[ti]Ep 3[/ti]Off Record [Closed]

[Optimus Prime]

Episode 3 | Week 1 | Day 2

So much had changed, yet everything was the same.

The War wages on, hindered for only a moment, stalled for only the briefest of flecks among the grand scheme of things. The Truce was never going to be everlasting, Optimus held no illusions it would pan out in such a way, but it was so trivial, so useless. It did nothing but hurt his team, cause undue stress, and permitted the Decepticons an opportunity to try to kill them unobstructed. His team... it was a miracle any of them survived the ordeal. Boulders cascading down from the ceiling, crushing forces that could overwhelm even the strongest of individuals, Optimus himself was put under great strain, trying to hold the rocks at bay while instructing rescue to seek others first who may not be so lucky.

Javelin would be safe; she had the table to protect her even if part of it had damaged her leg. It would only be he who would be overwhelmed should his systems struggle too long. They would eventually find her and pull her to safety even if the rest of the ceiling came crushing down. Thankfully such an outcome did not occur, but the long grueling hours of enduring the collapse gave him a lot of time for his processor to churn in retaliation. A deep dark part of him wished to just relent to all the rage that was building up and swear to kindle a violent upheaval in the ranks and a far more aggressive push back that the Decepticons would never expect to occur under his guidance and merciful rule.

But he couldn't let such a thing occur.

He couldn't become that which he fought, or there would be no point to this war at all.

-

Optimus sat down within his quarters, absently looking across what had become of his living space.

With the boost in moral and supplies, they were all permitted to expand the base to an extent. Update and improve some of their Cybertronian tech, try to work on acquiring supplies to aid the Medical Bay, while also fixing up some of the lower rooms. Part of this were some upgrades to Optimus' living arrangement towards the furthest corner of the base. It felt odd to have something unique, something that could be seen as 'better' than his followers. The Prime preferred in some ways having the same room any one of the others could be stuck in, to show he was like them and not befitting of grandiose things simply for who he was... but... it was horribly impractical...

Optimus needed space to plan things, a table to lay documents and maps out without being disturbed. He required a broader system of monitors attached to the terminal that webbed all the way to the Control Room's databases so he could scan over more than what a single array was capable of. He needed space where he could have one on one meetings with others who he had to reprimand and speak to without eavesdroppers able to listen in, corrupting the trust of someone being able to open up and be honest should they have been seeking help. All of this was needed, while not having his actual recharge table and few possessions he labeled valuable exposed to sully the meeting area with personal belongings.

It felt awkward, it felt surreal. It reminded him back when the War was kicking off and it seemed expectant he should be given the 'finest' things due to rank while others had to scrounge at the scraps. He never believed in that, never condoned it, but it was there. Alas, this was valuable in some ways, able to separate work from what chances he did have to try to relax and recuperate. As such, the room was now expanded from what it once was, a sort of modest meeting area with a terminal, desk, and a couple chairs and basic storage, while a door lead back to a small corner of an area to lay his berth. The ceiling and floor looked patchy, the rough surface of the room that had once been there now expanded, a sharp discolored line to frame it out while the same was applied to the ceiling. Up above, there was a ragged warped surface, metal plates bolted down to conceal whatever lay beyond.

Cyan optics glanced over this ceiling damage, thinking back to what had occurred briefly, before his gaze shifted back down to the maps that were scrawled out on his desk, printed upon comparatively thin paper that would be so easy to tear and destroy should he not act with care. As such, dark squared off fingertips delicately traced over it to try to keep it flat, looking over the topographical data and a few markers pinned down to notify additional details and thoughts. Glyphs sketched here or there, trying to plan, trying to consider when the most opportune time would circle around once again.

Whatever the case, Ratchet would undoubtedly be arriving soon, so he found it difficult to truly invest himself into the plan when he knew it would be interrupted at any given moment. Derailed from any train of thought he could start to slide down. He was due for a medical report about things that were going on around the base, a report on any needs, as well as one on the residents themselves so Optimus knew who was injured or shouldn’t be put on a mission from who knows what nonsense they got up to behind his back. Because of this, he found his hand lifting off the table to absently smear down along his faceplate, the map rolling back up part way as the poster paper protested being flat.

It was good Ratchet would be making his way over.

[Ratchet]

Ratchet made his way down the hallway towards the Prime’s personal quarters, two data pads tucked under his arm. One was a general datapad, everyone at the base had one, the other was his own personal one, currently showing reports on the health and activity levels of the Autobots at the base.

After the disaster at Haven, those who had been present when the bombs went off were still being watched in case they had lingering issues. Nothing was serious, but Ratchet was nothing if not thorough, and had his report all ready. Likewise, reports of the current situation with energon reserves (thank Primus they were finally stocked. While not overflowing, they didn’t have to worry about starvation for a while), and general reports of the base itself. All basic, routine reports.

A light knock on the door, the Prime’s voice granting permission to enter, and the door slid aside, allowing Ratchet to enter.

The first thing he noticed was that Optimus was sitting.

That in itself was....odd. Optimus was almost always moving, if not just standing. It was one of the few things about the Prime that quietly irked Ratchet. He secretly believed that Optimus felt that sitting would somehow indicate he wasn’t actually working up to his full potential, and that he should suffer shame for it. While it pleased the old doctor that Optimus, unlike many other Primes, wasn’t sitting back and letting the title carry him, he sometimes seemed to take it too far.

It had been a little bit of a fight just to get him to agree to the chairs and table in the first place. Ratchet had been expecting a fight over that.

