Chapter Twenty-One

Plenoptic

There's a new South Park on in a few minutes, but I thought I'd get this started because I have so little work tonight :3 Please enjoy, and let's crank out those reviews, hmmm? Even smiley faces make me happy :D

Litahatchee gave me some very helpful criticism, so from here on out, I'm going to work on making my characters a bit more mature. Er…I'll try my best X3

"…I…do not understand it."

"Huh?" Starscream tilted his head back, frowning at the upside-down image of the gigantic purple scientist. "What don't you understand?"

"…His research. His cure." Shockwave was utterly still, leaning intently over the tiny datapad before him. He had no facial features save for the one golden optic perched in front and in the center of his angular head. Starscream wondered if the scientist was angry, confused, bitter, or a combination of the three.

"His results are that far-fetched?" Starscream inquired, looking back down at his own datapad (which, incidentally, had more to do with femmes than science).

"Not only that, but they don't have anything to support them," Shockwave growled, clearly irritated. "We're basing our development of the cure--a very costly development, I might add--on this…this…lunatic's wild deductions."

"They're not as wild as you might think."

Both scientists turned their attention to the rosy red femme in the corner. Elita One was hunched over a small table, Jetfire's datapad in front of her (Shockwave's was a duplicate), her head in her hands and her optics narrowed.

"What do you mean, Commander?" Shockwave asked a little stiffly. It was more than apparent that he was miffed at having the dissection of Jetfire's research taken over by a female, when he thought himself more than capable. But Ratchet had firmly stated that Elita was to head the project, and with Optimus Prime and Megatron backing the decision, there was little Shockwave could do.

"There are all sorts of beings running around this universe," Elita said absently, shuttering her optics. "We've explored only a fraction of it all. There's so much…more. I'm not surprised if Jetfire's theory is correct."

"You propose a valid point, Commander, but really…a half machine, half organic?" Shockwave scoffed, shaking his head. "It's simply preposterous."

"But say for a moment that Jetfire's theory is correct," Starscream cut in, tossing down his datapad to join Elita at her table. "What do you make of his results?"

Elita frowned, un-shuttering her optics and skimming over the contents of the datapad once more. Jetfire's work really was erratic; it was as though he'd made a guess out of thin atmosphere rather than creating a hypothesis and then backing it up with research and observation. It defied all Elita had ever learned about the scientific method, but at the same time, all of Jetfire's conclusions seemed to fit.

"I think," she said slowly, leaning back in her chair, and felt a spark of amusement when Starscream leaned in, "that Jetfire was suggesting that the virus this thing injects isn't a virus at all. He seems to think that it's some kind of chemical, which is laced with some…organic acid that eats at our parts."

"But if that was true, then shouldn't the victims have bled the acid out?" Starscream pointed out, and Elita fell silent, chewing her lower lip. It was the one hole in Jetfire's answer.

"Clearly, this is an acid we have never encountered before," Shockwave quipped, joining the twosome with some reluctance. He wasn't so much concerned for the victims as he was eager to solve the puzzle, Elita knew, but his input was still perfectly valid. "Perhaps it has properties we have not considered?"

"Maybe…maybe it chemically bonds with the energon in our systems," she said after a moment. "Maybe it spread, affecting all of the life fluid, so even though they lost so much energon…"

"The acid would still be present, so they would continue to regress," Starscream finished, optics going wide. "So, to cure them--"

"We'd have to drain them and refill their lines with energon from Ratchet's infusion stores," Elita said, spark quickening with excitement.

"Then Ratchet would just have to repair the damaged parts--"

"--And they'd be good as new, wouldn't they?"

The duo stared at one another, nearly breathless with excitement.

"We've gotta tell Ratchet," Elita whispered. "And Wheeljack."

"And Red Alert."

"And First Aid."

"And Jetfire."

"We have to wake Jetfire up first!"

"Then what are you doing just sitting there, femme?! Let's go already!"

Nearly knocking their chairs over in their haste, Starscream and Elita snatched up their datapads and sprang to their feet, sprinting across the quiet lab and down the hall.

"…You're welcome!" Shockwave hollered after them, before sinking back into his seat, scowling--on the inside.

"First Aid…we're going to break this down real simple."

"O-Oh. R-really? Maybe we could, uh, 'break this down' a little further from the med bay?"

"…Nah."

"Let's break it down inside the med bay, FA."

"Uh, but Ratchet told me--"

"Ratchet let me in when I was with Elita, First Aid."

"Yes, but--"

"Shouldn't be any different now that I'm with Hotshot, should it, First Aid?"

"I-I suppose not, but…uh…"

"Oh, stop it," Ratchet huffed, swinging the med bay door open from the inside, and First Aid, who had been leaning against it, nearly fell on his aft. "You two are incredibly bad at being even remotely intimidating. What do you want?"

"We wanna see Jetfire," Hotshot blurted determinedly. "And we're not leaving until we do!"

Ratchet arched one optic ridge, lazily allowing his gaze to move upwards to Optimus Prime. "Oh, really?"

"Recruits," Optimus muttered, casually covering Hotshot's mouth with one huge hand. "You know. Impulsive to the end."

"I'm not a recruit anymore," Hotshot muttered darkly, voice muffled by Optimus's imposing hand. "Leggo, Boss."

"Only if you promise to shut up."

"Fine, fine…"

"Ratchet!"

The medics glanced further down the hall, and Optimus and Hotshot turned to see Elita and Starscream skid around a corner before sprinting towards the foursome, clutching one another for balance as they slid to a stop.

