COMPLETE YOU

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"Nobody can save me now."

⬵⤁

Optimus watched silently as the quiet procession walked through the sea of the mourners, the clinks of those who carefully guided the caskets towards the vaults carved in Cybertron's metal the only sound for miles. He stood to the side of the farthest crypt, his pedes standing right at the edge while he waited for them to arrive.

The first casket was closed, out of respect for Mirage's remains and those who did not wish to see their friend in this final state. They wanted to remember Mirage for who he was, in their databanks, rather than the stripped corpse he had become. Though burying him next to his torturer seemed cruel, there were few who new the truth, and Optimus intended to keep it that way. He wished to believe that had Ratchet been in his right state of mind, he would have healed Mirage, and the other members of Team Prime, instead of hurt them. As selfish as it was, Optimus did not want Ratchet's good deeds tarnished by what he had become as a prisoner of war.

After the first was lowered the second was brought around, Optimus feeling his wings twitch as they always did in dreadful anticipation.

It was difficult to see, at first, but when the somber carriers gently lowered the metallic crate into its final resting place he was able to peer directly into the coffin. Ratchet's optics were closed and his face held an unnatural peace to it, uncharacteristic of the mech's typical worried expression. His servos were carefully placed over the hole in his abdomen, for all intents and purposes appearing to be deep in recharge.

Pain burrowed into Optimus' spark, the mech closing his own optics in solidarity as the procession proceeded to quietly file past the grave. The occasional servo was placed on his shoulder to gently convey a shared grief, but for the most part he was avoided. It hardly bothered him, as he knew why, only taking this time to mourn when he could not before.

Starscream was silent, allowing him to once again process the passing of his closest friend in peace. It was a rare moment for the both of them, as after the Decepticon's surrender, things had no intentions of slowing down.

First, there was the problem with those on Cybertron. Dreadwing, a loyalist at spark but one who had intense respect for Optimus Prime, and acknowledged his victory, had ordered they laid down their arms, though some had fled in hopes of creating their own group and return to conquer Cybertron for themselves. The Autobots finally flocked back to their own planet only to be greeted by a horrid sight - Starscream, claiming he was Optimus Prime. It took a severe amount of convincing before tensions died down, giving them time to come to terms with what had happened.

During this time, Optimus had observed June Darby burying her son, Jackson Darby receiving full military honors and recognized as a POW. With him was Miko Nakadai, yet she could not be honored like he had.

It tore at Optimus' spark to see Bulkhead in such distress, unable to even observe his charge for the last time as she was placed beneath the Earth. Instrumental in destroying Darkmount, she had sacrificed her life in exchange for her planet, leaving no trace of her behind in the ensuing blast. Ironically, her closed casket almost appeared inappropriate to Optimus, as it was painfully obvious there was no one in it to put to rest, yet it was her parent's decision, thus he respected it. She too was given full military honors for her heroic action.

Rafael's cries had broken his spark multiple times, wishing there was a way he could adequately convey his own grief to the youngling. Bumblebee had held him, comforting him with quiet titters and buzzes, the best friends taking solace in one another's company.

The other soldiers lost in the battle for Darkmount were also buried that day, the date marked as one of intense sorrow, yet bittersweet victory, on the calendars of humans and Cybertronians alike.

Megatron had also been buried, but in a secret place which no one was to ever know. Optimus did not even share if the mech had been buried on Cybertron, or Earth, or perhaps even cast out into space. No one was to know where the former Decepticon leader had gone, lest they use his frame for some kind of martyrship.

The painful funeral lasted for a long time, and even after Ratchet's grave had been properly sealed off, Optimus was still standing there. He was so tired.

Finally, Starscream spoke.

"He has been laid to rest, Prime. He is one with the Allspark. We should return to Iacon."

Optimus stood still, gazing at the tombstone etched in his friend's name, in his native Cybertronian tongue, and in English, though for Rafael's sake they also enscripted it in Spanish, and Japanese characters beneath it for Miko. His optics wandered, resting on honorary grave sites for the other fallen: Cliffjumper, Arcee, and Smokescreen. Those they could not recover, yet who sacrificed themselves all the same for the end of this war.

"I am tired, Starscream," he said, softly. "While I have served my time as the Autobot leader, I no longer wish to do so. I want to rest."

Starscream was no idiot. "I saved you from death once, Optimus. I will not be the one who ends you."

The grief in Optimus' spark pulsed against his frame, and he wished for nothing more than for it to stop. He wanted it gone. He wanted peace.

He wanted rest.

"I have gone on for too long," he said, gazing at his clawed servo. "I was a soldier, in a war. Now that the war is over, there is nothing for me."

"You have your team."

"They have their friends," He looked at Ratchet's tomb, voice growing ever quiet. "I do not."

Arguing was going to get them nowhere, and unfortunately Starscream could sympathize with the mech. Optimus had lost countless men due to his actions, his orders. It was a weight he thought he no longer had to bear while in that energon lake, and it was a relief to him . . . until he was forced to return. Now, with all of it said and done, Optimus just wanted to be back there, quietly passing, and not needing to worry about what the next day would bring.

"I will not kill you," Starscream said slowly. "But . . . I can help you. If you wish, Prime, I can construct a special file within this mind - one for you. It will render your consciousness inactive and allow me to regain control of this frame. You will not be truly offline, but rather asleep. You may never wake up again."

