[TF] Consortium 5/10

[dracoqueen22]

Consortium
Chapter Five

Ultra Magnus is no longer in the medclinic by the time Optimus returns to it, but Ratchet is still present. The counters and tables are covered by medical supplies as though Ratchet’s emptied out every drawer and cabinet in the entire clinic.

“I went to replace one of Ultra Magnus’ filters and couldn’t find it. This place is a mess. There’s no organization to it at all,” Ratchet grumbles in answer to Optimus’ unvoiced question. “Thank Primus we’re only here for a month.”

“Feel free to take over. I cannot think of a single person who would complain,” Optimus says as he surveys the mess. He debates offering to help, but he suspects this is an outlet for Ratchet.

“They can complain all they want, but this is going to be organized and useful by the time I’m through,” Ratchet says with a snort. He eyes Optimus. “Were you looking for me or…?”

“Ultra Magnus actually, but now that I am here, I do have a request.”

Ratchet drags his hands free from where they’d been digging in a crate and rests his fingers on the edge of it. “I’m listening.”

“It is nothing so serious, only Skyfire has just arrived and he looks as though they have dragged him here straight from an asteroid. I do not think a check-up would be out of order.”

“Oh, this is going to be interesting,” Ratchet says with a snort. He pulls something out of the crate and rests it on the counter. “Does Starscream know?”

Optimus tilts his head. “I take it you are familiar with their history?”

“Most of us are. It’s a messy one.” Ratchet shakes his head, his orbital ridge wrinkling. “I’m sure the political entanglements don’t make it any cleaner.”

“Being forced into proximity will not make it easier either.” Optimus cycles a ventilation. “I am on my way to tell Starscream now, if he is not otherwise occupied. I only wanted to see if you would look in on Skyfire first.”

Ratchet pulls out a bundle of carefully tied cabling, adding it to another stack. “And get an idea of his mental state while I’m at it?”

“If it is medically relevant,” Optimus says. “I do not intend for you to spy on him, or help me manipulate him. I simply want to make this easier for both of them.”

“Huh. Pretty sure you actually mean that.” Ratchet lifts his shoulders in a shrug. “Sure. I’ll finish up here, and then go check on Skyfire. Might do him some good to see a friendly face that’s not yours.”

“I appreciate it,” Optimus says. “And thank you, by the way, for attending to Ultra Magnus’ maintenance. He has a bad habit of neglecting himself when he thinks his other duties are more important.”

Ratchet waves him off. “Taking care of mechs is what I do. Anytime.” He grabs the crate and sets it on the ground before lifting another in its place. “Now you better go before I rope you into taking inventory for me.”

Optimus obeys, pleased Ratchet is open enough with him to tease. It’s great progress. Perhaps a true friendship can be born here after all.

He returns to the kitchens, where he’d last seen Starscream, a tantalizing scent on the air, far thicker and richer than it had been before. Hot Rod’s laughter floats out into the hall, and rather than peek around the corner, Optimus strides directly inside, wondering if perhaps they need a taste-tester.

There’s a batch of energon goodies on the counter, steam curling around their plump shapes, the sparkle of various metal shavings giving hint to their flavor. Starscream stands at the oven, peering in at another tray of baking goodies while Hot Rod carries an armful of dirtied bakeware to the sink. He lights up when he sees Optimus, his spoiler giving a delighted wiggle.

“Optimus!” Hot Rod grins. “Just in time. You get to be my first volunteer.”

“I think he means victim,” Starscream drawls, tossing the tease over his shoulder. “I hope your tank is made of stern materials, Prime.”

“Don’t listen to him. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” Hot Rod dumps the bakeware into the sink with a clatter. “This batch is perfect.”

“This time,” Starscream corrects. “Or so he thinks.”

“So I know!” Hot Rod argues with an adorable pout. He scoops up one of the treats and bounds up to Optimus, holding it out. “Here. Try this. I swear it’s good.”

Optimus’ spark pulses warm with affection. He thinks he might be a little head over heels for Hot Rod already. “I am happy to volunteer,” he says, and takes the treat -- sprinkled with magnesium if he’s not mistaken -- popping it into his mouth.

Flavor explodes over his glossa, the magnesium crackling in his oral lubricants, before the thin membrane pops and sweet energon floods his mouth. It’s rich, with a bit of a crackle to it, like low-caliber engex. There’s a delightful sweet-sour tang to it as well.

Hot Rod looks up at him, simultaneously wary and hopeful.

“It is delicious, Hot Rod,” Optimus says as the flavor lingers, and he eyes the trays of treats, wondering if it would be too forward to request a few more. “Thank you.”

Hot Rod beams. “Let me get you a sample of all the flavors. You can tell me which one is the best.”

“Flavor preference is a matter of taste, kid,” Starscream says as the oven dings. He dons a pair of gloves and removes another tray, resting it on a cooling platform.

“Duh.” Hot Rod rolls his optics and selects a few treats from the cooled tray -- one from every different flavor. “That’s why the second tray is for dinner tonight. I want to see what everyone else thinks. Experiments require large data-sets, right?”

Starscream’s lips curve with amusement. “At least you were paying attention.”

Hot Rod shrugs. “It was interesting. I don’t want to be a scientist all the way, but yeah. It was interesting.” He offers the tray to Optimus. “Try the blue ones.”

“I will try them all,” Optimus promises, and he does select the blue one, sprinkled with selenium he thinks. It sparkles in the overhead light.

