Chapter Twenty Six

Plenoptic

Hello to the world! I have nothing to say here…except that just now I had a very violent case of the hiccups.

Ow.

Okay, they're gone now. Oh yeah, sorry if Kup seems just a little OOC. I wanted to have some fun, and I'm not altogether familiar with his character, but he was awesome in the movie, so…yeah.

"They're closing in on us!"

"Yeah, just like the Strikebats of Dramadon."

"How'd ya beat them?"

"I'm trying to remember…there were an awful lot of casualties that day."

XD (Hot Rod and Kup exchange…these two had me laughing the entire movie) My little sisters loved the part when they're taking off in the shuttle that first time, and Kup is reminiscing about petro-rabbits, then is all "Grimlock, getcher noodle out of my face!" And then of course, we all dropped into hysterics when they're all dancing on Junk, chanting "Bah weep grannah weep ni ni bong." Nothing like seeing Perceptor dance disco.

But Kup dancing will give me nightmares.

Anyway, what I love about this chapter is that I was able to portray Optimus with a very puppy-like nature around Elita. It was just altogether very fun to write.

. B E G I N . T R A N S M I S S I O N .

Springer inhaled deeply. The command center was virtually empty, due to the newness of the day; most of the chronometers displayed a disgustingly early hour (with the exception of the ones Wheeljack had tinkered with, which read thirty-two o' clock). The room was occupied by a very few people, namely Optimus Prime and a small amount of his inner circle.

Including Kup.

Springer gave himself a mental push and approached the senior warrior cautiously. Kup probably wasn't half as focused on the monitor as he appeared to be; one could only watch a blank screen for so long before their processor began to think idly of more interesting things. Like Elita One, Springer thought, watching the femme commander with the utmost concentration as she moseyed into the room before mentally slapping himself. Taken. Slaggit. We need more female recruits.

"So," Springer said casually, and Kup jumped slightly.

"Springer! Don't sneak up on me, lad! Primus, just like my junior officer on the Eleventh Nebulae of--sorry," he added, as Springer's optics adapted a very far away look. "What'd you need?"

"I, uh," Springer paused. How to put this? "Well…good news."

"Yeah?" Kup grunted, turning back to the monitor.

"Well, uh…congratulations! You've been assigned to sparkling duty! Starting…uh…now! In't that great?"

"…OPTIMUS!!!!!"

"Kup!"

"Slaggit, don't you get smart on me!" Kup roared, springing from his seat to face the Autobot commander, who was leaning over the balcony, his mask hiding his amused smirk. "What makes you think for even one nanosecond that I'm capable of sparkling duty?! I'm not a sparkling sitter, I'm a warrior, you little glitch head!"

"Ouch."

"Get your immature aft down here! I want to have some range when I punch your fragging face in!"

Optimus laughed. "I'll just stay up here, thanks."

"Optimus Prime, when I get my hands on you--!"

"I love you too, Kup!"

"Optimuuuuuuuus!"

"You made him mad," Elita said disapprovingly, raising her voice to make herself heard over the old warrior. "Good going, Optimus."

"Actually, Springer made him mad," Optimus replied, grinning widely.

"I'm being serious," Elita said worriedly, frowning at her sparkmate. Primus, the mech could be an immature little git sometimes. "At his age, he could blow a circuit or something."

"Hey, Ratchet needs something to do anyway," Optimus said wickedly, and Elita groaned.

"You're terrible."

"No, you put me in a good mood," he replied lightly, bending over to nuzzle her cheek. "Last night, I mean."

"Ugh," she responded, pushing him away. "I'm spoiling you."

"Not that I have a problem with that."

"I hate you."

"I know."

"Hey, are you listening to me?!" Kup demanded angrily, waving his fist in their general direction. "Optimus!"

"Please, Kup?" Optimus begged, leaning over the balcony once more. "Rodimus trusts you. He's fond of you. I'm not sure I could get him to settle down with anyone else."

Kup sighed; the younger mech posed an excellent point. As always. "I don't know, Optimus."

"I can arrange time in between your shifts. I'm begging, Kup. Just until I've got some time and can watch over the little guy myself."

Kup groaned. His audio receptors weren't going to survive this. "…Alright. I'll do it. But only for a few orns! This had better not be anything permanent!"

