A/n: This will be the final chapter for the fanfiction - which is honestly something for me, considering that this was originally meant as a Megatron/Starscream oneshot. This has been my first ever published fanfiction, my second EVER fanfiction, and after all these time, I'VE FINISHED IT. It;s been a long time coming, but still: YES! *Fanfare* To all the readers, I thank you for taking your time with my fanfic and sticking to the conclusion.

XxXxXxXxXx

Starscream quelled an instinctive urge to snap Skywarp back into line as the purple-and-black jet spiralled way out of their formations before repositioning himself back in his place using his teleportation. The blink-and-you'll-miss-it antics were disorienting what Thundercracker had so faithfully followed but the Command Trine Leader decided that the wayward Seeker should get away with it this time. It was enough strain to have everything honed to perfection when Megatron was watching: Among them at least, they could afford a little harmless antics. After all, a Bonding Flight did not merely concern the aesthetical perfections in their flights. It was meant to tie the Seekers together, to tighten loose bonds or form new ones – and in their particular case, to redefine Starscream back into his place after his long absence.

The small portion remnant of his younger orns acknowledged that he too had Megatron's good mood to thank for or he would be forced to struggle for the small chance of it, but he would be damned to the deepest Pit if he was going to utter a sincere thank you to Megatron's faceplates. He had met Megatron early this morning, just as the day cycle began. It was mostly dark outside and most mechs were still tossing in their berths when he accidentally met the Decepticon warlord wandering the hallways. His opportunistic processors were quick to seize the opportunity.

"Lord Megatron," he had addressed, purring it even; appealing to his well-known susceptibility to praises – and was met with a similarly well-known what-in-the-Pit-do-you-want raising of an optical ridge and the narrowing of his optics. Some things just never changed, and Starscream was fine with it.

"Well?"

"As the leader of the Command Trine, I am applying for an extra time of flight. We haven't flown together yet since…since my return." He had stumbled at the thought of captivity, at the memory files being recalled of the dragging orns spent in the dimly lit cell, listening to rants from the Autobots as the only means of passing time….well, except for one other particular activity which nonetheless became just as painful to recall.

He knew that Megatron was sufficiently acquainted with Seeker cultures to be aware how important the flight was. He was depending on it to sway Megatron's favour in his direction then, and it paid.

"On the sixth shift then; two extra joors to the standard schedule. Mind, you three still have to complete the patrol cycles."

And so they were here right now, up in the sky and flying, unbound from their Earthly ties if only for a limited time. To see his fellow Seekers flying around, purple and blue streaks against the backdrop of the setting sun, was a Spark-warming view that not even the Decepticon Air Commander was impervious to. It felt like eons have passed since the sight of freely flying Seekers met his optics after the constant monotony of the Ark's orange walls; his joy was rarely verbal but instead expressed in the quivering of his new, freshly branded wings and the bursts of fire from his thrusters, making playful chases through the sky with his Trinemates, sunlight glimmering off the edges of their sleek forms until the jets sparkled like a minute star themselves.

Flight, freedom and the company of one's trine: this was a Seeker's true bliss and Starscream basked in it. However, all too soon, their allocated time was up before Starscream could exhaust his enthusiasm which he grumpily acknowledged when Thundercracker pointed him out to the fact. He knew perfectly well that it was merely to save himself from unwanted slagging courtesy of their understanding warlord leader, yet the jet could not help but to begrudge the little reminder.

::Awwh, come on TC! Don't be such a party pooper!:: Skywarp was yelling through their shared link, echoing Starscream's thoughts.

::'Warp, you KNOW we're going to be in a lot of trouble with Megatron if we go against his order. No less because Starscream bought us the time.:: Thundercracker countered guiltily, knowing that none of them would prefer the underwater confinement than this unbridled freedom in the sky.

