Fraternizing 63

Nightflier was . . . a little put off, to be honest. He was about over this cute little game Nightstalker played, and it was showing in his irritated looks, his twitching wings and peds, and his rather clipped words.

It was finally Ratchet putting his foot down and telling Nightflier to DO something about it that Nightflier decided he would.

Thus, with a little help from his human friends, he was tracking Nightstalker. The base was only so big, so there were only so many places to hide, but clearly over the years she had gotten just a mite better at hiding from him. Nightflier himself wasn’t much of a tracker, but he WAS stealthy. And by following in the tracks he himself would take not to get caught, he was sure to find her somewhere.

And, with a tip of D.O.A.’s hat, a jerk of Casino’s thumb, or the wild flailing of Timber’s arms, he had a pretty good bead on where his sister was headed.

Not to mention he may or may not have bribed—threatened—promised—guilt tripped—Cliffjumper into helping corner Nightstalker for him.

In fact . . . there she was now. Keeping a close optic on her and taking a roundabout path so she wouldn’t realize he was on her tail, Nightflier ducked behind the far hangar. Listening to Cliffjumper’s incessant rambling—a clue as to where they were—Nightflier waited for the right moment . . . Closer . . . Closer . . .

He pounced. Jumping out and grabbing Nightstalker before she could slip away again, he wrestled the silver seeker back that shrieked and jerked in the effort to get away from him. Clamping his hand over her mouth so her ear-splitting screams wouldn’t hurt his audios so much, Nightflier snapped, “Nightstalker, stop! Stop! Stop it! Stop it! Stop it right now!”

She struggled for several moments longer before slacking almost limp with defeat, knowing she was caught. Looking towards the guilty Cliffjumper, Nightflier nodded, saying, “Thank you.”

Nightstalker made an incredulous sound, hurt orange optics looking over to Cliffjumper who winced a little, muttering, “Um, I uh . . . Yeah, I guess we’ll talk later, eh, Nights?”

Nightflier waited until he was out of earshot before he drew Nightstalker by her shoulders out in front of him so he could look at her. Her lips were pressed tightly together, dreading this confrontation. Her wings were perked stiffly, and Nightflier felt his compassion stirred up before anything else.

His jaw cracked open. “Nights—” He choked off short, cycled in a steadying breath, and then, pulled her close in a bone crushing hug. A small shudder passed through his frame before he could stop it, and he vented tightly, rasping, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect you . . .”

Nightstalker stood stiff as a plank in his arms. Finally, she stated without inflection, “You’re being stupid again. This isn’t your fault.”

His arms tightened. “I feel responsible.”

“You couldn’t have protected me if you tried.”

“Then by the Pit, I would have died trying to protect you.” Releasing her just enough, Nightflier pressed the front of his helm to hers, looking directly into her optics. “I want you to understand right now, that I would do anything for you, including taking your burdens. And because I haven’t been there to protect you when you needed it most, I promise you right now that I will never allow anyone to hurt you ever again.”

Her lips trembled. Her orange optics cast downwards.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“Nights—”

“Oh don’t even pretend!” she snapped before she could stop herself. Shocked, Nightflier let her yank away from his grip. She glared at him. “That’s a fragging stupid promise! There’s no way you can protect me from everything, Nightfall, so stop trying to do unrealistic things! You’re a Prime! Grow up and start acting like one!”

Nightflier flinched, reeling back at her venomous tone. She refused to look at him, and with a pang in his spark, he realized that even though she had physically shed the colors of black and orange, she hadn’t fully released herself from her transgressions. It was still there. In her soul—a blaze orange of fire in her spark. She would never truly heal in some areas, and the fact that he had failed her beyond repair cut his spark deep. It made him bleed love for her. And he could only hope that one day, even if she never became whole again, she might overcome her past and live towards the future.

Wetting his lip plates, Nightflier took her hand. She fought his touch for a second, but he grabbed her servo firmly, murmured, “Come here. Sit with me.” Pulling her towards the hangar wall and out of the way of any passing human vehicles, Nightflier took her into the little bit of shade the wall provided. He sat down crisscross, tugging her hand again when she refused and locked her knees. “Nightstalker. Sit with me.”

It was an order. Whether as a brother or as a Prime, neither sibling was sure, but it was enough to finally get Nightstalker to sit across from him with her knees hitched up to her chin.

