"A Work in Progress"

New Years Day, 2133. The so-called Golden Age of Cybertron was in place, but for the inhabitants of that planet, times were far from golden. The war still raged, though far from the planet where it began. The Autobots retained control of Cybertron and, for the most part, Earth. The Decepticons had captured Nebulos and several systems surrounding it and were slowly spreading deeper into the galaxy around them.

On Earth, where a small contingent of Autobots stood on guard, the Decepticons existed in the form of Trypticon and a handful of other warriors. Despite the constant presence of the ancient enemies, peace remained the status quo. Galvatron apparently had a grander scheme in mind and thought little about the troops he left behind.

Not that any of this mattered to Grapple. He simply lay in his cot in the infirmary in silence, staring at the ceiling. He looked down at his new leg, the fifth one in the last twenty years. First Aid remained at a loss as to what caused the degenerative disease that forced Grapple into this room. The disease, called Freeze's Disease after the only other documented case, had no known cure. It was everything First Aid could do to just keep up with the disease, replacing limbs and components as needed. Grapple remembered when in started, not long after the great battle at Autobot City 128 years before. It wasn't until he lost feeling in his hand did he really start to worry. Now, here he was. Despite First Aid's encouragement, Grapple doubted he would live to see New Years Day, 2134.

Grapple rarely felt sorry for himself any more though; he had had too long to consider his fate. He turned his head and calmly gazed at his unfinished masterpiece waiting for him two miles away. After the destruction of the Autobot mausoleum he built, Grapple decided to construct an elaborate monument to those fallen warriors, his friends. Such a project would normally take him several weeks, maybe a month. This damned disease afflicted him just after laying the base of the monument, so a project that should have been done in under a month remained unfinished over a hundred years later. No, he did not feel sorry for himself. He felt sorry for the brave warriors who would be honored there if he ever finished it. Especially you, Hoist, Grapple thought gravely.

Grapple shot his eyes wide open. What was he doing lying here? He could still finish the monument. He could still give what he could to the memory of his friends and try his best to finish the monument. Maybe, he thought, it's time for a New Year's Resolution.

Grapple sat up and swung his legs gingerly around to the side of cot and rested them on the floor. He only had to work three more hours to complete the steeple and fix the glitch in the lighting. The latter was a job, he thought sadly, better suited for Hoist. The plaques honoring the deceased were in place, with a surviving Autobot writing a memorandum below the likeness; the entrance secured; and the protective forcefield in place. He had just a bit more grunt work to do and he suddenly felt resolved to do it. He struggled to his feet and cautiously took several steps as First Aid entered the room.

"What are doing? Get back into bed," First Aid ordered.

Grapple grunted and continued moving forward. "I have a project to finish. I'll rest when I get it done."

First Aid stepped in front of him. "You know there are several interested parties chomping at the bit to finish the monument. Why do you have to do it and risk further damage to yourself? How will you get better?"

Grapple glared down at the smaller Autobot. "You and I both know I'll be lucky to see summer, so don't insult my intelligence." He walked more swiftly around the stunned medic and continued. "The longer I lay around the less time I have to complete it. Soon I may not be able to walk at all. I *have* to do this."

All First Aid could do was nod sadly as his patient exited the infirmary.

* * *

Grapple stood before the last structure he would ever build, his eyes closed. He envisioned in his mind the completed monument and smiled softly. Despite his modesty, he could not help but glow with pride at the structure. The mixture of modern and old-style construction, the towering steeple, the spacious interior all reflected the honor the Autobots fallen warriors exuded in the battle for what they thought was right. This was Grapple's gift to them.

Grapple thought back to First Aid's suggestion that others could finish the project. Every other visitor to Grapple's room was an Autobot (and occasionally a human) architect asking for the honor of finishing the job. A half a dozen Micromasters were itching to complete it. For a hundred years, Grapple had turned them away. They were talented, of that there was no doubt. But there was also the care taken to give those Autobots what they deserve. Most of the Autobots honored inside the monument had perished long before the Micromasters came online. How could they really understand what Grapple had put into this?

Enough introspection, he thought. Time to get to work. Grapple retracted his welder into his wrist and replaced to with a pulley, a necessary measure since he could no longer transform and make use of his crane mode. Once the pulley was secured, Grapple turned around and grasped a sheet of metal siding. For two minutes, he tried to lift it and managed to raise it three feet off the ground.

Grapple dropped it and doubled over, breathing heavily. He was weaker than he had thought. He was deluding himself if he thought this would take three hours to complete. For the first time, he thought there might be a chance he would not live to see his masterpiece built without help. But *he* had to finish it; no Autobot had the skill and the love for the art that he had. Grapple simply did not feel he could entrust the job to anyone else. After several more seconds past, Grapple felt a soothing hand fall upon his shoulder. Grapple frowned and began to turn around.

