Transformers: Where You Lead
I'd be hunting for new Sam icons right now if I didn't like that one so much. Thanks to an incredibly well-timed comment by drharper, this is done and posted now, instead of god-knows-how-long in the future. I've only been working on it since a few days after I saw ROTF for the first time, too. Way to hustle, self. *eyeroll* Moving on.
Title: Where You Lead
Series: Indisputable (post-ROTF series)
Word Count: 1,255
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer Post
Summary: It was nearly a month and a half before Sam twigged to the fact that to the Autobots? This whole Matrix of Leadership thing was kind of a big deal. That's when Prowl happened.
Notes: Yes, this is part of a series, but I've hardly got any of it properly written and posted, so you're not missing much. I think this stands alone well enough, anyway. This was originally going to be a much, much longer fic, with additional snark and more Ratchet and some explanations and also Bumblebee being unbearably smug. Then it got too big (for me, at least), and it evolved a proper endpoint before the Ratchet section, anyway, so. There you have it. The rest of the fic is being...difficult, but it's on my to-do list.
Optimus Prime was the leader of the Autobots, full stop. If anyone had asked Sam-and no one did, because it was that freaking obvious-that was what he would have told them. Optimus Prime was the leader of the Autobots and more than that, he was the one that made the whole human/alien interaction thing work.
So when Sam went looking for the Matrix of Leadership, he only did it because there was something so fundamentally wrong about the Autobots fighting without Optimus to lead them that he just couldn’t not try everything he possibly could to fix it. He couldn’t not believe it would work and he couldn’t-he couldn’t stop. So what if he’d almost inadvertently ended up taking command of their little group of humans and Autobots in the process. Means to an end. Optimus was needed and that was that.
For the humans, that was that. His very existence-a not-a-teenager-anymore civilian who talked to giant transforming alien robots like they were equals, and who even knew what he said to them-apparently made his government profoundly nervous. The soldiers of NEST called dibs if he ever decided to go into the business, but rather unanimously agreed that they wanted him as far from the frontline as possible, otherwise. Base scuttlebutt had it that any op he was involved in managed to be both charmed and hellish all at once. Sam couldn’t really argue with that assessment, but he did think they were making a bit much of the two whole times he’d been…never mind. Point was, the humans were more “Status quo, my old friend, how was Cancun?” than “OMFG MATRIX OF LEADERSHIP. IN CAPS.”
It was nearly a month and a half before Sam twigged to the fact that, for the Autobots? Not so much. In his defense, their version of being forthcoming left a lot to be desired.
“So…Matrix of Leadership?”
“…Yes.”
“Did it hurt?”
“Hurt?”
“I kinda stabbed you, Optimus.”
“I am well.”
“Great, that’s…”
“I believe Bumblebee would like to continue staying with you, if you are amenable.”
Somewhere along the line, the ‘bots had come to the conclusion that all it took to distract Sam was Bumblebee. It didn’t help matters that it was kinda the truth or that Bee had no problem being the resident sixteen-foot-tall walking, talking (sort of) Sam pacifier.
It was Prowl, the champion of all things protocol, who finally let the cat out of the bag. Of course. Because god forbid any of the people he’d bled and fought and nearly died with ever tell him-moving on.
Sam was stretched out on the armrest of the chair in front of the long-range sensor station, waiting for Bumblebee to get back when Prowl wandered over. (Or the Prowl-equivalent of “wandered up,” which bore a hell of a lot greater resemblance to “marched over and snapped to attention” than Sam was really comfortable with.) Then, without the slightest bit of hesitation, Prowl turned Sam’s whole world upside down.
“Prime, I wish to inquire about your first meeting with Jetfire. Are you free?”
“Optimus isn’t here, Prowl,” Sam replied without looking up. “And he was dead at the time, anyway,” he added as an afterthought, and hot damn if his voice wasn’t as steady as Lennox’s hand on a gun. Wonders never ceased.
“I am aware of that,” Prowl said, in that “you’re either jerking my chain or being incredibly stupid, and I don’t appreciate it, either way” voice that he did so well. “I was addressing you.”
Sam sat up and turned around to face the crazybot, automatically taking in the relative positions of the other Autobots as he did so. “I’m not a Prime,” he said slowly and clearly. No one else in the room said anything, of course, because this was yet another thing to be filed under totally freaking obvious.
“That is not the case,” Prowl said. “You are the first Prime to ever come from this planet’s population. It only makes sense to address you as such.”
Oh, hell no. No, no, no, no. Sam glared at the other Autobots. Why was no one correcting Prowl on this bullshit? Prowl apparently took Sam’s speechlessness as a cue to keep trying to “convince” him. Like that was happening.
“Though I was not on planet to observe either occurrence, I have studied the reports and visual records of Autobots who were present. You commanded the Allspark to self-destruct in Megatron’s spark instead of Optimus’.
