Rated: M for adult themes: language, violence, mental rape, character death, mech erotica, torture, gore, and suicidal ideation. This varies from chapter to chapter, so read at your own risk.

Important Note: I started this series of fics before Revenge of the Fallen hit the theaters. This is an AU 2007 movie verse fic, NOT a ROTF/DOTM/AE/LK/BB or whatever follows fic.

Disclaimer: The only thing I own in this work of complete fiction is Velocity/Sira and Hardcore. They are mine. Everything else is copyrighted and owned by some really rich people. I make no money from this but wish I could.

XxxX

Full Velocity: Finding Salvation

Chapter 36: Salvation

XxxX.

Optimus closed the connection to Defense Secretary Keller's phone. With an audible sigh, he pinched his nasal bridge, certain he had just talked to every member of the United States government and the Armed Forces combined. They wanted to lay this disaster on his shoulders, but he balked and bucked their blame. He had tried to warn them. He had tried to prevent this, but they had not listened. He refused to let the nearsighted humans take their rancor out on him, and in return, gave them a small taste of a Prime's anger.

Tranquility lay in ruins, hundreds dead, the infrastructure to support the survivors gone. The Emergency Broadcast System had been activated, interrupting all programs and telling people to remain calm. They did not. A mass exodus jammed roadways both in and out of the town as those who could still leave did so. This panicked flight also blocked much-needed aid to the ones left behind.

Optimus and the Autobots argued they could assist: removing rubble, running supplies, searching for survivors, anything to help. They had been turned away, their attempts rebuffed, sometimes calmly and sometimes threateningly. Finally, with a heavy spark, he told his mechs to retreat.

Since leaving the battlefield, the internet exploded with shaky images of the battles. The humans demanded answers, and the government offered vague platitudes. The President, the leader of this nation, had yet to address his people. That did not sit well with the Prime. Optimus understood the need for immediate and visible leadership during disasters, showing compassion and strength, being the one the people could rely on. This human had not demonstrated that.

During one of the long phone calls, Prime slipped, and his voice expressed the aching weariness he felt. Though he suffered injuries from the battle, he had endured far worse many times before. No, he suffered from the tiredness of the spark, a wound that reopened with every skirmish, and no medic could fix it. General Pittenger interrupted and asked if there was a problem. Prime replied to the negative and continued arguing how the Autobots could aid in the search and rescue efforts.

The general interrupted again, "Don't bullshit me. I can hear it in your voice. If you need to go, then go. You need time to recover; we can pick this up later."

Optimus silently agreed with Sira's feelings of affection for the man.

Keller had called within ten minutes and personally asked about the physical conditions of the Autobots. Did everyone survive? Were any seriously injured? Then, he stressed the need for everyone to remain out of sight, and he could buy them twenty-four, maybe forty-eight hours. Optimus knew their reprieve would not last more than a day.

Sitting at his desk, he listened to the soft, seemingly endless, staccato of chimes as reports filled his datapad. Some came from his mechs and some from government and military liaisons: damage estimates, which roads were barricaded, which ones were blocked by debris, and which ones could reroute traffic from the area. They gave him data on supply shipments, arrests of looters, casualties, injuries, missing persons, unidentified dead, refugee camps, and scores of other pieces of information about the fallout of the battle. These people needed their help. Ratchet's scanning capabilities could penetrate the rubble of a building and find survivors within seconds. They could remove the debris quicker and more efficiently. They could assist in so many ways, but they were told to clear the area and remain hidden.

In a rare fit of anger and frustration, the Prime of Cybertron hurled his datapad. The device shattered against the wall and broke into several pieces before raining to the floor. Then, from his desk, he snatched up the warped and ragged bit of metal carrying a Decepticon shield. Sunstreaker, the last to return to the base, brought with him this morbid token of victory. The warrior never kept his trophies. Instead, he would silently enter Prime's office and lay the prize on the desk. Turning the bit of armor over in his fingers, Optimus watched the dried energon sparkle in the light. Optimus did not want the reminder of another life lost to the war; with a deft flick of the wrist, Prime sent the scrap sailing across the room to join the datapad. The enemy symbol imbedded in the wall.

