24: Jealous (complete!)
Razorsharp strikes up an unlikely friendship, one that makes hiding a deep, dark secret increasingly difficult.
EDIT 2/21: Holy cats, she's updating it. She might even finish it, huzzah! XD See the last paragraph for a teensy update...hey at least it's moving... IT'S DONE w0000000t!!
Jealous Razorsharp
featuring Elita-1 and Optimus Prime
with an appearance by Cliolex (thanks to ladymoonhawke)
Though the Central Archive was closed to most of the populace at this hour, Elita-1, as commander of a crack team of Autobot femmes, could access the Archive at any cycle. Gedronix, the old librarian, was long into recharge, but his young assistant looked up from her monitor as the transparisteel doors parted to admit Elita.
The assistant smiled up at the tall, deep-rose plated femme. "Good evening, Commander."
Elita nodded in greeting. "Hello, Cliolex. Is Her Ladyship still about?"
Cliolex consulted her terminal. "Yes, she's here. She's on level three, it looks like--Yes, that's her login." The aqua-plated femme tapped the screen, where a small red dot blinked next to Razorsharp's name. "Shall I page her for you?" Cliolex reached toward the public address key, but Elita was already moving toward the bank of elevators.
"No, that's all right," Elita called over her shoulder. "I'll find her."
The doors closed over Elita. The lift hummed to life, and Cliolex watched the car's upward progress through the clear tube.
The aqua femme shook her head. "Good luck," she murmured, turning back to her monitor.
***
Elita stepped off the elevator and into the twilight expanse of the main archive. The low lighting turned shelves and racks into strange, forbidding shapes that loomed out of the darkness. Placed at strategic points within the stacks, information kiosks hummed at idle, their screens decorated with rotating Autobot symbols. Study carrels lined the walls, their lights dark and their screens blank. A maintenance droid cruised by, riding on its rotating buffers as it polished the day's traffic from the floor.
At the very rear of the building, two large, brilliantly lit windows looked out upon the stacks like the golden optics of a massive sentinel. Elita smiled to herself; in some ways, the Archive was very much alive, giving counsel, imparting knowledge, and providing entertainment through its millions of volumes. The feeling that a benevolent consciousness marked her progress was a comforting one, and it lingered as Elita made her way toward the windows.
As Elita drew nearer, she could see a lone femme sitting in one of the windows, bent over a workstation. The femme's ruby optics were fixed on the readout in front of her, and the soft blue-white light from the terminal cast her harlequin markings in even greater contrast than their usual wont. Her electric-blue lips were set in a solemn line of concentration as her fingers moved nimbly over the input board.
Elita crossed the line where the gloom of the stacks ended and the square of light thrown by the windows began, letting her tread become slightly heavier in order to warn of her approach. Sure enough, Razorsharp raised her head and glanced to the windows at her right. Elita thought she caught a flicker of irritation in Razor's optics at the interruption, but it did not show on the former Deceptifemme's faceplate as Elita stepped into the warm, well-lit lab.
"Good evening, your Ladyship," said Elita, inclining her head slightly in respect.
"Good evening, Commander." Razorsharp returned Elita's greeting with a nod of her own. "How may I assist you?"
Barely in time, Elita suppressed a frown at Razorsharp's formal speech. The former Deceptifemme had lived among the Autobots for the last Terran decade--not very long by Cybertronian standards--but Elita still felt as if she did not really know Razorsharp. Since Optimus had granted an outcast Razorsharp amnesty within the ranks of the Autobots, Elita had exchanged few words with her. With a shock, Elita realized that the bulk of her knowledge about Razorsharp came from Optimus, who worked with her on a regular basis to preserve Decepticon records uncovered during the rebuilding of Cybertron.
"I've decided to undertake a project, and I need your help." Elita smiled. "When I told Optimus Prime what I was planning, he told me you were just the person for the job."
Razorsharp looked up at the Autobot femme for a moment as if deciding how to answer. "That is quite a compliment," she said finally.
"I haven't even told you what it is yet," said Elita, still smiling. "I hope you still feel that way afterwards."
"What is it that you wish to do?"
Elita's smile took on a solemn cast. "I want to learn the Decepticon language."
If this request had surprised Razorsharp, she showed no sign of it. In fact, so serene was the blue-and-violet femme before her that Elita was beginning to wonder if Razorsharp had purposely had her emotional relays disabled. The unflinching ruby gaze was just a little unnerving, and Elita crossed her arms, determined to resist the urge to fidget.
"Oh, I know the odd word or phrase," Elita continued, partly to fill the silence. "Living on an occupied planet, you have to figure out some of the vernacular just to get by." Her smile returned, though it was more of a wry grin this time. "Not to mention the swear words we all picked up from Shockwave's lackeys."
This finally elicited a reaction from Razorsharp; a slight, bemused curling of her mouth as if recalling some private joke. Elita realized she was seeing firsthand what Optimus had dubbed 'the Decepticon smile.' "I know precisely which words you mean, Commander," said Razorsharp.
