Things We Don't Tell Humans

by Sinead Rivka

This was a first for us Autobots: never before have we come in contact with a species like these humans, so eerily similar to our own race and twice as tenacious as Sparklings. The question was, how far can we trust the humans with our culture? (Gradual AU)

25. Epoch Arc: This Is Your Life

Elita looked out the window of their suite, frowning as she looked over the ground. "Love?"

"Mm?" Optimus replied, looking up from the bookfile he was reading. Even though he was Prime, he still fount at least a half-joor every day to read something that wasn't related to current events. "What is it?"

"Where's your brother going?"

Opening his mouth to reply, he found that he didn't know. Standing and walking up to wrap his arms around his mate, book left unattended upon a simple table, he watched Megatron's silver form walking boldly across the courtyard in the New Citadel and out the gate. "You know, I don't know."

"Getting anything from him?" Elita asked, leaning back against her Bondmate, feeling his Spark beating in time with hers, the strong pulse clearly felt even through the many layers of his chest armor.

"Curiosity. Anticipation. Huh. I think he's going to get himself some."

"Some . . . You're kidding! He's the Lord Protector! Are you saying that he's going to just skip his way into some brothel and cable-tango with their best pleasure model?" Elita barked furiously, shocked at the way that the Kaon mech was simply capable of something like that.

The mech was unattached, and therefore, free to spread his affection where he deemed it necessary. It was irritating, however, because it was assumed that Megatron was overtly capable of going whenever he wished without a Guard or escort, but Optimus, who had been devoting two joors an orn to training with Prowl, Ironhide, and even Terratron from time to time, couldn't take one step outside of his office without someone tripping over his heels like an over-eager turbo-fox kit. He was going to have to have a chat with someone about that someday, or finally get the gumption and ball bearings to challenge Megatron to a skirmish. Sighing, Optimus decided not to begrudge his brother on the freedom of movement or the fact that he was free to get pleasure from any quarter he wished.

"Did that thought just pass through your head?"

No denying it. "Yes, and I'm sorry, Elita. But you know where my Spark rests."

"Between my clever fingers."

Shuddering, grinning, Optimus murmured right into her audio, "And I wouldn't trade you for a world full of pleasure models and the stamina of the Dark One himself."

"Ooo. Poetic. Are you trying to get some, yourself?"

"Would you blame me if I said yes?"

Elita's grin was her only warning as she threw herself into his arms, knocking him a pace away from the window and tumbling onto their couch with dual laughs as they enjoyed themselves and the young night.

.o.

"Optimus? Wake up, son."

"Nnm?" the leader groaned inarticulately, his mate still asleep in his arms, their interfacing cables still tangled around their arms, legs still entwined with Elita resting over his chestplates, two layers of which were still open from their tryst. Blinking in the sudden light, he sighed and muttered in confusion, "Terra?"

"Where's Megatron, Optimus?"

He replied without thinking, feeling the resonance of his brother's Spark. "Nn, pleasure quarter, South Iacon, by Maccadam's. Maybe in the bar."

"Is he active or inert?"

"Talking. Femme. Finds her interesting. She's intelligent." With each sentence, Optimus became more aware of his surroundings. He was not a morning mech yet, and he hadn't had enough energon in his tanks to replace the energy spent by joors of sating his femme. Several more mechs were in the room, ones that he trusted, thankfully. Prowl. Ratchet. Ironhide. None of them would mention the fact that they walked in on their leader sleeping with cables askew and chestplates cracked. "Saw him leave last night, thought that he had checked in with someone."

"Apparently not," Ironhide grumbled, his voice still low. He had no problem dealing with a grouchy Optimus, but everyone who knew Elita feared her temper. "Jazz has been tracking him since this morning, but lost his trail somewhere before Maccadam's."

"Just sent him in that direction," Prowl said, sighing. "Primus, Megs just does whatever the slag he wants when he puts his mind to it. This is getting to be too fragging much."

"What the Pit are you all doing in my room?" Elita hissed dangerously, going from firmly-in-recharge to bright-and-awake. Optimus let his envy be known to his mate at her reaction, his own responses still groggy and unfocused.

Ironhide and Ratchet booked it to the door and out of the sitting room, leaving Prowl and Terratron to their fate. The looks on their faces as they ran caused Optimus to burst into Sparkfelt laughter, which triggered Terratron's old chortle. Prowl shook his head and smiled. "We're sorry to wake you so early, Elita, but Megatron decided to kidnap himself, and your Bondmate just helped us find him."

"So he was going out to get some last night," She murmured, not-so-discreetly disconnecting herself and her mate, who helped to coil cords and stow them away, even if his hands were slower to move, closing armor panels over ports. "Huh. He still functioning?"

"Yes. We'll sic Ratchet on him to make sure he didn't pick up any viruses," Terratron replied with a chuckle, holding his hand out for Elita to take, helping her to her feet. Optimus sat up, but didn't move from the couch. His head still felt packed with steel-wool and fiber padding, not to mention that his gyros were reeling.