Starscream lingers nearby, hips cocked against the counter, arms folded over his cockpit. “There was a transport earlier,” he says as Optimus tastes the blue treat and finds it has an odd cooling sensation that makes it no less delicious. “Can I assume Skyfire is here?”

Optimus chews and swallows. “Yes. He is resting at the moment. They must have retrieved him straight from a research site.” He dusts off his hands with an offered washcloth. “He is down the hall from Soundwave if you wish to speak with him.”

“Is he coming to dinner tonight?” Hot Rod asks, trying to urge an orange-drizzled treat toward Optimus. “I want to meet him.”

“If he is not too tired, I do think he plans to join us,” Optimus says.

“Why do you want to meet him?” Starscream asks.

Hot Rod shrugs. “Because he’s the only Consort I haven’t met yet? And he’s a big shuttle. And he’s gone to a bunch of different planets?”

“All good reasons,” Optimus says.

“Mm.” Starscream makes a non-committal noise before he plucks the plate from Hot Rod’s hands and turns to set it on the counter. “I’ll finish up the treats, Hot Rod. Why don’t you go find something else to do?”

Hot Rod’s optics narrow. “If you wanted to talk to Optimus privately, you only had to say.”

Starscream rolls his optics. “Fine. I want to have a private conversation, so please go find somewhere else to be.”

“Fine, I will.” Hot Rod huffs, but it’s playful at least. “I’m going to go find Jazz and see if he’ll race me. Someone around here has to have some speed other than me.”

“Good luck,” Optimus says. “Jazz is notoriously difficult to find.”

“I’ve got a good instinct for this kind of thing.” Hot Rod winks and rises on the tips of his feet to press a kiss to Optimus’ cheek. “Let me know if you like the other flavors, okay?”

“I promise.” Hot Rod grins up at him, adorable and genuine, before he’s gone, leaving Starscream and Optimus alone in the kitchen.

Starscream becomes very busy removing the treats from the tray and shifting them to a cooling rack.

“I do not know the full extent of what happened between you and Skyfire, only rumor and official accounts,” Optimus says when it becomes clear Starscream has no intention of starting their conversation. “This must be difficult for you.”

“To a degree you couldn’t begin to fathom, Prime,” Starscream says, his back to Optimus as he starts on the dirtied dishware, the running solvent a quiet rush of noise. “Though Skyfire didn’t have a choice in it either.”

Optimus pulls out one of the stools and sits, the plate Hot Rod had prepared for him within reach. “I will not ignore the obvious either. We are both aware that Skyfire’s presence here is a result of the Senate’s machinations. They hope to destabilize my cohort and as a result, undermine my support structure.”

Starscream snorts. “I think you’re giving that pack of power-hungry Empties too much credit.” His wings arch high, betraying his tension. “Or maybe they’re stupid enough to underestimate me. Either way, whatever happens between me and Skyfire will be private and on my own terms. I’m not giving them a show to drool over.”

“If there is anything you need, ask and I will do my best to accommodate you,” Optimus says. “Even if that means I facilitate an appropriate distance between yourself and Skyfire.”

“Thanks, but I can handle it. We need to work things out eventually.” Starscream pauses, his head turning a little as he stares into the distance. “Maybe it’s even for the best that circumstances are forcing us to.”

“Perhaps.” Optimus takes one of the silver-dusted treats, the scent of which is divine. “I know it has only been a short while, but have you given any further thought to what I can do to make this more tolerable for you?”

Starscream turns off the solvent with a squeak and looks over his shoulder. “The things I want I can’t have, and no, I haven’t figured out what I’ll accept as a substitute.”

“Cybertron, as a rule, has been designed to only accommodate the wants of a few,” Optimus says with a sigh. He nibbles on the treat, the sweetness of the silver lingering on his glossa. “I knew this as Orion, but was not in a position to make a difference. I am now, and I intend to do everything I can.”

Starscream leans back against the counter, idly running a cloth over his solvent-damp hands. “Why Prime,” he drawls. “That’s almost treasonous of you to admit. If you’re not careful, the Senate is going to find out you’re too much trouble, and we might all see the shortest Prime tenure in Cybertronian history.”

“I am aware of how carefully I will need to tread,” Optimus admits. “I will have to balance how hard I push, but I also know it will be much easier with allies, specifically intelligent allies who are not afraid to upset the status quo.”

Starscream’s lips curve in a smirk. “Like say, nearly a dozen Consorts who were shoved into your cohort because they were trouble-makers.”

“Exactly.” Optimus manages a small chuckle. “The Senate picked every one of you because you were all intelligent, attractive, and most importantly, prone to mischief. They want us to be so busy bickering we are not paying attention to what is going on, and I especially will be more malleable.”

“I can’t wait to see the looks on their faces when they realize that they’ve pretty much handed you the means to their end.” Starscream barks a laugh. “Honestly, Optimus. That’s all you had to say. You want me to help you make a fool of the Senate?”

“I suppose that would be an unavoidable byproduct,” Optimus admits. “Ultra Magnus being here is an unexpected boon. There’s no one who understands Senate law better. But I intend to rely on you and Prowl to figure out how to circumvent it.”

Starscream’s ailerons flutter, and there’s no disguising the pride in his field. “Well, I am known for getting around a few roadblocks or two.”

“Or more,” Optimus says. “The Senate thinks your only value is in being a nuisance. But I think your intelligence and your pride are your greatest assets.” It’s flattery as much as it is genuine.

