A/N: Here we go folks, another chap. Infinite will be updated next (finally *sigh*) Idea for this chap came from the reviewers, most of them wanted to see Orion getting in trouble in the Halls for various reasons. Enjoy!

4: Comfort

"What in the name of Primus—"

Alpha Trion could scare believe the amount of ugly grey paint splattered all over his precious Hall of Records. Stacks of datapads were knocked down, their screens smeared with paint and flashing various error messages. A disgruntled clerk was holding the ruined datapads against his chest, as if for some odd reason I would revive all the work that was lost. He wailed as another datapad shut down, suddenly snapping when he realized his superior had just stepped in.

"Alpha Trion," The clerk's words were drowned in sobs, "It's ruined. All of it is ruined! Look at this. We'd be asking for a miracle if we could save any of the data in these."

"What happened here?" The Master Archivist asked, trying to sound as calm as possible, "Can anyone explain to me why it looks like some animal was dipped in paint and let loose to run the Halls?"

Another clerk spoke up, his face flushed bright with energon, optics infuriated.

"I don't want to insult anybot or anything but….but Orion did this!" The clerk said, rolling his optics, not caring if Alpha Trion saw or not, "Your little one ran out of the classroom covered helm to pedal in wet paint. Look at what he did to the floors, to the stacks! To everything he touched!"

A pair of little pedal prints on the once pristine floors indeed pointed to one obvious culprit. The tale was in the paint…the stains, smears, and puddles of it indicating how Orion ran, tripped, hid, and jumped in order to evade some unknown captor.

"I will speak to him regarding this. He may be under my care but this will not be ignored." Alpha Trion assured them. The wailing mech nodded, lamenting over the death of his beloved datapads while the other just crossed his scrawny arms and scowled.

The Archivist sighed and brought his servo up to try and ease his brows from creasing beyond their capacity.

"Oh Orion, Orion." Alpha Trion whispered as he attempted to regain his composure, "What has gotten into your systems?"

Before the elderly mech could even ask where his grandson was, a sudden stream of angry shouts burst from one of the adjoining rooms. Alpha Trion immediately rushed in just in time to see a sight that nearly paralyzed him from rage.

There, backed up against the far corner was Orion. The tiny mechling's body was sticky with thick globs of grey and silver paint, the substance quickly pooling at his feet. The young one's face was splattered, and there were long messy streaks of tears marring the plates beneath his optics. Looming above him, arms flailing and vocals screaming at full force was a data clerk known for both his quick processor and for having the nastiest temper this side of Iacon. Gravos.

"Do you realize what you've done, you little glitch?" The mech was bright faced, his words booming over the sparkling, "Do you know the amount of work we've lost because you decided to run through our Halls like some mindless barbarian? Good Primus, Orion. You're the damn grandson of the Head Archivist! Can't you show a little more refinement than this? More respect for our work?"

"I—I'm—"

"No. I won't hear any excuses," Gravos' yellow optics flared.

"I'm sorry," Orion blurted out, meekly reaching out to touch one of Gravos' pedals in a gesture of good will.

The mech flinched back in disgust, muttering curses Orion never heard before.

"Do not touch me," Gravos warned, "I've been stomaching your presence here since Alpha Trion took you in. And for his sake we've all been patient with you. But I won't allow a little scraplet from Kaon to unleash such monstrous tendencies in these Halls."

Orion did not speak anymore. He retreated into the corner, frame curling into itself as he bowed his helm down, body shaking as the cruel words continued.

"It amazes me. Astounds all of us really. Why? Out of all the needy little orphans in that youth sector why in the name of Primus did the Archivist have to pick you?"

"ENOUGH!"

Gravos' spark nearly leapt out of his chamber in fright. Orion looked up, his optics fresh, wet, and burning from silent tears.

"M—Master Trion," Gravos stuttered, "Forgive me but this grandchild of yours has no business running about with paint all over him, destroying our Halls—"

"And you have no business at all to berate him," Alpha Trion walked over, his sheer height and build full and imposing, "I want you back to your posts. All of you. I will sort this mess out."

