AN: I know it's been a year and I'm so sorry, but I have about eight more chapters waiting to be typed up now, so I'll be trying to get more of those posted over the next couple of months!

Polaris was, naturally, perturbed by Starscream's account of their trip to Iacon. Hearing the tale recounted in his office, her expression reached levels of stoniness he'd previously thought impossible even for her.

"And now he suspects you of... what, exactly?"

"I'm not even sure at this point," the Winglord confessed. Which was true - Megatron didn't know what he was up to, as yet. (Nor did Polaris, for that matter). The warlord had obviously cottoned on that his second was doing something he shouldn't, however; and the only reason Starscream couldn't be certain what Megatron had guessed at, was that there were multiple things to accuse him of.

Shaking himself out of that train of thought the mech continued, sliding a datapad containing the fateful report across to Polaris.

"Megatron blames me for an uprising that's brewing in Kalis," he explained. "The main culprits are all Vosnian - seekers - and he seems to think... well..."

"Yes?" the councillor prompted, her voice icy. Starscream was just relieved her ire wasn't turned upon himself.

"He thinks that the Neutrals I'm harbouring here are encouraging support for the Autobots. Or even sheltering them."

"Well, that's ludicrous," Polaris said. "The reason most of us turned Neutral is because we didn't support either side, and he knows that." Her expression was disdainful as she appraised the datapad. "What action does he want you to take?"

"He wanted to remove all the Neutrals from Vos."

Polaris dropped the datapad in shock.

"You're not serious! That's your entire council, almost; Metalhawk, Windblade - Primus knows what they'd do to a Cityspeaker. And Nightracer. Megatron would have her replaced, surely. That could be disastrous."

"You do realise the list includes you," the Winglord pointed out. The councillor waved a servo dismissively.

"I said 'your council', didn't I? I'm more concerned with how you persuaded Megatron out of this."

"How can you be certain I did?"

"Well, we're all still here for one thing. And you got Nightracer home in one piece, which I can't imagine he'd have permitted otherwise."

Starscream briefly debated telling her about the assassination plot and, perhaps unwisely, decided against it - now that they were no longer in Iacon, there were far more immediate issues at hand.

"Well, I did suggest an alternative solution that Megatron agreed to adopt," he admitted instead. "But I don't think you'll like it..."

Arcee ventured down to the sparring rings a couple of weeks after her return to find them, surprisingly, almost empty. At this time of day - when many employees at the citadel were on a mid-morning break, and looking for something to do - that was practically unheard of. She should know: she tended to get bored around this hour and go in search of the same such entertainment.

The only other occupant besides herself was a grounder mech painted in red and gold. He was practicing alone, using one of the simple training sims that'd been rigged up. Arcee had never gone in for those - they were all Decepticon-produced. Better running through simple drills than fighting holograms of her friends.

"Hey," she called over as she approached. "Haven't seen you in here before."

The mech froze, glanced at her, and immediately shut off the simulator.

"I... Lady Nightracer?" he exclaimed, before grinning. "To what do I owe the honour?"

"Not much honour about it," said the femme. "I just decided to use these things the same time as you."

He looked a little dubious now. "Is that a good idea? Given your... condition."

"I've got months to go before this thing's protoformed," Arcee said defensively, folding her arms. "And if you don't think I'll cope - well. Feel free to challenge me and test that theory."

That earned her a slight, involuntary shudder.

"Fair point," the mech conceded. "I've heard what you did to Lord Starscream." He wandered over to the barrier around his ring and leaned against it, just as Arcee smirked and stepped up onto the other platform.

Something in the grin he flashed in return reminded her of another cocksure red mech.

"I didn't catch your name."

"Afterburn, my lady," he answered, inclining his helm.

"Just Nightracer," Arcee insisted for the umpteenth time. "Please." She paused for a moment, deliberating.

"You sure you don't want to spar?"

She doubted he'd be much of a match for her if he was just a citadel worker, but anything would be an improvement over drills or those simulators.

