Title: Venn Diagrams
Continuity: Marvel Movie G1, slight AU that ignores the events of "Peace"
Characters: Springer, Impactor, Emirate Xaaron, Twin Twist, Sandstorm, Hot Rod, Arcee, Brainstorm, Topspin, Kup, Haywire, First Aid, Blurr
Relationships: Springer/Impactor/Emirate Xaaron, Springer/Arcee/Hot Rod(imus Prime), Hot Rod(imus Prime)/Blurr, Kup/Sureshot (mentioned, not shown)
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Romance
Warnings: Implied homosexual, heterosexual, and group robot sex, however you like to imagine robot sex working. Robot swearing. Some violence. Implied necrophilia with a zombie sound of mind enough to consent.
Word Count: ~6,671
Summary: An exploration primarily of Springer's relationships and secondarily Hot Rod(imus Prime)'s relationships, spanning from shortly after Springer's creation to after the war ends.
Springer was only a few days from the Matrix Flame when Impactor asked him if he wanted to shag, right after one of their training bouts and long after everyone had since left for drinks or shifts or cards. Springer was mostly thinking on his own by then, not just running on uncompressed definitions and encyclopaedia articles, but he had to pause and look up what 'shag' meant. Bringing an adult into the world from nothing was hard enough as it was; trying to have a new mind fully integrate every concept known to Transformers would just leave a gibbering mess. So until Springer needed a concept and had time to process it, it stayed compressed and packed away. To understand 'shag', he had to go through the colloquial dictionary first and then into the encyclopaedia. There were a lot of pictures and even some videos.
"Huh," said Springer, as he took Impactor's hand up from the floor. Then he grinned and replied brightly, "Okay!"
Impactor looked about ready to retract the offer, as if a doubt had hit him, but as soon as Springer was on his feet, he yanked Impactor in closer and tried to plant a kiss on him. Springer fumbled and caught one of Impactor's check guards. Kissing was harder than the descriptions made it sound! He was winding up for a second pass when Impactor solved the problem for him. Springer's first kiss was a hard, scraping thing, with tongue right away. He liked it.
A few days later, Springer unpacked what 'love' meant.
A few days later, Impactor died.
Emirate Xaaron held Springer's hand at the funeral, his presence soothing, a balm for Springer's troubled thoughts. No one seemed to pay it any mind; it was normal behaviour for Emirate Xaaron to touch and to comfort. In the war room, Emirate Xaaron spoke of all the duties that, as Wrecker commander, now fell upon Springer's shoulders. Impactor and Springer had discussed it before, barely prior to his death, but Springer had not taken it seriously and wondered why Impactor did. Emirate Xaaron was gentle in his explanations, but he was surprisingly efficient.
Soon, Springer was saying he was ready, though he felt it was scarcely after they had started. He did not feel ready, either, but he did not want to disappoint Emirate Xaaron, and he felt twitchy just sitting and talking and planning. There would be other meetings later, but he felt he had gotten all he was going to get out of this one. Springer was starting to see why Impactor had died for Emirate Xaaron, to really see it, as opposed to just knowing that Emirate Xaaron was the resistance leader on Cybertron and therefore a critical figure to the war effort. He still felt a little jealous that Impactor had died in Emirate Xaaron's arms, not his.
Emirate Xaaron had pretty nice arms, though, Springer found out, after he pinned him to the war charts table. Emirate Xaaron protested, but he was not protesting the idea of sleeping with Springer, Springer was sharp enough to catch. He protested what it would look like to others, he protested how young Springer was, he protested that he could not treat Springer any differently than any other soldier even if he did lie with him, and Springer told him, bluntly, that he did not care. Springer did not want favours or special treatment, and to the smelting pool with what anyone thought of him. He was just hurting now, in a way no training bout had ever taught him he could be hurt, and Emirate Xaaron was warm and there. Wouldn't Emirate Xaaron just hold him?
He did, and when Springer pushed him for more, Emirate Xaaron was amazingly gentle and sweet and slow, and he did things with his tongue and lips that Springer would not have thought possible.
Seeing his first love die once had been bad enough for Springer. Seeing Impactor die again redefined 'worse'. Emirate Xaaron had been there for him; pushed him to do what had to be done for the sake of them all and their planet. When they all escaped, Emirate Xaaron had stood apart, in some private mourning he could not share.
Months later, in yet another ramshackle underground base, Springer was woken up by an uproar down the hallway. As Springer peered out around the door, Twin Twist grabbed him by the elbow and demanded, "Come on, Springer, you have to see what Sandstorm dragged in!"
Sandstorm liked to do full-contact recon. He would sneak so close to the Decepticon front that he could count the rivets on their sentries, even as a part of his routine patrols. If the opportunity presented itself, he would bring back more than mere pictures, videos, and counts of materiel and troops. Sometimes, it was just a kill count and a good story, but Twin Twist would not be all but dragging Springer down the hall for one of Sandstorm's piston-pounding accounts of death defied.
Twin Twist tugged him towards the medical ward, not the lounge or the debriefing room, and Springer frowned. The Jumpstarter seemed too ecstatic for Springer to really worry about Sandstorm, but any trip to the medical ward was a bad trip. When he rounded the medical ward doorway, Springer stared, open-mouthed, at what he saw. He froze, like he did every blasted time.
