This follows on from 'Quits' and is set a year later, though it can be read as a stand-alone.

I've written a lot of rape-recovery fiction in the past, but this time I'm going to focus on those around the victim and how they've been affected. A lot of this is still going to be about Optimus, but the majority will be Ironhide, Ratchet and Lennox based.


Loom

Chapter 1


"So. That's a spaceship, huh?"

Ironhide grunted an affirmative from beside Lennox, his own optics turned up to the night sky, though the soldier could see further. He held up a device much like a complex set of binoculars to his face, fixed on the ship lurking overhead at the edge of the planet's atmosphere.

The mech shifted, canons flexing in a relaxed, inconspicuous stretch. They were sat outside the briefing hanger where a bot used to stand sentry all night, though with the war over that duty had been foregone. "The Ark. Primus knows how it got here in one piece even with the war being over."

Lennox lowered the bulky equipment that Wheeljack had loaned him, rubbing his eyes to adjust. "Who's controlling it?"

Noting that the man was done, Ironhide opened a compartment in his shin for the binoculars to be put back. "No one," he replied as Lennox took a beer from the cooler stashed inside. "The AI is reasonable, though. Smart enough to pick up Optimus's message and figure to hone in on him. It's his ship."

"Not too shabby," Lennox remarked with a wry smile, levering the bottle top off on the edge of an armour plate. They had these quiet meetings two or three times a week now, and both knew the habits and rituals involved. As he began to drink, Ironhide retrieved a cube of High Grade from a side compartment and popped the seal.

They stood in mutually comfortable silence for several minutes, considering the stars. This contemplative quiet was a staple of their meetings, as if company alone was enough for Ironhide. Lennox gave the dark mech a sidelong glance, trying to assess his mood from his posture and the brightness of his optics, but there was nothing telling. It was very rarely that he saw raw emotion showing in his guardian, and the last time had led him to believe that there was a Cybertronian equivalent to crying.

It had been a 'bad' week – that was how Ironhide had surmised a bout of fluxing without going into the details with him. He'd drunk more that evening, a lot more, and growled at Lennox that what his sparkmate had had done to him was like someone putting a machete into his wife. That description still haunted him, as did the mech's bowed head and narrowed optics that bled only a watery light.

Since then he'd been wary to ask the question that always came up during their meetings, and tonight was no different. The words came softly, summoned with all the care given them in the past. "How's he doing, Ironhide?"

The dark mech gave no outward sign of being affected by the question, though there was a note in his voice that couldn't be completely displaced. Though all of the facts lay as shared knowledge between them, the grievances and fears, to bring up the subject felt like inviting strife every time they spoke. Yet it had to be spoken of, just as it had to be lived with. "Not bad. Recharging better."

Lennox stared down the neck of the bottle, though blankly. "Still not talking about it?"

A shrug by way of one shoulder twitching. "Don't reckon we ever will." He looked down as a soldier with another soldier. "You know how it is."

Lennox did, and it didn't need to be vocalised. There were things that had happened in the forces that he would never tell Sarah about – not because they were confidential, but because they were awful. Awful things happened in conflicts, and no less than an awful thing had ended the Cybertronian's war. The submission and defilement of one leader by another, personal costs extracted in place of lives. A high price for peace that only a handful knew the true cost of.

The human was pulled from his reverie by the shunts and scrapes that accompanied Ironhide sitting, falling still with one hand draped across his thigh. The High Grade lingered beneath his chin and his optics were on the sky, hesitating before he actually took a sip. With a shunt through his vents, he voiced his thoughts to the dark. "He needs to get away for a bit. This little expedition couldn't have come at a better time."

Lennox coughed a laugh. "I don't think the first time humans set foot on an inhabited alien world classes as a 'little expedition.'"

A sideways smirked from the scarred mech. "Says you."

The idea had been proposed two months ago, when a communication had been received from the Ark's AI that it was approaching on Prime's general summons. To say that the arrival of a space-faring species' ship, particularly now that the Cybertronian civil war was over, had triggered excitement was an understatement. As a gesture of gratitude for the asylum granted over the last four years, it was agreed that the Autobots would escort a group of scientists into inhabited space – to Certa, specifically. The logistics of selection from across the globe had been a nightmarish undertaking, with the final word coming from Optimus himself. Suffice to say, the Autobot leader had rarely been seen in recent weeks. Thankfully, this first visit was for reconnaissance and largely comprised of NEST personnel.

