Fist pump into the air! Oh yeah, got this one done before midnight. Sweet victory is mine. Anyway, how many saw the new TF movie? Oh lands on fire, that was intense! I have already ranted all my feelings about it to 2211Nighthawk, so you all will be spared. And to my cyber friend whom I've raved to and has withstood all my raging: I have now updated, and I was wrong. Arachnid doesn't show up here, she shows up in the next chapter. Blast my terrible memory. I hope you like it anyway. :)
Enjoy.
Chapter Eleven
Elita1 hums to herself in disapproval as she watches her small class of femmlings practicing their combat moves in synchronized fashion. Steelstar, Firecracker, and Torpedo are executing the moves correctly, but are lunging into every move as if their sparks depends on it. Electra and Sparkler are being much more timid with the motions and are falling behind in the exercise. She will have to bring this to their attention.
The pink fembot's tanks grumble suddenly and her processor goes briefly to energon. She should go refuel again soon. According to Ratchet her sparkling is taking a lot of her energy for itself for development. Speaking of which, blast that medic! He had the gall and the gumption to go and tell Optimus that she was not physically able to aid in the search for survivors. Optimus being Optimus had gotten worried and had reprimanded her gently about lying to him that she was fine.
If he only knew! She is fine, just impregnated... She probably should have told him then while they were so close to the subject.
Elita shakes her helm to herself, she is definitely not ready. Better to just let him believe she is physically unstable.
As soon as the search party had left Ratchet had called her to the med bay and lectured her very thoroughly about what she could and could not do while carrying her sparkling. That was one conversation Elita hopes she never has to go through again. If she hears one more scenario of what could go wrong if she exerts herself too much she is going to strangle someone... Probably Ratchet. After his speech, he asked her how Optimus was taking the news and she had to tell him that she had not told her bondmate as of yet. He was exasperated and had launched into another rant about how keeping something this monumental a secret could be stressing her systems, and could be harming the sparkling's growth. Somehow he ended up back at the first lecture.
Elita had left the med bay in a foul mood and headed straight to the class she was supposed to teach today since Ironhide was helping with the search and rescue for the Praxian survivors. She didn't teach very often, so she told herself to enjoy it. It is kind of hard to though, because as soon as Optimus finds out about her sparkling he will promptly take her off of field work and she will no doubt be seeing more of these students.
On the brighter side of things, Optimus had put her in charge of creating a small, elite task force of femmes that she and Chromia will come to lead, if all goes according to plan. If Elita didn't know any better she would think that her sparkmate is trying to discreetly apologize for vexing her so badly when he was haranguing her about her health.
Elita brings her processor back to the task at servo and circles the younglings with her sharp optics taking in their every move. As the group finishes the exercise they stand erect before their scrutinizing teacher. This is the first time they've had Commander Elita1 as their instructor and they shift nervously under her watch.
"You're relying too much on strength," Elita says finally as she comes to a stop in front of them, "you are all small femmelings and when you are upgraded to your adult frames you will still be small fembots. There is no way in the Pit you will last even a klik (1.2 earth min.) on the battlefield if you continuously throw all the strength you have into one move. To be brutally honest, most of you don't have any, and most of the Cons you will face some cycle (day) will be large mechs. You must learn to use stealth and agility. Be quick, learn to turn your opponent's force against them. Exploit their weaknesses." The femmelets are all listening eagerly to the pink fembot and she pauses when she realizes she is starting to sound like a scary mix between Ironhide and Prowl. Her lip components purse at the thought and she nods to the femmelings, "You are dismissed. We will resume another cycle."
The younglings nod their helms excitedly at this and grin at their instructor. They start chattering among themselves about how to incorporate more speed into each move even as Elita is turning away. A smile threatens to show on the femme Commander's lip plates as she begins moving away from her class.
The entrance to the training hanger opens unexpectedly and Elita hears stomping pede falls enter. Even before she turns around to see the culprit of the noise she can feel the anger radiating off of the new arrival. Taking in the sight of Hot Rod's clenched servos and rigid back struts Elita immediately turns back to the class, "Femmelings, why don't you head toward the recreation room. I'm sure you'll find the environment there much more suited for discussing how to improve your strategies."
The femmelings' optics dart toward Hot Rod then back to Elita. They all know that something bad happened on the last mission that the young mech went on, but it is only speculation as to exactly what it was. There were rumors that ranged from him going berserk and trying to off his own team to getting his processor probed by a deactivated Decepticon's pede and going insane from the horrors that were housed in it. Elita gives the femmelets a warning look before they can start asking questions that has them nodding respectfully with a murmured 'yes Commander', and then exiting the hanger swiftly.
