A/N: I have to say, the smut in the last chapter was probably the one of the trickiest things I've ever written. But due to the mostly positive response it had, I could be persuaded to write more...

Disclaimer: Nightraider, Dreadnought and Crossfire are mine. No taking without asking. Everything else is the property of Hasbro and TomyTakara. Have at.

Italics denote telepathy/thoughts

Presents: Part 8

The shimmer of holographic light on metal utterly enchanted the little lavender gun-former, his single golden optic shining with delight as he reached out and tried to bat the tachyons with his hands.

'What that thing on 'Con face head?'

Dreadnought carefully plucked Crossfire away from the display, earning a squeak of disappointment as he plopped the little mech into his lap and resumed his study of the bastardised faction symbol before him. A fluffy, red and white piece of organic material was draped of the helm of the symbol, falling into a strange point over one optic and topped with a downy white ball of what seemed to be cloud vapour.

'I'm gonna take a stab and say that's one of those Santa hats 'Raider was telling us about.'

Crossfire clicked in excitement, and then purred as one of Dreadnought's giant fingers carefully rubbed the top of his little cranium. 'Can I have one?'

The battlecruiser paused, and glanced towards Shockwave, who was currently shooting him a Look.

'Err...ask Shockwave, lil' buddy.'

The lavender gun-former's optic dimmed slightly as he turned to his left and stared up at his creator. 'I can have Santa hat?'

His hopeful expression was met with one of deep-seated disapproval. Shockwave angled his head to better study his errant creation, his own optic narrowed. 'What exactly makes you believe that your behaviour over the past two orns has warranted the gift of a 'Santa hat'?'

Crossfire put his fledgling processor to work, and came up with the only answer which ever mattered to a sparkling. Especially to one who soaked up knowledge like the proverbial sponge.

'Cos it's Christmas?'

The Military Operations officer rested the base of his cranium against his knuckles. 'A weak attempt at gaining material goods. We are Transformers. We do not celebrate Christmas. We have not celebrated any religious or celestial holidays since long before the war.'

'But I wanna Santa hat!'

'The answer is no, and it will remain no until you learn some decorum.'

Even with a lack of faceplates and only one optic, Crossfire somehow managed to rearrange his posture and features into those of the classic pouty sparkling. 'Wanna Santa hat!'

'I reiterate, no.'

A rush of air through tiny vents echoed through the room. Crossfire's single optic instantly filled with tears and he began to wail.

Loudly.

'YOU MEANIE! I WANNA SANTA HAT! I HATE YOU!'

Shockwave's patience almost immediately gave out. Grabbing his sparkling by the scruff bar, he hauled the bawling little mech out of Dreadnought's lap and up to his optic level, rare anger starting to rise in his CPU.

'This is behaviour unbecoming of one born of the military lineage of Tarn. You will silence your vocaliser now; otherwise I will be forced to discipline you.'

The wailing stopped abruptly, Crossfire's processor quickly deciphering his creator's emphasis on the word 'discipline'.

He'd been disciplined before. It hadn't been fun.

He sniffled as he dangled in a tiny lavender and silver ball, suddenly aware of how far he was from the floor.

It didn't stop him from offering one last sulky declaration. 'Wanna Santa hat.'

Shockwave slumped slightly in his chair, his optic narrowing into an irritated glare as he dumped Crossfire unceremoniously back into Dreadnought's lap. 'I believe this is your area of expertise.'

The battle cruiser traded glares with the elder of the two gun-formers while Crossfire made himself comfortable against his guardian's massive kneecaps. 'How come it's my 'area of expertise' whenever Shorty here misbehaves?'

'Me not short.'

Dreadnought gently shifted the pouty little gun-former so that he was snuggled comfortably against his fuel tanks, and plugged in a sparkling-sized feeding tube from his secondary tank into Crossfire's intake valve. 'Short in proportion to the room, little guy.'

Shockwave glanced down at his now sweetly behaved offspring and blew a gust of air through his vents. 'I believe that is why.'

'...No, to be perfectly honest, it's because all of us know you couldn't keep a jar of mould alive.'

