[CtE] From the Shallows 06

[dracoqueen22]

From the Shallows
Part Six

Morning came far too soon.

Hot Rod onlined with echoes of dreams he couldn’t remember reverberating through his mind. He dragged himself out of the berth, all of the aches and pains and twinges gone. He still felt a stranger in his own frame, but he didn’t stumble or bump into much.

The apartment was unfamiliar to him. It gave him a bit of a startle, to walk out of the berth room and not recognize where he was. It felt like a place that fit him even less than the new adjustments to his frame.

There were no messages from Jazz.

Hot Rod tried not to be disappointed. This was pretty usual, wasn’t it? They were friends, friends with benefits, but nothing more. Hot Rod knew better than to expect or even hope for that to change.

Still.

He stood in his new kitchen and stared dumbly at a table he didn’t recognize, a fully stocked cabinet he hadn’t chosen for himself, and pictures on the walls he thought were both hideous and unnecessary. The colors were sterile and functional. The place felt unlived in, like it wasn’t meant to be a home.

Hot Rod hated it.

He dialed Jazz as he moved to the one thing he didn’t hate about the apartment -- the balcony. All of Polyhex stretched out below him, new and old clashing, mechs milling in the early morning streets, Seekers and the like flittering through the skies above.

Hot Rod braced his hands on the balcony rail and vented, slow and deep. He offlined his optics, tried to find a center for calm, but calm had never been his strong suit.

A chime rang through the apartment. It took Hot Rod far too long to realize that meant someone was outside his door.

He turned away from the view and answered the door, quelling the ridiculous optimism that it was Jazz come to wish him good morning or finally answer Hot Rod's messages.

Optimus Prime stood on the other side of it, smiling at him from an equal height. "Good morning, Rodimus. Did you rest well?"

He flinched at the unwelcome name, but didn't correct Optimus. He supposed he'd have to get used to the title eventually. It wasn't like he could refuse it.

"I guess," Hot Rod said, and coughed a little, stepping aside. "Come on in."

"Thank you." Optimus gave him a warm smile and entered, his gaze assessing the interior of Hot Rod's apartment. "I thought we might start your lessons today."

"Lessons?" Hot Rod echoed, confused, until his memory core offered up the conversation he'd had with Optimus yesterday, about learning how to be a Prime. He groaned. "So soon?"

"I see no reason to delay. You've been cleared of your other duties."

Yeah. He'd noticed that. He hadn't much liked it either.

Hot Rod sighed, his shoulders sinking. "I guess I don't have much of a choice anymore, do I?"

Optimus cocked his head, and some of the rigidity in his stance softened. His field touched Hot Rod's and there was a gentle warmth in it, like consolation.

"I am sorry, Hot Rod," he murmured, and the use of his proper designation made Hot Rod relax a little. "Being chosen is as much a terrible responsibility as it is a wonderful one. The truth is, yes, you can't run from it. But there are still choices you can make."

Hot Rod twisted his jaw. He turned in a slow circle. "I didn't get to choose my apartment. I don't get to pick the name I want. I can't spend my time the way I want to. I can't have--" He cut himself off, swallowed down the bitterness crawling up the back of his intake.

He shook his head and fell silent instead. He sounded like a child throwing a tantrum. It was unfair, but to rail against Primus was pointless.

Besides, Optimus was wrong.

If he wanted, Hot Rod could run away. He could steal a ship and flee Cybertron. He could simply refuse to relay Primus' messages. Maybe Primus would give up on him, take the Matrix back, give it to someone else.

Or maybe Primus was just enough of a dick to keep the Matrix and his secrets, if Hot Rod wouldn't dole them out. Was he willing to take that risk? Could he doom the surviving Cybertronians to Primus' disregard?

He was already responsible for the death of thousands. He couldn't bear the weight of that guilt, too.

"I didn't plan for this," Hot Rod said, finally. "This isn't what I wanted."

Optimus rested a hand on his shoulder, Hot Rod barely feeling the weight of it, now that his joints and gears and struts and everything had been strengthened and enhanced.

"I know. And I understand. If I could take this burden from you, I would." Optimus' gaze was gentle. Understanding.

