[TFP] Despicable Me - Chapter Seven

[dracoqueen22]

Despicable Me
Chapter Seven

Predaking has done alright for himself, carving out a place to come home on the end of a vast landscape of dead things. He’s hollowed out a cave, lined the exterior with sensors, and the interior looks an endless tunnel into darkness.

Smokescreen quite visibly doesn’t want to go inside.

“It’s a courtesy,” he says, shifting from foot to foot, unease in the droop of his sensory panels. “You don’t walk into someone’s house uninvited.” He tilts a chin up at a camera. “He knows we’re here. If he wants to talk, he’ll come out.”

“And if he doesn’t?” Megatron asks, staring hard at the camera, imagining he can see through it, to Predaking and his cronies on the other end.

Smokescreen shrugs. “Then I guess you don’t get to talk to him.”

“That is not an acceptable option.” Megatron eyes the camera, narrowing his optics. “Predaking, get out here and face me.”

“He can’t hear--”

“I was already on my way, Megatron.” Predaking’s voice precedes his arrival. He comes into view, biolights visible first, in mech-mode and flanked by two of his kind, one of whom Megatron does not recognize. “It’s not everyday my former Commander comes to call.” He lifts his chin, amber optics assessing. “We’d thought you dead.”

Smokescreen slides closer to Megatron and eyes Predaking as though he thinks the Predacon is going to eat him.

Megatron squares his shoulders. “Rumors of my death are greatly exaggerated. I don’t die that easily.”

“Yes. A feature we share.” Predaking makes a gesture to his accompanying Predacons, and they take a step back, though the one Megatron doesn’t recognize watches him with a curious tilt of their head. “What do you want?”

Megatron folds his arms. “Shockwave. I’ve been told you were the last person to see him alive.” He glances past Predaking, to the new arrival. “And something tells me you know exactly where to find him.”

“And why would I know that?” Predaking asks with a lazy drawl, but his wings flex and extend enough to half-conceal the pred behind him.

“I think you know.” Megatron lifts his chin. “I don’t recognize your companion, Predaking. Nor was I aware that the Well was birthing Predacon sparks.”

Predaking growls and threat ripples outward in his field. “The Well is short-sighted in that regard. Razorclaw was a gift to us.”

“From Shockwave?” Smokescreen asks as he leans around Megatron, door panels cocked aggressively forward. It’s a charming dissimilitude.

Predaking’s optics narrow further. “I don’t see how that is any of your business, Autobot.”

“Shockwave is my subordinate. I want to know his fate,” Megatron says, taking a step to cut off Predaking’s view of Smokescreen. This isn’t Autobot business after all. “I also need his expertise.”

“To reignite the war?” Predaking asks, and his armor ruffles as if building up a defensive barrier around his frame.

Megatron shakes his head. “No. To save the spark of another Decepticon.”

“And after?”

Megatron unfolds his arms, shows Predaking his palms before letting his hands hang at his side. Though Smokescreen is behind him, he swears he feels a different presence, a different warmth radiating encouragement and approval.

"We build Cybertron into a home that's welcoming to all Cybertronians, where every mech can find his place without it being shoved on him," Megatron says. "I fought one war to make sure that could happen. I'll be damned if I sit back in defeat and let it happen again."

Predaking gives him a long, slow look, like he's trying to discern the truth by gaze alone. He nods slowly. "I will take you to Shockwave."

"He's alive!?" Smokescreen exclaims, and he hops into view, surprise etched into his face.

Predaking doesn't spare the Autobot a glance. "He has a lab nearby. Your Autobot will have to stay behind."

"Hey, I'm--"

"This is not up for debate. That wasn't a suggestion," Predaking growls and Darksteel steps up beside him, over twice Smokescreen's size, his lips pulling back in a snarl. "The Autobots are not my masters. I'm under no obligation to obey their whims."

Smokescreen wisely holds up his hands and takes two enormous steps back. "Okay, okay. We're cool. I'm not about to fight you, just you know, doing my duty and offering a token protest."

"You can tell Ultra Magnus whatever you wish. I'll be back," Megatron says.

He shares a glance with Predaking, who nods. Understood.

Megatron transforms and Predaking does the same, the both of them leaping into the air, leaving the groundbound Autobot behind. Smokescreen frowns, his shoulders sagging, but he doesn't shout after them or draw his blaster or do anything aggressive. He just transforms and heads back to Kaon.

Wise move.

