Sorry this took so long. Much errands this weekend. So this is more edited to coherency than just strictly new.
>_> And yes, the implication that Jolt's theirs.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Optimus.
Falling to the tarmac like so much scrap for the smelter.
Their Prime.
The mech Ironhide had trained from younglinghood, and stood behind since before the mantle of leadership had been placed on young shoulders. He felt the flicker from Ratchet, memories tagged unbidden; helping the stoic, newly reformatted Prime cope with the pain of a frame suddenly larger than his spark could easily sustain.
Best that the Chinook banked off before Ironhide could transform, or it would have found itself in his target locks.
Will looked livid, slamming his palms on the hood of the insentient Humvee as it had driven up on them with weapons armed.
Ironhide, despite the snarls and drawing his own weapons, was oddly touched by the Major’s break in decorum. He had flinched, almost guilty, when Galloway had railed about the Cybertronians being common knowledge. That was not their fault! They had followed the standard NEST protocols. Jolt tucked in behind him, unconsciously reverting to a troubled sparkling chirll and Ironhide replied with a soothing subharmonic purr.
The Cybertronians had watched Galloway stalk off in his fit maniacal bureaucratic smugness, then slowly circled their fallen Leader with a warbling dirge of mourning.
~*~*~
The CMO returned from ensuring their Prime’s frame was secured on a trailer, and found his bonded sitting in the corner of a quiet hangar, Jolt curled beside him in recharge. Ratchet chirped a greeting and padded close to the somber pickup.
“I felt that hit to your shoulder,” Ironhide growled softly. They had not even had the chance to check in with each other after the forest battle before everything had fallen apart at the Base.
“Sam and Bumblebee were right behind me, I couldn’t dodge,” the medic replied blithely.
“Come on,” Ironhide rumbled, tugging his mate close. Ratchet settled on the TopKick’s left, ‘Hide gently circling his shoulders and rubbing the plates, feeling them warm with self-repair nanites buzzing over the injury.
Ratchet tucked his helm under the black mech’s jaw, looking down at Jolt curled with his head in Ironhide’s lap. “He’s so young,” he muttered, lean digits tracing brilliant blue crests, “so young… we should get him out of here...”
“But,” Ironhide countered, rubbing his jaw across the CMO’s temple, “if we leave this planet, we hand Megatron and the Fallen whatever it is they want… Where would he be safe?”
The Hummer made a pained trill, seeing the truth in his mate’s words.
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branchandroot
no subject
Date: 2011-02-21 06:41 am (UTC)>_> And yes, the implication that Jolt's theirs.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Optimus.
Falling to the tarmac like so much scrap for the smelter.
Their Prime.
The mech Ironhide had trained from younglinghood, and stood behind since before the mantle of leadership had been placed on young shoulders. He felt the flicker from Ratchet, memories tagged unbidden; helping the stoic, newly reformatted Prime cope with the pain of a frame suddenly larger than his spark could easily sustain.
Best that the Chinook banked off before Ironhide could transform, or it would have found itself in his target locks.
Will looked livid, slamming his palms on the hood of the insentient Humvee as it had driven up on them with weapons armed.
Ironhide, despite the snarls and drawing his own weapons, was oddly touched by the Major’s break in decorum. He had flinched, almost guilty, when Galloway had railed about the Cybertronians being common knowledge. That was not their fault! They had followed the standard NEST protocols. Jolt tucked in behind him, unconsciously reverting to a troubled sparkling chirll and Ironhide replied with a soothing subharmonic purr.
The Cybertronians had watched Galloway stalk off in his fit maniacal bureaucratic smugness, then slowly circled their fallen Leader with a warbling dirge of mourning.
~*~*~
The CMO returned from ensuring their Prime’s frame was secured on a trailer, and found his bonded sitting in the corner of a quiet hangar, Jolt curled beside him in recharge. Ratchet chirped a greeting and padded close to the somber pickup.
“I felt that hit to your shoulder,” Ironhide growled softly. They had not even had the chance to check in with each other after the forest battle before everything had fallen apart at the Base.
“Sam and Bumblebee were right behind me, I couldn’t dodge,” the medic replied blithely.
“Come on,” Ironhide rumbled, tugging his mate close. Ratchet settled on the TopKick’s left, ‘Hide gently circling his shoulders and rubbing the plates, feeling them warm with self-repair nanites buzzing over the injury.
Ratchet tucked his helm under the black mech’s jaw, looking down at Jolt curled with his head in Ironhide’s lap. “He’s so young,” he muttered, lean digits tracing brilliant blue crests, “so young… we should get him out of here...”
“But,” Ironhide countered, rubbing his jaw across the CMO’s temple, “if we leave this planet, we hand Megatron and the Fallen whatever it is they want… Where would he be safe?”
The Hummer made a pained trill, seeing the truth in his mate’s words.