"But sir he is—"

"He is my concern. Not yours. Nor anyone else's." Alpha Trion replied, "Return to your post. If I repeat myself again I will have your audios inspected. And if that doesn't work then I'll have your processors reprogrammed to help you better comprehend simple instructions."

Gravos appeared ready to burst in renewed anger over the reprimand. Alpha Trion meanwhile, appeared able and ready to carry his threat out.

"Grandsire?" Orion peeped, "Grandsire?"

With the Archivist distracted, Gravos took the opportunity to storm out, grumbling about how unfair the entire world was.

"Aye, my little one. What happened?" Alpha Trion asked, kneeling down.

Orion shook his helm, wiped the tears from his faceplates, and ran into his grandsire's open arms. He hid himself in the Archivist's embrace, allowing his cries to drown against the warm, comforting frame.

"Perhaps we should convert your washracks into your new berthroom," Alpha Trion joked, "It would be a lot easier on both of us that way."

Usually Orion would either laugh or groan in response to his grandsire's attempts at humor, but this time the sparkling was quiet and still, completely allowing the older mech scrub the paint away from him. The silence was an awkward one, broken only by the constant stream of cleaning solution and Orion's sniffles. More than once the Archivist had to repeat the cleaning cycle to get the offending paint from his grandchild, carefully making sure the usual red and blue colors remained intact. A nasty puddle of dark grey paint and solvent collected on the floor, and for some reason Orion's optics were transfixed by the swirling colors.

"Will you let me know what happened?" Alpha Trion asked, "I will not be upset, I assure you." He turned off the stream and lifted his grandchild from the wet floor, wrapping him in fresh cleansing cloths.

Orion shook his helm, rubbing his optics to hide them from his grandsire's watchful gaze. The old mech gently pulled the sparkling's servos away. The mechling's face was flushed, his blue optics shining from a new burst of tears.

"Primus little one," Alpha Trion said, "What has brought such grief to you? And why were you covered in all that paint?"

"We—we were using it in class." Orion said softly, "I was trying to do make something for you. But then—"

The sparkling bit his liplates to keep them from trembling.

"Then what, my little one?"

"Th—they threw paint over me." Orion whispered, "They said I shouldn't wear blue and red. They s—said I should have ugly grey and silver colors cause—cause that's what the miners wear in Kaon."

The sparkling looked up at Alpha Trion, his hurt bare, raw, and bright in his optics.

"Cause that where you found me right grandsire? That's what they keep t—telling me."

"What?"

"They said you just found me. Picked me up from the scrapheap. Gave me new colors and took my claws away, changed my optics and—"

"You know none of that is true right?" Alpha Trion stroked Orion's helm gently, trying his best to soothe his grandchild's fears. But for once, his simple assurance was not enough.

"Then why are they saying that the only time you went to Kaon, you came back with me?" Orion asked, his voice breaking, "And my creators. How come no one has seen them? How come I haven't seen them? They said my sire was a criminal and my carrier—Oh Grandsire—"

"Listen to me," Alpha Trion said. He knelt down and brought Orion close to him, their optics fixed on each other, "Listen very well Orion. I do not know where you've heard these lies. But I want you to ignore them."

"But grandsire—"

"What's past is gone." The Archivist said, "It is dead. And it matters not to me where you came from. You are my grandson and the greatest blessing Primus has ever given me. Let no one tell you otherwise."

The sparkling smiled between his sobs.

"Besides, who will you really believe? Those gossips, bratlings, and idle-minds or your grandsire?"

"You," Orion leaned in as his caretaker wiped his tears away.

"There now. That's a brave mechling," Alpha Trion said, laughing at bit when Orion tried to climb onto his shoulder. The old mech helped him along. Soon the sparkling was resting his little blue helm against the crook of his grandsire's neck.

