Working Title: What Little Femmes are Made Of, Chapter 6.0

Rating: M

Pairing: Arcee/Tailgate, Arcee/Cliffjumper

Notes: I found some pieces that got cut from Little Femmes when I was cleaning out my closet. (I procrastinate a LOT at work and handwriting stories makes me look convincingly busy.) One's a pretty decent chunk of chapter 6 where Arcee is fighting inside her processor to come back online. I felt like it got too far off the main story and Wheeljack, so I chopped it and replaced it with the bit where Cliffjumper and Tailgate's ghosts just kiss her to shock her back. Also worth mentioning is that I hadn't read the IDW comics before I wrote this. I get the impression Tailgate is NOTHING like I've portrayed him in this.

Does anyone else have drifts of loose paper that threaten to cascade down on them when they try to get anything out of their closet or falls out of your car when you pull out the groceries? No? :\

Distant thunder roused her in the darkness. She couldn't tell if her optics were off or if she was only seeing black. The air tasted metallic and smelled like old smoke and phaser burns. The only other things she could hear were her own ventilations and wind.

Arcee rolled onto her side. Her body felt numb and strangely tingly with static. Everything also felt like it was made of lead including whatever was stuffing her helm. If her optics weren't off, she wanted them to be. When was the last time she'd recharged? She tried to bring up her vitals on her HUD, but it only showed error messages.

She got her knees under her and stood on unsteady legs for a moment before reaching out to get her bearings. Her fingers found a metal wall. Was it a prison cell? Or just a dark room? What happened to her? She strained her processor to remember, but couldn't recall … anything. She knew her name was Arcee, and her instinct told her not to panic until she'd fully assessed her situation.

So, her fingers made their way around the perimeter of her room. It was a small space, and there was a door on the wall that she'd started at. The button to open it was nonoperational. Somehow that didn't surprise her. The femme forced it open easy enough and moonlight from a broken exterior wall spilled in. She was home, Arcee realized as she looked out at the glimpse of the Sea of Rust through the cracks and holes. Not just Cybertron, but her real home. She remembered as she turned around to look back into the room. This had been her room. It always had been – from the first night her mother had pulled her tender protoform into the warm lull of her engine to the last restless night she'd spent there before going to the academy.

Across the narrow corridor was what had been her father's room. Its door was broken, and inside the wind had collected dust in the corners over the decades since it had been occupied. Arcee used to come in here when the storms off of the sea were loud and terrifying to a youngling. Bulwark, despite his usually stern disposition, always let her stay. He'd scold her for being afraid, but he never stopped Arcee from climbing onto his berth and sleeping through the rest of the storm 'safe' between his back and the wall. When morning came, she'd wake to find herself back in her own room.

Another door housed a washroom. The faint smell of old oil made her think of every battle Bulwark had had to endure to keep his sparkling clean. No one else who knew the imposing mech would have been able to imagine the commander wrangling his daughter into sitting still in the basin so he could spray the grime and dirt out of her joints. Arcee smiled at the memories. How had she forgotten anything so dear to her?

Beyond the small common room, the front of their living quarters had been destroyed, and she climbed down to the transit way below. What was she doing here? She still couldn't remember that.

To the south, a powerful electrical storm was brewing and approaching fast. She thought about taking shelter in her old room, but something tickled at her awareness more than the charge in the air. It tugged at her spark almost painfully and made her engine want to run faster. Arcee still felt exhausted, but staying here wasn't an option. She had to get somewhere out there. Someone needed her. They were crying out for her, and it was going to tear her apart if she didn't get to whoever it was – before it was too late.

Her father's base was in shambles. The landing docks had been destroyed, and giant rusting hulks lay forgotten on their sides. The runway was strewn with twisted metal and debris, but her two-wheeled form was nimble enough to avoid most of it. The war … She remembered how her form had been a valuable asset when she'd been fighting. She'd been a fighter. She was a fighter and a damn good one. Her father had raised her to be a soldier. She followed orders. She shot to kill. Size and strength came second to skill and intelligence.

The later part of her youth had been spent defending the base's large infirmary. It had been the closest one to Kaon for the Autobots, and both sides had fought bitterly for control of it. The base was her home. She took comfort in the presence of the battle-hardened mechs that had accepted the spunky two-wheeler running between their heavy peds. For the longest time, she'd gotten it in her processor she would become a medic like the bots she'd grown up around. Bulwark would have encouraged her and helped her no matter what she chose to do, but Arcee knew if she had become a medic, he'd have had a lot fewer rechargeless nights worrying about her. Too bad he'd shot himself in the ped early on by telling her his war stories every night before she powered down and taking her to the range. Hard as Arcee tried, she hadn't been able to shake the tingle in her energon when she held a rifle. Combat was in her programing. She could shoot a con's optic out from three and a half kliks away. She had held the lower power station for a nine day onslaught with four fighters and a prayer.