Darksteel and Razorclaw retreat back into the cave. Either Predaking feels he doesn’t need their protection, or he’s keeping them safe from Megatron. Perhaps both. Predaking had been as protective of Razorclaw as a creator might.

In flight, Megatron is faster than Predaking, but he banks his thrusters to stay behind the Predacon commander. They head southeast, away from all relevant civilization, deeper toward the Manganese Mountains. Of course Shockwave would hide somewhere in the towering mounds. The minerals would help obscure him from Autobot search parties, should they be so inclined.

Not that they’ve made much of an effort to find Shockwave or any of the exigent Decepticons. The Autobots seem to have taken an “out of sight, out of mind” approach after the end of the war. So long as no one actively causes trouble, the Autobots leave them be.

Well.

Megatron fully intends to cause trouble, just not the sort they expect. He will play by their rules, up until the moment no further compromise can be made. He will listen. He will fight with his words. But he will not let his Decepticons become fodder for Autobot physical labor, nor will he abide by their becoming scapegoats for the Autobot propaganda mill.

He has failed his Decepticons too many times already. He won’t do so again.

Predaking lands near a large outcropping, and Megatron drops down beside him, landing with a heavy thud. His left knee threatens to buckle, and Megatron wobbles. He tries to hide the weakness, but he suspects Predaking notices nonetheless.

He doesn’t comment.

“Come with me,” Predaking says.

Megatron follows, into the shadows of a large overhang, and the cool dim of an old mining tunnel. It is barely wide enough for the span of Predaking’s wings, but he doesn’t seem bothered by the claustrophobic confines.

“We assumed you dead,” Predaking says as they venture deeper, the tunnel a steady angle downward. “We didn’t grieve.”

“You’re trying to rile me. It won’t work,” Megatron says. He grinds his denta and tastes sparks on his glossa. “I am not in the habit of giving out apologies either.”

Predaking’s power system rumbles a low sound that echoes in the tunnel. “Perhaps you should start.”

Megatron draws in a vent -- the air here is heavy, acrid, the faintest wisps of smoke clinging to the walls -- and matches step with the Predacon. Predaking is larger than him, broader and stronger. Where Megatron is covered in scrapes and dents, the lingering infection of Unicron clinging to his armor, Predaking is polished and pristine.

The difference between them is staggering. Megatron is a warlord defeated; Predaking is a leader renewed.

“What do you want?” Megatron asks.

Predaking pauses to give him a look, yellow optics narrow and considering. “You sought me out.”

“For yourself and your kin,” Megatron clarifies. He lifts his chin. “The Autobots have made themselves a capital in Kaon, and eventually, they’re going to decide what becomes of Cybertron. So what do you want?”

“Trying to recruit me?” Predaking grins, with far too much denta. “It’s not going to work. We aren’t interested in war.”

Megatron folds his arms. “Which is why I asked what you want.”

Predaking twists his jaw, and his field flickers out -- angry, exhausted, bitter. “To live in peace.” He gestures to the tunnel ahead of them, arm sweeping out in a mocking invitation. “After you, Lord Megatron.”

His armor crawls, but Megatron forces down the anxiety. “I see you haven’t forgotten your manners,” he says while waiting for the blaster to the back, the fangs on his intake.

Neither happen. Perhaps Megatron isn’t the only one who’s changed.

“Not yet.” Predaking falls into step behind him.

He should feel more comfortable with Predaking at his back then he does in the Autobot stronghold, but Predaking’s barely hidden disdain is like an itch in his lines. Oddly, he trusts the ghost of Optimus Prime to keep him safer than whatever truce Predaking has allowed.

Fortunately, they arrive at Shockwave’s hidden laboratory soon enough. A carefully sculpted hologram of Manganese hides the door, also protected by a security system that’s clearly of Shockwave’s design, though it admits Predaking with no trouble.

“Shockwave lives by my mercy, Megatron,” Predaking says as they enter. “Best keep that in mind, given your current state.”

It is a threat, however poorly veiled.

“Noted.”

Shockwave’s current laboratory far outmatches the one he’d used to previously build his Predacon army. Megatron passes dozens of tanks filled with bubbling liquids, though there are fewer occupied than he expected. Whether this is due to lack of resources, or by design, all of the focus seems to be on birthing four new Predacons, their design obscured by the bubbling liquid.

They find Shockwave in the central workspace, standing over his console. His blaster is gone, removed from his arm, with an empty stump in its place. A wise precaution from Predaking.

