"Grappling hooks?"

"Check."

"Throwing stars?"

"Check."

"Pop Rocks?"

Two-thirds of the twilight-enshrouded gathering gave the remaining third an arch expression. She shrugged. "Couldn't hurt."

Her two companions shook their heads disparagingly, but added packets of Pop Rocks to their gear. It was a small possibility that such things would be needed on this, their most dangerous, challenging and ultimately rewarding mission yet, but this particular threesome was nothing if not prepared for every contingency. They continued checking their equipment, with the kind of methodical air and graceful efficiency that would have made Shockwave want to perform cartwheels had he been able to see them. Fortunately for the sanity of Shockwave and his coworkers, the threesome were too well-hidden in the deepening shadows to be seen by a human standing three feet away, much less a robot standing on the surface of another planet.

Things were about to get loopy enough in the Autobot-Decepticon war without Shockwave's contribution.

Optimus Prime woke up feeling... warm. Warm and... something he could not name for the life of him. It was an odd feeling. As quietly as he could, Prime took inventory of the previous twenty-four hours, searching for something that might account for his current state.

His search came up negative. Yesterday had been a particularly bad day to be an Autobot in general, to say nothing of an Autobot leader. Optimus and his people had responded to a distress signal from an oil refinery in Cleveland, a mission profile that had become all too routine during the time the Autobots had been marooned on Earth - indeed, so routine that Prime suspected that he was getting complacent about such things. The non-routine part of it came in when Megatron, his archrival for who-knew-how-many millennia, unveiled a brand-spanking-new weapon whose name escaped Prime's database at the moment. It was some kind of electro-disruptor, built to disable any mechanical system it hit, and at least half of Megatron's Decepticon hordes had been equipped with it in some form or another. Prime himself had taken a shot right between the eyes early on in the battle and had been struck blind for the rest of the day. So unprepared were the Autobots for this new threat that Prime had been forced to call a total retreat. He hadn't had to do that in - well, Prime was perfectly capable of calculating exactly how long it had been since Megatron had trounced him so thoroughly, but frankly he wasn't willing to waste the processor time. After returning home, quite battered and discouraged, the Autobots had stayed up late into the night trying to think of ways to counteract Megatron's latest advantage. To Optimus's ultimate frustration, nobody had any feasible ideas, and everyone went to bed grumpy.

So by all accounts Prime should have woken up grumpy. But he hadn't. It was very, very strange.

Sighing, Prime sat up, hoping the action might dispel some of the aura of unreality clinging to the air. It didn't, but it did help clear a few cyber-cobwebs from his microprocessor. The first thing he noticed was that someone had taped a note to his chest. It took quite a bit of manual dexterity to pluck the scrap of hot-pink paper off, but Prime managed it in the end. Then he called up an English-to-Cybertronian translator program that Wheeljack, Spike, and Jazz had cooked up years ago, focused upon the ink-marks scrawled on the page, and slowly they swam into focus.

"Dear Prime-kun," it read. "Feeling warm and fuzzy yet?"

Prime read the words over and over again. "Fuzzy," he mumbled.

It was all too much to handle before his first cube of energon. Optimus sighed, stuffed the mysterious note in subspace - he'd deal with it later - and went off in search of Ratchet.

"Prime? You all right?"

"Hmm?" Prime didn't quite jerk awake, but his body was definitely considering it. "I'm fine, Jazz. Just not enough recharge time."

Jazz nodded understandingly. "I hear ya. What with Megatron's new whats-it-called, I think everybody had a bad night."

"Maybe." Optimus mentally shook himself and glanced around, a little warily. He'd thought that sense of unreality would dispel on its own once he woke up thoroughly and had a cube of energon, but it had only grown as time went on. Something Was Strange, and Prime felt he would drive himself insane trying to put his finger on it. He found himself scrutinizing everyone's paintjobs, looking for inconsistencies.

But in the midst of all this sanity-sapping mental activity, Prime still found it in himself to fulfill his role as Leader Of The Autobots. "Ratchet," he said, "how's Ironhide?"

Ratchet made a face at his red-hulled patient, who was prone on the repair table with a decided air of impatience. "Oh, he'll be ready to roll in another twelve thousand astro-seconds," the medic said, his fingers performing a complicated waltz with a laser scalpel in Ironhide's innards. "And right back on the repair table not long after that, I don't doubt. Sometimes I think Megatron hates him more than he hates you, Prime."

