Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers

Please R&R

(Bluebird Soaring gave me the idea for this after leaving a review on Pocket Parodies ages ago. Likewise I had never seen a fic with Smokescreen paired with the Twins so I decided to have a go at it. Enjoy, and I apologise for any glaringly obvious mistakes!)

Sunstreaker became intrigued by Smokescreen since the psychologist had made a breakthrough in their frequent sessions together. The Praxian, tired of sitting in awkward angry silence for their allotted joor for the hundredth time or so, waiting for him to break down and pour out his sob story, began to share some of his own personal complexes.

First it was meaningless common gossip, never revealing anything personal, consisting of Ratchet's figurative explosion of anger after Wheeljack had set off a real one that morning and Prowl's latest annoyance in Jazz when the Head of Special Operations thought it had been funny to try and sneak up on the SIC, ending up with Jazz pinned to the wall with a dagger at his throat.

The golden mech grunted in acknowledgement of Smokescreen's meaningless ramble, commenting with a sneer that he must share some of Bluestreak's cybernetics on some level if he was chatting that much. Smokescreen flicked his doorwings once, reset his optics in surprise at the outburst and chuckled, "I suppose so, he is my son after all."

The front line warrior paused, tilting his helm and narrowing his optics suspiciously, "Blue never mentions you." He growled bluntly, aiming to hurt, a lethal sting that would have the blue, red, white and yellow mech throw him out early in a rage.

"I don't expect him to." Smokecreen calmly replied after a moment, professional and stoic, "I wasn't the best Carrier. But what Con Artist ever is?"

Cyan optics stared harshly into the serene blank bluebell ones of the psychologist, both mechs breaking their silent challenge and jumping when Smokescreen's timer let out a shrill ring, cutting the tense silence like a steel cable snapping.

"I will see you next week, Sunstreaker." The gambler said with a sigh, not bothering to personally show his patient to the door, turning his gaze down to frown as his data-pad, clearly not happy about something as he unlatched the stylus and began furiously writing, faceplate earning a slightly outraged look as he scribbled.

Sunstreaker watched it all for a breem, not bothering to rise from the admittedly comfy couch that Smokescreen had probably swindled out of Command when he had been designing the Feng shui of the room, which Smokescreen and the ARK Praxians seemed to believe in, if Prowl's office and Bluestreak's rants about furniture placement in the Rec-room were anything to go by. He took notice, much to his surprise of the fine details of Smokescreen's frame, optics roaming the Shrink's bright colour scheme, right down to the racing number of his Datsun model. "Sunstreaker!" said Shrink snapped, blue optics stormy and admittedly beautiful, "Stop ogling and get out!"

He jerked to his pedes, startled at the Prowl-esque tone and left the room before he even registered that it hadn't actually been the Tactician he had been sitting before. Sideswipe was waiting for him, cheerful and irritatingly bouncy like he usually was when not in a blood thirsty mood. "Mech, your faceplate!" his brother snickered as his spark twin turned to him with a look of perplexed befuddlement, the door to the Psycologist's office hissing shut and promptly locking behind him. "Smokey do some Jedi-mind tricks on you?"

Scowling, the gold twin shoved his sibling by the shoulder as he passed, the other warrior giving a squawk of surprise as his back strut hit the wall with a clang, not expecting the sudden push. "Hey!" Sideswipe growled, following him after he was four strides away, out of swinging distance. "What's up with you Sunny?"

"Don't call me that." The Sociopath snapped, internally raging that he had obeyed a direct order from Smokecreen of all mechs and not put up one ounce of a fight about it. The mech wasn't even a proper officer for Primus' sake! "Where's Blue?"

"Probably out on his patrol shift with Bumblebee, why?" the crimson mech behind him called forward as they wandered the halls towards the rec-room.

"Never mind," Sunstreaker sulked, turning on his heel so quickly to face his brother that a passing Huffer reflexively flinched and high tailed it down the corridor, thinking that the golden mech was swinging for him. "I'm going back to our room."

"Uh, okay." Sideswipe shrugged slightly confused at the sudden changes, "I won't be back till later 'Streaker, I've got a patrol with Smokey when Blue and Bee get back so I'm going to grab a cube before I head out and catch that new soap opera everybody has their wires in a knot about, say what you will about the humans but they sure know how to create some drama. When Blue and Bee get back I'll send him your way."

"I'm not a sparkling that needs you to set up play dates, so frag off Sides." Came the flippant reply as the ruby mech watched his brother stalk round a corner with a definite stomp.

"Prince Charming as usual." The red Twin sighed continuing on his way, rolling his optics as he felt Sunstreaker's grumblings over their tight bond, like a cloud full of thunder and lightning.

===Smokescreen===

"I don't need another therapy session." Smokescreen hissed darkly, doorwings fluttering and moving as he vented his anger at his datapad. "I'm over it."

"Your avoidance of Bluestreak in social situations says otherwise." The deep monotone of Prowl rumbled back at him through the screen, the black and white mech on the other end gesturing with his stylus. "You cannot keep avoiding your child, he is still young and needs your support."

"You've done a fine enough job without me." The Psycologist huffed, fingers gripping the edges of his datapad tighter so that he felt to metal begin to give way in his grasp. "He's fine."

"This has gone on long enough, Smokescreen. I cannot always attend to his needs for guidance when these humans are creating proverbial road blocks in their negotiations. I spend hours in meetings and he needs you to be there when I can't be. " Prowl snapped, shocking the other Praxian into stilling. "Meet me in the Training Room after your patrol with Sideswipe. We will be working on your meditation, again."

"Not everything can be solved with meditation Prowl." the yellow chevroned mech sighed, putting down the pad on the table, the holographic display popping up so he could still see the unimpressed visage of the Tactician, staring at him as he relaxed into his Patient Couch with a defeated air.

"Yet you seem calmer and more susceptible to true interaction afterwards." Prowl commented a smug undertone leaking into his usual bland voice.

"I play games with the other mechs in the Rec-room." Smokescreen protested, still trying to dissuade the stubborn Second in Command, who flicked his doorwings in a clear dismissal of his protest.

"Deceiving mechs into losing your games so that you can feel in control is not a healthy social interaction, no matter how you convince yourself otherwise. Neither is hiding behind your work," Prowl said as Smokescreen huffed something that sounded suspiciously like 'Hi pot, I'm called Kettle'. "My situation is different and you know it. So will you be in the Training Room or will I have to drag you there by the scruff bar? If not for yourself, do it for Bluestreak."

Sighing with despair, Smokescreen nodded his consent and muttered a soft 'I'll be there' to which Prowl gave a simple nod and shut off the Holo-com, leaving the mostly blue mech to the silence of his Office.