Femme For Hire

Authors Note: I made an exchange for a fanfic with optimus prime 007. She'd write me an Ultra Magnus fic ('A Day In The Life of Ultra Magnus'), and I'd write her an Optimus and Elita fic. This is my interpretation of the idea she provided for me. This will become 'M' rated, eventually. Hope it stands up to scrutiny so far! This is pre-Movieverse 2007, BTW. Before the big Allspark battles, and a long time before they leave on the big 'Find-The-Allspark' mission.

Here's what optimus prime 007 suggested (for the first bit, anyway, I won't reveal the whole suggestion, that would ruin the storyline!);

"Ok, my suggestion for the Oppy/Lita one shot:
This takes place before they're bonded. Optimus is forced to send Elita on a
mission that only she can do. Of course he doesn't want to send her and she
sees it as her duty to go."

Chapter One

"Is this supposed to be the last rights of the damned, or something?"

Elita One stood just inside the doorway of Optimus Prime's private quarters, hard thighs spread over braced knees, with her arms crossed over her curvy chest, cautious optics looking around like she was surveying a battlefield that still had live Decepticons on it.

The over-sized red and blue mech gave her a soft smile over his shoulder, "No, it is me wanting to give you a comfortable and elegant last night of recharge – or something."

Elita cocked an optic ridge, walking inside further. The heavy, fully-loaded, rifle hanging at her hip brushed against her thigh as she moved. "And my quarters aren't NICE enough for that?"

"Femme," Optimus rubbed at his forehead, frustrated. Couldn't she just accept that he wanted to do nice things for her? Did he always have to come up with reasons and excuses? "Please, just enjoy it. I want you to feel relaxed and at ease here. Unless you'd rather we go back to your place?"

"Mmmm... not. Yours is so much better. Femme Commanders still don't get the luxuries that Mech Commanders do." Elita's mouthplates twitched as she seated herself in an available mech-sized chair. Her feet barely brushed the ground.

Optimus walked back to her, halting and holding out one upturned hand. "Come."

"Come? Come where? I thought we were going into recharge..." Elita retorted. She was still ruffled up about the de-briefing she and her mechfriend had just endured, courtesy of Prowl and Ultra Magnus. The words 'dangerous', 'impossibly difficult', and 'unlikely to succeed' still echoing in her sensitive audios.

Soft male optics glowed down at her. "You'll see. Follow."

She allowed him to lead her gently across the room and into his cleaning facility. She knew what was there. An oil bath receptacle big enough to take two or three Optimus Prime's, let alone one. More perks of being at the top of the mech-chain.

"May I?" He stood at her back, his hand brushing past her hip, broad flat fingers grasping at the handle of her rifle, but not taking it; instead, waiting for permission. "I'd rather not have weapons in here."

She looked up him with a tilt back of her head. Her helmet thunked against his chest plating. "Afraid I'll shoot off something you want to keep?"

Masculine optics twinkled down at her. "You're funny."

Her gun left her hip with the softest of disengaging clicks. She always admired the way he handled weapons. Sure, Ironhide was the Weapons Specialist, but her mech was a lot more thoughtful and caressing in his technique. No blunt force or hard jabs. She watched his hand slide her rifle into a recessed port in the wall just outside the door, securing it in place.

It was then she noticed the steam rising off the already-filled bath. She snorted.

"I don't believe this. You had this all planned out. Have a nice lubricating bath, femme, to make you feel better about sacrificing yourself for the Autobot cause. Yeah, right."

The moment the bitter words left her mouthplates, she regretted them. He was trying to do the nicest things for her he could possibly imagine. He was being crushed enough by the thought he had to send her on a mission that could result in her early termination, and here she was throwing insults at him? Her optics looked up cautiously.

