Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tempest huffed, flicking her stubby wings in a display of petulance. "Plants are so boring," she whined, her voice echoing through the cavernous botanical reserve. "They just sit there and grow. Where's the excitement in that?"

"Ah, but there's more to plants than meets the eye," Skyfire replied. "The processes they undergo are actually quite remarkable. For example…"

He launched into an explanation of photosynthesis and nutrient uptake—and Starscream suppressed a sigh. Privately, he shared their young niece's sentiments. Plants had never been his area of interest either. But Tempest needed at least one STEM credit, and he and Skyfire had foolishly volunteered to help her find a topic that could hold her interest long enough to write a paper.

They'd made a bit of a competition of it, actually, with the understanding that the loser would be treating them both to a romantic dinner at one of Iacon's more exclusive dining spots. Between them, they had plied Tempest with sciences ranging from archeology to zenotronics, all to no avail.

Today was the last day of her mid-year break. She'd be going back to school tomorrow, so this was their last chance to make good on their promise. It wasn't going well. Tempest's optics had glazed over, her small hands fingering the interactive sound-cube that she carried wherever she went. It was, Starscream had been told, merchandise related to Nova Pulse, a Vosian pop star whom Tempest idolized.

Nova Pulse was known for her neon-colored plating, flashy stage performances and her signature song, Fly High, Burn Bright. Starscream had looked it up. It was an anthem encouraging fledglings to embrace their true selves and never be afraid to soar beyond expectations. Nowhere in its lyrics did it mention rhizomes.

Skyfire concluded, "…and that's how the symbiotic exchange between rhizomes and the mycelium network enables these plants to thrive even in harsh environments." He paused, offering their niece a tired yet hopeful smile. "Pretty amazing, right?"

Tempest shrugged, staring blankly at her sound-cube. "I suppose."

Starscream frowned. He'd promised not to interfere, but he was starting to get annoyed on his mate's behalf. Skyfire was giving this his all, and Tempest was being… well… a brat. He bit his glossa and silently counted to ten, just as Windblade, his ambassadorial aide, often urged him to do. Keep your cool, Commander, she'd say. Even if you'd rather jettison them. Right now, she'd have been proud.

"I think it's almost time for lunch," he said, throwing Skyfire a lifeline. "I've heard the cafeteria here serves decent oilcakes, and there are both scampurrs and sparklebacks that you're allowed to feed and pet. Maybe we could—"

Skyfire held up a finger. "That is a great idea, and we should definitely do that. But first, I'd like to show you one more exhibit."

Tempest groaned. "Do we have to?" She turned a pleading glance at Starscream, clearly having sensed that he shared her lack of enthusiasm for plants.

Starscream narrowed his optics. "You know, Tempest, maybe you'd find this more interesting if you actually paid attention for five minutes."

Tempest scowled, clutching her sound-cube a little tighter.

"Oh, I think she's been very patient with all the science we've been throwing at her," Skyfire intervened, offering her a gentle smile. ::Star, go easy on her,:: he sent over comms. ::I think she's just tired.::

Starscream huffed. "I'm sure the new exhibit will only take a moment," he said at last. "And then we can all have oilcakes."

Tempest gave a martyred sigh. They fell in step behind Skyfire, who led them along a manicured path which curved between stands of crystalline trees. The branches caught and refracted the light from overhead, and the sound of their footsteps mixed with the trickle of flowing water and the distant hum of environmental controls. The path brought them to a junction where three separate biodomes connected. Skyfire paused next to the middle door, which bore a logo showing a flower with ominous-looking fangs.

"This next section houses some rather remarkable specimens," he said, producing an access key from his subspace. "It isn't normally open to the public, but I have special permission to show you around. Are you ready, Temp?"

Tempest's wings—clad in neon-colored winglets displaying Nova Pulse's logo—rose and fell in a listless shrug. "Sure," she said resignedly. "Let's get it over with."

Skyfire tapped the access key against the control panel. The door irised open with a soft whir, and a waft of moist, heavy air fanned their faceplates.

"You might want to put that away," Skyfire suggested, nodding toward the sound-cube. "You don't want to lose it."

Tempest clutched the artifact even more tightly to her chest. "No way," she said stoutly. "I'm not letting this go for anything."

As they stepped over the threshold, the atmosphere thickened with an earthy, metallic scent. Tempest sniffed the air, optics narrowing. "What… what place is this?" She glanced around, a spark of interest flickering through her earlier indifference.

Skyfire grinned. "This, my dear Tempest, is the carnivorous plant exhibit."

"Car…nivorous?" Tempest repeated, testing the unfamiliar word. "What does car…nivorous mean?"

Starscream leaned in, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "It means these plants eat living things."

"You mean… like us?" Tempest took a step closer to Skyfire, who gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze.

"You're safe," he assured her. "These plants only eat organic life forms, not Cybertronians."

"Oh." She flicked her wings. "Of course. I knew that."

She started along the path. Ahead of her was an enclosure, cordoned off with a safety guardrail. As if on cue, a sleek hover-drone popped from the foliage to block her path.

"Greetings and felicitations!" it trilled. "I am EDEN-7, your guide to the wonders of the Luminis Botanical Reserve. And you must be the birthday girl!"

Tempest puffed up her chest. "Not for another orn," she said importantly. "But I'll be seven sub-vorns."

"Wonderful!" The drone dipped in an approximation of a bow. "In honor of your special day, would you like to help me feed the Verociflora Serratus?"

Balanced on its single arm was a tray of glistening meat chunks. Tempest glanced from the tray to the safety guardrail. Something was moving on the other side of it. Something with thick, leaf-like fronds that seemed to twitch in response to their presence. Every so often it let out a soft, almost thoughtful gurgle, like a mech lost in deep calculation.

"The… Veroci…what?" Tempest took a hesitant step closer, then paused, throwing a pleading glance at her uncles. "Can I?"

"Why not?" Skyfire responded amiably. "I'm sure the oilcakes will keep until you're ready."

As she hurried to join the drone, Starscream took a step closer to Skyfire. "Verociflora Serratus? Now, that brings back memories. Are you going to tell her how we discovered it?"

"I might," Skyfire replied with a wink. "In any case, I believe you're buying me dinner tonight."

"This one!" Tempest declared, snatching up a kit labeled Verociflora Serratus Deluxe Set. "It's got the coolest pictures!"

Thundercracker stared after her, giving a slow shake of his head. "I can't believe you two actually found a topic she's interested in," he said in a low voice.

They were in the botanical reserve's gift shop. Thundercracker and Skywarp had joined them for lunch, over which Starscream and Skyfire had recounted their first encounter with Verociflora Serratus to an increasingly wide-opticked Tempest. When they'd stopped by the gift shop afterward, she'd made a beeline for the extensive display of carnivorous plant kits.

"What can I say?" Starscream preened. "We have a knack for these things. Right, Sky?"

He nudged Skyfire, who was glancing over a rack of botanical holozines with a distracted air.

"Oh." Skyfire shook himself. "Have you found a kit, Tempest? Let's take a look."

Tempest relinquished her prize with obvious reluctance, allowing Skyfire to examine it. The kits all looked the same to Starscream. Each featured lurid box art and promises of being able to cultivate your very own miniature meat-eating garden in the comfort of your home.

Skywarp edged closer, peering eagerly past Skyfire's elbow. "Wowww," he said. "Can I help feed your garden, Temp?"

"Yeah sure," Tempest agreed, nodding. "But is it okay?" she asked anxiously. "Will it work for my project?"

"Yes," Skyfire said at length, handing the kit back. "This should provide what you need for a solid science project. But you'll need this, too." He pulled a box from a nearby shelf. "It's a lab-grown meat kit."

Tempest wrinkled her nasal ridge. "Why would I need that?"

"Because," Skyfire explained, "Cybertron doesn't have the kind of insect life that these plants would naturally prey on. You'll need to provide them with a substitute food source."

"Seriously?" Thundercracker exclaimed. "Isn't that kind of—"

"Awesome!" Skywarp cut in. "It's awesome. Right TC?"

Thundercracker shifted uncomfortably under his mate's gaze. "Yeah… yeah, fine. Long as she gets a STEM credit in something."

"When I was her age I was building my own fission reactors," Starscream pointed out.

Skywarp's optics widened. "Really?"

"Of course," Starscream said. "And look how I turned out."

Thundercracker snorted. "That's not exactly a ringing endorsement."

Starscream gave him a withering look. "The point is, it could be worse. A lot worse."

"Yeah, well." Thundercracker crossed his arms. "Just so you know, when you two have kids I'm buying 'em all drum kits."

"Duly noted." Skyfire flashed them a grin as he followed Tempest to the checkout counter, nodding back over his shoulder to indicate one of the shelves. It took Starscream a moment to realize what he was trying to point out. When he did, he stifled a laugh. Because there, forgotten next to a display of plush carnivorous plant toys, sat the sound-cube. He picked it up and gave it a light shake. The chorus of Fly High, Burn Bright warbled forlornly, unnoticed by Tempest.

"Poor Nova Pulse," he mused. "Upstaged by a plant; that's gotta hurt."

Skywarp chuckled. "I'll take care of that." He tucked the sound-cube in his subspace. "Can't wait to see how long it takes before she notices." He fell quiet for a moment, watching as Skyfire joined Tempest at the checkout counter. "He's really good with her," Skywarp added in a low voice, addressing Starscream.

Starscream nodded, his gaze softening as he watched Tempest throw her arms around Skyfire's leg. "Yes," he replied with a mix of pride and unease. "He really is."

"Sooo?" Skywarp prodded. "Any plans for little seekerlets in your future?"

Starscream nearly choked. "What? No! Absolutely not. We haven't even discussed it."

That wasn't entirely true. Skyfire had brought it up more than once, but Starscream kept finding reasons to avoid the subject. Skyfire made it look effortless, but Starscream already knew there was no chance he could match Skyfire's capacity for patience. Inevitably, he would end up snapping at some poor fledgling, like he had earlier with Tempest.

Skywarp held up his hands. "Whatever you say, Screamer," he said as they headed for the front of the store.

"My head hurts," Tempest complained as they drew near.

"Does it?" Skyfire, now finished paying for the kits, gently lifted her. He cradled her small body in the crook of his arm, and put a hand to her forehead. "You are a little warm."

"Oh yeah?" Thundercracker checked her forehead too. "She's a little toasty," he agreed. "But probably just tired."

"It has been a busy few days," Skyfire agreed. "And now you have to go back to school, don't you?" he murmured to Tempest, who had snuggled her face into the side of his neck. "Are you looking forward to seeing your friends?"

Tempest nodded drowsily. "S'gonna be fun," she replied. "Can' wait to show 'em my pla—plahhh—plaAAHNTHSsss—" She sneezed violently against the side of Skyfire's neck.

"Ah, bless you," Skyfire said with a faint laugh. He shifted her weight, wiping the side of his neck. "Maybe I should have worn my lab apron."

"Oops, sorry about that," Thundercracker apologized, collecting her from Skyfire's arms. "Maybe I spoke too soon."

"Yup," Skywarp agreed, scooping up the kits. "Looks like she might actually have a touch of Fledgling Fever."

"Novacron virus," Starscream clarified before Skyfire could ask. "It's a Seeker thing. Came about during the war."

"I guess that explains why I haven't heard of it." A flicker of unease crossed Skyfire’s features, and Starscream wondered, with a pang, if he was thinking of the time he'd spent frozen in ice. "Is it serious?"

"Nah," Skywarp replied. "Least, not if you get it at her age."

"She'll be fine in a couple days," Thundercracker assured him. "It usually blows over pretty quick. And we have meds for it back in Vos. We'll dose her up as soon as we get home."

"And then we can start shopping for drum kits," Skywarp said knowingly. "Screamer just informed me that he and Skyfire are gonna be starting a band."

Starscream threw a plant plushy at him. He ducked, laughing, as they all headed outside.

Chapter Text

"It's not funny!" Starscream snapped, flipping his towel back to polish his intakes. He peered through the half-open washracks doorway to glare at his smirking mate.

"It is a little funny," Skyfire replied. He was perched on a stool at the kitchen counter, typing on a datapad. "Tempest would love having a band—especially if she got to lead."

"That's not the point," Starscream grumbled.

"So what is?" Skyfire set aside the datapad and propped his chin in his cupped hand, studying Starscream with far too much perceptiveness.

Starscream turned back to the mirror in front of him. He checked his reflection with a critical optic, and daubed some light-diffusing concealer on one of his more visible battlescars. They didn't normally bother him, but he'd promised Skyfire a romantic dinner, and was determined to look his best.

"The point is, the war's barely over," he said, buffing diligently. The concealer blurred the jagged edges of the old scar, making it less distinct, though nothing short of a complete rebuild could hide all the marks on his frame. "Things are just getting re-established. This is hardly the time to think about…" he gestured vaguely with his buffer "…breeding."

"Ah, yes. A mere six vorns," Skyfire replied. "We've barely had a chance to rebuild… anything."

Starscream shot him another glare. Skyfire smiled. He’d tipped his chin toward the kitchen window. It commanded an impressive view of Iacon’s skyline, currently basking in the silvered light of the rising moons.

Starscream huffed. "You're still missing the point."

"Then explain it to me."

Starscream opened his mouth, then closed it again. Where would he even start? Tempest might not be a big fan of science—at least, not until her recent introduction to Verociflora Serratus—but she was a well-behaved, if spirited, fledgling. She wasn't a brat. At least… not usually. She'd been acting off all morning, but Starscream hadn't even thought about checking her temperature.

"We're still getting established in our careers," he said.

Skyfire's optic ridges lifted. "I am," he agreed, "but you—"

Starscream banged the canister of concealer down on the washrack shelf. "I'm not ready, Sky! Just drop it, okay?"

Skyfire stared at him, but finally nodded. "Consider it dropped." He turned back to his datapad.

Starscream's spark sank. "Sky, I'm—"

The balcony door chimed. "Ah!" Skyfire pushed the datapad to one side as he rose to answer. "I wasn't expecting it to get here so quickly."

"Expecting who?"

Starscream stepped from the washracks, the towel still draped around his intakes. His mouth fell open at the sight of a massive, blocky shape slowly lowering onto their balcony. It was a large shipping crate, and was being delivered by not one, not two, but three full-sized transport drones.

"Skyfire…?" He turned to his mate. "What the Pit is that?"

Skyfire shook his head. "In a minute," he said, his tone hushed as if the topic in question was some kind of state secret. He stepped outside to meet the drones, signed for the delivery, and then waited for them to depart. When he did speak, it was just to say, "I think we're going to have to move some furniture to make room for this."

"What?" Starscream gaped. "We're bringing that inside?"

"Yes, and quickly." Skyfire glanced around as if checking for spies, then hoisted the crate in his arms. He grunted, staggering under the weight, and Starscream sprang forward.

"Hey—!" He caught the edge of the crate, steadying it as they maneuvered it through the door. "You didn't have to carry it alone, you know."

They wrestled the crate into the living room, moving the couch table aside to clear a space. Together, they settled it on the rug, and Starscream watched in bemusement as Skyfire hastily closed the balcony door, locked it, and drew all the blinds. He then returned to the crate and simply gazed at it for a moment, as though he couldn't believe it was really there.

Starscream tilted his head, his gaze softening as he caught the way Skyfire's fingers flexed with nervous anticipation. "What's in there, a ticking energon bomb?"

Skyfire laughed. "No, no; it's nothing like that. Well," he amended. "It could be explosive. But not in the conventional sense."

"Hm, mysteriouser and mysteriouser," Starscream murmured. "Are you going to open it or what? The suspense is killing me."

Skyfire stared at the crate a moment longer. Finally, squaring his wings, he pried off the lid. Starscream crept closer and rose on the tips of his pedes, his wings brushing Skyfire's arm as he peered into the crate.

Knowing Skyfire, Starscream half-expected to see the fossilized remains of some long-extinct creature—because, of course, Skyfire would be thrilled by a crate full of ancient bones. Instead, the crate contained… papers? Books? Data-disks? The artifacts were all carefully stacked within the crate, each bound in a protective case and sealed with Iacon University's archival crest.

"Okay, what is all this? And what is it doing in our living room?"

"Hmm?" Skyfire had been staring at the collection, his expression rapt with awe. "Oh! Yes, well. Do you remember my student, Quorim?"

"Uh…" Starscream thought about it, and shook his head. "The name doesn't ring a bell."

"Ah. Yes, I suppose it might not," Skyfire admitted, his expression slightly bashful. "He was in my Fundamentals of Astrometrics class, the one that I taught before…" he made a vague hand gesture.

Starscream knew what it meant. Before the ice. He nodded, suppressing a shudder.

"Anyway," Skyfire continued, "he's now Head Archivist of Iacon University's history department, and he offered me a chance to curate an exhibit at the Historical Archive. It'll showcase artifacts, original data files, and other media from the era immediately leading up to the war. It's… um." His cheeks tinged pink with a slight blush. "Pretty high profile. And it could be my chance to get back into an academic role."

"In the history department," Starscream qualified. "Not science."

"Unfortunately not," Skyfire agreed with a sigh. He had been trying to land a teaching position in the science department, but kept getting turned down. "But Quorim pointed out that I'm uniquely qualified to handle this project, being…" he paused with a chuckle, "something of a pre-war relic in my own right, I think is how he phrased it."

"Relic?" Starscream's wings flared. "He's lucky you're too polite to correct him." Or punch him, he added silently, thinking he might have some choice words for this unknown mech, should their paths ever cross.

"Oh, it’s fine.” Skyfire waved aside his indignation. “Quorim’s a bit of a relic too these days, and he’d be the first to admit it. Anyway, I still have to pass a panel interview, and he’s loaned me access to all these materials so I can prepare.”

"I take it he's bending the rules," Starscream observed, "considering all this secrecy."

"Oh yes. Quorim has tenure, but it would still be a major scandal if he was caught lending out materials this rare to a mech who doesn't officially work for the university yet."

"I see." Starscream drummed his fingers on the lip of the crate, staring at the objects within. Many of them were familiar items that he would have seen, handled, or even owned during his pre-war life. Seeing them presented like this was… disconcerting. To say the least. "So how long do you have to prepare?"

"Um." Skyfire checked his chrono. "The panel interview's in three days, and it'll be held at the archive, so all these materials will need to be safely back on the shelves before then."

"Three days?" Starscream was taken aback. "How can you possibly get through all this—" he waved at the contents of the crate "—in that amount of time?"

Skyfire shrugged. "We did it back at the Academy. I could blast through this much material in ah—ahhh—!" He clapped both hands over his mouth and nasal assembly as a powerful sneeze rocked through him. "Wow," he breathed, once it had subsided. "I guess these old files must be dusty."

"They are ancient history," Starscream agreed dryly. "But seriously—we were a lot younger back at the Academy, and if you only have three days to get through all this, maybe you should start now, rather than going out tonight."

"Oh no," Skyfire said with a grin, waving a hand as though brushing off the suggestion. "You're not wriggling out of our bet that easily."

"I'm not trying to get out of dinner, you oversized hatchling," Starscream grumbled. He took a step toward the washracks, meaning to finish what he'd started in there, but Skyfire caught his arm.

"You look fine, love," Skyfire said softly, lifting the towel from Starscream's shoulders. His optics lingered for a moment, warm and affectionate. "In fact, you look perf—ah—ahhhCHOO!"

He sneezed again, this time covering his mouth with the towel.

Starscream frowned. "Are you sure you feel up to this?"

Skyfire looked abashed. "It's just dust," he said, dropping the towel into the nearest laundry chute. "And maybe pollen from the botanical reserve. There are so many different plant species."

"Yes, but—" Skyfire's avocation was plants. He'd turned their second berthroom into a miniature jungle, full of plant specimens from all over the galaxy. "You don't normally have allergies. To anything." Starscream’s gaze flicked over Skyfire, once again noting the faint flush to his faceplates. Was it a mere blush?

Skyfire shrugged. "Maybe this is a rare case, then." He headed for the door. "Come on. Our table's waiting."

"All right." Starscream fell in step beside him, but the faint prickle of unease in his spark refused to settle. Skyfire was fine. He was always fine. But Starscream resolved to keep a closer optic on him tonight, just in case. "If you keel over on the dance floor," he warned, "don't expect me to carry you home."

Skyfire slung an arm around him, grinning. "What, and miss dessert?"

Starscream jolted awake. He lay for a moment, systems still half in recharge as he scanned the surrounding darkness. His proximity sensor logs didn't report anything unusual. No loud noises or other disturbances. But then he realized. It wasn't a noise that had awakened him, but rather the silence. An eerie stillness that should have been filled with the gentle sounds of Skyfire's ventilations.

He rolled over, reaching instinctively for his mate, but his hand met empty air and tangled sheets. Skyfire's side of the berth was cold. Must have gotten up to start reviewing those materials. Of course he had. Starscream checked his chrono. It was very, very late, but there was no arguing with Skyfire. If he'd decided to pull an all-nighter like some college student trying to cram for a test, then that was what he was going to do.

Starscream was about to roll over and go back to recharge when a sound from the living room caught his attention. He sat up, suddenly wide awake. It was Skyfire's voice, but something about it sounded... off. Starscream swung his legs over the edge of the berth, hesitating. Skyfire was probably fine. He was probably talking to one of his plants. But there it was again—Skyfire's voice, rising and falling in an odd cadence, and this time Starscream caught one of the words.