The Cybertronian motorcycle came to an open place, and she shifted back to her bipedal form to look around the familiar setting of her childhood. It had once been a public commons for art and memorials. Younglings had played here, herself included, but all it was now was a testament to the war that destroyed everything indiscriminately and those sparks it had returned to the Well.

"Arcee!" A message blinked up on her HUD. It was a closed message system. He'd made it for them, so they could communicate silently and privately. "Take cover! Before he sees you …"

"Who?" she messaged back, ducking behind a pillar and summoning her blasters.

"Cliffjumper. He's gone rogue, and he's out of his fragging processor!"

Cliffjumper? The red mech manifested in her memory like a ghost.

"Where are you?"

"Southwest corner. I'll meet you in the access alley."

Something still pulled her to continue north, but a promise of familiarity prodded at her – like it was something she'd missed.

She cautiously crept through the shadows the buildings cast in the moonlight then into the narrow alley. Arcee ducked into an alcove and someone grabbed her and pulled her into the dark.

"Tailgate?" she whispered.

"Hey there, Trouble," he whispered, sounding slightly pained. He smiled at her when she turned in his arms to look at him. It felt like it had been so long since she'd seen her partner.

"What happened to you?" She wiped up some of the glowing blue liquid leaking from the side of a dented chest plate and torn fuel lines in the joint of his arm.

"He got the jump on me, but … you should see Cliffjumper." He smiled.

Arcee doubted Cliff had walked away in half as bad of shape. Tailgate prided himself on his hand-to-hand prowess. He'd been the one to sharpen Arcee's melee combat skills even. But, the red mech was a veteran with almost a millennium on them. Despite his size, he had a reputation even among the Decepticons for being someone to avoid tangling with alone. But, he wouldn't have attacked his own without reason.

"What did you do to grind his gears?" she asked, pulling out some crimps from her subspaced med pack.

"What? Nothing!" he snapped defensively. "I was trying to find you!"

Arcee pressed him to lean back where he sat, ignoring his amger. He relaxed as the femme began closing the broken lines. Tailgate vented a sigh, and she felt warm contentment in the mech's unguarded energy field. It was how he always felt when he was alone with her. She remembered … feeling the same. Every time their roles had been reversed – from the first time their captain had ordered his best soldier to go get Commander Bulwark's brat out of trouble … and the second time … and the third time when he'd volunteered. He was supposed to keep her out of trouble after that, but the energetic and enthusiastic femme had already gotten under his plating like a scraplet by then. He'd claimed anyone else that didn't know how she operated would get themselves offlined if he gave up his burden.

"Glad you found me," he said softly. "Think I'm gonna live?"

She smirked meeting his optics. "Don't be so dramatic. I'll have you patched up in no time."

"We can't stick around out here for very long," he reminded her. "That's a Pit of a storm brewing,"

Arcee gave him room to stand up, but she returned to the entrance to the alley and looked back at the storm, then north again.

"I've got to keep moving."

"What? You're not going to leave me, are you?" he chuckled in disbelief. But, the look on her face made him sober. "That electrical storm is going to tear up anything with a spark when it comes through. Let's wait it out, then I'll go with you. … Arcee?"

She shook her head, and her optics were drawn to a transit way in the distance. It was that way. She was sure.

Tailgate's hand clasped her shoulder, and she had to look at him again. She didn't want to leave him. It hurt to think about it for some reason. He'd been her partner through thick and thin for the better part of a century. She was the patience for his thermonuclear temper and the smile for his cold demeanor. Tailgate the governor for her energy and the brawn for her sometimes overambitious tactics.

"Come on," he coaxed gently. "Have you ever regretted riding out a storm with me?"

Had she? A memory tried to come forward from her processor, but it struggled to break free. It was so overwhelming, she thought it felt like reality was wobbling around her. Arcee shook her helm trying to clear it. There were always electrical storms on the Sea of Rust, but Delta Team had focused mainly in and around Kaon. Why did that seem so significant?

"Arcee," Tailgate said softly, making her meet his pale optics. He smirked and took one of her hands in his, bringing it to his face plates. Her spark ached to remember, and Tailgate … seemed aware of the emotional tempest he was causing. "Remember?" he whispered, kissing her palm.

Oh, Primus. She squeezed her optics shut against the tears. How could she forget something like that? It made the air feel like it tightened around her as it all came rushing back.

"How is there an electrical storm this bad so far inland?" she asked no one in particular.

"Nothing I've ever seen," her partner admitted with a shrug.