Sandstorm was a little scorched but looked in high spirits, carousing with Whirl. On the operating table was a skeletal figure, blackened and warped by extreme heat, more melted than not, but Springer knew him instantly. The named hovered on his lips and refused to come out.
"Impactor," Emirate Xaaron chided, patting the corpse on the arm, "you are being absolutely ridiculous. Autobots don't smelt their infirm alive."
"'m dead," Impactor grunted, his voice strangely echoed and haunting. Saying anything at all was clearly a strain for him, and clearly, Impactor did not care if it was a strain.
"We don't smelt our dead, either," Emirate Xaaron said sweetly.
Springer could not move, even when Twin Twist let go of him to go pester Roadbuster. Impactor was there on the slab, having apparently dragged his dead body out of a nuclear firestorm, and Springer could not even give him a hero's welcome. Emirate Xaaron detached himself from Impactor's side and glided over to Springer's, touching him lightly on the lower arm, and he greeted, "Ah, Springer! I was just telling Impactor you'd be here soon."
"Told 'im not to bother," Impactor interjected, "Need your rest. Keep sharp for battle."
Springer followed Emirate Xaaron closer, letting the shorter Autobot lead him, one foot after the other. His tongue felt tied as he fumbled for words. What could he say? Springer owed Impactor so much more than just words, but he could not even find the words, let alone anything else. He bowed his head, not wanting to see the damage done but unable to look away. Springer owed Impactor that much. For saving the planet from Flame's broken reactor, Springer owed Impactor everything.
The medics eventually released Impactor. He was not alive, and a trip the Matrix Flame could not fix him, though the medics cautiously speculated that maybe the Prime could, with the Creation Matrix. He was not dead, either, not if he was up walking and talking under his own volition. The medics had meticulously checked him for bugs and backdoors and closed off the flaw in the radio system that had allowed Flame to control Impactor's corpse, and they had restored him to as close as they could to when he had been alive, but he fell apart faster than he should.
Springer overheard Emirate Xaaron and Impactor arguing, which was not uncommon, but Impactor was arguing that the resources it took to keep him as he was were a waste, better saved for the living. Emirate Xaaron argued that they were Autobots, and if they could suffer airsick fighter jets, pontoon skiffs with abnormally high fuel consumption, and helicopters prone to rotor damage, they could suffer a commando who fell apart now and then. Besides, Impactor was still more durable than Sandstorm, even now.
Then Impactor, who tended to be more situationally aware than most, even with one optic blackened out and the other dimmed to a sullen red, spied Springer, and he demanded, "Springer. It's your call."
Springer cringed. He hated seeing Impactor reduced to this state, but a little selfish part of him gloried in the idea that he could have more time with Impactor, even if it was borrowed time that Impactor had neither asked for nor wanted. He forced out, "My call on what?"
"You want me around?" The question was deceptively simple. Impactor had made it plain, though, that he was not sure if he even wanted to exist.
Springer answered in an instant, "Of course I want you." It took him a moment to add, "Around."
Impactor squinted at Springer for a moment, distrusting, but Emirate Xaaron looked smug. Impactor pointed a finger - the medics had not quite gotten rid of the zombie claws - at Springer and snarled, "You're still in charge. We said you'd lead if I died. I'm dead."
Springer opened his mouth to protest, but Impactor moved forward with that surprising quickness of his, glaring. For a moment, Springer was reminded of when Impactor had been nothing but mindless undead, and fear rose in the back of his throat. He forced himself to raise a hand, preparing for a block, and he choked out, "Impactor... I... I'll respect your wishes."
"Liar," Impactor hissed out. "No one has. No one will." He turned stiffly to walk away.
Springer chased him through the base, leaving Emirate Xaaron behind. Springer caught Impactor, but a panel came away in his hand. He grimaced and muttered, "Sorry," and Impactor suffered the attempt as Springer tried to put it back on. The panel eventually stuck, though it was a bit crooked. Springer stammered, "I, uh..." Words deserted him again, faithless friends. Impactor turned again, but Springer judged how his legs were supporting him and spun him, pushing Impactor up against the wall. Ignoring how wrong the dead metal felt, he leaned in and kissed Impactor. That, Springer could do, when speech just would not come.
Impactor knocked a knee into Springer's, unbalancing him, and twisted him down into a headlock. He snapped, "What the slag are you thinking? I'm dead!"
Springer stood up, sending Impactor over his shoulders, and stood over Impactor where he fell. He threatened, "I'll kiss you every time you say that until you can it about being dead."
Impactor rolled away, onto his chest, to push himself up from the floor with his arms, but Springer came down heavy on him and kissed the back of Impactor's helmet crest, making good on his threat. Impactor was stubborn, but Springer was stubborn, too, and Springer did not understand why older Transformers kept making up all these excuses not to hook up. Too old? Too dead? Springer thought it was silly for Impactor to make excuses when he wanted the same thing Springer did.
Hot Rod did not make excuses. He was older than Springer, but he sure did not act like it. Hot Rod was a taste of energon fresh from the distillery after a gruelling march on rations that were stale before the war started. Hot Rod loved life, loved trouble, loved slagging Decepticons, and he loved Arcee, too, which distracted Springer from chasing after Hot Rod straightaway, a funny thing in hindsight.
