Work Text:
"Let's hold out for something sweeter
Spread your wings and fly…"
—Live, The Distance
Clunk.
Starscream buries his face in his pillow, fighting wakefulness. He'd been dreaming. He tries to recapture the fading images. There had been stars, but that's all he can remember. Had it been that dream? The one where he tumbles through space, wounded and out of control? The one where Galvatron finishes him—again, this time for good?
But no. It had been a different dream. There had been stars, yes, but there had been no pain. No fear. Starscream had been somewhere warm. Somewhere safe. A place that had felt exactly like—
Clunk.
He groans. Rolls on his side, pressing a palm to the berth. With the other, he grips his bandaged left side. By now, it's more out of habit than necessity. Starscream's wounds are healed, at least to the point where he no longer has to worry about re-opening one with a careless movement. They still protest as he sits up, though. They always do, especially at night.
Starscream swings his feet to the floor and perches on the edge of the berth. He takes a moment to acquaint himself with the darkness. This has become something of a ritual. A way of reminding himself of where he is, and that he's alive. That he has a body, and is no longer trapped inside the crypt.
He glides his hands over the sheets, noticing their softness, their clean scent. The fading warmth of his body still clinging to their folds. A saline breeze drifts through the porthole window, bringing with it sounds from the outer world. There's a distant stir of traffic—still drowsy, at this time of night—and a droning hum which he recognizes as the sound of industry. Closer, there's a gentle creak of ropes and the light slap of water against a metallic hull. The tide is coming in.
Clunk.
And then there's that sound. Which Starscream also recognizes, though it's been a good nine million years since it roused him from slumber. A smile tugs at his lips. He rises, balancing carefully on the shifting floor. The rocking of the barge in its moorings is a wonderful way to fall asleep; it's not so great for walking. Especially if you're trying to be quiet.
He eases open the door. The corridor is dark, though a vague smear of light spills from somewhere. Somewhere that Starscream takes to be the galley, judging by the amazing scents wafting down the hall. If the 'clunk' hadn't awakened him, Starscream is sure the smell alone would have drawn him from his berth sooner or later. But the question remains: why is Skyfire up cooking this late?
Reaching the main living area, Starscream is immediately greeted by the sight of Skyfire's unmade berth. It's a guest-berth, the type that folds out of the wall. By day, it becomes a perfectly comfortable bench-seat which offers a spectacular view of the inlet, currently visible through the sliding glass doors that open onto the barge's outer deck.
By night, it's where Skyfire sleeps. Or tries to. Starscream has crept out here more than once, and has personally witnessed some of the positions Skyfire has to contort himself into in order to fit. No matter what he does, parts of him overspill the edges. If it isn't his legs, then it's his arms, his knees, or… well. His wings never fit. Anywhere.
Starscream runs a hand over the rumpled sheets. They're cool to the touch. He resists the urge to bury his face in them. Getting caught doing that would be… well, he doesn't want to think about it. It's one of many things he's choosing not to think about. Like the future. A future that's coming toward him faster than he'd like to admit. But would it really be so bad if he were to crawl into the berth next to Skyfire? Just once?
Clunk.
A muffled oath drifts from the galley. Starscream jolts upright, guiltily dropping the edge of the sheet, but the galley's doorway is empty. Whew. He collects himself, taking care to stifle the rebellious curl of warmth that always stirs within him at the sound of Skyfire's voice before he strolls to the doorway.
Skyfire doesn't see him at first. His full attention is focused on the appliance in his hands. It's a pulverizer, meant for crushing minerals, and it looks comically tiny wrapped in the grip of his large fingers. Skyfire shakes the pulverizer. There's a telltale rattle, and his wings sag in disappointment.
"Frag."
Starscream crosses his arms. "Were you hoping to find a quiet way of pulverizing minerals?" he asks with a smirk.
Skyfire's head jerks up. "I—! Oh frag. I'm sorry, Starscream. I didn't mean to wake you."
