A/N: Prompted by a conversation with gallifreyanoncybertron over on tumblr!

Continuity:G1

Warnings: Non-graphic violence.

Characters: Bluestreak, Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, Ark ensemble

Chapter 1-

Most people think Sunstreaker loves beautiful things, and they think that makes him shallow. On the first point they're right; Sunstreaker has a deep, abiding love for anything beautiful. This does not make him shallow.

Beauty is more than a well-made frame or a sterling paint job. Of course, he isn't going to pass up the opportunity to admire a handsome mech any more than the next 'bot, but physical beauty is far from the only thing to stir his spark.

It's beautiful when Sideswipe laughs after a prank, and the way he exaggeratedly sulks in the brig after the inevitable dressing down from Prowl. It's beautiful when Jazz dances, all pointed pedes and curving limbs. It's beautiful when Blaster plays music and the smile on his face as he loses himself, his optics dull and far-away as he composes mid-conversation. Red Alert's ridiculous security systems are beautiful, because there's beauty in something that's so perfectly suited to its task. Even the stupid dirtball planet they're stuck on can be beautiful sometimes; when the wind blows just right through plating to produce a perfect coolness on internal circuits and the sun dips down below the horizon and sets the sky on fire.

Everything about Bluestreak is beautiful, but it's especially apparent when he talks.

Most people want something when they talk to Sunstreaker. Prowl wants something guarded, or for the twins to please not distribute any more engex, he knows it's them even if he has no proof. Prime wants someone to stand on the front lines. Tracks wants to borrow some polish. Even Sideswipe wants a co-conspirator or someone to back him up when his latest victim comes looking for him. It's not that he finds it annoying; he's always open to a little coaxing and he doesn't resent the requests but...

But Bluestreak just wants to talk about anything. About everything. He doesn't want to flatter to try and get into a pretty mech's berth, he doesn't want any backup muscle, he doesn't want anything protected or guarded or intimidated or watched. He doesn't want to buy any high grade. Bluestreak just wants someone to listen to him.

Most mechs have a limit to how long they can oblige. They like him, they really do. Bluestreak is sweet, innocent, friendly and easy to get along with. It's just that he motors on at a million words a minute and there's only so long the average 'bot can stand to listen. Sometimes they try to join in and sometimes that works fine, but sometimes Bluestreak just needs to keep talking, an uninterrupted flow of words so that his mind doesn't stray to darker places. Most mechs don't quite understand that.

Ratchet and First Aid understand. Before the Ark left Cybertron, they were briefed on the special requirements of all the crew. They know how badly Bluestreak needs to talk and they try to listen. But Ratchet, well… he's probably older than Cybertron itself and crankier than an overwound spring and you can see his tolerance eroding under the endless flood of words. First Aid is friendly and tries so hard, but after about a joor in the rec room he starts to shift and shuffle. Prowl understands, and seems to have the patience of a rock as he sits and listens, but the Third in Command rarely has any real downtime to sit and listen to a subordinate talk.

Sunstreaker has never been a talker. As far as he can, he likes to communicate through grunts and facial expressions and tiny changes in stance and the way his arms are folded. Anything over that he grudgingly allows in gruff, clipped sentences. He has always cultivated a careful distance from anyone but his brother; it's not that he particularly dislikes others, it's just that he doesn't really have an interest in making close friends. They've never been assigned to one troop long enough for it to matter.

Sideswipe is an expert in Sunstreaker grunts and grimaces and seems to have no problem holding a full conversation with his brother. Everyone else doesn't really bother. They sit with the twins because Sideswipe is somehow friends with the entire Ark within orns of leaving their home planet and everyone wants to join in the banter that always flows around the red warrior. The fact that Sideswipe brews the best unlicensed engex probably helps things along. Social as always, Sideswipe makes a special effort to integrate Bluestreak into their group from orn one.

-o0o-

To begin with Bluestreak is more than a little intimidated by Sunstreaker. They're about the same height, but Sunstreaker has finger-thick plating that can put a stop to most ballistics and stands like a predator waiting to pounce. He should be heavy and slow but somehow hasn't sacrificed more than a fraction of his agility to his retrofitted heavy plate. Something about the way he stands means he towers over most other mechs. Sideswipe has the same air about him; the twins fill any room they walk into just with their presence. It's impossible to not notice them.

The first time Sideswipe calls him over to sit with the twins, nervousness sends Bluestreak's vocaliser into overdrive. What is usually a fast stream of words becomes a torrent, half formed thoughts pouring forth before his processor really even catches what they are.

