A/N: Wow. I am officially impressed--I now have more reviews for the six chapters of this story I have already posted than I have for the entirety of Twinning the Hatchet. You folks are awesome with the feedback--keep it comin'! XD

That said, this chappy's a doozy. Hope you like it.

After being cooped up for so long, Sunstreaker couldn't seem to help behaving like an exuberant sparkling once they were clear of the base. Ratchet drove along at a more sedate pace, watching as Sunny zipped past him with engine roaring at full throttle, only to slam on his brakes and fishtail to a halt, where he would wait, revving impatiently, for Ratchet to pass him.

Then he would start the process over again.

::You're gonna blow a valve seal or throw a push-rod if you keep that up,:: Ratchet commented wryly, amusement at the Lamborghini's antics coloring his tone, as Sunstreaker flew past him for perhaps the fifth time.

Sunstreaker scoffed. ::No I won't. Besides,:: he added flippantly::you'll fix me if I break something.:: He skidded to a stop again, tires squealing.

::Oh, I'll fix you all right,:: Ratchet grumbled. ::I'll leave your pain receptors online while I clean the oil out of your combustion chambers. And trust me, it wouldn't be pleasant.::

Sunstreaker's wordless reply roughly translated to 'Yeah right.' Ratchet grumbled some more about irreverent Lamborghinis.

::Can't you go any faster?:: Sunstreaker demanded after a few more games of 'pass the ambulance.'

::I can, but I'm not going to,:: was the laughing reply.

::Why not?:: the Lamborghini asked, astonished.

::You and your sports car mentality,:: Ratchet said ruefully. ::Well, for one thing, just because I can go fast doesn't mean I want to, and for another, I'm not nearly as fast as you. My suspension is not as stiff, and I'm too top-heavy. I'm just not designed for the kinds of speeds you're capable of.::

Sunstreaker snorted. ::You'd change your mind if you'd seen the way those humans drive an ambulance. This one fellow I saw had to be going a hundred and ten. And there was one time I almost got broadsided—I heard the four-barrel kick in way before he switched on his siren. He could've ruined my paintjob.::

::I'd say he could have ruined a lot more than your paint, Sunny,:: Ratchet replied dryly. ::And anyway, I never said I couldn't top a hundred miles per hour. Just that I'm not capable of the speeds you can reach,:: he added, speeding up a little as though to prove it. ::Give me some credit. I just have no desire to speed.::

::Oh, come on, Ratch, loosen up and play a lit—Decepticons!:: His bantering tone changed to a hiss of fury, and three jets broke the sound barrier directly overhead within moments of one another.

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Sideswipe was just beginning to get bored at the communications console again when pain, sharp and hot and sudden, knifed through his processors.

He was vaguely aware of Prowl and Blaster calling to him frantically as he doubled over and fell to the floor.

"Sunny!" he gasped, writhing and panting as he felt hands on him, trying to hold him still. "Ratchet!" he shrieked, suddenly aware of the source of the pain. He and Sunstreaker had long ago learned to block one another's pain—otherwise they would never have been able to function in battle—but that was a trick Ratchet had not yet had to learn.

And then, as quickly as it had come, the pain was gone, only a faint ghosting remnant in his neural net reminding him of its existence. Ratchet must have figured out how to block it.

::RATCHET! RatchetRatchetRatchet—:: he shoved his mind into the bond, and nearly sagged with relief when the medic responded—though the weakness in Ratchet's mental presence was worrying, as was Sunstreaker's lack of response.

::We're still alive,:: Ratchet said firmly. ::Sunstreaker is just out of it. We managed to pull the same trick you did and hide in a cave, though.::

::What happened?:: Sideswipe demanded. Now that he knew that both his bondmate and his brother were alive, the unthinking panic was starting to subside somewhat.

::We ran into Starscream and his cronies,:: Ratchet couldn't stop a brief flash of pain from leaking into the bond, and Sideswipe flinched. ::Sorry,:: the medic muttered. ::I didn't really expect Screamer to shoot me—and I don't think his buddies expected it either. Thundercracker kept muttering something about bringing the wrath of Prime down on their heads.::

Sideswipe growled. ::He'll bring the wrath of Sideswipe down on his head, for sure.:: Abruptly Sides became aware of the crowd of mechs around him; First Aid and Optimus Prime swam into focus right in front of his optics. The rest had remained at a respectful distance—though whether it was out of respect for Sideswipe or respect for Prime the red Lamborghini was not certain.

