-XXV-

It was Elita-One, not Optimus Prime, who opened the door to Megatron's hammering. Of course I couldn't see into her spark; but judging from the outside, she looked haggard.

"Megatron, I'm warning you, don't—" Elita broke off. She cocked her head to look at him more closely, and retreated half a step. "You've figured something out."

"I hope so. I think I know how to save him."

"Him?" I spluttered, heaving myself upright in his arms. "I thought you said this was about—"

Elita stopped me with an upraised hand. But then her shoulders slumped. "You're in on it."

I shook my head vehemently. "Honestly, Elita, I'm not sure what's going on right now..."

She waved me into silence, sighed, and opened the door wide. "Come in. But no shouting. His pain is worse."

Megatron carried me inside. I was too bemused to make him put me down.

I hadn't visited this place before. This wasn't the small antechamber at the tower's top where I'd first met the full Triad. This was the private apartment Elita shared with Optimus Prime. Her bondmate, I reminded myself sternly. Brimming with unaskable questions, I peered avidly around the place.

I don't know why I kept expecting the Commanders to have huge, sumptuous living quarters. Maybe, despite the past few weeks of having my eyes opened to their foibles, I still believed that they were super-mechs, operating on a plane far above menial bots like me. In any case, it shocked me to find out they lived in one all-purpose room much smaller than my makers' home. Its only glories were the copper-bright walls with their interlinked engravings, and the deep red cloth curtains hanging at a tall window. Their woven fibers must have been imported from some more organic world.

Otherwise the apartment was spartan. Two simple chairs angled toward each other at the window, with a cantilevered lamp shedding a warm light over them. There was an ancient, dented desk strewn with miscellaneous datapads, cubes, and old tablets. (Megatron huffed in irritation, set me brusquely on my feet, and started organizing the mishmash.) There was an energon dispenser in the wall, just like at home. There were two recharge slabs; one folded up against the wall to make more space. But lying on the other… I gasped and my engine raced in sudden fear.

Optimus Prime lay still as a spring wound up to the breaking point. His hands were folded tightly on his chest, his lips pressed closed, his optics dark beneath a brow furrowed in pain. I heard his servos whine, and saw his feet curl as some new agony took him. No one reacted. I was terrified. I moved instinctively to Megatron, and took his hand for safety.

Megatron kept on tidying the desk as if it could help fix things somehow. (But he did consent to hold my hand.) "Any improvement?" he asked, like he'd said the words a million times before.

Elita shook her head impatiently. "It's gotten worse since your last visit."

I rounded on Megatron. "You said nothing important was happening upstairs! You said that's why you'd come down to the medbay!"

Elita looked daggers at me.

"Sorry!" I whispered, much more quietly. "But Megatron, you said—"

"Why do you think it was me, and not Prime in your room when you came online?"

"Prime? You mean if he weren't sick you wouldn't—" I felt as if the floor had collapsed under me. "I thought… I thought you..."

"He's the kind one. I'm not kind." Megatron turned from me to Elita. "I'm not nice either. So I'm going to ask all of you to do hard things tonight. But if I'm right, it will heal Prime, Rainbowsparkles, and all the femmlings Swindle ever touched."

I didn't even bother telling him not to use my full name. "What's wrong with him?" I asked. (And did you lie when you hinted you cared for me? I thought, but didn't say.)

Megatron looked at me with a hint of empathy, but all his earlier softness was gone. Patiently, he explained, "Prime's new matrix connects him to the spark-core of each bot on Cybertron. He mourns with them, rejoices with them; and sometimes he uses his connection to help them work out old pain." (I thought of my makers waiting outside a low gray building on a tense night months ago. How Sunstreaker walked out renewed. How he'd assured Thundercracker that Prime was there.) Megatron interrupted my thoughts. "Spark, there are almost two hundred other newlings whose sparks have been tampered with." He looked over at Prime, and his face changed. "Imagine feeling all that pain."

"But..." I tried, but couldn't stifle all the questions. "If he's connected to all life on Cybertron, why didn't he sense the hidden newlings before?" (Why didn't he save them – and me – much sooner?)

"I don't know!" Elita's outburst startled me. "Maybe he has to know the bots exist before he can establish a connection. Maybe he has to meet them in person." She pressed a hand to her forehead. "All I know is, he was fine before we visited the newlings at the Detox center. After that, he—"

We all jumped as Prime let out a groan and twisted on his berth. Both Megatron and Elita surged to his side. I watched, forgotten. Megatron stooped to face her and spoke quickly. "This is what I know. Elita, you have a key that augments the power of any bot you use it on. You've always been a builder, a supporter, a believer. Prime has a matrix that connects him to everyone on the planet, because Primus knows he's always been the kind of bot who strives to understand and love and heal."

