Windcharger and Hound are in the brig when Spike enters, talking about some kind of beach, if the words 'sea' and 'sand' are any indication, and barely spare the time to give the human some wide kind smiles and a couple of waves before resuming their conversation.

Knowing how they both are, the teenager just returns the gestures and walks to the only occupied cell.

Thundercracker gives him the most withering look he's ever seen, and he's glad his Sigma Ability is not shooting energy beams from his optics, because he would be a tiny pile of ash if he could. Or maybe not even that.

"Er… hi?"

Instead of answering, the Seeker keeps glaring.

For a couple of seconds, Spike thinks over his decision once more, before taking a look at the energy bars and, steeling himself, takes a couple of steps closer while still being out of grabbing range—and sits down.

Impossible as such a feat seems, Thundercracker's glare heats further.

"Hi. I was hoping I could ask a couple of questions?"

"Go. Away."

"Aw, come on. These ones will be innocent."

"Is speaking your language not enough? Go. Away."

"Anyway, I was wondering—"

"Drop dead."

"… That's something I really didn't expect from you."

"You should, knowing who my Trineleader is." And there's a lot more poison in that sentence that in any previous one.

Spike frowns as he ponders that.

"Are you… mad about the thing with the Spark Eaters?"

Thundercracker snarls.

For a fraction of a second, the teenager freezes, feeling his time has come, but then he realizes the Seeker hasn't moved and that the bars are still in place.

And Hound and Windcharger's conversation has stopped.

A look over his shoulder shows them both staring really seriously at the Flier, guns in their servos that hadn't been there before.

Spike can feel relief course through his veins at that, before turning to the blue and white mech.

"Look, this time I just want to know some more about Seekers. The frame type, not personally." He tells him soothingly, hoping to calm him down so that he can fill yet another page of his notebook.

"Ask the Shuttle."

"Trust issues."

"Not possible." And that finally earns him something other than smoldering hate and the promise of a slow and really painful death as the Flier turns to him with annoyance and what looks like the tiniest hint of confusion.

"The Doorwingers."

"Seekers? What kind of information would you want about Seekers that I could have? Surely you know more than I do."

"Well, it isn't as if I could ask Bluestreak."

"How about Prowl? … Yeah, right. I didn't say anything."

"Why can't you ask Prowl about Seekers?"

"Well, he wouldn't answer, so it's kind of a loss of time to ask."

"And the other reason?"

"Let's just say that the war has hurt every bot."

"Not possible." He just repeats, a bit softer than before, and Thundercracker's optics darken again, hate and disgust and ire once more on his faceplate, though somehow more intense in the way they're slowly festering…

And directed at the two other mechs in the brig.

Who, to Spike's surprise, return the same dark and angered snarls.

"Don't you even try." Windcharger hisses, and the Seeker audibly growls.

"What good would it do? You're Autobots." The Flier rumbles, and Spike's own bones start to tremble with the subsonic undertone of his voice.

Freaked out, and fearing for his own well-being, he quickly stands up.

"Sorry about that shouldn't have said anything gotta go bye!" He squeaks before rushing to the door—

The thrumming stops just before he reaches it, cut so suddenly that it freezes him in his spot.

Slowly, he turns around.

Thunercracker is dead serious and his optics are still a bright hellish orange as he stares at the Autobots, but they soften to neutrality when he turns to the human.

"Sit, it may take a while."

In shock, Spike approaches the cell once more and takes his previous position cross-legged on the ground, as far away from the bars as before.

"You're really going to…"

"It isn't as if there's anyone else to do it." The Flier scoffs, directing a quick glare at the guards before once more calming down as he looks back at the boy. "What is it that you wanted to know?"

"About Seekers in general. Main characteristics, different models and their distinguishing features, that kind of thing."

Thundercracker frowns in contemplation as he leans more comfortably against the wall… before he stands up from the metal slab Cybertronians call a bed to join Spike sitting cross-legged on the floor just out of reach from the bars.

It's… a quite reassuring gesture, making the teenager relax with the almost subconscious knowledge that the Seeker considers him an equal, or something like that.