"It won't be," Optimus assured him, relief washing over his faceplates. "I owe you one, Kup. I owe you a couple, actually."

"Don't think I won't hold you to that."

"Absolutely. Thank you."

"Yeah, yeah…"

"Kup!"

"Yeah, that's me."

"Kup!"

"Good job."

"Kup!"

"Hit the nail on the head."

"Kup Kup Kup Kup--"

"Oh Primus, help me," Kup moaned, putting his face in his hands. "He's like a little mechano-cat, he won't shut up!"

"Stay strong, Kup. Stay strong," Wheeljack said over their comm link, sounding just a little distracted. "Oh--oh, it's working! Hey, I gotta go, better find Jetfire and tell him that--oh. Never mind. No, wait--! Please don't explode, I--ah! Gotta go, Kup, sorry!"

Kup groaned as the comm link fizzled into static. He was running out of people to complain to. Rodimus was happily bouncing up and down on the recharge berth, pausing every now and again to cocoon himself in the thermal blankets. Kup glanced over at the bunk to see a bright pair of optics peeking out at him from beneath a mass of insulated fabric. There was a squeal, and the optics disappeared; the lump writhed excitedly, almost seeming to beg Kup to play.

"What'd Springer call you?" the old warrior grunted, getting to his feet and poking the lump experimentally. "Hot Rod?"

The lump giggled.

"…I guess I could get used to that," Kup amended, digging through the blankets and removing a flailing sparkling. "Hot Rod, eh? It suits you."

Hot Rod blew a raspberry.

"I remember when Optimus was your size," Kup reflected, sitting back down at his desk and perching the sparkling on his knee. "He was quite the handful, if I remember…him and Megatron. But I guess you wouldn't know about your uncle yet, would you? Thank Primus for that…and let's hope you never have to know him."

Hot Rod yawned, sprawling himself across Kup's lap and staring blearily at the bright computer monitor. He'd spent most of his day chasing mechano-cats on the base's wide grounds, accompanied by a very protective Elita (the femme had glared down anyone who came too close until they retreated). Needless to say, the little tyke was tired, and when he slept, he slept.

So it was thanks to the mechano-cats that Kup got any rest that night. Looking down, he couldn't help but smile; the sparkling was kind of endearing when he was asleep. His resemblance to Optimus and Elita was astounding; he rather had Optimus's build, but also carried every bit of Elita's grace (in a less feminine form). No doubt he'd one day adopt the flame décor like his father.

"I guess I could get used to you," Kup mumbled, patting the child's head. The sparkling hiccupped. "Maybe…"

Elita One decided that evening that her sparkmate was an unadulterated, uncontrollable interface fiend.

"For the love of Primus, Optimus!" she growled in frustration, rolling over and glaring at him as his hand ghosted over her hip for the millionth time that recharge cycle. "Just because Rodimus is with Kup tonight--"

"For the love of Primus, Elita," he mimicked, scowling, "is it so wrong that I want a little time with my sparkmate?"

"You had me last night! I had you last night, for Cybertron's sake! Has your interface drive always been this insatiable, or is this a new development?"

"Good question," he laughed quietly, his optics alight with new amusement at her temper. "You're delightful when you're angry, did I ever tell you that?"

"That's it. I'm recharging with Ironhide tonight," she growled, sitting up.

"No, Elita, come on," he begged, following suit and taking her hand. "At least crack a smile when you make jokes like that."

"Who said I was joking?" she demanded.

He said nothing, his optics betraying the hurt in his spark. She sighed as her temper cooled; she could hardly stay angry with him when he donned his helpless puppy look. Exhaling deeply, Elita lay back down on the recharge berth, and he happily followed, pressing closer to her lithe body.

"You're not easily satisfied, are you?"

"Not when it comes to you, no," he replied, curling his frame around her. "You could just give in for once."

"We had this discussion last night," she growled, squirming in an attempt to get away. "And you're treating me like a pillow!"

"Sorry. But I get you so rarely nowadays…when I do have you, you can hardly expect me to want to let go."

Elita sighed; she could relate. Neither could deny how deep they were being dragged into the Primus-slagged war; their precious time together had been sorely diminished, and consequently their already limited time with their sparkling.

"…Optimus Prime."

