This and the next two chapters have been written in sections together, so there's nothing purely sensationalist in the (warning) character death.

Only a Prime

Chapter 4

- 5 weeks later –

The viscous fluid in the cube was more liquidated metal compounds than energon, and Optimus had to make a concerted effort to drink it as he inspected the contents of the trailer from the back. He would be towing this last load of armaments to the new Base later this afternoon, much to Ironhide's consternation. The dark mech was never far away now, and it came as no surprise when the broad shadow joined Optimus's on the warm asphalt.

"Sure this is a good idea?" Ironhide asked with narrowed optics, his expression mutually dubious and concerned. "Not fully loaded yet and it weighs almost as much as you."

Forcing down another mouthful of the medicinal broth, Optimus hummed a little to assuage the mech's fears. They had been travelling back and forth between the desert and dam bases as a kind of extended patrol, moving equipment over convoluted routes just in case the Decepticons had noticed the activity and were watching. "Far from the heaviest load I've hauled, and Ratchet believes that it might help."

Ironhide nodded fractionally, his optics physically directed towards the machinery inside the trailer but his sensors fixed on the Prime. "Berth rest didn't help, so running a bit hot might be the kick it needs," he murmured evenly, internal vents gaping in a slow sigh.

The procedure had failed twice already, and the renewed attempt he knew to be scheduled shortly hung like a weight over his spark. Ratchet had told him that this was to be a learning curve, and unlikely to work immediately. It was frustrating beyond the telling not to be able to do anything in any way helpful, reduced to waiting close and willing Primus, every time, to let this next attempt work. Ratchet seemed to be doing everything that he could, he reaffirmed, watching as Optimus drained the last of the potent cube. Just a scan of it made his gustatory sensors recoil, determining that anything of that foul a composition had to be medically good. "I don't know how you're choking that swill down."

Optimus considered the cube with a grimaced smile before holding it out to Ironhide in challenge. The shorter mech shook his head stiffly, features hardening. "If Ratchet thinks that'll help get you fixed, I'd sooner have you sucking that cube dry than anything else. Speaking of which, you've got an appointment."

"Ratchet's already sent me three pings." Finishing the last of the cube with a grimace, Optimus susbspaced the container and scanned the trailer again as a distraction from the sensorial 'taste'. The weight distribution wasn't quite right, but it would have to be a human to adjust it.

Ironhide had already picked up the same thing, and could see in the narrowing of the mech's optics and the considering tilt of his head that he'd found a potential procrastination point. "I'll make sure it's ready before you get back. There's nothing much left to do now. 'Bee and Sideswipe hit Las Vegas a few minutes ago and should be at the Base inside the hour. The kids want to look around the lights a bit, first."

"I'll have my comm.s on – keep me informed," Optimus instructed softly, meeting something in the dark mech's optics but finding them averted before he could identify it. He felt a sudden urge to touch his shoulder, to offer some kind of reassurance, but he knew that it would be of little comfort and likely make his bodyguard feel even more awkwardly useless. Ratchet was being highly adaptive in his… treatment, analyzing sensor readings and projections almost constantly and adjusting his plans and procedures accordingly. He was being kept better fuelled and maintained than he had in years, and the two early miscarriages had done no harm to his systems.

The native phrase of a third attempt being charmed to succeed came to mind/

Ratchet was already at the berthside when Optimus stepped through the closing hanger doors. It was the last one to be taken to the Hoover base, looking incongruous now in the middle of the sparse Medbay. The medic didn't look up from the long needle he was making fine adjustments to - a small gesture that Optimus appreciated as a spike of trepidation worked up into his spark.

"Did you ingest all of it?"

Optimus came to sit on the edge of the berth on the opposite side to Ratchet, not yet twisting to recline against the raised back. As before, the minutes before the procedure were awkward in a way he still couldn't explain. He felt the suppression field that would soundproof the hanger as a buzzing weight. "Yes, as ordered."

A harrumph from Ratchet and he came around to face him, running a myriad of scans. "The compounds are gathering around the chamber," he announced, satisfied. To the mech's querying look, he added: "I included chemical markers to direct the deposit location of the raw materials. It's more efficient this way. Depending on how the sparklet responds to it, I may have you ingesting the mix daily to keep it saturated."

Suppressing his visceral reaction to the notion of drinking the foul concoction on a daily basis, Optimus simply nodded and waited for Ratchet to direct him. The medic was hesitating, though – obvious in the way he turned the needle around and around without really looking at it. Near it, but not at it. Finally, he flicked the tip of his pede out a little to catch Ratchet's shin, drawing his attention.

Ratchet flicked a brief, apologetic smile, before considering the needle and connected receptacle again. "The gentle approach hasn't been effective thus far, which was why I wanted to try bombarding the zygote with compounds and have you running a little hot around it to improve the charge. I'd, like to increase the charge of the budding to give it the best chance."