"C… cold…"

A sympathetic chill swept through Starscream's lines. He slid from the berth and padded toward the living room. The crate lay tipped on its side, papers and data-disks spilling across the rug, but Starscream barely noticed. His attention was fixed on Skyfire who sat on the floor next to the crate. He was hunched over, his broad back toward Starscream and his body quivering to the tips of his wings.

"Sky?" Starscream called softly, not wanting to startle him.

"Sssso c-cold…" Skyfire muttered again, his voice a low, feverish ramble. "C-c-can’t—"

"Sky!" Starscream crossed the room in a few quick strides and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Wake up," he said, giving him a gentle shake. "You're having a nightmare."

Starscream was all too familiar with this particular nightmare. It was one that he shared, though from a different perspective. In his version, he flew through an endless blizzard, calling Skyfire's name and getting no response. Skyfire rarely spoke about his own version, but Starscream's imagination could fill in the details. Being trapped and frozen, enclosed by the ice on every side. Screaming, but without a voice.

His tanks churned.

"Sky!" He gave Skyfire another shake, harder this time. "Wake up, love. I'm right here, you're safe now."

"Hunnnhh…." Skyfire groaned, blinking to wakefulness. His optics were unfocused and too bright, his faceplates flushed. "Star," he said, his voice rough. "I was... I needed to..." He trailed off, seeming to lose his train of thought.

This was more than just a nightmare. This was…

Starscream put a hand to Skyfire's forehead. His plating was hot to the touch, far hotter than it should have been. Starscream's spark lurched. "Oh frag, Sky."

He looped an arm around Skyfire, applying his full strength to get him onto his feet. "Come on, let's get you back to bed."

Chapter Text

"Star," Skyfire mumbled. He was swaying on his feet, his gaze lingering on the scattered contents of the crate. "I need…"

He bent, reaching for a pile of data-disks, and nearly toppled. Starscream grabbed his arm, bracing him upright. "Leave it," he ordered, shoving Skyfire toward the berthroom.

"But… the materials. I can't just—"

"You can and you will," Starscream snapped. "We'll deal with it later."

Skyfire opened his mouth as if to protest, but all that came out was a hacking cough. He sagged against Starscream, his strength seeming to desert him all at once.

"I'm okay," he insisted as they stumbled into the berthroom. "It's probably just a micro-glitch. I'll be fine in the morning."

Starscream snorted. "Micro-glitch, my afterburner." He could feel heat radiating off Skyfire's frame, and hear the rattle in his ventilations. "Sky, I think you've got Novacron Virus."

Skyfire blinked. "You mean… Fledgling Fever? What Tempest has? I thought that was an illness sparklings get."

"It usually is," Starscream agreed. "But you've probably never been exposed to it. It came into existence during the war, while you were—" he broke off, not wanting to say frozen in Earth's Arctic "—out of commission. You've never had a chance to develop antibodies."

Skyfire's optics widened. "And since I just spent several days with Tempest…" He lifted a hand to the side of his neck, where she'd sneezed on him. "Well, at least we know what it is," he said, attempting to extract himself from Starscream's hold, "and we know it isn't serious. That's good news. I have so much to do, and I need to get back to—"

"It's not serious if you get it at her age," Starscream corrected, firmly steering Skyfire over to the berth and forcing him to sit. "Seeker younglings have adaptive nanites that bolster their immune response. But those deactivate as they mature. Novacron virus can be serious if you get it as an adult, and you're not even a Seeker. Who knows what it'll do in your system?"

As he talked, he was pulling out the small medical kit he habitually carried in his subspace. It was a true relic, dating back to the early years of the war when he'd enlisted as a field medic. Its scuffed exterior bore the marks of countless battles, but the tools inside were meticulously maintained. He set it on the berth, flipped it open and brought out a handheld scanner. Skyfire flinched away from the device.

"You're being alarmist." He attempted to rise, but Starscream shoved him back down. Skyfire subsided without resistance—a worrying sign in itself.

"I'm not being alarmist," Starscream said sharply. "I'm being realistic. You're sick, and you need proper rest and care."

"Yes, but—" Skyfire broke off as another coughing fit seized him. He curled in on himself, his frame shaking with the force of it. Starscream's spark clenched at the sight. "Easy," he murmured, rubbing soothing circles on Skyfire's back. "Just vent, nice and slow."

When the fit passed, Skyfire slumped against him, his optics dimming. "Maybe you're right," he admitted, his voice hoarse. "I don't feel so good."

"Of course I'm right," Starscream said, but there was no real bite to his words. "Now hold still."

He activated the scanner and swept it over Skyfire's frame. The readings came back showing a fever, though it wasn't dangerously high. Skyfire's sparkrate was fast but steady, and his uneven, hitching ventilations suggested minor stress on his cooling system. It wasn't severe enough to be of concern, at least not yet, but Starscream wasn't taking any chances.

He tapped a panel on Skyfire's forearm. "Open up."

Skyfire hesitated, then complied, the panel sliding back to reveal the medical diagnostic ports underneath. Starscream plugged the scanner into one of them. As it began running its checks, he turned his attention to Skyfire's frame. Infections could cause stiffness or overheating in joints, so he began to carefully palpate these areas, fingers probing for any subtle changes. He didn't find anything alarming, but...

"Have you been feeling unusually stiff lately?" he asked.

Skyfire nodded. "A bit, yeah. For the past couple of days."

Starscream frowned. "You didn't say anything."

"I thought it was an after-effect of being frozen," Skyfire admitted. "I've been stiffer in general since my revival in the Arctic. It flares up every now and then. I figured that's all it was."

Starscream's frown deepened. He'd need to keep a close optic on that. "Headache?" he asked, putting a hand to Skyfire's forehead.

"Yeah," Skyfire said. "Off and on for a couple of days. And my vision's been a bit blurry."

Starscream made a thoughtful noise. Those were all classic symptoms of Novacron virus. Hopefully that meant it would respond to the usual treatments. He selected a hypo-patch from his medical kit and moved to apply it to the interior of Skyfire's diagnostic panel. Before he could make contact, Skyfire grabbed his wrist.

"What is that?"

"It's a system stabilizer," Starscream explained, trying to pull his hand free. Even sick, Skyfire's grip was firm. "It'll help regulate your sparkrate and ventilations, and reduce inflammation."

Skyfire's grip loosened, if only slightly. "That... doesn't sound so bad," he admitted. "Anything to help me get back to work."

"About that. This medication works best if you rest while it's in your system. It has a mild sedative effect to help you relax and recharge."

"Sedative? No, absolutely not." Skyfire pulled his arm away. "I don't need to be sedated, Starscream. I need—"

The scanner chose that moment to beep, signaling the completion of its checks. Starscream glanced at the screen, taking in the results. As he'd suspected, Skyfire's core temperature was elevated, though still within a tolerable range. More concerning were the minor glitches the diagnostic scan had detected in Skyfire's systems—clear signs of the virus's impact.

Starscream frowned at the readout. "This isn't typical… not even for Fledgling Fever."

Skyfire glanced at the readout. He then unplugged the scanner from his port, snapped the panel shut, and handed the device back to Starscream. "It's probably the scanner itself," he said, offering a faint smile. "It's old, after all—practically old enough to be part of my historical exhibition."

"It works perfectly well!" Starscream retorted. "This isn't a symptom to be taken lightly, Sky. You should rest until we can get a medic here to give you a proper—"

"I'll get checked out properly," Skyfire promised, "just as soon as I pass the panel interview."

He rose unsteadily. Starscream moved to block his path.

"Sky, no! You're in no condition—"

Skyfire sidestepped him, managing not to topple over in the process. "I have to, Star. This opportunity... it's too important. I can't let a little virus get in the way."

He made it almost to their berthroom door before his steps faltered. Starscream was at his side in a flash, catching him around the waist and bracing him before he could hit the floor.

"You were saying?" Starscream asked dryly.

Skyfire cycled a shaky vent. "I…" He trailed off, his wings sagging in resignation.

"Sky," Starscream said, his voice softening. "You can't go to the interview like this. You know that. You need to rest and get better."

"But… I also need to prepare," Skyfire said, his voice tight with frustration. "Quorim went out on a limb for me. I can't let him down."

Starscream sighed. "Okay, here's the deal. You get some rest, and I'll help you cram for that interview."

Skyfire blinked. "You'd… really do that? Help me plow through a stack of dusty archive reports?"

"If it gets you to lie down, I'd recite the Great Vosian Tax Records," Starscream said, steering him back to the berth.

A chuckle escaped Skyfire. "I might hold you to that," he warned as Starscream helped him settle.

"And I'm holding you to this," Starscream retorted, holding up the hypo-patch as if it were a contract Skyfire was about to sign.

Skyfire eyed it with a mixture of reluctance and grudging resignation. "I guess that's part of the deal too?"

"You bet."

Skyfire re-opened the diagnostic panel on his forearm and allowed Starscream to apply the patch. It adhered to the underside of the panel with a soft click. Almost immediately, Skyfire's ventilations evened out and his frame began to relax.

"Oh, this stuff's good," he murmured dreamily.

"Of course it is," Starscream replied, arranging the thermal blankets around him. "Now, you're going to rest, and I'm going to take care of you. No arguments."

Skyfire managed a weak smile. "Yes, doctor," he teased.

Starscream ran a gentle hand over his helm. "I'll be here when you wake up, and we'll tackle that interview preparation together."

Skyfire mumbled something that might have been an acknowledgment, his optics already offline. Starscream settled himself on the edge of the berth, content to watch over his mate as he fell into a much-needed recharge.

Starscream slipped into his home office, closing the door softly behind him.

Through the wide window behind his desk, the city stretched in shades of muted silver and pale gold. Faint trails of skylane traffic blinked lazily, signaling the first stirrings of the city's waking cycle. He sank into his chair and activated the comm. To his surprise, Windblade picked up on the second chime.

"Starscream," she greeted, optics widening in surprise. "It's late. Is everything okay?"

"Actually, it's early," Starscream countered. "I was going to leave a message. I didn't expect you to be awake."

"I was finishing up some reports." Her brow-ridges pinched together in concern. "You sound tense. Is something wrong? Did the Medrith delegation send another complaint about resource allocation?"

Starscream waved dismissively. "No, no, nothing like that. But something has come up, and I need you to handle the Council logistics meeting tomorrow. The draft proposals are already in your inbox."

Windblade's optics brightened, a teasing smile tugging at her lips. "You're trusting me with something that important? Why Starscream, I'm flattered."

Starscream huffed. "I wouldn't if I didn't think you could handle it."

"Of course I can. But what's going on? It's not like you to hand off something this critical at the last minute."

Starscream hesitated, his gaze flicking toward the door. "It's Skyfire," he admitted. "He's… he's come down with something. Nothing serious," he added quickly, forestalling her next question. "But I need to stay here and take care of him."

