Archive of Our Own

That was the last time she had ever listened to Windblade.

In all honesty, Chromia wasn’t sure why she obliged her in the first place. It was one thing to fulfill her other outlandish ideas, like skipping training to see the monochrome sunset or traveling on Caminus’ shoulder pads to the furthest fair. All of that? Completely understandable, nay, she’d even consider it charming. But this simply wasn’t enough to quench her thirst for the new. Mega-cycles upon mega-cycles of yammering her audials off, Windblade finally managed to convince her. Thus they set their sails towards Cybertron.

Windblade had always wanted more in her life. The spirit of adventure and valiancy had led her to the furthest places in the galaxy.

Chromia? Not so much.

If it wasn’t for her dear Amica Endura, she would’ve been completely satisfied with staying on Caminus. A place of high art, connections to the Primes and skylines of the most shimmering metallic blue. With its divine fighting rings or training areas which tested her agility and combat prowess, it truly was the place to be. Everything was beautiful, hers. Maybe that was what she missed the most – the sense of belonging.

Right on Cybertron, everything wanted to scream at her how she wasn’t welcomed. Or even worse – everything on Cybertron felt so welcoming, Chromia couldn’t have helped but to feel like an intruder. If another smiley face made the mistake of inviting her in, she would’ve been about to lose all the circuits in her processors. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, it was… Almost like a betrayal.

Among the two of them, of course Chromia couldn’t have raised her vocoder about the troubles. Her faceplate might’ve been worried but her spark tried to spin it around for Windblade. She saw her happiness, eagerness and many new friends she met every solar-cycle. Despite the lingering feelings of despair, Chromia wasn’t a despotic type. Hence each time Windblade shared a new Cybertronian adventure, she had decided to grin it, bear it and listen to her tales.

Yet her forces were dwindling in on themselves. How many other solar-cycles was Chromia supposed to survive among the streets she couldn’t learn to love? How many times would she long for a glimpse of Caminus in the lunar-cycle sky? Chromia wasn’t sure. And she sure as the Dark Spark didn’t know how to handle it.

Hence she decided to follow Windblade’s pede-steps. Not quite as literally but an attempt was to be made for sure.

When her processors overheated with another thought, Chromia dragged her pedes among the streets of Iacon for any clue on what to do. Her optics glazed lazily from one spot to the other, trying to find a method to her own madness. Seeing Cybertronians rush from side to side, she could’ve only thought of Camiens’ ways of traversing. The tall buildings weren’t as intricately designed as the ones back home. The neon lights too, much brighter than the ones she remembered. It was all so close but just far enough to be outside of her reach.

Maybe it was finally time. A loud ex-vent escaped Chromia’s mouth as she took another heavy step against the city streets. It was supposed to be her last chance to take the matters into her own servos and see Cybertron in a way previously unknown. All she succeeded at was to make herself more miserable. The colors turned bleak and uninteresting, the sky lacked the shimmer she was used to. There was no way to salvage this. Sure, the separation from Windblade would’ve deeply hurt but Chromia had to protect herself. For better or for worse.

Once more, Chromia stopped in her tracks and rubbed her weary optics. At least the sounds appeared to have quieted down ever so slightly. Perfect circumstances to piece herself back together before that damn talk. She looked right into the sky and started counting clouds flying by, just anything to calm herself down.

Suddenly, there was a ring to her comms. One that startled her among the unassuming silence.

Her optics moved from left to right, trying to spot the culprit. No, it appeared as if she was all alone. What a strange feeling it was. As if the whole Iacon stopped bothering her and decided to give her that peace of processors. Just her and towering skyscrapers.

However, there was still that ring. At the all-time alertness, Chromia answered, drawing to her gun holster, “Who is it? Reveal yourself to me immediately.”

“Hm. My suspicions were correct.”

What?

The voice on the other side of the comms was gentle, calm and incredibly focused. Each word they said was announced like a decree from a Prime and as precise as a bullseye during the target practice. By no means, it was a bad sound, simply… Perplexing.

“What is the meaning of this?” Chromia still kept to her own version. “What are you doing?”

“Now you have completely confirmed them,” the voice continued and Chromia could’ve mentally imagined them nodding. “You’re not from around here.”

They said it with just the same firmness, yet somewhat she couldn’t help but to feel intimidated by it. As if they knew something crucial, while she was left in the dark.

“No. I’m not,” upkeeping their version, Chromia treaded ever so carefully.

“What’s your name?”

Chromia scoffed, “I am not giving you this information.”

“Oh, right. My apologies.”

As much as Chromia wished it was the end of their conversation, it was merely the transition to a different medium. A static click was a suggestion they moved their talk to the videochat. Well, at least they came clean in some way.

Suddenly, at her arm a video feed had started displaying. One which showed a very particular Cybertronian. His frame was overwhelmed mostly in shades of red and his build was most definitely one that she hadn’t really seen before. Most of the time, it was easy for her to guess what was the other’s alt mode but with him? Not a single clue. His stance was firm and decisive, his sight focused partially on her and on the notepad before him.

“Here. I hope that will boost my credibility,” he said, giving her a little nod. Truthfully, Chromia forgot to answer. “My name is Perceptor. I am an engineer, chemist, researcher and most importantly – a scientist.”

In some way, Chromia wasn’t at all surprised learning more about that strange mech. She almost wanted to laugh at her own indecisiveness. The way he spoke was nothing short of how scientists were, no matter the colony she currently resided in.

“Oh. Pleasure,” getting herself to answer, she started to weigh her response in her helm. Well, if he started… “I’m Chromia. And yes, as you’ve said I’m not from around here. Actually, how did you…?”

Instead of answering upfront, Perceptor lingered for a moment, “Chromia… I don’t know you. Another boost for my hypothesis it seems. Your name, it’s…” He paused, as if the right word couldn’t have come to him instantly. “Interesting. Chromia. Rolls very well off of the glossa.”

Even more confused, Chromia felt her chassis’ temperature spike up. Backwards compliment if she had ever heard one but one nonetheless, “Thank you? But please, tell me.”

“Right, of course,” as if nothing happened, Perceptor moved to the other side. Seemed as if his colorful screens followed him wherever he desired to go, “I suspected you are new around here since you weren’t familiar with my procedures. Most Cybertronians are aware of my current testing zones and they avoid reaching those places. That’s why I don’t mark them in any way. But since you’re a bystander of sorts you weren’t conscious that they were happening. Hence – I apologize.”

The way Perceptor carried himself out was equal parts strange and quite enticing to listen to. Sure, Chromia wasn’t a scientific mind and she never really wanted to become one but those mechs were enticing in their own ways. Just several sentences spoken by Perceptor and she already knew whether to trust him or not. That was the beauty of unmuddied interaction.

Not to mention in a strange way, Chromia already decided to trust him. A certain wave of curiosity overtook her senses.

“Well, Perceptor, don’t keep me in the dark. What’s the area of testing now?” She decided to learn just a little bit more from him. About him, as well.

For the first time since they started their talk, Perceptor actually smiled. Right then Chromia was certain everything about him was subdued.

“I am testing the speed at which my explosives can detonate, thus destroying a building at a certain capacity.”

Chromia’s optics widened, “Capacity?”

“Let there be no misunderstanding, these buildings have no mechs inside them. I only filled them up with different kinds of puppets, roughly at the size and weight of an average Cybertronian,” he continued, seemingly not too phased at the potential prospect of deactivation. “I don’t want any bystander to get hurt in the process. Hence I ask you to move away into the nearest safe distances I have coordinated for you.”

In an instant, a different tab on Chromia’s comms buzzed. When she accessed it, the marked place was already present. Surprisingly enough, it wasn’t even that far from there… A little circuit break buzzed at her digittips. No matter what, she always welcomed a challenge.

“And you want me to look at this, right?” With a certain, knowing tone of her voice, Chromia asked.

“I wouldn’t mind your presence. Only if I don’t endanger you.”

“Alright. Let me move myself and I’ll see what you’re about.”

Though she mostly had meant it as a workaround way of showing her support, Chromia couldn’t have denied the fact she was suddenly interested. A strange mech with monumental visions of the world wanted to show her a piece of his work, seemingly out of the blue. It was as if she showed him her workout routine and expected him to join in. How interesting it all was. So much so, Chromia hadn’t turned off her feed just yet.

“You must have quite the reputation if everyone knows what you’re about, huh?” She continued, glancing down at the videochat window.

“Indeed. I aim to inform everyone of this, so I wouldn’t hurt anyone around,” Perceptor explained, turning his sight to his console. Weird how she hadn’t noticed it around there before. “Science’s sacrifices should only affect the scientist themself.”

“I see,” nodding along, her sight moved into the distance. Somewhere out there laid the bustling center of Iacon City. Right there it seemed as if she had a companion being the only one left on the whole planet. “I have one more question.”

“Ask away. It’s my duty to answer as thoroughly as I can,” he still didn’t seem to look too much in her direction, even if he hadn’t missed any of her words. What a strange mech he was.

For a moment, Chromia looked back to her little map with the coordinates. Seeing as she had reached the place, she stopped herself and looked into the distance. Then she focused back at the little image of Perceptor.

“Why are you doing this? I mean, what purpose will this experiment have? I don’t really see a use for this kind of technology.”

It didn’t have to take long for Perceptor to answer. When he did, he said so with all of his spark, “Well, Chromia, you never know what you’ll be in need of in life nor when it will come in use. That’s the beauty of science – the endless possibility of exploration.”

Humming a little, Chromia couldn’t have helped but to find the answer more puzzling than the ones proceeding. Though… Certainly it was a good one. One, her processors saved in her space to analyze on her own terms. 

“Alright then,” she confirmed, getting away from all the thoughts. “Let ‘er rip.”

In all his readiness, Perceptor started the countdown. For Chromia, even his steady vocoder felt like coming from a different planet. She simply focused on what was before her, the sheer feeling of it. No matter how strange it might’ve been.

That was when it happened. A distant explosion filled the area before her, sending particles of dust and debris flying everywhere. Thanks to her distance, even the sound wasn’t too troublesome. The way the building collapsed seemed instantaneous, the force of it greater than she had expected. Yet the sight was… Something completely out of this world.

She looked back at her screen, trying to judge Perceptor’s own reaction. Instead, she was greeted by the view of him watching the whole show of sorts in his alt mode. Chromia’s brow ridges rose up. A microscope. That was certainly fitting.

When everything settled, the sound of his vocoder filled the space again, “Chromia? Are you alright?”

“I am,” coughing a little, Chromia hopped back to reality. Was she smiling all this time? “That was… Wow. A sight to behold! And your alt mode…”

Perceptor transformed back to his robot mode, “I deduced that you were wondering about what it was. Most strangers are. I didn’t want to shroud it in any mystery.”

“I like it,” she admitted and she could’ve sworn Perceptor looked away from her for a micro-klik. “What about the data you gathered?”

Instead of an answer, Perceptor had ended their call. The suddenness of his action surprised Chromia so much, she looked around her controls to see if something malfunctioned. But no, everything worked all fine. It was his doing. Chromia rolled her optics and walked to the other side. So much so for the encounter.

However, it wasn’t the end. As she was about to return to her apartment, she heard a particular noise. One of the rollers turned not only against the old building blocks but also against glass. Looking up, all her doubts dissolved in an instant. Before she knew it, Perceptor jumped to the ground, landing right by her side.

Oh, he was definitely taller than she had expected.

“Inconclusive,” Perceptor mused, turning on his screens back again. “I would have to run more tests. It’s good that I have this area all to myself for the rest of the solar-cycle. Unless, you want to maybe accompany me?”

That was when their stares met for the first time. The invisible link between them established itself with connection Chromia wasn’t sure how to name. There was something about him and his science talk which drew her in to learn more. How strange it all was… And how exciting.

Especially since her mind tried to rewind back to what she was thinking of before. The skylines of Cybertron looked a bit more approaching and Iacon City in the distance… Maybe not as noisy as before. Afterall, Windblade always encouraged her to take her chances and grasp them tight. She’d definitely be proud to hear about her solar-cycle.

