Claim Rejected

“While I appreciate all of your efforts to keep me safe,” Optimus Prime said, glaring – glaring! – around the meeting room at his command staff, “I cannot condone sending other Autobots in to fight Megatron for me.”

“Prime, look, we’re just-” Ironhide started to say, but Optimus’s deep voice overrode his guardian’s.

“The next time there is a battle, I will face Megatron, alone,” Optimus said in a tone that brooked no argument. “Do not intervene. Do not send Superion in my stead. Do not order Bluestreak to take shots at him from afar. If the leader of the Decepticons wants to fight me, then I will meet his challenge. It’s only right. I will not have others fight my battles for me. Is that understood?” Optimus stared around the room once more, finding the optics of those who dared to meet his gaze. When there was no reply, Optimus stood up. “Meeting adjourned,” he said, and marched from the room.

After the door slammed closed behind the Prime, a silence fell over everyone gathered around the conference table.

Finally, Jazz leaned back in his chair. “Ya gotta tell him, mechs.”

“What, that Megatron wants to permanently scar him to stake a claim over him?” Ratchet said.

Jazz nodded once. “‘Xactly,” he said.

Ironhide rubbed his face. He looked tired. “He knows about 'Con culture,” he said. “He knows about claiming. He just… I don’t think he realizes that’s what Megatron’s trying to do.”

“Yeah, right,” Jazz laughed. Then, when no one said anything, Jazz frowned and looked around the table. “Wait. Are ya serious?”

Ratchet sighed. “When Megatron scored Optimus’s chest at Sherma Bridge, it was obvious – to me anyway – what Megatron had done. Those gouges were deep and purposeful. But…” Ratchet shrugged. “I asked him if he wanted his windshield replaced… and he said yes.”

Jazz seemed to deflate a bit at that. “So he rejected Megatron. No wonder old Megs’s been on a rampage lately.”

“I don’t think it was a rejection,” Prowl said. He glanced at Ironhide, then at Jazz. “When we spoke to him about it later, I got the distinct impression he didn’t realize what Megatron had done. Or...” Prowl hesitated, then added, "Or he is in denial about what Megatron's intentions are."

“He doesn’t have a hot clue, and he doesn’t want a clue either,” Ironhide said in agreement. “He just asked us to start planning our next moves.”

“I even pointed out that repairing the damage was likely to make Megatron even more dangerous, and Optimus said that was all the more reason for us to move swiftly with our next attack,” Prowl said. “It was obvious he wasn’t making the connection, or was refusing to make the connection.”

“Why don’t ya just sit him down and tell him like it is?” Jazz said. He looked around the table at the other three mechs incredulously. “Look, I know I haven’t been an officer for long, but… If he knows about claimin’ maybe he just needs someone to tell it to him straight.”

“Do you really think we haven’t tried?” Ratchet snapped. “Before I replaced his windshield, I even said 'Megatron wants you.’ And do you know what Optimus said?” He glared at Jazz. “He said, 'Yes, he wants me dead, and I will not give him the satisfaction. He’ll have to do better than that.’” Ratchet threw his hands in the air. “No matter what I said, Optimus deflected. I get the impression he knows but… He’s in complete denial.”

Jazz’s mouth hung open for a moment. “And even with all that, Megs is obviously still trying to get another claim in.”

Prowl nodded solemnly. “Yes. That explains all of the recent attacks directly on our base here. The Decepticons have no chance of winning an encounter; rather, Megatron is simply trying to draw Optimus out of the base.”

Ironhide pinched the bridge of his nose. “Near as we can figure, Megatron must think that Optimus rejected his claim, so he’s been trying to get in another one. A better one.”

Ratchet covered his face and groaned. “I don’t even want to think about what kind of damage that lunatic will inflict on the Prime this time.”

Jazz stared at the Prime’s empty seat in quiet contemplation for a full minute before saying, “Frag. Lovesick old fools.”

The other three mechs simply nodded in agreement.