Author's Note: Inspired by a Mosaic over on DA called 'Home is Where the Lasercore Is'. 'Tis cute, go check it out. However, how my mind connected this plot bunny with that Mosaic, I'll probably never know.

Dat's right peeps! It's a TF:A/G1 crossover of sorts! First TF:A fic I've evah done. Should be interesting...

Disclaimer: Wish I owned this stuff. Alas, I do not...

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Systems Rebooting.

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Diagnostic:

Self Repair Systems: Functioning: Repairs: 23% complete. Estimated completion time: 10.342 jours.

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Onlining.

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Optics opened blearily, scanners not working 100% just coming out of recharge. Shutters slid open reveling deep blue optics.

Systems hummed to life slowly, the CPU being one of the last to completely online. Once they did their owner jerked upright in the berth.

"What the slag?" A deep voice rumbled, optics taking in orange walls, definitely not of his warehouse home. They stopped their frantic searching of their surroundings when the voice registered in audio receptors. It was so... Rich and deep, so unlike the one he was used to using. An alarmed hand sprung up to clutch at a throat checking for something that might have changed the sound.

That's when the now wide with fright optics caught sight of his hand. Sure, it was still the same colors in the same areas, but it wasn't shaped right. Fear-filled optics scoured over his body.

Red chest: check. Grill: check. But the windows above the grill were square, not the more abstract shape they were before. Autobot sigils were still on his square shoulders, but try as he may, they would not flash as they were supposed to.

Near overwhelmed, the hands flew up to his helm. His antennae were there, but they weren't rounded off. Rather they were pointed. Sharply pointed too, he nearly speared his index finger on one of them.

Optics continued their exploration. Pedes were blue on the lower halves, like they were supposed to, but the upper halves weren't silver but white and... Thicker.

Hands left audios and traced a faceplate. Or tried to at least. Hmmm... His mask seemed to up. Sending the mental command to have it retract. It did so a little slower than usual. Hands felt along the faceplate as soon as the mask was gone. Nasal plating, optical glass, lip plating, cheek... Plating? What was on his cheek plating? It was like a... Bump. In a line. Like a scar...

A knock resounded around the room. "Hey, Opt! Ratch' sent meh to check up on yah." When the bot outside didn't get a response, he seemed to get worried, "Optimus? Yah alrigh' in dere?" Another knock, more frantic and pounding. "Prime! Prime, talk ta me! It's Jazz!" Another pause, "Prime, I'm gonna hack the door! Shout somethin' if yah okay!"

The now throughly confused bot on the inside of the room looked at the door alarmed. Hacking the door didn't sound good. "No, uh, Jazz, I'm okay!"

Pause, "Yah sure Prime? Yah sound funny..."

"Yes, yes, fine, really. You, ah, can go now."

"No can do Optimus. Gotcha energon 'ere too... Just open da door Prime."

"... Okay..."

The bot got up off the berth and went over to the door commands. Now that he looked, the room around him was very Cybertronian. In fact, these quarters reminded him of the quarters he had on Teletran-1...

Opening the door revealed a black and white bot with a blue visor. One with a very large grin that almost seemed to take over his entire face. The grin faltered slightly when the bot spotted Prime's face. The grisly scar that marred his other wise handsome face was clearly visible, mask retracted. "Optimus... Why's your mask down?"

"... Is it normally up?"

"... Yes. Yes it is." The grin was completely down now, a worried frown in its place. "Can ah come in?" The bot didn't wait for an answer, he just pushed his way inside. He was surprisingly forceful for a bot feet shorter than him.

Once the bot had made it to the middle of the room he turned around and crossed his arms in front of his chest. "What's up Opt? You're acting weird. I haven't seen yah retract yah mask in vorns. What's wrong?"

"I... Do not know..." Optimus sat down on the berth and looked back at his hand. The appendage shook slightly.

"What da yah mean?"

"I don't... Feel right. I... I don't look right. And... And who are you? Where am I? This isn't right..." Optics screwed shut and blue hands covered them.

Jazz blinked behind his visor. Was it just him, or did Optimus sound young? Very young.

"Okay, Optimus, why don' we go see Ratchet? Dat's it, c'mon." The saboteur lead his leader out of his quarters and down to the med bay, holding his arm as the larger bot shook. Thankfully it was still relatively early in the morning, so no-one saw their trek.

Unfortunately for Jazz, that's when his luck ran out. Because when they arrived in the med bay they found a terrified Wheeljack hiding behind an overturned berth. A furious (and very confused) Ratchet was brandishing an arc welder, yelling something about this not being his med bay, and who the slag was the guy with the flashy ears?

Jazz ran over to Wheeljack to figure out what happened. Meanwhile Optimus stood in front of the door way, looking bemused.

"Ratchet... What are you doing? And... Wow, you look weird."

The medic turned on the Prime. Then laughed. "The same could be said for you Prime." His voice had a older, grouchier edge to it that wasn't normally there. The same way that Optimus' had lost it's self assured, authoritative tone. Ratchet sounded vorns older than he was, while Optimus sounded vorns younger.

"Okay... Yah guys have some major explaining to do..."

... Stupid plot bunnies. Don't they know I have three other multi-chaps in the works? I do not need another! Grrrr...

Cheers to those who have figured it out yet! Reviews are greatly appreciated!