"Got it!" Elita gasped, seizing Optimus's arm to keep from plowing into Ratchet. "The cure, we've got it worked out!"

"Really?" First Aid said excitedly, while Ratchet's optics threatened to pop out of his faceplates. "So soon? That's wonderful, what's the antivirus sequence?"

"Bleed 'em," Starscream panted, and after an astrosecond First Aid looked at him.

"I'm sorry--what?"

"You've got to bleed them out, Ratch, then cycle new energon in," Elita explained hurriedly, looking up at the medic. "Come on, I'll explain while we get started…"

"Hold it!" Ratchet yelped, jumping when she pushed past him and into the med bay, Starscream on her heels. "I can't let you drain my patients without a logical reason, Elita!"

"I've got a logical reason, but who knows how much longer they're going to hold?" she demanded, turning on her heel to lock him in a fiery glare. "Ratchet, you start on Jetfire, and First Aid, come help Starscream and me with Ironhide. Optimus, could you be a dear and go start collecting transfusion bags from storage?"

"Huh? Oh, um…" Optimus tossed a hesitant glance in the stunned CMO's direction before nodding quickly and hurrying towards the back room.

"Explain, Elita," Ratchet growled, following the femme commander into Ironhide's room. He was perfectly ready to start shouting, but Chromia was recharging at her mate's side, so Ratchet forced himself to keep his voice in check. "What's going on?"

"The 'virus' is actually an organic acid," Elita whispered, examining the tube in one of Ironhide's lateral lines. "It's chemically bonded to the victims' energon, and attacking certain alloys--like the valves connecting Ironhide's lines to his vital components. There is no antivirus, because it's not attacking the processor, it's inside their fuel lines."

Ratchet's mouthplates worked soundlessly for a moment, then he shook his cranial unit hard before joining the femme at his patient's side. "Are you sure?"

"Almost positive," she replied firmly. "Starscream and I, uh, stopped by the chem lab before we came down here, and I examined a sample of Ironhide's energon."

"What? Wait a second, that was medical research material--"

"And I used it for just that reason, Ratchet! Anyway. There was a foreign compound laced with Ironhide's energon molecules. I'm sure it's from his attacker."

Ratchet sighed heavily. Even if she hadn't experimented, he would have been compelled to believe Elita; she had, after all, been a student of Alpha Trion.

"Chromia," he said gruffly, shaking her shoulder gently. "Time to wake up."

The femme stirred sleepily for a moment before lifting her head, blinking drowsily at the crowd of bots around her beloved's berth. "…Lita? Ratch? What's goin' on…?"

"We're going to bring Ironhide online," Elita said reassuringly, reaching out to grip Chromia's hand. "Care to help?"

Chromia was off the berth in an instant, optics alight with excitement. "What are we doing? Did you find an antivirus yet?"

"Doesn't need one, it's--oh, never mind, we're going to cure him," Ratchet rambled uselessly, examining a line traversing Ironhide's throat. "How do you propose we do this without inflicting more damage, Elita?"

"Go for the lateral lines, they'll be easy to repair, and they put forth a lot of energon," Elita suggested. "We'll just filter his energon out and into a container to avoid contamination…"

"If we're going to drain him, I'll need to put him into stasis," Ratchet noted, frowning. "Chromia, can you reach him over your sparkbond? Tell him we're putting him into stasis lock, but it's all for his own good, alright?"

Chromia nodded briskly, bending over to place her foreplate against Ironhide's, one hand caressing his shoulder gently. Elita and First Aid set up the line drip while Ratchet almost tenderly inserted a small plug into an access port in the back of Ironhide's helm.

"Stasis has been initiated," he said quietly. "Okay…rerouting all power to his pump." He glanced down and to his left, grinning weakly when bright blue energon gushed into the tube in Ironhide's fuel line, filtering into the containment chamber Starscream had set up.

"Are we rolling?" Optimus asked somewhat breathlessly as he entered the room, carrying a cooling chamber full of energon transfusion bags. "Ironhide…how's he doing?"

"He's in stasis," Ratchet said quietly, scanning over Ironhide's still form. "It'll take a few breems for him to drain, then we'll start to fill him up again and take him out of stasis. If this works, we'll get to work on Jetfire immediately, then Prowl and the twins…where's Hotshot?" the medic added uneasily, looking up at his commander.

"He's with Jetfire, Ratch. Don't worry, I told him not to touch anything," Optimus assured the medic quickly. "Elita, Starscream--tell me again what's going on?"

The next few breems passed in relative quiet, the two proud scientists explaining their discovery in hushed tones. Optimus followed as best he could, occasionally looking to Elita for elaboration. Ratchet half-listened, more preoccupied with monitoring Ironhide; Chromia could give maybe half a frag about the science behind it all and didn't listen at all.

"The bottom line is that they'll recover, right?" Optimus interrupted as Starscream spiraled into an explanation of organic anatomy.

"It's going to take surgery, and time, but yes," Elita assured him softly, taking the mech's hand. "They should be fine, Optimus."

"Better yet, now we know how to stop this thing," Ratchet put in, turning to the trio in the corner. "I mean, whatever it is that attacked them. It took out the security camera in the lab before attacking Jetfire, but it's sure to make another move soon. We'll catch it then."

"I'm going to nab this thing myself," Chromia growled, optics narrowing dangerously, but they never left Ironhide's slumbering faceplates. "I'm going to rip it limb from fragging limb."

"I want a piece, too," Optimus replied darkly, and Elita tightened her hand around his. He glanced sideways at her, but she wouldn't meet his optics.

