Jazz waltzed aboard the Autobot flagship, the Ark, like he belonged there. The toothy smile on his face wasn't feigned in the least. He was almost too giddy. He needed to tone it down a notch or everyone on the ship would think he was glitched. But they'd be on the ship. And he'd be with them. The grin slapped itself back on his face. He'd done the impossible. He was on the Autobot ship. He ran his hand over the wall to make sure it was real.

Megatron was going to be so happy.

He still had a few kels before he'd risk any kind of transmission to anything close to Decepticon space, but still, when the news came through Megatron was going to fragging glow. Ahead of him the hall opened into a spoked hub.

He walked to the center and stopped. The halls were lit with different soft glowing colors but not even Soundwave or his symbionts had ever boarded the Ark. As much fun as it would be to wander the halls making notes of points of entry or structural weaknesses he had to get formally registered. Then the real fun would begin.

"Are you lost?" a soft voice asked behind him. He turned around and jumped almost straight back to Decepticon space. A tiny red and white mech, no more than a youngling looked up at him with bright blue optics. Tiny red cephalic fins flared on his head like feathers and he cocked his head to the side staring at Jazz with interest. The fin flare seemed a little hostile, but his guileless expression didn't match his body language.

"Me?" Jazz said a little breathlessly. "Primus, I think you're the one who's lost, where's your creator or sire, lil' mech? This is a warship." The mechling ducked his head shyly and his fins flattened. He shook his head and those flashing blue optics looked up at Jazz once more. His fins started to rise again. Interest, then. Like the quick up and down flap of an Ahnkmorian's fins.

From a hallway marked with soft green lights an adult Kalisian emerged scribbling on a datpad. "First Aid where did—ah, there you are." He looked up at Jazz with an open friendly smile, his fins pulsing soft white. "Hello, new?" Jazz didn't see weapon anywhere on him and his teal green and white armor was about as light as it got in a warzone. Non-combatant Kalisian with green and white armor hidden safe aboard the Ark? Wheeljack. The only—living—mech that could match Shockwave; a genius in theoretical physics he was the reason ships could jump space instead of chugging through the void. Putting a round in him alone would cement Jazz's legendary status among the Decepticons. They would make him a demi-god.

"Uh…yes," Jazz said before the moment could stretch too long. "You…you're Wheeljack, right?"

His fins flashed and he nodded, scooping up the youngling and holding him on his hip. "Wheeljack, Jackie, Jack, Half-Glitched-Pain-In-The-Aft; although Ratchet's the only one who uses that last one." The youngling giggled and snuggled close to him. "Anyway, you're probably looking for Prowl, he's the one who gets all the transfers settled. We can go by his office, if he's not there he'll be in the dispensary." He started walking still with the youngling in his arms.

"You're, uh, taking the youngling?" Jazz said having to jog a couple steps to keep up with the lanky genius.

"Hm? Oh, First Aid? Of course. Sorry, I forgot to make introductions. This is First Aid," Wheeljack said tickling the back of First Aid's neck until he squealed. His little red fins shot straight up and Wheeljack laughed, his fins pulsing bright blue.

Jazz introduced himself only vaguely aware of what he said. "So is he…yours?" he asked. He couldn't believe for even a half second Autobots were training younglings on their warships. It was genius if you didn't take into account how much care young mechs and femmes took. And if it wasn't that but the result of too much high grade he was going to reevaluate how fragging smart Autobots were. He wasn't above a good frag, but Primus, how could they not be taking precautions and how could they let any mistakes come to term?

Wheeljack looked down at the youngling with a fond smile. "When he's behaving," he said with a laugh. "When he starts getting into trouble he's Ratchet's."

"You actually…you have a youngling on a warship," Jazz said with wide optics.

Wheeljack rested his head against First Aid's for a moment and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Happenstance? No, that sounds too upbeat. It was…it's complicated," he said softly with less humor. "First Aid is one of the survivors from Centari Alpha." Jazz didn't miss his arms tightening around the mechling. He couldn't blame him for it. Centari Alpha was a ghost story that would last generations. The distant colony had gone wrong in a horrific way and not everyone was convinced it was bad luck. As a master of sabotage, Jazz was inclined to believe what befell Centari Alpha had been caused. What no one could figure out was, Why?

