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And so the final week of her short vacation came to an end.
Catherine had hoped to spend more time with Sam, but the school week made it difficult, although he did visit as much as he could during the few free hours he had. It was enough, as each visit was full of joy and much merriment, especially on the weekend when he was able to stay for the whole day. His parents came again, too, though this time everyone went out to eat instead. Catherine was ecstatic to see the two families getting along nearly perfectly, and while it did make things better, it also made them worse. The reason being she knew she was going to have to leave.
Mrs. Judy held together well—she even managed to not tear up when they said their goodbyes. Mr. Witwicky didn’t show any sorrow, of course, but he did give the redhead a warm hug, telling her to take care of herself, which was as close to an outburst of tears as he could get. Sam was of weaker make than his father, but he knew without a doubt that she would be okay, so it was loving grins and hugs for the both of them along with a quick note to not take forever to get back and not let “Galladouche” get the best of her. She promised not to, and then after a final farewell to Bumblebee, who promised to keep in touch, they left, and she went home to pack.
It was obvious they were leaving, and not just because Lennox already had his bags out in the TV room, ready to go for their early morning leave. Both Sideswipe and Jazz were more upbeat than usual—trading shoulder punches and moving about like a bunch of athletes before a match. It was amusing, to say the least, and then became hilarious when the two mechs began to brawl it out. Jazz won, of course; while Sideswipe was flexible and filled with youthful energy, the white-armored mech was no old cog and he knew exactly how to move the silver mech right where he wanted. It was for that reason Sideswipe found himself face first in the dirt, both arms pinned and a hand ready to put him into stasis should Jazz have wished it. It was all fun and games, however, so there was no animosity between them, but rather laughter.
Yet, soon enough even they had to settle down to recharge for their trip tomorrow, and Catherine was left to spend some time with her new parents and sister. It was short, but sweet, and Sarah composed herself well, no doubt used to it thanks to Lennox having been in the military for years now. Still, there were hints of the weariness underneath—the weakened smiles; the shallow bags under her eyes; the lack of luster. Annabelle even seemed to sense it, too, and did her best to make the atmosphere better with her laughter and nonsensical baby sounds. However, Sarah couldn’t be quelled, and all went to bed with a heavy weight that only increased the next morning.
They left very early so that Annabelle was not woken; leaving only Sarah was there to see them off. She did so much like before, hiding her sadness behind a smile, though they promised they’d be back soon. Then they left, riding again in Sideswipe with Jazz close behind. The Autobots must have sensed the mood, too, for the trip was quiet all the way to the military base, and even on the plane they only talked of what they needed to do once they got back. Lennox would have to go speak with Morshower to be updated on the Decepticon search teams, and Catherine was to meet with Marissa briefly in her office before heading to Ratchet for news on the new Autobots who would arrive in two days. A part of her didn’t want to meet with her mentor, seeing as she knew it was probably the last time she would, but she knew she had a lot of work to look over.
The plane ride felt like it took forever, but eventually they landed on the island. The hot, humid air was rather welcoming although it had them sweating long before they’d even reached the island itself. Although the scenery was bland, Catherine was glad to see it. Sure, it wasn’t the ranch, but it was still one of her homes, and she had family waiting for her. In fact, both she and Lennox did—their teammates were already there with water bottles in hand, which were chucked in their direction as soon as they were within range. Laughs and shoulder claps and even hugs—only for Catherine as Lennox wasn’t “man” enough for them—were exchanged briefly before the redhead forced them to let her go on the note she had some work to do.
Lennox was not let off so easy, though; when the redhead was out of sight, gone with Jazz and Sideswipe, they turned on their commander with stern, determined expressions from which the brown-haired man had no escape. And when they asked the questions that had been simmering in their minds for the past two weeks, the brown-haired man sighed and began to explain.
