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jadeandroses · 21 days ago

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(Literally only started writing this to spite that guy on Ao3)

buying time

(previously) (Ao3 version) (next)

(Warning: TF One spoilers ahead!)

Truth be told, she felt what had happened more than she saw it. And even then, her senses were blurry, her vision and hearing and even the sense of the ground underneath her fading in and out, in and out, with every passing moment.

She remembered…

She remembered…?

No, she heard a shout.

Her name.

Amidst the chaos came a shout of her name, clear as day. Desperate.

She didn’t have time to fully process who it was, not before her legs gave out from underneath her.

~~~~

The last time she had heard her name like that, she remembered it coming from Bee, when she emerged from the Well a whole five minutes after Optimus did.

It was five minutes too long, she remembered thinking. In that five minutes, he had fought his best friend, won, and then had him banished from Iacon. Some sick part of her wished she had been able to witness it.

But before any of those thoughts could occur to her, there came the feeling of arms around her, and a face buried into her neck.

“You’re okay,” came a heavy whisper. She knew the voice instantly, even though it had changed so much.

Something gentle roared to life in her spark, and yet, it was coupled with a familiar, fond annoyance. Really? She wasn’t the one who had fallen into the well, sparkchamber pierced and half blown to pieces!

(She was the one who had jumped, though. She wondered how much he remembered of all that.)

Still, there had been a moment, hadn’t there? Or had she imagined holding his face as they careened back to the surface, watching his spark reignite, and swearing to herself in her spark that all of that would never happen to him again?

Either way, her spark lurched. And where once, she might not have returned the embrace, this time she did.

“You doubted, Pax?”

Against her frame, he was warm, with the heat of battle and life. Unspeakable relief flooded her as he shook his head, and his eyes shone with his lie. “I worried,” he admitted.

“Yeah, well, that’s supposed to be my job.” Her eyes brimmed, and she hid them in his armor. “Don’t do anything that stupid again, okay?”

She knew it was like asking the mountains to move, or the sun to stop rising. It would be like carving out a part of his spark—the part she had literally named him for—and even that hadn’t stopped him, had it?

At least this time, she wasn’t without her own share of stupid decisions. He brushed her cheek, and smiled at her—wearily, weakly, but at least it was there.

“Right back at you.”

~~~~

His smile was gone when she opened her eyes next. Shame. Even with infinite sadness in his eyes, his smile was beautiful. She would have liked to have that comfort, now that her spark felt like it was burning.

He loomed over her, worry practically exuding. She reached out—he shouldn’t be worried for her, it was her job to be worried for him—just to cup his cheek, reassure him she was okay.

She found no strength. Even just the attempt left her hands shaking.

He grabbed her hand and pressed it close to his cheek. Demanded against her palm, “What did you do?”

She wasn’t even sure. Every breath felt like a fresh inferno across her chest, and every beat of her useless spark carried that pain across her whole body—what use was her mind, against something like that?

But he was worried, for her, and all she knew was that he couldn’t be. She braced her mind against the pain and began to think—

…was it an explosion? Airachnid tended to leave them in her wake, they had found. Perhaps. There was fire in her chest, and fire all around her.

Her frame was undamaged. It didn’t quite make sense. But she knew the truth in her spark.

Airachnid had a missile launcher, and there were Quintessons closing in, and if she didn’t deliver them Optimus, they were going to have her hide. She had made her choice.

Elita had made hers, in turn. Her life, for his.

She smirked weakly. “I thought it was obvious.”

~~~~

He shouldn’t have been surprised. This wasn’t even the first time.

The first time she remembered clearly—if only because it was pure coincidence that she was there, waiting in his drawing room for him to come out of recharge, and only a lucky glance out the window that sent her charging into his bedroom without a second thought.

If she had hesitated a moment longer, the assassin would have pulled the trigger. She would have had to watch her friend die again.

(…right?)

But she had barged in just in time. Fired her weapon first, slain the assassin before he could stand.

Optimus had stared at her, wide eyed. “You-”

“That was lucky,” she gasped. “I didn’t mean to- I- I’m sorry, I needed-”

…she didn’t remember that part. Whatever datapads had brought her here were scattered across the floor of his drawing room.

He spoke solemnly. “…maybe I ought to not sleep next to a window.”

“…maybe. Are you okay?”

He nodded. “Thanks to you. Again.”

He was going for levity. She could hear it in his voice. It didn’t stop the fear that coursed through her, delayed reactions to the realization that she almost lost him, again. She gripped her gun tighter.

His smile fell. “…are you?”

She wasn’t. All she could see was Orion, limb blown clean off and limp in her arms.

It was a memory she had to suppress every time she slept. He wasn’t her first taste of death—she was a miner, for crying out loud—but he was her first real friend, and a magnet for heroic stupidity that was only amplified by the Matrix. Could she be blamed for wanting to stick by his side, to make sure it didn’t happen again?

She was his commander, his confidant. But she didn’t much care for any of those titles. What she was, truth be told, was his guard.

Because Prime or not, she couldn’t bear to see him hurt again.

Her gun clattered to the floor.

~~~~

Her gun was gone. She couldn’t remember what had happened to it when the missile launched.

