Author's Note:

You know, if I get 13 reviewers on this chapter, I'll have hit 500 reviews! Think 13 of you have got a review in you? There's a lot going on in this chapter!

And as for my choice to kill Topspin and Bulky... if you guys never caught it, that song Topspin played for Miko? "Your Guardian Angel" had the lyrics "I'll be there for you through it all! Even if saving you sends me to heaven . . . !" SENDS ME TO HEAVEN. That was called foreshadowing, my dears, I had planned Topspin to die for a while. :( Bulky was just a whim.

But seriously, if anyone wants to draw a freaking sexy Decepticon Wheeljack, I think I'd swoon and die. ^^


For a brief moment, it was the calm before the storm. Wheeljack sat on the edge of his berth, bracing himself for the impact of his emotions coming back full force from where they had been bottled up. For a second, he was balanced on the edge, teetering between calm and chaos, in a sort of nether realm locked impenetrably in between.

The next, he was swept away in the tide.

Guilt slammed into him so hard Wheeljack jerked and lost his balance, equilibrium pitching to the side. Wildly, his limbs flailed until he gasped a ragged breath, the sensation so strong it curdled his energon tanks and ripped through his soul. Wheeljack curled up, suffering the nauseating whirlwind of remorse, shame, and agony as the emotions coursed endlessly through his body.

He was coming apart. The tattered pieces of him were coming apart, seams unbound and breaking to pieces on the floor, and his arms wrapped around himself, trying to hold himself together. A sob cracked from his vocalizer.

The memories plagued him. He writhed, feeling like he was reliving every moment of the barbaric fight. Knowing he had murdered the Wrecker split apart his processor and tore apart his spark, and the sickening vortex churned his energon tanks. Wheeljack purged, gagging on the bitter taste of the Synthen as it spurted between his lips. The sensation gave him a taste of the fury, denial, regret, and shame that stung his olfactory systems with a pungent stench.

It was even the cat. It was even the damn cat. Wheeljack vomited again, Synthen spilling from his mouth and dribbling on his chin. A wave of dizziness crashed over him, and he toppled on his side, nearly falling in the dim glow of his mess as he writhed on the floor. Shaking with tears and nauseated guilt, Wheeljack struggled not to purge again as his chassis heaved with the effort.

The whirlpool of turbulent emotions dragged him under. For a second, he thought he blacked out before the pain began to abate. Slowly. The pressure lifted, and for a terrible second, Wheeljack was afraid it would take him again. Terrified he would be swept away and crashed into the rocky shore, smashed to pieces by the wave of emotion that flooded over him.

But it was over. He trembled on the floor, seizing in physical and mental agony. His optics stared at the far wall, at the leg of his berth, unseeing except for the vision of the broken Wrecker he pinned beneath him. Gutting him. The energon that splashed. A wordless moan clawed out of his throat, and Wheeljack held himself tighter, fighting the sensation of being pulled apart. It was all he could take. No more. No more. Never again.

For one moment, as he slowly gained control of himself, Wheeljack almost turned his emotional centre back off. That was why he had kept it off in the first place, right? He couldn't take that. Not again. Never. He wouldn't do it. But he kept it on. After going through all of that, he would keep his emotional centre on just to spite himself. His pride wouldn't let him turn it off.

With it, anger. So much anger. He was furious. His optics flickered as everything recalibrated and tried to settle. Something had happened to him, and he didn't know what.

But by Primus, he was going to find out.

Wheeljack staggered to his peds, unable to think past the medic that had so called patched him up. Though he had purged so much Synthen on the floor, there was plenty of it still running in his systems. It fueled his rage. It tormented him, slashed pure, white-hot hate and teased his mind with the promise of bloody gore.

Wiping his mouth roughly with the back of his hand, Wheeljack stalked out, on the hunt for precious red metal. His violent demeanor scattered any Vehicon and Insecticon in the halls, leaving him to prowl the halls alone.

The doors to the med bay whizzed open, and Knockout looked up. He blinked wide. "Wheel—"

The medic's words were choked by a servo clamping on his neck and hoisting him up. "All right, you pathetic excuse for a doctor, if you don't tell me what I want to know, I'll snap your neck and rip whatever I want to know right out of your processor."

Knockout gasped, choking and peds kicking. "L-Let go of me, you underhanded brute—!"