Catherine, meanwhile, was reunited with her room where the familiar, golden-armored face of her youngest creation awaited and greeted her with loving nuzzles and metallic purrs. His elder siblings were glad to see him, too, and as much as she would have loved to spend more time with them, she did have a brunette to meet up with and then a certain Cybertronian medic, too. However, while the three drones were told to stay put, Steeljaw decided to accompany her, much to his brothers’ ire. The redhead welcomed him of course, enjoying the attention he gave, rubbing his back and head into her much like a real cat. She knew he didn’t have to act that way, but he enjoyed it, it suited his form apparently, and it helped ease many of the other humans since it was a familiar gesture from the organic version of his self.
They found the older woman sitting in her office, reading over papers with a concentrated look on her face. Her expression lifted once she saw Catherine and Steeljaw, and the two embraced as they welcomed each other. Of course, the reunion couldn’t last long—there was work to do and Marissa had news. Thankfully things had gone smoothly while Catherine was gone; no fights or arguments or outward animosity towards the Autobots. There’d also been very little interaction with Galloway, which the woman surmised to being due to his meetings with the President and other politicians, but there was no doubt he would be back soon enough. Then she went on the news of the new recruits coming in. Just as Catherine had been told before, they would be here in a few days, and Marissa had already handled the paperwork for it, so they were in the clear. All that remained was for Catherine to evaluate and put them into their groups.
With business out of the way, it finally came to the awkward moment where the redhead had to ask about Marissa’s leaving soon. A sad smile followed, and it was confirmed true—in just a week she would be gone. A depressed silence followed for a few moments before the brunette placed a hand on Catherine’s shoulder, and expressed her utmost confidence that she would be just fine. She also made a note of keeping in touch when she could and to call her using Teletraan if she ever needed advice. The redhead agreed, and so Marissa suggested they might go get some lunch, but as much as Catherine wanted to, she did need to go see Ratchet. While the reason she gave was for regulations, in truth she had a very important question on her mind, which became the forefront of her thoughts once she left the brunette and hurried to the Medbay.
There she found Ratchet and Jolt alone, still working on the project although definitely getting somewhere, which was good. She let her question stay on the waiting bench, though as she first said hello and received their welcome backs and went over what the scan she’d sent said—nothing different that he could really tell—and when that relief was given, she let loose the inquiry. Needless to say, the medic was both shocked and disbelieving. However, with a quick confirmation from her three witnesses of earlier events, he believed her, and quickly brought out the spark chamber box for a test. It was done within a matter of seconds, but the spark ended with failure. With a confused, disappoint sigh, Catherine resigned herself to continuing her studies whereas as her two companions gave their encouragement.
And with that she trotted back out into the halls where she greeted whomever she passed, taking their welcome with smiles. There was one pair of Twins she avoided as if they were death itself, and she barely managed to make it over to the human side of the base before they could call out to stop and subject her to whatever annoyance the two idiots might come up with. She was glad to see many of the human faces, whom were happy to see her back, too. She found her team soon enough, but she couldn’t stay long as they directed her to the Command Center.
Once there she found Lennox and Optimus Prime speaking with Morshower via video feed. She hurried up the stairs and joined in, giving a respectful salute and greeting to the General and Prime. Business was short and to the point—the NEST teams sent out had found the Decepticons, but their targets escaped Thankfully, there had been no casualties, but the soldiers’ reports stated the ‘Cons acted like they were definitely looking for something. What that ‘something’ was couldn’t be discerned, but they were positive the enemy was looking now. When asked, Prime noted Barricade could not find his way into any of the Decepticon channels, but he would continue to work with them in exchange for having more liberties. Thankfully, those ‘liberties’ only meant he would be allowed more roaming area and be given larger Energon rations. While the government apparently had not been entirely happy—they would prefer him still locked up and being interrogated—it had been agreed to.
Catherine didn’t have much to say on that, having figured Barricade wasn’t a completely mindless, sick bastard like Megatron was. Of course, that was the least of her concern as she, like the others, wondered what the Decepticons could be looking for. What could be here, on Earth—an alien planet—that they would want? There was certainly no natural Energon. In fact, the Autobots had to synthesize their own. The sightings were nowhere near any nuclear sites or weapons of mass destruction. What was Starscream’s plan? Was Starscream even the ‘Con behind it all? There were just too many questions and too few answers. Their only relief was that the enemy wasn’t out to strike them or the humans. So long as the Decepticons were being subtle then they wouldn’t have to suffer too many repercussions beyond annoyance from those sitting behind the desks that didn’t actually know diddly squat about NEST affairs.
