Army Brat

Prologue

Autobot Base, Iacon, Cybertron

"You don't have to go."

Ironhide sighed and powered up his optics, looking at the teal femme that was currently sprawled across his chest. Her chin was propped up on curled fists, and she was staring at him with intense blue optics.

"Chromia—"

"I could talk to Prowl. Tell him that we need a big, strong mech around the base. Elita isn't going to be able to take care of everything by herself…"

"Which is why you're staying behind with her," the red mech reached up and laid a finger over her lips, a small smile quirking the corners of his mouth. "We already talked about this, 'Mia. Prime needs me."

She sat up, pulling her face away from his hand. "No he doesn't. I need you more than him!" She declared, drawing herself up so she could glare down at him. He sighed, grabbing her forearms to keep her from jumping up all together.

"I'm his bodyguard, Chromia. If Prime dies, then everything we've worked for will be for nothing."
"But I'm your bondmate!"

Ironhide pulled the femme back down to his chest, wrapping his arms around her back to keep her from getting up. "I know you are, and I love you, but we both knew that joining the Autobots would mean doing things we would rather not do, and that sometimes it would mean time apart."

"You don't know how long the trip will take. What if you're gone for vorns before you find any energon?" She rested one audio against his chest, listening to his fuel pump beat steadily beneath his heavy armor.

He chuckled. "You know Prowl better than that. He's already found a planet that looks promising. It's in the Gamma Quadrant – an orn of travel at the most. We'll be back before you know it."

"Are you sure?" She frowned at him. "What if Prowl is wrong?"

"Then we'll come back here and think up a new plan. We will come back, Chromia."

She didn't look convinced. "Well…" He bent forward with silenced her with a soft kiss.

"Relax," he whispered, "and lets enjoy our last night together for the next orn or two. Okay?"

Chromia forced herself to smile. "You mechs think with your interfacing cables, you know that?"

"Yes, and you love it."

Laughing and setting her fears aside for the moment, she caught his lips with hers and took advantage of the distraction Ironhide was offering.

~*~

Femme Base, Iacon, Cybertron

"Elita, may I speak with you?" The voice – quiet, courteous and soft – nearly took the femme commander by surprise. Elita-One looked up at her teal and white second in command, optics creasing at the corners with worry. Chromia was not one to knock politely on her office door – she usually bounded in with her guns out, demanding action and punishment. The femme standing in the doorway didn't resemble the robust and courageous warrior she was used to seeing every day.

"Of course, Mia," Elita smiled, stacking her datapads neatly on one side of her desk. The other side was loaded down with holo-pictures, trinkets from friends, and a piece of Shockwaves armor mounted on a plaque. Chromia glanced at it as she sat down, a small smile gracing her faceplates. The femme commander returned the smile, folding her hands in front of her on the desk. "What do you want to talk about?"

The hesitant frown returned, and Chromia's bright blue optics dulled a bit. "It's about Ironhide," she answered softly, and Elita felt herself relax. She had seen the younger femmes' depressed mood emerging throughout the past few weeks. It happened every year, around this time – the anniversary of the ARK leaving Cybertron, the night after she and Ironhide had bonded. A little over four million years had passed since then, and all of the femmes in the base had nearly given up hope of ever seeing their loved ones again. Then four years ago, Shockwave had received the news that Megatron and his soldiers had awakened on a distant organic planet, and were continuing to fight the Autobots. While they had yet to make contact with the earthbound Autobots – it was too dangerous with Soundwave still functioning – every femme had regained some slim hope that their lovers were alive and still fighting the good fight. Everyone except Chromia.

The femme had nearly burst at the seams at first, all of her hope restored in three simple words: They are alive. But as time passed with no attempt of contact from Earth, her joy had begun to fade. Her bond with Ironhide – still new and fragile, unable to strengthen while he was in stasis lock – did not allow her to feel him like a mature bond did. Like Elita-One felt Optimus Prime, every moment of every day. It was the only thing that had given her hope during the long years of doubt and darkness, allowing her to lead her warriors to victory time after time.

Chromia was staring down at her hands, which were twisting together in her lap. Elita settled her chin on her hands and watched her carefully. "You're worried about him?"

She nodded, hands curling into fists. "Yes," she sighed, "of course I'm worried about him, Elita! It's been so long since I last heard his voice, since I saw his smile! What if he's forgotten about me?" The commander could see the panic rising in her optics.

"Mia," the pink femme smiled, "Bondmates can't forget about each other. It's physically impossible." She chuckled. "Trust me, he thinks about you every minute of every day, just like you do." She reached across the desk and caught her hands, gently untangling her fingers. "He misses you. Have faith – you'll see him one day."

