A/N: Believe me when I say the past couple of months have been a bit insane; the kind of insane that has the annoying tendency of squashing any lingering creativity and replacing it with stabby-stabby tendencies.
Disclaimer: Nightraider, Dreadnought and Crossfire are my pretties, and I'm not sharing! Everything else is the property of TakaraTomy and Hasbro, who I merely play with, slightly abuse, and then return looking a little battered.
Also, the fantastic song '2-4-6-8 Motorway' quoted in this part is by the Tom Robinson Band. I think that's a pretty clear indication of my lack of ownership.
Italics denote telepathy/thoughts.
Presents: Part 9
With the reawakening of the Autobot and Decepticon forces almost 15 years ago, the evolution of human technology had been greatly accelerated. Radical developments in AI and personal computing, pioneering surgical techniques, enhanced engineering and new automotive capabilities, all discovered or reverse-engineered from Cybertronian technology, were now widely available across the Earth.
Unfortunately, humans hadn't quite caught onto the concept of compact speakers.
This wasn't a huge issue admittedly, but when there were only two tape-deck Cybertronians on Earth, one of whom was an Autobot, and the other one had made himself scarce at the first hint of a party, the reliance on human audio equipment was proving to be something of an annoyance.
A very heavy annoyance.
And mostly to Ravage.
The feline Cassette's patience had been exhausted the instant he had been hitched to the trolley loaded with sound equipment. His familial loyalty and love had also decided to step out for a quick smoke at the sight of Rumble and Frenzy's combined sound decks and mp3 hard drive collection, and at the set of three smug looks from Buzzsaw, Laserbeak and Ratbat.
Ravage's thoughts were audible almost two decks away as he yanked the trolley into the refectory, swiped through the harness with his claws, and set about shoving the speakers into place while ignoring the sniggers both from his siblings and the assorted troops sprawled around the room.
WHY exactly am I doing this? WHY am I acting as your go-to 'Con and NOT as the reasonable voice of cynicism? WHY and HOW do you have so many Primus-damned speakers and WHY can't you just use the comms system?
Frenzy cheerily plugged a microphone into one of the decks and started to fiddle with the equaliser settings. "One, it's retro; two, the harness didn't fit anyone else; and three, Megatron and Soundwave won't let us near the comms system after that thing with the sonic boom in 'Screamer's lab."
Ravage's left optic twitched. Retro.
Rumble glanced back from his current job of wiring the speakers and shrugged. "OK, so this stuff was junk on Cybertron when it was new. Here, it's retro."
Laserbeak grumpily caught the cable thrown up to the refectory ceiling and jabbed one end into the speakers. Maybe so, but here, it is a pain in the aft.
The feline Cassette shared a look of mild sympathy with his sister. Seconded. Now, if my presence is no longer required, I intend to make thorough use of my recreation time before this farce of a gathering.
The blue Cassette scratched his head. "That jus' means you're takin' a nap, right?"
I'm a cat, little brother. Do look it up.
With his parting shot complete, Ravage slunk out of the refectory towards the officers quarters. Frenzy stuck his head out the door and watched his elder sibling's progress for a few seconds before opting to bellow after him. "Whatever. Snooze fast. Everythin's kickin' off soon as 'Warp gets in with the femme and the high-grade."
Laserbeak glanced at the various ground and air forces, most of whom were quite content to sit back and inhale the contents of their energon cubes, and sighed.
If Nightraider appears with most of the high grade in her, I will opt to remain unsurprised.
"Put me down."
Skywarp shifted his burden more securely onto his shoulder and grinned.
"Nope."
"Please put me down?"
"Nuh-uh."
"Put me down now or I'll remove your teleport via your exhaust!"
The purple and black F-15 simply patted Nightraider on her aft and kept walking. "Unlikely."
"Well at least put me under your arm or something, your ailerons keep jabbing me in the hip!"
"But then I can't appreciate the view up the front."
