[Crown the Empire] Salvage 12
Salvage Playlist
Title: Salvage
Universe: Crown the Empire, TF AU, Sequel to Oubliette
Characters/Pairings: past Megatron/Optimus, Optimus, Jazz, Soundwave, Ratchet/Wheeljack, Chromedome, Rewind
Rated: M
Warnings: Mentions of non-explicit non-con
Description: It is peace, but not quite. As Optimus struggles to recover from the scars Megatron left behind, he faces an uphill battle against old grudges and frightening ambitions. He is not alone in this fight, however, as his Autobots remain loyal, and Optimus need look no further than the mech at his side to find support and comfort.
Commission fic for nkfloofiepoof
Salvage - Chapter Twelve
There was no official statement from the Decepticons. All was quiet from Iacon, as a matter of fact.
Given that less than twelve hours had passed since Ratchet first ran out of the medical center, Soundwave was not surprised. Decepticons, as a whole, were not inclined to admit weaknesses, no matter what former Autobot had taken leadership of them.
Soundwave trusted Buzzsaw would bring him information once he discovered the whole story. Ultra Magnus, however, was a little more impatient than his grave personality might suggest.
Soundwave would not call the repeated pings to his communication suite as relentless, but it was a near thing. Any moment now and Ultra Magnus would come out of his office, strut firmly down the hall, and press his finger most obnoxiously to Soundwave's call button.
Bzzzzzzt.
And there it was.
Soundwave remotely unlocked the door and waited for the tide of disapproval to come sweeping over him. For all that Ultra Magnus was reserved in expression, his field slipped from his control more often than not, betraying his true emotional state. It was more than a little disconcerting. In contrast, Optimus freely displayed his emotions, but his field was calm and ordered.
For the most part. There were still times of fear and anxiety that Optimus could not hide.
As Ultra Magnus came striding into Soundwave's office, his neutral cast was belied by the concern and outrage rippling in his field.
Soundwave cycled a ventilation. “Assistance needed?” he asked. He did not want to be here wading through paperwork with an irritated Ultra Magnus.
He wanted to be in the medbay, at Optimus' side, bathing in the quiet calm of Optimus' field, and patiently waiting for each soft, guarded smile. He preferred to hold Optimus’ hand, stroke his thumb over Optimus’ palm, and listen carefully for each quiet hitch of ventilation.
Optimus might call himself broken, but every tell, every subconscious reaction, spoke of a mech yearning for intimacy. Soundwave was willing to wait for the time when Optimus’ conscious recognized that need.
“I have received a leave of absence request from Ratchet. Care to explain why?” The demand cut into Soundwave’s wandering thoughts, dragging his attention back to Ultra Magnus.
The second-in-command stood in front of Soundwave’s desk, and to anyone else, it might have come across as a loom.
Soundwave leaned back in his chair. “Why not direct query to Ratchet?”
“Because he isn't answering any comms at the moment. I contacted Wheeljack, and he informed me that Ratchet was in surgery, which is interesting because Ratchet is nowhere to be found in the medbay.” Ultra Magnus' optics narrowed. “If I am to be in command of the Autobots while Optimus is indisposed, I need to be kept in the loop, and I know if anyone is aware of what is occurring, it is you.”
Soundwave inclined his helm. That was almost a compliment. “Medical Officer Ratchet in Iacon,” he said.
“What?” Ultra Magnus cycled his optics. “Why?” He leaned back, only to shake his helm. “No. Start at the beginning.”
Soundwave cycled a ventilation. “Details unknown. Ratchet's assistance requested by Grimlock, as creation not Decepticon commander. First Aid temporarily promoted in absence of chief medical officer.”
“For what purpose?”
“Starscream.”
Ultra Magnus stared at him for a moment before drawing back and pinching his nasal ridge. His field bled exhaustion and disbelief. “I see. Do you have any idea how long Ratchet's leave of absence might take?” That he didn't appear to be fighting the request spoke volumes about Ultra Magnus' respect for Ratchet.
Or perhaps it was fear. There were few willing to cross the indomitable chief medic.
“Unknown at this time,” Soundwave answered just as a ping hit his internal systems. Buzzsaw was returning. “Though information to be obtained shortly.”
Ultra Magnus nodded. “You'll inform me when you know something?” He seemed only marginally comforted.
“Affirmative.”
The tension bled from Ultra Magnus' field. Reserve remained, but he did not seem so startled anymore. “I appreciate it, Soundwave.” He turned to leave, only to pause halfway. “And for what it's worth, I am glad that you have joined our team.”
“Compliment appreciated,” Soundwave said.
Ultra Magnus nodded and left, the door sliding shut behind him, but not before Buzzsaw swooped in at the last second. Soundwave sent the code for it to lock as Buzzsaw circled his helm before landing on the desk, shuffling back and forth atop Soundwave's work datapads.
“Information obtained?” Soundwave asked.
Buzzsaw dipped his helm up and down, wings ruffling. Download preference? he asked.
Soundwave popped open his dock. Buzzsaw shifted to cassette mode and slotted himself within, allowing Soundwave direct access to the data he'd obtained. It downloaded straight to his processor, letting him sift through every little detail.
The first image that truly stood out to him was the sight of Starscream in a private medical room. The amount of equipment connected to his frame was daunting. Some of it Soundwave couldn't recognize, it was so rarely used, but he could identify spark support and manual fluid circulation pumps.
There were so many lines and wires criss-crossing the Seeker's frame that one could barely see the paint beneath. He didn't look damaged, save for all the equipment. His faceplate was a little pale, and his optics were shuttered.
The first still had Ratchet and Knock Out to either side of him, Ratchet peering at a datapad while Knock Out's attention was on one of the machine's readouts.
Buzzsaw, unnoticed in the corner, found it easy to hack into the unsecured datapad, downloading Starscream's medical file. Soundwave glanced through it, the results unsettling.
Starscream was dying. It was a drawn out process, but nonetheless, he was slowly succumbing to some kind of debilitating virus. One no doubt he had been infected with, rather than innocently contracted. There was nothing innocent about this monstrosity.
Did Grimlock blame the Autobots? Doubtful. He would have known that such actions were something Optimus would not approve of. Was it beyond Jazz, however?
Soundwave pondered.
There was no reason for Jazz to play such games, not with a tentative peace and truce. Surely he would have at least come to Soundwave if he had suspicions that Starscream could not be trusted, even if he wouldn't go to his Prime.
No. This stank of Metalhawk, though how the Neutral leader had managed to do something so underhanded, Soundwave did not know. The Decepticons did not have a functional investigative team. They hadn't the mind of a law enforcer, or the dark tactics of a Special Operations team.
They were woefully ill-equipped to investigate this matter.
Soundwave contemplated offering his assistance. Starscream would have distrusted him, but would Grimlock believe differently? And what were the political ramifications of him offering to aid in their investigation? Would he have to do so quietly, perhaps by sending Laserbeak or Buzzsaw?
If only Ravage were here. She would have been perfect for a mission like this. Alas, her current mission was of equal importance. Perhaps not to Cybertron itself, but it was important to her which meant Soundwave had no wish to interrupt her.
The upload finished, and Soundwave popped his dock, allowing Buzzsaw his freedom. The avian cassette refused, however, and nestled firmly into his slot. To recharge it was.
Soundwave closed his dock again, and picked up a datapad, connecting to it. He uploaded a summary of what Buzzsaw had learned. He would update Ultra Magnus, and inform Optimus of what had happened himself.
The attack on Starscream would have repercussions across the entirety of Cybertron, not just in Iacon. Plans would have to be made.
~
Waking to dew on his armor was a familiar irritation. Bumblebee flexed his transformation cog and revved his engine, trying to nudge Rumble awake, as the sound of birds singing filtered to his audios. It joined the noise of wind whispering through trees and other ambient sounds of Earth.
Life persisted, Bumblebee supposed. A scraggly forest rose in the wake of the burnt remains of what Megatron had torched.
“It's too early,” Rumble complained as he performed a full frame stretch, hands knocking against Bumblebee's back window and pedes tapping the door.
Bumblebee chuckled and bounced on his shocks. “We have work to do, you know.”
“Yeah, but so early?” Rumble flopped over onto his front, burying his face in Bumblebee's back-cushion. His knees drew up, aft waving into the air, and Bumblebee lamented that he was in vehicle-mode. An aft presented in such a way demanded a slap.
“I'm too comfortable to get up.”
“How about next time you transform into a car and I sleep in you then?” Bumblebee teased. He popped his doors and bounced on his shocks again. “Come on. I wanna transform. Out, out.”
Rumble's engine purred. He wriggled his hips, his aft waving enticingly again. “But I like being inside ya.”
Bumblebee outright laughed. “You're ridiculous. Now get out and maybe I'll let you grope me a little.”
Rumble snorted a ventilation and pushed himself upright, sliding out of Bumblebee's backseat with a little hop. “You're no fun.”
“I can be a lot of fun,” Bumblebee retorted as he shifted to root-mode with a sigh of satisfaction. He stretched out, twisting his torso left and right to ease the kinks. He'd gotten too used to lingering in root mode that alt-mode now felt cramped.
