It is the year 2006. After the movie. Before the resurrection of Optimus Prime. The Autobots are returning to earth.
Rodimus Prime tried to remain stoic. It was difficult to do when after all of this time in space they were finally coming back to earth. Prime did not call it home, but the human Daniel did, and he was so excited he practically jumped out of the spaceship the moment they'd entered the atmosphere. Kup smiled at him, benevolently amused at the youth's exuberance, commenting on how he found it difficult to believe how quickly it had faded from his own life. Arcee and Springer didn't care. Blurr wanted to know why they had to bring the Dinobots. Ultra Magnus stared at the computer screen with a smile creeping up a corner of his mouth. His was the most enigmatic of the emotions. The earth trip, a gesture to the Autobots left down here to let them know their new Prime had not forgotten them, was his idea. The moment everything was authorized the giant mech had been poorly concealing a grin of delight. Rodimus had no idea why.
"Projected landing time is two earth hours," Sky Lynx reported in his silky voice. "Temperature is fifteen degrees Celsius with a wind coming out of the northeast-excuse me. We have a transmission from First Aid." The Protectobot's face fuzzed on the screen, fading in and out as he yelled the description of the Decepticon attack and how Metroplex would be transforming in five minutes. Ultra Magnus grabbed his blaster and called the rest of the troops to prepare themselves for battle.
That had been two days ago. Most of the troops accounted for had returned, but Galvatron's fighting retreat and Rodimus' foolish command to follow their enemy had scattered the wounded from Oregon to eternity. Superion returned with handfulls of scrap that used to be Autobots, including a flame-colored sliver that caused Ultra Magnus to cover his face for a moment to conceal his horror.
"That could be anybody's," Rodimus explained, trying his best at a role he'd never had to perform before. "You don't know it's his."
"No, I don't." Ultra Magnus replied, fiddling with his blaster. "I haven't seen him in almost five years. I probably couldn't pick him out of a crowd." Was Ultra Magnus being sarcastic? Rodimus wasn't sure until large blue optics darkened into a contemptuous navy. "It was him, Rodimus. I know every single piece of him like my own."
Ultra Magnus hated hope. It didn't save you from impending doom, it merely allowed you to see positive signs of light where there was none. He could suffocate his pain and fears but hope was far too buoyant. Rodimus Prime's shiny optimism kept it floating around in his processor as he wandered the pine forests primeval on the off-chance some human god might take pity on him and put him out of his misery.
FLASHBACK
"I used to see them lined up on the street with their hands held out," Tracks explained one night after we'd mixed our energy fields together in a fiery concoction I'd not seen in a long time. It was our first time going offline together in Oregon. I was replacing Grapple's exhausted team for the final stretch of Autobot City construction. Being a defense expert I was placed in charge of planning where the guns would go, and how the city would arm itself, as well as keeping Decepticon interference minimal. We'd traveled all day and all I wanted to do was recharge but someone claimed we needed to 'christen' the extra-large bunk that I was officially sleeping alone in. Now I was wide awake and commenting on the comfort of the room, and its contrast to the sparseness we'd grown accustomed to in our lives underground on Cybertron, as opposed to the luxury Tracks seemed to enjoy no matter where he was.
"Poverty and I are not strangers," he replied. "Although, yes, I was created in relatively well-off circumstances; not as prosperous as Mirage, but we weren't bad. That transformed, if you'll pardon the cliche. When the Decepticons began tearing up the cities around us the refugees came in droves. As my bondmate and I drove past them they'd swarm us. I used to see them lined up on the street with their hands held out, begging for anything. Sometimes Spokes would have a claustrophobic attack from all of the 'bots around us and I would have to find an escape." Tracks didn't finish the story. His stories almost never make sense. He's more of a conversationalist but I'm more of a story-teller so we stumble along with our moments together but somehow we get what the other is saying.
"I didn't know you had a bondmate." I was disappointed. It meant that bonding with me was out of the question. He probably could bond again, but that would defeat the purpose of the first one. Not that we ever would. I needed this mech around me but I don't think I could trust him with part of my spark. That was a risk I didn't want to take.