The younger femme sighed through a small smile. "Thanks Elita, you always know what to say." She pulled her hands back and stood, stronger in her stance than before. She looked at the knick-knacks on the desk and was about to say more, but a frantic pounding on the commanders door interrupted her. Elita stood as the door was thrown open, optics flashing with worry.

A femme, younger than Chromia and Elita by four million and four years, leaned against the doorframe, puffing as she pulled air through her overworked vents. "Elita," she gasped, pushing herself farther into the room. The second command moved to pull the youngling into the circle of her arms, stroking the back of her simple domed head comfortingly. Both had identical color schemes – teal with white accents- and she seemed to disappear into Chromia hold.

"Calm down, Rivet. Take deep breaths," Chromia ordered, cradling the youngling head against her shoulder. Elita frowned and rounded her desk, reaching out to rest a hand on her shoulder.

"What is it, child?" She asked, "What's wrong?"

The femme looked up, her dark blue optics panicked. "Attack!" She blurted out. "Racer and the others are holding them back, but they know where we are! They're jamming our coms!"

Elitas' face hardened and she looked at Chromia with a rare, serious edge to her optics. "I will go join Moonracer. You escort Rivet to the docks, then report to me," she ordered, pulling her blaster from subspace and making sure it was fully charged.

The youngling turned and grabbed her arm. "No, Elita! I want to help, not run." She reached to pull out her own blaster, but was stopped by Chromia.

"No, Rivet," she whispered in a pained voice. "Come on. We've got to get you to the docks before they get past the sentinels."

"Mom –"

Chromias' optics hardened as she looked down at her daughter, shutting off the pain in her spark as she did so. "You have your orders, Rivet. You are to find Optimus Prime and give him my reports." Elita interrupted, moving towards the door. The second followed her, dragging Rivet along. The commander paused and turned to look at the two. Holstering her gun, she took the younglings face in her hands and kissed her forehead firmly. "Come back to us someday, Rivet. We will miss you." With that, she was out the door, heading for the sound of fighting down the hall.

Mother and daughter watched her retreat, twin looks of despair on their nearly identical faces.

~*~

Command Center of the ARK, Oregon, Earth

At first, the mechs had been excited to hear that they were being released from their boring, tedious desk jobs for the day. They had waited eagerly in the command center with baited breath – was the infamous Prowl giving them a day off? Was he giving them a day of leave, a day to screw around and play and relax? Races were arranged, movie dates made, and the beginning of a party planned in the few seconds between the words 'off-duty' and 'because.' Because. That dreaded b-word that broke their dreams like a dropped mirror.

"-because," Prowl had continued, his voice carrying easily over the whispers of the excited mechs, "There is a cargo shipment from Beta-9 coming in today, and it will take all of us to get the supplies unloaded before nightfall."

Faces fell and shoulders slumped – they were being taken from monitor duty and maintenance shifts to be pack mules for the day. Prowl, ignoring the looks being tossed his way by a few of the more volatile members of their group, began to hand out assignments and arrange the assembly line that would make sure the unloading went quickly and efficiently.

"Cheer up, bro," Sideswipe whispered, nudging the yellow mechs shoulder, "Maybe there'll be a femme or two on the ship!"

A few of the mechs around him chuckled, hopes rising marginally. A new ship meant fresh faces, unheard stories and possibly news from Cybertron. There was also the possibility of a Decepticon attack that, while not the most welcome of distractions, would certainly not be boring.

There was a self-important 'harrumph' from Sunstreakers elbow, and Huffer peered up at the twins with a look that could melt kryptonite. "Why bother trying to get our hopes up?" He demanded, "Everyone knows the femmes are dead."

Several mechs around the room bristled at the statement, and Sunstreaker pushed the minibot away from him. "Shut up, shrimp." He snarled, hands balling into fists as he readied himself to smear Huffer across the room.

"Enough," Prowl ordered, voice never wavering despite the cool glint in his optic, "Report to your posts."

Muttering to themselves and casting the minibot more than one nasty look, the troops filed out of the command center. Prowl waited until Red Alert had dashed down the hall to retrieve his scanning equipment before turning to the red mech standing at the back of the room.

"Ironhide, are you alright?"

The red mech blinked away the distant look that had held his optics captive, looking at the second in command in confusion. "'Course I am, Prowl." He clapped the black and white on the shoulder, "C'mon, let's go check out the ship." He strode out of the room with his usual easy stride, leaving the concerned tactician in his wake.

