Chapter Twenty
Plenoptic
Landmark chapter! Whooooo! (falls over)
I spent an entire weekend watching America's Next Top Model. Ugh… (brain slowly gelatinizing) But I also hammered out chapter nineteen like I'd intended, so it wasn't all for naught!
Anyway. Playing around with Armada characters right now, mostly because Blackarachnia keeps killing off my G1 buddies. They'll come back. Never fear :D
"SHE'S IN IACON?!"
"Valkyrie, please calm down. She didn't tell me either."
"SHE'S BEEN GONE FOR DAYS AND YOU DIDN'T EVEN NOTICE?!"
"Well, you didn't either."
"FRAG IT ALL TO PIT!"
Shinkon sighed patiently, twiddling his thumbs while he waited for the aerial femme to calm down. Valkyrie was stalking back and forth across Eclipse's vacant quarters, her dark purple armor catching snatches of the sun through the window. Her blue optics were narrowed almost to slits.
"What's the point in my being second in command if she doesn't even tell me what's going on?!" Valkyrie demanded hotly, slamming a fist into an adjacent wall. Shinkon winced marginally. "Frag! What goes through that kid's processor?!"
"We have to take into account Eclipse's situation," Shinkon soothed quietly. "She grew up literally within a few joors."
"She has an adult processor!"
"Yes, but more a child's spark," the tactician reminded her calmly. "She wanted to see her brothers. Of course she didn't want to take the time to plan out an event, she just left. At least she was wise enough to have Wingsaber accompany her."
"Yeah, great," Valkyrie grumbled, dumping her aft into a chair. "Wingsaber."
Shinkon shrugged absently. He was scarcely more than a youngling himself, at the end of his adolescent years. Unlike his female company, Shinkon was very plain looking; his armor was white, accented only by the brilliance of his cold blue optics. He tended to be rash at times, immature, self-absorbed, and notoriously icy towards any sort of companionship, but he was beyond a genius. His intelligence in science and arithmetic surpassed Elita One's, almost to the point of equaling Alpha Trion's. And Eclipse, being Optimus Prime and Megatron's younger sister, had seen great value in that.
"Wingsaber cares for Eclipse," the tactician said quietly, getting to his feet to stare out the window. "He is a tad reckless, but he will look after her."
"Says you," Valkyrie grunted, and Shinkon couldn't hold back a smile. By all rights the femme should have irritated him out of his processor, but he found that he liked her very much. Her company was sort of uplifting; she'd never pushed him into a close relationship as a friend or otherwise, and he appreciated her respect of his distance.
"If you're really that worried, you could always travel to Iacon yourself, you know," Shinkon mused, swirling the contents of his cube of high grade. "I hear they have a fantastic aerial assault unit there, I'm sure you'd fit right in."
"Like I really wanna fly with a bunch of show-off mechs," Valkyrie grumbled, and Shinkon rolled his optics subtly; it took a show-off to know one. "And you're too young to be drinking that stuff."
Shinkon smirked faintly, downing the rest of the cube. "Age is measured in maturity, not vorns," he replied smoothly. "Valkyrie, go to Iacon. I'll handle things here. I was trained to run massive corporations, remember?"
"Which is different from running a base," Valkyrie shot back, but she hefted herself to her feet, stretching widely. "No, you're right. I'll go. They say that Prime's still fighting the rebels even though Bloodlust is supposedly dead. It's been awhile since I got in some real flight…"
Once the shock and grief dulled, the anger set in.
It swept through him like a wave, filling every corner of his being until there was little room for anything else. The fury and pain and hate swelled up within him until he didn't think he could contain it, until he could literally feel it seeping from beneath his armor and into every crevice of his life.
He began to see it affect everyone who came near him, anyone who dared to visit him during such a dark time. Elita was always there, always at his bed side, but he could see the distress in her optics, no matter the smile she tried to keep plastered to her face. Megatron fell silent around his brother now, and Eclipse could barely stand to be in the same room with him. And though he had neither seen nor heard from Hotshot, he was sure the yellow mech was feeling the same way, consumed by that gnawing need for revenge.
Moon cycles came and went. Every day Optimus sat near silently in his berth, watching the sun crawl across the sky, and every night he would shutter his optics when First Aid arrived to feebly announce that they were no closer to a cure.
Which meant that Jetfire was still dying.
Optimus spiraled downward slowly. His temperament grew worse with each passing day, each negative report. He spoke less and less, and even his strength seemed to dwindle.
It was…disturbing, Elita felt, to see the well-loved and charismatic commander so utterly broken. Occasionally when she looked at him, at his dull armor and dimmed optics, so devoid of the love and warmth she was so accustomed to, a small bubble of fear would well up within her. No matter how she tried, she could not seem to crush it.