As the last of the younglings disappear Elita turns and watches the mech disappear into the holographic training arena that is combined to the training hanger one. An uneasy pit forms in her gears as she realizes he looks almost demented to the same state of processor he was in several cycles before when he had nearly offlined Quick-plot. Her pedes move of their own violation and she finds herself peering into the holographic training field.
Hot Rod storms from the control room and stations himself in the middle of the field with his armor flaring and settling rapidly on his frame as his fans struggle to cool him. The holographic technology crackles like a whip and electricity buzzes through the field as it activates to the huffing mech's settings.
As Elita hears the holographic training field surge to life she makes her way to the door and enters the control room that Hot Rod had just exited. Her optics find the blinking settings that he had turned the holographs to and her chassis tightens. She has watched mechs fight this sequence before. Mostly they do it just for the slag-filled fun of it, and for the pleasure of tearing into familiar and hated Decepticons.
The landscape blinks into existence with static, announcing the beginning of the training exercise. A gate takes shape and the dreary, sinister enterance that was once her own beautiful city, Metropolis, comes to life before her optics. It isn't Metropolis anymore, Elita reminds herself. It is Darkmount, Galvatron's headquarters. Elita casts her optics to the combat setting of this sequence and finds, with little surprise, that the mech has turned it to advanced.
It starts then and Elita can only watch with wide optics as eight 'mechs' come running through the gates and Hot Rod swiftly and brutally offlines them all in mere nano-kliks (1 nano-klik=1 earth sec.). The second wave pours through. Con after Con falls to the enraged mech and Elita can feel her dread rising with every hologram he lays waste to. She can hear his vents coming in great heaving gasps from inside the control room and her spark wrenches. His optics are nothing but brilliant white as he guts one then beheads another. Mindlessly he goes on until steam is hissing from his frame and every step he takes trembles from exertion.
This has to stop.
Elita reaches swiftly for the off switch to deactivate the sequence and put an end to this madness, but then halts. Her servo trembles in place as she sees a lone hologram emerge from beyond the gates, his identity impossible to miss as his white armor flashes into existence.
Deadlock.
Hot Rod hacks into 'Deadlock' and somewhere 'Megatron' snarls savagely. Elita's optics search for the hologram of the warlord but finds nothing. He isn't in this sequence, Elita realizes. The feral roar echoes across the holographic training field again and Elita shivers at the sound. It didn't come from 'Megatron'; that horrible mech's hologram is nowhere to be seen... It came from Hot Rod.
The pink femme's optics suddenly fill with unbidden tears as she watches the tri-colored mech wrap his arm around the 'Deadlock's' neck cables from behind and use his free servo to tear off the hologram's faceplates in a mess of blinking and fritzing wires. Elita squeezes her optics shut and turns her faceplates from the sight with her throat pipes clogged. How had the sweet, little youngling that Optimus had told her so much about, turn into this monster before her now?
He must be angry about Jazz. Elita bites on her lower lip plates and comms Ratchet without a second thought to check on how things were going with the silver saboteur. She had heard from Chromia that Jazz had been hurt, but she didn't suspect it was too bad. Until she saw Hot Rod came thundering in with his temper ignited to levels she'd only seen when he was half crazy with rage at Quick-plot. Her spark clenches with worry for Jazz. True, he is rather annoying and is always cracking inappropriate jokes, but she can't imagine life around base without him.
: Yes, Elita? : Ratchet sounds weary as he answers her hail.
: Ratchet, how is he? : she asks quickly over their private link without bothering with any form of greeting.
: Stable, for now, : the medic's 'voice' answers after a while, : How are you? You're not stressing yourself are you? :
: No. I'm fine. Thank you, Ratchet, : Elita ends the comm then and vents in relief that she managed to avoid another 'speech'. She turns her attention back to the young, hurting mech in the training arena with worry welling inside of her.
Darkmount is slowly dissolving along with all of the offlined 'Decepticons' laying at the gate. Hot Rod has yet to move from where he completely shredded the hologram of Deadlock into parts. All is quiet, save for the heaving of the mech's vents and the billowing of his fans. He takes a shaky step backwards and his optic ridge is furrowed in confusion as his gradually bluing optics watch 'Deadlock' fade into nothing. He suddenly looks so young and lost to Elita that she can't help but open the control room's door and step out into the arena.
