Insecticon: You, sir, are a mind reader- I had that song in the back of my head all throughout Optimus' and Elita's/Air's scenes together :D
Huge thank you's as well to reviewers and readers alike; you keep my so-called piano fingers typing away! :)
Breem= Approx. two hours
Vorn= Month
Stellar cycle= Year
xx
Ratchet's helm snapped towards the Ground Bridge portal, which glowed a bright white leaking green as Optimus emerged from the vortex.
'About damn time,' the old mech grumbled, clicking off of the data screen he'd been blankly staring at for the past breem and approaching Prime with thinly veiled impatience. Arcee was working on nudging Bumblebee awake- he'd since fallen into recharge during their wait for Optimus' return- and the two kept their distance from the leader somewhat cautiously. Optimus raised an optic ridge at their reaction, sensing the awkward silence that had settled over the base at some point during his absence.
"Another 'thorough scout'?" Arcee asked, servos over her chest and optics lowered with... concern? What had they been discussing when he was with Airachnid... Optimus nodded silently to her question while he tried to glean some understanding from Bumblebee's own stance and expression. Same optics, same hunched shoulders and door wings lowered in a defensive position. The night still hadn't ceased its little perplexities.
"Where are the children?"
"We took them home a little while ago," Arcee replied, saying nothing of the fact that it was well past midnight in their time. "Did you find out anything about the energon?" Optimus had to take a moment to remember his whole cover for leaving the base in the first place- to 'investigate' the energon stain that Airachnid unknowingly left behind.
"Yes, it- uh... appears that the source was from myself," he lied with a touch of embarrassment. "I seemed to have received an injury during my initial patrol and leaked the energon that we saw this morning." Arcee's sigh betrayed her disappointment and belief of the lie, and Bumblebee whirred in a similar tone. Ratchet would never be so easily convinced though.
"Well, if that is the case Optimus, I'll need to ensure that the injury isn't serious." When Optimus turned to face the medic, his optics showed anything but professional compassion. The blue glare was hard and burned with a harsh finality: "We need to talk." Prime felt like a Scraplet walking into a pit of acid as he followed Ratchet into the med-bay. He heard Arcee ask out loud "Where'd Bulkhead go?" before the doors hissed close and blocked out all outside noise. Optimus was trapped with the truth, and it was fast slipping from his grasp.
"Sit," Ratchet ordered mechanically, pointing a digit to the berth at his left as he flicked through his array of medical equipment. He did as instructed, leaning on the edge of the berth and trying to stop his optics from sticking to the floor. He wasn't ready to tell Ratchet about her... about them. From the way Ratchet had sat himself stone-still on the opposite berth though, it looked like he wasn't going to have a choice.
"You said you'd tell me if I trusted you. I did. I lied to the team just as you did. Now tell me what I'm betraying their trust for. Now." Optimus had rarely seen Ratchet speak so... intensely, something that he couldn't label as anger but came close enough brimming from his words. His optics never left Optimus' faceplate, and his scowl didn't shift as he awaited an answer. How could he even begin to explain? Furthermore, how could he expect him to understand?
"In that forest..." Prime began, flexing his hands on his knees and clawing into the armour seems. "There now lives a- two helpless bots. Two victims of Megatron's atrocity that I cannot allow to go unaided." Ratchet was silent for a long while, expression unchanged.
"Decepticons?" he finally asked, tone more neutral than before but optics still spilling out his current odium.
"Former." The medic shuttered his optics closed with a sigh that Optimus was unable to read any specific emotion from, lowering his helm and pressing a hand to the pounding metal. 'Primus, Optimus you're too... good for your own good.'
"And that's all you'll say about it?" Ratchet barked, servos rising to cross over his chest.
"All I can and will say for now. I need... time."
"The one thing that we have in a constant short supply."
"I realise that more than anyone, Ratchet, but..." Optimus was unable to supplement a reason, even as he furiously racked his processor for something- anything that would convince Ratchet that what he was doing was worth the effort and moral trauma. To his surprise though, the medic huffed out an air cycle of very reluctant acceptance and his optics' furious glow decreased to show simmering embers.
"I still want to examine you."
"But I am healthy-"
"No, you're not," he interrupted Prime's protest, steel optics now starting to flicker and turn away from him. "I know when something is wrong with you, Optimus. Don't think for one klick that you can hide something like that so easily. And you're not leaving this med-bay until I help you fix it."
"There is nothing wrong with me, Ra-" Optimus insisted, an edge creeping into his voice as Ratchet's scowl returned.
"They've started again," he stated bluntly, feeling almost insulted at the feigned look of ignorance that Prime put on. 'He really does think I'm a fool...' Ratchet rumbled another deep sigh, dropping his helm heavily and bringing it back up to face Optimus with his faceplate completely rearranged- optics and ridges lowered with mouth frowning solemnly.