"Positive," Afterburn laughed. "I wouldn't be a challenge for you at all - there's not much point."

"Well, at least you're honest," Arcee said, and Afterburn laughed again.

She was just moving into her first practice stance when he added: "Maybe someday, though. I'll have to brush up on my skills first, but I'll keep your offer in mind."

"I could teach you if you like." The femme blurted that out without really thinking - but it made her companion's face light up.

"Seriously? You'd do that?"

"Why not? I've already got one student."

His lazy, easygoing grin was back now.

"Y'know," Afterburn mused, "people say you've shaken this place up too much, but I don't think you've done enough. I think you're exactly what we need." He pushed off the barrier and moved back to the centre of his ring.

"Maybe we could schedule a lesson for next week, Nightracer?"

"Looking forward to it," Arcee replied, and realised that she really was. It was hard to find anyone round here who wasn't either sickeningly deferential or painfully upper-caste when near her. She thought - or maybe hoped - that Afterburn might bring with him a little of the easy camaraderie that she missed from the Autobots.

Even if she was wrong, he was worth investigating.

The biggest downside to this new development, Arcee soon discovered, was how fragile everyone seemed to think she'd become. Truth be told she didn't feel any different as yet - but that didn't stop the anxious glances she came under fire from whenever she was in the council's presence; or Sandstorm's insistences that a separate bodyguard be hired for her - and if that weren't possible, then at least to have Windblade assigned to her as often as possible. Arcee had previously thought the Neutral femme to be quite level headed, with a distinct no-nonsense attitude. However, it appeared now that she was also possessed of a maternal streak a mile wide.

The newsfeeds, building an image for Arcee in her absence from the public eye, adored her for her undertaking. Probably because they were never around to see the fallout from her altercations with the council.

Afterburn, it turned out, was more sympathetic to her plight in this department. He'd taken her up on her offer of lessons - but most of his schedule clashed with Windblade's free time, so Arcee had ended up with separate sessions for both of them. She could handle that quite easily; it wasn't as though her self-styled protectors were letting her do much else with her days.

They even seemed to disapprove of her training her 'students'. Sandstorm or Polaris could occasionally be found hovering outside the sparring room door, judgemental optics following Arcee's progress up into the ring.

"I think they're a bit confused, personally," Afterburn informed her after one such occurrence. "The sparkling's the thing they're worried about, and that's not you - it's just what you're carrying. I mean, I get that if you were in trouble it would be too… but there's protective and then there's paranoid, y'know?"

He really did remind her of Cliff, sometimes.

Of course, she couldn't complain too much: she'd suggested this scheme in the first place, and its whole aim was to keep her safe. But much as Afterburn had said, there was safe and there was smothered. Arcee was distinctly feeling the latter, and it was starting to set her on edge.

As the restrictions and stipulations piled up, she could feel her temper ticking closer and closer towards some kind of event horizon.

One thing nobody would budge on was the matter of her going flying whilst carrying. Most of the council was in favour of keeping her grounded completely - and Starscream had absolutely incensed her by siding with the majority.

Arcee had been summoned to that particular meeting purely to be informed of their stance. She arrived in none too pleasant a mood to begin with; the aching transformation seams Knock Out had warned her about were finally putting in an appearance, and having to trek from the north tower to the south while she'd rather be resting in the oil bath hadn't done her demeanour any favours.

The Winglord and his supporters were arrayed along one side of the council room table: Polaris, Sandstorm, Bitstream, and Red Wing. (Why Red Wing was even professing to care, Arcee wasn't sure. She'd be willing to bet he was on even footing with her regarding number of council meetings attended).

Only Switchblade seemed to have taken up Arcee's cause. He greeted her at the door, arms folded and disappointment written in the angle of his wings.

"I'm sorry," he said to her, voice low. "I tried to talk them out of this, but for some reason they think it's for the best."

"Think what's for the best?"