"At least, if we're stuck taking cover, the Cons are stuck too," she pointed out, but it didn't seem to console him.

They listened to the howling wind outside for a long time. It had caught everyone off guard. She and Tailgate had been on their way back to Delta Team's base and had been cut off by Decepticon infantry. With nowhere else to go, they'd gone into a dilapidated highrise and found an interior room to wait it out. It was dark, cramped, and smelled like dust, but it sure beat getting their circuits fried in the unending lightening beating the city outside.

"How long do these last?" he asked.

Arcee looked up from their single energon lamp. On its lowest setting it could glow for days, giving them just enough light for their optics to adjust. Hopefully they wouldn't need it that long.

"Could be a few hours. Could be a few days," she said. "It was hard to tell without seeing it come in from the open sea ahead of time. Either way, it's safe to assume we've got some time to burn. Think of it like a vacation – only miserable, dark, and stuffy."

"And boring," he growled. "I'd rather be offing Cons."

"Just relax," she said with a smirk. "Power down as long as you like. Write a letter home. Think about something besides reports and cleaning your guns."

"Still feels like we're wasting time," he said, producing a datapad just to spite her.

She rolled her optics. What was he going to report? '2200 cycles: Still storming. No Decepticon activity. Pvt. Arcee has ceased attempts at communication in favor of glaring.'

"Well, I'm going to catch up on some recharging."

He gave a noncommittal grunt. She slipped to her back then curled up facing the wall, using her arm for an uncomfortable headrest. There was just the sound of the raging storm and Tailgate's fingers on the pad. She thought she'd slip right into a good recharge since it sounded so much like her room at home, but rest eluded her. Eventually, Tailgate's tapping stopped, and the room was silent. She wasn't used to silence after decades of powering down with the sounds of phaser fire and artillery around her or even the constant buzz of activity there was at the base.

She let down her energy field and prodded at Tailgate's like a clingy sparkling. He could've resisted, but he knew it would be futile. Their partnership was so close and had lasted for so long that Arcee joked their sparks had bonded by default. If they got three more like them, maybe they could combine like the transformers in the stories her father used to tell her. Tailgate would make a great aft. He sighed with agitation but let his go instead of subjecting himself to her tireless assault. His energy field was tired and bored but content.

She probably felt similar to him. Maybe even more than content. Admitting her silly, youthful crush on Tailgate embarrassed her just admitting it to herself, but she liked him – a lot. Arcee didn't know when the exact moment was that she had decided she'd return this mech's attentions if he ever showed her any, but it had definitely been sometime between when he'd told their captain he refused to coddle a good fighter like a sparkling just because she was Bulwark's and Tailgate starting a knock-down-drag-out fight with Hitch when he suggested Tailgate quit hogging all of the team's resident pleasure bot. Hitch was a prick that always made bad jokes like that, but the fuse to Tailgate's temper was short when it came to his partner.

Arcee sat up again and situated herself against the wall with him, snuggling into the warmth of his plating. Tailgate's optics were shuttered and his arms crossed over his chest, pretending – terribly – to be resting in a partial shutdown. He knew what she was thinking, and it wasn't his favorite thing to talk about.

"Will you go home?" she asked, breaking the silence.

"Hmm? When?"

"When the war's over, Blockhead."

He vented a sigh. "This war isn't the kind that just ends," he stated. "I don't think it'll be over in my lifetime."

"I'm sure everyone feels that way," she shrugged. Arcee was aware of his sunny outlook already. She even agreed with him, albeit reluctantly. "But, the last war ended eventually. Hypothetically: Megatron lays down his weapons tomorrow. Will you go home?"

His energy field felt caged. She was up to something. "No," he finally admitted carefully. "I wasn't femme-borne like you. I don't have a home in the same sense. I'll probably just join the interplanetary force – see new places, fight some different kinds of bad guys."

Arcee nodded. "Sounds fun."

Silence stretched out as she waited for him to take the bait. At last, she took a gamble and pulled in her field like she intended to power down against him.

"Will you go back?" he surrendered. "Like he wanted?"

"No. It won't be the same without Commander Bulwark or knowing the Cons have been there," she admitted. "I'd rather stick with you."

"You'll be better off here. Go on and be a medic like you always talk about – Primus knows good ones are getting hard to come by," he said. "Or, join the Guard for a few centuries. I think they'd snap up a fighter like you pretty quick."

Arcee smiled. "Yeah? Maybe I could wear a little paint again and perk up my wings? Catch some gold-plated war machine's optic and live out the rest of my days on a cushioned plinth, mothering primes?"

He had no response to her sarcasm, but he felt amused. Sometimes she could read him like a datapad.

