Author's Note:
I have mixed feelings about this chapter. But everything that happened between Magnus and Fli-Ni was perfect. So.
Oh! And I just realized that Fraternizing just passed 300 reviews! That's awesome guys! Thank you so much for reviewing! :)
Nightflier plopped his aft down on a medical berth, dropping his face into his servos and claws digging so tightly into his helm that he nearly cut lines through his paint.
I'm a failure. One Primus-slagged thing, Nightflier, and you couldn't even do that! Cybertron below me—!
Maybe it was because he didn't know him that well. Didn't know him at all. That had to account for something. Or maybe the fact that he didn't know what he was fighting for anymore. Cybertron was dead, and it wasn't coming back. The Forge—what could he do with the Forge? It was too large for him to even lift, he didn't have the skill needed to re-forge the Omega Lock, much less the Omega Keys.
He had considered using its power to fix his wings. But he didn't. Because he couldn't go against Optimus's last wish.
But his wings weren't the problem right now. Neither was the Forge, or the Omega Lock, or even Cybertron. It was him. Him and his failure. Nothing more. Nothing less.
The silence in the room killed him. He was supposed to have done more than that. Each bot quietly assumed his or her own respective position in the room, spaced out, as if they could hear each other's thoughts by being too close. June was talking quietly with Jack, the boy sullen, hurt, cut open even at losing the closest one he'd had to a father. Miko sat quietly on Bulkhead's shoulder. Bumblebee and Raf cried softly with each other. Nightstalker was in the ceiling again. Cliffjumper brooded alone, though he looked up at her. Smokescreen curled up alone. Ratchet immersed himself in his work. Ultra Magnus did too. Arcee met no one's optics.
And Nightflier cursed himself. To the Pit and back. With a stunning fluency. Colorful and creative. He had never hated himself so much in his life.
One Primus-blessed thing, and you couldn't even manage that.
He couldn't even comfort himself with the fact that he had spoken. He knew, as Prime, he was supposed to lead the late Optimus Prime's burial. He had to speak. And so he had spent the days before in which he knew he was supposed to speak by trying to form a speech. It had been a rather weak speech. He didn't know the mech—didn't know his experiences or sacrifices first hand—but he was a Prime, and so nothing but the grandest could be spared for him.
So he had come up with a small speech. Nothing grandiose, perhaps a bit lacking in emotion. He grieved, yes, but not like the others. He didn't know the mech. Maybe he resented him slightly for making him Prime. But he had still tried his best to create a worthy speech, however unworthy it was. And what did he say?
I don't know what to say.
And so Ultra Magnus had prodded him to say something. It didn't matter what. Speak from his spark, and the words would come.
Several minutes of awkward, stretching silence.
I have nothing to say.
Nothing. His spark had been empty. The words had never come. He kept his face bowed in shame, despising himself for being unable to offer the least of any condolences as Ultra Magnus took over the procession. He couldn't say anything. Nothing. Just empty. Vacant. Destitute. Hollow.
I have nothing to say.
So he cursed himself to the Pit and back. Such a simple thing to do, funeral rites. He could have used a standard, cut and dry version and it would have been better than nothing. Pit, he could have even utilized the human's worldwide network and stolen a grand speech. But what did he say?
Nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing.
I had nothing to say.
Nothing in my spark.
Just nothing.
Maybe I am nothing.
Tender, large hands took his shoulders. The vibrating timbre of his father's voice rumbled quietly in his audios.
"Nightflier . . ."
He gently twisted his shoulders out of his grip. "I want to be left alone," he whispered hoarsely.
There was a pause. Then, he felt a tender push against his spark, a nudge to be let in, to help him bear his misery. A supportive shoulder. Someone to lean on. But he had been without his father for so long, raw wounds would still irritate. They still didn't heal correctly. And he found himself pushing him away, just wanting to lock himself up in the darkness of all his failings. So Dreadwing allowed him his space.
Amazing how he could go from such a promising young lad, energetic, the bright spot in his friends' lives, the one they all looked to for bolstered courage, an extra smile to help through all the hard times, and a laugh that could warm the coldest of sparks. And now? He was reduced to a self-conscious, blubbering mess, so concentrated on his own woes that he couldn't even soothe another's.
The social butterfly? His wings had been clipped. There was no way for a bird to survive without its wings. In captivity, yes. Like now. Captive in this base, provided a means of living, but was it worth living? For his father, yes. The first pure, unadulterated joy he had ever felt in so long. For his sister? Yes. Even if she rejected him.
