A/N: And we're officially onto the home stretch following the smut, so it's back to normal service and a PG rating.
Disclaimer: Transformers, not mine. Nightraider, Dreadnought and Crossfire, very much mine. No borrowing. Also, there's one little reference to 'Merry Christmas Everybody' by Slade. I don't own this either.
Presents: Part 11
In his lengthy existence, the miner-cum-rogue-cum-gladiator-cum-terrorist-cum-Decepticon Emperor had always known that there was a universal chain of command. He'd fought his way up it since he had attained his majority, subverted it, and essentially made it his bitch.
In human terms, he felt that would be a respected and feared elder. Or at the very least, he'd be someone whom others considered it wise not to frag off.
Checking his internal chronometer for the fifth time in as many minutes, Megatron continued to glare flatly at the docking tower doors as he waited for the return of the AWOL Communications officer and Femme CMO.
Admittedly, it had been only 15 hours since he had effectively ordered Soundwave to attend the warped excuse for a party, with his fellow party-goers now thankfully silent and lying in rather foetid energon puddles throughout the base...but still.
12 hours of being the only sober mech on base hadn't exactly done wonders for his temper.
Even trying to get a sensible conversation out of Laserbeak had been a complete waste of time, as the femme condor seemed to have reverted to sparkling-hood following her and her siblings' synchronised collapse.
And he had a particularly apposite theory as to what had prompted said collapse...
CLONK
Ah.
CLANGCUTHUNK
"Nyaargh!"
"Nightraider: injured cranial unit?"
-Bzzt-
"Ooooh, there's gonna be swearing..."
-HRMRMRMRMRMRM-
With a fairly horrendous crunching of gears, the docking tower began its slow retreat into the less-than-tepid Pacific waters.
Since he was unable to throttle something as of yet, Megatron shifted his stance slightly and settled for folding his arms across his battle-scarred chestplates and keeping up the flat stare at the docking tower doors.
-HRMRMRMRMRMRM-
And three, two, one...
CRASRRREEEECUTHUNK
The lift number panel lit up an irritatingly cheery red as the docking tower came to an undignified halt, the 'ping' of the doors opening luckily masked by a chorus of profanities from the more vocal of the two occupants.
Megatron chose not to comment for the sake of his far-too-sober sanity.
Unfortunately, one look at Soundwave's paint job as he emerged from the tower told the Decepticon emperor all he needed to know, and a certain amount that he could have happily gone the rest of his existence without ever wanting to know.
The Communication officer's normally immaculate navy arms and chest-plates were liberally covered with scratches, some with streaks of black and red paint embedded in the metal. Similar marks were more obviously present around his pelvic plates and upper leg plating, and a surreptitious glance at his back revealed further grazes and several dents that looked as if they could only have been created by a femme's hands.
The two black handprints on his aft plates confirmed everything Megatron had dared to think.
If Soundwave heard any of his commanding officer's mental processes, he chose to ignore them. His attention was focussed entirely on the smaller frame of his companion as she came into view.
Megatron spared the femme jet a single glance before shuttering his optics and exhaustedly rubbing the bridge of his nasal plates.
Nightraider's paint job had fared slightly better than Soundwave's, but not by much. Navy, white and ochre paint chips had lodged themselves across her hips and chest plates, and her chest plates in particular were covered in scratches, right along the joints and behind her cockpit where...
Where...oh sweet Primus.
The silver gun-former managed another glance and succeeded in keeping his expression neutral.
Apparently it hadn't been just a little physical relief that had occurred.
"Correct me if I'm wrong, femme and gentlemech, but I distinctly recall a mention of nine hours being required for you to adequately...complete repairs to the tower mechanism."
Soundwave was desperately fighting the desire to squirm like a trapped turbo-fox. "Recollection of time duration: correct."
"And yet, according to the ship's chronometer, the pair of you have been absent for 12 hours."
Nightraider managed to rustle up a suitably contrite expression. "...Yes sir."
"I now ask you this - do either of you know how long 12 hours is? Particularly during a social event?"
A combined murmur of "yes sir, sorry sir" and "regret for inconvenience caused: sincere" met his audials.
