Seekers and Corvette
I am of the opinion that Seeker!bunnies are of a more annoying breed, because they attack in droves. This fic was generated by three Seeker bunnies. Coincidence? I think not. *chanting* I will not name them I will not name them I will not name the- oh frag.
Seeker bunnies. From youngest to eldest. May they never plague my headspace again.
Skywarp
Starscream #1
Thundercracker #1 and 2 and comments.
*curses bunnies that made me give up on chaptering this fic*
Title: Seekers and Corvette
'Verse: G1 Transformers
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: TF cussing, Slash
It was quiet.
The thought stuck in the Prime’s CPU as he looked out from his position above the Ark, a ledge that afforded him a mostly unobstructed view of both the base and its surroundings. They really had been quite fortunate this past year, he mused. Not only had Megatron’s foremost fliers defected, but a second trine had broken away as well, crippling his forces.
This second trine, the Coneheads, as his crew had taken to calling them in order to differentiate them from Starscream’s group, had not become Autobots, citing ideological differences, although they would abide by the Autobot manifesto, as well as be amenable to requests from Prowl or Prime, in return for their safety.
Starscream had sniffed and muttered something about them not knowing what the word ideological meant, Prowl had murmured something about them just not wanting to take orders from Starscream, as the flier was now nominally in charge of the Autobots’ flight capable forces. Starscream had huffed in mock offence, temper much improved now that he wasn’t constantly in fear for his and his trine’s safety, the rest of the officers had needed a reboot at the display of humour from their SIC, and Optimus had been hard pressed to hold back a laugh, and was very glad for a battlemask to hide his smile behind.
That was another thing to be grateful for. With Megatron lying low and the Seekers with the Autobots, his trine (already known as the Datsuns by his mechs, and how they’d come to be a trine in the first place was another almost unbelievable story) were not as tense. Oh, it had been harder to tell the difference in Bluestreak and Smokescreen, but in Prowl…
Optimus now understood why the mech held back so much in front of the mechs that were not part of his inner circle. Prowl went to great lengths to protect his trine and the Autobots, and the conflict he endured between the Seeker’s credo and having to attack the Decepticon Seekers had worn on him greatly. Detaching emotionally whenever he could had been a coping mechanism, one that he was beginning to rely less on now.
The Prime remembered the discussion he’d walked in on between the two leaders of their respective trines.
“You attacked us.”
“You threatened my trinemates. No Seeker was irreparably damaged by one of my trine, but I could not in good faith hold back the other Autobots, nor could I refrain from giving my all in the fight against the Decepticons.”
“Why fight the ‘Cons at all? With you on Megatron’s side, the war would have been over and won, and there would have been no more threat to you and yours.”
“Because Megatron was detrimental for all Seekers. Tell me, truthfully, that he was not so.”
“I… He was different.”
“He was cruel. Always had been. He razed Praxus to the ground. A city highly populated by mechs of my frame type. What he could not have, he destroyed. We hid ourselves well, but not well enough.”
“I didn’t know doorwinged bots were subverted Seekers.”
“He did.”
“You could have said something.”
“Would you have believed me? Would it have made you leave? You needed to break away on your own.”
“You could have said something.”
“I know.”
Then, there had been another surprise arrival (somemech had wondered why they didn’t just put up a sign saying ‘Autobot Halfway House for Decepticons’ and be done with it). Soundwave had turned up on their doorstep (sending Red Alert into a frizt-fit over how his security measures had been so easily avoided), cassettes in tow. In a quiet monotone, the mech had asked for help. No reason was asked for. The limp, mangled frames of the cassettes cradled in his arms were explanation enough. Apparently, after the departure of his previous whipping boy, Megatron had started taking out his temper on whoever was the most convenient, and the relatively tiny bots were ill equipped to withstand his rage.
The blue mech had not left the Med Bay for a month, recharging on a free berth with the cassettes able to do so huddled close to him. Blaster had spent an inordinate amount of time in the Med Bay as well, assisting Ratchet and Soundwave with the delicate procedures necessary for the cassettes. It had been something of a bittersweet experience, the two had been good colleagues once, and now… things were awkward, but it looked like they were rebuilding whatever rapport they had from before the war.
Once his cassettes were fully repaired, the mech left, accompanied by the Coneheads. The Autobots had been confused as to why they would go back, but then they realised that no one had heard a peep from Megatron since Soundwave had showed up. Regular communications between Soundwave and Blaster started up, but the blue mech refused to give an answer as to the status of his leader, only stating that he was grateful for their help and would like to begin peace talks, and that the Decepticons would leave the humans in peace if they could negotiate for energon, would the Autobots please assist with that too?
All in all, Optimus mused, life was looking to be peaceful. For the next few months, at least.
And it was, although one of his mechs might beg to differ.
= = =
He was a good looking mech, and he knew it. Pit, everyone knew it, and in case they didn’t, or just didn’t want to admit it, he made it a point to declare it on a regular basis. And as a consequence of his good looks, he knew he could wriggle his way onto nearly any mech or femme’s berth, and had claimed innumerable partners on both sides of the war.
It was harder here, with the Decepticon base at the bottom of the ocean, but they had to patrol sometime, and their new land based outposts were remarkably handy. His own faction mates were no less of a challenge. Much more convenient to access, but most were already wise to his ways. But then, he wasn’t the best looking mech ever sparked for nothing, and what he wanted, he generally got.
And this time he’d set his sights on the pretty black and purple jet that had recently wandered into the Autobot fold.
He’d never had a Seeker before, and judging from when he’d caught Sunstreaker with Bluestreak (and hadn’t that been a surprise, learning they already had Seekers in their ranks), he had a good idea that the rumours about their wings were true, but he wanted to find out for himself. Checking his appearance one last time in his mirror, he smirked. Gleaming paint and a sleek, immaculate chassis. Perfection. The jet would be his.
= = =
Bluestreak sat, curled up at the end of one of the couches in the rec. room, fighting to hide his grin. There’d been a bit of an argument between him and all the fliers about staying out of stasis with the sparkling on its way, but he’d won with judicious application of watery blue optics and a pout.
Smokescreen had laughed himself sick at the speed at which the jets had backed off, and Prowl had only gently reminded him that the option was there should he choose it, and that they reserved the right to be concerned, but otherwise they would respect his decision. Skywarp had asked, in an awestruck tone, for the gunner to teach him how to do that.