He double-checks the distance to make sure he isn't really in grabbing range before making such an assumption, of course.

"What do you know?"

"That you're Fliers, work in three-mech squads called Trines, suffer quick mood changes—" The Seeker seems amused by that last one and what the heck, it isn't as if he'll get an answer from the Autobots— "—and everybody expects Doorwingers to know about you."

Unwilling to turn around, he nevertheless knows what kind of expression is on Hound and Windcharger's faceplates thanks to the horrified way they call his name.

This way, however, he doesn't miss the almost proud look and tiny smile on Thundercracker's face.

"Doorwingers are ground-bound Cybertronian of medium size, with some of the fastest models, only behind some Road Runners. However, despite the similarities between both frame types, their essential coding is most similar to that of Seekers." Spike's mouth falls open. "What did you think their doorwings are?" And here, the Flier gestures to one of his own wings. "They're the closest thing to a wing besides wings themselves, with a high degree of mobility and sensitivity, like ours, thanks to the great amount of sensors in them. Which is controlled by essential coding. However, they can dial their sensitivity down, so that they don't need to lock them to dampen input."

"Lock?"

"Haven't you wondered why we almost never move our wings, in comparison to Doorwingers?" The teenager opens his mouth, but closes it to settle for a nod instead. "That's because we have the highest amount of sensors per unit of surface in all Cybertronian, second only to a Medic's servos, and they're all highly sensitive. They have to be, to allow us to take in all variables when in the air fast enough for us to act, and we are the fastest Cybertronian ever. However, that means that even the slightest touch is… uncomfortable, to say the least. And since the lowest degree of sensitivity is still quite high, that would make ground stay and movement not pleasant. So, we possess an alternate mechanism to cut the input of data through our wings, by 'locking' them. Essentially, we move them to a kind of deadlock where the connection between the wing sensors and the main sensory net is blocked almost completely, resulting in the inability to move our wings without disengaging the lock, but with the benefit that we don't feel every single slagging shiver of the mech on the other side of the room." He explains, scowling at the end. "Needless to say, they're still really sensitive, but at least it's a tolerable sensitive."

The bit of information that comes after that is completely unwanted, so Spike shakes his head to get rid of images of a dark blue mech with white wings in his servos before turning his attention back to the topic.

"And that has to do with Doorwingers how?"

"As I was saying, both wings and doorwings are extremely sensitive, but while us Fliers can only dampen them with a lock, Doorwingers have a more precise sensory net, and can dial them to the same muddled point while conserving their full mobility." Thundercracker resumes calmly, not missing a step, and Spike goes back to his notes, pondering a bit before writing things in short and clear sentences.

When he's done, one word catches his attention.

Fliers.

"Wait. You said Doorwingers are closely related to Seekers, but what you've said about wings applies to all Fliers." He repeats, looking up to be welcomed by another tiny proud smile.

"Yes, because Seekers are, after all, Fliers. Now, the points unique to the Seeker and Doorwinger frame type aren't the sensory panels… but the processor."

"Processor?" He exclaims, startled, and Thundercracker's smile grows to a smirk.

"Yes. Seeker possess the fastest processor speed of all frame types, on average, followed closely only by those of Doorwingers. Why do you think that sharpshooter of yours can speak so quickly without losing track of what he's saying?" Spike's mouth falls open once more. "Or the Head Tactician. I believe I need not say anything about him." The teenager shakes his head slowly, and the Flier calms down. "That would also explain Seeker 'mood swings'. We think fast, faster than your average Cybertronian, so in a small time span we may have worked ourselves into a rage and reasoned out of it, which, I guess, does look like we are 'moody'." He adds, and straightens a bit when the human nods in understanding. "Back to Seekers and Doorwingers. The sparks are also a common point, since both our frame types have some of the highest energetic ones, but the decisive common point is, once more, in the processor. We have a special communications package."

"A what?"

"A… secret language, I believe you would say."

"No way!"