Even Starscream felt his Spark withered just the tiniest bit at the thought of leaving the wide blue heavens. Nemesis was find and all that, even more so than the Ark but nothing rivalled the exhilarating sensations of wind under one's wings, mastering gravity and looking down on all those groundbound mechs and flightless organics. It was almost worth the troubles of facing one's superior for a tad longer flight time – if said superior was NOT Megatron. Sans the mandatory branding, Starscream would have loved to keep his new wings intact and untarnished for as long as he could.

However, just as he was about to issue the reluctant order, a faint bleep of Spark signature from his scanner halted his vocalizer from doing so. A beating from his leader was still massively horrifying – but now it was something which he might risk…

::Thundercracker, Skywarp. You two go back to the Nemesis.::

::What? Why?::

Skywarp's voice was the same high-pitched whine as his engine, though the former was more of a pleading than a testament to power. Starscream would have snickered at the ironic contrast – more so that he was the one consistently dubbed Screamer than his trinemate – but his patience was wearing thin.

::Because I am going to check the border before our flight time's out.::

::But…if you don't make it, Megatron or Soundwave would see that –::

::Which is why,:: Starscream ground out each word through the intercom, maintaining a strictness that neither of them would not likely to ignore, ::that there's going to be a report of THREE of us in the return log.::

Starscream peeled off with a burst from his thrusters, not allowing another chance of argument from his trinemate. Good ol' Thundercracker would cover for him should anything went down the sinkhole though he did not think that it would the case. Moreover, his reserve of patience was being rapidly exhausted under the stress of his anxiety as the bleep in his scanner grew fainter. He arced his trajectory upwards, aiming for the cloud cover even as he upped the shield on his Spark signature to the maximum. Honestly, it was not fear of injury that forced him to adopt these cautionary measures but rather the possibility of lost target should his subject perceived his presence.

He climbed, gradually rising to height beyond his usual cruising altitude. The mere excessive height was another informational piece which solidified his suspicion.

The clouds were undeniably useful but they made for a rough flight. His wings rattled uncomfortably as he pressed on, relying mostly on his passive scanner to provide him direction – and a portion of his stored geographical information in his memory banks for additional cover. The visual blindness was minutely unsettling but he dared not risk an active scanning; he might as well announced his presence with fanfare and gunshots, seeing that his target was equally sensitive and cautious.

Some few megamiles out from where he split off from his trine, the source of the Spark read as being dead ahead. Starscream readied his gun – whether for flair or serious offense was still internally debatable and shot out from his cloud cover, no longer afraid of detection himself, wispy vapors trailing from the wingtips akin to a breaching whale which he occasionally espied swimming in the perimeters of the Ark, splashing the watery surface with gallons of water in every direction. He righted himself with the grace and precision which had landed him his current rank in the Decepticon army and placed himself in a line behind his gigantic white target.

::Hello again…Skyfire.::

The shuttle before him flew steadily on, showing no signs of rebellion or fear despite being in an unmissable range from either his missiles of his guns. Granted, he was not so vulnerable as he had been on the ground that fateful orn – but it would still be massively troublesome to be shot out of the sky, which in itself would be damaging-beyond-repair if he fell all the long distance to the ground below. A crackle of transmission sounded in his communication link before that smooth voice replied.

::Starscream. Did you come here for the sunset too?::

It was faintly mocking, to his surprise.

::No cheeky movements, Skyfire. I'll blast you into pieces so small, your Autobot friends can scour this land for vorns and find nothing at all to mourn.::

A brief silence before he answered, ::And no one will be here to bear witness, is that so?::

::We make such a good team,:: Starscream purred, returning the shuttle-former's sarcasm.

Still, he has not implied a serious threat in his tone barring the wording, and neither did Skyfire showed resignation at imminent deactivation. He had known, just as Skyfire's communication was linked with his, that his weaponries would not find their targets in the Autobot shuttle – an instinctive knowledge which should have been as natural to him as it seemed to be to the other. This flight would have been so mesmerizing if not for the circumstances they have thrown themselves into. The straight line they were flying along now defied boundaries of warring factions; the world was theirs to cruise and explore as they would.

