Chapter 33

AN: I know I said Sunday...

Carrying belongs to Litahatchee. No stealing because stealing is bad. :)

Ironhide managed to smuggle Chromia back onto the autobot base with relatively few problems, with the exception of the scene at the plaza. One glance at the femme and it was assumed that she was a doll. No one took a second look – any femmes escorted to the autobot base were presumed to be a consort. If they had taken a second glance, they would have noticed that the femme walked too proudly, too tall to be a consort. Ironhide gripped Chromia's hand tightly as they slinked down a hallway, headed toward Prime's office. Ironhide raised one massive fist and knocked on the door sharply.

"Come in," a male voice called from within, muffled heavily by the thick doors. Chromia shot Ironhide a nervous look, which he countered with a reassuring smile. He squeezed her hand gently, silently asking if she was ready. She nodded slightly, gathering her wits about her and squaring her shoulders. Ironhide and Chromia entered the room.

Optimus was sitting within. The room was pristine compared to the Prime's desk. Energon cubes were stacked haphazardly in one corner of the desk while the other end was weighed down by digipads, holocubes, and legal documents. Optimus sat in the middle of it all, cradling his computing center in his hands. One particularly complicated looking set of codes sat before him, glinting innocently in the harsh fluorescent lights. Deeming the task of deciphering the pad as too difficult, he looked up. He nodded to Ironhide, giving him a curious look. Something was hiding behind him…something blue.

"What is it that you need, Ironhide?"

Ironhide fumbled for a few seconds before speaking.

"I…ah…there was something…that I thought I should ask you."

Optimus nodded and motioned for Ironhide to continue.

"I don't mean to be impolite Ironhide, but you need to make this quick. I've got a meeting with Ratchet and the Council in less than a half joor," Prime said nonchalantly, flipping the digipad over on his desk. Chromia stepped forward, waiting for Prime to acknowledge her. He glanced up at her and dropped his gaze back down at his datapad. Then he realized just who he had looked at and shot out of his seat. He moved so quickly that the teetering tower of energon cubes clattered to the floor loudly, the only noise in the otherwise silent room.

"Ironhide, what are you doing with her? She's been reported missing for cycles!"

"She told me she wanted to come with me," Ironhide said. It was more of a question than a statement. Chromia got the sudden image of Ironhide saying something along the lines of 'it followed me home, can I keep it'. She wisely kept her vocalizers off at the look Optimus gave her.

"No, Ironhide, she needs to be returned – she has no place here. She won't be safe! What were you thinking? Oh, wait a breem, I forgot – you don't think, Ironhide! What the slag is the matter with you –"

"I want to ask for political asylum," she said loudly, halting Optimus in the middle of his rant. Ironhide winced slightly at the look that crossed Optimus's face – one of surprise, incredulousness, and shock. Prime looked over at her, a calculating look on his faceplates. She fidgeted slightly under his intense gaze.

"What?"

"I seek asylum. I swear to follow your every command and to fight for you," Chromia said, crossing her arms over her chest plate. The silence in the room was almost deafening. Ironhide opened his mouth to protest. Prime blinked just as Chromia began to speak.

"Shut your mouth, Ironhide. I'm not going to be a frail little femme any more. I refuse to allow anyone to take advantage of me."

Ironhide's mouth immediately snapped shut. Optimus gazed between the two and sank into his chair, motioning for them to do the same. He gave Chromia a kind smile, trying his best to break the news to her gently.

"Chromia, your family is very worried-"

"No, they're not worried that I'm missing! They're only worried that they won't be able to unite their house to Emirate's! I refuse to be bonded to the lecher!"

"Emirate? You have to go back now, Chromia. He's the one funding our side of the war-"

"Sir, with all due respect," she snapped, "I can fund your war for you. I've got more credits in my spending account than he has in his entire fortune! Now will you grant me asylum or will I have to take my credits to a more understanding faction?"

Optimus sighed wearily at the thinly veiled threat and shook his cranial unit. Chromia's optics narrowed to slits.

"I don't think so, Chromia. Ironhide, take her back to her home."

"I can't do that, sir," Ironhide said softly. The look Ironhide received in response was nothing short of acidic.