Deciding finally that it was too early/late in the day for any further cyber-spleen venting, Megatron simply let his faceplates slide into a Look, exhaled and nodded in the general direction of the officers' quarters. "Soundwave, you will complete your remaining off-duty hours and then report to the bridge as normal. Nightraider, you will no doubt be urgently required in the med-bay, if the general state of the Decepticon Earth forces is any indication of how last night's gathering went."
Another chorus of affirmative mumbling, and the two officers started making their way towards their quarters.
It didn't hurt to redress the balance of the status quo every once in a while, normally every half hour or so in the case of Starscream, but there was something to be said about being able to assert his authority with barely a glower where his more intelligent senior officers were concerned.
And speaking of his second-in-command...
The Decepticon emperor felt a smirk crawling across his faceplates as he raised his voice just enough to catch the F-14's attention. "Femme CMO."
The femme jet turned just enough into indicate acknowledgement. "Sir?"
"I would recommend that your first patient be our illustrious Air Commander. Sensors indicate his current location as being somewhere between the ships' labs and the Level 7 waste disposal racks."
Nightraider's features flickered in initial confusion before the meaning behind the order sank in. A truly evil smile lit up her faceplates – one that Megatron chose to pretend he hadn't seen, and one that caused Soundwave's spark to pulse just a little faster.
It was good to know that his femme could be a vengeful bitch when she wanted to be.
"Are they back yet?"
No.
"Are they back yet?"
No.
"Are they back yet?"
No!
"Are they back...now?"
No.
"Whaddabout now?"
I said no!
"Now?"
Ravage resisted the urge to dig his claws into the crimson Cassette's back and twist.
Frenzy. Do you like having your vocaliser intact?
"...Yeah?"
Excellent. Would you like to keep it that way?
Feeling the rare need to stick up for his twin, Rumble glared at his eldest sibling. "What happened t' 'peace on Earth and goodwill t' all mechs'?"
Clearly God didn't have to deal with having two pain-in-the-aft brothers irritating him every three seconds, or else he'd have skipped the roasted dead bird and just gone straight to Boxing Day.
The feline spy shot a rare apologetic glance towards his avian siblings. No offence intended.
The twins briefly shared a smirk before Frenzy piped up. "Hey. If you're gonna be like that, then me 'n Rumble're just gonna take your present back."
Safely perched on the ledge above Soundwave's berth, Buzzsaw cocked his head at his brothers and clicked his beak in amusement. Just out of interest, how exactly would you take back a present you stole during a supply raid?
"'Saaaaawwww! Ix-nay on t' ole-stay!"
"Yeah, what he said...I think."
With his Bo-bo wrapped around his wings and his Santa hat hanging off one pointed audial, Ratbat kept his optics glued to the door, his tiny frame almost vibrating with excitement.
Ravage?
The black and silver Cassette gratefully turned to study his youngest sibling, hiding his amusement at Ratbat's happiness.
Yes, little one?
Does this mean we have two creators now?
Ravage carefully considered the question as he picked Ratbat up by his scruff bar and settled him between his front paws. ...Not exactly. Soundwave is our creator, nothing will ever change that. But Nightraider...she assisted in our onlinings, and looked after us as if we were her own, but she is not a creator in the way that most sparks are created. Perhaps a co-creator would be the best description.
The little bat looked thoughtful. So she'd only be a creator if she and Soundwave both created our sparks?
Laserbeak, perching next to her respective eldest and youngest siblings, delicately pecked at a speck of dust marring her right wing. Strictly speaking, yes. But we were all created in quite unusual circumstances, and based on what apparently occurred last night, I believe that Nightraider will be more than happy to take up the other half of the creation bonds with us.
Ratbat carefully pondered this, optics narrowing slightly as he thought, then widening as he twisted his head back to stare up at Ravage.
But Soundwave always said he made us by himself. So...how would two transformers create sparks?
The jaguar Cassette's optics widened in panic. Not this. Anything but this first thing in the morning.
...I...would suggest you ask Soundwave, when he returns.
But I asked you!
The HUD text message which quickly appeared on the other Cassettes' visual displays simply read: Get me out of this.
Rumble and Frenzy traded matching grins before the red twin piped up. "Nuh-uh kittykat, he asked you, so you gotta answer."
And why, pray tell, do I have to answer?
"After what was goin' round Darkmount the first time you an' Howlback got freaky? You better not start sayin' that was jus' rumours."