Starscream shrugs. "I'm not the one who has to be up early for work."
A fleeting, hunted expression chases across Skyfire's features, though it's gone before Starscream can decide what to make of it.
"I suppose," Skyfire agrees flatly. "But I'm not the one recovering from being shot."
"I think it's well established that I'm going to survive," Starscream answers dryly. He peels himself from the doorframe and strolls into the galley. "My, my. You have been busy, haven't you?"
That is an understatement. The galley counters are piled high with foodstuffs. There are oilcakes—Skyfire's specialty—in flavors ranging from copper to cobalt. Bowls of hand-pressed energon noodles sit next to jars of sauces with names like Cadmium Spice and Flavors of the Rust Sea. Rainbow-hued bismuth wafers are artfully nested inside edible wire baskets along with dipping sauces, both savory and sweet. There's even a jar of something relentlessly healthy-looking, which Skyfire has labeled Titanium Crunch.
"Are we expecting a visit from an army?" Starscream inquires.
Skyfire's cheeks flush. "I…" he spreads his hands. "I couldn't sleep."
"I can see that." Starscream clears a space on the counter and hops up. He uses his antigravs so as not to put strain on his injuries, though again, this is mostly out of habit. The remaining damage is cosmetic rather than functional, which only brings him closer to the conversation he's been dreading. But surely, they don't have to have it tonight. They can pretend a little longer.
He plucks a star-shaped gypsum cake from a nearby baking tray. "So, what's on your mind?"
"Not those!" Skyfire grabs the cake from Starscream's hand before he can take a bite. "Those aren't done yet! I'm still working on the glaze."
"Glaze, hmm?" Starscream snatches the pulverizer from Skyfire's hand and peers inside. "Ametrine? Interesting choice. The sweetness of amethyst combined with the tartness of citrine should make for an interesting flavor profile."
"That was the idea." Skyfire tries to reclaim the pulverizer, but Starscream evades him.
"It's funny," Starscream says, pulling his knees up to ward off further attempts to recapture the stolen appliance. "I could swear there must be some big exam coming up. Or maybe you need to give a presentation to one of those stuffy funding committees. Those always used to keep you up at night. Or perhaps—"
Skyfire slaps his palms onto the counter on either side of Starscream's hips. The gypsum cakes rattle in their tray, and Skyfire jumps a little too, as if he hadn't realized the force of his own action. Lowering his voice, he hisses through clenched dentae, "I am not stress-cooking!"
"Why, of course not!" Starscream replies. "Who would even suggest such a thing? You seem completely zen."
Starscream presses the power-switch on the pulverizer. It bucks in his hands, giving a jarring clatter, but the harsh noise quickly subsides into a soothing whir. Starscream powers the machine off and gives it a shake. It doesn't rattle. He's about to offer it back to Skyfire, but hesitates.
They're so close. Skyfire's face is inches from Starscream's own, and his massive wings form a barrier, trapping Starscream against the galley wall. Is Skyfire even aware that he's doing that? It's as if his body is trying to hold Starscream in place. Prevent him from flying away, perhaps. It's a nice thought. Starscream wishes it was true, but he knows better.
"Here," he says quietly, handing over the pulverizer. "I think you'll find it's powdered now."
Skyfire stares at the machine as if he doesn't recognize it. Finally, he takes it from Starscream's hands and opens the lid. He glances at the contents and, with a satisfied nod, scatters it over the gypsum cakes. When he's done, they're covered in a fine layer of purple-and-golden dust. "I don't have to be up for work," he admits, his voice barely audible. "I called them yesterday and said that I'm quitting."
"You… what?" Starscream leans forward, grasping the edges of the counter. "Why would you do that?"
"I have savings." Skyfire picks up the tray of dusted cakes and slides it into the oven. "The barge is probably worth something too. I don't know how far that money will get us, but…" He trails off.