His words.

They, however, were a lie. Hot Rod wasn't sure how he knew. Something from the Matrix maybe, some new intuition he didn't have before. A part of Optimus was being truthful, yes. If he could, he would take the burden of the Matrix and save Hot Rod from it. A part of Optimus missed the wisdom and guidance it offered.

But there was relief in there, too. Optimus had been Prime for a long, long time, through a long, long war. Hot Rod couldn't begrudge him his relief.

"It's all right," Hot Rod sighed, even though it wasn't. He slid out from under Optimus' comfort and flicked his armor, trying to settle into a frame he still wasn't used to. "I guess I'm lucky I got you to guide me though. This won't be a complete disaster."

Just most of one.

Optimus chuckled. "I don't think it'll be one regardless. You're more worthy of this than you realize." He paused and looked around. "Are you ready to go or...?"

Hot Rod gestured helplessly. "Nothing here is mine yet. So I guess I am." His tanks grumbled at him, unappreciative. Apparently his usual intake of energon wasn't going to be enough. "Though maybe a snack..."

"My cabinet is more than stocked. Soundwave ensures that." Optimus stepped out, waiting for Hot Rod to follow, before he continued. "And if you would like, I will call you Hot Rod until you are ready for 'Rodimus.'"

Hot Rod's optics widened. "You'd do that?"

"If it's what you prefer, of course."

Hot Rod fell in step beside Optimus, contemplating. "Um. Yeah, I'd rather be called Hot Rod for now."

"Consider it done. I'll inform the others as well."

"Thanks."

Optimus tipped his head in acknowledgment. "It's the very least I can do." He folded his arms behind his back as they stepped into the lift, selecting the level which would take them to the office bank. "I thought we'd start with a bit of shadowing. You could follow me around for a week, see what I do on average, and then we'll start getting into particulars."

"Sounds fun."

It didn't, in the least bit, sound fun.

Hot Rod swallowed a sigh. "By the way, you haven't seen Jazz, have you?"

Optimus blinked, and the expression of sympathy on his face was one Hot Rod wished was never pointed at him in the first place. "He took the space bridge to Earth first thing this morning. Didn't he tell you?"

Hot Rod forced out a laugh and scrubbed the back of his neck. "Oh, I completely forgot about that. Now that you mention it, I do remember him saying something about inspections." He playfully knocked himself in the head. "It's been a scramble up here since I got the Matrix so no wonder I forgot."

"It's all right. Did you need to speak with him?" Optimus asked.

Hot Rod didn't want to lie, but he wanted even less to speak the truth. Fortunately, a handy distraction came in the form of Laserbeak who appeared out of nowhere to land on Optimus' shoulder as soon as they stepped out of the lift.

Optimus rumbled a smile at her and scratched the top of her head. She nudged into his hand and gave Hot Rod a curious look.

"You're gonna have to get used to the sight of me," Hot Rod said. "Apparently, I'm Optimus' shadow for the week."

She chirped at him, and Optimus chuckled. “Yes, he does have a lot to learn. I hope I prove to be an adequate teacher.”

“I’m already sure you are. It’s probably me who’ll suck as a student,” Hot Rod said.

He pushed aside thoughts of Jazz. He had to. There was work to be done, tasks to learn, a whole array of responsibilities which would soon be on his shoulders. He couldn’t fault Jazz for not wanting to be a part of that.

He just wished Jazz had said so rather than run away.

Hot Rod swallowed a sigh.

Oh, well.

~

“Do you think it worked that time?” Starscream asked as he sprawled atop Grimlock’s massive form, the half-firm length of his mate’s spike still nestled within him, their frames ticking and cooling in the aftermath.

Little trembles of pleasure still zipped through his sensor net. Starscream knew it wouldn’t take much to get him worked up again, especially with Grimlock idly tracing the leading edges of his wings.

“We could always keep trying,” Grimlock rumbled, his voice thick with amusement.

Starscream chuckled. “Ah, yes. Such a burden that will be.” He wiggled a little, getting more comfortable, his thighs splayed wide over Grimlock’s broader frame, but Grimlock radiating heat beneath him, too.