Wheeljack shook him violently until his legs flailed like a limp doll's. "YOU listen to ME now, you piece of tin!" He flung the medic across the room with strength unparalleled, and Knockout grunted loudly when he crashed into the wall. Wheeljack stalked forward, and before he could gather his bearings, he hoisted the CMO up and slammed his back down on the closest medical berth.

"All right, you waste of metal," he growled. He forced down on him, pinning him with almost crushing weight. Knockout struggled, claws grabbing his wrists and fighting to hold him off. "What did you do to me?"

Knockout gritted his dentures. "I-I don't understand. What are you—?"

Wheeljack lifted him up and slammed him back down again. Knockout shouted. "I'M the one asking the questions!" Wheeljack snarled in his face. "Now you can either tell me what I want to know or I can make this a VERY unpleasant interrogation. What did you do to me?"

His optics were naked with panic. If that didn't brand him as guilty, no amount of evidence would. "I didn't do anything!" he gasped out weakly.

Unimpressed, Wheeljack felt his rage peak. He slung the medic down on the ground, and he stamped his ped down on the side of his knee. The metal cracked and broke out of joint, causing a scream to jump out of the red Decepticon's vocalizer.

Wheeljack grabbed him, hoisted him back up, and slammed him back down on the medical berth. Knockout blanched and trembled beneath him, realizing he was outmatched horribly while Wheeljack was hyped up on the addictive Synthen.

"Let's try this again," Wheeljack growled. His servo moved from the medic's chassis and to his neck. His other hand coaxed its way slowly to his helm with the silent threat to snap his neck. "I want to know why you've been rooting around in my processor and why you've taken out my Neurocaroxic spark line."

Knockout trembled beneath his power. He was so scared his glossia stumbled and he stuttered. "I—I don't . . . I d-d-don't know what you're—you're—talking about!"

"Oh I think you do," Wheeljack purred dangerously. He let his fingers tighten, and the medic jerked wildly beneath him. "Let me remind you, sweet spark, I can get a bit crazy." His lip curled up at the unabashed panic in those red optics. "I have this way of getting what I want, and I don't care if I have to crack open your processor to find out. Now, do you want to tell me, or do I have to—"

Before he could finish his threat, the doors to the medical bay opened up, and a sharp, "Wheeljack! Stand down!" cut through the air.

Ignoring the order, Wheeljack jerked Knockout up and wrapped his arm around his neck. His hand gripped the medic's helm more vigorously than before, bending his neck as far as it would go without breaking it. Knockout shuddered thin vents as he quite visibly panicked, and Wheeljack narrowed his red optics at Megatron and Soundwave. His optics flicked to the latter of the two. They had probably come the second he left his berth room. He bet the entire place was bugged.

"All right," Wheeljack snarled aggressively. "If someone doesn't tell me what in Pit is going on with me, I'll snap his neck without a second thought."

Megatron vented sharply in irritation, placing his servos on his hips. "Stand down, Wheeljack. I can't have you killing my chief medical officer. He would be hard to replace at this point and time in the war."

His red optics glinted viciously. "I'm not a trick you can play, Megatron! If you value this wretch, then I suggest you start talking!"

"I take it you turned on your emotional centre." Megatron hiked a brow when Wheeljack refused to respond. "Soundwave showed me the security footage. Intense backlash, I see. I believe the trauma is making you highly unpredictable at this moment. I believe it would be best if we all took a deep cycle and talked this out like civilized folk."

He did have a point. But that didn't soothe the fires of suspicion and rage licking over his circuits. "What do you know about my emotional centre?" he asked harshly. He tried to control his vents. They heaved out of his chest like a raging bull, and he couldn't help but feel a little cornered, outnumbered, and lied to.

Megatron's brow lifted imperceptibly again. "Next to nothing," he stated. "You are only the second mech I know that has turned off his emotional centre, but the first to turn it back on. I did not realize the side effect would be quite so severe."

Wheeljack growled. Shockwave. "I meant why was it turned OFF?"

He gave him a look that was impossible to read. "I believed it was a personal preference." Wheeljack's gaze flattened. "I believe the reasons a mech would turn his emotional centre off would be personal, and not shared. However, with a backlash like that, I can see why you would choose to turn it off."

And again, they blamed it on him. He didn't remember turning it off. Had it been off for so long? Or were they all in league against him? It was impossible to tell. Regardless, the damage there had been done.

Megatron took an amicable step forward, and Wheeljack stiffened. His grip tightened on Knockout. "Now if you would please, release my medic."

