Chapter Fourteen

Plenoptic

Whew! Thirteen was a long one, and it was all pretty intense--but now we get to have fun with sparklings. :D yay!

For The Ties That Bind Us fans, I must tell you that this series is getting a major rewrite. I'm just not happy with it as it is. Must get better at writing cute sparkling moments…

Hey! Guess who sort of kind of knows how she's going to proceed with New Beginnings?! Any advice you have to give, or additions you'd like to see before the story ends are very much appreciated. Just send a PM. :D

Kay! Here's fourteen! Enjoy!

"You know what I'd like to know?" Ratchet groused, very carefully examining the wounds in Optimus's body's abdomen.

"What's that?" Wheeljack asked cheerfully, bending over the injured frame and shining a light down so Ratchet had better access.

"What kind of Primus-sent moron brings a sparkling shell to build--on a battleship-- in case he gets bored?" the CMO demanded, scowling over the damage done even to Optimus's waste tanks. "Move that light left if you know what's good for you…"

"Oh, well," Wheeljack began bashfully, doing as he was told, "I thought I'd try and equip it with cannons or something…"

Ratchet froze in his work, lifting his head slowly to give his comrade a bewildered look. From the corner of the room, a stunned Elita glanced over her shoulder at the inventor, arching an optic ridge.

"And why the Pit would we need to stick cannons onto sparklings?" Ratchet asked, aghast. "Good Primus, you want a bunch of little Ironhides running around? Though they might have more self-control…"

"That's not nice," Elita replied flatly. "Oh, Primus, he's waking up! Wheeljack, what do I do?!"

"Um…treat him like a sparkling, I suppose," Wheeljack replied, shrugging. "He's got a mature spark, but his processor's that of a child, and that's where his basic survival instincts are. He'll probably wake up and start to cry. Oh, he'll be cold, so if you go into my lab in the back there's some armor that should fit the frame…and warm him up some energon, you'll have to make a makeshift bottle…"

Elita blinked incredulously, looking back down at the tiny sparkling as it stirred, its little feet twitching. Optimus's tiny face scrunched into a yawn, and with a blink of astonishing blue optics and burst of sparkling warble, he came online. At first, he didn't move, gaping cluelessly up at the ceiling, but a soft whine made it more than apparent that he was ready for a new view. Trembling and apprehensive, Elita reached down, and after a moment's deliberation lifted the child into her arms, one hand beneath his tiny aft and the other supporting his head.

Optimus squirmed, nervous about being so high up. He blinked curiously up at Elita for a moment, cocking his head, then burst into a fit of giggles, sticking a tiny fist into his mouth and kicking his feet happily.

Ratchet and Wheeljack turned, startled by the crash that resounded from the corner, to find Elita sitting on her aft, nearly offline, clutching a terrified Optimus Prime in her arms.

"Elita?!" Wheeljack yelped, rushing to her side and gently helping her to her feet. "Are you--?"

"Yes, yes, I'm fine--oh, Optimus, I'm sorry," she cooed shakily, stroking the sparkling's faceplates. He was crying, scared by the fall, confused by the sudden changes in her demeanor, and not really liking the strange mech that was looming over him. Plus, he was cold. And hungry. And his chest felt funny.

That's because my spark is too big for this casing, of course.

I'm a sparkling?!

No, I'm in a sparkling's body. Stop panicking, this is fixable.

I died!

My body died. My spark is perfectly healthy, thank you very much. What am I crying for?

Because this sucks!

I really need to be more mature about this. Shut up, other personality.

I'm talking to myself! I'm going insane!

My processor is far too simplistic to mutate at this point. I assure myself that I am not, in fact, going insane.

I'm not very helpful!

Well, I'll just have to excuse myself. I'm trying to approach this from a logical, cool point of view, and I'm making it very hard.

But I'm not making any sense!

Well, neither am I. Clearly this is a problem that needs to be fixed. I'm confusing myself. Why do I have two personalities, I wonder? Could it be due to spark trauma?

Who the Pit cares?! Ratchet has to fix me!

He'll get to me, I just need to be patient. Surely there's a way out of this…

I can't sleep with Elita like this!

On the contrary, I can, we just cannot connect our interfaces…well, technically we COULD, but that would just be...no. Just no.

