Methods of Redemption
I didn't forget about this, I swear. But frag, it was a pain to write out. Bunny most definitely too hyper for my brain to keep up with. 0_0;;
Follows on the Dec '08 PxJ challenge ficlet - Where there is despair, hope
Title: Methods of Redemption
'Verse: G1 Transformers
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: TF cussing
It was some time before anyone noticed, too caught up in the recovery of their Second and Third to realise that their Prime was acting strange, withdrawing from their company, watching them with haunted optics. He spoke less, sequestered himself in his office or his quarters more than before, and even found ways to brush off Ironhide when the mech tried to get him to talk about it. Polite as ever, but still evasive.
But the old warrior wasn’t so easily deterred. With a grim expression, he set to work. He hadn’t survived as long as he had by sheer dint of his near indestructible plating and outright stubborn refusal to offline, no matter what the others might think. It was just more efficient to let the specialists handle tactics and plotting. Most of the time. But with the top two of those said specialists still offline in the med bay, it fell to him, as the mech with the next best handle on Optimus’s thought processes, to crack their commander’s thick cranium.
So, after most of the Ark had turned in for the night shift, he caught hold of Optimus, wandering around like a lost turbopup, and dragged the mech into the Prime’s quarters, shoved him into a seat, then commed Red Alert to tell him to lock the door and not open it until he said so.
Well. No one said plans had to be fancy and subtle.
= = =
“Ironhide, what is the meaning of this?”
His commander sounded weary, as if he knew exactly what Ironhide intended and was resigned to having to sit through it. The red mech growled.
“You know damn well what. I’m tired of watching you mope, and you are going to tell me what’s gotten into your circuits. And don’t you fragging say it’s nothing!”
Optimus was silent, and Ironhide sighed.
“What is this about, really? Both of them will be fine. We got them home, safe and sound, and Ratchet’s the best medic anyone could ask for, even if his bedside manner could use a little tweaking.”
When his Prime didn’t smile, or even make a halfsparked attempt to chide him for the comment, the red mech sighed again.
“C’mon. Spill. The mechs are getting worried about you. They think something’s gone wrong with Prowl and Jazz’s repairs. Ratchet is about ready to take apart the next mech to question him, and Wheeljack and Hoist are ready to help him do it. Bluestreak hasn’t moved from the med bay, and Ratch’s about to dissemble him so he can put him back together, in the brig. And when those two get out of the med bay, they’re going to be beyond fragged at you for running down like this, and at me for not pulling you out of it.”
“I don’t deserve their concern.”
“What?”
The quiet, miserable answer was repeated, as the Autobot leader locked guilty optics with Ironhide.
“I don’t deserve their concern. You saw what happened in that battle. I lost control, disregarded the morals and principles I speak so often of. I tortured Megatron, ‘Hide.”
The feel of metal warping and giving way under his blade, the memory of the pleasure he felt in doing so, in causing the pained, terrified expression of the Decepticon leader, sickened him more than he could find words to express. The red mech shifted uneasily, placing a comforting hand on the wretched mech’s shoulder.
“None of us are going to fault you for that. Primus knows, many of us would have loved to be in your position that day. Making the bucket head pay for what he did.”
“Ironhide! I am their commander. The Prime. The Autobots look up to me to uphold the ideals of our cause. What kind of hypocrite am I, to allow myself to discard these ethics so easily?”
“Optimus. It wasn’t like you just onlined one day and decided to deal a little gratuitous pain to the fragger. You were under a lot of stress. The mechs who have your spark were in danger, near deactivation from the looks of that little ‘present’ Megatron sent you before we rolled out. And then the slagger waves that… obscenity in your faceplates. Tell you something, if you hadn’t gone after him, the rest of us would. And we’d have kept going after him too. As it is, you called us off the moment we heard Prowl and Jazz were safe.”
“It is no excuse. I acted no better than our foes on that field, ‘Hide. I don’t deserve to lead, I don’t deserve their concern, or Jazz and Prowl, and… when they online, I’ll…”
“You’ll what? Tell them to stop loving you?”
“I may not need to, once they hear about my actions.”
“Thank you, Ironhide. We’ll take it from here.” A voice, calm, quiet, cool, caused both mechs to look up, startled. Prowl stood before them, a hand braced against the doorway, looking tired, but no less determined or authoritative, even without the doorwings that characterised the Datsun’s presence. As the chevroned mech limped into the room, Jazz trailed him in, also looking exhausted. Ironhide stared.
“What about Ratchet?”
