Smokescreen stretched his back, wincing at the sound his gears made after remaining locked in the same position for hours on end. Ever since Red Alert left to attend to that power plant business with Optimus Prime, the former gambler had done nothing else but watch the monitors. And, now that Red was in the medbay recovering from the blast he had suffered after Soundwave's attack, it looked like Smokescreen would stay alone in the surveillance room a lot longer than planned.

Though another Autobot would have probably cringed at the notion, Smokescreen didn't mind at all. This seemed like the perfect opportunity to watch some of his fellow comrades without being noticed. Even better, he could eavesdrop on them all he liked, and none would be the wiser.

Smokescreen grinned. If there was one thing that he enjoyed besides gambling, it was studying others. A mech's stance, his movements, even the way he talked and gestured, provided the blue Datsun with a plethora of information about said mech's personality. It had started as a means to 'read' a fellow gambler in deck games, but it soon became a habit to the point that Smokescreen became quite an expert at it. That kind of ability was one of the reasons Optimus appointed him as the Ark's resident psychologist and consultant. If any Autobot had a problem that was far from physical, he could go to Smokescreen either for advice or just to get the problem off his chest-plate. For Smokescreen never betrayed anyone's trust. He always kept those sort of conversations confidential, and only Optimus had the right to know about them – under special circumstances.

Even so, it wasn't always enough. Though almost all of his fellow Autobots went to the blue Datsun for one reason or other, it didn't necessarily mean they were completely open to him. Smokescreen discovered a long time ago that a mech let his guard down when he believed no one was watching him. So now, thanks to the monitors, he could see how concerned Inferno was about Red Alert by the way his gaze drifted toward the medbay each time he passed by the particular room. He could also see how tired Prowl was as he worked in his office; the manner in which the black and white door panels drooped behind the tactician's back was unmistakable. And, of course, he could see how close a clique the minibots formed as they worked together during maintenance duty in comfortable silence, or how enthusiastically Jazz and Blaster talked about some music track or other that they'd heard just minutes ago.

After deeming that he had seen enough for the moment, Smokescreen pressed some of the buttons to change the view in the monitors. He was curious to see which Autobots were in the common room, a place that provided the blue Datsun with quite the interesting information. It was rather late, but Smokescreen felt that there was no harm in trying his luck.

Sure enough, Bluestreak was in the common room, finally back from his patrol in Philadelphia. The young gunner was sitting quietly on the couch with a small energon cube in his hands, his stance quite relaxed. Still, his expression was thoughtful, and he seemed to sip his drink in an absentminded manner.

Those kinds of signs were only too clear to Smokescreen's optics. Bluestreak was feeling lonely. When that happened, Bluestreak's processor drifted unwittingly to unwelcome memories and regrets. Admittedly, Smokescreen rarely witnessed Bluestreak in such a listless mood; Prowl was always there for the young gunner, offering his subtle, yet unmistakably caring support. But the tactician was currently in his office, swamped in work after the unexpected attack on Optimus.

Right. Smokescreen opened his communication frequencies, intending to contact Bluestreak and ask him to come to the surveillance room and keep the former gambler company. However, at the last moment, his optics caught sight of something black entering the common room. Bluestreak noticed it too, and he blinked in surprise at the non-metallic being that regarded him curiously.

"I apologise," Faera said. "I didn't mean to alarm you."

Bluestreak smiled politely. "Don't worry about it. I didn't hear you come in, that's all."

"I guess that's to be expected from someone whose feet don't clank," Faera noted in a musing tone. She paused for a moment, trying to figure out what she should do, and she finally stepped closer to the silver mech, her hand extended forward. "I'm Faera, by the way."

"Yes, I know," Bluestreak said and completed the handshake. "My friend and I were informed of your arrival while we were on a mission."

"Oh?" Faera asked.

"Yeah," Bluestreak replied. "Well, Tracks, my friend that is, got a message from Red Alert that said "We have a guest in the Ark. Her name is Faera and you'll meet her upon your return to base" and we got curious. So Tracks asked if it was any of the femmes from Elita's group back on Cybertron, but, of course, Red said "No." At that, we got really curious and we hardly had our processors on the mission afterwards. Fortunately, nothing bad came out of it, or this would have meant trouble, and that would have disappointed Prowl for sure and I don't want--"

Smokescreen winced to see that Bluestreak had forgotten himself and he was rambling. Though the rest of the Autobots were used to the young gunner's particular quirk that derived from Bluestreak's need for companionship, there was no telling how Faera would react. The blue Datsun wouldn't blame her if she found it weird or worse.