“Oh yeah?” Rumble planted his hands on his hips and tilted his helm. “Prove it.”
Bumblebee lowered his arms, giving his - lover? Partner? - a long look. “You got up in a good mood today.”
“Should I not have?” Rumble moved closer, their fields coming into sizzling contact just as he reached out, his hands finding Bee's hips. “It's just you and me and the birds here. The birds and the Bee.” He snickered.
Bumblebee rolled his optics. “Oh, wow. That's the first time I've heard that joke.” He slid his arms over Rumble's shoulders, letting the cassette pull him closer, into range for a kiss.
Which, of course, Rumble took full advantage. He pressed their mouths together in a quick kiss, and a flick of his glossa over Bumblebee's lips. His engine purred, the vibrations humming against Bumblebee’s frame.
“Now that's what I call a good morning,” Rumble murmured as his fingers flexed on Bumblebee's hips. His field stroked along the edges of Bumblebee’s like a physical caress. “Want to make it even better?”
Bumblebee pressed his forehelm to Rumble's. “In the middle of a forest?”
“Ain't no one around but the trees. Why not?” Rumble pressed a kiss to the corner of Bumblebee’s mouth and nibbled along the curve of his jaw. “Sides, I seem to remember how adventurous you were in the past.”
Bumblebee worked his intake. “Yeah, well, we were pretty stupid in the past.” He shivered as Rumble found his audial and ex-vented hotly into it. “Though you're kind of convincing me to be stupid now.”
“Mmm. My dastardly plan all along.” Rumble pulled them together, their hips coming into contact, his field coaxing along the edges of Bumblebee's own. “We have the time, don't we?”
“Sure.” Bumblebee grinned in an attempt to stave off the rising arousal. “But you're the one who gets to have grass in his gears.”
“Deal.” Rumble stole his lips for another kiss, making a happy noise in his intake. His hands wandered from Bee's hips to his aft, giving it a pat.
A thrill ran through Bee's spark. They'd been dancing around intimacy for awhile. Sure there was the occasional grope and kiss and snuggle. But they never got as far as open panels.
To be honest, they probably wouldn’t now. Not in the middle of a forest with the ground soft from rain beneath the grass. But to push the limits of third base?
Bee was all for it.
“Now that's not something you see every day.”
It was an embarrassingly long second before Bumblebee realized the voice that had spoken had not come from Rumble, and even longer for him to recognize they should probably be concerned. Fortunately, Rumble was just as slow on the uptake.
They parted in a flash, whirling toward the intruder, only to find Ravage sitting on her haunches, examining her right forepaw. “Couldn't even wait for a roof over your heads, could you?” she asked, optics glinting with mischief.
“Pah, you're one to talk,” Rumble retorted, grabbing a mantle of outrage and draping it around him. “What kind of mudholes have you and Hound been rolling in?”
“You say that as if it's no fun, brother.” Ravage's tail flicked dismissively, the curve of her mouth around her fangs wicked. “Don't insult it until you've tried it.”
“Ew. I did not want to know about your 'face life,” Rumble grumped, folding his arms over his chestplate.
Ravage inclined her helm. “And I did not want to witness yours.” Her gaze shifted to Bumblebee. “Good morning, Autobot. Are you sure you have no better options than my sibling here?”
“I'm sure I do.” Bumblebee draped an arm around Rumble's waist, dragging him in close as Rumble squawked in surprise. “But I like him anyway.” He pressed a kiss to Rumble's cheek, delighted to find his lover's face had heated.
So there were some things that embarrassed him. Good to know.
“Now, now, Ravage. Don't tease the young'uns.” The bushes rustled, or more like broke in several places when they were pushed aside, as Trailbreaker stepped into view, Hound at his side. “They can't help themselves.”
Trailbreaker grinned. Hound came to a rest beside Ravage, one hand gently tracing the curve of Ravage's ear. Bumblebee felt as though he needed to look away, such an intimate gesture it was.
Rumble, however, scowled. He also seemed to drop maturity points whenever he got around his siblings. “Don't we have work to do?” he huffed, one foot tapping against the grass. “Or ya just gonna stand here and tease us some more?”
Bumblebee rested a hand on Rumble's shoulder, projecting ease into his field. “Simmer down, Rum,” he murmured into his partner's audial. “I'm just glad that Hound's smiling.”
Some of the tension eased out of Rumble's frame. “Yeah, okay,” he muttered. “But I don't hafta be polite to Rav if I don't want to. The boss isn't here.”
Bumblebee chuckled. “If you insist.” He shifted his gaze to the other three. “So I hear that you found some humans.”
“Actually.” Hound straightened, standing firmly between his two companions, “Trailbreaker did, and Ravage helped track them down. We've attempted to make contact, but they're not responding to our hails.”
“Maybe we're just not using the right words.” Bumblebee clapped his hands together and rubbed his palms. He had to admit; he was a little excited.
He tried not to hope that Spike and Chip and the others had survived because he didn't want to be disappointed, but just the idea some humans had made it sent joy streaking through his spark. If they truly wanted to remain isolated then so be it. But Bumblebee had to try.
“Let's get to work!” he said brightly.
Ravage twitched her tail. “Are you always this cheerful?”
“Yes,” Trailbreaker and Hound answered in concert.
“Only when I need to be.” Bumblebee winked at the feline cassette and grabbed Rumble's hand, giving it a squeeze. “So let's go.”
~
Ratchet had trained First Aid a little too well.
“I'm sorry, sir, but no,” the younger medic said as he backed toward the door, clutching a datapad to his chestplate. “Ratchet's instructions for you were very clear.”
Behind Optimus, Laserbeak chuckled quietly.
“First Aid, I have been on this berth for the better part of a week,” Optimus said, hoping he didn't come across as a petulant toddler. “My energy levels are holding steady. I am no longer in pain. I am not asking to participate in a marathon. I only wish to take a walk.”
“And you can direct that question to your primary physician when he returns,” First Aid replied, with more firmness than he used to have. “That is not a decision I am authorized to make.”
Optimus cycled a ventilation. “You are trained to evaluate, correct?”
“Yes, sir. Of course.”
“Then in your professional opinion, can I safely take a short walk around the medical complex?”
First Aid's visor dimmed. He took another step toward the door. “That question is a trap, sir, and as much as I would love to answer it, I can't.” He hugged his datapad a little tighter. “I'm sorry, Prime, but when it comes down to it, Ratchet's scarier than you are.”
With that, First Aid spun on a heelstrut and vanished out the door, leaving a defeated Optimus to his increasingly uncomfortable and boring berth. His shoulders slumped, and he rubbed a hand down his faceplate. He didn’t want to whine, but he was coming close to such a reaction.
“It's not the lack of recharge that's going to offline me, but the sheer boredom,” he muttered behind the safety of his hand.
Laserbeak chirped a laugh. Then it's a good thing Soundwave is on his way here.
“He is the only bright spot to be found here in my captivity,” Optimus replied, but he allowed himself a small smile.
He understood Ratchet's caution. Honestly, he did. He'd collapsed in the middle of the courtyard a week ago. He'd been so undernourished and under-energized that his primary internal security system had taken matters unto itself. He had stressed his spark, something already suffering from the strain his captivity under Megatron had given him.
So yes. Ratchet's concern was understandable. He only wished it didn't feel halfway like a punishment.
Optimus settled back in his berth, smile brightening when Laserbeak nudged her helm against his. Her company made this tolerable as well. For her sake, Optimus didn't push his recovery speed.
Soundwave appeared in the doorway just as Optimus considered pulling out one of the datapads he had yet to read.
“First Aid distressed,” he said by way of greeting as he came into the room. He made to sit on the stool, but Optimus reached for him instead.
He'd made this decision already. He didn't want to deny himself the comfort of another, or the intimacy. It might never turn sexual, but he couldn't deny he felt better when Soundwave was near. The mingling of their fields, the simple heat of another being, the absolute presence - all of this Optimus craved.
Soundwave paused, confused, and then offered a hand. Optimus took hold of his fingers and with a tug, guided Soundwave to sit on the berth beside him. Their fields knitted upon contact, and Optimus could read the indecision buried deep within Soundwave's field. He was uneasy about something, but given the way he leaned in to Optimus, it had to have been something more than their relationship.
“My repeated requests to be free of my confinement have gone unheeded,” Optimus said. “Aid is no longer the weak link, I'm afraid.”
Soundwave rumbled a laugh. He tangled their fingers together, the uncomplicated intimacy speaking a wealth of words.
“Recovery is important,” he said.
“Yes, I know.” Optimus sighed and lowered his hand, giving Soundwave his full attention. “Did you discover anything?”
“Work is not resting,” Soundwave informed him with a squeeze of Optimus' hand.
“I am still Prime, and I must admit, I am worried. All I know is what Wheeljack told me, that Ratchet was going to remain in Iacon for the foreseeable future.” Optimus’ spark fluttered within his chassis.