"One between Doorwingers and Fliers, and one exclusive of Doorwingers and Seekers. No other mech possesses them. And while Flier Hybrids may have the Flier communications package, no Seeker or Doorwinger Hybrid has ever had our unique one. Not that there are that many Seeker Hybrids, anyway." Spike busies himself by writing what he's learnt as he lets his brain sort through it.

"But can't… can't it be deciphered? And mimicked?"

"We use wings, engines and voice box. And some of the gestures are so subtle or ambiguous that only another with the communications package would even notice them." Thundercracker explains calmly, though there's pride easily heard in his voice. "And it is spark-coded, not processor-coded, so not even Medics can get to it. They know if it is there thanks to their scans, but they can't touch it. Spark-coding remains only in the spark, and only damage to the spark itself may erase it. Its removal usually causes the mech's deactivation and its consequent erasure, but, if such a successful extraction was to happen, I have it from a reliable source that the transplanted mech wouldn't be able to activate it or would end heavily damaged by the energy consumption needed to decipher it, maybe even deactivated himself. And in the most optimistic of scenarios, he wouldn't be able to use it either, since wings are an essential part to both sending and receiving messages using that kind of communications package."

"Amazing." The only word to describe the Seeker's reaction to that simple word and the awed tone is 'preening'.

Like a bird fluffing out their chest feathers and straightening, just without the feathers thing.

The proud smirk is starting to look like one worthy of Starscream, so wide and sharp it's growing.

"How about models?"

"There's not as many variation of models in either the Seeker or the Doorwinger frame type as there is in others, but there's a lot of variety within each model. Those you know would be the Seeker model, which is mine, Starscream and Skywarp's, and the Conehead model."

"You mean that's not a nickname?" Thundercracker shakes his helm with dark amusement, and Spike quickly looks away to write things down.

"As for Doorwingers, you know the High Speed model, which is the sharpshooter and that blue and red mech's." And, pen at the ready, the Seeker falls silent.

"And Prowl's? You know, the Tactician?" He asks, looking up, only to find the Flier frowning.

"The thing with Doorwingers is that most of their models aren't easily recognized on the outside. At a first glance, I'd say he's a High Speed too, but… Starscream thinks he's not."

Any other time, Spike would have made some kind of joke about trusting the Decepticon Air Commander about anything.

He knows better now.

"What does he think he is?" He asks softly instead, and waits patiently while the Seeker remains lost in thought.

"The main model of Doorwinger. Balance Finder."

"What's the difference between them?"

"… I don't know." The teenager feels astonishment wash over him as the Flier scowls softly. "Technically I do, but I've never met a Balance Finder. They were hard enough to come by before the war, least of all now. They're supposed to be more Seeker-like than the other Doorwinger models, who lean more towards their Grounder side. That would make them the real middle ground between Seeker and Road Runner, Flier and Grounder. High speed and nearly impossible maneuverability, fastest processor and highest energetic spark, better tuned sensors… yet still ground-bound and without our characteristic chaotic being and organization, more like the Grounders' meticulous 'everything in place to clear out a way because we can't fly' thing, instead of 'things where they are better and never mind where we're going to put our pedes because we can literally walk on air'. I know he's your Head Tactician and that he's the best at what he does, but… it feels like he's lacking to be a Balance Finder. Starscream would know, but I have no idea."

"And it isn't like you can just walk up to him and ask." Thundercracker nods almost absentmindedly, and Spike uses the chance to write down the new information, making a mental note to ask Prowl himself. "Hey, huh… Thanks. For everything." He adds after a moment, nervously staring at his own hands instead of looking up at the Seeker.

Until he hears what sounds like a resigned sigh. When he lifts his head, he's met with the Flier crossing his arms against his cockpit and tilting his head up while looking down at him with an unreadable expression.

"You got Starscream in trouble. I should be angry with you."

"I didn't mean to." He whispers, feeling ashamed under that unnerving dark orange gaze.

"Which is exactly why I can't be angry with you. Starscream isn't either, but I'd watch out for Skywarp. I can't promise he won't try to repay you with a water balloon filled with mud or something of the like." He scrunches his nose in distaste at that, before clearing his head of such options to finally realize what has been said.

"How do you know?"

