.

Beatback looked at herself in the mirror, admiring her newly polished paint job. Her clashing colors of teal and magenta were brighter than ever. It wasn't exactly a tasteful color scheme, but it was her. And being herself was all she could hope to be.

As she smiled at her reflection, her roommate Starfall popped into view behind her.

"Hey, so tonight's the big night, huh?"

Beatback's energy pump hitched a little quicker at the question. "I guess it is."

"You can do it," Starfall urged with hands on her friend's shoulders. "You walk right up to that mech and tell him how you feel. Go get him!"

Beatback just grinned widely, her pump jumping anew in excitement. She would tell him what was in her spark, even though she knew she was far from the first femme to confess her feelings to him. But they had been good friends for so long. That had to mean something to him. More than the flashy, long-legged femmes that breezed in and out of his life. She would tell him everything and it would be perfect.

As long as he showed up.

Beatback mentally forced herself not to send him a reminder of their plans tonight. That wasn't how this worked. This was a test. It wouldn't be a test if she constantly harped on him to come. He had to come to meet her because he wanted to. True, he had flaked out on her before, but this was different. She had invited him yesterday and expressed how important it was that he showed.

She smiled confidently in the mirror. Blaster wouldn't let her down this time, not when it was so important. Everything was going to turn out wonderful.

Rising Generations

Chapter 30: Survival of the Spark, Part 2

Blaster watched through the one-way mirror at the various medical personnel attending Beatback, checking his vitals at regular intervals. Or, her vitals. He didn't know what the proper pronoun was anymore. What he did know is when this bot asked why he hadn't been there the night the club was totaled by Decepticons, a chill had reached the very core of his spark. He had fled the room and not returned to interact with this Beatback again. Instead, he lurked outside, his pump skipping with anxiety and guilt. He knew a Beatback, a femme. It was a lifetime ago. He wasn't that bot anymore. Clearly, neither was she.

If she was indeed his Beatback. He really wasn't sure what to believe. A part of him was terrified to find out the truth. The other part, however, had to know.

When no one else was around, Blaster slipped silently into the room. The lights were dim, the patient presumably in recharge. But she powered on her optics when Blaster entered as if she could feel his approach. He froze at the door when her gaze landed on him, then stepped in the rest of the way.

"Blaster." The voice was male, but soft like a femme's.

He sat himself in the chair by the bedside, still stiff and looking ready to bolt again. "Beat...back."

"Yes. It's me."

Blaster said nothing and continued to look wary.

The femme in the mech's body remained calm, nearly serene with nostalgia. "I remember that time when you got so over-energized at Stormchaser's party. You fell and shattered your left optic and then you took forever to get it fixed. I specifically remember it was your left one because we all joked forever that anyone could sneak up on Blaster if you came in from the left. They said that even long after you got it fixed.

"And then, when it was fixed, your new optic was always a slightly darker shade of blue than the right one. It still is." Blaster reflexively touched the left side of his face near his optic. "Though no one else noticed but me. No one else always watched you like I did."

There was a moment of silence. Blaster looked down at the large mech body, much thicker than his, and at the shackles on the wrists holding the bot down. "You are my Beatback, aren't you?"

"I wanted to be yours, but you never came."

He frowned. "I don't know what that means. I am so sorry this happened to you, but I don't know what you're talking about."

She looked hurt. "You don't remember? I asked you to come to the club that night. I told you it was so important, that you needed to be there. I waited for you for a very long time, but you never came."

"Why?" Blaster asked his question from the first time, his voice now a little flat and irritated. "Why was it so important for me to be there? And if you waited for so long, why didn't you radio and remind me? You know I forget things."

"I couldn't do that. It wasn't part of the test."

"Slag it, BB, a test for what?"

She smiled a little at the old nickname he used to call her. "You always had so many femmes around you; prettier than me, newer models than me. You were always taking someone home, but never the same one twice. You were looking at the wrong kind of femmes, that's why they never stayed."

Blaster liked that they never stayed. That was why he went for those kinds of femmes. But he didn't tell her that.

Beatback smiled a little in nostalgia. "You were always such a flake. If the group of us went out, we would never know if you would show up or not. But I always thought I was important to you; we had been friends for too long."

"You were," Blaster insisted in a soft voice.

She shook her head. "No, you failed the test."

Again, he went back to frustration. "What test? I don't understand!"

"I wanted to test how much I meant to you. So I told you to meet me at the club. I expressed to you how important it was. I told you I needed you to be there, and to be there on time."