She calls to him softly, "Hot Rod?"
Hot Rod's back struts go rigid as his helm snaps up at her voice but he doesn't turn to look at her.
"What?" his vocals are thick with some indecipherable emotion.
Elita nears him cautiously, "Are you ok?"
A short laugh comes from the mech and he rolls his shoulders while turning to face her with an arrogant grin forming on his faceplates, "I'm fine, Lita." His smirk grows and his vents slow from their furious panting, "Why aren't you with the search parties?"
"Ratchet says I'm not physically able," she grumbles, allowing him to lead her off the subject she had just tried to breach.
"Well, they seem to think I'm a loose cannon, so," he says with a nonchalant shrug and a chuckle. Elita frowns as she sees in the mech's optics that he knows they are right and he doesn't give a slag. She decides to test and see if her theory of what is bothering him is correct.
"I just talked Ratchet over the comms," she says watching his reaction. Hot Rod stiffens slightly, but doesn't look at Elita. His faceplates darken slightly and he checks the weapons that he had been using on the field as if he couldn't care less. "Ratchet has him stablized," she offers up the information about Jazz even though he didn't ask and she hears his small vent of relief as he looks up her with a genuine smile.
"That's good," he says, with his carefree attitude sealed firmly back into place.
A long silence stretches between them and Elita scrambles for something to say, "You know, its been a joor (6.5 earth hrs.) since we got the tip on the survivors."
"Uh-huh," Hot Rod mumbles as he slides his weapons back into subspace.
"I think its time someone goes and busts Springer out of his cell," Elita says conversationally and almost grins in triumph when Hot Rod's faceplates light up like a thrilled sparkling. She pauses only for a moment before asking, "Do you want to come help me?"
"Sure," Hot Rod says with a cackle, "It's the mech's first offence; I'm definitely coming to gawk." Elita raises an optic ridge at the mech before he defends his actions with a fast grin, "Hey, I'm just returning a favor!"
"Of course you are," Elita scoffs as they walk out of the arena with Hot Rod starting a lewd conversation about her bonded life. She has to roll her optics in annoyance at the mech and decides to ignore his many rude comments.
"So... what did good ol' Springer do to warrant this unexpected stay in the brig?" Hot Rod asks changing the subject unexpectedly.
"He snuck out of the base and went to Tyger Pax last lunar cycle (night)," she answers and slyly watches for his reaction.
The mech's optics widen and he stops in his tracks as he stares at her in complete surprise. His optic ridge raises in apparent shock and his mouthplates hang open with no words emerging. Elita must admit, if she didn't know any better she would have totally bought his innocent act of astonishment.
"Springer?" Hot Rod asks with his vocals full of disbelief and this makes Elita begin to doubt herself. Maybe Hot Rod didn't know anything about last lunar cycle (night) after all. She nods her helm at his questioning gaze and he suddenly laughs aloud and says, still looking amazed, "Wow, that's big!"
Pit, he's good.
"How did he get out of the base?" Hot Rod asks with his optics showing nothing but curiosity.
"We don't know," the pink femme answers truthfully still watching him.
"Prowl sure took it easy on him," Hot Rod says with a slag-eating grin.
"Well, there were several bots against putting him in the brig in the first place," Elita replies as they near the brig, "Since it was him that found out about the survivors and he is the reason all those sparks were saved this cycle... but, you know Prowl. He didn't want anyone to get the idea that breaking the rules is good no matter what great things come out of it."
"Yeah, I figured that one out," the tri-colored mech says as they enter the brig and pass the guard on duty, who looks about ready to kiss Elita's pedes when she enters. Elita does have that effect on mechs. The fembot doesn't miss the scowl that Hot Rod shoots the guard and almost laughs at how the young mech feels the need to make sure other mechs, besides Optimus, keep their distance from her.
Deep down inside he is still the same, Elita decides with her smile returning. Perhaps Ultra Magnus and Optimus were right... maybe she was just imagining things are wrong with Hot Rod, when, in reality, he is the same as he's always been. Her own question that she asked Optimus comes back to nag at the back of her processor. What if normal has always been a façade?
The duo comes to a stop at the first cell in the brig and Elita motions for the guard to release the scowling green and white mech that is hunched on the cell's berth. The guard immediately obeys with his optics wide and staring as if Elita is some sort of goddess. Elita ignores his open staring and holds the unlocked brig door open with a smile on her faceplates, "Springer, time's up."
Springer jumps off the berth lightly and walks toward the open cell door.