"Not a chance," Wheeljack snarled. He backed up several steps, making several cries catch in Knockout's vocalizer when his broken leg dragged. "Where's my Neurocaroxic line?"

A flash of surprise crossed Megatron's face. Whether real or forged, Wheeljack couldn't tell. "It's not there?" He glanced at Soundwave for confirmation, and Soundwave canted his helm towards Knockout for confirmation. Degree by degree, Wheeljack lessened his harsh grip on the medic enough for him to cough.

"He's never had it," the medic wheezed out thinly. He trembled in fear, glossia stuttering as he hurriedly made something up. "I thought he knew!"

Soundwave's helm turned quickly up to Megatron, and something flicked on the screen. Recognition darted across his face plates. Wheeljack narrowed his red optics, studying the mech for deceit.

"I'm sure you remember your torture at the hands of Ratchet," Megatron started in. Wheeljack glowered, daring him to bring that heathenish pit back up, but his rapidly calculating mind knew exactly what the warlord was hinting at. He still proceeded to tell him, "It never occurred to me that the mech would resort to such savagery as that, to strip you of your Neurocaroxic line. I am sure we can replace it as soon as we possibly can."

"I want it replaced now," Wheeljack bit out. He tightened his grip on Knockout again, causing a weak whimper to spill from the manhandled mech.

Megatron shook his head. "I am afraid that is not possible. We haven't had a spare Neurocaroxic line in ages. It is not a part readily donated, after all."

"Then Topspin's," Wheeljack cut in angrily. "He's the right size. His will fit."

A sorrowful look crossed Megatron's features. "If I knew you had wanted it this badly, I would not have smelted him down for spare parts so readily." Wheeljack spat a swear under his breath. Megatron gave him another unreadable look, veiled by shields of lies and half-truths. His web of trickery was unable to be pierced. "However, if you are that determined to get it back, I am sure Twin Twist's will fit. All you have to do is deliver the body."

Wheeljack glared, silently standing off with the warlord. Something was still off. Something was wrong, and the twisted lies around him weren't helping things any. After several brooding seconds where he considered his options, Wheeljack finally gave a sharp nod. "Done." He slung Knockout to the ground, making the wounded Decepticon grunt and drag himself off to the side. His red optics glared into Megatron's, trying to cut the truth from him.

"You've got yourself a deal."


Elita feared the worst. They had been tracking two spark signatures. Then, one fell offline.

At least, they only had one spark signature they were converging on. She theorized that if it was Topspin and Twin Twist, as the twins would have been able to find each other easily with their spark bond, then it could just be their sparks overlapping. Since twins had a split spark, if they were close enough together, their signatures would blend together as one.

Still, Elita held no reservations on the gravity of the situation. This was their only hope, but they shouldn't bank on it.

She also held no reservations about shooting at the beast attacking the lone Autobot below.

Taking swift aim, her thumb mashed the button and fired a blast directly to the flying monster. Its screech filled the air, and it tumbled back down into the rubble of the blasted energon mine. Swooping the ship down low, Prowl immediately lowered the hatch for the blue and white mech below, and winds and dust ripped into the interior with a vengeance. Elita pressed her lips together, hands tightening on the controls as the thing took flight again, darting towards them, fireballs at hand.

The second Twin Twist jumped on the lowered hatch, Arcee waved her hand to Prowl. "Go!" The hatch began to lift back up, and Elita took the controls and lifted them up higher into the sky.

The hatch closed and revealed a staggered Twin Twist and a nervous Miko. The mech in question turned with a cannon drawn, but he disarmed himself immediately seeing Arcee. Friendly. Bending, he winced slightly because of his right shoulder, the metal melted some from the beast's fire and protoform beneath boiled. He let Miko hop off his hand.

"Jack!"

Twin Twist looked up at Arcee, and he could see her biting her lip, trying not to ask the question of obvious. Forcibly, he took a steadying vent and gave a small shake of his helm.

Concern flooded her optics. "Twin—"

With one stride he had crossed the room and picked her up in a giant hug. She made a stifled sound of surprise, but he just kept his arms latched tightly around her, needing that comforting touch to soothe him.

Miko threw her arms around Jack's neck, partially choking him with the strength she held him. He hugged her too, but before he could speak, she pulled back and hit him in the stomach. He grunted, holding his gut and blinking widely at her.

