Kiri

Today I've got Rewind in a flower field for you guys :] I love my little detail that the flowers he's holding are colored like Chromedome, they make me sick, all of them do.

So his eyes are yellow right? NOT QUITE! Shout out to my sibling @thatgayoctopus for pointing it out but his irises are actually half red and half green!

Can anybody see where this is going. Just go re-watch the movie rn and only look at his eyes the whole time PLEASE. pleasplelald it tells you everything he is thinking and feeling in just about every moment. And yeah there are plenty of bits where his eyes are just plain yellow, like most of the race or when he's further away BUT IT'S THERE WHEN IT MATTERS.

Okay so they're half green half red cool cool. Theeeeeeen he sees Megatronus.

And this is the first moment the balance of green and red is thrown off, you can literally see the colors shifting, he's deeply upset.

"No I want to kill him." Okay girl your delicate worldview that you already resented has been shattered and replaced by something worse.

"I'll never trust a so called leader ever again," AND HIS EYES GO BACK TO HALF AND HALF !??!? Because if there's anything he's certain about now, it's that.

And it's not just his irises! We all know about the biggest shifts, when his eyes go full orange after rallying the high guard, and when he drops Orion ofc, but another great bit is before and after Orion says okay to him taking the map.

Every time he FEELS powerful, his eyes shift more red, even if it's temporary. There is only one moment in the movie when his eyes aren't just cool yellow but actually, noticeably more green and it's when he's getting fucking blow torched.

When he's at his most powerless, completely at the mercy of Sentinel.

And I know D-16's cogless design is inspired by the G1 Marvel Comics design, but also happy coincidence! Yellow is a small chunk of the light spectrum and a difficult color to achieve on an RGB screen. It needs a careful balance of red and green and it's clever that they use that here (thank you Bee for mentioning this too). The perfect half red and half green in the first act shows that he's set in his thoughts, but it is a delicate thing. He is on a knife's edge, and only stays complacent because he believes he is weak and undeserving of better, and he hates it. Every chance he gets to use some amount of violence, he takes. He punches his friend, he tackles Elita on the train. He's also the only one not scared to climb the train car (besides Elita ig). As soon as he gets a cog, he's not just taking chances, he's actively looking for a fight!

little historian

another request from twitter! i wanted to see him do archiving stuff

🥒I finished the art!! 🥒

S02E01: Everything Is Blue

Summary: After suffering a devastating betrayal, Starscream joins the Autobots with only one objective. Revenge. Nothing will stand in the way of his vow to destroy the Decepticons. Especially not incessantly friendly Autobots who continuously try to convince him let go of his anger and instead embrace peace and freedom and love. How frivolous. Oh, and the Elite Trine has decided to court him. Wonderful. ao3/check for tags

Starscream paced in front of the medbay door, his servos clasped firmly behind his back and wings raised high. The emotion swirling within his spark was not anxiety; the seeker was not anxious to leave the medbay. He was impatient. For too long, that wicked, white plated doctor had abused his authority and forced Starscream to remain in the medbay well past the bounds of necessity. Cracks in his armor had been patched, new paint applied, wings buffed, and optical lenses replaced—not that Starscream had been given the opportunity to assess his new appearance.

Ratchet’s assurance that every color across his armor had been matched and that there were no visible signs that he had ever been damaged had been enough for the typically mistrustful seeker. He could have asked for a mirror or used any of the reflective surfaces; however, he had been reticent to waste time on something so trivial as his countenance, as in the wake of his fury, there had been far more important matters to attend.

There was no other reason the seeker could have possibly had to avoid his own ordinarily meticulously maintained reflection. Through his own internal diagnostics, Starscream knew the only remnant of Decepticon blaster volley that remained on his frame was a plainly seen reminder of its consequence. An aftereffect he had chosen for himself, lest he allow his…assailant to believe he still held any sway over Starscream’s decisions.

That the change to his frame’s initial design would also serve as a permanent memorial to everything the Decepticons had stolen from him was an irrelevant augmentation.

Starscream sighed heavily and looked up at the ceiling; its copper color showed no differently behind new lenses. Once crimson optics now shone an azure blue. When he had requested the change, the good doctor had assured Starscream that a red replacement lens could be procured, and the blue one need only be an interim replacement. However, the seeker had refused the offer and instead insisted that both cybernetic lenses be replaced. As the only thing potentially worse than waking up in a dystopian future, discovering his unwanted trine, and surviving a betrayal by the one and only mech he had ever loved—was becoming asymmetrical.

Stopping directly in front of the door, he placed a servo over its exit panel, only to lower it and glance over his shoulder, gaze both searching and indecisive. There was no sign of movement from a desk in the medbay’s far corner. Ratchet was still the same as he had been the last four times Starscream had stopped to observe the medic: arms crossed over the desk, back hunched, and white helm resting in their crook. In a rare turn of events, the medic was recharging.

After spending so much time under the Autobot CMO's supervision, Starscream had begun to suspect the mech had developed a program that allowed him to defrag and restore energy without the need for recharge. He had never once caught the medic in this state. Unawares, uncombative, and unable to stop Starscream before he could even approach the medbay doors, let alone actually exit through them. Which was why he needed to cease his constant procrastination and leave. Another opportunity to escape the medbay without Ratchet intervening would not come so easily.

No one would be coming to offer him release, which meant he would have to facilitate his own. Optimus Prime had not visited the seeker once since he had been recovered from the quarry. Neither had Hound, nor Perceptor, nor any of the other Autobots he had met during his time in the Ark. Perhaps that could be due to Ratchet restricting medbay access to only critically necessary visitations. Or perhaps it was due to Starscream disabling his comm shortly after awakening. The urge to comm his…the Decepticon's second and demand answers, one that, at the time, he had known himself too damaged and incensed to resist.

And so he had cut off his ability to succumb—but that did not mean his existence was to be ignored. The one time he had opened his line to communicate with Prowl, there had been no missed comms, not a single message left behind. Neither had there been any incoming correspondence from the Autobot leader after Starscream had informed Prowl of his decision.

Shortly after his conversation with the Autobot second, one that revealed nothing of the praxian’s thoughts, neither on the Decepticon attack in the quarry nor on the decision Starscream had made shortly after waking from it, he had cut his comms again.

Starscream had already waited long enough for a comm that would never come, for a lifetime.

Besides, even without comms, Optimus Prime outranked Ratchet and could visit the medbay as he pleased. Hound was a spy; there was no excuse for him not to have made a covert visit. Perceptor’s lack of discernible rank or stealth capability provided the scientist with a more compelling excuse to explain his absence. Still, a brilliant inventor always found a way, if they so chose.

Of course, Starscream did not actually care that the Autobots had made no effort to ascertain whether the seeker was recovering from their enemy’s ambush—he only found it insulting. Why would he have looked forward to their effusive, spark-filled proclamations of I told you so. He was not in so maudlin a state as to be vying for sympathy or comfort. Starscream had survived his entire function without ever expecting either, but from one mechanism; declaring allegiance to the Autobots had changed nothing.

The loss of a mech who had once sworn his spark to Starscream changed. Nothing.

His olfactorate flared as he took in a deep, fortifying vent and turned back around to stare at the closed door in front of him. No more delays. The longer Starscream remained trapped within the medbay, the longer his plans would take to be brought to fruition.

He placed his servo over the door’s panel, opening it with a quiet swoosh. Wings rising high in determination, he—

“And just where do you think you’re going?”

With an annoyed huff, his wings dropped, and he turned around to face the awakened doctor, crossing his arms over his canopy. “What business is it of yours, medic? It seems to me there is very little difference between patient and prisoner on this ship.”

Ratchet’s optics rolled, “It’s only been a week, brat. You’ll be discharged when I think you’re ready.”

His derma thinned. “You mean it has already been a week. There is nothing left to repair. Release me.”

The medic rose from where he had been taking a stasis-nap on the desk, bent backwards to pop his back with a loud crack, then snatched up a diagnostic scanner and marched over to where Starscream was standing. “I’ll be the judge of that,” Ratchet said as he came to a stop in front of the seeker.