The femme jet only just prevented herself from stretching back and trying to strangle her temporary transporter, and instead pulled the big-optic look on a far-too-amused Thundercracker, currently lugging several cubes of high-grade stolen from the stores.
"...Little help?"
The blue jet shook his head, his own grin widening rapidly. "Sorry, you're on your own here, 'Raider."
"How is this even remotely fair? I don't do parties when I'm sober, I don't want to be here anyway, and he's perving on my aft!"
Thundercracker shrugged. "I'm perving on his. It's a win-win situation."
"Oh, fragging goody for you. And in my case?"
Skywarp squeezed his captive's hips a little tighter as he turned the corner into the refectory. "Well, two out of three ain't bad."
Nightraider's comeback was drowned under a wave of feedback from the speakers, a loud and somewhat varied chorus of swearing from all corners of the room, and the eventual blast of Chumbawumba from the decks.
The opening roar of Tubthumping ricocheted throughout the room before forcing itself out of the refectory, down to the sleeping quarters, and doubling back on itself before wafting its merry way up to the bridge.
On the security vidscreen, the Communications officer watched silently as Skywarp stared in horror at the oncoming stampede for the mosh pit, reached back, grabbed Thundercracker's arm, tightened his grip on the femme jet slung over his shoulder, and teleported out.
Reappearing less than a second later next to the makeshift bar at the back of the room, Nightraider tried to take a retaliatory swing at Skywarp, missed completely, and managed to whack an unsuspecting Onslaught on the back of the head. Looking completely unsurprised at the sudden appearance of the three jets, Mixmaster immediately removed the cubes from the blue jet's arms, shoved the majority into the refrigeration unit and went back to doing something fiddly with a Transformer-sized cocktail shaker and some pineapple chunks.
Studying the femme jet as she slid off Skywarp's shoulder and began to argue with the Combaticon leader, Soundwave tried and failed to hold back the little flicker of jealousy curling around his spark.
Bar his Cassettes, no-one had ordered him to go and be sociable. No-one had physically dragged him out of his quarters armed with high-grade and a demand for his company.
Then again, Nightraider was a femme, one of a comparatively small contingent among the Decepticons. And contrary to the Autobots' popular beliefs, they weren't simply kept around to act as pleasurebots, nor were they kept as second-class soldiers. Like the Femme Commander General Strika, the scientist Fracture, and the assassin Flamewar, Nightraider had earned her place among the Decepticons, along with the protection granted to all femmes under Megatron's command.
That, combined with the seemingly unnatural capacity that all Cybertronian medics possessed to hold their high-grade, made for a most...entertaining combination.
"One query, Soundwave."
The navy mech turned at the sound of his commanding officer's voice. Leaning back in his throne, Megatron helped himself to a gulp of ener-nog, and closely scrutinised the third in command.
"I am fully aware of your stance towards social gatherings, and the more than mutual enmity between you and the rest of my forces. However..."
The empty cube made a clunking sound as it was set down.
"...Popular rumour suggests that at least one member of the senior officers, namely one medic femme, would not be averse to seeing you present. And yet, you choose to hide in here like a frightened youngling."
If Soundwave had remembered how to squirm, he would have. Instead, he held his stance next to the monitors, but just a little too rigidly.
Imperceptible to most, but not to a former gladiator.
Megatron's optics narrowed.
"Well?"
"Situation:...complicated."
"'Complicated' in this instance meaning that Starscream's little boasting session wasn't a complete lie."
Soundwave sighed inwardly, and felt his discomfort rise another few degrees. "Starscream's boasts: unfortunately accurate."
Megatron's optics narrowed even further. "She was unharmed in spite of what occurred, correct?"
A rare glance into the silver gun-former's processor revealed that the answer should ideally be that the femme was undamaged, or else the second-in-command should be ready to make his excuses to Primus.
"Nightraider: unharmed, if annoyed afterwards. Both jets: currently operating within accepted parameters."
