Prompt: Survive

Characters: Elita One, Optimus Prime, Ratchet, Inferno, Ironhide makes a cameo

Warnings: Some serious discussion of famine and starvation, severe robot injuries.

Transformers © Hasbro

Elita's gaze wafted over power-blue projections splayed across the far wall of the hangar; technical and intricate shimmering blueprints exhibiting the outline of a gargantuan space-craft. The Ark.

She sighed through her nose, optics dimming and briefly fluttering to her right. Optimus appeared fully immersed in Grapple's explanation of the shuttle; granted the faceplates gave him a near consistent look of immense sincerity, but Elita could always tell. As Orion, his emotions heavily filtered through his optics, and as a Prime he was no different.

That iridescent blue glass was just as expressive as ever, showing clear as day his anxiety, stress, anger, pain and, right now, utter enthralment. He was completely taken with the plan, tremulous as it was.

Since the beginning of the civil war, their planet's already drastically low energon resources had rapidly depleted. The shadow of famine had never loomed quite so dangerously over their already burnt and broken husk of a home as it did now.

Elita knew why such dire action had to be taken. Knew why Optimus- no, their Prime, had to go. And as his bond mate, his confidante, his partner and his friend she had to support, encourage, advise and be there for him in any way possible.

So the pink soldier stood tall and staunchly next to him, her optics bright and pulsing with strength. Even as he took to the floor, his baritone tenor reverberating against the walls and igniting their sparks, she remained dogged; her shoulders squared and quirking the tiniest of smiles when his optics met hers for a breath.

Yes, this had to happen. If nothing was done soon, the survivors of the war would have nothing but starvation to celebrate. It was bad enough so much young had already lost their creators to the war; Elita could simply not allow them to follow into the Matrix so soon, especially through something as avertable as hunger.

"Impressive speech, as usual" she smiled up to her bond mate as the room cleared of its occupants. Optimus' optics flickered with a semblance of humility.

"It's really just the voice" he rumbled, jesting lightly. Elita gave a soft chuckle, sitting with a clink atop a nearby crate. Optimus settled opposite her on a larger stock, his optics deep and penetrating, humour gone. "What are your honest thoughts on the plan Elita? I'm aware of the risks, the failure possibility, and the time needed for proper and intricate preparation. But please, tell me"

Her blue gaze lowered briefly, pink-plated hands gliding over each other.

"Optimus" she began, flitting her optics back up to meet his own. "Our planet is being torn to pieces every cycle and the body pile is constantly rising. We can't leave base without proper arms. Being anything less than a fully upgraded soldier is invitation for deactivation. And on top of that, paranoia and hostility are already starting to set into bots processors, segregation occurring in our own ranks" She sighed, blue orbs temporarily offlining and helm dipping.

"I won't pretend that I wouldn't miss you or worry my spark dim; I would" she firmly stated. "But, at this point, famine would be our utter end. It would finish us, all of us, completely"

She felt a comfortable weight and pressure encase her servo, her optics flickering online to see a blue hand covering it. She smiled softly, and raised her optics to meet his.

"If there's a way to prevent it, even if it's a fools hope, even if it's futile, pointless, a waste of time, it's worth it" she placed her other hand firmly over his, optics shimmering with steely resolve. "I'm prepared to take whatever this war can hurl at me. I'm willing to drag my faceplates through the dirt and keep crawling; battered, burnt, broken. But the one thing I can't watch, would rather offline than see, is this planets future slowly dying right in front of my optics. Don't ask me to do that, I can't."

Optimus' lowered his helm in understanding. Seeing their young fall to the war was nothing new, and seeing a sparkling offline was immensely disturbing and spark wrenching to any bot….but seeing them slowly and excruciatingly fade out with nothing to do but helplessly observe, was torture. In the end, the only act of kindness you could perform would be to take them out of their misery, something he knew to his core, no matter what the situation, he could never do.

Avoidance of a fate such as that was precisely why this plan was devised. And why, he now knew for certain, it had to be carried out.

The Prime looked to his bond-mate with appreciation and respect to fill universal voids. "Thank you" he murmured, free hand softly covering hers.

A serene smile lit her expression, pointed helm nodding gently and fingers curling alongside his.

They stayed like that for many kliks, a comfortable silence pooling around them and both sets of optics hazy in reflection. A small jolt on Optimus' part signified a private communiqué had been sent, his blue glass igniting in awareness. Elita breathed a quiet laugh, hand slipping out to gently pat the back of his.

"The twins again?" she dryly queried, though all trace of amusement withered at the severe light in his optics.

"There's been another attack on Kaon and the med-bay is already full" he sombrely informed, releasing his hold on her hands and rising from the makeshift chair.

"Casualties?" she matched his grave look with one of her own, following his action and easily falling into pace next to him.

