Glad everyone came back for another week :D

It should get a bit more interesting after this point.

And, it came to my attention that you all were looking for a bit more of SolXFera action, huh?

Well...

How about this?

Enjoy!

Of The Spark And Heart

Part 2

Chapter 73

"What is he doing?"

A soldier leaned into the audio of the one standing next to him. They were positioned where they were for a reason. For no instance were they to falter or break position. That was, unless they wished for a barrel up their tailpipes and a sword to their jugulars. As much, the one spoken to was hesitant to lean back. "I have no clue," he admitted. They peered as a pair back at their original target.

They stood, vigilantly, at a wall that was alive with a blaze of white light that gleamed from every astrosecond, to every nanoclick in pattern. The scorched, grey surface seemed to bow away from the partaking in the space it surrounded, as if itself were frightened or horrified. It should have been. The soldiers were. They were too busy imagining their frames as the ones being mutilated to be concerned with paying attention to the undertaking.

Black scratches lining the brushed metal of the barriers around them fluttered, throwing shadows carelessly toward the crevices and corners. They cowered there to hide from the onslaught of painful light. In a place such as the Nemesis, lightness was banished. It was taboo. Now it was everywhere and anywhere in this room, leaving the occupants confused, startled, and more than a little nervous.

The soldiers leaned back slightly when an arch of blinding white lightning soared for the ceiling, leaving a scar of scalded iron behind. Both sets of optics became wide, though, remained hidden behind the blackness of their visors. More of these strange bursts cracked through the air, sending am electrified tingle along the plates of every Cybertronian standing within so many feet of its source. The air was charred and burnt, giving the right soldier a reason to crinkle his noseplate at the unpleasant stench of sulfur and acid.

However he stood where he was, watching the conductor of this light show as he worked his talents on the frame of a deceased fellow soldier. Galvatron was large and ominous while he positioned himself above the stripped figure on the berth, his arms raised and his expression too grim to stare at for long. Among the many found deadsparked in the corridors because of the escape of the priorities, along with a few traitorous Decepticon warriors, two laid on the table, with the rest left in a disturbing pile to Galvatron's right. Another pile of blackened frames, with limbs torn from explosions, and optics blasted into holes from electric overload, sat to his left. Those were the failed subjects.

Arachnid, whom was one of only three high-ranking warriors allowed to witness this show of gruesome beauty, shifted from her spot to step a few paces forward. Her fierce faceplates, angled with the sharp shadows the lightning produced, was scrunched in interest and concentration. Her arms were crossed and her lithe frame almost pulsated at the edges.

Platon, who was here because he was the mech responsible for sounding the alarms after Bekos' betrayal, watched with his same blank front as he always had. His own bustling arms were locked over his chassis, their grip firm. His silver presence remained out of the way, making room for the most prestigious of them to do his bidding. A Prime would have been envious of the posture from the computer-like mech.

Hex was also there, acting as the medical expert if Galvatron where to need assistance, or medical aid himself. Strange to see the mech without his partner Knockout. Since the red mech's arrival on Earth, they had been inseparable inside the medbay. To see one without the other meant a variety of confusing and bitter scenarios.

The legs on Arachnid's spinal support edged inward toward her frame, as they always did when she was uneasy. The soldier on the right held his electro-staff tighter when he noticed her do this. If she, a rather unstable fembot herself, was made anxious by their leader, then Right -as he will be temporarily called- was certain to be on guard as well.

"Galvatron, what is it you are doing?" Arachnid questioned boldly, as every other being in their gathered group had yet to muster the confidence to do.

Galvatron's focused faceplates lifted, temporarily shutting him off from his work. His flurried servos slowed, which in turn caused the lightning billowing around him to settle. Those colorless, boundless optics of his narrowed on the fembot. Impressively she kept her ground. Right would have dropped like a lead pin. However, she was obviously affected by that glare; the trembling of her digits before they squeezed her bicep was evidence. Right suppressed a shiver that threatened to run down his spinal support when he pried his gaze from her.

The poor dolt beside him, Left -as he will be called for now-, actually collapsed, unconscious in his fear.

Galvatron's sights darted to the soldier to Right's left and he snorted. Right leaned over to keep out of attention, simply so he wouldn't be targeted by the derange monster of his leader. Thankfully, he wasn't, and the Decepticon lord went back to his project without a lingering watch. "Bring me that soldier," he ordered Arachnid, whom still remained frozen on the floor. At her Master's beckoning, Arachnid whipped around, broken from her daze, and stalked to where the soldiers were stationed at the door. Those merciless orbs she called optics shot straight through the right soldier when their gazes met. She abruptly hissed at him, her sharp oral sheets brandished.

For that split nanoclick, Right was so very sure he was going to crash as his comrade had. He managed to keep online while Arachnid took her sights, that tore him apart layer by layer, away and scooped up the soldier next to him with seemingly no effort. The limp frame of Right's peer, Left was carried by the Queen of Horrors to Galvatron's table. He took the frame from her and held it in one arm, sweeping away the burnt one before him off the berth, allowing it to crash into the pile of rejects.

Galvatron set the still-living frame on the berth next to a different, deadsparked one and placed a cable between them. He'd opened both their chassis, and the right soldier stiffened at the breach. The chassis cavity of a Cybertronian was a sacred ground, and shouldn't ever be opened unless the owner wished it so. It was savored for love and compassion and intimacy. Galvatron merely wrenched it open as if it were the top to an energon cube.