"Of course." Windblade's expression softened. "Don't worry about a thing. I'll make sure the meeting goes smoothly and that all the proposals are reviewed and voted on."

"Thank you, Windblade. I appreciate it."

"Anytime." She paused. "And Starscream? Let me know if there's anything else I can do to help. I mean it."

He thanked her, ended the call, and leaned back in his chair, drumming his fingers on the desk as he mulled over his next move. The medics at the local clinic were capable, of course, but… no. He needed someone he trusted. Someone who understood shuttle-class physiology well enough to figure out why the virus might be affecting Skyfire differently.

With a sigh, he keyed in First Aid's comm code and waited.

Chapter Text

By Starscream's calculations, it was early afternoon in Autobot City, where First Aid was currently stationed. The medic should be on shift, Starscream reasoned—or at least awake. His fingers tapped an impatient rhythm on the desk as he waited. After a few long moments, the comm screen flickered to life.

"Starscream!" First Aid greeted. "Don't tell me you and Skyfire have finally found yourselves a new doctor," he said, a teasing note creeping into his voice. "Shall I transfer your files?"

"Very funny," Starscream growled. "As it happens, Skyfire has fallen ill and you're still the only physician I trust with his well-being."

"Oh!" First Aid's expressive brow-ridges tilted upward in alarm. "Is it serious enough that he can't call me himself?"

"I... I'm not sure yet," Starscream admitted. "If it becomes urgent, I will take him to the local clinic. But for now, I want your opinion on his readings." He plugged his scanner into the comm panel and hit 'send.' "They should be arriving in your inbox... now."

"Got them." First Aid's visor dimmed as he focused on the incoming data. Finally, he glanced up. "Starscream... is this what I think it is?"

"That depends on what you think it is," Starscream replied. "I suspect Skyfire has been exposed to Novacron virus. Our niece, Tempest, recently developed symptoms consistent with Fledgling Fever, and now Skyfire is exhibiting similar signs."

"Tempest?" First Aid's optics softened with a flicker of sympathy. "Poor kid. I hope she's feeling better—or at least on her way there."

"She'll be fine," Starscream replied briskly. "But she managed to sneeze directly on Skyfire, which is why we're having this conversation."

First Aid nodded. "I see. Well, based on these readings, I would agree—it does look like Novacron. The elevated sparkrate, fever, and system glitches are all consistent with the virus."

"Right, about those glitches," Starscream interjected. "I wanted your opinion on their severity."

"Well, you know what my first question is going to be: Are you still using that antique scanner of yours?"

Starscream bristled. "My scanner works perfectly fine, thank you."

"Easy there." First Aid raised his hands in a placating gesture. "I was just kidding. These glitches actually are quite common in Novacron cases, and there's evidence to suggest they become more pronounced in, ah… geriatric patients." His tone hid a smile.

Starscream huffed, but the tension in his frame eased slightly. "So… they're not a cause for concern?"

"I would keep an optic on them, but they should resolve on their own in a couple of days," First Aid assured him. "If they persist longer than that, I'd recommend an in-person examination."

Starscream nodded, making a mental note.

"In the meantime…" First Aid's fingers rattled across his keyboard. "I'm sending you a few things that should help. First, a software patch to assist with viral infections. It's a generalized immune booster that will optimize Skyfire's system functions, ensuring his body has the resources it needs to fight off the virus."

A soft chime signaled the arrival of the file in Starscream's inbox. He quickly downloaded it, scanning the contents. "Got it. What else?"

"I'm also prescribing an anti-inflammatory energon supplement tailored for larger Cybertronians like Skyfire. It will reduce internal swelling and promote smoother joint and plating function."

Starscream nodded, his fingers already moving to add the prescription to his list. "And the last item?"

"Velith crystal infusion. It's a Vosian home remedy, if I recall correctly. Steeping the crystals in energon creates a salve that promotes internal balance and—"

"Everyone knows that's a superstition," Starscream cut in.

"There's actually been some compelling research to suggest the crystals do, in fact, lessen the duration and severity of Fledgling Fever."

"Really?" Starscream's optics narrowed. "I've never heard of such studies."

"Well, they are relatively recent," First Aid explained. "Of course, most research has focused on pediatric cases, since Novacron is typically a childhood illness. But there's no reason to believe it wouldn't be effective for adult Cybertronians too."

"I suppose it couldn't hurt to try," Starscream admitted grudgingly, wondering where he could even find velith crystals. They grew wild around Vos, but Iacon had a very different climate. "Thanks, First Aid. I appreciate your help."

"Of course," First Aid replied. "Keep me updated on Skyfire's condition, and don't hesitate to call if you have any other questions or concerns. Oh—and do say hi to Tempest. I hope she found a topic for that paper she's working on."

"She did, but…" Starscream paused, trying to think of a diplomatic way to break the news. "Let's just say she didn't choose anything in the medical sciences. In fact, you probably don't want to know."

"That bad, huh?"

"Worse."

"Ah." First Aid chuckled, shaking his head. "I'll take your word for it. Just let her know I'm rooting for her, whatever it is."

"I'll pass that along."

"Please do. And take care of yourself too, Starscream. Skyfire's going to need you."

"I always do," Starscream replied with a reflexive smirk.

With the call ended, he did a quick search for all-night pharmacies, and chose one located in a neighborhood known for its Vosian expat population. After requesting rush delivery for the anti-inflammatory energon supplement, he asked about velith crystals.

"Sorry, sir, but we don't carry those," the pharmacist replied.

Starscream sighed. Of course not. Why would anything be that simple? He leaned back in his chair, considering his options. After a moment's thought, he keyed in another comm code. It was a long shot—and bound to come with a side of preaching—but if anyone could help… well.

He'd find out soon enough.

With that task handled, Starscream headed for the kitchen. As he crossed the living room, he had to step carefully over the archival materials Skyfire had left strewn across the rug. His lips pressed into a thin line as he studied the mess. It would have to be dealt with, but not just yet.

One disaster at a time, he told himself as he entered the food-prep bay.

Skyfire usually handled the cooking—and for good reason. Starscream's kitchen mishaps had become legendary, such as the time he'd attempted to make crystallized energon sticks for a Starfall Eve celebration. He'd mismeasured the ingredients, adding too much hardening agent, and Thundercracker had chipped his dentae on the result. Skywarp still hadn't quit teasing him about that incident.

Nevertheless, with Skyfire out of commission, Starscream needed to step up and conquer his well-founded fear of the kitchen.

The largest recipe book in their collection sat atop the highest shelf, too massive for the smaller shelves to bear its weight. An heirloom of Skyfire's clan, it was shuttle-sized in every sense. Its well-worn cover bore faint traces of Skyfire's family crest, etched in gold. Starscream grunted as he dragged it down from the shelf and set it on the counter next to the cooktop. Even the ornate clasps that held the pages shut were difficult for his smaller servos to unlatch.

Inside, the pages smelled faintly of minerals and energon, a testament to the countless kitchen experiments recorded within. Hand-scrawled notes filled the margins. These were written in various inks, connecting generations of Skyfire's kin through the shared act of care and sustenance. Starscream flipped to the back of the book, finding the section on home remedies.

The recipe he had in mind was simply titled 'Shuttle Soup.' It was a traditional Altihexian remedy, and simple enough that even Starscream, with his limited culinary skills, should be able to prepare it without mishap. Should being the operative word, naturally.

The list of ingredients was short: Plain energon, and soaked Altihexian quartz geodes. A number of mineral additives were suggested as optional flavorings, but Starscream decided to keep it simple. After carefully measuring out the components, he set the mixture to simmer on the cooktop.

According to the recipe, the geodes would soften over the next few hours, releasing trace minerals to create a warm, soothing tonic. An annotated note in the margin described it as a cure for 'whatever might ail you.' Just below, in Skyfire's distinctive handwriting, was a second note: Patience is key. Do not rush the simmering—it spoils the texture.

Starscream rolled his optics. "Patience, he says. As if he didn't marry the least patient mech on Cybertron."

As the soup's rich, calming scent began wafting through the kitchen, he headed for the berthroom. Skyfire was still asleep, sprawled on his back with one arm dangling over the side of the berth. His other arm was draped protectively across his midsection.

Starscream perched on the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle his mate. For a moment he simply watched, listening to Skyfire's ventilations. They were slow and uneven; not as labored as before, but still accompanied by a faint wheeze. Starscream's chest tightened. Even in rest, Skyfire's face held a kind of serene dignity that he couldn't help but admire.

Moving with care, Starscream picked up the dangling arm and transferred it to his lap. He gently pried open the diagnostic panel and plugged his 'antique' medical scanner into one of the ports. The device gave a soft beep as First Aid's immune-boosting software patch began to upload, and Skyfire's optics flickered open.

He regarded Starscream sleepily. "Are you… cooking?" he asked, sniffing the air. "Smells… like geodes."

"Well, that answers one of my questions," Starscream remarked, busily re-taking Skyfire's vitals. "Your olfactory sensors seem to be working fine."

"I'm just surprised you haven't set off the smoke alarm," Skyfire teased. His voice was still rough, carrying a faint rattle in his ventilations that made Starscream's frown deepen. Skyfire clearly wasn't out of the woods yet. Nevertheless, Starscream flicked his wings in mock annoyance.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"Confidence must be earned." Skyfire's teasing reply ended in a fit of coughing.

"All right, smart-aft, that's enough for now," Starscream chided, rubbing small, careful circles on Skyfire's chest. "Rest. You can tease me about my cooking when your ventilations stop sounding like a failing cooling fan."

Skyfire's lips twitched. "Fine. But only because I wouldn't want to miss the chance to properly roast you later." He settled back against the berth, tone softening as he added, "You're lucky I'm too tired to think of good jokes right now." His optics began to close, but snapped open again. "How's it going with the archival materials?"

"Don't you worry about those," Starscream replied, tucking the covers around him. "Focus on getting better. I'll handle the rest."

Skyfire nodded. "Thanks, Star," he murmured, his optics already drifting shut again. He forced one open with noticeable effort. "You're pretty good at this, y'know," he said with a bleary smile. "Maybe I should get sick more often."

Starscream opened his mouth to retort, but Skyfire was already gone again, dropping into recharge like a stone into a pool of water. Within moments a small, rattling snore escaped him.

Starscream lingered, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chestplates. Good at this, Skyfire had said. But Starscream had missed all the signs with Tempest. With Skyfire too, for that matter. His antiquated medical training was enough to keep someone alive, sure. But as for being good at it…

He could still see Tempest's face from yesterday—her wings stiff, her small chin tilted defiantly as she clutched the sound-cube to her chest. It had been like looking into a mirror of his younger self. She hadn't needed scolding. She'd needed comfort and reassurance, not…

"Not me," he muttered aloud. He should not be in charge of anyone's well-being. Especially not someone vulnerable.

