Chapter Twenty-Nine

Plenoptic

NOTE: PiL needs an original cover image! FFN is allowing us to upload them now. Are any of you artists out there inclined to create one? Message me and let me know if you're interested! Any art I wind up using will be fully credited at the beginning of every chapter, and I won't be using any art without permission.

NOTE 2: A rather brief and unsatisfactory update, I know...it was meant to be longer, but I'm heading overseas tomorrow morning and just couldn't quite finish it up. I'll be gone until the 24th and have a busy summer after, but the updates will keep rolling sometime the following weekend, I hope...the plot really is going to resume next chapter! REALLY! Until then, arrivderci!


Jetfire cut his engines, coasted down to the ground, transformed, and hit the ground running. Crystal City was asleep for the time being, but in mere breems its communications net would light up with information on the rebellion. The flier always found himself wishing that their post received important updates before the DataNet, but that, he supposed, was one of the few downsides to having a secure post.

He figured that he and Optimus were lucky to have a post at all. Sentinel had returned himself and his family and friends to Cybertron in amazing time, quickly reestablishing command in Iacon. Officers were climbing over each other to volunteer for command positions, all determined to prove their resolve to fight the rebellion. True to his word, however, Sentinel had granted his son and Jetfire the opportunity to prove themselves in the realm of command, and had given them a quiet post in Crystal City to monitor and run under the guidance of Scavenger, who watched always but never interfered. It had taken two deca-cycles, but Optimus and his eager second-in-command were beginning to find their rhythm.

The two sleepy sentries stepped aside to let him through the front doors, and he took the stairs four at a time to the uppermost floor of the command tower, bypassing the lifts entirely. He bolted down the hall, skidding to a stop outside his commander's room and pounding a fist upon the door.

"Optimus! Boss! Hey—Optimus, OptimusOptimusOpt—"

The door slid back on its tracks, and Cybertron's disgruntled prince ducked sideways to avoid a fist to the noseplates. "What, Jetfire, what?"

"Oh, hey! Mornin'! Guess what!"

"What?"

"The Hydrax Plateau!" Jetfire said triumphantly, throwing his arms open wide and grinning. Optimus stared at him for a long moment before the flier repeated himself. "I said, the Hydrax—"

"I heard what you said," Optimus interrupted, irritated. "What about it?"

"Oh. Well, we reclaimed it," Jetfire explained, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. To his mind, his behavior had made it more than clear, perhaps, but Optimus was more than used to his best friend toeing the line dividing "eccentric" and "insane."

"We reclaimed it?" the prince repeated, optic ridges lifting. "How?"

"That's what I said! The Senate had that sucker locked down but good, but your old mech called in—get this—his old mech, and the huge guy goes stomping in there hauling this battleaxe that fragging shoots firebolts and—"

"Stop, stop," Optimus interrupted once more, shaking his head and holding his hands out in front of him. "Give me a breem or two, alright? I'll meet you in the conference room, grab Scavenger, too. And open a link to Iacon and to the DataNet, I need to get our information straight here. Where'd you hear this from, anyway?"

"Got a buddy who works at Maccadam's, he heard it from a recruit who got it from his lieutenant who got it from a datapad he nicked off of Jazz."

"…That's the most unreliable intel source I've ever heard of in my entire life, Jetfire."

Jetfire threw his arms into the air, exasperated. "What do you want me to do? It's not like intel's coming in from anywhere else."

"Just get down to the conference room, please?"

The flier sighed, snapped up a hand in a brief salute, and took off back down the hall, whizzing down the several flights of stairs. Shaking his head, Optimus retreated back into his room, stretching his aching hydraulics as he strode back to his berth. The covering he'd recently vacated was still warm, but not nearly so much as the body that snuggled up against his as he lowered himself back down.

"Good morning," he rumbled, releasing a low sigh when a female hand cupped his jaw, forcing his head back so her mouth could assault his throat. "Femme, as of a few moments ago I'm officially on duty."

"Scandalous," Elita purred, but she only delivered one sharp bite to the base of his throat before tugging his head down for a heated kiss. "What did Jetfire want?"

"Apparently we've retaken the Hydrax Plateau," Optimus answered, shrugging one shoulder when her faceplates lit up. "Who knows if it's true. I need to get down to command and contact Father."