"Oh hi Sunstreaker I'm Bluestreak I don't think we've been introduced properly yet I mean obviously we know each other from the personnel files we had to read when we joined the crew but you know we haven't actually spoken face-to-face yet wow I mean I've heard so much about you they say you and your brother are the top frontlines in the whole army and they tried to poach you for the Wreckers but you refused to leave the Prime's team and wow I mean the Wreckers are such a prestigious group to work for although I mean they have a pretty high turnover hahaha I guess you wouldn't want to work with them... I- uh- oh I'm so sorry I didn't mean you're scared or anything I'm sorry that's not what I meant-"

He cuts off, stammering apologies to try and ward off any offense as he tenses up. The big yellow warrior finally meets his optics, faceplates set in a scowl, and shifts the position of his folded arms.

Bluestreak resets his vocaliser a few times, frantically glancing to Sideswipe for help or some kind of cue. This is not the first time his motor mouth has got him into bother. Sideswipe gives him a grin that seems to split his face and barks a laugh, clapping his brother on the pauldron with a clang.

"Exactly!" he laughs and his enthusiasm makes Bluestreak hesitate again. Sunstreaker's optics move to look at the assaulted plate and he slowly returns his gaze to his red twin. "The Wreckers're a bunch of glory-hunters, just take on stupid suicide missions to try and get their names in the histories. More warriors on the frontlines like me 'n' Sunny and-"

Another scowl from his twin cuts into the conversation. "My name is Sunstreaker."

Bluestreak stares; this is the first time he's ever actually heard Sunstreaker say actual words.

"Got nothing to do with your name," Sideswipe leans in close to his twin, wide grin teasing, "it's because of your sunny disposition."

He laughs at the dirty glower this earns him and turns back to Bluestreak.

"Anyway, we're already famous," the red mech stretches back in his seat – not bragging, just a statement of fact. "Don't need to join a bunch of wannabes – we're basically the Primal Vanguard, right?"

Bluestreak flicks his doorwings once in consideration, smiling uncertainly, but Sunstreaker's scowl has returned to its normal disinterest and Sideswipe's grin seems genuine. He relaxes.

-o0o-

A few decaorns pass, tension on board the Ark mounting with the knowledge that Megatron himself is pursuing them. With both ships at the height of their capabilities, all that can be done is sit at their - top speed, mercifully out of range of the Decepticon ship's weapons – and hope the enemy run out of fuel first.

Bluestreak begins to look forward to the orns when his off-shift time coincides with that of the twins. He's given up sitting in a group without them, forcing nervous silence lest he garner irritated looks and interruptions. Mostly he sits alone in their absence, occasionally joined by Jazz or Prowl or First Aid or Ratchet or Bumblebee, but with everyone working shifts there are plenty of orns he is by himself.

This is one of those orns. He fidgets with his untouched energon cube, seated at a table secreted in the corner of the rec room, and stares out of the viewing screen at the stars. His own thoughts roil in his processor, frantically trying to fend of the darker things on the periphery of his consciousness. He had a nightmare again last recharge and it sits fresh in his memory banks.

He starts as a large servo pulls out one of the chairs and someone sits with a heavy thump. He should have detected them approaching but he's too lost in his own helm. Relief floods as his optics focus on the bright yellow plating and familiar frown. He looks around but no matching red form is anywhere to be seen. At another table several of the twins' usual crowd is gathered and he wonders why Sunstreaker didn't sit with them.

"Hi Sunstreaker!" he chirrups, pleased to see the mech but confused by the absence of his twin. "How are you? How was your shift? Did you just get off? I've only been here about half a joor – I was on duty helping Ratchet sort things in the medbay but we got it finished pretty quick and he let me leave early. Where's Sideswipe isn't he usually with you? Not that it's not nice to see just you but I mean I thought you both normally had the same shifts."

Sunstreaker waits for him to finish, taking a long pull from his own energon cube. He grunts noncommittally when asked about his day, and then, "Punishment detail."

Bluestreak's optics widen and his door wings flare in surprise. "Punishment detail? What happened I mean why would he be on punishment detail I know Prowl is strict about being on time to shifts and everything but he's not that bad – was Sideswipe late to a shift? How long is his detail I hope everything is okay and it doesn't go on his permanent record-"

He stops suddenly as he realises Sunstreaker is smiling. Smiling. It's little more than a tiny quirk to his dermas but the unfamiliar expression hits like a missile to the spark chamber.

"More surprising it's taken this long."

Before Bluestreak can ask what he means, Brawn's voice sounds across the room, light and joking, "Need rescuing, Sunstreaker?"

The yellow mech's almost-smile slips into a snarl and his helm whips round to fix Brawn with a glare. Yellow servos grip the table hard enough to dent the metal and he doesn't stop glaring death until Brawn shuffles and mutters something that sounds a little bit like "sorry" and tries to shrink down into the group he sits with.

Bluestreak vents hard, trying to collect himself. Too much talking. He shrinks under the bright blue optics Sunstreaker turns back to him, avoiding looking into the handsome face. With a massive effort the servos release the innocent table and Sunstreaker assumes his standard lounging position, albeit a little forcefully.

