[Crown the Empire] Salvage - Chapter Eighteen
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 Eighteen
Optimus was true to his word.
There was a trial within days of Metalhawk's arrest. Gathered evidence was presented. Testimonies were given, the most damaging being those from Chromedome, Skids, and Acid Storm - on loan from his own residence in the Decepticon brig. He'd been extradited, apparently, the moment Metalhawk was arrested.
They had no presiding judge, but everything was recorded for the Galactic Council should anyone feel the need of a neutral party. Instead, they drew upon their experiences on Earth.
Metalhawk was judged by a jury of his peers, an even mix of Autobot, Decepticon, and Neutral. Perhaps he believed this would deadlock them. That because Neutrals were on the jury, there would be no unanimous consensus as required.
Metalhawk only offered the same defense: that his actions were for the good of Cybertron, a claim that fell false in the wake of Starscream’s and Jazz's injuries, and the thread of unease their attacks had left on their fellow factions.
Metalhawk miscalculated. He assumed his own crew would understand the need for desperate measures.
He underestimated how many of them were tired of running, of worrying, of wondering. How many of them were ready to start hoping. They were appalled to learn that the attacks weren't Autobot and Decepticons returning to the status quo, but orchestrated entirely by the mech they trusted.
The unanimous decision of 'guilty' was inevitable. There was no doubt Metalhawk had orchestrated an attempt to reignite the war in order to reserve Cybertron for the Neutrals alone. His motives were not on trial, only his actions. No one could argue he hadn't violated the terms of the treaty.
He was caught.
At least, Optimus observed, he took the decision and sentencing with dignity. He did not rant or rage. He accepted it with a cold glare and a jerk of his helm.
Sky-Byte attempted to speak on Metalhawk's behalf. He told of his time in the Decepticons, the atrocities he witnessed, the perversion of the cause. He spoke of how Metalhawk had offered him a position despite his former faction. How only in the Neutrals had he found peace.
But when asked whether he condoned Metalhawk's actions which could have led to another war, Sky-Bye refused to comment. His silence spoke for itself.
Imprisonment was not a solution, Optimus knew.
He'd lobbied for installing new leadership in the Neutrals, chosen by democratic vote by the members of Metalhawk's crew the same as Optimus had been chosen by the Autobots. He also insisted on a public apology and acknowledgment that the treaty was valid, it was working, and Cybertron was safe for any who wished to come home.
It was a good deal.
Nevertheless, Metalhawk ground his denta as he agreed to it. For freedom was preferable to a decade or more in prison. If he wished to prove that he had the best interests of his people and Cybertron at spark, Metalhawk would do this.
This being a speech in front of Autobot and Decepticon and Neutral alike. A crowd had gathered at the space bridge, the only territory fully shared by the three factions. Those that couldn't be present would be able to watch it as Rewind was recording and broadcasting simultaneously, a rather proud Chromedome sitting next to him.
Metalhawk was the picture of sullen nobility. He stared at the waiting microphone as though it were a sparkeater waiting to bite him. His plating clamped down against his frame. Loathing wrote into every line of his energy field.
He had no other choice, however, and he knew it.
It had to be done.
“My fellow Cybertronians,” Metalhawk began, his vocals easily carrying through the gathering area. “I have come here today to apologize for my actions. In my fear, in my distrust, I committed an egregious offense that threatened the sanctity of the truce, and the peace we have all so carefully built.”
He paused to fold his arms behind his back, his optics staring straight ahead, over the helms of the spectators.
The speech was not his own. Optimus had read what Metalhawk intended to say and while it did meet the parameters of the judgment, it lacked refinement. It lacked a personal touch, an admission of guilt, and a promise to adhere to the truce in the future. It also held a few subtle insults Optimus would not tolerate.
He revised it.
Metalhawk sneered at the new speech, but he would give it. Such was the terms of the agreement.
“In my fear, I orchestrated an attempt on Commander Starscream's life in hopes the blame would shift to the Autobots. I then arranged for an attack on Commander Jazz for the same effect.” Metalhawk shifted his weight. “It was my belief the Decepticons and Autobots would then leave Cybertron to the Neutrals. I believed only we were capable of true peace. I feared war would return, and we would be unprepared.”
He paused and cycled a ventilation, helm dipping in a calculated show of guilt. “I was wrong to do so. I violated not only the terms of the treaty, but the trust placed in me. I do not know how I can offer reparations for my actions, but I intend to try.”
Silence fell over the crowd. While most residents of Cybertron knew the circumstances of this speech today, there were some who did not. Some didn't know all the details.
“I would like to take this moment to put my full support behind the treaty,” Metalhawk continued, his vocals gaining strength. “I want every Cybertronian spread across the universe to know that it was signed in good faith, that the war is over, and that peace has been made. Come home to a planet that needs you as we work together to rebuild and unite. You have my word that we should not fear. This treaty is genuine. We have peace at last.”
Metalhawk's plating fluttered as though with unease. He lifted his helm, gaze meeting the crowd's once more.
“I ask for your forgiveness knowing I am not owed it. I ask that you continue to work hard together. I beg that you trust the treaty. And I thank you for your time.” He nodded to the crowd. “That is all.”
He stepped away from the microphone, leaving no room for anyone to ask questions, not Optimus expected they would do so.
“Was that done to your satisfaction, Prime?” Metalhawk asked, his tone so venomous he had to have been building it during the course of the speech.
“You should be asking that of the mechs you tried to offline,” Optimus said, his own voice equally cold. He felt he should be more merciful, more understanding.
But if not for Grimlock, if not for open lines of communication, they would have been inches from war. Optimus could have lost one of his oldest and dearest friends. Grimlock would have probably razed Nova Cronum if Starscream had perished, and Optimus would have been unable to stop him.
Metalhawk played a game with sparks on the line. He deserved to lose.
“They are the ones whose forgiveness you need seek,” Optimus finished.
Metalhawk scoffed a ventilation. “It will be a request made in vain and you know it. Besides, I would have to be genuinely apologetic, wouldn't I?”
“It is my hope that you will be, with time,” Optimus said with his own soft cycle of ventilation. He folded his arms behind his back. “Per the terms of the agreement, you are free to return to Nova Cronum.”
“And what a joy that will be.” Metalhawk's gaze skipped from Optimus to Ultra Magnus and Jazz before returning to Optimus. “Pray that the next time we speak is under better circumstances.”
Optimus had no time to offer a retort before Metalhawk stepped back, transformed, and headed for Nova Cronum in a flare of his thrusters.
It wasn't perfect. But Optimus hoped it was enough. At least with this, Metalhawk would be dampened. Or even, perhaps, tamed.
It was the best Optimus could wish for.
~
Of all the things Soundwave had to do in his entire functioning, this was one of the most difficult. He had known, way back when Ravage first accepted his courtship request, this day would come.
That did not make him any more prepared for it.
While everyone else was occupied with Metalhawk's speech, Soundwave and his cassettes had gone for the space bridge. With permission, of course. Ravage wished to return to Earth, and Soundwave was lucky Rumble had not decided to go with her.
Soundwave would be able to hold onto him for a little while longer.
Breaking the bond was a painless process. It was not the same as that which was borne of love between two conjunx, but it was a bit deeper than that of amica. Their telepathic connection was gone. The space where she had been within his spark was a yawing emptiness.
He missed her already, and it grew harder to hide that fact. Ravage was the eldest, the first cassette bond Soundwave had ever forged. She understood him best. Ravage was his rock when he had no other shore.
“You do realize this is not goodbye forever, yes?” Ravage asked, her tone entirely deadpan as Frenzy threw his arms around her in an exaggerated embrace that for once, she allowed without growling at him.
“But ya won't be here ta be bothered anymore,” Rumble said with a smirk. He was standing next to Bumblebee, an unexpected addition to this goodbye much as Eject was, and their hands were linked.
Soundwave knew it was only a matter of time before he said farewell to his chaotic twins as well. For wherever Rumble went, Frenzy followed.
“And thank Primus for that,” Ravage replied with a light chuckle. “You two stay out of trouble and make sure that he does, too.” Her gaze shifted to Soundwave as she spoke.
“Pffft. He's the last one we need ta worry about,” Rumble said with a roll of his optics.
“Then clearly, you haven't been paying attention.” Ravage's attention turned toward Laserbeak and Buzzsaw next.
The latter hopped up to her, pecked at the nearest audial, and then took to the sky, taking refuge on Soundwave's shoulder, next to his sonic cannon mount. He buried his face in Soundwave's neck without a word.
“Yes, I suppose I deserved that,” Ravage said softly.
Laserbeak, thankfully, was much more gentle in her grief. She reached up, pressing her beak to Ravage's jaw. Her feathers rustled. Soundwave detected the presence of a narrow-band comm, but whatever Laserbeak said was not his to know. He did not pry.
One by one, they said their goodbyes, and one by one, they left to offer Soundwave privacy, until it was only he and Ravage who remained. Until he had to look at her and tell himself, one more time, she would not change her mind. The bond had already broken.