"Funny how those are the words that stick," said Elita. "I still catch myself saying 'syrzanah mi'q'orak' from time to time--though I'm thankful that few outside my femme squadron know what that means," she added, as Razorsharp's optic ridges lifted slightly.
"It is indeed language that I would not expect to hear from the mate of the Prime," Razor said coolly. "Although there are times when telling an irritating person to 'go interface with the Chaos-Bringer' is...appropriate."
Elita laughed. "It doesn't translate very well, does it?" She uncrossed her arms and spread her hands wide. "That's precisely why I want to learn the language. Not the half-slang version we picked up living in the Wastes, but how it truly is."
Razorsharp sat back, crossing one heavy booted leg over the other, the edges of her mouth curving more deeply. "To hurl insults in battle with even greater precision, perhaps? Coming from you, such a thing would indeed stop any Decepticon in their tracks."
Elita's mouth dropped open slightly in disbelief; Razorsharp was teasing her. "I'll keep that in mind," the Autobot femme said dryly, "but no, that wasn't my original intention."
"Then why?" Razorsharp tilted her head slightly. "The use of the language has all but become extinct since Cybertron was...liberated...by Rodimus Prime."
"Autobots and Decepticons are two halves of the same whole," Elita replied, making sure to keep her voice even. "That's one of the reasons why Optimus asked you to do what you're doing--to preserve a piece of Cybertron's heritage that otherwise might be lost. I'd like to do my part in bringing the two halves together."
For a long moment, Elita was sure that Razorsharp would lapse into the femme she had heard about from Optimus; a Razorsharp who was every inch her name. The blue-and-violet archivist regarded Elita with another unwavering ruby stare, and the silence stretched out between them.
Suddenly the ruby optics lowered to the workstation. "Very well, Commander." Razorsharp gestured to a nearby chair. "I will teach you."
"Please, call me Elita." The Autobot femme moved the chair around the edge of the desk and sat at Razorsharp's left elbow.
"Then I am Razorsharp." Her fingers began tapping keys. "Or, as I am known in my native language, Rachacharv."
Elita tilted her head. "Would you say it again? Consider it my first lesson."
"Rrha-scha-scharrv," the Deceptifemme enunciated. "The stress is on the last syllable."
"Rah-shah-shahv," Elita repeated, attempting to mimic Razor's pronunciation. "It doesn't sound as beautiful as when you say it."
"For an Autobot unaccustomed to the tones, it was an admirable attempt," Razor said, her Decepticon smile reappearing. "As with any skill, practice is key."
They fell silent for a moment as Razor continued to call up instructional trax. Elita considered the face in profile before her. "Does your name have a specific meaning?" the Autobot femme asked.
Razor kept her optics on the terminal. "Yes. It means 'bright blade.' My teacher, the great Fire-Eyes, gave it to me when I began to train in the Arena."
"Did you have a name before that?"
Now Razor flicked her gaze over Elita for a moment before turning back to her work. "I was called 'Skydancer.'" She snorted. "It was very simplistic, but considering who named me, it is not altogether surprising."
"It was Starscream, wasn't it?" Elita's voice was solemn. Razor's hands faltered for the barest instant, then continued their elaborate dance.
"Optimus Prime is telling tales," Razor mused. "But yes; it was the Traitor who named me." She hit the 'process' key with slightly more force than was necessary. "May Primus guard his spark."
***
"Cliolex told me I'd find you two here," said a bass voice, and both femmes looked up into the reflective faceplate of Optimus Prime. "Good evening, your Ladyship, Commander."
Razorsharp inclined her head. "Hail, Optimus Prime."
Elita's optics glowed softly as they took in the massive frame of her mate. "Hello there," she said, a note of pleasure in her voice that had not been there before. "We didn't hear you come in." She laid down her stylus next to the datapad where she had been copying Decepticon glyphs. "What time is it?"
"Late," said Optimus, a rueful chuckle at the edge of his harmonizer. "I was just leaving CenCom and I thought I'd walk you home."
The femme commander stretched her arms above her head and smiled. "That sounds like a wonderful idea." She stood and turned to Razorsharp. "What about you, Razorsharp, are you leaving?"
"Not at this present moment." The Deceptifemme gestured to a pile of unlabeled trax. "I have much work to do."
"It can wait until tomorrow," Elita began, but Optimus laid a hand on his mate's shoulder. Out of the corner of her optic, Razorsharp caught Optimus' small shake of the head. Elita frowned, concern darkening her finely wrought features. "Well, then--shall we continue our lessons tomorrow evening, same time?"
The Deceptifemme's expression was the picture of serene dignity. "Of course. Have a pleasant evening."
"Same to you, Lady," chimed Optimus. He made an 'after you' gesture to his mate, and she smiled and exited the lab, Optimus a mere half-step behind.
Jealousy bit deeply into Razor's core as she watched Elita slip her pale pink hand into Optimus' huge blued-steel one. Razorsharp dimmed her optics momentarily in an attempt to bring the unwelcome feelings under control.
