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Chapter Text

The Decepticons were hopelessly outnumbered, but Megatron faced the situation with his usual stubborn arrogance, Optimus noted. It wasn't even exasperating at this point, just another thing to expect from this seemingly endless war...there was still deep within him some hope that Megatron could see the destruction he'd caused for what it was - pointless destruction - but that hope was admittedly dwindling. If there was one thing that could be counted on to be true, it was that Megatron would always act like Megatron. And that Starscream would always provoke his wrath. 

The Autobot leader was pulled from his reflection on their conflict by his enemy's glowering snarl. "You may have won this battle, Optimus Prime, but I will triumph…and the Decepticons shall rule forever!"

Before Optimus could reply, the Decepticon second-in-command, standing with two Coneheads off to Megatron's side, muttered a snide remark just loudly enough to be heard. "How will we rule at all with a leader who can't even defeat a few Autobots?" Megatron scowled, and the Coneheads backed up cautiously. Starscream's smug expression fell into wide-eyed fear and he flinched back as his leader turned and grabbed him by the throat, forcing the jet to his knees. "Megatron, please! Don't - please! "

"I've had enough of your babbling, Starscream." Megatron sneered down at the helpless Decepticon, tightening the iron grip of his hand around his neck, cutting off the jet's strangled pleas entirely as Starscream clawed desperately at the servo threatening him with such an agonizing termination, optics bright with terror but already dimming from the lack of oxygen in his combustion systems. The sound of his servos scrabbling at Megatron's hand grew fainter as he grew weaker, still trying to cling to consciousness, fighting for any possibility of mercy…

"That's enough, Megatron!" Optimus stepped forward without thinking, anger burning hot through his wiring.

Megatron's attention shifted to the Autobot leader, and he turned to face him fully, dropping Starscream to the ground like a discarded circuitboard. The jet collapsed on his side, his whole frame wracked by violent coughing as he struggled to breathe. "Do you think you can discipline him better, Prime?" Something decidedly wicked glinted in Megatron's eye as the Decepticon spoke in mock curiosity. Behind him, Starscream's coughing had subsided into ragged breathing as the smaller Transformer lay curled up and shivering. Optimus couldn't see his face. "I know my soldiers, Prime." Megatron's voice grew deadly with warning. "You would do well to stick to yours." With that, he gave the call for retreat and took off, followed by the two Coneheads who, to their credit, at least spared their second-in-command a glance, hesitating before abandoning him where he lay.

Optimus could feel Ironhide's gaze on him, as well as the semi-confused stares of the other Autobots, but he ignored them, instead moving to offer a hand to the damaged Decepticon, who was now trying to force himself to stand. "Starscream-"

"I don't need your pity, Prime ." He spat the title as though it were an insult, swatting away Optimus's extended servo. The jet's right optic had burnt out from the strain on his systems, and his one-eyed glare blazed with fury and hurt and humiliation...and shame. His voice was raspy and raw. "...I had it under control."

Optimus was unconvinced, but tactfully did not say as much.

Ironhide, however, had no such concern for the Decepticon's dignity. " Sure you did. Come on, Starscream, admit it: if it hadn't been for Optimus, you'd be scrap metal." It was that open honesty of thought which Optimus loved about him - that and his rough but sincere empathy - but that was not always what the situation called for. In this case his interjection only made Starscream more defensive: the jet struggled to his feet and drew himself up to his full height, his expression carefully guarded, and Optimus felt anger surge through him again as he saw Megatron's handprint indented into the metal of Starscream's throat.

Starscream, it seemed, had in turn noticed Optimus's silent anger, though he appeared unsure as to its cause. Fear flashed momentarily in his working optic, and through the crack in the Decepticon's haughty exterior Optimus could see the storm of misery and hatred seething within him before he dismissed his instinctual fright and closed the facade again firmly. He swept one last mute, contemptuous glare over the watching Autobots and took to the air, transforming and flying unsteadily off in pursuit of the other Decepticons. Optimus watched as his contrail vanished into the distance, brooding.

"Why'd you let him get away, Prime?! We had him!"

"Easy, Cliffjumper. I'm sure Optimus has his reasons."

Lost in thought - and disturbed at what that contemplation revealed to him - Optimus was only vaguely aware of Ironhide keeping the more battle-hungry Autobots in line, but was much appreciative of it. Right now...well, he wasn't exactly in the mood to share the cause of his uneasiness. It was a very delicate matter…

"You alright, Optimus?" Ironhide's concerned voice shook him temporarily from his reverie, and he met his friend's gaze with warm gratitude. They'd all been together for so long, and Ironhide had always been especially sensitive towards Optimus's tendency for melancholic contemplation, even more so than Ratchet.

"I… Yes. I'm alright, old friend." And he was. He felt secure in the care and compassion of his friends. Optimus could hardly begin to fathom what the corruption of that connection would feel like, and so he allowed himself to lapse once more into silent thought, mulling over whether anything could be done.

Chapter Text

The mountainside echoed with the sounds of battle, laser fire flashing brilliantly against the snowy backdrop. Optimus aimed his laser rifle carefully at Rumble, who was sneaking up on Bumblebee, and fired, sending the cassette flying. The little yellow Autobot turned in surprise and gave Prime a wave of acknowledgement, and in the split second that Prime let his guard down to return the gesture Astrotrain barreled into him. The Triple Changer's steam engine form knocked him halfway down the mountain and into a narrow pass, but as he got to his feet with a muttered curse he noted with amused satisfaction that Ironhide and Jazz had teamed up against the Decepticon, alternating shots and insults, slowly but surely forcing the disoriented Triple Changer back. Prime took a moment to check himself for damage, internally groaning at the numerous shallow scrapes he'd suffered from tumbling down the rocky terrain. He hadn't sustained any serious damage - just a few very minor dents - but his paint job was scratched up, metal shining silver underneath.

The rumbling roar of a jet engine shook snow off an overhang onto Optimus's helm, and he brushed it off, turning back to the battle. Last he'd noticed, Starscream had been locked in combat with Hound, but clearly that had ended one way or another as the Jet now streaked across the sky, regrouping with Thundercracker and Skywarp before all three Jets banked back for a strafing rush on the Autobots fighting on the ground. Prime ducked and the others scattered, with the exception of Brawn, who calmly adjusted his aim from behind Trailbreaker's forcefield and then fired as soon as the Jets had passed. Brawn was one of the smallest and most experienced Autobots, and his single static shot hit target directly, knocking Starscream out of the air, his systems temporarily offline. Thundercracker and Skywarp looped away and rejoined the battle, and their leader careened over Prime's head to crash against the unyielding rock behind him.

Despite how impressive the crash looked, Starscream seemed more annoyed than anything, transforming and shaking his helm to clear his sensory input - and he only grew more so when his optics refocused on the barrel of Optimus Prime's laser rifle aimed directly at him. The Decepticon jet was certainly resilient, glaring up at Prime with a proudly defiant look on his faceplate, and troublingly that glare reminded Optimus of the last time he'd seen Starscream, desperate and miserable and still so proud.

Starscream was still a Decepticon, and perhaps that was why it had taken Optimus so long to see what had been going on right in front of him. Megatron had never done anything even remotely close to...what he'd done last time - well, he'd never done anything like that that Optimus had seen - recalling seemingly infinite instances of Megatron threatening Starscream, and not even subtly, Optimus was aghast at how insidious Megatron had been not to go too far in front of him or the others before. And he was disgusted at himself for not noticing the fear in the Jet's eyes; the resentment and misery radiating from him growing with every smug insult Megatron tossed his way, his desperation rising with every curt dismissal of his abilities, acting out impulsively to prove his worth - or just to gain Megatron's attention.

Optimus lowered his laser rifle. "Starscream...are you alright?"

Starscream stared at him with an unreadable expression on his face, his gaze piercing. His faceplate contorted with rage. "Are you mocking me, Prime?! "

Optimus's optics widened and he raised a hand defensively. "I - No, I'm not mocking you. I want to know if you're alright." He couldn't keep the bewilderment from his voice. Perhaps proud wasn't the right word. Could this, too, be fear? He couldn't imagine the circumstances that could make a robot so suspicious of others, so scared to trust. Something about the sincerity in his tone must have convinced Starscream he was telling the truth, because the Jet's eyes fell and for a moment he was openly vulnerable, caught off guard by Prime's question and emotionally fragile as a result.

Then a change came over his expression and he glared at Prime with eyes as cold as steel. "I'm not one of your Autobot weaklings ," he spat venomously.

"Starscream, this - it doesn't make you weak." Optimus sighed. This wasn't going anywhere. He wished he'd had more time to figure out what he was going to say first. "I want to help you, Starscream, if you'll let me."

" How stupid do you think I am?! " The Jet raised his arm to fire his null-ray at Prime before remembering that his weapons had been neutralized. He muttered something under his breath, lowering his arm again stiffly.

Just then, Megatron called for retreat, his angry shout echoing off the mountainside. Starscream's optics darted to the sky and then back to Prime, realizing that the Autobot had him cornered. Optimus felt just as trapped. Now that he knew even vaguely what was going on, would he be responsible if something happened to Starscream because he didn't prevent it? At the very least, he knew he'd blame himself. He could - he could take the Decepticon prisoner, he supposed; keep him away from Megatron by force...but that wasn't the way to go about things, and he dismissed the stray thought as quickly as it had occurred. Instead he stepped aside, leaving Starscream an opening to escape. The Jet looked as though he couldn't quite believe it, but he didn't stick around to see if Prime would change his mind. He slipped past Optimus without a word, transforming and flying off to join the other Decepticons.

Optimus Prime turned to watch him leave, his helm tilted to view the sky, feeling more helpless than before. Perhaps his interference wasn't wanted - but he couldn't justify staying out of it, not anymore. He felt eyes on him and looked back up the mountainside to see Ironhide watching him with mixed sympathy and skepticism. The others were cheering their victory, but raggedly so - it had been a hard battle, and the Autobots were restless to get back to the Ark for rest and repairs. Optimus Prime raised his laser rifle in salute to their triumph and gave the order. "Autobots, transform - and roll out!"

---

The doors to his quarters slid shut behind him, and Optimus Prime heaved a weary sigh. It had been a longer day than usual, and his processor was as troubled as he was exhausted. The spacious rooms seemed emptier than usual somehow; the light off the metallic walls seemed harsh and cold instead of warm and inviting. Even so, it was a relief to finally finish his duties and get away from the other Autobots - he wasn't sure how much longer he could stay so outwardly optimistic when he didn't feel like this battle had been much of a victory. If he'd just said the right things - if he hadn't been so clumsy with his words -

Ironhide emerged from the berthroom where he'd been waiting, and Optimus pulled the red Autobot into a tight embrace, nuzzling affectionately against his helm, welcoming the distraction from his thoughts. His friend seemed surprised but pleasantly so, relaxing into Optimus's arms. "Where are Ratchet and Wheeljack?" Optimus murmured, still holding Ironhide close to him.

"They're in Wheeljack's lab, testin'...some new theory. Judgin' from the look in Wheeljack's eye, it won't be just theory for much longer." The red Transformer shifted in Optimus's servos, pulling away just far enough to smile up at him, optics glittering with amusement at the thought of Wheeljack's wild scientific passion. Too soon, his expression grew serious. "Look, Prime…"

"Not right now, Ironhide," he sighed. The last thing he wanted to do was think about what had happened earlier. "Please."

"...alright, Optimus." He stepped out of Optimus's embrace but took his hand, leading him to the berth where he sat down next to him. The red Autobot scratched the back of his helm, considering. "Far as I can figure, you wouldn't do anything like recently without a good reason. And, even if I don't know what it is yet, you know you've got my support. Always." He smiled up at him again, and Optimus couldn't help but smile back behind his battle-mask, optics shining with glad affection.

"Thank you, old friend." He retracted his battle-mask and pulled Ironhide into another hug, lifting him up carefully and moving so they were lying on the berth together.  "And I promise, I will tell you and the others everything as soon as I have an idea of how to handle it." Ironhide seemed content with that, draping an arm loosely over Optimus's waist and stretching up to kiss him before resting his helm on his chassis. They lay there in silence for a while, Optimus gently stroking Ironhide's helm, neither quite ready to go offline. Ironhide really was wonderful - he and Ratchet were both very perceptive to Optimus's emotions and knew how to comfort him without even being asked. It was something they'd done for almost as long as he could remember, and yet it was always so incredible to him. Even Wheeljack, with whom he just wasn't close in the same way, was a wholeheartedly sympathetic friend. He knew he provided them with equal stability and encouragement and love in return, but sometimes he found himself wondering how he'd been so lucky… "When do you think Ratchet and Wheeljack might return?" he murmured. A muffled explosion echoed through the halls of the Ark. Optimus laid a tired hand on his faceplate.

Ironhide stifled a laugh. "I'd say not for a while."

"...should we go check on them?" He started to get up, only for Ironhide to push him back down insistently.

"Naw, they'll be fine. Ratchet'll keep Wheeljack from doin' anything too dangerous. You're gonna stay right here and rest, Optimus." With that, Ironhide cuddled closer against Optimus's frame, and the Autobot leader held him securely in his servos, finally drifting off into recharge.

Chapter Text

Starscream was scared.

Megatron had been in a worse mood than usual lately, and that alone would be cause for caution, but ever since Prime had interfered, the Decepticon leader had been watching Starscream far more closely, glowering over his shoulder or from across the room to catch him in any small mistake, anything that might prove evidence of treachery or, better yet, serve as a reasonable excuse to discipline the Jet. It was as though Megatron could see the thoughts racing through his processor; could tell that Starscream was beginning to second-guess Megatron's reasons - and it was making him unpredictable. Usually there was some method to Megatron's madness. If Starscream failed, of course, he'd be punished for it, or at the very least admonished. He was second-in-command, after all. He had to meet a higher standard than the witless brutes Megatron kept as soldiers. If he showed disrespect or disloyalty, well. Megatron did not tolerate traitors, unless they were as valuable as Starscream.

Usually. But recently he'd been more readily violent than usual, storming around seething and just waiting for Starscream to be careless so he could knock him to the ground. It was all Prime's fault. Everything had been fine until Prime had interfered. But as the whirling snow drifted outside the mouth of the cave where the Decepticons stood waiting, Starscream caught himself remembering...Megatron had been unpredictable for a while now. He wasn't sure when the Decepticon leader's behavior had changed, but it had been some time since Starscream had felt he had any control in the situation, and the realization left him feeling as lost as he was miserable.

Prime certainly hadn't helped things, but...he wasn't the source of Starscream's despair. And it was despair - the Jet felt something inside him twist as he found he couldn't remember the last time he'd felt anything but this bitter resentment and pain. His ambition had blinded him, perhaps, and now Megatron had him trapped. He thought more about Megatron now - hating him, admiring him, fearing him, wanting to prove himself to him and to be better than him and to destroy him - than he did about his actual intentions in advocating for a change of leadership. He still remembered what he'd dreamed of, listening to Megatron's speeches, joining the Decepticons all that long, long time ago...but it seemed naive and foolish to him suddenly, in contrast to all he'd suffered and continued to suffer. If only he'd listened to Skyfire.

If only he hadn't lost Skyfire.

It was too late to change any of that now. The snow outside fell harder, gusting in the cold wind. Starscream barely noticed. He could still feel Megatron's hand crushing his throat. Megatron hadn't left him alone for more than a few astroseconds since Prime messed everything up. It was always Thundercracker and Skywarp very obviously under orders to watch him, or Soundwave or their cassettes doing the same, or Megatron himself insisting on watching his second-in-command work...the constant surveillance was new. And it only made Starscream more sure that Megatron had really meant to terminate him. He couldn't - he didn't want to believe it, didn't want to believe that his value could be so trivial to Megatron that the other Decepticon would grow tired of him and just - just kill him for a single remark - but the facts all seemed to add up to that. Starscream had greatly overestimated how irreplaceable he was in Megatron's eyes, and that realization left him cold with terror.

"You seem nervous, Starscream…"

Of course Megatron had noticed his distress. The Decepticon leader was always keen to pick up on any weakness in the Jet. "I don't like this plan, Megatron," he replied quickly, covering up his real concern with a more acceptable doubt. "How do you know Prime will even show up?"

"Oh, he'll show up…" Megatron chuckled darkly, lapsing into silence as he stared through the flurrying snow at the horizon. Starscream allowed himself to relax slightly now that Megatron's attention had turned away from him. That vicious, analytical stare...it was almost as if the Decepticon leader could see right into Starscream's central processor. He suppressed a shiver. Those baleful red optics had almost been his last sight. If Prime hadn't stepped in - Starscream paused. Prime had saved his life. The Autobot was a fool, of course, saving an enemy, but - he had done it all the same. Something unfamiliar sparked and began to burn within Starscream's chassis, something tiny and bright and very, very delicate. On the mountain, the Autobot hadn't fired at him - had let him go - maybe it was all just a trick, some clever ruse, but somehow he didn't quite think it was. Prime had said... Starscream froze, suddenly noticing Megatron's glaring optics piercing through the dim light of the cave, the menacing red glow fixed directly on him. "Not thinking of doing anything... foolish , are you?"

Terror flashed like cold fire through his circuits - Megatron knew - but he stamped it down firmly, giving his leader a flat look. "Like what?" 

"I'm sure you'd think of something ," Megatron grumbled disinterestedly, but again he turned his attention to the horizon, waiting for Optimus Prime and the Autobots. Starscream turned too, relieved that Megatron had lost interest when he did - the stress of his leader's suspicions finally caught up to him physically, and Starscream's left optic began to flicker, the loose connection left by Hook's shoddy repair job a tell-tale sign of his distress. It was a new injury, the result of Megatron's ire as always. When things were quiet he could still hear the metallic ring of Megatron's Energon mace colliding with his helm echoing in his processor. He tapped the side of his helm with his servo, and when that didn't work he curled his hand into a fist and hit his helm harder. The connection eased up and Starscream shook his helm to relieve the slight ache, his optic glowing steadily again.

It didn't matter what Prime had said. Starscream was a Decepticon, and proud to be one...and he and Megatron both knew he wouldn't - couldn't - just throw away what he'd worked so hard to achieve. This was just another obstacle. Nothing he couldn't handle.

Still, the Autobot's words...frustratingly, they wouldn't leave him alone, echoing in his processor no matter how resolutely he ignored them. It was foolish. It was nothing more than wild hope - and what miserable hope, at that! As if he would ever put himself at the mercy of the enemy, begging for their help!

Starscream was jolted back to the present by Megatron's hand landing heavily on his shoulder. He thought perhaps the Decepticon leader hadn't noticed him flinch, but the spark of satisfaction in those hateful red optics and the cruel grin in Megatron's voice told him otherwise. "Didn't I tell you, Starscream?" He snarled Starscream's name like it was an insult. "There's Prime now." He leaned in close, his servos denting the armored plating just hard enough to remind Starscream of his strength. As if Starscream needed to be reminded. "I trust you can carry out your simple role in this mission successfully?"

"Of course, mighty Megatron," Starscream answered quietly. Megatron still seemed displeased, but when was he ever pleased these days? Regardless, the taller Decepticon stalked out into the frozen wasteland outside the cave to goad Prime into distraction, alone as the plan called for. As his shadow slid off of Starscream's frame, the Jet realized he was shaking slightly - he was scared; he was to his core terrified of what Megatron could do, his processor flashing memories of past hurt faster than he could think. But instead of the resentful, desperate treachery Starscream so often indulged in just so he could have any measure of control, or the resigned despair he'd been so used to of late...the strange ember burning in his chassis only grew hotter, on the verge of bursting into flame.

Through the whirling snow, Megatron gave the signal. Starscream took a deep breath, steeling himself for the task ahead. "Decepticons… ATTACK! " He charged forwards, the others following behind him with a roar. 

Chapter Text

The Autobots were not exactly caught by surprise. This entire scheme had seemed an obvious setup for an ambush, and they'd known the Constructicons had been spotted up here and were conspicuously absent when they'd arrived. Megatron's grand speech to Optimus Prime had all the makings of an exceptionally clumsy misdirect.

What they hadn't expected was the sheer number of Decepticons Megatron had stowed away. Luckily, Blaster was able to radio the Aerialbots for backup, but it would still be some time before they arrived, and for now it was all they could do to hold their position among the icy boulders of the rocky tundra while they waited. A mortar blast from Blitzwing nearly turned Optimus's cover to shrapnel, and he returned fire with his laser rifle before moving out into the open, dropping over the edge of a small cliff to join a few of the other Autobots in more secure shelter.

"Prime! What's the ETA on those Aerialbots?" Hound asked, his tone urgent but apologetically so.

Optimus sighed, resting the barrel of his laser rifle against the sparse grass at the top of the cliff. "Blaster said no more than thirty minutes. That was maybe four minutes ago." He locked Onslaught in his crosshairs and sent the Combaticon sprawling, then ducked down to dodge Swindle's missile barrage.

Next to him, Warpath fired a mortar shell that knocked all three components of Reflector to the ground. "That's wham! an awful long time to ka zow! hold out, Prime!" The tank's next shell went high, narrowly missing Ramjet - and then Ironhide's shot detonated it, and the Conehead barely managed to recover from the blast in time to pull up before he hit the ground.

"Not sure if you noticed, Warpath, but we don't exactly got a choice," Ironhide grumbled.

The roar of twin jet engines overhead caught Optimus's auditory receptors, and he looked up again to see Starscream streaking over their heads - but instead of blitzing them, the Decepticon second-in-command appeared to stall midair, losing altitude rapidly. Optimus narrowed his eyes, suspicious. He hadn't seen any weapon hit Starscream, and the Jet wasn't exactly known for engine trouble. Sure enough, instead of actually crashing, the Decepticon jet transformed only a half a dozen or so feet above the ground and landed, hidden from the battle by the angle of the frost-covered cliff. He seemed uncharacteristically subdued, glancing around warily at the weapons suddenly aimed at him with optics betraying uncertainty. Optimus waved his hand and the other Autobots lowered their weapons doubtfully. Starscream's red optics met his, and his gaze was piercing and vulnerable, staring into the depths of Optimus's processor. His voice was just as fragile. "Prime…" The Jet trailed off, his left optic flickering madly. Before Optimus could say anything, he slammed his open servo against the side of his helm, wincing, but the percussive maintenance seemed to work - when he looked back at Optimus, both his optics were glowing normally again.

Something strange - something Optimus Prime wasn't used to feeling - ran along his circuitry like cold water, sparking the world into clearer view around him. "No harm will come to you while you are under my protection," he affirmed. "I guarantee that." Relief flooded Starscream's optics, tension visibly leaving the smaller Transformer's frame.

"You sure picked a convenient time to defect, Screamer ," Ironhide interjected, unimpressed. He turned to Optimus, apologetically skeptical. "How do we know this isn't a trick? A Decepticon plot?"

Optimus started to reply, knowing that Ironhide would trust his judgement on the matter, but Starscream answered first, proud and defensive and bristling with anger. "Do you SERIOUSLY think I'd come HERE - to YOU - if I had ANY other choice?!" His voice shook with plaintive misery. " He's going to kill me. " Speaking the words seemed to bring with them realization. All the fire and fury left his frame in an instant, and his optic, wide with dawning despair, flickered again and went dead as the connection failed under stress. The Jet hit his palm against his helm again, harder this time, grimacing at the pain, but his optic stayed dull.

Ironhide had the good grace to look ashamed. "Well, look here. Prime's not about to let that happen. And neither am I, or any other Autobot for that matter."

Starscream didn't reply, glaring one-eyed at the cliff with his arms crossed defensively. Laser fire raked the tundra nearby, and Warpath jumped to return the sentiment, with Ironhide turning back to provide cover as well. Optimus hummed, deep in thought. There was still the issue of this situation. There would certainly be suspicion if the second-in-command of the Decepticons disappeared without a trace, and Megatron wasn't the type to give up, especially when his first thought would likely be that Starscream was once again scheming to overthrow him. They couldn't claim to have taken the Jet prisoner, because inevitably Megatron would eventually lead an unwanted rescue effort. "How are we going to get Starscream out of here such that Megatron will leave him alone?" Optimus mused, thinking out loud, not expecting an answer.

"...I may have a solution to that, Prime," said Hound. "But I can't guarantee you'll like it."

Prime tilted his helm, curious. "Run it by me."

The green Autobot scratched his helm. "Well, if Warpath'll help with the fireworks, I can project a pretty convincing crash…of course, if anyone tries to haul the wreckage off, we'll be sunk."

It was the best shot they had, and they didn't have the time to think of anything better. The Aerialbots were due any minute now. "It's risky, but we'll do it." Optimus Prime nodded to Hound and took up his position kneeling against the cliff again, watching the battle through the scope of his laser rifle while Hound quickly filled Warpath in on the details of his plan. Belatedly, he realized Starscream must be lost as to what to do, and beckoned the Jet over, motioning for him to stay down. The Decepticon obeyed but moved cautiously around to Optimus's other side, keeping all the Autobots within view of his working optic.

"Alright, we're ready to go," called Hound.

Starscream muttered something too quietly to hear, then tilted his helm to scowl past Optimus at the Jeep. "When you project the flight image, make sure there's no one else in the sky. They'll notice the radar discrepancies."

Hound seemed confused by the Jet's hostile tone and a little startled that he'd been listening. "Huh...thanks," he replied. He scanned the sky, waiting until Thundercracker and Dirge had rushed the battlefield and landed to engage in ground-based combat alongside the other Coneheads, and then activated his projector.

A red-and-white jet appeared to streak over their heads, flying low, the rumbling roar of its engine echoing off the open tundra. It pulled into a steep climb, turning as it did so, and raced back towards them in an unmistakably aggressive attack, and Optimus hoped no one would notice that its lasers didn't actually scorch the tough grass. He held his breath, knowing that the longer this illusion went on, the greater the chance of it being discovered. Warpath launched a mortar shell with an excited shout, imitating the sound as he carefully shot the live shell right as it appeared to impact with the jet, and the resulting explosion was definitely not an illusion - Optimus ducked down to avoid the heat of the blast and shield himself from falling shrapnel. When he looked back up, the jet was gone, a plume of black smoke in its place. Strewn haphazardly across the battlefield were the charred remains, still smoking, as if scattered by the force of the explosion that had torn it apart.

The battlefield fell silent. Both sides momentarily disengaged, taking in the catastrophic crash with everything from disbelief to anger. Skywarp wasn't present, but Thundercracker was, and Optimus noted the stark horror on the blue Jet's faceplate. He felt strangely about it. They didn't have a choice, he reminded himself. This was their only hope at ensuring Starscream's safety.

Not all the Decepticons were so affected. Soundwave's expression was hidden as always by their visor and battle-mask. Astrotrain didn't seem too bothered at all. The Combaticons were muttering among themselves, stealing glimpses at the wreckage, Brawl keeping a firm grip on Swindle's servo. Optimus could see the glint in the greedy Combaticon's eye from across the battlefield.

And then there was Megatron.

Fury was not a strong enough word to describe the Decepticon leader's expression. Contempt was not a hateful enough word to match the look on his faceplate, twisted with mixed rage and disdain. 

A muted cheer went up from the Autobots, alerting Optimus to the Aerialbots' arrival, the rumble of their engines growing louder by the second. Megatron growled, his eyes murderous, and practically snarled the order to retreat, punctuating his words with a sharp wave of his fusion cannon. He cast one last seething look at the charred debris that had been his second-in-command before taking off to lead the Decepticons away - and just as Optimus figured he would, he left what remained of the jet strewn across the tundra. The others followed...except Thundercracker. The Jet glanced around and tentatively approached the wreckage, kneeling down near a blackened wing. He reached down, his servos just inches away from passing through the smoking metal, and Optimus tightened his grip on his laser rifle - but Megatron's voice rang out clearly across the tundra. "Thundercracker!" The Decepticon leader had stopped, hovering midair and scowling down at his soldier. His tone warned that now was not the time to test him. Thundercracker flinched at being called out by name, hesitating for just a moment longer. He muttered a quick apology before taking to the air, turning tail in pursuit of the others under Megatron's steely eye.

Optimus glanced sympathetically over at Starscream, who'd been watching so intently that his servos had clawed deep channels in the permafrost. It was only an illusion, but there was something about seeing your own termination...and the reactions of the Decepticons the Jet had fought alongside for millions of years were entirely real. Starscream didn't look at him, but his servos relaxed and Optimus got the distinct feeling he was aware of his gaze. Optimus stayed silent. He wasn't sure if his concern would be appreciated right now.

The Aerialbots came in for a landing shortly afterwards, grouching and grumbling about having missed all the action. Skydive tried to kick Hound's hologram and overbalanced, pinwheeling his servos to stay upright. " Woah! What the-"

"...Excellent work, Hound, Warpath." Optimus Prime nodded to the Autobots in question, and Hound shut off his projector with a smile. Prime vaulted up to the top of the cliff, greeted by the confused chatter of the Autobots quickly gathering on the open tundra. Hound and Warpath scrambled up after him, waiting as he raised his servo for silence. "I apologize that you all weren't aware of this as it was happening. It wasn't exactly planned out in advance." He paused, considering his next words. Out of the corner of his vision he saw Ironhide climb over the cliff edge, followed by Starscream, and immediately the Autobots exploded into commotion, yelling and shouting and waving their guns. Starscream crossed his arms, his working optic glaring defiantly at the weapons pointed his way, but...it seemed like a show. Optimus stepped forward, moving in front of the Jet and again raising his hands for silence. "Stand down! As I was about to say, Starscream is not our enemy any longer. Hound's hologram provided a way for us to take him under our protection without incurring Megatron's suspicion."

The general air of heavy skepticism was not exactly promising. Brawn spoke up from the edge of the group, his laser pistol half-raised in one servo. His other servo was nowhere to be seen, but he talked as casually as if his shoulder joint wasn't shedding showers of sparks. "What, so he just quit? Why would he do that? "

"That's neither my business nor yours. Whatever Starscream's reasons may be, he has asked for our help and it is our duty as Autobots to provide it."

Brawn narrowed his optics at Optimus's stern tone, then shrugged as best he could. "Good enough for me." With that, the others appeared to accept the situation as well with varying degrees of enthusiasm, starting to mill around, idly assessing battle damage and boasting about the fight. 

Optimus sighed, then turned to Starscream who quickly disguised the look of relief in his optic with feigned boredom. "I understand that you're perfectly capable of following us by air," he began carefully. "But just in case Megatron has eyes watching us or the Ark, I would prefer if you rode in my trailer." It was unlikely Megatron would be watching the Ark right now, but Optimus wasn't about to voice his main concern - Starscream might not rely on his root mode optics for jet mode navigation, but the loose connection that had caused his left optic to go dead might be just that, or it might be the result of some potentially more dangerous internal damage, and until Ratchet had made sure it wasn't, Optimus didn't want to take any risks regarding it. Starscream was his responsibility now, after all.

"Very well, Prime," the Jet agreed, looking a bit worried.

"Oh, I need a ride too, Prime," Brawn said cheerfully, approaching them. "I'm down a wheel."

Optimus stared pointedly at the little Autobot's missing servo, mildly amused. "I can see that."

"It's just a scratch." Brawn shrugged modestly, causing another burst of sparks to fall from his open shoulder joint. He was one tough robot, all right. Still, Optimus wished he'd be less reckless in battle. They didn't have many extra servos lying around, and it was energy-expensive to fabricate more.

"A scratch?! Your arm's off!" Starscream stared at Brawn, who changed the subject.

"So what, are you an Autobot now?"

" Never! " Starscream sneered. "...not all Decepticons are loyal to Megatron, you know." He tilted his helm to glare down at Brawn, drawing himself up to his full height. " Especially not me ."

Brawn was unimpressed. "Alright."

"...hold still. I'm going to solder your shoulder joint so it stops leaking electricity everywhere. You are not going to singe my finish just because you were foolish enough to lose your entire arm. " Brawn wisely stayed quiet, but threw Optimus an amused glance when the Jet was focused on his wiring.

Optimus smiled warmly beneath his battle-mask, already hopeful for the future. "Autobots, transform! And roll for home!"

Chapter Text

The Autobots were so insufferably friendly. It took two hours of Starscream staring at the wall of Prime's trailer in pointed silence for the Autobot he was resolutely ignoring to finally run out of conversational steam. It was like they'd completely ceased to see Starscream as a credible threat. As if they thought he wasn't dangerous without Megatron. Well, if that was the case, the Autobots had seriously underestimated him. He folded his arms across his chassis, fuming. If the reckless little Autobot asked him one more question, he wouldn't be held responsible for what happened next.

...He didn't mind Brawn all that much, actually. The Autobot was blunt, militaristically-minded, and in infuriatingly good morale. It was almost like having Skywarp there. But he felt weak and shaky, and it was easier to be angry than to admit to being scared. Which he wasn't . He'd like to see Megatron try to make a move - but, well, he would prefer if the trip to the Ark remained uneventful. He wouldn't want to cause Prime unnecessary trouble. If Megatron really was watching - wait, surely Megatron would send someone back for his wreckage eventually. What would happen when they came back empty-handed? Would Megatron realize he'd been tricked? He'd been so stupid - this had been a mistake, and an incredibly foolish one for thinking it could ever end without one of them actually terminated, but perhaps it could still be fixed - if he could only find something to allow him to regain Megatron's favor - Megatron believed him dead for now , but this couldn't be the way out he'd needed. It wouldn't last, for one thing, and besides, it left him entirely at Prime's mercy. Things may have been...suboptimal with the Decepticons, but he had power there! He had authority, a title which he'd worked hard to get! ...not that it ever seemed to matter to the others. Still...there was familiarity there. Unreliable predictability which he'd never before longed for but which now was almost comforting compared to the terror of this ultimate betrayal.

Starscream was so caught up in the slowly panicking spiral of his thoughts that he barely registered Prime slowing to a halt. The loud rattle of the door sliding up caught him by surprise, and he twitched, optics wide, before recognizing the silhouette as Prime offering him a hand. He ignored it, standing up on his own and stepping out of the trailer into the bright amber light of the Ark's central command room. He'd only been inside the Autobot cruiser on a couple occasions before, and both times had been very mission-oriented with little time to look around or get acquainted with the place, and so he couldn't help feeling against his will a little wonder as he took in the computer terminals built into the far wall, the hallways branching off of the room deeper into the ship, the high ceilings and golden-orange paneling which made the room for all its size seem cozy rather than imposing.

"Looks even better with two optics." Optimus Prime's words caught him off guard, and Starscream quickly turned to face the Autobot, narrowing his eyes. Was the Prime... joking? His blue optics were sparkling with humor, but there didn't seem to be any unkind intent behind it. He gestured for Starscream to follow him. "Come on. I've already had Blaster inform Ratchet and Wheeljack of the situation. They'll be waiting for you," he added, unusual warmth in his voice as he led the way through a few hallways. Starscream trailed a few paces behind, uncharacteristically quiet. It didn't make sense. The Prime seemed almost relieved ...did he think he'd gotten rid of an enemy? If so, he was more foolish than Starscream had thought. This was only a temporary alliance. He was only here until...until…

...until what?

Thankfully, before he could go any further down that very unwanted path, they arrived at the Ark's repair bay. Brawn had somehow gotten there before them, the tiny Autobot lying back on the nearest medical berth, regaling Wheeljack with the details of the battle while the inventor meticulously worked to connect the loose wires hanging from his shoulder joint to those of a new servo. When he noticed Starscream, he broke off mid-sentence and raised his other arm in a casual wave, disrupting Wheeljack's work. "Hey! Stop moving - unless you want your casing melted," the Autobot inventor quipped, not looking up for so much as a second. 

Optimus Prime moved further into the room, walking over to where Ratchet was nearly finished welding shut a tear in Smokescreen's plating. He murmured something to the medic too quietly for Starscream to overhear and then turned to beckon him over. "Ratchet's our best medic," Prime stated warmly. "He'll take good care of you." The Prime's hand hovered half-raised, as if he'd wanted to place it on the Jet's shoulder but thought the better of it. Starscream glared at it. Prime lowered his servo and coughed awkwardly. "...I need to write up a report. For documentation."

Starscream followed the Prime with his functional optic as the Autobot leader made his way out of the repair bay. He felt - not scared. If he was fiddling with his servos, it was because he was impatient, not anxious. It was...frustrating, really, how quickly he'd come to associate Prime with protection. Smokescreen brushed past him unexpectedly and he recoiled, bristling in anger. "Watch it!" he snarled. The Autobot glanced back at him in annoyance, opening his mouth to retort...but instead turned away and left hastily, reacting to something behind the Jet. Starscream turned just fast enough to catch the last of Ratchet's stern look before the medic shook his head with a sigh, offering Starscream a friendly if guarded smile.

"Come on, let's get that optic of yours fixed up." Ratchet stepped back, reorganizing his instruments and other equipment, pretending to pay no attention as Starscream hopped up onto the medical berth and lay back. He tried unsuccessfully to calm his nervous processor, shifting uneasily. He hated needing others to repair him - it was bad enough when he had to rely on Hook, but the thought of letting his guard down around this Autobot - of being vulnerable - he knew it was necessary, but he couldn't help feeling tense, dreading the medic's servos on him. "Offline your optics, will you? I'd prefer not to zap myself on your wiring," Ratchet said drily. Starscream grit his teeth but did as told, uncomfortably aware of his frame, clenching his fists and trying desperately not to panic as electricity raced feverishly through his circuitry. His wings overhung the sides of the berth. Suffice to say, the Ark's repair bay was not exactly built with patients like Starscream in mind.

The back of Ratchet's servo accidentally brushed against his helm, and he flinched, a sharp but barely audible gasp escaping his vocalizer as he fought the urge to online his optics and dispel the unbearable darkness that threatened to crush him. He berated himself for it - showing weakness to an Autobot! What had he become? The medic's gruff voice interrupted his thoughts, speaking clearly and with a strange sympathy. "I'm going to put my hand on the side of your helm, alright, Starscream?" The Jet made a noncommittal sound in response, but knowing what to expect helped. He hardly twitched when he felt the Autobot's servo come to rest on his helm, holding it in place. "I'll remove your faceplate now." Ratchet's other servo demagnetized the seams of Starscream's central faceplate and carefully detached it, lifting it away from the intricate wiring and mechanisms beneath and placing it to the side with a soft clank. He continued to talk Starscream through the procedure, working with clinical efficiency as he first located and repaired the loose connection and then checked to make sure there wasn't any further damage to the optical sensor.

At some point, the Jet became aware of another presence standing over him. The Autobot inventor Wheeljack must have finished with Brawn's arm and wandered over. Sure enough, when Ratchet's concentration was focused on inspecting delicate circuitry, Wheeljack's unmistakable voice spoke up casually.

"Brawn tells me you were the one who fixed up his shoulder joint so he wouldn't leak energy everywhere?" The Autobot paused, waiting for an answer. Starscream didn't give him one. "It's not bad work," he continued breezily. "Not bad at all!"

"...Hmmph." He wasn't entirely sure why he'd helped Brawn. They may not be enemies for the time being, but that didn't mean his contempt for the Autobot weaklings had lessened at all. He'd offered without thinking, but...would he have done the same thing if Prime hadn't been there to see? He didn't think so. It was...important that Prime knew he had value. It secured his protection.

"...alright, I've finished with your optic. I'm gonna reinstall your faceplate now." As soon as he felt the seams of his faceplate remagnetize, Starscream onlined his optics. Ratchet was watching him a little too intently to be casual. "Well? How's it feel?"

Starscream brightened and dimmed his optics experimentally. The connection felt strong, just as good as before he'd been damaged. Better, even. "Good as new," he remarked, moving to get off of the medical berth. Ratchet stopped him with a look.

"You seem in an awful hurry to get out of here."

The medic's piercing stare seemed to cut right through Starscream's plating. He returned it flatly, tilting his helm up in defiance. "I am no longer in need of repairs; therefore I no longer need to be in the repair bay," he replied, voice level.

Ratchet wasn't impressed. "That's not what Prime says. I'm to run a full diagnostic scan on you before I let you go."

"I'm fine, really ," Starscream huffed. Prime . He'd barely been here more than a few hours and the Autobot leader was already overbearing.

"Oh, yeah? Then what's with these dents?" Wheeljack asked, offhandedly curious. The Autobot tapped Starscream's shoulder where Megatron had grabbed him, oblivious to the Jet's discomfort. "Almost looks like - " He cut himself off, optics widening slightly, but the thought finished itself. A handprint . Starscream stayed silent, optics narrowed in anger. He couldn't say anything - his usual scathing wit had abandoned him, and he was left to seethe in silence, feeling helpless and exposed and ashamed. He was furiously angry at the Autobot for daring to touch him, for being so trivial about it, and...and he was angry at himself too, hating how weak he was with a miserable strength that frightened him. Ratchet sighed and motioned for Starscream to keep still, replacing his servo with the appropriate tool and beginning the diagnostic scan. The Autobot Wheeljack stayed silent, but began to carefully hammer out the dents in Starscream's shoulder. He seemed nervous, his audial fins glowing faintly. When he finished, he drew back hastily, as if he were afraid of breaking the Jet. "There! Good as new," Wheeljack too-cheerfully announced, clearly uncomfortable, hovering over him uncertainly. Starscream could have laughed - and not out of cold disdain, either. It really was amusing to see how worried the Autobot was about upsetting him. ...amusing, and not a little humiliating, but if he couldn't laugh at this situation, then what could he do?

Shortly after, Ratchet looked up from the diagnostic scan results he'd been taking far more than a cursory glance at. "Alright, Starscream," he said, reluctance heavy in his voice. "Well, you've got no other current damage, so I'll let you go now."

" I could have told you that ," Starscream grumbled, sitting up. "In fact, I'm fairly certain that I did ."

"Aw, get out of here," the medic growled good-naturedly, shooing the Jet away. Starscream was halfway to the door before he realized he had no idea where he was going. He was weighing the benefits of turning back to ask Ratchet versus just bluffing his way into wherever he ended up by wandering aimlessly when he spotted a familiar figure waiting outside and stopped dead.

His circuitry lit up as if with a flash of sudden fire. He felt as though he were moving in a dream, slowly at first but then quicker and quicker until he was nearly running, dashing out into the corridor where he halted, staring up at his old friend, his processor flooded with all the things he'd wanted to say, all the emotions he'd ignored for the sake of maintaining composure, all the regret he should have acted on sooner. "Sky...Skyfire?"

Skyfire smiled down at him, his blue optics warm with affection Starscream never thought he'd see directed at him again, and it was almost unbearable to be the focus of such undeserved fondness. There was so much he needed to tell him - too much, and Starscream found he couldn't say a word, his circuitry conflicted with combined panic and relief. He couldn't imagine that his actions on that glacier could be without consequence, and he dreaded having to face that...and yet, Skyfire hadn't changed at all, and looking at him, Starscream felt...strange. Nothing up to this point had felt quite real, and this...of all things, this couldn't be real. Starscream looked away, trying unsuccessfully to get his emotions under control. "Hi, Starscream. I'm glad you're alright." Skyfire's voice was as gentle and honest as his gaze. Starscream muttered something indecipherable in response, not trusting his own vocalizer. Skyfire didn't push him. "I volunteered to give you the grand tour. I thought you might like my company more than a relative stranger's...and I've been hoping I'd get to show you around someday." Starscream wasn't sure how to respond to that, following his friend's lead, walking side-by-side only a step behind him through the interconnected corridors of the Ark. The taller Transformer was moving at a more leisurely pace than he would alone so that Starscream could stay by his side without hurrying, exactly how they used to walk together all those millions of years ago. It was like a dream - a strange, incredible dream.

As they strolled along, they passed a few other Autobots who greeted them with wary nods or curious glances, but didn't try to stop them. Starscream realized he'd half-expected them to. That the Autobots would let him wander their entire base, even with Skyfire supposedly guiding him, was...amazing, and more than a little unsettling. Surely Prime wasn't stupid enough to trust him, but...he couldn't fathom what the Autobot could possibly be up to.

Anyways, he had more important things to think about. He tried to focus on what his old friend was saying; he really did - there was all sorts of useful and interesting information about the Autobots there, not to mention an extensive map of the Ark - but his mind kept returning to Skyfire himself. He tried to pay attention to Skyfire's words and found himself lost in his friend's impossibly gentle voice. He tried more than anything not to think about Skyfire, but...the Autobot sounded so happy to see him again, and his bright optics shone with real warmth and affection when he looked at him, and the last time they'd seen each other like this Starscream had shot him - 

Skyfire had paused, gazing down at him, his blue optics now softly aglow with concern. "Is everything alright? You seem distracted."

"Not at all," Starscream denied, smoothly faking an interested smile. "It's a lot to take in, that's all." The other Transformer nodded in understanding and continued the tour, his huge frame gliding through the corridor as lightly as a butterfly. Skyfire always moved so gracefully, comfortably in contrast to what one might expect from such a big robot, and Starscream felt a familiar warm fondness spark in his chassis as he watched him.

Finally, Skyfire stopped in front of a room in a nondescript corridor on the second level, practically beaming as he gestured for Starscream to enter first. "Prime's designated this room as yours. It's only a little ways away from mine, too. What do you think?"

Scanning the room with wary optics, Starscream wasn't sure what to think. He didn't know what he'd been expecting - energized bars instead of a door, maybe, or at least something cramped and unfurnished, little more than a cell - but the room was easily as nice as the Air Commander's quarters he shared with Thundercracker and Skywarp back on the Nemesis...well, used to share. It was only more spacious for how suddenly alone he felt standing in it, marooned in this ocean of Autobot strangeness. Less than a day ago he'd been their enemy , showing them no mercy on the field of battle, displaying nothing but scornful contempt for their ridiculous softheartedness, and now...all this - it was too much, Prime was being too - too - Starscream shook his helm, distressed. He couldn't stand it any longer, he couldn't , he just couldn't, especially not with Skyfire standing right there in front of him looking so terribly happy , and he didn't realize that he was trembling until Skyfire's expression fell into one of concern and the Autobot quietly repeated his earlier question.

"Starscream? ...are you sure you're alright?"

The earnest query brought everything he'd been trying so miserably to smother rushing back to the surface, and this time the words came pouring out before he could suppress them. "I - I never wanted to hurt you, I didn't mean to, not really...I haven't stopped regretting that moment since it happened, I don't know why - I'm so - I'm so stupid! " He buried his faceplate in his hands, unable to bear the sight of the compassion he knew he didn't deserve. "I - I can't believe I did that, I would never - it's been so long, too long, and I was so - so - " Starscream growled in frustration, his processor dark with dull self-loathing. "Oh, why do I always ruin everything! Every time something's finally going well, I have to screw it up! And - and now - all this - Prime, and Ratchet, and this room, and - and you - I can't take it anymore! Why don't you hate me?! Please hate me!"

The silence rushing in to suffocate his unanswered cry was almost as unbearable as his desperation. That daunting emptiness threatened to consume him, and he was ready to surrender to it when he felt hands gently tug his servos away from his faceplate and onlined his optics to see his old friend kneeling before him, nearly at eye level. Starscream always tried to keep his emotions under control, and he always failed in that just as in everything else, but he'd never allowed himself to feel as viciously distraught as he was now, despair whirling through his processor like a snowstorm intent on burying him numbly alive. Skyfire must be disgusted. He needed him to be disgusted. How pathetic could he get? He was visibly shaking with emotion, breathing raggedly, his servos unsteady in Skyfire's palms, but he was drawn to meet Skyfire's gaze despite his reluctance, despite his terror - and when he did, he nearly cried out in fresh grief. The Autobot's blue optics were an ocean of concern for him, his expression so impossibly loving , and more than a little sad, and Starscream could only feel more certain that he didn't, and could never again, deserve that look. "Skyfire, I...I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…"

Skyfire's lip-plates lifted in a soft smile. "You know what, I think that's the first time you've actually apologized to me," he teased.