His spark ached. He tried not to let it show.
Ravage stood and approached him, only to wind around and through his legs, their armor sliding together. It was something she'd picked up from the humans, an amusing behavior meant to confound the Autobots who thought her a pet. It had since become something of an inside joke between them.
His vents stuttered at the realization it would become little more than a memory eventually.
“I will be fine,” Ravage said and her tail flicked at his right calf plating. “As will you. As poetic as it sounds, we are both following our sparks.”
“Ravage will be missed.”
“Soundwave will be missed.” She hummed with amusement and completed one last circuit before coming to a rest in front of him.
Ravage sat on her haunches, and Soundwave dropped to one knee in front of her. He rested his arm across it, bracing himself.
“Thank you,” Ravage said. “You already know what for.”
“Answer indeed known.” Soundwave's field reached out, warmly entangling with hers. “Gratitude extended, also.”
“I know.” She tilted her head, expression softening. “Soundwave, be happy. You deserve it.”
His ventilations stuttered again, perhaps a matter that needed Ratchet's oversight. He dipped his helm and performed a systems check.
“Ravage will be missed,” Soundwave murmured again.
Because it was the honest truth, and he couldn't find the words otherwise. There was a catch in his intake, a wobble in his spark. He had gained much after Megatron’s fall, but this felt like his first true loss.
“I know.” Ravage bumped her head against his fingertips.
The ground shuddered as the space bridge roared to life, glowing Energon-blue behind her. They had run out of time.
Soundwave stood and watched her go, watched her walk into the space bridge, away from him and toward her happiness.
He wouldn't say it didn't hurt.
Ravage would be missed.
~
“Are you sure you want to do this? It is not required of you,” Ultra Magnus asked in as gentle a tone as he was capable, no doubt.
Chromedome nodded. “Yes, sir.” He looked past Ultra Magnus' massive shoulders to Rewind who sat on the counter behind him. Rewind offered two thumbs up, his visor flashing brightly. “I am.”
“Very well.” Ultra Magnus cycled his vocalizer and straightened, clasping his hands behind his back. “I, Commander Ultra Magnus, having witnessed your gentle spark and dedication, hereby welcome you to the Autobots.”
Ultra Magnus held out his right hand, a single Autobot badge nestled in the palm of it, looking bright and shiny new. It was still wrapped in plastic, the Nano-glue backing protected by a seal.
“May you bear this badge with honor and strive to represent all we fight to defend,” Ultra Magnus finished in a solemn tone.
Chromedome accepted the badge, surprised to find his fingers trembling. For the entire course of the war, he'd been a Neutral. He'd vowed he could not take a side in the slaughter. Lives saved were better than lives wasted. And in the end, he'd still been party to terrible deeds that his neutrality had not saved him from.
But peace?
Peace was a side he'd gladly claim. Especially with Rewind's friendly support.
“Thank you, sir,” Chromedome murmured as he closed his fingers around the badge, drawing it close. His thumb toyed with the backing. “For your acceptance and your trust.”
Ultra Magnus clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Your actions have aided us in so many ways. It is we who should thank you.”
Chromedome's visor brightened, his field flickering with delight. The warm weight of Ultra Magnus' hand felt like approval. It felt genuine.
He peeled the backing off the badge, and under Ultra Magnus and Rewind's gaze, Chromedome placed it in the middle of his chestplate. The subtle addition felt good, as though signaling he now belonged.
“It's a good look for you, Domey,” Rewind chirped as he all but wriggled on the tabletop.
“Indeed it is.” Ultra Magnus' lips curved in a reserved smile. “I look forward to working with you.”
Chromedome dipped his helm, feeling a heat building around the edges of his optical band. “Thank you, sir.”
Ultra Magnus' hand slipped away. He nodded to Rewind, and then excused himself from the room, the private suite that was now to be Chromedome's. They had opted to put him under the purview of the medics, which meant Ratchet was his direct superior, but Chromedome didn't mind. Ratchet was stern, but fair. As a result, his suite was one of many in the medical building. First Aid was a few doors down.
“So,” Rewind said as he hopped off the desk and approached Chromedome. One hand reached up and tapped the newly installed badge. “You're one of us now.”
“That I am.” Chromedome captured his hand, gently giving it a squeeze. “And it is thanks to your encouragement that I even considered doing so.”
Rewind's ventilations audible stuttered. “Oh, well. I didn't do much.” He rolled his shoulders in a shrug, but his fingers further tangled with Chromedome's. “You did all the hard work.”
“Nevertheless, it was your support that led to my agreement.” Chromedome knelt so that they were on even ground. “Thank you, Rewind.”
The mini's field blushed with emotion. “You're, um, you're welcome.” He fidgeted in place. “I'm glad you're sticking around, Domey.”
Chromedome, had he a mouth, would have been smiling from audial to audial right now. “As am I.” He couldn't have imagined he would be this happy.
He was glad the opportunity had come for him.
~
Optimus had been so absorbed in his datapad - a collection of ancient fairy tales - that he had lost track of the time. It wasn't until his fuel reminder pinged that he checked his chronometer and realized not only was it time for his nightly allotment of medical grade, but it was near his usual recharge time.
And he was alone.
That was the oddest detail.
While he and Soundwave had not shared a berth every evening since the first time - command duties and occasionally, cassette duties had made such implausible - it was never without informing the other beforehand. By now, they were usually sharing energon in a companionable silence, their fields intermingling to the point Optimus registered Soundwave as - friend, companion, partner - automatically.
Even more odd, Optimus was alone. There was no avian cassette perched over his shoulder, commentating on the florid prose of his novel. Or giving him limpid optics in exchange for the treats Optimus had taken to carrying with him at all times.
Optimus put away his datapad and rose to his pedes. He fetched his energon, consumed it quickly, and pinged Soundwave. Nothing.
That was a touch concerning.
He checked the schedule, but Ultra Magnus was on shift this evening. There was only one other place Soundwave would be, if something nefarious was not afoot. Given what happened to Starscream and Jazz, given Metalhawk's distaste for the outcome… one couldn't be too careful.
Optimus wouldn't allow himself to panic. It absolutely was not alarm that had him hurrying from his suite, scarcely remembering to lock it behind him. It did not take him several moments, in his haste, to remember which room was Soundwave's - so often did they simply share Optimus' or Soundwave sought Optimus out first.
He did not run or jog down the hall, but his pace might have been called hurried if someone were desperate for an adverb. He pinged Soundwave again, and received the equivalent of being sent straight to voicemail.
Optimus arrived at Soundwave's suite and only buzzed the panel once. He had restraint after all. He waited, his spark a little strained, for someone to answer.
He lifted his hand to buzz again, but the door opened before he could press. Soundwave stood in the frame, silhouetted by the lights behind him.
“Optimus,” he greeted and he sounded… odd. Not disappointed, a touch surprised, and definitely not himself.
“I hope I am not disturbing you,” Optimus said with a gentle smile. “I hadn't heard from you since this morning, and I was a bit concerned.”
Soundwave was uncharacteristically tense, his field noticeably withdrawn from Optimus. “Apologies,” he replied. “Full attention required to personal matter.” He paused and shifted his weight. “Cassette Ravage returned to Earth.”
“Oh, I see. Did Rumble remain?”
“Affirmative.” Soundwave's helm dipped a little, a tremor rippling across his armor. “Bond dissolved. I...” He trailed off into a blat of static, swaying a bit on his pedes.
Oh.
Now it all made sense.
Laserbeak had mentioned there was a possibility of Ravage leaving to be with Hound. Hound was apparently physically capable of sustaining the functional needs of a cassette, that he'd been modded long ago to support one, all for this very reason. Laserbeak had cautioned that, with the war over, it would be soon.
She had been vague as to how it would affect Soundwave. Now, Optimus could see why. He was quite clearly grieving, but to anyone who did not know him, Soundwave would only come across as blunt and unmoved.
“I apologize if solitude is what you prefer,” Optimus murmured, reaching out with his field to show his sincerity. “But if you would like company, I would offer you comfort.”
Soundwave bowed his helm. “Optimus welcome,” he said, and stepped aside, allowing Optimus to enter the suite. “Only, inability to entertain--”
Optimus held up a hand, cutting Soundwave off. “I'm not here so you can entertain me or be the wonderful support you've been. I'm offering to do the same for you.” He came into the room and turned to face Soundwave, spreading his hands. “Even if all you wish to do is talk.”
The door closed as Soundwave faced him. He looked, of all things, confused. “Company desired,” he said, again. “But I do not wish to burden you.”
Optimus shook his helm. “That's not what this is about.” He paused to cycle a ventilation and stepped closer, into Soundwave's space, into his field. “Soundwave, hasn't anyone ever offered to take care of you before?”
Judging by Soundwave's field, by his posture, Optimus would guess that it was something anathema to him. Perhaps because he had spent so long being a slave, and then he had his cassettes to look after, and his time in the Decepticons meant there was no one he could trust. Soundwave had only ever relied on himself and his cassettes.