"Would you like me to join you?"

"Of course I would," he murmured, pulling her snugly against his front and dropping a kiss against her mouth. "But take your time getting up, it's all going to be confusion for a few breems."

"Hey," she said, slapping his aft cheekily as he started to get up, "is tonight the big night?"

He quirked an optic ridge at his not-quite-lover, taking her hand in his and bringing the backs of her fingers to his mouthplates, much as he'd done when they first met. "Would you like for it to be?"

"Just wondering when you're going to grow the ball bearings to make me yours," she chirped, grinning widely at him when he ducked his head, abashed. "No pressure, sweetspark, but…I'm ready whenever you are."

He nodded mutely, leaning forward and claiming her mouth with his, kissing her so heatedly that a soft whine of disappointment left her when their lips parted. "Duly noted," he murmured, and kissed her once more before heading to work.

He had traversed only one flight of stairs when a sharp pain lanced through his head, forcing him to halt in the stairwell and cradle a hand to his helm. A second pang coaxed a hiss from him, and he leant his weight against the wall, blinking his optics rapidly as his surroundings began to blur. The stairwell dissolved, morphing into a ramp that spiraled downward into the core of the planet, where the mighty spark of Primus, blazing, alight with white fire, was just visible, calling to him—

"Optimus?"

A hand came to rest gently between his shoulders, and he blinked, staring at the stairs in confusion before turning around. Elita hovered behind him, pretty faceplates overshadowed with worry, her hands cautiously guiding him as he slowly sank down to sit upon the stairs.

"What did you see?" she asked quietly, gently trailing her fingertips over his face before taking his hand in hers.

"I'm not sure," he murmured, shuttering his optics against the throbbing in his helm. "It looked like an entrance to the core…"

"Not your own memory, then."

He shook his head with a grimace. "No. Definitely not mine."

Elita made a soft soothing noise, cradling his faceplates in her small hands and placing a gentle kiss against his mouthplates. She knew the visions and hallucinations were upsetting him, and their increasing frequency as of late was worrying. The concept of a nexus point was foreign and frightening to both of them, but as hard as she tried to support him, Elita knew that Optimus would have to shoulder his destiny on his own.

"Tell your father this time," she encouraged him quietly, frowning when he turned his gaze away from hers. "Don't look like that. He'd want to know, Optimus."

"I know," he agreed, nodding. "It's just…he has enough to worry about right now. And it's not as if he can do anything. This whole thing is out of his hands."

"You're his son," Elita reminded him firmly, gripping his hand tightly. "He'd want to know."

Optimus sighed and nodded again, groaning quietly when Elita leaned in to kiss him once more. She shivered when his hands rose to stroke her upper arms, gripping her gently and pulling her into his frame. He mumbled her name against her lips before plunging his glossa into her mouth. Relief flitted briefly through her—he hadn't called her 'Prima' since that first time on Duke nearly two deca-cycles ago, but she always guiltily worried that he might call out for the mysterious femme again. She knew it was selfish, and she knew he couldn't help it, but she fretted all the same. There had been something terribly upsetting about hearing him breathe out Prima's name, whispered as though to a lover. It had been almost…spark-breaking.

The prince broke their kiss first, intakes working hard and his optics overbright with hunger for the femme in his lap, but there was a frown on his faceplates. He cradled her cheekplate in his hand, speaking to her in low tones. "Where are you?"

"What do you mean?"

"You're…distant."

"I'm right here, sweetspark," she assured him, turning her head to kiss his palm, placing her hand over his. "I'm just worried about you. That's all."

"Don't be," he said gently, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, though…it must be difficult for you to deal with."

"No, Optimus—" she began emphatically, gripping his hand, but the sound of heavy footsteps coming down the stairs interrupted her.

"Oy," Scavenger grunted, pausing on the stairwell and lifting his optic ridges. "What are you two doing?"

"I was having a moment," Optimus said quickly, getting to his feet and offering Elita a hand. "Did Jetfire tell you to meet us in the conference room?"

"I just got the comm." The old warrior crossed the few steps to join them, a faint frown touching his scarred faceplates as he put a palm over Optimus's foreplate. "You're a little overheated. Not feeling ill, are you?"

"No, nothing like that," Optimus said quickly. "It's this…nexus thing."