Starscream’s optics narrowed, the seeker ready to plead his case, only for his annoyed expression softened when, as the shorter mech approached, he felt Ratchet’s field press up against his own. What was it with Autobots and allowing their fields to go unrestrained? Had they no sense of privacy?

And would Starscream be expected to freely express his own after he joined them?

The seeker would have to carefully read the Autobot code to ensure no such clause existed. The prerequisite to joining an army should not be his defenses stripped. Not that he was expressly against others within the faction indulging in the overtly emotional habit. Not when it allowed him to know for certain, as he had suspected on the third day of his detainment, that it was not due to Ratchet’s professional opinion that had kept him from allowing Starscream to leave the medbay.

If only he could understand why it was the old mech’s regret that had become the warden enforcing Starscream’s continued incarceration.

Looking down his olfactorate at the medic, he stated, “You cannot keep me from this, Ratchet. My decision is final.”

The medic’s brow ridge furrowed as he slowly, deliberately so, roved the scanner up and down Starscream’s frame. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m just making sure my patient is fully repaired—all of him.”

A beep from the scanner alerted him to the diagnostic’s completion; colored results reflected off of Ratchet’s grey faceplate. Uncrossing his arms, Starscream reached out to grip the device’s top, tilting it back with a soft smile. “It’s green. I’m fully repaired. All of me.”

Ratchet grit his denta before jerking the scanner from Starscream’s grip and subspacing it without so much as a glance at its readout. A tight frown pulled at the medic's derma as he looked from Starscream to the door. Finally, red servos clenched at his side as he declared, "I never should have encouraged you to go after him."

The seeker’s optics nearly rolled. This week old argument?

Starscream placed a servo over a red-crossed shoulder, his touch light. "You knew there was nothing you could do to stop me from seeking Skyfire out, just as you know there is nothing you can do now to stop me from joining your war. Prowl has accepted my petition to join the Autobots, and I'm to begin the enlistment process today.”

A lie, if only a small one. Prowl had actually directed the seeker to inform him once he had been discharged from the medbay, and that they would proceed with his enlistment afterwards. However, after observing the Autobots, even for the short time he had lived among them, Starscream had learned of the…friction between certain officers. Some in ways he had never predicted. And he knew that of the Autobot officers, Ratchet and Prowl shared one of the more antagonistic working relationships. It was unlikely the Autobot second had informed his CMO of the exact directive he had given the seeker.

A theory that was proven true when Ratchet snapped, “You mean tonight. Day’s already just about over—I don’t know what crawled up Prowl’s tailpipe for him to be rushing you like this.”

More pleased with his own success than at the medic’s irritation, Starscream chuckled, “I’m more surprised he didn’t ask me to sign an enlistment agreement the moment I onlined.”

Even without Starscream declaring his intent, it was obvious the only course of action he could take after his part…his former partner’s treachery. It was no longer a mystery why the Autobots had not attempted to sway Starscream to join their ranks. They must have known the Decepticon’s second-in-command would provide a more persuasive argument than they could have ever devised.

And they were right.

Ratchet’s optics burned brighter, his engine snarling as he glared at the seeker. “How can you laugh at something like this? You’re joining a war, kid. This isn’t a joke. This isn’t something you decide right after getting your aft blown out of the sky. You’re not thinking with a functioning CPU. Once you’re in, you’re in. The cons aren’t going to leave you alone after this.”

In a sudden, irrational want to assuage the medic's apparent distress, he almost told Ratchet that the Decepticons would not have left Starscream unmolested, whether he joined the Autobots or declared neutrality. Not when their Elite Trine had professed an ardent interest in his spark.

But keeping his non-relation with the Decepticon seekers from the Autobots was more paramount now that he had agreed to join the grounded faction than when he had first learned of the faux trine’s existence. His plan to devise a plan required minimally managed use of faction’s resources and technology, to include unrestricted access to Teletran-One. He would not jeopardize a trust he had yet to gain by giving them reason to think him compromised. 

Removing his servo from the medic’s shoulder, he once again crossed his arms over his chassis and delivered an ultimatum. “You’ll find my convictions not so easily swayed. I am joining the Autobots. Now, you can either allow me to leave the medbay, or my enlistment process can begin here. That, dear medic, is your choice.”

Another lie, but could he be blamed? No, of course not.

Starscream hadn’t thought he would receive congratulations from Ratchet after informing the medic of his decision, but neither had he anticipated such blatant hostility expressed toward it.

After all, had Ratchet not been one of the many Autobots who had warned Starscream of the danger posed by the Decepticons and their second-in-command? Of the inevitable evil that would befall him, orchestrated by his former partner? Which was why the medic’s subsequent confinement after the attack had confused him to no end. Of all the reactions he had anticipated from Ratchet, a fiercely negative and argumentative rejection had not been one of them. Had Ratchet, just like another, expected the seeker to flee with his wings tucked behind his back the moment weapons were drawn?

Had they all? Had the Autobots’ niceties and platitudes of care all been performative? Meant to pacify a warframe until they no longer had to look upon his frame? That would explain Hound’s absence….

Before the seeker could lose himself in the repetitive implementation of code that was the Autobots’ anger and apathy—Ratchet, with his tense plating and coils wound so tight Starscream could hear their strain, deflated much the same as an automobile’s tire that had been slashed. The medic’s optics pinched, his frown falling deeper as he stared up into a now just as blue gaze. “If I’d known this is what you meant when you asked for blue optics, I would’ve…”

The shorter mech trailed off, and Starscream finished for him, “Still provided me the lenses because you have no reason to deny me.” Then, with frustration leaking into his vocals. “I don’t understand why you’re so against me joining your faction.”

Whatever the medic’s feelings on the matter—Starscream was a warbuild. His joining the war had been an inevitability; the only factor ever in question being which side of it he would stand.

"You not getting it is part of the problem," Ratchet replied with an aggravated huff, then a sigh, followed by a shake of his helm. “But I guess that’s not my call to make.”

“It never was,” he said, anger threatening to slip.

Ever since awakening and realizing Prowl’s first appraisal in the medbay had been accurate. That the Decepticons had taken Starscream’s partner and ruined him beyond all recognition, that he was millions of stellar-cycles outdated in his craft, and that he had not been lost in the storm but abandoned—an incandescent fury had threatened to boil through his insulated lines and leave him as no more than a mindless, smelting force of liquefied rage. Turning the seeker into the very worst of warframe stereotypes.

But his logic drives had dumped the cold ice of reality into his thought processes, reminding him of his precarious position within the Autobots and the necessity of their oblivious cooperation. Higher processes had dictated his anger turn inward. Now the fury simmered low in his tanks, waiting for the perfectly planned moment to erupt.

Acting rashly regarding the Decepticons was bound to end in failure, as it already had. And while his resurgence in the future had taught the seeker that he could indeed make mistakes, it had also left him determined to never make the same one twice.

Crooking a talon, Starscream reached out to place it gently underneath the medic’s chin, using it to tilt Ratchet’s helm upward. Once their optics met, he softly implored, “You’ve repaired me, all of me. I’ll ask no more of your time, dear doctor. I only ask that you not take more of mine in return.”

If anything, Ratchet’s expression became more pained, the guilt weighing his field down becoming heavier as the medic boldly placed a servo over the seeker’s canopy, directly over his spark. “No, not all of you…but I’m going to discharge you anyway.”

Starscream warred with both the desire to preen after having gotten his way and to slap the medic's servo away from his frame. There was no medical purpose behind the servo's placement. And he did not appreciate Ratchet's assumption that he had permission to be so forward with him, or the way it made his spark shrink in its casing due to a feeling that in no way resembled something as impractical as guilt.

With a sweet smile, he tilted his helm in a gesture of demonstrative appreciation. “Thank you, Ratchet. I hope one day you no longer regret having me among you.”

