Disclaimer: Does someone actually think I own the Transformers.

Warnings: R or T Language, violence, sexual situations and humor. Angst. Lots of angst.

A huge, special thanks to okami-myrrhibis for beta reading for me. I will make a public apology for not running this through the spellchecker before sending it to her. She probably thought an orangutan typed this, and she is partially correct.

XxxX

In a Moment

Pt, 2

XxxX.

Optimus wasn't happy with Keller's request for the Autobots to remain inside their base; he and his mechs could assist the government in finding the landmines. Instead they were sitting around watching CNN and trying to second guess the Decepticons. He understood that the swarm of reporters and camera crews made it impossible for them to transform to their root mode outside. He understood the assumption that the 'Cons wouldn't attack if the Autobots weren't present. He tried to explain that the assumption was still an assumption, and if an attack did occur the Autobots were better equipped to fend off the aggressors. It was still frustrating. There was so much more they could be doing, if the government would let them. This wasn't the humans' war. This was their war, and they should be leading the search.

He considered ignoring the request, and sending his mechs out anyways. No, that would only strain the already tenuous relationship they had with the government. Secretary Keller was doing what he could, when he could to help the Autobots, and ignoring the request would be an insult. So he relented. His mechs were furious with his decision. Every one of them had expressed grievances with the situation. He quickly gave up attempting to explain and shut himself in his office. With nothing to do but wait his thoughts turned to the should haves of this seeming endless war.

He was brooding, and he knew it. Optimus also knew that the longer he brooded the more depressed he became. Without Jazz to lift his spirits it was tempting to just let the dark emotions engulf him. Primus, he missed the saboteur. But Jazz was gone, the war was still raged, and he still had slagging reports to read.

He turned to his data pad and the reports from the Explosive Ordinance Disposal Squads; where they had been, what they had found, etc. It was a distraction, but not a very good one. At least the military was almost finished sweeping the town. Within a couple of days the humans should leave and the numerous news crews will lose interest and drift away. Life should return to some resemblance of normal for him and his men.

He was distracted from the intel. report. When his CMO opened a private comm. line between them. "Ratchet to Optimus Prime"

"Optimus Prime here. Report." he said with more than a hint of boredom.

"Ironhide has hauled your femme into the med bay. It appears that she has not refueled or recharged in several days. Would you like to handle this or shall I, Sir?"

Prime placed a hand on his head. Of all the glitch headed things … he hadn't seen Sira in several days, and he assumed … what was it humans said about assuming? Didn't he mince words with a couple of Generals for making assumptions? "Ratchet, please refrain from referring to her as mine. She is not mine, but sends her to my office. I will handle this. Is there anything else I need to be informed of?"

He could almost hear the smirk over the comm. line. "Sira and Ironhide had … an altercation, and she has a couple of minor dings. Oh Prime, she is your femme because no mech with a stable processor has enough patience to put up with her. Ratchet out."

Optimus growled at the medic's cheeky comment. Standing, he walked through a door at the back of his office and retrieved a ration of energon. Sitting it on his desk he folded his arms across his chest and waited. Off all the asinine things … she had taken on Ironhide. He didn't want to know what had started the altercation. He never challenged the old warrior. He didn't have to. The mech had whipped his aft the first time he went to negotiate an alliance with the resistance fighters. 'Hide had been their leader, and he trounced the Prime of Cybertron just because he could. Later the fighters had formed the core of the Autobot ranks.

The femme that arrived looked beat. Both literally and figuratively. Small scrapes along her protoform would have to be buffed out later. Sira wouldn't look at him, and stood just inside the doorway to his office. He watched her for several seconds. He noted the small twitches and the dull optics. He had seen his share of mechs and femmes in this condition coming off the battlefield. Sira was running on reserve power.

"Please sit." His words were heavy with the failure he felt in his spark. She shouldn't be in this condition. He should have checked on her. He should have excused himself from one of the endless meetings and debriefings and found her. Should have. Would have. Could have.

Sira slipped into the chair he motioned to. Optimus sat a cube of energon in front of her. She looked at it with disgust. He squatted down so he could be closer to her level. "Drink this. You need to refuel."

