AN: I lied. Moving sooner than expected, and I won't have internet from tomorrow out. So here's the last chapter of Ariadne's Thread.

Chapter Twenty-Four: It's Okay

Simmons would be lying if he said he wasn't impressed. It shouldn't be such a surprise how efficient they are; they're alien robots, for christ's sake. It takes less than five minutes for the red and white one to get everything squared away. It—he—descends on the mangled remains of Red with violent efficiency, slicing and dicing and peeling away bits of armor and machinery until it—he—exposes the glowing light inside.

The second he does this, the other two step back. The yellow one gets all fidgety and starts firing off what Simmons assumes are questions—it's in their native language and all Simmons hears is a torrent of noise: a deep, electric thrum with odd pulses, almost like music.

Even the black and white one gets all hesitant. Red-and-White snaps something back.

"What'd he say?" Simmons says.

"Beats me," Hunter says. He leans against the tree, his arms crossed over his chest. His gaze keeps darting around, landing mostly on the soldiers. Simmons doesn't think he realizes he's doing it. "Probably talking about their sparks."

"Uh huh," Simmons says. "For those of us not so familiar with their physiology?"

"Seriously?" Hunter says. "I thought you were some kind of expert."

Simmons shrugs.

The kid stands there, studying him. Simmons doesn't like the look on his face, a shrewd kind of suspicion. Simmons looks away.

"Their sparks, the glowing things?" Hunter says. "They're not supposed to touch. According to Sideswipe, anyway. He said something about them exploding. Except that he and Sunstreaker are different. When Scorpinok… when he stabbed him, them, I think their sparks sort of combined. They were both in there when we fought him."

Hunter stares at the ground. He doesn't move. Simmons waits for him to continue but he doesn't.

Simmons sighs through his nose. It's hard to remember how young Hunter is. That robotic body of his makes him seem so much older, more dangerous. If he wanted to, Simmons has no doubt the kid could take on everyone inside this facility and walk away. Attached to the bigger body, he's got the combative power of a tank on two legs. The kid is a walking, talking, one-man army. And he's just that: a kid.

Red-and-White leans in over Red's remains. He reaches down. The other two NBE's block most of Simmons's view, so he only catches a glimpse as some sort of compartment opens up in Red-and-White's torso. He lifts cupped hands. Blue light throbs between his fingers. He makes a twisting motion as he brings his hands up and the light disappears. The compartment snaps shut.

"That's done it," Red-and-White says, in English this time. "They're contained. They can 'jump us up anytime."

"I guess this is it, huh?" Simmons says.

Hunter's head snaps up. He blinks.

"What?" he says.

"Looks like they're packing up," Simmons says.

"Oh."

"Hunter!" Yellow says. He waves the kid forward. "Come on, let's go!"

Hunter stands there.

"Go on, kid," Simmons says. "Unless you'd rather stay here?"

All three NBE's freeze. They all look past Simmons simultaneously. They're looking at the perimeter. Simmons glances over his shoulder.

"Oh," he says. "Time's up."

Hunter's visor is all lit up. Beneath it, his eyes move, his gaze fixes on Simmons.

"Wow," he says. "These guys weren't screwing around, were they?"

"Afraid not," Simmons says. "Go. I got this."

Hunter nods. He takes a few steps towards the waiting NBE's and then stops.

"Thanks," he says.

"Yeah," Simmons says. "I'd say it's been fun, but, well…"

Hunter snorts.

The air vibrates. It makes Simmons's teeth itch. He takes a few steps back, just in case, and retrieves his styrofoam cup from the ground. He peers in. There's a bug thrashing around on the surface of his coffee. Simmons frowns and flicks the remaining stuff out.

The air streaks around the NBE's. Simmons waves. Hunter returns the gesture.

The black and white NBE opens his mouth and says, "I thought you weren't authorized to communicate."

A patch of the universe implodes. Simmons is left blinking at the empty, shredded remains of the surgical tent, the stink of burnt air floating on the breeze.

"Son of a bitch," he says.

Hunter wants to punch something. The three Autobots gathered around him stare. Ratchet squints at him with a mixture of disbelief and horror. Prowl looks like something in his head just broke. Even Optimus Prime has gone silent.