“Optimus needs us more.” The Spec Ops mech replied, gently giving him a push in the direction of the exit. “Thanks, ‘Hide.”
The red mech left, shaking his head. Then he started for the med bay. Knowing the medic, he’d have to find some way to keep the mech from going on a rampage until the two black and whites were done.
= = =
Once the three of them were alone, Jazz stalked over to his commander.
“You don’t deserve the Autobots’ concern, or us? You have no right to say that. You aren’t the only one in this relationship, Optimus, and I’ll offline myself before I let you make that decision without our input.”
“Jazz…”
The Ops mech jabbed a finger into the Prime’s chestplates, voice taut with anger. “And how dare you think we’d leave you over something like this? What do you take us, our relationship, for?”
“Optimus. Do you blame us for getting caught?” The red and blue mech leapt from his seat to face Prowl (and how his spark ached at the sight of his mechs, battered and scarred and looking oh so fragile).
“No!”
“Likewise, no one will blame you for attacking Megatron.”
“But I-”
Jazz cut in again, coming up behind him to take hold of his hand. “Optimus, do you remember what we told you? It’s a war. Megatron was gunning for us from day one.”
“I enjoyed it, alright?! I took pleasure in hurting him!”
The Porsche growled. “Yeah, you did. Like ‘Hide said, many of us would too. The Decepticons have hurt all of us, destroyed so much, killed so many. There’s not a bot alive who wouldn’t feel some satisfaction in inflicting a little fear on Megs. But look at how miserable you are now. Can you go out there and repeat what you did to Megatron in the next battle?”
“I pray to Primus that I never will. Megatron enjoys causing suffering. How do you know I won’t descend into being the same? What if one day, I lose my temper again and take it out on my Autobots? On you?”
“You would never. You are Optimus Prime, honourable, upright, kind, and a downright silly aft at times. You make mistakes and get caught up in your emotions. You aren’t perfect, but we don’t need perfect, we need you.” Jazz murmured, slipping his arms around Optimus’s chassis as Prowl ran a soothing hand over the commander’s helm.
“No one is without fault, have faith that we will understand that you can and will stumble.”
The Autobot commander sank onto his berth, servos trembling as he held both mechs close, relishing the feel of them, safe in the Ark and in his arms once more. The pair of mechs smiled, moving to withdraw his battlemask and claim soft, gentle kisses, reassuring him of their presence, and their love.
Follows on the Dec '08 PxJ challenge ficlet - Where there is despair, hope
Title: Methods of Redemption
'Verse: G1 Transformers
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: TF cussing
It was some time before anyone noticed, too caught up in the recovery of their Second and Third to realise that their Prime was acting strange, withdrawing from their company, watching them with haunted optics. He spoke less, sequestered himself in his office or his quarters more than before, and even found ways to brush off Ironhide when the mech tried to get him to talk about it. Polite as ever, but still evasive.
But the old warrior wasn’t so easily deterred. With a grim expression, he set to work. He hadn’t survived as long as he had by sheer dint of his near indestructible plating and outright stubborn refusal to offline, no matter what the others might think. It was just more efficient to let the specialists handle tactics and plotting. Most of the time. But with the top two of those said specialists still offline in the med bay, it fell to him, as the mech with the next best handle on Optimus’s thought processes, to crack their commander’s thick cranium.
So, after most of the Ark had turned in for the night shift, he caught hold of Optimus, wandering around like a lost turbopup, and dragged the mech into the Prime’s quarters, shoved him into a seat, then commed Red Alert to tell him to lock the door and not open it until he said so.
Well. No one said plans had to be fancy and subtle.
= = =
“Ironhide, what is the meaning of this?”
His commander sounded weary, as if he knew exactly what Ironhide intended and was resigned to having to sit through it. The red mech growled.
“You know damn well what. I’m tired of watching you mope, and you are going to tell me what’s gotten into your circuits. And don’t you fragging say it’s nothing!”
Optimus was silent, and Ironhide sighed.
“What is this about, really? Both of them will be fine. We got them home, safe and sound, and Ratchet’s the best medic anyone could ask for, even if his bedside manner could use a little tweaking.”
When his Prime didn’t smile, or even make a halfsparked attempt to chide him for the comment, the red mech sighed again.
“C’mon. Spill. The mechs are getting worried about you. They think something’s gone wrong with Prowl and Jazz’s repairs. Ratchet is about ready to take apart the next mech to question him, and Wheeljack and Hoist are ready to help him do it. Bluestreak hasn’t moved from the med bay, and Ratch’s about to dissemble him so he can put him back together, in the brig. And when those two get out of the med bay, they’re going to be beyond fragged at you for running down like this, and at me for not pulling you out of it.”