A sudden burst of white noise from the monitor interrupted the conversation, the Decepticon symbol dissolving into static before reforming into a more welcome set of face plates. On Earth, Nightraider frowned at the image and employed the time-honoured tradition of whacking the side of the med-bay vidscreen until the picture cleared up, finally shooting a grin at the trio as the static finally cleared.

'So, how are my favourite mechs?'

Crossfire's squeal of delight nearly shattered the audios of the two elder mechs. ''Raider! I missed you! What Earth like? What Christmas like? What you been doing?'

Dreadnought flipped off a quick salute and let a grin spread over his faceplates. 'What he said, except you know what details I want...'

He wiggled his eyebrows in as suggestive a fashion as he could manage.

The F-14, knowing only too well what he meant, rolled her optics. 'Does your CPU just live in the waste disposal?'

'I let it out occasionally for good behaviour. Now, details, dear femme.'

Shockwave leaned the base of his cranium against his hand, his optic flashing gold. 'Is this entire communication intended to be based solely around your shared and somewhat insatiable need for spurious knowledge?'

Nightraider and Dreadnought traded glances.

'...Yes?'

'You were expecting something else?'

The Military Operations officer let out a rare sigh. 'No. I merely thought I should check in case the Great Shutdown was due to occur and you had decided to break with tradition.'

The battle cruiser waved a dismissive hand, disconnected the feeding tube from the tiny gun-former's intake, and then carefully lifted Crossfire up to sit on his shoulders. 'Pfft. When Unicron finally appears to stop us gossiping, we'll let you know.'

He rubbed his hands together and turned a look of greedy delight upon the image of the red and black jet before him.

'Now, give me details!'

Nightraider shot him a deadpan look.

'That's not giving me details; that's glaring at me.'

Dreadnought narrowed his optics in turn, studying the F-14 closely. Her body language was fractionally different in her new alt-mode; her arms crossed slightly lower across her fuselage, rather conveniently covering the most angular points of her frame, and her posture was slightly too rigid for comfort.

Either she was trying to protect herself...or she was hiding something.

And he was willing to bet a barrel of high-grade as to what exactly she was hiding.

Crossfire giggled and grabbed onto his guardian's antennae to keep himself steady as Dreadnought leaned forward, a smirk spreading quickly across his faceplates.

'Since you look like the stick up your aft has got a stick up its aft, should I assume someone got lucky within the past two orns?'

On Earth, Nightraider's optics widened in mild panic, and flicked from side to side, searching desperately for an escape. 'Erm...define lucky.'

Dreadnought's grin widened. 'Only if you define who the other someone was.'

'And who says it was only someone?'

'I believe you just did, thus indicating that it was at least one lucky slagger. So, next question, was it our beloved Comms officer? And do bear in mind a wrong answer at this point will subject you to a round of mockery the likes of which the universe has never before witnessed.'

'You're really not giving me much wiggle room here.'

Dreadnought's patience finally exhausted itself. 'Was it or was it not Soundwave?'

Even Shockwave and Crossfire were now regarding her with a modicum of curiosity. Neither stare was exactly welcomed.

Frag it.

She sighed, rolled her optics, and lowered her arms, enough for the three Cybertronian residents to take in the red, silver and blue scuffs of paint streaking her fuselage.

Dreadnought's mouth dropped open in horror.

Shockwave's single optic briefly offlined out of disbelief.

Crossfire was the one who finally, and very innocently, asked the question his creator and guardian utterly refused to vocalise.

'Why you got Starscream's paint colours over your vents?'

'Question.'

Ravage cracked open one optic and glanced at his cobalt sibling. The answer is no.

'I ain't even said what it is yet!'

Most questions that you ask, Rumble, can safely be pre-empted with a flat denial.

The blue Cassette pouted. 'But it's important!'

Laserbeak, never one to miss an opportunity to tease her older brother, contentedly joined the discussion. The last time you had an important question, it was to ask if Flip Sides would interface with you for...what was it again?

Buzzsaw twittered. I believe it was three cubes of high grade and something shiny.