She looked at him for the first time. "It smells like paint thinner, salt and what I think plutonium would smell like. Just between you and me I find it revolting." She words were soft, but there was an aggressive undertone.

This was a new situation. He had never known a mech or femme to refuse to refuel. He had read about human prisoners that would starve themselves to death in political protest. He assumed those accounts were over exaggerated. Now he wasn't so sure. What does that say about a species when individuals are willing to endure a slow painful, death to make a statement? He hoped he never had to fight against the humans.

He spoke to her softly. "You have to drink half this cube before I will let you out of this chair. Otherwise I am going to call in Ironhide and Ratchet and we will hold you down and force it down your throat." He had heard Lennox use similar tactics on his daughter.

Optimus hoped Sira wouldn't call his bluff. The thought of doing that to her did not sit well with him, but he would if necessary. After a few tense moments the coppery femme took hold of the cube and placed it to her lips. He expected her to drink ravenously, but all she did was sip the pink liquid.

It took her a while, but Sira drank exactly half of the cube before she sat it back down. By Primus, she was stubborn, but a deal was a deal and she had completed her end of it. He stood and backed away. Taking her by the wrist he pulled her with him to the door at the back of his office. She didn't struggle, which surprised him. He had expected some defiance.

Opening the door he ushered her into his personal quarters. Releasing her hand, she began to explore the space. Optimus made no move to stop her; Sira would be more comfortable if she familiarized herself with the area.

He watched her with critical optics. The energon was starting to make it's was through her system and she was improving, but the pressing need to recharge was still there. Small tremors shook her frame if she moved too quickly. She turned her back to him and he could see the dent located between her shoulders. He had seen more than one young recruit with similar injuries.

Optimus couldn't decide whose aft needed kicking the most; his, hers, 'Hide's or everybody's.

His room was considerably larger than the rest of the Autobot rooms. Along with the standard recharge bunk, there was a table and chair off to the side. He also had a large flat screen TV and entertainment system that was surrounded with mostly empty shelving. It was the smattering of objects on the shelves that Sira was interested in. She ran her finger along the spines of the books he had gathered; silently reading the titles. She peered curiously at the oddities he had: a pair of antique glasses, a crystal, a picture of a spider web and a clear box holding currency and gemstones. She taped the cube and looked at him; a silent question on her face.

"I retrieved them from your quarters after …" He let his words trail off. She would know what he meant.

"Well, your room is a lot nicer that mine; rank does have its privileges," she joked weakly.

Optimus covered the distance between them in two strides when he saw her optics dim slightly. If he didn't get her into recharge mode soon, she would wind up in stasis lock due to exhaustion. They had both stalled long enough. Grabbing her by the elbow he half dragged, half guided her to the recharge bunk.

"Sit," he told her. She did, and he sat next to her. Holding up his right arm he opened his interface port on his wrist and pulled the connection cable free. It was a silvery filament terminating in a slender spike.

"What are you doing?" she asked. He noted a touch of apprehension in her voice.

"I used to this for Bumblebee. When we found him he was very young and very scared. He couldn't power down enough to go into recharge mode. I would interface with him to access his programming and force him to recharge." Optimus took her right arm and opened the cover on her access port. "And I am going to do the same to you. Before you start protesting, you need to know that if I am unsuccessful you will be sent to Ratchet, and he will not be nearly as gentle."

Swinging his long legs onto the bunk he pulled Sira to him. He shifted his mass until he was lying on his side and the smaller femme had her back pressed against his chest. Humans referred to this position as spooning; he thought of it as a convenient way to handle a foul tempered femme. She was facing away from him and so were her hands, feet and weaponry, if she had any. A quick shove would send her to the floor; buying him enough time to activate his own weapons. That he even considered such things was testament to the fact that he had been at war far, far too long, he quietly mused to himself.

Taking her right hand he deftly slid the spike of his connection cable into her port. Sira physically stiffened at the sensation. Optimus waited. He didn't initiate any exchange; he wasn't going to until she relaxed a little. Forcing her to accept him into her programming would cause excruciatingly pain to her already over-taxed system.