Arcee touched his scratched and dented bracer. He stiffened at her touch and jerked his field away from hers. She pushed her luck and traced it to his hand. He couldn't run from it this time. Not unless he wanted to go out in the storm.

"I'd rather be with you, Tailgate." She expected him to resist her, but the mech let her guide his hand to her face so she could kiss the broad palm. "Even if it's laying in a ditch, fighting for our sparks."

Nothing.

He took his arm back and refused to meet her optics. Arcee snapped her field back before he could have the satisfaction of making her lose her temper for a change. Then, she lay back against the wall again. After a tense pause with only the sound of the storm to fill the silence, she heard him pull out his datapad again and begin typing. '2220 cycles: Still storming. No Decepticon activity. Pvt. Arcee is showing signs of battle fatigue. Waiting for her to power down to disable weapons.'

She didn't realize she had powered down until the storm jolted her online from nightmares she couldn't remember. Where was she? The light was off. The building groaned against the strain of the wind, and it sounded like the lightening was right outside. She sat up in the dark and looked around. Tailgate's optics opened.

"Think we should move?"

"The worst will pass in a few hours," she said, shaking her helm even though he couldn't see it. "We're fine."

She moved to lay back down, but before she could power down again, she felt the mech settle down beside her with Arcee between his back and the wall – like he knew comforted her when she was too stressed to rest. She relaxed and rolled over to face the plating of his back. Arcee wanted to touch him. She'd tortured him enough though, so the femme settled for getting as close as she could and shuttered her optics. The mech stayed quiet, and she felt guilty.

"Tailgate?"

No reply, but she knew he was still awake.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "That was out of line."

Silence. But, that was good enough.

A moment later, the mech rolled over with the creak and groan of metal on metal, and he touched her face in the dark. Arcee met his nearly white optics.

"You know, I used to not be able to power down unless I was alone," he whispered. "When you're raised with a bunch of other sparklings that all fight and squabble over everything, it just comes naturally."

She smirked. He rarely talked about his youth. It made it hard to believe most times that the mech had less than a decade on her.

"But, now … If I don't feel you close by, I can't even turn off my optics."

"That's not a good thing if you're going to join the interplanetary force," she pointed out dryly.

"Only if you don't come too."

Arcee felt her spark freeze for a moment.

"Would you really go with me if I did?"

"Of course I'm going with you. Don't think you'll get rid of me that easy."

He chuckled.

"I know better." She felt his hand at her hips, and he pulled her against his chassis. "But, I hope you know you're stuck with me too," he added, close to her face now.

Boldly, Arcee felt for his mouth with her lips.

"I've known that for a while," she chuckled softly before kissing him.

Arousal crept forward in his energy field, for once, without the usual guilt or caution interfering. But, he withdrew just as her fans were kicking on. Tailgate found her hand and brought it to his faceplate.

"I'd be content with just this," he offered, kissing its palm, "if you wanted to wait until the war ends. You never know. You might bump into that golden war machine in the meantime."

The sentiment nearly melted her spark, but she caught his mouth again.

"I don't think it's ending tonight, so that's not going to be soon enough for me," she smiled against his kisses. "But, you're going to have to be a little patient with me this one time."

"Have I ever lost my patience with you?" he scoffed, jokingly.

She rolled her optics in the dark. "No, never," she mocked. But, she kissed him again, and the mech welcomed it. "I've not synced up before," she finally admitted.

He startled her when he laughed with both excited surprise and genuine amusement.

"Well, that makes us about even. I'm so terrible at it," he admitted. "I've never interfaced."

"Oh?" She grinned, pushing herself up so she could sit. "Maybe you've just never had the right femme?"

"Possibly," he said. She heard his fans come on when she traced the joint of his hip. "You're welcome to try all you want. I'll be more than patient with you if you don't give up on me."

"Fair enough." She smiled.

It turned out, he was worse than terrible at syncing. Tailgate was awful. He got excited easy enough, but as soon as his system slowed beyond a certain point, he panicked and lost focus. He was a mech who'd known fighting before he'd known femmes. The only sensation he had to compare it to was losing too much energon. But, Arcee was more determined than any pleasure bot he'd ever wasted his credits on. Not to mention, Tailgate didn't want to disappoint her. All in all, it was as slow and gentle as she'd needed her first to be.

He hadn't been able to truly believe a femme like Arcee could love a grunt like himself until he finally did let go for her and felt Arcee's genuine adoration and hunger for him through their hard-earned connection. Tailgate refused to let go. Even after he'd exhausted himself and they finally lay down to recharge, he didn't want her to cut him loose. His spark belonged to her now, and if Arcee had thought he made a jealous partner, Tailgate would've went head to head with a guardian if one gave her a second glance.

