[TF] Rain or Shine 04

[dracoqueen22]

Rain or Shine
Part Four

Ricochet woke a half klik before his internal alarm triggered, and dismissed the sharp whistle before it could ruin his lazy morning. There was a sleepy Racer cuddled against him, vents whuffling in his recharge, and Ricochet was in no hurry to disturb his mate.

Well.

Maybe a little.

Ricochet grinned and stroked his hand down Blurr's spinal strut, fingers teasing the node cluster he knew Blurr liked best.

A muffled noise rose from his Racer, Blurr shifting in his arms, but rather than toward Ricochet, it was away from him. His field buzzed irritation.

"Tired," Blurr grumbled.

"Too tired to say good morning?" Ricochet asked as he nuzzled into the nape of Blurr's neck, lips caressing a bite he'd left last night.

"Blame Rebound," Blurr said as he squirmed away with a noise of protest which shouldn't have been so adorable.

Ah. So it was that point of the carry. Ricochet's lack of morning sex was partially his own fault.

It was worth it.

"He's too cute to blame," Ricochet said with a gentle rub of his palm over Blurr's rounding abdomen. He pressed a kiss to Blurr's cheek before he rolled off the berth. "I'll get Echo off to school. You work tonight, right?"

Blurr grunted.

Ricochet took that as a yes.

He left his grumpy mate to snore in the berth and braced himself for the second grumpy face. Echo took after Blurr when it came to mornings. He was slow to wake, slow to get ready, slow to do anything that meant he had to get up.

"Rise and shine, bitlet," Ricochet sang as he flipped on the overhead light and picked his way across a toy-strewn floor to the lump of sparkling under a blanket.

It growled at him.

Ricochet stifled a laugh and unburied his kid. "Time for school," he said as Echo grumpily flopped back into the berth.

"I"m tired, Daddy," he said.

"Well, maybe you shouldn't have stayed up all night partying." Ricochet hefted Echo out of the berth and tucked him on a hip.

Echo rubbed at his optics and laid his head on Ricochet's shoulder. "No school today. I'll stay home with you."

"School is non-negotiable. You're going to take that big processor of yours and do something with yourself."

"Aww."

Ricochet chuckled and got settled in the kitchen with some energon in a sippy. Echo had a habit of spilling on himself so the sippy was necessary. They were working on his hand-optic coordination.

"Are you going to behave today?" Ricochet asked as he eyed his contrary bitlet. "No biting the other kiddos, got it?"

"You bite me all the time. How's he supposed to know better?" Blurr grumbled as he shuffled into the room like some kind of zombie. He paused to plant a kiss on Echo's head, and this time, Echo didn't try to squirm away from him.

Progress!

"Good point. Only bite adults, and when you're an adult," Ricochet said in a stern voice.

Blurr rolled his optics.

Echo finished his energon with a loud slurp and smack of his lips, dropping the empty sippy onto the table. "Only bite adults," he said.

"Eh. Close enough," Ricochet said as he tossed the cube toward the sink and scrubbed a cloth over Echo's mouth. "How do you always get so messy?"

"Not messy," Echo muttered.

"Very messy." Ricochet swept his bitlet up onto his hip again and cast around for Echo's school bag, trying to remember where he dropped it last night.

Blurr tapped him with it in the side.

"You're the best," Ricochet said, and reeled his mate in for a kiss before Blurr could shuffle away, fatigue clinging to his field in every pulse. "Now go back to berth." He patted Blurr on the aft to make his point.

"I'm going. Have fun at school, Echo." Blurr planted a kiss on Echo's cheek, and Echo actually grabbed him for a hug, which warmed Ricochet's spark.

"Bye, Mama!"

Echo waved as they went out the door. He really was a good kid. Just had his cables in a knot over the brother he'd have to share his parents with. He'd get over it.

Ricochet dropped him off at school, showering Echo's face in kisses, much to his bitlet's embarrassment. But he laughed as he pushed Ricochet away, and scampered off to class, ignoring Ricochet's shout at him to behave.

Now for the next misbehaving creature on his list.

It was a quick jaunt a few blocks to over to another housing complex. It was about ninety percent Autobot, though few folk wore their badges anymore. Ricochet still knew an Autobot when he saw one. Just like he knew one of those useless Neutrals, and he absolutely knew a Decepticon. There were some things that couldn't be shaken, no matter the peace.

It must be the reason for the unease creeping into his sensors.

Ricochet glanced over his shoulder and performed a subtle perimeter sweep, but no one seemed to be paying him more attention than they ought. He checked the windows of the apartment buildings to his left and right, but couldn't see anyone peering out from them.

It felt like there were eyes on him, but there was no one there. Just like there hadn't been anyone in the security footage Blurr asked him to check. Customers, yes. The occasional staggering drunk, too frequent for Ricochet's comfort. But threats?

None.