A brief silence fell over the bridge. Soundwave quietly studied the images from the refectory, blinking slightly at the drinking competition now running between Astrotrain, Blitzwing, Octane and Skywarp, while Megatron quietly studied the back of the Communication officer's head.
Time to make an educated push.
"So, if neither of them has shown any inclination to seek out each other's company again, why have you not made your intentions towards Nightraider clear?"
Idly, Soundwave wondered why the ground never opened up and swallowed a mech whole when it was required.
The Decepticon emperor tented his fingers together and let an irritated expression cross his faceplates. "She's an intelligent, capable, and not unattractive femme, who has made it quite clear that she wants you. And unless my information is wrong, she remains unbonded."
"...Information: correct."
"And the longer that she remains unclaimed, the more chances Starscream will have to make his claim on her."
Rare fury blossomed in the Communication officer's CPU and quickly overrode his vocaliser. "Nightraider: individual, not property. Request: do not refer to her as s-"
He realised only a second too late what exactly his leader was trying to do, and like a low-level shock trooper, he had managed to walk straight into it.
Megatron smirked and scrutinised the utterly mortified Soundwave.
"I will overlook this insolence on one condition. And I will make it an order, if necessary."
"Sir?"
"You will remain off duty for the next 24 hours. I would suggest that you attend this party and make a few intentions clear towards Nightraider, lest Starscream get his hands on her first. I feel certain you're aware of how little Mixmaster's cocktail mixing skills leave to the imagination..."
The end of that particular sentence was drowned out as Soundwave strode off the bridge, a rare glint in his visor and his hands balled into fists.
As his third-in-command's footsteps eventually faded away into the distance, Megatron poured himself another cube of ener-nog and settled himself more comfortably into his throne.
All in all, a remarkably successful implementation of basic psychology.
And an extra 2,000 credits courtesy of Swindle if he'd called it right.
The sound of jets and a bird-like trill in the hallway brought him out of his thoughts. With another trill, Laserbeak swooped in through the doorway and hovered above the throne.
That was somewhat cruel, but if it works, I doubt many will complain.
Megatron shook his head and raised his left arm so that the petite femme condor could perch on it. "I merely chose to remind him of a few basic facts regarding the fairer sex, as the humans would put it. If that's considered cruel, so be it."
Laserbeak lazily nuzzled the dark grey fingers as they stroked her beak. And if a reminder of these few basic facts results in the untimely death of several mechs courtesy of one of your best officers?
"I'll consider it an early Christmas present."
What about the footage from the party?
"Entertainment purposes. And why, may I ask, are you not participating in the festivities?"
I simply prefer the quiet life. And the potential for intelligent conversation and pleasant company up here is far more appealing than being made to socialise with a bunch of mechs who can't even count how many limbs they have while sober.
Megatron let out a rare chuckle at Laserbeak's oddly appealing attempt at flattery. While he would normally make a concerted effort to hide his liking for the scarlet condor, the high-grade in the ener-nog and the absence of the bridge staff had relaxed his circuitry just enough for him to acknowledge their camaraderie. "What of our guest? Do we have any idea of her thoughts on the matter?"
I don't believe there was much of a choice for her beyond getting drunk and partying, or getting more drunk and partying. Skywarp can be very persuasive when he needs to be.
"Hmmm. And the actual reason?"
He couldn't spike her energon without her tasting the sedatives.
The dance floor was now heaving with mechs, all in various states of overcharge, shoving into each other and trying to see who could spill the most energon. The fliers and the rest of the Constructicons had congregated on the fringes, while the more heavily armoured ground vehicles and the Stunticons had claimed the section of floor closest to the speakers, roaring along at the tops of their vocalisers to the Cassettes' chosen party soundtrack.
Half of the Christmas decorations had fallen off the walls and overhead beams at the first blast of heavy metal. Most of the mistletoe was somehow staying resolutely in place, while several of the less self-conscious mechs had wrapped a few squashed strands of tinsel around their helms and shoulders.
It was shaping up to be a pretty awesome party.
I don't want to be here, I don't want to be here, I don't want to be here...