"Mik—"

"You owe me a prom!" she snapped angrily at him, so twisted by the whirlwind of passion that had wrecked over her life and loved ones that she grabbed the front of his shirt, yanked him close and kissed him. Then, she threw her arms around him, so grateful to see him that she had to try not to cry. His arms wrapped around her again, rubbing her back silently as he looked up at Arcee doing similar to Twin Twist.

Something was wrong. So wrong.

"Pleasantries will have to wait," Prowl said strictly when Elita One failed to interrupt. "Does anyone want to tell us what is converging from the rear?"

Elita's optics flicked to the rear cameras, seeing the massive wingspan stretching, wings flapping, strong beats that kept a strong beast aloft and chasing. "We think it's a robot dragon," Miko said, quickly letting go of Jack and wiping her eyes.

"Or a Cybertronian reptile," she heard Jack murmur.

Miko elbowed him again. "Same thing," she muttered back.

Elita swerved the ship through the clouds, and she set her jaw when the dragon drew into firing range. "Brace yourselves!" she ordered. Jerking the controls sharply, she sought to dart the ship away, and the entire hull shuddered as the engines growled and kicked, jerking them out of the crosshairs.

The creature was too agile. Ultra Magnus's ship was certainly nimble, but compared to the dragon behind them? She didn't stand a chance in this massive thing. They were too large a target, too slow compared to the speed attacking them. Now if she had HER ship which was much smaller and quicker, not this heavy-hitting lumbering thing Ultra Magnus was so partial too, she might be able to get out in one piece.

"Strap in!" she ordered, and she immediately heard a scramble behind her as the bots situated themselves. Her spark rate picked up, adrenaline starting to pump as the dragon closed in on the rear and attacked.

A fireball blasted out, streaming a tail of flames behind it, and Elita jerked the ship to the side, avoiding the blast. Yanking the controls back, she twisted the ship around in a daring 360 and forced the ship to dart forward again, chasing after their hunter.

Her fingers mashed the fire button. Well, at least if they couldn't get away, maybe they could at least hurt this thing and make it think twice about attacking them.

The first barrage missed narrowly to the right, but her second wave of bullets hit nicely in the beast's flanks. It roared out, darting forward through the clouds, and Elita One followed it, pressing Ultra Magnus's ship's engines close to their maximum limit of thrust as she tried to keep up.

They drifted through a cloud. She set her jaw, not liking the lack of visibility, and realized she had lost the beast. But it was still out there. The sensors were still picking up her enemy close by. Her peds shifted, and her optics stared out shrewdly.

Her spark started when the dragon suddenly drew up in front of them, and she could almost FEEL Prowl stiffen in the seat next to her. Its chest parted, and she saw the dim glow start in its neck.

No time to ram it!

Without a second though, Elita jerked the controls to the side and sent them spiraling dizzyingly away. The fireball blasted out, and instead of hitting them with direct lethality, a jerk and crash shuddered the hull of the ship as the fireball clipped the left rear engine.

There was no way this was going to work. They needed to lose it, not fight it! Tipping the controls up and angling them down, the ship responded in time, a faint screaming of engines greeting her for the near-abuse of the ship. Her optics flicked quickly over the damage. Mostly structural, sparking, smoking with a small fire, not detrimental but certainly enough to garner attention. Prowl leaned forward and pressed a button, and the side flaps closed, muffling the fire. Smoke still poured out, but now the engines wouldn't catch fire and blow.

It left Elita to navigate and dance the deadly air battle with the dragon pecking at their tailpipes. She swerved around several more blasts before she realized the dragon was gone from her sensors. Wait, what—

Something heavy landed on top of the ship. Elita blinked, and she looked up. Oh no . . . not good!

The dragon made itself known by prowling over the top of the hull and to the front. Blazing yellow optics looked in the windshield at them, and it screeched a grating roar. The humans screamed. Elita leaned back in her chair, taken aback, and then she gritted her teeth and jerked the ship down into the narrow gorge below.

She jerked the ship from side to side, sending the beast skidding for handholds across the top. When she could, she took advantage of every protruding rock formation and slammed the dragon against it, eliciting enraged roars as it struggled to keep its hold on them. They darted with extreme speeds in the narrow valleys, and Prowl's hands gripped his seat like vices.

"Commander," he finally had to state tightly, "you are making me very nervous."