"By the way, Optimus," Ratchet said, frowning slightly, "if Wing--"

"Don't say it."

"…Fine. If Eclipse's mate happens to come by, I don't want you starting any fights in my medical bay."

Optimus smiled faintly. "I'll try to restrain myself."

"I'm being serious, youngling. You control yourself, or the next time you come crying to me about nearly getting cut in half, I'll hand you a syringe and tell you to sleep it off."

"Speaking of which. I don't suppose we have any idea if Bloodlust is still alive?" First Aid piped up, and the mood was immediately somber once more.

"I haven't received any updates," Prime said, cradling his chin in one hand as he gazed absently at Ironhide. "Although it hasn't been my highest priority," he admitted guiltily.

"Understandable," Ratchet said, then arched an optic ridge. "But…don't our spies normally report to Prowl?"

Optimus shrugged one shoulder but didn't offer any explanation. Ratchet's optics narrowed suspiciously, but let the matter drop, turning back to his patient.

"Okay. First Aid, stop the drip, set up the infusion. I'll take him out of stasis in three breems."

First Aid obeyed hurriedly, and the assembled bots fidgeted nervously as life fluids were pumped steadily back into Ironhide's broken body. Determinedly not letting his hands tremble, Ratchet reinserted his plug and authorized the shut down of the stasis lock.

Optimus got up from his seat and stood at Chromia's side, optics anxiously scanning his guardian's face. "Is he…?"

Ratchet waved a hand to silence him, leaning closer to Ironhide's audio. "Ironhide? Ironhide, can you hear me?"

A moment of silence passed before the weapons specialist emitted a low moan; Chromia gripped his hand tightly, optics sparkling with unshed tears.

"Ironhide, how do you feel?" Ratchet asked quietly, touching the old warrior's helm. "Ironhide?"

"…It hurts," Ironhide mumbled weakly, and the medic leaned in further.

"Where? Where does it hurt?"

"…My arm."

Ratchet blinked, confusion blossoming over his faceplate. "You…Your arm hurts?"

"…Yeah. Ow, Primus, it aches." Ironhide cracked open one optic shutter, leveling a glare at his attending. "When the frag did you last oil the transformation gears on my cannons, medic?"

Chromia released a long sigh, dropping her head onto her mate's shoulder and laughing weakly against his armor. Optimus sank onto the edge of the berth, burying his face in one hand; Ratchet scowled darkly and flicked Ironhide's helm.

"Smart aft," he groused, straightening and stretching his back. "All that work I put into bringing his ungrateful aft back into the world of the living, and the fragger's already shooting his mouth off."

"I'd be shootin' something else if you hadn't forgotten to oil it," Ironhide growled, optics glittering with amusement. "Mia, you're tearin' up all over my armor."

"Shut up," she whimpered, pounding one fist against his chestplates. "I was worried about you, you inconsiderate--"

"Shh," Ironhide soothed softly, turning his head to the side to brush his mouthplates lovingly across her cheek. "Shh, love. I know."

Optimus beamed when the old weapons specialist looked over at him, gripping Ironhide's arm tightly. "Welcome back, Ironhide. You--" Prime broke off suddenly, wiping hurriedly at his optics. "You fragger. You had us worried."

"So I've heard," Ironhide snorted, amused. "Nice to see you haven't gotten any smarter. Where's Elita?"

"Here," she said, but her voice broke slightly. Clearing her vocalizer, she stepped up at Optimus's side. "Right here, Ironhide."

He focused both optics on her, locking her in his ethereal blue gaze. "…Nah," he said after a moment, shaking his head. "Not you. Couldn't have been."

"What wasn't me?" she inquired, confused, but he shuttered his optics.

"Not now. Later. We'll talk later. What's been going on?"

"Prowl, the twins, and Jetfire were attacked," Optimus said quietly, and Ironhide's optics immediately opened, wide with surprise. "Ratchet and First Aid are going to go tend to them soon."

"Same attacker?"

"We believe so."

Ironhide frowned, leaning back against the headrest. "If Prowl's out, then I guess it can't wait." He turned his head to the side, once again focusing on the femme commander. "Elita, whatever attacked me had your face."

"…W…What?" she stammered out, mouthplates nearly going slack with shock. Optimus gripped her hand on instinct, optics widening.

"It was a femme. Looked just like you," Ironhide said firmly, nodding faintly. "Now that I think about, it had darker armor, but I definitely thought it was you for an astrosecond or two. Didn't even think to shoot until the thing was on me." He frowned, struggling to remember the battle. "I think…right before I passed out, it said your name. I think it was trying to find you."

Elita felt her knees buckle; Optimus immediately wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close to his physique and hushing her softly.

"…How?" Chromia asked in a near whisper, deeply disturbed. "'Hide…how could it possibly know Elita?"

"She," Ironhide corrected, "and I have no idea. But I'm sure she was after you. Or wanted to know where you were, at least."

Optimus tightened his grip on his intended, his free hand curling into a fist. Panic was simmering in his CPU, threatening to engulf his spark, but his vorns as commander managed to quell the fear. Something was after Elita. Someone wanted to find his Elita, possibly wanted to hurt her.

"Ironhide," he said softly, working to keep his voice from shaking, "as soon as Prowl is cured, we'll move his berth into your room, and I want you to tell him everything you remember. All of it. Every byte of information is crucial, and we need to start formulating a strategy immediately."

