Four

Plenoptic

So many reviews…I could NOT be more overjoyed that this story has gotten such good reception. Thank you all so, so much.


"I don't feel good."

The announcement drew the attention of the little family, three pairs of optics locking onto the small silver youngling standing in his doorway, one fist rubbing his right optic while his other hand clutched the end of his blue blanket.

"What do you mean, sweetie?" Angelbane inquired, getting up out of her chair to crouch down in front of her youngest son.

"My tanks feel funny," Megatron said, placing his little hand over his abdomen and frowning up at his mother.

"Do you want some energon? Or a warm bath?"

Megatron cocked his head, considering, then shook his head. "No…I just don't feel good, Momma."

Angelbane hushed him gently when he released a soft hiccup, picking her youngling up into her arms and carrying him into the bedroom she shared with her titanic golden mate. Optimus and Sentinel shared a look before getting up as well, following the femme into the bedroom.

They found Megatron leaning over the waste receptacle, crying helplessly as he emptied his tanks violently, Angelbane kneeling at his side and cooing softly to him, rubbing his back. Sentinel rumbled softly, moving forward to pat the little mech's head gently. Optimus took it upon himself to gather his little brother's favorite blanket and toy and arrange them on his parents' berth, predicting a long day ahead of them. Megatron, being the youngest, was the automatic first priority of the royal family—there wasn't one member who would hesitate to lay down their lives to help the little mech if the situation called for it.

"Oh, thank you, Optimus," Angelbane sighed, setting her sniffling son down on the hefty berth and covering him with the thermal blankets. "There's been so much excitement around here lately, it's no wonder he's gotten sick."

"Just a little tank upset," Sentinel said gruffly, laying a hand on his son's hot little head. "The little tyke will be fine if he rests for awhile. Won't you, soldier?"

"Yes, Papa," Megatron said, sniffling and snuggling deeper under the covers, one little hand reaching up for the toy Optimus offered him.

"Optimus, is it possible that you could stay and watch him?" Angelbane asked anxiously, turning her beautiful blue optics up to her eldest. "Your father and I have to see the Council today…"

"I'd promised a femme a date today," Optimus replied, frowning. "I suppose I could cancel…"

"I'm sure she'd understand if you said a family issue came up," Sentinel said smoothly, still petting the ill youngling's head. "Go ahead and run down to the femmes' quarters and tell her."

Optimus nodded briskly, making a quick run through the family rooms and down the hall to the quarters in question. Taking a moment to compose himself, he knocked briskly on the door. Scarcely a moment passed before it slid back on its tracks, and he was greeted by five excited femmes, all extending bewildered greetings, thrilled to see him so early.

"Good morning, milord—"

"What are you-?"

"What can we do for-?"

"Are you looking for someone?"

"Um, Beta," he said uncomfortably, taking a step back—and they all took a step forward. "Is she in?"

One of the femmes scuttled away and brought forward the bot in question, pushing a pretty, pine green femme up to the front of the group.

"Hello, Prince," she said pleasantly, smiling up at him. "You're early, I'm afraid I'm not quite ready yet…"

"Ah, actually," he said nervously, rubbing the back of his helm. "A little problem came up…"

"Oh?" she said, cocking her head to the side. "What's wrong?"

"My younger brother has fallen ill, you see…Mother asked me to stay home with him…"

"Well, lovely," she said brightly.

"Right, so—wait, excuse me?"

"I absolutely love little ones," Beta said cheerfully, smiling. "I'd be happy to help you take care of him, if you'd like."

"I…that…that would be wonderful," he said, sighing in relief. "If you really don't mind…"

"Oh, no, not at all. Poor little thing, just give me the word and I'll be right there."


"NO!"

"Megatron, please, behave!"

"I don't want her! No!"

"Megatron—"

"Make her go away!"

"I thought you were supposed to be sick?!"

"Who is she?! I don't like her! NO!"

"Ah, the 'no' phase," Beta said pleasantly, cheerfully watching Optimus chase the suddenly energetic youngling around the room. Megatron paused in his sprint to hiss at the green femme before diving under the bed to avoid Optimus's lunge, sending the elder prince slamming into the wall face-first.

"Frag it, Megatron, you never act like this when Mother and Father are around!" Optimus groaned, standing up and rubbing his abused noseplates. "Come out from under there this instant!"

"Make that ugly slagger go away first!" Megatron demanded, and his brother's jaw dropped.

"…What?! Megatron, you get your sorry—rear end out here and apologize right now! That kind of language is not acceptable! I'm so sorry, Beta, I thought we'd taught him better than that…"

"Oh, it's quite alright," Beta laughed, getting onto her knees and peering underneath the berth. "I have two younger siblings at home. There's just no censoring what goes in and out of their little processors. Megatron, dear, will you come out for me? I'd love to meet you."

"Go away," Megatron spat. "Leave my brother alone, you glitchface!"

"Megatron, for the love of Primus, we've been over this already," Optimus said, frustrated, lying on his stomach and reaching a hand beneath the berth to try and drag his baby brother out. "It's not as if anyone is going to take me away from—Ouch! Did you just bite me?!"

