-XXVI-

To be honest, I'm not clear about much of what happened for the next several days. I know the medics greeted Prime like a savior. (I saw his spark shrink at first in the face of their blind faith, but he held onto us and rallied.) I know we were all bustled into a long room lined with berths on which lay the first forty or fifty femmlings, quivering in a half-sleep through withdrawal. I know Prime's optics went dim when he saw them. I know I nodded when he turned to me. So we began.

There was always a spark in front of me: some wisp of tattered red or green or blue or white. They blurred together. But I tried to see them clearly. I remember cubes of energon thrust into my trembling hand (and later, when I could no longer hold them, someone would press them against my lips and pour). I drank thirstily, burning through the fuel. But I kept my optics open.

I gripped Prime's upraised arm with my right hand, and filled the cable running from my wrist to his with what I saw inside the sparks that swam before my whiteout optics. Prime never once questioned me. He never doubted. He just channeled everything I gave him through the matrix in his outstretched hands, and sent his own love with it. White light flowed out from the matrix in a steady, never-ebbing stream of healing restoration straight from Primacron.

Elita stayed close by; and with her key she charged me up whenever I began to flag. I'm sure she did the same for Prime – sometimes I'd catch a flash of renewed strength from his spark at my side. I never did see Megatron. But he was there. He was our rock; our fortress; our unstoppable rearguard, supporting whichever of us was weakest with his never-flagging strength. He pushed us forward: urging, cajoling, berating. He and Elita both rejoiced each time a femmling smiled and drew in a full breath with no more grieving.

There were, I think, seven last femmes I wasn't certain we could save – in them, the damage was too great for me to work out what was missing. I looked into their hollowed optics, and felt nothing. I was emptied out: past empathy, past feeling. But I knew their eyes would haunt me for the rest of my life if I couldn't help them. I felt Prime sagging too beside me, his vents ragged and his engine rough. That's when Elita stepped in. She linked up with us, combining insights she gained through her sense of the femmes' energy fields with what I saw in their sparks and Prime knew through his matrix. With Elita's help, we were able to reconstruct even the most bleached-out sparks. All one hundred and ninety-seven femmes were healed. But all I can remember of the process is a blur.

They tell me we were there for fourteen days. They tell me I did not recharge once through the whole endeavor. I suspect the other medics – older bots who did not need to recharge so often – transferred their own energy to my core when I was too engrossed in someone else's spark to notice. I need to remember to thank them, because I suffered no ill effects from the strain.

I don't remember the transition from online to unconscious. But I do remember how I felt when I woke up. Megatron's familiar blocky body hummed warmly against my back, his arm wrapped tight around my middle. Prime's hand rested lightly against my cheek. And Elita was tucked in between him and me, her head under my chin.

I could have stayed like that for years.

My name is Rainbowsparkles, I thought in contentment. I am a child of Cybertron, daughter of Thundercracker and Sunstreaker. I read sparks. I belong to my friends and to my family. They belong to me. This is home.

I smiled then, sure the world was going to be perfect from now on. But now I wonder if that was the moment Megatron decided that he had to leave me.

I'm running short on time, but there are a few more things I should add before his ship takes off. You know, for science. So let's see how well I can condense the six months after we restored the wounded femmes.

I did give Blot that kiss I'd promised him. He greeted me with downcast eyes, and one arm holding out a flower he had made of pressed and folded metal scraps. It looked like he had taken weeks to perfect it. I put it into my subspace, and plan to carry it with me always.

I stopped in at The Hub to thank Spangle for everything she'd taught me (and to say hi to Roadbuster and Tankor, who were training several of the newborn femmlings). Spangle threw me a too-knowing grin and asked how I was getting along with Megatron lately. I told her it was none of her business. Her smile broadened. She slapped my back and told me I was getting the hang of being a femme.

I found Firestar in Simfur, training one of the last femmlings we'd helped to repair – the ones we weren't sure we could save. Her name was Nebula: blue spark, water alt-mode, affinity with metal. She greeted me like I was god. It made me nervous. Firestar's brusque nod was pure relief compared to such mute adulation. She greeted me without fanfare, like we were equals. I think that meant more to me than all of the other things she'd ever shown me. I thanked her for mentoring me and my sisters. She cocked her head, quirked her mouth in an almost-grin, and said she was starting to see the rewards of her labors.

I made my peace with Andromeda; but I don't think we'll ever be bosom-buddies. I asked Windchaser to teach me a few of her simpler flying tricks. I hung around with Arclight and Sunspot a lot. They are my favorites; but I hope nobody reads this and tells them that.

I spent several months at home, just resting. I drove the dangerous old roads with Sunstreaker, and flew pale skies with Thundercracker.

