Spitfire
Chapter XXV
He did not understand her.
Her train of thought was an unexpected enigma, one whose origins seemed untraceable. He could not comprehend how, or why, had she acquired the strange idea that because she was an adult, her safety was not as important as that of the children's'. Age, in their current situation, meant absolutely nothing; the fact that she was a tiny, organic creature, and therefore without the proper defenses needed to protect herself from the Decepticons, was what was constituted her need for a guardian.
She does not want a guardian.
Yet another confusing idea, and yet another he was unable to comprehend. None of the Autobots had done a single thing to hurt or offend their newest charge in the few hours she had spent in their company, and therefore spark her uncalled-for denial of a guardian. He certainly had not, anyway.
In fact, he felt as though he had done the opposite; he and Pilar had, as the humans said, "clicked". When Thomas had arrived, she had gone to him for what had appeared to be comfort and protection; she had, after her original apprehension, spoken to him with relative ease, something he had not experienced with anyone outside of his close group of companions. Upon further observation, he had discovered that she even shared quite a few of his personality traits. Unless there was a hidden factor that he had not noticed, there was no reason as to why she should not want him as a guardian.
It was unnerving to think that he had missed something that would have such a big effect on their potential guardian-charge relationship. It made him wonder if he had -
"Excuse me?"
Optimus Prime abruptly snapped back to reality at the sound of the tentative question, his optics brightening as a thin hand was placed against his ankle armor. A pair of dark eyes observed the expression of surprise on his face expectantly.
"I wish to speak with you," she stated.
His hands opened upon her words, his digits flexing as he readied to pick his charge up so that she was more or less level with him. In the moment before he bent low to cup her within his palms, he stopped himself. At ease with him or not, he was foolish to believe that she was comfortable enough with him to be manhandled in the same way Sam, Mikaela, and Will were used to, and before she realized what he was going to do, his hands had fisted once again.
He carefully folded his extensive legs beneath him, his optics focused on the oval of her face. "Yes?" he inquired.
Pilar Marez hugged herself, her arms crossing protectively over her chest as her gaze was slowly, steadily drawn to the group of human beings and Autobots they had subconsciously detached themselves from in order to gain a moment of privacy. She said nothing, her silence contemplative and careful, and he followed her gaze, the only inkling she was giving him in his attempt to make the right connections.
Sam, Mikaela, and Bumblebee were situated around Antonia's sleeping form a few feet away. Telebot was slumped lazily against Sam's chest as the teenager inspected him, his expression alight with curiosity. Bumblebee, meanwhile, was hovering over Antonia, his optics bright and insightful as they watched the All Spark shards within her arms blink to the beat of her heart. Mikaela had slipped her light jacket beneath the younger girl's head as a make-shift pillow, and was speaking to her guardian as she too observed the pattern of the All Spark, her voice soft and considerate of the unconscious girl.
Off to the side, William and Sarah Lennox, their tiny daughter twined between their legs, spoke with Agent Simmons in diffused tones, their eyes occasionally drawn to the approaching forms of Tyler Eller and Zachary Rone, as well as to Antonia.
However, none of them, not even Antonia, held Pilar's attention at the moment. Instead, the young woman's eyes were locked on Jazz, the second-in-command sitting at Antonia's head, his legs crossed beneath him. He didn't appear to be listening to Bumblebee and Mikaela's conversation despite the fact that the two were near him. He was focused intently on Antonia, his facial plates alighting each time the All Spark shards within her blinked. The tip of his finger was resting lightly in the palm of her hand, and it was then that Optimus Prime realized that her fingers were clasped tightly around it.
The feeling is reciprocated, he thought with surprise, his optics widening with realization. It is true, then. Such things can happen.
Giving his head a small shake, he shifted uncomfortably, a frown blossoming on his face as his gaze was drawn back to Pilar. "I admit that their immediate attachment is a little strange, but I do not believe that there is anything wrong with it. In fact, it might - "
"That is not what I mean," she replied stiffly, her tone low, dangerous.
He blinked with surprise, peering at her angry expression in confusion. Her eyes were no longer dark; something within them had sparked, setting her entire face on fire with well-controlled fury. The sudden change in her soft-spoken temperament made him pull away in alarm, his optic ridges raised in cautious question.