As soon as saw Springer saw her drive and saw those wheel-spikes come out, he saw Arcee's appeal. Their tyres torn by her spikes, the Battlechargers spun out into a highway barrier with as satisfying an explosion as Springer had ever heard. Springer said, "Wow."
Hot Rod grinned and announced, "She's mine."
"Yeah?" Springer challenged casually. He did not think Arcee was quite as Hot Rod's as Hot Rod thought she was. He wanted to test it, anyway.
Arcee made a right game of it, pitting her suitors against each other, delighting in the lengths her boys would go to impress her. Springer found himself taking on the Stunticons alone to try to top Hot Rod's orbital parachute drop into the heart of Scorponok's base. After the second time he was stepped on by Menasor and woke up in the medical ward with Topspin making all kinds of faces at him, Springer took a look at who all else was stuck there, too.
Hot Rod was there giving Brainstorm no end of lip, insisting he was good to go, just a cracked windshield. Springer smiled, and a thought struck him. He pushed Topspin away and said, "So I'm done here, right?"
Topspin made a different face. Springer had not seen that one before! Topspin sighed and grumbled, "You're going to go anyway."
"Scrap yes I am," Springer murmured, heaving himself to his feet. He waltzed over to Hot Rod, took hold of him by the spoiler point, ignored his squawking, and gave Brainstorm his best parade-polished officer impression, "I'll take him off your hands, Brainstorm."
His rival shot him a furtive and incredulous glance, and Brainstorm looked dubious, but Springer had Hot Rod out into the hall before Brainstorm could get out a word. Springer slid his hand down around Hot Rod's waist, and he suggested, "I think we've been going about this thing the wrong way. You want Arcee. I want Arcee. Arcee wants us, but Arcee also wants us running around like idiots for her, right?"
"She's mine," Hot Rod insisted. "She just doesn't know it yet."
"What I think we're missing is that we have two devastatingly handsome cars right here," Springer continued. "Why wait for Arcee? If she gets lonely waiting for us to come answer her beck and call, she can come join us."
Hot Rod pulled away and gave Springer an appraising look, rubbing the back of his spoiler where Springer had grabbed him. Then he shrugged and laid a smooch on Springer. Yes, sterling tactical masterpieces like these were why Springer was Wrecker commander.
Arcee was a bit confusing. Springer had to be gentler with her, like when he was with Emirate Xaaron, but she wanted even more romancing than Emirate Xaaron did. Romance was a concept Springer had miraculously gone years without ever unpacking. Arcee was tough as nails on the field, and Springer loved her for it, but out of combat, she wanted her lovers to fuss over her a bit, and she refused to spell out exactly what form the fussing should take. Hot Rod hit on compressing some spare rations that he had won as prize money for capturing a Decepticon light cruiser into energon goodies and presenting them to Arcee on bended knee with everything but the emergency lights turned off. She had absolutely loved that, but when Springer brought her back some of the best Black Tar of Thentis from Maccadam's, she had turned her nose up at him. Springer had spent the night drinking the six pack with Hot Rod, and they eventually licked it off each other, which was not exactly a bad way to spend a night, just not what he had planned.
"Springer, lad," Kup advised later, "it's not about what you think is a good time. It's about giving Arcee the good time that she wants, to prove to her how much you care."
"Oh, what do you know about this?" Springer demanded, throwing his hands in the air. That was a bad thing to say.
Kup promptly segued into a story. "Why, when I was first courting Sureshot, he didn't even want to look at me. I had to take it real slow, you know, figure out what was important to him. Now Sureshot, he's a sharpshooter, but he ain't no ordinary sharpshooter. He's a trickshooter, see. Sureshot could nail you with both his hands and his dual laser cannon tied behind his back, and that was before he became a Targetmaster. He didn't need no fancy transforming gun to be good, and he knew just how good he was, vain little bot that he is. So when we were stopped for leave on Mirrodin, this is what I did. If Mirrodin's known for anything, it's mirrors. I bought a bunch of little, tiny, perfect mirrors there and spent a day on the ship settin' 'em up while everyone was out. I left a note for Sureshot on the door, saying he couldn't make a shot where all the mirrors led. Sure enough he did, and he followed the mirror trail, just fuming, and he called me out for calling him out. That finally got him talking to me, so I said I had more mirrors left, and I'd just love to watch him shoot. Got my foot in the door, that did, but I tell you, it was uphill all the way. See, what was important to Sureshot was a challenge. He was slagging bored, serving under Fortress Maximus, and to tell the truth, I was bored, too."
"Oh, you are making that up," Springer scoffed.
Hot Rod, however, had been studiously ignoring the entire conversation, poking at the television and flipping channels listlessly. Kup turned to him, tapped him on the shoulder, and reminded, "You were there, kid."
"Hmm? Didn't hear you, Kup," Hot Rod lied, rather transparently, and he turned the volume up on the TV.
"Not like you didn't use the poetry trick on Blurr, anyway," Kup continued.
"Gah!" Hot Rod shouted, admitting defeat. "Yes, Kup used to date Sureshot, and it was completely disgusting. Are you happy now?" He stood and crossed his arms, frowning.