The sound of the door sliding open fortunately saved Frenzy from an intimate meeting with his elder sibling's claws as the very welcome form of Soundwave appeared in the doorway, covered in paint scratches, dents and scrapes. The slump in his shoulders told them all that he was almost ready to fall offline, but the glow in his optic band was enough to confirm his impending recharge would be very well deserved.
Rumble took the lead, his face-plates almost split in two by his grin. "Ok, so some mechs do th' Stride of Pride after a big night. You're kinda workin' the Slump post-Hump, if y'know what I mean... "
The Communications officer refrained from rolling his optics. "Rumble, silence."
The red Cassette took over without a pause. "Seriously, did she work ya that hard?"
"Frenzy, likewise."
Ravage, Ratbat and Laserbeak all quickly shifted down the berth to make space for their exhausted creator, the little bat and the femme condor watching him with desperately inquisitive optics, and the jaguar feigning calm indifference, but studying him with equal curiosity. Rumble and Frenzy quickly scrambled onto the berth and parked on his kneecaps, scrutinising him with expectant delight. Watching from his perch above the berth, Buzzsaw's optics were comically wide with anticipation.
Soundwave propped his back against the head of the berth and returned the Cassettes' looks in turn, sensing their almost-pained expectancy through the link at what his next words might be.
Silently, he opened the still-tender bond to Nightraider, and let her hear his announcement, just as they had planned.
"...Where there were once seven in the link, now eight reside."
In less than a spark-beat, all six Cassettes had leapt on their creator with a delighted chorus of whoops, squeaks, caws and yowls.
Right. This was going to work.
This was going to work.
If Primus existed, surely he would make this work...
Squinting painfully out of a cracked optic, Starscream managed to pull his head up enough from the lab table to take a mouthful of the ominous-looking green fluid in the beaker before him.
Sip.
Swallow.
Suppress gag reflex.
"Uuuuuuuugh."
The renewed throbbing in his temples was enough of an indication that Primus wasn't in one of his more gracious moods. But at least this one was mildly better than the previous energon and tomato juice cocktail.
Praying another exhaust flush wasn't in his immediate future, the woozy Air Commander shakily pulled a blue human-sized box towards him and scrutinised the contents. Frag dignity, it was time to see how the fleshings coped in times of hungover crisis.
"...Take two tablets, dissolve in water, drink mixture...they couldn't have made it a MORE obnoxious colour?"
So if two tablets worked for the average squishy...Starscream shook his head, his CPU thumping as he did so, and proceed to dump the entire contents of the box into the beaker. The mixture began to fizz and turned a violent shade of turquoise.
Offlining his olfactory sensors, the red and silver F-15 managed to sit upright, braced himself and prepared to down the remains of the beaker's contents in one...
"You can take that stuff if you want, but I doubt you'll want to feel the after-effects."
Oh slagging joy.
The Air Commander painfully swivelled round until he could shoot a death-glare at the smirking, sober, and all-too-smug-looking femme leaning comfortably against the doorframe.
"Kindly frag off femme. I wish to die in peace."
Nightraider pushed herself away from the doorframe and strode into the lab, failing to repress a grin of satisfaction as she leaned over her fellow Seeker's shoulder and ran a scan on the contents of the beaker.
"Peppermint, thalidomide and...whatever the Pit the fizzy stuff is-"
"-Alka-Seltzer-"
"-I'd say, yeah, you won't be dead. You'll just want to be."
She finally got a decent look at Starscream's face and fought valiantly to repress a sniggering fit. The Air Commander's usual flawless visage was sporting a completely dead optic, the other cracked and flickering wildly, a broken nasal structure, and more than a few cracked cheek-plates. The rest of him wasn't much better. Dents and grazes marred his fuselage, the fist-marks around his fuel-tanks about the right size and shape for a tall femme and a slightly bulkier mech to have made them.
The F-15 sneered at her expression. "Proud of yourself?"
"Prouder of Soundwave, frankly."
The sneer deepened into a dark scowl. "Half-breed freak glitch."
This earned him a sharp slap to the helm; the subsequent scream of pain and the am-dram fit the slap produced provoked absolutely no sympathy in Nightraider. Wrapping her fingers around the back of Starscream's neck, the femme jet hoisted her commander upwards and hissed into his aching audial.
"He's still more of a mech than you'll ever be, 'Screamer."