"He was so sick with radiation poisoning and everything else that we were the only ship with the medics and equipment to care for him," Wheeljack was saying. "And by the time he was healthy again we didn't want to let him go." First Aid clicked and snuggled against Wheeljack with a soft happy sound. Wheeljack's long fingers stroked the youngling's back until the little mech's bright optics began to droop and close more frequently.

"You're not, uh, worried?" Jazz said looking around the warship they were on. Nothing was impenetrable; Jazz was living fragging proof of that. And younglings were so very fragile. Pit, even juveniles were fragile. Younglings were…he looked at Wheeljack holding the youngling. He was so little compared to the tall Kalisian. A misplaced step could cause untold damage to his little frame.

"Well of course we worry," Wheeljack said softly. "But with Decepticons going after more and more soft targets the risks are about the same. If the colonies were still safe or mostly off limits like they used to be the situation would be different, but, so far this kel three Autobot colonies and a neutral have been attacked and raided. We still don't know how many were lost." A humorless smile lifted the corner of his mouth. "It's to the point now where it might be more practical to put civilians on warships and soldiers in the colonies."

He stopped in front of a plain door that looked like all the others down the hall and knocked. Across the lock screen an out of office message scrolled. "Thought so, dispensary it is, come on. That's where this little mech wants to be anyway." First Aid perked up when they turned down another hall that had soft blue lights at even intervals.

"What's with the colors?" he asked to get away from the subject of the youngling. He'd never been on an Autobot ship that used colors.

"For me? So I know where I am. Prowl and Red Alert have a more tactical and defensive reason for it but fragged if I know." Wheeljack said. "Dispensary and rec room are down the blue hall. Med bay is down the green hall. Sparring room down the orange, and firing range down the purple."

Like a small bullet, a tiny black blur blew out of a hallway and almost blindsided Wheeljack. "Jack, catch him!" a breathless voice called. Wheeljack reached down and scooped up the little comet before it could take off again. Naked as the day he was sparked a youngling younger than First Aid twittered and whistled indignantly.

"There's more?" Jazz yelped jumping back a step. From the same hallway the youngling had appeared an older dark green mech came jogging up with a younger, though old enough to be enlisted, black mech laughing behind him.

Wheeljack handed the squirming bundle over to the dark green mech. "Just one, thank Primus," the green mech said. "Don't think this ship could handle two of 'em." The youngling tried to get loose again with another angry whir and chirp.

"The naked one is Bumblebee," Wheeljack said. "He hates bath time," he said in a fake whisper. First Aid laughed and squirmed to be put down, he stayed by Wheeljack's side though and held two of the Kalisian's narrow fingers in his small hand.

"I'm too old for bath time," the green mech said. "Hound, by the way. Lead scout and official youngling wrangler."

"Best in the business," Wheeljack said fins glowing bright blue. "How'd he get out this time?" he asked with no shortage of curiosity.

Hound pointed a thumb over his shoulder. The tall black mech ducked his head. "I didn't know. I opened the door and whoosh, gone." Bumblebee chirped at him and the tall mech grinned. "I think Sideswipe has been watching them too much, he's gettin' faster." First Aid tugged on Wheeljack's hand and looked up at him with sad blue optics.

"Okay, good luck Hound, I need to get First Aid to the dispensary before he tells Ratchet I'm starving him."

Bumblebee made a shrill sound and tried in earnest to get loose. "See you tonight, 'Jack!" Hound yelled. He said to the sparkling trying to fight his way loose, "Oh no, not this time. I can keep a snake in a hold and I can keep you in one." The youngling continued to spit angry chirps and whistles as they went back down the hall.

Wheeljack laughed. "He's actually really sweet when he's not in imminent danger of a good scrubbing."