At that horrible, frightening moment that the lightning renewed its brilliant show, the soldier woke, his optics slips opening with a confused glint. The electricity enveloped him in an instant, showering his frame with a rain of sparks and fiery prongs of voltage and giving him little time to cry out. He immediately arched on the berth, a scream leaving his vocal capacitor at a level Right hadn't believed it could reach. The sheer pitch it climbed to made all but Galvatron wince. Even the emotionless Platon's lip plates dropped to a cold frown.

It felt as if an eternity had passed before the mech's capacitor went out in a fizzle of sparks. In that time, he writhed and twisted uselessly. His optics were rolled far enough into the back of his helm that they their wires were starting to fray. Dents appeared in his palms where his locked digits pressed incredibly hard into them. Blue and white waves washed over him in ripples, making his plates stand up at a height that had to be excruciating. A loud creak sounded, definitely coming from the mech's spinal support. One of his struts must have snapped. That made the right soldier's tanks churn dangerously.

Platon had dropped his arms and his usually hard expression was now plagued with awe. His silver armor bounced off the shots of light from the berth in a blinding array of cold arrows. He was always the strong one the soldiers looked to for answers. Well, all of those who hadn't turned into the sparkless drones that festered with rust and oozed diseased, decomposing energon, and resided solely in the main communications hub at the front of the ship. If that figure was shocked about this, that must mean that all these high-rank warriors had been just as in the dark on this as everyone else was.

Hex flinched at each unnatural noise that the left soldier's frame made. It was in his nature as a medic to be concerned about every being in pain. Especially fellow Decepticons. To stand by while Galvatron tortured this poor spark must have been difficult. His Earth-colored frame was trembling with the restraint he held on it. Those dull features he bore scrunched with disdain.

When the air stopped curling and the atmosphere died, the noises collapsed into oblivion and the shadows edged into a comfortable existence. The brash lightning crashed into the waiting figures occupying the berth with their meaningless mass. Everything froze instantly. Whether it be in anticipation or fear or something else, the scene of this moment could have been a picture in a hologram. Silence overwhelmed the noise, and a soft ringing took up the deafness of it. Sparks beating were the only living thing in action here. The tiny tremors of vents were quieted in fear that they were shatter the insurmountable still.

Then, without warning, the left soldier optics cracked open. They were an incredible amber color, with the edges swirling in vibrant greens that could have been pretty. If they weren't secreting a disgusting fluid. His frame groaned again, the flakes of charred paint floating off of him in chips. With a single flip he was on all fours, spinal support bent at an odd angle from being snapped. His digits were snapped to a point, their ends piercing the lip of the table where he gripped it. His lip plates were sealed shut from the electricity literally melting the alloys. However, he was easily able to rip them apart with a mighty wrench of his mandible, flashing grotesque and mutated oral sheets that were slick with a vile yellow pus.

His optics scanned the room, landing from Hex, to Platon, to Arachnid, then the soldier of which he had stood by not ten clicks before. His mighty, gnarled legs bunched and he threw himself forward with a guttural snarl. Every 'Con jumped away as far as they could from the approaching beast as he loped sloppily across the floor. Straight at the right soldier. Frag.

Arachnid almost tripped over herself while she leapt in reverse into the prone forms of Platon and Hex. The mechs caught her, their own bodies escaping into the outer safety of the walls. Ooze from the creature flew in all directions, leaving a broiling froth of electrified acid wherever it landed. Supercharged energon in its most dangerous and unstable form. And it was...laced with something...

Right squeaked in a very un-mechly way and threw up his arms to protect his faceplates. His plates locked and his hydraulics seized in preparation for attack. His spark skipped a beat and his energon throbbed in its lines. It was in his nature as a soldier to freeze and take the attacks dealed to him. It was an old code, as soldiers were meant to brunt the first wave of attack while their stronger warriors remained behind. The air around the creature sizzled and popped, signaling its approach anyway by the pulse of heat and slobbering snarl of its jowls.

As the thing took to the air, it was suddenly yanked backwards, right in the middle of its jump. With a hiccup it dangled in the servo of the master whom had created it. It bellowed and began to struggle blindly, flippant and ruined peds flinging to thrash itself free. Right peered through his arms, and seeing the creature captured, relaxed, along with the embarrassed Decepticon warriors accompanying him.

Galvatron had it grabbed firmly in one servo, his expression nonchalant while it twisted and cracked in his grip. Electricity ran up his arm, but he paid it no heed. Instead he let it give him a sheerness that rivaled the star-filled skies themselves. "This," he stated, raising the creature up in the curious and awed gazes of his comrades, "is my Kremzeek." He lowered the thing and it clawed up at his arm. Its claws scraped by Galvatron's bracer, and he grasped the back of it harder, making the retched thing squeal. "And it's going to help us exterminate the Autobots once and for all."

The drop in his tone disturbed Right greatly. That gleam in his optic and the way he grinned his savage grin could only mean he had a plan. And his plans usually involved a lot of gore, pain, and loss. It was never good. But it seemed that the escape of his precious priority, the Autobot pet Fera Lennox, and a band of Decepticon traitors, alongside the once-Decepticon Solas Kaon, had snapped him. It wouldn't be surprising that the Decepticon overlord was desperate to mend what he had lost.

Arachnid stepped up dangerously close, her body inclined some to the left to see the 'Kremzeek' better. "How can this thing..." she poked it and the little beast snapped at her, nearly taking off her digit with its sharp oral sheets, "destroy a faction we haven't been able to dispose of for millennia over?"

