Author's Note:

BIG LONG BEAUTIFUL CHAPTER FULL OF GLORIOUS CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT. *cries*

On the other hand, hello! I hope you guys continue to like how Fraternizing moves along! Enjoy this chapter as much as I did! 3

"Hey, Raf, Bee. How are you guys doing?"

Bumblebee chirped happily to see her, leaning over to rub his elbow on the top of her helm as he continued to race hard against Raf, who's skills as a gamer kept growing. Still, Raf had the good decency to pause the game, and he turned around on the couch to smile at Nightstalker.

"Hi!" he said brightly, and Nightstalker felt her spark squeeze a little guiltily. Bumblebee even swept her up in a brief, tight hug now that the game was paused, saying, *Hi, Nights! How are you doing?*

"I'm good," she said back with a little grin. "But you still didn't answer MY question."

Bumblebee and Raf both blushed a little, saying at the same time, "Oh, we're fine," which made Nightstalker's smile tip up a little more. Raf pushed his glasses back up on his nose when they slipped. "You seem to be doing a lot better," Raf said.

Genuinely surprised, Nightstalker blinked surprised brows at him. "What?"

Her confusion made him blush a little brighter. "Well, I mean . . ." He tapped his toes together and dipped his head before peeking up at her. "I mean, since whatever happened . . . and since you're dating Cliffjumper, you seem to be doing a lot better. You're a lot calmer. You don't have so many mood swings anymore."

Bumblebee whirred in agreement, and Nightstalker found herself flushing a bit hotter than Raf was. "Oh, well um . . . I—I don't know how much that has to do with Cliffjumper," she finally stammered. "R-Ratchet's been diluting my energon with medication to help me stop being so bipolar, so . . ."

Bumblebee elbowed her gently, ducking his helm and whispering, *I don't know, I think I'd give Cliffjumper SOME of the credit . . .*

Nightstalker pursed her lips, and she swatted at him lightly before admitting, "I didn't come over here to gossip about me, I came to talk to you guys. How are you?"

Raf smiled. "We're pretty good," he said. "Aren't we, Bee?" and Bumblebee gave an acknowledging chirp.

Nightstalker smiled too, but she blushed a little. "Well, I mean . . . I just feel like I haven't been spending a lot of time with you guys anymore, especially now that Fli-Ni's here, and I just . . ." She cringed a little. "Wanted to make sure it didn't seem like I was putting you on the back burner?"

Bumblebee blinked, and then, he laughed, scooping her up in a hug before laughing, *Are you kidding me, Nights? We're fine! Seriously! We knew you were going to be excited to be with Fli-Ni again, and besides, we've been a bit busy lately anyways.*

She bit her lip and glanced dubiously at them both. "Are you sure?" she asked worriedly. "I mean—Raf, I've barely let myself talk to you lately. I just wanted to make sure I haven't hurt any feelings or made you feel left out."

"It's fine, Nights," Raf said with a precious little smile. "I'm okay."

Nightstalker felt her lips screw up. "Well, you're the one I worried about more. You've kinda faded into the background like you do at home."

Raf shrugged, looking out among all the bots. "I kind of like it like this," Raf said conversationally. "I mean, sure it's crowded and I'm a little overlooked like it is in my family, but . . . That just makes it feel all the more like a second home to me. Besides, Bee's here to listen to me if I ever want to talk, so I'm not worried."

Nightstalker tried to fight the smile for a second before she grinned and tickled him into the couch. Raf squealed and laughed, kicking at her hands as she growled, "Good! I can't have my two favorites feeling unloved, can I?" Nightstalker shrieked briefly when Bumblebee hoisted her up, sparing Raf of the tickle onslaught, and Bumblebee suddenly gasped.

*Nights! You should play some rounds with us!*

She laughed, shaking her head. "Me? Play with YOU guys? Not unless I just want to lose!"

Raf grinned, handing the controller her way. "Aw, we'll take it easy on you! C'mon, please?"

Nightstalker put her hands on her hips and narrowed her optics as she looked down on the human, and after a moment of indecision, stated, "All right." She snatched up the controller and pointed a finger at him. "But ONLY because I like your puppy dog eyes!"

Giggling with laughter, Nightstalker began a round of gaming with Raf and Bumblebee, having some quality time with them that she missed so much. For the most part, the day had been light. Dreadwing had inspected an old mine the other day and returned with a few leftover scrapings of energon for them to process, bandaging their low reserves for another precious few days. Ratchet was again deep in his Synthen formula, Bulkhead and Wheeljack were letting out restless energy by playing a game of lob, and most of the latter groups were chit chatting away. Even Ultra Magnus, buried in paperwork, wasn't too perturbed by the mild fun happening, but whether that came from a subtle poke by their Prime, no one would know. The base was actually quite quiet, but all activity stilled by one statement:

"I am so tired of this fraggin' war."

The bots looked up to Nightflier when he spontaneously said that. The Prime was sitting crisscross on the floor, jiggling his knees, helm dipped in thought. The lob ball wasn't thrown anymore—faces turned towards the small seeker, and Ultra Magnus looked up from his paperwork.

Finally, more matter-of-fact than before, he said, "I am so tired of this fraggin' war."

Ratchet was the first to turn from the computers of the new silo and say, "Aren't we all?"

Nightflier shrugged. "Yeah." He still didn't look up, just brooded with his helm down, knees bouncing restlessly. "I mean, I was born right before the war. Great. So my father leaves for the war, and so does my sister's father, and mom dies. I grow up on the streets because people are scared to even take in a sparkling at this time because they can feel the war was brewing. Nightstalker too," and he gave a flick of his hand towards his sister. "So we're a couple kids, and the planet's at war. We're playing HIDE AND SEEK and all the sudden the war's on us, everything's blowing up and getting destroyed, everyone's getting shot apart and dying, the most vivid memory we've got." He paused again, taking a cycle.

His shoulder jutted with another shrug. "Okay, so great. I'm blown apart, but luckily put together by a friendly Autobot while my sister unluckily gets the 'Cons. Separated from my baby sister. I think she's dead, so naturally I don't want to get better, but these bots that took me in are good bots and with a bond to a new brother, I stick it through. And what am I forced to become? A soldier."