With the dour news finally out of the way, the topic of the new recruits came up once more, and their attention fell onto Catherine. Apparently, due to some interference, the Autobots weren’t able to properly communicate, but they knew where they would be landing so a party in Qatar would be sent out to help them get here, and then they would be in her and the Autobot’s care. Essentially, she was given the basic rundown of her duties which she already knew how to do and felt like the whole talk was tedious, but listened anyways. She did perk up, though, when the conversation suddenly jumped to fact Smokescreen had been approved as her liaison aid for the Autobots. Starting tomorrow, he would begin working with her and would help with the new bots.
That turned out to be the last bit of important news and she was dismissed with Lennox, which meant—for them—it was time to have some welcome-back fun with the team and friends alike. She was happy to agree and a barbeque was soon up and running, but this time they were accompanied by a few other teams. Catherine recognized a few of them at once as those under Knock Out and Bluestreak’s, though some were new, but all were a blast. And then a wonderful surprise came not to long after: Autobots! Apparently word had gotten out, and soon they had Sideswipe, Jazz, Bluestreak, Knock Out, Smokescreen, Springer, Arcee, and even Jazz out there with them just talking and having fun.
For Catherine it was a grand time, and it was a shame tomorrow and the following days would only have work for her to do. Until then, however, she was going to have a fun time.
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-O-
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With a loud yawn Catherine flipped over the first page of the document she’d been given from the tech boys down at Central Command. She’d been foolish and gone to bed later than she should have—she blamed Sideswipe, the bastard—and now she was suffering for it. Oh, she’d be good in a few hours, but having to exercise while still half asleep and then having to read papers was not a good combination. Granted, they were profile papers on the new recruits, but still. She was in no condition to properly think on what teams they would go with.
“Okay, first up: Warpath. I’m guessing he’s the fighting type, and oh look! I’m right,” she hummed sardonically as she took a look at the mech’s picture. Even if the word “FRONT LINER & ARTILLERY” wasn’t printed near the “Type” bullet point on his sheet, it was obvious he was meant to be a fighter. His chest was, literally, the barrel of a freaking tank! She could only see awkwardness when going down hallways and through doors with this guy. She knew right away he was going with the heavy weaponry team who actually used tanks or the mounted vehicles. He wasn’t fast, anyways, if his speed numbers were right, so he’d fit right in. Oh, and his raucous personality would work, too. It certainly fit his alternate form.
Second up was a quaint looking mech by the name of Hound, and fitting his name perfectly, he was a tracker. A very good tracker, apparently, which was like a God send at the moment. They needed a bloodhound to find the ‘Cons and see where they were coming to and from. She noticed his personality was well rounded, and venturing close to Bluestreak’s, although with less talking. And when she thought of the long-winded mech, she recalled the notion that Hound loved nature. He would definitely enjoy and fit the reconnaissance teams then, and possibly get along well with humans if he didn’t ask too many curious questions about them.
Beachbreak was next, and Catherine considered his choice of alternate vehicle form a smart one for living on an island…. and a planet that was covered mostly with water. While Cybertronians could submerge in water, the long-term effects and consequences weren’t always so lenient, if Ratchet’s rant on why two certain Autobots should not be thrown into the water was example enough. This Beachbreak, however, was apparently suited for water environments—in fact, his body was immune to the problems others had. She could see immense advantages with him, and his personality seemed just fine, too. She already knew he’d be heading for the Navy section of NEST, meaning they finally had an Autobot they could really work with.