He glanced at his chronometer, trying to gauge how much longer they’d be undisturbed before some matter of state called to their attention. A leader rarely had free time for himself, and they were no exception, even if they did have competent secondaries.

Hmm. Perhaps enough time for another try?

Grimlock must have calculated the same thing, for one sweeping hand abandoned Starscream’s wings to stroke down and cup his aft. Starscream purred and arched into the touch, even as Grimlock’s fingers dipped between his thighs, brushing where they were still joined. His spike twitched within Starscream, starting to thicken once more.

Primus bless a Dinobot’s stamina.

Starscream breathed a sigh and rocked back onto Grimlock’s fingers. “Ten minutes,” he said as he started to knead his fingers against Grimlock’s armor, talons slipping into seams to scratch over the cables beneath. “And we need time to clean up.”

Grimlock laughed, deep rumbles which vibrated into Starscream’s frame. “Then less practice and more pleasure this time,” he suggested.

“Sounds like a plan,” Starscream purred and pushed himself up, shifting back to fully seat Grimlock inside him, a ripple of heat traveling up his spinal strut.

He braced his hands on Grimlock’s abdomen, circling his hips a little, grinning as the light in Grimlock’s visor shifted from a neutral amber, to a darker, deeper hue, his field flooding with desire.

The berth shook.

Starscream cycled his optics. He stilled. He cocked his head. “Did you feel that?”

Grimlock rumbled a laugh, scrubbing his hands up Starscream’s thighs. “Is that a trick question?”

“I wish it was.” Starscream frowned, and the berth shook again, stronger this time, enough for some of the decorative items on the shelves to rattle noisily.

It lasted much longer, like one of the landquakes they’d endured a few times while on Earth. There was no sound to accompany the motion, but Starscream’s sensors went haywire.

“I felt that,” Grimlock said, once it had ended. He sat up, shifting Starscream into his lap, his field shifting from aroused to concerned in a split-second. “What was it?”

Boom!

More trembling, more violent than the first, nearly unseated Starscream. He clutched Grimlock, digging in with talons and knees, as the berth tossed and a few things toppled from the shelves, breaking where they hit the floor.

The quaking lasted longer this time, was more violent. Starscream counted the seconds, until thirty of them later, the quaking petered off to nothing.

He waited, with caught ventilations, for one, two, three minutes. Stillness and silence before he allowed himself to ex-vent, his forehead to Grimlock’s shoulder, and Grimlock’s arms coming around him.

“Well, my scientist, what was that?” Grimlock asked, though he seemed in no hurry to leap from the berth to investigate.

“I wish I knew.” Starscream cycled a ventilation and extricated himself from Grimlock’s arms, the afterglow and build up gone in the wake of the odd occurrence. Cybertron was not known for geologic activity. Perhaps it was an after-effect of whatever had made Hot Rod into Rodimus Prime, which had potentially activated the Primal Spark at the core.

Or perhaps it was something else.

“Damage?” Grimlock asked as Starscream moved to the small console they kept in their berthroom, powering it on with a few quick key presses.

He logged into the system, into the Decepticon intranet, and skimmed the reports pouring in. There were a lot of startled and worried mechs out there, and not just in Iacon. Apparently, the quake had been felt in Polyhex and Nova Cronum as well.

“Nothing serious,” Starscream said as he read through the reports as quickly as they hit the system.

Another message popped up marked ‘urgent’ just as Grimlock said, “Shockwave’s trying to contact me,” and lo and behold, it was from Shockwave.

“Answer it,” Starscream said as he clicked on the message and skimmed through it, overlooking all of Shockwave’s usual overly lengthy introductions to get to the spark of the matter.

At the time of the quake, Shockwave's instruments measured energy spikes all over Cybertron. He was not able to pinpoint their source, save that they shared the same origin as whatever caused the shaking. He was uncertain whether the tremors were due to Cybertron's internal gears starting to move again, or if there was something else going on. He'd need time to research and it would be beneficial if he had free range outside his lab to do so.

Starscream snorted. "That's not going to happen," he muttered.