Elita listened with hands on her hips and an icy expression.

Megatron sped up in the face of Elita's impatience. "Optimus cannot heal all the newlings. But with your key's help, can he heal one?" He beckoned me over, and pushed me forward. "Can he heal this newling?"

"Why?" Elita demanded. "Why should Orion heal Rainbowsparkles? Especially when he's hurt so much already."

"Because..." Megatron huffed and clenched his fists. "I'm hoping Spark can use her sight to show Prime how to rebuild the other newlings' sparks. Then everyone on Cybertron will rejoice at the miracle and send their joy straight into Prime's slag-damned self-sacrificing spark, and he'll stop hurting!" Megatron ended in a suppressed shout, and stood there panting while Prime moaned again.

"If he survives," Elita muttered.

"Are you kidding? If our war taught us only one thing, it's that Optimus Prime always survives."

Elita's head snapped up. "Don't joke about it!"

Megatron backed off. "Sorry. I didn't mean..."

Elita lashed out, "This is only speculation! Just another of your wild conjectures!"

"Yes. But this time Primacron put the wild speculation in my head."

"You're asking me to take a lot on faith."

Megatron shrugged. "Hey, it's not easy for me to believe all this either. Maybe I am crazy. Maybe this is all delusion, But I do believe in Prime."

"Have you asked Rainbowsparkles?" Elita jerked her chin at me. "Before, she had a hard time looking into one or two sparks. Now you expect her to deep-read almost two hundred of them? And you will be asking her to relive all the trauma of her recent violation as she digs through the similar memories of those other femmlings—"

I spoke up quietly, trying to hide the shaking in my voice. "If Prime can fix me, I want to help him heal all the others."

Elita left Prime's bedside and came across the room to me. She took my chin and raised my face to hers. Her blue optics were deep and dark as the sky in a rainstorm.

"Please," I whispered. "I want to try."

She dropped her gaze.

Prime groaned again. Megatron looked down at his bond-brother. Then he lay down alongside Prime on the narrow berth. He held Prime tight against his body, trying to protect him as he had once done for me. He held Prime like a treasure that would slip away if he was not utterly vigilant. I watched them, feeling strange. I realized Prime belonged to Megatron in some way I did not yet understand. Megatron tucked his mouth against one blue finial and began whispering urgently.

I saw Prime's head shake back and forth. I saw his mouth move, and the words I heard were, "What if I fail them?"

Megatron stiffened. He pounded a fist into the berth beside Prime's head. (I squeaked and scuttled backwards.) "No!" he shouted. "You don't get to hide from this. Get up, Prime! Get up and do your damned god-given duty!"

I had never imagined anyone talking to Prime like that. I glanced at Elita, sure she would pound Megatron into powder. But she didn't move. Her mouth was quirked in some unfathomable amusement.

I heard a sound that shocked me to my core. Optimus Prime was laughing. Wheezing, exhausted laughter. Laughter with a catch in it as his pain wracked him. But it was laughter nonetheless. "You always did know how to stoke the fire in me," he told Megatron.

"Damn right," my Mystery Mech agreed.

Prime took Megatron's outstretched hand and grunted, "Help me up, Brother."

Elita's brow furrowed with worry as she watched Prime lever himself back onto his feet. But as he rose, some of the horrible tension leaked out of him. His body gave an audible hiss as it relaxed. He gripped Megatron's arm. "What put this half-grammed scheme into your head, my nemesis?"

"Skywarp."

Prime snorted. "Skywarp?"

Megatron chuckled darkly. "Skywarp followed the warp-trails to find out where Swindle and Octane had hidden all the other femmes." He shrugged. "I thought you might be able to do something similar with your new matrix." He looked at Prime, then leaned against him like all his cydraulics had been cut. He spoke like he was begging for his life. "I know you haven't forged strong pathways into the new femmlings yet. But you know Spark. And she knows you." He tapped Prime's chest, under which pulsed the bright blue spark I'd once seen into. "I have to believe there's a connection between you. I want you to follow it, and heal this one femmling. Please. Open your fancy matrix, and find out what it can do."

Megatron backed away from Prime and took my hand, like he actually needed my support. He tapped the blue-and-silver matrix in his open chest. "I always said this was only a bauble the gods gave me just to keep me quiet. But if this really is a Leadership Matrix – if you believe the gods beneath our feet as much as you believe in me – then I'm telling you they're telling me that this is how we heal the femmes. This is how we give them back the lives Primacron meant for them."