"Optimus, if this is about Elita O-"
"Don't. Say. Her name to me." The medic was shocked by the snarl that Optimus let out, his neck holding his helm down so that his grimace was hidden. In all the time that Ratchet had known Optimus, helping him for centuries deal with the devastating loss of his spark mate, he'd never seen such an inferno of rage that leaked from the residual light of his hidden optics. Bulkhead had said that he'd seen first-hand Prime's release of grief and pure anger while on the battlefield, and had most likely suffered through outbursts on the journey back to Cybertron. By the time the Ark touched down, Optimus was but a hollow shell bled dry of any emotion. It had taken a joor before he would even talk to anyone outside of his exclusive inner circle, and even then it was simple one-word growls. Another vorn passed before he would even consider letting Ratchet help him. At the time the medic thought that he was so enveloped in grief that it was near impossible for him to think straight, but when he finally coerced Prime to receive the therapy, he saw that his ties to Elita ran far further down and wide, a complex net of tangled sweet memories that acted as his only link to a precious and precarious time before the war. And that were instantly slashed from her demise. He didn't want aid because he refused to accept the crushing reality of her death, refused to burden himself or his Autobots with even further trouble and trauma; the list of reasons he gave Ratchet was endless. But most sacred and importantly of all, he didn't want to forget her. The sting of her absence kept her eternally forefront in his mind, and Ratchet sincerely suspected that her lingering memory was all that stopped Prime from going insane those first few weeks.
"Very well, I won't," Ratchet said softly, sanding down his rough facade to adjust to the jolt of Prime's response. "But if you are going through... relapses-"
"Is that all they are to you?" Optimus growled dangerously, slowly rotating his helm to look to the medic. His scowl was etched into his faceplate, and through the film of coolant covering his optics his wrath flared up for the first time in millennia. "A simple processor glitch? Has every casualty of this Primus forsaken war morphed into nothing but some statistic for you? That's all that she is now... one spark lost in a sea of thousands. Because of him... because of me." The dreaded self-loathing was returning, and Ratchet had to stop from slapping himself for allowing the first thought in his mind to be 'more paperwork'. Of course Optimus was right. During the war every day was nothing but a blurr of death and Well-bound victims praying for nothing more than its sweet release, and like all medics that survived he allowed himself to become wholly densensitised to the suffering right in front of him.
Optimus gave his helm a frantic shake with another grimace, shuttering his optics to wipe away the coolant. He oriented the orbs back up to Ratchet, who could think of nothing to say that wouldn't set him off on an emotional rampage.
"I've already lost one life that I could have saved. And I'll be fragged if I let it happen again," he muttered, scowl evening out but still deep on his faceplate and chestplates shovelling out air cycles. "May I be excused?" he asked with a tone of furious mockery. Ratchet nodded blankly, pretending not to hear the bitter sarcasm as Optimus marched himself out of the room. The med-bay seemed to boil from the heat of his rage, and Ratchet had to suppress a shiver from the cold that he left behind.
xx
"Jazz, I need to get back to wo-"
"What'chu need, Oreo, is a free night on the town. And by Primus, I swear you will get one."
"Ugh, fine, fine, just stop calling me that!" Orion groaned as Jazz pulled him along by the servo along the shuffling line of bots bathed in neon light. When he asked Jazz what on earth they were waiting so long to see, the mech just gave a sly chuckle and told him to be patient. Orion considered such a thing to be impossible when every five klicks he was being pushed from behind by a boisterous red mech with cannons larger than Ultra Magnus' shoulder plates mounted on each servo. Said servos came ever closer to knocking him around the helm just before Orion could finally move down the line when it shifted. He knew intitiating any conversation with Prowl would be pointless- if he could even manage get Prowl to tear his yellow visor's glare away from the data pad in his hands (Orion resolved to find out just how he managed to concentrate with a set of rotors bashing into his back). So it was all he could do to sigh and just suffer through it all while Jazz busied himself with a red and orange femme in front of him, much to the chagrin of her mech companion. Seeing the jealously etched into the mech's faceplate made Orion's mind lapse to the object of his own affections- Ariel.
How long had it been since his graduation from Iacon Academy? Two, three stellar cycles? In the crushing monotony that he called his work life at the Hall of Records, time had blended together into places when he was awake and those blissful glimpses of dark that recharge afforded him. He was rarely able to see his old Academy friends nowadays; Ratchet, Blaster, Dion and others had been stationed outside of the Iacon city centre where Orion was all but confined to. He was lucky enough to have found a friend in Jazz as fellow worker in the Hall- unless he had another borrowed data pad overdue- and Prowl was a frequent peruser of the records within whenever he needed to update a police protocol or look up logged data on a bot. But Ariel was a different matter. Even though the last time he'd had the honour of seeing her was at their graduation, donned in the traditional black ceremonial armour that hugged so well to her frame, his mind still saw her as crisp and clear as ever. In the ragged and organised chaos of his life she remained the single invariable- the smiling singularity that he had slowly but surely found himself in love with. It was a classic case of a 'more than just friends' situation, but Orion had never been brave enough to confront it head-on. He had deeply valued their friendship together, and he didn't want to do anything that might upset it- or her. While in the Academy he busied himself with his studies, and his work ate up every piece of spare time that he had nowadays. While Orion was more or less accepting of it, Jazz was certainly not- and he wasn't convinced that his friend was content with such a boring lifestyle. A day of relentless harrassment and a breem wandering the Iacon high streets, and here he weas dragging this reluctant pedes along the ground with attitude to match.
