Therapeutic Sunlight

AN: Nuther little quickie here. Hard at work on my workload (more T2, TMNT, and now I'm adding GI Joe to the fanfiction mix) (God help me!)

I'm enjoying giving Sunstreaker some more depth. Get tired of giving him a bad attitude or drunk off his aft. Don't get me wrong, they are major parts of his character, but not an exclusive definition of who he is.

Anyway, here's something a little different… I hope…

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"Happy Anniversary," Sunstreaker muttered, joining Smokescreen in his office. As always, his face was hardened into a scowl.

Smokescreen blinked, memory cache alive with activity, trying to understand Sunstreaker's meaning. When it clicked into place, he perked up, brightening and smiling.

"Happy Anniversary."

"Can you believe it?"

"Never would have imagined." Smokescreen offered a smirk. It was a strange expression on his face. "So, what's the topic for this special occasion?"

"Doesn't matter." Sunstreaker offered a one sided shrug. "In fact, you pick."

Smokescreen beamed with pleasure. Apparently that was the right thing to say.

"Okay, happy memories to mark the occasion."

"Not much in that category, I'm afraid," Sunstreaker muttered. He looked away, not wanting Smokescreen to see the hurt.

"Surely there are some happy memories," Smokescreen prodded. "First time interfacing?"

Sunstreaker snorted.

"Come now," Smokescreen said encouragingly. "Every mech recalls the vivid details of their first interface. The first time the arrays come on line. The first sensation of feedback."

Sunstreaker arched a brow ridge. "I'd rather not."

Smokescreen arched that damnable brow ridge. Sunstreaker sighed, folding.

"If you must know, I was just starting to gain notoriety. During my first showing, a gorgeous femme gave me my first taste of high grade. Long story, short, I got overcharged and tried to mount her helm."

Smokescreen's expression said it all. He was sorry, (and grateful,) he asked.

"What?"

"Charged out of my mind," Sunstreaker said, rolling his optics skyward. "Didn't know her helm from her pede, and next thing I know, I'm trying to spike her audio."

"That's…. that's…" Smokescreen faltered, trying to find the words he was looking for.

"Embarrassing," Sunstreaker supplied. "But the worse part was when I purged, right down her back strut, then passed out on top of her."

"On top of her helm?" Smokescreen had a hard time envisioning such a thing. It seemed too ludicrous to be true. But then again, this was Sunstreaker, and the strange followed him.

"Yeah, I had somehow managed to get her on the floor. I was heavier than she was, and I when I woke up, I found my entire lower half covered in scratches and gouges where my crotchplates had smashed her into the floor."

"Ouch," Smokescreen offered, though he looked more amused than sympathetic. "Okay, so first interface wasn't pleasant. Or the first taste of high grade. So, what about the first piece you sold?"

"For a pittance," Sunstreaker said with a sarcastic chortle. "I was thrilled to even get that for it, but when critics started noticing me, and I had more requests for my work, my price started to go up."

"How did it feel to reach the one million credit mark?" Smokescreen asked with a grin.

"Unreal," Sunstreaker admitted, leaning back on the chair and looking to the ceiling. "I had to do a double take when I saw my account. I knew I was getting popular, but it didn't fully hit until I was offered the main showing at the galleria in Polyhex."

"I attended a few times,' Smokescreen said, disgust contorting his face. " Didn't enjoy it. Full of stuffy, uptight, squeaky aft bots."

"They were," Sunstreaker confirmed. "But they had the credits. And I needed to provide for me and my brother."

"How did Sideswipe feel about all the credits coming in?"

"He loved it at first, having a full tank and not needing to ration a cube to last several cycles. I found out later that he would go without rations so I could have canvas or paint," Sunstreaker said, sighing in sadness. "But when I started to be in demand, he felt like he was a burden. Like he was holding me back."

"Didn't he help with the pieces?"

"He helped me find supplies and spare parts, and he was the inspiration for many of my pieces." Sunstreaker offered a wistful smile. Yes, his brother was a handful, but he was also Sunstreaker's best muse.

Not that Sunstreaker would ever admit such a thing out loud.

Smokescreen returned the knowing smile. "Your brother may have his faults, driving you crazy all the time, but you know he truly loves you and will sacrifice everything for you."

"I know." Sunstreaker nodded. "And he knows I'd do the same for him. I think that's why he allowed me to buy the building he would use as his main warehouse and dealership when he opened his business."