And then Sideswipe realized that he'd been so immersed in the bond that he'd done something that he rarely did, and had never done in public: he had voiced the conversation—both sides of it—out loud.

"Oh, Primus, kill me," he moaned, seeing the unreadable look on Prime's faceplate and, just over Optimus' shoulder, Prowl's knowing one. He flung one arm over his optics so he wouldn't have to look at them.

::What? What happened?:: Ratchet asked, his own panic feeding off of Sideswipe's.

::I think I just gave us away. To fragging everyone,:: the red mech replied unhappily.

::Oh,:: the ambulance said faintly, stunned by that little revelation.

"Sideswipe," Optimus said with quiet authority, "when we get back I expect a full explanation. For now, though—take us to them." Sideswipe nodded his acquiescence and stood on shaky legs.

"Come on, Sides," Jazz said quietly, stepping away from the crowd of onlookers to grip the red twin's elbow just as Prowl did the same on the other side. Sideswipe was embarrassed to realize that he actually needed the support—at least at first.

"It's not easy, is it?" Prowl murmured in a soft, wry voice as they walked a little ahead of the mob.

"I—what?" Sideswipe asked, turning to look at the tactician in confusion.

"Being bonded," Jazz replied in a quiet, albeit conversational, tone. "To someone other than Sunny, I mean," he clarified, seeing Sideswipe's dumbfounded look.

"Are you saying that you two—" he began numbly, now staring at Jazz.

"Yup," the saboteur said calmly. "Easy there, Siders," he added, catching the red Lamborghini when he tripped over his own feet in shock.

"But—how long—" Sideswipe stammered.

"Right after we woke from stasis," Prowl interjected, steadying him from the other side. "We decided that four million years was long enough to wait, especially since we didn't know how long we might have left."

"Does… Prime know?"

Jazz snorted. "O' course he does—'cause Prowl tells him fragging everything." He shot the tactician a pointed look; Sideswipe could tell that it was a bone of contention between them.

"It was a matter of tactical significance," Prowl protested defensively. "It could have affected the war effort. It has affected the war effort."

The Porsche made a disbelieving sound.

"It has," the Datsun insisted. "I can't stand sending you out in the field—"

"But you do it anyway," Jazz reminded him.

The Second-in-Command glared at him. "I don't have much of a choice, especially when—logically—you're the best mech for certain situations."

"Hey, you do your job, I do mine," Jazz said soothingly, reaching around Sideswipe's back to give the Datsun's shoulder a quick caress.

"You two are sickening," Sideswipe grumbled, the amusement in his optics belying his words.

The saboteur gave a bark of laughter. "Like you're any better!" he exclaimed, chortling. "Oh, Ratchet," he simpered in exaggerated mimicry, and ducked out of the way with a gleeful laugh when the Lamborghini took a swipe at him.

"Shut up," the red twin growled, scowling.

"Can't you two be serious for once?" Prowl asked blandly, arching an optic ridge at the pair's antics.

Sideswipe didn't hear him. "Sunny's waking up," the Lamborghini murmured suddenly as they emerged from the Ark into the bright sunshine. "He's alright, just dazed—but I think Ratchet's hurt worse than he's letting on. Sunstreaker ain't too happy." In fact, Sunstreaker was on the edge of flipping out, but he wasn't going to tell them that.

The tactician nodded. "We'd best hurry, then. Wheeljack! First Aid! Swoop!" he called, and the named mechs came hurrying up. "You'd better come with—Sideswipe thinks Ratchet's worse off than he's saying." Prowl hesitated, then added softly so that only the red Lamborghini could hear it, "Are you sure you're up to this? You can just give us the coordinates—I know that it has to be difficult, with both of them injured like this."

Sideswipe shook his head. "I can't stay behind, Prowl—I just can't. Besides, if the Decepticons are still there you'll need a good frontline fighter with you, and I'm nothing if not that."

Prowl nodded again in acceptance, and looked out over the jostling crowd of mechs gathered around them. "If you're off-duty, you can come—otherwise, back to your posts! The base won't run itself!" he barked, and more than one mech twitched guiltily and slunk back into the Ark.