The gentle remark caught Starscream off-guard, stabilizing his tired processor and snapping him out of his negative spiral. He was understandably overwhelmed, what with everything that had occurred in just this last active cycle, but he wouldn't fall to pieces. Still fragile, he reset his vocalizer, finding himself breathing a bit steadier. "Really? ...I wouldn't get too used to it, if I were you." He offered Skyfire a shaky smile in return, but it was still too much to look into his optics. Starscream's gaze fell to where his servos lay in Skyfire's much larger ones.

The Autobot must have mistaken his look for discomfort, because he quickly drew back his hands. Starscream hesitated for only a moment, feeling unexpectedly lost without that contact, before practically throwing himself at the other in a fervent embrace. Surprise stilled Skyfire's servos for a few anxious seconds before he wrapped his arms around Starscream's frame in return. Relaxing into the hug, the Jet let out a shaky sigh, still trembling and unimaginably overcome by the ocean of cool relief that now flooded his circuitry, soothing his nervous processor. He found himself thinking clearly again, musing over the myrs he and Skyfire had lost, recalling now fondly memories which used to bring with them the stinging pain of grief.

It really had been so achingly long since they'd been together; since he'd felt Skyfire's comforting presence all around him and his hands on his frame, and...admittedly, Starscream was more than overwhelmed by just this embrace. He was still so very emotionally delicate, but he wanted more ... Skyfire's touch and his servos holding him brought shivers of unfamiliar pleasure surging through his circuitry like electrified ice, terrifying and unbearably nice , and he wanted something more, something deeper, something more intimate. He wanted Skyfire . He needed Skyfire.

Starscream pressed his frame closer against Skyfire's chassis, his servos moving to dip under the edges of the armored plating near the base of the Autobot's wings to tease at the sensitive cables hidden there just the way he liked, and Skyfire's breath caught beautifully - but he pulled back, looking startled and a little hurt. "I...no, Starscream. I...don't think that's a good idea."

Not a good idea? Hadn't Skyfire forgiven him? They were finally together again after he'd spent nearly five million years without him, and now - just like the last time he'd seen him, when he'd been blinded by his own formal dedication to the Decepticons and had failed to recognize Skyfire's doubts - now he'd gone too far, he'd pushed too hard for more than he could ever deserve, and Skyfire had rejected him again; just as he'd before condemned everything Starscream had devoted himself to, now came the final cruel blow, welcoming Starscream into his arms only to condemn everything that he was - but hadn't it been Starscream who had flung himself so desperately at the Autobot? He really had messed it all up, again , just like he always did, and he could hardly blame Skyfire for wanting nothing to do with him, especially when he was so gentle about it. Of course he'd end up entirely alone again. He deserved this abandonment. He'd brought it upon himself, as he did every misfortune, with his own impulsive stupidity. Taking Prime up on his offer had been a more foolish mistake than most. Nothing could ever be changed by running away-

Starscream's darkening thoughts were interrupted by Skyfire standing up and lifting him effortlessly with him, the Autobot placing him on the berth and sitting down beside him. He looked conflicted, his blue optics worried and regretful, and with only a little hesitance said something that seemed entirely out of place. "Something happened to you."

Starscream stiffened, his circuitry sparking with adrenaline just from memory, fighting the urge to deny it, to insist as he so long had to himself that no , nothing was wrong, everything was fine , this was just...just another thing he had to endure. "...yes." His voice was carefully guarded.

Skyfire sighed deeply - absurdly, Starscream realized that the Autobot was blaming himself. "I knew something was...wrong. I didn't want to believe it. You were so adamant that you were fine, purposeful; happy, even, even moreso than before the War, and I wanted to ignore how...nervous you got around him. I wanted to pretend that it could work, that I could adjust to this new era, but...the things we were ordered to do...the things you ordered me to do.

"I realized it then. You'd changed, so much...I barely recognized you. And yet you were still so much the robot I fell in love with. And there I was, exactly the same as the day I last saw you. And...I didn't want it to mean anything. I didn't want it to matter. I hoped…" He trailed off, not meeting Starscream's optics. "But it does matter. I knew then you'd never listen to my concerns. You've always been so proud." He smiled ruefully. "I still wish I'd tried."

"That - it doesn't matter anymore! We can be together now , Skyfire! Can't we just continue where we left off? Can't we pretend nothing's different?" Starscream was practically begging now, aware of the tremor in his voice but unable to do anything to stop it. He laid his servos on the Autobot's arm, looking pleadingly up into his optics such a sweet, caring shade of blue. Maybe he didn't deserve this - no, he definitely didn't deserve this. But he needed it - he needed Skyfire; he couldn't bear to be without him.

Skyfire smiled sadly. "But things are different, Starscream. You're different." That stung. He couldn't keep the hurt from showing on his faceplate. Skyfire pulled him against his chassis, stroking his back soothingly as he continued plainly. "I don't feel like I know you anymore. I'm sorry, Starscream. I really am. I loved you then. And I want to love you now, but I need to know it's still you I'm in love with and not just the memory of who you used to be. I wish I could give you more, but...I can't right now. I don't want to feel like you're just using me. Maybe in time…" he trailed off, gazing down at Starscream, hugging him closer as the Jet trembled miserably in his arms, feeling the sole beacon that had long sustained him slip from his grasp and shatter. "But no matter what, I will always be here for you, as your friend, because I care about you. And I always will."

Skyfire's reassuring words echoed numbly in Starscream's processor. They'd charted whole solar systems together. They'd seen worlds stranger than any sane robot could imagine. They'd studied planets so beautiful it was almost a shame to have to return to Cybertron, and planets so hostile it was exhaustingly relieving to finish their work. He had seen unbearable beauty and been through unimaginable hardship with Skyfire, and through it all had been the underlying purpose of their scientific exploration more perfect than iron forged in the heart of a dying star. It had always been the two of them, just the two of them, and it had never needed to be any more than just them, because it had seemed so obvious that they'd always be together. Even when he'd lost Skyfire, he'd never given up hope that he might find him again some day. There had been more than a few dark centuries where that hope had been the only thing keeping him online. Starscream knew he was lucky just to have Skyfire at all, especially considering what he'd done, but...that knowledge did nothing to soothe how horribly, achingly alone he felt.

Chapter Text

Optimus Prime was having a difficult time thinking of anything to say that didn't sound stupid. He'd been staring at the monitor screen in his quarters for nearly two hours now, trying to write up a report on the day's occurrences that no one but himself would ever even read, and he still had yet to type a single word. It'd taken half that time just to wrangle his mind away from new and resurfacing concerns about the Decepticon second-in-command he'd brought without hesitation into the very heart of the Ark. Replaying the events in his processor, he'd come to the conclusion that he wouldn't change a single action if he had the chance, but even so the fear that he'd made a mistake kept nagging at him. He shook his helm to clear it - again - and refocused his optics on the blank screen in front of him with a labored sigh, resting his helm on one servo. What could he write? Was there any way he could word this that didn't make it sound...well, absurd? What was he supposed to say - "Starscream acquired"? "Situation relatively normal"? "Jet presumed dead, details later"? Optimus paused, typed a few tentative keystrokes, and just as quickly deleted them, hanging his helm with a defeated groan.

The soft hydraulic hiss of the door sliding open came as a welcome distraction, and Optimus rose quickly to greet his rescuer. "Ratchet." The medic entered, a strange look in his optics, clearly worried and yet finding his worry - and the whole situation - a little incredible. Optimus sighed internally. It seemed he would not be getting the change in subject he'd hoped for. Steeling himself against the answer, he voiced his foremost concern. "What's the story with our new guest?" The forced levity in his tone fell flat. Ratchet didn't comment on it, but offered him a sympathetic glance.

"No problem repairing his optic, although...he was scared . When I had him offline his visual systems, he was practically shaking. I'm sure he still sees us Autobots as the enemy, but I'm a medic , Prime! Repairs are what I do , but it was like he expected me to hurt him, or thought that I might - not consciously, more like a learned caution. Put plainly, like he's only known harshness for an awful long time." Ratchet shook his helm in disbelief. "He tried to keep it to himself, of course - typical Decepticon - but I've never seen Starscream so...skittish, for lack of a better term." Optimus was silent, remembering the frantic terror in the Decepticon Jet's optics when Megatron had in his rage nearly offlined him in spite of the Autobots watching. That chilling expression was burned into Optimus's processor. Not a day had passed since then that he didn't wonder how often before he'd missed it - how many times he could have prevented it, if only he'd noticed sooner. 

Ratchet too had slipped into quiet reflection, but after a few minutes the medic roused himself. "Right, the scan results…" he muttered, deftly pulling up the images on the holographic display overlaying his windshield. Optimus leaned in to see better, admittedly a little clueless but no less gravely concerned as Ratchet explained what exactly he was looking at. "Physically, he's functioning well. He wasn't otherwise injured, and his wiring's fine - that bad connection in his optic wasn't a symptom of any deeper mechanical failure - but…" Ratchet hesitated, visibly unsettled. "There's dozens of older injuries here that weren't repaired properly. Look - the angle's off on this seam -" Ratchet pointed to a magnified view of a scan of Starscream's chassis. "- as if he'd tried to fix himself , and the scratches on the inner plating and the wiring underneath would indicate that too...and without adequate tools, at that! It doesn't make sense - there's no reason that the Decepticons should be less equipped than us, especially what with their Space Bridge connection to Cybertron. What's more, from what I can gather from the imaging, not only from the proximity and physical nature of these particular injuries but also from the layered residual damage localized around some very specific points on his frame - I suppose some of them might be battle wounds, but the rest…" He looked up at Optimus, optics firm in dismay. "I don't like this, Prime."

"Neither do I, old friend." Every time Optimus thought he had a good understanding of the kind of monster Megatron was, he was proven still too optimistic.

The medic continued, businesslike. If Optimus hadn't known him so well, he might have mistaken his clinical tone for detachment. "Most of them don't impact his function yet - fused wires, shakily welded seams, some mild circuit corrosion - but some of these injuries might impact mobility. There's a relatively recent slight dislocation in his left rotator disk. By itself it would be an easy fix, but for whatever reason it's been left as is, and the cabling surrounding it is now damaged because the disk wears against the cables when it's rotated too far…"

Thinking back to recent battles, Starscream did seem to favor that servo whereas the other two Jets displayed no preference. Optimus rubbed his battle-mask thoughtfully. "Can you repair him?"

Ratchet looked almost offended. "Of course! When Wheeljack and I are done with him, he'll look and feel like he just rolled off the assembly line yesterday! But he'd have to agree to let us."

"That will be the difficult part," Optimus mused. The Jet wasn't exactly eager to trust the Autobots, and given how he'd reacted to Ratchet fixing just his optic, Optimus surmised that it would be quite the task to convince Starscream to subject himself to their help again. But he was up for the challenge. Belatedly, he realized Ratchet was still waiting, watching him mull over his thoughts with a look of affection undercut only slightly by his concern at the issue. "What is it?"

"Another thing - the scanner detected traces of repaired damage dating back millions of years, as expected, but all the improperly repaired injuries are much more recent."

"How recent?" Optimus frowned. Ratchet was usually very precise, and he didn't often bother to soften blows like that.

The medic hesitated. "...all within the last twenty-six months." Optimus sighed gravely. "Optimus…" Ratchet was visibly worried, his optics almost pleading, wordlessly asking Optimus what they could do.

He didn't know. Optimus Prime turned and walked back to the blank monitor screen, dismissing his old friend with a heavy wave of his hand. "Thank you, Ratchet." It seemed he only had more to think about than before, and he preferred solitude to fully immerse himself in deliberation.

- - -

"...and, despite some initial tension on both sides, I have the utmost hope that Starscream will be able to find a safe place in the Ark."

Optimus closed the report file and stood, still mulling over his words in the near-silence of the room. He always tried to be more optimistic than he really felt, and his genuine hopes of earlier had long since been degraded by doubt. 

The sound of low, tense muttering from the other room intruded on his thoughts, but as he approached the threshold, the voices hushed themselves. Even so, he only needed to look at his old friends as they turned towards him as he entered - Ironhide troubled, Ratchet frustrated, and Wheeljack openly worried - to know the subject of their discussion. Like Optimus himself, Ironhide's previous favorable conviction appeared to have deteriorated, undoubtedly having fallen victim to the seasoned warrior's jaded realism. Optimus crossed the room in the heavy silence and sat down on the berth, wishing not for the first time that this issue hadn't become so suddenly imperative.

Ironhide's optics darted from Optimus to Ratchet and back, and then he spoke up, uncertain but insistent, his voice echoing harshly around the room. "How do we know he's not lying, Prime? How can we be sure? "

"Ironhide," Optimus warned, but the red Autobot continued regardless, determined to be heard.

"Come on, Optimus; I know it seems a bit far-fetched with how far he's taken it, but Starscream practically wrote the book on manipulation! What if he's just trying to take advantage of your empathy?"

Optimus hesitated. He was ashamed to admit that he'd actually considered that last question earlier, and hadn't been able to come to a satisfying conclusion, electing instead to just ignore it and hope for the best. On his other side, Ratchet glanced at him questioningly before injecting himself into the silence.

"If this is a tactic, Ironhide, then I'm willing to fall for it. He hasn't said much, but I can guarantee you he's not lying, or even exaggerating."

"Guess you're right, doc," Ironhide relented. "It's just...hard to imagine Starscream lettin' something like what you say happen to him, that's all." Optimus considered saying something then, but didn't. His mood was settling on him like a dark cloud. Ironhide shifted beside him, and Optimus prepared himself for the worst. The soldier had a look on his faceplate that filled Optimus with trepidation - as if apologetically aware he was about to cross a boundary. "...how can you be sure he didn't deserve it?"

" Ironhide! " Ratchet and Optimus raised their voices in unison, and Wheeljack jumped at their combined volume.

Ironhide leaned forwards, unphased. "I'm sorry, Prime, but it's important! You know he caused trouble for Megatron, and they were on the same side. What if he causes even more trouble for us? Shoot, Optimus, we didn't even disarm him!"

"We'll deal with that as it comes," Optimus answered, laying one servo reassuringly on the other Autobot's shoulder. "If it comes." He tried to sound confident, but it was all he could do to keep his own uneasy concerns firmly under control. They were all making it up as they went along...but then, so was Starscream.

Ironhide still looked worried, but nodded begrudgingly. "Alright, Optimus, but I'm keeping my eye on him."

"You and every other Autobot," Ratchet grumbled.

Wheeljack had been uncharacteristically quiet, observing the conversation without contributing, but now he spoke up, timid, his voice devoid of its usual humor. "How do we know he won't betray us and go back to Megatron?"

The look in Wheeljack's optics was almost too intense, but Optimus met it evenly, despite the doubt stabbing sharply at his defenses. "...we don't. But it's our duty to help him, even if he does betray us." The inventor lowered his gaze and reached for Ratchet's servo, accepting that answer, at least for the time being.

Optimus Prime knew that they were fighting a losing war. For every space bridge they managed to locate and destroy, Megatron simply built another, better hidden one. For every raid they prevented, for every scheme they were able to counter, Megatron sent shipments of stolen Energon up to Cybertron regardless. For every victory they achieved, there was always a cost that he could do without. He knew some of the Autobots questioned his passivity given their hopeless situation, but if there was one conviction he would hold true to no matter what, it was his steadfast refusal to go on the offensive. It would go against everything he believed in to do so, even with Megatron as his enemy - how could he advocate for peace and forgiveness if he himself had bent his moral programming to instigate violence? There was no right way to win. There was no good choice to make. He felt like he was stumbling blind, groping around in total darkness, trying to achieve an impossible task, the overwhelming responsibility of which rested squarely on him and him alone. At times he wondered why Alpha Trion chose him to lead the Autobots.

Trying to help Starscream...admittedly it was a partially selfish act, as he just wanted to do something , to make some kind of an actual difference, to prove to himself that things didn't have to stay static and steadily worsening forever, but earlier he'd found himself daring to hope that maybe, just maybe, the Jet's change of allegiance could be the catalyst needed to tip the balance in their favor. The possibility that they might have an actual chance without needing to abandon that all-important directive was...thrilling, and a little daunting. If Starscream was only taking advantage of their help, if he only stayed long enough to be fully repaired and to gather valuable information to trade for mercy with Megatron...Optimus wasn't sure if he would be able to withstand that devastating a blow. He would have failed the Autobots under his command, his friends and allies, the robots he'd fought tirelessly alongside for millions of years, with a single decision he'd made for the very compassion he'd always known would one day be his downfall. He would have failed Starscream by not being able to provide the support and safety the Jet needed to distance himself from his old leader. He would have failed himself. Sometimes he wondered what the Matrix saw in him that it considered him a worthy leader. He tried to do the best he could to help those he could, but even the prospect of failure now weighed more heavily than ever on his conscience.

The comforting weight of Ironhide's servo on his arm roused him from his thoughts. His old friend had as always noticed his deepening melancholy, looking up at him with sympathetic optics. "You did the right thing, Optimus. You always do. It might get hard - it might not turn out how you want it to - but that don't make it any less right."

"That's right," Ratchet chimed in. "And whatever happens...we'll face it together."

"Together," Optimus echoed, already feeling a little better, the appreciative warmth in his circuitry burning away the gloom in his processor. Even so, he sighed, exhausted. "This war has been going on for far too long."

Optimus Prime was weary. His frame ached terribly to the very base of his construct whenever like now his processor threatened to engulf him in a deep and justified despair from which he might never again emerge, and he could feel the memory of an old wound in his chassis that this frame never received. The others didn't say anything in response. They didn't have to. There was nothing to say. They were all equally exhausted. But they were all there for each other, physically present and understanding, and it was enough. It was enough.

Ratchet broke the spell of silence with a short, decisive hum. "I think we could all use a good recharge. No good trying to figure these things out without adequate processing power."

"Yeah," Wheeljack agreed quickly, wincing as his voice rang out louder than he'd intended. 

Optimus nodded his own agreement, laying back on the berth with visible relief. The others followed suit, finding comfortable positions. Ratchet rested his helm on Optimus's outstretched arm, his own servos tightly around Wheeljack, while Ironhide laid his helm on Optimus's other shoulder and draped an arm across his chassis.

Just as he'd gotten comfortable, Ironhide's face fell. "Shoot, I forgot - I've still got to straighten out a few details with Jazz and Red Alert. Aw, I hope Red's not too worked up over my being late."

"Jazz can handle Red on his own," Ratchet grumbled, his optics already offline. "He's always up half the night anyways."

"S'pose so, but I said I'd be there." Ironhide reluctantly extracted himself from Optimus's grasp. "I'll be in later." With that, he hurried out into the corridors of the Ark.

Optimus turned onto his side with a sigh and wrapped his arm around Ratchet, feeling fiercely affectionate towards them both and yet frustrated that they were so rarely all together. Still, he found relaxation in knowing that Ratchet was safely in his arms, and respite from his troubles in knowing that just as he cared about his friends, so did they care about him. He couldn't imagine what it would be like to be entirely alone with his despair. He was glad he'd never had to.

Chapter Text

Despite what Skyfire had said, Starscream still felt like a prisoner.

He paced the empty room for nearly two hours, contemplating his situation with a detached melancholy. Skyfire had only left after he'd reassured him that he'd be fine by himself, but he had left, and of course Starscream wasn't fine - if Skyfire really cared about him he would have known that. He was frustrated, even angry , but not at Skyfire, not really. He was seething with miserable, uncontainable, irrational fury , hatred without direction or easy explanation, and with every step that echoed off the burnished walls his rage only grew, as did the strangely nervous energy pulsing through his wiring. 

Acknowledging it only agitated him further. Starscream turned abruptly and caught his own reflection suspended in the highly-polished bronze metal. The face he saw was not that of the confident and competent Decepticon second-in-command. It was the face of a frightened and haggard robot. A pathetic robot. He frowned. The mirrored Jet did the same, imitating his contempt.

Starscream turned away in disgust and made straight for the door. It was unlocked, of course - he hadn't expected it to be locked, but he'd almost been hoping he'd have the excuse to use his weapons. The Autobots hadn't disarmed him, though he wasn't sure whether it was a grievous oversight or an inane expression of trust. He supposed he'd rather not give them a reason to regret that decision. Already the thought of leaving the suffocating air of the Ark was working to clear his processor. Flight was one of his few escapes from the near-constant stress, and he needed it right now - the wind angling beneath his wings, the ground rushing past so thrillingly far below, the ecstatic vastness of his sky…

First things first. He had to get out of the Ark, preferably without anyone knowing. He stepped out into the corridor, glancing up and down its length, wary of its overwhelming silence. The layered maze that was the Ark was deserted at this time of night - unlike the Decepticons, the Autobots appeared to have adapted their recharge cycles to simulate those of their human allies. The complete lack of activity was a little unnerving, and Starscream found himself putting more effort into moving stealthily, sneaking through the unfamiliar passageways as though he were an intruder. He didn't quite feel like one, although the Ark was strange to him, its empty corridors still as intimidating to him now as the few times in the past he had trespassed before. Perhaps "prisoner" wasn't the right word. It wasn't quite that he felt trapped so much as...isolated.

...maybe it wasn't fair to accuse Skyfire of not caring, even only to himself, but this rejection stung even more than the first one. "Stung" wasn't a strong enough word - it stabbed , like an open wound, sharp and aching and blindingly bright. It was one thing to lose Skyfire, for what he had slowly come to realize might be forever, but to finally get his Skyfire back only for him to decide that he suddenly wanted nothing to do with Starscream - to be coldly abandoned by the one thing he'd thought was constant in his life, the one person he'd thought he could rely on... twice now. It hurt . And what was worse, Skyfire was still here - he couldn't avoid seeing him, couldn't avoid interacting with him, couldn't treat him like an enemy. He couldn't just write Skyfire off as a traitor now, for whatever small solace that had provided. After all, he was...also, technically, a traitor now. Not that he'd ever betray Decepticon secrets to Prime, but...that wouldn't matter to Megatron.

Starscream knew he wasn't good enough for Skyfire. He'd known it deep down since Skyfire had defected to the Autobots - even before then his longing fantasies of rescuing his partner had become tainted by anxiety - but he'd been too scared to admit it. Now, however, there was nothing left to hide behind like the coward he was. He was - he was a fragging mess , a complete wreck emotionally and physically, and while his frame might be repaired he himself was far too broken to ever be fixed.

That revelation brought with it a wave of freezing despair that left him shaking, sure that he was on the verge of falling apart. The Jet stumbled to a halt, offlining his optics and focusing solely on overcoming the terrible sense of vertigo, forcibly suppressing his anguish with rueful contempt. When he was sure he had himself under control, he sighed wearily and let the Ark limn back into his visual feed. Not long now, he assured himself. He was fairly certain that it was only a few more turns until the ordered maze of corridors opened into the Ark's main deck, and from there it was a straight shot to the outside world and his coveted temporary freedom.

Unfortunately, it seemed he was not quite as alone in the darkness of night as he'd thought. Light and hushed voices filtered out through an open door some fifty feet down the hallway and to his left. Starscream crept closer, hoping to slink by unnoticed but bound to risk by his curiosity. There was nowhere to hide - the Ark's hallways were clean and uncluttered - but he still found himself lingering in the shadows, pressed against the wall opposite the door. He could see the Autobot second-in-command, Jazz, leaning casually against the metal paneling of the room, paying due attention to the complaints of the Autobot security officer whose distinctive voice could now be clearly heard.

"...don't understand how Prime expects me to keep everything under control when he doesn't inform me before making big decisions like this one!"

Jazz shifted, less than enthused. "If it's any consolation, I don't think it was really a planned decision. More of a spur-of-the-moment thing, ya know?"

"Not planned? Spur-of-the-moment?! " Red Alert sputtered, beginning to pace back and forth frantically. He paused in front of Jazz, muttering to himself. "Oh, this is great , just great! How could Prime not think this through?! Bringing a Decepticon here - I knew it was a bad idea, my sensors have been acting up ever since they first brought him in - " Red grimaced, his servos flying to his helm as his sensor horns flashed brilliantly in warning, as if on cue.

"No offense, Red, but your sensors are always acting up," Jazz said laconically. Starscream edged slowly along the wall towards the safety of the continuing corridor. "Then again, maybe you're onto something," the Autobot amended, and although he didn't look at the Jet or even so much as twitch, the entire weight of Jazz's feline attention landed intently on Starscream, who froze. "So you're a night owl too, huh, Starscream?" His voice was amicable enough, as was the easy grin he offered the Decepticon, but it was impossible to tell the reality of the trust behind his visor. Starscream narrowed his optics in mild suspicion. He could never tell what Soundwave was thinking, either.

"I hadn't realized how dedicated to this Earthly charade you Autobots were," Starscream replied slowly, stepping into the room at Jazz's invitation. He couldn't just ask to leave...could he?

"Guess you Decepticons don't have to worry about sunlight at the bottom of the ocean." Jazz tilted his helm, amusement warm in the glow of his visor. Was the Autobot trying to make a joke? Or was he mocking him? Perplexingly, he seemed completely at ease talking to the Decepticon second-in-command - circumstances be damned, surely his reputation still held some meaning. A ploy to get him to lower his guard, perhaps?

Red Alert raised his hands, uneasy, mistrust sharp on his faceplate. "Were you - you were eavesdropping! How long were you there?!"

Starscream crossed his servos disdainfully. "I was only passing by. The door was open. I simply couldn't help overhearing."

"Yeah, we're...waiting for someone else," Jazz said. "To discuss you, actually."

"Is that so?" The Decepticon was unsurprised, though admittedly taken aback by how readily Jazz had offered up that information.

Red was even more shocked than he was. "Don't - don't tell him that, Jazz! He doesn't need to know that!" His optics darted distrustfully to Starscream. "He was eavesdropping, I know it!"

"Hey, Red, chill out a little! He's a hot topic right now, and I'm sure he understands why. It's harmless information, and if I were in his position I'd sure like to know. No need to get all fired up over nothing," Jazz soothed, trying to calm down the agitated Autobot.

Red Alert wasn't quite finished yet, however, piercing gaze still fixed on Starscream. "Where exactly were you going? There's nothing that you need access to in that direction."

"Red…"

Starscream returned his glare, haughty. "I don't see why I should relay my every movement to you , but if you must know, I thought I'd indulge myself in a quick flight."

"Absolutely not ." Red's sensors flashed again, illuminating the stress on his faceplate in harsh light, and he winced. "Do you have any idea of the security risk you pose just by being here? All that it would take to shatter the illusion of your termination would be one of Soundwave's cassettes spotting you, and then all of us face the possibility of worse retaliation than whatever revenge Megatron's already plotting. If you can be trusted, then you'll understand that. If you can't...all the more reason I must insist you stay here." He crossed his arms, leveling a firm glare at the Jet.

Starscream looked to Jazz, who only shrugged, conceding the point to Red's logic. He narrowed his optics further. "Megatron's not the type to avenge others," he muttered stiffly. "Although I doubt you'll take my word on it." He really had been stupid to ever think he was more than just another replaceable pawn to that egotistical old fool. It wasn't that Megatron saw the tactical fallacy of vengeance, it was simply that he didn't consider anyone but himself worth avenging. "...I'll leave you to your waiting, then." He turned and left before either of the Autobots could respond, stalking back down the corridor the way he came, as tense as earlier but now in a significantly more frustrated, pointless way.

For all the Autobots' words, he might as well be a prisoner. Unable to leave, unable to fly , trapped in this infernal Autobot vessel in the name of his safety - of their safety! Allowed every freedom to roam the strange and hostile hallways of the Ark, filled with his enemies, only for that freedom to be revealed for the lie that it was when he dared try to set foot outside.

At least Megatron had respected his personal freedoms. He'd been important , in charge , and whatever disrespect he faced was easily ignored with the aid of all the thrilling liberty of flight. Never had he been treated like some foolish prototype barely off the assembly line! ...not to this extent, anyways, or...not often. He had sometimes felt a little - hopeless, but he'd never...he'd never felt so caged! ...had he?

Starscream flexed his servos, pausing at the door to the room Prime had designated for him, his seething fury dissolving into marred uncertainties. It...didn't matter one way or the other. He had made his decision. He would take the consequences and bend them to his will. With the last of his anger draining from his frame, he found himself finally exhausted, and, much to his relief, he slipped into unconscious recharge mere moments after he laid down on the unfamiliar berth.

---

Starscream jolted online at the sound of someone banging at the door. Knocking , he chastised himself, disengaging his weapons systems. They had only been knocking . The reassurance did little to soothe his rattled processor. He despised how easily fright had leapt to claim him. It was a blackly empty feeling, that vile self-hatred, but he took a mutinous satisfaction in it all the same.

"Come in," he called, sitting up with a grimace. His voice sounded raspy and stressed, and the cabling of his shoulder joint ached painfully, like it always did when he strained it. His recharge had been plagued by strange and troubling shades, but they dissipated in the dull amber light of the Ark before he could hope to identify them.

The door slid open, and Optimus Prime stepped in. "I hope you're settling in well?"

Everything about Prime's manner - the hesitancy in his words, the way he hovered uncertainly near the wall, as if worried how Starscream might react to him being any closer - there was no doubt that his sympathy was sincere. Even so, a flash of subdued anger warmed the Jet's circuitry; frustration at that kind of treatment. "As well as can be expected." He turned away, feigning indifference. "I'm not some fragile plastic toy, Prime. You won't break me by sheer proximity."

But as the Autobot moved closer, stopping a still-distant couple dozen feet away, however much he refused to acknowledge it, Starscream couldn't ignore the grey miasma of unformed panic shifting his processor into the familiar pattern of learned caution, keeping him suddenly tense, nor the lowly whispering fear he firmly stamped down. It was distressing. He'd never been so on edge around Optimus Prime before - but then he'd never been in such an infuriatingly vulnerable situation before, either. It was easier to be near Prime during battle, warrior against valiant warrior. It was easier when he knew exactly where they stood.

"This must be hard for you," Prime offered. Starscream didn't answer. That didn't even deserve a response. "I wanted to reiterate that you are welcome here, and I don't expect anything from you in return." The Autobot's optics were unyielding in their sympathy. "I want you to feel safe here, Starscream. I want…" He trailed off, losing his nerve, and repeated himself softly. "I want you to feel safe." He extended his hand in an offer of - friendship? Not pity, but - some kind of deception, surely? Oh, Prime was clever indeed, feigning his selfless Autobot sentiment, claiming that he wanted nothing in return for indebting Starscream so heavily to him that no information, no technology, no strategy could ever repay him. He'd been a fool to ever think he'd been the one taking advantage of Prime's offer.

...or could he allow himself to dare believe in Prime's sincerity?

Starscream stared at Optimus Prime's outstretched hand, wary and a little frightened. If he refused, would Prime still let him stay? If he accepted, would Prime - would he -  ...what if he was right to be suspicious of Prime's intentions? What if the Autobot leader wasn't what he appeared to be? He was a Decepticon , after all. They were enemies, and not exactly strangers in that regard.

But Prime had noticed his hesitation. "This decision is entirely up to you. It will not change your place here, or affect the way you're treated. We - I will protect you from him, no matter what," he asserted. His optics burned with a fierce determination that would suffer no doubts.

The Jet narrowed his optics. No matter what? That was almost an invitation for betrayal. If he'd been in a better mood, he might've even warned Prime as much. As it was, he didn't have the energy to remind Prime exactly who he was dealing with. His earlier panic was fading into a dull exhaustion not helped by his poor-quality recharge. Starscream rubbed absentmindedly at his aching shoulder joint. What was Prime hoping to gain from this? "You won't fix me either, Prime." His voice held no malice nor mockery, only a factual resignation. He was beyond fixing. He would never again be who he was - who Skyfire had loved. Megatron had made sure of that. He had thought that he'd been making the right decision - the only decision - but now that he'd actually done it he saw Megatron's absence everywhere, and every time felt his influence, the impact of his leader's presence deep on his processor. If every vile memory, every tainted thought, every aspect of him that Megatron had touched were erased...Starscream wasn't sure that there would be anything left to him, and that lost feeling was an agony he'd never expected.

Prime frowned, sympathetic but puzzled. He retracted his hand thoughtfully. "Is your shoulder bothering you?"

"It's nothing serious," Starscream dismissed, no less wary of the change in subject.

"Serious or not, it's worth letting Ratchet take a look at it."

The Autobot medic had already had a look at it. He was sure of that now. He should never have agreed to that diagnostic scan. "My joints are just a little stiff, that's all. I'm hardly used to this berth," he said, attempting once more to brush off Prime's overbearing concern.

"I would appreciate it," Prime continued, gently insistent. "It would ease my conscience to know that we are helping you."

The Jet tilted his helm to the side. "What is it about me that makes you think I would do anything to ease your conscience?"

The Autobot leader sighed. "Starscream…"

Ah. There was the boundary. He got the feeling he was treading too close to dangerous waters, and whether or not it held true, it was a warning worth heeding for the time being. "Alright, Prime. If I must. But later . I'm in no mood to deal with your Autobots and their inane questions right now."

Optimus Prime actually winced. "I apologize for that. They're...curious." He rubbed his helm self-consciously. "Do you remember where the med bay is?"

Starscream bit back a snarky retort. "Yes."

"Good." Prime nodded to himself and turned to leave. He hesitated on the threshold, glancing back, as if about to say something further, and then was gone.

The Jet hadn't realized how tense he had been until relief washed over him, sudden and unexpected. Optimus Prime was by far the most significant unknown in this whole distressing situation. Starscream had thought he'd had a good understanding of Prime, reenforced by their every interaction as enemies, but...everything Prime had done since he'd arrived - no, even the act of hiding him in the first place - if Prime wasn't the self-righteous hypocrite that he'd thought he was, then he didn't know the Autobot at all . And yet he had no choice but to trust him, at least until he could gain some leverage of his own. For now, his circumstances were entirely out of his hands, and the thought frustrated him almost as much as it frightened him.

...he was too low on energy to ponder those things at the moment. Yet the thought of trying to recharge again repelled him. He had no interest in facing those strange and amorphous terrors. Starscream sighed, dimming his optics, trying to relax into his exhaustion and at least rest his frame if he couldn't recharge. He hoped Prime wouldn't make too much of a habit of checking in on him, although he knew it was futile to wish to just be left alone. There was something about the Autobot - some aspect of his manner, some deep sincerity to his apparent selflessness that made him feel...trustworthy. Reliable.

Starscream knew better than to believe anything that impossible. And yet...he did trust Prime, or wanted to, at least. The stress from that internal war waged between logic, dignity, and caution on one side and the ill-fated, cowardly desperation he so longed to give in to on the other threatened to tear him apart. The frustration only made his fatigue heavier; getting through the rest of the day confined among Autobots as he was seemed an insurmountable task. He wanted so badly to feel the rush and tumult of the wind around him, the thin air supporting his wings like an old friend as he rolled and dove beneath the lazy sun - ! Starscream's optics lit up, a flash of annoyance breaking through his aching reverie. He should have demanded that Optimus Prime let him fly. He could have gone right over that meddling security officer's head! He could just picture the look on the bot's face - but it was too late now, unless he wanted to try to track the Prime down. He'd have to wait.

...although perhaps it was better that he didn't ask for too much.

---

Several hours later, Starscream had managed to achieve something approximating boredom. It wasn't worth putting off the trip to the repair bay any longer, and there was certainly no chance that Prime would let him get away with just not going. He slipped off the berth and out into the corridor with a cautious glance, tense even at the lack of others.

He navigated the Ark easily, skirting around what seemed to be the main hallways according to his geographic recall in hopes of avoiding tedious interactions with any roaming Autobots. "Starscream!"

The Jet froze. So much for that. Turning quickly, he plastered a practiced smile on his faceplate and greeted his addresser. "What's this, Skyfire? I thought you didn't recognize me anymore." It was a low jab, but hopefully his casual tone would make it come off as just a poor joke.

Skyfire frowned at him, puzzled, but didn't pursue it. "It's nice to see you out and about. I know it's only been a little over a day, but...I was a bit worried you might seclude yourself in your room."

"Don't get too excited," Starscream muttered. "I'm only headed to the med bay. There's nothing wrong with me," he added, anticipating Skyfire's concern. "But Optimus Prime insisted . Officious tyrant." He continued on his way, Skyfire now walking by his side. Admittedly, he was grateful for a familiar presence. It was comforting to fall so easily into warmer memories. He could feel the shadows that still clung to his processor melting away.

"I hope you recharged alright?"

Starscream stiffened. "As well as can be expected," he replied. He could feel Skyfire's gaze on him, but refused to acknowledge it.

The larger Autobot continued, his voice gentle. "The Ark can be a strange place at first. When I first came here, I had trouble finding recharge too. But you get used to it after a while, and eventually it starts to feel like home." He offered Starscream a reassuring smile that, at the Decepticon's lack of response, faltered. They walked for a few minutes in silence before Skyfire spoke up again. "I want you to know that I didn't really want to leave you last night." He looked to Starscream again, and this time the tremor in his voice bade Starscream to meet his worried optics. "I can only imagine the difficulty of this change for you, and of what you're going through - that's why I made sure you'd be alright first - but I...I thought you might need some time to settle in yourself, and to get used to...well, I didn't want to send mixed signals."

"You worry too much, as always," Starscream scoffed, feigning easy amusement. "It's alright, Skyfire. I understand why you feel the way you do, and I'm fine with things being the way they are for now." The tension constricting his frame threatened to overstress his servo motors, and the unexpected bitter rage he was concealing seethed within him with a blackened acidity.

The Autobot looked hesitant, as if he didn't quite believe him...but then, instead of asking him directly or pushing the issue any further, he only smiled again. "I'm glad."

...was that it?! Starscream should have been relieved, and yet as he continued walking, carefully maintaining his unbothered facade, he only sank deeper into his anger. Didn't Skyfire care? Couldn't he tell that it wasn't fine? Maybe he had changed, but Skyfire had too - the way things used to be, back when everything was going right, back when he was happy - Skyfire would never have just let it go when something was clearly the matter! Why couldn't he do the same now? Why couldn't he just - just - oh, sure, Starscream knew he was being selfish, but it wasn't fair , everything was always stolen away from him! Skyfire was the one thing he needed, the one thing he could rely on, the only person he truly cared about, and so of course, of course -  

"Starscream?" The Jet started at the sound of his name, unclenching his fists and turning back to Skyfire with a neutral expression. The concern in the other Transformer's voice was tangible. "It must be hard for you, leaving...whatever it was. I want you to know that if you ever need someone to listen, or just to be there-"

"Then I should come crawling back to you , right?"

Skyfire's optics widened, shocked at his caustic hiss. "No! No, I - I didn't mean - I only - "

"...forget it." Starscream turned away with a dismissive wave of his servo. Seeing the Autobot so lost and hurt at his words gave him no satisfaction. It only directed his hatred elsewhere - perhaps where it belonged. "I understand, Skyfire, I do. Isn't that enough for you?" Was it selfish for him to want distance? Was it selfish for him to need space even when he wanted the exact opposite?

Skyfire didn't respond, but neither did his gaze leave Starscream for even a moment as they walked the rest of the way to the med bay in silence.

---

"Hurry up, will you?" Starscream shifted uncomfortably on the medical berth, much to the chagrin of the medic positioning the ultra-high wavelength scanner over his shoulder. They were alone - Wheeljack, apparently, was elsewhere, and while Skyfire had hovered in the doorway for a few minutes, with Starscream resolutely ignoring him he'd eventually gone away.

Ratchet paused his work to direct a disapproving look at the Jet. "I'll take as much time as I need to make sure this gets done right, thank you very much."

"Oh? I hadn't realized it was so difficult for you to do a single scan."

"With you as a patient, everything's difficult," Ratchet grumbled, but he was smiling. "This will give us a better picture of your injury...well, I'm sure you know how it works. Hold still. It'll take a few minutes." He pressed a few buttons on the side of the device, then flipped the switch.

Starscream stared up at the ceiling of the med bay. The Ark really was an impressive work of Autobot design - every ceiling was just high enough to be intimidating, yet still low enough to provide the extraordinarily calming feeling of claustrophobia. Not enough room to fly comfortably, he mused. The construction of the rooms and corridors left no active air currents, just dead stillness, not to mention the likelihood of grazing the walls with his wings, and the actual impossibility of turning the sharper corners. The Nemesis...wasn't much better in terms of space, admittedly, but it was entirely laid out around the central control room and the entrance tower, and the only hard angles in its corridors were where they opened into individual rooms. No matter where he was in the ship, he could be in the open air in a matter of minutes. The Ark, by comparison, truly was a maze.

The sharp click of the machine switching back off brought Starscream back to the present moment. Ratchet picked it up, inserting one of his servo drives before placing the scanner off to the side. He frowned, troubled by the data, and brought the image up on his windshield screen, turning back to Starscream, who quickly sat up to see.

"This wear pattern is...unusual." That was putting it mildly. Perhaps he ought to have paid more attention to what his frame had been telling him. The imaging showed that while the motor cables in his shoulder joint had kept the dislocation from worsening, both the cables and the rotator disk itself had been severely damaged by the continuous abrasion. Starscream narrowed his optics in frustration. It was the sort of long-term damage that wasn't supposed to happen, because it should've been corrected much earlier. "We've got enough spare cabling, but we don't tend to stock up on more specialized parts like that disk of yours, so we'll have to fabricate that before I can repair you." Ratchet deactivated his screen and stepped back. "With our resources, it'll be ready in a couple of days, no sooner."

The Jet stood up and wandered over to a table haphazardly piled with odd, half-finished mechanical amalgamations, regarding them with genuine if distracted interest. "Why?" With his faceplate hidden from the Autobot medic, he was sure his casual tone would conceal his wary bewilderment.

"We're not exactly swimming in Cybertronian alloys, or Energon." The Autobot's scowl was audible. "You might not have noticed, but we're in the middle of a civil war."

"Why repair me? If your resources are so limited," Starscream clarified. He gingerly picked up...something, and turned it over in his servos, mindful of exposed circuitry even with his thoughts elsewhere, still suspicious as to his and Prime's motives.

"You're injured, aren't you?" Ratchet replied, incredulous.

"...yes - "

"Then that's that. What kind of medic would I be if I didn't repair a patient to the best of my ability?" So it was a matter of pride, in addition to the expected Autobot sentiment. Starscream could respect that. "I don't care if you're a Decepticon or a wild turbo-rat. Right now, you're my patient as much as any damaged Autobot," Ratchet asserted.

Starscream turned to face him. "Then...I'll see you in a couple of days." Just the thought of returning to his quarters - of being alone with his thoughts in that room so dull in its luxury, without anything to distract him from himself - filled him with dread. Still, it was that or take his chances with the Autobots in the rest of the Ark.

The Autobot medic was more perceptive than most. He'd picked up on Starscream's apprehension. "If you're looking for something to keep you occupied, you can go ahead and take that radio cannon you seem so interested in." He gestured at the unfinished device still laying forgotten in the Jet's servos.

"...radio cannon?" Some sort of sonic weapon, then?

"Well, that's what it's supposed to be, anyhow." Ratchet grinned. "That whole table's all abandoned prototypes, inventions Wheeljack got bored of or gave up on but won't let me get rid of."

Starscream glanced back at the apparati in question with cautious interest. "Won't he mind?"

"I should say not!" The Autobot leaned in conspiratorially. "If you can manage to get that thing working - if you can get it to do anything - you won't have to worry about keeping yourself busy, because he'll consult your opinion about every single project he's working on."

"In that case, I'd better hope this thing bests me," Starscream muttered, smiling a little when the other Transformer chuckled. "See you in a while, Autobot."

"Ratchet."

"...Ratchet."

---

It was laser-powered .

Why was it laser-powered? Better yet, how was it laser-powered? The interior of the machine was riddled with circuitry that led nowhere and contained a bizarre mirror maze that seemed designed to focus and amplify a laser, only to then split and diffuse the light into radio waves, which would theoretically leave the barrel in a beam that could be strong enough to concuss, and would definitely scramble communications. That's what he would have wanted it to do. The problem, of course, was that the laser was inefficient, and weakened by the conversion. It was either madness or genius to insist on using a laser - and unfortunately, what he knew of the Autobot inventor didn't make it any easier to tell which.

Starscream frowned at the mess of parts before him. Of his areas of expertise, engineering and mechanics were not his favorite - he preferred the more law-bound, naturally predictable physical sciences such as chemistry and geology to the actual chaos of trying to figure out someone else's work. Still, he'd succeeded in distracting himself, as he'd been working intently on the project for several hours, according to his chronometer, completely immersed. It was meditative to disassemble and reassemble the device, trying to decipher the equation it represented, identifying every part and its intended purpose and considering how it could be improved as a whole.

...perhaps it was too meditative. He couldn't help wondering what Skywarp and Thundercracker were doing without him. Back on the Nemesis, it was rare he'd get more than a few hours to work on his own projects without one or both of the other Jets interrupting him, usually out of boredom. He'd been frustrated at their lack of interest, but now...he almost wanted to hear their inane squabbling.

Did they even care that he was gone? He hadn't thought they would - they'd never shown any indication before; always reminding him of his failures, always deriding what little of his plans he deigned to tell them, always ready to betray him to Megatron even when they wouldn't gain anything directly, just to see him humiliated. But Thundercracker's expression when he'd seen Hound's hologram...Starscream still wasn't sure what to make of it.

Not that it mattered. It was too late for whatever it meant. There was no point in worrying over it.

...did Megatron care that he was gone?

Megatron had looked - more furious than Starscream could remember ever seeing him. But there hadn't been even a hint of the regret that he'd hoped despite himself to see in the Decepticon leader's expression. It hadn't been anger at Starscream's termination. It was rage at not having been able to do it himself. The only parallel the Jet could think of was to a time when Skywarp had, without thinking, gotten rid of an empty nitro-fuel canister that Ravage had taken to batting around the ship. For days, Ravage had stalked Skywarp around the Nemesis with that same unspeakably baleful glare, and when he'd finally pounced his claws had torn gashes in the other Jet's faceplate so deep that they'd had to fully replace it. And all for mistakenly disposing of the cassette's favorite toy.

That was all he was to Megatron. A toy. But this time, when Megatron pounced, it wouldn't be Starscream on the receiving end of his wrath. At least, not at first. How long would it take, under the sort of pressure Megatron was capable of exerting, before the Autobots decided he was more trouble than he was worth? How long before Prime abandoned him to his fate and the cycle continued anew? ...assuming, of course, that Megatron didn't simply terminate him on the spot for his treachery.

Starscream dropped the piece of casing in his servo to the table, the resulting clatter helping him to break free of his cognitive paralysis. He shook his helm in an attempt to clear it, and walked over to the berth, leaving the disassembled device where it lay. He could continue where he'd left off at a later time. Right now, any recharge would be better than being online with himself, and there was a good possibility that if he didn't go offline now, his spiraling thoughts would prevent him from doing so later. Even so, he lay there with his optics offline for more than half an hour, resolutely ignoring everything that crossed his mind but growing gradually more worried that he wouldn't be able to find recharge, before he finally managed to slip into unconsciousness.

Chapter Text

Not that he onlined well-rested, of course. He'd been troubled again by malformed dreams he could never quite remember, and had several times woken in a burst of sudden fright only to fall fitfully back into a turbulent recharge. Eventually, he resigned himself to consciousness and onlined his optics with a sigh, noting that it was earlier than the day prior. It only meant more time to endure in this miserable prison that he'd willingly condemned himself to.