"You bought the building?" Smokescreen remembered the neighborhood that the twins had called home, and it was part of the historical district of Cybertron. Very prestigious. Only allowing limited neighbors. Word had it that some of the residents were there during the time of the Original Thirteen.

"Had enough credits, for once in my life," Sunstreaker shifted to get comfortable in his chair. "Sideswipe used the basement as storage and the upper two floors for his business. The ten floors above were used for my studio, where I'd work on various pieces and store them until showings."

"So many floors," Smokescreen commented.

"So many mediums," Sunstreaker corrected. "Some agents couldn't be near each other, else they'd become unstable and explode. I worked with some volatile stuff. My drying room was equipped with the best ventilation system credits could buy."

"Smart thinking." Smokescreen quipped.

"Didn't want to be like Wheeljack," Sunstreaker smirked, playfulness glittering in his optics. He looked so young. "The upper floors were our apartments. And once we both made a name for ourselves, we started to cater parties. Sides was able to get some business contacts from the art buyers and they in turn, found a mech who could get them anything they asked for without asking questions. That was a rare commodity. Discretion sold more than the actual items of interest."

"So, let's talk about the first time you fell in love," Smokescreen said, imagining the extensive list Sunstreaker must have. But the somber look told him otherwise.

"Never been in love," Sunstreaker admitted. He gave a shrug. "Had thousands of berthmates. Learned how to frag the best of them, every frame type. "

Smokescreen wisely kept his vocalizer shut. He knew Sunstreaker was meaning the stint he had as a pleasure bot before being sold to the arena for sport. Sideswipe's perchance for gambling, something Smokescreen could relate to, had lost both brothers their income. With the loss of clients, debts accumulating, and no relief in sight, both were condemned to indentured servitude until their debts could be paid. Not having a fondness for violence, both opted to be employed by a pleasure house.

Their respective careers were cut short when Sunstreaker insulted a client who wanted to pay less than what Sunstreaker thought he was worth. The Pleasure Master lost many credits, and suffered a stain to his reputation. He rebuked Sunstreaker in various ways, some of the scars still adorning his protoform after all these millennia. Hoping to retain what little reputation he still possessed, the Pleasure Master sold the twins to the Pit, where both were to fight and possibly terminate, to the thrill of the crowd.

"I can make any frame overload in an expected timeframe. I can even coax multiple overloads before shut down," Sunstreaker continued, drawing Smokescreen's attention back to the present. Usually such and admittance would make a bot preen and strut, but Sunstreaker seemed more depressed by the admission, than proud.

"Do you think you'll ever find love?" Smokescreen asked. Most bots he talked with were optimistic, though they knew the femme population was decimated to a few scattered colonies.

"Don't think anyone would want us. Between my rages, and Sideswipe's idiocy, I don't think a femme would stick around." Sunstreaker offered a dramatic sigh. "We've discussed bonding. Ratchet said there's a slim chance either of us could bond to another. If we were to attempt it, it would have to be a sterile environment, where we can be monitored throughout the procedure. There's a high risk of our abnormal sparks creating a sub-harmonic flux that could kill all three of us."

Smokescreen nodded, aware of the twins unique biology. Given the twins' history, Ratchet surmised that if one twin terminated, the other would surely follow soon after. They were mature adults, but their base coding was still two halves of a single life.

"How romantic," Smokescreen quipped, trying to steer the conversation back to something light and fun. Sunstreaker had a point… he didn't have a lot of sunshine in his life.

Sad.

"Yeah, trying to expose your spark, bond your life, and there's Ratchet's ugly grill staring at you with a scanner." Sunstreaker rolled his optics.

"Total romance killer,' Smokescreen agreed. "So, what happy memory do you think on most, when you want something good?"

Sunstreaker was quiet for a long moment. "I would say the first thing that made me happy, was beating up Sideswipe for the first time. We were younglings. Still in the crèche. Not even ready for our first upgrades, and he kept nudging me with his spark. It hurt. I didn't like it, but he still kept pestering me until I beat the slag out of him."

"And thus the pattern was set," Smokescreen smirked.

Sunstreaker snickered. "Yeah, and it still goes on till this day. Fragger hasn't learned, no matter how many times I whoop him."

"You wouldn't want him any other way," Smokescreen chided, wagging an admonishing finger, but his face was lit with mirth.