"Ironhide, I believe I gave you a direct order."

"I'm not about to deliver my bondmate to some other mech! Either you grant her asylum or I leave with her," Ironhide said. Optimus's optics narrowed further as he considered Ironhide's ultimatum.

"I'll see what I can do." Reaching over, he pressed a button on his desk. A speaker crackled to life. A rich feminine voice rang out over the communications line.

"Yes, Optimus?"

"Elita, would you please come to my office? We need to discuss something…"

"Of course," the same voice said, seductive and regal. Optimus leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest plate.

"We will wait for Elita-One and we will discuss this further."

Chromia shifted daintily in her seat. She looked around the office, appraising the many tactical holocubes scattered across the bookshelves. There were a few cubes of poetry nestled between the books, hidden. A breem later, there was soft knocking on the door.

"Come in," Prime called out, folding his hands atop his desk.

The doors hissed open, sliding back into the frame. A tall dusky pink and ivory femme stood in the doorway, looking every bit the commander of the femme division. The femme's optics alighted on Chromia before they narrowed to slits. Elita crossed the room slowly, her gaze traveling over Chromia's frame. A slight smirk crossed her face as Elita drew level with Chromia. Elita gently grasped Chromia's chin, examining the blue femme in the harsh lights. When Chromia made no move to stand, Elita took a step back. Chromia held Elita's gaze almost defiantly, her optics narrowed slightly.

"And what do we have here? Chromia…now what could a pretty little femme like you be doing here," Elita said before taking a seat on the edge of Optimus's desk. Ironhide gave Optimus an unreadable look before shaking his head slightly, shocked at the femme's insubordination.

"Pretty little femmes like you should be at home, taking care of sparklings," Elita said quietly. Her voice hid the slightest tone of mocking. Chromia's optics narrowed further. She did not like this Commander at all.

"Elita, she wants political asylum," Optimus rumbled out softly. Not even Elita could hide her surprise at the statement. Her optics widened a mere fraction of an inch and she turned to look at Optimus. The air hummed with their unspoken conversation. After a few tense astroseconds, Elita turned her haughty gaze over to Chromia.

"Very well. I will personally train you," Elita all but purred, getting to her feet. She flicked her wrist weakly, motioning Chromia to the door. Chromia bit down her anger and followed Elita to the doorway. Elita smirked. It seemed that Chromia was not used to being treated as less than royalty! Elita's smirk threatened to crack her face plates – she was going to have fun with this new batch of energon.

"Now come along and I will show you to your quarters. Optimus?"

"Dismissed, Elita and Chromia. Ironhide, sit."

"Yessir," Ironhide drawled out, shooting Chromia an apologetic look. Elita motioned for the doorway once more. Chromia stepped out of the room disdainfully, following at a sedate speed. Elita headed down one of the hallways, her stride quick and purposeful. Chromia stored away what she could, doing her best to remember this particular route. The hallways were all the same – long twisting passageways of gleaming silver and scuffed grey metal underfoot, branching off in sequenced intervals. Finally, after almost two breems of silence, Chromia tentatively decided to speak.

"Commander?" Chromia's nasal plates curled slightly. She did not like this femme.

"Wipe that look off of your face plates, soldier."

"…Thank you for allowing me to stay-"

"Oh, don't thank me yet," the femme said lazily, opening yet another stainless steel door. Outside lay an expansive training field and ranges. Cold air gusted through the doorway. Chromia gazed around the training facility, her optics widening slightly.

"Welcome to Pit," Elita said, smirking over at the femme.

Wincing as she was slammed into the ground, Chromia mused on Elita's previous words. Elita had lied to her. This wasn't Pit…Pit was youngling's play compared to what she was being subjected to. Rising well before the first sun rose to run laps in the frigid cold for cycles. Obstacle courses that made her entire body ache for days afterwards. Slowly but surely, Chromia began to adjust to her life on the base. Orns went by – she became stronger and faster, quickly rising to the head of her class in both physical and educational standards. She felt something in her shoulder cuff rattle. Sharp pain lanced through her entire being.

"Get up and move, Chromia!"