But that wasn’t what the grey mech was smiling over. In a corner of the rec. room was the teleporter, and next to him, oozing charisma and smooth words was a dark blue mech. It was a familiar scene, one Bluestreak himself had experienced briefly before Sunstreaker had loomed threateningly behind him and the mech had made his excuses rather quickly, leaving Bluestreak rather confused. He still poked fun at his now lover for it, calling him a possessive mech, staking his claim before Bluestreak had even realised it. They’d not even been friends at the time.
The gunner’s smile softened at the thought of the frontliner. The mech had been exceptionally dedicated to the proper care of his mate, encouraged no doubt by no less than three protective trines and a medic. And speaking of protective trines…
“Hey Tracks, you’re going to be late for patrol if you don’t hurry. Prowl hasn’t lightened up on that one bit.” Smokescreen wandered by the pair, a smile stretched across his faceplates. The Corvette sighed and murmured a few more words into the jet’s audio, then left the rec. room. Skywarp immediately made straight for Bluestreak, trailed by Smokescreen.
“Do I need to warn you about Tracks?”
“Nah. Knew what he was doing. Eesh, you’d think I was sparked yesterday, the way you lot and my trinemates fuss over me.” Gunner dealt jet a commiserating look, and both broke out into snickers.
“As long as you know not to fall for his sweet talk.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
= = =
The news that Tracks was pursuing Skywarp spread through the Ark at lightning speed, and the jet was getting rather fed up with all the mechs trying to ‘protect’ him by listing the Corvette’s reputation and recent berth history. Oh, they meant well, he knew, but he was more than capable of taking care of himself, he’d been a Decepticon, for crying out loud, and he had his trinemates and the Datsuns watching his back.
And speaking of his trinemates, they were teetering on the edge between ‘looking out for my trinemate’ and ‘treating him like a sparkling’. Honestly, it was almost insulting. As such, it was inevitable that after cautionary lecture number hundred and twenty two by Starscream (and all of the ones from other mechs he hadn’t bothered to count), he snapped.
“Frag it ‘Screamer! I heard you the first one hundred times, I’m not addled in the CPU! Yes, he’s a player, yes, he’s only after one thing, yes, he’s going to drop me like a rusty bolt after he gets what he wants. I. Know. And I assure you I have absolutely no intention of letting him do so. I’m not an idiot, although you seem to think I am, so lay off! And this goes for you as well TC!”
The ticked off jet then stormed out of their quarters, leaving his stunned trinemates frozen in place.
= = =
A jet sat in the Rec. Room, glaring into a cube of energon, but most assuredly not sulking. Really.
“Problems?”
Starscream looked up, then thunked his helm onto the table when he saw who’d spoken. “Oh. Joy. It’s you.”
“Aw, you don’t mean that.”
“Whatever gave you that idea?”
Not the least bit put off by the jet’s snarling, Sideswipe claimed a chair obnoxiously close to the jet and smirked. “From the looks of it, Prime himself could waltz in here and you’d be unhappy to see him.”
“Mute it.”
“You know I’m riiight.”
“Alright! Fine! Now mute it! How they put up with you I’ll never know.” Starscream flailed a hand wildly in the Lamborghini’s direction, helm still resting on the tabletop.
“‘Cos unlike you, I’m charming.”
“Oh so charming, and should I tack on pretty and witty and gay to that as well?” Another mech chimed in, and the Seeker groaned, risking a glimpse up. Jazz. Frag, he’d be spilling in nano-clicks.
“Oh, go suck slag.” Sideswipe mock-sneered at the saboteur, now settling on the other side of the flier.
“Argh. Megatron did blast me, and I’m in the Pit.”
“Nah, I’m having too much fun to be in the Pit. Sorry t’disappoint, ‘Screamer.” The Porsche grinned, and the Seeker made his retort in a flat, I-am-not-amused tone.
“I repeat. Argh.”
Head on the table as it was, Starscream didn’t see Jazz glance over at Sideswipe, and jerk his chin in the direction of the exit. The red mech pouted, but caved after Jazz threw in a raised optic ridge. There was a reason no one pranked the Special Ops mech, after all.
“Welp, as fun as this is, I have to deprive you of the pleasure of my company now. Stuff to do, pranks to plan, other officers to annoy and all that. But you’ll survive.” Lamborghini patted jet on the helm, ducking the retaliatory swipe, and headed off, snickering all the way. Jazz smirked, then shifted his focus to the Seeker glaring daggers at the departing mech’s back.
“So, do I have to work on you, or you willing to talk right away? ‘Cos we both know it’s gonna happen eventually.”
“Skywarp. And that glitching, virus ridden, Cybertron’s hovercycle of a mech-whore excuse of a grease spewing bot I should be hunting down and terminating with extreme prejudice.”
Jazz’s optic ridge went up again. He hadn’t really expected Starscream to give in this quickly. It was the jet’s turn to smirk now. “What? I decided to skip the stage where you annoy me into cracking.”
“Whoo, touch-y. What’s the matter? ‘Warp’s got a working CPU, and the rest of us are watching out for him and Tracks. No danger there.”
“It’s not something I particularly want to explain to you.”
“You don’t want to tell me, fine. But you could tell Skywarp though, the mech’s getting annoyed at you something fierce. You two have been all but sitting on the mech recently. Prowl and Smokes are protective with Blue’, but they never get anywhere near what you’ve been doing.”
“Can’t.”
“Why not?”
Starscream shifted, folding his arms across his front and turning away from the other mech. “Do you know how many times Megatron wanted ‘Warp to teleport into this base and off Optimus Prime?”
“Why didn’t you let him? He could have gotten in easy.” The Seeker shot the Porsche a searching look, but the black and white mech’s expression was unreadable, and he gave up trying to divine the Ops mech’s intent.
“One mission on Cybertron, he ‘ported into a base and barely managed to escape. You lot had found a way to detect and block his ‘porting ability. Didn’t stop Megatron from ordering him to do the same again. Next such mission, ‘Warp nearly died.”
“If my databanks are correct, you started trying to overthrow Megatron about the same time as we developed that technology. Distracting him from your trinemate?”
“Amongst other things. Skywarp practically worshipped Megatron. Megatron praised him like few ever had. All the mech had to do was make a comment about a possible task and ‘Warp would be volunteering for it.”
“And what Tracks is doing reminds you of Megs’s sweet talk. And I suppose TC’s the same, only he feels guilty about you insisting on running interference all by yourself.”