“I informed you yesterday that I would have no news of progress until next week at the earliest,” Shockwave says without glancing their direction, one hand sweeping across the screen before him. Data streams across the monitors, too quick for Megatron to make sense of it.

“Returning here repeatedly will not make the process move any faster.”

“I am here for another reason, Shockwave.” Predaking steps onto the platform, and Megatron follows along, taking in the equipment.

It’s clearly been cobbled together from the ruins of multiple laboratories. Equipment has been scavenged, reconstructed, and fit together as best can be managed. He swears he sees pieces of former Decepticon warships in here as well.

“Yes, I see what you mean now.” Shockwave drops his hand from the monitor and turns to acknowledge them. “Lord Megatron, to what do I owe the honor?”

“You look well,” Megatron says.

Shockwave, while not as pristine as Predaking, is still in better condition than Megatron himself. For a mech who has lived on the fringe of established society, Shockwave has taken remarkable care of both himself and the Predacons.

“My current state is a result of my efforts here in Predaking’s service,” Shockwave says. “You did not answer my question.”

Predaking chuckles.

Megatron twitches. “I am in need of your scientific expertise.”

Shockwave gestures to the laboratory around him. “As you can see, I am already in the midst of one project, and I doubt my employer is keen to release me anytime soon.”

“Not until you’ve done what I asked, no.” Predaking folds his arms over his chassis, his wings twitching behind him.

“You’re trying to birth an army?” Megatron turns to the edge of the platform, looking out over the bubbling tanks, most of them empty. “You’re off to a slow start.”

Predaking’s engine rumbles. “I have no interest in an army. I merely want my kind to live again, and if the Well will not give me the sparks we deserve, then I shall have to create them myself.”

So the Well had only bloomed standard mechanoids. Megatron had not seen any Insecticons among those living in Kaon. Neither had he seen any of the former flora and fauna in all the landscape beneath him as they flew. Either the Well is not capable of producing those lifeforms, or it does not care to.

“This is a project that will not bear fruit quickly. Surely you can spare your pet scientist for a few months,” Megatron says as he turns back toward Predaking and Shockwave.

“For what?” Predaking vents air through his nostrils, his optics narrowing.

Shockwave focuses on Megatron alone, head tilted, optic spiraling down to a narrow point of light. “You seek to reform the Omega matrix.”

Only Shockwave would be able to divine so much from so little information.

“Yes,” Megatron says and glances at Predaking. “This is a project that will benefit everyone. The Omega matrix will certainly aid you in rebuilding your kin.”

Kin the Autobots helped slay in the first place, but Megatron does not think now is the time to bring it up.

“Megatron is not wrong.” Shockwave turns toward his console, hand sweeping through the holographic monitors quickly. “It would increase the growth potential exponentially. You could see your population double in the time it would take one to decant.”

Predaking moves to Shockwave’s side, peering at the monitor as though he can make any sense of the scientific equations now scrolling across the screen. “Can it be done?”

“It has before,” Megatron says. “But only with the combined efforts of Shockwave, Knock Out, and the Autobot medic.” He gestures over his shoulder, in the vague direction of Kaon. “I’ve already procured the assistance of the latter two.”

“You don’t make this request out of the kindness of your spark.” Predaking’s wings twitch, folding flat against his back as he glances over his shoulder. “What is it for?”

A lie would not benefit him.

For a mech so dedicated to the restoration of his kind -- and not for the purposes of war -- Predaking would actually respect the truth.

Megatron cycles a ventilation and lowers his hands, showing his palms. “I was able to recruit the Autobots to rescue Soundwave from the Shadowzone, but he is in a critical condition, unlikely to recover without the assistance of the Omega matrix.”

“Long-term energon starvation coupled with isolation? I am surprised you found him alive at all,” Shockwave says.

Megatron clenches his denta.

Predaking, however, looks thoughtful. “He will expire without the matrix?”

“That depends on your definition,” Shockwave says. He sweeps one hand across a monitor before tapping it pointedly. “His spark will survive, but his processor may not be intact. He will, in essence, be a newspark again. He will not be the same as he was.”

“And Lord Megatron has no use for a newspark,” Predaking drawls.

Megatron shakes his head. “It is not about Soundwave’s use, but what he is owed. He does not deserve to start again, haunted by spark-memories he can’t explain.”

