Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers, Hasbro does. Please don't sue.

Author's note: This story set in G1 and takes place between the season 2 episodes The Master Bulider and Auto Berserk. I don't want to reveal too much about who the main characters are for the sake of the mystery I set up, but fans of Grapple, Sunstreaker & Sideswipe, and a certain Decepticon combiner group should really like this one, plus a lot of cameos and even some OCs. This is a long one (12 chapters). Thanks again to my Beta readers Chris, Motor Master, Poho and to everyone who read my other fics. If you like this story please comment and spread the word to others who might like it too.

I don't know how the first paragraph of my story got deleted, but here it is. Thanks to all of you for reading my story and leaving comments. For those of you who want more and hate to wait and haven't had a chance to read my other Transformers story "How Can I Say I'm Sorry," there is a basketball game led by the twins in it I think you'll like even if it is mostly a Rodimus fanfic.

The Art of Death

By Fairlady Z

Chapter 1

There are few things more comforting in the life of Autobot medic than an empty repair bay. Such lulls were like peacetime itself on Cybertron. They were always short, but they were nice while they lasted. The last batch of repairs had been particularly nasty, but with Ratchet, Hoist, and Wheeljack working around the clock the final patient was declared fit for duty late that evening.

An exhausted Ratchet had retired straight to recharge and, Primus willing, a few much deserved days off. Wheeljack had retired to his lab to work on whatever project he'd been in the middle of before his repair services had been required. That left Hoist to attend to medical – filing some random paperwork, checking the supplies in inventory so that the team would be prepared when the next battle crisis struck, and general clean-up.

Hoist currently checked his way around the berths, on the lookout for any leftover fuel spills or misplaced tools. Each of the berths could magnetize to the wall allowing stability during surgery and space travel (back when the Ark still possessed flight capabilities). The berths could also be demagnetized for quick transport of wounded. It also made them easier to clean around, something Hoist was grateful for as he pushed one of the berths away from the wall. As the berth shifted, a clink and a light thud sounded on the floor. Hoist peered back at the object that had fallen out of the newly created gap.

It wasn't uncommon to find the occasional laser scalpel or arc welder misplaced during clean-up, but the item on the ground was no medical tool. Hoist picked up the flat object and examined it. It was some kind of notebook. Strange. The metal binding rings of the pad must have gotten magnetized and helped hold it in its hiding place. How long had it been there and who did it belong to? With sudden curiosity, Hoist opened it.

Inside, on the first page was a drawing. Done in simple charcoal sketch, the picture displayed a stunning rendition of the nearby landscape from the p.o.v. of someone looking down at the Ark from a nearby mountain. Turning the pages Hoist found more sketches, mostly landscapes, some cityscapes, some of humans, while a few focused on single objects – flowers Hoist didn't know the name of, a cat. All of them rendered in the hand of an expert artist.

The last page Hoist scanned showed something different, a quiet scene set right in the repair bay. Recovering Autobots rested peacefully while Ratchet checked up on a recharging Sideswipe. The artist had apparently found a pleasant way to pass the time during his own recuperation. A few of the charcoal lines on Ratchet looked hastily drawn as if the CMO had turned suddenly and the artist/patient had felt the need to quickly stash the notebook. There was no way to tell for sure though, just supposition.

Hoist closed the notebook and considered what to do with it next. He felt a little guilty looking at someone's private notebook. Yet, the sketches were so beautiful, inviting his gaze. It almost felt like more of a crime for them not to be looked at. He needed to find the notebook's owner. But there was no way of knowing if the bed's most recent occupant was the artist or not. The notebook could have been hidden for weeks or months almost as easily as yesterday.

Still, the number of artistically talented Autobots couldn't be that high. Hoist knew of engineering not about art, but his good friend Grapple did. Grapple was a skilled architect of immeasurable caliber. Some of the drawing in the notebook had been of buildings. Perhaps the notebook was his. As soon as Hoist finished his shift he would visit Grapple and share his find.

"It's not mine," Grapple confirmed as he studied the strange notebook that now lay on his drafting table with an artistic optic. "Where did you say you found it again?"

"Sandwiched between a berth and the wall. If it's not yours I wonder whose it could be?" Hoist peered at the drawing again over Grapple's shoulder as the architect turned the pages.

"The most curious question is why would they bother hiding it? This work is exquisite! Even the rougher sketches are amazing." Grapple currently examined the picture of the flowers. "Just look at these daffodils!"

"So that's what they're called."

"They're yellow I believe. Although the smaller ones are a different color. White. And their name is nar…nar – something. I can't remember."

"Since when do you know so much about this planet's plants?" Hoist asked. He and Grapple were still very new at adjusting to life on Earth. Unlike those who had arrived four million years ago when the Ark crashed and recently awoken, Hoist and Grapple had been part of a group sent from Cybertron five months ago. This organic world with so much green was a vast change from the metallic sheen of home.

"Hound has been teaching me a thing or two. He really enjoys this planet." Optics lingering on the flowers, Grapple moved on to a picture of a gallant orange bridge structure arching over a bay before the water stretched out into the ocean that covered so much of this strange, new planet. But it was the lines of the bridge that held both Grapple and Hoist transfixed. "Magnificent! I wonder if it would be possible to see the real thing?"

"It's called the Golden Gate Bridge and it's not too far away in a place called San Francisco," said Hoist.

"How did you know that?"

"It played a big part in the climax of a spy movie the twins were showing in the lounge a month ago."

"Hmm." Grapple tore himself away from the picture to turn around and look squarely at his friend. "You know Hoist, the two of us should organize a trip to see that bridge and all of this planet's best architectural structures. There's one in a place called Paris that I've been dying to…of course it will have to wait until after we're done with 'house arrest.' "

Grapple smile faded as he remembered the two of them still were forbidden to leave the Ark for another month as additional punishment for building Grapple's solar energy tower without permission. Prime may trust that his officers had learned their lesson, but there were other Autobots in the Ark who weren't so convinced. It was hard enough integrating into a new crew on a new planet without the accusatory stares and comments from their own teammates. The sensitive Grapple wasn't sure he could endure another full month of it, particularly from the twins who Grapple was reminded of as his optics came to rest on the bridge sketch again.

"Don't worry Grapple," Hoist said, placing a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Another month will just give us more time to plan our trip and study up on Earth's geography so we know where we're going."

"I suppose…" Grapple tried to lift his spirits. Hoist's optimism was always catching that way. "It's just this picture…"

"It makes you feel like you're already there?"

"Yes. I wonder who could have such hidden talent to draw something so lifelike."

"Don't look at me," said Hoist. "I thought it was yours. Does anyone else come to mind?"

After a moment of thought Grapple shook his head. "I have some ideas, but no one definite."

"Perhaps I'll ask around the lounge tomorrow morning. I'm sure whoever it belongs to will be glad to have it back." Hoist reached for the notebook. A hand from Grapple stopped him.

"Let me do it Hoist. I want to look at it a while longer."

"The artist may have wanted to keep his work private."

"It's a little late for that now, isn't it? Please, Hoist. Creations of beauty are so rare in times of war. And our last one was destroyed… The owner need never know of his secret fan club."

Hoist considered. Even though both of them had learned their lesson, he knew Grapple was still lamenting the loss of his solar tower. Grapple was always putting new ideas to paper. That's why Hoist has originally thought the notebook was his. But since the solar tower, Hoist suddenly remembered he had yet to see his friend drafting again. The mystery notebook though seemed to have sparked something within them both. Maybe Grapple just needed some inspiration and this was it.

"All right," Hoist gave in as their optics met. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt."