Chapter Text
“Are we just going to ignore what happened back there?” Arcee demanded, glaring expectantly up at Optimus as the ground bridge closed behind them.
“I’m not sure what happened,” he confessed.
“Well, why not start with that?” Bulkhead suggested, gesturing to the matrix.
Optimus glanced down at the relic in his servos. The two halves of the Matrix of Leadership were now dull gold, seemingly drained of the power it once held.
“I suspect this played quite a substantial part in many things.”
“Doesn’t the Matrix of Leadership have some connection with Primus?” Bumblebee inquired.
“That’s what they say,” Ratchet drawled, retrieving a medical scanner from his subspace.
“So, is that what happened? You pulled the Matrix out and Primus intervened?” the green wrecker guessed.
“Unicron may have vanished, but that doesn’t explain why those other Decepticons just appeared,” Arcee pointed out.
“That I do not know. I have no recollection of those mechs,” Optimus murmured, before complying with the CMO’s silent command to stand still as he performed a scan.
““You’re positive?” Ratchet pressed, as he studied the results.
“Yes.”
The red and white bot ex vented heavily, subspacing the medical instrument.
“Everything checks out alright, Optimus,” he muttered distractedly.
“You look pensive, old friend.”
“I suppose I am, the readings make sense now.”
“What do you mean?”
“Orion Pax. Your spark’s signature is remarkably like his. It’s so similar, in fact, that when you emerged from the Council’s chambers, I was convinced that you were him. Well, him with an upgraded frame, designation, and a new philosophy,” the CMO sighed, retrieving two cubes of high grade from his subspace and offered one to Optimus. “Tell me, have you experienced any pulses in your spark chamber since… all this?”
The Leader of the Autobots paused and was startled to find that, for the first time in millions of years, there were no inexplicable pulses; there were no confusing, longing, or inexplicably complex feelings for Megatron or the Decepticons. It was puzzling to say the least.
“No, I have not. Are you suggesting—”
“I’m not even considering anything until I’ve finished my high grade and had another.”
“Are—are you okay, Ratchet?” Bumblebee asked.
Draining his cube, the CMO vented heavily and ran a servo over his faceplate. “I’m not sure,” he huffed. “Frankly, we won’t learn anything until we talk with Orion and the Decepticons. What I do suggest, is broadcasting the ceasefire to our fellow Autobots and maybe contacting your second in command, Primus knows we could use Prowl’s levelheadedness in this situation. And get some recharge,” he added almost as an afterthought, before exiting the rec room.
* * * *
Optimus sent out the broadcast message and contacted Prowl. His report was vague, but the Praxian enforcer graciously accepted the minimalistic details and compiled a list of Autobots that would accompany him to Earth. The black and white mech assured him that they would bridge to the base after alerting the selected bots and gathering additional supplies, though it might not be until the following day before they bridged to Earth. Not that Optimus wasn’t pleased to welcome more Autobots or grateful that their dangerously dwindling resources were about to be replenished, but the reprieve it would grant him from dealing with anyone, even if it was just a joor or two, was a relief.
Ending the transmission, Optimus glanced around the rec room, unsurprised to see that he was alone. To say that it had been an eventful day would be an understatement and he suspected that his team needed some time to process everything and truthfully, so did he.
Rather than retreating to his quarters or lingering in the empty rec room, Optimus chose to sequester himself away in one of the rocky outcroppings outside the base. It was secluded and cloaked in darkness by the night sky. He’d always been more comfortable with places he could easily slip into and disappear for a while. Touching a servo to his spark chamber, he wondered if it was one of his own developed quirks or if it was an inclination of Orion’s that he inherited.
The small mech both bewildered and fascinated the Autobot Leader. He had so many questions and no clear way to approach him; Optimus was not oblivious to the fearful looks Orion had thrown his way, though he could not fathom why. He was a large bot, yes, nearly as tall and broad as Megatron, but he did not consider himself terribly intimidating. Perhaps it was his status as a Prime? Many religious Cybertronians, Autobot and Decepticon alike, revered the title and therefore maintained a respective distance from him. But there was no awed expression Orion’s faceplate when he regarded Optimus. Orion was already wary of the Autobot faction and clearly despised the council, as well as those affiliated with it; he only hoped the small mech would listen, and perhaps even grant Optimus the opportunity to have a conversation with him that went beyond planning Unicron’s defeat.
