Ok, so, here is a chapter I know you have all been waiting for!

Enjoy!

Chapter 14:

Still and silent. Still and silent. STILL and SILENT! Mirage cheated this mantra over and over in his helm. It was extremely difficult to resist the temptation to grab his prebondeds' servos or fidget in his chair. He was determined to comport himself with dignity and propriety. They were sitting in the anteroom of the office of the helm of the Scout Corp. As per Towers tradition, the genitors of mecha in bonding courtship had to be asked for their blessing. None of the three had any living relatives left so they had chosen to substitute the military tradition of asking one's superior officer for permission to bond. The Autobot military was far less strict than the former Cybertronian military and the tradition was seen as mostly a formality. It was still sensor wracking for the noble.

The interior door opened and General Mudd stepped out. "You's mechs wanna step'on in?"

Mudd's genitors had been xenobiologists, resulting in their sparkling acquiring a very organic name and a most unusual, offworld accent. Still, despite growing up with such oddities Mudd was a genteel mech and, thanks to his sparklinghood organic friends, knew more about tracking and camouflage than any other Cybertronian functioning.

The big grey and brown mech motioned them to his guest chairs. "You's mechs finally gettup da gumption to's ask ya shiny to's bond whicha?"

Hound and Trailbreaker blushed and nodded. Mirage just looked askance. Shiny? What on Cybertron was a shiny?

Mudd grinned. "Good, you's gots'mah blessing. Now get'cher afts to tac. I want vid of Prowl's mug when you's mechs tell 'im da happeh news."

The threesome fled.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Informing the helm of tactical was infinitely less painful. Prowl had given them a tiny soft look, congratulated them, and then walked them through filling out the eight datapads per mech necessary for Command's records. It was so much better than the awkward comments from Mudd.

Now, they were on their way to Ops to inform Blackshot. The closer they got to the Ops Wing however, the more trepidation Mirage felt. When he was on- mission that sixth sensor often warned him of danger and was well tuned to listening to it.

Unfortunately, he did not listen quite close enough this time as darkness filled his vision.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Prowl waved his subordinate and the mech's future conjunx out of his office while trying to hide a smile. Hopefully, someorn, that would be Jazz and himself. The happy Praxian moved back to his desk to finish his morning paperwork buoyed by thoughts of his nascent relationship.

-:- Prowl, I just saw TB leave your office. Did he finally ask you about his lovers? -:-

Prowl sighed, Smokescreen was such a gossip hound.

-:- Not that it is any of your business, but yes, he asked my blessing to bond with Captain Mirage and Major Hound. -:-

-:- Well, it's about time. There might be a small, friendly, wager on whether the Captain would actually accept their suit. It's good to know he is not as stuck up as mecha claim. -:-

-:- You should know better than to put stock in such rumor Smokescreen. -:-

-:- Yeah, well, changing subject now. Have you asked the big boss for permission to pursue your own future conjunx? -:-

Prowl felt as though icy coolant had been thrown over him. -:- I… I… -:-

-:- Uh-huh, that's what I thought. I know he's your friend and all, but you still need to ask him. It wouldn't do to be seen going outside the chain of command when your own subordinate is following the rules. -:- Smokescreen teased.

Prowl did not see the humor. He fell back on the stability of cold logic and stalwart emotionlessness. -:- You are right. I shall schedule a meeting immediately. -:-

-:- Uh, Prowl, I was only kidding. You don't have to… -:-

But Prowl had already terminated the line. Smokescreen looked at the wall of his office that faced the Tactical Department. Even if he left now, there was no way he would make it from Ops to Tactical before Prowl got away. Sometimes it really sucked to be a liaison.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Prowl stood nervously outside the Prime's office. Ironhide was looking at him side-opticked from his post near the antechamber door. The Praxian would not show fear; Optimus Prime had been his friend even before Prowl had reconciled with his issue with Primes. Their status of friends would be no help here as he could not morally use such a connection to influence a wartime decision.

Prowl rang for entry.

Optimus opened it without preamble and welcomed his dear friend inside.

"Prowl, it is good to see you outside of your office. Is everything functioning well?"