“… See why I can’t tell him?”
“You don’t have to. He’s listening in.”
“What?!”
Jazz shrugged. “He’s really not as good at sneaking about as he thinks he is.”
At this, a sheepish head poked up from a nearby couch, followed by the rest of Skywarp as he made his way over to the pair.
“I think my work here is done.” The Porsche got up, patting the black and purple jet on the shoulder as he left the Rec. Room. Skywarp nodded gratefully at Jazz, and then took the saboteur’s recently vacated seat, reaching for the stunned looking Starscream as he did so.
= = =
Lit by the flickering monitors, the pair of mechs on watch talked softly, optics never leaving the screens.
“Are the Seekers alright now?”
“Yup. All’s just dandy between them. Fine bit of planning there.”
“Thank you.”
“Frag.”
One mech raised an optic ridge as the other swore, but understanding dawned when he realised one of the screens showed Skywarp bouncing into the firing range, dragging two faintly smiling jets with him.
The reason for their concern was that Tracks was in the same location. And the combination of weaponry, jets and Tracks had the potential to be volatile.
“I concur. I’ll comm. Ratchet to be prepared, just in case.”
“Comm. Ironhide too. We may need some muscle in there.”
Comms were sent and replied to, and the two mechs watched the scene unfold on the monitor. A dark had turned up the sound, and a pale one called up a few more screens focusing on the area.
= = =
Over at the firing range, Tracks smirked when he saw just who had walked in. Sauntering over, he hailed his quarry with a disarming smile and a smooth greeting, and got a bright grin in return as Skywarp pulled his trinemates past to a free spot on the range.
“Hey superstar, where you from, how's it going?”
Well, that was odd as far as hellos went, but ‘Warp had called him a superstar, so he guessed he didn’t mind all that much. Looked like the jet had given him a pet name (and here he grinned inwardly, it was… rather cute), a fitting one to boot. He preened, showing off, and the teleporter shook his head, laughing.
“Got the swagger of a champion, don’t you.”
The other two jets were staring in disbelief, and he smirked at them once Skywarp had turned away. They glared halfheartedly, as if still in shock, and moved to follow their third. Tracks smirked again as he went back to target practice, feeling oddly pleased with himself.
= = =
“Did ‘Warp just…”
“You’re the one who listens to human music obsessively. You tell me.”
“Hey! You realised it as well.”
“That phrase is hardly something one would say in normal conversation. It stood to reason that there was some other meaning behind it. The best match from the internet was a song lyric.”
“Slacking off on duty now, are we?”
“Hardly, I’m trying to understand the situation and wish to utilise all resources at my disposal.”
“You’re cute when you obfuscate.”
“A rather big word for you, isn’t it?”
“I’m gonna let that slide for now ‘cos I wanna get in on this thing and I need to plot. Frag, still two hours before I can blow this joint.”
“May I remind you that we’re on duty?”
“You can help plot too. I won’t tell.”
= = =
Tracks was puzzled. He’d just gotten off duty, and was sitting in the Rec. Room, playing a game of cards with Smokescreen and Sideswipe when the Datsun of their group suddenly smirked at him.
“What?”
“Gotta clue what you’re doing?”
Blinking, he looked at his hand. Nothing wrong with it, as far as he could tell, a little weak though. Sideswipe was cracking up, not bothering to muffle his laughter. Ah. He came to what he thought was the obvious conclusion and drawled in reply.
“If you’re trying to psyche me out in order to win, you’re gonna have to work a bit harder than that.”
Behind him Thundercracker snickered. “Boy, don't try to front.”
He cast a confused frown at the jet, before turning back to see the diversionary tactician wagging a finger at him, still smirking. “Fakin' like a good one, but I call 'em like I see 'em.”
The Corvette shrugged and looked somewhat exasperated. “You going to play or just sit there grinning?”
“Oh, do play on. Play it how you wanna.” When did Skywarp appear? The purple and black jet beamed at him (and strangely, his processors stuttered) as he grabbed hold of his trinemate and pulled him away.
Tracks was very puzzled.
= = =
“You must mistake me for a sucker, Tracks.”
Odd human phrasing aside, the glint in Prowl’s optics was what really threw him off. The mech looked… almost amused. While he’d certainly seemed to have rediscovered the art of not being mistaken for a drone, Prowl did not do random amusement. Tracks could only make the following eloquent reply.
“Sir?”
“I am not going to modify your patrol route, even if it would be ‘more efficient’, as you seem to think, because I know that if you set tire tracks within the city boundaries, the last thing your CPU would be focused on would be patrolling. Dismissed.”
He slunk out, still perplexed. Bluestreak was just outside, and judging from the gunner’s smile, had probably heard everything.
“Too bad for you, Tracks.”
“Thanks. I think. Frag, the mech is such a pain in the exhaust. So I want to visit a few more auto shops to decide which one will get the privilege of maintaining my gorgeous form. There are so many to choose from, and doing that while patrolling the city would save me a lot of time.”
“Just can't find the right companion, huh. I guess when you have one too many, makes it hard.”
More oddness, but Bluestreak had already patted him on the shoulder sympathetically and gone on his way.
= = =
“I’m on to you, slagger. I know just what you are.” Starscream was in his face, snarling for all he was worth. That, Tracks had expected. He was going after the mech’s trinemate, after all. But the hissing and the insults were beginning to wear thin.
“You’re crazy; did the twins smack you around too much in the training room?”
“You say I'm crazy? I got your crazy. You're nothing but a-”
“Starscream! Soundwave’s arrived with Dirge, Ramjet and Thrust for the truce negotiations, and the Coneheads are swarming Bluestreak!” Thundercracker rounded the corner at a run, optics wide.
“What?!”
“Something about sparklings and adorable and Primus I already crashed once don’t you do it too!”
Tracks could only stare as both jets ran off in the direction of the Med Bay, where the gunner was spending more and more of his time just resting and being monitored by Ratchet.
= = =
In the Med Bay, Bluestreak sighed, shifting awkwardly on a berth. Sunstreaker was there in an instant, reaching for his hand and holding it comfortingly. The pain was growing, and he knew that soon he’d have to go into stasis for the rest of the carrying period. But not just yet, he decided. Poking fun at Tracks was just too entertaining, and he really wanted to see the mech’s face when he twigged on.