Nightflier’s hand twitched with the effort to reach out to her, but instead, he clenched his fists and took a deep breath. “Nightstalker, I know my rank. I know my relationships. And I’m determined to handle them both maturely. I’ll talk to you as a brother, but right now, I’m speaking to you as your Prime, all right?” She flinched slightly at the name of his title. “Now, I need . . . I need to know . . . everything that’s happened. Not all the details, just the bare bones. Because had I know what Megatron had done to you, I would have never gone to him for peace. For the sake of the record . . .” He bit his glossia so hard he drew energon. “Megatron treated you as his call girl for almost the entire duration you were a Decepticon torturer, and he raped you.”

He could only thank Primus that his voice hadn’t wavered or broke when he said that. In response, she kept her optics on the ground and gave a dutiful nod.

“What made you decide to become an Autobot?”

She wet her lips nervously, and he saw her wings flutter. “Cliffjumper,” she rasped softly. “I was torturing him, but . . . He gave me his name. So I rescued him.”

Nightflier nodded encouragingly. “All right. Now, Ratchet mentioned you and Optimus had some sort of strife?”

Her silver shoulders scrunched up more. “Yes.” For a minute, she didn’t say anything more, and it almost led Nightflier to believe that he was going to have to ask about what it was when she suddenly continued. “I blamed him for killing you. He was the bot that started to move to help you and then ran when the Decepticon planted the bomb.”

Nightflier gave her a small nod. “Yes, I know.”

“I blamed it on him. I almost killed him for it. Then I realized the mech I needed to blame was the Decepticon planting the bomb.” She gave a half shrug. “Starscream. My father by energon.”

Nightflier reeled back before he could stop himself. A muscle ticked in his jaw. “He’s your father?”

“No.” She said it sharply, almost defensively. “Ratchet is. But . . .” Her wings drooped. “If he wanted to be, I’d let him . . .”

Cycling a steadying breath, Nightflier tried to distance his emotions from the conversation so he didn’t lose his cool. Before he could say anything more, she also whispered, almost inaudibly, “He lusted after me.”

Nightflier blinked wide before he could stop himself. A Prime . . . carried a sin like that? Her claws dug into her thighs. “I lusted after him.”

He hesitated to ask the question, but . . . He bit the inside of his cheek. “Did you . . . ?”

“Almost.”

That word stood heavily between them. Cycling in a breath, Nightflier changed the subject gently with, “So, after treason, you had to earn their trust again. How did you end up back on the Decepticon warship?”

“I went back to Megatron,” she whispered shamefully. Nightstalker dropped her face into her knees, muffling her words. “I went back to him like a little whore. Ratchet and June call it Stockholm’s Syndrome. Then Cliffjumper tried to rescue me, and Megatron raped me right in front of him.”

A hissing vent expelled from Nightflier. His wings drooped tensely, and he had to avert his optics from his sister. Cliffjumper . . . It shed more light on their relationship.

“You and Cliffjumper interface,” he said softly, not quite getting so sick at the thought anymore. It wasn’t deflowering his sister anymore—it was healing. “He helped you get over this, didn’t he?”

Nightstalker nodded. “Still is.”

“I owe him a lot then.”

“Yeah.”

A small silence settled over them. Briefly using the internet to shed some light on “Stockholm’s Syndrome,” the results left his energon tanks in knots. After a moment, he whispered back,

“You wouldn’t ever go back to Megatron anymore, would you?”

“Of course not!” she snapped immediately, orange optics flashing dangerously. “Are you out of your slagging mind? Frag me flying, I wouldn’t ever let him TOUCH me again!”

“I know you say that now,” Nightflier said gently, keeping his optics level with hers, “but what about when he makes nice again? When he says he loves you and he wants you back? When he wants to make you queen of the Decepticons—”

“Don’t talk like that!” she exploded angrily. “He doesn’t want me! He raped me!”

“And I’m just trying to get you to understand that he WILL do that, Nights!” Nightflier’s voice rose in irritation that she was trying to block out a very real scenario. “He does want you! He wants you more than anything now that he knows you’re my sister and I’m the new Prime! He wants to use you against me, and he wants to take advantage of you like he’s always done, and just because you’re trying to turn a blind optic to it doesn’t mean it isn’t going to happen!”

A stricken look crossed her features. Too late, Nightflier realized he had jumped the gun and his words had crucified what he was trying to remedy. She jerked to her peds, intending on leaving, and Nightflier lunged after her, grabbing her wrist. “Nightstalker, wait—!”

