Chapter Text
Gold. Though faded with age and wear, the colour was still present on every wall, in every direction he could glance at. It was not his favourite colour. Not even nearing the top three. It was a flashy colour, a colour of wealth, and equally, the greed for it. In his earlier millennias, he’d seen plenty of mechs with golden paint, either as the primary colour or as accents. It was popular in Iacon back then, to change your paints to make oneself look wealthier than they actually were. A fashion trend that mimicked the era’s Prime; Sentinel’s plating always appeared immaculate in every broadcast he could remember seeing. It was, in his opinion, crude and obnoxious. Yet, here, spread across every wall of the Ark, it was oddly charming. Maybe only because of how the ship wore its age.
Skyfire reached an idle servo out across the mesh of his berth, the sensors across his digits picking up the subtle ways the malleable metal warped itself to the pressure of his touch. His wings gave a gentle flutter against the berth, cables stretching in a movement of subtle contentment. Despite being laid back with his wings and fuel pack pressed into the berth, he was very comfortable. At least in a physical sense. There was something… itching, scratching, gnawing at the back of his processor. It laid heavily on his spark, a weight that felt as though it might snuff him out.
When he’d finally gotten enrolled into the Academy, he’d thought he’d mentally prepared for every aspect that he was going to face. He’d already faced the disapproval and judgement from peers in regards to his frame as a flier, as a shuttle. Had already considered that the lecture and study halls would likely be built to accommodate the prolific population of grounded mechs, mechs half his height and smaller. Knew ahead of time that the airways surrounding the Academy were incredibly restricted, and that going for a simple flight would become a scarcity. He’d been prepared for all of it. He could handle it, and he would face it with grace. He would take it all and focus on his studies, and would come out of it a scientist respected for his accomplishments, and maybe even pave the way for other shuttles to pursue similar paths.
However, no amount of preparation could have prepared him for how those restrictions would follow him to the habsuite. His Academy apartment had been standard. A quaint two room habsuite in an on-campus building, soundproofed to give the academics as much peaceful quiet as possible, and a mere breem to walk to the library. But that standard did not include a space faring shuttle like himself. He’d had to walk around his apartment with a permanent hunch, with wings tucked tight to his struts and bumping his fuel pack against the ceiling for several quartex. Trying to fit into the kitchenette had been an exceptionally tight squeeze, using the wash racks was a challenge to his flexibility, and the provided desk had been so small of a space that he could barely fit more than his datapads. And he… couldn’t nest. Not in the way he needed.
It was the worst part of his time at the Academy. His own berth. Built for mid-sized grounders, he had to curl up as tight as possible to fit in the space. It was hard, an unforgiving plane that’s mesh was a harsh surface to his fragile wings. Perhaps it would have been just the right mix of supportive and soft to a mech with harder kibble, but to a flightframe, he might as well have been recharging on the ground. It was part of why he’d favoured taking so many long term expeditions. Entering recharge stasis whilst gliding through the vacuum of space was an infinitely more pleasant experience compared to using the apartment berth, even when he was carrying other mechs for the journey.
The chime of his habsuite’s intercom drew Skyfire from his reflections and he allowed himself a moment to vent before shifting to sit up, legs folding over the side of the berth. “Come in.” He called out as he sent the admission ping to the door, checking his chronometer with a small frown. For the first couple of cycles aboard the Ark, every mech who hadn’t been part of the mission to the Arctic had at some point made a visit to his new hab, to introduce themselves or finally set eyes on the new presence, all a mixture of curious and wary. He had the impression that new faces were incredibly rare this far into war. There were just as many friendly and welcoming mechs as there were those inherently suspicious. Just being mentioned in the same sentence as Starscream had often been enough to fracture all chances of trust with many of the Autobots.
