Deep in the Oregonian suburbs was a parcel of land specified for a state park...until the Decepticons trashed it. In the most creative negotiations Optimus Prime had undergone since the Shawn Burger incident, the park was STILL designated a park, but it would hold an Autobot stronghold to ensure worldwide defense. The beginning leg of construction consisted of Grapple and a crack team of builders, finishing only when the majority of the fortress had become viable. Then, it was off to Cybertron to build Moon 1, and coming soon, Moon 2.
The second wave of builders were not as skilled as the first; they were run by the reluctant Ultra Magnus, who had called the mechs he was most familiar with to render aid instead of a more stable team (according to Optimus Prime). On this team was a small blue Corvette who never had any idea of the contribution he made to this army.
Defense on the construction site of Autobot City easy job, Tracks being an alternate crew member for this ragtag team. Although the Decepticons had Buzzsaw closely watching them, and the occasional Stunticon attack (Superion dealt with that) the Autobot himself handled mundane assignments that barely merited processor exertion. Tracks' hardest task was avoiding the affectionate offense of Ultra Magnus.
The mech was IMPOSSIBLE. Tracks had the assiduous job of keeping the back doors and basements Decepticon-free, an assignment that was fairly labor-free, except that the one who gave him the chore hid in the shadows to tackle him when least expected.
"Don't you have an army to run or something?" Tracks demanded as he was again being tackled with ecstatic enthusiasm.
"Shut up, Tracks," grinned the giant mech, kissing his neck with the eagerness of a human child, and just as sloppily. His fingers groped at Tracks' wings eagerly.
"I have to-to-inspect this corner...my...commanding officer..." there was a pleasant blue glow interfering with his processing.
"Will understand," came the growl above him. "Shut up, Tracks."
In human pulp fiction there was always an interruption to save the protagonist from losing control, but Tracks didn't have that kind of luck. Ultra Magnus had him cawing in less than ten minutes. No one walked in on them, no radio signals called for help, no Decepticons shot at them from the shadows. Instead Tracks had to content himself with the eventual tiring of his friend's stamina, sometime between attack number 6 and 7. He crawled off of the Corvette and staggered upright, holding his hand out to help. Tracks gave a wavering smile. What to say?
Ultra Magnus was driving him crazy. He couldn't keep his hands off of Tracks in public. He was tackling him to the ground when Tracks was trying to work, having his way with him several times a day. Nights were short on recharge time. Affection was a nice thing after a drought, but Tracks felt like he was DROWNING. How did he tell his commanding officer that, especially when he looked so happy?
"I have (kiss) good news (kiss). Blaster will be here tomorrow (kiss)."
"Really?" conversations with Ultra Magnus were as stimulating as his job. His best friend Blaster had been fun to be with. He had been hoping the communications expert would be summoned here soon, or Tracks would either die of boredom or be pounded flat by his friend. "I'll finally have someone to talk to besides you and your twice-daily visits."
"Only twice! I'm sorry. I'll try harder." Did Tracks mention the strange sense of humor this mech seemed to have? Ultra Magnus kissed him good-bye and faded into the shadows without making a sound.
"He'll be back." Why did it give him a rush of anticipation thinking that?
Blaster arrived in an effort to re-establish the telecommunication ties that they had lost after Superion broke the communications tower in a fight with Bruticus. (Or that was how Tracks convinced Ultra Magnus.) He came in with Hot Rod and Springer while a major battle waged, music loud and attitudes brash. Tracks had been pinned down after trying to follow Ultra Magnus out, and saw his friend transform into blaster mode in time to disrupt the Decepticons' internal radio signals, forcing them to retreat.
"What took you so long?" the Corvette demanded of his old old OLD partner in crime-fighting.
"We stopped for burgers in Reno," he replied, slapping the smaller blue mech on the shoulder, shaking his wing slightly. "What's up, man?"
"I'm stuck in the middle of nowhere and Raul sends me pictures online to show me what I'm missing at home. In between the boring routines I get shot at everyday. My backup had a BURGER craving. I'm great!" Perhaps he was giddier than usual to see his friend; after all, Blaster could be counted on for entertainment.
Sure enough, he was already planning some kind of Ping Pong tournament the minute he could teach the new guys how to play. This seemed tame to some, until they realized that the music-loving Autobot did not do anything laid-back. The ping pong ball was actually a basketball, and instead of hitting it in a game against another person there were teams and explosives, and in one terrifying session back in the ark days (but banned by Prime), there were Dinobots.
Ultra Magnus watched everyone try to kill each other from his vantage point on the higher part of the mountain. Kup surveyed the activity alongside him.
"Good way to let off steam," he commented, trying not to laugh at Slingshot and Hot Rod lunging for the ball at the same time and bashing their heads together, falling as the object of their desire rolled past them.
"Game, set match!" called Blaster, leaping in the air. He high-five'd everyone around him, laughter infectious. As the others got rowdy and a few called for another game before the sun set, Blaster played "We Are the Champions" and moonwalked over to his friend. Tracks and he smacked each other on the rear end and chased the others around to do the same, laughing like a group of drunken football players at those who fled.
Ultra Magnus nodded quietly in response to Kup's earlier observation. "Seems like some have more steam than others," he responded, face turning down at the sight of Tracks and Blaster collapsing on top of Hot Rod to get him to surrender the ball.
Autobots and rumors and go together like bees and honey. The inordinate amount of time the communications expert and the somewhat superfluous security officer spent together had not escaped their notice. Tracks and Blaster were constantly attached at the arm, either finding ways to have fun or accompanying each other during their shifts, talking a mile a minute in some earth-jargon, laughing at inappropriate times. The question of what Ultra Magnus would do in response hung in the air, unanswered due to the fact that Optimus Prime had trained his student well: no domestic squabbles need distract him from more pertinent subjects. (Like all sentient beings, Optimus Prime was completely unaware of his own hypocrisies.) He assumed the activities of Tracks merited no attention, while every Autobot speculated when would their leader tire of this flaunting disregard for his friend's feelings and do something about it for Primus' sake.
This changed the day he was creeping along the corridors of the basement in his stealthy way to get a piece of Tracks he had sorely missed after a long week of deprivation. He eased his way around some of the noisy traps along the floor, trying not to snicker to himself. Usually Tracks got his revenge for these attacks by keeping the carrier awake all night, even when he was tired, but lately Ultra Magnus had been offline alone, finally catching up on his sleep. Tracks needed to be reminded why his friend should be a little more exhausted and a little less alert. His hopes were dashed at the sight of another Autobot there. So much for some time together.
"Man, this place gives me the creeps!" Blaster shuddered at the dankness of the basement as Tracks completed his circuit. Their flashlight did nothing to illuminate the lack of visibility. "You lookin' for the next Halloween party hot spot?"
"No," snorted Tracks, noticing the slightest flash of red white and blue flicker in his peripheral vision as Ultra Magnus ran away. He smiled to himself. "I get the weird assignments a lot, but at least it's not floor-washing duty. It happens when you know the right Autobot."
Blaster focused his blue optics on his shorter accomplice incredulously. "I heard the word. Are you for real, T? With HIM? What's so great about Ultra Maggie The Boring?"
They laughed over that gamely, but for the first time in awhile the Corvette looked sheepish. "A few things." He looked up at a disgusted Blaster. "Don't be like that! He has his good points!"
"I can't diss your taste in mechs...so if you say so, Tracks," Blaster said in a soft drawl reminiscent of a sleepy summer night or two in the City; but this was not an issue, it was ancient history. He kept his voice teasing, although the jocularity did not show in his face. Tracks swallowed the fearful panic of one whose friend did not support a topic he desperately needed approval of. He tried to sound silly, too, not really knowing what he said.
"He doesn't have your taste in music, but...hey, sometimes a 'bot gets desperate!"
He received an over-the shoulder glare for that. "Man, that's what Gears is for."
Tracks watched Blaster wander away. "I'll take someone who hasn't done everyone but Red Alert, thank you."
"At least Gears knows what the outside of his office looks like!" Blaster was racing ahead to chase away the shadows.
"Gears' office has a recharge plate in it!" Tracks replied, to no one in particular. The silence reminded him that he hadn't been pounced on lately. Ultra Magnus must be scared off by Tracks' newest accompaniment. Perhaps that was a good thing. Tracks wasn't very fond of his associate's friends anymore than Ultra Magnus was of Tracks'. They really didn't like most of the aspects of the other's life. With this thought came an even more disturbing question, one that Tracks quickly smothered as he hurried to catch up with Blaster and the flashlight.
Ultra Magnus sat at his desk and recalled the soft-spoken growl of his Prime on a day when a verbal pat on the back eased his pain across time and space. He had bent his head as he came as close to sobbing as possible over Teletraan-1's screen, begging for some kind of solution to relax the psychological hold Tracks had on him. Prime reminded him of the lack of Autobots on earth.