"No," Optimus admitted, "I'm still Megatron's primary target. Ironhide just has a bad habit of getting between me and his fusion cannon."

"Aw, wingnuts, Prime, I don't play shield-man all that much." Ironhide tried to sit up, but was stopped by Ratchet's hand on his shoulder. "You're just better at dodgin', that's all."

"All right, Ironhide." Optimus covered Ironhide's other shoulder with his own hand, this gesture comforting as opposed to Ratchet's forceful. "Just take it easy for now."

A piercing alarm from Teletran 1 drowned out Ironhide's answering snort. "Trouble at Hoover Dam, looks like," Cliffjumper reported, "an' three guesses who's behind it!"

Whoosh, went all thoughts of warm fuzziness. "Autobots, our duty is clear," Optimus announced, straightening. "We must prevent the Decepticons from harvesting energy from that dam."

Ignoring Prime's use of language, Sparkplug spoke up from his perch on Ironhide's repair table. "What about those electro-dis.. um..." The human man frowned and started again. "What about those weapons the Decepticons had the last time?"

"He's right," Ratchet nodded. "Last time you all came back in worse condition than I ever hope to see again."

“I know,” Optimus answered quietly. “And it’s likely we’re facing another defeat today. But as long as the Decepticons threaten this planet, we must stand against them.”

“We’re with you, Prime,” Bumblebee asserted, and the other Autobots were quick to offer their own statements of support.

Ironhide’s voice soared over the others. “I’m ready, Prime,” he announced, sitting up, “just lemme at ‘em! I’ll show those no-good, cowardly - “

“Oh, no you don’t,” Ratchet snapped, forcing Ironhide to the repair table again. “I’m not through with you yet!”

“But Ratchet - “

“It’s all right, Ironhide,” Prime broke in gently. “You stay here. You’re in no condition to be fighting Decepticons right now.” As Ironhide sighed noisily, the Autobot leader turned back to his troops. “Autobots, transform - “ he did so - “and roll out!” With fuel-unleading war cries the Autobots followed their leader out of the base, Bumblebee stopping just long enough to collect Spike and Carly.

Ironhide watched them go, longingly - well, as longingly as Ironhide got. “Oh, quit pouting,” Ratchet grumbled, “there’ll be plenty of chances to get yourself slagged to heck again once I finish repairing you.”

“Ratchet, ya unfiltered factory chassis-wrecker, ain’t you ever heard of ‘bedside manner’?” Ironhide croaked.

“Oh, quit your bellyachin’,” Ratchet answered, a note of fondness in his voice. But only a note. “Sparkplug, keep our patient company, wouldja? I left my hydrospanner back in Wheeljack’s lab.”

Sparkplug grinned. “Sure. Good luck finding the thing.”

“Thanks,” was the sour reply.

Things grew quiet in the room when Ratchet left - while Ironhide enjoyed Sparkplug’s company, the human wasn’t much of a conversationalist. Therefore Ironhide was able to hear, from somewhere above him, a faint but still very clear voice say, “Well, this won’t do.”

Ironhide’s optics scanned the ceiling. “Yo, Sparkplug. Did you hear something?”

Sparkplug glanced at the red mech. “Hear what?”

My audials must be damaged, Ironhide thought. “Naw, it’s nothin’.”

“Soundwave,” Megatron ordered, “prepare the dam energon cubes!” As Soundwave complied, the Decepticon commander turned to his Seekers. “Fill those cubes with dam energy,” he ordered, pointing to the steadily-growing pile of empty energon receptacles. “I want all the dam energy in this dam facility, do you hear me?” His voice echoed in the emptied generator room, deep within the depths of Hoover Dam.

“And what of the Autobots?” Starscream demanded as his wingmates moved to obey. “One of those dam humans will surely have sent out a distress signal by now.” His tone, already haughty, grew more so. “Were I in charge, this dam raid would be over already.”

“Were you in charge, Starscream,” Megatron countered, “this dam raid never would have had the chance to occur! Now do as I say!”

Thundercracker and Skywarp were looking at the Air Commander expectantly. He sighed. “Very well, mighty Megatron,” he pronounced dully, picking up an energon cube. “All the dam energy you wish shall be yours.”

Megatron laughed. “Let the Autobots come!” he challenged to the skies. “With our new electro-disruption multi-generator rays, they don’t stand a chance!” He thrust his fusion cannon upward, to display it and its smaller silver electro-disruptor attachment to their full advantage.

“Don’t count your dam battles before they’re won, Megatron!”