Of course, seeing three ex-Decepticons and three still-Decepticons fall over themselves fussing over him and his sparkling and then try to glare Sunstreaker into submission was a pretty good incentive to stay out of stasis for a while longer as well.
Privately, he felt that the jets had nothing on Prowl in the ‘effective glares’ department. The black and white Datsun’s ‘Behave. Now.’ look had once stopped one of the wildest parties the Ark mechs had ever thrown (it had gotten really out of hand) dead cold. Sunstreaker had fervently agreed with him, but also posited that the jets could run for fourth place, after Optimus Prime and Ratchet.
And speaking of the medic… Ratchet had thrown the fit to end all fits and kicked all the fliers out of the Med Bay after their fussing had gotten on his last tolerance circuit. Even motherhen!Seekers (and boy was that phrase processor stalling) couldn’t withstand a ‘Ratchet is pissed, man the bunkers!’ level tantrum.
The door hissed open, and immediately Ratchet had a wrench in hand, ready to fling at anything with wings daring to poke its head into his med bay. Soundwave stepped in, and the mech relaxed.
“Soundwave. Did you want me to check on your cassettes?”
“Negative. Cassettes: Doing well. Intent: Visit Bluestreak.”
“Go ahead. But stress him and I will turf you out.”
“Affirmative. Seekers: Annoying.”
“Glad we agree.”
That said, the CMO went back to whatever he’d been doing before the Decepticon mech had come in. Soundwave drew closer to the gunner, and the Datsun could feel Sunstreaker subtly tense behind him. Squeezing the mech’s hand, he offered a smile up at the tape player.
“Hi Soundwave, how are the talks going?”
“Peace talks: Progressing well. Bluestreak and sparkling: Condition?”
“Oh, we’re just fine, but I think I’ll be going into stasis soon. The pain is getting tiring, and with the peace talks going well I guess I can go into stasis with no worries. I’m going to try to keep out of it for as long as I can though.”
“Query: Why endure? Solution: available.”
“I want to spend as much time as I can with Sunny and the rest of my friends, and…” Here the gunner exhibited a mischievous expression. “‘Wave, can you keep a secret?”
= = =
Track was getting very irritated. With Ratchet and Sunstreaker standing guard over the Med Bay and Bluestreak, the seekers were in the Rec Room, taking it out on the mechs there. And of course they’d all home in on him. Skywarp had better be worth it. All the other mechs had been laughing at him behind his back (and for some, in his face) over his plight.
The aforementioned jet was in a corner with Sideswipe, looking like they were plotting something. Just as the pair broke out in laughter (a sound which bode no good thing for their victim, or for Prowl or Red Alert, or whoever was tasked to deal with them), their security director passed by on the way to the energon dispenser and directed a searching look at them.
“Planning something illegal again, I presume.”
Sideswipe was quick with the denials, but Skywarp only stared at Red Alert like the mech had just hit him over the head.
“What is it?”
“Are you and the twins a trine as well?” This question was accompanied by a wide opticked curiosity that had the rest of their audience realising that Bluestreak had found a disciple in the art of getting away with murder. Both Lamborghinis stared, then yelped as their CPUs processed the words.
“What?! Frag no! Whatever gave that idea?!”
“Three jets, three Datsuns, three Lamborginis… Just a thought.”
“Well, we’re not a trine, even if we share an Earth make.”
“Alright then.”
Red Alert wandered off, energon forgotten, muttering to himself as Sideswipe cast a traumatised look at Skywarp, who blinked at his plotting cohort.
“What? It distracted him pretty well.”
Sideswipe’s mouth opened and closed a few times, before he shook his head in wonder, and the pair went back to plotting. The rest of the Rec. Room gradually returned to what they’d been doing as well, and for Tracks, that meant getting badgered by five hostile jets.
“Look fragger, you can play brand new to all the other jets out there, but I know what you are.”
His audios needed a check. Tracks could have sworn Thrust had said ‘chicks’ instead of jets, which made no sense (he wasn’t Powerglide, for crying out loud).
“You think you're oh-so charmin', don’t you?” Ramjet this time.
“No way ‘Warp’s ever gonna fall for you.” Dirge.
He would have retorted, but at that moment Soundwave, Bluestreak and Sunstreaker stepped into the Rec. Room and the Seekers were immediately moving to their side. Bluestreak was settled on a couch, flanked by jets and a Lamborghini, and Soundwave sought out Blaster, both mechs conferring too quietly to be overheard.
Cycling air in frustration, the Corvette claimed a seat on another couch (near enough to covertly watch Skywarp) and began to sulk brood in a dignified manner. Occupied with sulking his thoughts, he didn’t notice Soundwave and Blaster coming closer, until the sound of music being played jolted him from his reverie.
Wondering why everyone else was laughing, he frowned. The song sounded familiar, and as he ran the lyrics through his processors, it suddenly clicked. All the odd phrases the trines had been using…
Frag.
Soundwave had withdrawn his mask to make sure the Corvette knew he was smirking at him as the music played from the Decepticon’s systems. Blaster had doubled over with amusement, and the jets were all killing themselves over Track’s dumbfounded look of realisation. Skywarp sauntered over (and frag if he couldn’t keep his optics from appreciating the motion, even as the others made fun of him).
“You got me goin'.” It seemed like they were going to milk this for all it was worth, Skywarp now occupied his lap.
“You're oh-so charmin'.” He gritted his denta and tried to make some form of retaliation.
“Ramjet already used that. Try something else.”
“It could be easy,” The black and purple jet had a considering look on his faceplates, not that Tracks saw it, glaring at the other snickering fliers in humiliation. Trapped in his seat as he was, he couldn’t do anything more about it.
“Maybe if we both lived in different worlds, it would be all good, and maybe I could be your mech.”
What?
The Rec. Room fell silent as the teleporter leaned in close to say his next words. “I’m no one’s toy, Tracks. But I do admit you have a pretty chassis, and with all the experience you undoubtedly have, you could make for an incredible ‘face. Pity ‘bout your berth hopping ways.”
“… I could change.” And scarily enough, he thought he meant it.
The jet in his lap smiled and wiggled closer, making his intakes hitch slightly.
“You know you’re gonna have it harder than Sunstreaker, what with your reputation and all.”
“Yeah.”
“And I make no guarantees about this being any sort of commitment on my part.”
“It’s a chance, and like you said, I do have a lot of experience. Perhaps I could make you change your mind?”