Understanding crossed Scavenger's face, and he nodded, clasping the young prince on the shoulder. "Anything I can do?"

"Nothing for now, thank you," Optimus replied, smiling weakly. "It'll work itself out."

"Let's hope so. Come on, Jetfire will blow a gasket if we keep him waiting any longer."


"How does my Lady like it?"

From the uppermost observation deck of the Decagon, Sephirium looked down at her army, narrowing her optics at the incredible mass of mechs below. "They're all gladiators?"

"That, or soldiers from the Elite Guard," Councilor Xeon said smoothly, stepping forward to join the Femmaxian empress on the deck, waving away the two sentries who attempted to follow him. "A motley group, to be sure, but we have three hundred able-bodied soldiers available for our use."

"Mmm." Sephirium turned her helm marginally to the side, looking her companion up and down. "Tell me, Councilor. Why is it that you've chosen to take part in this rebellion?"

"Why?" Xeon turned to face her, a smirk writing itself across his features. "Because I find the notion of a Prime to be not only archaic and outdated, but useless. The time when Cybertronians could actually unite under one mechanism is long gone. That era died with Prima. Nova Prime was a mockery of leadership. He used Cybertron and its resources for his own ends, for his own benefit. He ignored the orders and rule of the Council and Senate alike, did as he pleased."

"If what you say is true, then why is the rest of the Council not standing here with you?"

"They've been seduced," Xeon sneered. "Cajoled by our soft-sparked new Prime and his mate. He lets them believe that they control him. I am not so easily fooled. Only through the rule of the Council will Cybertron survive. Nova Prime's attempted expansion led to chaos, disorder…he single-handedly unbalanced the entire planet. I will not allow it to happen again."

"You propose stagnancy," Sephirium extrapolated mildly.

"I propose stability," the Council snapped. "If that means that Cybertron cuts its intergalactic ties and halts its research into the universal sciences, then so be it. A quiet, profitable world, self-sustaining and completely independent—what's wrong with that?"

"And you think the current Prime's…ambition…will bring about an end to your vision?" Or lack thereof, Sephirium thought dryly, but she kept the thought to herself.

"It's his son I'm worried about," Xeon ground out, placing his hands on the guard rail and looking down at their mass of soldiers. "Sentinel has weakened in resolve since his mate first sparked. He's too dedicated to his family to think of much else. The prince may seem to lack his father's backstrut now, but the Matrix does incredible things to a bot. One never knows."

Sephirium frowned, clasping her hands behind her back. "When you contacted me to gain my help in this enterprise, how did you know that I would be willing to lend you my aid?"

"I have audios everywhere," Xeon murmured, optics narrowing. "I have spies who will report only to me, never to the Council or to the Prime. It was not hard to unearth your hatred for the Prime."

Sephirium's fingers tightened marginally. "It's not the Prime," she said quietly. "It's the line of Nova."

"I beg your pardon?"

The empress shook her head. "It's of no importance. The method you wanted me to use—the guise, the ruse of offering up a proud daughter of Femmax to be bonded to the prince—there was a logic behind that too, was there not?"

Xeon smiled ruefully. "I'm glad there's no need for me to fight against that mind of yours, milady. Raising a family has settled Sentinel. It has also opened him up, made him vulnerable. I saw no disadvantage in saddling Optimus with the burden of a bonded mate."

My daughter. Sephirium's tanks churned in disgust. Elita was her one failed plan, her one miscalculation. If only she had been able to reign her unruly child in before departing for Cybertron. It had always been her intention to get Elita to bond with the prince, to bear the sparkling of the next Prime. A Femmaxian born of the power of the Matrix would have had Cybertron in the palm of her hand. But Sephirium hadn't been counting on her headstrong, fiercely independent daughter to actually develop feelings for the mech. It was the one thing she had never anticipated.

She did long to have Arcee back. Not to fill Elita's position—Sephirium was through with that. She had made a promise to herself long ago. She knew it was a sin to turn her child into an avenger, and to atone for that, she had intended to give Arcee any life she wanted, to make her the happiest femme on the planet.

To give Arcee what she'd never had…

"It's better not to trust them, Sephy."

"Who, Momma?"

"Mechs." Her mother's optics had dimmed when she spoke the word, dark anger flashing behind them. "The ones we have here are safe, but there are mechs on a world called Cybertron who could hurt you."