Shockwave also reported that the Autobots had a scientific team out near where Hot Rod had vanished and been found. They'd recovered a lot of data, some of which they'd sent back to him, and he'd send an updated report once he knew more.

In short, he didn't know anything.

Starscream signed off on Shockwave's message as Grimlock rested a hand on his shoulder, visor dimmed as he communicated internally with Shockwave.

Starscream fielded a few worried comms -- including from his own trinemates -- and waited.

"He knows nothing," Grimlock rumbled after a moment, visor flickering as his attention shifted back to Starscream. "And as far as I can tell, there's been no structural damage anywhere in Iacon."

"It wasn't a fluke," Starscream said. "Something's happened. Something none of us understand." How much really do they know about their planet anyway?

"I would lay creds on Prime knowing. Either of them."

Starscream hummed his agreement as another message popped up in the queue, also marked 'urgent'. He clicked on it and as he read, rapped his fingers on the desktop. "Excavation site three has damaged equipment," he said. "I'm guessing the tremors were worse there."

"Three." Grimlock contemplated. "That one is near where they found Hot Rod, yes?"

Starscream nodded. "It's the one we think is the control bridge.”

"I think it's time we had a talk with Prime then. I doubt this is all a coincidence." Grimlock leaned down for a nuzzle. "It seems we have to cut our practice short."

Starscream curled his hand around Grimlock's hand, pulling him down to press their foreheads together. "There's always tonight."

"I'll hold you to that."

~

The moment the tremors ended, and Soundwave was certain there weren't immediately going to be more, he dialed down his comm receptors, because the comms exploded planet-wide, with mechs immediately contacting their superiors, their friends, all of them chattering about the quakes and what it could be mean and the worry about damage.

Soundwave was a nanosecond too slow, however, and the immediate rush of noise gave him an instant headache before he could dial it down.

His first concern, however, was Optimus. While what few reports he let slip through seemed to indicate there was very little damage or injury, if any, Soundwave would not be able to rest until he was sure. He was certain Optmus would need his assistance as well, since something like this could cause a lot of trouble for the person in charge.

Optimus is fine.

Laserbeak's transmission sent a wave of calm through Soundwave's frame. He would never cease to be grateful that she'd grown so fond of Optimus, enough to feel comfortable on his shoulder even when Soundwave was nowhere to be seen. Nowadays, she chose to stay with Optimus more often than not, and Soundwave wasn't the least bit offended.

He needed the second pair of optics to look after Optimus. His partner seemed terminally incapable of looking after himself.

Soundwave didn’t need to ping for entry; Optimus’ office door opened to him automatically. Inside, Optimus sat behind his desk, focused on his console, typing madly, Laserbeak crouched on his shoulder. Hot Rod sat across from him with a datapad, idly tapping a stylus against his bottom lip.

Both looked up as Soundwave entered.

“I don’t think there’s anyone on Cybertron who did not feel that quake,” Optimus said with a sigh of exasperation. “I must beg of your assistance, Soundwave. I’m being bombarded with messages, comms, demands…”

“Optimus need never beg,” Soundwave said as he stepped fully inside and the door closed behind him. He glanced at Hot Rod, who gave him a truncated wave, unease thick in his field.

It was unsurprising. It had been ten years, but Soundwave’s reputation still preceded him. He couldn’t blame the new Prime for being uneasy in his presence.

“What must be done?” Soundwave asked.

“Everything,” Optimus said with a sigh. “People are demanding answers I don’t have. Grimlock and Starscream have requested a meeting. The scientists are pouring in with their data, and while I can understand some of it, most goes over my head.”

Soundwave nodded and picked up a datapad, logging on and attaching it to Optimus’ console so that he might join Optimus’ work. He tackled the request from Grimlock and Starscream first. They seemed to think the quakes were related to Hot Rod and the newly acquired Matrix.

It was a plausible cause.

“The Matrix?” Soundwave asked with a pointed look at Hot Rod.

The younger mech squirmed. His fingers fluttered over his spark seam. “It’s, um, twitching, I guess? I don’t know if that’s normal or not. But it does feel like it’s restless or something.”

