A/N: Was there something you wanted more of in TF:TLK? A character you wanted more screentime for, something you wanted explained, or perhaps a scene you were DYING for but it just didn't happen? Please let me know—no guarantees, but I will do my best to fit in suggestions, and even if something doesn't quite fit with the direction I'm taking the rewrite I'm more than happy to write a mini-fic for a desperate soul! Just comment below and I'll do my best to get back to you all!

The impact was going to hurt. Canopy had expected it to—but knowing that it was going to be painful wasn't going to help him in the end. Hefty armor that had seemed crucial for a construction worker such as himself only caused his ship to pick up speed when entering the planet's atmosphere. Any semblance of control he'd had over his escape pod's descent had been ripped away far quicker than he'd anticipated, and the controls had been reduced to strips of metal by the time he'd abandoned the steering wheel, terrified by his ship's unresponsiveness.

He was helpless to do anything but watch as he spiralled out of control toward the planet's surface. Dumb luck managed to keep him away from any section of the planet that would have lead to his deactivation—the poles, or even the expansive oceans that covered the majority of the Prime's chosen planet, but as he descended a sense of despair fell over him. He was headed directly for an area that appeared to be inhabited by the planet's native species, if the metal spires and shelters were of any indication. A crash-landing in the midst of their home would not make a good first impression.

The warning klaxon had been blaring for so long that his audios were beginning to short out. Canopy didn't know how to shut it off. He'd never intended to leave his home planet, even once the war had begun to tear Cybertron apart. His escape pod was as foreign to him as the fast-approaching planet. In a panic, he began to grasp at controls again—to do what, he wasn't quite certain, but he had to try something.

The first set of controls he pawed at blinked at him cheerfully as he slammed at the buttons before beeping once and beginning to smoke. Canopy jerked back in frustration and tried another control, a lever this time. The whole panel came away in his hand.

The escape pod hadn't been meant for a Cybertronian of his bulk, designed for a much smaller and weaker mecha. Canopy was unused to reigning in his strength, and in the confined space of the cabin it was even harder to refrain from destroying crucial mechanisms with every motion. The frantic vibrating of the pod as it fell toward the planet was only making it more difficult. Even as he struggled to find something to save himself the small ship lurched unsteadily, sending Canopy slamming into it's side and crushing another several panels beneath his weight.

Without warning, the shrieking alarms doubled in intensity. Blinking his optics in sudden terror, Canopy glanced up from the controls and lurched in fear when he realized how close he was to impact. He had seconds to collision, if that. In desperation he flung himself toward the center of the escape pod, ignoring the strangled screech of metal as he smashed more controls with the frantic movement.

He curled into himself, allowing his armor to shift around him in the best approximation of a shield he was going to get. There was no other way to protect himself. His armor had been built to withstand blunt force; this was a different story altogether. A ship hitting a planet's surface at near terminal velocity did considerable more damage than a falling beam at a construction site on Cybertron.

He braced himself, and powered down his optics. There was nothing else he could do.

On Lennox's first day working for TRF, two Cybertronians started going at each other in broad daylight, thirty miles away from TRF's home base.

They received the alert barely ten minutes into the work day, and fortunately (or unfortunately, as Lennox saw it in hindsight) Santos' crew was closest. The orders were high priority—two battling Cybertronians had been spotted, far too close to Los Angeles for the government's comfort. Lennox slipped into his TRF gear, loaded onto the truck, and once inside nearly balked at the sheer amount of firepower that had been brought along by his new teammates.

One of the TRF agents must have spotted his surprised expression, because the man grinned when Lennox sat next to him, shouldering his grenade launcher and gesturing at Lennox's standard issue assault rifle.

"We'll have to get you something more heavy-duty after this, Captain Lennox, sir," the man suggested playfully. "You think something that small's gonna do little more than dent those metal monsters?"

Lennox frowned.

"Not if you know where to aim," he replied. "But that's not the point. The Autobot should do most of the work for us, if it's as competent as the rest of it's faction."

He received a few odd looks for the comment. The man with the grenade launcher chuckled humorlessly.