"He was my brother. I had two." Implied was the fact that these brothers no longer existed. I told him I was sorry and he said not to worry, it was a long time ago. I was at a loss as to what to say to make him feel better until he said one of them was named "Mags" and although the connotation was not the same it made him smile whenever he called me "Maggie," even though I HATE that name. He saw me hide my grimace and laughed, as though I were still his vulnerable toy. I didn't laugh back but was relieved that he was no longer dwelling on a thing that hurt him. Tracks and pain should never go together, yet they always did. I pulled him back onto me, since he likes to be hugged, and chuckled with him for a little while as I squeezed his perfect chassis the only way I knew how.
"You had someone before me," he stated, making it more of an assumption and less of a question. His optics have this way of making my spark flare as they glitter. If he only knew their power...
"It was nothing," I supply, resolving to volunteer nothing else and breaking eye contact by pushing him off of me.
"Did I hit a sore spot?" he asked teasingly, hands reaching for the usual places in my armor he knew were anything but sore. "Who was it?"
"No one!" I swat him off. "Let it go!"
"Ultra Magnus!" he gasped, histrionically shocked. "Did he hurt your feelings?"
I rolled away and folded my arms, angrily. "If you're not going to take it seriously, you don't deserve and answer." ANYTHING to get him to shut up and leave me alone. No such luck. Tracks climbed around me and wrapped his arms around my neck.
"He wasn't very nice, was he?"
"You should talk. You've got me in a headlock." Why won't he let this go?
He sighed, releasing his grip. "Forget it. I just wanted to know something about you that wasn't war-related." He retreated back to where he came from, making me regret taking that tone with him.
How does he do that? "We didn't last long. It was a mistake. He was too possessive, he had no sense of fun, he thought I was someone I wasn't, and he REALLY didn't like the fact that I was the one who ended it. He salvaged his pride by telling me the whole experience was boring. Now although we get along we don't have it like we used to. Nothing really happened."
Silence. I was sure I said to much...until I heard him snicker. "It was Perceptor, wasn't it?"
That cracked both of us up. "Yeah, it was Perceptor." It was better than telling him the truth. After a good laugh at the scientist's expense Tracks laid back and talked of other things until he drifted offline, leaving me alone in the dark with my thoughts as he smiled in his sleep.
"Not really," I addressed the slumbering figure beside me, "but the last thing you need is another reason to fight with my old mentor."
"Snore," he replied.
MATRIX FLASHBACK 1
The mantle of leadership had been passed to a complete puppet. That was the conventional wisdom, anyway. Most of the lower-level Autobots didn't see it as such. Nothing had really changed, except that Optimus Prime had been given up for dead by most of the upper-level officers who were surprisingly noble regarding whom they thought should rule. With cloak-and-dagger swiftness they elected the one Autobot who didn't want to do it, figuring he'd be the least corruptible; a humble, simple soldier. This worked too well. The problem was, he also did not want to follow the trappings that suited a Prime. He still slept in the barracks, refused to be called anything greater than 'sir,' and did not polish any part of his character to command reverence. At least he was obeyed. Still, this democratically-minded Autobot made them nervous. They wondered if he would force them to relinquish their own embellishments.
He was so plebeian one new recruit, Tracks, had been grossly insubordinate the first time they met, almost getting into trouble for preferring the best spot on the trailer. Once he'd found out who he insulted Tracks treated the leader with more courtesy. He had learned early in his life to prescribe higher-ups with a great deal of deference, but somehow...
This one acted strange around him. Ultra Magnus spoke with a softer voice, seeming almost SHY. This was a giant mech who would fight four Decepticons at a time, but stammered when Tracks informed him he awaited orders. This did not escape the inhabitants of their cramped environment. Officials worried about their own positions and tried to find ways to discourage Tracks from being around Ultra Magnus, to no avail.
What they had not relied upon was Tracks realizing the potential of this mutual attraction. Although he did not explain how he knew the strange preferences of their leader he was able to seduce the mech without much effort. The officers did not see the use in allowing a lowly car from the streets access to their pawn. Before they could eradicate him Shockwave discovered their base and decimated ninety percent of their force. Tracks discovered how he rated in Ultra Magnus' life when during the slaughter he found himself tucked into the carrier on a secret retreat and hauled to safety. When he asked why, the larger mech gave him his usual embarrassed grin. Tracks knew that he would never want as long as he had this leader on his side, and it felt good.
FLASHBACK
My first day on earth sucked. There's no nice way to put it. Raul often tells me in his own gangster language that our elegant Autobot lexicon is insufficient when the need to be angry emerges. He does not believe that you can be livid and well-spoken at the same time. He reminds me of my long-deceased brother Mags in so many ways, especially when he tries to give me an attitude.