Galvatron yanked the Kremzeek higher and shook it a few times to get it to settle down. The creature grunted in protest, however struggled less, its helm bowing and optics twitching alongside its dirtied limbs. "How would the fleshy organics of this planet put it?" Galvatron paused, "It is an 'energy leech'," he explained. Galvatron abruptly tossed the Kremzeek to his left, letting it collide with a comlink console attached to the near wall. "Observe."

The Kremzeek shrieked a pitch that could blow an audio -it was interesting how his capacitor hadn't blown yet- and grabbed hold of the console. Its smaller body only allowed it a partial grip of the berth of the panel, but it still held on valiantly. After a sparkbeat had passed, an enormous surge of electricity shot through the wall straight into the ceiling, causing the lights to dim in and out. A happy Kremzeek arched its spinal support, its claws stabbing into the metal of the console until it keeled, buckling inward. Another spark flickered, spreading in waves across the cretin's acid-devoured plates.

All except Galvatron couldn't help but to take a step backwards. This spectacle before them baffled any wonder they could have seen before. The way that the creature attached to the panel and was overjoyed by the presence of amounts of electricity that should have fried its circuits... Right held his electro-staff close to his chassis as another happy noise came from the Kremzeek. The more he watched, the more he realized that this was no show of power. That being was feeding off the amazing amounts of energy flowing through it. Feeding.

If it could take in this amount of energy and not explode from it, then who was to say that it couldn't drain, oh, say, an Autobot for example, of all its life source?

The Kremzeek screamed and ripped its arms away, letting powerful flushes of energy to recoil through the open air. A web of lightning sliced the atmosphere, touching every wall and banishing all shadows to the Pits. Right Soldier and company hit the floor, dodging the string of dangerous energy cracking overhelm. In fear, they all -excluding Galvatron of course, who apparently knew what exactly was going on- covered their helms and waited out the terrifying experience of having the top of their armor scorched by pure volts of white-hot electricity.

Everything then went into black. As if they had plummeted into the vacuum of space. It was so heavy that Right couldn't tell if his optics were shuttered or not. Hesitantly, he lifted his helm. The glow of every 'Con's optics was the only way he could find them. Somewhere in the space, the Kremzeek gurgled in content fulfillment.

"Believe in me now, dear Arachnid?" Galvatron rumbled, his optics being the only ones not glowing in the Pit-forsaken room. "I demand you bring me as many soldiers as you can. Their usefulness within my ranks is destined for immediate change."

"What is she doing?"

"I-I really...don't know honestly."

"Is she glitched? I ain't nevah seen ah fembot ack like that."

Hound straightened from his spot leaning in toward Solas and Red Alert. The nervous mech between them was fiddling with his servos while he watched a slim form moving about fluidly on the floor. Solas glanced at the securities director, knowing that the mech probably felt they were about to blame him for the fembot's out-of-sorts behavior. He would comfort the securities director, but Primus knows that it would only make him feel worse.

Ratchet stepped up from Hound's left, his own optics perplexed while he studied his most recent patient. "No, no, she's not glitched, I've scanned her multiple times already. She's as healthy as a youngling," he insisted, reverting to English as Hound had.

Solas returned to his charge, watching her carefully, as she swayed in an odd pattern along the concrete floor, peds risking the flimsy balance she had of them. For the past breem she had been bouncing around, oblivious to the watchful sights following her. Her arms were lifted, swinging along with the bump of her hipbolts. The movement made Solas' optic ridges rise. She swept them aside, grinning softly as she dipped them and snapped up again. A gleam captured her exposed protoform, and the curve of her youthful frame. Her arms were raised above her helm, her frame sleek as it posed in a manner that made Solas' spark pump hard one good time. What was this?

"Then how do you explain that?" he demanded, jabbing a digit at Fera. Deep, way down inside of him, he felt a prick of protective irritation as mechs all around him gave the fembot intrigued, if not almost appreciative, looks.

Ratchet was there at Red Alert's arm, looking lost for words, his servos curling at his sides. Moonracer appeared at his side, optics locked on Fera as all others' seemed to be. "I...don't know," he admitted, same answer as Red Alert had given. It must have taken a brass pair of ball bearings for the most stubborn of all Cybertronian medics to admit he didn't know what was happening with a patient. Moonracer smirked and leaned against him, a servo on her hipbolt, as one of Fera's moves made Bluestring, standing not twenty meters away with a compad in his servos, go blue in the cheekplates. Solas' spark thrummed...jealously? No, no, that wasn't it. He was being ridiculous.

The music that was tempting the fembot in the center of the room to act this abnormally was coming from a chunky clunk of technology sitting precariously on the rails of on of the scaffolds. It had twin speakers on its front, which shivered slightly from the rumbling bass of its tune. Knobs and buttons were just large enough for Fera to press if she saw fit. A few humans sat or stood nearby it, some leaning on the scaffold railing beside the radio, or even moving around themselves as Fera did. Even a slim group was doing it on the floor, in pairs, by themselves, or simply sitting back and enjoying the scene. Nurses, doctors, soldiers, analysts, and at least one human from any possible branch working under this roof was there. It was a picture that was very unusual and unsettling to see in Solas' view. A time of peace? Was this a glitched memory file?