“It would have done that anyway!” Sam interrupted.
“Perhaps,” Prowl admitted. “Perhaps not. I am not an Allspark scholar.”
Sam really, really wanted to hit something. Preferably Prowl. He viciously squashed the little voice in his head that wondered if this sudden Sam-as-Prime fixation meant that Prowl would let him. “Then why do you-“
“Everything has a cause, Prime. Nothing happens by itself,” Prowl interrupted. Sam couldn’t think of any way to reply to that and, again, Prowl took it as his cue to continue. “Were that the only instance, it would not be enough to accord you the title. But to earn the Matrix of Leadership…”
Sam exploded out of his seat and stalked to the end of the armrest he’d been perched on. “It was just energy! I had to get it to revive Optimus! That’s it!”
Prowl didn’t even twitch, damn him. “Was it?” he asked pointedly. “Was it just energy, or did it become as such according to the will of a Prime?”
Sam was utterly speechless. That didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t. Could it?
Prowl went down on one knee, putting himself at Sam’s eye level. “In their darkest hour, in the time of their most desperate need, a Prime rose from among the people of this planet-not once, but twice. Not just any Prime, but one who commands both the Allspark and the Matrix of Leadership. I know not why you scorn your title, Prime, but this I know to be true: you have earned it.”
Sam was torn between having a hysterical fit right there in front of God and everybody and just skipping to the part where he crawled out of his own skin in terror. Ratchet chose that moment to display the kind of spectacular timing usually found only in awkward bodily functions and summer blockbuster movies. “What in the name of the Matrix are you all doing?” he demanded.
“I was merely-“ Prowl started, but Bumblebee-who swept into the room just as soon as Ratchet cleared the doorway-cut him off with a loud burst of angry music. Sam turned his head blindly in the direction of his guardian’s “voice.” It was all too much, too big, and this puny organic’s brain was turning to mush in self-defense.
Bee promptly scooped him off the arm of the chair and headed for the door. He chirruped a wordless inquiry at Ratchet along the way, and the medic scowled an affirmative. “I’ll be along. Just-out!”
As soon as they were far enough away that Ratchet might feasibly ignore it, Sam spoke up. “Bee…what am I?”
Bee cocked his head slightly as he always did when he was searching for a sound byte to express a particularly difficult concept, but-to Sam’s relief-he quickly gave it up. “You’re S-Sam,” he said in his own still-faltering voice, “and I’m taking you for a ride.”
Despite his confusion, Sam couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Of course you are. When are you not?”
Title: Where You Lead
Series: Indisputable (post-ROTF series)
Word Count: 1,255
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer Post
Summary: It was nearly a month and a half before Sam twigged to the fact that to the Autobots? This whole Matrix of Leadership thing was kind of a big deal. That's when Prowl happened.
Notes: Yes, this is part of a series, but I've hardly got any of it properly written and posted, so you're not missing much. I think this stands alone well enough, anyway. This was originally going to be a much, much longer fic, with additional snark and more Ratchet and some explanations and also Bumblebee being unbearably smug. Then it got too big (for me, at least), and it evolved a proper endpoint before the Ratchet section, anyway, so. There you have it. The rest of the fic is being...difficult, but it's on my to-do list.
Optimus Prime was the leader of the Autobots, full stop. If anyone had asked Sam-and no one did, because it was that freaking obvious-that was what he would have told them. Optimus Prime was the leader of the Autobots and more than that, he was the one that made the whole human/alien interaction thing work.
So when Sam went looking for the Matrix of Leadership, he only did it because there was something so fundamentally wrong about the Autobots fighting without Optimus to lead them that he just couldn’t not try everything he possibly could to fix it. He couldn’t not believe it would work and he couldn’t-he couldn’t stop. So what if he’d almost inadvertently ended up taking command of their little group of humans and Autobots in the process. Means to an end. Optimus was needed and that was that.
For the humans, that was that. His very existence-a not-a-teenager-anymore civilian who talked to giant transforming alien robots like they were equals, and who even knew what he said to them-apparently made his government profoundly nervous. The soldiers of NEST called dibs if he ever decided to go into the business, but rather unanimously agreed that they wanted him as far from the frontline as possible, otherwise. Base scuttlebutt had it that any op he was involved in managed to be both charmed and hellish all at once. Sam couldn’t really argue with that assessment, but he did think they were making a bit much of the two whole times he’d been…never mind. Point was, the humans were more “Status quo, my old friend, how was Cancun?” than “OMFG MATRIX OF LEADERSHIP. IN CAPS.”
It was nearly a month and a half before Sam twigged to the fact that, for the Autobots? Not so much. In his defense, their version of being forthcoming left a lot to be desired.
“So…Matrix of Leadership?”