It always came back to that. He had to hold on to the thought of his family to make it. And First Aid. By Primus, how he missed First Aid. He wanted him to come back and heal him. He wanted him to hold him, comfort him with that so soothing way he had, so compassionate it hurt. He wanted to link with him again and let him feel everything he felt so raw, let it pour into him with an immediate link and connect their sparks again. He wanted it how it had been when they had first bonded.
No, not the first time. The time he had so angrily rejected First Aid's help and love. A half bond, if you will. Inadvertently linked to the mech, but emotional conversation and sparkial communication nearly blocked. Just a crutch to keep him going. But he'd never forget the peace he gained when he had finally let him in . . .
His chest felt so tight it sunk like a poisonous lead weight into his spark. He trembled so hard his servos shook, so hard he almost couldn't see straight, jaw clenched so bad his mouth cramped.
Pure despair. It sank its heathenish claws into his spark and threatened to drag him beyond the yawning maw of oblivion, into a place he would never surface from and, indeed, never WANT to surface from. It terrified and beckoned him both, and he shuddered, an endless stream of tears cutting their way down his cheeks.
The automatic door hissed open. A soft voice followed. "Nightflier?"
A sob. The sound punctuated through the pounding silence and filled the medic's spark with compassion. Quiet footsteps brought the red and white to his side, and First Aid lied down next to him and bundled his shivering form close.
"Easy," he murmured tenderly, kneading the sensitive spot between his wings to soothe his anxieties. "I love you. My little, silly sparkling of a brother, I love you dearly . . ."
Somehow, that only made it worse. Nightflier's weeping became pronounced, breaking and halting with passions as First Aid affectionately opened their chest plating and connected the wires required for a fraternal bond. Sparks merged together. One devastated spark soaked up the reassurance, the sympathy, the heartfelt grief with every ounce of desperation he suffered.
"It's all right," First Aid whispered, stroking his twitching wings. "It's all right. Shh, I'm here, I promise. I love you, my dear sweetspark . . . shh . . ."
Choked up emotion pulsed through the newly acclimated bond.
Through all the hard times in his life . . . those nights kept him alive.
"Nightfall?"
Nightflier jerked, looking up with wide optics at the intruder. "A-Arcee," he stuttered. Out of everyone, he hadn't expected her. "I—I ah . . . just want to . . ." To be alone, right? That was why he had asked his father for some space. So why wasn't he asking that of her?
She shifted. "May I sit?"
"Uh, sure."
No! No, he didn't want her there. Did he? But when she sank down next to him, the tenseness of his back was soothed a little, and he relaxed his shoulders a little, finding comfort in her presence. She always managed to have that effect on him. A sort of electrical magnetism that prickled his protoform every time he was around her. Yet still as peaceful as a river.
"It's all right."
"No it's not," he muttered back. "Arcee, it was simple enough what was asked of me. I could have said anything. I should have said SOMETHING."
"Don't be so hard on yourself," she said softly. If they had been there, his wings would have twitched. He averted his face when she looked at him. "You didn't know him. How can you possibly prepare a speech on someone you know so little of? Besides, you're injured. It's too soon of us to ask anything of you."
"That's not how it works," he said with a scowl. "I'm the Prime. I have to be ready for all of this. Everything. It doesn't matter if I'm hurt or not. And that—that didn't require physical strength anyways!" His hands tightened on the edge of the berth. "Frag me flying—I just don't know anymore, Arcee. I knew my place in the world! I wasn't supposed to be Prime, I wasn't . . . This was such a big mistake. I'm no Prime. He made the wrong choice."
Her optics darkened in worry. Daring, she reached out to touch his hand. "Nightfall, do you really think Primus would pick the wrong mech? He chose you for a reason."
Before he could stop it, a sarcastic laugh fell out of his mouth. "Oh, and what reason was that? To ground me?"
"No." He lifted his bitter gaze to her. "I don't know why he chose you, but you're more than what you've let yourself become," and she gestured a little towards him.
He scowled. "Not by choice." His servo gripped a handful of the satin bed sheet that covered up his shame. "I'm no Prime. I can't do this."