He waited; he could feel her pump thrumming away in her chest; it was working faster than it should have been. Taking his free hand he ran it down her body from shoulder to hip. She didn't complain so he repeated the motion. Within a few strokes he felt her relaxing. He continued petting her, making sure he didn't accidentally brush against any of the highly sensitive wires. It had been an incredibly long time since he had a protoform femme curled next to him.

"I thought interfacing was supposed to be intimate," she stated.

"Isn't this intimate?" he asked back.

"I meant like sexually intimate or the big robot equivalent of sexually intimate."

"It could be. Do you … wish that?" he asked in as neutral of a tone as he could.

Her answer was a soft chuckle. "Not tonight dear, I have a headache."

Optimus could see the corners of her mouth were curled into a sly smile. He wasn't sure exactly how to take her response so he let it go; she wasn't in any shape for vigorous interfacing.

He opened the connection between them, and let her emotions filter to him. Exhaustion, frustration, apprehension and curiosity. Primus, her curiosity was insatiable. But under it all he detected a sadness and feeling of unworthiness. She felt unworthy. She felt as if she didn't deserve anything. It made his spark ache thinking that she such a low value of herself. It went a long way to explain her actions the last few days.

He tightened his hold on his emotions. He had to be as clinical and neutral as he could while they were connected. He couldn't let his emotions or thoughts cross the link between them. Sira didn't ask or offer to share with him, and it would be unconscionable for him to do so. Prime had no idea how Ratchet did this as often as he did, and not slip.

It wasn't his place to soothe her troubled soul, but he couldn't be so close and not do anything. He continued stroking her. Head, then neck, down the arm to the top of her free hand, and back to her shoulder down to her hip and thigh. He made the touches a light as possible. The copper femme relaxed even further against him. He could sense the questions forming in her mind, and he hushed her before she could start asking them. Later; there would be time later for her to ask her endless questions.

"First, I would like to take a look at some of the programs Ratchet has locked. Then, I am going to start shutting down your periphery programs; try to remain relaxed. You will be able to detect me within your systems, and if something bothers you or is painful, inform me."

"Why would Ratchet have turned something off?"

Slag it, she asked a question. "It is a standard precaution that is taken with every mech or femme brought online. Your transformation sequences have been shut off, as have your weapons programs, HUD and -"

"Oooh. I have weapons?" She perked up a little.

He chuckled at her response. "No, you have basic weapons programming. Later, you will be fitted with actual weapons, and program upgrades. Then, may Primus have mercy on us all."

Her answer was an indignant snort, but through the connection he detected humor at his comment. He started shutting down her periphery programs one by one. In between each he would pause to give her time to adjust. He could feel her thoughts wonder randomly. The image of an elderly man came to him across their connection. The heavily lined face was surrounded by long silver white hair. Lively human eyes the color of verdigris looked at him.

:Who is he?: Optimus asked over the connection.

:My father: Came the unspoken reply.

:Do you think about him a lot?:

:Every day. When I was a child he used to read to me before bed:

Optimus could feel her sliding deeper and deeper towards recharge. Her thoughts were becoming more and more nonsensical. He found this a little disconcerting; the way random images would flitter across her mind. There was no logic behind the sequence. Nothing to tie the images together. It made him wonder what humans truly meant when they made comments about having weird dreams. Did human dreams get weirder than this?

Sira stirred. In a sleep slurred voice she mumbled, "'Twas brillig and the slithy toves did gyre and gimble in the wabe: all mimsy were the borogoves, and the mome raths outgrabe'."

She was gone. She had slipped far enough that automated process took over and she went into a deep recharge. Optimus quickly accessed her diagnostics to make sure she wasn't glitching. No, nothing was detected. He checked again. Everything was working properly. Backing through the connection he detached himself mentally from her before detaching physically. Laying with her snuggled against him, he absentmindedly rubbed the access port on her wrist, and thought about her last words. They were utter rubbish. He added finding out what Ratchet knew about human dreams to the ever growing list of things to do.

Had she been dreaming? Could she still dream? If she was dreaming did that mean she was asleep and not in recharge? Yes, he was defiantly going to talk to Ratchet, but first there was another mech he wanted to talk to.

XxxX.