"Sure, man, it'll do some of the work. The Decepticon, too."

Lennox blinked, and was about to ask for clarification, but Commander Santos marched into the troop-carrier a moment later, and Lennox closed his mouth.

The ride to the outskirts of Los Angeles went by far too slowly. Lennox skimmed over the vague mission assignment that was being passed around, struggling to read through the indistinct description of the Autobot. It didn't appear to be anyone he knew—the Cybertronian was, according to the report, primarily black with red highlights. Lennox only knew one Autobot who was mostly black, and that bot had been offlined long ago, betrayed by the one who was supposed to be their savior.

Lennox scowled as the familiar pang of loss ricocheted through his body. Ironhide had been a close friend, kind despite his battle-ready demeanor and surprisingly intelligent when engaged in conversation. His death had been sudden and painful, and Sentinel Prime's treachery hadn't even allowed anyone to mourn the hardened warrior's demise.

Too many good Autobots had been offlined recently. Lennox wanted that to change, and if he could convince TRF of the Autobot's innocence, with any luck, it would happen.

He was pulled out of his distracted thoughts by Santos, who got to his feet and reached for his weapon.

"Almost time, men," their commander said. "Get ready for a fight. The machines are still going at it, we'll have to act fast if we want to keep them away from the residential area. We'll use formation C, am I clear?"

"Sir, yes sir!" Lennox barked automatically with the rest of the unit, the response drilled into him from years of military service. He'd worried that he was so used to being in command that the reflexive addressing of superiors wouldn't occur; fortunately that was not the case.

Santos made his way down the transport, stopping just in front of Lennox.

"Captain," the commander said, nodding, and Lennox nodded back in response. "I want you to stay close to me this time. You can't be my official second until you understand how we operate. I know you've worked with the invaders before, but TRF is different, and your only assignment this mission is to observe. Do you understand?"

Lennox bit the inside of his cheek as subtly as possible and nodded. As their transport began to slow, Santos shouldered his weapon and made his way back to the front.

"You know the drill, men!" he called. "Get in, neutralize the threats, and get out!"

The bay doors opened, and Lennox found himself swept away in the wave of men who poured from the truck. The battle wasn't initially visible, but the vibrating earth and painful sounds indicated that they were close.

Santos took command easily, gesturing for Lennox to join him as he stepped aside to allow his men to take the lead.

"How quickly can your men get into formation?" Lennox asked curiously, falling into step behind Santos and cringing when a horrific screech of metal on metal sounded. The buildings here were just high enough to hide the combatants from sight—a fact that made Lennox nervous, but Santos seemed unbothered.

"Teams Alpha and Gamma will be in place much faster than Beta, but it shouldn't take any more than a few minutes. I'll attach you to Gamma squad once you've learned all of our formations, Captain. It shouldn't take you long. I've heard good things about you, Lennox. I was pleased to hear you'd been assigned to us, no matter how temporary it may turn out to be."

Lennox blinked, surprised by the compliment.

"Thank you, sir," he replied. "I've heard good things about you and your team, as well. I'm glad to be here."

He'd had no choice but to be here, but that wasn't the point.

Santos' radio crackled. "Alpha squad in place."

"Excellent," Santos said, and reached for the radio to speak into it. "Hold position until Gamma is set. Beta, how close are you to the assigned location?"

"Give us two minutes, sir. The terrain was more difficult to navigate than we'd expected. The western staircase was completely ripped apart, so we had to find another way in."

Santos hummed. "Not as bad as it could have been. Beta squad, continue to the third set of coordinates. You'll be our second wave, understand?"

"Yessir."

Lennox tilted his head.

"Second wave?" he asked. Santos waved a hand dismissively.

"You'll see," the commander said. He broke out into an easy jog. Lennox followed, and they entered a building, ascending a small set of stairs. Lennox's eyes widened in shock when they entered what must have previously been some sort of lounge. The building had been abandoned long ago, dusty couches and shattered glass covering the floor. Through the broken windows at the front, Lennox could make out two massive forms colliding against each other on the other side.

