[AU] Oubliette - Chapter Sixteen
Universe: G1/IDW AU
Characters: Optimus, Jazz, Soundwave, Laserbeak, Onslaught, Ratchet, Ultra Magnus, Springer
Rating: T
Warnings this chapter: referenced torture, rape, angst but nothing onscreen
Commission fic for NK
Mood Music: "Iridescent," LInkin Park
Oubliette
Chapter Sixteen
Ultra Magnus was right about thing: despite his numerous failures and the lack of the Matrix, the Autobots still favored Optimus to lead them. Even Jazz, who had every right to lose faith in him.
Optimus was humbled by their loyalty. He vowed he would do whatever it took to protect them from now on. Even if it meant taking up arms again. Not against the Decepticons. He wasn't worried about them.
But the Neutrals were proving more querulous than expected.
Optimus had to give them a small amount of credit. Their troublesome behavior had done what eons of war could not: it united Autobot and Decepticon. It made Starscream less likely to dig in his thrusters and more likely to discuss things rationally and quickly. It made Ultra Magnus willing to bend, and made negotiations for the treaty go a lot faster.
After all, they needed something solid in place before the Neutrals could swoop in and claim everything.
Optimus accepted his appointment with the dignity it deserved. He only made the promises he felt he could keep, vowing to be fair and to think of the interests of all Cybertronians, but no longer at cost to the Autobots.
He only asked for one thing for himself. He wanted to see proof that Megatron was well and truly gone. He wanted to be sure there was no chance of Megatron coming back to ruin this for everyone.
Jazz gave him a knowing look when he asked, but he handed over the footage Rewind had shot all the same. Despite watching it, a sense of unreality lingered, and it continued to linger even after Jazz took him to the pile of melted slag that was all that remained of Megatron. Optimus had no proof that this was the warlord, save the video evidence, and even that could be faked.
Only then did he realize how very irrational his thoughts were. That he was giving Megatron power over him, even from the Pit. He tried to banish the thoughts, but it was easier said than done.
Megatron had left a stain on him that was not easily erased.
Optimus refused to let himself sit around and wallow, however. He had to be strong. Some of his Autobots had suffered worse fates. Ratchet was concerned for Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. Deeply concerned.
Mirage was like a ghost, flitting from room to room, and there was such hate in his optics that it worried Optimus. Swoop had been taken back into the Dinobot fold, but he was no longer the confident mech Optimus remembered. First Aid had taken the medbay for his own, even sleeping in the physician's quarters. His treatment had been somewhat better than most, but he'd bore witness to things no mech should be forced to see.
Cliffjumper still waited for his fate. He was defiant, despite the shadows that lurked in his optics. He would take execution gladly, he'd said.
Blitzwing had deserved to die.
Ratchet was little better. He seemed strong and defiant, but Wheeljack had confessed that all was not as it seemed.
Hound had a smile on his face, but even Optimus could see it was forced. The perpetually sunny scout had a shadow in his optics, and where he had once been so quick to be affectionate, he flinched if anyone came too near.
Perceptor and Bluestreak were alike. They were bothered by what had happened to their friends and colleagues, but they were, for the most part, unharmed.
Save for Ultra Magnus' Wreckers, the Autobots were a motley collection of damaged, hurting mechs and Optimus was at a loss for how to lead them and protect them.
There were developments on the Decepticon front as well. Optimus did not know what happened, but the next time they all met, Grimlock looked smug and Starscream had several temp patches on his frame.
Grimlock was now the leader of the Decepticons with Starscream as his second. The Seeker did not seem especially pleased about this, but he didn't seem mutinous either. They had come to some sort of agreement, and it clearly wasn't Optimus' place to press for details. Nor was he sure he wanted them.
Their third, he would learn, was Cyclonus, who was not loyal to Megatron or the Decepticons, but to Cybertron itself. One of Megatron's more quieter generals, Cyclonus was often on the fringe of the war and kept to himself. But Optimus had never heard anything of him but honorable things, and Jazz did not seem bothered by his appointment. Optimus trusted Jazz's judgment.
Soundwave, however, was not mentioned at all. Which was curious.
Motormaster and Shockwave were imprisoned, Starscream informed him. As were Scrapper and the Constructicons. They would be let out incrementally on a trial basis, but they could hold no rank in the Decepticon echelon.
Optimus would get his answer for Soundwave's absence much later. After a long day spent haggling over every little detail of the treaty, Optimus retired to the small room Ultra Magnus had set aside for him on the Xantium. He was still healing but loath to return to the medbay, he opted to recover in the privacy of his habsuite.
He sat on the berth and begun sipping at his energon, feeling the ache in his shoulders, his neck, his legs. Recharge was touch and go, even with the inhibitor Ratchet had given him, but there was no time for a vacation. He couldn't take the time off to recover. There was simply too much to do.
That was when he heard the chime of someone requesting permission to enter his habsuite. Optimus tensed. His only visitors had been Autobots, all of whom contacted him via comm before they visited him in person.
Optimus set his cube on the small table and approached the door, frame tense. His inbuilt weaponry had been returned to him during his long repairs, but he did not want to draw his blaster on an ally. Only an ally could have gotten onboard the Xantium.
He pressed the panel. The door slid open to reveal Soundwave of all mechs.
Optimus blinked. “Can I help you?”
“Discussion requested.”
He tilted his helm. “In regards to what?”
“Soundwave's future.”
Optimus shifted his weight. His defense protocols stood down, but he couldn't chase away his unease so quickly. Soundwave was too deeply ingrained as a Decepticon in his subconscious for it not to be unsettling.
“Shouldn't you be talking to Starscream about that?” he asked. He didn't bother to mention Grimlock. Whatever intricacies of command the two had worked out, Optimus wasn't privy to the details.
Soundwave's visor dimmed. “Starscream irrelevant.”
Optimus squinted. Sometimes, Soundwave's lack of context made him more than difficult to understand. Finally, he sighed. Answers would not be had in a brief conversation. He stepped aside, gesturing into his habsuite.
“Fine,” he said in a clipped tone. “Speak your peace.”
“Appreciation given, Optimus Prime.”
“I'm not Prime anymore, you know,” Optimus said as Soundwave entered and the door shut behind him.
The Communications Officer made no moves toward a chair, instead standing in the middle of the room and looking back at Optimus.
“Negative,” Soundwave said, and his field drifted out, tentatively brushing Optimus' own. It was... unreadable. Not unpleasant, simply unreadable. “You are Prime.”
Semantics. Optimus did not feel like arguing them.
“What do you want, Soundwave?” he asked, and he was suddenly tired. He'd been interrupted in the middle of his meal and he was about to head to recharge. This was most inconvenient.
Soundwave inclined his helm, his pose relaxed but something tense in the way he held himself, plating clamped tight and his field the same. His dock was empty; Optimus could see that much by the shadows behind his chestplate. He'd come here without so much as a symbiote, but that didn't mean there weren't any in the vents.
And that's when Optimus realized that Soundwave no longer bore the Decepticon brand. Where it had once been so prominent on his dock, the area was free and clean.
“Did Starscream cast you out?” he demanded, outraged on Soundwave's behalf. He was far from the only one complicit in helping the Autobots take down Megatron!
“Negative.” Soundwave lifted a hand and touched the empty space on his dock. “This by choice. My choice.” His emphasis on the possessive was fierce.
Optimus tilted his helm. “You're no longer a Decepticon. Why?”
“Decepticons... no longer follow the path Soundwave trusts.” Something in his field flickered, but it was gone before Optimus could identify it. “Trust Starscream even less.”
Optimus snorted a laugh. “Well, I cannot blame you there. He's a step up from Megatron, but that doesn't make him better.” He lowered himself into a chair and again gestured for Soundwave to sit.
Again, he was ignored. Soundwave's hands hung at his sides, but his fingers were slowly drawing in and out of fists.
Optimus cycled a ventilation and dropped the levity from his tone. “You're not a Decepticon. And you're not following Starscream. What are you going to do, Soundwave?”
“Swear loyalty to another,” Soundwave replied and he lowered his helm as though in subservience. His legs followed until he knelt on the floor. “To Optimus.”
Optimus was back on his pedes before he registered the motion, the speed of it making his fatigued processor spin. “No.” His hand slashed through the air. “I have never demanded that of anyone, and I will not start now.”
He reached for Soundwave's arm, grabbing him above the elbow and pulling him back to his pedes. Soundwave was of a height with him, but his mass was greater, and Optimus struggled. But it was enough to get Soundwave where he belonged, upright and proud.
Soundwave stared back at him, and for all that his face was hidden by visor and mask, he looked startled to Optimus. His field spoke of it as well.
“If you wish to be an Autobot, if you wish to serve with me, that is one thing,” Optimus continued, squeezing Soundwave's elbow once before he backed off. He'd already begun to shake, and he didn't want Soundwave to see it. “But I will not have you beneath me and I will take no oath, at least, not one that swears fealty.”
Soundwave tilted his helm. “You would accept a Decepticon's commitment?”
Optimus opened his mouth to answer, a kneejerk response, and then realized, he could not spout the same truths as before. It was not in him. He once thought the Autobots and Decepticons could live as one, in peace. Now, he was not so sure.
He shook his helm and put another step between them, distancing their field. “It would depend on the Decepticon,” he admitted. He lowered himself back to his chair, clasping his hands to hide their trembling. “But yes. Should one come to me with honest intent, I would consider their proposal.”