He paused in the doorway for the briefest of seconds.

Optimus didn’t look well.

He was fully repaired, and was no longer running on fumes. His optics weren’t pale anymore, his voice no longer full of stress and worry over starvation. Still, there was something sort of off about him.

He stepped inside, clearing his throat, “Ah, here we are, Optimus. The reports you asked for. You can read them in full yourself, but the short versions are that the base is up and running as well as we can hope for, the extensions to the base are almost all complete, and the Autobots are generally in good health, considering what we’ve all been through.”

Approaching the table, Ratchet extended an arm and laid the datapads on the tabletop, turned so Optimus could pick them up and look them over if he wished. He placed a hand on the tabletop, resting his weight on it.

“The table and chairs are a nice change, to be honest. You look like you actually live here instead of just haunting the place when you’re about to drop from exhaustion.”

[Optimus Prime]

Ratchet was not wrong with his assessment.

Should it have been someone else entering the small meeting area and makeshift office, Optimus would have stood and more likely than not completely ignore the chairs as being a thing. This was especially true if said individual was being reprimanded, not needing them to get too comfortable when he was about to assign them to house arrest or extra chores to help make the base what it was. That is, he would continue to stand unless the Autobot was in distress and it was private council to diffuse issues rather than retaliation. Whenever one of his own where feeling overwhelmed, that is when he had to permit himself to shed some of the mantle and play a bit more 'human'. Allow them to sit and rest while sharing what fears or concerns plague them.

Optimus was no therapist, but he could do what he could as Prime and leader.

Looking up, he peered at Ratchet while he paused in the doorway, trying to read what was on his mind, figuring perhaps he was simply taking in some of the changes as things were moved after the core-out was completed. However, his gaze didn’t appear to be flicking across the room and its patchwork finishes, instead looking down at him which almost made Optimus feel awkward for sitting as he was, clashing and making it feel that much more surreal to him despite it being likely exactly what Ratchet wanted. This momentary lull was fleeting however, and soon his medic was crossing the room to lay the documentation upon his desk.

Reaching forward, squared off fingertips pulled the datapads off the counter, drawing them up to be within view. One of the boons of his job back on Cybertron, back before the war, before he carried the title of Prime, was the fact he could read at a rather swift pace to catalog data into its appropriate field. A flick of blue optics, a scan as his gaze shifted down the glyphs in a smooth even movement...

Optimus basically took in everything he needed at a skim, maneuvering to the second datapad with an equally quick scan before he placed it back down to look upon Ratchet once more. While it could look flippant, as if they were not worth a second glance to TRULY absorb the information, Optimus thoroughly read what was displayed and saw what he needed to know. He made ample mental notes on the condition of the base and those who called it home. Well... those who called Omega home plus one outlier... All of this was further secured in his processor as Ratchet gave an equally brief rundown in his own words.

Only to then comment on his new arrangements.

"Nice to see you too, Ratchet."

Dull words that appeared hollow and irritated to those who did not know Optimus well, but to Ratchet it would have an edge of sarcasm, a sort of verbal roll of the eyes at the medic's statement about him haunting the base. It was no secret he pushed himself, and none were wiser to this than his old friend, having watched his gradual decline to the world he lived in now, all while continuously pestering him to relax and not push himself so very hard. It was difficult to relax however when so many lives rested on his shoulders, how they all looked to him to guide them to victory and a brighter future. He couldn’t simply cast that aside.

Gaze glancing over to the metal door that had closed behind Ratchet, Optimus' elbows rose up and placed down upon the edge of the table, fingertips laced together while he thought through his next words with care. Light clicks sounded, the soft taps as a fingertips hooked idly on a ridge of the other hand, before he looked back over at the other mech after lulling silence.

"Why don't you sit."

With this, one of Optimus' gray hands would gesture over to the adjacent chair, one that up to this point had never been used. His servo would return to the previous stance after the motion however, thumb pressing against opposite palm for a brief moment. Whether Ratchet followed his directive or not he continued with a far more even tone that was particularly flat.

"I had much time to reflect during excavation of Haven, and the subsequent weeks thereafter."

[Ratchet]

Ratchet paused for a moment, taking in the Prime’s body language, his tone.

This was new.

Optimus’s entire demeanour was different.

For a moment, Ratchet was taken back to the many times he had been present when Optimus had been forced t deliver bad news to someone. An air of “We have to deal with something” that usually caused whoever he was talking to to sit up and take notice. Sometimes it was a verbal reprimand for something someone had done – sometimes it was to announce a plan of action that he knew would not go over well with his forces. It was sort of a tone of “We have to talk.”

Pushing off from the table, and walking around to ease himself down into the chair opposite the Prime, Ratchet sub-consciously mirrored the Prime’s positioning. Slightly leaning forward, the chair squeaking in protest, hands clasped atop the table. Mentally, he was preparing for whatever unfortunate news Optimus was going to reveal to him. Some bad news that would mean another shifting at Omega. The old doctor had an air about him that seemed to read, “All right, let’s have it.”

“I’m not surprised you have. You were trapped in there for quite a while. I’m still somewhat worried about your shoulder gears and hinges.”

Ratchet suddenly paused, narrowing bright blue optics at Optimus, helm slightly tilting, “Please tell me you’re not going to blame yourself for what happened at Haven. There’s no way any of us could have known the Decepticons were going to wire the entire place to explode! What kind of madman would do that!?”