Which was even more suspicious. It's too peaceful, too quiet. Or maybe he's too paranoid.

Ricochet clenched his jaw. Paranoia might be irrational, but it kept mechs alive. Kept them on their feet instead of dying on their knees.

He was warier than usual as he entered the apartment complex and took the lift to the fifteenth floor, but none of the former Autobots gave him a sideways look, so he supposed there was nothing to worry about. No one was supposed to be armed anyway, unless they were one of the sanctioned officers.

Ricochet was armed; he was not a sanctioned officer. No one had to know.

He pulled out his key card and let himself into Bluestreak's apartment that he technically shared with Jazz, when Jazz wasn't sleeping elsewhere while having a fit of terrified commitment. Inside, it was clean and bright, with the faintest whiff of cleaning solution in the air.

Someone was either stressed or being punished.

"Jazz?"

His brother popped out of the washrack holding a spraybottle and a scrubber. "What're you doin' here?" he asked with evident grump and the absolute wrong tone of voice.

"Is that any way to greet your favorite brother?" Ricochet asked as he followed Jazz back into the washrack, where he tossed the scrubber into a bucket and grabbed the rack nozzle, rinsing out the interior.

Stress, Ricochet decided, given the way Jazz's armor clamped, his jaw was tight, and there wasn't an inch of happy contentment in his field. Ricochet was going to be nice. He wouldn't put all the blame on Bluestreak, because Jazz was damn good at fragging up his own life, but Bluestreak wasn't fixing whatever this problem was either, so he was still on Ricochet's slag list.

He sighed.

Would there ever be a day he didn't have to fix his little brother's life?

"You're my only brother," Jazz muttered as he splattered the walls with a rinse and watched the suds swirl down the drain.

Ricochet folded his arms and leaned against the jamb. "What crawled up your aft?"

"Why are ya here?" Jazz asked as he hooked the nozzle back onto the wall and tucked the spray bottle into his bucket. He picked up the latter, tucking it under his arm. "Blue send ya?"

"Should he have?" Ricochet tilted his head.

Jazz snorted and shoulder-checked him as he passed, but Ricochet struck like a snake, wrapping his hand around Jazz's upper arm and yanking him close.

"Oy," Ricochet snapped as Jazz glared up at him. "Take that slag out on someone else. Not me. I ain't the one who pissed ya off."

"I'm not mad," Jazz said in a low, empty tone.

"Wow. I believe that." Ricochet squeezed until Jazz's armor creaked in his grasp. "If you don't like the life of a housemech who slings engex, then do something about it. No one told you to quit."

"Prowl moves us like pieces on a game board. I ain't having that," Jazz spat, and he yanked his arm free of Ricochet's, stalking away with a burst of emotion in his field.

Primus. He was such a headache sometimes.

"That's not a newsflash. You aren't slagged he manipulated you, you're slagged it worked," Ricochet snapped as he gave chase, stalking after the retreating frame. "And it's still working since you're the one who's miserable and he's livin' the high life doin' exactly what he wants."

"I ain't miserable," Jazz hissed, and it was written there, in the thick accent Jazz suddenly dropped into, how furious he was. Not at Ricochet, no, not really. Jazz didn't like hearing things he didn't want to hear. Like say, the truth.

"Oh, really? Well, you aren't bein' punished either, yet I don't think I've seen this hab look so clean." Ricochet stood in the center of the main room, taking a pointed look around. All the surfaces gleamed and sparkled like new. "Quit pretending that I don't know everything about you and admit it. You miss working for Prowl."

"Frag you!" Jazz snarled, and Ricochet wasn't sure where it was or where it came from, but it was chucked at his head.

The war wasn't so far gone that his reflexes were absent. Ricochet caught the -- he checked -- yep, it was a decorative knickknack. The kind of useless thing mechs with happy homes thought they needed.

He sighed and set it down on a nearby table. Jazz was damn lucky Ricochet was a different mech now. He had Blurr. He had Echo. He had Rebound on the way. He had a good life. It helped him remember to stop and think, rather than act on impulse.

He knew what Jazz wanted. Unfortunately, he was not going to get it.

"I have a meeting to get to," Ricochet said in as close to a calm and even tone as he could manage. "So I'm going to leave now because I'm not doing this."

Jazz's visor flashed with irritation. "Doing what?"

Ricochet worked his jaw and cycled a ventilation. "You need to be bent over a knee, but if I come near you right now, I'm going to beat you." He paused, performed a systems check, and continued, "And it won't be healthy for either of us."

"Healthy?" Jazz snorted and spread his arms wide. "Since when is anything ever healthy with us?"

Ricochet sighed. "You know, sometimes, the status quo gets old. We all have to change eventually, little brother. Think about it."

He turned, and he walked away. It was probably the first time he'd ever done so, left Jazz behind him, in a fit and needy, bleeding his desire to be dominated into the air, and the desperation of it soaking Ricochet's sensors.