~*~

Deck of the Sun Surfer, Outside of the ARK, Oregon, Earth

Prowl stood a ways away from his commander and the ship's captain, Trigger. He was reading over a report on the ships trip from Beta-9 to Earth, and doing his best not to nod off with boredom. The logs were uneventful – no Decepticon attacks or raids by competing traders, no major asteroid fields to maneuver through, and only one stowaway found…

The tactician paused, considering the short report with a careful optic. One neutral stowaway discovered in the lower cargo bay. Apprehended and locked in room 6B. Prowl tapped his fingers against the screen of the datapads screen, glancing up at Trigger with a frown. Surely the captain would have mentioned a mech stowing away on their ship, even if it was just in passing.

"Trigger," he approached the conversing commanders as they both chuckled over something or other. The two leaders were enjoying their time together, comparing the antics of their troops and crew. Prime smiled at his second in command, while Trigger looked less than pleased at being interrupted.

"Yes?" The blue and gold asked curtly, giving up on his current attempts to foster some of his more rambunctious crew members onto Prime and his troops.

"Can you please explain this stowaway matter in deeper detail?" Prowl held out the datapad, the two-line report highlighted.

"Stowaway?" Trigger took the datapad with a frown. "Oh yes, her," He turned to look up at Prime. "We found a neutral femme hiding in the main cargo bay a few days after we left port. She's currently being held in one of our empty supply rooms." The captain glanced at his first mate, who was working through some star charts with Cosmos. "Shortround," he snapped at the orange minibot, "Get over here."

Shortround rolled his optics but stood, joining the trio of taller mechs. "Yes sir?"

"What did that stowaway yell at you when you brought her energon?" The captain asked.

The minibot tapped his chin. "When I asked her for her name, she said she would only tell an Autobot." He shrugged, "And she said thanks for the drink."

Prowl rubbed his chin and glanced at Prime. ~Do you think she might be one of Elita-1s femmes?-~ He asked along their private comlink.

Optimus, who had been quietly thinking it over as they spoke, gave a small nod. ~Perhaps, ~ he muttered, not wanting to get his hopes up. He turned to the captain. "Trigger, may we speak with this femme?"

The mech nodded with a shrug. "Sure, why not? She's just gonna go to the brig on Beta-9 anyway." He dismissed Shortround with a flick of his wrist and led the Autobots down to the second deck.

~*~

Room 6B, 2nd Deck of the Sun Surfer, Oregon, Earth

It had been two days since they brought her energon, and she was beginning to feel empty. Growling in annoyance to cover the sound of her rumbling tank, she nipped at the cuffs around her wrists with her sharp teeth. Over the past two weeks of travel, the heavy energon cuffs had rubbed her wrists raw. She had tried using a lock pick to disengage the locking mechanism, only to have it snap and get stuck. Now no amount of shaking or beating could knock the piece out, and her teeth couldn't grasp the sharp tip sticking out. With a groan she flopped onto her bed in the empty room.

"Hold on, let me find the key card."

The femme shot into a sitting position – that was the captains' voice! She growled low in her throat as other voices joined his, talking too quietly for her to hear through the thick metal. So that sneaky old mech hadn't been bluffing about selling her into slavery. Well, she wasn't going to go down without a fight!

As the door slid open, she charged at the figure standing there. The large red and blue figure was caught completely off guard and tumbled to the floor. The teal and white femme rolled off him, landing in an unsteady crouch, her balance hindered by the cuffs around her wrists. A black and white mech, doorwings flung wide in surprise, reached out to grab her arms. She slid to the side, his fingers glancing off her shoulder, and took off down the hall.

She knew the ship had landed – there was no steady rocking beneath her feet, no deep thrum of the engines behind the walls. If she could reach one of the cargo bays, she could escape to the planet's surface and find another way to reach Earth. Escape plan firmly in mind, she skidded around a corner and right into a large, solid red wall.

Large, heavy hands clapped down on her shoulders, steadying her as she reeled backwards. She was pushed away from the large mech, head still reeling from the sudden crash. There was a sharp gasp, and one of the hands carefully tilted her chin up.

"Chromia?"

Authors Notes: Thank you very much for reading! This is a rewrite of my original idea – I made Rivet older and more war-savvy than before, and worked on developing her character more thoroughly. Please remember that I'm in college and busy with homework, so chapters might come few and far between until summer arrives! And please remember to review so I can know whether anybody is reading and liking this story! If not, well, then there's no reason for me to continue writing it, is there?