“Carriers provide,” Soundwave said with a shake of his helm. “Strength. Calm. Confidence.”
Optimus rested a hand on Soundwave's dock. “I am not a cassette,” he said warmly and cupped Soundwave's helm with his other hand, pulling their forehelms together. “We are courting, which means I am to be your partner, your equal. I, Soundwave, am to care for you.”
Soundwave's field rippled. He leaned into Optimus' hold, his vents audibly cycling. He spoke nothing but static, but his field said it all: a grief, a need, and on the edge of it, relief.
Optimus dropped his hand from Soundwave's chest and grabbed one of Soundwave's. “Come. Sit with me. Have you energized today?”
“Affirmative.” Soundwave allowed Optimus to pull him toward one of the couches in the main room.
Soundwave had several, but only one of which was appropriately sized for a mech of Soundwave and Optimus' stature. The others were cassette sized and noticeably empty.
“Laserbeak made sure of it, I'll bet,” Optimus said as he sat down on the couch and pulled Soundwave beside him. “Where are they?”
Soundwave's free hand rested on his dock. “Recharge needed.”
“All of them? Even Rumble?”
Soundwave nodded rather than speak. His field reached for Optimus, though he sat stiffly on the couch, almost as though he didn't know what to do next.
“Then I am glad they are close.” Optimus shifted about on the couch until he found a comfortable position, and then pulled Soundwave nearer.
Soundwave went willingly, malleable to every manipulation of his frame. He tucked himself against Optimus, helm resting on Optimus' windshield, their legs tangled together, a show of need for once. His field tangled with Optimus', willingly reaching for the comfort Optimus offered.
He seemed to be holding himself together through sheer force of will, and it wasn't until they lay still, Optimus' arms around him, one hand gently stroking Soundwave's battle mask, that the poise flickered away. Soundwave's plating shivered. His arms tightened around Optimus' torso.
“Ravage… will be missed,” Soundwave said, static lacing every glyph.
“Yes.” Optimus' fingers traced gentle patterns over Soundwave's mask. “And though I cannot begin to understand how hard it must be for you, I know you are glad she will be happy. Still, it is not so easy to let go.”
Soundwave said nothing. The tremors in his armor grew more intense, his ventilations quickening. His face turned, burying into Optimus' windshield, leaving him to cup the back of Soundwave's helm instead.
Optimus understood.
Sometimes, words weren't needed, just quiet comfort. It was nice, he reflected, as he held Soundwave, nice to be someone's support. Nice to be a source of strength and comfort. Nice to feel strong again.
It was nice to be needed. Nicer still to be able to offer it and have that offer accepted.
Nice to be with Soundwave.
It was nice.
~
Vortex asked again.
Bluestreak could think of a thousand reasons to decline, and only one to accept, but that one was enough to agree before Vortex could fully get the words out of his mouth. Maybe it was the way his fingers twisted together where he thought Bluestreak couldn't see. Or the way his rotors juttered. Or the way his visor flickered.
It was entirely possible it was all an act.
But Bluestreak had always been a good judge of character. He knew things Vortex didn't. He knew that Bluestreak didn't need Jazz to protect himself. He would do just fine on his own.
He knew there was something Vortex wanted from him, and not even Vortex knew what it was. But Bluestreak knew. Because he could read a mech, in much the same way Interrogator Vortex could. Just like the times Jazz had come to him - moments of weakness, of confession - so, too, would Vortex.
It was only a matter of time.
“I swear, that is the last time we get interrupted,” Vortex said, his rotors drooping as though he feared Bluestreak would rant and rage about the previous two aborted attempts.
Bluestreak almost giggled, but managed to keep it to a small smile. “If we were at war, you wouldn't even need to apologize, so why now? It happens.”
Vortex's engine made a dull clanking sound. “I just don't want ya to think ya ain't a priority.”
“Why would I? We're just talking.” Bluestreak shrugged, his doorwings flicking back and forth. “You don't owe me anything.”
“Yeah, but….” Vortex trailed off and finally cycled a long ventilation. “I don't have any clue what I'm doin', and I know it.”
Bluestreak's smile widened. He patted Vortex on the arm. “I don't think any of us do, really. All we ever know anymore is war. It's kind of our default. Figuring out how to put that away, compartmentalize it… that's not easy.”
Vortex stared at him as if he'd grown a secondary helm. “Ya sound like a therapist or somethin'.”
“I'm not one,” Bluestreak assured him. Therapy was not what he'd call it. Therapy was good for mechs. Bluestreak's skills had only ever been a stopgap. “But I do know a little something about starting over.”
“Ya mean Praxus?”
After so many centuries, he didn't flinch anymore. But sometimes, it was a near thing. It was a good thing that Vortex's lack of tact could be considered charming in light of the fact he had probably never been in a real relationship before.
“Yes, I mean,” Bluestreak said, and figured, now was as good a time as any to clue Vortex in.
He stopped and turned toward Vortex, who suddenly drew up short, helm tilted in confusion. He was taller than Bluestreak by almost a full helm, yet he tended to slump his shoulders when they talked as though to make himself smaller. He was trying, and that in itself was charming.
Bluestreak lifted a hand and didn't fail to notice Vortex watched him with nothing short of wariness in the gleam of his visor. He also tracked the path of Bluestreak's hand with single-minded intensity.
Soldier, through and through.
The tremor that rippled through Vortex's frame would have been invisible to the naked optic, but Bluestreak felt it as he cupped Vortex's helm with one hand. His thumb lay gently across Vortex's jawguard. Had he a mouth, Bluestreak's thumb would be poised over his lips as though shushing him.
Their fields sizzled together, physical contact translating into field contact. He could read Vortex easily, in such a way that few were taught to do - intuition warring with training warring with instinct. A desperate desire to please fighting with the urge to do harm. A need to understand clashing with the desperation to dig in deep.
There was hope there, struggling against a raw sort of despair, and an awkwardness that was genuine.
Vortex had only ever been a soldier. He didn't know what it meant to be civilian. He would always be a soldier.
Bluestreak could live with that.
“I think,” he began with a stroke of his thumb, “that between you and me, we can figure it out. That is, if you want to.”
Vortex held himself as still as stone, as though afraid if he moved, he would break Bluestreak or shatter the moment. “I want ta,” he admitted, his rotors giving a little wiggle. “I don't even know why sometimes, but I want ta.”
“That's all right. We can figure that part out, too.” Bluestreak's lips curved in a genuine smile as Vortex's field flushed dizzying warm and confused. “And step one, I think, is to have an uninterrupted date. You can talk about you, and I can talk about me, and we can learn about each other. Sound good?”
Vortex's ventilations stuttered. He tilted forward, ever so fractionally, into Bluestreak's touch. “Yeah,” he said. “Sounds real good.”
“I think so, too.” Bluestreak rose to the tips of his pedes and pressed a kiss to Vortex's mouthguard, right over the central ridge.
Vortex's cooling fans rattled to life. “What, uh, what was that for?”
“Because I wanted to.” Bluestreak shrugged and dropped his hand from Vortex's helm, but only so he could grab the rotary's hand and tangle their fingers together. “And because you earned it. And because it's the kind of thing mechs who're dating do. Ready to go?”
Vortex worked his intake and nodded. “Yeah.” His fingers squeezed Bluestreak's. “Let's go on a date. An uninterrupted one. Like ya said.”
Bluestreak beamed at him.
He'd already figured out what Vortex wanted from him, and now, finally, Bluestreak was starting to figure out what he wanted in return.
Time to go see what they were made of.
~
“Chromedome's getting his badge today,” First Aid commented conversationally. He kept his focus on his datapad, however.
“I am glad that he decided to join the Autobots. He was not happy working with Metalhawk, though he would never admit why,” Ambulon replied. His stylus scritched across the board noisily.
First Aid peered over the top of his datapad, watching Ambulon as he worked on a complicated equation, something to do with sparks. First Aid would learn eventually, he claimed.
First Aid cycled a ventilation. “Were… you considering it, too?” he asked. Or, he hoped rather.
Ambulon stilled, hand lowering from the longboard. “Oh.”
That was not a good 'oh.'
First Aid's spark thumped in his chassis and he jerked his gaze back to the datapad. “I was just curious,” he said, with what he hoped was nonchalant enough to sound dismissive. “I mean, Chromedome defected. Tailgate defected, though he went to the Decepticons. Skids might come here depending on the way the vote goes….”
Ambulon put down the stylus and turned to face First Aid, his expression unreadable. He crossed the floor in two quick strides and rested his hands on First Aid's shoulder, encouraging First Aid to look up at him.
“I adore our friendship, First Aid,” he said, his tone the softest First Aid had ever heard. “It is one of the greatest treasures I have found since losing my gestalt.”
Aid tightened his grip on his datapad. “I am sensing a 'but'.”
“But I am not going to be an Autobot,” Ambulon said with a small smile. An apologetic one.
First Aid's shoulders slumped beneath Ambulon's hands “Oh.”