She vented a moment in frustration. "And how can you know that if you haven't even tried?" Nightflier's helm jerked up. His optics widened too, shocked with a sudden slap of truth. Arcee nodded, optics blazing with that passion he was so used to seeing. "You're holding back. You're hiding. You ARE a Prime, Nightfall."
He shook his head, staring in confused amazement. "How . . . How can you believe that?" he asked a little bit haggardly, wanting so much to have that same assurance as she did.
"It's not what I believe, it's what I know." When Nightflier could only feel just as conflicted as before, she continued softer, "Nightflier, I SAW you take on Starscream in the Apex Armor. I SAW the bloody remains of all of those Vehicon troopers when you protected that town. And I saw that look in your optics. That empathy and determination in your voice."
Nightflier swallowed suddenly, sucked into her purple-rimmed optics. "Nightfall. I know you have it in you. I don't know why you won't be the Prime I know you are, the Prime I see inside. But how you stand and what you do can make all the difference."
His throat tightened at her belief in him. He looked back down, rasping, "Arcee . . ."
"Stop that."
He looked up in confusion. "Stop what?"
"Sit up straight." When he just stared, not understanding, she huffed and took matters into her own hands. Moving closer, she touched beneath his chin, repeating, "Sit up straight," and Nightflier immediately sat up at her gesture. "Shoulders back," and she gently prodded at each shoulder. Nightflier pulled them back, and it brought his chest up. "Chin up," and she chucked beneath his chin when he had looked back down at her. "Stop being so weak with your optics. Show me that determination. When you fought Starscream."
She eyed him critically as the lost and self-conscious look finally left his optics as he brought himself back to that empowering moment full of nothing but grit. Finally, she softened at the sight of him, saying, "That's how you need to hold yourself."
After a moment, Nightflier looked back down at her. "That's it?" he asked her softly. Something so trivial like his posture said so much?
She nodded, face right there in front of his. "That's it."
His throat worked again. His mouth parted, and he didn't even realize he had leaned towards her until her optics flickered uncertainly. Shocked at himself, he pulled away, stammering, "S-Sorry. I'm sorry, that was so forward." Primus, he barely knew the femme!
There was a pause. Finally, she admitted softly, "I can't deny the attraction . . . Pit, what am I saying, it's more like magnetism."
Nightflier nodded in agreement, stating, "Captivation."
"Yes, but . . . I'm . . . struggling." Nightflier frowned in worry at the pinch in her brows as she looked down. "I've gotten out of two relationships. Rather badly." She stopped, gathering her bearings before she laid it out flat. "The first died, and the other was Cliffjumper."
Nightflier gaped for a full second before he schooled his expression. "O-Oh."
Arcee nodded, hands fiddling in her lap. "Yes. But . . . I had them both. I did. Hooker line and sinker. But they both slipped by my fingers because I was . . . afraid. I didn't want to commit. I wasn't ready. I kept telling myself I wasn't ready until Tailgate died and Nightstalker came and stole Cliffjumper's spark." She paused again before she faced him fully.
"So I'm at an impasse. I don't want to get back into a relationship after all of that, but I'm so afraid that if I don't act on it this time I'll lose it." She blinked those beautiful optics at him. "Do you understand?"
For a minute, Nightflier let it all sink in before he lifted his hands with a small tug of his lips. "Now, I don't know about all this relationship business," he teased a little. "We really don't know each other yet. So don't stress this, really. So we've both admitted there's something there, and we can take it baby steps at a time."
"You don't understand," Arcee interrupted him. One of his brows rose before she said flatly, "I don't want to take baby steps."
He gaped again. He snapped his jaw shut at HER forwardness, struggling to comprehend how starkly frank she was. A relationship? "I—I, uh—"
"I've taken it too careful with both of my past relationships," Arcee again cut in, "so this time I just want to throw aside all the reservations that held me back with the past two, but I know that's not fair to ask that of you. You barely know me, and I barely know you, so I can't judge what you think or feel. And I'd feel strange because I'd feel like I was taking advantage of you with how little you know about femmes."
His jaw gaped. "What?"
Finally, her lips curved into a devious smile. "Oh please. You stutter way too much around me. You might as well have 'virgin' slapped right across your forehead."
Finally, a heated blush seared Nightflier's cheeks. "I—I'm not a virgin!" Never mind that he was so overcharged both times that he didn't remember either. Or why he had to clarify that in the first place. Maybe it was some sort of misplaced mech pride.