"Aft." The sullen grunt barely even registers to the audials.

Bluestreak fidgets with his cube again, forcing quiet. No one wants to listen to someone chatter on and on. Be quiet, be quiet, be –

A yellow finger taps in front of him. "What were you helping Ratchet with?"

Amazement stalls all negative thought; this is the single wordiest conversation Bluestreak has ever heard Sunstreaker take part in. And has he ever actually heard Sunstreaker ask a conversational question before?

"I, uh, I was helping to uh sort through – well Ratchet has all these wires for circuit repair but he hasn't had a chance to sort everything into the medbay yet so he had me categorising all the wires by diameter and composition and I didn't even know there were that many different wires inside a mech!" The words spill out unbidden in an automatic response to the question.

Sunstreaker's tension after Brawn's remark seems to have eased a little and Bluestreak feels himself relax too. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe have never shown any irritation at his excessive talking, he could almost consider them friends-

A judder shakes the ship. Sunstreaker's brief lightness vanishes as their cubes slide from the table and smash on the floor and suddenly a frontline warrior is standing, weapons drawn and optics immediately mapping the room for threats. Bluestreak is up too, conscious reactions a far-off thing and pulling his rifle from subspace. The whole room is drawing weapons and what was a relaxed group is transformed into a hive of uneasy soldiers.

Prowl's voice echoes from the ship's announcement system.

"We have hit an asteroid field – all hands brace, we're going to blast our way through."

Sharing unhappy looks between each other, everyone moves to the walls, crunching through broken glass and spilled energon. Bluestreak is next to Sunstreaker and a yellow arm presses across his chestplate to steady him as the ship shakes with another impact. Breems pass like millennia and then Prowl's voice once again sounds in their audials and this time it has less of the cool calmness normally associated with their Third.

"All hands to battle stations – we are being boarded by Decepticons. All hands to battle stations. The Ark has been breached."

Chaos reigns. Everyone obeys without question, without hesitation. The rec room empties as Autobots pour out to defend their ship.

Bluestreak can hardly target an enemy in the confines of the Ark without risking hitting an ally. He stays close to Sunstreaker – despite snapped protests that he should get back and out of the main fighting – and together they try to make their way towards Sideswipe's location.

Tiny melees break out, desperate scrabbles by the Decepticons to claw closer to the Ark's bridge and equally desperate scrabbles by the Autobots to hold them back. Together they work out a system; when they hear footsteps Bluestreak drops down and aims his rifle, while Sunstreaker waits for the enemy to turn a corner. Sometimes Bluestreak can drop the hostiles without any contact being made, more often they both have to fight servo-to-servo. A sniper is not much good in the twisting hallways of a space craft.

Half a joor seems like an eternity as they try to make their way through the Ark's halls. Brief, barked commands from their commanders snap occasionally over their comm lines but in the here and now guerrilla fighting reigns supreme. The ship is listing wildly and few times the unpredictable footing saves their lives, almost costs them just as often.

Sunstreaker is a terrifying pitspawn as he tears through hostile Decepticons. He kills with bare servos as much as with weapons and the bright pink gore of processed energon splatters his yellow frame in a garish colour clash of violence, faceplates set in a brutal snarl. Several times their foes see who is coming towards them and just plain run away – and Bluestreak's plasma bullets catch them in the back. No time for mercy when the alternative is living Decepticons running unchecked through their ship.

They sustain plenty of their own injuries; one of Bluestreak's door wings hangs painfully from its single remaining hinge, dented servo marks patterning the metal. Sunstreaker sports charred and scratched plating, the glass cover of one optic shattered from a punch and several of the smaller plates in his face are so dented they don't move properly. They force themselves on.

Until an unexpected order clips across their comms.

"All hands, brace for impact," Prowl's voice is overtly calm, but desperation plays an unfamiliar tune beneath his words.

The ship goes into freefall.

Bluestreak smashes into a wall that has suddenly become the floor, damaged doorwing crumpling under the weight of his body. He shouts at the pain and tries to move but the ship is shaking and spinning like an earthquake. Another jolt sends him sliding towards what was once a turn in the corridor but is now a yawning pit. Scrabbling, he tries to grab something – anything to stop him falling.

A yellow servo finds his, larger and thicker fingers curling around his wrist. Sunstreaker grips and hauls and Bluestreak is heaved away from the brink. The grip on his wrist becomes an arm around his waist and Sunsteaker presses both of them down, denta gritted in a silent snarl as his other servo grips tight into the ship's metal.

The ship impacts. Stasis is instant.

Four million years drift by.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed! More to come so watch this space! Also sometimes I post sneak previews or initial-version chapters over on tumblr so follow me there (Inkfamy as well) for all your first look needs. I am also taking prompts!

Feedback is very much appreciated, thanks for reading!