Megatron whirled to look out of the gaping hole in the wall that had been the Decepticons’ method of entry. Prime and the Autobots stood in midair just inside, the bright morning sunlight silhouetting their forms. “Prime!” Megatron raged. “You dare challenge me so soon after your last defeat?”

“Leave the dam area,” Prime commanded. “You’re finished.”

“Not until all the dam energy belongs to the Decepticons, Autobot!” Megatron leveled his arm at his mortal foe. “Prepare to be destroyed!”

“Autobots, attack!” Prime countered, and charged forward.

Ah, it was a dam battle the likes of which had never been seen - mostly because it never got started. Just as Optimus and Megatron met, an energon cube exploded, throwing both mechs against the dam wall. Shouts and cries of pain sounded above the lingering vibrations of the explosion as the Transformers rattled about the close quarters like peas in a tin can.

Megatron was the first to get to his feet. “You fools!” he raged. “Who shot an energon cube? Who?”

“Wasn’t me, Megatron,” Rumble protested. A murmur of agreement rose from the Decepticons, and even a few Autobots - enemy or not, Megatron had a commanding presence. The silver mech opened his mouth to rant again, but another explosion rudely cut him off and sent him flying out the hole in the wall. This explosion was followed by another, and another, as one by one the energon cubes detonated.

Starscream gasped with fury. “It’s a dam trick!” he announced. “The dam energy must be tainted!” He was about to say “Decepticons, retreat,” but his fellows beat him to the punch by initiating a mad rush for the exit. Starscream took a moment to recover his dignity before following.

The Autobots, seeing the wisdom of this course of action, were quick to do the same, retreating to a safe distance from the dam. As gouts of pink-laced flame belched from the dam opening, Optimus’s optics followed Megatron and the Decepticons until he could no longer see them. “That,” he commented, “was one of the odder confrontations we’ve had in a long time.”

“No kidding,” Bumblebee chimed in. “I wonder who shot the energon cubes to begin with?”

“We may never know,” Prowl answered thoughtfully.

A scrap of paper floated by on the heated wind, and Spike, snug in the crook of Bumblebee’s left arm, reached out and caught it.

“What’s that?” Carly asked from Bumblebee’s other arm.

Spike examined the scrap closely. “It’s an empty pouch of... Pop Rocks,” he pronounced at last.

Carly looked more closely at it, scholarly curiosity furrowing her brow. “Well, damn.”

"We were lucky today," Prime said. "I'm not inclined to trust that we'll be lucky again."

"So what do we do?" Hound asked from across the bridge. "Just let the Decepticons run around collecting energon 'till Wheeljack or Sparkplug come up with something?"

Prime shook his head. "That's not an option. We all know what the Decepticons are capable of if we allow them to operate unchecked."

Jazz crossed his arms, a rare frown on his face. "Megatron's got us by the fuel pipe this time," he said, echoing the thoughts of his fellows. "We can't beat 'em with those new weapons of theirs. And we can't just not fight them when they start causing trouble."

"We have to try," Bumblebee piped up. Being short, he had to pipe up.

"I know," Prime sighed, standing. "But unless Wheeljack and Sparkplug come up with something quickly, I fear the Autobots may be facing defeat." He excused himself and headed back to his room, mumbling something about needing to recharge.

The other Autobots watched him go. "I could be wrong," Bluestreak commented. "But Prime seems awfully... mopey."

No one contradicted his words, and the comment only served to bestow a certain gloominess on the rest of the Autobots.

It was near midnight Pacific Standard time, according to Prime's internal chronometer, when he woke up, this time draped over his desk. The first thing that occurred to him was that he hadn't meant to fall asleep. The second thing was that he felt warm and fuzzy again.

This time Optimus didn't try to dispel the feeling. He lay there, unmoving, exploring this new sensation/emotion/whatever the slag it was as the silence and darkness hung around him like velvet curtains. It wasn't a bad feeling; in fact, it was surprisingly pleasant, soothing even. It was as if someone had shut off his worry circuits entirely.

That, more than anything else, was what perturbed him. He knew he should worry - the Decepticons and the problems they posed had not gone away during the night, and they were no closer to finding a solution to this problem. But no matter how the mech contemplated things, the tenseness of worry refused to return to his shoulders. And he had no idea why.

Suddenly determined to get to the bottom of this, Prime rolled off the recharge bed and keyed his comlink to transmit to the medbay. "Ratchet, are you in there?"