I had no such reminder on the day when, under heavy encouragement, I jumped out of Sky Lynx to shoot at the Seekers chasing us while we tried to land after an arduous journey from Cybertron. The other Autobots can't fly, so it was up to a modified car to take down six jets. I was not successful. As a result I was the first Autobot in med bay, after those goofy Lamborghini brothers. A robot I'd never seen before in my life watched Perceptor clumsily replace half of my insides as our prestigious leader burst into the room.
"So this is Tracks," he said, disgust lining his words like a thin coating of scum on a pond. He did not like me, which is a bad sign when I was sent here because the goofy-grinning carrier who obsessed over me wanted me in a safer place.
"I'm glad to meet you," I replied in a fake cheerful voice, disliking him already. He eyed me contemptuously. Suddenly I knew this wasn't a simple personality clash. This guy HATED me. Fear encompassed my spark; I was supposed to be willing to die for this Autobot's cause, a Prime who had the power to send me to the front lines on a whim if he so desired.
"I would like to speak to him privately once he is stabilized," he told Perceptor.
"I merely have to rewire a few things and he'll be ready for fluid recovery," Perceptor began, the long diatribe forming in his processor cut off by Optimus Prime telling him to let Ratchet do that and to please excuse us. Confused, Perceptor gave me a supportive smile and ducked out. Ratchet placed his much gentler hands into me and painlessly finished the job. Perceptor is a scientist and an intellectual, but he's no medic. The white mech left without a word, leaving me optic to optic with a crouching tiger.
"I have been best friends with Ultra Magnus long before your creator soldered you together," he sneered, watching me struggle to sit up. "He...tells...me...everything."
"With the anguished embellishments of someone under a tremendous amount of pressure and only one creative outlet, I suppose," I quipped smugly, assuming jealousy the motivation. "Not that it's any of your business."
The tiger sprung. He seemed relieved that he had an excuse to put his large blue hands around my throat. "Autobots are my business. Ultra Magnus is my business. I was doing this as a favor to him but now my new business is making you as miserable as you made him for the rest of your existence under my thumb."
He wasn't kidding. Any distasteful assignment was mine. My quarters were the worst, my roommate was Gears, and since Prime could do no wrong in so many Autobot's optics I was a reject in even the most inclusive circles. I might have been welcomed in the troublemakers' clique if I didn't happen to look better than both of those red and yellow fools on their best days. There was nothing to do but fight Decepticons and obsess over my appearance. Missing the unconditional affection I once got from Ultra Magnus was a waste of energy.
I eventually made friends with the human inhabitants. Humans are wonderful in their irrationality and simplicity. Give them some food and entertainment and they love you. They were less condemning of my behaviors, since they didn't have twenty-four hour Autobot discussion over it. My human friends acted more like Ultra Magnus and less like Prime. It was a relief.
Gradually over time Optimus Prime found better ways to channel his resentment, and I proved myself enough times to feel the prejudice lessening in the ranks. I had no idea how much I missed Ultra Magnus and the position I had with him until the day I landed in his arms.
What I had never expected to encounter was the day I discovered that New York-my life, my city, my spark-was also my prison. I had gone out there to help when humanity turned against itself again, and ended up staying indefinitely after I applied to Optimus Prime for orders at the end of January in 2002.
"Stay there until I call you," he succinctly replied, blue eyes triumphant. They had a slight gray-ish tint that only comes out when he's found something inherently amusing.
Raul scratched his head, unimpressed by Autobot games and shampoo. "I guess you can help me out here," he said, smiling.
While I was away in Oregon my human friend had experienced an epiphany: he hated being a counselor. He abandoned his practice, took over Sparkplug's garage, and opened it up to Big Brothers, Big Sisters. Instead of working on clinical disorders Raul talked to troubled kids while they tinkered with transmissions and power steering. People were less than thrilled to have their cars repaired by children, causing his business to wither until I showed up. Thanks to my celebrity he kept a profit, which explained his enthusiasm for my staying.
What he doesn't see is how Optimus Prime is more than thrilled that I proved him right by breaking Ultra Magnus' spark AGAIN. He's punishing me by keeping me here, isolated.
I should have been delighted. I was in my favorite city with my best human friend and almost no responsibilities. Autobot ridicule, something I'd endured every day of my life, was a thing of the past. I can do what I want and almost never have to worry about Megatron. It was everything I'd ever wanted...for about a week, until it hit me that I may never see Maggie again.