"Ooh, Primus," he muttered, holding his head. "Feels like a bad hangover."

Elita frowned at her mate and was about to offer him energon, but Prowl handed her a cube of what was clearly medical-grade. She held it up. "And why do you have this? Do you even know how illegal it could be if you were caught with this?"

"I have permits, Elita, don't harp at me about obeying laws!" Prowl hissed, showing the irritation that was riding under the surface at their Lord Protector. He made visible efforts to calm down, venting with an explanation. "I never leave the apartment without a cube in case I forget to fuel up by a certain time. Too little fuel in my tanks and my processors start to glitch, causing a crash."

"Delicate health."

"Just give him the slagging cube and stop baiting me or I will personally remove you and speak with your mate alone. We're sorry to wake you both so early from what was clearly an enjoyable night, but I, just like you, understand how sometimes we have to put our desires to one side to serve a greater good!"

Optic ridges jumping in surprise, knowing that Prowl would follow through on that promise, Elita did as he instructed, giving her mate the Energon he needed to kickstart his systems again. He threw it back and then felt a sharp pang of anger from Megatron. Wincing, he sent back wary curiosity. "He's not a happy mech."

:Optimus, have you been spying on me?: Megatron's angry hiss rattled the still-half-awake Prime.

Rubbing at his head, feeling his processors aching, he muttered in reply, :I was woken up because they couldn't find you. My processors weren't and aren't booting completely, so I answered them honestly for your location. I thought you checked in with someone before you left last night.:

:Who the slag do you think you are, telling them where I am? I am Lord Protectorate; I need no fragged babysitters!:

:How is that fair, Megatron? You insist that I am followed every moment of every day, and yet you insist upon having no Guards walking your roads?:

:Oh, I have Guards now. An entire Platoon, headed by that infuriating Enforcer mate of Prowl's.:

:That was not my decision.:

:You aided them! Can't I slagging escape from duties for a night?:

:Primus! I can't escape this life either, Megatron! We are in the same situation, and I find myself even holding the shorter end of the stick! You got your chance to have a night away from the Citadel! I can't even do that!:

:Smelter's fire. You and I are having a chat when I return.:

Spark steeling and hardening, Prime growled out loud as he answered, :More than a chat. It's time you and I had a sparring match to prove a few things.:

He heard the deep, pitying laughter over the com-link. :Is that a challenge, little Orion?:

"Oh that bastard," Elita hissed, glaring at her mate, but not glaring at him.

:I'll be waiting for you in the ring.: Clipping the communications off, he stood and winced at the sharp pain in his processors. "Primus damn that egotistical Pit-spawned glitched aft."

Prowl's optics widened slightly at the fluid curses coming from the normally-polite mech. "Dare I ask?"

"I need more energon. Regular-grade. Primus, Elita, you're insatiable, my Sweetspark. I love you." He stroked her cheek as he stalked out of the sitting room and towards the dispenser, his femme feeling her Spark stutter at the praise and the clear bragging tone telling everyone in their suite that she was incomparable. And the way his aft looked when he stood and walked like the leader he was . . . just . . . mm. She smiled and hugged herself, seeing Prowl smiling at her reaction before he followed Optimus out the door.

"What is your plan, Optimus?" Prowl asked as he walked past Ironhide and Ratchet.

"I'm going to drive that smug face of his into the mats. Two or three times."

"Oh good. That means that I can stop being the one whom it normally falls to." Prowl chuckled and crossed his arms over his chest. "But before you do that, can you have Ratchet check your processors for corrupted code? Megatron didn't entirely encrypt that message to you very deeply, and I overheard what you said about your processors not booting completely." He flicked his doorwings in indication of how he overheard.

In answer, the leader lifted his arm and popped open the medical port while he downed a cube while waiting for the next to finish pouring. Ratchet pulled out a datapad and plugged it in, his shoulder just at the right height and angle for Optimus to rest that arm upon while he did the scan. It was this little subconscious consideration that made it clear to everyone just how very long Ratchet had been a medic. He ran through the code. "Huh. One line of corrupted code, right past the initial boot sector." Grinning, he looked up at the leader, then to Elita. "So. How many times did you offline Optimus?"

She giggled, but didn't give him an answer, opting for silence while she walked up to lean against Optimus' broad, powerful form. When Ratchet looked up at the Prime, all he got was a shake of the head. Looks like neither were wanting to admit to it.

"Well, it's a simple fix, but for future reference, stop after the fifth offline. Prime, I'm fixing that code now . . ." With a simple fix of three glyphs, he had it settled, hearing the subtle whine of massive processors reaching their optimal processing rate. Pulling the plug free, he closed the port and patted the armor roughly. "You're set. So what's the plan, Prime?"

"I'll meet Megatron in the sparring room. No doubt everyone will be gathering to see this."