Except for the one femme present, who was currently propping up the bar, wanting nothing more than to be hiding in her quarters with a book-pad, a cube of high-grade, and in her perfect world, reclining against a handsome mech.
Well, one handsome mech to be precise, and it sure as Pit wasn't Starscream, contrary to popular bitching.
Urgh.
This was hopeless. The one mech she wanted to be there...wasn't; she was being forced to enjoy herself, or in her optics, giving up control of her evening to someone else; and despite the somewhat epic amount of drinks she'd consumed, she still wasn't feeling anything more than a slight buzz.
Damn medical internal conversions.
Right. There was only one way to get through this party, and it clearly wasn't going to be anywhere near sober.
Nightraider held up her eighth cocktail cube, garnished with half a palm tree, a parasol and a bendy straw, and squinted at it. There was something odd, but quite pleasant about this one, moreso than the others, but there was just one thing missing...
Ah.
She waved a hand in the general direction of Mixmaster and held out the cube. "Serving monkey, my drink is empty. Refill now."
The master chemist looked down at the proffered cube, and back at the still-upright jet. "Is-is-is there a magic word forthcoming?"
"Now, before I remove your catalytic converter and make you eat it."
"Close-close-close enough."
A muffled groan drew the femme's attention away from the empty cube. Glancing down and to her left, she sniggered at the sight of the barely conscious Skywarp, resting his head against the side of the bar as it shook in time to Whiskey in the Jar.
"And you thought challenging a bunch of triple-changers to a drinking contest was a good idea because?"
The purple and black F-15 just groaned again. Thundercracker, still reasonably sober and looking far too amused for his own good, gently patted his wingmate on the back.
"Translation: Octane and Blitzwing accused him of being a lightweight. He accepted the challenge to his mech-hood, and...well."
The F-14 rolled her optics. "But he is a lightweight. How many times have we all cleared up after him when he's gotten like this?"
"I understand it's one thing to accept it silently, while it's another to actually say it."
"Uh-huh."
Skywarp summoned up just enough energy to lift his head and gaze blearily out of one half-lit optic at his two companions. "...C'n still hear yuz, yunno..."
Nightraider rubbed his shoulder and nudged his wings with hers. "We know dearest, we know."
The purple jet grinned, belched wetly, and proceeded to pass out on the disturbingly sticky counter.
The two jets studied their prone comrade while Metallica faded out and Alice Cooper wafted over the gathering. Common decency took over as they grabbed Skywarp's arms and managed to haul him over to one of the less collapsed sofas, where he promptly honked up half his tanks and then began to snore like a sparkling.
Nightraider stared at the pink and purple puddle by her feet, and sighed. "Just so's you know, you're on cleaning duty tonight."
Thundercracker nodded wearily. "I gathered."
He glanced at the dance floor, down at his wingmate, and back at the dance floor before extending a hand to the femme jet.
"He'll be fine in a while. Want to dance?"
Nightraider trotted over to the bar, grabbed her ninth drink, and wandered back to glumly accept the proffered hand.
"Yeah, what the frag. 'Snot like I'm gonna get a better offer."
"How's Batty?"
"Whassup?"
"How's Ratbat?"
"WHAT?"
"HOW'S RATBAT?"
The blue Cassette jabbed at his left temple and shook his head. "CAN'T HEAR YOU!"
"Oh fer the love of..."
Frenzy managed to yank Rumble's helm down to his mouth and bellowed in his audio. "HOW'S RATBAT DOIN'?"
"Jeez, you don' need ta yell! He's fine under there, aint'cha Squeaky?"
There was no reply from the cubby hole under the decks. Not exactly a surprise, considering how much sound-proofing equipment Ravage and Laserbeak had insisted on installing in the storage cupboard in order to protect their baby brother's more delicate audials.
The effect was negated slightly after the little bat had insisted on having a SNES and vidscreen installed as well, but the good intent was still there.