"Is he from Centari, too?" Jazz asked trying to get his footing again in the glitched reality he found himself.

Wheeljack shook his head. "Hound found him in some backwater colony while we were cleaning up a C-7 outbreak. There was one of those Doomsday cults there, had Pit near everyone convinced they were in the End Times they almost didn't give us clearance to land. When we finally did, they didn't let us in the city. But Hound," Wheeljack's mouth lifted in a smile, "Hound doesn't care much for walls or fences. He wanted to get into the city and by Primus, he got into the city. That's where he found Bumblebee. He was hardly more than a sparkling, forgotten or abandoned, at that point it didn't matter. Fraggin' half the colony was dead and the other half infected. He got him back to the ship and Ratchet refused to send him back after he was clear of the virus." Wheeljack rolled his optics like the mech Ratchet flat out refusing to do things was nothing new. "Anyway, that's how we got that little scraplet. For all Hound complains about the runaround he loves the little mech and Bumblebee loves going out and seeing new places and finding new things as much as Hound."

First Aid let go of his hand and scampered away from him to a room with double doors. The pocket doors were hidden leaving the room open to anyone walking by. It was quieter than he thought the dispensary for such a large ship would be. Only a few mechs sat drinking energon and talking. "Awful quiet, figured we'd hear this place three halls over." Jazz said quick optics taking in the central position of the room. It was big enough to hold a couple dozen mechs and he was willing to bet the double doors were reinforced. A good fall back spot if the ship was breached. The bridge was probably close so they could keep a large team in here to hold the halls and protect it.

"Middle of a shift," Wheeljack said with a laugh. "We don't usually bring the little ones down during peak noise times. The crew doesn't mean to be loud but their idea of quiet and First Aid's idea of quiet are a hundred decibels apart." They walked in and Jazz was caught off guard yet again when he saw small pictures of art hung on the walls. Some of them were clearly done by one of the younglings but the others looked like they'd been picked up from an art gallery.

Jazz gestured at some of the art gallery pieces. "Is there an interior decorator onboard?" he asked not faking his laugh. He couldn't imagine any Decepticon ship with the ridiculous waste of credits on the walls. A mech had spent actual credits getting those things instead of paying for a frag or picking up some knives or anything else a hundred times more useful.

Wheeljack laughed with him. "Sometimes Sunstreaker paints something he thinks the rest of us are worthy of looking at. It used to be really rare, but he's been putting more pieces up since Bluestreak started coloring."

Jazz blinked and looked at the impressionist paintings again. "Sunstreaker?" he said. The Twins, terrors of the Kaonian gladiatorial rings and the spawns of the Unmaker himself on the field and one of them fragging painted.

"Sunstreaker," Wheeljack said cheerfully.

"What?" an angry growl came from behind them and Jazz twisted around and found one of the Terrors staring him down.

"We were looking at your paintings," Wheeljack answered not the least bit put off by the yellow mech's malice. "Oh and tell your brother to stop teaching Bumblebee the art of escape, Hound is too old to be chasing a youngling around and, Primus love him, Trailbreaker just isn't fast enough to catch him." The yellow mech's glower dropped and a corner of his mouth lifted in a smile that didn't reach his cold almost white optics.

From the corner of the room a happy series of clicks brought all their heads around. A regal Praxian Jazz had only seen in stills and videos sat at a table with his wings draped over his chair like a cape. And on his lap a tiny Praxian sparkling bounced on his lap still clicking. Jazz blinked and stared. "Sparkling?" he said a little hoarse to no one in particular.

A mech leaving the room laughed and clapped a hand on his shoulder, "Sparkling!" The rough touch shook Jazz back into himself and he advanced with the same care he would cross a minefield

With so many scars and welds the sparkling looked more like a patched together piece of scrap than an actual Cybertronian. His frame the same color of hot ashes, pale grey with bright streaks of red, was as battered as Jazz figured a sparkling could be. His tiny wings fluttered in excitement though, the shorter one moving a little slower than the other. He squeaked and bounced a couple times before losing his balance. "Oh little Bluestreak," Wheeljack said with no shortage of fondness. "I'll have your prosthetic recalibrated before the orn is over." He followed Sunstreaker over making sparkling noises and Bluestreak trilled with joy.

