Chapter Two
Plenoptic
I have no idea what the Cybertronian substitute for TV would actually be, so I just went with television. Try not to let it ruin the story for you.
. B E G I N . T R A N S M I S S I O N .
Social gatherings were nightmares in and of themselves. Democratic social gatherings were regular gifts from Pit. Especially since the majority of such meetings seemed to constantly be held nowhere but Decagon. Once every other deca-cycle or so, ambassadors from various regions across the planet gathered at the great military base to discuss whatever problem or solution popped into their processors. This left Lord Megatron in a very bad position indeed, as he was often the most coveted audience amongst the elderly mechs, and Elita One was often left to tag along behind him, almost as if she were a mascot.
It wasn't treatment she took kindly to.
That deca-cycle's meeting was particularly popular, as the commander, Optimus Prime, happened to be recovering on Decagon from his most recent campaign, and although he had wanted very much to hide in his quarters, his younger brother had insisted that they share the evening's pain together.
"Brotherly bonding my aft," Optimus was grumbling at present, leaning against the wall in a far corner of the room, away from prying optics. "This is the conference from Pit. The little slag-spawn hasn't said a word to me since we arrived…"
Which, all in all, wasn't really a bad thing; Optimus and Megatron frequently went orns without a word to each other. The point was that Elita was glued, against her will, to Megatron's side tonight, and if the lord was on the other side of the room, so was she. Prime sighed and shifted his weight to the other foot, wincing slightly as he rotated his wounded shoulder. The night was young yet, and already he'd been assaulted by various old senators asking for all the gory details of his campaign, none of which he was ready to relay.
But that was what Jazz was for, of course. The saboteur had proudly resumed his acting career to perform the reenactment in the center of the room for whoever wanted to watch. Which seemed to be half the room's occupants, incidentally. With a slight groan Prime realized this included his own younger brother, who was watching the performance with raised optic ridges and the occasional snort. Feeling his elder brother's optics upon him, Megatron turned, smiled craftily, and moved to join the weary commander. Which would have been a bad thing, but Elita was dutifully tagging along behind him.
"Interesting battle," Megatron murmured, leaning against the wall at his sibling's side. "So you got thrown, huh?"
"Mute it, Megs," Optimus growled, and the lord laughed lightly. "Look, he didn't throw me. I tripped. That was all."
"At least getting thrown would've been heroic," Megatron pointed out, punching his brother's arm playfully. "Sorry," he added hastily, as Optimus emitted a quickly stifled grunt of pain. "Have you been to see Ratchet?"
"Many times," Prime replied stiffly. "He's done all he can, I just need to wait it out. Hopefully it'll have healed up within the orn."
"Why the rush?"
"There's been a rebellion movement near Quintessa. I need to move out there and station troops until the situation is stable…" He noticed Elita's back stiffen slightly, as though in protest, but the femme said nothing.
"You just got back," Megatron said, frowning very slightly. "Surely you can take more than an orn to rest…"
"There is no rest for a soldier, Meggy-poo," Optimus snorted, and Megatron flinched at his ridiculous nickname. "I can rest all I want, but that's not going to bring peace."
"Peace can be achieved in other ways, brother," Megatron said solemnly, turning to face his commander in chief. "Perhaps we can reason with the rebel forces on Quintessa…"
"I'd love to," Prime replied swiftly, moaning slightly as he pushed off of the wall. "If you see fit, by all means, please try. However, I am a military combatant and I will act as such. If you'll excuse me, Megatron…Elita. I need to go find Ratchet…"
Elita turned her head away from him as he passed, unable to meet his optics, but she stiffened further more as his hand momentarily clutched at her hip. She opened her mouth, ready to call him on the too-affectionate touch, but by the time she'd gotten the nerve he was across the room and nearly out the door. She shut her jaw reluctantly, and found that her spark was hammering a dent in her chest. Trying hard to calm herself with Megatron noticing, she wrapped her arms around herself and gave her mate a very forced smile.
"I'll meet up with you later, okay?" she suggested, taking his hand briefly. "I'd like to go find Chromia."
"You mean I have to face all the ancient ones alone?" he groaned, a smile playing on his faceplates. He bent down and kissed her gently, a gesture she had to force herself to return. His lips weren't nearly as satisfying as his brother's. "Take your time, love. Enjoy yourself."
"Sure. Right. I absolutely will," she said quickly, taking a few steps back and plastering a smile on her lips before turning and walking away with speed she'd never before dreamed of achieving.
It wasn't hard to find Chromia; in fact, it was as simple as scanning the crowd for the colossal form of Chromia's mate. Who was just slightly hard to miss. At present, the couple in question were, like Prime had been, hiding in a corner, obviously partaking in a very heated argument with one another. Elita slowed her gait as she approached, unable to contain her smile; the two bickered just like sparklings.
