Author's Notes: Well, I'm not sure how well this turned out, but I tried. This oneshot is a conversation fic between two characters who had a lot to deal with during the movie, and yet it was never really mentioned afterward. I've done my best to remedy that, and have written a short story about the scars left behind for Perceptor and Ultra Magnus. Ultra Magnus is a bit of a challenge for me to write because his personality is very similar to Prowl's, so it can be difficult to figure out how to write his idiosyncrasies. Thank you for checking this story out. Please review, since I love to hear from my readers :)
Failures at a Table
All of Cybertron felt the afterglow of peace. The Decepticons were defeated, Unicron was destroyed, and the Autobots were free to restore Cybertron to its former glory. Many had their doubts about Hot Rod being made the new prime, but Rodimus had managed to stop Unicron and was now working hard to bring energy back to the planet. The mood in Iacon was cautiously optimistic.
Ultra Magnus hadn't said much since the war ended. He was busy filing reports and aiding the search and rescue parties still trying to find survivors of the Unicron attack. Rodimus had named Ultra Magnus as his second in command, and everyone supported the decision. Some were disappointed that Ultra Magnus didn't become the next prime as was Optimus Prime's dying wish, but Ultra Magnus didn't seem to object to Rodimus being the prime.
On this particular evening Ultra Magnus was at the Capitol Building's cafeteria getting his energon and looking for a place to sit. He had planned on dining alone, but then he saw that Perceptor was smiling at him and motioning him over, so Ultra Magnus sucked up his frustrations and went over to the table with a neutral expression on his face plate.
"Good evening, Ultra Magnus," Perceptor greeted him with a warm smile and a nod of his head, "I trust you've been well?"
"As well as can be expected," Ultra Magnus replied, "One bit of good news is that we found two more survivors of the citywide collapse in Tyger Pax."
"Oh? Anyone we know?" Perceptor asked curiously.
"Yes, actually. Moonracer and Chromia," Ultra Magnus replied, but then his mood turned somber as he said, "I had to tell Chromia that Ironhide died in the conflict. She was devastated. It's a good thing the war is over, or she likely would've charged at Megatron's army with guns blazing. I know Chromia wasn't as impulsive as Ironhide, but it can be hard to lose a bondmate."
"Indeed," Perceptor nodded sympathetically, "I didn't know either of them very well, I'm sad to say. The only femme in their unit I had any sort of contact with was their medic. What was her name? Oh, right! It was Ambulancia. She wasn't much for conversation, but her measurements were so precise. Honestly, I'd see the perfect way she measured out medicine, and I would weep."
"That's what you meant by measurements? The way she filled medicine bottles?" Ultra Magnus asked skeptically.
"Of course. As a scope-former I take great pride in precise measurements," Perceptor explained, "I'm afraid there aren't many of my kind left anymore. The war wiped out most of us. The Decepticons saw no immediate benefit to my kind as we weren't built for battle, but rather research and discovery. Many scope-formers were accomplished medics. A good medic is...very difficult to come by these days."
Ultra Magnus could heard the catch in Perceptor's voice, however subtle, and he saw the way the red microscope's entire frame seemed to sag in melancholy. Something was definitely bothering Perceptor.
"Perceptor. Is something on your mind?" Ultra Magnus asked pointedly.
Perceptor looked at Ultra Magnus for a long moment, deciding whether or not to voice the thoughts that had been plaguing him for some time, but finally decided to go ahead and trust him.
"I've been thinking about Ratchet," Perceptor said hesitantly.
"Ratchet? I didn't see that coming," Ultra Magnus commented, "Sorry. I know you must feel a lot of grief at losing a valued colleague and friend. I didn't work with him as long as you did, but I heard he was quite a character."
"And more importantly, he was a skilled medic," Perceptor said bitterly, "It's all my fault Ultra Magnus, and no one seems to notice."
"What is your fault?" Ultra Magnus asked; concerned.
"Optimus Prime's death," Perceptor said miserably, "I was his attending medic, and I could find no way to save him. I've gone over it in my processor over and over again, but I still can't figure out how we could have saved him. I'm no medic, Ultra Magnus. I'm a microbiologist. If one of our human allies had been ill, I could have saved them, but I don't know enough about Cybertronian anatomy to do anything useful. If Ratchet had still been alive and had been there, then Optimus might still be here with us. Honestly, even Wheeljack would've had a better chance than I did. Why did they trust me to help him? Why couldn't I figure out how to save him?"
"You can't put all that blame on yourself," Ultra Magnus said firmly, "I saw his injuries same as you did. Megatron penetrated his spark. There was no coming back from that. You did everything possible for him. You lived up to everything that was expected of you. Unlike me."