At least Prime hadn't come to check in on him again - yet.

Starscream sat down at the desk and began absentmindedly reassembling the radio cannon for the fourth time, letting the familiar action soothe his tension and lighten his mood. Maybe he could go check in on Prime . He did have something to ask him, after all...and wouldn't it be amusing if the Autobot were surprised! The only problem would be locating him. ...well, it would certainly give him something to do.

He carefully soldered the non-functional control panel back into place (if it had been anything more than a prototype, he might have worried about the constant tinkering weakening the components; as it was, it was impossible to break something that didn't work) and left the cannon where it was, taking a moment to compose an air of cold superiority before venturing out into the Ark.

---

Despite again taking indirect routes at first, the Jet's systematic survey of the Ark inevitably brought him into contact with the Autobots also traversing its hallways. Thankfully, it was always brief, as in most cases they had their own business to attend to, he reflected, meeting Trailbreaker's suspicious glance with a steady glare, passing the Autobot without slowing. He peered into what looked like a second recreation room, empty except for Hound and Mirage playing some sort of Autobot strategy game, pieces strewn across the table between them. So Optimus Prime wasn't here, either. Drat!

His presence hadn't gone unnoticed, unfortunately. "Oh - hey, Starscream, is it true that-" He was gone before the Jeep could finish, not bothering to even acknowledge him. Hound had helped fake his termination almost singlehandedly, no questions asked; but now it seemed his curiosity had gotten the better of him, and gratitude did not entitle the Autobot to anything.

Especially not that information. He wasn't so much relieved that the Autobots didn't all know everything as he was helplessly angry at the predictable fact that rumours were circulating. Perhaps he ought to have stayed just long enough to hear just what exactly was being said about him and his reasons. The green Autobot certainly was bold, to ask him to his face.

Starscream wondered if there wasn't a more efficient way he could have gone about this. Asking Skyfire was out of the question, as it would require speaking to Skyfire, and in all honesty, he had expected Prime to be relatively easy to locate. He wasn't sure why, but he'd gotten the impression that the Autobot leader just stood in the Ark's main hall staring at Teletraan-1 until something interesting happened. A flash of movement brought him back to the present moment. Jazz appeared from around a corner, headed in the opposite direction, and slipped past him quickly, offering the Jet a lackadaisical smile as he did so. Caught off guard, Starscream only stared back, his helm turning to follow the other robot. For a moment, he considered asking the Autobot second-in-command - surely he would know - but decided against it. He'd only inquire as to what Starscream wanted with Prime.

---

As it was, Starscream was sure he'd nearly mapped the entire Ark in his geographic positioning system before he finally found Optimus Prime, in a secondary terminal room tucked away in a distant corner of the ship. Prime wasn't alone, either; one of the Earthling flesh-creatures that he'd befriended was beside him, engaged in a casual discussion with the kneeling Autobot. They all looked the same to Starscream, but that unusual mobility chair certainly set Chip Chase apart from the others. Despite his being human, he'd ruined more than a few perfectly good schemes, and in spite of his youth he was nearly as much of a computer expert as was possible for such a short-lived being. Among the flesh-creatures, he was considered a prodigy. Some of that could be attributed to Earth's primitive technologies, but Starscream did have a grudging respect for the human's abilities. They were not something to be underestimated.

Chip did a double take as he entered. "Wow, Optimus, when you told me Starscream was...here, I guess I didn't fully believe you."

"Prime," the Jet greeted, coldly ignoring the human. "Do you really run this ship? It seems to me that your Autobots give orders as they please."

Optimus Prime frowned. "What are you talking about, Starscream?"

He folded his arms, regarding the Autobot leader with exaggerated condescension. "Your paranoid malfunction of a security officer thinks I'm a risk."

"You are a risk."

Starscream stared, his planned retort falling apart. He knew that, of course, but he hadn't expected Prime to say it so bluntly! The Autobot's optics sparkled with amusement as he watched Starscream flounder, but...oddly, there didn't seem to be any malice in it. The Jet stiffened warily, regaining his composure. "Am I being held against my will?"

Prime stood, visibly perplexed. "Of course not."

"Then it should be perfectly reasonable for me to expect to be able to come and go as I please." He tilted his helm, daring Prime to contradict him.

"It's...more complicated than that," the Autobot started.

"Is it? Who are you to deny me this one insignificant freedom?" Starscream took a step forwards. "Doesn't it offend your sentimental Autobot principles? Or is the great Optimus Prime no better than - "

"Don't go there."

...touchy. And, judging from the human's shocked expression, the warning edge that had crept into Prime's tone was even more rare than he'd thought. However, as gratifying as that was, pushing the Autobot much further would hardly help his case. Time for a different approach, then. "My apologies, Prime. Perhaps I got...carried away." The Jet lowered his gaze respectfully, his voice dropping to a sympathetic murmur. "All that I am asking for is to be allowed to fly. Is that really so much?"

To Optimus Prime, apparently it was. "I'm afraid I will have to defer to Red's expertise here. It may seem that he takes his job too seriously, but I've learned to trust his judgement. If he says it isn't safe...it isn't safe." He sounded genuinely regretful, but his tone left no room for argument. Prime paused, the soft amber light of the Ark reflecting off of his faceplate, his expression just as soft despite his battle-mask. Starscream had never bothered to notice just how blue the Autobot's optics were. In his defense, he'd never had the time to do so. "I understand that you feel confined, Starscream, but it really is for your protection," Prime finished.

His protection . Everything was for his protection. And he had no choice but to accept that answer, because he'd chosen this. It wasn't as though he were too weak to protect himself; it was simply more efficient to let Optimus Prime act on his foolhardy fantasies until he could contrive a way to deal with Megatron permanently . It was safer by far, in theory. He could deal with the humiliation. He'd endured worse.

Optimus Prime shifted his weight, mindful of the human who had wheeled closer to him. It was obvious he was uncomfortable with the silence, but Starscream only narrowed his optics. He had no issue with quiet, especially when the Autobot leader awkwardly fumbling for a topic so clearly did. "Ratchet tells me that - "

"I'm not interested in conversation, Prime."

"...very well." The Autobot looked dejected at being shot down so completely. There was no reason for the way his expression tugged at Starscream's core processor. "Good luck with your project, then. And if you need anything…" Prime trailed off, his voice fading as Starscream stepped out into the hallway again, leaving the Autobot leader and his insufferable concern behind him.

---

Starscream roamed the corridors of the Ark aimlessly, mulling over the situation. There was nowhere for him to go. The Ark may as well have been his prison, as Prime had only reaffirmed how trapped he truly was. And what a prison - teeming with Autobots, at worst downright hostile and at best as unbelievably, incomprehensibly, infuriatingly sympathetic towards him as Prime. And Skyfire - the name felt like broken glass - Skyfire…

Skyfire didn't care about him at all. The Autobots' self-righteous morality had clearly rubbed off on his old friend. Skyfire only pretended to be concerned so that he could weaponize his conditional affection against Starscream - of course! It was so obvious, he had been a complete moron to miss it earlier. Although, in his defense, he had been rather shaken by the events of the day. Still, recalling how eagerly he'd torn down his own defenses, how desperate he'd been for a familiar face, even one he'd thought he didn't deserve...in the light of this new realization, his initial outburst was in retrospect nothing short of humiliating .

The Jet slowed as he approached a junction. He craved solitude, lonely as it was, but...the thought of spending a single astrosecond more cooped up in that strange and barren room repulsed him. He'd do his best to lose himself in the Ark, then.

As he reached the deeper warrens of the Autobot ship, it became apparent that sections were still damaged from their long-ago crash. Starscream noted areas where the ambient lighting had gone dark, and in places the exterior hull of the Ark had caved significantly or even been torn away by the sheer stone of the volcano. These parts of the ship were mostly uninhabited - mostly, but not entirely, he amended, gingerly stepping through rocky rubble only a few dozen feet away from a room that was really more cave than architecture. Judging from the claw marks and scorched finish on the surrounding walls, and the restless noises coming from inside, it was the domain of those disastrous Dinobots. The very Autobots who had created them wanted nothing to do with them, and as far as he was aware they returned the feeling...but they were far from prospective allies. On the contrary, he wanted nothing less than to attract their attention. Thankfully, they remained unaware of his passing.

An open door further down caught his eye. Most of the other doors had been closed during the crash and sealed shut by the lack of electrical current, or damaged too severely to function, so for this one to be not only working but still connected to the rest of the ship was...promising. Starscream stepped inside, a cursory glance revealing that it was only another storage room, and one that looked like it hadn't been touched since before they'd left Cybertron. Receptacles on the walls held disks, oh-so-helpfully unlabeled.

He pulled one out at random, contemplating the data he held between his servos. It could be interesting to see what the Autobots considered worth taking with them.

---

Interesting was one thing, but useful was something entirely different. Starscream had gone through a few disks - rather exhaustively at first, convinced that their mundane contents must be some encryption or hidden code - but they seemed to be genuinely nothing more than records of engineering and scientific feats and historical events. Some of the blueprints documented could potentially be helpful in besieging Autobot territory...assuming the buildings in question hadn't already been abandoned or destroyed, and assuming they ever made it back to Cybertron in the first place. Most of the research findings were myrs old, common knowledge by now and only of note in that their discoverers were Autobots.

What was fascinating were the historical records. They ranged from impartial lists of dates and incidents to more in-depth tomes to personal journals. All held Autobot bias, of course, and Starscream found himself contemplating the difference in perspective on battles he'd personally been involved in and wars he'd only heard told as legend. It was truly a pity that a specification as resilient as the Autobots were so woefully deluded as to their superiority as Transformers over the other, far weaker, denizens of the galaxy.

One in particular caught his eye: a starship captain's account of the foundation of one of the many off-Cybertron colonies the Autobots had created - this one occurring during the brief centuries between the third and fourth Great Wars. The language was a little archaic, but it was an antique form of collated Cybertronian rather than Ancient Autobot, and ultimately not too difficult to read.

A poet named Sidereon and his group of Autobot misfits and hopefuls, somewhat disillusioned with Cybertron itself, had left for a supposedly uninhabited rock, at the request of an allied race of organics from the moon-nation of Zakar. They were to be the fourth exploratory/settlement expedition to the planet, but they were the first one to be entirely made up of robots. The first three had vanished without a trace...so of course the puny flesh-creatures had called in their superior Cybertronian "friends" rather than continue to sacrifice their own scientists. Starscream had never heard of either mission or crew, which was unsurprising given the antique mundanity of Autobot dispersal by the time of his construction.

They'd gone expecting to discover a world naive of intelligent life, but upon arrival captain and crew had instead encountered vast marble skeletons - a city, sprawling for miles across the sloped valleys, shining a pristine and unspoiled white, a beacon in remembrance of ancient builders. And yet, the listening wind bounding down from stoic overlooking mountains blustered around marred facades and howled through the shattered windows of tall towers, unheard and unrecognized until the coming of these strangers.

The long-dead seas, their beds sparkling dully with brine, gathered dust from distant shores and hurled it upon the patterned tile of the streets and walkways, burying dried-up gardens and the dried-up remains of the ones who so lovingly tended them alike. 

Meticulously planned canals stood stagnant yet clear, the water within them sterilized so perfectly that not even the barest moss could take hold. The sun beat down mercilessly, gaining violence from the sheer metal of the Autobot rocket and bleaching the last remnants of beauty of their joyous color. A stray beetle of a non-native species spread its wings and took flight in the static air, picking through the bone-white monoliths with a tearing roar. Its iridescent passage left a blackened afterimage on Sidereon's optics.

Analysis of the bodies confirmed that the original inhabitants of the city, and of the many others like it, had perished from a common, harmless disease presumably spread to them by the previous expeditions. Of those expeditions and their fates, no sign could be found. Sidereon - a poet, but still an Autobot with a mission to complete - barely offered another few lines to the recently extinct natives, noting simply their tragedy. A hasty addition remarked on the ethics of allowing organics to explore and thus contaminate other worlds.

With that unexpected matter settled, and their organic allies notified, the Autobots proceeded to level the city they'd landed beside, clearing the area out of convenience to build their own construction, better suited to their needs. By the time the slow sunset had cast weary judgement on their accomplishment, they were well hidden from its glaring eye behind walls of steel polymer.

Within the planet's month, ships had arrived from the much closer Zakar, carrying terraforming equipment and people, mostly laborers at first but then families, entrepreneurs, merchants, and just about anyone looking for a fresh start. Where the air had once hung silent and heavy, with the stagnant hand of massive loss only lifted by the mourning wind, now it was filled with chatter and the busy noises of daily routines. Slowly, the old cities were torn apart in favor of new, familiar buildings, or renovated into a form unrecognizable. The few preserved crumbled quickly under the weight of novel pollution. Slowly, the new world began to take shape, and it was the very shadow of the old one.

Throughout all, the Autobots had remained, gladly helping their new neighbors and pursuing their own interests in the planet's settlement. Solar energy was a reliable and prolific source of power at first, and even once the organics had changed the landscape so drastically that storms raged and passed with unexpected fervor, the wind remained constant. Experimental mining had revealed the same results the geological survey had predicted - rich veins of iron and even platinum interlaced beneath the now-ragged mountains. Bagger (Starscream had to assume the name belonged to a dedicated mining Transformer - Sidereon, typical of an Autobot of his inclinations, often failed to properly identify those he already knew well in his report) had cleared nearly half a million tons of ore and eradicated a significant amount of overburden before his sensors had indicated an supply of trapped gaseous helium further down. As it was rare to find helium in a harvestable location, this was a significant finding...and one that caused tension between the Autobots and Zakarians, as an agreement has been rather loosely made that Autobot mining could not disrupt more than half of the mountain range that protected the flimsy organic settlements from the incessant wind.

No conclusion was reached concerning that, however. Communications with Cybertron had been getting fewer and farther between, and it became clearer by the day that the growing tension that had led them to flee their home was quickly approaching the breaking point. So far away, nearly a parsec across the galaxy, Cybertron's eternal golden day was once again slipping into cold, turbulent night.

One sordid, gusty morning, the last message arrived. It was shorter than any before - just one word.

" War. "

Cybertron, their distant home, had fallen yet again to the recurring conflict of its people. It was surreal - it felt like a fabrication, to think that so soon after peace had been established, it would all fall apart again. It felt like a cheat, for their remote colony to be notified of such a massive, terrifying event - something so plainly written, so easily said - right at the start of their self-made prosperity.

It felt inevitable.

There was little real surprise among the Autobots. With weary servos, they packed what they wished to bring, refueled their starship, and had begun the long journey home before the reddened Sun had set. Their home...Cybertron had been their home, yet their mission had been to establish a new home, ideally without Cybertron's tensions. The settlers could have ignored the state of their old planet, could have avoided the war and all of its strife...but each of them knew, with a grim determination, that they could not leave those they had left behind to face it alone.

The report concluded on that note. Lost in thoughts of what he'd read, Starscream mechanically ejected the disk and returned it to its marked receptacle. That just about summed up Autobots as a whole, didn't it? They claimed they never wanted war, but when an opportunity presented itself to simply not engage, they instead forged boldly onwards, headfirst into the very thing they supposedly despised. He rubbed his shoulder distractedly. The dark monitor screen held a phantom element of interest. He stared into it, into his own dull reflection, a shadow with optics burning red.

He needed to recharge. The Autobot disks had proven a successful distraction, but perhaps there was such a thing as too successful. He hadn't even noticed his energy levels getting low. Heading out into the hallway, Starscream reflected that he hadn't lost himself so completely in a text since… Well, as the Decepticon second-in-command, he usually had more important things to focus on. His mind again drifted to Thundercracker and Skywarp. Even on the increasingly rare occasions when they did get along, the other two Jets never appreciated literature, of any sort. They'd likely dismiss that last entry as the Autobot colonists being overly sentimental, or just stupid.

Starscream couldn't quite agree with such a simple way of looking at things. Autobots, after all, were not designed for battle like Decepticons were. The settlers' insistence on abandoning the future they had forged for themselves in favor of the futility of helping their friends attempt to resist the inevitable was more indicative of their nature than mere idiocy. It was a testament to their…

Usually, he would say stubbornness. Tonight, the word that sprung to mind was courage .

The door to his temporary quarters slid open before him. Starscream stepped inside, ignoring the radio cannon prototype in favor of the berth across the room. For once, he thought he might recharge without issue.

---

Starscream jolted online, frame tense against the surge of energy. For the briefest fraction of an astrosecond he couldn't recall how he'd come to be in the Ark. If he'd been captured, Megatron would not be pleased - no, Megatron was the very reason he was here. Those hateful red optics, glaring, scorching into him from the dissolving shadows of another dream...another nightmare. He sat up with a tired sigh. Wrong again.

The repetitive action of deciphering Wheeljack's invention, piece by piece and wire by wire, allowed his processor to sink into a somewhat more restful state, but the Jet still felt a lingering weariness weighing on him. Why didn't he feel any better? Why was he only more easily frightened, even by these pathetic Autobots he had to rely on?

Why couldn't he get Megatron out of his head? Had he - had this little trick of his really accomplished anything at all?

A knock at the door startled him out of his thoughts. Starscream stood, resisting the urge to hide what he was working on.

"Come in." It wasn't locked, of course - Starscream wasn't sure if the Autobots simply had no sense of secure privacy, or if that precaution was unique to his room, but the door lacked any kind of locking mechanism. For all his words, Prime was still smart enough not to trust him fully. So far, however, the Autobots had at least given him the courtesy of waiting for an invitation… that alone was more than he was used to.

"Glad to see you're keeping busy," Ratchet remarked upon entering, glancing over at the work table. "Being all cooped up in here can't be easy for you."

Could Prime keep nothing to himself? Starscream folded his servos, frowning. "Not that I don't value your company, Auto - " The medic tilted his helm. "... Ratchet , but is there a reason you're here?"

Ratchet watched him in silence for a few seconds. "Thought you might want that shoulder fixed, that's all. Your parts are ready, so I can get that done now if you'd like."

"Fine." Starscream pushed past the Autobot into the corridor, making for the med bay and leaving him to catch up. "Should I ask if you're even qualified to repair me?"

"I'll show you qualifications," Ratchet grumbled. The Autobot was silent until they reached the repair bay, and then only spoke to direct Starscream onto one of the medical berths. He must have touched a nerve there. He ought to be more careful around the bot who was going to be messing around in his circuitry, but the medic's demeanor didn't exactly command respect. Ratchet didn't appear too outwardly agitated, but he kept his back to Starscream as he moved around the room, gathering the materials and tools he'd need. "Keep still, will you?" Starscream lay back down on the berth, uncomfortably aware that he couldn't see the other Transformer from that position. Thankfully, it wasn't too long before Ratchet walked back into his field of view. "Open your chassis panel. I'd like to deactivate the current through your servo before I try to work on that shoulder."

"Leave it on." He wasn't going to be any more defenseless than he absolutely had to be.

Ratchet frowned. "You sure? It'll make things more difficult for me, and it won't exactly be pleasant for you."

"I know." The Jet tilted his helm to the side mockingly. "What happened to your qualifications ?"

The medic shook his helm, but began the process of opening his shoulder casing. "Decepticons," he muttered. Starscream smirked, then grimaced as the armored plating was pried open to reveal his shoulder mechanism. Ratchet didn't patronize him with sympathy, and didn't waste any time either, quickly disconnecting his active servo motor and starting to shift cabling and rethread wires, making room for the actual replacement procedure.

The medical berth was made of tougher alloys than those intended for recharge, designed with the intent of holding strong against patients in pain. It was similar to the ones aboard the Nemesis - nearly identical, visually and in the familiar resistance of the metal against his clenched servo. Starscream dimmed his optics. This was more tolerable than some. This was tolerable. He wasn't going to let this Autobot think that he was weak!

And yet he couldn't help the pained hiss that escaped him when Ratchet's torch cut through the base of one of the damaged cables. The feedback jolt from the active current was a shock he hadn't been prepared for. His servo clawed at the berth as he fought to regain control, to suppress panic, to relax as much as was possible so he wouldn't accidentally cause himself more damage. Ratchet was proceeding steadily - it would be over soon enough, and then he'd only have the memory to deal with.

The medic's voice cut through his thoughts, a welcome, if brusque, distraction from that dull haze. "This would've been an easy fix if it had been repaired back when it first happened."

As if he didn't know that. "I can't reach it myself," he responded quietly.

"...what about that Constructicon, Hook? Isn't he supposed to be your medic?"

Starscream smiled, rueful and bitter and hollow. "Hook only does what Megatron tells him to, and no more. He doesn't disobey orders. He's loyal , as he is so fond of telling me whenever he does repair me."

"Some medic," Ratchet muttered, prying the damaged disk from its setting with a precise yank. "Do you have to repair yourself often?"

"Myself and others." Starscream narrowed his optics. "I have the skills. Why shouldn't I put them to use?"

"Star- That's not- " The Autobot broke off with a sigh, shaking his helm. He lapsed into silence again, but Starscream didn't mind as much anymore. The slight sting of reconnection was a negligible pain.

He'd have to be more careful. The lack of animosity in Ratchet's words kept cutting through his defenses, leading him to say more than he intended to. It was...disconcerting, how easily he'd let his guard down with the Autobot medic poking around in his internal workings. Even with the caution that threatened to dissolve into fear, Starscream hadn't felt this secure while being repaired in longer than he cared to recall.

Ratchet pressed down on the external casing of his shoulder, welding it back into place. "Alright. Don't overdo it, but you should at least have your full range of motion back now."

The Jet sat up, rotating his shoulder experimentally. "Decent job." In truth, he was astonished at how much better it felt. He hadn't realized just how severely the damage had been affecting him. The ache was completely gone, and the joint felt better than it had in decades - centuries, even. It was such a physical relief, a strain on his frame he hadn't noticed until it was lifted. It just went to show how nearly anything could become normal with time.

"Keeping your circuits on like that…" Ratchet spoke without turning from where he was putting away tools. "That wasn't tough. That was stupid. But I think you knew that." Starscream slid off the berth without a word. "Look, maybe it's none of my business - "

"Then keep out of it."

The medic whirled around to face him, his expression almost fierce. "You don't have to deal with this by yourself, Starscream. You may not have everyone on your side, but it's more than you used to have. You're not alone anymore." His optics softened. "But if you keep attacking everyone who tries to care about you, you will be." Starscream stared back in shock. Was - was the Autobot threatening him? No, it wasn't a threat...closer to a promise, or a prediction. "I'm glad you chose to take Prime up on his offer, but we can't spare the luxury of forcing you to accept our help."

"...I've been repaired. I see no reason to waste my time here further."

Starscream managed to get out into the hallway and around the corner before the panic he'd been suppressing overwhelmed his motors and he sank against the wall, processor racing. What was wrong with him?! The Autobots were his enemies, and he theirs - and he'd only given them more reason to dislike him. Why couldn't he just take advantage of their idiotic kindness without pushing to see how much they would put up with? He wasn't going to degrade himself, of course, but...this was more than mere dignity.

He should never have left. The thought frightened him, and yet it came so naturally, as if it had been hiding deep within his processor, waiting for the right moment to emerge. He'd been so sure of himself in the moment, but - but he was so often wrong, he so often failed, and now he didn't have Megatron to correct him. He should have stayed. At least he knew what to expect from - from that - and while the predictable element might have been only pain and fear and resentment and misery, at least it was predictable.

Starscream's optics dulled and he began to shake, his servos pressing against his helm. He'd been terrified. He knew that. He was still terrified. So how - why - 

Why did he miss it?

What was wrong with him? Why was he so irreparably broken that he felt this way? Why was he so completely, unfixably broken , so utterly useless even to himself, so…

Maybe it wasn't too late to go back. Maybe - maybe if he could find something more useful than those old historical records, maybe he could trade that information for a bit of mercy. Maybe Megatron would be so pleased with him for stealing Autobot secrets that he'd let his foolish mistake slide, just this once. Maybe…

And why was he only ever optimistic when it came to Megatron? Mercy from Megatron - he might as well expect civility from a Sharkticon. And yet he was always so eager to believe in that possibility, even though it always ended up as just another example of him being wrong. Stupid as ever.

He was safe for now. Megatron believed him terminated. He was safe . And yet…

The dents on his shoulder might be gone, but he could still feel Megatron's servo on him. He couldn't shake the feeling that somehow, Megatron knew .

Ratchet was a fool. Even surrounded by well-meaning Autobots, Starscream was no less alone now than before.

---

Starscream jolted out of recharge, thrashing against the phantom that sunk fingers of icy panic into his frame, a shriek caught in his vocalizer too overwhelmed by stress to give it voice, his weapons systems online and primed, but - there was nothing to shoot at. He could only recall vague flashes of the source of his terror; something holding him down, restraining him; his chassis wrenched open against his will; servos ripping at his circuitry, his wiring… and that merciless red glare, piercing into him, cutting him apart, slicing him down to nothing underneath its cold hatred.

The room was silent and unfamiliar, shapes looming strangely before his unfocused optics. Not a sound came from the corridors outside, either. Tonight, the Ark was wreathed in a suffocating silence, broken only by the deafening echo of his passage. Starscream was exhausted, and scared beyond reason, and he couldn't breathe, couldn't process what he was seeing, stumbling down hallways in a blind stupor, and before he could compose his scattered thoughts into any sort of order he found himself already outside of Skyfire's door.

He stepped inside, but then hesitated, some semblance of clear thought reaching his processor. Skyfire was laying on his berth against the far wall, motionless in recharge, the low hum of his systems barely audible in the quiet. He looked...peaceful.

Starscream would only be interrupting. Hadn't he done enough to Skyfire without disrupting his recharge cycle for something as stupid as a faulty dream function? The fog of fear was dissipating; slowly, but it was , and as always just being able to see Skyfire was more of a comfort than he was willing to admit. He could breathe easier now, and...and he should really return to his own room, and find some way to occupy himself until the Autobots came online.

Skyfire shifted and mumbled something under his breath, and then his optics lit up, that calm atmospheric blue looking to the Jet as though he'd almost expected him. "Come here." Starscream complied, relieved, and crawled onto the berth where he was quickly wrapped up in the larger Transformer's arms. "Something's keeping you up again?"

Starscream frowned at the Autobot insignia on Skyfire's chassis. "More like waking me up." He traced the lines of the insignia with one finger, the silence somehow now reassuring. "I've never had…nightmares before," he remarked. It was strange - but then again, maybe not so much. He was always on guard back on the Nemesis, every astrosecond online spent tense with fright and resentment, so that dreamless, exhausted recharge was his only point of safety. Now that he was no longer in direct danger, even that had been taken from him…even that had been invaded by the monster he was too weak to kill.

He was tired, his processor fatigued from stress, but he knew there was no way he would be able to find recharge again that night, even with Skyfire there beside him. Starscream's servo stilled on the pristine white metal of Skyfire's chassis - white, whiter than diamond, whiter than a neutron star. Whiter than snow. He really had intruded; no doubt Skyfire was just being polite about it as usual. Hadn't Skyfire just told him he wanted some distance? And here he was, running to him for comfort, pushing his problems onto him again , caught up as always in familiarity and in his own selfishness - 

Skyfire hmm ed, the gentle sound bringing Starscream out of his thoughts. "You're not bothering me, I love being with you, and I will still be here when you need me, as your friend. I'm glad you came to me." He pressed his faceplate to the top of Starscream's helm, pulling him closer. "Did I guess what was worrying you?" Taken by surprise, the Jet didn't respond, but allowed himself to relax into the moment. "Thought so. Now please, at least try to recharge?"

How was it that Skyfire could always disarm his anxieties so casually?

"...I'll try." And yet, he found he didn't have to try at all. He felt so safe , so sure that nothing would harm him, that nothing could get past Skyfire. In his relief, the exhaustion dragging at his processor finally overcame him, and he offlined his optics with a sigh. Once more, Starscream sank gratefully into unconsciousness - this time, peacefully.

Chapter Text

The first thing Starscream became aware of as his consciousness slowly booted up from recharge was the comforting pressure of Skyfire's embrace. He didn't need to see to know it was Skyfire. The Autobot's presence was so familiar to him; the low thrum of his engines, the way his frame curved slightly to rest his faceplate against the top of Starscream's helm - for a moment the Jet felt certain that they were in their shared quarters back on Cybertron, enjoying the time between deep space missions, and the war and all that came with it was nothing more than an elaborate dream.

Tentatively, he onlined his optics, but while the gold-tinted walls of the Ark were, of course, not the calming sky-blue metal he'd been so pathetically hoping for…they were still a comforting sight. His rest had granted him a little clarity, and in the safety of the moment his paranoia felt foolish. He was glad - glad to have Skyfire with him, glad to not be alone any longer, glad to have even this small respite from the stress of it all. It almost felt as though things were alright again; as though maybe he could be alright again.

The silence came to an end too soon.

"Good morning, Starscream." The foreign phrase sounded natural in Skyfire's mellow tones. He always had been fond of solar cycles. Briefly, the Jet entertained the thought of pretending to still be offline, but Skyfire knew his recharge cycle too well to fall for that. "Are you feeling any better?"

"Oh yes, much better." He really did, but he couldn't help souring this too.

Skyfire didn't speak at first, his servo curling against Starscream's side. When he did, his voice was careful, level despite its emotion. "I don't have nightmares very often anymore, but they do still come to me." He paused. "When I first came to the Ark…nearly every time I tried to recharge, I would slip into a paralyzed panic. I was certain that the darkness in my visual feed was not from voluntarily offlining my optics, but because somehow, I was back in the ice. Or maybe I'd never escaped it, maybe all that happened was only a fleeting dream, and that - " Skyfire's voice shook, but he pressed on. " That was reality, semiconscious, barely aware of myself, frozen in place, terrified, and cold, so cold . It got to the point where I'd avoid recharging until I nearly collapsed, because I dreaded that nightmare so much."

Starscream couldn't help his surprise at his old friend's revelation, wishing again as always that he could have found Skyfire those millions of years ago; wishing that they'd never been separated. Not that naming distant stars would make them his - there wasn't much point in obsessing over the unchangeable. Somehow, he felt comforted to know that he was not alone in experiencing these…inconvenient troubles. "What helped you get over it?"

"Nothing." Skyfire brought the Jet closer, the warmth in his voice and his frame contrasting the chill Starscream felt at his reply. "Only time. But I had the support of my new friends, and that made it…a fear worth facing." 

As always, Skyfire left his implications unsaid, and Starscream found he didn't have the heart to start a quarrel about his self-imposed isolation. Instead he let himself relax again, focusing on the safety of the moment, the pleasant golden glow of the walls, the gentle silence in the air…despite having recharged decently for once, his frame felt heavy, taxed with the exhaustion of constant stress, and it was bliss itself to just rest . 

Skyfire was shifting as though he wanted to leave. There was never enough time. "As much as I enjoy this, Starscream, I do have to go."

"Why?" Starscream muttered, pushing out of Skyfire's embrace and sitting up, making the distance between them his choice. "What's so important?"

Skyfire followed suit, swinging his stabilizing servos over the edge of the berth, and maddeningly he did not question Starscream's emotional retreat. The Jet narrowed his optics and tried to convince himself he didn't feel a little stung. "As I'm sure you've noticed, the Ark isn't exactly in top condition. There are a lot of areas that still need a lot of repairs, and Perceptor and I are gradually making progress."

"What's the use? It would be easier to just build a new cruiser than to try to make this old wreck space-worthy again."

"That's not the point." Skyfire stood and held out a servo to help Starscream off the taller-than-usual berth. Starscream accepted it wordlessly. "Why don't you come with me?"

"And waste the whole day shifting scrap around? As if ," he sneered. But the thought of enduring the same tedious, suffocating isolation as every day before proved too daunting. "Then again, with just the two of you, it'll take forever. I suppose you really will need my help…and I have nothing better to do."

Skyfire smiled. "It'll be nice to spend some time with you." And as usual, Starscream couldn't help but smile back.

It really was lowly work, Starscream brooded, tossing yet another unsalvageable sheet of metal onto the growing pile of junk in the middle of the room. Moving million-year-old debris, replacing paneling and - on occasion - repairing the mechanisms in doors and fixing the wiring for the ambient lighting…it was all so far beneath him. It was almost an insult to his skill to waste his abilities on this boring, tedious, pointless affair.

It was dull , and the other two robots found it so as well, but annoyingly the mundanity of their work didn't dampen their Autobot spirits. The simplicity of their repairs meant that for the last few hours, Skyfire and Preceptor had not been quiet for a single astrosecond , instead choosing to engage in meaningless chatter. They were worse than Thundercracker and Skywarp. He wrenched another damaged panel loose from the wall, grimacing as it finally gave way with a protesting shriek.

Skyfire glanced over at him, concern fresh in his blue optics. "Starscream? What do you think about the humans' conflicts?"

"Who cares what the flesh-creatures do?" He muttered, inspecting the wiring he'd exposed. What a pathetic attempt to draw him into the conversation. Surely Skyfire could do better than that .

After a respectful pause, Perceptor filled the silence, still a little nervous in Starscream's presence. "But that's exactly it, Skyfire. We have to care, that's why we must help them to be better than they are - to be better than us ."

"Imagine if a species more advanced than we are tried to interfere in our politics. War is personal and private to those fighting it, Perceptor - that's something you newer constructions don't seem to understand. We'd never let them fight in our war, or try to make peaceful policies for us. Why should we deny them the same respect? It's because I care about them as a whole that I have to agree with Prime's non-interference policy." Skyfire squinted at the circuit he was soldering. "…I might actually need your help with this. It's a bit small for me."

"Of course," Perceptor accepted, transforming and resuming work on the circuit with a quick, precise laser. "I simply can't understand how you separate the individual from the whole so easily. What if Spike were to be called to fight in some preventable human war?"

"Then it would be his choice to fight or not. And I would fight to defend that choice, but I would not fight on his behalf."

"But he wouldn't have to fight at all!" Perceptor sighed, conceding for the moment. "It's no use, Skyfire. I fear we will never agree on this subject."

"That's not such a terrible thing, though, is it? I always enjoy hearing your perspective on things."

Starscream's servos lay unmoving on the wiring. Once again he was struck by just how different the Autobots were from what he knew, and yet how similar they could be. He couldn't count the number of times he'd had to cut between two Decepticons on the verge of an all-out brawl and reign them back in in order to clear rubble or build some machine at Megatron's orders.

"Then maybe you could lend me your perspective on something." Perceptor paused, transforming back to root mode and handing Skyfire the completed circuit. "I had an idea for a sort of…geomagnetic stabilizer. It could prevent cities from sustaining as much damage during earthquakes and other seismic events, and convert the absorbed force into energy. I must admit however that I don't know nearly enough about geology to even begin to make it a reality, though."

"It's an interesting thought. I'm sure there'd be a desire for it on the West Coast, and Japan." Skyfire replaced the circuit and stepped back, thinking.

"Yes, I'm sure it would help a lot of people if it could be built. Erm…you have experience with organic planets, right? I was hoping you'd be able to help me with it." The inventor scratched his helm bashfully, grinning.

Skyfire patted the Autobot on the shoulder, his voice as warm as always as he turned to face the Jet in the corner. "Actually, that's more Starscream's area of expertise."

Starscream scoffed, fixing Perceptor with a haughty glare. "I wouldn't waste my knowledge on a pointless invention like that one. It has no practical application."

"But - but it does, it could help - "

"Earthquakes, sure," Starscream interrupted. "My audio processing works fine . Maybe you're too naive to understand this, but in war , things are supposed to fall down." He spread his servos wide in a mocking gesture. "Are we not at war?"

"I…I don't intend it for use in war," Perceptor replied, lapsing into silence. He stared at Starscream with the most entertaining expression of crestfallen injury on his faceplate.

Skyfire gave him a disappointed look, but the Jet ignored him and turned back to his work. The wiring in this section appeared mostly intact, but the conductor ports at the end were scorched, indicating a power surge that has most likely killed the wires, too. They'd have to be replaced. Starscream pushed aside the guilt flitting in his processor and reached for the new wiring they'd brought with them.

Hours later, they'd made significant progress on that one room. It was both satisfying and maddening to have all that work result in a barely-functional but clear storage room, and then to step into the corridor outside and see to his right only more rubble and twisted metal all still cast in darkness.

Skyfire stepped out beside him and stretched, his white frame reflecting beautifully in the half-light. "I don't know about you two, but I'm not quite ready to turn in for the night."

Perceptor smiled, his expression growing timid as he glanced at Starscream. "I'm afraid I'll have to miss out. I really would like to get back to my lab, as there's a few things I've been working on…"

"Not still trying to make a less exotic formula for Corrostop? Good luck." Skyfire's voice was as soft as his servos as he sent the red Autobot on his way with a friendly pat on the back. Starscream wanted to terminate the little fool. "Just us two, then," Skyfire remarked, turning to the Decepticon Jet. "Let's go see what the others are up to. Jazz usually has a pretty good scene going in the primary recreation room." He tilted his helm invitingly.

Well, it was about time he show his face to the Autobots, anyways. He needed to take back control of their perception of him. And he was curious - he'd only seen the Ark's recreation rooms in passing, and the Nemesis of course was a dedicated warship, sparing no room for leisure that could be better devoted to weaponry. "What are we waiting for?" Starscream asked in mellow agreement.

There was also the fact that he was not yet ready to leave Skyfire's side. But if the taller robot picked up on that, he thankfully didn't say anything. Starscream followed him closely through the maze of corridors and thought of holding his hand, but didn't dare to. Eventually they approached their destination, and the overlapping voices of boisterous Autobots interrupted his obsession.

"Skyfire! This is a rare treat!" Jazz leaned back against the control panel for a large screen behind him, currently displaying some Earth broadcast which went entirely ignored by the room's inhabitants, who seemed mostly engaged in playing a scaled-up version of some card game. The Autobot second-in-command tipped his helm, a slanted grin appearing on his faceplate. "And Starscream, even rarer!" He spoke as though Starscream was an old friend; as though they weren't enemies. As if he were entirely natural in this place, entirely familiar. Starscream frowned, more perplexed than angry.

"I thought we'd drop by and see what was going on," Skyfire said, glancing around in timid unease as the temperature in the room plummeted. The other Autobots were significantly less enthused about Starscream's intrusion. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker retreated to the far corner, grumbling to each other and stealing deathly glares at him. Beachcomber merely stared, then looked to Ironhide across from him, who was looking deliberately down at the table, radiating barely-restrained distrust. Inferno and Mirage exchanged a few muttered words and then fell silent, and Smokescreen held his cards closer to his chassis as though Starscream were somehow going to infect him with his bad luck.

Well, it wasn't like he could just turn around and walk back out.

Starscream strolled into the room as if he belonged there, taking up a perch on the opposite side of the room from Jazz. From this position, he could keep an eye on everyone. Skyfire quickly followed him, the Autobot now suddenly the nervous hanger-on. "Somehow, I had it in my mind that Autobots might get up to something more interesting than cards in their free time."

Jazz chuckled, his lackadaisical grin only growing more genuine. "If you want interesting , you oughta tag along with Tracks and Blaster. Us here, we just want a little friendly company." His visor gleamed, the blue light simultaneously watchful and welcoming.

At the table in the center of the room, Ironhide grumbled something under his breath, then turned to Starscream with a look of magnanimous tolerance. "Want me to deal you in, Starscream?"

The Jet stepped closer, intrigued. "What are you playing?"

"Go Fish," Smokescreen cut in. "It's pretty simple - you try to match pairs. We go around in turns and you get to ask anyone if they have a specific kind of card, and if they do they have to give it to you. If they don't, they say 'Go Fish' and you have to draw one from the deck."

"I assume you win by making the most pairs when the game's over." Starscream took the indicated seat next to Beachcomber, fanning his cards in front of him. No matches off the bat. He was already behind, having come in late, but…not too badly. No one else had more than two pairs. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker came sullenly back to the table, not playing but watching the game. Skyfire joined Jazz on the side, and the two started chatting mellowly. Skyfire never really was one for card games, though he was formidable in games of strategy.

"Yup," answered Inferno. "And it's my turn. Got any 8's?"

"Go fish," Starscream replied, looking at the red 8 in his hand.

Mirage was next, and then Smokescreen, who prized a Queen away from the racecar with a triumphant grin. Then it was Starscream's turn. He knew better than to go after his quarry just yet, instead asking Beachcomber for a 3 he knew the robot didn't have from stealing a glance at his cards when walking over.

"Sorry, man, go fish."

And he did, with a tremendous sense of satisfaction at how well-executed this stage of his plan had been. He made sure to project an air of annoyance, for the sake of his secret. Beachcomber himself inquired mildly after any 5's Smokescreen might have and was disappointed, and then disappointed again when Ironhide took his with an apologetic grin.

With one round of the game completed smoothly, the Autobots started to relax again, engaging in conversation between turns. Inferno asked after his elusive 8 again, and this time it was Ironhide who denied him. "Sure hope you're better at findin' fires than you are at findin' cards."

"Aw, don't bring that up again! It was one time." Inferno shuffled his new card into his deck, barely glancing at it in his preoccupation. "Red's the one who's good at that stuff, anyways."

"I wish he'd play with us sometime," Mirage said. "Got any Kings there, Starscream?"

"Not anymore," Starscream mourned, handing over the card in question. It was no great loss, really, as that would be Mirage's first pair; besides, it was good to appear to be playing fair.

"Thank you very much." The blue Autobot snapped the cards down with a dextrous flick of his servo. "Then again," he continued, "if Red were playing, his sensors would probably tell him exactly who to ask for what."

"It doesn't quite work like that," Inferno chuckled. "It would be nice to get him to take a few hours off duty. He already has a hard time letting himself relax, and now…" The firetruck stole a glance at Starscream. "Well, whatever. You'd think he'd be more at ease 'cause there's less Decepticon activity recently, but if anything it's driving him more paranoid."

Smokescreen hummed in sympathy. "Well, I get that. Who knows what's going on over there. Beachcomber, you got a 2 for me?"

The blue Autobot sighed deeply, handing the card over. He still had no matched pairs, no doubt due to his easily readable expressions every time someone else so much as mentioned a number. His losing position didn't seem to be affecting his enjoyment of the game, though.

"What is going on over there?" Starscream asked. He hadn't forgotten his cards, not at all; but for the moment this topic was infinitely more interesting.

Perhaps that was an understatement. His processor felt like it was on fire, his servos trembling with a nervous tension he could not ignore, his faceplate numb. Had his absence really had such an impact? Did Megatron finally realize what he'd lost? That he was worthy of everything he'd worked for? He suddenly realized that he couldn't bear to learn the answer. Was he excited, or terrified?

Smokescreen didn't answer. Inferno too was silent, not keen to bring up the topic in full. Finally, Ironhide spoke, his tone brusque as usual but not unkind. "We don't know too much. Besides a disastrous attack on a solar plant almost a week ago, we haven't seen hide nor hair of the 'Cons since you 'died'."

"Disastrous how?" He was trying to feign only mild interest. He knew he was failing.

"We didn't even have to fight them, really. They fell apart on their own. No organization there, that's what I always tell Prime." Ironhide tapped his cards against the table. "Now, I believe it's your turn."

"Right." Starscream pretended to assess his cards, trying to calm his racing processor. "Inferno, why don't you give me that 8 for safekeeping?"

The firetruck narrowed his optics in distrust, but handed the card over. "Didn't I just ask you for one of these?"

"I only got this one thanks to Beachcomber," Starscream lied, placing the matching cards down with satisfaction.

Beachcomber startled at the sound of his name, then realized it was his turn. "Do you have any 5's, Inferno?" Inferno did, and grumbled excessively about it as the little blue Autobot happily laid down his first pair. Ironhide and Inferno both ended up drawing from the deck, and Starscream made sure that Mirage did as well, keeping the 9 in his hand a secret for now.

The lull in conversation was broken by Sideswipe, watching everything with a keen eye. "Hey, I was at that battle. You wanna know about it, ask me."

Ironhide glanced at Starscream in good-natured annoyance. "These newer generations, all they want to do is brag about battles they were in."

"We're the same way," Starscream muttered, looking down at his cards. "We just disguise it as wisdom." Unexpectedly, Ironhide chuckled. The ice in his blue optics was beginning to thaw. Starscream nearly smiled. "Alright, tell me."

And suddenly, no one could get a word in edgewise, not even to play the game, as Sideswipe's dramatic, not-at-all-embellished retelling of the solar plant battle took over. The red Autobot was like a tropical storm, his words a torrential flood that threatened to drown them all in nonsense and bravado. " - and then Prime was like, 'Megatron! You're a loser!' and Megatron laughed, like a real evil laugh, you know how he laughs?"

"They know how he laughs, bro, get to the good part!"

"I'm getting there!" Sideswipe nudged Sunstreaker, urging him to be quiet. "So Megatron laughs, and he goes 'Really, Prime? You call this losing??' and he points at the sky - I guess they planned this? Sort of a big reveal. So anyways, all these jets come flying into view, like all of them, even Blitzwing, and things are looking dire. Wheeljack's like, 'We're scrap!' and even Ironhide's looking a little daunted. I wasn't scared at all, of course."

"That's not true," Ironhide muttered. "Me and Optimus have been in worse situations. You were just about ready to turn taillights for home."

Sideswipe pretended not to hear. "But then…the attack pattern just falls apart! Ramjet banks a little too close to Dirge, who tries to evade and ends up smashing right into Thundercracker, who in retaliation ends up taking down Blitzwing with him! Just like that, half the formation is out of the sky! You should've seen Megatron's face, he looked so mad I thought he'd explode."

"Pathetic," Starscream sneered. "Truly and completely pathetic ." They really couldn't do anything without his leadership - why had he ever wasted his talents on such incompetent individuals for so long?

"Yeah, it was pretty amazing. I couldn't believe it." Sideswipe leaned forward, actually excited to engage with the Jet. "I guess that never used to happen, huh."

" Certainly not. But then, I'm actually a good Air Commander. It's not just about flying, you know; it's about being able to lead a team. You need to know strategy, formation, radar activity at all times, and you need constant communication with the others to ensure that nothing like that ever happens." He smirked, conjuring the mental image of such an embarrassing disaster. He hoped that Megatron had learnt his lesson. Starscream was not so easily replaced. He did wonder who exactly Megatron had thought was skilled enough to replace him. "Did you catch who was flight leader?"

"Ramjet, I think. He's the white one, right? He caused the whole thing, too."

Starscream was appalled. " RAMJET?! It's a miracle they even made it to the battle in the first place! Skywarp would've been a better choice - much better, actually; he at least understands the importance of location." He scoffed in contempt. " Ramjet ," he repeated to himself, softer, in disbelief.

Smokescreen took advantage of the break in Sideswipe's deluge of words. The gambler was clearly anxious to get back to the game, even with nothing at stake. "Ironhide! You got any Aces?"

"Sorry, Smokescreen. Go fish."

"Aw, shoot. I knew I should've asked Beachcomber." Beachcomber sat up straighter at the indirect prod, an unfortunately obvious tell that he had the card in question. Starscream quickly glanced through his cards, hoping for an Ace, but found no luck. It was his turn now, wasn't it? He tried to recall his strategy, cursing himself for getting distracted by the younger Autobot's story. His mind was still only half on the game, spinning with this new information. How could Megatron have been so stupid to try to replace him with Ramjet? Did he really mean so little? He'd known that, of course. It shouldn't sting him now. Maybe Megatron's judgement was impaired, maybe he'd been affected by Starscream's apparent termination after all.