“And now for the guy who got Ratchet leaping for joy. Still can’t believe it,” Catherine chuckled as she glanced at the red-and-white Autobot mech, who reminded her of the awkward, young adolescent on their first day at the job. His name was First Aid, apparently, which, like most of the Autobots, fit some characteristic they had perfectly. In his case, the mech was a medic and not just any medic—according to Jolt, whom had to be the one to give her the report since Ratchet was too busy talking with said mech, he was one-and-only first apprentice and protégé of their Chief Medical Officer. She’d never heard of him from Ratchet, but it’d only taken one look at the happiness on the chief medic’s face to know it was true. She didn’t even need to read through his whole profile to know where he was going.
“So. Four new mechs; three battle-savvy and one a pacifist medic. Not a bad haul,” she hummed, setting the files down and turning to her very own desktop computer—installed recently over her break due to Marissa’s string pulling—and typed up her notes on a word document. It would eventually become a report, but for now it was just a list of bulleted sentences. She leaned back a little to think on what else to write, but then nearly fell out of her chair as the military-fitted form of a man appeared before her out of thin air. While she didn’t fall, she did stumble backwards and nearly threw her mechanical pencil at him, but then she noticed something odd: a flicker in the man’s image. There was also the fact the man wasn’t moving much, at least for the first minute. When his eyes suddenly shot up to look at her she armed herself again with the pencil, but this time the man raised his arms in surrender.
“Ms. Wolf, wait—this is just a hologram,” the man spoke, though his mouth didn’t actually move, and the voice sounded a lot like Smokescreen’s. In fact, if she didn’t know any better it was Smokescreen’s voice.
“…Smokescreen? Hologram?” she replied, raising a brow, and, her fear ebbing, leaned over and stuck her pencil through. Sure enough, the man wasn’t really there. He didn’t even flinch.
“Yes. It’s me, and, yes, this is a hologram. We all have one. It’s a way to help us blend in should we need it. It’s really nothing more than an alteration of light to create an image in your brain.”
“Oh. That’s um… pretty freaking awesome, although you should move the mouth when you speak. And put your hands down. It’s kind of creepy.”
His hands fell, but the mouth still didn’t move, “My apologies. It is… difficult to work the holograms in perfect human form and mannerism. We generally do not use it except for camouflage.”
“Wait… then why are you using it now?” she inquired, tilting her head.
“Well, you do not have Teletraan with you and I cannot fit into the room. Our comm. links, however, are capable of going through the holograms, in way. I believe it has to do with what you call ‘rays’ or rather the ‘electromagnetic spectrum’, so I am able to speak to you now. It is difficult to explain, but to continue answering your question; I cannot get into the room nor communicate efficiently by shouting through the door, so I have used a hologram to do so.”
“Oh. Well, uh, we can go work in your office if that’s better. I was just reading the profiles now and typing up some notes and stuff,” she replied, already getting them together.
“You don’t have to… although it might be preferable. I admit is rather awkward standing outside your door just staring at the wall,” Smokescreen chuckled, though the hologram’s face remained passive.
She snickered, “Yes, well, I think we’ll go to your place if only to save you from embarrassment then. I’ll be out in a second.”
While she got everything together, the hologram vanished—surprising her a little again. She must have blanked out when she was learning that lesson. Granted, the Autobots rarely, if ever, used a hologram. Most of their alternate modes had dark window shields, which allowed them to do without the hologram, but she supposed some would require one, and by all means it was definitely logical. Still, now she was curious, and would definitely ask Ratchet or whoever the expert on them was.
For now, however, she left the room with everything she needed included some extra work and exited the room to find a blue-armored foot with wheels attached to the side waiting for her. She blinked only once before looking up to find the bright-blue optics of Smokescreen looking down at her from beneath the yellow “V” on his head—chevron, she believed they called it. He backed up to lower his hand for her.
“Shall I escort you, Ms. Wolf?” he grinned much like a smooth talker.
She grinned back, “I’d be delighted. And, please, call me Catherine, Smokescreen. Although I’m supposed to be professional being your liaison and all, but I personally feel being casual is much better. Of course, I always use formality when called for.”