"He has a prosthetic?" Jazz said. "Primus, what happened to him?" The sparkling settled when Sunstreaker was close enough to touch. Sunstreaker held out a scarred hand tipped with wicked black claws, probably augmented while he was a gladiator, and the sparkling grabbed him without fear. His tiny winglets fluttered with excitement and his vocalizer stuttered with clicks while he chirped. His right arm looked like it had been reattached and river-like burn scars marred the same side. One of his thighs had rough patches where grafts were still scabbing over. "Damn, looks like he got caught in an engine back draft."

Wheeljack stopped while they were still a few steps away from the table and lowered his voice. "Bluestreak is the youngest survivor of Praxus. We found him under the rubble of a hospital." His fins darkened to soft grey. "We really…we didn't think he would survive a joor after we found him. His burns, the energon loss, the shock, all of it, it should have killed him." A small smile lifted the corner of his mouth. "But he kept fighting and we weren't giving up if he didn't."

"Breathe, Blue," Sunstreaker said with a smile. "Yeah I'll color with you later tonight. We'll do that while Sideswipe loses at his game, again."

The older Praxian, the Autobot Second-In-Command, the glitch himself, Prowl smiled at the sparkling's enthusiasm. "He missed you last septorn." Jazz's optics moved from the sparkling to the officer. There was a time when the Decepticons had well and truly had the Autobots on the ropes and then from out of nowhere…this. This Praxian that was almost singlehandedly turning the tide of the war. Jazz kept breathing through force of will. It would be easy, so easy, to put a round through him. None of them were expecting it. He wouldn't have a prayer of surviving, but by Primus Prowl would go down with him.

The small sparkling finally noticed him and his joy at seeing the yellow Terror shut off like a tap. His tiny wings wrapped around him like a hug and he hid his face against Prowl's chest. "Oh Bluestreak," Wheeljack said softly. "You're safe little spark. This is Jazz, he won't hurt you." The soft words didn't convince the sparkling and he clicked. Sunstreaker gave Jazz a withering glare before leaving to get his ration.

Prowl sat up from his relaxed recline in the chair and curled one wing around the sparkling. "Hello, Jazz is it? I'm sorry I wasn't in my office. I wasn't expecting you until after second shift." His low voice was like dark silk, add in the quiet roll his Praxian accent gave his R's and a mech could get weak in the knees.

"Ah, yeah, sorry, found an earlier flight," Jazz said trying to remember when he might have given them an arrival time. It wasn't like him to miss a detail like that. Thankfully he'd gone with civilian transport instead of the quicker Decepticon ride he'd been offered.

Prowl made a soft sound and his optics glowed briefly, probably accessing his file. Every word of it was real. He and Soundwave had figured out the only way to get through the Ark's security was to have a real file with real mechs who could verify he was who he said he was and was where he said he was. It was the longest undercover op the Decepticons had ever run but patience was paying in spades now.

"I have your room assignment in my office and, Wheeljack, Sideswipe has had that look in his optic, double check your adhesives and magnets." With a long suffering sigh the engineer nodded and looked around for his youngling sitting at a table in a chair two sizes too big listening to two big mechs argue about a show. Prowl pulled the sparkling a little further up to a more comfortable position by his shoulder. "Are you hungry?" he asked. "We have some time before Red Alert will be down to pick up Bluestreak."

Jazz shook his head a little still trying to peak between Prowl's feathers at the small sparkling. "Two younglings and a sparkling," he said. "You got predacons in the showers, too?"

"No, we had to remove them when we brought the younglings on board," Prowl answered with a straight face. Wheeljack's laugh carried in the quiet room and a smile crept across Jazz's face. He wouldn't have guessed from anything he'd seen or heard about the Autobot SIC he had a sense of humor. From under his wing the tiny sparkling peeked out. "Do you feel like saying Hello, Bluestreak?" Prowl asked softly. A tiny squeak answered him and the sparkling ducked back to the shelter of Prowl's wings.