He stood and stalked out of his office.

Following the sounds of laughter, he headed towards Central Ops. Human voices echoed from down the elevator shaft as the military hastily erected a temporary building over the entrance to the base. Within the remains of the Central Ops, Ironhide and Bumblebee continued patching and rewiring the base's controls; they had already restored the lights and communications, but more needed to be done. The Weapons Specialist lay on his back, only his legs and peds sticking from beneath a jerry-rigged control board. The Decepticon's attack caused extensive damage, but not as much as he could have. Optimus heard the speculative whispers that the 'Con had focused more on Sira than destroying their base.

Off to the side, Sideswipe shared elaborate stories about his prowess in battle, entertaining Sam and Mikaela. His twin calmly pushed debris to the far side of the rotunda.

"You're a bold-faced liar," announced Ironhide. "That 'Con had you down and if Sunny hadn't been there you wouldn't be here."

Offended shock comically contorted Sideswipe's facial plates. "How dare you say such a thing?" he gasped. "It was all part of the ploy."

"What ploy?" asked Sunstreaker dryly. Laughter bounced around the massive space.

Optimus noticed the cubes of high grade, most of them half full. He considered reprimanding his mechs for drinking so soon after a battle and possibly exposing humans to the fuel. He held his vocals. His mechs carried scrapes, dents, repair patches, and new welds, but they were alive and functioning. They had survived another day. If they needed to unwind, he did not see the harm. Optimus did not interrupt and continued walking.

In the Medical Bay, Ratchet and Wheeljack finished cleaning up. Scraped parts sat in bins for further sorting. Spilled energon mopped off the floor and wiped from tools. The two mechs whispered to themselves, making notes on what to restock, what tools to replace, and what injury to check on whom later.

Ratchet noticed him first. "Optimus, are you alright. Did you reopen that torn coolant line?" the medic asked with more than professional concern.

Prime shook his head. "I am fine." Then, he noticed two cubes of high grade sitting at the medic's workstation. "How is this batch?" He nodded towards the questionable liquid.

"Not bad," responded Wheeljack. "Less acidic than the last one, a bit more refined. We are almost done here, Sir. Will you be joining everyone tonight?" Optimus wondered when the engineer would lose the formality towards him.

"I haven't decided if I will be joining." A truthful statement. He had not decided if he wanted to attend the get-together. While not a party, the Autobots needed to burn off their frustrations from being forced to fall back. The team's morale required a night of playing games, telling outlandish stories, and mild intoxication. Then, Optimus decided he would not attend. "Ratchet, how is everyone?"

The chartreuse mech appeared confused by the question. "Didn't you receive my reports?"

"I did, but I dropped my datapad, and it broke."

The medic shot him a knowing look. "Everyone is fine. Some severe injuries, but none required a prolonged stay in the med bay. Optimus, go and unwind. Put the reports aside and for once celebrate."

Prime shook his head. "The humans will not be celebrating. They are too busy counting their dead."

Ratchet dropped the tool in his hand and faced his Prime. "And how many more would have died had we not intervened. If left unchecked, the Decepticons will wipe all life off this planet, and you know this. Yes, there has been death and destruction today, but what about all those we saved? What about those that Bumblebee got to the bank vault and out of harm's way? What about the reporter you shielded with your body so she could live another day?

"I know you are tired of the chaos and death. So am I. So are all of us. Optimus, every time we go to battle, a little more of you dies. I can see it happening and wonder how much of you is actually left. What will happen when we win the war, and there is nothing left of you but an empty, emotionless husk? Long ago, I swore an oath to ensure and protect the health of the Prime. I do not take that oath lightly, and it frustrates me the way you torture yourself with guilt. I can't make you, but I would like for you to find something to celebrate. Just so we can have some of that playful, lively Orion back. I miss him." The medic's words spoke from the deepest part of his spark.

The Prime stared at the floor while he processed the CMO's words. He wanted to argue and say he remained Orion, but in his spark, he knew it would be a lie. He had changed, not just becoming the Prime, but the war had changed him. He lived with the weight of billions of dead, the understanding his world was dying, the realization he did not care if he survived the next battle, and the memories of similar conversations in the past. With nothing to say, he left.