“Ah. If we were of the same race I would say we were twins,” the mech chuckled as he set her on his shoulder. “The others have mentioned as much, and approve, of course. Even the more ‘professional’ types, as you would say, although I suppose that quality only applies to Prime and Lieutenant Jazz, really. I would count myself, but I’m generally just a foot soldier and not a liaison, albeit an aid.”
“Dude, Smokescreen, as far as I’m concerned you're also a liaison, but for handling Autobot affairs and I can deal with things going on between humans and Autobots. Something like that. Oh, and handling Galloway. I have to do that. I doubt he’d even so much as look at you. ‘Course he barely recognizes me as a proper ‘partner’ in the job, anyways. Dirtbag doesn’t know what’s coming for him!” she boasted, flexing her muscle and smacking it in a fantastic display of strength that brought an amused smile to the mech’s face.
“Well, let’s hope we can keep things peaceful so we don’t have to deal with this ‘dirt bag’ of yours,” he mused, but Catherine snorted.
“He’ll ring his ugly head in our business regardless. He keeps trying to get you guys to share your tech, but that’s definitely not a good idea,” she sighed, folding her arms and tilting her head. “Anyways, like I said, you won’t have to deal with it, so leave that to me. Of course, if you feel like giving advice, don’t hesitate, but I think I got this. But, uh, anyways, I suppose our first order of business should be to discuss the new recruits. I already have some ideas on where to put them, but I’ll gladly take your input on their skill sets and personality, although Ratchet has yet to steer me wrong with his reports.”
He nodded as he stopped at a door and slid it open, “I know a few of them personally, and so far you’ve done a good job on your own. To be honest, I’m finding my only real need is in regards to the Decepticon—or, well, I suppose we call him a ‘neutral’ now.”
“Ah yes. ‘Ol grumpy-pants Barricade. I’ll tell ya this—it’s definitely not as bad as before. Everybody doesn’t want to kill him now. At least openly,” she grinned a little as he set her down on his “desk”.
Much like most of the rooms, he had only a bed, desk, and maybe a shelf for whatever a Cybertronian would want. The Autobots didn’t honestly need much, and so it was more like each room was made with the bare necessities. She’d once thought it was how their homes were like back on Cybertron, but that had gotten her a laugh from Jazz who explained they actually had very elaborate, beautiful structures for homes, but here on Earth they were still at war and so they only needed as much as any soldier needed. Catherine felt a little bad that they were deprived of comfortable abodes, but Jazz told her not to worry about it, so she didn’t.
“Forgive me for keeping it so plain. I’ve been meaning to put some decorations—it helps lighten the mood—but it’s hard to find things in Cybertronian sizes and I am not the best craftsman,” Smokescreen chuckled as he sat down in his “chair”. It was more so just a metal block with a back welded to it, but it worked apparently.
“I sense a psychiatrist in you, Smokescreen. And don’t worry about me. Your colors are bright enough,” she smirked playfully, and the mech looked down at his frame before laughing lightly.
“Yes, I suppose so,” he grinned, and then brought out a datapad, which, when activated, showed a hologram version of her papers. “I had Ratchet send me copies of their profiles—we figured it would make things easier. And I believe you said you already have some notes on where to put them?”
She nodded, shuffling the documents around, “Obviously, First Aid will be a medic, so he won’t be paired with anyone unless he wants to try learning from the human medics if they even allow that. I mean, he’s not another Ratchet, right?”
“By the Allspark, no!” the mech laughed. “In fact, I’d say he’s the exact opposite!”
“Ah, well that’s a good sign then. As for Hound, I figured reconnaissance would be best being that he’s a tracker. Beachbreak for marine warfare, and Warpath for the heavy artillery.”