[Optimus Prime]

A low hum of annoyance sounded beneath Optimus' vent when Ratchet commented on possible lingering injuries only to then try to dissuade how he felt over the ordeal, when there was nothing that could be done about it. He should have seen it coming, should have saw the signs something was amiss. Asked where some of the Neutrals were that typically were in the meeting room, question why a Vehicon was manning the systems, try to see others who roamed the halls seeking trade or reprieve from a long journey. Instead, he was so transfixed on dealing with the aftermath of the ordeal with Windshield, he didn’t even... notice. Blinded by a narrow goal that shielded the truth from his mind.

"What kind of madman would do that!?"

"The very same who have shown time and time again they are not shackled by rationale."

While Ratchet had found his position in the opposite chair, Optimus had been absently looking at the far wall. It was only after his comment that cyan optics flicked over to his old friend before the rest of his helm followed suit gradually afterwards. He seemed to be moving meticulously, measured and cautious, very little fluidity while his processor ground over his thoughts multiple times from different angles. He could almost seem distracted in a way, trying to articulate things with care.

"How often must we be shocked and appalled by their choices."

Some disgust laced into the words, disappointment as if he was foolish enough to not learn from past mistakes. Hoping... praying that the atrocities that were committed eons ago would be a fluke under a wayward general. An act of desperation to cross moral lines for the Decepticon's to sink their claws into a victory, only for it to occur again.

And again.

It was still very recent that Megatron slid so far into depravity he robbed their fallen people their rest, dragging them back into battle as undead abominations.

"How long until we learn reason is meaningless."

There was more he could say but he hesitated then, which was a rather telling thing. While at times Optimus took a short bit to relax more around Ratchet, requiring a few minutes to remember he could be himself more and not wear the façade like he did to others... but there was an added strain here, more than the typical awkwardness to let Orion wake up from being locked away. He almost cast the doorway a second glance, as if wary it was ajar in some way, a flick of his gaze before looking back at Ratchet. Optimus was painfully aware how odd he was being, but was unable to help it as his thoughts lurched two steps ahead instead of settling right in the now.

[Ratchet]

Ratchet leaned back in his chair with another protesting squeak, stretching his legs out before him under the table, his eyes now fixed firmly on Optimus. He knew his old friend well, and there was clearly something bothering Optimus. Ratchet lightly crossed his arms over his chest, but not in an aggressive manner. Rather, Ratchet was clearly getting comfortable for what he was starting to feel was going to be a lengthy discussion.

A part of him wished they had met at the Medibay instead of here....he still had a small flask of the high grade stashed in a secret compartment in his personal quarters. He was starting to think a drink might be needed. For himself, if Optimus refused.

“I will agree with you there, that they don’t seem to be burdened with coherent thought, nor are they bound by morality.

But asking why we cannot expect such acts is pointless.

I’ve worked with severely troubled people back on Cybertron before the war. And if it’s one thing I’ve learned, Optimus, it’s that you can expect trouble, but not what kind. Preparing for it is next to impossible, other than living in a state of high anxiety. And somehow I doubt that’s what you’re suggesting.”

There was a thud from under the table as Ratchet adjusted a leg, thumping a heavy ped down on the floor.

“You were exhausted. You were weak. You were struggling with a disease that had taken your best scout, you were still healing from injuries, and yet you’re going to blame yourself for what happened, aren’t you?”

Ratchet paused as he watched Optimus glance towards the entrance to his room, as if expecting someone to be lingering. To the doctor, Optimus suddenly seemed....nervous. Anxious.

With an annoyed huff, Ratchet leaned forward again, placing large hands palm down on the table, “Why are you constantly expecting more out of yourself than you would ask of your own men?”

[Optimus Prime]

To Optimus, after the fact it felt so obvious. His team was confined within a dangerous mine system, no Neutrals were around, and he was not going to meet Megatron, but Starscream. He knew Megatron proposed the Truce, and would have taken the opportunity to gloat and rub it in Optimus' face that it was his Autobots to break it. It would have been safer, geared towards psychological attacks rather than a brawl. However, he went into the meeting assuming... no... KNOWING Megatron was missing. All the facts over the weeks preceding it screamed that their leader was occupied elsewhere even if it was not expressly stated. As such, there would be no mockery.

Starscream played more tactical than that.

While the Seeker could have a monologuing issue, it would be easy to see he would find no fault with taking such a cheap shot to blow them up, rather than bother to converse. It was simple to see it was a trap, and despite Ratchet's assurances and excuses to plaster over it and brush the incident aside, hindsight still clawed at his back. It was only when Ratchet leaned forward and placed his hands upon the table, before Optimus snapped out of his thoughts.

"Because it is through my choices they are here."

No hesitation, no lull to think about what he was saying this time. Some of the calculated approach and caution broke away at this moment, his response blunt as if this had been on the back of his mind for a substantial time and it only needed a prod and twist to allow it to fall to the forefront. It seemed to be the right jab however to get him speaking further, his previous words flowing out after the last with equal strength.

"So many have fallen under my guidance while the Decepticons flourish in madness."

His hand pulled away from the other at this, forefinger almost jabbing down upon the table to make his point and punctuate his words with solid taps.

How many more deaths must they accept? Should the collapse of Haven have gone any differently than the team would be right back upon the Mesa's plateau laying another to rest. Another individual to mourn, another to seek through the halls only to remember their presence was no more. How many times would a wayward comment remind of those who were lost, all because the enemy didn’t hesitate when offered an opportunity, rabid jaws snapping down upon anything that moves without care of the fangs it loses in the process.

"The beliefs I have harbored as law are crippling our team from advancement."