“Of course. I don’t exactly have anything else on my agenda, anyway,” shrugging ever so slightly, Chromia confirmed.

“Wonderful. Nice to meet you, Chromia.”

“Same to you, Perceptor.”

“I do not think this is the best way to approach the hideout.”

“Unless you have a better idea, I’m gonna do it my way. Thank you very much.”

Though she couldn’t have heard Perceptor’s response, imagining his visage was a sparkling’s play. Mouth pressed into a thin line, optics closed, frame either leaning over the counter or going back to his screens, as if to appear aloof. Oh, how happy she was that their comm didn’t include visuals. Both for the sake of her imagination and the biggest grin she bit down.

Of course, on the other line it was Perceptor. Keeping a secret from him was definitely a futile endeavor.

Hence he spoke, as if it didn’t matter to him, “It amuses you.”

Yes, definitely.

“No. Not at all,” Chromia said, as she looked around the dusty crossroads behind a dilapidated building. Hadn’t Cybertron just become the loveliest venue.

Chromia closed her optics. It was all she had left. Cybertron at the brink of extinction, Decepticon ambushes she had to extinguish to stay online, the silence and hope Windblade insisted she kept on with her. 

As well as Perceptor. There was always Perceptor.

If it was all up to her, Chromia would've lost her hope vorns upon vorns ago. The grey skies of Cybertron were a far cry from the technological feat of Caminus. The war which kept destroying every corner she was starting to appreciate. The Decepticon troops wanted to snuff out her spark with a singular strike. And yet, she kept on going.

Abandoning Cybertron could’ve been so easy. There were no lies to spread, such a thought crossed Chromia’s processors many times. In the end, she stayed to protect this world which called out her name in the most unexpected way. Who was Chromia if not a soldier, ready to defend what she loved.

Strangely, there truly was a lot to love among the planet which once treated her like a stranger. She guessed every love deserved time to turn like a new screw in the wheel. Not to mention, Chromia wasn’t the one to give up that easily.

However, life was so much easier when it was the three of them. With Windblade, no journey was too lonely, no fight too overwhelming to win. Someone who understood her so much, someone she trusted with all her spark. Yet Windblade was Windblade. Nailing her down to one place for too long was out of the question. Hence when she decided to help rebuild the space bridge and leave, Chromia wasn’t at all surprised.

She let her go, of course. No need to keep her a prisoner when her wings begged to be spread and help others who remained. As well as the promise on Windblade’s glossa to come back and restore Cybertron. Was it courage, Chromia wasn’t exactly sure. She only knew it was something she herself didn’t possess.

From that point forward, it was merely her and Perceptor. As the world crumbled before their optics, they still had each other.

With another strange turn, Chromia grew not to mind it. Perceptor had always been a curious case, eccentric and so knowledgeable. Not at all like Chromia’s desire to go on and fight for freedom with her dreams of uprising. His stay was pragmatic. Hers was valiant.

They were each other’s last fixtures of Cybertron. In Perceptor’s optics, Chromia wanted to see the Iacon City of the past. Instead, his analytics and plans always made her fixed on the future.

Where Perceptor was better at taking the world one fact at a time, Chromia knew they had to make their means end somehow. That was why after many deliberations, conversations and bickering, she finally convinced him to work his research magic. Then she took her stride, checking her map and avoidantly, nodding along to Perceptor’s worries of her safety. Sure, Chromia was touched by his care but at the same time she was a warrior, she got this.

Not even several kiliks later, Perceptor already called. Such were his preventive methods.

Her steps were as light as they came and her optics as alert as ever. Seemed as if among the walls of this Cybertron, the fall of a single bolt was equal to the eruption of a molten lead volcano. Yet, Chromia knew not to take her chances. The grey mist swallowed the remains of the skyscrapers whole. Minimal moves made her feel as if a rust plague swept on across her frame.

“If you gave me more time, I’d construct you a better cloaking device. I cannot begin to understand why you didn’t let me,” over her comms, Perceptor mused.

“It’d take too long,” Chromia rebutted. “You’re already barely hanging on by the scraps of energon you’ve gathered. You… You take way too little to function.”

“I am merely preserving the intake so it’d last longer into the future, Chromia,” just shouting obviously didn’t begin to describe the way she felt about this response. With the silence over her line, he probably already guessed she rolled her optics. “It is nothing short of how I was functioning back pre-war. I am used to this.”

She ex-vented heavily, “And that’s worrying me even more, you know that?”

“You mustn’t.”

“Yet I do. There’s little that would stop me from caring about you,” way too wrapped up in her journey among the mist, Chromia didn’t seem to notice how she kept on talking. Yet her point simply had to be made. “Among everyone, you should be the one to know that some scientific facts cannot be warped. Think of it like energon boiling temperature.”

The poignant silence overwhelmed their shared space. Maybe it was only then when Chromia realized. But she couldn’t give it too much thought or attention. Her primary objective was getting the energon. For them both to survive. For Perceptor to stop neglecting his chassis.

Hearing the click of his glossa, the comms rang with Perceptor’s vocoder, “Are you positive?”

“Yes. As you didn’t want to let me go without a cloak, I don’t want you to go on without energon. It’s not a difficult equation,” Chromia stopped for a micro-klik, pressing her back against another wall. As if to catch her ex-vent or simply to let her words carry through. This time so that Perceptor could’ve truly understood.

After a prolonged moment, Perceptor’s words reached back to her like Camien waves to the red sand shore, “…I see. In that case, I must inform you that I also care about you, Chromia.”

That was when she froze. Maybe in her own tracks, maybe the time itself stood still. Perceptor would’ve probably berate her for such thought and insist it was impossible. Yet he was the one to always make the impossible seem viable.

Hence Chromia could’ve truly insisted that he made the time stop before her very optics. Feeling in the firm press of the wall against her back and the dusty Cybertron wind, it all seemed so miniscule compared to the universe. As such words… Once upon a time, they could’ve never fallen from Perceptor’s glossa. Yet there he was. Admitting what Chromia had been wondering for vorns by that point.

Between the rubble and loneliness, it truly had been nothing but Perceptor by her side. Sure, she always liked him and his approach to science but that was it. A knowledgeable, curious friend, one she was happy to spend time with once in a while. But right then, as they were left all alone, Chromia wanted to understand him more. Listen, pay attention to the little things he did, learn about what he loved to do. To become someone Perceptor was able to trust when Cybertron crumbled to dust. All since he never cared too much about courtesies or small talk. Or even personal talk in the slightest.

An involuntary smile graced her features, no matter how much she had wanted to bite it down. Between all the knowledge of science and martial arts, a feeling presented itself as the purest of facts.

“Chromia? Are you there?”

She tensed her whole chassis, “Yes! Yes, sorry. I was distracted.”

In her processors, she could’ve already seen him raise his brow ridge, “What exactly did distract you? I can’t read any Decepticons nearby.”

“Oh, no, Perceptor, look…”

Unsure of her own ability to admit it all, Chromia tried to cool her own energon down. She had to be around something worth noting. Her optics scanned the perimeter of the building, hoping that intuition of hers would’ve actually given them both a clue on where to look for their success.

That was when her scanner pinged. Maybe success found them.

As she leaned out of her hideout, she looked closely into the building. What once seemed like an unassuming abandoned office, right then glowed with small traces of freshly spilled energon. Then a movement. Chromia smiled knowingly. Her target was achieved.

“Look. This building right there,” she pointed her Camien scanner before her again, letting him take a better reading. “It appears to be one of the Decepticons’ energon stashes. If you see it closely, you’ll see the stomping of their feet caused the ground to indent. They must’ve developed some sort of invincibility cloak.”

“Hold on. I’ll run the double diagnostics,” Perceptor’s vocoder sounded a bit more intrigued by the energon mission. In actuality, she couldn’t have helped herself but share his joy. The sort of enthusiasm he had for uncovering new formulas and secrets was far more than favorable. “Could you please get me closer?”

“Right on it.”

With the most graceful agility, Chromia bounced towards another crumbled up column. Her ex-vent had a hiss to it, trying to make as little sound as possible. When the Decepticons had moved away, Chromia leaned out just enough to catch that finalizing glimpse for her sonar. All while her own sensors repeatedly scanned for the Decepticon activity.

“Is that enough?” She whispered, adjusting herself flush to the column.

“Yes. Thank you, Chromia,” au contraire to her stress, Perceptor always managed to keep his tone calm and emotions at bay. How he did this, she could’ve never told for sure. “As I suspected – this building had been augmented with a forcefield which obscures the vision. The energon stash isn’t in the building per se but it’s located in the tunnels right underneath it.”

“I see. Any clue on how they do that?”

Perceptor’s vocoder remained firm, “Can you move towards the building from the other side?”

“I didn’t have plans to get deactivated this solar-cycle but I can try,” deadpanned Chromia, preparing herself for the launch.

“Wait. No, I forbid this,” immediately, she heard that smidge of worry within him. Subsequently, a tinge of shock ruffled her plating.

“What do you mean, you forbid this?” Her heel struts bounced from place to place, wanting to make her leap.

“I have not calculated how high the possibility of being gunned down by the Decepticons really is. So if you’re in any danger, then–“

Of course, Chromia appreciated the sentiment. However, when every bolt in her chassis twitched, she simply let go.

The warrior’s code and rules of combat still flew within her lines. As the battle wasn’t only a show of strength but also intellect, reaction and quick thinking. Her nimble actions provided her with enough swiftness so she slid across the road without any Decepticon noticing. Soon enough, she was behind a crate from the other side.

When the early afternoon sun hit the cloaks, Chromia’s optics filled with a full prism. She put all the blame on Perceptor for herself to start being interested in the matters of science. Yet if he could’ve opened her worldview on such incredible phenomena, who was she to ever brush it off.

“Chromia. Answer to me. Please.”

…Speaking of.

“You knew I’d do it,” all things considered, she deemed it was enough of an explanation.

“And yet the possessed knowledge didn’t make me any less worried.”

As her optics fell down heavily, Chromia couldn’t have fought him and agreed. A part of her truly appreciated it far more than her words could’ve expressed. Another, just had to go with her own instincts. Still, she drew back, hoping it’d soothe his processors.

“You’re right. And also…” Peeking behind the crate, Chromia looked at the Decepticons again. Right as they stood before her in their full glory. Blinking several times in a row, she asked, “How did they do that? Energon structure manipulation?”

“Indeed. Within a certain length and the intensity of the sun, the Decepticons had created a disguise which obscured their perimeters as well as the energon at a certain point of view. Fascinating.”

Hearing his steady vocoder with that undertone of impressment, Chromia had become almost thankful for the Decepticons. With so much stress and constant combat readiness, they both deserved a time off. When Perceptor’s processors buzzed with new formulas and experiments, that was when Chromia worried about him the least. As he was right where he belonged.

All while Chromia managed to fuse their world together. So with a quick calculation, she realized what exactly was needed.

“Give me a microklik and I’ll get to it,” she said over their call, while once more preparing for her attack. “Just don’t be this worried.”

Perceptor’s tone remained unchanged, “I believe it is impossible for me.”

“Trying is half of the success.”

Saying so, Chromia began her chain reaction. First were the materials Perceptor insisted she carried with her – check. Second was the calculated distance and her room to act within this timeframe – plausible enough. And thirdly, the possible impact the structure could’ve made onto the ground – more than necessary.

A simple leap of faith was all she needed. Sprinting on her bottom wheels, Chromia maneuvered between the Decepticons and drifted across the wall. Before any of them could’ve caught her in action, she already transformed and drove to the other part of the building. Her wheels screeched at the harsh impact, trying to maintain the balance. Out in the distance, angry shouts tried to make their way to her. But Chromia didn’t mind any of it. Instead, she pushed her accelerator further, driving away as far as needed.

Only at a safe distance, she transformed to her robot mode and ejected one of the blades stored in her inner wheels to her servos. A victorious ending was simply a matter of a clearcut strike forward. Which Chromia excelled at.

