I lost the outline for this, so it's in the process of a complete overhaul. So this chapter is the first step in the new direction. I hope you all like it.

Also I should point out that I have nothing against the Autobots, despite BlackArachnia's obvious prejudices. But. I do have some issues with the way they're run in Animated - with every episode, especially those concerning the Elite Guard, it becomes frighteningly easier and easier to draw parallels to outright Stalinism. More information on those views can be found on my livejournal.

Technically, since this is posted on a fanfiction site, I don't legally have to put a disclaimer, but I like to give credit where credit is due, cos I'm nice like that. "Transformers" (c) Hasbro. Lyrics (c) Meredith Brooks.

oOo

I hate the world today

You're so good to me, I know, but I can't change

Tried to tell you, but you looked at me like maybe I'm an angel underneath

Innocent and sweet

oOo

The rest of the day passed relatively slowly; hours passing without the femme so much as looking at anyone, save for a few snarls and hisses at curious minibots on the way to the lab. Perceptor had agreed to try and fix her as long as she didn't attack anyone. However, he never said anything about being nice.

Hours turned to days, and she chose never to leave Perceptor's lab, choosing instead to manipulate various visitors (normally an engineer named Wheeljack) into getting fuel for the both of them.

Days turned to weeks, and she realised Perceptor really didn't take good care of himself, even with Wheeljack's interference. Not that she was worried, of course, but if he didn't stay properly energised, how could he help her? So she began to retrieve energon cubes on her own, though choosing to climb buglike along the ceilings rather than actually have to face these strange Autobots.

Weeks turned to months before she finally began walking in public, slowly learning who was who. She still had trouble even looking at those who she had known in her original universe, like Prowl or Jazz, but was fine glaring, or even swishing her hips, at mechs called things like Inferno or Smokescreen. She didn't even want to think about if this universe had a Starscream or, Primus forbid, a Blitzwing!

For three months, she lived like this, retrieving energon as Perceptor tried experiment after experiment on her. None ever worked. Not that he didn't try, often saying things such as:

"If you would allow me to detach your helmet so I could get a look at your unusual, erm, extremities, then I might be able to -"

"No!" She would always snap. "No, no, no a million times, no!"

He would always look away and sigh pathetically. Were she still an Autobot, she might almost feel bad.

oOo

It happened one day when she was casually walking down the hall towards the Rec Room, where the nearest energon dispensor was. She hated that room; there were always mechs in it, sometimes humans as well. But it was close and she was hungry. Later on, it would occur to her as odd that she never made it to the Rec Room. No, she was stopped in her tracks by that deep voice that made her shiver, coming behind a door which was only slightly ajar.

Transforming into spider-mode, she scuttled up to the ceiling, past a security camara, and peeked through the the tiny slit where the doors weren't quite completely closed.

Optimus Prime. It didn't matter the circumstances or universe; she didn't like or trust him one bit. She'd been in the Autobots; knew how corrupt they were. Preaching equality while at the same time exterminating those who didn't agree with their contradictory ideals - or worse. She repressed the urge to spit in disgust, keeping silent as she peered in at the Autobot leader.

She couldn't make out what he was saying, but that wasn't what interested her. What really intrigued the femme was what was on the Autobot's monitor: an unfamiliar face; one she didn't know. One that was distinctly feminine.

BlackArachnia squinted, trying to make the features of this strange face clearer from her strange vantage point. Though, like the others of this universe, the features were oddly proportioned, the femme on the screen was still so...

...so beautiful.

It was all she could do to keep from gasping. The femme looked mature, but gentle, rose-coloured helm sculpted into a crown-like shape, giving her the appearance of someone ethereal and important. Her smile was slight, but still so warm, and her optics, shining bright blue, were somehow piercing and comforting all at once. The spider's legs tensed up, immediately jealous of so much beauty in one femme.