Smokescreen tapped his chin thoughtfully, “That sounds good for all of them. I don’t have much information on the human groups, so I can’t speak for them. However, for Beachbreak I would suggest putting him with people who stick to routine. He can be a little… I believe the term is ‘OCD’? That’s the closest I can figure, but he likes to follow a strict routine when on duty, and any deviations can irk him. Warpath is essentially the opposite—he’s very flexible and doesn’t mind plans going wrong and being able to ‘wing it’. In fact, I dare say he loves and waits for it every time. He'll take any chance to blow something up. Hound is the calmest out of them all, and can be placed with anyone sensible, logical, and capable of conversations, which he will have. Thankfully, they’re not nonsensical like Bluestreak’s, although generally pertain to the environment. If I were to humanize him, he would be an ‘environmentalist’, I believe.”
“Good. I had a feeling they were like that. Or, well, except for Beachbreak. That one might be a bit tougher, but I think we can work something… I’ll have to ask around I think. Anyways, I can probably scrounge up some notes on the humans to help you in on that.”
“It would be appreciated. I can also supply anything on the others personalities and habits if that helps, too.”
“That’d be cool. I’m guessing you were the ‘psychiatrist’ back on Cybertron, too?” she grinned a little, and he smiled, bemused.
“You could say that. I knew how to… ‘work’ with everyone. It came in handy when playing any betting games. If you had been there before the war you’d find I was rather infamous for being exceptional at them.”
“Oh, Good Lord. I will never play you at poker then.”
He laughed this time, “The others won’t, either, despite my asking. They still remember my swindling them of much of their Energon. Ah, but we are getting off topic, aren’t we? Granted, I suppose there’s not much to talk about now since we both still have much research to do, hmm?”
“Preeetty much, and assigning mechs to human groups isn’t really all that difficult to be honest. The tough stuff will come when we have issues to solve between them. That I will definitely need help on if it really starts to escalate. I mean, I’ve been able to handle things now, but it’s mostly because events have played out favorably—like with Knock Out and that Brent bastard. Next time might not be so lucky,” the redhead frowned, hoping that asshole was suffering big time in his new location.
“Ah, yes, I heard of that. There are still murmurs of animosity here and there, but it’s definitely died down since then. And I’d be happy to help with that. Similar cases happened a lot on Cybertron when Decepticons wished to become neutrals or join the Autobots. I was often able to stop conflicts, but not always, like with Drift. Poor fellow—could barely get anyone to even talk with him until he joined the Wrecker’s under Kup’s leadership.”
“It can’t be helped. Jeez—it’s crazy how you guys seem so human sometimes. I mean, we act so similar in so many cases.”
“Perhaps our races are not different after all,” he grinned, a mischievous twinkle in his optics.
She grinned back, “I guess not. I’ve only been trying to get everyone to see that for what seems like forever now.”
“Well, perhaps I can help with that?”
“Perhaps. Although I guess you should probably learn about some of the people here first… and maybe humans in general if you already hadn’t.”
He leaned back, “I admit, I’ve only done the basic researcher, but I’ll definitely look into it now.”
“Just a head’s up—don’t look up our reproduction or anything remotely related to it. Ask me or Lennox or, well, just ask me, I guess. Or maybe Wikipedia, but, for the love of God—Do. Not. Google. It. Please!”
“Alright, alright!” he laughed. “I promise I won’t. I guess I’ll need to get started then. Adjourn until next time?”
“Sounds good. I’ll confirm with you on the grouping decision, so give me a few days,” she nodded and moved towards his held out hand, which he used to gently lower her to the ground.
“Affirmative. I will no doubt need as much time to learn more about your race. Until then.”
“Yeah. See ya!” she called, waving, as she heading to the door, which he had left open.
Catherine stepped out into the hall with a smile, glad she finally had someone reasonable and easy to get along with as a partner again. It was especially nice with Marissa leaving, which she felt sad about for a moment before shaking it off and steeling herself. Her mentor and friend would not want her to be moping around about it or feeling sad. Besides, she had Galloway to contend with and any weakness was unacceptable, so she would be fine. Smokescreen would be helping her, too, and he was a smart mech. They would make a good liaison team, especially once he learned more about humans. She just really, really hoped he headed her warning about their reproduction. The Autobots didn’t need to know about porn.