Megatron would know. He’s haunted by spark memories himself, and while part of him leaps for every glimpse of the ghost of Orion Pax, the larger part of him wishes to be left in peace. It is a fate he would wish on no one.

“Hm.”

Predaking clasps his hands behind his back and steps away from Shockwave’s work-station. He stands at the railing instead, looking out over the empty tanks. Megatron surmises they are filled with energon, though he can only guess at its purity.

Shockwave will also need protomatter to begin the sparking process. Such a thing takes years to grow without the proper seeding. The Omega matrix would solve such a problem.

Predaking descends the ramp and walks to the nearest occupied tank, looking up at the large mass floating within the fluid. This one seems closest to completion, judging by the distinct articulation of the limbs, the jut of wings, the encroaching onset of color along the plating.

“Skystalker will decant soon,” Predaking says at length. “You cannot have Shockwave until he has safely bloomed.”

For a moment, a war rages within Megatron -- the desire to immediately have what he wants warring with the reality of the situation. He is outnumbered and likely outclassed, given his weakened condition and Predaking’s pristine state. Throwing a tantrum will not help him. It never has. And Megatron has no authority here.

Diplomacy is his best ally.

“Very well,” Megatron concedes and swears he feels the warmth of a touch on his shoulder, a glimpse of something in his peripheral vision, before it’s gone. “I trust you’ll deliver Shockwave to Kaon when you’re done with him?”

“I will loan him to you, yes.” Predaking looks up at Megatron, his expression dark and unforgiving. “If this is a trick, there will be nothing to protect you from my wrath.”

Megatron lifts his chin. “Noted.”

Predaking grunts a noise that might be a laugh. “Then we understand each other.” His attention drifts back toward the tank -- and Skystalker floating within. “As a former miner, I trust you can find our way out.”

He can, in fact.

Megatron descends from the platform, casting a glance back at Shockwave, but his former third-in-command has already dismissed them from his attention. He’s fully absorbed in his workstation, and whatever equations and calculations scroll quickly across the screen.

No matter.

Megatron has done what he came here to do. Now he must trust Predaking will keep his word.

~

Smokescreen bobs on his heelstruts, waiting impatiently outside Ultra Magnus’ door, anxiety gripping him by the spark and refusing to let go. He’s supposed to be watching Megatron, but Megatron flew off, and Smokescreen can’t follow him.

Worse, Megatron has flown off with Predaking and who knows what shenanigans they’re getting up to together. Not that Smokescreen really thinks there’s any love lost between the two of them. Megatron was kind of a jerk to Predaking.

Still.

Smokescreen had one task. One. And so far, he’s managed to immediately get caught following Megatron, tag along as Megatron wandered all around Kaon threatening folks, and get left behind twice when Megatron flew away.

He’s going to be a rookie for the rest of his functioning.

Ultra Magnus’ door slides open. “Come inside, Smokescreen,” floats out, so Smokescreen hurries to obey.

He snaps to attention in front of Ultra Magnus’ desk. No matter how many times they tell him not to, Smokescreen does it anyway. He respects Ultra Magnus. He has to show he’s good at his job. He doesn’t want to be the rookie anymore.

“At ease,” Ultra Magnus says, and he sounds tired. Fatigue hangs in the outer edges of his field, and Smokescreen swears the datapad stack around him has doubled since the last time Smokescreen was in here.

“Yes, sir.” Smokescreen’s sensory panels settle against his back. “Um, so Megatron flew off with Predaking because apparently Shockwave is alive, and he’s been working for Predaking for the past year.”

There’s a moment where it feels like all the air is sucked from the room, and it gets a few degrees colder, before Ultra Magnus audibly vents, drops his stylus onto the desk, and leans back in his chair. He pinches the ridge of his nasal structure.

“I tried to follow,” Smokescreen adds. “But they were flying and I, you know, can’t.” He gnaws on his bottom lip and hopes he hasn’t earned another look of disappointment.

Ultra Magnus is still rubbing his face, but every escaped flicker of his field reads exhaustion rather than anger or disappointment. “Do you think he intends to return?”

“If he can convince Shockwave to help him, yeah,” Smokescreen says. He scrubs the back of his neck, daring to hypothesize. “Megatron seems pretty committed to fixing Soundwave.”

“Wonderful,” Ultra Magnus says, though his tone suggests the complete opposite. He drops his hand, tapping his fingers on the arm of the chair. “And then we’ll have Megatron with his three closest commanders all within the city.”