Starscream's reverie was viciously broken by the turning of his chronometer. More kliks were lost in the silence before he passed beyond the safe limit to make it back to the Nemesis in time. He activated his active scanner and analysed the terrestrial surfaces nearby; a small clearing a few degrees north of their current locations sufficed his requirements.

::Make a descent and land at this coordinate.::

He relayed the location to Skyfire's navigational system. Skyfire did as was told, making a gradual dip which signified no intention of said cheeky movements and intentionally avoiding passing clouds as further proof of his obedience. The barren ground came into view; they angled themselves to a rocky outcropping the size of the Ark, casting long shadows behind it in the late evening sun. Both fliers extended their wing flaps as they approached their intended landing site, engine humming with coordinated power to avoid collision either with each other or the ground; transformed with practised smoothness into their alt-modes, letting their pedes to manage the vertical landing in the confined spaces that only a few Eath-model aircrafts would manage. Desert dust blew around them in a widening circumference as they touched ground, settling peacefully a few nanokliks later.

The shuttle-former turned around to face the Decepticon flyer, staring his supposed enemy right in the optics. Tranquillity radiated from the blue luminescence of his optics, clashing with the orange of the dying sunlight and made more beautifully prominent as the rest of him was obscured by the shadows of the rocky structure behind them. Reading the position of his wings, Starscream perceived no worry that an Autobot should feel when in the presence of a deadly Decepticon as himself and found his discovery quietly relieving.

"Hello, Starscream," he echoed; sincerely this time.

The simple greeting relieved him that he had not acted with a Decepticon's ruthlessness. He showed his denta in a wide, teasing smirk.

"Beautiful sunset, I say."

Skyfire spent a brief astrosecond to glance at the thin semicircle burning at the horizon, casting the land in fiery tint before bringhing his gaze back to the tricoloured jet-former. "You're being far away from your base, if my memory banks haven't failed me."

"I can be closer if I want – and you'll be coming with me."

"You will not kill me." Again, Skyfire displayed that damnable calmness which was effortlessly trapping him from reacting with his usual venom. In an unchanging voice, he said, "But you can trust me to find every way possible to terminate myself before I am made a Decepticon prisoner again."

Unlike Starscream's, this threat was perfectly genuine.

Starscream shivered internally, recalling the sight of Skyfire's battered body in front of the Ark; victim of their differing factions' clashing. Irrevocably, the quiet longing for their carefree orns back when they pursued their interests in science at their leisure haunted the Seeker with Spark-aching intensity.

"You are Megatron's enemy, Skyfire." The Seeker made a show of deactivating his null-rays – his primary weapons in his root-mode – and regarded the shuttle-former with a mixture of conflicting emotions.

He stepped closer to the Autobot shuttle. Their optics were fixed upon each other, their harmless intentions mutual and perceived by both sides. He reached out a servo as he took the last step towards Skyfire, putting themselves in a range which would have been fatally dangerous if they had been another set of an Autobot and a Decepticon. His digit-tips landed on the Autobot emblem on Skyfire's chest-plating, an opposite of his own ingrained on the wings, symbols as effective in denying them their union despite their superficial innocuousness.

For now though, the insignias were as inconsequential as a wingless Seeker.

His digits trailed upwards, edging the sharp line of the cockpit until they found the chin-guard. He grasped them gently, his pulling motion bringing the larger mech into a steep bow; enough so that Starscream could reach his lip-components once he stepped onto Skyfire's pedes as an additional leverage. Skyfire was unresisting despite the initial jerk, instinctive rather than a true defiance, and sunk himself into the momentary bliss: a calm kiss which inevitably progressed into their last flirting, tensing sensuousness out from each other where they were far from the views of their respective superiors and comrades; lip-components upon lip-components; glossa dancing shyly with one another, seeking brief entrance into familiar territory. Skyfire was almost impossibly soft in demeanours and texture, a complete opposite of his rougher, scarred leader. A different pleasure altogether.