"Ah, it weren't disgusting," Kup said dismissively, waving a hand. "You youths just don't know what a proper courtship's supposed to look like."
Springer stared a bit, mind rebelling at the idea of Kup dating anyone at all, but thankfully, Hot Rod left the TV and took him along, demanding, "You're going for a drive with me. I need some fresh air after all this wind bagging."
When they deployed back to Cybertron, Springer greeted Emirate Xaaron with a big hug and a peck on the cheek, which was apparently the wrong thing to do in front of Arcee. Springer did not understand what the problem was. Hot Rod was also surprised but less bothered. Emirate Xaaron tilted his head and inquired, "Are they your other lovers, Springer?" ever a master of reading social situations.
"Other?" Arcee mouthed, barely audible.
"Uhm, yeah!" Springer said, just going with it. "This is Arcee, and that's Hot Rod." He pointed them out in turn.
Emirate Xaaron's yellow optics lit up brighter, and he advanced, taking Arcee by the hand while she was still too put-out to dodge. He placed his other hand over hers and greeted cheerily, "Ah, Arcee! Our human relations warrior. So pleased to meet you. I'm sure Springer's lucky to have your attentions, one of a kind as you are."
Arcee's jealous annoyance melted to confusion and a bit of embarrassed pride, to have the Cybertron resistance leader compliment her so. Blast, Springer thought, I need to ask Emirate Xaaron how he got to be so smooth.
Emirate Xaaron had turned to Hot Rod already, shaking his hand. There was a twinkle in his optic as he said slyly, "And you! A child of the Matrix Flame?"
Hot Rod looked surprised again, for different reasons, and he admitted, "That's right."
Arcee murmured to Springer, "You and Emirate Xaaron...? But he's so old, Springer!"
Luckily, Emirate Xaaron seemed busy talking to Hot Rod, so Springer defended Emirate Xaaron to Arcee quietly, "He's not that old! I don't think. Anyway, I don't care. I've been with him since before I even met you."
Arcee gave him a shove, looking cross, and she sniffed, "You never told me you were taken!"
"Arcee, I was with Hot Rod before I was with you, too," Springer reminded, uncomprehending of what the problem was here. Things between him and Emirate Xaaron with regards to other partners were very simple: as long as Springer kept himself clean, Emirate Xaaron did not care who Springer was with, and if Springer ever tired of Emirate Xaaron's affections, Emirate Xaaron at least wanted to be notified. What he had with Impactor was even simpler: Impactor continued to be amazed that Springer wanted to bed a zombie. Springer and Hot Rod were simplest of all. Arcee was the only one who made love complicated. Maybe, since Arcee had been programmed and built to make the Autobots' human allies happy, she had trouble relating to other robots. Springer did not know, and he did not want to think about it too much.
"But I knew you were with Hot Rod, and I wanted him, too," Arcee protested, as if that made all of her irritation made perfect sense.
"You know I'm with Emirate Xaaron now!" Springer pointed out, feeling pretty frustrated himself.
Then Arcee and Springer realised that Emirate Xaaron and Hot Rod were not so much talking to each other as they were making running commentary on Arcee and Springer's 'quiet' little feud, Emirate Xaaron being more polite and circumspect than Hot Rod. Hot Rod observed, "I don't understand what the problem is. Springer's not the only one with other lovers. Blurr and I have been together for millions of years."
"Wait, you and Blurr, too?" Arcee blurted, staring at Hot Rod. Reeling, in shock, she leaned against Springer.
Springer did not mind, wrapping his arms around her, and he asked, confused, "You didn't know?"
Arcee shoved him away, scowling, and she put her hands on her hips. She looked inexplicably cute whenever she did that, which was good, because she did it often and for no reasons Springer could ever understand.
"What we have here, I believe, is a mismatch of unspoken expectations," Emirate Xaaron said softly, but his voice cut across the room. "However, you were all deployed here for a mission, and while it has been delightful to meet you, I believe you should be on your way, yes?"
Arcee could never resist siren call of being responsible. They went on their way.
After the mission, Arcee met Impactor, and Springer ended up hiding in Debris, the Wreckers' secret base on Cybertron, until Hot Rod claimed that she had calmed down.
Hot Rod being selected Prime by the Matrix had seemed unbelievable. What followed was almost incomprehensible. Springer would not have believed it if he had not lived it, and some days, when he looked back, he did not even believe it himself. Right now, he sat at Rodimus Prime's bedside and held his lover's hand, at a miserable loss for words. With Unicron trapped in the Matrix, his concentrated death essence seeped into Rodimus Prime, aging him faster than any Transformer had a right to age.
Then Emirate Xaaron, who was also visiting, remarked, "You know... your condition reminds me of the ancient Overlords."
"Eh?" Rodimus Prime said weakly, just his optics shifting over to glance at Emirate Xaaron. For all the world, the Council elder looked younger than the boy Prime, now, so horribly had Unicron's power aged Rodimus Prime.