As she mentioned it, Blaster recalled that conversation in his memory banks.

"I couldn't remind you of it. That was part of the test. You had to care enough to remember on your own and to make the effort to be on time. If you did that, I told myself I would finally tell you how I really felt. And if you didn't come, then I would get over pining for you and move on. On that night, I got my answer."

Blaster looked away, ashamed. He had been fooling around in another femme's berth when he heard about the attack at the club. Only then was he reminded of Beatback's request to meet him there. When he rushed to the scene, praying she hadn't stayed when he didn't show up, there was nothing left of the place but burning rubble.

"I'm sorry," he rasped. "I am so sorry I didn't come."

"I don't blame you for what happened," she said, her voice still light, almost detached. "It wasn't your fault the Decepticons attacked. The only person I'm mad at today is myself. Because I see you, after all this time, and it's like no time has passed at all. I am still moronically in love with you and I hate myself for not keeping my own promise."

Blaster's expression was unreadable. He looked like he was about to say something when the spark-support monitors attached to Beatback's systems began to screech with alarm. Her optics flickered as her body began to whine and shutter. Blaster watched in horror as her chest armor began to glow white hot.

Immediately, medical personnel flooded the room.

"The patient's spark is going into meltdown," one bot announced. "I need a cooling system now. And get that mech out of here!"

Before Blaster could react, he was bodily rushed out of the room, the emergency alarms still screaming. All he could do was go back to the observation window to watch the chaos and pray.

.

"Optimus, you can't be serious," Ultra Magnus said , sitting at a table surrounded by other higher-ranking Autobots. Their Prime had gathered them together and then dropped a bomb on them all. Only Jazz and Prowl looked unsurprised with the revelation. "Unicron is a myth, a superstition."

"Hey! You watch your mouth!" Kup shot back. "Just saying the monster's name is enough to invite disaster!"

Ultra Magnus just shook his head.

"You can believe what you want," Prowl stated calmly. "But we have good reason to believe that something is coming to Cybertron. You can put whatever name you want to it. But someone built those seekers with technology far advanced than what we have ever seen. And it is very possible even more of that technology is coming here to attack us. Perhaps, to attack all of Cybertron."

Silence from the rest of the Autobot officers. Ironhide tapped the table impatiently, but refused to speak to whatever was making him antsy. The subject of the conversation made them all uncomfortable, whether they believed in old Cybertronian stories or not.

"You're suggesting a possible end of the world," Ultra Magnus then accused. "I can't just go tell my soldiers that. This place will fall into chaos."

"You are not going to tell them that," Optimus confirmed. "The name we mentioned here will not leave this room. As far as anyone else is concerned, we have heard rumor of a large-scale Decepticon attack directly on Iacon. We will fortify the walls and stay on alert until further notice. We will not cause any panic. We will keep our troops well-armed, but confident that we can hold this city. If anyone doesn't like this plan, I'm open to suggestions."

The room was silent. Prowl and Jazz looked at each other from across the table. How did one even prepare for something like this? They were all flying blind without solid confirmation of the enemy's whereabouts. Or even what exactly the enemy was. All they could do was take precautionary measures and hope for the best. Hope they could all survive this, whenever it finally showed up at their door.

"Alright then," Optimus said to the silence. "We keep optics on the sky and on the ground. Let me know of any suspicious activity in either direction. Dismissed."

.

The situation with Beatback was grave and complicated. Her half-spark was compromised, the male side nearly completely dead. The other side would not survive much longer. Several different machines were hooked up to her systems, attempting to keep her alive. It wouldn't last forever. Something needed to be done or she would die.

Different experts were pulled in and consulted on any possible way to save her spark. They were working on unprecedented ground here. No one had ever done what had been done to the two Beatbacks and their combined spark. There were no medical texts to consult on how to sustain the healthy half when the other half was dying.

Of all the different medical professionals Ratchet consulted, none had any suggestions. Perceptor, surprisingly, found him and threw up a few holograms containing old texts Ratchet had never seen or heard of before.

"What is this?" he asked. Most of the information was in old Cybertronian. Certainly texts this old would be far outdated by more modern medical research.

"It is, supposedly, a way to rejuvenate an extinguishing spark," Perceptor said. "The texts claim that this experiment had been completed successfully. Albeit a very, very long time ago."

Ratchet frowned for a moment, but then shook his head. "We don't have any other ideas. We either try this or we do nothing and she will die anyway. What exactly are we talking about here?"