The light was completely extinguished by the time they eventually parted by an unspoken consent. The sun had retreated for a moonless night, leaving the land to be ruled over by the young nightfall. In the darkness, their optics found each other in their respective night vision; seeing faceplates which were painted with melancholic delight. Skyfire touched the Seeker's helm with his digit-tips, followed by a quick swipe from his mouth: A farewell, one last gesture of friendliness before their time was up…at least for now.

"I will not aim for your Spark, Starscream."

Caught by a sudden tightening in his Spark, Starscream could only manage a lopsided grin at the statement. "I am a Decepticon, Skyfire."

"Even so." Skyfire tilted his head to the side; a long-forgotten gesture which he had always done when Starscream raised an inquiry with an obvious answer to the shuttle-former.

His chronometer signified an alarming amount of time had been spent. Megatron waited in his Nemesis, as well as the rest of his Decepticon comrades. Perhaps sensing his conflict, Skyfire withdrew from the Seeker. A decisive retreat which somehow managed to convey his unshakeable standing with his new ally.

With Skyfire's gaze fixed upon him, Starscream pivoted on his heel-thrusters and kicked himself off the ground before activating his engine. An astrosecond of transformation later, Starscream was now a tricoloured jet shooting towards the sky, fiery trails marking his rapid ascent. He kept his alt-mode's surveillance camera on the lone figure of the Autobot until he has dwindled beyond perception, just before Starscream himself was obscured by a passing cloud.

Starscream cruised on in silence afterwards, practicing and strengthening his erected mental wall just in case Soundwave happened to be there when he landed in the Nemesis. Too much emotions; too many faults which could invite the wrath of his leader should Megatron was informed of it.

The docking tower rose to receive him just in time, having sent an inquiry to the control station during his approach. He landed without a welcoming party, which was to his relief, and found that it was Thundercracker's turn to man the control once he exited the turbo-lift down to Nemesis' main deck.

"It was nothing. Not even a skirmish. The damn Autobot fled once he sensed me," Starscream replied to the questioning lifting of his trinemate's optical ridge.

Starscream trusted Thundercracker when it came to secret-keeping but he would not burden the blue-and-white jet-former with this provocative, misleading piece of information. Moreover, their liaison was no longer worth mentioning, now that neither he nor Skyfire could see any way for them to pursue anything worthwhile.

It was nothing more than a final goodbye.

"Where's Skywarp?" He said by way of distraction. In the Nemesis, the thought of Skyfire was sorrowful as it was dangerous if the mind of Soundwave managed to sneak past his guard.

"Refuelling. You won't find him in the mess hall though. He brought his ration into the quarters."

Starscream left Thundercracker to his guard duty, satisfied that neither of them was going to be in a slag because of his waywardness. That is, until he found himself bumping into a very hard surface which should not be in the middle of the corridor as he made his hallway down to his own living quarters, upon which his relief transformed into annoyance.

"Hey, watch where you're –"

"YES?"

"– going…?"

He forced himself to swallow the rest of his intended curses and angry declarations. Now, it was not surprising whatsoever why it hurt like Pit when crashing into the unexpected wall – which was actually a mech's armour. Megatron's back armour, if one was being precise though any part of the warlord was notoriously sturdy to begin with – and any unintended contact with said mech, let alone his reckless bumping, potentially resulted in a beating. Having prepared himself with a possible encounter with Soundwave, the appearance of the silver mech surprised the absolute slag out of Starscream, moreso that it happened because of his desensitivity to his environments in the wake of his reverie.

Megatron did look annoyed, in any case which only served to bring down his temperature to the polar frigidity. By now, Starscream's reflexive anger had calmed beyond neutrality and shot straight into tank-crunching fear for his well-being. Starscream stood speechlessly (perhaps he did say something – which would have been a babbling at the most, seeing that his thought processes were scattered) under the gun-former's intense glaring, ultimately failing to realize exactly when the flare had softened to a less threatening luminosity.