"None insofar as we know"

They both briskly moved through the hangars access-bay, offering polite salutes and brief greetings to those whom they passed.

Elita paused momentarily as they emerged from the foyers length and out into the next hangar; or better known now as their provisional 'med-bay'. A med-bay, she regrettably saw, brimming with new and damaged bots; some with only minor injuries, others (and most) barely online, sparks flying and streams of energon seeping from wounds, pooling around their prone frames and dribbling to the floor.

The pink soldier sighed, looking to where Prime, Ratchet and Ironhide were engaged in rapt conversation; the medic clearly in a flurry of aggravated haste, Ironhide looking worse for wear and clearly piqued, Optimus calmly attempting assess the situation.

Elita stepped into place by his side, catching the tail end of Ratchet's hissed tirade, "-only have enough parts to save half, maybe one third of them! Am I supposed to perform slagging miracles here, because unless we get more parts in the next breem, half of these guys are already dead!"

"What do ya expect Ratchet? He found out about this less'n a klik ago. He s'pposed to pull these parts out of his subspace or somethin'?" the weapons specialist griped, hand clamped over his own severely sparking shoulder.

Ratchet shot a short glare to the red mech, but quickly looked back to their leader. "Until the necessary parts come in-" he spoke in a stony low tone, only ever heard in the gravest of situations from the vocal medic, "-I can't even begin to treat the worst off here." He inclined his helm towards the nearby berth where a red and white mech lay; helm horribly charred and violently sparking.

"Ratchet" Primes baritone started, "Hound and Trailbreaker are already en route back to base and if their mission went with all of the success we hoped, they should have more than enough parts to sustain everyone here"

The medic gave a lacklustre scoff, "Not to crush your optimism, but since when do any of our missions go exactly as planned?"

A response was never given chance to voice as the next nanosecond the berth opposite them erupted with a chorus of ringing bleeps; spark monitor spiking wildly and lights flashing dangerous reds.

Ratchet groaned, instantly rushing to the side of the berth, "Frag, don't do this again!"

"Optimus!" The Prime's helm turned from the berth to see Bumblebee sprinting up from the far entrance, "Hound and Trailbreaker just got back! They've got tons of parts and need help bringing them up! Anyone who can, get down to the lower entry-bay now" The yellow frame then zipped away, several other mechs following suit.

"Prime, this guy needs a fresh meta processor. This one's too badly damaged" Ratchet called from the berth's side, hands steadily tweaking spitting wires in the near molten helm.

Nodding, the Prime hurriedly made straight for the foyer, sending the message to whoever was already within the lower regions of the base, Ironhide following after.

"Frag!" the snarled curse gripped Elita's attention. Ratchet's hand recoiled from a particularly sharp lick of electricity.

The femme moved to the side of the berth, "Can I help?"

The medic looked surprised for a nanosecond before brusquely instructing, "Hold this in place" he indicated the piece of sterile mesh, preventing any excess energy from leaving the black helm. Elita moved forward and placed both hands firmly over it, wincing slightly at the heat that permeated from the wound.

"And keep an eye on those spark levels" he added, setting to repairing the severe torso injuries still freely leaking energon across the berth. Elita nodded once, optics moving between the radiating helm and up to the silver bleeping box.

"Hey Ratch'!" The medic didn't look up from his work, but Elita did and saw Inferno tearing through the exit and up to the birth; a slightly dented and rusted, though otherwise intact looking piece of a metal clasped in his hand, "I've got the part. This is the guy needin' a new meta processor right?"

When the medic didn't answer right away, clearly diverting all concentration to the welding process, Inferno looked to Elita for confirmation and received an affirmative nod. His optics settled on the mutilated helm and breathed out a curse.

"Damage to the meta is pretty severe Ratch'. How do we know he's not gonna reject a new one and end up goin' insane?" the search and rescue specialist sombrely questioned. The gush of welder flames stopped and the medic rose, plucking the part from Inferno's hand.

"If we don't try, there won't be any need for 'what ifs'. He'll go insane and that will be it" he stated, moving back up to Elita. He asked her to remove the mesh, and frowned at the lack of electricity crackles emitting from it.

"That's not good" he pushed the meta into Elita's hand, hastily prying open the helm for any sort of charge. "Slag….We need to get an electrical current going for the meta to install! Inferno, go get that ion charger" he barked, turning and examining the violently spiking spark signatures on the monitor. "Fraging Pit" he hissed.

The red mech came scrambling back a moment later hauling a mobile, circular machine with various twisted wires and suction devices piled atop it.

"Bring it up here" Ratchet turned the dial and the energy bars on each side lit up, a vibrant red and blue. "Give me the meta" the pink femme handed back the device, "And attach this to the very centre of his forehead" he added, handing her one of the plastic suction plates with twisted wires curling from it.