Even half-hanging from the femme jet's grip and waves of nausea rolling around his system, Starscream refused to back down from the apparent threat to his mech-hood. "Oh really? Has he plugged you yet or is he that much of a new-build that he doesn't know what goes where?"
Nightraider's anger morphed quickly into a crushing desire to get one-up on her bondmate's behalf. Removing her hand, she let Starscream drop down to land on his workstool, then raised her right leg and shoved the stool backwards, moving swiftly to stand between his knees and lean over him with a smirk.
"First part? Check the scrapes. Second part? All I'll say is never underestimate a telepath."
The Air Commander was now visibly seething. "You actually plugged a ground-pounder when you could have had the Prince of Vos."
"Sweetspark, you just invaded my city-state a few times. You never had any desire to annex it. And besides, what femme in her right mind would swear fealty to you?"
"You INSOLENT little-!"
To his credit, Starscream did make a rather graceful lunge at the femme's throat. Until his gyroscope opted to give out and the resulting lurch of nausea made him keel sideways off his stool.
Sidestepping the cursing jet now hugging the floor, Nightraider glanced at her sedative guns, then down at the silver F-15, and sighed.
"Since this is getting rather pathetic, I'll make this short and sweet."
Kneeling down beside the prone mech, the femme jet withdrew a neon blue vial from her subspace, opened the chamber on her sedative gun, and carefully tapped a bare sprinkling of copper sulphate into the syringe. At her feet, Starscream moaned and dug his fingers into the tiles, praying quietly for the sweet release of death if a hangover cure wasn't forthcoming.
"Head to the right and brace..."
He felt the pressure of her palm on his helm, the pull of his neck pistons being stretched, a dull thud and the sting of the needle as it pierced his secondary energon line, the mixture making a beeline for his holding tanks.
The low rumbling ceased almost instantly, along with the sickness in his tanks. Slowly pulling himself into a sitting position, Starscream cautiously realigned his gyroscope and sighed in utter relief.
"Ok, so that worked. Interesting."
"Define interesting."
Nightraider removed the old needle and flicked it into the chemical waste disposal with one hand, re-holstering the sedative gun as she did. "Usually this stuff has some of our best shock troopers curled around a waste disposal talking to Primus."
"Weaklings. But then again, I am the Decepticon Air Commander and thus I am made of stronger cybertonium than most of the..."
He blinked.
"Than most of the brainless..."
He stopped and audibly swallowed.
'...Than most of the brainless morons who...ohPrimusnooooo-'
Starscream clamped a hand over his mouth and made a desperate lunge for the door. The rest of his declaration of glory was lost in the depths of the chemical waste disposal under the inimitable sound of chundering.
"Hmmm. Still a bit too strong then. Ah well."
The black and red jet calmly inspected a paint chip on her arm, and then sauntered out of the lab, pausing only to pat her commanding officer on the helm as she passed.
"Give it 15 minutes and just remember to fall to the left when you're done."
Starscream's only response was to weakly flip the bird in the medic's general direction.
"Make it stop make it stop make it stooooooo-uuuuuurghhhhhuaaagh-"
Thundercracker's faceplates were screwed up in complete disgust as he patted Skywarp's back, trying to ignore the sounds of retching and half-processed high-grade hitting the bottom of the bucket in his lap.
"You do know that since this is completely self-inflicted, you are getting absolutely no sympathy off me whatsoever."
The purple and black jet managed to pull his head away from his trusty bucket and gave his partner his best kicked bumble-puppy optics. "But I feel icky and it's Christmas and I love you."
"How long are you going to keep playing the bondmate card?"
Skywarp affected a queasy grin. "As long as it takes."
Thundercracker rolled his optics and glanced at the near-Empty form of Scrapper as he shuffled past the berth, his optic band flickering ominously. "And how much longer do I have to act as a nurse-bot?"
"Probably a lot longer than my ability to give a frag." The Construction leader let out a noise that could be construed as a belch, shuddered, and quickly pushed Skywarp's head to one side as he emptied a syringe of chlorpromazine into his main energon line.
"Give him ten minutes, let him empty his tanks, and then he's officially your problem."
The blue and black F-15 stared at the front-end loader's back as he staggered off. "Wow. What happened to the caring face of medicine?"