Megatron had been affected. He'd seen the unspeakable fury that had contorted his former leader's faceplate into an unrecognizable rictus of hate.

Starscream shuddered. The game. Focus on the game.

He couldn't ask Mirage, not yet. He had to induce a draw first. Beachcomber didn't have any 9's. The blue robot hadn't reacted at all when he'd asked Mirage the first time. "Beachcomber, do you have any 9's?"

Beachcomber started to reply, but was interrupted by Inferno's shout of indignation. "I knew it! "

Starscream froze, realizing his mistake. A foolish, avoidable mistake, like always. He narrowed his optics, then widened them in a false display of confusion. "What?"

"You're cheating! I knew it!"

Mirage spoke up in support of Inferno, his tone unreadable. "You said you didn't have any 9's when I asked you, and you haven't had a chance to draw one yet."

"I still don't have any. I wasn't told that you couldn't ask for a card you don't have." He laid his cards face-down on the table.

Smokescreen thought back, then nodded. "Actually, he's right, I didn't say that. I figured it would be obvious, but that's my mistake."

Well, better to be stupid than guilty. But Inferno wasn't letting go that easily. "Then show us your cards. Show us the 9 you supposedly don't have."

Starscream stood up, his optics blazing with insult. "I knew you didn't trust me. You'll never trust me. You Autobots , you talk as though you're so perfect and righteous, you pretend to be friendly, but you never actually trusted me. You never wanted me here."

Inferno looked like he wanted to retort, but stopped himself, and Mirage too buckled beneath the force of vaunted guilt. Smokescreen hummed thoughtfully and tapped his cards on the table, no doubt hoping they could get back to the game. Beachcomber cowered in his seat next to Starscream, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else in the galaxy. Even Jazz and Skyfire had stopped talking.

Ironhide was not impressed. "Come on, Starscream. Are you cheatin' or not?"

He wouldn't get past Prime's bulldog. Oh, well, so much for that . Starscream knew when there was no point in pursuing a phantom target any longer. "So what if I am? It's only a game." He sat back down, handing an irritated Mirage the 9 he'd been hiding. "For your troubles. You've earned it."

Ironhide sighed, and Inferno, bubbling up in seething anger, spilled over again. "It's not about that! If you'll lie about this , what else will you lie about?!"

"Anything you want," Starscream boasted. "I thought lying was a valid strategy. Isn't that the case in games like these?"

"Stop playing dumb! We told you the rules!"

"Lying is for games like poker," Smokescreen spoke up. "Go Fish is just about luck, really."

"I'm sure there's plenty of luck in the way you were reading poor Beachcomber's tells." Smokescreen acquiesced with a shrug. He seemed mostly unbothered by the Jet's ruse. Starscream scowled at the others. "Have I committed some horrible crime?"

Ironhide grumbled under his breath, shaking his helm. Mirage was silent.

"Not really," Smokescreen said helpfully.

Inferno laughed, a sharp, angry sound devoid of mirth. "I should've known better. I did know better. You're a Decepticon , after all. I'll never understand the twisted logic that plays out in that corrupted processor of yours."

"He was a Decepticon," Beachcomber mentioned, timid.

"I still am ." Starscream folded his servos, his optics glowing brighter. "As long as this insignia still marks my wings, I always will be. Megatron and his morons can do as they please; they'll always fall short. I am a true Decepticon, not them.

Inferno growled. Ironhide stood up and tossed his cards down on the table. His optics had frozen over again. "I think you had better go now."

He sneered, catching each one of the Autobots before him in the searing red light of his optics, and then stood, stalking out of the room with his helm held high. Behind him, he heard the Autobots break out in furious argument, heard Jazz trying desperately to calm everyone, heard Skyfire follow him out. It all gave him a tremendous sense of satisfaction. He felt tired, and was sure he'd recharge gratefully, but he also felt victorious, and almost proud of himself for how he'd handled the Autobots.

It really hadn't been a bad day at all. He'd almost enjoyed himself.

Skyfire had been less than pleased, but still welcomed Starscream to his berth in the middle of the night when nightmares again proved too much to handle alone. The next morning they again awoke in the same idyllic memory of the life they'd once shared, and Starscream wondered whether the pleasance was worth the ruse, given that reality always had to intrude regardless. He felt somehow further from Skyfire than the day before. But what was he supposed to do? All he had left was his sense of self; his confidence and his mastery of deceit. He couldn't throw that away, too. Not even for Skyfire. It would be giving up the part of him that had survived, and as scorched and broken as that was, he couldn't let go of it.

But all Skyfire seemed to care about was that he wasn't playing nice with the Autobots. He asked Starscream if he wanted to continue helping to repair the Ark with Perceptor, but it felt more like an obligation than a genuine invitation. Starscream accepted anyways. He hated when people didn't say what they meant.

And he didn't mind the repetitive work, really. It was better than doing nothing and being consumed by his own thoughts. He worked in silence, eavesdropping on the conversations between Skyfire and Perceptor, wishing one of them might ask his opinion even though he knew that if they did, he'd only dismiss them bluntly. Why couldn't he just talk to them? Well, because they didn't want to talk to him . They were the ones excluding him, the Autobots in general ostracizing him, and what did he care? No one had ever really liked him, and he could never respect anyone who was foolish enough to do so anyways. It was about respect. He didn't want to be around them in the first place - he was only here because it had become too dangerous to stay with Megatron.

Was he a coward? Maybe. But he was alive.

…and unwanted.

Maybe he'd made a mistake. Another stupid, obvious mistake. He felt more alone in safety with the Autobots than he'd ever felt in the familiar, hostile corridors of the Nemesis. He knew exactly how everyone detested him, and how they were forced to respect his skill even so, and the contempt he felt for each and every one of his fellow Decepticons was matched only by his admiration of some of their skills. Here, he was floundering, unknown and unknowing, hated without any understanding of why or how .

Perhaps that was why he couldn't just talk to Skyfire and Perceptor. Maybe he'd made himself an outsider in his quest to be hated quantifiably.

Starscream tore free another sheet of damaged paneling. Still. What was he supposed to do? He couldn't just abandon who he was. It was cyclical; all of it. He ought to just make it easy on himself and beg forgiveness from Megatron. But as he examined the wires underneath, he reflected further. The thought had not actually been an option this time, just a…sort of failsafe to entertain. Maybe it wasn't entirely cyclical.

A few hours more passed in this manner, Starscream working in fuming silence while the other two talked amiably. When they finished clearing the room - a nearly identical space to the one previous - Perceptor once more excused himself to his laboratory. Starscream turned to Skyfire expectantly, but was disappointed when his old friend abandoned him again, retiring to his room in search of solitude.

Starscream couldn't blame him. He wouldn't want to be around himself either, behaving so sullenly - but whenever he tried to be more comfortable in this horrible, unfamiliar place, he only drove everyone further away. He realized he hadn't spoken a word to anyone since he'd awakened that morning.

So rather than go back to his own stifling solitude, he retraced the path he and Skyfire had taken the night before, and found himself again in the Ark's main recreation room. As soon as he entered, Inferno broke off mid-sentence and turned to glare at him. When Starscream only stood firmer and crossed his servos, returning the fiery stare, Inferno stormed past him and out into the corridors of the Ark, shoving him to the side as he did.

The Jet regained his footing quickly, watching for a moment to make sure the irate Autobot would not return. Then he sauntered further into the room, approaching its only other inhabitant. His red optics cast a strange glow over the walls as he pretended to assess its emptiness.

"Not as popular tonight, I see."

Jazz grinned, as casual and cunning as an Earth cat, in nearly the exact same position as before. "Seems everyone's deserted this place after your little game last night."

Starscream wandered closer. "I hate to think I scared away your little club ." His tone was pointed, sneering, derisive.

But Jazz didn't rise to the bait, waving one servo lazily. "They'll be back." He raised his helm, the blue haze of his visor regarding Starscream with an unreadable look. Starscream hated it. He'd always been on edge around Soundwave for the exact same reason. It was impossible to tell what either one of them was thinking - although at least with Soundwave, if they decided to tell you, you knew it was the truth.

Starscream glanced away, feigning boredom. "Do you actually do something here, or are you just another one of Prime's freeloaders?" The remark wasn't necessary - he knew Jazz's role as a soldier well, and respected the Autobot second-in-command as an enemy just as much as he loathed his skill and easy arrogance. Few were as insufferable to face in battle. What he was interested in, as always, was recent activity.

"Well, besides blasting you and the other Jets out of the sky, I keep things organized. This is part of that. Leisure is important, and I like to know how everyone's doing." Trust the Autobot to misinterpret what he didn't say. Starscream scowled, unsatisfied. Jazz tilted his helm, visor glinting queerly. "How are you doing, Starscream?"

He stared, flustered, made speechless by indignity. How dare this Autobot! And - had Jazz purposefully misinterpreted in order to steer the dialogue this way? What right to superiority did Prime have when he employed such manipulative cyber-snakes? "You - you dare? " He had to find something to take hold of; something to sink his claws into and pull to the ground below him. " Leisure is the coward's answer to a lack of discipline." He wasn't sure if he believed what he was saying, but Megatron did, and that was all that mattered. "For all your bragging about the effectiveness of your one trick, I so rarely have seen you in battle recently. Could there be a reason for that? Have you finally realized that you're not fit for modern warfare? If your response to that rude awakening was to run from the battlefield, I wouldn't blame you. After all, you are outclassed, outgunned… outdated. " He smirked, confident in his victory.

For the first time, he saw anger flash visibly across Jazz's faceplate, and was delighted to know he'd struck on target as always. But as soon as the emotion had surfaced, it was gone, sinking again into the calmly reflective blue of the Autobot's visor.

Jazz sighed. "You're treating this like a battle, Starscream. I just wanna have a conversation."

He said it so simply. Starscream found himself speechless once again, this time in mollifying shock. The Autobot was right, of course; he'd approached this interaction the same as any other. But Jazz wasn't like his Decepticon comrades, or any of the other Autobots Starscream had spoken to. Starscream had come to him as combative as he could muster, anticipating the sweet satisfaction of dragging his opponent down to a low enough level that he could crush him easily, and Jazz had simply…disengaged.

And wasn't that how Starscream had wanted to be treated? With the calm, the decency, and the respect that Jazz had afforded him? It suddenly seemed to him that he was doing everything in his power to recreate everything he'd left behind. Despite his escape, he was still too comfortable in hurting to eagerly accept whatever else might be out there. But he knew he was capable of more. Skyfire was proof of that.

The Jet took a seat on the corner of the table, across from where Jazz was leaning against the monitor controls. The Autobot smiled, genuine as always. "So, what's new?"

It was a normal inquiry. Not an interrogation. Starscream kept his voice level as he replied, still wary. "I've been…helping Skyfire and Perceptor repair the Ark."

"Sounds dull." 

There was humor in Jazz's voice, but Starscream wasn't sure why. He narrowed his optics. "It is." Jazz seemed perfectly comfortable in the silence that followed, waiting for Starscream to continue. He obliged. "It seems pointless to me. This ship will never fly again regardless."

"I think they do it out of pride, or maybe just to make things a little better." Jazz cocked his helm to the side, considering. "Tell ya the truth, I'm not entirely sure myself. It always seemed kinda pointless to me too, but in a nice sort of way."

Starscream nodded. "They seem to get some satisfaction out of it. I don't, not really, but it's something to keep busy with at least."

Jazz shifted. "Yeah, I get what you're sayin'. That's part of why I take so much time to make sure everyone's feeling fine. Sometimes we'll go weeks without knowing what Megatron's up to, but helping everyone else stay loose and ready for anything keeps me from getting too worried."

" You? Worried?"

The Autobot smiled at Starscream's incredulity. "It's hard work being this laid-back."

Starscream returned the smile without thinking, his servo tapping contemplatively on the edge of the table, blue metal ringing against orange. "I don't mean to insult your hard work, but - what does it matter? Whether they're ready or not, it's their inherent skill as fighters that will be tested."

" And their cooperation as a team." Jazz raised one finger. "Morale is important."

"Maybe so," Starscream mused, reflecting again on Ramjet's failure; on his own occasional shortcomings due to the flaws of others. Though it was, he supposed, as much his fault as theirs, and he was very proud of himself for admitting this so magnanimously. To be sure, Soundwave had never failed a mission due to an inability to work and communicate with their cassettes. Although he wasn't sure if constructions such as Soundwave ought to be related to the rest of them. Starscream roused himself from his meditation with a non-committal hum, still openly thoughtful. "Well, it's something to keep busy with, at least." He leaned back, actually enjoying the conversation.

"It is, and all the moreso what with you doing everything in your power to sabotage me!" Jazz's smile widened, breaking into a full-on grin. "You're bad for morale, Starscream. But I think we need that. A little bit of turmoil every now and then only strengthens us. If we can get comfortable around you - if we can make you comfortable with us, as a friend, maybe an ally - then, well, I'll bet we can do just about anything."

Jazz talked as though he were all the Autobots at once, but Starscream didn't mind. He would like to believe that the Autobots were the well-meaning, unified monolith that Jazz presented, even just in theory. He knew how they really felt about him, but even against that uncompromising truth, he needed to know that he wasn't beyond hope - that he was still capable of the kind of closeness that Jazz spoke of. "Good luck." He meant it in warmth, but couldn't help the forlorn current sweeping into his voice.

Jazz's smile faded to the smaller, somehow more truthful essence of itself. "You're the one who's gonna need it."

Skyfire was leaving again.

It wouldn't be forever, only a little more than a day. Apparently the Insecticons were devouring some rainforest on the other side of the planet, and Prime and his team just had to take Skyfire with them.

"You know they only want you for transportation, right?" he muttered, standing in the Ark's massive central bay while Skyfire and the others prepared for their mission.

Skyfire didn't even look at him. "So?" he shot back bluntly. Even Skyfire's patience was not infinite. He'd been relying on it too heavily.

"I want to go with you." Starscream changed his approach. "I won't fight, but - let me come with you." He was getting dangerously close to begging, and in spite of his level tone his voice shook a little. He needed to get out of this strange prison, even just for a little while. He needed to feel free air beneath his wings, to know again the beautiful odd patterns of wind currents, to bask in the rush of speed and altitude. The Jet forced those thoughts from his mind. It was bad enough that he would be without his only friend in a ship full of hostile strangers - he didn't need to torture himself on top of that.

"You know you can't leave the base. Prime's explained that to you." Skyfire was cruel. Could he not sympathize? The Autobot paused in his weapons check, glancing down at Starscream with his optics as blue and clear as the sky outside. "I know it's hard, Starscream, but you shouldn't complain about being safe."

Safe . That word again. Skyfire must think that that was the answer to everything. Starscream bristled, rage spilling over in an instant like molten metal. "It's suffocating ," he spit. "Day in, day out, the same miserable mundanity! I don't have anyone other than you , I don't have any of the distractions I used to. I had to leave everything behind, do you understand that?!" He didn't care so much about his prototypes, and most of his literature was left behind on Cybertron, and replaceable regardless, but his records , his historical and scientific and military datapads - his decision had been so impulsive that he hadn't brought a single one. He certainly couldn't trust the Autobots to present the actual truths of such things, but Megatron was no better. And his comrades - Skywarp and Thundercracker hadn't quite been friends , but neither had they been enemies, and as much as he'd thought he hated them, he missed them terribly. 

Maybe Megatron had been right, in the end. Even this was just another failure. He might as well be a prisoner for all the freedom he had, trapped inside the cold, sharp mausoleum of the Ark, its harsh color and massive size threatening to engulf him. He was alone on the Nemesis, but he was alone here, too, only barely tolerated because Prime for whatever reason ordered it, and was no doubt regretting it.

Well, let him regret it, then! A flash of bold anger streaked through Starscream, and he scowled up at Skyfire, determined not to fall prey to his treacherous thoughts any longer. "It is suffocating, " he repeated deliberately. "I want to do something, if I can't leave this place."

Skyfire looked thoughtful. "Well, you could keep working on the Ark. Perceptor would probably help if you asked."

"Something that won't bore me to death."

Skyfire laughed gently. "Alright, I don't know. You should ask Jazz. He knows everything that needs to be done on this ship." The taller robot holstered his laser pistol, his servos as fluid and sure as a river.

Jazz, again. Why not? He really hadn't minded the Autobot second-in-command's company the other night, even if his last words were still echoing in the Jet's processor. Starscream nodded. Whatever Jazz had to offer had to be better than nothing. "Good luck with your mission, Skyfire." He hesitated, then added quietly: "Come back soon."

As it turned out, what Jazz had to offer was much better than nothing.

"We're checking the inventory in the armory today. You're welcome to help out."

Starscream tilted his helm, skeptical. Sure, the Autobots hadn't disarmed him, but… "You trust me enough to let me handle weapons?"

Jazz grinned. "I don't mind the gamble. Besides, Sunstreaker and Bumblebee will be there too." He gestured for Starscream to follow him, strolling down the corridors in the theoretical direction of the armory. It was a long, narrow room buried deep in the heart of the Ark, close to the larger weapons vault he'd found himself in during his ill-fated manipulation of Red Alert.

Bumblebee had already started when they arrived, and Jazz bounded forward to help the smaller Autobot with the smoothbore tank cannon he was struggling to keep upright.

"Thanks, Jazz," the yellow Autobot sighed. "Next time I'll stick with something better suited for my size." He looked over at Starscream, curious but wary. "Is he…helping?"

"Yup." Jazz leaned the cannon against the wall and picked up a datapad from the desk opposite. There was barely enough room for him between the two - and further down, long shelves and cubbies loaded with weapons and parts crowded the room so that it was more like a claustrophobic corridor. "And so is Sunstreaker, although it looks like he conveniently 'forgot' again. You two get started, I'm gonna go track him down." Jazz handed the datapad to Starscream, breezing past him despite the tight quarters.

All the datapad contained was a seemingly endless spreadsheet, rows and rows of items with columns denoting number, quality on inspection, and any damages, as well as the last use/repair/replacement date. Starscream looked down at the nervous yellow Autobot in front of him. This was going to be fun. "Let's start with the tank cannons, since you already took one out." He tossed the datapad to Bumblebee, easily lifting the unwieldy cannon and giving it a rudimentary once-over before placing it back on a pile of four other identical guns. It was rather odd that the Autobots even had these. They didn't use tanks. No one did anymore, and no one had for millions of years! "Are these…for Warpath?" Bumblebee nodded. "Why don't you keep them with the other spare parts?"

"Because…they're weapons? They should be in the armory." Bumblebee balked. "Last update recorded here says Ratchet took one out to repair him, and manufactured another a few days later."

Starscream nodded, his optics quickly finding the newest one, knowable by the slightly less oxidation in the red paint. "It's still part of him, though. He would be incomplete without it." Whatever their reasons had been, he was grateful the Autobots hadn't deactivated his guns. He hadn't needed to use them, but they were as much him as his servos, or his wings.

"Yeah, well, you don't make the rules." Bumblebee hesitated, his blue optics round at what he'd just said. "Anyways, uh…next on here is the unspecialized laser pistols."

They hadn't gotten much further when Jazz returned triumphantly, a downcast Sunstreaker in tow. With four pairs of servos and optics at work, things progressed faster, even with Sunstreaker's immature refusal to talk directly to Starscream.

"Jazz, Bumblebee said there's supposed to be one more energy cartridge here, but I'm not seeing it." Sunstreaker looked through the irate Jet, ignoring him completely.

"It is right here . I am holding it, you incompetent moron ." His words were hissed through clenched teeth. Sunstreaker pretended to have heard nothing, almost perfect except for the hint of smugness that curved his faceplate. Starscream seethed with rage, burned in the scorching starfires of hatred, froze in the blistering embrace of icy despair and then ignited again into unquantifiable fury.

Jazz snatched the cartridge from his servos with an apologetic glance. "I've got it, Sunstreaker. Now, stop being difficult."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Jazz sighed and shrugged his shoulders, gesturing to Bumblebee to move on.

Starscream stormed past him, scowling at the racks of weapons parts in front of him, trying to calm himself. The Autobot was trying to upset him, so he couldn't let him. Unfortunately, he couldn't help it - he hated being ignored.

Scanning the shelves more alertly, he let his mind wander elsewhere. The Autobots had so many weapons stored here - fragmentation grenades, EMPs, corrosive-spitting detonators, energy-draining "dead zone" mines, and of course guns, guns, and more guns. It was paltry compared to the formidable armory of the Nemesis, let alone what the Decepticons had strongholded on Cybertron, but it was still surprising…especially with how rarely the Autobots put any of it to use. He'd never even seen them use half of this equipment.

Bumblebee spoke up from his perch on the desk. "Next up are all the spare parts for Prime's laser rifle. They should be, uh…somewhere near you, Starscream."

They were. He found the barrels easily enough, as distinctive as their length made them, and reported back his findings to Bumblebee even as he searched for the other parts - the stock, the cartridges, the trigger mechanism, the sight - deconstructing his memories of Prime's gun to try to identify what he was looking for.

Optimus Prime, level-headed and unfearing, always an imposing figure with his broad-shouldered frame, his calcite-blue optics peering down - or up - the barrel of his rifle, always firm in his resolve, always grimly determined to finish what was started. Optimus Prime, who effectively wielded a portable cannon, and yet who seemed to never miss.

He wondered why Prime had chosen that weapon, when no other soldier had. It was distinct enough that it was only Prime's, and somehow it felt wrong to even consider anyone else holding it.

Starscream dismissed the thought from his processor, relaying to Bumblebee the last information the little yellow Autobot needed on the subject. While Bumblebee checked and re-entered the data, the Jet re-placed each item carefully, his servo lingering for a moment on the black, muted metal.

Sunstreaker shoved past him, and he stumbled, narrowly regaining his balance without bumping into the shelves. " Watch it! " he snarled, turning on the vexing young Autobot, his red optics glaring. Sunstreaker didn't react, except for a self-satisfied tilt of his helm.

Jazz sighed, having finally had enough. "Sunstreaker, if you don't stop behaving like an insensitive brat, I'm gonna have to talk to Prime." He clearly hated having to make the threat, more for having to make it than for the threat itself.

"Oh yeah?" Sunstreaker bristled with self-righteous indignation. "Why don't you talk to Prime about him?! " He pointed an accusatory servo at Starscream. "He doesn't belong here!"

Jazz opened his mouth to reply, but Starscream interrupted. "Finally, he acknowledges my existence." He sneered. "Fact is, Prime wants me here." Whether or not it was true, it would rile the Autobot up more. "Get used to it."

Sunstreaker fell for the bait gracefully, leaping eagerly into his trap. "Who cares what Prime says! You nearly fried my circuits trying to make me talk. You can't possibly think I'd ever actually forgive you?!"

The incident the Autobot was talking about was not one of Starscream's favorite memories. The interrogation had been too harrowing to be much fun, and once Megatron found out that not only had he failed to get any information out of the prisoner, but the Autobot's comrades had broken in and rescued him, and Starscream and the other Jets had been unable to stop them…

Regardless, it was apparently a point of intense bitterness for Sunstreaker.

"There's nothing for you to forgive. I did what was necessary." He kept his voice even, and his faceplate blank, restraining the gleeful smile that flickered within him. "You resisted very well, by the way. I was impressed." He waved a servo in the air flippantly. "Of course, if I'd had access to higher voltages…"

Sunstreaker threw up his servos in exasperation. "Unbelievable! He's not even sorry!" He stormed out of the room, then stormed back in for one last word. "You'd better watch yourself."

Starscream looked towards Jazz in disdainful amusement. "Oh, no. I'm so scared."

Sunstreaker stormed out again, his echoing footsteps fading into the distance. Bumblebee breathed out a sigh of relief now that the tension was gone, and Jazz shook his helm in disappointment for the troublemaker. "Let's get this finished."

But as he sat alone in his room afterwards, he kept reflecting on the encounter. Wheeljack's prototype held no interest for him tonight - instead, his dimmed optics stared unfocused at the burnished wall, his processor replaying thoughts that all ran towards the same conclusions. 

Sunstreaker had provoked him . But he'd almost welcomed it, in contrast to Jazz's too-genuine friendliness and even Bumblebee's cautious acceptance. Starscream frowned. It hadn't even been his fault. With Perceptor, and with the card game, he had been choosing to drive others away, even if he didn't have another choice. He was what he was, and they ought to know that he hadn't changed. But with Sunstreaker…he'd only been reacting.

He'd only ever been reacting, though. The choice to act first was only to keep his guard up, to prevent others from having the advantage. Starscream's frown deepened, his optics flickering. He'd only ever felt comfortable around the other two Jets, and even they were a constant source of stress and paranoia.

Before the war, of course, there had been Skyfire, but that was not even worth considering. It didn't matter what he was worth, what he was capable of, if he was never given the opportunity.

A quiet whirr gave away the opening of the door. Starscream leapt up, spinning to face the intruder, expecting Jazz, hoping for Skyfire, steeling himself for Ratchet, and entirely unprepared for the Autobot leader himself, finally seeing fit to invade his private prison once more.

"Is Skyfire back, too?" Starscream asked before the Autobot could speak. He knew the answer, but preferred it to whatever Prime actually came to say.

Prime stepped inside, looking, the Jet was pleased to note, extremely uncomfortable. "Yes. The Insecticons weren't much trouble. Without a leader, they're only really interested in eating."

"Even with a leader, that's still all they care about. They're closer to animals than true Decepticons."

Prime didn't respond. His helm was dented, and his chassis too boasted a few scorch marks. He'd come directly from the battle, not even waiting for the little time it would take to be repaired first. Starscream felt the room constrict around him, a chill settling into his wiring even as the flow of energy picked up. He knew what Prime was going to say.

"Starscream…"

"No." He wouldn't go back. He wouldn't. But what else could he do by himself?

"I've received a lot of… complaints about you in the last few days."

" No ." His servos curled into fists, his optics glowing in terrified conviction. He knew it. He'd known all along that he didn't belong here, that Prime would eventually grow frustrated with him just like everyone else, that once he'd become intolerable Prime would throw him back to the wolf whose jaws he'd just barely flown free of. He was shaking, fear flashing icy through his frame, threatening to melt suddenly into hot, limpid despair and take his will with it. "No, I won't. You'll have to drag me out of here, Prime; you'll have to enlist every Autobot in your command to pry me from this place. You might as well terminate me yourself. It would be better ." His lip-plates were numb, his processor a jumble of frightened emotion.

Sudden understanding flooded Prime's optics. "Starscream, please - I promise, that's not what I was going to say. I told you that we would protect you, for as long as you needed, and that is still true." He moved closer and held out a sympathetic servo to the Jet, who did not take it but sat down heavily on the berth, his trembling becoming more pronounced as he processed and desperately believed Prime's words. "I will not make you leave against your wishes, ever. And…" the Autobot's voice, solemn as always, took on a plaintive note. "Do you really think I would terminate you?"

Starscream shook his helm, barely able to hear Prime over the dull grey haze of relief that exhausted him. "No," he whispered, his servos finding purchase on the edge of the berth, clawing at it for balance, comfort, assurance. Prime hovered in front of him, uncertain, while the false ringing in Starscream's processor faded and his frame returned to its normal weight. He was too tired now to curse the Autobot's presence, or to wish for Skyfire. He reflected that he'd never experienced these exhausting malfunctions until he'd escaped - maybe this was the final price he was paying. He hoped so.

"Are you alright?" Prime's servo twitched, but remained by his side.

Starscream looked up at him, slowly. "Yeah."

The Autobot leader hesitated, but forged onwards. "What I was going to say is…" he paused again, grimacing. "Some of the others think you're causing trouble on purpose." 

How very diplomatic of Prime not to name names. It didn't matter. Starscream knew who his enemies were. "So? They already hated me. They'll never trust me."

"You're not exactly making it difficult," Prime sighed. 

"I don't appreciate you coming in here to scold me."

"I'm not…" Prime started, then trailed off. His faceplate was wrought with troubled contemplation, his blue optics weary despite the eternal light of hope burning within them. Starscream wondered if he ever relaxed. "I guess I am. It wasn't my intention." He sat down beside the Jet, trying to create a more comfortable air. "It's not going to be easy, Starscream, but you're among Autobots now. Everyone here wants to help you." Now Prime was just lying. He'd almost gotten caught up in the Autobot's sincerity, too. But Prime seemed to read his mind, or his expression, because the Autobot leader amended his statement with curious amusement. "Alright, almost everyone. You really love accuracy, don't you?"

"Necessary in battle, necessary in communications," Starscream muttered. It was one of a few things he and Soundwave had actually agreed on.

Prime seemed to savor the gentleness in the room, before returning, albeit reluctantly, to more solemn topics. It was remarkable, really, how Starscream could feel the unthreatening change in Optimus Prime's mood, could feel the gravity seeping out of his frame and weighing down the air, the lightness fading from his optics and leaving behind only the terrible empathy. "Even those who dislike you don't want to see real harm come to you." Prime lay a servo on Starscream's shoulder without thinking, but quickly retracted it when he flinched at the light touch. Starscream almost asked the Autobot to put it back before he remembered his dignity. He would actually have appreciated the rare comfort if he had only known what Prime was going to do. " I want to help you, Starscream, but you need to let me. I know how dangerous it can be to trust, and how terrifying it can feel to be vulnerable, but I need you to believe that I only want to help you."

He wanted to. And maybe his processor was forgetting the caution that had kept him alive so far, or maybe his fatigue was worse than he'd thought, but…he did believe him. If there was anyone , anyone at all in the entire galaxy, whom he could trust, it was Prime. He felt secure in that. After millions of years in flux, never sure if the ground beneath him would shift and send him sprawling, never sure if those around him would abandon him or worse at any given moment…he finally had something certain, something he could hold on to.

Of course, the flip side of that was that if it turned out he couldn't trust Prime, there would be nowhere else to turn. But the Autobot sounded like he was speaking from experience, and Starscream had seen his overwhelming trust and loyalty fell him many times in battle, and yet they were always the reason Prime survived to fight again. And, as he was starting to understand, the Autobots were stronger for it.

But there was still the troubling fact that he didn't know how to trust Prime.

"I'll let you think," Prime murmured, rising to leave. At the doorway, he looked back, his optics kind and almost caring . "You're not alone anymore, Starscream. And if there's anything bothering you - anything at all - you can talk to me, if you wish." Starscream nodded slightly, and Prime was gone.

It was unnerving how Prime's words cut so precisely through his defenses. It seemed any wall he built up was shattered, any edge he sharpened was met with softness. It was something he'd never experienced before - and maybe more than just survival, his cowardly escape had given him the opportunity to live .

The Autobot leader's earlier words were still echoing in his processor, playing back over and over in his thoughts. "You're not exactly making it difficult." He was right that no one ever trusted him…but then, when anyone had dared to, he'd always shown them the error of their foolishness. He needed to burn others before they burned him, even as he clung desperately to everything until it turned to ash in his grip. But he didn't want to burn Prime. This was one thing he was determined not to destroy. He had been blaming everything on how Megatron had damaged him, and he was not wrong, not after five million years of being degraded and beaten and berated. But maybe…maybe the effort to fix that had to be his. Megatron certainly wouldn't do it.

Before Prime had come, he'd been bemoaning how he'd never been given the "opportunity" for trust; for closeness. Given! When had he become so passive?! It was easier to blame everyone else for his loneliness - easier than changing. It was also pathetic. No more. He would forge his own opportunity.

But first, he would go make sure Skyfire had returned safely.

Hours later, the deep stillness of the night found Starscream still online. Skyfire had been too tired from the mission to do much talking, and despite the Jet's best efforts to recharge, the thoughts swirling in his helm wouldn't leave him alone. And for once, they weren't entirely negative - in fact, he actually felt energized as he slipped out of his quarters in pursuit of one specific goal.

He knew the path up to a point, and after a few blind guesses, he saw light spilling out of a secluded room, illuminating the wall opposite the doorway. Like any true scientist, Perceptor worked late, especially when he found himself stuck.

The Autobot scientist was building…something with a lot of electric coils inside of a cylindrical frame, alternating between tweaking it invisibly and taking note of his adjustments at a small computer opposite his workbench. The laboratory itself was small and tidy, and generally more geared towards chemistry. Perhaps Perceptor's current project was meant to aid in that by boosting heating elements. But that wasn't why Starscream had come.

"Do you know anything about geology?" He asked, immediately chastising himself for his scornful tone.

The little red Autobot spun around in surprise, stuttering as he answered. "Uh - well, I - I know some , of course - the basics."

Starscream slipped inside, coolly assessing the room. The walls were littered with printed notes, formulas, and blueprints - maybe Perceptor's only concession to the stereotype of messy inventors. "Your…'geomagnetic stabilizer', as you called it. Would cities be built on top of it?"

"Well…no, ideally it would be small enough that it could be retroactively fitted into existing cities." Perceptor hovered nervously in front of the Jet, his optics wide. "But that's the issue I was thinking about - because of the, erm, tectonic plates under the Earth's crust."

Starscream grinned. "Exactly." He waited, letting the Autobot's curiosity grow. "Luckily for you , I happen to have overseen a similar project with the Decepticons. Now, Scrapper's machine was designed to tap energy from the core of the planet and in consequence shake it to pieces, but the technology provides an interesting starting point for the opposite."

Perceptor rushed to his computer, flipping through hundreds of files too quickly to read until he found the right one, typed a few words, and paused, servos poised above the keyboard. "Yes?"

His optics were practically sparkling. Starscream had never seen a robot so excited to hear about rocks. "The first possibility is simply placing small devices at strategic points underground around fault lines so that when a seismic event occurs, the vibrations suffered by the cities nearby are minimal. Each device absorbs the waveform energy or counters it, depending on the strength of the shocks." He paused to let the Autobot type. His mentors must have loved him. "This model won't produce much energy, as it will mostly focus on mitigating the force of an earthquake while keeping the city a part of the ground around it. The second possibility prevents a seismic event from happening in the first place."

Perceptor looked at him askance, skepticism brewing in his blue optics. "How would it do that without running into the same problem as the Constructicons' machine?"

"Easy," Starscream scoffed. "By locating more powerful devices between tectonic plates, they can simply prevent the plates from moving. Fault lines will not move or deform, rock will not break, and earthquakes will not occur." He folded his servos, smug.

The Autobot thought about it, then nodded slowly. "It…could work, I think." He tapped the side of the computer, contemplating further. "It would absorb the force exerted on it, of course. Right?"

"Exactly," Starscream affirmed.

Perceptor remained troubled by one thing. "Forgive me if I'm wrong, but…aren't tectonic plates, at least the ones in the Earth, moved from beneath by magma? What about the magma?"

Starscream waved his servo flippantly. "Don't worry about the magma."

"I am worried about the magma."

"It won't be a problem for hundreds of thousands of years. Maybe even millions. The force is only being transferred through the rock, it's the magma which generates it and the stabilizers would still absorb it. Sure, eventually the trapped magma might become so restless that it explodes through the Earth's mantle and crust to create a massive supervolcano that might cause an extinction event when it erupts, but at the rate the flesh creatures are evolving, they'll probably be living on the moon by then anyways."

Perceptor turned back to his computer, making one final note. "Needs…some…work. Okay." He clapped his servos together, smiling. "Would you like to help me completely redesign this entire project?"

Starscream smiled back, warmth rising in his circuits. He didn't have anything better to do.

They hadn't stopped until the early hours of the next morning, when Perceptor, barely able to stay upright, had pleaded for the mercy of recharge with the promise that they'd meet again as soon as they could. Starscream walked back through the corridors, retracing his route as best his processor muddled by lack of energy could manage. Admittedly, he was also tired, but he could have discussed that project and any other with Perceptor for days longer, surviving off of the energy he got from the young scientist's eager curiosity and respect for his knowledge. And maybe he was just fun , too; maybe Starscream had just enjoyed talking to the Autobot.

He still felt warm, and almost comfortable. It was such a strange, delirious, nice feeling, and he wanted to savor it forever. He was so distracted by it that he didn't notice a figure melt out of the shadows near the door to his quarters until the robot stepped in front of him to block his way.

"Starscream," Ironhide confronted, optics narrowed. "Where have you been?"

And just like that, the good feeling was gone, and Starscream felt as cold and exhausted as ever. "I wasn't aware that I had to report every action to you ." Ironhide didn't budge, his expression etched in stone. "...I was with Perceptor," Starscream surrendered. "Advising him on an idea he had." Ironhide stared him down for a few moments longer, Starscream meeting his optics with a firm glare. He wasn't hiding anything. He just wanted to recharge in blissful unconsciousness.

The Autobot finally relented, stepping aside to let Starscream pass. But just as the Jet was about to step into the safe, suffocating confines of his room, Ironhide asked him a question that turned his circuits to ice. "What exactly did Megatron do that was enough to make you wanna leave?"

Starscream turned slowly, his optics ablaze. "What are you implying, Autobot? "

"I'm not implyin' anything." Ironhide crossed his servos, mistrustful optics cold. "But it sure is interesting that you chose now to take advantage of Optimus's kindness - after a very showy stranglin' and…what else? Did he actually do anything to you?"

The electricity flowing through his wiring felt like broken glass. He couldn't breathe, the bronzed orange of the Ark's hallways darkening before his optics, mixing with the unrepentant purple of his memory. The Nemesis would always be seeped in his suffering and his failed ambitions. He could still feel Megatron's servo crushing his throat, even now. He wanted to drag the Autobot through every second of the torment he'd endured and was only now barely beginning to realize the extent of. Instead Starscream pushed those thoughts down, forcing himself by the steel of his will to turn his instinct to curl up on the ground wailing into a much more potent rage. "Ask your medics, Autobot ," he hissed, acid dripping from his words. "Nothing I say will be proof to you anyways."

He stormed into his quarters, the door sliding shut behind him. After a pause, he heard Ironhide's steps retreating down the hall, and let out a shaky breath. He wished he could lock his door. He never truly had safety here, even if it had not yet been challenged.

The Jet lay down on his berth, offlining his optics and preparing his systems for recharge. He wondered if Ironhide had been in his room while he was out. Not that it really mattered. Nothing in there was his.

He'd not recharged too well, waking fitfully several times, but never from nightmares bad enough that he couldn't find recharge again within minutes. It really did help to be so exhausted that his processor couldn't handle being awake. When he did come online, it was…a little later than morning, as judged by the various sounds of activity he could hear. As had become habit, he'd gone to find Skyfire, joining him and Perceptor in the still-boring-but-not-quite-mind-numbing task of repairing the Ark. And Skyfire had seemed pleased, both that Starscream was actually talking to Perceptor and not insulting him, and that he hadn't come crawling to Skyfire in the middle of the night again. When Skyfire smiled like he had then, he became a brighter sun than any they'd visited together.

Afterwards he'd theorized more with Perceptor, and redrawn the Constructicons' blueprints as best he remembered so they had something to work with. It had been a productive day. A good day.

But it has been too short. The small, rare moments Starscream enjoyed, the tiny pleasant things he clung to with reverence seemed to fly by, precious seconds escaping his grasp. Dull moments dragged on, and the horrible recurrence of fear, despair, and agony seemed to go on and on forever, an eternity of suffering crafted just for him. It felt like he was running out of time.

He knew he wouldn't be able to recharge in this state of mind. He'd had bouts of insomnia for so long he couldn't remember when it had started, but while he'd normally use the time to work out some theory or else find something useful to do, tonight nothing could distract him from his thoughts. His usual habit then was to fly, to erase these pursuant worries with the beautiful whine of the wind beneath his wings and the infinite rush of the world far below and the sky far above him. But here he was trapped, again, as always, apparently for his own safety.

So he wandered. He wouldn't bother Skyfire again so soon - if his spiral worsened, then maybe, but for now it was his own problem to face.

Thundercracker's expression at seeing his staged death was burned into his mind. It seemed paradoxical. They'd never really gotten along, and the blue Jet had never done so much as lift a finger to help him avoid Megatron's ire even when he hadn't been at fault. On several occasions Thundercracker had actually tried to sabotage him, and a few times even succeeded, and afterwards when Starscream would return from the repair bay wanting nothing more than silence and solitude, he and Skywarp wouldn't shut up about the entire incident. They were proud to watch him fail, contemptuous or sullen when he succeeded.

…but his faceplate when he'd seen what he thought was Starscream, his optics …there was no name for Thundercracker's expression other than horror ; dizzy, revelatory horror. It didn't make sense. Or it made too much sense.

He stopped still, registering a low murmur. Someone else was online after all. It was Prime's voice, too quiet to make out any words, emanating from behind the closed door of one of the monitor rooms in front of him. New curiosity dissolved his thoughts of Thundercracker. Starscream crept closer, his wings pressed against the wall, each step as near silent as possible. Even with his helm right beside the door, he couldn't quite make out the Autobot's deep murmur, so he delicately recalibrated his audio sensitivity.

" - could be nothing," Prime insisted, sounding unusually uncertain. Starscream wished he'd heard the first part of the Autobot's sentence, but he was sure with context it would become clear.

"Or it could be what leads to our ploy being discovered." That was Ironhide's voice - unsurprisingly, Prime was holding a meeting with his closest and most trusted subordinates. Ironhide paused, and Starscream could imagine the frown on his faceplate. "S'pose we oughta tell Starscream." Of course it was about him.

Prime's reply was hesitant, even tentative. "Perhaps we shouldn't tell him just yet. I can't imagine the information will be of much help to him."

Ratchet spoke up, disbelief clear in his voice. "I think he has a right to our transparency concerning him, Optimus."

"He does," admitted Prime. "But he's had a…difficult time adjusting, and I'm not sure if it would be a good idea to tell him right now."

"Difficult is one way to put it," interjected Ironhide.

"If not now, then when?" Ratchet sounded shocked. "He can handle it, Prime."

Insufferable Autobots. Starscream couldn't bear his curiosity, twisting through his circuits like a cybersnake, and here they wouldn't stop talking around whatever the issue was! He reset his audio processing to its normal levels and stormed into the room, demanding an answer. "Handle what?! "

Ironhide shot him a level scowl but said nothing. Ratchet sighed, turning his steady gaze back to Prime. Starscream had expected to see Jazz as well, but the second-in-command was conspicuously absent. Instead, Wheeljack stood behind the medic, looking uncharacteristically timid. Optimus Prime himself seemed ashamed, guilt written across his faceplate, and though he turned his helm in an attempt to look away from the Jet, his optics were drawn back to him. Calcite-blue, they seemed to search Starscream's own desperate, frustrated gaze for something, and, finding it, Prime relented.

"Skyspy spotted Thundercracker and Skywarp up north earlier today, alone, presumably looking for your wreckage. They're…still digging."

He hated the sympathy in Prime's optics. He hated the shock he felt, the sudden loneliness. He hadn't thought those two would have cared even that much. For what little it was worth now.

Starscream turned mechanically and left, feeling as though he were walking on thin glass instead of the sturdy metal of the Ark. Prime said something else, his voice echoing slightly behind the Jet, but Starscream didn't stop to listen. He didn't stop until he was back in the dark, decrepit corridors Skyfire and Perceptor were slowly repairing, navigating twisted, broken metal and ancient rockslides until the only light he could see was the dull red glow cast by his own optics.

It was worth too much.

Starscream sank to his knees, servos clawing at the soft, alien dirt, trying miserably to find something to hold on to, something to be sure of. He felt faint. He could feel himself slipping again, control and certainty spiraling away from him, wordless, thoughtless, drowned in emotion deeper than the sea. A support beam caved somewherein the endless abyss in front of him, the muted shriek of metal silenced forever by the tons of rock and earth pressing down above it.

Starscream curled up on his side in the pile of rubble. He offlined his optics and let darkness take him mercilessly away from this torture of consciousness.

Chapter Text

The softness of complete darkness was reassuring. In the working sections of the Nemesis or the Ark, or even back on Cybertron, there was never anything but light, and he'd forgotten how comforting the stillness and total gloom of these quiet places could be. He was reminded of a lush alien jungle he'd once been in, so black in the absence of the planet's triple suns that the glow from his optics barely pierced it. He'd opted instead to navigate with radar, somewhat enjoying the secrecy of the darkness around him, not confining or pressuring but actually expanding his perception. The wildlife had all been religiously silent as the suns set in slow succession, but in the blackness their chirps and repeating calls formed a choir so constant and comprehensive that it almost seemed like the voice of the jungle itself. He had stood in place for nearly an hour just listening to it, a rare moment of pause.

This cave was not quite silent, but the occasional shift and trickle of dirt was more concerning than compelling. Starscream onlined his optics, rising slowly, careful in case any part of his mechanisms was strained or stuck from the way he'd spent the night. There was a low hollowness deep in his frame that he was beginning to hate, but he did not doubt his choice as he had the night before. Thundercracker and Skywarp…they only wanted to find him to get Megatron off their backs. And even if there was room between their stupidity and their selfishness for sincerity, it wouldn't change anything if he were to go back. Whatever he'd left behind, whatever he hadn't realized…whatever their sudden change of heart, it was not worth returning to all he'd suffered.

He had to stay strong. He had to keep believing that. Starscream brushed the dirt from his frame and headed back towards civilization, walking towards the dim light of the Ark's functional corridors.

He wondered what was lost behind him in the dark. What lay abandoned, slowly being crushed by the weight of the mountain, forsaken by the Autobots? More empty storage rooms? Or data disks, precious information like the historical records he'd read? What was significant enough to bring, but not too important to sacrifice? Did they even know?

Starscream slowed as the warm bronze light of the Ark washed over him. He might as well head back to his quarters until he thought of something better to do. And he wanted to give one last effort to Wheeljack's accursed radio cannon.

Optimus Prime was in his way. And unfortunately, the Autobot leader had noticed him, so he couldn't just find another path. Maybe he could just walk past him if he kept his helm high and acted busy.

"Starscream! I thought…" Prime trailed off, turning to watch as Starscream swept by like he hadn't heard him. Incredibly, that was it - Prime didn't even try to follow him or get his attention further. He felt a little disappointed, honestly. He'd expected more bullishness from the Autobot.

But it wasn't his concern what Prime did or didn't do, so he left him standing there and returned to his quarters victorious. And then remembered too late what Jazz had mentioned about conversations. Whatever. Prime was different than the others. The door slid shut behind him, and Starscream was once again alone.

He sat down at his workbench, the pieces of the prototype spread out before him, and decided that actually, there was nothing more he could do. Short of melting it down and recasting it into a wrench or something, the radio cannon - which, by the way, he had thought was an insane and unworkable idea from the very beginning - would never be useful. Starscream sighed, sweeping all the pieces onto the floor with a clatter. He'd pick them up later.

Or right now. The blankness of the room, devoid of any personal affects, completely empty except for the barest furniture - he couldn't stand it. Grumbling under his breath, he knelt down and started gathering the tiny, useless parts into his servos.

The door slid open unexpectedly, and he whirled around, whacking his wing on the workbench. He winced and stood, placing the prototype pieces carelessly down on the table. Skyfire had come to visit him , oddly.

"Are you busy?" Skyfire paused on the threshold.

"Never," Starscream grumbled. "Why?"

The much larger Autobot stepped inside, blue optics soft as always. "No luck with the radio cannon?"

It was just ill timing, but Starscream was sore about his failure. Even if it had really been Wheeljack's failure. "Surely you came here for a reason , Skyfire?"

"Yes, of course. Perceptor and I were wondering if you'd join us again?" 

He would have liked to, if he hadn't just left those deteriorating corridors. The thought of going back already filled him with dread, as though his negative thoughts and feelings had seeped into the metal and stained it black. And even if he could bear that for however many hours they worked, Skyfire would surely pick up on his distraction. Skyfire always noticed, especially when Starscream did not want him to. "Maybe another time."