Before any of them knew, the building crumbled down. Whatever happened to the Decepticons, she didn’t care too much. What she did care about was getting that energon for Perceptor.

As well as getting her call back, “Perceptor?”

“You missed a spot.”

Thoroughly confused, Chromia was ready to bicker back with him. Until she had realized there was a sizable chunk of the wall still left. Hence without a second thought, she reserved to deal with it more of her own way.

Which was to say, she punched it as hard as possible.

“Thank you. Now it’s all done,” she re-confirmed as the debris fell like a lazy stream from his veils.

Perceptor ex-vented, “That was utterly…”

Every single possible ending to this came across Chromia’s processors. Though she tried not to care too much, her easy stroll was somewhat nervous. All she had wanted was to simply get that energon and see Perceptor back on his pedes. All the crumbled buildings and fallen Decepticons be damned in the process.

“…Incredible.”

Oh. What a pleasant turn.

Feeling another smile grow on her features, Chromia shook herself off. No, she was on duty. So she dusted her shoulder pad off and went over towards the ledge. The fall had exposed the entrance to the underground tunnels, which also meant full access to the energon stash.

“I learnt that from you,” she confirmed, trying to regain the balance of aloof and caring. At least a little bit. “For you.”

There was a bit of silence on Perceptor’s line. So much so, she was ready to ask him if everything was right. As if reading her processors, he asked, “Does that mean you’ll teach me martial arts next?”

“Sure. But first let me take care of your energon intake.”

“I cannot seem to win, can I?” Perceptor ex-vented, yet she heard a bit of amusement behind his words.

“Not a chance,” hence Chromia allowed herself the same amusement, as she jumped down towards the cellars. “Not when it’s your wellbeing on my watch.”

When Perceptor hummed in agreement, Chromia thought of science and combat, servo in servo. There was definitely a space for both.

This solar-cycle couldn’t have been more perfect.

As the lazy clouds rolled over the Cybertronian skies, so did Chromia’s neuro-links found peace within themselves. The war she had been fighting for vorns seemed so distant, almost like it had never happened. Not when the sun shone down on Cybertron, hitting the colorful windows and illuminating the frames. Honestly, it just made her ponder how it was possible there was once time she didn’t consider Cybertron to be her home.

Deep in-vent filled Chromia’s entire frame with a newfound energy. Her blue optics focused on another parade float with sparkling-like wonder she considered foreign even since her youth. All this and more had been simply a recipe for serenity she strode for the longest time.

Suddenly, she felt a little nudge, right at her upper arm. “Didn’t know you had it in you,” the moment she looked up, she had noticed Windblade’s smug visage. For once, Chromia didn’t want to deny any of her bright-optic comments. Somehow, she found it more endearing than anything else.

“There might be a lot you don’t realize about me,” Chromia rebutted, while hearing Windblade’s happy laughter.

“Here I thought we don’t have secrets between each other,” Windblade continued, dramatically falling against her shoulder blade.

“Of course, we don’t!”

Reinforcing her words, Chromia couldn’t help but still laugh at their imaginary argument. How was it that that solar-cycle made her so giddy and excited, she wasn’t sure. Not to mention, she definitely tried not to think about a possible one teensy secret she held from Windblade. Then again, it seemed like it was even a secret she held from herself. But hey, being unsure what constituted it made it barely a secret in the first place! Case closed. At least from what Chromia was willing to admit.

“Okay, you’re right,” unaware of her mental storm, Windblade put her servos in a defeated motion. Like it had become one place she wasn’t willing to cross over. “Just to perfect my pop quiz score, your favorite metal is chromium, right?”

“Correct. Afterall, it is in the name, haha. Since we made it to the front row, I expect we’ll get the best view.”

“I’m positive we will,” stretching her plating ever so slightly, Windblade hopped in place. All while Chromia tried to relax, yet she had that certain feeling it wasn’t the end. Especially since in the corner of her optic she saw Windblade still ever so restless. “Well then… You say…”

“I say?” Chromia raised her brow ridge, expecting this to be followed with… Anything really. For some reason, she simply wanted to hear her vocoder again. It was that surreal feeling they hadn’t spoken in the longest time. Which was absurd, of course. How was this the case since they were sharing this parade!

Wait, why couldn’t she tell what was happening before the parade? She was on Cybertron but whatever she was occupied with seemed muddied at best. There had to be someone by her side, someone different than Windblade… But their name was right out of Chromia’s reach. Almost like a result none of her equations could’ve led to.

No, that wasn’t a comparison she should’ve had. More like a target that was just beyond her reach during her boxing training. Again, those scientific puzzle pieces should’ve felt foreign to her and yet. Chromia never felt more drawn to them.

“Everything feels so right to me, I can’t really explain it,” Windblade ex-vented contently, looking into the distant line of the parade. To then focus back on her. “Do you feel the same way, Chromia? Or is there something missing here for you?”

Her big round blue optics were so filled with hope and so perceptive they could’ve drilled a hole right through Chromia’s processors. Not to mention… Perceptive… Any other word could’ve sufficed, so why this particular one? Especially since it wasn’t the first word she’d usually describe Windblade with.

Between the laughter, bright skies, confetti and her Amica’s presence, she should’ve been so happy. As a matter of fact, just a moment before Chromia felt over the Luna 1 base. So why was it that her spark was suddenly filled with worry?

Taking a half-step away, Chromia pulled her shoulder pads together. Everything within her wanted to appear the brightest, like that fleeting moment of several kiliks before, “Not at all. It feels like everything has finally found its place. Isn’t this the Cybertron you’ve always dreamt about?”

“I can’t say it isn’t…” As she shifted her utmost focus on her question, Chromia noticed a slight twitch to her wings. There was a whole other language aviators used to communicate but Windblade only taught her some basics. A simple move equated to a whole enigma. “But it shouldn’t be just about me. What about what you’re dreaming of?”

It took only one question and Chromia already knew Windblade saw through her more clearly than the shiniest Camien rivers. Ah, crud, what was she expecting, trying to uphold a secret from a city speaker.

Was there ever such a thing as the perfect Cybertron for Chromia? Or was it just a pipe dream she couldn’t have followed, since she knew even her fast wheels weren’t able to ever catch up? Many vorns ago, Chromia would’ve been adamant Cybertron she’d ever feel like home could’ve never existed. Not when she missed Caminus, its mechs and culture so damn much. Right then as the parade floats swam by her side, Chromia still didn’t feel like her desires had been reached. The content visages of moments before appeared to be just cruel jokes someone planted in her mind. Perhaps finding her perfect paradise wasn’t possible.

Worry must’ve been painted in neon shades on her faceplate, since she noticed Windblade’s expression dropped so quickly. Then her gentle servo touched her shoulder pad, as she looked softly and said, “Hey. I feel like this must be a lot for you. With all the colors and noises and–“

“I’m fine, Windblade. I really am,” Chromia stated ever so firmly.

“You don’t have to convince me. I just want you to take a step back and clear your processors. Can you meet me there in 5 astro-cycles?”

Looking between her worry and the grip of her servo on her, Chromia knew she had no choice. She ex-vented heavily, “Sure. I can do that.”

Without another word, Windblade smiled again and nodded at her. Ensuring Chromia got the space she needed, she simply walked away, in a straight line. Maybe she called up Bumblebee or another one of her friends. Anything to occupy herself in the sea of Autobots.

Chromia didn’t listen anymore. Instead, she spun around and all exasperated, tried to rack her processor for an easy answer.

Why wasn’t she satisfied with all that was on display right in front of her? What else should’ve Cybertron had done to make her feel fulfilled? At that point, a doubt planted itself within Chromia and didn’t want to let go. What if contentment wasn’t an option and she was stuck in a place she was never bound to fall in love with?

Trying to shake those thoughts away, Chromia shut her optics tightly. The happy parade song filled her audials with nothing but a stream of noise. Though she had to persevere. She had to go forward and think, just think what else was she missing?

Amidst all the doubts and second-guesses, Chromia felt a little ping on her arm. A call to be precise. To be even more precise – one from Perceptor.

Perceptor.

Quickly, Chromia answered, her optics running from side to side, desperate to catch a glimpse of her friend, “Perceptor? Where are you?”

“Chromia,” he accented her name in a way that was as pungent as a scientific fact. In all honesty, she was quite proud of it. Of being one of the formulas, she could’ve developed with Perceptor. “We don’t have much time. Please, listen.”

“What, why? Aren’t you at the parade? Meet me here and we can talk.”

“I am in the parade only partially. And so are you,” underlined with his usual sense of calm, there was urgency he had never shown. How curious.

“What are you talking about?” All confused, Chromia tried to piece it all together. Futile attempts it seemed. “I’m by the third entrance, come meet me. Windblade is nearby, I can ask her to look for you.”

“That is not the case, Chromia. You have to transform, then you will be able to fully meet me.”

Such words were definitely not to her liking. Once more, her optics darted all over the place to catch the smallest glimpse of him. As well as Windblade, just so they’d both be safe around those parts. What was with the sudden feeling of danger?

“Perceptor, just tell me what’s wrong and I will meet you, I promise! Any sign and I’ll be there for you,” her step became way more hurried, her in- and ex-vents much shallower.

At that point, neither of them truly knew what the other one meant. Though it was Perceptor who spoke first.

“Chromia. I can sense something is bothering you. Can you tell me what that is?”

Like a jammed bullet, Chromia stopped in a moment, just to be more in control of her own self, “What? You’re becoming way too cryptic for my liking. Just tell me what’s actually wrong and I’ll do what I can.”

“No. I can sense it is not a me thing,” even when she didn’t see him, she could’ve imagined his thinking face so clearly. How he lowered his helm a little, tapped his digit on the side of his face, how his derma opened a little to be ready to ask another question. “Rather it’s something related to you.”

He was right. But when was he ever not?

“That’s my own business,” scoffed Chromia, as another colorful float drove by past her. That sparkdamned song started to annoy her.

“Yet I would want to require that knowledge, so I could help you as well,” as eloquent as ever, Perceptor tried his best.

Well, it wasn’t as if she didn’t appreciate his efforts. And Windblade insisted she actually took care of it… Those convoluted thoughts couldn’t have left her alone. That sky which was too blue, smiles that weren’t sincere enough. All of this seemed so artificially constructed in their divineness, yet all kinds of wrong.

Empty. They were simply empty. Just as Chromia felt looking at them.

“Do you think there’s ever a way to belong somewhere? When you think it’s all just a shadow theatre of how your life was supposed to be and you long for something tangible… But you knew you couldn’t have it? Do you scientists even believe in such a thing?” Asked Chromia, when the world passed by her side and her optics looked at the endless sky. All of this, like the most imaginary thing she had. As if no matter what she did, that happiness and contentment were always beyond her reach. No matter how much they wanted to inflict themselves on her worldview. 

Truly, she never expected Perceptor to have an answer. He wasn’t there, that was easy enough to deduce. Even if he was, a man of science like him wouldn’t have been worried about those constructs.

Then again, Chromia was a woman of battle. Any worries like these never occupied too much space in her processors.

All exasperated, she already regretted posing that question. Not when all of the faces passing her by were smiling widely at something so miniscule. At least in her opinion, that was. Feeling her frame collapse underneath her own imaginary weight, Chromia’s shoulder pads dropped and she reached to end their call.

Until Perceptor’s vocoder made her stop.

“I have never felt like I didn’t belong somewhere. With not possessing what I want it’s easier, there are many experiments which end up with inconclusive or disastrous results. Just ask Wheeljack if he’s near.”

Already imagining another device blowing up in his faceplate, Chromia chuckled. Ah, dammit, he was too good at spontaneously boosting her mood.

“However… Lately, I’ve felt this strange sensation. As if there was something missing in my life, in reality I’ve found myself in,” when he paused for a micro-klik, Chromia imagined all the darkest scenarios. How much she would’ve given to end their distance and reach out to him. “Which led me to a strange conclusion. A very unscientific one, if you can imagine.”