The power that had been previously behind his words eased back, more uncertain though still not held behind a pause of hesitation. It was almost as if these statements had already been loaded within the chamber, and were simply waiting for the right moment. Perhaps... already knowing the path Ratchet would take in this debate, and in a subconscious way perhaps orchestrating in a small regards to force himself to spat out the conflict that had hung over him since the onset of the War.

Oh, if Nova or Sentinel were Prime still, Optimus was certain their actions would have been far more brutal to find resolution. The war would be over by now, either in their victory or by ending far sooner with more risks taking on more casualties till extinction. Under Optimus' guidance they were bleeding out, and while the wound had been momentarily bandaged with the arrival of new soldiers willing and able to tackle the front lines, they were reckless and careless, unity lost as well as respect. While soldiers over the eons looked up to his title as Prime and took it as law to follow and ask questions without fear, the new ones...

Children scrabbling for entertainment.

Lone wolves seeking to walk the shadows and not interact.

Individuals more focused on mischief and relations than a broader goal.

How easy would it be to use fear to snap them in line once again, to forcibly latch them to a goal and make everything else secondary...

"Yet I can not become that which I fight. I can not lead in such a way."

[Ratchet]

Ratchet slowly leaned back slightly, now sitting more upright in the chair. The Prime’s words revealed a lot more than he had been expecting. In truth, Ratchet had expected a long winded but impressive speech about how he was the ruler and therefore had to be expected to go a thousand steps for every 10 of his men’s.

And while that was somewhat the reply....it had been different.

Quick. No hesitation.

Ratchet and Optimus had been through a lot together, some very tense situations, and by now he was more than able to recognize when Optimus was stressed and worried about something.

It reset Ratchet.

What had been going to be more of a sarcastic, dry attitude settled back. Something had been bothering the Prime, and here it was.

When he spoke, his voice was a little less sarcastic, more open and honest. It was a rare tone he spoke with, one not often heard.

“Optimus...we’re at war. I know you hate it. I hate it. Most of us hate it. But the bitter truth is that people die in war. Now I know that doesn’t make it easier. It doesn’t make it easier for me, and I’m damn sure it doesn’t make it easier for you. But you can’t go through this war expecting there to be no deaths.”

He leaned back slightly, going over the other things Optimus had said, and spoke again.

“Do you honestly think that anyone else could have done better? Do you even remember the other Primes? They would have thrown away thousands of lives on a pitted plot of useless land just because the Decepticons wanted it! I remember them. I remember them very well.”

Continuing to listen as Optimus spoke, Ratchet started to become a little worried.

"The beliefs I have harboured as law are crippling our team from advancement."

"Yet I can not become that which I fight. I can not lead in such a way."

The first part he understood. Optimus was admitting that his sense of right and wrong was a little....too strong. At least when it came to war.

The second part made him wary. What did he mean exactly by that?

This time Ratchet picked over his words a little more closely, trying to choose the better ones, to get his point across clearly.

“I will admit that your....sense of right and wrong can be a little....confining. Were this anything but war, it would serve you well. And it still serves you well. I’ve seen you face choices that would cripple anyone else. When the easiest thing to do was take the easiest choice and walk away. But you’ve never done that. You have always....always...tried to do what was right for everyone involved. And in many cases, it worked....even when it shouldn’t have.”

Ratchet folded his arms on the table, “But sometimes to win a war....you have to do things that you might not choose at any other time. That sometimes there isn’t the “right” choice....just the “less wrong” one.”

Raising his hands, Ratchet folded his fingers together, bringing his hands to his lips, elbows resting on the table, eyeing Optimus over his hands.

“I’ve always known your greatest fear in this war, ever since it started and you asked me to become your CMO, was that you would end up being no different from Megatron. That the very things you fought for – honour, justice, freedom – would wither away under your command. That there would be no difference between him and you.”

He watched the Prime intently, “After what happened at Haven, do you still feel that way?”

[Optimus Prime]

Optimus' direct approach with speaking often had its boons. He cut straight to a point, gave strong commands, and did not inflate it with a bunch of drabble that could be ignored or make the goal washed out and grayed among nonsense. It tended to work for him well and he fell into the action with little thought. However, his more blunt approach was too obscure for this scenario. Perhaps missing the mark some, not articulating at what point each comment came into play during the timeline of events. It was his fault, and even if his words did not relate exactly, Ratchet's own statements were still pointed and true to reassure in other ways.

With a slow motion, Optimus' eyes closed, his fingertip once more etching along the top of the opposite hand with a sort of idle movement. While Ratchet moved around far more to help articulate his thoughts, the Prime was far more reserved, almost locked down in place. He did not fidget despite what his hands were doing, and he did not ease back or shift the position of his peds as of yet.

"Previous leaders saw death as a cost, funds to be spent in order to achieve what they desire."

Decisive as before. Flat and cutting with no hesitation. Optimus knew the past Primes well, perhaps more than Ratchet may realize. The Matrix as the whole was shrouded in mystery, a relic, or an object of more 'magical' means... its exact definition was not something previous Primes ever cared to express, and Optimus was no different. It was simply too difficult to fully explain past the most vague of statements. Because of this, Optimus seemed to glance down, eyes opening a small amount as if peering at his own chest in thought.

"They would not honor lives as I do."

Somber, finding the fact disgraceful for a Prime. He then took a moment to clarify on earlier words, trying to be more... direct and less vague and ominous as gaze flicked back up to Ratchet.

"I speak before the prior Primes would even be involved."