He had to admit a tad bit of anxiety had kept him awake longer than was healthy. Enough that his frame fought the sedatives which were still part of his daily healing routine. Ratchet's regime took no chances.
It was Soundwave's turn to cycle a ventilation. “Starscream infected with a virus,” he said, and his tone was concerned. “Suspected assassination attempt.”
Optimus' optics widened. “What?” He pushed back against the headboard, out of his comfortable slump. “Who did it?”
“Currently under investigation.” Soundwave cycled a ventilation, something in the pinch at the corner of his mouth suggesting fatigue. “No suspects yet.”
“Is anyone pointing toward us?” Optimus twisted to the right and groped under the berth, He’d secretly magnetized a datapad to the underside, and now seemed a good time to bring it out.
Ratchet didn't need to know he was doing work during his recovery. It wasn't anything stress-inducing, just paperwork.
“Not yet.”
Optimus powered on the datapad, immediately pulling up his official communication account. “The Decepticons do not have anyone capable of investigations. They will need assistance.”
Soundwave shifted his weight, jostling the berth. “Intend for me to offer aid?”
Optimus cycled his optics and looked up from the datapad. “Is that a problem?”
“Politically inadvisable.” Soundwave rested a hand on Optimus' knee, the warm weight of it soothing. “Medical aid already given. Offer of investigative assistance possibly perceived as suspicious.”
Optimus rubbed at his forehead. “I am sick of politics,” he said, his processor starting to ache. “I am tired of these games, of the maneuvers in the shadows. There are times, Soundwave, that I miss the war. It, at least, was simpler.”
He hadn't liked the political machinations when he first became Prime, and he certainly didn't like them now. He wanted peace, for himself, for his Autobots. He wanted his greatest concern to be whether or not to raise taxes or… or the best mix for paving the roads. He didn't want to continue worrying about assassins and appearances.
The berth shook as Soundwave shifted closer, his hip pressing to Optimus'. His fingers gently tugged Optimus' hand away from his forehelm, bringing them instead to Soundwave's lips. He pressed a kiss to the tips of them, the tiny action sending a frisson of heat down Optimus’ spinal strut.
“Peace is a process,” Soundwave said, his thumb rubbing over Optimus' palm as his field wrapped around Optimus, as soothing as an embrace. “Every step is one closer to the end goal. We need only handle Metalhawk until then.”
Optimus' managed a small smile. “Since when did we switch places? I thought I was meant to be optimistic and you were meant to remind me of reality?”
Soundwave chuckled. The sound of it was enough to warm Optimus' spark. He couldn't have imagined that one day he'd be sitting near enough to Soundwave to feel the thrum of his spark, or that he'd see the taciturn communications officer laugh of all things.
But here they were.
“Things change. People change.” Soundwave kissed Optimus' knuckles again, a delicate brush of his lips over each one. “Do not offer aid, but reassurance. Inform Grimlock of intent to cooperate. Send best wishes for speedy recovery.”
Optimus cycled a ventilation. “It sounds artificial.” Then again, he supposed that was the price one paid for playing politics. “If I can get off this berth, perhaps I can convince him for a private meeting, something without any eavesdroppers.”
“Agreed.” Soundwave squeezed his hand and lowered it. “Rest first.” His free hand patted his chestplate and the dock behind it. “Buzzsaw will investigate further tomorrow. Ratchet, too, will bring news.”
“Rest, huh?” Optimus gave Soundwave a pointed look, noting that his field was frazzled around the edges, his vents sounded as though they were sputtering, and his armor had a dull sheen. “And when was the last time you had a full night of recharge?”
“Irrelevant.”
Optimus squeezed Soundwave's fingers, tightening his grip before Soundwave could draw away, as Soundwave's posture gave every indication he intended to do so.
“I know that answer,” Optimus replied firmly. “It's the one I often gave Ratchet during the war, and was common right before I found myself attached to this berth for the foreseeable future.”
Soundwave has not been recharging properly, Laserbeak offered.
Optimus raised his orbital ridges. “And Laserbeak informs me you're not recharging.”
Soundwave's gaze shifted to the avian cassette, something accusing behind his expression. She shuffled nearer to Optimus. If she felt any guilt for ratting out her master, it didn't show.
“Energy levels adequate,” Soundwave said, a hint of testiness in his tone. “Capable of functioning on worse.”
“I am not talking about being functional, Soundwave,” Optimus said quietly. He projected worry into his field. “You needn't push yourself anymore. We have supplies, we have others who can handle the load.” He gave a small, self-deprecating laugh. “Besides, the Autobots can't have both of us collapsing. What a sorry state we'd be in if so, right?”
Soundwave frowned, cycling a huffed ventilation.
He worries, Laserbeak said as she ruffled her feathers. About us, but about you right now. He works so he doesn't worry. But still, not proper recharge.
Ah.
“Thank you, Laserbeak,” Optimus said aloud and redirected his attention back to Soundwave.
He had a thought, perhaps a ridiculous one, but it couldn't hurt to try. For what was a little platonic guarding between friends? Especially those who had made the tentative overtures toward a romantic partnership?
“If you would prefer,” Optimus began, choosing his words carefully, “I would not be opposed to you recharging here.”
Soundwave straightened, his helm tilted. “Medberths should be open for potential patients.”
“Yes, that is true,” Optimus admitted, and to his horror, he felt his faceplate heat. “But I am a large mech and as such, have been given a large medberth. One might even say one that is too large. For just one mech.”
Laserbeak sent laughter across the private comm. The emoticons accompanying the laugh were equally amused.
Soundwave cycled his visor. His field rippled with surprise. “You would be comfortable with this?”
“It is only sharing a berth.” Optimus tucked the datapad back under the berth - he would compose an official response to Grimlock in the morning. “Surely you've done something similar during the course of the war?”
Judging by the expression on Soundwave's face and in his field, he had not. Clearly, the idea of sharing what comfortable space you had managed to scrape together in the midst of battle, was unfamiliar to Soundwave.
Optimus, meanwhile, could recall dozens of occasions where he'd recharged either back to back with Ironhide, or curled in a corner with Jazz on top of him, or snuggled between Wheeljack and Ratchet, or with his arms wrapped around Prowl - the only way sometimes to convince the hard-working tactician to power down for a few hours.
Bittersweet memories those. Optimus' spark ached at them. How he'd had to coax Prowl away from his paperwork, the tactician so certain the key to winning the war was in some minute detail of a scout's report. He would resist it until the last moment, only to surrender to recharge and sleep as though offline, safe in Optimus' arms.
Ironhide was usually the one to convince Optimus to recharge, planting his aft on the desk in front of Optimus and refusing to move until Optimus agreed to find a berth. Ironhide would then follow him until he actually did so, often urging cube after cube of energon at Optimus until he finally took one.
Wheeljack had to work just as hard to coax Ratchet into berth, and sometimes, Ratchet felt the need to make another suffer. If he had to recharge, then so did Optimus. With Wheeljack at his heelstruts, he would barge into Optimus’ office and demand that he get some rest. They offered room on their berth, and back then, Optimus was weak to the offer of warmth and comfort.
Jazz’s methods had always been simpler. If an outright seduction did not work, he had a hurt puppy expression that rivaled Bluestreak’s for potency.
Optimus worked his intake, his spark spinning into a tiny ball. “Yes, Soundwave, I would be comfortable,” he said instead. “And if I become otherwise, I will let you know. For now, however, I would be more comfortable knowing you are getting the rest you need.”
Soundwave stared at him for a long moment, one that stretched into incredulity before he slowly nodded. “I would like to try,” he said at last. “Thank you for the invitation.”
“We're partners,” Optimus said, already shifting over on the berth. He sent a remote signal for the lights to dim - Ratchet would have a conniption if he knew First Aid had given him access to his room controls. “Thanks are not needed.”
Soundwave's field wavered before firming. “I am… unfamiliar with the rules.” He rose to his pedes and stared at the berth as though working out the geometrics of fitting his frame in beside Optimus'.
“Rules?” Optimus blinked. “Soundwave, there are no rules when it comes to something like this.” He paused, a thought occurring to him. “Have you ever had a lover?” As old as Soundwave was, as long as the war had been, it hadn't occurred to Optimus to ask.
Soundwave froze, one knee on the berth. “Clarify,” he said, his voice pained.
“I don't mean interfacing. I mean, a lover. A partner. A long-term relationship.” Optimus' spark throbbed, fearing he already knew the answer.
The sound of Soundwave's ventilations were oddly loud in the quiet of the room. “Negative,” he answered finally. His shoulders slumped. “Circumstances did not allow for… attachments.”
Well, that explained a lot actually. Optimus had been admiring Soundwave's caution, the way he consistently sought permission for a great many things. He assumed it was because Soundwave knew to be cautious given Optimus' treatment at Megatron's hand. While he was certain that was also true, he wondered now if it was also uncertainty. If Soundwave's caution was also due to the fact he didn't know what he was supposed to do.
Optimus was at a loss for words. He worked his intake and finally patted the berth beside him. “There's room for you here.”
“Optimus has had a lover before?”
“Not as Optimus, no.” Optimus offered him a sad smile. “Orion Pax had a lover. Once upon a time.”
