A Prime Christmas

Optimus gazed down at the small human that was nestled and comfortably asleep in her bed atop his ‘bedside’ table.  Never before had he felt so close to, or protective of someone.  It was a completely alien feeling, much like the young organic who had so captivated him.  Optimus frowned as the word whizzed through his processor.  Alien.  He said it quietly so as not to wake the little one.  He decided he didn’t like the word; not with all its negative connotations. 

Alien - unfamiliar and disturbing or distasteful. 

The little organic whom he had become so well acquainted with was certainly not distasteful or disturbing.  Yes, she was an unfamiliar phenomenon to Optimus, who was used to life forms as big as or a similar size to himself.  He was accustomed to the hard metal of his comrades and of home, Cybertron.  Coming to Earth had shocked his processors a little, everything was so tiny!  And so soft…never before had he encountered anything as soft as the natives of this earth.  He studied the little organic carefully, taking time to absorb her strange but beautiful features. 

Her hair was jet black, like the wings of the raven bird, something the humans often liked to put in their poetical literature.  Her skin was the colour of ivory, always faintly flushed colour with the blood running in her tiny veins.  Her petite frame of only five feet was curled in the duvet, and Optimus smiled at the motion of her chest rising and falling as she breathed quietly and steadily.  Little blemishes that the humans called freckles littered her skin, her arms, her legs and her cheeks.  He remembered the conversation that he had had with her about her creator, or parent as the humans referred to them.  He saw clear as day in his processor the inky black-blue bruises that were scattered across her back, ranging in size.  He remembered the tiny volume of liquid that had leaked from her eyes when she told him about her father.  The way he hit her, grabbed her hair and threw her against the kitchen worktops.  The way he smashed his used beer bottles over her head whilst using the foulest language he could think of.  She was such a good and pure being, Optimus sensed an inherent goodness in her soul.  In the eight short months that she had been with Optimus and his fellow Autobots, the little human had brought them all together in a way that they had never been together before.  The noble Prime had witnessed his little scout smile, really smile for the first time.  His cynical medic’s Spark had softened as the human had worked her magic on him.  The previously untouchable Arcee had allowed this tiny human inside her private thoughts, the only other person that Arcee had exposed herself so vulnerably to was her old partner, Cliffjumper.  Then there was Bulkhead, the tough ex-Wrecker who answered to no one…except maybe this tiny human.  Optimus had watched in quiet fascination as the human had weaved her magic over all five Autobots; but she mostly affected Optimus himself.  The great Prime found himself drawn toward the little creature; he had this overwhelming desire to protect and look after her, and doomed was anyone who dared to compromise her safety.  His feelings for her were definitely not romantic, that much he knew for certain.  Nor were they the feelings a father would have for his daughter.  Optimus only knew that he had grown to love the little one in the eight months that he had known her and that he would protect her at all costs. 

Optimus was drawn from his thoughts at the sound of the little organic stirring softly in her bed.  She yawned lightly, stretched and then turned over without waking.  Optimus allowed himself to smile at her.  That was another thing he loved about the young femme (or female as the humans preferred), he could display his emotions, thoughts and feelings perfectly around her.  He was so used to keeping his emotions in check and acting as a pillar for his soldiers; he had forgotten what it was like to just talk.  Not talk about the next Decepticon assault, or how to get Bulkhead out of the latest mess.  No, Optimus just liked to talk.  He liked to learn about the human culture and what life was like on earth for a human such as his.  In turn, he told her about the Golden Age on Cybertron, when the castes lived in peace and harmony with each other, and disagreements were solved with intelligent, reasoned discussion.  He told her how Megatron had warped into the tyrannical war lord that he knew today, and the sadness he had felt in his Spark when he had set his optics on Cybertron for the last time.  He remembered how she had reached out her tiny little hand and touched him hesitantly on his own hand.  He recalled picking up her tiny little body in his fingers, he who had extinguished Decepticons and ripped up thirty foot trees by their roots.  He, who had the power to demolish a small building, he who held a tiny life in the palm of his hand.  A life so fragile, a life that could be so easily injured if he grasped her too tightly.  He remembered the feeling of her soft skin against his own smooth metal, marvelling at her warmth and softness.  The giant ran his finger gently over her cheek, and she smiled in her sleep. 

