[Bay] Before Now
Jan. 3rd, 2015 12:25 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22a/n: Another flash fic cleaned up and re-posted for completion's sake. Please don't mind the spam. :)
Title: Before Now
Universe: Bayverse, Coping Mechanisms series
Characters: Ironhide, Optimus, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker
Rating: K+
Warnings: implications of canon typical violence
Description: Optimus meets Sideswipe and Sunstreaker for the first time, much to Ironhide's dismay.
Special thanks to fuzipenguin for the initial prompt.
"You don't have to be here, Optimus,” Ironhide says, vents puffing as he keeps up with Optimus' faster pace. “I can assess the new recruits.”
“Is it frowned upon?” Optimus asks, careful to keep his tone mild. But right now, Ironhide is sounding like all the priests who continued to tell him what a Prime should and should not do.
And look how well that worked out for everyone.
Ironhide's field fizzles with discomfort. “It's the Lord High Protector's task,” he answers, subvocally, and therein lies the rub.
Optimus' tone is firm. “All the more reason I should attend.”
“If you insist.”
He doesn't, however, for one second think that Ironhide will let him go alone. And he's not surprised when the weapons specialist falls into step along with him as they draw closer and closer to the sound of metal clashing and the tremors of discharged weaponry.
“How many?” Optimus asks.
“Not enough.” Ironhide grimaces, plucking at the surgical mesh lain over his right optic. They remain hopeful that it will self-repair into usefulness. “Mechs still believe Neutral is an option.”
They pause at the viewing window overlooking the open arena below. “I wish that it were,” Optimus murmurs.
'Not enough' is quite accurate, Optimus observes. He counts perhaps a dozen new registrants, the majority of whom are citizen-class. Merchants and the like, who have perhaps never held a weapon in their life. The cost of upgrading their armor to battle-minimum alone would be exorbitant.
Except for two.
Optimus shifts his weight. Gold and silver. They are noticeably larger than the rest with heavier armor, though dented and scraped, a testament to their efforts to get here.
“Most will need training and upgrades,” Ironhide says. “Until now, the only violence they've ever witnessed was on the vids.”
“What of those two?” Optimus doesn't bother to point. It should be painfully obvious.
Ironhide grunts, field going sour. “Gladiators. Go by Sunstreaker and Sideswipe.”
“You don't sound impressed.”
“They're killers, Prime.”
Optimus tilts his helm. “Aren't we all?”
“Yeah, well, they're liars, too.”
Optimus arches an orbital ridge. “Oh?”
Ironhide shuffles his pedes, mouth twisting into a grimace. “They claim they're twins. Split-spark twins.”
A rarity but not an impossibility. Optimus watches them spar, how they move, a spark-deep sense of intuition to their awareness of each other. He can believe it, even if Ironhide doesn't. Ironhide has no clue what it's like. He and Megatron had not been split, but they had been born of the same energies.
Optimus lifts his hand, rubbing his chest, an ache developing beneath. “What does Ratchet say?”
Ironhide grunts again. “He's too busy to worry about slag that doesn't matter. His words, not mine.”
Ratchet is overwhelmed with maintenance and repairs right now. He probably rebuffed Ironhide's whining because he considered it a 'non-issue'. Why it seems to bother Ironhide, Optimus does not know.
“Prime?”
Silver and gold clash.
“I want to meet them.”
“No.”
Optimus cycles his optics, looking at his weapons specialist. That had been a rather firm and final negative, bounds above Ironhide's authority.
Ironhide's field warbles with a mixture of distress and apology. “What kind of bodyguard would I be if I let two pitspawn like that near you?”
“It wasn't a request.” Ironhide's been telling him to assert his authority. Now's the time.
Optimus turns on a heel-strut and starts walking, expecting Ironhide to follow. Which he does, more attempts to dissuade Optimus on his lipplates.
“They can't be trusted.”
“Red Alert once said the same thing about you.”
“That's different.” But his protest falls flat and he knows it.
They arrive at the arena floor, pausing at the edge of it. Optimus lingers, watching the twins as they face each other, but are too evenly matched. They know each other's movements. The current evaluator calls an end to it and that's when Optimus' presence is noticed.