The song beating from the speakers suddenly changed, turning into a more upbeat song. Colonel James Marks looks over from Ratchet's human apprentice, Vanessa, who he had been talking to for the duration of time, and reached over to perhaps change the song. Fera stopped what she was doing and laughed out loud, reaching toward the radio too. "No, wait! I love this song!"

"This? But it came out way back in twenty-twelve," he wondered, one dark eyebrow raising. "You sure you want an old song like this on?"

"It's only twelve years old James, I was six," Fera said, shooing his hand away from the radio. The man backed off, hands raised at his sides. "You're making me feel older than I should."

The fembot waltzed away while every being present watched her, and the content atmosphere returned. It was as if these beings weren't in a war. No sign of worry was on Fera's faceplates. The humans were milling about without somewhere to go for once. Their faces were full of ease and a calm that Solas had believed they were no longer capable of. The air was no longer dense with the fear of impending attack, and the walls didn't shiver with the anticipation of trapped animals. They all simply didn't care. What was the point, when their lives were already too short?

Solas studied every point of position Fera made. Her words were of a human. The way she spoke was the way she did when she had been one of them. How did she remember her age? The song? What twenty-twelve meant?

Fera spotted a target outside her ring of humans and darted forward, aiming for Optimus and his unsuspecting mate, Rethalia Prime. The Keeper of the Stone of Primus grabbed Rethalia's servo, startling the poor fembot, and began leading her backwards. Rethalia stumbled along, horribly confused. She looked back toward her sparkmate, but Optimus lifted his servos in a helpless and slightly amused gesture.

"Fera, good Primus, what are yo-?"

"Don't question it!" Fera laughed, cutting the fembot off. "Just follow me."

Fera brought Rethalia to the front of all Autobots and humans alike and tugged the fembot to her side. Slowly at first, she did a few steps that she had preformed earlier, and showed them to Rethalia to copy. The Prime was easily able to mimic each step, with barely a mistake made. But what else could be expected from a Prime? After a few tries, was doing them as effortlessly as Fera had been earlier. To the beats of the music, the two fembots swung and stepped, moving as one single entity while they smiled and laughed and enjoyed themselves genuinely for the first time in an eternity.

Stripped of his sparkmate for the term, Optimus walked over to Solas' group, studying his fembot with a grin while also listening in on conversation. His arms crossed and his grin was plain for all to see. Moonracer nudged Ratchet, and the motion caught Sol's attention. "It's probably some weird human thing she picked up when you transferred her into her frame 'Ratch," she suggested, amusement shining in her optics.

Solas managed to catch the warmest smile he'd probably ever seen on his commander's faceplates when Optimus Prime saw his mate and the Keeper having fun. Yes, this was definitely a glitched memory file. Nothing had ever spurred that kind of look from Optimus. Ever. At least, not in public.

"She seems happy," Optimus noted.

Solas, Ratchet, Moonracer, Hound, and Red Alert all followed their leader's direction and saw the happiest their comrades had been in quite a long time. Had Ratchet seen the commanders smiling like this since the war began, forever ago, where there had been no Optimus Prime and Rethalia Prime, but Orian Pax and Ariel? The answer was surely no.

"Yeah," Solas vented in agreement, too shocked to respond strongly. He found Fera again, and found his energon to freeze in its lines. "She does..."

Before the warrior could react, a servo slapped down on his shoulderbolt, knocking him out of his stupor. Solas accidentally jerked, and the culprit chuckled teasingly. Smokescreen craned his white and blue helm over Solas' shoulderbolt, a mischievous smile on his faceplates. "You keep letting her move like that an' Jazz'll come back from the grave an' take her from ya!" he exclaimed, falling into laughter. The others around Solas, even Red and Optimus, let go of a minor chuckle at the mech's suggestive tone.

Solas shoved off the warrior with a snort, which only got him more lingering chortles as a result. "I didn't know she remembered anything from her past anymore," he commented, trying to change the subject while sending a glare at Smokescreen that would have made a fellow gladiator shiver. The tactician shrugged in his playful way and sauntered over to Rainwing, collecting her by the waist and stealing a quick kiss. Solas rolled his optics, and crossed his arms over his chassis.

"Whada ya figure she's doin' Optimus?" Hound asked, ever the mediator when it came to smoothing over issues. Either that, or he was genuinely curious, and ever that oblivious.

"It's called dancing," a voice explained, followed by a series of steps on the metal scaffold. Its hollow sound attracted Solas' optics, letting him find Captain Robert Epps walking toward his group. His back was straight and his eyes warm as they scanned about. As dark as night, his skin glistened from a recent workout. His military jacket was wrapped around his waist, leaving out his white undershirt. The veteran soldier leaned on the rails, his scarred arms bulging, and tipped his head toward Fera and Rethalia. "A lot of humans do it to have fun; some do it for money or entertainment. There's a lot of different ways we 'fleshy organics' use it."

Smokescreen barked from where he was standing and grabbed hold of Rainwing, jostling the wings on her spinal support. "Well whatever it is, I like it! Come on, let's join them!" he exclaimed, kidnapping his wide-opticed fembot and leading her into the ring of people to join Rethalia and Fera. Rainwing gave a noise of surprise, but was soon giggling from the way Smokescreen danced so near to her, bowed over her frame with his arm around her and their servos locked. He was new to the technique, and so he was sloppy. The fembot was somewhat better at learning the steps.