Once upon a time, he'd have taken Jazz up on the unvoiced answer. He'd have stripped Jazz's aft raw, pounded his valve, left him satisfied and messy and sprawled out on a berth. He'd have covered Jazz in bites and scratches and dents and considered it a job well done.

Not this time.

"You fragger! You don't always know what's best!" Jazz shouted at him, but Ricochet didn't dignify that with a reply.

He left the apartment and closed the door behind him. Jazz on a warpath was one thing. Jazz on a self-destructive streak was quite another, and Ricochet wasn't about to contribute to it. He'd help later, when he was calmer, but right now?

Nope. Right now he was not capable of controlling himself with his twin.

He'd try and drum up some business for New Maccadam's, get in touch with some of his old contacts, old Decepticon pals he'd stayed friendly with. The bar was as much his as it was Blurr's, so he was invested in seeing it succeed.

This, at least, was a problem he could tackle right now. Jazz would just have to wait.

~

Jazz wanted to scream.

He swallowed it down to save Ricochet the satisfaction of claiming he was right. Instead, Jazz did the rational thing.

He cleaned up his mess, he threw himself down on the couch, he turned on the vidscreen, and he pretended to watch a mindless stream. That was what normal mechs did when they were frustrated or stressed, right? They watched television.

Not that the special edition newscast was very relaxing.

It was just Rodimus and Starscream sharing a platform and speechifying. Rodimus droned on about how peaceful and prosperous Cybertron will become especially now that more and more Cybertronians were casting aside their badges and returning home. Starscream explained his awareness of the current anti-Decepticon movement, but he was working close at hand with the Autobots to track down the perpetrators before any truly heinous acts occurred.

Jazz snorted.

Close at hand? A little too close in his opinion.

It was an open secret that Rodimus and Starscream were sleeping together and had been for several years now. Everyone knew about it. No one was brave enough to directly confront them over it. Jazz would bet every cred in his bank account that Prowl was holding on to that little tidbit just in case he needed leverage someday.

Ugh.

Prowl.

It was so much easier to like Prowl when they were at war. His ability to make the hard choices was something Jazz admired about him.

This wasn't helping.

Jazz cut off the vidscreen and considered his options. Bluestreak was working. Ricochet had already walked out for whatever sanctimonious reason he'd given himself. That left...

Blurr.

Thank Primus for sparked Racers. Surely his libido was up to the task. And best of all, Blurr woudn't ask him to talk or play any games. He would just be up for a good time. Which was exactly what Jazz needed right now.

He left the apartment, pinging Blurr along the way, and chuckled to himself with Blurr answered with static in his voice, sounding half-asleep.

"It's past midday, why are you still in the berth?"

"Because I can be," Blurr said with a groan. "Why? Something wrong?"

"Just thought you might want some company."

"Nnn. Sure. There's something I wanted to ask you about anyway."

Jazz grimaced, though Blurr couldn't see it. "Business or personal?"

"Business."

He vented relief. Business he could handle. Personal he didn't want to deal with right now. Unless, of course, it had to do with his wonderful nephews who could and would never do any wrong as far as Jazz was concerned.

"Be there in a few," Jazz said, and ended the comm before Blurr could say anything to disagree. Not that he'd be quick on the uptake. A sleepy Blurr ran a little slower than normal Blurr, and it was quite possibly the most adorable thing about him.

He arrived to an apartment without signs of life, going in through the back door rather than through New Maccadam's entrance. He expected to see Blurr up and about, but nope, there he was, still curled up in the berth, half on his side, arms tucked around a pillow, his delectable aft bared to any who cared to look.

Jazz admired it for a moment before he crawled onto the berth, curving around Blurr from behind, his groin nestled against that perfect aft. "Why are you still in the berth?"

"Because I'm sleeping," Blurr grumbled without a blip of static in his vocals. He was radiating heat at the moment, his engine a quiet, idling purr.

Jazz counted in his head. Frag. Blurr was in the final stages of frame-building, wasn't he?

"You've gotten all soft and domestic on me, Speedy. You're too sparked and tired to frag." Jazz clicked his glossa. "What's this world coming to?"

"It's your brother's fault," Blurr said as he shifted, sliding onto his back as Jazz neatly nudged a knee between Blurr's thighs, nudging it up and up until it nestled against an array radiating heat.

Ooo. Not too tired after all.

"I don't want to talk about him right now," Jazz said as he tucked his mouth against Blurr's intake and gave it a lick. "I could, instead, wake ya up properly. Just like old times, hm?"

"What'd he do now?" Blurr asked, tipping his head back to bare more of his intake, his thighs widening in obvious invitation.

"Said I don't wanna talk about it."

Blurr huffed a laugh. "Fine. Talking's overrated anyway." He grabbed Jazz's sensory horn and hauled his head up. "You gonna frag me or what?"