"You?" Perceptor asked in shock, "Ultra Magnus, how can you say such a thing? You have served the Autobots and Cybertron for millennia with distinction and dignity. You aided in the battle with Unicron! Ultra Magnus, you are a hero."
"No, I'm not," Ultra Magnus insisted, "I failed Optimus when it mattered most. I failed to guard the matrix, and I failed to lead the Autobots when it counted. I couldn't handle myself, and I almost died on planet Junk when I couldn't make the matrix work for me. Perceptor, I wasn't even as competent as Hot Rod, Grimlock, and Wheelie. Even Wheelie performed under pressure better than me. So when I say I'm no hero, I mean it."
They sat there for a couple minutes in silence. The only sounds between them was the sipping of their cubes and the rhythmic bored tapping of their pedes on the floor. Finally, after that pregnant pause, Perceptor spoke.
"Just because you aren't the prime doesn't mean you failed Optimus or the Autobots," Perceptor told him, "It only means you're Cybertronian. No Cybertronian can do everything. Optimus was only Cybertronian as well. He didn't understand how the matrix worked any more than the rest of us do. It's an ancient technology that has been preserved yet lost to time. If Rodimus is the most qualified prime, then it is up to us to support him. That's all we can do."
"Rodimus asked me to be his chief advisor," Ultra Magnus informed him.
"Really? That's wonderful!" Perceptor beamed joyfully, "Congratulations!"
"Don't congratulate me. I can't accept," Ultra Magnus replied bitterly, "I'm not good enough for the post. You don't understand. I let everyone down. My incompetence could have cost lives. I can't be trusted with a job so important."
"Yes, you can," Perceptor replied resolutely, "Rodimus likely feels the same way that you do right now. Remember, not only was he there when Optimus died, but he tried and failed to save Optimus from Megatron. In fact, some would argue Optimus died trying to save Hot Rod. Rodimus might be prime, but he is still young. He has known nothing but war, and now he has to govern a world at peace. Now he has to reconcile the reputation of Cybertron with the rest of the galaxy. He needs someone older and wiser to assist him. He needs a confidant who isn't afraid to speak his mind yet is on his side. He needs you, Ultra Magnus. Optimus once trusted you to take his place. Why can't you be trusted to aid the mech that actually did?"
"Rodimus didn't replace Optimus," Ultra Magnus replied; a hard expression on his face, "He might be the new prime, but no one can replace Optimus."
"You're right, I misspoke," Perceptor replied awkwardly, "Rodimus cannot be the same as Optimus Prime. He has to be his own mech in order to lead a new Cybertron. You understand this better than most. That is why you are the most qualified to advise him."
"You won't let me say no, will you?" Ultra Magnus asked in a rare jovial moment.
"No, I won't," Perceptor replied with a proud smile, "You are not a failure. You are an advisor."
"And you're not a failure either," Ultra Magnus replied as he stood up with his empty cube in his hand, "You are a brilliant scientist. Even though Optimus died, I don't think that means we should forget the good work you've done. I remember Bumblebee telling me about the time you found a cure for cosmic rust. You also found a way to shrink down Autobots to microscopic size to explore the inside of a mech's body. I don't know how you can say you're not a medic. In my humble opinion, you're a great medic."
"Thank you Ultra Magnus," Perceptor replied with deep gratitude, but then remembered something and said, "Um, about the microbot experiment. You do realize the mech whose life I saved was Megatron?"
"Hm, maybe you are a bad medic," Ultra Magnus joked, and Perceptor scowled in mock anger, "Take care of yourself, Perceptor."
"You too, sir," Perceptor replied, "Congratulations on your new job."
Ultra Magnus nodded and left Perceptor to finish his cube. That mech was such a slow refueler. Ultra Magnus couldn't help but reflect on their brief conversation. While it seemed Cybertron itself was recovering, the events of the final battle for their world had taken their toll on the individuals involved.
Ultra Magnus didn't normally talk to Perceptor, at least not alone. They weren't really what could be called friends, but Ultra Magnus was beginning to understand that they had more in common than they realized. He never would've guessed such an amiable mech would have the dead spark of their previous prime on his conscience. Ultra Magnus understood. Optimus had been one of his closest friends, and he felt like he had let him down when it counted.
In the end, time only went in a straight line, and there was nothing they could do about what had happened. All they could do was cope with what had happened to them, their friends, and their world. Ultra Magnus decided he would take that advisor job with Rodimus Prime. Maybe, just maybe, he could in his own small way fulfill his dear friend's final request.
The End