"Gamma squad in place. All guns primed and ready to fire. Do we have permission to continue, sir?"

"Permission granted. Alpha team, Gamma team—you are cleared for firing. The moment you see an opening, take it."

Lennox stood in front of the window and watched as the two Cybertronians duked it out, transfixed by the intense hand-to-hand combat skills both opponents displayed. The Autobot was holding his own, but he was smaller than the brightly-colored Decepticon. Lennox was fascinated by the living machines—even when he had worked side by side with the Autobots he had rarely witnessed their training sessions, and during combat he had been too occupied with his own opponents to watch the Autobots fight. Now, for once, he has a clear view of the battle, and it was ten times more interesting when Lennox wasn't worried about getting stepped on.

The Autobot was sturdy, despite having less mass than the Decepticon. He was slower, but his hits seemed to pack a punch—a much different fighting style than the Decepticon, who wielded a sword and struck in quick, glancing blows. Every time they collided, sparks erupted into the air.

The Decepticon fell back suddenly, optics scanning his opponent as if looking for an opening in the Autobot's defense. Unfortunately for the Decepticon, in doing so he unknowingly left his back wide open, and TRF struck hard, without hesitation. The Decepticon bellowed in surprise and pain as Alpha and Gamma squad caught him in a vicious crossfire of rockets and heavy caliber bullets.

"Tell your men to aim for the gaps in armor at his shoulders and hips," Lennox commented to Santos, watching from a safe distance away. "It won't kill him, but if you can manage to get rid of a limb it'll leave an unarmored access point to his insides."

Santos relayed the information to his men, and Lennox nodded in approval as the Decepticon howled in pain again, spitting out what had to be some sort of curse in it's native language. The Autobot scrambled back as the explosive firepower increased, pinning the Decepticon in place.

Lennox hated to admit it, but he was impressed with the ease the TRF took down the Decepticon. It had taken him and his own men ages to figure out the best ways to take down the Autobot's enemies, and that was even with advice from mecha such as Bumblebee, or Sideswipe. TRF was succeeding with sheer force and a simple formation.

(Although, to be fair, Lennox hadn't had as many men or resources as Santos did.)

The Con crumpled in record time, and someone got in a lucky shot as a grenade punctured through a weak spot in the Cybertronian's armor. Green energon splattered, and the Decepticon let out one final screech of pain before it stilled, and it's optics dulled. The Autobot watched it go down passively, optics narrowed.

"Nice job, men," Santos said. Lennox nodded and turned, moving for the stairs—but Santos didn't follow him.

"Commander?" he said slowly. Behind them, the Autobot was peering around curiously, glancing at the TRF agents—not fearfully, but warily, at least. Lennox wondered what TRF was planning on doing to convince it to return to base with them.

Then, Santos spoke again.

"Take out the other one."

A hail of weaponry descended from behind the Autobot—Beta squad had finally gotten into position, just in time to get the drop on the unfortunate Cybertronian. It wailed in surprise, whirling and lifting a gun, but before it could fire Alpha and Gamma squad joined in, trapping the Autobot between three lines of fire.

Lennox's jaw dropped.

"What are you doing!" he shouted. "That's an Autobot! Friendly, hold your fire!"

Santos didn't even look at him. Lennox let his assault rifle fall from his hands, nearly sprinting the distance to his new commander and grabbing the man's arm.

"Call your men off! That thing is not our enemy, Santos—Santos!" In desperation, he reached for his own radio, wincing and nearly fumbling when the Autobot let out a low cry of pain.

"All units, stand down immediately!" he shouted into the radio. "Stand down, hold your fire—!"

The fist that slammed into his face sent him reeling backwards, and his radio dropped into the dust, delicate components shattering on impact. Santos suddenly towered above him, and there was something aggressive and terrible in his expression. Lennox tensed.

"Continue fire. Take the invader down," Santos said coldly. "Captain Lennox's advice is to be ignored."

The Autobot screamed, and it's voicebox glitched out, spitting static into the air. Lennox gritted his teeth.

"You're killing it," he hissed. Santos nodded.

