TRANSFORMATION Act IV sc iii

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Scene iii

Prime dropped the facemask he'd been holding, and ran stumbling across the room to his bondmate. He lifted her in his arms and cradled her to him. Then with tender hands, he touched the many welds that criss-crossed her light chassis, testing each seam's strength.

When he was satisfied that she was healing as well as could be expected, he let himself fall down onto her berth, and buried his face gratefully in her neck. Her smooth, cool plating felt strange against the untarnished sensors of his lips and chin. His new-found mouth opened in a soft, wordless cry of losing, finding, and relief.

"Optimus..." Gently, Elita pushed him away, and stared at his denuded face. For a long, long moment, she was silent. "Why?" she asked at last.

Prime's lips twitched in an awkward smile. "You think I look like an idiot."

"Well, if you want an honest answer, yes." She searched his face, her brows knit in confusion. "What were you trying to prove, my love?"

"You're in for it now, Big Bot," Ratchet intoned. "I think I'll exit the war zone while I can. But don't be too hard on him Elita," he admonished kindly. He smiled with affection on his two patients. Then he sauntered out of the Medbay, singing the prewar song again, and swinging his stride in time to the beat.

"Do you think I made a mistake?" asked Optimus. Looking into his bondmate's staring optics, he'd suddenly felt very foolish. And her reaction, he realized with chagrin, was only the first of many he'd have to face up to during the next few days. "I suppose we could have Ratchet put it back..."

"Sshhh!" The pink femme placed a peremptory finger lightly against his lips. Then, her optics flickering intently back to his, she slowly traced the contours of his mouth, his chin, his nose, his cheekplates.

It was a thoroughly unremarkable face, one that inspired none of the awe that the Autobot leader's mere presence usually commanded. She hadn't realized how much the mask added to the aura of grandeur that usually surrounded her bondmate – how much it helped to set the Prime apart. Without it, he was just another mech: larger than most, but otherwise unremarkable.

He began to squirm beneath her touch. "Stop that, 'Lita!" He grabbed her hands. "Tickles," he explained gravely, trying to control the lopsided grin that kept on twitching at the corners of his mouth.

His smile was infectious. She gave in to it, allowing it to be reflected in her own face. She hooked a finger around his left audial antenna, and pulled it down until it was next to her mouth. "I remember you," she whispered. Her lips brushed against the dark blue helm as she spoke his long-forgotten name. "Orion."

Optimus tightened his arms around her. "Orion and Ariel," he whispered. "How in blazes have we managed – a common clerk and a newling femme – to masquerade as commanding officers all this time?"

Elita One shrugged. "At spark, I feel as if I'm that same impetuous young Ariel, but in disguise; wondering in panic how I'm supposed to run my special ops team and keep them all alive..."

Optimus cradled her head in a strong hand. "I know," he said. "But dearest..." and here his voice grew sad. "I'm not Orion Pax any more. I don't think I even want to be. He was so ignorant, so naive. He wasn't fit to lead a pack of petro-rabbits, let alone lead all of Cybertron."

"Now, now, you weren't as bad as all that," Elita interrupted in good humor. "Almost," she added, grinning mischievously. "But not quite!"

"It doesn't matter who I was," said Optimus with resignation. "I don't think I could stop being the Prime now, even if I wanted to. It's become part of my core programming. This is who I am now. I may occasionally doubt my abilities, but I can't imagine myself abandoning this assignment."

Elita snorted. "Can't stand the idea of handing this responsibility over to anyone else, is what you mean. Look how hard it was for you to leave Megatron in charge, even though it was only for a few breems!"

"In my defense, it was Megatron." Prime remonstrated. "Besides," he added, "Look what happened! Everything went all to slag!"

Elita sighed softly through her vents, but the sound was broken by tiny stutters of pain. Optimus peered down at her in concern, but Elita refused to let him get sidetracked. She lifted his chin in her fingers. "You trap yourself in this role, Optimus. But there are others who would fill it adequately, despite what you believe. Make sure that this is what you want to do, not something you tell yourself you must do."

The old red mech dropped his head, resting his brow against hers. "I'll try to remember that, my dear," he murmured.

Elita reached up to touch his exposed face again. "Now, do you want to tell me why put your discarded identity on display, if you're unwilling to go back to it?"

