Birds and Bumblebees

Authors Note: A big thanks to optimus prime 007 and plenoptic (for saying "OPT AND LITA ARE STILL ALL SMASHED") for getting me off my aft and pounding a new chapter of this. Thanks go to Bunnylass and my other enthusiastic reviewers who give me the will to keep going (literally).

Chapter 16

One week after the attack on the Autobot Base...

“So, everything is okay now?”

“Yes.”

“Fully functional?”

“Fully functional.”

“He won’t be crying in pain when I turn him on? Or spouting bleeders? Or breaking things?”

“...No.”

“No crossed wires, memory dumps or tripped breakers?”

“....”

A slight foot scuffle. The creaking of armor.

“ALL systems functional?”

“For Cybertron’s sake, femme, HE WILL WORK!”

Elita One grinned at the finger-clenching, intakes-heaving, full-on-glaring Autobot CMO - Ratchet. “Oh. Well then. Let’s bring him back to us without further discussion.”

Standing behind the shoulder of the satisfied Femme Commander as a black motionless lump, Ironhide lifted an optic ridge at Ratchet. “You know, maybe we should perhaps test a few other things before we start him up.”

“Be quiet, Ironhide. I am just as capable of putting you on this table as that building was to my Optimus.” Elita’s words were as sweet and cheerful as a spring day, but Ironhide’s expression shut down without a word of comeback from his mouthplates at the femme that barely reached the level of his waist.

Ironhide pouted ungraciously, staring into a corner of the room to avoid looking at her, “Hn.”

Ratchet took a moment to make a ‘you suck’ expression at Ironhide, then rolled his shoulderplates. “Before we start, you must realise that I will not bring such a massive mech as Optimus back on-line without some sort of sedative in his system. To, uh, blunt the shocks of becoming operational again.” He jumped in to stall the protest from Elita. “I will not argue you with you, Elita, it must be this way. At the very least, it will stop him from leaping off this berth and racing around checking on the welfare of every single Autobot in this place and then not recharging for the next few Earth days while he frets.”

Ironhide scowled, “The Prime does not fret.”

“Ironhide, snuff yourself. Now, Prime will come back to us perfectly well but you must expect him to be a little slow with his circuits. He’ll be hesitant when he talks and won’t understand long and detailed conversations.”

Ironhide tapped a thick finger on Optimus Prime’s chest armor, “No different from normal then, right Ratch?”

Elita One ran her optics over the long wide form of her sparkmate as Ratchet spoke. Being with Optimus for so long had often blinded her to how big and powerful he was. She was used to the way he took up so much space; she automatically calculated her actions and movements to fit around him. She wasn’t consciously aware of her adjustments, she just did it - he was this big, and this tall, and needed this much space in a room. Seeing him laid out and quiet without his usual charisma and presence to fill his mammoth frame made him seem like a giant stranger.

The femme touched a hand to the latent mech, whispering the touch of her fingers over his shoulder and to the middle of his bulging chest. The tender moment was broken when Ironhide started up his mouthplates again.

“Chuck the sedative, Ratch, we’ll fit him with a leash. Elita can handle him well enough,” Ironhide made motions with his hands, “you know; sit, stand, fetch. Like the rodent.”

Elita’s rifle was in her hand and pointed upside of Ironhide’s jaw – jabbing at the hollow between his head and neck - before her CPU caught up with what her body was doing. “OUT!!”

“...but!”

“OUT!”

Elita shoved, pushed, poked, slapped and threatened until Ironhide found himself thrust outside the medbay doors. While the big black mech stood blinking confusedly at being dumped, the femme looked around at the many mech’s waiting for news on Optimus Prime’s awakening.

“Bumblebee! Come here!”

The Camaro tilted his head enquiringly at the rose red female Commander and pointed at his own chest - Me?

“Yes you. Come inside, we’ll need your help with bringing Optimus back online, since Iron-aft can’t be sensible.”