Preceptor pointed to a chart of the spark orb in question. It appeared as a half moon: one side all aglow and the other dark and dormant. "The male side is practically dead and it's killing its other half on its way out. We must attempt to give the female side enough energy to make itself whole. We find several donors and we siphon a small portion of each of their spark energies into the dying spark. It must be done slowly and carefully or the host spark may reject it." Perceptor looked at the other Autobot in the room. "All donors must be female. For this to work, we will have to give up completely on the other half of the spark. We can only save one side."

The aggressive Decepticon side would have to die. Ratchet loathed to let any patient on his table go so easily. But the options were either save the femme side, or save neither side. "Alright. If this is our only chance to save anyone, we'll have to try it."

Patch, who had been wondering why she had been called here during this conversation, suddenly realized her relevancy. "Ah, so that is where I come in. I need to find you some femme volunteers."

"At least six," Perceptor confirmed. "Eight to ten would be preferable. The more donors, the less energy is taken from each one."

The tiny femme cycled out a rush of air. This wouldn't be easy and they all knew it. None of the Autobot femmes would be in a hurry to save a member of the Deceptifemme's team. Even one who had been the victim of horrific experiments. The feud between the factions was deep and bitter. Maybe even moreso than the war that had raged on the planet's surface.

"I'll try," she said. "I can't promise any more than that."

.

She was back in Prowl's quarters again this evening because, like he said, there weren't really other options for safety and romantic privacy. Not even her own quarters were all that private. Bluestreak lived there and there were always other bots hanging around. Blitzangel liked being in Prowl's quarters. It was still new and exciting to finally be allowed in his living space. To have everything surrounding them imbued with his presence. It was quiet and comfortable and safe; just like him.

Currently, she felt very safe and well-taken care of as the two of them ended up making out on his couch. There was something so bizarrely Earth-like about it that it made Blizangel suspicious. Was making out on the couch a universal activity between their species, or was Prowl going along with it because he knew it was something she would be more familiar with? She wished she knew. She wished she knew how to properly respond to his physical affections in a way that would be pleasing for him, because she was certainly already enjoying herself.

His hands traced her form, learning it. Getting familiar with everything that was her. She was doing the same thing. A part of her lamented the fact that she never got do to this with his old body, the Earth form she had come to know so well. But this one was nice, too. Sleek and sexy, if she had any grasp of Cybertronian aesthetics. Her hands glided over the smooth planes and he responded beautifully to her touch with soft noises she had never heard him make before. And every time their mouths touched, there was that pleasant sizzle that ran through her body, making her crave more.

They pulled away after a while. Not for needing air, but merely to let their systems cool for a moment. Their bodies remained wrapped in each other, cuddled sideways on the couch. Blitzangel nuzzled her nose up the plane of his cheek.

"Why do your kisses feel so good?" she muttered, feeling a little drunk from his physical affections. Prowl touching her, kissing her, still felt like this magical thing. It wasn't all that long ago when she couldn't imagine a bot like him being this way with any femme. Certainly not herself. She doubted she was the only one. Perhaps even many of his own kind would be surprised that such a stoic bot could be so warm and welcoming in private.

He looked at her with a soft smile. Content. She had never seen him look so content. He touched her full bottom lip, running a thumb over it. "It's my spark energy. You could feel that?"

Blitzangel hummed in the affirmative. "It feels nice."

"That's because my spark likes you."

She grinned. "Still so corny. Do you do that on purpose when I feel that energy?"

"It can be purposeful. But it also can just happen when one is, ah..."

"Really into it?" Blitzangel finished with a grin.

"Yes."

She pulled herself up so she hovered over him. "What can I do that feels good to you?"

"Everything you have done so far has felt good," he insisted.

The femme found the answer unsatisfactory and frowned a little. She was touching him, but she hadn't a clue what she was doing. When they had first begun their exploration, her hand had slid between his thighs in hopes of getting a positive response. Prowl's reaction had been one of confusion. There was nothing of mention in that area for him. Blitzangel still had to stop herself two more times from touching him there again. His robotic anatomy left her without direction or map. If she wanted to know, she would have to ask.

Unfortunately, Prowl was not being too forthright.

"Come on, give me something," she urged. "Communication is important for a relationship to work, right?"

Prowl seemed reticent to share. He had never been comfortable asking for things for himself. Or allowing himself to be selfish and self-indulgent.

"I want to," Blitzangel urged. "Tell me."

He didn't say anything, but he eventually directed her attention to the wing-like fins protruding from his back.