Optimus admires Starscream’s strength, his determination, his unwillingness to accept the status quo without a fight. He’s fearless, and he’s brilliant, and if Optimus can make him an ally, there’s very little he thinks he can’t accomplish.

“Well,” Starscream says as he pushes out of his lean, arms unfolding from their defensive posture. “You certainly know how to flatter a mech, and I think you even mean it.” He grins. “I guess we’ll have to see.”

“I look forward to it.”

“I suppose I do, too.” Starscream flicks his hands at Optimus. “Go on then. Find someone else to convince. I have treats to finish.”

Optimus chuckles. “See you at dinner, Starscream.”

He leaves. It’s important to him that his Consorts know they can ask him to leave, or be friendly with him. He wants them to have whatever boundaries they deem are important, so he intends to let them draw the lines.

“Optimus!”

He startles, turning toward the voice as Hot Rod abruptly pounces on his arm, wrapping around it and beaming up at him.

“You’re free now, aren’t you?” Hot Rod asks.

“What happened to finding Jazz?” Optimus asks, amused, as Hot Rod falls in step beside him, still wrapped around his arm, his field warm and suggestive.

Hot Rod rolls his optics. “No one can find him. Ever. I don’t know where he goes or how he’s so good at hiding, but he just disappears.”

“I see,” Optimus says. “So you decided to lie in wait for me instead?”

“I wasn’t eavesdropping!” Hot Rod looks up at him, face set with certainty. “I just wanted to make sure I caught you before you got too far.”

“I believe you.” Optimus pauses near one of the large windows overlooking the garden, flush with newly spawned crystals in a variety of colors. “Did you need something?”

A touch of heat stains Hot Rod’s cheeks. “You have to spark bond with each of us before we go back to Iacon, right?”

“That is correct,” Optimus says as Hot Rod’s field drizzles anticipation and a touch of insecurity against his.

Hot Rod slides a hand down Optimus’ arm until he can tangle their fingers together. “You probably already got your bond with Ultra Magnus, so why don’t we go ahead and get ours out of the way?”

Optimus cycles his optics. “Are you certain?”

Hot Rod barks a laugh, but there’s warmth in it. “Optimus, I think everyone here in the manor knows how much I want you. I’m absolutely sure.” He leans in to Optimus’ warmth. “I mean, unless now isn’t a good time?”

Honestly, Optimus can’t think of a reason to refuse. He has no actual plans before the gathering tonight, and he doesn’t want to engage in more conversations and come across as pushy. Besides, Hot Rod is correct. Optimus has nine more political sparkbonds to complete, and the sooner he can manage them, the better.

Hot Rod’s enthusiastic consent makes it seem less like a trial and more like a pleasure.

So Optimus returns Hot Rod’s warm smile and says, “Would you like to go to my quarters or yours?”

Hot Rod’s joy could have powered the estate for a month.

~

His bond with Hot Rod settles in quite nicely along the layers of Ultra Magnus already nestled around his spark. Ultra Magnus’ steady influence joins with Hot Rod’s cheerful enthusiasm, and Optimus thinks of both as a balm to the more complicated bonds soon to come.

Optimus had not expected discretion from Hot Rod, so he’s not at all surprised when Hot Rod struts into the dining room like he’d just won the Duryllium Cup at Nova’s Stadium. He’s got a spring in his step, he’s radiating delight, and there’s not a single mech in the room who can’t guess why.

Optimus would be embarrassed, if Hot Rod’s pride and delight hadn’t sung so strongly through their bond. It’s infectious.

“Dare I ask what has him in such a fine mood?” Skyfire asks as he leans in from where he sits next to Optimus, temporarily taking Ultra Magnus’ seat.

Optimus breathes a quiet laugh. “Hot Rod is truly delighted to be here, and equally delighted to seal the agreement between us this afternoon.”

“Ah.” Skyfire’s optics glisten with amusement. “Adorable.”

“Quite.”

Optimus had, after a short stasis nap and a long soak in the oil baths, gone to retrieve Skyfire, wanting to personally escort the shuttle to their nightly gathering. If Starscream’s been by to talk, Skyfire made no mention of it, though he did admit to Ratchet giving him a thorough maintenance check.

Hot Rod slides into the seat on Optimus’ other side and grins. “Hi, Optimus,” he says before he leans over and sticks out a hand toward Skyfire, completely in Optimus' personal space. “You must be Skyfire. I’m Hot Rod. Nice to meet you!”

Delight ripples in Skyfire’s field as he accepts Hot Rod’s hand, nearly dwarfing it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you as well, Hot Rod.”

“If you need anything, let me know. I’ll be happy to help,” Hot Rod says, still shaking Skyfire’s hand before he adds in a softer voice, “Also, if you have any embarrassing stories about Starscream, I really want to hear them.”

Optimus winces, but Skyfire merely smiles, a soft haunted smile. “I appreciate the offer, but perhaps Prime would like his personal space back?”

“I would,” Optimus says.

“Oops.” Hot Rod ducks his head, but there’s a gleam of playfulness in his optics. “We’ll catch up later.” He winks and pulls back into his own space.

“I look forward to it,” Skyfire says as more Consorts trickle into the dining hall -- Prowl and Ultra Magnus together, deep in discussion, with Starscream and Sunstreaker trailing behind, the former looking freshly painted and polished.

