Chapter Twenty-Five

Plenoptic

…DANG. IT. I had like another ten pages or so written for this chapter…they were on my computer…and now they AREN'T…

Two orns later, Elita One realized the true definition of awkwardness.

Awkward was having a tragic almost-breakup with a mech she hadn't really been seeing, then turning to her best friend for the lost company. And winding up sitting rigidly on said friend's couch while said friend happily kissed her mech.

Furthermore, awkward was instead going to hang out with her sort-of-ex's best friend—and then sitting, again, rigidly, while he eagerly fondled his new squeeze while she pretended to be uninterested.

And then, of course, there was the irritating scene in which said sort-of-ex's younger sister giggled and batted away her obnoxious sparkmate's roaming hands, and then a medic attempting to woo a skeptical but flattered younger femme, and a certain flame-decorated sub-commander purring and putting his hands all over his pretty pink intended.

Elita concluded that the only thing worse than a happy couple was lots of happy couples.

"I wish you'd just go win the stupid aft back," Chromia sighed, sending her happily sated sparkmate to fetch energon while she attempted to soothe her best friend. Elita, after making a large loop around base and finding no sanctuary from the demon called love, had somehow made her way back into Chromia and Ironhide's quarters.

"It's not that simple, Mia," Elita said tiredly, staring glumly at the floor. "I mean, he had Aerith first, you know? And you and Ratchet and Ironhide have all told me how happy they were together. And they have a sparkling, for Primus's sake! I can't ask him to abandon his family just to make me happy."

"But he's your sparkmate," Chromia intoned sadly, spark aching for her friend. "And don't forget that Aerith abandoned him for a mech she didn't even love. Her spark went mad for Megatron, and she left Optimus to chase a childish infatuation."

"How did you know?" Elita asked, looking up in surprise.

"Optimus told me. Rather, he came to tell Ironhide, and I sat in." Chromia sighed, absently straightening a thoroughly christened recharge blanket across her and Ironhide's well-worn berth. It was the berth they'd bought together when they'd first bonded—she remembered all too well the long three vorns it had taken them to save up enough credit to buy a berth on which they could thoroughly enjoy one another. They'd made real magic on this berth. "Elita, if you love Optimus, you should fight for him. That's all there is to it. And since when does Elita One just roll over for anyone, least of all a strange femme who's suddenly claimed her mech?"

Elita smiled ruefully. "I guess it's not much like me."

"It's not like you at all. Listen to me, Lita," Chromia said gently, sitting forward and taking the femme's hands into her own. "Optimus never looked at Aerith the way he looks at you. You've changed him, and it's for the better, I promise you. He's in love with you, you're in love with him—it's a lot simpler than you're making it out to be. There's no reason he can't be a father to Bumblebee and a sparkmate to you."

The Femme Commander cast her gaze aside, frowning. It still didn't sit right with her. She loved Optimus, more than anything else in the universe, but did that really give her the right to step in and pull apart a family?

"Thanks for the advice, Mia," she said quietly. "But I think I need to figure this out for myself."

"Of course," Chromia replied, nodding. "I'll be right here if you need me."

Elita felt a grin twitch on her face. "Ironhide too, right?"

"As always," she snorted, casting her optics towards the ceiling. "But don't get cute with me, you prat. Go talk to your stupid mech."

Elita heartily agreed and left the little apartment feeling much better (she and Ironhide exchanged cheery grins as they passed in the halls, even), but she still didn't feel quite prepared to confront Optimus. Not yet, anyway. Her courage waned with every step she took away from Chromia's quarters. No matter how she tried to put it from her mind, images of Optimus and Aerith continued to wander aimlessly into her processor, haunting her, teasing her. What had it been like, being the first femme Optimus had ever loved? What had it been like, being the first he'd ever kissed, in that soft, almost nervous way he did? To be the one with whom he first experienced the wild thrill of physical intimacy, to be the one to show him what it meant to be so close to another…

"Hey, hey, pretty thing, whatcha doin' lookin' so down?"

Elita glanced over her shoulder, rolling her optics and keeping up her pace as the massive white shuttle jogged to catch up to her. "Hello to you, too, Jetfire. Enjoying yourself?"

"Oh, you've know idea," he said, almost giddy. "Valkyrie is amazing, she's beyond amazing. Seriously awesome. I haven't had this much fun since—well, since I first met Optimus, I suppose. But, anyway, I'm so into her I don't even care if she makes me wait to interface."

"That is progress," Elita snorted, shaking her head, amused. "Good for you, Jet."

"How's stuff with you and the big guy? I mean, probably a bit of an issue now that Aerith is back in the picture?"

"Er, yeah. A bit."