It’s almost been a quartex now, a ‘month’ by this planet’s local species standards, and surprise visitations had dwindled out of occurrence. The cycles had settled, and even those who were distrustful of his presence had drifted into a quiet acceptance of his continued habitation on the Ark. Thus, he wasn’t sure who would be visiting. The shuttle had slowly been making the habit of heading into the ship’s laboratory every other cycle, having been enthusiastically invited by Wheeljack, the crew’s Head Engineer. Skyfire suspected the invitation, alongside his repairs completed by the Engineer, were majorly thanks to the encouragement of Ratchet. It appeared to be some sort of open secret amongst the Autobots that the pair were mates. Skyfire’s integration into the science team had undoubtedly been influenced by the gratitude of the CMO for his actions in the Arctic, which extended to Wheeljack’s gratitude in turn for the protection of his partner. Not to say that the Engineer’s enthusiasm had been faked, Wheeljack definitely had an innate eagerness to everything he tackled.
Being reintroduced to Perceptor had been a welcome surprise, one familiar faceplate amongst the many, many strangers. To think he’d run into an acquaintance from the Academy. Still, neither of the Ark’s scientists were in the habit of visiting, always absorbed in their individual projects on and off shift throughout the cycles that he’d observed. Ratchet too, had stopped visiting once he’d deemed his repairs sufficiently complete. He was at a loss as to who would be visiting.
“Skyfire, I hope I’ve found you well this afternoon.” The greeting tones entered the habsuite once the doors slid open, each glyph containing a depth of infinite calm and purpose. The regal form of the current Prime, Optimus, entered the space. While shorter in height compared to the shuttle, the very air around the mech resonated with a confidence that made the mech feel larger than he was. Skyfire felt his EM field reach out and brush against his own as if the Prime had laid his servo on his pauldron, it was a respectful and friendly wave of energy, but the shuttle could feel the raw depth of power and wisdom held below it. An energy signature of one chosen by Primus himself.
“Prime!” Skyfire’s wings flared outwards as he jolted to his pedes, helm dipping low as optics shuttered wide, trying to both stand at attention and shift his posture to make himself as small and submissive appearing out of respect. “I wasn’t expecting you! Have I missed a com?” His attention briefly shifted to his internal comms, scanning through his most recent contacts with a flare of anxiety. He risks a glance up to the Prime’s helm, optics flickering to meet the mech’s gaze. While the convoy mech’s faceplates were mostly concealed by the battle mask, Skyfire had found that his optics were particularly expressive, which was potentially an intentional choice. He found himself searching for offence in that cerulean gaze, his own EM field tucking tightly around his frame.
“Please, feel at ease Skyfire, this is an entirely unofficial visit. You haven’t missed any communications-” The Autobot leader’s optics widened, servos rising in a calming gesticulation, the next brush of fields holding reassurance. “-and please, call me Optimus.” The red and blue mech’s vents audibly fill the hab in a sigh. Skyfire noticed a subtle shift in the shorter mech’s posture and he found his gaze drawn to the movement of the Prime’s finials, how they twitched in a particular pattern. He couldn’t read the movement- couldn’t understand what was being said in the motion of those finials. He’d always found himself at a loss when it came to reading the body language of grounders, the way they projected themselves was so different from wingspeak, and he hadn’t spent enough time around mechs with finials either. The Prime’s thoughts were a mystery to him.
“Right. Optimus Prime.” Skyfire corrects himself with a polite nod, noticing how Optimus’s finials twitch downwards and flatten for a nanoklik at his words, maybe he should try categorising all the different movements. Maybe there’s a document in the archives regarding finial communication. “If this is unofficial… then what brings you to my hab?” His curiosity creeps through his own EM field, loosening from his frame as his gaze returns to the Prime’s faceplates. From what he’d observed, Optimus appeared to be a very busy individual, much as it was expected for a Prime. Was the mech off shift?
“Do you have time? There’s someone I’d like to introduce you to.” The Prime’s response was laced with enquiring glyphs, something that gave Skyfire the impression that he could say no, if he wanted to. It wasn’t an order.
“Ah, yes. I have time.” It felt as if his glyphs were made of stone, a creeping sense of awkwardness slipping into his own vocals. His time in the ice hadn’t been something he’d been fully conscious of, in theory he hadn’t experienced the millennia of isolation, and yet his glyphs felt stiff. What more was there to say? To communicate? He felt as if he should have more to express. Anything more was trapped in his vocalizer in a calcified lump. His wings bent downwards, servos wringing together.