In the hallway, a heavy bass reverberated through the walls while a male vocalist crooned, "We are the champions, my friends. And we'll keep on fighting until the end."

He did not feel like a champion. He did not want to keep fighting. Optimus turned away from the music. Heading back to his office, he found Sam sitting in a corridor, cell phone in hand.

"Have you heard from your parents? Are they safe?" Prime asked the young man.

Sam wiggled the phone. "Yeah, that was them. They got out of the area before the fighting started. They are staying at a hotel. Mom is going shopping for clothes and basic supplies."

"Has Mikaela heard from her family yet?"

"Yeah, 'Bee had to do some sort of signal bounce with Mickey's phone and got through to them. Then Ironhide relayed their location to Lennox, and Lennox sent a team out to get them. Her dad is a little banged up, but nothing major. They should be at the hotel with my parents in a couple of hours. Dad booked a couple of rooms, just in case. He is waiting to see what the government says, and then he is going to try and get the room rates cut." Sam shrugged with a "what can you do" expression.

"The next time you talk to your parents, tell them CE Tech will pick up the bills. Whatever they require, I will pay for it."

Optimus watched Sam jump to his feet, and a massive smile threatened to split the human's head in two. "You - you mean that! I mean, my parents have enough - well - Mikaela's parents - um, you know. They can't really afford this."

"Yes, I mean that. Hotel, food, clothing, medical treatment, whatever they require. What is the point of amassing money if I can't use it for such things?" Prime forced a small smile. Just watching Sam run down the hall to tell his fiancé the news should have lifted his mood, but it did not. Financially helping the Witwicky's and Banes's was a tiny restitution for allowing their war to spill onto this planet.

Continuing to his office, Optimus stood in the doorway and realized he didn't want to be there either. He needed to check on one other person.

XxxX.

Optimus stood outside the door and argued with himself. By the time he had returned to base, Wheeljack had already tended to Sira's injuries, and she had left the med bay against orders. He wanted to try and talk sense into her and get her to go back, but he needed to help the others. After examining the dead Decepticon, he wanted to talk to her, hear her story, but he needed to secure the base. He tried to take her a ration of energon, but the reports began tumbling in. Now, he stood outside her door when he should have been here hours ago. Should he interrupt her or leave her in solitude?

Finally, Prime raised his fist and rapped it twice on her door. Knocking, a gesture the Autobots picked up from the humans. Typically, Cybertronians walked in on each other; privacy had different meanings and norms for them. He knew the location of each mech on the base. His automatic scanners continuously located and triangulated the locations of all Cybertronian energy signals within range. He rarely thought about it; the programs worked on a nearly subliminal level, only alerting him if someone lingered outside his door. The other Autobots functioned the same. None of them needed to knock, but they learned to do it anyway.

The light on the control panel blinked from magenta to a welcoming blue. He opened the door to a half-lit room. The femme sat backward in a chair, her arms folded on her recharge bunk and her head resting on them. Various scorches and dents marred her armor. Protective plates covered the gunshot wounds on her back. Eventually, her frame would absorb the new metal and convert it to armor, but until then, the gray squares stood out, ugly against the red.

"Sira," he began, but she interrupted him.

A soft shush, and she pointed up. The lament of a lone piano filled the air around them. As the music continued, Sira closed the shutters on her optics.

Crossing the threshold, Optimus leaned against the door frame. He listened to notes of melancholy and simultaneous joy, a story of sad triumph played through the speakers of the small room. He waited, listening to the melody and watching Sira lose herself to the gentle notes. Scarlet armor relaxed, and her remaining hand undulated and danced to the music.

As the final notes drifted away, the femme shifted her position to look over her shoulder at him. He saw where the Decepticon sliced his claws across her cheek. The physical wounds would heal and fade, but the scars on her soul would never go away.

"That was a beautiful piece of music," he stated as a different piano solo began.