“I don’t deserve their concern.”
“What?”
The quiet, miserable answer was repeated, as the Autobot leader locked guilty optics with Ironhide.
“I don’t deserve their concern. You saw what happened in that battle. I lost control, disregarded the morals and principles I speak so often of. I tortured Megatron, ‘Hide.”
The feel of metal warping and giving way under his blade, the memory of the pleasure he felt in doing so, in causing the pained, terrified expression of the Decepticon leader, sickened him more than he could find words to express. The red mech shifted uneasily, placing a comforting hand on the wretched mech’s shoulder.
“None of us are going to fault you for that. Primus knows, many of us would have loved to be in your position that day. Making the bucket head pay for what he did.”
“Ironhide! I am their commander. The Prime. The Autobots look up to me to uphold the ideals of our cause. What kind of hypocrite am I, to allow myself to discard these ethics so easily?”
“Optimus. It wasn’t like you just onlined one day and decided to deal a little gratuitous pain to the fragger. You were under a lot of stress. The mechs who have your spark were in danger, near deactivation from the looks of that little ‘present’ Megatron sent you before we rolled out. And then the slagger waves that… obscenity in your faceplates. Tell you something, if you hadn’t gone after him, the rest of us would. And we’d have kept going after him too. As it is, you called us off the moment we heard Prowl and Jazz were safe.”
“It is no excuse. I acted no better than our foes on that field, ‘Hide. I don’t deserve to lead, I don’t deserve their concern, or Jazz and Prowl, and… when they online, I’ll…”
“You’ll what? Tell them to stop loving you?”
“I may not need to, once they hear about my actions.”
“Thank you, Ironhide. We’ll take it from here.” A voice, calm, quiet, cool, caused both mechs to look up, startled. Prowl stood before them, a hand braced against the doorway, looking tired, but no less determined or authoritative, even without the doorwings that characterised the Datsun’s presence. As the chevroned mech limped into the room, Jazz trailed him in, also looking exhausted. Ironhide stared.
“What about Ratchet?”
“Optimus needs us more.” The Spec Ops mech replied, gently giving him a push in the direction of the exit. “Thanks, ‘Hide.”
The red mech left, shaking his head. Then he started for the med bay. Knowing the medic, he’d have to find some way to keep the mech from going on a rampage until the two black and whites were done.
= = =
Once the three of them were alone, Jazz stalked over to his commander.
“You don’t deserve the Autobots’ concern, or us? You have no right to say that. You aren’t the only one in this relationship, Optimus, and I’ll offline myself before I let you make that decision without our input.”
“Jazz…”
The Ops mech jabbed a finger into the Prime’s chestplates, voice taut with anger. “And how dare you think we’d leave you over something like this? What do you take us, our relationship, for?”
“Optimus. Do you blame us for getting caught?” The red and blue mech leapt from his seat to face Prowl (and how his spark ached at the sight of his mechs, battered and scarred and looking oh so fragile).
“No!”
“Likewise, no one will blame you for attacking Megatron.”
“But I-”
Jazz cut in again, coming up behind him to take hold of his hand. “Optimus, do you remember what we told you? It’s a war. Megatron was gunning for us from day one.”
“I enjoyed it, alright?! I took pleasure in hurting him!”
The Porsche growled. “Yeah, you did. Like ‘Hide said, many of us would too. The Decepticons have hurt all of us, destroyed so much, killed so many. There’s not a bot alive who wouldn’t feel some satisfaction in inflicting a little fear on Megs. But look at how miserable you are now. Can you go out there and repeat what you did to Megatron in the next battle?”
“I pray to Primus that I never will. Megatron enjoys causing suffering. How do you know I won’t descend into being the same? What if one day, I lose my temper again and take it out on my Autobots? On you?”
“You would never. You are Optimus Prime, honourable, upright, kind, and a downright silly aft at times. You make mistakes and get caught up in your emotions. You aren’t perfect, but we don’t need perfect, we need you.” Jazz murmured, slipping his arms around Optimus’s chassis as Prowl ran a soothing hand over the commander’s helm.
“No one is without fault, have faith that we will understand that you can and will stumble.”
The Autobot commander sank onto his berth, servos trembling as he held both mechs close, relishing the feel of them, safe in the Ark and in his arms once more. The pair of mechs smiled, moving to withdraw his battlemask and claim soft, gentle kisses, reassuring him of their presence, and their love.