Title: When You Come Home

Author: Eiseedoesit

Rating: PG13

Summary: Post Deadlock fic. The truth behind Bumblebee's parentage surfaces. Optimus may have won the war, but at a price he fears he may not afford. Megatron/Optimus. Smokescreen/Bee

A/N: This is for the enablers in my life, Andromeda-Danger, Jeegoo, and Kem. May your fics be many and frustrations be few.

OOOOOOOOOOOO

His strong pedals pressed cautiously against the cracked earth, the cold dust floating up like ashes against his frame.

Optimus, the last of the Primes and restorer of Cybertron gazed up at the immense fortress looming over him. The walls were dark and jagged from the wears of war and time, the surface a mash of metal and stone, all of it lifeless and cold. The stench that filled his olfactory sensors was of grime, rust, and decay. And sadly, it wasn't that much different than the last time he saw it. The only thing that separated the past and present for him was the terrible silence. Last time he saw the fortress at the base of Iacon, the world was screaming as it burned and ripped apart. Now it was simply desolate, haunted.

"Primus," Optimus whispered, "Has it been this long?"

The Prime, despite the weight and strength of his armor, felt incredibly frail beneath the shadow of the fortress. In the late twilight hours, the jagged structure appeared like a gigantic beast, its vicious jaws open and ready to engulf him.

Alone he walked through the ruins. The darkness of night gathered above him, the solitude unnerving and surreal. Yes, the world was restored, but it would take time to replenish and heal. And it seemed like all his life, he'd done nothing but wait. Wait and hope and fight. But even in victory peace still eluded him.

Each step in that lonely wasteland grew heavier, as if his pedals were magnetized to the ground. Upon their return to Cybertron, Optimus had no time to rest. Nomadic groups of Cybertronians had already begun to settle on the planet once more. And, as was expected, none of them wished to leave the side of their Prime. They were skeptical, fearful at first. But when they realized that the Decepticons were all but crushed and their home was truly healing, they hailed Optimus as Primus reborn.

Their praises gave no joy to him.

He was grateful for Bulkhead's insistence that the returning bots begin rebuilding immediately, while the world still flowed with energy and light. It gave them something to occupy their time with, something to distract them from following every step their Prime took. The others were eager to comply. And Optimus took the short bit of freedom to return to a place he once believed he would never step out of alive. Or at the very least, sane.

He walked the twisted paths, down to the lower levels of the mangled city. As beautiful and seemingly flawless Iacon appeared in ages past, it wasn't without its measure of ugliness.

"There were beggars here. Defective mechs. Orphans. " Optimus remembered, "I knew this place well."

The Prime turned a corner and followed the broken steps further into the slums of the city. The tattered walls and flickering glyphs advertising all sorts of services lit up the darkness in a sick, red hue. The narrow walls on each side of the path shrunk even tighter, leading him to a grey wreckage at the end of the path.

The walls were blasted to the side, but the red door was still there, barely hanging onto the frame.

Optimus' optics shone brightly in the dark. His body shook, and his spark began to wane. And as the cold, crisp wind blew through the slums, his neural sensors triggered a barrage of memories. The tears, which he thought had long since been spent, seeped from his optics.

And for a few minutes, the majesty of his rank and title was forgotten. He was Orion Pax once more. Terrified, shivering, and desperate, servos clasped over an unborn child he could not keep.

OOOOOOOOOOO

Orion Pax could not keep his optics away from the medic's servos. They were old, rusty, and caked with dried energon from Primus-knows how many other patients before him. He turned his attention elsewhere, but dusty lights above him were nauseating, and the rusted tools on the medical tray only made his spark falter.

He felt sick. The strong impulse to chuck out the bile in his throat threatened to send him bolting from the med berth. But he forced himself to remain still. To hold his intakes. To finally go through with what had to be done.

There was no other option. It would be selfish to keep it. Foolish. Dangerous.

"Just waiting on these scans," The old medic croaked, "Then it'll be out. And you'll be out."

He rolled a strange device through Orion's abdominal plating without warning. The contact shocked him lightly, the electrical feed prodding his neural sensors for the placement of the sparkling.

His audios picked up the soft clicking of the outdated machines, the dull humming of the device and the medic's heavy breaths. Orion flinched when the device stung the edge of his plating. He felt a flutter deep inside him. The sensation had been increasing in both frequency and intensity for the last few cycles. Orion didn't know how to feel about it.

The scanner beeped and flickered out, and data began to slowly creep onto the monitor.