Over the course of the last few Terran years, the feelings had grown stronger, to the point where she could no longer ignore them--in fact, the more she tried, the worse the situation became. She found herself looking forward to the brief meeting each lunar cycle when she reported the state of the Decepticon archives to the Autobot leader, who listened attentively to her challenges and made thoughtful suggestions. He had never treated her as if she were beneath his notice, or just one more item to tick off on his daily log. Though its appearances were rare, Razorsharp found that Optimus Prime had a dry sense of humor, and yet there were times when the Autobot leader seemed very weary. Above all, Optimus Prime had a deep sense of honor, and possessed a seemingly bottomless well of patience and compassion for those under his command.
Her processor knew it was not uncommon for the saved to hold the savior in special regard, but this...this was beyond mere gratitude for granting her sanctuary.
Shame welled up inside of Razorsharp. She stared fixedly at the terminal, where the cursor blinked placidly at the end of a line of Decepticon text. She waited until the elevator hummed, signaling the Autobots' departure from the floor, before she sagged on to her elbows, hands over her optics.
***
"Pohl-deiise," said Razorsharp, stretching out the syllables of the word.
"Pal-dees," replied Elita, then shook her head. "No, that's not right. Pohl-deez."
"Better." Razorsharp handed her the stylus and pushed a datapad toward the Autobot femme. "Now, write the glyph."
Elita bent to her task and presented the pad to Razorsharp. After a few moment's scrutiny, Razorsharp nodded. "Improved," the Deceptifemme pronounced. "It has only been two Terran weeks, and you have learned much."
"Paldies," Elita replied, a smile playing about her pale pink lips.
Razorsharp returned the smile. "Navpar'ko."
"Nahv-par-koh," echoed Elita. "For some reason, that one was easier."
"I find it interesting that Autobots seem to have difficulty with the lower vowel sounds," mused Razorsharp, as she erased the datapad with a tap of her fingertip against the tech input. "Whereas some of the harsher consonants are grasped more readily."
"You sound pretty convinced; you should ask Optimus Prime to authorize a research project." Elita smiled. "As the humans say, wouldn't that be a feather in your cap?"
Startled, Razorsharp was about to utter a protest when Elita's communicator chimed. "Excuse me," said the Autobot femme, and her optics gained the unfocused look that denoted her access of her internal display. She broke into a wide smile, chuckling at the message.
"As the humans say, 'speak of the devil,'" Razor said smoothly, as Elita shook herself back to awareness.
Elita grinned at her tutor. "Is it that obvious?"
Razorsharp's Decepticon smile appeared. "Your devotion is unique among the ranks," was her enigmatic reply.
"Yes," Elita mused, tapping the null end of her stylus against the tabletop. "I suppose it is." Her face darkened. "We're lucky. Chromia still talks about Ironhide as if she saw him yesterday; I don't think she'll ever get over him. Since Inferno's planning to stay on Earth, I guess Firestar's all right with having a long-distance relationship. As for Moonracer and Powerglide--well, I don't think they'll ever speak to each other again."
"I have heard talk of Powerglide and his human 'girlfriend.'" Razor snorted. "Fools, both of them."
Elita shrugged. "I don't know if I'd go so far as to call Powerglide a fool, but it does make one wonder. I know Optimus worries for him."
"Why?"
The Autobot femme smiled sadly. "When Prime's team awoke on Earth nearly thirty Terran years ago, they made friends with three humans--Sparkplug, Spike, and Carly. Sparkplug--Spike's progenitor--was at the halfway point of his lifespan at that time, and is now nearing the end of his lifespan. Consequently, his body is beginning to break down, and soon, he will cease to function." She shook her head. "When that happens, many Autobots will grieve his loss."
"And Powerglide will face a similar loss," Razorsharp mused. "I understand."
Elita's optics remained fastened unseeing on the tabletop. "I knew the moment Optimus died," she murmured, an echo of pain lapping at the edge of her words. "I felt it. And then when Ultra Magnus came to tell me, I saw Rodimus behind him, and..." She trailed off with a sigh. "No one needed to say anything. None of us could." She looked up, her optics wells of ultramarine. "Tell me, Razorsharp--was it like that when they told you that Straxus had been killed?"
Razorsharp went stock still as a dark tide of memory washed over her. "Why do you wish to know this?" she asked quietly.
"I'm sorry," said Elita. "It's none of my business, I know." She drew the datapad to her and began to recopy a line of glyphs. "Shall we continue?"
A blue-plated hand covered the datapad, and Elita looked up into Razor's harlequin-marked face. "I will answer, Lady Elita," the Deceptifemme whispered, relapsing into her previous formal speech. "How shall I describe it--it was like dying, and yet knowing I would continue to live, only to die again the next moment. It seemed to go on and on." She shook her head. "It was a long time before I felt I could claim any sort of sanity."
Elita uttered a short, mirthless laugh. "I know the feeling."
They sat in silence for a few moments, and then Elita turned to Razorsharp. "Do you think you will ever mate again?"