"Leave Tracks to me, Magnus." Only Prime got away with calling him that. "I can handle this domestic difficulty."
He had made it seem so...petty. As though this attachment were insignificant. Everyone made it seem like that. Kup's dismissal of Tracks, Hot Rod's light teasing, the snickers behind everyone's hands...and the nagging misery of seeing Blaster having more fun with Tracks than Ultra Magnus ever could. The honeymoon seemed to be over for them, which was ridiculous since they'd just started a real relationship after nineteen years of tormenting each other. Ultra Magnus blamed the proximity in which they functioned, allowing both mechs to see the other without the air of mystery and excitement that had once been there.
'I guess I'm just too boring,' he thought, trying to accept it as fact.
In the hallway, within earshot of everyone, Blaster and Tracks' laughter rang out as they mocked some unknown subject.
Blaster and Tracks were again making the basement circuit the next morning when Blaster reached over to grab his hand.
"What's the rush?" he purred sweetly, playfully squishing Tracks' fingers.
"I have to finish this inspection before noon, or Ultra Magnus will give me oil-change duty for the next month." Tracks jerked his hand away, punching the datapad in front of him in agitation.
"Maggie won't miss you for a couple of minutes. C'mere, I gotta surprise for ya." He dragged Tracks into a darker corner to show him a cleared area and strategically-placed disco ball. Tracks pressed 'play' on his shoulder the same time lights flashed.
"When did you get the time to do this?" Tracks wondered aloud as "Sandstorm" thundered its beat into his audios. Blaster ignored him, breaking into a dance that was more gymnastics than movement.
"Don't just stand there, bust a move!" he called.
The visit should have been a surprise, but it was not. The leader of the small band of Autobots postponed his inquisition of the captive Frenzy as Optimus Prime's convoy rolled into the city for an unanticipated inspection.
Ultra Magnus walked over to salute his Prime. "Welcome, Optimus."
"Greetings, Ultra Magnus." They made small pleasantries as the Autobot leader and his two travelling companions made their way into the main room. "I see I have been preceded," Optimus Prime commented, gesturing to the scowling Decepticon wryly. "What has he revealed?"
"Nothin'!" hollered the black and red tape. "Just like yer processor!" Jerking out of Wheeljack and Blurr's grip, he flew into the air and escaped in less than five minutes, crashing through the ceiling and shooting barbs as fast as they fired their guns at him. He was gone after bragging about how much Megatron would appreciate the information he'd gleaned. Optimus demanded a full report.
"He hasn't told us how he got in, other than reminding us how bad our taste in music is...Kup, where is Blaster?" Inspiration hit him mid-report. 'Oh no.'
"He's following Tracks around on patrol, as usual." Ultra Magnus had been afraid of that. He commissioned Wheeljack and Blurr to go get them and turned back to Optimus Prime, who's blue and gray optics danced while he ostensibly talked with Prowl in a side-conversation. Not a good sign from the one who had warned him that Tracks would be trouble, no matter where he went, and that keeping him around was a bad idea. Although he wouldn't verbally assert it, Optimus Prime loved seeing Ultra Magnus squirm over the multitude of faux pas Tracks committed. He needed to be distracted. "We can start with a tour, if you're feeling up to it," Ultra Magnus began diplomatically.
"We should recharge first," murmured Prowl next to Optimus.
"Affirmative. The tour can wait, if that is acceptable to you." Prime's voice had the slightest undercurrent of sarcasm. Instead of reacting, Ultra Magnus accepted their proposal and lead them to the commissary for energon beverages. After a few uncomfortable silences peppered with meaningless dialogue Wheeljack paged the city leader to report that the two had been breakdancing in the basement, instead of being on patrol to catch the spy who had walked past them less than twenty minutes earlier.
"Put them on janitorial duty until I'm ready to talk to them myself!" he snapped.
"Bring them here," commanded another behind him. If Optimus got involved, it was going to be painful. Ultra Magnus had no choice, though: he was Prime.
"No, wait, bring them here."
"Sure. Wheeljack out."
He did NOT want to turn around. Optimus Prime stood behind him, patiently waiting for the bomb to drop. The smirk could be felt boring through the mask, searing into Magnus' head.
"Tracks was away from his post, with Blaster," came in the assuming purr of the Autobot strategist Prowl. "That does not seem like a useful combination to assign together." Ultra Magnus nodded, mentally counting to ten before he met optics with the two.
"He will be reprimanded accordingly, as well as Blaster."
"Prowl is right. What is he doing with Tracks? Was this HIS suggestion?" Prime demanded, once again getting to the heart of the issue without trying. 'One of his more irritating traits.'
"They're friends," came the melancholy response. The two walked in at that moment, laughter dying on their vocalizers once they saw who was there.
They had been getting down to "Smack My Bitch Up" when Wheeljack tapped Blaster on the shoulder to get him to stop the tape. They were in trouble. Upstairs, on the double.
"This is gonna cost you WEEKS of I'm-sorry-honey sex, T," Blaster grunted low enough for only Tracks to hear. Not that Wheeljack was familiar enough with human slang to decipher their lingo.
Tracks would have blushed if he were able. "Do I look like Raul, Blaster? It's not like that." Raul couldn't keep a girlfriend around past the second argument, explaining to the bewildered Autobots that carnal knowledge only extended so far before real congruity had to kick in, a facet he didn't desire achieving. Chicks were crazy, he explained, and it took a lot to get one to give it up. He felt no shame in airing these philosophies, having no idea Autobots had intimate relationships. Neither were about to enlighten him.
"C'mon, T! All anybody talks about around here is who's knockin' boots. And you and Maggie are second on the list of glompin' jokes."
"Great." He KNEW someone would see them eventually. They rounded the corner to the commissary doorway for which Wheeljack and Blurr stood sentry, a hint that they may have picked up on if they were paying attention. Something his friend alluded to caused him to ask who the first pair was on the list of jokes.
"OP and Megs."
They'd barely released their contemptuous guffaws when said leader lifted his masked face in salutation, gray and blue optics clearly flashing in annoyance at the overheard gag.
No personal leaves allowed, curfew when they COULD go out, and janitorial duty for two weeks, thanks to the wrath of Optimus Prime from their insult, which meant the gentler punishment from Ultra Magnus would have been superceded even though he DIDN'T get a word in edgewise. Tracks sighed as he continued his unaided scrubbing of the commissary floor, a triple insult. It was not only messy soapy work: for awhile there was audience of Prowl, Ultra Magnus, and Prime while he toiled; and the lack of entertainment now that Blaster was assigned washing the basement floor for every moment of spare time he had, seeing as how much he enjoyed being there instead of at his own post.
As Tracks manually buffed the floor he listened to the strained discussion at the table, mostly Prowl trying to navigate the treacherous waters of a resentful Ultra Magnus and Optimus Prime's exaltations of commander superiority. Tracks gave Ultra Magnus his patented 'get me out of this' expression, a face that brought him whatever he wanted (it was how he got Blaster summoned the site before Prime thought him necessary). Unfortunately, Optimus Prime saw it too, adding nothing to his feelings towards the blue mech and adding plenty to the aura of acrimony in the room. When their tolerance level was satiated a tour commenced, leaving the Corvette at the mercy of anyone who came in to witness his complete humiliation.
"Whoooo! I heard about it, but I had NO idea!" Powerglide swooped in to savor his rival's degredation. "Prime looks like he's got smoke coming out of his antenna. What'd you do?"
"Told him he'd look better all one color. Green is nice, right?" Tracks resisted the urge to trip the glider as he left dirty footprints where Tracks just finished wiping.
"Primus, it's TRUE!" Sideswipe grinned above him, thrilled at a small pleasure coming out of this boring outpost and it's lack of activity. Once he'd arrived with Optimus he prepared for a monotonous assignment, but now that he heard all of the goings-on here, he felt a little better. "All that time looking around corners to avoid Ultra Magnus and the one time you didn't..." Powerglide laughed with him.
"Out of my way. I have to do the hall before nightfall."
"Right, after which you report to 'you know who' for a spanking, you bad bot." Gears joined the other two in their conversation.
"Who? Prime?" Tracks joked wearily. They cracked up, but not over his joke. Ultra Magnus and his guests had chosen that exact moment to stroll in to note Tracks' progress. At Ultra Magnus' scowl Tracks' tormenters scattered. Optimus Prime ignored everything, claiming he had to discuss defense with Silverbolt and would leave the final analysis in Prowl's capable hands.
