When Sparks Burn - ShySpider - Transformers (2024)

Chapter 1: Foreword: What came before

Chapter Text

When Flesh Gives was your background story of how you became the person you are, along with how you forged relationships that will last eons.
If you want to refresh yourself on the 10 major points of the first book, here’s a shortcut to take you to it [OωO].

Below are both spoilers and main events that occurred in When Metal Bends to refresh yourself on what happened up to now.

-[._.]-

1. For several months, you have been imprisoned within the lower levels of Sector Seven. You are labeled a criminal, but mostly, you are a test subject. Not only do you have specific mutations regarding alien radiation and increased bioelectricity, but you also have knowledge of Cybertronian physiology Sector Seven wants. Experimentation and torture are synonymous.
2. You are allowed to attend the funeral of your father at dusk. It is just you, Alan Faireborn, Henri Arkeville, Bethany Beller, and the dozens of agents monitoring your visit. Paying respects turns to a rescue operation as your old friend and assistant, Holly LeTene, coordinated with Ratchet. He had sent a small team to extract you, Alan Faireborn, Henri Arkeville, and Bethany Beller – who had to leave her daughter, Josephine, in the care of Sector Seven agents.
3. You are taken to the Autobot Orbital Command Station in the far reaches of space. You discover that your extraction was never sanctioned by Optimus Prime and High Command. To preserve the fragile alliance you worked so hard to help keep, you steeled yourself to return. You are reunited with Sunstreaker and a dying Sideswipe. The purpose of your mutations made themselves known as you reignite the spark of Sideswipe, Drift, and Hot Rod after a mission gone awry. Your hasty return to Sector Seven was canceled.
4. Optimus takes the time to negotiate with Sector Seven, who discovered your whereabouts by conniving means unknown to you. During deliberations, you work with Ratchet to learn about the intricacies of your mutations: you had an Electro-Magnetic Field, and the radiation in your body is an anchor for spark energy. You struggle with finding a way to cure yourself of this and regain your perception of ‘normal’ and ‘safe’.
5. You, Sunstreaker, and Sideswipe slowly rebuild a friendship. You get to know Sunstreaker as a mech, and make up for lost time getting to know Sideswipe. You develop strong friendships with Drift and Hot Rod. You find joy in working with Ratchet and Prowl. You experience why you love the company of these aliens all over again, but do not like what many other bots are calling you, the one bringing back their dead. The Herald of the Well.
6. Negotiations come to a head. Ultimatums are set. You decide your loyalty lies with the Autobots, and that you wanted to embrace this new change to your physiology. Consequently, the Alliance is dissolved and all humans on the station for the exchange program are to be brought back to Earth immediately. Taking advantage of the chaos, Bethany kidnaps you, planning to exchange you for her freedom, dead or alive. Bluestreak took her life with a well placed shot, saving you.
7. You work on healing from your wounds, both physically and mentally, drowning yourself in work and therapy. You find comfort in being with friends, but mostly, being with Sunstreaker and Sideswipe. You get closer to the twins in your healing process. After a time, feelings are confessed. Sparks and soul are bared.
8. Decepticons hit both the Autobot energon mine on Luna-Two, and Omega Supreme on route back from Earth. You are called in by Optimus for aid. You agree to be taken to Luna-Two to work with the medics. The time before launch, you say your goodbyes to Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, both physically and emotionally.
9. Prowl, Ratchet, and Jazz discovered that Sunstreaker and Sideswipe’s relationship with you goes beyond platonic. Fearing for your safety, what Jazz and Ratchet intended as a strong lecture immediately turned violent as Prowl ordered the twins to break off their relationship with you. Without your knowledge, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe are held in the brig.
10. You are on route to Luna-Two, accompanied by your escort crew of Kup, Blurr, Mirage, Blaster, Perceptor, Hot Rod, and Drift. Your ship is attacked. Decepticons have learned of your existence, and have come to claim the Herald. Alan found suspicious damage on Omega Supreme that may be evidence of an infestation. The Decepticons have laid out a perfect trap.

Let’s continue...

Chapter 2: Moments ago

Chapter Text

Beep... beep... beep...

It was a familiar sound. So familiar, it used to drown into the white noise of everyday life, so long as it remained in its regular tempo. You would hear it in your sleep, feel it in the rhythm of your heartbeat, and whisper it when taking a patient’s pulse.

Beep... beep... beep...

It was the music of life. The waltz of every physician and caretaker. The cadence of calm and stability. A lullaby from a life you had to leave behind.

Beep... beep... beep...

It was a sound foreign in these spaces. It did not belong here. You did not belong here. Your entire body was heavy. Bit by bit, you struggled to move. You swallowed and opened your lips, sucking in a breath of chilled air, tasting rubbing alcohol. You flexed your toes and curled your fingers. Finally, you managed to open your eyes to a squint. The lights above were a harsh, fluorescent white. You turned your head to the side and worked hard to bring up a hand to shield yourself.

An I.V. line clattered against your bed railing, calling your attention. Your gaze fell on the needle taped to the inside of your arm, then drifted to the menagerie of sensors attached to you. Wires fell like spider webs from these humming machines, all leashed to you. You stared blankly at these for a long moment, sitting up slowly to try and get a better view of this strange place.

The haze began to clear. Shapes, smells, and sounds took form and name. You were in a room where nothing was familiar, but at the same time, everything was very much familiar. Like puzzle pieces without a picture to go by, you fit together a terrifying image.

This was a hospital room. This was clinical equipment. Everything was your size. You were wearing a patient gown. You could read the screens.

Questions blipped by faster than you could answer. Did you get hurt? You didn’t feel injured – you felt sluggish. Sedated. What were you drugged with? Why were you drugged? Were you back on the Autobot Orbital Station? This room was much too unfamiliar, and even lacked those silly windows to preserve that sense of normal for a facility built within an alien space station.

Instead of steel, the walls were concrete.

Last time you were in a room with stone walls, you were barely a step above a lab rat.

Beep-beep-beep...

You started pulling off the sticky nodes and ignored the protesting machines. Your fingers grazed over the soft material set on your forehead. Gauze? You touched the bandage wrapped around your head. What was this? Did you suffer from a head wound? Brain injury? Were you experimented on?!

You swung your legs off the bed and got up, nearly stumbling on the cool tile floor. You wheeled your IV pole with you, searching around the room for anything – any clue of where you were and what happened to you.

At the end of your bed was the usual clipboard caddy, holding your medical chart. You pulled it up, finding it in a language you understood, but in handwriting that was difficult to decipher. Your eyes skimmed down the line, finding all the basics of your personal information.

They knew who you were.

You flipped through, and you whimpered out loud, covering your mouth. There were charts of your radiation levels, electromagnetic frequencies, blood panels, and the details of your mutations and how they were used – who you used them on.

And they knew you helped the Autobots.

You’ve seen enough to know you were not in a safe place. Figuring out how you got here and where you were fell a little lower on your list of priorities. Right now, you had to get out.

The door opened and a young woman stepped in. She looked right at you and jumped. “Oh! What are you doing up?”

You were quick to take in her features; from her tightly wound blonde bun to her standard white nurse’s uniform, you did not recognize her. She further confirmed this was not the Autobot Station, as all people but three were returned to Earth. Your stomach lurched, coming to a conclusion that your brain agreed with.

She smiled with all her teeth. “Let me help you back to bed.”

Your body tingled with its flight-fight responses, and because this stranger was between you and the door, the fight part of you bared yours. You brandished your IV pole like a pike, and the woman froze in her tracks.

“Where am I?” You said, and your voice came out surprisingly clear.

“You... you’re in a hospital, Doctor.” She said while holding up her hands. “Calm down. It’s okay. You’re safe, now.”

Doctor. It’s been so long since you heard the title from another human. It was your friends, Autobots, who still referred to you as a doctor – whether your medical license had been revoked or not. These people knew who you were – both practitioner and Herald. The pole shook in your hands. The IV bag sloshed. There was one last fear you had yet to confirm. “Which hospital?”

“Please, put that down and let me get –"

She wasn’t going to answer and you weren’t going to give her time to get anyone. You charged like the infantry of old, thrusting the flat part of the splayed top of your IV pole against the nurse’s stomach. She doubled over from the blunt force, crashing back against the medical trays. Tools fresh from the autoclave rained and clattered on the floor. Someone had to have heard that. You had to get out.

You kept your impromptu weapon close, your IV line still attached to the bag at the end, and you made way for the door. You paused in the open hallway, and people were stopping mid-task to inspect what the noise was all about. Medical personnel alike froze at the sight of you brandishing what you would have never expected to be an effective way to defend yourself.

But what you had was a stick compared to the armed men clad in military gear. You quickly counted three of them, and they seemed busy in the middle of loitering by the nurse’s station.

You fell a step back.

Military meant government.

They started walking your way, joined by a few brave others garbed in scrubs and white coats. Your mind raced quickly, firing off thoughts faster than their steps. You could barricade yourself back in the patient room, and possibly use that nurse as a hostage. Maybe you could try talking your way out; you’ve negotiated, before. Or maybe you could stand a chance fending everyone off. It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve fought for your life.

“Ma’am –" One of the army men began, but by then you had made your decision.

You ripped out your IV line and flung the pole like a hazardous color-guard cheerleader. Those less seasoned in conflict flinched and fled – but those with the guns were undeterred. They were the ones you worried about.

You ran.

Most hospitals had identical to similar layouts, and you’d worked in enough of them over the early leg of your career to have conquered the labyrinth. You only had to linebacker your way through a few others. You found the emergency stairwell, noting the floor level you were on.

You were on a sublevel. Anything like this below ground meant secrets. This was Sector Seven all over again. You hurried up the steps, even falling into an animal crawl to steady yourself up a few flights. You held onto the railing to help yourself up and your grip slipped. You stumbled down a few steps, hands flailing out wildly to catch yourself before rolling down the entire flight.

You stole a moment to breathe, rubbing your face. Your hand was slick. The IV site you had tore out of your vein was steadily leaking. You let out a whimper, pressing hard against the crook of your arm. How did you get back to Earth? This made no sense! The last thing you remembered was... was...

You heard the door a few floors below open. “This way!”

Your eyes followed back down the messy blood trail you left. No time. You shot to your bare feet and continued fielding the steps. You were careful not to pass the ground floor and corner yourself on the upper levels. You spilled out of the door, taking only a moment to scan your surroundings before running your way down the hall.

There has to be an exit somewhere. Despite being a shady hospital, there has to be some semblance of an escape route in case of emergency, and this was an emergency. You rounded a corner and picked up the pace. Down the stretch of hall was your common door with the narrow window askew from the center. It even had the normal, red-lettered EXIT blazed above.

You barreled through and had to shield your eyes. The Sun. You gasped, taking in the cold, arctic air. You were on Earth. With horror, you took in a full panoramic view of where you were.

Jets ripped down the airstrip and took off in the distance. Rows of rovers and other military vehicles were parked not so far off. Several buildings peppered the area: work facilities, warehouses, barracks, an underground hospital. Beyond all this was snow as far as the eye could see.

You were in a military encampment in the middle of a polar desert.

How did you get here?!

The door behind you opened as one of those three military men came out, panting. “Doc- Doctor Mor – ugghh. Just stop f*ckin’ running.”

You would continue to make him run in full gear. Concrete and ice ate at your feet, but you didn’t register any pain. You didn’t know where you were going, but you had to get away. You searched frantically for a place to hide, anywhere you could stop and try to figure out what the hell was going on without someone chasing you.

You risked a glance back, finding your pursuers went from one man to many. Both military and hospital personnel had joined the pursuit. You coughed out a measly cry, eking out as much of your endurance and willpower as possible.

Sharp snow and stinging winds whipped at your face, but that wasn’t the reason for your tears. You couldn’t remember how you got here. This was Earth. You shouldn’t be here. You worked so hard to get away – Ratchet risked so much to spirit you away from this awful place. Optimus Prime sacrificed an alliance to keep you safe!

Did Sector Seven find a way to snatch you from the safe harbor of the Autobots? Did they get Alan – oh god where was Alan? Your brain had devolved to the basic instinct to flee, that you nearly forgot there were so many others in your life affected by the secret government organization.

Where was Holly LeTene? Were her morally gray actions for nothing? Did she know you were being held captive at this place? Had she infiltrated the ranks as she had, before? Where was Henri? Had Sector Seven incarcerated him, as well? Was he finally dissected, or had he become a lab rat as you once were? Where was Bethany –?

Bethany was dead.

You tripped and stumbled. The ice was hard and cold under your hands and knees. You remained for a stunned moment, staring at nothing but the vivid images that replayed against your will. Bethany was dead, and you remembered every clinical detail of her corpse. Your old friend, your staunch betrayer, was going to kill you. You lived through it, but for what? To end up back where you started? To end up back with those that manipulated her?

Your memory was fuzzy, but you recalled that moment in agonizing clarity. Your body remembered the fear of that desperate look in her eyes, the pain of her nails digging into your throat, and every nightmare that followed. Your Autobot friends did everything they could to help you overcome that event. It was hard, but you managed to convince yourself that you were safe, among friends.

No. That wasn’t quite right. Something happened. You had to leave that security and something came for you...

Squealing tires didn’t sound like much until you paired it with the sight of two very familiar vehicles that came racing around the bend. Their snarling engines were bells of heaven. The colors of red and yellow were banners of hope. The shape of a Lamborghini Countach was that of a gilded knight upon steed, coming in for the gallant rescue.

They drove right for you, parting from one another just enough to zip by with you in-between like a flag-girl at an illegal street race. They kicked up snow and grit, and you shielded your face. The rapid-fire ratcheting of shifting plates and gears had you twisting to sit on your backside to see those who cast their protective shadow over you.

Not but a few feet away, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe stood between you and your pursuers who were no longer giving chase, but backing away. The two Cybertronians had much bigger guns than those soldiers, but it didn’t stop them from bringing up theirs and barking out words to try and diffuse the situation.

A situation you didn’t understand. No one was shooting.

More squealing tires announced the coming of others. A green jeep and a yellow Volkswagen transformed before your eyes, and your heart longed to feel the old wonders it once had. Instead, it was relieved to see a few more familiar faces. Hound and Bumblebee took their place between the twins and people, hands up as they tried to summon an area of calm.

It was all noise to you. Yelling and barking and shouting and snapping and cursing and noise. It all stopped when a siren cut through the air. You turned quickly to the source in time to see a police cruiser roll up and change. Metal plates splitting and reforming, four wheels shifted aside to become two legs, and the Military Commander of the Autobots stepped past you to the side of the frontliners.

Prowl ordered, “Everyone stand down. What the hell is going on?”

“Ask them!” Sideswipe snapped back. “She’s running. They’re chasing. Not a good look.”

“Her covered in blood is less than a good look,” Sunstreaker added in with a snarl.

“I understand your position, but understand mine for once.” Prowl came before them, forcing down their weapons. “Could you at least think beyond nearly causing a diplomatic incident?”

The twins moved in tandem with Sideswipe taking a step back for you, while Sunstreaker took one up to Prowl, effectively coming between the officer and his brother. “Protecting her supersedes your orders, whether it causes a diplomatic incident or not.”

Sideswipe quickly scooped you in his grip, and you yelped reflexively, because when this mech was in a hurry, he wasn’t the gentlest. You were already collected against him, realizing a little late how smooth and confident his touch was.

“Where did they hurt you?” Sideswipe brought you close to his face, looking you over while nudging different points of your body. “Where are you bleeding from? What happened? C’mon, talk to me.”

You couldn’t focus on Sideswipe as your brain casted a wide net to gather information. You twisted in his hold to watch Sunstreaker and Prowl have a standoff. Not too far away, Hound was hunkered down, conversing quietly with those who chased you, while Bumblebee listened in.

Prowl’s lip curled as he threatened, “I’m still your Commander, soldier. Guardians or not, you do not open fire on the organics. You debilitate before you neutralize, understand?”

“Prowl,” Bumblebee cut in. He gestured to the group of humans that gathered harmlessly near Hound. “One of the medics said she woke, confused. She pulled out an I.V. line. They said she needs medical attention.”

“I’ll believe it from the source.” Sunstreaker snorted. “Not from a few fleshlings chasing down my Ward.”

His Ward? Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were your Guard?

This was not how you remembered things. Earth had become a no-fly zone after all of the Autobot troops had been withdrawn. The alliance between Autobots and your government had been dissolved, and the climate between them was strained at best. Yet, here they were, and no shots were fired.

You clamped your eyes shut. The noise of everyone talking and arguing became a garbled mess, and droned into static. Static turned into ringing. You pressed your palms to your temples, feeling the gauze wrapped around your head.

You were injured.

You don’t remember getting hurt. You don’t remember Sunstreaker or Sideswipe being assigned your Guardians. You don’t remember returning to Earth.

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!”

Your last memory wasn’t on the Orbital Command Station. You were on a mission to help the Autobots of Luna Two, and your ship was attacked and boarded. Your escort team was overcome, and you negotiated for their lives in exchange for your compliance.

You were abducted by the Decepticons.

“Stop! Stop!” You screamed over everyone, digging your fingers in your hair. “Stop it!”

Sideswipe cupped you close to him, and the safety you searched for from the moment you woke made itself known. You opened your eyes to find Sunstreaker close behind you. You were shadowed between the two, surrounded by living metal. Nothing could touch you when you were in this space.

“It’s okay. You’re alright,” Sideswipe said in a low, soothing whisper. “We gotcha. No one’s going to hurt you.”

“Did they?” Sunstreaker asked sharply, jerking his head to indicate the group of humans behind him. “Did they do that to you?”

“No, I...” You looked down at yourself in full patient garb. Blood from the IV site smeared and splattered over your gown and skin. It made you look like a ‘final girl’ from a cheap horror flick. “No. Why am I here? I don’t understand. What happened?”

Sunstreaker tilted his head some, glancing at his brother. A flash of both uncertainty and concern flitted over his features. “Do you remember the conference?”

Your wide-eyed gaze bounced between them. “What do you mean conference? What conference? With Optimus? The one I had before I left?”

“No. The Summit for the United Nations New Alliance. You attended as the Liaison of Cybertron.” Prowl came up beside the two gunners, looking down at you with confusion easily readable on his usually stoic face. “Are you... are you referencing the video conference we had several months ago?”

Sideswipe gave an uneasy smile, saying with an equally uneasy chuckle, “C’mon Doc. It’s not like you hit your head that hard.”

All of that was a lot to take in. United Nations New Alliance? Liaison of Cybertron?! Your hands found their way to your face, poorly veiling your gaping mouth. The gauze around your head. Your breaths began to pick up. “What happened to me? How did I get hurt? Why am I here, on Earth?”

Sunstreaker called your attention by touching the back of his fingers to your side. You looked up at him, and he frowned at the fear on your face. He said in his ‘trying-his-best-to-stay-calm’ tone, “Slow down. Control your breathing. Tell me: what do you last recall?”

“I... I wasn’t here,” You said, trying not to hyperventilate between sentences. “I was – I was on a ship! I was captured! The Decepticons raided the Trion. I was taken. I... I think, after that I...” You stared down at your white-knuckled wringing hands, searching for what happened next. It was fuzzy – not gone, but undecipherable.

No one said anything. You looked back up, hoping to find a clue on any one of their faces. Instead, you found shock, panic, and even horror. The three looked at one another, speechless in this terrifying moment. Nausea and dread settled deep in your gut.

You didn’t understand. That’s what happened. You definitely didn’t imagine it. You were on the Trion with Kup, Blurr, Mirage, Perceptor, Blaster, Hot Rod, and Drift. You were to be escorted covertly to Luna Two’s Moonbase to help build up the resistance against the Decepticon incursion at the energon mining facility. Instead, Decepticons hit the ship, and revealed it was all a way to lure out and capture you – the Herald.

Prowl turned away, fingers to the side of his helm. His tone a blend of authority and alarm as he spoke aloud into his comm. “Ratchet? I need you at my location, immediately. Doctor Morgan is awake. No, she is not well.”

You looked to Sunstreaker and Sideswipe. Your hands couldn’t stop shaking. “What is it? What’s going on?”

“That’s all you can remember?” Sideswipe asked, and you detected a sadness in his words. “You don’t remember anything after? Like, how good things got after all that? You don’t remember us?”

“After all that – what do you mean after all that?” You asked with a hard edge. You didn’t quite understand what he meant by ‘us’ but it made you angry because you were the one freaking out. Why was he sad when you were the one in need of comfort? “I remember you. I saw you both before I boarded the Trion. Can someone PLEASE tell me how I got here? Was I rescued? Did I get hurt? Was I brought to Earth for treatment?”

“Eva,” Sunstreaker said firmly, and your attention snapped to him. He said your name. He hardly ever said your name and it made your heart clench. He struggled to get out the damning words that would rock your very being down to the marrow. “That was years ago.”

No. No. That couldn’t be true. That didn’t make sense. It felt like you were there, moments ago, racing through the halls of the Trion as the ship shuddered through a barrage of cannon fire. It was only moments ago when Drift’s energon stained your hands. It was only moments ago when you negotiated with Soundwave for the lives of your escort crew.

Your skin still crawled, remembering the feeling of being in Soundwave’s hand as he carried you away. You squeezed your eyes shut, feeling the cold nip at your bare fingers and toes. Unease curdled your stomach as from behind the darkness of your lids, a flicker of an image came and went.

Red. The alarm lights of the crumbling Trion? The visored optics of Soundwave’s cold gaze?

Your skin raised up in bumps as your body began trembling for the first time since being outside. Your heart banged hard against your ribcage, begging to get out. It was hard to breathe as your body locked up. Sideswipe spoke to you, trying to soothe you, but his words were muffled to your blood surging in your ears.

You could not remember, but your body did, and it was screaming at you to run. It still screamed.

Like everything you recalled happened moments ago.

Chapter 3: Rabbit Fear

Chapter Text

Shortly after the ambush and your abduction...

You had finally stopped crying.

Soundwave had brought you on the Deception stealth cruiser that had crippled the Autobot ship, Trion. Faces of those you were torn away from were fresh in your mind: Kup, Mirage, Blaster, Blurr, Perceptor, Hot Rod, and Drift. They were left behind in accordance to your negotiations. There was a smidge of comfort in knowing that they were still alive.

You didn’t think you would ever stop crying, but one interaction after another twisted your guts in confusion. You’ve been a prisoner, before. You’ve been locked up and left to rot. You’ve been tortured, and your rights were barely above that of a guinea pig. The thing that perplexed you was that you weren’t treated as a typical prisoner, here.

And you’d never thought you would actually crave the quiet of a prison cell.

Starscream wouldn’t stop droning on and on how he was an integral part of this mission and he deserved to present you to the one called Lord Megatron. It was, in fact, his Seekers that debilitated Omega Supreme, so he did most of the work.

Soundwave only stood at the terminal, buried in his tasks. He was silent, but the only one who’s been reasonable with you, so far. He frightened you. For as few of words he spoke, there was a terrifying intelligence behind it. He was the one responsible for coordinating your extraction. He orchestrated the hit on Omega to debilitate the Autobot’s greatest weapon, and simultaneously sent a detachment to strike Luna Two. He was unable to monitor much of the Autobot communications, but the transmissions of humans were not as heavily encrypted. What reason did they have to be?

All this, all for you. You were sick of finding fault within yourself, but you couldn’t help this horrible knee-jerk reaction to barrel down the path of what-ifs and I-should-haves. You slouched forward, sitting on the floor of the upper tier within the CIC, watching the Jet Commander pace about below. He continued this one-sided bicker while the stoic con tapped away on his console. You let out a tired sigh, reaching up to rub your temple, but you just hit your helmet.

“He’ll be cycles.”

This was the thing that baffled you most: Soundwave didn’t lock you up in a cage or box. He let you out in the open, but assigned someone – something – to keep a close optic on you. Startled that your captor spoke, you jerked your head to take in the quadruped laying as a sphinx beside you. In all intents and purposes, it appeared very much like a cat, and he didn’t like it when you stared.

Ravage didn’t say much, but when he did, it was in a casual tone that didn’t match the setting. Nothing was what you imagined, and it was exhausting, waiting for things to turn bad – worse – than they already were. So far no one laid a single finger, or claw, on you. Because you were valuable, you told yourself, but you couldn’t bring yourself to test it. When his red optics flickered your way, you quickly averted your gaze.

“Yo, Ravage!” You recognized the voice, and stole a glance at the approaching red and black mini-con you came to know as Rumble, thanks to Soundwave’s strangely genial introductions. You turned your eyes away as he sat beside you, shoving you some. “Is that ventwipe still goin’ on and on?”

“Thinks because his unit took out the big Autobot Sentinel, he deserves a damn crown.” Ravage snorted. “We’ll never hear the end of it.”

You looked back at the pontificating Decepticon, retelling his story for the seventh time – or was he on the ninth? A few of those times, it was in Cybertronian, you think. You stopped listening after hearing the details on the third retelling. You could safely assume, because of the casualties he so dramatically recited, you were going to be expected to fulfill your end of the deal once you arrived at your destination. Your gaze fell down at your feet as they dangled off the edge beside Rumble’s.

“Get used to this, Herald.” His elbow nudged you. “That slagheap never shuts up.”

What the f*ck? Your head snapped up in surprise, waiting for something less friendly. Why was he talking to you like this? Like buddies. First, he threatened you to save his friend; now, he popped your personal bubble and chatted.

“You could bet the first moon of Cybertron, mostly everything pourin’ from his vocalizer are lies – make no mistake.” He waggled his finger back and forth, imparting a life lesson.

“Always scheming,” Ravage growled.

“Always,” Rumble echoed.

You were going insane. That’s it. You finally snapped, lost your mind, and you were hallucinating. The madness of deep-space living finally infected your senses, and this was all a just a bad dream. That, or you were hurtled into an alternate dimension, shattering through the glass that separated you from other realities. Everything you already do is every shade of f*cked up, so why not? Why the f*ck not?

As you fielded a quiet panic attack, your kidnappers carried on like besties sitting at a bar.

“How much y’wanna bet he’ll try to take all the credit for bringin’ in the Herald?” The mini-con leaned over to ask his comrade while giving you a heavy slap to your back. You gasped in a silent scream more from the sound than the impact.

Ravage scoffed. “Who would bet against that?”

“Soundwave’ll put ‘em in his place.” He elbowed you again. “Always the best part of a mission debrief, watching Commander Fragface get owned by the Boss.”

You tilted your head up at Rumble with wide-eyed bewilderment. Despite your delusional questions, you were sane enough to keep your guard up. What did they expect from you? What did they want? Why did they chat as if you were with them all this time? As if they didn’t just try to kill your friends? As if they didn’t just abduct you?

Rumble looked down at you, but this time, you couldn’t turn away. He had red visored optics, just like Soundwave. He still had a normal mouth, and it twisted to a scowl. “What? What’re you starin’ at, tiny?”

Oh no. You had to think, think of something to say. Your mouth opened, and the first thing that came out was the years of your default self: the Doctor. “How is your friend?”

Rumble’s face pinched some, seeming a little taken back. “He’s uhh, he’s doin’ good – my brother is doin’ good.”

You finally found the ability to tear your eyes away, chirping politely, “Oh good...that’s good...”

“Wish I would’ve seen it,” Ravage muttered. “Blip wouldn’t shut up about seeing the Herald work. I had to move her up here from engineering just for some quiet – a lot good that did.”

You wrung your hands in your lap, squeezing this conflicted feeling till it was nothing but an indecipherable pile of mush. You remembered the light blue mini-con screaming and fading from this life. You used that to gain leverage to protect your friends, but you couldn’t deny the urge to do something about someone suffering.

Even though they were the enemy, you couldn’t ignore the doctor-instinct telling you to serve and treat, no matter the age, gender, social status, species, faction.

If Soundwave were to approach you and ask for your help, you would feel compelled. Healing is what you do. It was your duty and passion. What you didn’t want to do was fuel this war, to become a tool to bring about more death.

There was enough of that in the universe.

You heard Starscream storm off, and you looked back up. You sucked in a quiet gasp. You were held down by the very gaze of the one you were thinking of. A long moment had passed before Soundwave turned his head back down and returned to work.

The image of Soundwave’s bright visored optics stuck with you. Not because his gaze was hostile or menacing, but because it wasn’t. It was calm. It was hard to read his face behind the plating, but you didn’t feel threatened or terrorized. That alone was enough to cause unease.

\[@o@]/

Currently...

The memory of the Decepticon’s abduction wasn’t gone, but hazy. It came to you in patches and left your temples throbbing. You rested your head on the cool steel of your desk. It gave mild relief.

You tilted it slightly to put Ratchet back in your view. He was standing at the hangar bay door, exchanging quiet words with Sunstreaker and Sideswipe. The medic leaned in and even set a sympathetic hand on Sunstreaker’s shoulder, then set the other on the side of Sideswipe’s head.

“She’ll get through this. She just needs time to adjust.” You barely caught onto Ratchet’s soft encouragement. “We’re in this, together.”

The twins were unified in their nodding, having been listening to him intently without a single interruption or snarky remark. They seemed much more composed this time, around. The fact that you didn’t have to rein them in once was evidence of an unfortunate truth.

They had several years to develop into your very competent Guardians.

Years you had lost.

“Doctor,” Ratchet called in after you. He waited till you lifted your head to continue, “I know this all was a lot to take in. Please, try and rest, tonight.”

You scoffed. It was more than ‘a lot’ to take in. A few years wrapped up in a few hours? Usually, you would have wanted to know everything at once. No one needed to handle you with kid-gloves. You could take it. You’ve suffered worse trauma than a bump to the head. But now? You regretted it. You wished the Cybertronian doctor would have paced out this overwhelming amount of information.

You were surprised, almost bitterly so, that Ratchet just told you everything without hesitation. His sympathetic touch that aimed to comfort you felt foreign, but was welcomed. You couldn’t remember him being so hands on, so sympathetic. You ate up the affection, greedily.

When you didn’t respond, Ratchet turned back to the two frontliners. “Call me if anything changes. I’ll be by in the morning with one of the human nurses.”

“I would rather you not bring anyone unfamiliar around her,” Sunstreaker said, and Sideswipe agreed.

“Everything is unfamiliar to her, right now. She doesn’t remember anyone on this base.”

This ‘base’ was a military installment on some coast of Antarctica. On the surface was a complete and enclosed encampment, but much of it was buried underground, both for secrecy and to shelter against the harsh weather of the region. If this was any other day, you would have been impressed at the ingenuity and dedication; you would have celebrated that this was a product from a union of several nations and the Autobots.

It was all incredible, and you don’t remember playing a major role in it at all.

And it was all because of this injury you sustained. While the mechs continued to softly debate with one another, you turned your attention to the mess of papers scattered over the table’s surface. They were your hospital records, and you were shocked that the team of doctors parted with them so easily. You were even more confused when no one argued at your refusal to step foot back into that hospital. Every person was sickeningly friendly towards you when you were ready for a fight, and you didn’t know how to feel.

Correction: you felt extremely on guard. Even after all you were told, you still kept a wary eye on those around you. They still worked for your government, and it was your government who enabled Sector Seven to strap you down onto a vivisection table.

But the world you woke to, Sector Seven was no longer a threat. They were disbanded and held accountable for their actions, because of you. It was all so unreal. You would never accuse Ratchet of blatantly lying to you, but it was hard to believe. You didn’t trust these people, these humans, to not slip you a sedative and crack open your sternum like a crab leg.

You glanced up at movement, finding Ratchet was departing up the ramp leading out of your bunker. He paused for a moment, turning his head slightly to look at you. It was difficult to pay attention to much else, but you did notice Ratchet appearing not just concerned, but almost hurt that you couldn’t remember your time studying under him.

You were a Xenobiologist and an Alien Liaison. Your head was spinning.

Ratchet saw himself out without another word. The twins meandered their way back towards you.

“Hey, why don’t you take a break from that?” Sideswipe sat at the desk your desk was set on. “You’ve put yourself through enough, today. Take a break and relax.”

You grumbled out a groan, rubbing your temples. “I don’t think I can.”

“Try.” Sunstreaker came around and picked up your desk, palm over the surface to keep papers from fluttering off as he transported it to your loft.

You stood from your chair, about to demand he return your files, but Sideswipe cut in with a gentle nudge. “Are you hungry? We made sure to have someone restock your supplies with all of your favorites.” He punctuated that by gesturing to your area in the bunker.

Your eyes followed his indication. This entire bunker-turned-apartment was the living space of you and the frontliners for... what did Ratchet say? A few months, now?

You must have resided here, seeing how it was altered to have you cohabitate with the two Cybertronians. Catwalks lined the walls and led to certain areas where you could join those larger than you. Whoever put this together had your independence in mind.

Opposite of the exit was a two storied structure built up against the wall. The ground floor was enclosed, giving you privacy in your bedroom, bathroom, and a small hallway joining both the ground entrance and the steps leading to the upper floor. The top level was designed to be more open, with only a guardrail along the edge. There, you had a modest kitchenette, living space with furniture, and a study that seemed your predominate workspace. It was all very picturesque and orderly.

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe had their spaces on either side of yours. On one wall was their recharge slabs and personal storage. On the opposing was a long couch, a weapons bench, a video screen mounted on the wall, and energon storage. There were a few more odds and ends, all neatly organized. Two desks stood across from where you were housed.

It was all very domestically quaint but you could not shake how crazy this was. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, with work desks.

You finally answered Sideswipe, setting a hand on your queasy stomach. It hadn’t settled since you woke. “I don’t think I could handle anything, right now.”

“You need to eat. At least start with something light,” Sunstreaker said, but he sounded like he was asking. He came up and held out his hand to you, and when you nodded, he scooped you up, chair and all, and transferred you to your loft. “I know it’s upsetting, but I can’t have you neglecting your health.”

“Upsetting? This is more than upsetting.” You were beyond ready to just vent out all your feelings, now that it was finally just you and them. “I woke to a goddamn peacetime I can't remember getting to, Sunny. None of it! I don’t remember testifying against Sector Seven, and I certainly don’t remember the truce between Autobots and Decepticons and becoming the f*cking liaison with a seat in the New Alliance! That’s a lot of time to lose, Sunny. Upset doesn’t cover it. I can’t even think of a word to describe how I feel.”

Livid. Confused. Terrified. It all seemed paltry to the visceral storm of emotions churning through your body.

“I’m not trying to downplay anything. Yeah, you lost your memory of the last several years. I can’t imagine what it’s like for you.” Sunstreaker frowned, crossing his arms. “But I can imagine what it was like for us, waiting to see if you would ever wake up.”

“It was awful.” Sideswipe stood to take his brother’s side. “We thought we lost you. When you were caught in that attack at the conference, we thought we lost the most important thing to us. If it’s between that, or you rattling a few memories out of your processor, I think the choice is obvious.”

“You were very lucky,” Sunstreaker said with a bit of softness. “We were very lucky. You’re alive. I’ll take that over you forgetting how good things were.”

You didn’t like calling your feelings into question. You felt you had a right to be this shook over your memory loss, but... what if you were being too sensitive about it? You saw the reports: you lived through a coordinated terrorist attack, you survived a bomb, and all you suffered was amnesia. Should you be more accepting, more grateful, of your situation?

Your shame was short lived as it burned away into anger. You were not being touchy about this. You had a right to feel this way. “It’s more than a few memories. These were important events – things that changed my life.”

“I get how that can mess you up, but trust me. Things will be okay. I promise things will be okay.” Sideswipe’s smile tugged at your heart. “Maybe you need time to remember, but for now? Just enjoy things as they are. You made everything perfect.”

There was no such thing as perfect, but what if you did find something close to it? What if you found serenity, and purpose, and happiness?

“Everything you’ve ever been through wasn’t for nothing. You’ve accomplished so much, and everything was going really well.” Sunstreaker inclined his head. “Even if you don’t remember how you got here, you survived your injuries. You can still see how you helped in bringing peace.”

“The knock to my skull doesn’t feel like peace,” You countered. “Ratchet said Cobra was responsible for the attack at the U.N. Summit.”

“It won’t happen again,” Sunstreaker said confidently. “While you were recovering, an inside source aided in the capture and incarceration of its leaders. It was disappointing we couldn’t be a part of the raid, but at the same time, we wanted to be near you.”

You fell quiet, but your thoughts couldn’t be louder. You touched the bandage fixed around your temples. It seemed like such a meager injury. You recalled the medical reports: No burns, broken bones, or internal damage; just a few scuffs, cuts, and one mighty headache. You’ve had head trauma, lost blips of time, but it wasn’t anything like this. This was a serious case of amnesia and the Scientist in you couldn’t connect the dots to make it make sense.

“I... I can understand your perspective, but please understand mine. The last thing I remember of Earth was being tortured.” You let out a sad, frayed laugh. “Now I’m being called Doctor again, by everyone. No one is looking to experiment on me – which is absolutely bonkers why they wouldn’t try. I’m still mutated beyond what anyone would consider human. But the weirdest thing? I’ve been getting the most respect I’ve wanted since receiving my MD.”

“And you got two Guardians,” Sideswipe chirped.

“One of which is very handsome.” Sunstreaker preened.

“Both,” The red mech corrected. “Both of us are.”

“Only when you shine yourself up.”

You prepared yourself for a round of squabbling between the two, of Sideswipe’s taunts and Sunstreaker’s smacks, but instead, they laughed. They laughed together, smiling, and it was beautiful. Their brotherly relationship felt less bickery. Warmer. Harmonious. Maybe things changed between them over the years.

Sunstreaker leaned over the floor, bringing his hand behind you to hold you in place as he pressed a gentle kiss on the top of your head. You were left standing, blinking in amazement at such an open display of affection. You looked up at him, meeting his softly radiant optics, and your heart did a little twirl.

“But we’re more than just your Guard, Sweetspark.” The smile he wore was devastatingly attractive. “Or have you forgotten that, as well?”

“I wasn’t going to ask, but...” You wriggled out of his hold, taking a wide step away. There weren’t many opportunities, let alone an appropriate time to ask about the relationship between you and the twins. Last you remembered, they gave you a farewell you would never forget.

“I have no qualms reminding you,” Sideswipe offered with barely veiled interest.

Sunstreaker added, “Only if you’re up for it, Soft Femme. Ratchet did order you bed-rest.”

You crossed an arm while you rubbed the back of your neck, gaze flitting from one to another. To have them both in the same room, thinking on the same lines, being as big as they were, was intimidating. Your mouth opened and closed, drowning in not knowing what to say. This didn’t seem the time, and you weren't much in the mood for anything amorous.

“Primus, are you shy?” Sideswipe called you out. “Look at her, turnin’ color over a little smooch. Sweetspark, the things we’ve done is a little more to blush over than just a tiny peck.”

You let out a scandalized cry, both internally and externally. Internally, because what wild nights would you sell your soul to remember? Externally, you voiced, “Sideswipe! Don’t just-just say that out loud.”

“Why not? It’s no secret.” The red mech protested, looking to Sunstreaker for backup. “And it’s just us, right now. Do I have to be modest in my own hab-suite?”

“Wha – what about High Command? What if someone hears you, or catches us?”

Sunstreaker shrugged at his brother, then turned to answer you. “It wouldn’t matter, because High Command doesn’t care about our relationship. We don’t need to hide. We’re your Guard, your escorts, your assistants, your paramours.”

Really? They were so concerned about High Command, before – but that was years ago. You were easily sidetracked as Sunstreaker’s casualness caused your spine to shiver. It was too good to be true, to have the two frontliners as your ever present bodyguards, and your equally attentive lovers.

You flashed a smile up at them, and felt the pinprick of tears. Was this really happening? You had to look away and cover your mouth. Did you find happiness only to forget it? You sucked in a shuddering breath, trying your best not to cry.

“How about we set up a movie,” Sunstreaker murmured to Sideswipe, who nodded and left you two alone to fuss with the vidscreen. Sunstreaker leaned a little closer, lowering his voice. “If the memories don’t come back, you will be okay. I swear it.”

It wasn’t fair. How could you just accept this massive gap in your past? That somehow you skipped the boss level and came to the end of the game? You won the lottery, but don’t remember scratching the ticket, let alone there even being a ticket. Nothing was adding up, but you felt ashamed to complain. According to everyone else, you nearly died and put your loved ones through hell.

Sunstreaker brought his hands around you, using his thumb to bring up your face by your chin. He leaned in to press a kiss to your forehead, chaste, gentle, and different. He pulled away to look down at you with a softness to his optics rarely seen. “We’ll make new memories, together. We’ll do what we can to make you happy all over again.”

You chose not to argue on it any more. Instead, you basked in the warmth of his affections, hoping it would chase away the chills on your skin. His words and touch wasn’t enough to shake the unease in your gut.

“Now, grab yourself something to eat. Ratchet will strip my finish if you’re unwell, tomorrow.”

You huffed a slight laugh and left him to search your pantry. You scared up a box of saltines, a bottle of water, and returned to Sunstreaker. He lifted you like silk and brought you close to his chest as he crossed the room. Sideswipe had the screen on, sitting on the alien furniture, waiting patiently for you two. Sunstreaker sat beside him, and Sideswipe reached over to give you an affectionate nudge.

“Better?”

“A little,” You lied.

“There’s not much entertainment in this part of your world, but they got a little stash of movies here.” Sideswipe smiled at you hopefully, gesturing to a pile of blankets in his lap. “Feel like winding down, here?”

Sunstreaker moved you over without asking, but you didn’t mind much. You were cold and wanted to bundle up. You sat back against Sideswipe while Sunstreaker spread out, resting his arms on the back of the couch and using the remote. What was on the vidscreen started playing, coming straight out the gate with suspenseful trumpets to announce the black and white title of the old fifties film.

Invasion of the Body Snatchers.

You remembered watching it with a few colleagues, a long time ago. The problem with a movie-group of those in the medical profession was that you all would scoff and critique those on the silver screen acting like doctors. You don’t remember enjoying the film of aliens taking over and replacing human kind. It seemed like a silly concept.

But that was back before you knew extraterrestrials existed.

“Are there aliens like that? Who take over your body?” You asked.

“A few,” Sunstreaker answered, then smirked at you. “But humans don’t have to worry. You’re not advanced enough for anyone to want.”

“Rude.” You feigned a dramatic gasp.

“Except you, Sweetspark,” Sideswipe amended smoothly. “Everyone wants you. I know I do.”

You tilted your head back to look up at the red mech with a faux-coy smile. Sideswipe was usually this forward, but to be so blunt without the smooth finesse of the flirting you recalled, your heart didn’t pick up as it usually would.

“You two, settle down,” Sunstreaker chided. “Ratchet prescribed bed rest. Not broken furniture.”

Sideswipe feigned a pout and it made you laugh. His hand came up over you and you hugged onto his fingers. The unyielding touch of metal, the hard angles and textures, was something that would never get old. You closed your eyes, resting your head on one of his digits.

You were safe. You were alive. That was all that should matter.

A loud, wailing little boy in the movie made you jump. It was near ear-piercing, his cries, but neither of the lambo-brothers seemed to react. You squinted at the screen as the sound quieted down to normal. The boy was sobbing, fighting his grandmother who dragged him into the doctor’s office. He tried to run away in terrified hysterics, but the nurse caught him.

The grandmother shared that the little boy had the strangest notion that his mother wasn’t his real mother.

“She isn't! She isn't! Don't let her get me!” The little boy howled.

The nurse tried to soothe in that flat, canned response. “No one's going to get you, Jimmy.”

The boy continued to cry as the doctor asked his grandmother how long this has been going on. Personally, it wouldn’t have been the first question you would have asked. The grandmother of the boy answered, explaining how he was hiding, and wouldn’t speak. He panicked and cried when she went to call his mother.

“...That's when he said Anna wasn't his mother.” The grandmother finished saying. You remember critiquing how the doctor asked how long this fear-response has been going on, and not if the kid was hurt – because his accusations weren’t a red-flag at all.

The violins playing to set the scene whined a little shrilly for your ears. You winced, searching up towards Sunstreaker and Sideswipe. They were relaxed, completely oblivious to your discomfort.

The doctor sent the boy off with his grandmother and closed his clinic door. The bell rang, and the pitch was like nails on a chalkboard. You squeezed your eyes shut and pressed a hand over one of your ears. Your temple started to throb. Was your injury playing up? You don’t remember seeing any brain damage on the reports, but maybe you should get with Ratchet and conduct your own evaluation. No matter what anyone said, you still didn’t trust these people.

You still felt unwell, but mainly, you couldn’t get warm. You shivered and curled up tighter. Your stomach ached for food, but you felt full and nauseous. You couldn’t sort if it was the stress, or if you caught a virus.

“...Your new bodies are growing in there...”

The movie became loud, again. Your eyes shot open. How much time passed while you were in your own thoughts? You remembered this scene in the film, the big reveal. How were you near the end of the movie? You felt like you had just closed your eyes.

“...They're taking you over cell for cell, atom for atom. There is no pain...”

You checked on Sunstreaker and Sideswipe. They continued to watch, still unaware of anything else. You looked back at the screen, and a little red light in the corner of the frame caught your gaze. Your body locked into place.

“...Suddenly, while you're asleep, they'll absorb your minds, your memories...”

You fixated on the light. It seared into your retinas, and you felt like a tiny mouse in an open field. No place to hide; nowhere to scurry; just the inky, cold darkness around you.

“...and you're reborn into an untroubled world...”

And from that darkness, something was watching you.

It touched you and you screamed.

Sideswipe withdrew his hand, having a look of worry as if he hurt you. “Whoa, you alright?”

You panted, clutching your blanket to your chest, looking up at your two protectors, then at the movie screen. Credits were rolling. What happened? You blinked sweat from your eyes, finding yourself drenched. “I... What? Where is...?”

“What is it? Did I hurt you?”

“No... Ugh.” A pang of nausea had you gripping your stomach. “Damn it. I...I think I’m going to throw up.”

Sunstreaker was at his feet, first. “That’s it. I’m calling Ratchet back. I don’t care if he’s busy, he’s sleeping here, tonight.”

Sideswipe lifted you carefully, taking slow, steady steps back to your loft. “Maybe the cold is making you sick. That, or all the stress. You’ve been through a lot, today. You need to lie down and rest.”

This didn’t feel like stress, but you didn’t correct him. You felt like the next time you opened your mouth, you might lose what little was in your stomach. No, this was different. You were a goddamn doctor and nothing was adding up – not even this strange terror that came and went. You didn’t know how you should address how you felt to the two you trusted most.

Sideswipe set you down carefully and helped you to your couch. You laid down, curling on your side. You couldn’t stop shivering, but you didn’t know if it was from the cold, or from the adrenaline surging through your veins. Maybe you were getting sick; or maybe this was something more.

What, though, you didn’t know.

You closed your eyes, trying your damnedest to recall what happened after Soundwave took you on board the Nemesis. Your guts lurched and a fevered chill washed over you. You felt the familiar rabbit-fear of wanting to run.

Something happened to you on that ship. Your body knew it. Your brain knew it. But something was trying to keep you from remembering.

Chapter 4: From the Throat

Chapter Text

Previously...

The stealth cruiser was about to dock.

You were allowed to look out the window and see the massive Decepticon war-ship while the vessel glided closer. You couldn’t find it in yourself to appreciate such a marvel, especially with a name as ominous as The Nemesis. You had a subtle inkling to take off your helmet – to wipe the tears from your eyes, you told yourself, because there was no other reason to subject yourself to suffocation.

Soundwave handled you as if you were glass, and ordered his charges to mind you with care. You hated this kind of treatment. You hated how you were scared and confused and it felt unnecessary. You waited in uncertain terror for things to get worse, for you to feel physical pain, for them to act the villains that they were, but it never came.

You weren't under any impression that anyone liked you. You had value. You had enough value that Soundwave took the time to negotiate with you, even though you were at his mercy. He didn’t have to, but he spared your friends. You had no doubt that you were afraid of the unknown, but this was beyond anything predictable.

What you did predict was that the move to save your friends would eventually save you. It all hung on hope. You hoped a damaged ship wouldn’t slow down Kup’s team. You hoped they broke their bonds and found a way to get help. You hoped they would get back-up and not come rushing blindly to save you. You hoped they would be smart about it, and wait for the right moment to rescue you. You hoped it wouldn’t take too long.

Soundwave held you close to his chest as he walked down the halls of this massive ship. He didn’t say anything to you as you weren't much for conversation to begin with. You were quietly taking in your surroundings, taking note of the smaller places to scurry. With a growing crowd at his back, Soundwave entered a large room – and if you had to guess, it looked like a medbay.

He gingerly set you on a table, gesturing his mini-cons to watch you as he fielded the curious onlookers and medics. The table’s surface vibrated as Ravage jumped up, taking a seat behind you. You took in your audience, unable to sort what frightened you most: their venomous optics, the fact they were Decepticons, or the look of disgust and contempt on a few faces.

You actually whimpered, backing up into the cat-mech. He growled with annoyance. “Settle.”