A wistful smile played across Sira's lips, but her optics held palatable loneliness. "'Christofori's Dream.' My father played it for me when he knew I was unhappy."

"Are you unhappy?"

She turned away from him. "There is a party, and you are missing it. Shouldn't the Prime attend all the social functions?" she quipped, obviously dismissing him.

"As the Prime," he crossed his arms over his chest, "I get to choose what social functionsI attend, and you ignored my question."

Sira sighed. "I am not unhappy. I just don't want to talk about what happened. That's why you're here, isn't it? To get my side of the story, hear my heroic tale of fucking up, not killing him on the first try, and blowing my arm off on the second. All of it scared me shitless, and I didn't really think. I was too busy shaking in fear."

Optimus shifted his weight but remained by the door. "Only in the face of fear can we become brave."

"I thought you would say something like that." Red armor tightened around her. "Just leave me with some nice music, and I'll be fine." Her voice lacked the passion that burned within her soul and defined her person.

"I came here because I do not wish to attend the party either and was wondering if you would care to read tonight. We have almost finished the book, and it would be a shame not to see how it ends."

The femme slowly twisted to stare at him; a frown pressed her brow arches together. "Umm -Okay." Confusion clouded her optics as she stood. "Let's finish the adventures of Mike the Martian. Shall we do this here or in your quarters?" She looked up at him, her brow arch raised.

"Let's do it in my quarters; there is more room," he answered as he stepped into the hall and waited for her. A tiny smile played across her lips, and he wondered what she found amusing.

XxxX.

They both sat on his recharge bunk. He leaned against the wall; his legs stretched out before him. Sira sat cross-legged next to him, facing him. She struggled to hold the book and turn the pages with only one functioning hand. Though Wheeljack had cut, cleaned, and capped the damaged arm, Optimus could tell it bothered Sira, and she kept it tucked in her lap. In a couple of days, Ratchet would fit a new arm, but for now, she struggled. Setting the book on her knee to turn the pages, she repeatedly brushed against him. Innocent and casual, it still distracted him from her words.

"'But, Jill, there are only three places to look. Science - and I was taught more about how the universe ticks while I was still in the nest than human scientists can yet handle. So much that I can't talk to them, even about as elementary a gimmick as levitation. I'm not disparaging scientists. What they do is as it should be; I grok that fully. But what they are after is not what I am looking for - you do not grok the desert by counting its grains of sand. Then there's philosophy - supposed to tackle everything. Does it? All any philosopher ever comes out with is what he walked in with - except for self-deluders who prove their assumptions by their conclusions. Like Kant. Like other tail-chasers. So the answer ought to be here.' he waved at piles of books. 'Only it's not. Bits that grok true, but never a pattern - or if there is, they ask you to take the hard part on faith. Faith! What a dirty monosyllable - Jill, why didn't you mention that one when you were teaching me the short words that mustn't be used in polite company?'" Sira shifted and stretched her back before continuing.

"'She smiled. 'Mike, you made a joke.' 'I didn't mean it as a joke … and I can't see that it's funny. Jill, I haven't even been good for you - you used to laugh. I haven't learned to laugh; instead you've forgotten. Instead of my becoming human … you're becoming Martian.'" Sira faltered, and appeared as if she lost the ability to speak; her mouth moved, but she did not make any sounds.

"I - I have to go," her voice shook, and a tempest swirled behind her optics. She hastily closed the book and scooted towards the edge of the bunk.

Simple words, inscribed on simple paper, but they told so much. They echoed one race's attempt to find a place on an alien world, among an alien culture. They whispered to an individual's fears of becoming someone else. They were still words on paper. Appearing harmless and benign, but they held power to change lives. Simple words could ignite revolutions or soothe a pain-filled soul. Written words could tear a world asunder or bridge the gap between two lonely people.

Optimus grabbed her arm. "No," he whispered.

Sira paused, her gaze focused somewhere between her peds and the door.

"Stay," he asked, refusing to release her.

Slowly her red helm raised, and her optics settled on him. Sirs spun towards him. Rapidly closing the distance between them, she pressed her lips against his.