Prowl entered and bowed low to his Prime. "My Lord Prime, thank you for the gift of your time this orn."

"Prowl? Are we not beyond such formality between us by now?" Optimus was worried, it had been vorns since Prowl had last been so proper with him.

Prowl did not rise from his bow, but replied, "My Lord, were these ordinary circumstances I would agree with you, however, the situation which bring this humble petitioner before you requires the full formality due your station."

Now he was really worried, what could possibly be so horrible as to require one of his closest friends to scrape and bow before him? Optimus relented if for no other reason than to reassure Prowl. "We who reign are benevolent towards you, you may present your petition."

Prowl's wings quivered, from either fear or anxiety, Optimus could not tell which. "My Lord, I would ask your permission to court one of your own."

Courtship? That was what he was so worried about? Optimus was overjoyed! The Decepticons were taking so much from them, any opportunity to reclaim some normality was to be well encouraged. "Name the mech, that I might give my blessing to the union."

Prowl struggled not to squirm as he stood straight from his subservient position. "I, the last Winglord of Praxus, desire the spark of Colonel Jazz in equal union as Conjunx Endura."

Optimus nearly chortled. He had known from the first time he witnessed the two black and whites interact that something special was destined for them. The Matrix pulsed his approval of this potential union and encourage the large mech to move the formal part of the conversation along so the Friend part of Optimus could get his two-credits in too. "General Prowl, Second in Command of the Armies of Cybertron, last living heir of the throne of Praxus, it is Our pleasure and delight to bless this pursuit. May Primus smile upon the completion of your courtship."

Now Prowl could vent in relief. "Thank you for your graciousness my Lord Prime."

Optimus retracted his battlemask so his friend could see his teasing. "Oh, it is no trouble. However, as the friend of both involved parties, I must ask, what brought this on?"

Prowl loved his Prime, he really did, but times like now he really hated him. "Well, looking back I believe it started almost half a vorn ago when…"

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Mirage came back to consciousness slowly. He was still surrounded by darkness, as somemech had overridden his optics and a discrete scan revealed that a jamming field was in place. Whoever had captured him had slipped up however, as his audials were still active. Mirage sent out a subsonic ping from his vocalizer and waited for it to bounce back so he could make a map of the location. Jazz was the best at this particular skill but everymech on the Polyhexian's team had been taught the art of echolocation. The shape and contents of the room vibrated back against his plating and he could not help but think it familiar. He fed the sound image to his mapping software and it pinged back that he was in one of the ops cosmetics labs.

Well, at least that answered who he had been captured by… not that it filled him with any confidence of his safety.

A door opened to his right.

Mirage upped the gain on his audials and waited. Whisper-soft systems padded around the room checking the necessary equipment for whatever they had planned, then approached the immobilized mech. The quiet observer made a full circuit around Mirage and hummed thoughtfully. He immediately tried to match the tonal vocalizations to one of his fellow opsmecha, but it was too generic a sound for his audials to define.

The mech left.

The noble's plating trembled from his anxiety. It was not that he thought the others would harm him, but his memory cache had finally restored itself, which meant he was now aware of Hound and Trailbreaker's missing presences. This ultimately meant they were being held elsewhere. Mirage's anxiety ratcheted higher as he remembered that his prebondeds had accidentally piqued Ops' interest with that offer of one-time involvement. Knowing the crazy mechs who worked in Ops as he did, Mirage felt he should have anticipated their further interference.

The door slid open again.

The cacophony of noise that was admitted nearly redlined the noble's sensitized audials and it took him a moment to fight through the pain of the white noise feedback to reset his systems back down to normal. As the noise differentiated into individual speakers Mirage realized that one of them had released the lock on his optics. Mirage unshuttered them and began cataloguing faceplates. Every last one these slagbags was going to pay!

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

In another room, on the opposite side of the Ops Department for good measure, Trailbreaker and Hound were being treated like Primes. A tiny mechling who had introduced himself as Rewind was serving them energon treats and soothing coolant, and a femme designated Moonracer was carefully stripping them of their paint. It had been explained to them that this was necessary to comply with Ops' decision regarding the potential triad's request to bond. The two had at first feared that they were being denied, but the mechling assured them that they were regarded favorably.

When their paint was fully removed they were ushered into a warm, steaming washrack and the arms of a dozen ops medics to be cleansed of all dirt, grime, fluid build-up, and whatever else might be found in the seams of their frames.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Mirage was incandescent with rage. The cackling rabble that dared call themselves his brethren had stripped his paint!

Mirage's paint nanites had been coded with a highly specific shade of cobalt and white; both had contained special scratch and stain proof compounds, the code for which could only be obtained via offworld import. It would take decacycles for his nanites to recode whatever temporary nanites his evil brethren intended to inflict upon him. The scrapheaps were manipulating his frame now so that he would fit through the door. Where they intended to take him was not yet clear and given the fickle nature of Ops humor, for all he knew they might intend to drop him 'naked' in the Ops-commons to be 'repainted' via 'target practice'.

Being delivered to six snickering medics in a deserted washrack was somehow worse.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Hound could not remember the last time he had been so clean and he could not help but note how his bigger lover's base metal gleamed in the lights. They were now being asked to immobilize their frames as several artisans prepared their airbrushes and lightwands.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Mirage slowly moved his digits back and forth. He was working on hacking the medical blocks holding his frame captive, but it was slow going given precisely which medics had placed them. By the time he was redeposited in the prep lab he had only regained control over his left servo. Mirage was resettled in a spread eagle position and he could hear mecha behind him discussing which bits of equipment would be needed first. An unseen mech touched his helm, and he suddenly had access to his vocalizer again. Mirage was just about to explode into a tirade when the unknown mech walked into his line of sight.

"Jazz?!"

Why would his teamleader betray him like this? Jazz knew how much he disliked things like, why would he condone the others doing this? The black and white saboteur stepped close to Mirage and stroked the back of his neck column gently.

"Relax mah friend. We're nah gonna hurt ya. We gotcha cousin here ta help us repaint ya proper n' we all been savin' a long time so we'd have the right compounds, so ya don' need ta worreh 'bout losin' ya Towers shine."

Well it was nice to know they had at least brought in a specialist to replicate his paint, but 'why' was still the unanswered question.

"What is the meaning of all this then?!"

Jazz smiled deviously. "Weeeeell, as Ah un'erstan', accordin' ta Towers tradishun, a highborn n' his chosen mate, or mates, may not be bonded ta one 'nother in tha paint they courted in. Also, Ah b'lieve there may have been somethin' 'bout speshul paint too, bu' ya'll hafta ask Tracks 'bout tha'."

The mentioned mech moved forward so his cousin could see him while dutifully stirring a mixer of paint nanites that Mirage could clearly see was his exact shade of blue.

"Mirage darling!" The red faceplated mech effused. "Why didn't you tell me you were being courted? I could have prepared your bonding cloaks decacycles ago! Fortunately, your lovely friends have been looking out for you and they have provided some of the finest meshes I have ever had the pleasure to work with."

Mirage could barely comprehend the gushing praise; he was firmly stuck on 'when a highborn bonds'.

"Bonding!" he squeaked. "Breaker, Hound, and I have just solidified our decision to bond, we are not ready to take the rites yet!"

Jazz clapped him on the shoulder-pauldron. "Mah mech, we knew ya'd be doin' this a long time ago. From tha mo' ya accepted their right ta court. Now, just relax, ya prebondeds 're havin' a great time gettin' readeh, n' so should ya."

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Blackshot checked in with his mechs one last time to determine the readiness status of the mission. During the initial planning phase the location for this hallowed event had been a hot debate, and only the intervention of the femmes had solved the problem. The Commander of Ops turned back to the room the ceremony would be conducted in and began one last walkthrough to make sure all was perfect.

Mirage was one of his finest agents and he deserved to have his fairytale come true.

