A/N: After some thought, I've decided italics aren't necessary for Bumblebee's speech. Initially I thought there would be more humans involved in the story-like more than, you know, NONE-so it was more important. But since all the Cybertronians can understand him anyway, it's not really needed. And also is a bit of a pain to format. At some point I'll go through all the previous chapters and change the formatting in them as well.


Chapter 24: Staves and Shots

I'm a shooting star leaping through the skies
Like a tiger, defying the laws of gravity;
I'm a racing car passing by like Lady Godiva!
I'm gonna go, go, go, there's no stopping me!

- "Don't Stop Me Now", Queen


As Bumblebee had anticipated, the Phase Shifter was too large to fit in any of Knock Out's arm compartments.

The scout kept his optics wide and innocent as he wandered over the weapons rack that took up most of the wall. "You ready?"

"In a minute, in a minute," Knock Out snapped, turning the relic this way and that as he tried to force it in diagonally.

"Just set it down somewhere. It'll be safe." It would be especially safe once Bumblebee grabbed it. If Knock Out would only set it down, just for a second. "You're going to break it if you keep that up," he added with some genuine concern.

"No, I won't." He glared at his arm for a moment before flipping the compartment shut with a shrug. "Let's just go back."

"Oh, come on! I've been cooped up for days. Do you know what that's like?"

"Since I've been cooped up too—yes, I do. But I'm not leaving our biggest asset lying out in the open."

"But there's no one here but us."

"Exactly," Knock Out said with a nasty look in the Autobot's direction.

"Wow, are all 'Cons this paranoid? We're on the same side now." Sort of. "I'm not going to take it." Until you put it down. "Look, we can even do some staff fighting. That's your weapon, right? The staff?"

Knock Out's optics locked on the metal training staff Bumblebee was waggling in his hand. He looked tempted.

Just as planned, Bumblebee thought, smirking under his mouth-guard as the 'Con reached for the weapon. Just as planned.


The floor of the arena was covered with a thin layer of rubber chips, meant to soften falls and prevent injuries. Every time Bumblebee was tripped, kicked, or slammed to the ground, he had a new opportunity to get acquainted with it. He told himself that it would all be worth it when he got the Phase Shifter, and in the meantime he was gathering valuable intel.

Intel on how fragging fast Knock Out was. Intel on his tendency to spin behind his foes, then slam his staff into their backs. Intel on how hard it was to land a hit on the shiny red mech because he always skipped backwards or dropped into vehicle mode at the last second. Intel on just how many ways his own staff could be shunted aside or knocked out of his hands, and just how many ways Knock Out's staff could connect with his head or his limbs.

At the present moment, Bumblebee's face was once again buried in the rubber chips as he gathered intel not only on how much the Decepticon enjoyed having an opponent under his heel, but also on how much it amused him to bounce that heel up and down.

Since a good deal of Knock Out's foot, like the floor, was made of rubber, it didn't hurt much. But it did give Bumblebee's chirps and warbles a certain vibrato quality, to Knock Out's obvious delight.

"Kn-n-nock Ou-t-t-t—"

"You sound just like a malfunctioning motor!" Knock Out chortled. "Do you yield, Autobug?"

"Y-y-y-"

"What did you say?"

"Y-yes, I yie-yie-yie-"

"Sorry, didn't quite catch that."

Bumblebee reached back, trying to grab the medic's foot. "I yield!" he managed to blare.

Knock Out drew his foot back, then slid it forward to flip the scout over onto his back. "Okay. New round." He jogged casually to the other side of the arena.

Bumblebee suppressed a groan as he heaved himself to his pedes. He supposed he should be thankful that Knock Out actually gave him a little recovery time between each humiliating defeat, but he suspected that was less about fair play and more about making sure he had an audience.

"Fragging Decepticon," Bumblebee muttered, picking his staff up off the ground. The Phase Shifter, he reminded himself, glancing towards its hiding place under the front row bleachers. It was all for the Phase Shifter. Knock Out was still too close to it now, but as soon as Bumblebee saw an opportunity . . .