"Ouch, damn, well now I feel bad about going on like that about me and Vallie…"

"Don't." Elita shrugged one shoulder off-handedly. "It's my problem to deal with, so it's ridiculous for you to feel guilty about enjoying your relationship."

"Oh, ouch, don't use the 'r' word, please," he groaned, placing his hands over his audio receptors. "It's a fling, Lita, just a fling, just a flame, don't pull the 'r' word or I'll panic and cut it off right there."

"Sorry, sorry," she laughed, and he grinned, slinging an arm around her shoulders.

"Don't laugh at me, femme, I swear I'll make something of it, you know I will—"

"Get off, Jetfire, I'm serious—"

"Stop laughing then!"

Chuckling away, the two rounded the corner, arm-in-arm, and had the misfortune of running smack into Optimus Prime—hand-in-hand with Aerith. For a moment, the silence was palpable, each duo surveying and sizing up the other. Optimus's gaze fell to Elita's and then he averted it; she looked away, at Aerith, and instead turned to Jetfire, who grimaced and looked at his oversized feet, instantly wishing himself elsewhere.

"Excuse us," Optimus said at last, dipping his head. Aerith drew a little closer to his side, both small hands winding around his arm.

"No, uh, we weren't looking," Jetfire said quickly, and Elita nearly gasped aloud when he put his arm around her shoulders once more, pulling her into him. "We were just off to grab a drink—care to join us?"

"Aren't you planning on inviting your femme along?" Optimus inquired, arching a suspicious optic ridge, and Jetfire grinned.

"Nah, Lita and I thought we'd go just the two of us—go catch up privately, you know, it's so hard to keep in contact with everyone, what with all this fighting going on. Besides, Boss, you've been busy lately, so I'm happy to look after Lita for you, keep her company, yeah?" He clapped a cheery hand on his stunned commander's shoulder before fairly dragging Elita past. "Come on, then, Miss Femme Commander, lots of fun to be had!"

It took the entire journey down to the rec room for Elita to find her voice again, and even then, her inquiry only came out in stunned, weak gasps:

"What…the Pit…was that…?"

"Underhanded mech tactics, of course," Jetfire laughed cheerfully. "We can be just as bad as you femmes when we put our processors to it, you know. Primus, he's going to be fuming—I wish I could see the look on his face now, did you see how jealous he was? It was practically radiating off of him—"

"You're an idiot! He's your superior officer!"

"I didn't do anything against protocol, if anything, I'm 'technically' helping him out," Jetfire soothed, patting her shoulder as pulled out a seat. "Aerith fragged him over big-time. The femme's unstable, you know? Besides, Opt needs you."

Elita grimaced. "Everyone keeps saying that…"

"We know what's good for Optimus. Well, better than he does, in any case." Jetfire shrugged, waving to a droid, which zipped over as programmed with a tray of energon cubes. "Keep trying. He's not in love with Aerith, he's feeling guilty is all. There's a kid involved, who wouldn't?"

"Kid involved in what, Jet?"

The air commander tipped his head back, grinning when his helm thunked softly on the slim belly of his newest squeeze. "Hey there, Vallie. Miss me already?"

"Hardly. Don't get your hopes up." Stepping around her gooey-eyed mech, Valkyrie seated herself on Elita's free side. "Eclipse has filled me in on the Prime situation."

"No pun intended?"

"Shut up, Jetfire. What are you going to do?" Valkyrie inquired, turning her gaze to Elita after lodging a foot in Jetfire's shin.

"A very good question," Elita muttered, sinking lower in her seat when Optimus and Aerith slipped through the rec room doors. "Oh, Primus. This is getting ridiculous."

"Told you he'd be jealous," Jetfire snickered, waving cheerily at his commander when the couple took a table within optic range of theirs. Optimus waved back weakly, grimacing when Aerith tugged on his shoulder guard to get his attention. She now had Bumblebee perched in her lap, having apparently retrieved him from his caretaker. Elita allowed herself to watch, if only for a moment, a small smile threading its way across her face when Optimus leaned in to playfully poke his tiny son's stomach.

"I don't know what I'm going to do," Elita announced softly, drawing the attention of the bickering couple in her company. "I don't know that I'll do anything…at least until I know how he feels about the situation."

Jetfire hesitated, sharing a glance with Valkyrie before leaning in cautiously and wrapping thick fingers around Eilta's. "Lita. What is it that you want?"

Oh, Primus. What she wanted?