Orion's involvement, his presence, gave Megatronus the ability to reach far and wide. While the Gladiator may have made such traction eventually on his own should the Council not orchestrate his demise, it was through the Clerk's hands things were spurred on with a more aggressive spread of their vision. He was blind, ignorant to the truth, and while Orion was no fool, Megatronus was on a level above him and hid his true intentions well.

"My negligence resulted in a monster gaining recognition."

What's past is past, one could not undo what had been done, and Optimus knew that. However, hindsight could be a very painful path to walk down, and there was so much he could have done differently. Perhaps, even should he not have been involved at all it would have ended with Megatron rising in power, Orion simply forced to comply because he was only a Data Clerk with no ability or ambition to become a general and help their troops. Orion may have still contested it however, but likely would be long deceased once the Warlord took notice of such a lowly 'peon' trying to start a second revolution.

Gradually, Optimus made his first larger motion since the onset of the discussion at Ratchet's final words. He eased back slowly, helm rising from its crooked forward position to angle more upright in pair with his shoulders. The large red armor of each pauldron rolled into place as he leaned against the chair's support.

"No."

He may be forced to make more... aggressive... decisions at times, but he knew for a fact he would not be pushed to such a line as to become Megatron in the way Ratchet proposed. At least not yet. The madman was far too unhinged and devious, and should Optimus start to drift down such a line he knew his old friend would pull him in line or wrench him aside to make sure he was alright and remind him of who he was.

"I hold no illusion I can avoid every overlap, however, given the current state of Omega One I may harbor unjustified envy at how he continues to lock his soldiers on task."

The HOW was something Optimus would never do. Blind terror forced into his soldiers was no way to garner support. Fighting under a WANT to do so was the only option. That said, so many in this outpost now squirmed outside the borders.

"In past, my rank and words held power, now they are seen as leniency to make the cost of negligence ignorable."

Optimus did not like his title of Prime to shackle others, didn't want them to fear coming to him to express concerns, but it always held an air of power that demanded respect. What he was, what he held latched within his chest and the passionate words he spoke of to lead to a brighter future made them seek him as an example. It was something he questioned at times, but now having to face what it meant to be truly disrespected and seen as an inconsequential response to some? He felt a bit lost on how to contend it.

Throwing them in the brig was a childish 'time out', giving extra chores were more excuses to mess around. Unless there were some HARSH consequences they would continue to undermine. He wished Ultra Magnus was around, to jerk the chain and snap others in line with more aggressive measures, but Optimus knew he would need to take up that mantle despite how uncomfortable it made him to raise his voice and slam down upon chaotic notions. It felt like he was shifting in the direction of the Warlord, to yell and push others in line instead of their want to help being reason enough.

"I need to pull a choke chain."

[Ratchet]

He continued to listen. His eyes were on Optimus, looking for his personal tells, the little things a person said or did that revealed what they were feeling or how they were dealing with what they were saying.

As was normal, Optimus was hardly talkative. For every sentence or two Ratchet would speak, Optimus would comment with a single word, for every paragraph of the doctor’s, the Prime countered with a single sentence.

And yet, again, it was clear Optimus was upset about something. Normally, Ratchet could focus down on what Optimus needed to speak about, but here....at first.... it was difficult.

One thing he said, though, caused Ratchet to bristle, and he leaned forward, placing palms flat on the table.

“No,” Ratchet’s voice was heated, “No, you did not. You are not taking any sort of credit for creating the monster that Megatron - Megatronus - became. What you did was shorten the time it took for him to go insane and declare war on an entire planet, and managed to keep the matrix out of his hands.”

Huffing, Ratchet sat back in his chair.

Optimus’ declaration that he was no longer seen as a leader sobered Ratchet.

It was true. There were those in Omega who didn’t show Optimus the respect he deserved. They seemed to forget sometimes that they were in a military organization. Yes, the Autobots were a bit more relaxed than the Decepticons. You were allowed to voice your opinions, you had friends, and could goof around when not on duty. But what had once been an actual military organization had, for some, become a sort of...frat-boy party.

“I can relate, to a degree. Since coming here I’ve had to work with people who don’t seem to share my views on some things. A certain young medic who seems more interested in trying to make me laugh, than anything else. I’ve never had anyone under my command who was so....”

He fell off, the latest event in the medibay flashing through his mind for a moment, before turning back to Optimus again, watching him carefully.

“Perhaps you do. Perhaps we both do. Perhaps our position here, on Earth, so unlike Cybertron, with it’s lack of front lines and trench warfare, has made the Autobots forget what’s going on. It’s becoming more like a gang war than an actual fight for survival.

I assume you have some sort of plan in place? Now that the energon crises is over, are we going back to patrols? A strict training regiment? What are you planning on doing?”

[Optimus Prime]

Logic and Ratchet tended to go hand in hand, and his words coincided with the truth of the matter. However, truth or not there would always be a lingering frustration in hindsight, wishing he picked up on the clues that seemed oh so very obvious now to betray what the Gladiator was. It was pointless to continue speaking about it, since it was more a personal wound than anything that could be mended with words, though he tried to latch down onto the facts and move on for the moment, taking heed of Ratchet's own situation.

A low hum sounded out at the medic's predicament regarding his newest assistant. Names did not need to be said and Optimus did not need to reply with actual words to express his understanding as the sound he had made articulated much with its quiet concern and consideration. From what he saw the small Cybertronian was young at heart like Bumblebee, with an edge of goofing around that likely would stir problems in Ratchet's domain. His old friend was not incapable of enjoying himself, with that said... there were lines within such a vital piece of their Outpost that was effectively the heart of their new home.