"Optimus?"

Sniffling, the sparkling looked up at her, one fist in his mouth, bright blue optics blinking dolefully. Elita sighed, caressing his head. He was so different--as was to be expected, but she still couldn't quite get over it. How could this tiny, helpless little creature possibly be the mech who'd just risked his life to quell a rebel uprising, the mech she'd spent only one blessed night with?

"You did put him in a mech frame, didn't you?" Elita demanded scathingly, looking over at the inventor at her shoulder.

"Yes, yes, of course," Wheeljack said quickly. "I'm sure of it. You can take off his interface covering if you'd like…to double check…"

After a few seconds' deliberation, Elita swiftly plunked her would-be lover onto the counter top and removed his crotch plating. Sparkling Optimus giggled--it was ticklish down there!--but the spark within flared unevenly, the mere thought of her hands down there igniting his fire, sending his pump into overdrive and hot energon rushing through his body. He whined, kicking uneasily; he felt hot, uncomfortable, and his pump was going too fast.

"What's wrong now?" Elita asked helplessly, replacing his interface cover (he was indeed a male, pathetic though he was at this stage) and scooping the sparkling back into her arms.

"Well, you had your hands between his legs," Ratchet snapped from his operating table, busily soldering various lines together to keep what little energon the frame had flowing. "You probably aroused his spark, and his body took on a natural response to that. Sparklings don't know how to feel passion--well, as far as I know-- so you probably upset his processor."

Elita stared, but after several moments could not come up with a decent comeback, so instead turned back to Wheeljack. "The armor's where?"

"My lab," he replied nervously, reaching out to tickle Optimus's sensitive protoform stomach. The sparkling squealed in delight, his frame cooling, kicking his feet and nearly denting the scientist's faceplate. "It's all in the back, scattered on the largest worktable. I'm going to help Ratchet finish up here, then I'll be back to give you hand if you need it…"

"Oh, um, sure. Thank you. Come on, Optimus, you've been naked long enough," Elita cooed down at the sparkling, turning and heading towards the lab in the back. "Normally I wouldn't mind so much, but as a little guy I guess you have some rights. I will, however, be stripping you as soon as you're normal sized, oh yes I will…"

"Deranged femme," Ratchet muttered, sitting up and rubbing his brow. "Fraggit to Vector Sigma. This damage is too extensive to take care of here; we'll have to freeze his body over and get it back to base ASAP. Comm Rodimus and Ultra Magnus, tell them to wrap it up here. This battle's won, by the looks of it, and we need to get down to the general med bay--Red Alert's up to his head in casualties, judging by the very frantic nature of the texts he won't stop sending me."

"Sure thing, Chief," Wheeljack replied lightly, already hooking up the equipment necessary to deep freeze Optimus's frame. "We are gonna be able to repair him, right?"

"It'll take time, but yeah," Ratchet grunted, leaning over the sink to sterilize his hands for the billionth time. "We've got him--it, the frame--mostly stable, and his--its--condition shouldn't worsen as long as it's frozen. With that said, radio Magnus one more time--I can't carry this lugnut by myself."

"Got it," Elita sighed, dropping into a chair and letting her head rest on the table. "Who'd've thought that getting a sparkling dressed would be so difficult?"

Optimus chirped, his legs splayed out and his hands patting the shiny surface of the work table. He looked more cute than noble, even back in red armor, especially because it was too big for him. The helmet partially covered his face, and his hands were mostly hidden beneath the forearm armor; he had enough leniency that he could wiggle his fingers around, but that about did it. He kicked his feet a little bit, giggling; Wheeljack had been creative enough to emblazon the leg armor with flames. Maybe this sparkling gig wasn't so bad after all.

He squeaked, waving around one shiny little arm, trying to get Elita's attention, but for the moment she was completely out of it, dozing lightly on Wheeljack's table. Optimus scowled, releasing a squawk. Okay, so he missed his commanding baratone. He got lots more attention that way. He tried waving both arms, but rather than getting what he wanted, he lost his balance, and his upper body flopped backwards onto the table. Oops.