"Well, less destructive in his pranks would be nice."

"So what would you look for in a femme?" Smokescreen asked. He had a feeling what the first thing would be out of Sunstreaker's mouth, but he was surprised.

"Someone who can understand my mood swings and not hate me for my rampages." Sunstreaker sighed, reclining in the chair and closing his optics. "Someone to make me laugh, without pulling a prank. Someone would who could put with Sideswipe and his idiocy."

"I must say, Sunstreaker, I'm shocked at your response," Smokescreen said, earning one optic cracked open to observe him before closing again. "I thought you'd start listing physical attributes first."

"Body work can break down. Paint fades." Sunstreaker gave a shrug. "I want a spark I can feel every day, and it feels like the first time we meet. The electricity and magnetism."

"Who knew you were such a romantic?" Smokescreen quipped.

Sunstreaker's handsome face split into a devilish grin. "She'd have to have reinforced struts, because I pound her through the berth."

"And there's the Pit fighter."

Sunstreaker sniggered. Yes, he could do the soft, romantic stuff. But, he preferred the fast, hard pace to make a femme scream his name multiple times before his protocols forced him into stasis. Nothing sweeter in the entire universe.

"Have you chosen an activation day?" Smokescreen asked, changing the subject.

Sunstreaker's easy going attitude dropped, replaced with his familiar scowl. Smokescreen was amazed at how quickly Sunstreaker's mood could change. He was a kaleidoscope of emotion.

"No, and I think Prime's an idiot for making us chose a day to celebrate our activation," Sunstreaker grumbled. "I should pick December twenty-fifth, just to slag him off."

Smokescreen offered a noise of agreement. He wasn't too thrilled about the idea of picking a day to celebrate his activation, but the local humans were constantly asking the mechs personal questions. It was hard for them to grasp the concept of a Cybertronian life cycle, and the concept that they didn't observe a yearly changing of a number. Only a handful of bots had taken to the idea and picked dates. Jazz made sure to inform everyone he wanted a lot of presents for his activation celebration. Most bots didn't know the actual date of their activation, let alone do the calculations that would put it into human units of time.

"Sideswipe wants April first, and he wants to turn eighteen." Sunstreaker sighed, staring in exasperation at the ceiling.

"Figures. He'd want April Fool's Day."

"He is a fool."

"But why eighteen?" Smokescreen asked. "He's far older than that, even by our standards."

"He said that's the age when younglings are official old enough to be considered adults and they get presents to welcome them into adulthood." Sunstreaker gave a shrug and added, "And he wants a car."

Smokescreen blinked. "A... car?"

"Yeah," Sunstreaker looked like he wanted to throttle his twin. "Said it will be his 'prom date' and he wants to take out to the movies and court it properly."

"But… it's a car." Smokescreen said slowly. "Not even sentient."

"He's hoping to make the guys jealous by having a 'date'." Sunstreaker gave Smokescreen his signature look. A mixture of exasperation and annoyance.

"I pity the femme that would have to put up with my brother," Sunstreaker snorted. "She'd have to have Elita One's ball bearings."

"Sunstreaker!" Smokescreen gasped in shock.

"What?" Sunstreaker asked, looking blasé about the comparisons. "Elita is as tough as they come. She's knocked me on my aft a few times."

"That's only because she's a femme and it's not right to attack a femme," Smokescreen said.

Sunstreaker shrugged. "Never mattered to me. You piss me off, I hit you. I don't care what gender your frame. If you can't take the punishment, then you should keep your vocalizer shut, and thicken your armor."

"You'd hit a femme?" Smokescreen asked, then threw up his servos. "Of course, you would. You have a point. "

"Equality," Sunstreaker smirked. "I'll slag you over, regardless of who or what you are."

"Indiscriminate slagging," Smokescreen quipped.

Sunstreaker held his amusement for half a second before he burst out into laughter. Sometimes, Smokescreen cracked him up. Though he would never allow any one else to know outside of Smokescreen's office.

"You should laugh more often," Smokescreen commented.

"And terrorize everyone else?" Sunstreaker asked incredulously, mischief shining in his optics. He gave a partial shrug. "I may psyche everyone out for Halloween. Or April Fool's Day."

"Better not." Smokescreen warned. "That's Sideswipe's day. He'd get his tailpipe in a twist if you outdo him."