"There is some anxiety concerning the rate of construction," Prowl began, carefully stepping around Tracks' 'Wet Floor' sign to join the table Ultra Magnus was sitting at, leaving the places behind him spotless. "Grapple had Tower Four complete in three weeks while you have been struggling with Tower Five for a month and a half."
The large mech looked down at his hands folded in front of him, nodding unhappily. "I understand." Tracks looked up, dismayed. Ultra Magnus was NOT supposed to take this complacently, not when they had been under more Decepticon fire than Grapple had, not when half of his force was a second-string compilation of Autobots who weren't needed to create Moon 1. Yet there he was, nodding to assault after assault of his leadership abilities. His friend may not convey the 'get me out of this' expression, but Tracks saw it all the same. Or maybe he didn't; the Corvette was never sure with Ultra Magnus.
"The example today of your defense squad's failure to notice an obvious Decepticon had us again questioning your choice in personnel."
"Obvious?" Tracks threw the sponge back into the bucket as he stood up indignantly. "Since when have Soundwave's tapes been classified as OBVIOUS!" He walked over to stare down the taller Prowl, who was seated. "How many times have we been spied on by one of those squirts? Does this mean you've noticed Laserbeak and never said anything, even when the secrecy of the plan was important? How can you say-"
"Tracks!" Ultra Magnus stood up and placed a heavy hand on his diminutive associate's shoulder. He did not yell, but he was close. Prowl's watchful expression never changed. "You are excused. You can continue your punishment tomorrow."
Tracks turned to his team leader, optics worried and tone conspiratorial. "Don't let him say this stuff to you!" He glanced at Prowl, raising his voice in volume but not tone to show that his agitation was in check. "You're doing a great job and you know it."
"As do Prime and I," Prowl interloped smoothly. "These are concerns, not criticisms. We are pleased with the results we have seen today, but as with every project, basic suggestions of potential oversights must be discussed." Not completely placated, Tracks continued to glare at Prowl. "Perhaps you would prefer to read the unclassified version yourself?"
"Go," ordered Ultra Magnus.
Tracks realized he would get nowhere with Prowl; the strategist was a much smarter mech than he, and his reaction had been more emotional than anything else anyway. There had been no 'get me out of this.' Why was his friend so difficult to figure out? Mumbling something incoherent, he excused himself to go recharge, not looking at either as he left.
Ultra Magnus watched him go, pride glowing in his large optics in spite of the embarrassing scene before him. Tracks was not afraid to take on anyone who might hurt his friend, not Prowl, not Megatron...even mired in soapy water he got himself into even more trouble for Ultra Magnus. Tonight was going to be another sleepless night for both of them, just watch.
Prowl didn't get it. Not because it was illogical, but because it was disgusting. The greatest warrior of his time, Ultra Magnus was owned by NO mech. Watching him turn himself into a simpering romantic was scary. The report was finished without any more incident, except that Ultra Magnus looked as though he were a million miles away.
Blaster handed Tracks a container of spiked energon purchased from Sideswipe as he leaned against the basement wall. "What a freakin' CRAZY day!" the red mech sighed, taking a drink. He clicked on his tape player to start a light R&B background tune as he and Tracks relived the moment everything went ballistic, except for the silently sulking Ultra Magnus while Prime yelled at them. He didn't speak up for them once. In Blaster's book this made him 'One of Them.' "No offense T, but if your mech and Prowl had a diamond-making contest Maggie'd be off the hook!"
Blaster didn't dodge the fist completely. It missed him, stopping the tape instead of denting his face. He hit back ("Watch the nose!") and a short scuffle ensued, stopping when the container of energon nearly tipped over. It was saved, thanks to Blaster's quick thinking. To settle the disagreement the tape player and the Corvette traded barbs that began with 'your creater' had 'is so fat' and ended 'when he had to haul tailpipe he made two trips.' They did not have the repertoire Raul had for these insults, making them more of a collection of inside jokes than real affronts. It ended with them leaning against the wall and deriding their fellow Autobots instead.
"Man, you are nuts." Blaster sighed contentedly. He had been the only one upset that Tracks was leaving the Ark for Nowhereland. "Like Mr. Stick Up His Tailpipe While Kissing Prime's."
"If Prowl were a human, he'd be that fidgety white guy in the Honda sedan who wants me to let him pass on the right." Tracks paused for the hoots to die down. "An accountant."
"Working for Jazz, the Afroed club owner!" Blaster returned gleefully. It was an old joke. What they would look like if they were the inhabitants of this planet...
"While Prime and Megatron, who look a lot like those snarky old guys on 'The Muppet Show,' try to hit on chicks half their age-"
They finished together. "-with twice their teeth!" They bent over in mirth more pronounced than usual thanks to the energon. Their shouts echoed throughout the basement's dark corners, bouncing around like the ping pong ball they had played with a few days before. They were so engrossed with their quips that Tracks jumped slightly at the sight of Ultra Magnus silently looming over them. He sat up straight and used his most charming voice.
"Hello," he greeted his leader, offering the bottle of energon while Blaster continued howling in drunken glee. "We're still mad at you, but if you're nice I'll let you sit next to me."
Ultra Magnus snorted. "I talked to Prime. You've been forgiven, except that you still have to apologize for letting Frenzy walk by you."
Tracks was glad no one could see him smirk, thanks to Blaster, Guardian of the Flashlight. "Sounds fine." An insincere apology was not a bad punishment, not after scrubbing floors all afternoon. The 'get me out of this' face worked every time. Too bad the carrier never knew when to use it himself. "I knew I could count on you."
He produced a low chuckle, most likely framed by that stupid grin of his. Ultra Magnus took the bottle and gulped for a moment before returning it, regarding the doubled-over Blaster cautiously. "What's wrong with him?"
"We were talking about what we would look like if we were turned into humans," Tracks explained. Ultra Magnus made a noise of disgust, sounding a lot like a grunt. "We thought you would make a handsome drill sergeant."
After being updated on their new amnesty Blaster shook his head and whistled. It took a lot of nerve to do that, no matter who you were. Prime could hold a grudge for any imagined slight, and questioning his judgement was up there with public in-fighting. "Cop a squat," he commanded, patting the ground in front of them: his ultimate symbol of acceptance. He watched Ultra Magnus uneasily settle down on the other side of Tracks, still not comfortable around with the two. He shined the light on the face of the newest member of their clique. "What do you think Tracks would be?"
There was a moment in which Blaster was not sure he would get a response. After a pause, Ultra Magnus issued his edict: "He'd look like Fat Bastard."
Blaster rolled on the ground, laugh higher-pitched as Tracks shook his head regretfully. "I'm dead sexy," he declared in a Scottish accent. This blew the tape player away.
"When did you see that movie?" he asked, amazed.
Ultra Magnus chortled, more relaxed now that the ice had broken. He was relieved he'd been forgiven for letting Optimus punish them. "We saw it at the drive-in."
"Hold up, wait a minute!" This was too strange for Blaster to comprehend. He waved the light at both of them in disbelief. "You guys go out on dates?" He looked at the team leader with a bit more respect. "Since when?"
"Not lately. My work has piled up, so we haven't gone out since that day we all went to the beach."
"I must be trippin'," he declared, shaking his head. Optimus Prime almost never took a break, yet this leader was organizing company picnics. Ultra Magnus admitted he hadn't been that enthusiastic about leisure time on earth until Tracks talked him into it. Once he'd seen how much divertissement he could have on this planet, there had been a lot more moments of organized fun. "What else did you do?"
The two shrugged their shoulders, talking at the same time. "Drove around, did a charity race, that outdoor concert."
"Johnny Cash. Remember that time we did a bowling tournament?" Tracks asked, swaying slightly from the energon. He'd had enough of a head start to begin showing its effects.
"I liked the paintball game."
Tracks waved his hand, sloshing his beverage. "My body armor didn't! I still have scratches from that!"
Blaster was intrigued. After asking a lot of questions a light bulb went off in his processor and Blaster had a great idea. He wanted to organize a game immediately, while they still had some sharp-shooters to recruit. Ultra Magnus, taking Tracks' hand to help him up, gave Blaster unnecessary encouragement, volunteering to ask Optimus Prime for him.
"Cool!" Blaster followed them upstairs, bidding them goodnight a few floors below their destination. "You're not a bad egg, Magnus."
"Ultra Magnus," slurred Tracks, staggering behind the large blue mech. "He's only Magnus when he's naked."
"Let's go, Tracks," ordered a mortified Ultra Magnus, patting the small blue mech on the back as he lead him to the third floor (residence: auxiliary soldiers). Tracks fell up the stairs. Blaster laughed and left them for the second floor (permanent residence: soldiers).
"Howja find me, anyway?" he demanded, more energon flooding his processor.
"You weren't where you usually were at night, so I followed a hunch."