“Don’t touch me!” she snapped. She yanked against him until he staggered. But he refused to let go.

“I’m sorry!”

“No you’re not!” She yanked and pulled until he had to use both hands to hold on to her, and a steady panic filled his spark. He wouldn’t lose her again. He couldn’t let go. “You called me a stupid glitch that’s just going to go crawling right back to get raped again!”

“That’s not what I meant!” he cried out in horror, voice cracking under the strain. “Nights, please—”

“Don’t touch me!” she shouted, and she clawed at him with her free hand. “Let go! Let go of me!”

“I won’t!” he shouted back. “Nights, I’m NOT letting you go again!” Grabbing her other wrist and shaking her, his voice cracked beneath the weight of his passion. “Nightstalker, stop it! I’m sorry! As a brother—Nights, as a brother—I can’t lose you again!”

She stopped struggling immediately at his words, and he drew her into a bone crushing hug, trembling as he rasp in her audios, “I . . . I can’t lose you again . . . I—Megatron or something stupid I’ve said, I just . . .”

After a second, he felt her return the hug just as hard as he did, and he swallowed when he felt her shoulders tremble. He couldn’t cry. She needed him to be strong.

“Sorry,” she whispered back into his collarbone. “I . . . guess it’d be good for you to know I’m bipolar as well.”

He nodded. “Okay. And I wear my spark on my sleeve and tend not to think before I speak.”

She decided to keep the hyper-sexuality and sadomasochism to herself. That would be a bit much . . . Instead, she just cuddled up close to his chassis, realizing how much she had missed him the past several days. Her spark hummed and relaxed so close to his, and he kneaded that spot in between her wings.

For a few moments, they just stood, and then Nightflier drew her away with a soft smile. “I need you to do something for me.”

Nightstalker blinked. “O-Oh, okay. What?”

Nightflier’s big blue optics softened, and he chucked her chin gently. “Just . . . Tell him I owe him.”

Her face pinched into a smile. “All right.”

Chuckling softly, they parted on good terms, and Nightflier felt his spark settle more comfortably than it had been before. Still, he glanced once to Nightstalker as she went the opposite way down the base, and he vented sharply. He headed back to the main hangar, and entering, saw Bumblebee with Raf on his computer.

He approached him, clearing his throat to catch his attention. The young mech jolted straight.

*Nightfall!*

The Prime made his lips tip up a little. “Hey, Bumblebee. Can I talk to you for a second?”

*Uh, sure!*

Gesturing for him to follow and waving at Raf, Nightflier took him to a quieter edge of the base as people began to return from their energon scouting missions. Then, when he turned to face Bumblebee, he found himself looking at the floor.

Bumblebee nervously cleared his vocalizer. *Um . . . So, uh, what is it, sir?*

Nightflier waved him off. “No, not as a Prime. Just as Nightstalker’s brother.” Giving a sigh, he looked up at the waiting mech. “So, since Nights basically says you’re her brother, you two are really close, right?”

Bumblebee nodded. *Yeah. We’re pretty close*

Swallowing, Nightflier looked up into his big optics and probably said one of the hardest things for him to say. “Bumblebee, I need you to be there for her.”

*Of course*

Nightflier shook his head. “No, I mean . . . As much as I am her brother, I’m still Prime. That entails different responsibilities. So what I’m saying is . . . Whenever I can’t be there for her, I need YOU to be there for her. And maybe . . . just maybe be a better brother for her when rank gets in between us.”

The yellow and black mech across from him paused. Then, he said a little uncomfortably, *I’ll never be a BETTER brother . . . But I can promise to be there for her*

A small, relieved smile touched Nightflier’s facial features. “Thanks, Bee. I owe you.”

His optics brightened and whirred with a smile. He laughed a little. *No problem*

Excusing himself, Nightflier parted from Bumblebee to let the mech go play with Raf again. Smokescreen barged in from his scouting trip with a grin and socked him in the shoulder as he passed. Deciding he needed to explain to Angel and Prophet—and no doubt, the other humans—why he had been fighting with his father the other day, he left the base again in search of them, hoping they might have a little free time. Instead, and he turned the corner, he ran smack into another bot.

Throwing out his arms to catch her fall, Nightflier’s optics widened. “A-Arcee! Slot, I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there!”