That mech was long gone, another one of the casualties of Optimus Prime. There were many things left behind when he was given the Matrix - Orion Pax and whatever life he'd led before then was the first to be sacrificed.
Optimus held out a hand, hoping to encourage Soundwave to take it and join him on the berth. “So, in a way, I am going about this as blindly as you. I do know, however, there aren't any rules. Just communication and trust.”
“Trust,” Soundwave echoed and seemed to brace himself before he accepted Optimus' hand. “Something else unfamiliar.”
“Maybe we can change that then.” Optimus tugged on Soundwave's hand and finally, the former Decepticon climbed onto the berth.
Each motion was made gingerly, carefully. He stretched out next to Optimus, as stiff as a pole, until Optimus finally turned and pressed his back to Soundwave's front. He felt the rumble of the other mech's engine and the soft thrum of his spark. Soundwave's field had become comfortably familiar to him.
Optimus ex-vented softly. “Make yourself comfortable,” he said.
The berth shifted as Soundwave did until finally he carefully draped an arm over Optimus' side, his hand resting on Optimus' upper arm. Optimus lifted his helm, allowing Soundwave to slide an arm under it, giving him somewhere to rest his helm.
The lights dimmed further.
“Optimus comfortable?”
With the warmth of Soundwave's frame behind him, Optimus couldn't imagine being otherwise. It was easy to shutter his optics, to focus on Soundwave's ventilations, and the now familiar sense of Laserbeak in the room.
“I am.” He wriggled further back, until he was firmly pressed to Soundwave, to every available point of contact between them. “Thank you for indulging my request.”
Soundwave's thumb gently stroked his arm plating. “Seems more like I should be thanking you.”
Optimus chuckled. “Thank me by getting an appropriate amount of recharge.”
Soundwave made a noncommittal sound of agreement. The berth rattled for a second before Optimus felt the lightest of pressures to the crown of his helm.
“Recharge well,” Soundwave murmured.
Optimus slid his left hand up, tangling his fingers with Soundwave's. “You as well.”
Perhaps tonight, he wouldn't have any memory purges.
It was worth a try.
~
Jazz never thought he'd see the day when he'd be nodding off at his desk. Pit, he never thought he'd see the day where he spent the majority of it behind a desk. He was a spy! A saboteur! He was meant to be out causing terror in the sparks of all Decepticons.
He really needed to get Mirage out of that habsuite and into an office. All of these reports and numbers would be a good distraction and would get Jazz out of this Primus-bedamned chair.
He swore it was designed to be a torture device. Any longer and his aft would be glued to it.
Ha. Wouldn't Ultra Magnus like that? He could force Jazz to fill out paperwork all day. He'd be positively delighted to know Jazz had little choice but to get it finished on time.
Jazz's jaw cracked in a yawn, his Earth-disguise coding still active. He kinda liked it, after so many years having it installed. And now, it was kind of a way to honor the humans Megatron had killed.
So he let himself yawn. His optics dimmed behind his visor. His engine started that low-key knocking it did when he worked himself to exhaustion.
He didn't need Ratchet to start looking at him with narrowed optics. Ratchet already had one member of high command confined to berth. He was itching to grab another and tie them down. Blind medic couldn't see he needed to do the same to himself.
They all had their ways of coping.
Jazz yawned again and shoved himself away from the desk. That was it. The rest could wait for tomorrow. He was going to go right down to Bluestreak's hab and drag Mirage out if he had to. Sitting there cooped up in the dim and silence wasn't going to help. He could grieve just as well in front of a datapad as he could staring at a wall.
Besides, Jazz knew very well that Mirage would continue to sit there until someone propelled him into forward motion.
Tracks had always been so very good at that.
Jazz cycled a sigh and rubbed his forehelm. No. He didn't need to get morose tonight either. There was too much going on. With Metalhawk acting skeevy, and the Combaticons intake deep in Neutral territory, and Starscream dying and all the scientists scrambling to save him - when Jazz knew very well Metalhawk was to blame, he just needed some Prime-damned proof!
Frustration ate at him.
No. He needed to refuel and recharge. He'd feel better tomorrow. He'd be able to think straight without numbers and data running endlessly through his processor. Maybe he'd start the day with a nice long drive.
Jazz powered down his console and left his office, locking it behind him. It still felt odd to have an office. He'd had one on the Ark, but he'd never used it, and ended up turning it over to Silverbolt and Hotspot to share. The two of them got on like Thelma and Louise.
No. Don't think about them either. He had enough grief in his spark right now. He had to get through this crisis with Metalhawk and the Decepticons first.
He couldn't think about all the Autobots Megatron had massacred or he'd just get angry all over again. And right now, Jazz couldn't do a damn thing about that anger. He filed it away, buried it deep.
Autobot Command was still and quiet. That was a novelty, too. During war-time, there was always something happening no matter what time of the day or night it was. Now, they powered down most of the facility during the quote-unquote third shift, and there was only a skeleton crew on duty.
By that, Jazz meant a single member of Optimus' command - it was Springer tonight, he believed - and two supporting members of Autobot infantry. Springer had a couple Wreckers with him, if Jazz remembered correctly. Some bright young thing named Hot Rod and a fast-talking racer.
Cute kids. Honestly.
Jazz strode out of the command center. Unlike Optimus and Ultra Magnus, he preferred not to berth in their citadel. He'd found a relatively stable single-person apartment a short walk from the command center and made it his home. It was small, but it was hard to find and arguably more secure than the command quarters.
It gave him the privacy he sometimes needed. Tonight, Jazz figured, was a night for privacy. He had the option of snuggling with Mirage and Blue, but he didn't want comfort tonight. He wanted to collapse on a berth and let himself snore without bothering his berthmates.
It was dark. Sometime yesterday, Cybertron had passed out of the most distant reach of the sun in this galaxy. Now they hurtled somewhere, Primus only knew. Getting Cybertron into a stable orbit was on the science staff's ever growing to do list because the constant recalibration of the space bridge was tiresome.
For now, the courtyard and surrounding areas were lit with street lamps. They cast a pale glow in the gloom, barely aided by starlight. Times like these, Jazz missed Luna 1 and 2. He even missed Earth's Moon. The stars in this system were unfamiliar. It made Cybertron feel a lot less like home.
Jazz sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face. My but he was maudlin tonight. Was it because he passed through the shadow of the memorial obelisk? Maybe so.
His backstrut tingled.
Jazz froze as instinct reared its ugly head. He hadn't survived the war without listening to it. He buried his face in his hand as though buried in the burdens of his existence, and pumped his sensors to max. He heard nothing. He couldn't detect any movement. But his hackles were raised.
Someone was watching him. Someone was out there.
Jazz lifted his helm a little, sliding his hand from his visor to cover his mouth. He placed his hand on his hip, and turned forty-five degrees as though he intended to start pacing. He had the obelisk in his peripheral vision. He let his shoulders slump.
He looked as though he were grieving, Ruminating perhaps on all the sparks lost. His visor was dim, but working overtime, scanning the area.
No signs of heat. No signs of movement. No biolights in the dark. Whoever was out there was good. Trained. Trained like Mirage or Bumblebee or Barricade, but the last was firmly buried in Decepticon prison, the second was on Earth, and the first would not be stalking Jazz.
His backplate itched. There was no skylight, but he happened to be standing directly under a street light, with the echoes of the obelisk display on his plating. He was a very visible, very obvious target. If he bolted, whoever was out there would know Jazz had made him. He might lose his opportunity to catch the stalker.
He couldn't stand here forever.
Jazz shifted his weight. The obelisk would provide some cover. He shifted back toward it like someone who felt the need to mourn.
He never heard the shot, only felt the impact as it slammed into his chestplate and knocked him several meters back. He hit the ground, skidding, leaving paint streaks in his wake, as pain flooded his chassis. Error reports streaked across his HUD, the smell of charred metal and energon nauseating.
Wha…?
He couldn't move. He coughed energon from his vents. His vision went static. Jazz's right hand flopped weakly, landing on his chestplate, where he felt the ragged edge of a powerful blow. Through and through. Right next to his spark.
Frag. Frag it all.
Peace had made him soft, hadn't it?
Gray crept in around the edges of his vision. Numbness set in. It was a good shot, he thought with a energon-soaked chuckle. Off by a few micrometers, but that wouldn't matter.
Ratchet was in Iacon. No one knew Jazz was out here. It didn't matter that the assassin had missed his spark chamber.
He was going to bleed out long before someone found him.
More critical errors bled across his HUD. Jazz sent out a distress signal, pinging his team, Ultra Magnus, Springer, anyone who would respond. He wondered if his attacker had a signal dampener with him and if so, Jazz had no hope of surviving this.
His spark fluttered with anxiety. His visual feed fritzed from static to black. His awareness drew inward. He counted the pulses of his spark.
Darkness seeped in.
And then there was nothing.
***
a/n: Feedback, as always, is welcome and appreciated. This entry was originally posted at http://dracoqueen22.dreamwidth.org/349600.html. Feel free to comment wherever you find most convenient.