Ambulon's field reached for his, as warm as an embrace. “I will come to Polyhex anytime you have need of me, and I will visit often, but I must remain in Nova Cronum.”
“Because you want to or because you have to?”
“The Neutrals will still need a local medic,” Ambulon said, and he had a point. “However much I am in disappointed in Metalhawk's leadership, I cannot abandon those mecha to begging for medical attention and preventative care. You understand?”
First Aid nodded. “Yes, of course I do.” He cycled a ventilation. “You're right. The Neutrals need you, and they are lucky to have you.”
It still hurt. He'd begun to hope Ambulon would choose to stay because Ambulon, at least, understood. Ratchet and Wheeljack were amazing supports. First Aid would have lingered forever in his grief without them. But only Ambulon understood the pain of a shattered bond, the ache of longing that never faded.
“And at least with Metalhawk out of power, some of the restrictions regarding travel between the two factions should be eased,” First Aid added with what he hoped was a brightness in his field and visor. He didn’t want Ambulon to feel guilty. “I could even come visit you, given that you are understaffed.”
“That would certainly help.” Ambulon squeezed his shoulders again and then let him go. “Now let's see if I can solve this impossible batch of spark mechanics to help your friends.”
First Aid nodded. “Yes, let's.” He watched Ambulon get back to work, peering at the board as though it were written in another language.
He supposed this was good, too. And at the very least, it was good for now.
First Aid’s spark fluttered as he bent back over his datapad. Time to get back to work.
~
In a history of bad ideas, choosing to recharge on the couch ranked up there. Optimus should have been used to recharging under any kind of situation given the war and falling wherever one could sometimes. But he'd let himself get addicted to comfort these past few months and that weakness had slayed him.
He onlined the following cycle with a crick in his neck, an ache in his back, but most delightfully, the weight of Soundwave warm against his front. It was almost enough to make up for the other aches, pains, and kinked cables.
Optimus onlined his optics and looked down at his couch-mate. Soundwave had fallen into an exhausted recharge late last night and Optimus hadn't wanted to disturb him. He'd thought one evening on the couch couldn't hurt.
He'd been wrong.
A soft smile tugged at Optimus' lips as he stroked the back of one finger against Soundwave's mouthguard. He heard Soundwave begin to stir, ventilations growing louder, the background hum of a living mech growing more pronounced.
“Good morning,” Optimus murmured.
Soundwave's visor flickered on, a dim glow at first before it brightened. He tilted his helm upward, finding Optimus' optics. A blat of static emerged before he audibly rebooted his vocalizer and tried again.
“Apologies,” Soundwave said as he shifted his legs and attempted to push himself upright. They were so thoroughly tangled that it took some finagling. “Optimus in discomfort?”
“Nothing a stretch or two won't solve,” Optimus assured him. He stroked Soundwave's mask again. “Are you feeling better settled?”
Soundwave nodded. “Affirmative. Gratitude extended.”
“None needed.”
“Offered still.” Soundwave looked around, as though confused to find them on the couch. “Apologies again. Couch unsuited to recharge.” Something in his frame creaked as though giving truth to his words.
“How very true. You could always make it up to me with a kiss?” Optimus suggested with what he hoped was an air of innocence, and not an unexpected playfulness.
Soundwave stared at him, visor slowly brightening, before he leaned closer. “If Optimus wishes,” he murmured as his mouthguard slid aside. “Apology given.”
His ex-vents whispered warm against Optimus' frame. His lips brushed against Optimus', barely counting as a kiss, but the warm weight of him was surprisingly welcome.
“Apology accepted,” Optimus replied, and slid his arms around Soundwave's chassis, tugging him down and closer, so that their lips could meet in a deeper kiss.
Soundwave's engine purred. He shifted his weight, bracing his upper half deep in the couch cushions, their legs once again tangling. His lips moved against Optimus', slow at first, but then deeper. His glossa swept over Optimus' lips, and Optimus opened his mouth to Soundwave.
His spark stuttered in his chamber. Optimus felt he should be alarmed, but all he could feel was content, curiosity, delight. He shifted beneath Soundwave, and shivered as their armor rubbed together. Soundwave was slightly heavier, and his frame bore Optimus into the cradle of the couch cushions. One arm wedged beneath Optimus' frame, and fingers traced a curious pattern up and down Optimus' backstrut.
Pleasure filtered through in the wake of it. Optimus' optics shuttered as he gave himself over to it. He melted into the embrace, into the slow but steady progression of Soundwave's mouth against his. Glossa tangling and retreating, sliding together, wet and smooth.
Soundwave's engine purred, vibrating their frames, until Optimus' joined in, a slightly stronger rumble. The air between them grew hot as Optimus shifted again, his leg rubbing against Soundwave's, tingles spreading southward, toward his panel. He nipped at Soundwave's lips and deepened the kiss, a low noise rising in his intake. His hands clenched on Soundwave's back, kneading the firm armor, keeping them pressed together.
Heat filtered through his lines. Optimus' ventilations stuttered. Soundwave's denta gently scraped his lips, his glossa smoothing over the rough edges. His lips pressed against Optimus' again and again, shared vents passing between them, his field drizzling over Optimus' with a shimmer of want.
Optimus purred into the kiss, and found himself rocking up, his panel growing heated. He loved the slide of their armor together, and the soft sounds it made. He greatly enjoyed the subtle vibrations, especially when they pooled in his groin and teased at his array.
He thought of all the times he'd asked Soundwave to stop, or Soundwave ceased on his own, and wondered if perhaps this time, Optimus wanted to continue.
Suddenly, Soundwave stopped and drew back, pressing his forehelm to Optimus'. “Apologies,” he said.
“Wasn't that what the kiss was for?” Optimus asked, amused.
A low chuckle echoed in Soundwave's chassis. “That and activities must cease.”
“Do you need to visit the washracks?” He was privately tickled and relieved by how willing Soundwave was to see to his comfort.
Soundwave drew back a little further, until they no longer shared the same ventilating space. “Affirmative, but also...” One hand rose and patted his dock. “Cassettes objected.”
Optimus stared, his hands going absolutely still where they had slid to Soundwave's hips. Heat gathered in his faceplate.
He had forgotten all of Soundwave's cassettes were docked last night.
Optimus opened his mouth to speak, but honestly, no words came to mind. Was this what mortification felt like? A heat in his faceplate, static rising in his antennae, and a squirming in his tanks?
“I...” Optimus rebooted his vocalizer. “I suppose they wish to be deployed.”
“Wish also to cease witnessing,” Soundwave said, and he distinctly sounded amused. “Laserbeak, however, willing to continue.”
Optimus, despite himself, chuckled. “She would.” He dug his elbows into the couch and pulled himself back, nearly dislodging a cushion in the process. “That was my fault. I had forgotten, and in the heat of the moment--”
Soundwave's finger rested over his lips. Optimus cycled his optics in surprise, looking up at the carrier mech. Soundwave leaned forward, his finger falling as he stole Optimus' lips for another heated kiss that made Optimus' lines thrum with desire.
“Cassettes will recover,” Soundwave murmured, and then drew back. He pulled himself off the couch, mouth guard sliding back into place.
“They might, but I am not certain I will,” Optimus retorted, but it was spoken subvocally, not meant for Soundwave to hear.
But of course, communications specialist and special operations manager, Soundwave did anyway. He chuckled and offered a hand, helping Optimus off the couch. Optimus looked around for a mantle of dignity, but there was none to be found.
“Are you feeling better?”
“Dissolved bond difficult,” Soundwave admitted as he pulled Optimus into an embrace that was more than welcome. “Better with time. Optimus' comfort appreciated.”
Optimus curled his arms around Soundwave and pressed their forehelms together. “Anytime.” He pressed a kiss to Soundwave's mouthguard before drawing back. “Now why don't you free those minions of yours before you abscond to the washracks while I go find us some energon?”
Soundwave laughed, but turned to obey, his field flush with amusement and affection.
Optimus smiled, too, and excused himself to find energon as Soundwave deployed his cassettes, who emerged in a raucous handful of noise. Buzzsaw chittered. Frenzy chattered. Rumble laughed. Laserbeak chirped. If Soundwave said anything to them, Optimus couldn't hear it over the noise they made.
It was adorable.
Optimus' smile deepened. A flutter ran through his spark, and he realized, all at once, that he was happy. He was content.
He had a partner who offered unwavering support. The treaty held strong, despite machinations otherwise, and there was no sign Cybertron intended to return to war. His own friends were on the mend, and if this morning was any indication, Optimus' own ills were gradually fixing themselves.
He never could have guessed that in the wake of the Autobot defeat and all he suffered at Megatron's hands, he could feel this way again. Optimus thought he'd forgotten what it meant to be happy.
He was glad to see he was mistaken. That he could salvage not only Cybertron and his Autobots, but himself as well.
Joy bubbled in his spark at the revelation. Optimus hid himself in the energon storage alcove because the smile on his face had to be ridiculous.
He was going to be all right, he realized.
He was going to be just fine.
****
a/n: Only the epilogue is left to go.