The medic turned away and poured purple liquid over the assorted medical tools to somewhat cleanse them. The scent was foul, and sharp to the olfactory sensors, the stench burning all the way down to the base of Orion's throat.

The old medbot scraped the twisted pliers and scalpels along the edge of the med tray to get the crusted bits off. The sound made Orion's body shiver in fear, knowing that those things would soon be working inside him.

The strange flutters began again, more furiously this time, moving up Orion's abdominal plates quickly.

His spark surged at the motion. With optics wide and bright he sat up from the med berth, his servo nearly knocking the device off of him.

"How much longer will it be?" Orion asked, his spark racing as the movements within him continued even after the device was thrown aside, "And what does that thing do to me?"

"That?" The medic grumbled, "Does nothing except gather images of the sparkling. Doesn't bother you a bit. As for how long it'll be…well, youngling, it's not always clear cut. It takes time."

"Which I can't afford," Orion said, the movements went on, deeper and stronger. The tears seeped from his optics. Why won't it just stop?

"Sir—" Orion sighed and wiped the tears from his face. He was grateful no one was there to see him. He wouldn't have to put up a strong front. He didn't need to play the part of a Prime. He could be himself here. He could be weak. Cry.

"Sir—" Orion continued, slowly swinging his legs to the side of the med berth, "I don't think I can—"

"Well, ya really can't anymore kid," The medic turned the monitor towards him, and tapped the scratched screen with a scalpel, "Not unless you want half your spark to go along with it."

Orion stared at the screen with tear-stained optics. All words lost to him.

"The sparkling's too far along now to terminate safely."

The data clerk felt the fluttering sensation again. This time his spark ached, knowing for certain, feeling for certain the life encased within.

"You know if you didn't keep changing your mind and postponing the procedure each time you came here you won't be stuck with this right now. Looks like the little bugger made the choice for you." The medic, oblivious to his patient's distraught aura, simply tossed the tools back into the tray and began to make copies of the scan.

Orion blinked, a million fears wrecking his processor when the medic shoved a copy of the report to his shaking servo.

Orion looked down, his processor trying to register the images and data presented to him. The report was barely legible, the glyphs slightly skewed. The pictograph of the sparkling inside his frame was deceptively small, the little one curled up beneath his spark. The image was blurred, but even then it was clear the sparkling was already formed. Two arms, two legs, a torso, and helm. And a tiny blue dot that indicated an active spark…

"Primus," Orion cried, wanting to rip apart the report in denial, "This can't happen—"

I can't keep it. Megatronus will know. The Council will know. Oh Primus why?

The carrying mech cried into his servos, his spark suddenly bounding as the sparkling sensed its mother's distress. He tried to ignore it, but the carrier protocols could not dismiss the sparkling's attempts to bond.

Orion crushed the report in one servo while the other rested against the top of his belly, beneath his spark. The sparkling was there, scared, restless, seeking comfort. Orion's tears flowed even harder.

"Congratulations by the way," The medic smirked and pointed to the outline of the sparkling's spark chamber on the monitor. Orion looked up long enough to see the tell-tale sign. A six point spark chamber.

"You have a little mech."

An heir to the dynasty

Another way for Megatronus to hurt me

Another thing I might love only to be taken away

A sparkling

A son

"This can't happen," Orion whispered, shaking his helm. But it did. He allowed his spark to finally reach out to comfort the shaking sparkling within. The little one crawled up, curling himself beneath his carrier's warm light.

"Primus," Orion prayed gently. He felt his spark wrap his child in warmth, "You have given me a title and a child to bear. Please…please give me strength to carry them both. I cannot do this alone."

No answer came but the soft flutter within, and the sweet pulses of his son resounding through their new bond.

The little one wanted to calm him, comfort him. For the first time since he found out he was carrying, Orion allowed himself to image what the sparkling would look like. He imaged the child looking up at him with bright blue optics, helm titled to the side with an expression that said 'Who's bothering you carrier? Let me at them!'

The thought made Orion laugh and cry all at once.

OOOOOOOOOOO

The memory of it pained him now.

Optimus looked down, unaware that his servo had placed itself over his abdominal plating. He felt empty, in more ways than he wanted to admit.

The red door quietly swung by its hinged, disturbed by his movements as he walked back up the path and out of the slums. The walk out of the dank, murky place seemed eternal. As he reached the upper levels, Optimus shuddered at the sheer size of the fortress. He recalled the siege upon Iacon, the memories of it burned into his circuitry. How they barricaded the levels of the city with broken machines and bodies. How the injured were left to die at the gates. How Megatron's forces decimated Iacon's greatest armies.

