Chapter 34:

In Which There is Ironhide

Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers in any way, shape, or form.

Carrying belongs to the awesome Litahatchee. No stealing because stealing is bad.

Nightshade aimlessly wandered through the hallways, drifting along like a feather in the wind. Her thoughts were focused solely on the tiny spark in her carrying tanks. It was so tiny! Had it already developed consciousness? Or was it still forming? She couldn't tell yet! She could feel the happiness that occasionally flared from Ratchet's end of the bond – it seemed that he was taking to becoming a creator quite well. He had even started asking what she had planned for a nursery and what he could do to help. At that, she had giggled and gently reminded him that they still had another two orns until the sparkling could be classified as mech or femme. Then they would have to wait two more orns until the sparkling was brought on line. Ratchet drooped visibly, nodding sadly and putting his well thought out plans away. Nightshade felt a twinge of guilt in her spark at the memory of the smile slowly disappearing from his face. Sighing guiltily, she pushed open the doors to the nursery. The room was unnaturally quiet – normally it was at an audio-splitting loudness, but he younglings were all sound asleep, nestled into their tiny berths. Epsilon gave her a quick smile.

"They were just put to bed," Epsilon whispered quietly. Nightshade nodded approvingly, not really listening as a radiant smile crossed her face. Epsilon cast a curious look in her direction.

"You're very happy today, sergeant-"

"Please just call me Nightshade, Epsilon, or must I call you assistant officer Epsilon?"

"Sorry, I kind of forgot…but back on track. You're very happy today," Epsilon said, giving Nightshade a teasing smile.

"I'm just in a good mood," Nightshade replied softly, a knowing smile crossing her face plates. Epsilon gave her a second curious look before glancing at the door.

"Oh! You're dismissed, Epsilon. Enjoy the rest of your day off," Nightshade said kindly, watching as the little femme brightened and scampered from the room, giving her a quick wave. Nightshade wandered around the room for a few breems. Each recharging youngling was covered in a thick blanket. Nightshade delicately pushed the protective cover on the bookcase back, smiling at the fond memory that arose from the simple action. Rose, the mischievous ringleader of the group, had almost hurt herself when she tried to get to the candied energon. As a result of her minor injuries, Chromia had insisted on covering the shelves so that the little femme could not climb them any more. Rose was not a happy youngling when she realized that she could no longer climb the bookcase.

Nightshade sat down on the bench and took the holocube from its casing. She began reading quietly. Every now and then she looked up, watching over the recharging younglings. The door opened quietly and in came Chromia, who looked irritated at something. Chromia seemed to be irritated more and more often nowadays.

"What're you doing here?"

"Elita dismissed me early," Chromia said quietly, gazing at the sleeping younglings. Nightshade quirked an optical ridge up at Chromia. There was something oddabout Chromia - something familiar. Chromia noticed the calculating look on Nightshade's face plates.

"What?"

"Are you alright, Chromia?"

"Yes…why do you ask?"

"…Never mind. You seem a bit off today," Nightshade said, shrugging.

"Nightshade, your energy reserves are a bit low. Go and get some energon," Chromia said worriedly, taking note of Nightshade's dim optics.

"Do I have to?"

"Yes, now get, before I call Ratchet down here," Chromia threatened, shaking a finger in Nightshade's direction. Nightshade pouted and stood up, making her way to the door. Chromia rolled her optics before leaning back in the seat. The silly femme really did need to make sure she refueled on time.

Nightshade wandered around the base slowly, not really wanting to go to the rec room or back to the apartment. She began musing quietly. Something was up with Chromia. It wasn't Emirate or else she would have said something. Nightshade frowned, thinking. What had changed in the femme? She was the same physically, but there was something off about that, too. What could it be? Nightshade leaned against the wall outside of the med bay, wincing as she heard Ratchet bellow. Maybe she would wait a few breems before she went in…

After the yelling subsided, Nightshade pushed the doors open. Ratchet was sitting on one of the counters, serenely reading a holocube. She gave him a curious look before speaking.

"I heard yelling," she stated, giving Ratchet a disapproving stare. Really, the mech knew better! She had told him off time and time again, but he still kept yelling! Yelling never solved anything. Throwing things did. Nightshade had recently discovered the secret amusement that came with holding a particularly heavy welder in her hand and making motions to throw it - Sunstreaker had all but fallen over himself trying to get away from her!

"Of course not, love! I would neveryell at a patient. Ironhide and I were having a…discussion," he said, setting the cube down on the counter. Nightshade quirked one optical ridge at him before sliding into the room and shutting the door behind her.

"Discussing what?"

"No can do, Nightshade. Patient-physician confidentiality," Ratchet said, picking the cube back up. He ignored Nightshade's incredulous look.