Ironhide saluted with difficulty, locking his gaze with Optimus's for a moment before relaxing against the berth, turning his head and his attention to Chromia. Optimus acknowledged the dismissal, nudging Elita gently and leading her from the room. Ratchet and First Aid rushed past them, heading off for Jetfire's ward, and Starscream followed soon after.

"Are you alright?" Optimus asked softly, turning and placing his hands on Elita's upper arms. "Elita?"

"I'm fine," she said, but her voice sounded horribly small. Optimus placed a hand on her cheek, lifting her face until their gazes met.

"I won't let them near you," he whispered, pulling her closer. "Elita--I will protect you. You don't have to be afraid."

"I'm not," she replied quietly, meeting his gaze steadily. "And I want you to protect yourself before you worry about me."

He shook his head vaguely, leaning down his head to rest his foreplate against hers. "Beloved…"

"Shh," she whispered, lifting a hand to trail her fingertips down his mask. "Optimus…"

The mask came away beneath her hand, and he leaned in to kiss her tenderly, pulling her flush up against his frame. They melted into one another's affections, listening to the sweet siren call of the other's spark. Elita shuttered her optics and held him closer, softly kissing his warm mouth and wondering how, how, she'd gone so long in Megatron's arms and not Optimus's.

"Jetfire will be waking up soon, love," she murmured, torturously pulling her lips from his. "You'll want to be there."

Optimus gazed down at her for a moment before placing a hand on the back of her helm, pulling her forward and tucking her face into the space between his neck and shoulder, his other arm winding around her waist.

"Thank you," he whispered, voice slightly ragged. "It's because of you, sweetspark."

He shuttered his optics briefly, feeling his spark ache at the endearment he'd just uttered. Some part of him moaned out in grief for Aerith, but he felt consumed with love for the femme now in his arms. Finally, something began to click. Bits and pieces of his spark began to slide towards acceptance. He grieved for Aerith even as he adored Elita. Those feelings, those two very special sparks, could co-exist within his. Aerith was there, Elita was here, and that was all there was to it.

Relaxing against Elita's warm frame, Optimus let Aerith go. Let her go, and though it pained his spark, he could feel the soothing beginnings of closure.

Unforunately, closure was a little early in coming, but of course he couldn't possibly have known that.

"…Mama?"

The youngling stirred lightly, tilting his head, weak little wings fluttering gently against the covering of his berth. "…Mama?"

The femme reached out, caressing her son's helm with one hand, smiling sadly when he purred, nuzzling her palm.

"I'm sorry to wake you, brightspark," she murmured, tracing his noseplate with one finger. His optics unshuttered, and he blinked up at her drowsily. "I've been thinking."

"About what, Mama?" he asked, rubbing his optics with tiny fists.

"…Your father. And your sister. All of us."

"Oh."

The femme shuttered her optics briefly before looking back down on the sleepy youngling. "I'm afraid, brightspark. Your father isn't the same. He hasn't been for some time."

"Mama?"

He shifted uncomfortably. Something was different about her tonight. Her spark felt…distant. And her optics seemed a little darker. And something behind them was…stirring.

"Mama?" he repeated uncertainly, a note of begging in his voice.

"I've tried to protect you," she whispered, and only then did he take notice of the pillow on her lap. "I've tried so hard. But I think it's time for us to leave."

"And go where?" he whispered, blinking up at her, forgetting about how tired he was. "Where are we gonna go, Mama? Where's…where's Cloud?"

"Your sister is safe," she assured him softly, patting his helm. "I've already sent her away. We're all going to live somewhere wonderful, just the three of us."

"What about Papa?"

"He'll join us when his spark isn't so angry anymore. Don't worry. We're all going to be safe. I love you very much."

She got to her feet then, but the youngling didn't dare move. Why was he so afraid? This was his mother, after all. Yet a terror was stirring in his spark, eating him up on the inside. He felt that he ought to run, but he felt frozen.

"Mama?" he whimpered, tears threatening upon his optics. "Mama…"

"I'm sorry," she said softly, lifting the pillow. "I'm so sorry. But we're going to be safe now."

"Mama!"

"I'm sorry. But I…I love you, Jetfire."

"Papa!" the youngling cried, moving away, and had no time to wonder why he suddenly cried out for his father. For his mother was upon him then, holding him down, and the pillow covered his face.

"Papa! Papa!"

Gone…he couldn't breathe, all of the air was gone! He tried to scream, but his vocalizers made no sound. He felt hot…and his mother was so heavy…

The world began to go dark, and then--

"Jetfire?"

The world plunged down upon him the moment his optics came online. Ratchet started when Jetfire's vitals spiked violently, uttering soft assurances as he tried to calm his patient down.

"Jetfire, it's okay--you're in the medical bay," Optimus Prime said hurriedly, moving forward and placing a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Jetfire, it's me, calm down!"

The shuttle froze, optics darting around the room, then up at his startled companions' faces. His processor realized it had been a memory replay before his spark did. Oh.

Jetfire abruptly fell back against the cushions, shuttering his optics tightly and covering his face with his hands. Okay. Time to calm down now.

"Jetfire?" Hotshot whispered, optics wide with terror. "Ratchet--what's wrong with him?"

The medic hushed him quickly, watching his patient closely. "Jetfire?"

"…Who was it?"

"What?" Optimus asked, leaning in. "Jet…"

"Who figured out my datapad?"

"Me," Elita said nervously, stepping closer.

Jetfire lifted one hand slowly but said nothing. Elita, after a few moments of hesitation, cautiously moved in and touched her palm to his.

Nearly every bot in the room nearly died of a spark attack when Jetfire sat up suddenly, throwing both arms around the femme and pulling her into a tight hug.