"Jerk," Megatron grumbled, slinking further back away from Optimus's retreating hand. "Liar. Fraghead. Go rust in Pit!"

"I'm so sorry," Optimus said yet again, shaking his head slowly. "I can't believe…he's never acted like this before…"

"You two must be close," she observed. "It's a little unusual. Back on Femmax, if siblings are as far apart in age as you two are, they have very little contact at all."

"What? Really?"

"Yes…the eldest daughter is the one who will take over the estates and business, so the other is often raised by hired caretakers while the eldest is trained by the mother. At least, that's the way it is with the upperclass—I don't know about the common classes."

"Beta," Optimus said slowly, cocking his head to the side, "I've been wondering something."

"Yes?"

"On Femmax…what happens if…what happens to male sparklings? To the little mechs?"

Beta's face darkened for a moment. "Optimus, it's not good. It's not pleasant. And I don't want you to think I condone it."

"I cannot imagine any of the femmes I have met so far condoning anything unfortunate happening to sparklings," he said firmly. "But I am curious. If I am to make a Femmaxian my bride, I must know what to expect."

"I see." The green femme seated herself on the berth, folding her delicate hands in her lap. "If a sparkling is born a mech, he will be disposed of as soon as possible. The very low classes often kill the sparkling through suffocation, or they abort the spark as soon as it shows signs of being male. In the upper classes, sparklings are sent to massive facilities created specifically to house young mechs abandoned by their creators."

"They're sent away? What's the purpose of these facilities, exactly?"

"To train the mechs in 'labor.' They learn modest trades, they are broken in and taught to work hard and for long periods of time. The mechs sleep, they eat, they work, then they repeat the process. And keep in mind that those are the lucky ones."

"That's…" Optimus halted, choosing his words carefully, wary of offending the femme.

"It's horrible," Beta said quietly. "My mother gave birth to a mech when I was very young. He was sent off to a labor camp on one of our planet's moons. She did not even keep him around long enough to name him. I haven't seen him since."

"I'm sorry," Optimus said quietly, reaching out to place a hand on top of one of the femme's. "I can't even imagine…to lose a sibling so abruptly..."

"I was too young," she sighed, smiling bitterly. "I didn't even understand that he was my brother. He was just a…a thing that my mother produced. A mistake. It wasn't until I was much older that I realized I'd lost not an object, but a family member. A precious little brother that I could have raised and loved and cared for." Venting away a breath of stale air, she stood up, turning to smile down at the mech. "But, Prince, let's not talk of this anymore. It's not good conversation material for a first date. How about we see to your little brother, hm?"

"Ah, yes, of course," he said quickly, getting to his feet and dropping to a crouch again. "Megatron? Are you ready to behave?"

There was a silence, and then the little silver youngling crawled out, hesitating with his head halfway exposed, big blue optics blinking up at the bigger bots hovering over him.

"Sorry about biting you, Optimus," he said in a small voice. "And I'm sorry for being so mean."

"It's alright," the future Prime said gently, extending a hand to the little mech. "Come on out, Megatron."

The little mech pulled himself out, scooching out on his stomach, before climbing to his feet and tucking his hands behind his back, looking meekly up at his brother. Optimus smiled, reaching down to whisk his baby brother into his arms before turning to face the beaming Beta.

"Now then, Megatron," he said smoothly. "How would you like to properly greet a Femmaxian lady?"


"…He fell asleep…"

"Finally…"

"He was so energetic…"

"Agreed…"

The Prime's quarters were trashed—toys, energon cubes, shattered holocubes, remote controls, and blankets littered the floor. Not one inch of the spacious apartment had been spared the youngling's wrath. Megatron had had a field day, making as much mess as he could, his naughtiness heightened by the knowledge that Optimus and the pretty green femme would follow behind him and clean up all of his messes.

Unfortunately, both of his caretakers had collapsed of exhaustion several breems ago, and were now strewn about on the couch in the main living area, staring dolefully around at the enormous task that still awaited them.

"It was fun, in any case," Beta sighed happily, turning to cast a radiant smile at her exhausted companion. "You're wonderful with younglings, milord."

"Thank you," he replied warmly, but then found that he couldn't really think of much else to say. Beta was a lovely femme, warm and kind and with a spark like gold, but the attraction just wasn't there for him. All he could think about was how handy she'd be serving in a military environment, what a good subordinate she'd make. His father was rubbing off on him.

"Shall we get to cleaning up, then?"

"Ah…no, why don't you go down to the banquet hall? You've done more than enough for me, and this was supposed to be a date, too. I'll clean up here and be along with Megatron at some point or another."

"Are you sure?"

"Quite sure," he said, getting to his feet and offering her his hand. "Thank you for the day, milady. It was more fun than I've had in a long time."

"I'm glad." And there it was. An awkward silence, the first of the day, mech staring at femme. Mech not really attracted, femme obviously very attracted and hoping he'd make a move. Awkward, awkward situation.

"Well," he said, forcing a smile, "I'll see you in a bit, then."

He grimaced internally at the shadow of disappointment that passed over her face. But she smiled and nodded and left, without a tear shed or a single angry word passing from her vocalizer, and he relaxed visibly, collapsing back down onto the couch with a sigh.