Solas could barely hold in the laughter when Smokescreen was nearly tripping over his own peds, and Rainwing had to steady him. Moonracer jumped out in front of Ratchet and Solas drug his smug expression from the struggling diversionary tactician to the medics. "You don't think we're just going to let them have all the fun, do you?" she claimed in avid excitement. The minty fembot grabbed her mech's servo and Ratchet's features fell to the floor. His limbs locked up and his heelpeds dipped into the ground.

Moonracer easily managed to drag him onward though, despite his attempts. "Woah, woah, wait Moonracer!" he managed, trying -and failing- to get away from the dancers. "I-I'm not created for this!"

"No one is, silly," Moonracer cooed, smiling in her sweet, irresistible way up at her partner. Back on Cybertron, that look had calmed sparklings and made mechs fall in love. As expected, Ratchet melted at that look, and was more cooperative in walking on. "Let me show you how," Moonracer insisted, walking backwards. When they reached their destination, Moonracer stopped Ratchet and grabbed his arms. The song had changed to a slower tune, and so the original rhythm seemed out of place. Instead, Moonracer compensated by wrapping Ratchet's arms around her waist, and placed her servos on his shoulders. As they began to sway, she glanced up. "I saw this in a human movie once," she quipped happily.

Ratchet went along with it, his faceplates blue enough that they could have lit up the entire room with their glow. Solas was afraid the poor mech would burn up, crash, or have a sparkattack altogether. He couldn't handle this level of pressure, and it was certainly interesting to see this side of the medic that, as of this moment, Solas had of yet to witness. He was in love, that was for sure. Nothing seemed odder than that. Not even Optimus' smile was quite as legendary.

Next to Solas, Hound chuckled in amusement. "You'd thinka mech as ol' as he is would know howdah handle ah fembot," he said in his weathered accent, shifting on his peds. For a split astrosecond, his gaze darted to the form of Sarah Lennox, sitting on the scaffold. Solas noticed her dangling legs, how they swung slowly beneath the rails, and how she set her head softly in a pillow of her folded arms while she watched her daughter lovingly. The woman was tired beyond belief, but was getting better now that Fera was up and around. The rose was returning to her cheeks, and her eyes were filling with energy. Sarah had even begun helping in the kitchen area, or venturing outside on patrols with Hound. The way Hound watched her was with something more than Guardianship.

Frag it Hound, not you too, Solas groaned inwardly. This would certainly be a tale worth seeing unfold later on. "He's not the most studly mech," Solas piped in, wanting to forget what he had seen. He pretended not to, and turned his helm away.

Hound nodded, tapping the back of his servo to Solas' arm. "Yeah, tha' was ol' Jazzy's job," the scout stated with a hint of reminiscent sadness.

The Prime, who had all but disappeared in his silent stance, stretched his creaking arm. "He certainly would have enjoyed this," he cut in, giving his fellow Autobots a distant and regretful look. There it was again, the old Optimus. Solas knew it would come back eventually, he was simply hoping it would stay away awhile longer. Jazz had been an incredibly close comrade of Optimus, even before the Great War. As near brothers of the military ranks, it was no surprise when Jazz took Ultra Magnus' place as second-in-command of the Arc group shortly after Optimus left for Earth with the spy and company. To hear of the saboteur now must be painful.

Red Alert patted his thigh absently and his left optic twitched in the smallest way. As it always did in uncomfortable situations. "So would Ironhide and Chromia," he added in. As if they needed any more solemn reminders of their fallen comrades-in-arms. Solas wanted to give the mech a good cuff to the back of the helm, however, he was afraid that would make the mech fritz.

Tired of it all, Solas bellowed a laugh and chimed, "Are you kidding me? They would turn this into a kind of grope fest if we had invited them here!" The ones around him returned to their laughing fits from before, leaving the dark past of their former conversations behind. The release was a welcomed, if not temporary, relief from the melancholy place they usually were at. Solas wished to keep it this way as long as possible, if but to have the dreamy unreality of this cheerful place instead of the seriousness of every kalon.

Rethalia broke away from the building sea of Autobots and people and nearly glided to her sparkmate. With her oral sheets in a beautiful, full, blooming show, she took his servos and gently guided him into the curtain of dancers. Then, just as Moonracer had done to Ratchet, she placed his servos around her to rest on her lower spinal support, and set her servos on his arms. However, these two were closer, with subtle arches of lightning flashing between them as a show of their everlasting bond. Optimus grinned down back at her, and lowered himself so they may kiss - a shocking show of public affection.

"Dang, tha's ah lucky mech," Hound commented with a low whistle.

Solas nodded, unable to tear his optics away from the way the two swayed so carefully. Their optics were locked on one another with such overwhelming passion and love - a kind of love that could only be built through vorns upon vorns of being bonded. Solas caught himself being envious of the way they touched. Of how they moved, whispered, laughed, loved. Where was his forever? Where was his one and truly only sparkmate?

"Absolutely," Solas murmured in response.

For those wonderful sparkbeats he watched the crowd of growing mass bob and dance to the beat of the songs playing on the radio. Fera was in the center of it all, visible for one click, then invisible another. It was clear she was happy in what she was doing. All the past fears and pain was washed away into a place of nonexistence. Her smile was all that was displayed - not the agony of losing a friend, or having her armor carved into with a blade, and definitely not the torture of watching another comrade nearly taken from her as well.

Glee was an attribute lost in the cage of these metal walls. In fact, it had been rare back on Cybertron. To see it here was nothing less than odd, and a little disturbing. How could they go from the seriousness of war, to the joy of life? It was a sudden change that had Solas reeling. And apparently he was the only mech affected this way, for eventually, he was left standing alone while Hound, and even Red Alert, joined the crowd. There was barely any space left for moving, and so the humans were left to do their thing on the scaffolds or risk being stepped on.

