To Protect What Is Precious

by Meiza

Having a giant alien robot practically land in your backyard is bad enough, until it shows up on your doorstep asking for help. Then again, Nolan and Aine have been wanting to get away from home. What's the worse that could happen? Famous last words...

13. Ch 13 Culmination

AN: This chapter, kicked my aft. Repeatedly. And laughed about it afterwards. *glares*

Been awhile since my last update, but as a reward for your patience (and wonderful, encouraging reviews), I give you my longest chapter yet. The story itself, without the notes and disclaimer, is over 15,700 words long. *crawls into a corner and dies*

BTW, when you're done here, check one a lovely one-shot called "The Blue Planet," written by Lasgalendil, about movie-verse Skyfire. You can find the link in my favorites.

Disclaimer: … You know, I'm pretty certain the only reason people put these things up is purely out of tradition, and I'm just a little sheep going along with the crowd.

---

Ch. 13 – Culmination

Onslaught stood at the edge of the meadow, arms crossed, looking down at the valley exit where Elita would have to come in if she wanted to make the dead line. He hadn't moved in nearly 40 minutes, not because he anticipated her coming early, but because there wasn't anything else left to do. The trap was set, the cards were laid…all there was left was for the prey to spring the trap.

A ping on his scanner, and he stiffened. Here she comes, right on time…

Behind the mask, Onslaught grinned in violent anticipation.

With his scanner, he could roughly follow Elita coming in closer over the next two minutes, slowing down only once to a near stop as she navigated around a tricky obstacle just inside the valley exit, and obstacle he himself had been able to roll right over with fair ease. Really, he could come up with no logical reason why any soldier would handicap themselves with an alt mode of such limit mobility and function.

Weakling Autobots don't have the bearings for an alt mode with real power, he concluded in disgust.

Elita drove out of the valley and slowed to a stop dead center in the middle of the meadow, right on time down to a few seconds. Onslaught patiently waited as Elita transformed to her root mode, her body tense but making no aggressive movements. If nothing else, the Autobot was punctual and knew how to follow instructions to the letter.

"Remove all of your weapons and secondary power cells, and throw them here."

Onslaught indicated the grass at his feet.

Elita's face tightened.

"I came under your terms so that the human would be kept safe and set free. It would be foolhardy of me to leave myself so vulnerable before I was assured of the human's safety," she said evenly. She was neither challenging nor antagonizing, just stating fact and practically.

Onslaught nodded once. "Fair enough," he allowed, almost pleasantly.

One optic on Elita in case she tried anything, Onslaught sidestepped once to the side, then quickly reached down behind the base of a tall, old tree. A sharp cry of pain, and when he straightened he was holding the boy in his hand. The humans face was contorting and body twisting in agony as he panted and whimpered in pain, body clammy in sweat and face pale. Elita gasped in horror, and glared furiously at Onslaught.

"What have you done to him?!" She demanded, her calm façade briefly broken.

"Nothing permanent or life threatening," Onslaught answered breezily. "The human attempted an escape, and I was forced to take more…drastic measures to ensure his future obedience. But, as promised, he has been allowed to live…"

Onslaughts pleasant tone took on an icy edge.

"…so long as you, Elita, demonstrate similar compliance."

Elita looked like she wanted nothing more than to clear the distance with a single leap and tackle Onslaught to the ground while wrestling his hostage away. She shifted her gaze to the boy, who was shaking his head back and forth rapidly (his survival instincts really were rather dubious at best), before she slowly raised one arm parallel to her chassis.

A few deft twists of her fingers, a few clicks, and the power cell to her wrist pistol was removed. With a flick of the wrist Elita tossed it so it landed at Onslaughts feet with a muffled thump. She couldn't remove the entire pistol by herself, but without the independent power cell it was completely useless.

Compartments and small slots covering Elita's body were all opened and emptied of small arms, blades, grenades, and a coil of wire, all systematically removed, held up for inspection by Onslaught, and tossed to the steadily growing pile at his feet. Really, it was mildly surprising how efficiently the femme was able to pack her firepower, small as it was compared to his. Even the human looked impressed by how much weaponry his guardian had been hiding within her own body.

"Your personal repair kit as well," Onslaught instructed.

Elita did not react at all, only reaching back to the small of her back and removing the compacted kit carried there. It too joined the pile.

There she was, standing out in the open with no weapons, no tricks, no hope, all in the vain attempt to save a single worthless organic of no tactical value or importance by any stretch of the imagination.

Onslaught was feeling uncharacteristically gleeful.

Satisfied by Elitas compliance, Onslaught plopped the human onto a thick branch high up a nearby tree, the same one that had been sheltering the boy before the Autobot's arrival. It was the perfect front row seat for the upcoming show.

"You said he would be allowed to go free if I did all you asked," Elita said, not quite able to keep out a hint of desperation. Onslaught looked at her out of the corner of his eye.

"And so he will," he said with mock sincerity. "If he can climb down and run away, I won't stop him. It's only a question of how badly he wants it."

If looks could kill…

Onslaught took his sweet time stepping closer to the femme, the abandoned weaponry ignored. Eltia stood her ground, watching his approach steadily, refusing to grant him the pleasure of seeing fear in her optics.

That would change soon enough.

"You make one move I don't like…"

Onslaught pointed back to the trapped human.

"…and your pet fleshling dies. Understand?"

Elita said nothing, but her optics burned a little whiter. Onslaught grinned.

"Good."

Elita crossed her arms up in front of her face just in time for Onslaughts first punch. Metal on metal clanged together in teeth-rattling reverberation before the femme was thrown backwards by the force, her feet leaving the ground as she sailed backwards. She landed heavily and slid another few feet as she skidded to a stop. But millennia upon millennia of experience and battle-honed reflexes had her rolling back on her feet and in a crouching fight-or-flight position within seconds, bringing her wrist pistol up to bear –

- only to stop in mid-motion, as she remembered how useless that was.

Elita unfurled from her crouch back to her full height as Onslaught closed the distance again as casually as the first time.

"The mighty Elita One, Commander of the Femme Division…"

BAM! Hit to the stomach.

"…brilliant tactician and guerilla warfare strategist…"

SMACK! Punch to the cheek.

"…famed for ruthlessness on the battle field, undone by stupid Autobot sentimentalities."

WHAM! Chop to the shoulder. Elita nearly buckled to her knees under the force.

Onslaught caught her with a massive hand around her throat, thick fingers crushing dents into the pliable metal as he lifted her to his optic level, her feet dangling several feet in the air.

"Know this Elita One: I will crush you and tear you apart, and you will not know the relief of death before I want you to."

---

Nolan wanted to cover his ears and squeeze his eyes shut so he wouldn't have to see Elita's degradation, hear the pained cries she couldn't quite contain.

At the same time, he couldn't bring himself to look away. It was like his conscience had developed a masochistic streak and was forcing to watch the pain and humiliation HE forced Elita into. If he hadn't been so stupid, if he hadn't been so, so immature and acting like a freaking little kid, running off alone like a six year old with on a tantrum, then he wouldn't have gotten himself captured, and Elita wouldn't…she wouldn't be here. If he hadn't gotten captured, she'd be able to fight back, defend herself, get away, not just stand there and let Onslaught…let herself be…

"Fight back," he pleaded in a whisper. "C'mon, fight back! Forget me, please! Don't let him do this to you."

Elita had fallen, and Onslaught gave her a kick to her abdomen worth of an NFL quarter-back. Nolan flinch violently, his hands coming to rest on his own stomach as Elita was sent flying and rolling across the meadow.

"Why won't you fight back!" he demanded uselessly.

"Because she's trying to keep him distracted, that's why."

Nolan almost fell out of the tree.

To his right, the meadow and Onslaught's torture of Elita. To his left…

"AINE??"

"Shh! Keep quiet. We're trying to be discreet here."

Nolan's mouth flapped open and shut, completely speechless as he tried to wrap his head around the fact that Aine, his baby sister, a little red-faced with a trace of dirt on her cheek and missing her right sleeve, but with a grin and an air of confidence he couldn't remember seeing before, beamed at him.

After everything that had happened to him the last three days, Nolan honestly thought he couldn't be shocked by anything anymore. And yet, his flabber had been thoroughly gasted.

"But – how – who –what??"

"Nice to see you too, oh brother of mine," Aine said flippantly, as she moved sideways so she was closer to Nolans leg. Nolan had (painfully) swung it up so it was laid out mostly straight on the limb, to alleviate the pain and take the weight off. Aine frowned. "Nolan, can you pull you pant leg up? We're going to have to set this before we move you.

"…Aine, what are you standing on? And what happened to your shirt?"

A boy rose up on Aine's left side, and once again Nolan had to grab back to keep from falling back and off the tree. In his hands he held two long, fairly sturdy sticks and a couple of strips of purple cloth.

Well, now he knew what happened to his sister's wardrobe.

"Sorry Nolan, we're going to try to be real gentle here," the boy said apologetically, handing the materials to Aine to hold and rolling up Nolan's pant leg. True to his word, he tried to be gentle, but there was an urgency to his movements as well. Nolan hissed in pain several times, but said

nothing.

"By the way, I'm Sam," the boy said as he rolled the fabric over his knee.

"Nolan," he hissed out while Aine threaded the fabric strips under his leg above and below the fracture. "And not to sound ungrateful or anything, but would someone mind terribly to tell me WHAT THE HECK IS GOING ON??"

"We're saving your butt while Elita keeps Onslaught busy so he won't think to look back and notice, gosh golly gee, he's losing his leverage," Aine answered easily, now putting the sticks in place on either side of the leg. "Now hold still. On the count of three Sam and I are both going to tighten this, okay? One…"

They tightened.