"I…" Did she even know anymore? "I don't want to hurt him. I don't want him to suffer, not again. Not anymore. And I don't want to deprive Bumblebee of his father, and I don't want Aerith to be hurt either. But I…" Elita paused, struggling to control her trembling voice. "I want to be with him. I do. I want…"

All of her words died then, because the most unlikely mech entered the room—Megatron, gleaming just as handsomely as his brother in the light, casting a wary glance around the room, tactfully avoiding the dark glare Optimus cast in his direction. As if in a trance, and against Jetfire's immediate protests, Elita lifted herself from her chair and strode purposefully toward the Cybertronian lord, ignoring his apparent surprise when she seized his hand in both of hers and dragged him from the room. Her legs guided her without her processor or spark playing any part. She was wrapped up in a sudden need, a sudden desire to seek sympathy by someone in her position—someone who had been replaced by another more beloved than they.

She squeezed the both of them into the tiny lift, staring determinedly at her feet as it carried them to the first and last place she wanted to be. Megatron followed her silently onto the roof, apprehensive but feeling nonetheless that, after all that he'd done, the least he could do was listen to her.

Wrapping her arms around her tiny frame, guarding herself against both the whipping wind and the whirling emotions within, Elita One lowered her head, clamped her optic shutters closed—and began to cry. Deep, heaving sobs, dry but carrying more pain than she thought she'd ever felt. The only one privy to it was the one who was very much the cause, but Megatron said nothing, stepping forward and enfolding her gently in his arms, soothing and warming her trembling frame.

"I know," he spoke softly, one large hand thumbing her lower back tenderly, caressing the femme he so loved still. "I'm sorry."

There was nothing else that needed to be said, allowing her emotions free reign, gently enveloped by a mech so dearly beloved and so hated.

"Bumblebee's in recharge."

"Hm."

"He went down so fast—tired from all that playing today, I suppose."

"Right."

Aerith hesitated, looking over a slim shoulder at the hulking mass of mech on the couch. Optimus was leant over, elbows on his thighs, hands clasped between his legs, his expression dark and brooding, radiant optics piercing nothingness. Hesitantly, crossing their dim living area, Aerith sank down beside him, placing one small hand on his forearm.

"It's been such a long time since we made love," she murmured, and while she was sure Optimus caught the hint, he ignored it tactfully.

"Aerith, please…" He grimaced, lifting a hand to scrub tiredly at his exposed face. "I just…need some time."

She was silent for a moment, considering, spark twisting in on itself when she realized what it was that was tormenting him so. Clenching her jaw, she squeezed his arm before nodding curtly and getting to her feet, departing the room silently, closing the door to their berth room behind her. Expelling a long breath he hadn't realized he was holding, Optimus flopped back against the couch, shuttering his optics, willing his aching processor to stop computing for a moment so he could rest. The effort was futile; his agitated frame of mind notwithstanding, his spark was a whirlwind of tempestuous emotion, a storm he was helpless to stop…

Until he made a decision, that was.

"Dammit," he muttered irritably, mouth pulled into a firm, unhappy line. "Damn it all." He couldn't help but be forced to fight down the strong inclination to go punch his brother in his damned face. He couldn't resent Megatron for saving Aerith's life, nor for returning her to the mech she truly loved, nor for, in effect, giving little Bee his mother back, but…

Restless, he got to his feet, leaving his quarters swiftly and silently, feet carrying him down the darkened hallways with no real destination. Though the lower levels hummed quietly with the night shift's activity, the residential area was virtually silent; all the same, he knew she was awake even before she sleepily answered the soft knock upon her door.

Elita One stilled when the door stood back to reveal her lover, slowly lowering the hand she'd been rubbing her optics with. He said nothing for a moment, allowing himself, guiltily, to drink in the mere sight of her. A glimpse of her glinting armor had long been enough to stir his spark into a desirous frenzy; seeing her standing there in the dark, moonlight captured and reflected rapturously on her curvy frame, set his whole being alight with need.

He stepped forward, and she back, suspicious, expression darkening when he closed the door behind her, retreating back for every step he advanced, until she was backed up against the wall and he loomed before her. The thick overlying ridges of his helm cast his face into shadow, his optics burning through her in the gloom. Large hands settled against the wall on either side of her helm, trapping her, and in the moment when her gaze met his she knew what would transpire before he'd made another move.

Their kiss was fierce, more animalistic than loving, wild desire moving their bodies and twisting their sparks. Strong hands pulled her close, winding their bodies together intimately, and she found herself gripping every bit of him she could find, wanton and desperate for his touch.

"We shouldn't," she gasped, moaning softly when he caressed her.

He growled quietly, low, possessively, dropping his mouth to her throat and biting her, marking her roughly. "I don't care."

Their love-making was every bit as fiery as their kiss, more so because he had her, wanted her, owned her. They gave in to lust, foregoing the trip to the berth, satisfying one another right then and there, entwined on the floor. Elita dropped her head back, losing herself to him, wondering vaguely at this passionately monstrous side of her Prime, so foreign and so desirable. It whispered to her that Optimus was indeed growing, developing a hardened, powerful warrior somewhere deep within, behind those warm optics and that kind smile.