"You… set it on fire," Prowl says.

"Yes," Hunter says. He squeezes his eyes shut and pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to quell his first ever headache in this cyborg body.

Oh, lucky me.

"That's just stupid," Ratchet says.

"Yeah, Ratchet. I kind of figured that out, thanks. Sideswipe already gave me this lecture so could we please skip it?"

"You set it on fire," Prowl says in the same, dead monotone.

"Oh, for god's sake. Yes, I set an energon storage on fire. It blew up, we almost died, I got it. Bad move, okay? Moving on now?"

"Hunter," Ratchet says. He leans down so his face is level. "Sideswipe knew it was a bad idea."

"I know."

"You," Prowl says. He hasn't moved. Hasn't so much as twitched.

Optimus shakes his head. He glances over at the black and white 'bot to his side.

"I think that will be all for now," he says. He lays a hand on Prowl's shoulder. "Come."

"Yes," Prowl says. His voice is distant. He shakes his head a couple of times.

"Hunter," Optimus says. "I'm glad to see you safe. We will need to speak again, but for now, please rest.

"Yeah," Hunter says. "Thanks."

Optimus bows his head. The doors hiss open and the two 'bots leave. Silence descends. Movement out of the corner of his eye and Hunter turns to find Ratchet crossing his arms. The medic doesn't say anything. Hunter tries, and fails, not to fidget.

"So," he says.

"So," Ratchet echoes.

"Why—"

"What in Primus's name were you thinking?"

"I didn't—"

"And it's not just you, is it? It's your entire, blasted species. The lot of you. Something is glitched in your collective processors."

Hunter doesn't even know how to respond.

Ratchet makes a grating noise. Hunter is bathed in tingly energy again.

"That body does not run on energon," Ratchet says.

Back in Detroit, when he woke up on the autopsy table—the water-cooler filled with the black stuff. That's what Hunter bleeds now. Goo.

"No," he says.

"I won't know until I run a few scans, but I'd hazard to say that it's some kind of liquid nutrient system. It's what's keeping your brain functioning, what's providing your organic tissue with oxygen. And it's being depleted. That's why you're tired."

Hunter doesn't say anything. He stares at the distant wall.

"I should be able to synthesize it, so you won't have to worry about that," Ratchet says.

Hunter nods. He's not sure whether the lump in his throat is real or not, if he even has the parts or not. The line where the wall meets the floor swims. Hunter blinks a few times.

Large, warm fingers close over his left side.

"We'll figure this out," the medic says.

Hunter starts to reply and thinks better of it. Ratchet keeps his hand there for a moment longer, long enough for Hunter to compose himself. Then he straightens.

"From what I can tell, you received no lasting damage from the fall," he says. "That doesn't mean you can go running around. I want you to take it easy. You let me know the second something feels off, got it?"

"Yeah," Hunter says. "Thanks, Ratchet."

"Of course."

Hunter blinks a couple of times and wipes at his face.

It's an eight-foot drop to the ground. Hunter hops off and lands in a crouch. He stands and eyeballs the other berth. Ratchet follows his gaze.

"Don't worry about them," he says. "They're stable enough for now. It's going to be a while before I get either of those glitch-heads up and walking around."

"Are they… is Sunstreaker…" Hunter says.

"We'll know once I bring them online. And that won't be anytime soon. You heard Prime. Go on, now. I'm not the only one glad to see you."

What?

Red and white. Someone gasps. Hunter whirls to see two very familiar faces hovering at the edge of the doorway.

"Verity," he says. "Jimmy."

Verity's hands cover her mouth and nose. Jimmy's eyes are wide.

"Dude," Jimmy says. "You look… different."

Hunter's stomach twists. But then Verity curls her hand into a fist and she punches Jimmy in the shoulder. Hard.

"Don't say that, asshole!" she says. "You're gonna make him feel bad."

"Ow! Geez, calm down. I didn't mean it like that!"

"Yeah, well, next time you open your mouth maybe you outta think about what's coming out of it, huh?"

Jimmy rubs his arm and gives her an incredulous scowl. Which Verity ignores. She breezes past him, into the room. Jimmy follows.