Skywarp’s grin turned anticipatory, and Tracks felt his engine stir in response. “Believe me, I’m looking forward to the attempts.”
Seeker bunnies. From youngest to eldest. May they never plague my headspace again.
Skywarp
Starscream #1
Thundercracker #1 and 2 and comments.
*curses bunnies that made me give up on chaptering this fic*
Title: Seekers and Corvette
'Verse: G1 Transformers
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: TF cussing, Slash
It was quiet.
The thought stuck in the Prime’s CPU as he looked out from his position above the Ark, a ledge that afforded him a mostly unobstructed view of both the base and its surroundings. They really had been quite fortunate this past year, he mused. Not only had Megatron’s foremost fliers defected, but a second trine had broken away as well, crippling his forces.
This second trine, the Coneheads, as his crew had taken to calling them in order to differentiate them from Starscream’s group, had not become Autobots, citing ideological differences, although they would abide by the Autobot manifesto, as well as be amenable to requests from Prowl or Prime, in return for their safety.
Starscream had sniffed and muttered something about them not knowing what the word ideological meant, Prowl had murmured something about them just not wanting to take orders from Starscream, as the flier was now nominally in charge of the Autobots’ flight capable forces. Starscream had huffed in mock offence, temper much improved now that he wasn’t constantly in fear for his and his trine’s safety, the rest of the officers had needed a reboot at the display of humour from their SIC, and Optimus had been hard pressed to hold back a laugh, and was very glad for a battlemask to hide his smile behind.
That was another thing to be grateful for. With Megatron lying low and the Seekers with the Autobots, his trine (already known as the Datsuns by his mechs, and how they’d come to be a trine in the first place was another almost unbelievable story) were not as tense. Oh, it had been harder to tell the difference in Bluestreak and Smokescreen, but in Prowl…
Optimus now understood why the mech held back so much in front of the mechs that were not part of his inner circle. Prowl went to great lengths to protect his trine and the Autobots, and the conflict he endured between the Seeker’s credo and having to attack the Decepticon Seekers had worn on him greatly. Detaching emotionally whenever he could had been a coping mechanism, one that he was beginning to rely less on now.
The Prime remembered the discussion he’d walked in on between the two leaders of their respective trines.
“You attacked us.”
“You threatened my trinemates. No Seeker was irreparably damaged by one of my trine, but I could not in good faith hold back the other Autobots, nor could I refrain from giving my all in the fight against the Decepticons.”
“Why fight the ‘Cons at all? With you on Megatron’s side, the war would have been over and won, and there would have been no more threat to you and yours.”
“Because Megatron was detrimental for all Seekers. Tell me, truthfully, that he was not so.”
“I… He was different.”
“He was cruel. Always had been. He razed Praxus to the ground. A city highly populated by mechs of my frame type. What he could not have, he destroyed. We hid ourselves well, but not well enough.”
“I didn’t know doorwinged bots were subverted Seekers.”
“He did.”
“You could have said something.”
“Would you have believed me? Would it have made you leave? You needed to break away on your own.”
“You could have said something.”
“I know.”
Then, there had been another surprise arrival (somemech had wondered why they didn’t just put up a sign saying ‘Autobot Halfway House for Decepticons’ and be done with it). Soundwave had turned up on their doorstep (sending Red Alert into a frizt-fit over how his security measures had been so easily avoided), cassettes in tow. In a quiet monotone, the mech had asked for help. No reason was asked for. The limp, mangled frames of the cassettes cradled in his arms were explanation enough. Apparently, after the departure of his previous whipping boy, Megatron had started taking out his temper on whoever was the most convenient, and the relatively tiny bots were ill equipped to withstand his rage.
The blue mech had not left the Med Bay for a month, recharging on a free berth with the cassettes able to do so huddled close to him. Blaster had spent an inordinate amount of time in the Med Bay as well, assisting Ratchet and Soundwave with the delicate procedures necessary for the cassettes. It had been something of a bittersweet experience, the two had been good colleagues once, and now… things were awkward, but it looked like they were rebuilding whatever rapport they had from before the war.
Once his cassettes were fully repaired, the mech left, accompanied by the Coneheads. The Autobots had been confused as to why they would go back, but then they realised that no one had heard a peep from Megatron since Soundwave had showed up. Regular communications between Soundwave and Blaster started up, but the blue mech refused to give an answer as to the status of his leader, only stating that he was grateful for their help and would like to begin peace talks, and that the Decepticons would leave the humans in peace if they could negotiate for energon, would the Autobots please assist with that too?
All in all, Optimus mused, life was looking to be peaceful. For the next few months, at least.
And it was, although one of his mechs might beg to differ.
= = =
He was a good looking mech, and he knew it. Pit, everyone knew it, and in case they didn’t, or just didn’t want to admit it, he made it a point to declare it on a regular basis. And as a consequence of his good looks, he knew he could wriggle his way onto nearly any mech or femme’s berth, and had claimed innumerable partners on both sides of the war.
It was harder here, with the Decepticon base at the bottom of the ocean, but they had to patrol sometime, and their new land based outposts were remarkably handy. His own faction mates were no less of a challenge. Much more convenient to access, but most were already wise to his ways. But then, he wasn’t the best looking mech ever sparked for nothing, and what he wanted, he generally got.
And this time he’d set his sights on the pretty black and purple jet that had recently wandered into the Autobot fold.
He’d never had a Seeker before, and judging from when he’d caught Sunstreaker with Bluestreak (and hadn’t that been a surprise, learning they already had Seekers in their ranks), he had a good idea that the rumours about their wings were true, but he wanted to find out for himself. Checking his appearance one last time in his mirror, he smirked. Gleaming paint and a sleek, immaculate chassis. Perfection. The jet would be his.
= = =
Bluestreak sat, curled up at the end of one of the couches in the rec. room, fighting to hide his grin. There’d been a bit of an argument between him and all the fliers about staying out of stasis with the sparkling on its way, but he’d won with judicious application of watery blue optics and a pout.
Smokescreen had laughed himself sick at the speed at which the jets had backed off, and Prowl had only gently reminded him that the option was there should he choose it, and that they reserved the right to be concerned, but otherwise they would respect his decision. Skywarp had asked, in an awestruck tone, for the gunner to teach him how to do that.