"So," Lennox began as a means of breaking the silence that had fallen. "Tell me about this planet we're going to."

There was a soft crunch of hydraulics as Ironhide shifted, taking another sip of High Grade. Clinical details had already been given in briefings, describing Certa as greatly similar to Earth, and he sensed that the soldier was inviting a more personal inflection. "The deserts are bigger with hard winds, but there's this mist from the mountains that comes down sometimes. Colonies are mostly around the jungles, or they were when we were there a few centuries back." To the human's expression, he grinned. "What? You ain't got the monopoly on sentient alien planets we've visited."

Reminding himself of the enormous time scales they were dealing with, Lennox considered the stars again. "Did the war take you there, as well? Decepticons?"

Ironhide shook his head. "Nah. They got invaded by a harvesting colony – resources stripped, folk killed. Called for help and asked us to clear 'em out. Don't usually get involved in other peoples' fights, but it was an alien force and they weren't so much as fighting as grinding the locals into slag. Me, Optimus and a couple of others sorted it out."

Lennox drained the last foaming trickle from the bottle and set it aside. The dark mech had already reopened the hatch to the cooler for him to take another. "So it'll be a warm welcome."

His own drink gone, Ironhide produced the second and penultimate cube. "That was more than a couple of generations back. Probably forgotten all about it by now. But they're a peaceful lot. Good bunch of organics for you to cut your teeth on."

Nursing the cool beer, Lennox scrubbed his hair and tried to imagine what these aliens would look like. Unwittingly, his mind kept circling the rumoured 'greys' and stereotyped 'little green men'. Finally, he gave up and simple asked: "What do they look like?"

When Ironhide paused with narrowed optics, Lennox lowered the bottle to his lap, studying the mech in profile. "'Hide?"

Optics shuttering in a blink, Ironhide glanced to the human before looking to the horizon. One hand ghosted across the nape of his neck in a gesture that Lennox knew full well he'd picked up from Optimus.

"Ratch' was gonna explain this later," he murmured, optics shuttering again in an expression that signalled he was about to say something he ought not to. "So, uh, just look surprised for me, alright Will?"

He didn't suppress his intrigued grin, sensing from the mech's tone and posture that this wasn't a grim disclosure. "Course."

Ironhide look him over again before speaking to the cube. "When we said they were humanoid, we meant that they really have a bit of human in them. Used to be a group who liked moving primitive folk around, setting up colonies on other worlds and seeing what happened. They've evolved differently on Certa, but you've got the same ancestors."

"Holy shit." It took a moment for Lennox to overcome his initial shock, brows raised and bottle forgotten in his hand. "And no one else knows about this yet?"

Ironhide shifted a shoulder as he drained the cube, twirling it between his thumbs when it was empty. "Optimus and Ratchet weren't gonna tell you at all at first. Figured that squishy alien life was gonna be enough to keep your scientists happy and busy enough. But the Certa looked a lot like humans when we were there, so it probably wouldn't have been long before you started asking questions."

The soldier nodded, understanding the logic and oddly grateful on his species' behalf that they were going to be upfront and honest. "And they look a lot like us? Like the aliens out of Star Trek?"

A few seconds as Ironhide referenced that and thought before he smirked a little. "Throw in a grasshopper and you're about there."

Lennox barked a laugh at that, gaze tipping back up to the area of sky where he knew the Ark was waiting. It couldn't land without alerting millions who didn't yet know about the Cybertronian's existence, likely triggering global hysteria. It was cloaked above the planet, however, disguised from the hundreds of satellites that could see it. The binoculars that Wheeljack had made could only see the ship through a synchronicity that Lennox hadn't even tried to understand.

To get to the Ark, they were to experience another first – travel by spacebridge. A weaker version of the ones that could cross galaxies, the device had taken eight months to build and was due entirely to Wheeljack and Starscream's expertise and tentative collaboration. It had been built in the mountains some several hundred miles away, safe from discovery and powered by the diffused energy from a dormant underground magma chamber.