A shift in their ranks caught Sol's optics, and he was mildly surprised to see Fera slinking her way out of the frames around her. She fell out of it, stumbling a few steps before catching herself. Then, with a smile, she walked up to him. "Why aren't you dancing?" she wondered, vents heaving. "Everyone else is enjoying themselves!" Her optics were alight with ecstasy and the remnants of bubbling laughter.

This side of Fera was one that Solas preferred. It was beyond the ferocity of her usual stinging glossa and fiery disposition. This more playful Fera was closer to the one he had found running through a construction site a decacycle ago. Shock sent an icy spear through his spark when he processed this. Had it been that long already?

"I..." precious moments ticked by as he was lost for words, "don't know how." When he stopped speaking, Fera's optic ridge raised. She gave him a sidelong look and came closer. When she was within arm's length, Solas tensed, arms pressing further into his chassis. All Fera did however was reach up and slip her servo under his arm, taking one of his. She unwound his arms with a simple tug and grinned in accomplishment.

"No one does you stubborn tin-head!" she teased him. With her free servo, she grabbed the other one that hung at his side. "I'm going to show you how."

Together they backed up into the crowd, returning to the flow of heated frames and glistening laughter. Fera refused let go of his servo, and a heated zing was running up Sol's arms at feeling their small shape. His chassis rumbled lowly when he experienced the thrum of his spark sending flutters of electricity over his chassis. They fit so nicely together...as if they had been made for each other...

Fera stopped in the dead center of the gathered. Solas found Optimus and Rethalia a few feet off, with Inferno and Firestar wound around one another over Fera's shoulderbolt. Over her other, Ultra Magnus had Cameo from behind, his arms wrapped around her, his helm bowed next to hers, with her loving servo on his cheekplate. They swayed from side to side, lost in their own universe. A single arc marked the space over both their sparks, binding them as a pair forevermore. They would make fine sparkmates.

Fera brought Solas' servos around her as he had seen happen with nearly all couples on the floor. His lines heated up until he feared he would burst into flame, and his processor raced alongside the beating of his spark. "Here," she murmured, looked down while she brought his arm beneath hers to wind around her spinal support. "They go like this." She then raised her own arms and placed them around his neck, where her digits knitted behind it. It was a rather unique position for him to be in, but, as Solas let himself be manipulated by the fembot, he found he rather liked it. It felt natural and smooth.

They remained locked together, caught up in their own world while the others faded away. Right here, it was only him and his charge, dancing to a song he didn't know. She was grinning up at him, though he had yet to say a single word, and he knew very well that his cheekplates were almost set ablaze with blue as Ratchet's had. To concentrate, his optics drifted to the others moving around he and Fera.

"Isn't this better than standing alone in the corner?" Fera wondered, bringing back his optics.

Solas paused, processing on what to say. He was rather an introvert by nature, and thus he would rather of been in his quarters or in a peaceful corner by himself than in this crowded group. Then again, he had never been in a large crowd without it being fleeing, screaming civilians, enemy soldiers attacking him, or a transportation vessel full of steaming, grimy warriors on their way to the front lines.

"I suppose," he admitted softly, digits shifted along the ridges of the armor on Fera's spinal support. She sighed and batted at his chassis, causing a brief bloom of heat to spread from where she'd touched.

Fera's optics rolled and she returned her servo to where it was before. The song on the radio changed and a certain shadow passed over Fera's blue orbs. Her faceplates aimed off over his shoulderbolt, searching into the distant nothing. Solas' optics ridges came down as he saw the distraction in her usually steely demeanor. To snap her out of it, Solas moved his servo up, placing it on the space between her shoulderbolts.

The fembot jerked and came back to the universe they had isolated themselves in. This room melted once more to leave them alone, and Fera's features dipped down. "Sorry," she apologized carefully. "This song reminds me of my father. He used to sing it to me when I was younger."

How could she remember that? Hadn't she lost her memories in the frame transfer that made her into a Cybertronian? It seemed as though she was unlocking more and more as the kalons drug on. First her age, the songs, the year that song came out... He wanted to ask her if she remembered anything else, such as the past quartexes, where she had been tortured and kidnapped, before her becoming a Cybertronian. But he restrained himself. "Do you remember our bond?" he wondered instead, his voice low. His helm inclined inward some, his tone too quiet to be heard by the other Autobots or humans over the noise.

Fera's startled look made him immediately regret his question. Then again, it had been eating away at him to know if she had recalled anything about it or not. Pretty soon he was going to wash away entirely.

From side to side, her helm swung. "Parts," she admitted, her tone choked partially. "I know it existed, but..." she trailed off, strength wavering, "but I don't remember what it felt like. What we did...what we said."

Disappointment was clear in the way she spoke, and it hurt Solas to see her that way when all she had been through was pain. He wanted her to be happy. To be free from the suffering. "Do you miss being human then?" he asked of her next. Curious to know, Solas figured it would alleviate the tension a fraction or two. And when the corners of her lip plates came up in the smallest way, he knew it had worked. Without warning, she leaned forward and set her helm on his chassis. Her arms folded underneath her, and before he knew it, he was the one holding her, and not them holding each other.