"Victory is mine! Elita, you are amazing! You rock! Primus, femme, you are the greatest thing ever!!!"

"Uh…thanks?" Elita said blankly, completely bewildered.

They were all startled by a loud thud; Optimus turned and barked out a laugh upon seeing that Hotshot had fainted. "Uh, First Aid…"

"On it," the little mech said briskly, moving forward to revive the dazed captain.

"Stupid recruit," Jetfire snorted. "'Kay, Ratch--I feel like I'm about to pass out."

"You sat up too fast," Ratchet grunted, prying his patient from the struggling femme commander and forcing Jetfire to lie back down. "You've only got half the standard amount of energon in you, you've got to rest."

"Fine, sure. Hey, Optimus!"

"Hey yourself," Prime sighed, sitting down on the side of the berth and grinning weakly at his best friend. "I'm going to fragging murder you."

"Aw, really? Let me recuperate first so it's at least a little fun," Jetfire suggested, patting Optimus's arm. "How ya doing, big guy?"

"Better, now that you're online. Much better." Optimus smiled, his optics warm as he placed a hand on Jetfire's helm. "I missed you."

"Of course you did," his best friend replied, grinning. "But don't say that kind of stuff around Elita, she'll find out about our forbidden relationship."

"…Never mind. Forget everything I just said. I liked it without you around. Much more quiet."

"You know, denial is one of the first stages of love, or so they say."

"Remind me why we cured him again?"

"Because you'd be fragged without me and you know it! Elita!" Jetfire turned his attention towards the startled femme, who'd been helping First Aid drag a dizzy Hotshot to his feet. "Primus, femme, how long have you secretly been a genius?"

"It's never been a secret, you're just oblivious," Optimus muttered, kneading his foreplate with his knuckles.

"Jetfire, you need a lesson in organization," Elita chided teasingly, sitting down at her disgruntled lover's side. "That datapad of yours was near impossible to make any sense of."

"Well, I was kind of in a hurry," Jetfire grumped. "And it's not like I was expecting some insane mutant to come and near kill me."

"Mutant?" Optimus said, lifting his head to stare at his best friend.

"Yeah. Dude, Optimus, this chick had pincers. I'm not even kidding. I don't think even the mighty you could berth that one. Oh, not that he'd try," Jetfire added, looking pointedly at Elita. "He's been ga-ga over you for a vorn now, and in any case she's way out of his league--"

"Wait, pincers?" Optimus said faintly.

"That's what I said, bro! They weren't like…like claws or anything, but…that's what she injected me with," Jetfire said, nodding thoughtfully. "And--hey, Starscream! How's it going?"

"He really is oblivious," Starscream groaned, finally stepping out of the corner. "Why can't you just stay dead?"

"Uh, I'm not really feeling the love here. You all missed me and you damn well know it."

"Accept what little love you get with grace and you'll get a lot more," Optimus sighed, rolling his optics. "Ratchet, First Aid, the others…"

"Right away," Ratchet said briskly, gathering up his supplies. "We need to get Prowl briefed, do we not? And then we have a mutant to slag."

Finder was a little disconcerted by how amazingly easy it was. Haven wasn't like Iacon, of course, but he thought it should have been a little more difficult to get into. Instead, the guards at its huge white gates grinned and waved him through. Finder was a rebel, for Primus's sake! Well, sort of. "Finder" was a rebel, and had been since Sentinel Prime's death, since Sentinel's grieving son had looked into his optics and said "I need you."

Finder had been born that day. It was a mask, of course. A devious alter ego by which he could operate covertly. But it suited him. He'd been a bounty hunter before Sentinel had found him, after all. He'd picked up whatever work came his way, wandering without any true goal or destination. He felt the urge to clean up Cybertron, make it safer for sparks purer than his.

Sentinel had found value in that. "You can fight," he'd said simply. "You've been fighting all your life. Come teach my mechs how to do the same."

The mech Finder had once been had acquiesced. Mostly because he didn't have anything better to do. Work had been slow lately.

And that was how he'd met Optimus.

He was never going to forget it. Never going to forget the sight of the eager youngling moving towards him, then abruptly tripping over nothing and falling flat on his faceplate. It had been both sad and comical, watching the little thing pushing himself back to his overlarge feet, disoriented by his fall. Yet still so eager to perform, to please and impress his father and superiors.

The mech Finder had been began to breathe then, for the first time. Life had a clarity, suddenly. Ultra Magnus taught Optimus how to kill with his bare hands. Ironhide taught him how to shoot a gun. "Finder" taught Optimus the way of the sword, taught him that the purpose of a sword was to protect life rather than take it.

"Your ancestors fought all of their battles with these," he would tell Optimus seriously. "Not with guns. Battles of the sword are battles of honor; battles with the gun are battles of blood. There's a difference."

And Optimus had learned, at an astonishing rate. He'd practiced and worked at it until the sword was an extension of his being, a tool to protect everything that was important to him.

"Finder" had decided to stay. Iacon was an exciting place. There were plenty of criminals in the streets, so he wasn't going to get bored. Besides, Optimus was there, and that was as good a reason as any to stick around.

He'd become a tactician. Easily, really. He understood more about combat than any other mech on base. He'd been there--been on that thin line between life and death, light and the abyss. He understood the line of thinking a mech's mind took when he teetered there, so "Finder" understood how to use it to his own advantage. He knew how bots responded to stress, desperation, victory, and pride, and they were all elements that played into any battle. And it was this understanding that led him to become the planet's greatest tactician.