"Like who?"

"His name is Nova Prime. I left Cybertron to escape from him, but someday he might come looking for me. So, I need you to listen to me. If Nova Prime ever comes here, you need to escape. He'll come on a spacebridge. You know how to fly a shuttle, right? A small one?"

"Yes, Momma."

"Take one—I'll always have one set aside for you—and fly it into the spacebridge. The coordinates are already pre-set. The shuttle will take you to Cybertron. You'll need to find a mech called A3. He'll keep you safe from Nova Prime." Her mother had laughed then, shaking her head. "I could be getting ahead of myself, Sephy. If the Omega Lock is really going to work, then Nova will never be able to reach Femmax before you're fully grown."

"Momma?"

"Hm?"

"Who is Nova Prime, exactly?"

Smiling, lifting a hand to place it on her budded daughter's tiny helm, Cybertron's lost empress looked down at the youngling.

"Nova Prime," Empress Aria said sadly, "is my sparkmate."


Sitting alone his study, watching the stars cross the Cybertronian sky, Alpha Trion tried to determine what it was that was making him feel so nostalgic. The Covenant of Primus was open on the desk before him, but his Quill lay upon the desk, motionless. He hadn't inscribed anything in orns—his thoughts were too clouded, his spark too tumultuous. He suspected it had something to do with the awakening of a nexus point, but he couldn't be sure.

"Have you ever considered going after her?"

Trion lifted his head marginally, lowering his gaze once more when he identified the speaker. "No. She's gone."

"How can you be sure?"

"I may not have been bonded to Terra, my friend, but our sparks were close enough. I am sure I felt the moment of her death," Trion said sadly, gesturing to the seat beside him. Sentinel Prime stepped forward, sitting down and placing a hand on Trion's shoulder. The old mech sighed, his vents rattling. "I apologize, Sentinel. The presence of the Femmaxians simply brings forth too many memories."

"You have nothing to apologize for," Prime assured him, glancing at the Covenant. Its pages made no sense to him—they were all written in a language completely foreign to his optics, even as holder of the Matrix. "Trion. I want to ask you something."

Trion had a feeling he knew what was coming, but he nodded anyway.

"Where can I find the other Primes?"

"You mean the Thirteen."

"I do."

Alpha Trion sighed, getting to his feet and approaching the window that made up the lateral side of his study, motioning for Sentinel to follow. They stood side-by-side before the plexiglass, gazing down at the sprawling city of Iacon.

"I need their help, Trion," Sentinel said quietly. "Their wisdom. Their weapons. Their powers. Whatever they feel inclined to provide."

"The Thirteen do not believe in debt," Trion replied. "When they render aid, they render it without the expectation of receiving anything in return. This makes their help very hard to secure. They will only interfere in matters of our world when it suits them, or when they are interested or have something to gain."

"I know that. I was hoping they might have some interest in watching Nova Prime's heir battle the line of Terra."

Alpha Trion raised his optic ridges. "You've figured it out, then."

"It wasn't especially difficult. I did have my doubts—Terra made her trail very hard to trace. She changed her name, for one, and made sure the records held true to that…no doubt with your help."

"She didn't take as many precautions as you might think," Trion said. "Femmax and Cybertron are close enough to share alphabets, did you know that? The characters have different pronunciations on Femmax, however. 'Aria' is simply the Femmaxian pronunciation of 'Terra.' No doubt Terra made those changes to the language as soon as she'd founded her colony. Cybertron's Empress Terra and Femmax's Empress Aria, both revolutionary for their worlds. And they're one and the same…" The old mech looked over at his companion, who seemed lost in thought, distant. "Do you suppose Optimus will work it out as well?"

"I'm making sure he has other things to worry about," Sentinel sighed heavily. "I don't want him becoming entrenched in the past with the Primes. It will only hurt him in the end." He turned his gaze to his oldest friend, his gaze intensifying. "Do you think the Thirteen will come to our aid?"

"You'll have to find them first, and that's no easy task."

"I was hoping you could help me with that."

"You overestimate me."

"Somehow, I don't think I do."

Trion stroked his chin thoughtfully, shaking his head. "They may be interested, Sentinel, but not enough to interfere. It's just as you said—they'll want to watch."

