The Right Words
by K. Huntsman
released 4th August 2002
updated 9th September 2007

You don't know what you did to him.

Springer stood staring dumbly, shocked, at the mechanoid who laid at his feet, lubricant and coolant and energon all leaking together, pooling on the ground in a glowing, multi-colored miasma. The flame-painted exterior shuddered with pain, Hot Rod barely hanging on to consciousness.

"Hot Rod!" Arcee was kneeling on the ground, slim hands already at work tying tubes and twisting off receptors, trying to mask her distress. "Springer, radio First Aid!"

Numbly, Springer did as she asked.

It should have been me.

They'd been created close together, the three of them almost the same age. They had always worked as a team, been nearly inseparable. Springer had been the marginal leader, the sensible one capable of making plans, organizing things, taking charge. He'd been singled out from the moment he came online, a Triple Changer by nature--a gift few Autobots shared with him. It had been a bit lonely at first, at least until he had met Arcee and Hot Rod. The three of them had formed an immediate fast friendship, easing Springer's feelings of being too different. The two of them had been special in their own right--Arcee a Femme, a beautiful sleek model, fast and agile and capable of concentrated precision work that bored Springer out of his mind. Hot Rod, too, was special. Perhaps the most earnest, idealistic Transformer Springer had ever met, the speedster burned with a purity of purpose and belief that was nearly shocking. It only worried Springer that so many others couldn't seem to see past Hot Rod's casual exterior personality to find that shining light beneath. Sometimes Hot Rod's innocence made Springer feel ashamed of being jaded.

So, unlike many others, Springer was not dismayed when the Matrix fell into his friend's hands and opened, destroying Unicron. There was something special about Hot Rod. There always had been.

Then he had to watch as the position of leadership ate away at Hot Rod and nearly destroyed him.

Springer believed in the Chosen One. He believed in Hot Rod, in Rodimus Prime. But he came to reconcile the legend with his friend, and his view of his friend with reality as the cracks in the facade grew.

Rod blamed himself for Optimus Prime's death. He blamed himself in every action he took and every one he didn't. Watching him, Springer began to believe that Hot Rod's image of nonchalance and giddy youthfulness had never been anything more than a mask.

Somehow Hot Rod had bought into what everyone else thought, what everyone else believed. Somehow he'd thought that he was the least of the three of them.

Being leader reinforced that view. Springer and Arcee, everyone thought, earned their ranks--Rodimus only had his by virtue of the Matrix. The Matrix was widely agreed to be a stabilizing force on the reckless Autobot, and was the only reason he was accepted in his role.

And Rodimus knew it.

Communication had never been Springer's forte. Unlike Rod, he'd never been able to reach out easily and just have the right words there to mend a bad situation, to make a new friend, to cement an alliance between planets. He didn't know how to tell Rodimus that he was wrong.

The separation, the forced distance that the role of leadership broke among their trio robbed Rodimus of his two sources of unconditional support.

Of all the things I never wanted, I never wanted to watch you fall.

Then Optimus had come back. The Matrix was reclaimed, used to heal the Hate Plague.

Rodimus became "only" Hot Rod again. And if he had worried Springer before, that was nothing compared to how he worried Springer now.

Springer was still a Triple Changer, Arcee's natural instincts were honed by her pair-bonding with Daniel... and Hot Rod was feeling himself lost and left behind.

He hid it, of course, or at least tried to, pretending that nothing had ever changed. But there was a gap between him and the two of them now. Springer didn't know the words to bridge it and if Arcee did demure discretion kept her from speaking them.

The one time Springer ever heard another praising Hot Rod, it was Ultra Magnus. Hot Rod's stunned look said everything. Like he couldn't believe that he'd done anything right. Springer noticed that Hot Rod kept away from Optimus Prime, though. Optimus, who Springer knew saw what no one else seemed to in Hot Rod--the purity, the potential.

Why do you keep away from those who would honor you?

Hot Rod's recovery from his valiancy--throwing himself in front of Springer and Arcee, firing at Cyclonus even as the bolt ripped him nearly in half--landed him in med bay for the better part of two weeks. It took First Aid nearly three days just to stabilize him.

Springer didn't leave the waiting room once during that time.

Neither did Arcee.

Hot Rod's act of stunning courage and defiance, Springer knew, was already causing ripples among the Autobots. The fact that his aim had been dead-on even in his suicide run and caused Cyclonus at least equal damage was astounding. Suddenly words were being whispered again on the radio channels that Springer hadn't heard in a long time, not since Optimus' return.

"...Chosen One..."

"...Rodimus..."

"...born leader..."

Do you hear them, Hot Rod? he wanted to ask. Do you hear what they say?

First Aid shooed the two of them out on the fourth day, before Hot Rod had even come back online. Springer was only mildly surprised when Optimus Prime was shown into the recovery room in their stead and stayed there for nearly three hours.

As the leader left, his expression customarily serious, he turned to the two of them.

"He's got a lot of convincing left," Optimus said, his voice quiet. "I trust the two of you to help him."

"Yes, Optimus," Arcee said, briefly nodding in agreement. And a part of Arcee was, and always would be, Daniel, who knew Rod as the two of them did.

Springer nodded once, meeting Prime's eyes in calm assurance.

I will not let him down again, he radioed privately.

And as Optimus Prime left the waiting room, Arcee and Springer walked to where First Aid was holding the door open for the two of them.

"I leave the rest to you," the medic said. There was no way, with the deep level of repairs that Hot Rod had needed, that he hadn't found and realized the implications of the hithertofore undiscovered flaw in Hot Rod's personality codec.

As the door closed behind them, Arcee and Springer moved towards Hot Rod, two thirds of a whole.

"Hot Rod," Arcee said, kneeling down beside the recharging bed.

"Hey Arcee, Springer," the injured Autobot said lightly. "Sorry for making you worry."

"You have every right to worry us," Springer replied. "That's what friends are for."

Hot Rod's optics widened slightly, and Springer realized with a start that perhaps the right words had been there all along.