"Besides the fact we've been a Trine for nine million years? We're Trine. Trine aren't three Fliers flying together, nor three Seekers that are nobody to each other. Seekers need to be a Wing for a really long time before they are Trine, or there has to be a spark-call, that the three sparks are compatible enough to allow the Trine bond. Trine bonds are unique to Seekers, and are three-way bonds. That means I can feel what Starscream and Skywarp are feeling, same as they can feel what I do and each other, at the same time. That's how I knew you'd said something about Spark Eaters, and why I know Skywarp hasn't yet been convinced to not deal some kind of petty revenge. And why they know you were really sincere and didn't mean to get my Trineleader in trouble, because I know that's how you feel. That's why we're so good in the air too. We can literally feel what the other is going to do and act accordingly."

"I thought you didn't like each other."

"You don't need to like your Trinemates to be Trine. You just need the bond." The Seeker answers easily, calmly, and Spike quickly takes some notes about that—

"Don't you dare assume what you're talking about. You know nothing! There's no stopping those things, no restraining or subduing or even hoping! They can feel you, track you down, ambush from the most unlike of spots and devour your spark without even touching you, without even getting close enough to do so! It's only destruction and pain and if I hadn't closed the Trine bond Thundercracker and Skywarp wouldn't—"

"Can you… close bonds?" His voices trembles slightly, and he's sure the mech has noticed because the stare he's giving him is a bit curious under the calculating look.

"Yes. You block the energy being sent and received, and the mech at the other end can't feel you anymore."

"Has… Has Starscream ever done that to you? To Skywarp?"

"The war has been going for a long time. We've all had to close the Trine bond at one point or another."

In the middle of pondering whether or not ask his next question, the door to the brig opens.

Its hiss breaks the silence like a bullet, and Spike almost jumps to his feet in surprise, instead turning around to see who has come inside.

Who have, actually, because Jazz is standing calmly with a lazy smile on his faceplate next to the door, not hidden by a scowling Ironhide.

"Alright, Decepticreep. Megatron bailed you out, so time to take out the trash." Thundercracker hisses softly at that, glaring hatefully at the Autobot.

"About time I was let out of this waste disposal plant." The red mech growls menacingly, and the teenager quickly stands up to get out of the way, walking to be by Jazz's side.

"What are you doing here, little buddy?" The saboteur asks softly as they watch Ironhide walk inside to cuff a now standing Seeker, who does nothing but glare darkly at the Grounder as his wrists are bound together.

"I wanted to ask Thundercracker some questions about Seekers."

"Could I see those later?"

"Yeah, sure. I doubt he would have told me anything you guys didn't already know."

"Thanks Spike. Well, I've got to go now, Prime wants me to deliver our flightless birdie here." He adds chirpily as Ironhide gets to their side with their prisoner, who spears the Head of Spec Ops with a dry glare.

"Thundercracker?" The Seeker looks lazily down at the human, who fidgets nervously once more. "Will you tell Starscream I'm sorry?"

Silence.

"He already knows."

"Please?"

"… Will do."

When Spike looks up, they're already gone.

Alright. Now or never.

Taking a deep breath, Spike rings the doorbell.

"Come in."

As soon as both him and his father take a step closer, the door opens, closing at their backs once they enter the office.

Optimus is already waiting for them, standing next to the datapad-filled desk.

Which makes Spike feel bad.

"It's not important, so if you're busy…"

"It is nothing that cannot wait." The Autobot answers, optics pale and helm tilted in amusement. "In fact, I could use the distraction."

However, the teenager can't get himself to talk.

Until Sparkplug pokes him, and he almost steps forward as a result.

"Can we see your facemask?"

Optimus reboots his optics in surprise.

And, finally Spike realizes what he's said.

"I meant your face. Without the facemask. If it's not too much trouble. Or personal. Or hiding a gruesome old injury that—I better shut up now." He can feel himself blushing, and hearing the older human trying to keep his chuckling silent is not helping.

Why did he decide to ask the twins if anyone had seen the Prime without the mask? And why did he think listening to their theories was a good idea?

Optimus reboots his optics again… and kneels down with a purring chuckle.