Optimus straightened a little as he absorbed that, immediately seeing the true undercurrent of meaning and its consequential trepidation. Budding came from an overload, and as they were keeping this 'project' strictly professional, there was no option to do it the traditional way. This left Ratchet artificially stimulating an overload through direct spark manipulation, which he'd been unconscious for when the chamber had just been installed and, weeks ago, experienced fully aware for the first time. It had felt like a sharp barb being pulled out the length of his spike, so abrupt and powerful that it hadn't been at all pleasurable in the traditional sense. There had been no warming in his systems, no swelling in his spark, just the final result forcibly dragged out of his body. To increase the charge necessitated sensory foreplay.

When Optimus didn't immediately offer a response, Ratchet sighed and set the needle next to him on the berth, folding his arms. "It would be better to keep you online, but I'll put you under if you insist. Really though, youngling, there's nothing to be embarrassed about."

"It's not that," Optimus cut in, brushing a hand over his optics. A pause as he sought the words before finally giving up, looking back to Ratchet instead. "How long do you want to build the charge?"

"At least ten minutes."

The Prime's spark made a strange little pulse at that – ten minutes, held on the absolute brink of overload and ecstasy, with a bot he could neither bury himself within or against. Perhaps it would be simpler to do things the traditional way, a sly little voice supplied from the back of his processer. Ignoring the thought, he met Ratchet's optics without reservation. "Whatever brings the best chance for a sparkling. I trust you."

Ratchet smirked good-naturedly, taking up the needle again and gesturing to the berth. "I promise not to jump your aft."

A chuckle that he knew perfectly well was in part from nervousness, the humour to dispel tension, and then Optimus swung his long legs up onto the berth, settling his shoulders back. He brought up one arm to place a fist behind his helm, thus lifting his chassis and spreading the thick plates in a way that would accept the needle. Ratchet pressed a hand against one half of his windshield and guided the needle with the other, pushing hard through the sinuous upper layers of protoform and the base of the gestation chamber. Optimus held his systems tight and still, grunting when the needle breached and then waiting in mutual silence as their already-bonded zygotes were injected inside. Ratchet emptied the syringe slowly, scanning intently to ensure that the contents were all emptied into the chamber. A zygote outside of the organ, though it wouldn't grow, would still be dangerous if it went unnoticed.

Once finished, Ratchet set the needle out of the way and came to stand alongside the Prime's chassis, one hand on a flame-patterned shoulder whilst the other warmed in preparation. Optimus's optics were steady on his, seeking assurance that Ratchet was okay with this, that he wasn't being made to feel awkward by this necessity. That his one-sided overloads looked to be coming from a bot he'd never lain with was Optimus's own issue to come to peace with.

Ratchet extended his hand though didn't make contact, giving Optimus the habitual last chance to back out. "Alright, Prime: Ready to get sparked?"

His cooling system had already cranked up a few notches, much to his chagrin, and Optimus slid his gaze to the ceiling with a sigh. "At your leisure, Doctor." Despite his tone his body stiffened, braced.

Without pause, Ratchet brought his hand to the scarred metal over the warm point of the mech's spark chamber, waiting until the body finally relaxed a little before he began to send electrical throbs out through his palm. They were gentle, more coaxing than deliberately stimulating in themselves, and he noted optical shutters closing and hydraulics sagging with a hiss in response. After thirty seconds of physically adjusting the mech to the sensation and situation, he increased the force behind his field-touching and spiralled them to caress and stoke.

Optimus's reaction was restrained, jaw tightening as his cooling vents picked up and his body shifted fractionally on the berth. Accelerating to a charge that would have an impact on the chamber below, prepared and waiting for a spark of a soul to enter, Ratchet had to exert force through his hand to keep the mech from arching.

Optimus had expected that there would be trials on the path to forging a sparkling in this way, but he'd not thought that it could be like this. His vents gasped as Ratchet dragged a line of light through his spark, just so, that sent a jolt across his systems and pooling in his groin. Already his interface cover was beginning to feel uncomfortably tight, but that was a boundary they simply could not breach. No matter how achingly needed it felt. To save himself, he bent a leg and pressed the fist that had been over his head into the curve of his hip.

Ratchet made no comment or indication that he'd seen the movement, tracing his fingers in a circle over the armour plates to vary the charges, undulating the 'pressure' in a slow rhythm. Optimus shifted again, then a soft sound like am organic inhalation from behind his faceplate, and finally a dam had been burst. The medic tightened his grip on the plates when large fingers moved to grasp the wrist of his assaulting hand. He placed his other hand over the gripping one, offering a comfort that felt wholly out of place in this scenario of deliberate pleasuring.

Aside from the secondary effects of the sight and sound of his Prime in a barely-controlled, near-torturous state of ecstasy, Ratchet was neutral. No pleasure fed back into his systems from the touch, the pulses he was sending purely clinical and the fields those that he used in a myriad of medical procedures. His scanners informed him that the powerful spark had already swollen and increased its output to levels he'd taken as sufficient to bud in the past, gravitating down towards the waiting chamber. In preparation, he triggered a series of injection lines to emerge from the back of his manipulating hand, mentally guiding their tips down and piercing through to the gestation chamber.