Starscream tightens his grip on the counter. "Sky—"
"I know you're well enough to fly," Skyfire interrupts. "I'm guessing you have been for at least a couple of weeks, and I know—" his hands clench into fists "—I know it's just a matter of time before I come home from one of my transport runs to find you gone." He tilts a glance at Starscream. "Am I wrong?"
He looks so tired. How many sleepless nights has he endured recently? Harboring a fugitive can't be easy, especially when the fugitive in question happens to be one's ex.
Starscream opens his mouth, then closes it again. "It's crossed my mind," he admits finally. Slipping away in the night might be the coward's way out, but it would also have spared them the conversation they've both been avoiding. This conversation.
"I'm coming with you." Skyfire's tone leaves no room for argument. "No matter where you go next, but especially if you're planning to confront Galvatron. There's no way you're facing him alone."
"Confront…?" Starscream's voice rises in an undignified squeak. Momentary vertigo strikes as he recalls, in livid detail, the precise color of Galvatron's cannon discharge as it punched into his chest. "What do you mean, confront?"
"You must have thought about it." Skyfire begins gathering utensils. His movements seem automatic, but his hands shake. "You can't tell me you haven't thought about revenge."
"Of course I've thought about it. I'm just… biding my time. That's all."
Even saying those words, Starscream knows he hasn't thought about it nearly as much as he should. Fear might be the reason. A natural desire to avoid any further close encounters with that ion cannon. But he'd thought of little else during his time in the crypt. He'd fought his way back to life for the express purpose of having hands to wrap around Galvatron's throat. No possibility could have been sweeter. But now? Now, it seems there's so much more to lose.
"I don't want that for you," he finally adds, his voice a bare whisper.
Skyfire's jaw sets. "Maybe I want it for myself." His voice is deadly quiet and his hands have steadied as he places an armload of bowls inside the sanitizer. "Believe me. I've had a lot of time to think about this."
And there it is. Another of the things they haven't talked about. But Starscream knows that footage of his coronation was broadcast throughout the galaxy. It's very unlikely that Skyfire was spared the sight of Starscream crumbling to ashes.
"Sky…" Starscream's spark twists. He scoots along the counter and captures Skyfire's hand.
Skyfire tenses. For a moment it seems as if he might withdraw, but then his fingers close on Starscream's hand with a possessive, almost crushing grip. "I'm not going to lose you again. I can't."
Starscream's throat tightens. A fierce ache claws at his chest as he slides his arms up to encircle Skyfire's neck, pulling him into an awkward embrace. Skyfire resists for a moment, then melts. A broken sound rises from him and his arms slip around Starscream, catching him against his chest.
It's the first time they've touched. Really touched. Sure, Starscream has memories of being carried; of being settled in a soft berth; of large, gentle hands tending his wounds. But never this. Never touch for its own sake.
"I never should have let you go in the first place," Skyfire whispers harshly. "I won't do it again."
"I'm not going anywhere now," Starscream whispers, and as he speaks those words, he knows they're true. "Especially not Chaar." Drawing back slightly, he adds, "I have no interest in ruling that ash-heap of a planet, nor in confronting a madmech with an overpowered ion cannon and a cult of brainwashed minions."
Skyfire's mouth twitches with an emotion that isn't quite humor, but he relaxes, his wings settling. "In that case, what are you going to do?"
"I have no idea," Starscream admits.
"Maybe we can figure it out together," Skyfire suggests, then catches himself. He glances away, but not before Starscream notices the telltale hint of warmth staining his pale cheeks.
Starscream's spark jumps. Did Skyfire mean… together together? That seems like too much to hope for, but—
The oven pings. Skyfire turns to attend to it, and Starscream clears his throat.
"Are those done?" he asks. "I'm hungry."
He is, too. Ravenous, actually. The smell of the food is getting to him.
