TITLE: Encore
SERIES: Imperfection Deviation
AUTHOR: Macx
RATING: PG-13
DISCLAIMER: None of the characters belong to me, sadly. They are owned by people with a lot more money :)
FEEDBACK: Loved
BETA: okami_myrrhibis


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Will Lennox: ex-Army Ranger, walking Allspark cosmic code billboard, bonded to Ironhide, and lately apparently partly a Prime by not just affiliation but some kind of freaky result from the accident with the Allspark shard.

A lot had happened to him in the past fourteen years and he knew it wasn’t over yet.

He knew he was special; he also knew he hated it.

He knew his new heritage was scary; and if he was offered to have it gone right now he’d say yes. Matrix code, Prime glyph, Allspark code… all of it. Except the bond to Ironhide. And the shape-changing was cool, as was the energy blasting thingy.

Still, he knew that should he keep a book on how many times he had been beaten up, eaten dust and had had his butt kicked throughout the training of those cool abilities, he’d be on volume three now. Sequel coming soon.

It should be embarrassing to always get beaten by his opponents. It should be angering to get his butt handed to him. It should discourage him, frustrate him, make him quit.

It didn’t. It wasn’t. He didn’t.

Because Lennox was learning. Because it was important. Because this was about survival.

Each time he took on one of the Constructicons in a training fight, or several of them in a simulation battle, he learned something. Mostly to duck faster or move at a quicker pace – or never to underestimate even the biggest of them. They were older, had more experience and they were damn good fighters.

He also learned to control his abilities, his shape-changing, rune-covered body. He no longer had to rely on chance whether or not he could trigger a weapon. He consciously transformed his body now, though sometimes it still freaked him out. He used the gun, most of the time. The blades he had learned to form when Optimus had been his opponent that one, fateful time stayed hidden. What he couldn’t do was shape-change completely, like the Cybertronians. He had no alternate mode, he couldn’t transscan. Will didn’t miss it. It would probably freak him out like nothing else had if he started changing into something wheeled or winged.

Well, he almost always had his abilities under control. He had nearly lopped Scrapper’s hand off by accident one time. The Constructicon leader had been rather impressed and not the least pissed off. Apologies had been waved off and he had been told to he was on the right way.

What way? Dismembering his training partners?!

A hand appeared in his field of vision, four-fingered, more clawed than blunt-tipped. He took it and was pulled to his feet. Dust rained off him and Will winced when he felt a muscle pull in his shoulder.

The red optics looking at him were filled with slight amusement, but also a lot of respect.

“You took our last session to heart,” Scrapper remarked.

“Still not fast enough.”

“It isn’t about speed, Will. It’s about anticipating something new, expecting the unexpected. We all have a lot of aces up our sleeves, to use one of your sayings.”

“I noticed.”

Every time he thought he had one of them pegged, they pulled another surprise attack on him. Like now. Scrapper was fast and agile, not as heavily armored as Mixmaster or Long Haul, and he knew some very evil moves.

The last one had decked Will and he thought he had heard the bells ring.

“You improved your armor,” Scrapper went on, nodding.

“Working on finding out How To,” Will answered, shrugging.

“I blasted you with what Hook calculated was the max for these simulations. I don’t see any damage.”

“Wait till tomorrow. You’ll see the bruises.”

Scrapper smiled. “I still find it fascinating that your human body mirrors the protoform injuries.”

“Well, I’m not a mech on the inside.”

“How do you know if no one can scan you?”

Lennox hesitated. “In the beginning I wasn’t mechanoid underneath. With all the changes… who knows?”

Scrapper nodded. Like the Allspark, Will couldn’t be scanned. The cube had been a mystery, nothing had been able to penetrate the shell, and the same was true about Lennox.

Then there was also the fact that despite really depleting himself, Will rarely automatically reverted back to human when he lost his concentration. He had to initiate the transformation back to human form, which was good when it came to such battles. Nothing more embarrassing than finding oneself naked amidst the enemy.

They walked back to the Constructicon’s home base, a large part of the Yuma Proving Ground. Will was amazed at the size the base had by now, what a maze it was, how much work the Constructicons had put into it. Like Nevada, Yuma was mostly underground. Actually it was the proverbial iceberg: only a small fraction could be seen.

The five mechs had not only dug deep underground and constructed rooms for machinery and themselves, they had also taken the humans that came to stay for a few days or weeks into account. Sam sometimes retreated here to work with Hook or Scavenger, Tony Stark dropped by for what he called R&R and involved lots of engineering stuff, and sometimes scientists or soldiers came over for hands-on training.

“I see you beat up our new Prime,” a voice interrupted Lennox’s thoughts.