"Ratchet. I work here. I'm training to be a physician. I count," she said, her voice starting to get angry.

"Maybe later," he said quietly, watching as Ironhide emerged from one of the recovery rooms. The mech skulked out of the medical bay, not even saying goodbye to either of them. Nightshade raised one optic ridge in Ratchet's direction again.

"Does it have anything to do with why Chromia is acting funny?"

"I didn't realize she was acting funny. What is she presenting?"

"She's acting strangely – wait a second! Don't change the subject! What's eating Ironhide's circuits, Ratchet?"

"Well…not a word. I will tell you tonight when we're alone."

"That's fine by me," Nightshade said, standing beside him, "And I'll tell you what's wrong with Chromia. Deal?"

"Deal," Ratchet said, shaking his mate's hand. Red Alert poked his head into the room, giving them a suspicious glance.

"Are we alone," he asked quietly, glancing around the room. Ratchet nodded while Nightshade stifled a giggle.

"Yes, we are, Red," Ratchet said, motioning the mech into the surgical room. Red Alert grinned suddenly, hefting a pile of digipads in his arms. Then he dropped them onto the table, organizing them slightly. Nightshade and Ratchet shared a slightly frightened glance before edging toward the mumbling assistant.

"Alrighty then! I've dug out the plans for sparklings' bodies – here's an alpha class. Look at the adorable horns, Nightshade," Red Alert said, digging a large stack of datapads out of the box. Nightshade picked it up and glanced over it.

"I don't think so, Red, I don't like the horns –"

"How about these two? You can select what you like," Red Alert said excitedly. Ratchet quietly began to tiptoe out of the room. He was almost at the door when –

"Ratchet, get your red arse back over here, now," Nightshade snapped, glancing up from the datapad she was looking at. Red Alert shrugged at him. Ratchet slunk back over to Nightshade's side. He dropped into the seat and watched as Nightshade and Red Alert discussed details.

"How about orange with scarlet accents, Nightshade?"

"No, I don't really like that shade of orange – how about this grey and that purple?"

"That looks lovely, but is it a mech or femme?"

"Oh, I guess we'll just settle on a body design today…how about this one, Ratchet," Nightshade asked, waving the digipad in Ratchet's face. He reached for it but she whisked it away before he could even see it.

"No, not that one…too big…how about this one?" Ratchet reached for the digipad once more and was met with the same results. Nightshade changed her mind and grabbed another. Red Alert shot him an apologetic glance.

"Nightshade, how about these two," Ratchet asked, holding up a pair of color chips.

"Well, if you want to make our sparkling look like the rejected contents of a human fuel tank," Nightshade snipped, glaring at the green and yellow combination Ratchet had pulled out of the stack for her. He wilted slightly before pushing the color chips under the stack. Red Alert winced out of sympathy for Ratchet. The poor mech was going to have his hands full until she delivered. Nightshade and Red Alert continued discussing the colors and possible bodies. Ratchet wisely kept his vocal modulator off.

"Well, are you going to contribute anything or are you going to sit there and take up space," Nightshade said, shooting him a glare. Ratchet had almost forgotten how irritable carrying femmes got when they approached their last few weeks. He slouched even more, nodding as he dug through the piles. He found one and immediately stuffed it underneath all of the other digipads. Nightshade grabbed it and squealed as soon as she saw it.

"How adorable, Ratchet! I like this one! If we have a mech, this'll be the design," she said, squealing happily. Red Alert took the pad and snorted quietly before nodding vigorously.

"You're quite right, Nightshade! Instead of the standard red and white, use a few different colors. Your little sparkling will be so handsome when he grows up," Red Alert said seriously, nodding at the femme. Ratchet growled quietly. He had hidden this one for a reason! He didn't want his sparkling to look like that! Frag!

Chromia sighed softly, leaning against the wall. It was still silent in the room. Slouching in the seat, she turned on Nightshade's previously discarded holocube and began to read. She rolled her optics. It figured that Nightshade was reading about space phenomena. Chromia drew her legs up onto the bench and began reading in earnest. So engrossed was she in the cube that she did not notice one of the younglings stirring.

"Chromie?"

Chromia put her holocube down, gazing around for the source of the small voice. Starlight was standing beside her, silently gazing up at her. Chromia smiled down at her.

"You're up early from your nap," Chromia said teasingly, picking up Starlight and setting her in her lap. Starlight chirped happily, curling up against Chromia's chest plate.

"Read to me, please?"

"Of course, Starlight," Chromia said softly, turning the holocube on, "it's about outer space and the stars and nebulas."

Starlight nodded, pretending she understood what Chromia had just said. Smiling slightly, Chromia began reading quietly.