Her lip curled up, and she had to laugh slightly at him though she didn't let her optics flicker away from the road—figuratively speaking, of course. "Trust me, Prowl," she told him before jerking the ship again, and a rock formation shattered against the dragon's flank, making it screech and rubble to fly over the windshield. "I know what I'm doing."

"That fails to console me," he said back, lurching in his seat when she rocked the other way, sending the dragon skidding across the top again. "Ma'am, if you continue on this course of action we have a 17.984 percent chance of making it out alive, deaths either caused by the monstrosity attacking us or your own suicidal flight patterns—"

She turned the controls, turning them in a sharp and steep curve around the next curb. "Nonsense, Prowl," she said back to the high strung mech. "I—"

She cut off sharply, snapping her jaw together when a rock face loomed threateningly in their line of path. The ship angled up, the bottom of the hull nearly skidding on the cliff face, and her optics sighted the jutting rock at the top. Lip curling in concentration, she whipped the ship around so the dragon was facing inward, drifted them so close the hull was going to have its paint stripped by the rock, and slammed the dragon into the rock face.

The ship jerked and the engines whined as she forcibly pulled them up and twisted them back to an upright position, dragon left crashing to the valley floor behind them. "There!" she said with a huff, satisfied now that they had finally left the beast behind—especially when her rear cameras never showed the dragon crawling out of the valley. She turned a satisfied smile to him. "See? I told you to trust me."

She watched him purse his lips, fighting back words. She smiled warmly, amused at his high-strung personality, and she just shook her head at him. Setting their course towards the only other two Autobot signals left, her spark dipped. Eight. There were supposed to be eight of them, and she was only going to be able to gather four. Half of them.

Hiding her worry about the decimated front and loss of soldiers, Elita turned around to look back at the soldiers she had saved. "Is everybody all right?"

A chorus of conflicting voices.

"Yeah, I think we're okay—"

"No, we're not—"

"Yes, we're all right—"

"Never."

She paused, seeing who had spoken what, and her spark sank. Elita turned back to the controls briefly and set the ship on autopilot before standing and coming to stand in front of them. Her brows darkened in worry as she saw Twin Twist's servos gripping his seat tightly, an unsteady gaze in his optics as he stared at the floor. Crossing the room and making sure neither of the humans were underfoot, Elita squatted knees-closed in front of the Wrecker.

"Twin Twist?" He immediately flinched as if her words were an attack. Slowly reaching out, Elita touched his stressing hand. She resisted the urge to ask if he was all right—he wasn't. They all knew it. Just . . . the absence of Topspin said it all. Soothing small circles over his servo with her thumb, Elita nodded to Arcee. "Arcee, could you grab the welder? He's leaking." The second she said it, she wished she hadn't. She shook her head, quickly standing to her peds and retracting her statement with, "I'm sorry. I know you don't like medical procedures. I'll do it."

Arcee leapt to her peds. "N-No! That's all right, Ma'am, I can—"

Elita turned and gave her a look. With that look, Arcee froze, and Elita's brows pinched. Something was . . . different about Arcee too. She acted different around her. She acted almost like she didn't even know her. Mentally keeping tabs to talk to her too, Elita moved on to grab the welder and return to Twin Twist's side. The smaller human girl walked up, putting her hand on Twin Twist's leg.

"Easy," she whispered. "It's gonna be all right."

Elita glanced down at Miko before she tried to focus on her repairs to Twin Twist's shoulder. The mech shifted, reaching down and letting the human climb onto his hand and brought her up close to his face. He vented, sending her pink pigtails flattening back. "Miko . . . You can't promise me that . . ."

"Yes I can." Again, Elita's optics flicked to the small human—she had been the one to help Twin Twist through the spark break. Possibly all he held on for at this rate. She placed her small hands on his cheeks, giving him a look. "You've just got to let me promise things like that. Okay? Okay? I . . . need you just as much as you need me."

Something hitched in the back of Twin Twist's systems, and he closed his optics, bowed his head, and nodded. Elita tried to focus on the quick repairs, welding the few parts back closed, but something was . . . familiar about the human if she let herself dwell on it for too long.

She began to sing softly. "I'm here without you, baby . . . But you're still on my lonely mind . . . I think about you, baby . . . And I dream about you all the time . . . I'm here without you, baby . . . But you're still with me in my dreams . . ."

Elita quietly made her way from their side, replacing the welder, but the quiet song was interrupted by an audible hitch in Twin Twist's systems and an abrupt, "Arcee," that made Miko stop singing. He lifted his weary head, staring at the femme.