And oh, how little it mattered to her. Passionate, lustful, angry, smiling, battle-scarred, bloodthirsty, charismatic, sensitive—no matter what face Optimus showed her, she was intoxicated by him completely. So very, very in love with all that he was. She kissed him, long and hard, winding her arms around his neck, pulling him into her. What she wanted? It was all so simple.

She wanted him. All of him. She didn't want anyone else to have him, see him, touch him. Optimus was light. Life. He was power, majesty, nobility, compassion, beauty. He was ethereal and endless, broken and so handsomely scarred. A shattered, lonely spark, calling softly and sweetly to hers, even in moments like these, when he was much more a beast than a mech.

It was joors later when he finally relaxed into recharge, spent, exhausted, the feral look in his optics fading in his last few moments of consciousness, as she guided him to her berth. Optics flickering, dimming, his hand lifted and cupped her face for a moment before falling back onto the giving surface of the berth, vents hissing softly as his overheated frame settled at long last into its recharge cycle. She sat silently beside him, drinking in the sight of him, where he belonged—recharge beside her, in her bed, his last gesture having been one of love.

Sighing quietly, she crossed to the other side of the berth and settled in beside him, curling into his side, lovingly tracing the faint scars that crossed his powerfully built chassis.

The Prime. The thought had never struck her before, but now she marveled that a living, breathing piece of Cybertronian history loved her. Even after he was dead and gone, his name would still be spoken with the same reverence, and not just on Cybertron—across the universe, on every planet he had ever touched. And history would count her as his beloved, his Empress, the Cybertronian queen whom he loved enough to share his spark with.

The mere thought sent chills through her, enticing her. She could be his, and so easily. The surety of that feeling was so exhilarating, so terrifying. Even considering their problems with Aerith and Megatron and Bumblebee, Elita still felt, inexplicably, that she was Optimus's sparkmate. That he would bond with her, no matter what happened, no matter what the consequences.

She fell into recharge beside him, chassis close to his, and their sparks trembled.

The being called Prima, as ancient as the planet Cybertron itself, stood absolutely still.

The ground beneath her was literally shaking, groaning under the weight of a thousand heavy feet. Crystalline blue optics surveyed the approaching army dispassionately, a little flicker of distaste touching her spark. The rebel forces marched on, incredibly unnoticed by Prime's intel, with no knowledge of the goddess they marched upon.

Canting her head to the side, shuttering her optics, Prima silently ordered time to be still.

The effect spread like a wave, rippling out from the small outcropping on which she stood and traveling, at near lightspeed, to envelope the encroaching army completely. Locked in an interspace "bubble," the rebels froze, their existences pulled out of the normal flow of the time stream and halted completely.

"Incredible. Even today, its power amazes me."

Prime turned, inclining her head politely when Alpha Trion joined her. Primon followed at the old mech's heels, hovering behind his sparkmate, optics surveying the scene before them opaquely, neutrally.

"It is formidable," Prima agreed, tucking her hands behind her back, looking upon her work with a hint of pride. Five hundred plus rebels, frozen entirely, and she couldn't even feel a drain on her spark. Primon softly rumbled his own agreement, optics narrowing marginally. Nova and Sentinel rounded the knoll behind them, standing quietly in the background, silently ogling the sight.

"I daresay this will aid Optimus greatly," Trion decided, turning to Prima. "If you can hold them here, that is."

"I daresay I could remove them from the timestream completely, if I so wished," Prima replied mildly, leaning her frame casually against Primon's. "I shall leave them here for now. They can come back in a few thousand vorns and enjoy the changed world."

"With respect, milord, perhaps we should not linger here much longer," Nova suggested quietly, drawing Primon's attention. "Optimus has need of us, or so I understand it. Am I correct?"

"You are." Primon tilted his head to the sky, considering. Yes, the young Prime was in dire need of assistance. He had no true grasp of his immortal heritage, nor of the great power he possessed. He would need a firm hand to guide him through the trials on the horizon. "We move on. We shall continue to test our individual abilities as time allows. But we must move forward."

"But of course," Trion agreed, stepping down from the knoll and back onto the battered road. For a few moments, all that could be heard were the sounds of many transformations, legendary frames folding into more practical terrain vehicles, and then the convoy consisting of the most ancient and powerful of Cybertronians continued on toward Iacon.

Real quick update to tide everybody over until I can get down to some serious writing. I seriously hurt my hand during a sparring match in karate, and it's taken a lot of time to heal. I've also been doing a lot of traveling this summer. It's really left very little time for literary endeavours. Please pardon me.

Reviews? Somehow I feel like this story is struggling to survive :/