That day I stopped watching the sun rise from my favorite spot in New Jersey. Raul couldn't find me for weeks on end, something that irritated Prime on his weekly check-ups. When they would find me, I explained that I was 'uptown.'
It was the truth. I rented myself out to rich brats to help Raul, since he was still strapped for cash. Loneliness pervaded the nights when going offline was difficult, and the communicator to Teletraan-1 never worked. Occasionally I was put on 'assignment' somewhere to discover upon my return that Ultra Magnus had been by on a vacation that matched the days of my 'assignment' to the minute. No one would admit guilt and Ultra Magnus would never confront Optimus over that kind of petty thing. I couldn't go to him even if I wanted to; I was forbidden to leave the area. Besides, Ultra Magnus wouldn't hide that kind of thing from his leader. The phone didn't work half of the time, keeping us in the dark until I heard from Chip that Prime was dead and the others had gone back to our home planet. Raul saw my face and told me it was okay, Optimus Prime was in Heaven now. Humans.
Optimus Prime's body came into Raul's garage, along with the others, in preparation to be sent to Cybertron for the launching of a funeral barge. I passed the empty hulks of Ratchet, Prowl, Wheeljack, and Windcharger with pangs in my spark. All of these lives had been lived by mechs who had known the risk and yet continued to put themselves in the line of fire. Now, the peril had caught up to them, something that would inevitably happen to all of us sooner or later. Amazing. Someday someone would be looking over my corpse and think these same detached thoughts. I stopped my inspection when I came upon my Prime.
He was a disgusting shade of gray. Blaster marks were all over his body, and his mask came half off when I moved his head for better inspection. His mouth, soft and a different color having been unexposed to light, sagged open in pain. It made him look old. I had heard how he died.
"Selfless to the bitter end," I murmured to no one in particular. "You thought of everyone but yourself. Too bad. You also thought everyone was like yourself. I knew about you and him, Prime. I also know how you brushed him off, how you left him alone to run the Autobots on Cybertron. He didn't want to. You didn't care, you talked the others into making him do it. You thought he had to lead like you, act like you...and never know love like you." He had never counted on me. I ruined his plans to make Ultra Magnus into the newest Prime clone. Primus knows he TRIED, at the expense of more than one of us.
Many of the Autobots I saw today, dead, I haven't talked to in years. I had expected Maggie to be one of them. In a way, I kind of wished he had. At least I would know where he is, instead of waiting for word from the next Prime, some stupid kid who didn't want the position any more than the reasonable choice did.
Another excuse I had in wanting to see him was that I didn't want to be waiting for the end of time in this city while he lays on a distant planet dying. Instead I was looking into the empty optics of the one being I hated almost as much as Megatron, but was revered by the one I love most. Instead of loathing all I felt was sadness. If only things had been different.
"I once said I would relish the day you had to go, Prime," I growled. "But I was angry. I'm sorry." I put the mask back and lay my head onto his shattered chest, thinking about the spark that once cared too much for every Autobot under his command. I thought about how his last moments were with Ultra Magnus, who must have been hiding his pain to keep a brave front going. Ultra Magnus never stopped trying to be good enough for Optimus' high expectations. He obeyed his commander and lived righteously, putting other Autobots first at his own sacrifice, as he had done since the beginning of time. Just like Prime.
I lay there for a long time, honoring the brave soldier who would be canonized while the bravest soldier ever lived on, trying to stay courageous in war when all he wanted to do was press a rag to a Corvette's hood and let the simple movement take him away from the ugly around him.
PRESENT
"Ultra Magnus?"
The dark had settled onto him so gradually he barely noticed the lack of sun until his commlink requested his presence at the base. It was Perceptor, trying to summon him back in for attendance. More Autobots had returned from the scattered battle, some with reports of injured Autobots' locations. Small groups of Autobots went out but Rodimus kept Ultra Magnus there for fear he would find something he didn't want to see. Blurr had already reported seeing chunks of blue armor lying on the earth.
Rodimus Prime distrusted Tracks, although he knew the source. Optimus Prime's loathing had survived his death and had somehow leached out of the Matrix to color the young leader's perspective. Like a lot of the Matrix's opinions, Rodimus ignored it. One night, while having visions, the prior Prime told him a story.