And how in the midst of death and hate, by a miracle of Primus, he first held his sickly sparkling in his arms.

OOOOOOOOOO

Orion's screams were lost in the sounds of war.

"Almost there. You're doing good. Just stay awake. Stay with us," The red and white field medic instructed, glancing up to reassure the carrying mech. He was positioned right at Orion's middle, one servo carefully at the entrance of Orion's valve while the other one pressed down against the clerk's bulging abdomen, trying to coax the little one to come out.

"R—Ratchet. It hurts. I can't—" Orion slumped against Ultra Magnus, the much bigger mech lifting him up from the back. The laboring mech's perspiring armor was hot and slick, making it difficult for the commander to sustain a hold before needing to readjust.

"You can," Ultra Magnus said, "Just lean against me. Focus on the sparkling. I'll hold you up."

Orion screamed as another contraction rolled through his neural net. His servos grabbed onto Magnus, the force of his grip denting the metal.

"Scrap!" The medic cursed as the lights flickered out. He snapped on his headlights to inspect the sparkling's descent. The roars of heavy gun fire waged outside. Ironhide and Arcee were out there, heading the defense of their fortress against the on-coming surge of Con troops. The ground rumbled violently beneath them, and Orion felt the earth suddenly shift. Another EMP bomb had struck against the once-formidable walls.

"Magnus—Magnus please," Orion babbled. Both their pedals were slipping on the floor slick with energon from the countless wounded and dead that were dragged through the gateway.

The commander of the Wreckers nodded and held him up.

"C'mon Ratchet, get that kid out. Now. We can't stay here much longer."

"You think I don't know that?" The medic grumbled. He pressed his servo down on Orion's belly, optics focused, "Come on little one. Your poor carrier can't wait any longer."

Orion's optics were soaked from tears. The energon and birth fluids that had already seeped between his legs were cooling now. It felt like hours since the first the contraction hit, hours since he was barricaded in the fortress with Magnus holding him up and Ratchet trying every method available to safely bring out the sparkling.

And the sounds of battle and death waged outside. And in his delirious state, Orion swore he heard Megatron's voice shouting for him. And now there was no more light, no medical equipment, not even a monitor to see the sparkling's progress. Orion did not know how much more he could take.

"Ratchet," Orion's whisper was faint, weak, his vocals overheated from his pained screams, "My sparkling—"

"He'll be fine." The medic said, although his panicked state said otherwise, "I've my servos here ready to catch him."

"I—I can't feel him anymore," Orion cried, his intakes ragged, his body shook, "Why can't I feel him? Ratchet please—"

The medic smiled at the news.

"Magnus, get ready, he's going to need all the strength you can give him," Ratchet's thick digits traced the slippery lining of the carrier's valve, "Orion, get ready to push. That absence you felt was the sparkling detaching, he's coming down!"

Orion didn't need more prompts. He convulsed, the channels within him pushing down instinctively as he felt the sparkling's weight shift downwards. His valve stretched out, the pain of it burning as fresh fluids poured from him. The mixture stained his legs, spilling out to the already filthy floor.

He felt unable to push again, his strength waning.

"The helm—It's right here, it's almost out." Ratchet said, "Push Orion. Push!"

The carrier screamed and twisted his body, his body trembling as he felt weight leave him. Shrill whimpers and chirps filled the dark room. Orion's spark flared at the sound, aching to soothe it.

"I got him. He's out." Ratchet shouted, his voice filled with relief as he glanced up at the exhausted carrier.

Ultra Magnus sunk to the corner of the room and pulled Orion to rest between his legs. The afterbirth dragged and broke into chunks along the way, but no one seemed bothered, least of all Orion Pax.

"Whoa, easy there kiddo," Ratchet scolded the sparkling gently, "I'm getting you to your carrier. Take it easy now."

The sparkling's whirls snapped back at the medic, impatience readily noted.

"He's a feisty one, Orion," Ratchet said, kneeling beside the tired carrier, "But here, see for yourself."

The medic placed the sparkling within Orion's outstretched arms. With trembling optics, Orion looked down at the tiny creature, spark both soaring and aching as he saw his creation for the first time.

He was unbelievably small. His voice shrill, his little arms crossed over his chassis as he shivered. His legs kicked against Orion's hold, so short and thin it had to be a defect. The sparkling's helm felt soft against Orion's armor, as if even a gentle touch would crush it in. The sparkling's coloring, disturbed Orion the most. Out of all the time he spent thinking of how his son would appear, he never imagined this—

"His colors—and his armor—" Orion gently caressed the frail body, "He doesn't look like me. Nor like his sire."