"You guys," Hunter says. "Uh, you look good."

And they do. They're dressed in matching sets of what look like white hospital scrubs. Verity's dark hair is free from its usual ponytail; it spills onto her shoulders in soft waves. Jimmy's bangs hang in his face but he doesn't seem to mind. They're both smiling at him.

"Come here," Verity says. She doesn't even wait for Hunter to respond before she reaches up and drags him into a hug. Jimmy's long arms wrap around them both.

Verity sniffs. When she pulls away, she's wiping at her cheeks. Jimmy's eyes are suspiciously moist.

"It's really good to see you," Hunter says.

"I'll bet," Verity says.

"Dude," Jimmy says. "What happened? Last we knew, you and that yellow guy were missing."

"It's a long story."

"Best told somewhere that isn't my med-bay," Ratchet says.

"Yeah, yeah," Verity says. "We're leaving. Chill out."

She grabs Hunter's wrist and tugs him towards the door.

"Come on," she says. "They've got a whole room set up for us, this time. You can get on the internet on this giant wall monitor."

"Food's not so good, though," Jimmy says.

"Oh god. Would you stop complaining about that? Who cares about the food? We're in space, Jimmy, on a ship with giant, alien robots. It's totally worth it."

Jimmy looks at Hunter and rolls his eyes.

"Six weeks of this, man," he says. "Six weeks I gotta live with her. If you hadn't shown up, I might've thrown myself out the air-lock."

"Shut up," Verity says, only she's grinning and Jimmy is, too, and for the first time in a long while, Hunter feels it's okay to smile.

Sideswipe wakes up to find Ratchet glaring down at him. This is nothing new. Sideswipe keeps a mental catalogue of responses for the occasion, each one depending on just how slagged off the medic looks. What is new is the sheer amount of quiet, seething rage. And the fact that Sideswipe can't move.

"Uh," he says.

"Give me one good reason," Ratchet says, speaking slowly and carefully, "why I shouldn't offline you and leave you to rust in a storage compartment for the next several deca-vorns."

The catalogue is no help at all. Sideswipe digs through his processor, trying to find some kind of explanation for the hostility. He finds nothing. He looks past the medic to the walls. He's in an Autobot med-bay—that much he recognizes. He knows the sound of spark monitors and external energon filters as well as he knows the sound of his own voice. He knows what it feels like to lie on a medical berth.

He starts to ask, "Where am I?" but thinks better of it.

Good thing, too, because Ratchet huffs and says, "Good answer." The medic straightens up so he's not looming anymore. He crosses his arms. "I suppose this is some kind of game to you?"

"No?" Sideswipe guesses.

"Because I'd really like to know the scoring system. I'd really like to know what number you assign to breaking every major rule of engagement."

At least the paralysis keeps Sideswipe from flinching.

"You assaulted a senior officer, stole his ship, deserted your post, went missing for an entire deca-cycle, and made contact with an alien race specifically against regulations. Do you know what you did? Does it even compute for you? No, don't you try to interrupt me. Do you know what the humans are calling it? Here. I noted it just for you. According to their officials you left, and I quote, 'a trail of destruction and devastation across the whole of the American Midwest.' So tell me, Sideswipe, how many points does that add up to?"

For one, suicidal nano-klik, he almost says, "forty-two." But self-preservation overrides his mouth and he stays silent.

Ratchet stands there. Sideswipe gets the distinct impression that it's all the medic can do not to haul him off and throw him into a wall.

How did I get here?

The last thing he remembers is pain; looking up into Scorpinok's freak face. Hot agony in his chest. Desperation clawing at him even as his limbs went numb. The fluttering presence of—

"Where's Sunny?" he says.

"Stable," Ratchet says.

Sideswipe twists his head, tries to catch a glimpse of yellow, a glimpse of his brother.

"Come on, Ratch', is he—"

And then Ratchet is right there, reaching beneath him and hoisting him up by the shoulders. Sideswipe wonders why the medic doesn't just boot him back up and let him lift himself. But that thought is shoved to the side when he spots Sunny.

Or what's left of him.