Jazz grinned. "That's what I love about you, Blurr. No games. No pretense. Just some good, old-fashioned fragging." He drifted a hand down, cupping Blurr's array. "Gonna let me in or am I gonna have to work harder?"

Blurr's panel snicked aside under Jazz's hand, and he slid two fingers into Blurr's valve without preamble, breathing a moan as molten slick instantly wrapped around him. Blurr was hot and hungry, and Jazz couldn't wait to be inside him. The side-effects of sparking were a wonderful thing.

Jazz curved his fingers just right, stroked that little bundle of nodes he knew Blurr liked best, and grinned as Blurr groaned and arched his back and licked his lips.

"Don't want it soft and sweet," Blurr said as he rocked his hips and rode Jazz's fingers. "But you're gonna do all the work."

Jazz laughed and stroked a thumb over Blurr's anterior node, static charge crackling over Blurr's armor as he shuddered. "Fine by me."

He nudged between Blurr's thighs, spike already firm and aching, and Primus, it felt too good to slide into Blurr, his spike immediately surrounded by blazing heat, clamping down tight around him. Jazz groaned, holding Blurr's hips, grinding hard and deep as Blurr crossed his ankles behind Jazz's back, optics dim with lazy satisfaction.

"I'm not delicate," Blurr reminded him.

"Yeah, but I'm not allowed to break ya either," Jazz said with a laugh. He thrust forward, sharp and quick, jolting Blurr's frame.

Blurr moaned and grabbed the pillow beneath his head, sucking his bottom lip between his denta. Pleasure flushed his face, and Jazz grinned, thrusting harder, faster, jolting Blurr with each rock of his hips.

"Better," Blurr said and raised his hips to meet each thrust.

Jazz would have liked to kiss him, but he was reluctant to put pressure on Blurr's abdomen. He didn't know a damn thing about what would be safe for the gestational tank, so better to err on the side of caution and satisfy his desire for a kiss later.

Right now, the hot clasp of Blurr's valve was a siren's song, and Jazz surrendered to it, pleasure sparking up and down his backstrut, his sensornet tingling, and ecstasy coiling tightly in his belly. This was better, easier, so much more than thinking and fretting and dwelling.

Blurr gasped and writhed beneath him, fingers twisting into the berthcovers, lubricant welling up around Jazz's spike. He grinned and fitted a hand between them, the pad of his thumb laying a relentless pressure on Blurr's anterior nub, tearing a near-keen from Blurr's intake. One, two, three circles of his thumb, and Blurr overloaded, back arched, valve spiraling tight, rippling around Jazz's spike, milking him for his transfluid.

He only managed a handful of messy, grinding thrusts before he spilled into Blurr's valve, sucking in desperate vents, a wave of pleasure and satisfaction thrumming through his frame. His thoughts went white-hot-clear for a blissful moment, and he didn't think about a damn thing except how good Blurr felt.

"Nnn," Blurr said, sloppily pawing at Jazz's front. "Get down here and kiss me."

"But--"

Jazz's protest cut off as Blurr yanked him down into a sprawl on top of Blurr, and he wriggled up to catch Blurr's lips in a playful kiss. "Guess I shouldn't have worried about the bitlet there, huh?"

"Rebound's fine. You're not going to crush him," Blurr said as he threw a leg over Jazz's hip and tucked his face into Jazz's intake. "It's still too early. Maccadam's doesn't open for another hour." He rolled his hips, smearing the mix of transfluid and lubricant on Jazz's thigh.

"Thought you were tired?"

"Happy to let you do all the work."

Jazz snorted. "Racers are such a handful. This is why we didn't work out, you know. You're too high maintenance."

"Is that the reason? I don't even remember us dating." Blurr's lips curved into a smile, Jazz felt the shift against his intake cables.

"You were, at least, one of my top three frag buddies."

"I feel so valued and lucky." Blurr snorted and curled away, rubbing one hand down his face as he fought off a yawn and lost the battle. "By the way. Business."

"Lay it on me."

Blurr's smile melted away, his expression leaning toward serious, and a knot of worry gathered behind Jazz's spark. "Ricochet just thinks I'm being paranoid or over-cautious, but I'd rather be cautious than caught by surprise. Especially since he's not making any friends around here."

Jazz sat up, leaning against the wall, and Blurr joined him. "What's goin' on? Is there a problem?"

"No. And yes." Blurr sighed and scrubbed his face again. "It might just be nothing, and if it is, great. I just feel like we're being watched."

Jazz frowned. "But no threats?"

"Not unless you count the various patrons who don't like it when Ricochet kicks them out of the bar." Blurr twisted his jaw with annoyance. "Your brother forgets we're trying to run a business here."

Ricochet hadn't mentioned anything about danger, but then, they hadn't actually talked, had they? Jazz didn't want to dismiss Blurr's worries either. Last time, someone really had been out to get him, which was how Ricochet and Blurr met in the first place.