"Tick tock, Autobot," Knock Out called, one hand on his hip, the other idly spinning his staff. Thank Primus he was using one of the arena weapons, not his own electrified version. "Or are you ready to give up?"

"Not likely!"

Bumblebee drew himself up and placed a hand over his chest. Across the arena, Knock Out did the same. This, the Decepticon had told him, was basic sparring etiquette "practiced by anyone who isn't a complete and utter boor." The two opponents bowed—jerkily in Bumblebee's case, because he didn't dare take his eyes off Knock Out.

And now it started. The Decepticon broke into a run, fast and leaning low to the ground. His silver staff caught the light as he threw it like a javelin, dropping into vehicle mode the instant it left his hand. His engine growled as he tore across the arena, throwing up a shower of black chips behind him.

Bumblebee barely had time to take a step back before Knock Out reached him, shifting back to robot mode and pouring all his forward momentum into a powerful leap. He caught the staff in mid-air, and the fact that Bumblebee had started to run did not prevent the Decepticon from slamming feet-first into his back.

The blow knocked Bumblebee off his feet and he once again made an acquaintance with his old friends, the rubber chips. His staff rolled out of reach and it didn't seem worth trying to reach it, not with Knock Out's foot planted firmly on his back. He could have tried to roll and dislodge Knock Out, but it seemed easier just to lay there, aching and resentful.

The resentment did not fade as Knock Out bounced his staff off the side of Bumblebee's helm. "Ready to yield?" This too was part of the etiquette. Not giving your opponent a chance to yield? Boorish. Slamming your opponent into the ground and otherwise causing injury and pain? Not boorish.

"I yield," Bumblebee said quickly, before Knock Out could get bored and creative.

The Decepticon sighed as he stepped back. "You're not much of a challenge. I like to win, but this is a little bit sad. Didn't the Autobot's teach you anything?"

Glaring, Bumblebee got up. The Autobots had taught him plenty, and he'd taught himself the rest. They just hadn't taught him anything about fighting with sticks or how to counter mechs who could make ungodly open-air leaps. As for his own staff, it was a downright hindrance as far as he was concerned.

"You wouldn't be so cocky if we were fighting for real," he snapped. "Or have you forgotten a certain incident with a New York train? You want to do this? Fine, I'll use my blasters."

Knock Out's optics narrowed at the mention of the train.

"No, you won't," he said. "First, because this —" He walked over to Bumblebee's staff and slammed his foot onto the end of it, causing it to spring into his hand with a seesaw effect. "—was your weapon of choice, not mine. Why did you choose it if you didn't know how to use it? Trying to impress me, hmm? Mission not accomplished."

Mission. The Phase Shifter. "Whatever. I'm done." Bumblebee started drifting towards the exit, which also brought him close to the relic's hiding place under the bleachers.

"Second," Knock Out said as he followed him, just as though Bumblebee hadn't spoken, "I am not about to let you shoot at me. You can pull your punches with a staff, but you can't with a gun."

"Maybe that's true for ones that use bullets or acid pellets, but my cannon's a blaster. You can lower the settings to 'training mode.' Then it just stings a little." He kept a close eye on the Phase Shifter, angling his trajectory so he was between it and Knock Out.

"Pardon me if I don't trust an Autobot who says his weapon is set on 'low'. Besides, then we'd have to work out a scoring system and—HEY!" The Decepticon gave a snarl as Bumblebee broke into a dead run.

"Finders keepers, Decepticreep!" Bumblebee warbled, grabbing the Phase Shifter and slapping the device onto his wrist. He barely activated it in time to keep the claws whipping towards him from slashing his chassis.

"Lowlife Autobot cheat!" Knock Out took another futile swipe at him. "I should've known; no one fights THAT badly."

"I'll take you on any day of the week, 'Con! With real weapons!" he amended hastily as Knock Out rattled the two staves in his hand. "Blasters!"

"Fine." Knock Out had a nasty gleam in his eye. "Each of us with a blaster, no hold bars, and the winner gets the Phase Shifter."

No holds bars. Oh, that wasn't ominous at all. Bumblebee could just picture the Decepticon turning the power up to full and blowing his leg off. He should ignore the red mech and leave, take the Phase Shifter and hide it somewhere. Except . . . except he was going to have to work with Knock Out if he ever wanted to get home. And right now Knock Out was thoroughly torqued off.