MATRIX FLASHBACK 2
A dark shadow fell over the planet earth the day Megatron elected to distill its energy for his own evil intent. My army of Autobots did not have the capacity to oust him alone, until a fortunate turn of events allowed the remaining Autobot army to intercede. Furnishing a fortress to provide stalwart defenses was imperative. My first priority was to commission Ultra Magnus to formulate our defense strategy. His list of soldiers was inappropriate; woefully inadequate. Upon further questioning I discovered that his rationale was as lamentable as his list.
Rodimus had enough of this ornate language. 'If you're going to talk to me, use a dialect I can understand.'
Fine.
We were discussing who to send up to Oregon in yet another meeting. One I called, since I can't make anyone get anything done without assembling a meeting where they receive a dose of public humiliation if they can't answer my questions the right way. Remember that the next time Springer ignores your request for an update.
Ultra Magnus' list was atrocious. He had no line of defense worth calling effective. The Aerialbots? Tracks?
I knew why he wanted Tracks to be there. After all of the agony that condescending car had put him through he was willing to forgive and promote. To take him along not as a soldier or a worker but as a distraction, something no decent leader would consider orthodox. I lowered the datapad to better glare at him. I was thoroughly disgusted.
Ultra Magnus could ignore a Guardian in the room if it suited his purpose. After a few moments of my scowl he asked me if there were a problem.
"Would you care to tell me why HE is on your list?" I demanded, furiously jabbing the name on the list.
"Silverbolt is the leader of the Aerialbots," he replied softly. "They can't form Superion without him."
From the other end of the table I heard Elita-1 swallow a snicker. Indeed, my finger pointed to the wrong individual. I allowed a laugh to break the tension but voiced my concern anyway.
"I do not think you should allow him to accompany you. It may have been fifteen years but old habits die hard." He had told me once that each night for a week straight after Tracks' departure he found himself sitting in the empty room Tracks and Powerglide shared, trying to talk himself into believing his friend was gone.
"It's different now," he explained, optics defiant. "We've both changed. I'm stronger, and thanks to you, Tracks is a lot more viable."
It was true. When Tracks arrived here he was nothing but dead weight. Now he fought for the cause as well as any Autobot. I still hated him for the powerlessness he'd forced me to feel after I saw Ultra Magnus nearly broken down emotionally from years of abuse.
Spoke another Matrix Voice: That was not abuse.
Yet another: If that's what he told the Prime, then that is what it was.
Still another: I do not approve of this idea of Prime's having mates. It distracts from their destiny.
And yet another: We're not discussing a Prime, merely Ultra Magnus!
Rodimus: ONE AT A TIME!
Optimus: As I was saying...
"I don't approve of his presence. It seems more like the same situation, but a different setting. Look at what he's doing to you already. You would have never recommend extraneous soldiers in the name of having a consort."
I regretted saying it. Elita-1's face fell while Ultra Magnus' emitted umbrage.
"Superion cannot be our sole defense," he reminded me, body language suggesting I'd just closed a door to our friendship for a long time. "At least one backup Autobot is imperative."
Defense was classified as "alternate," meaning the minute the city's own defenses were up Tracks was back here, where I could monitor him. I agreed to this compromise, uneasy about any amount of time where Ultra Magnus could be manipulated without help, but he seemed to want this. The players were the same and the setting was different, but to me it was the same game they'd played since the beginning.
Rodimus Prime cautiously regarded the reticent Ultra Magnus, disbelieving anyone could have this effect on him. When Hot Rod had tried to form a rapport like that with the large mech his mentor had been cold and unresponsive. What had Tracks done that was so special?
I believe I can answer that, came another voice. Rodimus groaned.
Forget it.
I'm sorry. Go ahead.
I noticed it during a few skirmishes: whenever one would plunge into battle the other would follow a short distance behind, like a shadow. The followed would realize what was going on and sharply reprimand the follower. When he discovered his shadow had disappeared, he would go and find him, thus becoming the follower, repeating the cycle.
So?
Young brat. Tracks is special because he actually CARED about him.
Optimus Prime: He had a convoluted method of representation.
You are merely upset that you never got to tell Grimlock how you felt about him. Ultra Magnus told Tracks every day.
Rodimus Prime tuned them out at this moment, knowing full well that the Matrix may be a pantheon of knowledge but it was first and foremost the forum for a congregation of dead old robots. A group of nuts, he decided.