There was a long moment of silence. Finally, Soundwave cleared his vocalizer and took one of the empty seats. Was it a gesture of trust? Of concession? Optimus didn't know. He was too tired to play political games. He was too tired of everything.
“Allegiance offered,” Soundwave said, at length.
Optimus leaned an elbow on the arm of the chair, bracing his chin on his knuckles. “There's a good chance the Autobots might not remain on Cybertron.”
Soundwave nodded slowly. “Understood. Offer remains.”
Cycling a ventilation, Optimus rubbed his faceplate. Soundwave was, as far as he knew, one of the few Decepticons who had not demanded a slave - save Bumblebee and Optimus had heard there were mitigating circumstances surrounding that. Soundwave had also not availed himself of any slaves.
True, he'd invited himself into Optimus' mind upon Megatron's orders. But it wasn't the worst he could have done. And he'd offered Optimus kindness when it hadn't been demanded of him.
He'd alluded to wanting to be rid of Megatron before. He'd never given Optimus a straight answer, however. Only implying that he had a distaste for slavery, one whose reasons were perhaps personal in nature.
“Why?”
Soundwave's field spiked, a nauseating mix of betrayal and anger and disappointment. His visor flashed as his helm tilted. He clasped his hands, leaned forward as though to make himself smaller.
“Megatron: once revered,” he said, slowly. Carefully. As though he were choosing each word, each glyph with precision. “Promised opportunity. Freedom. Choice.” He paused, something rippling through his visor. “Cost too high.”
Optimus frowned. “The cost?”
“Home: desired.” Soundwave's shoulder slumped. “Megatron: desired only power. Lost himself to it. Forgot himself. No longer Megatron.”
“Or maybe it was there all along and you didn't see it because he was promising everything you wanted,” Optimus mused aloud. He drummed the fingers of his free hand against the opposite arm. “You couldn't leave sooner?”
He felt it a foolish question the moment it passed his lips. Leave and go where? To the Autobots who would have shot him on sight? To be alone in the universe with his cassettes to care for and no way to care for them? Soundwave's only hope had been in victory and perhaps, by the end, he no longer cared who scored the win.
Except Megatron's victory would have led them to further ruination.
“Complications,” Soundwave admitted. His hand touched his deck again, gesturing to the cassettes that weren't present. “Loyalty given. No option to refuse.”
Yes. Megatron never had been the type to take betrayal in stride. Optimus and the rest of Autobot command had always wondered why he suffered Starscream to lead. Perhaps because he had no better Air Commander. Perhaps because he'd gotten some sick delight in scrapping Starscream constantly. Perhaps it was a mutual hate that had grown into a co-dependency.
Optimus didn't know. He didn't want to know. It wasn't any of his business because Starscream hadn't come to him asking for asylum. Soundwave had. It was Soundwave's motivations that were a concern to Optimus.
It was enough that Starscream was working toward a truce, that he'd willingly become Grimlock's second in command and hadn't complained once about it. Or if he had, Optimus hadn't heard it.
“Slavery,” Soundwave added, with far more reluctance in his tone than any other time. “Despised.” He shifted, field flashing a vile sort of personal disgust that Optimus felt no further questioning was necessary.
This was something that could not be faked. That sense of hatred and revulsion, directed outwardly, but also inwardly as well. That clawing feeling of inadequacy and failure. Of never being clean.
He knew it all too well.
“Your cassettes?”
“Decision: mine,” Soundwave said. His demeanor relaxed, ventilations easing. “Unanimous. Rumble, however, compromised.”
Optimus' lips twitched toward a smile behind his mask. “Bumblebee.”
Soundwave's visor flashed, this time with amusement. “Affirmative.”
“Then it would do him well to know that I will not stand in the way of it.” Optimus rose to his pedes and offered his hand to Soundwave, glad that the tremors had left him sometime during their conversation. “You are welcome in my cabinet, Soundwave. I will take your commitment. Though I caution that it will not be easy.”
The Autobots as a whole did not like Decepticons. The survivors, especially now, loathed Decepticons. So much so that Optimus was of the mind that there could be no cooperative living. At least, not in the immediate present. Perhaps in the future, but for now? No. Pain was too fresh, atrocity too near.
Soundwave could strip away the Decepticon badge all he liked, but he was distinctive. Everyone knew him to be Megatron's communication officer. That was not a reputation as easily wiped away. But with time and effort, perhaps, friendships could be made.
“Understood,” Soundwave said. He took Optimus' hand and stood, though he was quick to release Optimus after the initial squeeze and brush of their fields. “Hard work acceptable.”
“Well, we have plenty of that ahead of us.” Optimus managed something like a smile, except it occurred to him that Soundwave could not see it. “There are meetings tomorrow, first with the Autobots and then with the Decepticons to finalize the treaty. You are welcome to both.”
“Thank you.” Soundwave dipped his helm in a perfunctory bow. “Mercy appreciated. Opportunity more so.”
Optimus gestured toward the door and let Soundwave precede him. Fatigue had yet to cease gnawing at his cortex, and Optimus needed recharge.
“I had a dream once,” Optimus said as the door opened for Soundwave and the mech - who moved rather silently for how large he was - stepped beyond it. “Of Autobots and Decepticons laying down arms and learning to live in peace. I don't know if that's still possible now, but I'd say this is at least a start.”
Soundwave looked at him, expression as unreadable as always, but then he tapped his dock once more, right over the unmarked glass. “Little changes,” he said.
Optimus' optics brightened by a degree. “Yes,” he agreed. “Little changes. Good night, Soundwave. And welcome to the Autobots.”
0o0o0
Recharge continued to be a useless affair.
Optimus did not like shutting down. He did not like the disorientation he felt upon onlining. He found he recharged marginally better if he kept a light on and some soft music playing because it was an instant reminder that he was no longer chained to Megatron's berth. But those few muzzy moments after reboot were the worst. Priority trees had rearranged themselves. He'd come to expect a spike in his valve first thing. Or fingers in his mouth. Or hands on his frame.
He onlined, more often than not, slick and ready to be taken. He was wise enough to know that it was a defense mechanism his frame had put into place, but he hated that the priorities were even there. That they were a lot slower to purge themselves from his code than they had been to write themselves in there.
Optimus had refused to take care of the charge. He'd lain there, hot and aching, until it went away on its own. Sometimes, he had to slip into the washracks and drown himself in the coldest solvent. The patter of it against his armor was a reminder.
The arousal wasn't his. He didn't want it.
And yes, the inhibitors helped. They put him in recharge and they kept him there, but he always onlined groggy. He never felt rested. One wasn't any better than the other. Plus, he could only use them sparingly.
He used them just enough to get recharge to function. He would worry about the rest later when Autobots and Decepticons and Neutrals weren't on the edge of tipping back over into war. When Optimus' own soldiers could walk out of the medbay, physically healed at least, even if the mental health would take a longer time coming.
The next morning was no different than the others. Optimus forced himself out of the berth, shook off the lingering dredges of memory purges, and waited for the unwelcome heat in his array to dissipate. He took a long shower, first cold and then scalding hot, scrubbing into every nook and cranny. He examined his weld lines and the weak spots, none of which were healing at the proper rate.
Given that his recharge was suspect and he couldn't bring himself to fuel properly, that was probably the reason. All in due time. There were others things to worry about.
Fuel warnings started pinging by the time he'd toweled off and stepped out of the washrack. The Xantium didn't have in-room dispensaries so he'd have to stop by the common room on his way to the meeting. Optimus rifled through the datapads he'd accumulated, selecting the ones that had the various drafts of treaties, and tucked them under his arm.
He had work to do.
Optimus unlocked the command-level overrides he'd put on his door and keyed it to open. As it did so, he nearly leapt backward in surprise. Soundwave stood on the other side of the door, looking as though he were mid-motion to ping for entrance. He wasn't alone either. One of his avian cassettes - Laserbeak, Optimus suspected - perched on his shoulder opposite of his sonic blaster mount. Laserbeak cocked her helm at Optimus as though curious.
Optimus blinked. Soundwave stared back at him.
“What are you doing here?” Optimus asked, though it came out more of a demand. It was a bit disconcerting to find Soundwave lurking outside his door.
Soundwave lifted his hands which Optimus belatedly realized carried a cube of energon each. “Refueling necessary.”
“Yes it is.” Optimus eyed the two cubes. Did he trust Soundwave enough to drink from a cube he'd offered? “You didn't have to bring that.”
“Soundwave knows. Assistance offered nonetheless.” Soundwave offered one of the cubes to him. It glowed with the dimness of mid-grade or medical grade. And it was probably the latter as that was probably in Optimus' best interest to consume.
Optimus took the cube and gave it an explanatory sniff. A quick scan indicated it was nothing more than what it appeared to be: a small serving of medical grade energon. Besides, he supposed, what purpose would it serve for Soundwave to poison him? Such an underhanded technique was certainly Starscream's style if he was acting on Starscream's orders, but to what purpose?
Optimus' medical and scientific staff was better than what the Decepticons had. They'd discern the origin of his illness in a sparkbeat and then they'd all be back where they started: at war.
“Thank you,” Optimus said. He triggered his blast mask to open, taking a sip of the energon. He grimaced at the bland taste. “Good morning, Laserbeak.”