"What of their weapons, then?" Sentinel pressed. "The artifacts they left behind. I have the Matrix, and we have the Magnus Hammer."

"You have more than you know," Alpha Trion said softly. "If you're set on this, I would suggest that you seek the blade of the Star Saber."

"Just the blade?"

"The Matrix is the hilt," Trion explained, tapping a finger against Sentinel's chestplates. "When united with the blade, it can be removed from your chest without causing you any harm. Beware, though—if the blade is broken while the Matrix serves as the hilt, you will feel the ill effects in your very spark. But it's too early to issue warnings. You need to find the blade first."

"I don't suppose you know where."

"The Star Saber was created by Solus Prime," Alpha Trion went on. "She forged it for Prima during the war against Unicron shortly after Primon's destruction. The Covenant of Primus has revealed that Prima sealed her knowledge of the Saber's location within her very spark when she passed. Only her descendant can possibly access that knowledge, and I don't suppose you have one of them in your subspace."

"What else, then, Trion?" Sentinel asked, one hand tightening into a fist at his side. "What else can I use to fight this war?"

"You don't have time to seek out the artifacts of the Thirteen, Sentinel," Trion snapped. He turned away from the window, striding back toward his desk. "It's a fool's quest—who knows what items even still exist? Solus Prime forged four swords, a hammer, shaped the Chimera Stone, created the Requiem Blaster, crafted the Apex Armor—and the knowledge of those artifacts disappeared with her."

"Then I need to find her," Sentinel said fiercely.

Trion released a long sigh, exasperated. "And how do you intend to do that?"

"That's why I'm asking you for help!"

"I don't know where to find her!" Trion shouted, bringing a fist down upon his desk. "You think she was pleased with my decision to remain on Cybertron while my brothers and sisters left? She felt that I had abandoned them, abandoned her! I haven't known anything about her whereabouts since before you were a thought in your father's processor!"

Sentinel hesitated, taken aback by his friend's sudden anger. Trion released a low growl, pinching between his optics for several long moments before speaking again, now in measured tones.

"Vector Prime may be able to take you to Solus. I would seek him out first. Be warned, though—we all adored Solus, some of us more than others. She is guarded to this day by one of the Thirteen."

"I understand," the Prime intoned, "and thank you. I appreciate your help, Trion."

The old mech nodded once. Sentinel hovered for a moment, torn, and then departed without another word, leaving the Archivist to his memories.


Countless vorns ago…the first Golden Age….

Cybertron

"Tell me who it is, Terra."

"I can't do that."

"Why not?"

"Why are you so desperate to know?"

A3 huffed loudly, folding his arms over his chest and leaning back in his chair. "One of my brothers or sisters buds a spark to create you, and I'm not even allowed to know who?"

The femme perched on the edge of his table grinned, swinging her legs back and forth. "Your brothers and sisters have budded a dozen sparks or more now. Why the sudden interest?"

"I want to congratulate them on a fine job this time," A3 replied, quirking a smile up at the blushing femme. "This is the first time I haven't had to help take care of crying sparklings and whining younglings."

"Must be rough, being the little brother," she sighed, rolling her optics upwards. "How truly taxing to be one of Primus's most beloved children, one of the original Covenant who bear witness to all of His wonders—"

"Your sarcasm is noted, but not appreciated," he said flatly, pointing the Quill at her threateningly. "I will write you right out of the future, femme."

"And the future will write me back in," she replied lightly. "Don't test me, A3, I know exactly how that book works."

He made a face, looking back down at his desk. "Hmph. What use is it being one of the Thirteen if I can't even abuse my power?"

Terra laughed, jumping off of his desk and walking around behind him, brushing her fingers over the thick armor of his back. He barely suppressed a shiver, trying desperately to ignore the excited pings of his spinal relays. "I can't imagine you ever abusing power, A3. It's one of the things I like most about you."

The young Archivist inhaled sharply, beaming down at the Covenant. The thought of Terra liking anything about him made him so happy he almost felt his armor rattle. She must have known the weight of her words, for she fell quiet, perusing his data cubes without a word, but her faceplates were just as flushed as his.

The door to the expansive study opened, and Nova Prime strode inside, navy armor flashing in the bright lights that shone overhead. A3 watched the larger mech enter, observing the hand he placed upon Terra's waist with heated envy, hating that Nova could stand so close to her, could speak into her audio in those low, loving tones, his optics softening when he looked at her. Nova turned toward the desk, and A3 hurriedly dropped his gaze, scribbling down something insignificant into the Covenant as the other Prime approached.