"The first serious sparring match between Prime and Protector?" Terratron said with a smile. "Oh, trust me. When Sentinel and I had ours, it wasn't nearly in as dignified a situation as you and Megatron have agreed to. We all-out brawled in the middle of an intersection."

"Who threw the first punch?" Optimus asked, his curiosity getting the better of him as he made sure that his tanks were just to just high enough that they weren't going to slow him down, and that he had enough to fuel him for the day past the sparring match.

"Nobody knows," Terratron said with a chuckle, rubbing at his helm in old amusement. "I don't remember, and no video can prove one way or the other. It was just a tangled mess, it was in broad public, and people started betting on the outcome. Three joors later, we finally called it quits, resolved our issue, and limped home."

Optimus turned towards the door. "There will be cameras, of course."

"Without doubt."

"How much money will change hands today?"

"Enough to settle all the debt in Kaon."

"Start a betting pool against someone else in this room . . . we'll use that funding towards helping some debts of offices be paid off."

"Ironhide!" Terratron said with a grin and a clap to the black armor of his back. "Shall we?"

The rest of the walk moved in a blur. Cybertronians were known to other species among the stars as pack-creatures. They were never alone, they were never without at least two others around them. It took a special mech with a certain level of autonomy who could handle being alone, without communication. Transformers moved as a pack when in times of stress, or when there was an urgent need. They were usually spearheaded by the Alpha or the Alpha Pair, with Beta-members flanking and a step behind, and all other ranks following the Beta-members.

They arrived at the large training room floor with little fanfare, hearing the murmur of mechs in the observation deck. Elita, Ratchet and Ironhide stood on Optimus' side while he made sure that his armor was all functioning and settling correctly, keeping his gaze on those on his level, focused upon making sure that he knew who was where. Prowl and Terratron stood on "neutral ground," since they had both helped train the two mechs about to fight. Both held neutral expressions, but it was clear that they were intensely interested in the outcome of what was to happen. Optimus looked to Prowl, who had overseen all of his training, and continued to fine-tune every incremental movement that he knew to the point where there were some moves that they couldn't perform in training skirmishes anymore.

Prowl easily conceded to Optimus' greater strength. He locked gazes with the mech whose Spark he knew better than only a handful of other individuals, then nodded. While the Prime didn't know everything there was to fighting, he was good at improvisation, which was worth twice as much as learned moves at his current skill level.

Optimus returned to preparing himself, finalizing the motions and turning to face the door, stepping upon the mats, half-kneeling to wait the arrival of his brother.

This confused Prowl for a moment. The look on Optimus' face, the peace that the Prime held, this wasn't anything that he had been taught. :Terra . . . Master . . .:

:I saw that too, and I feel it. This is something you wouldn't understand because you aren't Bonded. What you teach to one, the Sparkmate will show signs of understanding. Elita and Optimus have a tight Bond, which is amplified even farther because of the Matrix of Leadership.:

:You know that I'm not supposed to know as much about the Matrix as I actually do.:

:Oh, I know. Makes life interesting. There is always a confidant of the Prime who knows as much about being a Prime and how the Matrix operates. But. You and Arcee have been tutoring Elita in Circuit-Su, the practice of focusing the Spark's Energy, calming oneself and meditating upon the connections between Spark and self, Spark and Maker, and Spark and Spark. So because of the tight Bond between Optimus and Elita, what she knows, he knows as well and can implement, and vice-versa.:

That was the moment that Megatron stormed in, followed by Jazz, an unfamiliar femme, and a group of the Guards who were looking understandably harassed. They moved to stand upon the other "neutral" side of the room, facing Prowl and Terratron. Their move was a strategic point that they made, saying that they weren't going to side with either the Prime or the Protector from a political standpoint. Their action prompted murmurings from those gathered to observe.

Optimus didn't move from his crouch, signaling with his stillness that he wasn't going to force the fight to begin, and would wait for Megatron to be ready. That action caused him to pause, not used to seeing the signals he had relied upon during his arena fighting to be coming from his brother. His gaze darted to their teachers, saw their neutral stares, and turned away with a huff of his vents to check the security of his armor. Prowl detected communication between himself and the dark-colored femme beside him, whose lithe build hid a lot of power. :Jazz, who is that femme?:

The explicative-laced response he got wasn't very reassuring. Apparently, this femme had been one that Megatron had been sneaking out to see from time to time over the last several vorns. She was from Kaon, just like Megatron, but from the Eastern outskirts. Mercenary territory. When Jazz was through, Prowl muttered, :I wonder if he's serious about her.:

:I have serious doubts 'bout her bein' serious 'bout him.:

:Mm. That as—SIDESWIPE!:

The Youngling was standing with his twin and Barricade, watching the proceedings with bright, curious optics.