Optimus was standing rigid. His face were cast downwards at the floor. Sad. Un-nerved. Like he was just barely holding himself together while trying to please her and she'd just struck the final blow. It made her realise just how much he really must care for her to appear so spark-broken. Love, perhaps? Any other mech would have been throwing her angry words back at her and walking out. But not him. He appeared distressed. Hurt.

"Sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't mean that." Elita splayed one hand over her face with a heavy sigh. Embarrassed. "Forgive me, Optimus. I'm not... myself."

His optics lifted to look at her. His expression appeared fragile for an instant, then it changed. To something more like... lust?

"Forgiven." The word issued from his mouth like a whispered caress. "Perhaps I can set your CPU at ease. Would you permit me to bathe with you?"

Before she could utter another word to redeem herself, Optimus had lifted himself over the edge of the bath using his long legs and was slowly lowering his massive physique into it. His arms were braced on the edges of the bath for support. He was an impressive, optic-searing, absolute delight of mechhood, sliding into the thick scented oil with carefully flexed muscle cables and glistening armor. His mouthplates parted wantonly and his face lifted up to the ceiling with dimming optics at the wonderful sensation of hot oil filling the gaps and joints of his long-neglected body.

The oil came halfway up his wide bulging chest when he sat down. Blue optics greeted her and beckoned her with a 'What are you waiting for?' expression. An oil-slick hand raised itself up out of the oil to again be held palm-upwards towards her. Waiting.

"Come?"

Elita shook her head, "You know, you need a good thesaurus. There are other words in the Cybertronian language to express yourself with other than 'come'."

Large shoulders shimmering with oil shrugged faintly. "It works."

"Of course it does..." Elita muttered, taking his hand to help steady herself as she climbed in.

Mech fingers grasped hers warmly. Her entry was not anywhere near as elegant and taunting as his had been. His height had made it easy. Hers didn't. Shortness was a pain.

Slipping and sliding, she finally ended up sitting next to him on a higher step, to be at his level. His hand came up smoothly to wrap around her thighs. Caressing. Holding. Trying to offer comfort for the situation that she was facing, for which there could be no comfort. His face was turned towards hers. Optics dim. Offering his company as something, perhaps, for her to hold onto.

Neither of them were going to say the words that this could be the last happy moments they had together.

Her air-intakes made bubbles when her body relaxed. "Oh, that's good." For a short moment, her mission with its pallor of impending doom faded away from her memory.

"Told you," Prime's chest made the oil upon it shimmer with his chuckle. "Please relax."

"...oh, I've done that already. Mmmm."

This was such a luxury. War kept such things beyond arms length. But it didn't last long. The words and arguments of the mission briefing were being sent around and around inside her CPU. She was sitting enjoying an oil bath – and tomorrow she really could be terminated. Dead. Being here with her mechfriend was almost too much too take... it perfectly highlighted everything she stood to lose.

Elita's head sank down for a moment, then she stood up abruptly. "I.. I.. can't stay..."

She began to clamber out of the heated oil, feet hitting the ground, splashing it everywhere (oh, the cleaning drones were going to love her).

"Elita?" Optimus began to rise up, concern written all over his faceplates. Oil streamed down every part of his physique. "Where are you going?"

"I'm sorry... really sorry. I just can't do this, right now. It's too much. Too much..." Elita kept her head down as she briskly wiped the oil from her arms, legs and torso before turning to leave. She looked at him briefly over her shoulder; saddened and ashamed; lifted her rifle from its nook in the wall where Optimus had carefully placed it, then went out the front door.

The Autobot Commander was left standing alone in his rooms. He wouldn't chase her. When a bot was facing the biggest day of their life, how they dealt with it was entirely up to them, even if every piece of him that was male wanted to comfort a female in distress. He'd offered her comfort and company. She'd taken some of it and now the rest was up to her.

One Orn later... after Elita's departure...

Iacon was silent that night. His brooding optics wished it wasn't. Just when he needed some weapons fire, audio-deafening explosions, and mech's racing around all over the place to distract his brooding CPU – there was absolutely NOTHING. He kept his comlink open and ready. Waiting for a signal. Waiting for anything – from her. She wasn't allowed to use her comlink until her mission was complete, of course, but that didn't stop his mech spark from screaming for her to call him.