Nightfall stopped again, helm dipped low until his chin almost touched his chest he was thinking so hard. "Again—this is just great. I'm just a kid, but I'm getting trained up immediately to learn how to fight and kill instead of playing around, goofing off, and getting in typical youngling trouble. At this point in my life, I don't even KNOW what I'm fighting for, I'm just fighting. By the time I learn what the war was started for, it seems so far in the past that it doesn't even exist anymore and it's more like we're just fighting to keep fighting. I lose faith. I go through the motions. I kill to kill, I do the mission to complete the mission, and I don't even have a cause anymore. My life was full of war and I didn't have a say in it.

"And then, Cybertron falls dark, everyone evacuates, and I would have turned Neutral and fled too if not for my teammates. So I stick around, scavenging for survival on a bleak Cybertron that was dead everywhere I went and reminded me again and again, no matter where I looked, that my race was going to kill itself into extinction." Nightfall's brows pinched. "And then, by a freak accident of nature, something these cute little Prime's like to call "fate," I'm tossed onto Earth through a space bridge and in a whole new world lush with life. And then, Optimus Prime dies and suddenly I'M the one the Matrix decides to glow for, and BAM! I'm Prime. Tiny, confused, unworthy, clueless little crippled ol' me became Prime. And all of the sudden I'm leading the war resistance of a war I never wanted in the first place, always hated, and didn't know how to lead."

Nightflier snorted. "Still wonder what that dumb ol' Matrix was thinking of when it made ME Prime. Pit, might as well have picked Bumblebee. He could have been a better Prime than me." He paused. "So my entire life has revolved around the events of the war and dictated me to become nothing but a killing soldier as the Autobots and Decepticons hack each other apart into extinction. In other words: I am TIRED of this fraggin' war."

He looked up at them then, seeing all the bots looking at him warily, not sure what to think of him in his current state. Ratchet was the first to say hesitatingly, "Nightfall . . . You're not seriously considering surrendering to the Decepticons, are you?"

He wrinkled his nose and shook his helm. "Nah. I know better. But still. Cybertron's dead, and so far we haven't found a way to revive it. Poisoned with dark energon by Megatron, but gutted to death by Optimus when he ejected the All Spark." Nightflier's brow suddenly pinched. He looked incredulously at Ratchet. "Do you think . . . Optimus killed Cybertron. Megatron forced his hand, but Optimus killed Cybertron. TWICE. First with the All Spark and again with the Omega Lock." Nightflier shook his head. "Sick, that the almighty vessel of Primus was the one to kill him."

Nightflier shook himself, letting those dark thoughts fall away. "You see? That's what I've got to think about when I'm running around trying to be Prime." He looked up with wide, questioning optics to Ultra Magnus. "Right?" The commander's brows were pinched as he digested what Nightflier had spilled, but he nodded confirmation, amazed that his thinking had changed so drastically. And impressed by his thinking. So, Nightflier continued, "And all I can think is that we've somehow GOT to come to some sort of an accord with all of this. We need to find peace before we kill each other into extinction."

After a moment of silence, Nightflier jumped to his peds and pushed past Ratchet. "Let me use this for a second." The medic backed off, letting his Prime use the computer. After a second, Nightflier began to type, and he spoke what he typed out loud.

"Dear Megatron," he started casually. His helm tipped in thought. "Nightfall Prime here. Don't know when the last time you looked up and around was, but if you check, there's only ten Autobots left and five Decepticons plus a slew of drones you've made. Unless some others are floating around out in space, we've almost managed to kill each other into extinction."

Nightflier tapped a ped, pausing in his typing. "So my proposition is this: let's get together in a nice pretty field with some high grade and see if we can talk out how to end the war without any more battles. Because, quite frankly, I just need a beer."

Without preamble, Nightflier punched the send button. Ratchet sputtered in complete horror for a moment before choking out,

"You . . . did NOT . . . just . . ."

Nightflier shrugged with a cheeky little grin. He hoisted himself up and sat on the computer. "And why the frag not? When was the last time we tried to end this war instead of just battling like mindless machines?"

"Get—Get off of my computer!"

Without much care, Nightflier hopped off and smirked. "Seriously, Ratch. The worst he can do is refuse or not even respond. Aren't YOU tired of the war?"

Ratchet sputtered. "W-Well, yes, but—You could have at LEAST done that with a little more class—!"

"The doctor is right," Ultra Magnus suddenly cut in, and he took several steps forward to stand in front of Nightflier. "Regardless, that should have been a formal invitation, not a . . . tawdry child's note."

Nightflier hiked a brow up. "Please, Ultra Magnus. This is a former gladiator of Kaon. If there's a drink involved, he's not going to refuse."

Ultra Magnus put his servos on his hips, and one of his fingers began to tap in irritation. "Sir, I highly doubt Megatron will accept your invitation. He is beyond the point of negotiating, and has been for over a millennia."

"Well, that's because he was talking to Optimus," Nightflier told him. He shrugged a shoulder. "Besides, you know he's going to want to meet his new adversary. I'm sure he's going to accept."

"I cannot hold your same beliefs," Ultra Magnus stressed, lips pressing together. "Megatron has never—"

A beep at the computer interrupted him. Nightflier turned around, looked, and then sent Ultra Magnus a pointed glance.

"Megatron."

When the commander just blinked, Nightflier looked back at the computer and opened the message, reading it out loud. "Your proposition is amusing, Nightfall. Provide the coordinates and I will provide the high grade. I will bring Soundwave to delineate with you." A beat of silence. Then a cocky grin and wink at Ultra Magnus.

"Well, I'd bring you with me, but you'd never drink the high grade!"

Ratchet just gaped, unable to wrap his processor around the concept that Nightflier had so easily garnered Megatron's attention, his time, a MEETING with him, something that hadn't been done for millennia. Nightflier turned and looked at each Autobot in consideration.

