Author's note: Here's Chapter Two! I was really excited about this one, mostly because two of my favorite characters appear in it...
Anyway, thanks to those that reviewed previously! Please forgive any grammar mistakes or misspelling; I have no beta and my spellcheck is a tyrannical beast. And with that, on with the show!

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers.

Chapter Two

War was not a memory. Blue optics were a memory; large, shaking digits and screams, cold claws and red gazes pounding down.

He raced around another corner, pedes snapping down, banging off of silver floors and propelling him forward, faster, faster, faster…

There was something older; something like a beginning…but he couldn't make it out…

Light glittered over grey plating; shimmered down a ridged spinal strut and over plainly colorless thighs. The orange walls of the Ark were a blur beside him, and air whistled under the edges of his armor.

…There was anger and loud voices - a thunderous Ca-Thoom-!

A dark doorway slid into existence before the him, and he took the exit, skidding into the Ark's cavernous Rec Room and leaping without hesitation onto a surprised mountain of heavy black plating where it sat at a long table.

"What the-!" Came the rolling, deep snarl, wide blue optics narrowing almost immediately at the sight of him. Bumblebee squealed with delight as Ironhide's arms banded around him, curling into heavy walls of warm machinery and weaponry that surrounded him on almost all sides. "Cut the audio assault, brat." The Weapons Specialist growled, the noise thrumming through his enormous chassis and through to Bumblebee's struts. "I gotta use that particular part o' mah body later. Prime's got a debriefin'." The squinted optics shrank to slits as the big mech pretended to consider. "Or maybe I oughtta thank ya for blowing out mah receptors. Won't hafta hear a fraggin' thi-"

"Ironhide!" Something loud and high-pitched shrieked from somewhere painfully close. The accused mech grimaced at the noise.

"What?" He drawled, raising an optic ridge at the speaker. Arcee gaped, jaw hanging wide open and optics equally stretched. The femme sat to Ironhide's left, opposite Blaster, who had started chuckling, attempting to disguise it as violent coughs when the femme's gaze found him.

Arcee turned her scalding glare back to Ironhide. "Do you always speak in 'vulgar'?" She hissed, the sound grating past thin, silver lips that twisted into an ugly - but somehow still feminine - snarl. "Sparklings shouldn't be hearing that sort of thing!"

"Kid's around The Hatchet all th' time. He ain't learned 'em now, he's gonna soon."

"That's no excuse!"

"Aw, quit your yappin', femme." Ironhide grumbled, turning his attention back to the ball of Adorable that had wriggled free of his embrace and somehow ended up in his lap.

Bumblebee looked a bit puzzled by the agrument, but happy enough. The sparkling's silver frame was practically quivering with excitement. Ironhide grinned.

"Ah bet Ah know what you want, huh half-bit?" Plating rattled as Bumblebee's aft wiggled enthusiastically, optics brightening. "Yeah? Ya think so?" A furious nod that progressed into a full body shudder. "Well then git up here!"

A grey blur streaked up Ironhide's chasis, pedes slipping every which way on the mech's smooth shoulder armor, and Bumblebee threw himself in a graceless belly-flop onto the tabletop. Around him, mechs snickered, the long tablelength of mechs turning to watch the show. Even mechs at surrounding tables cast a few glances in their direction; the rumbling chatter and buzz of conversation lessened.

Bumblebee jumped up from his sprawled position - only to fall back with a plop on his aft, horns perked and optics practically popping, his little denta revealed in a ridiculously jubilant grin. Beside him, one of Ironhide's enormous cannons slammed onto the table with thunderous finality, denting the metal and sending the sparkling up into the air a neat four feet. He landed in the same sitting position, already crowing at the sight of the weapon, servos grasping and groping frantically. The Weapons Specialist kept him back with one pinky finger, using the rest of his digits to begin dismantling the gun. His right arm looked strangely bare without the thick, tubelike weapon encircling it, and a few bots snapped surreptitious pictures for later proof that the things were indeed removable.

The mech's deep rumble overrode any snickers that might have been heard. "Now, this here's the release trigger - don' touch it half-bit! - and this do-hickey's an ammo cash…"

The other mechs and femme watched with an air of exasperated amusement, sending one another glances filled with hidden meanings and inside jokes - those that weren't broadcasted out loud on the comms. Meanwhile, the old mech and the tiny sparkling had the time of their lives ripping apart the massive, death-dealing cannon, Ironhide carefully explaining each piece to his protege.

The Rec Room in general settled down to watch, most of the many mechs relaxed and content, the single femme reluctantly amused.

Elsewhere on Cybertron...