Chromia leapt to her feet, running at the drone that had nearly off-lined her. She dove into the fray with little thought for her own safety. A hard kick to the cranial unit sent the drone reeling away. Chromia tensed and sank into a fighting stance, waiting for another drone. None other appeared. She wearily clutched at her injured shoulder, wincing as the pain blossomed into throbbing agony.

"Good job, Chromia. You've graduated the basics class," Elita said, nodding in approval. Elita then approached Chromia. She knew what was going to happen an astrosecond before it did – Elita never so much as spoke to her after training sessions, aside from barking another order. The rose-colored femme tensed for a second before leaping at her. Chromia ducked and rolled, knowing what her commander wanted. If Elita wanted to fight, then a fight she would get. Chromia vowed to not go down without inflicting pain on the femme that had put her through Pit.

Elita was merciless, faster than any drone Chromia had ever faced before in battle. Chromia hissed quietly, rolling away once more. She saw her chance and punched Elita in the abdominal tanks, sending the femme backwards onto her aft. Chromia leapt onto Elita, punching and scratching what she could. Elita gave a mighty heave, sending Chromia flying off of her chest. Chromia landed on the ground with a loud thud. Shaking the stars from her processors, Chromia immediately leapt to her feet, circling Elita warily.

Elita lunged for her. Chromia ducked under the femme's outstretched arms and rolled past her, easily jumping to her feet. Elita's movements were getting slow and jerky but Chromia knew better than to underestimate her commander. The femme was teasing her, waiting for her to lower her guard. Chromia pretended not to notice and continued fighting, even though her own limbs were growing heavy and weak. Elita leapt at her with a renewed vigor, noting Chromia's fatigue. Chromia, however, had one last trick hidden before she collapsed.

A powerful kick aimed at her commander's head knocked the femme to the ground. Chromia followed shortly. Alarms went off in her head –

56 percent damage to left shoulder motor servos – medic required immediately – energon reserves…energon…reserves falling…switching to back up electrical cells…warn…warning…two cycles energy…remain!...

STASIS LOCK in ONE BREEM…

Shutting down…

Medic…required…

It was a pleasant feeling to be in stasis lock. She was lost to her thoughts and spark. She could feel Ironhide reaching to her and she replied with a soft burst of love. Aimlessly drifting through her processors, she went through her sensor readings. Even though she had been knocked offline, her body had taken sensor readings for a joor afterwards. Elita had sent out a message requesting "a bit of assistance". Once the security guards had arrived, all Pit had broken loose. Some thought that the femmes had been ambushed and left to die. Then they realized that the two femmes had beaten the slag out of one another. They were so in trouble.

She came crashing back into her body, wincing at the pain that laced through her body. Ah, someone had figured out her online codes. Her servos had been replaced – stiff newness made her entire arm ache. Two self-scans later, she managed to bring her optics online. A medic was by her side in an instant, a thunderous scowl on his face plates.

"What the slag were you thinking? Getting into a fight with your commanding officer…Primus, you're lucky you weren't deactivated," the grey mech said, scowling at her. She rolled her optics, ignoring the medic's squawk.

"She attacked me first. I defended myself," Chromia said shortly, turning an evil glare over at Elita, who sat in her berth. The medic looked over at Elita, who nodded briskly. The unnamed mech nodded and backed down.

"Very well, then. You two get to explain this to Prime," the medic said, sighing and turning away from Chromia.

"Fra-aag," Chromia muttered, sitting up slowly. She stretched the new gears and servos in her arm and winced at the tight newness.

"That was a good fight," Elita said nonchalantly, giving her a nod. Chromia smirked proudly.

"Thank you, ma'am," Chromia said quietly, bringing her legs up underneath her chin.

"If Optimus asks, we were sparring," Elita said, smiling over at the femme. Mischief glinted in her optic. Chromia nodded, smiling back at her commander.

"You two were sparring," Optimus stated, his optics narrowing at the two femmes sitting before his desk. Chromia nodded enthusiastically.

"And what prompted you to spar out on the training fields and not in a sparring ring?"

"She needs to learn how to fight in all sorts of environments, Optimus," Elita said smoothly, cutting Chromia off.