Leaning in, he brushed a soft kiss to Skyfire's overheated cheek, then headed for the living room. He'd done all he could for now. It was time to keep his earlier promise.

Chapter Text

Starscream knelt beside the overturned crate, wings hiked in irritation as he surveyed the mess. The scattered contents included cityscape sketches, personal journals, letters, and recordings of pre-war performances—a hodgepodge of Iaconian nostalgia that looked more like the spoils of a storage auction than the makings of a prestigious exhibit.

He picked up a cracked data-disk and turned it over, frowning at the faint, handwritten label.

"Pre-war poetry recital." He dropped it back on its pile with a snort. "Riveting."

He'd begun by organizing the materials chronologically, which seemed logical for a historical exhibit. But there were too many gaps. The timeline didn't just lack cohesion—it didn't make sense at all.

But once he'd changed tactics, grouping the items by theme, a pattern had quickly emerged. It had done nothing to improve his mood.

The collection wasn't incomplete. It was curated to perfection, presenting a vision of pre-war Iacon as a gleaming utopia in which citizens thrived under the benevolent functionist system.

"Case in point," he grumbled as he unfurled one of several meticulously preserved propaganda posters. This one promised Prosperity Through Purpose! in large, cheerful glyphs, underneath an illustration of a beaming dockworker gazing toward a sparkling skyline.

Starscream's mouth twisted. "Ah, the golden age," he muttered to no one. "Brought to you at gunpoint."

Sensing his thoughts spiraling down a dark pathway, he re-rolled the poster and dropped it onto the pile he'd mentally labeled Functionist Fan Club Collection. Rising to his feet, he brushed imaginary dust off his servos. This mess could wait. He had soup to tend.

Heading to the kitchen, he checked the pot and gave it a tentative stir. The geodes had softened, just as the recipe had promised, releasing their mineral content into the energon base. He ladled out a small portion and was about to taste it when Skyfire's culinary crystal garden jingled like wind chimes.

Starscream's optics flicked toward the sound. A moment later, a proximity alert blinked on the home security panel. Starscream was glad he'd remembered to mute it—its sharp alert sound might have disturbed Skyfire.

He strode to the balcony door and pulled the curtains aside just in time to see a familiar, flame-colored Seeker swoop in for a landing. Sunstorm transformed mid-air, his priestly robes unfurling around him. He alighted on the balcony in full regalia, the garments settling majestically.

"Well, don't you look priestly," Starscream said as he slid the door open.

Sunstorm beamed. "Greetings, brother," he replied, evidently taking the jab as a compliment. "May the winds of Primus guide your wings and lift your spark to the skies."

Starscream flicked said wings in response, offering a flat, "They seem to be doing fine without his input, thanks." He motioned Sunstorm inside. "Did you bring the salve?"

"Assuredly, yes." Sunstorm produced a jar from a pocket of his robes and raised it to catch the light. "I made this from velith grown in our own temple garden. Their natural purity is enhanced by prayer."

"Good to know." Starscream made to grab the jar, but Sunstorm drew it beyond reach.

"Now," he said, holding up a finger. "You must apply a small amount to the transformation seams first. That's where the energy flows are most receptive. Then the major joints, bringing ease to areas of greatest—"

"I didn't ask for a sermon on cybernetic anatomy," Starscream growled. Sunstorm really did know his stuff, especially where it came to herbal remedies, but... If only he wasn't so fragging annoying about it.

This time, when Starscream reached for the salve, Sunstorm wisely relinquished it. He pressed the jar into Starscream's palm, folding both his hands around Starscream's as if in benefaction. "I do hope it helps," he said. "And in the meantime, I will keep Skyfire in my prayers."

"You do that."

"Of course, brother. My prayers have been known to work miracles."

Extracting his hand with some difficulty, Starscream uncapped the jar and gave it a sniff. It was strong. The pungent, almost astringent odor of the velith crystals made his olfactory sensors tingle. "Thank you," he added, meaning it.

"You are most welcome," Sunstorm replied warmly. "Both of you." He paused, sniffing the air. "Ah, is that Windstone Stew I smell? I haven't had that in centuries. Only…" He sniffed again, his expression thoughtful. "I fear it doesn't smell quite right. Perhaps something in the spicing—"

He took a step toward the kitchen. Starscream intercepted, wings flaring to block his path.

"It doesn't smell like Windstone Stew because it isn't," he said. "It's Shuttle Soup."

"I have never heard of that," Sunstorm confessed. "What is the difference?"

Starscream opened his mouth, then hesitated, realizing he didn't actually know. "It's… for shuttles," he said finally. "For Skyfire. Which means you're not touching it."

Sunstorm opened his mouth to protest, but Starscream held up a finger. A low hum had reached his audial sensors. "Do you hear that?"

"Hear what?" Sunstorm asked. "I hear nothing. If you would prefer to forgo my culinary expertise, you have only to—"

"Shh!"

The hum was growing louder, a steady approach that Starscream now easily recognized. "Perfect timing," he muttered, hustling a bemused Sunstorm toward the balcony door.

He threw aside the curtain just as a delivery drone swooped into view. Compact and utilitarian, the bot bore the pharmacy's logo, its cargo compartment glowing faintly with temperature-controlled energon storage. It lowered itself to the balcony railing with practiced precision.

Starscream retrieved the package from the drone, inspecting the seal.

Sunstorm peered over his shoulder. "What is that?" he asked, his tone laced with disapproval.

"An energon supplement," Starscream replied as he signed the acknowledgment slate. "Prescribed," he added, hoping to fend off his twin's inevitable objections.

"But so… processed," Sunstorm replied, frowning at the label. "Velith crystals and prayer would do far more to—"

"This is a prescription from a licensed medic, Sunstorm, not a—" he stopped himself just short of saying temple gardener "—cleric."

"Ah yes, but the ways of Primus—"

"Don't involve molecular stabilization or inflammation inhibitors," Starscream interrupted. "This will help. Which is what—" A sharp beeping cut him off. It was coming from inside the apartment, and could mean only one thing. "Oh, slag."

Hastily excusing himself, he hurried back inside.

The sight that greeted him was one of chaos. The soup was bubbling over, hissing and spluttering on the cooktop, and the air hung thick with the acrid scent of scorched energon. Starscream turned off the alarm, cursing under his vents, flipped on the fan to clear away the smoke, and grabbed a towel. He was cleaning up the mess when Skyfire spoke from behind.

"So I was right. You are cooking."

Starscream spun around. "Primus! Don't sneak up like that."

"Sorry; I didn't mean to startle you."

Skyfire was leaning in the berthroom doorway. The comforter from their berth was bundled around him, its oversized folds dwarfing his usually imposing figure. He looked alert, though Starscream noticed that he was swaying slightly, and that he kept one hand on the doorframe.

"It's okay," Starscream said as he resumed scrubbing. "But you're supposed to be resting, not giving me a spark-attack. What are you doing out of bed?"

"I missed you." Skyfire's gaze swept around the kitchen and landed on the open cookbook. "Oh!" His optics lit up. "Is that what I think it is?"

He pushed away from the doorframe and took a shaky step. Starscream dropped the towel and rushed to his side, but Skyfire made it to the cookbook without mishap. He gripped the counter, leaning against it as if it was the only thing keeping him upright.

"It is," he said with a delighted grin. "You're making Shuttle Soup!"

"I'm—" Starscream's cheeks flushed. "It isn't ready yet!" He snapped the book shut and shoved it aside as though it might explode. "And it's hardly authentic," he added quickly. "Your family recipe calls for Altihexian quartz geodes. These are the synthetic ones they sell at the bodega down the street."

Skyfire chuckled. "Either way, it smells wonderful." His gaze softened, tone turning playful. "Now that the smoke is clearing, anyway. I'm impressed. I didn't think you'd tackle any of the recipes in this book."

"It only has two ingredients," Starscream pointed out. "And I managed to burn them."

Skyfire swayed, and Starscream slipped a hand under his arm to steady him. "You're going back to bed," he ordered, voice gruff. "And if you're lucky, I might actually let you try some of this disaster soup when it's done."

"Disaster Soup," Skyfire murmured. "I like that. Let's rename it."

Disengaging from Starscream's loose grip, he tottered toward the couch, the comforter dragging behind him like a ceremonial cloak.

"That's not the berth," Starscream pointed out.

"I'm feeling better," Skyfire claimed. "I just need—"

He tottered, grabbing the couch arm for balance. Starscream was at his side in an instant, bracing him with both arms.

"For frag's sake. Sit down before you fall down."

Skyfire sank down heavily, glancing around. "Was somebody here earlier?" he asked, taking note of the open balcony door. "I thought I heard voices."

"Sunstorm," Starscream explained. "Which reminds me." He withdrew the jar of salve from his subspace. "He brought this from the temple garden."

Skyfire uncapped the jar and gave it a tentative sniff. "Velith crystals?"

"There is a scientific basis for it," Starscream said hastily, embarrassed by the folksy remedy. "First Aid mentioned some recent studies supporting their use in Novacron cases."

"Somehow, that doesn't surprise me." Skyfire sniffed again, inhaling deeply. "A lot of ancient remedies have a basis in—wait, you spoke to First Aid? And Sunstorm?"

"Of course; I wasn't going to entrust your care to the local clinic. They'd treat you like a grounder. Probably try to tune your suspension and call it a day."

"Oh, they're not that bad." Skyfire leaned back against the couch. "Still." His smile lingered, soft and genuine. "I think I'm in good hands."

Starscream's wings twitched; a quick, unconscious reaction. "Speaking of First Aid," he said briskly, pivoting toward the kitchen as though the words had passed him by entirely, "I need to mix your supplement." He paused and held up a warning finger. "Don't go anywhere," he said with a scowl.

"I won't," Skyfire promised.

Starscream filled a mug with plain, warm energon and mixed in a dose of the supplement First Aid had prescribed. He also put the soup back on the burner, turned it to the lowest temperature, and set a timer. He was taking no chances.

When he returned to the living room, mug in hand, he found Skyfire had retrieved an item from the nearest pile of archival materials—the pile Starscream had mentally dubbed Revisionism, though in truth, that classification could have applied to the entire collection.

This particular item was a portfolio of maps depicting pre-war Iacon. They were beautifully detailed, rendered in intricate linework and vivid colors. A true showpiece, Starscream thought sourly. Skyfire had it open on the couch beside him and was carefully leafing through it.

Starscream set the mug on the side console, safely away from the maps. "Drink up," he ordered. "It'll help you feel better."

Skyfire picked up the mug and took a sip. "Ugh." His face contorted in a grimace. "It's bitter."

"Better bitter than ineffective," Starscream countered. "It's an anti-inflammatory supplement. It should help with your symptoms."

He watched closely as Skyfire took another reluctant sip.