She lifted her beak and trilled at him. Optimus felt the tiniest brush of her field, ripe with a surprised pleasure. Her wings fluttered at him. He assumed that she returned his greeting.
“Your other cassettes?” Optimus asked. He started down the hall, Soundwave falling into step beside him. Again, he had an uncanny knack for moving silently where Optimus felt he lumbered.
“Occupied,” Soundwave answered. He lifted his other cube, offering the open end toward Laserbeak who sipped from it.
“Ah.” Optimus finished the last of the cube and dispersed the containment field with a flick of his wrist.
He looked at Soundwave again, noting that the communications mech remained badgeless. Would he want to take the Autobot oath? Or did he prefer to remain neutral while aligning himself toward the Autobots? Optimus supposed that was something that needed to be discussed later. First, the Autobots as a whole needed to decide how they were going to accept defectors.
“Have you discussed your defection with Starscream?”
“Not Starscream's concern.”
Optimus lifted a shoulder. “That's your decision to make, I suppose. But if we are all going to function together, we cannot have any lingering resentment.”
“Understood.”
Laserbeak finished her cube and Optimus watched Soundwave disperse it. He patted her on the helm, more affection than Optimus had ever seen him bestow, but it was clearly a practiced motion. There was loyalty as well. It made Optimus wonder about the true nature of a cassette and carrier relationship.
They rounded another corner, the Xantium's conference room coming into view, as did the mech waiting outside it. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. Optimus didn't know what Onslaught was waiting for, but he straightened as soon as he saw Soundwave and Optimus. He pushed off the wall, intercepting them both before they could get to the door.
“Optimus Prime,” Onslaught acknowledged. His stance was unthreatening, but the fact remained that he was a massive, strong Decepticon. “If I might have a word.”
A Decepticon without a badge, actually, just like Soundwave had scrubbed off his.
At this rate, would Starscream have any Decepticons to lead?
“I am about to enter an important meeting, Onslaught. What can I do for you?” Optimus left the wariness in his tone on purpose. He doubted it was an accident that Onslaught had all but laid in wait for him.
“I wish to discuss the future of myself and my teammates.” Onslaught clasped his wrists behind his back.
Optimus had suspected as much. “I understand. I don't have time at the moment, but after my meetings have concluded for the day, we can revisit your request. Is that fair?”
The light behind Onslaught's visor shifted from Optimus to Soundwave and back again. “I will hold you to your word,” he said. He tilted his helm toward Soundwave. “Commander.”
Onslaught spun on a heel and strode down the hall, opposite the direction Optimus and Soundwave had come. Who had invited him onto the Xantium was a curiosity. Or had something been decided to allow self-proclaimed badgeless entrance? It was something Optimus would have to address later. For now, he had a meeting to attend. One he was already running late for.
Optimus turned toward the conference room door, which opened without his prompting. Soundwave followed in behind him and four helms swung their direction, a startled spike of energy fields immediately following, no doubt because of Soundwave's presence.
“Sir?” Ultra Magnus asked. He was pushing slowly to his pedes, his optics focused on Soundwave behind Optimus' right shoulder.
“Soundwave has petitioned to join the Autobots and I have accepted his proposal. If you have a legitimate concern regarding his presence, you are welcome to address it with me after the meeting.”
It was harder than he expected to hold on to a sense of poise and leadership. He stood in front of three of the mechs he had failed and wondered if he had any right to lead them.
Jazz leaned back in his chair and propped his pedes up on the table, crossing them at the ankle. “Given that old Sounders here is the one that helped make all this possible, I say we let him into the Clubhouse. Let bygones be bygones and all that Jazz.” Half his visor lit in a wink.
“Not that it was up for a vote,” Ratchet muttered. He scrubbed his hand down his face, leaning heavily against the table.
Fatigue was writ into every clamped armor plate of the medic's frame. His field was a frayed thread that wound through the room, poking at others as though he couldn't control it. Or maybe he no longer bothered to try.
Optimus wondered if he would be forced to make Ratchet take medical leave. Or if such enforced rest would only worsen matters.
“It is something we'll have to discuss,” Optimus said as he took one of the remaining chairs and gestured for Soundwave to take the one next to him. “I suspect given recent events that we'll be faced with quite a few defectors.”
Ultra Magnus slowly lowered himself back to his chair and dragged his datapad closer. “I'll add it to the agenda.”
“So long as he doesn't get the urge to go poking around inside my helm, I won't make a fuss,” Magnus' second - Springer, Optimus believed - said. He crossed his arms and fixed Soundwave with a glare. “Don't start nothing and there won't be nothing.”
Soundwave made a low rumble in his chassis, one Optimus wouldn't have heard if he hadn't been seated next to the mech. “Physical contact required,” he explained as the click-click of Laserbeak's talons on his shoulder punctuated his words. “Distance reading difficult and unproductive.”
“Well that's something of a relief,” Springer retorted. Every inch of him bristled with discomfort however.
Optimus fought the urge to both sigh and rub his faceplate. “What's the first order of business, Ultra Magnus?”
Ultra Magnus cleared his vocalizer and reshuffled his datapads, but Ratchet broke in before he could get out so much as a glyph.
“If it's all the same to you, I'd like to give you my report and go. I have patients that need care, not conversation,” Ratchet grumbled. His tetchiness was far more prevalent than usual.
Optimus made a mental note to have yet another conversation with Wheeljack. Perhaps the engineer could provide better advice.
“I am fine with that.” Magnus gestured to the medic. “Please proceed, Ratchet.”
Ratchet gave him a slanted look but leaned back in his chair, trying to pull off the same relaxed air as Jazz but the tension in his frame belying it. “The easiest fixes were those like Jazz here - malnutrition, shrunken tanks, the general disrepair from being on the run. Anyone who wasn't a guest of the Decepticons is on the road to recovery and I foresee no problems. It's everyone else that's going to require longer care.” Razor-sharp optics focused on Optimus. “Including you, great leader, who should still be in a berth.”
“We've had this discussion, Ratchet. I am mobile. I can be working. What of the others?” Optimus redirected. He was repaired. He was healing. Being confined to berth was not going to speed up the process any further.
Ratchet harrumphed but continued, “Bluestreak was in the best repair of everyone. The Combaticons treated him well and while he's not talking much, physically, he's fine.”
“Treated him well,” Springer repeated with a sneer. “Is that a euphemism for 'they didn't use him too hard but that's okay?'”
Ratchet's optics narrowed. “The particulars of his physical health are a matter of privacy. But if you think that I'm going to rate the degree of everyone's suffering, you are sorely mistaken. The Combaticons treated him well because they did not touch him,” he hissed, his plating fluffed out as though he expected to go charging into battle. “Other than training him, they left him alone.”
“Which is good to know,” Ultra Magnus said, ever diplomatic. “Bluestreak has a better chance of recovery because of this. And the Combaticons did help us take down Megatron and his Decepticons, much like Soundwave.”
Optimus cycled a ventilation and gestured to Ratchet, “Please continue. What of the others?”
“Sunstreaker and Sideswipe are both berth-bound and under heavy sedation. I can't move them more than a few feet from each other. Whatever Shockwave did, it's going to take time and discussion to either reverse or mitigate.” Ratchet rubbed his forehelm, the fatigue settling heavier on his shoulders. “Hound, on the other hand, is almost completely repaired. I expect to discharge him in a couple of days. Physically, he'll be capable of any task you give him. Mentally, well, I can't judge. I'm not a psychologist. The Coneheads were a trio of creatively sick bastards.”
“I'll take care of Hound,” Jazz said. His tone was right, the set to his jaw promising dire retribution on those who had hurt his team.
Another topic of discussion, but one they would have to have with Decepticon command. Punishing Decepticons was probably going to fall outside the Autobot's purview unfortunately. Lest war begin again.
“Mirage, too,” Jazz added. He kicked back, pedes hitting the ground with a thump. There was challenge in his visor as he folded his hands in his lap. “They're my mechs, my team, and I'll look after 'em. Me, Trailbreaker, and Smokescreen.”
“Who is not, if I might repeat, a trained psychologist,” Ratchet growled, his field snapping with an angry fizz. “No matter what lies he feeds you. He's got insight. He knows how a mech's mind works, that's what he was trained for. He knows how to break them. That doesn't mean he knows how to fix them.”
Jazz spread his hands. “Right now, Ratch, he's all we got. And I'll take something over nothing, if you ask me.”
Ratchet muttered subvocally, but he didn't push the issue. Privately, Optimus agreed. Smokescreen might not be a trained, accredited psychologist and his experience might come from what he knew as an interrogator, but he would suffice for now. It was better than leaving the Autobots without any sort of guidance at all.
“First Aid is physically sound. He's been of great help in the medbay,” Ratchet continued, giving Jazz a slanted look. “But I worry about the effect of losing the rest of his gestalt. He's unsurprisingly close-mouthed about it, but insists he'd rather work than take any recovery time.”
Well, Ratchet was one to talk. Though his currently volatile mood suggested that now was not the time to be snide.
“I've surrendered Swoop back to Grimlock's care per Grimlock's insistence. It was against medical advice, but it's pretty hard to argue with an angry T-rex.” Ratchet's fingers drummed on the table. “Physically, he's fine. It remains to be seen what, exactly, Shockwave did.”