“Oooh what? It’s actually scared?” Rumble hoisted himself up on the table, pulling his twin up with him.

You didn’t answer with words, as they had de-evolved to unintelligible vowels. You looked at the two, noting the new violet finish of the one you rescued before quickly averting your eyes downward. You felt a little dizzy. You were hyperventilating. You focused much of your attention on slowing your breaths.

“Changed your colors again?” Ravage huffed, rolling his optics. “Seriously, Frenzy, at first it was funny you and Rumble kept swapping looks, but it’s getting old.”

“Mind y’business.” Frenzy waved him off, crossing the way to look down at you. He clicked his glossa. “Is this what kept me from goin’ offline?”

“Everyone saw it,” Rumble teased. “That skittish little squish kept your spark from flickerin’ out. You shoulda saw Flatline’s face.”

“Ugh, really? It can talk, can’t it?” He leaned in over you, looming. His hand came down hard on your shoulder and gave you a shake. “‘Eh? Say somethin’.”

The shock of being jostled around and being put on the spot had you garble out the first thought you could grab. “Your medic’s named Flatline?”

The twin cons paused to look at one another. Frenzy planted his fists on his hips. “Yeah, what about it?”

Ravage leaned into your peripheral vision. “What's wrong with that?”

“Nothing! I mean, flat-line is a human term to describe death, like he’s flat-lining.” You tripped over your words, even letting out a nervous titter. “It’s kinda funny. You might as well have a doctor named Malpractice, Doctor Negligence, or Rights-Violation and Oh God I’m going to shut up...”

They stared at you, and you fell to a poorly termed uncomfortable silence. You weren't sure how to read their blank expressions, or even guess if they were disgusted or annoyed. Then, Frenzy snorted a snicker of amusem*nt. Rumble gave you an unexpected firm clap on the back. “Heh, that is kinda funny.”

You stumbled forward, and the newly painted violet mini-con was quick to grab you, steadying you where you once were. “It’s a clumsy little thing, isn’t it? Eh? Aren’t you?”

Your fear turned to irritation as you found that conflicted feeling, again. You hated how it just seemed they didn’t treat you like a prisoner. You craved that clear, defining line.

“He ain’t answerin’. He okay?” Rumble bent his knees to look at you. “Did I hit ‘em too hard?”

“Her,” Ravage corrected. “The Herald is a she, and if you break her, don’t even ask me to cover for you.”

Your attention was called to the doors across the way. The audience fell quiet as a gurney was wheeled in, and you held your breath. The mech that laid upon it was a big one, about as large as the Jet Commander that followed. He was flanked by a literal clone of himself, save for a different color scheme of blues and grays; and by the unsuitably named medic, Flatline. They stepped to the side and bowed at the approach of a gunmetal gray monster who was about as tall as he was wide. The cannon fixed on his arm alone was large enough to get lost in.

“All hail the coming of Lord Megatron!” Starscream announced, and the crowd joined in a cheer.

You tried to exhale the breath you held, but your primary functions had difficulty. Oh f*ck. This was the big bad. This was the Leader of the Decepticons, the one responsible for so much woe within the stories of your friends.

You stepped back, finding Frenzy was within reach. Your body moved without your permission, taking his arm for some semblance of gravity. He jerked at the sudden contact. You would have blindly latched onto anyone with how this giant Decepticon unnerved you.

Frenzy tried to wriggle you off, frowning from both confusion and mild-disgust as Rumble jeered, “She’s practically rattlin’ her plates.”

Megatron’s hellfire optics regarded you, and you knew you were barely beneath his notice. He looked at you as you would an ant. A repulsive little pest crawling in your kitchen, and the only thing you should do is step on it. You turned your head away, your helmet rapped against the mini-con.

“Ugh, will you stop it,” Ravage chided.

Frenzy’s hand rested heavily on your shoulder, and you tried so hard to find comfort in it. You leaned more into it, clamping your eyes shut, imagining the hands of someone familiar. It didn’t quite work, as they were the wrong size. You cried out sharply as you were turned out suddenly to face everyone – face the King of the Decepticons.

Rumble knelt some, arms out in a wide ‘ta-da’ wingspan to display you. His casual gesture seemed much too out of place.

“Look at it, trembling before you, my Lord.” Starscream said with a ridiculous amount of flare, “As you can see, the Herald is simply an unimposing flesh creature, easily forced to do our bidding.”

You would have liked to believe you were brave, and that torture wouldn’t break you. You didn’t want to test that belief.

“Can it perform?” Megatron’s voice turned your insides to jelly. You wanted to start bawling right then and there if you weren't focusing everything you had to just stand upright.

“It already had.” Starscream gestured lazily to Frenzy. “Kept Soundwave’s pet from falling into spark-failure.”

“Pet?” Frenzy’s fingers dug into your shoulder plates with a slight scraping sound.

“But I offer a demonstration upon one of my soldiers, who so nobly sacrificed himself while deploying the swarm-bombs within Omega Supreme – on my orders, of course.”

The pain from the mini-mech’s grip re-solidified your organs and forced you to gasp. Your vision wavered, blurring and refocusing just in time to see Starscream’s massive hand come in to wrap around you. You didn’t time to scream as his hold was tight, pinning your arms against your body. He squeezed, and you wheezed and croaked, hearing your exo-suit plating grind and creak.

Starscream gave you a sharp jostle. Your head whiplashed back and forth, and his visage split in twos. “Remember, you agreed to serve once Soundwave let your Autobot keepers free,” He said loudly, deliberately. He smirked, optics flickering to his sovereign. This was a deliberate jab at the Communications Specialist. You felt something in your side dent in, and you had trouble catching your breath. With horror, you realized he was crimping your suit’s airway. Darkness crept in on the edges of your vision.

Soundwave didn’t take the bait. Instead, he stepped up and gripped the arm that held you. He held his other hand out expectantly. “Warning: you are damaging the organic. Turn her over to me. Operation: compliance.”

Oh thank god, he noticed your struggles to remain alive and came to your rescue. Starscream looked to Megatron, who gestured him along. “If you damage the creature before it can perform, you would have aptly wasted my time, as usual.”

“I wouldn’t dare, Lord Megatron,” Starscream simpered, handing you over. You gasped and fought to catch your breath as Soundwave cupped you in his hands.

The boxy Decepticon stepped over to the lifeless Seeker, continuing to shield you in his palm till your breaths evened out. You glanced over where your arm gauntlet was pressed into your side, tracing the dent with your gloved fingers. So, you weren't entirely safe in the suit. Great.

Soundwave brought you up slowly, opening his hands more to reveal you as one would a shiny bug you didn’t want to fly away. His voice, though, was loud enough to make you wish you had wings. “Directive: you will comply and revive our comrade, as per our agreement.”

You nodded ruefully, repeating in your mind, per our agreement.

“Do you require anything to complete the task?”

That tone of his softened, and you flinched. Night and day. Why was he so god-damn amenable? At least with Starscream, you knew you were barely worth a pronoun. Megatron, you were nothing more than gum on the bottom of a shoe. Your hand came up to rub your face – but you always forgot the damn helmet. You settled for a long, weary sigh, letting yourself be carried by the currents of sh*t-creek.

“I have supplies I’ll need, afterwards. I still haven’t completely recuperated from helping your friend,” You said as evenly as you could. You didn’t expect him to nod along, and it made you stammer. “Buh-but for right now, I... I just need his name.”

He set his hand down alongside the dead mech, letting you step out with dignity instead of dumping you on the table. “Designation: Skywarp.”

You tested the strength of your wobbly legs, keeping your hand on Soundwave’s to steady yourself. You looked over the cadaver – the first of many to be revived, you were sure. You stepped in that familiar, professional skin, feeling a bit more confident that Soundwave was the one working with you. “He looks pretty bad. The longer it takes for your medic to stabilize the spark, the weaker I get. To keep me from burning out too fast, they should be fixed up as much as possible.”

“Is it giving orders?” Starscream scoffed.

“Suggestion: mute vocal unit.” The CO held up a silencing hand. “Retrieval of pertinent intelligence required. Flatline, commence operation: pre-repair.”

The medic waved in his assistants and they began work. You watched quietly, trying to ignore those blood-red optics burning into your back. You knelt and hung you head, feeling an itch over your tear-tracked cheeks. You agreed to do this, and this is the first of many. This was going to be the start of your betrayal to the Autobots. You hoped Sunstreaker and Sideswipe could forgive you.

“That’s the best we can do,” Flatline said to Soundwave. “Once his spark is in place, we’ll know what to do next.”

The boxy blue officer met your beaten gaze, giving you a curt nod. You pressed your hands against the side of Skywarp’s helm, splaying out your fingers and closing your eyes. When you felt the static tickle to your fingerprints, you opened your eyes to the familiar firefly light. You whispered, as you had many times before, “Skywarp.”

As expected, it shied from you. You began your routine convincing. “Skywarp, come home.”

There was no brightening at your voice or even the opportunity to return. You felt something hot within your chest, a twist in your guts, and you thought of Henri Arkeville. Your mind filled with anger and mistrust, and you realized this was what Skywarp was feeling. You pressed, “Your friends are here.”

Memories of concrete walls and stale bread, followed by the pang of loneliness and heartache. Dark thoughts of ‘what friends?’ surfaced from a time long ago, back when those you thought were friends either lied to your face, or left you when things became difficult. Your brain interpreted the Decepticon’s emotions as if they were your own. You didn’t like it. You didn’t like how human the enemy felt.

The spark dimmed and you started to panic. This was the first you’ve felt the electric current wane. You were losing him. You begged a little louder, “My name is –"

You stopped yourself.

“Never forget your principles and ideals, and when you become something more, you will never truly lose yourself to the image others perceive.”

The words Optimus once said encompassed your thoughts. You had to become more. Against your will, you became something so much bigger, and you fought fiercely to stay Evalyn Morgan. You didn’t want your identity to fade, but would it? Time and time again, you molded and changed, taking shape of the container that confined you. You were a daughter, a doctor, a fiancée, a scientist, a friend, a criminal, a leader, a lover, a symbol. Evalyn was a scientist on Earth, once upon a time, and everything that happened to her seemed so small and trivial compared to now.

You evolved. You grew in fluidity, and overflowed, because no matter how much you fought – you had become something bigger and you must accept it. I didn’t call alien souls from beyond the great unknown.

The Herald did.

You willed the charge through your arms, trying to restrain that bite you’ve only felt from the life-force of these sentient beings. You gritted your teeth. “I am the Herald of the Well, and I’m here to return you to the living.”

That did it. You felt slight recognition from his end. The little firefly drifted down into his spark-chamber like falling snow, and his body arched up with the sudden agony of life. The living energy surged and latched onto and through you, and you cried out more from the surprise than the pain. You barely heard Soundwave direct the medics to do as you instructed.

When you revived the Autobots, you clenched your teeth, and fought your various vocalizations to announce your struggle and suffering. You weren’t embarrassed by it, no. You didn’t want Ratchet to worry. You didn’t want those around you to keep you from using this ability. But now, you were in the company of Decepticons. There was a small pleasure in screaming out your anguish.

You withdrew before Flatline declared spark stability. You hugged your arms and whined like a dog, trying your best not to retch. The medics worked around you as Skywarp writhed and vented his systems, groaning and warbling deep Cybertronian.

You were too tired to react at being lifted unexpectedly, but you found yourself grateful, seeing as it was the one who was the most gentle with you. You flopped back against his palm, wishing more than anything in the universe to shuck this armor and rub your tingling muscles. You took in the room, starting with the mini-cons. Frenzy’s mouth was nearly gaped open, and Ravage was on his feet, red eyes bright with awe.

The crowd that gathered had a dangerous glitter to their optics. The Autobots, you could feel their pleading of ‘bring back those we love.’ Here, you felt it differently; ‘bring back those to fight and kill for us,’ they seemed to chant, ‘bring back those to die for us.’

Your lip trembled as you gazed upon Megatron and the pleased curve to his mouth. “Well done, Soundwave. You continue to prove yourself an asset to the Decepticon cause. This is a fine addition to our resources, and I’m sure a blow to Optimus and his Autobots. I’ll overlook your sparing of the enemy.”

He then directed himself to the shadowed mass that was the spectators. “Shockwave, I want you to find where its power comes from, and if we can harness it for ourselves.”

The heavy footsteps weren’t what chilled your veins. It was how Soundwave’s hands jerked, squeezing you just enough to impart his surprise. A new panic trembled your limbs. From the darkness, a red searchlight came attached to a shadow. The shadow came into the light, and the bulky, purple Decepticon looked at you with its large, bloodmoon optic.

You froze in place. That rabbit-fear to flee had locked every cell in your body. You couldn’t run. You couldn’t fight. You could only hold still enough in the hope you would not be noticed.

“I expect results, soon,” Megatron said as he left back down the dim halls of the ship.

Results. Your thoughts flickered back to the experiments you endured on Earth. Every time they strapped you on the table, was another step closer to death.

You’ve been waiting for things to get worse. You didn’t have to wait any longer.

[T^T]

Currently...

The memory felt like a dream, and the dream blipped by between the blink of your eyes. In an instant, you lived hours upon hours, and it made you sway on your feet. You sought to relieve the slight ache to your temple, rubbing it out with your palm while bracing yourself against the doorway to your closet.

What triggered the memory was the color blue. On the back wall of your closet was a framed wooden panel painted the same shade as Soundwave’s steely blue plating – the exact shade. It was a little thing, like Alice-in-wonderland small. It didn’t look like an electrical box – it literally looked like a wooden door without a knob. Maybe it was a design oversight, or some easy access paneling for maintenance, or... or something. You couldn’t come up with any reasons that made sense.

It made you think of those brief moments with the Decepticon. You recalled his terrifyingly amicable disposition that confused you, and how he carried himself as if he was unfazed by anything.

Except when he seemed rocked by the Decepticon Shockwave stepping out to take you from him.

You clutched the doorframe of your closet. Shockwave’s single optic was so bright and red, and it fixated on you as if you were a germ to be dissected. Despite this clamminess that washed over you, you tried your best to recall what happened next. Your heartbeat ramped up. The squeak of your molars betrayed the clench in your jaw.

The odor of coffee hit your senses like a slap to the face. It was so strong, it made you gag and your eyes water. As much as you low-key welcomed the diversion to think of anything else, why was the smell of it so overwhelming?

Oh god was Sideswipe trying to make you coffee, again?

You abandoned your curiosity and raced up the steps to your loft floor, endeavoring to stop whatever was destroying your kitchen. When you reached the top, you discovered a petite, smartly dressed woman sitting on your couch. It wasn’t her thin, cat’s eye glasses or curly brunette hair that told you who she was.

“Good morning, Ma’am.” It was that feminine tone, purring that wonderfully soft French accent.

Your mouth dropped open as you froze into place. You never thought you would see your old assistant, Holly LeTene, ever again; but that was when you resigned yourself to never return to the world she worked so hard to help you escape.

An escape that came at a cost.

Holly gestured to the two mugs sitting on the coffee table. “The coffee here is terrible, but we’ve drank worse. Come sit with me. How are you feeling?”

Everything about her was so relaxed and casual, you felt like your psyche was fraying. This woman was a very important, very skillful, member of Cobra. She worked alongside you for years and you had no idea the things she was capable of. Things spanning from forgery, fraud, to hand-to-hand combat, Holly topped it all with committing cold-blooded murder to put you in a position to have the Autobots rescue you from Sector Seven.

You always wondered if she sacrificed your father with a heavy heart, and if she agonized over whether you’d forgive her for euthanizing your last remaining family. You didn’t know if your dad would ever wake from his coma, and now you would never know.

“Doctor?” Holly called after you. Her head tilted, concerned. “Is something wrong? Are you unwell, still?”

Holly stood and you flinched back. You couldn’t believe you were frightened of her, but at the same time, who could blame you? She was not the person who you thought she was, and last you knew, you were told she was a dangerous criminal.

“Mon Dieu, I’ve told the nurse that sh*t from a box will not do. You need chicken to make broth. That is how you heal the body – real food.” She skirted past you to your kitchen. Holly moved as if she knew where everything was. She went from the fridge, to the cupboards, to the stove, all the while blathering under her breath, mocking your nurse in a whiney tone, “Oh but we cannot get real chicken out here – bullsh*t. Fly to the mainland and stock up. No wonder you’re still feeling ill. Your nurses are lazy.”

You continued to stand there, unblinking. Holly LeTene was literally heating up what looked like chicken soup for you, and your stomach grumbled something fierce.

“Go sit down. I’ll bring it to you when it’s warm.”

You couldn’t move your legs. You looked for Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, finding them with Ratchet and Prowl at their desk. Upon the surface were datapads strewn about. They listened to the officer intently as he directed their attention to one datapad after another.

No one seemed concerned by your new guest. You turned back to her, mouth opening to say so much, but only managing, “You- you... You.”

“Moi?” Holly said with a curious smile that fell as she continued to look at your face. She could tell you were many things, but being happy to see her wasn’t one of them. “I see. So it is true, then? The explosion you survived didn’t injure your body, but your mind. What do you remember of me?”

“You killed my dad.” The words were barely a whisper as hot tears welled up. “They said you killed him. Simmons said you murdered him and you work for this terrorist group and –"

“Slow. Slow. Breathe.” She smiled sadly and gestured you to follow her to the couch. “I want you sitting when we talk. I will catch you up to all that has happened.” When you didn’t move, she added. “I did not kill Doctor Markus Morgan. He is alive and well.”

You gasped. “What?”

Holly sat herself on your couch, patting the space beside her. You finally found the basic commands to walk and crossed the way. “How is that possible? I saw his body. There was a funeral – one that the Autobots came and crashed. Simmons said –"

“Seymour Simmons was fooled, just like you. It was all staged. Sector Seven couldn’t tell that trussed up cadaver wasn’t Markus,” She said with a light laugh. “I should be offended you think me so villainous, but I feel more complimented that my work was that impeccable.”

You had a hard time swallowing this, mainly because you spent so much time trying to rationalize and accept what had happened – what you thought had happened. You could still remember the ugly decorations in the funeral home, and the sickly perfumed smell of it. You could still remember how heavy your chains felt, and how scratchy the prison jumpsuit was.

You could still remember how poorly prepared your father’s body was, but there was no doubt in your mind that it was Markus Morgan. Your brows knitted as you held the woman’s gaze. “Where is he, now?”

“Happily following your advice and enjoying retirement at a vineyard in Italy.” Holly gave a vague wave around your living space. “You convinced him to leave all this behind. He does not know about what happened to you at the Summit, only that your work falls under the classified category, per usual.”

Your hand slapped over your mouth, but you couldn’t muffle the soft cry that croaked out. Was this for real? What if it all was just a ruse and your dad was alive! And he was safe and happy and away from dangerous lab equipment and materials. Holly simply smiled and gave you a soft pat on your leg. She stood and left you to process this, to accept this new string of reality you thought you had already known.

Holly went back to your kitchen area and ladled your soup into a mug. When she returned, you had calmed yourself enough to ask, “Does that means Simmons was lying about you working for Cobra?”

“No, that was true.” She responded while setting down the steaming mug on the coffee table. “But I’ve had a change in employment, recently. I’m the informant who helped capture those who orchestrated the attack on the Summit – which of whom were those in charge.”

Everything about her was much too casual for your liking. “Couldn’t you have prevented it in the first place?”

Holly smiled sadly. “I wish I could have, but I did not know of it until it was too late.” She set her hand on yours, and her touch was a welcomed memory of what you used to have: A friend. “I felt so guilty after you were hurt. I wasn’t going to let them get away with it. I’m glad I haven’t lost you. I’m happy you are here with us.”

A lump bobbed its way up and down your throat. You smiled and nodded, trying to say ‘me too’ but your voice cracked. You cleared your throat and busied yourself with picking up the mug of steaming soup, trying your best not to start crying. You noticed the mug wasn’t as hot as you expected. The temperature was just right.

“Does this mean you do not remember your hand in the disbandment of Sector Seven?” Holly asked conversationally, then ramped up like she was dishing out the hottest gossip, “It was the most spied upon event. So many bugs were planted in that courtroom. Cobra actually started trading different camera angles with other less than lawful organizations. It was a very hot topic among the underground syndicates.”

How she spoke spurned a kind of giddiness in you. “Really? All the career criminals and baddies into courtroom dramas?”

“You were taking down an undercover branch of a powerful government. You best believe everyone of importance had their eyes on it.” Holly reclined back with her coffee, seeming to enjoy reliving those days. “Your Autobot friends made it known to the right people what you’ve suffered. Investigations were had, and Agent Pauline Bestley came forward and leaked some incredibly incriminating documentation – with my help. You came back to Earth, testified, and many within Sector Seven were found guilty and incarcerated. The organization was dissolved overnight.”

It all made sense, but it didn’t. You couldn’t sort if it was difficult to accept because you couldn’t remember, or because everything seemed to fit together so perfectly. You weren’t a pessimist, but what you could remember was one sh*t-show after another, but now things came out smelling like roses? There were still knots in your gut. There was still this lingering feeling of thunderheads on the horizon.

“I really wish I could remember how I got to this point.” You let out a sigh before sipping your broth. It tasted strange. Bland. Flavorless, almost. Your stomach curdled, and you settled for just holding the mug. “Ratchet told me I’m the Liaison for the New Cybertronian Union. It sounds pretty important, but I don’t even know what to do.”

“Aww, are your paramours not up to task? They are supposed to assist.” Holly waved your concern off. “Do not worry. We are banding together to help where we can. Please, try to relax and trust us to take care of things. We’re all so happy you pulled through, and this is the least we can do. We nearly lost you.”

“As everyone seems to like reminding me.” You huffed out a ragged sigh. “It’s hard. How can I just accept that one bonk on the head – one without any skull fractures, intra-cerebral hematomas, or even a single contusion – and I have amnesia that robs me of years of my life. Tell me, how can I relax and just be okay with things?”

Where do you find security? You glanced over at the frontliner brothers, seeing that they were still busy. You were still unable to talk about those moments of terror, of feeling like you were in danger when there was clearly none. What happened to you on the Nemesis? Was this post traumatic stress? Repressed memories?

“You have to find that answer, yourself,” Holly said softly. “Only you can make it true.”

There was no use in arguing over it. Everyone seemed to live in this perfect utopia, and you just arrived late to the party. You nodded, albeit hesitantly, and dropped your gaze down at your soup. It looked so delicious with its rough cut carrots and celery, and those big fat egg noodles and leafy herbs. You didn’t have the heart to tell Holly her cooking tasted off. You sighed out a token response, “Yeah, okay.”

“Besides me visiting this snowy wonderland to serve you a home cooked meal, there is a reason for my coming,” Holly turned more towards you. “The attack on the conference delayed much. I wanted to personally see you and ask if you are ready to reconvene.”

This tasted better than any home cooked meal. Warmth flooded your senses as the old familiar skin of the professional side of you enveloped your very being. Work. You didn’t realize till now how much you starved for it – for something to do that was useful and could benefit others.

“Are there any records I can use to catch myself up on what was already discussed?” You asked.

Holly simply smiled and flicked her hand towards your desk. Upon it were a few stacks of binders and folders. “I’ve even set you up with dossiers of each council member, so you may refresh yourself on who they are, their political stance, their biases against the Cybertronians, and their personality profile.”

You blinked a few times at the mound of paperwork. Your breath caught in your throat as you snapped your gaze back to her. “Do you... do you work for me?”

“I do.” She arched a brow. “I find myself with more free time, now that I’m no longer a double agent. Since hearing of your amnesia, I’ve had this put together for you, waiting for when you asked for it.”

You slowly nodded along, trying to restrain this glee that you and Holly – your old friend – were going to be a team, again. “Thank you. It’ll be very helpful. Can you tell me what to expect when the council assembles?”

“You can expect skittish members. Many recovered from the attack, but it did not help some who still do not trust the Cybertronians enough. They do not feel comfortable letting them within their country.”

“This meeting was about mining operations?”

“This world is rich in the resources the Cybertronians need to repair their planet. Several nations agreed to allow energon extraction, but many are now wary that they are bringing trouble on their doorstep.” Holly said at length, “Then there was the exchange program being revisited, and the trading of technology and knowledge. No one could decide if the visitors would be housed on the space station, or an outpost on Cybertron.”

“I’m sorry: sending people to an alien planet?” You were both giddy and mortified. How awesome, and dangerous, it would be to work on a different planet so far away.

“Their decision was hinged on your proposal.”

“What was my proposal?”

“Only you know that.” The ex-criminal quirked a brow with a teasing smile. “This was your job, Liaison. Do you think you’re well enough to get back to it?”

You stared down at your full mug. Your appetite was still there, but your stomach felt heavy with an unsettled fullness. You set it down on the table and rubbed your face. “I’m worried I’m going to screw things up.”

“You won’t.” Holly set her hand on your back. “We will be there to help you.”

It was all incredibly daunting. That joy for work melted into dread. You felt this task was much larger than your capabilities.

“Is there a problem?” You recognized Sunstreaker’s hostile inflection.

“At ease,” Holly seemed to taunt. “Your paramour is feeling a little stressed.”

You snorted. A little? You raised your head to find the four bots had approached your open living area. Holly stood, offering her hand to help you up.

“Maybe we should postpone everything,” Ratchet offered. “If she is still unwell –"

“Holly said the meeting was going to be for resources to help your world,” You cut him off, holding up your hand to try and stay everyone from making a decision for you. “We shouldn’t postpone.”

“We can and we will, if need be. Your wellbeing takes priority,” Prowl said.

“I feel fine,” You lied. You still felt like you could sleep for ten more hours and eat a buffet out of business. “How far along were we in the negotiations?”

“Far. This is the last clause of terms and policies before the treaty is finalized.” The Officer answered. “The recent meeting was to close out the major deals of our mining operations and the exchange program. After that – which is an upcoming event – was a scheduled video call from Optimus Prime and the rest of High Command.”

“I’m sorry, but I thought Optimus was on Cybertron.” You said. Prowl nodded, then flinched when you barked, “We’re holding a long-distance call to another planet?!”

Sideswipe chuckled at your amazement, while Sunstreaker rolled his optics. Holly inclined her head, almost like she found your reaction adorable.

“Optimus has been very busy with coordinating the rebuilding of Cybertron’s major cities, and the reunification between Autobot, Decepticons, and Unaligned,” Ratchet explained. “I’m sure we can reschedule. He should be able to find time.”

“It sounds like we are on the cusp of finalizing this New Alliance and getting Cybertron the help it needs.” You rubbed your temples a moment, pausing to think. You reviewed all that you heard, from what Holly told you, to what you learned just now. You didn’t have time to sit in a council room and try to pick back up where you left off because you had no idea where you left off.

But if being the Director of a team of doctors taught you anything, it was how to utilize every resource available to you.

“Can we use the call with Optimus as a focus point in finalizing the treaty?” You asked, vision bouncing from one face to another. “The last two topics are regarding Cybertron and Cybertronians. Why leave it solely up to me to convince them when they can see for themselves that helping your people is a worthy cause.”

“It was left up to you because you can attend meetings without mass displacement mods,” Prowl said.

“And humans are more comfortable talking to a human,” Holly added.

“Are they comfortable talking to me?” You shot back, almost bitterly. “Last I remember, I was convinced I had no rights because I wasn’t human.”

“That’s in the past,” Ratchet said gently. “Things are different, now. You’ve done so much to help us and your people.”

“And I’ll keep trying to help, but right now, I need yours,” You pleaded. “I can’t do this alone. I’m not confident enough to convince a bunch of strangers to trust you and let you on their soil, and that people will be safe in your care.”

Silence followed as glances were exchanged. Glances became nods. Nods became smiles.

“I’ll requisition some MD mods,” Ratchet said to Prowl. “You find orators competent enough to assist the Doctor in this.”

“Perhaps not all Cybertronians be reduced.” Holly shot a glance at the frontliners. “A combination of guards to secure the area would be prudent. I could talk to the head of this place to find a building to hold this meeting –"

“Here?” You nearly whimpered. “It’s freezing, here.”

“It’s the most secure location available,” Prowl said.

“Bad enough these people are still jumpy from the last conference, but now we’re posting these guys around brandishing guns bigger than them. Is there anywhere here that would make the council members feel safe and warm? Maybe even... loosen them up...”

A seed sprouted, blossoming into a new and wonderful idea. People in places of power tend to lean the way of luxury. You knew, from experience, rich people surrounded by rich things tended to make one philanthropic if the right message was applied. A smile grew on your face. You may not know what to do as a Liaison, but you were a damn good problem solver.

Sunstreaker’s lips curled just slightly. “What’s going through that beautiful brain of yours, Sweetspark?”

You didn’t have time to feel bashful over him using that pet name in front of everyone. “What if we forgo the stuffy meeting, and went for something more casual, like a – a social event?” You looked to Sunstreaker, recalling the deep and intimate conversations on his dreams and aspirations. “What if it was a gala?”

“You want to turn a business meeting into a high society event?” Holly co*cked a brow at your reasoning.

“Think about it. We turn this treaty into a humanitarian project: Help Cybertronians, Help Humanity.” You started to ramp up, talking faster. “This isn’t about exchanging research, or levying resources, this is about helping a people. Do these members know that this is a race with their own culture? You have history, religion, medicine, food, music...” Your gaze shifted to Sunstreaker. “...Art.”

His smile grew. “Soft Femme, are you commissioning me?”

Someone as beautiful as he making beautiful things. This was an ideal timeline you woke to. You said, barely a whisper, “I am.”

“I... I cannot disagree with her reasoning.” Ratchet searched among his own, then returned his warm gaze upon you. “To show these leaders of Earth what we are, beyond appearing as machines, is why Prime chose you to represent us.”

“We have much to get together in a short amount of time,” Prowl said sharply. “Miss LeTene, join me in searching for an adequate area to hold this event. Sideswipe, I’ll have to ask you to accompany us. Security is paramount and I would have your input. Ratchet, continue with the plan for MD modifications for a select few who will be conversing with the humans. They are less skittish when we are in no danger of stepping on them. Sunstreaker, I’ll need you to reach out and call upon those you know of that has skills in things other than battle.”

The room resounded in ‘yes sirs’ and you closed your eyes, nodding along with fists proudly on your hips. You were basking in the fact that you still got it when you felt a mech’s hand cup around your side. You opened your eyes to find Prowl being the one making this gentle contact and... and he smiled at you. Openly!

“I’m proud of you.”

Prowl said that. Out loud. In front of everyone. Your mouth hung open, and you could only watch as the four departed, leaving you with Sunstreaker. You stood there for a long moment, staring out where they all left. It’s not that you didn’t absolutely adore Prowl being warm with you, it was just uncharacteristic of him.

“... Hey! Are you good!?”

You jumped at Sunstreaker yelling. “What? What is it?”

“You zoned out. Something on your mind?” Sunstreaker leaned down to grin at you, putting his face beside yours to look in the same direction. “Thinking of all the pretty things I’m about to make? Or is the sway of that Officer’s hips taking your attention away from me?”

You jumped, barking out a shrill, “I was not!”

“You were not what?”

“Nothing, I wasn’t thinking of anything.”

“Mmhmm, yes you were.” Sunstreaker continued to tease, “Looks like you’re well enough to ogle bots, again.”

“This conversation is over,” You said with crossed arms. It looked like he overcame the jealousy you’d expect. “I am going to get dressed in something resembling me having my sh*t together, and I’m going straight to work, starting with those files.”

Sunstreaker hummed, resting his hand on the guardrail. “You know you don’t have to do anything, today. Prowl didn’t give you any work.”

“Yeah, I noticed.” You huffed some, finding it both annoying and strange. “But I should at least familiarize myself with the members of the U.N.N.A. When I meet them, I don’t want to look like an idiot.”

“Or you can relax and watch me work.”

“Hey, I didn’t pick this job. I woke to it.” You clipped back. “We both have something we need to do. Let’s get it done.”

You left Sunstreaker with that, crossing the way to descend down your stairs to the lower, more private rooms. You went back to your closet, searching for something functional but comfortable. You were only studying up on the things that your brain once knew. You caught a glimpse of that blue panel in the back wall and paused. It looked silly and useless and why would someone install this here? You weren’t a builder, but even you knew it was strange, especially since there was nothing on the other side of the wall. You reached to touch it.

“You know, I had a thought,” Said the voice of Sunstreaker from behind.

You turned quickly, finding him entering though the person-sized doorway of your person-sized bedroom. He had to turn to the side and duck down just a head, but he was standing in your bedroom. You yelped out noise, stumbling back and ripping several garments from their hangers as you landed on the floor.

Sunstreaker winced, then sighed disapprovingly. “How are you this clumsy?”

“How are you small!?” You shrieked. “You- you're – how?”

Sunstreaker’s optics flickered for a clueless, confused moment, and then he rolled them with a smile. He crossed the room to kneel before you. “Firstly, you know how I feel when you scream at me. Second, how could you have forgotten about me and Sides getting sanctioned for mods? How would we guard you in those tiny buildings if we can’t fit?”

So they already have mass displacement modifications?! You remembered discussions, and flirtations, surrounding that. You also remembered how much trouble went into getting rigged for the ability to reduce in size, and that only a select few could be modded and supplied with the amount of energon to do so. You vaguely remembered Sunstreaker mentioning stacks of paperwork being involved.

“Shame. Seems like you forgot how much fun we had with it.” Sunstreaker leaned over you, picking off you the fallen pieces of clothes. One after another, he nonchalantly tossed them aside. “After it was installed, we took a little vacation but hardly saw the sights, if you can guess my meaning.”

You didn’t have to guess, not when he wore that enticing smirk. You could see yourself not caring for whatever professional reasons your Guardians were outfitted, as the one glaringly obvious reason to abuse it was tempting you to misuse it once more.

“I originally came in here in hopes to spend a little time together. We haven’t been alone since you woke.” Sunstreaker leaned in, his mouth teasingly hovering over yours for an aching moment. He withdrew just enough, but his free hand started tracing up your leg. “I can’t paint without a little inspiration. Think you can help me with that, Sweetspark?”

The lights seemed to dim, and you thought nothing of it as the shimmer to Sunstreaker’s plating reminded you of the waves of a mirage. His starlight-blue optics looked down upon you with a gentle and serene radiance, and his touch remained respectfully just above your knee. He waited with a patience that was foreign to you.

Sunstreaker changed so much, and it made your heart hurt. You’ve lost so much time together. You felt lost. You said in a whisper. “But I don’t remember what we’ve –"

“I’ll remember for the both of us.” He sat back, giving you space. He held his hand out to you, and the usual frown was curved in a soft smile. “We’re together. That’s all that matters.”

How could you not want him? How could you hesitate to share yourself with the mech you’ve loved and cherished? You wanted to feel his steel against your skin, listen to his alien workings stall and rev at your touch, make him slip into that Cybertronian dialect as he had for you, once before. You wanted this. You wanted him.

You loved Sunstreaker. You loved him despite his arrogance, his cold to hot mannerisms, selfishness, and his superiority complex. Tonight, he would be your port in this storm, and you wanted nothing more than to seek refuge under this vain, yet gorgeous specimen that wanted to anchor you.

You nodded, taking his hand and trusting him with your body. Sunstreaker pulled you up and into his lap. His hands cupped behind your head to guide you in for a kiss.

A whine rung in your ears. You involuntarily flinched, jerking your head in a tilt as if you could physically remove the noise.

Sunstreaker stopped, pulling back to look you over. “Something wrong?”

“Do you hear that?” You cupped your ear, but still the ringing persisted. You looked up at the lights as if they were the culprit.

“I don’t hear anything.”

Was it tinnitus? You untangled from Sunstreaker, standing on your own. You wriggled your fingers against your ear to try to ease the noise. Your eyes fell on the open door of your closet and you froze. Hanging on the door was a board that was not there, before. It was littered with old photographs. Familiar photographs.

It was the same setup that you had in your government issued apartment, so long ago. There were photos of you when you were young and naïve, photos of a love that was long over before it was actually over. There were photos of friends, and some of those friends were gone. One of them was dead.

The ringing became screaming.

Distant, from the throat, agony.

Lead filled your limbs as you stared at where the sound was coming from. Your closet. The lights dimmed to shadows. The steely blue door in the back of your closet seemed to creak, as if whatever lie behind it was trying to push its way out.

The screaming sounded a lot like you.

Chapter 5: Run

Chapter Text

Previously...

Whoever was screaming wasn’t you. It was impossible for the human vocal cords to make such a bestial wail. It wasn’t your throat that felt like it swallowed wads of sandpaper and drywall screws.

“Sub-dermal conduits in place. Voltage levels set. Ten nano-klicks this time, Flatline.”

This is what you were waiting for. This entire time, you kept your guard up, waiting for the moment when they would reveal themselves as the villains they were – but was it stupidity or willful ignorance that kept you from fearing the examination table?

You didn’t know how long you were poked and prodded and cut. Minutes felt like years. Hours felt like lifetimes. The whining of the charge prompted you to hold your breath. You clenched your teeth before your muscles seized against your will. In your mind was a distant echo, “Remember to breathe.”

Your vision dimmed as whatever malicious alien electricity coursed through you, and your brain was so scrambled, you couldn’t count the seconds. Time was a cruel measurement. In the end, you couldn’t recall what exactly you were counting. It stopped and your body slumped like a sack of meat. You only knew that you needed to keep breathing.

That deep, cold voice came again. “Report.”

“Negative. No transference – not even a blip of energy,” Flatline answered.

“You have set the conductor at the appropriate level.” There was no questioning lilt to this monster’s tone. His words were perfectly enunciated with his low and terrifying tenor. You felt his words thrum in your chest, not in the way of vibrations, but how it seized you in place.

“I have conducted several simulations. We should see a seamless transfer from the organic vessel to the containment unit. Check, again.”

“I’ve checked three times. It isn’t working. You – I mean we – can't take this power from the creature. There’s no way.” Flatline forwent his irritated demeanor and added quickly, “An-and since we cannot extract or replicate its ability, we should find a way to preserve it. Its primary scans show a sharp dip since we had it revive Blitzwing.”

You tried to follow what they were saying. Who did you revive? You think you recalled the big Decepticon. Mostly, you remembered your hope in appearing valuable, but nothing more after that. How long ago was that? Your stomach said it’s been ages, but not long enough to exhibit serious signs of starvation. What were they again? What about dehydration? Malnutrition? Vitamin deficiency? The Scientist in you withered like a flower, speaking in a droning, muffled hum.

Shockwave turned his bright and cold optic on the Decepticon medic. It held him in place for several moments before the scientist said, “Then preserve it.”

You turned your head just enough to catch a glimpse of Shockwave. Even through the glass confines of your pressurized tank, you could still see the bright spot of his optic shift to you. His gaze alone held you down – every hair, organ, and breath was pinned. Your heartbeat drummed in your ears as your entire body started shaking.

Shockwave’s heavy footfalls were thunder on the steel floor. Step by step, he drew closer. You wanted to open your mouth and scream ‘No more!’ You wanted to beg ‘Please! Stop!’ You already said you’d cooperate – you had an agreement with Soundwave! Where was he?

This wasn’t the same as Sector Seven. This was worse. You didn’t think you could endure months of trial and torture under Shockwave’s command. You couldn’t wait for the months it took the Autobots – your friends – to come rescue you. It was when the little legs of the spider-drones skittered over your body, you knew you couldn’t take much more.

“The asset will have to remain functioning for it to undergo the next procedure,” Shockwave said.

The small bug-like assistants started sticking their sharp pinchers back under your skin, pulling out the metal, quarter-sized disks they had originally inserted. You pulled at your restraints with renewed strength and you screamed. You howled like a wounded animal being burned, eaten alive.

You knew you didn’t have much time left.

[-.-]

Currently...

You flung your arms about, fighting the restraints on your limbs. The blanket twisted around your legs as you rolled off the bed. Sudden contact with the ground didn’t hurt, but jolted you enough back to this fabric of reality.

You laid still, staring up at the drop-ceiling tiles of your dimly lit bedroom. Your body still quaked from the nightmare – no – the memory. It may have happened years ago, but the lingering feeling of Shockwave’s optic regarding you as nothing more than bacteria in a Petri dish was near tangible. The scientists on Earth were preschool teachers compared to Shockwave.

Your lips pressed tight together in an effort to swallow back a sob. A whimper escaped your throat. You didn’t want to go back there, back to that table where you faced death more than once, and where you were seduced into begging for it, but you had to if you wanted to remember what happened.

You couldn’t recall anything past the fear; of pure, encompassing despair. No amount of cooperation would garner you any sympathy from Shockwave. He made you forget your friends and loved ones. It didn’t matter that they were coming to save you. What mattered was that moment of twisting agony, of your body pulled taut, of machines cutting and crawling under your skin, of losing consciousness and wondering if you’d wake. When you did, it was to that unending hell.

Your eyes stung, and you went to rub them, but your hands wouldn’t stop shaking. You were drenched in sweat, your body quivering to an almost seizure-like degree. You tried to calm yourself, taking deep breaths, but in every exhale you couldn’t stop the whine squeezing up your throat.

It was over, you told yourself, you were rescued. Everything was perfect. There was finally peace. Those who hurt you were held accountable. Humans and Autobots were united. The Cybertronian race could call Cybertron home, again. You had an incredible job. You were here with those you loved and cared about.

On that thought, you pushed yourself to sit up and search for Sunstreaker –

Wait.

Wait.

You reached back and flipped the switch to your nightstand lamp. The room was illuminated in a lazy glow, but it was bright enough for you to see your closet. What happened last night? Where was Sunstreaker? What was that sound you heard?

You slowly rose to your feet, gaze sweeping the space like a deer checking the open field. Your room was immaculate. Not a single piece of clothing on the floor. No book off the shelf. No collection of cups with stale water. You crossed the way to open your closet door. Your trembling hand hesitated on the doorknob. Slowly, you opened it, peeking in as if all those stories of monsters were real.

They were real, but most of the time, they didn’t hide.

There was nothing there. No picture board hung on the inside of the door. No clothes scattered on the floor. Everything was neat and in place, including the steel-blue door panel on the back wall.

You left it, rushing to your bedroom door and cracking it open. You checked before exiting out into the foyer and you quietly ascended the steps. The bunker was well-lit, and Sideswipe was sitting at his desk tapping on his computer.

It still felt so strange to see these frontliners, these war-frames, sitting idle and being content with it. You took a few more steps up, and Sideswipe looked your way. “You’re finally up, Sweetspark. How are you feeling?”

“Confused,” You nearly barked. “Where’s Sunny?”

He tilted his head some. “He’s still preparing his gallery for the gala.”

“Still?”

“Yeah, still. You know how he is.”

“Did he leave this morning?”

“No,” Sideswipe said slowly, like he was confused. “He’s been gone for a few days, now. You feeling alright?”

“No. No I’m not f*cking all-right,” You responded, spitting out the last consonant. A slight throb nestled in your temple, and you sought relief by palming it. “I don’t know what’s going on. I can’t remember... What happened? There was screaming, and-and things got dark, and the pictures –“

“Hey, hey, slow down. Take it easy.” Sideswipe rose from his seat, concern creasing his mouth. He approached and his hands came around you, gently touching. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”

You barely understood what you were talking about. You decided to focus on one thing at a time. “Last I remember, Sunny and I were in my room and –“

“ –And whatever happens between you both is your business.”

“And,” You continued with a little more force, not appreciating the interruption. “And there was this... ringing in my ear. It sounded like... I don’t know. It sounds crazy.”

You deliberately left out a lot of details on purpose, but it got Sideswipe nodding. “Ah, that. I was out, but Sunny said you got a headache and wanted to lie down. You were fine the next day.”

“The next day?”

“Yeah. You said you were fine. You were working and preparing for the meeting. You have been since then.”

“I don’t...” You trailed off, catching a glimpse of your desk in the corner of your eye. No books were open or scattered. There were no notes on your dustless chalkboard. There was no nuclear aftermath of your work to show evidence that you actually worked. “Sides, I seriously don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You don’t remember?” He said softly, his tone rife with worry. He continued speaking as you were drawn to your desk, and looked over the neat stack of binders and notepads. “You were reading those books Holly put together for you for hours. You were making notes and everything. We even talked about what you would wear. Did you really forget?”

The evidence was all there. Slipped between pages of the dossiers Holly cataloged for you were sticky notes all in orderly sequence. They were lined up, color-coded, with your handwriting in straight lines and perfect lettering. You flipped through the notes you must have written, all cleanly on the lines and within the margins – it was the kind of perfection the scientist in you strived for.

But you don’t remember doing this at all.

How did you lose days? Did something happen that night after Sunstreaker? Were you having legit psychological episodes or were you experiencing a side-effect of your injury? The thought of you hallucinating, of having bouts of amnesia, of having some kind of unrecognizable brain damage caused you to crumple one of the notes in your hand. Medically, these side effects made no sense to you. Nothing made sense to you.

“Sweetspark?” Sideswipe said after several long moments of silence. “You’re scaring me. Do you want me to call Ratchet?”

“I don’t know what he can do,” You murmured. “My brain scans show that everything is normal.”

“Your brain? Do you think something is happening with your brain?”

You didn’t want to answer that. “When is the gala?”

“Tomorrow,” Sideswipe said, then quickly added. “I know you wanted to take a look at it, today, but let’s wait. You’ve been working so hard, you’re obviously stressing yourself out. Why not just take a day to rest? We can see how you feel, later.”

Checking on the meeting location early sounded like something you’d plan to do. You left your organized desk and went for your kitchenette, craving a simple swig of water. “No. I’ll be ready to go in a bit.”

“Are you sure?”

No, you were not sure, but you didn’t know what else to do. Something was obviously wrong – terribly wrong, and you couldn’t figure out where to start looking for solutions. Your problems shouldn’t affect the Autobots, though. All you had to do was help finalize this alliance. If you persevered and got past this one incredibly serious event, then you could focus on yourself.

You didn’t much like it, but you didn’t want to be the one responsible if an entire alien nation couldn’t get the resources they needed.

“Yes, I’m sure.” Glass of water in hand, you took a sip. Water wasn’t supposed to taste like anything, but instead of the cool, thirst-quenching refreshment you expected, you were dealt with a metallic, almost sour taste. You took it with you and left for the steps down into your private rooms. “Get ready to go. Send Ratchet a message letting him know I want to talk on the ride there.”

You heard the red mech’s confirmation as you made your way back to your bedroom. You flipped the switch, and your uncomfortably neat room was flawlessly lit. You didn’t know how long you stood in your doorway, observing your surroundings. Nothing felt homey about it, despite being built within an underground bunker in the Antarctic.

You went to your open closet, setting the cup on the dresser as you passed by, making a mental note to deliberately leave it. You pulled clothes off the hangars, leaving the ones you didn’t want on the floor, and the ones you considered tossed back on the bed. You didn’t much care for a messy room back when you were living alone, but this kind of balance didn’t feel like you.

Your movements hitched as you noticed the blue panel on the back wall, again. Soundwave. He hesitated to hand you off to Shockwave because he knew what was going to happen to you. Is that why you were like this? Because of the things Shockwave did? Were you thinking of Soundwave because he had something to do with the rescue, or because he stood back and let it all happen? How did you get out of such hell?

You glanced aside. You couldn’t remember being rescued. Bit by bit, it seemed the memories of you being taken from the Trion came to you in parts. Maybe, if you waited long enough, that missing part would eventually come to you.

You went back to creating a little chaos in this neat space, even deliberately kicking some shoes across the closet floor, pulling down winter accessories from the shelves, and leaving them where they lay. You glanced at the panel, then searched for a hefty boot to beat against it. Your brief glance turned into a studious squint.

Was it bigger?

“Sides?” You turned your head to call out from over your shoulder. You didn’t remove your gaze from the back of the closet, as if it would change the moment you’d blink.

“Yeah, Doc?”

“Do you remember the I I’d talk to back on the orbital station? My therapist?”

“Yeah, I remember Rung,” Sideswipe said. “He’s on Cybertron, I think. Why?”

Something made you flinch. Sideswipe was right, Rung was your psychiatrist. “I want to talk to him. Could I call him?”

“Yeah, sure.” There was a hesitance on Sideswipe’s end. “Like, do you want to just talk? Or talk talk?”

Ratchet’s scans showed there was nothing physically wrong with you, so maybe this wasn’t physical? Machines don’t pick up on psychological trauma, and you had suffered many. Maybe you were taking your symptoms to the wrong doctor.

“Talk as in schedule an appointment.” You shut the closet door. “Send him a message. I want to see him as soon as I can.”

[>.>]

The drive across the base was rather slow and dull. The sun was bright, the sky was blue, and the clouds were picturesque. Anyone you drove by stopped and waved like they were in those perfect small-town settings.

You didn’t much care for it.