"Hey, buddy! How's it going?" Hot Rod asks with his vocals strangely gloating. Springer glowers at him harshly as he exits the cell. He pauses briefly to give the pink femme Commander a sweet smile before he returns to glaring at his friend.
"You," Springer hisses as he points at the beaming tri-colored mech.
"You're looking a bit disgruntled," Hot Rod says with no air of caution as he smiles broadly back at Springer as if not sensing at all the impending danger he is in.
"Training hanger. Now," Springer growls and grabs his friend by the collar armor to drag along like a rag doll if he didn't cooperate.
Elita stifles a giggle at the two younglings' antics as Springer pulls Hot Rod behind him and out of the brig while saying something that sounded oddly like 'I'm going to kick your denta in'. As she follows the pair out into the hall and watches them walk toward the training hanger, well, Springer was stomping and Hot Rod was staggering behind, still being half drug by the smaller mech.
Just as they are about to round the corner she hears Hot Rod say cheekily, "Prison did not treat you well, did it?"
"You set me up!" Springer snaps as soon as they are in the training hanger. Hot Rod rolls his optics as the green and white mech storms to a corner of the sparring mat with his faceplates twisting into a scowl, and takes his own position on the other side of the mat.
"In my defense-"
"You're such an aft, you know that?" Springer growls as he stretches his leg struts quickly.
"I am an aft," Hot Rod repeats with a nod of his helm, but Springer doesn't even acknowledge his words. The tri-colored mech doesn't bother warming up since his systems are still pretty lose from his holographic training and instead smiles innocently at Springer, "But, you knew that-"
Springer points a finger digit at him, "I can't believe you did that! No, you know what? I can believe it. Do you know why?"
"I am an aft," Hot Rod supplies lowly as Springer stretches his arm struts vehemently.
"Because you're an aft!"
The larger mech nods, "Point taken."
Springer turns to him and shifts into a low fighting stance, "I outa backfire right in your faceplates, you know that?"
"Don't start that game," Hot Rod warns with a grin growing wider by the nano-klik (second), "You know I always win."
"I'm going to lubricate on you when you're in alt mode the next time you pretend you always win," Springer growls as he moves closer and takes a swing at Hot Rod's helm.
Hot Rod ducks the blow and socks the green and white mech in the side, "It's not pretending if it's true."
Springer coughs and swings again, "You're an aft."
"And you love me anyway."
"Actually I hate you," Springer corrects as he strikes at his friend's grinning faceplates.
Hot Rod purposely moves slower and allows the wild hit to catch him on the jaw. The punch flattens him onto his backstruts and Springer is on top of him in an instant and slugging his faceplates. He deflects one blow and knocks the smaller mech slightly off balance then throws him to the side. Hot Rod rolls with him and straddles his friend's back with a winning leer as he pins Springer effectively face down, "Do you feel better now that you've punched me once?"
"I could punch you a million times and not be happy right now," Springer snaps as he struggles to free himself.
"Okay," Hot Rod huffs, "I'm sorry I set you up."
The pinned mech stops struggling for a moment, "Do you mean that?"
"No, but does it make you feel better?"
"A little bit," Springer growls as his flailing resumes.
A smirk comes to Hot Rod's faceplates and he purposely weakens his pin-down for an astro-second (1/2 an earth second). Springer doesn't disappoint, and catches the barely noticeable hole in his friend's defenses immediately. Hot Rod is flipped to his back in an instant and the smaller of the two locks him down harshly.
"You found that one faster than usual," Hot Rod observes as he tests the arm lock the triple changing mech wrestled him into.
"I fight better when I'm mad."
Hot Rod grins then grunts out through the weight being applied to his chassis, "Is that why you always did better with me as your sparring partner?"
"You do tend to anger me faster than the average mech."
"What about femmes?" Hot Rod asks as he tries to grapple Springer's leg with his own. He fails and Springer pushes him down harder, slamming his helm forcefully into the sparring mat.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
A laugh grates from Hot Rod's gears and he tries to roll his friend off, "Come on. I know that your combat scores slipped when Arcee became your partner. Now is she distracting you or is she just plain whipping up on your aft?" Springer's hold falters and Hot Rod snatches up the opportunity by snagging the white and green mech's legs with his and rolling to the top of the two mech pileup. Springer curses under his vent as Hot Rod secures both his arms with ease. "What?" the tri-colored mech asks with a chuckle, "Do you like her?"
"No!" Springer snaps far too quickly to be true.