Thanks for reading. This entry was originally posted at http://dracoqueen22.dreamwidth.org/355582.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 Eighteen
Optimus was true to his word.
There was a trial within days of Metalhawk's arrest. Gathered evidence was presented. Testimonies were given, the most damaging being those from Chromedome, Skids, and Acid Storm - on loan from his own residence in the Decepticon brig. He'd been extradited, apparently, the moment Metalhawk was arrested.
They had no presiding judge, but everything was recorded for the Galactic Council should anyone feel the need of a neutral party. Instead, they drew upon their experiences on Earth.
Metalhawk was judged by a jury of his peers, an even mix of Autobot, Decepticon, and Neutral. Perhaps he believed this would deadlock them. That because Neutrals were on the jury, there would be no unanimous consensus as required.
Metalhawk only offered the same defense: that his actions were for the good of Cybertron, a claim that fell false in the wake of Starscream’s and Jazz's injuries, and the thread of unease their attacks had left on their fellow factions.
Metalhawk miscalculated. He assumed his own crew would understand the need for desperate measures.
He underestimated how many of them were tired of running, of worrying, of wondering. How many of them were ready to start hoping. They were appalled to learn that the attacks weren't Autobot and Decepticons returning to the status quo, but orchestrated entirely by the mech they trusted.
The unanimous decision of 'guilty' was inevitable. There was no doubt Metalhawk had orchestrated an attempt to reignite the war in order to reserve Cybertron for the Neutrals alone. His motives were not on trial, only his actions. No one could argue he hadn't violated the terms of the treaty.
He was caught.
At least, Optimus observed, he took the decision and sentencing with dignity. He did not rant or rage. He accepted it with a cold glare and a jerk of his helm.
Sky-Byte attempted to speak on Metalhawk's behalf. He told of his time in the Decepticons, the atrocities he witnessed, the perversion of the cause. He spoke of how Metalhawk had offered him a position despite his former faction. How only in the Neutrals had he found peace.
But when asked whether he condoned Metalhawk's actions which could have led to another war, Sky-Bye refused to comment. His silence spoke for itself.
Imprisonment was not a solution, Optimus knew.
He'd lobbied for installing new leadership in the Neutrals, chosen by democratic vote by the members of Metalhawk's crew the same as Optimus had been chosen by the Autobots. He also insisted on a public apology and acknowledgment that the treaty was valid, it was working, and Cybertron was safe for any who wished to come home.
It was a good deal.
Nevertheless, Metalhawk ground his denta as he agreed to it. For freedom was preferable to a decade or more in prison. If he wished to prove that he had the best interests of his people and Cybertron at spark, Metalhawk would do this.
This being a speech in front of Autobot and Decepticon and Neutral alike. A crowd had gathered at the space bridge, the only territory fully shared by the three factions. Those that couldn't be present would be able to watch it as Rewind was recording and broadcasting simultaneously, a rather proud Chromedome sitting next to him.
Metalhawk was the picture of sullen nobility. He stared at the waiting microphone as though it were a sparkeater waiting to bite him. His plating clamped down against his frame. Loathing wrote into every line of his energy field.
He had no other choice, however, and he knew it.
It had to be done.
“My fellow Cybertronians,” Metalhawk began, his vocals easily carrying through the gathering area. “I have come here today to apologize for my actions. In my fear, in my distrust, I committed an egregious offense that threatened the sanctity of the truce, and the peace we have all so carefully built.”
He paused to fold his arms behind his back, his optics staring straight ahead, over the helms of the spectators.
The speech was not his own. Optimus had read what Metalhawk intended to say and while it did meet the parameters of the judgment, it lacked refinement. It lacked a personal touch, an admission of guilt, and a promise to adhere to the truce in the future. It also held a few subtle insults Optimus would not tolerate.
He revised it.
Metalhawk sneered at the new speech, but he would give it. Such was the terms of the agreement.
“In my fear, I orchestrated an attempt on Commander Starscream's life in hopes the blame would shift to the Autobots. I then arranged for an attack on Commander Jazz for the same effect.” Metalhawk shifted his weight. “It was my belief the Decepticons and Autobots would then leave Cybertron to the Neutrals. I believed only we were capable of true peace. I feared war would return, and we would be unprepared.”
He paused and cycled a ventilation, helm dipping in a calculated show of guilt. “I was wrong to do so. I violated not only the terms of the treaty, but the trust placed in me. I do not know how I can offer reparations for my actions, but I intend to try.”
Silence fell over the crowd. While most residents of Cybertron knew the circumstances of this speech today, there were some who did not. Some didn't know all the details.
“I would like to take this moment to put my full support behind the treaty,” Metalhawk continued, his vocals gaining strength. “I want every Cybertronian spread across the universe to know that it was signed in good faith, that the war is over, and that peace has been made. Come home to a planet that needs you as we work together to rebuild and unite. You have my word that we should not fear. This treaty is genuine. We have peace at last.”
Metalhawk's plating fluttered as though with unease. He lifted his helm, gaze meeting the crowd's once more.
“I ask for your forgiveness knowing I am not owed it. I ask that you continue to work hard together. I beg that you trust the treaty. And I thank you for your time.” He nodded to the crowd. “That is all.”
He stepped away from the microphone, leaving no room for anyone to ask questions, not Optimus expected they would do so.
“Was that done to your satisfaction, Prime?” Metalhawk asked, his tone so venomous he had to have been building it during the course of the speech.
“You should be asking that of the mechs you tried to offline,” Optimus said, his own voice equally cold. He felt he should be more merciful, more understanding.
But if not for Grimlock, if not for open lines of communication, they would have been inches from war. Optimus could have lost one of his oldest and dearest friends. Grimlock would have probably razed Nova Cronum if Starscream had perished, and Optimus would have been unable to stop him.
Metalhawk played a game with sparks on the line. He deserved to lose.
“They are the ones whose forgiveness you need seek,” Optimus finished.
Metalhawk scoffed a ventilation. “It will be a request made in vain and you know it. Besides, I would have to be genuinely apologetic, wouldn't I?”
“It is my hope that you will be, with time,” Optimus said with his own soft cycle of ventilation. He folded his arms behind his back. “Per the terms of the agreement, you are free to return to Nova Cronum.”
“And what a joy that will be.” Metalhawk's gaze skipped from Optimus to Ultra Magnus and Jazz before returning to Optimus. “Pray that the next time we speak is under better circumstances.”
Optimus had no time to offer a retort before Metalhawk stepped back, transformed, and headed for Nova Cronum in a flare of his thrusters.
It wasn't perfect. But Optimus hoped it was enough. At least with this, Metalhawk would be dampened. Or even, perhaps, tamed.
It was the best Optimus could wish for.
~
Of all the things Soundwave had to do in his entire functioning, this was one of the most difficult. He had known, way back when Ravage first accepted his courtship request, this day would come.
That did not make him any more prepared for it.
While everyone else was occupied with Metalhawk's speech, Soundwave and his cassettes had gone for the space bridge. With permission, of course. Ravage wished to return to Earth, and Soundwave was lucky Rumble had not decided to go with her.
Soundwave would be able to hold onto him for a little while longer.
Breaking the bond was a painless process. It was not the same as that which was borne of love between two conjunx, but it was a bit deeper than that of amica. Their telepathic connection was gone. The space where she had been within his spark was a yawing emptiness.
He missed her already, and it grew harder to hide that fact. Ravage was the eldest, the first cassette bond Soundwave had ever forged. She understood him best. Ravage was his rock when he had no other shore.
“You do realize this is not goodbye forever, yes?” Ravage asked, her tone entirely deadpan as Frenzy threw his arms around her in an exaggerated embrace that for once, she allowed without growling at him.
“But ya won't be here ta be bothered anymore,” Rumble said with a smirk. He was standing next to Bumblebee, an unexpected addition to this goodbye much as Eject was, and their hands were linked.
Soundwave knew it was only a matter of time before he said farewell to his chaotic twins as well. For wherever Rumble went, Frenzy followed.
“And thank Primus for that,” Ravage replied with a light chuckle. “You two stay out of trouble and make sure that he does, too.” Her gaze shifted to Soundwave as she spoke.
“Pffft. He's the last one we need ta worry about,” Rumble said with a roll of his optics.
“Then clearly, you haven't been paying attention.” Ravage's attention turned toward Laserbeak and Buzzsaw next.
The latter hopped up to her, pecked at the nearest audial, and then took to the sky, taking refuge on Soundwave's shoulder, next to his sonic cannon mount. He buried his face in Soundwave's neck without a word.
“Yes, I suppose I deserved that,” Ravage said softly.
Laserbeak, thankfully, was much more gentle in her grief. She reached up, pressing her beak to Ravage's jaw. Her feathers rustled. Soundwave detected the presence of a narrow-band comm, but whatever Laserbeak said was not his to know. He did not pry.
One by one, they said their goodbyes, and one by one, they left to offer Soundwave privacy, until it was only he and Ravage who remained. Until he had to look at her and tell himself, one more time, she would not change her mind. The bond had already broken.