Soundwave glanced at Optimus who had looked away from his console to regard Hot Rod thoughtfully. He tilted his head, optics dimmed.

“I do not know that it was ever physically responsive when I carried it,” Optimus said, and perhaps Hot Rod would have missed the ache of longing, of disappointment, in Optimus’ voice, but not Soundwave. “It occasionally whispered to me, but it tended to speak only during recharge.”

“Did you get visits from Primus in your dreams, too?”

Optimus’ optics spiraled wide before he mastered the wild flail of his emotions. “Only the once,” he murmured, and gave Hot Rod a keen look. “Have you spoken with him more than once?”

Hot Rod fidgeted in the chair and found his datapad fascinating all of the sudden. “I guess, you know, since the Matrix is new to me, and Primus is forgiving us and stuff, he’s a lot more talkative now.”

“Perhaps,” Optimus demurred, but he exchanged a glance with Soundwave.

They’d have a discussion later.

“Is it a bad thing?” Hot Rod asked, and anxiety leaked into his voice, into the clamp of his armor, the clicking skips of his ventilation. One hand fluttered to his chassis, to the seam of his chestplate, now nearly invisible since accepting the Matrix had changed him.

“Of course not,” Optimus said, and while it wasn’t a lie, Soundwave detected it wasn’t quite the truth either.

The truth being that they simply didn’t know. Each Prime carried the Matrix differently, Soundwave was aware of that much. Already, Hot Rod’s experience vastly differed from Optimus’, who said the Matrix always felt like a leaden weight in his chassis, a burden he must endure.

“It benefits us all that Primus speaks to you,” Optimus said before he tipped his head toward Hot Rod’s datapad. “Do you think you can manage some correspondence if I send it your way?”

Hot Rod groaned and sank a little in his chair, fully resembling the young soldier he was, as opposed to the frame of a Prime he now wore. “If I have to,” he grumbled.

Optimus chuckled. “It’ll be great practice. You can send it to Soundwave when you’re done and he’ll double-check it.”

“Affirmative,” Soundwave agreed

Hot Rod sighed a belabored sigh and pushed himself upright. “Yes, sir.”

Amusement danced in Optimus’ optics, however brief, before he focused on his own work again, tension and worry surrounding him like a heavy cloak.

“We’ll talk later,” Soundwave promised across the comm. He could feel the lingering anxiety in Optimus’ field, like heavy stones dragging him down.

Optimus looked up, warmth shining in his optics. “Thank you.”

Soundwave nodded and focused on his own work, scanning through the multiple reports of the scientists they had stretched out over Cybertron -- from those overseeing the unearthing of the starbridges, to those exploring where Hot Rod had fallen and been recovered, to those sifting through the wreckage of various cities, looking for any sort of beneficial data.

The war was ten years gone, but the shadows of it still haunted them.

Soundwave could only hope this quake did not foretell the arrival of something terrible.

~

Earth felt a lot like coming home.

Cybertron was still home. It always would be. But they’d spent so long on Earth, integrating themselves, learning about their new allies, fighting the good fight, Jazz had kind of adopted Earth as his second home.

The Ark and the Pacific coast of the United States were his old stomping grounds, but Jazz had grown fond of their new base of operations, centered out of Griffin Rock, Maine where a combination of human ingenuity and quick-thicking from one of their rescue teams kept a whole island of humans safe from the Decepticon attack.

Jazz stepped out of the spacebridge into bright sunlight, warm on his armor, a salty breeze rushing over him, and the sounds of industry in the distance. Hound waited for him, smiling, and he drew Jazz into a big hug before Jazz could say a word,

He looked radiantly happy, Jazz realized as Hound clapped him on the back, his field brimming with contentment. Mated life suited him apparently.

“What an unexpected surprise,” Hound said as he pulled back, his hands on Jazz’s shoulders. “You look… hmm. Something’s wrong.”

Jazz swallowed a sigh. “I hate how perceptive you are, know that?”

“You’ve said it before.” Hound’s grin was crooked, but concerned. He tilted his head. “I’d ask if you want to talk about it, but I’m guessing you came here to get away from it.”