Shockwave. It always came back to Shockwave. Optimus remembered his visit to that place of horrors. He couldn't imagine what his Autobots had suffered.
“What of Perceptor?” Optimus asked.
Ratchet sighed and rubbed his faceplate. “Perceptor is surprisingly fine. The Insecticons don't understand the concept of consent, but they took his well-being into account, kept him fueled and maintained. I suspect that some of the time, they forgot he was there. If you want to know whether or not that was a relief, you'll have to ask him, though I wouldn't suggest it.”
“And Cliffjumper?”
Ratchet went a little still, the plating around his shoulders shuffling before clamping down tight. “I have repaired Cliffjumper,” he said quietly. “Physically, there is nothing more I can do for him. I have replaced or repaired everything that had been damaged.”
Optimus frowned, his optical ridges drawing down. “Mentally?”
Ratchet cycled a ventilation and met Optimus' gaze squarely. “Optimus, if I had to hazard a guess, Cliffjumper was one of the first Autobots taken into custody after we went down. Which suggests to me that for a long time, Megatron probably did not know he'd been found. The triple-changers were not his only owners. They were merely the most recent ones.”
Ice dropped into Optimus' tanks. The command center went silent.
“Assumption correct,” Soundwave offered, his monotone soft but still cutting. “Original captors did not disclose. Similar circumstances with Autobot Tracks. Megatron discovered. Punished Decepticons responsible. Cliffjumper declared soon after. Coincidentally.”
“Primus,” Springer breathed. He buried his face behind his palm.
The energon in his tanks gurgled. Optimus cycled several ventilations. “Who?”
Soundwave shifted on his chair. “No Decepticon admitted misdeed. Permission not given to discern truth.” Laserbeak shuffled on his shoulder, her helm bowed.
Well, of course not. What Decepticon would invite Megatron's punishment? Unicron take them all.
Disgust settled hard in Optimus' tanks.
“We will be lenient,” Ultra Magnus said, at length. “Cliffjumper could not have been in a rational state of mind.”
“None of us were,” Jazz bit out but he cycled a ventilation and set his jaw. “Was there anyone else?”
“Just Red Alert,” Ultra Magnus said, sliding out a datapad from the bottom of his stack. He audibly rebooted his vocalizer, an abnormally loud sound in the sudden silence of the room.
“Yes. The most complicated of my patients, outside of the twins, saving at least with them, I can ask Shockwave what he did. I don't have that option with Trepan.” Ratchet's gaze slid toward Springer with an accusatory look.
He shrugged, unrepentant.
“We can only do what we can, Ratchet,” Ultra Magnus said. He folded his hands together, resting his arms on the table. “We did not know, at the time, that Trepan's survival was necessary. The mech would not surrender and he attacked one of my soldiers. That was reason enough.”
Optimus held up a hand. “We're not debating the necessity. I understand what had to be done. It is just unfortunate that we are unable to help Red Alert immediately.”
Clearly, there was some tension between his Autobots and Ultra Magnus' team. That, too, would have to be addressed. Perhaps as soon as Ratchet was done. They had to be united if they hoped to make peace with both the Decepticons and the Neutrals.
Ratchet muttered something and pushed to his pedes. He pulled out a datapad and set it down on the table with an audible click.
“This is my report,” he said, one finger pressed to the powered down pad. “It has all the details I'm legally allowed to give. If you have any questions, ask me. Otherwise, I'm done here.” He waited for the length of a ventilation before he backed away from the table and circled it, heading straight for the door.
“Thank you, Ratchet,” Optimus said, catching his CMO's gaze as Ratchet passed. “I'll come by the medbay after my meetings if that is all right with you.”
He was offered something akin to a smile. “I'll make it an order if I have to, old friend,” Ratchet said, hand lifting as though he intended to rest it on Optimus' shoulder, but then he changed his mind. His fingers pulled back, hand returning to his side.
Ratchet left.
Optimus turned his attention to those who remained. Ultra Magnus had snagged Ratchet's datapad and was now skimming the contents. Jazz tipped his helm back, his field neutral but Optimus was not fooled. Springer looked as though he were about to recharge.
Frag, but Optimus missed Prowl.
He sighed and folded his arms over the table. “This seems like a good time to discuss the command structure,” Optimus said, resisting the urge to snap his fingers to get their attention.
“You are Prime,” Jazz said with a slanted look toward Springer as though daring the green mech to declare otherwise. “Whatever happens, I'm only going to follow you, boss. That's the way it's gonna be.”
“No one is stating otherwise, Jazz.” Ultra Magnus set down his datapad and pinched his olfactory sensor. “There are, however, multiple positions now... vacant.” He winced. “We have to restructure accordingly. To that end, I would like to install Springer as Field Commander. He has served as my second and I trust him to be capable.”
Optimus considered. Springer would, in essence, be replacing Ironhide, who had served as Optimus' fourth depending on the circumstances. But that would also put him in command of mechs like Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Cliffjumper, and Bluestreak, the infantry divisions. Optimus supposed he could promote from within, but his Autobot crew was both recovering and shortstaffed. Right now, Sideswipe was in no state to take over as Ironhide had been grooming him for.
His gaze shifted to Jazz in question. Jazz shrugged.
“Works for me,” he said. “So long as he knows to keep his hands off my mechs. You want to borrow them, you come to me.”
“Give me a list,” Springer retorted.
Optimus' helm started to ache. Maybe it was the fatigue. “For that matter then, Ultra Magnus, I would like you to serve as Chief Tactician and my second in command.” Magnus, at least, had the tact and the knowledge to serve in what should be considered a time of peace. His knowledge of various laws would come in handy.
As much as Prowl had been teaching Smokescreen and Trailbreaker, neither were suited to replace him at the moment. Both were needed elsewhere. Besides, Ultra Magnus was always meant to lead in Optimus' absence, though Optimus had envisioned Prowl assisting him at the time.
Ultra Magnus blinked and his gaze slid to Jazz. “I would have thought--”
“Not for me, mech,” Jazz interrupted with a sharp shake of his helm. “I'm where I need to be. You two make sure we're safe with words. I'll handle the rest.”
Leadership, Optimus knew, had been something Jazz had never sought nor wanted. If it were at all possible, he probably would have passed the mantle on to Mirage and called himself retired.
“Then the other command positions should remain the same,” Ultra Magnus said, returning his attention to Optimus. “Provided they are capable. Ratchet as Chief Medical Officer. Perceptor as Chief Engineer if he is ready enough. Communications officer...?”
“Will remain Blaster,” Optimus said firmly. He turned his gaze to Soundwave. “I would like you to serve as an adviser to me regarding the Decepticons, but I'm afraid I cannot offer you a command position.”
Soundwave inclined his helm. “Understood. No offense taken. Advising preferred.” On his shoulder, Laserbeak bobbed her helm as well as though in agreement.
Optimus heard three sets of ventilations sigh in relief. Did they honestly think he was just going to appoint a recently former Decepticon to Autobot command? He was optimistic, not foolish!
“Wheeljack's gonna take over for Percy until he's up to it,” Jazz said. He propped one pede on the edge of the table and rocked his chair. “Ratchet's already appointed Aid as CMO-in-training. And for your information, Bumblebee is my second right now.”
“Not Mirage?” Optimus frowned.
Jazz shook his helm, visor dimming. “No. He can't. I dunno that he ever will, OP. He's angry. And you can't do what we do and be angry.”
Springer scoffed. “We're all angry.”
“And when Megatron executes your spark partner, you can repeat that. But for now, shut the frag up,” Jazz retorted, his words mild, but with a cutting edge beneath them. Jazz always did get protective of his team. His pede pushed off the table and hit it again, making the whole thing shudder. “For that matter, Prime, we do have to make some kind of announcement about Cliffjumper. Starscream's getting lippy.”
“He will simply have to be patient then. I am more concerned for Cliffjumper's recovery than I am his punishment.” He sat back in his chair and sighed. “It will probably become part of the treaty. I suspect Starscream will make it a matter of recompense.”
“A spark for a spark,” Jazz muttered with a scowl. “If we ask for execution of all those raping pieces of garbage, Starscream will demand Cliff gets the death penalty, too. Fair is fair.”
It was unfortunate. But Optimus did understand Starscream's position. He did not condone the actions of the Decepticons, but he couldn't let Autobots execute them either. They were, as of now, officially under his command. He had to do what was politically correct. The unfortunate fact remained: they needed the Constructions. They needed Shockwave. They needed hands for physical labor.
Ultra Magnus pinched his forehelm. “Ah, what a nightmare.”
“You don't even know the half of it,” Jazz said. He pulled a datapad out of subspace and all but flung it onto the table. He didn't elaborate on what was on it.
“Then I suppose that brings us to our next and final order of business: the treaty with the Decepticons, what concessions we intend to make, and what demands of ours we will not budge on,” Optimus said. He pulled out a datapad of his own, with the newest draft of the treaty upon it.
Ultra Magnus and Springer followed suit, though the latter looked bored already. Even Soundwave had a copy of his own.
Optimus sighed. Let the arguments begin.
****
a/n: Slowly but surely heading toward the end and the sequels. Phew.
I also posted this at 8am before I headed to work so if there are any errors, I apologize and will fix them when I get home.
As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated.
This entry was originally posted at http://dracoqueen22.dreamwidth.org/316080.html. Feel free to comment wherever you find most convenient.