"Don't give me that slag, Elita," Optimus rumbled out quietly, his optics narrowed in warning. Elita glared right back at him until he sat down. A sigh of air escaped his vents as he read over the reports from the guards and medic.

"Neither of you were wearing protective gear," Optimus said, crossing his arms over his massive chest plates.

"We didn't need it. We weren't really hitting each other," Chromia said, a small smile on her face. Elita barely held her snort back. The kick that Chromia had given her had somehow knocked her processor off line. Optimus stared at the light blue femme before shaking his cranial unit.

"You weren't really hitting one another," he repeated. He picked up a digital pad and flicked it across the table. It slid across the desk and stopped neatly at the corner. Elita picked it up and scanned over the glyphs. Oh, so they had caused quite a bit of damage. Not only did they almost kill one another, they managed to destroy three training drones, a nearby training ring, and managed to hit a bystander with a null ray. Oops.

"Medical says that your processor was knocked off line. Four gears in your neck had to be replaced, along with half the armor there. Chromia, your entire shoulder apparatus had to be rebuilt. Your entire arm had to be rewired. Don't even get me started on how many dents we had to remove out of your shell, Chromia…and you're still going to tell me that the two of you weren't really hitting one another?"

Chromia and Elita both nodded, not looking once at one another. Optimus's engine growled quietly as he tried to decide what to do with the femmes.

"Elita, Chromia – the both of you are assigned to restocking the medical bay and armory for the next two orns. Elita, you will receive three days in the brig for the blatant endangerment of yourself and one of your lesser officers. Dismissed." The mech turned back to his work while Elita rose to her feet. Chromia stay put. After three astroseconds, Optimus turned his steely gaze over at Chromia. The femme held his gaze defiantly, narrowing her optics at him.

"I gave you a direct order, Chromia."

"Sir, I want three days in the brig, too," she said boldly, turning her nasal plates up at him.

"What?" Optimus and Elita were staring at her incredulously.

"I willingly endangered the life of my commanding officer. As stated in the Book of Codes, page 2554, paragraph 3 delta-"

"I know the Book of Codes – I wrote the pit slagging thing myself," Optimus interrupted irritably, "Fine. You want punishment? Fine. You'll be joining Elita in her confinement. Dismissed."

"Yessir," Chromia said, smartly saluting Optimus and getting to her feet. She trailed after Elita, noting the curious look the commander shot her.

"That was incredibly stupid, you know," Elita said nonchalantly.

"What was, ma'am?"

"Defying Optimus like that. He is not a mech to disobey."

"With all due respect, ma'am, but I honestly don't give a lug nut. Stocking the medical bay is punishment enough. Putting just you in the brig isn't fair – I should be in there, too. I kicked you, so I should be there even longer, in any case."

Elita laughed quietly. The soft noise startled Chromia.

"Don't let Optimus hear you talking like that. We'll both be in trouble," the femme said, turning a mischievous glance in Chromia's direction.

"Then I suppose I should familiarize myself with the route to the brig."

Another soft titter from Elita.

"I think we'll both have to."

Her vorn as a rookie ended rather spectacularly with the graduation of her class. She was promoted to a minor sergeant. Her intense dedication and discipline made her one of the most requested femmes on the base, but Elita kept Chromia, instead sending other femmes to those platoons. Through the vorns of exhausting work, watching their teammates die, and the attempted genocide on the femme half of the race, the two grew closer and closer together, becoming sisters and more.

Thanks to her hectic schedule, she had only been able to see Ironhide a total of four times during that long vorn, and only for a few breems each time. She learned that he had been promoted to work alongside Prime as weapons specialist, a coveted honor.

Chromia proudly stood in the middle of the room along with her other rookie graduates, relishing in the attention. Then she saw a familiar bulk in the back of the room, trying to find a seat. Chromia gasped quietly, her spark almost leaping from its casing. Ironhide…

Elita shot her a smirk, knowing fully well why the femme was suddenly so agitated.

"My graduation gift to you," she said softly, shuttering one optic in a wink. Chromia bounced on the balls of her feet, eager to get to her soon-to-be-spark-mate. Elita clapped one hand on her shoulder.