Frenzy sighed, wrenched open the cupboard door, and ducked into the cubby hole, nudging a half dozing Buzzsaw aside with an elbow as he checked on his youngest sibling. "Howzit hangin', lil' bro?"
Cuddled against a squashy cushion, Ratbat squeaked in delight, pride and a fairly massive onscreen explosion lighting up his optics. I just beat Andross's Space Armada!
The red Cassette nodded, his grin widening at Ratbat's happiness. "Nice work. You figured out how to get through the Meteor this time?"
Shoot at things. Especially ships that flash a lot.
"Meh. Decent strategy, can't fault it."
Buzzsaw's head emerged from under his wings, his expression one of deep annoyance. If you're quite finished?
Frenzy looked askance. "What?"
Close the door. There's an uncomfortably loud element of human culture out there, and it's one I really don't wish to experience.
"Hey, quit grumpin' Saw. We'll play the Birdie Song for ya if ya want!"
I believe I shall survive without that particular honour. Now kindly go away.
"Ok, ok. Sheesh."
Frenzy retreated from the cubby hole and closed the doors over. "No pleasin' some 'Cons."
"Ah, I wouldn't say that too loudly bro."
Rumble pointed delicately at the black and purple truck thumping his way towards the DJ booth with a determined look in his optics and swaying with every step.
"Aww, man."
The red Cassette sighed and rifled through his mp3 stash until he dug out the correct track. "Three guesses what the Prime knockoff wants ta hear and the first two don't count."
Motormaster, fortunately, was too far gone to bother listening to the twins comments. "You two, Glitch and Glitchy-"
"Hey!"
"-Play the song."
Frenzy smirked up at the overcharged behemoth. "Y'know, please is a really underused word..."
He opted not to finish that sentence as Motormaster drew his sword and pointed it at the red Cassette's neck. "NOW!"
"...Meep."
Rumble quickly came to his twin's rescue and hit the mix button on the deck. Poison faded out and the opening electric guitar chords of 2-4-6-8 Motorway thundered out of the speakers.
"WHHHHHHHHHOOOOOOARGGHHHH!"
"...WHHHHHHHHHOOOOOOARGGHHHH!"
The roar of all the ground-based Decepticon troops made a deafening counterpoint to the sound of a stampede for the dance-floor. Soundwave only just prevented himself from doubling over at the noise as he entered the refectory, his optics now scanning madly for the red and black femme jet that hadn't yet had the dubious honour of witnessing this particular custom.
If she wasn't off the floor by the time the chorus started, her Christmas would probably involve a new set of shock absorbers and berth rest.
A flash of red and silver caught the telepath's attention. Starscream (Primus damn-him) had just appeared next to Nightraider, gesturing towards her feet and then to the drunken hordes on the dance-floor. Thundercracker, from what he could tell, appeared to be in agreement with his commanding officer, now frantically encouraging her to activate her thrusters.
"...Headlights shinin' drivin' rain on the window-frame, Lil' Young Lady Stardust hitchin' a ride..."
Too late.
With a speed he wasn't entirely aware he possessed. Soundwave lunged and hoisted the femme jet above his head, activating his own boosters just in time.
Every mech on the dance floor slammed their feet down hard in time to the beat as soon as the chorus crashed in.
"...TWO-FOUR-SIX-EIGHT ain't never too late, me and my radio truckin' on through the night!"
Ok.
Either the cocktails had finally kicked in, her thrusters had malfunctioned, or someone had seen Dirty Dancing one too many times.
"...THREE-FIVE-SEVEN-NINE on a double white line, motorway sun comin' up with the mornin' light!"
And since the first two would no doubt have warranted a severe concussion, Nightraider quickly concluded that a bitch-session would be in her immediate future. Or at least, once she'd found out who had grabbed her...
"Stunticon dancing; not beneficial to knee joints."
The femme jet blinked.
This was...a little unexpected. Not unwelcome, though.
"That much is kinda obvious. And you can put me down now!"
Under his visor, Soundwave smirked as Nightraider's mental whispers filled his processor.