"Of course we are," he said. "They're alien invaders, Lennox. The so-called factions don't matter on our planet. They destroy homes, families—entire cities. Chicago is gone, Captain."

"The Autobots had nothing to do with that!" Lennox growled. "They defended us, millions more would have died if they hadn't—!"

"I don't care," Santos said bluntly. "I don't care, and neither do my men. We have jobs to do, Captain, and if you can't obey my orders I'll see you transferred out faster than you can blink."

An explosion shook the ground, and Santos' radio crackled to life.

"The Autobot is down, sir. It might not be dead yet, we can't see it's optics from here."

"Alpha squad, get down there and check," Santos ordered. "Careful. It wouldn't be the first time one of 'em's pretended to be offline."

He continued to relay instructions to the men, but Lennox didn't hear them—all Lennox could hear was the Autobot's pained cry as TRF opened fire, the heavy crash as it hit the ground, wailing in betrayal and fear—

Lennox was running, then, racing for the ground floor. Santos' shout went ignored. He reached the earth at a full sprint and bolted for the courtyard the fight had commenced in, swinging wide around the corner to avoid the Decepticon's smoking body. Someone from Alpha squad shouted at him as he raced past, but they went ignored, too.

The Autobot wasn't dead. It's vents were quivering, struggling to keep it from overheating, but it was fighting a losing battle—as Lennox approached, the heat rising from the metallic form made him flinch away. It lifted it's head slightly, optics wide, and Lennox clenched his fists helplessly when he saw the tons of energon draining from the dozens of punctures visible in it's frame.

He took another step forward, braving the blistering heat. The Autobot flinched back. It was terrified. Lennox let out a shuddering breath, lifting his hands to show he was unarmed.

"I'm sorry," Lennox whispered. The Autobot stilled completely at his words, and tiny mechanisms in it's eyes shifted as it turned its entire attention to him. The weight of the massive being's awareness was enormous, even as it was moments from death.

Lennox gritted his teeth. "I'm sorry," he gasped out again. "This wasn't supposed to happen. I'm sorry. This… this wasn't what Prime wanted."

The apologies didn't make Lennox feel any better. Apologies couldn't save this Autobot. Apologies couldn't bring back a dead planet, or give an alien race of sentient robots a home. At the very least, the Autobot shifted at the mention of his Prime, hissing out a jumble of syllables so garbled that Lennox couldn't tell if it had spoken in English or Cybertronian.

"I didn't know they would—" Lennox began haltingly. "I didn't know… I would have…"

He trailed off shaking his head, and suddenly realized that he wasn't sure what he had planned to accomplish by speaking to the bot. There was nothing he could do to help. Without warning all he wanted to do was turn around and run again, run away from TRF, away from the Autobots—but to do so felt like a betrayal to Prime's memory. One of Optimus' loyal soldiers lay dying at the hands of the humans. It was the least Lennox could do to stay with him, to stop TRF from doing any more damage than they already had.

"I'm sorry," he said hoarsely. He couldn't stop apologizing. The Autobot watched him silently, save for the clicking and resetting of displaced gears and parts that would never be repaired. It had to be in excruciating pain, but it was still, and looked at him. Lennox could only stare back at it, face contorted in his helplessness.

A screech of moving metal caused Lennox to flinch. He'd been so focused on the Autobot's face that he hadn't thought to watch the rest of it's battered body—a massive arm was slowly lifted, reaching toward him and spraying sparks as it moved. Lennox held completely still as fingers the size of his entire arm quested closer. Someone in Alpha squad shouted in alarm as they approached, but neither Lennox nor the Autobot looked at them.

The fingers tapped his chest gently, and then shifted up, resting on the top of his head. So lightly that Lennox could barely feel it, as if the Autobot was taking extreme care not to harm him, it patted him in a gesture that appeared to be… comforting.

Which didn't make sense. The Autobot was bleeding out. If anything, he was the one who need reassurance, not Lennox—but the touch, as unexpected as it was, succeeded in calming Lennox down. His eyes widened as the Autobot's optics flickered, and it's frame shuddered.

