Come What May

by Phantom (phantom1313 at tfrid dot com)

Author's Note: This fanfic takes place in the year 2117, roughly a year after Family Ties. As revealed in Family Ties, Rodimus is the son of Optimus Prime and serves as his second-in-command. There are a few scattered Star Trek references in here (can't help myself- need to make use of a broader interstellar culture) – find 'em if you can!


“The greatest thing you'll ever learn
Is just to love and be loved in return”

-- Moulin Rouge


Chapter One

“He's coming! Look sharp, everyone! Here he comes!”

Those words were met by a flurry of activity as everyone rushed to look busy, to seem to be accomplishing something important. They wanted, more than anything, to impress the visitor who had come to grace them with his presence. Some shook their heads, wondering at all the fuss, but even they knew the importance of this visit. They needed to prove the success of this project.

The project head rushed around in a nervous twitter, shooing at people who didn't need to be shooed, and generally made a nuisance of himself. He froze at the sound of approaching footsteps, looking like a Terran deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car.

The loud, clanking, echoing footsteps grew ever closer, and soon brought a large, impressive figure into view. It was easy to see why everyone was nervous. The figure seemed to radiate importance and control. He would not tolerate the smallest setback, the tiniest flaw. This was his brainchild, after all, and he had come to see it becoming a reality.

“Optimus Prime!” the project head simpered, racing over to welcome him. He drew himself up to his full height, which really wasn't that tall, and saluted mightily.

Optimus stared at him for a moment, a bit scornfully, then reluctantly returned the salute. “Driller. How is the project coming along?” He couldn't help but feel a small measure of disgust as the project head practically bowed and scraped before him. His mannerisms were not unlike that of a Ferengi trying to ingratiate himself to a potential victim –erm, customer.

“Oh, spectacularly!” Driller burbled on. “We're even a bit ahead of schedule. We've accomplished the excavation of a third of the main tunnel already. Once it is complete, we can begin to lay down the track. Soon now, your vision of Cybertron's revitalized mass transit tube system will be a reality.”

“That's good news,” Optimus nodded, optics seeming to probe every corner. Things were going better than he had hoped. Driller may be a simpering fool, but he was performing his duties well. “I assume that you've checked for structural weaknesses and traps? You know that these old corridors are full of hazards.”

Driller's face fell. “Well, uh, sir, we did a visual inspection, and everything seemed secure….”

Optimus scowled underneath his battle mask, his optics effectively conveying his displeasure. But his reaction was overshadowed by a sudden rumbling sound, and the very ceiling above them began to shake. “It's coming down!” a voice shouted.

Galvanized by the emergency, Optimus cried out, “Run! To the main corridor, now! It's the most stable area!” The two-dozen workers dropped their tools and rushed for the corridor. Optimus herded them along, making sure that no one lagged behind. A crouching figure caught his eye. A slender femme was fussing with a small box. A small light on the top flickered on, and a force field shot up, holding the ceiling in place. “Forget it!” he cried, grabbing her and throwing her roughly in the direction of the corridor. “The field isn't strong enough!”

His words proved all too true. No sooner had he thrust her aside than the field dissolved, burnt out by the excessive force exerted upon it. A massive chunk of sheet metal and concrete came crashing down directly on the large Autobot's head. He crumpled to the floor like a broken toy, stunned. He struggled to move out of the path of the falling debris, but he was too disoriented to make his limbs move properly. A long, jagged length of pipe creaked ominously and then fell, tearing straight through his abdomen. He fought to scream but was only able to make a choking sound. He had stifled his emotions for so many millions of years that now he found that he could not always voice them, even when he desperately needed to. The pain was excruciating, radiating from his abdomen and blazing through every circuit in his body. Then, mercifully, unconsciousness folded over him like a blanket.

* * * * *

Rodimus shot up in his seat, the data pad in his hand clattering to the floor. He clutched the back of his head, bright flowers of pain blossoming behind his optics. He shook his head, trying to regain his senses. Then a tearing pain burst through his abdomen, and he collapsed to the floor, clutching his midsection. His mind reeled, trying to process the sensory overload. He nearly blacked out, and he fought off the darkness. The Matrix pulsed within him, sending out input that was not his own. “Optimus!” he whispered. The Matrix had created a link between them that transmitted extremely intense emotions and sensations. Something had happened to Optimus… something terrible….

“Rodimus Prime to medical team! Medical emergency at the excavation site!”