The movement startled him, freezing him against the wall. Unfortunately, the kiss felt awkward, an organic gesture meant for supple skin, not rigid facial plates. Perhaps something to explore in the future, but it did not serve as a sensual stimulus for him.

Pulling away, Sira dropped her gaze. "I uh, um," she stumbled in embarrassment.

With his free hand, Optimus cupped the side of her face. "We do this instead," he said and gently ran his thumb over her lip components.

Green optics opened wide in realization.

Optimus could not keep a chuckle from slipping past his vocals. "Your gesture is most welcome and accepted." He watched emotions slip past her optics. Letting her go, Prime hoped she did not race for the door.

"Oh," the femme articulated and tentatively brushed her fingers across the flames on his chest.

His engine rumbled. Optimus grabbed Sira and pulled her on top of him. He shifted their positions until she straddled his lap, facing him as he leaned against the wall. Pulling his legs up, he let the femme lean against them.

Heat climbed in his systems as he watched Sira squirm to find a comfortable position. Wrapping his hands around her hips, Optimus traced her armor with his thumbs. He caressed sensitive seams, feeling her shiver under his touch.

"Stay with me?" he asked, clarifying her willingness.

A timid nod bobbed her head, and she twitched expectantly; her optics locked on his. She reached out and caressed his cheek, the touch hesitant and shy. Optimus turned towards her hand, nuzzling her palm. A small smile lit up her features as intense hunger glowed in her optics. Her pump pounded hard enough he could feel it thrum through her frame, and his engine rumbled with anticipation.

Taking her wrist, he trailed her hand across his chest and up to his neck. Slender fingers slowly caressed cables and gently slipped into the sensitive recesses. Optimus moaned when the femme brushed against neural wiring and caused a delightful misfire. Delicate fingers repeated the action, and he shuttered his optics against the pleasure. The cautious caresses became confident, erotic strokes. He let her explore his frame and discover what tantalized him.

Heat radiated from the smaller body perched on his lap. Sira shifted, leaning forward and growling seductively. Tiny fingers easily slipped between his wires. A moan escaped him as he watched her concentrate on learning to please him. The predatory look in her optics revved his engine. It had been such a long time since anyone touched him, and his control began to slip. He pulled her hand away from his body; the overload would be nice but cheap and meaningless. He wanted much more from her.

He traced along her chin and followed wires down her neck, watching her shiver in response.

Tracing his fingers across her abdomen, he followed the lines of her armor with an indulgent slowness. Slipping his thumbs between the seams, he sent a small electric charge into the relays in her hips. Velocity twitched and moaned. The summer green optics never wavered from his. Keeping one hand where it was, he lifted the other to caress her chest. Small touches that enticed, encouraged, and promised more.

Slowly he tickled his fingers down her arm, watching her carefully. Her temperature increased, and her optics deepened in color, no longer grassy and bright but something reminiscent of forest shadows. His own spark flickered and flared within his chest, a response to her rising desire.

"Please. Please, give me something other than reports and death rosters," he pleaded. His words were heavy with need.

Optimus touched the access port on that thin wrist, and the femme shivered. He continued stroking and pressing against the sensitive area, teasing the tactile receptors around the opening. He wanted her to need this as much as he did.

Lifting her arm between them, he turned it so they could both see the port. Uncoiling his connection cable, he slowly slid the rod into her arm, waiting for her to stop him. She sighed.

Her programs accepted him with frightening speed. She offered no resistance, and her desire echoed back to him. She wanted this too. Optimus stopped holding himself in check and slammed a magnetic pulse into the femme, setting off every pleasure receptor in her frame. She arched her back and cried out.

With one hand locked onto her hip and the other wrapped around her wrist, Sira could not escape him. He pushed her to the brink of overload and then pulled her away just to hear her whimper. Her ecstasy would rebound along the interface link fueling him even more. He forced her to suffer the most exquisite torture until she begged for release. He made her writhe and cry aloud with pleasure, and he enjoyed every second of it. Each moan sent him closer to overload.

He let go of her hip and ran a single finger over the seam in the center of her chest. He looked her in the optics and repeated the motion. "Open for me," he said in a dark voice.