"Of course."

Instead of sliding away in one piece, the facemask splits from the middle before the halves move back to the sides.

The smile is just as small but gentle as he'd imagined it, and the Autobot's faceplate is a pristine untouched pale silver.

Somehow, it makes him look… older?

"Is there anything more?" He asks, voice rumbling as always, and Spike just shakes his head.

The facemask clicks back in place.

"Why do you wear it all the time?"

"It is a symbol of who I am. Of Optimus Prime." The Cargo answers calmly, but there's something in his wording…

"Of who you are?" He repeats, if just to try and get a clue of why he feels there's something weird in the sentence.

"Yes. I was not always a Prime, and this is definitely something I did not have before."

"You weren't?" He questions, eyes widening as he's handed the answer to his previous musings.

"I was a dock worker."

"You, Optimus Prime, Leader of the Autobots and Megatron's aft-kicker, were a dock worker?"

"Just like you, Spike and Sparkplug Witwicky, liaisons of an alien race and heroes of the Autobots, were oilrig workers. Your origins do not determine who you become. Only you can do that."

"And luck."

"You were given a chance, yes, but you were the ones that chose to take it." And that makes Spike swell with pride, something that, judging by Optimus' glow in his optics, makes the Autobot smile warmly. "Now, I believe it is getting late, and I really need to get out of this office. Would you like me to drive you to your residence?"

"What about the paperwork?"

"As I said, there is nothing urgent, so I believe Prowl would agree with me that a stop would do me good." The humans chuckle at that as they walk to the entrance.

"Say, Optimus, what Doorwinger model is Prowl?" The boy asks, the SIC's name reminding him of that pending question.

"I am afraid that is a High Clearance piece of information." The teenager groans.

"What is it with you and High Clearance? Prowl's model is High Clearance, Jazz's frame type is High Clearance… Are you High Clearance too?"

"No, I am a Trailer Roller model of the Cargo frame type."

"… One out of three. Yay." Optimus chuckles. "Starscream's a Seeker, Soundwave is an… what did Blaster say, Convertible?"

"Adaptative."

"Yeah, that. What's Megatron?"

"Weapon Modified model of the Tread Roller frame type."

"He was built a weapon?" Spike can feel his jaw fall to the ground when Optimus nods.

"Yes, but during the Golden Age… I believe things could have been different had the Senate not enforced the Caste Division with the zeal they did. Being forced against ones function is hard, but being unable to change it for something more desirable is even harder."

"Huh?"

"What is a weapon to do during peace times?" With those last words, Optimus transforms.

When they get inside the cab, the radio is on, and even though the music is soft, it's a clear sign that the Autobot rather not talk more about the previous topic.

So, after exchanging a look, Sparkplug brings up the last basketball match, and the Prime is talking again as soon as he has the chance.

Ah, the blessings of sports…

AN: And there goes another info-dump, this time of two frame types and their connection. Plus, Optimus without facemask, brief as the moment was. One less thing Spike has to worry about.

Qwertzu: I believe the correct plural would be 'mecha', though that's just a feeling. However, since in Spanish the plural is made by adding an 's', and I'm Spanish, I feel more comfortable with 'mechs'. Feel free to use whatever you like best ^^ I'm glad I scared you—er, I mean, I'm sorry I scared you, that nightmare scene wasn't meant to scare, oh no *whistles innocently* But, I'm glad you liked the 'sneaking Jazz' thing and Prowl's 'immunity' (hope this chapter explained why Prowl is able to 'see' Jazz coming). I've also read some fics in which Jazz hides red optics under the visor, and I really like them. There's absolutely no problem with mechs wearing visors when they have optics if there is a good reason, but what bothers me is the fact that red-optics!Jazz may have a reason, and maybe two other of the visor-wearing mechs do so too, but the rest? Who has time for fashion in a war? Plus, as I see it, optics lenses are not a coded in feature, they can choose and change their optic color anytime. So yeah, my brain came up with that. And of course Jazz's frame type is confidential, only Jazz could make something as trivial as that, which would be like skin color to a human, a confidential thing and get away with it XP