She shook the thoughts away, turning them back towards work. As she’d told Smokescreen, she would take a few days to decide who exactly would get the new Autobots as their “guardian”—as she liked to call it—and in the meantime she also had some work to do. While Marissa had done much of it for her on her break, there were still some things to look through that the woman hadn’t gotten to, but also things she personally needed to see to. One was rejecting yet another bid for a mixing of human and Cybertronian technology, although more carefully played to sound not like it was asking that. Thankfully it was the only one in a while, so she had some hope the request were finally dying down and the politicians were finally getting it through their thick skulls that the treaty was not going to change.
“You’d think the shard would be enough even though it’s fa—,” she sighed aloud, but was cut off as she stepped into an open hallway and three shapes—one pink, one green, and the last turquoise—caught her eye. She turned and raised a brow at the scene before her: Arcee, Chromia, and Springer all huddle behind a nearly fully closed door, peering through the opened slit at something standing in one of the many hangers. While it was a funny thing to see—all three leaning over one another like kids looking at something they shouldn’t—it was also very curious, and so she couldn’t help but walk over.
“So,” she began, startling all three and nearly getting herself squished by a wheel. She managed to retain her cool as the three calmed down. “What are we all staring at?”
“Shh! You’re going to get us caught!” Arcee hissed, using the human gesture for the command before turning back to the door.
“And if you must know—it’s Prime and Elita,” Chromia added, also turning back.
She perked up at once and stepped around the two femmes, “Whoa, whoa—what?”
“Just shut-up and listen!” Springer also hissed, and while normally she would have made some sort of comeback, she did as told and stared.
The hanger was one of the smaller ones, but it was plenty big enough for both Autobot Commander and unofficial-official leader of the Femme Unit. Both stood, standing across from one another not too far, but not too close either. It was as if they wanted to be closer, but they couldn’t—something blocked them. And if their body language wasn’t enough, their optics were like windows. There was something swimming in the blue light; some deep scar and wall that was nigh impossible to cross, though they were trying. Elita-1 suddenly looked up and opened her mouth, but it was Cybertronian that came out. Catherine cursed, unable to translate.
“What are they saying?” she asked softly, and she heard an exasperated sigh right before Arcee picked her up none-too-gently and set her on her shoulder.
“Here, just listen to my comm. link,” she stated quickly before focusing again on her sister and leader. Catherine leaned close, straining to hear the low-level, translated words coming through the pink-armored femme’s “ears”, so to speak. She could just barely make it out.
“I… have considered what you wrote, Optimus,” Elita-1’s voice spoke softly, her optics falling for a moment as she stayed where she stood.
Optimus looked as though he wished to move closer, but also remained still, “I am glad. Regardless of your answer, I am still glad. And I am sorry. I never had the chance to tell you on Cybertron, but—“
“I know you are. You’ve always been, though I was too upset to realize. You had just changed so drastically—become so like the thing we wished to quell,” she replied, looking up at him with such a flicker of pain that Catherine did not need her powers to understand its full depth. She felt her chest ache a little with empathy.
“I… I know,” the Autobot commander whispered weakly, and in that moment he appeared so strange; so alien. He was not the mech the redhead new before the smaller, purple-armored femme. “I was no better than my brother in that time. I was foolish and blinded by rage. I—we had all been betrayed, and I could not stand for it. But I have changed, Elita, and my brother is dead. I am not the mech you once abhorred.”
“Optimus,” she sighed, and her arm moved as if to reach out, but stopped. “I never abhorred you. I was… disappointed, yes, but I never abhorred you. And I know you’ve changed. You’ve become a great mech.”
His optics brightened a little and this time he stepped closer, “Then… perhaps… there is still—perhaps your spark…”
“We have both changed, Optimus. I… am not the femme you knew. This spark is not the one that once called to yours. This body has died and been reborn something new— surely your spark can sense this.”
“My spark senses that you are wrong—it still reaches for yours and it always will, Elita. It matters not what you might be; you are still Elita-1 here,” he replied, gently setting a hand over her spark chamber. The femme let it rest there for a few, precious moments before lifting it gently and holding it in her own hands, so much smaller than his imposing, scarred ones.