Smokescreen shifts his weight. “Do you really think they want to restart the war?”

“I am not certain what I think,” Ultra Magnus says with a quiet ventilation. Pain flickers over his face before he leans back toward the datawork. “Starscream, I am sure, has no interest in renewing his ties to Megatron. Shockwave can perhaps be reasoned with. Soundwave, however, has a history of supporting Megatron’s every whim.”

“So it’s Megatron you don’t trust,” Smokescreen says.

Ultra Magnus picks up his stylus, but he looks up at Smokescreen instead of his work. “What do you think of all this?”

“Me?” Smokescreen startles, his sensory panels visibly twitching out of their rest. Damn things. He’s got to learn to control them if he has any hope of earning some respect around here.

“Yes.” Ultra Magnus folds his hands over the datapad. “You’ve spent the most time with Megatron since his return to health. What have you observed?”

Wow.

Smokescreen shifts his weight. “Um, well, I don’t really think Megatron wants to fight again. There’s something… tired, I guess, about him. I don’t know what he wants, but I think he doesn’t know either. He’s trying to figure it out.”

Not that Smokescreen trusts Megatron at all, but he’s gotta admit, Megatron’s been very different since he woke up. Yeah, he’s kind of rampaged all over Kaon trying to terrorize folks into obeying him, but he hasn’t actually attacked anyone yet. Megatron’s smart. He’s probably got a plan, but…

Smokescreen’s trying to think like Optimus. He thinks Optimus would give Megatron a chance, so Smokescreen’s gonna do that, too.

“I’ll bet he’s going to want a seat on the council though,” Smokescreen says as he picks up his derailed train of thought, pleased to find Ultra Magnus is actually listening. Taking him seriously even. “No way is he going to sit around while he thinks we’re making all the decisions.”

Ultra Magnus nods slowly. “Yes, you are probably correct. Megatron is not one to sit in the shadows when there is power to be grabbed.”

“So what’s the plan? For when that happens, I mean.” Smokescreen bobs on his heelstruts, the urge to move rattling in his limbs again. It’s been happening more and more lately, like he’s full of energy he can’t seem to get rid of.

Ultra Magnus presses his lips together like he has to think about it.

“Because, you know, we kind of said that anyone who wants to have a voice on the council is allowed to,” Smokescreen continues, not that Ultra Magnus needs the reminder. He’d been the one to draft the initial charter.

Smokescreen supposes he hadn’t thought about the fact it might come back to bite them later. No one expected Megatron to show up. Or for Ratchet and Starscream to rescue him.

“And eventually other Decepticons are going to want to come back, and we already decided they could, so long as they obeyed the rules. It wouldn’t be right to say no to Megatron just because he’s Megatron,” Smokescreen finishes.

Ultra Magnus goes back to rubbing his forehead, like his processor is bothering him again. “It’s more complicated than that. Megatron is not one we can readily trust. We need to be careful how we handle him.”

Smokescreen gnaws on his cheek again before he ventures, “We’re going to give him the chance though, right?” He tucks his hands behind his back so he has somewhere to put them. “It’s what Optimus would’ve done.”

“By the end, Optimus understood that there are some things which cannot be defeated by hope alone,” Ultra Magnus says, but he sighs again, like he always does when Smokescreen brings up Optimus.

It’s not that he’s trying to remind Ultra Magnus who he isn’t, but more that they all followed Optimus for a reason, and believed in Optimus, too. And they’d be some kind of hypocrites if they stopped believing in Optimus just because Optimus is dead. Optimus gave himself to the Well of Allsparks because he trusted them to help build Cybertron into a better world.

Smokescreen doesn’t want to spit on that sacrifice. He’s going to offer Megatron a hand, and a chance, and hope that peace is real and they don’t have to fight anymore. Even if it’s hard.

No.

Especially if it’s hard.

It’s not worth doing if it’s too easy in Smokescreen’s opinion.

“Maybe it’s not my place, sir,” Smokescreen says, choosing his words carefully because when he runs off at the mouth, he says all the wrong things. “But I do think Megatron is sincere. I think he’s trying to be different and do things differently. I think we should at least give him the chance to try.”

Ultra Magnus gives him a long look before he says, “I value your opinion as much as anyone else’s, Smokescreen. Perhaps you can see something in Megatron I cannot.”

“Arcee would probably say it’s because I’m a rookie, and I have no idea what I’m talking about.” Smokescreen grins, though it’s crooked. He still thinks sometimes that Arcee only tolerates him. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever fully earn her respect.