His spark ached. He tried not to let it show.
Ravage stood and approached him, only to wind around and through his legs, their armor sliding together. It was something she'd picked up from the humans, an amusing behavior meant to confound the Autobots who thought her a pet. It had since become something of an inside joke between them.
His vents stuttered at the realization it would become little more than a memory eventually.
“I will be fine,” Ravage said and her tail flicked at his right calf plating. “As will you. As poetic as it sounds, we are both following our sparks.”
“Ravage will be missed.”
“Soundwave will be missed.” She hummed with amusement and completed one last circuit before coming to a rest in front of him.
Ravage sat on her haunches, and Soundwave dropped to one knee in front of her. He rested his arm across it, bracing himself.
“Thank you,” Ravage said. “You already know what for.”
“Answer indeed known.” Soundwave's field reached out, warmly entangling with hers. “Gratitude extended, also.”
“I know.” She tilted her head, expression softening. “Soundwave, be happy. You deserve it.”
His ventilations stuttered again, perhaps a matter that needed Ratchet's oversight. He dipped his helm and performed a systems check.
“Ravage will be missed,” Soundwave murmured again.
Because it was the honest truth, and he couldn't find the words otherwise. There was a catch in his intake, a wobble in his spark. He had gained much after Megatron’s fall, but this felt like his first true loss.
“I know.” Ravage bumped her head against his fingertips.
The ground shuddered as the space bridge roared to life, glowing Energon-blue behind her. They had run out of time.
Soundwave stood and watched her go, watched her walk into the space bridge, away from him and toward her happiness.
He wouldn't say it didn't hurt.
Ravage would be missed.
~
“Are you sure you want to do this? It is not required of you,” Ultra Magnus asked in as gentle a tone as he was capable, no doubt.
Chromedome nodded. “Yes, sir.” He looked past Ultra Magnus' massive shoulders to Rewind who sat on the counter behind him. Rewind offered two thumbs up, his visor flashing brightly. “I am.”
“Very well.” Ultra Magnus cycled his vocalizer and straightened, clasping his hands behind his back. “I, Commander Ultra Magnus, having witnessed your gentle spark and dedication, hereby welcome you to the Autobots.”
Ultra Magnus held out his right hand, a single Autobot badge nestled in the palm of it, looking bright and shiny new. It was still wrapped in plastic, the Nano-glue backing protected by a seal.
“May you bear this badge with honor and strive to represent all we fight to defend,” Ultra Magnus finished in a solemn tone.
Chromedome accepted the badge, surprised to find his fingers trembling. For the entire course of the war, he'd been a Neutral. He'd vowed he could not take a side in the slaughter. Lives saved were better than lives wasted. And in the end, he'd still been party to terrible deeds that his neutrality had not saved him from.
But peace?
Peace was a side he'd gladly claim. Especially with Rewind's friendly support.
“Thank you, sir,” Chromedome murmured as he closed his fingers around the badge, drawing it close. His thumb toyed with the backing. “For your acceptance and your trust.”
Ultra Magnus clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Your actions have aided us in so many ways. It is we who should thank you.”
Chromedome's visor brightened, his field flickering with delight. The warm weight of Ultra Magnus' hand felt like approval. It felt genuine.
He peeled the backing off the badge, and under Ultra Magnus and Rewind's gaze, Chromedome placed it in the middle of his chestplate. The subtle addition felt good, as though signaling he now belonged.
“It's a good look for you, Domey,” Rewind chirped as he all but wriggled on the tabletop.
“Indeed it is.” Ultra Magnus' lips curved in a reserved smile. “I look forward to working with you.”
Chromedome dipped his helm, feeling a heat building around the edges of his optical band. “Thank you, sir.”
Ultra Magnus' hand slipped away. He nodded to Rewind, and then excused himself from the room, the private suite that was now to be Chromedome's. They had opted to put him under the purview of the medics, which meant Ratchet was his direct superior, but Chromedome didn't mind. Ratchet was stern, but fair. As a result, his suite was one of many in the medical building. First Aid was a few doors down.
“So,” Rewind said as he hopped off the desk and approached Chromedome. One hand reached up and tapped the newly installed badge. “You're one of us now.”
“That I am.” Chromedome captured his hand, gently giving it a squeeze. “And it is thanks to your encouragement that I even considered doing so.”
Rewind's ventilations audible stuttered. “Oh, well. I didn't do much.” He rolled his shoulders in a shrug, but his fingers further tangled with Chromedome's. “You did all the hard work.”
“Nevertheless, it was your support that led to my agreement.” Chromedome knelt so that they were on even ground. “Thank you, Rewind.”
The mini's field blushed with emotion. “You're, um, you're welcome.” He fidgeted in place. “I'm glad you're sticking around, Domey.”
Chromedome, had he a mouth, would have been smiling from audial to audial right now. “As am I.” He couldn't have imagined he would be this happy.
He was glad the opportunity had come for him.
~
Optimus had been so absorbed in his datapad - a collection of ancient fairy tales - that he had lost track of the time. It wasn't until his fuel reminder pinged that he checked his chronometer and realized not only was it time for his nightly allotment of medical grade, but it was near his usual recharge time.
And he was alone.
That was the oddest detail.
While he and Soundwave had not shared a berth every evening since the first time - command duties and occasionally, cassette duties had made such implausible - it was never without informing the other beforehand. By now, they were usually sharing energon in a companionable silence, their fields intermingling to the point Optimus registered Soundwave as - friend, companion, partner - automatically.
Even more odd, Optimus was alone. There was no avian cassette perched over his shoulder, commentating on the florid prose of his novel. Or giving him limpid optics in exchange for the treats Optimus had taken to carrying with him at all times.
Optimus put away his datapad and rose to his pedes. He fetched his energon, consumed it quickly, and pinged Soundwave. Nothing.
That was a touch concerning.
He checked the schedule, but Ultra Magnus was on shift this evening. There was only one other place Soundwave would be, if something nefarious was not afoot. Given what happened to Starscream and Jazz, given Metalhawk's distaste for the outcome… one couldn't be too careful.
Optimus wouldn't allow himself to panic. It absolutely was not alarm that had him hurrying from his suite, scarcely remembering to lock it behind him. It did not take him several moments, in his haste, to remember which room was Soundwave's - so often did they simply share Optimus' or Soundwave sought Optimus out first.
He did not run or jog down the hall, but his pace might have been called hurried if someone were desperate for an adverb. He pinged Soundwave again, and received the equivalent of being sent straight to voicemail.
Optimus arrived at Soundwave's suite and only buzzed the panel once. He had restraint after all. He waited, his spark a little strained, for someone to answer.
He lifted his hand to buzz again, but the door opened before he could press. Soundwave stood in the frame, silhouetted by the lights behind him.
“Optimus,” he greeted and he sounded… odd. Not disappointed, a touch surprised, and definitely not himself.
“I hope I am not disturbing you,” Optimus said with a gentle smile. “I hadn't heard from you since this morning, and I was a bit concerned.”
Soundwave was uncharacteristically tense, his field noticeably withdrawn from Optimus. “Apologies,” he replied. “Full attention required to personal matter.” He paused and shifted his weight. “Cassette Ravage returned to Earth.”
“Oh, I see. Did Rumble remain?”
“Affirmative.” Soundwave's helm dipped a little, a tremor rippling across his armor. “Bond dissolved. I...” He trailed off into a blat of static, swaying a bit on his pedes.
Oh.
Now it all made sense.
Laserbeak had mentioned there was a possibility of Ravage leaving to be with Hound. Hound was apparently physically capable of sustaining the functional needs of a cassette, that he'd been modded long ago to support one, all for this very reason. Laserbeak had cautioned that, with the war over, it would be soon.
She had been vague as to how it would affect Soundwave. Now, Optimus could see why. He was quite clearly grieving, but to anyone who did not know him, Soundwave would only come across as blunt and unmoved.
“I apologize if solitude is what you prefer,” Optimus murmured, reaching out with his field to show his sincerity. “But if you would like company, I would offer you comfort.”
Soundwave bowed his helm. “Optimus welcome,” he said, and stepped aside, allowing Optimus to enter the suite. “Only, inability to entertain--”
Optimus held up a hand, cutting Soundwave off. “I'm not here so you can entertain me or be the wonderful support you've been. I'm offering to do the same for you.” He came into the room and turned to face Soundwave, spreading his hands. “Even if all you wish to do is talk.”
The door closed as Soundwave faced him. He looked, of all things, confused. “Company desired,” he said, again. “But I do not wish to burden you.”
Optimus shook his helm. “That's not what this is about.” He paused to cycle a ventilation and stepped closer, into Soundwave's space, into his field. “Soundwave, hasn't anyone ever offered to take care of you before?”
Judging by Soundwave's field, by his posture, Optimus would guess that it was something anathema to him. Perhaps because he had spent so long being a slave, and then he had his cassettes to look after, and his time in the Decepticons meant there was no one he could trust. Soundwave had only ever relied on himself and his cassettes.