FLASHBACK
At long last! Ross Parker pressed the "unlock" button on his new Corvette's keychain (last year's model, but new to him) to hear the alarm squeak off. The divorce had been hell on his credit, the child support ten unrelenting years of bleeding, but now, NOW as he zipped out of the dealership at six PM on a warmer than usual March Friday, CD player blasting, he had the car of his dreams! 2001 convertible, dark blue, and although Christy Brinkley was not riding shotgun, he was still living his dream. The mountains called as Springsteen complained about changing his clothes his hair and his face. Ross switched it to Van Halen and howled along with "Panama." The roads were as smooth as ice from the recent rainstorm as his new convertible climbed the mountains to better overlook the city, something he'd always wanted to do in a Corvette. His BMW was just not perfect enough. It had to be a 'Vette, in the early evening, while playing heavy rock from his youth. Minus Rachel, his college sweetheart/ex-wife. That was how he'd pretty much pictured it.
He must have taken that turn on the northwest corner too fast. His rear end skidded into the guardrail, causing him to spin out, flying off of the mountain itself. Ross braced for impact and felt himself sorely jounced when he landed seven feet below the road...which was strange since the ground was another rocky fifty feet below him.
"Might as well jump!" hollered David Lee Roth. Ross had enough presence of mind to turn the key to stop the wheels from rolling, although that was hard to do when a giant alien robot was staring at him.
"Your shocks are ruined," it explained apologetically. Its glass eyes did not move, but reflected the sunlight enough to temporarily blind Ross through his sunglasses. It woke him up from his frozen state.
"You saved me!" he cried, relieved through his terror. The large robot gently placed him back up on the road and eased back slightly, face tilted at a slight angle.
"Nice car," he sighed.
Ross snorted, defense mechanisms kicking in to keep his peripheral nervous system from panicking. "What's left of it."
The large robot's blank optics roved around it, a small smile curving his features as he politely asked about the engine.
"Three-fifty HP," Ross bragged, getting out to investigate the undercarriage. The shocks were gone, the struts were ruined, the headlights had broken inside the hood, and the front wheel rims were dented. The entire right side was scraped up, gray marring the dark blue paint job. "Do you have a 'Vette?"
"An Eighty-six Stingray. Two thirty HP L98, with fuel-injection."
"Gnarly!" Ross couldn't move it anywhere, and his cell phone wasn't working up here. What was the point in these stupid things? "Do you still have it?"
Here the smile faded. "I had to let him go back to New York."
This made no sense. "You mean you had to sell it." He tried a more open area of the road and still had no signal. "That sucks. I didn't know you guys actually owned cars. I knew you WERE cars, but, hey? Why not?"
"I never owned him." The robot noticed the human's condition and offered to take them both back to the dealer and explain the situation.
"HIM? Oh, right! It was a-another robot? A guy robot?" The sexual orientation of his rescuer was not really his business but how to avoid thinking about it...Ross' brother had come out of the closet a few years ago, disowning all of them for not reacting in a "more supportive" way. They had been raised by liberals, but some life-changing revelations need acclimation, especially on Christmas. 'There are too many things in this world to adjust to,' Ross thought as he pulled his jacket out of the trunk. 'Add gay giant alien robots to my list of Things Never Imagined In My Lifetime.'
The robot had a hook and pulley system to pull Ross' Corvette onto its carrier.
"I'm sorry, you don't have a personal pronoun for androgynous beings. I can't call him 'it.' That makes him sound like an object."
As far as Ross was concerned, they WERE objects, but who was he to argue? This guy could smash him under his foot like dog crap. "So what happened?" Ross climbed into the driver's side instinctively, although he had no control over the wheel itself and the whole scenario creeped him out.
No reply. Ross silently allowed the transporter take him into town before he thought of a less personal topic. "It was a good thing you were there; if you hadn't been, pow!" He stretched his arms out and made an exploding noise. Rachel, his ex-wife, was right: he would never outgrow the age of seven.
"I'm there every night. I like to watch the sun set over Autobot City. It reminds me of something." It was a simple explanation, but the voice vibrated with longing.
That was right! Ross inwardly cringed, recalling the petition he signed objecting to their building so close to their city. Fear and distrust still reigned over the inhabitants of this fairly exclusive suburb, especially regarding beings who were under fire almost daily. Christ, the town hall was incinerated by the last attack! And now he was RIDING in one of them.