She had fallen so deeply in love with Optimus. She had pushed aside her loyalty to Megatron to fully embrace his brother, she had pledged her spark to the mech. But the Optimus she saw now was not the mech she had come to adore. If Optimus was sad, she could handle that. If he was broken, she would fix him. That wasn't what scared her.
What frightened--no, terrified her to the core of her being was the hate she saw glimmering in Optimus's optics. As his strength and courage waned that hate grew. She understood that he was angry, and rightfully so, but she had never seen Optimus so consumed by the desire to harm another sentient being. Prime loathed the mechanism that had done this to Jetfire. Hated him or her with every atom of his existence.
And that loathing made Elita's spark ache. She missed her warm mech. She missed the embrace of his strong arms, the warmth of his gentle smile, the love that would radiate from his optics when they held one another close. That mech had enraptured her and swept her away completely, but the light Optimus had lit in Elita's spark was being doused by the shadows he now cast.
She held on, for his sake. She knew that if Optimus lost her now, it would be the end. He may never recover if he lost another loved one. Elita knew that Optimus hated, but none of his anger was directed at her; he still held her hand as he gazed out his window, still leaned over to kiss her softly before she dimmed the lights. He had in no way forgotten his love for her, but she was beginning to feel that his presence had become a double-edged sword.
"Ratchet says you're probably well enough to get up and around," she spoke softly one evening as she gently polished his armor. "Would you like to go for a walk?"
He shook his head minutely, optics trained out the window. Elita sighed, lowering her gaze as she rubbed at his shoulder guard.
"Do you want to see if maybe Ratch'll let you in to see Jetfire?"
"No," Optimus replied flatly. "Not until I found out who did this to him."
She bit her lower lip, adjusting her pressure on a solitary smudge she'd found. She faintly wondered how it had gotten there--she'd polished him every night for the past half orn. "You know that Red Alert and his team are doing their best to--"
"They're doing their best and nothing's happened yet," Optimus snapped harshly. "What does that tell us, Elita?"
Elita shrank back. In any other situation she would have swatted him upside head and growled at him to watch his tone, to remember exactly who he was talking to, but now she just didn't have the spark.
A few moments of silence passed before Optimus suddenly turned to her and leant down, capturing her lips in a gentle kiss, laced with a silent apology. She blinked, surprised, and even more so when he slid his glossa into her mouth, an intimate invitation. A shudder passed through her as she returned the kiss, shuttering her optics when he drew her closer.
His hand wandered down her back to caress her aft and then grab her thigh, pulling her flush up against him. She moaned softly, rocking against him when he lowered his mouthplates to her throat. The passion flowed hot and uninhibited between them, their sparks singing softly to one another as he pulled her down onto the bed and beneath the covers.
He pulled the thermal blankets over their heads as he rolled over to pin her gently beneath him, his lips and glossa dancing with hers once more. She ran her hands up and over his chestplates to cradle his face, kissing him with ultimate tenderness, reminding him that even now, in this dark hour, he was still very much loved.
At her cues his kisses gentled, and the lust that had been pumping through his systems moments before cooled to the glow of passion and love he felt for the femme beneath him. The storm of hate he'd felt within him faded, lulled to calmness by the softly lapping waves that embodied their love making.
For the first time since their tryst after the shower, he made love to Elita One. He felt her again, ran his hands down the expanse of her curvaceous frame, hotly kissed her sweet mouth, enjoyed the arch of her body into his as he pleasured her.
What he loved most was when they overloaded together, gripping and entangled with one another, mouths locked tight to smother their cries lest anyone be walking by. There was an instant, a second suspended within forever, when he felt as one with her. Maybe not on the incredible and heaven-defying level that he imagined equaled sparkbonding, but on some plane of intimacy that he'd never experienced with Aerith.
He realized, as they lay together in the afterglow of their passion, that it was her spark calling to his. The moment was spurred by the way their sparks sang together in such blissfully perfect harmony. Purring softly, he lowered his mouthplates to hers and kissed her tenderly.
Elita always enjoyed the few breems of rest that followed an overload. Her processor would recalibrate, sorting through little tidbits of information that it felt it needed to prepare for her awakening. And as it sorted she would often recall snatches from her past--not memories, per se, but random bytes that always made her spark flutter in joyful recognition. A formula, a particularly hard equation that she'd managed to solve as a youngling, a long forgotten law of ancient science.