"Ah, yes. You're too young to remember them. Most are, these days." Emirate Xaaron's gaze turned far away. "They were the ruling class of a united Cybertron. Long before the war, long before we schismed into city-states. They only lived for a few thousand years, unlike the rest of us, who can live forever if we aren't killed first. So we never suffered a poor Overlord for long, but the rule of the best Overlords was all too brief." A faint bittersweet smile ghosted onto his lips. He leaned in closer to Rodimus Prime, his voice dropping, as too much noise pained the Prime now. "The very best were charismatic and kept Cybertron united, as you have, Rodimus Prime. Only under later, weaker, Overlords did Cybertron split into city-states and eventually the war that consumed us all, and their line died out."
Rodimus Prime listened thoughtfully, but he did not seem comforted, perhaps more troubled, if anything. Finally, he croaked, "I don't want to fade away like they did," and added after a moment, "I won't." A rekindled determination flashed in his flickering, pale optics.
Springer grinned; there was the Rodimus Prime he loved.
Rodimus Prime purged the Matrix. He purged the war, too. He united his Cybertron, and he found it a planet deserted, the surviving Autobot soldiers, many as they were, rattling around a planet too big for them. He could use the Matrix to give new life to his world, but he tended to the dead first. One of the duties of a Prime, before the war, Emirate Xaaron informed him, had been to attempt to use the Matrix to resurrect the unjustly dead, innocents murdered or befallen of cruel accidents. When the moons were aligned just so, grieving mourners would petition Sentinel Prime. Rodimus Prime thought about that, and he decided that every Autobot and neutral war dead might as well count, no matter what some Autobots thought of neutrals. The war had been the greatest injustice perpetrated by the Transformers yet. He would not do the Decepticons, not matter the outcry of some groups. Deluded and naïve or not, innocent or not, they had made a choice when they put on that symbol, even if the choice was only implicit in never choosing to take the Decepticon symbol off.
He could only try for the named dead, anyway, and Rodimus Prime soon enough found that anyone who died by the smelting pools could never return. The smelting pools had churned and broken up the Primus-granted life energy in all of them and took it to Decepticon factories to make new Decepticons. The souls of those who had melted away in the pools were gone.
The medics built him a stock of generic bodies, and a line of mourners formed. Some believed that if loved ones were nearby, they would help to call and guide the soul of their dearly departed back. Sometimes, Rodimus Prime believed it. In combiner teams or split *master partners, he could see, with the sight the Matrix gave him, frayed bonds leading off into the darkness, and he followed those threads as far as he could go, bringing back whom he could find. Rodimus Prime started with the most recently dead, as near as his records keepers could tell, and he worked his way back, his successes becoming rarer the longer ago the death had been.
Very few came when Rodimus Prime and the Matrix called them. The disappointed petitioners trudging away tugged at Rodimus Prime, but those who awoke alive but alone, shivering after the darkness beyond life, with no one to claim them, were almost worse. Certainly, Autobot society welcomed them back with open arms, but they had a burden upon them beyond survivor's guilt. For every Ratchet and Wheeljack awakening to find a babbling with joy Perceptor waiting for them, there was a Fireflight, bereft and sundered, wondering why he had come back to life only to live it without the rest of his Aerialbots.
But Blurr had come back to him. Rodimus Prime had greeted Haywire with the tight smile that he used to greet all of the mourners. Haywire was more machine than Nebulan now, having opted to have his failing organs replaced by mechanical equivalents and stay on Cybertron, with the Autobots, as an Autobot himself, as some Nebulans had. Rodimus Prime followed that severed link between Haywire and what had been Blurr, delving deep into the icy nothing, his guilt stabbing at him more deeply than the afterlife could. He had been so very furious when Blurr had died that he had wanted to murder Galvatron for the killing more than anything, to take Galvatron's life and end it. His perverse desire, counter to creation, had warped and snapped the very core of the Matrix, a vessel of life, and that break had allowed Unicron to have his sway. If only he had been calmer, Unicron would have never gotten loose! The Matrix would have stayed pristine. Rodimus Prime could have tried to bring Blurr back sooner. His anger over Blurr's death had perhaps doomed Blurr to a final death.
Rodimus Prime dove deeper, deeper than he had ever dared. His body seemed far behind, a frigid, distant thing, and he knew naught if he would make it back.
Race you, said Blurr.
Rodimus Prime lost his races with Blurr every single time, but surfacing back in his body and finding Blurr looking at him out of that now blue and lavender generic's optics was the sweetest loser's trophy he could ever take. Blurr was speaking before Rodimus Prime could really hear him, but the generic body could not keep up with Blurr's thoughts, so halves of phrases came out without their mates, and Blurr frowned often, starting over, before ditching one train of thought entirely for another. "- glad to be ali - Haywire, Haywire, Haywire!"
Blurr scooped up Haywire in a hug and tried to kiss Rodimus Prime and set Haywire back down all in one motion that would have worked better if Blurr had been in his old body. As it was, they ended up in a tumbled heap on the floor. Rodimus Prime looked sheepishly up at First Aid, who was standing by this shift. Sometimes, those Rodimus Prime brought back were sickly and needed medical care straightaway. Rubbing the back of his head, he told First Aid, "Live one."
"So I see!" First Aid agreed, always happy to the point of beaming whenever a lost life came back. "I'll put in a work order for Blurr's old body straightaway."