"Oh…" Orion suddenly shifted and reached for the small subspace on his leg. He took something from the pocket, it was remarkably tiny and half-crushed. He held it up for his grandsire to see , "This was the thing I was trying to make for you. But it's all ugly and funny lookin' now."

"Oh no, my little spark, no, not at all—" Trion said, smiling and taking the crushed slab of stone. In truth it really was ugly, and it resembled nothing more than a few blobs of color. But it was Orion's offering. And in Alpha Trion's optics nothing the child created could ever be anything less than a masterpiece.

"I'm really, really bad at painting."

"No you're not. You just need practice. As you will in any discipline and craft." Alpha Trion said, "I bet even Solus needed to practice forging weapons. I can just imagine her tossing aside all her ruined projects, creating a mountain of mistakes high enough to touch the sky. And if a Prime can't get things perfectly on the first try, then you have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of."

The Archivist regarded how carefully Orion drew on the stone slate, smiling at how the little one's brows narrowed his concentration like it was the most serious task in all of Cybertron. The elderly mech turned to review the newly registered data streams when he heard a small voice command—

"Hold still!"

"And why is that Orion?"

"Just hold still grandsire!" Orion said, scribbling away at the stone. He took a red stylus and drew several lines across the slate. He looked up at his grandsire, mentally measuring the dimensions of the older mech's face.

The Archivist did as ordered, humoring the sparkling's new found zeal for the arts.

"Ah ha!" Orion declared, proudly holding up the picture for his grandsire to see, "Do you like it?"

"Oh," Alpha Trion scanned the drawing, trying to search for something that even remotely resembled… whatever in Primus' name that was.

"It looks just like you!" Orion prompted, "See?"

"Oh, is that me? It's very—artistic." Alpha Trion knew he wasn't the best looking mech in Cybertron, but even he hoped he didn't appear as Orion depicted.

"It looks just like you. See?" Orion said, pointing at the features of the face, "Same optics, mouth, helm design, and even colors! Red, like that bit of your armor."

The newly self-proclaimed artist waited patiently for confirmation on a project turned successful.

"Well then little spark, this face here appears rather—sad," Alpha Trion smiled a bit. He took the stone slab and held it up so Orion could compare between art and inspiration, "Do I look sad to you?"

"No. Not sad," The mechling giggled, "Just grumpy."

"Grumpy?" Alpha Trion seemed genuinely offended. He scowled, his optic ridges narrowing.

"See?" Orion laughed, pointing his delicate fingers towards his grandsire's face, "It looks just like you. I even put in how your face kinda pulls down when you get annoyed."

"But surely I do not look this stoic? And these optics," The Archivist noted the odd triangular shapes with a single line going down each one, "You make it look like I am crying. And my nose ridge is a bit more defined than this. And the helm crest is just—"

"Oh grandsire," Orion said, his voice sweet and bright, "Can't you see? I tried to be nice."

"Nice?"

"Uh huh," The sparkling looked up at him, the mischief dancing in the brilliance of his optics, "I was actually being very, very nice. I made you tons better looking in the picture!"

"Why you little sparkbite!"

Orion jumped, laughing and spinning away as his grandsire ran after him. The nimble child dodged the mech's arms. He dared to stick out his glossa playfully at his grandsire while the old mech huffed and puffed his way around the room. The laughter and bright smiles gracing that room brought more joy to the Archivist than he dared to admit. Such simple things had lost their power long ago, the happiness of such gestures long banished from his spark and mind. But Orion had resurrected, fueled, and nurtured the light within his spark he thought vanquished long ago. The child's happiness, in perfect truth, had become the Archivist's delight and source of his both joy and strength.

"Aha!" The Archivist found his chance, leapt forward, and gently scooped the restless sparkling in his arms.

"H—Hey, P—put m-me down! Grandsire!" Orion could barely even speak as his vocalizer erupted in a string of laughter. The elder mech brushed the sparkling's faceplates, the tickling motions making the little one curl in further into his embrace.