“That’s not what I—!” Ratchet cut himself off with a harsh ex-vent, looking to the side as he angrily muttered, “Of course that’s what you’d think.” Sharp optics snapped back to Starscream’s faceplate, and the medic removed his servo to point a red digit at the seeker. “I know if I don’t correct this now, you’ll let it fester, you damn brat. So, I’m only going to tell you this once. I don’t regret you being here. I regret that it’s even come to this. Not me, not Optimus, Pit, not even Prowl wanted you to join us like this."

Starscream maintained steady control over his vents and tempered smile. “And exactly how did you want me to join you, hm? I’ve yet to actually sign any documents—I’m sure we can improvise the ceremony to better suit your wants.”

The seeker’s smile curled ever so slightly higher at the confirmation that they had wanted him to join all along, despite the Prime's remarkably convincing insurance otherwise.

Ratchet’s optics narrowed. “If this was about what I wanted, you’d be joining us because you thought it was the right thing to do. Not because you want revenge on the Decepticons.”

Starscream stiffened, his smile slipping.

With scornful vocals and a nasty smirk, the medic continued, “Yeah, I clocked you, kid. I may be old, but my optics work just fine. And even a blind mech could see past those smiles to know what you’re really after. Trust me when I say I’ve seen where this road ends, and it isn’t pretty.” 

Reaffixing one of those smiles across his derma, he innocently intoned, "Then it is fortunate that not only am I exceptionally beautiful, but also a flyer. We do not require roads to reach our destination.”

Releasing a huff of a laugh, Ratchet shook his helm, saying, "Exceptionally thick helmed, maybe. But I can tell nothing I say is going to convince you. Looks like this is just another lesson you're going to have to learn yourself. Hope this one goes better than the last."

Starscream’s optics widened, and his jaw lock locked in place to prevent his smile from morphing into a snarl. The edge of his smile twitched, and he replied with an almost hiss, “As do I.”

With a twist, he turned from the medic and stepped into the open doorway. Once his faceplate was out of Ratchet's optical range, his smile dropped, and a scowl took its place. He allowed himself less than an astro-second before he buried his anger at the medic in the depths of his spark, where his righteous resentment toward everything else that had happened to him lay.

He needed the Autobots to like him. To trust him. To unwittingly aid him. Ratchet had no proof it was revenge Starscream sought, and it was unlikely he had informed the Autobot second, or any other of his comrades, of the seeker's true motive. However, a warbuild marching angrily from the CMO’s medbay would draw scrutiny to the why, and that was the type of suspicious attention he could not afford to attract. Not from Prowl or Prime, and certainly not from Jazz.

The Autobot third had already established a frustrating willingness to get in Starscream’s way with the absurd excuse of—to protect him from himself.

Without turning around to face the medic, the seeker expressed his goodbye with a deadpan, “Thank you for your hospitality.”

But before he could continue his exit, a—what a surprise—regretful field hedged around his own. Then, with vocals that sounded almost pleading, Ratchet said, “Kid…you don’t have to do this.”

Staring straight ahead, he said, “Yes, I do.”

Starscream stepped into the hallway, the medbay door closing behind him. His servos tightened into fists at his sides, and his wings quivered from their want to flare in anger. He sucked in deep, slow vents through clenched denta, his spark swirling in a confusing mess of anger, rejection, and regret.

After everything that had ever happened to Starscream, Ratchet was supposed to…no, it didn’t matter. Had the seeker’s first terribly gone lesson in this new world not taught him not to expect anything from anyone? As a mech who considered himself an accomplished student, having graduated top honors from both the Vosian War Academy and the Iacon Scientific Academy—Starscream had never once required a remedial lesson; he would not begin to necessitate them now.

Starscream’s next vent was longer, and he held it in, allowing the ship’s cycled air to linger in his filtration system before releasing it. There, he was fine. Everything was going according to his burgeoning plan. He had been released from the medbay, and Prowl had accepted his petition to join the Autobots. Soon, he would have access to Teletran-One, and his plotting could begin in earnest.

Ratchet’s approval was a nonessential component; the medic’s silence was all the seeker required.

A topic to be broached after he and the penitent doctor had been given ample time to cool their helms. Starscream, while adept at managing the worst of his temper, would have to perfect his control if his plan was to succeed. There would be no calming touch, no tender smiles, no fretful dialogue to compensate for his more abrasive qualities; the maintenance of Starscream’s geniality would rely on no one but himself.

Rather than comm Prowl and inform him of Starscream’s release, he turned in the direction of the ship’s mess hall. Before engaging in any vocalized interchange with the praxian, Starscream would need to ensure he was completely calm and undistracted. If his reaction to Ratchet’s diatribe was to be used as an indicator, the seeker was neither. The medic deciphering Starscream was only joining the Autobots to enact revenge against the Decepticons after only a week of observation meant that it would only take a single slip of the glossa for Prowl to ascertain the same.

A cube of energon would do him well; perhaps he could even use the acquisition as an opportunity to test his new resolve to remain cordial with what bots he found there. Just as a little social sciences test, as a low-risk reaffirmation of his ability to maintain a perfectly crafted mask of amiability.

His strides were measured, and his posture relaxed; his seams were parted the exact width apart that would evoke an image of vulnerability. For what mecha would possibly instigate violence with precious slivers of their protoform peeking out from behind armor? The only indicator that displayed no forged air of friendliness was his tightly held field.

At this time of night, the majority of Autobots would have retired to their quarters or to the common area. What few remained would either be on patrol or working in their respective departments, leaving the mess hall relatively empty compared to its usual level of boisterousness.

The mess hall was midship, and thus not far from the medbay. Less than a breem passed before its tall opening came into view. Just from what tables were visible outside of the room, he could see only two mechs within. A red minibot with a flat helm was seated next to another minibot whose helm was round and grey. Neither had a visible neck; neither was an Autobot he knew.

Upon closer inspection, he could see the mess hall was fuller than he had anticipated. There was a small crowd of bots in a far corner of the room, all surrounding what he thought was a blue and yellow Praxian. Some hung their helms low; others snapped their digits and cursed. Starscream would avoid those mechs.

On the opposite end of the room was the energon dispenser, a tall, grey machine whose design had changed minimally over the past ten million stellar-cycles. Empty cubes were stacked at its side, some appearing used, others clean. Tables were lined up in a row, leaving an opening that led directly to the dispenser.

He stepped into the mess hall, saying nothing to call attention to himself as he walked toward the dispenser. Not that he needed to; the clack of his heel-struts across the metal floor turned every optic to him. All except two sets.

The twins, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, were seated at one of the tables that lined the path to the dispensary. Only one of them was online: the red twin’s cheek was pressed onto the table, his mouth open as he appeared to doze. The golden one, whose armor looked just as impeccable as ever, was reading a datapad held in one servo, and nursing a cube of energon held in the other.

Starscream’s derma thinned as he considered the current, unknown state of his own plating.

Just as the seeker walked past, and without looking up from his datapad, the Sunstreaker commented, “The blue, it looks good.”

Starscream paused for less than an astro-click before he was walking again, though his helm might have been raised just slightly higher as he approached the energon dispenser. He picked up a relatively unused-looking cube, but before he could begin filling it, grating vocals rang out—

“Oh, puh-lease! He puts on some blue frames and suddenly we’re supposed to believe he switched sides? Seems awfully coincidental we get a seeker prancing around the Ark right when Jetfire shows back up. How do we know they didn’t plan that whole attack to get us to drop our guard? And what was that about Skywarp copping a feel? We sure he wasn’t asking for it?” A derogatory laugh, followed closely by, “You know what they say about seekers.”

With less force than he’d like, Starscream placed the empty cube back down on the table. His servo tightened around it, but it wasn’t until he heard the glass creak, threatening to break, that he released it. Turning around, the seeker kept his expression neutral as he faced down his accuser.