It was a little awkward to use Sideswipe’s comm. to speak with Ratchet, but the red mech remained quiet as you described to the medic your loss of time and the ringing in your ear. You left out the part where the ringing became screaming and how you might be experiencing hallucinations. Ratchet was already offering to postpone the entire event – which was ridiculous – and you didn’t want to give him any excuses to lock you up without giving you a choice.

You assured him that you’d take it easy and would let him know if anything changed.

Sideswipe parked as you finished up your conversation. Ahead was a tall warehouse with an arched roof – looking much like it was used to store cargo airplanes. Its hangar door was wide open, letting several trucks offload a variety of things both fancy and benign; from chairs, tables, and catering supplies, to big video screens, speakers, and one hell of a fountain. You were delighted to see several Autobots helping humans with carrying the larger items.

“They’re putting it together now?” You said wryly.

“It was a bit short notice for this part of the world,” Sideswipe snorted. “It’s still early. Relax, Sweetspark.”

You sat there, just watching people work, mentally preparing to do the usual unhealthy thing you do to function: Push it all down. Tomorrow, you had to be at your best. Tomorrow, Earth and Cybertron will come to an accord.

“Thinking of Sunny?” Sideswipe’s voice cut through your thoughts. “He’s in there, you know. He’ll want you to see his gallery before anyone else.”

“I’d love to see it.” You allowed the subject change, huffing a weary chuckle. “Just... trying to get focused.”

“I know what you mean.” His engine revved some. “Feeling you in my interior has my processor just buzzing.”

You couldn’t keep the smile from your lips, despite your feelings. “Flirt.”

“I know it’s my job, but it’ll be hard to keep my optics off you.” Sideswipe purred, “I get bored, Sweetspark. Sometimes, when you’re working, I just want to lure you away to some closet and make a mess of your perfect little uniform.”

You feigned an offended gasp, playfully slapping the dashboard. “Sides! Do not. You better be on your best behavior.”

“I always am.” He opened his door to encourage you out. “After you, Madam Liaison.”

How that just rolled off his vocals made you feel things, and it had you genuinely blushing. You waved at him with a bashful ‘staph’ and stepped out into the crisp air. Taking a deep breath of the cold almost hurt. You wanted to be rid of this place so badly.

You perked up at the sight of Holly stepping out from the open hangar doors. She looked right up at you from her clipboard, as if she knew you were waiting, and gave you a genial wave to which you returned. Holly turned back, calling out a name.

A familiar face peeked around the entrance, and you forgot everything in an instant. You forgot your doubts, your anxiety, your professionalism, and your maturity as you squealed and bounded across the way like a happy child. You cried out, “Blue!”

“Bestie!” Bluestreak came skipping out, stepping wide over a string of people. Once he was clear, he knelt and scooped you up as you ran into his hands. You scream-laughed as he brought you up to the side of his face, plastering you against his cheek.

“You have no idea how happy I am to see you.” You gripped on what you could, squeezing with all your might. He pulled you away and cupped his palm along your side, to which you eagerly wrapped your arms around his thumb to hug onto your best friend. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Of course I’d be here.” Bluestreak set you down. “A lot of bots are. Many of us are here to talk about Cybertron, and my speech about Praxus was accepted. I have some footage before the war I want to share. I’m hoping we can rebuild it to look like it once was, but add a place for humans to stay so they can see it, too.”

“Seriously?” You said breathlessly.

“I want you to see my home,” Bluestreak said, soft and sincere.

You had to look away and swipe the tears collecting on your lashes. “Yeah. Yeah, me too. God, I could use a vacation, and where better than a planet far away from here. I hope this meeting goes well.”

“You worry too much, Baby Girl.”

Oh. Ohh. How you have missed that deep and seductively smooth voice. You turned to see Jazz standing beside Sideswipe. Jazz smirked, his arms crossed in his faux-disappointment. “Ain’t you a sight? Where’s my warm welcome?”

You garbled out a crow of joy, and as soon as Bluestreak set you down, you bolted to the saboteur. Jazz picked you up with his usual gentleness and brought you in, planting a kiss to the side of your face and shoulder. You both welcomed the affection and jolted from his boldness, checking back over your shoulder to see if Sideswipe had any qualms. He only gave a co*ck-eyed grin and winked an optic.

A thought quickly rose, reminding you that these two have been intimate with one another, and Sideswipe invited you to experience those encounters. Have you taken him up on that offer? You quickly batted those ideas away as you leaned back to look at Jazz’s face.

“What are you doing here?”

“I got a call askin’ ‘bout my expertise. We ain’t known for our music, but that doesn’t mean we don’t have any.” Jazz knelt to set you down.

Music? This was already the start of an interesting experience. “Firstly: that’s amazing, I can’t wait to hear. Secondly: is it safe for human ears?”

Jazz made a face. “You know it is. I play for you all the time.”

And then your interest was soured. Whatever experiences you had were robbed from you.

“Right, Suns said you got a little roughed up. Sorry, Baby Girl. I forgot.” His smile was the balm you needed. “Yeah, it’s safe. No worries. You’ll like it.”

“On the positive side, she gets to hear it for the first time all over again,” The voice of a familiar speedster said.

You turned to see Hot Rod, Drift, and Sunstreaker approaching. Your smile broadened, then faltered when Sunstreaker set his hand on Drift’s shoulder and smiled. It was gorgeous and felt out of place.

Sunstreaker said, “Drift here is going to talk about Cybertronian spirituality, and Hot Rod is –"

“Just here for the party,” He finished for him with a playful smirk.

Drift knelt before you, hand out to silently ask for yours. “I’m glad to see you are alright. I was worried about you.”

You set your hand on the crook of his index, and his thumb gently brushed it over. It was a soft and compassionate moment that made your gaze flick to Sunstreaker. You expected his face to be screwed like he ate a lemon. Instead, he welcomed his brother, seeming to not care at all that his least favorite colleague was interacting with you.

You knew you wanted them to get along, but never expected it to work out. Sunstreaker’s hatred seemed too deep, and Drift wasn’t about to grovel for forgiveness. Did they settle their differences within that span of time that was lost to you?

“Look who finally showed up!”

You were immediately whirling around on instinct to find the source of that very human, very boisterous voice. Your feet nearly twisted together as you began running into the arms of your oldest and closest friend, Alan Faireborn.

Alan lifted you off your feet in a great bear-hug. He put you down and you stepped back to take him in. You were gobsmacked. “What are you wearing?”

He glanced down at his uniform. It was a smart pair of slacks with a button-down work shirt tucked in. A coat to fend off the weather looked new, and it was partially open to show off the tie around his neck. It wasn’t that he looked bad, but... Alan. In a tie.

“What do you mean?” He adjusted the collar you ruffled. “There are some important people here. I can't go walking around with grease on my pants.”

You blinked. “You do, though. All the time.”

“These are nice clothes. I’m not going to ruin them. I need to look good – which you do, by the way,” Alan complimented.

You tried to force a smile and accept the praise, but instead your head fell at a tilt. “Why... why do you sound like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like... like that. Like, gone a sentence without saying sh*t or f*ck.”

Alan made a face like you were the weird one. “Because that kind of thing is inappropriate in front of national leaders? C’mon, I don’t have to explain that to you, of all people.”

Everything died in the back of your throat as Holly stepped up. She engaged Alan with whatever was on her clipboard, and he interacted with her in a genial manner. They spoke in soft tones, discussing the setup of the alien communications system.

This reunion felt weird.

You struggled for something to say to someone who you could always speak so freely with, and you couldn’t. Although Alan’s smile was usually warm and striking, it was strange. You frowned sullenly, reminding yourself that so much must have happened in those years that you lost.

Alan parted with Holly, giving her a polite “Thank you” as she returned to her duties. He turned his attention back to you, his smile falling to a concerned frown. “Is it true? You can't remember some things?

“Try some years,” You volleyed, finding an agitation growing under your skin.

“At least you woke. We could have lost you,” Your friend said with dismissive positivity.

You gave him a hesitant nod, unsure of what to do, unsure of how you should feel. Everyone seemed to have grown up and mended their differences without you.

Correction: you were there. You are the one who’s different now. You were left behind, lost and alone. You are the one everyone has to adjust around, and it made you feel guilty. Here you were, bringing everyone down by questioning everything and everyone. Maybe these episodes of time loss were your own doing.

You palmed your head with a groan, not feeling any pain, but definitely an emotional ache. Everyone was happy and you were the only one who was miserable and stuck in the past. You really needed to talk to Rung. You muttered, “I want to go home.”

You went ignored as a rover pulled up. The door swung open, unleashing a small creature with a mighty squeal. You jumped, not recognizing this animal that came running towards you and Alan. The man knelt and scooped them up in a greeting. “Hey kiddo!”

That animal was a little girl. Alan hugged her with those uncle-energy growls, pretending to eat her face as she shrieked and giggled. Her blond hair was in neat little pigtails, and her blue eyes fixated on you.

She reached out with little grabby hands. “Auntie!”

“Excuse me?” You shrieked, nearly horrified. This was a literal child on a military base with giant alien mechs.

“Hey, sorry, she got away from me,” Said a voice you knew very well, but not with gladness in your heart.

You were so distracted, you didn’t notice Henri Arkeville had exited the vehicle and approached. You turned a flabbergasted, wide-eyed stare at him as he scolded the child. “What did I say about running? It’s icy, here. You’ll slip and fall and Auntie will have to give you a shot.”

“Noooo,” The little girl whimpered, clinging to Alan.

You stood there, mouth open. What the f*ck were you looking at right now? Nothing was coming together. Who was this kid? Why did your Ex have her? Why did she call Alan, uncle, and you, auntie?!

Henri smiled at you, and then looked confused. “You alright?” When you didn’t answer, he leaned in, trying to keep his voice low. “Is it true? That you woke with amnesia? Please tell me you remember Josephine, my daughter.”

Josephine? Josephine Beller?! As in...

“Our daughter.”

... As in the daughter of Bethany Beller.

The familiar feminine voice came from the woman exiting the rover. She was smartly dressed, per usual, with the kind of outfit that accentuated all her best physical features. Her makeup was impeccable, and her blond locks were magazine-perfect, framing her face in large, luscious curls.

Her face that was intact.

Bethany’s head was whole and attached to her body.

Your stomach caved, and you braced against Alan as vomit rolled up your throat. Images of her twitching body were forced into your mind, the bits of her skull scattered behind her like a spilled jar of Spaghetti-Os. Your knees wobbled as you struggled to stand, and you felt the larger hands of a mech try to help you.

“Whoa, take it easy,” Came Sunstreaker’s voice.

You didn’t want Bethany to die. She hurt you so much, betrayed you time and time again, but you did not want her to die – not like that! You looked up, bleary eyes on the very woman who was willing to exchange your life for the chance to see the little girl you only saw from a photograph.

“You’re dead,” You whimpered, words wet with tears. “I saw you die.”

Bethany smiled that perfect smile. “Really? That’s so weird.”

“There were plenty of times I wanted to kill her.” Alan laughed. “But that’s all in the past.”

“Everything’s fine. We’re all friends, now.” Henri took his daughter from the man he betrayed, the friend he used. Alan hated him so much, and now they smiled at one another like they used to. “Why don’t you go lay down for a bit? You don’t look very well.”

“When you wake, Josie can tell you all about how she wants to grow up to be a scientist, just like you,” Bethany added. “We’re all together, again. It’ll be just like old times.”

No. No. Things could never go back to what they once were. Henri cheated on you, lied to your face. He impregnated your best friend who died a terrible death while trying to kill you. Alan was ostracized by everyone because of their lies that you believed for so long.

Even if, if this was really happening before your eyes, and you’ve been wrong about every doubt that you had, the Scientist in your head pointed out something you nearly missed. Forget everything you’ve experienced before this point. Forget the strange symptoms of fear and sickness. Forget the hallucinations, both audible and visual. Forget the weird way everything and everyone is just so perfect.

Despite everyone telling you it’s been years, Josephine looked exactly the same age as the picture you saw in Bethany’s car, so long ago.

You shoved your way out of Sunstreaker’s hold, blitzed between everyone, and you booked it. You didn’t look back as voices rose in cadence to a garble of noise – like several talk radios blaring all at once. The trickle of adrenaline that’s been leaking through your veins this entire time now flowed like a river. Your body slipped into flight mode like it had been waiting for you to catch on. You turned the ground beneath you into a blur.

You rounded a building and there was a large obstruction. A mech. A mech that made you slip as you tried to backpedal, but you stumbled and fell on your backside. You started crawling back, unable to tear your eyes from his visored optics.

Soundwave.

What is he doing here?!

The boxy, steel-blue Decepticon stood against a fiery red horizon. Alarms blared in the distance, much too far away for it to be coming from this military base. They sounded like the alarms on the Trion. Soundwave turned his side to you, pointing down the road that stretched far into the distance, seeming to go miles upon miles upon miles.

“Run, little Herald.” His deep, digital voice vibrated the skies like thunder. “Run.”

Chapter 6: A Mouse before the Owl

Chapter Text

Before, on the Nemesis...

“It’s reacting adversely to the Antarin nutrient paste,” Flatline announced while looking over the biometrics on the screen. He glanced back at his superior, searching for any kind of reaction, then chided himself.

Shockwave didn’t have reactions.

“Did you hear me?” The Decepticon medic turned and repeated, “The creature’s gastric system is not processing the organic sustenance adequately. Its basic functions are at a steady decline. We’ll lose –"

“Your task is to keep the Subject functioning.” The Decepticon scientist cut in. He turned his head just enough to hold Flatline in place with his single red optic. “If you fail in this, Lord Megatron may grant you the small mercy of becoming my new Subject.”

Shockwave’s words were clinically devoid of the threatening tone, but it was a threat, nonetheless. Flatline jolted, nodding obediently, and then quickly turned back to his computer. He re-read the scans, as if something would emerge to save him from the gruesome fate of Shockwave’s laboratory table. He stepped over to his desk, poring over datapad after datapad of different organic species known to Decepticon records. Flatline muttered to himself, “Why is it rejecting the paste? All the nutrients needed for its upkeep are present.”

“Reason: she is not native to Antar.”

Flatline looked up at Soundwave as he entered the laboratory. The medic didn’t think he was talking so loudly to himself, but the Communications Officer was famous for picking up every little sound. A turbokit could puff out a little exhaust all the way on Cybertron and Soundwave would know.

Shockwave didn’t make any motion to acknowledge the new presence within his lab. He continued to remain focused, tapping on his keypad and reading lines and lines of coding and fluctuating graphs. Flatline vented out a shaky sigh. He would get no assistance from the scientist. Maybe Soundwave could help the medic avoid becoming spare parts.

“I’m not a xenobiologist – bring me a Decepticon who is. How am I supposed to figure out how to keep the thing from expiring?”

Soundwave did not answer. He simply walked in, looking over the overhead screen of diagrams, data, and readings. He stopped at the table where nearly every piece of equipment was hooked up. His servo hovered over a glass box for a hesitant moment before resting it on its surface. There, inside the pressurized and temperature controlled case, was an unconscious you.

Nodes dotted your forehead and temples. The wires from them were so numerous it blended with the hair on your head. Larger sensors were stuck to various parts of your small and bare body, feeding data to the monitors every nanosec. Within the container, little robotic drones skittered around and over you, carrying out various tasks. One in particular was staunching a bleeding wound where another had taken a sample of your flesh.

Currently, the majority of them were cleaning up the pale brown mess that trickled from your mouth and down the side of your cheek, pooling under your head. Despite the feeding tube down your throat, you managed to wretch up the foreign slop.

Soundwave didn’t spare a glance at Flatline, but offered what knowledge he did have on you, for your sake. “Warning: purging can lead to aspiration of foreign liquids into ventilation systems. Orders: find different food source.”

The medic huffed. “How? What do I feed it? I know nothing about... whatever the hell it is.”

“Species: Human.” Soundwave turned his head just slightly. His visor brightened a menacing shade. “Native environment: Earth.”

Flatline took a step back. “Right. I’ll... I’ll check the records.” He hurried out, and only started muttering when he thought he was out of range of any audials. Everyone was expecting him to keep you alive, but no one was doing anything to give him the means to do so. It was like they wanted him to fail.

Flatline wasn’t completely wrong.

You were taken from Soundwave. To say he felt bitter about it would sound petty, trite, and all the infantile things Starscream was. Yet, here he was, hoarding all the information he knew about you for himself, and only giving enough to ensure your survival. It wasn’t the first time Soundwave had to quietly correct things from behind the scenes, but there was a certain kind of flavor to all this sabotage.

The Communications Officer looked down at you, and watched your eyebrows crease. He didn’t have to peer into your mind or read your primitive electro-magnetic field. Shockwave broke the silence and said what the boxy Decepticon already knew.

“The Subject is not submitting.” Shockwave stopped typing, but didn’t look away from the screen. “It is more advanced than I anticipated. Little is known on this species, or the chemical responses produced by its primitive vessel. Miscalculations have been made.”

There was a flavor of satisfaction. Of ‘I was right’. Soundwave didn’t account for Megatron discarding his plan and turning you over to Shockwave. Soundwave would never stand against his Leader, but that didn’t mean he agreed with his every choice.

Shockwave finally turned to the only other Cybertronian in the lab. His bright red optic dimmed in what could have been annoyance. “But I suspect you already knew that.”

“Assumption: Correct.” Soundwave held the scientist’s impassive stare as he stepped around him, feigning interest in the screen the scientist was studying. Whether Shockwave was implying that Soundwave had been utilizing his outlier abilities or had the laboratory spied upon, he would have been right on either suspicion. “Advisem*nt: Admit failure. Your methods have not, and will not, work with this one.”

“And how have you come to this theory? In your looting of the Autobot ship, have you found something that warrants pause from my experiment?” Shockwave turned to him fully. “Or is this pettiness? Ambition? Jealousy?”

It was none of those, but it was something. From the very first point of contact, Soundwave felt your EM field fearfully tremble, but the resolution to be brave was... commendable. You were an anomaly, bright with feelings and emotions outside of your control, like a newspark fresh from the forge. A fleshling that evolved to coexist alongside Cybertronians, had possessed ideals beyond self preservation. Your thoughts rang in cadence with his former and younger self, back when he fought for equality, back when he had unbending scruples.

Soundwave didn’t believe in the divine. In that brief moment of contact, he knew you were not an Avatar of Primus, but he did believe you would aid in the Decepticon cause, willingly. You could be compliant if Soundwave said all the right things. He was ready to provide and cater to you, as one would an object that required maintenance. You would be an addition to those who had already served him, and you would do so because the medic in you wanted you to.

More than that, Soundwave knew, without a doubt, you would stay if you knew the real reason why you were collected. But if Shockwave terminated you, destroyed what made you, you, then all would be lost. Soundwave wasn’t about to let that happen.

On the far end of the lab, up along the wall, a vent cover slowly opened. Soundwave did not spare a glance as Ravage stretched down the wall to the top of a shelf. Not a single sound was made, not even when the cat-mech used his tail to gently lower the trapdoor-like vent cover closed.

Soundwave had to keep the Chief Scientist busy for a few more moments. “This kind of subjugation will not serve the Decepticon Cause. Her willingness will.”

“And you are so confident in the ability to foster this willingness?”

“I am. I can make her compliant.”

“So can I.” Shockwave gestured to the computer displays he was reviewing earlier. “You base your assumption off of an insignificant encounter. My assumptions are based off of fact.”

Ravage stalked to your examination table with purpose. He stuck a small device below its surface, as close under you as possible. Soundwave let Shockwave ramble on, giving his infiltrator the time he needed to slink back into the vents as if he was never there.

“I know this creature’s brain is primitive. Rudimentary. That is fact. Because it is a simple collection of neurons and electrical impulses, its wavelengths can be altered. My program’s algorithm will cultivate and adjust these to the frequency required by simulating events to gain the desired effect. Once the Subject accepts the program, it will be locked in this unconscious state while functioning by control panel. Willingness at the command of a button.”

Shockwave turned away from him to look back at his empty lab, gesturing to you as he concluded, “I failed in finding a way to extract this ability from the Subject. I will not fail in finding a way to turn it into a tool. My way does not need compliance. Your method is illogical.”

Again, Soundwave didn’t often feel resentment, but he wanted Shockwave to fail so fantastically, that Megatron would never consider deviating from Soundwave’s plans, ever again. Was it because of the scientist’s arrogance, or had Soundwave already considered you an addition to his mini-cons? Either way, you were worth preserving in your entirety. Even your mind.

“Caution: You are making a mistake. One you will regret.” Soundwave nearly shouldered past him to cross the room to you. He set his servo on your atmospheric containment unit. The temperature gauge was lower than advised, based on the Autobot records he hoarded to himself. “Observation: This one is unique.”

“Which is why it is on my table.” Shockwave turned back to his computer terminal. “I have indulged you long enough. Leave me to my work.”

Soundwave watched the scientist for a moment before averting his visored gaze on you. Whatever you were seeing in your brain, Shockwave would not know. The data presented was reduced to strings of code, levels of chemical responses, and graphs. All of this, so Shockwave could present you to Megatron as an organic drone.

Soundwave could not touch you to read your field, but already the device planted picked up on the signal and fed him the information. Paired with peering into your mess of a mind, the officer saw the primitive snapping of synapses, the agitated quivering of neurons, and the basic impulses of apprehension.

Good. Your dreamscape had not converted you.

Soundwave had learned as much as he could about this program. It was not perfect, nor was it made for organics. It was created by the Decepticon, Bludgeon, as a way to indoctrinate mechs for the Decepticon cause. Megatron had stoutly forbidden such tech. Not many knew the infallible leader was once a victim of shadowplay, but he did not order the program’s disposal.

Instead, he allowed Shockwave to alter it to test it on the creatures of the universe – organics. The experiments weren’t carried out, often. When they were, there wasn’t much in the history of success.

So far, it didn’t seem to damage you. The artificial intelligence of the program was trying to lull you into complacency. Once you had accepted whatever the program’s algorithm was projecting, once your neurological impulses would reach the right wavelengths, it would lock you into this unconscious state and gain access to your motor functions. You would remain unknowing of whatever task your body was commanded to do.

“Shockwave,” Soundwave said before letting himself out. “Warning: Avoid damaging the Herald before Lord Megatron tasks her to me.”

It would be unwise to do anything directly. Shockwave was formidable, in both combat and intelligence. Soundwave had to take a clandestine approach, and not incur Megatron’s displeasure, should Shockwave find any evidence of the Officer’s meddling.

Soundwave continued down the quiet halls of the Nemesis – except nothing was ever quiet enough for him.

He heard a maintenance drone tighten rivets on the hull. He heard the skittering of an offworld vermin that managed to avoid the ship’s purge. He heard muffled gunfire from the shooting range. He heard two guards shirking duty in a supply closet together. He heard the rhythmic pulse of your internals from down the hall.

That last one, Soundwave focused on.

He paused a moment, idling at a control terminal on the wall. Like a silent sentinel, he listened.

The voices of others were muted; dulled to a droning buzz he could easily ignore and hone in on that little device Ravage planted in Shockwave’s lab. Soundwave was unable to make physical contact and influence your electro-magnetic field, but this bug extended his reach. It picked up on your frequency and started feeding the Communications Officer the emotions he could not see in your mind.

Confusion. Uncertainty. Doubt.

Soundwave could have smiled. Shockwave underestimated the primal nature of most organics. The scientist never accounted for your fight-or-flight responses; the ingrained instincts and trauma that lived within the body of a fleshling, despite the brain signals telling them to be calm. Through the device, he sought to amplify your trepidation to fear. By electro-magnetic signals alone, he reminded you of the terror you felt when Shockwave first laid that optic on you.

Your heartbeat ramped up. Sounds of computers beeping and trilling echoed down the halls.

Soundwave resumed his stroll down the way. From a distance, he would continue to thwart the attempts to turn you into a mindless husk; but it was up to you to find your way out, find the doorway he nestled deep within your psyche.

[@.@]

Currently...

The cold air stung as you gulped it down. Your legs burned. Your running turned into a pitiful jog.

The roads were perfectly cleared of ice and snow, but no one was using them. No one was driving, or walking, or anything. This part of the military base seemed so empty. You stopped by a building, planting your back against the wall and panted. Hunched over with your hands on your knees, you tried to figure out where you were.

Like everything else you were trying to sort, you had no idea. What the f*ck? Your mind screamed, Soundwave? Bethany? What is happening?!

How was this possible? You saw Bethany’s dead body. You could recall it all in visceral detail only a medical professional could suffer. You could close your eyes and still see the bits of brain matter and chips of skull across Omega’s floor. You could still feel her body wrenching back from the shot, twitching against you as her nervous system was no longer receiving signals. You could still smell the gunsmoke and blood, hear the desperation and ringing, taste the iron on each inhale – you remembered it all!

Yet here she was. Whole and alive. Her disposition was warm and her smile reminded you of better times. You would have thought her death was an awful dream; a hallucination strong enough to plant a physical response to seeing her not dead.

But Josephine.

You saw her picture, years ago. You held it in your hands, naively congratulating Bethany with all your heart, unknowing of who the father was. You recall that moment with heated betrayal as the woman you thought was your friend smiled at you, laughing at you. You felt foolish, but time and time again you continued to give her chances. Time and time again, she stabbed you in the back – and the last time was literal.

And here everyone was, genial and friendly, like none of it ever happened; like Josephine was supposed to be entombed in her toddler years.

Were you going insane? You did see that picture, right?

You looked down from where you came. No one was chasing you. You considered going back, finding someone and demanding some answers, but no one was what you remembered them to be. Even Sunstreaker, who you felt would have taken your concerns seriously, was dismissive. He was different – like everyone else you knew.

But you didn’t know Soundwave. What was he doing here? Your encounter with him was bewildering and brief. Last you recalled, he was the one responsible for organizing your capture, but according to everyone here, that was all in the past. No hard feelings. Autobots and Decepticons were mending their differences, so why wouldn’t a Decepticon be here?

Run, he said, Run little Herald.

Soundwave was the first to call you that since you woke. You hated that name. You hated the meaning of it, of what it represented, and how you felt diminished under its weight. Maybe everyone else respected your dislike for it, but Soundwave appearing out of nowhere and telling you to run had a little more gravity than what he called you.

Breath renewed, you continued down the road, walking at a quicker pace. You checked your corners, continuing to make sure no one would sneak up behind you. You were ready to break into a full-blown sprint, all the while noticing how the buildings started looking the same, spaced perfectly apart in uniformed order.

Finally, a different building cropped up as you rounded the corner. It was your bunker. You weren’t entirely sure what you were going to do – you weren’t thinking beyond the need to find a safe place, despite nowhere feeling remotely safe. Should you call Ratchet? Rung? Should you hide? Pack up, hijack a vehicle, and get the hell out of here?

You opened the door beside the hangar. You hesitated, peering down the winding stairwell leading down to the underground floor. Taking careful steps, you white-knuckled onto the railings as if the sightless floor would drop beneath you. The darkness was muted and thick, impenetrable by the soft emergency lighting. Finally, you found the bottom and your numb hands groped over the cold, metal door. Your heart pounded in your throat as you slowly pushed it open, peeking inside.

This was not your bunker. This was a familiar place. Old, but familiar, and gone.

This was your childhood home.

Your feet carried you in and your eyes took in every heart-wrenching detail. Your living room was bathed in the soupy glow of the afternoon light. From the outdated magazines beside the lumpy couch, to the sun-catchers glittering on the windows, everything was exactly as you remembered.

Your gaze fell on a set of shelves, and narrowed on a painfully familiar item. You rushed across the way and snatched up a picture frame. It was your family. You had this on your wall, in your government-issued apartment. You remembered it fell, and the glass cracked. You were sure it was lost forever after Sector Seven arrested you.

What was happening? Nothing made sense. This couldn’t be real.

“Hard day at work?”

You froze. No. No, there was no way. You swallowed dryly, lip trembling as your eyes watered. There was no way it was her. You turned slowly and choked.

Sitting on the couch was a woman you knew was gone forever.

“Sit with me and tell me all about it.” Your mother asked, as if she was there for the entirety of your life. She had a smile that was like a warm hug.

This was impossible. You whimpered under your long exhale. “Am I dead?”

“That bad?” She let out a sympathetic sigh, standing up to her feet. “Let me make you your favorite –"

“Stop it!” You snapped. Tears filled your vision, distorting her timeless visage like that disease had so long ago. “I don’t understand! You’re dead! I saw you... you were sick and you died.”

She took on a firmer tone, planting her hands on her hips. “You’re not making any sense. You want me to be alive, don’t you?”

You sucked in a few more breaths, staring at this woman who wore a face you haven’t seen in years. “I – I do but... I saw your body. That funeral was... was... I was just a kid! I grieved for you. My mom died. Who the f*ck are you?”

“Whoever you want me to be.” She started to walk away, gesturing you to follow, and god help you, you did. “You could have everything you’ve ever wanted: respect, love, purpose. You could have time with those you love, and with those you’ve lost. Here, we can have it all, together.”

She paused by the door leading to your backyard, turning to face you. You stared at the healthy face of your mother in her youth, the last you remembered her at her best. There were so many puzzle pieces, and you struggled to put them together as quick as your frayed psyche would allow.

You recounted the events leading up to this. From waking up to a perfect timeline, everyone blissful and happy, to lives you thought lost being present; a new theory slapped you in the face.

“None of this is real.”

“It’s as real as you want it to be.” The woman pushed open the door, revealing the picturesque utopia begging you to be a part of it.

The sky was a bright, flawless blue with the sun peeking from behind big, boofy clouds. A picnic table was set up with a spread of foods that made your mouth water. Alan, Bethany, and Henri sat together, drinking beers and getting along like it was the old days. Josephine sat on Bluestreak’s knee, listening with rapt interest to one of his stories. Your father, Perceptor, and Jetfire talked in a way scientists’ would when on a topic they most enjoyed. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe sat off to the side, looking relaxed and content on your home planet.

You drew in the smallest of breaths. Everyone stopped with what they were doing and turned their gazes on you.

“This is a garden of your own making, a place where you will never tire, and the lover will never leave. You can erase your mistakes. Find forgiveness or seek retribution from those who’ve wronged you. You can find harmony within yourself. You’ll never be alone, ever again.” The woman stepped outside, barefoot in the lush grass. “All you need to do is come with me. Let it all go. Find happiness here, with us.”

Everything your heart yearned for was right here. You were so tired of fear and anger and hatred. You wanted to move on from the lies, betrayal, and hurt others caused and just live your goddamn life in peace. You wanted your family back. You wanted to be with those you loved. You wanted to feel whole from the purpose your work gave you. You wanted to live your life the way you wanted.

Run, little Herald. Run.

But none of this was real. Your dad wasn’t the biggest fan of the Cybertronian scientists and was always hard pressed to interact with them beyond a messaging system. Alan was more than likely to punch Henri in the face, and Bethany was keen on clawing both their eyes out. Bluestreak would probably be so overbearingly excited that it would frighten any child. Sideswipe wouldn’t just sit and be happy – he never held still for more than five minutes. Sunstreaker – oh Sunstreaker – wouldn’t hesitate to remind you how filthy your planet was and how much he hated it here.

This wasn’t heaven. This wasn’t purgatory, or hell, or some dimension in-between. This was a lie.

The Scientist in your brain was alive and well, directing your attention to the chalkboard of your mind. Upon it was a single word that sent chills down your skin.

An experiment.

You gripped the door and slammed it shut as hard as you could, twisting the bolt to lock everyone outside. You had to hurry, to check around the house for any other openings and to fasten them shut. You turned, and stopped dead in your tracks.

You were in your room. Your meticulously clean room within the military bunker you shared with Sunstreaker and Sideswipe. The mess you’ve made was gone. Everything was neat and orderly.

You attempted to keep your breaths even. Your setting changed in a blink and you had to remain calm. You had to think. If this was an experiment, then that means someone put you here. How would this have been achieved? You took a few steps in your room, eyes scanning the space contemplatively. You tried your best to remember past the moments Shockwave altered his experiments, and you couldn’t. Whether you couldn’t recall, or if was as bad as you could imagine, a strange tranquility washed over you.

This theory made the most sense. You didn’t know how it could have been done, but your species were mere newborns to the vast galaxy of science and technology. It was like finding a possible diagnosis to symptoms no one could name. It gave you direction.

And that direction placed you before your closet. You opened the door, finding all the clothes you threw on the floor were right back on the hangers. Your shoes were in a neat row. The steel-blue panel on the back wall was now large enough to crawl through – and it had a doorknob.

Run, little Herald. Run.

Soundwave was the only thing here that was out of place. What he said did not match the theme of this paradise. If this was some kind of experiment, and you were subjected to a false reality – a simulation – then it was reasonable to suspect Soundwave wasn’t supposed to be a part of it.

Which meant this door wasn’t supposed to be here.

You reached and opened it. Cold air blew by your face, and it smelled strangely familiar. It was a long and dark tunnel, but at the very end, there was a light. You stuck your head in. Was this a ventilation shaft? Whatever it was, that light looked like an exit.

There was a knock at your bedroom door.

“Soft Femme?” It was Sunstreaker’s voice. “Whatever we did wrong, we’re sorry. Please, come out and talk to us.”

Your knee-jerk reaction to soothe him, to reassure that he didn’t do anything wrong, was swallowed back down. That wasn’t Sunstreaker. The real Sunstreaker would have kicked down your door without an invitation. You actually missed the rude, demanding, arrogance of the mech. Resolving yourself to ignore it, you hiked yourself up and started crawling through the tunnel.

The light grew larger and larger as you came closer. You were able to make out details like overhead lights, or strange machines gliding over the space. The smells hit you harder, and you recognized them to be antiseptic and chemicals. They reminded you of the Autobot’s laboratory. Sounds that were muffled had cleared to the familiar noise of humming machines and buzzing scanners.

You made it at the end, reaching for something to pull yourself out – but your hand wouldn’t listen. It felt heavy. It twitched at your side. When you realized you were laying on a table, perhaps this entire time, was when physical sensations ripped through you.

Pain blossomed first, burning where you were cut and cleaned with harsh solutions. Your fingers and toes prickled with pins and needles as the early stages of frostbite had set in. The fullness in your stomach was the result of a hard tube down your throat, pumping slop that tarred your cheeks as it came back up. The sharp stabs of little metal pins skittering over your paralyzed body was a nightmare you never knew possible.

Lastly, after the agonizing minutes that felt like hours unending, you could move. You rolled to your side, pushing yourself up and yanked the tubes out of your mouth. You coughed and gagged, your abdominals convulsing, wishing to rid itself of everything. Little robots crawled over you, trying to accomplish whatever task that included your mouth and face, and you swatted them away with a cry.

You tangled yourself on the many wires that were attached, and you started ripping them off. Nodes that were on and under your skin left sores and wounds. Your hands sustained cuts from smashing the little drones that tried to put these devices back in place.

You didn’t know how long you were screaming, but when you did, was when you realized all the machines and equipment were trilling and beeping with alarms. A quick scan of the room gave you the harrowing feel of familiarity from the wrong side of a laboratory. You slapped your bloodied hand over the glass, searching for a door or some way out.

Your frantic search found the bright red light of your keeper, your jailor, your practitioner. You froze in place, like a mouse before the owl under the bright, red moon.

Shockwave stared at you, cold and unfeeling. There were no traces of anger or disappointment, even when he turned back to his console and spoke. “Flatline. You are needed in my lab. The procedure was a failure.”

You sucked in the cold, artificial air. The room started tilting and spinning. Your vision split in twos. You twisted to the side and threw up everything in your stomach. A dark tunnel encircled all you could see, and it felt like you were falling back down that hole, back into the dream world where everything was perfectly wrong.

You passed out, almost wishing you had never left.

Chapter 7: The Situation

Chapter Text

Sometime before, during Shockwave’s tests.
On the Autobot Orbital station...

Alan’s face twisted in disgust.

The picture on the display had his attention. It was a monster from a bad science fiction horror flick, but it was about as big as a thirty pound dog. He expected bigger. Honestly hoping it would be, because small things tend to skitter. Big things were easier to shoot. It wasn’t its size that was intimidating, but those scorpion-like pinchers and its rat like face with those mandibles and that scaly centipede body and that long whip tail and, and, and.

“f*ckin’ hell. The big guy’s got crabs?”

“They’re called skeevers.” Wheeljack pointed to the alien writing on the screen. “They were created by the Decepticons once we found a way to combat their nano-cons. These guys are a mix of biologic and cybernetic. Thank the great stars of science we have a way to fume these guys out.”

“Why didn’t they come up in the diagnostics?” Alan counted the eyes, at least, what he thought were eyes.

“They have sensor deflectors.”

“Of course they do,” He huffed and shifted his stance from one foot to the other, minding where he moved on the console’s surface. “So, those bastards went out of their way to cripple our guy, infect him with crabs, but it just so happens we have a way to cure him?”

“Again, still called skeevers...and yes...?”

His eyes darted over the screen. He wasn’t able to read the language, but had a pretty good idea that Omega Supreme’s fumigation protocols and in-depth diagnostics were almost complete. He looked over the image of the mech and counted the yellow dots – indications of issues. It was still the same number as before, and where things would look promising, something wasn’t sitting right.

Alan shifted his helmet from under his arm to holding it as he crossed them over his chest. He turned slowly to the Autobot engineer, tapping his chin while the gears churned in his mind. He hissed out a long exhale before saying, “Nah.”

“Nah? I’m sorry?” Wheeljack looked up from tapping on the keyboard. He tilted his head. “Why do you nah?”

“That’s too damn convenient.” He started pacing across the keys, and the bot hurriedly disabled the board before the human could inadvertently detonate every missile on the space station. Alan gesticulated about, holding up a finger for each point made. “Think about it. The Decepti-douches hit your biggest boy and your yummiest energon mine on opposite ends of the galaxy. Sweet-Home-Alabama-bot says they’re up to something.”

Wheeljack withered. “Primus, I can-not keep up with these names.”

“And I happen to agree with the guy. Tactically, that doesn’t make sense. Then you’re sayin’ they’ve infected Big Taco with something you’ve already fought.” Alan paused and swept his hand over the image of Omega. “You’re honestly telling me they’re stupid enough to hit you with the same thing twice?”

“Maybe, but –"

“What if these things got a few upgrades? These little sh*ts can avoid your scans. So, Nerd-bot, if your lice-shampoo doesn’t work, how would you know if your methods are working?” He set his hip, crossing his arms again. “I’ll answer that for you. You wouldn’t.”

Wheeljack scoffed. “I have a list of current damages to his systems. After fumigation, we’ll see if anything new comes up. That would tell me if the treatment failed. So, yes, I would know.”

“Don’t get sassy, Nerd-bot. I don’t respond to sass well.” He scratched his head and bounced on his toes. He couldn’t keep still. Something was niggling in the back of his brain, making all the hairs on his skin stand and itch.

Omega Supreme was waylaid on his way back from Earth with a truck-load of Autobots. From the perspective of an evil race of machines hell-bent on the conquest and sovereignty of all life in the universe, it was a sound move. Knock out the big guns and several little ones – but to infect your enemy led to the intent of leaving survivors to bring it home. Much like eradicating an ant colony.

Then there was the Thymesis Energon Mining Facility. Fortified and manned, Alan was there in the council room, absorbing just how much trouble it must have been worth to infiltrate and gain control of the mine. The Decepticons split their forces to separate parts of the galaxy and coordinated this attack. Why? Why at the same time? To split the Autobot military in half, reducing their firepower?

Maybe, the Decepticons hoped to knock Omega and a few others out of the game and try to cripple home-base, but to only take over one mine? That’s the part that didn’t sit well with Alan. It was only one mine, not the entirety of Luna Two and the moonbase. A power move like this deserved an entire quadrant filled with several energon mines.

And there was the fact that you were sailing across space towards Luna Two. That didn’t sit well with him to begin with, but now with Omega Supreme’s new condition, he felt an unease that turned his guts to mush. He felt like he was in a horror movie, and just beyond the veil, dozens of people were screaming what was behind the door.

Alan blurted out, “I don’t like it, man. I don’t f*ckin’ like it.”

Wheeljack held up his hands defensively, unaware of the mental journey the man just embarked. “Jeeze, okay, sorry. No sass –"

“No, I mean this sh*t. The hits and the crabs. The Decepti-dicks can’t be this stupid.”

“They kinda are,” Wheeljack said with a snort.

Alan snarked, “Your war says otherwise. How long has it been going on, now?”

“Ouch. Wow, you are really prickly, today.”

He nearly pleaded, “C’mon, seriously. I need you to think about it. Why infect the one bot that could wreck them to next Sunday with something you can put down? Why stop at one mine?”

The mech humored him. “Okay, okay. Let’s say you’re not being unusually paranoid. I would probably go with that the ‘Cons hoped we wouldn’t notice Omega’s condition. I feel that their priority was to throw us off with the invasion of Luna Two, and make us rush with fixing Omega and overlook our own station being overrun with skeevers.”

Alan stared at the ground for a long and thoughtful moment. “But even if they were to get on the station, it’s not like they’re impossible to exterminate. They’re using a weapon you already know how to counteract.”

“Do you, like, want to talk to Prowl or something? You two got more in common than you think,” Wheeljack said, glancing up at the screen to check the scan’s progress.

He wasn’t wrong. Alan had the military blood in him, but never inherited the blind obedience. Growing up, a playground was never just a playground when his father was around. Alan’s mornings weren’t filled with sunshine, cartoons, and an oversized bowl of cereal – it was drills, bugles, and orders being shouted in his ear before the sun rose. Your dad gave Alan an out before he was signed away at eighteen.

Alan ground his teeth as his thoughts turned to you; his family. You were currently en-route into enemy territory. The man tried to calm himself without a cigarette. He told himself you’d get to Luna Two’s moonbase safe and sound. Once you did, he’d insist on speaking with you, where he’d air out all his concerns and regrets because he could use a drink of that Bourbon-Whiskey he sent with you. You probably didn’t touch it at all. Killjoy.

“Alright,” Alan let out a complying sigh. “Fine. I’ll drop it.”

Wheeljack almost seemed apologetic. “Don’t get me wrong, I like a bit of healthy suspicion, but I’m sure we have nothing to worry about. You’re stressing out your systems, friend.”

“Yeah. Maybe I should head out, find my pack of smokes, and go walk it off.”

“If you need something to do, do you want to gear up and get me some samples once Omega’s done?” He ventured.

“You mean get crabs?” Alan leaned away from the idea both physically and mentally.

“Still called skeevers,” Wheeljack reminded wearily. “They’ll be dead, and the gas vacated. I wouldn’t ask if I felt it was unsafe, but if you’re uncom –"

“Can we reverse engineer them, make our own crabs, and send them to those assholes?”

“Uh... sure. Whatever makes you happy.”

Alan gave a little fist-pump of victory. “f*ck yeah. So where can I get a gun?”

“Prowl explicitly stated you’re not to have any weapons.” He motioned him to move off the keyboard. “You could have the suit, but no guns.”

The tech remained in place. “Dead or not, I ain't goin’ in there with those creepy motherf*ckers without a boom-stick.”

He sighed. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“I knew you would understand.” He grinned, stepping off the keyboard and glancing back at the screen. “How much longer till the gas is out?”

“We’re in the final phase. Venting out his systems, now.” Wheeljack reactivated the keyboard and tapped in a few commands. He held down a button and leaned in, asking, “How’re you feeling, Omega?”

When there was no response, he typed a few more keys. “Can you hear me? Omega Supreme?”

Static.

That unsettled feeling never quite left Alan. It was there, annoying him like a rock in his shoe, like a mosquito whining in his ear, and like a hair in his mouth he couldn’t get out, combined. It grew ten-fold when Prowl came storming in. Everything about the stick-up-his-ass mech was short, to the point, and not wasting any time.

“Tell me you got Omega up and running.”

Alan knew panic when he saw it. The usual respect-my-authority, bad-cop frown was replaced with an open, gasping mouth as if he ran across the station. The static from the speakers started to sound more and more like alarms for a nuclear meltdown, and the only thing he could do was brace himself for the inevitable.

Wheeljack glanced away from the screen, too much absorbed in his own predicament to notice Prowl’s demeanor. “Yes, but something’s wrong. He’s not –"

“Al!”

The sound of Henri’s voice, that desperate cry, told him one of two things: either another bot – probably one you knew – was being especially mean to him; or something big and really bad happened and this feeling in Alan’s gut was completely warranted.

Prowl stepped aside with disdain as Ratchet came in, holding out Henri like a mangy Chihuahua. It seemed like ‘mean bot’ was the culprit, until Henri continued to cry out, “Alan, it's Eve –"

Ratchet cut him off by dropping him. The distance to the floor wouldn’t shatter an ankle, but was far enough for Henri to yelp as if he was about to die. The medibot turned on Alan. “You. Come get your boy.”

“They lost her!” Henri tried to continue, panting like he ran the entire way, instead of being carried. “I heard them –"

“We don’t know anything yet!” Prowl snarled, purposely stomping his foot close beside him to make the little man flinch. “Sneaky little parasite.”

The sound of your name filled the tech’s prophetic innards with lead. His entire plane of existence skewed and narrowed to just this tiny room. Noise that pertained to any information that wasn’t about you dissolved out in the vacuum of space. Alan’s vision tunneled on the officer, working his jaw, but remained much calmer than his old friend.

“What the f*ck is he talking about?” He asked, slow and low, but with an edge that spoke of a shortening fuse. “What don’t you know?”

“It is nothing to incite panic over.” Prowl spoke in a leveled tone that did nothing to fool Alan. “We are just taking precautions –"

“I haven’t heard from Perceptor since his last report,” Ratchet interrupted. “I requested a status report, and got nothing.”

Prowl shot Ratchet a disapproving scowl before addressing Alan. “There has been no response to any of our encrypted hails – not even an energy signature of the Trion. All communications have gone dark.”

Alan picked at the stubble on his chin as he spoke, nodding along in an uncharacteristic amount of stoic professionalism. He even waited for them to finish a complete sentence. He asked Ratchet, “How long has it been since you’ve last heard from them?”

“Long enough to warrant involving him,” Ratchet jerked his head in Prowl’s direction.

“How often does this sort of thing happen? No responses on covert missions?” Alan then asked Prowl.

“Not uncommon,” He responded, then paused, trying to find the right words before adding, “But I’m not risking that kind of cargo. It must be said, this information does not leave this room. I am currently assessing what resources are available –"

“They weren’t going to tell us, Alan! They were hiding this from us!” Henri called up to him.

“I just started looking into this within the last orn.” Prowl growled, “Will you stop your noise?”

The man wailed, “Something happened to her! I knew something would happen to her!”

Alan pinched the bridge of his nose throughout it all. Planets were lining up, every puzzle piece fit on the first try, and everyone knew the powerball numbers on channel five. This series of events was all too convenient, so perfectly wrong.

Ratchet cradled his chevron, muttering under a vent, “Now I see why you want to keep everything hushed.”

“He wouldn’t have heard us if you would have checked behind your terminal for vermin,” Prowl snapped.

“I didn’t know he could fit back there,” Ratchet defended. “Why would I suspect the skittish one of the three would be bold enough to spy?”

“I wasn’t spying! That’s where I eat my lunch.” Henri continued to call up to Alan, “We have to do something! We have to go out there and –"

“With what exactly, fleshling?” Prowl snapped, “This is beyond your feeble capabilities.”

Alan winced as Henri was progressively getting more and more shrill. The blond was getting to the point where only a good slap to the face would snap him out of this meltdown – but he was currently out of reach. Last time Henri got like this, it was over a C on an exam, and he was freaked about showing his father. He copied off of your notes more often after that.

Alan understood why Henri worried about you, but he couldn’t separate if it was guilt, or if he still genuinely cared for you. It was probably both. More than likely, Henri wanted to wedge his way into your good graces by playing the hero, not that it would do any good. There was a rumor that you were spoken for by two Cybertronians who were currently in robot jail. Why the hell would you downgrade to a man begging to live the life of a tomato and get splattered across the floor?

“You sent her out there, in a warzone!” Henri argued, “She could be dead! You could have killed her! You don’t care about her at all – just what she can do!”

“You of all fleshlings have a straight spinal-strut to say that,” The officer snarled, leaning to cast his shadow over him.

And there was the thing Henri would never understand. He came into the game late and wasn’t there when you developed unbreakable bonds with these aliens. They were there for you when you discovered Henri’s transgressions – an offense completely bonkers to these space-men. An offense that half of Alan felt was none of their business, but he was a hurt party and it was a little satisfying watching these building-tall robots shake things up.

Alan let out a long groan that mutated into a caveman battle-cry. When the two were silent, he rubbed his face and addressed the officer in his best impression of you, “Omega Supreme has a case of the crabs.”

“What?” Ratchet barked, already crossing the room to look at the screens.

“Skeevers,” Wheeljack muttered a correction, shifting aside to give the medic room. “We’re treating the problem now.”