Skyfire, beside Optimus, goes still, his field nonexistent. Optimus can feel the weight of expectation in the moment, when Skyfire and Starscream look at each other, their optics locking. Starscream nods, only once, and Skyfire echoes it.

Nothing is said.

Ultra Magnus takes the seat on the other side of Skyfire. Starscream sits between Hot Rod and Sunstreaker. Prowl pulls out a datapad as he sits beside Ultra Magnus. The quiet murmur of conversation continues, but Skyfire’s shallow vents seem to echo in Optimus’ audials.

“Are you all right?” he murmurs.

Skyfire studies the table, but glances askance at Starscream before hastily shifting his gaze to Optimus. “He looks well,” Skyfire says with a thin smile. “I’m glad to see it.”

Ironhide and Ratchet arrive, loud and boisterous as they jostle one another, Soundwave and Jazz in their wake. The latter are a curious pair, and they are not in conversation with each other, but they are nearly in step. Jazz is all smiles as he plops into his chair, and Soundwave says nothing as he takes his own.

“I’m glad you decided to join us, Skyfire,” Ratchet says as he sits and tosses Skyfire a crooked grin. “Despite how tired you are, I mean.”

“It seemed appropriate,” Skyfire says. “I appreciate your concern.”

“Your late arrival is unprecedented,” Prowl comments, finally glancing up from his datapad. “The Senate must have been very keen to have you in the Prime cohort to break with tradition like this.”

Skyfire sits back, a small frown wrinkling his orbital ridge. “So it would seem, though I can’t fathom a reason why. I’m just a scientist, a xenobiologist to be more specific. I don’t know what I have to offer.”

“Hey, my claim to fame is that I volunteered. It’s not like I’m bringing anything useful to the table,” Hot Rod says with a shrug. “You’re way more qualified than I am, if you look at it that way. Not that I’m, you know, completely useless. Right, Optimus?” He beams.

Optimus’ lips twitch into an indulgent smile. Temper Hot Rod’s bright personality? He can’t imagine doing so.

Prowl arches an orbital ridge. “Made your claim already, have you, Hot Rod?”

“Was I not supposed to?” Hot Rod tilts his head, mischief in his optics.

“It must be done eventually. The rules are rather inflexible on that point,” Optimus says, and spreads his hands, giving Prowl a wry look while Hot Rod grins beside him. “After all, there is protocol to consider, yes?” He keeps his tone dry.

“Protocol,” Ratchet echoes, and bends over, pressing his forehead to the table as he laughs. “Spark-sharing and protocol are two things I never thought I’d hear in the same sentence.”

Hot Rod leans over and pats Optimus on the arm as if sympathetic. “Don’t worry, Optimus. It didn’t feel like protocol to me.”

“Thank you, Hot Rod. I appreciate the reassurance,” Optimus says, heat stealing into his cheeks despite his attempt to act unperturbed. The fact that Jazz outright cackles, and Starscream hides a snorted laugh doesn’t help. “However, I do mean to avoid worries of favoritism.”

Ironhide barks a loud laugh, rocking back in his chair as his field bursts with glee. “If there is a single mech in this room who is feeling neglected by you finally berthing Hot Rod, I’ll eat my old tires.”

Hot Rod beams.

“Congratulations,” Starscream drawls.

“Thanks! I--” Hot Rod pauses, and his optics grow wide with alarm. He leaps from his chair, startling everyone at the table. “I forgot to get the treats!” He rushes from the table before anyone can say anything else.

“Treats?” Prowl echoes.

Starscream’s lip curls with an indulgent smile. “I taught him how to make some energon goodies, and now he’s determined to not only be the best at it, but turn all of you into his test subjects.” He lifts his chin. “I should hope there’s no one here who intends to be cruel.”

Starscream doesn’t see it, but Optimus does, the way Skyfire gives Starscream a keen look, as if seeing him in a new light.

“You’d have to be some kind of monster to try and break that kid’s spark,” Ironhide drawls as he scoops up a glass of engex and gives it a healthy chug. “I’m with Starscream on this.”

“I find it curious. I didn’t think you’d be the sort to indulge a mech like Hot Rod,” Prowl says.

“And what sort is that?” Starscream asks, his tone light, but an edge to his field that threatens the light atmosphere. “The sparkless Seeker sort?”

“No, the sort who has a reputation for being unfriendly,” Prowl says. He rolls his shoulders in a shrug, but Optimus can recognize a not-so-subtle prod when he sees one. Prowl is still investigating each of them in his own way. “Realistically speaking, Optimus is the only one whose favor you should be trying to win.”

“Maybe Starscream just wants to be nice,” Sunstreaker growls, surprising everyone with his surge to Starscream’s defense. His tone edges toward outrage before he sinks back into his chair. “Not everything has a fragging agenda.”

“Considering where we all are, it’s hard to believe mechs might want to be kind,” Skyfire murmurs, perhaps not intending to be heard, but in the conversational lull, it’s loud enough to capture attention.

“And maybe someone should spend more time trying to find out the truth than poking at a bunch of baseless rumors,” Starscream says with a pointed look at Prowl. “Just ask your damn question, Enforcer. I don’t have any interest in games.”

Prowl lifts his chin, meeting Starscream’s stare without flinching. “Were you trying to replace the Winglord?”

Optimus cycles both his audials and his optics. Yes, he’s heard of the rumors, but he’s also dismissed them as quickly. Starscream is hungry to effect real change, yes. He’s eager for knowledge and discovery. But Optimus, in all his research, has not seen anything to give truth to the rumor Starscream is secretly trying to replace the Winglord.