Probably, she had just dropped it. It wouldn’t be that much of an issue, if the ship they were on wasn’t presently exploding. Had she been of full, present mind, she might have lamented its loss.

Right now, she couldn’t care less about her weapon—she lamented her own lack of strength. What kind of guard was she, that she had to be carried out by her own charge? What kind of guard was she to let her own guard down, to be so thoroughly spent that she couldn’t even walk on her own, much less see or hear any further threats?

And yet, even in this, she could still hear Bee’s voice. It was comforting, even if she couldn’t fully make it out.

It was Optimus’s voice that cut through her hazy mind: “Find her! Do not let her escape this time!”

…right. Right. Airachnid. She couldn’t forget. She heard Bee respond in the affirmative, and then the footsteps of their team fade.

Everything shook. She barely felt it—between the fire in her spark and the strength of his arms holding her, she barely registered anything.

Except for, of course, the frantic breathing of the one who carried her.

“Orion.”

“I’m gonna get you out.”

“Orion, look at me.” She hissed in pain. “You’re okay?”

He didn’t respond. She doubted he even heard her. His eyes narrowed, and he charged forward.

She let him.

~~~~

“Look at me, please?”

She ignored him, and hissed as he brought the rag to her face. Still, she let him—the wound stung on its own, and even though the medicine burned, she could feel it starting to work.

He chuckled. “This can’t be what bests you.”

“Who said it did?” she snapped back, grin on her face. “Took me by surprise, is all.”

“I told you to look.” He turned her face to get the other side. “The one and only Elita, bested by a mild antiseptic.”

She shoved his hand away, and he laughed. It sounded like everything that was right with the world. Her spark glowed, and she smiled.

“Well.” She scoffed. “You do have a nasty right hook.”

He lowered his head. “Sorry. Again.”

She shrugged. “I told you to stop holding back, didn’t I? This is exactly what I get.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“Primus, no. There’s only one way to get better, and that’s practice.”

Besides, she thought, if it meant he would patch her up after their training sessions, caress her just like this…

…what.

Where had that thought come from?

She shoved it aside, and focused on the sensation of his hands on her face. He must have noticed the tension, because he broke it with, “Logically, I know you must have learned from somewhere, but I can’t imagine you needing to train.”

“You kidding?” she scoffed. “Where do you think I was when you were off sneaking into archives?”

She watched the gears in his eyes start turning. All the wisdom of the Primes and the wit of Orion Pax, and he couldn’t quite piece it together. She chuckled.

“Her name was Beta. She was cogless, too, but she had learned how to fight from her cogged mentors, so she offered to train me.” She grinned. “Said it might help me keep my subordinates in line.”

“And yet, you never used it.”

“I had other issues, Pax, remember?”

He grinned, sheepish, wry. “You’re welcome?”

She couldn’t help it—she laughed. He stared at her, half a smile on his face, until she had stopped moving, and he could keep working.

“Tell me more.”

She knew why he asked. He didn’t like to dwell on his own past, and she didn’t blame him one bit. So she would talk, share things he didn’t know. About this, there was so much. She felt warm all over, memories she cherished spilling from her spark into her mind, and amplified a thousandfold by the gentle touch pressed to her cheeks. Even the sting of the medicine didn’t quite register, anymore.

“She’s the only person who knew my name.”

He startled. “Your-”

He looked up at her with eyes wide.

“Once,” she whispered, like it was a secret, “my name was Ariel.” She let him gape for a moment, just a little bit, before she trailed off and sighed. “I know, it’s kinda-”

“Beautiful,” he interrupted.

She startled, and looked. He averted his eyes, as if he had said something he didn’t mean, but the low whirring of his fans and the mortified blush on his face told her otherwise.

He meant it.

She smiled wryly. “I did love that name. But it didn’t fit who I wanted to be.”

He kept working at her wounds. Kept his eyes away from hers. “And who did you want to be, Elita-1?”

“Strong. Capable.” She shrugged. “The best at whatever I did.”

“Better than me.”

“Better than anyone.” She cuffed his wrist lightly. “Don’t take that personally.”

“Oh, trust me, I won’t.” He grinned. “I just think it’s rather ironic.”

“What is?”

“You named both of us.”

She thought about that.

Her own name was one she chose for herself. She had put so much thought into it, hoping it would encompass everything she was and had yet to be. But his? It was impulsive. She worried it was derivative.

“…do you like it, at least?”

He shrugged. “There are days I struggle to believe it,” he admitted. “But overall, I think you have excellent taste.”

There was still a lingering blush on his face, but at least he was smiling, now. She would count it as a win every time she got him to smile, because maybe it meant she was excelling at her job to keep him—frame, spark, and mind—safe.

(The secret flutter in her spark said otherwise.)

~~~~

“Look at me, Ariel, don’t you dare shut down on me!”

That wasn’t fair. No one else knew her real name. It forced her to listen.

“‘m not,” she grumbled.

Never mind the fact that she was, just a moment ago, about to shut down. She forced her eyes open. It took almost every ounce of energy she had left in her.