"What're ya lookin' for here?" Jazz asked as he churned on the possibilities. "Ya want me to keep an eye out? Do some snoopin'? I mean, this ain't much to go on."

Blurr sighed. "I know. But yeah, if you could keep an optic out, look for something suspicious, maybe keep an eye on Ricochet? Could be nothing or..." He paused and shrugged. "Could be that anti-Decepticon group."

"They are targeting Neutral or Decepticon-friendly businesses," Jazz mused. Though their usual tactics were annoying and property-damaging. They hadn't attacked anyone, or confronted anyone directly.

Yet.

"Let's hope it's nothing, and I'll look into it," Jazz said with a pat to Blurr's thigh. "Looking after my family is what I do. Worry no more about it."

Blurr rolled his optics. "You know I actually can take care of myself. I just need to know if there's something to protect everyone from."

"I'll look into it. Promise." Jazz squeezed Blurr's thigh and nudged him with a shoulder. "I'm not gonna let anything happen to my family. You can count on me."

Blurr grinned. "I already knew that. Thanks." He leaned over and gave Jazz a kiss on the cheek before he started climbing out of the bed with less grace than he might have usually displayed. "And now I have to get ready for work."

"No more rounds?"

"Not this time." Blurr slid off the berth and stretched his arms over his head, before lowering one to rub at his belly. "As fun as it would have been."

Jazz laughed and stretched out over the berth, which was obscenely comfortable. He ought to talk to Bluestreak about upgrading. "You're opening by yourself today, right? Want some company?"

"I'm fine, Jazz. Honestly."

And the last time he was fine, Whipstrike tried to kill him. So maybe Blurr had a point that wasn't paranoid.

Jazz gave himself another moment to ponder it before he sighed and clambered out of the berth. "I'll just have a look around."

"Suit yourself." Blurr shrugged and vanished out the door, the washrack coming on with a clatter of pipes a few seconds later.

Jazz snagged a meshcloth from the cleaning closet, gave himself a quick wipedown, and got to work. Their security system was topnotch thanks to Ricochet, but it wouldn't hurt to give it a quick maintenance check. Evaluating the perimeter of New Maccadam’s and checking the surveillance for suspicious characters wouldn't be too hard either.

It felt good to be doing what he did best, and even if it panned out to nothing, he'd rather be sure his family was safe.

He'd do anything to protect what was important to him.

~

Jazz was gone by the time Blurr got out of the washracks, but he'd left a note explaining the new security measures he'd put into place.

Blurr grinned and tucked the datapad into his subspace. It might have been just because Jazz felt he had something to prove, but it was a relief to have his worries taken seriously, rather than dismissed as paranoia. He had a sparkling, after all, and another one on the way.

As far as Blurr was concerned, there wasn't such a thing as too careful.

He locked up and took the inner stairwell down to the bar, flipping on the overhead lights and activating the music. He grimaced as loud, screaming Earth tunes blared from the speakers, and quickly changed the broadcast channel. It was going to be a slow day. He could pick the music and his customers could put up with it.

Riptide had closed last night, and he'd gotten much better at it over the years. He'd finally mastered the art of cleaning up, re-stocking, and cutting off the lights. Balancing the till was still a work in progress, but no mech was perfect.

Blurr didn't anticipate being busy this morning, which was why he waited until the last possible moment to head downstairs. He figured he had time enough to finish his opening procedures before the first customers trickled in. So he cut on the open sign and unlocked the front doors, propping them open as he often did on slow days when the weather was nice.

There was already someone waiting outside the door. Blurr cycled his optics in surprise which turned to irritation with a resigned sigh.

"Quicken, you've been banned for the forseeable future," he said as he stood in the doorway, blocking the mech from entering.

Quicken gave him a pleading look. "That ban was ridiculous, Blurr. I didn't do anything wrong, that stupid Decepticon just has it out for me."

Blurr counted backward from five to calm down. "That 'stupid Decepticon' is my partner and co-owner of this establishment. Insulting him isn't the way to get the ban lifted."

"But he's dangerous!" Quicken wailed and took a step closer, prompting Blurr to hold out his hand and stand firm. "He's violent, Blurr. He hurts mechs, and he's going to hurt you."

Blurr set his jaw. "Ricochet has never hurt me, and it's none of your business anyway."

"Just because it hasn't happened, doesn't mean it's not going to. I know mechs like him, who walk like they own the world," Quicken spat, and his optics flashed with anger, his hands pulling into trembling fists. "The minute you tell them 'no', they turn on you. Ricochet is just like them. You need to leave before he hurts you."

"I appreciate the concern," Blurr lied through his denta, and resisted the urge to sigh and pinch the bridge of his nasal ridge. "But you have no right to comment on my life or my business. Worry more about your own."