Trust Prowl to think of everything, even at a time like this.

Prime—who, until this moment, had been content to stand back and observe Sideswipe's interactions with his first and second lieutenants—came forward and laid a gentle hand on the red twin's shoulder. He gave it a comforting squeeze before calling out, "Autobots! Transform and roll out!"

Nearly as one, they all sank into their alt-modes and took off, with Sideswipe, flanked by Jazz and Prowl, leading the way.

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He had come to the conclusion that, if he didn't go into stasis from loss of energon first, Sunstreaker was going to drive him crazy. Unfortunately, Ratchet didn't have the energy to do much more than raise his head up and glare at the yellow mech.

Sunstreaker's optics were far too bright and he had a dazed look on his face as he kept up his never-ending monologue about the damage one of the Seekers had done to his finish.

"Sunstreaker," the medic hissed. "Shut up!" The Lamborghini halted just long enough to look at him in confused surprise before picking right back up where he left off. "Primus," Ratchet moaned, letting his head fall back against the cave wall he had propped himself against, then froze when something blocked the light filtering into their little hole in the mountainside. Thankfully Sunstreaker fell silent as well—perhaps his circuits weren't as addled as Ratchet was afraid that they were.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are," Skywarp singsonged, giggling a little at his own cleverness. "Don't you want to come play with me, Autoscum?"

"Could you be any more stupid, 'Warp?" Starscream's shrill voice asked coldly. "They're not going to fall for that."

"Hey, that was uncalled for, Screamer," Skywarp pouted.

"Just find them, you idiot!" the Air Commander snarled, and there was the sound of metal hitting metal as Starscream apparently shoved his wingmate. "I had thought we'd killed those infernal brothers last time—now we can at least finish off the yellow one!"

"Yeah, but he's got their medic with him, Screamer," Thundercracker interjected, ever the voice of reason. "Prime'll be on us like white on rice if we kill off his medic."

"White on rice? Where'd you get that one, TC?" Skywarp couldn't resist asking.

"The Internet," was the reply.

The black and purple jet sighed happily. "I do love the Internet," he mused, then yelped when he was hit with a resounding clang.

"Frelling Pit, Screamer! What was that for?" he demanded.

"Less talk, more search!" Starscream growled. "We won't let them get away this time!"

Ratchet managed to scoot himself a little deeper into the cave—he could no longer see the entrance when he finally stopped—and Sunstreaker, unwilling even with his CPU half-scrambled to let his bondmate out of his sight, followed along to sit pressed against his side.

::We're almost there, love,:: Sideswipe's voice in his mind was a welcome intrusion—the last time he had spoken to them was to get their coordinates from the medic. Sunstreaker was still too out of it to be entirely coherent.

::Thank Primus,:: Ratchet sent back fervently. ::Please hurry.::

He must have blacked out for a moment, because the next thing he heard was Sideswipe's unmistakable war-whoop, followed by a deafening crash of metal as he collided with whichever Seeker had been his target. There was a shriek of rage and pain—it must have been Starscream. The ensuing battle was short-lived; the outnumbered Seekers quickly fled with their tails firmly between their legs.

Even Starscream knew better than to tangle with Optimus Prime without Megatron there to distract him.

"Cowards," Sunstreaker muttered, referring to the fleeing Seekers—it was the first he'd spoken since the Decepticon jets landed outside their little hiding spot. He looked a bit more lucid; not much, but at least he wasn't endlessly complaining about his paintjob anymore.

"They're down here," a voice that Ratchet recognized as Sideswipe's called from the mouth of the cave, and suddenly they were surrounded by friends, being lifted up and carried out into the sunlight—Ratchet blinked, was it still day?—apparently so, though it was afternoon now instead of morning.

Ratchet gaped at the number of mechs that had come to rescue them; all of the Dinobots had come, as well as the Protectobots—though the medic was pretty sure that was because Swoop and First Aid had come, and they had wanted to accompany their respective brothers—Jazz and Prowl were there, as well as Optimus Prime, Ironhide, Wheeljack, Mirage, Bluestreak, and Bumblebee. And, of course, Sideswipe was hovering worriedly, not sure whether to attend to his brother or his bondmate first.