Rust plumed from beneath flared, weary pedes with every stuttering step. The owners stumbled and lurched across a red landscape, the metal dust washing over their scarred and battered frames. Arms linked around slim waists made for twisting and bending in ways other mechs could not; hands clutched at armor gouged with long, deep incisions. Blue optics flickered, and with each darkening shutter the wide pedes faltered more drastically. Behind them, glistening blue strands of energon laced the ground, one trail thicker than the other.

Before them, in the distance, lights glimmered and flashed, and dark spires rose to kiss fiery, darkening skies. A city. The two mechs looked up as one, expressions flat despite their obvious pain, optics cold, as though they were already dead. As one, they moved forward again. As one, their step caught, wavered, and gave out. As one, they fell with a wailing, screeching crash to the cold metal earth. Rust billowed in clouds around them, and energon pooled beneath their frames.

Scalpel was a simple mech. He didn't look simple; his legs were many and complex; spidery and clawed with tools at every end. His helm was nothing more than wires and large red optics; as a scientist he had no use for armor. His spark glowed freely in the gusting winds, a flickering, wild thing he was all but oblivious towards. As long as he functioned, Scalpel needn't waste valuable time worrying about his spark - though, on further reflection, by the time he needed to worry about it, he'd probably be dead. This realization was scoffingly deemed unimportant, and Scalpel turned his attention back to exciting, meaningful things. Like science.

Scalpel had a body, had a frame and limbs and a spark, but they were only means to an end. Science was his passion - or more accurately, science had chosen him for a mission, and permitted him to adore it in the process.

With a squeal, the little mech scurried over rust-strewn ground, avoiding jagged holes in the planet surface and scuttling through the harsh gales that slapped at him. There was life ahead! A sample of the greatest mystery in the universe was at his claw-tips - and such an unusual circumstance, too! Two sparks as registering as one, flickering in the wind, dying at an alarmingly fast rate. There were but moments to intervene and claim the specimen…alive, at least. Even dead, the corpses would be interesting.

A skate and a roll later, he landed atop the first. Rusty, dirty red plating fell away beneath his blowtorch, revealing the slow, weak pulse of a deep blue spark with a white center. Scalpel stared, excitement rattling through his systems, quivering through his helm and sending his antennae bobbling. Most sparks were a single color, with lighter or darker stabs of emotion and being pulsing through their glowing centers. The contrast of almost ebony blue to the sparkling white core of this spark was unprecedented. Scalpel loved that word, mostly for the hours of uninterrupted study it implied.

The spark casing was breeched; contaminants were licking at the wavering spark field. Scalpel set to work, injecting a vial of membro and watching as the thick, gelatinous substance safely encased the throbbing spark. That done, the mech scuttled over the the second 'patient'. This one was worse: The spark casing wasn't just breeched, it looked as though something had ripped into the mech's very core, scrabbling at his spark before closing on it briefly, crushing the casing entirely and leaving the spark without any protection. Energon had soaked into the cavity where the casing had been, sizzling as tendrils of the spark tentatively reached out to it, looking for the walls that had been so brutally ripped away. Seeing such a spark, the same midnight blue with a glowing center, open to the air and fluctuating nearly made Scalpel swoon. The only thing that stopped him was the cold hard fact that if he glitched, he would not be able to examine it.

Gleefully clicking to himself, the small bot kept his limbs working diligently, salvaging what he could from the casing and retrieving spare scraps from his subspace. The result was a state of events not dissimilar to the first 'patient', with membro sealing the spark safely in the makeshift and highly volatile casing, which was incomplete.

Scalpel moved on the the bots' other ailments, patching what he could and leaving what he couldn't. The two mechs were still teetering on the edge of deactivation; cable spasms shook their frames from time to time, and energon leaked from between the silver lips of the red mech, signaling an internal problem Scalpel hadn't noticed.

So much work to accomplish; so little time.

Now…how to haul two excessively damaged frames seven times his size to the depths of New Kaon - preferably without being noticed? For the furthering of science, he'd find a way.

Back at the Ark...

"…And that's how ya dismantle and reassemble a compositrite calibrator, half-bit!" Ironhide huffed, slamming the finished work of art upon the rec room table. Bumblebee watched with skeptical eyes; the dismantling and reassembling had been blurry with speed, and he wasn't entirely sure the Weapons Specialist hadn't cheated at some point. Ironhide noticed his dubious expression, and immediately soured. "Oh come on! Don' tell me ya're jealous of mah incredibly mechly speed and dexterity?"