"Nebulas are massive clouds of dust, hydrogen gas, and plasma. This picture is of the Eagle nebula. It's very, very far away," Chromia said softly, tracing the sweeping lines of the picture. Starlight watched on, her optics wide and curious. She reached into the light display, giggling when the patterns swirled around her hand like water in a drain. The sparkles of light flickered before returning to their rightful place. Chromia smiled at her antics. Starlight reached for the picture once more, but Chromia gently pushed her hand down.

"No, sweetspark. You'll destroy the matter particles and we'll have to get it replaced," Chromia said gently. Starlight nodded sheepishly. The pair sat in silence for a few minutes, watching the flickers of light dancing in the air like fireflies.

"It's almost as pretty as you, Chromia," the little femme said, curling up against her once more. Chromia smiled down at Starlight, gently stroking her helm.

"You are too sweet, Starlight," Chromia said softly. Starlight yawned, squeaking slightly, before resting her head against Chromia.

"Chromie?"

"Yes, Starlight?"

"I love you," the tiny silver femme said, curling up even more tightly. Chromia felt her resolve weaken at the large amber optics that gazed up at her. Before she could stop them, the words slipped from her vocal processors. She had broken the first and most important rule of a caretaker. She was never to form an attachment so strong with the younglings - if they were adopted, she could go become very depressed. Looking down at the joyous amber optics, Chromia shooed away the thoughts. Nothing like that would happen while Starlight remained on the base.

"I love you too, Starlight."

Starlight squeaked happily and clutched Chromia's hand in both of hers, resting her little head against Chromia's abdominal ridging. Starlight frowned slightly before glancing up at her caretaker.

"Chromie?"

"Yes," Chromia asked softly. Starlight peered back up at her, splaying her tiny hands across Chromia's abdomen. Starlight was suddenly engrossed with her hands, gently tracing the sheets of metal. Chromia took no notice of the youngling's actions and stared out of the window, reminiscing on old memories. Starlight suddenly and loudly squeaked, startling Chromia from her musing with the happy noise.

"What is it, Starlight?"

"Chromie, you just like Nightshade," she said. Chromia raised one optical ridge in confusion. How was she anything like Nightshade? Nightshade was too innocent to be compared to her! Nor were their paint colors the same - well, she could understand if Starlight mistook them for one another, their colors were the same intensity. Their voices weren't anything alike, either! Nightshade's voice was higher pitched and more youthful while hers was lower and more sensual.

"I don't understand, sweetspark."

"You different.Like Nightshade," Starlight elaborated, pressing a bit harder into the femme's abdomen. Irritated, Chromia gently batted her hands from her sore middle. Starlight stuck her hand into her mouth, gazing up at Chromia expectantly. Chromia shook her head slightly, unable to comprehend where the conversation was going. Starlight rolled her optics before pouting.

"I…I still don't understand, sweetie," Chromia said. Starlight used her free hand to touch Chromia's abdomen once more.

"You different here. Nightshade different too. Not like Epsilon or Beta. You and Nightshade different."

Chromia placed her hand gently over her abdomen. Her optics widened and she gasped as she felt the familiar, telltale fluttering beneath her fingertips.

"No…"

Chromia hurried down the hallways toward the medical bay. Her thoughts were whirling – was she carrying what was Ironhide going to say what was he going to do - and she could barely keep her energon down with how anxious and sick she felt. Her spark was twisting anxiously but at the same time flaring happily, wanting to finally welcome a little one into the world.

She pushed the doors open and entered, gazing around the sterile room. Nightshade turned and a smile crossed her face plates. This was the first time she didn't have to drag Chromia into the medical bay for a check up! Nightshade paused. Why would Chromia be here willingly? And why were the younglings alone?!

"Hello, Chromia. What do you need? Who's watching the younglings?"

"Elita, but..."

Chromia whispered quietly into the femme's auditory receptor. Nightshade's optics widened and she nodded. Ratchet watched curiously from his office. He felt sudden worry and unease emanating from Nightshade's half of the bond. He gave her a questioning nudge and was rewarded with a short message telling him not to worry. She could take care of Chromia. Nightshade checked Chromia into one of the recovery rooms, telling her to wait while she retrieved the proper equipment. Nightshade hurried back into the room. Nightshade gently led Chromia over to one of the berths, motioning for her to sit. Chromia sat down, her legs dangling over the edge. Nightshade wordlessly began to scan the femme's carrying tanks. The machine beeped quietly and Nightshade set it down on the counter.