Not that you really have to, if you don't want to, I mean, I'm not gonna complain much or anything, or...fraggit, like I'm complaining at all-waitaminute...
There was now definite feel-copping behaviour going on under her fuselage, and she had a feeling on what had caused it.
Nightraider folded her arms across her chestplates and glared down at her would-be captor. "Stop reading my mind!"
As the chorus, and the Stunticons' foot-stomps, thumped through the refectory for the second time, Soundwave simply dropped his arms and let the grumpy F-14 fall into his embrace. "Suggestion: stop thinking so loudly."
Carefully rearranging his hands so that he was supporting Nightraider under the back struts and knees, he completely failed to quash the rising tide of desire rushing through his circuitry as the femme made herself comfortable against the plastic tape-deck partition covering his chest.
This wasn't entirely unpleasant.
In fact, it was somewhere around the diametric opposite of unpleasant, particularly when the two DJs finally shoved All Alone on Christmas onto the decks, and Nightraider tentatively rested her head against his chest.
"Oh, do spare me from being sick into my own scorn."
Starscream and Thundercracker had glanced round at the sound of the Communication officer's familiar drone, the blue jet trying and failing to back a satisfied smirk, while the red and silver jet simply wore a look of utter disgust.
And true to form, the Air Commander chose to open his mouth without engaging his processor.
"You still crave his arms even after one night with me?"
At the DJ booth, Rumble poked his twin in the head, and pointed frantically towards their creator and the three jets in the back. Inside the cubby hole, Ratbat and Buzzsaw instantly picked up on their siblings' emotions and burst out to join the twins.
Frenzy squinted for a moment, and then squeaked. "Things are now happenin'; get Ravage, and get the digi-cam!"
I believe the phrase is check and check.
The red Cassette looked slightly shocked for a moment, and then squinted evilly at his brother, who had miraculously appeared from nowhere, looking completely refreshed and armed with the requested digital camera. "Ok, explain how you can do that?"
Ravage simply nudged the digi-cam round with a paw to record the altercation on the dance-floor, and looked smug. Feline intuition. Never underestimate it.
Thundercracker frowned at his other wingmate's choice of words. "C'mon Starscream, leave her alone already."
Unfortunately, Starscream wasn't going to be stopped that easily. Hell, he didn't even particularly like the black and red jet, but she was a femme, he'd had her first, and he wasn't about to get thrown over in any way for a glorified groundpounder with a vocaliser borrowed from a vacuum and all the personality of a dial tone.
"Then again, you never had taste, even back in the Academy. Dreadnought, Skyfall, Aquablast, Crosscut; some even say she's had Shockwave."
In Soundwave's arms, Nightraider was already struggling to sit upright, intent on murder, or at the very least, on causing extreme pain to the handsome F-15. Soundwave himself was now rather torn between letting her go and enjoying the resulting carnage, or holding onto her and attempting to verbally defend her honour.
"And even after all of them, she threw her career away for a mech who didn't have the brass to make her an offer, and a band of mis-sparked drones that should've all been extinguished before they were onlined."
Starscream smirked at the pair, Nightraider now standing beside Soundwave, her frame shaking with anger. Soundwave's visor was scarlet with barely concealed rage.
"Order: shut up."
One more word, one more gesture, even a look, and he was going to rip the jet's wings from his fuselage.
Fortunately, Starscream had never been able to resist a parting shot.
"You realise you could have had the future Decepticon leader rather than the Monotone Monolith, or perhaps sloppy seconds are more to his taste?"
10 minutes later...
Even with three security cameras running in the refectory, it was almost completely impossible to tell if it had been Nightraider or Soundwave who had thrown the first punch at Starscream.
Either way, the Air Commander was going to be sporting some lovely dents in his armour for the next few days.
Perching on the security console, Laserbeak's delight was almost tangible. They have stopped fighting, if it's of any consolation.
Megatron didn't bother removing his hand from in front of his optics. "There may well be words said later to Soundwave about retaining his dignity even under extreme provocation, and not all of them will be repeatable."