Optimus huffed, trying to sit himself back up--this was embarrassing--only to find that his arms couldn't lift his weight. Huh. How aggravating. He instead lifted his feet into the air and swung them downwards, hoping that the momentum would jerk his body upright. Clang. His heels hit the counter, and aside from some very sore feet he'd gained nothing. Optimus pined, waving his hands at the ceiling, but several seconds later was still flat on his aft.

He craned his head back, optics crossing as he struggled to make sense of the suddenly upside-down world. Jack had a couple of tools lying nearby; perhaps he could use one to pull himself up?

Grunting, he twisted, rolling over and landing with a flop on his stomach. Now, how did one move in a body so small? He tried tugging himself along with his arms, but that didn't particularly work, and just pushing with his feet did very little. Maybe if he coordinated it? He reached out and planted his hands on the countertop, bending his knees so his feet gripped the table, and pushed off, pulling with his hands. Oh, that worked. He wormed his way across the table for a good half breem before pausing, panting, his little arms and legs aching. When did the countertop get so long?

"What on Cybertron are you up to now, little one?"

Optimus squeaked when a large pair of mech hands closed around his waist, lifting him up and flipping him onto his back. He squalled, kicking his feet around, dinging the mech's chest armor.

"Ouch." Ultra Magnus rubbed at his chest, scowling down at his mini commander; Optimus was hunched over and chewing on his captor's thumb. "That hurt, you little fragger. How long have you been wanting to do that?"

Optimus released a high pitched growl, scowling at Magnus when the big mech increased the pressure of his hold. He didn't like being held like this; he wanted to go back to Elita, but Magnus was still scrutinizing him, unable to believe that this tiny, weak little thing was their commander.

"Magnus!" The sub-commander blinked in surprise when the sparkling disappeared from his hands, and looked up to see an irate Elita cuddling Optimus, stroking his tiny helm and cooing down at him. "Could you not strangle him, please?" the femme snapped irritably, glaring at the hapless mech. "Do you spend all of your time trapping helpless sparklings in death locks, hm?"

"Of course not," Magnus said quickly, desperate to redeem himself. "Ratchet told me that he was in here and a bit…different…and I thought I'd come and check…how on Cybertron did this happen?"

"His body was beyond repair, and his spark was going out," Elita said flatly, struggling to keep the pain from her voice. "Wheeljack had this shell on board, so they did an emergency transfer."

Magnus frowned; all that medical frag was far beyond him. "But…it is still Optimus, isn't it? I mean…does he even know who I am?"

"It's still Optimus's spark," Elita said somewhat helplessly, looking down at the baby bot in her arms. He beamed up at her, waving one little hand brightly, brushing her faceplates. "But he's got the processor and body of a child. I'm not sure what that means as far as his memories, exactly. I don't know…Optimus, does he look familiar?" she questioned, angling the sparkling in her arms so he could properly see the big mean mech. "Remember Magnus?"

Optimus stuck a thumb in his mouth, his optics blinking cluelessly. Magnus felt a sort of pang in his spark; did Optimus's spark not remember him? He couldn't just disregard it; Optimus meant too much to him. As a comrade, as a leader…as a friend.

"Optimus?" he almost begged quietly, reaching a hand out to the sparkling. Prime looked at the hand, then up at its owner, then back at the hand again. With a delighted squeal, he reached out and slapped his palm against Magnus's. High five. He giggled, taking hold of Magnus's hand in both of his and pressing his forehead against it. It felt familiar.

"Where is he?!"

The bellow made the room's three occupants jump, ruining the moment. Optimus squeaked in surprise, burying himself in Elita's arms and peeking apprehensively at the door. He looked up at the femme and chirped; what was going on?

"Dunno, Opt," she replied in a murmur, then leapt back in shock when the door was positively kicked open, heralding a seething Ironhide and a tittering, frantic Wheeljack.

"Optimus!" Ironhide bellowed, and the sparkling whimpered, pressing his face into Elita's collar armor. He shivered in terror as Ironhide walked forward, his footfalls thunder in the sparkling's audios. Ignoring Elita's yelp of protest, the weapons specialist seized Optimus by the jut of armor between his shoulders and lifted him up, bringing the teary baby bot up to his face.