That was probably something that Bluestreak must have realised too, albeit belatedly. His voice trailed off, and he scratched the back of his helm embarrassedly.

"Sorry."

Strangely, Faera frowned in genuine confusion. "For what?"

That stunned Bluestreak. "My, uh… you know…" he faltered, motioning one of his hands in a gesture as if he was trying to come up with the right words, "…My babbling. I tend to do that sometimes." He paused for a moment, thinking his statement through. "Actually, I tend to do that a lot of times, except when I'm in battle or when I'm recharging. Although Prowl did say once that he heard me talk in my sleep, which is no surprise since we share the same room. But, knowing Prowl, I bet it happened more than once and he was just too nice to tell me. Honestly, I hate keeping him up, because he always works so hard and he needs all the rest he can get, and I feel like I'm… and I've just done it again," he concluded, his face-plate reddening.

Faera actually laughed a bit, and she patted Bluestreak gently on the shoulder. "Listen…" She froze, realising something, "You've never told me your name, have you?"

"Ugh… Sorry again," the silver mech said, his face plate almost crimson now. "It's Bluestreak."

"Okay," Faera said, nodding. "Listen, Bluestreak. Perceptor and Wheeljack have already said that I don't have to act against my nature when I'm around you guys. But that can work both ways; none of you have to act against your nature on my account. So if you want to talk, talk."

"You won't be saying that when I'm on a roll," Bluestreak pointed out with a light, sheepish chuckle.

She didn't answer, yet she accepted Bluestreak's humour with a smile before her gaze drifted to their surroundings, green eyes scanning the common room. "How come you're here by yourself?"

Bluestreak swirled the contents of the cube and sipped some more of the luminescent liquid. "Tracks went to have a shower, so you're not gonna see him in the next couple of hours at least," he said with a mischievous grin, which faded at the next moment as he sobered. "So I stayed here, since Prowl said that he would meet me here after he's done with his work. But after what happened to Optimus and Red Alert, I'm sure he got stuck in his office again, filling in for them."

"Wait," Faera said, "What happened to them?"

Bluestreak tilted his head. "Haven't you heard? They were returning from some kind of mission when Soundwave ambushed them."

"Are they alright?" the Sadjen asked, eyes reflecting her concern.

"Well, yeah. I mean, Ratchet said they're out of danger," the gunner replied. "Optimus should be up and about by tomorrow."

That seemed to appease Faera, for a small sigh of relief flowed out of her lips. "Good." She rubbed the back of her neck, wincing slightly. "Um… is it okay if I sit?"

Bluestreak understood, and he motioned his hand to the spot next to him. "Go ahead. I could use the company."

Smokescreen couldn't help but smile. It looked like Bluestreak wouldn't stay alone after all.

"Thanks," she said, and then she sat down, clearly happy that she got the chance to rest for a while.

The gunner raised an optic ridge, a knowing expression on his features. "Long day?"

"In a way," she answered. "But I'm done for today, at least. Wheeljack and Perceptor are still working."

"Yeah, I'm not surprised," Bluestreak said. "Whenever they're focused on some new invention or other, they practically forget about everything else, including recharging."

"Sounds like it's a habit of theirs," Faera noted.

"It is," Bluestreak said with a chuckle. "It's a good thing it doesn't happen often, or then we would have three Prowls instead of one."

Faera couldn't help it but chuckle as well, but the question was evident in her eyes. "So… I take it you and Prowl are brothers?"

The gunner blinked, but then mouthed a small "oh" and shook his head, amused. "No. We just look alike. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker are the only real siblings within the Ark."

"And yet you sound quite fond of him," Faera said, regarding Bluestreak in a curious manner.

"I am," Bluestreak answered with a smile. "There probably aren't all that many who can see it, but Prowl's a kind and gentle mech deep inside." He took another sip from his energon and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "It's just that… this war cost him a lot. It cost a lot to all of us."