Upon noticing her friend's arrival, Chromia looked up and smiled widely. "Elita! Quick, save me, Ironhide's being an aft!"
"Hey!" the weapons specialist snapped, hurt, and Elita laughed.
"I was just coming to get your help, as well. So let's rescue each other."
"Agreed," Chromia said vigorously, rushing forward and clutching her friend's hand. "See ya, 'Hide!"
"This ain't ovah!" he called after them as the femmes hurried away.
"Thank Primus," Chromia sighed, slowing her pace and grinning over her shoulder. "I was losing, too. You've got great timing, Lita."
"…Chromia, I need to talk to you. Like, now."
"Huh? Why? Something wrong?"
"I guess you could say that…I can't talk about it here, Megatron might hear us…"
Chromia blinked, surprised. What could be so important, so tragic, that Elita would fear her own mate overhearing? "Lita, what on Cybertron…?"
"Just come here," Elita moaned, tugging her friend towards the door. "Out on the southern balcony…"
The weapons officer obediently allowed herself to be pulled along by the rather frantic Elita, and they made their way quickly out of the busy conference room and down hallway after hallway to emerge upon the southern balcony in the cool night air. Elita released her hold on Chromia's hand and sank to her knees with a groan, burying her face in her hands.
"Idiot," she whispered. "Slaggit, Chromia, I couldn't be more of a fool."
"What are you talking about?" Chromia questioned, crouching down and prying Elita's hands from her face. "Hey, Lita. Look at me. What's wrong?"
"Optimus…"
"What about him? Did he try anything on you? Primus, never would've pegged him for a perv…"
"No, no, nothing like that…well, not really," Elita amended quietly. "…I kissed him, Chromia."
A very startled silence ensued, during which Chromia could only goggle, optics wide an mouth wider, at her best friend. "Slag," she managed weakly nearly half a breem later. "First Megatron, now Optimus Prime himself…you're on fire, love."
Elita groaned loudly. "Chromia, this isn't a joke, okay? I kissed Optimus Prime! My mate's older brother! And you know how competitive they are, this could ruin everything…"
"Okay, okay, relax," the older femme said quickly. "Just breathe, Elita, clean out those vents, atta girl…all you need to do is find Optimus and tell him the kiss was a fluke, that you were stressed out, that you had a virus, a glitch, your processor was being whacked out…"
"…I guess," Elita mumbled, unwilling to admit to the rest of the story. Like the occasional presence of his large, warm hands in places where they should not have been…places she should have shoved him away from if it weren't for the fact that she secretly enjoyed every subtle caress of his fingers, though she absolutely refused to return the gesture. If anyone saw her feeling up Optimus Prime, it would be the end of her, and quite possibly the end of him. Somehow, even with optics constantly following his noble form, Optimus's suggestive gropes seemed to escape notice (not hers, of course). The femme commander sighed heavily; it was only a matter of time before sharp optics like Barricade's ratted out their secret affair…if one could call it that. The fact was, since the tender kiss upon the roof, Optimus and Elita had said scarcely one word to each other. That fact alone would have lead her to believe that the kiss, regrettably, really was a fluke, but his invasive digits suggested otherwise.
"…You didn't mind that kiss, did you, Lita," Chromia implied gently, helping her friend to her feet.
"…I-I didn't mind, per say--I mean, I didn't try to stop him--but the fact is that it never should have happened," Elita replied helplessly. "I don't know what to do, Chromia…"
"Lita, why did you kiss him?" the weapons officer broke in carefully. This problem wouldn't be resolved until they tore apart its source, and deep down, both knew it.
"…Chromia. What…what do you think I am…t-to Megatron?"
"His lover. His mate. Someone he cares about. If I recall correctly, he pursued you, Elita, not the other way around. That should tell you something. Do you know how many femmes he regularly has on his aft? Yet he chose you. He cares about you, love, and you know it just as slagging well as I do."
The commander shook her head slowly, confused and lost. "I don't…know. I don't know, Chromia. He feels…not distant, but…I feel like I can't get into his spark. Like we're so far apart. Like I'm giving him everything I have to give, and getting nothing in return. Interface here, interface there, but no mention of spark-bonding."
"Would you bond with him if he asked?" Chromia asked skeptically, and Elita shuddered.
"Primus, no. I couldn't. Not after…he's so warm, Chromia."
"Wait, who are we talking about now?"
"Optimus. I mean, I…" Elita broke off. She was being stupid. Timid. Weak. Getting herself all worked up over a couple of mechs.
One of whom, incidentally, happened to be standing nearby.
"Elita," Optimus Prime said quietly, and both femmes jumped and whirled around, surprised.
"Optimus," she said tensely, instinctively taking a step back. "What on Cybertron are you…?"