She laughed a moment more at his expense before they fell silent again on their end of the base. After several more moments, Nightflier finally cleared his throat and rumbled, "Well, uh . . . Then, let's do it." She looked up sharply. He shrugged, that carefree side of him taking over with a little grin as he admitted, "Slot, why not? What happens, happens—and if for some reason I think you're taking it too fast, I'll tell you. All right?"
Arcee stared at him for a full beat before she managed, "You are so different from Nightstalker. She and Cliffjumper had to CRAWL into their relationship with a kick in the aft from me to finally get them to do something about their feelings." Her breaking it off from Cliffjumper had been the real reason Cliffjumper had even shown his interest anyways, and that had been WAY after he had fallen for her. And even after that things proceeded extremely slowly. "And you just want to fall into this without reservations? I mean, this could really just be a big setup for heartbreak and we'll both regret it."
He shrugged again, flashing a bit of teeth at her. "If it wasn't going to work, then it doesn't matter if we took it slow or fast, there'd still be heartbreak at the end. So why in Pit not?"
She looked at him for a full klik more before her lips twisted up wryly. "Nightflier? Thanks."
He tried not to shrug again since the gesture kept sending prickles of pain chasing down his back. "You're welcome." He paused again. "Arcee?" he asked softly. "Do you really think I could be a good Prime?"
She nudged him. "You've got to try first."
He nudged her back. "I guess I can do that."
She gave him a light shrug. "Good."
Nightflier's lips twisted up into the semblance of a smile, and he vented to himself softly. Be a Prime. He didn't know the first thing about being a commander, much less a Prime. He stopped. His shoulders were hunching again. Consciously, Nightflier forced himself to square his shoulders. Losing his wings and suddenly becoming Prime wasn't the end of the world.
Though it certainly is close.
Standing to his peds, Nightflier walked across the base to where the Forge of Solus Prime rested against the wall. Optimus's last and final wish was that he restore the Omega Lock with the Forge. Standing before the mighty hammer much larger than himself, Nightflier reached out and touched its golden sheen.
The hammer sparked to life, whirring with the touch of a Prime, activating its power. Nightflier's fingers tingled, and he was half aware of the gazes turning his way, but he ignored them, reaching out into the depths of the Forge. He was appalled by what he found. The tiny pool of power . . . That wasn't enough to restore the Omega Lock. Much less the Keys. Primus, he didn't even think was enough power to restore his wings!
Solid footsteps sounded behind him. "Nightfall?"
He pressed his lips together. He jumped up on the Forge, gesturing. "It's bigger than me," he told Ultra Magnus.
The commander's brow lifted at his matter-of-fact tone. After a pause, he finally ventured, "I gather, but I don't follow."
Nightflier gave a vague shrug. "Everything's bigger than me. The Forge, Megatron, being Prime, the loss of my wings, everything I'm supposed to live up to. It's all bigger than me. I'm just a little guy." He grasped the handle of the Forge, frowning. "So why am I Prime?"
"Optimus chose you."
Nightflier shook his head. "No. Optimus chose Smokescreen. So why am I Prime?"
Ultra Magnus's optics widened. He cast a fleeting glance to Smokescreen before his gaze settled on Nightflier. His brows pinched again as he considered the small mech before him, and finally, he said, "You were chosen because Primus saw something within you."
His jaw opened with a retort and he stopped. "Good answer," he muttered begrudgingly. He looked back up to the commander. "You know what happened up there on Darkmount?"
He frowned. "You disabled the power core of Darkmount, providing our forces with the opportunity to strike down Megatron's fortress at the price of losing your wings."
"Wrong." Nightflier shook his head, and his shoulders slumped again before he could stop it. "I didn't disable the power core. Megatron did—on accident. I was a cripple before this too, you know?" He frowned. "Slot, he just grabbed my brace and tried to throw me in our battle. Which was more like a game of chicken. The brace snapped, and I went flying into the power core. That's it. Then Megatron proceeded to rip off my wings."
At that, Ultra Magnus had nothing to say. Nightflier shrugged and again tried to keep his shoulders erect. "I'm just saying, I haven't done anything right as Prime yet. And I can't even be an asset in the field anymore because my wings are gone. I'm a cripple, and that handicaps everything good about me. Like this, all I can use is my processor, and I know nothing of being a leader."
Ultra Magnus nodded firmly. "I understand. But you must trust me to teach you."
