Solstice
by K. Stonham
first released 20th June 2008

Earth was a strange planet, packed full of life down to the tiniest microbes in its air and soil, and ruled by its seasons. It seemed--and to an extent was--crowded and chaotic. In comparison, Cybertron had been calm, ordered, and austere. Still, since leaving home Optimus had seen many strange worlds filled with curious races and other, non-sentient, forms of life, and at least Earth, in the achingly familiar shape of its humans, and in their tendency to build ordered cities of stone and steel, held an echo of a world that was now dead.

The sun blazed above the Californian soil and the plant and animal life it nourished, both somewhat dry and brown now from a lack of precipitation. Though still a newcomer to this planet and unfamiliar with the cycles and systems of its life, this much Optimus knew: its lifeforms depended on water, and it was scarce where he stood. Somewhat ironically, other parts of the same nation flooded while this one entered drought. "Too much of a good thing," Judy Witwicky had called it prosaically, watering her wisteria and hydrangea plants with what she called "gray water" that she'd used previously to wash dishes. "It never rains but it pours." Then, shading her eyes, she'd looked up at the cloudless blue sky with a sigh. "Or, sometimes, not."

He hadn't fully understood the saying but had gathered its gist, something akin to the universal rule the humans called "Murphy's Law." Autobots knew the same thing but called it by other names... most popularly, "Wheeljack's Axiom." Troubles seldom came singly, but rather all at once. And tended to result in explosions.

He wondered if there was some way that future flood waters might be better distributed. Optimus himself was no scientist, but it seemed to him that there ought to be some way... perhaps if Perceptor had survived and heard his call, he might set the scientist to the problem. He would ask Ratchet his thoughts on the matter but knew already what the medic would say: "It's not my area, Prime." Which was fair enough; while being a medic gave Ratchet an arm and leg up on Earth's technology, he certainly couldn't be expected to have expertise in problems their planet hadn't even exhibited.

Cybertron... had barely had an axial tilt in its rotations. Its weather certainly hadn't been as subject to the vagaries of seasons as Earth was. In fact, the most "weather" it had had were the occasional mercury mists rising off the Silver Sea. Well, until Megatron's machinations had upset their silicon world's balance and the acid rains had begun, killing almost as many as the Decepticons themselves.

Earth, despite coincidentally also having a region named "Silicon Valley," was nothing like home.

He breathed a sigh--a human mannerism, many of which were almost distressingly easy to fall into--and opened his hand to reveal the shard of the AllSpark. It gleamed soft pewter in the harsh sunlight, a shattered fragment of that had once been whole and most sacred. Looking at it like this, desecrated and profane, hurt. The Matrix within his chest, containing the wisdom of every Prime before him, back to Primus himself, twinged in an echo of his pain.

Was it right for him to use the artifact in this way?

So many had fallen in their war; why should Jazz be placed before them? a part of himself argued. But logic, cool and calm and sounding disturbingly like Prowl, replied that the bodies of others had been lost, or unsalvageable... and Jazz was here, repaired and needing only the restoration of his spark to live again. And Jazz, logic also argued, was one of the vital components of their army. Though they'd long since been scattered to the distant stars, Jazz had been a communications 'bot and kept in contact with other teams through skill and perseverance and no little amount of need. Jazz had, and made, friends everywhere. If he passed up the chance to bring his first lieutenant back, Optimus knew, there would be no few mechs and aliens who would be seriously slagged off at him... and hurting. The pain of his Autobots was the single thing he'd always hated most. And for a third reason, as if these things needed to come in triumvirates, he needed Jazz. Bumblebee was currently their expert on human culture, but he was busy with his own assignment and couldn't always be advising Optimus on what was going on unspoken with their allies. Jazz, with his impressive processor power and natural aptitude for flexibility and adaptation, would be invaluable.

So he would do this and pray the AllSpark would be able to bring back his friend. He'd listened to the whispers of the Matrix and waited to act. Waited for Jazz's repairs to be complete. And then waited more. It hadn't been entirely coincidence, the Matrix whispered to him, that the native disguise his lieutenant had chosen was called a "Solstice." It was a concept emblematic of Jazz himself and the extremes to which he lived. Closest to the sun and furthest away. Most brilliant mind and most disrespectful attitude. More loyal than any other Autobot, but the most similar in design to a Decepticon. Friends with everyone, yet remaining an enigma.

Wait, the Matrix had said. Wait for the solstice.

He'd thought about where he should make the attempt. Dodger Stadium, where Jazz had first touched the planet? The car dealership where he'd found his "stylish" alt mode? Mission City, where he'd died? On this matter, the Matrix had been silent, and Optimus had eventually concluded that the where didn't matter so much as the when. So in the end, he'd chosen simply to make the attempt at the base the United States had given them for their own, tucked away in the folding hills to the northeast of Los Angeles.

"Please," he prayed, to the AllSpark or the Matrix or the Primes who had come before, "let this work." Turning to the still silver form that Ratchet had laid reverently on the Earth, he knelt and placed the remaining shard of their hope on Jazz's chest.

It lay there gleaming for a long moment.

Just as the spark of hope started to fail, the shard glowed electric blue and liquidified, slipping through Jazz's two grill panels.

The humans, gathered in a loose circle at a safe range, held their breaths. The Autobots, somewhat closer, were still, not moving a servo.

Jazz's optics lit, brightening his visor from black to cobalt.

With a feral snarl, he leapt at the nearest figure, which was Ironhide. The two of them wrestled for a few seconds as the humans and other Autobots moved backward, giving them room. Eventually Ironhide, older and taller and heavier, ended up on top, pointing a plasma cannon straight into Jazz's face. "You going to yield?" he asked quietly. "Or should I just shoot?"

Jazz stilled. "Ironhide?" he asked.

Ironhide snorted. "Don't tell me you thought I was that fragger Megatron."

"No chance," Jazz retorted. "You're a thousand times uglier."

Ratchet snorted. "It's him," he opined, rolling his optics. "Let him up."

Ironhide hauled off of Jazz and pulled the formerly-deceased first lieutenant to his feet. "Welcome back," Ironhide greeted him.

"Back?" Jazz looked around himself, and Optimus could almost see the confusion slowly starting to seep in. He smiled just a little. For once, he had a slight edge up on his right-hand mech. It would doubtless disappear as soon as Jazz had received an explanation, but for now he let himself enjoy the rare feeling.

Solstice. The closest to heat and summer and life... and the closest to cold and winter and death. Sometimes, tangentially and through the Matrix, Optimus could almost grasp the threads of the universe and the reasoning behind them. There was an order to the universe, even if he didn't always understand it.

"Welcome back," he said, grateful. "My friend."

*~*~*

Author's Note: So I finally did it and joined in on bringing Jazz back. Baaa. This was written for the last summer's solstice, so the weather information isn't quite accurate to today's.