That meant he sat at his desk until the loneliness overtook him and he went in search of his Corvette. Tracks giggled, amusement catching him and causing him to twirl too fast and end up landing on the floor, face up. The ceiling spun. Ultra Magnus' disapproving face rattled above him at a forty-five degree angle.
"Come and get me, tall blue and gorgeous," Tracks gargled, barely coherent. His friend scowled in revulsion. "Not in the mood anymore, huh?" He felt strong arms scoop him up and carry him to a small recharge bed and leave him there. "Where are you going?"
"To recharge." Although he had been here a couple of times, Tracks had not recognized his own room. His roommate, Hot Rod, who was almost never there either, looked up from cuddling with Arcee, startled to see an Autobot he hadn't expected. Both nodded uneasily to the other and settled back down.
True to form, no noble Autobot worth his energon would take advantage of an incapacitated comrade, no matter how many times he'd been told it was okay. Ultra Magnus was gone, leaving Tracks alone and...horny. If only he could get up this itch could be scratched. What was Gears up to? No, forget that. It was Ultra Magnus or nothing.
He didn't know how, but sometime between their awkward reunion and now, as he lay alone on his recharge plate, Tracks had gotten accustomed to having the large mech around. As he heard Hot Rod and Arcee urgently whisper to each other, debating whether or not to leave, ignore him, or try to kick him out Tracks wondered if Ultra Magnus felt the same way. Was he pondering what to do with Tracks? He didn't really show it. Granted, he did favors for him but you'd do that for anyone who you wanted to glomp? Where they stood, and what would happen after his six-month term was up and he had to go back to Prime, Tracks didn't know. They were in some kind of limbo, making it difficult to give any kind of emotion without fearing the consequences...
He wasn't aware he was offline until there was a knock at the door signaling Blaster was ready to get the paintball party going.
Sideswipe. Powerglide. Warpath. Kup. Ultra Magnus. Blaster. Tracks. Trailbreaker. Prowl officiating. Heavy-hitting Autobots holstered their paintball guns to hear the rules before team leaders Blaster and Trailbreaker picked who they wanted. The black mech won the coin toss.
"Kup."
"Ultra Magnus." Tracks grinned. Blaster was using strategy. Good.
"Sideswipe."
"Tracks."
"Warpath."
"C'mon down, Powerglide." Blaster waved his arm as Prowl declared he would shoot a flare to signal the start of the game. The two teams scrambled up the mountain: Trailbreaker's team with neon yellow paint and Blaster's with neon green.
"Okay team," whispered their captain, "They may have brawn, but we got the touch."
"That movie SUCKED," reminded Powerglide, "And Brawn's on Moon 1."
The tape player whapped the glider upside the head, lightly but with purpose. "Man, this is why you're picked last. Shut the slag up and let me finish. T, Maggie, take the back of the ravine. P, climb a tree and wait for one of those turkeys to either come charging in or shooting me. I'll be the distraction." He eased his way farther up the mountain, closer to another end of the gulch Tracks and Ultra Magnus would be hiding in, and put his tape player on level four. Jay-Z rapped in a moderate-level echo, loud enough to be heard but soft enough to suggest Blaster was trying to get away with playing music while he fought.
They were stalking along the edges of a gorge together, paintball guns in hand. Actually, Ultra Magnus stalked. Tracks meandered after him, trying not to laugh out loud at the sight of a giant Autobot playing G.I. Joe as he crawled in the underbrush with his head low. For all of his attempts to suppress his amusement he was shh-ed.
"Why don't you tell me to shut up?" demanded the Corvette sulkily. "You sound ridiculous making that shushing noise."
Ultra Magnus lay on his stomach under a conglomeration of bushes that stood twenty feet tall. His paintball gun was propped upright on its tripod base in case any of the birds had acetone grenades.
"Why would I say that?" he asked, perplexed, face scanning the area in front of him. "We're not doing...you know."
"Doing what?" Tracks inquired, confused until he saw the crooked curl of Ultra Magnus' smile when he turned his head to glance at the Corvette. Something stirred inside of his spark, causing his knees to buckle. 'Primus! He can do that from fifty meters?' Tracks thought helplessly, struggling to keep upright. How could a mere smile turn him on like that? Tracks was annoyed at both his lack of self-control and the power one mech had over him.
Ultra Magnus said nothing, keeping his smirk until the sound of rap caught his attention. The carrier rolled away and crawled to the next clump of vegetation while Tracks had another revelation. "So you telling me to shut up is your idea of talking dirty? That's stupid!"
"Can we play the game and talk about this later?" the large mech hissed. "Besides, you aren't the only one with irritating habits. You started calling me Maggie again, even though I asked you nicely to stop." Ultra Magnus was sure Blaster had something to do with that.
"Right. You hate that." Mr. Soldier wanted a tough-guy name to go with his tough-guy glomping. Well, he could do his tough-guy paintball game without Tracks. The 'Vette sat down on the edge of the ravine and leaned against one of the giant trees, waiting to be noticed missing.
The stirring came up again as Ultra Magnus picked Tracks up and set him before the carrier face first, suggesting that Tracks go to the other side of the ravine and see what was going on. "I'll cover you," he promised, wrapping his fingers around his friend's face and looking into his optics enticingly.
Tracks' spark twisted, flooding his circuits with a warmth that was making him feel weak. "Why not?" he mumbled, waving his arms in a feeble attempt to get Ultra Magnus to stop doing that, or at least let him go. Ultra Magnus let go. "It's not like I have anything better to do." The warmth tripled, hard enough to knock him to the ground. He was on his back, scraping dirt with his fingers, trying to block the energy assault as someone lowered himself on top and kissed his forehead. Ultra Magnus knew how to dissipate a temper tantrum, that was for sure.
"We have time for a quick distraction," Tracks heard him say. It was hard to make out anything when large blue optics smothered his vision. It was hard to process anything discernable when his whole body was going into sensory overload.
"That's all you're good for," Tracks retorted, trying to gain the upper hand at something in this situation.
Something in his optics flickered dark for a moment, then blazed brightly as he moved in. "Shut up, Tracks."
It had been close to half an hour before the enemy gave away its position.
"WHAM! I hear BOOM! Blaster playing, Obi-won!"
"Chewbacca, shut it! Where's Yoda? Behind us?"
"I'm right here, kid. Are you sure they can't hear us?"
"If he didn't hear the Wookie, and I'm not getting a whistle from Han, then I guess not." The morons were all in the same place! This would be easier than Blaster thought. Powerglide aimed his rifle towards where Kup's voice had been heard.
"Look out!"
Thud thud thud thud thud. Blaster jumped over to witness Tracks being ruthlessly pelted by an overzealous Trailbreaker. Ultra Magnus was nowhere to be seen.
"Hey! Knock it off!" Blaster ran down the hill and got Trailbreaker and Warpath while Powerglide was hit by Sideswipe. Kup popped up from a bush and hit them both. Prowl came out of nowhere, supporting a limping Ultra Magnus.
"I fell down the mountain," he explained, gesturing to his bent leg. All was forgotten when he saw the figure below him. "Tracks! Are you OK?" The blue mech was coated with bright neon yellow paint. He slowly uncovered his face and groaned at the sight. Ultra Magnus pulled away from Prowl and scooped his friend up. "Ouch," he cooed sympathetically.
"Those things hurt!" exclaimed his passenger. "Now I'll have dents, and the paint NEVER comes off completely! I hate this game!"
"Ya want some cheese with your whine?" demanded Powerglide, unable to stomach this scene. He caught Ultra Magnus' glare and backed away uneasily, searching for reassurance in the other's optics and finding none. All scowled, for different reasons. Tracks was furious that Trailbreaker felt the need to coat him when one or two shots would suffice. Powerglide resented the way Tracks had, once again, made the situation all about him, even when Ultra Magnus was the one who had been hurt. Ultra Magnus was livid that Powerglide thought he was funny. Prowl, more than willing to break the uneasy silence, declared Trailbreaker's team victorious. He had received requests from other Autobots who had just come off of patrol; could they join them?
"Go ahead. We're heading back." There came that goofy grin as he cuddled his friend protectively. Tracks folded his wings in to get closer and leaned against Ultra Magnus' chest. "I'll give you a car wash."
"UGH!" came the response behind him. Blaster shook his head and began taunting Trailbreaker's team.
"Which one of you picked Chewbacca?"
Hot Rod and Springer crouched in the underbrush as Sideswipe crept by them. He KNEW the Lamborghini knew they were there, but he wouldn't let on that he knew he knew they knew. Sideswipe was famous at war games for having a keen scanner but a strange sense of amusement. The two leapt out to get him at the same moment Gears shot at them from behind the trees.
"Augh! Stop!"