"Yeah, right," Hot Rod snorts, "I could've heard your fans blowing from a mile away when I had you pinned up against her the other lunar cycle (night) before we went to Tyger Pax."
"Shut up," Springer hisses as he tries to dislodge the larger mech from his solid position.
"I can't say that I don't approve of your choice in femmes, I mean, she does have one tight, little-"
Springer busts lose from his grip and elbows him in the faceplates. Hot Rod drops to the side and catches himself with one arm, before collapsing completely onto his backstruts with his helm dizzy from the hit. The green and white mech scrambles after him and shoves him down a lot harder than usual before capturing him in a helm lock with his arm snug around Hot Rod's throat pipes; an hold that could knock a mech unconscious if applied forcefully enough.
Hot Rod grabs at his friend's arm with a low growl and tries to pry it lose first, but fails miserably. Springer is pretty sturdy, not much can make him budge. A distraction is in order, "I was telling the truth though," he begins conversationally, "You are doing better."
"So you did notice? Thank you, master Hot Rod," Springer says sarcastically, "Your approval I crave with every wire in my frame. Though I will never be as skillful as you, oh wisest kicker of all afts."
"Rude."
"I speak only truth, master Hot Rod, noble destroyer of all olfactory sensors."
Hot Rod snorts humorously and stops actively looking for a way out, waiting instead for Springer's defenses to ease, "You should be graduating from combat already, you know."
The green and white mech grunts, "That's not up to me."
Springer's hold never lessens and Hot Rod scowls as he realizes that his friend is going to win this round if he doesn't do something quickly. An idea strikes him suddenly and he acts upon it without thought. When one has had enough during sparring they must 'tap out' by hitting the ground four times in rapid succession. Hot Rod reaches out and hits the ground flat palmed twice. As his servo is going down for the third tap Springer's hold is already loosening and Hot Rod breaks free without any hindrance. He slams his elbow into Springer's faceplates in retaliation then swiftly spins from his position on the ground to bring his left leg forcefully down on the stunned mech's midsection.
Hot Rod gets up immediately and continues talking above Springer's loud gasping for air, "Seriously, you broke out of one of my best holds just a bit ago. Not many can do that."
"It's...up ta Iron'ide... frag...'ou..." the smaller mech pants from the ground.
"I could talk to him if you want-"
"No,... don't 'ou... dare..."
Hot Rod grins and then chuckles as he squats next to Springer, "Right. You probably don't even want to graduate do you?" Springer shoots him a questioning look as he heaves for the breath that was nocked so harshly from his vents. "Sparring with a femme probably gets pretty intense. You've probably put your servos in places I'd get kicked in the ball-bearings for," Hot Rod wiggles his optic ridge suggestively and the triple changer scowls.
"It's... not what you think," Springer mutters as his vents slowly return toward a more normal pace. Hot Rod's optic ridge then raises in question and the smaller mech sighs before going on, "Arcee and me. It's not like that... She's got talent. I'm not letting her win just so that I can spar with her."
"I believe you, mech," Hot Rod says easily and offers a servo to help Springer to his pedes, "but nothing you say will convince me that you don't like her."
"I do like her," Springer admits as he takes the servo and stands up next to his taller friend.
"What's holding you back?"
The green and white mech shrugs as he rubs the spot on his faceplates that had been elbowed, "She likes..." his optics settle on Hot Rod for a moment before traveling swiftly to something in the corner of the training hanger. "She likes someone else," he mutters finally.
A frown cuts into Hot Rod's faceplates for a moment before he hums, "Meh, femmes. Who needs them anyway, right?"
Springer just remains silent and presses his lip components into a straight line. The silence lengthens and Hot Rod is about to crack a joke to ease his friend's melancholy mood when Springer growls, "I can't believe you cheated."
"I did not cheat, I won. Like I always do," the tri-colored mech replies with a self-satisfied smirk.
"You were tapping out!"
Hot Rod raises a forefinger digit and pokes his smaller counterpart in the chest plating, "I wasn't tapping out, you assumed I was tapping out, but I wasn't. Hence, I won."
"I can't believe you did that. You know what, I actually can believe that you did that, you know why?"
A grin covers Hot Rod's faceplates, "I am an aft."
"Because you're an aft!"
Ahh, I really like writing about those two. They're fun.
Leave me reviews if you like the story or if you see any mistakes that I do not address in my author's notes.
And thanks to everyone who stopped so far to leave a review. It really helps give me the inspiration to keep updating. :D