As he was finishing the beer, Lennox heard a soft creak from the mech's comm., and Ironhide tipped his head down in that way that Lennox knew meant he was talking to Optimus. The hatch slid open, silently inviting him to take the drink cooler out before Ironhide sealed it again.

"Meeting's over?" he asked when the blue optics regained their normal brightness.

Ironhide grunted an affirmative, getting to his feet. "Galloway wanted to call it a night and go home."

"Figures."

"Not a bad idea," Ironhide went on. "Got a long drive up to that volcano tomorrow."

"Yeah, about that," Lennox began with a frown, also standing. "Why aren't we just flying up?"

"Ratchet's call," he replied simply, noting from Lennox's soft nod that he didn't need to elaborate further to convey that the decision was about Optimus. Though stable and balanced in all conscious respects, the occasional fluxes and flashbacks triggered by events a year ago remained dramatic and dangerous. The last place Ratchet and Ironhide had wanted the mech to be was trapped in a confined place with a dozen humans, strapped down or not.

Shifting his feet a little, making to leave, Ironhide touched the hatch where the last cube of High Grade was stored. "Gonna grab a few cubes from the refec and hit the berth. See you tomorrow, Will."

Lennox nodded a little, giving the old mech a half smile. These talks often left a strange feeling in his gut, and this evening had been no different. "G'night Ironhide."


Disappointed more than anything else at finding their berth empty, Ironhide had taken his cube on a short walk through the Base and over the outside rise where his sensors told him he could find Optimus. Ironically, he had to set up a larger training area after they had adjusted to being at peace as more of the warriors became restless, needing to fall into old moves and sequences to purge the nervous energy from their systems. Optimus, Ratchet and Prowl had been the only ones not to partake of the mountains of car tyres, old scaffolding cranes and automated defence turrets that he'd erected, dangerous enough to keep even the hardened human soldiers away. It was what had him pause at the spectator zone atop the rise, watching the slim mech before setting the empty cube by a tree and making his way down.

Optimus was throwing lead tomahawks into a solid wall of tyres, retrieving them all back only when the pile of fifteen were protruding from the melted rubber to start again. They were imitations of his own energon-heated axe in size and weight that the weapons specialist had made, enabling him to refine his skills at throwing without having to continually retrieve the genuine article or melt any infrastructure.

Not that his abilities needed to be further honed. Each blade struck and sunk exactly where he aimed it with little effort on his part. His movements were tight and controlled, but directed by idleness as his mind insisted on being elsewhere. Ironhide had seen this state before and stood parallel to the throwing range, watching his sparkmate with folded arms until he was noticed.

To the dark mech's surprise Optimus looked vaguely embarrassed, turning the oversized axe in his hands with a scrutiny that suggested he just didn't want to meet his optics. "Redundant, I know, but…"

"Yeah, I get ya," Ironhide replied softly, waiting a beat before nodding to the target for the mech to carry on. He hoped that having his energy diverted and his hands busy would help his sparkmate to talk, as it had in the past for him. "Why ain't you recharging? What's on your processor?"

The slim mech hesitated and turned to throw the axe, optics narrowing as he forced his focus back on to the target. It struck a few inches wide and Optimus shook his head a little. "I'm just awake."

Ironhide cycled a heated sigh through his vents, scrutinizing the mech in profile. It wasn't often that Optimus allowed him to look at him so openly, and he suddenly understood why. His servos were a few nanoseconds sluggish, underpowered, and it looked like his protoform had shrunk fractionally from underfueling. Apparently more had been hidden from him than he'd thought, and the discovery of his sparkmate's self-neglect brought forth a fresh, caustic wave of frustrated guilt.

He took a step forward, hesitated on the second until he ultimately discarded the idea of allowing Optimus to be physically distracted. Standing to the side, he touched a hand between sharp shoulders and felt as much as heard his voice soften. "Optimus… please, just talk to me. I don't ask you to often, but I need you to right now." The slim mech met his gaze, optics tight and wary. "What's going on?"

Sensing that Ironhide wasn't going to let it go tonight, Optimus sagged on his pistons and let his stare fall to the ground between their feet. "This planet's too small," he admitted at last, lifting his gaze to the other's to see, to hope that he understood. "Anywhere we go, the constellations, the air: everything's the same."