There was no point in building custom bodies until they were certain there would be someone inhabiting them, but Blurr was so clumsy in that generic body, Rodimus could not help laughing. Then he helped Blurr back up.
Eventually, the name on the list of the dead was Impactor, and Springer had to wrestle and drag him before Rodimus Prime, Emirate Xaaron following along after the zombie to pick up the pieces shed by his struggles with Springer. Rodimus Prime really had not associated much with the zombie commando, though Springer loved him dearly. He put his hands up, his lips pursed, and he said firmly, "I'm not going to do anything to Impactor that he doesn't want me to do."
"I'm fine," grunted Impactor, who had to be lying. Springer was sitting on him, keeping him pinned down, and Rodimus Prime knew from personal experience that Springer was heavier than he looked, and Springer was a pretty powerfully built Autobot even just by his looks, which did not account for that fact that he had a whole extra alternate mode's worth of weight or that his rocket car mode was armoured like a tank. Besides, about a third of Impactor's panels had fallen off, exposing the zombie's skeletal frame, and were currently busheled together in Emirate Xaaron's arms. Impactor added, "Save the Matrix's energy for someone who really needs it."
Rodimus Prime explained evenly, "I'm trying to be as fair as possible about this as I can. For every documented Autobot or neutral war dead, who wasn't executed for war crimes against our own side or drowned in a smelting pool, I'll make a try. You wouldn't be taking anyone else's energy, just coming back into yourself. You have as much of a right to this as the Autobot before you on the list," who had not come back, "and the Autobot after you."
Impactor grunted and tried to flip Springer, but he was in such disrepair that he could not manage it. He was clearly disappointed.
Emirate Xaaron sidled over to Rodimus Prime's side, gestured to Impactor, and pointed out, "There's... something there, anyway. Maybe not all of him, but there's a flicker of life. You can see it, can't you?"
Rodimus Prime could, when he looked at Impactor. Emirate Xaaron had been a good teacher to him in the ins and outs of the spiritual world. If he knew something relevant, he taught it to Rodimus Prime bluntly and in as much detail as he could. Emirate Xaaron refused to truck with cryptic riddles or withholding knowledge for 'Rodimus Prime's own good' or 'until Rodimus Prime was older', but there was much he did not know, lore of the Matrix and the Primes and the Chosen Ones and Primus that was lost to the ages. Emirate Xaaron was correct right now, anyway, and Rodimus Prime nodded. He struck out on a limb, adding softly, "I know you've heard of all the Autobots who haven't come back, Impactor, but you don't have to worry. I can see you right there," some of Impactor, anyway, enough to give the zombie self-volition and free will, "I won't lose you to the void."
Rodimus Prime could barely hear it when Impactor whispered, "I'm not afraid of dying."
"Yeah, yeah," Springer jibed, kneeing Impactor under him, "but you sure act afraid of living."
The zombie glared up at Springer, his dim optics an angry red. To hear Springer talk about Impactor, they had been just the prettiest yellow in life, though Rodimus Prime suspected he was hearing a lover's opinion there. Rodimus Prime ahemed and reminded, "The list of the dead is very long. Impactor, if you're not interested, I'm going to have to ask you to move on."
Impactor caught the pained looks Springer and Emirate Xaaron shot him, and he finally ceded, "Fine. Try me."
"Your body's broken, though," Rodimus Prime said, smirking. He reached for Impactor's essence and pulled it closer to the world of the living, instead of the queer half-in-the-grave state it occupied. Then, without ceremony, Rodimus Prime dumped it into a fresh, functional generic, which awoke gold and royal purple with, he had to admit, rather fetching yellow optics.
Impactor stared over at his dead body, which Springer was still sitting on, and he swore, "Frag. That's ugly."
Hashing out a new government for Cybertron had been harder than the war, but here and now, Rodimus Prime, supreme commander of the armed forces and executive of the government of what was now called the Autobot Commonwealth, was about ready to declare that figuring out who was assigned to what room in their quarters complex was even harder. They had gathered down in the lounge for the discussion. Blurr was curled against Rodimus Prime's side, Arcee on his other, and then Springer on Arcee's other side, and then Impactor, with Emirate Xaaron on his lap. Impactor was trying very hard to pretend Emirate Xaaron was not there at all, though Emirate Xaaron was snuggled against him like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Rodimus Prime tried again, "So Emirate Xaaron and Impactor definitely need their own room, but Springer will join them there sometimes, and Blurr needs his own room with Haywire, where I'll join Blurr while Haywire does something else, and then Arcee, Springer, and I will share a room, but... if we just switch off, Blurr's alone whenever I'm with Springer and Arcee, and Arcee's alone when I'm with Blurr and Springer's with Emirate Xaaron and Impactor." He made a face and played with the holographic Venn diagram timetables some more.
"That's all right, it really is, I have Haywire, so I'm never alone, even when I'm alone, and you know that you and I, when we get together, the least of my problems is..." Blurr trailed off, shrugged, and smiled at Rodimus Prime.
Rodimus Prime smiled back, a little sheepishly. He did know. Not getting off often enough was the least of Blurr's problems; if treated gently and with care, because he sunk from pleasure to pain very easily at the slightest hint of roughness, Blurr climaxed as quickly as he did everything, recovered even quicker, and was ready to climax again before Rodimus Prime was even out of the foreplay zone. Rodimus Prime reminded, "I don't mean it that way, Blurr. Coupling and just being there overlap, but they aren't interchangeable, and we're trying to be fair about it."