"You okay?" Megatron questioned, rolling over with a ball and looking up at his big brother.

"Yes, but no thanks to you," Optimus said flatly. "You're supposed to be in recharge. Did you have to behave like such a little monster?"

"She's not fun enough. Don't bond with her."

"I wasn't planning on it. There's just no attraction."

"I think she liked you."

"Yes, I think so too." The future Prime shuttered his optics, exhaustion seeping into every joint of his being. With a groan, he stretched his legs out to prop his feet on the table, a soft purr escaping his vocalizer as his hydraulics depressurized. Megatron took advantage of his brother's prone state, scrambling into the huge mech's lap and curling up comfortably.

"Hey," Optimus mumbled, already feeling his processor falling victim to his recharge cycle. "Get off…go clean up…"

"That's your job," Megatron replied, heaving a long yawn. "Besides, I'm tired…"

"I am too…"

"And whose fault is that…?"

"Yours…"

One joor later, Sentinel Prime and Angelbane replied from the dinner service with the lord and ladies of Femmax, perfectly ready to berate their eldest son for skipping out again—and completely forgot all thoughts of punishment at the sight of their two sparklings stretched out together on the couch, Megatron slouched against his brother's chestplates, Optimus's thick arms wrapped around his youngling, both snoring gently.

Sentinel gave his mate's fingers a squeeze, his gaze softening when she turned her happy, luminous optics up to him.

"They're wonderful," she murmured, looking back at her sons, her spark swelling and overflowing with adoration. "Both of them. We're so lucky, Sentinel."

He rumbled his agreement, slipping an arm around her waist and pulling her into his immense golden frame. She giggled when his fingers traced the hollow of her hip, swatting his hand away.

"Sentinel!" she scolded, sounding scandalized.

"What?" he inquired, smirking down at her mischeviously. "Both of the little ones asleep, the Femmaxians out of the way, no duty tonight…can you really blame me for desiring my beautiful little femme?"

"Little?" she growled, poking his chest accusingly, and had to stifle a yelp when he abruptly swept her up into his arms, carrying her swiftly into their bedroom. She looked up at him as he lowered her tenderly onto the berth, her delicate fingers tracing the hard, strong lines of his jaw. His own thick digits hooked beneath her chin, turning her face upward so he could lean in and kiss her lovingly, molding his mouthplates to hers. She sighed softly, shuttering her optics and wrapping an arm around his helm, pulling her down onto the berth with her. He broke their kiss to lower his mouth to her throat, whispering sweet nothings as he pulled her tightly into his arms, pouring his love for her into their bond.

She truly was a beautiful femme, inside and out. Regally beautiful faceplates, smooth, pearly white armor that glowed like a nova when the sun struck it just so—long limbs and the softest curves he could have ever imagined. Her spark was the gentlest blue, so blue it was nearly white, subtle and cool like a breath of fresh air. He'd long loved her, loved her before he'd even worked up the courage to speak to her, and she'd accepted him so freely, understood him so completely…from the moment he took her hand, he'd known that he'd be bonded to her.

And he remembered, so vividly, how young they'd been when Ratchet had identified the tiny spark growing alongside hers—the incredible glow of her optics when she looked up at him, stunned and overjoyed beyond words. He remembered how she looked holding their firstborn, how her optics had softened and her lips curled into a tender smile, how lovingly she'd kissed their first son's head, the tender adoration that had colored her sweet voice when she spoke Optimus's name for the first time.

"Angel," he hummed softly, kissing her gently, his warm hand lovingly caressing her cheekplate. "What in Primus's good name did I do to deserve you?"

"Don't be silly," she whispered, her arms entwining around his neck and holding his face close to hers. "You've had my spark from the moment we met." Her mouthplates brushed sweetly over his, one small finger reverently tracing the seam of his chestplates.

"You want to merge?" he asked quietly, catching her hand in his and lifting it to kiss her palm. She mumbled something incoherently, pulling him in again and brushing her lips against his.

He smiled, cradling his beloved in his arms, his chestplates parting soundlessly. "I shall take that as a yes…"


Baron stepped lightly from the shower unit, rubbing the soft towel over the many planes of his armor, enjoying the slight tingling of his protoform as the soap's foreign chemicals gently burned away the residual grime hiding in the nooks and crannies of his immense chassis.

"Sephy, you really must try their baths," he said happily. "I know you've just been wiping down with cleansers from home, but that was simply superb."

Sephirium moved to the next section of her holocube, but did not reply. Baron entered the room and stood behind the couch, placing his thick black hands on her dainty shoulders.

"What are you doing?" she inquired emotionlessly, not even lifting an optic.

"Touching you," he growled softly, leaning in to drop one hand to her abdomen, the other sliding down her smooth, round thigh. "And you can drop the pompous act."

"It's not an act," she said flatly, slapping his hands away. "Leave me be, Baron, I'm in no mood to entertain you."

The mech halted for a moment, considering, and then, without warning, abruptly vaulted himself over the back of the couch, knocked the holocube from her stunned hands, and threw her onto her back, pinning her beneath him.