"First Aid, I wish to left--."

He stopped suddenly as his gaze fell upon Scrapper. Grapple shook the Decepticon's hand from his shoulder.

"What are you doing here?" Grapple demanded.

"I was in the neighborhood," Scrapper answered, waving his hand towards the monument, "admiring the scenery." Scrapper turned towards Grapple's design. "I've been watching it slowly come together. The more I see, the more I'm impressed." He paused, slowly taking in the whole structure. "A work of art, really. The painstaking care you've taken with each minute detail is something you can't teach.

"Take that window on the east side. I watched you work on that one window for six days, getting it just right." Scrapper looked back at Grapple's questioning face. "I heard what happened to you. That's one reason I'd come out here. To watch you. I don't mean to sound grim, but I figured this would be your last project. Knowing you, you'd throw everything into it."

"So really you're here to spy," Grapple countered, not feeling as suspicious as he thought he should.

Scrapper waved his hand. "That's what I tell the commander. Really, I just come to watch a master architect at work. I can't really say that to him." Scrapper smiled. "I don't think that either of our sides would be too thrilled if they even perceived that we worked together; we know what happened last time."

Grapple nodded thoughtfully.

Scrapper continued. "But this isn't about the war anymore. This is about something bigger, the love for a dying art." Scrapper gazed distantly at the monument again. "Sometimes I can't help but feel that the kind of passion for something that isn't war is no longer part of our species' programming."

Scrapper turned his attention back to Grapple, a serious look frozen on his faceplate. "You have no reason to accept what I am about to offer, but I would like the honor of helping you finish this monument."

Grapple forced himself to not display the surprise he felt at hearing the comment. The distrust he should have felt at the suggestion never formed. For the first time, Grapple was seriously considering the offer of help. After all, this wasn't just any architect. Scrapper was the only being, except maybe Hoist, that displayed the same awe for the work as Grapple himself. You simply had to look closely at anything he built to see the care he put into it. If Grapple could pick someone to finish the project, he would pick Scrapper; he simply never thought he would have the opportunity to let him.

Grapple smiled. Maybe, he thought, I will live to see the job finished. "You have yourself a deal."

For the next two hours, Scrapper worked, quickly and carefully, under the direction of Grapple. Most of the time, Grapple would help with the labor as well, inspired by the monument finally coming together and in spite of Scrapper's unspoken disapproval. For both of them, the time seemed to fly by as they lost themselves in the work. The distrust that had been present from earlier encounters never surfaced, despite the long conflict. In fact, Grapple thought, as he wearily sat in the shade of a large tree, I think I'm having fun. He couldn't remember the last time he felt that way.

As he finished soldering the last segment of the roof in place, Scrapper thought about the dozen or so changes he might have suggested to Grapple to improve the monument. He always remained quiet though. This was Grapple's project. Scrapper didn't doubt that Grapple would pay him the same compliment if their situations were reversed.

Scrapper turned and leapt off the roof, falling slowly to the tree Grapple rested under.

"There," he said, motioning to the finished monument. "What do you think?"

Grapple smiled, a tear forming in his optic. "A masterpiece. Thank you, Scrapper," he said as his optics slowly faded to black.

Scrapper lowered his head and slowly closed his own optics. Solemnly, he stooped and picked up the Autobot. He slowly walked into the monument and placed Grapple beside the plaque that bore Hoist's likeness.

"No, Grapple," he whispered, "Thank you."

Scrapper studied the wall of plaques and the inscriptions they bore. Most of it was a lot of piddle about heroics in battle and friendship. Scrapper looked back down at the deceased Autobot. "I'm sorry. But there is one improvement I have to make."

* * *

First Aid rose to his feet and motioned the other medical officers to stop. Grapple was gone.

First Aid gazed around the finished structure where Grapple was found with amazement. Grapple had done it. He had finished his most-prized project. In the state his body in, it must have taken a terrible toll. Still, First Aid found it hard not to be a little pleased. Grapple never would have wanted to die lying in bed, especially with unfinished business waiting so near him.

As he turned to walk out, a plaque caught his attention. He studied it for several seconds in confusion. He would have to ask one of the other architects about this; Grapple never would have done this himself and First Aid doubted he would have even allowed it.

The plaque read:

Grapple

A great architect and a greater adversary. Countless times I would find myself striving to match the vision he lends to each project he undertakes. And after today, I am honored to think that maybe he felt the same towards me. --Anonymous

The End.