"Vector and Alchemist were looking for you, brother," Nova said, patting his youngest sibling fondly upon the shoulder.

"Were they?" A3 replied, trying to keep his tone as light and non-murderous as possible. "Whatever for?"

"Something about convincing Solus to forge a sword that will let Vector cut open spacetime."

A3 had to lift his head at that, optic arches raising. "You can't be serious."

"Deadly so, I'm afraid."

The Archivist sighed heavily, setting down the Quill and getting to his feet, a scowl on his faceplates. "That's just what we need, for that buffoon to go tearing through space and time with a sword, of all things…"

Nova Prime chuckled, his optics shining. "You'd best go tell them that."

A3 nodded, getting heavily to his feet. "I'll go find them, then. And don't touch my holocubes!" he added accusingly, pointing a threatening finger at Nova, who grimaced.

"Fine, fine. Don't worry about it. Your precious research will be safe."

"I'll keep an optic on him," Terra assured the Archivist, sending a wink his way. "He doesn't read much anyway."

"Femme! Don't tell him that!"

A3 smiled faintly, waiting for an opening in their bickering for him to say good-bye, but saw none forthcoming. Terra was laughing, caressing Nova's shoulder and giggling when he cupped her chin in one strong hand, mock-threatening. The Archivist hovered for a moment, hesitant. His spark wrenched when Nova leaned forward to kiss his mate gently.

Ducking his helm, embarrassed and hurt, A3 departed his own study without a word.


Present orn

Crystal City

"Wait—so you haven't interfaced with him yet?"

Elita winced, glancing around Optimus's makeshift command center, but he and all of his soldiers were otherwise occupied, blissfully ignorant of her conversation with Chromia over the vidscreen.

"No, we haven't," she said quietly, scowling at her much-missed best friend.

"Crazy, isn't it?" Firestar commented from her left, leaning over to grin at the screen, winking at Chromia. "Here Jet and I are doing it three times an orn at least, and these two are sleeping together, but not sleeping together."

"Firestar!"

"What? It's the truth!"

"That doesn't mean I want to hear about it!"

"Well, what's holding you up?" Chromia asked, frowning a little. Her arm shifted on the side of the screen, presumably smacking the monitor to bring her friends' images into clearer focus.

"We don't want to mess things up by rushing it," Elita said, squirming uncomfortably. "We're just…waiting for the right moment."

"Oh, come on, don't give me that," Chromia snorted. "The moment's probably come and gone a dozen times by now."

Elita winced. Chromia's words had hit home. She had had the sneaking suspicion for a while now that she and Optimus were stalling, that they were ready, that they were letting "the moment" slip by. There were times when she tasted a new edge to his passion when they kissed, and the night would end with nothing more than a hurried "good-night"; times when he would wash her, tenderly, and she'd feel his lips softly brush the back of her shoulder, and her whole body would tense in anticipation, but neither of them ever dared to take the next vital step.

"You two have talked about it, haven't you?" Firestar asked, poking her friend in the side when Elita was slow to respond, lost in her thoughts.

"Well, sort of," the princess sighed, rubbing at her optics. "In passing…or when we're…you know…together."

"When who's together?"

Two large hands settled upon her shoulders, and Elita tipped her helm back, startled, where it landed with a dull thunk against the lower abdomen of her mechfriend.

"Optimus! Don't do that! You're too big to be sneaking around!"

"Sorry," he chuckled, leaning down and rubbing his faceplates against hers before looking at the vidscreen. "Hello, Chromia. How's our mech doing?"

"Ironhide? Better than I thought he would, but for the love of Primus don't tell him I said that," she replied, leaning back in her seat and propping her feet up on the desk in front of her. "Tell your old mech we're all good here."

"He'll be happy to hear it, I'm sure. Now then," he went on, squeezing Elita's shoulders gently, "I'm heading back to the room. Care to come with me?"

"Sure," she said, nodding. "You're all done for the orn?"

"For now, yes. Grandfather assured me that he'll hold down base while we get some rest."

"Steal her away then, if you must," Firestar sighed dramatically, grinning up at the prince. "So long as she can walk when she gets back."