Will you be attempting to reprimand Nightraider as well?
The gun-former glanced down at his avian companion, irritation slowly being replaced with extreme amusement. "Only for not finishing what she started."
On the primary monitor, Mixmaster stared down at the unconscious Starscream and what remained of his drinks collection after Soundwave had pitched him headfirst through the bar, shrugged, and shoved the jet out of the way with his foot. Swindle and Brawl quickly stepped in and heaved the F-15 towards the door, optics alight with more than a few impure intentions.
It looks finished to me.
Out of the corner of his optic, Megatron spotted the two victors making a swift exit from the refectory, Soundwave pulling Nightraider out by her wings, and the femme jet digging her heels into the floor, hands stretched out into claws and making a few desperate swipes in Starscream's general direction.
"The fight, yes. The situation your creator and our guest are now in, possibly not."
Blessedly, the observation dome was empty, most of the aesthetically-geared mechs currently decorating the floor of the refectory with their own energon.
Nightraider sat next to the reinforced glass, her knees drawn up to her chest and her faceplates drawn into an expression of utter mortification as she stared blankly into the blackened depths of the Pacific Ocean.
She just tried not to think. Thinking hurt too much right now.
Only Starscream. Only he knew how to press all of her buttons at once. Only he could piss her off that much, and still be alive after a three-way smack-down.
And even then, in all the times he had managed to earn himself a beating, he had always known never to mention anything relating to her time at the Academy.
And especially to never mention any of it near Soundwave, ever.
A cube of heated mid-grade appeared in her line of sight, held by a familiar navy hand.
"Drink."
Soundwave settled on the floor next to her, his face inscrutable as always under his face mask and visor. Under the mask however, his CPU was whirling.
Most of Starscream's insults had verged on a predictability that was almost amusing, but one part had struck him as being something more than just petulant rage.
"Query..." He shook his head and began again.
"What did he mean by you throwing your career away?"
The femme jet knocked back the cube in one gulp, and let her head fall back against the glass. "Do we have to do this now? I don't feel drunk enough to start spark-searching."
Soundwave simply gave her a Look and ran a quick scan on the contents of her holding tanks.
"You are aware that all of those cocktails were low-grade with added flavouring to cover the taste?"
"Whaaaaat?"
"You are almost completely sober, and I have no intention of letting you get overcharged before I get some answers."
"Uuuugh...fine. But after this, I get to kill Mixmaster."
Nightraider lowered her optics and stared at the floor, trying not to feel sick at the memories flooding her processor.
"After Ratbat was stable enough to leave the medical centre, the Academy Council summoned me. Just a quick discussion, nothing drastic, they said. If you could call a reaming in front of the entire academic body about unnecessary surgical procedures and 'overwhelming concern' about my medical practices as 'nothing drastic'."
The Communications officer scrutinised the femme jet. "They disciplined you?"
"...They expelled me."
His optics widened under his visor. "Without a hearing and for those reasons?"
The femme jet chuckled humourlessly. "You're not naive, Soundwave, don't even try to pretend you are. Most of the Council mistrusted me because I was one of the military models. Too undisciplined to be a proper medic, too flighty to be a good scientist, they said."
She let her gaze shift to her knees. "The tension between Vos and Tarn had escalated and the purge of all the military units was taking place across Cybertron. They had the perfect excuse to get rid of me, and they took it."
Soundwave shook his head. "There would have to have been a vote, or some form of counsel available for your defence."
"The only one present for me was Shockwave. They kept Hook, Scrapper and the others away from the meeting, and chose not to summon my professor."
"A show trial."
"I was called a patchwork medic, only out to prove my own thesis, with little to no regard for anyone else, and risked the lives of you and your creations with unnecessary surgery. And that was without the accusation of being involved with an 'unnatural mech'."
There was a soft scrape of metal against metal as Soundwave moved to sit next to Nightraider.
"Even Shockwave could have defended you against such accusations."
