literature

Missing Things: Prologue

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A few million years ago . . .

"Orion Pax, what is my policy about having the one you're courting in the Hall of Records?" Alpha Trion asks.

Orion sputters, botching the message he's supposed to send to the Editorial branch. Around him, the other archivists howl with laughter.

"I didn't know you actually had a policy of that nature, Alpha Trion," the young archivist stammers, face-plate going hot. He rubs his neck, biting his lower lip.

"Wait, where is she exactly?" he adds, raising an optic ridge.

"Down stairs, just outside the front entrance; you should probably tell her," the master archivist responds, a small smile gracing his aged face-plate.

"Thank you, sir," Pax murmurs quietly and quickly saves his document as a draft on his console. He then has to dash pass several teasing remarks.

"Sheesh, during work hours-?"

"That isn't like you!"

"Is she cute Pax?!"

"Get back to work!" Alpha Trion snaps, silencing them all.

Orion ignores the remarks and gets to the entrance. He looks around and then spots the pink femme leaning against the wall.

"Hi love," Ariel smiles, skipping up to Orion to hug him.

"Hello," Orion chuckles, returning the gesture. Once he releases her, Orion asks, "What are you doing here?"

The femme seems smug as she holds up a data-pad. "You left this behind, you lug-nut." Orion laughs and gingerly takes the data-file from her with a smile.

"Also, I just wanted to pop in . . . but Alpha Trion said he had a 'policy'?" Ariel asks, tilting her helm to the side.

"Believe me, I just learned of it . . ." Orion shakes his helm, making Ariel giggle.

"Ahem." The couple turn to see Alpha Trion just behind them.

"I'm sorry madam, but your mech has to get back to his shift," the Master Archivist says curtly, looking at the pink femme.

"I'll see you back at home," Orion Pax promises her in a whisper. He quickly gives her a peck on her cheek and then reluctantly returns inside.

******************************************************************************************

Several deca-cycles pass, and once again Ariel is knocking on the door, making Orion go through the whole song and dance.

"What do you have this time, lover-mech?" teases Orion's closest friend, Dion.

The orange, white and  blue mech was a runner for the Hall of Records from there and to the space-ship docks. The mech couldn't help but tease his friend from time to time about the pink femme Pax is courting.

"Nothing," Orion says hurriedly, jamming whatever it was into his subspace.

"You can't hide it from me; is that your lunch?"

Nothing from the archivist.

"She make it for you?"

Orion Pax gives Dion such a deadpan look that the latter of the pair goes into a fit of guffaws. The messenger laughs so hard that he ends up on the floor, curled up.

"Primus so help me Dion, you better-"

"No, no, no!" Dion waves her servo around, making Orion wait as the laughs start to leave his friend. "It's not that! It's just . . . just-"

"Spit it out old friend before I put you in a helm-lock," Orion growls. Miraculously, Dion somehow stops snickering.

Making sure no one is listening, he utters in a low voice, "You're just a lot different with her around."

"You ever think of . . . ya know, bonding with her? You've know-" The mech is cut off by Alpha Trion, calling for the mech.

"Dion! Where are you?!"

"My cue, gotta go Pax!" Dion claps a servo on the archivist's shoulder before hustling away, leaving Orion to his thoughts.
__________________________________________________________________________________________

Several thousand years later . . .

Currently, the pair were facing each other on their shared berth, but one is still awake.

Ariel could sense that Orion was restless. This is the worst the femme has seen him so far. He is so nervous . . . and Ariel could hear him talking in his sleep.

Ariel really couldn't make it out, but she knew it is bits of his plea to the Council.

"Orion?" Ariel whispers quietly. Her servo reaches up to his chest-plates, caressing the glass protecting his spark-chamber. "Love?"

He stirs out of his restless slumber, blinking and seems to be a bit confused.

"What time is it?" Pax mumbles blearily, propping himself up on his elbows. Orion then rubs his optics.

"Too late to not be in recharge, Primus," Ariel comments, sitting up as well. "You alright love?" Orion's eyes shutter as he looks away. His frame trembles a bit as she carefully places a servo upon his shoulder.

"You'll be great," Ariel whispers serenely, going closer to him. "We've rehearsed it with one another so many times . . ."

"I'm scared," Orion admits quietly, his quivering lessening as Ariel leans her helm against his chassis.

"I know you are . . . hey, I have an idea." She backs away a bit so that she can look at Orion with a smile.

"How about I walk with you there, or at least until we reach the door of the High Council's chambers?" She can see him contemplating the idea, his optic ridges knitting together.

"You did say Megatronous would be there early, so he won't see me." Orion's optics widen as he stares at her.

"How did you know-"

"Orion, I've known you for so many stellar cycles . . . if I didn't know what was on your mind, I'd be the most oblivious femme there ever was!" Ariel responds, lightly pushing his arm. "And I assure you, I am not of that kind!"

That makes Orion smile in response, and soon after, a small chuckle.