But Primus must have wanted to laugh at her that day. As she listened closely, trying to make out what the femme was saying, she was finally able to hear Optimus reply to this mysterious Autobot. And while she only heard two words, they were more than enough:

"Elita One..."

It wouldn't have mattered if he had screamed what he said next, she wouldn't have been able to hear it, not with fluids pumping so hard in her head. It was her. That too-beautiful femme was her. Though without such a tragedy as the one she had experienced, that femme was this universe's version of her. And even had BlackArachnia not become deformed, she still wouldn't have matched up to this version of Elita One. In her shock, she lost her grip on the ceiling, sliding down the wall and quickly transforming and bolting back toward the lab, not daring to look behind to check if Optimus saw.

She paused outside the lab to regain her senses. From what she could tell, Wheeljack was at the door, probably talking about her. Once she was able to put up a convincing, uncaring facade, she sauntered in as if nothing were wrong. She didn't trust Wheeljack further than she could throw him, and she wasn't about to allow him to see how flustered she was over this.

However, Perceptor wasn't named for being perceptive without reason.

"BlackArachnia," he gasped quietly in that accented tone of his, "You weren't gone long - did something, perhaps, happen? What's wrong?"

She pursed her lip, all four optics glaring at the nearby engineer.

"I was jus' leavin'," Wheeljack muttered sheepishly, before doing just that. Her shoulders drooped significantly as soon as she was sure he was gone.

"Something happened," Perceptor finally said, not asking, but confirming his suspicions.

"Damn you and your observation skills."

"That isn't valid information. Please, tell me what's wrong."

'Please, let me in,' Optimus - her Optimus - whispered in her memory, but she shook it away. Perceptor and Optimus were nothing alike, could not be alike, or she'd go insane!

"You told me Elita-One is the bondmate of Optimus," she began softly, trailing off when it made her chest hurt. Why? Why was her chest hurting?

"Indeed; it is my understanding that they're very much in lov- oh, tell me you didn't meet her."

"Meet her? No way! But see her..."

"You were spying!" he gasped

"I wasn't hurting anybody!" she exclaimed defensively, pointing at the scratches across her insignia; scratches that still pained the brand scar even now, months after. "I didn't mean to..."

A long pause followed, and she felt stupid for letting that slip out. She sounded so weak! It was disgusting!

Surprise gracing his features, Perceptor quietly asked, "You found her features aesthetically pleasing?"

"Well, slag, she's everything I can't have! Don't you agree?"

"I've never met her, myself," the microscope confessed. "To be perfectly honest, before yourself, I'd never seen a femme in person. They're an incredible rarity, you know."

"Would you like to see one?" she found herself asking before she could stop herself, inwardly cursing herself - what the slag was she doing? Was this to get back at Optimus? What was going on?

"BlackArachnia, what are you-" Perceptor found his sentence cut off as the femme before him grabbed his hand, slowly bringing it up to the underside of the back of her helmet, where he could feel a switch in the one place he hadn't thought to look. "You..."

She didn't reply, afraid of what she might say for some strange, sad reason; instead guiding his nimble fingers over the switch, where to press down, how to remove the helmet...

When air caught in his vents at the strange, alien features beneath, she began to recoil, backing up and looking away, but he stopped her with one hand on the small of her back. She couldn't bring herself to speak or look into his optics, flinching when she felt a metallic hand gently tracing her cheek.

Finally, it became too much for her, and she pushed away, disgusted, quickly placing the helmet back on her head.

"BlackArachnia-"

"I don't want to talk about it," she snapped, turning away from him angrily.

"But-"

"Shut up!"

He nodded, leaving his train of thought unspoken. 'But you're beautiful...'

-TBC-

Oy, she comes off as a little schizophrenic here, no? I had meant for her to be confused, maybe a little unstable, but do you think it was perhaps overdone? Is Perceptor being too forward? He is rather effeminate. Ah, well, can't be helped now. I hope you enjoyed this.