The Weapons Specialist looked up when he heard Optimus enter is workshop. "So are you here to reprimand me?" he asked.

"No, I came to say thank you for bringing a problem to my attention. I only request that you not stand on Sira in the future." The Prime crossed his arms across his chest and leaned against the wall.

Ironhide snorted. "I have the right to defend myself. If someone shoved their hand into your neck and tried to rip out part your neural wiring, you'd react the same way. And I didn't stand on her, I restrained her with my foot."

Several seconds passed as the mechs looked at each other. Ironhide had a couple of things he needed to get off his chest and now was as good of a time as any. "Permission to speak freely, Sir."

"I thought you just did. Permission granted."

The large black mech sat his tools aside, and looked his commanding officer directly in the optic. "Stop coddling the femme. She doesn't need someone to hold her hand; she needs to be taught how to function and how to fight."

Prime's optics narrowed almost imperceptibly. "There has been concern about her emotional condition. If she is pushed before she is ready her mental stability may be at jeopardy."

Ironhide rose to his full height. "If a Decepticon finds her she won't last long enough for anyone to worry about her mental stability. Let go, Optimus. You are doing her a disservice by holding her back. She should have been in intensive training the minute she came online."

The Autobot leader rubbed his face with a hand and cycled his vents into a sigh. "I recall having a similar conversation with you once before."

"We did and that little yellow fragger is still with us and one of the best soldiers I have ever trained. Let me train Sira. She has potential."

"I do not want her to become a soldier." Prime's words were spoken more to himself than the other mech.

"That is not a decision for you to make. We are at war, and if she can't fight then she will become cannon fodder. Let her decide. Primus knows, another set of useful optics and armaments would be a blessing."

Optimus knew the argument was against him. He had been too cautious. He had wanted to ease her into her new life. But his friend was correct. She needed to know how to live as a 'Bot and how to defend herself against other mechs. And she needed to know now. He had made a mistake and she could have paid the price … again.

"When Sira comes out of recharge Ratchet and Wheeljack want to see her, after that you may start training."

Prime wasn't happy. Ironhide could hear the resignation in his voice, but Prime was an exceptional leader and listened to his men when he needed to. The black mech knew he had Bumblebee, Wheeljack and even the twins to back him on this issue. They had all discussed this over several rounds of high grade. Now Prime had reluctantly agreed with him. The only obstacle was Ratchet, and that worry-wart CMO could just stick it up his lime green tailpipe.

XxxX.

A/N: Sira's gibberish is from Jabberwock by Lewis Carroll 1872.

You people are sick! Robot orgies are barely mentioned, and you depraved people start begging. Sick, twisted, perverts, and I love ya'll all the more for it. Hehe.

To Eerie Iri - Thank you. To I-love-me-some-leggypoo - Thank you. Hmm she could be a lotus car. To Celesta Sunstar - Thank you, and this is not that type of story. Not yet. To Nexmelody - Don't run and hide, we are all friendly here. Ocs are a bitch. My beta has waggled her finger at me when Sira gets a little "cardboardy". To Punk Autobot - Males do recover fast. Unless their dead they have one thing on their mind. Am I right ladies? I can see Sides' being reduced to his spark chamber and CPU, and still wanting someone to "touch it". To Miss Hiss - You are a perv. (Wink wink nudge nudge). To Technodragon78, CasroTigerKin, Kaida Tori and Hermonine - Thank you, thank you , thank you and thank you. To Alpha Dragonwulf - Glad you like my drabble. I warn you, we are nearing the end, and I don't of any clinics for FF addiction J. I hate that kind of story also, along with MarySues, romances and the like. I have no idea why I'm writing this, but it is fun. To Fennecfox03 - Thanks and Sira could use a hug about now. To Demonic blackbird - Glad you liked. I think Ratchet throws things for show. To Ladyofthebookworms - Now stop asking questions. Hehe, I was writing that chappy when you reviewed. I'm still not sure what Simmons is gong to do. He is unpredictable. To Fea Child19 - Prime has so many facets to his personality. More Primey Prime later. Thanks. To Everyone - I think I have a winner in the "Name the Femme" game. I'm not telling right now. The name and winner will be revealed at the appropriate time.