He slipped an arm around her and pulled her closer as the memory receded. An old and comfortable-feeling ripple of pleasure washed through her, and Arcee couldn't resist leaning into him to feel the heat of his chassis against hers. It felt like it had been so long. Tailgate's hands slid to her waist, tracing transformation seams down her back to one of his favorite hot spots.

"Tailgate …" She shivered as he ran his fingertips up a sensitive winglet and more than willingly shuttered her optics and caught his mouth when he turned her around and bent to kiss her.

"I missed you," he breathed when he let her go.

Arcee felt something like guilt as she gave in to her hunger. Why wouldn't she want to stay right here? There was a storm coming. Tailgate would take his time and make her feel like nothing else mattered.

She smiled, kissing the bridge of his helm and meeting his optics. "That storm looks like it'll only last a couple days. Think you can sync up fast enough to make it worth the effort?"

He chuckled at her friendly jab. "Right now, I don't think it'd take much."

She knew it wouldn't, and the arousal in his energy field was making her fans run fast.

"There's a place not far from here," he rumbled, inviting her to feel what she was doing to his engine. "Stocked up on energon and there's even a decent sized berth."

He slipped free of her and took her hand, tugging her toward the south. She wanted to go with him. Arcee glanced at the storm again then looked north. Tailgate's grip on her hand tightened.

"Arcee?"

She looked up into his optics again, but something in them and in her bond with him sent a chill of panic through her.

"Come on," he whispered urgently. "Please. Don't leave me again, Arcee!"

"But …" She frowned, as something tried to surface from her memories. "I didn't leave you, Tailgate," she said, pulling her hand free so she could take a step back. "You … you were offlined."

It rushed back into her processor so suddenly, she gave a startled yelp. She'd broken rank because he'd missed a sniper. She'd gotten separated. Arachnid. Torture. He'd come looking for her. He'd come to get her out of trouble like he always did.

"No …" she muttered, bracing herself. She remembered what came after that, and the pain tore into her spark like it was happening all over again. "Tailgate!"

It had felt like the spider had torn a living part of her out of Arcee when Tailgate's spark had gone dark. It had left a red hot trail of destruction through her circuitry. She barely remembered her rescue, the pain had been so crippling.

But, something held on to her. When she'd come out of stasis in the infirmary, it had felt like her partner was just out of sight. She'd thought it was all a bad dream at first. Every time she powered up … it felt like it had just been a bad dream. He was there with her. He wouldn't leave her. Everyone else did though. They'd thought she was a broken femme with a damaged processor. But, she didn't want their pity. She just wanted to be left alone. She withdrew into solitude. She couldn't work with anyone. Tailgate didn't want her to, and she didn't want to either. He'd keep her safe; he'd keep her out of trouble.

Why had she left him?

"Tailgate, I …" She made to step back into his arms, but something slammed into him, ripping his energy field away from her and leaving her weak in the knees. "No!"

She looked up to see another familiar face locked in a hold with Tailgate. Cliffjumper was too fast for him, and broke an arm free to strike Tailgate between the audio receptor and his optic. Tailgate stumbled to recover before the red mech slammed his helm into Tailgate's then drilled his other fist into Tailgate's neck, forcing him to the ground.

Arcee had summoned her blasters before she'd realized it, but she couldn't bring herself to shoot.

"Cliff …"

The mech turned to look at her with a foreign expression of serious, cold sobriety on his faceplate.

"Go!" he ordered, waving her away. "You have to beat the storm."

"But, why are you hurting him?"

"Arcee, get out of here!" he shouted, but Tailgate had gotten to his feet and tackled him while he was distracted.

He got a hook in under one of Cliffjumper's plates, sending a painful jolt through his chassis. He struggled to roll and face him. Tailgate was getting in every hit he could before Cliffjumper was able to overpower him. The neck, the line of his back, the joints of his shoulders, the back of his helm. But, Cliffjumper got his arms under him and threw their combined weight up. Tailgate tried to force him back down where he could get the other mech's arms only to be grabbed and thrown over Cliffjumper's shoulders and slammed back onto the ground hard enough that Arcee felt it. He got to his feet before Tailgate could recuperate and stepped toward Arcee.

She took a step toward Tailgate, but Cliffjumper moved between them. "No. Arcee … I know you want to give in, but you can't go back. Remember!"

It was like he was willing her to reach back, begging her to search. But, for what?

"But … I love him." She'd formed a bond with Tailgate over decades of trust.

Cliff's face fell sympathetically. "I know," he sighed. "But, you can't stay. Not this time."

"But, I want to!" she snapped at him. "I abandoned him! He needs me …"

"Arcee …" Behind him, Tailgate had gotten to his hands and knees again. He looked at her with relief in his optics.

Cliffjumper growled, clenching his fists at his side. And, she thought she saw Tailgate smile maliciously at the other mech.