"Hn?"

"Autobot commander. Second in command is the spawn of Primus."

"What?" he grunted, but she offered no reply, having cuddled against her lover's frame and sunk deep into recharge. He bent his head to gaze down at the femme he so loved, his optics softening as they caressed her small frame. He cupped one hand against her cheek, tilting her head up so he could admire her beautiful face. Gently so as not to wake her, he leant down and planted a tender kiss upon her supple lips. Lying back against the headrest, he frowned slightly:

Since when is Prowl the spawn of Primus?

"Unexpected surprise," Ratchet mused dryly, and Optimus scowled at him darkly. Despite having his sparkmate in his arms, the commander's recharge had been a fitful one, haunted once more by strange dreams much resembling those he'd experienced before Rodimus's birth.

"Ratchet, I'm here because I really need your help," Optimus said wearily, and the medic softened immediately. He could hardly deny the mech he'd helped to raise from sparklinghood.

"Alright, Optimus. I'm listening," the CMO said gently, smiling. "What's on your processor?"

Optimus scrutinized him carefully. It wasn't that he didn't trust Ratchet, because he did; with every ounce of his spark he trusted the older mech who sat before him. The medic had been a constant in his life, a guardian vorns ago and a beloved friend now. The only one in the med bay Optimus didn't trust at that moment was himself.

"It's going to sound insane," he said miserably, sinking down slightly in his seat.

"Optimus, I always think you sound insane," Ratchet said, in what he must have thought was a comforting tone.

"Thanks," Prime replied darkly, scowling behind his mask, but the expression easily reached his optics. "I told you, didn't I? About those dreams I had before Rodimus came along?"

"Yes. I remember. The one about some Autobot--and I quote--lighting our darkest hour?"

"Exactly." A pause. "I had another one."

Ratchet lifted his optic ridges. "Did you now?"

"Yeah. Only, this one was…different. It was weird."

"Weirder than a dream in which Primus speaks to you? Good children of Cybertron, this ought to be interesting."

"Do you want me to tell you or not?" Optimus asked heatedly, and Ratchet laughed.

"Yes, please. What happened?"

"It's going to sound crazy."

"It's called a mid-life crisis, Optimus."

"Shut up."

"Sorry."

Prime inhaled deeply, taking his optics offline. He could do this. "There was a planet."

"Well, that's a start."

"Shut up!"

"Sorry."

"…And then…"

"Yes?"

"…So there's the planet. And it…Ratchet, it…it was…" Optimus hesitating, struggling for something a little more descriptive than what he had in mind. No such luck. "It ate another."

Ratchet stared. "A planet?"

"Yeah."

"It ate another planet."

"Yeah."

The medic blinked and grinned weakly. "You're right. That does sound crazy."

"I'm out of here."

"No, Optimus, wait. Let's just think about this. Sit your skidplate back down."

Optimus obliged, scowling. Had he made a mistake in telling Ratchet? Although Ironhide would have hardly been a better listener…and Prowl would be the first to tell him it was completely illogical and that his young, energetic processor was playing with him. Jazz would gore him for details and enthuse how awesome it was, and Elita would probably lift an optic ridge and give him her complacent "Uh-huh."

So apparently the skeptic CMO was his only real option.

"I know it sounds insane, Ratchet," the young commander said wearily, his optics pleading. "But this is what I dreamt, okay? I swear to Primus and Primacon I'm not making a thing up."

"I know, young one. I know," Ratchet said quickly, his tone softening. "I believe you, I swear I do. I'll always believe you, and you should slagging well know that. I--"

"Slag…ing?" a tiny voice chirped, and both mechs looked down.

Rodimus sat on the floor between them, blinking up at them with doleful optics. "Slagging?" he repeated curiously, and Ratchet's optics widened slightly.

"I…uh…his first…word…"

Optimus moaned and put his face in his hands. "Elita's going to kill me."

. E N D . T R A N S M I S S I O N .

So I'm thinking that maybe the next chapter will be the last…but I have my misgivings about making this story's end so anti-climatic. Maybe something huge should happen? Maybe it should end on a nice, family note, in which Optimus and Elita vow eternity to one another?

…

I dunno. Tell me what ya think.

Guess what? A guinea pig just peed on my kitchen floor.