"Chromia, could you…?" Prime gestured helplessly towards the balcony door, and without a word the weapons officer bowed herself out.
//I'll keep Megs away if I see him,// she promised over a private link with Elita. Although the younger femme didn't respond, there was an unmistakable look of thankfulness in her optics.
"How long were you there?" she promptly demanded of the mech, placing her hands upon her hips and glaring fiercely at him. "How much did you hear?"
"Enough," he replied, cocking an optic ridge. "Megatron loves you, Elita."
She blinked, taken aback by his abrupt statement. Why tell her this? Especially since Optimus himself seemed determined to have her for his own…
"But," the noble mech continued quietly, stepping closer to her. "I'm more interested to know where your spark is leading you. Who it is leading you to."
"It shouldn't concern you," she said shakily, her spark pulsing hard. She wanted to badly to run to him, cry into his neck plates…but her pride simply wouldn't allow it. "It's not something you need be worried about. If I am further concerned by Megatron's true intentions I will bring it up with him myself."
Optimus shook his head slowly, his optics disbelieving. "You don't need to be so strong, Elita."
"On the contrary," she snorted, lifting an optic ridge. "I am the mate of the single most powerful mech on Cybertron. Even he needs to collapse to someone every once in a while. When Megatron needs comfort, I can't exactly be bawling my own optics out."
"You shouldn't have that kind of responsibility placed upon you," he argued, yet his voice remained quiet. "You don't seem happy, Elita."
"And if I'm not, what is it to you?"
He sighed and closed the final distance between them, his mouth pressing upon hers, his hands clutching her hips. She pulled away almost on instinct, and although their kiss was broken, she couldn't escape from his arms.
"We can't do this," she insisted weakly, his warm touch sending tremors through her frame. "It's wrong, Optimus, we can't!"
"We shouldn't," he corrected softly, pressing his forehead intimately against hers. "We shouldn't do this. What we can and can't do isn't for Megatron to decide."
"What if I don't want to?" she challenged, and he smirked slightly.
"I know that's a lie."
"It's not!"
"So if I were to walk away right now--walk away and never give you a second glance--you'd move on? You'd continue with your life as if I were nothing more than an echo of what your happiness could have been?"
"You're overrating yourself," she snarled, drawing away from his arms. "If you honestly think I'm going to come crying to you whenever I'm in need of help--if you honestly think you can save me--then I'm afraid you're sorely mistaken."
"It wouldn't be the first time," he replied mildly. "But yes, Elita, that's honestly what I think. I think I can be of use to you. More so than Megatron, anyway."
"I don't want you to be of use to me!" she said, throwing her hands up in sheer exasperation. "Why do mechs have to think like that? Like at least one person in a relationship has to be a possession of the other? If you're honest with yourself, Optimus Prime, do you want me?"
"Badly," he replied brightly, and she slapped her forehead.
"Just forget about it, Optimus, okay?" she said pleadingly, lowering her hand to look up into his optics. "I'm sorry for…for leading you on or whatever. But that kiss was a fluke. I was stressed, I was worried about…about things…and you just happened to be there at the right time. I'm sorry. I truly, truly am, but we can't go on like this. We can't--"
"Then let's start over," he suggested, moving closer once more. "Let's forget about that kiss. Let's move on. Let's pretend we're starting with nothing between us. With nothing behind us."
"You don't get it, do you?" she groaned, shaking her head. "Optimus, I can't. I won't. Not with Megatron involved."
"Don't think about Megatron," Optimus said quietly, stepping forward and taking her hands in his. "Pretend he doesn't exist. There is no Megatron. There's you. There's me. Then what would you do?"
"…Something I shouldn't," she replied softly, lifting a hand to stroke his handsome face. "But he does exist, Prime. He's here. He's very, very real."
"Pretend he's not," he whispered, his hands wandering over her waist to rest just above her aft.
There was nothing between them. If Megatron were gone, they'd be free. The barriers would come down, one after another.
Pretend he doesn't exist.
He tilted her chin back with one finger, and his lips collapsed upon hers. She moaned and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, drawing him closer. His spark roaring with victory, he deepened their kiss, claiming the femme in his arms as his own.
Somewhere in a corner of her processor, as she melted in Optimus Prime's warm embrace, she realized she felt guilty. Her systems whirred, excited by the illicit kiss with her mate's brother. Somewhere in another corner of her processor she reveled in the irony of it all; this kind of situation usually only occurred in the sappy love programs on the television that she and Chromia normally made fun of. But, despite her misgivings, she couldn't pull away. The strong body was so close, so inviting…the young mech who cradled her in his arms was so warm…
So absorbed were they in one another that neither of the lovers noticed Megatron's optics upon them.
Nor could they have noticed the fury that seized his spark.
. E N D . T R A N S M I S S I O N .