Elita let out a long, heavy sigh. She walked over to Prime and linked her arm through his. He bent down to consult with her. They whispered together; I couldn't guess what they were saying. I just watched, thinking this was another pair who had shared ownership with one another. Maybe all families were like this. Maybe I'd been resenting something universal and precious when I'd kicked against the connection between myself and my makers. I didn't know. I'm still not sure.

Megatron held my hand like it was a lifeline. I squeezed it with what reassurance I could give. Prime raised his chin, and looked at me. His optics flared a little brighter.

"Rainbowspa—"

I interrupted the leader of Cybertron. "Just call me Spark," I sighed. "I'm begging you."

He laughed. A real laugh. And I saw more of the pain leave him as hope rose in its place. He stood a little straighter, and walked over to plant himself right in front of me. He was taller than I was, grand and glorious. But his bared face was kind. I faced him with what bravery I had.

"Spark, I'd like to try what Megatron suggests. I have to warn you, it may come to nothing. But I think Primacron is trying to assist us. And I do believe in Megatron." He put a hand on my shoulder. "There is one thing I need to know though, little one. Are you certain you want your spark-sight back? After all, it was often a burden to you."

I looked at Prime: that incongruously young face, its optics that had seen too much. I turned to look at Megatron, knowing that if his plan worked, I could never look so fearlessly at him again. His awful spark would always be there, waiting. Spark-sight had certainly made my life complicated. But it was a part of me. I dropped my gaze and turned away from my beloved Mystery Mech. "I know what I want, Optimus," I said. "I want to be myself – who I was meant to be – again."

Prime's face grew sober and he put a hand up to my cheek. "I want you to be certain of one thing. If I do manage to restore your spark, you are under no obligation afterward. You may choose to assist me in healing the other newlings; or you may go home and live out your life in peace."

"But I want to help save them," I said simply.

He smiled. "You remind me of someone I used to be."

"All right, Orion," Elita sighed and took his arm. "I'm in." She took the crystal key out of her chest, and held it ready. "Silly mechs!" She shook her head.

Megatron stepped up and took Prime's other elbow. With his two bondmates supporting him, Prime opened his chestplates (like two cupboards, I thought wildly). He ex-vented and drew himself together for a moment. Then he raised a heavy inner shield and unclipped something shining bright above his spark.

This crystal artifact was not like Megatron's. It was a shape I'd seen over and over on the datanet: an oval frame with flat hand-holds at either end, holding a glowing crystal at its center. This version wasn't blue, though. It was white. Prime brought it out and held it reverently before him in both hands. Its gentle luminescence flickered through the room like liquid light.

It drew me in. A little dazed, I stumbled forward a few steps to stand within the glow. The Command Triad flanked me: Optimus Prime in front, Megatron on my right, Elita on my left. A tiny distant part of me wondered how I had gotten here. I'd just been born a year ago! What right did I have to stand here with the Commanders? But whether I had right or no, I reached out and put my small hand on Prime's. "I believe in you, too, Sir."

He looked at me with the face of a fresh-sparked newling, his brow raised in wonderment. Elita touched her warm-pink key to his blue spark. (It flared near-white with power.) And Prime pulled on the two sides of the matrix till they split apart. There was a single burst of pure white light. And then the crystal floated free.

Threads of light flickered toward me like electricity seeking some point it could ground in. They poured inexorably from the bright white crystal like it was an overflowing crucible. The light latched onto me and poured in: as cold as water, thick as oil. My armor was no barrier to it. I was a little frightened. But I kept my optics locked on Prime's.

I thought of all I knew of this big red and blue and silver mech: all I had seen within his spark. I guessed he was doing the same – recalling the things he knew of me. (I hoped they weren't as petty and pathetic as I feared.)

My spark tingled.

I looked down. It was flashing rainbow colors.

I looked back up at Prime, my optics wide, my mouth open in amazed, desperate hope. And I saw him. I saw his spark. I saw him straining to focus not on his own self-doubt, but on his love for me. His love for everyone on Cybertron. For his two bondmates there beside him. I saw the pure blue light of his bright spark.

And it was beautiful.

The matrix closed. Prime exhaled sharply, and fell forward like his linkages were cut. I threw my arms around him, heedless of breached protocol. "I saw you!" I whispered. "I saw you!"

I clung onto Prime – both of us holding one another upright as we sagged in joy and disbelief.

"Thank you," I whispered. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

Prime's spark surged in incandescent joy. He roared and lifted me up in a mighty hug. "One down!" he crowed. "Only 197 more to go!" He put me down, and grabbed Elita. She was holding back, afraid of disappointment. But he whirled her round and round with a long wordless shout of joy. "We did it!" was all he could say, over and over as they twirled together in some kind of freeform dance. He stilled suddenly, lifted her up in his arms, and bent to whisper in her audial. "My darling, precious love. Thank you."