That certainly piqued Chromia’s interest, “Oh? What would it be?”

“Sometimes it’s not about the place but the circumstances that affect us, which make us feel like we don’t belong. Or we mourn the reality we can’t have,” for many, the kind of calm Perceptor spoke with, even dealing with such crushing topics, would’ve been a cause for distraught. For Chromia, it was almost comforting. Until he said what he had truly meant, “I think you can assess it on your own, with that prolonged longing you possess towards Caminus – am I right?”

Her dermas pressed into a thin line, her sight focused on the ground, littered with pieces of confetti, “Partially.”

“I see. I do sympathize with you, Chromia, the most I can,” he reassured her, again in his own special way.

Which was more than enough for her to hear. After what felt like vorns, anything she had felt regarding Perceptor was more than fondness. He wasn’t simply a brilliant scientist but someone with such deep intelligence, Chromia wanted to listen to him. Even if sometimes he was awkward in deeper talks, she never really minded. She was never good at that either – hence sometimes their shared tries and silences were the best she ever had. Like the one right then.

Knowing it was about time to head back to Windblade, Chromia turned around, all her senses still focused solely on their conversation, “I appreciate that. Believe me, I do, it means a lot to me.” It would’ve been fair to end their talk right then but there was still this one query stuck to her, “Say, Perceptor, can you tell me what’s been bothering you? In the realm of feeling like you don’t belong. Maybe I could help you out.”

“You could. Because the matter is that… It’s been so long since you’ve been by my side. I haven’t heard your vocoder for Primus knows how long…” Perceptor got quiet again. Not because he didn’t know what to say. Rather because for once the truth scared him. “I miss you, Chromia. Unscientifically. With my whole spark.”

Life continued next to her. Slow motions blurred within each other, as if everything else moved with the highest velocity. While in contrast, she remained.

But Chromia would’ve rather remained in the moment. If only it meant capturing Perceptor’s words in her own servos.

“Perceptor…” She began but her own meanings had escaped her.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have put such a burden on you, regarding the circumstances,” he admitted, as a faint sound of ticking appeared in the background.

Energon in her lines froze solid. It couldn’t have ended like this, she would’ve not given up that easily, “No, come on, please tell me what’s wrong, how can I reach you again, why–“

“They’re coming!” Someone shouted as the aviators cut the clear blue sky in three straight lines.

“We’re already out of time.”

“Didn’t know you had it in you,” with a smug smile, Windblade nudged her upper arm.

Next thing Chromia knew, she was back at the front row of the parade.

She lost count how many times her comms had rang this evening.

Every few kiliks, a bright light had cut through the lunar-cycle, sending an afterglow on Chromia’s window. The effect of course was amplified by the total darkness she shrouded the main living space of her apartment with. Despite this and the late breem, Chromia didn’t allow herself a safe recharge. Instead, her struts paced around the room, hoping to find one corner in which she could’ve escaped from her problems.

The damn device showed no marcy in stopping its constant rings. Any glimpses of the screen were more or less fruitless endeavors, as she knew exactly who was calling each and every time. But the mere whisper of his name sent a certain kind of shiver down Chromia’s spine. No, she couldn’t. She had to keep going.

No matter what, her comms kept flashing with Perceptor’s name and his visage. At least, one from the olden times. One Chromia couldn’t bear to look at anymore.

There was so much she had wanted to tell him and just as many things she wanted to hear from him. Yet all this made  her processors insist upon calling herself a pure coward, unable to act on any of her desires. Once a fearless warrior from Caminus, right then, Chromia could’ve only sat on her berth with her helm in her servos, counting micro-kliks till another attempt at call ended. Oh, how the mighty fell.

With a heavy drag against her plating, Chromia lifted her helm, focusing on the stream of light breaking via her window. As the zoom restored itself, she turned back to her unassuming communicator. Darkness around her was only an answer against any unwilling visitors or spectators. Even if Perceptor himself couldn’t have assessed she was home, she needed a leeway for others not to inform him either.

The inside of Chromia’s mouth felt dryer than the wild deserts on Cybertron. What was the point of lying to herself? There was no way he wouldn’t have known. If there was a single mech who could’ve read through her intentions, it would’ve been either Windblade or Perceptor.

At that moment in her life, she had neither. One she’d lost, the other she’d rather he readjusted his priorities.

That certain kind of ache to her spark accompanied her since the battle of the Titans. If back then Cybertron was one, why did Chromia feel as if she had lost everything? How was she supposed to carry on with her life and see Cybertron rebuilt and renewed? She dreamt of the time when Cybertron rose back from the ashes, she hadn’t realized the cost of it would’ve been everything she held dear suddenly taken away from her. All she had left were the coolant tears, shame, her Camien psychic tracker and the lit up communicator. Everything and nothing.

Two of the most important mechs in her life, gone just like this, without a proper goodbye. Chromia’s frame shook involuntarily, emotions boiling up inside her. With her left servo, she pressed hard against her tanks, wrapping herself in one spot. Almost sparkling-like, Chromia closed her optics wishing for once that the world couldn’t have seen her state, if she just succumbed to her solitude.

Yet the world kept judging her, with those big emotionless optics. Before she knew it, her communicator rang again. Sounds of her plain incoming call signal were forcing themselves onto Chromia’s processors. Every bolt in her chassis spun with the rising mixture of anxiety and pressure.

How foolish was that, Chromia thought to herself amidst the ringtones. She battled with the fiercest enemies, struck down Decepticons left and right, survived them when Cybertron was at its last standing strut. She conquered all this and more. Her defeat couldn’t have come in the form of a sparkdamned call, could it? The faster she ripped that welding material off her battle wound, the better for her. Then the silence could’ve resumed undisturbed.

Shakingly, she stood up and rushed to her communicator. One opportunity to end it all on her own terms. The very least she was able to allow herself.

As Chromia pressed the “answer” button, she hadn’t said a word. Truthfully, she hadn’t dared to be the one to begin. Her optics closed, waiting for any cue.

“You answered.”

Like an involuntary reaction, Chromia smiled to herself hearing his vocoder. As always, Perceptor didn’t ask – he already knew the whole situation. Those little things were what Chromia would’ve missed the most, she thought.

“You rang,” with a heavy ex-vent, she admitted. “What is it, Perceptor?”

“I wanted to check how are you feeling right now,” his tone was a little more careful than she was accustomed to. Usually, Perceptor was reserved in his emotions; Right then, it seemed more like treading waters. “It turns out my hypothesis had been correct.”

“When is it not, am I right?” 

“Indeed,” there wasn't a single moment when Perceptor was humble about his work. In all honesty, Chromia loved that and couldn’t simply get enough of his natural scientific confidence. “Judging by your response and the time in which you had done so I conclude that… You need someone.”

Chromia pressed the side of her frame against one of the walls, still staring into the view behind her window, “Maybe I do.”

“I suspect I am not the kind of person you want.”

His words fell on her like a sudden chemical buzz in a vial. One which at first bubbled up into the air, to then leave a faint residue on the microscope slide. In all of the vorns they’d known each other, Perceptor’s hypothesis wasn’t more correct. So much so, it pierced through the middle of Chromia’s chest with one clear answer.

Perceptor wasn’t the one she wanted back then, she couldn’t allow herself to want him. Yet despite everything, she needed Perceptor. More than anything else on Cybertron and Caminus combined.

Not leaving on such a note, Chromia said in a muffled tone, “What makes you say that?”

“Chromia. I called precisely 26 times,” once more, Perceptor delivered the most clearcut answer. So much so, it would’ve been easy for her to imagine him saying it directly to her faceplate.

If only doing so didn’t require the amount of courage far beyond her capabilities. The guilt which rose within her barely let her continue this talk. Constant memories of her past barraged onto Chromia, making light of her failures; Not in a whisper but an energoncurdling yell.

Yet there was one more additional fact which couldn’t leave her be.

“Despite this, you kept on calling,” echoing what Perceptor always did, Chromia hadn’t asked, only stated her own fact. 

“I am not someone who gives up that easily. As a researcher, I cannot run away from the problem I had stated without exploring it,” his reasoning, of course, was as obvious for him as possible. Exasperated, Chromia braced herself to give him a dismissive answer. Despite the hanging animosity, he continued, “And as your friend I wanted to know what was troubling you and thus, offer my help. So I am offering it now.”

The words lingered between them with a timestop, as Chromia stood almost frozen. Truth be told, those several tones transmitted between their apartments felt both like the biggest surprise and the biggest comfort there was. She knew Perceptor. She knew his processors which seldom noticed anything but practical research and problem solving. Maybe that was the way Perceptor wanted to approach her without burdening neither him nor her. But his method exposed his meaning in an almost voyeuristic way. 

Within Perceptor’s tone, there was this worried streak, purely emotional. To see and notice his friend. Just as she was.

He approached her not with a clearcut defensive strike but rather Perceptor gently knocked on the surface to see its material. True courage if Chromia ever saw one, it seemed. Far greater than she was displaying, as her cowardice pulled her from meeting Perceptor even halfway.

Above all other takeaways, Chromia allowed this to happen. But as she moved to glance behind the centerpiece window of her apartment, she had a different ideal at servo. Her optics swept across the main plaza of Iacon City. Sooner than anyone expected, it went back to the rebuilding stage, restoring what was lost during the war. Even then, new impressive skyscrapers, memorials and points had been opening left and right at an impressive speed. Cybertronians roamed the streets, alone or with a special someone of any kind by their side.

At the tip of Chromia’s glossa there was a perfect word to encapsulate it. Just no permission to feel it, not with what she had done.

She pressed the tip of her helm against the window frame, “I appreciate the offer, Perceptor, trust me, I do. It’s just that I shouldn’t feel anything like this. I mean, Cybertron is free! All the Autobots, old and new are back here together, it’s all exciting to see what’s next! Listen, you and I are both safe from all the wars. I should be happy.”

“But you’re not,” without missing a beat, Perceptor dared to say it out loud. Again, showing off the courage which kept escaping Chromia.

A confession trembled on her vocal circuits, one she had been avoiding for way too long.

“I’m not. I truly am not.”

Even if in the form of a barely audible whisper, spoken flush to the recipient, Chromia still managed it. Her optics closed shut, unable to look at the tranquility the new Cybertron brought with itself. Who was she kidding, truth wouldn’t have saved her. Absent-mindedly, she reached towards her comms to end the call.

Until Perceptor’s vocoder rang in her audials again.

“Do you remember my audio-notebook?” He asked, seemingly out of nowhere.

“Yes.”

“Do you know under what circumstances I use it?”

Unsure why was he so adamant about recalling those facts, she simply said, “I guess after each new experiment. I’ve seen you compare the notes of each attempt.”

“That’s right. Every mark of the experiment is written down in my save files, so I can access it, compare and contrast,” Perceptor admitted, wrapped up in his scientific world. Or at least that was how Chromia saw it. “You see, each attempt brings something new for me to analyze. Thus I can carry on new marks of experiment attempts and curate the next one to my needs. Which means…”

In an instant, Chromia got what he meant, “You want me to create my own post-factum audio file.”

“For research purposes – indeed.”

Chromia could’ve physically felt the micro-kliks passing. Ones which slid right across her own plating as the celestial bodies traveled across the universe.

What was the point in all this? Chromia knew no matter how she’d looked at the situation, what had been done couldn’t be corrected. Sometimes, it was comforting for Chromia – the past was her anchor in this universe, against the merciless future. Just what was it all for, when she failed those she cared about the most?

Still… Perceptor asked her this and he cared enough to wait for her answer. Among the silence, not certain if Chromia would’ve ever responded, he remained. How strange it was to have him fixed at that point. How utterly undeserving Chromia felt within his presence.

She had to try – if not for coming clean to herself, it should’ve been for Perceptor awaiting any of her cues.

“Windblade is gone,” once more, Chromia came clean. One sentence which clung to her processors throughout every solar and lunar-cycle. 