In this case, as she rested in Optimus's arms, it was the vivid image of a crime scene. Or rather, all the details of the crime scene, highlighted in her processor based on importance. She saw the hole in the ceiling, the dents in the walls that suggested something had actually scaled them, the stain of Jetfire's energon on the floor, the broken motherboard, Jetfire's mask strewn across the floor--
Something else burst forth in her mind, something so glaringly obvious that she wanted to kick herself for not noticing it earlier.
Elita sat bolt straight up, dislodging her snoozing lover and throwing the cushions haphazardly all over the room.
"Lita?!" Optimus yelped in surprise, rudely awakened and looking quite alarmed.
She wasn't listening; she'd dropped her head into her hands and had her optics closed tight, focusing.
"…Elita?" he repeated, softer this time, edging closer. He laid a gentle hand on her back, rubbing the tense wires and cords soothingly. "What is it, love?"
"There was a datapad," she breathed.
"What?"
"On the desk," she whispered, wondering if it was possible for a spark to literally implode from excitement. "In the lab. There was a datapad."
"You mean…? I'm sure Jet had lots of datapads…"
She shook her head slowly. It was dawning on her now. The realization slammed into her, bombarding her from all sides. Jetfire was smart. A cocky son of a glitch, but smart. Smart enough to have a backup copy for something as vastly important as a life-saving antivirus.
"Come on," she said, leaping from the bed and snapping her crotch plate back into place. "We're going to the medical bay. That datapad was crime scene evidence, Red Alert must still have it."
"And what's so important about the data pad?" Optimus inquired, replacing his own plate, forgetting his anger in light of his beloved's sudden excitement.
"Explain later," she replied, taking his hand and lifting herself on her toes to steal a kiss before he replaced his mask as well. "That was wonderful, by the way, you waited far too long to invite me back into your berth."
Optimus blushed as he snapped his mask back into place, and they embraced for a moment before she was all energy again, nearly bounding out of his quarters. Prime followed her with some difficulty down the many winding corridors of the base and finally to the door of the medical bay.
Elita didn't bother to knock, hammering in an access code and striding inside, brimming with confidence. Optimus followed rather sheepishly; their activities in his room had left his abdomen aching slightly, and Elita's speed in their journey hadn't really done anything to ease his pain. She seemed to realize this, for she rubbed his lower torso gently as they waited for Ratchet to finish checking the vital stats of a patient in a closed ward.
As the CMO exited, Optimus caught a brief glimpse of a long white wing before the door slid shut; his tanks and spark clenched tightly, but he was more than used to the sensation by now.
"Optimus wants to see Jetfire, and I must see Red Alert," Elita announced loudly as soon as Ratchet was within audioshot. He stopped in his tracks and appraised them coolly, one optic ridge arching slightly.
"Oh really," he said mildly. "If Prime wants to see Jetfire, that's fine. He's stable right now. But no messing with the equipment," he added in a growl. "And Miss Elita, you and I will talk."
Optimus looked at Elita meekly, but she shook her head once and pointed him towards the ward, so he had no choice but to troop in, his shoulders slumped slightly.
It wasn't that he didn't want to see Jetfire. He just…didn't want to see Jetfire half dead. He wanted to see his best friend healthy and whole, cracking out terrible jokes and barking that obnoxious laugh Optimus had come to love.
The sight that greeted him stopped Optimus in his tracks.
Jetfire, strewn across the berth, was utterly still. There was no twitching of his fingers, no occasional jerk of the foot or mutter from the vocalizer. His optics were offline and his vents silent.
Worst of all was the fact that Jetfire had been laid completely bare for all visitors to see. Gazing at the state of his best friend, Optimus understood Ratchet's reluctance to let anyone in. Jetfire's midsection looked as if it had been dissected; layers of armor had been removed and the delicate protoform covering peeled back to reveal the delicate inner workings of Jetfire's body. Optimus could see the lines weakly pumping energon through the essential mechanisms of the frame. He could see the clench and release of the pump itself, situated just beneath the spark box.
Jetfire's spark itself was terrifying to behold. Optimus knew his best friend's spark to have a wholly majestic glow, casting a vibrant gold light rather than the gentle blue that suited most mechs and femmes. But Jetfire's spark was now dimmed to a glimmer; normally it shone with the intensity of a small sun. All sorts of plugs and various attachments had been strung into and around the spark box, feeding the weak spark some sort of sustenance.
Optimus moved as more a machine than a being, coming to stand quietly at his best friend's side. He'd never imagined that Jetfire could be vulnerable. Never. Jetfire had been blown out of the sky and had bounced back to his feet moments later, laughing about how close a call it had been. He'd had limbs ripped from his body and he'd sat in the med bay, grinning woozily through the sedatives and pain killers and boasting about his own heroics.