"I've been working on you both for the last two mega-cycles," Ratchet says. "There wasn't enough of Sunstreaker left to scavenge, so I have to build him back up from scratch."

His processor lies naked to the air just behind a face, this one new and shiny, not burnt, not half-slagged. A bare chest cavity and Sideswipe can see the empty spark chamber. Struts for arms and legs, the gears of his feet, bits of armor lying scattered around the berth. And the hum of a spark-well sitting on a stand to the side. Energon lines run from the top of it to a back-up tank on the floor. That little box is the only thing keeping his brother alive.

"Oh," Sideswipe says. It comes out of his mouth funny.

"You weren't much better," Ratchet says. He lays Sideswipe back down. "I had to pry your pieces out of that awful human thing, the Headmaster shell. It wasn't fun."

Headmaster shell. The tiny human.

"Hunter," Sideswipe says. "Is he okay?"

"Physically."

Ratchet fiddles with a diagnostics display. He mutters something too quiet for Sideswipe to make out, all but the, "slagging, half-bit moron" at the end of it.

He's safe. Sunny is safe. Hunter is safe.

"What happened?" Sideswipe says.

"What's the last thing you remember?"

Sideswipe winces. "Getting my aft kicked."

"Sounds about right. Hunter says this 'Scorpinok' character impaled you. From what he described, it sounds like you and Sunstreaker, that your spark chambers were breached. Your sparks made contact."

Wait… what?

"What?" Sideswipe says. Because he's pretty sure that can't happen. Not without explosive death.

"You're split-spark twins," Ratchet says. "Originally, you two were one being. Which, apparently, makes you two slag-heads the only ones in the known universe capable of combining sparks like that."

"Oh."

He doesn't look back over at Sunny. He can almost feel his pieces lying there.

"Made contact?" What does that even mean?

"So… how did I get here?"

Ratchet moves towards the foot of the berth. Sideswipe can't see his hands, not from that angle, but he can see the glow of a welder reflected off the medic's armor.

"You fused. The both of you—in your body—along with Hunter disabled Scorpinok's Headmaster. You set the engines to blow and you jumped off. Your jet-pack failed on the way down. We showed up a mega-cycle later and 'jumped your sorry carcass up to my med-bay, where I've been piecing you back together ever since."

It sounds like something he would do.

Sunny and I fused? So that means… what, we were one mech?

He can't quite wrap his mind around that one.

"You're different," Ratchet says.

"Huh?"

The medic looks up. The welder cuts off.

"You're you," he says. He studies Sideswipe for a moment. He doesn't say anything else.

Sideswipe feels… balanced. Better. He remembers everything, remembers Sunny being gone, remembers the cold anger. He just can't seem to recall why. It's like looking in on someone else's memories.

Ratchet makes a soft sound, hesitates, and says, "I'm glad."

It's Sideswipe's turn to stare.

"It's good to see you acting like you again," the medic says. "I just hope…"

Sideswipe waits. Ratchet doesn't trail off like that. He doesn't hesitate. He goes in and does what he needs to. He doesn't stand around and stare off into space like this.

"Uh, Ratch', you're starting to freak me out," Sideswipe says. "Sunny's okay, right? He's not going to—"

"It's not him that concerns me," Ratchet says. "Not at the moment, anyway."

His gaze meets Sideswipe's.

"Oh," Sideswipe says.

"They're not going to let you go with a slap to the wrist," Ratchet says. "They can't. Not this time."

"I know."

"This is the dumbest thing you've ever done," Ratchet says. "And considering all of the half-bit, glitched out stunts you've pulled, that says a lot."

"I know."

Ratchet looks over to where Sunny lays.

"But I'm glad you did it," he says.

There's nothing more to say. Ratchet goes back to work.

They stop outside the med-bay doors. Sideswipe leans against the wall to get off his left leg. His repairs are holding together; Ratchet's work, as always, is impeccable. His leg just aches a little. He hasn't been putting much weight on it in the last couple of mega-cycles.

"Are you alright?" Prowl says.

"Yeah," Sideswipe says.

New legs, new arm—or the salvaged parts Ratchet managed to patch up, anyway. The weld lines are fading. In another few mega-cycles no one will be able to tell he'd been lying in pieces in a crater.