Optimus moved his forearms to rest against the table given the next questions, almost looking as if he did not know what to do with his limbs when he was actually sitting and not standing upright to give instruction or discuss things. What followed seemed well thought through, as if he had already been considering this for some time.

"Patrols will commence once again with higher focus on locating Decepticon mines."

The cease in the so dubbed 'Buddy System' by his troops was halted earlier in the month. While it invited more risk, risk was required to gain an edge and he trusted his soldiers would be monitored to an extent from the Control Room. They would be able to cover more ground and he expected them to report findings rather than try for anything on their own.

"Windshield will utilize his experience to assist."

The Ex-Decepticon had already guided them to a mining system once, and he trusted he could do so again.

"I consider assigning Bumblebee to lead scouting, however, I question his enthusiasm to do so after what occurred. Javelin may be required to fill the role. I must speak with him."

A bit somber. Bumblebee was his best scout. While he was young at spark and jumped at the opportunity to play games and entertain the children, when push came to shove he could accomplish much and could easily apply his scouting capabilities here. Despite this, the disease seemed to have crippled him, and while nothing was physically wrong any longer, the damage was done in other facets.

"Unmonitored training would spur added strain upon you."

The practice room would become nothing but a brawl arena for individuals to pit themselves against one another in some kind of rambunctious smack-down. While the idea was not optimal, the Prime did not sound particularly DISGUSTED with the suggestion, more... trying to mill around for better options.

The sad truth was that it would spur on more crash course learning like Orion was forced to do which was devastatingly effective. A small individual squaring off with someone far outside their range to even contend with... learning quickly how to survive where the opponent would yield rather than a similar confrontation upon an actual battlefield... Orion had received his stars with dents, but it would depend on Ratchet's acceptance of a larger workload even if it was only shoving struts back into sockets or popping out crushed chunks of armor.

Or an actual puncture wound but... Optimus cared not to dwell on that.

"I may need to supervise and guide."

Optimus did not favor sparing in any form with his troops. It could end up particularly lopsided especially if they hesitated to strike out at their Prime. While his approach would be far more measured and instructional than a free for all brawl it was still something he did not support with enthusiasm.

"To counter your new workload I wish to negotiate additional technological infrastructure with Agent Fowler in exchange for continued efforts regarding MECH. The application of upgrades will be assigned to Neon who shall report to you."

Which... will free up Ratchet a great deal. While his old friend would still be who Neon would report to given Ratchet's unprecedented skill and ability, having a dedicated engineer on task to do at least the more trivial efforts if not simply overtake some elements would spread the workload. If this path resulted in stronger relays and scanning ability it meant trouble for their foes.

"Continued base stabilization will be fielded by Bulkhead, Skystone, and Thundercloud. I need Omega One to represent an actual field of operations rather than a cobbled necessity."

Bulkhead had experience with construction, and while he was no architect he could guide with plenty of experience. As for Skystone and Thundercloud... as brutal as it may sound... they were simply labor. Strong individuals who could handle the strain of clawing through rock and hauling metal panels to finish and support the walls.

"Nero is assigned as monitor. Seeking weakness and turbulence to report to me unless needed for scouting."

He hated to put such an individual on effectively 'nanny duty', it a waste of some skills, but he would be monitoring a substantial amount of individuals, and would be given access to the security room cameras.

"Suggestions?"

[Ratchet]

Ratchet folded his hands together once more, thumbs resting just under his chin, elbows on the table, optics riveted on Optimus as the larger mech spoke. He was taking it all in, letting the Prime speak. It wasn’t often Optimus spoke as much as he was now, and Ratchet didn’t want to interrupt him. It was easier to let him list off what he was thinking, and then speak on each of them as he went.

Hearing that they were going to be raiding mines again, with Windshield’s help, was a relief to the old doctor. While the time of starvation was over, it was still good to know they would be returning to their old ways of hunting more. He didn’t think anyone in the base would ever really relax and lose the anxiety of starvation until enough time had passed. He knew he, personally, was relieved to be able to turn the low fuel warnings back on after having been forced to silence them.

After Optimus stopped talking, Ratchet dropped his gaze to the tabletop for a moment, mulling over what the Prime had said. Like Optimus, Ratchet wasn’t one to speak without thinking, not about important matters, and he was weighing options in his mind for a few minutes. Eventually, he looked up again, gaze settling back on Optimus.

“I’d put Bumblebee back on scout duty as soon as possible. He’s physically capable of it, and in my opinion he needs to be busy. You and I both know he’s carrying guilt for what happened, we both know he isn’t to blame in any manner, and you and I both know he’s still going to feel guilty regardless. He’s been slinking about Omega like a ghost. I think the best thing for him is to get him back into his previous roles, so he can see he’s contributing again, and that things are settling back into a sense of normalcy. “Giving him time” may make it seem to him we don’t think he’s capable, or worse, don’t trust him to do the job or give back to the base.”

“As for putting strain on me, with another medic in the base, unless someone goes full combat mode, there shouldn’t be a problem, and I think we’d both feel better knowing the Autobots are revving back into combat mode after the disaster of a truce. A few broken limbs or dented helms won’t put that much strain on us.”

Here Ratchet paused. His lack of enthusiasm in human technology was well known, and he sometimes seemed to take it personal when a hybrid of human/cybertronian technology had to be cobbled together, but he was well aware they were working under some severe handicaps.