The answer nearly fried Prime's comlink with the force of its irritation. "Aren't I always? Day in, day out, nothing but repairs, repairs, repairs. I'll tell you right now, if Sunstreaker comes in here looking for cosmetic surgery again - "

Prime could guess the rest. "Ratchet," he interrupted patiently, "whenever you have time, I need you to run a full diagnostic on our energon stores. Test for any foreign agent you can think of."

"A late-night bad energon emergency? Are you feeling all right, Prime?" The irritable tone didn't leave Ratchet's voice entirely, but doctor's concern managed to force it out somewhat.

"I'm fine, Ratchet," Prime assured the medic. "Just - fine."

"Well... all right," was the doubtful answer. "I'll get that diagnostic done tomorrow morning, soon as I get done with Snarl." A bellow cut him off. "All right, all right, I'm comin'." The transmission was cut.

Prime sank down onto the recharge bed with a long sigh. It was only then that he noticed the flash of neon on his chest - another note, this one orange and larger than the last. "Prime-chan," it read. "Don't worry about the Decepticons - we'll keep them occupied until you all come up with something. Love and warm fuzzies - us."

Prime read the note over twice, then stored it in subspace. "And just who," he wondered aloud, "is 'us'?"

Things were screwy in the Decepticon base, Starscream noted. Not just mildly screwy, which was pretty much par for the course, or even moderately screwy, which was annoying but still tolerable. No, this was a level of screwiness that occurred only on the rarest of occasions. And Starscream didn't like it one bit.

Someone - he was guessing the Insecticons, but that was just because of personal prejudice - had convinced the Constructicons to combine, then to sit down and meditate on exactly how the gestalt coordinated all six of his minds and disparate parts. He was currently trying to remember how to walk, but it wasn't going well - he got maybe three steps before it all fell apart. Someone, perhaps the same person, had duct-taped Thundercracker and Skywarp together, and they had nearly torn each other to pieces trying to get free. Rumble and Frenzy had been filled with compressed helium and were floating around somewhere, helplessly. Ravage was wearing a metal collar around his neck with a very large bell. You could hear him coming a mile away. Laserbeak's voice module had been replaced with something that played some human song or other every time she opened her mouth. Buzzsaw, by contrast, had been programmed to think he was a real Earthling bird, and kept trying to mate with Laserbeak. Every time Laserbeak tried to squawk at her sibling to back off, out came that annoying Earth music - which just seemed to drive Buzzsaw crazy with raptor lust. Reflector's quarters had been filled to bursting with bologna sandwiches - it would be weeks before the smell went away. Soundwave was desperately trying to find and destroy all the pictures someone had taped up all over the base of him in compromising positions with a number of Autobots and a few Decepticons. Starscream couldn't remember seeing Soundwave in any of the scenes they showed - at least, in the ones he'd been able to examine before Soundwave tore them down - but then again, graphics programs could do wondrous things. And, as if all that weren't enough, hundreds of strange flesh animals were running loose through the base, sending random tools into temporal dimensions, flitting into everybody's face, and defying all attempts at capture. Their cry sounded like 'Kupo!' and it was already grinding Starscream's gears. Just what else could go wrong today? the Decepticon wondered.

He should have known better. "STAAAAARSCREEEEEAAAAAAM!"

The mighty bellow rattled the base down to its very foundations, making Devastator fall over again, making Soundwave flinch in mid-rip through a particularly embarrassing picture featuring him and Bumblebee. Starscream squeaked - he knew that tone. Mighty Megatron was mightily pissed. And when that happened, the safest thing for an ambitious Seeker to do was to make himself scarce.

Unfortunately, Starscream never got the chance. Halfway out the door he ran smack-dab into a very, very angry Megatron. The reason for his anger was readily apparent - besides the three offensive 'Kupo' creatures that had made themselves comfortable on the Decepticon commander's shoulders, Megatron's entire exoskeleton, from helmet to boots, had been painted an eye-smarting shade of neon pink.

Starscream's processor shifted into Panic Mode. "W-w-well g-good morning, Megatron," he stammered out, backing up - as soon as he got out of arm's reach he could make a break for it.

He didn't make it - Megatron grabbed his perennial rival by the chestplate, lifted him clear off the floor and glowered into his face. "Don't 'good morning' me," he snarled. "Did - you - do - this?"

"Did I do what?" Starscream managed to force out.

"PAINT ME PINK!"

"Did I paint - " Panic Mode went into overdrive, and Starscream's logic circuits completely shut down. "Paint you - pink?!"