Perceptor hummed softly, “She is.”

“You don’t understand – she’s gone. I don’t know if I’ll even be able to find her, I…” Chromia felt her servos shake, barely holding herself together. “She left in so much pain, trying to awaken Iaconus. And don’t tell me you didn’t know exactly the risk she took upon herself. I just keep on thinking… Why did she do that?”

Within her memory bank, Chromia found endless files regarding Windblade. She was her closest companion, her dearest Amica. The valiant warrior, curious about the world, always taking her chances. In her steadiness, Chromia always felt impressed by those feats. Cause with Windblade, the world was a safer place. No matter the outcome carried by the potential risk.

At least, that was reassuring for her. Windblade went on, doing what she knew was right. Consequences be damned.

“Whatever Windblade did, it was her own choice on the matter,” Perceptor finally delivered his own assessment. Amidst her wearied tries to stand up, Chromia still listened as attentively as she was able to. “I know it must be horrifying not knowing where she is but she chose what was the best for Cybertron and for herself. Surely, you should understand her autonomy and value system. There was nothing you could’ve done to prevent it.”

In a moment, another confession slipped off of Chromia’s glossa, “It was the same with you.”

“Pardon?”

“Don’t act like you didn’t hear it for the first time, I know that you did. Because it was the exact same. You burnt your optics out, you cannot see because you wanted to save me out of every single lifeform on this planet,” the energon in Chromia’s lines burnt hotter than melting lead. Yet she wasn’t done. With all the force in the world, she accented, “And don’t act like I don’t know what’s at stake. I talked with Ratchet. I know. I… Know.”

Those last two words repeated from her vocoder, like a broken record echoing through Maccadam’s at the closing breem.

She knew. She knew Perceptor’s sight had no chance of being recovered.

She knew.

She just couldn’t comprehend why she was the one Perceptor had done it for. Why did it have to be her?

“Chromia…” Was all Perceptor managed to say. Like a knockout punch at the end of the match.

Any other time, Chromia relished in the way he had always said her name. That time around, it seemed like a true curse spread across the land. No matter how many autonomous choices, so to speak, it took, Chromia mourned her own helplessness. In the mouth of another bot, her fate was sealed. Especially in Perceptor’s.

“I cannot save the lives of others, even if my own depends on it… You, Windblade, Cybertron as it is! Just admit that I’m not worth it,” among the hushed down sobs, Chromia whispered right against her comm. Her servo laid flat against the glass of the window, her sight dropped back to the blurred streets. No use in trying to look at Perceptor’s flat anymore. “Please, it’d be the best for us both.”

Somehow, Perceptor answered right away, his vocoder as unyielding as it ever was.

“I cannot do that.”

Between everything which had happened, Chromia was ready to give up. Truly, there was no point in fighting with Perceptor’s stubbornness. So she tried to work with it, “Should I present my hypothesis in a different way?”

“No. Your way of presenting the hypothesis is correct,” that would’ve been the highest praise coming from Perceptor. In any different circumstance, Chromia would’ve been downright proud. “But its conclusion is completely untrue.”

Chromia scoffed, not caring whatever else was hurled her way, “Why is that?”

“Because it goes against my own hypothesis,” a scientist above everything else, Perceptor kept to his own values. In part, Chromia found it infinitely endearing. He was always testing each possible outcome. Even in a situation this dire.

“Well then, let’s hear it,” fixing herself up, Chromia crossed her arms in the middle of her chest. Her own statement had always been of reason not wishful thinking. Finding reason with that stubborn mech he was, usually meant meeting him halfway. “Present your hypothesis, Perceptor.”

“I cannot do it on my own. Please, return your sight back to the window.”

Furrowing her bridge ridges, Chromia reiterated, “Am I hearing you correctly? How do you even know where I am?”

“My communicator has been modified so I can detect movement of the one I’m talking to, even from afar. I can see your helm is turned down, hence I’m asking you to return to your previous state.”

Though another aid which helped Perceptor to operate this world made Chromia infinitely happy, she barely understood the point of his request. Still, if that meant he started talking sense instead of axioms, it was all fine by her. Both in terms of hearing Perceptor’s analytical processor describing a problem but also… She simply missed hearing his vocoder. Spending millennia with him surely made his sudden absence this more impactful.

Promptly, Chromia moved herself, facing the window again. Her optics ran across the lights off of the windows from the block before her, trying to catch her winning glimpse. But just as she was reaching his apartment, he said, “Now look at the square on your right and my left. There, you will see a construction site.”

Just as suspected, amidst the dimmed down Iacon City, the plaza circle had become a home to a new building. With just the fundamentals dug into the ground, nothing presented itself for Chromia with actual meaning and purpose.

“Alright. I am seeing something but there’s no indication what it is yet,” she nodded to herself, her stoic nature tested greatly. “Is that what you wanted me to say, Perceptor?”

“Not quite. I’m here to present you with what exactly is this,” as if guiding her towards it, Perceptor’s steady vocoder drew from her comms. “This is the newest lighthouse I have patented and designed to be placed in the middle of Iacon City. Of course, its construction still has a long way to go but as you’ve seen, it will be a grand fixture, viewable even from a large distance. That is all to say, this lighthouse will provide a constant light for any Cybertronian coming to Iacon City, which will deem our area accessible no matter the time, weather or distance.”

With that explanation, Chromia tried to look at the plaza again. The building blocks climbing up certainly had more meaning to them. A sudden warmth spread against her chest again. Whatever was built from Perceptor’s blueprints, even in the beginning stages, was bound to become a technological marvel.

“That’s very impressive, Perceptor,” her vocoder became a little raspier, seemingly out of nowhere. “Trust me, I am very proud of all of your accomplishments.”

“Do you know which color I have chosen for the light?” Perceptor hadn’t given up.

“No idea.”

“Blue. I’m quite fond of this color and it’s proven to be the most soothing for the optic,” before Chromia had a chance to answer, Perceptor immediately began a new subject. “I have tested its power on a much smaller model. Now, turn your head towards my apartment.”

Of course, Chromia obliged. The blue glow peered out of the window in a steady horizontal stream, pointing directly at her. In part, she simply wanted to applaud the fact how quickly he managed to finish his prototype. In other, she had to admit, Perceptor was right. The dreamy blue worked wonders on her wearied optics.

“Incredible…” She ex-vented, fixed on the light.

“I knew you would like it. Afterall, I chose it with you on my processors,” such a confession would’ve been a turning point for anyone else. Yet for Perceptor, it was merely another segway. “Do you know how blue light is made?”

“You should’ve known I was terrible in my physics classes,” rebutted Chromia, nestling herself more comfortably in the nook of her window.

A very small chuckle escaped Perceptor’s mouth. Reserved to have been broadcasted only through their call, directly to Chromia’s audial, “I do remember you mentioning it. If you want to know, every light starts with a white stream. One that is then cast at an angle which makes it blue.”

“That makes a lot of sense but…” choosing the correct words in her processors, Chromia had to act on her thoughts. Especially since they kept dancing around her with questions, she had no answers to. “What does it have to do with anything?”

“Let me explain – neither the color blue nor my lighthouse exist in a vacuum. They are both products of a larger scale of circumstances, plans and outlines which allowed them to happen. We might not realize it at first but in fact they are the median of everything which helped to create them.”

“Perceptor…”

“Chromia,” he said so decisively, it shook Chromia to her very core. Yet there was nothing else she’d listen to. “No matter how sustainable and sturdy these things are, they cannot exist on their own. They have to be supported by a crew or the laws of physics. In the same way you don’t exist in a vacuum either.”

Blinking several times, Chromia looked from her comms towards the outside world again. As the phenomena pulled themselves together, she remained quiet. Just to hear Perceptor explain the secrets to the whole universe. To understand his true meaning.

“Windblade is a big part of your life, I know it and if she chose to awaken Iaconus for us all… I think she made the correct choice,” Perceptor continued, pauses between his sentences a bit longer than before. “That is to say, she knows best what her actions are. But I am quite sure she wouldn’t hesitate to save you again. She did just that, leaving Cybertron.”

“Yes, I… I remember the feeling.”

“That is all her and as for me… You were willing to put everyone on Cybertron at risk for my own sake. Getting you out of that predicament was the least I could’ve done. Because I too am a part of something bigger than myself. And you are a part of my life too, Chromia.”

She remembered that solar-cycle way too well for her own liking. The restraints which captured her wrists, the force which halted each of her attempts to get out. Inside her, there was no other time she’d feel a greater fear. Losing herself was one thing but losing Perceptor? That was far beyond anything she could’ve withstood.

“Cybertron wouldn’t have been what I grew to know without you. I might’ve come here with Windblade but it was you who made me feel… Home. Despite the Decepticon attacks and constant waiting, you were always there for me,” for the first time, Chromia let her spark do all the talking. With unbound softness, she looked forward to seeing even an outline behind the curtains. “You became my home, Perceptor.”

“And no matter the profession, fighting for your home is always right. Of course, I pale in comparison to your fighting prowess but…” Perceptor paused for a longer klik, as she took in the words. “I wanted to fight for you. Because you are worth to me more than the memories of Cybertron. I simply cannot imagine it without you.”

There was a shadow of him, right in the distance. The lines of Perceptor’s frame danced against his curtains, casting themselves for her optics to just barely see. But she knew he was there. What else mattered more in life?

Cause Caminus might’ve been in her past and Cybertron never truly felt like home. Yet Perceptor always felt like so. With his brilliant mind and tries. Somehow, someway, Chromia’s rough edges let go, allowing herself to become immersed in the blue light. All thanks to Cybertron’s most incredible processor.

However, one thing remained for her to find out, “Can I ask you one more thing?” 

“Go ahead.”

“If you were able to go back… Would you change anything? Do you regret it at all?”

Maybe it wasn’t the most graceful question but Chromia only knew grace in combat. All those tangled feelings never went easy on her. Still, she tried to comprehend everything Perceptor meant. For a moment, she listened to silence between them, ready to brush it all off. Until she was met with an answer.

“No. I cannot imagine being different than I am now and I do not want to change for the spectators,” concluded Perceptor, loud and clear. “And even if I don’t see it anymore, I don’t want to live in a world which I know is devoid of blue.”

When those words rang between them, Chromia felt the world stop. Her own chassis almost detached from herself, within the grand spectacle of thoughts basked in blue light. Steady, fixed, downright welcoming to her. Between all the blues, Chromia saw a glimpse of red. That was when she felt it. That was when her spark beat in a completely different rhythm. 

She might’ve spoken her words of thanks, not that she had remembered it too clearly. What she did remember was the silence linking them both. Sitting down by her window, Chromia looked out to the Cybertron of their future, taking in the sights of whatever laid before her. All the incredible fixtures and ideas which Perceptor developed to make the next solar-cycle something unique, something theirs.

The blue light remained by Chromia’s side all throughout the lunar-cycle.

His timing was always impeccable.

The water had already dried off of her wheels, the road became sturdier than those of Cybertronian seaside. Every once in a while, Chromia checked the status of Windblade, situated then on Bumblebee’s roof. Each glance was nervous, sure but both the side of her Amica nestled comfortably and Bumblebee’s cheery vocoder soothed her processors. As much as they could’ve had. It was a damn long solar-cycle for all of them.

Hence when her comms rang with a specific melody, Chromia was even more eager to pick them up. Along with the fact who exactly was calling. At least she was in her vehicle mode, so Bumblebee wouldn’t have been able to see that grin plastered on her faceplate. Not that it mattered. And not that she was ashamed. No siree. 

Sweeping the understatements underneath her mental core, Chromia spoke with a relieved tone, “You know exactly the time I need you.”

“I thought I calculated it a while back ago,” Perceptor sounded serious, detached. Though she knew his tricks way too well. “And the sum was a whopping zero.”

“What can I say. I’m a femme of a dynamic processor. Maybe I’ve also gone a little soft on ya,” after a klik or two of pause, she added quickly. Just so her words wouldn’t have been that overwhelming for either of them.

