Ironhide wearily rubbed his optics. It was a useless gesture, as it did nothing to minimize fatigue. Perhaps it was a strange habit he had absorbed from his contact with the humans, or maybe it was the only fitting thing left to do in the situation the Autobots now faced. The loss of Optimus had gradually, mercifully shifted from gaping wound, to dull ache. It was ever present, but grew more manageable with time. The Autobots were not conscripted with mandatory time allotments for grief, so perhaps it made them a bit more able to function, despite of everything.

The mantle of leadership had fallen to Ironhide as times continued their languid crawl The Autobots found themselves without direction, meaning, or even an answer. Everything seemed fractured beyond normalcy, and Ironhide realized anew how lost they truly were. Ironhide faltered in his attempts to cobble together some sort of plan for the survival of both the humans, and the Autobots. The Autobots accepted his decisions with no quibbling, or insubordination, which eased his burden, somewhat. Ironhide had always been a reserved observer, who patiently gathered information and left the decision making to Optimus. He only offered his opinion when asked, and only spoke when he noted something of importance that needed to be addressed. He was taciturn, diplomatic, and ill at ease with this new responsibility. His introverted nature had already made him distant to most of the Autobots. Now the glare of the humans had fallen around him, too. Still, Ironhide did command their respect and trust. His quiet, steadying presence brought some calm to the uncertainty. He was unflinching in his duties to protect them, just as he was before. And, despite his doubting nature, he rose above his fear, and proved to be very capable.

Lennox had been recognized as the unofficial human ambassador to the Autobots, largely due to his military credentials, and his ability to navigate both worlds. He loathed it, but accepted his duty like the soldier he was. Ironhide was extremely grateful that he did not have to address the numerous inquiries of the human government. He truly did not have the words, poise, or grace to reassure them of their survival now, and he could not lie. Few of the humans, outside the collaboration of NEST and the necessary officials even knew of their existence. It was a brutal mercy that most of the humans were largely unaware, or indifferent to the death of Optimus. Ironhide did not know how he would handle mass panic if the humans figured out how deadly the Decepticons had grown.

Ironhide had reorganized the Autobots to shore up their last defenses, maintain vigilance, and give them some purpose or distraction from how dire their situation had become. Bumblebee resumed his scouting missions, Ratchet kept himself preoccupied with updating his medical skills, and the rest of them fell into the new routines with little resistance.

Tonight was a placid night, serene, and still, the sky empty, and the Hangar quiet. Ironhide was quietly musing about tomorrow's duties in the company of Lennox, who had the rare night off. They had grown comfortably familiar with each other enough to not be burdened with trite conversation. Lennox was careful to avert his gaze from open scrutiny, but it was clear that Ironhide was troubled. Taking a sip of his drink, Lennox raised an eyebrow, and tried to keep his tone light, and casual.

"Something on your mind, Ironhide?"

The obsidian face tilted towards Lennox in acknowledgement. In the gloaming dark, Ironhide's glowing optics were the only feature that could be clearly seen. Pensively, the Autobot finally answered after a long moment, "Yes, Major Lennox. There is."

Lennox waited silently for the Autobot to continue, as Ironhide paused to gather his thoughts. "The death of Optimus has been a devastating loss for us all."

Lennox flinched at the unexpected answer, before he fumbled through what he hoped was the kindest response. "Well, yeah. Optimus was a friend to all of us, Ironhide. The Autobots aren't the only ones who are affected by it."

There was another uneasy sigh as Ironhide shook his head. "I hope this does not sound callous, Major Lennox, but I was not just speaking in terms of losing a friend. Optimus was the only one of us who had the capability of taking on the Decepticons."

Lennox narrowed his eyes at the implication, as he shook his head, disbelieving. "What do you mean, Ironhide? I've seen the damage you can do with your cannons. You really think you couldn't blast a few of them into smithereens, if you had to?"

The Autobot's facial gears shifted in frustration. "Major Lennox, Optimus was not the only Autobot lost. Our ranks are decimated and we do not have the firepower, or the capability to wage a war against the Decepticons. When they mount their attack, we will only be able to defend ourselves long enough to delay the eventual ending. We cannot fight the Decepticons, and we cannot save you."