Almost out before the words were out of Elita's harmonizer, Razorsharp was shaking her head. "No," she said emphatically. "Never."
"It must get awfully lonely for you," said the Autobot femme. "How long has it been? Ten years? More?"
"Ten years, six months, and twenty-two days." Razorsharp looked up at Elita. "My internal chronometer is always accurate."
"Are you even seeing anyone?" Elita started to say something, then stopped. "I was going to say, I could probably introduce you to someone, but--"
"--but who would want to attach their affections to the former bheancoran of the Governor of Darkmount?" Razorsharp let a grim smile ghost across her lips. "Let us be truthful with one another, Lady Elita."
The femme commander laughed uneasily. "Guess I really stuck my foot in it that time--but believe me when I say I meant no disrespect." She smiled. "I think I'm not very far off when I say that many in Iacon find you attractive, but would never dream of approaching you."
Razor arched an optic ridge. "This is news to me. But as usual, my faction--"
"--No, it's something else," Elita cut in. "You've been among the Autobots so long, I don't think many people think of you as 'The Enemy' now." Elita sat back and folded her arms across her chestplate, and Razor caught a fleeting glimpse of Optimus Prime in the gesture. "You keep everyone at arm's length, so they don't think they have a chance at getting through to the real you."
"Very astute," said Razorsharp drily. "Next you will be telling me that I should open up and get in touch with my feelings. What do the humans call it?--therapy. My inner self has been injured and only wants care and concern for it to heal so I can become my 'true' self." Her optics narrowed. "Please, Lady, spare me your Autobot sentimentality."
Elita sat silently through her tutor's low-voiced tirade, and then sighed through her filters. "Well, he did warn me you would say that," she mused.
Razorsharp felt her fuel run cold. "You...discussed my private life with Optimus Prime?"
Elita uncrossed her arms and reached out to touch Razorsharp's knee. "It wasn't meant to be gossip," Elita reassured the former Deceptifemme. "Optimus knows much more about you than I do--he's known you for a lot longer, for one thing. And he seems to have a good handle on your personality, so I just went on a sort of fact-finding mission." She smiled disarmingly. "Razorsharp...I'd like to be your friend, and friends get to know one another."
Several moments of silence passed between them, until Elita withdrew her hand and sat back. Razorsharp remained absolutely still, her processor whirling.
"It is true that Optimus Prime knows a great deal about me," Razor began. "He is wise and kind; I have never known him to be unfair or injust. He is a great warrior, but I also believe that he yearns for peace even as he prepares for battle." She dimmed her optics, wanting to hold the words in, but her emotions were like a river overflowing its banks, threatening to sweep her away. "He has defended me to his soldiers many times, and he is the only one among the Autobots who looks past this--" she brushed her fingers against the Decepticon symbol on her chest, "--to even approach understanding what lies beneath." She bowed her head, dropping her hands into her lap. "I am indebted to him for my very life, and I have sworn to do what I can to forward his mission to bring peace to Cybertron."
Another silence stretched out between them, this one longer and more thoughtful. Then Elita spoke, her voice very soft:
"You've been in love with him for a long time, haven't you?"
Razorsharp's head shot up even as tears of shame began at the corners of her optics. "I--"
Elita raised a hand to silence her. "Please, Lady, as you say, let us be truthful with one another." A smile flitted across her face, but didn't stay there. "Prime is indeed all of those kind things you said about him, but there is one point where you do Prime a disservice."
Razorsharp drew her optic ridges together in silent question, and this time Elita's smile stayed in place.
"Your Ladyship, Prime may be a mated mech, but his optics still function perfectly; he may be the leader of the Autobots, but his discernment routines still function outside of CenCom or the battlefield."
Shame pierced Razorsharp like her own sword as she faced Elita's calm, cool gaze. "He knows," Razorsharp whispered.
"For a long time," Elita assured her. "Personally, I think he's flattered." She reached out and touched Razorsharp's hand. "Please, Razorsharp, don't let go of your love for Prime because of me. Instead, just shift it a little." Her smile faded slightly. "I know it's going to hurt for a while, but I think you'll find that you'll get even more out of your relationship when you stop beating yourself up about it."
Razorsharp wiped away her tears with trembling hands. "It will take time to get used to...thinking differently."
Elita nodded. "I know. But in the meantime, just appreciate the fact that Prime is on your side--and now, so am I. Okay?"
The former Deceptifemme raised her head and fixed Elita with a ruby-red gaze. "As you say."
"Good." Elita turned back to the datapad and picked up her stylus. "Now, can you show me that last glyph again? I always seem to get it wrong."
Razorsharp glanced at the datapad and chuckled. "You are correct in your observation," she said. "You have written the glyph for 'photon charge' rather than 'energon ration,' and somehow I do not think the former would be as appealing."
Elita laughed. "I know what both of those look like and you're right; I'd much rather have the latter!"
***
Standing just inside the line of shadows, Optimus Prime watched the two femmes work together, Autobot and Decepticon occassionally sharing a smile. He lingered a moment more and then turned to go, thanking Primus for both dear friend and beloved mate.