"Starscream, you aren't making a lick of sense," he growled, tapping the muzzle of his Fusion Cannon to Starscream's glass cockpit. The combinations of his voice and the touch of the armament interjected the uncontrollable flow from the jet-former's vocalizer instantly, whereupon resigning himself to wait for the command to drop to his knee-joints and prostrate at the other's pede for apology. It was the least he had been punished with so far – better than a point-blank shot from the Fusion Cannon, in any case, or a direct punch to his faceplates.

"Unless you've happened to blow your logic circuits, I expect you to be present at a pre-battle meeting tomorrow. Soundwave will databurst you the information later," Megatron said instead, surprising Starscream in a completely opposite direction as before.

However, Megatron gave no indication to further his violence despite his lingering frustration. Lowering his arm to a non-shooting angle, the warlord gave an irritated grunt and stalked past without further intention of punishment. A chaotic encounter in which Starscream walked away unscathed was a circumstance as unexpected as to be miraculous, leaving the Air Commander to stare wonderingly at Megatron's back-plating – completely unmarred from the collision – until he turned into a corner and disappeared from view. Half-consciously, Starscream reached up to massage the residual ache from his nose-bridge and realized that he was actually smiling. It was a strange, alien thought that he was capable of the gesture towards the Decepticon warlord without harbouring sarcasm in it.

This was a smile of gratitude; a relief from his easy escape of reprimand.

Starscream continued on his way with the same smile lingering on his lip-components and with his thoughts entirely occupied by the silver mech and his peculiar tolerance, a treatment which the Seeker would find easy to get used to.

XxXxXxXxXx

Skyfire stayed until his arrays of sensors could no longer detect the Decepticon Second-In-Command, long after the clouds had hindered his visuals although the pressure of his lip-components remained on his mouth, a ghost of the touch as treasured as the kiss itself.

Skyfire's guilt rose as soon as he lost contact with the jet. Here he was, a mech with a resolution as tenuous as a human's fabric yarn. Skyfire had essentially clung to the past and a far-fetched future when he had accepted Starscream's mouth on his own; a saddening, Spark-wrenching thought which he could not erase no matter how hard he struggled. They were officially enemies – but what could there be in himself from which he could drew the desire to deactivate his friend?

I am an Autobot and he…he is a Decepticon.

Perhaps it was a folly. It might have been his own downfall when the time comes, but Skyfire did not regret the vow, just as he held no remorse for his siding with the Autobot.

In the wake of Starscream's departure, Skyfire realized how awfully alone he felt at the moment, so much so that it terrified him at the most basic level. Though normally a loner, Cybertronians were fundamentally a social race just like the humans they were protecting – further similarities that were apparent only beyond the meeting of the eyes. The solitude was growing beyond Skyfire's taste and he fired his thrusters, sling-shotting him to the sky in a direction opposite to those taken earlier by the Decepticon Seeker.

He took the straightest route to the Ark, and even then his flight seemed longer than it should.

The Ark's entrance, glimmering in the distance from the lighting of its interiors, stood out among the dark expanse of the desert, the sight of which finally quelled his unexpected monophobia. As he sloped down to landing-approach altitude, his optical sensors caught a glimmer of white at the spaceship's yawning mouth: the red of his hip-plating and the black chevron identified the mech before his Spark signatures were singled out among many others present in the Autobot base. Skyfire did not need zooming in to ascertain the expression on the Chief Medical Officer's faceplates and landed before the entrance with extra calculation, fearing that he might show the most minuscule hints of discomfort which might betray his remaining injury from the last battle.

Ratchet had a servo massaging his chevron in a manner similar to Sparkplug when he was inflicted with a headache, particularly following some daredevil acts from his son. The sight was spot-on to the one Skyfire had dreadfully constructed in his processors –

"Skyfire, what in the Pit are you doing?"

– As did the stern questioning, except that Skyfire had imagined the 'Pit'part to be 'world' instead.