-.-.-.-.-.-

Mirage sighed in relief as the medic finally released the last of the blocks on his frame. It was like a burden had been lifted off him to be able to move again, not that he would dare do much. Tracks had given him a resplendent detailing and the sparklight jewelry wreathing his frame were exquisite. It looked like delicate strands of finest lace in his beloveds' black and forest green. He had at first protested the use of forest green as it was seemingly the wrong color, and in Towers culture exactitudes of that manner were not to be ignored. Tracks had merely replied that, 'If the scout had been born to the Towers and given proper paint nanites with proper cleansing and wax maintenance Hound would be that exact shade. And there was no way in pit that a chassis artisan as prestigious as himself would ever use such poor quality, unvarnished nanites as what the scout had been using up to this point.'

Mirage knew better than to interfere with his cousin when he got on a fashion tear and simply let him do as he pleased. Now, the fancied-up noble was being outfitted with a gauzy cloak made up of a shimmery mesh in the exact color of his spark and directed to stand with his honor guard. It made the blue and white mech fidget to realize he was really going through with this.

His honor guard consisted of Quikwit and Scattershot on his left, Blaster and Smokescreen on his right, Jazz leading, and Bumblebee protecting the rear. Serving in the honor guard for a bonding ceremony was restricted to family and close friends, and until now Mirage had never realized he had so many true friends. It was very touching.

The group moved forth through the Ops portion of the base, into the back passage to the Femme Division, and down the tunnels to the Femme Underground.

Mirage recognized the landscape after a while and it warmed his spark that the femmes would allow the use of the Grand Audience Chamber, the architecture and design of which were the ancestral source of that used in the Towers even millennia later. For a moment he was truly grateful to his Ops brethren, he never would have dared consider asking the femmes to let him use such a historically important place for his bonding. Then Mirage remembered that he had been ambushed and forced into bonding his loves whether he was ready or not.

The blue and white was led into the antechamber for the greathall and his honor guard left, with the exception of Jazz. The black and white turned to him. "Ya readeh fo' this?"

Mirage glared. "My beloveds' and I had only just agreed to bond. How prepared do you think I am?!"

The saboteur chuckled. "Well, no time like the present!"

Mirage was not appeased. "The earliest date we were discussing was three tridecs out!"

Jazz sobered unexpectedly. "If ya wait, there may not be a 'nother chance ta, leas' not like ya wan'."

Mirage's meta sharpened into startled clarity. "Why? What has happened in the one orn since we returned that would make that so?"

Jazz shrugged noncommittally. "Nothin' concrete, jus' feelin's n' inferences from stuff tha' passed ova' mah desk."

Mirage nodded, Jazz's hunches were famously infamous for being eerily accurate. While he still did not see himself as ready to have this ceremony, he would not challenge fate's penchant for improbable change. He braced himself with the knowledge that his prebondeds loved him and had expressed that love in numerous ways. Mirage also knew that he loved them enough to ask for a bond and that this bout of nervousness was baseless fear. Suddenly, his meta was drawn back to his dearly departed brother's bonding. He remembered hiding behind a drape as a sparkling watching Illusion pace frantically, spouting off myriads of reasons why his prebonded would leave him at the altar. Their genitors, Magik and Shimmer, had taken great amusement in their mature youngling's worries, but dutifully reassured him that bonding jitters were normal. In the present, Mirage told himself the advice still held true and began cycling his systems through circuit su exercises until his spark was mostly calm.

The spiral door into the Audience Chamber opened to allow Blackshot to exit, but it was so brief that he could not catch a glimpse of who else might be in there. His commander circled him, inspecting the medics and persona specialists' work.

"You look absolutely wonderful Mirage, your genitors would be proud I think."

Mirage flushed at the obvious pride in the black and silver mech's voice. "Thank you sir."

Blackshot tipped up his subordinate's chin. "Your sire, carrier, and brother are not here to present you to your bondeds, would you allow Jazz and I to honor their memory by standing in their stead?"

Mirage's vents hitched around the pang of grief and the touching offer. He reached out to Jazz who took his servo sympathetically. "It would be my honor to allow it, sir."

The first strains of the traditional crystal aria could be heard through the spiral door, so Blackshot and Jazz took their positions in front of him.