"Look, Jazz, I appreciate you taking an interest in my well-being-"
"No ya' don't," he interrupted with an endearing grin.
"-but I'm not really... a fan of the whole 'social scene', you know?" Orion sighed, trying to keep an iota of politeness in his weary tone. He'd spent too many late nights in the Hall looking out over the neon-speckled streets that marked the Iacon nightlife- mechs too overcharged to even work their T-Cogs stumbling out of the bars and clubs that lined every street, and gangs cheering their sparks out for Primus knows what drunken reason- to have any desire to be a part of it.
"Tell ya' what, Orion," Jazz reasoned as the orange femme and her scowling companion disappeared into the darkness beyond the giant circle of the club entrance." We go in, we have a good time, and next week we'll check out those Gladiator Arenas that you keep talkin' 'bout. Sound good?" Orion's helm perked up at Jazz's proposal, thinking it over while Prowl scoffed at yet another mention of 'those damn arenas'. Ever since Orion had heard of the unrest in Kaon apparently sparked by the gladiator Megatronus he would not shut up about it. It was enough to make an inferior-minded bot's head burst.
"Who knows, might get a look at ol' Megatronus 'imself," Jazz added at Orion's nod, nudging him with an elbow.
"Yes, Primus forbid if his schedule becomes too full of illegal combat to humour visitors," Prowl spoke up for the first time that evening, still keeping his optics on his data pad. "Or would he not be able to read a schedule even if he had one?"
"Hey hey, there's our Prowl! Where ya' been, how ya' doin', pick up any souveniers for us down in Aftville?" Prowl huffed a long-suffering sigh at Jazz's drilling laughter as they finally reached the front door of the nightclub- blocked by a large hulk with a piercing monoptic red stare flicking from the party of three to the board in his servos.
"State designation."
"Jazz is in the house, baby," he answered with a smirk, to two pairs of rolling blue optics behind him. The optic scanned the board for a klick before stretching his jaw in a yell over Jazz's still-smug faceplate.
"DESIGNATION IS NOT DOCUMENTED ON GUEST LIST!"
"Come again now?" Jazz asked in disbelief with flat-lined optics as he suffered through the cloud of exhaust that the bouncer-bot's yells expelled over him.
"THOSE WHO ATTEMPT TO ENTER WITHOUT VALID INVITATION SHALL BE DENIED ENTRANCE AS SUCH IS OUR MIGHTY AND GLORIOUS MASTER'S ORDERS!"
"I thought you said you knew the owner, Jazz!" Orion hissed into his audio, feeling the rest of the line jostle with impatience behind him while Prowl made a point of ignoring the whole scene.
"Ah, don' worry 'bout it, Oreo- this dude's got just a bit a'... 'low RAM' if ya' know what I mean," Jazz explained with a jerk of his thumb to the seething mass of purple and green plating, before turning back to it. "Lookie here, ya' big lugnut, if we could just speak to Mirage for a sec'-"
"NEGATORY!" Two hooks that acted as hands suddenly grabbed Jazz by the scruff of his neck, threatening to throw the slim squirming mech onto the side of the street. Orion thought it was a new record in making before him- least amount of glasses of high-grade ingested before being thrown out of a bar- when the bouncer suddenly froze. Jazz was still kicking his legs up in an attempt to dislodge himself from the grip when there was something shimmering over the mech's shoulder- a sharp white digit suddenly forming out of nowhere tapping on the metal.
"Stand down, boy," a slowly emerging blue-accented white mech ordered lazily, pushing past the much larger mech as if he was a door that was in his way. Yellow optics watched Jazz being dropped onto the red line of ground under him, not even sparing a glance to bewildered Orion.
"You do know there's a VIP entrance at the side, Jazz?" Mirage asked as Jazz dusted himself off while muttering furiously about how 'damn security drones can't tell an A-lister in the making'. When he realised that he'd made both himself and his friends wait in line for two breems and no reason, he was quick to escape Orion's pointed glare by looping a servo around Mirage's shoulders and letting himself being lead inside.
xx
*gasp* What's this? COMIC RELIEF ATTEMPTS? IN AN ANGST STORY?!
BURN THE HEATHEN, GET THE FIREWOOD OUT
Yeah, the last paragraph is another flashback that kind of spiralled into something random and detached. Rest assured, the flashback will be continued in the next chapter with an appearance from everyone's favourite fem-bot.
A cookie to anyone who spots the Animated character cameo as well ;)