"Ironhide, I'm ninety-seven percent sure you don't know what 'dexterity' means, let alone possess the ability." Came a distinctly disgruntled voice. It sounded as though somemech was pissed and trying to make it sound witty, all the while pouting because of the reason he was pissed. Both Ironhide and Bumblebee glanced up with identical expressions of "the frag-?" on their mobile features (though somehow Ironhide managed to make his "the frag-?" look like a raging thunderstorm caught unawares by a saucy clown throwing insults at it. Bumblebee just looked clueless).

Red Alert glowered grumpily from his position by the rec room doors, chassis puffed out arrogantly, optics narrowed, arms crossed over his front. Red and white plating glowed dully underneath the Ark's internal lighting system, showing dents and scratches here and there. Beneath the optics, dark scuff marks indicated servos rubbing repeatedly over and around the area, trying to force tired optics to remain open. In short, the Director of Security looked ragged.

Ironhide blinked, expression becoming a tad frostier. "What'd we do, Red? Sit on a camera ya had laying' around?" He joked, but there was little humor in his tone. Bumblebee just blinked, still looking confused. His optics flickered as internal systems check initiated, and then the sparkling gasped, horrified, whirling around to stare at Ironhide in…

It was hard to believe, but Bumblebee's optics held more adoration in them than ever before.

"As I believe the sparkling has noticed," Red Alert snapped acidly. "Where you haven't, I might add," He spat condescendingly. "It is nearly two moors past its recharge initiation period!"

Ironhide shuttered his optics briefly in disbelief. "His bedtime? Aw, we ain't even gotten near-" He stopped, optics flickering as he too checked his systems, most especially his chronometer. "Aw hell." He muttered, slumping moodily in his seat, optics narrowing in a glare that rested squarely on Red Alert. Who had become decidedly smug, even though he remained excessively peeved as well.

"I'm sorry," He sneered, and Ironhide bristled, lip-plates twitching. "My audios must be malfunctioning. What did you say?"

"Ain't that a Security Hazard? Havin' bad hearin'?"

"Not when it means I get to hear you say 'Y'all was right, Rey-ad, and Ah was wrong", a billion times over." The mech replied with a truly evil smirk.

Ironhide's glower descended into levels of frightening that would have sent many a Decepticon running to the hills, peace or no. "I'm gettin' half-bit here ta bed, now." He gritted out, rising with a groan of pistons, armor scrapings, and internal clatter. Bumblebee himself simply kept staring at his hero - at the mech who had allowed him the freedom of lack of recharge. His glistening optics were wide, and he immediately purred as Ironhide scooped him up, a dazed and goofy smile plastered over tiny lip-plates as Ironhide's lumbering gait carried both of them away; leaving a muttering Security Director behind them in the rec room.

Bumblebee stirred as a loud gust of air coughed its way into his audios. Ironhide's hands were still warm and comforting around him, and he wasn't planning on moving any time soon. He heard deep vocals rumbling; felt the vibrations race through his frame to his horns, where they were analyzed and promptly ignored. At the moment, he didn't care to listen to the chatter of adults, regardless of the fact that one of those adults had allowed him to stay up past his recharge initiation period - 'bedtime', 'Hide had called it.

Then he was tipping; the massive hands beneath him were tilting, sliding him away from blissful warmth and into a pair of colder, larger hands. Unacceptable.

Little claws sank between plating seams, and clenched into sensitive wires.

"Fraggin' son-of-a-glitch!" Came a deep, gravely, and unforgivably loud roar from above him. The claws clenched tighter in remonstrance. Ironhide froze, and Bumblebee could tell the larger mech was somewhere between wary and apoplectic. "Git yer pinchers outta mah joints, bitlet." The growl resonated in his horns again, and Bumblebee squawked his indignation, curling inwards towards warmth and security. The previous hero worship had been utterly forgotten in the face of loss of comfort; that was then, this was now, and now should involve heat, softly recharging systems, and a soothing, throbbing sparkbeat beneath his helm.

Then the other mech chuckled, and Bumblebee's audios identified him. In a sparkbeat, Ironhide's servos were empty, and the Prime had a palmful of sparkling in his servos. The change was so sudden, Optimus' amused rumbles ceased with a startled hiccup. Ironhide made a grating, grinding noise in his engine that roughly translated to: "Buh?…"

The air was silent for a few moments, but soon the soft sounds of a tiny snoring engine made themselves known. The two larger mechs blinked at the tightly curled, deeply recharging sparkling with stupefied disbelief. Then Optimus raised his head and gave Ironhide a nod. The Weapons Specialist swung around and departed, grumbling; Optimus turned back into the cavernous depths of his own quarters with soft, very un-Primely grin of sappy contentment, reeling his servos in and all but cuddling the tiny frame - whose snores were rapidly growing in volume - next to his deeply pulsing spark.