"This is him?" Ironhide growled, his optics narrowing. Optimus burst into tears, curling up into a ball and hiding his face in his arms. His spark was pulsing gently, reassuringly; it recognized Ironhide, but his processor was running scared. The mech was too loud, and he smelled like gun debris.

"Ironhide!" Elita snapped, taking a step forward; her processor was also acting independently of her spark, desperate to protect the tiny sparkling. "You…!" She cut off abruptly, staring, her optics widening. "You…you're a mess."

Ironhide grunted, shifting his weight to his other leg, still holding Optimus up to his face level. His right optic was sparking, fizzling out, damaged by the long wound across his face, and the arm that wasn't suspending Optimus dangled limply at his side, nearly severed at the shoulder. Energon was leaking from the gaps and seams in his armor, dripping steadily onto the floor.

Elita turned her horrified gaze to Wheeljack; why was Ironhide bleeding beneath his armor? The scientist shrugged helplessly; Ironhide hadn't stopped for proper treatment after hearing what had happened to Optimus. He'd sprinted straight to Wheeljack's lab, heedless of his leaking body.

Ironhide grunted and abruptly drew the sparkling in, cradling Optimus to his chest. Prime squeaked, blinking as energon dripped down on him; he could hear Ironhide's systems whining in distress, but the mech made no move to help himself, far too concerned with his tiny commander.

"S'okay, Boss," Ironhide slurred weakly, looking down at the child in his arm. "S'okay…it'll all be alright, Optimus…" His optics darkened, and with a long, sorrowful creak he simply tipped over sideways.

"Whoa!" Ultra Magnus yelped, leaping forward and catching Ironhide's incredible mass from behind; servos and hydraulics screamed as he tried to hold the huge mech up. "Wheeljack! Help, call Ratchet! Elita, take Optimus! Ironhide! Ironhide!"

Optimus released a wail, a scream that pierced both their audios and their sparks. The sparkling shrieked again, thrashing, still in Ironhide's secure hold, and Elita struggled as she tried to pull him away. Prime was clutching the larger mech's chestplates, screaming, sobbing, writhing in pain. His spark was twisted into an agonizing knot, horrified and scared.

Ironhide! IRONHIDE!

I need to calm down. I'm going to kill myself.

I can't calm down! IRONHIDE!

"What's wrong with him?" Magnus demanded, helping Wheeljack lay Ironhide on his back on the floor. The pool of energon around them was steadily growing; the giant mech wouldn't last much longer. Even the most seemingly indestructible mechs such as Ironhide had only so much energon.

"Who, the sparkling or this guy?" Wheeljack demanded, afraid to act without Ratchet's discretion but terrified of doing nothing.

"Both," Ultra Magnus replied in anguish, his spark churning as he looked down at Ironhide. "Wheeljack, what's wrong with him? Is he going to be alright?"

"I…I don't know," the inventor replied helplessly. "I don't know what could be causing this…I've never seen such mass internal leakage. It's frightening. Elita, what's wrong with Optimus?"

"His spark recognizes Ironhide," Elita theorized, stroking the pitiful child's helm, rubbing his back, anything to ease his suffering. "It must hurt, seeing Ironhide like this. He has the mind of a sparkling, he doesn't know how to control the pain."

There was a sort of strained silence as they all alternately stared at their ailing comrade and their wailing commander. Magnus watched the child, mystified; this was a projection of the feelings in Optimus's spark. Did it react the same way when he, Magnus, was in dire straits? Or was such terrible grief reserved only for Ironhide?

He hadn't time to finish his musings when Ratchet flew in, looking harried and more irritable than normal, though none of them had thought it possible. "Frag," he snarled, dropping to his knees at Ironhide's side and checking the main fuel line in his throat. Elita could have sworn she was the faintest flicker of fear for his friend behind his normally calm optics. "Moonracer," he barked sharply into his comm link, "I need a stretcher and a berth in the med bay ready, stat!"

"Are you kidding?" she demanded indignantly. "I'm up to my audios here, Ratch, I can't possibly--"

"IRONHIDE'S DYING!" Ratchet abruptly exploded, causing all of the room's occupants to promptly wet themselves. "I CAN'T DO A THING HERE! I NEED HELP! GET YOUR AFT AND A STRETCHER DOWN HERE, PLEASE!"