"It'll take a few minutes, Chromia," Nightshade said quietly, watching as the femme got to her feet and began to irritably pace the length of the room. Five long minutes dragged by slowly. Chromia grew more and more agitated, sighing heavily as she looked at the machine repeatedly. The machine beeped quietly and Chromia sat down on the berth. Her knee joints were suddenly weak. Nightshade picked up the machine and began reading. Her spark flared happily as she read the confirmation of Chromia's conception.

"It's confirmed, Chromia," Nightshade said excitedly, putting the scanner back down on the counter. Nightshade grinned radiantly – now her little sparkling would have a play mate! Now all they had to do was convince Optimus and Elita to get their afts in motion -

"…what," Chromia asked quietly, her optics wide with some emotion Nightshade could not name. Mistaking it for happiness, Nightshade threw her arms around Chromia's neck, hugging her tightly.

"You're carrying and you're at least four orns along. I can't even begin to congratulate you, Chromia!"

"No…"

Nightshade pulled away gently when she realized that Chromia was very unhappy. She quietly began crying, burying her face into her hands. Nightshade stroked her shoulder gently, confused out of her processes. When Chromia showed no sign of stopping, Nightshade sat on the bench beside her and pulled her into an embrace. Her thoughts were whirling – what was going on? Why would Chromia be so upset over finally achieving what she wanted most? Nightshade instinctively reached her spark towards Chromia's, soothing her the best she could through their femme-bond.

"Chromia," Nightshade began gently, "I thought you wanted a sparkling."

Chromia nodded. Nightshade cocked her head quizzically, unable to understand what was happening.

"Then…why are you so upset, Chromia?"

"Ironhide doesn't wanta sparkling," Chromia said, breaking away from Nightshade.

"Wh-what? Why? Chromia, shh, come here," Nightshade said, wrapping her arms around the sobbing femme. What did she mean?

"Please don't tell him, Nightshade…I'm begging you."

"I won't say a word, Chromia," Nightshade said quietly, stroking her back. Nightshade was numb – why would Chromia want to hide this from her mate? Ratchet's soft presence in her spark did little to soothe her. Nightshade wordlessly pulled Chromia into her arms, letting the femme cry into her shoulder. What was going to happen now? More importantly, what would happen to Chromia's unborn sparkling? And if Emirate found out before they could figure out how to sever their alliance...

Chromia left the medical bay, acting as though the hounds of hell were on her trail. Nightshade watched silently. Nightshade wearily walked into Ratchet's office, leaning into the doorframe. Ratchet looked up at her and clucked disapprovingly at her obvious distress.

"Nightshade," he said gently, holding his arms up. Nightshade nodded and shut the door before sitting in his lap. The mech wrapped his arms around her, tucking her head under his chin. Nightshade shuttered her optics and let out a sigh that seemed too large for her small frame. Ratchet let a few breems of silence pass before speaking softly.

"Now, love, what's the matter?"

"Chromia...she," Nightshade started but fell silent as she tried to formulate the sentences. Nightshade did not speak. She fidgeted slightly, staring down at her hands pressed against her mate's chest plates. Ratchet softly stroked her back, soothing her the best that he could.

"Chromia…," Ratchet gently prompted.

"She's carrying."

Nightshade felt Ratchet stiffen slightly. Ratchet let out a soft sigh, shuttering his optics. Primus only knew how long Ironhide had wanted to keep Chromia safe… Ratchet felt Nightshade tugging questioningly at his spark and he took a deep cycle of air into his systems before he spoke.

"Ironhide believes that he is doing what is best for Chromia's health," he admitted. He watched Nightshade's face plates go from confused to angry and he winced slightly at her sudden temper development.

"He's hurting her by refusing to sire a sparkling!"

"Nightshade – ," he began gently.

"At her age, she should have borne at least three or four sparklings…her spark needsthis, Ratchet. Why would Ironhide do this to her, Ratchet?"

Ratchet thought back on when Ironhide had sworn him to secrecy about his reasons.

"Nightshade, if I tell you, you must swear that you will not say a word to anyone. That includes Chromia and Elita, and anyone else. Not even Mirage can know," Ratchet said slowly and quietly, his spark weighing heavily in his chest. Nightshade nodded before whispering her promise.

Chromia approached Ironhide warily. He was busily recalibrating the massive cannon on his arms. A soft click and high pitched whirr marked his upgrades as a success. He looked up at her. Ironhide frowned slightly at the turmoil in Chromia's spark, wondering what was upsetting her. Had he done something wrong?

"Chromia?"

"Ironhide…there's something I need to tell you," she said quietly, by way of greeting. He nodded and continued tweaking the wires in his arm. Chromia sighed impatiently as he made no move to put his tools down.