Jazz slid into a chair. "Primus, I feel like I'm on a late night prank show, no mech's gonna jump out and tell me I'm on the wrong ship are they?"

A smile lifted the corner of Prowl's mouth but didn't quite reach his dark optics, blue, but with flecks of amethyst that made them sparkle. There was a flicker of pain when he looked down at the sparkling. "This is Bluestreak, and we do try to keep the cameras away from him. It seems everyone wants a picture of the youngest Praxus survivor."

Jazz stared without blinking. Megatron been hoping the complete loss of Praxus would bring the Autobots to their knees. They'd certainly stumbled, but Praxus had proven itself resilient and they'd rallied. With renewed trade with the Autobot army it looked like the city-state was looking to come back bigger and stronger than before. It would take an eon for them to reach even a fraction of what they once were, but the very idea of them coming back after such devastation was lifting others out of the trenches. Revolts in territories the Decepticons had controlled almost since the start of the war were becoming more frequent. Soundwave did a Pit of a job keeping that under wraps but still, something was going to get out. And they couldn't keep diverting soldiers from the front lines to deal with the unrest.

He blinked and said, "So…how'd he get from Praxus to a warship?" Wheeljack's laugh was rough and without humor and Prowl's expression mirrored the sound.

"Ratchet and Wheeljack put him back together," Prowl said softly. "Part of his wing had to be amputated and we thought he might lose his arm, too. There simply wasn't enough space or medics left in Praxus to give him the care he needed to survive so he stayed on board."

"And," Wheeljack said when it became apparent that was all Prowl was going to say, "when Prowl tried to do the noble thing and give him to an adoption agency, he went into complete emotional shut down. He sat facing a corner, didn't communicate at all. They had to put him on an IV because he stopped eating. And Bluestreak didn't do so well either." Wheeljack smiled when Prowl gave him an unamused look. "Okay, the IV only applies to Bluestreak, but the rest of it is true of Prowl, too."

Sighing Prowl looked down at the small sparkling hiding securely in his wing with little squeaks. His tiny head peeked out again and with a soft chirp he looked at Jazz with fearfulness that didn't fit with what Jazz knew about sparklings. He looked more like an animal caught in a trap. Wheeljack made a soft sound. "His physical scars are only the beginning," he said softly. "His speech center suffered some damage so he's had trouble with words, but he's getting better. Right, Blue. You wanna show Jazz how well you speak?" he coaxed.

The scared animal look left his optics and he uncurled a little more from his little ball. "I speak. Hi," he said in a tiny squeaky voice. Jazz smiled at him. The sparkling looked up at Prowl and pulled the older Praxian's wing closer. "No monsters?"

"No, my love, there are no monsters. This is Jazz, he is new," Prowl murmured.

Jazz's smile faded a little hearing the odd conversation. "That's what he calls the night terrors he has," Wheeljack said softly. "We'll never know what exactly he remembers about that night but he's retained enough visual memory he's aware he was somehow attacked and not just caught in a natural disaster. New things and people make him nervous."

Jazz retracted his visor and was glad to see the Autobots didn't keep their lights at the searing levels the Decepticons preferred. It still stung but he didn't see any halos of light or bouncing dots of color. "See, not that different without the visor, right?" he said folding his arms on the table and resting his chin on them. Bluestreak squeaked at Prowl and then at Wheeljack. He left the haven of Prowl's wing and put his tiny hands on the table to get a better look at Jazz. His whole frame was no bigger than Jazz's forearm. Jazz smiled at him again, nervous as he was there was still curiosity in his bright blue optics. He squeaked at Jazz and reached up to pat his own optics. "Yeah, lights hurt my optics so I have to wear the visor," he said. He slid the visor back down and Bluestreak's tiny wings shot up and a stream of excited squeaks and chirps poured out of him. He started bouncing on Prowl's lap like he had when he saw Sunstreaker, pointing and squeaking gibberish.