"Aaargh! Hey, what happened to three?!"

"Sorry dude, but we figured it would be easier if you weren't expecting it," Sam apologized.

"That sounds familiar."

"…I might have seen it on TV."

Nolan didn't know whether to laugh or groan.

The boy – Sam – looked down at the ground. "Jazz, we're semi-good to go!"

Jazz?

"Right then, one of ya get up on th' branch so I c'n have a hand free for him then," a deep voice instructed.

Nolan whipped his head around, trying to spot the third speaker. Despite the almost familiar slang, the voice held a metallic undertone betraying otherworldly origins, and he recalled the snippets Elita had mentioned about the other Autobots Earth-side before. Sam, now resting on the branch, looked like he was trying not to grin.

"Down here sport."

Nolan leaned over to look down, and gaped at the 16 foot silver robot standing below the branches, arms stretched up as high as possible and hands flat, acting as a living platform for Aine and Sam.

"…Jazz?" Nolan said in disbelief. "As in Optimus' First Lietenunt Jazz?"

The mech grinned.

"Nice t'know my reputation precedes me."

"But you can't be an Autobot, you're too small!" Nolan blurted out.

Dead silence.

Sam muffled his laughter in his arm, Aine bit her lips to keep from grinning, and Nolan slapped a hand over his mouth.

"Hardy har har," Jazz deadpanned. "If your leg wasn't busted I'd be tempted t' accidently drop ya. Now hurry up and scoot over. Elita's buyin' us time with her skid plates and we'd best make good use of it."

A horrid crunch filled the air, and effectively sapped all the mirth out of the teens.

In less than thirty seconds Jazz had all the kids out of the tree, Nolan cradled in his arms while Sam and Aine dogged his heels, getting away from the meadow and Onslaughts firing range post-haste. Nolan twisted his head around, catching glimpses of Onslaughts green bulk and Elita's red armor through the trees past Jazz's arm.

"You guys have scanners and stuff, right?" Nolan said. "And we're pretty close to him right now. How does he not know you're here?"

Jazz grinned and twisted his head around as far is it could go (which, since he was a "robotic organism", was a freakishly large amount).

In stark contrast to the gleaming silver was a black, round disk about the size of Nolans' palm, sticking to the base of the mechs head.

"And that is…?"

---

"This, my dear comrades, is Onslaughts very own transponder chip," Elita explained, the innocuous looking little disk sitting innocently in the center of her open palm.

All the mechs immediately leaned in closer.

"Two questions: how did you get it, and how is Onslaught still functioning?" Bumblebee asked, optics glued to the disk like he expected it to sprout legs and do the macarena any second now.

"I did not personally remove it from Onslaughts CPU by force, if that is what you are assuming," Elita said dryly with a raised brow. "He had removed it himself, presumably some time ago, and used it to lure me away from the children by attaching it to a scout drone. He neglected to retrieve it afterwards."

"So THAT'S where you ran off to before!" Jazz exclaimed in realization, recalling how Elita had needed a few minutes for a 'quick task' before they were able to leave for the base.

Elita tossed the chip up and caught it between her fingers. "I say turn-about is fair play, do you not agree?"

"Um, forgive my human ignorance here, but does anyone else think Onslaught finding himself on his own scanners – twice – is going to be a bit, you know, odd?" Sam asked.

"Front line soldiers like Onslaught rarely have the more sophisticated scanning systems," Elita explained. "His systems will detect this signal, register it as their own, and disregard it. The user will essentially become invisible to Onslaughts own senses."

"O'course, that won't do a scrap o' good if he gets an eyeful of them anyways," Jazz added.

"One of you," Elita nodded to Jazz and Bumblebee, "will take the chip, come in close, and wait for Onslaught to reveal Nolan's location. Once you have it, you are to retrieve him and remove him from the area as swiftly and quietly as possible. You will also be taking Aine, to keep him calm, and Sam, in case she requires assistance in moving him.

"You are both well qualified for either task. I will allow you to decide among yourself who will do which."

Jazz and Bumblebee exchanged a look.

Without a word, and to Elita's utter perplexity, they simultaneously pumped their fists three times, bringing their hands down into a flat hand, palm down, and a fist on the third arc.

"Yeah! Dibs on the chip then!" Jazz crowed, plucking the prize from Elita's fingers. Bumblebee glared at his fist like it had personally betrayed him.

"I do not understand…" Eltia said.

The humans broke down into a fit of giggles.

---

"This is shockingly OW! convenient," Nolan commented as Jazz hurried through the trees, going as fast as he could without jolting the boys leg (too much) or losing the other two teens along the way (because losing Aine wouldn't endear him to Elita and loosing Sam would get Bumblebee to shoot him dead).

"Yeah well, I ain't gonna complain 'bout a little good luck now and then," Jazz said cheerily. "You'd be surprised how far a little luck will get ya sometimes."

A loud CLANG! pierced the air as effectively as a gunshot, followed by a dull, heavy thud. Nolan and Aine both flinched.

"Okay, next question: now that I'm not a hostage anymore, why don't you turn around and go back to HELP HER??"

"Sorry Nolan, m'job is t' keep you (an' by extension Sam and Aine) from general harm. The good news is I ain't the only one out here."

Jazz cocked his head slightly, and unbeknownst to the humans contacted the cavalry on his private comm. line.

Bee, Nolan's safe an' outta the way. Have fun.

---

Elita's back hit the ground hard, and not a second later she was being crushed down into the soft earth. Onslaught kept putting more and more weight on his foot, it nearly covering her entire torso. She writhed in pain as her face twisted in agony, audible cracking sounds telling that her armor was buckling under the pressure. Onslaught knew all her warning alarms were going off, warning of breeches and breaks and internal systems being compromised – and she was utterly helpless to stop him.

She had almost whimpered and gasped a few times, but she hadn't yet screamed properly. But that was alright. He would have his scream soon enough. He would have her begging for deactivation soon enough. He wouldn't give it, but he would have her begging. Anticipation was only making it all the sweeter.

Elita's optics blinked once, twice…and she smirked.

That was all the warning he got before a plasma blast hit him square in the chest.

Onslaught stumbled backwards two steps. Free, Elita struggled to her feet, one arm around her cracked chassis.

But it wasn't the femme that held his attention, but the little yellow interloper who had appeared out of fragging nowhere, gun pointed point blank at him with his battle mask drawn, solar cannon humming and lighting up for another shot.

Onslaught, belatedly realizing his proximity alarm had been pinging for awhile now and he'd been too caught up in his activities to pay any heed, had half a second to curse himself for not paying attention, Elita for her underhanded tactic (right, she was the underhanded one here), and the intruder for stopping him from taking HIS vengeance from Elita's shell, before the bug shot again.

Onslaught was hit again in the shoulder, forcing him back another step – and while his armor was holding up under the comparatively meager barrage, he boiled in anger that this twerp had the audacity to enter where he was not wanted!

Snarling, Onslaught fired the missile launcher on his shoulder. The little yellow bug was agile and quick to sidestep, but he underestimated the missiles power. He was blown backwards by the explosive force and landed heavily nearly 20 feet away from the new crater.

Onslaught whirled around, but Elita – the spineless coward! – was nowhere to be seen.

Enraged, Onslaught lobbed a few more missiles at the intruder as he tried to get up, battering him with the blasts until he was nearly covered in black scorch marks.

"Show yourself Elita, or I will turn your Yellow Knight into charred slag!"

---

While it still held true that the forest was too dense for easy movement, Bumblebee had bought the Commander enough time to slip past the first few rows and disappear behind the dense vegetation, turning a former disadvantage to her favor.

Elita came down into a sliding seat about fifty feet past the tree line, right next to the base of an particularly thick pine, an arm still holding her chassis together.

From behind the tree, a red faced Mikaela stood up, still heaving from her mad dash from where Elita had slowed and let her out at the mouth of the valley to the designated tree, all the while carrying the relatively small but still burdensome robot-med-kit.

Wordlessly Elita popped up her pistol while at the same time Mikaela dropped the case and flipped the latches, swinging the lid up. Strapped to the underside of the lid was a thick, dark disk with a ridged edge a little under a foot in diameter and two inches thick: Elita's final spare power cell.

Mikaela tossed it up to the femme, who caught it and snapped it into place in one fluid motion, flexing her wrist.

"Lie down," the teen ordered, pulling out a thick pump filled with a dull white substance almost as long as her forearm. Elita did so obediently, and Mikaela hopped on top of the femme, kneeled, and promptly started pushing down on the pump, pushing out white foam that expanded and quickly dried in the air, filling the cracks and sealing them closed.

An ugly repair job, to be sure, but it held the pieces together and stopped the energon flow. For a field medic, the stuff was practically a Primus sent gift.

"I have decided that I am extremely grateful I let you talk me into this 'pit-crew' idea of yours," Elita couldn't help but comment with a little grin.

---

"My apologies, but I have yet to understand what you are trying to say. You wish to be…what again?"

"Pit-crew. Mech A gets hurt, so Femme B distracts Onslaught so Mech A has a chance run off in a quiet corner where I'm waiting. I patch up Mech A, and Mech A can go back to fighting without having to worry about his arm falling off."

"Your confidence in my fighting prowess moves me," Bumblebee said dryly.

"I've had years of practice taking machinery apart and putting it back together, and Ratchets been showing me the specifics of Cybertronian anatomy. I'll be like the NASCAR pit crews: get you back on the road in less than 60 seconds! Besides, since I'm organic, Onslaught won't even know I'm there."

Elita exchanged a look with Ratchet.

"She's not exactly surgeon material yet, but she's a smart study and she's more than adequate for a field medic," Ratchet attested. "If I can't be there, I'd feel better if you had SOMEONE there who had half an idea of what they were doing."