"If that's really what you want," Cliff surrendered, shaking his head and stepping aside for her.

"That's what she said!" Tailgate snapped at him. "Leave her alone."

"If you really loved her, you'd be helping her," Cliffjumper accused bitterly.

But, Tailgate ignored him. He held out his hand for Arcee. She moved to take it, but shuddered as one last plea from the north pulled at her system. She couldn't resist looking again, and Cliff met her optics when she turned back.

"Stop," the red mech said, holding out a hand. She paused automatically. "Cee, I'm sorry."

Arcee frowned thoughtfully. "Sorry for wh …"

His fist came too fast for her to register even if she had been expecting it.

Arcee hit the ground hard, her winglets bending back painfully under her weight as they furrowed through the hard pan of the Nevada desert.

"Come on, Cee," the red mech jeered, a broad smile on his face. "You could've dodged that."

She jumped to her feet to face him again and wiped the energon out of the corners of her mouth.

"It's only been a few decades since I saw you. How'd you get so rusty?"

Because when you worked alone, you didn't take on more than you could handle. All Arcee could handle in close combat were other scouts and infantry one-on-one. But, Cliffjumper knew that already. It was part of the reason they were here – again. She regretted coming to Earth with him more every day. And, she really hated his 'help,' but he was determined to give it. All the others at the base gave the unstable femme a wide berth. Why in the Pit couldn't he?

"Come on," he grinned, bouncing his weight from one foot to the other and beckoning her to come back. "You know you could wipe the smile off my face. Fight smart. Fight fast. I know Bulwark taught you that."

She knew she could too if he'd shut up and let her collect her wits. But, Arcee couldn't. That was the other part of the reason they were here. And, Cliffjumper wouldn't shut up until he got what he came for.

"If you can get a hit in on me, I'll give you a surprise when we get back to your berth," he promised rakishly.

Anger roiled through her system anew, and what little control she held on to slipped away. Arcee could swear she felt Tailgate's vents bristle open along her shoulders and back, she was so far gone.

Cliffjumper caught her bull rush and redirected her momentum to throw her into the dirt again. This time, she rolled to her feet automatically and charged him again. She feigned a punch and fell back to throw him off balance, but he read her like a datapad and easily deflected a hook that would've debilitated him – if it had had the weight of a mech behind it. He countered easily, drilling her with a punch that did have the intended weight behind it, and she crashed on her aft, her gyroscope struggling to determine up from down.

Part of her was relieved that she was nearly exhausted, but the other part was fighting to hang on. Arcee had lost track of which half was angry at which and whose side she was on. Enough! She was fed up with it. All of it!

Cliff read her optics, his plating loosening in anticipation for her to run from him. But, her optics lied this time. Arcee did sprint with all of her speed away from the mech; he gave chase as quickly as his frame allowed. But, she rolled into her two-wheeled form long enough to build speed and hear his transformation and the roar of Cliff's engine behind her. She slammed on her front brake, and used the energy of the forward flip to throw herself up as she shifted back faster than any four-wheeler could. The red Challenger had only just registered her brake light through the dust when she brought her fist down on his hood with all of her momentum.

He stumbled out of his alt mode in time to block a kick to his face. Arcee countered with a hook under his chin that snapped his head back. Cliff took a step back, and she tried to steady her nerves in what little time she had. The mech popped a joint back into place in his neck and looked down at her with a languid smile.

"Someone's getting lucky tonight," he teased. "I'm gonna love making you squeal."

She growled, grinding her dente hard enough to hurt, but Arcee shook her helm to clear it before Tailgate's temper blinded her and got her tailpipe kicked all over again.

"Think you've got it under control?" he asked innocently. "I'm ready to roll now, or I could run a little more out of you on the drive back."

"Would you just shut up?!" she snapped.

"Don't be that way," he scolded. "You'll enjoy it. I promise. I mean … not that I won't either." Cliff shrugged with a chuckle. "I will. It's safe to bet Tailgate barely knew what to do with a femme, and I'd love to be the first mech to get under your plating the right way."

Ugh! He was such an insufferable slag hole – even when he wasn't trying. Cliffjumper was a Pit-spawned, circuit-smelting, virus when he put his processor to it. The icing on the oil cake was that he wanted her to know he was as aroused and excited as he was amused by their little scuffles. His unguarded energy field tickled her receptors with confidence and vigor to prove it. Primus, did he think a femme was supposed to be turned on by such a show?

Arcee wanted to believe she wasn't, and she let Tailgate take control again to convince herself.

Cliff was ready for her open attack. He blocked her punch, parried a wild kick, dodged, deflected. What pushed her beyond her limits was knowing he was holding back, and in her processor's chaotic state, she couldn't hope to take advantage of his arrogance.