"If we fight and I win, will you let me keep the relic? No sneak attacks or stealing it back?"

"As though I was the one doing those things. Look in a mirror!" Knock Out said. After a moment he snorted. "But yes, I suppose."

"Fine. We'll do some target shooting. There's a shooting range behind the arena, Skyquake showed it to me."

"Target shooting," Knock Out repeated flatly, unenthused. "Except I don't carry a gun."

"They have ones you can use." The Decepticon continued glaring at him without comment. "Or I could just keep the Phase Shifter without giving you a chance to win it back," Bumblebee suggested.

" . . . fine. Let's do this."


It had been a long shot, the chance that he could get the Phase Shifter back from the treacherous, underhanded sneak of an Autobot, but Knock Out had been willing to gamble.

Now, seven shots into the contest, he was beginning to regret his decision. He had acted on the assumption that even if he lost, he would lose nothing. He had forgotten about his pride.

His optics narrowed as Bumblebee lifted his blaster, focusing on the holopaper target on the other side of the room. The gun loosed a bolt of laserfire that hit the small central ring of the target, joining the tight cluster of scorch marks there.

Bumblebee paused to admire his work before turning towards Knock Out. The Decepticon lifted his blaster, focused on his own target.

A faint, muffled warble came from his left. The Autobot was trying not to laugh. Possibly he was trying to be polite. Possibly he felt it was unwise to anger a Decepticon with a gun clenched in his fist.

Possibly he was making those little noises on purpose to throw Knock Out off his game.

Yes. That was probably it.

Gritting his dental plates, the medic pointedly ignored the horrible little slagger. Little round scorch marks were spattered unevenly across the target in front of him, forming haphazard constellations, but he could still win this contest. He would win this contest! He just needed every single one of his remaining shots to hit the bull's-eye (and maybe to jog the Autobot's elbow when it was his turn).

Knock Out drew a deep ventilation of air, letting it cool his systems. His hands, skilled hands, steady hands, medic's hands, raised the blaster as he lined up the target in his sights. There. Beautiful. And now the gentlest pressure on the trigger grip, just until the telltale click . . .

The green bolt of blaster fire sizzled out of the barrel, roiling through empty air until it impacted against the target with a soft pffft, scorching a neat circle through the dead center of the bull's-eye . . .

. . . of the target just to the right of the one he'd been aiming at.

Bumblebee lost it, doubling over as he warbled with laughter, interrupted only by tiny chokes of static when the mirth became too much.

"Ah ha ha ha, oh Primus, it's so good! It's so perfect!" he gasped as Knock Out's stony glare was redirected from the target to the scout. "It's so good it hurts!"

Knock Out flung the blaster at him. The solid clonk! as it bounced off the scout's helm was evidence that no matter how lackluster he was when it came to sharpshooting, there was nothing wrong with his overhand throw.

"Did that hurt, Autobug? I sincerely hope so!"

If it had, Bumblebee clearly didn't care. He was still laughing, though the laughter was now interspersed with hiccups.

"You are the worst shot! Literally the worst!"

"I am not the worst shot," he hissed. "I knew plenty of bots with worse aim!" He knew three. One was missing a thumb, one was missing an arm, and the third was named Misfire. But so what? Three. Three was plenty. "Anyway, it wasn't my fault; I got a lousy gun!"

"But Knock Out," Bumblebee said, calming down a little, "we switched halfway through."

"Shut it, Autobot!" Knock Out stalked out. Bumblebee returned the two guns to the gun rack before following.

"I just want to know how?" the black and yellow bot persisted. "How can you be that bad? Do you have faulty optics or something? How are you still alive?"

Knock Out whirled, whipping his staff out and letting electricity crackle along the prongs. The yellow bot tensed, half-crouching and ready to leap away.

"I am still alive," Knock Out said as the blue sizzles of light flickered across what technically could be considered a smile, "because I am very good at what I do. And unless you want a personal demonstration of how very good I am, I would suggest that you find the off switch on your fragged up little vocalizer and show some respect."