* * * * *

Consciousness returned to Optimus slowly, as if he was fighting his way to the surface from the bottom of an ocean. He groaned softly, struggling to bring his optics online. What time was it? Had he overslept? Why hadn't his chronometer woken him? Why was everything so fuzzy – had he over-energized? Then the pain hit, and he was jolted awake with a sickening jerk. He tried to sit up with a gasp, but a gentle hand pressed him back down. He turned his head, his vision laced with static and flickering color, to see the femme that he had saved crouched next to him. “Don't move,” she said softly. “You've been injured.”

He stared at her, trying to place a name with the face. Curse it, he had known it before! His head pounded. Why couldn't he think straight? “You…” he rasped, wincing at the terrible sound of his voice. “Your name… it escapes me….”

“Lieutenant Andromeda, sir,” she replied. “How are you feeling?”

“Felt better,” he groaned. He struggled to remember what had happened. “The tunnel – it collapsed, didn't it?”

“Yes,” she replied. “You saved us all, sir, with your quick thinking. And you saved me. I probably would have been killed.”

He studied her as best he could, willing his vision to function properly. “You seem all right.” She had a few large dents, and a few small leaks, but they were already stopping. “The others?”

She sighed. “I don't know for sure. I think they escaped safely, but the pile of rubble has blocked the exit. I've been radioing for help, but we are too far down for the signal to get out, and the signal booster has been smashed.”

Optimus struggled to run his diagnostic program, with little success. Error messages scrawled across his CPU, telling him that the damage was grave indeed. “How long have I been unconscious?”

“Nearly an Earth hour,” Andromeda replied. “It took nearly that long just to dig you out. You were totally covered in debris.”

“Lieutenant,” he gazed at her sharply, “what damage has been done to me? Tell me honestly, and leave nothing out.”

She hesitated, and Prime felt a sinking sensation. It must be bad indeed. “You've got a large gash on the back of your head, along with an enormous dent.”

Optimus reached gingerly back to feel the injury and winced in pain. He felt a makeshift strip of metal that had been hastily welded to the wound. He drew his hand back, covered in leaking fluids. “You patched the injury,” he said matter-of-factly.

“I did, sir,” she replied, “but I was less successful with your other injury.” Her words faltered at his questioning look. “A length of pipe has breached your structure through to the other side. No, don't look!” she scolded him, but he did anyway. The sight nauseated him, and he sank back, shutting off his optics.

“I didn't remove it,” she continued. “I was afraid that you would only leak to death. I patched around it the best that I could, but I couldn't lift you to seal the exit wound. I wanted to cut the pipe to make the protrusion smaller, but I don't have any tools for the job. All I have is my mini-welder, and that is out of power.” Her voice was filled with regret.

“You've done… admirably…” Optimus whispered, his voice trailing off.

“Optimus Prime?” she said questioningly. “Sir, I think you've got a concussion. You need to stay conscious. Listen to the sound of my voice.”

“…hurts…”

She bit her lip, wondering what to do. She needed to keep him from losing consciousness, or he might slip into a coma and die. As it was, he was leaking so severely that she feared he would die before they were rescued. 'No!' she told herself sternly. 'I won't let that happen! I will do everything in my power to keep him alive.' Softly, she began to sing. It was an ancient Cybertronian melody, and it poured from her throat with a life of its own.

Optimus lay back, listening to the beautiful melody wash over him in soothing waves. It brought pages from his past back to life, causing memories long buried to stir to life. “A-Alita?” he called. “Is that you?”

The femme stopped singing, looking ashamed. “N-no, sir. I'm sorry,” she whispered. How foolish she had been! The melody she had been singing was a love song.

“Going to be late,” the Autobot leader muttered, his optics flickering. She felt her spark shrink in fear. He was getting worse! “Dion will kill me if I'm late again. Got to hurry.”

“Quick!” she cried out. “Name and rank!” His gaze drifted aimlessly. “*Now*, soldier!” she bellowed.

He looked at her with surprise. “Orion,” he spoke slowly. “Orion Pax. I don't have a rank. I'm just a dockworker. Though I'm studying to be a doctor. Is that what you wanted to know?”

Fear grasped at her spark, and her body went cold. She had to snap him back to reality, and fast, before she lost him completely! “Wrong answer!” she yelled, pushing her face into his. She drew her hand back and smacked him across the faceplate as hard as she could.

“That… hurt you more than it hurt me,” Optimus said with a weak chuckle. She clutched her throbbing hand, mentally scolding herself. She had struck his battle mask – of course it didn't hurt him! But at least it had gotten his attention.

“Let's try this again,” she said grimly. “Name and rank.”