"Yeah, point taken." Sunstreaker groused. "Halloween it is."

"Why do you never allow anyone to see or hear you laugh or joke around?" Smokescreen asked.

"Don't like crowds. You know that," Sunstreaker said. "Reminds me of the arena. Everyone talking loudly. Laughing. Enjoying themselves."

Smokescreen offered a nod of understanding. Most of their talks had centered on the arena and the terrible fate that had been cast upon the twins. Smokescreen came to realize that Sunstreaker didn't avoid people because he hated them. Well, maybe a little. He mostly avoided people because he feared of being thrown into a similar situation as the Pit.

But that was slowly changing.

There were many times when the twins were sparring, each trying to murder the other, and bots collected to watch. Cheering for the moves and counterattacks, and the flawless unit the twins danced their deadly tango.

It used to be that as soon as such crowds formed, Sunstreaker would halt, look to the crowd and instantly walk away. He admitted once that it took all of his will power, not to run away from the cheering masses.

It used to be no more than three bots could be around him for any length of time. Now, the entire crew could be seated in a conference, or attending a party, and Sunstreaker, though reluctantly, would attend.

Some of his teammates even asked to be tutored by the skilled golden mech. Smokescreen supported this idea, encouraging Sunstreaker to aid his comrades in being able to fend for themselves. Sunstreaker just had to remember not to terminate his opponents.

It was hard, but already several of the Autobots were able to use their nearly learned skills to ward off a Decepticon attack and prevent serious injuries, or casualties. Such results garnered Sunstreaker several rounds of high grade and praise from his students.

Privately, Sunstreaker admitted he liked the attention. It was the first time such joyous camaraderie didn't require termination.

Smokescreen had to hide his amusement when Sunstreaker willingly volunteered to teach Bumblebee how to evade and overcome a much larger opponent. Smokescreen had to smother his urge to jump for joy and congratulate the frontliner on taking such a step.

Smokescreen also noticed that Sunstreaker didn't constantly complain about his shine or the minute scratches that adorned his paint from the practice sessions.

It looked like Sunstreaker was starting to come out of his shell. Smokescreen was greatly relieved. Had Sunstreaker continued on his previous path, he would have self destructed, taking countless lives with him in the devastation.

Sunstreaker checked his chronometer. "Time's almost up."

"I don't have another appointment until two hours," Smokescreen said. "You can stay a little longer, if you want."

"Better not. My idiotic half would come looking for me. I've been blocking him since I arrived."

Since Sunstreaker started attending regular therapy sessions, he had to devise a way to keep his twin out of his business. If Sideswipe was the least bit suspicious, it would ruin the whole arrangement.

Had someone told Sunstreaker he would be attending regular therapy sessions, and divulging some rather intrusive information, he would have slagged them for the suggestion. But fate had played a cruel hand.

As Sideswipe lay in the medical wing, hovering between life and death, Sunstreaker had no one to talk to. No one to ease his worries. To allow him to vent. Rage and fume. To assure him everything would be alright. And not judge him.

He wasn't sure what had come over him, but something directed his footsteps to Smokescreen's door. The two kept a schedule ever since, hence their 'anniversary.'

But Sunstreaker still had a reputation to uphold.

He gave Smokescreen a grateful nod before taking his leave. He opened the door abruptly, a scowl firmly entrenched in his features. He stomped out of the room, griping.

"Crazy aft fragger. I don't know what your problem is, but one of these days, I'm going to make you blow smoke up your own aft."

Smokescreen played his part well, sighing through his vents and glancing toward Jazz and Huffer, who were walking down the corridor.

"Some bots! It's like pulling sparkplugs out their muffler," he said, throwing his servos up in the air in defeat.

This game had been played for millennia. Both knew their parts and practiced it well, fooling everyone into thinking they clashed like ugly mediums.

But Sunstreaker and Smokescreen knew better. The breakthroughs and the triumphs. The anger and the sparkache. The fears and the hopes, however scant they were, were the foundations of their relationship.

Sunstreaker was allowed to unload his burdens to someone who would actually listen and possibly give advice, that didn't involve a prank. And Smokescreen took comfort in the knowledge that he was entrusted with Sunstreaker's secrets. And he would never betray that sacred trust.

Sunstreaker was definitely a conundrum. A character. One of a kind.

And he just planted Tracks' face into the wall.

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As always, reviews are LOVED!