Despite all of this, Optimus couldn't help but feel that if Jetfire had seen his own state right now, the poor shuttlebot would've died of fright. Jetfire had never been particularly bothered by seeing his own energon (or even his innards, for that matter), but the mech had always been deathly afraid of needles. What the reason was Optimus couldn't even begin to divine, but Jetfire always hated the chemical injections that came with his servicing. Most mechs avoided appointments just so that they wouldn't have to be alone with the Hatchet, but Jetfire skidded around the med bay every deca-cycle for fear not of Ratchet's wrenches, but of his syringes.
At that moment, though, a needle had been stabbed into every main energon line on the mech's body. In his neck, running along his right hip, beneath his left arm, just beneath his collar armor. Optimus couldn't identify the chemicals being injected, as he'd never been much good at chemistry, but he knew for a fact that Jetfire would have been crying like a little femme if he'd had a good look at himself.
It seemed to take forever for Optimus to work up the courage to lower himself into a chair near his friend's berth. The silence dragged on for another forever or three. What was he supposed to say? Could Jetfire even hear him? Was the mech scared, angry, upset? Or was he laughing about it all, deep down, as carefree as ever?
Optimus gazed down at his best friend, and something inside of him tightened with resolve. No. No, it wasn't going to end like this. Jetfire was immortal. He couldn't be killed. It simply wasn't…possible. It was inconceivable. The mech was fearless, without worries or inhibitions. He'd been at Optimus's side from the very beginning, it seemed. They'd wrestled their way through the academy together, served as recruits, grunts, and finally as officers under Sentinel Prime. Jetfire was Optimus's opposite and other half; they completed one another. Optimus couldn't stand to lose Jetfire any more than he could stand to lose Elita.
On impulse, Prime reached out and gripped the shuttle's motionless hand, his spark clenching. "I'm not going to say good-bye," he said softly, squeezing the fingers clasped in his. "I'm not going to say good-bye because you're not going to die. And I'm not going to give up. I'll find whoever attacked you, and I'll bring them to justice. No matter what."
…No matter what.
Ratchet and Red Alert were silent while Elita sifted through the crime scene evidence. Frag, Optimus had been witlessly correct--Jetfire did have a lot of datapads. Tons of datapads. Enough that even Prowl would go insane. How was it that Jetfire could keep track of all of this research, yet seemed unable to file even a simple expenses report?
"Errr, commander?" Red Alert piped up tentatively. "Um…what exactly are you looking for, ma'am?"
"A datapad," she said distractedly, and the medic and his assistant shared a sidelong glance.
"Don't you suppose you could be more specific?" Ratchet asked crisply. Elita threw aside the datapad she'd been scouring--figures Jetfire would have some flattering pictures of females lying around.
"Whatever attacked Jetfire broke his computer's motherboard in half," Elita said, turning around and waiting patiently for verification. When Red Alert nodded pensively, she continued. "So supposedly, all evidence of a cure was lost. But do you really suppose Jetfire would have been neglectful enough to not have a backup copy?"
"Yes," Ratchet said flatly, and the other two occupants in the room glared at him. "What? I'm sorry. I know he's dying, and I know it's horrible. But it doesn't change the fact that he was more irresponsible than the twins on ten tankards of high grade."
"Irresponsible, but smart," Elita said softly. "Think about it. Think about the victims. Ironhide--one of the strongest warriors in Optimus's command. And Prowl, the smartest bot in all of Iacon. And then Jetfire, who comes up with a cure that could revive them. Someone is picking them off, trying to isolate Optimus so he's got no one to rely on. And only a few select bots on this base knew that Jetfire had a cure."
"You think there's a traitor on base," Red Alert breathed.
Elita nodded grimly. "And I think Jetfire figured that out first. I think he got suspicious, so he hid his cure in an inconspicuous little datapad. Look at all of this--there were tons of them lying around. One lying randomly on a counter wouldn't have been suspect at all. The attacker wiped out his main database and split. But if my theory is right, then there's a cure in here somewhere." She looked up at them, optics bright. "If I'm right, then it's not too late."
The two mechs were silent for a time, both silently contemplating their predicament. Elita turned around and wordlessly began searching datapads again. It came as a surprise when Red Alert abruptly sat beside her and joined in the search.
"I think you're right," he said, turning and offering her a reassuring smile. "And I believe in Jetfire. So we'll stay up all night if we have to!"
Elita beamed and turned to look at Ratchet, who'd strode forward and was examining one of Jetfire's female-related datapads.