Truthfully, Optimus was unsure of his place in the grand scheme of things. Of course, he would lead the Autobots when they faced Unicron as any leader should, but once that battle was over? He could hardly fathom the war continuing after this junction, even with all the atrocities committed, energon spilled and bitter resentment between the factions, it just seemed pointless. Cybertron needed leadership to usher in a new era, but Optimus wasn’t too keen on volunteering for such a position. Perhaps everyone would expect him to, or even insist, but he found the notion discomfiting.
Explaining everything that had occurred to the Autobots slated to arrive along with his second in command without even having all the facts would not doubt be convoluted and processor-ache inducing. Optimus respected all of the bots under his command, but he could not offer them a logical explanation for what transpired on the battlefield and it was imperative he convince them to honor the temporary truce with the Decepticons. He dreaded the impending clash of personalities and stared up at the stars. Perhaps the best thing about Earth, was the view of the sky; the vast expanse of darkness that proudly showcased nebulas and shimmering galaxies stretching out as far as the optic could see.
Usually, he would seek out Ratchet’s council, but ever since the battle with Unicron, the CMO had been distant, suspicious even. Under normal circumstances, Optimus would’ve chalked it up to the medic being ornery about the direct challenge to his beliefs; Ratchet was notoriously non-religious and being presented with the Chaos Bringer himself would certainly cause the mech ire on mere principle, but it was clearly something else. In the four million years he’d known Ratchet, the medic had never shied away from voicing his opinion, but he was reluctant to approach Optimus, especially after confirming the similarity between his spark signature and Orion’s. It raised so many questions, leaving Optimus unsettled and unsure if he really wanted to know the answers.
“Hey, Optimus!” Bumblebee’s cheerful greeting snapped him out of his thoughts, and he glanced down at the scout. The small, yellow bot perched himself next to the Autobot Leader and gazed up at the sky. “It sure is a nice night.”
“It is, indeed, Bumblebee. Apologies, I was unaware I was encroaching on your stargazing spot.”
“Oh, no, not at all. I was shadowing you.”
“I see,” Optimus murmured, bemused by the scout’s nonchalant straight-forwardness. “I’m sure Jazz will be pleased with your success.”
“You think so?” he beamed, and Optimus smiled at his infectious enthusiasm. Bumblebee was one of the youngest soldiers in the war, and Jazz’s pupil. The Spec Ops bot was swift to step into the role of a mentor and Bumblebee flourished under his teachings. His third-in-command had become quite protective of his student and their impending separation hadn’t sat well with him. It was one of the only times Optimus had seen the mech truly contend with a command decision. Jazz had his own infiltration mission to complete and Optimus needed a scout. Jazz informed Bumblebee that he would be checking in whenever possible, demanded to be updated on his student’s well-being through reports that would be sent directly to Prowl and glared at Optimus like an overprotective sire.
The mech’s behavior baffled the Autobot Leader, but Prowl had explained the nature of mentor-student relationships; pride, patience, and fear, eclipsed only by protectiveness and affection, citing First Aid’s apprenticeship under Ratchet and even the enforcer’s own mentorship to his younger brother, Bluestreak. Of course, meeting Bumblebee had reinforced Optimus’s understanding of the situation.
“I do,” he affirmed, placing a servo on the bot’s shoulder. “May I inquire as to why you were shadowing me? I contacted Prowl and he assures me that Jazz will be accompanying him to Earth.”
“Oh, I already know all that, I was checking on you, Sir.”
“You were?”
“Of course, it was a pretty intense battle today and, well…”
“Yes, it was quite eventful, but I can’t offer an explanation for what happened and as for the Matrix…”
“I’m sure we’ll find out everything tomorrow when we meet up with the Decepticons,” Bumblebee easily assured him. “Hmm, that sure felt strange to say,” he joked, eliciting another small smile from Optimus.