"t's... 'lright," the Autobot hissed out, so quietly that Lennox had to lean closer to understand. "Alr%*&&(#ight." It's words were interspersed with static and white noise, but it continued to speak determinedly. "Not yourrrr##%#$^^ fau#lt. Not—" It spat energon from its intake. A dry noise that Lennox would have called a cough if the bot had been human erupted from its vocalizer. "Where—where, sss%#*Prim()e?"

"He's… he's safe," Lennox said. "Optimus is safe. I promise."

The Autobot smiled weakly, and Lennox's heart clenched.

"N::ot your fault," the Autobot said again, clearer than anything else he'd attempted to say. "Prime… safe]]…"

It's optics flickered again, once, twice. It jerked it's hand away to rest it on the ground, and then, with a whine of failing machinery, it stopped moving.

Offline.

Lennox was a soldier. He'd seen men die in battle before. He'd seen bots die, too, some in much more horrendous ways than this. He'd learned how to disassociate himself very quickly once he'd reached a position of higher rank, grieving for his men as they were lost but managing himself so that their deaths didn't hang over him.

Deaths hurt; they always did. But for some reason… this one hurt more than most others had.

He stepped, back, bowing his head respectfully as Alpha squad filed closer, aiming their weapons at the Autobot's destroyed frame. Lennox had to fight to keep his sudden surge of anger contained.

"He's already dead. Don't waste your ammo," he growled at them, and several of them men drew back, taken by surprise at Lennox's furious tone.

"Captain Lennox!"

Speaking of furious tones.

Santos did not sound happy, but Lennox couldn't bring himself to care.

"Lennox, are you trying to get yourself court-martialed? You broke formation! My men could have been placed in unnecessary danger because you felt sympathy for a target—an alien invader, at that—!"

Lennox whirled on his commander, face twisted in a snarl.

"He was innocent!" he raged without hesitation. "That Autobot hadn't done anything wrong, wasn't going to do anything wrong, and you shot him because he looked dangerous. That's not protection, Santos, it's murder! They just want a home! The Decepticons are the ones tearing up our cities. I'll arm myself against them without hesitation, but that was unnecessary!"

Santos glowered at him, signalling for his men to begin to pack up even as he strode toward Lennox. Lennox froze, tensing in anticipation of another blow, but instead of throwing a punch Santos grabbed Lennox by the shoulder and leaned in.

"Do you know why I signed up to join TRF?" Santos hissed, right by Lennox's ear. "We lived in Brazil, me, my wife, and our two children. A son and a daughter. Twelve years old, and seven years old. Happiest time of my life—right up until those Autobots came tearing through the jungle, exchanging blows with their faction counterparts and not caring if they crushed a couple of homes in the process." Lennox swallowed, trying to pull away from Santos' grip, but Santos pulled Lennox closer. "They killed my family. I don't care if they're fighting a war. This is our planet. If they wanted a place to fight, they could have gone to Mars. They come here, they're invaders. Regardless of faction, or how helpful they are. You have a wife and daughter, don't you? How'd you feel if one of those Autobots you've worked with suddenly turned around and crushed them beneath those giant feet?"

Lennox's stomach dropped at the very suggestion, even though he knew it wouldn't ever happen. Ironhide had been the only transformer to meet his family, and the big mech had been so concerned with the baby's well being during the encounter that he'd refused to transform while she was around out of fear of crushing the newborn child. The weapons specialist had been fascinated by Lennox's daughter despite his worries, and had spent most of their time together marvelling at her tiny fingers and toes.

It was one of Lennox's favorite memories of the large Autobot, but as enlightening as the experience had been, he understood Santos' logic.

"Santos, they aren't trying to come to earth, they just—" he tried, but Santos cut him off.

"That's Commander Santos to you, Captain," he said stiffly. "You're on thin ice, soldier. I will overlook your actions today for the sole reason that your advice and experience cut our mission completion time in half. Do anything like this again, and I'll report you to high command. I don't care what you think of the aliens, Captain, but while you're on my team, you'll obey my orders and shoot what you're ordered to shoot. Is that clear?"