Is Prowl pursuing this line of questioning for Optimus’ sake or his own? Is he trying to quell a personal distrust in Starscream?

“No, I wasn’t,” Starscream says, arms folded, jaw set. “And I’m not using Hot Rod if that’s what you’re trying to imply. Sunstreaker is right. I’m being kind to Hot Rod because I like the kid, and I don’t think there’s anyone in here who could fault me for that.”

Ultra Magnus cycles a ventilation. “He is a force to be reckoned with,” he says. “I do believe we’re all in agreement to be eager to try whatever he brings, yes?”

“Of course,” says Prowl, as smooth as polished crystal. He goes so far as to offer Starscream a conciliatory smile. “Thank you for your honesty.”

Starscream smiles back, all denta. “You’re welcome, Prowl. Anytime you want to question my motivations, you know where to find me.”

Prowl tips his head, acknowledging the reply, but not commenting further. His gaze returns to his usual datapad, his engex, as if hadn’t just poked at an open wound in the middle of their dinner. Starscream turns and murmurs something to Sunstreaker, who scowls but the hint of color in his cheeks suggests it is complimentary.

“I’m back!” Hot Rod’s boisterous cry heralds his return as he bursts inside with a tray held high over his head, like a triumphant athlete and their prize-winning trophy. It does wonders to break the tension, distracting everyone from Prowl and Starscream’s interaction.

He brandishes said tray with a beaming smile and sets it down in the middle of the table, having to wiggle between Soundwave and Prowl to do so.

“I made enough for everyone to try at least one of every flavor,” Hot Rod continues, bubbling over with this enthusiasm. “Tell me which ones are your favorite so I know what to make in the future. All right?”

Optimus doesn’t know if it’s Starscream’s glare, or genuine affection on the part of everyone else, but a chorus of agreement rises from the gathered Consorts.

Hot Rod beams at them, and Optimus thinks it’s rather interesting that he’s the Prime, but Hot Rod is the one who has everyone wrapped around his finger.

It has a secondary effect as well in that Hot Rod’s antics take everyone’s attention, and no one stares too hard at Skyfire or Starscream, and they only stare at each other when they think the other isn’t paying attention. No one looks at Prowl either, for that matter, and if there’s a simmering tension lingering in the atmosphere, no one comments.

Potential arguments and drama are averted.

For now.

~

After his training session with Ironhide, Optimus seeks out Skyfire, ignoring the aches and twinges coursing through his frame. He hopes that the shuttle has had enough rest for a reasonable conversation. He doesn’t want Skyfire to be out of the loop any longer than necessary.

Skyfire is easy to find. He hasn’t ventured out of his quarters, and he opens the door to Optimus’ polite ping, offering an equally polite nod.

“I suspected this conversation was coming after my talk with Ratchet yesterday,” Skyfire says as he gestures Optimus inside, keying the door shut behind him. “Please, have a seat.”

Optimus selects one of the chairs near the large, uncovered window, which opens to a private balcony. Skyfire’s quarters are the largest in the manor, even over Optimus’, which given his size, was the only assignment Optimus insisted upon.

Technically, Skyfire has the Prime suite, and Optimus has the room which might have been Skyfire’s, but he’d taken one look at the dimensions of the rooms and quietly switched them when no one was paying attention.

“I hope Ratchet did not alarm you too much,” Optimus says.

Skyfire shakes his head and sits across from him, the padded stool offering an ominous creak. “He only let me know you’d want to speak to me in private to allay any concerns I might have. He said you’re the one who asked him to look in on me.”

“Yes. I hope you did not take offense to that.”

“I appreciate it.” Skyfire grimaces and rubs his right shoulder. “I’d had a piece of space grit in my joints for a month, and Ratchet worked it free.” He lowers his hand and gives Optimus a steady look. “I’ll admit, I don’t really know why I’m here.”

Optimus cycles a ventilation. “Why you were chosen to be a Consort?”

“Yes. I’m on no one’s list when it comes to political importance.” Skyfire spreads his hands a bit helplessly. “I’m a researcher who spends more time off Cybertron than on.”

“I wish I could tell you that the Senate saw something in you which could be of help to Cybertron, but that would be a lie.” Optimus rubs his temple, trying to ease an ache that hasn’t shown itself, but will soon enough. “They hoped your relationship with Starscream would lead to enough friction to distract me from interfering in their political machinations.”

Skyfire frowns. “I should have known.” He vents a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping. “We’re all but pawns,” he muses aloud before he looks at Optimus, head tilted. “I’m as trapped as you are.”

“I am the Prime. I do not think many here would share your assessment of me,” Optimus says. “I am technically the one with the power.”

“Really?” Skyfire leans back. “How many of us were you given a say in choosing?”

Optimus glances out the window, where the darkening sky and rolling cloudwork hints of the acid rains soon to come. “I’m told it is not the Prime’s place to choose his Consorts.”

“It damn well should be, but interesting that it’s not.” Skyfire snorts, his field sparking anger before it cools into a simmering irritation. “You’re just a figurehead.”

“It is what they intend for me to be, but unfortunately for the Senate, I do not intend to be placated by pretty mechs with a tendency to be temperamental.” Optimus sits straighter and catches Skyfire’s gaze. “I intend to fight for what Cybertron deserves, and change the laws which have done harm to so many of the mechs who live here.”