Optimus’ optics brighten subtly, the plating just below them raising in a way that must mean that he’s smiling behind the mask, an expression that is accompanied by another brush of his EM that carries a mixture of relief and anticipation. “Great, come, they’re in the loading bay.” The Prime’s words came at a faster pace, glyphs linked to a higher tone, was he excited? While his voice maintained its deep resonance and enveloping calm, there was another subtle change to it, one accompanied by an upwards flicker of those shifting finials. Skyfire found himself moving to follow, the Autobot leader already moving back down into the hallway.
There was a small amount of adjusting as they walked, with Skyfire attempting to reduce his stride to match the Prime’s pace, and with Optimus attempting to walk faster to match his stride. They settled into something comfortable, though Skyfire found himself trying to set himself a pace behind the convoy. He is The Prime, it would be rude to assume an exact position at his side, it was more respectful to let the mech lead.
As they passed through the weary golden halls, Skyfire observed Optimus quietly, gaze trailing across the bold red and blue plating. He carried himself with confidence, gave off an energy that made the mech feel wise beyond his years, but there was a humility to it. Skyfire had never had the chance to come anywhere close to Sentinel Prime, Optimus’ direct predecessor, no mech as low of caste as he could have that honor. Still, there were significant differences between the Prime’s, even if half the observations were through broadcasts.
Where Sentinel had flaunted and paraded, flashy colours and flawless plating- Optimus carried himself with something simpler. No action was taken heedlessly, nothing performed for extravagance. While his plating colours were healthily bright, they were covered in scratches and blemishes. Several welds, old and new, covered the mech’s frame in a tapestry of history. Those welds could be so easily tended to, to have his plating buffed to perfection, Ratchet would be more than capable of it. It was a clear decision to not have them removed. The flaws didn’t make him any less attractive, in fact, Skyfire found himself oddly drawn to the sight, to him. He seemed so comfortable, in his own frame, in who he is. The welds were simply a part of him, not deficits, but factors that blended so smoothly with the rest of him that it was making him more appealing.
It wasn’t only the welds, even his colours felt meaningfully intentional. While every mech was forged or constructed with their own natural colours and patterns dictated by their nanites, any mech could always have their plating painted in any manner that they choose. It was widely rumored that Sentinel Prime’s natural colours did not include gold, but had the accents added to emulate Prima Prime. Skyfire thinks silver would compliment Optimus, yet he hadn’t chosen it. Instead his accents of white fitted modestly with his red and blue plating. Were those his natural colours? He had no way of knowing, but he suspected they were. It just made sense for Optimus to keep his natural colours.
There was no ego when he spoke, no expectation that Skyfire should bend his struts to please him. Though Skyfire felt the pressure regardless. Optimus is the Prime, chosen by Primus, it was difficult to not want to please him. Still, he’d seen how the mech interacts with his Autobots. How incredibly warm and patient he was with each one. Autobot culture was so different compared to how he’d been raised in Iacon. Somehow everybot was so comfortable with Optimus that Skyfire could hardly tell the difference between how the Autobots treated the Prime and how they treated each other. He’s truly a Prime of his people. Skyfire can’t help but wonder if he’ll grow to treat Optimus with the same familiarity.
He has much to thank the mech for. His warm acceptance into the Autobots, the encouragement to take up research in the labs, the understanding when it came to his choice to be a civilian, and seemingly, no grudge against him for his past with Starscream. It had to be no small effort that by the time he’d been deemed fit to leave the med bay, there had been a habsuite prepared for him- one that was large enough to fit him, and was fitted with all of the necessary accommodations for a flightframe. The berth alone was a luxury he hadn’t expected. Even where his habsuite was located had been purposefully chosen, all the hallways leading to the rec room, the med bay, the lab, the loading bay- all of them had hallways high enough to accommodate his height. Which he knows is not true for the entire ship, with the many, many offshooting hallways that were too low for him to comfortably traverse. Had Optimus been the one to consider all of these factors? Had he directly organized it all?
But why would the Prime be the one to concern himself with such considerations?
It was difficult for Skyfire to imagine that the Prime would be directly involved in making his people’s lives comfortable, for making his own living space habitable for him. And yet, in the couple days after he’d moved in, Optimus had inquired about how he was settling in, and he’d vaguely mentioned that the energon cubes were small in his servo. A few cycles later, Wheeljack had heaved a set into his hab and refused to elaborate on why he’d made them. It was all the small things that most mechs didn’t think about. Somehow, in the middle of a war, he’d have some of the most comfortable experiences when it came to fueling and recharging.