Title: Salvage
Universe: Crown the Empire, TF AU, Sequel to Oubliette
Characters/Pairings: past Megatron/Optimus, Optimus, Jazz, Soundwave, Ratchet/Wheeljack, Chromedome, Rewind
Rated: M
Warnings: Mentions of non-explicit non-con
Description: It is peace, but not quite. As Optimus struggles to recover from the scars Megatron left behind, he faces an uphill battle against old grudges and frightening ambitions. He is not alone in this fight, however, as his Autobots remain loyal, and Optimus need look no further than the mech at his side to find support and comfort.
Commission fic for nkfloofiepoof
Salvage - Chapter Twelve
There was no official statement from the Decepticons. All was quiet from Iacon, as a matter of fact.
Given that less than twelve hours had passed since Ratchet first ran out of the medical center, Soundwave was not surprised. Decepticons, as a whole, were not inclined to admit weaknesses, no matter what former Autobot had taken leadership of them.
Soundwave trusted Buzzsaw would bring him information once he discovered the whole story. Ultra Magnus, however, was a little more impatient than his grave personality might suggest.
Soundwave would not call the repeated pings to his communication suite as relentless, but it was a near thing. Any moment now and Ultra Magnus would come out of his office, strut firmly down the hall, and press his finger most obnoxiously to Soundwave's call button.
Bzzzzzzt.
And there it was.
Soundwave remotely unlocked the door and waited for the tide of disapproval to come sweeping over him. For all that Ultra Magnus was reserved in expression, his field slipped from his control more often than not, betraying his true emotional state. It was more than a little disconcerting. In contrast, Optimus freely displayed his emotions, but his field was calm and ordered.
For the most part. There were still times of fear and anxiety that Optimus could not hide.
As Ultra Magnus came striding into Soundwave's office, his neutral cast was belied by the concern and outrage rippling in his field.
Soundwave cycled a ventilation. “Assistance needed?” he asked. He did not want to be here wading through paperwork with an irritated Ultra Magnus.
He wanted to be in the medbay, at Optimus' side, bathing in the quiet calm of Optimus' field, and patiently waiting for each soft, guarded smile. He preferred to hold Optimus’ hand, stroke his thumb over Optimus’ palm, and listen carefully for each quiet hitch of ventilation.
Optimus might call himself broken, but every tell, every subconscious reaction, spoke of a mech yearning for intimacy. Soundwave was willing to wait for the time when Optimus’ conscious recognized that need.
“I have received a leave of absence request from Ratchet. Care to explain why?” The demand cut into Soundwave’s wandering thoughts, dragging his attention back to Ultra Magnus.
The second-in-command stood in front of Soundwave’s desk, and to anyone else, it might have come across as a loom.
Soundwave leaned back in his chair. “Why not direct query to Ratchet?”
“Because he isn't answering any comms at the moment. I contacted Wheeljack, and he informed me that Ratchet was in surgery, which is interesting because Ratchet is nowhere to be found in the medbay.” Ultra Magnus' optics narrowed. “If I am to be in command of the Autobots while Optimus is indisposed, I need to be kept in the loop, and I know if anyone is aware of what is occurring, it is you.”
Soundwave inclined his helm. That was almost a compliment. “Medical Officer Ratchet in Iacon,” he said.
“What?” Ultra Magnus cycled his optics. “Why?” He leaned back, only to shake his helm. “No. Start at the beginning.”
Soundwave cycled a ventilation. “Details unknown. Ratchet's assistance requested by Grimlock, as creation not Decepticon commander. First Aid temporarily promoted in absence of chief medical officer.”
“For what purpose?”
“Starscream.”
Ultra Magnus stared at him for a moment before drawing back and pinching his nasal ridge. His field bled exhaustion and disbelief. “I see. Do you have any idea how long Ratchet's leave of absence might take?” That he didn't appear to be fighting the request spoke volumes about Ultra Magnus' respect for Ratchet.
Or perhaps it was fear. There were few willing to cross the indomitable chief medic.
“Unknown at this time,” Soundwave answered just as a ping hit his internal systems. Buzzsaw was returning. “Though information to be obtained shortly.”
Ultra Magnus nodded. “You'll inform me when you know something?” He seemed only marginally comforted.
“Affirmative.”
The tension bled from Ultra Magnus' field. Reserve remained, but he did not seem so startled anymore. “I appreciate it, Soundwave.” He turned to leave, only to pause halfway. “And for what it's worth, I am glad that you have joined our team.”
“Compliment appreciated,” Soundwave said.
Ultra Magnus nodded and left, the door sliding shut behind him, but not before Buzzsaw swooped in at the last second. Soundwave sent the code for it to lock as Buzzsaw circled his helm before landing on the desk, shuffling back and forth atop Soundwave's work datapads.
“Information obtained?” Soundwave asked.
Buzzsaw dipped his helm up and down, wings ruffling. Download preference? he asked.
Soundwave popped open his dock. Buzzsaw shifted to cassette mode and slotted himself within, allowing Soundwave direct access to the data he'd obtained. It downloaded straight to his processor, letting him sift through every little detail.
The first image that truly stood out to him was the sight of Starscream in a private medical room. The amount of equipment connected to his frame was daunting. Some of it Soundwave couldn't recognize, it was so rarely used, but he could identify spark support and manual fluid circulation pumps.
There were so many lines and wires criss-crossing the Seeker's frame that one could barely see the paint beneath. He didn't look damaged, save for all the equipment. His faceplate was a little pale, and his optics were shuttered.
The first still had Ratchet and Knock Out to either side of him, Ratchet peering at a datapad while Knock Out's attention was on one of the machine's readouts.
Buzzsaw, unnoticed in the corner, found it easy to hack into the unsecured datapad, downloading Starscream's medical file. Soundwave glanced through it, the results unsettling.
Starscream was dying. It was a drawn out process, but nonetheless, he was slowly succumbing to some kind of debilitating virus. One no doubt he had been infected with, rather than innocently contracted. There was nothing innocent about this monstrosity.
Did Grimlock blame the Autobots? Doubtful. He would have known that such actions were something Optimus would not approve of. Was it beyond Jazz, however?
Soundwave pondered.
There was no reason for Jazz to play such games, not with a tentative peace and truce. Surely he would have at least come to Soundwave if he had suspicions that Starscream could not be trusted, even if he wouldn't go to his Prime.
No. This stank of Metalhawk, though how the Neutral leader had managed to do something so underhanded, Soundwave did not know. The Decepticons did not have a functional investigative team. They hadn't the mind of a law enforcer, or the dark tactics of a Special Operations team.
They were woefully ill-equipped to investigate this matter.
Soundwave contemplated offering his assistance. Starscream would have distrusted him, but would Grimlock believe differently? And what were the political ramifications of him offering to aid in their investigation? Would he have to do so quietly, perhaps by sending Laserbeak or Buzzsaw?
If only Ravage were here. She would have been perfect for a mission like this. Alas, her current mission was of equal importance. Perhaps not to Cybertron itself, but it was important to her which meant Soundwave had no wish to interrupt her.
The upload finished, and Soundwave popped his dock, allowing Buzzsaw his freedom. The avian cassette refused, however, and nestled firmly into his slot. To recharge it was.
Soundwave closed his dock again, and picked up a datapad, connecting to it. He uploaded a summary of what Buzzsaw had learned. He would update Ultra Magnus, and inform Optimus of what had happened himself.
The attack on Starscream would have repercussions across the entirety of Cybertron, not just in Iacon. Plans would have to be made.
~
Waking to dew on his armor was a familiar irritation. Bumblebee flexed his transformation cog and revved his engine, trying to nudge Rumble awake, as the sound of birds singing filtered to his audios. It joined the noise of wind whispering through trees and other ambient sounds of Earth.
Life persisted, Bumblebee supposed. A scraggly forest rose in the wake of the burnt remains of what Megatron had torched.
“It's too early,” Rumble complained as he performed a full frame stretch, hands knocking against Bumblebee's back window and pedes tapping the door.
Bumblebee chuckled and bounced on his shocks. “We have work to do, you know.”
“Yeah, but so early?” Rumble flopped over onto his front, burying his face in Bumblebee's back-cushion. His knees drew up, aft waving into the air, and Bumblebee lamented that he was in vehicle-mode. An aft presented in such a way demanded a slap.
“I'm too comfortable to get up.”
“How about next time you transform into a car and I sleep in you then?” Bumblebee teased. He popped his doors and bounced on his shocks again. “Come on. I wanna transform. Out, out.”
Rumble's engine purred. He wriggled his hips, his aft waving enticingly again. “But I like being inside ya.”
Bumblebee outright laughed. “You're ridiculous. Now get out and maybe I'll let you grope me a little.”
Rumble snorted a ventilation and pushed himself upright, sliding out of Bumblebee's backseat with a little hop. “You're no fun.”
“I can be a lot of fun,” Bumblebee retorted as he shifted to root-mode with a sigh of satisfaction. He stretched out, twisting his torso left and right to ease the kinks. He'd gotten too used to lingering in root mode that alt-mode now felt cramped.