The door opened.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Trailbreaker stood stiffly in parade rest at the fore of the room. The whole place was decked out like something out of a holonovel and the splendor made him feel slightly out of place. Both he and Hound had been painted and polished until their colors were deep, lustrious, and silky to the touch. It was treatment fit for the highest of nobles, and while Trailbreaker did not feel worthy of such treatment, but he had never known that Hound's proper color was so deeply beautiful. He really wanted to run his servos all over it and fill it with streaks of his own carbon black.

Trailbreaker ruthlessly cutoff that line of thought before his internal temperature could rise enough to trip his cooling fans. Instead he cast his meta to his vows and the presentation of their bonding gift to Mirage. The gift was standardized for bonding ceremonies among nobles of Crystal City origin which made the choosing simpler, if not easier. Bonded nobles in that citystate wore ornate masks gifted to them by their bonded as a sign of their devotion. The more decorated the mask the more value was implied on the worth of the noble in the optics of his bonded.

The mask he and hound had purchased for Mirage was nothing like what he might have received before the war. The constant attack on the trade industry had resulted in making even common resources priceless commodities. So, instead of bankrupting themselves trying to acquire subpar materials they had gotten creative. They had bartered with the science division, who had been scheduled to debark on a geological survey of a crystalline planetoid for any suitable crystals they might find. Then Hound had volunteered to scout out the rumors of Decepticon activity near the ruins of Crystal City. Between the two they had scavenged enough materials for what they wanted. The most difficult part had been finding a metalsmith that could properly meld the raw components together. They finally found such a mech in Praxus, but the mech's forging price was so high it would have wiped out their lifesavings and still left them in considerable debt. They despaired of getting Mirage what he properly deserved, until Jazz caught wind of what they were doing. They still were not how he had found out; they had not even been courting Mirage at the time. However, inappropriate threats of what would befall mechs who broke an opsmech's brother's spark aside, Jazz had directed their notice towards a certain golden frontliner. Thus began one of the strangest friendships either of them had ever had. Sunstreaker had flat out told them no when they first asked, but that did not stop them from becoming oddly good friends. Trailbreaker had put their request out of his meta, and he and Hound were debating how they would acquire the needed credits for the Praxian artisan when Sunstreaker came to them demanding the supplies for the mask's construction. They both expressed to him that they had not befriended him to coerce the result they wanted. Sunstreaker just repeated his demand. After they turned over the raw materials the temperamental artiste informed them that he would make the mask his way and there would be no external input welcome. They were hesitant to just let him go, but in the end they were glad for it. Never had they seen such beautiful craftsmechship…

The door was opening!

Trailbreaker's attention was laser-focused immediately on the vision of beauty that was his soon-to-be second bonded. Mirage was mostly hidden behind the wall of Jazz and Blackshot's frames, but just enough was visible to make the big mech's vents stutter. He distantly heard Hound gasp beside him and the slow march to the fore of the room seemed agonizingly long. The group of witnesses came to attention and saluted as the procession passed them. There were many in attendance, more than any of the three had expected. By the time the little parade reached the front Jazz was openly smirking at them, but they did not care, their optics were only for Mirage.

Generals Prowl and Mudd stepped forward from their places behind their respective subordinates and called forth to the assembly in unison. "Three sparks before Primus to join. Who here will take forth the mantle to bind these three as one?"

Mirage resisted the urge to look around the room. All the high ranking officials here were already spoken for.

The side portal spiraled open.

Red plating gleamed in the brilliant light of the crystal lamps and blue flames seemed to come alive.

Mirage reached forward and snagged Jazz's dorsal plating to steady himself. He sent a tight band comm to his devious commanders. -:- You did not… I… you… how… you got the Prime! -:-

The noble could feel Jazz laughing despite the silence. -:- Onleh tha best woul' do Raj. -:-

Optimus Prime took his place on the podium. "We who reign claim right of union for this triad."

Mudd and Prowl acknowledged the statement. "We who stand witness recognize the authority of this mech to join our charges in sacred union."

The Prime lifted his arms out. "It is recognized that these two are a dyad. Whom is offered to make this dyad a triad?"