A low rumble and Ironhide nodded, looking up at the familiar stars for a moment to take the pressure of his stare away. "I know what you mean. It'll be good visiting Certa just for the change of scenery."

"Just to get away," came the soft agreement, exhaustion evident.

Ironhide nodded and brought his hand back to his side. "Fluxing again?"

Optimus shrugged fractionally, knowing that there was no point in hiding it. If anything he was glad that Ironhide hadn't confronted him in their berth on the three occasions when he had fluxed this week. "The changes Ratchet made haven't helped. There're too many stimuli trigging it."

"You mean like the stars?" the dark mech offered, though he sensed that there was an awful lot more than that causing harm. He felt guilt and frustration swam across the bond and sent back a balm of love and reassurance. Promises that he wouldn't leave, wouldn't stop loving no matter what was said.

Though bolstered, Optimus' eventual reply was soft and dragged from his vocaliser as a shameful confession. "The Autobots." He squeezed the training axe, twisting it in his hand to feel its familiar weight. "It warms my spark to see them at peace after so long, but…"

Pain registered on Ironhide's feature for a scant second, the longest he would ever allow it to show. All he could do was be strong and supportive, and he had vowed to himself to do well by both. "It's okay to resent us, Optimus. After what Megatron did to you-"

"I don't resent you," Optimus cut in, optics shuttering. His dentals clenched behind the mask when he tried to go on, and he threw his frustration into the axe as he sent it flying into the tyre wall. Empty handed, he rubbed the ache that had blossomed over his spark and forced the words out with as much force as he could muster. "It's just… I don't know what I am. I don't know what I'm doing."

The admission wasn't one that Ironhide had expected, and lost for words he could only cup a hand against the mech's elbow. "It's only been a year."

Optimus shunted out a bitter sound, thick with disbelief. He met Ironhide's optics again, studying his reactions. "I thought more would have changed."

Now it was Ironhide who bowed his head, mouth setting in a thin, hard line as he thought of what he could say to that. No words of reassurance were forthcoming, and neither of them indulged in pity. Finally, he just decided to ask: "Is there anything I-"

Smiling at the earnestness, the need to help, Optimus ran his fingertips across Ironhide's knuckle where they curved about his arm. "No, it's me. You've been everything I've needed, 'hide. It's just me."

Ironhide waited, knowing that there was more and knowing better than to push for it.

"I nearly tore Sideswipe's head off yesterday," Optimus confessed in a heavy rush, jerking his chin towards a cluster of industrial pipes and scorched cement blocks. "Just over there, actually."

An arched brow, surprise by the sudden confession quickly displaced by relief. Ironhide hadn't been supervising that particular session and had heard little about the skirmish – largely the Twins relaying that 'the Boss hasn't lost his touch'. "So that's what that was."

Optimus spoke moving towards the target wall, leaving Ironhide behind. "He offered a spar, and Primus knows I need to get back to it with someone other than you."

Watching, Ironhide folded his arms as a means to keep his cannons quietly in check though his tone relayed the same unforgiving protectiveness. "He hurt you?"

The taller mech glanced back, optics bright before he gave a half smile behind the mask and shook his head. "No. I just, wasn't ready."

It was a slim distinction, but it put Sideswipe out of danger. "What happened?"

A beat as Optimus pulled a tomahawk from the wall, pinching a chunk of rubber off the blade before putting it into his fist where a collection was gathering. "It was fine at first. Normal. Challenging."

Ironhide rumbled a little at that, his feelings mixed. Though there was no need for it, combat training was a habit that few of them would ever break and the easiest way to pass time recently. There wasn't much he could do for Optimus now in terms of tuition, and for practice he needed bots who specialised in getting close and hard. It was the best training for him, but it necessitated a proximity that he was surprised his sparkmate had allowed with anyone other than himself or Ratchet.

"He's a better match for you than I am in terms of close-range fighting," he ultimately reasoned, encouraging him to go on to see where this went.

"I was quickly reminded of that," Optimus agreed with a furrowed brow, pulling the last of the axes free. "He didn't go easy."

"He didn't have reason to," came the quiet assertion, with a shadow of disapproval of the secrecy that was still surrounding what had happened last year. The Autobots were being kept at arm's length because of what their Commander had done to end the war, for them. He was surprised that it had taken this long for someone to overstep the invisible mark and get hurt. "What'd he do?"