Nightraider chose that moment to walk into the medbay looking far too pleased with herself. "Methinks Ratchet may have shot it. So now you've got us."
Skywarp moaned into his bucket. "Oh fragging Pitfire, she's happy. Make it stoooooop."
Thundercracker and Nightraider shared a Look. "So how bad on a scale of one to please-grant-me-the-mercy-of-death is he?"
"He promised he'd be good sometimes."
The F-14 squinted at the back of Skywarp's head. "So feeling like slag, but should live to see tomorrow."
"Pretty much." He leaned back briefly to take in the battered form of the femme CMO, a smile slowly making its way across his faceplates at the marks on the black and red fuselage, right before he opened a private comm. line.
-Ok. I'm not stupid. Clearly there was at least one round of hide-the-gearbox last night, but unless there was something seriously kinky going on, you shouldn't have scrapes around your cockpit. Now I can take a guess here at what happened, but I'd like to hear it from you...-
-You just want to see me squirm, don't you?-
-Check the insignia. I doubt it's gone red.-
Nightraider snorted and weighed up her options. On the one hand, Thundercracker was one of the more honest mechs, he could be relied on to keep a secret, and he had looked after her after some of her more idiotic moments. On the other hand...he was bonded to Skywarp, with all the drawbacks said status entailed. And the official policy on sparkmates for both sides was meant to be one of don't ask, don't tell.
Not that the Decepticons had ever followed it.
She leaned against the berth, resting one arm on Skywarp's back and ignoring the subsequent moan of pain. -I can neither confirm nor deny that there might have been a bit more than one round of bump'n'grind last night. Neither can I confirm or deny that this may have involved sharing something more than just circuitry.-
The blue and black jet flashed her a grin. -Thought as much. The Cassettes passed out en mass at 23.17 last night. Figured you two had something to do with it.-
Skywarp's voice suddenly echoed up from the depths of his bucket. "Yeah yeah yeah, you pushed Soundwave's play button, he did you so hard your plates bent, you two had a spark-t'-spark, and now you're stuck wit' him and the six Heralds of Unicron for all eternity. Can we get back t' me now, please?"
The F-14 shot a glare at her friend and closed the comm. line. "What happened to making this a private conversation about my private life?"
Thundercracker sighed. "Like so many things around him, it went public."
Skywarp waved a shaky fist. "Damn straight!"
Ah, sweet life-giving energon; warm and smooth, fulfilling cravings one barely knew one possessed. Truly the nectar of the gods.
Well, maybe the soft drink of the gods when served in a so-called amusing mug with the strange red and white clothed human dropping his trousers, but frankly Megatron wasn't about to complain, and no-one else would risk commenting.
Leaning back in his throne, the Decepticon emperor cast a glance at the myriad of images pouring to the control room from the global spy-cams and the early evening news broadcasts. Assorted world leaders were making the usual speeches of goodwill and peace on Earth, several news channels were covering a failed bombing in Europe and an attempted political assassination in the Middle East, and the European Space Agency was in something of a flap after a planned satellite signal from its latest Mars rover had failed to materialise.
Then again, considering the state the Beagle 2 rover had been in after it had been scraped off Astrotrain's hull two months back, it was probably better they hadn't received a signal.
Half of the English language channels were showing either A Christmas Carol, It's a Wonderful Life or The Great Escape, and several others were showing various music videos, shots of the Church of the Nativity and adverts for something called the Boxing Day sales.
Hard to believe a species descended from single-celled organisms could make one seasonal holiday so fragging complicated.
Thankfully most of the ship was silent, the majority of the Decepticon Earth forces either sleeping off the previous night's debauchery, lying half-comatose in the wash-racks, or collapsed in the repair bay complaining of imminent shutdown before sunset; though he could think of at least two members of the troops who would benefit from the comparatively peaceful atmosphere.
And speaking of which...
"Megatron to Soundwave."
A brief pause, then a whisper of static filled the air before the Communication officer's monotone vocals echoed through the link. "Soundwave receiving."
"Report to the bridge. Leave the symbiotes."
"Affirmative."