"I would never doubt Ratchet assessment of any one's skills," Elita said, turning back to Mikaela. "Nor do I doubt your resolution. But are you equipped for the task?"

In answer, Mikaela calmly walked off, and shortly returned carrying a silver colored suitcase that neither Sam, Bumblebee, or Jazz had known the contents therein. Calm as can be, she kneeled down, flipped the case open, and spun in around for all to see. Everyone leaned in a little for a better look. Those who had jaws dropped them.

Packed with incredible efficiency and care was a tightly packed upper class repair kit: clamps, spare wires of half a dozen varieties, cutters, a tube of foam adhesive, spare hinges and joint balls, twine, even rubber gloves and an apron for Mikaela's protection. Anything you could think of, it was squeezed in there with its own niche and slot.

"Any questions?" Mikaela asked sweetly.

"…Why do you have a wrench?"

Ratchet suddenly looked incredibly smug.

---

With an 'omph!' Mikaela slid down off of Elita, allowing Elita to test the foamy adhesive with her finger tips. To her pleasure the foam had already hardened.

She also noticed that it had gotten very quiet in the last minute.

"Show yourself Elita, or I will turn your Yellow Knight into charred slag!"

Break time over.

"Get to the second point. Stop for nothing." Elita ordered, jumping to her feet. Mikaela was already gathering up her med-kit for manic dash to the second agreed upon "pit". That was the deal: three pits, three repairs, no two in the same location, and after that the girl was to hightail it to the Safe Zone with Jazz and the others.

A flash of red in Onslaughts peripheral vision was all that saved him from two shots to the head. Pure instinct jerked his head back, missing the shots by mere inches. The distraction was enough to allow the pest to get back on his feet, if shakily. The younger bot lined up his cannon, but didn't fire just yet.

Onslaught glowered at Elita as she and her unexpected ally circled around him, rage radiating off him in waves. But he didn't forget to check his scanners, which told him that there were no other Autobots in the area. Elita had played her one ace in the hole.

"You should not have done that Elita," he growled. He swung his gun up and around so it was aimed at the tree that held his hostage.

"Both of you, toss your weapon power cells or I turn the human into so much ash."

"No, I do not think you will." Elita said mildly.

Onslaught frowned, before turning a little to look himself. His side glance turned into a full turn and stare as he discovered the tree was conspicuously empty of young humans.

"How…?!"

"You did promise that Nolan would be free to go if he was able to climb down and run," Elita reminded him cheekily.

But, he had broken his leg! The only other Autobot was in his sights, there was no way that -

His transponder chip.

With perfect clarity that often accompanied hindsight, Onslaught realized what an utter mistake it had been to leave his own transponder chip behind, practically giving Elita's ally a virtual invisibility cloak to his own sensors. This meant there was at least one more Autobot in the wings, who would probably be coming back once the human was a safe. And while Onslaught was a powerhouse in his own right, three against one were never good odds.

The red and yellow bots were powering up their weapons.

No, no, no, it couldn't end like this! He wouldn't watch all that he had planned, anticipated, and fought for so long unravel so easily! He would not let the death of his gestalt mates go unpunished without a fight! He won't, he won't, he WON'T!

With a roar Onslaught fires a shot at Elita with his gun while simultaneously shooting a missile at the yellow one, forcing them both to abandon their shots and avoid the blasts. Onslaught immediately dropped and transformed, revving his engines and barreling towards the smallest bot with all the considerable force he could muster. The young bot didn't even realize what was happening until his entire lower body was smashed into and he went tumbling. Onslaught transformed again, the yellow bot swung his gun around to shoot, but Onslaught grabbed his arm and forced it aside. With a might heave he lifted the bug up high and threw him at Elita with all his strength.

Elita, in what was probably her least thought out move of her military life, tried to catch him.

The shorter but bulkier mech crashed into her, and they were both sent tumbling in a tangled heap. Elita started to pull herself out, and heard the rumbling roar of Onslaughts engine. She threw herself back and rolled out of the way just in time to avoid being crushed under Onslaughts alt mode.

Bumblebee wasn't so lucky.

He let out an ear-piercing cry as the huge GILA crushed his gunning arm under the tires, destroying the gun and twisting his arm at an unnatural angle, sparks flying from the elbow joints and from the torn wires sticking from the cracks. The young mech cradled his arm against him, not noticing Onslaught turning around to ram him again.

Fortunately for him, Elita was more observant.

With a battle cry the femme jumped on top of him and threw her weight left, forcing Onslaught to turn and miss her comrade.

Onslaught tried to throw the femme off, but she held on with the tenacity of a pit bull, gripping with her hands and knees to his roof. With one hand she smashed into Onslaughts front window and tried to claw his interior apart. Onslaught roared in pain, and started to transform in an attempt to force Elita off. The femme, not wanting any parts of her caught in the shifting metals, let go, fell, rolled, and was back on her feet by the time Onslaught was fully back in root mode…

…only to have Elita literally crawl all over him, attacking his seams with clever, devastating fingers, as slippery as an eel and as hard to grab. No matter how many blows he rained on her back, he couldn't get a good angle on her head, and had to focus more on keeping her hands away from her main objective, his neck.

Without warning she dropped away, scuttling away just before Onslaught could finally get a good grip on her.

He heard running, and Onslaught turned slightly to see the yellow mech…leaving the trees? And with his arm, if not fully repaired (his cannon was still a mess), at least not sparking anymore, with dull white lines over where the cracks used to be.

The same dull white substance webbing over Elita's chassis.

The other Autobot must be a young medic, he deduced. It would explain these hurried repairs, and why he wasn't helping with the fight. The medic was probably too young or inexperienced to risk on the battlefield just yet, especially when there wasn't enough distraction to ensure a certain amount of safety.

The medic had to die. But with the transponder chip, Onslaught wouldn't be able to find him, and he was probably smart enough not to stay in one spot for more than one repair.

Or if he wasn't, Elita was smart enough to tell him.

Onslaught held up an arm and turned as Elita peppered him with shots, keeping the yellow one in his sights as he circled around. He couldn't use his gun anymore, but he was still very much a threat.

---

Meanwhile, about a hundred yards up the slope, in a clearing that offered a prime view of the meadow, three human teenagers and their not-so-human guardian were watching the show.

"All right Bee!" Sam cheered, pumping his fist. "Show that creep just how kick-ass you really are!"

Nolan snorted. "Oh please. Elita's been doing most of the work. Bumblebee is mostly distraction and back up. I bet she could have taken him all by herself if she didn't have to worry about keeping Onslaughts attention totally on her instead of half on me."

Sam whirled around in defense of his friend. "Hey, don't knock Bumblebee! I've seen him go totally Jet Li on a Decepticon before, and Mikaela saw him keep fighting even when he lost both his legs!"

"That Jet Li fight, how big was the Decepticon?"

"…About his size, I think."

"Elita took on an entire gestalt all by herself, and most of them were bigger than her." Nolan told him smugly.

"Yeah well, she's had a lot of experience. Bumblebee's pretty young, and he's totally awesome still."

"Yeah, but one on one Elita would wipe the floor with him."

"In a fair fight? Bumblebee would totally give her a run for her money."

"Okay, seriously, what is wrong with you guys?" Aine huffed, crossing her arms and looking at the teen boys as if thinking 'I'm not actually associated with these people, am I?'

Jazz laughed. "Actually, that's kind of an unfair bet, seein' as how Elita's already 'wiped the floor with Bee' once today."

"Jazz!" Sam exclaimed, looking betrayed. Nolan grinned victoriously and jabbed a finger at him.

"HAH!"

"That didn't count, it was an ambush!"

Aine rolled her eyes but decided contemplating the mind of teenage boys regarding their respective giant robot guardians wasn't worth the waste of brain cell space.

"Alright kiddies, seein' as we're all gettin' along, I'll be leavin' ya for th' time being, m'kay?"

Aine snapped her head up, as did Sam and Nolan. "Excuse me?"

"My main objective was t' get Nolan outta there and make sure you all were away and somewhere safe. You're well outta the danger zone here, ya can see what's goin' on, and ya don't really need me here right now."

"They seem to be doing alright by themselves," Aine noted, looking back down on the meadow.

"If Jazz can help end the battle even two minutes sooner, all the better," Nolan pointed out. He looked down at his leg. "Besides, it's not like I'm going anywhere, and I already told Jazz that if he tried to take me away from here before we know how this pans out I'll personally eat his interior."

"An' I for would rather keep my seats intact, thank you very much. See ya in five then!"

---

With Onslaught having to focus on two targets instead of one like before it was easier for Elita to come in closer than the last time they fought one on one. She held up her non-gun hand, fingers straight, eyed his neck cables, calculated the distance, and when Onslaught turned a little more to keep Bumblebee in his sights, she leaped for his back, hand up and ready to jab down on the briefly exposed cables.

Too soon!

Onslaught spun back around, arm raised, and backhanded Elita in mid air, sending her flying backwards and bouncing on her back. But he left himself open to the other threat, and Bumblebee charged forward to ram him down and force him face forward to the ground, pinning him and effectively ending the fight (so long as he and Elita could keep him down long enough for Jazz to get his aft down here with his energy cuffs).

But Bumblebee had been too far away, not fast enough, and Onslaught was half turned already and Bumblebee was moving too fast to stop, deciding it was still worth the shot.

He never saw the dagger.

SSST!

Bumblebee stopped as he felt something sharp and cold pierce his armor. He looked down, almost in surprise, at Onslaughts fist that had forced the blade into his chest, just above his spark chamber. He blinked, as if not quite comprehending what had just happened. Onslaught pulled his dagger out, slick with black grease and bright pink energon. Bumblebees hand went to the wound, before his knees gave out and he crashed to the ground with a small whine, optics flashing bright and dim.