She took in their sharp silhouettes. "These? Really?" It was an odd concept to her. They were just a part of his alt mode. Was he joking with her?

Blitzangel took the thin metal between her thumb and two forefingers and slid them down the length of one fin. Prowl actually sucked air into his intakes like a gasp.

She grinned. She did it again. Prowl pressed his face into her torso with a grunt. She was so tickled at it and confused at the same time.

"How is this even—this is a wing. It can break easily, it probably bumps into things. It shouldn't be this sensitive."

"It's not normally. But I'm with you. And you're touching it."

Blitzangel was fascinated. "So... your erogenous zones are situational? If some random bot came up to you and grabbed this..."

"It wouldn't be the same," Prowl confirmed.

"That's so weird."

"It's not like that for you?" He did the same thing to her, sliding his fingers over one of the down-turned wingtips on her back.

She slapped his hand away.

"You don't like it?" he wondered, looking confused.

"No, it feels strange. I'd rather if you didn't touch them like that. Maybe not at all."

His optics flickered, as if he were blinking in surprise.

"Is that a problem?" Blitzangel asked.

"No, it's just... strange. As you said."

She sat back and he sat up. The moment was over.

"Is it too strange?" she then wondered. "You and me. Is this... satisfactory? I mean in the physical sense."

Prowl leaned back on the couch, thoughtful but not too particularly concerned. "It has been so far. Has it been for you?"

She made a helpless gesture. "There isn't anything... to satisfy. I don't have..." She gestured again to herself. "This is literally a robot body. There's nothing here. I don't have whatever it is you have. And I can't kiss you the way you kiss me because I don't have this." She jabbed two fingers to his chest, right above his spark. Then she flattened her palm against the smooth metal, feeling the gentle thrum of the spark. Blitzangel liked that feeling. But it wasn't the same sensation as a sexual need. To her, nothing really was.

Prowl watched her quietly for a moment before taking her wrist and kissing the palm. Never had she been a part of something so tender. She melted for him a little right there.

"I don't mind it," he told her truthfully. "This isn't a problem for me."

Blitzangel had to remind herself that Cybertronians were different. They didn't always need romantic or physical relationships to feel complete. They were able to decide what they needed in their lives. She just hoped what she was wasn't forcing Prowl to change those decisions in order to be with her.

"One day, it might become a problem," she reminded softly.

He sighed with a heavy hiss of air. Then he pulled her closer, pressing her against his smooth chest. She felt the pulse of his spark stronger now as she rested against him.

"Perhaps one day," he admitted, though he held her tighter. "But today is not that day."

.

Guarding the holding cells wasn't a terrible gig. To most Autobots it was not a popular assignment because it could be very tedious and lonely. This didn't bother Drift who was used to the silence and solitude of space travel. He had mastered the art of living inside his own thoughts to keep himself entertained. In fact, sometimes he even found Iacon to be too busy, too loud, too crowded. He liked guarding the holding cells so he could get some quiet time to himself.

The prisoners were kept deep in the bowels under the city. The job was to periodically walk the halls and check the locks and those enemies kept behind them. The hallways were impressively long. The random smattering of Decepticons currently in custody were kept far apart from each other so they had no opportunity to communicate and conspire.

The Decepticons had no such facilities as this. They usually kept a prisoner until they were no longer useful and then executed them. The bodies would then either be discarded or scrapped into parts to be recycled on their own soldiers.

The Autobots, however, had different ways of dealing with prisoners of war. To say that they never killed those they captured would be a lie. This was war. No one on this planet was innocent of taking a life. But the Autobots had a method of due process. Those who were captured were investigated. If found guilty of war crimes and excess violence and cruelty, their sparks were painlessly extinguished.

This de facto court was usually presided over by Ultra Magnus and a panel of high-ranking Autobots. Drift found it interesting to learn that Optimus Prime was not a part of this jury. Though a soldier and Autobot leader himself, he was the Prime of all Cybertronians and was kept apart from such proceedings.

For the other Decepticons soldiers who followed orders and just happened to be on the opposite side of the war, the sparks were eventually removed from the body, but not extinguished. They were then housed in a stasis container and put in a vault. Drift had seen inside the vault once. It was shocking how many containers were kept inside. The sheer volume had hit him with two very different horrifying thoughts. For one, if these sparks were to ever find new bodies, the Aubotos would be so greatly outnumbered they would be easily wiped out.

For the second, if the contents of that vault were ignited, it would incinerate all of Iacon as well as a good chunk of the planet. All the more reason to get that shuttle fixed and get off this powder keg.