Jazz looked up over his head, where the trio were located, seeing not just those two, but the Guard's psychologist with them, a fellow Praxian. Huffing, Prowl glared up at the troublesome twins. :You two and I are having a long chat.:

:It wasn't my idea, for once,: Sideswipe replied, before making way for a Youngling Praxian frame to look between his and his twin's shoulders. :Smokescreen brought us all here.:

:Why would he?:

:Because you're training both me and Sunny, and because he wanted to show Blue what fighting will really look like.:

:Blue?:

:Bluestreak. His little brother. He came two orns ago to see if he wanted to train to be a Guard.:

Jazz broke into the communication line with ease, including Smokescreen and Bluestreak in the conversation. :We're having a talk when the gears wind down. Smokey, I don't know what got into your processors.:

:Barricade's got fast reflexes and an aptitude for fighting. He took Blue down, and he's still in a Sparkling frame. As a psychologist, I explained that we're going to see the sparring match of two mechs who have been training for deca-vorns. Trust me, I didn't just drag them along with me out of excitement of seeing Megatron getting his arrogance handed back to him on a gilded platter.:

There was silence for a half-moment before Prowl nodded. :Logical. Very well. But if limbs go flying in your direction, it's your doorwings on the line if Barricade gets injured.:

:Absolutely.:

Jazz stared between the Praxians before gusting air out through his vents in frustration. :Sometimes, I don't understand Praxians at all.:

Megatron stepped upon the matting with long, and yes, arrogant, strides. Prowl watched the movements carefully, not wanting to miss a thing. Neither mech taunted the other. Optimus didn't move from his half-kneel. That position was one that had either great advantage or great disadvantage.

"So you kneel in defeat?" Megatron finally said, growling as he came within striking distance of his brother.

Rocketing upwards, Optimus slammed his knee into Megatron's face, snarling, "Never!" and dodging the blind haymaker that Megatron threw, moving out of range just long enough to evaluate Megatron's movements, then moving with the mech's sweeping kick athletically with a Diffusion move that locked up Megatron's supporting-leg knee, sweeping the silver form off of his feet with a perfectly-placed push to the still-raised leg.

Roaring in frustration, the Lord Protector swung himself to his feet, headbutting Prime's lower abdomen, stalling cooling fans with the hit and throwing the red and blue form back. The sparring match degraded from there into an all-out brawl. Prowl watched the movements of both mechs carefully. Megatron was angered, and his rage went unchecked, causing him to have some sloppy movements instead of the calculated strikes that he was capable of. In contrast, Optimus was single-minded and collected.

:Prowl, how often do you oversee their training?: Terratron asked a few breems into the fight.

He thought about it for a moment, then replied, :Optimus trains every day, whether I'm there or not. I see him twice, maybe three times a deca-orn since Barricade was Sparked, to ensure that he is learning correctly. I haven't seen Megatron train in almost two vorns, maybe more.:

:Have you taught Megs in the last deca-vorn?:

:No, Master, and the blame lies firmly upon his helm. He claimed that he was too busy to pause his schedule in order to learn "weak-Sparked avoidance techniques," and left the training room in disgrace.:

:What does he not know, Prowl?: the former Lord Protectorate hissed angrily. The anger startled Prowl into looking at the noble faceplates and violet optics, but there was no emotion to be found, aside from vague interest in seeing the match to completion.

:He doesn't know anything past third-form Diffusion, second-form Metallikato, and he knows nothing of Circuit-Su. He is ruled by his anger, his irritation at those who do not perform their duties efficiently and exactly, and he is Optimus' clear polar opposite.:

:Primus' Breath. What have we done?:

Prowl sighed, and his optics found his mate's between the brawling bodies. :I don't know, Terra. But we will have to see how we can temper our mistakes.:

Within moments of his speaking that, Optimus won with a submission hold that shouldn't have worked, but it did. "Yield!"

"I will not!"

He pulled the hold tighter. "Yield, Megatron! I will not hesitate to knock you offline!"

With a roar of agony at servos in his shoulders being stalled and ground against each other, he answered, "Fine! I yield, Optimus!"

Releasing him, the Prime knelt beside his brother, his compassionate Spark showing through his faceplates as he addressed Megatron directly, and privately, causing an angered response that slowly shifted into wariness, then shock, and acceptance. Finally, the silver mech barked a laugh and let himself be helped back to his feet. "Very well, I also yield to your demands."

Optimus nodded, addressing the crowd even though his gaze was locked onto his brother's. "From this point forward, the very same requirements for bodyguards will apply to both Prime and Protectorate. We will have no guards within the city limits of Iacon. We will personally choose our own guards when we visit other city-states."

Megatron turned to look at the unknown femme who stood with hands on hips, watching the two mechs with unblinking red optics, curiosity clearly upon her faceplates. Elita walked up beside her mate, looking over a few places where damage was taken, but nothing more serious than a few dents, and one piece of armor that had been cracked in half, but was still holding onto his frame. The femme smiled up at his face, before looking curiously at Megatron. "Well, are you going to be rude, or are you going to introduce us to your femme?"

"I'm not his," she replied, her voice smooth and confident, but also holding a hint of amusement. "But he may be mine one day. If I let him."