She wrapped her arms around his neck, and clung there, her chest heaving in suppressed sobs of relief.

"It will be all right now, dearest. You did it."

Elita nodded. Then she must have given him some hidden signal, because he put her gently down onto her feet, touched his forehead to hers for a long moment, and then turned to Megatron.

Megatron stiffened, battle-ready.

Prime surged back across the room in two great strides. He threw the weight of his whole body into Megatron's, and bore the broader mech backward against the wall behind us. "Stubborn, slag-eating, wonderful glitch-head. You did it, Megs. You did it." With infinite gentleness, Prime cupped his blue hand over the red light of Megatron's spark. "Bond-brother of my twilight years. Fulfillment of my most impossible of dreams." He pulled Megatron's head toward him, and placed a kiss upon his brow. "Always, in every way, you bring me hope old man."

I'd have thought Megatron would show more fear. After all, his spark was literally in the hand of another mech. But he wasn't afraid. Quite the opposite. Slowly, every one of his taut struts slackened. He let his face fall onto Prime's shoulder and threw limp arms around him. "I did it," he repeated. "I did it. It worked."

"Not useless after all," Prime whispered. He took Megatron's face between his hands. "Never useless. Cybertron relies on you." He thunked his helm against Megatron's brow. "I rely on you, my beloved nemesis.'

Megatron pushed him hard, and Prime stepped back, a smile twinkling in his optics. Megatron turned to face me. He stood there like a king: his head-crest raised defiantly, his burnished silver armor bright against the copper engraved wall behind him, his spark pulsing with an ancient, raging power.

He was the most magnificent thing I'd ever seen.

"I need to look," I told him.

His crest wilted. "You'll hate me."

"Don't be so sure of that," said Elita. She shot me a secret smile, and winked.

"I survived a full download of your spark," Prime remarked with a wry half-grin.

Megatron rounded on him, finger pointed like a gun. "You barely survived." In an undertone he muttered, "Slag-licking overconfident punk-aft!" I wasn't sure if he meant Prime or me.

I persisted. "You're no coward. Don't tell me I should be one." He looked at me through optics of red fire. I clenched my fists, refusing to let what I did not know keep me afraid. "I'll stay out of the darkest places," I assured him. "I won't pry. But Megatron, I don't want to tiptoe around you forever." I took a step toward my Mystery Mech. "I've got another several million years ahead of me. I don't want to waste them."

Megatron slumped. "I've wasted enough years for both of us." He dropped his gaze. He was no coward, but he was afraid. "Before you look, let me wish you farewell," he said.

I crossed the last few feet of floor between us and shook his hand solemnly. "Goodbye, Mystery Mech," I told him.

Megatron's optics went fully dark. "Goodbye, Sparky," he whispered.

I awaited his permission. He stared at the wall over my shoulder. Finally he nodded. "Go ahead. Look if you must."

I opened my optics fully to Megatron's red spark.

It was dark in there. There were monsters. I saw how he'd lost himself. Saw all the horrid things he'd done. I felt his lifelong loneliness, and how he'd always pressed it down as unworthy of him. I saw the newforged mech he'd been – a youngling not dissimilar from me: full of naive hope, on a determined quest for independence. The storms and lightning of his past buffeted me; but I clung to what I knew and loved about him. I followed the threads of his writing as they wound throughout the years up to the present, till they led right back to me: into that tiny rainbow-colored flame inside his spark.

I pulled my gaze back to the surface and looked up into his face. He was a Mystery Mech no longer. But he was my hero just the same.

I went and threw my arms around him, and gave him the words he'd given me so recently down in the medbay: "I know who you are, Megatron. At least, I'd like to think I do. And for the record, I am not afraid."

He pulled me tightly to him, and held me as tightly as he'd held Prime. His frantic spark-pulse slowly settled into a more steady rhythm. My spark flashed in a harmonic counterpoint. We stood there together for what felt like years.

Prime put a hand on Megatron's shoulder. "The others," he reminded us gently.

"Let's go," I said. "I'm coming with you."

"We're all going," said Elita. "The groundbridge will fit us all, if we're friendly."

Megatron took her hand, looked at her for a long moment without a word, then bowed in acquiescence. "Lead on, my lady."

So that's how it happened that I squeezed into a smoking closet with Optimus Prime, Megatron, and Elita-One; and how we stepped out into the predawn darkness of the Detox center medbay, much to the surprise of First Aid, Deluge, and Flatline, the medics on watch.