“Yes, that does sound like Arcee.” Ultra Magnus leans forward on his elbows, interlacing his fingers. “It is also an undeniable truth that the young among us are more willing to see change where we elders are too stubborn to allow it.”

Smokescreen scratches at his chin. “You’re the one who said it, sir. Not me.”

A tiny smile curls at the corner of Ultra Magnus’ lips, which Smokescreen considers a victory. “Your secret is safe,” he says. “And your willingness to look beyond the past is why you are aptly suited to be the one who follows Megatron.”

Warmth curls around Smokescreen’s spark. Ultra Magnus’ trust and approval is like a beacon to him. “Yes, sir,” Smokescreen says as he bobs on his heels. “And I promise, I’m giving him the benefit of the doubt, but I’m not going to be fooled either.”

“I know you won’t.” Ultra Magnus returns his attention to his datapads, and some of the visible unease loosens from his shoulders. “I’d like to believe that mechs can change as well. Let us all hope Megatron gives weight to that hope.”

Smokescreen snaps off a salute. “Yes, sir.”

Ultra Magnus’ engine rumbles with amusement. “ Thank you for the report, Smokescreen. You’re free to go. I’ll let you know when and if Megatron returns.”

“Yes, sir. I won’t let you down!”

Smokescreen takes his leave, too many emotions to name bubbling up within his tanks. Ultra Magnus trusts him, had even listened to him, and maybe it won’t go anywhere, but it means something, and Smokescreen’s gonna cling to that.

He can only hope Megatron doesn’t make him look like a fool.

~

“Remind me again why we’re trying so hard to rescue Megatron’s favorite pet?” Knock Out grumbles as he drops the heavy crate on the nearest surface. He reaches back to rub the base of his spinal strut, where a kinked cable is sending distress signals.

He’s a high-performance vehicle, not a transport mech!

“Apparently it’s the right thing to do.” Starscream’s voice rises from nearby where he’s hunched over a console, peering at the screen as he tries in vain to get the system to boot up properly.

This would be so much easier if any of them felt comfortable allowing Shockwave into their fully functional laboratories. But since another war was about to break out between those who had labs and didn’t want to let Shockwave step foot inside, a compromise was made.

They would work together to restore one of the adjacent labs to make it suitable for Shockwave to use. That way he can experiment with the Omega matrix without compromising any of their other projects, or getting the wrong idea about how much he’s trusted.

Knock Out cracks the lid on the crate and peers inside. His engine revs. No wonder his back aches. There’s nothing in here but battery cores. Why do they need battery cores?

The door to the laboratory whooshes open, and Knock Out narrows his optics at Ratchet, who has the gall to enter while towing a wheeled wagon piled high with equipment. No carrying for the rust-bot, nope, he gets to use the wagon.

“This is ridiculous,” Knock Out says as Ratchet trudges inside, wheels squeak-squeaking under the burden of his supplies. “Is there anyone in this room who thinks we can trust Shockwave?”

“There was a time I was asked that same question about Starscream,” Ratchet grunts as he takes the first item from his wagon and drops it on a nearby table. “And you for that matter.”

Knock Out makes a broad gesture. “This and that are two separate things. Shockwave is only loyal to himself. He always does what’s in his own best interests.”

“And you don’t?” Starscream asks with two raised orbital ridges.

“I do what I do to survive. That’s different,” Knock Out hisses. He shifts, slapping the crate he’d hauled all the way here from the first level. “And why is there a whole damn container of batteries here?”

Starscream sighs and mutters something subvocally before turning back to his console. Ratchet grabs another piece of equipment from his wagon and places it on the table next to the first one.

“If you’re going to complain the whole time, you might as well make yourself useful and check that the centrifuge works,” Ratchet says.

Knock Out grits his denta so hard he tastes sparks. “I’m the only one who thinks this is a bad idea.”

“This is a completely stupid idea,” Starscream says with a snort. “But we’re going to do it anyway because if there’s even a chance we can rebuild the formula, we have to do it.”

“We’re not going to survive long on Cybertron without it,” Ratchet adds.

Ugh.

Knock Out hates it when they finish each other’s thoughts. It’s disgusting. Thank Primus he and Bumblebee aren’t that affectionate in public. Bumblebee has too much sense.

Ratchet unloads the rest from his wagon and grabs the handle. “I’m going to get the last load. I’ll be back.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Starscream says absently.