“Oh yeah?” Rumble planted his hands on his hips and tilted his helm. “Prove it.”
Bumblebee lowered his arms, giving his - lover? Partner? - a long look. “You got up in a good mood today.”
“Should I not have?” Rumble moved closer, their fields coming into sizzling contact just as he reached out, his hands finding Bee's hips. “It's just you and me and the birds here. The birds and the Bee.” He snickered.
Bumblebee rolled his optics. “Oh, wow. That's the first time I've heard that joke.” He slid his arms over Rumble's shoulders, letting the cassette pull him closer, into range for a kiss.
Which, of course, Rumble took full advantage. He pressed their mouths together in a quick kiss, and a flick of his glossa over Bumblebee's lips. His engine purred, the vibrations humming against Bumblebee’s frame.
“Now that's what I call a good morning,” Rumble murmured as his fingers flexed on Bumblebee's hips. His field stroked along the edges of Bumblebee’s like a physical caress. “Want to make it even better?”
Bumblebee pressed his forehelm to Rumble's. “In the middle of a forest?”
“Ain't no one around but the trees. Why not?” Rumble pressed a kiss to the corner of Bumblebee’s mouth and nibbled along the curve of his jaw. “Sides, I seem to remember how adventurous you were in the past.”
Bumblebee worked his intake. “Yeah, well, we were pretty stupid in the past.” He shivered as Rumble found his audial and ex-vented hotly into it. “Though you're kind of convincing me to be stupid now.”
“Mmm. My dastardly plan all along.” Rumble pulled them together, their hips coming into contact, his field coaxing along the edges of Bumblebee's own. “We have the time, don't we?”
“Sure.” Bumblebee grinned in an attempt to stave off the rising arousal. “But you're the one who gets to have grass in his gears.”
“Deal.” Rumble stole his lips for another kiss, making a happy noise in his intake. His hands wandered from Bee's hips to his aft, giving it a pat.
A thrill ran through Bee's spark. They'd been dancing around intimacy for awhile. Sure there was the occasional grope and kiss and snuggle. But they never got as far as open panels.
To be honest, they probably wouldn’t now. Not in the middle of a forest with the ground soft from rain beneath the grass. But to push the limits of third base?
Bee was all for it.
“Now that's not something you see every day.”
It was an embarrassingly long second before Bumblebee realized the voice that had spoken had not come from Rumble, and even longer for him to recognize they should probably be concerned. Fortunately, Rumble was just as slow on the uptake.
They parted in a flash, whirling toward the intruder, only to find Ravage sitting on her haunches, examining her right forepaw. “Couldn't even wait for a roof over your heads, could you?” she asked, optics glinting with mischief.
“Pah, you're one to talk,” Rumble retorted, grabbing a mantle of outrage and draping it around him. “What kind of mudholes have you and Hound been rolling in?”
“You say that as if it's no fun, brother.” Ravage's tail flicked dismissively, the curve of her mouth around her fangs wicked. “Don't insult it until you've tried it.”
“Ew. I did not want to know about your 'face life,” Rumble grumped, folding his arms over his chestplate.
Ravage inclined her helm. “And I did not want to witness yours.” Her gaze shifted to Bumblebee. “Good morning, Autobot. Are you sure you have no better options than my sibling here?”
“I'm sure I do.” Bumblebee draped an arm around Rumble's waist, dragging him in close as Rumble squawked in surprise. “But I like him anyway.” He pressed a kiss to Rumble's cheek, delighted to find his lover's face had heated.
So there were some things that embarrassed him. Good to know.
“Now, now, Ravage. Don't tease the young'uns.” The bushes rustled, or more like broke in several places when they were pushed aside, as Trailbreaker stepped into view, Hound at his side. “They can't help themselves.”
Trailbreaker grinned. Hound came to a rest beside Ravage, one hand gently tracing the curve of Ravage's ear. Bumblebee felt as though he needed to look away, such an intimate gesture it was.
Rumble, however, scowled. He also seemed to drop maturity points whenever he got around his siblings. “Don't we have work to do?” he huffed, one foot tapping against the grass. “Or ya just gonna stand here and tease us some more?”
Bumblebee rested a hand on Rumble's shoulder, projecting ease into his field. “Simmer down, Rum,” he murmured into his partner's audial. “I'm just glad that Hound's smiling.”
Some of the tension eased out of Rumble's frame. “Yeah, okay,” he muttered. “But I don't hafta be polite to Rav if I don't want to. The boss isn't here.”
Bumblebee chuckled. “If you insist.” He shifted his gaze to the other three. “So I hear that you found some humans.”
“Actually.” Hound straightened, standing firmly between his two companions, “Trailbreaker did, and Ravage helped track them down. We've attempted to make contact, but they're not responding to our hails.”
“Maybe we're just not using the right words.” Bumblebee clapped his hands together and rubbed his palms. He had to admit; he was a little excited.
He tried not to hope that Spike and Chip and the others had survived because he didn't want to be disappointed, but just the idea some humans had made it sent joy streaking through his spark. If they truly wanted to remain isolated then so be it. But Bumblebee had to try.
“Let's get to work!” he said brightly.
Ravage twitched her tail. “Are you always this cheerful?”
“Yes,” Trailbreaker and Hound answered in concert.
“Only when I need to be.” Bumblebee winked at the feline cassette and grabbed Rumble's hand, giving it a squeeze. “So let's go.”
~
Ratchet had trained First Aid a little too well.
“I'm sorry, sir, but no,” the younger medic said as he backed toward the door, clutching a datapad to his chestplate. “Ratchet's instructions for you were very clear.”
Behind Optimus, Laserbeak chuckled quietly.
“First Aid, I have been on this berth for the better part of a week,” Optimus said, hoping he didn't come across as a petulant toddler. “My energy levels are holding steady. I am no longer in pain. I am not asking to participate in a marathon. I only wish to take a walk.”
“And you can direct that question to your primary physician when he returns,” First Aid replied, with more firmness than he used to have. “That is not a decision I am authorized to make.”
Optimus cycled a ventilation. “You are trained to evaluate, correct?”
“Yes, sir. Of course.”
“Then in your professional opinion, can I safely take a short walk around the medical complex?”
First Aid's visor dimmed. He took another step toward the door. “That question is a trap, sir, and as much as I would love to answer it, I can't.” He hugged his datapad a little tighter. “I'm sorry, Prime, but when it comes down to it, Ratchet's scarier than you are.”
With that, First Aid spun on a heelstrut and vanished out the door, leaving a defeated Optimus to his increasingly uncomfortable and boring berth. His shoulders slumped, and he rubbed a hand down his faceplate. He didn’t want to whine, but he was coming close to such a reaction.
“It's not the lack of recharge that's going to offline me, but the sheer boredom,” he muttered behind the safety of his hand.
Laserbeak chirped a laugh. Then it's a good thing Soundwave is on his way here.
“He is the only bright spot to be found here in my captivity,” Optimus replied, but he allowed himself a small smile.
He understood Ratchet's caution. Honestly, he did. He'd collapsed in the middle of the courtyard a week ago. He'd been so undernourished and under-energized that his primary internal security system had taken matters unto itself. He had stressed his spark, something already suffering from the strain his captivity under Megatron had given him.
So yes. Ratchet's concern was understandable. He only wished it didn't feel halfway like a punishment.
Optimus settled back in his berth, smile brightening when Laserbeak nudged her helm against his. Her company made this tolerable as well. For her sake, Optimus didn't push his recovery speed.
Soundwave appeared in the doorway just as Optimus considered pulling out one of the datapads he had yet to read.
“First Aid distressed,” he said by way of greeting as he came into the room. He made to sit on the stool, but Optimus reached for him instead.
He'd made this decision already. He didn't want to deny himself the comfort of another, or the intimacy. It might never turn sexual, but he couldn't deny he felt better when Soundwave was near. The mingling of their fields, the simple heat of another being, the absolute presence - all of this Optimus craved.
Soundwave paused, confused, and then offered a hand. Optimus took hold of his fingers and with a tug, guided Soundwave to sit on the berth beside him. Their fields knitted upon contact, and Optimus could read the indecision buried deep within Soundwave's field. He was uneasy about something, but given the way he leaned in to Optimus, it had to have been something more than their relationship.
“My repeated requests to be free of my confinement have gone unheeded,” Optimus said. “Aid is no longer the weak link, I'm afraid.”
Soundwave rumbled a laugh. He tangled their fingers together, the uncomplicated intimacy speaking a wealth of words.
“Recovery is important,” he said.
“Yes, I know.” Optimus sighed and lowered his hand, giving Soundwave his full attention. “Did you discover anything?”
“Work is not resting,” Soundwave informed him with a squeeze of Optimus' hand.
“I am still Prime, and I must admit, I am worried. All I know is what Wheeljack told me, that Ratchet was going to remain in Iacon for the foreseeable future.” Optimus’ spark fluttered within his chassis.
He had to admit a tad bit of anxiety had kept him awake longer than was healthy. Enough that his frame fought the sedatives which were still part of his daily healing routine. Ratchet's regime took no chances.