The F-14's faceplates twisted. "He did."
"And?"
"They accused him of collusion and expelled him as well. They never trusted him, and they didn't like his scientific methods or his alt-mode. But...yeah."
Something was still missing. Something was being deliberately left out.
"Had you been given a chance to redeem yourself?"
"Yep. And I told them to cram it."
Off of Soundwave's look, Nightraider managed a smile. "They asked me to surrender all my research, and all of your personal and residential details, and those of the Cassettes. Since you had left the Academy before Ratbat was onlined, they didn't have the chance to expel you. But the security forces were very interested in you. Deadly interested. The digi-pen pushers would've loved to get their hands on you, try and replicate the symbiosis process for their own purposes, and get rid of a telepath who they never trusted."
"And yet, they did not."
"There was an unfortunate accident with the Academy mainframe computer just before the meeting. All my research at the facility was lost. Irretrievable."
Under his mask, Soundwave smirked at the unspoken implication. "A great tragedy."
"Indeed. So they added sabotage to my record and reduced my medical license to intern level before they threw me out."
The room fell silent as Nightraider studied her empty cube, and Soundwave studied the femme beside him. What she had said had made a horrible amount of sense.
The security forces, later the Autobots, had expressed both interest and concern at his career, both as a scientist and as an unbonded creator, not to mention the anxiety over his telepathic abilities. When he was rendered sterile after Ratbat was onlined, the concern over his suitability to be a creator had increased tenfold, up to the point where the Tannis Youth Sector outside Iacon had made an application for full custody of his creations.
He and his family had gone underground that night, seeking protection and power within the group of gladiatorial Pit-fighters led by a brash and brave young ex-miner.
"...Why?"
Nightraider remained silent.
"Why suffer that kind of ill treatment, that loss, simply for me?"
Another humourless chuckle emerged from the femme jet's vocaliser. "I'd've thought it was kind of obvious."
She sighed and looked down. "So that your creations would still have a creator. So that you would stay alive. So that...I'd still have you around."
Soundwave was silent for a few moments, trying to process all of the information the F-14 had revealed. When he finally spoke, his tone was almost hesitant. "And...what do you wish me to do now?"
"Anything you want."
The femme jet stood up, not looking at her companion. "I'm not a hopeless romantic, and I'm not expecting to get swept off my feet here. Especially not now that you know...everything. I mean, if you...want to do something on the basis of, y'know, what you know, that'd be great. If not...I-"
She cut herself off before her voice could break.
"I'll take you any way I can get you, Soundwave. Even if it's just as a friend."
Nightraider wrapped her arms around herself and shuttered her optics. The lack of response from Soundwave was enough.
Over 100,000 vorns of hoping and wanting and waiting, and she'd blown it.
Or rather, Starscream had blown it for her.
And now all she could do now was try to be dignified in her defeat.
"Nine million years."
She opened her optics and turned at the sound of the Communication officer's voice. "What?"
"108,000 vorns would be just under nine million years. Technically, we have known each other for that length of time. You hid that knowledge from me for over eight million years."
Nightraider's grip on her emotional centre was almost non-existent. "And?"
Soundwave's visor burned crimson. "You gave me my family. You gave me and my creations eight million years of existence that we might not have otherwise experienced. You protected and cared for us at the expense of your career."
The navy mech stood up, his heavier frame towering over that of the femme jet, and placed a hand against her cheekplate. Nightraider simply leaned into the touch like it was a lifeline.
The pull on both their sparks was now undeniable. Soundwave rested his helm against Nightraider's, and let his other hand settle against the curve of her hip. "And you ask what I want to do now?"
The F-14 smirked and studied him with half-closed optics. "Well, one or two suggestions do leap to mind."
"And I have every intention of implementing those suggestions to their fullest."
A sound not unlike a purr emerged from Soundwave's vocaliser as he pulled the femme jet to his chassis.
"But for now, I believe I should start by doing something I should have had the 'brass' to do nine million years ago."
TBC