“Carriers provide,” Soundwave said with a shake of his helm. “Strength. Calm. Confidence.”
Optimus rested a hand on Soundwave's dock. “I am not a cassette,” he said warmly and cupped Soundwave's helm with his other hand, pulling their forehelms together. “We are courting, which means I am to be your partner, your equal. I, Soundwave, am to care for you.”
Soundwave's field rippled. He leaned into Optimus' hold, his vents audibly cycling. He spoke nothing but static, but his field said it all: a grief, a need, and on the edge of it, relief.
Optimus dropped his hand from Soundwave's chest and grabbed one of Soundwave's. “Come. Sit with me. Have you energized today?”
“Affirmative.” Soundwave allowed Optimus to pull him toward one of the couches in the main room.
Soundwave had several, but only one of which was appropriately sized for a mech of Soundwave and Optimus' stature. The others were cassette sized and noticeably empty.
“Laserbeak made sure of it, I'll bet,” Optimus said as he sat down on the couch and pulled Soundwave beside him. “Where are they?”
Soundwave's free hand rested on his dock. “Recharge needed.”
“All of them? Even Rumble?”
Soundwave nodded rather than speak. His field reached for Optimus, though he sat stiffly on the couch, almost as though he didn't know what to do next.
“Then I am glad they are close.” Optimus shifted about on the couch until he found a comfortable position, and then pulled Soundwave nearer.
Soundwave went willingly, malleable to every manipulation of his frame. He tucked himself against Optimus, helm resting on Optimus' windshield, their legs tangled together, a show of need for once. His field tangled with Optimus', willingly reaching for the comfort Optimus offered.
He seemed to be holding himself together through sheer force of will, and it wasn't until they lay still, Optimus' arms around him, one hand gently stroking Soundwave's battle mask, that the poise flickered away. Soundwave's plating shivered. His arms tightened around Optimus' torso.
“Ravage… will be missed,” Soundwave said, static lacing every glyph.
“Yes.” Optimus' fingers traced gentle patterns over Soundwave's mask. “And though I cannot begin to understand how hard it must be for you, I know you are glad she will be happy. Still, it is not so easy to let go.”
Soundwave said nothing. The tremors in his armor grew more intense, his ventilations quickening. His face turned, burying into Optimus' windshield, leaving him to cup the back of Soundwave's helm instead.
Optimus understood.
Sometimes, words weren't needed, just quiet comfort. It was nice, he reflected, as he held Soundwave, nice to be someone's support. Nice to be a source of strength and comfort. Nice to feel strong again.
It was nice to be needed. Nicer still to be able to offer it and have that offer accepted.
Nice to be with Soundwave.
It was nice.
~
Vortex asked again.
Bluestreak could think of a thousand reasons to decline, and only one to accept, but that one was enough to agree before Vortex could fully get the words out of his mouth. Maybe it was the way his fingers twisted together where he thought Bluestreak couldn't see. Or the way his rotors juttered. Or the way his visor flickered.
It was entirely possible it was all an act.
But Bluestreak had always been a good judge of character. He knew things Vortex didn't. He knew that Bluestreak didn't need Jazz to protect himself. He would do just fine on his own.
He knew there was something Vortex wanted from him, and not even Vortex knew what it was. But Bluestreak knew. Because he could read a mech, in much the same way Interrogator Vortex could. Just like the times Jazz had come to him - moments of weakness, of confession - so, too, would Vortex.
It was only a matter of time.
“I swear, that is the last time we get interrupted,” Vortex said, his rotors drooping as though he feared Bluestreak would rant and rage about the previous two aborted attempts.
Bluestreak almost giggled, but managed to keep it to a small smile. “If we were at war, you wouldn't even need to apologize, so why now? It happens.”
Vortex's engine made a dull clanking sound. “I just don't want ya to think ya ain't a priority.”
“Why would I? We're just talking.” Bluestreak shrugged, his doorwings flicking back and forth. “You don't owe me anything.”
“Yeah, but….” Vortex trailed off and finally cycled a long ventilation. “I don't have any clue what I'm doin', and I know it.”
Bluestreak's smile widened. He patted Vortex on the arm. “I don't think any of us do, really. All we ever know anymore is war. It's kind of our default. Figuring out how to put that away, compartmentalize it… that's not easy.”
Vortex stared at him as if he'd grown a secondary helm. “Ya sound like a therapist or somethin'.”
“I'm not one,” Bluestreak assured him. Therapy was not what he'd call it. Therapy was good for mechs. Bluestreak's skills had only ever been a stopgap. “But I do know a little something about starting over.”
“Ya mean Praxus?”
After so many centuries, he didn't flinch anymore. But sometimes, it was a near thing. It was a good thing that Vortex's lack of tact could be considered charming in light of the fact he had probably never been in a real relationship before.
“Yes, I mean,” Bluestreak said, and figured, now was as good a time as any to clue Vortex in.
He stopped and turned toward Vortex, who suddenly drew up short, helm tilted in confusion. He was taller than Bluestreak by almost a full helm, yet he tended to slump his shoulders when they talked as though to make himself smaller. He was trying, and that in itself was charming.
Bluestreak lifted a hand and didn't fail to notice Vortex watched him with nothing short of wariness in the gleam of his visor. He also tracked the path of Bluestreak's hand with single-minded intensity.
Soldier, through and through.
The tremor that rippled through Vortex's frame would have been invisible to the naked optic, but Bluestreak felt it as he cupped Vortex's helm with one hand. His thumb lay gently across Vortex's jawguard. Had he a mouth, Bluestreak's thumb would be poised over his lips as though shushing him.
Their fields sizzled together, physical contact translating into field contact. He could read Vortex easily, in such a way that few were taught to do - intuition warring with training warring with instinct. A desperate desire to please fighting with the urge to do harm. A need to understand clashing with the desperation to dig in deep.
There was hope there, struggling against a raw sort of despair, and an awkwardness that was genuine.
Vortex had only ever been a soldier. He didn't know what it meant to be civilian. He would always be a soldier.
Bluestreak could live with that.
“I think,” he began with a stroke of his thumb, “that between you and me, we can figure it out. That is, if you want to.”
Vortex held himself as still as stone, as though afraid if he moved, he would break Bluestreak or shatter the moment. “I want ta,” he admitted, his rotors giving a little wiggle. “I don't even know why sometimes, but I want ta.”
“That's all right. We can figure that part out, too.” Bluestreak's lips curved in a genuine smile as Vortex's field flushed dizzying warm and confused. “And step one, I think, is to have an uninterrupted date. You can talk about you, and I can talk about me, and we can learn about each other. Sound good?”
Vortex's ventilations stuttered. He tilted forward, ever so fractionally, into Bluestreak's touch. “Yeah,” he said. “Sounds real good.”
“I think so, too.” Bluestreak rose to the tips of his pedes and pressed a kiss to Vortex's mouthguard, right over the central ridge.
Vortex's cooling fans rattled to life. “What, uh, what was that for?”
“Because I wanted to.” Bluestreak shrugged and dropped his hand from Vortex's helm, but only so he could grab the rotary's hand and tangle their fingers together. “And because you earned it. And because it's the kind of thing mechs who're dating do. Ready to go?”
Vortex worked his intake and nodded. “Yeah.” His fingers squeezed Bluestreak's. “Let's go on a date. An uninterrupted one. Like ya said.”
Bluestreak beamed at him.
He'd already figured out what Vortex wanted from him, and now, finally, Bluestreak was starting to figure out what he wanted in return.
Time to go see what they were made of.
~
“Chromedome's getting his badge today,” First Aid commented conversationally. He kept his focus on his datapad, however.
“I am glad that he decided to join the Autobots. He was not happy working with Metalhawk, though he would never admit why,” Ambulon replied. His stylus scritched across the board noisily.
First Aid peered over the top of his datapad, watching Ambulon as he worked on a complicated equation, something to do with sparks. First Aid would learn eventually, he claimed.
First Aid cycled a ventilation. “Were… you considering it, too?” he asked. Or, he hoped rather.
Ambulon stilled, hand lowering from the longboard. “Oh.”
That was not a good 'oh.'
First Aid's spark thumped in his chassis and he jerked his gaze back to the datapad. “I was just curious,” he said, with what he hoped was nonchalant enough to sound dismissive. “I mean, Chromedome defected. Tailgate defected, though he went to the Decepticons. Skids might come here depending on the way the vote goes….”
Ambulon put down the stylus and turned to face First Aid, his expression unreadable. He crossed the floor in two quick strides and rested his hands on First Aid's shoulder, encouraging First Aid to look up at him.
“I adore our friendship, First Aid,” he said, his tone the softest First Aid had ever heard. “It is one of the greatest treasures I have found since losing my gestalt.”
Aid tightened his grip on his datapad. “I am sensing a 'but'.”
“But I am not going to be an Autobot,” Ambulon said with a small smile. An apologetic one.
First Aid's shoulders slumped beneath Ambulon's hands “Oh.”