My makers took me down to the heart of our planet, to the place where, a year and a half ago, I had received my rainbow-colored spark. We stood in silence at the dark heart of the world, and listened to the blood of Primacron pumping so strong and endlessly around us. The great Voice did not speak to me. But I like to think Primacron was pleased.

As we were leaving, I reached out to touch a glowing duct of the same matrix-grade energon that had given life to all us femmes. It flared white as my fingers brushed against it, and I felt a warmth and love surge through me.

"Dad—?" I called. But Thundercracker shushed me. Both of my makers pressed their hands against the glowing pipe. In unison, they smiled.

"Thanks for our daughters," Sunstreaker whispered. "We owe you."

"No," the Voice said to my makers. "We are even."

I have to give him due credit: Megatron hid his intentions from both me and Prime. Deceiving me was easy – I was a clueless newling; and I was keeping my optics on his surface, not his spark. (I figured he'd earned privacy.) I don't know how he kept Prime – or Elita, for that matter – from sensing his true intentions. I'm sure he thinks he's acting for the best.

I disagree.

Prime came to me an hour ago, brandishing this golden disc I'm recording on and giving me a frustrated, arm-waving infodump I wasn't remotely prepared for.

"He's commissioned a long-range shuttle with enough supplies to last several years. He says he wants to travel to the planets that got caught up in our war, and see if he can make amends. He's bringing a whole bunch of stuff he got Wheeljack to invent for him – terraforming, weather tech, biological maximizers, anything you can think of and probably more. No wonder Wheeljack never let the secret slip; I'll bet this was like Christmas to him."

"What's Christmas?" I asked.

"Never mind. I'm just irritated with the big lump for not telling me he's leaving. I'll miss him. Badly. But Spark, Megatron's not meaning to take you with him. We both know why; we both know what he thinks he's doing. But I thought you'd earned the right to make your own decision about that."

He told me he'd delay the departure for a few hours at least, and ordered me to fill this disc with my life story for the Archives. "Because," he said, "I've learned not to depend on people coming back." I try to ignore that implication – it just gets in the way of my resolve. I know what I want. So I've got to hurry.

I'd barely finished writing about healing the femmes' sparks, when Skywarp appeared in a flash of purple. He said nothing, just held out one of those blasted in-hand teleporters. (I flinched. It brought back such bad memories!) Skywarp was blunt. "It's got only one destination: home. No matter how far out you go, press this button, and bam, you're back in Tessarus. I had Perceptor double-check the range for me."

I hesitated, unsure if I wanted such a thing.

Skywarp crossed his black arms and looked at me with unaccustomed candor. "I know everyone wants to believe Megatron's reformed and all. But Thundercracker and me – we want you to have an escape. Starscream was our trinemate, and..." He shrugged. "It takes just as much courage to protect yourself as it does to stick with someone who's flawed."

I took the teleporter. Skywarp showed me how to install it. I made sure that my makers' tracker was still working. I thanked Skywarp. He waved me farewell. Then in a quick series of eye-bleed purple "VOP" flashes, he disappeared to be replaced by Sunstreaker and Thundercracker, both venting harshly like they'd just come through a hard-fought battle.

I fell back as the grief of parting hit me like a wrecking ball.

Sunstreaker dropped a metal locker at my feet. "I brought your things from home. There wasn't much. But just in case you need it..."

I just stood there, my mouth flapping useless.

Thundercracker thrust out the datapad he'd been incensed over just a few short months ago – the one I'd saved Megatron's poems on. "Take it," he said. "To help you sleep." And then his vocalizer jammed.

I hugged them. I did not know what to say. I settled for. "I love you both. Forever."

"Go," they said. "You'll miss the takeoff."

I didn't even bother to subspace the locker and the datapad. I simply grabbed one in each hand, ran out the door, and rocketed at top speed to the shuttle-dock Prime had marked with a red X on my map.

The launch-bay was huge, full of flying welding-sparks, and totally intimidating. It got worse when, as one, all of the other bots in the long hangar dropped their work, transformed, and drove away in a roar that echoed back long after they'd disappeared. Megatron closed his comm-link. He walked over to to the foot of the grid-steel staircase I stood on. He moved exactly like he had when I'd first seen him: driven by purpose and determination. But this time there was a grimness around his mouth. His crest was furled. "What do you want from me?" he asked.

"I hear you're leaving?" My voice squeaked, reverberating weirdly in the massive space so that I couldn't tell if the wobble I heard was from my insecurity, or just a product of the echoes.

Megatron didn't change his expression. "You're here to ask if you can come along."

"Of course."