Megatron had long since accepted that it would happen at some point. Out of all the senior officers, Shockwave not only had no interest in either mechs or femmes, but had a hugely spoilt and unstable sparkling to boot; any femme foolish enough to bind herself to Starscream in any way would engender only a sprinkling of pity and a unending supply of merciless taunting; Obsidian and Strika had been bonded long before they had joined the Decepticon cause, and while he and Flamewar had enjoyed a few brief encounters back on Cybertron, the fact of the matter remained that a relationship beyond that of master and servant would only endanger them both.
If either Soundwave or Nightraider had chosen to become involved with a member of the lower ranks, he could have easily pretended not to notice, but if they had indeed bonded, as he believed, it would place them in a precarious position.
"Lord Megatron."
The silver gun-former pulled himself away from his thoughts and calmly regarded the still-battered form of his Communications officer. Soundwave stood before the dais at immaculate parade rest, his shoulders straight, and his optic band glowing a clear, steady orange.
"At ease."
The navy mech's shoulders slumped ever so slightly, but he kept his gaze and stance steady. After his and his femme's return this morning, he had anticipated what would likely come next, and for once, he would be slagged if he would be remonstrated for it.
"I acknowledge I do not want to know to the full answer to this, but for the sake of security, it must be asked. You and Femme CMO Nightraider have sparkbonded. Yes or no?"
"Yes, sir."
"You are aware of the risks and repercussions, both professionally and personally, of this action?"
"Yes, sir."
"If it was asked, would either of you relinquish this bond?"
Soundwave's visor darkened. "No, sir."
"No?"
"Affirmative."
Megatron cast a piercing glare at his third-in-command. "Even if the Chaos Bringer himself returned and demanded this action?"
"In that...unique circumstance; would like to see Unicron try."
The Decepticon emperor could feel a smirk threatening to lift the edge of his lip components.
"And you are aware that I cannot fully condone the shared actions of yourself and Femme CMO Nightraider?"
"Nightraider and myself; both aware."
"Then this status change will be noted in both your records, and Nightraider will be required to inform General Strika upon her return to Cybertron."
"Understood."
Megatron nodded sharply and gestured towards the communications console. "Then attend to your duties. And Soundwave?"
The navy mech glanced over his shoulder as he moved towards his station.
"Nightraider is a rarity. Treat her as such."
"Advice; unnecessary but appreciated."
Three hours later...
"It's a Christmas tradition, you rusting fool!"
Unfortunately for all, Starscream was back at partial operational capacity, and full snark capacity.
Megatron simply glowered from his throne, arms folded across his bulky chest. "And it just so happens that this tradition involves me relinquishing my power for a day to a subordinate."
"One fragging day! What could possibly result in my possession of unlimited power for one day?"
There was a particular phrase on the internet which appeared primarily on chat-rooms and online journals to summarise the perceived idiocy or predictability of another person's actions. Rumble and Frenzy had come across it about a year ago and took a certain amount of glee in both using it and trying to perform it.
Right now, Soundwave still wasn't entirely sure if a Transformer could headdesk properly, or if it was even possible to do so on the communications console, but the action was now sounding incredibly tempting.
"I believe you have just answered your own question, Starscream. And it will be clarified with the phrase 'over my rusting corpse'."
The Air Commander flounced off towards the door, wings quivering in petulant rage. "It will be arranged, my lord, trust me!"
-BEEPBEEP BEEPBEEP BEEPBEEP-
Both the argument and Soundwave's concentration were broken by the sound of an alarm which had never been used during the Decepticons' residency on Earth.
The change was almost instantaneous. Megatron moved forwards in his throne, optics alert and narrowed, the sound of his fusion cannon charging filling the room. Starscream's sneer vanished to be replaced by a look of taut concentration as he moved to stand next by his leader's right hand.
Soundwave's hands flew over the console. "Communication origin confirmed; Cybertron. Priority level; one."
The Decepticon emperor nodded once. "On screen."
The viewscreen flickered and reformed into the blocky visage of Shockwave, his single optic bright with urgency. Behind him, Dreadnought was leaning over the main console, a wide smile stretching his faceplates to breaking point as he scanned a text report. Other mechs and femmes were charging back and forth, shouting orders and hauling storage boxes.
Shockwave looked more animated now than he had done in several million years. "My liege, success!"
Megatron looked askance. "Success? What success? Shockwave, if this is one of your pet projects actually working for once, then I fail to see why it requires the Priority One channel!"