Ambulon's field reached for his, as warm as an embrace. “I will come to Polyhex anytime you have need of me, and I will visit often, but I must remain in Nova Cronum.”
“Because you want to or because you have to?”
“The Neutrals will still need a local medic,” Ambulon said, and he had a point. “However much I am in disappointed in Metalhawk's leadership, I cannot abandon those mecha to begging for medical attention and preventative care. You understand?”
First Aid nodded. “Yes, of course I do.” He cycled a ventilation. “You're right. The Neutrals need you, and they are lucky to have you.”
It still hurt. He'd begun to hope Ambulon would choose to stay because Ambulon, at least, understood. Ratchet and Wheeljack were amazing supports. First Aid would have lingered forever in his grief without them. But only Ambulon understood the pain of a shattered bond, the ache of longing that never faded.
“And at least with Metalhawk out of power, some of the restrictions regarding travel between the two factions should be eased,” First Aid added with what he hoped was a brightness in his field and visor. He didn’t want Ambulon to feel guilty. “I could even come visit you, given that you are understaffed.”
“That would certainly help.” Ambulon squeezed his shoulders again and then let him go. “Now let's see if I can solve this impossible batch of spark mechanics to help your friends.”
First Aid nodded. “Yes, let's.” He watched Ambulon get back to work, peering at the board as though it were written in another language.
He supposed this was good, too. And at the very least, it was good for now.
First Aid’s spark fluttered as he bent back over his datapad. Time to get back to work.
~
In a history of bad ideas, choosing to recharge on the couch ranked up there. Optimus should have been used to recharging under any kind of situation given the war and falling wherever one could sometimes. But he'd let himself get addicted to comfort these past few months and that weakness had slayed him.
He onlined the following cycle with a crick in his neck, an ache in his back, but most delightfully, the weight of Soundwave warm against his front. It was almost enough to make up for the other aches, pains, and kinked cables.
Optimus onlined his optics and looked down at his couch-mate. Soundwave had fallen into an exhausted recharge late last night and Optimus hadn't wanted to disturb him. He'd thought one evening on the couch couldn't hurt.
He'd been wrong.
A soft smile tugged at Optimus' lips as he stroked the back of one finger against Soundwave's mouthguard. He heard Soundwave begin to stir, ventilations growing louder, the background hum of a living mech growing more pronounced.
“Good morning,” Optimus murmured.
Soundwave's visor flickered on, a dim glow at first before it brightened. He tilted his helm upward, finding Optimus' optics. A blat of static emerged before he audibly rebooted his vocalizer and tried again.
“Apologies,” Soundwave said as he shifted his legs and attempted to push himself upright. They were so thoroughly tangled that it took some finagling. “Optimus in discomfort?”
“Nothing a stretch or two won't solve,” Optimus assured him. He stroked Soundwave's mask again. “Are you feeling better settled?”
Soundwave nodded. “Affirmative. Gratitude extended.”
“None needed.”
“Offered still.” Soundwave looked around, as though confused to find them on the couch. “Apologies again. Couch unsuited to recharge.” Something in his frame creaked as though giving truth to his words.
“How very true. You could always make it up to me with a kiss?” Optimus suggested with what he hoped was an air of innocence, and not an unexpected playfulness.
Soundwave stared at him, visor slowly brightening, before he leaned closer. “If Optimus wishes,” he murmured as his mouthguard slid aside. “Apology given.”
His ex-vents whispered warm against Optimus' frame. His lips brushed against Optimus', barely counting as a kiss, but the warm weight of him was surprisingly welcome.
“Apology accepted,” Optimus replied, and slid his arms around Soundwave's chassis, tugging him down and closer, so that their lips could meet in a deeper kiss.
Soundwave's engine purred. He shifted his weight, bracing his upper half deep in the couch cushions, their legs once again tangling. His lips moved against Optimus', slow at first, but then deeper. His glossa swept over Optimus' lips, and Optimus opened his mouth to Soundwave.
His spark stuttered in his chamber. Optimus felt he should be alarmed, but all he could feel was content, curiosity, delight. He shifted beneath Soundwave, and shivered as their armor rubbed together. Soundwave was slightly heavier, and his frame bore Optimus into the cradle of the couch cushions. One arm wedged beneath Optimus' frame, and fingers traced a curious pattern up and down Optimus' backstrut.
Pleasure filtered through in the wake of it. Optimus' optics shuttered as he gave himself over to it. He melted into the embrace, into the slow but steady progression of Soundwave's mouth against his. Glossa tangling and retreating, sliding together, wet and smooth.
Soundwave's engine purred, vibrating their frames, until Optimus' joined in, a slightly stronger rumble. The air between them grew hot as Optimus shifted again, his leg rubbing against Soundwave's, tingles spreading southward, toward his panel. He nipped at Soundwave's lips and deepened the kiss, a low noise rising in his intake. His hands clenched on Soundwave's back, kneading the firm armor, keeping them pressed together.
Heat filtered through his lines. Optimus' ventilations stuttered. Soundwave's denta gently scraped his lips, his glossa smoothing over the rough edges. His lips pressed against Optimus' again and again, shared vents passing between them, his field drizzling over Optimus' with a shimmer of want.
Optimus purred into the kiss, and found himself rocking up, his panel growing heated. He loved the slide of their armor together, and the soft sounds it made. He greatly enjoyed the subtle vibrations, especially when they pooled in his groin and teased at his array.
He thought of all the times he'd asked Soundwave to stop, or Soundwave ceased on his own, and wondered if perhaps this time, Optimus wanted to continue.
Suddenly, Soundwave stopped and drew back, pressing his forehelm to Optimus'. “Apologies,” he said.
“Wasn't that what the kiss was for?” Optimus asked, amused.
A low chuckle echoed in Soundwave's chassis. “That and activities must cease.”
“Do you need to visit the washracks?” He was privately tickled and relieved by how willing Soundwave was to see to his comfort.
Soundwave drew back a little further, until they no longer shared the same ventilating space. “Affirmative, but also...” One hand rose and patted his dock. “Cassettes objected.”
Optimus stared, his hands going absolutely still where they had slid to Soundwave's hips. Heat gathered in his faceplate.
He had forgotten all of Soundwave's cassettes were docked last night.
Optimus opened his mouth to speak, but honestly, no words came to mind. Was this what mortification felt like? A heat in his faceplate, static rising in his antennae, and a squirming in his tanks?
“I...” Optimus rebooted his vocalizer. “I suppose they wish to be deployed.”
“Wish also to cease witnessing,” Soundwave said, and he distinctly sounded amused. “Laserbeak, however, willing to continue.”
Optimus, despite himself, chuckled. “She would.” He dug his elbows into the couch and pulled himself back, nearly dislodging a cushion in the process. “That was my fault. I had forgotten, and in the heat of the moment--”
Soundwave's finger rested over his lips. Optimus cycled his optics in surprise, looking up at the carrier mech. Soundwave leaned forward, his finger falling as he stole Optimus' lips for another heated kiss that made Optimus' lines thrum with desire.
“Cassettes will recover,” Soundwave murmured, and then drew back. He pulled himself off the couch, mouth guard sliding back into place.
“They might, but I am not certain I will,” Optimus retorted, but it was spoken subvocally, not meant for Soundwave to hear.
But of course, communications specialist and special operations manager, Soundwave did anyway. He chuckled and offered a hand, helping Optimus off the couch. Optimus looked around for a mantle of dignity, but there was none to be found.
“Are you feeling better?”
“Dissolved bond difficult,” Soundwave admitted as he pulled Optimus into an embrace that was more than welcome. “Better with time. Optimus' comfort appreciated.”
Optimus curled his arms around Soundwave and pressed their forehelms together. “Anytime.” He pressed a kiss to Soundwave's mouthguard before drawing back. “Now why don't you free those minions of yours before you abscond to the washracks while I go find us some energon?”
Soundwave laughed, but turned to obey, his field flush with amusement and affection.
Optimus smiled, too, and excused himself to find energon as Soundwave deployed his cassettes, who emerged in a raucous handful of noise. Buzzsaw chittered. Frenzy chattered. Rumble laughed. Laserbeak chirped. If Soundwave said anything to them, Optimus couldn't hear it over the noise they made.
It was adorable.
Optimus' smile deepened. A flutter ran through his spark, and he realized, all at once, that he was happy. He was content.
He had a partner who offered unwavering support. The treaty held strong, despite machinations otherwise, and there was no sign Cybertron intended to return to war. His own friends were on the mend, and if this morning was any indication, Optimus' own ills were gradually fixing themselves.
He never could have guessed that in the wake of the Autobot defeat and all he suffered at Megatron's hands, he could feel this way again. Optimus thought he'd forgotten what it meant to be happy.
He was glad to see he was mistaken. That he could salvage not only Cybertron and his Autobots, but himself as well.
Joy bubbled in his spark at the revelation. Optimus hid himself in the energon storage alcove because the smile on his face had to be ridiculous.
He was going to be all right, he realized.
He was going to be just fine.
****
a/n: Only the epilogue is left to go.
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