“Primus, Prowl,” Ratchet said with a shake to his head. His hand ghosted over the diagram of the Sentinel, taking in the data. “Even if he wasn’t infested, Omega is in no shape. He will need extensive repairs. You can’t think to use him.”

“Repair him quickly, then. Just in case I need him,” Prowl ordered. “I’ve worked with less.”

“What do you have to work with?” Alan resorted back to his usual self, and flapped his hands for good measure. “Don’t you got flyboys to send out there? Some f*ckin’ tie-fighters or some sh*t?”

“I do have a fleet of shuttles at my disposal, but if there are Decepticon scouters, it could put her mission at risk...” Prowl brought up a datapad, grumbling out a vent. “Perhaps I could assemble a small search team. I would have to look among the flyer types –"

“Y’don’t have to look far,” Alan snorted. “This is Eva, we’re talking about here. No, not the Herald, but makes-friends-with-everyone, Doctor f*ckin’ Morgan. You put out the word, and you’ll have to make people stay.”

There was a beat of silence before the Autobot murmured thoughtfully, “You’re right. I wouldn’t be without volunteers, but I can’t just send anyone into deep space.”

“We’re on the same page, man.” His tone changed to that serious gravity that stilled the air. “This is not us being paranoid. Things don’t look right because they’re not. You see it, I see it. We can’t risk calling all of this a coincidence, but we can't go in guns blazin’.”

Prowl stared at him, optics brightened as the unruly tech continued, “If your co*ck-washin’ ‘Cons have anything to do with it, sending a buncha flyboys would be downright stupid. You’d be risking both men and resources – both sh*t you can’t afford to lose right now, can you? My vote? Cosmos.”

The Military Strategist made a face. “Cosmos?”

“Your concern was sending someone into deep space? You guys had that bucket of bummer orbit Earth all the time. Why?” Alan jutted a thumb over his shoulder at Wheeljack and Ratchet.

Ratchet was the one to speak up, as if realizing the genius behind the suggestion. “Cosmos is fuel efficient; good at traversing deep-space for long distances. It makes sense. He’s experienced enough to avoid detection in hot zones.”

“And,” Alan continued, “Those nerds were buds back on Earth. He sent her messages and pictures every day like a sad penpal while on his own. You tell that boy she’s in trouble, I bet you dollars to hookers, he’ll be out the door in seconds.”

Prowl exchanged glances at Wheeljack, who tilted his head to indicate the man. “This is why I like having him around, in case you were wondering.”

“I’ll...I’ll, uh, look into it. Thank you for your input.” The officer tapped on his datapad. “I...I believe I was wrong about you, Mr. Faireborn.”

“No you weren't. I still hate you.” Alan indicated towards Henri as he asked, “Was he right? Were you going to hide this from me?”

Prowl stared for a few beats. “No. I would have told you, in due course. Informing you was not my priority.”

“Try making it a priority from now on.”

“Warning: Neural processor damage.” Omega’s voice over the intercom overtook the room. “Urgent: Medical assistance required.”

Alan whipped around to face the computers. Wheeljack’s hands flew over the keyboard as he ordered, “Omega, give me your diagnostics! Let me...oh...oh slag.”

They watched in horror as the image of Omega Supreme started lighting up with more and more yellow dots. The sound of Prowl’s datapad hitting the floor prompted Alan to groan, “They’re still alive, aren’t they?”

Henri asked loud enough for all to hear, “What does that mean? What do all those lights mean?”

“Warning: Neural net at risk for shutdown.”

“Move aside!” Ratchet didn’t give Wheeljack time as he was shoved out of the way. “Damn-it! These things have been eating away this entire time – where is he? Bay seven-two? Initiating cryogenic lockdown.”

Wheeljack instantly started slinging orders to his team via comm. as soon as he heard cryogenic. “Fumigation was a failure. Follow Cryo-protocols and continue quarantine procedures. I need you guys to survey the perimeter – make sure the infestation was contained.”

Alan began pacing again, this time away from the buttons on the keyboard. The energy in the room went from tense to hostile, but the aggressor wasn’t here. No, the enemy’s reach was far – as far away as you were from him, right now. There was no bead on your location, or anything to say you were safe, but there was nothing Alan could do. He couldn’t fly a spaceship, didn’t have guns in his arms, and was only shy of six feet.

But the tech never had the come-what-may attitude. There was one thing he could do.

Alan stopped abruptly, pointing at the officer. “I’m relying on you to find her. You keep me informed, got it? I don’t give a f*ck what you think of me, that’s my friend out there and you keep me in the loop. Understand?”

“They are the ones responsible!” Henri howled. “Alan, you can’t trust them. You –!"

“Stop your gah-damn whining! Prowl will do his f*ckin’ job, right man? I can rely on you?”

He straightened at his name, nearly shocked into silence, but he nodded firmly. “Even if I have to go out there, myself.”

Alan glanced back at the computer screen. “Good. Henri, you and I got something to do, right here. You want to help her? We start here. Those two need to know what’s chompin’ at the Big Guy.”

Wheeljack and Ratchet looked his way in unison. Ratchet’s mouth twisted in doubt because what could this little human do to help? Wheeljack’s optics lit up hopefully, because there were so many things this little human could do to help.

Henri stammered, “Ha-how are we –?"

“We’re gonna go in and get some crabs.”

>{. .}<

This was a classified mission.

How in the Pits of Kaon was he supposed to act normal about this?

Cosmos sat perfectly still on the medical berth, staring down at the floor as if his focus could burn a hole all the way through to the hull. His orders were clear. He wasn’t allowed to utter a beep to anyone about this mission, and it wasn’t something he was a novice at, but this time was different.

“You’re very quiet.”

He jumped, jerking his head up to look at First Aid. The medic didn’t look his way as he typed on the medical terminal.

“Am I?” Cosmos said, trying to keep his vocalizer from hitting that nervous pitch. “I didn’t notice.”

“I did.” First Aid gave a cursory scan over a datapad, then stepped up to the fly-mech. He began the motions of plugging in diagnostic equipment. “A tune-up for a mission is pretty routine. You not whingeing about it, is not.”

“I don’t whinge.”

“You do. Everybody does – especially when having to deal with Prowl.” First Aid tilted his head to indicate the datapad. “He has orders to expedite your physical, which means he gave you orders. Was he mean to you? Well, he’s mean to everyone, but did he say something to make you like this?”

Cosmos recalled the dread from receiving a message to report to the Commander’s office. When he got there, his internals crumpled like aluminum at the sight of Prowl at his desk with his digits laced tightly over his mouth, like the moments before he slammed them on the desk and yelled at another for orns. His optics were bright and sharp, contrasting his shadowed face and that serious, scary scowl. Cosmos tensed at how razored and direct his words were. There was no pleasantries, no praise, just cold and succinct instructions.

However, the effects of Prowl’s demeanor didn’t last long. It was the mission Cosmos was given; a mission that was classified to prevent a station-wide panic. The bot understood, because he was filled to the brim with panic. This wasn’t just a regular scout-and-recover mission. This was a mission to find the ship you were on and confirm you were still safe. Cosmos was in his own quiet hell, agonizing for every minute he wasn’t out there looking for you.

“Cosmos?”

The fly-frame jumped some at First Aid touching his arm. The medic retracted, then held up his servos in a gesture to be calm. “Cosmos, are you alright? You’re actually worrying me.”

“No,” Cosmos nearly whined out. “No, I'm not alright. This... this mission I’m going on... I’m not supposed to talk about it.”

“Okay. Okay, I get it,” The medibot said while nodding slowly. His tone was light with sympathy, understanding procedure. “This is what Wrang is for.”

“Who?”

“Station’s Psychiatrist. I can give you a private room and you can talk to him confidentially. If you’re being sent on a high-risk mission, it’s important for you to address the stress –"

“No, no, I don’t have time for that! She might –" Cosmos clicked his vocalizer off in mid-sentence.

“What? She?” First Aid stared for a long moment. There weren’t many he knew who used that pronoun. His visor brightened and his tone became firmer. “She?”

“You can’t tell anyone. Please,” Cosmos pleaded.

“If my friend is in trouble –"

“– then Prowl will notify HC and an armada will be sent – but Prowl said if everyone finds out, it could make things worse.”

First Aid snorted, then grumbled compliantly, “Yeah. A bunch of space-jocks whipping up the ‘Cons would cause problems. What's the situation?”

“The Trion had gone dark. That’s all I know,” Cosmos said in earnest. “Prowl is sending me to scout the route they were on. Sky Lynx will be trailing back, just in case something happened to the ship and they need a pickup.”

“Oof. If he’s as quiet as you during his check-up, I bet Pharma is enjoying it and not asking any questions.”

“I need to get out there and find out what happened, Aid. I don’t have time –"

“You’re right. You don’t have time.” First Aid quickly looked over the diagnostic readings and started noting what he could tweak. “But I’m going give you a way to make yourself some time. I just need you to trust me.”

“Trust you with what?”

“With breaking the rules.” The medibot tilted his head, like someone pinning a phone between ear and shoulder. The lines around his audial activated and lit up. “Jetfire? You still got those booster-mods you’ve been working on? I don’t care if it’s still in its experimental phase – you need to bring it to me, right now.”

Chapter 8: A Ticking Bomb

Chapter Text

“Sir? Sir! That wing is restricted! No visitors allowed!”

Eager for a distraction, Sideswipe was the one to look up from his studies first, dropping his datapad on the pile surrounding him on the floor. Sunstreaker remained reclined on the bench he hogged all to himself. He continued to read the Cybertronian study of Human Biology – and he was sure most of it was wrong. Humans didn’t have a mating call. Right?

If you were here in the brig with him, he could ask you, and then demand to hear it.

“It’s an emergency! Sorry, excuse me!”

Sunstreaker’s thoughts left you as his attention was caught by a familiar vocal pattern. That misplaced politeness was from none other than Bluestreak. Both frontliner twins rose to their peds and edged close to the electro-bars, trying to see down the hall.

Bluestreak came jogging into view, checking in each cell before Sideswipe hailed him over. “Hey! Over here! What is it? What’s going on?”

The sniper came stumbling their way, bracing himself against the wall of their cell’s control panel and venting his systems hard. His vocals shuddered and skipped, switching between Earth-speak and Cybertronian. The guard grabbed his shoulder and tried to lead him away. Bluestreak, unable to really put up a fight, decided to loose the ones who could.

He slapped at the control panel. The electric blockade fizzled out. The guard let out a panicked yip and shoved Bluestreak aside to turn the barrier back on.

The twins were quicker. While Sideswipe moved to catch Bluestreak from crashing to the ground, Sunstreaker stepped out to catch the guard. Simultaneously, he snatched the mech by the wrist and activated the cell’s barrier. Sunstreaker twisted the guard’s arm behind him and held his face close to the buzzing bars.

“Okay! Okay! Let’s be calm!” The guard yelped.

“I’m perfectly calm,” Sunstreaker said. “Are you calm, Sides?”

“Yeah, pretty much.” Sideswipe had Bluestreak’s arm around his shoulder, trying to help him keep steady.

“We’re calm. But you wanna know what might set us off? If I hear one transmission to anyone...”

“It won’t be from me, Sir.” The guard tried to shake his head. “I’ll just... go on break.”

“Smart.” Sunstreaker pulled him back from the bars and gave him a push to send him on his way. The guard didn’t linger for a microklick. Sunstreaker turned his focus on his recovering comrade.

Bluestreak was hunched over, his cooling fans trying to vent out as much heat as possible. He must have raced – or ran – clear across the station. The brothers exchanged glances, restraining themselves from shaking an answer from the mech as he rebooted his vocal unit over and over.

The restraint didn’t last long. Sideswipe gave Bluestreak a shake. “What is it? Is it Prowl? Did he manage to get us reassigned?”

Bluestreak shook his head. His response was garbled, slipping into what sounded like a different alien language.

Sunstreaker felt both relief and tension. Prowl had ordered the frontliners to end their relationship with you, and Sunstreaker had responded with violence – the reason for their current living situation. The worry of being shipped off to the opposite end of the galaxy hung over their heads. But if that wasn’t the reason the sniper came racing, then one last concern remained.

Sideswipe asked, “Eva? She okay?”

Bluestreak, your best friend, your amica, let out a digitized whimper rife with shutters and skips. He managed to say, “The Trion’s gone dark...”

“You’re sure?” Sunstreaker was in his face, gripping on his shoulder plates. “Where did you hear this from?”

“Jetfire,” he responded with more power to his vox. “Jetfire told me. He helped First Aid add fly-mods to Cosmos.”

“What kind of fly-mods?”

“The fast kind.” Bluestreak said, “Prowl is sending him to check their route.”

“Cosmos? With velocity mods?” Sideswipe blurted incredulously with a sharp laugh. “Why him of all mechs? Bro, we need to get a shuttle. We have to get out there.”

“Sky Lynx went with him – Prowl must think they need pick-up. Something must have gone wrong with the ship.” Bluestreak spoke faster and faster, but nowhere near Blurr’s level. “Prowl’s got all the docks locked down. I didn’t know where else to go or who can help me. I have to go out there and look for her.”

“We will.” Sideswipe set a servo on his shoulder, trying to soothe him. “You did good coming to us.”

“Wait.” Sunstreaker clenched a fist under his chin.

“Wait? Why?”

Sunstreaker didn’t answer at first. His brother’s wild impulses colored the bond, his frantic urge to run out into the unknown nearly swallowing all rational thought. The yellow frontliner tried to calm himself. Last time he didn’t, he nearly broke off Prowl’s jaw.

“Prowl only sent two mechs, one of which is a lot stealthier than a scout-ship. We can’t just grab a shuttle. We’d just be flying around in a hot zone.”

“When has that ever stopped us?” Sideswipe protested.

“Since we could bungle a very serious mission,” Sunstreaker volleyed. “It’s not just us anymore. We have to think of her. We need to be smart about this. If the Trion had a systems malfunction, or if they had to leave it derelict, us going out there and rousing up any Decepticon presence could put her in more danger.”

“But what if she’s already in danger?” Bluestreak sounded close to pleading. “I... I can’t imagine never seeing my amica, again.”

“So you did bear your spark to her. Can you feel anything?” Sideswipe asked softly. “Was there any linkup? Synchronization of frequencies? Exchanges of spark coding?”

“Jetfire asked me the same thing – to see if I could feel if she was fine or not, but I can’t feel a thing. It’s just... a hollow where something should be.”

“She’s organic,” Sunstreaker stressed the last word. “Her frame doesn’t have a way to respond.”

“I thought there would at least be something since she has an EM field, but...” Bluestreak trailed off. “Drift can read her. Why can’t I?”

Now wasn’t the time to ponder on the repercussions of trying to spark-bond with an organism that possessed no way to reciprocate; or how unfair it was that Drift of all mechs had that connection with you and no one else did. Sunstreaker wasn’t mad that Bluestreak recited the Oath of Consistency and held you before his spark, but it reminded him of how Sideswipe described the void in the bond of when Sunstreaker was trapped in a human body.

Bluestreak must have felt it was worth it, his decision to name you his amica endura, but Sunstreaker couldn’t judge. You were worth a lot of risks.

“I’m not saying we do nothing.” Sunstreaker said, “I’m saying we need a stealth cruiser. One of the good ones.”

“Are you serious?” Bluestreak had a look of shock, or excitement, or both. “Forget the docks being shut tight, those ships are code-locked.”

“I know. Only a few mechs on this station have the keys.” Sunstreaker started walking for the exit, both bots trailing behind. “Blue, call every bot that knows her. Have them gear up and assemble at hangar three. I want the Darkstar.”

“Frag yes!” Sideswipe grinned, absolutely giddy. “What are we going to do?”

“We are going to visit Prowl. He has what we need. He can’t charge everyone with insubordination.”

“I think he can. I think he had, once.” Bluestreak protested, “He’ll just throw you back in the brig the moment he sees you.”

“He can try.”

[0.0]

This couldn’t be happening. There was no way. Ships just don’t go dark for no reason.

Prowl had accounted for everything. The Trion was in phenomenal shape – he checked the maintenance logs himself. If the ship suffered from a power malfunction, there was a back-up generator and reserves stored aboard. There would be enough power to send a distress at the very least.

The ship’s course was plotted safely away from known Decepticon scouting routes. It added delays, but they were worth getting the team – and you – to your destination without unnecessary risk. Communications to and from the Trion were on a secure channel, and so heavily encrypted, it took orns for the medical team to get their reports.

Prowl clenched his jaw. He should have taken you to Moonbase Two himself.

There was no time for regrets. When Ratchet brought the lack of a response to his attention, Prowl hadn’t stopped moving, hadn’t stopped doing. There was no time for rest. After the ping had come in devoid of the Trion’s signature and no response to his hails, Prowl had mentally compiled a list and continued to check them off. One after another after another.

He demanded sit-reps from all outposts within the quadrant on any Decepticon activity. While waiting for them, he ascertained the resources available – and unavailable – to him. Resources being munitions, energon stores, drone-scouters, troops, Omega Supreme.

It would have been extreme to send him in to a fight, but nothing scatters Decepticon formations like the Sentinel. He didn’t think the Trion had run into Decepticons, but he wasn’t going to ignore the possibility.

Prowl was met with disappointment and astonishment. He never expected proper advice from the human engineer – that painted menace. There was a fleck of respect for the human. Even more so when Prowl realized how right Alan was, but he wasn’t going to let that little bacterial stain know that.

He wasn’t surprised at Cosmos’ reaction to his mission parameters, or how fast he deployed. Prowl suspected the fly-mech skipped his pre-mission evaluation, but First Aid had it in the medbay records that Cosmos was in top shape.

It was a concerning thing to witness: the distress over hearing you were unable to be reached. Prowl saw a ticking bomb waiting to detonate.

He had just left the debriefing room. Optimus was there, listening to Ironhide and Ultra Magnus debate on a plan of attack to liberate the Thymesis Energon mine, but to try and keep it as intact as possible. Whatever plan they would choose, would rely on you bringing back troops to stealth into the mine to hit the Deceptions from all sides.

Prowl chose not to report on the Trion going dark. Instead, he said the ship was still on route, because there was no confirmation that it was not. Jazz barely looked at him, and the Officer assumed he may have already known the situation. It was always a safe bet, as Jazz was very good at his job.

Prowl was, too. Prematurely reporting this without any confirmation would result in that aforementioned bomb to explode, causing panic and recklessness. Prowl knew his infallible Leader would forgo all strategy and lead a fleet of ships out into the stars, causing the Decepticons to tighten their formations, only to find out the Trion may have suffered a comm. malfunction.

In fact, everyone but Optimus would understand Prowl withholding this information. Jazz must not have liked it, but he wasn’t volunteering anything he knew, either. He did have a soft spot for you. Prowl was confident you would understand, too. You were about as logical as he. It was a quality of yours he was fond of.

The meeting took several orns. During that, Prowl received dozens of messages. Several were the reports he ordered, and at a glance saw nothing satisfactory. There was nothing unusual to give any clues on what happened to the Trion. Wheeljack had requested the human weaponry Prowl had locked away. Springer sent four complaints about Rung’s psych-evals – one for each of his crew. There was an incident report on an altercation in the training room, an indecency grievance regarding a supply closet, and so many more messages of the like.

But nothing asking about you. As Prowl headed back to his office, his optics briefly scanned those he passed. It wasn’t a question of if, but when. Someone will eventually talk about this, and it would spread like the rust plague. Prowl just had to be prepared for some idiot to try and play hero without any kind of information. You had a following believing you were some Herald of the Allspark, but it wasn’t them he was truly worried over. It was your friends. There were those who would risk a lot for you.

As he opened his office door, he came face to face with one of them.

“Commander,” Sunstreaker greeted just before snatching Prowl by the collar of his chestplate, and yanked him inside.

Prowl stumbled as he was nearly thrown into his office, catching himself on his desk. This was it. This was the thing he was worried about and the one mech he didn’t want knowing – not yet, at least. Sunstreaker was still a competent, skillful soldier, despite being difficult to handle. He required a firm Commander, but since his involvement with you, he became something Prowl could no longer predict.

Sunstreaker went from manageable to dangerous.

Prowl whirled around, sidearm already in servo and aiming right at the frontliner. One frontliner. Heaviness sunk into the bottom of his fuel tank as his optics flicked past Sunstreaker to Sideswipe standing by the only door out of this room. The red mech stared with a coolness that was usually Sunstreaker’s trait. Casually, without looking, he hit the door’s control panel, locking them all inside.

Correction: Two. These were the two mechs he didn’t want knowing before he needed them.

When Prowl envisioned Autobots rushing out to play hero, he specifically thought of these two. This was a problem. Now that Prowl had a weapon, he could deal with one, but both of the spark-siblings? He wouldn’t be able to pop off a second shot before his head was ripped off. There was a reason both Autobot and Decepticon gave them the moniker, Terror Twins.

Prowl used the next best thing: his voice. “You want me to send you to Garrus-9?”

“I want you to send me after her.” Sunstreaker volleyed.

“You think we wouldn’t find out?” Sideswipe started stalking along the perimeter, putting distance between him and his brother. Prowl was familiar with the flanking tactic. He gave Sideswipe a warning in the form of adjusting his aim at Sunstreaker’s face. Sideswipe paused as Sunstreaker vented out in an irritated hiss between his denta.

Prowl may not have been as strong as these two, but he did know their weaknesses, as vain as they were.

“Were you ever going to tell us?” Sunstreaker said with a slight curl to his lip. “Or were you busy working out a way to send us to the aft-end of space?”

But knowing those weaknesses would only work for a short amount of time. Prowl needed backup – not that it helped much in the past with his recent scuffle with Sunstreaker. It would have been much worse if Jazz and Ratchet weren’t there, though.

Prowl had to think carefully, and fast. If he sent out a general message for assistance, it would alert High Command of the situation he was trying to ascertain, thus his efforts to keep everything calm would be for nothing. To avoid a station-wide alarm, he worked on an internal message to the one he trusted most.

All Prowl had to do was keep them talking. “You would have been informed when I needed you. I wouldn’t send you two away when I may need brute force.”

“You should have told us as soon as you heard something,” Sideswipe said from the side of the room. That sneaky pit-spawn had sidestepped a little more.

Prowl was completely flanked. There was little use in holding up the gun. At any moment, the mech that didn’t have his attention could move in. He continued to keep aim at Sunstreaker’s face, hoping he was pretentious enough to not want to risk damage, and Sideswipe not want to risk his brother’s wrath for letting him get scratched.

“And cause this very situation to happen?” Prowl said, unable to hold back his annoyance of having to explain his logic. “The ship had gone dark. There could be a number of reasons – reasons I’m ruling out at this very moment. Reasons that don’t warrant a mass exodus of this station of everyone bringing attention to the very thing we are trying to protect.”

There was a flinch on Sunstreaker’s part; a twitch to his lip that flashed a little snarl. “This situation happened because of you. We could guard her better than anyone in this damn galaxy, but you’re more concerned with keeping us apart.”

“I’m trying to keep her alive.”

“Is that why you told us to break things off with her?” Sideswipe called the Officer out, “To protect her?”

Prowl resisted the urge to take his optics off Sunstreaker. “She is an ally to the Autobot cause, and is under our protection. If that means I have to guard her from our own, I will.”

“If you truly wanted to protect her, you would have sent us with her,” Sideswipe continued to berate. “Instead you lock us up for no reason.”

“No reason?!” Prowl turned his attention to the one that spouted such selfishness. “You injured her –"

The moment he felt a touch to the servo that held the gun, Prowl knew he fell for the bait. It was only a nanosec he looked away, but that’s all a frontliner needed. When his optics flicked back, Sunstreaker had already closed the distance. He wrapped his grip over Prowl’s wrist to redirect the gun’s aim, and Sunstreaker’s other servo came up hard and fast to lock around his neck. In one sweep, Sunstreaker had Prowl off his peds and slammed him on the desk’s surface. The blaster discharged.

“Aiming at my face? Really? You want me to rip out your spark?” Sunstreaker snarled, and gave Prowl’s wrist a jerk and squeezed. “You’re lucky I’m in a hurry. Key-codes to bay four and the Darkstar. Now.”

He winced, releasing the gun. “You’re making a big mistake.”

“You’ve made an even bigger –"

The locked door slid open without any prompts. Sideswipe turned quickly to Jazz standing at the threshold, quickly assessing the situation with a disapproving shake to his head.

Prowl vented out slight relief, and strained against Sunstreaker’s grip. “Have I?”

“What the frag is this? I try n’ help you two out, and y’go and do somethin’ stupid like this?” Jazz let himself inside with a confidence no one possessed around these two – no one other than you. He gave Sideswipe a pointed glare before turning his back on him to address Sunstreaker. “Let ‘em up.”

Sunstreaker didn’t move. “Do you know what’s going on?”

“Of course I do. I had to go shut down your operation. You’re lucky Blue didn’t just grab the stations comms and make an announcement.” Jazz crossed his arms, looking about as severe as Prowl. “What were you trying to accomplish? A mutiny? You think rallying a group in the name of the Herald would make High Command do what you want?”

“It wasn’t like that,” Sideswipe defended. “Bots that know her deserve to hear what’s going on – and to do something about it.”

“An’ bots that care about her wellbeing deserve to plan what t’do in peace.” Jazz gave the order again, firmer, “I said, let him up.”

The moment was tense for a klick longer before Sunstreaker relented. He stalked to his brother’s side as Prowl sat up, rubbing the cables and bent rods in his neck. He grimaced at the damage left behind. “You never fail to prove my point, Sunstreaker.”

“Only because you know just how to goad me into validating your point,” The golden gunner shot back.

“And you let him.” Jazz stepped between them. “Why do you think Prowl didn’t trust you with this? You fail his annoyin’ little tests, every time. You know this mech doesn’t do a damn thing without a reason.”

The twins glanced at one another. Prowl stared at the back of Jazz’s head, curious to see how he’ll rein the two in. The saboteurs charisma was always an impressive thing to witness.

“Everyone in this room cares about the same thing. We all want Baby Girl to be safe. We want her happy, and healthy, and livin’ her best life, but we don’t agree with how it’s done.” Jazz said, “You don’t like how Prowl’s handlin’ this? Neither do I, but I trust him to know what he’s doing because he wants the same thing I do.”

“This is absolute slag. He locked us up.” Sideswipe threw a gesture at the officer. “Ordered us to end things with her. You were there!”

“I also saw why he told you to break up. You threatened her safety, and her safety is his priority.”

Sunstreaker growled more at himself than at Jazz for taking a side. The twins got a little carried away with you, and even though you endured a little roughing up with a pleased smile, the aftermath of it was apparent to those who knew what they were looking at – and it didn’t look good.

Jazz glanced back at Prowl, still sitting on the edge of his desk, then turned a sharp glare at the twins. “But we ain’t here for that, are we? Don’t y’think there’s more important things to do than fightin’ one another and stealing starships?”

Sunstreaker set a servo on Sideswipe’s arm, and the red twin visibly cooled. In unison, they nodded.

“This slag is behind us, as of now. We all need to work together.” Jazz angled his head towards the door. “Go make yourselves useful in Wheeljack’s lab. Primus knows he needs a servo, right now. While you’re there, you can see how Paint-Job is setting aside his slag to do his part. Prowler will call you when he needs you – won’t he? Won’t he?”

One hydraulic in his neck was bent in place, but Prowl still managed to nod. Sunstreaker gave him a long and hard look before turning for the door.

“Wait.”

Prowl reached over to grab a keycard from his desk and held it out. “This will give you access to tier-five armaments. That’s where I stored the human’s weaponry. Wheeljack requested them.”

The golden gunner gave a wary stare before taking it without anything else to say, and then let himself out. Sideswipe lingered for a pulse, optics flicking between the two before following his brother. Jazz finally vented out a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“You gave them the access codes?”

“As you said, I give tests.” Prowl said, “Let’s see if they fail this one.”

Jazz gave another disapproving shake of his head, along with an equally disappointed huff. He took a moment to look over Prowl, and then approached to set a servo over his shoulder. “You good?”

Prowl didn’t realize he was gripping tightly on the ledge of his desk. He relaxed, leaning away to process the change of his surroundings from hostile to neutral. He took his time answering, and brushed him away in a dismissive wave. “Fine. I’m fine.”

Jazz backed off, giving space. “I came as fast as I could when I got your alert, but I didn’t think I’d walk into this kind of slag.”

“I appreciate your discretion.” He gave a frustrated scowl at the scattered datapads on his desk. “I would’ve had things handled with just one. Two of them, though...”

“It’s either a fantasy come true, or a nightmare. There’s no in-between when both twins are involved,” Jazz said with a light laugh.

Prowl didn’t find the bawdy joke funny at all as he stood and started sorting through the mess on his desk. “They’ll cause more problems with this situation than help. I’m going to file a motion to have them tried –"

“You really think that’s a good idea, right now? See it from their perspective.”

“I do. They are upset I’m not letting them have their way. They’re being selfish –"

“Have you seen their hab-suite before they were sent to the brig? Half of ‘Streaker’s trophy case is packed away so he can store her supplies. Sides moved his weapons’ collection to build her a fraggin’ shelf. I wouldn’t call that selfish. If anything else, she’s been good for them. Sideswipe’s learnin’ responsibility, Sunstreaker’s learnin’ compassion.”

“Consider me fooled.” Prowl angled his head to draw attention to his neck.

“They don’t think y’care about her enough.” Jazz came up beside and stopped him from his tidying. “Why didn’t you tell them that you do? Why didn’t you tell them how you feel – I mean really feel, Prowler? You’ve been in panic-mode from the very start and you’re scared. You’re worried about your friend.”

The Commander scoffed, “Friend? I don’t have any friends.”

“Ouch. Hit right where it hurts.” Jazz guided Prowl to turn more towards him, bending some to get a better view of the damage. “How bad they rough you up?”

“It’s nothing. I expect a few scratches dealing with their like.” Prowl went to move away, but found himself up against the ledge of his desk. “Jazz –"

“Lemmie get a better look.” Jazz took Prowl’s chin between his fingers and thumb. “Chill out. Relax.”

Prowl didn’t fight it when his head was turned from side to side. Jazz came close, closer than anyone else was allowed. Bumper to bumper, the saboteur leaned in for a brief inspection – but not brief enough for Prowl.

“I can bend that back into place –"

“I’ll have someone in the medbay to take a look when I have time.” Prowl shoved an arm between them, creating space. He punctuated his statement by picking up a datapad from his desk. “I have work to do.”

“You always have work to do.” Jazz said with a roll to his optics, slinking his way around the desk. He rummaged through one of the drawers and brought up a bottle of triple-filtered nucleon. “And it’ll still be waitin’ when you’re done.”

“What are you –" Prowl cut himself off, giving Jazz a snarl. “No. I don’t have time for that.”

“Make time. I know you’re pushin’ your systems. Your processor is burnin’ with everything that can go wrong. Go on. Lie to me.”

Prowl felt his anger flare, then dim to a weary frustration. “She’s out there, somewhere. I need optics on her.”

“I know, but you did every damn thing you could. You need to wait to hear back from those out in the field.” Jazz pulled up a chair and righted the other. “I know you. You’ll fry a wire going crazy, tryin’ to plan twenty steps ahead on every outcome. Let me help you pass the time.”

This wasn’t the time to sit and drink. There was so much going on and you were unaccounted for and that damned Sunstreaker managed to dent his plating, again. It wasn’t the proper thing to do... but Jazz wasn’t wrong. Prowl would sit in his office, alone, with nothing to do other than make predictions at what news would come back, and how he would deal with each situation, and then calculate the outcome of those theories and it would go on and on and on like a tangled web.

Prowl’s processor was spinning just at the thought, and stress, of it all tying him up till he couldn’t move, paralyzed with too many options.

But the option that was presented to him wasn’t without merit. It would serve a purpose, but Prowl was hesitant. “I have to stay sharp.”

“We’re not having a party. We’ll be functionin’ just fine, after. Just sit with me for a bit, but if you tell me no one more time, I’m out that door.” Jazz poured the neon blue energon and offered a cube. “But I need help passin’ the time, too.”

Their relationship was a strange one. Even the word relationship was an ill fit. Neither of them had time for serious commitments, platonic and otherwise, but that didn’t mean they didn’t want that connection, however brief and shallow it was. Jazz, always out in the field with solo missions that could last kilocycles, and going silent for even longer while infiltrating behind enemy lines. Prowl, hardly ever far from his work, was burdened with the unpopular role of making tough decisions with the lives of soldiers, and mostly being the one that sends Jazz behind those enemy lines.

It was moments like this that Prowl knew what a friend was, and how very few of them he had. You had called him your friend, once before.

He took the cube and sat down. “Not too much. I want to be alert if Cosmos reports in.”

“Right on.” Jazz sat adjacent to him, kicking his peds up on the desk. “So, about the twins...”

Prowl pushed them off. “The same ones you accused of starting a mutiny, if I heard you right.”

“When y’see Hound and Cliffjumper wearin’ their entire weapons’ collection, y’ask questions.” There was an underlying laugh as Jazz recalled the moment. “I took care of it. Every bot knows what’s goin’ on and to keep muted about it. Lot of ‘em don’t like it.”

“Shocking.”

“You know she loves those two frontliners, right?” Jazz asked, idly swirling his drink.

Prowl froze in mid-sip.

“You're gonna need the twins. You should make amends,” He advised. “To do that, you need to understand that she loves them… and it’s pretty obvious they love her back.”

“It’s a foolish sentiment to have,” The Commander muttered into his glass. “Makes bots do stupid things, obviously. Makes them even more foolish when it’s the love of a short-lived species. Makes them reckless, rushed, and impulsive.”

“What would you do if she loved you, too?”

Prowl stared ahead for a long while, holding his drink. “I would panic.”

Chapter 9: Give and Take (Warning: Sexually Explicit)

Chapter Text

The chime came, again. From behind his desk, Prowl briefly leaned over to check his computer screen.

“Cosmos hasn’t even made it out of the quadrant. It’ll be a while,” Jazz said from over his glass, pausing between sips. “You’re supposed to be relaxin’.”

“You know I can’t.” The Officer settled back in his seat, downing the rest of his nucleon. “This is barely taking the edge off.”

Jazz reached over and filled Prowl’s cube for the third time. “FIM chip deactivated?”

“Been a while since I reactivated it.” He let out a sigh, taking the glass but not drinking. He held it, tilting it from side to side, watching the mercurial shimmer of the nucleon-grade energon. “This is a waste of good fuel.”

“Not if you drink with a friend.”

“According to everyone, I don’t know the meaning of the word friend.”

“Everyone, eh? You never asked me.” Jazz set his elbow on the desk, propping his head up. “And I’d thought you’d know by now, I’m an expert in redefining meanings.”

Prowl let out a snort, shaking his head. The damaged rod in his neck grounded out a squeak. He winced immediately, servo briefly fluttering to his neck. Jazz watched, slowly shaking his own head in disapproval.

“How many more drinks do I gotta get in you before you let me take care of that?” He said, and there was something more sentimental about his usually genial and playful tone.

“I said I’m fine.”

“And I ain’t doin’ it for you, no more.” Jazz smirked as he lied. “You sound like ScrapHeap when a mech steps too close. Got me checkin’ the floor every time you turn your damn head.”

Prowl resisted the urge to even ground out the quietest of chuckles. It did sound like your useless blood-sack of an ex-mate.

“C’mon. I promise not to tell a single spark that you let a friend help y’out.” Jazz stood, taking the steps around the desk to stand beside Prowl. “I won’t even tell anyone you have friends.”

“Since you’re so insistent. Have at it.” The officer let out a frustrated vent. He scooted his chair back, letting Jazz slide in between him and his desk.

Have at it. Prowl regretted what he said, slightly. The saboteur planted a knee between his, balancing himself on the chair as he tilted Prowl’s head back by the chin. The smirk on Jazz’s face told him he knew what he was doing. Prowl averted his gaze to his computer screen as Jazz brushed his digits over the cords, feeling for the bent rod. He gently coaxed it straight, again, earning a wince and a grunt from Prowl.

“Are you done?”

“Almost.” Jazz guided him by his chin, turning his head left, and then right. “Just seeing how fine you really are.”

Prowl let him inspect in silence for a long moment, before turning a scrutinizing squint his way. “Was that one of your ridiculous flirtations?”

Jazz smiled wide. “Flirt? With you?” He paired his faux-oblivious testimony by brushing his touch down Prowl’s neck and grazing over his chest-piece. It was light, but heavy against his sensors. “I know flirting doesn’t vibe with you, Prowler. You like your rendezvous to be direct.”

It was only a nanosec, but Prowl thought of all those direct rendezvous with the Spec-Ops Lieutenant, the one who was practically in his lap in this neat and sterile office. In that tiny span of time, Prowl lost control of his stoic and quiet EM field, and squirmed.

It was still enough time for Jazz to feel it. He smirked.

“That’s enough.” Prowl pushed Jazz off and nudged him aside. He busied himself with his desktop, then shot Jazz a scowl as he turned the screen away.

“You have Cosmos on a different messaging system. What you’re receiving are all generic. You know the sounds of each notification – I know the sounds of each notification.” Jazz pushed Prowl’s chair back, planting his hands on the arms of it, coming face to face with the Military Commander and Strategist. He leaned closer, invading Prowl’s personal space like a slowly approaching Decepticon Worldburner. “You know better than to pretend with me.”

“I don’t pretend,” Prowl said with a curl to his lip. “I... I am carrying out my due diligence while indulging in this nonsense. I’m sitting here, with you, speaking on benign topics that have no real relevance on the events at present. And I –"

“And you’re jumpy, checking messages you know are just as benign.” Jazz added on softly, “If it was anyone else, I wouldn’t think anything of it.”

He wasn’t wrong. Prowl glanced aside at this computer screen, and felt an anxiety ripple over his circuits at the inability to see his multiple inboxes. He had a specific call-sound for each one, and he jolted at each one. His processor was in such a state, he couldn’t take a second to process which sound was what.

Prowl stood. He needed to stand up, to move and give his servos something to do. The nucleon was supposed to drown his systems, quiet his HUD and processing power, but it was like fueling on regular grade that did nothing but keep him at one-hundred. It sat heavy in his dispensation tanks. Prowl righted his computer screen, and Jazz stopped him with a servo on his arm-plating.

“Prowl,” Jazz spoke smoothly. “Should I be more direct?”

The meaning behind the question was not lost on the officer. “It would be a momentary distraction, at best.”

“Is that a no?”

“Anything more than this would be irresponsible.” Prowl glanced aside, wishing for a little space, but not finding himself agitated enough to demand it. His spartan office started to feel cluttered. “Inappropriate, even.”

“What would be irresponsible is leaving you like this. You did all you could, and right now, you’re all charged up with nowhere to go.” Jazz punctuated that with a sharp chuckle. “And since when has somethin’ inappropriate stopped you from workin’ out a way to think straight? Or for me to think about anything else?”

This wasn’t the time for such exchanges, but when have their more intimate times together ever been ideal? They served a purpose. The action wasn’t without merit. Prowl couldn’t tell if the heat building up in his frame was the stress, or the anticipation. He vented the heat out harshly as he said his name. “Jazz. We’re already passing the time. Escalating things would be negligent.”

“I disagree. You know we’ll be functionin’ just fine, after. Listen, I’m not gonna keep arguin’. Tell me no, and I’ll drop it completely.” Jazz leaned in close, near nose to nose as his hands traced up Prowl’s abdominal plating to just under his bumper. “But this ain’t just for you. I’m offerin’ to pass the time a different way. You in or not?”

It was simply a transaction, of each one getting what they needed in order to complete the task. Give and take with no strings attached. They were much too involved with their work to play the part of an attentive conjunx or paramour, but this? This was something they understood.

“I’ll allow it.”

“Prowl,” Jazz let the name drawl out from under his growing smile.

“Yes, yes, fine! Yes, I’m in.”

“You’re gonna be in, alright.” Jazz’s hands traveled up over Prowl’s chestplate, thumbs following the lines of each headlight. He pulled himself closer, chest to chest.

His lips hovered and brushed against Prowl’s, teasing that alien trend most Autobot’s indulged in: Mouth-mating. Kissing. Whatever it was called. It wasn’t something Prowl found particularly interesting, but Jazz liked to experiment with all different kinds of foreign pleasures, and the emotionally cold officer wasn’t too put off by it. It seemed a habit of humans – of yours.

Prowl didn’t like how his processer drifted to you – not your welfare, but to how he never witnessed you express this intimate custom. Would he know a little more about you if he indulged in it? He usually skipped foreplay, but maybe he’d busy his processor with investigating this.

Give and take. Jazz was offering. Prowl would take.

Prowl gripped the back of Jazz’s helm and crashed their lips together. The physical sensations tickling his sensors from such a mediocre action somehow encouraged Prowl to drop his usual protocol of keeping his EM field tight. Jazz felt his need for control in how hard Prowl pulled him closer. There was a desperate desire for the illusion of having order when there was only chaos.

Jazz moaned in tandem with his biolights brightening in a delighted blush. He was much more willing to let his field touch Prowl’s sensory net, to let him feel his hunger in a wanton shiver, feel the plea to think of anything else than what was beyond those office doors.

His hands were almost frantic. His touch was not as deliberate and methodical, but urgent. Needy, as Jazz gripped Prowl’s doorwings, as if he could pull him closer. It didn’t fail to rouse the Officer, though, as he had to push away to vent out the heat building up within his frame.

Prowl wouldn’t ask Jazz what he was really feeling. That wasn’t the kind of relationship they had. There were never honeyed words of lovers between them, no caresses and assurances. That’s not why Jazz was here. He was here to forget, and Prowl wanted to declutter this anxiety that riddled his senses.

The masks they wore were on different ends of the spectrum, but they were still masks. No one knew just how much they kept to themselves, even from each other.

Give and take. Maybe Jazz would take what Prowl could give.

Prowl was a little rough in turning Jazz around, but the saboteur chuckled as he was bent over the cold, metal desk. There was no sensual teasing or lengthy flirtations. No syrupy whispers. The kissing went far enough. This act was a means to an end and Prowl wanted it done – not because he disliked it. Interfacing had its enjoyments on a physical level.

Jazz grunted, servos gripping the ledges as he glanced back over his shoulder. The panel to his valve shifted away. It was already glistening with lubrication, ready to take the officer in full. It was all the consent Prowl needed to proceed.

His interfacing plate clicked aside, releasing an already pressurized spike. It was simple, lightly modded, mostly because it didn’t require any. Prowl positioned himself behind Jazz, drawing the tip along the rim of his valve as part of the preparation, like this was all just business.

He muttered the first words since engaging in this tryst, “Try not to leave any scrapes on my desk.”

“Don’t frag me so hard into your desk, then,” Jazz countered with a hint of amusem*nt. “Last time, there was a body print – hahh-Mmhmmm..."

Prowl cut him short by sliding his spike inside. It wasn’t a hard, jarring thrust, but one that was steady and merciless and filling. Jazz’s hands scrabbled over the surface as his back arched. Static peppered his generous moan as Prowl hilted himself.

“You talk too much.” He pulled out, just as steady and unending, before pushing back inside all the way to the base. It would be an all out lie if Prowl said he didn’t appreciate the snug feel of this valve in particular. Jazz was modded to accommodate, his calipers cycling tight at this delicious intrusion, but it always felt Prowl was at the brink of snapping something out of place.

He never did, and judging by how Jazz pressed back into him, he wasn’t worried about it, either. The nodes on Prowl’s spike clashed perfectly with Jazz’s interior ones, if the writhing field and flickering biolights of his was anything to go by.

Prowl continued this method a few more strokes before he felt Jazz’s valve was accustomed to the stretch. He signaled the next stage of this meeting by gripping onto the waist of the one bent before him. Jazz responded by reaching back and setting a hand on his.

Prowl took the silent prompt and snapped his hips into his. The desk legs eked out a small squeal against the floor. He’ll move his furniture back, later.

He held Jazz in place as he continued this hard and ruthless pace, like a soldier marching unending. Jazz held on, along for the ride and grunted with each impact. They evolved into shameless moans Prowl wished he’d mute – as he was having trouble biting back his own.

He had to control himself. Without it, Prowl felt like he was in free-fall. Without him holding it all together, everything would crumble and he would fail those he did care about.

Prowl grabbed Jazz’s wrist and twisted it behind his back. Despite knowing he could get out of such a restraint, it painted the illusion that Prowl was in control. Seeing how his internal mechanisms hitched in tandem with his biolights, Jazz didn’t mind handing it over.

Locking the mech in place under him, Prowl quickened his pace by point-two klicks. His body curled in, nearly losing himself in the rhythm and the pull of that modded valve. Jazz stiffened more and more, the lights on his frame wavering and flickering, his field tensing and twitching.

Prowl reached around to grip harshly under his neck, forcing his chin up and his back to arch. He rumbled, “Not yet.”

“Catch up, then.” One didn’t need to see the dazed smirk on Jazz’s face to know it was there. The playful tones in his vocals matched the taunting purr of his engine.

Jazz went from his front being pinned to the desk, to being yanked up and restrained against the Military Commander. Jazz hiked a knee up on the desk while Prowl gripped his hip, his other hand cut across his chest and wrapped around his throat cables. Jazz wasn’t being choked, but merely held in place, controlled.

That’s fine. If this is what Prowl needed to feel good, then Jazz would let him. But if Prowl was trying to delay his partner’s overload, he wasn’t doing a very good job.

This is what the saboteur needed. To just let go and not think where he’ll surface, next. The universe beyond those doors would be waiting for him. The shadows he strafed through, the secrets he held, the morally gray actions planned and denied by those in power – it all can wait.

Steam started swirling from the gaps of his armor. Sparks jumped from one surface to another. Lights pulsed brightly, dimming less and less between each beat, nearly. It was overloads like these that had him coming back to this particular mech time and time again. Prowl was slag at the emotional aspects of a relationship, but Jazz wasn’t looking for shallow platitudes.

Jazz wanted his optical feedback to bluescreen.

Something about Prowl made him burn the brightest. His spark a signal-flare lighting up the darkest corners of the galaxy. Whether it was a sign that their spark-energy was compatible, or Primus’ wisdom granted them the perfect fit, or how similar they were down to the deepest of coding, Jazz didn’t question it. He just reaped the benefits of an overload no one else could give him.

Prowl remained steadily charging, venting harder and harder till the rhythm of his thrusts became uneven and harder, transferring black paint upon a black surface. Jazz’s calipers were nearly tight enough to hold his spike in place, and that last bit of resistance would have been enough to take him over the edge.

Jazz wouldn’t hold back – couldn’t. The surge of his spark spidered out from his core and burst over his sensory net. Every filament burned with sensation. Transfluid dripped between the seams of his sealed spike-housing. All systems that pushed towards the brink released their charge, and a wave of electricity danced over his plating. Sparks bridged between the gaps where him and Prowl were coupled.

But Prowl didn’t join him. Instead, he lost that build-up from the sound of a chime. A general message had dropped in his inbox, but he still had to fight his instinct to check. He let out a growling moan rife with frustration, grinding his denta as he pressed the front of his helm against the back of Jazz’s.

It was absolutely the wrong time to think of you.

Where were you? Were you safe while Prowl’s spike was deep into his Lieutenant’s clenching valve? Would you still call him friend if you knew he was like this? Would you be as curious about this as you were with everything else? What sort of activities were done with you behind closed doors – not that it was any of his business!

Prowl suddenly pulled out with a wet pop, and Jazz gasped at the sudden emptiness. The officer stepped back, pressing his palm to his chevron, willing for these random and intrusive thoughts to banish themselves. He didn’t need to be thinking of you, not like that.

His head snapped up at the sound of his keyboard clattering on the floor. Jazz reached over, knocking it off as he ripped out the connectors between the computer monitor and desktop screen. It went black. No more sound would filter through its speakers.

Jazz righted himself, rolling over to sit on the desk. He ignored Prowl’s grimace as lubrication fluids smeared on the surface. “Can’t focus?”

“Focusing on the wrong things.” He grunted out, “Damn it. Of all the times...”

“You really need to learn how to get outta that head of yours,” Jazz said. He crowded Prowl, backing him up to the chair. “Sit down.”

There was no teasing, no playful drawl, or seductive sway. It was an order. To punctuate his order, Jazz planted a servo on Prowl’s shoulder and pushed, encouraging him into his seat. He grunted as he sat down a little hard, then growled out a sigh as Jazz traced his digits up the length of his spike.

“Offline your optics.” Again, Jazz didn’t suggest or ask. He commanded.

“I don’t want to play games.”

“I ain’t playin’.” His hand trailed back down to the other section of Prowl’s interface array, tapping the panel to his valve. “Open up. Trust me.”

Trust. That’s what this was. An exchange of trust, of letting one’s guard down, if only for a moment.