Then again, how would Optimus know? No grounder he’d ever met before the war had ever considered what it was like for flightframes to recharge, what sorts of challenges were commonly faced or even that there should be accommodations for them. There has also been significant losses of information, Teletran-1 carried so little compared the swathes of available information that Skyfire had once had access to. The war had destroyed so much of what was once readily available. It made the mystery of it all the more complex.
The hallway narrowed as they neared the loading bay, just enough that Skyfire would have to either walk closer to Optimus or step behind. He chose the latter without much thought, noting how the Prime’s finials flickered with the change in his pace. One more small gesture to add to the catalogue.
The shuttle’s optics shuttered momentarily, gaze shifting to scan the room. Stood in the middle of the otherwise unpopulated loading bay was a maroon mech. They were short, a minibot like Bumblebee and Gears, though noticeably less broad. As they continued to approach, and it became clear that this was indeed the mech Optimus was leading him to, another detail caught the shuttle’s attention. What might be misunderstood as decorative kibble protruded from the mech’s torso, arched out by their helm and curved in a far too particular way. Skyfire immediately recognized the wings, a structure that was noted alongside the particular placement of thrusters down their pedes.
A flightframe.
“Powerglide! Thank you for waiting-” The Prime crossed the distance of the dock with ease, momentarily taking the maroon flier’s servo within his own in an eager shake, settling to stand at their side. Skyfire’s stride hesitated a moment, wings raising and arching into a semi-horizontal position, his engine giving an inaudible start as excitement began to pulse in his spark. “-Skyfire, this is Powerglide, he’s just returned from a mission in China-” The shuttle glanced at the Prime at the mention of something he didn’t recognize, he’d have to research this planet’s languages more deeply, but his gaze was immediately drawn back down to the new mech. “-Powerglide; Skyfire.”
Skyfire noted that Powerglide was about a third of his own height, and had a battle mask much like Optimus. A soft frown grew onto his faceplates as he examined the position of the mech’s wings, a wave of uncertainty undercut his enthusiasm. He’d not met another flightframe with a build like Powerglide’s before, was he from Velocitron? Kaon? Stanix? The shuttle hesitated for a long moment, noticing that Powerglide was examining him too, blue optics trailing across pale wings. Carefully, Skyfire billowed out his EM field, which was met in the space between by Powerglide’s own field. They shared a first greeting through it, learning each other’s energy signature, cautious, friendly, traditional regardless of frametype.
“I thought it would be good for the two of you to be familiar with each other.” Optimus continued beside them, optics light as they shifted between the quiet flightframes. Skyfire politely retreated his field, turning his attention to Powerglide’s wings as he shifted his stance, bending the ailerons on his right wing. It was a formal inquiry to use common wingspeak, so long as Powerglide was also familiar in the language, it would be better than trying to use another wingspeak. He was only really fluent in his own native Iaconian, and well, Vosian.
Powerglide’s own aileron bent in turn, the movement almost obscured by where his wings were positioned, but the sight of it brought a relieved smile onto Skyfire’s features. “Especially if you ever need to go off base for your research.” The Prime’s words drew Skyfire’s attention away, the mention of his own research, the outright statement that he’d be able to leave the Ark to complete it, surprise thrummed through his spark at the thought. “Powerglide is an exceptional fighter, and flier, should you find yourself under unwanted Decepticon attention, he’ll be able to keep you safe.” There was a surety in Optimus’ glyphs, a full confidence in Powerglides abilities, and an underlying layer of belief that there would be unwanted Decepticon attention in the theoretical future expedition.
“Skyfire is a scientist, but he’ll be taking a primarily civilian position here on the Ark.” The implication that he wouldn't be able to defend himself hanging in the air between them. It had been a relief, when Optimus had initially assured him that he would not be expected to fight with them against the Decepticons. Now an honorary Autobot in title, Skyfire was under their protection, and there had already been plenty of ‘Bots who’d expressed their disapproval. While Optimus, and the servoful of high command mech’s he’d met so far, were more than accepting of his decision. The majority of Autobots held strong ‘Us Vs. Them’ mentalities.
