*In order to prevail in a dire situation one may be required to step in a role that goes against their ability, function or nature; – and will succeed if they only try hard enough – or simply because they're out of options.
**Creative translation of the Finnish proverb "Kun koville ottaa, niin koiraskin poikii"; literally translated -"When having it hard, then even the male calves".
The destructive beam the Decepticon warship had fired upon their base had left the Autobots temporarily without a place to stay, and almost without a leader. Thankfully, the young Smokescreen – the ever enthusiastic rookie – had had the foresight to return, against all protocol; and ended up saving not only the life of their Prime, but also possibly the entire cause they were fighting for.
– That had been eighteen months ago.
After a vital addition to their team – against all odds, the Autobots eventually managed to bring down Darkmount; the Decepticons' new fortress; thus thwarting their enemies' plans on taking over planet Earth once again. Grateful for the 'Bots' continued efforts on defending their home – the United States government offered them a new place to stay in return; this time a military-base in a classified location.
During this time, the 'Cons had gone back into hiding. Little was known of what they were up to – the only occasions any of the Autobots ran into their sworn enemies were during their ever-desperate endeavors on scouting for more energon; after happening to coming across a random energon-mine already claimed by the Decepticons. Even then, their encounters were always brief and short-lived – and usually ended up with the 'Bots managing to taking only a small amount of the treasured fuel back to base, and upon returning immediately after the recovery of their acquired injuries only to find the place barren and abandoned.
All in all – the atmosphere in the base was grim. Everybody knew that in case they found a way to rebuild the Omega lock, Cybertron would stay dead – and with it the entire purpose of their millennia-old war was as good as gone. None of the bots welcomed the scenario, as it would mean that not only was all their hard work, countless sacrifices and the immeasurable number of bots who had lost their lives or loved ones for the cause had done so in vain, but also made it just that much more clear that their race was swiftly heading towards extinction – as without Primus and the Allspark new life couldn't begin on Cybertron.
Due to the atrocities of the war the mechanical race had reduced to only a fraction of their former population, and while many still held hope others had still managed to survive while in exile in the vast deepness of space, in the end it meant nothing if they couldn't restore their home. Adding the fact that their energon reserves were currently as low as ever, didn't help their situation the slightest.
Deep in his spark Optimus Prime if anyone knew that in case they came up with something shortly, the morale among the Autobots would plummet to an all-time low. Not that it could go much lower from where it already was; but as it was only a matter of time before the Decepticons would show up again and for whatever was coming from their end the Prime needed each of his soldiers having their sparks one hundred percent in their goal. As with their already somewhat weakened state due to the lack of energon, if they failed to do so the repercussions could be catastrophic; and now if ever neither he, his bots nor the cause could afford that happening.
But the Autobot leader couldn't deny that the goal was – even if slowly – still steadily blurring away from the minds of his mechs; and for that he dreaded what the future might be holding for them, if they indeed had a future at all. But as their Prime he knew he should be the last mech to lose spark, and with the wisdom and insight granted for him by the Matrix they had managed so far – but Optimus would be lying if he claimed that things were looking good.
The Prime slowly clenched the almost empty cube of energon in his digits, it being accompanied by two finished ones on the counter nearby. He couldn't help the twinge of guilt the sight caused in him, adding to the uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his abdomen. It had turned out his reformatting into a much bigger frame had had an inevitable downside. While undoubtedly powerful in battle and the like, it wasn't exactly energy-efficient. It consumed almost three times the energon than his former frame, and began showing signs of exhaustion at much higher energy-levels than he was accustomed to, which forced him to refuel more frequently than he felt comfortable with in their situation. A special energon refined to a higher charge would have helped with the latter problem, but it had had a nasty habit of making him queasy, so he'd returned to the medium grade they all drank.
But, with his higher consumption and adding up Magnus' ship, it was the harsh truth that their demand for energon far outcrossed their income, despite the added forces of Ultra Magnus and Wheeljack helped them gather up more than they ever managed before. But it also meant there were two more tanks to fill.
To ensure utmost efficiency, thanks to Ultra Magnus' superior organizing skills from his time as the Commander of the Elite Guard, there were teams scouting for more energon non-stop now. The Commander himself was currently out paired with Smokescreen, while Wheeljack was with Bumblebee. Arcee and Bulkhead had just then finished their shift, and were walking in through the ground bridge – and it seemed – with empty servos, again.
"Optimus…" The sparkbroken look on Arcee's face alone said everything the Prime needed to know about their mission, but he asked anyway:
"Anything to report?"
"No, sir." came her weak reply, after a short break. She was blinking her optics her head turned away, trying to avoid the leaders' gaze.
Seeing it Bulkhead sighed, and stepped in closer. "The 'Cons picked the place clean. Seems to be their style as of late."
"I see." The Prime replied. Watching how their smallest comrade was literally in the verge of tears made it just that much more palpable how miserable their situation truly was. He couldn't help the uncomfortable feeling spreading down his frame.
"Arcee, Bulkhead. You have both had a long day. Go refuel and rest. Tomorrow is another day and you need your strength. I'll take it from here."