"He had this kind of stuff and never bothered to share?" the medic said incredulously. "Now I'm not so sure if I want to save the fragger or not…"
Elita laughed in spite of herself, an almost giddy feeling rising up within her. They were so close now. She could feel it, not just deep in her spark, but all throughout. Jetfire must have saved his cure. And they'd find it.
"…Lita?"
She glanced up and turned around, a smile crossing her faceplates at the sight of a timid Optimus poking his head in through the door. With a pat on Red Alert's shoulder as a silent request that he keep looking, she rose from her seat and moved gracefully across the room to slip through the doorway and join Optimus in the empty hall. Closing the door to Ratchet's office quietly, she turned and tucked her hands behind her back, looking pointedly up at her beloved.
Optimus shrank slightly, hunching his shoulders and dimming his optics as he looked down at her. "Elita, I…" He frowned, trying to piece together what was on his mind. "I'm sorry for how I've been…behaving, as of late. I've been angry, and a few breems ago I took it out on you, and I…I'm sorry, I never meant to--"
He broke off when she abruptly moved forward, wrapping her arms around his chest and pressing her face to his armor. He stilled, cautious on instinct, and lifted a tentative hand to rest it on her back, pulling her closer.
"Elita?"
"Come down here," she giggled, lifting her head to meet his gaze, and he obediently bent over so they were more level. Elita pulled away his mask without hesitation and leaned in, kissing the mech softly. Optimus blinked, surprised, but no sooner had he thought to respond to her affections than she had pulled back, holding his face in her hands with a smile lifting her lips.
"Silly mech," she murmured, thumbs tenderly caressing his cheekplates. "You know I can't stay mad at you. And I understand. Jetfire got hurt, and you were upset. I would have been much worse."
"You don't have a mean nodule in your body," he remarked, and she snorted before pulling him close again, wrapping her arms around his neck in a full embrace.
"I love you, Optimus," she assured him softly, caressing the back of his helm. "I don't want you to ever forget that."
After a moment he timidly wrapped his arms around her small waist, turning his face into her shoulder and shuttering his optics. Primus. How he loved her. It was a feeling that welled up from every circuit, every shard of his being. He held her tighter, running a hand down her back. He'd spent a long, lonely vorn without her, watching her in Megatron's arms, silently yearning for the affections she now bestowed upon him so freely. And now, to think that it was in him that she sought solace, and support, and it was he that his beloved cared for so deeply…
"I…love you, Elita," he whispered, hands tightening against her armor as if he were honestly afraid to let her go. "So very much."
"I know, silly," she replied quietly, nuzzling the side of his helm. "I know. But you love Jetfire too, do you not?"
He drew back, and though she let go of him, he kept his hands on her waist.
"Jetfire is my best friend," he confirmed, touching his foreplate to hers, optics regaining the lost sort of look that they'd acquired when news of Jetfire's fate had first reached him. "But what can I do?"
She smiled, caressing his faceplate before tenderly replacing his faceplate. "For now, you can help us sort out all of his incriminating femme material so we can find where that maniac keeps his research."
The recreation room was a scary place.
At least, it was for a young femme, hiding in a mech's body, who'd had an intense fear of males ever since she'd been kidnapped to that underground facility all those vorns ago. So it was a very anxious Aero who sat, perfectly upright and stiff, upon a chair in the rec room, watching its occupants warily and wondering when on Cybertron Megatron would come back to pick him up.
On the other hand, it wasn't quite as boisterous a place as "he" remembered it being. When "he'd" come here with Optimus, it had always been full of rowdy soldiers with high grade in hand, barking out crude jokes and hollering to any femme brave enough to wander in on her own. Aerith, who had always been attached to Optimus's arm like Ironhide's cannons were to his, had always been treated properly, but that didn't really make her anymore comfortable now, even hidden in a mech's frame.
But today, the rec room seemed much more somber. A few mechs joked around, and someone had broken out a few cubes of high grade, but most of the room's occupants looked worn down and outright…sad. It was eerie to recognize some of the mechs and not head over to say hello. She recognized Jazz and Starscream, who were sitting at the same table. She remembered Jazz to be constantly cheery and spirited, but now he and the Seeker both looked strained, upset.
Aerith allowed her/his optics to wander. Her spark jumped when she saw Ultra Magnus, who had always been exceptionally kind to her. He was sitting on a couch beside a femme she didn't recognize, who was rubbing his arm and seemed to be trying to soothe his apparent distress.
"What's Hotshot been up to?"
Aerith jumped at the proximity of the voice, but the tension eased when the mechs walked by, neither having spoken directly to her.
"Been locked in his quarters," the other mech said solemnly, shaking his head. "Reckon we should drag him out?"