"NO!" Elita cried out as if in pain. Onslaught looked at her over his shoulder and smirked behind his mask.

"You should have seen this coming, Elita. Think of this as an eye for an eye: your teammates for mine. Perhaps, I should just rip this little one apart and make you watch as he dies."

Elita refaced from Bumblebee to Onslaught. Her expression morphed from horror to twisted rage, and even from a distance Onslaught could just pick out the whine as the components and optical functions went into over drive, turning her pale blue optics into searing white.

Aw, she was mad. Well, looks like the fight was really going to start now.

---

"BUMBLEBEE!" Sam cried out in horror as he watched his friend fall. Aine gasped and covered her mouth, and Nolan looked stunned, in disbelief that the tide had turned so fast and so badly.

"Get up, get up, get up, please get," Sam muttered prayerfully, eyes glued on the still form of the yellow mech.

Bumblebee didn't move, but something else did: a small, dark haired form leaving the shelter for the tree and making a bee line for the young warrior.

"Mikaela…? Mikaela!" Sam cupped his hands around his mouth. "GO BACK! DON'T LET HIM SEE YOU!"

"She can't hear us from up here, I don't think," Aine mentioned softly. Nolan's eyes darted from the girl to the Decepticon.

"If he sees her, no way she's getting away….dammit, where's Jazz already??"

Without a word Sam broke away from the sibling pair and ran down the slope so fast he risked falling and rolling the rest of the way down, trees and rocks willing.

"Sam, what are you doing?!" Aine exclaimed. "It's too dangerous!"

"My best friend and my girlfriend are down there now! I'm not going to just leave them there!"

Sam was gone before either O'Connell could come up with an argument to make him stay. Nolan groaned and fisted his hand in his brown hair.

"Damn it."

---

Elita ran at him in a suicide charge, and Onslaught fired at her with his shot gun in an almost lazy fashion. But she wasn't so enraged as to be stupid, and she was quick to sidestep the shot, along with the next, and the one after that, as quickly and easily as if she had precognitive abilities.

And while Elita attacked Onslaught like a creature possessed, Mikaela was running across the stretch of grass, med-kit banging painfully against her leg with each step. She would never remember the moment when she decided to disobey Elita's strict orders and leave her shelter. All she remembered is seeing Bumblebee, bright, cheerful, fun but protective Bumblebee, freeze and fall as the dagger slipped from his chest, dripping in her friend's fluids.

A logical, rational person would have found her move very foolish. Onslaught was a mere thirty feet away, and even if Mikaela was able to prevent Bumblebee's imminent death (if he wasn't dead already), he was still utterly helpless and would be killed by Onslaught easily. At least dead he wouldn't be able to use the young mech as leverage against Elita. All Mikaela would accomplish was exposing herself and leaving herself vulnerable.

But Mikaela wasn't thinking like a logical, rational person. She was thinking like a warm-blooded human being, who just wanted her friend to be safe.

Bumblebee had settled on his side, hand limply on his chest. Mikaela dropped her kit and pulled Bumblebee's hand away, exposing the slit where the knife had entered. It was too small to work easily; she'd have to do this mostly by feel. The idea frightened her, but no way she could sit here and do nothing if there was even the slightest chance she could help.

"It's okay Bee, you're going to be alright, I promise," she muttered, pulling on the rubber gloves. Bumblebee's optics remained dark.

Biting her lip, Mikaela reached in up to her elbows and felt around. The damage was bad, quite a few torn wires she'd need to reconnect, and the integrity of his chest armor was compromised, but the blade had missed his spark chamber by a few inches. Onslaught had been too hurried, and the sloppy attack cost him a killing blow. Thank goodness, it looks like there wasn't anything that was actually life –

Liquid dripped onto her gloved hand, warmth seeping through almost painfully. Her eyes widened.

His fuel pump had been pieced, and was losing life-sustaining energon fast. That was what had caused Bumblebee to pass out so quickly: his systems, detecting a rapid loss of energy, had initiated automatic protocols to conserve what was left, not knowing that the energon was being leaked out.

Mikaela pulled back and reached for the foamy adhesive. She didn't know how much Bumblebee had lost already, but if she could seal the break it might be enough to keep him alive until one of the others was able to donate enough energon to pull him out of the danger zone. Unlike humans and their blood cells, Cybertronian bodies couldn't exactly create more energon to replace what was lost.

With a battle cry Elita spun and delivered a high kick to Onslaughts head no mech frame had the flexibility to emulate. The kick hit Onslaughts jaw with so much force, as it snapped back for a moment he honestly thought his head was going to snap right off. Elita gave him no chance to recover from the hit, already battering him with a swift series of jabs and punches to his seams and less protected areas, and only a lucky block saved his neck from similar treatment. But the rest of him was protesting loudly the treatment, filling his CPU with warnings of damaged nerves and blocked lines. If this kept up, he'd be crippled for the rest of the fight!

He kicked out, trying to knock her down, but she jumped up to avoid it, but couldn't avoid the following punch to the gut. She was forced down, bent double, and Onslaught took the opportunity to smash down the back of her head with his fist, dropping her to the ground and knocking her nearly senseless.

Onslaught stood over her for a few seconds, fans kicking into overdrive to cool his systems and give his self-repair systems a chance to catch up with some of the damage the femme did. She might not have had her firepower anymore, but she was still just as dangerous. Slaggit, his arm felt about ready to fall off his shoulder from all the abuse that joint took! Come to think of it, nearly all his joints were hurting, and they were rather sensitive. Elita had been quite thorough.

He really hated that.

Onslaught glanced back over his shoulder at the yellow one, in case he wasn't as down for the count as he'd hoped…and had to do a double take.

A human, different from the two with Elita, was up to her elbows in the mechs wound, working quickly but with an expression of intense concentration. She knew what she was doing, and was working with purpose. There was even an open med kit next to her, in miniature but with all the tools a proper field medic would need.

THIS is their medic?!

Onslaught didn't know if he was just shocked, disgusted, annoyed, insulted or amused. Well, he had to give the Autobots points for being resourceful, using humans where they didn't want to risk one of their own. He just hoped no Decepticon ever thought to copy it, because Primus forbid he EVER let one of those filthy, smelly, clumsy, organic creatures anywhere NEAR his more delicate systems!

But, in any case, this might be just the opportunity he needed…

Onslaught stalked over to the fallen Autobot and the human, and while she could clearly see him coming, she didn't leave her task (though he was pretty sure she was moving extra fast now). Onslaught snorted in disgust. The mech was good as dead anyway. She should have been running to save herself, if she had any sense of self-preservation at all. By the time the human was satisfied enough with her work and tried to run, it was already too late. She abandoned her kit and got three steps away before she was snatched up by the Decepticon.

"I don't know if you're brave or just stupid," Onslaught said as the flesh creature struggled against his unyielding fingers. "Your repairs might have saved the Autobot for a little while, but he will still die here today, and because of your foolishness, you will be joining him."

The human said nothing, clearly terrified out of her wits, but was trying not to show it, glaring at him. It would have been more effective if she hadn't been trembling so violently.

"Human, can you fly?"

She started. "What?"

"I bet you can."

Her eyes widened in realization, just before Onslaught pulled his arm back and threw her across the meadow.

Mikaela screamed and she flew through the air, spinning head over heels as she reached the arch of her flight and started falling. She covered her head and curled up in a vain attempt to protect herself, even though at her speed there was no hope of survival.

A silver streak appeared from the trees, leaping up and catching the girl in her fall, coming down and tucking into a protective roll with Mikaela in the center. She banged hard against the metal and saw stars, but clutched against her savior as best she could until the rolling stopped.

Jazz slowly uncurled but kept a protective hand wrapped around the balled up girl.

"You a'ight Mikki?" Jazz asked quietly. She sat up, feeling dizzy and knowing she was probably going home with a plethora of bruises all over her body.

"Well, I'm alive, and that's plenty good enough," she said with a smile. Jazz grinned too, in relief.

Mikaela looked behind him, and her eyes widened in horror.

"BEHIND YOU!"

Jazz threw himself over Mikaela just before the missile hit him full force in the back. The force and explosion forced him forward, and had he not been bracing for it he would have crushed the girl beneath him. Instead, he flipped forward and rolled twice until he was on his stomach, a charred crater where his back used to be.

He didn't move, didn't groan, didn't twitch.

"Oh god, Jazz!" Mikaela exclaimed. She looked back at Onslaught behind her, who only stood there, head tilted curiously.

"They keep getting smaller," he commented. Not even bothering to spare Mikaela a glance, he turned and went back to his primary target, still on the ground.

Mikaela's med kit was still by Bumblebee, a good hundred feet away at least. She looked at Jazz's sparking back. Standing on shaky legs, she hurried over the look at the damage.

"Oh god…" she moaned. Ruptured lines, wires, his spinal strut was completely exposed, it was a total mess.

Tubes, thin and thick, twisted and spurted pink and blue liquids, and in horror Mikaela realized that Jazz could very bleed out within a couple of minutes, and even if he didn't, the corrosive energon could very well eat away his more delicate systems beyond repair.

No time to grab the tools. She'd have to do what she could here.

Mikaela started grabbing all the loose tube ends and, lacking any other alternative, twisted the ends into knots to stop the bleeding. Ratchet would probably kill her, but this was the only option she had.