Blackshot and Jazz rotated inward and sideways to reveal Mirage to the Lord of Cybertron. "We who stand as family do present Lord Mirage of the Elliptic Tower, Second Creation of Magik and Shimmer, High Lords of Elliptic Tower."

The Prime nodded and expanded his reach to encompass Trailbreaker and Hound. "And who is it that believes himself worthy of bonding this spark of Primus?"

Trailbreaker was ever so glad that his commander was responsible for responding to that question as the knowledge of exactly whom he was about to bond. He knew, objectively, that class hierarchy meant nothing to Mirage, but the old fear of stepping above one's own station was still there. Mudd was speaking for Hound now as Trailbreaker mentally shook himself and paid attention.

"…Regent Hound, last Lord and Caretaker of the Crystal Forest of the Southern Pole, First Creation of Kanis and Lupis, High Lords of the Forest."

Hound had never known his family was titled due to losing them so early in his functioning, but Mudd had assured him the data was genuine. Prowl bowed to Mudd and took over the declaration. "I present for consideration Noble Trailbreaker, Knight of Cybertron and Squire of the Last Wilderness Waypoint, First Creation of Wilde and Waymaker."

Trailbreaker had to resist the urge to hunch his shoulders; he did not think using one's Sigma Blessings should be lauded with a knightship. The Prime had disagreed, he had said that any mech willing to lay down his spark for others in such a manner deserved what reward Cybertron could offer.

Optimus Prime let his arms fall to his sides. "The offering of these three sparks is seen in full by Primus. Let the intendeds come forth that their union may be attested by all."

Mirage stepped forward to join servos with beloveds.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The whole evening was a blur after that, though Mirage vaguely remembered wishing Jazz luck in his own romantic endeavor just before Trailbreaker scooped him into his arms. That certainly broke the noble out of his haze. The black mech carried him to their new quarters, then Hound took him from their larger bonded and laid him gently on the berth like finest crystal. Trailbreaker lit crystal lanterns around the room then sat on the berth with his two conjunx endura. They started with his servos; pressing delicate little kisses to each of his digits. They migrated to his palms, then up his arms and over his shoulders. They took turns taking a taste of his lips. Mirage whimpered. They pulled back and gave the same treatment to each other. He knew they were attempting to let him cool down, but watching his two loves rev each other to within a picoklik of overload, was intoxicatingly hot.

Mirage wriggled and moaned.

Trailbreaker and Hound turned to him with smoldering optics. They leaned down to tease him more, but he was done. His chestplates released with a hiss of the locks and the white-gold of his spark filled the room like a beacon. The first bold leaders reached through the cracks of his unfurling spark crystal to beckon the other sparks to join with it. Trailbreaker dipped to kiss that precious offering, and Hound bared his spark in return. Mirage gasped at what he saw. Hound's spark was purest white, brilliant in its vitality.

Such sparks were rare. Cunningly intelligent, gentle, peaceful natures, fierce protectors; these sparks were the priests, the doctors, the nurturing surrogates. Such sparks were said to carry the healthiest, strongest of sparklings and they sire the most powerful mecha. Many of the noble families in the twoers sought such mechs for their communal concubines so that their strength would be passed on to the family. Mirage's tower never had any communal concubines as the House Elliptic believed that all sparks had rights in the optics of Primus. It had always been an unpopular opinion, but now Mirage was glad for it. Now, he could see Hound as the precious gift Primus had intended him to be, not the toy other nobles would have seen.

Then Trailbreaker's sparkplates shifted too and Mirage fell in love all over again. That deep rich red was the sign of a sentinel, a guardian, a stubborn protector. It was a spark worthy of an Omega Guardian. Mirage knew that spark ready was considered spiritual mumbo-jumbo at best or functionist dogma at worst, but he could not help thinking how accurately it portrayed both his loves. His conjunx endura.

Their spark crystals irised open fully…

And three sparks became one.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Ratchet peered imperiously at the knee assembly in front of him. He poked at it experimentally and the subject giggled. Ratchet glared up at the subject as he poked the joint again, but the subject only giggled harder.

Ratchet huffed. "You know it's generally not normal to giggle when being examine by a physician. Normal victims usually sit in fear and trepidation."