But that wasn’t what the grey mech was smiling over. In a corner of the rec. room was the teleporter, and next to him, oozing charisma and smooth words was a dark blue mech. It was a familiar scene, one Bluestreak himself had experienced briefly before Sunstreaker had loomed threateningly behind him and the mech had made his excuses rather quickly, leaving Bluestreak rather confused. He still poked fun at his now lover for it, calling him a possessive mech, staking his claim before Bluestreak had even realised it. They’d not even been friends at the time.
The gunner’s smile softened at the thought of the frontliner. The mech had been exceptionally dedicated to the proper care of his mate, encouraged no doubt by no less than three protective trines and a medic. And speaking of protective trines…
“Hey Tracks, you’re going to be late for patrol if you don’t hurry. Prowl hasn’t lightened up on that one bit.” Smokescreen wandered by the pair, a smile stretched across his faceplates. The Corvette sighed and murmured a few more words into the jet’s audio, then left the rec. room. Skywarp immediately made straight for Bluestreak, trailed by Smokescreen.
“Do I need to warn you about Tracks?”
“Nah. Knew what he was doing. Eesh, you’d think I was sparked yesterday, the way you lot and my trinemates fuss over me.” Gunner dealt jet a commiserating look, and both broke out into snickers.
“As long as you know not to fall for his sweet talk.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
= = =
The news that Tracks was pursuing Skywarp spread through the Ark at lightning speed, and the jet was getting rather fed up with all the mechs trying to ‘protect’ him by listing the Corvette’s reputation and recent berth history. Oh, they meant well, he knew, but he was more than capable of taking care of himself, he’d been a Decepticon, for crying out loud, and he had his trinemates and the Datsuns watching his back.
And speaking of his trinemates, they were teetering on the edge between ‘looking out for my trinemate’ and ‘treating him like a sparkling’. Honestly, it was almost insulting. As such, it was inevitable that after cautionary lecture number hundred and twenty two by Starscream (and all of the ones from other mechs he hadn’t bothered to count), he snapped.
“Frag it ‘Screamer! I heard you the first one hundred times, I’m not addled in the CPU! Yes, he’s a player, yes, he’s only after one thing, yes, he’s going to drop me like a rusty bolt after he gets what he wants. I. Know. And I assure you I have absolutely no intention of letting him do so. I’m not an idiot, although you seem to think I am, so lay off! And this goes for you as well TC!”
The ticked off jet then stormed out of their quarters, leaving his stunned trinemates frozen in place.
= = =
A jet sat in the Rec. Room, glaring into a cube of energon, but most assuredly not sulking. Really.
“Problems?”
Starscream looked up, then thunked his helm onto the table when he saw who’d spoken. “Oh. Joy. It’s you.”
“Aw, you don’t mean that.”
“Whatever gave you that idea?”
Not the least bit put off by the jet’s snarling, Sideswipe claimed a chair obnoxiously close to the jet and smirked. “From the looks of it, Prime himself could waltz in here and you’d be unhappy to see him.”
“Mute it.”
“You know I’m riiight.”
“Alright! Fine! Now mute it! How they put up with you I’ll never know.” Starscream flailed a hand wildly in the Lamborghini’s direction, helm still resting on the tabletop.
“‘Cos unlike you, I’m charming.”
“Oh so charming, and should I tack on pretty and witty and gay to that as well?” Another mech chimed in, and the Seeker groaned, risking a glimpse up. Jazz. Frag, he’d be spilling in nano-clicks.
“Oh, go suck slag.” Sideswipe mock-sneered at the saboteur, now settling on the other side of the flier.
“Argh. Megatron did blast me, and I’m in the Pit.”
“Nah, I’m having too much fun to be in the Pit. Sorry t’disappoint, ‘Screamer.” The Porsche grinned, and the Seeker made his retort in a flat, I-am-not-amused tone.
“I repeat. Argh.”
Head on the table as it was, Starscream didn’t see Jazz glance over at Sideswipe, and jerk his chin in the direction of the exit. The red mech pouted, but caved after Jazz threw in a raised optic ridge. There was a reason no one pranked the Special Ops mech, after all.
“Welp, as fun as this is, I have to deprive you of the pleasure of my company now. Stuff to do, pranks to plan, other officers to annoy and all that. But you’ll survive.” Lamborghini patted jet on the helm, ducking the retaliatory swipe, and headed off, snickering all the way. Jazz smirked, then shifted his focus to the Seeker glaring daggers at the departing mech’s back.
“So, do I have to work on you, or you willing to talk right away? ‘Cos we both know it’s gonna happen eventually.”
“Skywarp. And that glitching, virus ridden, Cybertron’s hovercycle of a mech-whore excuse of a grease spewing bot I should be hunting down and terminating with extreme prejudice.”
Jazz’s optic ridge went up again. He hadn’t really expected Starscream to give in this quickly. It was the jet’s turn to smirk now. “What? I decided to skip the stage where you annoy me into cracking.”
“Whoo, touch-y. What’s the matter? ‘Warp’s got a working CPU, and the rest of us are watching out for him and Tracks. No danger there.”
“It’s not something I particularly want to explain to you.”
“You don’t want to tell me, fine. But you could tell Skywarp though, the mech’s getting annoyed at you something fierce. You two have been all but sitting on the mech recently. Prowl and Smokes are protective with Blue’, but they never get anywhere near what you’ve been doing.”
“Can’t.”
“Why not?”
Starscream shifted, folding his arms across his front and turning away from the other mech. “Do you know how many times Megatron wanted ‘Warp to teleport into this base and off Optimus Prime?”
“Why didn’t you let him? He could have gotten in easy.” The Seeker shot the Porsche a searching look, but the black and white mech’s expression was unreadable, and he gave up trying to divine the Ops mech’s intent.
“One mission on Cybertron, he ‘ported into a base and barely managed to escape. You lot had found a way to detect and block his ‘porting ability. Didn’t stop Megatron from ordering him to do the same again. Next such mission, ‘Warp nearly died.”
“If my databanks are correct, you started trying to overthrow Megatron about the same time as we developed that technology. Distracting him from your trinemate?”
“Amongst other things. Skywarp practically worshipped Megatron. Megatron praised him like few ever had. All the mech had to do was make a comment about a possible task and ‘Warp would be volunteering for it.”
“And what Tracks is doing reminds you of Megs’s sweet talk. And I suppose TC’s the same, only he feels guilty about you insisting on running interference all by yourself.”
“… See why I can’t tell him?”
“You don’t have to. He’s listening in.”