Damn. Mated pairs really do start acting alike, didn’t they? Hound always was perceptive, but Ravage even more so, and together, they were a force to be reckoned with.

“I have a real point to being here,” Jazz said, reaching for playful, but it wilted under Hound’s perception. They knew each other too well. “Seriously though. I do want a tour of the powerplants, and a meeting with Griffin Rock’s leader, just to make sure everything is copacetic.”

A job anyone of much lower rank than him could have done. So what if Jazz had skimmed through the duty reports and found a task in the queue that required the assigned mech to leave Cybertron? So what if he’d assigned himself to it as an excuse. Job needed doing, right? So he’d do it.

“Bee around?” Jazz asked.

Hound turned, and Jazz moved in step with him, descending from the space bridge platform which had been erected on the mainland, a short ferry ride across the bay to Griffin Rock. The island, while large enough for the town, wasn’t quite stable enough to house the massive space bridge.

“He and Rumble are in China at last contact,” Hound said. “They’re at the survival center in Faxian with Dr. Szeto. There’ve been hints of more human survivors, possibly hiding in private bunkers, all around Asia.”

“Well, that’s good news,” Jazz said. Earth’s human population had been summarily decimated by the Decepticons, though more international countries had fared better than the United States.

Hound hummed his agreement. “We’ve been sending human scouting parties with Cybertronian backup at a safe distance. They don’t want to talk if they see mechs.”

“Can’t blame ‘em.”

“Not at all.” Hound rolled his shoulders. “We get the daily sheet, but the last one felt a little lacking.”

Jazz winced. It touched too close to the reason he’d left Cybertron in the first place. “There’ve been some big changes.” He tilted his head up, toward the heat of the sun, let it soak into his armor. Cybertron didn’t have a sun, this ambient heat. He missed it.

“Good changes?”

“Depends on who you ask.” Jazz altered course, stepping off the path toward the docks, and toward a rocky bluff overlooking the ocean. He wasn’t ready to hit Griffin Rock yet.

Hound followed him, and there was something about the steady presence of his field which seeped away a few of the weights on Jazz’s shoulder. He knew he could talk to Hound without judgment. He wasn’t the sort to offer advice in the way Smokescreen did. Hound listened.

“Good news is, they think Cybertron’s waking back up, and the Primal Spark has reignited,” Jazz said, though what exactly that meant, he wasn’t sure. He drew in a deep breath, pulling damp sea air into his frame.

Ratchet would bitch at him about the damage he was doing to his filters, but it was worth it.

“What makes them think that?” Hound asked.

Jazz sighed and lowered himself into a crouch, balancing his elbows on his knees, watching the sun dance across the ocean’s waves. “Hot Rod is Rodimus Prime now. He fell into an abyss and when we found him, he had a Matrix and Primus had given him a vision.”

Silence.

Shock radiated from Hound’s field before he reeled it in. “If it weren’t for the fact you showed up lookin’ like someone had stolen your favorite vibroblade, I’d call pitslag on you for that,” Hound said. He crouched next to Jazz and gave him a long look. “So. Hot Rod is the new Prime.”

“Prime in training,” Jazz corrected, and though he watched Hound peripherally, he kept his attention focused on the endless expanse of Earth’s Atlantic Ocean. “Optimus is going to try and teach him everything, so he’s not stumbling blind. It’s made a mess of the balance of politics.”

“I’m sure.” Hound made a thoughtful noise. “How’s Hot Rod handling it?”

Jazz’s spark ached. “It’s not really something you can refuse, but Roddy’s trying sure enough. He’s much more suited for it then he knows.”

A fond smile tugged on Jazz’s lips before he could stop it. The potential was there, Jazz knew it. He’d been through more than one Prime, and while Optimus had his loyalty, he was confident Rodimus Prime would prove to be more than worthy of it as well.

“I can see that.”

“There’s one other thing, too. Pretty big.” Jazz gave Hound an askance look. “Apparently, Primus has a lot to say to poor Roddy, and one of those messages was about a way to start repopulating Cybertron. I’ll give ya a hint, the humans are about to be inundated with parenting questions.”

Hound cycled his optics. “What?”