He stands there and waits for a moment.

"Here," Prowl says. He reaches down and unlocks the energon clamps around Sideswipe's wrists.

"Thanks," Sideswipe says. He shakes his hands as feeling begins to prickle back into his fingers.

"Go. I'll wait out here."

Sideswipe nods.

They're waiting for him. He knows that. And yet, he still stands there, looking at the doors. Prowl doesn't say anything. He turns away, not-quite slouched against the wall.

Come on, slag-head. Just go in already.

Footsteps in the hall. A familiar voice says, "Sideswipe?"

"Hunter," Sideswipe says.

Hunter comes sprinting down the hall, his eyes a little wide as he comes to a stop next to Sideswipe. "Ratchet hasn't started yet, has he?"

"No."

"Oh," Hunter says. He glances at Prowl, then looks back to Sideswipe. "I was wondering if, uh, if you would mind if I was there?"

It takes Sideswipe a moment to catch his meaning.

"I mean, I don't want to intrude. It's just—"

"Nah," Sideswipe says. "I don't mind."

He's getting better at the whole "squishy expressions" thing; he recognizes the relief on Hunter's face.

"Come on," Sideswipe says. He palms the door control.

The familiar sounds of the med-bay wash over the two of them as they step inside. The soft whir of machinery, the pip of a spark monitor, the faint hum of an active medical berth, hydraulics hissing as Ratchet turns and says, "About time. I was about to comm Prowl to make sure you hadn't dropped dead. Oh. Hello, Hunter."

"Hi," Hunter says.

"Calm down, Ratch'," Sideswipe says.

"Don't tell me to calm down. You're not the one who's been in here for a deca-cycle rebuilding your brother."

"No, I wasn't," Sideswipe says.

Ratchet starts to say something and huffs. "Fine. Stay over there until I say otherwise. I want you out of sight at first. Hunter, are you staying?"

"If that's okay."

"It should be fine. Just remember what I told you. Both of you. There was extensive damage to his memory banks. I don't know what he'll remember. If I tell you to get out, then you get out, no questions, no arguments. Got it?"

"Loud and clear," Sideswipe says.

The medic stares them for a nano-klik. He nods. He reaches down and plugs into the berth.

They wait. Hunter stands quietly next to Sideswipe.

"How come the other humans aren't with you?" Sideswipe says.

Hunter shrugs. "They offered to. But… I don't know. It seems kind of personal."

A klik goes by.

"You think he's gonna be okay?" Hunter says. His voice sounds strangely small.

Sideswipe opens his mouth to respond. No sound comes out.

It used to be a running joke that the only thing that could kill Sunstreaker was Sideswipe's stupidity, since to kill Sunny, you had to be meaner than Sunny. It was funny. Sideswipe used to laugh at it. Except sometimes he'd look across the room and Sunny would have this look on his face. No one else seemed to notice it. Suddenly, the joke wasn't funny anymore.

"I don't know," he says.

"Here goes," Ratchet says.

Several nano-kliks of silence. Then the faint hum of a processor kicking on. Sideswipe notices movement to the side: Hunter shifts on his feet. He folds his arms over his chest, seems to think otherwise, and lets them hang at his sides.

Sideswipe watches the berth. Arms and legs carefully welded together; golden yellow armor, brand new and shining. Facial plating restored. His helm has been fitted back together. He looks like a new mech.

A faint whir—optics trying to focus.

"He's coming online," Ratchet says.

No one moves.

Optic covers flare bright blue. Sideswipe can see flickering as a diagnostic program boots up. Fingers twitch.

"Where am I?" Sunstreaker says.

"In my med-bay," Ratchet says.

The medic is plugged into the berth console, which is jacked into Sunny's processor. He's getting the same information that Sunny is. It doesn't stop him from saying, "How are you feeling? Does anything hurt?"

Sunny pauses. Then, "No."

"Good. I'm going to unplug you, now. I'd like you to sit up, slowly."

The berth clicks. Ratchet hovers right next to Sunny as the 'bot pushes himself up.

"How's your diagnostics scan?" Ratchet says.

"Fine."

"No balance issues?"