And even after that, she still punched you through the wall. The black felinoid stretched out his newly repaired claws, admiring the untouched shine of the gleaming steel.

Frenzy sniggered and clicked the rewind button on the VCR remote. 'I toldja at th' time you shoulda raised it t' four cubes.'

'Meh. She prob'ly couldn't've handled a tumble with th' Rumble anyway. But yeah, question.'

Ravage shot his younger brother an exasperated look. What part of 'no' did I not make clear?

'Th' whole 'no' part. Put a cork in it for a sec Rav, this is important.'

Oh Primus save us...alright, what is it?

Wings fully repaired and now happily latched onto the overhead I-beam, Ratbat carefully turned around and cocked his head at his sibling.

Is it about Soundwave and Nightraider?

Rumble nodded. 'Got it in one, Squeaky.'

He spread his arms wide and held out his hands. 'How long are they gonna keep dancin' round each other? We know what happened; fraggit, the whole ship knows what happened. When're they gonna just sort it out?'

Musing quietly, Laserbeak let a rare grimace cross her faceplates. I believe the crew knows only that Soundwave and Nightraider attempted to interface, Soundwave backed out at the last moment, and in what they believe was an act of reprisal, Nightraider ended up in Starscream's berth.

'Thanks to Skywarp, at least. And none of us know why th' boss backed out 'cos he still ain't told any of us.' Frenzy bit on his lower lip in thought, leaning against his twin's legs.

The purple and yellow Cassette let out an unhappy chirrup. So what do we know? And how can we get them to make up?

Buzzsaw squinted as he thought. Well, normal service has resumed between the jets; they won't talk unless it's to snipe at each other. And Soundwave's back on regular duty, so once we get the all-clear from the Constructicons and Nightraider, then we're free to leave and she just has to wait until the space-bridge is repaired before she returns to Cybertron. That's three days at most, and Christmas Eve falls tomorrow.

The little bat chirruped again, his processor whirling. Then they have to be somewhere they can talk, where no-one else can bother them.

Ravage growled in mild annoyance. And how, pray tell, do you intend to distract an entire crew of gossipy, insane and otherwise perverted mechs long enough for any kind of resolution to occur?

Silence fell over the group as six processors went to work.

Finally, Rumble's faceplates lit up in glee. Transmitting the thought to his twin through their bond, he watched with almost evil delight as the red Cassette's faceplates reformed into a matching smirk.

'Simple, and yet genius. I'll comm. 'Warp.'

'How much high-grade we got in th' stores?'

Ravage simply groaned and buried his head in the mattress. Am I correct in assuming that the phrase 'P-A-R-T-Y' is heading into this conversation with much amusement and unwarranted haste?

'Hey, you got a better plan, kittykat?'

I would have preferred something with perhaps a tad more subtlety.

A screech of indignation suddenly blasted through the wall from the officer's ward.

However, I can hear the sounds of the residents of Darkmount finding out about the events of the past two days, so unfortunately, it's the only plan we've got.

The felinoid stretched out his claws once more and gazed over his newly repaired siblings.

Cassettes, to work.

In his considerably lengthy life, Shockwave had found very few things that could not be adequately processed by either his considerable CPU or his beloved logic.

Logic kept the universe in harmony. Logic enabled him to help Cybertron survive in the extended absence of his great lord and master.

Listening to Dreadnought banging his helm into the console and groaning loudly, the purple gun-former was forced to agree with the battlecruiser's non-verbal belief that logic clearly didn't govern femmes in lust.

Dreadnought risked raising his head enough to stare at his friend, a look of sheer exasperation on his faceplates.

'I do realise I ask this question every time this happens, but WHY?'

Nightraider growled and waved her hands about as if trying to pluck an excuse out of the ether. 'There were extenuating circumstances!'

'Oh, this should be worth a laugh.' The battlecruiser glared at the vidscreen. 'And these extenuating circumstances would be...?'

The femme jet shifted uncomfortably before flapping a hand in the general direction of Crossfire, now sitting within the safety of Shockwave's lap. 'Can someone cover his audials?'

Crossfire folded his arms in an unconscious imitation of his sire. 'Me want to hear!'

'I'll tell you when you're older, sweetspark. Now, hands over audials.'

The little gun-former grumbled, but still did as he was told; he tightly clamped his hands over his audials and leaned against his creator's torso.

Shockwave's expression could almost be called annoyed. 'Please define these 'extenuating circumstances'. Dreadnought and I are most curious as to what could make a rational femme, possessing intense emotions for one particular mech, willingly interface with another mech whom she unreservedly loathes.'

Nightraider looked down at her fuselage, trying desperately to stop her expression from wavering. '...I-I had to fly patrol, so that meant a new alt-mode. When we got back, I needed to get my weapons upgraded; Soundwave did the fittings for me, and we were alone, and I dunno...it-it just happened.'

'Whoah-whoah-whoah-whoah. Care to run that last bit past me again?' Dreadnought blinked in shock, his mouth dropping open.

'When you say 'happened', are we still taking the definition of 'happened' to mean 'had you upside down and halfway to the Matrix'?'

'Yeah. It 'happened' at least halfway, and it would've 'happened' all the way if he hadn't backed out for some reason.'

Shockwave's optic narrowed. 'He refused to interface with you?'

'Backed out, not refused. There's a difference.'

'And then...?'

'He left me, and I wasn't exactly in the best mental state. 'Warp found me, got me back to my quarters, then Starscream stamped in throwing a pissy fit about his latest coup, I fixed him up, he found out about everything, and...eh.'

Dreadnought nodded wearily. 'You were upset, he took advantage, and then you did each other into the berth. WHY do you do this to yourself?'

He waved his hands madly enough to make Shockwave lean out of the way, his one good hand shielding Crossfire's body.

'Every time this happens, yes, you both get an overload, but then you feel guilty, and he just goes back to acting like a bastard! I know he's one of your commanding officers, I know the pair of you have known each other for vorns, I know he can occasionally be helpful, but it doesn't change the fact that he treats all of his berth-partners, including you, like slag! You deserve better than that!'

The black and red jet snarled. 'You think I don't know that?'

'I'm just wondering if you actually do!'

The battlecruiser caught his breath and tried to calm down as he took in Nightraider's expression. She was shaking, her head hanging with her optics screwed shut and fluid starting to gather at the corners.

He sighed, trying to rein in his temper. '...Have you tried to talk to Soundwave since?'

Nightraider's voice was trembling badly. 'No...just been trying to avoid everyone and finish up the repairs.'

Shockwave quietly leaned forward. 'I would suggest questioning him as to his reasoning. Did he give you any indication as to why he would not continue in his actions?'

'He...didn't want to 'disrespect me or the act', whatever that means.'

The gun-former nodded, his processor instantly calculating the variables. 'I concur with Dreadnought; question him. Make no further decisions until that is done.'

Nightraider sighed and scrubbed her hand over her optics. 'I make no promises.'

'Bar one; get thee to lover-mech and TALK TO HIM. Or just do him, whichever one works faster.'

'Dreadnought!'

Dreadnought finally grinned. 'Ooooohh, look at that. Time's up, gotta go, love ya!'

Crossfire, seeing that his guardian was preparing to end communications, pulled his hands away from his audials and waved at the irate femme. 'Bye 'Raider!'

'Dread-'

The screen flickered and faded to black.

Slouching against the computer console, the red and black jet let her head droop and quietly wondered if it was possible to throttle someone to death when they were on another world.

Failing that, a method of killing Starscream without the act being traced back to her would be nice.

And failing that, a few joors of peace without every mech in the repair bay passing comment as to her love life would be amazing. That had been part of the reason why she had contacted Cybertron – the only one likely to make any kind of remark was Dreadnought, and even then he kept it to a minimum due to an excellent self-preservation instinct.

Now...she couldn't work out if she felt better or worse for having spoken to them. The battlecruiser was right; she had to talk to Soundwave. But after The Incident (as she privately thought of it), she had been doing her utmost to stay out of the navy mech's sight, and it appeared he had been doing the same. Apart from the previous day, when she had called in while he was visiting his creations, and she had confirmed that the major repairs to the Cassettes were complete.