--End--
EDIT 2/21: Holy cats, she's updating it. She might even finish it, huzzah! XD See the last paragraph for a teensy update...hey at least it's moving... IT'S DONE w0000000t!!
Jealous Razorsharp
featuring Elita-1 and Optimus Prime
with an appearance by Cliolex (thanks to ladymoonhawke)
Though the Central Archive was closed to most of the populace at this hour, Elita-1, as commander of a crack team of Autobot femmes, could access the Archive at any cycle. Gedronix, the old librarian, was long into recharge, but his young assistant looked up from her monitor as the transparisteel doors parted to admit Elita.
The assistant smiled up at the tall, deep-rose plated femme. "Good evening, Commander."
Elita nodded in greeting. "Hello, Cliolex. Is Her Ladyship still about?"
Cliolex consulted her terminal. "Yes, she's here. She's on level three, it looks like--Yes, that's her login." The aqua-plated femme tapped the screen, where a small red dot blinked next to Razorsharp's name. "Shall I page her for you?" Cliolex reached toward the public address key, but Elita was already moving toward the bank of elevators.
"No, that's all right," Elita called over her shoulder. "I'll find her."
The doors closed over Elita. The lift hummed to life, and Cliolex watched the car's upward progress through the clear tube.
The aqua femme shook her head. "Good luck," she murmured, turning back to her monitor.
***
Elita stepped off the elevator and into the twilight expanse of the main archive. The low lighting turned shelves and racks into strange, forbidding shapes that loomed out of the darkness. Placed at strategic points within the stacks, information kiosks hummed at idle, their screens decorated with rotating Autobot symbols. Study carrels lined the walls, their lights dark and their screens blank. A maintenance droid cruised by, riding on its rotating buffers as it polished the day's traffic from the floor.
At the very rear of the building, two large, brilliantly lit windows looked out upon the stacks like the golden optics of a massive sentinel. Elita smiled to herself; in some ways, the Archive was very much alive, giving counsel, imparting knowledge, and providing entertainment through its millions of volumes. The feeling that a benevolent consciousness marked her progress was a comforting one, and it lingered as Elita made her way toward the windows.
As Elita drew nearer, she could see a lone femme sitting in one of the windows, bent over a workstation. The femme's ruby optics were fixed on the readout in front of her, and the soft blue-white light from the terminal cast her harlequin markings in even greater contrast than their usual wont. Her electric-blue lips were set in a solemn line of concentration as her fingers moved nimbly over the input board.
Elita crossed the line where the gloom of the stacks ended and the square of light thrown by the windows began, letting her tread become slightly heavier in order to warn of her approach. Sure enough, Razorsharp raised her head and glanced to the windows at her right. Elita thought she caught a flicker of irritation in Razor's optics at the interruption, but it did not show on the former Deceptifemme's faceplate as Elita stepped into the warm, well-lit lab.
"Good evening, your Ladyship," said Elita, inclining her head slightly in respect.
"Good evening, Commander." Razorsharp returned Elita's greeting with a nod of her own. "How may I assist you?"
Barely in time, Elita suppressed a frown at Razorsharp's formal speech. The former Deceptifemme had lived among the Autobots for the last Terran decade--not very long by Cybertronian standards--but Elita still felt as if she did not really know Razorsharp. Since Optimus had granted an outcast Razorsharp amnesty within the ranks of the Autobots, Elita had exchanged few words with her. With a shock, Elita realized that the bulk of her knowledge about Razorsharp came from Optimus, who worked with her on a regular basis to preserve Decepticon records uncovered during the rebuilding of Cybertron.
"I've decided to undertake a project, and I need your help." Elita smiled. "When I told Optimus Prime what I was planning, he told me you were just the person for the job."
Razorsharp looked up at the Autobot femme for a moment as if deciding how to answer. "That is quite a compliment," she said finally.
"I haven't even told you what it is yet," said Elita, still smiling. "I hope you still feel that way afterwards."
"What is it that you wish to do?"
Elita's smile took on a solemn cast. "I want to learn the Decepticon language."
If this request had surprised Razorsharp, she showed no sign of it. In fact, so serene was the blue-and-violet femme before her that Elita was beginning to wonder if Razorsharp had purposely had her emotional relays disabled. The unflinching ruby gaze was just a little unnerving, and Elita crossed her arms, determined to resist the urge to fidget.
"Oh, I know the odd word or phrase," Elita continued, partly to fill the silence. "Living on an occupied planet, you have to figure out some of the vernacular just to get by." Her smile returned, though it was more of a wry grin this time. "Not to mention the swear words we all picked up from Shockwave's lackeys."
This finally elicited a reaction from Razorsharp; a slight, bemused curling of her mouth as if recalling some private joke. Elita realized she was seeing firsthand what Optimus had dubbed 'the Decepticon smile.' "I know precisely which words you mean, Commander," said Razorsharp.
"Funny how those are the words that stick," said Elita. "I still catch myself saying 'syrzanah mi'q'orak' from time to time--though I'm thankful that few outside my femme squadron know what that means," she added, as Razorsharp's optic ridges lifted slightly.
"It is indeed language that I would not expect to hear from the mate of the Prime," Razor said coolly. "Although there are times when telling an irritating person to 'go interface with the Chaos-Bringer' is...appropriate."
Elita laughed. "It doesn't translate very well, does it?" She uncrossed her arms and spread her hands wide. "That's precisely why I want to learn the language. Not the half-slang version we picked up living in the Wastes, but how it truly is."
Razorsharp sat back, crossing one heavy booted leg over the other, the edges of her mouth curving more deeply. "To hurl insults in battle with even greater precision, perhaps? Coming from you, such a thing would indeed stop any Decepticon in their tracks."
Elita's mouth dropped open slightly in disbelief; Razorsharp was teasing her. "I'll keep that in mind," the Autobot femme said dryly, "but no, that wasn't my original intention."
"Then why?" Razorsharp tilted her head slightly. "The use of the language has all but become extinct since Cybertron was...liberated...by Rodimus Prime."
"Autobots and Decepticons are two halves of the same whole," Elita replied, making sure to keep her voice even. "That's one of the reasons why Optimus asked you to do what you're doing--to preserve a piece of Cybertron's heritage that otherwise might be lost. I'd like to do my part in bringing the two halves together."
For a long moment, Elita was sure that Razorsharp would lapse into the femme she had heard about from Optimus; a Razorsharp who was every inch her name. The blue-and-violet archivist regarded Elita with another unwavering ruby stare, and the silence stretched out between them.
Suddenly the ruby optics lowered to the workstation. "Very well, Commander." Razorsharp gestured to a nearby chair. "I will teach you."
"Please, call me Elita." The Autobot femme moved the chair around the edge of the desk and sat at Razorsharp's left elbow.
"Then I am Razorsharp." Her fingers began tapping keys. "Or, as I am known in my native language, Rachacharv."
Elita tilted her head. "Would you say it again? Consider it my first lesson."
"Rrha-scha-scharrv," the Deceptifemme enunciated. "The stress is on the last syllable."
"Rah-shah-shahv," Elita repeated, attempting to mimic Razor's pronunciation. "It doesn't sound as beautiful as when you say it."
"For an Autobot unaccustomed to the tones, it was an admirable attempt," Razor said, her Decepticon smile reappearing. "As with any skill, practice is key."
They fell silent for a moment as Razor continued to call up instructional trax. Elita considered the face in profile before her. "Does your name have a specific meaning?" the Autobot femme asked.
Razor kept her optics on the terminal. "Yes. It means 'bright blade.' My teacher, the great Fire-Eyes, gave it to me when I began to train in the Arena."
"Did you have a name before that?"
Now Razor flicked her gaze over Elita for a moment before turning back to her work. "I was called 'Skydancer.'" She snorted. "It was very simplistic, but considering who named me, it is not altogether surprising."
"It was Starscream, wasn't it?" Elita's voice was solemn. Razor's hands faltered for the barest instant, then continued their elaborate dance.
"Optimus Prime is telling tales," Razor mused. "But yes; it was the Traitor who named me." She hit the 'process' key with slightly more force than was necessary. "May Primus guard his spark."
***
"Cliolex told me I'd find you two here," said a bass voice, and both femmes looked up into the reflective faceplate of Optimus Prime. "Good evening, your Ladyship, Commander."
Razorsharp inclined her head. "Hail, Optimus Prime."
Elita's optics glowed softly as they took in the massive frame of her mate. "Hello there," she said, a note of pleasure in her voice that had not been there before. "We didn't hear you come in." She laid down her stylus next to the datapad where she had been copying Decepticon glyphs. "What time is it?"
"Late," said Optimus, a rueful chuckle at the edge of his harmonizer. "I was just leaving CenCom and I thought I'd walk you home."
The femme commander stretched her arms above her head and smiled. "That sounds like a wonderful idea." She stood and turned to Razorsharp. "What about you, Razorsharp, are you leaving?"
"Not at this present moment." The Deceptifemme gestured to a pile of unlabeled trax. "I have much work to do."
"It can wait until tomorrow," Elita began, but Optimus laid a hand on his mate's shoulder. Out of the corner of her optic, Razorsharp caught Optimus' small shake of the head. Elita frowned, concern darkening her finely wrought features. "Well, then--shall we continue our lessons tomorrow evening, same time?"
The Deceptifemme's expression was the picture of serene dignity. "Of course. Have a pleasant evening."
"Same to you, Lady," chimed Optimus. He made an 'after you' gesture to his mate, and she smiled and exited the lab, Optimus a mere half-step behind.
Jealousy bit deeply into Razor's core as she watched Elita slip her pale pink hand into Optimus' huge blued-steel one. Razorsharp dimmed her optics momentarily in an attempt to bring the unwelcome feelings under control.