"YES!"

"Why - would I do such a thing?" He was trying to sound calm. It wasn't working.

Megatron threw Starscream across the room and advanced on him. "You," he growled, "are the only one unaffected by all this - " He waved a hand, indicating the utter chaos around him. "Therefore, by process of elimination, you are the culprit."

"But I didn't do anything," he protested weakly as Megatron's pink-tinged shadow fell over him. Starscream looked up at his commander, fearfully.

And began to giggle. Even Megatron's fusion cannon was pink.

In retrospect, giggling at Megatron's fusion cannon hadn't been the smartest thing to do. But he hadn't been able to help it. And the price, as usual, was another long day of lying on the floor wondering if anyone was going to bother to re-assemble him. With things the way they were, his outlook wasn't good.

Perhaps the prankster had meant for this to happen. Perhaps that was, in effect, his prank - by leaving Starscream alone, all blame that would have gone to the prankster was shifted onto Starscream. It was singularly cruel, singularly sneaky, and clever enough that Starscream was almost envious.

I think, he decided, that I would rather have taken my chances in that dam explosion.

Utter chaos of a different sort greeted Optimus Prime as he entered the bridge, still under the influence of warm fuzziness and getting quite perplexed about it. The Autobots were gathered in a semicircle-shaped mass around Spike and Beachcomber - the latter sitting cross-legged on the floor, the former sitting on a crate fetched from storage. Both were facing a human entertainment and communication device - 'television', Prime remembered - and frantically working the buttons of some sort of controller, which had either been enlarged in Beachcomber's case or shrunk in Spike's.

"What's going on here?" he said quietly.

The three mechs nearest him - Wheeljack, Bumblebee, and Trailbreaker - jumped three meters at the sound of Prime's measured voice. Everyone else was too involved in whatever-was-going-on to notice. "Prime, I didn't know you were awake," Wheeljack said, body language a little sheepish.

"I'm not sure I am," was the dry response. "How much progress have you made with our problem, Wheeljack?" The question came out nonchalant, rather than quietly urgent as he'd meant it to sound.

"Well..." Wheeljack's 'ears' blinked anxiously. "I designed a field-generator that'll short out those electro-disruptors, but the unit's small enough that Sparkplug can handle the actual construction of the prototype. So while he was working, Spike comes in with this human game." He gestured to the television and the crowd around it. "He calls it Tetris. He wanted to play versus someone else, but the controls he brought in were too small, so I cobbled together one that us Autobots could use. And then... well... " He turned back to the crowd. "One thing led to another," he finished.

"Hmm." Optimus watched the spectacle thoughtfully. Beachcomber was grinning from audial to audial, hardly able to keep still as he manipulated the enlarged controller. Spike's face, by contrast, was a mask of determination - one Prime recognized from wearing it so often himself. Both were completely immersed in the game, evidently oblivious to the unholy racket the rest of the Autobots were making. From Cliffjumper's running commentary to Tracks's sometimes nonsensical instruction to Grimlock's exhortations to 'hurry up and beat human so me Grimlock can play,' and onward into a furious babble of excitement - it was dizzying to the Autobot leader, who'd never seen them so excited over a simple game before.

The babble escalated to a roar as the screen flashed the Earthling script 'Game Over' on Beachcomber's side of the television screen. "I told you, I told you!" Spike shouted above the din. "No Autobot or Decepticon anything can beat me at Tetris."

"And I almost cleared the level, too," Beachcomber put in, setting his controller down.

"Never mind that. It me Grimlock's turn," Grimlock announced, straightening. "Give time, and me will beat puny human."

Optimus came to a decision. "Hang on, Grimlock."

It was like flicking a switch - everyone, Grimlock included, just froze, staring at the head honcho who'd seemingly appeared out of nowhere. They'd been having so much fun, they hadn't noticed - "Me Grimlock been waiting a long time to play," Grimlock said firmly, recovering more quickly than the other Autobots. "Have right to one game at least."

"That may be," Prime answered, moving forward. The Autobots parted before him like the Red Sea before Moses. "But there is one thing you don't have."

"What that?"

Prime settled himself before the television, picked up the controller, and examined it professionally. "Executive privilege."

The room was dead silent for a moment. It was Jazz who broke it with a whoop. "It's finally happened, boys," he announced, "Prime's gone crazy! The last sane one of the Autobots is officially off the deep end!" The black-and-white mech slapped his leader on the back playfully. "Welcome to the loony bin, Prime."

