter. Prowl noticed the stiffened manner and looked up, his own welder cooling into darkness as he stopped what he was doing and regarded the pair with intense scrutiny.
"What is the meaning of this intrusion?" Prowl demanded.
"Care to explain why you to are sitting in a deserted washrack doing repairs?" Sideswipe countered. He knew the base's medic would throw a fit. He'd already met the mech. And his wrench. Neither were very pleasant.
"We do not answer to you, soldier," Prowl said sternly. "Now, leave or I will have to thrown you in the brig."
"For what?" Sideswipe said sauntering into the room and pretending to examine one of the washing stations. "I'm off duty. You're off duty. And the washracks are a communal place."
Prowl's expression darkened. The red mech was correct. There wasn't anything in the rules about banning them from the communal washracks.
Sunstreaker had silently slid up behind the mechs, a typical flanking move that both black and white mechs could detect. He kept within visual range of both, proving that he wasn't a threat. At least not yet. He could be at the drop of a lugnut.
Jazz turned to face the golden shadow. "You shouldn't sneak up on mechs. It could get you terminated."
"So couldn't suspicious behavior," Sunstreaker retorted.
Both mechs were testing the other, weighing them for pros and cons, picking weaknesses and possible ways to exploit it if necessary. Sunstreaker's optics were more focused on the plating held in Jazz's hands than the actual Third In Command. His optics narrowed, taking in the configuration and with a start, he realized Jazz was not holding his own chest plate.
He was holding Prowl's.
Boldly he walked to the two mechs, mindless of their semi-vulnerable state, and scanned the plates held in each other's laps. He could detect minute writing.
Words….no.
Names.
Sideswipe joined his twin, staring at the miniscule engraving inside the chassis.
"The designations of the fallen," Jazz said quietly. It was strange, seeing the happy go lucky mech looking so sad and forlorn. He nodded to the datapad that was on the bench between him and Prowl. "When the reports come in, we commiserate the ones who were lost."
"That's why you wanted the reports so quickly?" Sideswipe asked Prowl who had remained stony faced.
Prowl gave a single jerk of his helm in answer. He appeared as strained and uncomfortable as anyone had every seen. Sideswipe sat on the bench opposite of the Second, his gaze fixed on the black and white bumper held in his servos.
"We engrave the names of the fallen so they will always be with us," Jazz said, angling the armor he held so the twins could see the hundreds of thousands of designations engraved in a tiny scrawl to the inside of Prowl's plating.
"I doubt either of you could understand such sentimentality," Prowl said with his jaw firmly set. It was definitely uncomfortable for him. His emotional range was certainly being expanded, thanks to the two primary colored mechs.
Sideswipe glanced to his brother, expecting him to rile at the jibe, but instead Sunstreaker was saddened. Much to everyone's surprise, he removed his own chest plate, exposing the badly scarred protoform beneath. He pointed to a weld scar that looked to be very old. There was a small glyph beside of the edge.
"The first mech I terminated in the arena," Sunstreaker said, his long tapered fingers tracing the old scar. "I didn't want him to fade from memory. He fought valiantly. That should never be forgotten."
"Every life should be remembered," Prowl muttered. His gaze traced the innumerable names carved into the underside of Jazz's armor.
"Why engrave each other?" Sideswipe asked, noting the two had swapped bumpers to work.
"Prowl's idea," Jazz said, nodding to the datapad. There was another dozen names remaining to be immortalized. "The first mission we worked together didn't go according to plan. We lost half of our regiment. I found Prowl engraving the names of the fallen into his bumper and it went from there."
"I should have planned better," Prowl bit out. Bitterness tinged his voice, his face drawn in past pain.
"You planned for everything but the unimaginable," Jazz spoke sharply.
"It was still my responsibility!" Prowl snapped. The twins frowned, their bond open and flooded with surprise and trepidation. What could have the stoic SIC so out of character? "It was all my fault. We lost six regiments that day because I didn't take into account the seekers!"
"Seekers weren't supposed to be that far away from the main complex," Jazz argued. His face was set in stern lines as he glared at his friend. "You didn't know Megatron had a mass transit teleporter."
"I could have foreseen..." Prowl started, but Jazz interrupted, raising his voice into a stern rebuke that made Prowl wither, the fight die out of him instantly.
"You could not have foreseen such a thing! Stop blaming yourself over something that was beyond your control. Focus on the lives you DID save. Mine! My team! Prime…." Jazz let the words sink in. "because of your quick thinking and overriding Dreamscheme's orders, we were able to save forty-five percent of our forces. Had you not intervened and created a counter attack, we all would have been lost."
Prowl's doorwings drooped ever so slightly. His brow creased. It was the closest he'd come to breaking down in front of anyone. Well, Jazz had seen some terrible moments. But he was smart enough not to ever discuss them. He boasted of being good at his job, and he was, but the first time he threatened Prowl, though only in jest, he had woken up to find his body paralyzed and Prowl's hovering form in the dark, warning him to maintain his temper or Prime would never know what happened to his body.
Somehow the smaller mech knew the SIC was serious. He wouldn't tolerate an unstable element in his formulas.