Skyfire pulls the tray from the oven. Each of the star-shaped gypsum cakes is now covered in a glaze of melted purple and gold crystal. They're deliciously aromatic. "Try one for yourself," Skyfire invites.
Starscream grabs one and takes a bite. The glaze is an intriguing balance of sharp and sweet, and a delightful contrast with the light, airy flavor of the gypsum. "Deliciousth," he informs Skyfire, stuffing the rest of the cake into his mouth. He reaches for another, but Skyfire evades him with a laugh.
"Not so fast! The glaze needs to harden." Skyfire sets the tray out of reach and piles a selection of oilcakes onto a plate. "Here," he says, pressing it into Starscream's hands. "Take these outside, and I'll be there in a moment."
By 'outside,' he means the deck. They've had a number of meals out there, usually under cover of darkness so that Starscream won't be seen or recognized. Starscream heads for the sliding door, his steps light. He pauses by Skyfire's berth, glancing again at the rumpled sheets. Is this what he hopes it is? Or is he just being greedy?
A wash of cool, brine-scented air slips around him as he steps out onto the deck. The sky is just starting to lighten with the promise of dawn, but the city is already waking up. The robust scent of roasting zel-nuts, a morning staple for many organic locals, drifts toward him from the market. The bridge that spans the inlet rumbles with early traffic, while transport ferries are leaving their berths, their captains shouting to be heard above the cries of wheeling shrells.
Skyfire has chosen an oddly fitting home for himself. Living on the water seems appropriate, and Starscream has grown to like the roll of waves beneath his feet. Setting the tray of oilcakes on a low table, he sinks down onto the seat-cushion that has become 'his.' He unfurls the folded blanket that lies next to it and drapes it over himself, taking special care to hide his insignias. The blanket is soft and warm, and smells like rainclouds and starlight. In other words, it smells like Skyfire. Starscream inhales, quelling the stubborn ache in his chest. If Skyfire intends for this to become something more than it already is, he'll know soon enough.
Clunk.
The door slides open, and the deck rocks as Skyfire's weight settles onto it. His arms are laden with trays of food. He sets them down on the table by the oilcakes, and hands Starscream a steaming mug. It's hot spiced energon, fragrant with the aromas of cinnabar, copper and gold. Starscream blows on it before taking a sip, and sighs in appreciation as its potent warmth spreads through his belly.
"That's good," he says softly.
Skyfire smiles. He sinks crosslegged on his own seat-cushion and takes a sip from his own mug. "I know you're not really supposed to have gold, but I thought just a little wouldn't hurt."
Starscream smiles. It's true, he's not really supposed to have soft metals while he's recovering from an injury. "I'll have some Titanium Crunch later, to make up for it," he promises.
"I sprinkled in some cuprite crystals," Skyfire says apologetically. "Hopefully that will help with the taste."
"I'm sure it will."
An awkward silence falls between them. Starscream sips his drink, but he can't really taste it now. He takes a deep breath.
"Sky—"
"Starscream—"
They both stop and stare at each other.
"You first," Starscream whispers. He has to know if this really is what he's hoping.
"I guess we need to talk about…" Skyfire pauses, suddenly fascinated by the sight of a flock of shrells mobbing a fishing boat. "Us," he concludes. His voice is almost too quiet to hear above the high-pitched cries of the winged reptilians.
"Us." Starscream swallows. He doesn't know where to begin. "Do you still—" he breaks off, searching Skyfire's gaze.
Skyfire reaches across the short distance between them, palm extended in a shaky, wordless offering. It's up to Starscream, then, to cross the final divide. Setting his drink down, he bypasses Skyfire's outstretched hand and simply climbs into his lap. Blanket and all. Skyfire's arms are hesitant as they slide around Starscream, and he emits a tiny, hungering sound that cuts right to Starscream's spark. That's all the answer Starscream needs.
When their lips meet, Starscream knows he's landed. He's home. He's truly coming back to life, and there are sweeter things than revenge, by far.