"Ironhide, please…"

At her soft voice, he put a laser down and snapped the armor on his arm back into place. He knew something was seriously wrong with Chromia now. Normally, she wouldn't say please. Her soft and broken voice pained his spark - what had he done? He wracked his memory banks - he hadn't done anything different! Had someone hurt her? But who would do something like that?

"What's bothering you," he asked quietly, noting her slightly damp cheek plates. She wearily sat down on the seat facing him. Ironhide reached for her gently.

"I…," she fell silent at his questioning gaze. She turned her gaze down at her hands, all but flinching when Ironhide gently reached to caress her cheek plate. Ironhide leaned forward, trying to ease into their bond, but she blocked him out. He frowned slightly, unease turning his spark cold.

"What is it, Chromia," he asked softly, his voice slightly gruff.

"I'm…I'm carrying," she said. She looked away, not wanting to meet his optics. His thumb continued to caress her cheek plate softly. After a long few minutes, she looked back at him. He was staring out of the window, a contemplating look on his face.

"Ironhide? Please say something," she whispered quietly, her spark twisting fearfully. He reached towards her both physically and through their bond, pulling her into his arms.

"I…I'm sorry, Chromia."

"What for," she asked guardedly, her optics narrowing slightly. What was he going on about? What would he be sorry for? Unless…

"Ironhide, what is it? What haven't you told me," she said, laying her hand against his shoulder.

"You wanted to know what happened to my creators," he said. It was more of a statement than a question. Chromia frowned slightly. First he apologized for nothing, and then he wanted to share a story? Chromia nodded slowly, confusion etched onto her face plates.

"I don't see what this has to do with our sparkling," Chromia said. Her confusion only grew when she felt pain from his half of their bond. She slowly allowed him into her spark, almost wincing at the pain he felt. He had hidden something extremely important from her, but what? Why didn't he trust her with it?

"If you aren't comfortable talking, Ironhide, I can wait," she said gently. Ironhide shook his head.

"I think you should know, Chromia…I never gave you a reason for not wantin' a sparkling, did I," he said, not really talking to her. He focused on the dark clouds on the horizon, trying to gather his thoughts. He had worked so hard to keep Chromia from having to go through the pain of delivering a sparkling…he had done his best to keep her safe…and he had failed. What if she was doomed, too?

"Ironhide?"

Chromia's soft voice startled him from his thoughts.

"I was born to a delta mech and femme in the eighth division. My mech creator was an Autobot soldier and my femme creator a neutral tutor," Ironhide said, allowing his memories to surface. Chromia nodded, sitting beside him. Her presence seemed to bolster his confidence and he continued speaking.

- begin flashback -

The jet black mech looked disgruntled at the grey youngling hanging from his arm. He gave a mighty shake of the arm but the youngling stubbornly remained attached to his arm. At his glare the youngling laughed. Then he wrapped his legs around the mech's arm as well. It was then that the black mech knew that the youngling would not let go of his arm until he had pleaded his case.

"Fine, Ironhide. What do you want?"

"Oh, come on! Please take me with you? I want to shoot with you!"

"NO Ironhide. You're too young to even be thinking about weapons!"

There was a moment of silence before Ironhide let go of his mech-creator's arm and dropped to the ground. A small pout crossed his face plates.

"…please?"

Ironspark sighed heavily and shuttered his optics. He shouldn't have looked down at his creation - those begging blue optics were too hard to resist.

"Fine. Just don't tell your femme creator. I don't wish to recharge in the hallway again," Ironspark said. He smiled when Ironhide leapt into the air, shouting happily.

"Let's go! Can I shoot your gun? Or do I have to use the training ones?"

"If you behave, I might let you shoot a round or two."

"I promise I will behave," Ironhide said happily, grabbing his creator's arm and pulling. Ironspark only laughed, gently pulling his arm from Ironhide's grip.

"Just a breem, 'hide! Your femme-creator wanted to tell me something," Ironspark said. A small chuckle escaped his vocalizers when Ironhide dejectedly made his way back to their housing unit.

Firestorm stood in the doorway, her optics narrowed slightly at the pair of mechs.

"Ironspark, if there's so much as a scratch on his paint, you'll be recharging outside," she growled quietly, wagging a finger in her mate's direction. Ironspark swept her into his arms and planted small kisses all over her face plates.

"Not even a hello for your favorite mech? I'm offended!"

"Ironspark!"

"Eeew," Ironhide said quietly, turning his optics from the scene. His creators only laughed at him before Firestorm dragged Ironspark into another room. Ironhide remained by himself in their commons room.