The chain of command had been reinforced. Lennox snapped to attention automatically.

"Yes, sir," he barked out. Santos continued to glare at him for a long moment before whirling on his heel and beginning to march away.

"Don't let this happen again," he tossed back over his shoulder. "Let's move. The men are waiting on you."

Lennox slumped the moment Santos was out of his direct sight, shoulders sagging.

His eyes stung. He ignored them and turned away from the Autobot's corpse.

It wasn't right, but he was helpless to do anything else.

Cade found that running from the government was much easier to do when you had an alien ship at your disposal.

Well, assuming Drift was driving. When Crosshairs drove, things tended to get… messy. The very first time the green Autobot had taken the 'wheel', so to speak, he'd barely been in the pilot's seat for ten minutes before the samurai had stalked into the cockpit and resorted to a forceful removal of the cackling pirate. Crosshairs had complained that his reckless driving hadn't hurt anyone, but Hound had been moments from purging (who would have guessed that the toughest of them all had the weakest stomach?), and Bumblebee could barely keep his balance in the wildly bucking vehicle.

Crosshairs had since been exiled from the ship's cockpit, a fact that he was very vocal about protesting.

Time seemed suspended while they were up in the air. From the confines of Lockdown's old ship it was difficult for Cade to tell what time of day it was. His sleeping patterns had been irregular far before his encounter with Optimus Prime, and their travelling only made things worse. It was difficult to work on finding a new location for them to call home from satellite imagery, too, and Cade hated sending bots off to investigate different places even though it was necessary. TRF was getting bolder and bolder with every strike, and Cade had zero intention of greeting Optimus with news of a fallen comrade once the Prime returned.

Grimlock was… pretty terrifying, if Cade was being perfectly honest with himself. The dinobot kept mostly to himself, with only Slug the alien triceratops as a companion. The rest of the Dinobots had disappeared after the battle against Lockdown—whether they had been killed in the thick fighting, or were simply unwilling to leave their sanctuary in the mountains, Cade wasn't sure. Both Dinobots were rarely seen outside their beast form, and on occasion Cade forgot they had a bipedal mode at all. He asked Drift about it only once. The samurai had been attempting to meditate at the time, and his optics had brightened in annoyance before his expression smoothed out.

"You ask me why they prefer to walk the Earth as beasts, instead of mechs?" he asked, and Cade nodded.

"Yeah," Cade answered. "It just seems like it'd be so much more convenient for them to be able to talk to you guys like normal, y'know? And they'd take up less space that way, too."

Drift looked at him intently.

"Grimlock and his people were left on this planet many centuries ago," he said. "While abandoned, there was no need to act as though they were civilized. It was simpler, on that primitive planet, to act as beasts. Easier to keep the natives away, and easier to keep themselves in check. Our arrival does not change their customs. They cannot be who they once were, not anymore."

Cade frowned.

"That sounds kinda sad," he pointed out. "What if they want to go back to the way it was before?"

Drift tilted his head.

"Abandoning your past is not always a bad thing," the samurai muttered, and one metal hand lifted to run absent-mindedly across a scar on his shoulder. "Sometimes, it is the only way to survive."

Cade blinked. "I'm not doing that," he said, with so much force that he surprised even himself. Drift's optics widened, and then he leaned down toward Cade, spreading his arms in a placating gesture.

"You misunderstand me, Cade Yeager," the Autobot said. "I do not mean you should abandon those in your life you've been forced to leave behind."

Cade let out a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding, and thought of Tessa. Even if he couldn't be with her now, he wasn't going to leave her behind. Never.

"No, friend, peace," Drift continued. "I was speaking of my own past, nothing more. Now, if you are satisfied with the answer I have given, I wish to return to my medita—"

"What do you mean, your past?" Cade asked, curious despite Drift's reluctance to continue the conversation. "You abandoned your past? Don't you want to go home?"

Drift paused. "I abandoned my past, that is correct. But I have not abandoned my planet. Do not accuse me of such a thing."