He actually stepped back. "No. This will not be a nice tour of friendly skies. Planets have formed, developed intelligent life, and been destroyed all while our war raged over the millennia. Quite a few of them were destroyed by us. It won't be safe. So you can't come." He fidgeted like something itched beneath his armor. "Stop confusing the issue!"

I dropped my things, and took a single step down toward him. "Space, Megatron. Other planets. Civilizations as unlike ours as oil is from steel." I swept my arms out. "I've spent a lot of my life trawling the datanet, trying to catch up on the stuff that everyone but me already knows. I want to see some of the places I have read about. I want to see organic beings. I want to talk to one – someone who won't live for a hundred million years." I held out my forearm and pointing out the silver inlay there. "I want to see the plant-thing that inspired these designs! I want... I want—"

He looked up at me. All my certainty clanged home. I took another step.

"I want you, Megatron. Not an imaginary, idealized companion. Not as the memory of a famous mech I once worked beside. Not even as a friend I might meet up with for some high-grade and a chat sometimes." I slumped, and dropped my gaze from his. "I want you, Megatron."

There. I'd said it. But didn't we both already know how I felt? Hadn't I been dreaming of this since my first week online? I thought of all the times my offline brain had shown me images of Megatron and me among the stars, having adventures.

Megatron said nothing. He only stood there, with his arms crossed and his lips pursed tight. When they came, his words were barely a whisper. (But I heard them.)

"I want you too, Sparky. More than you'll ever understand. But I don't know if I can—"

"You can. You slagging-well can." I clanked down the stairway to him, but stopped while I was still out of his reach, still taller. "The whatever-it-is you always tell me you can't do – I've seen it. I've seen nothing but gentleness from you. And I want it. I've spent my life in service to what other people want. Now it's my turn. I'm going after what I want."

"To use me?" he taunted. "Or let me use you for a berth-warmer?"

"Neither. Or both. We'll decide the particulars together."

I took the last two steps down, and waited to see what he'd decide. Galaxies formed, collided, and faded to nothing while I waited, saying nothing.

At last, he raised his hand, palm-upward. He bent back his wrist to expose the transfer-cord dock, and looked at me. "Anchor me, Spark?"

I threw my arms around him and he folded me inside. I don't know how this thing will end. But we both want it not to. And for today, that's enough.

I am Rainbowsparkles of Cybertron. My makers are Thundercracker (the thoughtful one) and Sunstreaker (the fiery one). They gave me iridescent armor of titanium alloy, and both a ground-based alt and a flight-mode. They taught me the pleasures of sky and speed, and showed me what familial love is. My friends are Optimus Prime and Elita-One of High Command; Spangle of Kaon, who runs the best place to party on the planet; Firestar, my mentor, who showed me the living world and helped me find my place in it; and Blot, whose heart is pure despite what he looks like on the outside. My Mystery Mech is Megatron, and I love him. I'm sending this disc straight to Prime – Sandstorm swears he will carry it for me. Till I return, this is Spark, signing off.

-THE END-

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Credits:

"Isolation," a Transformers Mosaic about Blot which you should definitely Google on Deviantart.

Dedication:

To my daughter, who tries to talk about Rainbowsparkles to clueless strangers; and to everyone who believed in this story about a Mary Sue OC as I struggled over it during the last FIVE YEARS AUGH! (Special thanks to FizzGryphon, whose "They Can't Take Your Sparkle" fanart for this story cheered my soul.)

Author's Note:

Thank you all so much for reading this. It was a long, long struggle to get it all written. I felt guilty whenever someone would compliment me on posting so often - heh. I started posting chapters only when I was sure I was done! (And then of course I realized I needed to completely rewrite the ending. For the third time.)

A quick shout-out to CodeNameAgentC, who left me so many joyful reviews. 3 Thank you so much! I've been aching to respond to your comment about my being "a Megatron/Starscream shipper." PLEASE, if you have time and inclination, read my story "Entr'acte: Ghost Spark," which goes along with my main setup novel for my ficverse, "A Transformation in Five Acts." That's where I dig into how I see those two's relationship. I can sum it up quickly by saying, "It would probably have been more healthy if they HAD banged." Thanks - just had to stick up for myself a bit, and hope you'll give those stories a try if you liked this one.

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Novels and novellas in my ficverse series:

A Transformation in Five Acts

Entr'acte: Ghost Spark

Evolution

Choosing My Name and Other Mistakes

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After this, I've got another novel in the works. So, you know, expect it four years from now... :-(

When the warborn femmes left so long ago, what happened to them? How will Earth respond when Megatron comes waltzing in to say he's sorry? And meet Maeve: an 87-year-old great-grandma, who remembers an encounter with a robot she had back during the invasion of '84...

Again, thanks all of you for reading. I sure love these bots and the stories I write about them!

-Prime out.