"Nah. If he's not out by tonight, we'll alert Prime. He'll be able to coax him out."
The mechs moved out of audioshot, and Aerith inhaled deeply, forcing herself to relax marginally. It would look strange to be so uptight in a place like the rec room, regardless of the dark mood that had fallen over the base.
The poor femme had just begun to settle back in her seat when she was surprised again. Something small had run, full force, into her leg. Looking down, half afraid of what she was about to see--
Her spark stopped.
It was a sparkling. A tiny, tiny yellow sparkling, with bright, baby blue optics. It was twittering away at her, waving its arms and whining for attention. She felt frozen. Part of her didn't want to believe, but she couldn't deny the sudden pull on her spark, the memories that threatened to surface from her processor. The sparkling was…he was her…
"Bumblebee!"
She was shocked into looking up at the sound of the voice, and a blue and white mech she knew by the name Mirage came tromping up, looking irritated.
"Bumblebee, I've told you not to do that!" he scolded, bending down to scoop the sparkling into his arms. "I'm terribly sorry there, the rascal got away from me again…what's got you so excited?" he demanded of Bumblebee, poking the sparkling's abdomen in an accusatory sort of fashion. Bee paid the impromptu tickle no heed, no crying and straining to reach Aero.
Mirage released a frustrated sigh and apologetic smile on Aero's behalf before lifting his head to scan the room. "What's got Jazz so down?" he wondered aloud, frowning slightly. "I…I'm sorry to intrude upon you yet again, but could you hold this little mech for a moment?"
Aero nodded wordlessly, struggling not to shake as she opened her arms. Mirage settled Bumblebee directly into her lap and took off, making a beeline for Jazz's table.
For a moment, Aerith couldn't move. Couldn't even think. Bumblebee was now purring, snuggling down against her armor and patting her chest right above her spark. She thought she could hear her own armor rattling, she was trembling so badly. Cautiously, as though afraid she were in a dream that could burst back into reality at any moment, she wrapped her arms around Bumblebee's tiny frame and hoisted him up gently, cradling him.
The sparkling curled up immediately, wide blue optics blinking up at her. He bleeped at her tiredly, and she felt a small wave of contentment wash through her spark.
"Bee," she breathed. "Bumblebee. Bee. Bee. Bee."
"Bee," he giggled, tapping his own noseplates. "Bee!"
Struggling not to cry, she laughed weakly, pulling the baby bot closer. "Yes, that's right. You're Bee. You're our little…you're our Bumblebee…"
She pressed her foreplates to his, shuttering her optics. Memories. Oh, the memories. Optimus, coming home late, overjoyed to find that his small family had stayed up waiting for him. Optimus, bending down to scoop Bumblebee into his arms before kissing Aerith tenderly. Optimus, sinking onto the couch while Bee drifted off in his arms, softly asking how the day had gone. Optimus, smiling and wrapping one strong arm around her waist when she leaned against him and whispered that the day was all the brighter because he was home.
"That's odd."
Her head jerked up at the sound of his voice, and her spark clenched so tight that Bee grunted, wriggling to try and shake the discomfort.
In some corner of her processor, Aerith didn't think she'd ever see him again. But there before her stood Optimus Prime, red and blue armor aglow in the pleasant light of the rec room. There stood Optimus Prime, his ethereal, all-seeing blue optics trained on the sparkling in her arms.
"He normally won't let strangers hold him," Optimus remarked, lowering himself to one knee. He reached out and caressed Bumblebee's small helm, smiling when the sparkling squealed and turned his attention to his male progenitor. Aero remained silent, grip on Bumblebee slackening as she gazed at Optimus.
"Oh, I'm sorry," Prime said suddenly, looking up so fast that Aerith thought she might faint when they made optic contact. "I called you a stranger. That was a bit rude. I'm Optimus Prime, I don't think we've been introduced…"
"Aero," she replied weakly, adjusting her grip on Bee to offer him to the commander. "I, ah…y-you can…if you like…"
"He seems perfectly content with you, it's alright," Optimus assured the younger "mech," smiling gently. "I don't suppose you've been traveling with Megatron?"
Aero jumped, almost dislodging Bee, who squawked indignantly. "I--I, yes, I have, but--how did you…?"
"I was informed that Megatron arrived with someone else," Optimus said, waving a hand dismissively. "Anyway. You were the only face in this rec room I didn't recognize. You want up?" he added, optics warming as he looked down at Bee, who'd decided that Aero was entirely too jumpy for his liking.
Aerith almost melted when Optimus picked the sparkling up, cradling Bee in one arm and tickling his abdominal plating with his free hand. Bumblebee shrieked and giggled, catching his father's hand and chomping down on one thick finger.