“A Scientist? Huh…” Powerglide’s optics narrowed, flickering across the largest mech with an equally appraising and confused gleam. Skyfire’s plating flares, wings giving a small flicker downwards, self-consciousness rising as he holds his EM field tighter. It was perhaps his least favourite pattern amongst the Autobots. Where the Decepticons had readily accepted Skyfire’s proclamation and moved on with the introduction as if the information hardly mattered, it had stumped so many mechs among the Autobots. A shuttle? As large and powerful as him, is a scientist? That concept, alongside his refusal to actively fight Decepticons, was difficult for many to accept. Powerglide, the first flightframe he’d met amongst the Autobots, appeared to be following a similar thought.
Skyfire reset his vocalizer with a soft click, reaching out his servo to the minibot, wings flaring in a cautious greeting. “It’s… nice to meet you.” While he felt overly aware of being examined and judged by this mech, a rippling sensation of instinctive coding was worming through his processor, clenching at his spark. He needed to get on good terms with Powerglide, desperately. That same part of himself that had begun to itch the moment that he’d been left smoking in the snow by Starscream, in that same cycle where he’d found himself housed in by an army of grounders. He needed a fleetmate. Skyfire’s EM field reaches out unintentionally, his coding calling to connect to the other flightframe.
“Likewise.” Powerglide’s servo was so small compared to his own, the shake they shared was polite and short, servos separating in nanokliks. With their plating physically touching, he knows his eagerness must have been glaringly obvious, the direct press of each other's EM field inevitable. The maroon jet’s field felt withdrawn. There was curiosity, but it was accompanied by uncertainty, suspicion, hesitance. He was not nearly so eager to meet Skyfire. The shuttle was struck with the thought that Powerglide was not in desperate need of a fleetmate, not like he is.
Was there an Autobot fleet? More than one? Was Powerglide a Winglord? Is that why Optimus is introducing them? Skyfire did his best to keep his EM field closer so as to not project to the entire loading bay just how antsy his coding was beginning to make him feel. He keeps a soft smile on his features, dipping his wings in a polite manner. It’s his vocalizer that catches again, his own uncertainty sinking the interaction into awkwardness. What does he say?
For better or worse, before Skyfire could spill his questions, and before Optimus could rejoin the conversation to try guiding it- Skyfire could see the way the Prime had begun to lean, could feel the subtle anticipation in the small brush with his EM field- Powerglide made the decision for them.
“Look, I’ve been on the wing for the past couple cycles. I’m gonna head to the rec room and catch up with the others.” The maroon mech gave a gesture to the hallway, already turning to step away, casting a small nod in the Prime’s direction as he went. “I’ll see you round.” A short wing flicked sideways as the jet departed, leaving Skyfire with the distinct feeling of being dismissed, even if the gesture wasn’t inherently disrespectful.
Dimming his optics, Skyfire released a vent that he’d been holding too long. “I’ll… see you round…” Disappointment bubbled uncomfortably in his spark, servos folding together above his cockpit. Had he slagged this introduction?
He didn’t flinch when soft pressure met his plating, but his field constricted tighter around himself. Optimus had gently laid his servo on the plating below his shoulder, probably aiming for the shoulder out of habit, but not quite being able to manage with the height difference between them. Skyfire made an effort to meet the Prime’s gaze, the field pressed softly against his own carried depths of understanding and reassurance, there was disappointment there- but it didn’t feel directed towards him.
“He’ll warm to you- he’s just… had a lot of altercations with Starscream.” His spark felt like it might wilt like an organic flower, but he tried his best to not let it feel readable through his field. “We all have.” Several million years of history, of skirmishes and sabotage, and he’d missed it all. Tucked deep in his spark, he felt an icy hollowness, pain that had yet to fade still sharp. Tenderly he tried to pull his attention away from where the deep sense of… absence was felt most strongly, squaring his shoulders and letting out a slow purposeful vent.
“It’s a fact I have to get used to.” Skyfire agreed with a heavy glossa, grateful that Optimus wouldn’t be able to read the way his wings had folded downwards, though the thought did little for the genuine empathy that glowed in the Prime’s gaze.