"Baron!" she fairly shrieked, starting when he pinned her wrists above her head. "What are you doing?!"

"Dominating my mate," he growled, lowering his head to nip at her throat. "As males are wont to do. Why are you being so cold to me? Do you not love me? Did you not choose me from the thousands of mechs waiting on your every whim?"

"Get off of me! How dare you! I'm above you, I'm superior to you, I'm—"

He snarled and silenced her with a firm kiss, thrusting his glossa into her mouth and tasting her thoroughly before withdrawing, glaring down at her teary optics.

"No," he growled softly, golden optics narrowed dangerously. "You're not above me. You're not superior to me. We are sparkmates. We are equals. I do happen to love you, Sephirium. I put up with all of your ridiculous, self-righteous bull slag because you are my universe. But as much as I care for you, dearest, and as much as it would pain me to be away from you, if you continue to treat me like your slave, like an object that you just happen to possess because it is convenient for you, I will not hesitate to leave."

"You wouldn't," she said in a small voice, staring up at him, bewildered. "It would kill us both."

"I'd rather die than continue on in this sad excuse for a sparkbond," he said flatly, and she found herself abruptly released, his body moving off of hers. She lay still for a frozen moment, listening to his heavy footfalls as he stalked towards their bedroom. Sitting up slowly, she turned her head to see him hovering in the doorway, his back to her, head down and immense hands clenched into tight fists.

"Baron?" she squeaked out, lifting herself off the couch. "Baron, say something."

When he didn't comply, she stepped around the couch and approached him cautiously. He stiffened at the sound of her approach, but determinedly said nothing.

"Baron," she breathed, and her fingers reached out to tentatively touch his broad, strong back, the touch whispering along the scars etched deep into his protoform—scars given to him by previous owners, merciless femmes whom he could never quite satisfy. She wondered if those physical wounds or the wounds she herself had inflicted on his spark hurt more. "Bar—"

And then he was upon her, turned around and clutching her tightly to his form, face buried in the crook of her neck and shoulder, hands tightening around her delicate frame.

"Why?" he whispered, speaking directly into her audio. "Why would you bond with me if you had no intention of loving me?"

Her vision blurred, and she released a broken sob, shaking her head back and forth, denying, confirming—her spark was tearing itself in two at her mate's pain. Delicate arms wound around his waist, and her face dropped against his collar armor, bright tears streaming down her faceplates as she cried against him.

"There's my girl," he mumbled, falling to his knees and pulling her with him, cradling her in his arms. "There's my little femme. Shh, it's alright…it's alright…"

She couldn't speak, so she opted to continue crying, allowing him to hold her, comfort her, act like her sparkmate for once. His frustrations were understandable, reasonable—but it was just so hard. To show affection to her sparkmate would mean discrediting herself as Femmax's ruler, a position she would not—could not—give up.

But she did love him. It wasn't something she could admit openly, not to her friends, her daughters…not even to him, for fear of what he might say. She'd always loved Baron, from the moment he'd been assigned as her bodyguard when she was just a princess herself. She'd denied the feeling, fought it down, suppressed it, but inevitably her spark had called out to his, and inevitably he'd called out to her as well.

There was no such thing as courtship on Femmax. She told her parents she desired the mech, and they'd given him to her, brought him bound and chained to her berth and given her the key. His hands had been locked behind his back, his legs linked by a long chain so running was out of the question; a thick brace had been secured around his helm to keep him from shouting or biting his captors or mistress. Sephirium was confused by how dispirited he'd been when he was brought to her room. She'd been expecting him to be elated—she was sure he'd been just as attracted to her as she'd been to him. To bed a Femmaxian princess was every slave's dream come true. But he'd been sulky and upset, glowering at the floor as she undid his bonds and ordered him onto her berth.

And then he surprised her…because he was the best lover she could have ever imagined. He dominated her completely in the berth, kissing and touching and taking her with vigor, with passion, eagerly, and she was satisfied, because he'd clearly realized what a privilege it was to be allowed to steal away her innocence.

Why, then, had he remained so angry? He tailed behind her with brooding optics, answered her questions with a dark, almost murderous tone, avoided her in their quarters. He was only enthusiastic in bed. She knew she shouldn't have cared—he was, after all, merely a portable container for the material she needed to produce her heir—but it bothered her. She tried everything to make him behave—she hit him, she had him whipped, starved, contained, but his attitude towards her was relentlessly cold.

She'd tried a different approach after that. Growing up, her father had given her a technopuppy to play with. She remembered vividly that it had grown hostile when she hit it, so she'd instead given it treats when she wanted it to do something. It had grown amicable after that. Surely the same technique must be applicable to slaves.

She tested her theory while he was in the shower room, dutifully scrubbing his armor—his mistress wouldn't let him near if he bore a speck of dust. Hesitantly, wondering if she could lower herself to do it, if she would lose what little control over him she already had, Sephirium had gathered up a cloth and brush and washed his back.