Somewhere in New Kaon...

"What do you mean, 'the same'?" Hook frowned, crossing his arms over his chassis and regarding the spastic mech before him with barely contained scorn. Scalpel giggled manically from his crouched skulk, ooching across the slick metal floor.

They were in the Decepticon Medbay. Mirrors covered one wall, giving the illusion of space where there was barely any (the mirrors had been Skywarp's idea; he'd read up on it on some human housewives' site, Primus only knew why). Above, dim lights flickered over glinting tools where they were delicately placed on the wall opposite the entrance, hanging on thin metal bolts and hooks. Tables (rec room dining tables converted into medberths) lined the last wall, shoved there haphazardly to allow Hook space for cleaning the floor. That Scalpel was currently scuffing.

Hook sighed. "Look, Scalpel. Sparks can't be the same and yet separate. There are sparks that are alike - twin sparks, for instance - but there are never two that are exactly the same." He didn't know why he was explaining this. He really didn't. Maybe it was his perfectionist tendencies attempting to make Scalpel into a better scientist, since perfection in that area was obviously unattainable.

His words had little to no effect on the excited ball of Scalpel quivering on his floor. "Nien! Nien! I haf seen it, zoo unbeliever!" Shrieked the little bot, optics popping wide.

Hook chewed his bottom lip thoroughly, glowering outright at the blatant and irrational denial. "Alright. You want evidence? Let's go see Shockwave." He snapped waspishly, nearly squishing the scientist with one large, glinting green pede as he strode to the exit. The ticking sound of Scalpel's limbs working double-time to keep him level with his adversary was an amusing balm to his irritation.

By the time they reached the entrance to Shockwave's laboratory, Hook was seriously rethinking his suggestion. And it wasn't just because of the decor. Large, imposing doors loomed above them, black and flat, so scratched and scuffed they did little more than offer a few bubbly reflections of the flickering, yellowed hall lights in their surface. They weren't sliding doors; Shockwave had them installed with handles that twisted seven ways before allowing entry, and that was only if a mech managed to punch in the billion digit code (literally; it was one billion digits long exactly) before it changed, which happened at random intervals during each cycle. Soundwave was the only mech who managed entry on the first try every try. Even Lord Megatron could be heard every so often howling obscenities at the keypad, which played a very simple yet infuriating message to those who failed to enter the code: "Access…denied…access…denied…access…denied…" It was infuriating, especially considering the scientist probably hadn't meant the message to be annoying in any way. He would always answer volcanic exclamations of "Why In the Pit?!" with a simple "It seemed only logical."

Starscream had shot the scientist with a null ray for that one. Megatron had beaten the seeker with his own arm for the 'unprovoked' attack. Business had continued as usual.

Hook suppressed a shiver as he eyed the famed keypad, one vibrantly purple claw poised over the first worn and battered key, ready to fall but restrained by pure, unadulterated 'Do Not Want'. In the event that an attempt failed…the message would play. And by this point all the audios on the ship could sense the tinny voice; could tell the moment it began to play and seemed to have a sixth sense regarding who was responsible.

Scalpel solved the issue by scampering up the the keypad excitedly, apparently oblivious to Hook's hand and anything that was not related to getting an explanation of spark theories from Shockwave. His little legs tapped against the keys with wild abandon, his sing-song vocals screeching a human tune - Russian, if Hook was not mistaken. The aforementioned medic had retreated the instant responsibility was removed from his shoulders, cowering unashamedly in the shadows of the corridor. Any moment now...

A cheery beep sounded, and the two massive doors gave a pair of deep clicks as locks disengaged.

Raising a disbelieving eyebrow, Hook remained in his position, deeply distrustful of such an easy success. Decepticons had learned that they rarely succeeded. Ever. And if they did, it was probably a ruse.

But the two doors swung simply open, and no battle-ready Autobots leapt into sight. Only blackness seeped forth, occasionally lessened by flashes and sharp sparks of electricity; lessened, but never overcome. Deep within the blackness, a single red optic, set high above the floor, turned to regard them with chilly annoyance. Scalpel, oblivious as always, chittered and twittered, but did not enter. Apparently his scientific honor did not allow him to enter another worshiper's domain unless so invited, or at least unless said worshiper wasn't watching with a baleful optic. Hook swallowed, trying to appear cool and indifferent and disassociated from the tiny, scrabbling puddle of Excitement named Scalpel.

"And to what," Came the rolling words, like a landslide of chocolate over molasses. "Do I owe this intrusion?"

Author's note: Can I just say, I love Scalpel? Anyone else think he's hilarious, or is it just author's bias? Well, anyways, please review! Reviews get more chapters going!