And then it had shattered. Sentinel Prime had died defending Iacon from the rebels, died defending his adopted son. And Optimus had become Prime, had been forced to mature into a fully grown mech within the span of a few orns. It had been then that he'd looked up into his teacher's optics and said "I need you."

Finder had been born. He pushed away his proud past as Sentinel's tactician and Optimus's mentor and became a rebel, just another angry spark who didn't think the world was right. He became of use to Bloodlust. Finder had a mission, and it became all he cared about.

But it didn't stop the longing in his spark. He wasn't Finder. He was a Cybertronian warrior, a protector of the peace, the teacher to Optimus Prime. That knowledge of who he truly was kept him sane, even in Bloodlust's crazed presence.

Haven had been easy to get into, but getting into the base itself was almost easier. He simply stated that he had come on Optimus Prime's behalf, and the gate guards had let him in, no questions asked. Finder hadn't lied, but it would have been easy to. If he ever made it back to Iacon, he was going to lecture Prime about not making sure that the Neutral city was fortified.

His only dilemma was actually meeting with a higher-up. The recipient in the main foyer informed him that Eclipse, the commander, wasn't on base, and neither was her second in command. The Neutrals' own tactician was running the show, and he wasn't taking visitors.

Finder instead asked where he could deliver information about the rebel movement, and the desk femme directed him to the fourth floor. He stepped onto the lift obediently, scrunched into a corner, surrounded by a good ten other mechs and femmes, but made no move to get off when the fourth floor greeted them. He continued on his way up, confident that, if he knew Eclipse's tactician half as well as he thought he did, the fledgling would reside at the top.

"Authorized personnel only," the guard grunted at him, shuffling over to block Finder's path when the mock-rebel approached the wide door to the commander's office.

"I'm an old friend," Finder said briskly, looking down at the mech.

"Designation?" the guard demanded stiffly. Finder scowled; clearly intimidation wasn't going to get him anywhere.

"Just tell him that a bounty hunter needs to call in a favor," Finder said coolly, and after a few moments of suspicious glaring the mech acquiesced. A look of surprise crossed his faceplates as he listened to the tactician's reply, and he meekly stepped aside, granting Finder passage.

The office was certainly a little tidier than Finder remembered. It seemed that Shinkon had taken advantage of his commander's absence and had been cleaning up. The smaller mech was standing when Finder entered the room, and his blue optics widened upon seeing the "rebel".

"Primus," Shinkon breathed, shakily pressing the door release from his desk. "It really is you! I thought…we all thought you'd died! There was a funeral service and everything! How?"

"It was necessary," Finder replied gruffly. "Optimus sent me off on a covert mission. I faked my death."

Shinkon nodded slowly, understanding dawning in his optics. "Of course. They said you'd died in an explosion; of course there wouldn't be a body. Primus…" He sank shakily into his chair, blinking his optics several times as if to make sure he wasn't in recharge. "What's going on?"

"I've been operating as Bloodlust's tactician under the name Finder," the larger mech replied calmly, taking a seat opposite Shinkon. "He's killed Optimus."

Shinkon's faceplates went blank, mouthplates going slack with shock. "Wh…What? But…that can't be…surely Eclipse would have called and…"

"Eclipse? She's in Iacon?" Finder inquired, surprised.

"Y-Yes. She left some time ago to visit her brothers. If Optimus had died, she would have contacted me, I'm sure of it," Shinkon murmured, lacing his fingers on the desk. "From whom did you receive information of Optimus's death?"

"Bloodlust," Finder replied, the beginnings of doubt--and hope--creeping into his processor. Not the most reliable source, to be sure…

"Did Bloodlust actually see Optimus die?"

"Probably not," Finder admitted somewhat sheepishly. "Optimus blew half of Bloodlust's body off, they probably got him out of there before confirming that Optimus had died. But Optimus was hurt bad, Bloodlust has been bragging for nearly an orn now."

"Optimus has one of the best medics on the planet under his command, I'm sure they found a way to save him," Shinkon stated matter-of-factly. "That being said, what would you like for me to do?"

Finder smirked. "Bloodlust needs someone to rebuild his frame. You feeling up to it?"

Shinkon stared at him for a moment, then a grin crossed his faceplates. "Oh. Oh. Sabotage?"

"Exactly."

"Sabotage in, say, the form of uranium infusions in his new body?"

"If you're feeling generous."

"Oh, I am," Shinkon said, snickering. "Finder, you know that I am a very giving mech…"

"Jetfire and the others have woken up. Ratchet doesn't think there will be any complications. They'll all recover."

"That's…good. For Optimus."

"Yes. Bad for us." Megatron sighed, sinking down on the edge of his berth. "This whole operation would be much simpler if he were…broken. But it can't be help. We'll succeed nonetheless."

"And when it's over…I'll have Optimus back?"

"If all goes well. I'll take Elita, and things will be back to normal. Relatively speaking."

"But Optimus isn't going to be happy."

Megatron turned his head, gazing at the small mech lying on his berth. "He's not going to be happy until he has you back. I told you he's been grieving for you all this time. Elita is just…a distraction from that pain."

"How do you know?" Aero asked, turning his luminous gaze on Megatron. "How can you be so sure he's not really in love with her?"

"He's not," Megatron said confidently. He lied as well to Aero as he had to Optimus. "I know my brother. He's confused now. His processor is clouded by grief. He's just trying to make the pain stop. You'll see."

"But we're sparkmates. Aren't you going to miss me?"

