|raisedbymoogles (raisedbymoogles) wrote,|
@ 2011-07-18 23:28:00
|Entry tags:||fic, transformers, wingthing|
Hoorah, I wrote something.
In which Pari is stubborn and badass, post-DotM.
Optimus Prime lost his Lord Protector to Sentinel Prime's treachery; thus after the Battle of Chicago, as the Autobots had begun to call it among themselves, there was some debate as to who would replace Ironhide.
Arcee was the logical choice, as Ironhide's former student, but she was still adjusting to having only one body after losing two of her components in Egypt. Ratchet couldn't be a Protector and a medic at the same time; Bumblebee had someone else who held his service as guardian. Sideswipe wouldn't even talk about it. The Wreckers - well, the Wreckers were the Wreckers, and that was all that could be said without the kinds of colorful embellishment that didn't make it on to official reports.
Everyone had a reason why they couldn't. Everyone looked for someone else to shoulder the burden. Someone bigger, they said, someone stronger. Someone older, someone closer to the Prime, someone more experienced. Someone more like Ironhide. The name hung heavy over every head; no one could fill the role like him.
In the meantime, Optimus Prime lay in Ratchet's makeshift medical facility, recovering from a torn-off arm and a broken spark. Few Autobots tresspassed there, and never for long. Yet he was never quite alone.
"Sir - no. Senator, no. You can't go in there. Optimus Prime is resting. I just got him to sleep and he needs it and unless the world is ending someone else can deal with it. No!"
As Ratchet herded the senator-of-the-week and his entourage away under the stubborn glare of a hovering Pari, he reflected that perhaps she could teach the sorry band of misfits Prime had left a thing or two about being a Protector.