"At ease, soldier," she said, hiding a smile. Chromia nodded. Her spark was soaring, it was begging to be joined with Ironhide's spark, twisting and roiling in its case. She let out a soft, excited whine, wishing that the banquet was over so that she could find Ironhide and show him how much she had missed him. Ironhide shot her a smirk across the room, knowing exactly what she was thinking. A soft brushing against her spark was Ironhide's own calling to hers. She could feel him agreeing with her, sending a few snaking tendrils of pleasure to her. Chromia's optics widened and she glared at Ironhide, who shot her a smirk and a wink. So the fragger wanted to play…

She smirked suddenly. She barged into their weak bond, flooding his end with images of what exactly she was going to do to him tonight. He stiffened in his seat, glaring at her as one of the mechs beside him asked him if he was feeling alright. Ironhide replied in the same manner but more deliciously, the energy snaking through her entire body. She shook slightly, trembling at the deluge of pleasure.

"Chromia, you're shaking. Are you alright?"

"F-fine. Ironhide's misbehaving," she whispered quietly, bringing a firewall up around her spark box. Ironhide sent her a dejected pout when he realized that he was no longer making the femme tremble. Elita's optics widened at the comment, heat rising in her cheek plates at the suggestive statement. Chromia snorted at the scandalized look on Elita's face.

And so began their beautiful relationship.

Five vorns later…

Elita sighed irritably and turned onto her side, drawing her legs up to her chest. A particularly loud thump made her scrabble for a cushion, pulling it over her auditory receptor. It was a little over three breems later before the noises subsided and Elita was free to remove the cushion. As she succumbed to the warmth of recharge, the noises began again…with a renewed vigor. A strangled shriek of anger erupted from her vocal processors as she finally snapped. The lack of recharge had finally gotten to her.

Flinging aside the cushion, she walked up to the wall and delivered a powerful kick, screeching about their damnation and what she was going to do if Chromia and Ironhide did not keep the volume of their activities down. The noises suddenly stopped. Elita struggled to reign in her anger, her intakes heaving with exertion. A breem of silence passed by. Elita picked up her cushion and made her way back to her berth, purring happily as she lay down on the berth. She was almost in recharge, floating in and out of delicious unconsciousness when suddenly -

BOOM.

Her optics slammed open and Elita leapt to her feet. She could barely hear the giggles from Chromia. Suddenly, the femme let out a low, erotic moan, crying out Ironhide's name. With one optic wincing, Elita let out a scream of anger. The scream of anger turned to a few creative suggestions for a cleaning brush when she saw the text she received from Chromia.

Don't be jealous!! Go find yourself a mech!

Elita stormed from her room, making sure to slam the door as hard as she could. The door bounced out of the frame defiantly, sliding back across the open doorway. She merely glared at the door, hefting her cushions in her arms. Now, who could she bunk with?

Optimus was rudely brought out of recharge by loud rapping on his door. He flung it open, growling quietly. His optics widened at the haggard femme standing before him. Ignoring his slack jawed stare, Elita stepped past him and into his living quarters, flinging her cushions onto the couch. She followed shortly, landing with a loud thud and creaking of weakened metal supports.

"Elita? Wh-what are you doing? This isn't proper!"

"Chromia and Ironhide."

"Ah."

"That's about it, Nightshade. Emirate found out that I was with the autobots about two vorns later and cut off funding. He left the planet not long afterwards," Chromia said, stretching back against the stone wall. Nightshade nodded understandingly, patting Chromia's knee.

"Why did he leave?"

"Who knows? The fragger owned half of Iacon and was getting started on buying out some of our trading outposts. Once the war started, he withdrew all of his credits and sent Iacon's lower levels into a depression," Chromia said, rolling over onto her side to face Nightshade. The moon was starting to descend into the horizon. It was only then that Nightshade realized just how late – or early in the morning – it was. She checked her chronometer, wincing at the time. It was about four in the morning.

"Chromia, we need to get back inside…Ratchet's panicking because he thinks he did something wrong," Nightshade said, a note of amusement in her voice. Chromia laughed heartily, shaking her head.

"You've got him…what is the term…"

"What are you talking about, Chromia?"

"I do believe you have him whipped."

:D

Grah. Too long. My brain hurts. :(

Up next: Ironhide's Story