Hearing Elita’s clipped words, the gruff Weapons Specialist turned and stomped off down the hallway, growling and grumbling to himself. He knew when he wasn’t wanted. With a ‘what-did-he-do?’ glance at Elita, Chromia chased after him.

“Go on Bee, they obviously need help,” Marin spoke quietly, laying her small hand on Bumblebee’s forearm armor.

Bee’s head nodded, and with a pat to her shoulder, he trotted after Elita. Entering the room, his optics locked on the sight of Ratchet with one of his hands shoved under Prime’s chest armor, his fingers scrapping and poking ineffectually while he cursed.

“Frag it, of all the stupid things... Primus hates me...” Ratchet groused.

Elita arched an optic at the grumpy medic getting physical with her mate. “Problem?”

“No.”

“Then why is your hand stuck in my mech’s chest up to the elbow?” Elita demanded, not liking the way Ratchet was shoving and pulling.

“If you MUST know, I dropped a probe which I am now attempting to retrieve.”

Elita grabbed Ratchet’s arm and pulled it backwards with a hard yank. “I’ll get it. Better me than you. Where exactly is it?”

One of Ratchet’s fingers pointed at a small hidey hole under the left hand side of Prime’s chest. “Uh... here.”

The femme’s optics brightened, “Oh yes, I lose things there too. I’ve told him about adjusting his armor but oh no, he likes it the way it is.” Elita’s fingers made a darting/poking movement, easily pulling out Ratchet’s lost probe. “Here. Keep a hold of it next time.”

Ratchet didn’t dare ask what ‘things’ Elita lost in Prime’s chassis. It was probably better for his personal safety that he remained ignorant.

Standing still and straight on his feet, Bumblebee watched the interplay of Elita and Ratchet around the Autobot Supreme Commander. It was strange to see Optimus so quiet and still. Lying on his back, he looked even more broad and massive than when he was standing upright. An enormous chunk of sleeping mech.

“I think we’re ready now,” Ratchet said sourly, not impressed at being pushed around by a femme. “I’ll inject the sedative, then switch on his electrical relays. If for whatever reason he starts flailing his limbs or tries to leap off the table, I’ll off-line him again.” The CMO’s optics latched onto Bumblebee. “Bee, you take his left side and I’ll take the right to start with. If you need to restrain him, grab his left shoulder and keep him down.”

Elita frowned, “Why do you think he’s going to be so active?”

Ratchet’s optics swept over Prime’s frame. “He’s a soldier, Elita. And his programming may direct him to fight after being knocked off-line. You were both being threatened the last time he was fully aware. He’ll remember that, so be ready that he might start moving fast.”

With a nod at Bumblebee, Ratchet injected a vial of white liquid into an access port on Prime’s forearm, toggled a series of switches – and braced himself with one hand on his patients shoulder.

Despite his eager audience, Optimus Prime didn’t react. His giant frame stayed unmoving. He was cold and silent. Bumblebee looked at Ratchet from Prime’s other side as if to say ‘ Did you do it right?’.

Elita moved closer, leaning in, surveying her mech with anticipation. “C’mon, Orion, don’t keep me wait - OUCH!”

Optimus’ hand had grabbed onto hers where it was resting upon the table, and he wasn’t letting go. Elita clutched onto the encompassing hand with her free hand. Prime’s optics flared with bright blue brilliance then died back to soft blue. His frame shuddered from head to feet. A groan came from him.

“Careful...” Ratchet murmured. “Optimus, can you hear me?”

With a slight nod, those legendary optics shifted to look at the CMO. Then Bumblebee. Then...

“...Lita...?”

Elita One smiled tenderly. She’d never been so pleased to hear the deep rolling rumble of her mate’s voice, “Optimus. You came back.”

Optimus Prime’s voice was rasping and wistful, “Where... would... I... go?”

The femme squeezed his hand, hugging it to her face with twinkling optics. She wanted to jump up onto the table and throw herself against his chest in joy, but that kind of affection could wait until there were no other bots around to watch.