"Of course I am," Megatron assured "him" softly, reaching down to run the tips of his fingers down Aero's faceplates. "I'll miss you even more when you're back in a femme frame. You're going to be so beautiful. But your spark belongs with Optimus, doesn't it?"

"Mm. Yes. I love him."

"I know you do," Megatron whispered. "Just as I love Elita. You see? This is the natural order of things. You with Optimus, me with Elita. That's the way it's meant to be."

"Alpha Trion doesn't seem to think so."

"Alpha Trion is a fool," Megatron replied coolly. "Just like the rest of them. Don't let them taint your resolve, Aerith. You've got to stay strong if you want to make it back to Optimus."

Aero smiled vaguely. "I've missed him. So much. Bumblebee too. We could be a family again…"

"Yes. You could." Megatron's optics softened as he watched the femme-turned-mech begin to drift into recharge. "Rest now, Aerith. You're going to need all of your strength."

He waited until she had drifted off before standing up, opening the door at the far end of his quarters and stepping onto the balcony overlooking the sleeping city below. Yes. Everything was going to plan, just as he had known it would. He could still feel that bubble of anxiety threatening to well up within his spark, but he kept it quelled beneath his steadily growing confidence.

Megatron couldn't say for sure who was authorizing the attacks on Optimus's officers, but it was convenient. Optimus was distracted, becoming increasingly neglectful of Elita between injuries and wounded friends. The problem was presenting itself now; the victims were recovering and Optimus had nearly healed, so there would be nothing stopping him from solidifying his relationship with Megatron's former sparkmate. Megatron couldn't help but feel that maybe it was time to provide another "distraction." Perhaps he ought to contact Bloodlust…

Bloodlust. It made Megatron sick to think that such a moron had managed to take control of the rebel forces. Most of the rebels were weak, fools seduced by notions of a higher existence and a change in rule. Nonsense. Cybertron had been ruled by five holders of the Matrix. Megatron himself was a son of Sentinel Prime; by fate's rules, he was perfectly suitable to take control of the planet.

But the High Council was bothersome. He couldn't understand why his brother wouldn't agree to abolish them. Optimus was Prime; he had the authority to crush any bot on the face of the planet under one thumb if he so wished. The problem was that he didn't; Optimus had sworn himself to the battlefield. He didn't trust himself with power, and though that trait had served Megatron at first, it was increasingly becoming a hindrance.

Megatron may have been the supreme Protectorate, but Cybertron's people trusted Optimus rather than him. Optimus was their figurehead, their leader, their king. Megatron was little more than a high-standing politician, while Optimus was the idol of a race. A near god, as were all the Primes before him. Megatron needed Optimus for that reason, but he knew he couldn't use his brother as a puppet. Not that he wouldn't, but Optimus was simply too intelligent to be used.

The Protectorate gave a frustrated sigh, cradling his chin in his palm as he gazed out at Iacon. He loved this planet. Truly, he did. But the order of the world had become tiresome and mundane. Here Cybertron sat, an oasis in the middle of a war-torn galaxy. Why not expand? Why not stretch their influence to the far reaches of the stars? Cybertron was probably the greatest civilization within light-years, why not try and rule that which was below them?

Yet Optimus was in the way. Always in the way. Megatron loved his brother dearly, but he was so ridden with faults! How could any being be so lonely and yet so adored at the same time? He was trusted by the people and charismatic enough to sway anyone to his side, yet he insisted upon being the one to go headfirst into any battle!

He was a fool.

And hardly deserving of Elita One's affections. She herself was brilliant, strong, independent…why did she feel so attracted to Megatron's shy, sensitive elder brother rather than Megatron himself?

Optimus was better suited to a femme like Aerith. A little femme who would dote on him and sing his praises, who would follow his every order without question, hang onto his every word. And surely a femme such as Elita needed a strong mech who would assert his dominance over her, give her a challenge and something to pursue. Was that not what every femme wanted?

Megatron clenched one hand into a fist. Wrong. Everything was wrong! The wrong sparks becoming helplessly entangled with one another--was he the only one who could see sense?!

No. He had to stop the madness. He was the only one who could. He would ignore the pull of Aerith's spark and give her back to Optimus. He would take Elita, make her his, and then he would assert himself as Cybertron's rightful leader. He had to make things right again.

And he was the only one who could.

"Are you sure this is okay?"

"Why wouldn't it be okay?"

"Someone might walk in…"

"The only one who would even consider using this washroom is Megatron, and he's got his own. It's ideal."

"I'd still prefer your quarters."

"Uh, yes, but my quarters don't contain a tub five times my size, do they?"

"True," Elita One acquiesced, sitting down on the edge of the energon pool and slipping her legs in. "It's hotter than I expected."

"You'll get used to it," Optimus encouraged, holding his hands out to her. With her silent permission he gripped her around the waist and pulled her into the tub, holding her close to his physique as he sank into the pool.

Elita could feel her faceplates growing hot, and she was quite sure it had nothing to do with the tempterature of the pool. It had been a while since she'd ever been this intimate with a male, especially one like Optimus. His presence was nearly overpowering; she could hear every rev and whine of his engine as he got them situated, and she could just feel the immense power of his spark.

"Comfortable?" Optimus whispered, large arms gently wrapping around her smaller frame. She nodded mutely, wondering why her vocalizer was being so quiet.

Optimus rumbled quietly as he settled down, resting his helm against hers and shuttering his optics contentedly. A vorn ago, he'd have given anything to be so close to her. It blew his mind to think that the physical intimacy was completely willing. He hadn't had to beg her or use sparkling-like tactics to get his way. Elita was curled up on his lap, touching him, holding him, because she wanted to. It made his spark swell to the point of pain to think that she really did love him.