It was Nightflier's turn to nod. "Yes, I know." He stopped. "Optimus said to use the power of the Forge to repair the Omega Lock," Nightflier said suddenly. "But it's practically depleted of all energy. I don't even think I could fix my own wings with the meager power left. So what am I supposed to do with it?"
Ultra Magnus's optics dropped to the hammer whirring beneath his Prime's touch. "I don't know," he finally said after a long moment.
Nightflier shook his head. "Guess it's only useful to pound out dings . . ." He dropped his helm. He was surprised that Ultra Magnus hadn't forced them back into the motions yet. He supposed it was out of reverence for Optimus, but . . . It was time they began again. They had had the past days to grieve for their Prime. But the Decepticons wouldn't be grieving. Yes, recuperating after losing Darkmount, but they wouldn't stop. Megatron was aggressive. He bet they had their next plan in motion already, and they, the Autobots, had done nothing.
Nightflier looked up to Ultra Magnus. "What's the current state of our energon reserves?"
"Dire," was the commander's response. "According to Ratchet, if no grave wounds are taken, we may have enough to just keep us running for a week."
Nightflier closed his optics. "So we need to start scouting for energon immediately."
"That would be advised."
When Nightflier sighed under the weight of the pressure, Ultra Magnus stated, "I've already taken liberties to set out the standard routes to scout. You won't have to worry about that. It will be routine. With your permission, I will take another and myself back to the remains of the old base to search for what provisions we may find left behind by the Decepticons."
Nightflier didn't buy it. He knew the Decepticons would have picked the place clean, but he just nodded. "Thanks." Then, he paused. Stepping of the Forge, the relic whirred to a stop, and Nightflier stepped out self-consciously, clearing his throat. "Um . . . Guys."
He knew that wasn't really the proper way to call them. But he'd feel weird if he called them anything like his soldiers or what. Instead, as optics turned to him, he cleared his throat nervously again, shuffling his peds. "Um, well . . . I want to say I'm sorry. I . . . haven't put up a good effort to be your Prime. And, I know even if I don't really want to be, I have to. So just bear with me as I try to figure this out."
He wet his lips, optics jumping as he tried to keep optic contact with a few, but he didn't have that kind of bearings yet. Instead, his gaze kept slipping downwards. "And . . . I know you guys are hurting now that Optimus is gone. I can't pretend to know what it's like since I didn't know him the way you all did, but can imagine. This group—You don't function that much differently than my Protectobots back on Cybertron. Less of a war faction and more with the bonds that have grown." Nightflier paused, trying to figure out what he was trying to say. He shrugged nervously, satin bed sheet moving with the motion.
"I'm trusting you all to lean on each other for comfort, but we can't dally any longer. Energon reserves are low, and if we don't get back to scouting, we'll all offline with him, and I know Optimus would never approve of it. And I know he'd never approve of us giving up just because he was gone. He wouldn't want us to give in to the Decepticons, so we won't." He looked up again, trying his best to keep optic contact. "I'm probably going to be learning more from you all about how to be a leader than I could figure out on my own. I know I have a lot to live up to, and I'll never be Optimus, but . . ." and he looked up to Smokescreen. "I don't have to be Optimus. And, I know it's unfair of me to ask, but I'm asking you to put your faith in me as Optimus's successor."
There was silence after his spill, and Nightflier shuffled his peds again, pain throbbing up his back already this early in the day. He knew it was no grand speech. But he just had to get what he needed to say off his chest and out for the others to hear. After a minute, he finally heard a quiet,
"Well said."
Nightflier's optics flicked up to Ratchet. The medic nodded in trust, and Nightflier swallowed before nodding back. A quiet, general consensus rippled across the room, and Nightflier almost let his shoulders slump in relief, but he caught Arcee's optics. Instinctively, he fixed his posture even more.
After a moment, he realized that Ultra Magnus was keeping quiet so he could give the orders. Swallowing, Nightflier gave a small gesture. "We need to get scouting for energon. There are already routes in the computer ready to be scouted, take your pick and divvy up. Ultra Magnus," and his optics managed to brush Wheeljack, "and Wheeljack, have Ratchet bridge you out to the old base and try to salvage anything you can."
With his words, he felt a brush of pride against his spark. His spark filled to bursting with love and happiness to know he was linked with his father again, faults forgiven and things starting fresh. He looked up, surprised to see Dreadwing walking across the room towards him. His optics bulged from his head when his father knelt at his peds, a hand over his spark.