Optimus laughed. "I think I had some crazy idea that by changing my face I could somehow change the future..."

He bowed his head over her two hands, her fingers clasped between his own. "And Elita," he went on, his voice sinking lower, "I think I need some kind of tangible reminder that all of this is real. I need something to reassure me every time I come online that this is not just another dream, doomed to melt away into nothing..." He looked down into her small, intent face, and felt increasingly foolish. "It did seem like a good idea at the time..."

Elita laughed at his childlike earnestness. But she thought for a while about what he'd told her; and finally, she nodded. "I agree that we could all use a visible reminder that things have changed. It's not perfect. Maybe it's even a little silly. But all-in-all... Yes Optimus. I think perhaps you're-"

"Gonna fragging murder that smelter-spawn of a medic!"

There was a crash, a slither of falling cables, and the slam of metal on metal. Megatron had come online.

"'Battle recharge', he says! 'Keep me on my feet', he says!" The big Decepticon was waging a bitter war against the apparatus he'd been lying upon. He ripped out power cords from his arms and torso, throwing them onto the floor in tangled heaps. A few sparked feebly.

At the sound of the commotion, Ratchet came running into the medbay. "'I can do quick and dirty,' you said," he chided sternly. "Look at what you've done to my best charger!" The Medic bent to untangle the mess of cords, grumbling to himself.

"I can also do torture." Though shaking and still unsteady on his feet, Megatron grabbed the Autobot by the throat, and lifted him up so that he dangled several feet off the floor. "And as an authority on the subject, let me assure you that this machine is highly effective in producing pain." He spat. "And yet you call yourself a medic!"

"Megatron, wait-" Optimus was on his feet, swaying; and Elita was crawling off of her bunk toward the precarious tableau.

But Ratchet waved them sternly back. He grinned cheekily up at Megatron. "Don't like your medicine?" he quipped, a challenge in his sharp blue optics. "Not tough enough to take it without complaining?"

Megatron set him down slowly, and loomed over the smaller Autobot, his scowl mere inches from the medic's persistent grin. He bit off each word with malice. "I feel like a hundred tons of slag have fallen on me. My gyros are destabilized. I'm fighting the urge to purge my tanks all over the floor of your precious medbay. And-" His optics flickered suddenly up over Ratchet's shoulder, and he sagged a little in sudden confusion. "Optimus?" he choked. "You idiot! What the frag'd you do to your face?"

The Autobot Commander limped over, and retrieved his mask from where he'd dropped it on the floor. "Here," he said, dropping the little piece of shaped metal onto Megatron's uncertain palm. "My gift to you," he proclaimed, imitating the Decepticon's dramatic style.

Megatron forgot his anger at Ratchet, lowering him weakly to the floor as he stared down at the small thing in his hand. His gilded brow furrowed, and he raised his head to look again at the tall red Autobot. Then a slow grin spread across his face. It was answered by one from Prime.

"Well! Scrap me and sell my lugnuts!" the Decepticon exclaimed. He threw an arm across Prime's shoulders, drawing him in; and punched him not-quite-gently-enough in the abdomen. "I never would have thought you'd do something like this, you corroded old rust-bucket!" He peered sternly into the kindly blue optics. "Just as long as this isn't some ridiculous guilt-driven response to the helmet thing, Op's..."

The big Autobot lifted a shoulder. "Well, maybe a little," he said, with a crooked grin. "You know me..." He pushed Megatron's arm away, and rubbed his middle, grimacing. "Change just seems to be the thing to do, lately; and I thought I'd join in," he teased. "And I thought, if you were willing to change so much, it was only fitting that I should, too. Or at least," he amended, "I felt I ought to demonstrate to everyone that I'm willing to try..."

"And possibly you couldn't handle the thought of that crest of his stealing the spotlight, dear," a winsome voice put in from the repair bunk.

A subtle change came over the silver-gray mech, and he moved quickly around Prime to where Elita sat watching them from her bunk. "Glad to see you're returning to full functionality again, my dear," he proclaimed haughtily. But then he reached out, and brushed a knuckle down her cheek, all trace of pretense gone. "You had me worried, little one," he murmured.