“Indeed, though hopefully it will become more common as time progresses.”
“So, do you anticipate our tentative truce lasting after we defeat Unicron?”
“I can’t yet say, though I hope it does.”
“Yeah,” Bumblebee vented softly, returning his gaze to the night sky. “It sure would be nice to return home.”
“Yes, it would. You should return to your quarters for some recharge.”
“Nah, I think I’ll hang out here with you a while, Sir, can’t have Jazz thinking I’m slacking,” he playfully winked and Optimus hummed in amusement, choosing to go along with the scout’s carefully phrased request. Ratchet’s suggestion that everyone recharge hadn’t technically been an order and, the CMO seemed far too distracted to even muster up the energy to act like his usual exasperated self. And frankly, Optimus was grateful for the company and thought it best to enjoy the tranquility while it lasted.
* * * *
Rumble and Frenzy lounged on the berth as they slowly rebooted. Energetic as the two were, they fell into recharge not long after returning to Soundwave’s quarters the previous night. Soundwave gazed fondly down at them as their optics onlined and they stretched; he’d already retrieved rations for the three of them as they were scheduled to meet with the Autobots in a cycle and the Tape Deck wanted his Cassettes refueled and alert. It was more of a precaution born from millions of years of war as opposed to a genuine suspicion that the Autobots would orchestrate an ambush. Neither faction could risk nullifying the ceasefire for the sake of satisfying petty grievances.
Rumble and Frenzy shared a cube of energon as Soundwave, having received the Autobots’ proposed coordinates, sent out a ping to the command staff. It was all so startlingly domestic and yet such a familiar routine, one that he so easily fell back into. Once they finished their ration, he ushered them into the wash racks for a quick rinse.
Soundwave curled his servos around the twin Cassettes, inspecting their small frames once more as he polished their plating.
“C’mon Boss, we’re fine, you already checked us for damage,” Rumble muttered before obliging with the communication officer’s silent command to spin around. He squeaked suddenly, and squirmed, laughing as the blue mech’s digits prodded sensitive seams and joints. Frenzy echoed his spark twin’s protests, erupting into laughter as he curled in on himself.
“No, no! Stop!” the red mechling hiccupped helplessly.
“Negative,” Soundwave declined. “Files: require updating.”
“W-what files?” Rumble snorted, spasming as the persistent digits playfully inspected his frame.
“Audio files. Voice analysis and confirmation: necessary. Recordings of laughter: required to be updated and downloaded into processor core,” he added after a hesitant pause, prompting the Cassettes to trade confused looks. Though they’d been present for Megatron’s brief overview of the war, the four-million-year time jump hadn’t quite sunk in. From their perspective, they had only just seen Soundwave before escorting Orion into the Senate building to stand before the Council.
“Carrier?”
Soundwave froze, spark leaping at the title, and he gathered the Cassettes to his chassis. Still giggling, they instinctively cuddled up against his spark chamber. Rumble tugged his younger twin into his arms and looked up at Soundwave.
“We’re here.”
“You are,” the communications officer murmured, delicately tracing their faceplates.
“So, you maybe wanna open the bond?” Frenzy murmured, snuggling up to his brother.
“Yeah, boss, why is the bond blocked? We’re not undercover or anything.”
Soundwave vented softly and sat down on the berth. It had been so long since he’d felt his bond with the twin Cassettes. When he’d lost them, there was an emptiness in him, a void that couldn’t be filled, so he blocked it. His spark thrummed in hopeful anticipation at the innocent suggestion.
“Once our meeting with the Autobots has concluded,” he said decisively. Although Soundwave would love nothing more than to reestablish the bond, it was not something he would without his conjunx there and—his conjunx! How could he have forgotten? Should he prepare him? It was a staggering revelation, but they couldn’t afford distractions at this junction; even with their bond, it would be hard to explain and doing so over monitored comms, while not impossible, just didn’t feel right. Venting softly, he nuzzled his Cassettes, who happily endured the affection, and started toward the command center. The communications officer needed to keep himself busy and make all of the final preparations for their meeting with the Autobots.