Optimus tilted his head just a little. "How?"

"A few lines of code here, a few commands there, and I can place you in stasis-lock. Of course, it will take up some processor space, but I can delete a few files to make room."

The Prime contemplated it. Truly, Starscream wanted a temporary solution on the chance that they may need Optimus' guidance again, but the Seeker had the Matrix of Leadership. All the guidance he would ever need could come from that relic. He supposed, then, it was because Starscream did not want to take another life. He had already done enough, and he could not do what Optimus asked of him.

Before, the Seeker might have taken him up on the offer, but now he could not - would not.

Starscream had changed for the better, for which Optimus was glad.

"If it is what you are willing to do . . ." he paused. "Please."

"I will prepare it right away. But I think you should inform the others of your decision."

"I will," he promised quietly. "Thank you, Starscream."

"Of course, Optimus Prime. You are most welcome."

⬵⤁

EARTH: SIX MONTHS LATER

Sierra smiled, picking up the stick and throwing it as hard as she possibly could, watching it sail across the grass which nearly came up to her knees. "Go, get it!"

Buster ran off like a bolt of lightning, Sierra chuckling as her floppy ears bounced with each step. The puppy's collar jingled as she took off through the grass, pouncing on the stick and bringing it back with glimmering eyes and a tail going almost as fast as an F-22.

"Good girl!" Sierra praised, scratching her head and throwing the stick again. Just as before Buster took off, picking it up then bolting straight past Sierra and towards the hanger.

"Hey, wait on a minute!" She laughed. "You know you're not supposed to bring those inside!"

Buster ignored her, happily romping into the main hanger, her claws click-clacking against the concrete as she made her way towards a seated figure.

"Buster?" Thundercracker clicked in his native language, taking off his glasses and setting down the tablet he had been holding. "I thought you were playing with Sierra."

"She ran past me and brought the stick inside," the young woman gave the puppy a playful glare. "Which she knows she is not allowed to do."

Thundercracker smiled, leaning down and letting Buster hop onto his servo, lifting her onto his desk. "Well, maybe she wants to play fetch up here."

"Marissa isn't going to like that," Sierra reminded him. "She has a thing for dogs bringing outside toys into the hanger."

"Hmph. Well, she's my dog, so she can do whatever I let her," Thundercracker informed the human. "Including playing fetch on the table."

Sierra just snorted at that, making her way up the catwalk and towards the stretch of walkway which would take her to the titan's desk. "How goes the screenplay?"

"Better than my last few attempts," he admitted, gently tossing Buster's stick for her as she endlessly retrieved it. To him, it was no more than essentially dropping the piece of wood, but for Buster it was nothing short of a marathon for each fetch. "Though I still haven't quite got the main protagonist down . . ."

Sierra raised an eyebrow. "Well, have you thought of any actors which could fit the role?"

He shrugged. "Not really. And it's more so thinking of actresses." He looked at her. "No one has the . . . nuances I am looking for. The idiosyncrasies which would make this character come to life."

"I'm sure you'll find someone," she sat next to his "pencil stand," which really held the singular pen he occasionally used to write on the tablet. "There are hundreds of actresses out there who could try out for it."

"Hmph, true . . ." he tilted his head at her. "You know, I think you would make a great movie star."

She looked at him, surprised, then shook her head with a slight blush. "I don't have the talent for that. Besides, after almost four years of being in active combat . . . I'm still trying to get back into a civilian lifestyle."

The Seeker quirked an optic ridge. "Yet you're here."

"Yeah," she admitted. "Though I don't mind this. I'm still considered a part of the US government, and I'm acting as a Seeker liaison - courtesy of Starscream completely making that up."

"He did it because he likes having you around," Thundercracker said, though it was hardly news to her. "And you are a commendable pilot, despite your limitations."

"Thanks," she said dryly, glancing at her hand. It, and the skin of her entire right half, were almost completely and permanently warped from the fire. She was still in the process of both physical and mental therapy, trying to recover from the accident - and the war.

Psychologists truly were in desperate need at this time. Though she and the rest of her fellow soldiers were coping the best they could, it still was taking a lot of effort for them to come to terms that the war was finally over. She thought it helped, though, to remain near the Cybertronians. She had Thundercracker, and occasionally Skywarp, as Starscream had elected to stay on Earth, and she helped the largest of the trine take care of Buster. Bumblebee and Bulkhead elected to remain on Earth, and even Jazz decided he would rather remain on the foreign planet than return to Cybertron.

Rafael was still running operations in Area 51, coordinating Autobot patrols with the help of Bumblebee and Starscream. The latter only doing so because he carried the Matrix, and therefore bore the burden of leadership duties, however he would frequently visit his trine's "base of operations" in the middle of nowhere, Colorado. "Operations" being in the loosest terms, as the two Seekers had retired from their wartime duties and instead settled into a life of quiet solitude. Skywarp preferred to travel and see the sites, but Thundercracker much preferred to stay at home with his dog and write screenplays - which was enough for Sierra.

She could not help but chuckle a little at the thought - even Cybertronians could use therapy canines.

It was taking time, but they were all slowly healing. She hoped in the future, perhaps she would eventually return to civilian life. But for now . . . well, for now, she was okay. She was happy.

It was all finally finished.