“Prime, sir!” The evaluator, a stocky mech unfamiliar to Optimus, snaps to attention as the dozen new recruits murmur amongst themselves.
The twins, however, don't spare Optimus a glance.
“I only wish to observe,” Optimus says. Ironhide says nothing, but he vibrates with menace, all but glaring at the two gladiators.
“Of course,” the instructor replies, his field now ripe with distress. “We are honored to--”
“Observe?” The flat tone is just shy of derisive.
“Does the Prime not fight?” A second voice challenges.
Optimus traces both comments back to their originators. He is none too surprised to find that the twins have closed ranks and now stare his direction, bristling with implication.
“The Prime doesn’t have time for the likes of you!” Ironhide snarls, stomping toward them with the distinctive whine of a cannon prepping for charge.
Optimus resists the urge to sigh. “Ironhide.”
The black mech huffs but holds his ground. That doesn't keep him from cycling his cannons, as though to remind everyone present that he is a danger.
“Traditionally, no, the Prime does not fight,” Optimus answers, stepping closer to them despite the warning growl in Ironhide's engine. “That is the duty of the Lord High Protector. But of the many things my brother has shattered, this is but a panel.”
They trade smirks. Their swords poke from wrist sheaths as though in challenge.
“We should have been Cons,” says the silver one, whom Optimus suspects is Sideswipe.
“We came here thinking you'd give us a reason not to be,” Sunstreaker adds, something far more aggressive in his tone.
Behind them, their instructor splutters. “He is the Prime! What other reason do you need?”
“He's not my Prime,” Sideswipe says.
“Not yet,” Sunstreaker growls.
“You!”
“How dare you!”
Optimus holds up a hand, ignoring both the instructor and Ironhide, and taking note of the increasingly mutinous murmurs of the other recruits. They do not like Sunstreaker and Sideswipe anymore than any other mech here. These two have made friends of no one. Then again, they have probably survived with only each other. What use have they for friends?
“No,” he says. “I cannot blame them. Not after knowing what travesties have been committed in the name of the Prime.” He moves closer to them, despite Ironhide making noises and probably contacting Red Alert and whoever else he can to make Optimus see reason.
“What would you have of me?” Optimus spreads his hands, palms up, to show that he carries no weapons on his frame. Not yet anyway. It is only a matter of time.
“Prime!” Ironhide sounds aghast.
Sideswipe and Sunstreaker exchange startled glances. Perhaps they hadn't expected Optimus to take them seriously. But he had. Not only because they present a valid point, but also because Optimus sees a bit of himself in them. And he admits, only to himself, a sense of envy.
“A challenge,” they finally say, in eerie unison. Something Optimus and Megatron had never done.
“Either here,” Sideswipe continues with a smirk.
“Or the berth,” Sunstreaker finishes, less a smirk and more a sneer. “Since it seems you're more suited for it.”
If they intended to make Ironhide speechless, they succeeded. Somehow, listening to Ironhide splutter fills Optimus with amusement, despite lingering strains of surprise.
He can hear the argument now. Personal attention given to new recruits? Why do they deserve it more than anyone else? What makes them special?
And to that, Optimus thinks, what makes them undeserving? Why should they be any less indistinguishable than any other mech? It is that very thinking that has lead Cybertron to its current state.
“Very well,” Optimus says, and conceals his smirk when both twins cycle their optics, clearly not expecting him to agree. “Since I fear my CMO's wrath far more than anything else, shall we retire to my quarters?”
“Prime!” Ironhide quivers with outrage.
“My lord, this is unprecedented,” the instructor frets, hands wringing each other.
The other recruits stare, murmuring in earnest, some of their faces stricken with envy.
Sideswipe and Sunstreaker exchange glances, speaking to each other without words and oh, how Optimus knows that look. That familiarity and comfort. His innards ache to see it, his thoughts turning to his own brother.
“We accept,” Sideswipe says with a firm tip of his helm.
Something within Optimus eases. He can't give reason to why or how, but there is a certain degree of relief to their agreement.
And there is a part of him painfully eager for what comes next.
***
a/n: Ah, I do so love this little OT3 of mine. Any chance I get in this continuity to pair up some twins, I'll take it. They are a weakness.
