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ante_luceFor the December '08 Christmas Challenge on the PxJ comm.
Also inspired by bunny #5
Title: Unacceptable Methods
'Verse: G1 Transformers. Persuasions series
Rating: M
Warnings: TF Cussing. Disturbing use of doorwings. And a visor.
Prompt: Where there is despair, hope
He paced.
He couldn’t help it. The conversation they’d had early on in their relationship played over and over in his processors, mocking him.
“Perhaps this isn’t a good idea.”
Immediately, he regretted the words as Jazz bolted upright on the berth, worry (visible worry! From Jazz) evident on his faceplates. “How can you say that? We’re happy, you’re happy, is something wrong?”
“What? No, nothing’s wrong, but I can’t help but feel that this relationship places you at greater risk.”
Prowl had taken his hand then, gripping it reassuringly.
“Optimus, we are in as much danger as we were before.”
“Bein’ the top two mechs after you on the totem pole pretty much ensures that. And every ‘Con between here and Cybertron knows we’re close to you, just, not how close.”
“Trust us to keep ourselves safe. We’ll hide our connection to you if it’ll make you feel better.”
“Yeah, it’s a war, and things happen, but don’t drop what we have just because you’re afraid for our lives. We’ll be fine.”
“I… alright.”
And now both Prowl and Jazz were in the hands of the Decepticons. Megatron had sent a few taunting messages, as well as one horrific vid file, the memory of which made the Prime’s fuel tanks churn and the energon boil in his lines. The large red and blue mech balled his hands into fists, trying to control his anger. His mechs needed him to be in control. Prowl and Jazz needed him to be in control. Dimly he remembered the doorwinged mech’s words after one of his first, and in his opinion, most disastrous battles.
Despair would not help. Rage would not help. He needed a clear head to plan and a steady demeanour to lead his mechs into battle.
His vocaliser hitched.
The Autobots were restless. Two of their top officers gone, and every attempt to find them had failed so far. Mirage, Hound and Bumblebee had scoured every ‘Con stronghold the Autobots knew of, coming back nearly deactivated so many times Prime had to forbid them from trying again. Their protests when Optimus made his decision tore at his spark, he wanted nothing more than his black and whites back in the Ark, safe and sound, but he couldn’t lose another mech to the ‘Cons.
Looking out over the mechs assembled before him, he saw his hidden anger reflected back at him. Dangerous. Reckless endangerment would not help anyone. Charging out into battle was exactly what Megatron wanted, and he would not give the fragger the satisfaction. He said as much, willing his own temper into place, grateful for his battle mask, which hid his clenched denta and furious expression from the world, and felt relief when he saw the Autobots accepting his reasoning, visibly attempting to rein in their fury.
They would roll out in a half hour.
= = =
“Prime.”
“Yes, Ironhide?”
“Let go. You need this before we head out.”
He broke, held in the arms of one of his oldest friends, letting the despair take him and run its course. When he’d pulled himself together again, he was calm, and a firm determination shone in his optics. Ironhide smiled grimly.
“Good. Now we can go.”
= = =
The battle raged, and Optimus found himself facing off against his counterpart. Control, he reminded himself. Losing your head won’t help anyone but the enemy. Jazz had told him that, after a pointless attack by the Decepticons on the youth centres on Cybertron. He swung his axe, and Megatron laughed at him, bringing up a shield to catch the blow.
A shield? His processors puzzled over this. Megatron had never used a shield before. The gunmetal grey mech sneered, expression cruel and malicious.
“Like it, Prime? I just had it made.”
His optics registered the colours on the metal curve.
Black and white.
The words ‘Highway Patrol’ stretching across the surface.
A small window of blue glass, in a sickeningly familiar shape at the top.
Unbidden, the memory played again.
Trust us to keep ourselves safe.
It’s a war, and things happen.
We’ll be fine.
Optimus roared, pain and anger and anguish all rolled into one, spark wrenching cry. All about him mechs stopped to stare, but he didn’t notice, his focus narrowed upon the mech before him. The sounds of battle faded. Nothing else mattered. He attacked.