Jazz snickered at the shocked look upon Megatron's face, and Prowl was about to start to disperse everyone when Terratron snarled, "Megatron, you and I are having a talk. Now."

Turning, he didn't wait for his successor to answer, but walked off, leaving the femme blinking after them in shock for a moment. She looked even more shocked with the pack of Younglings ran down onto the floor, up to Prowl, who took his Sparkling from red arms. She watched as the emotionless mech melted at the children, smiling and greeting the twins before greeting the grey and red Youngling that stood behind them a bit timidly. He looked up at her, almost-cranky Sparkling held in one arm, and then burst into motion, switching his stance and . . . playfully pushed the Enforcer that had escorted her away, only to grin and gently toss his Sparkling, who shrieked a high laugh of pure glee to the smaller mech, who kept tossing him up to distract him from his mood while Prowl strode with the Younglings onto the matting.

Optimus obligingly relinquished the square to the mech and three mechlings, nodding to Smokescreen as he and Elita came to stand before the femme. "I apologize that this is how we have met, but as you can tell, Megatron and I have had some need to work out differences, and this seemed to be the only place where we could meet and . . . 'discuss' matters. I am Optimus Prime, and this is my Sparkmate, Elita-One."

"Nightbird," the femme said, feeling the draw to the mech that Megatron had described. This was a pure Spark, even if an imperfect one, a mortal one. But motions behind the leader and his mate caused her to lean around his frame, watching as the Praxian adult began instructing the three Younglings about balance in one generic fighting stance, often reaching out to push one of them off-balance. "Why is he teaching them fighting?" Something about the red and gold twins seemed familiar, but where did they come from?

"To distract the crowds from us," Elita said with a smile. "He and his mate know that sometimes, it's easy to distract a crowd. You just have to know how to grab and hold their attention. Not everyone knows how to teach martial arts and how to make the teachings stick." She smiled and indicated her mate and herself with one small, but sweeping movement. "He's our primary instructor."

"He taught you?" Nightbird asked, blinking before frowning. "Since when?"

Optimus took a moment to think and calculate. "Megatron and I have been in office for just over eight decavorns, so seven decavorns."

"And Megatron has been brawling and being in an arena for twenty some-odd decavorns . . . The arena! That's where I saw those two!"

At her surprised shout, the twins turned and looked at her. The red one held wariness in his gaze, the golden one stared at her with outright malevolence. Prowl reached over and "gently" toppled both over with one movement of his arm, moving on to flick at the Praxian Youngling's doorwing. "I don't care if anyone is talking about you. Keep your attention on me, and you might just learn something!"

"I can take you down!" Sunstreaker snarled, hands arching into clawed forms and his face lifted in a sneer.

"No you can't," Prowl replied calmly. "Even if you and your brother tried your hardest, you wouldn't be able to 'take me down' until you're in your Adult frames for at least three decavorns, and only if you train harder than Optimus has."

Sunstreaker glared and moved to spit in irritation, only to find that his mouth was held closed by Prowl's hand. How Prowl had moved that fast was beyond him, and his optics dilated in shock, realizing that the motion hadn't even strained the mech they lived with. "Do. Not. Spit. On. My. Mats."

Sunstreaker's reply was a muffled, scared, "Yessir."

Releasing him, Prowl hissed, "You want to learn? You will respect the rules, which are posted clearly upon the wall." He pointed, then barked, "Stance!"

The three Younglings dropped into the fighting stance in unison, and Prowl pushed at their balance again, especially focusing upon Bluestreak this time, singling him out and tweaking his sensory wings. Nightbird was shocked at the way that he moved between tender Caretaker and strict teacher without pausing between the stages. It was an effective style that both encouraged the mechlings and infuriated them into doing their best. "If we had more martial arts teachers like him . . ."

"Well, they're hard to find," the enforcer named Jazz said, feeding the Sparkling who had been tossed to him. "But those who are like ma mech there . . . they've all been trained either by a Lord Protector, or were trained by one that the Lord Protector authorized to teach. Few'n'far between, femme."

"Augh!" Prime hissed and winced away from a mech who had his hands going over one of his injured. "Slaggit, medic, make noise when you come up behind me!"

"Well, if you're done trying to look busy, I wouldn't have to sneak up on you, now would I, Sparkling?" Ratchet snarled in return, flicking Optimus' audio before resuming the repair. "At least I won't have to glue you back together like I will to Megatron after Terra's done with that brat."

Nightbird's optic ridges flew upwards with the casual disregard that this new mech had for his leaders. Elita was snickering, but was also assisting with repairs. So the black-and-purple femme asked, "Who are you?"

"Senator Ratchet," Jazz said with a grin. "He was Sentinel's CMO during the War."

"Less stress being a medic these days, though," Ratchet grouched, huffing and pausing his hands. "You. Elita. Give me that piece of armor of his that you picked up."

She handed it over, but nobody expected him to half-brain the Prime with it before attaching it. "Thank you."