"Two isn't enough?" he chuckled. "I don't know if I can handle three in a row. I've got patrol in the morning."

She charged him again with shameful recklessness. Her energy was drained, and it was her last desperate blaze of glory. Cliff caught her fist and stunned her with a headbutt that made her optics flicker. She staggered, and he finished knocking her off her feet then pinned her hands and chassis under him. Arcee tried to thrash and squirm free.

"Let me go!" she snarled.

"Make me."

OH! She was going to, she swore to herself. But, the more she struggled, the more tired she became instead of angry. Arcee couldn't beat him – not like this. Cliff weighed three times what she did, and he'd been a veteran fighter when she'd still been playing Base and Chase on the commons with the other younglings. She tugged at her arms once more, but it was pointless. Frustrated and drained, she gave up and shuttered her optics and turned her face away from him

She still felt Cliffjumper's excitement, but she knew she had nothing to be afraid of. For all the mech's bluster, he'd never acted on it. That had never been his goal.

"There she is," he whispered gently, and Arcee felt coolant sliding down her cheeks. He vented a soft sigh.

"I can't keep doing this," she said.

"You have to, Arcee."

"Why?!" she demanded. "Prime doesn't care – as long as I can fight."

"Prime hasn't seen the real you fight. He doesn't know what kind of soldier he'd be giving up. I do."

Arcee scoffed bitterly, still refusing to look at him. "You don't know anything about me."

"Don't I?" he chuckled. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised you don't remember me. I was one in a couple dozen mechs that had almost been blown to scrap when the Decepticons razed our base of operations in a surprise attack. We were being patched up at an infirmary when the Cons attacked. I powered up when I heard the alarms. I couldn't even shift to my cannons I was so banged up. We thought we were slag. But, then the doors opened and fighters filed in, and this little spitfire with a rifle half the size of her was shouting orders like she'd done this a thousand times. If every bot in that room who hadn't had their spike blown off didn't feel like a dirty old mech then, they did by the time the raid was over. We watched her fight 'cons like they were practice dummies, and she knew how to do more than just look pretty with that rifle."

The memory heightened the sensation in his field.

"The femme knew what she was doing to us. She made her rounds between fighting, helping the medics watch our stats, maybe even improving a few when she'd sit on a berth and smile for its occupant and ask about his war stories and battle scars. I heard her name, but I didn't realize who she was until Commander Bulwark visited with her the day before I was released. Her plating was darker than his, but her confidence and the way she carried herself mirrored her father exactly. And he was proud of her. He had every right to be."

Arcee relaxed under him, remembering every time she'd done those things.

"Team Prime needs that fighter, not a blockhead mech trying to fight in a femme's chassis. You need to get her back."

She nodded, and Cliff sat back on his heel tires, releasing her. Arcee sat up, but didn't storm off like she had every time before.

"Cee?"

She looked at him.

"You're beautiful."

Her faceplate heated. For once, it didn't feel like he was trying to antagonize Tailgate to the surface.

"Thank you," she surrendered.

"A beautiful femme needs to be reminded every once in a while." He shrugged. "Since I don't think any of those slackers at base will do it, it's just one more burden I must bear."

"I meant thank you for everything," she clarified. "No matter how long this takes or how hard it gets, I want you to know I'm grateful. Anyone else would've thought I was a lost cause and left me to short circuit on Cybertron."

Cliffjumper smiled. "You're a femme worth fighting for," he explained. "Tailgate would be doing the same thing if it meant getting you back."

Arcee smiled for the first time since they'd arrived on Earth, and it made Cliff's expression sober a little as his field relaxed. She rose to her knees so she faced Cliffjumper and let her tired and nervous energy field go. The mech looked at her, slightly stunned by this turn of events. But, he didn't resist when she framed his face in her hands and touched her lips to his.

"Since I know he'll be raring to tear into you as soon as I power up tomorrow, maybe I should thank you a little in advance," she whispered with a smile.

He sighed with an audible whimper, and Arcee felt his hands wrap around her slender waist. A thick thumb found a sensitive spot just at the edge of the plating at her hips. She shivered and felt her fans come on from the sudden wave of heat in her core.

Cliff pulled her closer, and Arcee broke away. He looked up at her wide, bright optics and grinned feeling her amusement. She kissed the bridge of his helm tenderly, and he took it as an invitation to nip at her neck and vent a hot breath under the plating. She gasped when he found another node of pleasure along her spine. She thought she had to be synced up for him to know where they were. Her system was certainly insisting she should.

He flinched when she accidentally snapped him with a tiny white arch of electricity.

"Sorry," she whispered, embarrassed. Arcee thought she had better self-control than that.