"…O-Okay," Moonracer breathed out shakily. "Okay, I'll, um…just a second, okay? I'll be right there…I'm coming, I'm coming…"

"Thank you," the CMO replied unevenly. "Thanks, Moonracer…"

He hung his head, gripping his helm in his hands, struggling to regain control. For a few long moments, only his ragged breathing and Ironhide's filled the room, but the relative quiet was disturbed when the door flew open, bringing forth Moonracer, a stretcher, and a terrified looking Chromia.

"…Ironhide," she gasped, her optics widening at the sight of her mate upon the floor. "Wha--Ironhide!"

"Whoa," Wheeljack said quickly, jumping to his feet and catching Chromia around the waist in one arm. "Wait, Chromia, calm down. He needs medical attention, there's nothing you or I can do right now. Please just wait here."

"Ironhide! Ironhide! Dammit, Wheeljack, let me go! That's my sparkmate!"

Elita hurriedly sat the sniffling Optimus down upon a chair and moved to Wheeljack's aid, putting her arms around her best friend and dragging her into a corner. Chromia's shrieks drowned out the anxious babble of the medics as they struggled to maneuver Ironhide onto a stretcher. Upon succeeding they wasted no time in shoving the stretcher out of the room--it took Ratchet, Wheeljack, and Ultra Magnus combined--and Chromia screamed, thrashing wildly, straining against Elita's surprisingly strong hold.

"Shh, babe, hold on," Elita whispered desperately, kissing Chromia's helm softly and pulling her friend closer despite her vicious struggles and spark breaking cries. "I know it hurts, just hold on…it'll be okay…"

Moonracer, having stayed behind, joined her friends, also wrapping her arms around Chromia. "Hey, hey," she murmured gently, looking up into Elita's optics for guidance. "It's okay, yeah? Elita?"

Elita stared blankly, then realized with a jolt that Moonracer had never been spark bonded. She hadn't even had a relationship with a mech since the disastrous link with Powerglide several deca-cycles ago. She'd never known the love of a sparkmate, so she certainly had no idea what Chromia was going through.

"Yeah, it'll be fine," Elita said in a whisper, reaching around to grip Moonracer's hand tightly. "Ironhide's going to be up and about before you know it, Chromia. Just hold on a bit longer."

"I've got to see him," Chromia sobbed desperately, pulling in vain against her friends' arms. "Ironhide…I've got to get to him, please…"

Elita tightened her grip, pressing Chromia's face into her shoulder as the femme broke down. She'd never seen Chromia so distraught, so helpless, especially over Ironhide. The couple had dealt with injuries before; for Ironhide's mate to be so upset, something must have been seriously wrong. With his spark?

"Ironhide will be fine," Elita said quietly, rubbing Chromia's back. "It's all going to be fine, alright? He's tough, you know that and I know that and Primus knows that. And there's nothing Ratchet can't fix, right? Everything is going to turn out for the best, Chromia, so be strong for me. Okay?"

Chromia sniffled, wrapping her arms around Elita's waist and nodding weakly. Moonracer breathed a sigh of relief and moved to gather Optimus from the chair. The sparkling had stayed dutifully quiet, keeping his behavior in check while Chromia was consoled. He squealed and reached for Elita, clearly ready to be the center of attention again.

"This is so weird," Moonracer muttered, staring at her commander. "I'm holding Optimus Prime. In my arms. And there's nothing even remotely provocative or romantic about it."

"There'd better not be," Elita snorted, arching her optics ridges and gently taking the sparkling into her arms. "Hello, Optimus. You were such a good little mech. Thank you very much."

Optimus chirped, happily curling into a ball and snuggling into the crook of her arm. Moonracer shook her head slowly, her optics locked on the tiny sparkling.

"Ratchet is going to be able to put him right, yeah?" she inquired, glancing up at Elita. "I mean, good luck sparkbonding with him now."

Optimus squawked indignantly, and Elita giggled. "Of course Ratch will put him right. All he has to do is repair his body, and we'll move Optimus's spark back into its casing. No harm done."

Moonracer bit her lower lip. "You make it sound so simple. You're so confident, 'Lita."