"No."

Ratchet nods. His optics flick to Sideswipe and he says, "Sunstreaker, do you know how you got here?"

Sunny stares at him.

"What's the last thing you remember?" Ratchet says.

Sunny frowns. He makes a noise, starts to answer, and utterly stills.

Sideswipe's mind blanks.

"I," Sunny says. He draws his legs up, shrinks down, starts to curl in on himself.

"Easy," Ratchet says. "Easy. We've got you. It's okay."

"I," Sunny says. He looks around without moving. "Where…"

Sideswipe feels it: a tug between them. That intangible line—one part to the other—calling.

Where is Sideswipe? it says. Not in words. Never in words, because acknowledging a need for something is a weakness and Sunstreaker does not show weakness. But it's there. And Sideswipe can't help but step forward.

"Sunny," he says.

His twin's head whips around, gaze latches onto his. He doesn't say anything. His face says it all. Desperation and fear. Hope and joy. One flashing to the other so fast Sideswipe doubts anyone else catches them. And in a blink, they're gone, tucked back under a mask where no one will see.

"Oh," Sunny says.

The mask isn't perfect, though. Sunny's optics are a little too wide for that.

"What do you mean, 'oh'?" Sideswipe says. "That's all I get? It's not even a word."

His twin sits there, curled up, staring. Sideswipe's grin falters.

Ratchet takes one look at him and says, "Alright. I've got other projects I've been neglecting. I trust one of you will comm me if the other drops?"

"Yeah," Sideswipe says. "Sure thing."

The medic nods. He looks down at Hunter and jerks his head towards the doors. The human casts one last look at Sunstreaker and then follows after him. The doors hiss shut behind them.

Silence.

Machinery whirs, the engines thrum, Sunny sits there. Not a head, not twisted wreckage cradled in his arm. He looks fine. He looks whole. He looks…

And Sideswipe doesn't know what to say, where to start. Not just about the last mega-cycles. This is longer. Meta-cycles. Mega-cycles.

Sunny's not looking at him anymore. His gaze darts around the room, the various equipment, the ceiling, the floor, everywhere but Sideswipe.

He needs to say something. The bond is there, shining, almost new, but trembling, uncertain. Sunny's hesitation and his own, old anger, old guilt—so much guilt—old hurts.

It's my job, he thinks. I can't let you leave, not again.

He needs to say something before Sunny can pull away again and Sideswipe can shut him out. Something. Anything. A word.

"Shit," Sideswipe says. He's not even sure where that comes from—one of the humans, likely. It works, though. Sunny is wrenched from whatever limbo he buried himself in. He finally looks at Sideswipe.

For a nano-klik, Sideswipe freezes. Then, before he can lose his nerve, he blunders forward.

"I'm sorry," he says. "About everything. I—"

"It's okay."

"No, it's—"

"Sideswipe."

Sideswipe shuts up.

Sunny looks around again. Slowly this time, not like he expects a Decepticon to leap out of the shadows at him.

"How'd I get here?" he says.

"Long version or short one?" Sideswipe says.

Sunny gives him a look.

"Fine. Do you… do you remember any of it?"

Sunny doesn't answer. He doesn't move. Somehow, to Sideswipe, he seems smaller. Sideswipe tries not to hobble as he makes his way to the berth. He hops up. He slides over until he's not-quite touching Sunny.

"What happened to you?" Sunny says, after a moment.

"Apparently, I took a nose dive out of a ship right before it blew up."

The expression on Sunny's face is a priceless mixture of incredulity and scowl.

"Oh, don't worry," Sideswipe says. "You were there, too."

Incredulity, scowl, and suspicion. Sideswipe doesn't even know how his brother can fit all of those onto his face at the same time. He laughs. He looks down at his knees.

"It," he says. He stops. "It sucked not having you around."

Sideswipe's fingers still tingle. He realizes he's been staring at his wrists. He wiggles his fingers. He'll have to go back to his cell soon.

A scrape as Sunny scoots across that last, tiny gap of space between them to lean against Sideswipe.

But not yet. He can stay here a little while longer. He wraps one arm around Sunny.

"You put one scratch in my armor and I'll tear your head off," Sunstreaker says.