Jazz laughed out loud. For the first time since the announcement appeared, he managed a genuine chuckle, unknotting some of the tension that had been around his spark from the moment he found out Hot Rod now had a Matrix.

“We’ve always had it apparently. We just didn’t know it. Roddy’s got the code to unlock it for us, and then we can start carrying bitlets and spawning them and raising them, kind of like the humans but not exactly.” Jazz rolled his shoulders and his neck, unkinking his cables. “We’re working on an instructional guide for when we figure it out, but for now, everyone’s still reeling from the fact we’re not going to go extinct.”

“That’s… incredible.” Genuine joy infected Hound’s tone. It was hard not to be swept up into it. “I know it’s a complicated thing, but… wow. Primus has forgiven us.”

Jazz tried to smile. He managed a grimace. “You can look at it that way, I guess. Though as usual, he’s taking his strip of armor with it.”

“You mean Hot Rod.”

Jazz stood, easing the strain on his calf cables, stretching his arms over his head, listening to his frame creak and grind and groan. He was old, a lot older than mechs thought he was. Old enough that he sometimes saw Optimus for the youthful spark he was.

Old enough to know better when it came to crawling into Hot Rod’s berth, but unwilling to leave the comfort and easy companionship it offered. It was his own fault, for wanting it to be more. For letting himself soak up that easiness, until it was something he wanted to keep.

Jazz had a bad habit of wanting to keep things he shouldn’t.

“I’m not going to ask the dumb question of whether or not you’ve talked to him,” Hound said as he looked up at Jazz, his voice gentle but the weight of his gaze like a soft chastisement. “But you are making the choice for him.”

“There’s no choice. We are what we are, and nothing in there was a promise.” Jazz’s spark ached, hard enough that he thought it might have been physical, that maybe there was something wrong with him. “Prime’s don’t need assassins by their sides. They need smart mechs, skilled mechs, intelligent mechs…”

“Of which you are. And correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t Soundwave an assassin?” Hound asked, with one arched orbital ridge and a tone which suggested common sense.

“Sounders doesn’t get his hands dirty. Not like me.” Jazz looked at his own hands, which were immaculately clean, per the usual, but they’ve been stained with all kinds of fluids in the past. His spark and processor carried numerous secrets. He wasn’t someone people trusted. He couldn’t afford to be.

He was dangerous, and he was flexible, and he was changeable. He made the hard decisions when no one else could. He did the terrible deeds which needed to be done. He protected the things which were his with violence and stealth, if need be.

Jazz had never regretted his actions or his choices. He’d always done what was necessary. But it did mean there were certain things he couldn’t have.

Hot Rod’s radiant smile was one of them.

“You’re not giving him enough credit,” Hound said with a sigh. “You never gave Optimus enough credit either.”

Ouch. Low blow. Jazz flinched and said as much.

Hound’s gaze softened. He stood and squeezed Jazz’s shoulder, offering warmth and comfort with his field. “Stay here for a bit. Get your thoughts together. Then go back and tell Hot Rod how you feel.”

“You make it sound easy.”

“I know it’s not.” Hound gave him a smile, and his hand slipped from Jazz’s shoulder. “But you’re one of the bravest mechs I know. You can do it.” He tilted his head back toward the docks and started down the path. “Come on. If we wait any longer, the captain will leave without us.”

Jazz stood there for a second later, pondering Hound’s words as he stared at the blue sea, soaking in the sounds of the waves crashing against the shore.

“He’s right, you know.”

Jazz didn’t startle. If anyone asked, he did not startle with surprise, because he absolutely knew Ravage was there, and the only reason he might have jumped a little, was for Ravage’s benefit.

“I should have known you were listening,” Jazz said.

“There is nothing Hound does that is a secret to me,” Ravage said with a coy tilt of her head. “Though he tried, for your sake. I have less scruples than him, however.”

Jazz would scowl, if he thought he would do any good. “Have you come to offer me your advice, too?”

“Would it do any good?”

Jazz didn’t answer.