He nodded, sliding a palm over the top of his helm, as if a nervous gesture, “If you think it’s best. Primus knows we need to do something about MECH.”

That was all he said. He position on what should be done about MECH was also very clear. Unlike Optimus, Ratchet felt more severe actions should be taken against MECH. If they wanted to kill Cybertronians, the doctor saw nothing wrong with lethal force to protect their own. But Ratchet also knew how strongly Optimus felt about it, and right now, he didn’t want to project anything on the Prime. Optimus had been under enough pressure.

Another nod at the idea of having the larger, stronger bots in the base work on construction. The base was almost always being expanded, but only in a commercial sense, and not military. Now that the truce was over, perhaps bunking down would be better. More shielding, more surveillance....it couldn’t hurt.

“We may need to work with Fowler to see about explaining our presence here in Nevada. What I mean is, with more of us here, Jasper and any other humans passing by is likely going to start noticing there’s an increase in traffic. We can’t use the Ground Bridge every time Bumblebee or Bulkhead wants to go pick the kids up from school. Perhaps Fowler can come up with a reasonable excuse there’s more traffic, as well as a reason people wouldn’t be interested in snooping around. A human government “think tank”, I think they call it. Something to do with a lot of numbers....I’ve noticed most humans seem to have an aversion to long lists of numbers.”

[Optimus Prime]

"Understood."

Perhaps Bumblebee would be resistant to being assigned such a task, and perhaps he would wish to shy away from it, but it sounded like it was for the best to force him to stand up and act. Even if he were to stumble in some form of insecurity at the onset and take a bit to flow back to normality, it could jostle him awake and back into an active position. Get him working with others.

"I will assign said role sooner rather than later."

Optimus started to wonder then if this would be similar to the incident with the concrete. The yellow mech had plenty of knowledge to complete the job by himself, not NEEDING Optimus there in the slightest, but having that presence to give encouragement seemed to buffer and make him act out of confidence. It permitted him to move ahead and start to trust his own judgment on a task he had never encountered before. While there was no figure watching closely and monitoring each step of the path to offer emergency help, there would be pressure to help spur him on by having others look up to him to guide THEM.

At the following topic Optimus paused a moment, gaze flicking up to Ratchet's with a tired look.

"Given knowledge of our current inhabitants... full combat is a likely outcome."

A bland statement with a certain level of flatness woven into it save for a couple words. To an outsider this comment was exactly what it looked like, nothing deeper to it, but to Ratchet there was this subtle... edge to it? A fleck of borderline humor that was paired with a sort of soft awkward grimace and a slight furrow of the brows. Optimus couldn't believe he was unable to trust his soldiers to refrain from such a thing, but as he and Ratchet had learned through these months they frankly had a gaggle of gun toting children romping around looking for excuses to whop one another in the throat.

While deep down Optimus knew injuries incurred by sparring would not be truly substantial such as having a limb torn off or getting critical processor damage, it was still comforting to know Ratchet viewed it as a borderline inconsequential cost. To have his approvals for such a venture made it all the more likely to occur despite risks, allowing Autobots to kick back into gear so to speak and gain some momentum. Start to awaken latent talents that were put to rest during the truce.

For now, Optimus somewhat skirted over the topic of MECH to a degree. He didn't need to kindle such a debate, though he felt it prudent to make one comment in case Ratchet had more insight upon an individual than he did.

"I wish to assign one to MECH exclusively, however, we lack an individual with balance between ability and knowledge of this world."

It was a mix of abilities that didn't seem to exist within their ranks unless Optimus was ignorant of secondary talents that one of his soldiers knew. The skills to hack into information and understand the data that was produced was one thing, but it needed the balance of knowledge of this world to even comprehend what information would be beneficial to seek out, or to be able to spot inconsistencies that could breeze under the radar of one who applied only Cybertronian frameworks and logic.

Lieutenant Adler was a valuable individual to have on this task, she could lead such an operation, but that in itself felt like Optimus was dumping MECH back into Fowler's hands and offering nothing in turn. It would be the equivalent of him simply offering a guide when needed and a roof over her head, which is not even technically THEIR roof to offer given it belonged to the United States. He had to try to figure out someone who could at least assist her while understanding more technological attributes to contribute.

At the final topic Optimus' gaze drifted to the side as he thought, forearms lifting up so that his right hand cradled over the left in an idle movement. Once more, his forefinger pressed some along the seams of the other, his thoughts shifting over options with care. Likely, whatever they did would start to spur on curiosity no matter the excuse. The average individual tended to drive around in vehicles that were far less flashy than the ones his Autobots seemed to favor. If it was explained as any kind of official setting, to one particularly astute they could then question WHY every 'employee' had high end vehicles.

"Utilizing desert trails that link with auxiliary roads may alleviate as well."

Even if it added time to the commute, carving a very rough trail through the desert to connect with a different road other than the one they favored would assist in some ways. Make the path gated off as a reserve, or make it look rough enough the average driver would not take it on except for those with ATVs and other adventurous souls. Even if they only added one of these, it would cut their use of the primary road down in half as long as his Autobots used it rather than protesting with the unpaved rougher track.

[Ratchet]

Again, Ratchet watched Optimus as he spoke, taking in the smaller gestures of the Prime. Again, they were mostly familiar to him.