Prowl let his covering shift away, tensing at the cool air that assaulted his often neglected anterior node. It wasn’t untouched for long as Jazz drew languid circles just above. Ever the competent partner, he didn’t attack on sight. He always knew to work up to it.

“Optics, Prowler. I want ‘em off.” Jazz knelt before him.

Prowl restrained a groan as the Spec-Ops Lieutenant used those dexterous servos to stroke his spike while thumbing around his valve’s opening. “For... For what purpose?”

“To focus on the feel of it. Promise, I won’t stretch any calipers. Now –" Jazz gripped Prowl’s spike in tandem with pressing on that sensitive node just above his valve. “ – Optics off.”

Prowl hesitated. This felt like a waste of time, but the charge under his plating demanded to be released. It was an annoyance, a nuisance, and had become more of a frustrating distraction that kept him from thinking straight. With a venting huff, he did as he was instructed.

And his fingers dug into the arm of the chair immediately.

There were a few times Prowl would let Jazz do those bawdy alien tricks, and this was one of those that had merit. The feel of a glossa laving over his anterior node was a whole different sensation compared to basic interfacing. Prowl had barely enough time to mute his vocalizer before barking out a sharp cry.

“Let me hear ya, Prowler.” Jazz purred, steadily stroking from tip to base. His other hand wasn’t idle as he worked in a digit, taking extra care not to overstretch the flexmesh before it was warmed up. “A little feedback is appreciated.”

Static laced Prowl’s words. “Your confidence doesn’t require feed – Nnngh!”

His sensory net was assaulted. Several major nodes were stimulated all at once. Jazz thumbed over the one just under the tip of his spike, swirled his glossa over the glassy bead of the anterior node while touching the interior sensor of his valve.

“Nah. I’d say I definitely require that kinda response.” That slick glossa paused from talking to flick over the tip of Prowl’s spike. “Sit back. Relax. Just let go for a bit.”

That was impossible for Prowl to do, but with how Jazz was working him back up, he might be able to let go. The thought of not controlling any situation, of not planning for the many outcomes, seemed a sure way to flood his sensors with anxiety. Right now, they trembled and quivered with a different kind of disquiet.

Prowl’s interface sensors absorbed every touch, every lick, every vent of atmo. Jazz squeezed his spike, pumping intermittently to keep the motions from being predictable. The saboteur’s mouth was pressed between the lips of his valve, switching up between glossa and digit. Nodes stimulated, then soothed. He never stayed in the same place overlong.

Jazz was good. He always was. He didn’t need to use his valve or spike to overload his partner, as Prowl experienced a softer kind of build-up – but softer didn’t mean weak. It was precise, like a sniper behind a well-placed nuke. With his vision receptors off, yellow and red-codes danced around his HUD, flickering and flashing like the control station of a crashing ship. It was slow, but the impact would be hard.

Prowl realized he was panting out moans when his hands ached from gripping the arms of his chair. He couldn’t mute himself in time, as his spark pulsed out one massive burst, sending fire over his circuits. His entire frame seized, his valve clenching down on writhing digits, his spike throbbing as transfluid generously roped out like some seedy back-alley alien film. His spark pulsed again, vibrating out another gush of pleasure over his sensory net.

There were no thoughts, here. Only the blinding white of nothing but gratification, of electricity licking between each filament of plate and plane. Every wire untwisted, every circuit board steamed, and hydraulics that were contracted finally expanded. A wave of calm washed in after this intense overload.

Prowl vented a punched-out little moan as Jazz slowly pulled his digits out. His vision fuzzed and flickered as his optics rebooted. Both embarrassment and guilty satisfaction vied to bend Prowl’s lips at the sight of his lubrication fluids on Jazz’s digits and mouth.

“Go clean up before someone walks in.”

Jazz smirked as he swiped under his bottom lip with a thumb. “I know the drill. Thirsty?”

“Yes.” Prowl went to stand. He was one of the few who could still function after an overload, but this session required a little time. His struts still trembled. Prowl frowned at the mess between his legs, and looked up at Jazz when he held out a cube. “... Thank you.”

Jazz gave a soft smile. Genuine. Not faked, or planned. Just a friendly smile reserved for those who were close to him. He pulled a chair up beside the desk, sitting and rummaging through one of the drawers to dig out a bolt of fabric. Wiping himself off, he spoke, “When your fine motors start functioning, fill my cube, would ya?”

Prowl continued to vent out the excess heat, nodding and stealing a few long draws of high-grade. He scooted his chair up, returning the favor of pouring his friend some fuel. “Where... Should I even ask where you learned that... trick with your glossa?”

“Earth.” Jazz handed over the cloth.

The officer’s movement hitched as he took it. His optics flickered, and he gave his head a quick shake as the thought of you blipped by. Prowl busied himself with cleaning up.

“And slightly on the topic of Earth, or one of its natives...” Jazz began, his vox rebooting and resetting. “I’m sure you’ve considered a strike team should slag hit the turbines.”

“I have.” Prowl didn’t look up. He finished with himself and went right to tidying his desk and reconnecting his computer.

“The twins would be good in a strike team.”

“If they follow orders.”

“I think they will.” Jazz lounged back, taking a swig from his cube. He planted his elbow on the desk, and a soft and knowing smile played on his lips. “Trust me.”

Prowl finally gave him a hard look. He snorted a vent and finally relaxed back in his seat with glass in hand. He didn’t jump to check the chime of an incoming generic message.

“I suppose I’ll take it under advisem*nt.”

Chapter 10: Voraciously Consumed

Chapter Text

“What did you use to do in order to remove the, uh, skeevers, initially?”

Henri flinched reflexively as Wheeljack glanced down at him a little too suddenly for his comfort. In all reality, Wheeljack just acknowledged him like any other, but it was hard to accept as every one of these aliens carried a kind of contempt for him. Every one of them. Henri could list the reasons why, the main one probably being that these machines naturally viewed humans as a lesser race – except this NBE was chummy with his best friend.

Well, used to be best friend. It was difficult for Henri to accept that these robots were offended on your behalf, and he saw it as a manipulation tactic to get you on their side – but Wheeljack? He wasn’t close to you; he was close to Alan. Alan more than likely griped to him about the things Henri had done, which felt the same as giving these murderous aliens more reasons to shoot his head off.

Still, Wheeljack was someone who would talk to Henri, instead of outright ignore him – which was preferable to being threatened.

“A complex molecular compound. The process is pretty grueling, but we always have a treatment ready because the elements are so difficult to find.” Holding up a finger, he explained, “There are only trace amounts of these deposits in certain asteroids and on a few planets. First, we take the phosphate mineral and speed up the cycle of converting it to phosphorus. We take that atom, add three electrons –"

“Its zinc-phosphide.” Alan deflated the Autobot’s ego. “It’s rat killer. Plain, simple, goddamn rat killer.”

Henri’s brows screwed together as he paused from tightening the straps of his gauntlets. He was unsurprisingly disturbed by the alien’s pride as Wheeljack pointed the same intellectual finger at the tattooed man. “Ah! But have you ever used it in its toxic, gaseous form?”

“No, because our rats don’t eat us, they eat the poison.” Alan snorted, turning on Henri to adjust his breastplate straps. He continued to say with an underlying laugh, “You really put the kill in overkill, man. Slow your roll.”

How the hell both you and Alan found friendship in aliens as strange and terrifying as these, Henri will never know. He gave the alien engineer a wary glance as Wheeljack tilted his head with amusem*nt, looking like he was mulling over the statement a few more times in his head before returning to task. Henri tested the suit’s maneuverability as Alan continued to tell off the mech without any hesitation.

“And don’t start patting yourself on the back. That gas you’re so proud of didn’t work. Didn’t I say something earlier along the lines of nah? I’m sure I used the power of nah –"

“Don’t you even. Your ‘nah’s have no bearing here.”

“You ignored the nah. I specifically said nah. All that sh*t was too convenient, and you ignored me. Humans call this a sh*tstorm, and I was the goddamn forecaster you ignored.”

“Primus, grant me strength to not smack this little organic off my table.” Wheeljack ducked his head lower, trying his best to bury himself in whatever he was typing on his computer.

“Do it. See what happens.”

The engineer vented out a sigh, ignoring him.

Alan shot Henri a victory grin. The blond was not amused. If anything, he was growing more and more nervous because all that alien had to do to end the harassment was to smack him off the table. You weren’t here to keep these robots in check – not that it did much for Bethany.

It was only a matter of time. How much longer would they put up with Alan and his smart-mouthed insults? How much did they dislike Henri, and what was stopping them from orchestrating an accident while you were away? Where was the point to when they would be no longer needed?

What if they found out the data Henri kept from them?

Data that terrified him. You were changed – or changing. You, a scientist, and one of the most rational people he used to know, decided to accept this mutation that could kill you if you weren’t careful. Now, it was appearing that the alien radiation was acting as a preservative, altering the half-life of your cellular composition.

To think of you living longer than an average human, becoming something else more unrecognizable than you already were, rattled Henri to the core. You couldn’t want this. You couldn’t want to live with these things, letting them use you. He kept the data for himself, secretly searching for a way to reverse everything these monsters had done.

The trick was, to remain ignored while he worked in the NBE’s laboratory. His palms always sweated when he carried the briefcase of floppy disks and files pertaining to his clandestine research. He tucked away behind Ratchet’s computer terminal whenever he needed to have his files exposed for an extended period of time. Henri nearly pissed himself when he heard Prowl arrive to the laboratory, and Ratchet tell him that ‘there was a problem.’

Instead of the news being about him, it was about you. Henri knew it. He just knew it. These things were going to be the death of you. Even if you were blind to it, Alan now had to of seen how dangerous these things were.

Dangerous, like the two aliens that just walked in – one of which threatened him over you.

“Yes, excellent.” Alan rubbed his gloved hands together, eyeing the stacks of metal boxes and crates the gunner twins brought in. Sunstreaker shot Henri a glare before setting his stack down. Sideswipe simply let his topple all over the table. The blond jumped, silently cursing himself for having such jittery nerves.

The yellow frontliner hovered over Wheeljack’s shoulder, reading the screen briefly before asking, “Is the cryogenic angle working?”

“It seemed to slow them down.” He vented a long, disappointed sigh. “But Omega’s processor is at a standstill. Any nanites are frozen with everything else. We just put it all on pause.”

Sideswipe started opening crates along with Alan, who was pulling out various firearms while humming with inappropriate excitement. Henri only started staring when the tech held up a metal box, singing, “da-da-Da-DAA!”

“So, what? You gonna keep Omega in cryo while the little fleshies go on in and wipe them all out?” The red mech held up a little human rifle between his fingers, frowning disappointedly.

No. Henri was not going to die because these aliens were too stupid – or didn’t care – to know his organic thresholds. He was not you, and therefore, he was disposable. He protested by asking, “You want us to enter temperatures cold enough to freeze metal in place? Just how protected in these suits do you think we are?”

Wheeljack straightened, setting his fists on his hips and glared at the man. “Protected enough, thanks to me. I spent orns on those suits till my optics crossed, and now you can withstand space for nearly two Earth-hours. You’re welcome, by the way.”

“It’s colder in the chamber.” Sunstreaker glanced at the computer screen, and then cast his disdained glare upon your Ex. “I say we send them in, anyways.”

“f*ck off, Sunny,” Alan said, followed by the distinct metal clacking of a magazine sliding into a pistol. “I don’t like you implying you want both of us as meat popsicles.”

“Right. Send the weakest one in, first. Cull the herd.”

“Thank you. You need to clarify more often, man. You want people to think you’re some asshole lookin’ to murder everyone?”

Sideswipe snorted a garbled laugh as his brother rolled his optics. Wheeljack sighed, “If only everyone was as civilized as you, Mr. Fairborne.”

“Damn straight. I’m a f*ckin’ gentle-sir.” He then moved to hold up a sub-machine gun with an approving quirk to his brow.

Henri’s eyes darted back and forth during the whole exchange, getting more and more heated till he clawed over his scalp. “I'm glad this is all fun and games for you guys, but maybe you should take this seriously for a change.”

Everything got quiet, save for the metal twang of latches unhinging as Alan opened a metal case. The blond met the golden gunner’s disgusted glare, like his words carried a foul smell. He directed himself to the tech, “You sure you want this one watching your back?”

Henri wanted redemption. He wanted forgiveness. He wanted another chance, but you made it absolutely, irrevocably clear that there was never going to be a second chance because of this creature. Everything was just between you and him – not them. Henri snapped, “I get the message! Everyone hates me – that’s fine! But everyone needs to get over themselves because what happened between Eve and I has nothing to do with any of you!”

Wheeljack’s typing hitched, then resumed as if he had no opinions on the matter. Sideswipe muttered, “You just now got the message?”

Sunstreaker stepped closer to the table, setting his hand beside him, and leaned in with that bright menace to his optics. “I decide whether it has anything to do with me or not.”

“Is that what you’d tell her? If she told you the same thing, is that what you’d say?”

He smirked. “She’s not here to say anything, let alone protect –"

“You’re right, she's not here, and whose fault is that?” Henri shouted, “Yours! You think I would have let her out in a warzone!? She’s missing because of you! This is your fault!”

The metal under Sunstreaker’s hand squealed as his fingers dug in. He gritted his teeth, his other hand moving up to snatch up the little man. Sideswipe quickly reached over and latched onto his brother’s arm, forcing it down against the table. The moment became very tense, very fast, as everyone just froze to look up at the two.

“Sunstreaker...” Wheeljack warned.

“I’m going to kill him,” He grounded out. “I can kill you, fleshling, and the only thing I would care about is the stain you’d leave on my plating.”

“You – you talk a big game.” Henri let out a shaky breath, trying to be as brave as Alan. His knees quivered as he stepped back.

“My brother has the hand I’d rather get dirty.” A calm, vaguely remorseless smirk crossed his face. “Easier to disassemble and clean out the gunk you’d leave behind.”

The following sound had Sunstreaker flinch. It was the unmistakable clack of a chamber sliding a bullet into place. He jerked his head to see Alan aiming a rifle up at the bot’s face. “Sunshine,” He said sing-song, “Your homicidal side is showing.”

“You got big bearings pointing that at me, Paint-Job.”

“I’m doing you a favor.” The man’s hold was steady, his eyes narrowed. “You better be just acting the part, and not actually considering...” Sideswipe’s optics flicked between Alan and Sunstreaker, who only responded with a glare. The tech clicked his tongue like a disapproving father. “Uh-uh. Not cool. I’ll tell you right now, she wouldn’t want this.”

“You don’t think he deserves it?” Sunstreaker snorted, turning his optics away. “You, of all people, don’t want some payback?”

“Dude, I got payback a hundred times over. It’s f*ckin’ hilarious watching him get picked on – but murdered? No, man. I’m not going to stand by and let that happen. That ain’t me, and Sunny, that shouldn’t be you.” He set the rifle down by his collection, not even sparing Henri a glance. “He ruined my life for some time, yeah, but I’m all good now. Who doesn’t want to be millions of light-years from the only home I ever knew?”

Wheeljack looked up at that, his optics flashing concern as Sunstreaker didn’t offer anything else, only wrenching his hand away from Sideswipe.

Alan turned to Henri. “And it’s not up to you when others decided to move on from what you did. These guys are her friends, and you hurt her, and everyone was dragged through that sh*t. You need to really get that through your thick skull. This is her family now, so how do you think family act when you wrong one of their own?”

Family. Sideswipe grinned at Sunstreaker, who had a smug smile of pride. Wheeljack beamed, appearing pleased with the man’s words.

“But I hate to tell ya tin-foiled f*ckers: this puddle of sh*t’s got a point.”

And all their expressions reversed.

“We gotta stop this petty f*ckery, and not because we’ve got somethin’ serious goin’ on. I don’t know if anyone noticed, Eve’s kinda moved on.” He waved a hand over the gunner twins. “As f*cked up as it may be.”

“Exactly, it is f*cked up.” Henri, unwisely, gave voice to his feelings. “How, how, is she seeing this robot? How could she be into something that’s not human?”

Sunstreaker only smirked. “She’s traded up. Who can blame her?”

“We got something you don’t.” Sideswipe snickered. “And she’s not complaining.”

Your Ex blinked, blanching. “Wait... both of you?”

“Like you only stuck with one? Remember, man, you don’t get to pass judgment.” Alan gesticulated in the mech’s direction. “They turn into Lamborghinis for Christ’s sake. Who wouldn’t want that?”

“Few of the galaxy,” Sunstreaker stole a moment to preen and bask in the universal truth.

Sideswipe fluttered a hand over his chest, feigning flattery. “Aww, you mean it?”

“Credit where it’s due.”

“Want me to introduce you to a few speedsters? Sportsters?” Sideswipe offered with a drawl, “There’s this place on Troja Major you might like...”

“Thanks but nah.” Alan waved him off casually. “I’m good.”

As they quipped back and forth, Henri was going through an internal crisis. Did he do this? Did he drive you to these aliens? They could kill you – like how that one wanted to kill him! Were they forcing you? Like how they forced you to go out in a warzone? Henri scrubbed his face, mortified at the possibility that his mistake caused your lapse in judgment. “Alan, you say they’re like family to her but they’re not. She’s missing because of them. We can't accept –"

“Ok, seriously: accept it,” The tech hit a louder volume. “Where the f*ck were you when she was getting zapped on a table at Sector Seven? You didn’t bust her out. They did. They were there before she started that necromancy bullsh*t. They were there when we were working on you. Their sh*t was gonna cure your brain-dead ass, but it can't cure stupid. These guys are our friends and they are trying to find her because she’s their friend. f*cking accept it!”

More and more, Henri slouched. His shoulders turned in, his back curled as his chest and stomach caved. His gaze couldn’t hold Alan’s intensity, and eventually focused on the ground as he lowered his head. His old friend packed a mean punch, but his words hit harder still. Henri made no indication of saying anything further, either in agreement or otherwise.

Alan took a moment to huff a few loud breaths through his nose. “It’s time to set your sh*t aside. Eve is out there, somewhere, and if we want Supersize-bot to help, we gotta fix him – so both of you, knock it the f*ck off. No more prodding the thing that can kill you, and no more threatening the thing with murder.”

“No promises.” Sunstreaker crossed his arms, turning away from Henri as the blond let out a long breath, trying to look anywhere else. Neither of them looked as if they would listen.

Alan growled out a huff, sitting back and stretching his neck from side to side. He threw an exhausted glance toward Sideswipe. The red gunner shrugged. A tense silence fell over the engineering lab.

“You should really get some rest, Mr. Faireborn,” Wheeljack piped up. He remained hunched over this little box he was working on. “Everything is frozen still, and Omega is not in any current danger. We’re all just waiting, now.”

“Yeah, funny thing ‘bout humans: we don’t have an off-switch where we can sleep whenever.”

“Kinda the same for us,” Sideswipe added. “How long you’ve been up?”

“Long enough for me to worry,” Wheeljack answered for Alan.

Henri made a face at that. He didn’t hide the suspicious lilt of his question. “Why do you want us to sleep so badly?”

“Because I read that humans need recharge? Because if Faireborn doesn’t get any rest, he gets irritable and sluggish? Don’t your people require sleep to function? I thought you were a physician of your species.” Wheeljack then turned his attention on Alan. “I told you, I’d let you know as soon as Prowl informed me of anything. He said he would.”

“Nerd-bot, even if I wanted to sleep, I can't. Just let me be here, okay?”

“Wait, Prowl’s actually keeping you informed?” Sideswipe asked.

“Yeah, in order to tell him.” The engineer tilted his head to indicate Alan.

“Must be nice,” Sunstreaker muttered.

“I still don’t understand why he sent one to search for her,” Henri said, and turned his judgment on Sunstreaker. “Why aren’t you going out there?”

Alan groaned, face in his hands, muttering about having to explain your Ex’s untimely demise to you.

The golden frontliner turned his head slowly, and Sideswipe set a staying hand on his brother’s shoulder. His focus remained on Sunstreaker, trying to keep him from doing anything that would upset you, or ruin their chance to be assigned to your side.

Wheeljack explained with a tinge of irritation, “There is a war going on, and to send a fleet will call attention to the person we don’t want our enemy learning about. Why do you think Prowl is trying to keep things quiet? The docks are locked down so no one can just take a shuttle. These two aren’t the only ones lookin’ to rush out.”

Sideswipe vented loudly. “I get why Prowl’s doing this, but he doesn’t understand that I can't just sit around and do nothing. We can’t. What if she’s hurt? What if she’s in trouble and needs help? What the hell are Sky Lynx and Cosmos going to do?”

“I know you guys think we’re weak as f*ck, but I would never use those words to describe her. She's a tough bitch. She’s smart, she’s capable, and she’s got experience in dealing with bullsh*t,” Alan spoke as he opened a different metal case and began fitting and screwing parts together. “And speaking from experience: you sit around worrying, you’ll drive yourself insane. You gotta do what you can.”

“And what are you little fleshies doing?” The red gunner had a slight sneer.

“Fixin’ one of ya’ll up so he can go blast some Decepti-bitches and bring my friend home,” Alan said. He didn’t flinch as much as Henri when Sunstreaker pulled over a chair and sat at the table, watching Alan continue to piece together this large firearm. He glanced his way. “You good, man?”

“No. I’m pissed that I have to sit here with all of you. I want to go out there, kill something, and bring her home; in that order,” Sunstreaker said, but his face kept a calm façade that was unnerving. “And your weapons are ridiculously tiny.”

“It’s not the size of the boat, but the impact of the cannon.”

“That’s not a boat. It’s a gun.” Sideswipe tilted his head. “You humans are so weird.”

Wheeljack finally left his computer with a small box in hand, stepping up beside Sunstreaker and setting it down before the tech. “Done. I’ve finally finished the smallest cryogenic containment case I’ve ever made. When you find one of these skeevers, place them in here, but...but...” He trailed off, leaning closer while his tone was comparable to a parent gently asking, “What do you have there, buddy?”

Alan yanked the gun’s stock back with a satisfying chuhh-chuuhk. “A semi-auto shotgun with slugs large enough to knock you on your big, metal asses.”

Wheeljack brought up his hands, fingers anxiously twitching as all he wanted to do was remove this weapon from someone like him. “Alan, no.”

“Alan, yes.”

{[T^T]}

Alan looked like he was about to enter a warzone. He had what should have been classified as a WMD strapped over his shoulder, an assault rifle fixed against his lower back, a smaller sub-machine gun holstered to his side, and a too-big pistol where he fixed a recoil dampener to the barrel.

Henri was given the responsibility of carrying the cryo-pack, only.

Amidst the dim, red-alarm lit fog blanketing the floor of this alien body, the blond took careful steps, staying close to the one-man army. He spoke loudly, unsure if he could hear through the helmet. “Alan?”

Alan flinched in response, motioning for him to lower his voice that blared over the helmet’s speakers. Alan didn’t acknowledge him further as he leaned in to inspect the frosted, cable-strewn wall. It was littered with chew marks. His fingers grazed over the gaps of missing pipes that were completely devoured.

Henri continued, “Thanks for sticking up for me back there.”

Alan snorted. “I didn’t. I took Sunny’s side.”

Offended, he scoffed, “He wanted to kill me. How were you on his side?”

“Because we all have moments of wanting to do something dumb as f*ck.” Alan resumed walking, pistol back in the firm grip of both hands. “He was about to do something stupid. Instead of letting him ruin whatever he’s got with Eve, I talked him down.”

“It’s so weird that you want them together.”

“I want her happy. There’s a difference.”

“Hey guys. Easy on the extra chatter.” Wheeljack chirped over the comm. and Henri jumped. He didn’t expect anyone else could hear their conversation. The mech asked, “Could you tell me what you see?”

Alan shot Henri an irritated glare and stalked along the way. “Visibility is sh*t, Nerd-bot. We got this fog from the thaw. Could we open him up and vent his inside into space?”

“I’d risk live skeevers infesting the station. If they’re surviving those temps, they’ll definitely survive outside,” the Autobot explained. “Have you seen anything at all?”

“Lots of damage,” Alan murmured, kneeling to wave away the fog. “If we get his little bugs up and running, will they be able to fix all this?”

“Yes and no. They might need materials. We’ll help out here and there.” Wheeljack’s tone shifted to slight urgency, “Please hurry. Everything is thawing and you only have so much time before the skeevers are completely mobile.”

“Boy, I ain’t seeing – GAH!” Alan nearly let out a manly yelp as the fog wafted away to reveal a little spider-robot.

“What?!” Both Henri and Wheeljack barked in his comm. His blond companion was already backing away.

“A little sh*t. A robot bug of some f*ckin’ kind.” He growled out a huff, emboldening himself to lean in for a closer look. “I got something that doesn’t look like our crabs.”

“What does it look like?”

Henri continued to keep a distance as he craned his neck to see. Alan nudged it with the end of his gun. “A different kind of crab.”

Wheeljack vented over the comm.

“Y’know, maybe more like a spider,” He described, “Smaller, boxy, eight little legs, a little flashlight head.”

“You found a nanite!” The engineer practically cheered. “Sounds like a generic worker. Is it damaged? Functioning?”

He picked it up by the body, turning it over and inspecting. “Dunno. No teeth marks. It’s either dead or frozen. Want me to bring it back?”

“Would you, please?”

Alan motioned Henri closer, handing it out for him. Repulsed, Henri carried it by its leg. They resumed along the corridor within this large maze of a mech, and the tattooed man continued to mumble comments in his comm. It was a mess, with debris scattered within the fog and large amounts of missing tech, wires, cables, and pipes along the walls – all voraciously consumed.

“Are these things smart?” Alan spoke up after a long beat of silence.

“Not incredibly. They have the basic drives of an organic: feed, breed, and survive,” Wheeljack answered.

He grounded his teeth. “How many cases of this began with the disabling of your...your immune system? Your nanites?”

Wheeljack was quiet long enough for Alan to glance back at a very concerned Henri. The Autobot finally responded, “None. You think it's coincidence?”

He dropped that atom bomb of a word, “Nah.”

Henri suddenly tripped and fell with a panicked yip. Alan whirled around, gun already aimed. The blond groaned and started to rise. “Sorry! Sorry, I stepped on something.”

“I should let Sunny punt you out the airlock for that!” He lowered his gun, panting and huffing the adrenaline out.

“Don’t tease, Paint-Job,” Sunstreaker’s voice came distantly over the comm., followed by Wheeljack protesting something about personal space, and the distinct metal on metal clank as one shoved the other away.

Henri went to close the distance between him and the armed man, only to kick something. Alan steeled himself as he wanted nothing more than to jump at the feeling of something tapping his ankle. He growled out that fear, trying to turn it into anger. “Pick up your f*cking feet, Arkeville, or I swear to God, I’ll let that Canary Bastard live out his murder fantasy. I’ll even help cover it all up.”

“Could you stop yelling at me?” Henri shuttered out a breath. “I’m about to have a heart attack. There's stuff all over the floor – what is this all?”

Alan rolled the anxiety out of his shoulders before squatting and fanning away the fog once again. He found a sphere sitting by his boot and mused, “Looks like Big-bot lost his balls.”

The physician turned pack-mule clicked his tongue. “Is this the maturity level we’re on right now? Genital jokes?”

Alan continued to fan the area around him, clearing out more and more to reveal several of these metal orbs. Henri eventually followed suit. “Christ, they’re everywhere.”

“What? What are?” Wheeljack had finally returned his attention to listening in.

“Nerd-bot, we’re in shaft three-twenty-one, and whatever balls Big O had is all over the place.” Alan picked up the one that was kicked, testing the weight. It was a little larger than a basketball, and light enough for him to hold easily with one hand. He set it back down and let it roll away.

“I’m sorry, balls?”

For a man with such steady hands and med-book intellect, Alan always suspected Henri of being absolutely useless in most scenarios. This current situation ticked the box as the man stumbled again over a smaller one, and it wasn’t even veiled by fog. Alan groaned, shaking his head disapprovingly as it rolled his way. He answered the waiting mech, “Nuts? Ball-bearings. You have those, right?”

“Now you’re just being lewd.”

Alan picked up the sphere, spotting a small crack. He scolded Henri, “Look at what you did. You done broke it. You busted O-boys...” He watched as a crack splintered from the first, then another, then another...

Alan breathed, “The hell...?”

It made a noise. It sounded like a cicada on the hottest summer day mixed with that infamous rattle of a Diamondback snake. It was garbled and slow, as if waking up.

Warming up.

His hand was warming it up.

“Faireborn,” Wheeljack chimed in with uncertainty. “Whatever you were talking about, you – what am I hearing?"

The thing opened up like those little isopods, rollie-pollies, pill-bugs, whatever! He got a good look at that narrow rat face as it emerged with all its needle-sharp legs moving slowly in waves. The tech never played baseball as a kid, but you couldn’t deny the skill of that pitch as he fast-balled it against the wall.

“Found them! Found the crabs!”

The smaller one shrilled and cried before falling motionless. Henri started screaming. All around them, like a slow-motion horror film, these orbs began splitting open. Alan brought up his gun, aiming at one, then another, then another. He forwent the idea of using up ammunition as he bolted for the blond. He picked up one of these creatures, forcing a frantic Henri to turn, and shoved it in the cryo-pack.

“Wheeljack! Turn the freezer on!”

“Are you crazy?! You’re in him!”

Alan started running, death grip on Henri’s arm. “It’ll take time to chill the whole room – they’re moving now! Turn it on!”

“You won’t get out before you freeze to death, your suit –!"

“We’re running! Turn it the f*ck on!”

Henri began cursing and praying all at once as the VI announced: Cryogenic system activated. Alan’s eyes darted from where he was going, to those little creatures littering the floor. They were uncurling like metal armadillos, little stabby legs struggling to roll themselves over as they were stuck on their backs – but the noise. It was a cacophony of nightmares, echoing off the walls in this continuous hellish shriek. Alan didn’t realize he was chanting obscenities the entire way. He also couldn’t make out what Wheeljack was yelling.

Alan was focused. He needed to remember the way out. He needed to keep from tripping on these things. He needed to keep Henri from falling behind. He needed to run fast enough to beat the impending freeze. He needed to complete this mission and get one step closer to helping you.

Alan felt the cold through his suit, and he knew he was getting closer to the exit. He raced down the long corridor leading to the open hatch – open? It was supposed to be closed! To keep in the infestation! He pushed through the burning in his legs and lungs, needing to beat whatever could make its way outside.

Sunstreaker peeked in, rushing them along, more than likely being the one who opened the hatch. Alan yelled in relief, bolting out of Omega with Henri in tow. They both fell to their knees, the heavy impact of cold hit them like a solid wall. The tech rolled over on his backside to watch the Autobot slam and latch the hatch shut.

Tink. The glass faceplate on his helmet cracked.

“f*ck! Suh – Sunny!”

Sunstreaker did not hesitate to transform, racing up to the two. Alan dragged Henri to his feet, shoving him in the car as the crack began to hairline out. He was hardly seated before the Lamborghini you were so fond of pealed its tires and took off down the causeway. The hangar door opened just high enough to allow the car to drive through, and Sideswipe slapped the button to close it as soon as they were clear.

The vehicle continued to race down the hall, and Alan finally settled in the seat, gingerly touching the crack on his faceplate. He was finally able to slow his wheezing. “Thanks, man.”

“No paint off my chassis.” Sunstreaker chuckled all around them. “We all have moments of wanting to do something dumb as f*ck.”

“Yeah, you could have been infected, or turned into a metal popsicle.”

“And you could have been used as a reproductive vessel. Besides, Bossy Femme would be awfully sad if she lost her favorite person.”

Alan preened, “I am her fave– wait, used as a what!?”

“Joking.” Sunstreaker hummed, “I’m her favorite.”

He snorted, glancing over at Henri. His glance turned into a stare as your Ex eyed the gearstick in the middle of the console with an unrelenting amount of suspicion. Alan reached over and slapped his chestplate, breaking him from his fixation. The tech answered Henri’s pinched face with one word.

“Perv.”

Chapter 11: Strike and Debilitate

Chapter Text

“You never said they could transform, Nerd-bot! I don’t like surprises!”

“It’s true, surprise parties make him hostile,” Henri confirmed.

Wheeljack hovered over the quarantined specimen within its semi-cryogenic confines. “They never did,” He said, barely looking up as the skeever wriggled sluggishly, unable to fight the prodding of the investigative equipment.

“How about noise? Did they make noise?” The physician asked as Alan started pacing.

“I believe so. They used it for organic purposes, like calling for a mate, sending a warning, calling for help –"

“They were screaming,” Alan cut him off. “All of them at once. I’m going to hear it in my sleep – if I can even f*cking sleep!”

That made Wheeljack look up from his work, optics creased with worry. “Are-are you alright? I can call Wrung –"

“No, I'm not all-f*cking-right!” His hands shook as he tried to light a cigarette. He couldn’t get the lighter to spark and chucked it across the lab with a yell. “Ahh! You guys and your f*ckin’ space crabs! My best friend is missing in space! And –"

“And Omega has suffered more damage when those things got thawed. He’s in emergency shutdown mode,” Sunstreaker added from across the room, looking over the Sentinel’s data.

“And Omega is in f*cking shutdown!” Alan yelled, then reeled and wearily asked, “And what does that mean?”

Wheeljack explained while continuing his dissection, “It means many sections of him are sealed, like a ship experiencing a hull breach. It’s a way to try to contain the problem, and it would be feasible if there were enough immuno-nanites to fight them off.”

Alan pinched the bridge of his nose, taking deep breaths. “So if we want to go back in, we’re lookin’ at locked doors.”

“They can be manually overridden, but –"

“Go back in there?!” Henri shrieked, “No! Are you insane?! No! I’m not doing that again! I could have died! Those things could have killed me!”

“Living the dream,” Sunstreaker muttered.

Alan raked his hand down his face. “Man, I am not in the f*ckin’ mood. I was right there with you and you don’t hear me bitching.”

“You kinda are,” The golden mech murmured.

The doors opened and a new arrival stepped in the engineer’s laboratory. The room hushed as all eyes and optics – save a focused Wheeljack – turned to Prowl expectantly. He froze, seeming a little taken aback by how everyone just fixated on him. Sideswipe came in from behind Prowl, looking between everyone like he was a bystander in a Western Standoff.

“Wheeljack called him,” Sideswipe said slowly, at first. “No news. I already asked.”

“More like yelled from down the hall,” Prowl corrected in a mutter. “But no, I have not received any updates.”

Sunstreaker, Alan, and Henri visibly sagged. Wheeljack perked up, noticing Prowl for the first time. “Good. You’re here. Come look at this.”

Prowl came around the table and shouldered up beside Wheeljack, squinting at the little creature. “What is that?”

“It’s the stuff of nightmares,” Alan murmured.

“It was a skeever, but not anymore.” Wheeljack said, then grumbled, “As Mr. Faireborn so humbly pointed out, these underwent upgrades. They no longer are susceptible to zinc-phosphide. Most of their biology had been removed and replaced with tech.”

“You’re saying the ‘Cons spent time in a lab creating a new nano-parasite,” Sunstreaker said, more than asked. “That they attacked and deliberately infected Omega with it, while also carrying on an assault on the Thymesis Energon Mine on Luna Two.”

“And now the Trion’s unresponsive,” Sideswipe added quietly.

“Is this as bad as it sounds?” Alan asked loudly. “Can't be just me.”

“It’s not just you,” Prowl growled out. “Wheeljack, tell me you have a way to counter this.”

“I’ll need more time. You can't rush science.” He looked up with a pleased radiance to his optics. “But in this case, I’m in a hurry. I’ve got good news, but loads of bad.”

“Let’s hear it.” Alan waved him on. “Bad news first.”

“With these upgrades, they also received downgrades. Their processors were altered from individual drives into a hive-mind type, and it turned out to be a genius move. Not only does the queen lay several eggs, but she alone has the dominant programming that sends signals to the drones. That program includes eliminating any threats, such as the production of nanites, and fortifying defenses, like triggering the shutdown protocol. They have become more organized and slightly smarter but in a limited capacity.”

The room was quiet. Henri yelped, “I’m sorry, you said there was good news?”

Alan said, “I, too, am very f*ckin’ curious where this so-called ‘good news’ fits in. Do continue.”

“Well, I’m not done with the bad news, yet.” Wheeljack held up a digit. “Because of their new makeup, we have a way to counteract the infestation, but we are nowhere near any planets containing dihydrogen monoxide.”

“You’re joking,” Prowl nearly gaped. “They’ve been spliced with scraplets?”

“Undoubtedly. I’d recognize the tech, anywhere.”

“Di-mono what?” Alan groaned. “I am too tired to keep up. Someone explain this sh*t to me.”

“Water,” Sunstreaker informed, “Scraplets are very susceptible to water.”

“That’s the good news!” Wheeljack said with misplaced cheer. “We have a solution! We flush Omega’s systems with water, and so long as it hits the breeding queen, it should work to cull their numbers.”

“Except you don’t have any water,” Henri said. “It would take too long to get to Earth. Are there any planets near –?"

“We got water!” Alan threw up his hands, waving to get Prowl’s attention. “We got gallons right here!”

“For us!” Henri protested.

“How much we got, Fuzz-bot?”

Prowl tilted his head for a moment, mentally reviewing his data out loud before denoting a simple answer. “The amount of water on this station was stored to support roughly five hundred organics for over the course of a little less than two stellar cycles –"

“How. Many,” Alan asked, slow and edged, “f*cking. Gallons?”

The Autobot glared a moment before answering, “Roughly under five million of your small measurement system”

The tattooed tech turned on Wheeljack. “Wouldn’t that be enough?”

Wheeljack scoffed, “Are you serious? Omega Supreme has to be over eighty million cubic feet! We’ll need...like, six trillion gallons of water!”

“Alan!” Henri continued to argue, “We need that water!”

“For f*ck’s sake!” He bellowed, “Are you all f*ckin’ stupid?” He then pointed back at the yellow gunner. “Except you. You gettin’ me?”

Sunstreaker crossed his arms casually. “You don’t need to flood his whole system, just where the queen is holed up.”

“Easy,” Sideswipe added. “Find the queen, hose ‘em down.”

“Thank you!” Alan spread his wingspan as if a magician about to perform. “Allow me to demonstrate why I’m the best. One, Henri, f*ck off. We fix up Omega, and we’ll drive by Earth and drop you in the f*ckin’ ocean so you get your water. Two, Wheeljack, you said hive-mind. That means it gets a signal from the queen bee, yeah?”

“...Yeah.”

“Use that little sh*t-crab to see where the signal is comin’ and going. We locate that bitch, find and open the best route in his frame, and flood the way.”

Wheeljack immediately started working at his console. “It’s a sound plan, but what about the rest? The hive may be able to live without the queen.”

“Nanites can survive water, right? We get them up and running, and we keep flushing his system with what we have. Pumpin’ and suckin’.” He co*cked a brow at Prowl. “I’m sure you know what I mean.”

“Are you...insulting me?” The Officer scowled.

“What about the seals?” Sideswipe asked. “You can't warm Omega’s nanites without warming the scraplets.”

“They’re not opening the doors. I am.” Alan shot back without hesitation. “We’re going in and disabling them manually.”

“We?!” Henri squawked, “I said I'm not going back –!"

Alan stormed up to him, finger in his face. “You go on about how no one did sh*t to keep Eve safe, that they sent her out to a warzone – but you doing nothing is you leaving her out in that warzone. If she’s in trouble, the bots might need Omega to f*ck someone’s day. It’s time to step up. Are you coming with me or not?”

Henri balked, shying away a moment before nodding slowly. “I-I’m...yeh-Yeah...I’m with you...”

“No matter what, Wheeljack has to raise the temp. Those things could be active enough to want a nibble of that exo-suit.” Sunstreaker leaned over the table, looking down at Alan. “Can you handle that without springing a leak?”

“Pointy end in the bad guy, not hard.” Alan nodded his head towards the collection of guns.

“Oh Primus,” Sideswipe muttered. “Again, those are guns.”

Alan ignored the clueless bot. “And we keep things as cold as we can stand till we get a way open. We only warm things up so the water flushing through doesn’t freeze.”

“Yes, of course!” Wheeljack cried, “Faireborn! You are a fantastic scientist!”

“Bitch, I’m an engineer.”

“I’ll need to finish my research on the hybrid, find a way to track the signal, see if I can tweak your suit’s thresholds, and get my team on creating a system to flush and pump water.” Wheeljack went right back to work. “I’ll need some time to get everything together, but it can be done.”

“Put a rush on it. This is your only priority as of now,” Prowl said as he rounded back around the counter, leaving Wheeljack’s side. He stepped up to face the two gunners. “Sunstreaker. Sideswipe. A word.”

“Your office?” Sideswipe asked, and there was a mocking drawl under it all.

“Here.”

“Ohh ho, what’d you two do, now?” Alan coughed out a laugh, attempting to light a cigarette with a match this time.

“I want to offer a gesture of good faith: an apology, of sorts,” Prowl said. Alan jolted, looking up at the mech incredulously. Prowl shot him a pointed glare while saying to the twins, “And I want to speak here, uninterrupted.”

Sunstreaker’s optics regarded him warily. “With witnesses to jump in in case your apology doesn’t go well.”

“As if that has stopped you in the past,” Prowl volleyed. “But I have every confidence you’ll restrain yourselves. If you don’t, you’ll break something of Wheeljack’s.”

“Or us,” Henri said to Alan, gesturing to the mechs as if this was a prime example of them not caring for the humans’ welfare.

“What have I done to you? Don’t bring me into this. You – ugh, I’m too busy to referee any of you.” Wheeljack’s head remained buried in his task, and he gave a flick of a dismissive servo. “Fight on that side of the lab.”

Sunstreaker leaned back, resting his hip against the table the men sat on, deliberately. Alan watched on with an unfazed, tired gaze as he reclined back on his elbows. Henri looked fit to scramble to his feet and take a leap to safety and risk a shattered ankle. Sideswipe stood, arms loose at his sides, already primed to get physical.

Prowl took a brief second to take in their expressions, postures, and likeliness to get aggressive. He retained a professional stance, servos clasped behind his back as he spoke. “We can waste time spouting transgressions and comparing faults, but we gain much more coming to an agreement.”

“And what agreement is that?”Sunstreaker asked with intentional disinterest.

“That we care for Doctor Morgan much more than we want to admit.”

Everyone was on pause, taking a small mental hiatus to process what they just heard. Even Wheeljack looked up from his dissection for a brief minute before resuming. Henri looked the most offended. His mouth opened and closed, pushing himself up to declare whatever would increase his chances of getting backhanded off the table.

Alan sat up from being prone. He was obviously interested and shook by what was said, but mostly he reached for Henri’s suit and yanked him back down. Alan held a finger to his lips when Henri turned to him to complain, and whispered, “Shut the f*ck up.”

“Our ways are different, but our goals are similar,” Prowl continued, “I failed to take into account that events have shaped us into something we cannot recognize. Despite what I thought I knew, you do possess the capability to care deeply for another, and I... it was pointed out to me that I, too, have changed.”

“Jazz talk to you?” Sideswipe asked with a quirked lip.

“He has a way of... of bringing things into perspective,” Prowl said slowly. “I want to express my genuine attempt at acceptance, but ask for patience on my hesitancy. If Doctor Morgan wishes to continue this relationship, then I will respect it.”

“She does,” Sideswipe argued on your behalf. “She absolutely does. We’ve been trying to tell you but you don’t believe us.”

“It’s not a matter of trust, but of confirmation.” Prowl said, “I want to hear it from her.”

“All the more reason to get her on the line,” Sunstreaker said. He shot his brother a brief glance that said everything, but nothing to those on the outside. Jazz may have found a way to make Prowl a little more pliant, but that didn’t mean the twins were expected to come to the table empty-handed. Sunstreaker held out his servo in the human gesture of solidarity. “And we understand why you’d be hesitant.”

“We do?” Sideswipe chirped.

Sunstreaker continued, “We were wrong about you.”

“We were?”

“We believed you were protecting someone you wanted to control, not someone who you… actually like. We’ll show you that we can do the job of Guardian, and we are no threat to her.” Sunstreaker added with a small smirk, “but maybe a minor threat to you.”

“I used the word ‘change’ loosely. Insubordination is still hard-coded in your frames.” Prowl clasped Sunstreaker’s servo and nodded sharply. He offered the same to Sideswipe, who gave a quick pump. “But you’ve already proven yourself with these ones that you’re a reliable protector. I want to trust you’ll do the same with her.”

“Protector?” Henri blurted, pointing at Sunstreaker. “Them? He threatened me – threatened to kill me.”

Prowl turned his inquiring optics on the two. Sunstreaker crossed his arms and defended himself with the weakest argument to date. “He’s annoying. I may be perfect, but I’m not a Prime.”

“I stopped him,” Sideswipe offered as a better defense. “And we’re twin-sparked. Wouldn’t that, like, cancel it out? As if it never happened?”

“That’s not how it works,” Wheeljack chimed in.

“No one asked you.”

“Attempted murder doesn’t cancel out!” Henri snapped.

“No one asked you, either,” Sideswipe shot back.

Prowl cradled the bridge of his nose in that very human expression of being fed-up. He looked like he wanted to try and give the frontliners a chance, but seemed very doubtful. It was only when Alan dropped an explosion of a statement.

“None of you were there when she hit rock bottom.” Alan pointed at Henri, then held it up to silently keep him from spouting another word. Alan continued, “It wasn’t like what I went through. She changed after your accident, man. She didn’t drown herself in booze, she drowned herself in work. She blamed herself for years and became a walking shell of what she used to be. Do you know what that’s like? To see your friend look at you, but not really look at you?”

Henri went to speak, and Alan reiterated his suggestion to stay quiet by cutting his hand across the space between them. “She didn’t want anyone touching her. I couldn’t even put my hand on her shoulder without her moving away. No one could fix it. It was only when she met these guys that I started seeing her smile, again. It was because of that Corn-Colored Asshole that I started seeing my friend come back.”

Sunstreaker scowled at the nickname. Sideswipe tried to mute a snicker. Prowl watched with interest as the tattooed tech shared his perspective. Alan turned to Prowl.

“Nobody is in the right, here. They hate each other. Henri doesn’t understand, no matter how much I explain to him, that Eve really cares about you guys. Sunny – I dunno. Maybe he’s just lookin’ for a reason to axe her Ex –"

“I’m not that petty,” Sunstreaker murmured.

“ – But I’m sure he won’t do it, again. He knows what’s on the line. Teachable moment.”

Henri looked hurt, but Alan couldn’t place from exactly what. He doubted his words had sunk in, and that his advocating for the alien that wanted to treat him like a ketchup packet made him feel betrayed. Either way, Alan made no indication he gave a damn.

Prowl took the few moments of silence to contemplate, although his decision wasn’t swayed, even after Henri confirmed that Sunstreaker hadn’t changed that much. The little man was annoying. Prowl had to restrain himself a few times from putting him under a box and just walking away.

“Your input is noted,” Prowl said to Alan, then turned to Sunstreaker. “Consider this your formal warning. Do not harm the organics, no matter how much they bleat at you.”

Sunstreaker rolled his optics aside, sighing out, “I’ll try my best.”

“And continue to keep your spark-twin in line.”

“I’ll try my best,” Sideswipe echoed with a grumble.

Alan plopped back down on the table’s surface with a grunt, slouching and rubbing his face. He ignored Henri silently joining him, hugging himself and looking defeated – defeated wasn’t the right word. Something of what was said stuck and continued to burrow under his skin.

“Mr. Faireborn.”

The tattooed man looked up at Prowl, not even having the energy to look surprised at being addressed so politely.

“You look unfit to carry on. Go to your quarters and see to yourself. I will inform you as soon as I hear something.”

“Can’t sleep,” Alan admitted. “Between those f*cking crabs screaming, to worrying ‘bout Eve, I can’t stay asleep.”

“Figure it out. I need you alert and functioning optimally,” Prowl said and then turned a sharp gaze on Henri. “You’re a physician, aren’t you? Find a way to treat him. That’s an order. Sunstreaker, Sideswipe: make sure to get them to their quarters. We’re not having humans expire from lack of oversight.”

Prowl didn’t wait for a confirmation as he turned on heel and marched straight out. Sunstreaker didn’t make a move, but Sideswipe came in and hovered over the two. “You heard ‘em. Nap time for the lil’ bitlets.”

Alan let out a great sigh, eyes rolling over to look at Henri. “Got any good drugs back at the clinic?”

“Plenty,” Henri murmured, his own thoughts clouding his gaze. “Plenty for the both of us.”

[T^T]

Meanwhile...

“Hey – hey! Don’t recharge, yet.”

Drift’s optics onlined, finding Hot Rod’s face in his visuals. The fellow speedster smiled uneasily.

“There you are. C’mon, I need you to stay on a little while longer.” Hot Rod hovered over his body. “Can you run a damage report? Did I seal the hole?”