Cliffjumper was standing in the middle of the mess hall with his arms crossed over his chassis, a smirk stretching across his poorly molded faceplate. Starscream’s jaw clenched as he realized why the miniature mech had shouted his theories across the mess hall for all to hear. While the minibot might have meant every word, and likely did, that was not why he had uttered them.

Smug satisfaction stirred within Cliffjumper’s field, accompanied by an undercurrent of violent desire. Coupled with the tense posture and tightened armor seams—the minibot had all the appearance of a mech looking for a fight. But more specifically, to provoke someone else into starting it.

Cliffjumper wanted Starscream to be the first one to attack and was confident in his ability to goad the seeker into doing so.

If not for Starscream manually shutting down battle protocols as they pinged, his wings would have flared at his back, and he might have very well given the little pest everything he desired and more, smattering him into paste across the floor in a single swipe. But holding back after an unprompted verbal assault was something the seeker had long since mastered. He was not unused to such behavior from civilian classes; if anything, the minibot's reaction to the warbuild's presence was more familiar than any other he had been met with by the Autobots.

That did not mean he welcomed it. Or that it would continue to go unchecked. Just for now, while he was still considered an outsider and untrusted. There was nothing he could do without ruining his plan before it had a chance to begin.

But one day, just as he had sworn for the Decepticons, Cliffjumper would face retribution.

He gazed around the room, looking for any sign of disagreement among the other Autobots. To see if any of them would intervene on his behalf.

Every cable and wire within his frame stiffened, his fuel pump slowing as the optics of strangers bore into him, and suddenly, Starscream felt like he was back at the ISR. Only unlike the Iaconian institution, he could not retaliate against the ostracism and antagonism without jeopardizing a plan he had yet to formulate. And just like the beginning of his tenure in the Iacon Science Academy, he had not one ally to rely on when all servos pointed at him as the instigator. Though perhaps Starscream had never had one there, either.

Just as the seeker had been upon his creation—he was well and truly alone.

Blue optics burning bright despite the seeker’s attempts at restraining himself, he began a rapid march forward, moving in a straight line toward the little, red, instigating nuisance.

If anything, Cliffjumper’s grin grew wider after every step Starscream took closer.

“Oh? You wanna go? Bring it on! I knew it wouldn’t take a day for you to attack someone after Ratchet let you out of your cage. You…” Cliffjumper’s optics widened as Starscream passed by him without so much as a glance in the minibot’s direction. The seeker’s long legs carried him quickly out of the mess hall, ignoring the shocked shouts of, “Hey, wait! Where are you going? Get back here!” That followed him as he strode into an adjoining corridor and made a sharp turn in the direction of the Ark’s exit.

He needed to remain calm. He needed to remain placid, pleasant. Squashing a bug under his heel-strut like the pest it was would garner Starscream no support from the surrounding Autobots. It would only serve to prove Cliffjumper right. Regardless of the circumstances behind the assault, if a warframe was involved, they would always be labeled the aggressor. 

The seeker could do no right by the civilian classes, only perceived wrongs. Even joining the civilian-led faction had not earned him any leeway in terms of his frame type's reception. As, according to Ratchet, that had also been the wrong call to make.

His engine whined, stuttering and clicking in an aborted attempt to initiate. He wanted to fly. His wings were so stiff at his back as to be painful; he couldn't allow them to flair. Starscream did not know the Ark’s security rotation; he did not know whose optics were more watchful than others. He did not know what rumors they would spread upon seeing an angry seeker storming through their base—there was so much in this horrid future he did not know.

The ship's exit came into view, and Starscream slapped his servo over its control panel with more force than he had intended. A darkened sky filled with stars and a low-hanging half-moon greeted him. No Autobots were within visual range, there was no mysterious shift of airflow behind him, and there was no reason for him to remain within the mountain-buried base. The cool desert air was sure to calm the heat burning its way through his spark and overworking his processor's emotive control.

Starscream would be able to better soothe his pin-trigger temperament with a flight rather than a trek along the sand-covered ground.

But the seeker could not be seen leaving the base’s parameters so soon after the attack, not without alerting Prowl or the Autobot CMO to the fact that Starscream had lied concerning the terms of his enlistment, or fueling the puttering fire behind Cliffjumper's allegations.

If Ratchet or Prowl were given a reason to agree on anything, it could lead to further cooperation between the officers. Cooperation often led to conversation, and conversation could lead to gossipy medics revealing more about their patients than was strictly professionally necessary. Like how they had only joined the once deceptively welcoming Autobots to enact revenge against the faction that had stolen everything from them, and that whatever cause the Autobots rallied behind was considered immaterial to that goal.

Starscream half-pivoted so that both the Ark and the desert surrounding it were visible. He saw no approaching cars in the distance, and the ship's doors remained firmly shut. The organic world was quiet; there were no EM fields foisting their emotions upon him, no artificial light; even the Ark’s outside lights were off. The only illumination not provided by the moon was a faint, blueish glow that emanated from the seeker’s faceplate.

Finally free of wandering optics and suspicious stares, Starscream allowed his neutral expression to drop, mouth falling into a deep frown that furrowed his brow ridges and caused his optics to dim nearly black. His wings rattled and flared, fury and listlessness clashing along every stretch of wire within his frame. The seeker’s rage could not be allowed to control him, but without the optic-whitening anger, Starscream had nothing to keep his gears turning and fuel pump pumping.

No partner, no allies, and certainly no friends—not that he had ever placed any stock in the latter.

Not even the Prime—who Starscream had half expected to be outside with his fists pressed into his hips and staring up at the sky—had asked after the seeker’s wellbeing. Ratchet might as well have said he would have preferred Starscream remain injured and strapped to his medbay. And Hound—

With a frustrated growl, Starscream headed toward the cliff’s corner, his posture more of a rigid trudge than the graceful gate that had been trained into him.

A square building came into view, blurs of color behind opaque glass. The greenhouse.

He slammed the door open, and it banged shut behind him. His optics roved over the greenhouse’s floral contents, searching for a metallic green among the organic hues. The only trace of a Cybertronian to be seen were the overly large gardening tools stacked onto a white shelf in the far left corner.

Starscream stomped forward, hunching over as he more closely inspected the rows of plants; perhaps the mech was hiding behind one of his little holograms again. He saw only the myriad of plantae the spy had collected during his time on the planet. Yellows, oranges, pinks, purples, and—

His gaze snapped downward as something blue caught in the corner of his optic. The morning glory. Blue sat next to the red on the lowest rung of a bench. Without thinking, Starscream snatched it up and brought it up to his faceplate, glaring at the flower as though it had personally wronged him.

Because it had.

"Why did I think you were ever worth anything more than a brief footnote at the bottom of one of my least important research papers?" The flower said nothing, and Starscream shook it for its undeserved hubris. "Well? Nothing to say for yourself? I thought not. You've become rather adept at ignoring me in the time I was gone."

He vented out of his mouth, the hot air coming out faster and faster the longer the only sounds that answered him were the whirrs and clanks of his own internal mechanics. His grip tightened over the clay pot, and in a flurry of movement, he threw it across the greenhouse. It smashed against the glass, shattering into pieces. Dirt clung to the wall even as the flower and its pot fell to the ground.

Starscream laughed. Destroying the flower had been so easy. He hadn’t even needed to think about it; a sudden process that required no consideration.

"What was I thinking, throwing my lot in with you?" His smile twisted into an angry snarl, and he stepped onto the bench, bringing it and the plants lined up along it to the ground. Easy. So easy.

He kicked a bush. “You’re inferior.” He stomped on a tomato vine. “Weak.” He snapped a tree in half, its yellow fruit falling as he slung it across the room. “Fragile.” He smashed a pot of succulents. “Ugly.” He crossed over the first fallen bench to flip over another. “Disgusting.”

Venting heavily, he noticed a bright red flower untouched among the chaos, somehow it had fallen safely on top of one of the flattened benches. He sank to his knees, grabbing it to hold in both servos. They tightened over the clay pot until it cracked open and dirt sifted through the gaps between his talons. The red morning glory lay cradled in his servos, a petal missing and its roots thin and gangly.