The memories played back clearly in her mind—the way he'd frozen, surprised, the way he'd relaxed under her light touch, the way he'd turned and looked at her. He'd scooped her up against the front of his frame and pinned her to the wall and made love to her—made love to her rather than just interfaced with her, and there was a fullness in his kisses that made her spark flutter and dance in its casing.

They'd bonded that night, entwined on her berth, as they were meant to when he was first given to her, and Sephirium had never forgotten the words he'd spoken to her as their sparks came together for the first time. "Make no mistake," he'd whispered, speaking softly against her lips. "You are mine. Not the other way around. You belong to me, sparkmate."

"I belong to you," she sobbed openly, and Baron jerked in surprise, staring down at his Queen. "I'm yours," she went on, turning her teary face upwards to look at him. "Oh, don't you understand, Baron? I'm yours!"

A smile spread over his faceplates, and he chuckled softly, pulling her in close and hugging her gently. "I know, milady, I know," he sighed. "You've been mine from the moment I set optics on you. But I could never ask you to sacrifice your throne for me, so while we're in public, we can pretend that you're the owner, yes?"

She laughed weakly, shuttering her optics, searching out their bond and grasping on to his stoic, strong spark. "Of course, of course…"

"But here," he purred, nipping at her throat, "when we're alone, you are no queen, understand? You are my sparkmate, and I shall touch you as I please, love you as I please, hold you as I please. A fair give-and-take, wouldn't you say?"

"I would," she murmured, her sobs quieting as his strong hand rubbed her back. "Baron, I—I do love you, honestly I do. But you are only a mech, after all."

Something stabbed, hard and familiar and relentless, into his spark. Only a mech. A little less than a sentient, feeling being. Society had implanted that idea in her head, and he felt that it could be a long time before she ever truly saw him as an equal.

So, for the time being… "Of course, dearspark. So no more tears are to be shed for this unworthy mech, understand? You'll have stains on your lovely faceplate, milady."

"Yes, yes," she sighed busily, standing and wiping her optics. "Excuse me. I'll go shower. You prepare the berth…please."

"I shall do so," he responded warmly, getting to his feet. He leaned in, stealing a kiss from her supple lips before turning on his heel and marching into the berthroom.

Only a mech indeed.


While Optimus was entertaining his many, many guests, Elita took it upon herself to learn about this alien species known as "mechs."

It wasn't as if she'd never been in contact with a male—she spent plenty of time with her father, and her family had tons of servants to wait on her hand and foot, but she'd never really known one personally. There weren't many mechs on base in whom she had particular interest—they all fit the stereotype she'd come to know and resent so well back home. Loud, raucous, irritating, crude, lowly mechs. Optimus was the only one she'd met who'd come close to being even remotely civilized.

Optimus…the thought of the mech still got her spark racing, though it had been days since he'd knelt before her and kissed her hand. His optics had smoldered up at her, whispering of things she could not even begin to imagine—love and passion and lust and understanding. The thought of a relationship with a mech, of all beings, had not even crossed her processor when her parents had asked her to venture to Cybertron, but now she couldn't seem to chase away the wonderings about what it would be like to be his.

Of course, she couldn't even get a moment to talk to the mech—the other Femmaxian guests were all clamoring to get a piece of him. Beta had returned to the dorm in tears last night, Arcee already loved the mech like a brother, Thunderblast had been smitten and then smited, and Moonracer was completely taken with him. Optimus was proving himself to be a very hot commodity.

Who was it that was with him today? Firestar? War-like and belligerent and crazy, that one. He'd taken her to…the arenas? The gladiatorial rings? Something of that nature? Elita had seen them leaving, and he'd seemed hesitant, nervous, unsure, while the fiery red femme swung on his arm and encouraged him onwards. She'd been raring to visit the rings since her arrival on the planet, and to go on the arm of Cybertron's esteemed, handsome young prince only made the trip all the sweeter.

Elita sighed, taking a seat outside in the palace's gardens, watching the mechs and femmes and couples strolling around, some alone, some in deep conversation with a partner or laughing and lounging with friends. She hadn't expected to feel so lonely. Normally she had Chromia, but her bodyguard was busy dragging poor Ironhide all over Iacon, making him wait on her hand and foot. She still hadn't given him her name, but he was working diligently for it. Elita almost let herself wish that Optimus would pursue their connection as vigorously as Ironhide did his and Chromia's.

Arcee appeared to have some mech to spend time with, though Elita hadn't seen the bot. She could just tell, just by looking at her sister's face and the happy bounce in her step—she was smitten with some young mech. But Elita hadn't seen any mechs Arcee's age anywhere near or within the palace…that worried her a bit. As long as Arcee didn't start removing her armor for anyone, Elita felt that she could trust her little sister's judgment.

"Elita? What are you doing out here all by yourself?"

Her head snapped up, thwacking solidly against the statue upon which she was leaning. "Ouch…Optimus? That's a better question for you, milord. Where's Firestar?"

"Ah, the rings were closed. Apparently someone was, er, skewered in the last match, they had to clean up." Elita felt her faceplates grow hot when the prince sank to the ground beside her, sighing and looking up at the dark sky. Even in the middle of the day, the sky was dark—Elita had only barely caught a glimpse of the sun. "Are you enjoying your stay?"