"Sorry," Cade said. "So, uh… what'd you abandon, exactly? Who were you before you went all… samurai-y?"

Drift let out a hot vent of air that washed over Cade forcefully. Being in such close quarters with the Autobots meant that Cade had started to learn their mannerisms, and Drift's mighty ex-vent was a sure sign that the conversation was over.

"That is a conversation for another time," Drift said stiffly, and offlined his optics. "My past is of no concern anymo—"

"You mean ya don't know?" a voice came from the door. Cade scrambled to the side as Crosshairs came bursting through the door. The green mech's metal cape had a nasty habit of flicking out and whapping unsuspecting humans on the head. "Drift, mech, you didn't tell him? Sneaky, sneaky."

Drift onlined a single optic and peered at Crosshairs with an expression that all but screamed danger. Crosshairs, as usual, was oblivious, strolling up and poking at the samurai.

"No worries, I'll tell 'im whatever you won't," Crosshairs purred, shooting a sly wink at Cade. His words had their desired effect—Drift leapt to his pedes, irritation flashing across his face and one hand going to his swords.

"It is not your place to speak of my past!" the samurai hissed, and both Crosshairs and Cade jumped at the startlingly aggressive reaction. Crosshairs, for once, looked just a tad guilty.

"Sorry, sorry," Crosshairs muttered. "Touchy, ain't he?" he said to Cade. "Can't even make a joke nowadays, sheesh."

Drift settled slightly, lowering the hand from his sword hilt. "Apologies," he said, but he didn't sound sorry. "It is not…" he paused for a moment, and then his face fell. "It is… something you should know, Cade Yeager. It is not something I enjoy speaking about."

Crosshairs looked shocked.

"Wait—you're actually gonna tell 'im?" he drawled. "Whoa, didn't expect that."

Drift glared at him, and then looked down at Cade.

"I will tell you this, because you are a friend of the Prime's," he said. "But do not expect explicit details, because you will not have them."

"Aww," Crosshairs pouted. He was ignored.

Drift still hesitated. Cade was about to tell him that it was fine, he didn't need to know, but then Drift spoke again and Cade's mind froze.

"I was once a Decepticon," he admitted. "On Cybertron, I served Lord Me—I served Megatron as one of his most skilled warriors." He rubbed at the scar on his arm again—with a start Cade realized that was where his Decepticon insignia would have been. "I was young, and believed in Megatron's original teachings of fair treatment for all Cybertronians, regardless of their position in the caste system. As such, I was swayed to his side and fought many battles against the Autobots as Deadlock, an officer in the Decepticon army. It is not… a time that I enjoy dwelling upon."

Cade's eyes were wide. "So why did you leave?" he asked. "Why did you join the Autobots?"

"I was shown the error of my ways by a friend who recognized how far Megatron had fallen from his original goal. He taught me the value of freedom, and trained me in the way of the sword." Drift smiled. "I owe much to him."

Cade was almost afraid to ask, but he did anyway.

"What… happened to him? Your friend. Did he survive the war?"

Drift hummed. "He was killed, even as he fought to save thousands from slavery. I have long since made peace with his demise." He lifted his helm. "I will never forget what Wing taught me. I fight with my swords in his name, and took up the Prime's words even as I abandoned Megatron's: Freedom is the right of all sentient beings. I swore to serve Optimus Prime from that day forward."

"Wow, that's much more exciting than my own story," Crosshairs commented. "But not by much."

Drift lifted an optic ridge skeptically.

"You left Cybertron halfway through the war to become a scavenger, then joined the Autobots again when your ship was damaged and you were forced to crashland on Earth," he said bluntly, and Crosshairs' face twisted in shock and surprise. The expression was so out of place on the ordinarily headstrong gunner that Cade couldn't help it—he laughed. That only made Crosshairs flail harder, spluttering as Drift looked on smugly.

"I—Pirate, you fraggin' samurai, I became a pirate," Crosshairs spat out. "That sounds so much cooler than scavenger. Primus, how'd you even know that?"

"A magician never reveals his secrets," Drift replied teasingly, and Crosshairs scowled at him, one hand reaching for his gun.