Elita sputtered in horror, while Optimus merely ducked his head, blushing furiously. He ushered her quickly from the command center, eager to get away from her friends before they made him look any more ridiculous.

"Sorry," Elita mumbled around her mortification, shaking her head as he led her to their room. "They're…you know. Femmes."

"It's alright," he replied, smiling down at her and taking her hand in his. "It's a little bit relieving that they poke fun, actually. I take it to mean they approve of me."

"Of course they approve of you," Elita said, looking up at him, optics wide with surprise. "What's not to approve of? You're wonderful."

Optimus blinked, a little taken aback by the sincere compliment from the normally stoic femme. "Thank you," he said weakly, quickly locking his knees when her shy smile made his legs tremble. She turned to his door, tapping in his codes with practiced ease, and he stumbled in after her in something very much akin to a daze.

"You want some energon or something?" she asked over her shoulder, trotting into their kitchenette. "We've got high grade, if you want…or…maybe—"

She was interrupted by a hand upon hers, thick fingers covering her own small digits entirely where they rested upon the handle of their energon container, while his other hand gently enclosed her other wrist. A tingle ran down her back when his body came flush with hers, his immense mass hovering just behind her.

"I never imagined," he murmured, tugging her hands from the container to pull them to her chest so that she was locked in his embrace, "that the curse of having to form a sparkbond for purely diplomatic purposes would turn into the blessing of having you in my life."

"Opt—"

"Hush. Let me finish," he whispered, tightening the arms wrapped around her tiny frame. "I know that I asked you to bond with me while I was ill. While the feelings behind that request are still very much alive, the circumstances weren't right. I was afraid I was going to die. I was afraid of leaving you before you knew how I felt. For now, I'd ask that you discount that proposal—hush, my love, listen. Only for now. Let me ask you again, when the time is right. Let me do it properly. You deserve that much."

He fell silent, listening to the abnormally high clicking of her coolant fans. Her fingers, wrapped around his forearms, trembled faintly against his armor, and her body felt warm to his touch.

"That's…" She paused, trying to gather her thoughts around the fog that had settled over her processor. "That's a pretty bold request coming from a mech who hasn't made love to me yet."

Optimus chuckled, resting his helm against hers. "It's all in the timing, femme."

"With our luck, we're going to turn out to have absolutely no physical chemistry, and then when you do 'properly' pop the question, we'll both be stuck in an interface-less bond with nothing better to do than sit around the parlor twiddling our thumbs—"

"Alright, enough out of you," he mock-growled, and Elita released a shriek as she was abruptly swept up onto a broad armored shoulder. She found herself being carried briskly to the berthroom they'd been sharing.

"Hey! Optimus! Just because you're my intended doesn't mean you can—hey, fraghead! I'm talking to you! Put me down, slagger!"

"If you're not going to put that filthy mouth to good use, perhaps you should leave it closed," he suggested, grinning and dropping her gracelessly upon the berth before pouncing on her, pinning her arms above her head. She wriggled futilely for a moment before settling for scowling darkly up at him—but there was no mistaking the flare of excitement in her optics. The prince smiled, leaning his helm down to brush her mouthplates with his in a soft kiss. "Your intended, am I?"

Elita grimaced, ducking shyly away from his kiss. "Well. That's what a femme calls the mech she wants to bond with, isn't it?"

"But, dearest, we haven't even begun to start speaking of bonding yet, have we? Why, we haven't even made love yet."

"A situation that's easily remedied, darling," she huffed, then kicked him loudly in the shin when his hand gripped her thigh. "Not now, stupid! I'm irritated with you!"

"You're sort of sending mixed signals here, Lita," he laughed, but rolled off of her body to stretch out widely beside her. Hardly a breath passed before she slid her frame up next to his, wrapping an arm around his waist and tucking her helm beneath his chin, eager for physical contact with her intended.

"I'm a femme, it's what we do," she mumbled, suddenly overcome by weariness. "What time is it?"

"I'm not sure—mid-orn, I think?"

"We just got out of bed a few joors ago."

His affirmation was a loud, rumbling yawn and the slow decompression of tight hydraulics. Elita smiled, placing a hand lovingly over his chestplates, seeking out the warmth of his immense spark—a spark that, in time, would be forever hers.