He hissed down at it, “You stupid, pathetic, naïve, trusting, fool. You never should have—”

The door to the greenhouse opened, and Starscream's helm snapped toward it so fast, he thought he felt a neck cable snap. Standing in the doorway was a green, boxy mech with black servos resting on his hips. The mech's helm turned every which way as he looked around at the destroyed plants.

His spark stuttered in its casing, fury draining as he heaved a static-filled, “Hound.”

Finally, he would bear witness to the Autobot’s fury. And he would deserve it. Starscream readied himself, prepared to receive Hound’s backlash. To hear angry shouts of disappointment. Or would it be exoneration? Hound, just like every other Autobot, had been waiting for the seeker's violent outburst so their every assumption could be proven true. Maybe Hound, just like another mech, had been playing the long con, leading Starscream on with gentle smiles and bright blue optics.

The mech stepped into the greenhouse, closed the door behind him, and let out an impressed whistle. “Wow, it looks like a twister blew right through here, or does the saying go like a tornado? I can never remember.”

Starscream’s mouth dropped open. That was it? 

Hound walked over to the seeker, dropping to one knee as he looked at what Starscream was holding, his smile and field projecting nothing but comfort. "Hey, it's okay, Star. At least you managed to save one of them. Once we get this little fella settled into a new home, they’ll be right as rain.” The smaller mech’s servos laid over Starscream’s as he softly intoned. “It can still heal, it can still grow.”

Starscream stared down at where their servos, his vocalizer clicking and refusing to activate. His spark shrank in on itself, and his blue optics burned with something other than anger. Hound slowly withdrew his servos, and Starscream had to hold back a sudden, unexplainable desire to pull them back. The Autobot gently lifted the morning glory and placed it atop one of the many piles of dirt surrounding them. 

Then, the bot smiled through a huff and pushed himself to stand. “I tried to catch you in the mess hall after Sunny told me you were there, but it seems like I must have just missed you. He said you didn’t take any energon with you when you left?” Hound tutted, “Why don’t we go get you some fuel and…” Hound’s optics roved critically over the seeker’s frame. “Maybe a trip to the washracks.”

A black servo was extended as an offer to help Starscream stand. The seeker glanced down at it, then back up at the mech it belonged to. Expression and vocals dazed, he asked, “Why are you so endlessly kind?”

Hound’s optics became pinched, then a flash of digital light filled the greenhouse. Starscream’s optical settings readjusted once it had faded, and his brow ridge shot high at what he saw.

The greenhouse had been restored. “Holograms,” he vented, reaching out to touch one, optic ridges rising when his talon met resistance. “No, not simple holograms, these are—”

“Hardlights,” Houd interjected. “That’s right.”

“These are incredibly draining on one’s energy reserves. I’ve never seen so many at once. How are you doing it?”

Hound brushed the backs of his digits along a fake tree before looking past it, past the bounds of the glass walls, to somewhere Starscream did not know. “It was part of my old function. A few other components were left out of my build so I’d be able to make them whenever it was needed. And since I worked road construction…” The mech shrugged.

Starscream frowned in confusion. “Hardlights for road construction? That doesn’t make any sense.”

The green mech chuckled, "You're telling me. The factory that made my line thought it was a brilliant idea to create a few specialized mecha that could generate physical road signs wherever they wanted. Stop, turn here, road blocked, that sort of thing.” Hound plucked a holographic flower, twirling its stem between his digits. “It didn’t take them long to take the technology they had used to make me and stuff it in a box. One that didn’t need as much energon. Or have opinions.”

The flower fizzled to nothing, and Hound turned to Starscream with an amused smile. “One cycle you’re working a low-caste, but respectable job. The next you’re at a job center hoping they don’t label you obsolete.”

Starscream thought about interrupting the mech to tell him he did not need the Autobot's life story to know why he was nice. His mouth remained firmly closed, his optics never straying from Hound's boxy frame.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been as scared as I was walking into that job center. And I’m including the whole war in that. Some obsolete mecha would get recycled for parts, others sent to the mine, and if you were really unlucky—a dip in a smelter.”

The mech swallowed, "Inside the job center, I saw a poster for a volunteer service. High risk, low pay, all able-bodied mecha welcome. I commed the number and joined up before my number was even called. Got shipped off to a colony that same cycle."

Hound held up his servos in a who could have known gesture. “Turns out it was a crisis response charity. Their mission was to help colonies too poor for the council to pay attention to. The ones no elite guards or enforcers would ever step a pede on. It was hard work, but I enjoyed being away from Cybertron. There was more than just metal on the colonies—they had plants! I’d never seen any before, and the younglings affected by these disasters liked to show off the ones they had grown. I think it helped calm them down."

“There was this one colony, they grew some kind of yellow produce. I think it was some trade product that had never touched down on Cybertron—anyway. It burned down, all of it. Their entire livelihood gone in joors. The adults understood nothing could be done to recover their lost crop, but the younglings…they kept trying to revive the dead plants. It hurt to watch them cry when none grew. So, I…abandoned my post by the supply ship and went into the fields and recreated the plants the best as I could remember.”

Hound’s smile brightened. “The kids loved it; the adults loved it. And instead of being reprimanded, I was promoted to crisis counselor. A promotion! I hadn’t even known disposable mecha could be promoted. My job went from lifting crates of supplies and clearing debris to comforting mecha who had just experienced the worst cycle of their life. I learned everyone could use a little color in their life, and a lot more understanding.”

The hardlights disappeared, revealing the destruction that had been concealed underneath. Hound's brow ridges furrowed as he looked down at the seeker, an odd, contrite tenor to his vocals. “You’re the first real civilian we’ve seen in millennia. Being with you…it was like I was back on the crisis response team, helping just to help. Helping you not because it was my duty, or because I had to, but because it was the right thing to do.”

After deep vent, Hound held out his servo again, “So, if thinking I’m some selfish old mech using you to relive his glory days helps you—do it.”

Once again, Starscream glanced down at the servo offered, then up at he mech offering it. He huffed through his olfactorate, shaking his helm with a smile. He placed a blue servo over Hound's, nothing more than a gentle resting of plating against plating. He took the smaller servo in his own and stated sincerely, “The last thing I could ever call you, is selfish.”

He stood without using Hound to brace himself, while also not releasing his hold on the green mech’s servo. Hound squeezed his servo around Starscream’s, and the seeker was surprised at the strength in the other’s grip.

They stood in peaceful silence, Starscream becoming more embarrassed by his own behavior the longer he was forced to look at the mindless destruction he had wrought. There was very little left standing, and most of the flora had been trampled on. The seeker could only be grateful he had still possessed enough higher processing power not to ignite his thrusters.

A full breem passed before Hound lifted a closed servo to his mouth, covering an awkward cough. “So…one of the reasons I’m here—one of them, it’s not the only. I was going to come find you anyway—is because Prowl wants to see you in his office. But, get this, he didn’t give a specific time; a real slip-up for a mech like Prowl. So, I was thinking…”

Hound trailed off, and Starscream tilted his helm forward, prompting the mech to continue. "Why don't you take some time for yourself. Get your wings in the air and go somewhere you can really relax. You see, I’ve got this special place. It’s peaceful and no one will bother you there. It’s perfect. Just, if you do go…promise not to…” The bot’s optics glanced around the greenhouse, and Starscream had the grace to wince.

“I give you my word, no harm will come to your special place while I am there.” He avowed. It was not that Starscream actually wanted to leave as Hound suggested, but that he was far too ashamed (had he ever been ashamed of anything before?) to tell the mech he was uninterested.

Then, the seeker added somewhat hesitantly, “I suppose after I return and after my business with Prowl concludes, I should come back to help you repair the damage caused by this twister.”

Hound let out a short, incredulous laugh, “Oh, did you think that was optional?”

Starscream chuckled, his gaze softening as he allowed Hound to lead him out of the greenhouse by their joined servos. He still did not know why the mech had avoided him after the Decepticon’s attack, and he still intended to ask, just not today. After destroying the mech’s hobby house, he had no right to begin an interrogation.