Skyfire nodded, but didn't leave. Had he already noticed something off? "I ran into Optimus Prime on the way here." Wonderful. Wonderful . "He seems worried about you." Ah, Skyfire, ever the master of unasked questions and calculated kindness.

That wasn't fair. He was always genuine. All conversation held elements of manipulation - Skyfire was no more capable of deceit than Prime was of flying. "Prime worries about everything." Starscream tilted his helm. The Autobot leader wouldn't have told anyone of Skyspy's discovery; he was certain of that. "Perhaps he thinks I'm a bad influence on Perceptor."

"Perhaps." Skyfire nodded again, placated. "There's nothing bothering you?"

"Nothing besides this gilded cage."

Skyfire smiled at the curt remark, as sympathetic as he was reassured by it. "Hang in there, Starscream. It'll get better." He glanced around the empty room, hesitant to leave. "Do you want me to stay for a while?"

He did. He wanted to admit his confusing thoughts, his emotional disarray; he wanted to fall apart completely and let Skyfire so kindly rebuild him. But he was stronger than that. "I was actually just about to leave. I ought to return this - " he gestured to the radio cannon disassembled on the table, " - to Ratchet."

"Well then, I'd better get going. I hope Perceptor hasn't gotten too far without me…" Skyfire smiled again, turning to leave.

"Goodbye," Starscream called after him. Skyfire raised a servo in return.

It was about time he talked to Ratchet, anyways. His shoulder motor still felt as good as when he was first constructed. Nimbly, Starscream reassembled the prototype, more than ready to get the accursed thing out of his sight for good. Maybe Ratchet would have something more reasonable that he could work on.

On his way to the repair bay, he passed Brawn in the hallways. The little Autobot gave him a joking half-salute with the servo he'd helped repair, but it didn't feel like an insult. It felt almost like recognition. Starscream was still thinking about the interaction when he arrived at his destination, stepping into the deserted med bay to find Ratchet hunched over one of Omega Supreme's massive servos. The Autobot medic glanced up from the panel he was welding.

"I knew you could handle it," Ratchet said, turning his attention back to his work. "Besides, we had no right to keep that from you." He didn't have to explain his subject.

Starscream leaned against the wall to watch. "None whatsoever. Without you to make him see reason, Prime would be a tyrant."

Ratchet's optics flashed over to him, skeptical, serpentine. "Like Megatron?"

"No!" Starscream recoiled at the quickness of his response. "...I only mean that I'm perfectly fine. I'm not affected by it." He should have known better than to treat Ratchet like a Decepticon. The medic always cut right to the point, surgical in his precision with no regard for politeness.

Ratchet nodded, frowning at the seam under his torch. "You know, you don't have to be 'fine'." He narrowed his optics, considering the repair. "That's up to you, though."

Starscream scowled, dropping the radio cannon onto a diagnostic table with a harsh clang. "I only came to return this. Your friend must be insane to ever think this could work."

The medic actually smiled, unbothered. "Yeah, that's Wheeljack. Half his ideas are unworkable, but he really is brilliant when he's not blowing himself up." The fondness in his voice was…surprisingly tender. "I hope it at least gave you something to focus on for a while." He picked up the prototype, glanced it over, and set it down on a workbench crowded with parts and blueprints for other ideas.

"It provided a needed distraction some times," Starscream admitted. The Jet tried to dispel his hostility, recalling Jazz's observation. He wasn't under attack right now. "...I often have trouble recharging. Working on something physical helped control my thoughts." Somehow it was easier to confide in Ratchet than in Skyfire, whom he'd known far more closely for myrs.

"That's unusual." Ratchet leaned closer, staring into his optics as if it would let him see inside Starscream's processor. "When did that start?"

"It's been worse since I came here , but it's always been the case on occasion."

The Autobot deliberated silently for a moment before reaching a conclusion. "I think you're just prone to worrying. If it'll help, you're welcome to take another of Wheeljack's prototypes - "

"I'm actually working on something with Perceptor right now. But if that's ever not enough to occupy me, I'll remember this." Starscream folded his servos, surprised at how comfortable he felt. And how guilty , too; Ratchet had repaired him and listened to him, and the Autobots were sheltering him despite all he'd done to them, and he was grateful but he knew he could never deserve it. He kept taking and taking and sooner or later he was going to pay what he owed. Let it be later. Much later. "My shoulder joint hasn't had any problems since you replaced the disk. Best repair job I've ever had." Why couldn't he just express his gratitude? He kept clinging to his pride as though it were all he had left. It wasn't .

"From what you've told me about Decepticon medics, that's not high praise," Ratchet grumbled, but his optics soared with satisfaction. "Thanks for letting me fix it. That wasn't easy for you."

Again he was caught off-guard by the Autobot's awareness. Starscream nodded, not wanting to risk saying something rash and defensive. The pain of the repair had been tolerable; the fear less so, but Ratchet's matter-of-fact understanding had made it endurable. And for that he was grateful.

"So, how's it going with Perceptor?" Ratchet asked, curious. Genuinely curious, not probing for information.

They were making decent progress on the problem already, although Perceptor's pesky morality was holding them back. Unfortunately, it was his project. "It's…going well," Starscream answered slowly. "It's an interesting topic. I don't suppose you know anything about geology?"

Ratchet shook his helm. "Nope, just mechanics for me."

"Well, the issue is that Perceptor wants to effectively stop a natural process from occurring, in order to preserve the stability of the planet's surface. And he wants to do this in a way that won't destroy the Earth, even if the threat would only come in thousands of years." Starscream paused. "You Autobots are too optimistic. Sometimes, it's better to do something than to wait around for the perfect option to maybe present itself."

Ratchet shrugged. "Perceptor's still young. Let him be optimistic. He finds action harder than hope." The medic looked a bit troubled.

Starscream narrowed his optics. "I've no interest in corrupting him, if that's what you're worried about."

"Glad to hear it. You're good at what you do, Starscream - with both of you working on it, I'm sure you'll figure it out soon enough." Ratchet folded his servos, ruminating. "That's not what's bothering me, though," he said after some time. "I know you think Prime's controlling, but he's really just protective. Of you, of the Autobots, of anyone else who might get caught in the crossfire."

"Ridiculous," Starscream scoffed.

"I know Optimus," Ratchet asserted. "As far as he's concerned, you're his responsibility now. Same as everyone else he's ever met. And he weighs all of that against the risk every time he has to make a decision. So don't think he's doing it lightly."

If that were true, then why did Prime help him? The Autobot should never have extended that first offer of protection, knowing what it meant - the strain it would put on his soldiers, the stress it would cause himself, to say nothing of the retribution they'd all face if ever found out. No, the only way Prime could have made such a mistake was lightly, maybe in a moment of rare impulse. Certainly he wasn't known for acting so suddenly - well, not when it affected others as well as himself.

Ratchet continued. "His way of being responsible can sometimes feel overbearing. Optimus always tries to take all the weight for himself; he doesn't stop to wonder if anyone else would mind sharing it."

"That's what he has you for."

Ratchet smiled. "Something like that." He extended a servo in a broad gesture. "Everyone needs support. Even Prime." Even you .

Frustrating. He was beginning to realize that somewhere over the myrs he'd come to view Prime as infallible, irredeemable, and therefore inferior. But as it turned out, the Autobot leader was not a monolith. He was as complex as everyone else. Starscream felt disappointed, and somehow relieved. And, more than anything, confused. Millions of years they'd been fighting this war. For millions of years, they'd been enemies . Hundreds of thousands of years learning to hate each other, trying and failing to terminate the other. Oh, they'd never had a personal rivalry; Prime's attacks on him had never been as directed as his on Megatron. But even so, the Autobot had damaged him plenty. He never cared if Starscream suffered - as it should be!

So why did he care now?

It wasn't worth the effort. Only Prime knew the answer to that question. Starscream frowned, his servo tapping a steady rhythm on the table. Ratchet had a very annoying habit of bringing up these sorts of topics, making him think about things he would prefer not to. No doubt that was why Prime liked him so much. When he thought about it, Prime surrounded himself with friends who were almost his opposite - Ironhide, suspicious and always ready for battle, Ratchet who could cut through any cognitive net, Jazz the ever-vigilant but easygoing cool breeze, and Wheeljack, who…liked to blow things up? Starscream wasn't sure about that last one. Maybe it was his spontaneity?

Regardless. Starscream had Skyfire, of course, who was as much his opposite as a robot possibly could be, and yet he relied on him so completely. So he could understand, to an extent. And, when he thought about it, Perceptor too had a very different way of thinking about things, and yet Starscream had found him pleasant company and more than that a skilled (if inexperienced) colleague. And he'd found perspectives that he was missing in Jazz and Ratchet as well, actually. And…

"...you were right," Starscream murmured.

"I'm always right." Ratchet grinned, admitting the joke. "What was it this time?"

Starscream smiled, for once unconfident, his optics downcast. "I'm not alone."

A few more days had passed without event, and Starscream was obsessing over a detail he was sure Perceptor had overlooked in their rudimentary sketched-out blueprints. He hadn't found the detail yet, but he knew something must be off, because it just didn't look right. And his instincts were usually correct. He was walking rather slowly through the empty corridors of the Ark, poring over the copy he held in his memory bank, and perhaps that was why he didn't notice Optimus Prime until the Autobot called his name.

"Starscream! I'd like to talk to you."

Starscream stopped, letting Prime catch up. "If you must. What is it?"

Prime looked uncharacteristically uncertain, his blue optics bright with apprehension. For some reason, the longer this charade went on, the more nervous Prime grew in speaking to him. "Skyspy's observation. I don't want - "

"That again? " Starscream interrupted, dismissing Prime with a wave of his servo. "It's been days . Surely that's not still on your mind." Certainly he hadn't stopped thinking about it.

"I wanted to make sure you were alright. It must have been shocking to hear, and you wandered off afterwards…"

Starscream stiffened. "I'm fine . If you wanted to offer your condescending sympathy, why didn't you try to do so then? Or any time before now?"

"I've been…busy." Prime sounded almost defensive. "Besides, I thought you might need some time. You're not always willing to have me around."

"Well, I've had plenty of time to process it or whatever, and I'm fine. So there's really no need for you to be around."

"Starscream…" The Autobot sighed. "I can't force you. I'll go."

As soon as Prime gave up, Starscream regretted pushing him away. He regretted it so deeply that his guilt burnt through him like a gaping hole within his frame, a ragged and empty wound. He remembered what Prime had said about wanting to help him, and despite his turmoil of disbelief he spoke, hastily lest he think his action through. "It was shocking. I didn't realize that they cared if I lived or died. But I've had time to think that over, and it doesn't affect me anymore."

He hoped it sounded convincing. Thundercracker's expression haunted him. In his nightmares his old wingmates stood by while Megatron killed him, then dug him up and revived him to do it all again. He missed them.

Prime nodded, contemplating. His faceplate was hidden behind his battle-mask as always, but his optics showed his gratification at Starscream's trusting him even a little. "It's nothing to be ashamed of. Thundercracker and Skywarp were your allies for a long time. Of course their reactions would impact you." Starscream stayed silent, not gracing the Autobot with a reply. Prime looked away, his optics flickering to the polished wall, to the ground, to the hallway behind Starscream, and then back to the Jet himself, lighting on his own steady gaze with the delicacy of a butterfly. "...they did eventually give up. Last night and the night before they returned to the scene as well, but only stood there and watched the snow."

So they cared enough even to mourn. With how eager they'd been to melt him down for scrap when he was alive, he'd been sure they'd forget about him within hours of his death. Starscream shuddered, the closeness of the walls now stifling. It was strange to think of himself as dead when he was so very much alive and functioning.

He'd been wrong about a lot of things, it seemed. But not about Megatron. Megatron surely would have terminated him eventually had he been foolish enough to stay. He'd been lucky. Only lucky.

And he'd been quiet too long for Prime's comfort, apparently. "I hear you and Perceptor are working on something, although he won't tell me what yet."

Smart, since at its current stage Prime would likely show more concern than interest. Starscream crossed his servos. "And you expect me to sell out my partner? You think I'll betray our secrets?" He took pride in Prime's startled look, and felt more lonely than ever.

"No, I - " Prime tried again to change the subject, as clumsily as before. "Ratchet tells me you've taken an interest in one of Wheeljack's prototypes?"

Still sore, Starscream hissed his response, optics baleful at the constant reminder of his failure in that attempt too. "Only as one might take an interest in a fatal crash." It was Wheeljack's genuine insanity that was to blame for that . He was a skilled, innovative scientist. "If I'd wanted to, I could have made it work easily. But it's such a stupid idea, who would ever want to?"

"...I see." Prime sounded like he regretted having started the conversation. He glanced around, clearly uncomfortable.

Starscream wished very much that he would leave, and at the same time knew that if the Autobot did leave, he would hate him for it. What was wrong with him? How had he become so broken? He wanted to talk to Optimus Prime, but somehow he just couldn't . Somehow he always had to make everything worse . Maybe it was too late for him, and he would never manage to find what remained of himself in the useless wreck he had become.

Maybe Megatron should have terminated him.

The blackness of that thought was terrifying, and he quickly shoved it aside, disturbed. Searching for a distraction from that darkness, and for a topic to revive the conversation, he latched onto a curiosity of his. "There are - records, in the damaged sections of the ship." Surely he could have said that better. But Prime seemed interested, at least.

"Records?" The Autobot leader frowned, confused. "What do you mean?"

"I mean records , Prime. Scientific data, some personal journals, but mostly historical records from Cybertron's Autobots. Golden Age stuff." Starscream tilted his helm, coming to a realization. "Do you not know? "

Prime's optics lit up, blue glass sparkling with excitement. "If I had known, they wouldn't still be back there. How did you discover this?" He leaned forward slightly, intrigued.

"It wasn't too long after I came here that I found them in one of the abandoned storage rooms. I didn't have much else to do other than explore."

"Will you show me?" Prime asked, and Starscream felt something shift between them. He agreed and began to lead the way, Prime following just a few steps behind. "I never would have imagined…" The Autobot leader continued, thinking aloud. "They must have been stored here by someone, but who? To think we never even knew…"

"It's not like it's a comprehensive collection or anything," Starscream muttered. He didn't want Prime to get his hopes up for nothing. "It really is a scattered assortment of documents. There's little in common between them."

"But each one is still important." Prime wasn't put down in the least. "So much of our history is lost, Starscream. Both of ours, Autobot and Decepticon. Cybertron is our home, and yet we've allowed so much of it to be forgotten forever…"

Starscream knew this well. He'd helped in part to destroy it - after all, information should always be the first target in a war. That was one thing Megatron had been right about. In his incensed, wide-opticked naivety, Starscream had thought the glorious future worth far more than the dusty past. Skyfire had always said he had trouble looking at the big picture once he'd set his sight on something. But now he was tired, and jaded, and broken, and all he wanted in that moment was to see Cybertron again, not the cold, lifeless ruin the war had left it but Cybertron as it should be, as it had been, warm and busy and home . All the crowd and confusion that had always annoyed him were at the same time the things he'd always missed most whenever he and Skyfire had been away for a few years too long, and when he thought of his part in destroying it Starscream wished more than anything that the war could just stop and everything could go back to how it should be.

But of course, it couldn't. At this rate it would likely never end, and Cybertron would die without witness, and become yet another point of meaningless revenge for both sides. It was as impossible a thought as the end of time itself, and yet so nearly reality, so nearly inevitable. Starscream thought about Megatron's expression on seeing his apparent termination. He thought about how close he'd come, so many times, in battle and especially in the Nemesis, to dying on this horrible, hostile, organic planet, millions of miles away from Cybertron. Why had none of them realized that they'd taken this all too far? Prime had no great plan for the future, he was realizing, and Megatron certainly hadn't actually believed or cared about what he propagated in myrs, if he ever had. In their desperation for victory, they were all pulling each other down into the mud.

He'd had dreams for the future, once.

But they'd arrived. Starscream shook himself from his clinging thoughts, leading Prime into the storage room. Everything was, unsurprisingly, exactly as he'd left it - data disks neatly organized in receptacles on the walls, undamaged by the Ark's crash but also unlabeled. The monitor in the center of the wall was dark, but lit up as Prime touched the interface, typing in a quick command.

"You've read through some of these?"

"A few. I don't remember exactly which ones, but…" The Jet walked around Prime and picked a disk out, slotting it into the machine. The screen flashed, then filled with words. "Yes. This one is a particularly interesting record by some Autobot colonists directly before the war began. There's also a disk somewhere over there that's just blueprints for buildings, a lot of which are no longer standing."

Prime was already engrossed in the document, his optics scanning the text carefully. "That's very good. I imagine Grapple and Hoist will be pleased to hear about that."

"You're not going to give it to them for safekeeping?"

The Autobot leader looked over at Starscream, contemplative. "No, although…I'm not certain who would want this responsibility. I thought we could move them to Teletraan-1's disk wells." He swapped the journal for the blueprint collection held out to him, the screen filling in again with grid lines and drawings.

"Teletraan-1 is an easy target, Prime," Starscream scoffed. "How many times have we Decepticons successfully attacked or sabotaged it? You ought to keep copies within it, but the original disks might be best off remaining here, if we can reinforce the area to ensure their safety." He glanced around the room again - small, unassuming, and centrally-located, it was a fairly secure location for insignificant but important items like these records. "Perceptor might find this as valuable as you do. He wouldn't mind the extra work, I'm sure."

"What about you?"

Starscream was certain he'd misheard. "What - me? " He wouldn't mind in the slightest - his work with Perceptor only kept him busy for a few hours at a time, and besides that he didn't trust the Autobots apart from Prime with these records. They were all so fanatically obsessed with the future that they did not care to preserve the past. Generations forged in war now pursued it more out of status quo than any true belief in its purpose. He, meanwhile, had been rather consumed by the past of late, and perhaps rightfully so. But who was Prime to trust him? It was one thing to help him, but - 

"Yes. You seem more than interested, and I know you'll ensure they're kept safe." Prime tilted his helm, optics sparkling. Was he smiling behind his battle-mask? "And you'll get to give orders to whomever necessary to do it."

Starscream stared. Prime was joking again. "...Very well, then. If you insist." He wasn't sure how to feel.

"Please report to me on the contents of the disks when you can. And…" Optimus Prime paused, his calcite-blue optics filled with warmth. "Thank you, Starscream. This is a very important discovery."

It wasn't like he'd sought them out for Prime. All he'd done was pry into something that wasn't his business, and…and maybe Prime was right, actually, and maybe Prime recognized his worth where Megatron did not. Regardless, it was becoming far too easy to like Optimus Prime.

And that was something that Starscream could not bear to do.

Prime didn't leave, even though he didn't have much of a reason to stay and was surely shirking other duties to look through old records with a Decepticon. He took another disk from its receptacle, one Starscream hadn't yet gotten to himself. The designation code at the top of the screen signified it as the results of an alien survey mission, from Cybertron's Golden Age when such missions were common. Outreach to external worlds and races had entirely ceased once the war had begun, as all attention turned inwards. The writing was clear and formal, detailing the surveyors' exact course and actions, and…

"I wrote this," Starscream murmured. He recalled as he read further his thoughts in writing it, what he'd exaggerated and what he'd played down, and where he was when he'd written it more than nine million years ago. So much of his recent memory was worryingly grey or else deliberately blacked out, yet this was as bright as the day itself. "These are my words ."

Prime turned to face him, but Starscream was fixated on the screen, not his expression. Skyfire never liked writing reports; meanwhile Starscream took pride in the fact that he was very good at it. This was one of the many he'd simply signed Skyfire's name to - no doubt that was the only reason the lost Autobot who'd taken these onboard had deemed it worth preserving. Back then their difference in construction had meant almost nothing. Now it was enough to potentially destroy truth and history over. But unlike so much else, this one record of his existence - more than that, this tiny sliver of his life - still remained…but under someone else's name.

He remembered this mission. Charting what seemed like a quiet, peaceful planet had quickly turned into a battle against the formidable forces of nature itself when the unpredictable pressure changes generated a massive anticyclonic storm that had trapped them there for weeks. Nearly thirty days pinned down by blistering winds too intense to fly in, battered by sheeting rain, wandering about near-blindly in a glistening white jungle that seemed to thrive in the intolerable conditions, such that Skyfire had measured nearly four feet of tree growth over three of the planet's eleven-hour days. It was impossible even to retrace their path anywhere, because the thick, twisting blue grass grew so quickly that it swallowed up their footsteps in a matter of hours. Starscream had hated every second of it and he had never been happier in his entire life. He'd felt a sort of serenity when at last they'd been able to leave, tinged with sentimental sadness.

And if not for this record, that would be lost. No, even with this clinical, professional report, his experience, his emotion would still have been lost with him had Megatron terminated him, and when Skyfire too ceased to function no memory would exist at all. It was all so delicate a balance, and nothing ever permanent.

It wasn't long after that journey that he'd lost Skyfire, for what he'd thought would be forever. He'd searched for him endlessly, knowing all the while that the incessant wind and snow made his task impossible, only returning to Cybertron once his desperation was no longer enough to melt the ice crystals from his wings and thrust nozzles. His engines had begun to make an ominous sound, protesting the extreme cold, and he'd turned back for home in the hopes that he could come back, with help, and rescue Skyfire. He'd known blackly that he was abandoning him, but if he hadn't left then, he too would be terminated.

On returning, though, he was denied an immediate audience until he'd gone through the usual procedures. And then he had been banned from leaving Cybertron altogether until the council had conducted a stupid, slow investigation that left Skyfire more assuredly dead with every passing hour. The council had condemned the lack of emotion in his report - had they not known it was the only way he could function while writing those torturous words? Autobots all, they'd probably never lost anyone. It took a lot to kill a Transformer, but Decepticons were programmed in excessive measures - they faced them more often than most. In his loneliness and his pointlessness, his useless rage and unending despair, Starscream had been drawn to Megatron's preaching of power and glory, to the notion that they could conquer the galaxy, that they were in fact forged to make the rules. He had needed to believe in something, and with everything else torn away Megatron had given him a purpose, and more than that a value . And he had spent the next five million years trying to live up to impossible, unpredictable expectations, so certain that every failure was his own fault and yet not sure what he was doing wrong.

This Autobot ship housed only skeletons of the past. It seemed that everything in between, everything that decayed with time, was equally important and yet far more easily lost. Perhaps that poet Sidereon had been more correct than he'd ever know.

"Starscream?" Prime's voice only stirred his turmoil further. The Autobot leader was not a hypocrite, that much he knew. And yet. And yet. "What's wrong?"

Starscream could have laughed. There wasn't a single thing that was right . Prime's stupid guard dog had had the right idea. "Why now , Prime?"

Optimus Prime had the nerve to look confused. "What do you mean?" His sincerity was infuriating .

"Why do you only care now? What changed? What made you suddenly so sympathetic towards me?"

Prime's optics lit up with sorrowful understanding. "We…I didn't know, Starscream. I didn't realize - "

"You didn't know?! " Starscream was shouting now, but he didn't care. Megatron always said he sounded worse than Laserbeak when he talked, but his anger was not supposed to be pleasant. Prime wasn't blind . If his screeching was so terrible, it was well-deserved. "What do you mean you didn't know?! You - you saw - you must have seen…" Yet recalling, Megatron had always been careful to never do anything too extreme in front of the Autobots - except for that one time. Perhaps this was why. But even so, Megatron's cruelty could cut just as deeply with words as with weapons, and Prime had surely witnessed plenty of that . And despite his best efforts, Starscream was at core a coward when it came to these things - Prime had to have seen his fear of his leader! How could he have simply overlooked that?! It seemed so obvious to him. He had been screaming for an end to it, and the Decepticons hadn't cared, and the Autobots…hadn't noticed . Was it…was it possible that he had deserved it? It was too devastating to think about. The only other option was that Prime and the moronic Autobots he led had simply written Starscream off as a loose cannon. Starscream narrowed his optics, his anger still burning bright. "What about those times you and he teamed up? You seemed perfectly happy to put aside five million years of war to deliver me back into his hands!"

Prime took a while to respond, his optics wide as he floundered for an excuse. "I couldn't let you endanger the Earth," he said finally. "Or Cybertron."

"Oh, the Earth - " Starscream snarled. All this was a sham for Prime's guilty conscience; the Autobot never truly cared about helping him. The entire galaxy was against him, and Prime was part of it. Deep within his core processor, some last bastion of hope shattered, and every emotion he'd been keeping so carefully locked up came pouring out. " Frag the Earth! The Earth and every disgusting flesh-creature on it can fall into its pitiful sun and burn for all I care! And Cybertron was in no more danger than it is now, dying while you and Megatron wage war over a phantom! What about - what about - " what about me , he nearly cried, barely cutting himself off in time. What about what he deserved, the respect and the power he had been denied? What about his torment and the only viable way to escape it? That plan had been perfect, without fault, and easily manufactured due to the late Dr. Arkeville, and it would have worked perfectly if not for outside interference - Megatron would have been humiliated in defeat, and even better destroyed completely.

All those whom he'd bitterly called his allies, the Decepticons who'd sabotaged him or else simply watched and laughed; Megatron who had worn him down to nothing but fear and paranoia, who had crippled him with this constant self-doubt and loathing; the Autobots who seemed to have no will to end the war, and who despite their care for each other had before this made jokes about what he suffered at Megatron's hands - they would all have been consumed by the explosion, merely adding to the maximum energy output in penance for their crimes against him, and he, Starscream , would at long last be victorious, and free , and with the war won Cybertron could be restored to its former glory.

What about his last ragged hopes? His safety? His sanity? His desperate comfort, the ambitions burning in his mind that had kept him functioning through the worst of it, that had kept him online through the darkest, loneliest years? If his actions had grown more erratic since the battlefield moved to Earth, it was only from his increased desperation, his growing awareness of the danger he was in. Yet no one had noticed. Perhaps it was just how he'd always been. If he had been wrong, if somehow it had never been better in the past, if that cruel punishment for his constant weakness was all there was…he didn't know what he would do. He couldn't say another word, his frame numb. Despair as black as tar seized him once more, pulling him beneath its stagnant waters.

Prime was staring at him still, looking at him with a horrible sympathy in his optics, and Starscream wanted to make him look away. Prime, who had gone to such lengths to help him. Prime, who only cared about him because of his suffering. Prime, who before Starscream could regain control with another caustic remark stepped forward and apologized.

"I'm sorry, Starscream. I am sorry. Not for stopping you, but - for not stopping him." Prime's voice was heavy, filled with regret. It was clear that he had thought on this subject before, and that it weighed on his mind often. "I'm sorry for not noticing. For everything that happened to you, all you had to endure, all you had to be alone in. I cannot forgive myself for my own part in it. I thought…" He shook his helm, disgusted with himself. "I don't know what I thought. I know it's not enough, I know nothing ever could be, but I am, truly, sorry. I wish I had known sooner." He said no more, but slumped down gravely in the seat before the computer as though saying the words had taken all the strength he had, the screen spilling half-light over the blue metal of his helm.

Starscream was taken aback. He wanted to say something to hurt the Autobot, to lash out and wound him deeply, to get some sort of misplaced revenge for everything, but…staring at the Autobot leader with his helm bowed and his servos folded in his lap, those great shoulders curved almost defensively, and…did his optics deceive him (a trick of the light?), or was Optimus Prime trembling , however minutely, as though he were the one fearing Starscream's reaction? It was…incredible, and unnatural, and it should have given him pride - it should have made him feel powerful , to have had such an effect on the great Autobot leader, even unintentionally, but…it didn't. He was seized by a sudden, irrational urge to reach out and touch Optimus Prime's helm, to feel the curvature of his crest and just barely brush the tips of his digits against his finials - and just as quickly he stamped it down with a vicious unease.

But in that moment, he found he didn't have it in him to blame Optimus Prime. Maybe he was going soft. He didn't care. He was so very tired of it all. "...it probably wouldn't have changed anything even if you had known."

Prime leapt up, servos clenched by his sides, his calcite-blue optics flashing brighter with conviction, and Starscream took an involuntary step back even as he admired the Autobot's intensity. "No! I would have stopped him," Prime insisted. "This goes deeper than our differences. If I'd known what kind of monster he was, I…I could have done something sooner. I could have helped you sooner - "

"I sincerely doubt I would have let you, Prime ." The Autobot fell silent. Starscream sighed, tapping his servo in frustration. With Prime's apology, and his acceptance of it…he should feel at least a little satisfied, now that this gnawing doubt of his has been confronted. Prime's use of the word "monster" should have given him a sense of vindication, of sureness in his course of action. He did feel calmer, but only more empty than before, as though he were only the echo of himself flittering like a ghost within a hollow shell. Nothing had really been cleared up. He was still left without answers and without catharsis, and the only one who could provide both of those things was the very robot he'd fled. And it would be an unspeakably awful idea to seek either from him .

There was something in Prime's blue optics now that Starscream had never seen directed at him before. Some kind of delicate hope and determination. "But you let me help this time." Prime's voice was gentle, questioning.

"...I did," Starscream answered flatly. He still didn't know exactly why. But Prime's sincerity, his boldness in offering his help on that mountainside…and he'd simply let Starscream go, too; he had let him choose. Maybe that contrast was all it had taken.

"Thank you for trusting me, Starscream," Prime said, his optics nearly fluid with deep blue warmth. The Autobot's servo twitched, like he wanted to lay it on Starscream's shoulder but had remembered not to this time. "I know it isn't easy for you. I do not take that trust lightly."

The Jet glanced away, crossing his servos in sudden defensiveness. "Don't think that I would be here if I had any other option, Prime." It was true, of course. Running to the Autobots would have been his last option, if he'd ever before even deemed it an option worth considering. And yet in the few short weeks he'd been in the Ark, he'd come to feel safer than he had in millennia, and he'd found some of the very Autobots he'd ridiculed and despised to be…decent. Very decent.

But Prime had no access to his thoughts. "...of course," he murmured in response, somehow crestfallen even though he really should have known. Starscream actually felt ashamed of his needless barb. "I know it's a lot," Prime continued, still assured in his warmth. "I am glad to have this chance to help you, and to know you."

Starscream did not reply. How could he, to something as…as nice as that? Besides, the silence between them was somehow comfortable this time, not suffocating. For as much as Starscream ached, for as much as he still hurt and likely always would…he did not regret this conversation with Prime. He would still gladly see the Earth burn if it would free him further, but…he no longer wished to see Prime burn with it. How little that was, and yet how astonishing. After so many millions of years watching his back, relying on no one, always wary of sabotage and yet because of that always to blame for his every mistake, it was nearly impossible to believe that he was no longer on his own - that he was, even, potentially among friends . And yet the evidence was there.

Optimus Prime surely had other duties to attend to, as leader of the Autobots. Yet he chose instead to take this time to, as he'd said, try to " know " Starscream. The twisting feeling in the Jet's circuitry wasn't pain; wasn't even exactly negative, but it was strange and new and overwhelming and it made him want to curl up in a ball in the corner. He couldn't look into Prime's optics; he knew he would fall to pieces if he saw the blind, genuine emotion in them. Humiliating .

But Prime wouldn't stay forever. One of them had to leave first, and for his dignity, it should be him. The only way he would regain control over this situation would be to leave it, with his helm held high, owing nothing to anyone.

Instead he wordlessly took another disk in his servo and handed it to Prime.

Chapter Text

They'd gone through three more of the approximately one hundred data disks before Prime had excused himself. Starscream had busied himself marking the disks he'd already read for organization purposes, but found it hard to concentrate. As he'd left, Prime had wished him luck on this project. And he'd meant it. Another little idiosyncrasy that bothered the Decepticon - like the Autobot's insistence on checking in on him personally. At first he'd thought it was a display of power, or just distrust, but now… Well, maybe bother wasn't the right word. It was all strange but not unpleasant. After all, he was the odd one out, not the Autobot. 

When he'd realized he'd read an entire article and not processed a word of it, Starscream had decided to shut off the monitor and seek out other interests, wandering the Ark and wondering if Perceptor had made any progress on their shared conundrum.

Unfortunately, not only had the Autobot scientist had no breakthrough, but he'd also been obsessively poring over it for hours, not even noticing when Starscream entered his laboratory. "You need a break more than I do."

Perceptor spun around at the sudden interruption, optics lighting up when he saw who it was. "Oh - no, I've almost got this, if I can just find the proper formula to generalize the data globally then we can start running simulations. I have hopes that whatever it is we're missing will become clear then."

"You can't generalize for organic planets." Starscream tilted his helm. It was a shame how inexperienced the Autobot was. For all his brilliance he overlooked the obvious. "I suppose you can , but you shouldn't , especially for something as particular as this. If you want to run simulations this early, we'll have to gather geological and seismic data and input it manually."

Perceptor tried to rally himself, but he was clearly daunted by the task, especially after all of his hypotheticals and theorizing turned out to be pointless. "I do wish you could have told me this earlier. I've been working on these calculations all day . I did try to find you…" The red Autobot turned back to his monitor screen, saving the open file out of habit.

"I've been busy. A new project Prime's given me." Starscream raised his servo in anticipation of the Autobot's question. "It won't distract me from our work. Although, it seems you could use a distraction."

Perceptor sighed, rubbing the back of his helm. "I suppose. What did you have in mind?"

"Well, I thought we might go for a flight around one of the pitiful cities near here; terrorize some civilians, maybe knock down a few buildings," Starscream mused drily. "But it is a bit chilly out. On second thought, why not see what's happening in the recreation room?"

Perceptor smiled after a pause, catching his humor. "That sounds fine to me."

The red Autobot was genuinely at ease, strolling through the Ark's corridors at his side. It was strange how normal it felt. Starscream didn't think he would ever adjust to this. To think that he was now more comfortable around some of the Autobots who had been his enemies than he had ever been around his Decepticon comrades…but then again, this war had never been personal to him. Perhaps that made this easier.

The usual warm chatter of voices spilled out of the open doorway, pausing momentarily when the two entered. Mirage put a quick end to the silence, waving from where he and Hound sat at a table playing some strategy game, while Jazz watched from the nearby corner, leaning against the wall with his servos crossed.

"Hey, Perceptor! Get over here! We're terraforming exoplanets," Mirage called. His optics passed over Starscream with a hesitant suspicion before settling on the little red Autobot, who hurried over to join his friends. The game spread out before them looked interesting but complicated, with a detailed game board, multiple decks of hard film cards, and lots of little pieces made of colored metal scattered all around.

"Starscream, you should play with us! I think you would like this game." Perceptor's optics were bright, his servos clasped in invitation. Beside him, Mirage narrowed his optics, unenthused, and Hound tapped his hand of cards against the table indecisively.

The game was intriguing, but…Starscream did not wish to put himself in the humiliating position of a novice again, although the challenge of manipulating it and his opponents to win was sure to be satisfying. Maybe if it were only Perceptor, he wouldn't have minded learning. He might not have even bothered to cheat, against such a sincere and noncompetitive rival. Regardless, right now he would make the decision that they wanted him to make. He'd rather talk with Jazz again, anyways. "Next time," he said, waving Perceptor off. He hoped his fellow scientist would pummel the other Autobots thoroughly.

Jazz inclined his helm in greeting when Starscream approached him, his constant smile as true as ever. "I hear you're our resident recordkeeper now."

Starscream narrowed his optics. It hadn't even been four hours since Prime had made that decision, and as far as he knew that was still unofficial. "You hear a lot."

"My friends say I'm a good listener."

Sensing that as usual, he wouldn't get anything out of Jazz that the Autobot didn't want to tell him, Starscream moved on. "It's interesting work. I do wonder how those data disks could have gotten onboard the Ark, and yet not one Autobot on this ship knew about them."

"Good question. Wish I knew the answer." Jazz stretched languidly, his easy grin somehow spreading even wider. "Unfortunately there's a lot of things we're not sure about. Could've been one of our allies stashing them for safekeeping. Could've even been put there when the ship was built, to aid its original purpose as an exploratory cruiser. There's a lotta empty spaces in history, you know."

The Jet nodded. "'The past is anonymous'," he quoted, musing once again over everything forgotten once those who had lived it were no more. "'The future faceless'." Hopes and ideals were lost along with those who fell. If this war went on too long, if too many of the robots who had started it - like him, and Jazz, and Prime, and Megatron - were terminated and yet the war continued, there would no longer be any point to it. The ones fighting it would not understand why.

"That's from Keplar, isn't it?"

Starscream glanced over at the Autobot second-in-command, surprised. "Yes. You've read his Theories ?" It was Decepticon literature, written by a stingy old warrior-philosopher who was, like most of his ancient generation, obsessed with his own termination for reasons he never said.

Blue light sparkled within Jazz's visor. Always unpredictable. "Of course. Crazy Decepticons always seem to get the most right." Starscream nodded. It was a stance he'd long held, though he'd never been so blunt in his phrasing. It was true, though - Keplar always wrote as though paranoid of his own creator. Jazz tilted his helm, visor bright with curiosity. "I don't suppose there's a copy in that trove you discovered?"

"I haven't gone through all of them yet, but so far no luck. It appears to be all Autobot data - every kind of Autobot data, with no rhyme or reason to its collection." Starscream sighed, watching Perceptor place down action cards one by one with a firm excitement that only grew as his turn became more and more successful. "It's like whoever took them from their original library didn't know what they would need." Like they didn't have the time, or the luxury, of choosing exactly what would best represent them. Like they'd been desperate to have anything survive.

Jazz hummed, but he seemed more distracted than deep in thought, his servo tapping compulsively against the bright metal of the wall. Perceptor victoriously swiped a stack of metal pieces from Hound, and the green Autobot's cry of frustration cut through Jazz's dilemma. "Yeah. It's a shame to think of what might be lost that we won't know is lost until after all this fighting's over with." He lapsed into silence again, his smile replaced by an almost grim contemplation.

"Perhaps all civil wars should be fought on separate planets, like this one," Starscream mused. "Preferably devoid of intelligent life, to avoid interference. It would minimize the damage to Cybertron and to our history." And that physical distance might result in the ones who chose to fight being only those with strong moral convictions - none of these soldiers of fortune, none of these Autobots who had joined the conflict out of pure circumstance. It would provide a purer confrontation between ideologies. It would also result in things being done a lot quicker - after all, Cybertron would hardly freeze in place while the battle was fought. The model did require attrition over resource, but this war had devolved into senseless destruction purely because of the focus on resource and territory gain.

The Autobot would surely have a different perspective, though. 

But Jazz hadn't responded, and actually didn't appear to have even heard him at all. His gaze was fixed intently on the wall opposite, yet was unseeing. He looked up in surprise when Starscream tapped him on the shoulder, as though he'd forgotten he was there. "Something's bothering you. What happened to not worrying?"

Jazz smiled again, fast and almost guilty. "If you really wanna know…what you said earlier's been getting to me. About being… outdated ." 

Starscream felt a pang of rare regret. It had been rather a cruel dig at the Autobot, who was really a fine second-in-command. "Forget that. It meant nothing."

"But it does ," Jazz insisted. "It's true ." He looked down, his manner subdued by the strange gravity of the subject. "Before the War, when I was built, we were reaching out so far. And others were reaching out too, and there was all this great galactic noise . A lot of us back then were designed in favor of those weird new things we found in other cultures, and there wasn't any other pressure, not like there is now. Now if a robot isn't a weapon, he won't get made." He made a sound of frustration. "Blaster's a good kid, and I'm glad he digs the music as much as I do. It's necessary, you know, to have a few crazy fools like me and him. Otherwise things get too boring." A smile flickered across his faceplate, there and vanished in the span of a second. "All the same, it hasn't escaped my sight that I'm being…pushed out, in favor of a newer model. Oh, I'll always have my uses, and I doubt I'll be demoted any time in the next five million years, but when it comes to combat I'm no longer the most effective choice. He's got the same style of soundwave emitters that I've got, but more powerful, and he's got other abilities on top of that." Jazz sighed. "And he gets to spend his time cruising around the cities, actually living in the music. I've got responsibilities."

Starscream had to smile at that. As if Jazz wouldn't find new responsibilities if freed from these. "Blaster can't do that light show thing you can, though. I always hated that at least as much as the noise."

Jazz nodded. "Thanks."

"You Autobots still aren't designed for combat, usually," Starscream continued. "Most of you have too many overlapping skills and styles. Decepticons are always streamlined for a specific purpose, and there's no point in replacing a role that's already filled. Soundwave for example is invaluable, and far more skilled in a variety of ways than either you or Blaster, and they couldn't have been built more than a few decades after Megatron. Or he , I guess - he didn't have any cassettes when I first met him. It's often more advantageous for us to modify an existing robot than to design a new one from scratch." It sort of sounded like he was insulting Autobot robo-engineering practices, but he was. Still, Jazz had opened up to him, and he actually felt compelled to respond in kind. "Even so I do dread the day I'll no longer be the paragon of Decepticon scientific advancements. Already the Coneheads are supposedly stronger and able to do more damage than we Jets - far off or not, that day will come. Currently I maintain command because of my intelligence, but that won't be enough forever." 

He was talking in the present tense, he realized, but he hardly thought Megatron reasonable or generous enough to have a proper replacement constructed. More likely he'd go on with this charade as though nothing were different.

It was almost painful to know that even now Megatron still refused to acknowledge his worth. "I'll be just one more thing lost. Obsolete." He was spiraling too far, too fast. It wasn't like this was a matter of termination. "Well, it's not like you're being retired. With your wisdom and experience, maybe Prime just prefers having you in a more strategy-oriented role now that you no longer need risk yourself. Blaster can do the fighting so you can do the thinking." Whether that was true or not didn't matter - they both knew that the risk was the only value in battle. Once again, attrition - the war was worth fighting because they believed in the change it could bring about. He could see that dedication in Jazz's gaze. There was no decency in sending others to fight for your beliefs without lifting a servo yourself. There was no honor to be found in hanging back and giving orders from a safe location; no, if they were to be a part of this war, they would make it theirs. Starscream wouldn't have it any other way, and he knew Jazz felt the same.

The Autobot's gaze drifted back to the three robots now packing up their game. Neither one of them had caught the outcome. "Can I ask you a question?" 

"I'm sure you can ," Starscream scoffed, tilting his helm. "But should you?"

Jazz smiled slowly, still watching the others prepare to leave. "I don't know. But I'm going to anyways." He paused, blue light focused so intently that Starscream was sure he was seeing something else. Eventually he spoke, quieter than before. "If this war ended tomorrow - just ended , no winning or losing - what would you do?"

"Go home," the Jet replied immediately, and Jazz nodded, his faceplate smiling as always but his optics almost crystalline with sadness visible even through his visor. It was pointless to consider, foolish to even entertain the thought of such a peaceful, cowardly ending to things. But maybe they'd caused enough destruction as it was, and as much as he wanted to win and to change Cybertron for the better…five million years of endless combat and still no clear advantage didn't quite seem like a winnable situation. To be home , to just see Cybertron again in all its golden glory, not the eternal night they'd doomed it to, would make everything else bearable. Like another fading nightmare dispelled by the Ark's light.

Mirage and Perceptor disappeared into the labyrinthine corridors of the Ark, discussing their strategies as they went, Mirage holding the game box under his servo. Caught up in their conversation as he was, Perceptor still turned to wave farewell to Starscream, who was too surprised to return the gesture before the Autobot scientist looked away again. It didn't matter all that much. Beside the Jet, Jazz was slipping back into his usual lackadaisical attitude, his visor once more turning the light of his optics into an unreadable blue glow. Starscream had to admit it was a useful if frustratingly enigmatic ability, once again feeling a begrudging respect for Soundwave now that he no longer had to be wary of them.

Hound had lagged behind his friends, dawdling about in the rec room, and now he approached the two of them. "Hey, Starscream." 

He remembered Hound trying to talk to him once before, but he'd had no interest then. He had no interest now, either, but this conversation with Jazz had put him in a…strange mood. "What do you want?"

"Nothing, I guess." Hound shrugged. "It's good to see you settling in." Either the Autobot was mocking him, or he was a better actor than he'd previously thought. But Hound had always seemed like the honest type. And he had been one of the ones to help with Starscream's escape; one of the few who knew even a fraction of his fear concerning the reason for his flight. It wasn't pity that guided Hound's words. It might be simply…genuine amicability.

Starscream stared at the green Autobot. They didn't have anything in common. Why should Hound bother to care even that much?

The silence had grown a tad uncomfortable for Hound, who waved to Jazz before speaking once more to the Jet. "Have a good night, Starscream."

"I will," Starscream said defiantly, though he wasn't sure what he was defying if anything. And then, "...Thanks." 

He didn't have much faith in the Autobot's bidding. But ultimately, his recharge was uneventful, though he still emerged from it tired.

---

One of the disks contained files written entirely in Ancient Autobot. Infuriating, given that Starscream did not know Ancient Autobot; even worse, neither did any of the actual Autobots he asked. He could have simply put it aside and continued with easier affairs, but…it was right there , and anything could be on it, anything at all . Plans to build a Guardian Robot or a microprocessor, records of war or peace, science or art - even if the contents turned out to be disappointing he had to know what they were.

He hadn't even bothered asking Perceptor - the inventor was far too young and practical to know the language. Jazz had been a long shot but still a disappointing fall-through because that meant that Starscream would have to talk to Autobots he hadn't yet established himself with. Ideally, he could pinpoint the most likely candidates and thus minimize the amount of Autobot socializing he had to partake in. And so he sat in front of the monitor in the storage room, frowning at the Ancient Autobot symbols on the screen and trying to narrow down the possibilities.

Any Autobot he knew was built during the War was out automatically, which slimmed down the number by half already. Of those left he didn't think Prime's entourage would know it, considering that Jazz, the most universally open and travelled of them did not. If any of the Autobots on Earth had originally come from off-Cybertron colonies, Starscream didn't know about it, and unfortunately in his position he couldn't exactly leave to seek a neutral pre-War Autobot in the larger galaxy. He couldn't even leave the Ark to fly. Just the thought of the stars blazing above and all around him, the alien but predictable wind patterns of the Earth's atmosphere, the long freedom of solitary space travel and its shorter planet-bound counterpart…

Starscream sighed, resting his helm in one servo. He wished he could go to Cybertron, even temporarily. He was certain that the Female Autobot Chromia knew Ancient Autobot. She'd been constructed on one of those historical colonies, as she'd mentioned the one time they'd met before the War, and in addition to Common Cybertronian she could read her race's ancient script. From what little conversation they'd had, she had seemed like quite the historian herself, and would doubtless be as interested in this disk as he was.

But there was no point in musing over impossibilities. Trailbreaker looked like he'd been built around the right time, but didn't talk like it. Smokescreen might have had that information once, but would have rid himself of it in favor of anything that would help him win a gamble or a fight. Grapple and Hoist…were not even worth considering. And he did not want to go to Inferno unless there were no other Autobots online, and even then he'd balk.

Which left Mirage. His frame, especially his helm, looked like he'd been designed about the right era, and he talked as though he had a lot of experience outside of just Cybertron and Earth. More promisingly, there was just a feeling of difference about him, something ever so slightly odd compared to the rest of the Autobots. Starscream didn't always have these moments of… instinct , feeling beyond his perception, but when he did they were always right. He may have occasionally failed to listen, but his intuition had never once failed him.

Time to make amends, then. Or at least pretend to, in the name of this discovery.

---

Unsurprisingly, the blue Autobot was not easy to find. Of course, part of that was simply that Starscream had no idea where to look for him. He hadn't really run into the other robot before, and he didn't know how Mirage spent his days. He might not even be in the Ark at all. After a cursory glance into the empty rec room, the Jet made his way towards the Ark's bridge, hoping that if he couldn't find Mirage he might at least find someone he wouldn't mind asking for the elusive racecar's whereabouts. 