"So while I was sleeping," Skyfire said, "you consulted with First Aid and Sunstorm, and made soup, and… wait." He paused, frowning. "Isn't today supposed to be that big logistics meeting you've been talking about for the past—"

"I asked Windblade to handle it," Starscream cut in. "She'll be fine."

Skyfire stared at him, then started to laugh. "Starscream. You… delegated something? Who are you, and what have you done with my conjunx?"

"Just drink your energon," Starscream growled, his cheeks burning. "I need to re-check your vitals."

He escaped into the berthroom and retrieved the ancient medical kit. Skyfire continued perusing the maps while Starscream took his readings.

Starscream noticed a slight frown hovering between Skyfire's browridges as he studied the pages. Had Skyfire noticed the same discrepancies he'd observed? He bit his glossa, refraining from commenting, but Skyfire spoke up, his tone thoughtful.

"It's interesting… how detailed some areas are, and how vague others seem."

He traced a finger over one of the labor districts, his touch light and careful. "These were homes, but here they're just… shapes. And no one called it the Resource Allocation District, as far as I know. Every Iaconian I knew just called it The Stacks."

Yes. It would seem that Skyfire had noticed.

"Your vitals are looking better," Starscream reported, "but you should lie down again. I can apply the salve while you rest."

Skyfire nodded. "Okay. But first, I want—" he leaned forward, reaching for the next item on the pile.

Starscream grabbed it for him. It was a bound journal, its cover worn and scuffed with age. "Here you go. Though I don't recommend it as bedtime reading."

Chapter Text

Skyfire turned the journal over in his hands, examining it from all angles. "Why wouldn't you recommend it?" he asked. "Just so I have an idea of what I'm getting into."

Starscream cleared his throat. "It's… apparently… the personal journal of one Diatara, a high-ranking member of Sentinel Prime's inner circle," he explained, striving for a tone of neutrality.

Skyfire lifted a brow-ridge. "Apparently?" he echoed.

"Well." Starscream waved at the book. "See for yourself, I guess. I flagged some of the more… ah… interesting passages."

"Color me intrigued." Skyfire opened the book to one of the flagged pages. He scanned the text, lips moving silently, then began reading aloud:

"Sentinel Prime ascended the dais with steps unshaken, his armor gleaming as though reforged."

Skyfire paused. "Seriously?"

"Oh, it gets better," Starscream said. "Do continue."

"All right, then." Skyfire pulled in a deep breath. "Gazing upon him in that moment," he continued, "I might never have guessed how close he had come to death at the servos of a violent ingrate. As he began to speak, his sonorous voice flooding the Great Hall, my tanks dropped and awe surged through my spark. It was a true celebration of strength. Of unity. In that moment, Sentinel Prime was not merely a leader, but the very embodiment of Cybertron's indomitable spirit. A reminder that we, the chosen, endure through all…" Skyfire shut the book. "Okay, I see what you mean."

"I think she may have had a crush on him," Starscream observed.

Skyfire laughed. "It certainly sounds that way." He set the book carefully to one side. "Funny. If that gala she describes is the one I'm thinking of…"

"It is," Starscream confirmed. "I checked the dates."

Skyfire nodded. "From what I recall, the highlight of that evening was the televised execution of the 'ingrate.' As an example to anyone else who might have been thinking about rebelling."

"Funny how the journal doesn't mention that part."

"It's interesting, actually. Do you think…" Skyfire paused, as if wrestling with what to say. "It's not a real journal, is it? The tone feels more like… something written for posterity. As if her goal was for Sentinel Prime to be remembered in a specific way."

"She was one of his propaganda ministers, so that's entirely possible."

Skyfire sagged against the back of the couch, his gaze sweeping over the piles of archival material. "Is… is it all like this? I mean, are there any counter-narratives in the collection? Records that show what life was like for the labor class—or even dissenters?"

"Nothing that I've seen so far," Starscream admitted. "Though to be fair, I'm not done yet."

"But it looks like you've gone through most of it." Skyfire sighed. "I might have known. Much as I appreciate this opportunity, it seems as if I'm being kept on a rather short leash."

Starscream opened his mouth, then closed it. "It seems," he said at last, choosing his words carefully, "that Quorim is looking out for your best interests. I doubt the university would welcome… controversy."

Skyfire tipped his head to one side, studying him with a look of amusement. "You're trying very hard not to tell me what you think, aren't you?"

Starscream glanced away. "It's your decision, Sky. Not mine. What matters is whether you think this collection represents what you want to say."

Skyfire snorted. "I'm fully aware that my strength as a candidate is largely due to the fact that my memories of that time are still fresh, thanks to having been 'on ice.'" He gave a wry smile. "I'm sure Quorim is looking out for me, but no. This collection does not reflect anything I'd want to say."

"Then… what are you going to do?" Starscream couldn't decide if he was relieved or dismayed. Skyfire's road back to academia had been fraught with challenges, and this seemed like the latest one.

Skyfire observed the collection over the tips of his steepled fingers. "I don't know," he said, broad wings sketching a shrug. Wrapped as he was in the comforter, he looked like a very rumpled Sunstorm after a long night of… whatever it was that priests did all night. He fixed Starscream with a penetrating blue gaze. "What would you do?"

Now it was Starscream's turn to shrug. "You know me. I'm contrarian by nature, and that's never won me any favors. If I told the truth about what I saw during the war—or before it—I'd be blacklisted before I even set foot on campus."

Skyfire nodded. "I understand what you're saying, but…" he shifted on the couch, his gaze refocusing. "Maybe there's a middle path here. A way to present the truth that people can actually hear."

"What do you have in—" Starscream broke off as he realized where Skyfire's gaze had landed. On the battered medical kit sitting open on the side console. His tanks tightened. "You're not… not thinking…"

"You never talk about that part of your life," Skyfire said, his tone gentle.

Starscream's wings hitched. "Not much to tell."

He moved to close the kit, but Skyfire captured his wrist.

"I think there is," he said. "And I think those stories matter. Would you be willing to share them with me?"

"Like… an interview?"

Skyfire nodded. "When most bots think of Decepticons, they don't imagine field medics or caretakers. But that's part of who you are, whether you admit it or not. You cared for your Trine, for your soldiers—anyone who needed it."

"Any Decepticon," Starscream qualified. "No one at Iacon University is going to think saving Decepticons is a worthwhile pursuit." He twisted his arm free and grabbed the kit. "Believe me, my story isn't going to help you land this job."

"Maybe not," Skyfire said, "but I'd still love to hear it."

"Why?" Starscream demanded. "It's the past, Sky! It's very, very over, and—and it's not going to erase millennia of propaganda." He made a sweeping gesture to encompass the piles of archival material. Which was all propaganda, more or less.

Skyfire smiled faintly. "Not erase. Challenge. You've never been one to shy away from a fight, Star. Why start now?"

Starscream clenched his fists. Slag it anyway. Why did Skyfire have to be right?

"I'll make a deal with you," he said finally, and pointed to the half-full mug. "First, finish your energon."

Skyfire complied, making a face. He set the mug down. "Okay. What's next?"

Starscream held his hand out. "You know what's next."

Skyfire gazed at the hand for a moment, then reluctantly took it. Starscream helped him off the couch, half supporting his weight as they hobbled back to the berthroom. Skyfire's legs were shaking by the time they got there, and he sank down on the berth with a spark-felt sigh. Starscream arranged the pillows behind his head.

"Comfy?"

Skyfire nodded, his optics dimming momentarily as he settled.

"Good." Starscream climbed onto the berth next to him. "Now," he said, uncapping the jar of salve. "Where would you like me to start?

"One moment." Skyfire reached in his subspace and withdrew a small, rectangular data crystal. Its faintly glowing surface pulsed softly as he thumbed the activation glyph, and a delicate holographic waveform flickered to life above it. "In case I fall asleep," he explained sheepishly, setting it on the berthpad between them.

"Don't be silly," Starscream chided. "I'll be regaling you with fascinating historical tidbits. How could you possibly fall asleep?"

"Fascinating or not, I don't want to miss anything," Skyfire replied with a chuckle. "Start at the beginning."

"Fine." Starscream dipped two fingers into the jar, and frowned. Where had it begun?

A number of key moments flashed before his mind's eye. Losing Skyfire to the ice. Returning to Cybertron, hoping to petition help from the university in mounting a rescue mission, only to find his home city preparing for war. Watching as a former gladiator rose to prominence as leader of a resistance movement…

"When the war first broke out, I thought I could stay out of it," he began, starting to apply the salve to Skyfire's back. "I was wrong, of course."

He paused again, watching his fingers trace the transformation seams, just as Sunstorm had advised.

"So, I decided not to waste my talents just fighting," he went on. "My background as an explorer had given me the basics—sealing energon leaks, bypassing damaged relays, that sort of thing. I thought I could make a difference. Help the war end quickly, so I could get back to something more important."

"Besides," he added with a faint smirk, "I figured being a medic would keep me farther from the front lines. Turns out, I was wrong about that, too."

Starscream kept his voice low as he described his first field surgery, performed in the ruins of a bombed-out medcenter in Rodion. His fingers traced slow circles across Skyfire's plating as he spoke. Eventually, a soft whirr of cycling vents made him pause. He glanced over to find Skyfire's optics closed, his face peaceful in recharge. The rhythmic rise and fall of his ventilations was a steady comfort, the room's quiet pressing around them like a blanket.

The crystal pulsed softly, waiting.

Starscream automatically reached to shut it off, then hesitated. He could stop. Shut the crystal off and let the memories settle back into the depths of his processor. Or… he could keep going.

Scrap. Maybe this wasn't just for Skyfire. Maybe he'd been waiting to talk about this for a long time, and was only just now realizing it.

He sucked in a deep vent.

"I'd never seen anything like it," he continued. "The patient was conscious through the whole thing—we'd run out of pain blockers days before. But he didn't make a sound. Just kept telling jokes to keep the younger medics calm while we worked." Starscream's voice caught. "Frag, I was terrified. But that mech... he lived. Even came back later to thank me."

The stories flowed easier now. Tales of improvised repairs in the field, of teaching basic first aid to fresh recruits, of the quiet moments between battles when he'd check on his patients. Each memory was like a blade, edges sharp with old emotions. Fear, pride, exhaustion—all wrapped together, surfacing like fragments of shrapnel he'd thought buried for good. Yet speaking them aloud, he felt… lighter. Less like he was carrying the weight alone.

Eventually, a chime from the kitchen cut through his narrative.

"Saved by the bell," he muttered, carefully extracting himself from the berth. He didn't want to wake Skyfire, but by the time he returned from the kitchen, triumphantly carrying a steaming bowl of Shuttle Soup in one hand, Skyfire's optics were back online.

"I smell something good," Skyfire said. His voice was still hoarse, and he pushed himself up against the pillows with an effort that didn't escape Starscream's notice. "Can I expect you to add cooking to your growing list of talents?"