He grimaced. “Mixmaster…”

The large mech chuckled, a deep, resonating sound. Mixmaster was a massive individual, heavily armored and frightening on his best days, but Lennox had gotten to know him quite well. Mixmaster was the silent type, he worked in the background, but he was a genius like all of them. ‘Mad alchemist’ or ‘crazed chemist’ had been terms Lennox had heard before, but there was no insanity in those optics. Maybe it had been before; before Sam had been able to help, before Ratchet had made them individuals again. Mixmaster was insanely good with chemical concoctions, that much was true. He was insanely proud of his creations. He was hard to beat when it came to lab things involving chemicals.

And he was a sneaky fighter. He seemed to delight in kicking Lennox’s ass, to provoke him.

“Nothing but the truth,” Mixmaster now said, grinning. He nodded at the sigil on Lennox’s shoulder.

Will rubbed over it, exciting the other glyphs in the process. That the runes were now part of his mechanoid form was bothersome, but he couldn’t do anything about it.

Change. Evolution. Always something new. In his short life as the Human Billboard of Weird Glyphs he had gone through too many changes to count. With the revelation that he was the matrix bearer had also come his new position as a Prime. At least he had a glyph saying he was a Prime. It didn’t make him one, in Lennox’s opinion. He wasn’t a Prime and he didn’t want to be one.

He still remembered the moment he had made contact with Optimus’ spark, the revelation of their connection, of Rodimus Prime and Sam….

Will shook the memories off. He didn’t want to ponder it. No. Right now he wanted to control what he was as a warrior, the abilities he had, the potential. He didn’t want to consciously deal with the heritage inside him. His subconsciousness was doing a fine job with that.

“If you start calling me Prime, I’ll kick your ass from here to the Ark,” he growled and pushed past the taller mech.”

Mixmaster’s amusement rumbled through him again. “Looking forward to that,” he called after him. “Two a.m. Sharp.”

Scrapper watched the hybrid retreat, noting what he had learned was tension and anger radiating from the slender frame. He had known Lennox for a while now; their shared trainings and his continued visits to their base, as well as their interaction outside the base, had given him a good insight into the - for him - alien mind. Will Lennox was a proud man, an honorable warrior, a very good fighter, and the changes inflicted to him had put him under pressure and stress since the beginning. His relief came from private moments with friends and his evolving bond to the Autobot Ironhide.

“Bit much for him,” Mixmaster remarked. “Getting Prime dumped on him with all the other junk.”

“It would be for many of us.”

It got Scrapper a small nod of acknowledgment. “He’s got guts,” his fellow Constructicon continued. “Courage and determination. He’ll make a good leader.”

“He already is.”

“Of his men. Lost that. He’s still thinking like his old self.”

Scrapper chuckled. “And we know his old self, Mixmaster?”

“I read his file, watched the footage they had of the fights, the like.”

“Doesn’t make him a known factor. He’s a hybrid, he behaves like one. You can notice it in his fighting style, in his decisions, in his words.” Scrapper headed for the main control room. Mixmaster followed. “He’s evolving in so many ways and the Prime addition is just something more to get used to for him.”

Mixmaster grunted.

Scrapper had accessed the old files they had managed to get from the Ark’s computer archive and dug for information on the ancient Dynasty of Primes, the first thirteen, the Council, all of it. It had been like an old story, one told to the young ones by the older generations. But it was the truth, not some kind of made-up legend or fairy tale.

Will Lennox was part of that dynasty now. Rodimus Prime had already accepted his heritage – because he was Cybertronian and a direct descendent. Will and Sam had inherited their powers through the Allspark.

Mixmaster left him alone, heading for his lab. Scrapper accessed his personal files and found several forwarded messages from Optimus. He briefly read over them and replied to those for which an immediate answer was needed. One asked about Lennox and he replied.

Lennox was fine. Emotionally upset, but fine. And the turmoil would calm down again.

Scrapper smiled. He briefly contacted Scavenger and was reassured that Lennox had calmed down and was his usual laid-back self again.

::Take care of him:: he sent.

Scavenger acknowledged.

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In another section of the honey-combed underground base Scavenger was studying the human hybrid. Will’s runes were still rather active, most of them cosmic code, and the few of them he could read displayed nothing alarming. Lennox had come in looking ready to hit something, but he had quieted down. Like after every training session he sat on the examination table and let Scavenger run a few superficial scans.

Usually they didn’t bounce back.

Today they did.

Inhumanly blue eyes met red optics.

“Something on my face?” Will asked, trying for humor and losing.

“Nothing but the usual stuff.” Scavenger walked over to where Lennox was sitting. “You’re upset.”

Will gave the protoform equivalent of a sigh, then shrugged. “Sorry.”

“I don’t need a scan to see you’re fine and Scrapper left you intact. I also don’t need one to see you’re troubled.”