Over the course of the last few Terran years, the feelings had grown stronger, to the point where she could no longer ignore them--in fact, the more she tried, the worse the situation became. She found herself looking forward to the brief meeting each lunar cycle when she reported the state of the Decepticon archives to the Autobot leader, who listened attentively to her challenges and made thoughtful suggestions. He had never treated her as if she were beneath his notice, or just one more item to tick off on his daily log. Though its appearances were rare, Razorsharp found that Optimus Prime had a dry sense of humor, and yet there were times when the Autobot leader seemed very weary. Above all, Optimus Prime had a deep sense of honor, and possessed a seemingly bottomless well of patience and compassion for those under his command.
Her processor knew it was not uncommon for the saved to hold the savior in special regard, but this...this was beyond mere gratitude for granting her sanctuary.
Shame welled up inside of Razorsharp. She stared fixedly at the terminal, where the cursor blinked placidly at the end of a line of Decepticon text. She waited until the elevator hummed, signaling the Autobots' departure from the floor, before she sagged on to her elbows, hands over her optics.
***
"Pohl-deiise," said Razorsharp, stretching out the syllables of the word.
"Pal-dees," replied Elita, then shook her head. "No, that's not right. Pohl-deez."
"Better." Razorsharp handed her the stylus and pushed a datapad toward the Autobot femme. "Now, write the glyph."
Elita bent to her task and presented the pad to Razorsharp. After a few moment's scrutiny, Razorsharp nodded. "Improved," the Deceptifemme pronounced. "It has only been two Terran weeks, and you have learned much."
"Paldies," Elita replied, a smile playing about her pale pink lips.
Razorsharp returned the smile. "Navpar'ko."
"Nahv-par-koh," echoed Elita. "For some reason, that one was easier."
"I find it interesting that Autobots seem to have difficulty with the lower vowel sounds," mused Razorsharp, as she erased the datapad with a tap of her fingertip against the tech input. "Whereas some of the harsher consonants are grasped more readily."
"You sound pretty convinced; you should ask Optimus Prime to authorize a research project." Elita smiled. "As the humans say, wouldn't that be a feather in your cap?"
Startled, Razorsharp was about to utter a protest when Elita's communicator chimed. "Excuse me," said the Autobot femme, and her optics gained the unfocused look that denoted her access of her internal display. She broke into a wide smile, chuckling at the message.
"As the humans say, 'speak of the devil,'" Razor said smoothly, as Elita shook herself back to awareness.
Elita grinned at her tutor. "Is it that obvious?"
Razorsharp's Decepticon smile appeared. "Your devotion is unique among the ranks," was her enigmatic reply.
"Yes," Elita mused, tapping the null end of her stylus against the tabletop. "I suppose it is." Her face darkened. "We're lucky. Chromia still talks about Ironhide as if she saw him yesterday; I don't think she'll ever get over him. Since Inferno's planning to stay on Earth, I guess Firestar's all right with having a long-distance relationship. As for Moonracer and Powerglide--well, I don't think they'll ever speak to each other again."
"I have heard talk of Powerglide and his human 'girlfriend.'" Razor snorted. "Fools, both of them."
Elita shrugged. "I don't know if I'd go so far as to call Powerglide a fool, but it does make one wonder. I know Optimus worries for him."
"Why?"
The Autobot femme smiled sadly. "When Prime's team awoke on Earth nearly thirty Terran years ago, they made friends with three humans--Sparkplug, Spike, and Carly. Sparkplug--Spike's progenitor--was at the halfway point of his lifespan at that time, and is now nearing the end of his lifespan. Consequently, his body is beginning to break down, and soon, he will cease to function." She shook her head. "When that happens, many Autobots will grieve his loss."
"And Powerglide will face a similar loss," Razorsharp mused. "I understand."
Elita's optics remained fastened unseeing on the tabletop. "I knew the moment Optimus died," she murmured, an echo of pain lapping at the edge of her words. "I felt it. And then when Ultra Magnus came to tell me, I saw Rodimus behind him, and..." She trailed off with a sigh. "No one needed to say anything. None of us could." She looked up, her optics wells of ultramarine. "Tell me, Razorsharp--was it like that when they told you that Straxus had been killed?"
Razorsharp went stock still as a dark tide of memory washed over her. "Why do you wish to know this?" she asked quietly.
"I'm sorry," said Elita. "It's none of my business, I know." She drew the datapad to her and began to recopy a line of glyphs. "Shall we continue?"
A blue-plated hand covered the datapad, and Elita looked up into Razor's harlequin-marked face. "I will answer, Lady Elita," the Deceptifemme whispered, relapsing into her previous formal speech. "How shall I describe it--it was like dying, and yet knowing I would continue to live, only to die again the next moment. It seemed to go on and on." She shook her head. "It was a long time before I felt I could claim any sort of sanity."
Elita uttered a short, mirthless laugh. "I know the feeling."
They sat in silence for a few moments, and then Elita turned to Razorsharp. "Do you think you will ever mate again?"
Almost out before the words were out of Elita's harmonizer, Razorsharp was shaking her head. "No," she said emphatically. "Never."