"I'm sorry."

Arcee shifted. Her throat moved. "What are you talking about?" she finally asked.

Twin Twist shook his head and looked back down. "You . . . should know . . . You all should know, need to know . . . It was Wheeljack." Miko pressed her forehead to his chin, leaning on him for support. He squeezed his optics shut, shuddering softly in remembrance. "He . . . He's a Decepticon now," he admitted on a rasp. "I don't know why. But he is, and he . . . he . . . killed Topspin."

Elita felt her optics widen. A turncoat? But why? And then, she saw Arcee. The femme looked stricken, horror and relief and anger and hopelessness all bound into one crippling look. And then she sank. She sank to the floor, knees giving out at some point as she fought some inner turmoil.

A quick sweep of the staggered group, and Elita knew all she needed to know that Wheeljack was an important mech in their lives. More important than themselves. And, there wasn't a thing she could do to ease their pain.

The ride to Ratchet and Bumblebee was a quiet one, but it was a blessing. The medic immediately fussed over Ultra Magnus's critical condition, berating Elita in kind with his usual coarse bedside manner that made her spark thrum with welcome nostalgia. She could talk with the medic later, when things calmed down. For now, the bots outside were getting acquainted with Prowl and were reuniting. Ratchet had his hands full recalibrating Ultra Magnus's Cybernetic life support system and diagnosing his condition, so that left Elita to quietly make her way to her berth room on the ship.

Alone, she sank down on the berth, feeling her spark weighted, sinking, fading. She reached out to Optimus. He was distant, weak, and that she had to try so hard for their once-strong connection scared her.

Optimus. Prowl and I have collected what remains of your team.

Good.

I . . . only managed to find half. Arcee, Twin Twist, Ratchet, and Bumblebee. The humans, too. Ratchet is taking care of Ultra Magnus. I'm certain he'll survive under his treatment. Topspin . . . Topspin is gone. Wheeljack has . . . become a turncoat.

The response flared across her conscience like a dying ember struggling to keep burning. The emotions that crossed and overlapped intertwined into an incomprehensible mess.

No. He would never. Someone must have tampered with his processor.

That is the conviction of the others. But . . . He was the one who terminated Topspin.

Sorrow bled across her spark, feedback from Optimus who lay bared naked to her, unable to filter the pain he felt he was so weak. Finally, unable to conceal her uncertainties any longer, Elita had to wrap her arms around herself, longing for his touch.

Optimus . . . Their morale is crushed. Twin Twist is fading, and without Miko, he would be gone already. This team is shattered. Broken. We need something. Hope has to come from another door, a window, you always promised there was always light in our darkest hour.

The silence on the other side weighted heavily. He was as quiet as the ocean at night, midnight blue reflecting across black skies coated in steel grey clouds. Dark. Fathomless. Deep. Foreboding and empty.

Elita . . . My love . . . I am sorry.

Her arms tightened around herself.

My time has come.

No! No, Optimus, you can't, not now . . . We need you. I need you! I did NOT come across galaxies upon galaxies searching for you only to lose you! You'll hold on. That's an order.

A faint, desperate sense of humor colored his emotions.

Ah, Elita . . . I love you so much.

Then you won't leave me. You promised me, Optimus. When this war wasn't here, when we weren't leaders, when we were still just naïve Orion Pax and Ariel . . . You and I promised that we would love each other longer than forever. To the end of time. Until time rewinds itself and we could love each other again for another lifetime.

His spark bled in pain. She felt his consciousness wrapping her in his undying devotion, comforting and strong despite his weakness of the body.

We promised each other to love beyond death. Nothing could keep us apart. If we would ever meet in the Well of All Sparks or even in the Pit, we would go together.

Elita . . . Please . . .

I gave you my spark when we took those vows. I meant them back then and I mean them right now. Optimus, please . . .

Tears began to fall from her optics. She held herself as tight as she could, desperate to hold herself together when everything she stood for, everything she fought for, everyone she cared for fell apart.

I'm begging you . . . Don't leave me.

. . . It is not a choice that is mine to make.

She winced. With a soft sob, she pitched to her knees, hugging herself in the floor.

Elita . . . There will be a new Prime. You and Ultra Magnus must teach him. Show him compassion. Strength. Patience. Love him.

Another sob broke from the rose colored femme's lips. She nodded, shuddering in agony.

I will. I will love him. I will love him as if he were my own son.