Sideswipe grins.

Forty miles into the New Mexican desert, five miles from the nearest conceivable stretch of road, is an underground bunker. The walls are four feet of solid steel surrounded by another five feet of reinforced concrete. The only way in is hidden under a piece of desert. It slides back to reveal a narrow ramp. Dust drifts down. The room is a tomb. And it has a visitor.

The door is forced open; it squeals along its tracks in protest. Sunlight pours through, into the bunker, for the first time in two weeks. The floor is bare, the walls are bare. Nothing stirs within.

The visitor sneers.

Against the far wall sits a pedestal holding a mangled, robotic head. Half its face has been torn off. The helm is cracked. The orange optic band is shattered. Wiring connects it to the pedestal but, like everything else in the room, it's dark.

"Scorpinok," the visitor says.

The band remains dark; there's not enough power left in the head to turn it on. But optics whir and adjust their focus.

"Ssss," the head says. "Ssst-ar-ssscreamm. Wh-aat?"

"Oh good," Starscream says. "You're still functioning."

Scorpinok's head makes an inarticulate noise. Starscream clasps his hands behind his back and takes a few steps in. He makes a show of inspecting the walls.

"You know," he says, "it's not as bad in here as I feared it would be. I find it a bit cramped, personally, but I can see you don't share that problem."

"I c-nn excss-pl-nn."

"Explain? Explain what?"

"Tes-t ssub-jec-t—"

"You mean Sunstreaker?" Starscream says. He circles the pedestal, watching Scorpinok's optics swivel to track him. "What about him?"

"Unn-forss-nn—"

Starscream grabs the head between his claws.

"Really?" he says. "'Unforeseen?' You took the only Autobot in existence with a psychotic twin as your proto-type! What did you expect to happen?"

"Nex-t ti-mme."

"No. There's not going to be a next time. I can't afford a next time. I can't afford to deal with incompetent fools. If Megatron finds out—"

The head creaks. The jaw cracks. Starscream forces his fingers to loosen, forces his hand to pull away.

"No," he says. "Your facilities have been raided, your property seized. The humans are looking for you, Scorpinok. And it's not just the flesh-bags. The Autobots have taken a keen interest in your activities as well."

"Wh-aat?"

"Oh, don't worry. I'm sure they'll never find you here. That was the point, wasn't it? That's why you had your Headmaster hide you here? To make sure no one could find you? It's a pity it died before it could retrieve you."

"No—"

"Please, don't even bother denying it. Who do you think you're speaking to? I knew all about your little hidey-hole. You didn't think I would have had you monitored?"

"Pl-zz."

"But that doesn't matter. I don't care that you tried to run. I expected no less. And really, you've done me a favor."

Starscream smiles.

"Www-ai-t!"

His claws ram into the head's mouth and drive up. Scorpinok lets out a garbled wail. The sound chokes, sputters, and dies. Starscream rips his hand free. Pieces of processor clatter to the ground in a spatter of energon.

He flicks the excess off his fingers.

Once the ramp cover slides back into place, the bunker fades into the desert. Starscream surveys it for a moment and then leaps up and blasts into the sky.

END

There it is, all done, just like I promised only three years ago. This story might never have seen the light of day had not my fantastic beta, KayDeeBlu, kept encouraging me to go through and make it work. Your advice was wonderful and your enthusiasm for this project kept me from taking it outside and lighting it on fire.

Starfire201 was my first reviewer with lildevchick falling in a close second. You guys were the ones who kept me posting even though I'm pretty sure you and only a very, very small handful of people read it. But you did, and you let me know what you thought with every chapter. Words can't express how grateful I am you guys took the time out of your day to do that. You made this whole thing worth it. Thank you.

Thank you tsukyasha, Jessica Wolfe, Paleodex, and HistorySavvyRobots for your wonderful reviews, too. I'm really glad you found this story and I'm really glad you liked it enough to review.

And that concludes it. I'm not gonna say that I'm leaving fandom for good, (mostly because I've said that before and look where that got me), but I am taking a hiatus from it to focus on original work. Thank you everyone, it's been great, peace out.

~The Toe of Sauron