Sira froze, and over their connection, he could hear her question.

He ran his finger along the seam with excruciating slowness, then slipped under the edge of the armor. He brushed against the latch that locked her plates into place. "Open for me," he repeated with a rumble.

For a moment, he thought she would deny him, and then her chest panels slid back to reveal the modified spark chamber. This action also revealed the intricate filigree pattern etched around the orb. He couldn't help himself and traced the design with a finger. Watching Sira shutter her optics and sigh, Optimus realized he could do this one thing for cycles and never tire.

His chest armor slid back and exposed the Matrix of Leadership that enclosed most of his spark chamber. Becoming Prime had fused his frame with the relic, and he hoped the damnable device remained dormant.

As his shielding retracted, it revealed the pulsing flickering deep blue light. Tendrils already escaped and reached towards the femme.

Sira watched the arcs of energy; then, she followed his lead. Her chamber opened, exposing a swirling ball of flame and light—a soul, the thing that would always set her apart.

Optimus didn't hesitate. He hooked his arm around the smaller femme and pulled her to him. As spark and soul merged, Prime wrapped Velocity in his consciousness. He could feel the heat slowly move throughout his frame and envelope him. Her powers awoke, calling every atom in his body, and his metal wanted to bend to her will. He realized he could lose himself to her heat and fire. Sira could temper him, reforge him, control him, use him. He refused to give in, and his will had to remain stronger.

He dominated her and moved within her essence, wanting to experience all of her. Memories flashed in his mind, memories that did not belong to him. He knew the loneliness of watching other children play and not being allowed to join. He moved through a frozen forest on four silent paws. Then, he lay beneath the stars, unafraid of the night.

Prime pushed on, listening to her cry out. He found dark recesses where her nightmares lived and ignored them for now. Later he would take time to savor her and share his memories. Later, they could explore each other, but right now, he wanted one thing. A desperate need had grown within him, a consuming hunger that awoke whenever in her presence.

He pushed on. Rubbing against the barriers that surrounded the center of her being, he asked for entrance. He wanted her bonded to him. He wanted this strange creature to belong to him and only him. He pushed against the barrier relentlessly, and it fell away as she surrendered to him.

The heat became nearly unbearable. It burned and scorched him, but something more moved within the depths of her soul. He felt the wildness, the feral alienness of her true being as the fire gave way to soft fur covering hard muscle. The predator circled him and purred.

As his spark fused with her soul and the two became one, he knew what it was to be her. To hear the wind whisper its secrets. To taste a thunderstorm. To feel the pulse of the Earth's fiery, metal heart. It would not last long enough for him, but there would be other times. Other chances to do nothing but bond.

Keeping his hold on the smaller body, he sent one last powerful electric pulse into Sira. It did not push her into overload; it shoved her into a freefall of bliss. Joined together beyond the physical level, she dragged him into ecstasy with her.

XxxX.

Optimus did not move the red femme sprawled across his chest. She belonged there.

He caressed her but thought of another. Elita arrived early in his life, and they had bonded within orns of meeting. For them, there had been no other choice; they belonged together. At times he couldn't tell where he ended, and Elita began. They relied upon each other in so many little ways, a bond so strong, they could not tolerate more than a few cycles apart. The bond that united them almost destroyed him when severed. Her death tore him apart, and she took part of him into the matrix with her. Her death left a void within his spark, and he understood Sira could not fill it.

Sira - Velocity, whichever name she finally chose, would not replace Elita, and he did not want her to, but he did not want to spend his days alone either. He enjoyed the feisty, foul-mouthed female. Female, he rolled the concept in his processor. Femmes, though built differently, were not females, Elita had not been female. Cybertronians were genderless, divided into groups by their frame styles. Sira was a female, and he did not know what that significance meant, if any. He did know she possessed passion and zest for life he once had, contrary and humorous, fierce, and vulnerable, independent and amiable, all mixed with a quick if quirky intelligence to create a fascinating companion.

Turning within, he searched his spark for the connection between them. It existed but barely. Tenuous and weak, it would require time to strengthen it, more time spent bonding, sharing, and building on what they already had. He looked forward to it.