Luckily, both were able to figure the other out without too much friction and now worked as a seamless unit. But Jazz still got chills from the deadly efficiency in which Prowl was able to infiltrate his quarters and render him immobile.
Several times he employed the Praxian to create locking codes so he could 'practice,' and Prowl had been able to thwart him every time. Jazz had yet to break any of Prowl's security features. A feat he both admired and resented.
"So you engrave the names of the fallen?" Sideswipe asked, noting the pitted and scarred surface of the plating.
"Their lives meant something," Jazz said, staring at the thousands of names that littered the chassis held in his hands.
Sunstreaker withdrew the datapad Prowl had left for him and his twin from his subspace and set to work typing out the designations he was able to gather while rescuing the refugees. He kept the link with his twin open and inputted Sideswipe's scattered thoughts when they were relevant.
Within a few moments, they had compiled nearly one hundred designations. Sunstreaker synced his pad with the one stationed between the two officers and added the new names to the list of the dead.
Prowl had watched the golden warrior in silence. When he saw the names added to the list, he offered a soft, "Thank you," though he couldn't meet the frontliner's optics. He appeared ashamed of himself, probably still feeling guilty over the loss of so many lives he was unable to prevent. The mech had shoulders to rival the Prime's in that respect.
"Anything else?" Sunstreaker asked.
"Yeah, stop riling up the minibots," Jazz said, a genuine smile on his face. "I've had to deal with nearly a dozen complaints since you two arrived."
"Not our fault they are so little and the perfect weight and balance for a good game of toss," Sideswipe offered a one sided shrug. He didn't look apologetic.
Jazz offered a noncommittal noise. He knew his paperwork was going to double with these two troublemakers on base. He would have to see about transferring them to someone else as soon as possible.
"Come on, Sunny, let's go see if we can find some ingredients to set up a still," Sideswipe said, motioning for his brother to follow.
Sunstreaker followed at a predatory pace, his optics darkening in anger.
"High grade is off limits," Jazz said, knowing that Prowl was going to blow a gasket if he found another such resource wasting device.
Most brewers had to use three times the amount of rations to get the grade to kick back. Rations that couldn't be spared now that Megatron had control over the main energon vein.
"I know how to make it last, believe me," Sideswipe gave a hearty smile as he explained. "My stuff can put a seeker through the floor with one cube!" Jazz opened his mouth to offer further protest but Sideswipe added, "And one ration equals about two cubes, depending on strength."
Jazz's expression faltered with the news. "Really?"
"Yup," Sideswipe said, rocking on his heels. "I know how to ration the rations and make it last longer and give you the buzz you're looking for."
"Really?" Jazz parroted, very interested in the information.
"Do not encourage him," Prowl put in, glaring at Jazz. "High grade is still illegal and will remain so until Prime says otherwise."
"Killjoy," Jazz muttered, shoulders slumping in defeat.
"We'll see," Sideswipe singsonged as his brother passed, his face twisted into a mask of devilish intent. Both took the ban on high grade as an invitation to test their brewing skills. It was a challenge well met with eager enthusiasm.
"Do not construct a still and do not test me," Prowl warned, finally looking up and locking optics with his ruby counterpart.
Sideswipe put up his hands in defeat. "Alright, you win. I won't test you."
Prowl offered a nod of assent, pleased with the promise.
Sideswipe looked to Jazz who had a crooked grin that meant approval. He offered a smirk in response, knowing it was going to be so much fun to test Prowl's limits. Oh, the mech wouldn't see Sideswipe coming!
"Maybe we should wash up?" Sunstreaker said from the doorway, where he had been checking over his frame. He had a good wash after release from med bay a few cycles prior, but it had been a few hours since he last polished. He was starting to collect dust.
"The armor racks are broken, so you'll have to use the washing stations," Jazz said, nodding toward the partitioned little cubicles surrounding them.
"Really?" Sunstreaker muttered before disappearing through the door into the undressing room.
Sideswipe shook his head after his brother.
"Where is he going?" Prowl asked, still not sure either twin were trustworthy.
"Sunny's had experience fixing machinery," Sideswipe said turning back to the two officers. "He used to be an engineer's apprentice before the war started."
Sure enough, there came the sounds of metal being disassembled, pipes dropped, a spring went sproing, and Sunstreaker's hoot of triumph as he apparently found the problem with the scrubbing racks.
Prowl's expression went from suspicious to pleased before dropping back into his normal facade of a dry, emotionless husk. Perhaps these two would be a bonus to their ranks and not the trouble their superiors claimed them to be?
"Sideswipe, I need help with this," Sunstreaker called from the other room.
"Coming," Sideswipe said, heading toward his brother's voice. He was at the doorway when he turned back, observing the two officers return to their work of engraving the names of the fallen. "Oh, and Prowl?" Prowl looked up. Sideswipe offered a cheeky brow waggle before adding, "Nice protoform."
Sideswipe slipped out of the room, Jazz's laughter following him out.
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Another variation on how the unit got together. I have a couple more ideas about how these four met and interact, so those are added to my 'to do' list. Not sure when I'll be able to work on them though. I have dozens of ideas already sketched out and needing attention. It's difficult to find one and focus on it when there's so many jockeying for position in my brain :D
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