Faera nodded her understanding. "War works that way," she said. "It shatters everything you know, and then you have to find the strength to pick up whatever pieces you can and move on."

Bluestreak looked down at his drink, humming his affirmation and agreement. That, of course, came as no surprise to Smokescreen. If there was anyone within the Ark who knew exactly what Faera was talking about, it was Bluestreak.

"You sound like you know something about that," the gunner said, optics still locked on his cube.

Faera pursed her lips momentarily and shrugged. It was enough as an answer, and it urged Bluestreak to boldly reach out and place a comforting hand on her shoulder.

Faera accepted that kind gesture with a wan smile, and she looked up at the silver mech. "You know… From all the Autobots I've encountered here in the Ark, you're the first one who doesn't seem uncomfortable with me around. Why is that?"

"I'm… not sure," Bluestreak admitted. "I think it's because you remind me of someone." He paused for a moment, then finally looked at the Sadjen from the corner of his optics in a shy manner. "You actually smile the way my mother used to."

"I do?" Faera asked, surprised.

"Yeah," Bluestreak replied, yet his expression became almost wistful. "It's one of the few things I remember about her."

The Sadjen's eyes widened subtly. "How did she die?"

Smokescreen sat up. He certainly hadn't expected Faera to reach to such a conclusion so fast and actually be correct about it. If Bluestreak was taken aback at those words, though, he didn't show it; he was slowly getting lost in memory.

"It happened too quickly," he said. "At one moment, I was recharging in my berth, lulled by the quiet of the night, and at the next… chaos. The area we were in got bombed, the roof of our house collapsed and… she pushed me out of the way."

"I see," Faera said quietly. "I'm sorry."

"Me too," Bluestreak replied, optics stubbornly locked on his drink. "I didn't want her to die."

"Of course you didn't," the Sadjen said sincerely. "But she also wanted you to live."

Bluestreak didn't say anything; he just remained staring at the energon. Faera heaved a sigh.

"I upset you," she said, and she made a motion to stand up.

Bluestreak, however, gripped one of her hands gently.

"You didn't," he said, finally looking up once more. "I'm glad you are here, Faera. I mean it. All this time, we've been fighting against the Decepticons without any chance of victory in sight, because both factions are equally matched. Maybe you're just that extra something we need so that this war will finally come to an end."

"Wars don't end that easily," Faera pointed out with a shake of her head. But, when she saw Bluestreak's face drop in disappointment, she squeezed the white fingers in reassurance. "Nevertheless… I promised Optimus to offer my help in any way I can, and I intend to keep my word."

Bluestreak's optics brightened, reflecting his brief smile. "I guess that's good enough."

Faera's lips tugged to a smile once more. But then, suddenly, the Sadjen tilted her head, a sign that her ears picked up some sort of sound.

"Prowl is on his way," she declared, and stood up. "I had better head off."

"Are you sure?" Bluestreak asked. "Prowl won't mind if you're here."

"Perhaps not, but I need to have some proper rest," Faera replied, and bowed her head a bit in a polite gesture of thanks. "I enjoyed our conversation, Bluestreak. I hope we'll get to talk again soon."

"I hope so too," the gunner replied with a nod.

Faera didn't say anything else; she turned on her heel and walked out through a door to Bluestreak's left. At the next moment, Prowl appeared through the main entrance to the common room, looking quite tired. Even so, his optics seemed to light up slightly when they caught sight of Bluestreak, and the tactician managed a small smile.

"Hey…"

That was all Prowl needed to say. At the next moment, Bluestreak stood up and rushed to his mentor, embracing him tightly.

"Missed you," he murmured.

Prowl couldn't help but wrap one of his arms around the young one's shoulders. "I missed you too, Bluestreak."

Neither Datsun was aware that Faera had stopped on her tracks and watched their reunion from a distance. Smokescreen, on the other hand, saw everything, including the look on the Sadjen's face before she continued on her way. It was as if some sort of memory played in her mind's eye – a bittersweet one at that.

Frowning slightly, Smokescreen activated a recorder in his arm, and started talking on the microphone that popped out of the blue plating.

"Consultant entry, Earth date: September 10th, 1987. Object of observation: Faera.