"Hey, guys, Bee just got back from patrollin' those new coordinates Cade came up with," Hound suddenly said, interrupting the tension through the ship-wide comm system. "He's got some good news. You might wanna get up here."

Crosshairs whirled to leave, muttering about nosy samurai, and Drift followed, scooping Cade up in his hands so the human wouldn't be left behind. Cade was used to such treatment by now and held still as Drift made his way to the cockpit, where Hound was taking his turn to fly. Bumblebee was waiting for them, wriggling with excitement.

"Y'all ready for this?" blared out of his radio, and Bee animatedly slid his way over to a information console, plugging in a set of coordinates. Drift set Cade down on top of the console so he could see what Bee had found.

The coordinates were… pretty close to Chicago, a hotspot for TRF activity, which made Cade nervous. Other than it's close proximity to the destroyed city… the junkyard appeared to have potential. Cade studied it for a long moment before turning to Hound.

"It could be the one," he admitted, and grinned as Bee played thunderous applause, kicking out his pedes in celebration.

"You got it!" Hound said cheerfully. "One sketchy looking junkyard, coming right up!" He grabbed at the controls. Bee folded down into alt-mode, zipping past them no doubt to head to his quarters, and Crosshairs followed, muttering something about high-grade. Cade turned and caught Drift's optics before the samurai could disappear as well.

"Going back to your room before we land, Drift?" Cade asked, motioning for Drift to bring him along. Drift obliged him, picking the human up once again.

"Seeing as my meditation was interrupted and replaced by storytime, I would like to do so before we leave. So, yes," Drift answered. Cade nodded.

"Hey, Drift? Just so you know… I don't care if you used to be a Decepticon. None of the others do, not even Crosshairs, and I think… I think Wing would be proud to see the man—er, the mech you've become."

Drift froze, lurching a bit unsteadily. Cade nearly tumbled from his hands, barely managing to hold onto a finger.

"Cade Yeager," Drift said slowly, raising Cade up to eye level. Cade stared into the samurai's startlingly wide optics. "I thank you. I… do not believe you understand how much your words mean to me."

Cade placed a careful hand on Drift's cheek, fascinated by the way the plating making up his face moved.

"No problem, Drift," he said softly, as sincerely as he could make it. "The Autobots are lucky to have you."

Space was vast. Incredibly so. Optimus had known that long before he decided to leave earth, but even knowing he was setting off on a near impossible task did not prepare him for the loneliness and freezing cold of empty space.

In the end, that was what knocked him into stasis—it wasn't a lack of fuel (he'd brought along plenty of energon), nor was it any sort of malfunction, or a sudden devastating plasma shower.

It was the hopelessness that swept through his body after three long months of searching, to no avail. It was the exhaustion of the mind, not the body—and though he struggled against it, there was nothing he could do against the crushing depression as it settled deep into his frame, freezing his limbs in place and halting his efforts.

He was tired. Optimus had been fighting for eons.

He wanted to rest.

The moment he focused on his fatigue was the moment he lost the will to continue, and though he was ashamed to admit it, he was powerless to fight against it. His processor refused to function, and his jets cut out, spluttering out weakly.

He would die out here, alone, if this continued.

The admission felt like a betrayal. Optimus was Prime. Autobots across the universe were counting on him to put an end to eons of war… but in the back of his mind a dim, selfish section of his processor argued that he'd done his duty for long enough—that he deserved rest, deserved to let someone else take command.

His creator was somewhere out there as well, anticipating his arrival, but Optimus knew he wasn't going to make it.

He'd failed.

He managed to position himself out of the path of any stars or black holes before his optics failed, and spent an indeterminable amount of time floating weightlessly wherever space took him. The chill settled into his frame, and a wave of panic swept over him.

In a final, desperate attempt at salvation, he recorded a message, set it on loop, and began to broadcast it out into empty space.

Darkness took him, then, and he knew no more.

Across a galaxy, she woke to the sound of her finest creation's bewildered voice, light-years away but still audible to her.

She smiled softly.

Optimus Prime was coming home.