He spun around and stalked out, his staff thumping the ground with each step. He could hear the Autobot's footsteps behind him, trailing cautiously.

"What I don't understand," Bumblebee said when they reached the corridor, and his tone was wary now, "is why you would train so much with the staff—which you're really good with, I'll admit—when you hate getting scratched up."

"I have my reasons."

Guns were unnuanced, crass weapons when compared to the staff. Any fool could use one and the technique was never any more complicated than "point, then pull trigger." The staff was beautiful, elegant, and demanded skill. He had complete control over it; he could land a killing blow or dole out a love tap, it was all up to him. All right, maybe he'd initially started training with it because it was flashy and could attract potential berthmates, but he'd truly come to appreciate the weapon over the millennia. Besides, how long would he actually have been able to keep possession of a blaster? He was small for a 'Con and there were plenty of opportunists in their ranks; one of the glorious things about his staff was that it was a completely subpar weapon to any bot except one who'd aggressively trained with it.

Not that others had the same enlightened point of view. His superior officers had certainly harangued him on this subject ("You're going to use a gun like every other self-respecting 'Con, got it, Wheels?"), but he'd managed to avoid most "mandatory" training sessions with a little creative thinking and a few bribes. He was not about to turn up for shooting practice and be shown up in front of everyone when he could concentrate on training with the staff and earn the admiration of the masses. As for all the dire predictions from the higher-ups that he'd end up as "a pile of scrap metal and spare parts, you preening little slagger", well, he was still alive, now wasn't he?

Besides which . . . ha.

"You're smiling," Bumblebee said, brow furrowing.

"Am I not allowed to smile?"

"Of course you are. I just thought you wouldn't be in the mood to, just now."

"I was thinking of something funny." He waited for Bumblebee to ask, but the Autobot just eyed him silently.

"I know a place," Bumblebee burst out after a few minutes. When Knock Out stopped to stare at him, he hastily said, "A place where we can build and store stuff, where no one will find it."

"Okay . . ." Knock Out looked at him suspiciously. "Not in your room."

"Of course not in my room, that would be way too obvious. I'll show it to you."

Knock Out gave a half-shrug, collapsed his staff, and followed. Why not?

He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting when Bumblebee opened the door, but it sure as scrap wasn't a room filled with Human furniture, knickknacks, and posters. A small television was perched on a desk in one corner, and a stand full of furled fabric things sat near the door. Knock Out picked one up and discovered it was an umbrella.

"What is all this?" the red mech asked, fiddling with the umbrella but gesturing to the room at large.

"It's Dreadwing's old room. He liked Humans too! Can you believe it?" Bumblebee's doorwings perked up. "Anyway, no one comes here. Skyquake doesn't want to and everyone else avoids it out of respect for him. It was actually really dusty until I cleaned everything up . . ."

Knock Out tried to picture Dreadwing, stoic, explosive-loving Dreadwing, hoarding Human junk. The mind boggled. "How'd you find it?"

"Skyquake gave me the whole room and everything in it. So you see, something good came out of telling him that I knew Humans—"

"Don't start." Knock Out moved further into the room, poking around. "Yes, it has possibilities . . ."

"What were you thinking of that was so funny?" Bumblebee asked after a few minutes.

"Oh, that." Knock Out straightened, returning the umbrella to its stand. "When I was a field medic, I sometimes got sent into battles. Real battles. And I can tell you . . ." With a smirk, he pulled his staff out and tapped Bumblebee's arm, where his cannon was hidden. "They'll shoot at the bot with the gun over the bot with the stick every time."

As Bumblebee stared at him, he continued, moving on to more immediate and pressing concerns. "Now tell me, does that television work?"


"Hey kiddo!" Bulkhead said, looking up from monitor duty. "I was wondering where ya were." His red optics ran over the dents in Smokescreen's frame. "Man, look at you. You really ought to let Doc Ratchet fix you up."

"Maybe later." No fragging way was Smokescreen letting Mad Doc Ratchet get near him. Sometimes the cure really was worse than the disease. "Hey Bulkhead . . . what do you know about Yellowjacket?"