Prime was absent, no doubt doing far more interesting things outside the boundaries of this maddening metal birdcage. Jazz, too, was elsewhere. Teletraan-1's monitor displayed an aerial grid of the Ark and the mountain it had become a part of, as well as a few square miles of the surrounding desert. Staring up at this intently, as though the force of his optics alone would reveal hidden enemies or weaknesses, was Red Alert, flanked on one side by that hostile destructor of harmless fun, Inferno. The two were talking to each other quietly - Starscream could only make out their voices, not their words. Beyond them were Cliffjumper and Hound. That was the best lead he could hope for, and furthermore their presence all but guaranteed that Mirage wasn't in the unattainable vastness of the outside.

He stepped into the room, and Red Alert's sensor horns lit up brilliantly. Red spun around and glared at the intruding Decepticon with a vicious unease, but when Inferno started towards him the Autobot security officer waved him back.

"I see the Ark is in good hands," Starscream said neutrally, regarding the barely-restrained hatred in Inferno's optics with caution. He hadn't gone nearly far enough to deserve that look. It really didn't take much, with some of these Autobots.

Red mulled over these eight words for far longer than necessary, no doubt dissecting them for every possible meaning. Starscream could appreciate such paranoia. "Prime has duties to our human allies," he eventually replied. "But don't think - " 

"No, of course not. Why, I don't think any threat could get past you ." He practically crooned the words, imbuing them with sarcasm like the ionized chemical coating on an eternal blade. Red Alert only frowned, sensing his insincerity but also its shallowness. Unfortunately he did respect the Autobot, and it was flattering that Red still thought him a formidable threat.

"I'm watching you," Red muttered, and true to promise did not turn away as Starscream passed, Inferno still fuming at his side.

Starscream knew he wouldn't be attacked, but he kept a mental eye on the pair regardless, extending his awareness to include their location, listening intently if subconsciously for the slightest sound that might indicate their movements. It was second nature to him, and so did not distract from the task at hand - being Hound, who'd been friendly before and now looked surprised but not unhappy to see the Jet approaching, and Cliffjumper, who looked as though he'd love to blow Starscream apart at the first opportunity. The latter's current lack of a weapon did not phase him in the slightest.

"Where's Mirage?" asked Starscream flatly, already not in the mood to play the usual game of vicious civility he liked to level against the Autobots.

Hound smiled, not with mirth but with incredulity, glancing at his smaller companion whose steel-blue glare never wavered for an astrosecond. "Hello to you too, Starscream."

Cliffjumper was less welcoming, and less patronizing. "What do you want with Mirage, Decepticon? "

"I don't see how that's any of your business." Starscream crossed his servos, looking down at Cliffjumper haughtily. "There is a private matter I must discuss with him. A matter," he added, "that Optimus Prime himself trusted me with."

Cliffjumper took a step forward, optics blazing with conviction. "I don't care what Prime says! I wouldn't trust you with a sheet of scrapmetal if the galaxy depended on it."

Interesting that he hadn't challenged the claim itself - Prime must have made his trust, his belief , in Starscream clear to his soldiers. The Jet's optics slid up to meet Hound's, his inquisitive stare burning into the green Autobot's frame. Hound shifted uncomfortably, but before he could admit any knowledge, another voice spoke up.

"Looking for me?" Mirage materialized out of thin air. How any one of these Autobots could trust a supposed comrade who eavesdropped so readily was beyond Starscream. The blue Transformer stepped in front of a relieved Hound and mistrustful Cliffjumper, leading Starscream a few dozen feet away from the others along the edge of the room. "What's the occasion? Does Prime want you to turn your cheap lies into genuine strategy?"

It was a wonder anyone could stand to be around Mirage without strangling him. Starscream dimmed his optics, counted to three, and brightened them again, tightly suppressing his rage at the insidious quip. He'd deserved it, even. Actually. But that did very little to help silence the ugly echo of someone else repeating Mirage's words in that familiar scornful growl. Maybe three wasn't enough. He focused on the bright amber wall behind the Autobot, and on the constant gentle bickering between Inferno and Red Alert, and on the sturdy metal floor beneath him. The Jet spoke, very deliberately, tired of this aggression. "Do you read Ancient Autobot?"

Mirage paused, surprised. "No," he answered. "No, I don't. Why?"

Well, that was it. "It's unimportant, if you can't translate it." Starscream grimaced. "You were my best bet, what with the design of your frame and all."

Mirage nodded, a glint of cautious recognition in his optics. "We were always a few hundred years late to Cybertronian trends on Ailakar-7. I'm afraid Ancient Autobot became defunct some centuries before my time."

How miserable. An entire script , decaying into dust because no one had bothered to retain the knowledge of how to read it. How many words, how many thoughts had never been translated and would soon be lost? How much information relegated to obscurity simply because the method of its communication had been deemed outdated? Such was the merciless march of time, and this much quicker devastation of war. How could none of the Autobots know their own history? Decepticons, at least, did not uncommonly know the various glyphs and codes used throughout the myrs to convey secret information. But then, Autobots always looked to the future, blind to the importance of the past's lessons.

Maybe he, too, was like this.

Mirage was frowning now, and Starscream quickly wiped the emotion from his faceplate, replacing it with a look of blank contempt. The Autobot spoke again anyways. "There's always Omega Supreme. He's old enough to know Ancient Autobot, and runs slow enough that he wouldn't have overwritten that knowledge."

The massive Guardian Robot, capable of massive destruction, who was not exactly fond of any Decepticons and lived outside of the Ark due to his immense size. "Of course. Omega Supreme." If his lack of enthusiasm showed, Starscream didn't care. Even if the Guardian Robot no longer saw him as a threat, even if he could push past his own wariness, even if Omega Supreme could somehow enter the Ark or else Starscream be allowed to leave it - and with valuable data, and some method of displaying it to Omega Supreme - even if all of those things could align, he would then be trapped in collaboration with the dullest robot he had ever seen. Somehow the boredom was more daunting than the danger of provoking the gigantic Autobot to violence. Not that it mattered, as Prime would never let him out. 

Well, loathe as he was to do so, maybe he could pass this particular task on to someone else. But not Mirage.

"That's all I needed to know." He turned and strolled out without a second glance, ignoring also the suspicious glares of Red Alert and Inferno as he passed. Perceptor would likely appreciate the job. The young scientist would probably think of it as an honor. And he had the patience to deal with the slow, spartan words of Omega Supreme.

Soundwave chose to speak in the same way - as efficiently as possible - but that was different. They never let military tradition get in the way of their personality, for better or for worse. With the Autobot, it was like listening to a drone recite its programming. And if Omega Supreme was like that in battle, it could only be worse in concert.

So he turned in the direction of Perceptor's lab, hoping that the scientist would be there and that Skyfire would not. For some reason he did not yet want to tell Skyfire about his discoveries.

---

Perceptor had accepted eagerly, as expected. His earnest excitement had almost been enough to mollify Starscream's frustration at having to include another in what should have been his work. The Autobot had his own current projects, of course, but assured the Jet that he'd get to the disk very soon.

In the meantime, Starscream figured he ought to notify Prime about his progress. It was best to keep the Autobot leader informed, to show that he was capable; that he deserved this task. More than that, he wanted to prove his value. After a few fruitless hours scheming with Perceptor, the Decepticon left to do exactly that.

It wasn't hard to find Optimus Prime. Having returned from wherever he'd spent the day, the Autobot leader was again on the Ark's bridge, interfacing with Teletraan-1. Starscream's chronometer indicated that it was only late evening, yet the bridge was otherwise deserted. He wished that the reinforced windows showed more than the tons of rock and earth pressing down on the ship. Even just seeing the sky would be enough at this point. …alright, that wasn't true. But it would be something .

Prime turned, hearing the metallic echo of his approach. He looked tired , nine million years of war etched across his weary faceplate, but as he saw Starscream he did his best to appear upbeat and unaffected. "Good to see you, Starscream." There was a sincere note in his voice.

"I've come to report on my progress," Starscream replied, the words spoken as naturally to this leader as to another. He glanced around pointedly. "Not very popular, are you, Prime?"

The light in the other robot's optics dimmed a bit. "We've had some bad news. An attack on our Female Autobot allies on Cybertron. No casualties, but it's still a setback." Prime turned back to the monitor before him. "There's nothing we can do; not from here, not now. I let the others have some time to themselves. No need for all of us to worry over it."

Starscream agreed. Although, he didn't think it was doing Prime much good to focus on it either. "You'll be glad to hear what I've found so far, then." Prime nodded, indicating for him to continue. "Including what we catalogued together, there were some more blueprints for various buildings and cities on Cybertron, a lot of basic records of scientific facts, especially charter mission results, and some personal journals chronicling significant events. I also found a few mathematical proofs, some transcribed rhetorical theories from before the War, and…" here he paused again, meaningfully. "One disk scripted entirely in Ancient Autobot."

Optimus Prime did not seem to appreciate how rare such a find was. "I see." He inclined his helm, servos crossed, waiting for Starscream to reach a conclusion.

"Ancient Autobot, Prime," Starscream huffed, "is not exactly a modern script. I certainly don't read it, and it's proven difficult to find one of your lot that does ." He folded his servos proudly. "However, just ' difficult ' isn't enough to beat me. After exhaustive searching and many dead ends, it was brought to my attention that your pet Guardian Robot Omega Supreme may know the script very well. I've asked Perceptor to enlist his help in transcribing this disk, since Omega Supreme cannot exactly come to me, and I am restricted to the internal structures of this ship." The Jet gave Prime a pointed look.

The Autobot leader just nodded. "Well done, Starscream. I'll be interested to hear what Perceptor and Omega come back with."

The praise was nice to hear. It made the task more enjoyable in retrospect; it made his search for a translator well worth it; it made him… happy. Despite everything, for all he'd been through, he could at least take pride, find momentary peace, in the fact that he was good . However small this job was, however menial, he was able to do it. He hadn't failed - moreover, although it might just be Autobot sentiment, his efforts were seen and valued.

It was too nice to hear, Starscream admitted to himself. The soft, sunlike gladness welling up inside him threatened to consume him the way his earlier despair had failed to do. He wasn't very good at controlling his emotions generally, but he was even less experienced at corralling positive feelings. He turned away from Prime's warm gaze. "It's all Autobot records, of course. Not that I expected any different, but it all displays Autobot bias, especially the histories. It's a necessary perspective, but it's the only perspective you have stored here, and…no one, not even you Autobots, can be objective and infallible about these archives."

Teletraan-1's screen again displayed a satellite map of the area surrounding the Ark. Starscream saw nothing out of the ordinary, but the view from above reminded him with a shiver of the howling rush of leading a sortie or a straight attack, streaking fast and fatal over the barren land towards the Ark's futile shelter with Thundercracker and Skywarp at his wings. He'd never truly appreciated that thrill before - it wasn't like there was time for that luxury in battle.

"I never thought I'd wind up an amateur historian. It is only temporary, Prime - something to ease my boredom." The Autobot nodded again in response to Starscream's flat look. The Jet sighed, tapping his servo restlessly. "If you believe records of Cybertron's creation, then at this point Transformers have spent more time engaged in this war than our entire history before it began. Millions of years of conflict, and so more of the past has been destroyed than preserved. I think - " He broke off, uncertain and a little afraid of his thoughts, and yet unsure why he should fear this theory. "I think that after this war - won, lost, or abandoned - there must be something to rebuild from. That's the importance of these disks, and why I resent their singular voice. But one voice is better than nothing, since after all…these newer generations don't remember the Golden Age at all . They were forged to fight, built during wartime for the purpose of wartime, and without that knowledge which they lack, this war will only degenerate further from its original civil disorder into the stubborn back-and-forth it has become." And it had already degenerated quite a lot. For all Megatron invoked the glory of the past, he had always been more interested in the rubble of the present. Starscream wondered how the situation had gotten so dire without any notice - then again, it was easy to point out patterns over millions of years, and impossible to see the same patterns in the slow passage of days. "You know what I'm talking about, Prime. Most of your soldiers never even knew the Cybertron they're fighting for."

Prime scratched his helm, blue optics gentle with intrigue. "Actually, I was one of the first Autobots built as a soldier."

Starscream stared, for a few seconds actually speechless. That spell passed quickly. "From the way you look at the galaxy, I would never have thought…" he trailed off, thoughtful gaze fixated on Optimus Prime. "Then how can you know the good of the peace you fight for?"

"I may not remember peacetime, but I know it must be better than this. And I hope for the reconstruction and the advancement that can only come, as you've said, in peace." Prime's optics dimmed, his thoughts far away from the bridge of the Ark and the Earth where it lay buried. "My creator, Alpha Trion, programmed into me a predilection for introspection and observation. Beyond that he taught me curiosity, and let me form my own opinions, though he guided my initial learning. Megatron was not so lucky."

Starscream had never actually considered Megatron's creator before, though he doubted Prime knew any more than he did on that account. It was likely the old fool had come online exactly as belligerent and jingoistic as he was now. "A forged leader, then, Prime? It wasn't even your own decision."

"It is always my decision. Every day." The Autobot's voice was low and firm, leaving no room for doubt as to his dedication. "I only wish the others were as invested in ending this war as they are in fighting it. You're right - their lack of a peaceful history makes them good soldiers, but only soldiers." Prime sighed, shaking his helm. His shoulders dipped as though the weight of Cybertron itself rested upon them. "Actually," he said, "I wasn't quite forged like this. I was…reformatted into Optimus Prime. There did exist a robot before me. But I don't know him. I don't remember being him - I don't even know who he was." The blue light in Prime's optics grew unfocused as he tried to recall someone who was no longer present. "The memories are there, but faded and impersonal. It might as well be someone else entirely, or…a story I'd read once, a long time ago."

Reformatting was not commonplace. Most robots who became physically outdated either didn't care, or took pains to redesign their frames, but left their personality components untouched. An alteration of that magnitude would be better served by simply building a new Transformer. Starscream could count on one servo the number of reformatted robots he knew of - and Prime was the only one he'd ever met. It was so very fascinating to hear Prime talk about it. As it was to hear Prime talk about all of this. He was beginning to appreciate the Autobot's perspective, loathe as he was to admit it. "What of the story's end?" He was frightfully curious as to what could possibly have caused Prime's predecessor to choose such a drastic measure.

Prime's optics grew moody, distant storms brewing in their blue depths. "Megatron, executing a civilian for doing his job."

"Of course." He hadn't chosen it, then. Both Prime and his predecessor were only tools in the servos of an Autobot who had decided they needed a soldier to lead them, and found that soldier in the blasted remains of one of Megatron's thousands of victims. Casualties, that was all; and yet here such reckless violence had led to the only force that could ever truly oppose the Decepticon tyrant. How very, very pleasing.

Prime did not seem to find it quite as satisfying as Starscream did, but perhaps the Autobot just hadn't thought about it in that way yet. Or maybe he was just too close to it to find it amusing - Starscream had to admit that he did not envy the Autobot leader's past, and as with nearly everything Prime appeared determined to drag himself down with his own thoughts on the subject. Leave it to an Autobot to find a negative side to being forged (or reformatted) for the glory and thrill of battle…and to be sure, Optimus Prime was a great soldier. He had much to be proud of, and little to ruminate so heavily on.

Then again, Prime was a soldier. He had his friends, robot and human, and his command over the Ark, and…not much else that Starscream knew of. Starscream was a soldier as well, and proud of his warrior status, but he was also a scientist across many different disciplines with discoveries and theories of his own creation, an explorer who had charted dozens of previously unknown foreign planets, and a modest inventor of a few useful things, in addition to his various other less practiced skills. Before the War, he had known his own worth very well, and he had always been certain that after they had won he would have just as much to do, and it would all be entirely as he chose it. Prime…did not, it seemed, have much else to return to or fall back on in the peacetime he sought out.

The Autobot could always try bureaucracy, he supposed. There was a trade that required absolutely no talent. That - that felt false to say, though. Prime did have talent, and yet had not developed it into any interesting skill. It could simply be because he was reformatted into a soldier, and thus did not have the ability to pursue anything else in his own development. That was a common occurrence among Decepticon ranks, as the practice of building blind warriors was much easier and more effective than trying to convince contracircuited others to take orders. The Combaticons were a prime example of it, both in their new frames he'd constructed for them and in their original frames before they'd been deemed too dangerous for peace and locked away during the Golden Age. 

But that felt wrong too. Prime clearly wanted more, clearly thought of more, and Starscream didn't believe the Autobot to be quite selfless enough to only want peace for the sake of others. Besides, there was the matter of the other Autobot soldiers, built during war and thus obsessed with it. Starscream had never had much issue furthering his studies during wartime, but then he'd already known what he was looking for, and how to find it. War sharpened the mind, honed frame and processor both into a fine-tuned weapon, or so had always been true for him; so he'd always believed. 

But Prime's creation had exactly matched the suspension of all such opportunities on Cybertron, and the nature of his construction had forbidden him from seeking them out elsewhere. War was not supposed to go on nearly as long as this terrible waste of myrs had - and among the long list of casualties, could Prime's personal freedom not be listed too?

"I believe," Starscream began, slowly. "That we're all caught in our own private traps, and we can never escape them, no matter how much we struggle. For all our fighting we only harm ourselves, and others around us."

Prime frowned, his optics tired but still curious. "I've seen that movie. Part of it, anyways, on Teletraan-1."

"The flesh-creatures were onto something, using film to analyze their world and the nature of living beings. Be quiet, Prime, and listen." He glared at the Autobot, in no mood for interruptions, and Prime relented. "I fight mine, even though I know I will never be free of its barred cage until I am destroyed. Maybe I fight so hard because I know this, to defy it or prove it right but to escape it either way." He was talking too much, coming dangerously close to admitting something personal to the Autobot leader, whose blue optics were so intent on his meaning. "But you ," he continued quickly, " you , Prime, are something of an anomaly. You try to pull everyone else free from their traps, no matter how difficult the task, and yet sit quite contentedly in yours."

Prime's expression was unreadable, the planes of his faceplate and battle mask sharp in the half-light of Teletraan-1's massive screen. "Using that metaphor, there's nothing I can do for myself. It's beyond my ability to loosen that trap. But I can help others. That's enough." His voice was low but still clear in the late silence of the Ark. He hadn't argued the inherent loneliness of the analogy. Starscream had been right.

But the feeling rising in the Jet's circuitry was far from satisfaction. "It's not enough for you, though, is it, Prime?" A note of desperation infiltrated his words, his optics searching Prime's faceplate and frame for any scrap of acquiescence. "You're not content. I know you're not content." There was none. Prime stood as resolute as always.

"Starscream, I appreciate your reporting your progress to me. I'm afraid we'll have to end this conversation here, though. I'm a little low on energy and should recharge. Perhaps you should too."

" Why did you help me, " Starscream hissed, optics blazing, more of an accusation than a question. He knew Prime was unhappy, and he knew why the Autobot wouldn't admit it, but he didn't know why that made him angry. He felt like he was sliding, losing ground.

Prime only looked at him. "What answer do you want?"

"The truth." He knew Prime wouldn't give it to him - couldn't , for the sake of his fragile acceptance of his own trap.

"Because I wanted to." With that, Prime stepped past him, striding purposefully towards the door. Starscream spun to track him, not eager to let his target get away that easily.

"That's only partially true, isn't it, Prime? " The Autobot did not react. He was almost out of the room - panic flooded the Jet's circuits, hot and sharp and useless. "You don't have anything besides this war, and you know full well the fighting won't end any time soon. You think if you help enough people, if you can somehow fix everything , you'll make up for all this destruction." Prime stopped just a few dozen feet from the door, his frame as still as steel. "After all, you helped cause it!"

Optimus Prime turned, and Starscream shrank back instinctively, expecting rage, expecting fury. But Prime only looked at him with optics brimming with grief and despair, and once more there was no satisfaction, only shame. What had he been hoping to accomplish by dragging the Autobot into the same cold reality he was suffering through? More accurately, he'd failed, as Prime was still locked into his own delusions of responsibility. The Jet felt time constricting, twisting around him like a vicious trap. Prime left without another word, and Starscream let him.

He felt like crawling back to Skyfire, but knew he deserved the crushing loneliness of his solitary space much more.

---

Starscream lay still on his berth, optics offline, listening to the deafening silence echo off the foreboding metal walls of the empty room, but he could not find recharge. He did not know what was wrong with him. He did not know what else he could have said, how else he should have handled things, but he knew he should have done better than that . Prime…deserved better than that.

Starscream didn't understand why the Autobot's obsession with his illusion had frustrated him so hideously. Maybe he'd finally found the true hypocrisy he'd always known was inside Optimus Prime, stripping Starscream's own much-needed facade from him but still clinging to his.

And yet he didn't hate the Autobot. It must be pity he felt for him - Prime truly was pathetic , so riddled with guilt for the collateral damage of this war and so utterly useless outside of it that he had to pretend it was all his fault and his alone so that he could pretend he could fix it.

Starscream scowled, optics flickering online to stare up at the burnished ceiling, preferring that to the phantom figures taking murky shape within his processor. It wasn't pity, either.

It didn't matter in the end, though. He'd only made things worse, as always, by so viciously reinforcing Prime's ridiculous beliefs. It wasn't his fault the Autobot had run from the conversation - a Decepticon would have fought back, would have actually faced the conflict. Thundercracker and Skywarp had helped him get over losing Skyfire the second time the same way: antagonizing him into defending himself, into hating Skyfire, into realizing the truth of that betrayal and the necessity of his strength in reacting to it. It had escalated to a physical fight, of course, but afterwards the three of them had been no worse off than before.

Granted, as it turned out, that "truth" hadn't been…entirely true, now that he knew Skyfire's side of it. But it had been right . And he would not have listened to them otherwise, nor would Thundercracker have listened to him and Skywarp when he'd been tempted to desert Megatron's cause in favor of some ludicrous promise of adventure from a ragtag crew of idiot spacefarers had they not scathingly berated him for even considering it. His null ray had helped convince the other Jet, as well. Nor would Swindle have learned not to steal parts from the Nemesis without Rumble and Frenzy's servos doing Soundwave's talking for him, nor would Thrust have learned to obey Astrotrain without the Triple-Changer laying out before the Conehead a complete physical analysis of his bullish stupidity, nor would the Insecticons command such begrudging respect without their caustic words and willingness to back up their claims with lasers.

That hadn't been his point, though. He'd had no intention of fighting Optimus Prime, only of making him listen. He'd just needed to make Prime stay and listen to him.

The phantom reared its ugly white helm again, nearly visible even though his visual feed was online. Starscream sighed and offlined his optics, far too exhausted to deal with that horror and its gripping panic yet again. Even with his careful ignorance of it, circumnavigating certain black thoughts with a titanium force of will, he felt hollow and hollower still. It was almost morning. The Autobots would soon come online and begin crashing noisily about the Ark, chattering loudly about whatever pointless human thing had caught their attention most recently. He'd grown rather fond of that insufferable racket. Perhaps in the morning he could enlist Perceptor and Skyfire to help repair and reinforce the data disk room. It shouldn't be too hard to convince them to postpone their methodical clearing in favor of an actually meaningful task. And he'd already begun blueprinting possible safe designs - with Ratchet's help he could doubtless acquire the material necessary. Thinking of the new day to come, he managed to slip fully offline before he realized it, and quickly fell into recharge.

And in his dreams, Megatron tore him apart piece by piece and rebuilt him into a monstrous copy of himself.

Chapter Text

Perceptor knew he wasn't fully invested in their conversation, Starscream was sure of it. The Autobot scientist was simply too polite to say anything. It wasn't that he wasn't interested in the discussion of their project, but his night had not exactly been restful, and adding to the greyness in his processor was the occasional black thought which left him reeling and unable to speak. It really did seem that whenever anything was going too well, he had to find some way to tear it all down. He felt that he'd never truly escaped Megatron's constant surveillance; even here his leader was watching him, mocking him, monitoring his every failure with scornful derision.

"I don't mind entering everything manually; really I don't," Perceptor reassured no one. "But I feel there must be a way to optimize the analysis of this data, even if we cannot optimize the input." He had his servos deep in the wiring of the room, checking each cable for any fault or damage.

"You're always looking for something to optimize," Skyfire spoke up. He stripped another compromised panel of metal from the back wall and tossed it into the pile behind him with a clatter. "It's a good idea, but you can't ask a computer to do something neither it nor you know how to do."

Perceptor hummed thoughtfully. "If only I could somehow program the computer to learn and grow as it analyzes, perhaps it could figure it out."

"You might as well just build a more intelligent robot and give him the project," Starscream muttered, welding the first of a few selenium-fused reinforced containers to the wall. He sympathized with Perceptor's plight, but not with the Autobot's constant worrying over possible or impossible improvements to their method. It was true that they hadn't made much progress in their speculations, but Perceptor would not get any further by rewriting and re-rewriting the analysis code in hopes of discovering some secret perfect design with which all the data would suddenly fall into order.

"Oh, but then we would have to share credit." Perceptor smiled innocuously. Evidently satisfied that the wiring near the door was intact, he replaced the wall panel covering it.

The Autobot was learning the simple pleasure of jokes - at least, he was more comfortable around Starscream now. Regardless, he would have to learn what Starscream already knew from experience: some things were best solved through brute force and boredom. The tedium of entering the data and looking at it over and over again was bound to result in a burst of insight eventually. If there was such an insight to be had. The giant drill Scrapper had built had needed no such insight, of course, as its purpose was very, very clear. Starscream sighed, double-checking his work for weak points. "It's easier to shake planets apart than it is to keep them together. If there is an answer it will come to us, in time ."

It seemed that for Perceptor, that time had come now . The Autobot perked up immediately, his processor already running at full capacity before Starscream had even finished talking. "Of course…of course! The Earth wants earthquakes to happen - we're trying to stop a natural process." He'd stopped halfway through removing the central panel of the side wall, and now the sheet of metal hung at an odd angle without half the bolts that held it up, forgotten in favor of whatever conclusion Perceptor was racing towards. "To understand how to prevent them entirely, we must understand how to cause them! And how to make them worse, much worse! We must truly understand how, in this specific way, to shake the Earth itself to pieces!"

Well, if this whole desertion thing didn't work out, he could always sell Perceptor to the Decepticons, Starscream thought drily. The Autobot was clever for sure, and too ambitious, but that wasn't his problem.

"That can be modeled," Perceptor mused, optics unfocused as his processor filled with possibilities. "It's just a matter of exaggerating the motion already there…" The torturous groan of the panel reaching achingly towards the floor shook him from his reverie, and he quickly resumed work, though still distracted by thought. "But that can wait. It would work, though, wouldn't it?" He looked back at Starscream, eager for approval.

It seemed the Constructicons were to be more of an inspiration than he'd originally considered. He weighed whether Scrapper or Scavenger would be more frustrated to know an Autobot was using their theories for the Earth's benefit. "It might." The Jet paused. "It doesn't need to wait. You'll be of no use to me here so long as you're entirely preoccupied by other ideas."

Perceptor laid the panel on the ground but made no move to inspect the wiring behind it. "Are you sure? I don't mind - "

" Go. "

Perceptor didn't waste another second, vanishing into the corridor as soon as he'd been given explicit permission. He would surely succeed with his theory or else fail in good spirits, and either way would think himself closer to solving a problem he truly thought important. Starscream genuinely could not bring himself to care about the project - so what if the flesh-creatures ended up with a slightly more stable planet? What did that matter to him? Even the thrill of simply being the one (or one of two) to create such a powerful and useful device held no appeal today. He was not in a very good mood.

"That little Autobot reminds me of someone." Skyfire smiled fondly when Starscream looked to him with questioning optics. "I'm sure you haven't forgotten all those times you'd interrupt our recharge because of some brilliant idea you just couldn't wait to work on."

Starscream stared at his sentimental companion. "You're insufferable."

"And yet you still tolerate my presence. I think that's a good sign." Skyfire pulled the last damaged panel from the back wall and laid it on the pile. "You know, you haven't told me why you chose a selenium alloy of all things for these new receptacles." Honest curiosity shone in his blue optics, fixed expectantly on Starscream.

Well, he would hate to disappoint. And he was very proud of his design. "It's simple, really. There's two casings, separated by insulated circuitry. Say this safe is under direct attack by laser fire, or caught in an explosion. The photovoltaic exterior casing will convert the light to electricity, which will then be conducted to the intermediate circuitry and expended outwards in a nullifying energy wave which will incapacitate any attacker, and should diminish the force of an explosion." He folded his servos, leaning back against the wall. "Patterned after my own null ray, of course," Starscream grinned, smug in his brilliance. "Other than that, it's watertight, airtight, naturally maintains the same temperature, and furthermore the heavy alloyed tungsten makeup of the interior casing protects it from radiation, heat, and virtually any force."

Skyfire looked duly impressed. "It's refreshing, the amount of thought and certainty you put into your work. Our resident inventor is something of an accidental demolitions expert."

Starscream waved off the praise. "You know I'd never waste precious time and material on something I wasn't sure of, old friend."

"Yes, I do. I know you, and your projects that spend decades in the planning stage." Skyfire smiled. "But Ratchet doesn't. That was a direct quote from him."

He stared, not sure what he was more surprised by - the Autobot medic's genuine praise, or his old friend's manipulative tactic.

"Granted, that came after a very long-winded complaint about your interrupting his own work to pitch your idea," Skyfire continued, blue optics glittering, pleased. "Impatience and genius seem to fly wing-to-wing." It was impossible to be frustrated when he looked so happy with his little comparison.

Starscream sighed, the ghost of a smile touching his faceplate. "Oh, alright. Fine." And it was more than fine, too, to hear that Ratchet appreciated his talent. The medic was just about the only Autobot whose opinion mattered to him, and that he'd managed to draw actual kind words from the gruff Transformer was gratifying indeed. Starscream turned back to his precious constructions, now focusing on the seam connecting them to the floor of the Ark. Even if the entire ship collapsed, these containers would remain intact, and the disks soon to be stored within them would be safe. He commended himself on his brilliance, allowing himself a little private satisfaction.

"You know…" Something in Skyfire's voice made him snuff his welding torch and glance back; something light, almost dreamy. The Autobot's blue optics were softer than clouds as he met Starscream's gaze warmly. Oh, great - he was preparing to say something unbelievably sappy. Starscream fought the urge to sneer. "I had hoped that you would join me among the Autobots one day, but…I never really thought it would happen. Not with how stubborn you can be."

"Foolish hopes, old friend." He couldn't help the grimace that caught his faceplate like a trap. "Nothing's changed. This situation just happens to benefit me right now. If I had a choice - "

"I'm proud of you."

Starscream's processor froze, his words deserting him.

"I really am. Because you did have a choice, my friend. And I am so proud of you, Starscream, for choosing this, for letting us help you, and for trying so hard to recover, and to get along with the others." Skyfire paused, his optics somehow even more sincere, his voice somehow even more delicate. "You have friends here, Starscream. You chose that. I am so very glad that you did. I'm so happy you're here ."

Starscream wanted to fly away, or to fling himself into Skyfire's embrace and let this unbearable flood of emotion overwhelm him completely. He did neither, feeling as welded to the floor as his creations. He was still trying to process Skyfire's words. It was too much to handle, too much to contain, the torrent of unexpected relief and guilt and happiness , strange and frightening happiness , rushing through his circuitry like water, limpid and clear and incessant. It threatened to consume him - he was sure that at any moment his frame might crack and all that emotion would come pouring out of him, leaving him empty and exhausted as usual, but instead it only rose and rose and rose until he could not take it any longer.

"Starscream - "

"I don't belong here, Skyfire." His assertion didn't soothe the hot confusion within him, but it did dampen it somewhat, clearing his processor enough to think. He'd been a trespasser here on the Ark since the moment he arrived. An unwanted intruder, unrepentant and unchanged. He always wanted more than he deserved. And he always got what was coming to him. "I don't - "

"When have you ever let that stop you?" Skyfire's soft question once again stopped his thoughts in their tracks. The Autobot - his old friend, his Skyfire - reached out to take his servo, squeezing it sympathetically. "Do you want to be here?"

He didn't have to weigh the benefits or his recurring doubts, or his frustration at inaction, or his dubious feelings of safety. Starscream answered immediately, a pure, resounding, emotional response. "... yes ."

And yet everything was still becoming a little too suffocating. He no longer felt imprisoned, but the restlessness shifting within him and his muddled, conflicting thoughts - he had to get out, he needed to get out, to clear his processor with the aid of sharp, decisive, high-altitude winds, and find a calmer, more reasoned perspective on this confused and exhausting mess he'd gotten himself into. The high ceiling of his room was still too low, too  stifling, and his frame felt heavy and useless laid out on his berth. Everything used to be so clear. Although, now he knew how wrong he'd been about so many things - his clarity had come from ignorance, from naivety , something he hadn't thought himself still capable of. From trust.

Blind trust, even in his hatred of Megatron. Perhaps he was fooling himself even now. Things were no more obscure in his present situation than they'd been before.

He trusted Prime now, but this was far from blind. The Autobot leader had proved himself, time and time again, worthy of that trust. Even so Starscream balked at the thought of relying on him any more than was strictly necessary. And he was sure Prime would soon tire of helping him, anyways, with how he'd repaid the Autobot's consideration. Although really, Optimus Prime should have expected it, from a Decepticon.

From him. His outburst had nothing to do with his construction or his allegiance. It was just that he had to turn everything into an attack, had to force Prime to admit his self-doubt and martyr complex so that he could belittle them, to show Prime how foolish and wrong he was, to make him accept that it wasn't his fault . Starscream sat up, resigning himself to another night spent in the clutches of insomnia. There was something definitively, inherently wrong with him. Why couldn't he face things softly, like Skyfire did? He wished for a chance to use his guns. He wondered if Jazz really missed the battlefield, or if he only felt obligated to fight as long as his comrades put themselves at the same risk.

He needed to get out. To think, or maybe to get away from his thoughts.

Stealthily, he slipped out into the Ark's corridors, acutely aware of the metallic ring of his footsteps through the empty halls. His passing drew no attention - likely any Autobot online or wary enough to hear him thought it was Jazz, or Prime, or someone else who had reason to be roaming so late. Starscream retraced the path he'd taken so many nights earlier when he'd first spoken to Jazz and that insufferable Red Alert. This time, he gave the usually busier halls a wide berth, approaching the Ark's main deck by means of whatever side passages appeared to lead in the right direction. Though time-consuming, the occasional dead end did nothing to frustrate him. For once, he had all the patience in the world to make sure this was done right.

And yet when a tiny, cramped corridor barely wide enough for his wingspan turned a sharp corner and then opened generously into the wide, yawning space of the Ark's main deck, it was all he could do to stop himself from racing across the room and up the spiraling ramp to the freedom of the outside world. A ramp . Autobots really did build everything for wheels. But when his cautious glance revealed no one - no guards, no idle Autobots, not even a security drone - Starscream decided he could risk it. He could handle the curvature of the exit easily.

So with two quick steps he transformed and was airborne , cruising skillfully up the tunnel until the burnished metal walls, curving and curving in the same tiring architecture, finally revealed the perfect square image of the barren desert cliffs outside of the Autobot base - the image growing rapidly, the temperature dropping slowly, until with a fearsome roar of his engines he barreled out into the black and moonless night, easing his ailerons and pushing his elevators and raising his angle of attack and climbing, climbing, climbing so sharply he could feel the dangerous force of the air against his underside, threatening to steal the lift from his wings and flip him into an uncontrollable oblivion - but he only diverted more energy to his engines, streaking almost vertically through the sky until finally he leveled out in a wide circle some 35,000 feet above the Ark and the boundless sprawling land below. In old habit he knew his ascension had taken exactly 53.4 astroseconds. His time grounded had not affected his speed, although his desperation for this serene freedom might have been a part of that.

It was serene. He eased off a little more, slowing to a leisurely glide so far above the Earth and all its frustrations and worries, far above the tiny Ark just barely peeking out from the mountain overlooking it. Even the mountain was far below, an old and weathered thing, "picturesque" as the flesh-creatures might call it, its forests and cliffs nearly as ancient as the landform itself. And all of it young compared to him, compared to the worlds and wildernesses he'd seen.

Starscream turned his attention upwards, towards the infinite cosmos so far above him. A glittering ocean, a void so perfect and endless and so cluttered with stars as to seem infinitely full , endlessly promising more, always more. Clusters and systems and nebulas of burning stardust, generating limitless possibility - he was struck with a sense of belonging, a familiar feeling of home that he'd nearly forgotten. On Cybertron or Earth or anywhere else in the galaxy, this cosmic beauty was his to behold and to be held by. The stars felt like old friends, each one of them. His oldest friends, he thought, and laughed aloud, the joyous sound trailing behind him in the vast and silent night. Compared to those ancient stars, compared to what they'd seen, what creation and destruction and resurgence they'd borne witness to, he was young, and his life barely begun. Time fell before him like an open wilderness, the path his to forge.

He increased his thrust and rolled, the wind screaming past him, the stars yawing crazily in a millisecond rush and righting themselves, the ground lazily passing far below and the brisk cold air rushing madly under his wings, and Starscream felt good .

And for once he did not question that. It was his right to feel good; it was a feeling the universe owed him quite a lot more of. It was a perfect night, vast and clear and cold; and although he could see the far-off twinkling lights of human cities, the only sound he could hear was the growling thunder of his engines and the thrilling howl of protesting air sliced apart by the flawless blade of his wings. He rolled again, and again, picking up speed. The cluttered sky below him, the barren desert above him, the horizon at his wingtips, the blue roar of flight , of freedom! The silver serenity, severing all of his worries, his stress, his loathing and his festering fears - severing all those paranoid and painful thoughts from him like a scythe. He cut through the sky like nothing ever built or dreamed, wicked and beautiful and entirely lost in his love for it.

Never too lost, however, to be aware of his surroundings. Though the stars still hung high in the cosmos, the dark brilliance of the sky was fading to a dull grey, signaling the coming dawn. Far below, outside the tiny Ark, the miniature figure of a robot stood looking up, signaling his coming detention. Oh, well. It had been well worth it. Starscream executed a cobra maneuver to slow his momentum, flipped it into a rather fancy dive, losing thousands of feet of shrieking altitude in just a few astroseconds, and pulled up at the last moment, transforming and activating his afterburners to further counter his downward motion. He landed perfectly, as always. He felt no frustration for having been caught, and his resignation of a minute ago had left him too. The night (now the earliest hours of morning, really) was still silent, still dark, and Starscream still felt good. The tempest warring within him, always present and worsened by his confinement the past few weeks, had calmed; his circuits glowed with satisfaction, the Jet mollified and almost happy as he walked up to the waiting Autobot leader.

"Scold me for my selfishness if you wish, Prime. I don't care."

Prime's blue optics glowed softly, appraising. "Perhaps…if you were willing to risk such danger, perhaps I underestimated how important flight is to you."

Starscream scoffed good-naturedly. "Of course you did. You can't fly." He hadn't been risking very much, at any rate - trust Prime to exaggerate. Even in his desperation, even in his exalted state, he hadn't been careless; he'd only flown vague circles around the Ark, never straying too far to flee back to its safety if trouble should rear its ugly helm. And he hadn't wanted to jeopardize that safety by giving Red Alert any grounds for further suspicion concerning his motives.

Optimus Prime turned his gaze to the stars, considering flight or maybe searching for their home within that fraction of the galaxy. The outline of his tilted helm against the sky reminded Starscream of some old and noble architecture. After a few moments of quiet stillness, the Autobot glanced at him and began to lead the way back into the hallways of the Ark. "Explain it to me," he murmured, his voice low.

He really did seem interested, in that strange casual way of his. Starscream took one last look at the outside world and then followed, lagging only a step behind Prime as he considered how best to describe it. The Autobot beside him would have no hope of ever understanding the physical feeling, the mechanical glory, but of all robots Prime might at least appreciate the sentiment of it. "Imagine - if you can manage that - the rush of the wind, the thrill of high velocity, the satisfaction of knowing that you know what you're doing and that you are entirely in command, that you are the master of that private world. Perhaps you've experienced a similar feeling while driving?" Prime nodded. "Now add to that the limitless boundary of the air. The constant war with gravity, the elation of defiant victory, the simple pleasure of - just - flying! " 

He was losing what had been a desperate description to begin with. Starscream hummed, searching for the word for the feeling of flight. In the Earth movies he'd seen, the way emotions were conveyed through visuals and sound and all else, the most similar analogy was the breaking of a wild mustang. It was the same skill, the same knowing of that strange but predictable variable, the same untamed love for the act and for that wild and temperamental thing; the horse in the cowboy's case, the wind in his. But it was still not perfect. The rush in flying was eternal and constant and playful , somehow. Regardless, that comparison would only confuse Prime further.

"It's more than that, it's…everything. The ultimate conquest, and the ultimate submission. I've never felt more supported, I've never felt in better company, than when I am airborne, alone. It's freeing ," he added. "More so than anything else. Nothing else exists except for me and the air and this whole world, this whole galaxy ." He often felt so caged in by his responsibilities, even before this, even before the War, and flying had been his one constant through all change and all hardship - his one escape, the one time he felt a sense of unity with the rest of the galaxy. It was that rare clarity of peace which he chased after so doggedly, which drove his greater ambitions (beyond Earth, beyond Megatron, beyond even Cybertron). Ambitions Prime would oppose simply by their forceful nature, regardless of their intended outcome.

The Autobot was watching him with a strange light in his optics. As blue as they were, the Ark's contrasting metal only served to further emphasize their color, never muting it.

Starscream narrowed his optics. "What?"

Prime tilted his helm, blue light spilling down over his battle-mask. "I've…never seen this side of you before."

"Oh." Admittedly he had gotten a little excited. There was an emotion that had not once ended well for him in the last nine million years. Prime's gaze was too gentle, too intense. Starscream looked away.

He felt Prime look away too, the confusing weight of the Autobot's optics slipping elsewhere. "I'm glad that you can feel so comfortable around me, Starscream." Unfortunately Prime's voice was just as sincere, and just as…frightening. It was frightening. He should never have made the mistake of letting Prime this close.

He'd slipped up, but that was his nature. And as terrifying as this was, in this moment at least he found himself clinging desperately to Prime's companionship. Hot shame flooded his circuits, regret turning his wiring to ash as he recalled his vicious attempts to drive the Autobot away. He hadn't even wanted to, in the end. Nothing he felt, nothing he did seemed to match any kind of reason. Perhaps that was part of why he craved this logic of flight so much. "...about those things I said the other night…"

Optimus Prime took a moment, his mood noticeably wounded. All the same, he replied with careful humility, waving off the impending apology. "They're true."

They weren't. Starscream knew that they weren't - that was the entire point of his saying them. Prime was no Decepticon, but he could be as stubborn as any of them at times, and Starscream also knew that Prime would not hear him if he argued the facts. He tried anyways. "No, they're not . Prime, you can't seriously blame yourself for a war you didn't start!" But it was clear that Prime did, and that it would take more than his word to convince him otherwise.

"Tell me more about flight," Prime diverted. Exhaustion seemed to weigh down his tall frame as never before.

Starscream actually deferred to the Autobot. Loathe as he was to leave this be, the last thing he wanted to do was ruin his good mood with another savage argument. "What do you want to know?"

"Anything. Everything, if you'd like."

"That's a dangerous answer, Prime." Starscream glanced at his companion, skeptical of Prime's actual interest. He shouldn't have been. For some reason, the Autobot leader really was invested in what he had to say. "Let's see…well, flying on Earth is very different from flying on Cybertron, of course."

"Is it?" Prime queried.

"Yes! You Autobots built Cybertron, didn't you? Autobot architecture, everywhere, on every level; great towers and spires and huge blocky factories, roadways and bridges arching over each other and the cities, buildings right next to hundred-mile rifts in the planet, the new being constructed right on top of the old and more being added every hour. I'm sure that's perfectly fine for you , since all you do is drive on roads designed for efficiency, but what you grounded robots don't realize is that you've created the worst tangle of air currents perhaps ever." Starscream sneered at the blind results of Autobot ingenuity . "Cybertron's skies are a hazard of crosswinds and downdrafts, completely unpredictable and worse, unexpected. Few are strong enough to be a real danger, but they can prove a hassle if you don't already know where each one lays." 

The Jet preened at his mastery of that ever-changing web. He supposed it wasn't changing much anymore - or rather, the only change was that of slow deterioration, their devastated abandoned home. The thought sobered him some. 

"That's why most flying Transformers, like me, always preferred to live in the Constructicons' cities. They actually took that into consideration, being rudimentary fliers themselves. But that's besides the point. The Earth, despite the flesh-creatures' best efforts, is still mostly ruled by natural wind patterns, which means exactly that: it has patterns , to its weather and to its winds, based on easy information like polarity and temperature and humidity, values which Cybertron does not have in any natural form. Deciphering these patterns, and engaging with them, is more…gratifying, more purely enjoyable. Actually, I've always preferred it. That's always been my favorite part of exploring organic planets - the wind and the weather and the flying." He looked to Prime, wondering if the Autobot had even followed him.

He had. His blue optics were slightly dimmed as he processed Starscream's words, dark blue servos gently clasped behind his back as they walked the silent corridors. "You've been to organic planets besides Earth, then?" Prime inquired, his voice curling upwards with genuine curiosity. "Was this before the War?"

"...yes," he answered, flexing his servos as though it would free the tension once again gripping his frame. "With Skyfire." He was careful to keep all emotion out of his voice, but even so he didn't dare say any more. He didn't want to.

"Right, of course. My apologies." And Optimus Prime did seem apologetic, his words weighted with regret for the subject, his optics subdued. The longer the following silence drew out, the more Starscream was able to relax again. 

He wasn't uncomfortable at Prime's side at all, surprisingly enough. Though he always did adapt to new situations quickly. Thinking more on the Autobot's question, it was glaringly obvious that Prime was a wartime construction. If it had always shown this blatantly in his words, then Starscream must not be as observant as he thought he was. The last time anyone had had time to do anything - let alone what amounted to scientific tourism - was before the War.

The Ark's hallways were becoming less perfectly silent, with muffled sounds of robots coming online and preparing themselves for the day ahead seeping out into the body of the ship. With all the pride both Decepticons and Autobots placed on technology, it was a wonder neither side had yet managed to invent total soundproofing.

Which, actually - "How did you know I'd left, Prime? You couldn't have heard me all the way from your quarters."

This time it was Prime who answered carefully, but not quite casually enough to fool Starscream. "Skyspy's programmed to notify Teletraan-1 if your energy signature appears outside," he answered.

That was a reasonable enough measure to take, but… "Why were you at Teletraan-1 at that hour? Don't tell me you're just an early bird, Prime. There was no reason for you to be online so late."

His stern questioning finally took its toll on Prime, who all of a sudden looked every day of his approximately nine million years of age. Eventually, he responded, each word heavier as it left his vocalizer than the last. "I have trouble recharging sometimes."

Ah . This, he could surmise. "Nightmares."

"...yes."

Starscream didn't press further, and Prime seemed relieved. All the same, he couldn't help but wonder: what could Prime have nightmares about? So infuriatingly noble, so blusteringly heroic - he'd always thought the Autobot leader's facade was ridiculous; pathetic ; but since he'd taken refuge in the Ark he'd begun to question if the Autobot wasn't just, very simply, very quietly, strong. Yet even that strength had more beneath it. 