"Don't be. Please!" Cliff was grinning like an idiot. "I take it as a compliment."

Arcee smiled shyly and tried to hide her embarrassment in a hug, slipping her arms around his neck and savoring the heat in his plating and the sound and rumble of his engine.

"I could thank you a LOT in advance, if you wanted," she offered, since he already had her excited now. "It's been a long time."

He vented a sigh and let go, pulling away from her.

"What?" She looked at him confused.

"Nothing," he shook his helm. "It's just … I think we should hold off," he suggested meekly. "Let you recharge a couple days. I mean, this is good!" he insisted in the face of her disappointment and retreating energy field. "Arcee, please …"

He clasped her arms as she tried to stand.

"I want to. Believe me! I'll open my panel if you want proof. It's just … you'll make more progress if he's itching for a fight and pulling out all the stops since he'll know what happens if he loses."

He had a point, and Arcee nodded stiffly. She hated it and hated herself for the brief moment she'd let herself feel excited. Frag him if he thought he was getter under her plating with or without Tailgate in his way.

"I don't like that look," he admitted, shaking his helm.

She transformed out of his grip and pelted him with sand and gravel as she tore away.

"Arcee! Hey!" he shouted after her.

She heard him transform and saw him gaining on her in her mirrors. Arcee slammed on her brakes and spun to face him.

"Leave me alone!" she demanded. "I mean it. I don't care if it's good for me or not this time!"

The Challenger demeaned her bold stand by transforming back and grabbing her between the spokes of a tire before she could react.

"Let me go!"

"No. Just listen to me …"

"If I change back, I swear I'm going to …"

"Sync up with me."

"Get fragged," she warned dangerously.

"Please. I'm sorry!" he coaxed.

"Cliffjumper!" She didn't want to shear his fingers off, but Ratchet could fix him.

"Just sync up like you wanted, Arcee. I promise I won't bother you about interfacing ever again if you're still mad at me tomorrow."

She revved her engine against her brakes, nudging his fingers threateningly.

"Please. One time?"

Arcee shifted back, but Cliff still held on to the back of her ped at an awkward angel.

"Come on – just to show me what I ruined and won't get again?"

She shook him off and scowled. "I can't sync up when I'm angry!" she accused.

"You're not trying to offline me," he offered with a smile. "That's all the opening a mech like me needs."

Before she could give him some snarky reply, Cliffjumper pulled her to him like a toy, and his energy field spread from him as regret and panic were still fading away. Hunger and arousal were lingering in the background as he rubbed his cheek against her helm. Relief overshadowed everything else except for what he'd been trying to hide before. He loved her. It made her relax in his arms and let her field go again.

He kissed the back of her neck. "I want to feel you happy, Cee," he whispered against her audio receptor.

Arcee turned around to face him and surprised him when she grabbed his horns and kissed him.

Cliffjumper hadn't been bluffing about much. He synced up with her so easily, and Arcee was shown a whole new side of syncing she'd never known about since Tailgate had been nearly as inexperienced as her. Cliff tickled her intimacy circuits as easily as he did her pleasure nodes. He used their sync to find other hot spots even she didn't know she had. He fed off of her arousal and showed her how to feel his so vividly that it felt like she was exciting herself. He made her overload just as hard and long with only his fingers and glossa on her valve as Tailgate ever had with his spike.

And, when she'd arched her back, gasping his name, his interface plate and refused to close. Lucky him, Arcee was a fast learner. She had enjoyed his arousal as she'd caressed his spike. Better still, the echo of Cliffjumper's near-crippling need to throw her off of him and powerdrill her sweet little valve or waste his transfluid on her tormenting glossa helped her overload herself again for the mech's viewing pleasure.

Her wounded pride still insisted she cut him off and lock her interface panel, but it was hard to stay angry at anything when she was synced up to Cliffjumper – a little trick he would come to exploit too often.

It didn't take anything to make his previous resolve buckle, and if Arcee had thought just syncing with him would be enough to hold her over, she admitted she was wrong. His excitement at her overloads had been new and wonderful to experience, but feeling him lose control and overload with her made Arcee feel like a new femme.

She was glad they hadn't waited. It took Tailgate months to act up again. With Cliffjumper's code fresh in her matrix more often than not, it was so easy to control her old partner's ghost.

I can't remember exactly what I had planned to happen after this – it's been so long. But, Cliffjumper convinces Tailgate to help her too and at the end she was going to find out that what she'd been drawn to all along was her and Wheeljack's grown son caught in the electrical storm but she got struck by lightning just as she saves him and comes back online as Ratchet's shocking her spark. ANYWAY, as much as I loved it and as bad as it stung to scrap all of it, it got too far off the plot.