"Ouch," Optimus grunted, tugging his digit back. "No bite, Bee, how many times have we gone over this?"
Bumblebee growled, making another snatch at Optimus's fingers.
"No, Bee! Primus…"
"Aw, is someone having problems with the sparkling?" a feminine voice trilled teasingly, and Aero stiffened when the reddish femme she'd seen earlier appeared at Optimus's shoulder. What had her name been? Elita?
"Hey there, Bee!" the femme greeted warmly, reaching over Optimus's massive forearm to tickle the small bot's abdomen. "As cute as you are, I'm afraid I need to steal Optimus from you for a moment. He's helping us search through datapads. Isn't he a good mech?"
Bumblebee squealed, reaching his arms up and craning his head back to look up at Elita, a look of absolute adoration on his faceplates. Aerith felt her spark clench and twist when the femme commander, grinning, hefted Bee from Optimus's arms and cuddled the sparkling close.
"Oh, Aero," Elita said cheerfully, having just taken notice of the young mech. "Nice to see you again. Where's Megatron?"
Aero didn't reply. He couldn't. His--her spark was tying itself in knots, optics locked on her tiny son in the other femme's arms. Bumblebee was purring, nuzzling into the warm crevices of Elita's armor. Happy, content.
It rose up then. Fury. Jealousy. Blind, flat-out hatred for the femme before her. How dare she. How dare Elita One step in and…and…seduce Optimus, act like she was Bumblebee's mother! Aerith had been there long before she had! Aerith had been Optimus's beloved, his berth mate, his confidante and closest friend! She'd given a shard of her spark and used it to create Bumblebee! How dare Elita One think she could ignore all of that--
And how dare Optimus let her?!
Aero reacted. She'd long since lost the capacity for control. She was broken, beaten, trapped in a body that wasn't her own, and the sight of another femme cuddling her sparkling--
Aero snapped, lunging forward and punching--punching--Elita One in the faceplates, using the momentary shock to seize Bumblebee and hug the screaming sparkling to her chestplates, turning and running, running, leaving it all behind…
"…Huh. Well, I suppose I should have mentioned that Aero was a bit…disturbed."
"Yes, you should have!" Optimus fumed, casting an infuriated glare across the med bay at his twin before turning back to the berth. "Ratchet, is she--?"
"For Pit's sake, she's fine," Ratchet grumped, holding Elita One's chin in one hand while he worked on her left cheek. "Megatron, you said that's a new frame that Aero's got?"
"Yes."
"Lucky," the medic grunted. "The edges of his armor are still sharp, not smoothed out yet. Your faceplates split but didn't dent, Elita, so no permanent damage done, provided it doesn't scar. There's no need for a weld, we'll put some tape over it and let your repair systems do the rest."
"Sounds good, Ratch. Now could you give Optimus a sedative so he doesn't kill someone?" Elita requested politely, and her intended responded with a long, low growl.
"Elita's face isn't the point!" Optimus snapped, but backtracked quickly. "I mean, it is, and I'm glad you weren't damaged, but he shouldn't have attacked her to begin with! Worse yet, that madmech is still running around with Bum--not to say that Bee is more important than you, Lita, that's not what I--"
"Relax, Optimus, I get what you meant," Elita sighed, flinching when Ratchet purposefully smoothed a piece of medical tape over her cheekplate. "We'll find Aero, don't worry. And we'll let Megatron deal with the disciplinary action, yes?"
Optimus frowned. "I think that's better left to Prowl…when he wakes up, that is…"
"No," Elita replied flatly, glaring her beloved down with ease. "If Aero's mentally unstable, we can't risk upsetting him. Megatron knows him best, we'll let him deal with it."
"I appreciate that," Megatron sighed, rubbing the back of his helm. "And, Elita, I'm sorry--I shouldn't have left him alone in there…"
"What I don't get is why he attacked Elita," Optimus mused, settling down at her side on the berth. "He seemed fine when I was talking to him, but when she picked up Bumblebee, Aero just--snapped."
"Glitches can be funny that way," Ratchet sighed, patting Elita's cheekplate as he stood up. "Who knows how his mind works. Primus, look what one electrical misfire or five in the processor can do to a mech…"
They all fell silent when Optimus's comm link beeped, and he was quick to answer it.
"Prime."
"Optimus, we've got Bumblebee," Red Alert's voice announced. "And Aero's in custody."
"Alright. I'll come down to collect Bee, and Aero is to be left to Megatron for punishment," Optimus replied briskly. "Thank you, Red Alert. You could be Prowl's twin."