Ratchet waved at Bumblebee to back off, giving the lovebirds a moment.

Optimus had to concentrate, his CPU was still processing and re-organising, “You... okay? The building... came down.”

“Yes, I’m fine, but how do you feel? Any pain?”

“No.” Optimus shook his head firmly.

“Oh good.” Elita carefully put his hand down, patted it – then slapped her sparkmate lightly in the side of the head. Ratchet winced. Bumblebee looked on in shock. “Don’t you EVER try to kill yourself to save me like that again! Are you listening to me, Orion?”

With Elita’s stern face mere inches from his own, Optimus smiled serenely at his lady love. She was such a beautiful and feisty female. His CPU showed images of him cradling her small body beneath his own as the building collapsed on top of them with no way out. He remembered the horror he’d felt when even his monumental strength hadn’t been enough to prevent her from getting hurt. That was something he would never forget.

Optimus lifted his head fractionally and pecked her smoothly on the nose with his mouthplates. He didn’t mind being slapped again, laughing at her, “Love.. you.”

Elita growled with a huff and leaned back, crossing her arms over her chest. Her spark was beating wildly in joy to have its partner back, and she was so going to get him back later for that kiss on the nose.

“...Ratch?” Optimus looked expectantly at the Hummer.

The CMO came closer and tried to stifle his grin at the antics of his Commander and his femme. “You’re doing fine, Optimus. While I can’t really name much of you that hasn’t been replaced or fixed, you are now in perfect working order. Your CPU has a mountain of data and new relays to get through, that’s why your speech and thoughts are slow and cumbersome. Give it one Earth day and you’ll be – as the humans say – right as rain.”

Optimus nodded. “Thank you. I owe you... my life.” His optics locked onto the yellow form of Bumblebee standing back from the action and waiting to be acknowledged. “Bumblebee...”

“Yes Sir?” The scout took a step forward and brightened upon being addressed.

“I dimly... remember... a Camaro... and a crane. Am I... right?”

Bee’s head bowed humbly, “Yes. It was the fastest way.”

“He found it with Captain Lennox’s help,” Elita explained, then lifted her chin proudly at Bumblebee, “Then he and Marin got it here as fast as they could. He got us out of there.”

Gentle but commanding optics stayed on Bumblebee, “Marin... helped?” Optimus asked.

“Yes Sir, she cleared a path for us to get through. She was worried about you and Elita.”

“Ah.” Optimus Prime nodded slowly. “Must give... her... thanks. She is... a good soldier.”

“Thank you Sir. She will be impressed at being described as a soldier.” Bumblebee was pleased that Marin’s efforts has been recognised. But then, what else did one expect when you were dealing with Optimus Prime? Every solider – female or male – was precious to him.

“I think it’s time we got you back to your temporary quarters, Optimus,” Ratchet broke in, “Some good old recharge and being out of the medbay will do you wonders, yes?”

With the aid of Bumblebee and Ratchet on either side, Optimus was helped to his feet (a not inconsiderable task since he was one of the biggest mech’s in the Autobot army), where he stood swaying for a quite a few seconds before his stabilisers kicked in. Slowly exiting the medbay with Elita at his side, the Commander was greeted by an enormous roar of approval from his gathered soldiers and friends. He lifted his head and smiled at his reception.

“Thank you. All of... you. Your support... and goodwill... is appreciated. For the moment... I am told... my speech will... improve... or Ratchet has... crossed a wrong... wire somewhere.”

A smattering of laughter greeted his words. Ratchet made a face; him? Get it wrong? As if.

“Tomorrow I will... be back. Now I must...” Optimus grimaced, “rest.”

Bumblebee snaked his way through the crowd to Marin’s side. She grabbed onto his waist and refused to let go, her optics glistening as she watched Optimus.

“He’s back?” Marin asked, straining her head back to look up at Bumblebee.

The Camaro nodded enthusiastically, “Oh yes, he’s back.”