"I'm adding twice as much Mercury to act as a colloidal this time," he murmured, making the first addition to the chamber. It was professional habit of commentating these procedures with Optimus that had him speak, as he knew full well that he wasn't being heard. The zygotes settled into the bright fluid immediately, and the spark charge drew them up and against the wall of the chamber.

Ratchet smiled at this first success, accelerated by the compounds he'd had Optimus ingest in advance. The raw feeling of encouraged relief was quickly set aside in his processor when the big mech jerked, struggling to remain still on the berth. It was pleasure that was causing his body to twist, and his vents to heave as his core temperature rocketed, but it was a strange kind that would have been unethical without Optimus's consent. Indeed, consent was why Ratchet had wanted to keep him online for the budding, despite the discomfort.

A triple-beat pulse through the Prime's spark made him more difficult to keep still, and Ratchet could feel the eddies of the building charge as a whispery heat against his palm. The zygotes pressed harder against the chamber wall, drawn to the charge as the bud would be drawn to them. Another controlled ripple of current had Optimus groan despite obvious effort to keep the sound back. The trembling hand around his wrist tightened.

"Ratchet…. Please."

It had only been six minutes. The charge had to be as strong as possible. Had to have the best possible chance. "I'm sorry, Optimus - not yet." Mouth tightening at the moan the refusal garnered, Ratchet prepared the next line.

The second injection had taken a significant chunk out of their monetary budget, but General Morshower had authorized it without protest as part of Optimus's 'treatment'. He introduced it carefully, glad that even if this carriage failed the tiny fragments of Lutetium would remain reusable inside the chamber for future attempts. Comparatively massive amounts of iron and cobalt followed and completed the cocktail of injections. Finally, he cranked the voltage from his hand up, prepared for the buck.

Optimus received the distress signal before Ratchet could intercept it, optics spiralling wide with a gasp. "Bumblebee!"

Swearing under his vents, Ratchet jammed the Medbay of any other incoming signals, though the damage had already been done. The charge stuttered, began to diminish incrementally. At the same time as he opened a private channel to Ironhide outside, Ratchet switched the hand that had been restraining the mech to manipulate his spark and brought the other already-warmed hand to cover Optimus's own by his cod piece. With a startled shout Optimus twisted, his spark flaring past the point it had reached before, and Ratchet added even greater pressure to his touch.

:Ironhide, report.:

Across the comm., Ironhide's words were sharp. :Bumblebee and Sideswipe are under fire from Starscream and another 'Con. Jolt and Sunstreaker are inbound, but they're nowhere close.:

And neither were they. His attentions partitioned, Ratchet noted that the spark charge was rapidly nearing a terajoule of potential energy at the same time as his voice softened towards Ironhide. :Go – if the Decepticons send reinforcements-:

:I ain't leaving Prime,: came the snapped reply, adamant and assured. :Could be a scattered attack and 'Cons are inbound right now. You do your job and I'll do mine.:

Ratchet was cut off from even an acknowledgement of the statement by Optimus's spark reaching its absolute capacity for energy, blossoming violently into overload without any final push from him. He was absently grateful for the strength of the dampening field that swallowed the racket – doubtless Ironhide would have crashed through the reinforced wall had he heard the roar. When the long body sagged back into ripples of aftershocks, vents howling in an uphill battle to cool the overheated systems, Ratchet ran a quick scan.

Budding – strong and already attached to the chamber wall. All of the additional steps had worked. Ratchet gave a hard exhale, optics shuttering and hands gripping the edge of the berth.

It took another full minute for Optimus to regain himself, his chassis feeling like something hot was ricocheting about inside it and his extremities comparatively numb following the most overwhelming overload of his life. When he finally turned his head to the direction of the medic, forcing the short blast of a distress signal to the forefront of his mind, his optics narrowed with effort. "What's happening?"

Ratchet didn't answer immediately, helm tilted as he communicated internally before finally shaking his helm. "It's already over. Bumblebee and Sideswiped were ambushed en-route to the base, but Starscream and the other Decepticon are gone now."

There was a familiar quality in the mech's voice that made his tank twist, and Optimus forced the purely-physical after-effects of the overload aside to sit up. He stopped short of standing from the berth, privately uncertain that his legs would support him just yet. "Tell me."

Finally Ratchet met his optics, his face unreadable apart from those shadowed points of light already clouded with shocked, frustrated grief. "It's bad. Mikaela Banes has ceased to function."

My first time killing such a central character like this, and I was very nervous about posting it. It's very much for the plot, however, and I hope it's accepted as such.

There's a poll up on my bio about the future direction of this story, and it'd be great to have your thoughts on that.

As always, thank you for reading and a review, long or short, would be most welcomed. Particularly because I've been bricking it about uploading this chapter...