"What the frag, Ratchet?" the large mech bellowed.

"Your head is indeed hard enough to help bang dents out of dorsal armoring. Now. You have appointments to keep to, but after you're finished for the day I want to see you in Wheeljack's labs so that I can finalize some repairs."

Grunting his assent, Prime strode off, Elita trotting after him with a broad grin upon her face. Ratchet sighed and shoved his hands upon his hips. He looked to the new femme standing beside them, blinking once. "And you are . . . ?"

"Nightbird," she replied, voice hesitant after seeing the former CMO's wrath.

"Uh-huh. You swapping electrons with Megs?"

"Ratchet!" more than one voice rebuked, shocked.

"If the kids understand what I'm saying, it's not my fault!" he pointed out, in fine form today. Returning his attention to Nightbird, he waited for the answer.

"Once," she ground out, not sure if she could trust these mechs with her private life.

He nodded, answering, "Make sure that you keep malware and virus protection up to date, and if you or he glitch your code out, let a medic, or me, know. Last thing you want to do is get your harddrive fragmented." Turning on his heel, he paused just as Megatron made his way out of the doorway that he had followed Terratron through. Noting the look on the Lord Protector's face, he said, "Terra told you about some specific laws regarding competency, did he?"

"Primus' wrath has nothing on that mech," Megatron whispered, shaking his head as if to clear it after taking a punch, which, knowing Terra, was likely to have happened.

Barking a laugh, Ratchet put fisted hands on his hips, not showing Megatron any mercy. "Oh, and don't I know it. You didn't see him in the Wars, pup. I did. And he's a scary fragger when slagged off. See to your femme; and make sure you interface safely or I'll hard-code it into you."

"Yes, Senator Ratchet." He sighed and joined Nightbird, causing Jazz to walk over to Smokescreen, soothing Barricade into slumber.

The Guard Psychologist watched Ratchet leave, then sighed and watched the final mechs start to filter out of the observation level. He looked to Megatron, who touched Nightbird's cheek with infinite gentleness, smiling as she made a smart comment at his expense. The smile turned into a chuckle, and he pressed his forehead to hers. "I suppose I did underestimate my brother. And I paid dearly for it. Come, then. I have to see a medic; he wrenched my shoulder out with that last move."

"What about that dent on your cheek?" she asked.

"That . . . wasn't my brother."

And Jazz and Smokescreen hid their grins. Terratron was not going to let his disciple stray.

.o.

A half-decavorn passed, Nightbird and Megatron remained mates, albeit unBonded, and the two couples were awaiting the arrival of another unBonded couple who were bringing their Sparkling frame to be Sparked. Nightbird was gently ribbing her mate about wanting a Sparkling that they could call their own, and he was replying as any mech would. "Pit, femme, what time do we have to raise our own? Prowl and Jazz allow us to watch over Barricade, and he's a little terror!"

"Only if you let him get away with it the first several times!" Elita rebuffed, smiling. "He knows that once he's been told not to do something and it's firmly reinforced, he doesn't do it."

"You're not helping," the Lord Protector deadpanned at his brother's mate.

A chime went off, indicating that the couple had been shown to the waiting area by a neophyte. Optimus smiled at the efficiency of the priests worked with him. Once he established that he was keenly interested in the ways of Primus, they began to truly allow him to work his way into being the High Priest that the Prime was supposed to be. Megatron was confused at how he could balance the clear ability in which he could brawl like the best arena-fighter with the Spark of a mech who could find peace and be peaceful within moments after the fight.

When Optimus was questioned on this, he could only shake his head and spread his hands helplessly, his words simple. "I don't know."

Elita and Nightbird, who had struck up a strong friendship, walked off together to greet the couple and bring them to the AllSpark and the Prime. Optimus shook his head, watching the femmes walk off, clearly in each other's confidences. :They're up to something.:

:Probably regarding Jazz's creation date celebration. He's hitting a landmark number this year.:

:You're right! Prowl told me that he was conspiring a surprise party for the mech.:

:And undercover agents are notoriously hard to surprise. Prowl's being sneaky.:

They grinned to each other, then fell into a companionable silence as they waited for their femmes, watching as they turned the corner with the couple behind them. Optimus didn't outwardly show his concern, but something in the Matrix hesitated before silencing itself. He spoke to his companions warily. :This has to be the first couple that I feel hesitation about.:

:Shall we continue?: Elita said, her voice gently wary.

:We'll keep a wary optic on them,: Megatron promised, as Optimus nodded what was a greeting to the new couple, and an affirmative to his mate.

He greeted them verbally, holding his hands out for the Sparkling frame, feeling the desire arise anew for having and raising a Sparkling from his and Elita's hands. He noted that they handed the frame over quickly. Half of the couples were eager and would all but shove the Sparkling into his hands, and the other half would have that endearing hesitation, showing that they were especially responsive and understanding of the Caretaker programming; they weren't sure that they could trust the frame to the mech who was able to bring life into it. It was the latter group of couples that he knew would raise their Sparklings into responsible adults who would shape Cybertron into a grander whole.