Ratchet put a servo on Orion's shoulder.

"I will not lie to you Orion," The medic said, "Your separation from his sire took a toll. All this stress, this war, and the fragging pressure from the council…you could barely attend to yourself. The sparkling suffered with you. He's underdeveloped. The yellow coloring indicates a lack of proper…attention from the sire."

"This is my fault then," Orion said, "Why my son is like this?"

"No," Ratchet shook his helm, "Don't do that to yourself Orion. There was nothing more you could have done."

Orion did not believe him.

The sparkling wailed from lack of warmth, kneading his little yellow and black servos against Orion's armor in an attempt to get back inside. Orion lifted the child to rest on top of his chassis. The sparkling's optics flickered, sickly and timid, registering the face of his mother for the first time.

Orion felt his spark surging as his son's blue optics stared back at him. So wide, bright, and perfect.

The sparkling curled against the comforting hum of his carrier's spark, recognizing the familiar tune.

BeeeeBeeeeeeBurrrrrbbbleeeeBeeeeeThe sparkling grabbled as he lulled into recharge Burrrbellleeebeee

Orion smiled, wrapping a servo beneath his son to keep him from falling off as the tiny body went lax from sleep.

"I didn't ask for you, little one," Orion whispered, "But I love you all the same."

The ground shook again, the war outside shattering the brief moment of peace.

"I'm sorry," Orion said as he turned away, his tears flowing down once more, "I'm so, so, sorry—"

The sparkling only chirped contently in his sleep, kneading his servos against his mother's chassis.

Orion's spark nearly burst from grief, knowing that he had just sentenced both himself and his child to a lifetime of lies and secrets.

"Magnus," Orion said, his mind and spark determined, "Contact the remaining Council members."

"I said you did not want them to know of the birth—"

"It isn't that," Orion said, "The Matrix."

Both Wrecker and medic were stunned by his next words.

"Tell them I accept it."

OOOOOOOOOOOO

Optimus allowed the memories to fade for the moment. Dwelling on the past could not help him now. If anything, it would only heighten the pain.

He wiped his optics, frustrated at how easily those tears flowed again. It had been ages since then. But time didn't dull the emotions triggered by stepping through Iacon again.

A crackle, the motion of small debris falling behind him caused his sensors to snap.

On reflex he swung around, the Star Saber glowing fiercely in the dark.

"Whoa! It's just me Prime," Smokescreen's shocked face was pale and blue against the light of the sword. He held his servos up in surrender, "Uh, I was just—okay I was following you. I was following Bumblebee but he um kinda blew me off. Uh—"

"Is there anything of substance you wish you say, Smokescreen?" The words were harsher than intended. Smokescreen shrunk back a bit. But as was his nature, he just didn't know when to keep his mouth shut.

"I may be wrong here sir but, you don't look that great. I mean, you always look great but you don't seem um—all there? Not to say that anything's missing it's just—Bumblebee doesn't seem doing that well either. Is anything wrong? Anything I can do to help?"

The young mech's words slowly died out as Optimus stared him down.

"Yes sir," Smokescreen said, finally taking the silent order, "Leaving now sir. Enjoy the scenery."

Smokescreen immediately wanted to shot himself through the pedals for saying such a stupid line. He was mid-way into transforming to his alt mode when Optimus spoke again.

"Smokescreen?"

"Yeah Prime?" The young soldier answered eagerly, "Anything I can do?"

"Find Bumblebee. He's been very distressed as of late."

"I've noticed," Smokescreen said, "I'll find right away Prime!"

"And don't leave him," Optimus said, "I'm afraid of what he might do."

"Whatever you say boss," Smokescreen said, a bit uneasy by the implication, "I'll let you know as soon as I find him."

"Thank you Smokescreen,"

"No problems. At least now I can use your orders as an excuse to bother him again," Smokescreen teased playfully, "Alright boss. I got a bee to catch."

Smokescreen drove off, leaving Optimus alone again. There were times when the young soldier was too eager and intrusive for comfort. But now, Optimus was grateful for it. If Bee didn't want to speak with him, then perhaps he would speak to Smokescreen.

"I'm sorry," Optimus said, his spark aching at the absence of his son, "I'm so sorry."

TBC


A/N: No beta, mistakes are all mine. Read and review please!