= = =
The attack hit the Decepticon leader as what it was - a blow driving him directly to the ground. He hadn't even time to recover properly when something stabbed into his front, perilously close to his spark chamber. Looking up, he saw something he had always dreamt of seeing, and immediately wished he’d never had the thought.
For in this moment, at the brink of losing all control, a blaster pointing directly against his enemy’s head and a savage expression clear even with the mech’s battle mask in place, the noble Optimus Prime seemed more like a being straight from the deepest regions of the Pit.
”Tell me…” And here Optimus Prime practically growled these two words, optics brightening to an almost unbearable degree. “Where are Jazz and Prowl?!”
When he didn’t answer, the Prime snarled, twisting the blade in the gunformer’s chassis and drawing a pained cry from the mech. “TELL ME!”
= = =
At the Prime’s howl of despair, Ironhide had looked up from the ‘Con he’d been stomping into shrapnel, and stopped dead at the sight. Optimus was fighting like a mad thing, driving a taken by surprise Megatron back, then to the ground, unconsciously swatting aside the Seekers who were flying at him in an attempt to draw him away.
He ran for the Prime, something had made the mech snap and he needed someone watching his back.
Who would watch Ironhide’s was another matter, but he put the thought out of his processor. He needed to get over there, right now.
Something had fallen to the ground behind the pair, and the rust red med snarled when he realized what it was. The image he transmitted to the rest of the field actually caused a lull in the fighting as Autobots struggled to process what they saw.
Then, as one, they surged forward.
= = =
Unprepared for the sudden viciousness of their opponents, the Decepticons broke ranks and retreated, Skywarp yanking Megatron from the Prime’s grasp. The Autobots gave chase for the first time in all their battles on Earth, until a staticky comm. message from Mirage halted them in their tracks.
“Found them… Safe… Medic!”
= = =
Safe.
Such a small word, but hearing it had brought Optimus out of his rage. Relief beat a wild tattoo on his spark casing, and he raced for the coordinates reported by Mirage’s team. His mechs were safe, and his world had hope once more.
Also inspired by bunny #5
Title: Unacceptable Methods
'Verse: G1 Transformers. Persuasions series
Rating: M
Warnings: TF Cussing. Disturbing use of doorwings. And a visor.
Prompt: Where there is despair, hope
He paced.
He couldn’t help it. The conversation they’d had early on in their relationship played over and over in his processors, mocking him.
“Perhaps this isn’t a good idea.”
Immediately, he regretted the words as Jazz bolted upright on the berth, worry (visible worry! From Jazz) evident on his faceplates. “How can you say that? We’re happy, you’re happy, is something wrong?”
“What? No, nothing’s wrong, but I can’t help but feel that this relationship places you at greater risk.”
Prowl had taken his hand then, gripping it reassuringly.
“Optimus, we are in as much danger as we were before.”
“Bein’ the top two mechs after you on the totem pole pretty much ensures that. And every ‘Con between here and Cybertron knows we’re close to you, just, not how close.”
“Trust us to keep ourselves safe. We’ll hide our connection to you if it’ll make you feel better.”
“Yeah, it’s a war, and things happen, but don’t drop what we have just because you’re afraid for our lives. We’ll be fine.”
“I… alright.”
And now both Prowl and Jazz were in the hands of the Decepticons. Megatron had sent a few taunting messages, as well as one horrific vid file, the memory of which made the Prime’s fuel tanks churn and the energon boil in his lines. The large red and blue mech balled his hands into fists, trying to control his anger. His mechs needed him to be in control. Prowl and Jazz needed him to be in control. Dimly he remembered the doorwinged mech’s words after one of his first, and in his opinion, most disastrous battles.
Despair would not help. Rage would not help. He needed a clear head to plan and a steady demeanour to lead his mechs into battle.
His vocaliser hitched.