He gave Nightstalker a look. "Don't even give me that look," he teased her. "There's no way I'm letting you have any high grade!"

She blinked as if coming out of a stupor, and her mouth worked for a second before she managed blankly, "I've had plenty of it before."

Cliffjumper took her hand at the same time Bumblebee took her opposite hand, squeezing in reassurance at her shell-shocked reaction. She froze up at even the mention of his name.

Nightflier pointed his finger and shook his head at both Bumblebee and Smokescreen. "No and no, too young."

Smokescreen groaned loudly, and Nightflier just shook his head before he smiled sweetly at Arcee. "Aw. No. You won't drink, and you've got too hot a head."

She scoffed and didn't say anything to him. Nightflier did some tiny skips to the side, clasping his hands behind his back as he mused to the rest of them, "No, no, no, and," he widened his optics at Dreadwing, "NO, no, so that leaves . . . " And he came to stand in front of Bulkhead. The bot shrank.

Nightflier grinned and jumped forward, spreading his hands. "Bulkhead! My man!"

"BULKHEAD?" Ratchet scoffed loudly behind him. "Nightfall, please, you can't be SERIOUS."

"Totally serious!" Nightflier said as chipper as he felt.

Bulkhead shrank, lifting his hands in surrender. "Uh, Nightfall, are you sure this is a good idea? I mean . . . Shouldn't someone more qualified be with you?"

"Well who's more qualified than you?" Nightfall said in mock confusion. He crossed his arms, tilting his head as he pretended to think hard. "Well, considering you're one of my bots, you're perfect for the job. You keep a level-head the best, and you'd be willing the drink the high grade, and I know you hold it well," and he gave a grin and suggestive pat to his stomach. "C'mon, Bulk, please?"

"I do not believe that will be necessary, sir," Ultra Magnus cut in strictly. Nightflier looked up at the mech as he managed tightly, "I will be the one to go. Soundwave will not drink the high grade either, so we will at least have one sober mech on both sides."

Nightflier grinned. "All right. Let's go then!"

He started to reach to the computer to insert a set of coordinates for Megatron to follow, but Ratchet suddenly grabbed his wrist, all but yanking him away from the computer as he snapped, "You can't go!"

Nightflier wrest his servo away before giving Ratchet a look. "I can't? Why."

It took all of the medic's self-control not to look at Nightstalker. But, he visibly reeled back like someone had slapped him, and his jaw dropped open without words to back up his anger. Finally, his mouth shut with a clack before he managed, "Nightfall, respectfully, you do not KNOW all the horrors Megatron has done over the years. You have fought on a far outpost while mechs like myself and Ultra Magnus have been in the thick of it, the front lines, and we've seen his atrocities first hand. Mechs have died under my care after the things Megatron inflicted on them!"

Nightflier frowned. "Sounds to me like it's a personal vendetta."

Something in the medic's face flinched before he cast an angry arm out to the rest of the bots. "It IS personal," he admitted tightly. "It's personal to ALL of us! Not just me! And if you had any good sense, it would be personal for you too."

The young Prime pressed his lips together, hearing Ratchet's words, but not understanding them. "And if I had any good sense, I'd remember I'm a Prime," he stated. An almost stricken look crossed Ratchet's features before his expression shuttered. "And as a Prime," Nightflier said, "my number one job isn't to pursue vendettas—the anger clouds your judgment. My number one job is to end this war, and this meeting with Megatron may very well put us on that path if we can come to some sort of accord. Because if you want to know my opinion?" Nightflier bit his lip hard as he looked up on the whipped medic. Finally, he muttered, "If you want to know my opinion, this war was between Optimus and Megatron. It was their fight and betrayal, and each had their own vendetta against the other. And now with Optimus gone, quite frankly, I think we can persuade Megatron towards a peaceful end now that he's settled that vendetta."

There it was. His hard truth. Something he had debated and stressed over and hated himself for believing, but couldn't help but believe. Nightflier shook his head and let his wings dip. "I don't know. Maybe I'm wrong. But right now, I'm going to try whatever I can to end this war, and diplomacy is one way."

With that, he brushed by Ratchet and put the coordinates into the computer, sending them back to Megatron. Then, he implanted them into the ground bridge and opened it up, turning to walk out with Ultra Magnus.
Ratchet glanced fiercely across the base to Nightstalker, seeking her permission, but she shook her head rapidly, almost violently side to side, trembling. Nightflier glanced up at Ultra Magnus before the ground bridge, searching for his approval of his latest actions and words, and after a moment, the mech laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Trust in your own decisions."

Ah, slot, that was hard to ask of him. Instead of dwelling on it, Nightflier just nodded his head and began to walk through the bridge. At the last second, he glanced back, and he had enough time to blink at Nightstalker who was clearly distressed, and get confused just as his peds hit grass.

It didn't take long for Megatron and Soundwave to show. It was barely minutes later that another ground bridge opened, and out came both Megatron and Soundwave, each carrying high grade for everyone. Ultra Magnus stilled beside him, and Nightflier squared his shoulders, taking to spark the warning his father sent him to be careful. Megatron's blood red optics locked onto Nightflier, and myriad of emotions chased themselves behind his gaze.

Then, he began to laugh.

Nightflier huffed a little under his breath when the warlord got a good look at his "worthy" new adversary of a Prime, and he felt Ultra Magnus stiffen even more, taking insult for his Prime. Nightflier just discreetly waved a small servo, letting the commander know not to mention it. If he was in Megatron's position, well, he'd probably laugh if his great new enemy was half his size.

After a few seconds of laughter, Megatron beamed a grin at him that he wasn't sure how to take. "So YOU are Optimus's chosen successor?"

Nightflier gave a rather sheepish grin with a shrug. "Yes, sir. And let me guess: you thought I'd be taller?" When Megatron's smirk deepened a fraction, so did Nightflier's. "Yeah, I thought I was gonna be taller too."

Megatron chuckled once more, and Nightflier felt Ultra Magnus shifting again, this time a little uncomfortable at how easily they seemed to be getting along. "Indulge me in a question," Megatron drawled to him. "You bear a striking resemblance to my former torturer and former second in command. Before you became Prime, your name didn't happen to be Nightflier, now would it?"