For now, he would accept Hound’s outreach of kindness with a freely offered servo, keeping the other poised at his back, ready to intercept the dagger when it inevitably struck.

Because if Starscream could not trust Skyfire; there was no one he could.

A lake. Hound’s special place was a lake in the middle of a forest, surrounded by nothing but trees and filled with nothing save organic life. Deep in the middle of nowhere, the clearing around the lake was in a completely different state than the one the Ark had run aground in. There was no trace of civilization to be found for miles. How had Hound even found such a place? And what did he do during his visits? Roll around in the grass and convene with the trees? Actually….

Grounders were known to intentionally wallow in mud puddles; it would not be so far-fetched an assumption that Hound engaged in something similar in the clearing. If there was any place for the grounder to do it without judgment (except Starscream's, of course), this would be it.

The lake was long and rounded, the trees that surrounded it being far back enough for a Cybertronian, or two, to fit comfortably within the clearing. The water was not clear, its tranquil, dark blue surface acting as a mirror for the sky above. The half-moon hung high and low, dots of white peppering along the reflective surface.

Tiny yellow lights floated above the lake, bobbing and dancing in the air. Starscream cycled his optics as one approached him and held out a servo to prod at the curiosity. He zoomed in his optical sensors as it landed along the tip of a curved talon, then blinked, balking.

“Insects. I’m surrounded by flying insects. They’re going to get into my seams,” he whined. “How does he stand it here? There’s nothing to do.”

With an exaggerated huff, he turned toward the only creature of note within the clearing. The marker Hound had told Starscream to search for to be certain he had arrived at the correct location. The grass underneath his pedes was soft as he walked toward the it, and his heel-struts left visible indents in the ground as he walked along the lake’s shoreline.

Within the clearing, between the lake and the forest beyond, stood a massive weeping willow—an odd name for a tree, but Starscream had not mentioned as much to Hound when he'd told the seeker of it. Its height was greater than any Cybertronian Starscream had ever met, and its width surpassed the seeker's wingspan. He had not known the Earth’s plantae could grow so large, and even the scientist had to admit it was an impressive example of organic life.

Its branches were numerous, covered in thick, green leaves that nearly blocked the tree's trunk from view; they rose and drooped in a curve, hanging low, their ends dangling above the ground, close enough to tease the grass below.

Tilting his helm, he told it, “I suppose you could be worth a trip, if one were to have even a passing interest in dendrology. Which I do not.”

Not anymore.

“I wonder what avian species make their nests inside you…well, not wonder. Because I don’t care, but you understand my meaning. A passing curiosity, nothing more.”

When the tree said nothing in return, Starscream placed a servo over his faceplate and groaned. Maybe Ratchet was right. The seeker was not of sound processor and had not been since he had been pulled from the Arctic. How else could he explain talking to plants? Hound’s insistence that it improved their mood, and Starscream’s indulgence of the fantasy only further proved the medic’s point.

He dragged his servo down his faceplate, careful with his talons as he gradually pivoted, searching for anything of interest within the clearing. There was nothing to be seen. Less to be heard.

The only sounds within the clearing were the chirping of crickets and the quiet whistle of the wind. Which, Starscream supposed, could be considered peaceful. No oppressive fields were pressing against his own, no reproachful Autobots disparaging him, and no cameras recording to later judge the seeker’s every movement.

Here, he didn’t have to worry about the optics.

Starscream shuttered his optics and tried to sort through his short-term memory databanks. There was so much to assess in so short an amount of time. Centuries could pass on Cybertron with nothing of note happening. Yet, on Earth, several life-shattering revelations had presented themselves in less than a vorn. Not even a complete solar-cycle.

Then, there was all the history he had missed, the scientific advancements that had been achieved without him, the complete and utter destruction of his people's world and culture. Disliking Vos had never meant he wished the city destroyed. His old, long-dead plans had never involved such permanent devastation. Now, all Starscream could do was—

A loud croak pulled the seeker from his thoughts. The sound had emanated from beneath him, on a spot along the shore, and Starscream’s wings flicked in its direction. He walked toward where his auditory sensors had directed him, bending down lower and then lower, until he was resting on the backs of his legs. Peering down, Starscream’s optics narrowed as he identified the source of the noise.

A tiny, round, green creature with disproportionately large eyes and webbed feet. The webbing suggested that its class was amphibious, but the scientist did not know enough about the Earth’s animal kingdom to hypothesize its species.

Its bulbous body expanded; what he assumed to be its throat bloated to double the organic's original size. Another loud croak sounded from its too-large mouth. Then, he noticed the warts.

“Disgusting,” he sneered. Pressing a foredigit into a thumb, he placed it behind the creature to flick it away, and…stopped. Starscream placed the servo that had been prepared to end the creature’s life over a knee, his derma twisting in a grim frown.

Hound had asked him not to destroy his special place the same way the seeker had wrecked the greenhouse. That included the organic, indigenous life that lived there, revolting as their appearance may have been. He would have to tread carefully and analyze every step before he took it. Something that…something that all Cybertronians should do while on such a fragile world.

Pursing his derma, he informed the creature, “You’re lucky I like Hound, or else your fleshy guts would be splattered all over the other side of the lake.”

Its next croak was the loudest yet, and it jumped high into the air, ripples forming from where it had dived into the lake. Starscream leaned closer to the water, attempting to trace its movements, only to freeze as air stalled inside his vents at what he saw.

A stranger was staring back at him. A seeker with blue optics and unpolished plating. Their optics were cycled wide, and their mouth pulled into a deep frown. Then, their optics narrowed, their wings rose and fell. They judged him.

What are you doing here? What are you waiting for?

“These things cannot be rushed,” he snapped at the other seeker. They scoffed, blue optics rolling.

His olfactorate flared, and he hissed down at the condemnatory mech. “I know what I must do, but I know not how it must be done. If killing Megatron were easy, he would be dead by now. Ten million stellar-cycles?” Starscream watched as the seeker snidely laughed. “Civilizations have birthed and died during the span of a single war. Our civilization has died. They fight over a dead planet for the domination of a dying race. I’ll have no part of it.”

Blue talons dug into white armor, nearly piercing the plating just above his knees as Starscream gripped his legs tightly. He bared his denta down at the reflection to remind it of his private avowal.

No tender spark would ever hold sway over Starscream’s goals, never again. He would have his revenge, but it would take time. Choosing not to kill a helpless organic did not mean he had become soft. It only meant he had not become a Decepticon.

Through clenched denta, he declared, “I do not care if the Autobots win this war, I only care that the Decepticons lose.”

The other seeker sneered, are you sure?

Before Starscream could respond, their faceplate became distorted as the water rippled once more, the amphibian jumping out of the lake from beneath them. Starscream blinked, shaking his helm as their hissing vocals cleared from his processor.

Sitting on the shore’s edge, the creature continued to croak, and Starscream, grateful to have someone else to converse with other than that detestable seeker, grinned down at it. “Oh, you think I’m being unreasonable? That I’m going crazy talking to myself? Please, do tell what—”

A sudden change in airflow caused Starscream’s wings to rise high, their sensors straining to determine the direction from which the shift had originated. The rustling of trees caused his helm to snap around, optics wide as they roved over the forest’s edge for any sign of movement. There was a plop from below, and the seeker's gaze flicked down to see that the tiny amphibian had disappeared back into the lake.

He scrambled to stand, kicking up dirt and grass as he side-stepped away from the lake, optics never leaving the forest. His posture became defensive, his talons curling outward and poised at his sides as the snapping of twigs grew louder and the tops of the trees, visibly shaking, drew closer.

Starscream dearly hoped whatever was heading toward the lake was another unusually large organic. Any fight within the clearing would lead to its destruction. The flames from his thrusters alone were enough to burn the forest to the ground. Whatever or whoever stepped out from the forest—conflict needed to be avoided at all costs. He had given his word, after all. And the thought of Hound journeying to his special place to find it destroyed was a…displeasing one.