“Treacherous glyphs.”

Scavenger tilted his head a little. “Don’t need them either. You usually flip when it comes to the Prime glyph.”

Lennox responded to that remark by shape-changing. Scavenger suppressed an annoyed rumble and wordlessly handed him his clothes.

The Prime glyph was hidden again. On Lennox’s back, among the delicate, intriguing tattoos.

Will scrubbed a hand over his face. “I guess I need to apologize to Mixmaster. I was… a bit ticked off.”

Scavenger smiled. “He isn’t the sulky kind, or one to bear a grudge. In fact, he mentioned you might want to channel that anger into a fight sometimes. Lose control and just act by instinct.”

Lennox grimaced. “He really does want to end up a molten pancake, right?”

“It’s hard to take him down, actually,” Scavenger replied. “As for your emotional reaction, you are entitled to it. Your life keeps changing so quickly and unexpectedly.”

“Yeah, well, so did Hot Rod’s. He didn’t plan on being a Prime and he is one. At least he’s one of you guys.”

“A Prime is not chosen by race.”

“You read up on the matter?”

Scavenger shrugged. “In a way. I don’t understand half of what this is about, and I never managed to understand the Allspark. I think no one ever did in all our history. The first ones, the thirteen Primes… maybe they had an inkling as to what it is, but we? No, we never cracked the code, nor came close to it. Who are we to know what the Allspark can do? Why did it choose you and Sam? Why did its energies merge with the Extremis Tony Stark carries?”

“Doesn’t make me a Prime.”

“You were chosen for the matrix, Will. The glyph marks you as a member of the Dynasty.”

Lennox slumped back. “Still so thrilled about it.”

“No one expects you to rule us,” Scavenger added with a fine smile and a lot of humor in his voice.

Lennox glared, but he smiled, too, after a moment. “You just expect me to get slagged by you?”

“In a way.”

“I knew it. You’re enjoying it.”

Scavenger smirked more. He held out a hand and Will stepped on it to be lowered to the ground.

“Will you keep your training schedule?” he asked.

“Sure. It’s what I’m here for. Getting my butt kicked from different guys is what I live for.”

Scavenger’s optics relayed his amusement. “I think you can count on Mixmaster to not hold back tonight.”

Lennox sighed, but it was only a half-serious sigh. Most of it was show. He finally waved a good-bye and went to the guest quarters. Scavenger knew he wouldn’t sleep. Will rarely slept when he was here, only if he was truly wrung out. After tonight’s scenario he might need some rest, he mused. Mixmaster was planning on some heavy duty challenges to test night vision, coordination and adaptability. Scavenger planned on being there.

Maybe Will would finally loosen up enough and grasp his full potential. He had it in him, the Constructicon knew. He was simply too reserved to access it all. He wanted control, but to control what he was he had to open that door wide and not keep it shut.

They were working on it. And Scavenger was convinced they would push that door open.

It would be the moment the Prime would truly start to form.

He smiled to himself.

He had had to grow this old and nearly lose himself to witness something this incredible. The Dynasty was coming back. In a different form and not like before, and the Allspark had dispersed its energies and reformed in various, strange ways, too. But this was a change for their people. Cybertron might no longer be there, might even be forever lost, but the mechanoid life it had once hosted was continuing.

Scavenger didn’t think Earth was a bad place to be. He and his former combiner team mates had spent thousands of years on this planet and it felt a lot like home. The people of this planet knew little about them; almost all were ignorant of the presence of mechanoid life forms from another planet. But their cultures were slowly merging.

It would be interesting to see what happened in the future. Especially when it came to Will Lennox, Prime.

But for now he was interested in what Mixmaster’s verdict of the night fight would be.

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As it was, the forecast was correct. A thunderstorm of monsoon proportions drowned the desert within moments and while it was actually pretty to look at the lightning shooting across the night sky, it wasn’t fun to be out in the weather. Especially when one had to keep an eye out for sneaky mechs about to pounce him.

Will didn’t feel bad in this weather; actually it was close to invigorating. The electricity in the air seemed to caress his protoform skin and his senses were quite acute, despite the winds and the thunder.

Rain gushed down his dark form and he tried not to slip in the mud. Part of him hoped that Mixmaster wasn’t faring better than him because then the whole exercise would be over soon.

As it was, the Constructicon had trouble keeping his balance in this weather. It didn’t keep him from kicking Will’s ass, though. Lennox had the advantage of a smaller size, his speed and his Ranger training. He was bruised by blasts a few times, but he got in a few hits himself. He wasn’t suicidal enough to attempt close combat, but he used the weather and the darkness.
Mixmaster’s advantage, like all of Will’s opponents’, was his experience. Lennox had learned, but he was still a novice and he always paid.