"We could just get together in a big pile," Springer suggested hopefully.
Arcee swatted him. "No."
"Not overcharged enough for that," Impactor added, swatting Springer harder than Arcee had.
Rodimus Prime sighed and dreaded the day that they were all overcharged enough for that. He did not think the furniture could take it.
Berthing schedules proved trivial compared to negotiating the legal logistics of a non-overlapping unequal group marriage. Emirate Xaaron was conveniently a legislator on the Council and could probably recite chapter and verse while over-charged enough to consider an orgy a good idea, but that did not make the matter much easier, especially because Impactor had taken Emirate Xaaron's head off again and punted it down the balcony. Blurr was zipping away to figure out where Emirate Xaaron's head had rolled off to, even now.
Impactor, unrepentant, commented to Springer, "Hnn. Almost hooked him off that communications tower. Next time."
Springer groaned, clearly wondering why one of his fiancés had such a fascination with decapitating his other fiancé. He demanded, "Aren't you sick of doing that yet?"
Impactor grinned, his dental plates still showing those sharp zombie teeth his self-repair system kept putting in his mouth, no matter how the medics tried to sort him out. "Never."
Rodimus Prime turned around when the wind told him that Blurr had returned with Emirate Xaaron's head, and he snapped it back onto Emirate Xaaron's body. Thank goodness for quick-release neck latches; Impactor would have driven Rodimus Prime completely crazy if he was stuck welding body parts back on Emirate Xaaron all the time. Even Springer had learned a thing or two about repairs, and in uncharitable moments, Rodimus Prime wondered if Impactor was not the reason why.
Emirate Xaaron blinked, shook himself, and continued, "Ah, where was I -"
"The government district drainage sewer, sir," Blurr supplied helpfully.
"- not what I meant," Emirate Xaaron corrected, but he laughed a little. "Considering your rank and my rank, Rodimus Prime, most if not all of the unions concerning ourselves will need to be left-handed consortships. A right-handed consortship would entitle such a partner to inherit our respective ranks in case of death."
"Don't want it," Impactor said right away, still leaning over the balcony, looking out at Iacon. As near as Rodimus Prime could tell, Impactor was not even all that interested in a legal document that, as Impactor put it, 'makes it official I'm frakking Springer and Emirate Xaaron'. Arcee was the most interested in it of anyone; it fell right into her fondness for Springer and Rodimus Prime going the extra mile for her.
Rodimus Prime considered what Emirate Xaaron had said for a moment, looking over at Springer, and he admitted hesitantly, "In that case, actually, I do want a right-handed consortship with Springer."
Springer sputtered and pushed away from the balcony, arms in the air as he exclaimed, "What?"
Rodimus Prime walked over to him and slid his arm around Springer's shoulder and looked him in the optics, saying firmly, "I'm serious. If anything ever happens to me, I'd like you to at least try the Matrix. You're young, you're a good commander -"
"Ultra Magnus -" Springer started to say.
"- can't open the Matrix, remember? There's at least a chance you can," Rodimus Prime finished solemnly.
"Rodimus!" Arcee chided, her optics full of concern.
"Better to think about these things now rather than later," Rodimus Prime said softly, shutting his optics off for a moment.
Blurr broke in with, "But we have a whole lot of now, right now, all of us, and I think that's really, really great."
The End
Author's Note: The idea of fully adult soldiers being created with most of their concepts compressed and packed away so they don't go nuts trying to understand it all comes from The Ghost Brigades by John Scalzi. The idea applies pretty well to Transformers.
In Marvel, when Springer, Sandstorm, and Broadside show up, they're freshly created from the Matrix Flame, which is a magic doohickey on Cybertron that a) lets you know the status of the Matrix, such as if anyone has broken the Matrix, and b) lets you make new life. So they're not all that old, physically, but mentally, they act old enough to take lovers. I tend to imagine that most of the cultural age squick in Transformers comes from differences in perceived mental age, as opposed to actual physical age. So, for example, Wheelie could be ten million years old, but if Wheelie never grows up mentally and matures his personality, almost anyone/Wheelie will always be squicky.
When I first read the Marvel comics, Impactor/Springer was tragically adorable. A lot of their posing was particularly suggestive, and Springer talked Impactor out of Flame's zombie mind control. Also, Impactor always makes Springer all choked up with heroic angst.
Emirate Xaaron and Springer are also very close. Aside from Emirate Xaaron basically going all Princess Leia on Springer's Han Solo while they were captured by Flame, there's the fact that Springer offers his life for Emirate Xaaron's at one point. There's also how bummed out and dejected Emirate Xaaron looks in "Wrecking Havoc" 1 when he has to send Springer off to go fight Galvatron.
Sandstorm needs to actually do reconnaissance more in fiction. It's his function.
Imapctor never comes back after his second death in canon, but we never see him not come back, so it doesn't exactly contradict canon to have him come back. It just makes the story a lot fluffier if he does.