To say that the conversation had been awkward was a massive understatement.

A small scuffle and a cough brought Nightraider out of her thoughts. She turned her head slightly and glared at the slightly sheepish-looking power shovel standing in the doorway.

'If this is another joke Scavenger, I swear to Primus I'll beat you offline with your own scoop.'

The youngest of the Constructicons squeaked and backed out, gesturing to someone behind him to head inside.

'Um, someone to see you.'

'Tell them to slag off.'

A set of turbine heels clicked against the tiles as the newcomer crossed the room to stand beside the femme jet.

'I'll let you off for that one, just because I like my head right where it is.'

Nightraider sighed and waved a hand at the sanest member of the Seekers before returning her gaze to the floor. 'Hey TC. How're the wings?'

Thundercracker quietly knelt down beside the jet, a small smile on his faceplates. 'They're attached and I'm online, so I'm not about to complain.'

He tilted his head, taking in his friend's slumped posture and the paint scuffs over her fuselage and wings. 'Feel like telling me what happened?'

Nightraider growled and stared at her feet. 'Why don't you just ask the rumour mill known as your wing-mate?'

The blue and black F-15 shrugged. 'I wouldn't like to guess as how much he's brushed up the details. And if something like this happens, you always go straight to the source.'

He leaned back on his heels. 'Since I still look like slag, I'm heading down to the wash-racks and retouching my paint. You know as well as I do that's a two mech job for flight models.'

His smile widened slightly.

'Just figured you might need a break.'

Nightraider looked up, and weakly returned the smile.

'With no comments?'

Thundercracker stood up and looped an arm around the femme's shoulders. 'With no comments.'

She cuddled into his side, the slightly sick feeling in her tanks lessening considerably. 'Can I kill Starscream if I see him?'

'Hmmm. Check with our illustrious leader. You know he's got first dibs.'

Soundwave had not had a good two days.

The first indication of how his holiday season was about to proceed came the morning after The Incident (as he now referred to it); Starscream had turned up late for shift, looking far too smug for someone who had recently had the mech-fluid beaten out him by Megatron, and covered in dark red and black paint marks.

One glance into the Air Commander's processor had confirmed Buzzsaw's prediction.

After calmly, thoughtfully and quietly crushing part of the main communication system under his fist, he then had to spend the next half hour repairing it.

Unfortunately, Starscream had seen what had happened, and proceeded to do what he did best.

'Do make sure it's properly finished. But then again, it wouldn't be the only job you left incomplete.'

The Communications officer had been in an absolutely foul mood by this point. He jabbed a soldering iron into the bowels of the console and furiously welded a circuit board into place. 'Suggestion: shut up.'

'And how do you intend to make me? With your little brats?'

Starscream had leaned against the console and smirked at the visible half of Soundwave's body. 'Oh, but wait, they're still in the medical bay. I do hope Nightraider has the energy to complete their repairs. She did insist on beginning her shift without her morning rations, even though she did tire herself out last night.'

Underneath the console, Soundwave had silently wondered if anyone would particularly mind if the Air Commander had a hideously disfiguring and incredibly drawn-out accident with the soldering iron in the next ten minutes.

'Not to mention offlining me. But then again, it's not as if you'd know what you're missing.'

Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending how one looked at it, Megatron had intervened.

'So what you're saying is that our guest has both greater stamina and a better work ethic than you.'

'That's not- I mean, I...she's... didn't mean...'

The Decepticon warlord had simply glowered from his command chair. 'Say what you mean, Starscream, or say nothing. Or perhaps I should be asking Nightraider to be my second-in-command...'

Off of his commander's glare, Starscream had decided that silence was the better part of valour in quite short order.

The silence hadn't prevented Soundwave from surreptitiously welding the F-15's heel turbines to the floor.

He felt it was a small but important victory.

The rest of that day and the entirety of the following day had run along similar lines. Starscream had kept his mouth shut, but the purple and black gossip-monger that made up a third of the Elite trine had already done the damage. Within 12 hours, every mech on the Nemesis knew what had happened, and most were of the opinion that their Communications officer didn't have one screw fully tightened.