It was Soundwave's turn to cycle a ventilation. “Starscream infected with a virus,” he said, and his tone was concerned. “Suspected assassination attempt.”
Optimus' optics widened. “What?” He pushed back against the headboard, out of his comfortable slump. “Who did it?”
“Currently under investigation.” Soundwave cycled a ventilation, something in the pinch at the corner of his mouth suggesting fatigue. “No suspects yet.”
“Is anyone pointing toward us?” Optimus twisted to the right and groped under the berth, He’d secretly magnetized a datapad to the underside, and now seemed a good time to bring it out.
Ratchet didn't need to know he was doing work during his recovery. It wasn't anything stress-inducing, just paperwork.
“Not yet.”
Optimus powered on the datapad, immediately pulling up his official communication account. “The Decepticons do not have anyone capable of investigations. They will need assistance.”
Soundwave shifted his weight, jostling the berth. “Intend for me to offer aid?”
Optimus cycled his optics and looked up from the datapad. “Is that a problem?”
“Politically inadvisable.” Soundwave rested a hand on Optimus' knee, the warm weight of it soothing. “Medical aid already given. Offer of investigative assistance possibly perceived as suspicious.”
Optimus rubbed at his forehead. “I am sick of politics,” he said, his processor starting to ache. “I am tired of these games, of the maneuvers in the shadows. There are times, Soundwave, that I miss the war. It, at least, was simpler.”
He hadn't liked the political machinations when he first became Prime, and he certainly didn't like them now. He wanted peace, for himself, for his Autobots. He wanted his greatest concern to be whether or not to raise taxes or… or the best mix for paving the roads. He didn't want to continue worrying about assassins and appearances.
The berth shook as Soundwave shifted closer, his hip pressing to Optimus'. His fingers gently tugged Optimus' hand away from his forehelm, bringing them instead to Soundwave's lips. He pressed a kiss to the tips of them, the tiny action sending a frisson of heat down Optimus’ spinal strut.
“Peace is a process,” Soundwave said, his thumb rubbing over Optimus' palm as his field wrapped around Optimus, as soothing as an embrace. “Every step is one closer to the end goal. We need only handle Metalhawk until then.”
Optimus' managed a small smile. “Since when did we switch places? I thought I was meant to be optimistic and you were meant to remind me of reality?”
Soundwave chuckled. The sound of it was enough to warm Optimus' spark. He couldn't have imagined that one day he'd be sitting near enough to Soundwave to feel the thrum of his spark, or that he'd see the taciturn communications officer laugh of all things.
But here they were.
“Things change. People change.” Soundwave kissed Optimus' knuckles again, a delicate brush of his lips over each one. “Do not offer aid, but reassurance. Inform Grimlock of intent to cooperate. Send best wishes for speedy recovery.”
Optimus cycled a ventilation. “It sounds artificial.” Then again, he supposed that was the price one paid for playing politics. “If I can get off this berth, perhaps I can convince him for a private meeting, something without any eavesdroppers.”
“Agreed.” Soundwave squeezed his hand and lowered it. “Rest first.” His free hand patted his chestplate and the dock behind it. “Buzzsaw will investigate further tomorrow. Ratchet, too, will bring news.”
“Rest, huh?” Optimus gave Soundwave a pointed look, noting that his field was frazzled around the edges, his vents sounded as though they were sputtering, and his armor had a dull sheen. “And when was the last time you had a full night of recharge?”
“Irrelevant.”
Optimus squeezed Soundwave's fingers, tightening his grip before Soundwave could draw away, as Soundwave's posture gave every indication he intended to do so.
“I know that answer,” Optimus replied firmly. “It's the one I often gave Ratchet during the war, and was common right before I found myself attached to this berth for the foreseeable future.”
Soundwave has not been recharging properly, Laserbeak offered.
Optimus raised his orbital ridges. “And Laserbeak informs me you're not recharging.”
Soundwave's gaze shifted to the avian cassette, something accusing behind his expression. She shuffled nearer to Optimus. If she felt any guilt for ratting out her master, it didn't show.
“Energy levels adequate,” Soundwave said, a hint of testiness in his tone. “Capable of functioning on worse.”
“I am not talking about being functional, Soundwave,” Optimus said quietly. He projected worry into his field. “You needn't push yourself anymore. We have supplies, we have others who can handle the load.” He gave a small, self-deprecating laugh. “Besides, the Autobots can't have both of us collapsing. What a sorry state we'd be in if so, right?”
Soundwave frowned, cycling a huffed ventilation.
He worries, Laserbeak said as she ruffled her feathers. About us, but about you right now. He works so he doesn't worry. But still, not proper recharge.
Ah.
“Thank you, Laserbeak,” Optimus said aloud and redirected his attention back to Soundwave.
He had a thought, perhaps a ridiculous one, but it couldn't hurt to try. For what was a little platonic guarding between friends? Especially those who had made the tentative overtures toward a romantic partnership?
“If you would prefer,” Optimus began, choosing his words carefully, “I would not be opposed to you recharging here.”
Soundwave straightened, his helm tilted. “Medberths should be open for potential patients.”
“Yes, that is true,” Optimus admitted, and to his horror, he felt his faceplate heat. “But I am a large mech and as such, have been given a large medberth. One might even say one that is too large. For just one mech.”
Laserbeak sent laughter across the private comm. The emoticons accompanying the laugh were equally amused.
Soundwave cycled his visor. His field rippled with surprise. “You would be comfortable with this?”
“It is only sharing a berth.” Optimus tucked the datapad back under the berth - he would compose an official response to Grimlock in the morning. “Surely you've done something similar during the course of the war?”
Judging by the expression on Soundwave's face and in his field, he had not. Clearly, the idea of sharing what comfortable space you had managed to scrape together in the midst of battle, was unfamiliar to Soundwave.
Optimus, meanwhile, could recall dozens of occasions where he'd recharged either back to back with Ironhide, or curled in a corner with Jazz on top of him, or snuggled between Wheeljack and Ratchet, or with his arms wrapped around Prowl - the only way sometimes to convince the hard-working tactician to power down for a few hours.
Bittersweet memories those. Optimus' spark ached at them. How he'd had to coax Prowl away from his paperwork, the tactician so certain the key to winning the war was in some minute detail of a scout's report. He would resist it until the last moment, only to surrender to recharge and sleep as though offline, safe in Optimus' arms.
Ironhide was usually the one to convince Optimus to recharge, planting his aft on the desk in front of Optimus and refusing to move until Optimus agreed to find a berth. Ironhide would then follow him until he actually did so, often urging cube after cube of energon at Optimus until he finally took one.
Wheeljack had to work just as hard to coax Ratchet into berth, and sometimes, Ratchet felt the need to make another suffer. If he had to recharge, then so did Optimus. With Wheeljack at his heelstruts, he would barge into Optimus’ office and demand that he get some rest. They offered room on their berth, and back then, Optimus was weak to the offer of warmth and comfort.
Jazz’s methods had always been simpler. If an outright seduction did not work, he had a hurt puppy expression that rivaled Bluestreak’s for potency.
Optimus worked his intake, his spark spinning into a tiny ball. “Yes, Soundwave, I would be comfortable,” he said instead. “And if I become otherwise, I will let you know. For now, however, I would be more comfortable knowing you are getting the rest you need.”
Soundwave stared at him for a long moment, one that stretched into incredulity before he slowly nodded. “I would like to try,” he said at last. “Thank you for the invitation.”
“We're partners,” Optimus said, already shifting over on the berth. He sent a remote signal for the lights to dim - Ratchet would have a conniption if he knew First Aid had given him access to his room controls. “Thanks are not needed.”
Soundwave's field wavered before firming. “I am… unfamiliar with the rules.” He rose to his pedes and stared at the berth as though working out the geometrics of fitting his frame in beside Optimus'.
“Rules?” Optimus blinked. “Soundwave, there are no rules when it comes to something like this.” He paused, a thought occurring to him. “Have you ever had a lover?” As old as Soundwave was, as long as the war had been, it hadn't occurred to Optimus to ask.
Soundwave froze, one knee on the berth. “Clarify,” he said, his voice pained.
“I don't mean interfacing. I mean, a lover. A partner. A long-term relationship.” Optimus' spark throbbed, fearing he already knew the answer.
The sound of Soundwave's ventilations were oddly loud in the quiet of the room. “Negative,” he answered finally. His shoulders slumped. “Circumstances did not allow for… attachments.”
Well, that explained a lot actually. Optimus had been admiring Soundwave's caution, the way he consistently sought permission for a great many things. He assumed it was because Soundwave knew to be cautious given Optimus' treatment at Megatron's hand. While he was certain that was also true, he wondered now if it was also uncertainty. If Soundwave's caution was also due to the fact he didn't know what he was supposed to do.
Optimus was at a loss for words. He worked his intake and finally patted the berth beside him. “There's room for you here.”
“Optimus has had a lover before?”
“Not as Optimus, no.” Optimus offered him a sad smile. “Orion Pax had a lover. Once upon a time.”