“It’s all right,” she said as he released her. She looked up at him, optics whirring a little at a glint of sun off his armor. “I wasn’t paying much attention either.” She paused, and then she frowned. “Did you ever catch Nightstalker?”

Nightflier nodded with a grin. “Yeah, I did. Talked it out and got things straightened out. I think we’re doing pretty good again.”

“Good.”

There was an awkward pause in which both struggled to fill the silence. Nightflier cleared his throat, suddenly remembering where he had last left her—putting a kiss smack on her lips. That made him blush a little. Trying not to think about it, he muttered, “Well, um, this is probably going to sound weird . . . and I hope you don’t judge me for this, but . . . I really wanted to thank you for breaking it off with Cliffjumper.”

She blinked.

Rapidly, Nightflier tried to backpedal. “W-Well! I mean, that’s not what I meant—I mean, it was! But I just—Cliffjumper, I didn’t realize how much he meant to Nights—well, how much he’s done for her! They—yeah, they’ve been through a lot, and I didn’t realize before we just talked that he’s made a big impact on her life, and you know, he was the reason she became an Autobot and what he’s done for her regarding the rape—”

“Nightfall.”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

Stuttering to a stop, Nightflier tried and failed not to blush so much. Arcee sighed and put her hands on her hips. “Look. I know what he’s done for her, you don’t need to justify it so much. I know. And I’m happy for them.”

He looked back to her face. “You are?”

Arcee nodded. “Of course. He’s done for her . . . so much. Really, she needed him far more than I did. And she always had his spark. So while the initial break up was a bit rough, when Cliffjumper was recovering from rescuing Nightstalker, I talked things out with him and we’ve been on good terms ever since.”

“O-Oh.” Nightflier tried to remember not to stutter. “So, um . . . Yeah. That’s what I needed to say.”

There was another small pause, this one not quite as awkward as the one before. “Hey, Nightflier?”

“Yeah?”

Arcee’s stunning blue optics looked up into him. “Are you all right?”

The smacked a stinging question into him. Making a slight face, Nightflier put his hands on his hips and looked down at her, saying with a shrewd look in his optics, “You know? I hate it and love it when you ask me that question.”

She shrugged slightly and her lips twisted up, returning his tiny, tentative flirt with, “Well, you’d better get used to it, because it’s going to keep happening.”

He leaned down closer, squinting his optics at her. “Is that a promise?”

She mimicked the look, bringing them just a mite closer. “What do you think?”

Nightflier’s throat bobbed, and he wet his lips nervously when he realized how close they were. Conspicuously, he cleared his throat, straightening back up. “Well, sounds like one to me. So, ah . . .”After a moment, Arcee finally straightened up too, giving Nightflier the space he needed to steady his in takes. “Well, I’m all right. I mean, I’m not happy with what Nightstalker’s been through, and I wish I could have been there to protect her, but . . . I’m glad she’s got you guys now. And we’re on good terms again, so,” and he shrugged with a small smile, “I guess I can’t complain too much.”

Arcee just looked up at the curve of his lips for a second, and then, Nightflier’s spark ramped up into overdrive when she leaned forward. He held still as she closed the gap between them, and then soft lips touched his, caressing tenderly. The magnetic touch was brief and she leaned back, but Nightflier’s optics were round as saucers and his spark sputtered irregularly.

“By the Celestial Spires . . .”

Before he knew what he was doing, Nightflier wrapped and arm around her waist and pulled her close, kissing her again. She met him with a soft gasp, and Nightflier felt his wings dip as if drugged by the sweet taste of her lips. Mouths fused, Arcee’s arms wrapped around him, and his other hand stole up to her cheek, thumb stroking as he kissed her soft and deep. She turned her head slightly, deepening the kiss on an edgy slant, and warmth bloomed in Nightflier’s chassis.

Someone cleared their throat politely, saying, “Nightfall.”

They didn’t hear it the first time. Arcee’s fingers forced beneath the armor of his back, digging into the highly sensitive protoform, and Nightflier let out a small moan in response. He tightened his grip on her, searching to bring her closer. The kiss became hotter, harder, and Arcee’s back was bent back as he leaned over her.

“Nightfall!”

His audios pricked at the sound of someone . . . calling someone . . . but he didn’t recognize the name, and he didn’t care. He nipped Arcee’s bottom lip before his lips crashed down on hers again, spark heating as his claws scratched at her waist.

“NIGHTFLIER!”