"Next left, I can take it from there." He couldn't get away from the thing fast enough, leaping out of the cab and quickly running in before the dealership repair shop closed. While he was explaining an edited version of the story the robot unloaded his Corvette and remained in its parked state, headlights glazing the body of the car as the sky finished clouding over what remained of the sunset. Ross really wanted this thing gone before someone he knew saw him talking to it. They still weren't liked, and, well, Ross had just moved in to a higher-income neighborhood. He wanted to make a good impression with the new neighbors, and he could assume an association with robots from outer space would not help.
"If you hurry, you can go back up the mountain and see your reminder," Ross called as the mechanics meandered over with the tow truck to take it inside.
"I saw it. Thanks."
"Thank you!" he called back, meaning it but at the same time not. The truck pulled away before anyone saw the inside of the cab.
"That's not our carrier. Who was that?" asked the dealer, leaving for the night after filing all of his paperwork and now satisfying other curiosities.
Ross didn't know. He hadn't asked its name. "Another Corvette lover," he airily explained. "Now, is this stuff under warrenty?"
FLASHBACK
Tracks dragged him out with the urgency of Red Alert when Laserbeak came to visit. Ultra Magnus allowed himself to be lead up the mountain the way Inferno would shoot at Laserbeak just to shut Red Alert up. He was tired. According to Tracks, every night he was tired, so they may as well get used to it. It didn't help when construction slowed to a grinding halt when they were under attack as Autobot City emerged from the Northwestern jungle as sluggishly as the mech climbing the mountain beside the smaller Corvette.
Ultra Magnus was not merely depleted of energy. He was running out of patience. In two months he had accomplished less than his predecessor Grapple had in two WEEKS. Nothing went right, not the building itself, not the cohesiveness of the crew he selected, not the prevention of Decepticon interference, and especially not the meddling of this planet's inhabitants, who for some reason thought Autobot City should be wheelchair accessible. They were cars for Primus' sake! OF COURSE it was wheelchair accessible.
The only bright spot in Ultra Magnus' entire day was planning for the next opportunity to attack Tracks anywhere he could find him and have his way with the smaller mech. At first the look of surprise on his face was enough; later it was seeing him peeking around the wrong corners out of paranoia. The best amusement was the day the tables turned. Ultra Magnus was leaving ANOTHER conference with Optimus Prime (who was relentlessly demanding the impossible) and got attacked from the air, tackled onto his back and ravished until he had begged for mercy. Ultra Magnus had a goofy grin on his face for days.
"Can we slow down? This is hurting my joints."
"What are you, Gears? When did you become so lethargic?" Tracks, who only had to exert himself in battle, darted ahead, up the mountain to look back where they came. Finally, they were at the top of the hill and a verbal comeback had been thought of.
'Run a city some time, see how full of pep you are.' Ultra Magnus snapped back, but in his head. He almost never growled at Tracks. Instead he responded with a shrug. They made this climb every day, for different reasons: Ultra Magnus to escape from all of the demands in the city, Tracks for a reason altogether different, yet similar.
They rested on a gray rock that resembled a table while the sun set in front of them, its orange rays glazing Autobot City as the dark followed close behind, triggering the site's nighttime lights to blaze in compensation. Tracks' blue-green optics glowed in the shadows as he beheld the awe-inspiring demonstration of beauty.
Ultra Magnus had heard the tale many times before, the meandering anecdote of how at the end of every patrol he would stop in New Jersey and watch the sun rise over New York and feel the same beloved possession he had felt over his ancient Cybertronian metropolis. Autobot City at sunset was a poor imitation, but it had to do. He had loved his home, and loved The City, and the joyful expression on his visage made Ultra Magnus forget all of his fatigue. Tracks never looked more radiant when he talked about New York.
"Look at it, Maggie," he sighed, using that despicable nickname again. "Isn't it amazing?"
Ultra Magnus had to quickly suppress the urge to again snap at him. He managed a "Yes" and left it at that. This was not good enough for Tracks. He glanced over his shoulder to see a beleaguered Autobot leader not watching the scene in front of him, staring instead at Tracks as blankly as the trees that surrounded them. It made him hide a knowing smile. There were very few ways to crack Ultra Magnus out of a foul mood, and Tracks could do it every time.
"You haven't told me how dead sexy I am today," he said, using a human movie character imitation that would have shocked even the jaded Optimus Prime. The stress melted out of the larger mech and he laughed.