The words were heavy with sad understanding. Lennox hissed in breath, as he let the disbelieving horror curl in his gut and come to rest. Summoning his crumbling reserve of detachment, he only crossed his arms. It was an empty gesture of defiance.

"We are at their mercy, Major Lennox, and it's only a matter of time before they resume their attacks. I am honestly surprised that Megatron has halted his barrage for this long."

Lennox sighed. "So what do we do now, Ironhide? We can't just sit back and die."

"I've sent Bumblebee out to scout out the Decepticons where they are. They should still be scattered. We should be able to thin out their ranks by picking them off individually."

Lennox scowled up at him, confused. "If they're not capable of working together, how in the hell did they take Optimus out?"

Ironhide grimly shook his head. "That was the savage frenzy of a pack of killers, not a coordinated attack. Megatron's own troops loathe him, but they are too cowardly to flee, or choose differently. He rules them by threat and fear. That was never the way of the Autobots."

Lennox rolled his eyes heavenward. "Thank God." He muttered.

Optimus lowered his helm, to shield the grimace of his facial gears. "The humans are our allies, and friends, but they could not withstand Megatron. Do you not yet know what he is capable of?"

Jet-fire's rebuke stung just as much as Optimus's realization of his words.

"I served under him, deceived as I was, and for however brief a time. I'll have ye know I'm very aware of what he's capable of! "

There was only silence as Optimus raised a placating hand. "Please accept my apologies. I was in no way attempting to negate what you have done. I do not consider you my enemy, Jet-fire."

There was only that bitter sigh, and that wrenching twist of Jet-fire's rusted appendages on his cane. Jetfire shut his eyes, and softly answered, "I know ye don't, lad. I know. And I thank ye for that."

Optimus looked at him with concern. "You seem troubled, Jetfire. Is there something on your mind?"

The old bot narrowed his optics, and stiffened. The words were almost snarled. "Lad, if ye had any idea of what I did under Megatron, you wouldn't even be toleratin' my existence. You'd kill me, and be quite justified in doin' it, too."

Optimus met the almost accusing stare, without flinching, or hesitation. "I told you that I do not consider you to be my enemy, Jetfire. I cannot force you to accept that."

Jetfire tilted his head, in disbelief. "It was my kind that put ye here! My kind that killed you! How could I be anything but your enemy?"

Guilt seared, memories wounded, absolution never came. Optimus's optics flared open wide at the statement, and he did not answer. He was too stricken by the sudden emotion to speak. Jetfire continued to stare at him, eyes burning with both a plea and an accusation, before he only shook his head with resignation, and tottered a few step's distance.

Jetfire's joints creaked as he turned away. "Who do ye think led the Decepticons to the Earth?"

Optimus' facial gears shifted in sudden, agonizing understanding. Jetfire's left shoulder joint hitched.

"I never meant for the bloody thing to happen, at all. I was just a Seeker, sent out to find a way to survive, and help my kind live on. That's what I intended to do, lad. That was all I ever intended to do."

Optimus finally spoke, sadly. "How many Autobots have you slain, Jetfire?"

Jetfire shuddered at the question, the anguish and hatred flaring forth like a brand.

"I killed none of your kind! I was a bloody Seeker, not a killer!"

Optimus only looked down at his joints, let them slide into instinctive fists, fighting the urge to call forth his hellish blades and ask the Seeker how much Decepticon energon had been spilled on them.

Optimus never spoke of the sickening tally, of the number of enemies that had fallen at his hand. He was praised for his slaughter as a heroic savior. He was lauded for his justice, and trusted for his mercy. He had never took an innocent life, or a human one. And he had let far more Decepticons live than were truly worthy of the chance.

Even his kills, when necessary, were swift. Optimus could not promise any mercy to any of them, but he could never indulge in the drawn-out torture he had been subjected to. Inflicting so much agony on anyone, or anything was just beneath him. It was an insult to his sense of justice, and a strange violation to his empathy. Killing an enemy who would happily butcher innocents was a necessary thing, a right thing. But it was never an easy one.

The taking of a life was the one thing that Optimus hoped he never got used to. He was far more haunted by the savage necessity than the worthless guilt. They had made their choices, proven their tortured path of inflicting anguish on so many, time and time again. Somewhere down that brutal path, the ending had to come. Optimus only hoped that his loved ones would exit the world far more gently than he had left it.