He had been honest when he asked for something to come back to, something to wash away the war and death, if only for a small while. Optimus did not tell anyone, but it became harder and harder to care if he survived the next battle. This personal ambivalence threatened not only the Autobots but Cybertron, and even then, he struggled to care; until this little, out of the way, blue planet had given him something to live for again. He silently vowed to protect her home as if it was his. And for now, it was his home. Even if he returned to Cybertron, Earth would always have a special place in his spark.

Looking down, he saw a pinpoint of light deep within Velocity's optics. He allowed himself a smug smile. Once, long ago, a very wise, old mech had told him, "If they can say more than two coherent syllables, you aren't interfacing properly." He took that advice to spark, and he doubted this femme could say his name.

She stirred and nuzzled his neck. He teased his fingers along her back. "Sira?" he asked.

"Mmmm." A luxurious sigh escaped her vents. "Not Sira, Velocity."

Wrapping his arms around her, Optimus rolled to his side. Within seconds they both found comfortable positions tangled together. Velocity immediately drifted into recharge, and he followed.

XxxX

Optimus watched the femme from the doorway. She sat with her back to him, her functioning hand idly scrolling along the datapad. Every few seconds, she would look up at the security monitor and check the perimeter sensors. She moved with a soft and fluid grace.

He had not talked to her for several days, his time consumed by meetings and discussions with delegates from the United States government. True to his word, General Pittenger gave them twenty-four hours to recoup and recover before the Security Council demanded to debrief. In the time since their union, Velocity slipped quietly into the background, and he feared she misread his actions.

"Anything to report?"

Velocity jumped in her chair, a startled hiss escaping her vent. Spinning around, she glared at the intrusion, but her expression slipped when she saw him. She looked away, her features shutting down and hiding her emotions from him. "Nothing," she snapped, crimson armor tightened around her. She pointedly focused her attention on the monitors.

She had misread his actions.

Prime strolled into Central Ops and grabbed a stool next to the wall. Carefully, he stepped over the wires and cables snaking across the floor, not wanting to ruin Ironhide's haphazard-repair and crash the base's power. Reaching the control panel, he sat the stool next to the femme.

Velocity watched him, suspicious curiosity in her optics.

Settling onto the stool, Optimus scooted closer to Velocity. His leg pressed against hers, but the femme did not move away from his contact. Instead, she moved her scrutiny to where they touched.

"The government has finally accepted my insistence that we did not antagonize the Decepticons and start the battle."

The red helm snapped around, so fast Prime wondered if she hurt herself. "What! Why would we - this isn't a schoolyard pissing match. People fucking died. Assholes, all politicians are assholes." She angrily stabbed a button on the control panel.

"I agree with your assessment," he admitted. With a slight grin, he continued, "Actually, I came here to ask for your input." He leaned closer, rubbing his shoulder against Velocity's.

Disparaging laughter cackled between them. "Why would you need my input?" A smile spread her features, and she pressed against him. Her frame relaxing with his nearness, apparently not holding a grudge at his absence.

"The government has decided they will never cover up the attack on Tranquility, and they plan to hold a press conference to inform the world of our existence. I have been asked to go to Washington DC." He watched the femme's features as she processed his words.

"And what does that have to do with me?" She looked away, focusing on the monitors. Delicate fingers typed commands, and the monitors flicked to show a tight sensor perimeter, the heat signatures of soldiers lay unmoving in their tents.

"Would you like to go with me?"

"To Washington? The den of backstabbing, pandering, philandering, and shady deals behind closed doors? Oh, gods no, but thanks for the asking?"

Optimus leaned close and nuzzled a red audio horn. "We could spend time together. You could visit the monuments."

"Time together, perhaps," she purred the last word. Then, wrinkling her nose in disgust, Velocity expressed her opinion. "DC? Oh, hell no. I'll stay here, and you will have to come back - quickly."

XxxX

Author's Notes:

We Are the Champions – Queen

Christofori's Dream – David Lanz

Stranger in a Strange Land - Robert A. Heinlein