The Autobots were restless. Two of their top officers gone, and every attempt to find them had failed so far. Mirage, Hound and Bumblebee had scoured every ‘Con stronghold the Autobots knew of, coming back nearly deactivated so many times Prime had to forbid them from trying again. Their protests when Optimus made his decision tore at his spark, he wanted nothing more than his black and whites back in the Ark, safe and sound, but he couldn’t lose another mech to the ‘Cons.
Looking out over the mechs assembled before him, he saw his hidden anger reflected back at him. Dangerous. Reckless endangerment would not help anyone. Charging out into battle was exactly what Megatron wanted, and he would not give the fragger the satisfaction. He said as much, willing his own temper into place, grateful for his battle mask, which hid his clenched denta and furious expression from the world, and felt relief when he saw the Autobots accepting his reasoning, visibly attempting to rein in their fury.
They would roll out in a half hour.
= = =
“Prime.”
“Yes, Ironhide?”
“Let go. You need this before we head out.”
He broke, held in the arms of one of his oldest friends, letting the despair take him and run its course. When he’d pulled himself together again, he was calm, and a firm determination shone in his optics. Ironhide smiled grimly.
“Good. Now we can go.”
= = =
The battle raged, and Optimus found himself facing off against his counterpart. Control, he reminded himself. Losing your head won’t help anyone but the enemy. Jazz had told him that, after a pointless attack by the Decepticons on the youth centres on Cybertron. He swung his axe, and Megatron laughed at him, bringing up a shield to catch the blow.
A shield? His processors puzzled over this. Megatron had never used a shield before. The gunmetal grey mech sneered, expression cruel and malicious.
“Like it, Prime? I just had it made.”
His optics registered the colours on the metal curve.
Black and white.
The words ‘Highway Patrol’ stretching across the surface.
A small window of blue glass, in a sickeningly familiar shape at the top.
Unbidden, the memory played again.
Trust us to keep ourselves safe.
It’s a war, and things happen.
We’ll be fine.
Optimus roared, pain and anger and anguish all rolled into one, spark wrenching cry. All about him mechs stopped to stare, but he didn’t notice, his focus narrowed upon the mech before him. The sounds of battle faded. Nothing else mattered. He attacked.
= = =
The attack hit the Decepticon leader as what it was - a blow driving him directly to the ground. He hadn't even time to recover properly when something stabbed into his front, perilously close to his spark chamber. Looking up, he saw something he had always dreamt of seeing, and immediately wished he’d never had the thought.
For in this moment, at the brink of losing all control, a blaster pointing directly against his enemy’s head and a savage expression clear even with the mech’s battle mask in place, the noble Optimus Prime seemed more like a being straight from the deepest regions of the Pit.
”Tell me…” And here Optimus Prime practically growled these two words, optics brightening to an almost unbearable degree. “Where are Jazz and Prowl?!”
When he didn’t answer, the Prime snarled, twisting the blade in the gunformer’s chassis and drawing a pained cry from the mech. “TELL ME!”
= = =
At the Prime’s howl of despair, Ironhide had looked up from the ‘Con he’d been stomping into shrapnel, and stopped dead at the sight. Optimus was fighting like a mad thing, driving a taken by surprise Megatron back, then to the ground, unconsciously swatting aside the Seekers who were flying at him in an attempt to draw him away.
He ran for the Prime, something had made the mech snap and he needed someone watching his back.
Who would watch Ironhide’s was another matter, but he put the thought out of his processor. He needed to get over there, right now.
Something had fallen to the ground behind the pair, and the rust red med snarled when he realized what it was. The image he transmitted to the rest of the field actually caused a lull in the fighting as Autobots struggled to process what they saw.
Then, as one, they surged forward.
= = =
Unprepared for the sudden viciousness of their opponents, the Decepticons broke ranks and retreated, Skywarp yanking Megatron from the Prime’s grasp. The Autobots gave chase for the first time in all their battles on Earth, until a staticky comm. message from Mirage halted them in their tracks.
“Found them… Safe… Medic!”
= = =
Safe.
Such a small word, but hearing it had brought Optimus out of his rage. Relief beat a wild tattoo on his spark casing, and he raced for the coordinates reported by Mirage’s team. His mechs were safe, and his world had hope once more.