Feedback, as always, is welcome and appreciated.
Title: Before Now
Universe: Bayverse, Coping Mechanisms series
Characters: Ironhide, Optimus, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker
Rating: K+
Warnings: implications of canon typical violence
Description: Optimus meets Sideswipe and Sunstreaker for the first time, much to Ironhide's dismay.
Special thanks to fuzipenguin for the initial prompt.
"You don't have to be here, Optimus,” Ironhide says, vents puffing as he keeps up with Optimus' faster pace. “I can assess the new recruits.”
“Is it frowned upon?” Optimus asks, careful to keep his tone mild. But right now, Ironhide is sounding like all the priests who continued to tell him what a Prime should and should not do.
And look how well that worked out for everyone.
Ironhide's field fizzles with discomfort. “It's the Lord High Protector's task,” he answers, subvocally, and therein lies the rub.
Optimus' tone is firm. “All the more reason I should attend.”
“If you insist.”
He doesn't, however, for one second think that Ironhide will let him go alone. And he's not surprised when the weapons specialist falls into step along with him as they draw closer and closer to the sound of metal clashing and the tremors of discharged weaponry.
“How many?” Optimus asks.
“Not enough.” Ironhide grimaces, plucking at the surgical mesh lain over his right optic. They remain hopeful that it will self-repair into usefulness. “Mechs still believe Neutral is an option.”
They pause at the viewing window overlooking the open arena below. “I wish that it were,” Optimus murmurs.
'Not enough' is quite accurate, Optimus observes. He counts perhaps a dozen new registrants, the majority of whom are citizen-class. Merchants and the like, who have perhaps never held a weapon in their life. The cost of upgrading their armor to battle-minimum alone would be exorbitant.
Except for two.
Optimus shifts his weight. Gold and silver. They are noticeably larger than the rest with heavier armor, though dented and scraped, a testament to their efforts to get here.
“Most will need training and upgrades,” Ironhide says. “Until now, the only violence they've ever witnessed was on the vids.”
“What of those two?” Optimus doesn't bother to point. It should be painfully obvious.
Ironhide grunts, field going sour. “Gladiators. Go by Sunstreaker and Sideswipe.”
“You don't sound impressed.”
“They're killers, Prime.”
Optimus tilts his helm. “Aren't we all?”
“Yeah, well, they're liars, too.”
Optimus arches an orbital ridge. “Oh?”
Ironhide shuffles his pedes, mouth twisting into a grimace. “They claim they're twins. Split-spark twins.”
A rarity but not an impossibility. Optimus watches them spar, how they move, a spark-deep sense of intuition to their awareness of each other. He can believe it, even if Ironhide doesn't. Ironhide has no clue what it's like. He and Megatron had not been split, but they had been born of the same energies.
Optimus lifts his hand, rubbing his chest, an ache developing beneath. “What does Ratchet say?”
Ironhide grunts again. “He's too busy to worry about slag that doesn't matter. His words, not mine.”
Ratchet is overwhelmed with maintenance and repairs right now. He probably rebuffed Ironhide's whining because he considered it a 'non-issue'. Why it seems to bother Ironhide, Optimus does not know.
“Prime?”
Silver and gold clash.
“I want to meet them.”
“No.”
Optimus cycles his optics, looking at his weapons specialist. That had been a rather firm and final negative, bounds above Ironhide's authority.
Ironhide's field warbles with a mixture of distress and apology. “What kind of bodyguard would I be if I let two pitspawn like that near you?”
“It wasn't a request.” Ironhide's been telling him to assert his authority. Now's the time.
Optimus turns on a heel-strut and starts walking, expecting Ironhide to follow. Which he does, more attempts to dissuade Optimus on his lipplates.
“They can't be trusted.”
“Red Alert once said the same thing about you.”
“That's different.” But his protest falls flat and he knows it.
They arrive at the arena floor, pausing at the edge of it. Optimus lingers, watching the twins as they face each other, but are too evenly matched. They know each other's movements. The current evaluator calls an end to it and that's when Optimus' presence is noticed.
“Prime, sir!” The evaluator, a stocky mech unfamiliar to Optimus, snaps to attention as the dozen new recruits murmur amongst themselves.