But this couple . . . they were almost negligent of how the Sparkling frame's limbs tumbled into Optimus' broad palms. He suppressed his indignation, feeling Elita's Spark spike with barely-controlled fury. Smiling at the frame itself, seeing the sweet lines, he murmured, "Who designed this masterpiece?"

"It's an heirloom," the taller mech said with almost an air of languid boredom trailing across his movements and expressions. "Belonged to someone a generation or three back."

"Exquisite," Optimus murmured in appreciation, smiling and walking up to the AllSpark. He scanned the frame, storing the schematics away in his mind to ask Ratchet for something similar in a few vorns. The old medic clearly enjoyed being a Caretaker to orphaned Younglings, and he and Wheeljack had their hands and time full with the Twins, but they were also able to take commissions every now and again. Because of their experience with the noble house's Sparkling, they narrowed their commissions down to "if I personally know you, I would be happy to spend the time on frames." They had their functions to fulfill as Senator and Engineer, and that was after being Caretakers of troublesome Younglings.

So the Prime walked up to the AllSpark, resting his fingertips along the Cube, feeling the supernatural static building between his frame and the artifact. However, there was no manifestation, no energy, nothing to indicate that the Sparkling frame would be inhabited. Blinking, he pulled his hand away, looking at it and frowning in thought. Drawing in a fresh cycle of air, he gently pinged the Matrix, not understanding.

:Do not trust them, Orion Pax.:

His optics widened in shock at hearing the multi-hued voice from the Matrix, and he shook his frame lightly and fluffed his armor out before letting it settle comfortably again. :What should I do?:

Silence, then, :Research them. Walk around the Cube while you wait for answers. Slowly.:

Optimus sent a brief message to the same effect of "watch them closely, don't let them do anything stupid, trying something," to his mate, brother, and brother's mate while he walked along the line of the cube. He contacted his Enforcer of choice, knowing that he had come to Simfur to begin hunting down the parts for Barricade's Youngling frame. He was supposed to be standing outside the Temple by now, because they were going to all be doing some shopping on this orn. :Prowl, I am in need of your skills. There are two mechs that came to ask for a Sparkling, and I'm hesitant about them. Something feels "off" about them. Their names are Wildrider and—:

:Stop. I'll be right there. Stall. Don't let them get away,: Prowl interrupted, his voice cold. :What does the Sparkling frame look like?:

Prime sent a hologram of the small frame to his friend and supporter.

:Well frag me over the Smelter's forge.:

:Elita would take offense, and Jazz would only want to have some sort of fair play turned about for his enjoyment.:

:. . . Prime, you're one mischievous, twisted mech.:

:Comes from the mech who cussed it out. Where is this frame from?:

:Reported stolen from a storage unit two orns ago. Looks like they're wanting to breed mechs from Sparkling-up into being gladiators. Uh, okay. We're in the Outer Sanctum . . .:

:Why aren't you coming in?:

:Several superstitious mechs in this Guard squad. They don't want to desecrate the Inner Sanctum.:

Switching channels, Optimus ordered, :Megatron, order the Guards outside the door to enter now and to seize those mechs for arrest. Prowl is with them, can't get them to enter, and he has the details.:

:Oh, finally! Action!:

Just as Optimus came back around the side of the Cube, the doors burst inwards and Guards swarmed around the couple, subduing them in record time and getting them out of the Inner Sanctum within two breems. Optimus looked to Prowl, who waited behind. "What do we do with the Sparkling frame?"

"I'm . . . I'm not sure." Prowl seemed at a loss for the second time that day. Looking up at the Cube, he let himself relax, finding that peace that he had felt right before Barricade had been Sparked. Doorwings drifted down from their rigid set, and he murmured, "Primus is here, isn't He, Optimus?"

The Prime and his mate shared a look before he nodded solemnly. "Only doorwinged mechs and those with sensitive, emotive Sparks are able to recognize His touch on the AllSpark."

"It's not frequency, is it?" the Enforcer asked rhetorically, still letting himself soak in the feeling once again.

"I'm not sure. Scientists couldn't figure it out, but they're mechs of cold facts. Priests are mechs who walk a careful line of balance between mysticism and reality. Even I can't be sure of myself when I walk through those doors; I know as a reality that He is here, but I can't tell where. I know that He's watching every Spark that separates from the AllSpark, but how? You can see how it can become a tangled mess. We all live with the understanding that Primus is real, and that His existence is an undeniable fact, proof-positive in that we have a Spark resting in our frames." Optimus shook his head, looking down at the Sparkling frame in his hands. "But this is the first time that I have seen him refuse to give life."

There was a moment of tense silence that followed Optimus' words, broken by a burst transmission. Prowl blinked, replying with a query, then shook his head and looked up at the leader. "You will not believe what I was just told."