"Oh Primus, he'll be talking about this for orns," Wheeljack said with a smile. Prowl listened to the stream of gibberish attentively nodding when Bluestreak looked at him with inquiring clicks and chirps.

"Oi lil' Bluemech, what's got you all a-twitter?" a red and gold mech asked walking into the room. He buzzed and clicked a couple times and Bluestreak pointed at Jazz and squeaked with so much excitement his stutter came back. "Oh, oh, easy lil' mech. Easy," the mech laughed. "Something about raising a wall and making a new person? What? Wheeljack, what'd you give him? What did Ratchet tell you about giving the sparklings high grade."

Wheeljack squawked in protest and a full smile crossed Prowl's face.

Bluestreak squeaked at him and held out his arms with a pitiful beseeching frown. The red and gold mech laughed again, a wild and free sound that Jazz didn't know still existed. "What, did Prowl come all the way down here with ya' and not think to give you your mid-orn bottle?" He grinned and Prowl snorted. "He'll try to con you out of another bottle e'rey joor," the mech said. From the red and yellow mech's feet a lithe dark figure jumped onto the table.

Jazz jerked back in surprise, but he recognized the feline form before he could pull a knife on it. Only the size of a natural cybercat's kitten, the lion had a thick mane of cords and wires that snapped with electricity. A lion symbiont. Jazz looked at the red and gold mech that grabbed the lion's tail. That made him Blaster, the one and only mech in the universe that could actually annoy Soundwave.

"Steeljaw," Prowl said with a disapproving frown. "Blaster may well have been raised by lowland chipwolves but you weren't. Off the table." The lion grinned and jumped into an empty seat while Blaster scowled and him and Prowl.

When the sparkling realized he wasn't going to get anything else to eat he sat back on Prowl's lap with a huff. Wheeljack stretched his long arms and jumped up with a vigor Jazz couldn't imagine Shockwave matching and turned to leave.

"First Aid," Prowl said. His gentle fingers ran up and down Bluestreak's tiny wing joints until the sparkling purred and his optics drooped.

Wheeljack turned back with a brief look of confusion that morphed to surprise and he whirled around looking for the youngling. First Aid slid out of his chair and skipped over to him with a quiet giggle. "Sorry, Aid. I promise I wouldn't have gotten far without you."

Blaster rolled his optics. "'Jack you'd forget your fraggin' head if it wasn't attached." First Aid didn't seem to mind the lapse of memory and took Wheeljack's fingers again walking with him out of the room. Blaster turned his attention to Jazz with a toothy smile. "New mech?" he said and without waiting for Jazz to answer fell back in his chair with dramatic flair. "Thank Primus. Now maybe Red Alert will stay the frag outta my space and let me do my job."

Entering the room with sharp precise footfalls a mech in dark red and light grey armor looked over everyone still in the room with ice blue optics. His wintry stare landed on Jazz in seconds and didn't waver. Jazz pulled back from the weight of the stare and for the first time since walking on board doubted his credentials. "You," the mech said in a voice as cold as his optics, "are early."

"He found an earlier flight, Red Alert," Prowl said. "These things happen quite often." The contrast of his warm voice against the cold steel of the red and grey mech's was like fire and ice.

Blaster threw up his hands. "See, this just proves my point. You yell at me when I'm late and now you're yelling at him because he's early. There is no pleasing you, Red."

Red Alert.

Jazz brought in a slow breath and tried to slow his spark pulse. The Ark's security director, a living menace with the supernatural ability to suss out Decepticon base plans. Credits, time, and personnel had been wasted over the vorns trying to find the snitch giving the Autobots their base schematics but out of the dozen of searches they'd never found anyone. It was like meeting the Unmaker in person. Red Alert didn't blink. His optics saw every little thing from the way Jazz sat to the scuffs on his armor. He'd known the Ark security would be tight but here he was staring at the one mech on the ship that could bring down the entire op.