Starscream gave a huff, setting the bowl on the bedside console. "This is a one-off, Sky. Don't get used to it."

Skyfire laughed. He reached for the recording crystal, and let out a low whistle. "You've been talking for… hours," he said. "I guess you had a lot to say."

"Evidently." Starscream eyed the crystal, thinking of all that it now held in its memory. Every stumbling word, every hesitation. Every truth he'd never shared. And his spark felt more at ease, as if speaking those memories had lifted something from him. An unseen, unfelt burden, the presence of which was only apparent now, in its absence.

"Scoot," he ordered, motioning for Skyfire to move further onto the berth. Skyfire obeyed, making room for Starscream to perch on the edge. Starscream picked up the bowl. "Can you feed yourself if I hold this for you?"

Skyfire smiled. "I think I can probably manage." He picked up the spoon, took a careful sip, and hummed thoughtfully. "You know… it's not bad."

Starscream let out a breath. "Not Disaster Soup?"

"Well, it's not quite how my grandsire used to make it," Skyfire teased. "But for a first attempt? It's pretty good."

Starscream scoffed. "Don't expect me to make it a habit." He paused. "Though… I guess I did okay this time."

Skyfire's gaze softened, as though sensing the shift in his mood. "You did more than okay, Star."

Starscream stared at the soup, his hands wrapped around the bowl as if anchoring himself. "Yesterday, when I snapped at Tempest…" He trailed off, his voice tightening. "I didn't realize she wasn't feeling well."

"How could you have?" Skyfire asked. "I don't think even she knew. Having experienced Fledgling Fever for myself now, I can attest—it sneaks up on you."

"Yes, but…" Starscream shrugged. "You told me to go easy on her. You seemed to just… sense what she needed. Even if you didn't know."

Skyfire set the spoon down. "You were tired," he said gently. "It had been a long day, and she was… well." He smiled. "She was being a brat."

"That's not the point," Starscream retorted, though the edge in his voice quickly faltered. He looked away. "I'm not… like you, Sky. I don't know how to handle that kind of thing. Comforting someone. Being patient with them. You make it look easy."

"Easy?" Skyfire shook his head. "You think I don't have doubts? That I don't make mistakes? Starscream, no one's perfect at this. Not me, not anyone."

Starscream's wings twitched. "Well, I'm not sure I even qualify as good. And the thought of… of having a fledgling…" He vented sharply. "I'd mess it up. Mess them up. Like… like me."

"Ah. So that's why Skywarp's joke about the two of us having a sparkling upset you." Skyfire pried the bowl from Starscream's hands and set it on the berthside table. "Star," he said, draping an arm around Starscream's shoulders. "You've been taking care of me all day. Tempest loves you, even if she doesn't always show it. And this—" he held up the recording crystal "—is no doubt full of stories about you looking after people during the war. If that's not proof that you can care, I don't know what is."

Starscream hesitated, his spark thrumming uncomfortably. "I guess I have… time to figure it out," he admitted grudgingly.

"Plenty of time, my love." Skyfire pressed a kiss to Starscream's temple. "Now, why don't you stay here with me for a while?" he murmured, his voice low and inviting. "You've earned a recharge."

Starscream hesitated. "I should probably—"

"Stay," Skyfire interrupted softly, tugging him closer. "The soup's done. Tempest is fine. I'm fine. And you…" He smiled, his optics dimming slightly. "You could use the rest."

Chapter Text

Starscream paced the landing pad, wings flicking in restless agitation. He'd been saving his appetite all day, and waiting outside The Copper Aerie was torture. Each time the restaurant's large, hangar-style doors slid open, the festive scent of spiced energon and crystal-seared titanium wafted out, teasing his olfactory sensors and making his tanks growl.

Patience fraying, he checked his comm for what had to be the dozenth time. Nothing new. Not, at least, since Skywarp's barely legible voice text from twenty minutes ago. Something-something-running late-something.

"Running late, my aft," Starscream muttered. A trio of Seekers paused as they passed, casting him wary glances. "Let me guess," he said louder, just for their benefit. "Skywarp insisted on rolling initiative one more time, and Thundercracker didn't have the spark to tell him the campaign was over."

Skywarp had gotten Thundercracker into Skylanes & Sorcery, a ridiculous tabletop game about Seekers exploring ancient ruins. He swore it was 'culturally enriching,' though Starscream remained unconvinced.

The trio of diners stared at him blankly, their optics flickering like someone buffering for context. Not gamers, then. One of them tilted their helm, clearly debating whether to call security. "Are you okay?" the Seeker asked.

Starscream forced a tight smile and waved them onward. "Just faint with hunger," he said. "Enjoy your meal."

The trio edged away, exchanging hushed whispers before disappearing through the restaurant doors. Starscream sighed. He must look absolutely unhinged. Wings twitching, talking to himself, ranting about role-playing games—what were they thinking? Panhandler? Street preacher? A desperate mech looking for directions?

One thing was for sure: not one of them had recognized him. Starscream. A name which had once inspired awe—and, occasionally—abject terror. Now? He was just another vaguely eccentric, middle-aged flightframe, muttering to himself in public.

Perhaps there was a certain freedom in that. A chance to reinvent himself, become something new and unexpected. But definitely not before dinner, he amended, off a grumble from his empty tanks. He was about to fire off a scathing group text demanding to know where the frag everyone was when a familiar shape appeared on the horizon.

Skyfire.

He was flying alone, his broad form silhouetted against the moonrise. Transforming midair, Skyfire touched down with characteristic grace. The downdraft from his landing set the restaurant's hanging lanterns swaying, sending wild shadows flickering across the pavement. He winced apologetically as he crossed to where Starscream waited.

"Are we the first ones here?" Skyfire asked, glancing around.

"Everyone else is… delayed," Starscream answered sourly. "Seeker Standard Time, I suppose."

Skyfire smiled at the joke, but the mirth didn't reach his optics. As he drew close, his field brushed against Starscream's, carrying an undercurrent of... something. Something off. Apprehension coiled tight in Starscream's belly.

"Well?" he demanded, his tone sharper than intended. "How did it go?"

Skyfire's wings dipped. "It was… okay." He glanced down at one of his large hands, clenched at his side. "I mean… they offered it to me."

Starscream frowned, his grumbling tanks momentarily forgotten. "You… don't seem pleased," he said carefully.

It was such a stark contrast from Skyfire's mood earlier that day. When the history department had invited him back for a second interview, they'd been ready to celebrate his return to academic life. In fact, Starscream had been hoping to make tonight's meal a part of that celebration.

Skyfire vented a long, heavy sigh. "It's probably easier to just show you."

He transmitted a file, which Starscream opened on his HUD. It was an employment contract, with the department's crest prominently displayed at the top.

"Well, they certainly seem eager to have you aboard," Starscream remarked as he began to skim. "Research funding, conference allowances… everything you'd want." He paused, catching the faint tension in Skyfire's field. "What am I missing?"

"Take a look at section 8.4."

"Ah." Starscream narrowed his optics. "Ah."

"Yeah." Skyfire's tone was flat. "That was my reaction, too."

Section 8.4 was tucked neatly beneath the heading of Academic Integrity and Institutional Alignment Policies. Starscream read it aloud:

"The employee shall refrain from publishing, teaching, or disseminating material deemed controversial or misaligned with the institution's values." He paused with a snort. "I can see why they're paying so much."

Skyfire nodded. "I guess Quorim was right. He was trying to give me what I'd need to get my pede through the door without triggering… this."

He gestured vaguely, and Starscream realized he was gripping the recording crystal. Like a talisman.

Starscream swallowed his first, instinctive response, taking a moment to think it through. The contract's terms made his plating crawl, but Skyfire's happiness came first. He was not going to let his personal feelings interfere with that.

"It's not like they're telling you what to think," he began. The words tasted like rust in his mouth, but he forged onward. "They're just asking for oversight. And you could probably renegotiate in—"

"In a thousand vorns or so, sure," Skyfire said bitterly. "In the meantime, every research proposal, every lecture—it all goes through their 'ethics committee' first." His wings drooped. "They want me to parrot a sanitized version of history."

"History is always political, Sky."

Skyfire stared at him for a long moment. "I know, Star," he said finally. A smile touched his lips. "But I'm not signing up to become a mouthpiece. In case you wondered."

Starscream let go of a vent he hadn't known he'd been holding. "What are you going to do?"

"Turn down the offer, for starters. And think about my next move. I can't support an institution that wants to silence voices that don't fit their approved narrative." Skyfire stroked his thumb over the recording crystal, gazing at it thoughtfully. "Voices like yours."

"Pfft. Let them try." Starscream flicked his wings dismissively. "No one's managed to shut me up yet."

"True." Skyfire's gaze softened with affection. "But then again, look how long you've kept silent about being a medic."

Starscream scoffed. "That hardly counts. It didn't exactly mesh with the image I wanted to cultivate as a ruthless warrior."

Skyfire's laugh echoed across the landing pad. "Exactly."

Before Starscream could argue, a bright flash and the distinctive vop of teleportation cut through their conversation. Three figures—two large and one small—appeared in midair. Starscream barely had time to register their arrival before a high-pitched squeal pierced the air, and a small purple blur shot past him.

"Uncle Skyfire!"

Tempest latched onto Skyfire's leg, her field radiating pure joy. Skyfire's face lit with a matching smile.

"Hey, Tempest!" He reached down, scooping her into his arms. "Good to see you."

Starscream watched, spark warming at the sight of Tempest wrapping her arms around Skyfire's neck, gripping him like a space barnacle. Then, to his complete surprise, she twisted around and reached for him, a small hand grasping his aileron and pulling him into a group hug.

His wings hitched in startled pleasure. After their tense interaction at the botanical reserve, he hadn't expected such warmth. The genuine affection in Tempest's field wrapped around him like a blanket, melting away doubts he hadn't even realized he'd been harboring.

"I'm sorry I made you sick," Tempest whispered, burying her face against Skyfire's neck.

"Oh, sweetspark." Skyfire's voice was gentle. "It wasn't your fault. Viruses just do what viruses do. And besides." His optics met Starscream's, filled with tenderness. "I had the very best care."

Skywarp and Thundercracker sauntered over to greet them. Thundercracker was balancing what looked like a miniature jungle on a clear plasteel tray. On closer inspection, Starscream realized what it was: Four tiny verociflora serratus seedlings. The tiny carnivorous plants swayed with each step, their delicate heads bobbing like fledglings at a Nova Pulse concert.

"Happy Starfall," Thundercracker said, his optics gleaming with barely contained mischief. "We brought gifts."

Starscream eyed the collection. "You shouldn't have."

"Tempest's garden has been... productive," Thundercracker continued, his field rippling with amusement.

"Her verociflora serratus had babies," Skywarp added. "Lots of them."

"And… now you're sharing the wealth?" Starscream asked.