“What?!”
Jazz shrugged. “He’s really not as good at sneaking about as he thinks he is.”
At this, a sheepish head poked up from a nearby couch, followed by the rest of Skywarp as he made his way over to the pair.
“I think my work here is done.” The Porsche got up, patting the black and purple jet on the shoulder as he left the Rec. Room. Skywarp nodded gratefully at Jazz, and then took the saboteur’s recently vacated seat, reaching for the stunned looking Starscream as he did so.
= = =
Lit by the flickering monitors, the pair of mechs on watch talked softly, optics never leaving the screens.
“Are the Seekers alright now?”
“Yup. All’s just dandy between them. Fine bit of planning there.”
“Thank you.”
“Frag.”
One mech raised an optic ridge as the other swore, but understanding dawned when he realised one of the screens showed Skywarp bouncing into the firing range, dragging two faintly smiling jets with him.
The reason for their concern was that Tracks was in the same location. And the combination of weaponry, jets and Tracks had the potential to be volatile.
“I concur. I’ll comm. Ratchet to be prepared, just in case.”
“Comm. Ironhide too. We may need some muscle in there.”
Comms were sent and replied to, and the two mechs watched the scene unfold on the monitor. A dark had turned up the sound, and a pale one called up a few more screens focusing on the area.
= = =
Over at the firing range, Tracks smirked when he saw just who had walked in. Sauntering over, he hailed his quarry with a disarming smile and a smooth greeting, and got a bright grin in return as Skywarp pulled his trinemates past to a free spot on the range.
“Hey superstar, where you from, how's it going?”
Well, that was odd as far as hellos went, but ‘Warp had called him a superstar, so he guessed he didn’t mind all that much. Looked like the jet had given him a pet name (and here he grinned inwardly, it was… rather cute), a fitting one to boot. He preened, showing off, and the teleporter shook his head, laughing.
“Got the swagger of a champion, don’t you.”
The other two jets were staring in disbelief, and he smirked at them once Skywarp had turned away. They glared halfheartedly, as if still in shock, and moved to follow their third. Tracks smirked again as he went back to target practice, feeling oddly pleased with himself.
= = =
“Did ‘Warp just…”
“You’re the one who listens to human music obsessively. You tell me.”
“Hey! You realised it as well.”
“That phrase is hardly something one would say in normal conversation. It stood to reason that there was some other meaning behind it. The best match from the internet was a song lyric.”
“Slacking off on duty now, are we?”
“Hardly, I’m trying to understand the situation and wish to utilise all resources at my disposal.”
“You’re cute when you obfuscate.”
“A rather big word for you, isn’t it?”
“I’m gonna let that slide for now ‘cos I wanna get in on this thing and I need to plot. Frag, still two hours before I can blow this joint.”
“May I remind you that we’re on duty?”
“You can help plot too. I won’t tell.”
= = =
Tracks was puzzled. He’d just gotten off duty, and was sitting in the Rec. Room, playing a game of cards with Smokescreen and Sideswipe when the Datsun of their group suddenly smirked at him.
“What?”
“Gotta clue what you’re doing?”
Blinking, he looked at his hand. Nothing wrong with it, as far as he could tell, a little weak though. Sideswipe was cracking up, not bothering to muffle his laughter. Ah. He came to what he thought was the obvious conclusion and drawled in reply.
“If you’re trying to psyche me out in order to win, you’re gonna have to work a bit harder than that.”
Behind him Thundercracker snickered. “Boy, don't try to front.”
He cast a confused frown at the jet, before turning back to see the diversionary tactician wagging a finger at him, still smirking. “Fakin' like a good one, but I call 'em like I see 'em.”
The Corvette shrugged and looked somewhat exasperated. “You going to play or just sit there grinning?”
“Oh, do play on. Play it how you wanna.” When did Skywarp appear? The purple and black jet beamed at him (and strangely, his processors stuttered) as he grabbed hold of his trinemate and pulled him away.
Tracks was very puzzled.
= = =
“You must mistake me for a sucker, Tracks.”
Odd human phrasing aside, the glint in Prowl’s optics was what really threw him off. The mech looked… almost amused. While he’d certainly seemed to have rediscovered the art of not being mistaken for a drone, Prowl did not do random amusement. Tracks could only make the following eloquent reply.
“Sir?”
“I am not going to modify your patrol route, even if it would be ‘more efficient’, as you seem to think, because I know that if you set tire tracks within the city boundaries, the last thing your CPU would be focused on would be patrolling. Dismissed.”
He slunk out, still perplexed. Bluestreak was just outside, and judging from the gunner’s smile, had probably heard everything.
“Too bad for you, Tracks.”
“Thanks. I think. Frag, the mech is such a pain in the exhaust. So I want to visit a few more auto shops to decide which one will get the privilege of maintaining my gorgeous form. There are so many to choose from, and doing that while patrolling the city would save me a lot of time.”
“Just can't find the right companion, huh. I guess when you have one too many, makes it hard.”
More oddness, but Bluestreak had already patted him on the shoulder sympathetically and gone on his way.
= = =
“I’m on to you, slagger. I know just what you are.” Starscream was in his face, snarling for all he was worth. That, Tracks had expected. He was going after the mech’s trinemate, after all. But the hissing and the insults were beginning to wear thin.
“You’re crazy; did the twins smack you around too much in the training room?”
“You say I'm crazy? I got your crazy. You're nothing but a-”
“Starscream! Soundwave’s arrived with Dirge, Ramjet and Thrust for the truce negotiations, and the Coneheads are swarming Bluestreak!” Thundercracker rounded the corner at a run, optics wide.
“What?!”
“Something about sparklings and adorable and Primus I already crashed once don’t you do it too!”
Tracks could only stare as both jets ran off in the direction of the Med Bay, where the gunner was spending more and more of his time just resting and being monitored by Ratchet.
= = =
In the Med Bay, Bluestreak sighed, shifting awkwardly on a berth. Sunstreaker was there in an instant, reaching for his hand and holding it comfortingly. The pain was growing, and he knew that soon he’d have to go into stasis for the rest of the carrying period. But not just yet, he decided. Poking fun at Tracks was just too entertaining, and he really wanted to see the mech’s face when he twigged on.
Of course, seeing three ex-Decepticons and three still-Decepticons fall over themselves fussing over him and his sparkling and then try to glare Sunstreaker into submission was a pretty good incentive to stay out of stasis for a while longer as well.