Shocked back to the world, Nightflier released a jagged gasp to catch his breath as he finally released Arcee’s lips. She panted without breath with a delightful blush, and he was just about to seize her lips again when he saw her optics widen.

She scrambled away from him, snapping into a sharp salute and staring past him. “Sir!”

Nightflier squeezed his optics shut.

There was only one person on this base they called “sir.”

Slowly turning around to face his apparent doom, he found Ultra Magnus standing arms and legs akimbo outside the base walls with them, one finger tapping his hip in irritation. Nightflier sucked in a breath. “Yes, sir?”

Ultra Magnus gave one sharp exvent. “Arcee, you are dismissed.”

She nodded and jerked into another acute salute. “Yes, sir!”

Nightflier craned his head back and narrowed his optics at Ultra Magnus as Arcee marched herself into the base. Instead of getting angry, Nightflier decided to ask the obvious.

He crossed his arms. “Is there a problem here, Ultra Magnus?”

That finger tapped firmly, a clear indication of the temper broiling beneath his complexion. “Yes, in fact, there is,” he said just as frankly.

Nightflier’s lips thinned. “If you’re going to preach to me like the Prime’s in this thrice-damned Matrix are, you can stow it right now.”

His optics flickered, and his brows frowned. “I would advise you heavily not to curse the holy Matrix,” he managed to grate out with just the slightest hint of a growl. “I would also advise you to take both their and my advice seriously.”

“I can’t take advice seriously when it’s stupid,” Nightflier shot back, also dipping his voice to meet the challenge.

If it was possible, Ultra Magnus only became stiffer at his disregarding of the rules. “How stupid is it if these Primes speak from experience, and I speak from going through the experience?”

Nightflier narrowed his optics. “What are you talking about?”

“Do you know what happened to Elita One?”

Nightflier shifted. “Who’s Elita One?”

An aggrieved vent blasted from Ultra Magnus’s mouth. “She was Optimus Prime’s spark mate.”

For a second, Nightflier just blinked. Then, he looked away, feeling a prickle of discomfort chasing up his spine. “Yeah?”

Ultra Magnus paused before continuing. “He was involved with her before the war. Though we tried to persuade him otherwise, he bonded with her early in the war, too in love with her to see the dangers such a bond would present.”

The second in command’s chest contracted as he pushed out a hard breath. “In short, Elita was captured and used as ransom against Optimus. During this time, Optimus’s desperate actions condemned three units to their deaths, all 24 of each group massacred.”

Nightflier flinched. 72. Ducking his helm, he tried to come up with something suitable to say. He came up with nothing.

“There came a time we thought we had a bead on her location,” Ultra Magnus continued. “Prowl and I advised against heading so deep into enemy territory, but Optimus would not listen. He was blinded by his love for her and as such, took myself, Prowl, himself, and a group of eighteen other highly trained mechs on this mission.”

“Let me guess,” Nightflier muttered, “only you and Optimus made it out alive?”

“No.” The commander’s servos tightened on his hips. “Prowl called a tactical retreat when half of our unit was slaughtered in the trap. When we began to flee, they executed Elita on the spot in the hopes to cripple Optimus.” He paused. His optics darkened a shade.

“Their plan worked. Optimus fell into despair. I was forced to throw him over my shoulder and flee with Prowl covering my back. Of our unit, only five remained. We were lucky Optimus survived the spark break.” Ultra Magnus shook his head. “The trauma effected him greatly. His processor was . . . different. You could possibly ask Ratchet to detail the difference in Optimus as he grew general more reserved from everyone after the incident.”

When Nightflier was completely silent, digesting all of this, Ultra Magnus gave a slight sigh, brows pinching. “Nightfall, I am merely telling you what happened and the effects it had. Through his spark bond to Elita One, Optimus made his greatest mistakes, sacrificed so many for one in an effort that would not help Cybertron—or anyone—and he carried that guilt with him. He did not say it in so many words, but . . . He sometimes wondered if he had done the right thing in bonding with her.”

Nightflier’s lip curled sullenly as they stood outside in the heat of day. “So, what? You’re telling me I can’t ever love anyone?”

A frustrated breath left Ultra Magnus. “I am warning you of the costly repercussions this could have. You must be extremely careful in who you fraternize with, Nightfall. I would not advise it. An effective commander should not form deep bonds.”

As if in echo of Ultra Magnus’s words, Nightflier could hear the Primes of old communicating to him through the Matrix, agreeing in the folly that Nightflier tempted himself with. Angrily, he tried to block them out, but they were persistent with what history had shown them over and over again.