Swoop detached himself from the rest of his brothers to go to Sunstreaker, while Wheeljack and First Aid knelt beside Ratchet. The medic knew that the yellow Lamborghini was not that badly hurt; his self-repair systems had already taken care of a great deal of the damage and he was beginning to be more alert and responsive.

As for Ratchet himself, however—well, the gaping hole in his side where Starscream's shot had hit him was certainly not helping him. He ran a quick self-diagnostic and found that his energon levels were at thirty percent and dropping; apparently he had a leak big enough that his self-repair was not able to seal it off.

He could feel the twins beginning to panic; he had not been able to completely block his thoughts from them. Sunstreaker pushed Swoop away, snarling for him to slag off, and he and his brother shoved their way over to sit beside the injured medic. Wheeljack frowned at them while he set up an energon transfusion, but wisely didn't say anything as Sideswipe moved to pull the medic's head into his lap and Sunstreaker gripped his bondmate's hand. First Aid just ignored them, continuing to probe the wound for leaks and sealing them.

Ratchet could already feel his fuel-starved systems strengthening. "Hey, I'm not dying," he protested quietly, squeezing Sunstreaker's hand and reaching up to twine his fingers with Sideswipe's.

"You shouldn't have even gotten hurt," Sunstreaker replied, leaning down to brush his lips against the medic's. "I should have protected you better."

"These things happen. You couldn't have known Skywarp would knock you half-silly—or that Starscream would shoot at me at all. They don't usually try to kill me, for some reason."

"It's because everyone loves you, you hateful thing," Sideswipe said teasingly, only the slightest tremor in his voice betraying his anxiety, "and they know that they'd have every last one of the Autobots down their throats if they did." The twins were doing a remarkable job of not letting on to everyone just how much of a nervous wreck they were.

"Damn straight," Wheeljack interjected cheerfully. He clamped off the tube he'd used to patch the medic into his own fuel lines and glanced up at First Aid, who nodded in return—he'd finished with the worst of the leaks—and began putting away his field kit. "Alright, Ratch, can ya transform?"

The medic frowned in concentration and started his transformation sequence once his bondmates had helped him to his feet, only to subside back into mech form with a strangled gasp of pain. "I'd definitely say that's a no," he managed, sagging into Sideswipe's arms and feeling energon trickling down the inside of his armor where one of the freshly sealed leaks had broken open. The red twin held him gently, supporting most of his weight while Sunstreaker placed a soothing hand on his back.

"I can take you back to the Ark," Prime offered, walking up to stand beside them, only a hint of the worry he undoubtedly felt showing through in his voice.

"I'd rather not be a burden," Ratchet muttered, embarrassed that Prime had even had to offer.

Suddenly everyone was protesting all at once.

"Nonsense—"

"Don't you dare think that you're a—!"

"You're not a burden—"

Prime waved them all into silence. "My old friend," he said heavily, "I will never consider you a burden. Besides," he added, wryly amused, "how many times have you helped to tow my smoking chassis off of the field?"

Ratchet 'hmphed' and looked away, but he made no further protest when they loaded him into Prime's trailer.

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Whether it was out of compassion or a simple desire to have all three of them present, Prime didn't ask for his explanation until after Ratchet was back on his feet the next day. Of course, this gave the trio plenty of time to worry about and dread the confrontation. (If you put the word 'meeting' with the words 'Prime' and 'Sunstreaker', the end results were rarely very good. The yellow twin had the uncanny ability to annoy the slag out of the ordinarily even-tempered Autobot leader.)

Optimus had immediately sent out a summons upon hearing that his CMO was fully repaired, however, and now they stood, staring at his office door with some trepidation. Finally, hesitantly, Sideswipe gathered up his courage and pressed the button to let Prime know they were there, and the door slid silently open.

Optimus let them all troop into the room and shut the door behind themselves before saying anything, merely watching thoughtfully with hands clasped in front of him on his desk.

Finally, after letting them fidget nervously for a few moments, Prime spoke. "Sideswipe," he said grimly.

"Yessir?" Sideswipe twitched a little at being addressed first. Optimus' optics crinkled at little at the corners in amusement at that.

"First off, calm down. That goes for all of you. You're as jumpy as petro-rabbits," he said dryly. A speculative look came into his optics. "Though—am I correct in assuming that the nervousness is so bad because the bond amplifies it?" he asked, watching them shrewdly.