"Look at his chest," she continued in a hiss, her thin brows narrowing defensively as she pointed one accusing finger at the silver Autobot.
Look at his chest.
Comprehension hit him suddenly and forcefully, a ton of bricks weighing upon his shoulders as he forced himself to follow her trembling finger's focus, straight to his soldier's gleaming chassis. He did it, even though he knew what he would find there, the cause of her unexpected animosity.
His optics traced it, Jazz's ugly, discolored scar, a jagged lightning strike stitched across his armor, the one hint of the operation that had saved his spark.
"You...You paired my daughter, my Antonia, with..." Pilar breathed, her trembling, wounded voice tinged with confusion and suspicion, "...the only Autobot who has been killed?"
After Jazz's near-death experience during the battle of Mission City, Ratchet had worked each and every moment of each and every day, desperately attempting to fix the second-in-command so that he would be able to support himself on his own. When the Autobots had made themselves known, Ratchet had still been in the process of reviving Jazz, and therefore, the human population had known of his situation as well. Their reaction had been a mixed one: most were still in utter, furious shock at the idea of giant robots inhabiting their planet, but there were others who were excited, happy, about their arrival. Those were the ones who had listened in for updates on Jazz's health, had become depressed whenever he had taken a turn for the worse, and had been ecstatic when Ratchet had announced that, after hours upon hours of repair, he was once again fully functional. He had no idea whether or not Pilar had been one of the positive few, but she had heard of Jazz's situation one way or another, had seen his scar.
The expression on Pilar's face was no longer so surprising. What she had gone through so far in order to save her daughter's life and secure her ultimate protection was more than enough proof that she cared more about Antonia than she did about herself. Learning that Antonia was the charge of the smallest, and in her opinion, the weakest Autobot, was causing a reaction from her unknown to the mold of her personality. He didn't know whether or not this should interest him, or worry him; as Antonia's well-being seemed to be the only thing that provoked her, she was bound to put up a fight, one that would restore her daughter with a guardian who had not...died.
According to her actions thus far, she intended that guardian to be him.
But...it cannot happen. Antonia cannot be my charge. It would ruin everything.
However, for the first time since Jazz had confided in him, Optimus Prime was beginning to doubt that what he had been told was worth the backlash it could cause.
His frown deepened as he observed Pilar, her tiny fists clenched at her sides, her black brows still narrowed as she awaited his explanation, an explanation that he had, but could not give.
"...We shall talk, but not here," he murmured after a moment of consideration. "I understand why you are angry with me, and I suppose you have the right to be, but you will respect my wishes and keep your silence until we have proper privacy. There is no reason as to why anyone else should be involved."
Before she could respond to this, he lifted his head, averting her eyes.
"Bumblebee, Will!" he called, his deep voice reverberating throughout the barren room; the two glanced up curiously. "Pilar and I are returning to her home to retrieve a few personal items. Stay on alert. I do not expect to be attacked, but if I am, I will need back-up. While I am doing so," he added, his bright optics landing on Sam and Mikaela, "I would appreciate it if you two would help Antonia, Tyler and Zachary get some proper rest."
"You got it!" Sam replied, flashing him a thumbs-up before hefting Telebot against his chest and scrambling to his feet. Bumblebee and Will nodded simultaneously upon his orders, and though they appeared confused, they did not ask any questions.
Mikaela made as if to gently shake Antonia awake, but Jazz was already cupping the tiny girl in his hands, lifting her to rest against his scarred chassis. Optimus watched his careful movements intently for a moment, his spark giving a slight ache for his companion, before he took a single, big step backward.
Pilar dragged her gaze away from Jazz, her child wrapped within his tentative fingers, to watch Optimus Prime as he gradually folded himself into his alternate form. Her eyes dark once again, she didn't say a word, even as he finished his transformation. She had returned to what she had been before: a worried, exhausted mother, the fury gone from her expression, her arms hanging loosely at her sides. Her fire, fleeting and unexpected, had died.
The driver's door of the newly-transformed blue semi opened, beckoning.
"Get in."