Tracks yanked himself away from the hard buffing he was no longer inclined to endure as the chemical shower pelted him. Paint swirled off of his body, oozing down the drain with the faster chemicals keeping its momentum. Above the paint were two large blue feet, attached to an unapologetic Ultra Magnus.
"Stop!" Tracks demanded, holding his gray hands up to block the large white ones coming after him. "You're making it worse!"
"You are not going to get those scratches out with a light rubdown," the carrier growled, finding a way around the protesting palms. "Take what's coming to you or take your own shower."
"You have to be kidding me! You WIMPS!" Sideswipe looked down at the two angry paintball losers as Prowl ruled that Gears had fired first. They glared back, grumbling about the lack of fairness in this game. Sideswipe grinned in smug satisfaction as he dove for cover from Blaster's retaliatory firing.
"I love this game!" he crowed.
"So do I," replied Ultra Magnus as his hand glided around the Corvette's hood. "You look fantastic."
He had won over the resistance Tracks had put up and smoothed the scratches and dents from Trailbreaker's attack. His whole chassis gleamed like satin. Ultra Magnus' spark glowed possessively as his optics took in the beauty that was Tracks. Maybe now that Tracks was getting some affection the way HE liked it he would be easier to get along with. So far they'd done nothing all day but fight.
"Wow..." he whispered softly, energy field glowing. "You look good from EVERY angle."
No response.
"I know I tell you to stop talking a lot, but...you can respond to that." His fingers traced the Autobot symbol on Tracks' roof. Still no response. "Tracks?"
"Snore..."
He had fallen offline.
"OUCH!" Blaster had, FINALLY, surrendered to the pelting of paintballs from Team Trailbreaker. Prowl raised his arms and called them off, helping the red mech up.
"We need music and energon, stat!" Sideswipe called, leading the victory parade down the mountain to Autobot City, where a scowling Ultra Magnus stood outside the stronghold waiting with Optimus Prime.
"Prowl, we have an incoming message from Megatron. Follow Ultra Magnus." Their leader watched them go and turned to Kup.
"Are you noticing what occurs on this base?" Optimus demanded, referring to Ultra Magnus and his companion. The mech had a frown on his face and continued to limp from his still-unrepaired leg injury. He reeked of Cybertronian polish, a smell that repulsed anyone who knew why he bore that olfactory trademark. "Kup, come with me." They walked inside while behind them Blaster cranked Snoop Dogg and lured Autobots to dance. The old-timer followed Optimus Prime down the hall, reporting the strange behavior of his leader witnessed over these past few months.
"Has he neglected his duties?" Optimus Prime wanted to hear Kup's opinion but was having a tough time eliciting any editorials. Kup knew when to stick to the facts and when to tell a good story.
"No, he does his job. Don't get me wrong. He's just-" Kup didn't finish. The message from Megatron was playing in the next room, showing their old nemesis declaring that the ark was surrounded, and that Optimus Prime had twenty minutes to get back over there before the Decepticons began blasting. Perceptor rewound it again.
"He won't get far. Sky Spy and Cosmos have reported the locations of all of Megatron's gestalts, none of which are anywhere near us," reported Prowl. "OR the ark. He's bluffing."
"Leading to the more important question: what does he anticipate me to do in response to his threat?" Optimus glanced at a nodding Prowl.
"The most logical conclusion is that he plans a more serious course of action while you are in transit," Prowl explained, pointing to the most likely position where the Autobots would be vulnerable on Teletraan's map. "Excuse me, Perceptor. I suggest you radio Omega Supreme to be on call to protect the ark and assemble the Aerialbots for defense of the construction site."
"Radio Tracks, too," ordered Ultra Magnus. "His nap should be over by now."
"His nap." Optimus Prime stared incredulously at his friend, unable to transmit his disapproval strong enough to be felt. The mech had already gotten into enough trouble for neglecting his guard duty, and his orders had been either paintball or work, nothing else. (Paintball had been a magnanimous gesture as it stood in Prime's optics.) Someone had given him clearance to goof off, and Optimus Prime had a good idea who it was. The large mech ignored his glare, preferring to be in some other world instead of realizing they were at WAR, not some Cybertron Academy dorm romance or something...inspiration hit him at that exact moment. "Yes, we should wake him up. Ultra Magnus, get a convoy assembled. We have to convince Megatron that help is on the way."
"You are using them as bait?" Perceptor asked, finally thinking of something to say after hovering over them the whole time, adding nothing.
"Capable soldiers who can get out of any situation are not bait," Ultra Magnus snapped, pulling his blaster out of subspace. "We're a moving trap." He had no patience for the scientist, especially when he was dangerously close to the truth.
"Affirmative," Prime chimed in. "I am sending the best. Get the remaining paintball players for your volunteers. I'll go wake up Tracks." He left before they could argue.
"You are to depart immediately." Optimus Prime regretted coming over here to harass this mech. He had hoped to resurrect some fear into Tracks of a very real threat (Optimus) as well as some guilt in how inappropriate it was for him to be in a commanding officer's quarters (these were supposed to be PRIME's someday! Ew!), as well as being asleep on duty after narrowly missing a severe punishment; to no avail. Tracks answered his pointed hints with supercilious commentary, further incensing the Autobot leader. He was GLAD Tracks was going out there. Maybe a real beating would wake him up from the flippant attitude he had.
"Leave, or witness what I do to mechs who will not shut up."
"I see," countered Tracks, saluting with his gun out of habit but not out of respect. "When you explain it that way you sound just like Ultra Magnus, except without the tact."
This caused Optimus to finally lose his temper.
"You are forgetting your place, SOLDIER." He had only physically attacked Tracks once before, and was not afraid to do it again, but fortunately the smaller Autobot realized what was about to occur and backed down. "I gave an ORDER. Your response is, 'yes sir'!"
"Yes, sir!" Tracks responded. He was no fool.
"Go report to your team leader." Optimus Prime gave him a moment to leave and radioed back for Kup to accompany Ultra Magnus' team for observational purposes. Once he found the weak spot with those two that didn't involve him fighting his best friend head-on, he could finally split them up and get back the faithful soldier he needed for his army. Tracks had to go.
Down the California highway they soared, riding on Ultra Magnus: Hot Rod, Kup, Trailbreaker, Tracks, and Sideswipe. No one said anything worth repeating, merely making small talk as the miles rolled under them, most of them utilizing their transportation situation to catch up on any time offline they'd missed. All except Tracks, who was wide-awake, ready for action, apparently eager to see what he could get away with. Ultra Magnus felt a soft warm energy field caressing him from the top front spot on his trailer; cascading into the back of his cab and distracting him beyond all reasonable processing. Tracks had a rotten sense of timing. Where was this when they had a room all to themselves and a great deal of time to enjoy it?
There were two ways to react to this...and Ultra Magnus took the more responsible one. He commanded Tracks to get out of the rig and scout ahead. Once he departed the Autobots, who had woken up when their soothing ride had pulled over to let one of them out, began an earnest conversation.
"Ultra Magnus?" Hot Rod, never one for subtlety or sensitivity (although he was trying), discreetly called. When he heard a reply, he continued through with his thought, despite Kup telling him to wait for a better moment. "Did you bond with him?"
His mentor was taken aback. "No. He- he bonded with his brothers a long time ago." His friends talking about his relationship with Tracks was nothing new. The tone of concern in Hot Rod's voice over an imagined danger was, however, disconcerting. How many of them worried over this, and why? It's not like there weren't other things to ponder in Autobot City. Were Prime's not-so-subtle hints a true reflection of his team's opinions, and if so, what kind of trouble was Ultra Magnus getting into? "In fact, we haven't talked about doing that, and we probably won't."
"Oh."
"Why?" the carrier demanded. If he wanted an honest answer Ultra Magnus was not going to get it. Kup smoothly answered for all of them by proclaiming they had assumed, in the natural progression two mechs would undergo, that perhaps there would be an elaborate officer's ceremony, like in the days before the war. In case Ultra Magnus and Tracks were going to register at Bed, Bath & Beyond anytime soon, since Kup had to start a savings fund if they WERE.
The laughter eased the hostility and aborted the discussion quickly, relieving some of their minds but still galling their carrier. Curious suppositions fired up for a moment they could chatter without authoritative audioreceptors picking it up, but for now, they let the subject be, instead switching to planning the next paintball game. It had been an hour and no radio signals had come from either Optimus Prime OR Tracks, causing concern. Ultra Magnus was in the middle of paging his scout when shots rang out above them.
"Scatter!" yelled Kup as Ultra Magnus opened his carrier for his cargo to flee. Trailbreaker put up a forcefield to buy more time but the Seekers were quicker, getting in more than a few shots first. Sideswipe ran outside of the comfort zone and leapt onto Skywarp's back in time to miss him as he jumped space to re-emerge 100 feet above, guns shooting off. Hot Rod fired while the others ran for cover. Kup dashed towards a charging Blitzwing and Ultra Magnus transformed, aiming for the triple changer until his optics caught the sight of a bright blue Corvette's hood crumpled against the tree it had run into, one side deeply scarred from laser fire.