She got careless, and a few drops of the pink liquid spattered on her upper arm, eating through the cloth and hitting her skin. Mikaela screamed in pain and dropped what she was doing, grabbing the burning area with one hand. She breathed heavily for a couple of seconds, tears of pain pricking the corners of her eyes, but she gritted her teeth and dove right back in. Jazz didn't have the luxury of time, and with the Allspark shard gone, he didn't have the luxury of another chance either…

"Mikaela!"

The girls head snapped up, and her jaw nearly dropped when she spotted her boyfriend running towards her like the hounds of hell were on his heels.

"Mikaela, what happened to Jazz?!"

"Onslaught got him. I can't leave him here, or he'll die." She looked back at Bumblebee, then Onslaught and Elita. "You think you can grab my med kit without Onslaught noticing? It's got everything in there."

Sam nodded. "Sure, sure. Just keep doing what you're doing, I'll be right back!"

Sam hurried to grab the kit, and Mikaela refocused on her task, now finished with the energon lines and focusing on the coolant ones (can't let those run try, or his systems will overheat and crash and we're right back where we started), keeping her hands busy and desperately trying to drown out the little voice that kept reminding her that, even if she had her tools, Jazz was far beyond her meager skills to save.

Sam ducked next to Bumblebee, quickly finding the med-kit open on the ground near Bee's head. He snapped it closed, but froze at a small, almost musical whining sound.

He heard it once before, in Mission City, after Starscreams missiles had blown off Bumblebees legs.

Sam looked, and Bumblebee's optics were flickering on and off, his head lifting and falling as if he was trying to regain consciousness but not able to quite do so. Sam dropped the med kit and immediately moved closer.

"Bee, Bee, it's alright, Mikaela fixed you up, and Ratchet's going to finish it later, okay?" he said softly, placing his hands on his friend. Bumblebee shook his head, and weakly pointed toward the trees. Sam shook his head.

"No, I'm not leaving. I'll help Mikaela with Jazz, and then I'm coming back here, alright?"

Bee made the weak whining sound again, before his head fell down, optics still flickering. Seeing his friend like this, so weakened, nearly broke Sam's heart. He patted Bumblebee one more time. "I promise, I'll be right back."

With that, Sam lunged with the med-kit, willing himself to carry the blasted thing as fast as physically possible, not noticing that the Decepticon had been watching him.

Onslaught crossed his arms and watched the new male human running from one mech to the other, like a panicked bird or something. Now where did THIS human come from? Really, you turn around for five minutes and the flesh bags started multiplying like crazy.

He considered catching the creatures and just stepping on them to be done with it, but decided against it. They were quick creatures, when they had the sense to run, and it wasn't worth the effort to chase them down on foot. Besides, they couldn't go anywhere, not out there. There was no safe haven for them. Sure, they were trying to help the downed Autobots, but Onslaught had seen enough battle damage to know they were both beyond the human's abilities to save.

Let's see, one yellow Autobot dead or dying, one silver bot following him, two humans running around like ants whose nest had been disturbed, one Elita just now returning to the waking world, and all of her Aces having been played, exposed, and dealt with.

Life was good.

Elita was pushing herself up again, and Onslaught stalked over to her. Without a word he grabbed her by the back of her helm, pulling her up until the tips of her feet only brushed the tips of the grass. He swung her around so she'd have a perfect look of the fate of her comrades.

"This is your entire fault, you know," he told her, holding her still and letting her absorb the sight. "Had you done as I told you, only you would have had to die. Your sacrifice might have even left me in a good enough mood to spare the boy. Instead, you insisted on being clever and bringing in more Autobots, and even humans, and for what? One human of no value to anyone, not even his own people?

"Your comrades died for nothing, Elita. Not even the humans will be allowed to leave this place alive."

Onslaught slammed Elita face first into the ground, and she barely had time to cry out before she was muffled by the earth.

"Four lives on your head Elita. Or rather, four more lives you sacrificed so easily to me. It's almost a pity you were an Autobot. Sometimes, I can almost think you would have made a good Decepticon. You are certainly merciless enough."

Onslaught pulled Elita back up, and she spat out the dirt in her mouth. Before she could say anything, Onslaught slammed her down again, again, and again.

Up on the slope, Nolan held his sister close, burying her face in his chest so she wouldn't see what was happening to Elita. She held his shirt in her fists, trembling and crying softly. Nolan held her close and tight, to comfort her and comfort himself, burying his face in her hair because he couldn't bear to watch either.

How, how, how had it all gone so bad, so quickly?

Onslaught dropped Elita's head, and kicked her in the side, forcing her on her back. Before she could get up, Onslaught pinned her down with a foot on her stomach, recreating the position from before the others interfered.

"There we go, right back where we started," he observed gleefully. Elita looked up at him, optics flickering as she tried to stay conscious. Keeping a knee on Elita, Onslaught knelt down so she'd be able to hear him perfectly.

"You know, when I think of it, I'm almost glad you brought in friends. I'll enjoy this, but maybe I won't kill you just yet. Perhaps instead, I should make you watch as I tear their still pulsing sparks from their bodies, rip their plating from their bodies while they're still alive."

"You monster," Elita spat out. Onslaught chuckled.

"Monster? Hardly. How would doing that be any different than what you did to my team?"

"That…that was self…defense. You sought…to kill or cap…capture me," she forced out. "What you want…is torture. I would have…have never…been so sadistic and need…needlessly cruel."

Onslaughts voice became low and dangerously calm. "The only difference between what I've done to your team, and what you did to mine, is that you lacked the power and force to be so visceral about it.

"You used traps and diversions to separate us so you could pick us off one by one. I saw my gestalt members remains, Elita. I saw what you did to them:

"Blast Off was crushed under a rock slide you buried him under and left to drown in his own fluids.

"Swindle was burned alive by the acid trap you left behind for him.

"And I saw you shoot Vortex, point blank, in the head when he was trapped and helpless in that mire.

"Don't you dare convince yourself you are better than me, Elita, or that you do not have your own sins. You are merely better at hiding them."

"I gave…I gave them all a chance…to surrender, Onslaught…" Elita choked out. "They knew…that they could not…win against me. That they…that they were outmatched. I gave…gave them so many chances, all…all that I could af…afford. I did…I did not wish…to take such…drastic measures. But…I was left with…no choice. They left me with no choice."

Broken as she was, defeated as she was, Elita still had the gall to pin Onslaught with an accusing glare. "The only…reason you…hate me so is…is because I…I defeated your gestalt by myself. You…can't let…that humil…humiliation lie."

Onslaught snarled and back handed Elita's face, crunching the cheek plating.

"You think this is about nothing but a BRUISED EGO?!" He yelled, outraged at the femmes audacity. "This goes beyond war and factions, Elita!"

He slammed his hand around Elita's throat and crushed it under his hand, eliciting pained sounds from her.

"Gestalts fight together, die together! They each suffered and perished alone and forsaken, for nothing! They didn't even have the dignity of dying on the battlefield, or the honor of losing their lives for a purpose! And you were the one to deny them that!

"THAT is why you must be punished. THAT is why you must be made to suffer and die in humiliation and agony! THAT is why your comrades must suffer, as my comrades suffered! An optic for an optic Elita: justice in its purest form."

Elita stared up at him with the blankest expression to ever grace her face, optics wide and unwavering. Onslaught had the distinct impression of someone having an epiphany of the painfully obvious.

He wanted to snort in disgust. If she wanted to pretend she never had any comprehension of her crimes, then that was her prerogative.

"If you don't mind, femme, I'm done with talking."

Onslaught moved his knee out of the way to make way for the fist.

Elita's entire body flailed with the hit, gargled cries of pain emitting from her vocalize. Onslaught hit her again and again, memories fueling each hit.

Snobbish but refined Blast Off.

Hot headed Vortex.

Silver tongued Swindle.

Even Brawl, though he had been lost on Earth under Starscreams command and whose death had nothing to do with Elita. Onslaught hit her extra hard for him anyway, relishing each pained cry from her as interest in her payment for her crimes.

Onslaught reared his fist as far as he could for a good solid, possibly fatal (he didn't particularly care anymore) hit to the head.

He was stopped by a large, iron grip on his wrist.

Onslaught looked up at the one who dared interrupt him, but whatever scathing threat he had died in his vocalizer when he saw their face.

Before the shock could wear off, he found himself being lifted – literally! – off of the femme and bodily thrown a across the field. This was the sort of manhandling the large Decepticon had never experienced before, used to being the largest one in the fight, combiner teams notwithstanding.

Just before he hit the ground, Onslaught regained his faculties just long enough to think I really shouldn't be surprised that, of all people, the one to show up at the last minute would be Optimus Prime.

Onslaught hit the ground and kept sliding back, creating a wide dirt patch where he tore up the grass. As soon as he stopped, he was greeted by the unmistakable whirring of a cannon powering up, and the muzzle of said weapon being shoved in his face.

Oh. He's seen this guy before too.

"You so much as twitch, I blow your head off," Ironhide growled.

Meanwhile, a green Search and Rescue Hummer pulled up next to the not-quite-frantic-but-getting-close-to-it Mikaela and Sam, her with her hands in Jazz's back, Sam handing her whatever she asked for from the Med kit. Ratchet felt a surge of pride for his student and her ability to keep her head on even in a crisis as he swiftly transformed.

"Move over," Ratchet ordered as he knelt down on Jazz's other side. She shook her head.

"No, can't yet, I need to reconnect the wires before, before they spark a fire or corrupt his coding, just need a minute-"

The CMO stopped her rambling with a finger on her shoulder.

"You've done enough Mikaela. You bought him time and kept him online. But I need you to see to Bumblebee right now."

From a special compartment Ratchet pulled out a rectangular metallic box nearly a foot long.