Astro-seconds, then klicks passed by in silent anticipation, then—

From between the trees, emerged a tall mech with blue armor that appeared darker than it likely was under the moon’s dim illumination. Greys and blacks accented his frame, and there were matching stripes of red painted along a distinct set of blue wings. Their silhouette was the kind that could only belong to a seeker. The largest Starscream had ever seen. Were it not for the mech’s recognizable shape and identifiable features, Starscream would have thought the stranger a different frame type entirely.

Blue wings tilted at a nonthreatening angle; however, the purple insignia branded across their angular surface informed Starscream of the untrustworthiness of such wing-speak.

The stranger’s servos were raised in front of his canopy; dark grey palms spread as though in a placating gesture. However, crimson optics betrayed a gentle smile as the intruding seeker tilted his helm and, with deeper vocals than anticipated, said, “My apologies, I did not mean to frighten you.”

Starscream snorted, “Frightened? You give yourself too much credit.”

His talons remained poised in a defensive stance, his back slightly arched forward, and his wings flared. He felt no other shifts in the wind, and his audials strained to hear more than the water's soft brush against the shore, but he could discern no other cybernetic sounds save his own and the stranger’s.

“Who are you?" He asked, more as a means of distraction than out of any real curiosity. "Why have you come here? And when will you be leaving?" Then, forcing a smirk to conceal his unease, he bluffed, "Soon, hopefully. Now, preferably. For your own safety, of course."

Having appeared so suddenly and with little in the way of warning, the other seeker had merely startled him. But how had the mech done it? How had he arrived without Starscream noticing? Any travel through the air would have been immediately obvious. Seekers possessed no forged stealth capabilities; even if the Decepticon had begun his approach at the forest’s opposite end, Starscream would have been made aware sooner than he had of the stranger’s arrival.

Trees would have fallen, birds and quadrupedal animals would have fled, the wind would have stirred; all visible signs of a nearing giant. Had the mech simply appeared out of thin air? An impossibility that was—wait. Ah, so that was it. That was how he had done it. The seeker’s physical appearance, his solitary approach, and the mysterious way in which he had suddenly appeared?

It was now immediately apparent who this Decepticon was.

Starscream did nothing to conceal his aggravated groan. Wonderful. Just what he needed during a peaceful outing to clear his processor. Out of all the helmache-inducing irritants he wanted to avoid in this dreadful future, who appeared before him but one of the two he wanted nothing to do with the most.

“My designation is—”

“—Thundercracker, air commander of the Decepticons,” Starscream interrupted. “I know who you are.”

With the seeker’s identity revealed, another question presented itself. How had Starscream not felt him? Even from high on the opposite end of the quarry, he had felt Skywarp's spark reaching out for his own. But even standing so close, there was no spark of recognition from Thundercracker. How? Had Starscream been removed too early from the enkindler to form even a surface bond with the blue seeker? Or, for once in his function, had one of Starscream’s problems solved itself and their resonance had miraculously severed?

Thundercracker’s optics brightened, “So you do. I’m glad to see you’re as interested in us as we are in you. I must admit that I’ve longed to meet you for quite some time.”

There was a sad quality to the other seeker’s vocals that did not match the brightness of his optics; an obvious ruse meant to distract Starscream from the way the Decepticon had started to step closer. Thundercracker’s wings were drooped low, his talons pointed downward in as nonaggressive a pose as a seeker could make. Still, Starscream was not fooled.

“Oh, you’ll find I’ve done considerable research on my enemies,” he answered with a wide smile.

He took a step back. Thundercracker took a step forward.

The taller seeker raised an optic ridge. “Enemies? I see no red badge on your frame.”

“A temporary oversight, I assure you," Starscream said while taking another step back. He would not be able to move much further without running into the tree that made up much of the clearing. "Though I do find it funny that you claim not to be my enemy after shooting me out of the sky.”

Thundercracker frowned, his optics hardening, “I can promise you not one of my seekers fired that day. Jetfire’s attack went against our agreement, which is why I’m here now. The assault in the quarry never should have happened.”

The blue seeker sucked in a deep vent, his smile returning as he took another step forward. "But while we're on the topic, please allow me to apologize for Skywarp's…enthusiasm. He can sometimes find it difficult to think through his actions before he takes them. Meeting you overloaded his mainframe capabilities worse than his warp drive. After he chased you to Italy, I reprimanded him and ordered him not to touch you again without your express permission.”

As if remembering something vital, Thundercracker's brow ridges rose, and he added, "Excluding combat, of course. I would never deny you a warrior's honor.”

Starscream took a step back, snipping, "Joy for me." As if he needed anyone's permission to defeat the Decepticons during a battle. If there was one thing he looked forward to from the other seeker, it was the look on Thundercracker’s faceplate as he lost every member of his armada to Starscream's air superiority.

He took another step back, only to pause midway when it drew a laugh from the other mech.

“I’ve only come to talk, Starscream, not to whisk you away to some dungeon hidden beneath the ocean's depths." Then, with a slight, teasing chuckle, “Though, I’ll not say no if you were to ask.”

How revolting. He stepped back. Again. “Try it, and I’ll make you regret ever being pulled from Vector Sigma.”

If anything, Thundercracker’s smile brightened as he paced forward, matching the smaller seeker’s retreat. He stopped just before reaching Starscream and held out a servo, the same as Starscream had been met with aboard the Ark, in an apparent attempt to recreate the local Earth greeting known as a handshake. With impossibly sincere optics, their glow softer than such a bright shade of red should allow, the Decepticon professed, “The brief glimpses of you through merges have done your ethereal visage no justice.”

A Decepticon initiating an Earth custom was so unexpected that Starscream momentarily forgot himself, and as if the action were preprogrammed, he reached out to take the offered servo in his own. However, before he could begin the greeting, Thundercracker had clasped his servo around Starscream’s talons and lifted the smaller servo to his faceplate.

Pursed derma brushed softly against his knuckles, crimson optics smoldering as deep vocals reverberated against blue plating, “You’re more beautiful than a memory.”

At the exact moment Thundercracker released his servo, Starscream jerked it away; shock plainly visible on his faceplate as he took several steps away from the presumptuous seeker. His wings brushed against the willow tree’s drooping branches; he could retreat no further without entering its foliage and hitting his back against its broad trunk.

He clenched his servos at his side, not for the first time regretting his promise to Hound not to destroy the bot's now not-so quiet place. With biting vocals, he mockingly applauded, “Yes, I’m beautiful, congratulations, you have optics. Is that all? You do not know me, and I have no wish to know you. There is nothing more for us to discuss.”

Leave was the glyph left hovering in the air.

Thundercracker refuted, “I know more about you than you think, and not for the reason you likely suspect.” The mech then took a step closer. Only the one.

Starscream’s armor still tightened, his seams grinding against each other to a painful degree.

After only a brief pause, the blue seeker continued, "I know you were unhappy in Vos, that you rebelled against your noble purpose and fled to Iacon. I know you're abrasive, brilliant, and incredibly vain—and I know that beneath the bluster and self-assurances, you're deeply, inexplicably lonely.”

His vents became shallow, and his fists shook with restrained violence. So, nothing about his past partnership had remained sacred. Not even his hushed admittances and ashamed confessions, personal weaknesses he had thought would only ever be known by one mech.

Not for the reason he suspected, Thundercracker had said? The Decepticon had been right; why suspect what Starscream already knew?

“I see Skyfire wasted no time in telling you everything he could about me. Was that the deal, Thundercracker? You stand back and watch him deceive me, string me along, hurt me, and in turn, he tells you academy yard gossip about me?"

He placed a servo over his mouth and cooed, "Oh dear, I'm afraid you've made a worthless trade. The information provided is terribly outdated. The Autobots have fully embraced my presence among them, and I have more friends now than I ever had back in Iacon."