“…Yes.”
“Did it hurt?”
“Hurt?”
“I kinda stabbed you, Optimus.”
“I am well.”
“Great, that’s…”
“I believe Bumblebee would like to continue staying with you, if you are amenable.”
Somewhere along the line, the ‘bots had come to the conclusion that all it took to distract Sam was Bumblebee. It didn’t help matters that it was kinda the truth or that Bee had no problem being the resident sixteen-foot-tall walking, talking (sort of) Sam pacifier.
It was Prowl, the champion of all things protocol, who finally let the cat out of the bag. Of course. Because god forbid any of the people he’d bled and fought and nearly died with ever tell him-moving on.
Sam was stretched out on the armrest of the chair in front of the long-range sensor station, waiting for Bumblebee to get back when Prowl wandered over. (Or the Prowl-equivalent of “wandered up,” which bore a hell of a lot greater resemblance to “marched over and snapped to attention” than Sam was really comfortable with.) Then, without the slightest bit of hesitation, Prowl turned Sam’s whole world upside down.
“Prime, I wish to inquire about your first meeting with Jetfire. Are you free?”
“Optimus isn’t here, Prowl,” Sam replied without looking up. “And he was dead at the time, anyway,” he added as an afterthought, and hot damn if his voice wasn’t as steady as Lennox’s hand on a gun. Wonders never ceased.
“I am aware of that,” Prowl said, in that “you’re either jerking my chain or being incredibly stupid, and I don’t appreciate it, either way” voice that he did so well. “I was addressing you.”
Sam sat up and turned around to face the crazybot, automatically taking in the relative positions of the other Autobots as he did so. “I’m not a Prime,” he said slowly and clearly. No one else in the room said anything, of course, because this was yet another thing to be filed under totally freaking obvious.
“That is not the case,” Prowl said. “You are the first Prime to ever come from this planet’s population. It only makes sense to address you as such.”
Oh, hell no. No, no, no, no. Sam glared at the other Autobots. Why was no one correcting Prowl on this bullshit? Prowl apparently took Sam’s speechlessness as a cue to keep trying to “convince” him. Like that was happening.
“Though I was not on planet to observe either occurrence, I have studied the reports and visual records of Autobots who were present. You commanded the Allspark to self-destruct in Megatron’s spark instead of Optimus’.
“It would have done that anyway!” Sam interrupted.
“Perhaps,” Prowl admitted. “Perhaps not. I am not an Allspark scholar.”
Sam really, really wanted to hit something. Preferably Prowl. He viciously squashed the little voice in his head that wondered if this sudden Sam-as-Prime fixation meant that Prowl would let him. “Then why do you-“
“Everything has a cause, Prime. Nothing happens by itself,” Prowl interrupted. Sam couldn’t think of any way to reply to that and, again, Prowl took it as his cue to continue. “Were that the only instance, it would not be enough to accord you the title. But to earn the Matrix of Leadership…”
Sam exploded out of his seat and stalked to the end of the armrest he’d been perched on. “It was just energy! I had to get it to revive Optimus! That’s it!”
Prowl didn’t even twitch, damn him. “Was it?” he asked pointedly. “Was it just energy, or did it become as such according to the will of a Prime?”
Sam was utterly speechless. That didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t. Could it?
Prowl went down on one knee, putting himself at Sam’s eye level. “In their darkest hour, in the time of their most desperate need, a Prime rose from among the people of this planet-not once, but twice. Not just any Prime, but one who commands both the Allspark and the Matrix of Leadership. I know not why you scorn your title, Prime, but this I know to be true: you have earned it.”
Sam was torn between having a hysterical fit right there in front of God and everybody and just skipping to the part where he crawled out of his own skin in terror. Ratchet chose that moment to display the kind of spectacular timing usually found only in awkward bodily functions and summer blockbuster movies. “What in the name of the Matrix are you all doing?” he demanded.
“I was merely-“ Prowl started, but Bumblebee-who swept into the room just as soon as Ratchet cleared the doorway-cut him off with a loud burst of angry music. Sam turned his head blindly in the direction of his guardian’s “voice.” It was all too much, too big, and this puny organic’s brain was turning to mush in self-defense.
Bee promptly scooped him off the arm of the chair and headed for the door. He chirruped a wordless inquiry at Ratchet along the way, and the medic scowled an affirmative. “I’ll be along. Just-out!”
As soon as they were far enough away that Ratchet might feasibly ignore it, Sam spoke up. “Bee…what am I?”
Bee cocked his head slightly as he always did when he was searching for a sound byte to express a particularly difficult concept, but-to Sam’s relief-he quickly gave it up. “You’re S-Sam,” he said in his own still-faltering voice, “and I’m taking you for a ride.”
Despite his confusion, Sam couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Of course you are. When are you not?”