He could live with this. In his lifetime, he'd heard worse.

But some of the comments about Nightraider; it had taken all of his control not to telepathically brutalize a number of the mechs who insulted the femme so brazenly.

Finally, he had taken himself and his aching processor off to the wash-racks for a pre-Christmas shower, lest he give in to one particular urge and nail Skywarp to the ceiling with his own Hilti-gun.

The cleaning fluid streamed into every crevice and seam in his plating, the heat soothing his tensed circuitry and the low ache in his neck. He closed his optics, retracted his mask and let the fluid wash over his faceplates, grateful that at least his frame was clean, if not his conscience.

Scrubbing at a small patch of dried energon, the Communications officer sighed and squirted a dose of hexane onto his arm. There had to be some way of talking to the femme, even just to explain the reason behind his actions. Over the past two days, he had been trying to formulate the words, urging them out of his processor into something even vaguely coherent, or at least something that might help Nightraider to understand...

The sound of an aerosol paint spray and the clatter of turbine heels brought him out of his musings. Leaning back out of his stall, his spark contracted slightly as he saw the femme in question armed with the paint spray, leaning over a kneeling and newly repaired Thundercracker and carefully covering the scars over his wings.

A tap on the head, and the F-15 stood up, twisting his body in front of the mirror so that his back and wings could be seen properly.

'I'll take it that's better?'

His faceplates slid into a smile, and he nodded, gesturing to Nightraider for the paint spray. The femme jet settled cross-legged on the tiled floor and glanced at her reflection, frowning slightly at the scrapes adorning her frame.

Thundercracker glanced up from his current task of digging through the paint stores for the correct shade of black, and shook his head. 'They're just superficial marks, they won't take long to buff out.'

'Hmph. Wish Starscream was a superficial mark.'

'He's a superficial narcissist most of the time if that helps any.'

'Not a lot, but thanks for trying.'

Nightraider sighed and looked down, completely missing the navy mech moving stealthily out of the showers, passing behind her, and finally standing next to Thundercracker. To his credit, the F-15 didn't show his shock. He simply quirked an eyebrow upwards and stared at Soundwave.

The navy mech opened a private comm. channel and gestured towards the paint spray.

-Nightraider: safe with me. Your presence: not required.-

The blue and black jet looked down at the navy mech's hand, back at Nightraider, and finally glared into Soundwave's visor.

-You hurt her, we hurt you. Got it?-

-Threat: unnecessary but acknowledged.-

Standard procedure in respraying the flight model Cybertronians was to start on the right wing and move across in one continuous line. The blast of air and paint to the spinal column was enough to jar Nightraider out of her musings and shoot a confused glare into the mirror at the mech behind her.

'TC, what are you...?'

Her optics met Soundwave's visor in the mirror, instantly cutting off the remains of her question.

Silence descended over the room as the two Decepticons stared at each other, neither wanting to move in case the other left.

Nightraider was the first to look away, choosing to stare at the floor while her spark twisted in its chamber at Soundwave's proximity. Taking that as his cue, the navy mech quietly knelt behind her and resumed his actions with the paint spray, the awkwardness in the atmosphere increasing massively.

For a few minutes, the only sound in the room was the aerosol as it coated the scratches on the femme jet's back and wings in black paint, Soundwave resting one hand against her hips to keep her still. Finally, the spray was shut off, and the hand moved away.

It took most of Nightraider's willpower not to reach for it, or lean backwards against the Communications officer.

'Nightraider: unaware of...reasoning.'

She glanced up as Soundwave moved to kneel in front of her, exchanging the black canister for its red counterpart and twisting the nozzle to produce a smaller spray pattern.

'...Yeah.'

The navy mech leaned closer, aiming the paint spray at the most obvious mark on her fuselage. Staring up at her faceplates, he made his decision, and opened the link between himself and his creations.

'Reasons: multiple.'

'I'm not going anywhere.' She leaned back slightly and waited.

The paint spray obliterated the silver scuff mark.

'Origins...' He shook his head.