It was worth it. She rolled her head back onto his chest, and looked upwards. The flaming ship they had once hijacked was merely a speck of light to their side, and the auroras—that was a word that had to be learned—painted the face of her Prime in endless streaks of color. They danced across his eyes.

“Optimus?” she whispered, the plea unspoken; Look at me.

He did. His eyes brimmed over. He took his hand away from his comm, and gave it to her.

“I called for help,” he blurted. “They’ll be here soon, Elita, just hold on. Please.”

She thought she knew beauty. She had found it the colors and shifting sands of the surface. She had found it in stars, now that she could look upwards and see them, and in the rivers of energon that reflected them from all sorts of angles.

Right now, there was a single drop of energon on his face. Every star above them shone in that one tear, and in his eyes, though the sky was lost to her, she could see auroras clearly.

Sweet Solus, he was beautiful.

And all she wanted, before she offlined, was to see his smile.

“I’ll try.”

Just long enough, she hoped.

(Five minutes, after all, had been enough to change their world.)

~~~~

No.

She hadn’t imagined it.

There had been a moment in the Well where he had wrapped his arms around her, whispered the words “I’m okay” in her ear. It was just a moment—right before they were split apart and she, by all accounts, had waited in the Well for five whole minutes—but it had happened. She knew it in her spark.

The problem: to her, all of that had happened in the blink of an eye. She had lost five minutes of time.

What had happened in the five minutes she lost?

Before that, she had watched Orion’s lifeless frame glowing. His body transformed with newfound power. A hint of it was given to her, and her own spark had surged.

…it had felt a bit like this inferno. The first embers of a wildfire, trapped inside her.

Whatever happened on the ship had taken those embers of power and spun them out of her control. For five minutes on that ship, she was flame itself—her frame bursting with energy while the world around her halted.

…even Optimus hadn’t so much as looked at her. He couldn’t. She was pure energy, catapulting through the ship, for what looked like five minutes to her.

Had she been conscious for this realization, her jaw might have dropped.

What had passed as the blink of an eye to her in the Well, for him was five minutes. Maybe now it was reversed.

The reason the missile hadn’t touched him was because she moved him out of the way, redirected it into Airachnid’s face. Further: her own frame wasn’t damaged because she had drained her spark to do it.

She hadn’t lost five minutes in the Well. She had been given five minutes.

And then she had given them to her Prime.

(“Loyal daughter of Cybertron,” they had called her. Well, here she was, spark on fire, proving it.)

~~~~

She tried. Primus, she tried.

Her hearing went first. When not even Optimus’s voice could cut through the ringing in her ears, she stiffened, and gripped his arm tighter.

She couldn’t hear what he said. She thought it looked like the words “you’ll be okay”.

(She didn’t quite believe it.)

He was starting to fade from vision. Soon, his words would be lost to her entirely. She felt her hands weakening, stiffening—still, she held onto him, as tight as she could manage.

She strained her eyes, just to watch him comfort her a little while longer.

When had he become the most beautiful thing she had ever seen? When had he grown from a miner for whom she wouldn’t have risked her job, to the man she would happily lay down her life for? She could have blamed it on the Matrix, that little piece of divinity nestled within his chest. No one would fault her that; after all, she had been there. But it would be a lie, and she was too weak to afford lies right now.

There was a moment, she thought. On the surface. It was the moment she first gave him his name, before they knew what they would become.

That was the man she loved, she thought. Who could lead with something as simple as words, as easy as compassion. That was her Orion.

Then again, she had named Optimus, too.

Her fingerprints all over his future, and his all over her present. A single thread of fiery divinity that connected them. If she felt nothing for him, none of it would have mattered.

But she loved him.

So it mattered more than anything in the world.

~~~~

There was a moment of lucidity, when the pain subsided for a moment, and she could breathe again. She could hear. They must have pumped her full of the good pain meds, finally.

They hadn’t figured out what was wrong. Her life was still in jeopardy. Nothing was ever quite perfect, was it?

She reached out, doubting. She couldn’t even lift her arm from the bed, but somehow, he was there. He took her hand in his two before her vision could fully clear.

“Elita, please.”

The plea went unspoken. She blinked, and looked at him.

Her vision was still blurry, her spark still a faint flutter in her chest. Fading. But he was there. It was enough. If she got out of this, she would never doubt him again.

Sweet Solus Prime, he was beautiful.

“You’re okay,” she whispered.

“I am.” He clenched her hand tighter. “But you’re not. Elita, why-?”

He was talking nonsense again. She had saved him and every Autobot on that ship, and they both knew it.

“I had to.”

“No you didn’t,” he croaked, his voice barely even a whisper. “We could have made it out, I know it. Elita, please, I can’t-”

She was too tired to figure out the words he had choked on, but something in her own spark shattered regardless.

When he finally looked at her again, it was without the smile she wanted so badly. The infinite sadness in his eyes had taken hold, as he pleaded, “I still need you.”

Maybe he did. But he wasn’t the one given five minutes.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, “but I’m not.”

#i’m sorry in advance #the good news is: they are no longer mid slowburn lol #tf one spoilers #transformers one #tf fic #maccadam #optimus prime #elita 1 #oplita

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