“Bold ambitions.”

Optimus gestures to himself. “I was a data clerk. I have studied Cybertronian history. I was not as unfortunate as other classes, but I saw enough. It needs to stop.” He pauses to gather himself before the angry tide rolls over him. It is good practice for the fight to come. “The Senate gave me a distraction. I intend to return with a united, fighting force the likes of which they have never seen.”

Skyfire’s orbital ridges climb higher. “I don’t think bold is even strong enough for what you’re trying to do. I don’t envy the task you have in front of you.”

“Neither do I,” Optimus says with a dry chuckle. “I know political machinations are not your forte, and I would not force your participation upon you. Simply tell me what I can do to make this situation tolerable for you, and I will do my best to accommodate it.”

It becomes Skyfire’s turn to stare out the window. “Ideally, I’d go back to my research. It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do with my life, and the mere thought of never being able to pursue it again is my greatest fear.”

“I would never think to keep you from your research,” Optimus says, pushing sincerity into his field. “The Senate might have something to say about the freedom I give to my Consorts, but I am determined to fight for every one of you to have as much of your own life as I can reasonably give.”

“That would be ideal,” Skyfire says. “I don’t envy you that fight.”

Optimus sits back, lifting his shoulders in a shrug. “I have many fights ahead of me. There are many things I intend to change, including the entire Consort selection process. It needs to be, if not abolished, then restructured from the start. No more forced consent.”

“It cannot be consent if it is forced, no matter how manipulated,” Skyfire says.

“Precisely.” Optimus flexes his fingers before rubbing his palms along his thighs, trying to quell the rising fury within him. “I have never had any interest in partners who did not want me in return, and that I am required to bond with mechs who do not have a true choice…” He briefly shutters his optics, drawing in another vent. “It is anathema.”

“You are as trapped as we are,” Skyfire muses aloud. “You’re a good mech, Optimus. I don’t think the Senate anticipated the Matrix choosing a good mech.”

“To be fair, I did not anticipate being chosen,” Optimus says. “But I have been, and I cannot change that, so I must do my best with the opportunity I have been given.”

Skyfire vents slowly, and some of the tension visibly eases from his frame. “You know, I spent the whole flight back to Cybertron worried about what my future was going to be. I might even admit to being afraid of what it would be like to be tied to a grounder mech.” He pauses and a small smile curves his lips. “It looks like I have nothing to worry about.”

“I am relieved you think so.” Optimus returns Skyfire's careful smile. "I would like to be friends if that is at all possible."

Skyfire gives him a wry look. "I take it most of the mechs here have been rather reluctant."

"Some might even say hostile," Optimus says. "They are not to blame, and I completely understand, but it has made for an awkward atmosphere."

"I've felt it," Skyfire says, and his field flushes warm with sympathy. "I would like to be friends, too."

"Thank you." Relief flushes through Optimus, and he smiles as he stands. "I will let you get back to your day. I am sure you want to wander around. Did someone point you toward the library?"

"Ultra Magnus passed me a map of the grounds," Skyfire says. He rises with Optimus, walking him to the door. "I hadn't realized it came fully equipped with a laboratory. Nothing like what I'm used to, of course, but enough to keep me occupied."

"You are welcome to it. If there is anything you need, let me know. I am sure I can have it delivered."

"I may take you up on that," Skyfire palms open the door for him, and Optimus steps through it, pausing to turn as Skyfire adds, "Prime, how much do you know of my research?"

It's a curious question. Optimus' orbital rides wrinkle. "Very little, though I would be happy to learn whatever you wish to share. Why?"

Skyfire hesitates, his field rippling indecision. "I have finely tuned sensors. It's necessary for a xenobiologist prone to interstellar travel. I tend to pick up on things most mechs wouldn't realize."

"Is there something I should be worried about?" Optimus asks.

"I don't know." Skyfire frowns. "I hesitate to cause trouble where there isn't any, but I also know you're a Prime the Senate wouldn't like."

Optimus cycles a ventilation. "Information is the best defense. If you have concerns, I would like to hear them."

"It's not a concern so much as an observation." Skyfire rubs his forehead, his shoulders slumping. "Were you aware Soundwave is hosting two symbiotes?"

Optimus blinks. He knows, of course, that Soundwave is a carrier mech and likely to have them, but Soundwave had not introduced any upon their first meeting, so Optimus assumed he had none.

"I was aware it was a possibility," Optimus says, choosing his words carefully. He doesn't want Skyfire to think he has erred. "There is nothing to be worried about, however. Carriers are quite protective of their symbiotes. I am sure Soundwave will introduce them to everyone soon enough."

Skyfire sags with evident relief. "I've studied a bit about carrier culture. Protective is putting it mildly." He manages a wan smile. "I'm glad I didn't overstep."

"Not at all, I assure you." Optimus returns the smile. "Enjoy the rest of your day, and I will see you at dinner tonight."

"Of course. See you then, Prime."

"Please," Optimus says before Skyfire can close the door, "Call me Optimus."

Skyfire smiles. "I will."

He is, at least, one less mech for Optimus to fret over. The Senate might have intended for Skyfire to become a source of strife, but clearly, they've underestimated both Optimus and Starscream. If anything, Skyfire will be a great support for Optimus.

For now, however, he must find Soundwave. Not because he is upset about the symbiotes, but because he's worried that Soundwave felt the need to conceal them. Who knows what lies the Senate have fed him, or others, to make him think they must be kept secret.