"Hooked me with a blade, tried to twist me down." He said it matter-of-factly as he walked back, adjusting the axes in his hand to line up the bases.

As he walked, Ironhide saw the clean line running up the mech's left leg, from the inside of knee, up his inner thigh to hook against his groin. Hooking and twisting was a standard manoeuvre for bringing a taller opponent down from the ground. It was a move they'd spent a lot of time on defending against given how long Optimus's legs were, and how comparatively high his centre of gravity was.

Lennox had commented once whilst watching a spar that the manoeuvre was low, needing to be reminded that the groin meant as much to them as their shoulders or pedes. Their most intimate parts were buried under armour in their chassis, almost impossible to make contact with during a fight. However that line up Optimus's thigh, and the plates where the blade caught to gain leverage, wasn't physically meaningless anymore. Ironhide waited, knowing somehow that this was information that had to be volunteered.

"It was, familiar," Optimus began slowly, the thunderous cadence of his voice softened by uncertainty as he thought back and tried to pick apart what had happened in those few seconds. "I saw things in the move that weren't there. Felt things." Remorseful anger curled in and brought strength to his voice. "Before I could stop it, Sideswipe was down and I had his helm in my hands."

Ironhide was quick to step, not touching but using proximity to ward off the blame-filled contrition before it spiralled out of control. "He's alright, Optimus."

The assurance felt too much like unearned forgiveness to his audios, and Optimus gave the mech a hard glance. "He looked so fragging scared."

No doubt, Ironhide reasoned, though kept his expression neutral. "Yeah, but nothing happened."

"He knew something was wrong," Optimus went on quickly, following the critical tangent his processor was racing off upon. He took one of the axes back into his throwing hand, squeezing enough to distort the metal. "I've never reacted like that before. Never that savage."

Professional instinct moved the specialist's feet to step back and out of the way of the axe. "You can't be in control all the time," he reminded, though also for is own benefit. Ratchet had told him more than once that this wasn't something to be overcome within their own private sphere, and certainly not quickly. "This thing's bigger than you. Bigger than us."

"It shouldn't be," Optimus snapped, punctuating the explosion by lunging the axe into the wall. His optics narrowed, targeting sensors coming fully to the fore, and he spoke through a stream of data from his combat CPU as he threw lashed every axe into the wall. "Less than two hours, 'Hide. That was all. Out of millennia of fighting and watching thousands of comrades die. Being captured and tortured dozens of times, and seeing the same done to the Autobots. Primus, dying here. How can I be so untouched by all that, but two hours of…" He trailed off because he'd run out of axes and now stood stiff-backed with fists trembling, lost as to what to do with this raw pulse of feeling.

Ironhide wasn't good with what Lennox had aptly titled 'the mushy stuff', and though in the back of his processor he knew he should be consoling his sparkmate that coddling wasn't in him. And it wouldn't do any good. He was frustrated and angry – at Megatron, himself and a little at Optimus for being so flippant about the severity of ordeal that had strained them both and their relationship to breaking point. When he spoke, it was a barked growl.

"Because they ain't the same, and you can't deal with them the same. All of that's left marks, but you've grown with them. They don't bother you because you've expected them, prepared for them and made peace with them." His cannons unlocked and had spun out before he'd realised what had happened, and it eased the venom out of his tirade. "What that bastard did was summut else. Monstrous. It's not something you're gonna shrug off."

"I was handling it," Optimus bit back, one hand jerking towards the Base. "It was under control."

"No it weren't - you just couldn't see it." Ironhide shuttered his optics momentarily and unclenched his fists, forcing a slow cycle through his vents. Though this wasn't one of their more heated arguments, neither of them needed it. Blame and anger weren't really what was going on here – Ratchet had told him that there would always be guilt and hurt at the base, and that he more than Optimus would likely be the first to remember that.

The pause had stopped Optimus as well, allowed him to enforce some calm on his systems, and Ironhide waited until the thrum of the Peterbuilt's engine had normalised before running a hand across his optics. He felt exhausted and very, very old. Gesturing for the other to follow, he moved towards the target wall and sat down against its Base, resting his wrists on his raised knees. "This crackup's been coming for a while."