"There's a condensed energon ration in there," he explained, handing it to Sam to hold. "You two, get Bumblebee awake and get him to eat it, it might be enough to let him get out of here under his own power."

"Eat it? Bumblebee doesn't have a mouth, how's he supposed to *eat* it?"

"…Mikaela, YOU make sure Bumblebee eats it. Sam, just…do whatever she tells you."

"Um, yes sir doc."

"R-right, sure, alright Ratchet. C'mon Sam, help me carry this thing."

Sam and Mikaela worked together to carry the heavy ration towards their yellow friend. That done, Ratchet focused on Jazz – and swore.

The damage was bad, very bad, but at least Mikaela had been there to keep it from getting worse, and kept him reasonably stable. Ratchet dove right in, his fingers transforming into a plethora of tools and minute instruments as he attacked the wound, repairing as much as he could and even pulled out several redundant wires and valves built into his systems, tossing aside the ones too damaged to save. Because frag it if he was going to lose the idiotic Solstice twice!

---

"Holy crap."

A succinct yet appropriate description for the current events, or so Nolan believed.

"That's Optimus?" Aine asked, entranced by the imposing figure standing over Elita. She had thought Elita was tall, and up until now she had been the tallest Autobot she had met. But Optimus must have had at least a good five feet on her, if not more. His size, and almost terrifying display of anger and power as he pulled Onslaught off of Elita and tossed him aside like a rag doll was juxtaposed with how gently he lifted Elita's upper body, holding her close like she was made of delicate crystal.

Aine's romantic heart was already melting.

"Where'd they all come from all of a sudden?" Nolan asked rhetorically. A moment of consideration, then he used Aine's shoulder to stand. "Help me get down there, please?"

"What?? Jazz said to wait here!"

Nolan waved a hand down at the field. "The fights pretty much over, and I think Jazz is still unconscious. We might as well save them the trouble of finding us."

"Sam knows where we are."

"Aine, for all I know, that guy has all the directional sense of a turnip. At least Jazz had a super advanced GPS in his head."

"Well…okay fine. But we're going slowly! I don't want you hurting your leg even worse."

"Yes nurse."

---

Elita hovered between the waking world and unconsciousness, seeing nothing, hearing faint noises as if from far away and covered in cotton. Vaguely, she felt herself being lifted, being held, and one of the noises came closer, though it was still too muffled to make out the source, or even what it actually was. Slowly though, the sounds became sharper, clearer, and as she slowly rose from the darkness again, her senses followed.

There were voices around her.

She was mostly still reclining.

There was an arm under her shoulders and a hand supporting her head, tilting her face upwards.

And…oh Primus, when was the last time she felt THIS bad?

She ached, she hurt, there were pains sharp and dull all over her body, and she was pretty sure there were worrisome cracks somewhere. She was hurting in so many places she felt more like a giant fracture than a person. She just wanted to fall back into blissful recharge where she didn't hurt anymore.

"Elita?"

What? That voice, familiar, quiet, pleading …she knew that voice! But, it couldn't really, could it? He wasn't supposed to be there, wasn't he?

"Elita, wake up. Please, wake up. Look at me, talk to me, Primus please, do something, I need you to wake up! Elita…"

The voice was gentle, but there was an undercurrent of urgency and even fear. That was what cut through the fog more than anything.

Elita flickered her optics on and off again rapidly, adjusting to the bright light and trying to focus. She onlined them fully at last, and even though she had been expecting/hoping for it, she was still almost dumbfounded when she was met by what was quite possibly the most wonderful vision of her (relatively) recent life.

"Optimus…?"

The Prime visibly sagged in relief, as if he had just let go of the mountain he'd been carrying on his shoulders, and held her a little closer. She honestly felt like he was never going to let her go. She was also honestly, completely fine with that.

"Thank Primus, you're alright," he said quietly. "I thought…you were scaring me, Elita. Ratchet said you weren't critical, but you weren't waking up and I…"

Elita lifted a hand slowly upwards, and lightly touched Optimus' face. He took her hand and gently held it there, off-lining his optics as she traced his face, optics, audios.

"Optimus? This is really you, not a dream or hallucination?" she asked, cupping his face. He turned a little and nuzzled her palm.

"I promise you Elita, this is real. I'm sorry, but I had no choice but to override your orders for Ironhide and myself to simply wait for you to come in your own time." Optimus onlined his optics with a dry grin which Elita returned.

Later he would explain how he and Ironhide had left base almost as soon as Ratchet was on the plane. How they broke every speed limit between here and Tranquility to make it as soon as they did. How it was more luck than skill that they managed to avoid being noticed by nearly everyone. And how Ironhide had to 'convince' the one officer that caught them that trying to chase them down for speeding would be a Bad Idea of the Worst Kind.

But, that wasn't the here or now. There were more pressing matters on Elita's mind.

"Jazz?"

"Still alive. Ratchet's working on him now."

The statement was punctuated by the ear-splitting, drawn out screech of ripping metal, and both commanders couldn't help but flinch. Apparently, Ratchet was getting creative regarding as to how to cover the huge hole in his patients back.

"Bumblebee?"

Optimus glanced up, and Elita could see him smile in mild amusement. "Alive, awake, and being forced fed half an energon ration by his extremely determined but well-meaning friends."

"Onslaught?"

Optimus' face darkened. "He is being kept down by Ironhides cannons. He's not going anywhere before we let him."

Elita turned her head around to look, and it was as he said: Onslaught, on his back, with Ironhide pinning him with both cannons at his head and looking like he very much wanted to hurry up and pull the trigger already, repeatedly. The red femme had no doubts that Onslaught would lose his head if he so much as blinked in a way the Weapon Specialist didn't like.

Optimus threaded an arm under Elita's knees, and lifted her as he stood. Elita rested against him, but kept her optics on the strangely docile Onslaught. Having a fragged-off Ironhide standing over you did wonders for patience, apparently.

Speaking of which, the Topkick made a grinding sound in this volcalizer, their equivalent of a cleared throat.

"Much as I'd hate to interrupt, do I have permission to shoot the slagger already?"

Optimus hesitated for half a breath.

"No, Ironhide. He is injured, unarmed, and out-numbered, and we don't kill our prisoners."

"We don't exactly have a brig to throw him in, Optimus," the black mech pointed out with a raised optic ridge.

"You think this is about nothing but a BRUISED EGO?! This goes beyond war and factions, Elita!"

"True, but I'm sure the government will be more than happy to assist with that, if it meant keeping a dangerous Decepticon under lock."

"Gestalts fight together, die together! They each suffered and perished alone and forsaken, for nothing!

A snort. "I think they'd be even happier if we went ahead and put him out of everyone's misery."

"THAT is why you must be punished. THAT is why you must be made to suffer and die in humiliation and agony! THAT is why your comrades must suffer, as my comrades suffered!

"I will not have us sinking to their level, Ironhide. But seeing as it is Elita who has dealt with him the most, his ultimate fate should be her decision."

"An optic for an optic Elita: justice in its purest form."

"Then allow me to fight him alone."

Optimus stared down at her in open shock, as did Ironhide. Even Onslaught looked surprised, lifting his head just high enough to look at her.

"Excuse me?" Optimus said. Elita pushed against his chest, and Optimus obligingly set her down on her feet.

Elita half turned to look Optimus in the optic.

"I have finally realized that this is something I must finish on my own. He and I will finish our fight, one on one, with no interferences, and no interruptions, as we should have from the very beginning. I only ask that, no matter what happens, you do not allow anyone else to interfere.

"I mean that Optimus: no matter what."

Optimus looked at her silent for several long seconds, struggling with her request, the implications of her terms, and knowing how damaged she was already. Elita met it steadily, with no sense of doubt or hesitation. After a small eternity, Optimus gave a small nod.

"Very well."

She smiled.

"Prime! You can't expect her to keep fighting looking like that!" Ironhide protested.

Optimus kept his optics on Elita even as he answered Ironhide. "I already said Onslaughts ultimate fate was to be Elita's decision. Even if I don't yet understand her exact reasons, I trust her judgment in this wholly."

Elita was remembering all over again why she loved the mech.

"Ratchet is going to weld both your afts to the ceiling," Ironhide grumbled, but even so he stepped (slowly) away from the Combaticon. Onslaught pushed himself back into a standing position as Elita came a little closer, just outside his arms-length. No one missed the slight weave of her step though.

"Is this your perverse brand of generosity?" He asked. "No matter what happens, I'm already a dead mech walking. There is no way the Autobots will let me leave this place alive after killing their precious leaders own lover."

Elita kept her expression carefully neutral as she responded. "You still have the option of surrender, Onslaught. Say the word, and you need not fear death this day."

"I don't 'fear' death!"

The corner of Elita's mouth quirked up. "I know that. But, not fearing death is not the same as wanting to die, and I am reasonably certain you would prefer to live. However, the fact remains that you only have two options left."

Elita held up her hands as if weighting Onslaughts choices.

"On the one hand, you have assured safety as our prisoner. We do not kill, torture, or mistreat our prisoners, and while you may scoff at such 'softness', I cannot imagine you would insist for otherwise. But if you take this choice, I will forever remain outside your grasp, and you will never have another chance to kill me and avenge your gestalt. You would have to learn to let that anger and hatred go, or drive yourself mad.

"On the other hand, you have this final fight against me, already injured and tired, with the promise of no intervention, not even from those only three steps away. I won't even take back any of my weapons."

"Elita!" Optimus exclaimed, taking half a step forward. She glanced back, and he step back again, looking like he was already regretting his promise.

"You will honestly fight me as you are, disarmed and everything?" Onslaught questioned in disbelief. Elita nodded.