"Oh, no," he gasped, running for his friend while shots rang out around him. He radioed Optimus Prime as he hurried, firing his blaster at one of the Coneheads and winning. "Optimus Prime, come in! Status report: we are under fire!"
"Everyone is under fire!" replied Perceptor back at base. "The ark is under attack from Devastator, Bruticus and Menasor are tearing the construction site apart, and the Protectobots are missing!"
"Where's Prime?" he demanded, dodging Thrust's attempt to swoop down on him.
"He is fighting outside!"
"I'll radio back in a minute! Tracks! Tracks, say something!"
"Next time I'll walk," mumbled the car unenthusiastically.
The mech laughed in relief, automatically covering him with his own body to protect Tracks, except that there was no place to hide and they were getting pelted.
"Is he functioning correctly?" demanded Hot Rod from their hiding spot as he looked helplessly at Kup's wounds and Ultra Magnus' lousy position. "Those Decepticons are not going to stop attacking him while he talks to his boyfriend!"
Kup scowled. "Ultra Magnus is busy, kid. It's up to you. What are we going to do?" Hot Rod shrugged uncomfortably, making Kup want to smack him with his only working shoulder. What was the point of training some of their brightest pupils to be decent fighters when they refused to take any part in actual combat. "Do you want to try again?" It was like herding turbo-foxes! 'C'mon, kid! Process!' He hoped the point of this questioning would be learned faster, or Kup would have to abandon the lesson and save them himself. A teacher's work is never complete.
Hot Rod pressed a hand to his forehead, contemplative even as Trailbreaker announced he would try the forcefield as it was and they could rescue Ultra Magnus and Tracks and run for as long as it held out. Hot Rod's head jerked up.
"Not yet! I have an idea!" he jumped out and ran for the other two Autobots, calling for Sideswipe to get off of whatever jet he was wrestling and help him. The Lamborghini finished piledriving Blitzwing into the ground and sprinted over, firing at the overhead threat as Hot Rod gently touched Ultra Magnus' shoulder.
The large mech looked up, giant optics shaking in wrath. "He can't transform. We have to get out of here," he reported, voice low.
"Duh," came a silky voice by the tree. Hot Rod took over the situation before anyone could punch Tracks for his irritability.
"Ultra Magnus, transform. I'm loading Kup and Tracks on, they're wounded. Trailbreaker! Get over here!" He turned to Sideswipe, who had a blaster in each hand and was enjoying this firestorm far too much. "I need you to cover us. Ride on the top and just shoot until you run out of ammunition. Here," he handed his own blaster over. "I don't need this. When Ultra Magnus rolls out, Trailbreaker will ride with you and keep the forcefield up while you give a better cover. I'll ride ahead in case of any incoming Decepticons. Everybody got it?" Tracks and Kup were safe, Ultra Magnus heard authority and obeyed, and the remaining two felt useful. All he had to do was ride ahead and dodge any jets dumb enough to not realize he was drawing their fire away from the wounded. "Roll out!" he called, getting a strange thrill from saying it.
The large carrier pulled ahead, vaguely aware that somehow he had failed his convoy and was going to catch slag for it. The thought pressed farther into his consciousness as he saw Hot Rod swerving to avoid three Seekers, Trailbreaker's forcefield weakening from lack of energon, and Sideswipe running out of power in his blasters and forced to use his paintball gun. Tracks moaned, reminding Ultra Magnus of why he was in this situation. That Corvette was the reason they were in this predicament. Why did he have to come along and torment Ultra Magnus? Better still, after that behavior with Blaster, as well as the fights he'd been picking, and the problems everyone else seemed to find in them being together, why was Tracks still around someone he seemed not to want?
It was as though he were channeling Optimus Prime: if Tracks were not here, Ultra Magnus could function normally, not forsaking everything to be with this mech who would rather be anywhere else but with him. Ultra Magnus' friends thought he had some crossed wires to be in a relationship with someone who had burned him so badly in the past, and they were right. Tracks was gorgeous, but like all beautiful things, he did not serve much of a purpose or function. He was there to be looked at, admired. He did not provide Ultra Magnus with love when he wanted it, and they certainly did not help him process straight when he needed to. Look at how he had neglected his team to-AGAIN-save Tracks! Ultra Magnus didn't have that kind of luxury anymore.
He was also frazzled from packing down all of the worry concerning the balance of being a leader and how much time he had left before Prime took his auxiliary force away (a force Tracks was a part of). Before they left he was informed of the altercation in his chambers, and the conclusion that Optimus had made regarding Tracks' attitude. The inspection proved that he wasn't doing his job right, no matter how Prowl phrased it. He was tired of Prime's disappointed looks, Prowl's dismay, everyone else's contempt, and most of all...his own self doubt over whether or not the being he was fighting so hard to keep even liked him anymore. He wouldn't be having a panic attack in the middle of a battle and HOT ROD taking over, of all mechs! All of this because of Tracks.
"Maggie?" It was a soft, tentative call, but a catalyst nonetheless.
"Call me that again and I'll rip your wings off," he snarled. "This whole mess is your fault."
There was a long silence, where nothing was heard except the roar of engine and Sideswipe's colorful commentary regarding the Decepticons and their creator. Kup tried but couldn't find the words to soften the situation. Tracks weakly whispered "sorry, nevermind" and settled down quietly as they rolled back to Autobot City.
When they arrived the whole place was eerily quiet. No sign of life emerged from the ruins that used to be Tower Four, nor did anyone reply to their calls as the rain began to pelt at the exhausted forces still being chased by one obstinate Skywarp.
"Where is everyone?" demanded Hot Rod, ready to punch something, anything, in frustration. He was not going to go down like this.
"They're dead, fancy-boy!" heralded Skywarp gleefully, arcing in the air to return to his leader, wherever he was. "Decepticons forever!"
"Peace through tyranny!" scratched a voice under the rubble. It was Megatron, pulling himself out by his fingertips. Skywarp landed and hastily threw chunks of material out of the way to aid his leader.
"You're throwing them on me, you idiot!" Starscream howled as he stood and brushed the dust off of himself. One wing was badly torn. He made a face as he inspected it. Hot Rod forgot to hide his team and rushed over to ask what happened.
"It is inconsequential, foolish Autobot," sneered Megatron, ion cannon punching a hole into the young mech. Ultra Magnus, cargo already cast off, charged in. Megatron had had enough. The ark attack went bust, the Protectobots had freed themselves from the stronghold Megatron held them captive, and Prime was regrouping his troops for a final attack while this blasted transporter with a limp rushed him. Megtron aimed his arm and waited for a closer shot.
He never got it. Ultra Magnus saw what he was doing and skidded to a stop, crouching low as Skywarp pounced on his back. Trailbreaker came from out of left field with Sideswipe, fists pounding. Megatron shoved Starscream into the fray and leaned over to dig up Soundwave for a more useful advantage. When Ultra Magnus saw this he broke free of the scuffle and tackled Megatron, lacking the skill and experience of Optimus Prime but more than making up for it in determination.
The sound was almost unheard over the scuffle. Metal grinding, gears snapping, a mild groan, all leading to a pathetic transforming noise. Tracks was in a lot of pain. His legs were bent in strange ways thanks to his hood injury. His whole side felt tender from the laser blasts. What he wouldn't GIVE for a decent car wash right about now. One with lots of soap, and bubbles, and maybe Maggie would give him a little rubdown. Hehehe.
"Now I KNOW I'm in trouble," the Corvette muttered, holding his head as he stood up. "Who does he think he is? It's MY fault we got ambushed?" He would have to have a little talk with Mr. Diamond-Maker a little later. Right now, it appeared that the fighting had devolved into a barroom brawl. Sideswipe had Starscream in an interesting position on the ground, crying 'uncle,' while Skywarp was punching the slag out of Kup and shrugging off an already weakened Trailbreaker as though he were the rain bouncing off of his body. The worst was Megatron. He had thrashed Ultra Magnus and now had him by the throat, ion cannon heard wheezing over everything: the fighting, the rain, and Track's shrieking joints as he staggered over to save his friend. Again, no helpful facial expression to tell him to, but Tracks had a feeling this was one of those times the carrier needed assistance. Megatron callously dropped a very injured Ultra Magnus as casually he would Bumblebee, smirking at the mech before him on the ground at his feet.