"Truly, a gift that'll keep on giving." Thundercracker said as he pressed a tiny plant into each of their hands. "Believe me."

Skyfire accepted his with genuine delight, already examining the delicate leaves. Starscream held his at arm's length, watching the hungry little maw snap at the air.

"Where's everyone else?" Skywarp asked, glancing around the landing pad. "I thought we were running late."

Starscream landed a playful punch on his trinemate's arm. "You are. I nearly died of starvation while waiting, you know."

"Well, speak of the devil," Thundercracker drawled. "As it were."

Sure enough, Sunstorm and Slipstream were swooping in for a landing. Sunstorm, for once, wasn't in his flowing ceremonial robes. Instead, he looked... almost casual, though his polished plating and immaculate frame still carried an aura of formality.

Starscream cocked an optic ridge. "Aren't you a little underdressed, brother?"

Slipstream laughed. "That would be my doing. Had to practically pry those things off him. Hence why we're fashionably late."

"I got lost in my prayers," Sunstorm said primly. "But a very happy Starfall to everyone."

"And a very happy Starfall to you, too," Thundercracker replied, his smile widening as he presented each of the new arrivals with their very own tiny carnivorous plant.

"What the heck is this?" Slipstream asked, her expression a picture of horrified fascination.

"Ah! Verociflora serratus!" Sunstorm enthused. "The leaves contain natural sedatives; perfect for making a calming evening brew when steeped in warm energon. The plant uses these compounds to subdue its prey, but they also work wonderfully for those seeking peaceful recharge."

"Good to know," Slipstream muttered, eyeing her plant with obvious suspicion.

Tempest bounced on her thrusters. "I brought food!" She reached in her subspace and, with a flourish, pulled out four beribboned bags of freeze-dried lab meat. "For feeding your new plants!" she announced, distributing the bags with the gravity of a commander presenting medals of valor.

Slipstream curled her lip. "Dare I ask?"

"Just go with it," Starscream advised. His tanks growled, loud enough for several heads to turn. "Can we please get inside before I start gnawing on someone's arm?"

The group filed through the restaurant's hangar doors, where the warmth and rich aromas hit Starscream's sensors like a physical wave. His mouth watered at the tang of spiced oil and the sweet undertone of crystallized treats baking somewhere in the kitchen.

Tempest darted between him and Skyfire, grabbing their hands and swinging between them. "I got an A!" she announced, beaming up at them. "My teacher said my carnivorous plant presentation was the most interesting thing she'd seen all semester!"

Skyfire's face lit up. "That's wonderful! I'm so glad we were able to find a science topic you enjoy. Think you'll take more science classes in the future?"

"Nah," Tempest replied. "I wanna be a rock star, like Nova Pulse. But maybe I can also do some gardening on the side."

"Sounds like a solid career plan." Starscream exchanged amused glances with Skyfire, who was still beaming with pride.

Starscream's spark twinged. Skyfire belonged in a classroom, sharing that infectious joy of learning. Sure, the university's restrictions were problematic, but… Skyfire loved to teach, and this job offer, flawed as it was, would be his chance to get back to it. He filed the thought away for later discussion. Not to change Skyfire's mind, necessarily, but surely there was room for compromise?

The host led them to a round table equipped with a turntable for shared dishes and a sturdy bench for Skyfire.

Tempest scrambled toward the provided booster seat. "I can do it myself!"

"Tempest, wait—" Starscream reached for her as she threw herself at the chair, nearly toppling it in her enthusiasm.

"I got it!" She righted herself and scrambled up, perching on it with the pride of a cybercat dragging its prize into its nest.

Starscream shot Thundercracker and Skywarp a withering glance. "I see you've raised a miniature daredevil."

Skywarp snagged a crystallized energon stick from a passing tray. He tossed it into the air, flipping it end over end, and caught it in his mouth. "Like parent, like sparkling," he said through a shower of crumbs.

As if to make herself fully at home, Tempest pulled her sound-cube from subspace and plunked it on the table next to her plate.

"Oh hey! Is that a Nova Pulse sound-cube?" Slipstream asked, sliding into the seat next to her.

Tempest's optics brightened. "You know Nova Pulse?"

Slipstream grinned. "I'd better. I helped design the lighting rigs for her last three tours."

"What?" Tempest's wings shot up in disbelief. "No way."

"Way." Slipstream chuckled. "Her team brought me in to coordinate the lighting with her aerial stunts. Those projections on her wings? All me."

Tempest gawked at her, clearly starstruck. "You're so lucky."

Slipstream smirked. "It's hard work, but someone's gotta make her look good."

The pair continued to chatter as everyone got settled. Sunstorm lifted a hand, catching the server's attention, and ordered an extra-large bowl of Windstone Stew.

"While we contemplate our individual choices," he explained. "Apparently my brother is on the brink of cannibalism."

Starscream opened his mouth to retort, but Skyfire didn't give him a chance. "The salve you provided was remarkably effective," he cut in. "Thank you again."

Sunstorm inclined his head. "I'm glad it was effective," he said with a note of quiet pride. "I developed that recipe myself, during my time as a field medic."

"A field medic?" Skyfire turned to Starscream. "Star, you never mentioned that you and Sunstorm were both medics."

"Well, let's not conflate things," Starscream replied, still glaring at his twin. "I practiced actual medicine. Based on science and proven methodologies. Sunstorm was more about tinctures and herbal remedies. Oh, and prayer, of course."

"There are many paths to any destination," Sunstorm replied serenely. "In fact, quite a few Seekers served as medics. Search and rescue, also," he added with a nod toward Skywarp. "Our flight capabilities made us well suited for emergency response."

Skywarp perked up. "Someone mention search and rescue?"

"Yes, actually." Skyfire leaned forward, glancing between the two mechs. "Would either of you be willing to let me interview you about your wartime experiences?"

"Sure!" Skywarp said cheerfully. "I've got tons of stories."

"He really does," Thundercracker confirmed with a roll of his optics. "You won't be able to shut him up."

"Good! I have plenty of recording crystals." Skyfire turned to Sunstorm. "What about you, Sunstorm?"

"Me?" Sunstorm's wings hitched in a shrug. "If you'd like, though I doubt there's much worth remembering from those days."

"I guess we'll find out," Skyfire replied.

"What's with all the interviews anyway?" Thundercracker asked, his broad wings tilted with curiosity. "Some kind of research project?"

"I'm... not entirely sure yet," Skyfire admitted. "But I keep thinking about all these stories we never hear; Decepticons who spent the war saving lives instead of taking them. Medics, rescue teams..." His optics darted to Starscream. "It feels important."

"Yeah." Thundercracker rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Y'know... that'd make one Pit of a documentary."

"A documentary?" Skyfire's optic ridges rose. "That's... actually brilliant. A documentary would reach more people than academic papers ever could. And—" he glanced at Starscream.

"—And, there'd be no institutional 'oversight' to worry about," Starscream concluded. He reached for Skyfire's hand under the table and gave it a squeeze. "It's a good idea, Sky."

Skyfire nodded. "It is a good idea."

"Count me in if you need help," Thundercracker offered. "I can help you structure the narrative."

"Thank you," Skyfire said. "I'll definitely think about it."

"And speaking of thought…" Skywarp said, giving Starscream a meaningful look, "have you given any to my question?"

"Question?" Starscream hedged, sensing danger.

"Oh, the one about starting a band," Skywarp replied with a wink. "I don't think we really got an answer about that, huh TC?" He nudged Thundercracker, who nodded.

"Come to think of it… I don't believe we did get an answer."

Tempest was immediately intrigued. "A band? But…" She glanced between Starscream and Skyfire, optics wide. "You guys are kind of old for that, aren't you?"

Thundercracker choked on a laugh, covering his mouth with his hand. "Kid, I don't think Skywarp meant that kinda band."

Starscream gave him a warning glare.

Skyfire nudged Starscream's leg. "Star—"

"Wait, what kind of band are you talking about?" Tempest asked, undeterred.

"The kind with loooots of backup singers," Skywarp replied evilly. "A whole choir. And hey, maybe a—"

"Oh, look!" Starscream sprang to his feet and pointed at their hapless server, who was approaching with a large tureen. "Here's our soup!"

"Allow me to do the honors, brother." Sunstorm said, rising beside him. "And of course, I shall also recite the blessing," he added with a wink. A wink! Was everyone in on Skywarp's ridiculous joke? Or…

Starscream's belly rumbled. Loudly. Skyfire caught his arm.

::Star,:: he sent over comms. ::Sit down.::

Starscream relented with a growl, allowing Skyfire to pull him back down. Sunstorm launched into one of the traditional prayers—one of the longer ones—and everyone groaned.

"Got any snacks?" Starscream muttered. "This could take a while."

Skyfire slipped an arm around him, tugging him close. ::They'll figure it out soon enough,:: he sent. ::Even if you don't tell them.::

"I know." Starscream laid a protective hand over his complaining belly, his fingers splaying across the plating as if to shield it from the roomful of curious optics. ::This is your fault, by the way. If you hadn't gotten sick—::

::We wouldn't have… Fledgling Fever, as it were,:: Skyfire replied. ::Yes, love. I am aware of the irony.::

A ripple of amused warmth emanated from Skyfire's end of their bond. Beneath it, Starscream caught a soft undercurrent of support; the quiet I believe in you that Skyfire didn't need words to convey.

Starscream settled his head on Skyfire's shoulder, glancing around the table at his boisterous family. Tempest was chattering to Slipstream, oblivious to the solemnity of Sunstorm's blessing. Thundercracker sat with casual dignity, pretending to pay attention to the chant while also pretending not to notice that Skywarp was sneaking titanium wafers from a passing tray.

There was love here. Chaos, yes—but love, too. It steadied something inside him, as did Skyfire's warm presence in his spark. It wasn't enough to silence all his fears. They still nagged at him; the fear that he might not be enough, or that he might snap under the strain.

::I guess we could tell them,:: he sent reluctantly.

::Or not,:: Skyfire responded. ::Whenever you're ready.::

"Let's get through the soup first," Starscream muttered as Sunstorm finally, at long last, ended his prayer.

Skyfire filled a bowl with Windstone Stew. "Here," he said, placing it in front of Starscream. "Before you challenge Sunstorm to a duel."

"How well you know me." Starscream took a sip, not bothering to wait for the others, and groaned as fortifying warmth spread through him. Slipstream glanced up, slanting him a curious look, and he sighed inwardly. His siblings were going to guess, if he didn't tell them. And his trinemates probably would, too.

He rose, tapping his spoon against the edge of his bowl. "Listen up," he began. "Since it's clear none of you are going to leave me in peace until you figure it out—"

He broke off. Skyfire's fingers curled around his, and a pulse of reassurance flowed through their bond. You got this.

Starscream squeezed back. This was it. No going back.

He took a deep breath and kept talking. Ready or not, he was taking the next step.