"It will be almost as if this interruption never happened. This is your last, best chance to avenge your gestalt, but at the possible cost of your life if you cannot escape the wrath of at least three fully functioning Autobots.

"These are you choices. There is nothing else. Think carefully, for you will not have any more chances. But, the true choice, the true deciding factor, is this: is avenging your gestalt worth it?"

Onslaught looked at her carefully, trying to pull out the trick, any hidden meanings she might have. His head moved minutely as he looked at Ironhide, Optimus, Ratchet still bend over Jazz, and the now awake Bumblebee, slowly sitting up with the humans around his knees. His gaze turned downwards in deep thought for several seconds. All the while Elita, and everyone, waited patiently for his answer.

When he finally gave it, it was low, but sure.

"Yes."

Onslaught threw a punch straight at Elita's head with enough force to snap her neck cables if it made contact. Elita twitched, and suddenly she was to the right. He tried to hit her with his other fist, she twitched, and suddenly she was to the left.

Right, right, left, down, right, lean back, left…while Elita would occasionally have to step back to avoid the full blow, she was continuously able to avoid them with liquid grace. To Onslaughts immense frustration, while she would occasionally deflect his fist with a quick hand, she was remaining almost entirely, infuriatingly passive. It was looking more like a choreographed dance than an actual fight.

Ironhide crossed his arms and watched almost incredulously. After taking such a beating, how could Elita possibly be still able to move so fast?

He glanced back at Ratchet to see if the Hummer had noticed the fight yet. He was still bent over Jazz, and apparently putting on the finishing touches of his repairs, welding on several pieces of greenish-yellow plating on the saboteurs back. Coincidentally, the medic was almost missing some plating from both shins and one shoulder.

But it wasn't Ratchets self-cannibalism that arrested the Topkick's attention now, but the two young humans beyond him: a boy with a hasty splint on his leg, and a shorter girl that shared a strong resemblance to him. They were both watching the fight with expressions of shock, fear, and/or confusion, it was hard to tell. Probably all three.

So these are the kids Elita 'kidnapped' and caused such a fuss over, eh? he thought. The boy, Nolan presumably, was being supported heavily by his sister and trying to keep as much weight off his hurt leg as he could. Ironhide felt a cold rage grow within him as he considered how the boy's leg had most probably been hurt. Or rather, by whom.

Ironhide cast a quick look at the fighting bots – Elita deflected a fist, stepped in close, and thrust her hand hard upwards, cracking the underside of Onslaughts chin with the heel of her hand and a sickening CRACK! – before going over to the young humans. The girl – Aine was it? Humans had such weird names sometimes – was still enthralled by the fight. But her brother had noticed him almost immediately, and was watching him approach carefully. Not fearfully, so much as cautiously curious and maybe a little nervous. Ironhide had to give him points for staying aware of his surroundings and remaining calm if cautious.

"How long have you been standing there?" Ironhide asked, crossing his arms again. The girl started and seemed to notice him for the first time.

"Just got here maybe a minute ago," Nolan answered. He looked back at Elita's fight, and both his face and tone took on a decidedly darker, icier edge.

"You know, I get the whole 'advanced alien species-slash-culture' thing, but humor my pitiful organic brain for a second and explain to me what the point is in the cavalry coming if you're not going to bother helping??"

Ironhide raised an optic ridge, not sure if he was amused or just annoyed by the mouthy teen.

"You're pretty brave for someone so small and easily stepped on," he noted, readjusting his arms and just so happening to give a lovely view of his arm-mounted cannons.

"What my brother means," Aine added quickly, "is that we don't understand what's going on now. I mean, why is Elita still fighting Onslaught alone?"

Ah, so the boy was the Guardian/Fighter and the girl was the Diplomat/Mediator. One ready to get into a fight or argument for what he saw as an injustice, the other ready to step in and smooth things over before it escalated too much. Ironhide never had much use for the type (his cannons worked wonders in 'negotiations,' thank you very much), but he could grudgingly admit that it was a useful skill…sometimes.

He shrugged. "Frag if I know. You probably have a better idea than I do. You've spent the last three days with her. I just got here."

Aine actually giggled a little. Nolan just looked more confused. Ironhide cycled an extra long 'breath' of air, his version of a sigh.

"Look, Elita insisted she had to finish this on her own, and Prime is letting her for Unicron knows why. She said she 'finally realized she had to do this alone' or something like that. Frag if I know why Onslaught jumped at the chance. He loses, Elita kills him. He wins, we kill him. He knows he's slagged either way."

"It's personal."

Mech and boy looked at Aine, the girl looking out into space as comprehension dawned on her.

"Elita, she…she killed his team – gestalt? – anyway, she killed them before she got here, to Earth. She said Onslaught was only mad because she embarrassed him, but that never made much sense to me. I think this is a lot more personal that Elita gave him credit for, and she gets it now, maybe. I think…I think maybe she's letting have closure."

A moment of contemplative silence.

"…You're getting this from what again?" Ironhide asked.

Aine looked a little embarrassed, and Nolan looked offended and mad on her behalf, but the girl just shrugged. "Just from lot of thinking over the small things. It's hard to explain. It's more like a gut feeling, I guess. I mean, everything else aside, I honestly believe that people are people and are generally the same. Wait, not 'same' so much as some stuff being universal. Like the need for closure, and feeling guilty for not being to help those you cared about."

Onslaught? Feeling guilty? Maybe when the sun exploded and rained down grease cookies.

"That's not important right now. Just, wait with Bumblebee or something, and stay out of the way."

The repairs were ugly, but functional, and Ratchet wouldn't have to worry about anything falling loose on the way back to base. He had even siphoned some energon into Jazz's takes from his own fuel line to give the Solstice enough energy to bring him online without danger.

"Ugh….ow." Jazz groaned, lip components twisting in phantom pain. He froze, and frantically tried to push himself up only to be stopped by Ratchets hand in the middle of his back. "Mikaela! Where's Mikaela?!"

"Easy there, she's fine," Ratchet told him, easing him back down to the ground with a gentle but firm push on his back. "A little bruised, but fine. She's looking after Bumblebee right now with Sam."

"I wanna see her fo' myself."

"And you will – but not now! She's busy with Bumblebee, and YOU'RE not going anywhere right now. We'll probably have to have Ironhide drive you out in his bed, seeing as you're in no condition to transform."

Jazz grumbled something unpolite, but didn't try to get up again. "An' Elita?"

"Alive, in better condition that you were, and with – WHAT THE FRAG!!"

While Ratchet had to be talked down from a fit of epic proportions ("What the frag where you thinking letting her fight like that, Prime!"), Elita and Onslaught went on with their dance as if nothing else existed. No angry Medics, no concerned Primes, no confused children, they all faded away into irrelevancy. All that mattered was this fight, the here and the now. They attacked, defended, parried, ducked and countered with practice speed and skill born from millennia of battle. Nothing could intrude in this, not thoughts, not allies, not even weapons separated them, fighting as they were with bare hands. Any lingering frustration Onslaught had felt at Elita's comparative passivity bled away as he dedicated all his energy into the next hit, the follow up block and counter. Elita matched him move for move, rarely striking back but making each one count when she did.

But the balance of power could only last for so long, and it would swiftly tilt in the larger and stronger Onslaughts favor if something didn't change.

Fortunately, one did not become the leader of a guerilla fighting force without proficiency for quick thinking and creativity.

Onslaught attempted to grab her, but Elita ducked and sidestepped, and it only a few liquate moves that no one could be entirely sure they saw, she was somehow behind the towering mech, one small hand on the middle of his broad back.

Onslaught tried to turn to face her, but she matched his pace as easily as if she could read his mind. He spun twice, and then abruptly changed directions hoping to surprise her with the sudden shift and catch her. But he was too big to move quickly enough, and in the second it took for him to stop and rebalance that was when she acted. Onslaught, to his horror, could feel the femme jump onto his back and literally climb up his back. In a moment of almost-panic and clarity he managed to reach back and grab the hand gripping the missile launcher on his shoulder and pulled her over, throwing her over his shoulder like a whip. The snake-like strike meant for his neck missed its mark, and instead her fingers found his right optic.

Onslaught howled in pain as Elita landed heavily on her back. She drew up her knees and leaped back to her feet, remaining down in a crouched position. But Onslaught wasn't paying attention. His hands were on his face and he stumbled back a step as if trying to get away from the pain. This was her best chance to end the fight, and Elita was going to take it. From her coiled position she leapt up as fast and deadly as a mongoose against a viper, hand coming up as flat as a blade for his neck

But Onslaught was no stranger to pain, and not even a lost optic could blind him with agony for long. Even as Elita closed the distance, Onslaught reached down and pulled out the dagger he still carried.

It was over in the space of a heart beat.

Elita cried out in pain, leaping off and away from Onslaught, staggering back until she was well out of arms reach. Her left hand gripped at her shoulder, the blade that was sunk in to the hilt to far back for her to remove alone. The dagger had penetrated deep into the joint, and only Onslaughts rush had kept him from cutting her arm clean off. As it was, her right arm dangled useless at her side, already turning brick pink in her own energon.

Onslaught rubbed his neck, and chuckled darkly.

"You've been so obsessed with my neck this whole time, I have to admit I was expecting something worse than a pinched wire."

Elita said nothing, still and unresponsive as a statue, the lazily blinking red locater light on the handle dimly illuminating the fins of her helm once a second or so. The light was showing more signs of emotion than she was right now. Even as Onslaught moved closer, she held her ground, optics never wavering.

Ironhide, on the other hand, had lost the already tenuous hold he had on his patience. He raised his cannons and fired them up to blow the Decepticons head off because promise or no he wasn't going to just stand aside and let the slagger lay one more hand on her –

– only to have a large silver hand push it back down again.