Ironhide sighed wistfully, staring up at the awards and medals his father had earned. Many of them were for his bravery and loyalty in battle. Ironhide gazed up at a particular medal, gently tracing the outlines of the glyphs inscribed in the precious metal. His father had won this one for holding off an entire platoon of Decepticons long enough for backup to arrive. As a result, he saved countless lives in the nursery he had been defending. Ironhide didn't know what "Decepticons" or "platoons" were but he knew they were bad. The way his father spat the word out made it seem like all of these "decepticon" things were waste.

Ironhide secretly wished he could be like his mech creator. He wanted to fight even though Ironspark had expressly forbidden it. Any weapons in the house unit were locked up in a room. He had been caught trying to enter the room once. That was the only time in his life he had ever been punished.

The doors to the commons room opened once more. Ironspark wore a radiant smile on his face. Firestorm's blue and ivory armor practically glowed. Ironhide had a sneaking suspicion they had done the thing they called 'kissing'.

"Ironhide, we're creating another sparkling," she said. Ironhide jumped happily.

"Is it a mech? Can we take him shooting, too?"

"We don't know if it's a mech or femme, Ironhide. And no. You're not taking it shooting," Firestorm said, laughing gently at the dejected look on Ironhide's face plates.

The orns flew by quickly afterwards. Ironhide noticed a change in his mech creator. He was gone for long periods of time. Whenever he came back, he smelled like smoke and fire and sadness. He never smiled now, not even at Ironhide. Ironspark and Firestorm never left their home any more. Ironspark began spending longer and longer periods of time outside of the home. Finally, Firestorm and Ironhide were moved onto a 'base'. Ironhide didn't know what it meant but Firestorm obviously did. She cried more often now. Firestorm thought that Ironhide couldn't hear her during those late, late hours where she would wait by their communication terminal, waiting for word on Ironspark.

It was three orns before Firestorm was due to deliver her sparkling when Ironhide noticed the subtle change in Firestorm's demeanor. Her optics had been brilliant yellow but now they were hardly glowing. Ironhide suddenly had a very strong feeling of unease in his spark when she left for her new job as a secretary. Ironhide waited for joors through the morning and afternoon. Darkness fell and morning came. Firestorm did not come back.

A strange mech brought him to a clinic. Firestorm was lying on a table with strange tubes and wires sticking out of her body. Ironhide clambered onto the table, gripping her hand like he used to do when he was a youngling. Firestorm's optics were grey. Ironhide could see nothing left of the familiar yellow color. He held onto her hand desperately, begging her to get better. She didn't and neither did the sparkling.

When he awoke, he was lying in a chair in a strange room. He got to his feet and slowly walked around. The medics in the room didn't give the small youngling a second glance. He came to a window and peered inside – it was the room with his femme creator in it! The berth where his femme creator had lain was covered in a thick sheet. Ironhide felt numb. Where was she? She wasn't in his spark any more. She was gone! But why would she leave him? Why would she abandon him? Ironhide stumbled as he opened the door, walking to the berth on unsteady legs. He pushed the blanket aside and he saw her small hand. He gripped it and called out softly.

"Momma?"

She didn't move. It was then that he saw the table. It was covered in slick pink energon and other fluids. There was a second smaller sheet covering something in the berth beside her. He pushed the sheet aside and was surprised to see a small sparkling lying there. He gently touched the sparkling.

"Wake up, sparkling," he called out. The sparkling did not move. He patted his femme creator's hand a bit harder.

"Momma, wake up! Why is the sparkling still asleep?"

"Get him out of there," a voice barked out. Suddenly there was a pair of hands wrapped around his waist and he was being pulled out of the room. Ironhide yelled and began struggling wildly against the hands that held him captive.

"I want my momma! I don't want to leave her please don't take me from her! What if she wakes up without me?"

Ironspark was standing outside of the room, a hauntingly blank look on his face plates.

Shortly afterwards, Ironspark was admitted into the medical bay. Ironhide wasn't allowed to visit his mech-creator more than twice every half orn. Every time he visited, his mech creator's condition had deteriorated further. His optics were dark grey by his fourth visit. By the fifth, they barely glowed any more. Ironhide's visits were shortened every time he went. The medics and trainees in the medical bay whispered behind their hands more often now. They thought he couldn't hear, but he did.

"What's going to happen to him?"

"Is that patient really going to leave his only sparked son behind?"

"Does he have any other family?"

"…can't send him to any of the nurseries…they're all gone…no femmes left…"

"…said he loved his son dearly…in permanent stasis-lock now…too late for him to tell his son…"

Ironhide didn't know what any of it meant but he knew that his mech creator's presence was fading quickly. By his tenth visit, he knew that Ironspark was going to leave him too. Ironhide begged his creator to stay with him but it didn't work. In the end, Ironspark left him, too. Ironhide clung to Ironspark's hand as his optics shuttered for the last time. Ironhide remembered the sounds of his mech creator's optics powering down – it was a sort of whining noise, like a tired robo-fox giving up the chase – the sounds of his systems failing, and the familiar engine dwindling to nothing more than a soft purr before finally shutting down.