"There were no earlier flights," Red Alert said ignoring Blaster, every bit of his concentration on Jazz. "If you left the base you said you were leaving at the time you said, you had only two options. You did choose the earliest flight, but not even jumping space could the ship have landed you here this early." His scowl deepened and his chin tilted down a fraction. Light glinted off the sharp curve of his horns. They didn't curl back in graceful curlicues like he'd seen on other Gygaxians, they were shorter and sharper, curved like fangs. A true Gygaxian warrior then, not some mech drafted off the streets.

"I, uh…courier…" Jazz said not looking away, he'd never tangled with a real Gygaxian warrior. All the ones he'd sparred with or fought had been drafted, their horns more decoration than actual weapons. The heavy armor around Red Alert's shoulders was scarred and gouged from blades; one horn had a nick in the side. A long scar down the side of his face could have been from another dagger-like horn or a blade strike.

Red Alert said nothing for a long breem and then he lifted his chin and looked past Jazz at Prowl. "One express courier ship stopped by the base at 2700 hours they logged a pick-up of one passenger as well as a parcel and noted an additional stop at the port where we are currently docked."

Bluestreak squeaked at the imposing Gygaxian and gave him the same sad look he'd given Blaster. Red Alert tilted his head to the side but didn't stare down the sparkling. "Bluestreak, I am well aware you have already eaten," his words were clipped but his tone was softer. Bluestreak made his little huffing sound again and a smile flickered across Red Alert's face. "And Blaster, I expect you to arrive when you say you will arrive, not half a joor later and not," he glared at Jazz once more, "earlier."

Prowl stood and stretched his wings. Not the impressive wingspan of a seeker, they weren't meant for actual flight but short glides. Heavier than seeker wings they also made better battering weapons and were less prone to breaks and strains. The long silver feathers on Prowl's wings were crisscrossed with pearl white scars. Bluestreak stretched his tiny ash grey wings too, the left one with scars to match Prowl's. "Are you ready for your nap?" Prowl asked. Bluestreak yawned and squeaked.

Red Alert took Bluestreak, careful not to lift him under his arms where the strain could damage his wing joints, and cradled him in one arm. The severe warrior that had sent Jazz's spark ricocheting a few breems ago was gone, his scowl a more neutral expression that made the scar of the side of his face less intimidating. "Are you still picking him up before he goes with the Twins tonight?" he asked, his optics sliding over to Jazz and still ice cold.

"Yes," Prowl answered. "This won't take long and Blaster has volunteered to give Jazz the tour."

"I did?" Blaster said. He looked at his symbiont who looked just as confused.

"Indeed. You agreed to do so when you filled the washracks with bubbles." Prowl folded his wings back, further back than Jazz had ever seen a seeker do, which accentuated his slender frame.

Blaster scowled at him. "I knew you let me off too easy with that," he muttered. "Fine," he said louder, "But since the new mech is here, you don't get to hover over my shoulder all shift like you've been doin'." He pointed at Red Alert.

"Red Alert, you have enough responsibilities," Prowl said in a tone that said he'd had this conversation before and would again. "Blaster is perfectly capable of handling communications on his own." Blaster crossed his arms and lifted his chin with an I-Told-You-So glare at the Gygaxian.

"I don't recall music and video searches being a part of his responsibilities," Red Alert shot back.

"Somebody has to make sure the video streaming and file sharing networks are still secure," Blaster said. "It's a long, tedious job watching little cat vids and bumpin' some great tunes, but some mech has to do it. It's for the good of us all."

Red Alert made an irritated sound but Bluestreak yawned again and snuggled closer to his warm chest. "See if you can get Red Alert to take a nap with you, my love," Prowl said softly. "It might improve his mood." Bluestreak clicked softly in his arms, optics closed. Red Alert snorted and did a quick aboutface before striding for the door.

Blaster canted his head listening to his footfalls recede and then grinned at Jazz. "Congratulations, you survived!"

"Blaster," Prowl sighed.