Despite the amount of distorted metal, Elita managed to get it firmly stuck to the helm. She looked to see Ratchet using a forceps and meticulously removing each wire connected to the old meta and reattaching them to the new one; a feat performed with amazing speed and dexterity for all its intricacy.

"Ok" the medic sighed, chucking the old burnt out processor into a nearby receptacle. "I'm not one for praying, but Primus let this work" He nodded to Inferno who tentatively activated the machine.

The ion charger purred into life, bleeps and clicks ticking from within it. Elita watched as the metallic box's lights stopped blinking and remained a solid piercing red and blue.

The system's hums soon gave way to a short yelp of current, transmitted through the wires and into the mechs helm. No sparks.

"Frag, increase the energy input" Ratchet growled. Inferno adjusted some of the dials and sent another pulse. The not a single crack of electricity stirred.

"Slag it" the medic hissed, hand rising to his faceplates. Inferno clenched his servos in helpless frustration, optics burning.

Elita frowned. Why wasn't it working? So long as he's online with a functional processor, no matter how damaged it may be; there's no reason why a jolt shouldn't occur. Her optics fell on the burnt out metal of his helm and a sudden thought occurred.

"Ratchet, could the metal of his helm have lost all electrical conductivity due to the burns?" she asked.

Ratchet's hand fell from his faceplate, optics narrowed in scrutiny of the helm. He looked dubious for a moment, looking from Elita to Inferno and back to the mech. A gush of air left his intakes as a sigh.

"Well it's worth a slagging try" He turned back to face the femme, "Go get some wires with conductive properties; Wheeljack shoulder have some over there" he inclined his head towards said engineer.

Indeed, Wheeljack possessed not only a subspace full of spare wires, but optics, servos, patches and tools. The pink femme returned less than a klik later with a handful of copper wires. She handed them to Ratchet who twisted them together, making two large weaves.

"Ok, so if I put them either side of his helm- FRAG!" his hand withdrew the moment wires made direct contact with circuits; a sudden sharp surge of electricity crackled and whipped against his servo. Inferno hastily switched off the still buzzing ion charger while Ratchet carefully plucked the wires from his helm.

Elita started at the sudden tremor that wracked the red frame, his optics, previously dark and offline, brightened to a shimmering blue. The spark monitor spiked furiously and for a moment everything seemed to freeze in a complete frenzy of shock and action.

Then it all ceased, the mech on the berth stilled and the bleeps and keens formerly assaulting every audio sensor in her processor, dropped to a single monotonous drone. Elita looked to her side and saw that Ratchet had injected a sedative into the mech's neural energon line.

"Is he online?" Inferno quietly asked, pushing aside the machine.

"Yeah" the medic breathed, hand resting against the berth, "And stable" Elita felt a hand land on her shoulder. "Nice work there, nurse-bot" he patted the pink plated armour, offering one of his rare grateful smiles.

The femme quirked a grin, "What about your other nurse-bot?" she joked, nodding towards Inferno.

"Ah of course, nurse Inferno" he sniggered, "Thanks for the help, sweet-spark" The search and rescue specialist rolled his optics, grinning amusedly.

"Hey Ratch'! We need you over here!"

The medic sighed, before grumbling, "Mind giving me another hand Elita?"

The femme nodded, happy to be of use in such a dire situation, "Lead the way"

"Eh? What should I do?" Inferno called from the end of the berth as they left. Ratchet paused for a moment.

"You stay with him" he nodded towards the recharging mech, "He's stable for now but that doesn't mean he won't have another relapse, and we need someone trained in basic first aid and lifesaving in such an event" He then paused before adding, "Also, chances are high that he'll be pretty….nervy, when he onlines. He'll need someone to keep him calm"

Inferno looked fairly unenthusiastic, "So I'm supposed to play sparklingsitter?"

Ratchet shot a grin back at him, "Just use that sweet bedside manner of yours, nurse-bot" he quipped, before making towards the next patient, Elita ambling after.

She cast a quick glance back to the mech whose life they had just saved, and smiled. If she could help save even one life in a time when all she ever seemed to do was take it, then maybe, in the end it was worth it.

Author's Note: Just a little oneshot focusing on my favourite femme commander XD Set before construction of the Ark even began and the female Autobots have yet to be formed. It started off pretty short, but kept nagging at me to add more [blame Ratchet =X]

On another note, I love writing Optimus/Elita interactions =3 They are quite simply the most wise/regal/awesome couple XD I hope Elita turned out alright though….I wanted her to be useful to Ratchet, but not straying into the whole 'able to commune with technology' Sari business =p

Oh and a virtual high-five to anyone who can guess the guy they saved X'D I'm a sucker for dramatic irony!