Ironhide didn't cry this time - he knew it was coming along anyway. He deserved it for being so rotten - it was all his fault. Ironhide slumped slightly. If only he had behaved... He got out of the berth and went outside, his optics downcast. He tugged on the nearest medic's hand and pointed at the room.

"What is it, little one?"

"His spark is gone," Ironhide mumbled dejectedly, dropping the medic's hand and making his way to one of the seats. He settled himself to wait. It was only two breems before an unfamiliar mech came into the room. His optics gazed around the room before they alighted on Ironhide's tiny frame. The new mech hurried to the CMO and whispered quietly. Ironhide sighed softly. Were they taking him to the brig for making his creators and the sparkling go away?

He knew they were whispering about him, especially with the way their optics flicked between him and one another. The new mech came to Ironhide and settled on one knee joint in front of him.

"Hello, little one. I am Binary. I'm here to take care of you. What is your designation?"

"Ironhide."

"A nice strong name. Ironhide, your creators are gone but – "

"Will they come back," Ironhide interrupted, his spark flaring hopefully. Maybe he wouldsee Firestorm again, and hold her hand again. Maybe Ironspark would finally take him shooting! And he could finally meet the sparkling -

"No, Ironhide. They won't be coming back. That is why I'm going to find you a new home," Binary said. Ironhide stared at themech before nodding slightly. At least he wasn't going to be locked up in the brig. Since Ironhide was one of the few remaining younglings, he was sent to the autobot academy.

Ironhide went in at the tender age of four vorns. There he remained for almost twenty vorns. He was upgraded into a subadult, then into an adult. He was never the same again. It was during one of the stalemates of the war that he was finally able to leave the base for a few orns.

Then he met Chromia.

-end flashback-

"And that's what happened to Ironhide. I was in the medical wing of the academy most of the time, but we still sparred," Ratchet said, "Are you alright, Nightshade?"

There was a look of abject horror on Nightshade's face plates.

"Oh, poor Ironhide…that poor, poor mech. And Chromia doesn't know," she whispered quietly. Her grip on Ratchet's hand weakened as her fuel tanks threatened to empty themselves.

"Nightshade, it wasn't uncommon for younglings to be sent to the academy," Ratchet said gently, his optic ridges furrowing slightly, "It was the safest place for younglings aside from nurseries…and once the war started. Well. The nurseries were completely annihilated."

Ratchet continued without noticing the faint look on Nightshade's face plates.

"It was probably for the best. Otherwise he would have grown up on the streets as a criminal. Or worse – he could have been taken in by the Decepticons – are you alright?"

"I'm not feeling so well, Ratchet," Nightshade said, placing one gentle hand over her abdomen, "I feel like I'm going to purge my tanks."

"Nightshade, just lean back on the cushions and I'll get you some energon, alright? Don't move," Ratchet said gently. He hurried into his office and filled up a cube for her. Frag! He had forgotten that Nightshade had been on-lined near the end of the war. How could he have forgotten something so important? She probably hadn't ever seen a proper nursery before. Ratchet felt like a pile of slag for frightening her. Ratchet sighed and gently rubbed his face plates. He needed to fix this. He filled up a cube and made his way back towards the room. Nightshade was patiently waiting for him when he returned to the room. She took the cube from him and drank deeply. The shaking in her hands subsided.

"I'm so sorry, Nightshade, if I had known you would be so upset I wouldn't have said a word," Ratchet said, running a second scan. She shook her head. dismissing his apology.

"I'm fine, Ratchet. I just…I just wish there was something I could do for Ironhide and Chromia…to help them through this," she said, propping her head up on her hands.

"Don't worry about it, Nightshade. They'll be fine – they've been through so much more than this. Ironhide will take good care of Chromia and their sparkling," Ratchet soothed gently, "Now please try to recharge. You're getting low on energy."

"Ratchet."

"Are you sure you don't want me to run a scan?"

"Ratchet. I know my limits and I know my body. Please don't bring this up again," Nightshade said, rubbing the sides of her cranial unit gently. Ratchet nodded, stroking her back gently.

"I'm just worried, Nightshade. Our sparkling hasn't been growing as fast as it should have. I'm scared," Ratchet admitted quietly, holding her tightly to his chest. Nightshade nodded, fighting down the unease in her spark. The way Ratchet's voice had broken when he said he was scared unnerved her to no end. It was true – their sparkling should have been much more defined and much larger at this point in her carrying stage. If the sparkling wasn't big enough when she delivered... Nightshade placed a hand onto her abdomen, praying to Primus that their child would survive.