Characters: Optimus, Jazz, Soundwave, Laserbeak, Onslaught, Ratchet, Ultra Magnus, Springer
Rating: T
Warnings this chapter: referenced torture, rape, angst but nothing onscreen
Commission fic for NK
Mood Music: "Iridescent," LInkin Park
Oubliette
Chapter Sixteen
Ultra Magnus was right about thing: despite his numerous failures and the lack of the Matrix, the Autobots still favored Optimus to lead them. Even Jazz, who had every right to lose faith in him.
Optimus was humbled by their loyalty. He vowed he would do whatever it took to protect them from now on. Even if it meant taking up arms again. Not against the Decepticons. He wasn't worried about them.
But the Neutrals were proving more querulous than expected.
Optimus had to give them a small amount of credit. Their troublesome behavior had done what eons of war could not: it united Autobot and Decepticon. It made Starscream less likely to dig in his thrusters and more likely to discuss things rationally and quickly. It made Ultra Magnus willing to bend, and made negotiations for the treaty go a lot faster.
After all, they needed something solid in place before the Neutrals could swoop in and claim everything.
Optimus accepted his appointment with the dignity it deserved. He only made the promises he felt he could keep, vowing to be fair and to think of the interests of all Cybertronians, but no longer at cost to the Autobots.
He only asked for one thing for himself. He wanted to see proof that Megatron was well and truly gone. He wanted to be sure there was no chance of Megatron coming back to ruin this for everyone.
Jazz gave him a knowing look when he asked, but he handed over the footage Rewind had shot all the same. Despite watching it, a sense of unreality lingered, and it continued to linger even after Jazz took him to the pile of melted slag that was all that remained of Megatron. Optimus had no proof that this was the warlord, save the video evidence, and even that could be faked.
Only then did he realize how very irrational his thoughts were. That he was giving Megatron power over him, even from the Pit. He tried to banish the thoughts, but it was easier said than done.
Megatron had left a stain on him that was not easily erased.
Optimus refused to let himself sit around and wallow, however. He had to be strong. Some of his Autobots had suffered worse fates. Ratchet was concerned for Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. Deeply concerned.
Mirage was like a ghost, flitting from room to room, and there was such hate in his optics that it worried Optimus. Swoop had been taken back into the Dinobot fold, but he was no longer the confident mech Optimus remembered. First Aid had taken the medbay for his own, even sleeping in the physician's quarters. His treatment had been somewhat better than most, but he'd bore witness to things no mech should be forced to see.
Cliffjumper still waited for his fate. He was defiant, despite the shadows that lurked in his optics. He would take execution gladly, he'd said.
Blitzwing had deserved to die.
Ratchet was little better. He seemed strong and defiant, but Wheeljack had confessed that all was not as it seemed.
Hound had a smile on his face, but even Optimus could see it was forced. The perpetually sunny scout had a shadow in his optics, and where he had once been so quick to be affectionate, he flinched if anyone came too near.
Perceptor and Bluestreak were alike. They were bothered by what had happened to their friends and colleagues, but they were, for the most part, unharmed.
Save for Ultra Magnus' Wreckers, the Autobots were a motley collection of damaged, hurting mechs and Optimus was at a loss for how to lead them and protect them.
There were developments on the Decepticon front as well. Optimus did not know what happened, but the next time they all met, Grimlock looked smug and Starscream had several temp patches on his frame.
Grimlock was now the leader of the Decepticons with Starscream as his second. The Seeker did not seem especially pleased about this, but he didn't seem mutinous either. They had come to some sort of agreement, and it clearly wasn't Optimus' place to press for details. Nor was he sure he wanted them.
Their third, he would learn, was Cyclonus, who was not loyal to Megatron or the Decepticons, but to Cybertron itself. One of Megatron's more quieter generals, Cyclonus was often on the fringe of the war and kept to himself. But Optimus had never heard anything of him but honorable things, and Jazz did not seem bothered by his appointment. Optimus trusted Jazz's judgment.
Soundwave, however, was not mentioned at all. Which was curious.
Motormaster and Shockwave were imprisoned, Starscream informed him. As were Scrapper and the Constructicons. They would be let out incrementally on a trial basis, but they could hold no rank in the Decepticon echelon.
Optimus would get his answer for Soundwave's absence much later. After a long day spent haggling over every little detail of the treaty, Optimus retired to the small room Ultra Magnus had set aside for him on the Xantium. He was still healing but loath to return to the medbay, he opted to recover in the privacy of his habsuite.
He sat on the berth and begun sipping at his energon, feeling the ache in his shoulders, his neck, his legs. Recharge was touch and go, even with the inhibitor Ratchet had given him, but there was no time for a vacation. He couldn't take the time off to recover. There was simply too much to do.
That was when he heard the chime of someone requesting permission to enter his habsuite. Optimus tensed. His only visitors had been Autobots, all of whom contacted him via comm before they visited him in person.
Optimus set his cube on the small table and approached the door, frame tense. His inbuilt weaponry had been returned to him during his long repairs, but he did not want to draw his blaster on an ally. Only an ally could have gotten onboard the Xantium.
He pressed the panel. The door slid open to reveal Soundwave of all mechs.
Optimus blinked. “Can I help you?”
“Discussion requested.”
He tilted his helm. “In regards to what?”
“Soundwave's future.”
Optimus shifted his weight. His defense protocols stood down, but he couldn't chase away his unease so quickly. Soundwave was too deeply ingrained as a Decepticon in his subconscious for it not to be unsettling.
“Shouldn't you be talking to Starscream about that?” he asked. He didn't bother to mention Grimlock. Whatever intricacies of command the two had worked out, Optimus wasn't privy to the details.
Soundwave's visor dimmed. “Starscream irrelevant.”
Optimus squinted. Sometimes, Soundwave's lack of context made him more than difficult to understand. Finally, he sighed. Answers would not be had in a brief conversation. He stepped aside, gesturing into his habsuite.
“Fine,” he said in a clipped tone. “Speak your peace.”
“Appreciation given, Optimus Prime.”
“I'm not Prime anymore, you know,” Optimus said as Soundwave entered and the door shut behind him.
The Communications Officer made no moves toward a chair, instead standing in the middle of the room and looking back at Optimus.
“Negative,” Soundwave said, and his field drifted out, tentatively brushing Optimus' own. It was... unreadable. Not unpleasant, simply unreadable. “You are Prime.”
Semantics. Optimus did not feel like arguing them.
“What do you want, Soundwave?” he asked, and he was suddenly tired. He'd been interrupted in the middle of his meal and he was about to head to recharge. This was most inconvenient.
Soundwave inclined his helm, his pose relaxed but something tense in the way he held himself, plating clamped tight and his field the same. His dock was empty; Optimus could see that much by the shadows behind his chestplate. He'd come here without so much as a symbiote, but that didn't mean there weren't any in the vents.
And that's when Optimus realized that Soundwave no longer bore the Decepticon brand. Where it had once been so prominent on his dock, the area was free and clean.
“Did Starscream cast you out?” he demanded, outraged on Soundwave's behalf. He was far from the only one complicit in helping the Autobots take down Megatron!
“Negative.” Soundwave lifted a hand and touched the empty space on his dock. “This by choice. My choice.” His emphasis on the possessive was fierce.
Optimus tilted his helm. “You're no longer a Decepticon. Why?”
“Decepticons... no longer follow the path Soundwave trusts.” Something in his field flickered, but it was gone before Optimus could identify it. “Trust Starscream even less.”
Optimus snorted a laugh. “Well, I cannot blame you there. He's a step up from Megatron, but that doesn't make him better.” He lowered himself into a chair and again gestured for Soundwave to sit.
Again, he was ignored. Soundwave's hands hung at his sides, but his fingers were slowly drawing in and out of fists.
Optimus cycled a ventilation and dropped the levity from his tone. “You're not a Decepticon. And you're not following Starscream. What are you going to do, Soundwave?”
“Swear loyalty to another,” Soundwave replied and he lowered his helm as though in subservience. His legs followed until he knelt on the floor. “To Optimus.”
Optimus was back on his pedes before he registered the motion, the speed of it making his fatigued processor spin. “No.” His hand slashed through the air. “I have never demanded that of anyone, and I will not start now.”
He reached for Soundwave's arm, grabbing him above the elbow and pulling him back to his pedes. Soundwave was of a height with him, but his mass was greater, and Optimus struggled. But it was enough to get Soundwave where he belonged, upright and proud.
Soundwave stared back at him, and for all that his face was hidden by visor and mask, he looked startled to Optimus. His field spoke of it as well.
“If you wish to be an Autobot, if you wish to serve with me, that is one thing,” Optimus continued, squeezing Soundwave's elbow once before he backed off. He'd already begun to shake, and he didn't want Soundwave to see it. “But I will not have you beneath me and I will take no oath, at least, not one that swears fealty.”
Soundwave tilted his helm. “You would accept a Decepticon's commitment?”
Optimus opened his mouth to answer, a kneejerk response, and then realized, he could not spout the same truths as before. It was not in him. He once thought the Autobots and Decepticons could live as one, in peace. Now, he was not so sure.
He shook his helm and put another step between them, distancing their field. “It would depend on the Decepticon,” he admitted. He lowered himself back to his chair, clasping his hands to hide their trembling. “But yes. Should one come to me with honest intent, I would consider their proposal.”