Reflecting on their encounters in battle, their standoffs and his observations, perhaps it shouldn't have been such a big mystery that Prime too was troubled. Throughout this war and all its conflicts, Prime always put others before himself, no matter how insignificant their lives were compared to his. Starscream used to mistake that for droll stupidity, or pointless Autobot sentiment. Now he saw, as clear and as awesome as the crystalline birth of a new star, that it was nothing less than Optimus Prime caring so much for everyone else that he never prioritized himself. There was no pointless sentiment in that, only a deep and unrequited love that would kill the Autobot if he continued to let it consume him.

"Seems to me you could stand to be a little more selfish yourself, Prime." 

Prime glanced at him, confused.

"The galaxy doesn't rest on your shoulders alone; you should trust your Autobots more. This planet may be a undeveloped backwater compared to Cybertron but there are still things to enjoy about it," Starscream asserted. This time he would leave no room for Prime to disagree without insulting the robots he thought so highly of.

At least for this brief moment, Optimus was almost receptive to the idea, his halcyon blue optics widening slightly. Some of the pressure that always seemed to weigh the Autobot down was lifted from him, and the warmth in his voice was like nothing else. "Like the wind, and the weather, and the flying?"

Starscream didn't think the Autobot was mocking him, but…he wasn't sure what this was . "Your own version of that, whatever that would be." Optimus was staring at him, something strange in his optics, a kind of lightness and gratitude the Jet had only seen directed at him by one other Transformer. A flutter of self-consciousness swept his processor and was just as quickly dismissed.

He tore his gaze away at the sound of an approaching Autobot. Ironhide. Who else. Nothing could sour his mood now, though. The red Autobot stopped when he saw them, visibly relieved at the sight of Prime unharmed and in good spirits.

"Optimus! I've been lookin' for you." His optics shifted warily to the Decepticon next to his leader. "Starscream."

"Ironhide," Starscream replied in kind.

Optimus Prime scratched the back of his helm sheepishly. "I'm sorry, old friend. I didn't want to wake you."

Ironhide's optics were soft as he gazed up at Prime, the look in them almost indescribably affectionate. Starscream felt as though he were intruding on something. "Aw, come on, Optimus. You know you're never a bother to me."

Definitely intruding. "If you don't mind, Prime, I think I'll try to get some rest before Perceptor starts hassling me again." He folded his servos, indifferent to Ironhide's existence (or so he hoped to appear).

"Of course," Optimus replied, and there was not a single thing in the galaxy Starscream would not give to see behind his battle-mask. "Goodnight - or rather, good morning, Starscream." His levity was audible.

Somehow that decency caught the Jet off guard. "Yes - good morning…" He wasn't sure whether to use the Prime's title or his name.

He brushed past Ironhide, taking his by now familiar course through the maze-like corridors, intending to do exactly what he had said and leaving the Autobot leader and his friend to go their own way. His steps echoed lightly through the empty hallways, though he knew they would not remain that way for long. Starscream recalled the rush of the howling wind, the mad appraisal of the stars, the swooping rapture of his dive, and the calm blue warmth of Optimus Prime's optics.

He wanted what Prime had.

And maybe he had what Prime wanted - freedom from the crushing weight of self-imposed responsibility. Vicarious respite would not sustain Prime long, but the Autobot despite all his friendships and alliances did not seem willing or able to pursue freedom by himself. More likely, it was because of those ties.

If Prime wanted to die for his observations, that was perfectly alright with Starscream. But it was so frustratingly clear that the Autobot wanted everything but that; wanted to keep his Autobots safe at any cost but wished fervently that the cost would not be his own life - and yet was willing to sacrifice himself at the slightest opportunity. Prime was a mess . He was even worse than Starscream. The yearning emptiness the Decepticon had felt since he'd accepted Prime's offer, and since long before that, too far back to want to remember, was slowly resolving itself into a purpose.

Optimus Prime had helped him out. He was just returning the favor.

Chapter Text

Optimus Prime could not stop thinking about his interaction with Starscream. For once the Jet had seemed open and even friendly. For once their conversation had not felt like wrestling a beryllium barrel of sulfur snakes. It finally seemed like his aid had actually helped Starscream; like his actions had actually meant something long-term.

Because that was the issue, wasn't it? Optimus Prime did nothing but act, and rarely allowed himself time to react, instead filling his every moment with reflective thoughts so deep and turbulent they sometimes threatened to sweep him off balance and carry him away to their abyss. Ultimately it seemed his choices were negligible. In the grand scheme of this war, the friends and allies he made were dragged into its inescapable workings and often too soon lost. Nothing made a difference against Megatron's unwavering force, and nothing was enough to make up for the loss of Cybertron as it had been. At times this horror paralyzed not only his processor but his frame as well, so that he could not move for the crushing weight and helplessness of it.

It had been a desperate hope to help Starscream, to offer him such unmitigated trust knowing who the Decepticon second-in-command was. There was nothing else he could have done but help him. Prime felt he was never truly in control of his own actions. Still, it was nice to be reassured again that it had not been a mistake.

It was wonderful. Watching the Jet soar through the midnight sky like a blade through blue velvet, listening to him talk so freely and so casually, so excited to inform Optimus of everything he had missed, as an Autobot, as a non-flier, as a wartime construction.

Starscream had had every opportunity to flee, back to Megatron or to some solitary hideaway, and yet he had flown down to Optimus willingly. The wind was nonexistent in the summer heat of that night, but Optimus had seen its wild exhilaration in the Jet's optics. The weather had been dull and unchanging for nearly a week, but Starscream had voiced so passionately his love for just that predictability - something beyond Optimus's current understanding.

Flying. Optimus had admired the efficiency and the skill of the Decepticon jets before, but only as one must understand a perfect engine in order to destroy it. He wondered if those were his words, or Alpha Trion's. Or someone else's. His former name had spoken of peace, and yet here he was a warrior fighting a war with no end. At least Starscream always had that: he knew exactly who he was.

Watching Starscream fly, Optimus Prime had felt a wave of unexpected happiness. His initial dread at Teletraan-1's report had flowered quickly into serene enjoyment of the Jet's clear adoration of the sky and of his relation to it. It was a pure love, untainted by deceit or malice. The precise angle of his wings, the skill with which he manipulated the air itself…it wasn't right to keep him from that. Something had to be done.

The Ark was busy as usual, Autobots milling about aimlessly talking about Cybertron and Earth and anywhere else they might have been or heard about. All made way for Prime, who exchanged warm greetings with each one as he strode through the corridors until he arrived at the Security Officer's station. He took a moment to bolster himself before entering confidently, the door sliding shut behind him.

"What's up, Prime?" Inferno greeted him, the fire engine's arm slung around Red Alert's shoulders. Red himself was so focused on the surveillance footage plastered across the myriad screens in the room that he did not even turn to look at Optimus. Not a good sign.

"Optimus? Is something wrong? What's happened?" Red still could not tear himself away from his screens, searching them only more frantically as though they might hold the answer. His caution had grown into a true paranoia ever since Prime had brought Starscream unguarded into the very heart of the Ark. Given the Decepticon second-in-command's reputation and Red's own personal experience with him, it was no surprise, but it still pained Optimus to see, knowing as he did now that there was more to the Jet than deception and violence.

That he was one of very few who knew that did not escape him. "Nothing's wrong, Red. You haven't missed anything." 

The security officer sighed, and a fractional amount of tension left his frame. It was enough, however, for him to glance over his shoulder at Optimus, blue optics piercing. "That's good to hear." At his side, Inferno patted his shoulder sympathetically.

"Inferno. Could you give us a moment?" Red could be reasonable, but Inferno's stubbornness rivaled that of Cliffjumper.

"Sure, alright…" Inferno threw Optimus a confused look before leaving. As he did, Red spun around, sensing the gravity of the conversation for Optimus to wish Inferno not to hear it.

As soon as the door was safely closed again, the metal sliding shut with a near-silent whisper, Red spoke up. "I saw what happened last night, Prime. I was reviewing the footage from while I recharged. I saw him escape, and while I don't know why he hung around I saw you convince him to come back. I presume you've dealt with that problem, right? It won't happen again?"

It wouldn't do to try to break this question gently. Red was so on edge already, likely calculating which of the thousands of worst-case scenarios he kept on hand was waiting behind Optimus's battle-mask. And as always he'd already decided what answer he wanted to hear. Red wouldn't appreciate a softer, slower approach, he decided. "Actually, what I came here to ask you concerns that issue exactly. I'd like to make it safe for Starscream to leave the Ark on occasion."

Security Officer Red Alert's lights flashed in brilliant alarm. "Prime, it was crazy enough to bring him in here, let alone give him free reign of the Ark! Now you want to let him leave?! He'll go right back to Megatron with all our secrets!"

"He had the opportunity to do just that last night and he didn't. He has absolutely no intent of returning to the Decepticons in that way." As strange as it felt, Optimus was completely certain that this was true. He had no lack of faith in the Jet. "Starscream is not our prisoner, Red Alert. I feel there is a limit to how much we can do for him so long as we continue to treat him like one."

"What does that matter? This is war."

Optimus sighed. "All the same, Red, wouldn't you find it harder to do your job and rely on our friends and allies if you were never allowed to leave the Ark, even for just a moment?" Not that the security officer spent much time outside the Ark anyways. Inferno usually had to convince him to take a break from his surveillance, but Red always seemed to enjoy their drives. Unfortunately, that private delight was not high on his list of priorities right now.

"You can't trust him, Prime! He's not only a Decepticon, he's Starscream! " Red cried, resisting stubbornly as always. Optimus regarded him with a level gaze, not compromising on that point. Even with what little progress he'd made with the Jet, he knew that he would trust Starscream unwaveringly on this subject. After a few beseeching moments, Red backed off and grumbled a more cooperative complaint. "His confinement is as much for his own safety as for ours. There's effectively no chance of Megatron getting information about him or from him so long as he stays in here."

"All the same, Red, I believe that flying is not a luxury for him, but a necessity. One well worth the potential risk. I'd like your help in finding ways to mitigate that risk as much as possible." Prime thought again of Starscream's genuine rapturous peace at the simple act of flight. The Jet had been so open afterwards, so willing to connect and to believe rather than doubt. He wanted to see more of that side of the Jet, and he wanted to make it an easily attainable freedom for him. "I'll keep an eye on him personally, if that would help. It won't be for very long, or very often."

Red's blue optics were wavering, uncertain under the insistent trust of his leader. It was a shame that the other Autobots had not seen what he had in Starscream - the fascinating and intelligent robot who he'd only seen glimpses of, and who was just now beginning to consider fully shedding the shell of anger and distrust and anxiety that he had built to protect him, to keep him online and ready through the worst of Megatron's abuse. He knew Starscream could be so much more than the terrified Decepticon he'd taken in. Prime knew Starscream already was so much more, and that he'd always been infinitely more than what Megatron had tried to reduce him to. But he also knew that even Starscream himself did not believe that, let alone the Autobots who as a majority would still prefer to call the Jet their enemy.

Red Alert was not the strongest-willed of these, but he was the most personally powerful, and the robot Optimus Prime most wanted to convince of Starscream's trustworthiness. "I'm sure he would appreciate it if you could help make it safe for him to fly. I certainly would."

"This…isn't an order?" Red stared, his faceplate lined with deep thought.

Prime shook his helm, conceding the final decision to his security officer. "No, Red."

For almost a minute Red Alert's bright blue optics bored into Prime's processor, trying to figure out what it was exactly Prime was asking for, and weighing the risk of doing so against the innovation of the Autobots. Finally Red turned back to the surveillance feed, ending the conversation. "...I'll see what I can do."

It was more than he'd dared to hope for. "Thank you, Red. I'll let you get back to work now." Excitement coursed through Prime's wiring, lending him some extra spring in his step as he walked through the hallways of the Ark. It was too soon to inform Starscream - there was still a chance it wouldn't work out; Red might still change his mind if he couldn't devise a way to reduce the risk of the Jet being spotted. For now, the Autobot leader decided to drive to the city and check in with the Protectobots in their separate base. They were still inexperienced and knew it, and Streetwise was always glad for Prime's leadership guidance.

And maybe he just wanted to get out for a while, too. Maybe what he was really looking forward to was the ground under his wheels between here and there, the always-too-short bliss of being nowhere and doing nothing.

Maybe he could listen to Starscream, just this once. Just for a little while, and then he'd get back to his duties.

The rumble of old asphalt beneath his tires reminded Prime how worn down they all were. 

Speeding steadily along the stretching miles of desert highway, Optimus Prime took in the alien sky so flatly blue above him, and the dry landscape littered with sparse vegetation clinging stubbornly to life in the harsh environment. The scrub brush and the cacti were made harsh by their conditions, tough and spiny exteriors matched by perfectly adapted inner structures capturing and storing water for years, never knowing when or if more would come. It was laudable in the plants; less so in the Autobots he commanded, who clung to victory like it was the elixir of life itself.

Wasn't it, though? If they failed even once, it could mean the end of Cybertron, their home. It could mean the destruction of their race, and the desolation of a once-peaceful galaxy. And yet even so, he could not help but mourn the harmonious, non-violent Autobots that had once been - the Autobots who took forms designed for construction and research and repair, and did not need to alter these forms for battle. The Autobots who had built Cybertron in all its Golden Age beauty, and who had developed the thriving culture, always reaching outwards, which had for so long been deader than the myrs since anyone had bothered with anything other than fighting. The Autobots who had produced so much Energon that there was no need for rationing or for war, so much that there had been warehouses dedicated to the storage of that precious (but never rare) resource.

The sort of Autobot he had once been. Orion Pax had been that robot's name. He'd had friends and even a girlfriend, as had been the slang at the time. Another part of that ancient culture lost. Orion Pax had been happy, and content to be what he was. Optimus Prime could not remember a time he had managed to feel both of those things at once. Even just one was becoming less and less common, as the Earth dragged itself around its sun and the days of their human friends' lives rolled past like water. The war on Cybertron had been a timeless sort of long. The front here on Earth, meanwhile, could be measured in fractions of a child's lifespan - and Optimus Prime had found himself remembering, more and more frequently, that the war had lasted for the entirety of his.

He was technically the one who had started it, after all. There could be no war without resistance, and while Prime knew that Megatron's lust for conquest had to be stopped, sometimes he wondered if he couldn't have done anything better. Perhaps if he'd taken different actions, or if it had been some other robot which Alpha Trion had reformatted…perhaps there would be more Autobots still online today. Each termination weighed heavily on his shoulders. Blank optics, faceplates frozen in terror, servos contorted in agony…the smoking remains of friends and allies, scorched almost unrecognizable by Decepticon laser fire, haunted his recharge, and often his waking hours as well.

They did not haunt him now. Driving fast, nothing could cling to his processor for too long. It was a comfort to be sure, but it was nothing like how Starscream had described his ecstasy of flight. It felt more like cowardice. Like running. But he could not bear to face everything all the time.

Prime accelerated faster, his massive form barreling down the empty road, sending miles and miles of dust hurtling behind him. His tires gripped the asphalt with a sureness he relied on to keep him grounded, physically and mentally. The wind roaring past him was not thrilling so much as it was terrifying in a way he needed to remember that he was online. This was freedom - a momentary escape.

He wanted a more permanent one. If a roadblock suddenly loomed up before him, Prime did not think he would bother to stop. Not that that would be enough.

Strange how idle his thoughts could be when they flashed past at such speed. The road split up ahead, and Prime flashed past the turnoff to the city. The Protectobots could wait.

Prime never knew what to do when he felt like this. Ironhide always noticed, always made it his duty to notice, and he'd usually just stay by Prime's side and somehow say exactly what Prime needed to hear. Ironhide was remarkable like that; more in tune with Optimus than Optimus was with himself, and so comforting that Prime often found himself weak with relief afterwards. But Ironhide wasn't here.

He could keep driving, forever. He sometimes felt that urge. It always passed, or more accurately it was overshadowed eventually by the intimidating force of his responsibilities to his Autobots and to his allies and to the innocent civilians on Earth who were in danger now because of his failure to defeat Megatron. He could drive forever and leave all of it behind, and regret it all for the rest of his life. If he built up enough speed, maybe he could even outrun the regret. If he didn't pause even to recharge, he could outpace even the nightmares.

But he knew he would never do that. It went beyond duty. He simply could not abandon those he still had to do right by. He couldn't quit until Earth was humankind's again, and he couldn't give an inch until Megatron was finally defeated and brought to justice. And that meant that he would never rest.

There was Starscream, at least. Prime hadn't quite believed that Starscream would actually listen to him, let alone believe him - but here the Jet was, physically safe and recovering from Megatron's abuse at an amazing rate. Most of that was likely due to Skyfire and Jazz's open amicability, which must have been far different from the Decepticon status quo. All the same, Prime couldn't help taking a little credit and therefore a little pride in helping the Jet. Starscream was such a brilliant mind, and so beautiful when he wasn't plagued with doubt and deception. It was just that he'd never had a proper support system - or so Prime theorized - and now that Prime was determined to support him no matter what Starscream had made incredible progress. The fear he had shown so nakedly on first arrival, the lasting physical and mental trauma of what he'd gone through…Prime would make sure he never had to go through it again. No one deserved to experience that.

He'd slowed while lost in his thoughts of the Jet, and now began to slow more purposefully. No, Ironhide wasn't here. But maybe Prime could figure out what to do himself, for once. He'd always felt incomplete, ascribing it to his being reformatted for the purpose of war and war alone. He always felt so helpless in these moments of melancholy, like he was deep underwater and didn't even know which way was up. But if a robot as strong as Starscream could do it, then Optimus Prime had to at least try. He put on his blinkers and made the turn to the next exit.

Optimus Prime wondered what his version of flying was.

That night he shared with his friends his decision, and Red's reaction, and no more. The moments he and Starscream had shared were sacred, for now at least. They felt integral to the Jet's recovery.

"That's pretty good, coming from Red," Ratchet remarked. "I'm sure Starscream will be glad to hear it." He was still the closest one to Starscream, and was quickly beginning to take a mentorly tone towards mention of the Decepticon.

Ironhide shrugged. "I still don't like it, but if Red actually agreed, that means a whole lot more than my own personal thoughts." He leaned back against the wall, servos folded, blue optics narrowed.

"I wish you'd give him more of a chance," Prime sighed, tired as always. It was hard enough to remain hopeful without Ironhide's doubts reminding him of Starscream's treacherous self-serving history. If his old friend turned out to be right, he didn't know what he would do. The same thing as always, most likely - just keep rolling forwards, whether up or down. With his friends supporting him, and he them, he'd get through it, as everything.

Ironhide recognized his exhaustion as always, and smiled reassuringly. "Hey, one of us has to keep himself grounded. For what it's worth I hope you're right about him. But on the slight chance that you might be wrong, I'll be ready. We won't be taken completely off guard."

Optimus Prime nodded. He crossed the room to where Ironhide stood and engulfed his oldest friend in a grateful embrace.

"Woah," the red Autobot started, hugging him back. "What's wrong, Optimus? This must be really gettin' to you."

"Yes." Prime wasn't surprised by the tremble in his voice, with how fragile his frame felt at the moment. "What he's been through - right before our optics, and we never saw…" He offlined his optics, the bright walls of his quarters fading, replaced with the memory of Starscream's crystalline terror that far-too-recent day, his servos clawing at the immoveable fist crushing his throat. "Perhaps he should hate us."

"There's definitely a joke or two I regret makin'," Ironhide muttered.

Ratchet moved closer, resting a comforting servo on Prime's shoulder. "I don't think Starscream has the luxury of hating us right now. He's fortunately too focused on undoing Megatron's influence to really succumb to anger. And Optimus - it's okay to feel guilty. But you can't let it consume you. Maybe you didn't notice before, but none of us did. You're helping him now ."

"It was pretty brutal," Wheeljack spoke up, and Ratchet shot a glare at him. "This is helpful, I swear."

"Go on."

"The injuries me and Ratchet mapped, the decades-old damage we repaired, the psychological manipulation Megatron must've done to keep him obedient and predictable…that was his life. For millions of years. And you changed that in a few weeks , Prime. He wants a way out. He wants something better. And I for one think we're it." Wheeljack ended his speech with a proud grin, his mask retracted in the safety of their shared quarters.

Ratchet grumbled at his method, but agreed with his point. "I've worked on a lot of damaged robots, Optimus. I've never seen one as cagy and distrustful as Starscream was. And already he's convinced enough of his safety here that he's willingly confided in me, and come to me for advice. The Starscream who lived under Megatron's thumb would rather have been terminated."

Optimus Prime couldn't help but believe them, warmth easing his circuits at the thought. "That is reassuring." Starscream had confided in him too, after all. Beyond just the beauty of the previous night, the Jet had stopped actively avoiding him, and had actually sought him out for conversation a few times. Even if it hadn't ended well, it never quite seemed to him like Starscream had meant to be malicious. As much as he hated to think so, he was probably a source of anxiety to Starscream, being leader of the Autobots and thus in command not only of his soldiers but also of Starscream's fate. He had tried his best, and it seemed his best had been enough so far.

If Starscream felt safe, that was enough for him. And the Jet certainly seemed to feel safe around him now, with his easy approach after knowing he'd been caught breaking the rules. …and with his scathing remarks earlier, as well. Prime still felt hurt by Starscream's insults, though he knew well how true they were. He had no doubt the Jet would not have gone so far so boldly if he didn't believe he wouldn't be punished for it. 

He still wished Starscream hadn't been quite so on-the-mark. The Decepticon could be terrifyingly observant at times. It was odd that he'd tried to take it back. Starscream hadn't struck Prime as the type to retract true statements just because they were harsh. He certainly hadn't seemed nervous when he'd done so.

But if Starscream really didn't think it was true, then why would he have said it? Asserting so strongly that all this conflict and loss was Prime's fault, pinning his regret and his sense of responsibility on that exact fact…

The Jet's words echoed in his mind. " You could stand to be a little more selfish ." " You can't seriously blame yourself… "

It felt like trying to drive on thin air, but Prime considered the extraordinary thought all the same. "Would Megatron's conquest have wrought the same destruction without me?" He wondered aloud.

"Finally!" Ratchet exclaimed, exasperated.

Ironhide patted Optimus across the shoulders, glad frustration evident in his voice. "We've been tryin' to tell you that for millennia! All it took was some Decepticon tellin' you the same thing for you to believe it?!"

Apparently it had. Suddenly Prime couldn't understand how his friends' attempts to convince him that he was not at fault hadn't reached him. It was like a circuit had flipped in his processor, and the electrical current reversed. What he had been contra-circuited to feeling was now the most natural, obvious revelation in the galaxy.

But with that relief from that responsibility came the similar weight of helplessness - for after all, if Megatron would have waged his war regardless, then it really was entirely up to Optimus Prime to stop him. 

"Starscream is not just any Decepticon…" Prime contemplated. He didn't know why the Jet's words had struck such a chord with him. Perhaps because they were so harsh, or perhaps because Starscream was a Decepticon, and had a more reliable outside perspective than the Autobots Optimus Prime trusted so much and yet sometimes could not believe.

Perhaps because although he could not always tell when the duplicitous Starscream was lying, he was certain that on that star-soaked late night, Starscream had said what he believed to be true, with the same strength and conviction which the Jet held in all his beliefs.

Beliefs which might be ever-so-slightly shifting, as Starscream reconsidered his position given his newfound safety. The Jet was rethinking confederacies and enmities both with a criticism Prime had never hoped for. Even in the little time he'd been able to spend with him, Prime thought he understood why. Starscream was always analyzing everything, in himself and his surroundings, in every action and every reaction. No doubt it kept him alive during battle and during the long myrs he'd spent at Megatron's side, but now it made him as defensive and insecure as he was brilliant. And he was brilliant. Again, that analytical processor of his…

"We could win the war with him," Optimus Prime dared to think. Never could he stoop to exploiting the rescued Jet, but already his help was invaluable. Just by his absence from the Decepticon forces, the balance of power had shifted - for the first time in a long time, they'd driven off the Decepticons without any loss of resource, and with minimal damage to human structures. If the chaos amidst Megatron's aerial unit continued, the Autobots might be able to eke out an advantage.

Ironhide shifted. "If you say so, Optimus. But he's mighty unhelpful."

"I hope you're right, Prime," Ratchet added, grinning grimly. Wheeljack didn't look much more hopeful beside him. "I hope you're right."

At the moment Starscream was far away from battle, safe within the confines of the Ark and Prime's own watchful gaze. The Jet seemed pretty well occupied with Perceptor's project and with his own cataloging of the records he had found, and Prime was happy to keep him that way. As useful as what he knew might be, the less chance there was of any Decepticon entertaining the thought of his desertion for even a single astrosecond, the better. Megatron knew Starscream to be terminated, as did the rest, and Prime was enforcing a very strict policy of complete silence about the subject outside of the Ark to ensure that it stayed that way. Even their human allies were sworn to muteness. No one could ever know - not a single non-Autobot. Luckily even Cliffjumper and Sideswipe understood how catastrophic it would be to let that secret slip.

No Decepticon knew, and no Decepticon could know. Prime had Blaster constantly monitoring all broadcast frequencies to make sure Soundwave wasn't listening in through Teletraan via Skyspy; Cosmos was monitoring the rare unencrypted Decepticon transmissions from high in orbit to ensure their complete ignorance; Red Alert was on high alert for any sign of unusual activity within ten miles of the Ark. All this precaution was worth the trouble if it kept Starscream safe and anonymous for longer. Prime held no illusions of preserving the secret forever, but he hoped it would at least last long enough for Starscream to establish within himself a sense of stability. All of this was for him, and it was worth it.

Still, it was hard to see Thundercracker and Skywarp returning night after night to the snow-covered tundra where Starscream had supposedly crashed, standing in silence and mourning their commander and friend. Even Decepticons cared for each other, and the sight was a sobering one. He watched every night as Skyspy transmitted. From the moment of their arrival to their departure exactly an hour later, the two other Jets were uncharacteristically silent and still. Some nights they were early, some nights late, but they always arrived around the same time, a little after midnight. Prime presumed that was when they got off-duty and could sneak away.

All the grief they felt was real. The pain they endured, the loss…Prime had caused that, by faking Starscream's termination. But it had been the only way to help the Jet, and Starscream had been very much in need of help. He had asked for it.

Still…

"All of this from one of Hound's holograms…"

Wheeljack snapped his digits, interrupting Prime's thoughts. "Holograms! That's it!" His fins lit up cheerfully.

"Figured something out?" Ratchet asked.

"Well, yeah, maybe," Wheeljack said, talking at near-light-speed. "I gotta run this by Red pronto, but if I made some sorta hologram dome patterned after Hound's…or Mirage's perception alteration might be better, actually…" The inventor's optics narrowed, the light within them dimming as he proto-prototyped. "It would work like a shield, see? Starscream could fly all he wants, and as long as that baby's active it'll look like nothing's going on at all!"

"Could you?" Prime asked, doubtful about such an easy solution. "Would it actually work?"

Wheeljack waved away his concerns. "Hey, I can't guarantee anything other than that it'll be fun to try. But it's sure worth a shot!"

When it seemed like everything Optimus Prime had to carry would crush him beneath its weight, he could always count on Wheeljack to come up with a quick fix that occasionally even worked. If he could do this for Starscream, Prime felt that he could begin to feel like he was helping; like he was actually doing enough. If he could see Starscream flying so freely through the skies, unafraid of capture, unafraid of his past, Prime felt that the tightness within his chassis that had restricted him for the last nine million years might finally loosen.

"You could stand to be a little more selfish yourself, Prime."

Starscream's words echoed again in the Autobot leader's processor, warm and genuine like he'd never heard the Jet. Everything he was doing was for Starscream, and for his Autobots, and for their poor devastated Cybertron. Everything he did was for his human friends and allies, and for the robots he loved more deeply than most, his own personal primary directive. It was all for them. It was always what he could do for them - because if those he cared for were safe, and happy, and free, then he himself would be alright.

Optimus Prime smiled a little sadly, recognizing fully what Starscream had pointed out in an instant. The Jet was sharp for sure. Prime looked around at the golden walls of the Ark, the spacious quarters he shared with his closest companions. He gazed in turn at bold Ironhide's rough but sturdy construction and concerned optics and Ratchet's clinically pristine plating and gruff, knowing expression, and the passionate depths of Wheeljack's excitement to improve everything he could. "Thank you, Wheeljack. All of you, thank you."

Everything he did was for his love and guilt concerning others. He'd always thought pride an arrogant emotion, but perhaps there was a middle ground between that and neglect.

What could he do for himself?

Chapter Text

The heatwave broke with a thunderous crash. Starscream drifted through the empty corridors, drawn almost unconsciously by that slight change in air pressure even within the Ark's walls. He didn't feel the need to fly as he had the night before; only to witness this brutal, beautiful weather as it crashed across the desert landscape.

Optimus Prime had felt the same need, it seemed. The Autobot leader stood outlined by curling mist some distance outside of the ship's entryway,  sheltered under the overhang of the cliff. Starscream joined him. He didn't wish to talk, and thankfully Optimus didn't either. They watched the rain in silence.

Perhaps Prime was taking his advice, in taking a break from his stress. He wondered what such an unseasoned robot as Prime would think of the Earth's rain. To Starscream, it was as much memory as it was new experience.

How many thunderstorms had he and Skyfire flown through laughing? How many more had they even with their superior airframes and engines been forced to take shelter from, and observed spellbound as the crystalline downpour of nature unrestrained brought merciless life to the wild flora around them? There had been one especially memorable occasion - a volcanic planet on which the sulfuric rains fed a single type of small but fiercely stubborn moss which covered every surface not actively burning. The high acid content of the water also threatened more than just their paint; with no place to take cover besides the caldera of a volcano, he and Skyfire had instead flown above the cloud cover until they found a place not yet storming.

Another came to mind. A planet lost in eternal nighttime, in stationary orbit around a larger object which hid it from the nearest sun. There the rain had fallen so thick and so heavy that Starscream was soon walking wing-deep and fearing they might have to swim. Skyfire of course had reassured him, hadn't given an ounce of worry to the topic. 

Thunder roared, fierce as any beast he'd faced, and Starscream smiled. There was only one force he'd admit was his superior - only one thing in all the galaxy that he could accept might be unconquerable. Underestimating nature could very easily prove fatal. Even here on Earth, the weather sometimes roiled itself into massive catastrophe, such as a hurricane, or a tsunami.

Or a blizzard.

Thunder crashed again, and this time Starscream's optics burned with regret. In a moment he thought of his Skyfire, lost to the ice so long ago and now irreversibly lost to him by the changes of time, and in the next moment he thought of Thundercracker, so stricken at losing him in the frozen North. Starscream knew he wasn't lost, but all the same he felt terminated for how completely he'd had to sever all ties. To know that Thundercracker and Skywarp returned night after night to the sight of his grisly crash to mourn the silent snow they believed covered his wreckage…Starscream recalled again his incessant search for Skyfire, his radar pings returning nothing, muted by the falling snowflakes, his radio calls unanswered, his elevators temporarily failing due to the motors icing over, and still his only thought that Skyfire could not be gone, that he could not be allowed to slip away in such a stupid, horrible way.

Thundercracker's expression haunted him.

Was it remorse or was it failure? Or was it only the horror of facing mortality? They had flown together for long millennia, trusted each other with life and limb in spite of their petty personal rivalries. They were the best that Decepticon engineering and military training could offer. There was nothing their guns could not tear apart, nothing which could take all three of them by surprise. Nothing which could escape their combined skillset. They had been the best.

Thundercracker and Skywarp had never cared, but they had never understood. It had been nothing more than a game to them to get him into trouble - retribution for his harsh words and smug actions. They had never had to face Megatron's wrath. They had never faced his punishments undeserving.

His thoughts had grown stormier than the sky. Starscream sighed, a gentle breath which joined the tension of the electrified air. Blue light washed across the rocky terrain, the full moon's brilliance filtered through heavy clouds. Softer light glowed in Optimus Prime's optics, gazing out at the horizon in the direction of the human city. Optimus was still deeply lost in thought, his expression harried and oh-so-noble, as always. Starscream wondered how he could stand to be so dedicated. Perhaps it was the only thing keeping him from his pain.

Regardless, it was a shame that Optimus wasn't taking in the scene of nature. The rain poured down as heavy as hail, and wherever it struck the warm dust sprung up in a rolling cloud of haze and fog. The ground was thoroughly soaked, yet even that wasn't enough to make the desert dirt cling to itself. Above, shafts of rain shifted, altering the way the beams of light radiated down. The night was cooling off fast, with the smell of the rain promising new growth to come. Brief as it would last in this climate, it was…

It was beautiful. Starscream glanced again at Optimus. Not a word had passed between them, but perhaps the silence itself connected them. Starscream entertained the thought that this moment could be theirs.

There was no such thing as "off-duty" for Decepticons, officially. As forged soldiers they were expected to always be online and working or recharging. It was an attitude that led to restlessness, which led to trouble, and a lot of slacking off. Starscream found he much preferred Prime's Autobot approach, as Jazz had perfected it. Under Megatron, he would have needed a very good explanation for venturing out to watch the previous night's storm.

He hadn't needed to recharge long, and was soon back in his storage room, meticulously cataloging and copying discs half as old as the War itself. He wasn't sure what he hoped to discover within their contents, other than the idea of exactly what was being preserved of their Cybertronian culture.

With each entry he typed into Teletraan-1's system, Starscream couldn't help adding a few extra lines of context. If only the Autobot past were to survive - and to be sure, it was the only thing he knew for certain would at this time - then he would make sure that its biases were recognized. He tried to remain impartial. It was easier than he thought it would be.

On the matter of his and Skyfire's report, he rectified that he, a Decepticon, had written it, and failed to sum up their working partnership in only a few words. At the end of a copied (and ancient) blueprint of the Skyward Spire, he mentioned its shifting use from trading port to travel port to military base before its eventual destruction by renegade Female Autobots. To an Autobot account of the Xenon Conflict he tacked on a note explaining the Decepticon need for the gas in ruby lasers used to decontaminate individuals returning from hazardous locations. The reasoning may or may not justify the lengths to which they'd gone to acquire more than enough xenon, but it was a simple fact that the Autobot colony of Barralon-4 would not have fallen to Cosmic Rust if they had had that technology. At the end of a rather long-winded article concerning the political body of Cybertron, he injected a footnote pointing future readers in the direction of the work the Autobot author Senatus Consultum was responding to: Governance of A Galactopolis , an essay so well known among the educated that its name rarely needed mentioning.

Even though it had been written by a Decepticon. But Telumnis came from a generation when the construction specifications of Autobot and Decepticon had no political implications. Telumnis, though uninterested in governing himself, had very strict ideas on what should not be done - most of which could be boiled down to never, ever taking political influence from an outside source. He was very firm that Transformers only could rule Transformers, literally, and that they could only do so if they remained entirely Transformers, unconquered and uncolonized.

Telumnis was something of a philosopher, and one of war although he never spoke of his own fighting history. He had been ancient when he went offline for good - far older than Keplar, and like Keplar he had chosen at some point to be entirely reformatted. The way they wrote, they way they spoke of war and of deliverance and of individual force…perhaps their shared past was something they wished to turn into, like Prime had said, a story they had heard. Certainly there were very few, if any, Transformers remaining as old as they, even in the days before the War.

Perhaps Keplar's concept of immortal recurrence held more significance for the past he kept in restraints. It had definitely held significance to Starscream. He had of late forgotten the "forward momentum" implied in the cyclical eternity of being.

He wanted to read the Decepticon's writings again. He wanted desperately to flip through the thin film pages of his personal copy of Theories and Mythologies , the ink nearly worn away in places where he'd traced especially meaningful passages with his servo over and over and over again. But his library had been lost - like a fool he'd abandoned it for a place at Megatron's side, and now even those few books and datapads he'd managed to take with him were unattainable aboard the Nemesis. At this point he would have taken anything, any old philosophy by Keplar or Telumnis or even Gearrulous, whom he didn't even agree with, but he was down here on the primitive living Earth and if any copy of those beautiful, painstaking works of thought still existed, they were on dying Cybertron.

The door slid open, and Perceptor intruded on his solemn thoughts. "Starscream, I was hoping I'd find you here!" The Autobot scientist's delight was adorable, but at this time it could not fully infect Starscream's mood. He was carrying a small device under his arm, and presented it to the Jet as he continued talking. "Look, I've finally come up with a workable prototype! From the data we put together, this device should be able to interpret minor tremors and absorb their energy, preventing them from forming larger earthquakes. It's nowhere near advanced enough to work for the entire Earth, but…"

"But you think it's a good enough starting point." Starscream sighed. He ought not to belittle Perceptor even in his own mind. While he had been busy consumed with his concerns and his volatile emotions, the young Autobot had simply accomplished his goal. He had no reason to feel sidelined. It wasn't even his idea. "Don't you think you'd better test it, then?"

Perceptor paused, his expression confused. "Well, yes, but…I thought you would want to see it work. Or fail!"

"I have other duties right now. Keep me informed. I am interested in your results." Starscream dismissed the other scientist with a nod, a genial show of respect he would never have directed so casually at Perceptor even only a week prior. Instead, the Decepticon Jet returned to his cataloging. Perhaps he was too caught up in the past. Yet he preferred that over the blind future-chasing he'd championed for the last nine million years. He was never that interested in Perceptor's obsession with the stabilization of Earth to begin with.

Some hours later, he elected to find Jazz - or any amiable Autobot - to stave off his imminent boredom, and maybe gain some insightful context if any of them had been around during the events quantified in some of the records. Starscream shut down the monitor, re-sealed his ingenious storage receptacles, and walked out through the doorway and directly into a wall of grey metal.

"Watch it!" He snapped in frustration, scowling at the Dinobot parade. Much to his chagrin, the Cretaceous cretins slowed to a clumsy halt instead of moving out of his way. 

Slag, whose side Starscream had run into, craned his huge head to try to see the Jet around his frill. "Me, Slag, not run into you, Starscream. Me, Slag, say you watch it."

"It? What is 'it'? What Slag watching?" Sludge joined the conversation, his dull voice droning. Swoop let out a quiet cry of agreement.

Grimlock, ever the voice of reason, answered. "Slag watching Starscream. Me, Grimlock, not know why. We watch Slag to see what Slag watch. Now we all watching Starscream."

Starscream was tempted to just turn around and go back into the record room. He could eke out a fairly decent existence in there for the millennia it would take the Dinobots to actually move . He folded his servos, glaring at Grimlock, whose monstrous head gaped back in an expression not devoid of menace.

"Optimus Prime say Starscream not enemy anymore."

"For once, Prime is right." Starscream kept his voice level. Frustration was one thing, but it wouldn't do to actually antagonize these oversized oafs.

Grimlock narrowed his optics. "Me, Grimlock, lead Dinobots. Me, Grimlock, decide if that true." At this point, Starscream didn't really care. He'd done enough groveling. Whether or not the Dinobots trusted him was about as important as the opinion of an atom.

"Grimlock! Hey, guys, c'mon!" Wheeljack's voice echoed over the hulking forms of the Dinobots, who sluggishly turned and once again began to shamble forwards. Starscream followed them at a distance, insulted to be going the same initial direction. When the Autobot saw the cause of their distraction, his fins lit up brighter. "Hey, Starscream! Sorry about the tar race. I'm takin' these guys to help out Perceptor in creating a miniature earthquake." For how casually he spoke, his voice betrayed his uncertainty.

Starscream stormed past, in no mood to be treated like a short-circuiting cyberbeast. "Why do I feel like this will get out of control?"

"Wait!" Wheeljack shouted, and Starscream stopped. He turned, fixing the Autobot in his red glare. The Dinobots kept moving, shuffling off towards the Ark's entrance, leaving the two of them in a semblance of privacy. "I, uh…hey, when was the last time we spoke to each other this close, huh?"

"Who cares?" The Autobot dared talk like they were friends. Such audacity went far beyond reasonable affability.

Wheeljack continued, optics too bright. "It, ah, must've been during that whole Sub-Atlantica thing, right?" The Jet rolled his servo, conceding the point and wishing that Ratchet's little demolition droid would get to the point. "Bumblebee and Spike thought you were trying to fry my circuits, but I don't. I think you were trying to reactivate me." The Autobot's blue optics were searching for something. 

Starscream hoped he wouldn't find it. "Only so you might fix my own dysfunction. Pure desperation."

"Heh, I figured as much." The way Wheeljack looked at him was strange, and Starscream did not like it. It was like all the Autobot could see were the cracks in his facade and the scars in his plating. "Anyways. Y'know, Perceptor seems ta really like you. He'd never've come to me with this anti-earthquake thing."

"He is relatively intelligent , after all. Anything you make would only worsen the problem," Starscream muttered.

"Hey, that Immobiliser of mine worked pretty perfectly."

"And how well did that turn out for you? Please, remind me." Starscream turned away, tired of the conversation. 

"I wouldn't have," Wheeljack called out behind him. Starscream stopped. "If you were the last robot online and the galaxy was at stake, I wouldn't have repaired you. Not then."

It wasn't surprising, given how hard he'd worked to earn his reputation of deceit and trickery. Wheeljack was stubborn and, for all his innovation, not overly optimistic when it came to the actions of others. The Autobot's words hurt all the same. Starscream felt hesitant, but inquired anyways. "And now?"

Wheeljack's optics finally settled into a sort of understanding, and the Autobot stuck out his servo to shake, beaming behind his mask. His fins flashed as he replied. "I can admit when I've been wrong."

Once more Starscream found himself at Jazz's table. This time the Autobot second-in-command was playing with the others: the same group as before, consisting of Ironhide presiding over Beachcomber, Mirage, and Smokescreen. Inferno was conspicuously absent, as was Sideswipe, although Sunstreaker perched nearby, not playing but always ready to brag. Starscream half hoped the young Autobot would continue ignoring him.

"Well hey, Starscream! C'mon over, we're playin' Crazy Eights!" Jazz grinned, and Starscream joined the group without hesitation. "Same cards as before, just different rules."

They weren't difficult rules, either. Starscream took the five cards dealt to him and glanced around, assessing his chances of winning this round. Smokescreen was already down to one card, unsurprisingly.

"We're pretty sure it ain't a spade," Ironhide informed him, his gaze even. "So, y'know, if you got one…"

"Play it," Mirage affirmed, placing down a spade card of his own.

Starscream's turn followed, and with a little flourish he laid the two of spades upon the stack. "As you command." 

Smokescreen groaned, drawing an extra two cards, and the tense atmosphere lightened somewhat. "So close! Curse you, Starscream!"

Jazz laid down the two of hearts, smiling in good humor. “Don't get comfy, Ironhide.”

“I ain't the one who oughta be lookin’ out,” Ironhide chuckled as he stacked the four of the same suite on top. Beachcomber looked at his cards like he'd never seen them before, then miserably began to draw. “Speakin’ of which, I heard you had an encounter with Blitzwing earlier.”

Jazz, ever modest, wasn't much of one to boast. “It wasn't all that you're makin’ it sound like. He, heh, underestimated the force of my sonic waves.”

“Under estimated?! ” Sunstreaker broke in, enthused now that the conversation was finally getting good again. “I was there. Jazz’s sound show literally tossed Blitzwing’s shell back at him!”

“Most of us were there,” griped Smokescreen. “But most of us were actually fighting , not just watching Jazz like a mechanical monkey watching its tail.”

“Hey, I was fighting! I just…don't, you know, ignore the cool things. Gotta watch the trees for the forest…or something.”

“If you two paid half as much attention to the Decepticons as you do to ‘the cool things’, maybe Sideswipe wouldn't be recovering in the med bay right now,” Mirage grumbled.

Starscream grinned, changing the game’s suite with the eight of clubs. “My, my, young robots making stupid decisions. Now there's something that's never happened before.”

“Time and a place for stupid decisions,” remarked Ironhide. “War isn't it.”

“I quite disagree. War is the best time to be stupid and eager. In such turmoil, you have everything to gain, and nothing to lose - except your life, which relies on your innate ability, how quickly you can learn, and of course the favor of your allies. Your value, if you will, to yourself and others. And fate, if you care about that sort of thing.”

Ironhide’s optics judged Starscream as the Autobot replied. “I just don't think any amount of learnin’ is worth risking your life for.”

“That, then, is where we differ.” The Jet chose his next words carefully. “When it is your own decision…anything worth dying for is certainly worth living for. I suppose you were built during the war?” Ironhide nodded. “I was built before. Old Cybertron shared your views, but there were always a few like me, and like Skyfire, snatching passion from the jaws of peril. I think that at the very least, this war might provide newer constructions like this one here with a faster route to establishing a ‘self’.”

Ironhide grunted. “It ought to owe us that much.” He seemed done with the subject, and the atmosphere around the table grew lighter again. Starscream hadn't noticed its weight.

Sunstreaker didn't appear to care. “See? The Decepti-creep agrees with me,” he muttered under his breath. Then, to Starscream, “You’d know something about stupid decisions.”

The audacity of some robots… Starscream narrowed his optics, but maintained an otherwise unbothered presence. “I doubt anyone who's made the choices to be sitting here now doesn't .” It wasn't enough. “Autobot fool.”

“Say, Starscream,” Mirage said loudly. “Any luck translating that disk yet?”

Starscream was eager to follow his change in subject. “Not yet, but…”

“Oh, I'm a fool?” Sunstreaker cut in. “At least I can say the worst thing I've ever done was get distracted. I don't understand why Prime even let you live.”

Ironhide tried to herd the conversation back into order. “Maybe, Sunstreaker, because Prime don't condemn anyone for makin’ a few mistakes. It ain't your place to question - ”

“You wretched little brat, you haven't lived long enough to do anything greater! You think the world is simple binary, but it's not . Prime knows that better than anyone.” Starscream couldn't deny he had been plagued by the very concerns Sunstreaker raised, but that had passed. The upstart Autobot couldn't get to him that way.

“Hey, Sunstreaker, Starscream; how ‘bout we all calm down and get back to the game?” Smokescreen coaxed. “I just played the six of spades. That was my spade card.”

Starscream glowered across the table at Sunstreaker, who glared right back. Neither spoke. He was angry , but he didn't need to win. Everyone else knew how out-of-line, how wrong Sunstreaker was. The yellow Autobot kept his mouth shut, and Starscream raised his helm in victory before returning his gaze to his cards. Jazz played, and then Ironhide.

“No, you're right. It's not binary,” Sunstreaker interrupted again. Ironhide started to rebuke him, but the younger robot barreled right over his attempts to speak. “Binary makes sense . And you know what doesn't make sense? You , claiming you ran away from Megatron when you've spent the last couple hundred years licking his servo like a trained dog.”

“ Silence ,” Starscream hissed.

“You can talk about stupid decisions all you like, but it doesn't change the fact that every decision you've made has been for him . Even your adorable little domestic squabbles.”

“ Shut UP! ” Blackness, sick and empty, coursed through the Jet’s wiring. The ground was gone and he couldn't seem to get a grip on the table in front of him. His cards lay scattered. “You don't know what you're talking about, Autobot.”

“Oh, I'm sure I don't! Only you and Megatron know the depths of your disgusting actions, how low you willingly sank to get back his favor again and again. And now you seriously expect us to believe you're here of your own free will? As if you could ever be free? You can't fool me ,” Sunstreaker concluded with a conceited grimace, looking around for support.

Starscream saw no others. They might as well have not been there at all. Through the dark despair that crowded his vision, he saw only Sunstreaker. He needed to shut him up. He had to shut him up. If he heard one more word he didn't think he'd be able to hold himself together. If the Autobot didn't shut his stupid ignorant mouth, Starscream might start to believe him.