"I suppose. I haven't left the palace much since…well. Since your outing with Thunderblast, I suppose. Mo—Lady Sephirium wasn't happy that I was wandering around by myself."

"I guess not. The marketplace is no place for a femme to be on her own," Optimus said, frowning, and suddenly found Elita on him like a sharkticon.

"Oh? And why's that? Because femmes aren't strong enough to defend themselves? Because we can't be trusted on our own? Because—"

"A lot of femmes have been attacked in that area," he cut in quickly. "Rapes, kidnappings, murders…they're just targeted. Father can't seem to stop it. Femmes are simply less likely to be attacked if there's someone else with them."

"…Oh. I see. I apologize, then."

They lapsed into silence, Optimus staring at the sky, she at the ground. Frag. Here she'd been so desperate to sit and talk with him, and now that she had him…what was she supposed to say? She wanted to know more about the way her spark behaved around him, but it suddenly felt odd to ask him about it. What if he hadn't felt what she had? What if his kissing her hand had merely been a fluke—what if it was a courtesy he'd meant to extend to everyone and simply forgotten about until her name was called? But he hadn't kissed anyone after that…

"I'm sorry if I embarrassed you."

"Pardon?" she inquired, turning her gaze up to look at him. He was still staring at the sky, but now she had the feeling that he was avoiding her optics.

"The morning we met. I'm sorry if I embarrassed or implicated you in front of the others. I hadn't meant to. I was acting impulsively." He glanced down at her, saw her staring at him, then looked up again quickly. "I apologize if I made you uncomfortable."

"…Oh. Oh, no, not at all. Really. I was…surprised, certainly, but I wasn't treated poorly because of it."

"I see. I'm glad." Hesitating, he glanced down at her. Her armor was touching his lightly—she felt a little warm. Flustered, perhaps, surprised by his sudden apology.

"Is there somewhere you'd like to go?" he asked kindly, tilting his head to survey her face a little better. "You must be getting restless, being cooped up in the palace all day. Firestar was so dejected that she opted to go back to the dorms, so I've the whole day to myself. I'd love to take you out if there was something you wanted to see."

"Nothing in particular," she said absently, tracing and idle pattern on the ground with a finger. "Like I said, I didn't come here for the experience, or even to get myself a mate. I came because my mother forced me."

"She must be a powerful femme, to want to establish connections so badly."

"Well, yes. She is…quite influential."

"…Then I've struck out, it would seem."

"What do you mean?" she asked, looking over at him, to find him shifting restlessly, stretching out onto his back and folding his arms behind his head.

"Ah, you didn't notice? That was a very, very roundabout way of asking you out," he chuckled, sighing and shuttering his optics. "Guess I'll just have to keep working at it. I'd been looking forward to spending time with you, but I was rejected pretty thoroughly, it would seem."

"…Huh? I wasn't…you should have just asked instead of being so obscure! Idiot mech!"

"Oh?" He sat up, smiling brightly at her. "Does that mean you'll go with me?"

"Where?"

"Anywhere. Does it matter? I just want to know you."

She stared at him, mesmerized for a moment by the incredible blue of his optics, and then she placed both hands on his broad chest, pushing him away. "Don't say that sort of thing with a straight face! Honestly! No wonder the others are falling over themselves to get at you!"

"What? They are?"

"Yes, of course they are," Elita snorted, irritated. "Moonracer won't shut up about you, and Beta is convinced you're her sparkmate already."

"Unbelievable," he said, shaking his head. "I hadn't expected that at all…"

"Well, you did go out of your way to make them all as happy as possible, did you not?" she inquired, arching an optic ridge at him.

"As is required of me. I have to find a bondmate out of your group," he sighed, frowning at the ground. "But, listen, Elita…if at all possible, try to discourage their notions of me. I do go out of my way to be especially kind and open, but it's not…me."

"Isn't it? You seem like a perfect prince to me."

"I'm not," he replied, his frustration bleeding through his voice. "I'm the future Prime. I have to act like something of a god. I can't afford to be anything less than perfect. Which is why I need to find a sparkmate who will accept me exactly as I am, so I don't have to pretend. Does…does that make sense?"

Elita gazed at him for a moment, then nodded. "Yes. I understand. I mean, I'm not sure exactly what it means to be a Prime, what such a position entails, but I know it's important. A Prime is something of a king to the Cybertronian people, correct?"

"Yes, essentially. There's more to it than that, however. In addition to being the voice of the people, the Prime is also a military commander, a leading political figure, the executive decision maker for the entire planet. He must be nothing short of an immortal."

"…Hm. Sounds like a lot of pressure. I can understand why you'd be so desperateto have a mate you didn't have to be flawless around. Someone who would understand you…"

"Yes. But, ah," he rubbed his helm with one hand, suddenly awkward, "I'm sorry to drop that on you so abruptly. It was a little inappropriate…"

"I don't mind," she said quietly, glancing up at him from beneath the slender hood of her helm. He averted his optics quickly, not realizing that he'd been staring at her beautiful porcelain face. "I…feel like I can trust you, Optimus. To a certain degree."