Behind Switchblade, Starscream rapped his claws on the table. He barely waited for the pair's attention before speaking.

"We think it would be in your best interests, Nightracer, if you were confined to the citadel until the…" He rebooted his vocaliser. "Until the newspark is protoformed. Exceptions can be made for any officially sanctioned excursions, but other than that we'd prefer to keep you here."

Arcee's digits had tensed into fists without her consciously allowing it. Switchblade lifted a servo as she stalked towards the table, but the gesture seemed more for show than anything else - once she passed him, he took a handful of steps backwards.

That he would restrict her like this, knowing that she needed to visit the base, knowing that she'd struck back against these confines before...

"Is that an order, Starscream?"

She let her EM field flare out a little, hoping the quiet fury buzzing through it might unsettle her consort enough to at least make him stutter over his response.

Out of the corner of her optic, she noted that Red Wing was now half-hiding behind Sandstorm. Good. Perhaps his newfound fear would make him think twice about voting against her in future.

"It's a council decision," the Winglord said, drawing himself up to full height. Disappointingly, his only reaction to her tactic had been a startled blink. "Which means that if you try to flout it, there will be measures in place to stop you."

Arcee turned her gaze on the rest of the council.

"And this is how you're looking out for me, huh? Instead of asking me to stay put, you jump straight into wasting resources on keeping me trapped."

"You must admit," Polaris cut in smoothly, "that your performance the very first night you were here went a long way towards convincing us this was necessary."

"Your performance ever since I arrived is why I keep trying to get out of here!"

Polaris' wings shot straight up in the air, rigid and quivering. Sandstorm had clapped a servo over her mouth - but behind her, Arcee distinctly heard Switchblade stifle a guffaw.

All eyes, slowly, turned towards Starscream, who was watching the tableau with an air of uncharacteristic detachment.

"If I recall, Nightracer, you were the one who agreed to make the citadel your home."

The fragger didn't meet her optics as he said it. He was planting himself in the way of the operation, cutting off her only contact with her family, and he refused to even look her in the eye.

Polaris, on the other hand, was happy to do so. She smirked.

Arcee inhaled deeply through her vents.

"I agreed to live here, sure. I don't remember signing a prison sentence."

Only then did Starscream turn his head towards her.

"Then perhaps you should have read the fine print. Being a ward of Vos doesn't mean you can simply do whatever you please."

If they'd not had an audience at that moment, Arcee would've happily slammed him into the floor a second time, possibly with another punch for good measure. Sadly, such behaviour was less acceptable in the council chambers than in the sparring ring.

She settled, instead, for turning her back and storming out of the room.

"Being Winglord of Vos shouldn't mean you can do what you want with other people's lives."

There was a low current of disapproving murmurs from the councillors behind her, but as Arcee passed through to the hall she felt a pulse of wry amusement from Switcblade's EM field - almost as though he'd dealt a supportive punch to her shoulder.

The doors swished closed and her frame slumped.

What was most maddening wasn't that Starscream kept putting obstacles in her path - it was the fact he placed them there in the knowledge that he was actively hindering their objective. Arcee just couldn't see what he stood to gain from cutting off her communication with the other Autobots, or preventing her from moving freely around the citadel; unless he wasn't actually acting in the interests of their plan.

Which, as time went on, was looking scarily more plausible.

Sighing and shaking those thoughts away, Arcee moved to the staircase and rested a servo on the rail. Just as she was about to descend, a series of footsteps clicked up behind her - and her fingers instantly tightened.

"Did Polaris send you out here to tell me off?"

"Ostensibly, yes," said Starscream. He stepped forward onto the opposite side of the stairs and leaned against the banister.

When he next spoke, his voice was notably lower.

"In reality, I came here to tell you that you should carry on with this furious rampage until you get to the habsuite - and then you should take it right off the edge of the balcony."

Arcee blinked. "So what, you think I should kill myself and you just forgot I can fly now? Did I really embarrass you that much?"