"Optimus Prime asked me numerous times to forsake the Decepticon cause and join the Autobots," Dreadwing said aloud, publicly, so the others could hear. "I renounced him on both counts. I claimed betraying my kind was not the same as joining his." Dreadwing paused, and Nightflier felt his regret brush against him. He reached out, soothing his father's remorse. "Now, I ask you to allow me to defect to Autobot so that I may protect the ones I care about most and once again restore my honor."
"Done," Nightflier said before Ultra Magus could say anything, as if he was afraid the commander would not let him defect for some reason. Nightflier's lips twitched as he tried and failed to hold back a smile. "Guess you'll have to let Ratchet change your faction symbol and get some blue optics." He looked towards Ratchet for confirmation, and the medic just nodded. Dreadwing inclined his body respectfully to his Prime before heading off towards the medical area.
With his movement moved the rest of the Autobots. They began to disperse to do his bidding, and Nightflier caught sight of his sister amongst them. Licking his lips nervously and shuffling his peds, he called out, "Nights, come here!"
He watched her look up to Bumblebee before the scout patted her arm with an uplifting chirp. She made her way nervously over to him, and his lips twitched up again. He stretched his arms out. "Come here."
He enveloped her in a big hug, sighing as he came into contact with her. Yes, she was alive. He couldn't help how he tried to feel her in his spark, but it felt good to know she was alive. "All right, look at me." He pulled back, tilting her chin up when she wanted to look at the floor.
"It's all right, Nights." He let his lips curve into a smile as he said the hardest words he had ever had to say before in his life. "We don't have to bond yet."
She frowned, looking her optics away as she muttered, "But . . ."
"Nights, look at me." Reluctantly, she lifted her helm to look at him. He vented slowly. "I talked with Arcee and Jack a while before. They mentioned something really bad had happened to you, but didn't explain what. And . . . I'm guessing whatever it is is the reason you don't want to bond?" Again, shamefully, she nodded her head. Nightflier sighed, covering up his hurt. He looked her in her optics. "Look. I'm not going to force you into anything you don't want to do, but . . . I do want you to know that nothing can be so bad that I'd let it stand in between us, got it?"
She teared up a moment before blinking her optics rapidly and rasping, "Got it."
Hugging her tightly again, Nightflier pressed an affectionate kiss to the side of her helm. As an afterthought, he whispered, "Take this scouting flight for me, Nights. Primus knows I need one . . ."
She squeezed lightly back, mindful of his wounds, and hushed back, "Okay."
Nightflier let her go with a mild vent as he watched them—his warriors—disperse. Yes, it was good he was finally doing what he was supposed to. But that didn't mean it felt normal. It felt utterly at odds with his personality. He didn't like it. But he would do it, because he had to.
As Ratchet bridged Ultra Magnus and Wheeljack out, the commander paused, looking back at Nightflier. Nightflier blinked, and he came back towards him. After a moment, he knelt.
"Nightfall." Ultra Magnus's brows frowned as he studied Nightflier, and Nightflier shifted uncertainly at his studious gaze. Finally, Ultra Magnus stated, "I know why you are Prime."
Nightflier's optics snapped open wide. "Y-You do?"
Ultra Magnus nodded. "It is simple. Though you are small, and you say that the Forge is bigger than you; Megatron is bigger than you; everything is bigger than you. I find that perhaps your size is daunting, because while you are small, you contain something bigger inside, something powerful that has yet to be discovered."
He looked up, brows cinched with confusion and hope. "And what's that?"
Ultra Magnus shook his head. "That, not even I could tell you. It is something you will have to discover on your own."
The commander rose, and Nightflier watched him go. Ratchet shut the bridge behind him, and Nightflier looked down at his peds.
He frowned in thought. At least things had gotten back into motion. He had taken his first step as a Prime—a tiny, baby step though it may be—and given his first orders. Hah. Go scout energon. Okay! Yup, great orders. But things always started small.
His lip curled ruefully. Small. He lifted his head, looking towards where the ground bridge would open. Despite everything, he still had Ultra Magnus's vote of confidence. He hadn't realized how much he had needed that gesture until the commander had done it. Though he was still intimidated by the position of Prime, he didn't feel so oppressed anymore.
I don't know what the frag I'm doing. But at least I'm doing it.