"Now get to recharge lug-nut," Ariel pecks Orion's cheek arch and promptly snuggles closer to him. She lets out a yawn, adding,  "You've got a big . . . solar cycle tomorrow."

Soon they were both in the land of dreams.
__________________________________________________________________________________________

Several centuries before the Great Exodus . . .

Optimus got the notice, and heads to a small platoon located just outside of the main headquarter's domain.

His speed is at its highest; his gears were both protesting the Prime to slow down and urging him to hurry at the same time.

Optimus reaches his destination in about an hour. As he enters the building, the walls are a slate gray, and cracked. No wonder this platoon requested to be moved into a different building . . .

Optimus shakes his helm, attempting to clear his thoughts as he sees light under a doorway, where the services would be carried out. Gently, the tall mech pushes the door open.

Greeting his optics were this: her teammates standing stoically as lubricant drips down their face-plates, the funeral director, the casket, and a hologram of the femme that had so valiantly sacrificed herself in order to protect her team.

Elita One.

There were no chairs, so the Prime opts to quietly stay in the back; no one has noticed him yet.

Eventually, one of Elita's team mates notices him and nudges his comrade, and everyone pauses to stare at Optimus. Each is wondering why he is here of all places when he also has a war to worry about.

"Please, don't stop on my account," Optimus explains himself, a servo over his spark. He then stands up a bit straighter. Then, his gaze is transferred from the others to the casket in the front of the room.

"I'm here to pay my last respects, to a dear friend." The funeral director nods and continues on with the service.

Once the whole thing is done, the team members each have a hand in carrying the casket outside. Somberly, Optimus Prime follows after them with his helm bowed. Streaks of tears stream down his face.
__________________________________________________________________________________________

Present day . . .

Optimus Prime jolts out of his slumber, hyperventilating. He checks his surroundings and groans, letting his helm drop into his upward facing palms.

"Why?" he sighs, letting his servos drop. His palms and face-plates are covered with the ghost of his tears.

BANG-CLANG-BONG-BONG-BOOM-BONG!

"Optimus?!" shouts Bulkhead's voice from his door. The Prime looks up to see minor dents in the door.

"Prime! Are you all right?!" Ratchet calls through the closed door.

: Open up! You ok in there, Optimus? Please, open up!: Bumblebee beeps shrilly. It is obvious that he is the one slamming his fists against the door.

The Autobots on the other side of Optimus's quarters step back as the door slides away, revealing a very tired looking Prime.

"I'm . . . quite alright," the Prime manages to say whilst stifling a yawn. "What's all the commotion all about?" His team look at one another and then turn to Arcee to explain.

"I-we all heard you shouting," Arcee says, shaken a bit. "You were shouting, 'No! Don't let it be!' . . . are you sure you're fine?"

"Yeah Prime . . ." Bulkhead mumbles, startled. "That's the first time I heard you yelling in a recharge-cycle."

"I assure you all, I am fine. It was just a bad flux," the Prime says. "However, I thank you for your concern."

"Back to sleep, all of you," Ratchet states soon after. "It's an ungodly hour; go on." He shoos away the others and escorts Bumblebee back to his own quarters.

Optimus then hears a string of tired beeps from the scout, most likely to Ratchet.

"Yes, most likely a bad flux he's experiencing."

A few more beeps.

"D-d-d-d!" Ratchet chastises. "Get to recharge youngling; you have patrol in the morning."  Prime's CMO then steps out of the scout's quarters a few moments later, looking at Optimus.

"Is it those dreams again?" Ratchet asks him. The Prime's eyes glance about the hall, making sure no one was there to see. Finally, with a drawn out sigh, the mech nods somberly.

"You've been thinking about her?"

"It's almost the anniversary . . ." the tall mech sighs. The seasoned medic nods in understanding, reaching out to place a comforting servo upon his shoulder.

"I know this may sound a bit insensitive . . ." Ratchet sighs, rubbing his helm. "But just be glad she isn't in the war anymore; she's safe from the wrath of the Decepticons."

"And I pray she's happy," Optimus whispers, looking away from the CMO as he shutters his optics.

"Get some recharge, and I mean it as a friend."

"I will, and you should listen to your own advice Ratchet," Optimus says. With a near nonexistent smile on his face, the weary Prime retreats back into his quarters.

From a few doors down, Bumblebee's round optics rotate. He contemplates what he has heard and shuts the door quietly.

The scout didn't want to deal with Ratchet's wrath while it was three AM in the morning.
A wee bit longer than my usual stuff . . . but can you guys tell me what you think of this? I won't post this until a week or two before Valentine's Day . . . so yeah, since I have other fics to concentrate on.

PLEASE R&R~!

It's the sequel to these three:

[link]
[link]
[link]

And episode wise . . . this takes place some time between "Nemesis Prime" and "Grill"
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knightchick's avatar
I usually don't go for sad stuffs, especially between couples, but there's just something about Optimus x Elita that makes it all the more romantic~ and having a good writer helps too ;) this is just as excellent as the rest of this arc/story~~ this is blondie-moyashi, by the way :'D