“You're nothing but a coward and a liar, Starscream. A wretched little freak always eager to do Megatron's bidding - ”

“ SILENCE! ” He shouted, and the bleak fury of his voice made even his target stand still. “I AM STARSCREAM! STARSCREAM! NO ONE TELLS ME WHAT TO DO!” It was comforting, in a certain way, to use his weapons again. Sunstreaker fell quickly to his null ray’s maximum power. Starscream contemplated shooting him again.

How foolish Prime had been, to claim he had no enemies aboard the Ark. Megatron was here even now. Jazz was trying to talk to him. Ironhide laid a servo on his shoulder and Starscream nearly shot him as well.

“No - no one tells me what to do,” he reassured himself. “Not Megatron. Not anyone.”

“Of course, Starscream. We know that, we do.” Jazz’s voice was soothing. The Jet listened and watched the smoke spiral up lazily from where Mirage and Beachcomber were crouched over the fallen Autobot. He'd only used his null ray, in time the robot would recover. He didn't know why. It hadn't been conscious. His servos wouldn't stop shaking.

“I…” Starscream trailed off, his processor frightfully empty. He felt like he could collapse into nothing, like a neutron star, like a black hole. “I need to be alone.”

Ironhide and Jazz exchanged a glance. “If you're sure,” Ironhide said, reluctant to let Starscream go.

The Decepticon didn't reply. He wandered off in a daze, and no one stopped him.

Starscream wasn't sure where he was going. By the time he had collected his thoughts enough to register his surroundings, he was deep in the maze of the Ark. He did seem to lose himself quite often.

He stepped neatly into a side corridor, avoiding Huffer ahead. Even this deep in the Autobot labyrinth, he was not nearly as alone as he wanted. The Jet set his mind on the archive room he had discovered, in no mood to talk. There, surrounded by the past, perhaps he could find a sense of stability again. His optics were working fine, but his vision was strange, the Ark’s passageways distorted as though he were seeing through water. His processor felt like it was sliding around on ice.

The past was far more certain than the present. Structures built and destroyed, theories proven one way or the other, battles fought with definite ending…if something was over, it was over. That room contained a multitude of closures. Starscream needed that isolated factuality. Even if it wasn't all entirely true, after all - he thought again about the report he had written for Skyfire.

He thought about Skyfire. The time they had shared was so far gone, but his feelings remained - tarnished, twisted, but true. He knew Skyfire would know what to say, just as he knew Skyfire would not deny him comfort. How could he? Then again, why shouldn't he? They had once been a unit, closer than close, inseparable. Once separated, it seemed they could never fit together again. Perhaps if Starscream wrote that down in the archive room, it too would become fact. Everything outside of the shelter of recorded “truth” was in flux, inconstant, continuously changing. Actual truth felt suddenly less important than the soothing comfort of being told exactly who and what he was.

After all, Starscream was a Decepticon. Nothing could change that, and he never wanted anything to change that. He was proud of his construction, of his skill, of the rank he'd worked tirelessly to achieve. He knew he was better than Megatron would ever admit; far better than the Autobot brat Sunstreaker had so blindly claimed. To be told that he was the enemy would at least give him a sense of lonely power.

Perhaps all he wanted was approval. For someone to see him, to notice what he was doing, and shake his servo and say good job, Starscream!

He might as well wish for galactic peace. Nothing he did was ever good enough for Megatron; well, fair enough, he'd decided to prove Megatron wrong by destroying him. But now the robots he was forced to rely on were the exact ones he had fought so viciously and harmed so grievously until very, very recently, and it wasn't even some foolish change of heart that had brought him under the will of their mercy. He was only here because he had to be here. Everything he said, everything he did, it was all too Decepticon for their liking, and he had no respect for their Autobot sentimentality. He'd finally attacked one of them - now Prime was sure to lose what little patience he had left for such an abrasive element as Starscream.

Except that Prime had not reprimanded him for breaking the rules before. The beautiful memory of soft night air brushed past Starscream's wings, and a phantom peace echoed in his tangled processor. Prime had listened to him. The Autobot leader was the only one willing to accept Starscream as a Decepticon.

The thought of being alone with his oppressive anxieties was frightening. Yet there was no acceptable distraction and no familiar company. Optimus Prime at least was safe.

And Skyfire wasn't. He supposed that was all it came down to, ultimately. Skyfire wanted him to change. Optimus wanted to help him change his situation.

Strange how so many years of passion and friendship could vanish so effortlessly.

Optimus was not hard to find. He never was. The other two Autobots on the bridge were of no concern to Starscream, and he approached Prime directly, pushing past Bumblebee with a muttered “Out of my way,” though he couldn't muster any genuine annoyance. Everything seemed rather bleak, and it no longer mattered whether Prime would forgive him.

Blaster was already engaged in conversation with the Autobot leader, talking about - oh, who cared. It was always the same; the war, the humans, the war, resources, the war, the war, the war.

“I must speak with you, Prime,” Starscream interrupted. His words were polite, far more so than usual, but his optics betrayed the frozen fear he felt at Sunstreaker’s accusations.

Optimus noticed. “I see.” He folded his servos, blue gaze solemn at the importance of Starscream's request. “Blaster, could we continue this later? I'll need you and Bumblebee to give us the room for a little while.”

To their credit, the two left without any fuss. Even without them, the bridge of the Ark was far from private - the doors had jammed open permanently in the crash, and anyone could intrude if they so wished. But it was Prime’s seat of power; the place on the ship Optimus seemed to feel most comfortable. Starscream didn't care too much, at any rate. The Autobots had already witnessed his humiliation over and over again. The Jet took a shaky breath. “I have sunk quite low, haven't I.” It wasn't a question.

Optimus answered it anyway. “I don't think so. That's not how life works, in my opinion.”

“How can it not be? I was built for greatness, designed for victory, and instead I…” Starscream glared at the bronzed floor, servos tensed into fists at his sides. “We attacked our own planet. I destroyed my own home. Everything I had spent centuries meticulously building was wiped out in a matter of hours by the progress of our vicious, stupid war. For his rare praise, I deceived robots who trusted me and terminated them while they believed I had their backs. I even shot my closest friend, my only true friend, because he didn't align with Megatron's cause!” He was trembling with the force of memory, frame radiating feverish heat. “Why did I do that, Prime? I love Skyfire! I loved Skyfire…” Only one letter, yet its addition tore him apart. Starscream offlined his optics. Emotion was too painful, too often. He wondered if it was worth it to feel.

“Starscream, the guilt you feel is what gives me such hope.” Optimus’s resonant voice was soothing regardless of his words. “Your actions are always a choice, and you can always choose better, and wiser, than you have before.”

Starscream smiled sadly. “I have no qualms about my actions, Prime. I believed them necessary. You participate in this war out of necessity; you are no more untouchable than I.” He let his vision fade in again. He had to see the Autobot leader's optics, clear blue like the center of a hurricane. “No, my issue is with why . Everything I did, I did for him. I needed his approval, I needed him to recognize me, and if he wouldn't then - ”

“Then you needed to prove your worth to him,” Optimus sighed. “Your dilemma tends to revolve around that, doesn't it? Your worth?” 

“It does.” Starscream sighed as well, and unclenched his servos. Actually being able to talk about this levelly was a significant relief. “Attention too, I suppose. Being the target of his rage was at least better than being nobody.” He stepped closer to Optimus and the aura of calm kindness that the Autobot emanated. “I can't explain why. I…”

“You don't have to,” Prime reassured.

Starscream hesitated, but pressed on. “I think I will all the same. It's important that you understand.” Optimus nodded, listening gravely. After the mockery Sunstreaker had made of his life, the Autobot leader’s gentle audience was like a high-altitude tailwind. All the same it was hard to continue. He had never admitted this to anyone, and here he was admitting it to Optimus so nakedly. “You have to understand. The barest hint of his approval - the smallest corner of a smile, the briefest glint of favor in his callous optics, rarest of all an actual word of praise - it made me feel like the king of the galaxy. Because it was so rare, and so meagre, and so meaningful . He was incredible . And I was the only one who ever received such respect from him, at least at first. So when he reprimanded me, of course it was only when it was my own fault. Soon all his talk became laced with derision at me, and he began to ignore my successes. It was only the bare minimum after all, the expectation was success, and I couldn't even achieve it half the time…” The crawling black feeling of those myrs of fear and dread was creeping out from within his processor again, filling his frame with the tar of despair.

Optimus reached out and took his servo, squeezing it gently. “I understand.” His optics were as deep and as thoughtful as halcyon water. “I do.”

“I needed to do something , but nothing worked,” Starscream muttered. The only part of him that felt real, that felt present , was his servo where Optimus held it. “I'm not a bad robot. I'm not. I don't destroy just for destruction’s sake. I wouldn't have shot Skyfire if - if - ”

If what? If impulsivity and treacherous loyalty hadn't been beaten into him? If he hadn't been constructed that malleable to begin with?

It didn't matter. He'd done what he'd done, and so had Megatron. “Optimus, I think he hated me.”

In that moment they were connected. Starscream felt that, just as with that brisk clear night previously, that moment of expression and acceptance was something shared between them, something sacred which could never leave the boundaries of their processors. He felt as though he were floating, not supported by air but rather lost within the turbulence of his crumbling truths. Only Optimus Prime’s servo anchored him to the world.

The Autobot’s optics were so blue. Starscream was starting to think that maybe Optimus did understand. In that fraction of an astrosecond, the weight of the Jet’s words stayed suspended above him, a Damocletian dagger that had not yet fallen. As long as there was silence and stillness, the reality of Optimus’s servo and the eternity of his optics, older than the war despite what he said of his construction…perhaps it never would.

“He would have had good reason to!” Sunstreaker intruded. The weight slammed down, and with it the mask of pure derision snapped back over Starscream's faceplate. He snatched his servo away from the Autobot leader’s grasp. Sunstreaker scowled as he rushed into the room, glaring with an unearned rage reserved only for the young. “ Anyone would!”

“Sunstreaker, if there is something you would like to talk about,” Prime placated, voice calming, but Sunstreaker would not listen.

“That Decepticon over there’s been telling you lies , Prime! Whatever he said happened is not the truth!”

Starscream folded his servos and smirked cynically, glancing at Ironhide as the ornery robot entered the bridge as well. “Decepticons do deceive, don't they? It's in the name. Therefore it must be true.” Prime wouldn't evict him so instantly - he was sure of that, at the very least. Any other loss of face or privilege he could deal with.

“Sunstreaker - ”

“He shot me! Without provocation!” The Autobot sounded like he was reading that word out of a book, though Starscream doubted he was literate. “I told you we can't trust him, Prime, me and Sideswipe both told you. He's not even sorry about what he did as a Decepticon, and now he's proven how dangerous he is!”

Prime frowned and turned to Starscream. “Is this true?” 

He was hardly accusatory, yet his genuine curiosity made the Jet no more inclined to explain himself in the presence of the single most infuriating Autobot. “Who cares? Anything I say can only be a lie. Unlike this boastful buffoon, who has clearly never even exaggerated anything in his life.” 

His bitter sarcasm drove Sunstreaker into even more of a fervor. “Hey, I may stretch my achievements a little bit, but this scrap heap - ” he still refused to address Starscream directly “ - literally attacked me, violating the supposed safety of the Ark. And I have witnesses. You saw, right, Ironhide?” He pointed at Ironhide, smug in his assured victory.

All this over a meager card game. Although it sounded like Sunstreaker was still playing his same hand from weeks ago. 

Ironhide’s stern faceplate betrayed no discernible emotion. When he spoke, it was with a tone of reluctant reprimand. “I saw, alright. You went too far with that, Sunstreaker. Far as I'm concerned he put you in your place. Mind you,” he continued, shifting his judgement from wide-opticked Sunstreaker to the equally shocked Starscream. “If it happens again I'll have somethin’ to say about it. That's not how we do things here.”

Seemed fair enough. Starscream nodded. Autobot fairness was still a foreign concept, especially when promoted by those who did not even like him. Accusation and execution were no longer synonyms.

Ironhide nodded back, appraising Starscream's intention to keep to his promise. Then he turned back and ushered the disbelieving Sunstreaker out the doorway. “Now get movin’, bolt-head. They're talkin’.”

Optimus gazed fondly after his friend, and, for a moment, Starscream too looked to Ironhide's sturdy back. Exhausted as he was from Sunstreaker's insults, the weight of his conversation with Prime, and now this second confrontation with the wretched yellow Autobot, Starscream felt something close to relief. Prime wasn't the only one he could go to with these troubles. First Ratchet, and now Ironhide - their trust was conditional, but the conditions were not ones Starscream really cared to break at the moment. Support, too, was alien, but incredible. He had entirely forgotten what it was like to have someone speak for justice in his name. Even as small an act as Ironhide’s scolding of Sunstreaker felt like - like - 

Like something more than an alliance. Like real friendship.

For what little that might be worth. The snarled echo of insults in his processor demeaning his every word and action lulled, perhaps also shocked into silence. The familiar raspy voice was a constant curse, drowned out only by the rain, and the wind, and by this odd new thing.

Perhaps, with this real support, it was a fear worth facing.

Chapter Text

Starscream liked to watch Optimus Prime at work. He felt no need to hover nearby, keeping a paranoid optic on the Autobot leader’s actions. Far from it, it was…reassuring to know that Optimus was in command of the Ark and aware of all trouble.

He was working too, of course. At the moment, he was poring over two datapads, marking every inconsistency and obscuration of detail between the archive record’s anonymous account of the first meeting of the Senate of Cybertron, far back at the beginning of the Golden Age, and Jazz's copy of the same, written by Telumnis, who had attended in audience. It was refreshing that Jazz had such an appreciation for the old Decepticon’s work. The Ark was the last place Starscream would ever have expected to find such a text.

But then, the Ark was the last place Starscream would have expected to feel safe. Yet for the last two days he had engaged in his work on the ship’s bridge, the very heart of Autobot command, and he felt unthreatened. Other Autobots came through, either to talk to Prime or to complete some task of their own, and Starscream didn't care. It was more, even, than not caring - he also did not feel the rebellious thrill of existing where he should not. He was simply part of it.

It was well time to stop slinking around in the Ark's untouched corridors. Starscream would not be relegated to the background so easily. Here on the bridge, tens of thousands of pounds of rock crushed down against the damaged windshield. The mountain had not shifted for the last five million years. It wasn't likely that today would be the day it did.

“You may be right. Even so, the situation should be handled delicately…” Optimus Prime mused, conversing with Huffer. Starscream hadn't heard what about, and frankly he didn't care. Optimus’s rich voice was a pleasant background for his work, and a small smile graced the Jet’s faceplate as he returned his attention to the texts laid out on the navigator’s station before him.

The anonymous writer - probably an Autobot, given his inclusion in the found records - appeared to be trying to remain unbiased, but all the same some Autobot biases slipped through. While Telumnis (and Starscream had read his account many times before) did not hesitate to embellish the meaning and impact of what decisions had been made in his usual prosaic style, he did not appear to have altered the words literally spoken, since the anonymous author’s dialogue was identical. The exaggeration was done by implications of fate, a concept Telumnis was strangely obsessed with considering its foreign nature to Cybertronian culture at the time. Objects such as the opening of Cybertron to galactic trade and visitation were “exalted by the mad, howling stars”; thus in the optics of that old Decepticon, doomed.

Much of the Decepticon council had pushed for continued isolation from the galaxy until the planet’s robots and culture had found its own footing, in hopes of strengthening Cybertron’s position and keeping the Transformer race relatively whole. Warfare was not considered a valid option by these older warriors, at least not until Cybertron had a sense of identity to protect and impose. The majority had won out, however, and Cybertron had been forever influenced by its surroundings in its infancy. Starscream hardly minded that point of history. Without that open freedom, he and Skyfire would never have seen what they saw together. The beauty and horror of living, dead, and mechanical existence might have remained only a theory gleaned from ancient texts. All the same, he could not help but look around him and wonder what if…

After all, while paranoid Telumnis was certainly no prophet, this nine-million-year enervation looked an awful lot like doom.

Starscream sighed and glanced up. Optimus was intent on Teletraan-1, his servos clasped behind his back, brow furrowed. “Surely it can't be that bad, Optimus.”

The Autobot started. “Oh, Starscream,” he breathed. “Do I look that worried?”

“As worried as you always do,” Starscream replied pointedly, though not without warmth.

Optimus nodded, looking back to Teletraan-1. “I sent Cosmos to search for signs of Insecticon activity. He didn't see anything himself, but I thought I'd go over the footage just in case.”

“I'm sure Cosmos knows how to do his job, Prime.”

“As am I.” Optimus frowned at the screen, leaning in closer. “But if anything were to slip past…” he trailed off.

Starscream returned to his work as well. The Autobot author was more subtle in his insinuations, and therefore much more dangerous. Being anonymous, he had no reason to remain so unbiased on the surface - yet he had done so. All the same, the dialogue tags revealed the Autobot’s intentions. Words in support of temporary isolation were “asked” or “trembled”, implying an inherent weakness in the position, and Keplar, by all accounts the most outspoken, did altogether far too much “sneering”. Even the Autobot proponents were described as “misled” or “dazzled”.

When it came to those who argued for an open sky, they were “brave”, spoke “in wisdom”, and “stated” things as though there were an objective truth. It was this precise sort of little propaganda which exhausted Starscream to read. Considering that Decepticons were called as such, it was rather frustrating that this Autobot writer was so well-versed in deceiving the unlearned reader. By Starscream's processor, the only truth was that which brought passion, and any truth passionate enough to fight for was one which demanded bold declaration, not this cowardly manipulation of language.

He supposed he couldn't outright claim that this author was an Autobot. Anonymity may have provided a protection at the time, but now it left the account authorless, and so lacking thorough analysis. Although, at that time in history, the distinction between constructions was beginning to fade.

Megatron's war was built entirely on that distinction, of course. Starscream guessed that there had never been so much distance between Autobot and Decepticon as there was now.

The thunderous stomping of a Dinobot roused him from his thoughts. Those creations of Wheeljack’s were at least as different from Autobots as an Autobot was from a Decepticon.

Even in root mode, Grimlock was forceful and clumsy. He pushed his way in front of Trailbreaker and cut the smaller Autobot off mid-sentence. “Me, Grimlock, have message for you, Optimus Prime.”

Optimus, though displeased at the interruption, replied. “What is it?”

“Wheeljack say to tell you him still busy, so him not come safe-guard circuits yet.”

“Tell Wheeljack…” Optimus tried, but Grimlock had delivered his message and so considered his job done. Starscream couldn't help but smile. Wrangling the Dinobots into acting like part of the Autobot collective seemed about as easy as herding Stunticons.

Grimlock slumped into the second navigator’s seat and leaned over to peer at the datapads. Starscream snatched them away, irritated. At least the Stunticons understood personal space. “What Starscream doing?”

“Comparative analysis,” he snapped, hoping to confuse the big oaf into leaving.

“Oh. Grimlock know what that is.”

“So? What is it then?”

“If Starscream not know, that not me, Grimlock’s problem.”

Starscream snickered. Grimlock was good for a laugh, at any rate. “It's just a lot of history.”

Grimlock nodded. “Mm. Me, Grimlock, understand that. Dinobots history also.”

“If only.” Starscream replaced the datapads on the workstation and tried to return to his notemaking, but the huge Dinobot loomed over him still. “Did you need something?”

“Maybe,” Grimlock grunted. “Me, Grimlock, want to know why you, Starscream, leave Decepticons.”

He was not explaining this again. It had been hard enough to reveal his weakness to Optimus Prime and his lieutenants. It was bad enough that the other Autobots murmured rumors both close and far from the truth behind his back. He wasn't going to debase himself to this Cretaceous-era cretin. “Because I wanted to,” he hissed.

The Dinobot nodded, his prehistoric processor grinding away at the information. “Me, Grimlock, only do what me, Grimlock, want to. Me, Grimlock, never listen to anyone else. Not even Wheeljack.” 

Starscream wondered why all the Autobots couldn't accept simple answers as easily as the Dinobots. He glanced over at Optimus again, now talking to Beachcomber and Hoist. He hoped his own insistence on independence hadn't been quite as frustrating as Grimlock’s.

Optimus broke off in the middle of his sentence, listening intently to a voice buzzing over his comlink. Starscream couldn't hear any words or even who it was, but Optimus’s response quickly cleared up his speculations. “Thank you, Red. I'll be right there.” The Autobot leader excused himself and hastily strode out of the room.

“What was that?”

“Uh?”

“Red Alert called Prime away. It seemed to be rather urgent.” Starscream folded his servos. “I figured an observant, intelligent beast such as yourself might know something.”

“Oh,” Grimlock chuckled. “That. Optimus Prime have girlfriend. She in danger or something, so she only call sometimes.” Of course - Elita-1! Starscream couldn't believe he'd nearly forgotten about the clever leader of the Female Autobots. Naturally she'd only have contact with the Ark through Red Alert. The signal was no doubt triple-encrypted. “Me, Grimlock, meet her once. Her call Dinobots ‘cataclysmic’!” He seemed awfully proud of that fact. “Whatever that mean.”

“I met her too, once,” Starscream recalled. They'd been lucky enough to locate the Female Autobots’ base once, and once had almost been enough. He still had no idea how she'd managed to escape with Optimus Prime before anyone could notice their disappearance, and furthermore how she had tricked him into believing that the Autobot leader had perished as Starscream had intended him to. In the ensuing battle, it had taken Starscream a few blows to be sure Prime wasn't somehow a ghost. For weeks afterwards, he had tried to make sense of the whole thing, but he couldn't figure it out - but, after all, ghosts couldn't fire laser rifles, so however impossible it was, the truth was inescapable.

Anyways, Elita-1 was more Shockwave’s problem than his - especially now. Still, Starscream was intrigued by her, and not only because she provided a connection to Chromia. She was a mystery to him, and moreover she was close to Optimus. Although he doubted Grimlock’s childish notion of ‘girlfriend’ could summarize their relationship - Optimus never seemed to do anything by halves.

Somehow it surprised Starscream that he no longer wanted Prime terminated. If he were in the same situation now as then, he might have even let the Autobot walk free as repayment for his kindnesses. It had never been personal before. Perhaps now it was.

“Starscream not going to tell? Me, Grimlock, want to know!” The Dinobot was taller even than Skyfire, but was looking eagerly at Starscream like the new construction he was. Grimlock hadn't even lived a year yet, and despite all his proud independence it seemed he did crave experience.

Unsettling that the most promising of the wartime constructions was something as alien to Cybertron as a Dinobot. Exciting, too. He might ask Ratchet about that later. Starscream stood, gathering his materials. “Another time, perhaps.”

---

He was still a Decepticon, after all. So he told himself, knowing full well the (surely insignificant) selfishness of his intent. Starscream presumed Red Alert would only permit the reception of such a highly sensitive signal within the ultra-fortified security office, since it was clearly unsafe to even route it to Teletraan-1. No one stood guard outside the room. Autobots were so trusting. Starscream crept closer, not wanting the fall of his steps to alert the hyperaware security officer or interrupt Prime’s conversation. Standing rather casually beside the door, with his optics fixed on the plain amber wall opposite, Starscream recalibrated his audio sensitivity. The door was closed and quite thick; he found he had to set it dangerously high to hear anything from within.

But he could hear. He could hear the low rumble of Optimus’s voice, and the higher tone of Elita-1 replying, sometimes drowned by signal interference. Neither Red Alert nor Inferno spoke, but Starscream figured at least one of them had to be present.

“...will do our best to assist you in that matter. All we can really do is try to destroy their space bridge, but it seems that for every one we prevent or disable, Megatron builds another far more easily.” That was certainly true. The Autobots, for all their camaraderie, were fighting a losing battle against the motivating power of Megatron’s wrath. Taking resources by force was far more profitable than negotiating aid from the primitive inhabitants of Earth, and Prime’s refusal to go on the offensive meant the Autobots were always playing catch-up…

There had been a long lull, enough of a pause for Starscream to consider that he might be caught somehow. Then Optimus spoke again, and this time the weight in his voice was restrained. “It's good to see you, Elita. I'm glad you're staying ahead of the Decepticons.”

“And you, Optimus. I only wish it weren't through a screen.” Elita-1 sighed. “Moonracer often talks of what she'll do when the war is over, but I feel I must admit to you - I no longer feel certain that it will ever end.”

“It will, Elita. It must.” Optimus’s voice lowered to a murmur, and Starscream barely caught his repetition. “It must.” He paused again, then resumed his normal volume. “And perhaps it will sooner than we expected. I have news that I know will surprise you.”

“Don't keep it from me.”

“You remember Starscream, I'm sure?”

“Of course. He nearly destroyed you, how could I forget?” Elita-1’s voice was sharp with remembrance. Autobots always took execution so personally.

Optimus actually laughed, gentle levity carrying his voice. “Would you believe that he's defected?”

Silence. “And he isn't…”

“He means it. He sought refuge with us. And as long as I function, he will have it.” Such conviction. Optimus had such strength.

Elita-1’s voice was still doubtful, but even so she was optimistic. “...remarkable. Remarkable, Optimus. Besides Shockwave and Soundwave, he is Megatron's most powerful lieutenant - ” 

“And the only independent operator,” Optimus finished. “There is also Motormaster, but he hardly poses an organized threat without Megatron’s command.”

The Female Autobot sounded, for the first time Starscream had ever heard, sincerely hopeful. “Optimus…” she started. “Optimus, it may be too soon to plan the future, and my processor will punish me for this hope if it proves false, but…” Another lull, only a few seconds. “I cannot wait to walk through rebuilt Cybertron with you, under the glimmering stars and buildings, servo in servo.”

With how many close friends Optimus Prime had, he would need more servos. Starscream grinned at the thought. 

“It will be beautiful,” Optimus agreed. “It will be peace,” he sighed, “and it will be with you.”

It was all sentimental trash. Or perhaps he was only suffering because he had dreamed the same dream, only he was walking with Skyfire. But Skyfire didn't matter now. Starscream had an advantage on Prime’s Earth-side friends, and, it seemed, even on Elita-1, in that he knew what was wrong with Prime. That was a value so precious that the sappy pining between the two Autobots awoke in him no insecurity.

“It's not only the advantage, of course, it's…” Optimus thought for a moment. “Without revealing personal matters, I genuinely believed that we could help Starscream. And so far, we have.”

“Optimus, my Optimus, you could do nothing else.”

That was about as much as he could take. Starscream dropped his audio sensitivity back to base levels and knocked sharply on the door. A few moments later, it slid open partway (one of the few doors on the Ark not fully automatic) and Optimus Prime peered out. “...Starscream?”

“Are you talking to Elita-1 in there? Grimlock said you might be, from how you scurried off,” he added.

“I am.” Optimus was no more wary than he ever was, but he clearly did not appreciate the interruption unless Starscream provided a good reason.

Which, of course, he had. “Would it be at all possible to convey to Chromia the nature of the disc I recovered? I believe she knows Ancient Autobot, perhaps better for our purposes than the comparably ancient but socially inept Omega Supreme.” If there were any non-literal phrases, slang, or references in the text, Omega Supreme would prove quite useless for their purposes. Chromia, on the other hand, was a very sharp mind, and as he remembered her quite the historian.

Optimus considered it. “I can certainly do that, although I cannot estimate when if at all the results may come back. Not knowing the contents of the disc, I am hesitant to send it across even a signal as secure as this one.”

Starscream bowed his helm in deference. “Whatever you see fit, leader. Please ensure that Chromia is at least aware of our discovery.”

“I can do that.” Prime looked suddenly troubled by something. “Starscream…”

“Yes?” He looked back, having turned to leave.

“You called me ‘leader’ just then.”

Had he? It was familiar vocabulary for this game of favors, after all. “A slip of the tongue, if it happened,” he brushed over. “You may lead the Autobots, Prime, but you will never lead me.”

Optimus seemed reassured. “Nor will I try to.”

With that, Starscream turned again to leave, confident that Chromia would hear of his discovery. If she was anything like how he remembered her - and if Shockwave hadn't pinned the Female Autobots down too tightly - she wouldn't be able to resist contributing.

He had known Optimus and Elita-1 were close. There was a special pleasure he had taken in severing that bond, on Cybertron what seemed like ages ago. 

Long before this wretched detour on Earth, Optimus Prime and Elita-1 had already been so sickeningly intertwined, and as much of an unstoppable force when together as they were contemplative and strategic leaders when apart. It had frustrated and enraged Starscream that the war should only push those two closer together when all it seemed designed for was to drive Starscream apart from everyone - from his colleagues, his comrades, his wingmates, and even from Skyfire, who returned from termination only to reject all Starscream had become in his name.

Even now Optimus and Elita-1 were a unit as always, though in secrecy, exchanging words far too brief to cover the distance between them. He'd never heard them speaking casually before - both so melancholy and yet so amorous. It was fitting, he decided, for Optimus to have another such as him. His other friends, Ironhide and Ratchet, likely served well to get him in gear, but Optimus was himself such a sympathetic robot that it was well for him to share such sympathy. And good for Starscream that Prime’s paramour should share also in Prime’s troubles. He could wallow with Elita-1 all he liked - it would be Starscream who pulled him free from the muck he had mired himself in. He would take for himself all the galaxy had denied him.

It was a new thing, for him to care so much about setting an Autobot straight - or anyone, for that matter. Optimus offered him so much faith and protection, perhaps he could not accept it without Prime accepting his contributions. Concretely, he knew he did not want to change without changing Prime just as much. Regardless he felt he genuinely owed Optimus Prime his life - for what he'd been doing before could hardly be called living. Megatron, monstrous already, had been becoming more and more erratic leading up to Starscream’s departure.

Like the shadows of clouds, Thundercracker and Skywarp again crossed his mind. In distance and in practical action, the three of them were farther away now than they had been from each other in millions of years. Millions - it seemed suddenly an unfathomably huge number, the distance between galaxies. For all their bickering and petty sabotage, they were forged from the same mold. Starscream missed his wingmates fiercely, mourning his own death in their optics. They had almost been friends.

---

“It can't be helped, Starscream. I may be a medic, but I can't do anything about abnormal processor function.”

Megatron had invaded his dreams once more, dragging hatred and suffering with him. He'd woken with a scream caught in his throat, and had sat shaking on his berth the rest of the night, terrified of sleep but unwilling to leave his isolation. “I just want it to stop.” Even now his voice was unsteady.

Ratchet sighed and shook his helm. “Starscream, you and I both know there's nothing physically wrong with your processor. I've never dealt with anything like this before. As far as I can guess, it'll just take time.” He waved to Wheeljack, who had just entered with Perceptor.

Starscream dropped his voice to a barely-audible hiss. “I don't want it to take time, Ratchet. I've wasted enough time on all of that. Can't it just be over?”

“Clearly not.” Ratchet’s optics searched his, appraising his frustration and desperation. Starscream felt exhausted and yet he wanted to avoid recharge for as long as he could. Fleeing like the coward he was was supposed to take him out of the fight, but here he was still in it. “Look, you said distraction helps, right?”

“With insomnia, not with this madness.”

“Still, maybe if you can find something to work on until your processor’s too fatigued to think, you'll be able to slip past these nightmares.” Ratchet shrugged. “Medically that's a terrible idea, and you can expect your circuits to corrode if you keep it up for enough years. Don't blame me if it doesn't work.”

Starscream had hoped it wouldn't come to that. Often when Megatron would leave him beaten and humiliated he would simply throw himself into his work to escape the shame and self-hatred that lingered long after the pain had stopped. It only worked for as long as he could keep himself in action, plotting or engineering or fighting, and the moment his momentum stalled he fell back into the roiling sea of his turbulent, crushing emotions. Once he had pushed himself so far that he had collapsed from lack of energy during a scouting mission, and woken to Megatron’s sardonic sympathy and a new level of constant surveillance.

Why were all these horrible thoughts returning to him? He had been doing well, he had been actually feeling positive emotions, and yet the last few days it seemed he could not stop remembering. It was like Megatron knew he was recovering, and had worked claws of steel into the deepest parts of Starscream's subconscious. Perhaps Sunstreaker had more power over him than he'd wanted to admit. It was miserable. He was fraying faster than he had before, coming apart at the seams.

“Excuse me, Starscream?”

Perceptor stood before him, eager and expectant. Starscream masked the storm in his optics as best he could. “What is it?”

“I’ve tested the prototype as you suggested,” the young scientist started, hanging on Starscream’s approval.

“And?”

“Well, there's some minor flaws, of course. Actually, it didn't work at all as I'd hoped.” Perceptor’s eyes shone with excitement counter to his words. Starscream felt a pang of regret. He had once been like that - filled with sheer joy at the process itself. Now all he seemed to care about was results. “Some of the data was inconclusive, but after all I only tested one device, not multiple working together, and there may be discrepancies - ”

“Your next steps?” Starscream interrupted. His processor was beginning to ache from lack of energy.

Perceptor continued eagerly. “Well, I'd like to build a testing device of sorts, a sort of miniature replica of Earth soil and rock with motion mimicking that of tectonic plates. It would have to be quite large. Then I could test a redesigned model, ideally more than one, in a situation scaled down exactly as they are, and perhaps yield better returns.” 

His optics glittered in anticipation, like an apprentice awaiting his master’s instructions. What had once given Starscream a sense of purpose, a feeling of belonging and of being valuable within the Ark now struck him as unnecessary and strange. Perceptor may have been built long after him, but the Autobot scientist was a couple thousand years from new. “I believe you know what to do.”

“If - if you're sure…” Perceptor hesitated.

“I am. You are yourself somewhat intelligent, for an Autobot, and you know more about your invention than I ought to.” Starscream sighed. He couldn't keep up with the pace of work. He burned within, lamenting his own emotional state for holding him back. It was a bearable heat since he'd never been too invested in Perceptor's plot to save the humans from nature, but it smoldered all the same. He was broken all the same, and even with all the repairing he had done and could ever do, the scars in his processor would remain just like the new seams in his plating. He thought of Telumnis and of fate. He offlined his optics to compose himself, then looked at the Autobot with as much respect as he could muster. “Mind you. Geology is still my area of interest - one of them, that is - and when you need that information you will still come to me. And I expect second authorship on the paper, if our race ever publishes anything again.”

Perceptor smiled brightly. “Of course! I would offer you no less. And, if you ever want to know how it's going, just ask. I'd be delighted to tell you.” The Autobot’s sincerity was like a sun to the gloom clouding Starscream’s processor.

It was a relief to let this one thing go. Starscream found it was nothing but a relief. No desperate struggle for control, no association of failure - there was no contest here, no reward for breaking himself further. His lack of involvement thus far had after all been for his pursuit of the discovered discs, and…for leisure time spent in the company of decent companions. It was leisure he found himself craving most. Perceptor stuck out his servo, and Starscream shook it gladly. “I'd be delighted to know.”

With that, Perceptor dashed off again, waving farewell to Ratchet and Wheeljack before departing.

Wheeljack returned the gesture. The Autobot inventor brushed past Starscream on his way to the tools rack, and as he did a data stick slipped into the Decepticon’s servo. Starscream raised an optical ridge, but said nothing, concealing the stick. From Wheeljack, it had to be interesting - and only more so if it was a secret even from Ratchet.

Interesting, yet Starscream could not let his blazing curiosity get the better of him - of all of Optimus’s little group, Wheeljack was the most unpredictable. He would have to consider what to do with the object with a level of cognitive function that his exhausted processor was simply not capable of at the moment. He followed Perceptor's lead, pacing out into the corridors of the Ark, although his destination was not his berth. The thought of recharge still filled him with a sinking dread. And anyways, he had a better idea in mind.

---

Ironhide was a very loyal robot. The stubborn red Autobot had defended him, despite not liking him much if at all. He'd played the part of Prime’s peacekeeper before even though he'd clearly much rather have never allowed Starscream in to begin with. His frosty attitude was even beginning to warm up. Starscream understood exactly why Optimus Prime kept Ironhide so close to his side.

There was that, also. He wanted more insight on Optimus. Admittedly that was his main reason for talking to Ironhide at all.

The Autobot was hard at work checking the armory inventory when Starscream found him, and accepted the Jet’s offer to help with only a little suspicion.

“Jazz told me last time you seemed rather suited for this kinda work,” Ironhide mentioned, glancing at the Decepticon over the datapad he held. “Even with Sunstreaker present.”

Starscream folded his servos and sighed, annoyed just by the memory. “I will admit to enjoying it. I find it pleasing to know the supply count personally, rather than relying on an untrustworthy middleman.”

“I agree with that,” Ironhide reckoned. “S’why Jazz and I trade off doin’ it. He likes to have others to make it more fun and less time, but I generally like doing it myself.”

“I hope I'm not intruding, then…”

“Naw, I don't mind so long as you actually want to help.” Ironhide looked at the next item on his datapad. “See if you can't find the laser pistol barrels.”

Starscream located them easily. “Four remaining. This is more of a spare parts storage than an armory.”

“Yeah, well, most of us are already armed enough as it is. Modifications and what have you. No point in stockin’ more than we need,” Ironhide explained, noting the number down. “Sounds like we'll need more of those soon. Bumblebee keeps usin’ his as a blunt weapon.” He snorted and shook his helm. “Wish we could repair our weapons as easy as we can ourselves. Laser rifle barrels?”

Blue servos found them easily, reporting the count back to Ironhide. “Surely you of all Prime’s Autobots must see the value of superior arms in winning a war such as this?” Starscream kept his optics on the smooth, unused barrels, aware of the Autobot’s suspicious look.

“I don't much enjoy this fighting,” Ironhide replied. “Neither me nor Prime care much to escalate the violence just to get it over with sooner.” He let some silence pass. “Explosive rocket tips?”

“...fourteen here, and however many are currently walking around the Ark. For Autobots who don't enjoy fighting, you lot are well armed. What's next?”

“We have to defend ourselves, and our friends. Including you, now. Thanks to this war, no place is completely secure, but we do our best to keep the Ark safe.” Ironhide checked a shelf beside him and noted a number down in the datapad. “I thought you wanted to work, not talk.”

“Is it too hard for you to do both?” Starscream fell silent all the same, wary of the boundaries of the Autobot’s good nature. They worked in silence for a while, only speaking to request or report counts. It was a comfortable task, as Ironhide appreciated the practice of work done well, perhaps even moreso than Starscream.

“Next…air-to-air missiles, whole. Should be in in that box over there,” the Autobot gestured.

Starscream lifted one from its container and appraised the surprising quality of its construction. It was, after all, human-made - an AIM-120. “Air-to-air? Powerglide isn't equipped for missiles, nor is Skyfire…”

“Naw, but you are.” Ironhide smiled, looking on. “Me and Ratchet figured you oughta be fully able to fight if the worst should happen. Not that we're expectin’ it to. Prime agreed, so our human allies lent us a few.”

“How…thoughtful,” Starscream murmured, replacing the missile where it lay. First to leave his guns online, and even his powerful null-ray fully operational, and now to actually procure for him weapons which were, by Autobot standards, somewhat excessively destructive…the Jet could not quite reconcile the Autobots’ trust with his abrasive actions. He had neutralized Sunstreaker with a single discharge of his null-ray, and instead of being punished here he stood learning that the Autobots trusted him with more weapons. He turned to Ironhide, the sturdy red Autobot gazing steadily back at him down the corridor-like room. “I appreciate your standing up for me.” He didn't bother to clarify.

“I only said what I saw,” Ironhide shrugged.

“You didn't have to. You had every reason not to.” Starscream shuddered, his servo involuntarily drawing to clutch at his shoulder where for so long that ache deep in his mechanisms had reminded him of exactly whom he served.

Ironhide saw, his optics sympathetic. His sympathy was uncomplicated, and by far the easiest to bear. “Sunstreaker's full of slag, if it needed to be said. There's no reason to how Megatron treated you.”

“One of those statements is true, at least.” Starscream turned away, once more strangely allied. It was an alien feeling, and had been for myrs. Could he consider an Autobot a friend? “Let's get this inventory over with.”

They continued with the list, checking numbers and dates, and now endured the dull work with talk. Quickly they fell upon the topic of Cybertron and the war that ravaged their home, comparing victories and failures in war stories that were heavily embellished more often than not.

“...That was when Prime dropped in, through the ceiling. Turns out he had heard our distress call, but he knew no one else was near enough to help out anytime soon, so he hitched a ride on a Decepticon headed for the battle!” Ironhide chuckled. “Grabbed hold of one wing and put his axe right up against the other, ‘If I go down, you go down’. The ‘Con was so cowardly it worked.”

“It wasn't Acid Storm, was it? Green jet, a Rainmaker?” Starscream knew it was - Acid Storm had complained about his hijacking afterwards until Starscream had threatened to have him decommissioned and reformatted as a drone. “I remember that battle.”

“Really! I guess I don't remember you being there, but after all there were quite a lot of jets. Couldn't really memorize all of them when we were so busy hiding from laser fire and taking wild shots from behind cover.”

“It was my first as Air Commander, and an actual catastrophe.” Starscream shook his helm to think about it. “I was so inexperienced, so naive. If I'd planned it better, I could've had it so we'd achieved our objective and destroyed the Storm Singer before you could have called for backup. Ideally, we could even have eliminated you Autobots entirely. I suppose in the end I'm glad that it didn't play out that way,” he shrugged. “But it was an important event - my failure there changed the course of the War. And I failed quite terribly.”

Ironhide’s expression was one of solemn understanding. “Nobody got terminated. I'd call that a success.”

“An Autobot might,” Starscream grumbled. He had never accepted defeat in any action he set his processor to, and often pushed himself to a perfection beyond possibility. But that was not where those harsh words had come from. “At any rate, that was when I first started to think that Prime might prove an actual threat. Flight alone wasn't much of an advantage against a robot willing to hijack a Rainmaker.”

Ironhide chuckled. “Prime always has been a willful fighter. The Japanese have a word kinda like it, kamikaze. He'll go to any lengths to protect those he cares about.” The Autobot seemed about to say more, but shook his helm. “Air Commander or not, you were always a pretty serious threat to us. Any of the others, they were bad enough but we could usually either avoid them or damage ‘em enough to get away. Cliffjumper, Brawn, and I made a game out of it. But when we saw those red-striped wings, all bets were off. There was no telling what you'd do, or what we'd have to do to stop you. Had us tensing up every time we heard jet engines approaching.”

His back to Ironhide, Starscream occupied himself with inspecting the trigger mechanism on an EMP, catching his own self-satisfied reflection on the mine’s flat surface. “Unlike the brutish variations on my construction, I take flight and warfare as the studies of art and skill which they are.” He tilted the device, now observing the reflection of the red Autobot. “I doubt if the ragtag group of civilians we chased down on Cybertron could have survived long without your iron will and skilled shepherding, let alone become a formidable fighting force.”

Warped in the dull contour of the EMP, Ironhide’s reflection shook with laughter. “Well, that's a Decepticon compliment if ever I heard one. Thanks, Starscream. You oughta take pride in the knowledge that the Decepticon air force is anything but formidable without you.” He clapped Starscream on the back as he walked past, and the Jet stumbled, expecting a blow.

“I do,” he muttered, recovering. “But I've nothing but disdain for how dependent upon me they are. Dullards, all.” There was only so much a good commander could do with a squadron of idiots. There'd been no way for him to succeed at that battle with none of his fliers following orders. Then again, a good commander would have been respected. He replaced the EMP, reported his findings, and moved on to the next item. “Ironhide, you were built during this witless war, were you not?”

“Yup. Prime tell you that?” Ironhide didn't seem bothered.

“He did. Perhaps you can solve this conflict of mine - I don't see how you can wish for the peaceful reunion of the Transformer race when you never lived on a peaceful Cybertron. Should your ideal win, you'll be left with an existence completely alien to you, and you'll have no way of avoiding the mistakes of the past without any memory of how Cybertron was, and with the destruction of so many of its historical documents and figures. How can you not fear the unity you fight for as hostile to your purpose of construction? How can you know you won't put in place the boundaries that lead to the next war?”

Ironhide shrugged. “I'm just a soldier, not a politician. Whatever it ends up being, it'll be better than this.”

It sounded so clear in such simple words. Starscream opened his mouth to reply, but thought better of it. Ironhide had answered his question in his way, and there would be little point in needling him for exact elaborations. “Ironic, perhaps, for Megatron is a politician who calls himself a soldier.” The length and state of the War demonstrated the truth fairly clearly. “I doubt he'd have any troops left,” Starscream derided, “if he weren't so…persuasive.”

“It's a brute form of politics,” Ironhide added scornfully. “Appealing to false truths and weak processors. It's a wonder anyone could fall for such blatant lies.” The Autobot remembered who he was talking to and fell quickly silent.

But Starscream somewhat agreed. “Sometimes one has no other hope,” he muttered. Turning his gaze to the silver gleam of an ion gun, the Jet continued. “Besides, Megatron is not only stupid. He is, unfortunately, insidiously clever as well. He knows robots uncannily well - he can pick out the things that make you weak, the things that make you feel inferior, the things which burn in self-hatred within your frame, and he can use them to lift you up in his service or to tear you apart. All as he pleases.”

For it did please Megatron to have such extreme control over the emotions and minds of his soldiers. The War at times seemed only like a pretext for Megatron’s own little game - but then Starscream would remember the conquering fire in his leader’s optics in both battle and discipline, and he would remember as always that the War itself was no more than a larger quarry for the tyrant’s hunt. 

Cybertron to him was something to be tamed, and if he had to destroy it to do so, he would without hesitation or guilt. Starscream shuddered, remembering the unbelievable rage in Megatron’s expression on seeing the hologram of his termination. 

Ironhide’s gaze fell on Starscream, clear blue optics perceptive but not piercing. The red Autobot glanced at the inventory list, made a few entries, and then shut off the datapad. “That's it for the inventory. Thanks for the help, Starscream. Maybe Jazz has a point about it taking less time.”

“It's no trouble, really. I do enjoy this sort of work every once in a while.”

“Hey, I've enjoyed the conversation, too. I still don't like you, but I think I get why you act so standoffish now. More than I did, anyways.” Ironhide smiled, as simple as his sympathy and as easy to accept, and Starscream returned the expression automatically. He appreciated the Autobot’s directness and honesty about his dislike for him, and his willingness to work alongside him regardless. It was rather Decepticon.

Starscream produced two Energon cubes from his subspace, handing one to the Autobot as casually as if it were a piece of scrap iron.

“Where'd you get these?” Ironhide scowled, but his ire was mostly a front, as he took the cube offered to him and made no accusation. Starscream, too, was good at reading robots sometimes.

“I wouldn't sell out my supplier, Ironhide,” Starscream sidestepped, thinking of Jazz and his laid-back feline grin.

Ironhide shrugged, perhaps satisfied that Starscream was at least not alone in this petty thievery. “I'm very disappointed in you, Starscream,” the Autobot said, gleefully raising his cube in a toast. “Energy!”

“Energy!” Starscream echoed, sipping from his own cube. It had been some time since he'd had the pleasure of overcharging on Energon, and unlike some he couldn't imagine doing so alone. It was companionate behavior, even amongst the Decepticons where friends would betray each other regularly. It was simply more fun with others, even when an energy-filled night led to treachery and discipline the following day. He'd sold out others at least as much as he'd been held accountable for his own overcharged words.

The Autobots had no trouble with that issue, Prime least of all. The robots Optimus Prime surrounded himself with cared for him, not only for his well-being as their leader but for his happiness and his peace with his decisions. Even Ironhide’s guard-dog nature was only protective of the rather sensitive Prime. As the buzz of energy started to make Starscream's circuits tingle, he found it all quite simple. He wanted what Prime had.

Ironhide was staring at him again, he realized. But before he could ask, the Autobot answered. “You're okay, Starscream. I still don't like you. But you're okay.”

Hardly.

Chapter Text

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