Optimus Prime leant his hands on the walkway railing in front of him, bracing his wide shoulders with a metallic creak of protest and dropping his head down to think. Crystal blue optics ran themselves over the cityscape before him. The darkness did nothing to hide its beauty. The capital city had not fallen yet, and Primus knew, with Elita's help, it wouldn't for some time at least.

He didn't want to go back to his quarters. Elita wouldn't be in them tonight. What was the point? It was an empty silent space just like the walkway, but at least where he was currently standing, he had a view.

She had left quietly. He had walked himself to her quarters; early; and stood helplessly in front of her door. He'd knocked, but she hadn't answered. So he just stood there. Finally, not knowing what else to do, he laid the palm of one hand on the door, said a silent prayer to Primus for her, and left for the Command Room, where she would go to receive her final instructions.

He'd never know she had been sitting on her aft against the door on the other side, her face turned to the ceiling and her rifle lying in her limp hands while she listened to his movements and a stream of energon tears slid down her metallic cheeks.

His hands squeezing hard enough to crack the window support, Optimus cursed himself. This was murderous. He couldn't contact her. She couldn't contact him. Why the slag had he ever made such stupid rules? The little logical mech inside him yelled and jumped up and down – to keep you, her, and the Autobots safe, aft-head!

"Stop feeling sorry for yourself."

Prime's optics flared at the sudden presence of another mech beside him; and his words. He lifted a graceful but heavily masculine optic ridge and glanced sideways at the lump of mech that was only a smidgen bigger than himself in both height and width. "Magnus, don't you have some awards to polish, or some data records to arrange in alphabetical order?"

The blue and white mech moved his head, studying his friend, "You're confusing me with Prowl."

"No, I don't think so," Optimus turned his optics back to the view. It wasn't so pretty without Elita standing beside him. "You're just a little less pedantic and have bigger muscle cables." A pause. "Go away, Magnus."

Ultra Magnus turned around, putting his back to the handrail (his latent strength threatening to break it without effort) and staring at his Commander. Not hurt in the least by Prime's dark mood and words. "The others would never guess that such mean and spiteful words could ever come out of such a legendary mouth. Missing Elita?"

"What do you think?" Optimus growled. He immediately hated himself for that. With anyone else he could keep his temper, keep his spiked words in, maintain a diplomatic demeanour, put on his 'Leader Face'. But Magnus was too old a friend. And he needed the outlet. "I... apologise."

Magnus didn't respond. His optics moved from staring at the side of Prime's armored head to looking down at his own over-sized feet. "No you don't. And I don't mind. If I had a femme to send out there... if I WOULD send her out there - I'd be worse. If any of the others talked to me..." he shrugged, "Sunstreaker would be missing his legs, Tracks would find his imported polish welded to his forehead and even Bumblebee would have dents." He smirked. "At least you're just making hurtful words with me, that's not too bad."

Prime's slanted dim optics at him. "Just when I think you're all muscle and hydraulics, something amazing comes out of that CPU under all that armor."

Ultra Magnus' faceplates moved with surprise, "Amazingly, Elita said that about you too. You know, you should get bonded. Seems like a good match to me."

Prime's head jerked, then sank down, "Magnus.. just... I need some time alone."

"Alright," Magnus sighed heavily. Then paused as he turned to leave. "Is it me or do you smell... 'pretty'?"

"Magnus!"

"Going!"

Optimus pushed up the sensitivity on his olfactory sensors. Damn. He did smell pretty... too much femme stuff in the oil bath. Oh Primus. Just one more thing to remind him of her.

NOTE: How was that, optimus prime 007? A good enough start? All shall be revealed in the next chapter about Elita's, uh, 'mission'. And it ain't what you think...