Drift idly wondered where he would go first once he was finally out of here. Some place to get that Autobot insignia painted over would be a good idea.

He mused over possibilities as he made his rounds again, checking each cell lock that housed a prisoner, which were few and far between. Only two Decepticons were kept in cells side by side: the two seekers. The one that had been dragged in damaged and melted, and the other that had shown up on the doors of Iacon, demanding a cell of his own.

Now they remained in custody together and Drift often wondered what their sentence would be. While Skywarp did have a temper, neither was particularly known to be overtly cruel. They did not go to extremes to torture captives or those they bested in battle. They were merely grunts following orders. They were, however, both extremely deadly. They had been among Megatron's elite forces since early in the war and both had a staggering body count to their names.

Strangely enough, they had also been model prisoners since they had been taken into custody. The seekers didn't even glower at their guards like the other captives did. It was as if they were quite content with the vacation away from being under Megatron's thumb.

"Hey, Autobot," Skywarp suddenly called as Drift walked by the cell. "Where do I know you from? You look familiar."

Drift paused casually, completely comfortable with a Decepticon suddenly talking to him. "I don't know. Maybe from kicking your can on the battlefield."

"No," Skywarp insisted. "It's something else. Did you used to be a Decepticon? A long time ago?"

Drift's fuel pump skipped at the seeker getting it so on the nose. "No." He told himself it was only a partial lie. Drift had never been a Decepticon; only Deadlock had.

Skywarp continued to eye his form. "Maybe not. Ever met bot named Wing? You look a lot like him."

Of course he had. Drift had purposefully designed his new identity in Wing's image as a homage to his departed friend and mentor.

"No. Never heard of him."

Skywarp still looked suspicious, but accepted the answer. "Huh. I thought maybe you two had the same creator or something. The designs are so similar. I guess not."

Drift looked at him for a moment more, but Skywarp seemed to be done with his accusations. The white bot turned to continue his rounds.

"Hey! You fragging liar!" Skywarp snapped at him. He grabbed the energy bars of his cell and actually held on for a moment while he was shocked before letting go. "That sword on your back is a Decepticon sword!"

Drift paused in his tracks and turned around. "What makes you think it's a Decepticon sword?"

"The ancient Cybertronian etched in the metal. It says 'Know Not Fear.' That's the Decepticon creed."

"Is it?"

"You know it is, you traitorous slag! What are you doing fighting for the Autobots? Where is your Decepticon pride? I know not fear as I face my enemy! I feel no doubt, only pride for my faction." As Skywarp spoke, his tone indicating these were words he had repeated many times before, Thundercracker's lower voice fell in sync as they recited the rest together. "Those who fight to end me shall be ended. Those who stand in the way of the mighty shall hold no ground. There shall be one will and one might only. And Cybertron shall be ours."

Drift listened silently, though his lips wanted to chant along with them with how many times he had heard it. When they were finished, he told them, "That isn't the original version. The Decepticons stole it, rewrote it into something else. The original was written during our first war, the war for our freedom from our slave masters—those who have now fallen into obscurity because we chose to forget them."

"What?" Skywarp demanded, making an expression of distaste. "What the frag are you talking about? What first war?"

Drift eyed the taller Decepticon, level and cool. "It was a very long time ago. A time perhaps even before my creator. Of course, you seeker clones would have no knowledge of our history. You were pumped out as blank slates. All you are is a Decepticon. You have no concept of anything else."

The seeker narrowed his optics, looking unconvinced. "How would you know-"

"I know not fear as I face my enemy. I feel no doubt, only pride for my people. May Primus bless my blade in the name of righteousness. May He see His children break our bonds. May all of creation see us as brothers. May we live in peace, united forever. And Cybertron shall be free."

The two looked at each other. Skywarp, in a very rare instance, couldn't think of a single thing to say.

"Free from what?" Thundercracker asked, stepping close to the bars.

Drift turned his head to look at the blue seeker. The truth was he didn't know either. Any bot who may have known what exactly their ancestors of the first great war were fighting against were long lost to history, as were any records of that time.

Instead of an answer, Drift just turned on his heel and walked away.

.

Seven femmes were all Patch could convince to be a part of this very experimental procedure. Not that she could blame all the others who declined to volunteer. Not only was the plan theoretical at best, but the Autobot femmes were not jumping at the chance to save a bot that was a member of the Deceptifemmes. It took a lot of persuasion and guilt-tripping to sway the few she had. This Beatback was not the same Beatback from before. She was purely a victim of a horrendous experiment and she was dying.