"Took him long enough," Gears put in.

With that, the floodgates opened, and the Autobots poured forth with their own disparaging comments on Prime's sanity. "It's a great honor," Prime said gravely, "to finally join the ranks of the sanity-challenged. I only hope I can learn from the examples of the loony bin's senior members - Jazz, and Ironhide, and Ratchet, and - " He stopped and pretended to think. "Everybody except me," he finished.

Cheers, laughter, and catcalls rocked the Ark. "Hey, I hate to break up the party," Spike piped up once the noise had lessened somewhat, "but are we going to play, or what?"

"We are going to play," Prime assured him, taking the controller in both hands.

All in all, Prime didn't do too badly. Of course that was considering the fact that, at first, he'd had no idea how the game was supposed to be played and had lost within one hundred astro-seconds of Spike's pressing 'Start'. Once he'd gotten the hang of it, though, he'd performed quite well - although he'd still lost. "It's all right," Spike had assured him, "it just takes practice. I'm good at this game because I play it almost every day."

"All day, every day," Sparkplug had remarked from Ratchet's shoulder. He'd finished his work on Wheeljack's invention shortly after Prime had commandeered Grimlock's turn at Tetris and had come to watch the fun.

"Aw, Dad..." Spike had protested. "I don't play that often..."

"All day, every day," Sparkplug had confided to Ratchet in a stage whisper. Distracted, Spike had let an L-shaped block slip past his notice. Prime was so busy laughing at the face he'd made along with the rest of the Autobots that he let three blocks get away from him. And lost again mere seconds after that.

He'd finally given up about half an Earth hour later - Grimlock was getting antsy. "I'm sorry I usurped your place in line," he'd told the Dinobot.

Grimlock had snorted derisively. "You Prime finally acting like strong leader. Figures me Grimlock get short end of stick when that happen."

It was those words, more than anything else, that occupied Prime's thoughts as he trekked back to his room that night. What exactly had Grimlock meant by 'strong leader'? How had fooling around with Tetris earned Grimlock's sudden - if grudging - respect? And how did the warm fuzziness fit into this, if at all?

Sighing, wondering if he'd ever stop being confused, Prime opened the door to his quarters - and stopped cold.

A human sat on his recharge bed, swinging her legs off the edge jauntily. It was clad entirely in black except for a pink heart-shaped patch over the right breast, and its facial features and hair were hidden by a hood and mask. Judging by its body shape, Prime guessed it was female - although who could tell with humans.

“May I help you?” Optimus said stiffly.

“You have already, Prime,” the human said, standing. “We’re here to help you.” She gathered herself and leaped, and Prime moved to catch her, certain she’d harm herself - but like a shadow of Laserbeak she flew right past his outstretched hands and alighted on his shoulder.

“What’s - “ Prime turned his head to look at the black-clad human. “Who’s ‘we’? Who are you?”

Something landed softly on Prime’s other shoulder. He turned to look and did a double-take - except for a purple heart where the first apparition had a pink one, this new human could have been the other’s twin. “We are ninjas,” said Purple Heart, smiling behind her mask.

Another something landed on his head. “Glomper ninjas,” it added, dropping past his face to perch on his collar. In form this human was the same as the other two, and sported a white heart. “Our only mission, to spread love and warm fuzzies wherever we can reach.”

Prime felt as if he were floating. Carefully he moved into his quarters and shut the door behind him, almost all the way. “So it was you, these past two nights.”

“Yep,” said Pink Heart happily. “And it paid off, I’d say.”

“Paid off?”

“The Tetris game this morning,” Purple Heart explained. “A week ago you would have told them all to quit fooling around and get back to work. Today you joined in the fun.”

Optimus fired up his voice box to protest, then hesitated. “You’re right. I don’t know what made me do that, but - “

“It was the warm fuzzies,” the Ninjas chorused.

At Prime’s confused look, Pink Heart smiled gently. “You, Prime-kun, are a mech under a lot of stress. And you are the type that keeps his stress bottled up inside him. That’s not mentally healthy."

“It might have been good enough on Cybertron,” Purple Heart added, “but this is Earth. Emotions run high here. You keep all that bottled up - “ she brushed a hand along his helmet - “it’s liable to shut you down.”

“That,” said White Heart, “is where we come in.”

"I confess," Optimus said, sitting heavily on his recharge bed, "to some confusion."

"We know," they chorused.

"That's why we're here," Pink Heart added.