The subject tried to be still and serious, but it tickled! After a few more pokes Bluestreak could not stand it anymore and he giggled again. "I'm sorry Uncle Ratchet, you're just not scary!"

Ratchet shot up and loomed. "Not scary!" he boomed. "I'll show you not scary!"

Bluestreak shrunk back instinctively, but instead of the expected strike he found himself writhing in laughter as questing digits wriggled over his belly. As soon as he began gasping and begging playfully for mercy the youngling was swept up to snuggle against a large, safe chassis.

Bluestreak stretched his servos out as wide as he could over that warm chestplate and whispered. "I love you Uncle Ratchet."

Ratchet looked around the medbay to be sure it was empty and whispered back, "I love you too bitlet."

The medic carried the grey youngling over to a specialized scanner and placed him on the accompanying berth. "Did I tell you I have a present for you yet?"

Bluestreak looked up in speechless wonder and Ratchet chuckled. "Starting next orn you will have two new friends joining you in your studies."

Bluestreak gasped. "Friends! I've never had friends before! What are they like? Are they nice? Do you think they will want to play with me? OOOooooh! I heard a sparkling once in the marketplace say that they were staying the dark-cycle at a friend's house. Do you think that is normal for friends? Would Prowl and Smokey let me do that?"

The flood of eager questions flowed onward. Ratchet grinned and answered as best he could until it was time for Bluestreak to go to berth. Ordinarily this was the advent of an appearance by Prowl or Smokescreen, but with those two off at a bonding ceremony Ratchet was left to sparkling-sit. Not that it was in any way a hardship. The little grey mechling went down peacefully on the spare cot in Ratchet's office and he stayed quiet until he fell asleep. This gave the medic plenty of silence in which to do his reports and patient updates.

Shortly before the dark-cycle's zenith Prowl arrived to retrieve his trinebrother. A seriously overcharged Smokescreen hung between black and white doorwings murmuring about cute crooked horns and yummy vibrations. Ratchet was hard-pressed not to laugh, but he managed to refrain for the sake of the sleeping youngling. A quick scan of the upright Praxian showed that Prowl was sober, and therefore capable of caring for Bluestreak during the dark-cycle. The stoic black and white scooped up his second charge of the evening, flicked a wing at Ratchet in thanks, and disappeared back out into the great wide world.

Prowl watched the lump of Praxians make its, somehow still graceful, way out of the medbay and shook his helm. It still always surprised him when Prowl exerted his hidden strength; he could not help but think that Jazz was in for a surprise when that relationship advanced to more intimate levels. And that was another thing to shake his helm over. Prowl had visited the Medical Wing immediately to update his medical decision permissions, and endure the traditional ribbing from his friend.

Ratchet wondered as he moved back to his desk if Jazz was aware how deep Ratchet and Prowl's relationship really was. Well, he would find out eventually; at the shovel talk at the very least. The medic picked up the last of Bluestreak's test results, an in-depth scan of the recovery of his spark. The bitlet's spark was actually progressing faster than anticipated and Ratchet could only contribute it to the difference in environment. The last portion of the scan was a review of the sparkling's spark code to make sure no permanent damage had been done by the destruction and replacement of so much spark energy. Ratchet read it… then reread it. Something was off about it. An odd suspicion struck him. He pulled up a file on his console, compared it to the youngling's results, and then sat there, stunned.

He had to call Prowl.

Every1's Beta: Raj and Bee might later, when bonding gets mentioned because right now neither of them know how serious this whole thing is, but until that happens, nope. Blame Jazz, he is keeping them in the dark because, well, see the just posted chapter above. He does NOT want SpecOps involved.

Guest: thank you!

RainbowGuardian13: I had wondered what happened to you, you were a very faithful reader. Glad you're back and that I was able to give you some happiness. Many wishes of luck and good fortune in your classes this year!

Starfire201: Bumblebee's parents are not really bad mechs, but even good mechs make bad decisions sometimes. I haven't decided if they will reconcile or not, but I am leaning towards 'yes'. Smokescreen's talk was actually the easiest of all the talks I will have to write, and quite fun too.