"That—yeah, that's right," Ratchet muttered, embarrassed. The twins just nodded, looking anywhere but at their commanding officer.

"Hmmm," Optimus murmured. "Sunstreaker, Sideswipe—you two do realize that, by your actions, you've willingly endangered a ranking officer?"

The protests were sharp and immediate; the twins vehemently denied that they would ever put Ratchet in danger, while the medic insisted that it was his actions that put them in this position.

Prime raised his hand for silence, and the three grudgingly complied. "Regardless of how this happened, the consequences are the same. If we lose one of you two on the field—something that, while not anything I wish to contemplate, is still a very real possibility—we may well lose our Chief Medical Officer as well. It is not unheard of for one bondmate to die after losing the other."

"We're well aware of that, Prime," Ratchet said grimly, getting that mulish look on his face that Optimus knew meant he was about to argue, but the CO stopped him before he could get started.

"I know that you're aware of it," he said succinctly. "What I want to know is, do these two fully understand the implications?" His attention turned completely to the twins. "You are among our best frontline fighters. There can be no doubt of that. But," he added, "as skilled as you are, the job that you do is deadly. Of this there can also be no doubt. We had already reconciled ourselves to the fact that, if we lost one of you, we would lose the other. Due to the nature of twins, this was a given. Now, however, your deaths may also take Ratchet's life as well—and, as much as you may hate to hear it, old friend—that is a blow from which we will likely not recover."

"Prime…" Sideswipe began, a little helplessly, but Optimus cut him off with a wave of his hand, and both twins shrank in on themselves, visibly upset. Even Ratchet hung his head, and he had been known to cut even Prime down to size with his sharp tongue.

Prime sighed softly. "There's nothing for it now, I suppose," he mused. "The deed is done, and there's no reversing it—and I cannot afford to take any of you off of the active duty roster. Ratchet?"

"Yes, Optimus?"

"How likely are the injuries that these two will undoubtedly sustain affect you? We've already seen yesterday that Sideswipe was momentarily incapacitated when you were shot," Prime said in a quiet voice.

Ratchet hesitated. "We've… been working on that. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker have long since come up with a way that one can block the other from feeling his pain. The same technique should work for me, as well," he replied cautiously.

Optimus nodded. "Very well," he remarked, and then paused for a moment. "Just out of curiosity, how long have you…?" his voice trailed off, almost embarrassed at having asked.

Both twins grinned at Prime's discomfort, and Ratchet's lips twitched a little in amusement as he replied, "Since just after Wheeljack blew himself up that last time. I was very… upset… and, well… it just sort of happened. It wasn't exactly planned."

"Ah."

"Optimus," Ratchet said gently, seeing his friend's concerned expression and correctly guessing what was worrying him, "I am not unhappy with this. I don't think I really realized how much I wanted it, buried deep in the back of my processor, until it happened. Don't worry for my sake—the rewards are worth the sacrifices."

Both twins nodded emphatically. "Yeah, what he said," Sunstreaker quipped, speaking for the first time since they entered the office. They all chuckled over his comment, and, just like that, the tension was broken.

"So does this mean you're not gonna do anything to us?" Sunstreaker asked belligerently.

Prime regarded him with his expression still full of good humor. "I can hardly punish you three for something that I've let Jazz and Prowl get away with for years, now, can I?" he asked rhetorically.

Ratchet blinked. "Jazz and Prowl…?"

"Oh, yeah!" Sideswipe's hand smacked into his forehead. "They did tell me about that yesterday. I was just worried enough that I forgot about it. That's why I kept getting the feeling that Prowl suspected something—it's because he did. Both of them had already figured it out, actually."

Surprisingly, Optimus snickered at that. "I'll finally be able to definitely tell Jazz that Prowl doesn't tell me everything. If it makes you feel any better," he confided, "I was completely oblivious."

Sideswipe snorted with laughter. "You're joking! Now that I think about it, we were about as obvious as a fist in the face," he chortled.

Prime shook his head. "I didn't have a clue," he replied, optics filled with laughter.

"All right, you three, get on out of here," Optimus said, amusement still twinkling in his optics. "Just—" they paused on their way out of the door, "be careful, will you?"

Sunstreaker gave his CO a searching look before nodding and replying firmly, "We will." The other two nodded their agreement, and they left.