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Chromia considered setting up a support group for Shockwave and Elita One: “It’s been twenty years and my deadbeat boyfriend hasn’t called even once–How to move on and date someone better instead?”
Shockwave spent his time coping making drones, more drones, and drones of drones. And then had them maintain the state of the broken planet exactly as it stood, as if a single fixed door frame would send Megatron into riots if he ever came back.
Chromia had tested that theory once–she propped a fallen wall back up into place, and a drone came and knocked it right back down within an hour. It was almost fun messing with them if you were bored–Moonracer and Firestar in particular had made a game of it.
Elita One, on the other hand, she’d shut down. She used her new training schedules and warm smiles to fool the other girls, but Chromia knew her better than that. Now if only the blue soldier wasn’t the only one who had noticed.
“She’s gotten so regal lately,” Moonracer had said, “Like a Senator or, or someone from the High Council!”
Moonracer wasn’t wrong. Elita’s entire demeanor had changed to fit the mold of a well respected, thoughtful leader as of late over the past few years. Well spoken, considerate, and spent her free time studying with Alpha Trion or training with Chromia. She had definitely gone from a dock worker to fitting the elite image of her name, every inch a noble lady.
Chromia hated it.
Not because she despised seeing Elita taking up the mantle of her role as Leader of the Autobots, or because the regal image didn’t fit her–because in a way it did, far more than her old bubbly self. Chromia despised it because it was a lie. A distracting cover, so no one would know how badly she still missed Optimus Prime.
So no one would know Elita spent her nights crying, or going over log after log hoping for some blip of communication she’d missed. Elita hid the tracks of tears with fresh paint and words of wisdom. She sound proofed her room so no one would hear the sobbing. Elita had learned to lie.
And Chromia was going to put a stop to it. She refused to let Elita One be that lonely, and that hurt.
Not when Chromia was standing right next to her.
“You got a minute?” Chromia said, leaning on the doorway to her leader’s quarters. Elita looked up from her data-pad, a novel for once and smiled at her visitor. Chromia twisted the tip of her foot on the ground. “Was wondering if we could talk.”
“Of course,” Elita said. She clicked the data-pad off and set it on her side table, giving her friend her complete attention. Elita stood as Chromia entered the room and shut the door. Chromia locked it, and sucked in a vent. Elita pursed her lips, and drew her fingers together. “Are you alright, Chromia?”
“Yes,” Chromia said. She closed the gap, standing a few inches away from someone who’d become so precious in so little time. Someone Chromia’d die for in less than a beat of a spark, and who carried all their hopes.
Someone who deserved so much better.
Chromia touched the side of Elita’s cheek, drawing her fingers back until she cupped the side of Elita’s head. Her thumb brushed the corner of a pink lip, and Chromia felt a tired smile crawl on her face. “Though ‘talk’ might not have been the best word.”
“Chromia?” Elita asked, optics widening. She held onto Chromia’s wrist, and squeezed slightly. “What are you doing?”
“Kissing you,” Chromia said.
And she did.
Chromia’s free hand came up to cup the other side of Elita’s neck, cradling her face like a precious possession, as she leaned down and pressed their lips together. Elita froze, her glowing brightly, and her hand clamping down on Chromia’s wrist like a vice. Chromia squeezed the back of Elita’s neck, and kissed her harder, pressing their closed lips together and scraping the paint.
She pulled away, venting heavily. Bits of blue were smudged against pink, and Chromia for a second wondered if she could replace all of it. Or if there was equal amounts of pink against her own lips.
“Chromia,” Elita said again, a betrayed crack in her voice that broke Chromia’s spark. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because you’re lonely,” Chromia whispered, kissing Elita again. She nipped once, after, and spoke against Elita’s lips. Chromia pressed their cheeks together, and hugged Elita’s waist. “Because I hate seeing you this way.”
“This isn’t going to work, Chromia,” Elita said, trying to wriggle out of the soldier’s hold. She pushed on Chromia’s shoulder with the base of her palm. “You know that.”
“I know that those boys are never coming back,” Chromia said, speaking the truth for the first time in twenty years. She was done with humoring Elita. It’d been twenty years and neither Megatron nor Optimus had said a word. They were either dead, or didn’t care. Chromia kissed Elita’s forehead. “And I refuse to sit here and watch you waste away inside.”
“You don’t know that,” Elita said. She pursed her lips together, sucking in a vent of air to cool her racing systems. Elita smacked Chromia on the shoulder, voice hitching. “You can’t know that.”
“I know I love you,” Chromia said, blurting out the words like a careless fool.
Elita stopped, the look in her optics turning sadder by the second. She moved to speak, but Chromia silenced her with another kiss, raw and open. Chromia twisted their mouths together, swallowing any protest and pulling their hips together.
“Please,” Chromia begged, speaking directly into Elita’s mouth. “Let me love you.”
“I don’t know if I can,” Elita said, resting her hands on Chromia’s waist. She looked at the floor, and shook her head in the tiniest jerk. “I still…I–”
“Then at least until he comes back,” Chromia said, cutting Elita off and pressing her lips against Elita’s temple. She wrapped her arms around Elita and pulled them flush together. Chromia dug her fingers into Elita’s back, and whispered. “Just until then. Let me keep you, please.”
Elita pressed a kiss into Chromia’s shoulder, light as a fallen paint flake.
It was enough.