Elita smiled. "I'm a whole lot tougher than I look, Megatron."

"And a good thing, too!" retorted the gray mech, sounding almost angry.

But Elita wasn't listening. She was looking up at him intently. "I need to tell you something," she declared. But she didn't seem certain how to begin. Finally she started, "I don't know if you... found out, or not, when you-" She tilted her head in Prime's direction, and lifted a shoulder awkwardly. It was still uncomfortable for her to speak of the bond between the gray Decepticon and her Optimus. "But my spark- I can sense others' energy, even without my body's receptors to help me. So, I-" she lowered her gaze. "I know what happened, Megatron. I know what you did for us. I know..." she hesitated. "I am aware of what you sacrificed. I... felt him die. I'm sorry..." She reached a hand out toward him, but stopped, glancing up at him uncertainly. Coming to a decision, she said firmly, "I'm glad we have you, Megatron." And Elita pressed her whole palm against Megatron's gray chest in the sign of bonding. He wasn't her sparkmate. But he was family.

An expression came over Megatron's face which hadn't been seen there since his newling days. The old warrior enveloped her hand in both of his, overcome with astonished gratitude. He sank down beside her, and wrapped his arms around the little femme. And for once in his life, he said nothing at all.

Watching them, Optimus felt his spark would burst with love. He bent down, and laid his cheek against Elita's smooth white one. "I love you, Ari," he whispered. "Thank you." He stretched out his arms to hold them both – his sparkmate and his bond-brother – and in this single, shining moment, he was utterly fulfilled.

"I think," said Ratchet lightly, "That this is as close as we'll ever come on this side of the All-Spark to 'Till All Are One,' Optimus." He found himself wishing he had someone to hold, too; lately it seemed like the thing to do.

Elita reached out a hand, and squeezed his worn red one. "Thanks, Doc," she said, smiling kindly. "We none of us would still be here without you."

"A fact I'd like to remind you of, so that you'll listen when I tell you that it's time for you to rest!" he responded shortly. But his bright blue optics were soft.

The Autobot and Decepticon Commanders helped Elita lie back on her berth, and she laughed at the unaccustomed attention. "Silly boys!" she murmured warmly, as she pressed black fingers in her left hand, and blue ones in her right.

"Now Megatron," she admonished with mock severity, "You'd better turn around and thank Ratchet for throwing you in the charge machine of death, so that you could be alive for me to thank you." Tired, but content, she shut down her optics, and sank into a light, healing shut-down.

Megatron rose, stretched, turned, and reset his heavy shoulders. "I've decided I won't murder you after all, Medic," he said. He'd tried his best to growl menacingly, but the effect was undermined by the treacherous smile that kept tugging at one corner of his mouth. He extended a hand to the white Autobot. "No hard feelings?"

Ratchet took the Decepticon's large black hand in his own. "No hard feelings," he returned promptly. "Besides," he added with a mischievous grin, "There were twelve or thirteen ways I could have shut you down almost instantly, with you holding me up in such easy reach of all your servos."

Megatron gaped at him.

Ratchet burst out laughing at the Decepticon's comical incredulity, and clapped a hand on the startled mech's shoulder. "Never underestimate a medic!" he advised with dark conviction. "And do not tempt me to demonstrate my powers!"

The Medic extended the first two fingers of his right hand, and touched them to his own chestplate. Then he held the fingers up toward Megatron. "Friends?" he asked, and touched the thick gray chestplate in the ancient sign of loyalty.

Megaton looked shocked. Then he grinned mischievously. "Well I'll be slagged," he chortled warmly. "If I'd known popularity was this easy to come by amongst you Autobots, I would have changed my strategy to infiltration vorns ago!" He touched two fingers to his own chestplate, and then to Ratchet's. "Friends," he promised. "Slagging smart-aft."

"Friends." Bonecrusher spat the word. The green bulldozer rammed his blade into the base of a ruined wall. It teetered, collapsed slowly, and landed with a tremendous clatter in a cloud of dust. He coughed to clear his intakes, transformed, and began lifting the larger chunks into Long Haul's truck-bed.