Quicken's field flashed with volcanic fury, sharp enough Blurr took an unintentional step back. "I'm trying to help you. Why can't you see that? He's dragged you down, he's turned you into this." He shoved a finger toward Blurr's belly. "You can't race, you can't have friends, you can't do anything, and it's because of him. He's toxic."

"That's it." Blurr straightened his shoulders and stood his ground. "Back the frag off, Quicken. You're not welcome here, and this is coming from me, not Ricochet, so just shut up and walk away before I call the Enforcers."

Another emotion flashed in Quicken's field, too quick for Blurr to read, though the anger was prominent over everything else. "He's tainted you," Quicken hissed as he started to back away. "And the only way you'll be safe is if he's gone."

Blurr narrowed his optics and turned his voice cold, free hand dropping to a thigh compartment where he kept his illegal laser gun stashed. "The only safety you should be worrying about is your own if you don't walk away right now."

"I wish you could see what I see," Quicken said, but he spun on a heelstrut and left, taking the swirl of his chaotic field with him.

Blurr watched until he was out of sight. Only then did he release the vent he'd been holding, and kill the comm he'd had for the Enforcers. Quicken couldn't be that dangerous. He was a Neutral who survived the war by hiding like all the Neutrals, but Blurr didn't want to set a precedent for killing his customers outside the bar.

Besides, Blurr supposed from the outside, it would look like much of Quicken's accusations were truth. Blurr hardly recognized himself from the mech he used to be from the war. It wasn't a bad thing, but it was a jarring difference.

And sometimes, he did wonder if being with Ricochet and diving into this domestic life had changed him too much.

Blurr finished propping open the door and went back inside. He churned the encounter over in his head, mulling it over, before opting not to tell Ricochet. The last thing they needed was for Ricochet to go off half-cocked and eliminate a potential problem, when really Quicken just needed some therapy.

They didn't need a real reason for Prowl to throw Ricochet in prison.

It wouldn't hurt to let Jazz know. He'd keep a level head about it. Perhaps mention it to Bluestreak as well. Blurr didn't know if Quicken's disgust for Ricochet was personal or because he was a Decepticon, but if Quicken hated Decepticons, maybe he was part of that anti-Decepticon group. Could be a lead for Bluestreak to follow.

There. All perfectly rational responses to a potential situation. Nothing paranoid about it.

Blurr rubbed the round of his abdomen and ducked behind the bar to wait for his customers. It was going to be a long, slow day.

For once, he thought he'd relish it.

~

"Why are you always sticky?" Ricochet grumbled as he picked up Echo and immediately got patted on the face with fingers gummed up by a questionable substance.

"Because he's a little troublemaker," Calculon said with a laugh, giving Echo's dangling foot a squeeze. "I'd have bathed him for you, but I ran out of time. Someone else decided to tip a can of paint onto their head."

Ricochet snorted. "Surprised that wasn't Echo honestly." He tucked his sparkling on his hip. "Did he bite anyone?"

"Nope!" Echo chirped. "No bite, daddy!"

Calculon chuckled. "No, not today. There was a momentary scuffle over a toy, but it was quickly ended."

Ricochet gave Echo a stern look. "Are you forgetting how to share?"

"Clearcut was trying to take it from me!" Echo said, indignant. He broke out into an adorable pout and crossed his arms. "I had it first."

"He's not wrong. Clearcut is still working on his manners, the poor thing." Calculon shook his head and glanced over Ricochet's shoulder, toward another mech who was picking up a sparkling which was nearly the spitting image of him.

Echo stuck his glossa out at this sparkling. Ricochet assumed it was Clearcut.

Ricochet was too amused to reprimand Echo for it. Especially since that other brat looked distinctly Autobot. Bah, trust an Autobot to think they could take whatever they wanted under the guise of 'sharing'.

"Then I'd say you had a good day, squirt." Ricochet gave Echo a little hop, and Echo laughed and beamed up at him.

"A very good day!"

Ricochet chuckled. "Come on. Let's go home. Mama misses you."

“Mama!” Echo wriggled in his arms.

“Calm down, kiddo. We gotta get home first. Tell me about school.”

Echo babbled; Ricochet dutifully listened, though Echo wasn’t quite old enough to form a coherent storyline. It was still endearing to hear the drama where one friend wasn’t his friend anymore, but now he had a new friend, and they had iron in their energon for lunch today, could you believe it? Iron.

Primus, he loved this kid.

They got home and unsurprisingly, New Maccadams wasn’t busy in the slightest. There were a few more patrons than usual at least, a few familiar faces Ricochet greeted with a nod. Jazz was here, too, lurking at the bar and chatting with Blurr.

“Mama!”

Echo wriggled so hard, Ricochet gave up and put him down, watching him pelt across the floor, around the bar, and tackle Blurr’s legs. He grinned as Blurr bent down and scooped Echo up, with a bit more effort than it used to take.