Ironhide let out a snort of disgust, smoke billowing from his intakes in an ugly cloud as he desperately attempted to control his temper. His thick, fisted hands clenched at his sides, he kicked the heavy door of the weapon arsenal shut behind him and leaned the intense bulk of his weight against it, his optics too bright, his spark within its chamber throbbing painfully.
My luck cannot possibly be this bad.
William Lennox was his closest friend. That was true, more than true; in the short amount of time he had spent on Earth, he and Will had grown closer than he'd expected, and there was no question as to whether or not he would put his life on the line to protect the human being. But this friendship was the only real one he had made on the tiny, wet planet thus far. Sam Witwicky, Mikaela Banes, Agent Simmons, and a few select others were his companions, but his relationships with them were rather strained. They held him at arm's length more often than not, afraid of what he was capable of, careful to be slow and tentative when around him because of his infamous, rash temper. This was, to an extent, even true with Will's sparkmate, Sarah, and would surely, eventually, be true with their daughter Annabelle, who was still much too young and innocent to know any better.
Because of the way he was treated by most human beings, like a wild animal held on a loose leash, and because of the way he was treated by his only true organic friend, like the sentient being he was, Ironhide tended to keep his distance. He had no desire to extend a trusting hand to anyone else, unwilling or otherwise, as he already had the friendships of those he needed: Optimus Prime, Ratchet, Jazz, Bumblebee, and Will.
As expected, the last thing, the last slagging thing, he wanted to do was babysit some chair-bound sparkling who couldn't keep his mouth shut.
Ironhide shuddered, his optics narrowing with suspicion as Tyler's question rang obnoxiously within his thoughts. Surely such an odd idea, of being his "friend", had a hidden meaning, one he -
"Ironhide!" Ratchet snapped unexpectedly, his voice muffled yet obviously outraged; beneath the bulk of his heavy weight, Ironhide could feel the arsenal door shudder as the medic pounded it angrily with his fist. "Ironhide, open up this slagging door or I will tear it down!"
"Like you could!" Ironhide retorted, one optic ridge cocked skeptically. Despite his skepticism, however, he further pressed himself against the metal barrier, the only thing keeping him from the wrench of a punishment Ratchet was more than likely ready to deal him.
There was an indignant squawk at his comment, followed by a few incomprehensible grumbles as Ratchet gave the current situation some careful thought. After a moment of awkward silence, he sighed unsteadily, and when he spoke, he sounded disappointed. "I cannot believe that an experienced weapon's specialist has resorted to such deplorable behavior."
"That is exactly what I am, Ratchet! A weapon's specialist! Not a baby-sitter!"
"You 'baby-sit' Will readily enough, you childish excuse for a soldier!" Ratchet countered in a hiss. Before Ironhide could respond to this, the medic continued; he could hear Ratchet begin to pace before the locked arsenal door.
"You have embarrassed Optimus Prime, you have embarrassed the Autobot faction as a whole, and you have embarrassed yourself. I highly doubt that you care, as you allow your emotions steer your train of thought more often than not, but perhaps it is about time that you start to take others emotions into account as well as your own. Tyler Eller, unlike most human beings would have, extended the notion of friendship to you in the hope that it would be returned. You are surely aware of the usual treatment you receive, are you not?" When met with silence, Ratchet stopped his pacing. His tone was no longer as scalding as it had been. "Friendship is not on the minds of most when meeting you. You know this well, and yet, you deny it when it is offered!
"I suppose that if you return to the boy now, there is a chance that he will forgive you. But - "
"I do not wish for his forgiveness," Ironhide interrupted, seething. "I wish to have nothing to do with him. I do not want the boy, I do not want to spend time with him, I do not want to be his guardian! Why can you not understand that?"
Another bout of silence followed his statement, uncomfortably long. In fact, it lasted so long that, at first, Ironhide thought that Ratchet had finally left him alone. Instead, he was barely able to catch Ratchet's final words, the medic's voice nearly inaudible even to him.
"You have changed quite a lot since Chromia's death, my friend," Ratchet replied weakly.
His footsteps reverberated as he retreated from the darkened expanse of the gargantuan hallway, finally turning the corner.
Ironhide's optics flickered with shock, with empty ache and agony. His fists tightened, loosened, tightened, and loosened, his shoulders slumping as he began to tremble.
Yes, he thought absently. I have.