"Oh really now?" Alpha Trion tossed him carefully in the air. It wasn't even that high of a toss, but to the sparkling it felt like flying.

"Silly grandsire," Orion said, his grin so big and bright the librarian wondered how Primus could have fit such joy in a single child, "Again. Again!"

"No more my dear Orion," He settled the child against his chest, "Not today at least."

"Tomorrow? Please?"

"Ah, but tomorrow you have to attend your lessons,"

At this Orion's face suddenly changed. He frowned, his scowl a bit deeper than it should be for one so young.

"I don't wanna go back," Orion whispered, "Please grandsire? I don't think I can."

"Do not fret. I shall speak with the instructors of the learning center," Alpha Trion reassured him, gently rocking the sparkling in his arms and patting his back to soothe him, "I will not tolerate anyone berating you again. I will not let this go lightly. Understand?"

Orion nodded, but his doubts were still there, evident by how his optics shifted or how his tiny servos restlessly searched for a tighter hold on his guardian.

The Archivist sighed. The sound of his vents was heavy and strangely comforting to Orion. The librarian glanced at the stone slab, which by some miracle didn't get crushed during their chase. He picked it up, smiling at Orion's attempts to capture him.

Alright, the drawn face did slightly resemble him. Slightly.

Something clicked suddenly in Trion's mind. He looked at the picture and then at the anxious child in his arms.

"Orion, I shall settle you for recharge now. Why don't you pick out a story tonight? Read it on your own? Practice some deciphering and scribing?"

"But you always read to me grandsire," Orion reminded him, a bit of disappointment hinting out of those words.

"I know little one," Alpha Trion replied, "But there is something I must attend to first."

Orion was already half way done with the first volume of his story collection when Alpha Trion returned.

"Grandsire, where did you go? What did you do?" The sparkling asked, standing on the tips of his peds, trying to climb out of his crib. Alpha Trion leaned over the crib, motioning the restless child to settle back down.

"Here," The old mech said, he reached out and placed a tiny circular object onto Orion's waiting palms, "I want you to keep it with you."

"But—" Orion looked up, holding the stone carefully, "This is just like the picture I gave you."

"It is," Alpha Trion said, "I made an exact copy on a stone small enough for you to always carry. I cleaned the design a bit, but otherwise it remains the same."

Orion inspected the emblem inscribed on the stone.

"But why?" The sparkling asked.

His grandsire smiled, gently rubbing the side of Orion's helm.

"That way, little one, if you ever need to feel like a brave warrior again, just look at it and remember me."

"Oh," Orion said, his face was suddenly cross with worry, "But grandsire, what if—what if the other students are mean to me again?"

"They won't," Alpha Trion said, his voice a bit harsher than intended, "Nor anyone else. Not while I'm your backup."

A sweet, soft smile appeared Orion's face, the simple grace of it lighting the room. He lifted his tiny arms up, reaching for his grandsire's embrace. The older mech did not resist, scooping the sparkling up in his massive arms.

"Thank you grandsire," Orion yawned, leaning his helm down to listen to the strong and gentle beat of Trion's spark, "I really, really, love you."

Primus, this all would have been easier if the child wasn't this sweet.

"I know my little one," Alpha Trion said, tenderly rocking the bundle in his arms to slumber, "I know."

When the young one's blue optics faded out his caretaker carefully settled him down on the crib, wrapping the warming blanket around him. As was his habit, Orion snuggled deeper into the blanket. Only this time he kept the comfort stone close to his spark, peaceful in the knowledge that his grandsire would be there when he awoke.

And as Orion slept through that night, Alpha Trion read through the elusive pages of the Covenant. There were no words to describe what he felt when he saw the same insignia in the future as a symbol of hope, protection, and freedom. A symbol destined to be worn by a proud, brave, and benevolent faction that had not yet come to pass. But for now, in the dark and silent night, it was just getting stated as an imprint on a little sparkling's comfort stone.

A/N: Currently drowning from all the cheese…oh and review please, baby Orion would want that, really he would ^_^