Cutting a wide berth from the melee next to him, Tracks staggered over to the Decepticon leader. Creak creak crack snap! Walking was painful. His entire right side blazed in agony from that stupid Dirge. He couldn't fight Megatron on a good day, let alone now, but the cannon was pointed at Ultra Magnus' head and time was running out. The scuffle behind him, now Tracks could concentrate on something more important: how was he going to do this with only one working arm and a black beam gun with only one shot left? 'Stall him, Tracks,'
"Pardon me, Megatron, but I believe you promised me this dance."
Ultra Magnus' optics blazed in fury while Megatron's glittered in amusement. "What are you going to do, Autobot? Bleed energon on me?"
Tracks emitted a genuine laugh. "So you've been watching Monty Python in your spare time?"
There was a pause in the tussle as five heads snapped up to notice a much more intriguing drama before them. Megatron looked uncomfortable for a nanosecond before denying it.
"Yes you do!" squealed Starscream from under Sideswipe. "I've heard you say 'bet you're gay' to me more than once!"
"Shut up Starscream!" Skywarp bellowed, kicking his Air Commander in the leg sharply. This freed Kup to pounce, starting up the struggle for dominance again. When Megatron turned back to confront Tracks he saw a look exchanged between him and Ultra Magnus that seemed to be angrily confrontational. That didn't surprise him. Tracks was annoying. Ultra Magnus ordered Tracks to stand down.
"Enough of this! Die!" His cannon fired at Ultra Magnus' head and-missed? How did that happen? Wait a second, his cannon is gone! Where did it go?
"MissingthisMegatronyoudon'tneeditanywaysoI'lltakeitoffyourhandshahahahahahaha!" Blurr raced in front of him and took off before Megatron could react, running in circles and laughing. If that inane wind-up toy were here, that meant that-
"ATTACK!"
Ah yes. Optimus Prime had uncovered whatever it was that took both hands and Prowl's headlights to find and was here with reinforcements. Megatron called for a retreat, reaching his arm out to clothesline a taunting Blurr. While the mech tried to figure out what hit him Megatron picked up his cannon and aimed for Ultra Magnus but instead was shot in the face by a surprisingly quick Tracks. Skywarp and Soundwave picked him up and carried him out while Starscream declared himself in charge.
Ultra Magnus watched them leave as the rain began to let up around them. Megatron was surprisingly easy to get rid of this time. Next time they wouldn't be so lucky. He sighed to himself as he heard a gun clatter to the ground and Tracks collapse, groaning as he suffered.
"So it's all my fault?" the Corvette asked playfully as he rolled himself onto his back.
"The whole damn thing," Ultra Magnus grumbled, crawling close enough that the 45 degree angle he was at prevented him from looking into Tracks' optics properly.
"I made you swear," was the only reply Tracks could think of. His processor was getting cloudy. He was still in a lot of pain, Ultra Magnus was very close, and the afterglow of nearly getting KILLED still had Tracks' energy field higher than usual and damn...if those perfect blue optics weren't smothering him with an unacknowledged desire.
"You make me do a lot of out-of-character things,' the mech replied, moving closer. Tracks held his gray hands up to stop him.
"I want to know one thing," he demanded, vocaliser cracking under the strain of physical discomfort as he pushed against the larger mech's head.
"What?" Ultra Magnus did not like where this was going. Usually serious moments called for serious existential questioning. After a week of being at each others' throats and the snarling on the highway and their hurried whispered power-struggle conference while Megatron argued with Starscream, there was no telling what kind of grievances the Corvette had.
Tracks smiled sweetly. "Do I have janitor duty for disobeying you?"
Ultra Magnus buried his face into the yellow square on Tracks' chest. The red Autobot symbol seemed to be laughing, too. Nothing had changed: Tracks still wouldn't take Ultra Magnus seriously. He clenched his fists in frustration, even as they chuckled together.
"I will never get you, Tracks," he sighed, hands relaxing in defeat as he lifted his head to meet optics with his friend.
"You may never get me...but at least you have me," Tracks replied, pulling him down for his reward.
Optimus Prime had accidentally rested his glance on the sight of Ultra Magnus and Tracks kissing and involuntarily jerked his head away, slapping Prowl in the face in his haste to cover his optics.
"Sorry," he growled as Prowl rubbed the spot to check for dents.
Prowl glanced in the direction Prime had shied away from and smiled slightly to himself. Jazz had once told him that opposites attract, to which Prowl replied that opposites were opposites, not some magical formula guaranteeing success. Jazz gave him the glomping of his life right after that discussion, teasingly asking him if THAT had been a magic formula, knowing full well the strategist would have to find a logical explanation or freeze up.
"Pure magic," he admitted reluctantly. He said the same thing now.
Prime misheard him. "Poor Magnus indeed. I'll have a discussion with him before we leave."
Waking up in medbay after battle was second nature to Ultra Magnus. Coming online to see Wheeljack working on Tracks was not. "How is he?" Ultra Magnus asked.
"Finally getting repaired," the engineer chuckled. "He wouldn't let me TOUCH him until he was sure you would be all right."
Ultra Magnus smiled sadly at this kind of devotion unseen before in his existence. It made him anxious. Fire and ice, this mech was: from his feisty smothering during moments Ultra Magnus appeared vulnerable to the sudden disappearance when any return affection emerged from the mech. The whole mess was exasperating. "What am I going to do with him?" he asked softly.
Wheeljack looked up from hammering Tracks' chassis. His expressionless face framed glowing optics. "Spend as much time with him as possible," he replied forcefully, lights flaring as he spoke. "Make him as happy as he makes you, and quit trying to make it something it isn't."
Ultra Magnus stared, astonished. This was the first mech who hadn't made him feel guilty about who he was with, giving him an honest opinion, instead of beating around the bush.
"I hear what people say around here, Ultra Magnus. I see what you do to him." He started hammering again. "There are a lot of mechs around here who have an idea of what is a good relationship and what isn't. They're full of slag. NOBODY has a normal connection. Not Prime, not the Lamborghinis, not even ME. Don't let them tell you what to do." The hammering emphasized every other word. "Because when that 'bot is gone, you forget about 'normal' and remember the things that made you happy." Wham wham wham wham WHAM! "And there's nothing worse than having no pleasant memories." Wham wham WHAM! "Or only 'I should've done this' or 'why didn't I just let him do that' or 'what happened'? Just relax. Have fun. Go to another drive-in movie. Live for now, 'cause that's all you've got."
"You're speaking from experience." The force of the hammering gave it away. Wheeljack didn't pause as he nodded his reply. "So where is he?" Ultra Magnus would love to hear the other side's opinion.
"He's on Cybertron. He's promised he'll be on the first shuttle he can board and get over here." Wham wham wham! "Don't worry about it." He placed Tracks' leg down and walked over to run a diagnostic on Ultra Magnus before discharging him. "Or do you want to pull up a chair?"
"I can't. Prime wants to talk to me." He stood up slowly, looking at Tracks for a quiet moment before Wheeljack picked up the hammer again.
Optimus Prime had taken his battle mask off for some reason, showing his vulnerability to Ultra Magnus-if Ultra Magnus were willing to buy it. He had witnessed this tactic before; he'd been taught it. The method drew out the subject he addressed and force his audience to relate to him in a empathetic way they normally wouldn't if his battle mask were on. This disquieted him as well; alarming him to the idea that Optimus Prime felt desperate enough to try this attack.
The Autobot leader returned a smile of greeting, casually wiping his battle mask the way Chip cleaned his glasses. "Have a seat," he suggested. Although he preferred to stand, in case of an argument, the guest complied, waiting for Optimus Prime to get to the point.
The point was a long time coming, though. They discussed the missing pieces in the battle (Superion had accidentally knocked over Tower Four and crushed most of the Decepticons, causing Prime to order everyone out of the way so that they could do damage control and see who came out of the pile), what had to be done to fix the city, whether or not Megatron would be back soon, etc. They talked about old times before and during the war...and departed friends. The usual subjects. Tracks had claimed this was all ancient history; boring beyond belief, but Tracks never wanted to live in the past. There was too much going on now. Now, as Wheeljack pointed out, was all they had.
Optimus Prime and his old friend had drifted into a comfortable silence, the only sound being the thumps and whirrs of Tower Four being repaired across the city. He was looking off to his right, fingertips clicking together in a repeating rhythm as he considered his next move. Pinky, ring, middle, index, thumb. Click click click click click. Prime turned to his friend, his mouth twisted into an uncertain smile, as though he were about to say something that may cost him dearly.
"I am returning to the ark tomorrow with Prowl. Usually we are accompanied by a strong fighter in case of a Decepticon attack...for instance, Sideswipe.
"As Prowl has told you I have concerns regarding part of your security team. One mech seems to be more...iconoclastic...than the rest. He does not appear to take this mission seriously, causing Prowl and I to conclude that Sideswipe would make a more effective guard...tomorrow we are leaving with Tracks instead."