Likely true, Optimus conceded as he sat alongside, close enough for their arms to touch. He considered Ironhide in profile, optics softening at the love and weariness that edged every facial plate. "And you didn't say anything? No intervention from Ratchet?"

Helm resting against the wall, Ironhide turned to meet the azure gaze directly. "Figured you needed the release."

Drawing up one of his legs, Optimus rested his elbow on his knee and pressed his fingers against the space between his optics. "I can't afford it. Someone could see."

"Would that be so bad?"

A frown and Optimus drew his helm back, narrowing his stare on the dark mech. "How can you even ask that?"

Ironhide didn't rise to the tone, mouth quirking in a grimace as he laid a hand on a pale shoulder instead. "This secrecy is doing more harm to you than good, Optimus. It's protecting the mechs, but it's killing you. You can't be yourself. You can't retreat off for a few hours when you need to; can't have that personal space you need when someone's crowding ya and triggering off a flux." He shook his head, fingers tightening around the thick plates in a spasm. "Can't have a fragging emotion outside our berth. You're hurtin', but it'll be someone else who puts you in more pain because they just don't know."

Optimus arched a brow, optics a grade dimmer and his voice turning dry and coarse. "I fragged the leader of the Decepticons on his own ship. I'd warrant no respect if they found out."

Ironhide put an arm around his sparkmate and pulled him into his chassis, leaving him no choice in the matter. He sighed when Optimus went with it willingly, resting his chin on his helm. "You saved lives and stopped a war that was driving us to extinction by allowing yourself to be tortured. That's all that was. Torture."

It was easier to speak with seeing his face, but Optimus's tone was still laced with bitterness. "I overloaded for him, 'Hide."

"For me," Ironhide reminded flatly, arm tightening again. "Not him. For me because that's what it cost to stop, and I wish to Primus every day that you hadn't had to. That none of it had had to happen."

Optimus stroked an old scar in comfort, his spark aching with fresh guilt for what he had been putting the older mech through. "I brought it on myself."

That was the crux of it in the Prime's mind, and Ironhide feared that they'd never get through it. But instead of making the same denials that they both knew were true and valid though slow on their way to being believed, he gave an exaggerated sigh. "Yes, because you're a self-sacrificing glitch who loves others more than any sense of self-preservation. And I love you for it as much as I hate you for it. You aint' tainted, but you've never looked after yourself as much as I've wanted you to."

Ironhide's spark throbbed close and comforting, promising everything that he'd said as unfettered truth. Optimus felt a ghost of a smile at Ironhide's rough but deep caring. "I'd say the same about you."

A short rumble, midway between a snort and a grunt. "Damn right." Ironhide moved his arm to allow Optimus to sit up again, relieved to see that he had been at least partially unburdened. Optimus rarely spoke this candidly about what had happened, but each time he felt that it made invaluable progress.

With Ironhide watching him, Optimus rubbed a hand across the lines in his neck that had begun to stiffen with tension. "So what now?"

"We go to berth," Ironhide pronounced decidedly, pushing up to his feet and offering his hand down for Optimus to do the same. Across the bond they could feel one another's weariness, enhanced by the kind of emotional exchange that always left their sparks drained. "Got a long drive to the 'bridge later. Then we go to Certa and see if the grass is any greener."

Ascending the rise with a shorter stride to keep pace with Ironhide, Optimus couldn't quite keep the resignation out of his voice. "It won't be."

"No," Ironhide replied lightly, offering a small smile to the other mech. "But you could do with the break, and all this will still be waiting for us when we get back."

"Joy," Optimus murmured dryly, though he felt bolstered once again by Ironhide's ongoing use of 'we'. No matter how hard he pushed, Ironhide wasn't going to leave him alone with this, and he was as grateful as he was sometimes frustrated for it. They continued the walk down to the darkened Base in silence having said all that needed to be said for the night.


More of a placeholder, I know, but I've been needing some encouragement as of late so I thought I'd drop in the line and see what kind of response it got. Any and all reviews are much appreciated, particularly as I've left this story a lot of room to grow and develop organically.

I hope you've enjoyed the introduction to this story. The next chapter is well underway and has a few things coming to a violent boil