"It must get awfully lonely for you," said the Autobot femme. "How long has it been? Ten years? More?"
"Ten years, six months, and twenty-two days." Razorsharp looked up at Elita. "My internal chronometer is always accurate."
"Are you even seeing anyone?" Elita started to say something, then stopped. "I was going to say, I could probably introduce you to someone, but--"
"--but who would want to attach their affections to the former bheancoran of the Governor of Darkmount?" Razorsharp let a grim smile ghost across her lips. "Let us be truthful with one another, Lady Elita."
The femme commander laughed uneasily. "Guess I really stuck my foot in it that time--but believe me when I say I meant no disrespect." She smiled. "I think I'm not very far off when I say that many in Iacon find you attractive, but would never dream of approaching you."
Razor arched an optic ridge. "This is news to me. But as usual, my faction--"
"--No, it's something else," Elita cut in. "You've been among the Autobots so long, I don't think many people think of you as 'The Enemy' now." Elita sat back and folded her arms across her chestplate, and Razor caught a fleeting glimpse of Optimus Prime in the gesture. "You keep everyone at arm's length, so they don't think they have a chance at getting through to the real you."
"Very astute," said Razorsharp drily. "Next you will be telling me that I should open up and get in touch with my feelings. What do the humans call it?--therapy. My inner self has been injured and only wants care and concern for it to heal so I can become my 'true' self." Her optics narrowed. "Please, Lady, spare me your Autobot sentimentality."
Elita sat silently through her tutor's low-voiced tirade, and then sighed through her filters. "Well, he did warn me you would say that," she mused.
Razorsharp felt her fuel run cold. "You...discussed my private life with Optimus Prime?"
Elita uncrossed her arms and reached out to touch Razorsharp's knee. "It wasn't meant to be gossip," Elita reassured the former Deceptifemme. "Optimus knows much more about you than I do--he's known you for a lot longer, for one thing. And he seems to have a good handle on your personality, so I just went on a sort of fact-finding mission." She smiled disarmingly. "Razorsharp...I'd like to be your friend, and friends get to know one another."
Several moments of silence passed between them, until Elita withdrew her hand and sat back. Razorsharp remained absolutely still, her processor whirling.
"It is true that Optimus Prime knows a great deal about me," Razor began. "He is wise and kind; I have never known him to be unfair or injust. He is a great warrior, but I also believe that he yearns for peace even as he prepares for battle." She dimmed her optics, wanting to hold the words in, but her emotions were like a river overflowing its banks, threatening to sweep her away. "He has defended me to his soldiers many times, and he is the only one among the Autobots who looks past this--" she brushed her fingers against the Decepticon symbol on her chest, "--to even approach understanding what lies beneath." She bowed her head, dropping her hands into her lap. "I am indebted to him for my very life, and I have sworn to do what I can to forward his mission to bring peace to Cybertron."
Another silence stretched out between them, this one longer and more thoughtful. Then Elita spoke, her voice very soft:
"You've been in love with him for a long time, haven't you?"
Razorsharp's head shot up even as tears of shame began at the corners of her optics. "I--"
Elita raised a hand to silence her. "Please, Lady, as you say, let us be truthful with one another." A smile flitted across her face, but didn't stay there. "Prime is indeed all of those kind things you said about him, but there is one point where you do Prime a disservice."
Razorsharp drew her optic ridges together in silent question, and this time Elita's smile stayed in place.
"Your Ladyship, Prime may be a mated mech, but his optics still function perfectly; he may be the leader of the Autobots, but his discernment routines still function outside of CenCom or the battlefield."
Shame pierced Razorsharp like her own sword as she faced Elita's calm, cool gaze. "He knows," Razorsharp whispered.
"For a long time," Elita assured her. "Personally, I think he's flattered." She reached out and touched Razorsharp's hand. "Please, Razorsharp, don't let go of your love for Prime because of me. Instead, just shift it a little." Her smile faded slightly. "I know it's going to hurt for a while, but I think you'll find that you'll get even more out of your relationship when you stop beating yourself up about it."
Razorsharp wiped away her tears with trembling hands. "It will take time to get used to...thinking differently."
Elita nodded. "I know. But in the meantime, just appreciate the fact that Prime is on your side--and now, so am I. Okay?"
The former Deceptifemme raised her head and fixed Elita with a ruby-red gaze. "As you say."
"Good." Elita turned back to the datapad and picked up her stylus. "Now, can you show me that last glyph again? I always seem to get it wrong."
Razorsharp glanced at the datapad and chuckled. "You are correct in your observation," she said. "You have written the glyph for 'photon charge' rather than 'energon ration,' and somehow I do not think the former would be as appealing."
Elita laughed. "I know what both of those look like and you're right; I'd much rather have the latter!"
***
Standing just inside the line of shadows, Optimus Prime watched the two femmes work together, Autobot and Decepticon occassionally sharing a smile. He lingered a moment more and then turned to go, thanking Primus for both dear friend and beloved mate.
--End--