"Why we waited until now to reveal ourselves to you," continued Purple Heart.

"These things must be done delicately," finished White Heart.

They slid like raindrops down his chest panels to sit in his lap. "Shall we show you?" they said as one.

"Please do."

Ironhide was not a superstitious mech by any stretch of the imagination. So when a weird, tingly feeling shot up his spine as he approached Prime's quarters, he tried to dismiss it as his processor playing tricks on him. Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was... off. Prime's door was open a crack, for one thing, which was unusual. The Autobot leader either had his door firmly shut or wide open, depending on whether he wanted visitors, but never in between to any degree. And as Ironhide got closer, he could hear voices issuing from the room. Not a voice, voices. Female ones, providing a melodic counterpoint to Prime's measured tone. When did we get femmes, Ironhide wondered, and why is Prime - No, he wouldn't finish that thought.

Just a peek, the red mech told himself. There had to be a logical explanation; with Prime there always was. Ironhide bent to the crack in the doorway and looked through with one optic.

And nearly fell over. I can't be seein' what I think I'm seein', he thought, backing away from the door and the utterly unbelievable sight beyond. There's gotta be a mistake or somethin' - Quickly Ironhide recovered and marched himself down to the repair bay, in search of the tune-up he so obviously needed.

"So, Optimus Prime, again you come to oppose me," Megatron declared from his place at the head of the Decepticon formation arrayed in front of yet another power plant. Starscream, flanking him on the right, wondered if he should inform his leader that he hadn't quite gotten all the pink paint off of his back. Naaaah. "Do you think you will be so lucky to escape my wrath again?"

"Worry about yourself first, Megatron," Optimus shot back. "Blaster, you're on."

It was a measure of Blaster's extreme mortification that he did not offer his usual DJ commentary, but simply transformed and started playing some light Renaissance-style music. Optimus nodded, then turned back to the Decepticons. "A selection," he announced solemnly, "from the human work of theater known as 'Romeo and Juliet' by William Shakespeare, act two, scene four. Performed by Powerglide, Sunstreaker, and myself." He nodded, stepped back, and turned to Powerglide and Sunstreaker expectantly.

Sunstreaker gave his leader a pleading look. "Do we really have to do this?"

"Yes, Sunstreaker, you really have to do this."

"Nuts." The two bots moved to the fore, and Powerglide took a deep breath and spoke in such an inflection-devoid voice it made Soundwave's sound perky. "Here comes Romeo, here comes Romeo."

"Without his roe," Sunstreaker added, as dully as Powerglide, "like a dried herring: flesh, flesh, how art thou fishified! Now is he for the numbers that Petrarch flowed in: Laura to his lady was but a kitchen-wench; marry, she had a better love to be-rhyme her; Dido a dowdy; Cleopatra a gipsy; Helen and Hero hildings and harlots; Thisbe a grey eye or so, but not to the purpose. Signior Romeo, bon jour! There's a French salutation to your French slop. You gave us the counterfeit fairly last night." To his credit, he'd memorized his lines well - there was no hesitation anywhere in his fairly long opening line.

When Optimus answered, it was in proper, booming theatrical style, with sweeping gestures - perhaps overacting just a little. "Good morrow to you both. What counterfeit did I give you?"

"What are they doing?" Thundercracker muttered.

"I have no idea," Skywarp answered.

"The slip, sir, the slip," Sunstreaker continued, forcing out the words, "can you not conceive?"

"Pardon, good Mercutio, my business was great; and in such a case as mine a man may strain courtesy."

"That's as much as to say, such a case as yours constrains a man to bow in the hams." Sunstreaker put extra emphasis on the word 'hams', an editorial that Prime ignored.

Megatron, meanwhile, was growing more and more irate with each passing line. "How dare they mock me," he snarled at no one in particular.

"You may benefit from exposure to some culture," Starscream told him snidely. "Even if it is human culture."

"Be silent, Starscream."

"Hey, Prime's not a bad actor," Reflector commented in unison. "A little over-the-top."

"Sunstreaker's stinkin' up the stage," observed Rumble.

"And Powerglide's just standin' there, like a lump," Frenzy added. "They're lettin' Prime take over all the action."

"Ain't that always the way?"

Unbeknownst to them, the mini-Decepticons’ running commentary only served to aid the Autobots - along with the main event of the performance and the secondary act of Megatron’s rising rage, it was just another distraction Wheeljack and Spike could use to sneak behind enemy lines and plant the Autobot inventor's field-generator.