Drift glanced down at his abdomen, looking at the worst weld job he had ever seen, and that’s saying something. Decepticons weren’t known for their great repair work. His helm clanked back on the floor as he stared up at the ceiling, taking in the damage report on his internal display.

“Yeah. You did. Thank you.”

“You sure? We don’t want to get that bulkhead open just for it to snuff your spark.”

“I’m sure.” Drift turned his head just enough to see Kup and Perceptor at the door. The panel was open, the wires hanging out. “But I don’t think its opening, anytime soon.”

“Not without power, it’s not.” Mirage had stepped up and took a seat beside him. He was covered in oil, grease, and scuffs. “I’ve done everything I could. I don’t know what all they did, but everything is shot. Not even the backup is responding. They’ve disabled everything.”

“Fraggin’ ‘Cons,” Hot Rod cursed. He gave Drift a pat. “Any advice?”

It had been days, but Drift wasn’t sure how many. He was in and out of stasis, having suffered two gunshot wounds and a major loss of energon. The only thing he could offer right now was advice. “It’s a standard ‘strike and debilitate’ to leave a ship completely inoperable. Usually, though, no one is left alive. The goal is to turn the ship to scrap.”

“Still waiting to hear the advice part.”

“This isn’t working!” Blurr said from the communications terminal. Blaster held up his servos to try and calm him. Wires were plugged into his boxy frame, his biolights dim from excessive use of energy. Blurr argued, “You’re not built for long-range communications. We can’t reach anyone. You’re going to run out of fuel if we keep trying.”

“I’m good, my mech, I’m good,” Blaster assured with a smile. “Keep tryin’. We’ll pick up one of ours when they get close, enough. Just keep on.”

Drift frowned, watching the exchange. He finally answered Hot Rod. “There is no advice. There’s only hope.”

A bang struck the hull door. Perceptor and Kup backed away, grabbing what weapons they could, as all of theirs had been taken. Everyone shot to their feet, or at least tried to. Hot Rod stopped Drift from getting up, taking his place to defend him, despite only having one working arm.

“Places, soldiers,” Kup ordered. “We knew this would happen. The ‘Cons are back t’ finish the job.”

“At least there’s someone to open the door.” Mirage said as he vanished beside Hot Rod.

There was another hit to the metal, and then nothing. Everyone waited, listening for whatever was on the other side.

Knocking came from behind. Few of the mechs yelled. One of them let out a sharp cry. Through the helm’s window, the visage of the Autobrand greeted them warmly.

Cosmos floated at the window, the thrusters on his heels looked warped from heat, but remained functioning. He said over Blaster’s internal Autobot Radio, “You got a hole in the side of your ship. Rough day?”

Kup marched up to Blaster, yelling into his speaker and making him wince. “This ain’t no time for jokes. Ship’s been dead for days! The ‘Cons got the Herald! We gotta get a message to Prime!”

“No...” Somehow, Cosmos’ floating frame managed to bow in. “Uh, uh, Sky Lynx! Lynxy, you read me? Get to my location. Hurry!”

Chapter 12: Light of the Dying Star

Chapter Text

All the readings on the monitors showed you were still alive, but you did not respond to simple queries as you once had. You seemed damaged.

Flatline nearly leaked oil. He was tasked to keep you functioning, but every day felt like a losing battle. He had Shockwave’s experiments to contend with, and he just knew if that mad scientist offlined you, Flatline would somehow be held responsible.

The Decepticon medic had no idea how to keep you healthy, and no one would help him.

“There is no feasible way to extract its ability, or to render it incapable of thought above a service drone,” Shockwave said, and it seemed his words stirred a full-bodied twitch from you.

Your eyes shot open as Flatline tapped on your glass containment. He hoped to rouse you more, but you only curled in on yourself, hugging your arms close to your chest. Shockwave’s words continued to cause a physical response – as if you could roll up into a ball any more than you already have.

“I must submit my report to Megatron. We will keep the asset as is.” Shockwave’s heavy footfalls announced his leaving. “It is deteriorating. Do what was tasked to you, and keep it from perishing.”

“But –!" Flatline barked. The door was already opened and closed, leaving him alone in the lab with a barely coherent you. He grumbled, “You put it in this state, you son of a glitch – hey! How do I fix you?”

You realized he was talking to you. Your throat and mouth were dry. Words still jittered around like jolts of electricity. The basic needs of survival cropped up, like water, food, and warmth. Every thought left you as the medic opened your pressurized glass case, venting out your oxygen. Adrenaline surged, waking your entire battered body as you gasped for air.

Flatline had enough knowledge to give you an oxygen tank – one of the little ones that you used in Perceptor’s lab. Eking out the remnants of your strength, you twisted the knob and fixed on the mask. You sucked in a few greedy breaths, looking up in time to see Flatline preparing another container. You managed to tangle the strap of the small tank around your arm before he lifted you from your mucky confines.

The Decepticon medic cringed. “Disgusting. Did you have to purge on yourself and lay in it? Organics are so filthy.”

You didn’t much have a choice. No one gave you a bucket, and certainly no one asked if you could stomach whatever the hell they were feeding you.

“This is ridiculous. The Autobots had to have more to keep something as high maintenance as you functioning.” Flatline set you into the newer container and fixed on a lid, in case you were the type to jump out. He looked you over, unaware that most of what was on your skin was dried and coagulated blood. All he saw was the most unfortunate job to date.

Flatline lifted your glass box, giving it a little shake. “Hey! You talked fine, before. Tell me how to keep you working.”

Words still came out in a garble. Your tongue wasn’t doing what your brain wanted, and even then, the basic ability to even think in proper sentence format was a challenge. Words were hard. Air was good. Body hurt. Want home. Cold. Sleep.

You didn’t think whatever experiments Shockwave put you through caused neural damage, but you couldn’t disprove it, either. You thought of the bed in that dream-simulation you had escaped, and nearly wished to be back there. You were so tired. You felt so weak. If you didn’t die of starvation, you certainly would freeze to death.

You gave up the effort of communicating with the Decepticon and turned your head to the side and closed your eyes.

Flatline groused, carrying you back to the medbay, complaining how he was not the mech for the job. He had no idea what you needed, or how to maintain an organic life form, and he certainly didn’t want you dying under his watch. Especially now, since this ability of yours was well and truly yours. Your value had increased tenfold in a matter of klicks.

He entered the busy medbay where more bodies were being prepped for revival, and the medic didn’t have the manifolds to stop them. After you reignited the spark of the big triple-changing berserker, it was like a switch was flipped. Decepticons were coming together, volunteering in the medical wing to repair their comrades-in-arms. There was celebration, and when Decepticons got hopeful, they were also quick to pull the trigger on anyone who killed that hope.

Flatline couldn’t tell anyone how rapidly you declined, lest he be the victim of a blaster hole in the chassis. You warbled incoherently, but he didn’t understand what you asked for. You spoke so clearly to Soundwave. Perhaps your vocal unit was scrambled, as your fragile little frame probably didn’t take well to Shockwave’s testing.

He opened the lid to your confines, raking his clinical gaze over you one last time, hoping for some kind of clue to make itself known. Decepticons were more versed in exterminating organics than healing them. Frustrated, he set your glass confines on his desk a little harshly, keeping the lid off so you could air out.

You would definitely freeze to death like this.

Flatline sat down at his computer. He needed to compile a message to Megatron and tell him that his best medic could not find a way to preserve the fading creature. Then, Flatline would prepare himself to be executed. Or maybe he could just leave. He could go steal a shuttle and go join up with a fringe group, like Lockdown’s crew, or Deathasaurus, or maybe Bludgeon if he was done with that whole spark-experimentation nonsense.

Instead, the perfect procrastination walked right in and lingered by his desk.

Flatline vented out a bothered sigh, still trying to stay focused on what he should do. “What do you want, Skywarp? You’ve been cleared. Get out of my medbay.”

“Starscream sent me to check on the Herald.” The familiar purple, black, and gray mech spotted your little cube, and he leaned over to get a closer look. “And I wanted to see her for myself...hmm, tiny.”

You felt the dull warmth of his venting hum and stirred. Your eyes fluttered open to take in this purple and black blur of a form. You didn’t move – or couldn’t – as he reached in to prod. You barely felt his finger on your skin, but felt the movement of when he jostled you.

Dried blood flaked off. Skywarp retracted, checked his digit, and gave it a flick. His red glare averted up as he accused the medic, “What is she covered in? What's wrong with her? Is she being cared for?”

“What do you mean cared for? I don’t have the means to support an organic and Shockwave’s experiments had given me nothing – nothing but an ache in my helm! I don’t know if it’s recharging, or dying.” Flatline waved him off. “Get out. I have to find a way to report this to Megatron and accept that I’m practically begging to be dismantled.”

“What if you don’t have to?” Skywarp drawled. He casually leaned back over and gave your container a curious wiggle to get something out of you.

That had Flatline’s attention. “I’m listening.”

You would have fallen asleep if it wasn’t for Skywarp prodding at you, again. He tried to roll you from side to side, to get a better look at you, but you curled up into a defensive ball. You tried your best to follow the conversation, but all you could think of was how you couldn’t feel your feet. What were the symptoms of frostbite, again?

“Why don’t I take her,” Skywarp offered. “Starscream got his servos on the Autobot supplies, and he thinks some of them may be for her. How about I take her off your servos and get her working again? You won’t have to worry, and Megatron will never know how his Chief Medical Officer couldn’t even keep a measly little organic alive.” He gestured to the computer terminal with his free hand. “Unless you want to admit you killed our only asset to reviving our soldiers.”

“And how do you know what to do?” The medic bristled. “Why don’t you give me the supplies and I’ll keep it?”

“Oh, sure. Go ahead and ask Starscream. I’m sure he’ll hand it right over. You think she’s got the time to wait for my Commander to give it up?” The jet retracted his hand from you to plant his fists on his hips. “Which would you rather do? Hand over the job, or tell Megs you screwed up? There’s no in-between.”

Flatline didn’t answer, mumbling and grumbling to himself as he looked aside. Skywarp let him mull it over as he leaned over your glass cage, his nose scrunching.

“Ugh, she stinks.” He reached in again, digging and wriggling his finger to uncurl your body. “Hey, don’t you talk? I heard you can speak. You need things? Say what you need.”

You desperately hugged your tank close to your bare chest with numb arms. There were so many things you needed: warmth, food, clothes, air, vitamins, an IV drip, a shower. You whimpered around a swollen tongue, “Wa...ter...”

“You hear that? She tell you that?”

“Like you know what that is,” Flatline snapped. “And that’s the first word she actually said since she woke. Shockwave scrambled her systems good.”

“Listen, you got a medbay to run. Wouldn’t it help you out if you put this job off on someone else?” Skywarp picked up your cage. There was a look in his optic Flatline was vaguely familiar with – if only through the recounting from a few of his patients. Skywarp continued to reason, “Let Starscream handle this. If we fail, then I guess we’re to blame, aren’t we?”

Flatline was no fool. If he said no, Skywarp may just disappear with you in servo, and then the medic would have to explain how such a valuable creature was stolen from him. If he said he assigned the task to another – especially the second in command, whom Megatron loved to berate – Flatline could be absolved of responsibility altogether. His fear of punishment was much larger than his greed for fame.

“You call us when you need her, and we’ll bring you a nicely functioning Herald. Deal?”

“Deal.” The medic finally conceded and waved him off. “You better not have my bearings in a vice, ‘Warper, I swear if you screw me on this, I’ll reformat you into a grounder.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Skywarp smirked and strolled out with your glass case in hand. He held you up for his inspection as he headed down the corridors. “I never got to see you up close after you brought me back. Herald of Primus, eh? You don’t look like much.”

You rolled over some, coughing and taking a deep breath. You managed to rasp, “Fuh...free...zing...”

“Freezing? Like, your internal temperatures are off? Is that what’s wrong?”

“So...cold.” You summoned the last threads of strength, feeling adrenaline kick up your efforts in a meager attempt to survive. “Need...warm. Wah... Water.”

“Ugh, Flatline really let you go. You look like a pile of Terrorbot sludge.” Skywarp cringed. “And smell like it, too. I hope the stuff we got works.”

You groaned again, closing your eyes and focusing on your breathing. You rode the motions of him continuing along for a while, and heard the hiss of a door opening. Your eyes shot open at the sudden jolt of being set down. You didn’t think you had it in you to turn your head, but you did when you heard the familiar screeching shout.

“How?! I thought you were joking!” Starscream looked down at you, hands cupping his face in disbelief. “You actually retrieved it – oh slag, don’t tell me you stole it.”

You lolled your head about to take in all three of the similarly built jet frames, then set your head back down. You were so tired, hungry, thirsty, and cold, but what you wanted most was to sleep. Damn the symptoms of hypothermia, you just wanted peace. You wanted to dream of somewhere better – be it a simulation or not. You didn’t care, anymore.

Skywarp argued, “Thundercracker said the supplies were for her –"

“And we were going to use it for leverage.” The Commander fumed, “You imbecile! If that thing perishes in my vicinity, Megatron will rip off my wings! Give it to Soundwave, but don’t give him the supplies. I want to see him squirm.”

“If we wait any longer, she’ll offline – just look at her.” Skywarp reached in to pick you up, much to your shock and annoyance. He rudely interrupted your nap. With your little oxygen tank still hanging off your arm, he held you out for all to see. “She said she's cold and needs wad-der.”

“What the frag is wadder?” The blue one asked.

Starscream palmed his helm. “I’m surrounded by idiots.”

You relied solely on this stranger to support you as your arms were not strong enough to hold you up. The height you were at, though, triggered a wave of trembles. It was a long way down. You didn’t have the luxury to think of how Soundwave handled you with care, or how the Autobots were much gentler with you. You could only think of whether you would die instantly if you were dropped, or if you would die slowly from broken bones and internal bleeding.

“I didn’t steal her. I convinced Flatline to give her to us.” Skywarp looked proud of himself. “Don’t worry, I got it figured out.”

“Forgive me if I have doubts,” Starscream murmured.

“You keep calling it she.” The one you presumed was Thundercracker tilted his head, crinkling his nose at the smell of you.

Skywarp brought you in closer to him, peering while cradling you in his palm. “I heard that’s what Soundwave and his little cassettes call you. You’re a she, right?”

You breathed out a noise, nodding slightly. You flinched as he jumped. “Oh! That’s right! You need things.” He set you down on the table and started rummaging through the crate.

“Ugh, my table.” Starscream gagged. “What is it covered in?”

“Dunno, but it smells. Probably some defensive goop – like what that one race of fleshlings would do when spooked. Who were they, again?” Skywarp asked.

“Primus, there are so many.” You could hear Thundercracker rolling his optics. “I thought all of them had that slime when you shot them. Just run this one under the wash or something.”

“Yeah, a good solvent scrub should clean her up.”

Shockwave’s experiments may not have killed you, but these pinnacles of intelligence would.

“Feh. Very well,” Starscream huffed. “Get it up and working again, and this time Soundwave will know what it feels like to be set aside. I was an integral part of that mission – it couldn’t have been done without me! I deserve recognition, but what do I get? Nothing.”

“We got these supplies,” Thundercracker snarked.

The Commander hissed, “That’s because no one wanted them!”

“I’m sure Soundwave would if he ever found out what they were for.” Skywarp set numerous boxes all around you, looking at you expectantly. “Well? Is this what you need? Are these the things?”

You recognized the labeling. Water. Glorious bottles of water. You reached for them helplessly, and the mech excitedly pushed them towards you. You set your hand on the box and pawed weakly. You wheezed a pitiful whine as you rolled on your back.

Skywarp looked over you while holding out his hands in frustration. “What? What is it? What's wrong?”

You gestured to your mask, exerting effort to simply say, “I can’t...breathe...without this.”

“Such maintenance!” Starscream groaned. “Should have just killed the prisoners and took it anyway. This is a nightmare! The Herald should be my prize! I should squish it to spite Megatron...”

“Yeah, ‘cause he won’t find out and decommission your spark.” Thundercracker abandoned watching you to start sifting through the rest of those steel boxes. “Those dumb bots got to have something to deal with this. Help me out ‘Warper.”

Your insides tightened as Starscream’s sharp red glare flicked over you, but it could have been hunger pangs. You scratched at the box, wanting what was inside, but maybe you should nap first. You closed your eyes, and almost as soon as you felt the cold embrace of sleep, Skywarp cheered, “Hey! I think I got something!”

You writhed till you got a look. It was a white shipping container. You thought you forgot what hope felt like.

“This looks like a hab-suite, but smaller. Like something for a little pet...”

“Of course it has its own little habitat.” Starscream threw his head back. “It never ends.”

Thundercracker began pulling things out. “Looks simple, like a Genericon could put it together.”

“Hey, instructions!” The purple and black jet held up one of the walls of your suite. “In Cybertronian and everything.”

You closed your bleary eyes, sighing out a breathy laugh. You weren't thanking God, but you were thanking Alan. Even from across the vastness of space, he still managed to help you. He was a genius, and you needed to tell him that more often. You needed to tell a lot of people a lot of things more often.

You couldn’t remember the last time you told anyone you loved them. You let the opportunity slip by.

That hurt more than your stomach eating away at itself.

[u.u]

The shadows were long and dark on the bridge of the Nemesis. Light from the local star filtered in with a tint of red. The sun was unstable, throwing magnetic eruptions and waves of radiation, disabling any lesser ship, or Autobot probe, that wandered too close.

The shields of the Nemesis were superior, holding strong against the solar output of a dying star, but they couldn’t stay overlong. Everything, and everyone, was functioning as if this was any other benign system, but it was only a matter of time before someone reported in with a dizzy nav-system.

Just in case, Soundwave wanted to check on you. Soft organics didn’t hold well against radiation.

First, he had to go about things correctly. Somewhat.

Megatron stood at the front of the helm, back to the crew as his optics gazed out into the vast expanse. He turned his head just enough to let Soundwave know he was acknowledged.

“Lord Megatron: Inquiry Request.”

“What is it?” He turned more, asking from down his broad shoulder. Megatron’s tone wasn’t snappish or rude. It was to the point, bereft of formalities.

“I want to oversee the Herald’s maintenance.”

Megatron looked over his Third-in-Command before turning his gaze back out the window. “Shockwave had failed to give me anything of use. You believe you could do better?”

“It was my intention from the moment I brought the creature before you, Lord Megatron.” Soundwave was careful in his explanation. “She has the capability of reasoning.”

“Reasoning, with an organic?” There was a hint of amusem*nt blended with disgust. “If you were anyone else, I would have you hung over the smelting vats.” There was a long pause, filled with an equally longer ventilation cycle from Megatron. He turned back to Soundwave. “Do you see it as one of your cassettes? Have you become attached to it, old friend? Gone soft? You did let Autobots live to bargain with the creature.”

“I only wish to save Cybertron, and rebuild it in your vision, Lord Megatron.” It was partially true, but also a dodge. Soundwave didn’t feel attached to you, but recognized the best way to make you amenable – and that was to treat you as one of his cassettes. “Fact: She had served the Autobots willingly. Observation: She is a logical creature. She is swayed by benevolent causes.”

Megatron snorted at that.

“Assessment: If we impart your wishes to the Herald, she will be compliant.”

“Ignoring that it is a lowly beast not worthy of my time, you want to oversee and talk it into doing my bidding.” Megatron palmed his head and vented out another long sigh. “And I have Flatline sending me a report that the creature needs time to recover. My Decepticons are turning into nursing flesh-breeders.”

Soundwave had not seen that message in Megatron’s inbox. He was too busy trying to figure out who took your supplies out of the cargo hold. Flatline couldn’t have figured it out – he couldn’t be bothered to research what you required. Soundwave almost hoped it was Flatline, if that meant you’d get the care you needed.

He retained his impassive demeanor as he said, “Flatline is not equipped to maintain an organic.”

“Which is why he is delegating it to another.”

“Query: Designation?”

“You read my message reports, Soundwave. You know as much as I, but seem to care more. It does not matter to me who manages the fleshling, so long as it functions and serves its purpose.” Megatron went to turn away and dismiss his TIC, but his movement hitched as Soundwave countered.

“Even if it’s Starscream?”

Megatron turned back with a dangerous glare. “I find it hard to believe Starscream would trouble himself with a mewling flesh-creature. Now, to kill it out of spite for me, that I can believe.”

Soundwave continued to do this precarious dance between convincing his leader and skirting outside the Decepticon code that called for your termination and maltreatment. “The Herald must remain functioning optimally if your plan is to succeed. Ability Extraction: Failed. Subjugation: Failed. Operation: Compliance. Probability of Success: Higher if I oversee the Herald. I will not fail you, Lord Megatron. She will serve willingly under my custody.”

Megatron was quiet for a long stretch of time. The Nemesis’ engines were muted to a barely discernable hum on the bridge. Conversations between the crew hushed to something softer as their Lord needed silence to think. The more he thought, the more that grimace grew.

“Flatline was vague on where this creature was allocated. Be discreet in your search for it, and report to me where you find it. If Starscream is involved, I want to know, and I want to know what he’s planning.”

“Orders: Received. It will be done.”

“I’ll give you some time before I order Flatline for another demonstration of reviving my soldiers.” Megatron turned back to the helm’s window, his face tinted by the light of the dying star. “I will take more time to consider assigning the creature to you.”

“Consideration: Respected.”

“Dismissed.”

“Acknowledged.” He stepped back, nodding militantly. Already, Soundwave was preparing to send out his cassettes to scour the floors of the ship he suspected – starting with the Seeker’s habilitation suites. There was no proof that Starscream got his clutches on you, but it was always a safe bet to rule him out before looking to anyone else for treachery.

“And Soundwave,” Megatron said from over his shoulder. “Don’t get attached to it.”

Chapter 13: Familiar

Chapter Text

It all felt real.

Looking back, you could see whatever induced haze Shockwave had put you through was flawed. You could never feel warmth, because the container you were kept in only had cold air. Food and water had the flavor of whatever they pumped into your stomach. You felt ill most of the time, despite not really seeing a reason to be. Forget how everyone else was acting, you knew your body, and it was telling you something was very wrong.

Like a pebble in your shoe, you couldn’t get comfortable in that world. You couldn’t relax. You’ve had anxiety attacks before, not hallucinations. Auditory or visual. From a medical viewpoint, you could have written it off from your supposed head injury, but the tests never added up. Whatever simulation-dream you were trapped in wasn’t perfect enough to be intuitive.

You didn’t know where Soundwave fit in all of it. His presence was the only thing that didn’t make sense.

There were a few moments where you wondered if he knew you were no longer Shockwave’s subject of experimentation. You found that you cared very little, so long as you were in a warm environment.

Your hab-suite was a practically, but wonderfully, built apartment. It had tanks of clean and recycled water to bathe and flush, and any waste and trash was processed through an incinerator. There was a simple generator that could hook up to any outside power source, and that maintained the temperature, lighting, water pumps, and fans that circulated your artificial oxygen. The only real maintenance was to change and clean out the many reusable filters.

There were only three rooms, two of which being your bedroom and bathroom. It was all the right size for cozy living. Your living area had an ample amount of furniture and storage spaces to give it a little homey feel. The only thing you could complain about were the glass walls etched with that alien language you were sure you’d never learn how to read. Evidently, it was all instructions on assembly and tips on your care.

It might have saved your life. Though, you could only imagine what Alan had Wheeljack wrote on these walls. You hoped it was all legit and serious...

“You look better.” The purple and grey Seeker peeked at you through your glass confines. “And smell better, too. Much better.”

...Especially for someone like Skywarp.

If it wasn’t for these instructions, no one knew what to do. Skywarp wouldn’t have placed you in a warmer environment, and Thundercracker wouldn’t have sorted through your things to find your food, water, medicine, supplements, and place them before you. This part wasn’t written, but Skywarp continued to talk to you and keep you conscious. You needed to stay conscious.

The rest was up to you. You struggled to stick an IV in your water-wicked vein. Bit by bit, you ate and drank to put something in your stomach before dosing yourself with such harsh supplements. Not only did you have to undo the deficiencies anchoring a spark caused, but you had to recover from being an ill-fed lab-rat for you don’t know how long.

You couldn’t count how many times you nearly threw it all up.

You slept off and on. The concept of time eluded you. Between the lights being on all the time and the dreams of being back in that awful utopia, time became impossible to track. You remained on the couch where anyone could check on you as they walked by, but it was mainly so you could be in arm’s reach of your piles of food and water scattered on the floor.

This time, when you woke, you felt less like death was cuddling up from behind. Only plagued with a mild headache, you ate and drank a little more of the rations that tasted as they should, then retreated to the bathroom where you treated the mild frostbite blisters on your fingers and toes. You debated on whether you should take more of those lab-made, horse-pill vitamins. Without testing, you would have to rely on how your body felt, and you still felt like thawed sh*t. Maybe you should continue with basic care before you flirted with liver failure from an iron overdose.

It was when you finished showering and stepped out in a towel, when Skywarp came to talk to you some more. “I just did some reading and I had no idea you were in your protoform this entire time.”

The word was naked, but you were pretty whatever at this point.

“So Thundercracker went and got this.” He held up your suit for display before shoving it in your little airlock foyer. “You need it, right?”

“Yes, thank you,” You said politely, moving slowly with lingering aches. You pressurized the small room and retrieved your spacesuit. You were missing your armor plating and helmet, but at least this was warmer and there were pockets on the back to hold your portable O2 tanks. You didn’t say much, and you’d rather keep conversations at a miniscule minimum, but Skywarp seemed pleased when you said words.

“It’ll keep your internal temperature regulated?”

“Yes,” You sighed out, tossing aside the towel. You were numb to his curious stare while you slipped on the cushy suit. You caught yourself searching for someone to help put the metal plating on, as you never had to do it by yourself. You clenched your teeth, but still couldn’t hold back the soft whine in yet another sigh.

“That means I can take you out of there and you’ll be alright?”

You huffed, taking a moment to collect yourself. You weren't sure what you were feeling. When you were first encountered with a strange form of kindness, you wisely kept your guard up, and you were rewarded with what you expected. Expected wouldn’t be the right word, because that entailed that you were prepared. Nothing would prepare you for that kind of agony.

You survived Shockwave’s table, but who’s to say you wouldn’t get thrown back on? You got the idea that Starscream wouldn’t give you up so easily, in the name of pride or entitlement or whatever. What kind of mech was he? What did you have to prepare for? What new, or old, tortures were waiting for you?

Had the cycle begun, again? Someone showing a foreign kindness, and it was only a matter of time before things got worse? You answered reluctantly, “If I have air.”

Skywarp turned as Thundercracker entered his room, saying while he tapped on the door’s inner keypad, “You should probably lock up, now that we’re hiding the Herald in here.”

“How will you get in, then?”

“I’ll knock,” He responded dryly, waving his hand to dismiss and continue with something more important, “Lazerbeak tripped the motion sensor in Starscream’s quarters. Soundwave must be looking for it.”

“Her,” Skywarp corrected.

The blue Seeker rolled his optics. “Her. Whatever.” He stepped up to look you and your habitat over. He snorted out a thoughtful sound. “Hm. Never imagined the Autobots would keep an organic locked in a cage.”

“No, see.” Your current keeper pointed to your airlock chamber. “She’s able to leave whenever she wants.”

“So... it – er, she can escape...?”

They exchanged looks, and then turned to you expectantly. You had no current illusions on escape at the moment. If anything else, you were more focused on recovering your strength, then escaping. You shrugged, shaking your head. “Where would I even go?”

“Oh! She talks so much better now.” Thundercracker tilted his head, impressed.

“I know! I’ve been working with her. I can't tell if she’s shy or her processor needs a little warmed up.”

You withered, flopping down on the couch to rub your face. You thought you knew what being patronized felt like when you were working in the medical field ran by old men. Everything you endured on Earth felt like practice compared to this.

“And why are some of those walls blacked out?” Thundercracker peered through the glass. “You don’t think you should knock them down? Keep an optic on everything she does?”

“No, it’s called privacy.” He pointed to a few scrawlings on the solid colored roof of your bedroom and bathroom space. “It says here ‘She likes it dark when she recharges’ and here, ‘give privacy when she washes and releases waste elements’. The Autobots literally have an instruction manual –"

“What's this? ‘Pet often’ and ‘she likes walkies’? What the hell is walkies?”

Oh my god. Thanks, Alan. You let out a long sigh. This will help your image tremendously.

“Having a little pet, I don’t know if it’s annoying or cute.” Thundercracker tapped on the glass, and you winced. It sounded much louder inside. “Hey little fleshling. Wanna walkie? Do ya? Huh?”

You refused to dignify that with any response. You simply sat there, face in hands, slowly resigning yourself to this fate of disgrace. It was better than where you were, before, but you weren't about to grovel. You were tortured. Not broken.

The thought of those twins in the dream-simulation made your heart clench. You didn’t want that to be your last memory of them, a false specter of what they are. The Autobots will come for you – god, let it be soon – and then you’d be safe and treated as a person.

“Take it easy, don’t annoy her.” Skywarp bristled. “She’s the Herald. Not some little skitter.”

“What crawled up your thrusters?”

He squirmed, getting a little heated in his defensiveness, “Nothing. It’s just...she revived me, and then Shockwave experimented on her. I heard her whenever I walked by the lab.”

Thundercracker straightened, giving him all his attention, and you followed suit. You sat up, eyes glued on the Seeker as he continued.

“I didn’t like it. I didn’t like how it made me feel. I don’t know about you, but you think you’d wanna help out the mech who made you scream like that? I’m not that stupid.” Skywarp gesticulated as he reasoned, “If we take good enough care of her, we get to keep her, and we get to keep her away from that. I want her to like us, because if we die, she’ll want to revive us, right? Is that so hard to understand?”

Skywarp talked like you didn’t understand, but on so many levels you did. No one wanted to die. No one wanted to stay dead. For as dim as this Decepticon seemed, he had a pretty logical string of thoughts: appease you, and you may serve him loyally, like a dog. You ground down on your molars till you heard your teeth squeak.

“And it’s not so bad to be responsible for maintaining an organic. She seems pretty self sufficient.” The purple Seeker flashed a prideful grin. “It’s the Herald. She’s worth a little trouble.”

“Not so bad? I’m sorry, when did you forget the Decepticon code?”

“Maybe you should find a life form to get attached to, then ask me about the code,” He quipped back. “I don’t care. I like it.”

Thundercracker rolled his optics. “Whatever. I gotta go to work. Starscream wants her to remain in here with you, but mechs are noticing your absence. I’ll switch with you, later. Remember, you need to start locking your hab. You wouldn’t want anyone stealing the one you’re responsible for.”

The purple seeker nodded, and then his comrade saw himself out. He watched the door for a beat before turning and hovering over your glass apartment. “You hear that?”

You were constantly finding yourself in the position of needing to adapt. You glanced back at the times where you could just settle and be, and they were few in-between. Things were always moving, fate was always changing, and the rules never stayed the same. The container was set and you needed to find a way to mold yourself to fit inside, again.

Skywarp had a slight smile, waiting eagerly to hear what you had to say. He took a shine to you, just like Agent Simmons had so long ago. You would never think a Decepticon would feel upset at your pain, but maybe there was a fleck of gratefulness within that jet. Either way, it gave you an opening.

There, in the ditches of your mind, was that darkness waiting for the right moment. You had to do whatever you could to survive. It was the same feeling you had when you realized your psychology background could help you in the interrogation room on Earth. You met Skywarp’s bright optics as you stood, stretching from side to side, while casually saying, “Which part? That I’ll get to be kept here instead of a cold box on Flatline’s desk? Or that someone might come and steal me if you don’t lock your door?”

He jumped and gasped, “Oh! Listen to you! Your vocal processing is advancing so quickly.”

“Skywarp – Sky, can I call you Sky? Listen.” You gestured to yourself with a few pats. “I have a doctorate. You don’t need to get excited when I form full, competent sentences.”

His optics flickered, then peered. He probably didn’t know what a doctorate was. “You weren't before.”

“Because I’m sure I was dying.” A cynical chuckle played on your tone. “I can't really talk and die at the same time, now can I? That said, I am much better now, thanks to you. I’m glad you’re the one who ended up with my supplies.”

“Oh... uh, you...you are?”

“I am. I feel much better than earlier. Look at me, all cleaned up and upright.”

A slight smile began to crack on his wary expression. “Yeah, you do look much, much better.”

You played on that, planting your hands on your hips and leaning forward. You planned on laying it on so thick, you’d make peanut butter feel runny. “And it’s all because of you. I do a much better job when I'm fed, hydrated, rested, clean, and not getting experimented on. You are so smart to figure all that out.”

Skywarp smiled briefly, almost bashfully, as he tested out the feeling of pride. He even preened a little, waving his hand dismissively. “It wasn’t hard. Everything is written right there.”

“And you were the only with the idea to read it.” You smiled as best you could, despite your situation. “And thank you for keeping some of my rooms private. I’m glad you’re the one keeping me, Sky.”

He glanced away. If murder-machines could blush. “It’s, uh...no problem. It’s a hassle but it’s okay.”

You co*cked a brow. Bold of him to call you a hassle with everything you had to deal with, especially since he was such a pain to revive. It seemed like every Decepticon was. You rolled your eyes and stepped towards the airlock. “Can I come out?”

Skywarp came closer, as if preparing to block your exit. “Maybe you should stay in –"

“What does the rest of your room look like?” You toed the line of your own little experiment, seeing how malleable this frightening Cybertronian was. When you got to optimal health, it would benefit you to learn where everything was in this room. Brazenly, you boasted, “Some of the Autobots showed me their rooms. They had quite a few trophies – you have any?”

“Pfft! What could they possibly have?”

Decepticon body parts, but you shrugged as your answer. You wondered if anyone here knew of Sunstreaker and Sideswipe – and how screwed they were once the twins would come tearing through to take you back home. Sunstreaker would take Shockwave’s head if he knew what he did to you. You hoped he would.

Skywarp cupped his hands before the exit, coaxing you out. “C’mon, I’ll show you what I got.”

You fitted on your oxygen mask, and you had to chomp on your lower lip to keep your victorious smile from splitting your face. Could they all be this easy? Was this entire alien race, that you admired so, was just filled with attention-starved narcissists with a praise kink? You hated being manipulative, but you hated being kidnapped, more.

Skywarp hesitated to move once you were in his palm. His hands were much larger than most, and you made it a point to look him over. He held still as you crawled around, looking up along the plating on his arm. You averted your eyes up to his, smiling appreciatively. “You turn into a jet?”

“How’d you guess?” He finally moved, bringing you close to his chest while carefully cupping your side to keep you from falling. Little did he know that you had enough experience to maintain your balance while riding these titans.

You hummed out a lie, “I’ve seen a few jet types, but nothing like you.”

He deadpanned, “I look just like Starscream.”

You were quick to remedy. “But you have the better paint-job. I like your colors far better.”

He snorted a chuckle. “If that impresses you, wait till you see what I can do.”

“How about you show me around, first? I want to hear everything you have to say about all your stuff,” You said with false enthusiasm, and he just ate it all up. What was his damage where he was so gullible and accepting of your admiration?

Skywarp gave you the tour and showed off each trophy, weapon, and knick-knack he kept. You mapped the area and vent locations while listening with pseudo-interest, and you had to swallow a lot of what he had to say. Many of his displays were not unlike Sunstreaker’s body-part trophy cabinet. The only difference was the con had things from different species, from planets that the Decepticons utterly wiped from the galaxy. It was getting harder and harder to keep up the façade, and he noticed.

“What's wrong? Don’t you like it?”

You sucked in a breath, taking a chance. “Do you hate organics?”

“Have you never met a Decepticon? Didn’t those piddly little Autobots tell you about us?”

They have, but it felt like a lot of it was watered down. “I’m not asking about everyone else. I’m asking about you.”

“I don’t hate them, but I don’t like them, either. It’s nothing personal.” Skywarp tilted his head, looking off while reciting, “They’re inferior, take up space and resources, multiply by the millions, weak –"

“Sky?” You cut him off.

He looked at you, not seeming to mind his pet-name. “Yes, Herald?”

“I’m... I’m organic.”

His optics searched your body. “Really? Like, all of you?”

“Yes.” You nodded slowly. “Did you...why did you think I needed to eat and drink? What did you think I was?”

“Cybertronians need to fuel up, too. It’s not just a fleshling thing.” He snorted, shrugging his shoulders. “And I don’t know what a human is. Are they all like you?”

You shook your head, answering softly, “No...”

“You’re a superior breed, then.”

“No,” You repeated, looking down at yourself. You didn’t hide how you felt, and there was a kind of lightness to your chest when you shared. “They didn’t think so. Shockwave wasn’t the first one to strap me to a table.”

Skywarp was quiet. When enough time passed, you looked up to see those dangerously dimmed ruby optics. He brought you closer to his face. His teeth bared as he said, “Tell me who.”

He had fangs like a predator. You didn’t hear his words at first, feeling a deep primal fear set in. This thing hunted and killed creatures like you. Skywarp was a machine made for murder.

“I’ll bring you the heads of the Autobot scum who hurt you.”

A machine that wanted to murder for you. You snapped out of your fear haze. “What? No! No, it wasn’t them. They helped me, actually. It was my own people. They experimented on me.”

“Really? Because of what you can do?”

“Just like you guys.” You laughed contemptuously.

“Don’t lump me with that glitched freak. I didn’t do anything – and I’m not going to let that happen, again. You’re with the Seekers, now.” He said, and you wanted to believe him. “But your own people hurt you because of what you could do? Because you’re the Herald? What could those bloodbags gain from that?”

You blinked curiously. Just what were you getting yourself into, forging a connection with someone like Skywarp? He was starting to come off as protective, and if that was the case, then you would have it so much simpler as a Decepticon prisoner. As much as you hated it, if you could be seen as a Pet, you’d probably be better cared for.

You spoke cautiously, “I don’t know, but I do know they wanted information about your race.”

“What kind of information?”

“To you, really basic stuff any of you know.” You paused, your eyes searching the ground for the name of this feeling that washed over you. Resentment? Sadness? Nostalgia? “It doesn’t matter. They felt they had the right because I wasn’t human, anymore. I wasn’t like them.”

Skywarp brought you closer and you jerked your head up to meet his expression. You were familiar with restrained anger, bared behind a flash of fanged denta and razored optics. He asked, hot ventilations blowing by your face, “What planet were you from, again?”

Before you could answer, before you could realize the gravity behind such an exchange, the door opened. Your stomach dropped as you remembered Skywarp being told three times to lock his door. Out of everyone who could have walked in, you somehow found optimism, despite your situation.

You found it hard to believe Soundwave handed you over willingly. He wasn’t an ally, but he was considered the lesser evil at this point. You chose to greet the two that strolled in like it was their room. “Rumble, Frenzy, good to see you.”

Skywarp jerked, and the two looked as equally surprised from your friendliness.

You would be genial; you would be compliant and gracious, so long as everyone knew you would only behave like a good girl if all your organic needs were met and you were kept far from a vivisection table. You only had to put this front up until your rescue – whenever it was coming. God, you hoped it was coming.

“We knew it! Starscream did take her from Flatline!” Rumble jutted a finger at the Seeker. “That stupid medic wouldn’t say a thing about it. Kept sayin’ it wasn’t his problem anymore, but we all knew that slagger had somethin’ to do with it!”

“But he’s the squeakiest cog, now that he needs her to bring back our mechs for big M.” Frenzy planted his hands on his hips. “He’s screamin’ and squallin’, tryin’ to get a hold of ‘Screamer – but he ain't answerin’ back.”

“Rude,” You snorted, but crossed your arms to hug yourself, swallowing the fear of having to face Megatron, again. Even when you did as you were told, you were still subjected to that hell orchestrated by Shockwave. Now that you were semi-healthy, what was next? What would it mean now that Starscream and Soundwave were involved?

“She’s not going anywhere till the Commander says so.” Skywarp held you a little closer.

“Soundwave –" Rumble started to say.

“Does not command the Seekers,” The jet finished.

Frenzy sneered, “You got a loose screw?”

“He always does,” His brother added, “A few lights short of a full workin’ processor.”

“If we let him keep the Herald, she’ll die from his stupidity, alone.”

“That, or she’ll offline herself just hearing that pit-spawn go on and on.”

You felt Skywarp tremble with checked rage, and you instantly knew why he was so receptive of your praise. He wasn’t bright enough to see your obvious manipulations, and that had you feeling like sh*t. What’s worse, was that he knew he wasn’t very smart, and others berated him for it, and you used it against him. He was a killer, through and through, but you still couldn’t stop yourself leaping to his defense because you felt bad.

“That’s enough!”

They stopped their jeering and your handler’s shakes stopped.

You went in to full attack-mode. “Where the f*ck were you when I was dying on Flatline’s table!? From experiments that could’ve killed me? Did anyone care that I’m organic? That I’m not as durable as you? No! If it wasn’t for Skywarp, I would have died in a goddamn box on some shelf! He was smart enough to figure out these were my supplies, and he helped me. I swear to whatever f*cking god can hear me, if you call him dumb one more time, I will make you sorry.”

Rumble snorted a laugh, “And how's a lil squishy like you gonna do that?”

You snarled down at the mini-cons from your perch. “I’ll find a way.”

He was a little hesitant, but squared his shoulders as if he was unfazed. “You talk real tough from all the way up there. Come say that to my faceplates.”

You tested just how much leverage you could pull. Like those wispy actresses that always had a fan on them, blowing their hair abound, you put the back of your hand to your head and moaned out a lamenting wail, “Oh no, it seems I, the Herald, cannot bring back anyone because someone squeezed me a little too tight.”

“Who? Me?” Skywarp asked – bless his spark.

“I was pretending.”

“Oh. Good.” Skywarp clutched you a little closer. “Don’t do that, again.”

Okay, now you felt really bad about tricking Skywarp. Thank goodness Rumble and Frenzy got the message as they exchanged uneasy glances. At the same time, you wished all the Decepticons were as dense as the Seeker. How hard was it to hijack and pilot your own shuttle back to the Autobot Orbital Station? Because at this rate, you might be able to walk on out and save yourself.

Frenzy was the first to speak up, “Alright, Alright, untangle your diodes. We get it. But you gotta understand, as soon as Shocky was done with you, Boss was the first to go to Megs and ask to be your handler.”

Rumble backed him up. “Yeah, he was goin’ through proper channels an’ slag. We can’t be havin’ you bein’ passed all over the Nemesis. Not everyone’s as nice as us.”

“And we originally had all your supplies, but now we see where it all went.”

“Yeah. Boss knew y’wouldn’t offline – he kept tabs, y’know. You were fine.”

You were not fine. You were going to carry these scars for a long time. You were barely holding it together, trying to survive just this one encounter without looking back and reliving what you endured.

Skywarp snorted, “Was not. She needed help then and there. If you guys paid more attention, you would’ve known as soon as Shockwave tossed her out. You should’ve seen the sorry state she was in. She couldn’t even talk!”

“She seems fine!” Rumble countered. “Fine enough to talk slag!”

“Well she wasn’t, before!”

“We ain’t got time for this scrud!” Frenzy waved his arms towards the door. “Megatron is demandin’ her and we’re all about to be spare parts if we keep standin’ around.”

You took a long and deep breath. In the end, whoever had you, you were still going to a single location. This was the inevitable part of your contract. “Sky, put me down, please.”

He grumbled a moment, and you patted his hand to both chide and encourage. He finally listened, setting you at his feet with a bit more gentleness than necessary. You left him to make your way to the brothers. “Do you know how many I’m to revive? I’m still not completely better, but I should be able to call at least one.”

“For frag’s sake, y’still in repair-mode?” Frenzy snapped, and you were about get yelled at. Your feeble show at dominance earlier was about to get thrown right back in your face – except you were wrong. He turned on the much taller jet. “I thought you were takin’ care of her! What have you been doin’?”

“She’s an organic! She doesn’t have repair protocols! I’m doing the best I can!”

“She's better off with Soundwave –" Rumble began, only for the Seeker to snarl.

“I made her healthy. She’s staying with me.”

You were sure anyone else might find this endearing. You found it exhausting. Part of you actually looked forward to seeing the terrifying face of the Decepticon leader. At least it would be quieter. You had to do something and end this before things got worse – such as someone else coming to retrieve you. Someone, like Shockwave.

If he came through that door, how much would Skywarp fight to keep you off that table? Would the two newer arrivals feel the same way and also defend you? No, you had to show that you, intact and sound of mind, were a much better tool to be used and maintained. Who else to demonstrate that to than the Leader of the Decepticons?

“Megatron will decide that –" Frenzy said until you closed the distance. He flinched back as your hands gingerly touched his weld-lines from his injuries, your fingers brushed over his transformation seams as you gave him the most innocent of batting lashes. How much loyalty you could earn from helping others was a trial worthy of investigating.

“Do these still hurt?”

The mini-con cringed, almost balking away from you. “Nuh-nah – no. Don’t feel a thing.”

“Good. Good. Your injuries looked so painful.” You closed the distance and touched his arm. Frenzy seemed uncomfortable with your kindness, but you kept on the pressure. “I was worried about you.”

“Y’were?” Both Skywarp and Rumble echoed, but Frenzy seemed wary.

“You’re gettin’ real familiar, here.” He was quicker than you, snatching your wrist up before you could move away. With a yank, he held it up over your head, stretching you to your full height. He ignored Skywarp’s threat to be gentle, and asked, “What’s your game?”

“No game!” You yelped. Your trial was deemed a failure. There was no loyalty garnered towards you for saving his life. You tried to pry out of his immovable grip, but ended up hanging on to keep your shoulder from popping out of its socket. “No game, I promise! I was – I was going to offer to help buff them out!”

“You know how?” Frenzy held you up a little higher. “What’s in it for you?”

You kicked out, toes brushing over the ground. “Nothing, I swear! I’m just being nice. I know how to buff out scratches. I’ve washed bots – oof!"

Frenzy dropped you, his voice box clicked off in mid sputter as he recoiled. Skywarp barked, “You’ve done what?”

You looked up at them, rubbing your shoulder. The three looked in varying degrees of shock, but you couldn’t place why. They didn’t appear all a-ruffle, like Prowl; or jealous, like Hot Rod. It was an innocent scrub turned into a game, as Drift explained to you, and there didn’t seem anything wrong with it. You repeated, “I shined up a few of my friends.”

“Friends, eh?” Rumble stepped closer, hands on his hips and bending to look at you more. “An’ you have no idea, do you? How nice you were bein’ with those soft little servos.”

You pushed yourself up to your feet, rising to meet Rumble’s taunting glare. “I’m aware of their sensors being turned up.”

“Are you?” He snorted and lifted your face up by your chin as he leaned in a little closer. “And they call us the bad guys. Poor, innocent, little squish. It’s almost cute.”

You smacked his hand away, almost hurting yourself in the process. Rumble just laughed at you. A wave of heat flashed over your skin like an alcohol fire, and you wished you didn’t share that truth – any of it. Your hopes that the Decepticons would be about as vain as your friends, that they would melt at the attention you offered, was dashed into the grimy floor beneath your boots.

You backpedaled, feeling an old fear creep over you. You sneered, “Don’t be gross. I’m organic.”

“Like that’s stopped anyone,” Frenzy sniped in there.

You felt color drain from your face. Were Decepticons like Autobots when it came to who they preferred? Who they interfaced with? How much different was their culture? How much would they respect your boundaries, being a lowly fleshling?

Some mechs like them soft. How much danger were you in?

Rumble moved to grab you, wrapping his arm around your waist, and you screamed. War was a terrible thing, creating monsters and leaving victims who never even took up arms to fight. How could someone like you fight off a creature made entirely of metal? Even at his size, how could you survive?

Skywarp made a move, but Frenzy brought up his gun. “Don’t even think ‘bout it, ‘Warper. She’s comin’ with us.”

“Primus, sheesh. Calm down.” Rumble slung you over his shoulder and patted your backside. “I ain’t gonna hurt ya, Herald. Stop that noise.”

You died down to whimpers, pushing yourself up to try and see what was happening. You were being kidnapped. Again.

Skywarp threatened, “I’m five times your size –"

“And we got the Herald. What are ya gonna do? Shoot us?” Frenzy taunted.

You felt a little foolish on several fronts. These were Decepticons. They wiped out entire organic planets. Their creed was to subjugate and destroy fleshlings. You were silly to think you could gain favor through friendship, but maybe that disdain for you was a blessing. What would have been a reality on Earth may not be so among this race of Cybertronians – beings who were vastly different from your race, and that included where they sought their pleasures.

You gained your bearings and squirmed to sit up on his shoulder. The room filled with bickering, insults being slung that would scathe any schoolyard kid. It was getting to the point where you wanted to get away from all this and work yourself till you passed out. You shifted around till you tried to slide off, but Rumble forced you to sit in the crook of his arm.

“You better now, Herald?” He jostled you like a parent to their biggest, bestest, kid. “Thought I was gonna hurt ya?”