It takes some searching. Soundwave is not in his quarters, the gardens, or the study, despite the latter being the last place Prowl saw him. Neither is he in the training arena observing Ironhide and Sunstreaker's daily spar.

Instead, Optimus finds Soundwave trying to evade a circumstance which would be amusing given any other situation.

"--a maintenance check to everyone here. You're the last on my list," Ratchet is saying as Optimus walks into the clinic, the medic's voice thick with exasperation. "That click I keep hearing in your chassis is driving me nuts."

"Scan not needed," Soundwave insists from the other side of the counter, keeping it between himself and the scanner-wielding medic. "Health optimal."

"Are you a trained medic? Are you hiding a medical degree I don't know about?" Ratchet demands, rolling his optics. "Because if you were, you'd have fixed that hitch in your vents by now."

He lifts the scanner like it’s a weapon, and Soundwave reacts as though he’s been threatened, backing up against the wall, his armor slicking tight to his frame.

Optimus walks between them before this can escalate further, holding up his hands. “Ratchet, I am sure you have the best of intentions, but I suspect I understand why Soundwave is being resistant.”

“I’ve dealt with my fair share of recalcitrant patients. He wouldn’t be the first,” Ratchet drawls, but he lowers the scanner.

Optimus turns his attention toward Soundwave, who is eying the open doorway. “You have precious cargo,” he says. “You fear if Ratchet knows, then I will as well, and you will be forced to send them away, or worse, see harm befall them. Correct?”

“Them?” Ratchet echoes before he lightly hits his forehead with his palm. “Of course the fragging carrier came with symbiotes. You could’ve just said so, damn it.”

“He was not sure he would be allowed to host them,” Optimus says, half to Ratchet, but to Soundwave as well. “Am I correct?”

Soundwave doesn’t move, but he jerks his head in a nod. “Affirmative.”

The scanner clatters to the countertop. “No wonder I’ve been hearing odd noises in your chassis. They’re probably ten kinds of uncomfortable in there. Do you even let them out?”

Soundwave’s visor dims. “Rarely.”

“They must be going crazy,” Ratchet grumbles, and he scrubs his forehead harder. “Primus save me from complicated political nonsense and their consequences. I need a drink.”

“Now might be a good time to retrieve one,” Optimus suggests gently.

“Yeah, because you probably want to talk about this I bet.” Ratchet waves a dismissing hand. “Fine, fine. I’ll go get that drink. But no touching anything. This is my domain, you get me?” He gestures to the entire clinic at large.

“I promise,” Optimus says, amused.

Soundwave jerks his head in a nod.

“Good.” Ratchet pauses by Optimus on his way out, leaning in to say, “When I come back, you and I need to talk, too. We only have so much time, and I’d rather get this taken care of sooner rather than later.”

Optimus furrows his ridge. “This?”

Ratchet gives him a wry look. “This,” he confirms, and taps Optimus’ chassis with his knuckle, right over his central seam. “I know Hot Rod already got his. My turn’s next.”

“We can discuss that later,” Optimus says, heat stealing into his cheeks. Why does he have so many bold Consorts?

Ratchet barks a laugh, and then he’s gone, leaving Soundwave and Optimus in the clinic, the door shut behind him to offer them a bit of privacy.

“May I meet them?” Optimus asks once the silence has grown stale. “I promise I intend them no harm, only that they are important to you, and so I would like to know them.”

There’s a pause before Soundwave pushes off the wall and his dock clicks open, two cassettes popping out and unfolding into smaller Cybertronians -- symbiotes. One is a black-armored feline, the other a red-armored flyer. They perch on the desk between Optimus and Soundwave, eyeing him with evident wariness.

“I am Optimus Prime,” Optimus says, trying for his gentlest smile. “It is a pleasure to meet both of you. Might I have your designations?”

The flyer hops forward, cocking their head to the side. “I’m Laserbeak,” they chirp and tilt their head toward the feline. “He’s Ravage.”

“I can introduce myself, ‘Beak,” says Ravage with a chuffed vent. He sits on his haunches, and his amber gaze seems to cut through Optimus. “Don’t mind her. She hasn’t met a mech she doesn’t think is a friend.”

“I would like to be a friend,” Optimus says, addressing both of them rather than Soundwave. He knows how most of Cybertron would treat symbiotes, as if they aren’t thinking beings in their own right, but Optimus knows better. “I know how important the relationship between a cassette and their carrier is. I would not think to supplant or prevent it. In fact, I will do whatever it takes to ensure the three of you can remain together.”

“The Senate may not approve,” says Ravage.

Optimus inclines his head in acknowledgment. “They may not, but it is one of many things for which I am willing to fight, and I know my approval will supersede their censure for this.”

Laserbeak hops closer to the edge of the desk, her head tilted. “You’re a good mech,” she says. “I can tell. Soundwave can tell, too. He just didn’t want to believe it.”

Ravage hisses at her. Soundwave shifts, moving closer to the desk, making gestures as though trying to urge her back into his chassis, but she ignores both of them.

“He was worried you’d make us go away, or someone would hurt us,” Laserbeak continues, shoulders strong and brave. “Soundwave protects us, and we protect him. That’s what it means to be what we are.”

Optimus lowers himself down to one knee so that he is not looming over both symbiotes, putting them at the same optic-level. “You will not be separated so long as I have any power in me.”