He nodded again. "Yes, sir."

The warlord's smirk darkened to an almost eerie degree. "Oh what delicious irony . . ." Instead of pursuing the point, Megatron proffered one of the energon cubes he held. "Have a drink?"

Nightflier smiled. "It would be my pleasure." As he took the energon cube, Nightflier plopped down comfortably in the grass of the plains they met in, taking a great deal of pleasure in the breeze. Megatron hiked a brow at him, but obligingly sat across from him, the sun glinting off his armor. He stretched a leg before crooking it and he propped up his other leg, leaning an elbow on it; Soundwave seated himself after setting the last two cubes of energon within reach of the two leaders. After a tense moment, Ultra Magnus finally, reluctantly sat.

Nightflier took a sip of the high grade, and his brow rose. "Whoa," he said in appreciation. "This is good!"

Megatron grinned, bearing shark-like teeth. "I am glad you approve. Only the best of the best comes from my own stash."

His blue optics popped before he could stop it. "Oh. Then I suppose I'm a privileged mech."

"That you are."

They lapsed back into a brief silence as Nightflier took another sip of the delightfully sweet energon that had a tangy aftertaste. Who knew Megatron would have had a sweet tooth? It buzzed in his olfactory systems, giving him a prickle of warmth, enough to get tipsy by drinking the stuff, but not enough to get slagged on—a good combo for today.

Nightflier gave a weak laugh as he looked down at his reflection in the high grade. "If you want to know something REALLY ironic," he said to Megatron, "the irony would be me."

"I never said it was not," Megatron replied.

He shook his head. "No, I mean . . ." and he finally blurted, "It's an honor to meet you."

Ultra Magnus nearly twisted an axel on the spot before staring incredulously at his Prime. That confession made Megatron laugh again, and he finally managed, "You are certainly full of surprises, Nightfall!"

He grinned a little sheepishly, swirling his high grade. "Well, you see, I grew up in Kaon. And when my sister and I were really little, we'd sneak off and go to the gladiatorial games." He looked up to Megatron. "We were hoping to see you. Well, at least, I was. At first I didn't take Nights because she was too young, and then when I did she was too young to really understand . . . But I was always star struck by your teachings. Your beliefs. And watching you decimate someone in the field of battle was always a treat." He winced a little and fluttered his wings. "Except when you're on the receiving end of your might."

Megatron gave an amused chuckle. "You do look much better than from the last time I left you."

He gave a little shrug. "The Forge is magic," he said offhandedly. "So, basically, the irony comes in like this—I was always convinced I was going to be a Decepticon."

Ultra Magnus just . . . stared. He was so shocked he was as silent as Soundwave. Megatron just took another deep drink of the high grade, amused and interested at the Prime's story. "See, when I was little," Nightflier said, leaning forward, "you were my idol. I wanted to be just like you, strong, powerful, good at speeches, and tall." He flushed a little with an embarrassed grin. "As you can see, I didn't get any of that."

Nightflier paused a second to take a drink and wet his lips again. "On top of that, when you started freeing the gladiators and recruiting them to your cause, Dad and Uncle Skyquake were some of the ones that went with you, so I didn't really have much of a father figure, much less a strong mech figure in my life to look up to—and again, I looked up to you all the more for that.

"And they may have just been the lofty views of a child, but I was fully convinced that I was going to be a Decepticon." Nightflier smirked ruefully, wings perking up as he soaked in a wonderful breeze. "I hated the Autobots, I was going to be the best warrior you had, and I was going to kill so many Autobots and do so many great things for the great Decepticon cause that I'd catch even YOUR optic." He snorted, taking another sip of the high grade. "Silly, but nonetheless, I wanted to be a Decepticon. I always told Mom I was going to become a great Decepticon commander for her to be proud of, and the second I was old enough, I was going to throw my lot in with the 'Cons—she hated talk like that since Dad had gone to fight in the war, so I didn't talk about it much to her though I always day dreamed about it."

Nightflier paused. His optics dropped.

"And then . . . You ruined it. You ordered the execution of all femmes and sparklings."

This time, he took a big swallow of the high grade, feeling it sting his olfactory system and warm him all the way down, soothing his hurt. "But I mean—even at this point in my life, I didn't realize that it was the work of Decepticons. There was always a part of me that thought, you know, the Autobots were doing this, not the mech I'd looked up to all my life . . ." A grim smile touched Nightflier's face. "But ah, how the tables turn and truth rings. I survive the slaughter and get taken in by Autobots. And look at where I'm at now? A kid who used to believe with all his might he was a Decepticon through and through, and how he's Prime. Pure irony."

He glanced up to Megatron with a question in his optics. "Did you even consider what kind of advantage you threw away? Basically all of Kaon was loyal to you. We viewed you as our savoir, as the one who was going to deliver us from the rank low caste and grant us the freedom we believed we deserved. Then to have you turn your back and slaughter us all—thousands upon thousands of femmes and sparklings. You could have had a second army. So many children to teach to become your benevolent soldiers, and even if you didn't believe femmes could fight, they could have filled the Decepticon's always low medical staff. You threw away a great advantage. Both political and resourceful."

Megatron grumbled, assessing the smaller mech in a new light. "You portray it as a missed opportunity, but that is not so. To teach so many useless femmes and sparklings to fight or heal would have been time consuming and would have broken the Decepticon's tactical advantage to surge up and overtake at the rate we had. On top of that, we would not have had the metals and parts we salvaged and smelted from the bodies to make our weaponry and other various things." He waved an uncaring servo. "I would not go back and change it now."

Nightflier winced. He puffed out a small sigh. "Yes, I see. It's just . . . hard to see someone you looked up to fall so far." He shrugged. "Or maybe not even that. Perhaps it was Megatronus I looked up to, not Megatron."

Megatron seemed to still across from him, and after an awkward silence, Ultra Magnus finally cleared his vocalizer.

"I do believe we have strayed far off topic," he reprimanded his Prime as well as steered them towards the real reason they were there. "We—"

"Mayhap we are," Megatron cut in, "but allow us one more digression before we begin." As Nightflier took another drink of the high grade, Megatron asked, "How is your sister? Tell her she is always welcome back to my berth if she should ever change her mind about this Autobot thing."

Nightflier choked. The high grade clotted in his throat, and Nightflier choked on the clog, managing to spit it up out of his olfactory system as well as his mouth. Even after his airways were clear, he was left hacking, throat raw and nose burning from the high grade.

"What?" was finally the word he was able to strangle out of his vocalizer.

Megatron just nodded, though a flicker of delight flamed to life in the back of Megatron's optics. "I am still convinced she would make a wonderful Decepticon queen regardless of what has happened in between us."

Nightflier stared in shocked horror as he silently put together the pieces Megatron was handing him. His sister. She—When she was a Decepticon, she was a torturer, but—No, oh Primus no!

He felt his energon tanks roll uncomfortably. So THAT was why she didn't want to bond with him. Nightflier forced himself to take a steadying breath, and Ultra Magnus said pointedly to Megatron, "We will be sure to relay the message," though Nightflier heard no promise in his voice. Good. Good, he didn't—Nightstalker didn't need—oh Primus, she had been his mistress, his nymphomaniac, his own little slu—

A nervous and disgusted shiver crawled down Nightflier's back. His jaw set and he glared at Megatron. "We will not be giving her your message," he said evenly to the warlord. "She is not your call girl."

"Are you sure?" Megatron nearly purred while hiking a brow. "I do believe it is her choice whether or not to come back to me. After all, I was the constant in her life ever since she was just out of her youngling years—"

Something in Nightflier's mind wanted to snap. He had fragged his sister since she was just out her youngling years, millennia, for millennia—"Megatron," he finally managed to cut him off, "please, don't. We are here to delineate about ending this war."

Megatron gave a careless shrug and drained the rest of his own cube before he tossed the empty cube across the rolling plains, a spiky slash of dark against a homely backdrop. His red optics narrowed slightly as he assessed the Prime's reaction. "My, cutting off my idle chatter while you gave me your entire history."

"In an effort to get you to understand how much you meant to me," he snapped back before he stopped short, realizing Megatron was trying to play him. A muscle in Nightflier's cheek twitched, and he forcibly took a deep vent, trying to hold back all the emotions swirling in turmoil. So what if Megatron had taken him off guard with his sister's greatest secret. It didn't change how he loved her, and it didn't change what this meeting was about.

Or perhaps Nightflier had taken Megatron off guard with his praise of him, and so Megatron felt it right to return the favor?

"I am sorry," Nightflier finally said calmer than before. "You are right. I was the one speaking out of turn first. Sometimes I still act like a tawdry child instead of Prime, but—give me a break. I've been Prime for a couple weeks."

Megatron smirked and picked up another cube. Nightflier glanced down at his, half empty, and he took another drink to calm his buzzing nerves. "Ah, you're just like Optimus Prime," Megatron said with a graceful flick of his wrist. Nightflier froze; he wasn't trying to be like Optimus. "The first thing you must do is try to peacefully talk things out. Perhaps it is simply a Prime trait." He took another swig of his high grade. "But I must say, I am very impressed by your fortitude, youngling."

A surprised look flashed across his face before he could stop it. "My fortitude?"

It was a second after he said that that he realized—his wings.

But Megatron turned that thought on its heel with his next words.

"Yes, your fortitude," Megatron continued. "That you are willing to pursue peace even knowing what I've done to your very sister is astonishing. I doubt even Optimus would have that kind of forgiveness in him, much less her own brother."

Something cold chilled in Nightflier's gut. His servo gripped his high grade too tightly. "What?" he finally cracked from his vocalizer.

Megatron arched a brow. "Why, that you can forgive my raping your sister and still seek peace for the greater good of Cybertron. Astounding forgiveness."

It was a slow seeking missile that slowly cut through the murky waters of his mind that began to tap, tap, tap on the edge of his consciousness as he tried to encompass that word—RAPE—in his mind and fully understand what the warlord meant. That was fine, because Megatron seemed quite content to sit and sip his high grade with an almost mockingly smug look at him.

Finally, it was Ultra Magnus that stood—he nearly rocketed to his peds. "We are finished here," he stated flatly to the Decepticons, and he grabbed beneath Nightflier's pit, hauling the young Prime to his peds.

Nightflier yanked away from him with the passionate cry of, "No we're not!" He whirled on Megatron, the flame of anger burning in his optics as if his look was the hell that would consume Megatron's soul. "We're not done here!" His chassis heaved and his fingers twitched as he stared at Megatron with rising hate and horror, something breaking apart inside his spark. "What did—You—by the Pits of Kaon, if you—My sister!" Finally realizing that nothing comprehensible was coming out of his mouth, Nightflier swore fluently under his breath before snapping, "Say that again! Say it to my face! What did you do? What did you do to my sister?"

Megatron arched an amused brow, clearly unfazed by his anger. "I raped your sister," Megatron said casually, as if he was talking about his favorite color. "Within an inch of her life. In fact, I was quite surprised to see her alive at Darkmount."

Ultra Magnus clamped his hand down on Nightflier's shoulder, dragging him back and away from Megatron. "Ratchet," he ordered sternly into his comm. link, "open a ground bridge immediately."

Nightflier didn't realize he was almost hyperventilating in anger. It was pure, white hot fire blinding his optics, and he was faintly aware of the Matrix stirring in his spark, telling him to reign back his fury, revenge was not the way of a Prime, his pattern of thoughts was sinful, and he shouldn't allow his emotions to influence his choices. He had to take this chance while he had it! Put aside his anger and focus on the matter at hand and finally put an end to this war while he could! But he was swept away in the tide of hate, almost choking on the passion boiling inside him.

The ground bridge blasted open behind them, and Megatron rose from the ground fluidly. "I take it this meeting is adjourned?"

Nightflier's denta bared at his smacking tone. "I—You—Cybertron below me, if you—I'll just—And when I see you again—Argh!"

He snarled with an almost feral growl at the warlord, frustrated he couldn't get a proper and dark threat out of his mouth he was so strangled by sheer abhorrence. With a final hiss, Nightflier yanked away from Ultra Magnus's grip and stalked through the bridge, temper close to snapping.

His peds rooted to the spot as he glared at every Autobot in the room. The bridge closed behind them, and Nightflier opened his mouth—and shut it with an audible clack and grind before pinching his brow. Then, he opened his mouth and let them have it.

"And NONE of you thought to tip me off!" he shouted. Ugly rage splotched his cheeks. "None of you thought that that," and he threw his arm towards the ground bridge, "was important enough to fragging tell me about?" He could see it in their optics. They all knew. All of them. "I fragging walk out there to make nice with Megatron and none of you told me about possibly the most important bit of information I would have needed?" Not to mention, even Ultra Magnus had been in the dark about this.

He stalked forward several steps, wings perked aggressively. "None of you thought to mention, 'Oh, Nightflier, I forgot to tell you Megatron adulterated your sister—and fragging RAPED her within an inch of her life!?"

His voice rang in the silent room, and it was so quiet he heard the faint catch of her breath. He turned, and he felt that familiar cold chill dump over his spark. His wings dropped immediately, and his throat worked at the betrayed look in her optics.

He took one step towards her and stretched out his hand. "Nights . . . Nights, I—"

She turned and ran from the room so quickly he didn't have the fighting chance to catch her. "Nightstalker!" He took a stride, but he heard her transformation, and he knew without a doubt that she was gone, and there would be no catching her. However, that didn't stop Cliffjumper from running out after her, calling her name and transforming into his alt mode to try and keep up with her.

Nightflier swore fluently under his breath, gradually getting louder until he gave another yell of frustration and anger. Primus, so much anger. It coursed through him like lava, consuming him from the inside out. And those fragging incessant Primes in the Matrix trying to lecture him on controlling his temper—!

His jaw ground tightly, and he turned to Ratchet with fire in his optics. "He said he raped her within an inch of her life," he nearly hissed at the medic. He vainly took a deep vent, but his servos only shook more with the need to break something—or SOMEONE. "Exactly how close to death is that?"

Ratchet's optics shuttered. "I'm afraid I can't tell you," he said evenly, optics not wavering from Nightflier's even with the most boldfaced lie. "That information is doctor-patient confidentiality—"

"Don't give me that!" Nightflier snapped before straining in another calming breath. "You know as well as I you're lying right to my face. Now I know medics keep extensively documented details of their work and even imagery, and I'm asking you to let me see exactly what Megatron did to my sister." When Ratchet's jaw set stubbornly, Nightflier's hands curled into claws.

He was nearly going to order the medic when Ratchet finally said, "I don't see what scarring yourself with this image of her is going to do," he growled back, but he obediently turned and grabbed a datapad—but the pad was blank. Nightflier watched tensely as Ratchet jacked into the pad directly, keeping the contents of Nightstalker's files under lock and key of his very own processor than having a soft copy hidden on a computer somewhere.

Ratchet turned with the pad in hand, flicked through several things before settling on one. Shadowed optics looked up at him. "Brace yourself," Ratchet told him, and he handed him the datapad, face down so he couldn't see it. "It is disturbing on a psychological level." He hadn't let anyone see the product of what had been laid on his medical berth. Only he, and the ones who had rescued Nightstalker in the first place—Optimus, Arcee, Bumblebee, and Cliffjumper—knew the full extent of the damage that had been done. And not even in a medic's detail who took in every slash and moved body part and cut and bleed.

Nightflier took the datapad, and his blazing optics glued to the back of the screen. Did he really want to do this? Yes—he wanted to know what she had gone through. He would never know otherwise as she was set on keeping him out of her spark anyways. Not to mention, how could he possibly comfort her when he didn't know how bad it was? She would try to cushion it, say it wasn't that bad just to make him feel better . . . But by Primus, it was a morbid, sick curiosity that couldn't be sated, and the unknown haunted him—he kept thinking of horrible things that could have happened to her, and he kept thinking of the worst things that could have happened. His chassis seized at the vivid thoughts. It couldn't be that bad, could it?

It took him a moment to realize his servo was shaking. With a sharp vent, Nightflier told himself to go for broke, and he turned the datapad face up to see the picture of the full extent of Nightstalker's damage.

It was worse than anything he had ever imagined.

His energon tanks rolled. That . . . That was his sister? What was . . . left of her . . . Primus, there was so much energon spilled, she was almost more blue than she was black, and it was pooling . . . Her arms were broken, her wrists were broken, her hips were broken, everything was twisted in wrong directions, he had clawed all over her wings—A sharp gasp seized in Nightflier's vocalizer when he saw her spark in plain sight, her chassis doors ripped off and completely missing, and sweet Cybertron below, those claw marks on her spark, the wires were ripped and bleeding in a grotesque mess. Her valve was destroyed. It was like her valve was nothing but a gaping hole. It was like her innards had been churned in a mixing machine. It wasn't even like a rape, she was just an incomprehensible mass of mutilated parts—

The datapad slipped from his numb fingers. It clattered to the ground, cracking its screen, and Nightflier suddenly realized he was so sick he was gagging. With a wild lurch, Nightflier collapsed against the side of one of Ratchet's white storage bins, and he heaved violently. He purged, and the sickly contents of the high grade pooled in the floor, and his shoulders heaved with the effort.

He felt hands taking him, and he jerked wildly, forcing them off as he leapt back to his peds. There was a roaring in his audios—he couldn't hear anything above the panic that seized him. He staggered against the wall, bracing himself there for a minute as unadulterated rage seared through every wire in his body.

"I'll kill him."

He didn't realize that he had been the one to hiss that so malevolently. It sent the Primes in the Matrix into a tizzy of worry that he couldn't go out for revenge, but he ignored them completely. He shook, swearing under his breath again. "I'll kill him, I'll fragging kill him . . ."

Nightflier jolted when Ultra Magnus took a step towards the datapad, and he pointed a sharp finger at him, snapping, "You take one look at that and I will personally remove your memory chips!" Ultra Magnus's gaze shuttered at the hostile tone of his Prime, but he obediently backed up a step, frowning intensely at being kept out of the loop. Nightflier pointed to the pad. "Ratchet, delete it. Right now."

The CMO immediately knelt to do his bidding. With another dark swear, Nightflier pushed off of the wall and began to pace, restless with the need for violence that brewed up in his chassis like a black storm. It blocked out the wisdom of the Primes. Its seduction was deadly.

Nightflier's servos shook he was so worked up. Megatron had treated his sister like a whore. He had defiled her when she was just barely only enough to interface, and he had continually fragged her like he owned her and treated her like his toy. Primus, and on top of that he had the GALL to offer to take her back even after he had raped her—!?

The sound of a sword smoothly unsheathing cut open the silence. Nightflier looked up to see his father come to stand before him, sword extended in invitation. His solid blue optics flickered at his son.

"Spar with me."

Nightflier gave a rough, barking laugh. "Now?" he grumbled, voice deep and deadly. "I'm liable to pull some energon right now."

"Then so be it," Dreadwing said neutrally to him. "But you are angry—"

"Oh Megatron WISHES I was just ANGRY," Nightflier snarled, rage peaking.

Dreadwing barely blinked. "Which is why it is the perfect time to spar, to teach you to control your anger."

Nightflier held still for only a moment—then, unsheathing his blade, he turned with a shout on his father, swinging with all the force of his anger behind the blow. Lithely, Dreadwing pivoted away, and Nightflier tried to stop and turn, his blade skidding against the floor, but he felt the blunt edge of Dreadwing's sword slam heavily into his back. With a low grunt, Nightflier felt himself felled easily to the floor, and Dreadwing rested his blade against the back of his neck.

"Dead," he stated, and Nightflier felt himself flush hotly that he had been defeated so easily. Dreadwing backed away, feeling the turmoil in his son's spark, and his own father's rage combated with his. "That was a clumsy attack," he berated Nightflier as he stood, rolling his sore shoulders. Nightflier's optics brightened angrily. "Only an inexperienced cadet would attack as recklessly as that. Try again."

With a yell, Nightflier charged Dreadwing again, this time from another side, taking the time to feint once before ducking around and unleashing a sharp uppercut. Dreadwing easily anticipated his move, and he parried him. Nightflier whirled and found each of his attacks blocked no matter where he went, so he faked a bold cut and turned back with a sharp jab to his waist. Dreadwing jumped back to avoid it, and Nightflier felt his father's servo clip his jaw sharply, sending him staggering backwards. Before he could put up a defense, his legs were swiped out from beneath him, and the more skilled warrior placed the tip of his blade on his son's forehead.

"Dead," he said flatly again, and Nightflier growled at him, energon rushing fast and furious. "Your trickery is flat, predictable. Either channel the deception to confuse your enemy, or attack head on and forget the child's play."

He let him up again. With a sneer, Nightflier lashed his shield to his arm and turned it on, allowing the electrical currents to course through the weapon, heightening the playing field. Sensing the bold challenge to make this a little more than the standard spar, Dreadwing stepped into a graceful lunge, blade raised level for Nightflier's next attack.

They fought with anger—Nightflier, blind with anger, and Dreadwing, relentless with anger. Through their bond, the rage pooled and collected, overflowing with dangerous ire as they fought against each other with an edge of higher violence. First blood went to Nightflier—a shallow nick above his father's optic that bled into his optic, frustrating the mech. A staggering punch split Nightflier's lip. They steered mercifully clear of each other's wings, each seeker respecting how sensitive they were. But other than that, they were fair game to each other. The astonishingly brutal spar nearly made Ratchet step in and stop it, but there was something primal in their optics full of rage and pain that kept him at bay even as it only grew more and more ferocious.

"Dead."

"Dead."

"Dead."

A forceful tidal wave of frustration crashed down on Nightflier for the nth time as Dreadwing easily disposed of him like yesterday's trash. With his incessant beat downs also came the brutal honesty of constructive criticism.

"Your stance is wide and sloppy."

"You're attacking with your emotions—think with a clear processor, allow the rage to fuel the strength of your blows."

"Stop nursing your wounds like a child. Absorb the pain. Pay it back double."

"Take CONTROL of your anger! Don't let it rule you; tame it and use its strength against your enemy!"

Attacking again, Nightflier ignored the exhaustion of his body and the pain throbbing through his thoroughly beaten frame. His optics narrowed to slits as he combated against his father. He wasn't going to give up until he bested him once. He had something to prove now, and though his fury towards Megatron hadn't taken a backseat yet, he was determined. Damnably determined to prove his worth.

With another snarling yell, Nightflier charged, blocking Dreadwing's attacks cleanly, struggling to overcome the greater warrior's skill futilely. The dance of their blades met in the middle, clashing into each other and Nightflier ducked, avoiding an overhead slash. Ramming his shoulder forward, he slammed into Dreadwing's gut, and he whirled and slammed his shield up into his chassis.

Dreadwing grunted and flinched, backing up, but Nightflier refused to stop his charge. He blocked Dreadwing's blade with his shield and dropped when his free hand reached for him. Ducking between his legs, Nightflier slashed at his ankles, managing to cut another wire that made Dreadwing hiss and jump away, giving Nightflier breathing room. Launching back to his peds, Nightflier shouted and stabbed with his short sword, but he missed his mark when his father whirled away. With a fierce roundhouse kick, Dreadwing's nicked ped lambasted smack in Nightflier's gut, shattering the cockpit on his chassis and sending the small seeker flying with a low grunt. The doors to the hangar were slightly ajar, and it was just enough room for Nightflier to hit one door, literally taking it off the tracks before he crashed outside.

He tumbled several times until his leading arm's elbow accidentally smashed through the windshield of a military Jeep, sending small bits of glass showering down into his armor and the protoform beneath. With a gritty groan, Nightflier turned on his hands and knees, coughing on the energon he had gagged up.

The four humans in the Jeep stared in shock. The two in the front seat, Nightflier didn't know, but the two in the back seat? Prophet's jaw slacked open, causing his mouthful of sandwich to fall out and onto his lap. Angel gaped, a medic's care slowly kicking into gear as he managed to crack out, "Nightflier?"

Spitting, Nightflier ignored him, frustration and fury boiling beneath his heated complexion. Roughly wiping his busted lip with the back of his hand, Nightflier staggered back to his peds. Angel was unbuckling even as Nightflier stalked away, glassy chunks of his cockpit leaving a trail.

"Nightflier, wait! Holy hell—!"

Gritting his teeth, Nightflier stalked back into the hangar, blue optics zeroed in on his father as he searched for an opening. His right side was going to be favored a little with that costly nick to his ped. He'd use that to his advantage. And to throw his father from his train of thought, he pressed his next attack from the left.

Intercepted, Nightflier blocked the blade descending to him and knocked it out of the way with his shield. When he swung his sword, he jolted when Dreadwing's vice-like grip grabbed his wrist, stopping his attack short. Nightflier cried out when he twisted his arm, and he combated the move by jumping into the twist, letting himself flip around and his heel to come crashing down on his jaw. Dreadwing reeled back, and Nightflier ducked beneath his blade and slashed his sword in Dreadwing's hip, slicing the wires and causing the great seeker to stagger on his weak side.

In a brief clash of swords, Dreadwing's hard onslaught of attacks knocked Nightflier's sword clean from his grip. With a shout, Nightflier swore under his breath and lifted his shield, blocking several heavy-handed blows before turning and bolting towards where his blade had skidded. Dreadwing's servo clamped down on his shoulder, and Nightflier gritted his dentures, feeling himself thrown in the opposite direction. Utilizing the thrusters in his heels, Nightflier let them kick on and he used them to slow his flight until he landed with a heavy thump in the doorway in a deep lunge. Holding his shield in between him and his adversary, Nightflier bared his teeth, a trickle of energon running down his jaw.

Running forward full throttle, Nightflier set his jaw stubbornly at his father who squared off. He dove forward, rolling across the ground, and he lifted his shield, blocking Dreadwing's blade. Vaulting between his legs, he nearly felt Dreadwing's ped stamp down on the ground where he had been before. Snatching up his blade, Nightflier parried his father and made for his opposite hip. Dreadwing's hips jerked away, and Nightflier blocked his attack with his shield and forced his blade up quickly, letting the point come to rest at the heart of Dreadwing's chassis.

The vicious fighting stopped. Nightflier vented shallow and fast, fans working hard to cool his overheated body as he trembled so close to Dreadwing in a mock-death embrace. Dreadwing merely froze, weary optics looking down at his son as he waited.

It seemed to take Nightflier a moment to get his articulators to work, but he finally rasped, "Dead." It took him a moment longer to pull his blade away and step back, too astonished to actually believe he had managed to best his father in a spar. Eleven to one deaths? That was good odds, right? Ah, maybe not . . .

Dreadwing gave a slight rumble through his chassis. "Are we done here?" He blinked, reaching a hand up to scrub at the energon leaking into his optic.

After a minute of catching his breath, Nightflier finally gave an exhausted nod. "Yeah." He was tired. Primus, so tired . . . He dropped his sword on the ground, drained of his anger as the fight had fatigued him beyond much other thought than just letting himself collapse in a recharge. "We're done." He cast off his shield, letting it clatter to the ground and the electricity to cut off.

Dreadwing winced, a shoulder aching as he sheathed his blade. They stood awkwardly a moment, Nightflier shuffling his peds, and a discreet clearing of a throat brought the young Prime's attention to the door of the base. His optics blinked open at the sight of Prophet and Angel standing in the doorway, a forgotten sandwich in Prophet's hand and a crowbar in Angel's.

"So are we okay here?" Angel finally asked, blue eyes jumping in between Nightflier and Dreadwing in wary confusion. He lifted the crowbar into sight. "I don't have to use this?"

His friend's devotion made a weak smile touch Nightflier's face. "N-No," he finally managed. "We're okay. The crowbar won't be necessary."

After a moment, Angel nodded, still uncertain though he may have been. "All right." He turned to leave, glanced back one more time just to make sure, and then he grabbed Prophet's arm, dragging the stunned red head out of the door.

Nightflier vented. At least they'd have something exciting to talk about. Then, he groaned softly, feeling every synapsis in his body singing the woes of pain to him. With Dreadwing, he unbidden made his way over to the medical area. Dreadwing's limp was a little more pronounced, ankle and hip aching through his left leg, and both father and son collapsed on a medical berth, letting Ratchet mutter under his breath as he set out to fix the damage they had done to each other.

Nightflier's wings dipped. His optics dimmed as he looked at the floor. His spark hurt. "Hey . . . Dad?"

As Dreadwing was leaking energon, Ratchet attacked his wounds first, making Dreadwing wince as he clamped the bleeding wires together. He looked over. "Yes?"

Unable to help it, he couldn't stop the hurt in his voice. "Megatron isn't Megatronus, is he?"

There was a heavy, silent pause in which Nightflier was sure he could hear his own spark beating.

"No. He is not."

Of course he wasn't. Megatronus would have never done the things Megatron had done. Megatronus had been the mech he had invested his future in, the mech he had idolized for the promises he gave, freedom was the right of all Cybertronians, promising a Cybertron without the caste systems, a place with equality for the oppressed lower caste. At some point, Megatron had corrupted Megatronus. He had died at some point to become the mech he was now.

Nightflier gave a soft, bitter laugh. "It's amazing how far your heroes can fall, isn't it?"

He felt his father's servo reach over and cover his. Nightflier looked up into his blue optics. "Perhaps," he said quietly, "it's time to stop looking to your heroes and instead BE a hero."

His spark flipped a little in his chassis. His wings fluttered. His voice whispered. "You really think I could be a hero?"

Dreadwing squeezed his hand, and though his optics softened, his gaze was steady.

"You are my son. I have absolute faith in you."