“Mmm. Heard that.”

Sparkdammit. 

“You won’t tell a secret, will you?”

“Cross my spark, Chromia. Unless it will be of great help during a, let’s say, academic speech,” as he kept on toying with her, she only felt the sense of glee in her spark get bigger and bigger.

“Primus, you’re insufferable,” she punctuated with a laugh.

“Thankfully, I am your type of insufferable,” she was certain Perceptor himself smiled while saying so. His tone betrayed him too well. “In any case, I am calling to see how you’re holding up. Ratchet told me there was an ambush with Windblade. But knowing you, I presume she’s safe and sound now.”

“You’d presume correctly,” Chromia ex-vented, slaloming away from a bigger rock. Several more miles and they’d reach Iacon again. Already musing her next trip to Maccadam’s, she continued, a bit startled, “Hold on, before anything, how are you holding up? You’ve had a checkup on this solar-cycle, correct?”

“Indeed. I am doing fine, thank you. Ratchet had been testing my reflexes and they’re as sharp as ever,“ laconic as always, Perceptor didn’t dwell too much on his current status. All those little memos always made Chromia ex-vent a bit easier. Which, for her, also meant sparing another worried look at Windblade. “That’s plenty on me. Now, please tell me how you are feeling.”

A bit surprised, Chromia had to readjust her steer a little. Especially since she heard Bumblebee’s engine hum in a way that felt too up close and personal. Even if she did actually want another check on how Windblade was doing, no matter how shorter the kiliks between her glances had gotten. Yet that time around, she let him do his thing. At least this once.

“Better now. Y’see, Windblade had been taken by this… Sea guardian guy. His name was Hammerbyte? I have never seen a stranger bot.”

“Even in your current journey?”

“Trust me, I wouldn’t say it lightly,” a bit displeased, once more, Chromia felt that certain kind of heaviness onto her. How she wished to simply rub the sides of her helm and lay down. She certainly wouldn’t have been opposed to some good energon and an even better company as well. “Turns out, Hammerbyte was possessed by the Titan Dweller who had also manipulated him, Bumblebee and even Windblade. Long story short, I had to fight them all for survival. Sure, all turned out alright but I sincerely hope not to visit the sea in a long time.”

A muffled hum was heard on the other side of the call. A deep, immersed in thoughts one which Perceptor had practically perfected, “I see. That seems like a whole lot of unnecessary trouble for anyone involved.”

“You’d get that right,” without too much, oh the irony, dwelling herself, Chromia agreed. “Thankfully, everyone knows that a skilled martial artist not only knows how to throw a punch but also she knows how to settle it, without harming those she doesn’t want to involve.”

“I wouldn’t have sold you on anything shorter,” another softer tone of his voice. Another image of Perceptor’s smile engraved itself on her mind. “You are in fact the greatest fighter I can think of.”

“Why thank you, Perceptor,” a certain kind of warmth spread all around her spark region. She tried not to think about it for too long.

“However, I have posed you a question,” that time around, Perceptor punctuated harder than how he was usually talking to her. “And I have yet to receive an answer.”

“Hm? Don’t know what you mean.”

Everything seemed settled, telling him the story of that presumably huge dent in the med bay, her absence and the unfortunate encounter… What else was there to need to know?

Especially since Chromia could’ve already felt the traction the sleek roads of Iacon gave her. She wasn’t that far off from meeting him. Nothing immediately stood out to her as so urgent she had forgotten to share with him. With a side glance, she looked back at Bumblebee and Windblade. While he hadn’t said a word, she hadn’t moved anywhere. Everything was right as it was.

That was when Perceptor delivered his judgment in his usual clearcut sentences. Not wasted on any flowery words, just straight facts, “I asked you how are you feeling, Chromia. You have told me about everyone around – how about your own status?”

Oh. Right.

“I told you, we weren’t harmed and Windblade is safe,” in her bot mode, Chromia would’ve shrugged avoidantly. “Isn’t that the key to the whole situation? And is knowing my own status that important?”  

Perceptor didn’t budge, “Yes. It is important. To me.”

In part, Chromia was done with his stubbornness and the insistence on caring about things she hadn’t thought of. At the same time, his question made her take a mental step back. Amidst the whirlwind of caring for Windblade’s consciousness and checking if Perceptor was doing fine, she seldom made time to think of herself. Either in things to do for herself, as well as evaluating her own feelings. She hated doing that last thing, anyway.

Still, a silent voice inside of her was more than appreciative how despite her aloofness towards her own wellbeing… Perceptor never omitted to ask what was her current status. Constantly checking on her, asking if all her healthy parameters were in check. Sometimes talking with her until she fell into recharge, just to make sure she was resting. Sure, Chromia hated to admit it but his support meant the world for her.

All she could’ve given him back was the truth. She hoped it was enough.

“I’m exhausted,” Chromia confessed, her vocoder laying low, as if those words wore her down more than what constituted it. “Every solar-cycle I’ve been worried about Windblade, taking care of the expeditions or just bettering myself in combat. Feels like it’s been ages since I’ve enjoyed some alone time. Or with friends. With you.”

She didn’t know why mentioning Perceptor separate from her friends was necessary. For her, it simply felt right. In return, he only made a little humming noise to show he was still listening.

“I thought maybe today we’ll have a breakthrough, since we almost found her whole mind. But no, instead, that Hammerbyte guy had to take her and I had to fight not one, not two but three combat-ready bots. Can you imagine this?”

“Though I sense you went on top during that fight,” started Perceptor, as she was bracing herself to deny that involvement. Then, he continued, “...I recognize it isn’t the point. It had to be quite straining but I wouldn’t be myself remaining indifferent to your prowess. Just FYI.”

“Thank you,” she knew in robot mode she’d be smiling hard. “I simply wish I could take time to do things for myself. For all the troubles to stop, even for a klik and I’d know everyone around me is safe and healthy. Can’t be too much to ask for.”

More and more, she simply wished for the simplest things. Within the bounds of her imagination, Chromia already had woven the perfect vision of the future. There would’ve been all her closest friends, chatting excitedly and looking forward till she joined the party. Windblade would’ve been back together, Arcee would’ve shown her new pictures from her travels. And at the end of the line, there would’ve been Perceptor. Eager for her to join him.

Lately, her processors often imagined Perceptor on his own, waiting for her with a stretched out servo for her to hold. They might’ve not been the only ones on Cybertron anymore but it certainly felt like he remained the only one in her world.

“And you, Chromia? What would you like to do the most when the troubles are gone?” With a softness reserved just for her, Perceptor asked.

“I would…” She started, though the words on her glossa couldn’t have found the right rhythm. Her audials decided to focus on the steady roll of her wheels, the dull sound relaxing her processors, “I would go to Maccadam’s. Get a drink, listen to the ambience. Then I’d go out, right by the outskirts of Iacon City. It would’ve been so late in the lunar-cycle, barely anyone would’ve been around. Then I’d sit on the ground and wait for the sun to shine down on my plates. And if you care… You’d be there, right beside me. For once, we wouldn’t rush or anything just… Exist. By each other’s side.”

A beat of silence overwhelmed their call. As if either of them wanted to say something, anything at all but no words could’ve sufficed. At the same time, Chromia didn’t find it particularly straining. Not when between Perceptor’s grand scientific dogmas, she found beauty in the art of shared silence.

After a moment, Perceptor’s words drew forward, “That’s… That’s a wonderful vision.”

“A pipe dream I like to think about. Nothing too fancy,” avoidantly, she clicked her glossa.

“Do you really want this?”

Struck down by his question, she almost forgot her own words. Then getting back to her senses, she came clean, “Yes. That is my dream.”

“Then after all of this is done, I shall make it your reality. Chromia.”

The way Perceptor spoke her name was always dear to her. She felt as if it sounded like one of his dearest formulas or equations, announced with nothing but passion and appreciation. Maybe right then, Chromia realized something far greater. Her name in Perceptor’s vocoder sounded completely unscientific.

Nearby the med bay, in the corner of her optic, she spotted Bumblebee changing back to his robot mode. All of those thoughts of hers made her almost unaware of her surroundings. Ah, right, definitely a mistake of hers. Breaking away from the bounds of her haze, Chromia transformed to her robot mode. Large skyscrapers of Iacon City stared down on her.

“I…” Trying to find the correct words, Chromia’s vocoder stuttered. What she needed right then were the simplest yet truest words. “Thank you.”

“No need to mention it,” once more, his mannerisms stuck in Chromia’s processors. She could’ve so clearly seen him brushing off the words with a little shoulder pad settle and a motion of his servo. “From the sudden change in audio, I presume you’re back by the med bay.”

Perceptive as ever, she thought to herself.

“Yes.”

“And you must cut our conversation short.”

“That’s also true.”

“I understand,” this one had to be punctuated with him giving a slight nod. In any case, Perceptor got himself back together. “Are we seeing each other on this lunar-cycle?”

“Of course. Same time as always?”

“Positively. See you, Chromia.”

“Bye, Perceptor.”

A little beep heralded the end of their talk. As slow as ever, Chromia lowered her servo and closed her optics for a klik. She then started to stretch her arms just to readjust herself, while Perceptor’s words echoed in her processors.

“Hey, Chromia!” Suddenly, Bumblebee called out to her. “Are you comin’?”

Her optics snapped back open. Keeping her precious cool, Chromia went back to her almost mechanized walk, “Coming along, right behind you.”

Waiting for her in the med bay doorframe, Bumblebee held onto Windblade’s frame and managed the moving doors. When she made it back to him, he eyed her a little too suspiciously. Chromia herself didn’t feel like she had to explain anything. Though Bumblebee’s taxing stare did send a small shiver down her spinal cord.

Instead, he was the one to begin, “Was it Perceptor?”

“Yes, it was. He wanted to check on me, that’s all.”

“Hmm. Gotcha,” still within his suspiciousness, Bumblebee carried on a steady walk, not looking at her for too long. It didn’t take him long to crack. “Oh, scrud, I can’t do this. You gotta talk to him.”

Chromia’s brow rides furrowed, “We talk every solar-cycle.”

“That’s exactly my point. You talk sooo much and okay, maybe I shouldn’t but I did overhear a little….”

“Bee!” She shouted with a bit too much embarrassment. “That’s private!”

“Lemme finish, okay?” He insisted and judging her silence as the benefit of the doubt, he puffed his chest a little. “You talk and you get along with each other, that’s all cool. Maybe I’m overstepping a lil but I gotta be the one to tell you – ya gotta speak truthfully about what you feel for him.”

Sensing the situation getting out of her servos, Chromia took his shoulder pad and stopped him in place, “Oh? And what is that I feel for him?”

She wanted a confrontation. For Bumblebee to look at her and tell her exactly what she thought. Maybe it was too much to ask for but her need went far beyond who she was. Especially since apparently, he was noticing something.

To this, Bumblebee shrugged a little, “I dunno. You’ve said, that’s between you and Perceptor to figure out. I just wanted to encourage you because, well… Whatever is that thing you’re feeling for him, it’s clear to me Perceptor feels the same.”

Chromia’s optics rounded, widening exponentially. Words stuck in her throat, unable to articulate anything of substance. As if anticipating this reaction, Bumblebee smiled at her, way too knowingly. Without another word, he made his way to where Windblade was hospitalized, probably greeting Ratchet enthusiastically. All while Chromia stood in place, processing everything she had heard, from either of them. 

The heat overwhelming her spark was in the brightest shade of red.

98,7% clean. Sparkdammit.

No matter how thoroughly Perceptor had cleaned the glasses, his sensors always found some more residue left on their surfaces. For anyone else, it was a nonissue. As long as it kept rounding up to 100% it should’ve been an acceptable way of presenting the glassware. However, that argument didn’t appeal to Perceptor. His perfectionism pleaded him to do things to their maximum, no matter what they were.

On that particular solar-cycle especially, Perceptor didn’t want just acceptable. He needed pristine, stellar, completely in his control. Hence with his cloth, he dove back into the cavity and wiped even harder.