Ricochet sauntered up to the bar, pulling out a stool beside his idiot brother. “What’s your poison?” he asked as he leaned over the counter and grabbed his favorite bottle.

“I’m still pissed at you.” Jazz picked up a cube and tipped the contents back.

Ricochet gave it a suspicious look, but Blurr came through for him. It wasn’t anything too intoxicating.

“Where’s Bluestreak?” Ricochet asked.

“Busy,” Jazz said.

Ricochet popped the top off his bottle with his thumb and took a healthy swig, leaning his arms across the counter. Blurr was nodding as Echo replayed his entire day once more, hands waving wildly, face animated.

Primus, he loved them.

“What kind of busy?” Ricochet asked.

“The kind that means he doesn’t have time for me,” Jazz said and slammed his empty cube on the counter. “Can I get a refill, Blurr?”

“Maybe if you use some manners,” Blurr said as he shifted closer, Echo on his hip. “You want your nephew to grow up thinking he can just demand things?”

Echo waved at Jazz, a big smile on his face. “Mama says say please.”

Ricochet hid a laugh behind his bottle. Blurr didn’t bother to hide his smug look.

Jazz sighed. “You’re right, little mech. I gotta be polite.” He tilted his head. “Pretty please my sweet Racer? Can I have a refill?”

“You know where the bottles are. I gotta put this one in his playroom.” Blurr bounced Echo on his hip and brushed a kiss over their sparkling’s forehead.

“Awww,” Echo pouted.

“Just for a bit. Promise,” Ricochet said.

Echo didn’t look mollified, but then, he was a sparkling. He’d bounce back soon enough. So Ricochet kept an optic on the bar as Blurr took Echo back to the playroom, but they weren’t so swamped with customers anyone felt neglected.

Jazz grabbed his own drink, grumbling to himself as he did so. “You’re a bad influence on him.”

“Lies and slander.” Ricochet gulped down a shot and leaned against the bar, peering at his brother. “Bluestreak said you’re being a brat, but you know, I’m startin’ to think it’s not entirely your own fault.”

“S’that right?” Jazz gave him a sour look. “Enlighten me.”

“Someone’s supposed to be takin’ care of you, and I think he’s fallin’ behind in his duties,” Ricochet pointed out.

“Some of us have actual jobs.”

Ricochet and Jazz both turned as Bluestreak appeared, a tight smile on his lips, and fatigue dimming the usually bright gleam of his optics.

“I can’t always show up when fingers are snapped,” Bluestreak said as he joined them at the counter at Jazz’s other side, a noticeable space between them.

“No one said you had to,” Jazz said and swiveled into Bluestreak’s space. “How’d that lead pan out?”

“It didn’t.” Bluestreak’s lips curved downward into a deep frown.

Jazz snorted, but wisely didn’t comment. Primus, Ricochet could cut the tension between them with his vibroknife. This went a lot deeper than Jazz feeling neglected.

Damn it. He really did have to fix this, didn’t he?

Blurr returned, idly buffing a scratch out of his chest armor as he did so. “Oh, hey, Bluestreak. Can I get you something?”

“One of your specials, boss,” Bluestreak said with fake cheer.

Blurr rolled his optics. “I’m not your boss anymore, which believe me, I’m still mourning.” He pulled a few bottles into view, mixing and splashing them into a cube tumbler. “I could use some halfway decent help around here.”

“Excuse me, I’m more than halfway decent,” Jazz said with an indignant look. “I’m your most valuable employee.”

Blurr sighed and slid the cube across the counter to Bluestreak. “Sadly, that is true. What kind of world is this coming to?”

“Shut up. You love me,” Jazz grumbled around his drink.

Bluestreak, however, picked up his cube and drained half of it, while Ricochet watched with rising orbital ridges. There was definitely trouble in that household if Bluestreak was going to knock them back like that.

“Mostly,” Blurr conceded, and wandered off to the other end of the bar where a couple customers had walked up for refills.

“So,” Ricochet said, as tension vibrated between the two lovers, “You still working that anti-Decepticon case?”

Bluestreak nodded, his sensory panels flick-flicking with obvious agitation, his gaze flicking to Jazz before shifting to Ricochet. “And I have nothing. Zip, zilch, zero. I’m starting to think it’s not as organized as Prowl thinks it is. Or that it’s a smokescreen for something else. Or…”

“Or it doesn’t exist at all, and Prowl’s givin’ ya busy work,” Jazz muttered.

Bluestreak’s optics narrowed, his sensory panels freezing.

Primus.

Ricochet braced himself. He didn’t think he’d ever seen Bluestreak furious, but he had a feeling there was a pressure gauge slowly ticking upward in the mech. And Jazz had always been very good at pushing buttons.