Even as they came to the medical bay, a few femmes looked like they were reconsidering their decision at the sight of the large, motionless male body. Ratchet had to step in to cement the deal.

"This procedure will be of little risk to you," he told them. "The first sign of anything going awry and we stop. I will not have any of you be put in danger for this. You have my word."

Firestar, who was one of the volunteers, met his gaze. The two held an unspoken conversation between them. Firestar's insistence that this innocent femme needed their help was paramount to them getting past the minimum amount of femmes required. Her gaze of confidence toward him warmed Ratchet to his core. He was the one to tear away from her optics first. He had never cared about approval from his patients before. But Firestar's approval meant everything to him and he was unused to such a thing.

Patch took point in settling all the volunteers and properly inserting an energy siphon into each of their spark casings. The siphon did not touch the spark itself, but was mere centimeters from it, leaching the residual energy. Plugging into the spark directly would tip the experiment into the dangerous side. For both parties.

While Patch situated the other femmes, Ratchet hooked up Firestar himself. "Thank you for doing this," he said in a low tone.

She smiled back. A smile that always seemed to take the edge off when it was pointed his way. "No risk, no reward, right?"

"There will be no risk to you. I'll make sure of that," he reminded.

Firestar glanced toward Beatback's form. The male casing housing a female spark was dark and dormant. The medical team kept her in stasis mode in order to prolong the spark's life. But even then, it wouldn't last forever. The dying spark could go into arrest at any moment. Time was of the essence. They had to go with the volunteers they had now or not at all.

"There is still risk," Firestar said.

Ratchet nodded. There was no guarantee his patient would survive this. But it was now or never.

The medical room had a rectangular observation window. Perceptor was there, as expected. He would never miss something like this. Blaster was also there. He had made no mention that he was coming, but there he stood with grim determination on his face. Ratchet paid him no mind. He had far more important things to focus on.

Patch nodded to him, signaling the rest of the femmes were hooked up and ready to proceed. This was it.

The Patch remained with the volunteers to make sure they were okay during the procedure. Ratchet stationed himself with Beatback. The body was connected to a full collection of different monitors and machines. Many different cords snaked out from the chest. A large screen gave a full diagnostic of the spark. The glowing half-orb showed clearly on the screen and it was further breaking down right before the optics.

Ratchet glanced to Patch, who nodded that she and the other femmes were ready. He gave one look to Firestar and then turned on the machine that connected all the sparks together. It hummed to life gently, slowly. This was a delicate procedure. The nob was turned down to minimum output in the beginning. No one knew what was going to happen. It was best to start cautiously.

The first siphon of spark energy into the dying spark did nothing. Which was good. Beatback's spark did not react adversely to the outside energy. All the volunteer femmes were doing just fine. So they continued forward. Ratchet turned the dial just a little higher.

Little by little, it seemed like a miracle, but the spark was slowly repairing itself. The shadow of a full, round orb appeared on the monitor. The spark was taking the donated energy and putting itself back together piece by piece.

"Primus, it's actually working," Ratchet muttered to himself. He didn't dare turn up the energy higher as long as there were positive results. For several minutes, everything seemed to be going well. The volunteers were still doing fine. The spark was still building itself up.

Then, the spark began to become unstable. Its energy output spiked and dropped when there was still a chunk of it left to repair. Ratchet slowly increased the dial, hoping that would stabilize the spark. Instead, he could see the spark physically begin vibrating in response.

"Shit," he hissed. The word just popped into his processor after hearing it so many times from his human friend, Sparkplug. "Something's wrong. It's breaking down." He glanced back at Perceptor who was still observing through the window.

"Something's wrong. The spark's breaking down," Perceptor said, unaware he had nearly quoted Ratchet perfectly. He held a data pad that showed the same information Ratchet had on his own screen.

"What's happening?" Ratchet asked. He spoke both out loud, but it also came through on Perceptor's radio so he could hear it.

"I'm not sure." Perceptor replied in the same fashion. "Turn the energy down to the last setting. I'll see if I can figure it out."

"What's going on?" Blaster demanded as the scientist began fiddling on his pad. "Is she dying? Tell me what's happening!"

"A moment, please, Blaster. I'm trying to figure that out."

The tall, orange mech began pacing as Perceptor hurriedly checked his data and calculations. There was no previous information to go on. Everything was guess work from here on out.

"We're losing her," Ratchet's voice came urgently over the radio. "The spark's breaking down."