All around, his sensors had been working at their highest capacity. Moreover, it didn’t end with control over the dishware. Live feed described to him the weather out on the cliffside he had chosen. From the forecast, it should’ve been the most optimal solar-cycle for any outing. Thankfully, it came true as whenever he checked, his voice assistant said the sky was a pleasant pink color and there were only a few clouds over the horizon. Sun shining down on his plating made Perceptor at least partially stop second-guessing.

After the weather report, his auditory assistant continued. The temperature of the energon he had prepared, the alerts if any unforeseen natural phenomena were constantly being turned on (which was always negative), the sensor if anyone else would’ve joined the cliffside. There was also positioning, air quality, the speed of wind, migration of the nearby cassetticons…

Everything seemed to be between exceptional and the best possible readings. Good, Perceptor thought to himself, just this once, it has to work.

The control over every little thing though often futile did make Perceptor’s life much easier. To know if the weather was alright, if his energon blends were positively reviewed by his patrons, if everything was simply in place.

Of course, Perceptor wasn’t a stranger to the often unpredictable nature of life. That was when his stubbornness and drive to get the readings right came in. Though opening himself up for the new… Remained a completely different scenario. Nevertheless, he did try.

Something changed after he had managed to free Cybertron from the Quintessons’ reign. Maybe even earlier than that. Yet serving as a pinpoint reference, a motor for Perceptor to reevaluate his priorities, he deemed it a good start.

It was so easy for things to go awry. Yet, Perceptor kept adjusting.

Before he knew it, Cybertron was free. From the war, from the Quintessons, from Tarn and the perfect Decepticons. Instead of succumbing to the old ways, Perceptor tried again. Taking over Maccadam’s was a great step forward. Who knew that mixology was this connected to chemistry? He upkept the friendships formed at the loop, happily greeting Clobber and Dead End, whenever they visited.

Life was… Different. But far from unpleasant.

There was just this one caveat in his life which so desperately needed addressing. One he hadn’t been able to face for far longer than he would’ve wanted to admit. For the first time he had known, Perceptor was about to follow his own spark. He simply hoped it wouldn’t have turned against him.

Chromia calling, Chromia calling, Chromia…

Chromia.

Of course.

Promptly, Perceptor answered the call, “I assume you are close to the rendezvous place I have selected.”

“Hi Perceptor, I hope you’re doing well too,” Chromia’s melodic yet stern vocoder greeted him.

“Yes. Chromia, I am doing quite well,” he accented, smiling to himself from her remarks. It truly was about the little things.

To which she laughed a little, “Very pleased to hear so. And yes, I actually am very close to the place you pinged me.”

“Splendid.”

“I just can’t help but gotta ask…” She paused for a klik and in the distance, Perceptor heard the faintest sound of her tires rolling through the digital desert. Perfect additional indicator. “Why exactly are we meeting here and not Maccadam’s? Or your flat?”

“If I had told you, you’d eliminate the element of my surprise.”

As well as his desire to keep things under control. A busy spot like his bar was the core definition of unpredictability. No detours that solar-cycle, just everything Perceptor planned to a t.

“You’re the one who always says I’m a worthy warrior,” joked Chromia. 

“Yes. I upkeep that statement,” suddenly his processors were filled with all the times he either saw or heard Chromia train her combat skills. The smooth swooshes of her punches, the elegance of her movements, the stark will of a warrior… Feeling energon in his lines burn, Perceptor cleared his vocoder. Back to business. “I simply wish this once not to disclose any further information.”

“So…”

Sure, she was trying, and bless her spark for so. Yet her stubbornness was no match for Perceptor’s. Maybe that was what he liked about her the most. The boundless willingness to fight, no matter which cause she had chosen.

He just hoped that one solar-cycle she’d subside. How uncharacteristic.

“You’ll know when you get there.”

“Very well. I trust you,” agreeing, Chromia punctuated her words. Those which kept making Perceptor’s chest feel a little lighter. Such value was never to be taken for granted. He knew it too well.

“Good,” Perceptor nodded to himself, as he turned around to his little makeshift station. Through one more scan of his surroundings, he was certain everything was in place. All but… “When can I expect you to come by?”

“Hmm. Around T minus 5 kiliks.”

“Very well. If that’s the case then I’ll be waiting for you.”

“Won’t be long,” through her tone, he had already taken in the careful excitement. “See you, Perceptor.”

Promptly, he turned off the comm link and took an in-vent so heavy he felt it even in the smallest bolts in his chassis. All that was left to do was to wait for her arrival. Maybe while checking the things over one last time. Just to be absolutely sure.

Smoothing the table cloth again, Perceptor’s processor was deeply immersed in the wondering of… His own effectiveness. From others’ perspective, that was. It wasn’t a thing he’d dwelled on for too long in the passing solar-cycles. Perceptor knew his worth both as a bot and a scientist. The feeling steadily extended even to his position as a bartender. As a companion, however, he never truly cared for the general consensus. His own experiments and notes were the most crucial part of his world. But the imminent future hinged heavily on being confronted with reality.

A result of scientific endeavors always excited Perceptor. So why was the sheer angst that poignant back then?

With his servo flat on the table, Perceptor tried to calm those ragged nerve circuits of his. It was one thing to accidentally stumble across the perfect formula for the experiment to succeed. The beauty of science was that it was unpredictable, hard to comprehend in its whole, yet so marvelous to explore. There was always a margin of error for consideration and Perceptor was truly fine with it.

Chromia was not unpredictable. She was certain, steady, levelheaded. Also valiant, heroic and hardworking. With her, Perceptor knew the margin of error could’ve been equal to tarnishing whatever was built between them. That was the outcome he couldn’t have allowed to happen. Hence his perfectionism got the best out of him.

Whatever was between them… Scientific question, indeed. It was finally time to get his answer.

Amidst his thoughts, Perceptor heard a familiar roar of the engine, punctuated with massive wheels speeding through the rocky terrain. He smiled to himself.

“Right on time,” he said, turning around.

“Wow…” Only then, Perceptor caught the sound of transformation. Then the swift draw of Chromia’s pedes across the ground. “I wanted to say in general I wouldn’t miss your invitation for anything in the world.”

“But?”

“This is just beyond beautiful,” with a certain dreamy ex-vent, Chromia stopped in front of him. Soon enough, her servo motioned forward, gripping his digittips in a warm greeting. “Hello, Perceptor. It seems that in the meantime you’ve been plenty busy.”

“It’s a well-known fact that the whole presentation has to be greater than the sum of its parts. I simply couldn’t present anything ersatz,” gently, Perceptor squeezed her servo and then motioned towards the table. “Case and point. Hello, Chromia.”

“Mmm…” She hummed, turning her attention towards the table. Weirdly enough, Perceptor’s servo felt a little colder than before. Strange natural phenomena, for sure. “Trust me, I know you wouldn’t let anything subpar slide. Just what exactly is it all for?”

“You do not have any pressing matters from your schedule, no?” Carefully, Perceptor made extra sure.

“Not that I can think of for the rest of the solar-cycle.”

“And after leaving my lab under Jetfire’s watch and Maccadam’s under Dead End’s jurisdiction, I am also completely free.”

“Really?” He could’ve told it made Chromia jump upwards just a little. There probably was a confused look spread on her faceplate. “You left your two most precious places to be handled by… These two?”

Perceptor nodded with somewhat lighter contemplation than his current pressing troubles. Just somewhat, “I know Jetfire will be the perfect candidate, as long as I let him also test some of his own tests on mechanical organisms. As for Dead End, I thoroughly examined him on preparing energon and customer courtesy. I’m sure he’ll do just fine.”

“And you’re not anxious about how they’re handling these spots?” The tone of Chromia’s voice indicated her unquenched problem solving. Oh, how he loved hearing so.

As his processors ran another series of potential questions and queries, as well as the imaginary outcomes to his decision, Perceptor asked, “Do you want to know the truth?”

“Of course,” she said, possibly with a little involuntary nod.

“I’m positively terrified, Chromia.”

“Oh.”

Almost gritting between his denta, he explained it further, “But with my personal considerations, I was left with no choice. In other words there are things that are important and ones that are even more so important.”

“Which is to say,” turning around back to him, Chromia made a motion with her servo. “You’re second guessing.”

“I never second guess the process,” dusting off his plating a little, Perceptor doubled down. To then catch himself in those damn headlights. “That was one of the dumbest ideas I’ve ever come up with.”

At least that was met with Chromia’s warm and pearly laughter. As terrible as the prospects of either his lab being burnt down or his bar being completely uninhabitable, he persisted.

Making Chromia laugh was another bonus for his poor decisions.

Through her laughter, Chromia approached him and drew her servo against the upper part of his arm, “Okay, fine, it is bleak–“

“Terribly bleak.”

“Yes, well. Yes, it absolutely is bleak,” settling herself down a little, he heard her vocoder slowly losing its giddy undernote. Instead, the familiar curiosity took center stage again, “But you must’ve had a good reason for this, right? I cannot imagine you just pawning it off them with no benefit. Unless you didn’t want to and you had to do it.”

Hearing Chromia’s challenging tone, he already put two and two together. As much as the likeliness of Chromia using both Jetfire and Dead End for her training session was to no end amusing, he had to step in with the truth. One he hadn’t admitted to… Anyone, really. Not even to himself.

“No, there was no external force,” Perceptor reassured her. “I have a very convincing reason.”

“Then let’s hear it,” Chromia locked her arm with his.

“I did it for you.”

The grip of her arm loosened ever so slightly. As if her own force was on the cusp of bewilderment and intrigue. Perceptor always found her problem solving skills admirable but with such surprise, he knew her reaction could’ve been dubious. Hence when her chassis relaxed a little, from her vocoder, he had heard another muffled oh.

“For us, actually,” Perceptor continued, trying to explain himself enough not to come across as outlandish. At the back of his processors, he hoped his energon lines hadn’t become strikingly warm. “I wanted us both to have a nice time. Just on our own. Hence I have also arranged it with Optimus Prime, so you didn’t have anything added to your schedule.”

“You… You talked with Optimus about this!?” He could’ve imagined Chromia’s optics getting bigger and rounder with her sudden yelp.

“Yes, I had,” ever aloof, Perceptor nodded. “Being one of the bots who dismantled the loop has its perks.”

“I… I don’t know how to properly say it, Perceptor, I…” Circling around her words, it seemed Chromia needed a moment to take the surprise in. But it was fine; Perceptor had all the time in the world. Hence when she finally spoke, her words seemed softer than the clouds above, “Thank you. For everything you’ve done for me.”

Neither of them were particularly known for their oratory prowess. Perceptor himself wasn’t sure what was the correct thing to say, no matter how many times he had rehearsed his lines. Yet captured in that moment, all seemed fine. When Chromia was in front of him, holding his servo in a completely new way. Her touch was used to handle weapons and deliver punches. In her servos, Perceptor felt like the finest gold.

In the end, Perceptor learnt all those little things Chromia did were a thread, leading him to understand who she truly was. Her touch showed him the untold story of her care and devotion. Her vocoder rounded in his presence, almost savoring Perceptor’s name as if saying it had the sweetest taste. The sounds of her transformation were forever stuck in his processors, sleek and purposeful. Everything together made way for the most incredible bot Perceptor had ever known.

Chromia’s presence enveloped him in a way which made the whole world stop mattering. As if the textbook sense evaporated in place of the sheer feeling. For once, Perceptor didn’t mind not exactly knowing.

His digits locked tighter around Chromia’s servos, pulling them in an interlocked reaction. All the things that filled his processors whenever she was near, bubbled inside him with a boil. Though Perceptor knew there was no use in hiding. His helm lifted up a little, the beginning right at the tip of his glossa.

“Chromia,” he said, hoping her name drew from his vocoder with undertones of pure silver.

“Yes?”

Taking the in-vent, Perceptor felt his chest puff up ever so slightly. Those words were just within his reach, ready to have been said. Yet instead, he remained silent at the sudden change in his internal statistics. His shoulder pads dropped a little.