The Winglord gave a sputter of frustration, throwing his hands up. "I'm saying that you should stop wasting time, and fly off while you're still angry enough to have an excuse for doing so." He gave her arm a gentle shove.

"Go," he hissed. "I'll tell them I couldn't catch up."

Still in a slight state of shock, Arcee nodded and stumbled off down the stairs.

Her 'rampage', as Starscream had put it (he absolutely talked like a walking dictionary just to make himself feel important, she was sure), carried Arcee out onto the wraparound balcony on the lower level of their hab. She'd passed a couple of slightly terrified-looking clerks on the way, so she reasoned she'd given a convincing enough performance that Starscream would be able to spin the right story.

It was time to run while she still could.

Face a mask of concentration - takeoffs still being an occasional issue - the femme hopped up onto the balcony rail, crouching momentarily before letting herself drop forwards. As she fell from her perch the wind roared up to meet her; for a fraction of time it seemed as though the descent might never end, if she held perfectly still. She might sink forever through the air, as all her fears and problems streamed behind her like a banner and lost themselves in the sky.

Then the ground loomed up before her and she activated transformation protocols, rising in a steep curve between the surrounding buildings. She levelled out once she could see the citadel beneath her, and shot off towards the outskirts of the city.

In a matter of minutes, she was over the district where the Autobots had stationed themselves. This was a particularly run-down area of Vos; but it was also sparsely populated, so Arcee held out hope that if anyone spotted her, she'd be able to pass it off as Nightracer wanting to walk around somewhere undisturbed.

She kept a wary optic out for red plating and narrow violet eyes, as she transformed back and dropped to the floor. Paranoid, perhaps – but in this case, better safe than sorry.

Not least because any slip-up would just validate the council's concern.

The Autobots' base was just a couple of streets from here, but Arcee took the journey slowly, knowing that another chance at this probably wasn't on the cards for a while. Her footsteps rang flatly against the sides of the rusting buildings as she followed the familiar path she'd beaten so often on patrols, before accepting this mission.

This time upon her return, she remembered to comm. ahead. There was a positive contingent waiting for her when she dropped down into the corridor: Arcee took in the faces of Ratchet, Bulkhead, Chromia, Moonracer - and in the back… she gave a small start. Optimus.

"I guess you want an explanation, huh?"

"Where to begin?!" Ratchet demanded. "You've not checked in with us for ages, Starscream barely keeps us up to date - and we found out via the newsfeeds of all things that you're now carrying a newspark! When were you going to tell us? And"-

"Ratchet," Optimus cautioned.

The medic huffed but subsided into silence. That was perhaps a good thing; his outrage about the newsfeeds reminded Arcee so much of Windblade that she might not have been able to reply to him without laughing.

She heaved a deep intake to try and collect herself. Before she could begin to make sense of things for the others, however, something apparently burst inside Moonracer - she propelled herself forwards almost impulsively and wrapped her arms around Arcee.

"Congratulations," she said pointedly, glaring at the rest of the group.

"I dunno if that's the right word for it, Moonie," the seeker chided gently. Considering the circumstances. But thanks."

"Well I figured someone needed to support you."

Arcee smiled and detached herself from her friend, turning to face the rest of the Autobots.

"I know I should've talked to you about this first," she began, looking at Optimus. "But we found out while we were in Iacon. And there were… complications, that kinda made announcing it the best option."

"I'm sure we'd all love to hear about those," Ratchet replied, and Arcee opened her mouth to explain - but Chromia stepped forward.

"Maybe we should continue this in the main room?" she suggested. "I don't want to be standing around in a corridor when I hear it."

"I don't really wanna hear it anyway," Bulkhead muttered, which earned him a frown from Moonracer.

Nevertheless, Arcee's welcoming committee all headed further into the base. The grey femme swung herself up to sit on a table upon entering the main room.