"With all due respect, Optimus; I'm going to head straight to berth. I wasn't that hungry, anyway." the femme snapped, and left towards their respective quarters. Bulkhead looked after her, with a sad expression on his faceplate.
"She blames herself. Don't take it personally." he added quietly, and continued towards the rec room.
The Prime couldn't help the guilty lurch in his tanks. It wasn't easy seeing any of his mechs in need, let alone as upset as the femme currently was. Suddenly, he wasn't feeling well at all.
The Prime left out an audible sigh, and casted his gaze upon the medic, working on the console in the corner of the hangar. Ratchet had been busy trying to finalize the formula for Synthetic energon and was deeply concentrated in his work. Optimus doubted he would have heard any of the conversation that took place. It was a mission of utmost importance after all; succeeding in it would immediately solve their energon-shortage, though it was uncertain how much good would it be in reviving Cybertron. Right now though, it did seem as their only viable option, quite possibly the only one left. Optimus was going to ask the medic to operate the ground bridge as he took his leave, but he didn't get to do so before somehow the bot in question became suddenly very aware of the Prime's distressed presence and turned around abruptly. It was often joked he had a sixth sense when it came to the others' well-being, and in a sense – they were right.
"Optimus! How long have you been standing there?" he exclaimed, eyeing the leader in suspicion. "I thought you would have left already. Is something wrong?"
The Prime was quiet for a moment and sighed. "It is not fair for them." He stated in a regretful tone.
"What is not fair?" the ambulance asked, clearly confused about what had gotten to his best friend this time.
Optimus stared in the direction where Arcee had disappeared in only a few moments ago, and continued:
"You are all working so hard. It is not fair I get a lion's share when you are all equally in need." he lifted his servo to soothe his burning abdomen.
Ratchet left out a sharp but quiet snort. Somehow he wasn't at all surprised.
"Optimus. You can't help the demands of your frame. You need more to function properly and we need you at a hundred percent. Arcee's frame is not only lithe but also very energy efficient. It won't kill her to skip a ration on occasion. I checked the readings just before they arrived; she's fine. You, on the other hand…" he lifted up his gaze, as if scanning the Prime for a visible injury, and noticed immediately the leader was trying to avoid looking him into the optics, and then realized the bot was clutching his middle, as if in pain. Something was definitely not right.
"Optimus?" he asked, now sounding demanding. "What is going on?"
"It's… nothing." The Prime managed to say from between his gritted denta; and continued after the pain had subsided: "The energon just is not agreeing with me. I will go on a low-grade diet for the next few orns and it shall be fine again – it has worked before." he said, and regretted his choice of words immediately.
"Wait – before? Exactly how long has this been going on?" Ratchet demanded, now upset that the Prime hadn't come to him sooner about this problem.
Optimus couldn't help the cringe. "Um… More or less… since the battle on Darkmount." he hesitantly admitted.
Unfortunately, he wasn't going to get off the hook this time.
"Ever since… OPTIMUS! You're telling ME you've had AN UPSET TANK FOR EVER SINCE YOUR REFORMATION!? Why didn't you come to me sooner!?" the medic yelled.
"I didn't think it was necessary, considering our current situa-owww!" The Prime uttered; clutching his abdomen as the pain returned, this time more intense, causing him to fall down on his knees. Seeing how visibly distressed the Prime was caused Ratchet to come off his 'I'll smack you with a wrench if you don't comply' mode and become instantly more alarmed.
"Optimus!" he exclaimed. "Optimus! Talk to me! What is going on? Where does it hurt? How long has this been going on?"
"It…" he grimaced, waiting for the pain to go away. "It goes from the middle of my chest down to my abdomen." He was venting in and out heavily. "It's been on and off ever since. But it's never been this intense… or frequent."
"When did the last bout begin?" Ratchet questioned, bending over to help the Prime up. "Can you walk? I need to get you in the med bay to be examined."
"A few days ago…owww!" The leader moaned again, this time the pain so excruciating he fell on the floor on his side, and clutched his abdomen as if his very life depended on it.
Suddenly all color disappeared from Ratchet's faceplate as he saw a pool of liquids pouring down and gathering underneath the Prime's legs. The Prime hadn't soiled himself. Only one type of mechfluid existed in this particular shade of color, and it meant scrap was about to hit the fanblades right now.
"BULKHEAD!" It took him a while to recover from his shock. "HAUL YOUR GREEN AFT HERE THIS INSTANT, I NEED PRIME IN THE MED BAY FIVE BREEMS AGO!"
A/N: Do not worry, I haven't abandoned my "An Itch You Can't 'Ratch" -story! I have many more chapters planned out for it, and I promise I'll get back to it as soon as I can find the inspiration! I'm taking a small break, as I've been suffering from a writers' block of sorts and I'm trying to get the mojo back by trying to do something else instead for a while. I want you to note I haven't planned this story out for very far, so I do welcome ideas! I'm also not 100% sure about the translation of the title. If you think you know a better one - please let me know! Hope you like the story! Please rate and review! ^^