“You cannot pick and choose favorites. You cannot be hesitant to send Arcee, or even Nightstalker, into dangerous situations. Love clouds judgment.”

Nightflier scowled freely then even as he felt Optimus shamefully admitting to him the wrongs he had committed as Prime. “So, what, I can’t love anyone?” he snapped. He glared up at Ultra Magnus, wondering if he was angrier with the second in command for pushing his buttons or the incessant pressure from the Matrix. “So, I’m supposed to just forget about how I feel to Arcee? I’m supposed to break my newly fixed bond with my father because it’s going to ‘cloud my judgment’? Cybertron below me, I’m not even supposed to pursue a bond with my own sister to finally resolve all the issues between us? I—”

He cut off short, overwhelmed by the weight of the pressure trying to influence his decision in his spark. With an agitated cry, he turned from Ultra Magnus, shouting down at his chassis, “Shut up! Shut up! I don’t WANT your advice! I don’t care! Just shut the frag up! Slot, I am so over this slag! Shut up!”

Without meaning to, he made a scene by being unable to keep those thoughts to himself he was so agitated. But, they finally receded from him. He whirled again on Ultra Magnus, mouth working a second as he tried to remember where he was. He clenched his fists, snapping, “And I’m not supposed to look at you as a mentor either, because that would be detrimental to how I order you around in battle. Well fine then! You want me to become a sparkless figurehead? That’s what you want me to be?”

His furious blue optics cut into his second in command angrily, and he witnessed his face pinch and a hand come up to rub his forehead. “Nightfall . . .” He twitched because it was on the tip of his glossia to tell him not to call him that. He heaved a heavy sigh, and squatting down to his level, blinked blue optics down at him. “I do not know the answers,” he said quietly. “And I cannot make your decisions for you. All I can give you is what guidance I know. And in regards to this . . . Just . . . Be careful, Nightfall. Be VERY careful.”

Nightflier took a deep breath, trying to release the stress from his shoulders. “All right,” he murmured back, peds shuffling a little. “Sorry. I’ve just . . . got a lot of pressure coming from the Matrix.”

A giant hand was placed on his shoulder. Nightflier looked up at Ultra Magnus. “Optimus complained of the same thing. Just remember:  they are your consultants, not your patriarchs.”

“As I keep TRYING to tell them,” he muttered with an exasperated roll of his optics. He gave a soft sigh, and Ultra Magnus removed his servo from his shoulder, standing back straight. “I guess there’s not much to do but keep scouting for energon. Tell the bots I’ve got grid 303. I need some air.”

Ultra Magnus nodded dutifully. “As you will, sir.”

Well, he took his flight. He blew off some steam and enjoyed his flying while he could even as he kept his scanners on the lookout for energon or Predacon bones. He honestly didn’t think he’d find either.

Little did he know, he had just left his bots to the “shark” affectionately called Ultra Magnus. Under his thumb of power, there was little they could do but submit to his strict rules.

Still, Nightflier didn’t really know about all of that. He was aware Ultra Magnus was more stringent than he was used to, but he hadn’t noticed anything unusual. Until now, as he landed outside of the base after his lengthy flight and everyone came his way.

EVERYONE.

Blinking in surprise as he was warmly greeted, Nightflier gave a bewildered laugh, saying, “Guys, I wasn’t gone that long! Unfortunately, I didn’t find anything but tumbleweeds, and with the lack of Decepticon activity lately, I’m guessing Megatron’s already got his claws on the specimens he needs to—”

His glossia fumbled a moment as he looked around at them. There, between Ratchet’s hip and Bulkhead’s hip, there was just enough gape to see around them and to his second in command standing alone at the computers.

He felt his spark sink.

“Clone his army.”

Feeling a mite . . . sad? Guilty? Or maybe it was compassion. But Nightflier again realized he needed to open his optics to the Cybertronians around him and deal with the quiet dissent as everyone got used to everyone else.

At the same time, he blinked over at Wheeljack and Nightstalker, both mech and femme in question covered in obscene amounts of coolant. Nightstalker blushed with a little grin as she wiped a clump of the thick green goop off her arm.

“I helped Wheeljack recalibrate Ultra Magnus’s ship’s engines,” she told him. Wheeljack elbowed her, and she shoved him back, grin broadening. “He’s the messy one, not me, I promise.”