“It’s been a while since you have refueled,” Perceptor stated, the scientific fact feeling weirdly bitter. “So is the case for me. As I’ve mentioned, I have provided us with glasses of energon. That is to say, you should try it.”

Suddenly, her servos zipped back to lay flush with her chassis, “Of course! How could I forget, you did such a lovely thing…”

“By all means,” Perceptor motioned, as if to brush his initial action off. “I am merely doing my job as a bartender.”

“Bonafide one you are. Seems like just last solar-cycle we were breaking into Decepticons’ stashes,” with a wisp of nostalgia, Chromia grabbed her glass. When Perceptor followed her suit, she wondered, “Now what should we drink for…”

Perceptor shrugged a little, “To never have to raid their stashes again?”

“Sounds perfect,” Chromia agreed. “And to us. Just cause we made it out this fine.”

“That as well, sounds perfect to me,” his vocoder echoed, though somewhat lost in thought. “Cheers.”

“Cheers.”

One sip of the meticulously prepared energon was enough for Perceptor to gaze into its complexities. The tastes commingled on his glossa with the deep variety of the glass forests aroma as well as the certain tangy undertone. Truth be told, all of this was inferior information to a certain sound cue.

That was when Chromia hummed in delight. There, it was.

“Mmm, that’s delicious! How did you make it?” She asked with that pure content in his tone. “It tastes exactly like… Exactly like from Camien canteens.”

“I have asked Windblade for some recommendations to achieve the depth of flavor. However, she had noted the specific ingredients are best found fresh so,” pausing for the effect, Perceptor already felt the pride swelling within him. “I took a trip to Caminus, talked with the local bartenders and foraged the nearby forests to gather the needed ingredients. I wanted you to feel… Home.”

“You took all the effort for… This…” Chromia got a little quieter, probably in the maze of her own contemplation. “So what’s this about? I know you always have a motif and hypothesis so let’s hear it.”

The mixture of curiosity and carefulness in her tone were close to making Perceptor’s helm spin. Her words acted almost as a formal invitation for him to express whatever he had been hiding inside. Actions might’ve been a much easier way to convey it but… There was no time for allusions. Face to face with his own spark, Perceptor knew they both deserved honesty.

“I’ve been thinking and testing a lot since the war has ended,” he admitted, tapping his digits against the glass. “As counterintuitive as it seems, with Cybertron being free, I’m even more uncertain of the future.”

“How come? It should open up a whole world of opportunities to research and study. That’s great news!”

“I know. But sometimes, I do lose myself with the sheer amplitude of possibilities,” admitted Perceptor, carefully choosing his next words. “I’ve known Cybertron being just you and I for so long.”

“That is true…” Admitted Chromia, more timid than usual. “We’ve been fighting the Decepticons and Quintessons and whatnot for so long, it feels impossible to go back. Is there even a way to go back?”

Perceptor pressed his derma together into a thin line, then asked a question he feared the most, “Is this about returning to Caminus?”

“No! I mean, yes. I mean… Partially,” as soon as the words left her mouth, Chromia already weighed the counter opinion. Intuition this time failed her, “I don’t know, Perceptor. I’ve been away for so long, I don’t think I can leave what I have behind. I’ve spent so much time missing Caminus I’m not sure it’d be up to my imagination.” She ex-vented heavily before her next words, “Then again… I also can’t shake the memory of when it was just us. Is that why you’re asking? Be honest with me.”

“I can’t hold onto you forever. I respect all your choices.”

Though his tone remained mechanical and detached, everything inside of Perceptor stormed with uncertainty. Usually, he easily enunciated such responses. Right then, it seemed the world slipped between his digittips.

“I appreciate that but…” Smacking her derma with the impossible choice, Chromia put down the energon glass back to the table. Before he knew it, her servos landed on top of his own, gripping into his own glass, “You’ve thought about me and looked after me, so I wouldn’t run till my deactivation for millenia. Now I wanna hear what’s on your processors. And then… Help out. You know you can tell me everything.”

The warmth spreading from her servos tingled all of Perceptor’s nerve circuits. A feeling both familiar yet completely unknown. Around himself, the world got quieter; Only Chromia’s pulse rang in his own audials.

“Finding my way out of the loop was no challenge. It was the most sensible conclusion and if anything I could fail and try again,” Perceptor began, dancing around his needed words. Again. “It was when I got back on Cybertron when the matters were more difficult. I was… Alone. Even after some time, when others were saved, I still felt alone. I had a certain hypothesis on why it was but the result of my testing was highly irrational.”

“What was it?” Chromia cut through to him, immersed in the story.

“That I missed you. One solar-cycle I asked Soundwave if he had any recordings of you. Of course with his role, he had an audio file of when you, shall we say, kicked his aft. When he played it to me, something strange had happened,” though he was expecting Chromia to chime in and ask, she did no such thing. Hence he immediately continued, “My sparkbeat got faster. All my vitals seemed to respond to your vocoder in a favorable way.”

Seemingly out of her own ex-vent, Chromia murmured, “That’s a good thing.”

“No. Because it only cemented the fact that I missed you,” Perceptor drew back his servos to let go of his own cup. Then to hold onto her servos fully, thoroughly. “And now when we are back, I simply cannot hold onto you anymore.”

As if burnt via her touch, Chromia zipped away surprised, “What do you mean you can’t?”

“Because I can’t limit you and who you are, as this is solely your choice what you want to do in the whole free Cybertron. Or Caminus, if you wish so. You shouldn’t feel pressured to stay within my scientific perimeter, if that’s not something satisfying or interesting to you,” the words stuck in Perceptor’s throat, fighting their chance to be expressed. Yet he had to, any way possible. “For a brief moment, you were my whole world, Chromia. It’s not fair for me to expect nor force that, when you have a vast array of choices.”

Suddenly the space between them was filled with silence. Nothing within Chromia’s behavior was of any clue for Perceptor. No noises of her heavy in-vents, no ruffling around, even the grip she had on his servos remained just the same. So the only thing he had left was waiting for an answer.

And an answer he got.

“Your analysis is flawed.”

Perceptor furrowed his brow ridges in utter confusion, “How come?”

Taking half a step forward, Chromia whispered against him, “Despite everything, you are my choice, Perceptor.”

Within that one warm confession was a promise. One that made Perceptor’s spark flutter against his chest and his processors eradicate any other doubts. Something both so clear and so puzzling for him. He lingered on the words for a klik, determining what was the proper response to give to her.

That was until he had heard another sound.

All distracted, Perceptor drew back a little, to hold his servo up. The tiniest drop splashed itself on its surface, leaving a damp trail. Turning his servo into a fist, he let out a frustrated grumble. Knowing it’d be followed with a question, he already gave her an answer.

“Rain,” he said without hiding his irked tone. “The forecasts assured me it’d be sunny. Let’s go, I don’t want you to get the rust.”

To which he turned around and wanted to pack everything up and succumb into either of his dearest locations. So much for his carefully crafted getaway, it seemed.

A sudden grab of his wrist stopped him in headlights. He turned his face in Chromia’s general area.

“No,” firmly reassured him Chromia, anchoring him in place. Knowing she was successful in her endeavor, Perceptor heard her retrieve the windshield from her back. When another swoosh happened, he knew that was her way of shielding them both from above. “We are not gonna leave it like this.”

She drove a hard bargain. Thankfully, it was something Perceptor never ceased to be amazed at.

“I’m listening,” he obliged with a small nod.

“You always talk a big game about science and I understand that. In fact, even if you are a brilliant scientist, you are always omitting a crucial detail,” Chromia drew her words as carefully as possible. All the while she filled the oh, so little space between them. “It’s not the end of who you are. You’re a bot with such grit and persistence, I’m always amazed by your strong will. You’re not afraid to take risks and try something new. For Primus’ sake, Perceptor, you learnt mixology just to keep running the Maccadam’s! You’re not uninteresting or difficult. And there’s no need to constantly question it.”

“I question it to understand,” stated Perceptor, his shoulder pads shakier than usual. “The things I heard from you… Sometimes I question how they work. Sometimes I question how I see you.”

“And what’s the way you see me, Perceptor?”

“Bold. Decisive. Sentimental at times, yes. Stubborn as they can be. Loyal and… Simply incredible,” among thousand other things to say about her, he tried to focus on his own credo. “I don’t know how a scientist can measure up to a warrior like you.”

“Why does it always have to be a scientist and a warrior?” One more, Chromia reached her free servo to hold his. “Can’t it just be Perceptor and Chromia?”

“I suppose… I suppose it can be.”

“Well then…” Chromia drew a half pedestep closer to him. “What would just Perceptor say to just Chromia?”

Another pause fell between them. Yet right then, there was no silence which Perceptor had to dissect to take in the actual meaning. Instead, the droplets of water fell on Chromia’s windshield, in melodic tones. There was the grasp of her servo, the sound of her in-vent brushed against his plating. Her chassis so close to his own. Everything which weaved a story in Perceptor’s processors.

So he spoke.

“That everything seems to spin when I’m around you. That I cannot imagine a scenario in which you wouldn’t be there by my side. That I’m lucky that you never gave up and always chose me, no matter how many times Cybertron was about to fall,” another sound entered his personal space, the sound of his spark beating. For once, Perceptor listened to it, instead of his torn processors. “And that no matter what, Chromia, you’ll always be my choice too.”

The confession lingered on for longer than he was able to admit. Both on his own and between them, as Perceptor tried to listen in for another cue. His spark played the whole rhythm back and forth, while his servos kept holding onto hers.

His vocoder trembled as he asked with his spark on his shoulder pad, “Is that enough?”

And Chromia gave his servos a little squeeze. When she spoke in her hushed tone, Perceptor could’ve sworn he heard her smile, “Just do it and don’t think anymore.”

“Figuratively impossible,” he rebutted out of principle. To then feel a smile on his own visage growing. “Thankfully, you were always beyond my own reasoning.”

With that, she laughed. The sweet pearly sound caressed Perceptor’s senses like a dusting of sugary metal shards on top of an expensive energon cocktail.

His servos slipped away from hers in a prolonged motion. Thousands of ways to carry it through, yet all Perceptor wanted was to savor the moment. He brushed his digits against Chromia’s shoulder pads, settling them in place. Slow and steady he straightened them against her plating, recognizing all the corners of her frame. How beautiful she was in every way, he kept rediscovering through his touch.

Just as slowly, his digittips then moved towards her neck. Each valley was carefully studied by him, as if to get a whole view. That was when his digit reached Chromia’s jawline. The protruding bottom of her helm welcomed him with a familiar curve. All of the little things which made Chromia who she was. Through this view, Perceptor felt as if all the secrets of his own spark were unfolded.

As Chromia asked, he didn’t think anymore. Instead, Perceptor lowered himself and pressed his dermas on top of hers.

The curve of her dermas enveloped Perceptor’s own in a kilik he gladly got stolen away. Chromia’s helm tipped a little to the side, just so both of them could’ve felt the sensation on their plating. So Perceptor lingered at her, his kiss firmly against her own. His enstrils filled with the scent of Chromia’s preferred wax and energon blend. His servos held onto her with a touch, unfolding to him everything he had missed. Just not anymore, as they fell into each other’s embrace.

Lingering for that moment, Chromia then decided to regain some of her own strength. Her right arm slipped away to grip Perceptor's back as close as possible. Her gentle kiss then turned into a cascade of more desperate ones, pressing all against Perceptor’s derma, especially the top one. Oh, how he loved Chromia’s initiative. Each one more needy than the other, capturing him in a way he never knew was possible. 

Yet Chromia always saw something beyond the view Perceptor manufactured for himself. As she saw him just the way he was, never playing masquerade of false promises. So Perceptor had no other choice but to smile between the kisses and hold onto her, when Chromia shielded them from the barraging rain. Allowing himself to fall into her embrace, one which told the story of shared past and future. 

The world itself stopped. For his world had become Chromia.