Hi, guys. So, I know y'all haven't been waiting for this, but I've been writing it for years. And rewriting it. And rewriting. According to my records, I've written this prologue 34 times. The first chapter, 57 times. I'm not even exaggerating either, most unfortunately. I'm working really hard to make this perfect because I really don't want it to turn into a MarySue just because this character, because Tex is very important to me. You can call this a self-insert if you want. I don't truly care. I just know I had fun writing it, and I've got some serious drama planned.

Because let's be honest, being sent into the world of Transformers would be fucking terrifying. Don't believe me? Read the comics. I love my Transformers, but Cybertronians are an old species very adept at causing pain. Creative, almost.

If you haven't read Bring Me Peace, I recommend you read that one first. It gets a little cringy in the later chapters, but it's the foundation for this fic. Also, Personal: Optimus will give you insight into where Tex has just come from, the first chapter, that is. The second chapter started as an excerpt that I didn't know hwat to do with, but it also gives some insight that will make things a little less confusing in later chapters when another character comes in. One that icanhascamaro and WeLonelyOldSouls should know and expect as they commented on the fic he's featured in. ;)

Prologue

It was a Facebook post that spawned the idea.

Texan Tattoo

Graduation Special

$30 tattoos all day

Open from noon-9pm

Customization allowed within size range

I was honestly ridiculously overly excited about this. I had wanted a tattoo for running on about a year, but I had reserves. I mean, most tattoos were expensive, especially if you were picky with your artists like I knew I would be, and why buy a new tattoo when I could be saving up for a new Personal? $30 for a customized tattoo, though? That was a serious steal, especially when one considered the artists in question.

Texan Tattoo was famous in our little corner of Fort Worth, and nearly every person I knew had at least one tattoo from the talented artists that made their living there. The very idea that I could be joining that statistic sent shivers down my spine. It appeared at the perfect time, too…

I can't tell you what caused the spiral the weekend before. God, everything seems so little, so insignificant now. Was I paranoid about my friends? Was I upset about my job? So pointless. I just remember how much I was wallowing.

"You were not." The voice pulled her from her intense staring contest with the computer screen. She gave a long-suffering sigh as she turned her attention to the fourteen-inch-tall blue and red mech to her left. His plating glowed softly in the dark room, lit externally by the computer screen. Blue optics peered at the screen pensively, narrowed as he reread the words she had typed out. Judging.

"Yes, I was," she negated evenly, sending the mech a mildly incredulous look. "I sat in my apartment for two whole days cryin' and eatin' skittles, completely convinced for no logical reason that my friends and family hated me. I had a full-blown meltdown!"

"You had a depressive episode, Lieutenant, and you recovered admirably," he claimed, meeting the woman's unconvinced gaze with his own wise optics.

"Optimus, you about had a meltdown," she reminded him flatly, easily recalling his frantic voice as he asked what was wrong, why she was crying. She had only had three or four attacks that severe since he came into her life, and she was normally fairly efficient at containing those attacks to her shower-time: bawl in the shower for thirty minutes, recover, and then face her little companion. However, two days of paranoid, depressed crying had nearly pushed the small robot into a panic attack of his own.

"I admit that I was incredibly concerned—"

"You threw a skittle at me," she ground out. The robot grimaced beneath his facemask, his optics crinkling uncomfortably at the reminder.

"The internet suggested that a firm slap might calm you, and I was unable to reach your face," he defended, though his voice spoke of resounding guilt. Perhaps "Reddit" had not been the most reliable site to check, but he had been running out of options, and the skittle had worked. Yes, his lieutenant had cried the rest of the day, but she had been able to speak with him of her concerns after that point, as illogical as they had been. It had ended with a conversation that had been quite cathartic for her and empowering for him. So often, he felt unable to assist his soldiers, yet Tex… Elizabeth… she needed him on an emotional level that warmed his core. He felt a level of pride over the fact that even on days like that one, when she felt that everyone had abandoned her, she still held confidence in the small mech to guide her with his experience-driven wisdom.

"I learn'd a lot that day," she mumbled after a period of silence, hazel eyes moving across the typed headline from Texan Tattoo. "I had some 'mazing friends."

Had.

"Are you certain writing all this down will help, Tex?" The deep voice held nothing but concern. He himself had a fair amount of PTSD from his memories of a war not truly his own, and he knew that while revisiting those memories was perhaps a healthier way of dealing with them, he wouldn't necessarily be able to in the way Elizabeth currently was. He had experience with looking into the past and dealing with the crippling pain that accompanied the knowledge that you would never see your loved ones again. His human had never had to deal with such concerns before. She had lived such a sheltered life, blessedly free from death and loss. He only wished he could have kept that security from being ripped away so suddenly.

"Ratch—Doctor Ratchet," she began, correcting herself to allow specificity as to which Ratchet she was referring to, "said that it migh' be easier this way. 'Get everythin' out 'n pinpoint associat'd emotions.'" She glanced down at the small Autobot leader with a small, sad smile. "Besides, I've always worked through long-term emotions this way."

She wasn't wrong in that statement. Her bedside table held a A6-sized pink notebook filled with past concerns, emotions, and thoughts. Optimus had asked about it once, and her reply had been simple: "I can't always lean on you, Prime. I've gotta s'pport myself fr'm time-to-time."