“Am I, Optimus? Are you sure even know who I am, anymore? Do you even know what I am? Do you know I can feel my sisters as if their emotions and actions were my own? Do you know I relish in the death of a Decepticon as much as them? Do you know how much I have suffered and slaughtered? Do you know the empty hollowness that is death? Do you?”
“No, I do not,” he replied, but before she could pull away, he closed his hand around hers and brought his other to cover the grip. She looked up at him, her optics swelled with an unimaginable throng of emotions that Catherine could hardly comprehend it with her sight alone. “But I wish to. I wish to know you again, Elita. I know the femme that was always by my side on our home world is there, and I will find her even if takes me until all are one. I will do this and more, should you only let me. Please, Elita. Let us, at the very least, try.”
Elita-1 met his optics, both glowing a dim blue in the hangar, but hiding a brightness that shone greater than any sun within them. Their hands remained clasped, and no sounds passed between them save the soft whirr of their gears and parts. Not even the mech and femmes around Catherine made a sound, and she made a point to hold her breath, or rather she supposed she’d forgotten how to breathe. The silence was deafening and the redhead longed to watch the two draw closer, to see the love that was so clear between them burst with a glorious radiance.
A flicker of a smile appeared on the femme’s faceplates, “Let us try.”
Catherine had hoped to see the rest, but both femmes turned away, and Springer followed in suit. She turned to look back, but she could no longer see properly through the slit of the door, and her carrier had no intentions of stopping or letting her continue to listen to the conversation. She frowned, disappointed, but said nothing as the three Cybertronians made their way down the hall and around the corner. Only then did Chromia come beside Arcee on the same side the redhead sat, and looked to her.
“Elita-1 asked for us to be there for support. She no longer needs us now, so we leave,” the turquoise femme explained, and Catherine nodded with understanding, though frowned as a question came to mind.
“Wait—then why was Springer there and why let me in on it?”
“Springer happened to be with me and got too curious,” Arcee explained, casting a harsh glance up at the green mech, who shrugged with a grin. “As for you—it is not so different, actually. We also trust you, and it would have been rude to simply have you stand there and not know what they were saying. Elita-1 does not mind, either.”
“Oh. Well… thank-you, then. For trusting me. That was… that was nice. I’m happy for them,” the redhead smiled sincerely and warmly.
“Don’t get too excited. They’ve still got a long way to go,” Springer spoke up, though his voice was hopeful more than anything else.
Chromia raised an optic ridge, “And since when are you an expert on such things, Wrecker?”
“It’s Optimus and Elita. We all know how slow they were back on Cybertron, before…” he paused to glance at the two femmes, rethinking his word choice. “…everything. They’re going to take forever again. It’s just how they are. Not so unlike you, Chromia, and a certain frontline warrior.”
She hummed dangerously, “Watch yourself. I don’t need Ironhide to show you how to keep your audio processor shut.”
The green mech just grinned a little, but shut his trap. Arcee, however, was not disheartened by her sister and so looked over with a bemused grin.
“When are you and the big guy going to finally go through with it? We’ve only been waiting for vorns now,” the pink femme purred, and, had she not been there, Catherine was very sure Chromia would have taken a swing at her sister.
“That is none of your concern!” she huffed and wheeled off faster to the next intersection of hallways, though stopped at the corner to turn back, suddenly with a grin. “Besides, we’ve already bonded.”
Then the femme was gone, leaving both Arcee and Springer standing, speechless. Then they started to move. Catherine literally had to yell to get the femme to put her down first—having nearly flown off at a dangerous speed. As soon as she was safely down, both mech and femme raced after the laughing turquoise-armored sister, leaving Catherine to stare in the direction they had gone for a few moments before bursting into laughter. She was crying by the time she finally calmed down, though couldn’t stop the giggle that came out every so often on the way back to her work room. And when she was there and she’d settled back into her chair, the only thing she could think was that it was very, very good to be back.
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