'I was onlined in Kaon, but I was one of the cluster of sparks generated every thousand vorns by the Well of All-Sparks. The Guardians of the Youth Sectors scanned me upon my release, and discovered my abilities. To their knowledge, and to mine, I am the only telepath the Well has ever generated.'

The spray moved lower.

'I was truly unique, and truly unique meant a solitary existence in the Sectors. The Guardians cared for me, but few of the other younglings wished to be around one who learned so quickly, and who could read their innermost thoughts. I chose to study, and to bury any ideas of companionship or friendship under knowledge. The Autobot Jetfire was a Guardian at that time, and he encouraged my studies.'

More scuffs and paint disappeared under the red mist.

'I did not feel the need for companionship until I began my scientific training. When I entered the Science Academy, I was completely alone for the first time in my existence. I was unaware of what the sensation was, until I encountered you.'

Nightraider started slightly, staring into his visor.

'With you...I felt companionship. Without your presence, I knew what loneliness was. But I could not name the sensation in my spark. I tried to assuage the loneliness through work, high-grade, meaningless overloads, and nothing matched that feeling.'

The last mark disappeared.

'And then, you put forward your final proposal; forced spark symbiosis without using two brands of spark energy. Spark parthenogenesis.'

The femme jet tentatively raised her hand and placed it against the Communication officer's tape tray. 'The Cassettes.'

'I...would no longer be alone, I could become a creator without the need for any other mech or femme, and you could prove your thesis. Every time I needed to have the requisite health checks or scans...I could still see you. And even after I lost the ability to spawn, my creations were still fond of you. I could indulge both their needs for further companionship, and mine, by staying close to you.' His hand wrapped around her smaller fingers.

'All of that, and then you just-'

Nightraider closed her optics and started again. 'You wanted what happened in the weapons bay, I know you did. Why didn't you...?'

'I believe I mentioned meaningless overloads.'

The F-14 frowned. 'I don't need the details of your berth partners.'

He didn't pause. 'When I was still alone, I had managed to have enough interfaces with other mechs and femmes to learn that an overload by itself was pleasurable, but to overload with someone I cared for; processor, chassis and spark...'

Soundwave leaned closer, finally daring to rest his helm against Nightraider's. 'I had envisioned that someone to be you, but only if you wished for it. When we were together in the weapons bay, my motives were only for satisfying physical desire, not for...'

Nightraider raised her head slightly, her lips almost coming into contact with the navy mech's face-mask. 'For what?'

'...A bond.'

The femme jet completely froze, staring at Soundwave in utter shock.

She hadn't even dared to hope that that was what he had intended.

In the back of her processor, she became aware that her lips had started moving again.

'Why didn't you just ask me?'

The Communications officer sighed. 'Back then, you did not know what you wanted. I did not know that a bond was what I desired. And when I finally did know, even telepathy could not guarantee me the answer I wanted.'

He squeezed her hand. 'I am imperfect in spark, and I would not harm either my creations or you in pursuing my desires. You are independent, strong-willed. And you...enjoy interfacing, even with a mech you dislike.'

Almost immediately, he realised that this was the wrong thing to say. Nightraider snatched her hand back, pushed herself away from him, and stood up.

'So I was supposed to remain a newly minted femme while you made up your mind about what you wanted?'

He held up his hands, sensing the conversation was about to go downhill. 'I...was uncertain.'

'Of what?'

'If you regarded me as more than just a colleague, more than a potential berth partner.'

Nightraider looked down at the floor, trying not to cry at the tearing sensation in her spark, and finally turned and headed for the exit.

Halting in the doorway, she turned enough to look back at the mech still kneeling on the floor, and sighed.

'Would I have waited this long if all I wanted from you was a quick lay?'

The door hissed shut as she turned back and left the wash racks.

Soundwave just let his head crash against the tiles as he collapsed backwards onto the floor and offlined his visor.

That...had gone somewhat better than he had expected, and somehow worse than he had thought.

And the intrigued silence from his creations, followed by a message on the general comms system about a Christmas party, wasn't helping matters.

He had a distinct feeling the two were connected.

TBC