“Optimus Prime.” His voice was stronger, sure of himself. “Autobot commander-in-chief.”

“That's better,” she breathed in relief. A sense of curiosity overcame her. “Who is Orion Pax?”

“Orion…” Optimus said pensively. “I haven't heard that name in a long, long time. It was so long ago….”

“I'm sorry,” Andromeda said, looking at her hands. “Is it a bad subject?”

“Not at all.” He smiled at her with his optics. “I used to be Orion Pax, back in the first Golden Age. Before the war.”

“*Before* the war?” the female asked, incredulous. For many Transformers, there was no such thing as before. All they had ever known was war.

Optimus told her all about it, his voice weakening from time to time. She was glad to keep his mind active and occupied, and she was fascinated by what she heard. Time passed, and Optimus grew weaker. Finally, his voice trailed off into nothingness. He barely had enough energy to turn his head.

“An… Andromeda,” he gasped out.

“I'm here,” she replied, taking his hand in hers. She squeezed it as best she could, but both of her hands were nearly dwarfed by his giant one. “I won't leave you.”

“Th-the Matrix.” He tapped his chest weakly. “If… if I don't make it…. Make sure Rodimus gets it….”

“The Matrix?!” she exclaimed in surprise. “But I thought… I thought Rodimus had it…”

Optimus shook his head slightly, grimacing inwardly at the pain. “We… switch between us. Not a good idea… to have only one person possess it. Makes it harder to steal.” He felt Rodimus at the other end of the Matrix link, trying to give him strength. He wondered if it would be enough.

“No!” she exclaimed. “I won't let you die! I won't!” She squeezed his hand tightly. “Promise me – promise me you won't die!”

Optimus turned his head with some difficulty to look her in the optic. “Won't make promises… I can't keep… but promise… I will try.” His head fell back, as if that statement had drained him.

“You can't die!” she insisted. “I – I order you to survive! Obey me and live, dammit!”

“You order me?” Optimus sounded amused, despite his weakened state.

“Yes!” she insisted, thinking fast. “You – you're removed from command. As the next ranking officer here, I am taking command. And I order you to live!”

“Yes, sir!” Optimus chuckled, then coughed slightly. Fluids had begun to clog his air intakes. “I will… obey.”

Just then a beep came from his communicator. Optimus looked confused. “What is that noise?”

Andromeda could not hide her worry. “That's your communicator. You'd better answer it.”

'Communicator?' he wondered. He accessed his system directory and found how to activate it. “Hello?” he spoke questioningly.

“Optimus Prime, this is Ratchet,” a businesslike voice answered, layered with concern. “What is your status? Is anyone injured?”

“Ratchet? Who are you talking to? It's me, Orion. What are you doing in the field? I thought they didn't let med students do that.”

There was a moment of shocked silence. “Oh, Primus,” a whispered reply finally came.

Andromeda activated her own communicator. “Ratchet, I'm with Optimus Prime. He's sustained a head wound and a structural breach in his abdomen. You'd better hurry. He's already lost most of his fuel. I don't know how much longer he got.”

Then she heard it… so faintly that she thought she had imagined it at first. Footsteps. Several footsteps, growing ever closer. The sound of a rolling gurney. The clanking of tools. “Here!” she cried. “We're in here!”

“We're right on the other side,” Ratchet reassured her. “We'll have you both out in no time. What is your condition? Are you injured too?”

“Nothing serious,” she replied. “Just hurry!” She watched fearfully as Optimus began humming tunelessly to himself, seemingly unaware of his surroundings. His head sank back, and his optics dimmed as he began to slip into unconsciousness. “No! No! Stay awake, damn you!” But this time, her efforts were of no avail.

The rescue team finally chipped away enough of the debris to squeeze through. Ratchet raced in, medical tools at the ready. He winced visibly at the condition of his friend. “We have to work quickly! First Aid, prepare the transfusion. We can't wait until we get topside. Blades, hold Optimus steady while Hot Spot cuts that pipe. We won't remove it entirely until we reach medbay. Fixit, get those bandage plates ready. We'll have to do some emergency welding before he can be moved.”

Andromeda stood back and watched the rescue team work quickly on their fallen leader, trying to stabilize him enough so that he could be moved. At last Ratchet straightened up, his arms streaked with fluids, seemingly satisfied. “Good work, people. Now let's get him on that gurney. One-two-three!” The bulky Autobot was hoisted onto the gurney and wheeled outside, carried in places over piles of debris. The femme leaned against one of the Protectobots – she forgot which one at the moment – shaking. At last the ordeal was over.

end of Chapter One

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