Chapter Text
Crossfire took after Skyfire in frame, with snowy white plating and stubby square winglets. The medics had all commented on his violet optics, a rare color that might become more common in the future as mechs began courtships across the old faction lines.
At three solar cycles old, Crossfire was happy and healthy, but the medics were not letting Starscream leave the hospital yet. He was not surprised. Skyfire—his brilliant, precious, devoted Skyfire—had managed to create a serum that counteracted his panic attacks, the same panic attacks that had caused him to lose their first sparklet.
Nobody had really reacted positively to the news that Starscream was carrying again, because everyone knew what the end result would be. Not a single sparklet had made it to emergence since Rain Dust and Solar Flare a few hundred vorns ago.
Sparklets were tiny and fragile, barely more than a puff of light and a sliver of crystal. When their carrier sparks inevitably suffered panic attacks, the sparklets would be disrupted and absorb back in.
But Skyfire was determined that Starscream wouldn’t lose another sparklet. He’d spent every waking moment perfecting the serum that would intercept a panic attack quickly enough to prevent reabsorption. Nobody had believed it would work.
But now Starscream was cradling a brand-new sparkling in his arms, and some mechs had come from the Senate to talk to Skyfire about his invention. Skyfire had reluctantly left Starscream’s side to see what they wanted.
Crossfire pressed himself close to Starscream’s chassis, seeking out the familiar spark that had supported him for the last stellar cycle. His faceplates were so soft and innocent that Starscream had difficulty believing that this was really his sparkling.
He couldn’t do much more than chew on his own digits and make noises, but Starscream found him fascinating. Crossfire was impossibly small, with joints so tiny that he would not have been able to even perceive them if not for his scientist-grade optics. It almost made him regret that he’d specialized in energy production instead of cyber-biology.
The doors slid open, and Crossfire looked up hopefully, obviously anticipating the return of his sire. But instead, a pair of seekers entered the room, Skywarp and Thundercracker.
“Oh Primus, look at him!” cried Skywarp, rushing forward to attempt to pry Crossfire out of Starscream’s servos. “TC look! Look! Look at him!”
Crossfire chirruped and looked back and forth between the two new additions to his small world. Starscream pulled him close, protectively.
“I think you both owe me an apology,” he said sharply.
“Aw, come on—” whined Skywarp, edging around the hospital berth so he could be nearer to the sparkling. Starscream immediately shifted in the other direction. “Don’t be a glitch!”
“I can have the medics throw you out,” Starscream threatened.
“Fine. I’m sorry we doubted Skyfire’s magic potion,” Skywarp said impatiently. “Now let me hold him!”
That was probably as good as he would ever get from Skywarp, and he reluctantly handed Crossfire over. The sparkling gurgled and patted his ex-wingmate’s faceplates.
“There’s other mechs who want to visit, too,” said Thundercracker. “You really should let them, if you’re feeling up to it. It’s been so long…”
Starscream knew, and he was torn between his instinct to keep Crossfire far, far away from the scary noisy dangerous outside world and his desire to bask in the attention and goodwill of his fellow Cybertronians.
He was also looking forward to uploading some video files of Crossfire to the datanet. Footage of Armistice and the twins had received millions of hits, and Crossfire was far cuter than some civilian femme or his glitched clone’s glitched spawn. Crossfire’s first video would get billions of hits, and spread to the most remote corners of the galaxy, and beyond.
As Skywarp and Thundercracker cooed over Crossfire, Starscream pulled up some of the videos in question, wondering if there was anything in them that he could take inspiration from. Elita’s most popular video was a fairly recent one, titled “Armistice tries out her new language software.” In it, she cradled Armistice in her arms and sang to her.
The song was an Autobot battle hymn, but Elita sang slowly and gently, and the song took on a new, gentler meaning. Armistice gazed up at her carrier with enormous lightning-blue optics and sang along, awkwardly, missing half the words but clearly trying her best to follow the tune.