"Are you sure?" Jazz said with a shaky laugh. "Primus, feel like my plates got peeled off." He shook himself all over to dislodge the lingering feeling of Red Alert's cold suspicion.

"Well he didn't shoot you like he did the last mech so he must like you," Blaster said with a yawn. Jazz gave him a look bordering on horror and disbelief. If Blaster had said that before he'd met Red Alert he would've laughed, but he had a feeling the mech wasn't above putting a round in someone if their story didn't line up.

Prowl gave Blaster a warning look. "Don't tell the new mechs that, Blaster," there was a scolding tone to his voice that made him sound like a creator instead of the second highest general in the Autobot army. "He only did that once and it was a long time ago," he added before Jazz could laugh at how fast he'd fallen for the joke.

Blaster's optics popped wide and he looked at Prowl with suspicion. "He did not. He didn't actually shoot somemech. When? When'd he shoot them?"

"Come along, Jazz. It will be easier for you to settle into your room before the shift ends." He walked for the doors without looking back at Blaster still shouting questions.

Jazz jogged to catch up to the SIC, his wings shimmered when he passed under the lights and true to his name he moved with hardly a sound. "He didn't really shoot anyone, did he?" Jazz asked with a fair share of worry.

The corner of Prowl's mouth quirked in a smile. "He has a glitch that can make him rather intense," he said instead of answering the question. "Try not to take it to spark, transfers are always very stressful for him and we're on a neutral dock which only adds to it. Once we're on the move he'll relax."

They reached Prowl's office, Jazz starting to get back into his groove and Prowl frowning at a datpad in his hand. He put the pad away and keyed open the door. Jazz's giddy excitement started to bubble in him again but this time he put the clamp on it. No low level recruit was going to be glitched about walking into a superior's office.

He didn't expect sensitive information to be left out in the open, but he was expecting maps with code scribbled across them like Starscream had in his office. He was expecting blacked out datpads to be on the desk, casualty reports, shipping lists, and all the other things that populated the desks of war leaders. But Prowl's office was quiet and plain. There were datpads on the desk but they were stacked in a basket labeled Shift Reports. On the left wall several shelves were filled with datpads all of them labeled mundane things that belonged more in a Cybertronian Resources office than a SIC's. On the right side of the room was a small shelf stacked with coloring styluses and large datpads with colorful casings. Hanging above the desk in a place of honor was a scribbled picture that might have been a flower.

"I always expect offices to be dark and scary," Jazz said offhand.

"That one I keep by the brig," Prowl answered. He picked up two datpads and handed them to Jazz. "The one on top is a quick map that will get you to all the essential places; your quarters, dispensary, rec rooms, sparring rooms, firing range, etc. The one underneath is a copy of code and conduct. It's the same you've seen before, though we have one added stipulation," Prowl said. "We do not discuss First Aid, Bumblebee, or Bluestreak outside of the ship."

Jazz nodded slowly. "Looks like that's a rule everyone actually follows." As long as he'd been among the Autobots he'd never even heard a rumor of the three little mechlings. It was a wonder and a miracle the crew of over 1,500 hadn't let slip even a word about their youngest members.

"When it comes to their safety the crew takes every precaution," Prowl said with a smile that didn't light his dark optics a mech could lose himself in. "And on that note," he added another datpad to Jazz's stack. "Youngling and sparkling rules. They're not too strenuous. Mostly they involve keeping doors secured. Bumblebee especially is one to get into everything but First Aid isn't above some light mischief. We don't need them wandering into the firing range or getting into the washracks where they can be seriously injured." He looked at the shelf of coloring styluses and colorful datpads. "Bluestreak likes to grab things so keep weapons securely holstered or hidden."

An unexpected smile spread across Jazz's face. "You know, I was pretty excited to get aboard the Ark but this is turning into a bigger adventure than I imagined." The flecks of amethyst in Prowl's optics glowed when he smiled.

oOo

A/N: Younglings and sparklings running amuck and Decepticon Jazz prowling the halls. What could possibly go wrong?

*This Will Be A Slow Update*

I just need to channel my stress energy into something.