You hesitated to nod, careful not to admit what exactly you were afraid of, lest it be turned against you.

“Talk slag to me again, next time I might.”

You huffed softly through your nose. You were an asset. You were valuable enough where everyone was fighting over you and the right to present you to Megatron. They fought over your power, and it was well and truly yours, unless Shockwave found a different method. For now, no one was going to risk damaging you, and certainly no one was going to dress you up as a harem-girl and make you theirs – those movies really did rot your brain.

With newfound confidence, you leaned close to Rumble’s audio receptors. “Can we just go?”

“Ey bro, we’re just gonna head out.” The mini-con turned and started for the door.

“Wait.” Skywarp went to give chase.

“Can’t he come?” You kicked your feet. “And can you let me walk? I need to stretch my legs.”

“And let you scurry? Nah.”

You didn’t scurry. Frustrated, and brimming with that screw-it sentiment, you pushed your fingers in between those cords along his neck and gripped tight, like a scolding mother yanking an unruly child’s ear. You expected a reaction, but didn’t expect to be dropped. You landed right on your back, and the breath was knocked out of you.

Rumble jolted and wailed, his hand flying up to cover the assaulted area. “You-you watch it! Bad-bad Herald! You don’t do that!”

Frenzy snickered as Skywarp looked at you, flabbergasted.

It wasn’t the first time you discovered that this was a sensitive area for Autobots, but it seemed like this was a thing for Cybertronians as a whole. Why it was sensitive, though, is what had you vaguely curious. You pushed yourself to your feet with Frenzy’s assistance. “You dropped me!”

“Y’don’t grab at a mechs cords like that! That’s weird!”

You arched your back and rubbed your backside. Rumble went to pick you up again, and you shied away around his brother. “No, I don’t trust you, now.”

“Don’t do that again and I won’t drop you,” He countered.

“I’ll walk myself, thank you.”

“With those little struts?” Skywarp taunted.

You started walking for the door. “Yes, with my little struts. This would be a perfect time to tell you, this is what those instructions mean by walkies.”

Chapter 14: Operation: Compliance

Chapter Text

You knew what Stockholm syndrome was.

You recalled the article from when the criminologist and psychiatrist Doctor Nils Bejerot released his dissertation several years after that famed incident in Sweden. On those slow days in your laboratory long since past, you and the neurologists on the team discussed the wonders of how the mind works, and how it bends and twists to keep from breaking.

So when you laid eyes on Soundwave, you checked yourself real quick as you inadvertently felt genuine relief to see who was the most reasonable Decepticon you’ve encountered. You recounted that article, mentally checking off symptoms. So far, you’ve only ticked one out of the major four key warning signs. You told yourself, you’ll be fine, and reassessed Soundwave.

He may have released your friends, but he organized your kidnapping. He may have treated you with kindness, but he handed you over to Shockwave. You regarded him with reservation.

Soundwave’s head tilted, red visored-optics taking you in. His tall and stout stance remained, but there were little ticks that caught your attention. His hands left his hips, dropping at his side as he readjusted his stance. You didn’t know how to read that, let alone him.

“‘Ey boss, look who we found!” Rumble held his hands out in a wide gesture, displaying you like a fancy new car as Frenzy set you down. The walk was much too long, and with you already recovering from your recent stint of starving, you tired before even making it a quarter mile. The mini-mechs refused to let the taller, longer-legged jet pick you up.

You continued to take the good-natured approach, keeping up appearances that a healthy you was a happy you, and waved amicably. Your performance was short-lived as Flatline threw his tools on the table, the loud noise making you jump back into the violet mini-con.

“Where have you been, ‘Warper? You said you’d bring it when I’d call, but your comms are off! I’ve been messaging ‘Screamer, but evidently, he must be unaware of our agreement and is ignoring me!”

Skywarp set his hands on his hips. “Her.”

“Whatever!” He glanced your way. “Please tell me it’s repaired enough to work.”

Surprisingly, the other cons looked to you, and you hesitated to nod. “I can try. I haven’t had long to recover from my...tests.”

“You can ask her yourself, y’know.” Frenzy pointed to you. “She talks a lot better, now.”

Flatline waved his hands around to ward off invisible bees before picking up his tools. “I don’t care if she speaks Cybertronian, or if it’s the fifth gender from the Vestile Imperium! Megatron is going to show up any klick now and I’m going to spring a leak because if I don’t get these three up and moving, guess who’s getting melted down for parts?”

“Order: silence. Return to task,” Soundwave said, glancing at the Decepticon medic before returning his sights on you. Flatline vented hard before resuming his work on the lifeless bodies.

Three. You’ve done three in a row before – three Autobots. Something about Decepticons was more of a challenge, more fight, more bite. The Scientist in you craved the distraction on why that was, but you had to focus. You began stretching, pulling your arms from side to side, bouncing in place like you were about to run a marathon.

“What are you doin’?” Rumble asked.

“Getting ready.” You bent your leg back to stretch your thigh, feeling just how tightly wound you were. You proceeded to try and touch your toes, and you had definitely regressed. With an unladylike grunt, you plopped yourself down on the ground, tucking in one foot at a time and reaching out to grab the other.

“For...?” Frenzy ventured.

“I build up lactic acid in my muscles during revivals. I need to warm up so I’m not so sore, afterwards. I haven’t been keeping up with stretching. Probably why I feel like sh*t – er, I mean, if I don’t do this, I’m left in poor condition and it’ll affect my performance.”

As you explained, you opened your legs wide to stretch the tendon on the inside of your thighs. You tried to ease your chest to the grimy floor, but you lost much of your flexibility. You cynically wondered when you’d be able to dedicate some time for self-care on a Decepticon warship. You came up, reaching your arms above your head and arching your spine, feeling something in your shoulder pop.

That’s when you realized all optics were on you. Even Flatline stopped working to turn his disgusted, yet fascinated ruby gaze your way.

“You are bendy,” Skywarp hummed.

Frenzy held his hands out. “How the frag can you do that?! Y’joints are gonna pop out!”

“That ain’t all that’s ‘bout to pop out.” Rumble snickered, and then instantly flinched when Soundwave took a heavy step his way.

That slight warning indication from the Communications Officer was all everyone needed to take their attention off of you. Flatline resumed his work, the mini-cons turned to mutter to one another, but Skywarp bent down with a smirk. “What else can you do?”

You tried to ignore their gawking and pushed yourself to your feet, deciding your stretching would be best done in private. You didn’t want to attract a different kind of curiosity. You responded idly, “Besides call back your dead? I don’t know.”

“Well, what other ways are you more advanced than your race?”

“I’m not advanced. Just mutated,” You couldn’t curb the sneer to your lips. You busied yourself with trying to stretch your arms by pulling them across your chest.

Skywarp huffed. “Stop being modest. What else can you do that other fleshlings can't?”

You weren’t being modest. You just didn’t like thinking about what isolated you from everyone else. You snapped, “I don’t know, Sky. My skin doesn’t melt off when I come in contact with Cybertronian fluids. I have a resistance to sparks, energon, and your natural radiation – all the things that would usually kill my people.”

He was quiet, and you turned your head back up at him. Skywarp’s red optics flickered like slow-blinking hazard lights. “What...which fluids?”

f*ck. You were Pandora, and the twins had been your box. You kept a straight face, but you couldn’t keep the color from draining. You played innocent. “Like, your blood. I spent some time in the medbay when Ratchet taught me some things.”

Skywarp’s lip curled up at his name. Whether he had something against Ratchet, or the fact that you mentioned an Autobot, you couldn’t tell. You decided to toe the line, searching for some clue to warrant, or quell, a fear of yours. “What else could I mean?”

His mouth hung open for a moment, then you felt his warm vent pour over you before he stood straight, looking anywhere else but in your direction. “Nothing. Primus, nothing at all.”

Be it embarrassment, or just what Cybertronian culture deems as a social faux-pas, Skywarp did not take the bait. Like a parent avoiding the talk, he wasn’t about to be the one to share what you already knew, and it made you feel so much better. Safer.

Something on the Seeker beeped, and he eagerly turned away to answer his com-link. You left him alone and tried to massage your own shoulders through the thick padding of your suit. Your mind wandered to Drift and his hands, then to Sideswipe and his heavy touches. You closed your eyes and thought of Sunstreaker’s lips on your skin, his vocals tickling over it all. You missed them and tried not to feel any ill over the time it was taking to rescue you. You didn’t just rush towards a warship. They had to plan. They had to be careful.

Your eyes shot open at the familiar sound of sonorous vocals coming from beyond the door. You found yourself begging for them to hurry.

You clamped down on that rabbit-fear to hide, but couldn’t help yourself as you looked at Skywarp for some semblance of comfort. He was busy, chatting with whoever had his attention. You turned to the mini-mechs, also both involved with themselves.

“I knew you would find the way out.”

You whipped around to face Soundwave. He had stepped closer and knelt, holding out his hand to you like one would offer a treat to a wild animal. Your brows screwed together. You heard his words, but they didn’t make sense. “What?”

The footsteps grew louder, and there was a sharp rapport of another getting scolded by that deep voice. You threw a nervous glance over your shoulder, then checked back with the last remnant of security you had.

“Request: come.” Soundwave gave a beckoning gesture with his fingers, one step away from psspss-ing you like a cat. He did not move to snatch you up. He did not demand. He requested. Oh how nice of him to ask you now if you wanted to come with him.

Damn any theory of falling in league with your captor. You craved any scrap of refuge and Soundwave was the only one available. You closed the distance and clamored up into his palm as you tripped over your words, “Just don’t... don’t hand me off, okay?”

“It will not happen, again.” He rose, his other hand coming up to cup around you as you settled, tucking your legs up to sit. You grunted in complaint as his large, metal fingers prodded at your side and shoulders, adjusting where and how you sat in his palm.

God help you, your silent protests soon turned into conflicted sighs as his thumb traced along your back, just like how Drift would. You closed your eyes for only a moment, absorbing the warmth and allowing yourself to imagine the touches of your friends and loved ones.

The door opened and in walked the Lord of the Decepticons, flanked by his Flight Commander and Chief Scientist.

The sight of Shockwave had you gripping onto your handler’s plating, and his hand cupped around you more. If he was trying to make you feel safe, it didn’t much work. This situation was all too similar to what had happened before. You watched Skywarp as he took his place beside his Commander, turning his head to glare at the scientist. Skywarp did say he wouldn’t let the scientist take you, again. Could you rely on either of these two?

Megatron eyed you for a tense moment, then his red gaze grazed over the three bodies. “The reports I’ve received are less than what I’ve been promised. First, I’m told we cannot extract the power from that flesh-creature, and subjugating it also resulted in failure. Then, I find it cannot revive my soldiers due to its pitiable state. Finally, I hear there is a quarrel to take care of it?”

“As I’ve explained, My Lord,” Starscream said, “It was near death while in Flatline’s care. I had taken it upon myself to assign one of mine to nurse it back to health. As you can see, it is in...Soundwave’s...hold.” He shot a disappointed glare at Skywarp, who shrugged.

Flatline instantly filled the silence. “It only got that way because of Shockwave. It almost dying is not on me.”

“Your duty was to bring it back to optimal function,” The scientist said matter-of-factly.

“Which would have been done if I had all its data and supplies,” He snapped back, waving his hand erratically at the Seekers and cassettes.

Starscream rolled his optics as Rumble cried, “Supplies that they stole! We were tryin’ to figure it all out before they were taken –"

“You took too long trying to figure it out,” Thundercracker taunted. “Not our fault you gave up and tossed it aside.”

Frenzy flung his hand up in an obscene gesture. “We didn’t give up on nothin’! You cheated!”

“It’s not cheating if you can read the instructions,” Skywarp sneered smugly.

You wished you could cover your mouth, but only managed to cup your hand over your plastic O2 mask. You restrained the most ill-timed snicker, because given your situation, you should not be laughing at what was the worst example of teamwork. God help the Autobots if these guys ever got their sh*t together, because there must have been some reason their war lasted as long as it has.

Soundwave gave you a little pat, as if chiding you. You cleared your throat and looked back up at the circus, realizing your blunder was not as secret as you thought.

Megatron’s optics narrowed on you. “This amuses you, insect?”

You locked into place, fingers aching as they gripped harder between your handler’s plating. Others gave him wide berth as he stepped closer. The body language of the mechs was much different than the one who held you. Soundwave exuded calm and respect in this monster’s presence.

You would do the same, or at least try. In order to survive long enough till help came, you needed to know your place unless it be made for you. Again. You swallowed hard. “They fight... a lot.”

He hummed a growl. “They do. Dissent in the ranks is a common annoyance I do not tolerate. The only will that matters is my own.”

You were sure that was mostly directed at them, but he held that glare on you. You took in a breath, trying to take on an air of useful, to keep that appearance as healthy plus free equals functional. You took a large risk addressing this monster. “Then... I should get started... if that is your will.”

Megatron studied you with those hellish optics long and hard. So long, in fact, that you thought time stopped. Everyone stared at you, expressions of varying degrees of astonishment and shock, and no one moved a centimeter. You finally breathed when Soundwave gave you a praising stroke. “Operation: Compliance. Result: Success. Subject: Agreeable.”

“I can see that,” Megatron muttered, stepping aside and holding out a hand to the row of bodies. “It is my will, flesh creature. Proceed.”

You weren't stupid. You knew exactly what was going on. Agreeable. Soundwave wanted you obedient, wanted you to revive of your own volition. You had no illusions that he was doing this for the sake of letting you choose. No. He was doing this because forcing you might break a valuable asset.

You wondered how close Shockwave came to killing you, and whether anyone had taken that into account. You hoped someone did. Starscream seemed the type to illuminate on another’s failures whenever he could. At least Skywarp wanted to keep you as a back-up life, and you felt like there was a potential of something looking like friendship between you – if you squinted hard enough.

Soundwave gave you a light squeeze before setting you on the medical table beside the lifeless shell. You stood tall, rolling your shoulders and taking deep breaths. Before you was a dead body. You were still a doctor. Your oaths still mattered and gave you strength. Despite it all, you wanted to help, needed to help like you needed air, food, and water. It was nourishment for your very being. You tried to find comfort in knowing you were helping someone who needed it.

You felt the back of Soundwave’s fingers brush along your side, and you turned to look up at him. His visored optics dimmed, and that’s all you could see. Unreadable, as always. He leaned down over you, considerately lowering his voice, “Designation: Astrotrain.”

Straight to business. You nodded to indicate you heard, and scaled up the much larger jet-framed mech. You scanned Flatline’s patch job before turning to him. “Are you ready?”

He gave you an indignant snort. In no way was he about to answer an organic. Soundwave checked him with that cutting tone, “Command: Work quickly. Reason: Herald weakens when prolonged contact is made while holding a living spark in place.”

“You can't be serious.” The medic turned back to his Lord. “The organic is able to give orders, now?”

“A tool is only as good as its Master,” Starscream hummed. “Isn’t that right, Lord Megatron?”

The large leader peered. “Do as you are instructed, Flatline, or I may have to appoint a new chief medical officer.”

How insulting must it be to take tasks from those you view as no bigger than bacteria. You were anything but. You were the Herald. To the Autobots, you were a symbol. Hope. A light in the darkness. Here, you didn’t know what you were, but if you weren't useful, you were afraid that death would be a kindness.

You climbed back down to Astrotrain’s helm and chose to stand and move with the thrashing yet to come. You pressed your hands on the side of his head, splaying your fingers as usual, and felt the static charge up your skin. You closed your eyes to focus, already feeling the strain pull at the tendons in the crook of your arms.

Just like with Skywarp, it was difficult. You had to relax and let the charge spider up your arms, holding on as you would the leash of a large, stubborn animal. You briefly opened your eyes to catch onto the firefly of a spark. You resumed concentration, whispering his name and your newer identity. You were the Herald, and you were here to bring him back. Just like the others, you felt his wariness. Memories plagued you, feelings of anger and loneliness, hate and confusion.

Out of the very few Decepticons you brought back, he took the longest to convince.

When Astrotrain’s spark finally swelled within his sparkchamber, he arched and writhed, venting his systems with new atmosphere. Flatline was quick to work, but you knew – you knew this was your one and only for today. Your arms felt like they were going to split open, and every ache in your body burned. Astrotrain was starting to fight you. His spark went erratic. Whatever pain he was feeling, he wanted out.

You recalled the fear of getting caught helping Sunstreaker back on Earth. You were so afraid of letting down your friends and family. Astrotrain was scared. You tried to submerge yourself in why, but it was too much. You openly belted out your agony, tears running down your cheeks, leaving rivers that prickled.

The pain was so intense, you couldn’t tell when the anchored spark released its hold on you. Flatline’s voice came through the crackling energy and you wrenched yourself away. Soundwave was quick to catch you, looking you over as you weakly hugged yourself with trembling arms, curled over and whimpering like a beaten dog. You never had a spark do that. It felt like barbed hooks deep inside the tendons of your arms, pulling out more and more, tearing and ripping. You didn’t care, you cried like a damn baby. It f*cking hurt.

“Soundwave, report,” Megatron rumbled, not pleased in the least.

“Asset: Still functioning.” He brought you closer, lowering his voice to that deep-bass murmur, “What happened? Are you injured? What’s wrong?”

Your sucked in air between sobs, squeezing out words the best you could, “I...I don’t...nuh-know.”

“Is it already spent? It barely revived Astrotrain.” Starscream scoffed. “Perhaps Shockwave’s experiments had damaged it more thoroughly than we suspected.”

“My objective was to extract or harness this ability. Not preserve the organic material.”

“Either way, My Lord, I suggest we return the Herald into my care.” The Jet Commander casually checked over the paint on his hand. “I have returned it to this state from the brink. A little longer should return it to optimal use.”

“Perhaps we should try again,” Shockwave offered. “I will attempt to scan and see where its defect lies.”

You gasped in noisily, croaking out a noise sounding like, “no!” Soundwave curled his fingers around you as he flexed his authority. “I disagree and advise against it. Operation: Compliance. Recommendation: Communication.”

Megatron continued to stand as a statue, overlooking his officers. His one and only movement was a gesture to Soundwave. The Communications Officer returned his attention to you. “Report: Why did you fail?”

Fail? Fail? You lashed out, fueled hotly by the pain more than the accusation of failure, “I’ve had to recover from dying of dehydration, from starvation, and from whatever the hell that purple f*ck did to me! I’m not like you! I’m organic!” You coughed up a few sobs, curling up in a little ball in his hand. “This one fought me. Every one of you... it’s like they don’t want to come. They make me work harder, but I can't, because I need time to heal.”

Megatron leaned in closer, listening as Soundwave asked, “It was not this difficult, before?”

“No. No, the Autobots were willing.” You took a few recovering breaths, wiping your eyes and uncurling yourself with effort. “Some of them knew who I was. Some I had to get to know before I called to their spark. It was much easier. They wanted to come back, not for the war, but for what was important to them.”

“You’re saying my mechs do not want to return to fighting for me?” Megatron’s voice was ice in your spine. You couldn’t meet his eyes. You stared down at Soundwave’s hand.

“I’m saying I don’t know why they give me so much trouble,” You blurted, clinging feebly to the armor plating.

He hummed a growl, “Perhaps their sparks are much stronger than those of the Autobots.”

You braved meeting eyes with his optics, and you couldn’t help the word that spilled. “Really?”

“No,” He drawled, “I am often disappointed.”

You snorted a sharp laugh and immediately sunk down into Soundwave’s palm. You lowered your head and cussed yourself out because what the hell?! You were going mad, you must be, to lose control and giggle at an alien warlord bent on galactic conquest.

You gasped and squeaked as a hand lifted you from your security. Megatron’s large fingers curled around you, turning over and opening as you lay weak and petrified in his palm. His hellish optics bore into you. “You must work on your message, then.”

You nodded obediently, and anything in your mind that would object was effectively cowering in silence.

He addressed the room, “I’ll be taking her for a time. Return to your duties. Soundwave, with me.”

Megatron closed his massive hand over you, and it was tight. You did all you could to focus on breathing, and you weren't sure if you were having trouble because of the pressure, or because of the mounting terror of guessing what was about to happen. Soundwave said he wouldn’t pass you on. Was this a repeat of last time? Was this a new monster to twist your body and break your will?

Soundwave would be there, but you didn’t put much stock in him protecting you from his liege. You tried not to hyperventilate and cry.

The long walk was soundless, save for the heavy footsteps and the hum and bustle of the ship and crew. Megatron entered a wide room where there was only a single chair perched on a platform. Your fear fizzled out. This pretentious bastard had a throne. He sat down and dropped you at his feet, and you flared hot annoyance. If this was some show of dominance, having you at his heel, then this was a sad way to do it. You staggered back some in your weakened state, trying to not break your neck every time you looked up at him.

Soundwave stood at his side, and you saw his hand flick out in a stay gesture. You obeyed, mixed between offended and grateful. You risked a look around, seeing the open skylight windows displaying the vastness of space. You were almost lost to the void, but the Tyrant brought you back. “I am not blind to the motivations of my Second.”

You returned your wide eyes to him. Who was his second? Wasn’t it Soundwave – no, no it was the other; The Jet Commander, Starscream.

“He is much too eager to burden himself with the trivialities of organic maintenance. He must have plans for you, to use you to further his goals. Speak, cretin. What do you know?”

“Nuh-nothing.” You nearly stumbled back as you had over the word.

He leaned forward in his seat, optics holding you in place. “Is it fear or loyalty that makes you lie to me?”

“Fear,” You admitted, and there was something relieving about it. You were going to feel this way, no doubt about it, but saying it out loud made you feel a little more in control. “I’m terrified.”

“If I wanted you terminated, I would not have suffered you as long as I have.” He folded his hands under his chin, elbows on his knees. “As useful as you are, you require more maintenance than I care to tolerate.”

You only saw him, like, two times. How the hell did he suffer you? You tried your best to wipe the contempt from your face. You kept your mouth firmly shut. It must be the aches and hunger that made you irritably bold towards your captors.

“I would suspect Starscream to have discussed plans with his men, hence why Skywarp has you locked up in his quarters. Think, creature. Give me something more useful than your pitiful display earlier.”

You grimaced. Your pitiful display brought back one of his soldiers, you’re welcome. You shook your head. “It’s mostly whining and complaining. He says he deserves more. He was surprised when Skywarp took me.”

“He did not order his Seeker to retrieve you?”

“He was going to levy my supplies – I'm not sure how.” You tried your best to stand straight and breathe evenly. “I don’t remember much. I was still recovering after those experiments. I hadn’t eaten or drank anything for days. I’m still... processing what I went through. Things are foggy.”

Megatron hummed, “Your weakness is an annoyance. To have such an ability is a cosmic joke I do not find entertaining.”

“Neither do I,” You uttered, then winced.

“But here you are,” His hum became a chuckle. “The rumor in the flesh – the Herald of the Well. It is not often that my Chief Scientist fails me. It seems your powers are well and truly yours. Another irritation, but I find myself impressed, like one would with a virus that won’t die.”

Your nostrils flared as you drew in a slow and hard breath. Fears shifted to anger, then to a stunned realization. His scientist failed? The Chief Scientist? The smartest one he had!? What he said about your power being yours, he meant it. Could you assume you were safe from Shockwave?

Megatron continued, oblivious to your mental discovery, “It was some timely convenience Soundwave found your existence. Tell me, do you know your ability well?”

Timely convenience? What was so timely about it? Maybe they suffered substantial losses, or maybe you were going to be an integral part of a plan against the Autobots. You fixed your jaw, swearing to yourself to only let it get so far. You answered strongly, adopting your usual air of professionalism, “I cannot confidently say yes. Before I was invited to your ship, I was still finding out more about my mutations. I don’t know how I got this way, or if this is the extent of what I can do.”

He waved his hand wearily. “Yet you have a limit to how many deceased you raise. Will you perish if you pass that limit?”

“I pass out – er, stasis. I fall into stasis.” You wanted to offer more, but held back the information of you reaching three revivals as a personal record. You added for good measure, “If that happens, I don’t do as well for the next round. If I do not maintain myself, I can perish.”

Megatron’s fixation on you was starting to become less terrifying and more academic. It disturbed you in a different vein. “It seems you require much in order to use your ability. You even experience pain and strain while reviving. If you are inactive, do you charge? Can you do more?”

Your brows came together. He was asking very pointed questions, and you were uncertain which direction to go. You decided on honest, but leaned more in your favor. “I’ve never been in optimal health and idle at the same time. With the Autobots, I’ve either been injured or in use, but never resting.”

He rumbled again in thought, leaning back in his seat. He turned his head slightly to his Communications Officer, saying, “See that it is not used any further without my authorization. Shockwave will take readings of it now, and scan again at a later time to see if there is a noticeable change. If it cannot withstand the core of Cybertron, then it is useless to me.”

You were worth something, now, as a whole. You were an asset. These facts did nothing to comfort you, but your interest overrode your instinct to shut-up and survive. The name had you running your mouth. “Cybertron? Your homeworld?”

Megatron offered you an exasperated glance. “You know a few things. Good for you.”

“Thank you.” You didn’t take his slight too personally, as you were scribbling out clues over the chalkboard of your mind’s laboratory. “I pay attention when your people – Cybertronians, I mean – talk to me. From what I know, your homeworld is uninhabitable.”

Now you had a frightening amount of his attention, and you could not shut up. Like a dog on the scent, you dug. “What do you mean, withstand the core? The core of your homeworld? What are you trying to do? What does it have to do with me?”

“You ask many questions, vermin.” He peered. “Consider your position, and how lucky you are that I do not squash you like the bug you are.”

Consider your position. You remembered being told that by your professor, once upon a time. It triggered you, and you found yourself mouthing off to the Decepticon sovereign. “I’ve considered it long enough to know that if you wanted to kill me or let me die, you would’ve. I’m not stupid. I can see clearly that you need me for more than just bringing back your soldiers. You need me for something more than that.”

Convenience. Megatron said that word, that finding you was some timely convenience. If it wasn’t for reviving his soldiers, then what was so convenient about having you? He asked so much about your powers, but to hold them back from bolstering his forces? What did it all have to do with...

“Cybertron. What does this have to do with Cybertron or-or the core?”

Megatron looked down at you from his nose. He turned his head to the side to regard Soundwave a moment, then leaned down. “Our planet was dormant. Now, it is dying. The core is dimming –"

“My god,” You unwisely cut in. “The core is a... a spark? Your planet is alive – living!?” You were hit with a force harder than any tyrant’s backhand. “Do you...Do you think I can anchor a spark the size of a planet?!”

Megatron sat up straight, lips curled in a frown. He opened his mouth, but stopped as you started pacing – limping – back and forth and rambling faster than your presentation on cellular degeneration of energon exposed lab-mice. “You think I can help a spark of that magnitude?! I just brought back one of the biggest mechs I can remember, and he was a bitch to anchor! And you want me to do that to a planet? Where? What the hell does it even look like?”

Soundwave leaned close to his liege during your rant. “Intel: Organics can get hysterical. Recommendation: Give her a moment.”

“I only have so much patience,” He vented, rubbing his fingers under his optics. “And Starscream offered to house this shrieking creature? Whatever he’s planning, it must be worth enduring this.”

You stopped in mid-step, mouth open and gasping. Cybertron was dying. Cybertron had a spark and it was dying. If it perished, then all those you came to love would be without a home. Sunstreaker would never be able to open his gallery. Sideswipe would never have a place to collect his favorite things. They would never have a place to call home, a place to live in peace. Your head snapped back to those terrifying eyes of Megatron as something other than fear filled you.

Hope. You were the Herald of hope.

“I’ll do it. I’ll help – cooperate, whatever. If you think I can, I’ll try.”

He held up his hand to silence you. “You’re assuming you have a choice.”

“I do,” You said with new and unwavering conviction. “This power is mine. I can choose death and take this with me at any time. I can choose to fight and lose. I can choose to not give in.” You squared your shoulders, declaring boldly, “I don’t believe in fate or divine intervention, but I do believe in purpose and responsibility – I believe in duty. If there is something only I can do, then I will do it.”

Megatron was quiet a moment, his lips curling back to flash his teeth – Denta, whatever – in a grimace. “You sound like someone I used to know.”

You didn’t care. Your terror was overshadowed with the possibility of doing something much greater, something far beyond anything you could ever fathom. If there was any chance, even a sliver of an opportunity to save Cybertron from dying out, you were going to do it. You were going to give those you loved their home.

“When do we go? When do we get started?” You pressed your palms together, pleading, “Please, what can I do?”

The leader of the Decepticons held his chin as he regarded you, angling his head slightly as Soundwave leaned in again. “Operation: Compliance. Results: Optimal. Subject: willing and obedient, eager to assist. Mission: Concluded.”

Chapter 15: Fault

Chapter Text

Alan nearly lost his lunch – dinner? Breakfast? He didn’t know anymore – as Wheeljack rushed him and Henri down the corridors. Each turn seemed to blur into the next like a disorienting maze. It was one of those rare times the man let himself be carried, but he felt like less of a man and more like one of those diner salt-shakers filled with more rice than salt.

He didn’t know how long he slept. The clocks on the wall were merely a suggestion to the passing of time, but if Alan had to guess, it had to have been more than twenty hours.

Plenty of time for something to go wrong.

Alan had finished a full pot of coffee to counteract whatever Henri gave him. He would never say he was grateful to his old friend, but he appreciated the drug-induced, dreamless sleep. Alan was in the middle of eating an entire bag of rehydrated ‘chikn&dumplns’ right when Wheeljack came busting in.

“Prowl called a meeting. We gotta go. Now.”

There were no details. Just ‘we gotta go.’

Wheeljack slowed to a stop at a pair of doors with guards on either side. “Open those for me, will ya? Got my servos full.” Inexperience with handling humans regularly bade the Autobot to hold them out like hamsters, as if the guards needed proof.

Alan noted the doors wouldn’t just slide open on their own. It was that kind of meeting that needed a passkey. Helpfully, the bots complied and used their access code to let him in. Wheeljack entered and went straight for the round table in the center, setting the two down and left to speak with Optimus.

Henri sunk to his knees, clutching his belly and taking breaths to stave off the worst ride he’d been on. Alan sympathized, but wore his suffering well. Instead of feeling like his food was going to come up, it weighed down in his guts. His stomach was its own spaceship and it turned the gravity on high.

Alan took a full panoramic of the semi-quiet room, dimly lit by the holographic maps of planets, star charts, ship diagrams, and so many other things sprawled along the walls. The hum of the surrounding machinery and tech had him clenching his jaw. At the center of the table, where most of the light came from, was a pillar of galaxy. There was literally no other way to describe it. It was a cylindrical piece of the universe with stars, planets, and a sun.

He didn’t have the capacity to appreciate it all. This was a War Room, and within were those he recognized as Commanders, Captains, Specialists – serious ranks. He clenched his jaw. Prowl wanted him here. This had to have been about you.

He jumped as a mech set a hand beside him. Sunstreaker looked a little surprised to see that reaction from the usually steely man. “Heard anything?”

“Nothing. Just got here.”

“Same,” Sideswipe said from beside his brother. He tilted his head some, optics looking him over. “You alright?”

Alan waved his hand out wildly to indicate the room, his whisper hitting a pitch. “No!”

“Yeah, I get it.” Sideswipe gave an almost apologetic smile, but it was so weak it was barely there. He squatted down to get on his level. “Big names in here: Optimus, Mags, Ironhide, Springer, Silverbolt –"

“Don’t recognize him.”

“Aerialbot Commander,” Sunstreaker said. He continued to scan the room, studying each holographic display as if they would give him clues as to why he was here. It was all just generic information.

“Is this about Eve? Did they find her?” Henri finally felt better enough to stand, but still kept a hand on his queasy stomach. “I mean, we wouldn’t have been called in if it wasn’t about her, right?”

“When Prowl gets here, we’ll know,” Sunstreaker responded. “In the meantime, say less. Four of my commanding officers are here, along with two captains who can pull rank whenever they want. I want to look like I have patience with you, which I don’t whenever you speak.”

Sideswipe snorted a laugh, then laughed again when Alan shrugged at Henri and said, “The struggle is real, man.”

“There is something serious going on and you’re making jokes.”

“No, I’m stating facts.”

Henri looked as if he was about to counter with more scolding, whining, or anything that would irritate Alan, but he balked away instead. Alan turned to see Springer had rounded the table to their side of the room.

“Sideswipe bring you as a joke, Paint-Job, or are you supposed to be here?”

Alan would have sewn a little chaos or smartassery, but Henri did have a point. Time and place. “Prowl called us here.”

Springer hummed, crossing his arms over his massive chest and bringing a fist to tap on his chin. “The lot of us suspect this has something to do with Luna Two. Why would he call you?”

Alan struggled for a few pounding heartbeats. “Man, I can’t talk about it.”

The large mech’s face pinched, completely taken off guard. “What do you mean, you can’t –"

“I mean I can't talk about it, Captain.”

Springer’s optics stared at the tattooed man for a perplexed moment, then flicked up at the twins. Sunstreaker continued to stare ahead, wearing his general frown. Sideswipe was the only one that looked willing to speak, but shook his head to say he couldn’t.

It was starting to come together. “Frag. Are we looking at a strike or a rescue? Never mind. Prowl just walked in.”

The doors opened to the Military Commander, himself. Close behind was Jazz and Ratchet, parting to cross around opposite ends of the table. Quiet murmurs continued, and Springer went back to his place beside Silverbolt, leaning over to impart whatever new theories he discovered from his encounter with Alan. Prowl took his place at the table where most of the control panels were, setting down a small stack of datapads.

Ratchet came up to Wheeljack, handing him a datapad and speaking quietly. Alan couldn’t make anything out, and even if he could, it wasn’t in a language he would understand. Jazz took his place behind the frontliners. Alan felt his hair stand on the nape of his clammy neck when he heard his baritone warning.

“Stay cool or I’ll hafta throw you out.”

Oh f*ck. There was a bomb about to be dropped, and Alan didn’t know if he was prepared to weather it.

Prowl hit a few keys on the table; the galaxy hologram flickered and changed to an alien spaceship. He was usually terse with his orders, but there was a frenetic chord to his words. “I’ve called this briefing due to the discovery that the Trion has been hit by Decepticon forces. I’ve confirmed that Doctor Morgan has been taken.”

The bomb detonated. There was no other reason to explain the ringing in Alan’s ears. Henri’s incomprehensible yelling made no sense, and Sunstreaker’s questions became noise as Sideswipe tried to talk over everyone. Alan only stood there, still trying to figure out who ‘Doctor Morgan’ was, and what ‘taken’ meant.

“Quiet!” Optimus hit a volume that cleared the haze. “When did this happen?”

“Unconfirmed.” Prowl reported, “Perceptor sent a message to Ratchet’s medical team shortly after launch. There has been nothing since.”

Ratchet confirmed with a nod. “When I wasn’t receiving any responses to my questions, I called Prowl to investigate.”

“To which I found the Trion’s energy signature was not appearing on any of our scans. There were no responses to my hails on any channel. I had sent Cosmos and Sky Lynx to inspect the route.”

“This means you knew ‘bout this durin’ the last meeting.” Ironhide planted his large hands on the table, leaning in for that added air of displeased. “Why did you say nothin’ about it?”

“To prevent panic. I wanted confirmation.” Prowl kept level in his reasoning. Tension grew, as it usually had, over how the Military Strategist handled things his way. The room dividing over his methods was a common distraction.

“Confirmation from a fleet would have saved time,” Silverbolt countered. “We could have dispersed from the wreckage and hunted down the ‘Cons.”

“Or a mass of Autobot ships would have aroused Decepticon suspicion to a ship that merely lost power,” Ultra Magnus said. “Protocol was followed, despite High Command being uninformed. What else do you know about the attack? How was it confirmed that Organic-Doctor Morgan was taken?”

“Accounts from the Trion crew, via Sky Lynx’s communications. We’ll get more details when they –"

“They’re alive?” Sunstreaker was in disbelief. “All of them? How? ‘Cons don’t leave survivors.”

“I... I know.” The officer was edging off of that professional tone to something else. “I didn’t linger to ask. As soon as I heard she was taken, I didn’t waste any more time.”

Henri was sobbing. Snot came from his nose, his body trembled, and his breaths came fast and wheezy. He spoke up through tears. “Why the hell are they alive and she isn’t? Those aliens were supposed to protect her – you were supposed to protect her!”

“Who invited the leaky fleshling?”

“Silverbolt, reserve your judgments. They deserve to be here,” Optimus said. “Please, Doctor Arkeville, calm yourself. We will do everything to deliver our friend back within the safety of the Autobots.”

“Safety? Safety? You killed her. Eve’s dead!”

Eve’s dead. You were dead? Alan finally felt the fire and reacted. He smacked the man on the back of the head. “She’s not dead, you moron! This was planned – you don’t kill someone you plan to nab!”

“Planned?” Springer asked. “What makes you say that?”

The door to the briefing room opened, and everyone turned to the grizzled, old war-mech that limped inside. The guards did nothing to stop Kup. “Because it was planned.”

All mechs, and even the two humans, looked surprised on varying levels. Kup had bullet holes all over, and a few leaked energon. Scorches and peeled metal armor exposed shorting wires, hitching hydraulics, and grinding gears. Smoke and sparks added to the evidence of the kind of fight he survived, and continued to function through.

Jazz shook his head. “Kup, my man, you look like hell.”

“Sky Lynx said –" Prowl was cut off.

“Cosmos carried me here. He’s in the medbay for burnin’ out his thrusters. Good mods. Bad smell.” Kup braced himself on the table as he held up a hand to stave off Ratchet.

“You need to be in the medbay.” The old medic was undeterred, looking him over and running a cursory scan.

“This first, Doc.” Kup nodded his head to Alan. “Paint-Job’s right. The ‘Cons planned this t’get the Herald out in the open. They knew about her. We were betrayed.”

“Who?” Sunstreaker asked through gritted teeth.

Ironhide grounded out, “We got a ‘Con spy in our station?”

“Are communications compromised?” Jazz asked.

“Nah, none of that. It was somethin’ ‘bout the humans. I tried listenin’ to as much as I could, but that bastard, Barricade, knocked some’m loose. Now I gotta rattle in this ol’helm.” Kup palmed his forehead for good measure, and there was a rattle. “But I know it wasn’t no Autobot transmission. It was the fleshies. Someone talked ‘bout the Herald, and the ‘Cons picked up the burst.”

“Oh my god. Oh my f*cking god.” Alan hardly breathed. He cupped his face and chanted the line a few more times, trying to find words other than that. His eyes darted from Henri, to the gunner twins, to Jazz, then to Prowl. “Bethany’s calls. She told Simmons what she saw.”

Everyone was hit by the same pang of regret. The moment stretched on for several lifetimes Alan relived over and over – and each time was the same as the last. He saw Optimus hunch over, palms flat on the table as he shook his head at what he believed was his failure, and his alone. Jazz clenched his fist and pressed it against his mouth, wanting to say so much; as did Prowl, who openly snarled and bit down on whatever was about to spill out.

Alan barely flinched at the sound of Sunstreaker venting out a hissing sigh, feeling the heat of barely contained fury. Sideswipe had his fists clenched at his sides, trembling slightly, but enough that Alan could hear the faint rattle of a loose wire. Everyone privy to those missed messages counted their mistakes. They had varying expressions that were different, but similar. f*ck was a tangible energy that hung in the room.

“Sounds ‘bout right. Poor kid looked real hurt by it.” Kup continued on, either not acknowledging the tension or just ignoring it. “Next thing we know, Starscream is orderin’ our execution and she’s negotiatin’ with Soundwave for our lives.”

“Who are these f*cks and does it matter?” Alan asked loudly.

“These are Megatron’s top officers. Decepticon’s High Command,” Optimus explained. “Soundwave’s presence is a clear sign of Megatron’s involvement. Doctor Morgan will be delivered right to him. We must not waste any more time.”

“Hold up. I was told these guys hate organics.” Alan waved his hand for everyone’s attention. “So how does someone like me, an organic, negotiate with your enemy?”

“They don’t,” Kup grounded out. “She used her confounded magic as leverage. She brought back Soundwave’s lil crony as part of an agreement. I’ll admit, I was surprised he kept to his word.”

Jazz spoke up, “Slagger’s unpredictable. Starscream, though... What surprises me was that he didn’t try and take any shots on the way out.”

“Soundwave had us locked in the helm. Dunno if it was to slow us down or keep us safe from his own. Doesn’t matter, now.” Kup turned his attention to Alan and Henri. “She’s a brave kid. ‘Screamer ain’t the kind of ‘Con that takes bein’ argued with kindly. Oh, she was shakin’, but she had bite.”

Sideswipe snorted, leaning over to murmur to his brother, “Woulda loved to see that.”

Sunstreaker didn’t respond. He stared ahead, looking fit to march out the door and do something if it wasn’t for Jazz’s staying hand on his shoulder.

“Of course she does, but she’s used to dealin’ with assholes her size, not the size of a goddamn house!” Alan said. He took a moment to clutch at his shirt, stealing a few leveling breaths. “She’ll do what she can to survive – just like what she did with that f*ckface, Simmons, and Sector Seven – but you guys are not going to wait months to get her out. Tell me you have a plan!”

Your Ex blinked. “What about Agent Simmons?”

“He creeped on her – probably to f*ck her.”

“What!?”

Prowl responded to Alan, his sharp tone cutting through the noise, “I always have a plan. After Sky Lynx’s transmission and before I called this meeting, I’ve sent scout drones to locate the Nemesis. I’ve ordered maintenance crews to see to several ships and ready them for deployment. I’ve demanded sit-reps from all Autobot posts and field agents on Decepticon movements. I will find her.”

“What ‘bout Omega?” Kup asked. “Nothin’ quite sends ‘Cons skitterin’ away like the Sentinel.”

“Omega is not fit for duty,” Wheeljack said. “He has suffered an infestation of scraplet hybrids. I am currently working on locating the signal of where the breeding queen is holed up. Other than that, the water pump has been built and is ready.”

Prowl began handing out the datapads from his stack. “I will rule him out, then. Once the Nemesis is located, I want to be ready for deployment. I need the Aerialbots. I need the Wreckers. I need Team Prime. I want to hit the Decepticons hard, and I want to get Doctor Morgan out, immediately.”

Ultra Magnus said, “The Wreckers are currently on Medical –"

“I am superseding Wrang’s decision to keep them grounded. They are required. If he protests, he can submit a complaint to my deletion box.”

Springer gave a quick glance Prowl’s way, a little surprised, but somehow not too surprised. He gave a nod. “Say the word. My team’s been ready cycles ago.”

“I know. I’m aware of the nuisance complaints,” Prowl said curtly, then looked to Alan and Henri. “I need you to assist Wheeljack. Even at thirty-percent, Omega is a force to be had. Get him functioning.”

“I will,” Alan said strongly. “What about you? Don’t tell me you’ll be eating donuts while everyone does all the heavy lifting.”

“I’ll be assembling a strike squad.”

“And?” Alan asked.

His lip twitched. “And I’ll be leading it.”

The tech nodded his approval. “Get my – our – friend back, Prowl. I’m counting on you.”

The officer took a stone-faced moment before returning with a single nod. He turned his attention to the frontliners while handing a datapad to Jazz. “Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, you’re with me. Report to the armory in twenty klicks for a briefing. Jazz will assemble the rest of the team in my stead. I have a warship to track.”

Sideswipe gave a fist-pump of victory. “Fraggin’ finally!”

“Let us delay no longer,” Optimus said, his words as strong and sturdy as his stalwart frame. “An ally, and friend to the Autobots is in grave danger. We will conclude this meeting and prepare our squadrons. Prowl, you can count on us to be ready once you locate the Nemesis.”

Mechs started filing out. Sunstreaker went to turn away, but paused as his name was called by the tattooed man. He looked down his shoulder as Alan held out his fist. “Make those f*ckers pay.”

“I intend to,” He said with a curl to his lips, tapping his much larger fist against Alan’s. “And I’ll bring her home with a few more souvenirs.”

[-.-]

Several hours later...

“Wait! We don’t have time!” Bluestreak called out, “We’re supposed to be at the cruiser! Prowl said –"

“Prowl always tacks on thirty klicks before takeoff, we’ll be fine,” Sideswipe said, throwing a dismissive wave over his shoulder.

The sniper continued to pursue Sideswipe, who in turn followed his brother. Every bot moved out of Sunstreaker’s way as he stormed down the hall, like he could ram worlds in his wake. He made it to the medbay doors, shoving them open in a dramatic display that had nearly everyone’s attention. Sunstreaker paused long enough to scan the medbay, hunting for one mech in particular.

Further down the line of patient beds, Hot Rod sat up just enough to get a look, much to the annoyance of First Aid. The medic snapped, “Hold still. I can’t fine-weld wires if you’re – what? What is – Ooh. Oh no.”

Drift stirred on the bed beside them with a pained groan, his optics flickering online. He felt the hostile aura before it was directed his way. He sat up, clutching his taped-up abdominal wound with a grunt, finding Sunstreaker had honed in on him from across the medlab. Dread mixed with the pain in his fuel pump. He was in no condition to fight off anyone, let alone a frontliner.

The one he made a vow to.

Hot Rod pushed First Aid aside, aiming to get up and do something. First Aid tried to keep him down. “You’re tearing your filaments! Slag –" He turned to see the oncoming problem while trying to keep his patient on the medical berth. “Ah, help! Security!”

Sunstreaker’s intent was clear, and Sideswipe wasn’t going to be the reasonable thinker and stop him. Bluestreak was the only one babbling for them to stop. Drift watched the consequence of his broken promise come closer, and he vented out a long sigh and braced himself.

Drift failed you. He deserved the wrath of those who cared about you.

A crash sent his optics wide. Sunstreaker was blitzed from his flank, pinned up against a medical terminal. A forearm cut across his neck, holding him in place, and Sunstreaker came face to face with the chief medical officer.

“Not in my medbay,” Ratchet said, each word hard and pointed. He flicked that stern, staying glare at Sideswipe, who remained in place, but tense and ready. Bluestreak held up his servos in surrender. Ratchet gave Sunstreaker a push before taking his place between him and Drift. “It wasn’t his fault.”

Sunstreaker snarled, about to counter how it was, before words hitched up in his vox.

“It was.”

Drift’s confession made the entire room dim to a gloomy haze. Everyone watching this carnage-to-be settle as the switch was flipped from antagonistic to somber. The space was quiet, save for the static warble of Drift’s vocals.

“I wasn’t strong enough; fast enough. I should have been prepared for anything. It’s my fault –"

Ratchet rounded on him, nearly yelling, “You didn’t send the message that tipped off the Decepticons! This entire thing was all a plan to get her out in the open – nobody saw this coming.”

“We were an infiltration team,” Hot Rod joined in trying to mitigate blame. “We were in no way outfitted to take on a ‘Con strike.”

“We weren’t! I should have recognized that and never left her to fight them off,” Drift snapped back. “I should have taken her to an escape pod! I should have used the crew to slow them down while I took her to safety.”

“Those are ‘Con tactics,” Bluestreak said. “You’re an Autobot. You never leave a bot behind.”

“And what did my honor give me? Failure. That’s why this is my fault.”

“It wouldn’t have worked.”

Everyone turned back to Sunstreaker. The golden gunner visibly cooled, but traces of irritation made him work his mouth. He chewed on his next bitter statement. “She wouldn’t have let you. She wouldn’t leave anyone behind.”

Drift sat up more, trying to turn towards the twins. “I know. I knew it the moment her field touched mine and she commanded me to go. She is... so strong, Sunstreaker. So virtuous and honorable and good. She’s what The Guiding Hand would want us to be. She makes me feel like I could take on an entire platoon.”

Sunstreaker made a face, and no one was sure if it was because Drift had once wiped out Autobot platoons by the dozens, or his description of how he perceived you as, or the fact that Drift was the only bot to read your electro-magnetic field. Sunstreaker only grunted as he glanced aside, “Uh-huh... yeah.”

Sideswipe stepped around his brother, clearly making his way for Drift, but paused when Ratchet moved. Sideswipe held up his hands in a display of harmlessness, and waited for the medibot to step aside and allow him through. As if they were buddies all along, Sideswipe sat on the medical berth beside Drift and pointed at his injury. “Hit any fuel lines?”

Drift moved his servo aside to show off the charred and curled metal. Energon had dried and flaked along the edges. “Shot twice. First one hit a main line. I lost so much, my nav started getting dizzy.” He turned a sad smile to the twins. “She crawled in and performed a manual seal. Primus, it hurt.”

“Should probably get that disinfected,” First Aid said from Hot Rod’s medi-slab.

Drift continued, “She was so brave, like she was made for the role of field-medic. You would have been so proud of her.”

“I am.” Sunstreaker gave an indicating jerk of his head to Sideswipe. He turned to his side, signifying he was leaving. “Scouters found the emissions trail of the Nemesis. We’re on the hunt. Get patched up, and show those ‘Cons you give as good as you get.”