"Elita," he breathed softly, loving the sound of her name.

"Optimus?"

"Mm?"

"…Don't move for a second."

He unshuttered his optics, blinking down at her. Elita shifted, climbing onto her knees in his lap, so her head was above his own. She seemed hesitant at first in touching him, cautiously fingering his audios. His optics shuttered, and a low moan came up from his vocalizer at her touch. She grasped his helm gently, spreading her fingers across the dark blue armor, before lowering her lips to his.

In the back of his mind he wondered how erotic the whole scene must look. The two of them together in the hot bath, she on top of him, he with his head leant back and his hands sliding up the smooth expanse of her thighs, emerging from the hot liquid to caress her hips and waist.

And both of them completely lost, melting into their kisses, desperately devouring the other's warm mouth. Every emotion in his spark--longing, desire, lust, love, passion--became as one, until his spark was crying for hers, wanting an outlet for all that it felt. He braced his hands on the side of the pool, arching his chest up into hers, moaning wantonly into her sweet mouth. Primus. Was this was love was really like? Far from just being the sweet tender nothings exchanged in the hall or between shifts, was it also the torturous want, the all-consuming desire, the fiery, passionate inferno? If what he felt for Elita was truly love, in its purest and most uninhibited form, then his feelings for Aerith had been but a school mech crush…

The dream ended when he heard the soft whine of his transformation system, and Elita's soft gasp of surprise. She pulled away from him, and he blinked open his optics. Elita's armor had been cast in a bright blue light, and her face was stricken--and afraid. He looked down and groaned in horror.

His chestplates had parted of their own accord, completely exposing his spark to her. Elita looked alarmed and confused, unsure of his intentions; was it an accident, or was Optimus trying to push her into bonding?

Horrified and humiliated, Optimus hurriedly closed his chestplates, lowering his optics as his spark was hid from view once more. He cursed himself internally; what was Elita going to think now? He'd never dream of pushing her into bonding with him, especially after what she had gone through with Megatron--and why the frag was he thinking all of this? He needed to tell her!

"I'm sorry," he began, a little more loudly than he'd meant to, but she shook her head slowly.

"Don't be."

"No, Elita, I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to pressure you, I swear, I was just--thinking, and…I-I just lost control…"

Elita frowned and lowered her optics, and Optimus suddenly felt very inclined to cry.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, voice reduced to a weak whisper. "I never meant to. I just…I've loved you for so, so long, and I was just so happy…"

"Optimus."

"Yes?"

"I do intend to bond with you. Someday. If you'll have me." Elita sighed, lifting his chin to capture his gaze. "Look at me. Listen to me. I love you with all my spark. But it's not right. Not yet. We're both so new to this." She smiled sadly, softly caressing his face. "Neither of us understands what it means, you know? A bond is permanent; we have to understand what we're doing when we do it. Megatron and I didn't understand that, and look what happened--all three of us wound up spark-broken."

"You're saying we're not ready," Optimus said sadly, dejected.

"We're young, Optimus. Too young. Eternity is still a long ways off. We need to think."

"I love you," Optimus mumbled, lowering his optics.

"Optimus, aren't you listening?" she whispered, exasperated, pulling his face closer to hers. "A spark is something sacred. A bond is sacred. It's a complete sharing of existence, a total unity of two completely different beings. Chromia says it transcends love altogether, sometimes."

Optimus shuttered his optics. He didn't want to hear this. Not from her. He wanted her to feel it just as strongly as he did. He wanted this so badly. He wanted to be hers, and he wanted her to be his. He wanted to be her other half, wanted to experience her. She was his everything, he would give her the universe if he could!

"We're going to grow, beloved," Elita murmured, softly tracing the contours of his handsome face with her fingertips. "We're going to become so much wiser than we are now, so much stronger. We're practically children compared to what we could be. Let's bond then, Optimus. Let's complete one another then, when we're both the greatest we can possibly be."

"You're rejecting me," Optimus said helplessly, his spark twisting with anguish.

"No, not at all," she replied sharply, taking his face in her hands and forcing him to look at her. "I'm asking you to wait for me, Optimus. I'm not going to leave you. I'm asking if you're willling to wait."

He gazed back at her, trying to quell the desire burning within him. Maybe…she was right. Maybe all he felt now was a helpless adolescent lust for the femme he was meant to be with. Thousands of vorns from now, he'd be a fully fledged adult, a seasoned warrior and commander. He'd have spent a part of a lifetime with her instead of just a vorn. And who knew how he'd feel then? Maybe they'd grow apart; maybe they'd be so close, so strong, that a sparkbond would be mere justification of what was already there.

No. She was right. He wanted to know Elita, without Megatron or Aerith or anyone else interfering. Wanted to know and understand her for all that she was, without the hindrance of his young emotions and raw experience.

"I'll wait," he agreed softly, touching her face. "I'll wait, Elita. Forever if I have to.

"Forever."

This chapter was over twenty pages long originally, so I hacked some of it off...don't worry, that bit will be in the chapter 22. And hey, you pootheads, review a little! XD I don't put all of this fluffy OptXLita stuff for my own enjoyment, ya know...:D

(Sorry, Litahatchee--didn't do so hot on the whole 'mature' thing this chapter. Next one, I promise! XD)

I listened to Thriller by Michael Jackson while I was editing this--that is a magnificent song. I love the oldies! X3