He could feel every motion of her new frame. He sensed the pulsing of her spark and the way her lines throbbed with every push of energon flushed through them. Tickles of gentle brushes came from where her digits trailed the edges of his plates. A truly intoxicating rush of warmth came from her vents and he withheld a shiver. Slowly he held tighter to her, unable to keep away the yearn of her frame meshed to his.

What was he doing?

What was he thinking?

This was wrong. So very, very wrong...

Then why did it feel so very, very right?

"I think I will," Fera told him. He had been so out of things that he forgotten what he'd asked her. Oh, right...being human. "But to tell the truth, I've never been as happy as I am now since before my dad's death. Everything seems to be...better now that I'm one of you." Everything she said was hesitant, but sincere. Whether it be by Primus or another entity watching over them entirely, Solas felt as if this were another glitched memory file. Fera was happy being in another shape that wasn't her own. It wasn't how she was made originally, yet, she appreciated it as if it were. Saddening as it was, Sol couldn't contain his minute pleasure that she enjoyed being Cybertronian.

Their sways lengthened and evened to a lulling series. Fera became quiet against him, however, held on with a tighter grip than she had done before. Solas' servos made a steady pattern of rubbing her spinal support as he knew she liked, if but to comfort her. She deserved this peace and tranquility. The Pit she had been through this decacycle was more than most soldiers in the war had experienced. As educational as it was, the scars that remained were a forever etch in their gridmaps that would never leave. Not until their sparks sputtered into a decayed pile of ash and their frames were laced with rust.

Solas felt an object in his bracer and he was suddenly reminded of a very important subject he'd been searching out Fera for. In fact, that had been how he'd stumbled on this scene in the main lobby. With all the action around him, the moment had slipped from his processor.

Vying to keep this situation for but a click longer, Solas asked his charge, "Truly you're happy?"

Fera's vents waved as she laughed softly. The serene sound made Solas' arms freeze around her. "For the first time in my life, I feel like I belong," she said. A smile overcame her features and her energetic optics met his. "I wouldn't trade it for anything."

Their song came to a close after what seemed an infinity. Perhaps it was these few breems holding Fera that had snapped a part of Solas in place that he'd never known before. However, whenever she pulled away, he swiftly grabbed her servo. Whatever had spurred him to do so was lost to the recess of his CPU. Logic was tossed away when he intertwined their digits. Anticipation and warmth trickled up his arm, over his chassis, and through his spark. It took all he had not to kiss her again. But why did he feel that way?

"I..." what did he want to tell her again? Oh yeah. "I have something to give you. Can I show you outside?"

Fera's faceplates were turned back toward him, showing the surprise expressed there. She stepped closer again, her optic ridges burrowed. "Solas, I don't know if that's a good idea, with the Decepticons hunting u-"

"Please," he insisted, optics silently begging she comply.

Either his look struck a chord in her, or her spark took pity on him. No matter which it was, she nodded anyway, and held his servo back. More confident now, Sol twisted around and led his charge out the doors. They were careful not to be seen, using the shadows to their advantage. Fera's white and purple highlights stood out from the dim, nonetheless, those occupied with the music and culture failed to notice the Guardian and fembot sneaking away.

Once outside, Solas walked next to Fera under the piercing moonlight and cloudless, star-filled skies. They stepped along the meadows toward the tree line, leaving the base and its inhabitants behind. For this rare moment they could take the wonder of Earth in at its finest without the interruption of war. It was beautiful to a point of being indescribable in its nicer kalons. On the ones of its torture or anger, this planet could be ugly and ruthless.

"Do you ever wonder," Fera murmured, her voice almost carried off on the early-summer breeze, "what it's like to be one of them?" She meant the Decepticons. Solas' spark hammered, knowing full well what his answer would be. And she should have known too, but, as he suddenly realized, she didn't remember his past. She didn't know he was a former Decepticon, or that his creator had been one either. Besides the attachment of their past, she knew nothing about him.

He would have to explain it all again from the beginning. Not only that, but the fact that he could very well be a Keeper...like her. "I can guess," he managed after a click of their silence being swallowed by the sound of cicadas. Noisy creatures, those things. They reminded Solas of the Insecticons. "Their ways betray their mindset. They lust for power, control, energon, and chaos. Their selfish. They care not for the lives of those around them. And they..." he trailed off, knowing, far within the depths of himself, that he was talking about himself. "And they are incredibly, brutally, disloyal."

"But what about Bekos, and Thunderblast?" Fera wondered, glancing over at her Guardian. He kept his optics averted. "They're sparkmates. That must mean they love each other? Doesn't that mean that somewhere, somehow, the Decepticons have love and compassion in them, as the Autobots do?"

Solas couldn't answer that. He didn't know how to. First hand, he knew of the truth in her statement. Frag, he was created from that statement's truth. Deadlock learned the error of his ways and became an Autobot beside his mentor Wing. He'd met Solas' fembot creator, and the rest was history. But that was a story for a later time.

For now, the blazing heavenly bodies twinkling above them and the ivory, pasty sphere of glowing brilliance left them both ventless. Until leaves from the trees dotted the onyx slate of the sky above them, blotting out a majority of their view, did they stare. A shady grove of thick cover, with a bare, flat ground exposed in the middle of it sparked Sol's interest and he brought Fera to it. Rays of moonlight escaped through, giving them a hazy bowl of light to see the grayish dirt by. It made this the perfect spot to be in the witness of the bright entities above.