"The science was sound," Perceptor muttered to himself. "What did I miss? What did I miss?" He paused as a random thought came to him. No. He couldn't believe it had never occurred to him before. "Some of the spark energy is still male," he said louder. "We needed a male donor."

He glanced up, but there was already chaos at the other side of the observation window.

"Patch! Get everyone out!" Ratchet called above the whir of the overtaxed equipment. "The spark is going critical!"

It was too late. They had filled the spark with energy, but not all the kind of energy it needed. It was over-charged and unstable. There was a chance the spark was going to explode.

Blaster burst into the room even as femmes were evacuating. Ratchet was too slow to stop him as he raced up to the body, nearly cooking with the heat and energy it radiated. He placed both hands on the hot chest as if he were about to give CPR.

"Blaster!" Ratchet screamed with wide optics. "What the frag are you-"

Blaster pumped one large surge of spark energy into the body. Energy collided with energy and a powerful surge tore through the room. Ratchet had to glance away as light bulbs and more sensitive equipment sparked and exploded. He felt the surge deep down in his own spark. It hiccuped once in surprise, but no damage done.

When it was safe to look again, only Beatback's lifeless body could be seen. Ratchet scrambled to the monitor. It was cracked, but the energy orb shown was completely round and full. Blaster's body lay lifeless on the floor. One of his optics had exploded and stray spark energy arched and crackled around his chest.

"Primus," the medic hissed. "What a fraggin' mess."

.

"Hey! Are you going out to fix the ship?"

Both Drift and Blitzangel jumped at the sudden loud question. Largely because, even though several Autobots knew of this project, it was actively not talked about and treated like it didn't exist. But the Autobot calling to them was never known for his subtlety.

"Uh, yeah," Blitzangel said, still wincing from the noise. "Did you want to come?"

"Yes," Wheeljack said eagerly. "I am dying for something different to tinker with."

The inventor had ever expressed interest in going before, but Blitzangel just smiled at him. "Be my guest. Everyone else has taken a go at it."

Drift was less enthusiastic about the plus one on their way deep into Cybertron's bowels. Though lately, there had always been at least a few Autobots itching to go out and do something different. This time, it seemed they were the only two heading down and Drift had liked the idea of doing something just the two of them. He hardly had hardly been able to talk with Blitzangel one on one these days. He had missed it. This third wheel had now interrupted his plans.

Or had he?

The second they arrived at the site, Wheeljack immediately went with his tools to the back of the shuttle to find the engine. Drift and Blitzangel were left to their own devices. After dithering around inside the ship and listening to whatever 80's band held Drift's fancy that day, (which was mostly a mixture of Poison and White Snake), they retired to laying together on the hood of the modest-sized ship and staring up at the vast amount of open space above them.

When no one was there, the area sat in absolute pitch blackness where no light could reach. But heavy flood lights had since been set up to give proper light to the work area. The place was brighter than the permanent dusk of Cybertron's surface. Some of those lights reached up to lick the layers above them and expose the rusted forgotten world of what Cybertron used to be.

At first, the two merely talked of their day and how they had both been so busy. How they couldn't believe how long it had been since they had time to talk to each other like this.

Then Blitzangel suddenly asked, "Have you ever had a romantic partner, Drift?"

He was a bit surprised with the sudden turn of the subject. But it certainly wasn't the first time they had gotten into more personal aspects. In fact, Drift quite liked the fact that she was so comfortable coming to him with questions like that.

"Once or twice. But no one I was very serious about. And that was all... in my old life. 'Drift' hasn't really met a lot of Cybertronians in his time, let alone someone I was interested in spending my life with."

"Is it important to you, to Cybertronians, to find someone like that?"

He shrugged. "It depends on the bot. Some want that. Some don't. Some say if it happens it happens and if it doesn't it doesn't. I know it's far more important for you organics. Because that's how you keep your species alive. You're hardwired to find a mate. To nest and breed."

"It's not just that," Blitzangel insisted. "It's also about finding a place where you belong. Making a home and a family. We don't just make offspring and leave them like Cybertronians do. We stay together. We care about each other."

Drift glanced at her, his yellow optics flickering as if he were deeply processing something. "Is that what you want, Angel? Do you still have that organic need to nest? To have a family?"

If she were still human, she would have snorted. "I'm still trying to figure out how to be what I am. How to live in this body. How to make it work correctly. How to make it work with a partner."

"Ahhhh, so that's it. I knew I'd figure out what you were getting at eventually. You and that flat-personality second in command having trouble interfacing?"