"You are the hottest thing on four wheels," Ultra Magnus rumbled with a small smirk, inching closer to the Corvette. "Traffic lights change just to make you stop long enough for them to check you out." He placed his hands on the white helmet and caressed the red face he adored enough to forsake a million insignificant but pressing responsibilities just to see its smile. "You have the most beautiful optics. They see a way to get to me that no one else can."
"I will always find a way to get to you," Tracks responded sweetly, tilting his face up for a kiss. "Even when I'm dead."
PRESENT
Rodimus Prime had everyone fall in for attendance outside. It was easier to keep track of approaching Autobots straggling in that way, and sunshine at this time of year was a rarity enough to merit its exploitation. As he watched Perceptor punching names into a datapad Blaster radioed him for an update: three flying mechs were drawing near, estimated time of arrival twenty minutes from now. They had identified themselves as two Aerialbots...and Tracks. Rodimus transformed mid-run to tell Ultra Magnus.
He found him on the side of the mountain next to a grove of pine trees. There was a primitive flat gray rock serving as a table, where an old ratty stuffed bear, a can of polish, and the scraps Superion brought back were neatly arranged in a circle. Ultra Magnus was kneeled before it, arms bent and elbows parallel to the ground. One fist enclosed the other and his head bent forward slightly.
"You need to work on your stealth," he lectured Rodimus, head position unchanged. "I could hear you coming a mile away."
"What are you doing?" Rodimus asked, although it was obvious.
Ultra Magnus lowered his head further as a chipmunk ran across a corner of the rock table. He stood up slowly, the rodent racing away in a panic. "Honoring a fallen soldier."
"You shouldn't be doing that." It was tragic to see someone he'd revered for so long-his mentor, a figure who had been strong in every situation Rodimus had ever witnessed him in-mourning for a relationship even the erudite Optimus Prime had labeled "toxic."
"There are a lot of things I should not do. I'm sure the Matrix leads you down the correct path but I lacked that particular method of guidance. When there was no one else to decide the fate of the Autobots I had to make a guess. More than once I had to live with a mistake." The birds sang some tuneless noise before scattering as the large mech turned to face his Prime. "Several times over the course of time I saw him as a liability, and I thought I couldn't be a good leader with such a weakness, so I sent him away." His larger-than-usual pure blue optics, the only glass Rodimus had seen without a secondary color or some kind of blemish on their surface, wavered in the light that passed through the clouds overhead. "That was a mistake. He was not. I wish I could fix it-"
"You can," interrupted Rodimus, relieved he could give this news before anything compromising was said. "He's flying in now."
Ultra Magnus' leg joints buckled and he staggered forwards, hand reaching out to Rodimus Prime for balance. Catching himself against the mech, the large carrier stood up straight and ran down the mountain, letting the momentum of the incline accelerate him until he was in front of Autobot City and nearly running over a cringing Perceptor.
Fireflight came in on a wing and a prayer; literally. He had more holes than solid armor and could not talk because Scourge had ripped out his vocalizer. When Slingshot sputtered in after him he told a solenoid-rattling tale of amazing odds and spilled mech fluid. Tracks had repaired what he could on them but was not proficient enough to save them until the miracle that was the United States Air Force came in to accomplish rudimentary reconstruction. (By the way, they want to meet Rodimus.)
Ultra Magnus stared at the clouding-over sky as the traditional Oregon rainstorms flitted water on him in a bizarre pattern like a random number generator. The fall increased but the mech did not waver. Two hours later the rainstorm had cleared but there was no sign of Tracks. The vigil did not cease, causing an embarrassed Rodimus to attempt a salvage of his mentor's image by calling for a search team.
"No need," Perceptor called. "Look!"
He tumbled out of the sky, transforming in midair to land arms out on top of Ultra Magnus in a tackle one of the Green Bay Packers would be proud of. Tracks' optics glittered in pure joy as he hugged the red and blue chestplate he had not touched in half a decade.
Ultra Magnus lay on his back, face blank in shock. Slowly, still incredulous, large white hands felt the battered wings, the shorting circuits where armor had been blasted off, working his way to the slashed red face where greenish-blue glass glittered ecstatically. Slowly, slowly a smile crept onto his face. It expanded into the goofiest grin Rodimus Prime had ever seen, culminating into a laugh of delight that met the amused chortle of his long-lost companion.
Identification complete, the blue and white arms hugged back.