Starscream chewed his lower lipplate. Armistice was now in her second frame and everyone knew toddling, wide-opticked second frames were objectively cuter than scrunchy, wriggly first frames. He wouldn’t hold Crossfire to that standard, yet. But he would have to think of something good if he wanted to show the universe who had the best sparkling on Cybertron.
“Alright, that’s enough. Give him back,” commanded Starscream, holding his arms out. Skywarp whined in complaint, but Crossfire was already leaning in towards his carrier’s outstretched arms. Once he was back, he immediately cuddled against Starscream’s chest.
“TC,” said Skywarp, urgency in his voice. “I need one.”
“Ha! As though you could keep a newspark alive for more than two breems!” scoffed Starscream.
“Frag you!”
“Don’t swear in front of my sparkling,” Starscream retorted, putting his servos over Crossfire’s tiny, tiny audials. Crossfire looked up at him in confusion.
“He doesn’t have language files. He can’t understand,” said Skywarp.
“Starscream,” said Thundercracker. “Be serious for a moment. Is Skyfire willing to sell his serum?”
Starscream looked up from Crossfire. “I don’t know,” he said. “We haven’t been thinking about it.”
“Well, maybe you should,” Thundercracker said. “I think there would be a lot of mechs interested in it.”
Starscream’s tickled the edge of Crossfire’s winglets, causing them to sweep all the way downward. He wasn’t really in the mood to think about anything other than himself and his sparkling and the billions of hits his first video would get.
He would have to work hard to outdo Sunstorm. Not only were Sunstorm’s sparklings also in their second frames, but they were twins. Solar Flare and Rain Dust were cute, he supposed, but they got more attention than they really deserved by virtue of being twins and having a habit of holding servos across Sunstorm’s chest whenever he carried them out in public.
He might even have to consult with Soundwave. Soundwave knew a thing or two about shooting cute sparkling videos. And the mech could use a distraction from sitting at Megatron’s bedside and sighing heavily for cycles on end.
The door opened again, and Skyfire entered, ducking his helm to avoid the doorframe. He went to Starscream and kissed him deeply.
“Do you remember those apartments in central Iacon you liked?” Skyfire asked as they pulled apart.
“Yes?” said Starscream, who had not been expecting this line of conversation.
“Would you like to live there?”
“We can’t afford that, Skyfire,” Starscream reminded him, wondering how Skyfire had managed to forget their financial situation. The apartments in question had been lovely, located in a tall and ornate luxury building that had been exactly to Starscream’s lavish tastes but not, unfortunately, his budget. Especially not after he had all but bankrupted himself rebuilding the Academy.
“We can now,” said Skyfire cryptically. “But don’t worry. I’ll handle all that. You just rest.” He kissed Starscream’s forehelm again. “How is Crossfire?”
The sparkling in question was now chirping eagerly at Skyfire. Skyfire picked him up in his massive servos and cradled him to his chest.
“Windblade is downstairs,” added Skyfire. “She’d like to visit.”
Starscream’s plating flared out defensively. “Is she here to apologize for stealing my lipstick?”
“I don’t know about that,” said Skyfire placidly. “But she brought a gift.”
Oh. Well. That changed things. Starscream cycled his vents deeply. “I will,” he said, “consider it.”
Skyfire turned to Skywarp and Thundercracker. “It’s good to see you,” he said warmly. “Thank you for keeping Star company.”
“It’s no trouble,” said Thundercracker. Then his optics darkened. “I was just wondering—that is, we were wondering…” He looked at Skywarp. “The serum that you created—”
“I can’t say anything yet,” interrupted Skyfire. “But just be patient. Some things are in development.”
Starscream looked up and send a questioning pulse across their bond. Skyfire responded with his own pulse of patience. Normally Starscream would be irritated by this response, but he couldn’t bring himself to mind too much today.
Crossfire’s tiny servos grabbed at Skyfire’s nasal ridge. Skyfire laughed and passed him back to Starscream, where he immediately settled.
“Should I tell the medics to send Windblade up?” asked Skyfire.
“I suppose,” said Starscream, waving his servo like a Golden Age senator granting favors. “But I’m throwing her out if her gift is terrible.”