"Do they actually believe we'll all just get along now?" he demanded. "Invite each other over for energon on our off-shifts, and such?" He glared down the along rubble-choked street. A short way off, the Autobots called Grapple and Hoist were tearing down the remaining walls of other bombed-out buildings. Judging from the yellow crane's pained yammering, Grapple was probably lamenting the destruction of some structures which he'd designed himself.

Bonecrusher ground his dentals. In a high, mocking tone, he fluted,"Why hello, Grapple. Hello Hoist. Would the two of you fancy a cube of my finest high grade after we finish here tonight?" The gruff Constructicon slammed a last armload of scrap into the silent dump truck, and spat out a mouthful of dust. "Not slagging likely!" he finished hotly.

"Don't worry," put in Mixmaster. He'd come up bearing an awkward stack of broken beams, and was relieved to drop them into Long Haul's box. "There's no way that this so-called 'cease-fire' can hold out for very long."

"It can't fail soon enough for me." Bonecrusher clenched a fist, and turned a threatening glare on the two Autobots down the street. "I can't wait to get back to scrapping those idiots."

"Not me," said Scrapper quietly. He'd joined the group, unnoticed.

"Don't get me wrong," the front-end loader went on, seeing the others' shocked expressions. "I like 'devastating' the Autobots as much as you do. But you have to admit it would be nice to build something that wasn't going to get blown up after a few cycles. Just for once."

When the other Constructicons continued to gape at him, he lifted his head in challenge. "What? I'm just saying! Get back to work!"

Megatron picked up Prime's cast-off faceplate, and looked down thoughtfully at the it. Then his optics flared, and he grinned his old, conniving grin. "Optimus," he said, "I've got an idea." He checked his internal chronometer. And I might even have time for it, too." He peered across at the red mech. "Are you certain you're not going to change your mind and want this thing back?"

Prime shrugged. "Can you think of any reason why I should?" He tried not to sound too hopeful.

Megatron chuckled. "No such luck, my friend." He closed his hand around the mask. "You Autobots have never understood the importance of using the right propaganda," he declared. "And trust me, in this case, we're going to need the best." He brandished the small piece of metal. "I think you've just given me the key." With that enigmatic statement, he turned, and charged out of the room.

"What the slag are you planning?" Prime shouted after him.

"I'll meet you on the hill in six breems!" the gray mech called back from down the echoing hallway. The three Autobots heard the outer door slam shut, and the ignition of their one-time enemy's thrusters as he took flight.

Chairs clattered to the floor unheeded, as every Autobot in the room jumped to his feet.

Rumble dropped clumsily to the ground beside his twin, and lifted the red and black body in his arms. "Wait for me!" he pleaded, rocking back and forth in terrible resignation. "We were gonna go out together, remember? Together!" He shook the little mech. "Don't leave me here alone!"

Trailbreaker was the first to come to his senses. He radioed a terse distress call to Ratchet. The others crouched uneasily beside the pint-sized purple mech, some making tentative offers of help.

"Slaggit, I don't want them to go out now!" hissed Smokescreen. "Primus knows we've fought the pesky twerps for vorns, but- Not like this," he finished lamely.

"If I find out that an Autobot did this, I swear to Primus that there will be retribution," Mirage hissed, glaring around at the other bots in the helpless, nervously shifting circle. They gaped at him, surprised at the rough anger in his usually well-modulated voice.

"No one fouled him." Eject was jittery, his light voice cracking with unease. "He just went down... down for the count..." The idioms of Earth-sports that he liked to use all failed to convey what he was feeling.

Rewind was pacing in front of Blaster, each rapid step punctuated by the beating of his small fist against his forehead. "I know I have some relevant information buried somewhere in my memory banks..." he wailed.

Blaster crouched on his haunches so as to be at eye-level with his blue and black Cassettes. His every servo whined with pent-up energy. But he had no more idea of what to do than Eject did.

In his helplessness, he began to be annoyed by all the fidgeting of his Cassettes. He was just about to tell the two of them to do their jittering in subspace, when an idea struck him.

"Rewind," he asked. "Could Frenzy's collapse have something to do with Soundwave's death?"

The little black and white mech froze mid-step, his right foot still hanging in the air. "That's right. They have no guardian now." His optics dimmed as he scrolled through the vast collection of data which clogged his micro-processor. After a long moment, he set his hovering foot down with deliberate care, and turned to look up at Blaster. "They have no Guardian," he repeated, stunned. "No home. No resting place. No way to replenish their life-force. Without Soundwave-" He shrugged, and left the sentence unfinished.