Elita lowered her head a bit, softly kissing Optimus's helm. He purred, snuggling closer to her. "I can't afford to not be confident," she said quietly. "I can't afford to start thinking that this is the way it's going to be. Optimus will be returned to his normal self. I will get my sparkmate back. If I don't keep telling myself that, I'm afraid I'm going to lose hope." She smiled slightly, feeling Chromia's arms tighten around her waist. "But we're not even back at base yet, so I'm not going to give up. When do you think we can go check on 'Hide?"

"Not sure," Moonracer replied, frowning. "Looks like it could take some time. I'm going to go see if I can be some help tending the other soldiers, Ratch and Red definitely have their hands full, and Wheeljack just isn't apt with dealing with survivors."

"I'll come," Chromia volunteered, stepping away from Elita and rubbing at her optics. "I want to be close enough to hear about 'Hide as soon as something changes…"

"I suppose I'll help out as well," Elita added, adjusting Optimus in her arms, but Moonracer cut her off.

"No, ah…Elita, why don't you stay with Optimus? We don't want the other troops seeing him just yet, I don't think," Moonracer reasoned, cocking her head and tickling Optimus's abdominal plating. The sparkling released a yelp of laughter, trying desperately to bat her dancing hand away. "And he needs someone with him to keep him calm. This is our commander, after all. There are some rooms upstairs, I'm sure you could find a berth and relax with him a bit, make sure he's comfortable and all that. And we'll call you if we need you, and--Elita, are you injured?"

"Huh?"

"Turn around," Moonracer ordered, and when Elita didn't move Chromia promptly seized her by the shoulders and whipped her around. Elita immediately saw the reason behind her friend's suspicion; there were streaks of bright blue on the wall upon which she had been leaning.

Elita released a yelp of pain as Moonracer's fingers brushed the backs of her left shoulder. "Primus! What's wrong back there?"

"Besides the fact that an energo-sword completely melted through your thick-aft battle armor and welded all your wiring to your base protoform? Nothing," Moonracer growled. "It's all sealed up because it cooled, so there wasn't much leakage, but you'll lose all function in that arm if we don't get you treated soon. Best I can do is cover it up with mesh for now and wait until Ratchet can tend to you properly…come here, stop your squirming…and Chromia, hold Optimus…Elita, I do have a welder and I will melt your butt to that chair…"

"Why won't the leaking stop?" Red Alert cried desperately, banging a fist on the countertop. "Frag! We've welded all visible injuries closed, so--"

"There's something wrong on the inside, we have to get his armor off," Ratchet snapped back, already doing so--a little bit carelessly, but time was of the essense. "Jack, Red, help me here, he's loaded with battle armor…I need to see his vital bits, open up his abdominal plating…"

"M-Most of it's attached to the protoform, Chief," Wheeljack objected weakly. "We'd have to rip it off--"

"He's sedated, and we'll reattach it later," Ratchet snarled. "Take it off, or we'll lose him!"

Sharing a single apprehensive glance, Wheeljack and Red Alert obeyed, helping the CMO in peeling away the plates that protected Ironhide's vulnerable abdominal protoform. Ratchet leaned in close, narrowing his optics, and released a long hiss of disbelief.

"What in Primus's good name did this?" he wondered aloud, shaking his head, clearly flabbergasted. "Jack, take a look at this. Tell me what you think is wrong."

Wheeljack approached the patient, bending over and squinting to observe the damage. "…What the Pit. What the Pit! It…looks like the ends…"

"Melted, yeah," Ratchet agreed, nodding.

"What?" Red Alert demanded, confused, and took a look for himself. "Primus on high…what…?"

Much like the structure of an organic body, each of their protoform carried an elaborate network of tubing and circuitry through which energon traveled with each compression of their pumps, quickly and efficiently carrying energon to the various vital structures throughout the frame. In Ironhide's case, the adapters that brought tube and "organ" together had simply melted, also damaging the delicate network of tubing surrounding such structures. The medics stood in silence for longer than they could possibly afford, stunned.

"It was like it was an acid," Ratchet murmured, dumbfounded. "An acid that just attacked the adapters and converters, then ran from the open tubing and onto the surrounding areas…"

"A poison?" Red Alert asked weakly. "One formatted to a non-organic body? Ratch…is that even possible…?"