The twins, however, don't spare Optimus a glance.
“I only wish to observe,” Optimus says. Ironhide says nothing, but he vibrates with menace, all but glaring at the two gladiators.
“Of course,” the instructor replies, his field now ripe with distress. “We are honored to--”
“Observe?” The flat tone is just shy of derisive.
“Does the Prime not fight?” A second voice challenges.
Optimus traces both comments back to their originators. He is none too surprised to find that the twins have closed ranks and now stare his direction, bristling with implication.
“The Prime doesn’t have time for the likes of you!” Ironhide snarls, stomping toward them with the distinctive whine of a cannon prepping for charge.
Optimus resists the urge to sigh. “Ironhide.”
The black mech huffs but holds his ground. That doesn't keep him from cycling his cannons, as though to remind everyone present that he is a danger.
“Traditionally, no, the Prime does not fight,” Optimus answers, stepping closer to them despite the warning growl in Ironhide's engine. “That is the duty of the Lord High Protector. But of the many things my brother has shattered, this is but a panel.”
They trade smirks. Their swords poke from wrist sheaths as though in challenge.
“We should have been Cons,” says the silver one, whom Optimus suspects is Sideswipe.
“We came here thinking you'd give us a reason not to be,” Sunstreaker adds, something far more aggressive in his tone.
Behind them, their instructor splutters. “He is the Prime! What other reason do you need?”
“He's not my Prime,” Sideswipe says.
“Not yet,” Sunstreaker growls.
“You!”
“How dare you!”
Optimus holds up a hand, ignoring both the instructor and Ironhide, and taking note of the increasingly mutinous murmurs of the other recruits. They do not like Sunstreaker and Sideswipe anymore than any other mech here. These two have made friends of no one. Then again, they have probably survived with only each other. What use have they for friends?
“No,” he says. “I cannot blame them. Not after knowing what travesties have been committed in the name of the Prime.” He moves closer to them, despite Ironhide making noises and probably contacting Red Alert and whoever else he can to make Optimus see reason.
“What would you have of me?” Optimus spreads his hands, palms up, to show that he carries no weapons on his frame. Not yet anyway. It is only a matter of time.
“Prime!” Ironhide sounds aghast.
Sideswipe and Sunstreaker exchange startled glances. Perhaps they hadn't expected Optimus to take them seriously. But he had. Not only because they present a valid point, but also because Optimus sees a bit of himself in them. And he admits, only to himself, a sense of envy.
“A challenge,” they finally say, in eerie unison. Something Optimus and Megatron had never done.
“Either here,” Sideswipe continues with a smirk.
“Or the berth,” Sunstreaker finishes, less a smirk and more a sneer. “Since it seems you're more suited for it.”
If they intended to make Ironhide speechless, they succeeded. Somehow, listening to Ironhide splutter fills Optimus with amusement, despite lingering strains of surprise.
He can hear the argument now. Personal attention given to new recruits? Why do they deserve it more than anyone else? What makes them special?
And to that, Optimus thinks, what makes them undeserving? Why should they be any less indistinguishable than any other mech? It is that very thinking that has lead Cybertron to its current state.
“Very well,” Optimus says, and conceals his smirk when both twins cycle their optics, clearly not expecting him to agree. “Since I fear my CMO's wrath far more than anything else, shall we retire to my quarters?”
“Prime!” Ironhide quivers with outrage.
“My lord, this is unprecedented,” the instructor frets, hands wringing each other.
The other recruits stare, murmuring in earnest, some of their faces stricken with envy.
Sideswipe and Sunstreaker exchange glances, speaking to each other without words and oh, how Optimus knows that look. That familiarity and comfort. His innards ache to see it, his thoughts turning to his own brother.
“We accept,” Sideswipe says with a firm tip of his helm.
Something within Optimus eases. He can't give reason to why or how, but there is a certain degree of relief to their agreement.
And there is a part of him painfully eager for what comes next.
a/n: Ah, I do so love this little OT3 of mine. Any chance I get in this continuity to pair up some twins, I'll take it. They are a weakness.
Feedback, as always, is welcome and appreciated.