Finishing his transformation by erecting his wings to their resting height, Skyfire schooled the most apologetic expression that he could manage on his faceplates before making his way to the medic. Unfortunately, Ratchet was unfazed to his display.

"What part didn't you understand in no outings for you, especially when it involves flying?"

Underneath the irritation, Skyfire recognized a great amount of concern which bordered on fear. In fact, the ambulance-former's tone was distinctly pleading, likely for a confirmation that he had not broken more restrictions than was obvious. Swap Red Alert in Ratchet's place, then the mech in front of him might very well be sporting a pair of horns sparking furiously with anxiety-induced glitches. Faced with a medic with a temper and legendary wrench-throwing skill which daunted even Ironhide, the rampant thought processes proved to be inappropriately funny considering the position Skyfire was currently in. Despite himself, with his effort to maintain an appearance of sincere regret, his wings wiggled subtly to his secret mirth.

"Now, what's so funny?"

He knew…?!

It was not the matter that he had somehow broke his expression – Skyfire KNEW that he had managed a poker face with flying colours – which left the assumption that Ratchet actually understood what his wing-gestures implied, a feat that only a fellow flyer (and Praxians, it seemed) achieved consistently. Perhaps Ratchet had inevitably learned the nonverbal languages in the course of his medical works…but then again, Autobots did not have a large number of flight-capable mechs to make his observations.

Perhaps Ratchet was just THAT perceptive. Plus, he was certifiably a fast learner.

Skyfire caught himself with an unconcealed expression of frank astonishment. He hastily shut his slightly opened mouth and refocused his vision back on the waiting CMO who was similarly puzzled to his changing attitudes.

"Never mind that," Ratchet cycled a relenting sigh although his optics refused to be dimmed, "I just hoped you haven't strained a cog or anything. Your damages were awfully close to transformation seams – it might compromise you if you make too much mode-changing."

Skyfire suppressed a wince; he did not have an exact amount of times he was allowed to transform, though those he had carried out in Starscream's presence might have exceeded Ratchet's recommendation. His silence was unfortunately constituted as discomfort, Ratchet went right up to him and beyond his personal space. His red servo was a bright contrast to Skyfire's once-damaged armours as the medic meticulously sought for evidence of new damages. The hard sternness of a doctor complicated by the antics of stubborn soldiers blended curiously with a new expression – though to his credit, Ratchet was in fact hiding it well had Skyfire had not been informed of it by Wheeljack.

It was processors-melting to reflect that this Autobot medic, with only scarce opportunities to be in his company, had actually harboured feelings for him.

He had read, whether by intention or accident, about the long list of feats managed by Ratchet, for which the war had seen his unprecedented values as a Chief Medical Officer. He was a figure respected and, to some degree, feared by both sides. If that had been sufficient to further differentiate Skyfire's newcomer standing in the rank of the Autobots – and one who defected from Decepticon, to boot – Ratchet was an established close friend to the Autobot Commander and was perhaps a confidante to Optimus Prime himself. To think that this iconic of an individual actually had a space for Skyfire in his processors were more than surprising, especially when Wheeljack blatantly confirmed his belated suspicion. Ever since his being rescued from the frozen ice and his installation into the Autobot, he struggled to find himself a place in their close-knit ranks; Ratchet was among the first friends he made, especially since he remembered well the medic's anxiety to get him to safety following his first awakening.

He thought little beyond friendship between them. Certainly, Skyfire found delight in his interactions with the medic whether intellectually or socially – few of them could keep up with his scientific ways, barring Wheeljack, Perceptor and a few others – but never did the subject of romance entered his processors before this. He had been quite sure that his love was with Starscream, no matter how impossible the notion sounded with their foreseeable circumstances. He had thought it unrequited at first before their episodes in the Seeker's prison. He had been surprised but delighted at Starscream's advance, he really did. And he had been endlessly confused as to why he could not find it in himself to continue…and had screwed over his already fragile thought processes with the fact that he had conclude it all with his fantasies of the medic, which nearly fried his logic circuits when he dwelled on it afterwards.