That is all I can ask of you. I love you, Elita. More than life itself.

I will go to the Pit or the Well before I let you go.

Elita . . .

I won't leave you, Optimus. I refuse. If death ever do us part, the gravedigger will have to dig two. You are a part of me. I have been bonded to you for so long, I have relied on you for so long, I have loved you for so long that the difference between your spark and mine have blurred until we are truly ONE. The flesh become one. Till all are one.

She bowed miserably over the floor, prostrating herself to the mech she treasured more than her own life. She choked back the sobs, unwilling to let Ratchet hear in the other room. Tears dripped from her face, burning her optics with searing passion.

Elita, please . . . Don't do this.

Then don't leave me . . . I beg you . . .

I . . . I must. He is calling me. I hear him beckon . . . I will resist as long as I can, but Elita . . . You must promise me . . . Do not die for my sake. Do not let yourself fade. You are a beautiful, strong femme, and I was blessed to cherish you. You have made my life worth living. Wonderful, rich, and adventurous.

She pressed her hands to her face, fighting the spark break creeping over her. His exquisite appraisal of her only hurt worse.

Stop . . . Please . . .

You make me proud by the graceful way you walk. I listen for your voice on every breath of the wind. You are the light in my darkest hour.

Stop, stop, Optimus, please . . .

I love you, Elita One. To my very last breath, to the end of time and back again, forever, and after death, I will always love you.

I—I love you, Optimus . . . I love you . . .

"Where is the commander?"

Elita looked up from her misery hearing Prowl's voice echo in the other room. Ratchet's voice answered. Quickly, she sat up on the berth again, wiping her optics, and she had just settled herself presentably when the door whizzed open as Prowl stepped in.

He paused, sensing more than knowing something was wrong. "Commander, what are you doing?"

There was nothing better to lie with than half truths. "I was speaking with Optimus," she told him unabashedly, forcibly stopping her voice from quavering.

Prowl's icy blue optics blinked at her, assessing both her and the room in one sweep with his uncanny ability to know if there was ever anything bothering her. However, with the subtly she knew him for, he did not outright ask what the problem was. Instead, he said, "Logic dictates that we cannot wait for the Decepticons to mount another attack against us. We must attack while we have the element of surprise, for that is all we possess. Where is Optimus? It would help us greatly to have our leader in this next battle."

Elita shook her head. "Negative. Optimus is wounded, and he will not be able to accompany us."

"How hurt is he?" Prowl needled.

Her optics shuttered. "He is incapable of battle, Prowl."

"You are telling half truths, Ma'am."

"And you should not test me, Prowl."

His door wings twitched, the only indication of his unsettlement. The mech across from her blinked again, considering her tone and weighing his options and making his decision accordingly. "If it is associated with our leader, I need to know so I may better handle the situation."

She carefully and deliberately arched a brow, calmly dealing with him. "And do you not trust that his very spark mate may HANDLE the situation?"

His door wings twitched again. "Ma'am, you are keeping secrets. How wounded is he? We may need to send Ratchet."

"I said not to test me, Prowl."

After another meticulous blink, she saw his optics flick to the floor. Her optics immediately followed his line of sight, and her spark chilled seeing the tears she had left on the floor. She looked up just in time to catch his optics returning to her face. She kept her expression carefully detached, but somehow, Prowl's optics seemed to cut through her.

Finally, he inclined his body apologetically with a cant of his helm. "My apologies, Ma'am. I have overstepped my boundaries."

She swallowed freely. He knew. He knew Optimus was dying. She didn't want to burden them with the knowledge, and here she had already let it slip.

"I would appreciate it greatly if you could help assist me with preparations and strategy for our blitzkrieg against Darkmount," Prowl continued without pause. "With Optimus currently wounded and unable to battle, we do not have time to wait on his recovery. We need to strike."

After a moment with her spark in her throat, Elita nodded and managed, "Yes. Of course," and followed Prowl from the berth room. As he led her from the ship, everyone having apparently picked their weapons of choice, Elita reached forward and briefly touched his shoulder. He didn't show any indication of the touch, but they didn't need words at that point to express the message conveyed.

Thank you.


"Heavy stone right next to mine,
We'll be together 'til the end of time
Don't you go before I do,
I'm gonna tell the gravedigger that he better dig two

I told you on the day we wed
I was gonna love you 'til I's dead"

Better Dig Two_The Band Perry