"…Does that mean you'd like to go out?"

She threw her arms into the air, throwing herself down on her back. "Sure. Why not? You're absolutely incorrigible, do you know that?"

"I shall take that as a compliment."

"Don't."

"Where would you like to go?"

Elita sighed, rubbing her foreplate, trying to ignore the happy fluttering of her spark. "The Crystal Gardens. I've heard a lot about them. If it's not too much trouble…?"

"No trouble at all," he said brightly, jumping to his feet and offering her a hand. "Praxus is only a breem away by magnet train. We'll hop a transport to the station and be there in no time."

"Wonderful," she said faintly, cautiously placing her hand in his, her spark jumping at the physical contact when his warm fingers wrapped gently around hers. He pulled her up effortlessly, overestimating how much strength he'd need so that she almost bumped her nose into his chestplates. They both paused, overwhelmed by the thudding of their sparks, nearly nose to nose with her hand still clasped in his.

"Sorry," he mumbled absently, completely taken with the ethereal light of her optics. "I didn't…mean to…"

"It's fine," she breathed, taking a hesitant step back and gently pulling her hand from his. He found himself missing the warmth immediately.

They stood in silence for a moment, Optimus clenching and unclenching his fist and wondering if he should try to take her hand again—she wondering if she should reach out and let him. Things were moving much too quickly for her liking—she barely knew this mech, she didn't really know this mech at all, yet she wanted nothing more than to allow him to hold her hand.

"So," she said awkwardly, looking up at him cautiously. He returned her gaze openly, cocking his head and dimming his optics gently. "These Crystal Gardens…just how beautiful are they?"


It was beyond breathtaking.

They arrived as night was falling, as Cybertron turned its face away from its distant sun. Elita had been worried that there'd be little to see in the dark, but Optimus had just smiled knowingly and guided her from the transport. He neglected to mention that the crystals were naturally luminescent until they were on the threshold of the gardens, as the last light of the day died.

"Shutter your optics," he murmured suddenly, placing a hand on her shoulder and tugging her back gently.

"I beg your pardon?" she snorted, glancing up at him. He smiled, patting her consolingly.

"Please? Just for a moment."

"Why? Planning on kidnapping me?"

"Femme, don't argue with me," he growled playfully. "This will be more exciting if you're surprised."

With a snort, she placed her hands over her optics. He waved a hand in front of her face to ensure that she wasn't peaking, then placed his hands on her shoulders and guided her forward, through the great marble arch that marked the entrance to the Gardens and onto the little stone path.

"Alright," he murmured, "open."

Cautiously, she spread her fingers, peeking out, then dropped her hands completely, stunned. Optimus stood before her, hands clasped behind his back, smiling, bathed in ethereal emerald light from the winding crystal spires and columns behind him. The entire garden was aglow in radiant light, each crystal casting a soft field of green about it, the air shimmering and alive with energy.

"Well?" Optimus inquired, smiling at her astonishment. "What do you think?"

"It's amazing," she breathed, stepping forward and brushing her fingertips cautiously over the smooth surface of a nearby crystal. "It's incredible…I've never seen anything like it. They glow by themselves?"

"Yes…they contain a gas within their structure that reacts strongly in the dark. Beautiful, aren't they?"

"Oh, Optimus, they're gorgeous." She turned to face him, radiant face beaming up at him in the crystalline glow. "Thank you."

He felt his spark jump against is casing, and he broke the optic contact quickly, not trusting his face to hide his emotions. "Ah, well…shall we walk, then? The inner rings are even more spectacular…"

He wasn't lying. The place was a maze of color, a world all its own. The further into the Gardens they traveled, the more complex and alien the crystals became. Flowery little blue ones sparkled at her feet, while white infernos towered overhead, home to the vine-like yellow colonies.

Optimus could only watch, amazed and endeared, as the strong, stoic wall the Femmaxian had placed between them began to crumble. From beneath her calm exterior shone an excitable, adventurous femme, full of life and energy, a real breath of fresh air for the prince. Her smiles became more frequent as the night progressed, her voice began to lift in laughter.

"It's amazing," she laughed breathlessly, finally taking a seat at the base of a fantastic pink pillar. "I didn't know things like this even existed."

"These crystals were brought here by some researchers who went to a foreign planet outside of our system," Optimus explained, taking a seat next to her and stretching his legs. "They somehow have the ability to multiply all on their own. We're still studying them. Obviously they're just minerals, but they seem to have minds of their own."

"Fascinating," she murmured, reaching out to touch a budding blue crystal by her foot. "They really do seem to be…alive, somehow. Everything about this planet seems to be alive. It's all metal and alloys, but it's like it's…moving."

Optimus paused, hesitant, before saying slowly, "Some will argue that it really is alive."

Elita looked up at him, startled. "Really? How do they justify that?"

"…Our principal deity, Primus. Some say…" he halted, then continued cautiously, "some will say that Cybertron is Primus himself. Primus transformed, dormant, at rest. That the core of our planet is Primus's spark, from which all life on Cybertron stems and to which it must return."

"…Do you believe it?"