Smiling, the large mech murmured, "Very well, shock me."

"The family whose storage unit was broken into had no plans for that Sparkling frame; it was merely one of several from their ancestry. They've stated publicly that if the Prime and his Sparkmate wished to have that frame, they would consider it a gift."

Elita and Optimus stared at each other and didn't move for one long moment, no doubt discussing this between themselves. Optimus turned towards Prowl. "May I have their com-frequency?"

"Certainly." Prowl smiled and patched Optimus and Elita into the conversation. :Freespark, I have Optimus and Elita wishing to speak to you and your mate.:

:Primus! They're busy enough without having to pause for us!:

:Not at this moment, actually,: Optimus murmured, his deep voice embracing the Bondmates on the other end of the line. :Are you certain that you wish to release the frame to us?:

:Certain?: Freespark, the femme, said brightly. :Prime, it would be our honor! Our family has more Sparkling frames than we have resources to raise them! We've been a long line, and the frames are, at this point, taking up space.:

:But it's an antique frame from before the War!: Elita protested.

:And it's not doing anyone any good sitting on a shelf.: the femme retorted cheerfully.

Her mate came into the conversation. :Please, Prime and Consort, please accept this as our thanks for closure, for finding the mechs that broke in and stole some precious items.:

:If they're precious—: Optimus began, but was happily surprised at being cut off.

:Then they're more precious to you, as Prime, than to us, as citizens. My Caretakers were Senators for Sentinel. I understand these things.:

There was silence for a quarter-breem, which was followed by the Prime nodding slowly. :Then . . . thank you. This gift is truly appreciated. If you are ever in need of anything, please don't hesitate to contact myself, or Prowl, who is a dear friend of mine.:

:Of course, Optimus Prime.:

They spoke farewells, and the line cut dead. Optimus looked at the little silver Sparkling in his hands, feeling his mate whisper to his Spark, ~Orion, my love . . .~

~Can we?~ he whispered back, optics meeting her own, his voice filled with childlike hope.

~I was about to start begging you.~

He chuckled, reaching out to bring his Sparkmate, his literal other half, into an embrace, bending to press his forehead to hers. Glancing to his brother and Prowl, he took Elita's hand, and they walked back to the Cube, this time, for the first time . . . for themselves.

The Matrix fairly hummed with approval, almost vibrating against his Spark in this moment. He looked at the small form in his hand once more, smiling and stroking the small helm once before he turned and looked to Elita, who reached up and held the frame for him. Stroking her cheek with his now-free hand, he smiled and couldn't even speak his love for her. All he could do was project the emotions that surrounded this moment, feeling her own love for him, joy, anticipation, and understanding.

He reached up and brushed his hand over the AllSpark, whispering a prayer to Primus, right before a strong Spark leapt and danced around his fingertips. He didn't rush moving his hand, instead chuckling at the little Spark that formed while it continued to shift and move. And then it was in the Spark Chamber, and he was finding himself staring into the simply massive Sparkling optics.

~How did he online so fast?~ he whispered.

~I have no slagging idea, but he's the cutest Spark ever to online!~

Chuckling, he leaned down to press his helm to the Sparkling's, feeling the little one throw small arms around his face, chirping and clicking happily before releasing him and looking to the femme, reaching upwards entreatingly. When he was obliged with the greeting of a Caretaker to a Sparkling, he settled himself down for a moment, looking around at his world, taking it all in. When he saw the AllSpark, he chirped and reached towards it. Prime sent a query to the Matrix, and, in getting an affirmative, took the little one and lifted him so that he could touch one corner.

The Sparkling crooned, his fingers resting on the ancient metal, and he chirped a greeting before pulling his hands away and looking at his Adults.

His Sparked Caretakers.

Optimus looked to his mate, who smiled and murmured, "Welcome to life, little one."

Giggling brightly at her voice, loving the sound of it, he looked up at Optimus, who murmured, "Welcome to our family, bright-Spark."

He smiled and heard his mate's voice as she named their Sparkling. "Bumblebee."

.o.

Author's Note: This was supposed to be out sooner, but there was a lot of unexpected stuff going on in this last week. I was under the weather for a day or two, then a friend had to go to the ER and I stayed with him while they figured out what the problem was. (He's fine, but man do we have stories about what you'll find in the ER from 12:30 AM onwards for almost 10 hours.) Then there was the day of recuperation where I watched G1 (or tried to, again), and passed out on Episode 4. Again. Sunday was a cookout at my Rabbi's house, followed by watching Tron.

So I finished this on Monday morning, even before my first cup of tea. (I know a few of you reading this know me well enough to know what that means.) So roughly 8K words later, here you are!

And special thanks to all my current and new watchers, and all my current and new readers and reviewers! Without seeing your words and the hits that this story has been getting, I wouldn't have continued writing it past that first arc. It's because of you guys that I've been able to write this much for you all!

Song is: "This Is Your Life" by Switchfoot