“Didn’t think so.” Ravage padded up beside him, easily matching his step, though her gaze was on Hound a few paces ahead of them, whistling a happy tune to himself, his field as radiantly happy as it had been since the war ended. “But watching you mope is getting tiresome. Talk to the idiot primeling. Stop being a coward.”

“You don’t sugar-coat anything, do you?” Jazz asked.

Ravage’s tail twitched at him. “No.” She winked and slunk ahead to catch up with Hound, who cast a smile down at her.

They were obscenely adorable, and lucky, and Jazz was happy for them.

He sighed and jogged to catch up. He might as well get some work done while he was here.

~

“Why is this one buried so deeply?” Bonecrusher grumbled as he lifted a huge block of stone and metal out of the hole and heaved it into the nearby pile of excavated materials.

Long Haul leaned over the edge and grabbed an even bigger block from Mixmaster a level below. “Because it’s the most important one.”

“It’s the control panel,” Mixmaster added, his voice echoing oddly in the tunnel they’d carved out, straight from the surface into the bowels of Cybertron.

They were just outside of Iacon, a few miles south of the Undergrid, where the spires of Iacon could faintly be seen in the distance. Beyond them, the three Constructicons could barely make out the twinkle of Nova Cronum and the shimmer of Polyhex, like a heat mirage.

Convenient, the location of this control panel for the starbridge.

“Scrapper and Scav finished up theirs yesterday,” Bonecrusher said as he went down for another block. They were getting closer to the controls; he could feel it.

“You guys aren’t at all worried about the quakes?” Bulkhead asked as he wandered by, ostensibly supervising them, but assisting more often than not.

All of the Constructicons had earned a probation of sorts, thanks to the work that had been done on their coding. They had Shockwave to thank, in part, not that any Constructicon felt they owed Shockwave their gratitude. He hadn’t done it to be kind. He’d done it because of the challenge it represented.

It hadn’t erased what they’d done as Decepticons, but it had been enough to earn them a chance.

Long Haul snorted. “We’re not amateurs, we know exactly what we’re doing.”

“No comments from the destruction crew. You worry about your job, we’ll worry about ours,” Mixmaster added. “Crusher, get down here. I got another layer of duryllium here.”

“Duryllium?” Bulkhead echoed, and he crouched on the edge of the site, looking down into the tunnel. “Who buries something under duryllium?”

“Someone very paranoid,” Long Haul muttered as Bonecrusher clambered past him, slamming his fists together with eager anticipation.

“Someone who wanted to protect something important,” Mixmaster said. “Like this starbridge. We’re planning on using it for something that could save us, but it could be used as a weapon, too.”

Bulkhead frowned. “Never thought about it that way.”

“We spent millennia helping Megatron build weapons,” Long Haul said, grunting as he accepted a piece Mixmaster handed up to him, throwing it into the ever-growing pile of debris. “We know what they look like.”

Slam. Slam. Slam!

Bonecrusher’s curses and the sound of his fists impacting the duryllium floated up from the hole. Any one of the Constructicons would’ve been worried, if Bonecrusher wasn’t having obvious fun. Destruction was in his nature, and Cybertron as of late had been a playground for him. Demolition was needed daily.

Scrapper, too, was in his element. Rebuilding and redesigning was in as much demand as demolition. The Constructions had a to-do list that was miles long, and they grinned every time they saw it.

Nice to fulfill their actual function again, rather than have it twisted for Megatron’s pursuits.

Further, it was nice to have their own minds.

They could mourn Omega Supreme now. As much as it hurt. That guilt they would always carry.

“Kind of makes you wonder, doesn’t it?” Mixmaster asked, shouting to be heard over the noise of Bonecrusher’s eager destruction.

“Wonder what?” Bulkhead asked as he started to climb down into the hole, choosing to participate rather than keep observing. He belonged to construction as much as they did.

“What else is buried beneath us,” Long Haul grunted, following Mixmaster’s train of thought. He leaned on his pick-axe, considering. “If we didn’t know these were here, what else is buried deep inside Cybertron that we don’t know about?”

Bulkhead picked up a sledgehammer, measuring the heft of it before tossing it aside to use his in-built wrecking ball instead. “That’s a good question,” he said. “What indeed?”

****