Hot Rod and Blurr are probably around four million years old in Marvel, Blurr most definitely so. Either way, Hot Rod's physically much, much older than Springer. I am a fan of taking the rivalry of Springer and Hot Rod over Arcee and making it into a threesome.
Kup is surprisingly hard to pair up with anyone, despite being an Autobot who has seen and done it all. I really dislike pairing Kup with anyone who has a student relationship with him, because I, personally, find that squicky, no offense to anyone who likes it. However, Kup and Sureshot served together under Fortress Maximus for about a hundred years, and Sureshot's a veteran gunslinger who was alive pre-war, so he has skill enough to impress Kup, they have been working in close proximity for a long time, and Sureshot acts mentally old enough that I don't find the idea of Kup/Sureshot squicky.
Mirrodin is indeed a Magic: The Gathering reference, mostly intended as a joke.
As a note in Marvel, Arcee was literally built by the Autobots to appease the human feminists and so is sort of a human relations model, to reframe the circumstances of her creation in a slightly more flattering light.
In Marvel, Blurr and Hot Rod are extremely close and get into all kinds of trouble together and save each other's lives a lot. When Galvatron murdered Blurr, Rodimus Prime absolutely flipped out stark raving furious over Blurr's death. Also, they were the only young teenage-like cars in Fortress Maximus's crew, everyone else having an older mental age.
Emirate Xaaron never does anything in the Marvel Movie branch of the timeline. Generally, I would assume he died somewhere off-page, but since I felt like writing Springer having a happy household post-war with lots and lots of love interests, Emirate Xaaron survived. Clearly, he was doing something very important off-panel, so we never saw him.
Rodimus Prime broke the Matrix, and Unicron made him age faster. That happened. The Overlords (no relation at all to the Decepticon named Overlord) not living as long as normal Transformers comes from "State Games". Rodimus Prime being able to fix the Matrix and go back to his normal Rodimus Prime age is sort of implied by "Peace", which happens very late in the timeline, wherein the Matrix seems to be clean, and Rodimus Prime isn't old anymore. However, the events of "Peace" are not assumed to take place in this fic and ignored. Instead of Rodimus Prime trying to hand the Matrix off to Springer, like he did in "Peace", Rodimus Prime settles on being Autobot commander in chief and executive officer of the Commonwealth.
Primes can sometimes bring back the dead with the Matrix. Also, in Marvel, before the war, Primes were not leaders at all, so they must have filled some other social role. Rodimus Prime deciding to try to bring back all of the war dead seems to be the kind of doofus thing he'd do. However, he's Marvel Rodimus Prime, which means that while he loathes war and is torn up inside over the loss of life, he really hates Decepticons, so I feel it was IC for him to decide that no, he would not try to bring back any Decepticons. Bringing back Blurr from the dead was just yet more fluffy happy household stuff. Also, Marvel characters generally seem to care more about bringing back the dead than they do about making new characters (though they do that a whole lot, too). The Decepticons did use smelting pools, smelting Autobots and neutral alive to make new Decepticons, and I assume those pools recycle the life energy somehow, because the Decepticons, at that time, did not have access to any Plot Devices that would let them create new life.
Some of the Marvel Autobots were pretty mean to neutrals, hence the brief aside there. Blaster comes to mind, and he was otherwise a very decent Autobot, much more heroic and noble than Grimlock.
Emirate Xaaron commenting on Impactor having something of a lifeforce is a reference back to "Legion of the Lost" 2, wherein, at the start, Emirate Xaaron tries to talk to Impactor like he's a person, and everyone basically tells Emirate Xaaron he's crazy for treating a zombie like that. It's also a reference to "Demons", when Emirate Xaaron checks out some corpses and says, "It sucked them dry, Fixit! There wasn't a trace of lifeforce left in them!" and a reference to the fact that Emirate Xaaron, in "...All This and Civil War" 2, is able to telepathically contact Primus while Primus is asleep. Emirate Xaaron has some wonky Prime-like powers going on with being able to pick up lifeforce, contact Primus telepathically, and channel Primus's power. However, being a blunt, practical person like he is, I don't think Emirate Xaaron would do the BS cryptic mentor thing and would just be upfront in teaching a young Prime what he knows about the supernatural.
I wanted the characters to actually discuss and try to figure out a schedule for who ends up with whom when and to discuss the legalities of what happens when a Prime marries a commoner who is married to a Councillor. Anyway, left-handed marriages are also known as Morganatic marriages, they more or less work as described - the lower-ranked person and his/her children do not inherit any of the higher-ranked person's titles or powers. Rodimus Prime has tried to foist the Matrix on Springer a few different times in canon, so Rodimus Prime wanting a right-handed marriage with Springer, which would imply that, yes, Springer inherits the Matrix if Rodimus Prime dies, seemed reasonable.
In Marvel, if a character is not surprised by a beheading, he can just undo some latches and then have his head put back on pretty easily. If a character is surprised by a beheading, he might die. Emirate Xaaron is not surprised at all by Impactor beheading him.
I borrowed Topspin and Springer having some medical skills from IDW, because I like that idea.
The idea of an Autobot Commonwealth is borrowed from Animated. I like the idea of the Transformers spreading out onto colony worlds and engaging in friendly trade with alien species (which is so not what Ani did, but I can still yank the term).