"Why are you writing it like that? It does not fit with your old diction and writing style," he noted, pulling up memories of past stories he had read back when his human was still enraptured with writing and reading fanfictions containing sparklings.

"It's bin a while, Optimus," she said at length, a low groan in her voice. Still, she highlighted the entirety of the page before tapping the backspace button almost absently. Optimus wondered how many times she had rewritten the beginning so far. "Writing fiction is like speak'ng another language: you use it or you lose it."

"So you are… rusty," he inferred with a sideways grin, left optic crinkling in amusement as his audials twitched. Tex snorted lowly at the mech but smiled nonetheless. 'Success,' the mech cheered internally.

"Yes, Prime. I'm rusty, like yer gonna be if you don't leave me 'lone," she grumbled, though her words completely lacked any heat. Optimus snorted at her threat, optics constricting in his amusement.

"I am sufficiently frightened," he assured her, sounding much like an adult humoring a child. Elizabeth only grinned in response, turning her attention back to the MacBook's screen.

"Besides, I wanna get this all writt'n down in case I ferget ev'rything," she confided in the small prime. The mech's optics cut sideways to her face as he turned his own body back towards the screen to match hers. He could see the pained tightening around her blue eyes, deep-set fear dampening their light.

Acceptance, he decided glumly. She had finally reached the last stage of her grieving cycle, had finally come to accept that her life was changed irrevocably. A part of him wanted to offer her a useless platitude of some kind, a promise that everything would turn out right in the end. He couldn't make that guarantee, though, and his processor pulled up a distant memory of a promise to never lie to her.

Primus, that had been so long ago! Seven years of cohabitation and mental support, all leading up to this moment. He wondered if she would've purchased him if she knew where the road would lead. Then again, had he honestly affected her life to that degree? Who's to say she wouldn't have gotten that tattoo anyways? 'And how much worse would this experience, this disaster be without my support?' he wondered.

"We will survive this," he commented finally, unsure what else he could say. His optics met hers, and he retracted his facemask so she could see his gentle smile. "There is no shame in fear, Elizabeth." She looked away and clenched her hands into a fist on the desktop.

"I know," she mumbled. "I jus' wish I could go back to when my bigges' c'ncern was passing physics an' ochem. It sucks to have to worry 'bout how my real parents're gonna react to my 'death' an' what I'm gonna do in this stupid war."

"You do not have to participate—"

"Bullshit, Optimus!" Elizabeth spat, startling a jolt out of the smaller mech. Her southern twang grew more pronounced as she spoke, anger invading her tone. "I'm not gonna take all y'all's r'sources 'nd do nuhthin' t' 'elp out. I ain't a charity case."

"… I never implied you were." Elizabeth snorted derisively at his even reply.

"Course not," she grumbled. "Y'all'd nevuh say it ou' loud." The leader's optics narrowed.

"There is no reason for you to doubt your importance, Elizabeth," he stated flatly, and the blonde knew where he was taking the conversation. She treated him with a scoff and deep scowl.

"This ain't b'cause of the d'pression, Prahme," she retorted, rubbing her thumb and pointer finger against her eyes irritably. An exasperated breath huffed out her nostrils, and she opened her blues again to settle a pleading look on the mech. "C'n we no' talk 'bout this righ' now? C'n I jus'… write this an' get it over with?"

There was a long beat of silence as Optimus considered her request. His optics bore into her weary eyes pensively, taking in her countenance as he decided whether he should push the issue or not. She was important, if not to the Autobot cause, then to him personally, and nothing irked him more than when she put herself down as if she didn't matter. Primus, how much she mattered to him! And even if she didn't want to admit it, even if it scared the slag out of her, she was incredibly important to the Autobot cause, if just for morale.

She refused to see that, though, and arguing the point would hardly affect her opinion of herself. Optimus had lived with his human for a good eight years, and he liked to think he knew her better than any other being on this planet (though Ratchet would argue that fact). He could tell when she was fishing for compliments and when she was expressing an honest opinion, and he knew for a fact that this was not a matter of the former. No, arguing would lead him nowhere.

The Autobots would have to show Elizabeth her worth to them. They would have to prove that she meant more to them than she believed. A small part of him railed against that knowledge, against the unfairness that she would feel this way after making such great bounds in her self-esteem over the past few years. He had been so proud of her – was still proud of her – for her improvements amongst her fellow humans.

'Well,' he mused to himself idly, 'I suppose she will simply have to make the same progress amongst my people.'

"Very well," he stated aloud finally, not the least bit amused by his lieutenant's exaggerated, "Thank you, Jesus," that came out with a deep gust of air. "I will review your take on the past events, though," he warned her stiffly.

"Whatevuh you say, boss-mech," was the flippant reply as silver-tinged fingers reached for the keyboard again. Optimus vented shortly as he turned away, making his way to the small nest of blankets that acted as his recharge berth. The bedding was unnecessary, yet it was a welcome sign of his charge's concern for his wellbeing. As such, he made a point to recharge there whenever she was in his vicinity. Besides, the soft fabric did feel nice against his armor (far more now than it ever had before).

He plopped down rather unceremoniously unto the nest and shifted until he was comfortably propped up a little with his frame facing the door just in case he needed to defend his human from an intruder. His optics flicked off, and his frame cycled into recharge as the sound of the clicking keyboard lulled him offline.

And there we go! It begins! Leave your thoughts in a review, pretty please. Until next time!