“I’m not going to keep having this argument with you, Jazz,” Bluestreak said in a soft, low tone which did nothing to hide the anger in it. “Your problems with Prowl are not mine, and I’m not going to feel guilty because you can’t pull your head out of your aft long enough to be happy I’m pursuing my dream. If it that bothers you that much, you know where the door is.”

Ricochet’s orbital ridges crawled upward.

Bluestreak tossed back the rest of his drink and set it on the counter. “I’m going home. If you think you can remember where that is, we can talk later.”

Ouch.

Bluestreak spun on a heelstrut and stalked away without so much as a backward glance, the hike of his sensory panels and the rigid clamp of his armor the only thing to betray his emotional turmoil, given that his voice had never once lost the calm, even tone.

“Slag,” Jazz muttered.

“He’s pissed,” Ricochet said.

Jazz gave him a sour look. “Yeah, well, so am I, but ya don’t see me throwing a tantrum.”

Ricochet tilted his head, pointedly looked Jazz up and down, spying the telltale scrape of a familiar on his armor. “No, you just threw yourself at me, and then apparently, fragged my mate when that didn’t work out. Not that I mind, of course, share and share alike, but I would’ve preferred to watch. Or at least get video.”

“Of course you’d take his side.”

Ricochet snorted. “I’m not taking a side. I think you’re both being idiots, but right now, you’re being the bigger idiot by not going after him and talking this out like a couple of adults.”

Honestly, when Ricochet was the more mature one, there was something wrong with this picture. Had domestic life changed him that much?

Damn.

He should’ve found Blurr sooner.

Jazz glared at him, light flashing in his visor. “Frag you,” he growled and shoved off his stool with enough force to make it rock in place, only remaining upright by some streak of luck.

“I’ll see ya later,” Ricochet said as his brother stomped off. Hopefully back to his apartment with Bluestreak, but Ricochet wasn’t gonna hold a vent.

He knew his brother too well. There was a reason Jazz kept little boltholes scattered all around the city, and it wasn’t out of paranoia alone.

Blurr returned to collect their dirtied dishware and raised both his orbital ridges. “They decide not to stick around?”

“They’re having a domestic,” Ricochet said with a shrug, and tipped the bottle back, emptying it. He swiped the back of his hand over his mouth and set it down, snagging Jazz’s half-empty cube before Blurr could sweep it up. “Don’t waste that.”

Blurr rolled his optics, but left him be.

“Oy. Doesn’t this belong to you?”

Ricochet turned in his seat and muttered a curse as Echo giggled and held his hands out to his father while he hung suspended from Whirl’s pincers.

“Daddy!” Echo wriggled, kicking his legs a little. “I got out!”

“You sure did,” Ricochet sighed, and accepted the offering of his child from Whirl, who gave a knowing chuckle. It wasn’t, after all, the first time Echo had escaped from the playroom, and it probably wouldn’t be the last.

He tucked Echo into his lap and tipped his head at Whirl. “Thanks.”

Whirl gave him a playful salute. “Wreckers look after one another. Ain’t that right, kiddo?” He playfully tickled Echo’s chin, and Echo laughed.

“That’s right!”

“My sparkling is not going to be a Wrecker,” Blurr said from the other side of the bar, scrubbing furiously on the counter. “And he needs to go upstairs.”

“Guess that’s my cue,” Ricochet said with a sigh. He slipped from his stool, tucked Echo on his hip, and snagged his drink, downing the rest of it as quick as he could. “Come on, bit. Time for dinner and a bath and a story.”

Echo clung to his armor and gave him an adorably pleading look. “Wanna play some more. Can I? Please?”

“He can hang out with us for a bit if ya want,” Whirl said, head cocked to the side, and he didn’t have much of a face, but Ricochet swore there was a hint of longing in his optic.

Huh. Maybe Cyclonus and Tailgate were about to have a conversation about sparklings. Wouldn’t that be interesting?

“But that would just be spoiling him.” Ricochet pressed a messy kiss to Echo’s forehead, who shrieked and playfully tried to squirm away. “Maybe next time Whirl. Thanks for looking out.” He tipped his fingers in a salute.

“Anytime. I like the little bugger.” Whirl hopped into Ricochet’s abandoned seat and rapped a claw on the counter. “What do ya say, Blurr? Free drink for a good deed?”

Blurr snorted but Ricochet caught him already in the midst of mixing up Whirl’s preferred blend.

See? This was why Ricochet threw out the riff-raff. They didn’t need to keep any old patron here. They could cultivate their customers. Have mechs from all walks of life who just wanted some friendship, some good drinks, some fun, and who knew how to respect the boundaries of others, who Ricochet could trust around his kid.

He wanted a safe place for Echo, and for Rebound, too.

Which meant, he supposed, taking another look at the playroom. Ricochet was as proud of Echo’s escapes as he was exasperated. He had a little sneaky genius on his hands.

It definitely ran in the family.

~

Jazz did not come home.

Bluestreak wished he were surprised.

***