Blitzangel immediately stiffened in surprise. "How did you know about that?"

"I hear all sorts of gossip. The femmes especially like to keep tabs on who is getting with who now that we're all integrated. They like to talk about that Decepticon floozy who seems to have suspicious favor with the Autobots high on the pecking order. And wondering how you ever caught the optic of a stoic stick-in-the-mud like Prowl."

Blitzangel frowned. She had a niggling suspicion that Nightshade was probably a good part of that gossip.

"What is interfacing anyway?" she asked.

Drift gave out a single bark of a laugh at that. "No one's told you?"

"No one wants to tell me. And I've asked several bots."

"That's funny. I didn't know the Autobots were so full of prudes."

"That's why I'm asking you now," she pried. "I know you always tell me the truth."

Drift was a little proud of that. "Well, it's the most intimate act you can get into with another bot. It can even be dangerous if you're not careful. Joining spark energy isn't just something you stumble into—and you don't have a spark." He suddenly remembered. "No wonder."

"So, is that a deal breaker?" Blitzangel wondered.

"Is it to your mech?"

"He told me it doesn't matter to him. But... I feel like I'm cheating him out of something. Doesn't he deserve a proper partner?"

Drift frowned as he tried to ignore the small wave of jealousy that came over him. It had been harder to hear the first time he heard it through the various gossip channels that went around. Harder to hear than he would have imagined. He was still telling himself over and over that it didn't matter. He was leaving this Primus-forsaken planet anyway.

"I don't know how you ended up with him of all mechs," was all Drift said about that. "I didn't see that coming."

"We've been through a lot together. I've always felt at ease around him, like we've known each other forever. I cared about him—even loved him—far before I felt like I was starting to fall in love with him."

"Do you care about me?" the question fell out of his mouth before he could stop it.

Blitzangel jerked to a sitting position so she could look him in the face. "Of course I care about you, you idiot! Look at where we are! I've been doing all this for you! You said this is what you wanted and I want you to be happy." She paused. "And can we change this damn loud music? I can't think!"

Drift just shrugged. He wirelessly caused the music to stop from the shuttle's speakers.

"Let's try something different," Blitzangel said as she put in one from her own personal playlist. Instead of harsh rock, the soft melody of guitar mixed with harmonica floated around them as Bob Dylan's version of "Tambourine Man" played.

Drift took a moment to merely listen for a while.

Hey Mr. Tambourine man, play a song for me
I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to
Hey Mr. Tambourine man, play a song for me
In the jingle jangle morning I'll come following you

"This is what you wanted, isn't it?" Blitzangel then asked. "You want to leave Cybertron. You don't want to find a home here."

Drift found himself being annoyed with this question. Wing's last words to him echoed in his processor. It was made very clear what he needed to do. To go against his mentor's advice would be absolute lunacy. "Cybertron hasn't been my home for a long time. I'm not interested in changing that now."

Though I know that evening's empire has returned into sand
Vanished from my hand
Left me blindly here to stand but still not sleeping
My weariness amazes me, I'm branded on my feet
I have no one to meet
And the ancient empty street's too dead for dreaming

"Why?" she asked gently. "You could find a place to belong here. With your people."

"I could also find a place to belong out there, too," he insisted. "I found you out there, didn't I?"

She opened her mouth to reply, but was cut off as the radio stopped and Wheeljack's voice came over the ship's external speakers.

"Hey! It's done now!"

Drift sat up with her as both of them wondered what he was talking about. Then they both felt and heard the rumble as the ship's engine came to life. Drift and Blitzangel looked at each other, both not ready for this chapter in their lives to suddenly come crashing to a close. The shuttle was fixed and ready for launch.

Author's Notes: Whaaat? Is that an update?! Holy crap! For 2019, my new years goal was to create better writing habits and writing goals. It's been going well so far. I do hope this leads to at least one or two more new chapters for this year. As usual, I can never promise anything for sure. My muse does as it pleases. Sometimes working on certain projects gives me huge anxiety, too. Which is dumb, but it's not something I can control too well. Thanks as always to those who are still here with me reading and waiting for updates. Lately I have been on Tumblr more often (sketchytychou). Feel free to drop by there. You can even send me notes or asks. Even if you don't have an account. I'm around.

Also, I was reminded I still have a dream for this fic to reach 1,000 comments by the end. I'd still like to meet that dream (as well as the dream to see this thing actually finished lol). So please let me comments if you are so inclined. They seriously do help. Thank you again for reading and sticking with me all this time. I hope we meet again soon.