A boldfaced lie, but there was no way for Thundercracker to—

The blue seeker took another step forward, countering, “I also know you’re a voracious liar. A skilled manipulator, and more ambitious than these Autobot friends of yours could ever imagine.”

One more step would place the taller seeker directly in front of Starscream. But it appeared that Thundercracker had stalled in his approach, the mech now looking down at his olfactorate at Starscream with a smirk. “I know secrets you never told Jetfire. Ones I can only assume you’ve yet to tell your,” and here, Thundercracker laughed. “Autobot friends as well. The reason behind your creation, our creation. Why our three sparks were chosen among millions to share an enkindler.”

That final step was taken. “What I don’t know is why you hide your true purpose from inferior, ground-locked vehicles."

Starscream’s optics rolled as he feigned an uncaring attitude, his upper derma curling as he said, “You’re so right, you big and mighty Decepticon. My simple, pre-war processor was simply overwhelmed by the scary future. Why else wouldn’t I brag about being a failed lab experiment?" He tilted his helm, brow ridges drawing upwards, and his optics blinking impossibly bigger. "Though, I can tell you’ve done well for yourself here. Without me.” His innocent expression spread into a smile that bordered on a sneer. “Tell me, how many sparks did they place next to you after they took me out? Or was it so many you lost count? The lab’s ability to identify outliers was rather overstated.”

Completely ignoring Starscream’s mockery, Thundercracker reached out a servo as if to cup the side of the shorter seeker’s helm, only to leave his servo hovering in the air before making contact to softly ask, “What did they do to you after they took you from us?”

Starscream batted the servo away and took a half-step back; the tree’s hanging branches fell over his shoulder exhausts and over the front of his chassis, their green leaves completely covering his wings.

Sternly, he answered, “Nothing that concerns you. I mean it. There is nothing between us, nothing real.”

Thundercracker’s hovering servo clenched, and he brought it back to his side, an awful, pitying look dimming red optics. “Starscream…you know that’s not true. We’re trine.”

He had to lock a knee in place to stop himself from stomping a pede. “Yes, it is. And no, we’re not. Even before I was frozen, trines no longer served their intended purpose. Their bonds were artificially created and could be chosen at any time. The use of enkindlers became obsolete. In all the time I’ve been gone, you could have chosen another. That you didn’t proves that you do not need a trine. No seeker does.”

Thundercracker’s expression turned incredulous, as though Starscream had said something remarkably absurd. With impassioned vocals, the blue seeker disputed, “What sane mech would choose to live under artificial light after having felt the sun’s warmth brush across his spark?”

The taller seeker strode forward, joining Starscream inside the weeping willow. Long branches hung over and across the blue seeker's wings; they draped down the sides of his helm.

Starscream tensed, the Decepticon’s greater size more apparent in such a confined space. There was no way he could move out from underneath the tree without coming into contact with the blue seeker. A simple, rational acknowledgment that in no way left him feeling intimidated. He was not intimidated by Thundercracker’s size. Starscream had been built stronger than any other seeker. He could force his way past should the need arise. He just…didn’t want to harm the tree if it came to that.

Either ignorant of or ignoring the shorter mech’s dilemma, Thundercracker continued his diatribe after only a brief pause.

“But you’re right, Starscream. Trines no longer revolve around function. There is no need for them, only want." He boxed the shorter seeker in, grey talons spreading out over the tree on either side of Starscream's helm, their sharp points digging into the bark as he leaned down, whispering hotly into Starscream's audial, "And Skywarp and I. Want. You.”

He gasped; in an instant, Thundercracker’s spark had begun resonating against his own. Desire phased through his canopy and curled inside his spark chamber, warming his frame with its intensity. Starscream’s servos scraped against the tree as he tried to escape, but there was nowhere for him to go. “How did you…” He snapped his mouth closed, gritting his denta as another wave of yearning crashed through him. His throat cables constricted, swallowing around nothing.

“I was holding back. Maintaining a spark bond for as long as Warp and I have can allow for certain…proficiencies to develop. I can close and open the bond at will, that includes our sparks’ resonance.”

Hot vents brushed against his audial as Thundercracker chuckled, causing Starscream to shudder. He could hear the grin in the mech’s vocals as he continued, “Like I said, I didn’t want to frighten you.”

The taunt worked to fill Starscream with enough rage to temporarily overwhelm Thundercracker’s spark with his own; he blinked, realizing his more powerful emotion was able to block the other’s from entering his spark, and he pushed as much loathing as he could forward. It was a strange sensation, the intentional manipulation of his spark energy, and he had no way of knowing if it worked.

But something in his repulsion must have shaken Thundercracker’s confidence, because the mech stilled, and Starscream tensed the cabling along his arms—but just as Starscream prepared to retaliate, before he could shove Thundercracker away, the blue seeker was backing out of the willow tree with his servos raised. Engine revving in outrage, Starscream followed after him. The slender branches parted around him as he marched past them to stand in front of the arrogant mech.

“How dare you! What about what I want?” He snapped. “Did you not tell Skywarp it would be my choice? Or was that just another Decepticon lie?”

“I did not lie. What we are was decided before either of us could form conscious thought.” Thundercracker’s arrogant smirk softened into a doting smile. “But the how, and the when that bond consummates, is your choice.”

Hastily, he responded, “Never. I choose never.”

Thundercracker’s optics darkened, and his pleasant smile began to slowly fall as he demurred, “For a species such as ours, never is an incongruous term. Sooner than later, this war will end—and then you will have forever to contemplate your attachment to never.”

Their resonance twirled together, his spark expanding as if to draw the other into its casing. Thundercracker’s field pulsated with desperate want, joined by total certainty. Starscream tried to draw his spark back, to sever the connection, but he had no experience and could only mitigate the impact of the emotions pressing into his own. He could not completely cut off the feeling, as Thundercracker had. Though, however unpleasant the experience, it had informed him of something he had been previously uncertain of.

Thundercracker believed every word he vocalized.

Starscream’s optics widened, and he slapped a closed fist into his palm in a sudden realization. “You’re as insane as Skywarp.”

The larger seeker dared to laugh, full-framed and booming, at Starscream's observation. Once Thundercracker’s laughter had petered to short chuckles, he placed his servos over light grey hips and smiled, “Comparing me to my spark mate is not the insult you think it is, Starscream. In time, I’m sure you’ll come to think the same.”

The mech then sighed and looked up into the sky, then back down at Starscream, his smile waning, "Unfortunately, this is where I'll have to cut our night short. I'm expected back on the Triumph soon and have much to prepare before our next encounter; I’m sure you know what it is.” The Decepticon finished with a wink—Starscream didn’t think he had ever wanted to punch a mech more in his entire function. And that included his every confrontation with Skywarp.

To prevent himself from acting out just fantasies, he crossed his arms over his chassis and said, “If it’s what I think it is, you needn’t bother. My answer will be no.”

The Decepticon shrugged a shoulder dismissively, his broad blue wings rising up and down in a traditional Vosian goodbye. “I will leave you to your thoughts.” Then, with a slight bow. “I look forward to the day I’m privy to them.”

Thundercracker leaped into the air and transformed, his alien-alt the same as Starscream’s, only bulkier. The blue seeker flew slowly over the lake, turning sideways so the tip of a wing penetrated the water, gliding through it before the jet spun and lifted away, his boosters activating. Fast waves followed Thundercracker’s departing boom; they lapped at the shore, some rising onto the bank and over Starscream’s pedes.

His gaze followed the Decepticon, the mech’s blue slowly blending into the night sky. Starscream wore no expression. He could settle on no emotion: frustration, fear, fury; they all swirled in his spark, replacing each other in rapid succession as the dominant and repeating the pattern before his processor could visualize the emotion.

Something small and slimy touched the tip of his pede, and Starscream spared a quick glance down to see that the amphibian had returned. A loud croak echoed across the lake, the organic once again offering its unsolicited opinion.

In a fit of sheer “it’s too late and we’re too tired”, @kiribytes and I birthed this… thing