There was a long moment of silence. Finally, Soundwave cleared his vocalizer and took one of the empty seats. Was it a gesture of trust? Of concession? Optimus didn't know. He was too tired to play political games. He was too tired of everything.
“Allegiance offered,” Soundwave said, at length.
Optimus leaned an elbow on the arm of the chair, bracing his chin on his knuckles. “There's a good chance the Autobots might not remain on Cybertron.”
Soundwave nodded slowly. “Understood. Offer remains.”
Cycling a ventilation, Optimus rubbed his faceplate. Soundwave was, as far as he knew, one of the few Decepticons who had not demanded a slave - save Bumblebee and Optimus had heard there were mitigating circumstances surrounding that. Soundwave had also not availed himself of any slaves.
True, he'd invited himself into Optimus' mind upon Megatron's orders. But it wasn't the worst he could have done. And he'd offered Optimus kindness when it hadn't been demanded of him.
He'd alluded to wanting to be rid of Megatron before. He'd never given Optimus a straight answer, however. Only implying that he had a distaste for slavery, one whose reasons were perhaps personal in nature.
“Why?”
Soundwave's field spiked, a nauseating mix of betrayal and anger and disappointment. His visor flashed as his helm tilted. He clasped his hands, leaned forward as though to make himself smaller.
“Megatron: once revered,” he said, slowly. Carefully. As though he were choosing each word, each glyph with precision. “Promised opportunity. Freedom. Choice.” He paused, something rippling through his visor. “Cost too high.”
Optimus frowned. “The cost?”
“Home: desired.” Soundwave's shoulder slumped. “Megatron: desired only power. Lost himself to it. Forgot himself. No longer Megatron.”
“Or maybe it was there all along and you didn't see it because he was promising everything you wanted,” Optimus mused aloud. He drummed the fingers of his free hand against the opposite arm. “You couldn't leave sooner?”
He felt it a foolish question the moment it passed his lips. Leave and go where? To the Autobots who would have shot him on sight? To be alone in the universe with his cassettes to care for and no way to care for them? Soundwave's only hope had been in victory and perhaps, by the end, he no longer cared who scored the win.
Except Megatron's victory would have led them to further ruination.
“Complications,” Soundwave admitted. His hand touched his deck again, gesturing to the cassettes that weren't present. “Loyalty given. No option to refuse.”
Yes. Megatron never had been the type to take betrayal in stride. Optimus and the rest of Autobot command had always wondered why he suffered Starscream to lead. Perhaps because he had no better Air Commander. Perhaps because he'd gotten some sick delight in scrapping Starscream constantly. Perhaps it was a mutual hate that had grown into a co-dependency.
Optimus didn't know. He didn't want to know. It wasn't any of his business because Starscream hadn't come to him asking for asylum. Soundwave had. It was Soundwave's motivations that were a concern to Optimus.
It was enough that Starscream was working toward a truce, that he'd willingly become Grimlock's second in command and hadn't complained once about it. Or if he had, Optimus hadn't heard it.
“Slavery,” Soundwave added, with far more reluctance in his tone than any other time. “Despised.” He shifted, field flashing a vile sort of personal disgust that Optimus felt no further questioning was necessary.
This was something that could not be faked. That sense of hatred and revulsion, directed outwardly, but also inwardly as well. That clawing feeling of inadequacy and failure. Of never being clean.
He knew it all too well.
“Your cassettes?”
“Decision: mine,” Soundwave said. His demeanor relaxed, ventilations easing. “Unanimous. Rumble, however, compromised.”
Optimus' lips twitched toward a smile behind his mask. “Bumblebee.”
Soundwave's visor flashed, this time with amusement. “Affirmative.”
“Then it would do him well to know that I will not stand in the way of it.” Optimus rose to his pedes and offered his hand to Soundwave, glad that the tremors had left him sometime during their conversation. “You are welcome in my cabinet, Soundwave. I will take your commitment. Though I caution that it will not be easy.”
The Autobots as a whole did not like Decepticons. The survivors, especially now, loathed Decepticons. So much so that Optimus was of the mind that there could be no cooperative living. At least, not in the immediate present. Perhaps in the future, but for now? No. Pain was too fresh, atrocity too near.
Soundwave could strip away the Decepticon badge all he liked, but he was distinctive. Everyone knew him to be Megatron's communication officer. That was not a reputation as easily wiped away. But with time and effort, perhaps, friendships could be made.
“Understood,” Soundwave said. He took Optimus' hand and stood, though he was quick to release Optimus after the initial squeeze and brush of their fields. “Hard work acceptable.”
“Well, we have plenty of that ahead of us.” Optimus managed something like a smile, except it occurred to him that Soundwave could not see it. “There are meetings tomorrow, first with the Autobots and then with the Decepticons to finalize the treaty. You are welcome to both.”
“Thank you.” Soundwave dipped his helm in a perfunctory bow. “Mercy appreciated. Opportunity more so.”
Optimus gestured toward the door and let Soundwave precede him. Fatigue had yet to cease gnawing at his cortex, and Optimus needed recharge.
“I had a dream once,” Optimus said as the door opened for Soundwave and the mech - who moved rather silently for how large he was - stepped beyond it. “Of Autobots and Decepticons laying down arms and learning to live in peace. I don't know if that's still possible now, but I'd say this is at least a start.”
Soundwave looked at him, expression as unreadable as always, but then he tapped his dock once more, right over the unmarked glass. “Little changes,” he said.
Optimus' optics brightened by a degree. “Yes,” he agreed. “Little changes. Good night, Soundwave. And welcome to the Autobots.”
0o0o0
Recharge continued to be a useless affair.
Optimus did not like shutting down. He did not like the disorientation he felt upon onlining. He found he recharged marginally better if he kept a light on and some soft music playing because it was an instant reminder that he was no longer chained to Megatron's berth. But those few muzzy moments after reboot were the worst. Priority trees had rearranged themselves. He'd come to expect a spike in his valve first thing. Or fingers in his mouth. Or hands on his frame.
He onlined, more often than not, slick and ready to be taken. He was wise enough to know that it was a defense mechanism his frame had put into place, but he hated that the priorities were even there. That they were a lot slower to purge themselves from his code than they had been to write themselves in there.
Optimus had refused to take care of the charge. He'd lain there, hot and aching, until it went away on its own. Sometimes, he had to slip into the washracks and drown himself in the coldest solvent. The patter of it against his armor was a reminder.
The arousal wasn't his. He didn't want it.
And yes, the inhibitors helped. They put him in recharge and they kept him there, but he always onlined groggy. He never felt rested. One wasn't any better than the other. Plus, he could only use them sparingly.
He used them just enough to get recharge to function. He would worry about the rest later when Autobots and Decepticons and Neutrals weren't on the edge of tipping back over into war. When Optimus' own soldiers could walk out of the medbay, physically healed at least, even if the mental health would take a longer time coming.
The next morning was no different than the others. Optimus forced himself out of the berth, shook off the lingering dredges of memory purges, and waited for the unwelcome heat in his array to dissipate. He took a long shower, first cold and then scalding hot, scrubbing into every nook and cranny. He examined his weld lines and the weak spots, none of which were healing at the proper rate.
Given that his recharge was suspect and he couldn't bring himself to fuel properly, that was probably the reason. All in due time. There were others things to worry about.
Fuel warnings started pinging by the time he'd toweled off and stepped out of the washrack. The Xantium didn't have in-room dispensaries so he'd have to stop by the common room on his way to the meeting. Optimus rifled through the datapads he'd accumulated, selecting the ones that had the various drafts of treaties, and tucked them under his arm.
He had work to do.
Optimus unlocked the command-level overrides he'd put on his door and keyed it to open. As it did so, he nearly leapt backward in surprise. Soundwave stood on the other side of the door, looking as though he were mid-motion to ping for entrance. He wasn't alone either. One of his avian cassettes - Laserbeak, Optimus suspected - perched on his shoulder opposite of his sonic blaster mount. Laserbeak cocked her helm at Optimus as though curious.
Optimus blinked. Soundwave stared back at him.
“What are you doing here?” Optimus asked, though it came out more of a demand. It was a bit disconcerting to find Soundwave lurking outside his door.
Soundwave lifted his hands which Optimus belatedly realized carried a cube of energon each. “Refueling necessary.”
“Yes it is.” Optimus eyed the two cubes. Did he trust Soundwave enough to drink from a cube he'd offered? “You didn't have to bring that.”
“Soundwave knows. Assistance offered nonetheless.” Soundwave offered one of the cubes to him. It glowed with the dimness of mid-grade or medical grade. And it was probably the latter as that was probably in Optimus' best interest to consume.
Optimus took the cube and gave it an explanatory sniff. A quick scan indicated it was nothing more than what it appeared to be: a small serving of medical grade energon. Besides, he supposed, what purpose would it serve for Soundwave to poison him? Such an underhanded technique was certainly Starscream's style if he was acting on Starscream's orders, but to what purpose?
Optimus' medical and scientific staff was better than what the Decepticons had. They'd discern the origin of his illness in a sparkbeat and then they'd all be back where they started: at war.
“Thank you,” Optimus said. He triggered his blast mask to open, taking a sip of the energon. He grimaced at the bland taste. “Good morning, Laserbeak.”
She lifted her beak and trilled at him. Optimus felt the tiniest brush of her field, ripe with a surprised pleasure. Her wings fluttered at him. He assumed that she returned his greeting.
“Your other cassettes?” Optimus asked. He started down the hall, Soundwave falling into step beside him. Again, he had an uncanny knack for moving silently where Optimus felt he lumbered.
“Occupied,” Soundwave answered. He lifted his other cube, offering the open end toward Laserbeak who sipped from it.
“Ah.” Optimus finished the last of the cube and dispersed the containment field with a flick of his wrist.
He looked at Soundwave again, noting that the communications mech remained badgeless. Would he want to take the Autobot oath? Or did he prefer to remain neutral while aligning himself toward the Autobots? Optimus supposed that was something that needed to be discussed later. First, the Autobots as a whole needed to decide how they were going to accept defectors.
“Have you discussed your defection with Starscream?”
“Not Starscream's concern.”
Optimus lifted a shoulder. “That's your decision to make, I suppose. But if we are all going to function together, we cannot have any lingering resentment.”
“Understood.”
Laserbeak finished her cube and Optimus watched Soundwave disperse it. He patted her on the helm, more affection than Optimus had ever seen him bestow, but it was clearly a practiced motion. There was loyalty as well. It made Optimus wonder about the true nature of a cassette and carrier relationship.
They rounded another corner, the Xantium's conference room coming into view, as did the mech waiting outside it. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. Optimus didn't know what Onslaught was waiting for, but he straightened as soon as he saw Soundwave and Optimus. He pushed off the wall, intercepting them both before they could get to the door.
“Optimus Prime,” Onslaught acknowledged. His stance was unthreatening, but the fact remained that he was a massive, strong Decepticon. “If I might have a word.”
A Decepticon without a badge, actually, just like Soundwave had scrubbed off his.
At this rate, would Starscream have any Decepticons to lead?
“I am about to enter an important meeting, Onslaught. What can I do for you?” Optimus left the wariness in his tone on purpose. He doubted it was an accident that Onslaught had all but laid in wait for him.
“I wish to discuss the future of myself and my teammates.” Onslaught clasped his wrists behind his back.
Optimus had suspected as much. “I understand. I don't have time at the moment, but after my meetings have concluded for the day, we can revisit your request. Is that fair?”
The light behind Onslaught's visor shifted from Optimus to Soundwave and back again. “I will hold you to your word,” he said. He tilted his helm toward Soundwave. “Commander.”
Onslaught spun on a heel and strode down the hall, opposite the direction Optimus and Soundwave had come. Who had invited him onto the Xantium was a curiosity. Or had something been decided to allow self-proclaimed badgeless entrance? It was something Optimus would have to address later. For now, he had a meeting to attend. One he was already running late for.
Optimus turned toward the conference room door, which opened without his prompting. Soundwave followed in behind him and four helms swung their direction, a startled spike of energy fields immediately following, no doubt because of Soundwave's presence.
“Sir?” Ultra Magnus asked. He was pushing slowly to his pedes, his optics focused on Soundwave behind Optimus' right shoulder.
“Soundwave has petitioned to join the Autobots and I have accepted his proposal. If you have a legitimate concern regarding his presence, you are welcome to address it with me after the meeting.”
It was harder than he expected to hold on to a sense of poise and leadership. He stood in front of three of the mechs he had failed and wondered if he had any right to lead them.
Jazz leaned back in his chair and propped his pedes up on the table, crossing them at the ankle. “Given that old Sounders here is the one that helped make all this possible, I say we let him into the Clubhouse. Let bygones be bygones and all that Jazz.” Half his visor lit in a wink.
“Not that it was up for a vote,” Ratchet muttered. He scrubbed his hand down his face, leaning heavily against the table.
Fatigue was writ into every clamped armor plate of the medic's frame. His field was a frayed thread that wound through the room, poking at others as though he couldn't control it. Or maybe he no longer bothered to try.
Optimus wondered if he would be forced to make Ratchet take medical leave. Or if such enforced rest would only worsen matters.
“It is something we'll have to discuss,” Optimus said as he took one of the remaining chairs and gestured for Soundwave to take the one next to him. “I suspect given recent events that we'll be faced with quite a few defectors.”
Ultra Magnus slowly lowered himself back to his chair and dragged his datapad closer. “I'll add it to the agenda.”
“So long as he doesn't get the urge to go poking around inside my helm, I won't make a fuss,” Magnus' second - Springer, Optimus believed - said. He crossed his arms and fixed Soundwave with a glare. “Don't start nothing and there won't be nothing.”
Soundwave made a low rumble in his chassis, one Optimus wouldn't have heard if he hadn't been seated next to the mech. “Physical contact required,” he explained as the click-click of Laserbeak's talons on his shoulder punctuated his words. “Distance reading difficult and unproductive.”
“Well that's something of a relief,” Springer retorted. Every inch of him bristled with discomfort however.
Optimus fought the urge to both sigh and rub his faceplate. “What's the first order of business, Ultra Magnus?”
Ultra Magnus cleared his vocalizer and reshuffled his datapads, but Ratchet broke in before he could get out so much as a glyph.
“If it's all the same to you, I'd like to give you my report and go. I have patients that need care, not conversation,” Ratchet grumbled. His tetchiness was far more prevalent than usual.
Optimus made a mental note to have yet another conversation with Wheeljack. Perhaps the engineer could provide better advice.
“I am fine with that.” Magnus gestured to the medic. “Please proceed, Ratchet.”
Ratchet gave him a slanted look but leaned back in his chair, trying to pull off the same relaxed air as Jazz but the tension in his frame belying it. “The easiest fixes were those like Jazz here - malnutrition, shrunken tanks, the general disrepair from being on the run. Anyone who wasn't a guest of the Decepticons is on the road to recovery and I foresee no problems. It's everyone else that's going to require longer care.” Razor-sharp optics focused on Optimus. “Including you, great leader, who should still be in a berth.”
“We've had this discussion, Ratchet. I am mobile. I can be working. What of the others?” Optimus redirected. He was repaired. He was healing. Being confined to berth was not going to speed up the process any further.
Ratchet harrumphed but continued, “Bluestreak was in the best repair of everyone. The Combaticons treated him well and while he's not talking much, physically, he's fine.”
“Treated him well,” Springer repeated with a sneer. “Is that a euphemism for 'they didn't use him too hard but that's okay?'”
Ratchet's optics narrowed. “The particulars of his physical health are a matter of privacy. But if you think that I'm going to rate the degree of everyone's suffering, you are sorely mistaken. The Combaticons treated him well because they did not touch him,” he hissed, his plating fluffed out as though he expected to go charging into battle. “Other than training him, they left him alone.”
“Which is good to know,” Ultra Magnus said, ever diplomatic. “Bluestreak has a better chance of recovery because of this. And the Combaticons did help us take down Megatron and his Decepticons, much like Soundwave.”
Optimus cycled a ventilation and gestured to Ratchet, “Please continue. What of the others?”
“Sunstreaker and Sideswipe are both berth-bound and under heavy sedation. I can't move them more than a few feet from each other. Whatever Shockwave did, it's going to take time and discussion to either reverse or mitigate.” Ratchet rubbed his forehelm, the fatigue settling heavier on his shoulders. “Hound, on the other hand, is almost completely repaired. I expect to discharge him in a couple of days. Physically, he'll be capable of any task you give him. Mentally, well, I can't judge. I'm not a psychologist. The Coneheads were a trio of creatively sick bastards.”
“I'll take care of Hound,” Jazz said. His tone was right, the set to his jaw promising dire retribution on those who had hurt his team.
Another topic of discussion, but one they would have to have with Decepticon command. Punishing Decepticons was probably going to fall outside the Autobot's purview unfortunately. Lest war begin again.
“Mirage, too,” Jazz added. He kicked back, pedes hitting the ground with a thump. There was challenge in his visor as he folded his hands in his lap. “They're my mechs, my team, and I'll look after 'em. Me, Trailbreaker, and Smokescreen.”
“Who is not, if I might repeat, a trained psychologist,” Ratchet growled, his field snapping with an angry fizz. “No matter what lies he feeds you. He's got insight. He knows how a mech's mind works, that's what he was trained for. He knows how to break them. That doesn't mean he knows how to fix them.”
Jazz spread his hands. “Right now, Ratch, he's all we got. And I'll take something over nothing, if you ask me.”
Ratchet muttered subvocally, but he didn't push the issue. Privately, Optimus agreed. Smokescreen might not be a trained, accredited psychologist and his experience might come from what he knew as an interrogator, but he would suffice for now. It was better than leaving the Autobots without any sort of guidance at all.
“First Aid is physically sound. He's been of great help in the medbay,” Ratchet continued, giving Jazz a slanted look. “But I worry about the effect of losing the rest of his gestalt. He's unsurprisingly close-mouthed about it, but insists he'd rather work than take any recovery time.”
Well, Ratchet was one to talk. Though his currently volatile mood suggested that now was not the time to be snide.
“I've surrendered Swoop back to Grimlock's care per Grimlock's insistence. It was against medical advice, but it's pretty hard to argue with an angry T-rex.” Ratchet's fingers drummed on the table. “Physically, he's fine. It remains to be seen what, exactly, Shockwave did.”