The Autobot Thespian Society was still going at it when Wheeljack and Spike returned. "O here's a wit of cheveril," Sunstreaker was reciting, stoically ignoring comments from Autobot and Decepticon alike, "that stretches from an inch narrow to an ell broad!"

"I stretch it out for that word 'broad' - " began Optimus.

"Um, Prime..." Spike tried.

Optimus didn't miss a beat. " - which added to the goose, proves thee far and wide - "

"Prime!"

" - a broad goose. Yes, Spike?"

Spike and Wheeljack sighed in unison. "We're finished," Wheeljack said pointedly.

"Ah. Thank you both." Optimus faced the Decepticons again. "Thus ends the recitation. Autobots - " he raised his laser rifle - "attack!"

The Decepticons, absorbed in the production, were taken completely by surprise by the sudden shower of enemy laserfire and moved to retreat out of habit. "Decepticons," Megatron roared over the din, "stand your ground! We still have the advantage!" To demonstrate, he lifted his fusion cannon, aimed the electro-disruptor attachment straight at Prime's head, and fired.

It exploded, giving Megatron a face full of fire and shrapnel. He stumbled back with an offended roar.

Prime laughed from across the battlefield. "Mechanical troubles, Megatron?"

"You - " Megatron's face deformed with rage. "Decepticons! Fire the electro-disruption multi-generator rays!" Even before Megatron could get the entire title out of his mouth, his troops had already obeyed - only to be treated to the same explosive surprise as their leader. Shouts of pain and outrage rose like acrid smoke from the suddenly confused and milling Decepticons.

"All right, it worked!" Spike shouted from behind the Autobot ranks.

"What'd you expect?" Wheeljack said jovially, firing at a half-blind Thundercracker circling overhead.

"I plead the fifth."

"Smart lad." With that, Wheeljack joined his fellow Autobots in their headlong charge into the heart of the Decepticon ranks.

Under the force of that unified charge, most of the Decepticons scattered, taking to the air or ducking into a nearby forest according to inclination. Megatron stood like those trees, for a while, back-to-back with Soundwave; but soon sheer mass and Autobot aggression overwhelmed them both and they were slowly forced into the woods away from the power plant.

"Megatron, we have lost our advantage!" Starscream yelled from above. "We must retreat!"

"Starscream, for once in your life," Megatron gritted, coming face to face with Optimus in the middle of the fray, "keep your mouth shut!" He called his energy mace and swung it overhand at his enemy's head.

Optimus blocked it with his own energy weapon, an axe. "I take it you're not a fan of the theater, Megatron."

"No one is a fan of poor acting, Prime!"

"Now, that's not fair to Sunstreaker." Optimus parried another of Megatron's strikes and lunged in for a counter.

"I was referring to you - "

Thwack, went Prime's axe against Megatron's mace. "I know that. I was making an attempt at humor. One obviously too subtle for you to grasp."

"Perhaps the problem lies with your delivery!" Megatron managed a graze on Optimus's arm, and received a painful cut on the chest for his efforts. The two bots sprang apart to give their straining servos a chance to cool.

"You have no sense of humor at all, do you, Megatron?" Prime said thoughtfully.

Megatron nearly popped a gasket. "And what," he snarled, "does a sense of humor have to do with anything?"

"Nothing, really. Except the fact that if you'd had one, you may have gotten the better of me a long time ago."

"What?"

Prime shook his head. "The time for bantering is over. Turn tail, Megatron. You've lost this battle."

A quick glance around told Megatron that Optimus was right - most of the Decepticons were injured or fleeing, or both. Starscream was already nowhere to be found - probably cowering back at headquarters, Megatron conjectured. "The battle, I grant," Megatron forced out, "but the war will be ours, Optimus Prime. Find the humor in that, if you can!" The silver mech took to the air, followed by his troops.

The Autobots continued firing until the Decepticons were out of sight and range - all except Optimus, who simply watched the retreating Megatron with a pensive look in his optics, his energy axe hanging forgotten by his side.

"Prime?" Jazz ventured. "You okay?"

"Fine, Jazz," Optimus assured him, smiling underneath his faceplate. "Safe to say I've never felt better."

Jazz blinked cautiously. "Well, good."

Around him, the Autobots whooped and catcalled in a glad sort of victory dance, as was their custom when they routed the Decepticons.

And all was right with the universe.

Finally, White Heart shrugged. "We're fangirls," she said, "not miracle workers."

Home | Back to Fanfic