Ratchet shook his head slowly, not in disagreement, but just to make perfectly clear that he didn't have a clue. "Alright. I have a radical and very dangerous idea. Wheeljack, I need my welder. Smallest nozzle we have. Tiny flame. Like a candle-sized flame. Like something a sparkling could light with a fart. Tiny."

Wheeljack stared, then it began to dawn on him. "Wait. Wait, wait. You want to weld the remaining wiring directly to Ironhide's vital structures? Are you out of your processor, Chief? They'll retain way too much, there's no way his pump could stand up to that kind of pressure…it'll loose available energon to circulate with every compression, it's insane…"

"Got any better ideas?!" Ratchet demanded, the stress more than clear in his voice. "Ironhide is dying on this table, Optimus Prime is a sparkling, Megatron is missing--no matter what we're dealing with we're kind of running out of options! In case you haven't noticed, our reality is insane, it's time to learn to cope! NOW GET ME MY PIT FRAGGING WELDER!"

"Megatron, your plan…shouldn't have worked."

He lifted one optic cover from his place on the outcropping just above her. "And why is that?"

The femme trembled slightly, drawing her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around herself. "I…I thought those viruses infected my processor. If you just moved it into another body, then there's no reason why I should have survived."

"Those viruses targeted your body," Megatron drawled lazily, dropping one hand to lightly caress her helm. "I did remove your processor, but didn't place it within the new frame immediately. They'd already taken hold of your old protoform, so with nothing left to infect the programming simply became obsolete. And of course, housing your spark was a simple matter," he added with a purr, sliding from the outcropping to sit behind her, pulling the femme into his lap. "It really was wonderful having you so close."

She frowned. "I still don't understand. Why didn't our sparks bond if you were carrying mine in your spark chamber?"

"Your spark was weak, love, you didn't have the self-awareness to iniciate a bond," he said quietly, his fingers massaging her hips, his words a sensual whisper straight into her audio. "I think you're worrying about this too much. After all, you got what you wanted; we can be together and Optimus hasn't been hurt."

"He thinks I'm dead," she replied, her voice torn with agony. "Isn't that pain enough?"

"At least he doesn't have to deal with the betrayal, yes?" Megatron reminded her, brushing his mouthplates over her cheek.

"This also means you've been leading that Elita person on," the femme scolded quietly, finally giving in and leaning back against his chest. He purred, pulling her closer and snuggling her securely against his frame.

"I really did love Elita," he told her softly. "I loved her with all my spark."

"I'm your sparkmate," the femme whispered, catching his hands in hers; his grip was tight and warm. Beautifully, wonderfully warm. "Why did you bond with her?"

"Optimus would have bonded with you, and it seems Elita is his sparkmate," Megatron reasoned quietly. "There's really nothing to be done about any of it."

"Optimus didn't have Elita when he had me," she said, her throat tightening. "You had a choice. And you chose her."

After a pause, Megatron chuckled. "Does it anger you, that Elita had my spark and now Optimus's? A bit jealous, perhaps? I happen to know that Elita holds you in contempt as well; Optimus hasn't been able to forget you, you know. Pity, as he's been trying so desperately hard to move on."

She bit her lip, lowering her optics. "Sometimes I wish I'd never gone with you. I loved Optimus as you loved Elita; I never meant for him to get hurt."

"I know, love, I know," Megatron soothed her softly. "But don't forget, you have a chance to take him back, if you like. Take him back so I might have Elita again."

"And why is this, after you've already broken your bond to her once?"

"I've got to defy Alpha Trion somehow," Megatron whispered, softly kissing his femme's throat. "I've got to have my revenge for the way he created me. I'll ruin this 'perfect reality' of his in any way I can."

"You're not so much like the mech I fell in love with," his sparkmate whispered faintly; his wandering hands were painfully distracting. "You've changed, Megatron."

"So have you, Aerith," Megatron replied quietly, eyeing the body of the mech in his lap. "So have you…"

That last line has no typos in it. I don't want any stupid aft flamers going "Uh, yeah, idiot, Aerith is a chick." I KNOW THAT. I'm just being evil. Mua ha ha. Please review :D Thank you!

Oh yeah…WHAT?!