Ratchet snorts, but he leaves, and Knock Out is left staring at his former commander, wondering why Starscream’s not flipping out about the circumstances. First Megatron. Then Soundwave. Now Shockwave? Shouldn’t Starscream be more concerned?

Starscream glances at him peripherally. “What?” he asks as he returns his attention to the screen. His wings twitch, betraying his emotions. He’s more worried about this than he’s letting on.

It’s kind of a relief actually.

Knock Out’s tires wobble in their mounts. “This would usually be the time you start screeching your complaints.”

“In what context?”

“All of it.” Knock Out makes a vague gesture to the entirety of Kaon and this laboratory and the entire situation. “Megatron’s back. We had to go out and rescue Soundwave. Now he’s bringing Shockwave here. What do you think is going to happen next?”

“With any luck, we’ll recreate the Omega matrix.” Tap-tap-tap goes Starscream’s talons across the keys before they pause, and he rests his hands lightly over the board. He cycles a ventilation, and Knock Out can hear the rattle in his vents from across the room. “Megatron knows to be on his best behavior.”

Knock Out snorts and sidles closer to his former commander. “What does that even mean?”

“I suppose we’ll find out.” Starscream gives him a sidelong look. “And he’s going to have to live with the disappointment once he realizes we’re not his to smack around anymore.”

Not that he ever touched Knock Out. No, his favorite was always Starscream. Knock Out had always known when to grovel and when to make himself scarce.

“Do you think he wants to restart the war?” Knock Out asks.

Starscream’s wings give a near-violent twitch before he masters them, and they rest against his back once more. “He can damn well try, but he’s not going to get much support.”

“Well, I’m sure Ratchet will be glad to hear that,” Knock Out says as he raises his orbital ridges.

Starscream turns toward him, and one lip curls into a smirk, a gleaming fang on display. “Much like Bumblebee, I imagine.”

“Touche,” Knock Out says. He has to admit, this bolder, braver Starscream is quite appealing. “Speaking of…”

“You have a date with your Autobot and you want to sneak out of here before Ratchet gets back and complains?” Starscream returns his attention to the console, talons click-clicking across the keys once more.

Knock Out scoffs. “I don’t care what Ratchet thinks.”

“Sure,” Starscream says, and waves him off with one hand. “Go. I can program this by myself.”

Starscream is not, technically, his superior, but Knock Out takes the permission all the same. He’s out the door and on his way within a few kliks, dialing Bumblebee along the way. His partner should be on his way back from patrol by now, and they can spend the evening together.

If he ever picks up his comm.

Knock Out chuffs his frustration when his pings go to the messaging system. If Bumblebee runs late again, Knock Out won’t be amused. What is there to patrol? Their greatest worries have been Megatron and Predaking, and now that both are under some type of surveillance, there’s no reason for patrol.

Unless Bumblebee’s gone to Earth. He has a bad habit of doing that.

Knock Out’s walking past the general goods store when a hand shoots out of the alley and grabs his arm, yanking him into the dark. Knock Out snarls, his field spiking with anger, hand dropping to the blaster he no longer carries, as his tires bounce against the wall of the building behind him.

“What the--”

Amusement batters up against his outrage as his vision focuses on Bumblebee, grinning like the idiot he is, one knee nudging between Knock Out’s.

“You should pay more attention to your surroundings,” Bumblebee says, leaning in for a kiss.

He doesn’t get very far.

Knock Out puts his palm in his lover’s face and pushes Bumblebee’s head back. “Aft,” he says, and cycles a few ventilations to get his sparkrate back under control.

Bumblebee chuckles and leans back in, nuzzling Knock Out, his hands squeezing Knock Out’s hips. “You’re the one who told me our relationship needed more spontaneity.”

“This is not what I meant,” Knock Out grumbles, but it’s impossible to resist kissing Bumblebee, so he doesn’t bother.

Here in the alley, they’re relatively obscured from the casual passerby and no one can see him licking into Bumblebee’s mouth with lascivious intent. Bumblebee flexes his grip, charge crackling from his fingertips against Knock Out’s cables, and a low rumble rises in Knock Out’s intake.

“Still want to go racing?” Bumblebee asks.

“I want to go back to your suite. It’s closer,” Knock Out growls.

Bumblebee grins, and he doesn’t have any right to be so smug, but Knock Out doesn’t call him out on it.

This time.

****