That mech was long gone, another one of the casualties of Optimus Prime. There were many things left behind when he was given the Matrix - Orion Pax and whatever life he'd led before then was the first to be sacrificed.
Optimus held out a hand, hoping to encourage Soundwave to take it and join him on the berth. “So, in a way, I am going about this as blindly as you. I do know, however, there aren't any rules. Just communication and trust.”
“Trust,” Soundwave echoed and seemed to brace himself before he accepted Optimus' hand. “Something else unfamiliar.”
“Maybe we can change that then.” Optimus tugged on Soundwave's hand and finally, the former Decepticon climbed onto the berth.
Each motion was made gingerly, carefully. He stretched out next to Optimus, as stiff as a pole, until Optimus finally turned and pressed his back to Soundwave's front. He felt the rumble of the other mech's engine and the soft thrum of his spark. Soundwave's field had become comfortably familiar to him.
Optimus ex-vented softly. “Make yourself comfortable,” he said.
The berth shifted as Soundwave did until finally he carefully draped an arm over Optimus' side, his hand resting on Optimus' upper arm. Optimus lifted his helm, allowing Soundwave to slide an arm under it, giving him somewhere to rest his helm.
The lights dimmed further.
“Optimus comfortable?”
With the warmth of Soundwave's frame behind him, Optimus couldn't imagine being otherwise. It was easy to shutter his optics, to focus on Soundwave's ventilations, and the now familiar sense of Laserbeak in the room.
“I am.” He wriggled further back, until he was firmly pressed to Soundwave, to every available point of contact between them. “Thank you for indulging my request.”
Soundwave's thumb gently stroked his arm plating. “Seems more like I should be thanking you.”
Optimus chuckled. “Thank me by getting an appropriate amount of recharge.”
Soundwave made a noncommittal sound of agreement. The berth rattled for a second before Optimus felt the lightest of pressures to the crown of his helm.
“Recharge well,” Soundwave murmured.
Optimus slid his left hand up, tangling his fingers with Soundwave's. “You as well.”
Perhaps tonight, he wouldn't have any memory purges.
It was worth a try.
~
Jazz never thought he'd see the day when he'd be nodding off at his desk. Pit, he never thought he'd see the day where he spent the majority of it behind a desk. He was a spy! A saboteur! He was meant to be out causing terror in the sparks of all Decepticons.
He really needed to get Mirage out of that habsuite and into an office. All of these reports and numbers would be a good distraction and would get Jazz out of this Primus-bedamned chair.
He swore it was designed to be a torture device. Any longer and his aft would be glued to it.
Ha. Wouldn't Ultra Magnus like that? He could force Jazz to fill out paperwork all day. He'd be positively delighted to know Jazz had little choice but to get it finished on time.
Jazz's jaw cracked in a yawn, his Earth-disguise coding still active. He kinda liked it, after so many years having it installed. And now, it was kind of a way to honor the humans Megatron had killed.
So he let himself yawn. His optics dimmed behind his visor. His engine started that low-key knocking it did when he worked himself to exhaustion.
He didn't need Ratchet to start looking at him with narrowed optics. Ratchet already had one member of high command confined to berth. He was itching to grab another and tie them down. Blind medic couldn't see he needed to do the same to himself.
They all had their ways of coping.
Jazz yawned again and shoved himself away from the desk. That was it. The rest could wait for tomorrow. He was going to go right down to Bluestreak's hab and drag Mirage out if he had to. Sitting there cooped up in the dim and silence wasn't going to help. He could grieve just as well in front of a datapad as he could staring at a wall.
Besides, Jazz knew very well that Mirage would continue to sit there until someone propelled him into forward motion.
Tracks had always been so very good at that.
Jazz cycled a sigh and rubbed his forehelm. No. He didn't need to get morose tonight either. There was too much going on. With Metalhawk acting skeevy, and the Combaticons intake deep in Neutral territory, and Starscream dying and all the scientists scrambling to save him - when Jazz knew very well Metalhawk was to blame, he just needed some Prime-damned proof!
Frustration ate at him.
No. He needed to refuel and recharge. He'd feel better tomorrow. He'd be able to think straight without numbers and data running endlessly through his processor. Maybe he'd start the day with a nice long drive.
Jazz powered down his console and left his office, locking it behind him. It still felt odd to have an office. He'd had one on the Ark, but he'd never used it, and ended up turning it over to Silverbolt and Hotspot to share. The two of them got on like Thelma and Louise.
No. Don't think about them either. He had enough grief in his spark right now. He had to get through this crisis with Metalhawk and the Decepticons first.
He couldn't think about all the Autobots Megatron had massacred or he'd just get angry all over again. And right now, Jazz couldn't do a damn thing about that anger. He filed it away, buried it deep.
Autobot Command was still and quiet. That was a novelty, too. During war-time, there was always something happening no matter what time of the day or night it was. Now, they powered down most of the facility during the quote-unquote third shift, and there was only a skeleton crew on duty.
By that, Jazz meant a single member of Optimus' command - it was Springer tonight, he believed - and two supporting members of Autobot infantry. Springer had a couple Wreckers with him, if Jazz remembered correctly. Some bright young thing named Hot Rod and a fast-talking racer.
Cute kids. Honestly.
Jazz strode out of the command center. Unlike Optimus and Ultra Magnus, he preferred not to berth in their citadel. He'd found a relatively stable single-person apartment a short walk from the command center and made it his home. It was small, but it was hard to find and arguably more secure than the command quarters.
It gave him the privacy he sometimes needed. Tonight, Jazz figured, was a night for privacy. He had the option of snuggling with Mirage and Blue, but he didn't want comfort tonight. He wanted to collapse on a berth and let himself snore without bothering his berthmates.
It was dark. Sometime yesterday, Cybertron had passed out of the most distant reach of the sun in this galaxy. Now they hurtled somewhere, Primus only knew. Getting Cybertron into a stable orbit was on the science staff's ever growing to do list because the constant recalibration of the space bridge was tiresome.
For now, the courtyard and surrounding areas were lit with street lamps. They cast a pale glow in the gloom, barely aided by starlight. Times like these, Jazz missed Luna 1 and 2. He even missed Earth's Moon. The stars in this system were unfamiliar. It made Cybertron feel a lot less like home.
Jazz sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face. My but he was maudlin tonight. Was it because he passed through the shadow of the memorial obelisk? Maybe so.
His backstrut tingled.
Jazz froze as instinct reared its ugly head. He hadn't survived the war without listening to it. He buried his face in his hand as though buried in the burdens of his existence, and pumped his sensors to max. He heard nothing. He couldn't detect any movement. But his hackles were raised.
Someone was watching him. Someone was out there.
Jazz lifted his helm a little, sliding his hand from his visor to cover his mouth. He placed his hand on his hip, and turned forty-five degrees as though he intended to start pacing. He had the obelisk in his peripheral vision. He let his shoulders slump.
He looked as though he were grieving, Ruminating perhaps on all the sparks lost. His visor was dim, but working overtime, scanning the area.
No signs of heat. No signs of movement. No biolights in the dark. Whoever was out there was good. Trained. Trained like Mirage or Bumblebee or Barricade, but the last was firmly buried in Decepticon prison, the second was on Earth, and the first would not be stalking Jazz.
His backplate itched. There was no skylight, but he happened to be standing directly under a street light, with the echoes of the obelisk display on his plating. He was a very visible, very obvious target. If he bolted, whoever was out there would know Jazz had made him. He might lose his opportunity to catch the stalker.
He couldn't stand here forever.
Jazz shifted his weight. The obelisk would provide some cover. He shifted back toward it like someone who felt the need to mourn.
He never heard the shot, only felt the impact as it slammed into his chestplate and knocked him several meters back. He hit the ground, skidding, leaving paint streaks in his wake, as pain flooded his chassis. Error reports streaked across his HUD, the smell of charred metal and energon nauseating.
Wha…?
He couldn't move. He coughed energon from his vents. His vision went static. Jazz's right hand flopped weakly, landing on his chestplate, where he felt the ragged edge of a powerful blow. Through and through. Right next to his spark.
Frag. Frag it all.
Peace had made him soft, hadn't it?
Gray crept in around the edges of his vision. Numbness set in. It was a good shot, he thought with a energon-soaked chuckle. Off by a few micrometers, but that wouldn't matter.
Ratchet was in Iacon. No one knew Jazz was out here. It didn't matter that the assassin had missed his spark chamber.
He was going to bleed out long before someone found him.
More critical errors bled across his HUD. Jazz sent out a distress signal, pinging his team, Ultra Magnus, Springer, anyone who would respond. He wondered if his attacker had a signal dampener with him and if so, Jazz had no hope of surviving this.
His spark fluttered with anxiety. His visual feed fritzed from static to black. His awareness drew inward. He counted the pulses of his spark.
Darkness seeped in.
And then there was nothing.
***
a/n: Feedback, as always, is welcome and appreciated. This entry was originally posted at http://dracoqueen22.dreamwidth.org/349600.html. Feel free to comment wherever you find most convenient.