Wheeljack snorted, shoving her back as they all slowly dispersed. “Right. Tell that to the one who threw it in my face!”

“Because YOU dumped it down my back!”

Both of them rolled their optics at the same time and pointed their thumbs to one another. “See what I have to live with?” they chorused together.

It took Nightflier . . . longer than expected to make his way back around to Ultra Magnus that afternoon. It was like everyone wanted to have a civil chat with him, and it was refreshing to touch base with all of his soldiers. But it was Ultra Magnus he was worried about. So after weaseling his way out of talking with Cliffjumper—which took a lot more effort than it should since the mech talked a mile a minute—Nightflier was finally able to work his way over to Ultra Magnus again.

From between the cracked doors of the hangar, Nightflier could see his friends running drills. Ultra Magnus was looking out, but not quite at them. He cleared his throat as he approached.

“Ultra Magnus.” The commander turned, looking down at Nightflier. He gave a shrug, saying, “What’s up? You’ve got something on your mind.”

He almost felt the air blast from Ultra Magnus’s lips, and he realized at that moment that he needed someone to talk to. “I fear that my command style may be having a negative effect on unit morale,” he confessed almost immediately.

The absolute volume of guilty sheepishness coloring his voice almost made a smile tug his lips. But Nightflier held it back, instead saying, “Ultra Magnus, I appreciate everything you do and help me with. But . . . You’re running this place like it’s the Elite Guard, and it’s not.”

He looked away from him at the beam of sunshine slanting through the door. “Things have changed since the War for Cybertron.”

This time, Nightflier did let the support smile tip his mouth upwards. “Well, with change, you’ve got to learn to be flexible so you can keep up with that change.” That smile tugged more. “And you, my dear friend, are as stiff as they come. You’ve got to understand that . . . this team is not made up of cogs in a machine.” Nightflier looked up at Ultra Magnus, meeting his optics. “You’ve heard me talk about my Protectobot unit I was a part of, right?”

When the second in command nodded, Nightflier nodded freely. “Well, that’s the line I’m trying to draw. There’s a difference between the Elite Guard and the Protectobots—and a unit like this. Though the circumstances are different, I fell in so easily with these guys because they remind me of my unit. The lines between the different ranks were blurred—there was so much to do that we all became adept in each other’s strengths, and we did what we had to do to get the mission done. Barring Hotspot as the obvious leader and me as the kid, the other four?” He shook his head. “They were basically the same rank. There basically WAS no rank.”

He gave a shrug towards the bots in the room. “They’re basically without rank as well. That’s why they had such a hard time detailing to me their rank. They became such a tight knit group that it didn’t matter who did what, just as long as we all reported to the Prime.” He paused. Then, he gave a grimacing smirk. “And stayed off Ratchet’s bad side.”

Waving his hands, realizing he had gotten a little off track, Nightflier said, “Look. The point I’m trying to make is that these guys have grown into something greater than an army. Like my Protectobots, they’ve become—”

The alarm began to wail, drowning out his voice, and Ratchet’s voice cut across the room with a sharp, “Nightfall! Our scanners have detected exposed energon.”

Instantly, everyone turned to him. Jumping at the sudden attention, he blurted, “Well, reserves are almost empty, so we need this energon more than anything. Let’s investigate. And split up into teams—the Wreckers and everyone else.”

“Ooh!” Smokescreen all but jumped forward. “Nightfall! We should totally create a cool name for the rest of us! Like . . . I dunno, the Stealth team!”

Nightflier considered it for a click, and not coming up with anything better, shrugged and said, “Sure. The Wreckers and the Stealth team.”

Arcee’s jaw literally dropped. Cliffjumper groaned audibly, protesting, “Aw, c’mon! Surely there could have been a better name than that!”

Nightflier grinned. “Well, if you think of something better, you can submit your idea for pending.”Bumblebee tinkled with laughter at that, and Nightflier continued, “So, the Wreckers will lead the initial assault and hit them hard from the front. Stealth team, you’ll flank them to catch them off guard, and eh . . . I’ll just pick off anyone you miss. Sound like a plan?”

It was simple, but one Hotspot used frequently because of its simplicity that never seemed to fail. As the bots agreed and began to grab their weapons, hustling to move out, Nightflier jabbed his finger into Ultra Magnus’s gut, catching his attention. He narrowed his optics up at his second in command, wagging his finger.

“This conversation will continue when we get back.”