It was simply lust, Skyfire told himself sternly. It was not a measure for feelings.

…then why, WHY in the Well of Sparks did Skyfire reject Starscream's advance? They were an atom's breadth away from an interface – was not that what he privately wished?

He muttered something under his rush of ventilation which caught the medic's attention.

"Does it hurt?" A frown brought his optics into the shadows of his chevron, his finger stilling in the gap of his chest-plating.

"No, I was just…thinking." It was a thought too private to be revealed, even if it was veiled with half-truths. So Skyfire said instead, "Why were you out here?"

Ratchet made a rather patronizing snort. "Bluestreak told me that he saw you fly away. Of course, I was concerned if your armours were accidentally dismantled, or your systems might fail in-flight or worse, if you encountered a Decepticon – I couldn't sit still until I know for sure you're alright. Especially when you're still under my watch!"

An invisible servo the size and strength of Ironhide's slapped his conscience silly. Ratchet's resumed grumbles about possible paperworks had Skyfire did turn out in one less piece than he left faded from the shuttle-former's audials: he could not help but submitted himself to the private guilt of inflicting the anxiety on the medic and went off to what was initially a relaxing, processors-clearing flight.

"I am alright," Skyfire said lamely.

"Which is fine, but if you're not?" Ratchet shot, overwhelming Skyfire's attempted consolation with a wrenching grimness.

Ratchet and Starscream: What did he ever do to deserve their attentions?

Most disturbingly, did he even have the right to choose?

It's too soon! Skyfire countered. It was ridiculous that he was having an argument with himself on this matter. Cybertronians were not exactly shy when it came to the matter of the Sparks but it generally took them some times before throwing themselves into a serious commitment. Besides…they were essentially in a war. Granted, a war with lulls and without a large collections of armies and arsenals, but a war nevertheless. Who had time for personal matters anyway?

Yet…

Some of them managed; utilizing what was left to them to make the best of it. It was not all gun-shooting, laser-slicing, bomb-exploding rigours for them: There were also times for Optimus Prime to play with the fellow Autobots for a human-based game called basketball, for Jazz's occasional imbibing of high-grades until he was overcharged straight to the morning, and for Bumblebee's frequent trips with his human friends. Besides, Skyfire had heard talks among his friends of possible relationships as serious as to the point of considering a Sparkbond…

Skyfire hastily shook himself out of his wayward processors-drift when he realized that Ratchet had withdrawn his digit from his armours, looking distinctly satisfied as he did. It must have meant no perceptible damages then which was equally relieving to the shuttle-former. Though feeling nothing was out of place, Skyfire found himself trusting the ambulance-former's verdict as much as his own where Ratchet's confirmation sealed his own conviction.

"In any case, your little flight session will positively influence your mental health, if nothing else," Ratchet added, this time he was oblivious to the subtlest flick of Skyfire's wings – the best effort he could make to suppress his second wincing. When he lifted his optics to give a pointed look, Skyfire had managed to tame his reactions completely. "But please come see me if you feel anything before it potentially grows worse. I rather have a mech walking into my med-bay on his pedes than brought in on a stretcher."

So saying, Ratchet turned around and made for the Ark's interiors. If Wheeljack had not let the photovoltaic pussycat out of the bag, Skyfire wouldn't have been aware of what the CMO had tightly wrapped in the depth of his laser core.

Too soon.

Still, Cybertronians were a long-living race and remarkably resistant to physical abuses. Skyfire was a patient mech and he could afford to wait longer than most of his kind. Unless he reached one hundred percent degree of certainty, the scientist would continue to observe, evaluate and made his inferences before he found a satisfying conclusion. There were still so many variables which needed considerations for that end – though for now, he was content to fall into steps behind the Chief Medical Officer and went into the Autobot base; feeling soothed and welcomed at the sight of a couple of Autobots waving him a greeting upon his entry and invited both he and Ratchet to the Refuel Hall for their rations.