"Stand down Ironhide." Optimus ordered calmly. "I already gave my word that I would allow no interference."

The Topkick stared at him incredulously.

"Are you completely insane?!" he bellowed. "This has gone far enough! You can't tell me you value your word over Elita??"

"I already said that I trust Elita's judgment in this matter, and I still do. We will not interfere."

For the first time their very long friendship, Ironhide wanted to just turn and shoot his own commander. How could Optimus, of all mechs, just stand by and let the femme he loved, the one he supposedly wanted for his sparkmate, be mercilessly executed as he only stood by and looked…

And look…

And look shockingly calm and unperturbed by current events. Normally that'd be a sign of a sparkless mech of Megatrons caliber, except that just 30 seconds ago the Prime had been so rigid Ironhide was half waiting for his armor to crack, and looking about ready to jump in the middle of the fight himself, just barely restrained by the iron will that was Elita's request. Come to think of it, in spite of a useless arm and a failed attack (whatever the Pit she was trying to pull off with the neck thing), Elita wasn't looking too concerned herself, and not in an "I-know-I'm-slagged-but-I'm-not-about-to-admit-it" sort of way either. She was almost completely helpless, but the locater light on the blade was showing more activity than she was, as the transformed GILA bore down on her like a mountain…

…and fall heavily to the ground as his knee gave out.

What the slag?? Was Onslaughts first thought, catching himself before he went face-flat in the dirt. His confusion was only compounded when he discovered his arms and fingers were trembling under the strain.

He looked up at Elita, the femme only watching impassively. He tried to get up again with a grunt, but something groaned with an ugly screeching sound and gave out in his knee. His leg failed him again and he fell back down. In dawning horror he realized that he couldn't feel his leg at all, there was a buzzing in his audios, his hands wouldn't stop shaking, and his scanners were fritzing like he was in the middle of an electrical storm. Experimentally, he tried to make a fist. The hand curled, but it was a weak and pitiful fist, and the fingers were trembling more violently. Throughout his body, he could almost feel small mechanisms beginning to skip, stop, speed up, all mismatched and out of line.

"What…what did you DO to me?!" Onslaught demanded.

Elita said nothing, did nothing. But Onslaught, for the first time, noticed the long, sharp needles protruding from each of Elita's fingertips on her dangling hand. Except that the middle one was only as third as long as the others.

His hand flew up to his neck, where he had felt the sharp, annoying pain from before. It wasn't a pinched wire as he had first assumed; it was the needle tip, broken off and embedded deep into his vital fuel lines.

"Virus A5-347, Class Omega, Codename: 'Entropy'," Elita explained in a quiet voiced that echoed across the field. "It attacks the sensor and motor systems first, disabling movement and communications. The process can take hours or minutes, depending on the entry point, the neck and its vital lines being the most efficient. Motor controls are lost, and the CPU automatically attempts to stop the virus by shutting down the affected areas, hence the ensuing paralysis."

As if demonstrating, Onslaughts arm gave and he fell heavily face forward, the edges of his vision already becoming fuzzy and dark to match the muffling buzz in his audios.

"The process is not painful," Elita continued. "But it ends with the complete erasure of memory banks and programming, leaving nothing but an empty shell unable to support the spark within it. Deactivation follows shortly after."

Onslaught growled as he forced his remaining, if violently trembling, working arm to push him up by the elbow. He glared at Elita hatefully.

"W-w-why are you bother-bother-bothering to tell me th-this?"

He snarled as his vocalize started to short out, as if just speaking in complete sentences was a task too hard to bear.

Elita came a little closer and, to Onslaughts enragement, actually kneeled down to talk better, as if she was trying to be kind!

"I carry with me the antivirus. There is still a chance for you to live."

"Y-you d-d-d-d-don't give UP on that, d-d-d-do you?"

"This fight is over, Onslaught. I am offering you one last chance to live. I can do no more for you."

Onslaught glared at her, willing for his hate to burn holes in her head. "F-f-fraaag OFF, you g-g-g-liiiitch! I would rather d-d-die than be in-indebted to y-yooouu!"

Elita didn't look surprised. She looked, almost resigned, as if she had been expecting that answer. What Onslaught wasn't expecting, was the quirk at the corner of her lip. She was…amused?

"W-w-w-whaaat's so funny, Auto-to-tobot?"

She shook her head. "Nothing, really. I was just remembering, when I tried to offer Vortex a last chance to surrender, when he was trapped in the mire…he said almost the exact same thing."

Behind the visor, Onslaughts optics widened.

With effort, Elita stood, turned her back on him, and walked away.

Onslaught watched after her incredulously, calm as could be, confidant that the fight was over. She didn't think he was a threat anymore. She didn't think he, the one who came so close to turning her into a pile of scrap metal, was NOT a threat anymore!

This was…this was…insulting! Humiliating! And unforgivable!

"D-don't…"

He pushed himself up on sheer will power.

"…turn…"

His auto-targeting was down, so he held the missile launcher steady himself.

"…YOUR BACK ON ME!"

Elita half turned just as Onslaught fired off the last missile, arm coming up in defense.

And just as the missile left its launcher, five other Autobots already on a hair trigger opened fire. Onslaught was assaulted from plasma guns and solar cannons from all sides, again and again covered in fire and plasma until he glowed as hot as a sun, hit over a dozen times easily in the span of a few seconds.

Everyone was completely silent, Ironhide, Bumblebee, Ratchet, Jazz, Optimus and Elita all still with their weapons up and ready to shoot more. But it was clearly moot point: Onslaughts husk he teetered for a few seconds before falling over, his entire body melted beyond recognition.

Elita lowered her wrist pistol and just watched the body smolder and cool with an unreadable expression. Behind her, the slope boasted a new clearing, a small crater blown apart. The missile had missed its mark by a good ten feet, its issuer unable to even steady himself for the brief few seconds. She hadn't even needed to dodge.

"Such a waste," she said quietly.

"Elita!"

The femme turned, and to her surprise finally noticed two new faces with Bumblebee.

"Nolan? Aine? What are you doing here?" she asked as she came over, trying to hurry but having to walk gingerly (oh yeah, she was going to be feeling this in the morning). "Is something wrong?"

Aine waved the question off. "No no, we're fine. After everyone else got here, we thought the party was over and decided to go ahead and come down ourselves, save everyone else the trouble of fetching us. What about you? Doesn't that hurt?"

"Not terribly." She said, kneeling down in front of them. "It is not a serious injury."

"Not serious…" Sam said incredulously. "There's a SWORD in your SHOULDER!"

"Nonsense, it is only a knife. There is no need to exaggerate."

Aine rolled her eyes, and the other humans just smirked. But Elita turned her attention to the unusually silent Nolan.

"Nolan, are you alright? Did Onslaught do anything else to you? Do you need anything?"

The boy shook his head, still avoiding Elita's eyes, and frankly giving her a really bad feeling. What was he so afraid of telling her?

"Um, Elita?" he started quietly. "When you get a chance, can we…you know, talk? There's some stuff that I kinda need to apologize for, and…yeah. I mean, I didn't mean…just, yeah."

Elita smiled fondly as the boy fumbled over his words. She reached out with her still working hand and gently wrapped her fingers around Nolan's torso, her thumb gently rubbing against his cheek as softly as she could manage. After a momentary hesitation, Nolan hugged the thumb back.

"I understand. We will speak later in private. There are many things we need to talk about, but first I want you to know that I hold anger over none of it. I am only glad you are safe." Her optics dimmed as she looked at his leg. "I only regret that I was not able to protect you as I should have."

Nolan kept his head ducked down, hiding his face and tightening his hold on Elita's thumb until he nearly threatened to pinch shut the circulatory tubing built within. "Forget it. Me getting caught, and my leg, that was all my fault. I was stupid, I didn't think. You almost died to save me, all because I had to go off and have a pity party for myself. I'm just…I'm so, so sorry for that. God, that sounds so cheap, but I don't know what else to say."

Elita smiled, sincerely touched. She moved her thumb-tip so it was under Nolan's chin, forcing him to look up at her, his eyes shiny and wet.

"I knew what was likely to happen long before I came here. That you are safe now is all that matters, and I have no regrets. I will not allow you to blame yourself for what you could have never been able to predict or avoid."

Nolan smiled a little, and scratched the corner of his eye while surreptitiously wiping away the fluid gathering there. "Elita, if you weren't covered in flesh eating acid I'd totally hug you."

The femme laughed lightly, pleased that Nolan was coming back to his old self.

Aine coughed lightly. "Um, excuse me? Sorry to interrupt, but I think there's someone else who wants to talk to you."

"Ratchet can wait a minute already." Nolan retorted. Aine's smile turned into a sly grin.

"I wasn't talking about Ratchet." She said, and coyly pointed behind the femme.

Elita looked over her shoulder, to see Optimus standing behind her, far away enough to give her privacy as she reunited with the lost boy, but looking quite eager to have his turn.

It was only just then that it fully sunk it for the Femme Commander: it was over. Maybe not the war, maybe not the fighting, but this journey, this waiting, it was OVER. The children were safe, the danger had passed, and on this strange alien world she had finally, finally made it home.

Elita couldn't help it; she smiled and laughed as she got up, joy bubbling up and demanding to be released. She felt like all her pain and exhaustion just evaporated from her. She didn't care if she was a slagging mess, she was almost right where she wanted to be and she was too happy, too euphoric, to care about anything else.

Elita ran two steps forward.

Optimus took one closer and opened him arms to receive her.

The blinking red light on the knife handle blinked rapidly for a few seconds, held, and dimmed.

The hidden bomb detonated and Elita's entire upper body was engulfed in fire and light.

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