The mech standing at the helm of the ship sneered at the planet. So this was where he was expected to live? The planet was covered in so much water! It was a wonder that any of the others rusted through completely! Or maybe the new Prime's head had already rusted through. He snorted quietly, motioning a drone over.

"Another flute of high grade. Make it quick," he drawled out softly. A femme entered the room. Her ivory armor was decorated with thin strips of rare metals and gems, labeling the femme as Emirate's current consort.

"Emirate, is that where we are expected to live?"

"Unfortunately," Emirate sighed, glancing over at her, "And who said you could come in here?"

"I apologize," she said instantly, bowing her head, "I only wanted to know – "

"Go make yourself useful," Emirate snapped. The femme flinched slightly and scurried out of the room, apologizing profusely. Emirate sighed happily. Once he arrived, he'd have his ship to himself. One set of colonists had given him supplies and money for passage to Earth. Then he would be able to rid himself of them.

And once he landed, he would find Chromia and consummate their alliance. Primus only knew how much more beautiful she was now that she had been upgraded into her adult body. He smirked. Unless Ironhide and the current Prime were the best of friends, Ironhide wouldn't stand a chance against the laws set long ago by the Council of Ancients.

Ratchet waited until Nightshade was deep in recharge before quietly slipping from their berth. He stole down the hallways into one of the meeting rooms, where Ironhide and Optimus awaited. He gave Ironhide a nod before sitting. Ironhide was slouching down on the table, cradling his head in his hands.

"Ratchet, good to see you. Have you - ?"

"Yes, I've gotten all that we need to prove our case," Ratchet said, bringing a large stack of digipads from a subspace pocket, "And Emirate will not be able to say a word once I present my materials."

"Good," Optimus said, "Now, Ironhide. Did you and Chromia bond before her femme-creator said Emirate was returning for her?"

"Yes," Ironhide said quietly, "We bonded almost a half-joor beforehand."

"I think that Emirate has no place in saying anything," Optimus said quietly, "As Prime and high judge on this case, I deem his claims to Chromia as an unfortunate misunderstanding on his behalf."

"But Prime, it says in the Book of Codes that he does have a right to her," Ratchet reminded Prime gently, showing the Optimus the copy of the book. Optimus shook his head, a mischievous twinkle in his optic.

"If we don't have a copy of the page in question at the time that the decision is made, there is nothing I can do. I can't be expected to memorize the entire book, can I?"

"No, sir," Ratchet said, a small smirk on his face. There was a tinkling noise as Ratchet crushed the only copy of their Book of Codes and swept the remains into a bin.

"Now, sir, you should get started on rewriting that book," Ratchet said quietly, "Emirate has a copy of the book. He'll try to use that against us. You need to have that rewritten or else he will win Chromia, no matter what you say."

"Frag! I can't remember what goes in the book! How am I going to rewrite the fraggin' thing?!"

Ratchet sighed. At least he had the foresight to list the topics beforehand. He handed Prime a list with the topics and Prime sighed in relief.

"Prowl will be in charge while I rewrite this thing. Ratchet, you're his advisor," Prime said, muttering as he left the room. Ratchet watched after him with wide optics. What?! Him and Prowl? Granted, he had stepped in as a de facto lord, but...still! That had been for what, three-four months? The only thing he had done was negotiate a ceasefire! Why him? Why? Prowl was more than capable of dealing with Prime's duties! If anything, Jazz should have been Prowl's advisor! Maybe even Ironhide - he was third in command, right? Nightshade was going to have a fit.

He could hear it now...

"Listen, Nightshade...yes, I know I disappeared last night...really, was it that late?...no, I wasn't sampling high grade!...Oh...By the way - Prime kind of instated me as Prowl's advisor...Did I mention that Prowl will be stepping in for Prime while we willingly sabotage Emirate's claims to Chromia? I didn't mention it? Oops! It must have slipped my processor. Ah...so that means I will probably be very, very, very busy..."

Slag.

He was recharging out in the hallway for the next orn.

Oh yeah. Emirate's aft belongs to Ironhide now. And the bit with Ratchet stepping in as a 'de facto lord' (which means: as an issue of fact, whether law or not.) is true, at least by Titan Books. It gives an awesome backstory for Ratchet and his involvement in launching the AllSpark.

Musical Inspiration: "Amaranth" by Nightwish, "Passion's Killing Floor" by H.I.M., and "Ghost Opera" by Kamelot.

Kerry-and-angela: No. (did y'all have fun in Maine?) And Kerry, you made a promise! (holds up giant Sharpie) Do it or else your purse is mine.