Running, fleeing. Lasers tearing up the ground behind us. Dark, gotta hide, get back home. Hit the ground, come back up in a roll, squeeze off a shot at the closest of them.

…. Got him! C'mon, we've gotta go!…

…. Leave me…

….Don't even think about it…

…go…

"NO!"

Sideswipe threw himself off the bunk and landed in a crouch, his gun in hand and optics wide with fright, systems that had been but a second ago wrapped in the embrace of deep recharge now frantically cycling energon and coolant through the red twin's body.

A calming hand was gently laid upon the glossy shoulder.

Sideswipe flinched at the unexpected touch, twisting around to find himself staring into the concerned face of his twin. "You too?" He asked. Sideswipe mutely nodded. Carefully, guilded fingers took the gun from Sideswipe's hand and laid it on the deck, the red warrior allowing himself to be slowly pulled into his brother's arms, Sunstreaker gently rocking his twin back and forth and murmuring quiet words of comfort.

0o0o0

The next morning, the twins ensconced themselves in the darkest corner of the Common room, the identical scowls on their faces warning away even the thickest of mechs from making an enquiry into their sullen mood.

Jazz watched them from the opposite end of the room. "Man, who put sand in their fuel tanks." He commented, visored head shaking slightly. "That must be the fourth mornin' in a row they've been sittin' there."

"Fifth." Prowl corrected. "You were not here the first morning."

"Then where was I?" Jazz frowned, searching his memory.

"Getting lectured to by Ratchet on the intelligence of having a five second fuse that only lasts three."

"Oh yeah, that's right. Explosions tend t' make the memory banks a little hazy fer a day or so."

"Indeed."

"But what are we gonna do about ye ol Brothers Grimm over there?" Jazz gestured slightly towards the twins. "They look about ready t' rip someone apart."

"I am unsure." Prowl replied, a flicker of concern marking his brow.

Prowl narrowed his optics, scrutinising them. "Jazz, you once said that you were trained to analyse mechanoids, correct?"

"Yeah. You want me t' give 'em a proper once over?" Jazz asked, surprised at the level of interest Prowl was taking.

"Yes, there is something going on here that we do not know about."

"'K, gimme a minute." Jazz replied.

He could figure out a part of Prowl's concern. The twins were no longer a sure constant, and Prowl hated having variables unaccounted for in his battle plans, variables that could end up with someone dead. Jazz set his jaw slightly to one side, glad that he wasn't in Prowl's place. Looking out for himself and the occasional teammate on special ops missions was hard enough, regularly planning a strategy that would hopefully result with all warriors returning to base alive was a responsibility that Jazz knew he simply wouldn't be able to handle.

"No wonder Prowl shuts down his emotions like that, he don't wanna have 'em out there fer the day when one o' us finally gets called home. No emotions means less connection, and less connection means it don't hurt as much." Jazz thought to himself, then returned to the task at hand.

The table where the twins were sitting was back as far into the corner as possible, half hidden behind a protrusion of granite that created a deep shadow. Jazz could make out enough of their faces to see the identical expressions of guarded hostility, usually an expression worn only by Sunstreaker.

Slouched in their chairs, the brothers were anything but relaxed, shoulders stiff, feet and legs flexing slightly, looking more ready to bolt like if they were expecting a call out any minute now. Narrow blue optics told of hidden stress broiling behind the masks of their expressions; the variation of optical tint -dark in the middle and darker around the edges- showed fatigue covered with recent doses of stimulants, comparable to the dilated pupils of humans when drugged with certain chemical compounds.

What was most surprising was that they each had an arm around each other's shoulders, sitting close enough for it to not be immediately visible. Usually the most physical contact they displayed in public and outside of battle was the occasion nudge or gentle brush of arm against arm when standing side by side, and that was usually when the proverbial had just hit the fan.

Sideswipe slid his gaze in Jazz's direction, and Jazz nonchalantly altered his line of sight as if he were simply scanning the crowd. The last thing the Special Ops officer wanted was to provoke either of the twins into doing a little 'querying' of their own.

Jazz picked up his mug and pretended to take a drink. Jazz knew that Sideswipe was still watching him, and that the red Lamborghini had picked up the trick of reading lips. "Somethin's goin' down with 'em, an I mean down." he murmured "Lemme get s'more info 'fore y' do anythin'."

"Understood." Prowl replied.