"Megatron tried to have me assassinated," she announced. "Oh, and Hound" - she added, catching sight of a blocky green mech in the corner - "Welcome back, since I never got to say it. Mirage says hi."

By the time she focused her attention back on the others everyone in the room was staring at her, gobsmacked.

Good.

"I guess 'Raj's latest report hasn't come through yet." Arcee grinned. "Figured you told him to keep an optic on Nightracer, so thanks for that, 'cause he found out Megatron sent someone to kill me my first day in Iacon."

Prowl - who had abandoned his work at a nearby terminal, and was looking profoundly shocked - spoke up.

"And when were you planning to come and tell us this?"

"I'm surprised Starscream didn't already," Arcee admitted. "But I don't even know if he told his council - nobody's brought it up with me - so frag knows what he's trying to do there."

"But how does this explain why you're keeping the sparkling?" Chromia interjected. "Obviously it's not because you wanted it, it's Starscream's, for Primus' sake. And it's not like Megatron's above killing a carrier."

"I'm keeping it because Megatron's not stupid. If he kills me while I'm carrying then he'll set his own plans back." Predictably, that earned her a few confused looks. "He wants to replace me with Slipstream - that base commander who was supposed to bond with 'Scream in the first place. But if Starscream loses his carrying sparkmate, even if Megatron's not implicated"-

"He can cite being in mourning, and push her away," Prowl finished slowly, nodding.

"Then why doesn't 'Cee just fake her death and get out of there?" Bulkhead demanded.

"Because that would only work for so long." Prowl gave another nod at her reply.

Chromia was watching Arcee, looking slightly pensive.

"Did Starscream tell you that?" she asked suddenly. Arcee's wings twitched in surprise at the abrupt query.

"What d'you mean?"

"Did he tell you to keep the sparkling because of all that?" Chromia repeated. "Is he the one that's making you do this?"

"Nobody's making me do anything, Chromia." Arcee frowned. "I came up with this plan myself." The other femme's optics widened, and Arcee wasn't sure what to make of that. Brushing it aside for now, she continued.

"There wasn't time to consult you or anything - we had to get out of Iacon, and we made the decision on the journey home. I know throwing a sparkling in this mix isn't ideal"-

"It's the opposite of ideal, if you ask me, Prowl cut in.

"Well I didn't ask you, and if you want Slipstream in my place then meet me in the medbay and you can terminate this thing yourself," Arcee snapped. Prowl blinked. "Trust me, that's the only reason I'm keeping it."

Although the boost the sparkling had given her public image was also something she could easily use - what with the equally newborn idea, that'd been sitting in her CPU ever since Starscream confronted her about her past in Vos. She felt less guilty about that potential scheme. All it took advantage of was a side effect; not another, freshly-made life.

But above all, Arcee had come to decide, if she was to be a creator - she welcomed the challenge of making damn sure that the war wouldn't touch this sparkling.

Starscream knew Arcee wasn't stupid enough to stay out too long, but he was still relieved when she came flying back a couple of hours later. If she took note of the fact that he'd been waiting in the habsuite for her, she didn't say anything.

"You owe me an explanation," she growled instead as she stalked through the balcony doors. "And," she added, jabbing a digit at him, "you need to keep the others more in the loop, and get them off my aft about all this newspark slag."

The mech squinted at the digit waving under his olfactory housing, flicking his wings irritably.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

"You fragging well do know what I mean. They wouldn't shut up about how little they've been told, how they only found out about the sparkling" - Starscream felt the usual uncomfortable jolt of renewed realisation at her use of that word - "because we made it everyone's business. I was hoping for a more upbeat reunion, really."

"I was hoping for some gratitude that you had your reunion at all," the Winglord huffed.

"What, because you pissed me off until I quit the room? You wouldn't have to have done that, if you didn't side with your precious slagging council in the first place. Which reminds me," the femme's scowl deepened, and she lifted her chin defiantly. "I want to visit the grounder districts. In an official capacity."

Starscream got the sense that she was planning something, suddenly.