"Flattering, Commander, but I've got no great desire to do this day in and day out," Red Alert retorted, amused. "Red Alert out."
"See?" Elita chided, arching an optic ridge at Prime. "I told you it'd be fine. Now then, we need to get back to work," she added briskly, sliding off the berth. "Ratchet, you left all of Jetfire's stuff out, right?"
"Oh. That." Ratchet frowned slightly, rubbing his chin. "Actually, we think we found the pad with the cure on it."
Her head snapped up, optics wide. "What?! You found it?! Are you administering the antivirus?"
Ratchet shifted his weight from foot to foot, looking uncomfortable. "Well…that's the thing. It's…confusing."
"How so?"
"We can't make heads or tails of it," Ratchet said flatly, folding his arms over his chest. "It's just a bunch of babble about organics and some kind of poison. Neither Wheeljack nor I had a clue what the moron was going on about."
"That's alright, let me look at it," Elita said promptly, looking quite unflustered by their predicament. "I'll figure it out. Optimus…"
"I'll meet you in my quarters as soon as I've got Bee," he promised. "Put that brilliant processor of yours to work in the meantime, will you?"
She flashed him a smile and with a quick thank-you to Ratchet and wave to Megatron, her lithe frame was out the med bay doors and down the hall.
"Well then, you two can scram," Ratchet said, turning to scowl at the twins. "Don't you both have somewhere you need to be?"
"Oh--right," Optimus said, jumpstarting back into action, having been mesmerized by Elita's graceful departure. "We're going, Ratch, no need to go for the wrench…"
The twins set off down the hall, matching one another step for step. A silence hung between them, but it wasn't as awkward as Optimus had expected. It was quiet, but companionable.
"I'd forgotten," Megatron sighed quietly, and Optimus glanced over at him.
"Forgotten what?"
"This," the Protectorate answered, making a broad motion with his hand. "All of it. What it was like to be a functioning part of this base. What it was like to be looked up to, to be needed. What it was like to be a brother with an obnoxious older sibling," he added smartly, and Optimus grinned.
"It's…good to have you back, Megatron. To be frank, I was afraid…"
"…That it was all for naught?" Megatron prompted when Prime didn't continue. "That our relationship was broken, that we'd managed to tear one another--and ourselves--apart? Don't be an idiot, Optimus. It'll never happen."
Optimus beamed, and Megatron returned the gesture by punching his older brother's shoulder accusingly.
"You know what, though," Megatron sighed, his happy demeanor diminishing slightly. "I'd also forgotten just how beautiful she is."
Optimus nearly stumbled, pausing mid-stride before remembering how to move his feet. He widened his steps until he'd caught up to his younger brother. The silence returned for a few minutes, while Optimus's processor churned. He didn't know how to reply to Megatron's statement. He wasn't so sure he wanted to. As close as they were, it boiled down to one fact--he and his brother were desperately in love with the same femme. In a way it had almost been simpler when Elita had been torn between the two of them; at least then they'd all been suffering together.
"It's okay, you know," Megatron said after awhile, looking over at Optimus. "You and her. It's fine. I had my chance, and I fragged it up royally."
"But you saved me," Optimus said sadly, lowering his optics. "If I'd never contracted that virus, then you and Elita--"
"Would have remained together until she realized I wasn't the one she was in love with," Megatron finished flatly, and Optimus looked at him in surprise. "She'd realize that she'd loved you from the moment she set optics on your stupid aft, and she'd have left me. The separation would have drained us and eventually killed us both. At least this way we're all alive. And she's happy. And really, Optimus, that's all I give a frag about."
The silence settled between them again, and yet it still wasn't awkward. Megatron seemed to have closure, to some level. It soothed Optimus's spark, to know that his brother wasn't necessarily happy, but could finally begin to recover. It was a feeling that overpowered him, until he stopped in his tracks, gripped his brother by the shoulder, and pulled him into a rough embrace.
Megatron stood in shock for a moment before returning his brother's hold. Neither of them had ever been much for hugs (unless the recipient was a femme, of course) but the embrace they now shared was strangely comfortable.
It almost made Megatron feel guilty.
Almost.
South Park is my new favorite TV show. Ever. :D Not as good as TF, of course, but still pretty damn hilarious.
Oh, this fic is dedicated to i-love-me-some-leggypoo, who has been faithfully sending me tons of fanfiction for my enjoyment (and I enjoyed it very, VERY much. Heh) So I hammered out this chapter for her as payment. Now, spoilers, spoilers...uh oh :D
I didn't proofread all of this chapter (I usually don't) so don't kill me if there are some mistakes. And sorry if the Aero/Aerith/him/her thing got confusing; I got confused myself D: