Notes: So. This was originally intended to be a real part of "Turnabout," but I apparently never finished it. It also wound up running a lot longer than most parts of Turnabout, even when incomplete.

Well, I finished it and decided it would be a little bit of a bonus side story for Turnabout.

The Community Studies Team (CST) is a division of the science and research branch of the Cybertronian government that I created some time ago. It was established in order to learn about and understand other worlds through the process of visiting planets which house intelligent, sentient life forms and immersing Cybertronians in their cultures and customs. Motormouth and Skyjack –who are clearly OCs- are members of the CST.

Anyway!

Fic.

"…So then I said to him 'Oh yeah, well I can top that one!' and he was like 'no slaggin' way!' and I started tellin' that story about when Jetstream and Divebomb were working together on that project with the explosives from…"

There were reasons Wasp usually wanted to stay aboard the starhopper when he and Terrorsaur stopped for supplies.

They didn't always stop in Autobot-friendly territory. There was the chance some one might recognize him, no matter how far away from the stockade they were. The Elite Guard could always be after them and if they caught Wasp outside the ship, they'd drag him back. Even in faction-neutral ports, there were always mechs itching for a fight, no matter what. There were a whole slew of reasons he should stay aboard.

But the most important one, in his mind, was that he hatedwhen people looked at him funny over his twitchy, erratic behavior or the way he spoke. He was still vain; somewhere deep down inside he was still himself and still believed that he was better than most. That illusion was shattered when he set foot outside the starhopper.

Terrorsaur, of course, usually dragged him off the little ship anyway.

It was the worst in neutral territory; there were always curious Autobots around. At least when they docked in Decepticon areas, for the most part, no one cared one way or the other why an former-Autobot was traveling with a Decepticon. It was pretty clear to any one that Terrorsaur ran the show and Wasp was little more than his slave.

This particular bar wasn't the usual seedy dive; the last shipment they'd delivered for Swindle must've been a big one. Terrorsaur, as he usually did, simply strolled through the door like he owned the place, Wasp skulking along behind him. The flyer had bought a cube for him, shoving it into his hands with orders to stay put where he was, and vanished into the crowd, leaving poor Wasp alone and surrounded by unfamiliar mechs.

And that was how he'd found himself privy to the story about Jetstream and Divebomb and their explosives. The mech telling the story was an orange chatterbox, similar in make to Wasp himself. He didn't pause once in his story, words flowing from his vocal processor at a dizzying pace. His companion, a patient-looking, dark green mech nodded occasionally, clearly only half-listening to the story as he glanced about the dim room for familiar faces.

"…And I swear, the explosion was big enough to rival one of Wheeljack's experiments gone wrong; when the smoke cleared, none of us expected to see either Jetstream or Divebomb still online and functional. As it was, 'Stream was missing part of an arm and Divebomb was covered in scorch marks. Well, we all told 'Stream it was a bad idea to…"

Wasp wasn't particularly interested in the story either, but found himself listening to it simply because he had nothing better to do. He had no clue where Terrorsaur had gone to and he wasn't about to go looking for him. He'd been told to stay and stay he would. He didn't intend to leave his seat until it was time to go, except…

Something large and boxy suddenly crashed into him, knocking the small-framed Autobot into the dark green mech seated beside him. For a moment, Wasp fumbled with his cube of energon, trying to keep it steady before - Slag.

The green mech looked down at his arm and the glowing pink mess covering it, then glanced at the smaller transformer. Wasp wilted under the gaze, certain he was about to meet his end. This Autobot was big; bigger than average and therefore a threat to Wasp's wellbeing.

"Hey!" The orange loudmouth slid from his seat, hands on his hips, "You can't do that without apologizing!" He was hardly intimidating; he wasn't any taller than Wasp himself. But he was scowling and ramrod straight, as if he were trying to appear more authoritative and bigger than he actually was.

Besides, a lot of things made Wasp nervous.

"Motormouth…" The green mech, designated Skyjack, sighed, pulling a cleaning rag from subspace and mopping the spilled fuel off his arm, "Cool it." Honestly, it was no big deal. Accidents happened and Skyjack wasn't too upset about it. But he also knew Motormouth; knew that he spoke before he processed and that his big mouth got him in trouble often.

Said mech ignored his companion, the frown on his face intensifying as he took a step closer to Wasp. "Apologize!" He demanded, chin hitching up, arms rising to fold across his chest plate.

Now, Wasp was already pretty spooked by the encounter; his time in the stockade had made him somewhat submissive, where he had once been domineering and demanding. But this Autobot, who shared his body-type and did not bear the brand of the Elite Guard, was making him angry - How dare he presume to be better, when they were practically one in the same?

He debated with himself for a moment, the vindictive part at war with the easily-frightened part. He wanted to punch this arrogant aft in the face. He wanted to cower under the bar until they left. He wanted to go running to Terrorsaur, who would surely slag them both, simply because they were Autobots.

…He apologized instead.

"Wazzzpz…not czzzkt-mean to." He stammered, vocalizer tripping over the words, catching on consonants and emitting a buzz. His raging emotions put a lot of strain on his already-addled processor, making it difficult to get things out without distortion and he felt humiliation rising as the two Autobot's faces shifted at the sound of his words. "Wazzzz…Accident! Something bump Wazzp, knockzzzt Wazzzp into…kfftzzzz…" He snapped his mouth shut as the words dissolved into nothing more than static and the orange mech grinned, turning to his companion.

"Listen to the way this guy talks! Slag, he'd make an excellent test subject for you, 'Jack. I wonder what kind of things you could learn about language from a mech like that!" He burst out, seemingly forgetting all about his annoyance, "Maybe you should ask him if he'll come back to the lab with us!"

Wasp took a step back, surprised. This was not what he'd been expecting. Laughter was the usual response, as well as snide comments about his broken speech patterns. But not this! The green mech was looking at him, fascination obvious in his optics, and Wasp found he couldn't help the little buzz that slipped out. Frag, this was not a good situation! If they tried to take him anywhere, it would all be over. They would find out he was a wanted fugitive and then anything they would do to him would be a welcome intrusion compared to what would happen when he was dragged back to the stockade.

In the following second, two things occurred simultaneously. Skyjack shook his head, seeming to snap out of whatever daze he'd fallen into as he stared at Wasp. "Mute it!" He snapped at Motormouth, just as a hand came down on Wasp's arm, startling the already jittery little mech enough for him to jump nearly a foot off the ground.

"Is there a problem here?" Where Terrorsaur had materialized from, Wasp was uncertain, but he had never been more glad to see the fragging Decepticon in his life. The red flyer's mouth was a thin slash across his angular face, optics narrowed to slits. He certainly didn't like others coveting what was his and it showed.

"No." The big green mech responded dutifully, "Just a little spill." He cocked his head, studying Terrorsaur as well, "And my companion here," He indicated Motormouth, "As usual, got carried away."

Terrorsaur spared a nanosec to glance at the orange Autobot, who looked sufficiently sheepish, then swiveled his gaze back to Skyjack. "Then why does he," He jerked a claw at Wasp, who cowered behind him, "look like he's afraid of being slagged? You magnanimous Autobots wouldn't be threatening one of you own, would you?" A sneer crossed his face, expression growing ugly, "You would neverdo something like that."

Skyjack's expression remained mild; if anything, he looked downright bored. "No." He replied evenly, "No, I wouldn't do something like that. It just happens that I am a member of the Community Studies Team -a linguist- and your friend's…unusual speech pattern intrigued me."

"You had better forget any thoughts you might have about studying him." Terrorsaur growled, tone threatening, posture suggesting aggression if either of them made a sudden move, "Forget you even saw him." And with that, the flyer's expression tightened even more, optics mere slits, and he snatched Wasp by the wrist, making to haul him out the door. He moved a few stiff-yet-graceful steps, then paused, casting a black look at the two CST members. "The fraggin' Autobot government has already done more than enough for him."

The hostility and tension was palpable in the air. Neither of them moved, just watched as the red mech all but dragged Wasp through the crowd. Once they disappeared from sight, Skyjack shook his head. "Decepticons…"

"That was really, really weird!" Motormouth piped up, "I mean, did he think he owned that Autobot or something? He was acting all strange and the whole thing was bizarre…"

Terrorsaur scowled at the sound of Motormouth's loud voice drifting over the din of the crowd and he tightened his hold on Wasp. "And you." He snapped at the small mech in his grasp, "Never ever apologize. Especially not to Autobots!"

Wasp didn't say anything, just followed mutely behind.

He was already regretting the apology.