Ratchet didn’t know who to suggest that would be a good fit for what Optimus had in mind. If it weren’t MECH, if it weren’t dangerous, he’d suggest Rafael. The young human had an amazing grasp of Cybertronian way and tech, and being from Earth, he understood how it worked and how humans worked. But there was no way the doctor was going to suggest such a thing. MECH was dangerous, not just to them, but to other humans as well. It was bad enough the Decepticons were aware of the human companions. They would not risk the children.

Ratchet didn't know Neon very well, but time would tell how useful he would be.

“Perhaps Fowler could recommend someone. He has good humans working for him, and would know someone trustworthy. Fort Max might know a few as well - he's been in their company for a while now."

Leaning back slightly in his chair again, Ratchet peered across the tabletop at his old friend, “Far be it from me to talk about military goings-on, but I was just wondering about something.

Human military has this thing called “War Games”. Basically, when they’re not actually at war, they pretend they are. It sounds counter-intuitive, but it keeps their soldiers ready for action. They take a group of people, divide them into two groups, and give them an objective. Capture a certain point, for instance, or....surround the enemy. Terms and conditions are agreed on before it starts. You can’t be seen until you “attack”, for example. It’s good practice for scouts to sneak, and for others to remember how to be on alert. It lets you see where your troops are lacking, and where they need more training.

If we did something like this, it might help us see who needs training where, as well as who is most likely to cause trouble in the event of a real fight. This truce has left us all feeling somewhat....lethargic. Everyone is eager to get back into it, but....are they ready to?”

He paused, “We have a few new faces here at Omega now. Those who arrived during the truce. Javelin, for one, and Patch. It might be a good idea to see how they interact with their new comrades before the real bullets fly?”

Here Ratchet paused for another moment, then riveted bright blue optics on Optimus, like shrewd cobalt blades. Seeing they were alone, he figured now was the time to pounce. The Prime had revealed a certain amount of worry and concern by starting this conversation in the first place, but Ratchet knew if he needed to know more, he would have to dig.

“So tell me. How have you been making out, Optimus? You’ve been carrying a lot of weight before the truce....and during. It’s good to see you’re back up to full strength now that we no longer have an energon crises.”

[Optimus Prime]

Ratchet needn't hide the suggestion of Rafael, for Optimus would not have even humored it if he had brought it up. Like Ratchet, he would find the idea far too dangerous, far too lethal for the child to get involved in. If it was a non threat, challenging him to a more fun game to practice his constantly improving skills, that would be one thing, but... to take on a dangerous military organization who could likely make his entire family vanish? No... Whatever the case, the other mech's suggestion to ask Agent Fowler for more military assistance made him let out a soft hum of disapproval.

"Agent Fowler applying soldiers to task makes our involvement minimal."

Optimus had no interest in pulling Fortress in at this time. The mech had made his want to get away from all of this clear, and he would not cross lines unless dire.

After this, he hesitated a moment, before he elaborated, trying to make his point more clear.

"We can offer limited technology, and guidance, however having a human alone assigned to task feels negligent on our part. I wish to find ways to assist further than transport and reactionary aid for an assault."

But perhaps that would be all they were able to do.

With none who could fill such a role, none currently in their ranks who showed talent in such fields while also showing interest in the world they now called home... it was a lost cause. Optimus may need to get accustomed to the idea they were in a way, a weapon to be called upon when the threat was properly located. While they could assist for specific tasks, it would leave Lieutenant Alder and other humans to pave the road alone.

Shaking this topic aside for now, putting it on a shelf to be addressed at a later date should a candidate be found, Optimus turned his attention back to Ratchet as he spoke about implementing a different training drill into their routines. While a full out path of spars and combat practice was beneficial to many of their more frontline oriented individuals, it did leave those with specialized capabilities a bit lacking. A spy would not for example be pushed into the limelight so readily as having a squared off one on one brawl. It wasn't impossible, so such things would still be good to push them to participate in, but... the other half of war needed to be nurtured as well.

"Large and small goals may be implemented. More group inclusive challenges to work as a team, in addition to smaller individual chores."

Multiple individual team building exercises would be ideal, forcing the gaggle of children to rely on one another and mesh into a cohesive unit.

"I have interest in personal goals as well. Assigning an object for one to guard, and another tasked to thieve it.

Force someone to work on their awareness across a long span of time, potentially days to weeks, while an unidentified sneak would get to plan and manipulate a situation in their favor. It would be a task for sure not assigned to a brute however, for that would end with an individual spontaneously tackled and slammed down to be robbed. That facilitated no growth of talent, simply a brash assault.

Optimus mulled over other scenarios, starting to take Ratchet's suggestion and work with it down a new path. He was trying to kindle ideas, considering the type of individuals present and what skills they could have honed and practiced that would be called upon when opportunity presented itself. All of this was derailed a second later however when his old friend went on the assault, a dagger like gaze locking down to him with a drilling more direct question.

For a brief moment Optimus seemed caught off guard, gaze that had been shifted absently to the side now darting up to lock with the medic's head on. While Ratchet had a focused look, Optimus' own eyes flicked ever so slightly across the other Cybertronian's expression, processor mulling a second as he scrambled with a diversion to try to hock the topic somewhere else.

"I'm fine."

Abrupt, to the point, not really wanting to go down THAT path of discussion... While he had a pretty good feeling that phrase alone would be absolutely worthless to dissuade, he had to at least make an attempt. He had to at least push against the topic enough to hope Ratchet had other business that couldn’t wait long enough to bother going to battle. Hopefully no time to wear down his defenses more than they already were. To try to redirect focus possibly to whatever work Ratchet may have going on, he spoke right after his sharper reply before.

"Do you require any additional supplies for the Medical Bay."