Solas turned to Fera, adamantly ignoring the fuzzy shimmer of her frame, and the way her optics shone hypnotically under the luminescence. "Close your optics," he ordered, unable to hold back his enthusiastic smile.

Fera quirked an optic ridge and scrutinized him lightly, curiosity bright as flame. "Why did you bring me here?" she questioned.

Solas removed his servos from hers and opened them toward her. "Trust me," he requested, getting a sigh. "Just close your optics."

With a lasting gaze of uncertainty, Fera's optics shuttered. To make sure, Solas waved a servo over her faceplates. Fera's expression did not change from its plain state. Another, wider smile crept into place on Solas' lip plates. It had been long enought since he'd smiled this big that it nearly hurt to do it.

Hurriedly he reached in his subspace and brought out the object he had been working on feverishly for kalons straight. Before and after their journey upon the Nemesis, Solas had been spending as much time as he spare on it. It was important enough to him that he recharged with it in his subspace. The craftsmanship he'd put into it made him proud to see the finished piece. It was elegant, genuine, and he sincerely hoped Fera liked it.

"Open," he instructed, holding out his work.

Fera's optics found his faceplates, then dropped down to his servos. There she stared for a good nanoclick. The information was registering slowly with her, and he was worried for a sparkbeat that she didn't approve of it. Or worse, didn't remember what it was. Therefore, he was pleasured to find an enormous grin stretch over her faceplates.

"Solas..." she vented, reaching forward. The mech handed it off to Fera and she held the object as if it would break in her grasp.

What Solas had made was a violin, created from polished and shining silver. The gleam of it was ethereal under the dusty shine of the moon. Its curves had grains of carved iron running along it, the edges worn over and smooth from a dedicated shaping and polish. The strings seemed made from the dew Solas had seen resting on the grasses in the early kalons when he roamed the outer area. They were thin, but strong, and fully capable of being plucked by a Cybertronian such as Fera. The knobs were of a fine coil of silver as well. They were braided and curved by a careful, skilled servo. A mech such as Solas would never have been suspected of such work.

"You made this?" Fera wondered in awe, turning the violin over and over in her servos. "It's so...beautiful."

"You like it?" Solas confirmed hopefully, ducking his helm down to see her faceplates better. Fera lifted them, happiness pure and meaningful on her features. What he felt when he saw that joy that he caused was unexplainable. Between pride and relief, he was stuck in the aftermath of his anxious tremors. Luckily Fera hadn't noticed when she'd been holding his servo, but she certainly would have.

The fembot nodded. And if that wasn't understood, she opened her lip plates while she studied the instrument again. "Of course," she said. "How could I not? You made it. It must have taken you forever..."

"It was worth it," he assured before she could find something to blame on herself. "I made it for you since I broke your old instrument. I apologize that it had taken so long for me to give it to you."

Her helm shook from side to side and she pressed the violin to her chassis like a precious gem. The bow that accompanied it was in her other servo, crossed over her front as a sword would. It made her appear as an almost surreal warrior from the Thirteen. Could that be the fact of her being a Keeper that made her seem so? Did he appear to her the same way?

His thoughts drifted to his conversation with Optimus and Ratchet and his mood dropped dramatically. What if he too where a Keeper? What could that mean for he and Fera? Could he still be her Guardian? Would she think any different of him?

No, no. This night is for being happy. Those dark thoughts can be saved for a different time.

"It's wonderful Solas," Fera vented, stepping up. "Thank you."A blaze was in her optics. Solas realized that a similar touch had been on them when they were under the gazebo at the Governor's party. Right before they kissed - before Fera snapped her spine. He could recall it as clearly as if it had been a recent wound to him. And in Cybertronian terms, it was. It had yet to scar.

Fera was close enough that he could see the gears and mechanisms in her optics shifting and readjusting. The light flowed brightly over the distance that became less and less between them. Mixed with his own, it was a symphony of azure that lit up their features. Their venting mingled and the heat from their frames melded. Carefully, as if they were afraid to break one another, their frames touched. Solas' servo cupped Fera's neck, his hungered gaze searching for something. Answers, maybe. Why were they doing this? Why?

Solas tilted his helm and left all thoughts in the wind of the night. The two 'Bots' helms inclined until they were the width of a hair apart. Their burning, churning moment was sending Solas' tanks into tight spins. His spark beat so hard against his chassis that he was sure Fera's could feel it through her armor. He could feel hers.

Everything was in sharper detail when their lip plates touched. The alloy of her protoform was blinding to behold. Each tiny revolve in her wondrous optics and every thrum of the energon line in her neck under the tips of his digits he experienced through that astrosecond. Her wild passion roared in the way their movements echoed. His own struggle for dominance in a fight he was too stubborn to lose showed when their smashed lip plates contoured furiously. All their pain, all their hatred and joy and agony, was displayed. Their open wound were left to leak and be open to the worlds. They exposed their deepest fears in a single contact.

Was it their fear of the war they felt? Was it the fear of losing each other? It was overwhelming and too difficult to tell exactly where their paths crossed. Fera's servos crossed behind his neck again, keeping him in place. Solas retaliated by grabbing her spinal support and bringing her flush up against him.

Or maybe, was this their fear of letting themselves feel something they may regret?

And the drama continues :D

So who caught onto the G1 reference? Anyone?

Well, anywho, Sol's doing some soul-searching,

but that's going to be really hard to do with Fera strapped to him ;)

I hope to hear what you all think!

See ya next week

*Chapter Inspiration: Fall For You= Secondhand Serenade*