"But it's not slagging fair!" wailed Eject. Then suddenly he gasped. The little mech put a hand on his Carrier's bent knee; and with a voice quivering with earnest intensity, he asked, "Could we recruit them, coach?"

Blaster fell back in astonishment. It was an almost unseemly suggestion. Yet suddenly, here and now, it seemed so fitting...

He turned to Rewind. "Can it be done?" he asked.

"It's possible," the little Cassette nodded.

Blaster's optics dimmed as he posed the question to his other charges. Ramhorn and Steeljaw were still resting in his subspace, and knew only that their carrier was troubled. But they quickly gave their answers, once the situstion was explained.

"All right," said Blaster. "Let's try it!"

The Autobot communicator sat carefully down beside Rumble, who seemed oblivious to his presence. Wishing to keep their conversation private in that circle of curious onlookers, he radioed his words directly into Rumble's receiver.

He's dying isn't he?

Rumble merely clutched his twin more tightly, crooning softly to him.

You are too. You've lost your guardian.

What's it to you, Autobot? came the reluctant, angry reply.

The Cassettes and I... We were wondering if you'd accept the offer of a substitute.

It took a few kliks for the distraught Rumble to process what Blaster had said. The purple Cassetticon looked up at him then, shocked. He was touched in spite of himself, enough that he spoke out loud. "Wait," he fumbled. "Are you saying- Are you offering to-?"

"We are."

Eject put out a tentative hand, and touched Rumble's hunched shoulder. "Please," he begged, all traces of his usual exuberance gone. "We don't want you to die."

Rumble bent down to his twin. The two small mechs seemed to share an instant of wordless communication. Then Frenzy's lips twitched in an almost inaudible whisper. "Do it," he breathed.

"Very well." Rumble gave a brusque nod. "We accept." The little 'Con stood, still bearing his brother in his arms, and swaying with the effort of it as his own strength drained away. "But we'll never call you 'Boss,'" he declared without emotion. "Our Boss is dead.

"And we ain't gonna become no slaggin' Autobots, either," he added, with a pale return of his familiar cheekiness. "And you're not allowed to parade us around as some kinda symbol either, even if this stupid ceasefire somehow holds." He glared up at the tall red-orange bot. "Ya got all that?" he demanded.

Blaster nodded.

"Right then." The purple Cassetticon took a few steps forward, and collapsed onto one knee. He looked up at the circle of watching Autobots, and swore. "Looks like you'll have to carry us," he apologized. "Don't think I can even trans-"

Ratchet was ready for them when the medbay door burst open. He'd summoned Wheeljack and Hook, trusting the inventor to find a way around the obstacles he was certain they would face, and hoping the Constructicon would have an insight into the Cassettes' systems which he'd never had access to himself.

They laid the two brothers side by side on the same emergency recharge bunk which Megatron had so recently vacated, with Ratchet swearing all the while at the mess the big Decepticon had made of his equipment. From what Prime could gather, they meant to reconfigure the charger to provide a kind of life-support to the Cassettes, while the engineers made adjustments to the two mechs' structures which would make it possible for Blaster to take them into his own subspace.

"What can I do?" Prime asked urgently, rooting through a tangle of charge-cable in search of the plug-end.

"You can slagging well keep out of our way," shot Ratchet shortly, as he snatched the cord from his CO with barely a glance. "Just sit over there and... I don't know; plan tonight's speech, or something!"

Feeling somewhat frustrated, Optimus nonetheless sat down obediently on a low seat against the wall. He watched, blue optics alight, as Autobots and Decepticons together labored to save the two small Cassettes.

It was messy: tempers flared as shoulders bumped, and there were a few instances of potentially disastrous miss-communication. Yet even so, Prime recorded the images in his permanent memory. This, right here tonight, was what he had fought for so long to achieve. By Primus, they were learning to work together! Hope flared in his spark. Maybe they'd be able to pull this off after all.

The Autobot Commander watched the fumbling commotion of the present, and imagined the possibilities of the future. And yes – he started working on his speech.