Privately, he felt that the jets had nothing on Prowl in the ‘effective glares’ department. The black and white Datsun’s ‘Behave. Now.’ look had once stopped one of the wildest parties the Ark mechs had ever thrown (it had gotten really out of hand) dead cold. Sunstreaker had fervently agreed with him, but also posited that the jets could run for fourth place, after Optimus Prime and Ratchet.
And speaking of the medic… Ratchet had thrown the fit to end all fits and kicked all the fliers out of the Med Bay after their fussing had gotten on his last tolerance circuit. Even motherhen!Seekers (and boy was that phrase processor stalling) couldn’t withstand a ‘Ratchet is pissed, man the bunkers!’ level tantrum.
The door hissed open, and immediately Ratchet had a wrench in hand, ready to fling at anything with wings daring to poke its head into his med bay. Soundwave stepped in, and the mech relaxed.
“Soundwave. Did you want me to check on your cassettes?”
“Negative. Cassettes: Doing well. Intent: Visit Bluestreak.”
“Go ahead. But stress him and I will turf you out.”
“Affirmative. Seekers: Annoying.”
“Glad we agree.”
That said, the CMO went back to whatever he’d been doing before the Decepticon mech had come in. Soundwave drew closer to the gunner, and the Datsun could feel Sunstreaker subtly tense behind him. Squeezing the mech’s hand, he offered a smile up at the tape player.
“Hi Soundwave, how are the talks going?”
“Peace talks: Progressing well. Bluestreak and sparkling: Condition?”
“Oh, we’re just fine, but I think I’ll be going into stasis soon. The pain is getting tiring, and with the peace talks going well I guess I can go into stasis with no worries. I’m going to try to keep out of it for as long as I can though.”
“Query: Why endure? Solution: available.”
“I want to spend as much time as I can with Sunny and the rest of my friends, and…” Here the gunner exhibited a mischievous expression. “‘Wave, can you keep a secret?”
= = =
Track was getting very irritated. With Ratchet and Sunstreaker standing guard over the Med Bay and Bluestreak, the seekers were in the Rec Room, taking it out on the mechs there. And of course they’d all home in on him. Skywarp had better be worth it. All the other mechs had been laughing at him behind his back (and for some, in his face) over his plight.
The aforementioned jet was in a corner with Sideswipe, looking like they were plotting something. Just as the pair broke out in laughter (a sound which bode no good thing for their victim, or for Prowl or Red Alert, or whoever was tasked to deal with them), their security director passed by on the way to the energon dispenser and directed a searching look at them.
“Planning something illegal again, I presume.”
Sideswipe was quick with the denials, but Skywarp only stared at Red Alert like the mech had just hit him over the head.
“What is it?”
“Are you and the twins a trine as well?” This question was accompanied by a wide opticked curiosity that had the rest of their audience realising that Bluestreak had found a disciple in the art of getting away with murder. Both Lamborghinis stared, then yelped as their CPUs processed the words.
“What?! Frag no! Whatever gave that idea?!”
“Three jets, three Datsuns, three Lamborginis… Just a thought.”
“Well, we’re not a trine, even if we share an Earth make.”
“Alright then.”
Red Alert wandered off, energon forgotten, muttering to himself as Sideswipe cast a traumatised look at Skywarp, who blinked at his plotting cohort.
“What? It distracted him pretty well.”
Sideswipe’s mouth opened and closed a few times, before he shook his head in wonder, and the pair went back to plotting. The rest of the Rec. Room gradually returned to what they’d been doing as well, and for Tracks, that meant getting badgered by five hostile jets.
“Look fragger, you can play brand new to all the other jets out there, but I know what you are.”
His audios needed a check. Tracks could have sworn Thrust had said ‘chicks’ instead of jets, which made no sense (he wasn’t Powerglide, for crying out loud).
“You think you're oh-so charmin', don’t you?” Ramjet this time.
“No way ‘Warp’s ever gonna fall for you.” Dirge.
He would have retorted, but at that moment Soundwave, Bluestreak and Sunstreaker stepped into the Rec. Room and the Seekers were immediately moving to their side. Bluestreak was settled on a couch, flanked by jets and a Lamborghini, and Soundwave sought out Blaster, both mechs conferring too quietly to be overheard.
Cycling air in frustration, the Corvette claimed a seat on another couch (near enough to covertly watch Skywarp) and began to sulk brood in a dignified manner. Occupied with sulking his thoughts, he didn’t notice Soundwave and Blaster coming closer, until the sound of music being played jolted him from his reverie.
Wondering why everyone else was laughing, he frowned. The song sounded familiar, and as he ran the lyrics through his processors, it suddenly clicked. All the odd phrases the trines had been using…
Frag.
Soundwave had withdrawn his mask to make sure the Corvette knew he was smirking at him as the music played from the Decepticon’s systems. Blaster had doubled over with amusement, and the jets were all killing themselves over Track’s dumbfounded look of realisation. Skywarp sauntered over (and frag if he couldn’t keep his optics from appreciating the motion, even as the others made fun of him).
“You got me goin'.” It seemed like they were going to milk this for all it was worth, Skywarp now occupied his lap.
“You're oh-so charmin'.” He gritted his denta and tried to make some form of retaliation.
“Ramjet already used that. Try something else.”
“It could be easy,” The black and purple jet had a considering look on his faceplates, not that Tracks saw it, glaring at the other snickering fliers in humiliation. Trapped in his seat as he was, he couldn’t do anything more about it.
“Maybe if we both lived in different worlds, it would be all good, and maybe I could be your mech.”
What?
The Rec. Room fell silent as the teleporter leaned in close to say his next words. “I’m no one’s toy, Tracks. But I do admit you have a pretty chassis, and with all the experience you undoubtedly have, you could make for an incredible ‘face. Pity ‘bout your berth hopping ways.”
“… I could change.” And scarily enough, he thought he meant it.
The jet in his lap smiled and wiggled closer, making his intakes hitch slightly.
“You know you’re gonna have it harder than Sunstreaker, what with your reputation and all.”
“Yeah.”
“And I make no guarantees about this being any sort of commitment on my part.”
“It’s a chance, and like you said, I do have a lot of experience. Perhaps I could make you change your mind?”
Skywarp’s grin turned anticipatory, and Tracks felt his engine stir in response. “Believe me, I’m looking forward to the attempts.”