Laserbeak’s field pushes at his, like it’s trying to peel beneath the layers. “I believe you,” she says before turning her head at what would be an awkward angle to a bipedal mech. “Listen to him, Rav. Really listen. Not just with your audials.”

“I’ve been listening. I’ve heard pretty lies before,” Ravage says, and his voice gives nothing away, not disinterest or anger or confidence. “We’ll see what he actually does.”

Soundwave moves even closer, his dock popping open. “Come,” he says, gesturing to them once more.

“See? Even now he’s worried,” Laserbeak says with a roll of her optics and a flicker of amusement in her field. “He’ll get over it. I hope I get to see you again, Optimus.”

“You as well. It was nice meeting both of you,” Optimus says.

Ravage gives him a long, searching look. “I’ll be watching,” he says.

They return to Soundwave’s dock, folding into their cassette mode, and Soundwave doesn’t look relaxed until his dock closes with a quiet click. His visor goes briefly dim, as though he’s communicating with them, and then he looks at Optimus.

“Secret maintained. Punishment deserved?” he asks.

“Of course not.” Optimus rises back to his full height. “You were protecting your family. If you wish for me to keep this secret, I will do so. You should tell the others in your own time.”

“Understood.” Soundwave’s armor loosens a few degrees, ease filtering through his field. “Generosity appreciated.”

“It is common decency, Soundwave.” Optimus gentles his tone. “I cannot begin to understand what sparkache you bring with you, but I intend to never add to that burden.”

Soundwave nods once. “Time will tell.” At last, he seems the most relaxed he has ever been in Optimus’ presence. Perhaps not to the same degree as Hot Rod, but Optimus’ own armor loosens, as if he’s been echoing Soundwave’s tension.

“It will.” Optimus retreats a step, if only to give Soundwave some space. “Shall I send Ratchet back to you? Let him fix whatever odd rattle has him so riled?”

Amusement bubbles up in Soundwave’s field before it softens again. “Affirmative. Care appreciated.”

“You’re welcome.”

Optimus departs, feeling as though he’s tallied two victories today. He’s on the road to making an ally of Soundwave, and Skyfire seems already to be in his corner.

If he can have a congenial conversation with Ratchet, it will be quite the successful day.

It’s not Ratchet he finds when he goes looking, however, but Prowl, who intercepts Optimus on his way to the kitchens. The former Enforcer’s expression is one of determination, his hands clasped behind his back, and his sensory panels held at attention.

“Are you busy, Optimus?” Prowl asks.

“I was only looking for Ratchet, but I suspect he’ll find his way back to the clinic whether I find him or not,” Optimus says. “Is something wrong?”

"No. I only wanted to speak with you regarding our circumstances," Prowl says, every inch of his posture and his tone ringing with formality. "There are certain expectations of us that I would like to see fulfilled."

Ah.

Optimus finds himself straightening, echoing Prowl’s frame language, and it isn’t until this moment that he realizes he does such a thing often. Perhaps it is a side benefit of the Matrix?

Something to explore later.

"I understand." Optimus gestures to the corridor before them. "Wherever you would feel more comfortable, lead the way."

"My quarters are fine." Prowl falls in step beside Optimus, hands still tucked behind his back. "I have done my research, and had several conversations, and spent a lot of time considering the facts. I've come to the conclusion that you are the leadership Cybertron has needed for a long time."

Pride warms Optimus' spark, though he measures his reply. "Thank you. I appreciate your confidence in me. I hope I do not disappoint."

"With my help, you won't," Prowl says, a statement of fact rather than an assertion of belief. His confidence is reassuring. "I think if we work together, we can effect the change Cybertron needs."

Optimus nods. "I believe that as well."

Prowl gives him a wry look. "And if I am beside you, I can keep an optic on you, to ensure you don't stray." He pauses in front of his door and looks up at Optimus, jaw set. "Make no mistake, Optimus Prime. This is a tentative trust, one which may eventually grow into a friendship."

"That is my hope. I shall do my best to be worthy of it," Optimus says. "Thank you for allowing me a chance to prove my intentions."

"I think we're all making the best of an impossible situation," Prowl says. He pauses a moment as if restructuring his thoughts before adding, “I feel I should apologize for my behavior last night.”

“Toward Starscream, you mean?”

Prowl flinches almost imperceptibly. “I have had my fill of mechs seeking to trample others for a small taste of power. I was worried for Hot Rod, but my assumption was built on a baseless rumor. I could have found a more tactful way to express my concern.”

“I agree you could have been a touch more graceful, but there’s something to be said for clearing the air of misconceptions,” Optimus says. It’s a thin line to tread, hoping to maintain peace between his Consorts, but also, not come across as an authoritative figure. “I do appreciate you looking out for Hot Rod.”

“He’s the one who worries me the most, from a political standpoint. He’s charming, but potentially a liability,” Prowl says with a quiet sigh. “If there’s a weakness in your support, rest assured your enemies will find it.”

Optimus makes a non-committal noise. “I think he will come to surprise you.”

“I certainly hope so.” Prowl lifts his chin and squares his shoulders. “In any case, I wanted to get that apology out of the way before we move into the next stage of our relationship.”

Optimus glances at the door to Prowl’s hab-suite. “You mean the spark bond.”

The smile Prowl gives him is wry. “It’s required of us, isn’t it?” He turns, keying the door to his quarters open, inviting Optimus with a gesture. “Shall we?”

Well.

It is much better to be invited than to request.

Optimus steps inside.


*****