This time, though, it was more like Army Ranger training. He had crawled through many mud holes, deserts and jungles, at night, in searing heat and in the cold. This he knew. This he could use.

Will smiled.

Even if he didn’t win this time – didn’t believe he could ever win – he wouldn’t sell himself short.

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Scavenger was hard pressed to hide his amusement, his outright silent laughter, at the sight of the two mud-drenched individuals coming back to base. Mixmaster shot him a warning look, but the other Constructicon wasn’t alarmed. Nor would he stop the teasing when opportunity arose.

The mech could count himself lucky he hadn’t been washed off the roads and got stuck in waist-deep mud. Mixmaster had probably walked back to base, with Lennox in tow.

Lennox himself was still in his ‘battle mode’, the protoform shape, and he was no less caked in brown mud. Both looked water-logged, bruised, battered, drenched and muddied, and still there was a glow to the bright blue optics of the hybrid that told Scavenger it had been a good session. A brief call to Mixmaster over the private comm lines confirmed it.

::He’s good. In this weather he outsmarted me::

Okay, that had been unexpected.

::He finally allowed his human side to merge with the new form he has, used it, and he won by points.::

Scavenger was impressed.

“Do you guys have showers?” Lennox asked, sounding grossed out by his state.

“We don’t use water in conventional cleaning facilities.” Scavenger gave him the equivalent of a raised eye-brow. “Don’t tell me the Autobots do?”

“No. I was just hoping…” Lennox shook off some mud and it splattered onto the ground. “I’ll take the least yucky option then.”

And with that he was human-sized, still caked in dirt, but the excess mud was now piled around him.

Scavenger wondered if one cleaning drone was enough for the mess, considering Mixmaster’s load of excess material on his body. As Lennox wandered off to the human-sized facilities to shower, Scavenger met the amused optics of his team-mate.

“Another step,” he remarked.

“Big one,” the other agreed. “Maybe the threat that he has to hose me down if he loses helped.”

Scavenger laughed. “Maybe. From what I’ve heard he doesn’t have those reservations when it comes to his bonded.”

Mixmaster rumbled with amusement.

“You better get that stuff off, too,” Scavenger added, gesturing at the mud. “You might get rust.”

“From some minerals and water? Hardly.” But the large Constructicon walked off toward the cleaning facilities, which would probably need servicing after he was done.

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Outside the Arizona monsoon had turned into a thunderstorm of normal proportions. According to the forecast rain was expected throughout the next three days. Scavenger had heard from the humans at YPG that desert didn’t mean dry and without rain. They had had their share of flash floods throughout the military zone.

It was the first time he experienced anything of the like while staying at their base and it was fascinating. Hook and Long Haul were up on the Ark, working on the space bridge remains, so they were missing something spectacular. Then again, after Long Haul had been caught in a flash flood decades ago, in no condition to really fight the forces of nature, the mech might not be happy to experience this spectacle now.

Scavenger leaned against the hangar door frame, just listening to the rain and the thunder, the crash of lightning in the distance.

Those had been different times, desperate times, and they had barely made it to this day, to today. Sometimes he envied Long Haul, who had close to no memories of that time left, though the other Constructicon had also lost a lot of personal recollections.

::Pondering?:: Scrapper sent.

Scavenger caught himself and looked around, shrugging. His team leader studied him, a knowing expression in his optics. Despite the fact that Scrapper had a visor and a mouth guard, Scavenger knew how to read him, could determine something akin to what humans would call facial expressions. They had been on the same team for millennia, had even been linked through the Modulator by force, and it had left them with a very good understanding of all of them.

::Thinking:: he answered.

“So Will finally beat one of us, I heard,” Scrapper said out loud.

Scavenger smirked. “Oh yeah. You should have seen Mixmaster.”

“I can see the traces.” The other mech nodded at the mud all over the floor.

It got him a chuckle. “Mixmaster was actually quite happy about it. Not the mud, but the results. Will is learning, growing fast.”

“He’s going to be a strong Prime,” Scrapper remarked, voice soft but serious.

“Don’t tell him, though. Right now it’s a very sore spot.”

“Being a Prime is not a curse, nor is it a black mark. It’s an honor.”

“We know that, but he’s human. He still thinks mostly human, though his thought processes have adapted to his hybrid form.” Scavenger’s optics took on a faraway expression. “The changes are a good thing; all of them. He and Sam might not see it that way right now, but they will adapt.”

Scrapper nodded. “Like we all have.”

A call from Long Haul interrupted them and Scavenger acknowledged, nodding at his leader that he would join their team mate in whatever it was he needed help with. Probably one of Hook’s theories being tested.

Scrapper decided to tag along. This would be entertaining to watch.



Outside, the rain continued to turn the desert into a mud bath.


fin