Shockwave. It always came back to Shockwave. Optimus remembered his visit to that place of horrors. He couldn't imagine what his Autobots had suffered.
“What of Perceptor?” Optimus asked.
Ratchet sighed and rubbed his faceplate. “Perceptor is surprisingly fine. The Insecticons don't understand the concept of consent, but they took his well-being into account, kept him fueled and maintained. I suspect that some of the time, they forgot he was there. If you want to know whether or not that was a relief, you'll have to ask him, though I wouldn't suggest it.”
“And Cliffjumper?”
Ratchet went a little still, the plating around his shoulders shuffling before clamping down tight. “I have repaired Cliffjumper,” he said quietly. “Physically, there is nothing more I can do for him. I have replaced or repaired everything that had been damaged.”
Optimus frowned, his optical ridges drawing down. “Mentally?”
Ratchet cycled a ventilation and met Optimus' gaze squarely. “Optimus, if I had to hazard a guess, Cliffjumper was one of the first Autobots taken into custody after we went down. Which suggests to me that for a long time, Megatron probably did not know he'd been found. The triple-changers were not his only owners. They were merely the most recent ones.”
Ice dropped into Optimus' tanks. The command center went silent.
“Assumption correct,” Soundwave offered, his monotone soft but still cutting. “Original captors did not disclose. Similar circumstances with Autobot Tracks. Megatron discovered. Punished Decepticons responsible. Cliffjumper declared soon after. Coincidentally.”
“Primus,” Springer breathed. He buried his face behind his palm.
The energon in his tanks gurgled. Optimus cycled several ventilations. “Who?”
Soundwave shifted on his chair. “No Decepticon admitted misdeed. Permission not given to discern truth.” Laserbeak shuffled on his shoulder, her helm bowed.
Well, of course not. What Decepticon would invite Megatron's punishment? Unicron take them all.
Disgust settled hard in Optimus' tanks.
“We will be lenient,” Ultra Magnus said, at length. “Cliffjumper could not have been in a rational state of mind.”
“None of us were,” Jazz bit out but he cycled a ventilation and set his jaw. “Was there anyone else?”
“Just Red Alert,” Ultra Magnus said, sliding out a datapad from the bottom of his stack. He audibly rebooted his vocalizer, an abnormally loud sound in the sudden silence of the room.
“Yes. The most complicated of my patients, outside of the twins, saving at least with them, I can ask Shockwave what he did. I don't have that option with Trepan.” Ratchet's gaze slid toward Springer with an accusatory look.
He shrugged, unrepentant.
“We can only do what we can, Ratchet,” Ultra Magnus said. He folded his hands together, resting his arms on the table. “We did not know, at the time, that Trepan's survival was necessary. The mech would not surrender and he attacked one of my soldiers. That was reason enough.”
Optimus held up a hand. “We're not debating the necessity. I understand what had to be done. It is just unfortunate that we are unable to help Red Alert immediately.”
Clearly, there was some tension between his Autobots and Ultra Magnus' team. That, too, would have to be addressed. Perhaps as soon as Ratchet was done. They had to be united if they hoped to make peace with both the Decepticons and the Neutrals.
Ratchet muttered something and pushed to his pedes. He pulled out a datapad and set it down on the table with an audible click.
“This is my report,” he said, one finger pressed to the powered down pad. “It has all the details I'm legally allowed to give. If you have any questions, ask me. Otherwise, I'm done here.” He waited for the length of a ventilation before he backed away from the table and circled it, heading straight for the door.
“Thank you, Ratchet,” Optimus said, catching his CMO's gaze as Ratchet passed. “I'll come by the medbay after my meetings if that is all right with you.”
He was offered something akin to a smile. “I'll make it an order if I have to, old friend,” Ratchet said, hand lifting as though he intended to rest it on Optimus' shoulder, but then he changed his mind. His fingers pulled back, hand returning to his side.
Ratchet left.
Optimus turned his attention to those who remained. Ultra Magnus had snagged Ratchet's datapad and was now skimming the contents. Jazz tipped his helm back, his field neutral but Optimus was not fooled. Springer looked as though he were about to recharge.
Frag, but Optimus missed Prowl.
He sighed and folded his arms over the table. “This seems like a good time to discuss the command structure,” Optimus said, resisting the urge to snap his fingers to get their attention.
“You are Prime,” Jazz said with a slanted look toward Springer as though daring the green mech to declare otherwise. “Whatever happens, I'm only going to follow you, boss. That's the way it's gonna be.”
“No one is stating otherwise, Jazz.” Ultra Magnus set down his datapad and pinched his olfactory sensor. “There are, however, multiple positions now... vacant.” He winced. “We have to restructure accordingly. To that end, I would like to install Springer as Field Commander. He has served as my second and I trust him to be capable.”
Optimus considered. Springer would, in essence, be replacing Ironhide, who had served as Optimus' fourth depending on the circumstances. But that would also put him in command of mechs like Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Cliffjumper, and Bluestreak, the infantry divisions. Optimus supposed he could promote from within, but his Autobot crew was both recovering and shortstaffed. Right now, Sideswipe was in no state to take over as Ironhide had been grooming him for.
His gaze shifted to Jazz in question. Jazz shrugged.
“Works for me,” he said. “So long as he knows to keep his hands off my mechs. You want to borrow them, you come to me.”
“Give me a list,” Springer retorted.
Optimus' helm started to ache. Maybe it was the fatigue. “For that matter then, Ultra Magnus, I would like you to serve as Chief Tactician and my second in command.” Magnus, at least, had the tact and the knowledge to serve in what should be considered a time of peace. His knowledge of various laws would come in handy.
As much as Prowl had been teaching Smokescreen and Trailbreaker, neither were suited to replace him at the moment. Both were needed elsewhere. Besides, Ultra Magnus was always meant to lead in Optimus' absence, though Optimus had envisioned Prowl assisting him at the time.
Ultra Magnus blinked and his gaze slid to Jazz. “I would have thought--”
“Not for me, mech,” Jazz interrupted with a sharp shake of his helm. “I'm where I need to be. You two make sure we're safe with words. I'll handle the rest.”
Leadership, Optimus knew, had been something Jazz had never sought nor wanted. If it were at all possible, he probably would have passed the mantle on to Mirage and called himself retired.
“Then the other command positions should remain the same,” Ultra Magnus said, returning his attention to Optimus. “Provided they are capable. Ratchet as Chief Medical Officer. Perceptor as Chief Engineer if he is ready enough. Communications officer...?”
“Will remain Blaster,” Optimus said firmly. He turned his gaze to Soundwave. “I would like you to serve as an adviser to me regarding the Decepticons, but I'm afraid I cannot offer you a command position.”
Soundwave inclined his helm. “Understood. No offense taken. Advising preferred.” On his shoulder, Laserbeak bobbed her helm as well as though in agreement.
Optimus heard three sets of ventilations sigh in relief. Did they honestly think he was just going to appoint a recently former Decepticon to Autobot command? He was optimistic, not foolish!
“Wheeljack's gonna take over for Percy until he's up to it,” Jazz said. He propped one pede on the edge of the table and rocked his chair. “Ratchet's already appointed Aid as CMO-in-training. And for your information, Bumblebee is my second right now.”
“Not Mirage?” Optimus frowned.
Jazz shook his helm, visor dimming. “No. He can't. I dunno that he ever will, OP. He's angry. And you can't do what we do and be angry.”
Springer scoffed. “We're all angry.”
“And when Megatron executes your spark partner, you can repeat that. But for now, shut the frag up,” Jazz retorted, his words mild, but with a cutting edge beneath them. Jazz always did get protective of his team. His pede pushed off the table and hit it again, making the whole thing shudder. “For that matter, Prime, we do have to make some kind of announcement about Cliffjumper. Starscream's getting lippy.”
“He will simply have to be patient then. I am more concerned for Cliffjumper's recovery than I am his punishment.” He sat back in his chair and sighed. “It will probably become part of the treaty. I suspect Starscream will make it a matter of recompense.”
“A spark for a spark,” Jazz muttered with a scowl. “If we ask for execution of all those raping pieces of garbage, Starscream will demand Cliff gets the death penalty, too. Fair is fair.”
It was unfortunate. But Optimus did understand Starscream's position. He did not condone the actions of the Decepticons, but he couldn't let Autobots execute them either. They were, as of now, officially under his command. He had to do what was politically correct. The unfortunate fact remained: they needed the Constructions. They needed Shockwave. They needed hands for physical labor.
Ultra Magnus pinched his forehelm. “Ah, what a nightmare.”
“You don't even know the half of it,” Jazz said. He pulled a datapad out of subspace and all but flung it onto the table. He didn't elaborate on what was on it.
“Then I suppose that brings us to our next and final order of business: the treaty with the Decepticons, what concessions we intend to make, and what demands of ours we will not budge on,” Optimus said. He pulled out a datapad of his own, with the newest draft of the treaty upon it.
Ultra Magnus and Springer followed suit, though the latter looked bored already. Even Soundwave had a copy of his own.
Optimus sighed. Let the arguments begin.
****
a/n: Slowly but surely heading toward the end and the sequels. Phew.
I also posted this at 8am before I headed to work so if there are any errors, I apologize and will fix them when I get home.
As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated.
This entry was originally posted at http://dracoqueen22.dreamwidth.org/316080.html. Feel free to comment wherever you find most convenient.