"No, my liege, this is true success. The Autobots have fled Iacon. Not a trace of their troops remain; not Fortress Maximus, nor the Femme Contingent. The Cobalt Sentries and the Predacons have just confirmed it..."
The gun-former's next words would remain emblazoned in the senior officers' processors until the day they offlined.
"The Decepticons now hold all of Cybertron!"
The announcement was made at 9pm Pacific Standard time.
"Let it be known to all of the Earth-based ground and aerial troops of the Decepticon army that on December 25th 2003, at 12:50 GMT, the Decepticon forces on Cybertron took full control of our homeworld. The Autobots have fled to Luna Alpha and Luna Beta, their defences broken and supply lines ruptured. Victory to the Decepticons!"
Approximately three minutes later, the Earth-based forces had devised an appropriate celebratory response to the announcement.
"Shhho here it issssh Merry Chrishmash, effrybooodish havin' fuuun! Look to the fuchure now itsh only jusht beguuuhuuuuhuun!"
Heels dragging loudly on the floor tiles, Nightraider trudged towards her bondmate's quarters, her desire for a refuel, recharge and a long retreat into Soundwave's spark overriding all other subroutines.
Within ten minutes of the victory announcement, energon poisoning cases on board had unsurprisingly tripled. The med-bay had been running double-shifts all day in order to cope with the party survivors, but the further celebrations pushed the normally easy-going Scrapper over the edge. Unless shutdown was actually imminent, all mechs on the Nemesis were officially fending for themselves.
Not that she was complaining. Anything which meant she could have another hour with her mech was fine by her.
The red and black jet wearily tapped her access code into the override panel and gratefully stepped into the warm darkness. As her optics adjusted to the gloom, she could make out the recharging forms of the Cassettes, their frames and assorted heaps of wrapping paper covering the quarters like so many spare parts. Of Soundwave, there was still no sign – hardly surprising given the situation.
Rumble and Frenzy were both leaning back against the desk, snoring loudly, their new Xbox controllers still tightly clamped in their hands. Ravage was sprawled out on an oversized fur cushion, purring softly and batting the air with a paw. The twin condors were both perched on the edge of the berth, their newly polished frames supporting a dozing Ratbat, who was cuddling a new Mauser BK-27 autocannon to his spark.
Common sense dictated she should simply leave the twins where they slept and let their physiology programs alert them when their positions became too strenuous on their frames.
Her still-tender spark overruled this logic and directed her towards picking the red and blue Cassettes up by the scruff-bars, tucking them under her wing, settling back onto Soundwave's berth and rearranging them to lie safely in the crook of her left arm.
A gentle peck on the ankle joint caught her attention. Nightraider?
The F-14 glanced at the foot of the berth. Buzzsaw and Ratbat were both still asleep, but Laserbeak had woken up just enough to move closer to the older femme, optics alight with happiness. Soundwave told us.
"Yep. Looks like you're stuck with me now."
The red condor let out a soft cheep. Some might say it's the other way around.
"Hmph. What do they know?"
Nightraider raised her right arm in invitation. Laserbeak hesitated for barely a spark-beat before fluttering up the berth to perch on her co-creator's limb.
It's gone, you know.
"What has?"
Laserbeak ruffled her wings. His loneliness. It almost vanished after you both left the party last night, and it disappeared completely after you, well...
"Bonded. You are allowed to say it; I'll have to say it to General Strika in less than 24 hours."
You're leaving so soon?
"The circumstances on Cybertron have drastically changed. Besides, Megatron won't be able to rule by proxy, and he's not stupid enough to leave Shockwave in sole control of the planet he's aimed to destroy-slash-conquer for so long."
Buzzsaw, who had been woken at the sound of the femme jet's voice, gave up on feigning sleep. You don't trust Shockwave?
"I'd trust him far less than I could throw him."
Laserbeak chittered. Which would be how far?
The femme jet stared at the ceiling for a second. "About three meters with both hands."
Not that far then. Is it to do with his sparkling?
Trust Buzzsaw to be that touch too observant for his own good. "...Among other things."
Nightraider shook her head and focussed on the twin condors watching her with curious optics. "Anyway, it's past midnight and Soundwave should be back soon."
Choosing to ignore the sudden switch in topics, Laserbeak moved to perch on the edge of the berth, while Buzzsaw wrapped a wing around Ratbat's snoozing form, the little bat letting out a sleepy chitter before burrowing into his brother's side.