Optimus stood and stretched quietly, clicking his stiff joints.  Countless millennia of battling and transforming had left them clunky and rigid; they were not what they had once been.  Optimus made his way to Ratchet’s quarters, pondering the upcoming human holiday.  The little one had mentioned very little of what Christmas was about to him, saying it was a difficult time of year for her because of the way her father physically abused her.  Optimus had gleaned enough information off of the Internet to acquire a tree, the appropriate decorations and the food.  Now all he needed was a present, and the perfect idea had just struck his processor.  He knocked on the steel doors of Ratchet’s quarters.  Ratchet grunted and Optimus took that as his cue to enter. 

‘Optimus!  What can I do for you at this hour?  I thought you would be in your recharge cycle.’  Optimus sat down on Ratchet’s berth, which was a little on the small side, Optimus could pretty much rest his chin on his knees.  It was also two o’clock in the morning, but the Autobots were nocturnal beings. 

‘I have come to ask a favour old friend; it is something that I require your steady hand for.’  At these words, Optimus could tell that he had piqued Ratchet’s interest. 

‘Of course Optimus, let me hear it.’  Optimus explained his plan to Ratchet, who smiled when he finished.  ‘Let’s go to the med-bay, the berth there is erh…more suitable for someone of your stature.’  Optimus smiled at Ratchet’s diplomatic manner and followed his old friend to the med bay.  ‘Lay down there whilst I get my tools.’  Optimus did as he was bid and laid down on the berth, allowing his chest compartments to come up and reveal the Matrix of Leadership, which he carefully took out in order to expose his Spark chamber.  Ratchet came over with his craft kit and appraised his leader with a practiced optic.  ‘How do you want to do this Optimus?’  Optimus smiled to himself and look up in order to see Ratchet’s face.

‘Please forgive my forwardness Ratchet, but perhaps it would be best to sit on my abdominal area; then you will be able to acquire the material you need.’  Ratchet merely nodded and adjusted himself so that he was straddling the Autobot leader.  He lit his frame welder and began the work.  The metal surrounding a Spark chamber was extremely sensitive, and Optimus experienced a little discomfort and pain whilst Ratchet worked, but he knew the look on the little organic’s face in the morning would make the whole procedure worth it.  Ratchet worked solidly for two hours, cutting finely, and right down to the thinnest layer of metal that surrounded Optimus’s Spark chamber.  Back on Cybertron, Ratchet was famous for his craftsmanship; and a huge number sought his services.  Then came the most finicky bit of the process; extracting a tiny amount of Optimus’s Spark itself.  No bigger than a stud earring was to a human, Ratchet had to use his telescopic vision to the best of its ability, but he managed to get the tiny piece of glowing plasma out.  He then handed the material to Optimus, who stood and replaced the Matrix and lowered his chest pieces. 

Sky POV

When I woke up, I couldn’t see Optimus anywhere.  I practically jumped out of my skin when I saw Arcee grinning at me sheepishly, looming over me. 

‘Optimus is in the main room; he wants me to bring you to him.’  She didn’t wait for me to answer but bundled me gently into her arms and made her way to the main room.  I was NOT prepared for the sight that met my eyes.  The whole room was adorned with Christmas decorations, wreaths, tinsel and mistletoe.  A huge tree dominated the centre of the room, and that too was littered with tiny sparkling ornaments.  Best of all, was Optimus, stood at the other end of the room wearing a Santa hat on his helm spike.  He held out his hand and I was gently transferred into them.  In his palm was a tiny little box, about the size of a ring box.  He pushed it toward me with one finger. 

‘Merry Christmas little one.’  I looked up at him in confusion, but opened the box.  I gasped when I saw what was inside.  It was a beautiful delicate, silver ring that glittered different colours when it caught the light.  The focal point was an exquisitely detailed Autobot insignia, in which was nestled something which gave off a soft blue glow.  ‘That ring will protect you little one.  It is made from the metal which surrounds my Spark chamber, filled with a tiny bit of my Spark itself.’

I couldn’t stop the tears from rolling down my face.

‘Oh Optimus, I love it.  Thank you SO much.’  He hugged me to his face tenderly and kissed me on my forehead. 

‘Merry Christmas Sky, now my Spark can always be with you.’