"I don't see why that can't be arranged," he agreed grudgingly, resolving nevertheless to keep an optic on her over this.

"Good." Arcee turned, and headed towards the habsuite door. "And anyway - why did you side with the council, if you were just gonna pull this on them?"

"I'd have thought that was obvious," Starscream replied, quirking an eyebrow. "If I just advocated for you to go wherever you please, it'd have raised their suspicions. These things need to be handled delicately, I think you'll find."

"Right," the femme muttered, sliding the door open.

"I'm going down to the sparring rings," she informed him as she left. "Promised I'd meet Afterburn there this evening."

Starscream was only half-listening at this point, too busy heading for the energon store. It wasn't until the door closed that what she said registered.

"Who?"

He'd planned on getting an early night, but it seemed that wasn't to be now. Instead, Starscream found himself venturing down to the disused accommodation block, for perhaps the third time since Arcee had first begun her project. The door was already open, thankfully - allowing him to linger in the corridor and watch undetected.

Arcee had made a new friend, it seemed: a mech whom Starscream had never seen before, and who he certainly couldn't recall showing up on any roster of employees.

Afterburn, I presume.

This one bore some looking into, the Winglord decided. He didn't keep tabs on everyone working at the citadel, quite obviously - but he was reasonably sure he would've spied this mech around before now, if he was employed here. Certainly with that paintjob.

Starscream noted also, in his observations, that this newcomer was nowhere near a match for Arcee in combat. He was too fixated on his own movements, neglecting to anticipate her attacks, and often failing to spot her next moves when he went on the offensive. Even with her wings occasionally unbalancing her, the femme was easily besting him.

Regardless of the disparity in skill, however, they were clearly both enjoying themselves. Afterburn stumbled round to face the doorway and Starscream only just stepped behind the frame in time - when he chanced another look, Arcee was grinning broadly as she ducked beneath her opponent's arm, her wings sweeping down out of the way in a graceful curve. Her purple optics were alight with something almost gleeful.

She was rather beautiful in battle, it had to be said.

Starscream caught himself moments later and squashed that thought, just in time to watch as Arcee gave a sudden grunt of pain and doubled over, hobbling away to lean on the ring's barrier. Afterburn followed her, and the Winglord watched from his shadowy vantage point as Arcee sank down and sat on the floor.

"Fragging seams again," he heard her growl.

"You don't have to carry on, y'know, if you"-

"No! No, I'm good." Even from here, Starscream could see the grin that blossomed on her faceplate. "Anyway, I can still kick your aft with sore wings."

"Oh yeah?"

"Watch me."

The seeker rolled his optics at that - if she didn't heed the cues her body was very obviously giving her, she'd end up seriously hurt one day soon. Carriers just weren't best suited to physical activity.

Not that she'd let that stop her, of course; Arcee would continue to do just as she pleased, and to Pit with the newspark she held in her chest.

Once again, Starscream diverted his thoughts down a different path. He hadn't yet stopped to think too much about said newspark, and he wasn't about to start now. Hopefully, he'd never have to do much thinking about it. He was under no illusions that he'd be of any use around a sparkling - not least because from his limited exposure, he could barely stand them - and had no intention of making much effort to care about it.

Arcee probably wouldn't want him near it, anyway.

The match in the sparring ring was well underway again by now. His consort was still moving somewhat gingerly, but she'd thrown herself back into the fray with gusto - a triumphant shout of laughter floating back to him as she shoved Afterburn against the barrier.

Starscream's thoughts drifted to their latest altercation. The atmosphere of that, and of this exchange before him, were worlds away. He doubted that Arcee would ever be as comfortable in his presence as she was here; no matter how long this arrangement of theirs persisted.

The Winglord found he didn't want to watch any longer. With a heavy sigh, wings dropping down his back, he turned and walked back to the habsuite.

AN: Hopefully this at least was a distraction for a few minutes after the Carrie Fisher news.