The red condor prepped her defrag cycle and shuttered her optics. Will you stay awake until he returns?
Nightraider gave her fellow femme a deadpan look. "I've just finished a double-shift and I haven't recharged properly for two days. Sleep first, snuggles later."
Laserbeak's amusement was clear through the link before she offlined for the night. Correct answer. And Merry Christmas.
There was a berth somewhere under the assorted pile of mechs and femmes, Soundwave was almost certain of it. Although...while there was the obvious and highly welcome addition of a snarky red and black F-14 jet to the pile, the fact remained that either he was going to have to wake at least half of the occupants up in order to find a sleeping space, or he would need to request a larger berth.
Trying not to trip over the piles of boxes or Ravage's new scratching post, the exhausted Communications officer managed to sit down on the edge of the berth and loomed over his bondmate.
Nightraider stirred at the change in pressure of the mattress, cracking open one optic to confirm the source of the change before opening the other optic, stretching her leg pistons, and shifting closer to her mech, shooting him another rare smile as she did.
"Hey."
She managed to sit up without jostling the twins and leaned closer to her mate, resting her helm against his and listening to the soft hum of his systems. Soundwave paused for a moment before pulling her into his arms and retracting his face-mask.
"So when do you start the clear-out?"
"In the New Year. The Autobots have fortified the Ark and their energon processing facilities in Autobot City, so it is more logical to keep a skeleton crew here and strengthen our defences on Cybertron. Our energon supplies are large enough to keep the entire army at full capacity for over 50 vorns."
"A stalemate, basically."
Nightraider shifted her fuselage enough for Soundwave to sit with his back against the wall of the berth, not even resisting when the Communications officer then tugged her forwards to sit on his lap.
"The Autobots will be dependent on the goodwill of the humans to maintain their supply lines. For them, the key to this war is no longer Cybertron, but Earth."
The femme jet rearranged her legs so that she was straddling her bondmate's hips. "And every day the stalemate continues, that goodwill saps just a little further."
Soundwave leaned further in, his fingers sliding down the femme's back and tracing seeming idle circles over her wings. "Humans are...flighty creatures. With lifespans as short as theirs, they know little of the value of patience."
"Unlike, say, the Decepticons?"
"More like the one who waited for me to make the decision I should have made too many vorns ago."
"Flatterer."
The conversation ceased as the navy mech pulled his femme to him for a kiss, overworked circuitry heating up once more. Pressing a hand to the small of her back, Soundwave stood, hoisting Nightraider's body along with him, and quietly made his way towards the door, activating the mechanism with his elbow.
Reluctantly breaking away from the kiss, Nightraider wrapped herself more tightly around Soundwave's frame and stared into his optic band. "Contrary to popular opinion, I'm not an exhibitionist."
"Nor am I. But I believe the weapons upgrade ward is deserted, and I had promised that every night I could have you, I would be making amends for lost time. And if you are returning to Cybertron tomorrow, I intend to make this night...memorable."
The femme's voice echoed back through their quarters as the door slid shut. "If this is how Christmas normally works, sign me up for next year."
Silence fell over the sleeping quarters as the various sleep cycles of the six Cassettes ended and their reduced power systems kicked in.
Rumble was the first to complain. "Ok, seriously, can someone jus' bleach my processor now? Please?"
Ravage stretched out and flexed his claws, but didn't budge from his new cushion. I doubt any of us were meant to hear that.
"And yet we did. Popular opinion: ewwwww." Frenzy pulled a face to indicate his supposed disgust, but his spark wasn't in it.
Buzzsaw ruffled his wings and yawned. Perhaps a suggestion of either using indoor voices or bonds would be more considerate.
Laserbeak simply looked amused. Three cubes of high-grade to the one who tells them.
The blue Cassette snorted. "And there's a bet we ain't touchin'."
Ratbat simply cuddled his autocannon closer to his spark and giggled. Soundwave was happy, Nightraider was happy, they had spark-bonded, and soon they would all be going back to Cybertron.
Add in the amount of blackmail material he and Ravage had collected from the various digicams in the refectory, and it had been the perfect Christmas. But there was one thing he still didn't understand.
No-one's said yet what a virgin is.
The five elder Cassettes simply shared a Look.
TBC