Ultra Magnus' jaw dropped. It was as though the entire room got darker after this pronouncement. He stood up, trying to control his temper and almost failing.
"Do I get a say in this?" he demanded.
Optimus Prime's lip was pressed thin. His chin jutted out and his arms folded aggressively as both tried to stare the other down.
"No."
Tracks and Blaster had a pretty good repartee going as Wheeljack tapped out the last of the dents in Tracks' body. They were back to 'your creator' jokes, with Blaster gaining an unfair advantage after telephoning Raul last night for inspiration.
"Your creator is so ugly...onions cry!" Blaster had used that one before. It still cracked up their audience.
"Your creator is so old when I told him to act his age he DIED!"
Wheeljack put down the hammer and guffawed.
"Your creator is so fat he has his own gravitational pull!"
"Your creator is so dumb he thought Teletraan's screen saver was an epic miniseries."
"Stop!" begged Wheeljack, shoulders shaking.
"Your creator is so fat he stepped on a rainbow and made Skittles."
"WHAT?" Tracks was laughing at the absurdity while Blaster doubled over at Tracks' expression as Wheeljack dropped the hammer and howled at both of them, falling to the floor. "Get out! I can't work with him in here, he's flooding my circuits!" The laughter did not die down for another five minutes, ceasing its hold only when Blaster could calmly sit upright.
"Okay T, I'll see you later." He was still giggling as he left. Wheeljack resumed his tinkering, asking Tracks to run an internal diagnosis while they smoothed the last of the dimples.
"The joint that separates my lower leg from my upper is still not responding," he reported after a few moments. "Perhaps the wires are not fully connected?"
"Let me take a look." Wheeljack may be known best for his inventions' lack of a life expectancy, but he was linked to one of the greatest medical minds in Autobot history. The wiring discrepancy was fixed and internal diagnostics revealed nothing wrong. At Wheeljack's insistence that nothing else was going on today to captivate his interest, the dent repair began again. Tracks had the other hammer and fixed his left leg to speed up the process.
Tink tink tink. Unlike the larger task of unflattening half of his chassis, dent repair required smaller tools. Once all of the problem areas were addressed Tracks would have to get ANOTHER paint job. Where to get the money for that. In New York, he often rented himself out to the FBI for sting operations but this was Oregon, and the governments were not as receptive to the idea of Transformer help.
"So why did you do it?"
"Hmm?" Wheeljack and he hadn't said anything in over half an hour. Tracks had become inured to silence, thanks to Ultra Magnus, making his usual conversations with others sparser with words than they used to. He and Wheeljack often blathered about the latest technological advances in human automobiles, but Tracks had been so lost in thought he had forgotten Wheeljack was in the room.
Wheeljack tapped the dent into a perfect plane and shifted his position to encounter the next one. "You were totaled and you forced yourself to transform, and then you crawled fifty meters and took on Megatron. Why?"
Tracks shrugged. "I'm stupid."
"You got that right," Wheeljack snorted, moving onto the next dent. "That's not how Ultra Magnus put it."
Tracks sat up straight. "What did he say?" Erotic attacks aside, Ultra Magnus did not talk directly to Tracks about his feelings, preferring for the mech to sift through a dozen inherent clues, or rely on outside forces.
There was no smile, but Wheeljack's lights came on for a moment, soft, like the exhale Blaster emits when he grins to himself. "After spending the last week avoiding him and being with Blaster, you threw yourself into certain death to rescue him. Why? Do you like to be with him or not? He has no idea what you're thinking, and it's scaring him."
"That makes two of us." Tracks settled back into the dent in his foot.
"He's not very expressive?" Tink tink tink. The dent in Tracks' shoulder was a little tougher than he'd expected.
"That's putting it mildly." Tracks recalled Wheeljack's partner. "You know what that's about."
"Yes and no. Ratchet expresses himself in two ways: angry and furious. I can't get him to say anything to me, and whatever he does say is a bitter complaint. If I want affection I have to practically ambush him for it, because it's so hard to overcome the wall he's made. Sound familiar?"
"Hey!" Tracks stopped what he was doing to stare at Wheeljack in disbelief. The denial of any wrongdoing was caught in his vocaliser, allowing the engineer to continue.
"Ah-em. Like I was saying: He was-is difficult. But that's his personality. I got over it. Once I figured out how to deal with him, the rest fell into place. Now he tells me how he feels in the best way he can, and I understand him. I just had to learn how to talk to him."
"Oh." Tracks' dents had been smoothed, for the most part. It was inevitable that Autobots did not have newly-manufactured bodies at all times; there was too much wear and tear in battle. Besides, Tracks needed a new paint job anyway.
"Just enjoy what you have. Quit trying so hard to outwit, outplay, outlast each other and tell him how you feel. Be the first, for once, instead of waiting for me to give advice like some stereotypical cameo in a bad movie."
Tracks smiled briefly as Wheeljack quietly snorted at his own joke. "So how do I tell him?"
Now the engineer laughed out loud. "You ARE stupid."
"It's not just me. Several Autobots are concerned with the way this base is being run." The row had begun, with Prime signaling battle by putting his mask back on.
"I don't see how. We just talked about how well we're progressing. Your report gave me glowing reviews. Why the change?" They continued to stare at the other, knowing full well why. "I had a weak moment. Once. You can't hold that over my head forever, Optimus. I've moved on." He put his hand over his optics at the sight of Prime shaking his head in doubt. "It doesn't look like it, does it?"
Optimus sighed. "I am sorry, Ultra Magnus. I promised you a long time ago that I would watch out for your safety. I tell this to all of my Autobots, but it especially applies to you: I need your help. If there is a threat to you and the crew here, I have to eradicate the threat."
His audience looked up, disbelieving. "You're going to kill him?"
"No! Tracks will be the leader of a small team for our base in New York City. The human crime fighting divisions use Autobots for help all of the time...he loves it there, and he will be safe from Megatron, and when the spacebridge is built on Cybertron we will reshuffle the Autobots and more than likely bring him with us...you can call him over Teletraan-1." The voice was authoritative but wheedling. "We need you here. He is interfering with your job."
Ultra Magnus had heard enough. Unless Tracks was going to break up with him tomorrow, the commander of Autobot City had to fight for his friend's right to be here. "He is not. What is transpiring here is that you don't trust me to do what I need to do and what I want to do, because you have successfully separated the two aspects of your life and (in your own words) eradicated one of them. I'm sorry, I don't operate that way. While I was on Cybertron, we had the two together and survived without major incident. Ask Elita-1, she'll tell you her faction was exactly the same. You CANNOT only live for the cause, and most Autobots don't want to. Their personal lives are all they have left of their individuality." Wheeljack and his lost mate sprang to mind. No, he would not mention that particular cruelty to Optimus, although he wanted to. "Perhaps when he has left, after the six month term you PROMISED me he would have, I'll become only a soldier. Until then, I believe we are finished here." Ultra Magnus paused as the door slid open into the hall. "Tomorrow you take Sideswipe back with you. My security team remains intact."
"Ultra Magnus!"
He was halfway to his chambers when Prime caught up to him.
"I am sorry," the Autobot leader said, placing a hand on his protege's arm. There was nothing else to say, and Ultra Magnus was sure he didn't mean it, but Prime was not going to leave the base on a sour note. The apology was basically Optimus Prime's way of saying that his friend had won that fight but many others would follow...and that Ultra Magnus would not be victorious.
"So am I, Optimus." He patted his arm back, knowing that he and Prime had been through too much to let one issue get in the way of their mutual regard, and maybe sooner or later Optimus would finally process that he couldn't have Ultra Magnus being his exact clone, no matter how hard he tried. "I appreciate your help. I do. But I can-"
"You can handle it on your own," Optimus supplied. Ultra Magnus nodded. After an awkward pause, Ultra Magnus acquiesced by assuring his old friend that this would all blow over after the six months and more than likely everything would go back to normal. "Affirmative," replied Prime, relieved that he was at least being met halfway. After agreeing to have energon tomorrow morning before Optimus left, Ultra Magnus returned to his chambers to think.
Clank.
It descended onto him like a flying squirrel onto a tree; the force was enough to knock him flat on his back. 'He used his flying engines,' Ultra Magnus guessed as a grinning red face peered down at him, blue and green optics sparkling.
"Don't you have a basement to inspect or something?" the carrier asked in a teasing tone, trying to hide a goofy grin. It warmed his spark to be wanted like this. He'd missed his friend's touch terribly.
Tracks didn't miss a beat, letting as much tender emotion into the words as possible. It was time to tell him how he felt, in the carrier's own words.
"Shut up, Ultra Magnus," he growled, shutting the door with one hand.