"Though formerly leading a lonely existence, the new addition to the crew has shown great adaptability in complying with the rules within the Ark without protests. She shows no evident signs of discomfort, while she remains courteous and willing to interact with the Autobots whenever provided with the chance. However, it seems she longs for further contact on the friendly level rather than the professional one with which she has been treated thus far by most of the crewmembers. This probably has to do with the gregarious nature of her race, a characteristic that Autobot Skyfire has already pointed out.

"Even so, her taciturn behaviour has been noted on more than one occasion. In fact, she appears more eager to learn about the Autobots rather than vice versa. Although it can be put down to justified curiosity, it could also be part of her desire that her past should remain untouched.

"It should also be taken under consideration that what she doesn't say in words, she says only too clearly with action. As her means of communication primarily depends on body language in her alternate form, she's consequently quite expressive in her humanoid form too. Her eyes, in particular, often reveal thoughts and desires that she'd rather not voice. Her latest encounter with Autobot Bluestreak, as well as his interaction with Second-In-Command Prowl, have probably triggered memories of a time that she had enjoyed that kind of companionship between her people. Perhaps even the companionship of someone precious to her."

Smokescreen ended the recording, then leaned on the control panel, knitting his fingers together. All this time, he had heard several Autobots talk about how different Faera was from them, how strange and even odd. But… was she really all that different? Smokescreen had seen her joke, sadden, huff in dismay, grin cheekily, and fight with all the strength of her soul, just like any Autobot did. If that didn't make her the same with them, then what did?

His musings were cut short when he heard the soft whistle of an incoming transmission.

"Smokescreen, this is Ratchet. Do you read?"

Smokescreen had to admit that he didn't like the sound of things at all. If Ratchet called him at this hour, it meant that there was something very wrong.

"Smokescreen here," he replied, activating his communication frequencies. "What is it, Ratchet?"

"Red Alert came online a few minutes ago. He was agitated and even attempted to get up with the risk of reopening his wounds, so I had to sedate him."

"Blast it," Smokescreen hissed. Red had most probably suffered from shock after the attack. "I'll be right there."

"You'd better," Ratchet said, and he ended the transmission.

That was Smokescreen's cue to act quickly. He contacted Gears to relieve him, although that earned the blue Datsun a stream of complaints as the acknowledgement; then he exited the surveillance room. In a matter of moments, he walked inside the medbay, where Ratchet stood, already expecting him. Ratchet wasn't alone, though. Hoist was there, as well as Optimus, who had managed to bring himself into a sitting position when he'd got worried about Red Alert.

"Where's Red?" Smokescreen asked, optics drifting in every direction to catch sight of the security chief.

Hoist drew back a screen, revealing Red Alert behind it. He was lying on a berth, with his arm attached to a cable that poured the sedative Ratchet had used to calm him down into his system.

"Did he say anything?" Smokescreen said, curious.

"Nothing that we could make head or tail of," the medic replied. "One thing's for sure: he kept asking for you."

"Me?" Smokescreen exclaimed, surprised.

Ratchet nodded and stepped close to the lying form, his hands reaching for one of the controls. "I'm going to stop his sedation so you can talk to him. But he shouldn't be awake for more than five minutes; you'd better be quick."

Smokescreen nodded his understanding. Feeling Optimus and Hoist tense, the blue Datsun walked up to Red Alert's side, then looked up at Ratchet. Considering this as a sign to go ahead, Ratchet cut off the sedative flow.

It took a few minutes until Red Alert finally started coming around. Blue optics flickered on weakly, and arms twitched in an attempt to move.

Smokescreen placed a hand on Red Alert's shoulder. "Easy, Red. No need to get worked up."

Red Alert managed to lock his gaze on the Datsun, and his optics widened slightly. "Smokescreen…"

"Yeah, it's me," Smokescreen said, grinning slightly in reassurance before growing serious again. "Listen, Ratchet said that--"

Red Alert didn't let Smokescreen continue. He grabbed Smokescreen's arm instead, almost catching the former gambler by surprise. And yet what really sent a chill to Smokescreen's spark was what Red Alert whispered to him.

"Smokescreen, what did Red say?" Optimus asked, concerned.

Smokescreen let go of Red Alert and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Prime… We have a problem."

TBC...