He was quiet for a moment, considering. "…I really do not know what to believe. I suspect that Primus's secrets will be revealed to me when I inherit the Matrix of Leadership."

"What is that?"

"An ancient artifact that dates back as far as we can imagine. It is said to contain a small portion of Primus's spark. It is given to the Prime so that he can serve as the link between Primus and his people."

"And you're to receive it when you become Prime? That's amazing, Optimus," she said wonderingly, shaking her head slowly. "To inherit the essence of a god…what an honor."

"…One could call it that," he intoned softly, his optics dimming. "But it's…it's a curse as much as it is a blessing."

"…A curse?"

"Whoever inherits the Matrix inherits all of the memories of its previous holders. All of their knowledge and recollections are stored within its depths. When I receive the Matrix, I will see the lives of my predecessors—their births, the conflicts they faced…their deaths. And…none of the previous Primes have died peacefully."

A tense silence wavered between them before Elita reached out, touching his arm lightly. He turned his head to gaze down at her, the worry in her optics nearly piercing his spark.

"How…how have they died?"

He sighed, placing his hand over hers, comforted by the warm touch. Much to his surprise, she did not pull away—on the contrary, she scooted in closer, leaning against him gently.

"Prima was the first Prime, as far as we can tell. He was slaughtered while fighting Unicron, for which purpose he was created. Primon, the second, was murdered by a radical assassin. Nova Prime left Cybertron to explore the furthest reaches of deep space, and never returned."

"That's horrible," Elita said, her optics wide. "Your father is the Prime…do you worry for him?"

"Yes…all the time. I shall do my best to protect him, but I have a foreboding in my spark…something awful will happen to him, I can feel it. Something that no one could have ever imagined."

Elita tightened her grip on his arm, and he smiled down at her, patting her hand gently.

"Don't fret, Elita. It's not something you need to worry about. My father is a strong, capable mech. He will not go down without a fight, of that I am certain."

She returned his smile, and his spark jumped when she laid her head against his shoulder, shuttering her optics lightly.

"I once heard your father speak of 'The Thirteen.' What is that?"

"Ah. Well, it is said that Primus created thirteen Cybertronians in order to help him war with the Chaosbringer, Unicron. We do not know all of their names—they have been lost to the ages—but we do know that they were led by Prima. Another was Vector Prime, the guardian of time and space; another was Nexus Prime, the guardian of energon. There is some talk of a being called the Liege Maximo, who supposedly left Cybertron to create an army superior to Prima's. And then, of course…there's…"

He trailed off suddenly, staring distantly at the ground, and Elita had to shake him to pull him from his stupor.

"Optimus? There's another?" she prompted gently.

"…Oh. Oh, yes there is. His true name is not known. All we know is that he betrayed The Thirteen and allied himself with Unicron. He is known simply as 'The Fallen.'"

"The Fallen," she repeated softly. For some reason, she felt a chill down her back, and her spark seemed to tremble in its casing. It was a foreboding designation. "Is he…is he alive today?"

"It is believed that the Fallen cannot truly be destroyed," Optimus said quietly, his optics narrowing. "That he integrated with Unicron himself and therefore immortalized himself across universes. But the fact that he is only the stuff of legend and speculation supports that he has at least been silenced, for now. And no one is sure of the whereabouts of the other Thirteen—it is said that Vector Prime wanders time and space, watching over us silently, and that Nexus Prime lives at the core of Cybertron and guards the vast energon stores there. But no one can be sure."

"What about your father? Do you think he knows?"

Optimus cocked his head, considering. "…It is possible. He is forbidden to speak to anyone of what the Matrix revealed to him. I shall know as well, when I become Prime. Until then, I cannot claim anything with certainty."

They fell into silence for a time, comfortable to sit together. He was very aware of her closeness—her slender body resting against his frame, her small hand held gently in his—and he found himself afraid to move, lest the connection between them be broken.

"Elita?" he asked softly after a time, turning his head to gaze down at her. She really was a beautiful femme. Delicate looking, small in stature, but there was a blazing sort of strength hiding behind her azure optics. "May I…see you again?"

She was silent for what felt like a portion of eternity, but then her arm laced with his, and she entwined their fingers. "I do believe I would like that, milord."

A wide smile spread over his face, and he leant his head gently against hers, shuttering his optics. Elita snuggled against him, smiling faintly when his fingers tightened marginally, as if he were afraid she was getting up to leave.

"Relax, you," she whispered, turning her face into his broad shoulder. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Good," he murmured, the brief tension leaving him. "I think I like you just where you are."

They drifted into recharge there, hand in hand, listening to the steady beat of one another's pumps and the racing excitement in their own sparks.


Shi-bang :D You guys have been wonderful about reviewing—don't give up! :D

Many, many thanks to Black Oracle, who has been helping me organize my thoughts and discover some plot points that I need to hit with this story. There you are, sweetie! Baron and Sephirium's relationship revealed. It definitely just flowed, I had no problem writing it at all. I won't proofread it, because then I'll second guess myself, and I feel like I hit the nail on the head with this one.

Coming up next—Ironhide and Chromia fooling around, Optimus goes out with yet more femmes, Elita gets a little jealous. Hooray :D