Sunstreaker didn’t wait for a response as he left. Sideswipe gave a light pat to the swordsmech before he joined his brother out. Bluestreak stood for a moment longer, wearing a tense and thoughtful frown as he rested his hand on his own chest plate. He gave Drift a long look before chasing after the twins.

Drift sat there as his frame vented out the stress that heated his systems, his processor buzzing. Despite accepting whatever punishment was coming his way, he still held that ingrained program to fight and survive. Even riddled with guilt and self-blame, he wouldn’t have gone down without a fight.

He looked up at Ratchet. The seasoned medic was watching the doors, as if making sure they weren’t coming back. Drift watched him for a long moment before speaking up. “You didn’t –"

“Lie back,” Ratchet cut him off. He turned to him and pushed him down to lie flat on the slab. “Let’s get you repaired before their ship’s engine warms up.”

Drift stole the moment to watch, to admire the intense focus on that hard face. Ratchet was looking over the injury, murmuring to himself. Their optics met.

“Thank you,” Drift whispered.

Ratchet said nothing, but did give the smallest of nods to indicate he acknowledged him.

Chapter 16: The Memory of You (Warning: Sexually Explicit)

Chapter Text

Several hours before launch...

Every bot has their own way of working off stress – but stress sounded like such a tame word to describe the jitter over Sideswipe’s neura-net. It felt like grit deep between his wires and under his plates, itching relentlessly. His spark couldn’t stop pulsing at an anxious rate, and the energon in his lines warmed his frame enough to be uncomfortable.

This was the worst part of a mission. The Waiting. The agony of it increased a metro-ton because the mission involved you.

You were out there somewhere, and everyone just waited.

Sunstreaker was being a real slagger. It was completely warranted, but Sideswipe didn’t want to be near him when he was like this – snapping at everyone, nagging and berating for every little thing, and scrubbing everything till he could see his reflection. Sunstreaker was best left alone to meticulously clean and oil his guns, dust and rearrange his trophy case, and reorganize your space for the twentieth time.

Even if his brother was pleasant and the link between them was calm, Sideswipe couldn’t sit still. He couldn’t stay shut in.

The training arena was mildly busy. Sideswipe raced around the track more times than he could count. He didn’t know if he beat his personal best, because he couldn’t focus and pay attention to his chronometer. When his tires got too warm, he moved to the range.

He didn’t know how many shots he fired. He didn’t know how many times he had reloaded. Sideswipe felt he was going through the motions; changing targets, hitting targets, and repeat. He had to stop. The blaster was getting heated to the point of warping.

Sideswipe couldn’t stop thinking of you and how your absence was almost painful. Sunstreaker’s resonance over the bond didn’t help any. Despite having his twin back, Sideswipe felt the echoes of a familiar loneliness – a hollow. Over their branched frequency, the feeling was mutual, pinging back and forth.

Sideswipe turned back out to the arena, fixing his hip at the gun table. His optics scanned everyone going about their day, either seriously training or just here to stave off boredom. Off to the side were the sparring rings, but Sideswipe didn’t feel like that would help him. He didn’t want to take this out on anyone, let alone get injured and risk needing repairs when he could get called at any moment.

His optics darted to the doorways near the designated sparring pits. Bots were coming and going from the washracks. Maybe a cool shower would help chill his frame and rinse out the itch under his plates. Sideswipe didn’t clean his guns before packing them away. Sunstreaker would bitch, but he would appreciate the extra busy work.

Sideswipe made his way over, and a few waved and called out a greeting. He wore a mask of genial indifference, finding the need to pretend that everything was alright exhausting.

“You okay?” Beachcomber stopped him on his way to the washracks. “Y’seem a little down.”

“Tough mission. Waiting to deploy,” Sideswipe said with a shrug. It was vague, but the truth.

“Wires buzzin’?” The laid-back bot drawled with a nod. “I get it. I’m on my way out, but if you need me...?”

Beachcomber could have alluded to anything within the training arena. He could have offered to be a spotter for working out, an opponent to race against, a sparring partner, a shooting competitor, a berth buddy.

Interfacing with another bot would have been on the list, but Sideswipe never had the chance to offer the open part of the relationship with you. It wouldn’t be right, not without communicating if it was something you were okay with.

You. Would you mind? Would you join him?

“Thanks, but nah. I’m just gonna cool down and head out.”

“Cool, cool. See ya – Oh! And good luck.” Beachcomber continued on his way out.

Sideswipe watched him go for a brief moment, not really considering anything physical, but something different. Talking. You were good at talking about your feelings, and while it wasn’t exactly Sideswipe’s usual go-to way of alleviating nerves, he found himself wanting to just talk.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t talk about a classified mission or his relationship with you.

He entered the washracks, and it wasn’t some fancy spa in Crystal City. It was a normal, public facility where bots could drain spent fuel, lube joints, and get sprayed off. Still, it was more than he ever had in Kaon.

Sideswipe nodded at a few mechs as he navigated his way through. He had his choice of showers – public or private. Most bots would step into one of the many open rooms for a quick rinse, but the private ones were where plates would shift aside, where chestplates would split open and reveal a mech’s engine specs.

It was also a popular place for a quick rendezvous.

He turned down one of the many foggy corridors, keeping his head down. Sideswipe didn’t want to attract attention as he entered the hall with rows of private stalls. Some of them were in use, wisps of steam licking out between the gaps.

Sideswipe stepped inside one that was far enough away from others. Within was a console, and he selected his wash: generic solvent, chilled, with extra coolant. He stepped under the nozzle and turned it on. The green-tinted liquid showered down over him, rivering between seams, getting under his plating and between cables.

Sideswipe heard a venting groan down the hall, paired with a hissing rebuke. Someone was having fun.

He could be having fun, too. Not with them, but with you. And maybe with those faceless mechs, if you were of a mind. Would you watch, or could he watch you? The thought of seeing you with another bot didn’t make him jealous, but he certainly felt greedy. The feel of you was intoxicating and soft and warm, unlike the cold spray that rivered over him.

Sideswipe felt himself pressurize at the thought of it all, the possibilities. Spike deep in a mech while his glossa was between your legs – would you like that? Would you like to see how good he was?

He opened his array and heard you whisper in the back of his mind.

“Shhh. Don’t make a sound.”

If he had you here, he’d have to be quiet. Imagine if someone caught him with you, and that bot saw you laving that little glossa on his spike – well, they’d be curious, wouldn’t they? Imagine you rutting your array on a mech’s node while he spiked them. Imagine your soft frame between two towering mechs, making them feel like titans.

Sideswipe muted the branched-bond. He would have to pay attention to keep the programs in place, but he would do that for you. He wouldn’t want Sunstreaker to know the devious things you’d get up to – he’d get jealous.

He stroked along his spike lightly, as if your little hands explored up and down the shaft as you had last time. You’d traced his biolights, teased the seams along the flex-mesh, and grazed over the anterior node near the tip.

“Quietly, Sides. We don’t want to get caught.”

“Why not?” He whispered, tilting his face up to the spray and offlining his optics.

“Oh, I would be so embarrassed.” You’d bat those innocent optics, but the curve to your lips would say everything. Around everyone, you were a prim and proper smarty scientist, but behind closed doors?

“Do you want me to put my mouth on it?” You were curious, attentive, and sultry.

Sideswipe vented out, “Primus please, yes.”

His digit dragged over the node, and he reminisced feeling your fleshy glossa – tongue. You were so soft against him, that morning – the last time you were truly together. He wished he had a mass displacement mod for that, to really experience what it was like to be yours. He couldn’t imagine what it would have been like, to feel you around his spike, but he knew you would feel worlds apart from a mech.

Sideswipe had to brace himself against the wall. His spike flexed and pre-fluid leaked out of the tip.

“Wow. You are a mess.” You’d laugh and smile that wonderful smile. He remembered that berth-room look about you – those lust-lit optics and that eager shudder in your ventilations. “Keep it together. We’re not done.”

It sounded like something you’d say; to tell him to control himself while driving him crazy. He gripped himself tighter at the thought of you hugging your warm body around his spike, sucking on the tip.

“Like that,” Sideswipe vented out, both to himself and you.

“Like that?” You’d tease, but you’d groan with him. You liked it when he slid his spike up between your thighs, gliding the silicon underside along your fleshy array. Your legs wrapped so tightly around him.

“Frag, yes. Just like that.”

“Take me, Sides. Please. I need you to f*ck me.” It didn’t seem like something you’d say, but maybe? He liked it when you used your native dialect. f*ck. Frag. It was all the same – but you would want it either way.

“You want me?” Sideswipe hummed. “Tell me how good I make you feel.”

“You’re amazing! There is no one like you. No alien, no mech. No one can satisfy me when I go into heat –" Okay maybe not that last part, but you certainly acted like you were in heat when you rutted your valve’s node against his shaft. “Please. I need you.”

He hung his head, gritting his denta in frustration. He pumped into his hand, trying to get the grip just right, trying to remember how tight your legs were around him. He vented out a huff, moaning.

“Shh. Someone will hear.”

His optics shot open, near panicked that someone would hear. It wasn’t that he worried he’d get caught stroking himself, or that they’d offer to hop in the stall with him, but that this fantasy he indulged in wouldn’t see an end. He loved seeing you overload; he loved seeing your body writhe and contort in ways that would make any mech wince and marvel. Imagined or not, he didn’t want to be interrupted.

He hung his head, looking down at his spike. His servo was a poor comparison to you. At his peds, the solvent-coolant mix puddled with grit and grime. You wouldn’t want to be on the floor. In this fantasy of his, how could he forget about the things he needed to help you reach him?

Sideswipe would have to smuggle in a damn table or bench. Someplace to set you where you could touch him like this. Carrying in a piece of furniture would alert some bots. Someone would suspect something untoward.

Someone might come and investigate.

His engine rumbled at the thought. Sideswipe shut off his visual receptors and imagined your chiding hiss, again.

“Keep it down. You want someone to catch us?”

“Would you like that?” He whispered, his valve panel sliding open. “You want to see me stuffed on a bot, with you rubbing on my spike?”

You’d probably get all flustered in your usual cute way, but you’d have that curious sparkle to your optics. You were an inquisitive little femme. He’d like to imagine you’d be interested. You’d let go of your insecurities and those Earth customs. He wouldn’t hurt you, not like your last mate. You could trust him. Sideswipe wouldn’t judge you. He would indulge you.

He had a hard time picturing the mech who would investigate why Sideswipe would smuggle a small table into the washracks. Jazz with his usual charm, skill, and processor-shorting overloads? Springer with his broad chest, big servos, thick thighs, and probably larger elsewhere? Prowl, who would finally discover why you were such a treat and finally stop being a prick? Ironhide and his rough-and-tough way of handling everything. Ultra Magnus, who might have some secret guilty pleasure of getting railed off rhythm?

Frag it, why not Optimus Prime?

“I see you have brought a table to aid in your engagement of a cultural exchange, Sideswipe.” Because Optimus would totally be cool with Sideswipe treating your soft body like a spike-sleeve. “Do you require assistance?”

Sideswipe turned, planting his back against the wall as he traced tight circles above his valve’s anterior node. His spike flexed and his walls quivered in tandem, dreaming you’d respond with something along the lines of, “I want to see Sideswipe blue-screen as part of my research. Please help me, Optimus, for science.”

“I will answer the call, for it is my responsibility as a Prime.”

Yeah, this whole fantasy totally made sense.

Sideswipe had never seen Optimus’ spike, but always imagined it being big and heavy with little to no mods. No one would know, as there weren’t many who were intimate with the Prime. Life at the top was lonely; life as the Bearer of the Matrix, was lonelier still.

Either way, Optimus would say “behold,” every time he got his spike out – Sideswipe was positive on that fact.

“It won’t fit,” Sideswipe whined softly as he circled his digits around the rim of his valve, envisioning Optimus’s spike prepping him in the same motion, spreading the lubrication.

“You can do it, sweetspark,” You’d encourage as you usually would. To picture you teasing his spike, stroking and licking around and near his anterior node while Optimus readied himself to plunge into Sideswipe’s folds, made his whole frame shudder. “I want to see you stretched. Doctor’s orders.”

“Come, Sideswipe. Till all are one.” Because Prime wouldn’t be Prime if he never said that sliding into a tight valve.

Sideswipe pushed in as many digits as his valve could handle. He stroked down his spike while stretching the mesh of his opening. His head clonked back against the wall, muting a groan and clamping down on his field and bond. No one could know. This was his secret rendezvous.

“You’re doing so good, Side’s,” You’d praise, grinding your hips along the soft side of his shaft. “Your spike is wonderful. It feels so good against me. I wish you could be inside me at the same time.”

“We will make you overload, Sideswipe. Whatever the cost.” Optimus would be gentle, but maybe he’d get a little rough. Poor mech was probably all pent up. Sideswipe penetrated his valve a little harder, envisioning Optimus really thrusting into him.

You would ride with the motions, sliding your array up and down Sideswipe’s spike without getting tired like last time. He paid more attention to the tip of his spike, recalling the feeling of your slick heat gliding over his anterior node.

“I want to see you gush transfluid,” You’d encourage. You’d cheer him on, be his biggest fan. Like how he wanted to make you feel amazing, you’d want him to feel just as good. “Do it for me, Sweetspark. Let your breakers blow.”

“The fate of the galaxy rests on your overload.”

“Be a good bot and give it to me.”

“I am going to fill you, Sideswipe. Are you prepared?”

“Overload with us. Please, Sides.”

Sideswipe wasn’t sure which did it. The fantasy of Optimus dumping gallons of transfluid, or you overloading against his spike, again.

His whole frame arched. The spray turned to steam as it poured between his plates and cords. His biolights brightened and flickered, transfluid spurting from between his fingers as he pumped his way through. His calipers clenched down on his digits, the walls of his valve twitching and squeezing.

It was over too quickly.

Sideswipe’s optics onlined. He looked down at himself. The shower was washing away the mess he made, taking it down the drain. He vented out a long sigh, staring for an even longer moment. In spite of the solvents cooling his burning frame, they did nothing for his racing processor or aching spark.

He slid down the wall to sit, bringing up his knees and hugging himself.

Sideswipe imagined you would cuddle up against his chest, satisfied and content. You would press your lips wherever you could in affection, humming your pleasure and fondness.

“I want to be with you, forever.”

“I do, too,” He whispered to the memory of you.

Sideswipe stayed like that several moments longer, if only to let the dream of you rest in his arms for a little while.

Chapter 17: Pawn

Chapter Text

The dynamic changed completely.

You were no longer a quivering prisoner, but a willing participant. You were not a creature to be stripped for resources, but something of value to be maintained. You were not fighting your cage to be free, but to have a hand in bringing this mission to its success.

You began with sharing everything you could about yourself: from what you were researching, the explosion and how you survived, and the first time you assisted an Autobot consciousness back into his original body.

Whereas Megatron seemed to listen to you as you would acknowledge the buzzing of a mosquito, Soundwave was engrossed with much of what you had to say. It was only when you described touching a spark for the first time, was when the Leader of the Decepticons leaned in. You explained the change of your body chemistry, and shared theories on how your mutations enabled these feats you could perform.

You made it clear you were a scientist in your own right. You were a medic of your people, and had been picking up on Cybertronian medicine with an enthusiasm that made Megatron let out a long, venting sigh of irritation.

The tyrant developed a different look as you carried on, not driven by fear, but by duty. You took on this professional air that probably came off as indignant or self-righteous, but you noticed his optics burned a little brighter when you said, “I will do everything I can to keep Cybertron from fading out. Even if it means allying myself with you. Means to an end, and all that. You understand.”

You’ve worked under assholes before in what you thought at the time were harsh conditions. Nothing prepared you for this, but you would face it, undaunted, all the same. Just another day at the lab.

Megatron sat straight again. “I understand that more than you know, fleshling.”

At one point, you would have trembled at the connotations. Now, you sighed jadedly at this dramatic warlord. Your fear was now pointed more towards accidental squishing, or getting stepped on, than intentional harm. So when Megatron stood, you stepped back to the edge of the stairs leading to his throne. Soundwave crossed the way, bending and scooping you up in one swift movement to remove you from his Lord’s path.

The walk back was quiet, save for Soundwave hailing some key players to the war room. He kept his hand cupped around you, and the warmth had a different feel to it. You were taken away as a frightened captive, and returned a confident collaborator. You were still far from their equal. You didn’t understand the glyphs on the walls, but you labeled them as you would molecule chains to mentally map the area as you went along.

You were brought into a room with a round computer table in the center. Glyphs of their language blipped on and off, holographs of different sectors of the Nemesis came alive under a dull orange glow. The interface dimmed as those who had been waiting shut it off.

You watched and listened quietly from the safety of those large blue hands as the words of the Decepticon Leader vibrated the room.

“Soundwave will keep the creature.”

“Even after sparing Autobot prisoners?” Starscream scoffed, “I thought Decepticons were supposed to be merciless, but I see we are... softening on our directive.”

“Would you rather I apply our directive on you, Starscream?” Megatron said, and he almost sounded tired. “Despite Soundwave’s offense, I’ll overlook it. He has exceeded my expectations – the only one who has, in the success of this mission.”

“Lord Megatron.” Shockwave said, “With enough time with the creature, I may discover a new method in duplicating its ability. I cannot guarantee the Subject will continue functioning, but that should be a non-issue.”

You clutched onto Soundwave’s fingers, hunkering down more as if you could shrink into nothing. All your bravado earlier was for what? To end up back on another lab table? Your handler must have sensed your unease, because he started running the back of his fingers down your side and god damn-it he was petting you.

“No. The creature will remain intact and functioning,” Megatron announced, and you exhaled the breath you held during the time he was silent. “All supplies responsible for maintaining the fleshling will be transferred to Soundwave. Any tests or projects pertaining to this creature must be cleared through him.”

You were to be kept alive. Healthy and not tortured. What a relief.

“Then I will offer to take scans of the Subject to assist in its optimal performance.” Shockwave turned that unflinching optic on Soundwave. “If its Keeper is agreeable to a few tests.”

“Requirement: tests must not cause any harm.”

“I will expect a report of your findings within the cycle. Do not disappoint me.” Megatron turned to leave the room, giving Starscream a pointed glance before letting himself out. It was different from when the Autobots convened. Everything about these mechs was so different. The room immediately felt cold with spite and agitation.

“I’ll have my mechs disassemble her habitat.” Starscream begrudgingly sneered. “Here’s hoping they are able to take it apart as well as they had put it together.”

Oh sh*t, you jolted, sitting up more. If that wasn’t a bright red warning flag of being a sore loser. That’s all you needed, your perfect home-away-from-home to be destroyed in a tantrum. You looked up at Soundwave. “Maybe I should ahhaahhnnmm –"

His thumb carefully dragged along your back and shoulders, effectively turning your words into a sighing slur. He commanded, “Rumble, Frenzy: accompany the Herald to my quarters. I will oversee the transfer of supplies.”

“I can – I can do it,” You managed, but just barely breathing out. He somehow avoided all your scabbed cuts Shockwave’s mini-drones left on you. You secretly loved those unyielding strokes over your sore muscles, but hated that he used it against you. You noticed Skywarp had quite the frown.

“Really, Soundwave. Let’s be reasonable,” Starscream drawled casually, his hands all over the place as he spoke, “I’m sure the organic knows a thing or two about its own equipment. Let it assist with the disassembling of its habitat to ensure everything is in its proper order. Perhaps even allow it a bit of rest and recharge before Shockwave’s delightful experiments.”

“I am not conducting experimentation. Merely running diagnostics on the creature since it is to remain functioning,” The scientist responded proficiently. “But I will need time to ascertain whether my scans are harmful to its biological makeup. Lord Megatron will not be pleased if it is further injured.”

“To where Soundwave would make an apt assistant.” The Jet’s tone had the same effect as a threat to your ears. He looked pointedly at Soundwave. “Surely, you have information on the organic, and a baseline of what scans are safe or not, correct? You are its new Keeper, now.”

You recalled the beginnings of your meeting with Megatron, and how he suspected his Second was up to something. You could see why. You weren't going to play this little game and wedge yourself in the middle, but if Starscream didn’t want to save Cybertron, what did he want? You could get close enough and find out, to see if you were really facing some kind of coup or if he was just being petty and wanted the shiny human to himself. You were almost naïve enough to think you could try to unite them towards a common goal. Please. These were Decepticons, not Autobots.

Soundwave’s hand went still, and your head snapped up to meet his optics. He stared at you with that troubling silence, waiting for something. You opened your mouth a few times before whispering, “I should be there to help, and I am hungry and tired. I should see, I mean, make sure...that I have...”

Something about the way he stared, the way he nodded slowly, had your voice shrivel and cower. You felt exposed and laid bare under that emotionless gaze, like he was looking through you rather than at you. At your nervousness, he traced his fingers along you firmly, encouraging you to relax. His vocals lowered to a rumbling bass you could barely make out. “You are intelligent, Herald.”

Odd time for a compliment, but you’d accept. You rewarded him with a small smile, and he regarded the room and set you down on the table. “Suggestion: Accepted. I’ll accompany Shockwave in the lab. The Herald will spend a time on recuperation and assist in the gathering of her supplies when she is recharged and ready.”

Starscream made no move to retrieve you, but did jerk his head to Skywarp. He was already crossing the way before the indication, taking you up like a greedy child. Soundwave also issued a command with a tilt of his head. “Rumble, Frenzy: accompany the Herald.”

“That’s hardly necessary,” The Seeker Commander said. “Two mini-cons will only get underped.”

“Operation: Education. They would need to learn how to assemble the habitat and pass on data to others on her maintenance,” He responded with that poker-faced authority. “Non-negotiable.”

You heard the two mini-cons grumble some. Skywarp turned away and glanced back at everyone. “She said she’s hungry. Are we done here?”

“I feel we are.” Starscream gave a mock-bow. “Till next time, Soundwave.”

Well if he wasn’t a typecast villain before, that ominous ‘till next time’ line would do it. Megatron wasn’t kidding when he said there was dissent among the ranks. You didn’t have much time to mull it over as Skywarp followed Starscream and Thundercracker at a brisk pace down the halls, ignoring the protests of the smaller mini-mechs.

Skywarp brought you up close to his face to look you over. “Are you damaged? Did Megs hurt you? Where do you need repairs?”

You flinched back at his intense questioning. You blinked a few times, not sure how to feel. “I’m not hurt.”

“Good. You look undamaged. What about your internals? Any red-codes?” He glanced up to check the back of his Commander and resumed his interrogation, “Are you feeling okay? Do you need anything, uhh, besides what you already said?”

Was this genuine concern? He was a killer of a different caliber, but you couldn’t help but feel a little softly towards him. Something about him reminded you of a few of the Autobots. You began your climb up his chest and his steps staggered some while making a few noises not unlike a jammed printer.

You hoisted yourself up on his shoulder, feeling his hand hold you in a way that left you mobile, but gave him peace of mind. You settled close to the side of his helm and gave him a pat. “I’m alright, Sky. Thank you.”

His lips formed a straight line as his optics dimmed, and you wondered if you did something wrong. You withdrew your touch and looked ahead in silence. Skywarp picked up the pace, keeping up with Starscream and Thundercracker.

“I don’t like that you’re going with Soundwave,” He admitted under a low growl.

You tilted your head to take in his profile. “Just my hab-suite. I’ll still see you around, right?”

“You will.” He said with a firm finality that made you shirk back. He seemed angry, and you didn’t feel up to trying to soothe it down. His fingers rested on your lap. Either in unease of you riding his shoulder, or for another reason. They dug into your thighs a little too much.

The Seekers made it to Skywarp’s hab-suite and he closed the door behind him. He caught your disapproving look and snorted, “What? Those ped-lickers can knock. It’s my room.”

Skywarp set you by the entrance of your little habitat and you let yourself inside. While you started prepping your dehydrated rations, Thundercracker eventually answered the little rat-a-tats at the door. The mini-mechs entered, visors ablaze with death-glares. They crossed the way to climb up to look over your aquarium-apartment.

“We shouldn’t rush transferring the creature,” Starscream said as he helped himself to Skywarp’s energon storage, not sounding at all concerned for you. “Beyond its usual maintenance, I’m sure it has suffered enough trauma at the hands of our Lord and needs time to recover.”

“I’m okay,” You spoke up as you slipped off the oxygen mask. You rubbed where the straps left lines on your face. “He ranks as, like, number two on my nightmare list.”

“Clearly, it’s in shock.” Starscream stepped closer, shooting you a burning glare, silently ordering you to shut up.

“I’m a medic – I would know.” You weren’t very good at taking those kinds of orders, though. Having already met the one who was top-tier terrifying, you had a bit more steel to your spine. “Shockwave, he still scares me.”

“Stick around a little longer, you’ll see.” Frenzy stalked the outside of your walls, reading the writing while Rumble looked over your front hatch.

“Think I could fit in there?”

“Why would you want to come in here?” You eyeballed the width of his shoulders and the airlock doorframe. He might fit, but this was your space – your sanctuary if you could call it that.

“Stop bothering her,” Skywarp snapped. From the top shelf, he brought down shipping containers filled with your supplies. “Let her do those organic things she does and come here. You want to learn about her stuff, don’t you?”

Rumble, surprisingly, listened and jumped down from the counter. Frenzy lingered some to read a few etchings on your glass wall before joining him. “Humans need petted?”

“I don’t fraggin’ know.”

Thundercracker sat on the furniture, watching Skywarp go over with the two on the items within the containers. Starscream meandered over by you as you started eating your now hydrated stew. You couldn’t ignore the shadow he cast. “Tell me what happened in there or your little cage will have a few cracks.”

You continued to chew, raising a halfhearted brow. You couldn’t stop him from breaking something, but one word from you, someone might break him. At the same time, you realized part of your chat with Megatron was strangely private. Wouldn’t his Second know about Cybertron? Or perhaps he knew his Lord was on to him and that’s where this conversation would lead.

You swallowed, and painted on an amiable smile. “You don’t need to threaten me. I would tell you if you just ask.”

He leaned down, his vocals at a hiss to try and keep this between you two. “I’m Commander Starscream. I don’t need to ask of anything. I take.”

“Uh-huh. Well, we talked about what’s happening to Cybertron.” You told half-truths.

He scoffed, “Our world is dormant, fleshling. What of it?”

You blinked. “Don’t you...don’t you know? You were part of my extraction –" When he growled, you held up your hands in surrender. “Sorry, sorry; an important part of my extraction.”

“I was.” He paused. “Don’t mock me, insect.”

“I’m not.” You were, but you were also aiming to stroke that ego Decepticons were so eager to validate. “You led the attack on Omega Supreme. To make someone like you dislike me more would be stupid; suicide, even.”

Starscream hummed approvingly, nodding with the same smile someone would have after stuffing themselves at a buffet. You set your rations aside and stood. “But let’s speak candidly, Commander. I have no intention of patronizing you when I ask: you have no idea about your homeworld fading?”

He glared, but you caught a very, very slight shake to his head. “Fading?”

Your hand fluttered over your mouth in disbelief. How could he not know? “Megatron said the core was fading out, dying. I’m not here to revive Decepticons. Soundwave had me kidnapped because they want to try and use me to save it.”

He stood ramrod straight, optics flickering a few times before he shrieked, “You can revive a planetary spark?”

“I don’t know!” You matched his pitch.

“How do I not know of this plan!?”

“Exactly!” You sympathized. “You’re Second in Command. He says he hates incompetency, but disorganization comes from lack of communication –"

“Thank you!”

“ – I had a doctor do the same thing when I was interning. He acted like I was incapable of responsibility and never included me, but all it did was lead to failure, and of course it was my fault –"

“So you get what I’m going through?”

“I’ve led a team. I’ve had a Second-in-Command. We were damn successful because I communicated and I recognized worth; gave credit where it was due.”

“By the Allspark, human, that’s all I want!” Starscream palmed his helm dramatically. “What does it take to get some recognition? I do so much, but all I get is ‘Starscream, you fool,’ and ‘Starscream, you failed me for the last time.’ Every time is the last time!”

You pressed your hand against the glass. “That’s terrible! There is no positive reinforcement, no incentive, so of course you’re going to mess up in this hostile work environment. And then, leaving you out of the loop of something this important? That’s setting you up for failure. He’s given you anxiety!”

When Starscream bent back down to face you, hands on either side of your habitat, was the moment you realized you just held a counseling session with the Second in Command of the Decepticons, Captain of the Seeker Armada, killing machine Starscream. You stepped back some as your vision filled with his face, and his vocals were a low hiss once again.

“Megatron will fall, and I, Starscream, will be Ruler of the Decepticons – and you, you, I’ve changed my processor about you. I won’t keep you in a cage, but you will be at my side to see all the glory I will bring, and you will be in awe.”

Oh wonderful. Just what you wanted.

“Ahem,” Thundercracker did a faux cough to his vocals. “Uh, what's this about Cybertron dying and all?”

Starscream stood straight again, turning to his side to reveal your audience. You were sure the Commander wished your conversation to remain in private whispers.

“Maybe that’s what the Boss wanted to tell us, later.” Rumble looked at Frenzy, who shrugged, and then looked to you.

“Could y’do that? Jolt our planet and bring back our mechs?”

You cringed some, hating that you were the one to deliver the news. “I don’t jolt sparks, but... Megatron ordered that I’m not to bring back any more of your friends to see if there is a change in my ability.”

“Friend is a strong word,” The blue seeker murmured, then asked aloud, “But what about us? If we die, that’s that? Meg won’t let you help us?”

“How very like our glorious Lord to treat us like fodder.” Starscream waved his hand with obvious theatrics.

Everyone mainly ignored him, but Skywarp added while grimacing. “Fodder. Disposable, like a fraggin’ genericon.”

My god, were you feeling sorry for the enemy? You pressed your hands against the glass. “I don’t think you are.”

The purple Seeker gave you a long look before turning back to your supplies. Starscream vented, “It doesn’t matter what you think, Herald. We are but pawns in this war.”

“Listen,” You began desperately, knowing exactly how it looked, “I know it sucks now. I want to do both, I really do, but think about it.” You held your hands up, playing the role of scales. “What is worth more? Your homeworld, or this war?”

“An’ let those AutoFrags get the upper servo?” Rumble barked, but silenced when Skywarp gestured for him to settle.

“She’s a sympathizer, you’ll only upset her.”

“What use is a world without an army to defend it?” Starscream returned to bending down over your apartment and lowering his vocalizer. “Surely, you have the power to do both, Herald. Revive the lost and give us a home, again?”

Your lips parted at the idea, and you quivered at the octave he hit. His smirk was devilishly charming, and that’s when you knew, you knew, he was seducing you. The words from Rumble and Ravage, that he was always scheming, quelled your swelling pride. Despite what you knew, the warnings that blinded you more than those glittering red optics, you gave yourself over to that alluring ability to help others.

You nodded, breathily admitting, “I want to.”

“Of course you do.” He purred, then turned to his men. “Seekers, it has occurred to me that, while in our care, our Herald never experienced the thrill of flight. Perhaps, a parting gift is warranted, as I’m sure things will be most dull within Soundwave’s clutches.”

“Wait, what?” Rumble barked.

Starscream set his fists on his hips, bending to cast a patronizing shadow on the mini-cons. “You two will remain and study those instructions while my mechs give their final farewell.”

“No way!” Frenzy protested, “You’re just gonna –"

“Don’t tell us you can't handle it,” Thundercracker taunted.

Skywarp was already on his feet, crossing the room and coaxing you to come out. You gazed longingly at your cooling dinner. Despite the Seeker rushing you, you took the time to unwrap a candy bar, shoved it all in your mouth, downed a fistful of horse-pill vitamins you were supposed to have with a meal, and then slipped on your O2 mask.

You exited your hab-suite and he eagerly snatched you up, bundling you against his chest as you dug your fingers into his seams a little rougher than usual. You gloated inwardly at his twitch and restrained grunt. You were looking forward to a nap which was now delayed.

“You deny this poor creature a moment of pleasure before delivering her to Shockwave’s table. For shame. This is a privilege you cannot grant her,” Starscream drawled, stepping to the door and opening it for his Seekers. “She’ll be returned. In the meantime, do try not to break anything.”

Skywarp and Thundercracker were out the door, ignoring the mini-con’s boisterous protests. This was all very suspicious, and it piqued when Starscream muttered to his Seekers, “I’ll get everyone together. You wait for the signal.”

He branched off and rushed away, leaving you with the two. They were quiet, stepping with more purpose than meandering. She’ll be returned. It didn’t occur to you, while you were more concerned with your things, that you might be at risk. You tried to muffle your mounting panic, pressing yourself more against the purple frame of the Seeker.

You wanted to do a little spying, not for Megatron or Soundwave, but for yourself. Why the hell did you think you could do this? You tapped Skywarp for his attention, looking up between him and his comrade. “What are we really doing?”

“Weren’t you paying attention?” Thundercracker smirked. “We’re going for a bit of a fly-about.”

“I was paying plenty attention.” You arched a doubtful brow. “Enough to know that there's more to it than that.”

“You worry too much.”

“I’m a human on a ship of mechanical aliens bent on the organic cleanse of the galaxy – I don’t worry enough.” You crossed your arms, rolling your eyes. “I’m also worried I’m going to freeze to death. I hope you’re warm enough if we’re flying outside.”

Skywarp hummed, “I am.”

“Have you ever flown in a jet, Herald?” Thundercracker asked.

“A helicopter, once.”

“In space?”

“No.” You scowled at them, keeping a playful taunt to your tone, “And you’re trying a bit hard to distract me. I know something’s up.”

Skywarp ignored you, asking, “Did you mean it, when you said we weren’t disposable?”

You responded with a serious furrow of your brow, “I don’t believe any form of life is.”

“Even though we are Decepticons.” He fixed his red optics on you doubtfully. “Even though we kill Autobots, kill organics.”

You stared at him for a while, honestly searching yourself for a good answer. “Being wrong doesn’t make you disposable.”

Thundercracker seemed ruffled at that. “The Decepticons are not wrong, the Autobots are –"

“Killing is wrong. What you do is wrong,” You argued, “but that doesn’t make you disposable. Life isn’t disposable.”

They averted their eyes a moment, slowing their steps to look at one another before resuming. You walked in silence a few more turns before Skywarp said, “You know, if it was someone else you revived and I stayed offline, we would have never met.”

“Maybe not.”

“And now Megatron is putting a stop to you bringing other cons back.” He gave you a brief squeeze. “I could have been one of ‘em. I could still be dead. If I die, then he won’t let you bring me back.”

“If he wants me to cooperate, he will.” You said, laying it on a little thick. “You saved me, Sky. I’ll save you as many times as I can.”

“Aww, how cute,” Thundercracker teased, “She’s so nice.”

“I know!” Skywarp didn’t seem to catch on. “This is why I like her so much. I mean, what do I gotta do to get some appreciation around here?”

He held you a little tighter against himself, and you patted his plating to silently tell him to ease up. When he did, you dug your fingers back between his chestpiece, and this time you must have hit a spot. He flinched. “Eas-easy there.”

“I’m cold,” You whined. “My fingers are getting numb.”

“Wanna stick her in me?” The blue Seeker gestured to his capsule.

“Nah, nah, I got it, I got it.” Skywarp held you away from him for a possessive moment before popping open his co*ckpit. He paused to let you climb in, and once the hatch was closed, you found yourself corrected. Vents within gently dispelled temperate air, and you held your hands over them, sighing with contentment. He was warm.

They stepped into the open hangar bay. No one seemed to notice you behind the tinted glass, or paid them any attention as they continued along the docked ships. Beside them was the open vastness of space. You still couldn’t decide if it was terrifying or beautiful. You jumped when Skywarp tapped on his glass. “You ready?”

You leaned forward, barely seeing his face, but you could see Thundercracker. If there was any time to take advantage of a distraction, now would be it. You answered, “Yes, but... can I ask you to do something?”

“What is it?” His voice was all around you.

“When you transform, could you do it slowly? Both of you?” You glanced aside, feeling both guilty and justified to ask for a little distraction, for old time’s sake. “It’s not often I get to see a jet transform.”

You witnessed the Seekers exchange glances, and Thundercracker murmured, “Is this the appreciation you were talkin’ about?”

“No, but... I don’t mind it.” You felt his vocals vibrate and hum with approval. “I don’t mind it at all.”

The blue Seeker went first, and you pressed yourself against the glass to watch. Every plate slid home and every gear turned just right. You never thought you could still feel like this, admiring a scientific marvel such as these aliens, killers or not. Autobot, Decepticon, it didn’t matter. They transformed the same. Bled the same.

Now it was Skywarp’s turn, and you had never been inside a Cybertronian while they completely changed all around you. It was much louder inside; buzzing, whirring, and clanking as everything shifted. The pilot’s seat shifted upright, and you adjusted carefully while everything moved. Your heart pirouetted at the roar of his thrusters. The feeling of being forced back into your seat as he jetted out had you gasping with delight.

The centrifugal force kept you seated as he veered out and spun, looping with an aerial stunt that had you tasting your chocolate bar, again. Thundercracker was soaring beside you, then barrel-rolled off to the side, thrusters blazing hot as he zipped ahead. You couldn’t decide which to marvel at: a bonafide warship, or the infinite galaxy of planets and stars. To be an astronomer and appreciate this on a whole new level, other than aesthetically, had you cupping your cheeks with a wistful sigh.

Skywarp must have heard you, because you felt him chuckle, “You’re so easily amused.”

“I’ll never get bored, Sky,” You said while watching a glittering asteroid turning all those in its path into dust. “I’ve been grounded for most of my life. I’ve never seen anything this beautiful, before.”

“Want me to show you more?”

You caught yourself smiling at the thought, and you nearly slapped yourself. Remember where you are! You’re with the Decepticons, about to work with them to help Cybertron. Soon, the Autobots will come to rescue you, and you’re more than sure you could convince them to do the same. All for Sunstreaker. All for Sideswipe. All for your friends.

“‘Warper,” Thundercracker hailed over his comm. “He’s ready. The hatch is open.”

“Heading there now,” Skywarp responded, and you yelped as he took a sudden nosedive down along the side of the ship. He was so fast, the force of it made it difficult to breathe. Suddenly, he veered up and into a passage so small, you choked on a scream. He transformed in mid-flight, skidding to a stop. You, being completely unprepared and unbuckled, went spilling down and out of your seat. Thank goodness you caught yourself before breaking your teeth on his console. In a fury, you slapped anywhere you could.

“Hey! Stop that! What, what?”

“Warn me!” You howled.

Thundercracker started laughing. Skywarp popped open his capsule and fished you out, looking you over. “Whoops.”

You seethed, then composed yourself as you caught onto another set of bright optics. You watched this familiar monster of a mech step closer. “That is the Herald? I thought it’d be bigger.”

It wasn’t that thick, harsh accent that buzzed along his words, but the giant tank cannon jutting from his back that had you recalling his name. You plummeted to near-death after reviving him, and your show of obedience was for nothing. The time spent on Shockwave’s examination had you forgetting the triple-changer, to the point where you questioned if you had revived him at all.

This mech looked bigger upright than he did on the table. You ventured slowly, “Blitzwing...?”

“And it talks and remembers my name.” He leaned down as Skywarp pulled you closer. "A step up from most fleshlings."

“She can, and yeah, she is.” He covetously cupped a hand over you. “We got a place to be –"

“I only agreed to open this hatch if I get to see the Herald.” Blitzwing held out his hand, peering. “So. Let me see her.”

“She’s not a toy –"

“I’m okay,” You said boldly, wriggling in his grasp. Every Autobot you had helped had been amenable with you. All but two of the Decepticons you brought back have been in contact with you, and they didn’t seem to hate you – despite Frenzy not trusting your friendly nature. You wanted to see if there was any fleck of gratitude in this one.

Skywarp reluctantly held you out, and you willingly crawled into Blitzwing’s palm. He held you up for his sunglasses-styled optics to see, and you offered your best smile. “I haven’t seen you since I revived you. How have you been? Are you all fixed up?”

Blitzwing didn’t move. He didn’t respond. He stared at you for a long, uncomfortable moment, and you knelt in his palm, waiting. His optics flickered once before handing you back. “I’d hate to see the mech that lets anything bad happen to the Herald. You understand my meaning?”

Skywarp collected you back, peering. “Yeah. I do.”

Blitzwing gave you a nod and left. You watched that massive frame leave down the red lit corridor and vanish in the darkness. You blinked owlishly, looking up at your handler. “The hell just happened?”

Thundercracker huffed, saying what Skywarp agreed with, “Glitched in the head, I swear. Let’s go.”

They followed the same route Blitzwing traveled, and the halls continued on with that ominously dim red glow. Noises of the rumbling engine, squealing gears, and a menagerie of sounds you couldn’t identify filled the spaces. One particular sound began to sort itself out. The sound of a crowd.

You were escorted into a room with a single light shining down from the center, casting shadows and secrets. Your heart began galloping, pleading for you to just leap off and run. All along the walls gathered Decepticons shrouded in darkness, their optics a galaxy of reds and yellows as they turned towards you.

At the center of it all, Starscream.

He stood beside a table, and upon it were three lifeless shells, all of jet-make. Starscream was in the middle of addressing the crowd with the fervor of a politician. “...And you want to know what our Leader said? No more revivals! He covets the Herald for his own plans, leaving us to feed our frames in his war. We have a way to win his war, and I say we win it on our terms, then worry about Cybertron!”

f*ck.

This was what Megatron was worried about. This was more than dissent in the ranks, this was a full blown mutiny.

Starscream glanced back as Skywarp and Thundercracker stood in the doorway. He smiled at you. He smiled, that bastard. He turned back to the room with overzealous theatrics. “My loyal, fellow mechs. As I’ve promised, the Conduit of Primus, the Siren of Sparks, the Deliverer of Decepticons – I give you the Herald of the Well.”

Did he make those up? You turned to give a glare at Skywarp, hissing over the cheers and commotion. “Tell me what this is, now.”

Starscream spoke over you, “Alas, our great chief scientist, Shockwave, has injured the delicate fleshling – and before you bemoan the blatant disregard of our sacred edict, allow me to offer you a demonstration on why, just this instance, we should bend these rules. Look upon our fallen!”

Skywarp brought you close, speaking low, “A lot of us don’t agree with Megatron –"

“That’s treason. You could be executed!”

“And you’ll bring me back.” His other hand cupped around you, as if telling a secret. “I promise, nothing bad will happen to you.”

“I’m more worried about you,” You blurted, and a staggered smile cracked his face.

“You... you are?”

The pontification continued, “Our Lord Megatron would treat us as fodder, but I say no more. The Herald will bring us back from the abyss. Look upon what I have retrieved from the Autobots; look upon this frail creature, filled with the power to bring on our victory – our glory!”

“That’s a bit much,” You grumbled, and Skywarp shushed you.

“Just...just let him go on. No one’s listening, trust me.”

“Herald.” Starscream finally addressed you, while still keeping his voice loud for his audience. “Megatron uses you for his own purposes, strains your puny form to the point of breaking so soon after nearly letting your weak, organic body expire. I had you brought here to offer a choice.”

There were murmurs among the crowd. A Decepticon, giving a fleshling a choice?

“Submit to me, and you will know no such hardship. Megatron does not care for your delicate constitution, just as much as he does not care about us. Under my rule, you would be treated as the valued asset you are and we would no longer be treated as machines to be disassembled. You said, you wanted to save my people. Join me, and you would have that freedom. Our people are dying, and only you can bring them back. Serve me, and do what you were meant to do.”

Did you have stupid written on your head? Or maybe that fragile symbol on your suit actually read gullible. He wasn’t doing this to save his people. This was a power play, a display to the masses of who to follow. This was the Commander attempting to wrest the loyalty of the Decepticons by using you – you, who made their deaths impermanent. Megatron was using you. Starscream was using you.

You knew how to use people, too.

“I serve the people,” You said strongly. Everyone in the room heard you, and quieted to a heavy stillness.

“Of course you do,” Starscream drawled lazily.

You gestured for Skywarp to set you down on the table beside the dead Decepticons. “Give me their names.”

Starscream gestured with a sweep of his hand, “Dirge, Ramjet, and Thrust.”

“Jets, right? Seekers?”

He purred, “Isn’t it obvious.”

Starscream knew that you knew. He didn’t insult your intelligence. You knew the game, and he was forcing you to participate with him in control. However, if he felt you were wrapped around his finger, he was wrong. You set your jaw and glared defiantly at the Seeker Commander. There was no choice, and he knew it. He believed he had you all mapped out. You would always feel the pull to help others, but these were Decepticons. These were the Cybertronians that destroyed worlds like you would the ant colonies that invaded your kitchen.

These were the Cybertronians who would be ready to kill your friends once they came for you. You had no idea what the Autobots were doing to secure your rescue, but you had to do everything you could to help on this end.

You could encourage this divide.

You rolled your shoulders like a boxer about to enter the ring. You still felt the lingering aches Astrotrain’s spark left, but you were a fighter. You would persevere. You would let these mutineers see what you could do, and fracture the Decepticon faction from the inside out, starting with the Seeker Armada.

You turned out to the crowd, searching the shadowed faces and radiant optics. You called out, “Blitzwing?”

A beat passed before a shrouded mountain stirred from the back. The triple-changer shoved aside mechs and lumbered his way to the forefront. You motioned him closer, then glanced back to wave in Skywarp.

Blitzwing stood, arms crossed across his massive chest, blotting out the light above you. The purple Seeker knelt to your level. Both looked to you, and you had to rein in this gratification. They came when you called.

Your eyes bounced between them. “Can I ask you a question? I need guidance.”

Blitzwing and Skywarp exchanged glances. The Seeker answered in a whisper, “What kind of guidance could we offer?”

“I brought you two back, but not without difficulty. I need to know what’s important – not to your cause, but to you.” You turned your gaze upward to the massive mech. “What would make your spark come to me? What would make you want to live, again?”

Blitzwing nodded, seeming to understand what you were struggling with. “I want to know that there's a battle to be won under someone capable. I want to crush my enemies, over and over. If I wanted to come online, it would be to fight, again.”

You looked to Skywarp, who nodded in agreement. “Not just to fight, but to win. Some of us are fraggin’ sick of this war, and of the mechs sending us to be blown to parts. Knowing I could live to see the end of it, I can die over and over knowing you’ll bring me back.”

You completed a quick survey of the room. Everyone was quietly murmuring, waiting. Starscream had a pinched look to his face, leaning in and trying to listen to what you were talking about. He had to have heard, or else he would have interrupted – and disrupting you trying to get advice on how to revive successfully wasn’t in his best interest.

You turned back to the two, and their optics fastened on you like good dogs. “Thank you.”

They seemed rocked by your gratitude, glancing at one another, silently confirming what they heard.

“Listen, I might pass out – go into stasis. If that happens, don’t panic.” You instructed, “Keep me safe and warm, make sure my mask is on so I have air, and keep me laying on my side so my airway stays clear. I’ll wake back up, eventually.”

The two nodded along, stepping back to allow two Seeker-types to take their place. You could only surmise they were the medics that were going to work with you as they waited for your mark. You consulted the Scientist within, turning slowly and kneeling by a very dead Dirge and set your hands on the side of that cone shaped helm.

You spread your fingers and breathed out a humming sigh. In through the nose, hum out between your lips – just like the breathing exercises Holly taught you, so long ago. Of all the lies and manipulation that brought you to this point, her advice was the one you pulled out from the catalogs of your memories: appearance.

Everyone was watching, and you had to look like you had your sh*t together.

You felt the tickle of spark energy, as if he heard your breaths. You whispered his name, like you were trying to gently wake a sleeping child, all the while buying time to think of the words you’d use – the message you would convey. Your eyes caught on the inquisitive dancing of that firefly spark above his empty chassis.

You recalled the moments you were curious, looking up information pertaining to work. You remembered the numerous times you were desperate, needing a solution to a problem. Through his EM field, you knew you definitely had Dirge’s attention.

You spoke, low and soft, barely audible, “I am the Herald of the Well, and I am here to return you to your body. Follow my voice and come back to the living. Follow my voice and show me how strong you are. Follow my voice to try again. Follow my voice and join me in saving your home.”

You would allow this. You would let Starscream organize this force against Megatron. You would let yourself be used as a pawn in their silly little games. You would let this divide grow and watch everything fall into disarray.

And when the Autobots came, it would be too easy.

Chapter 18: Different Perspective

Chapter Text

You couldn’t stop shaking.

Despite your best efforts, you couldn’t calm your body. It didn’t trust your brain to know it was safe, thatyouwere protected. Ingrained instincts begged you torun, to hide, but you had to remain still. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. You took another, and another, until you felt dizzy from the amount of oxygen you sucked into your lungs.

You forced your mind to wander elsewhere. There lay the echoes of voices you came to respect. You heard Perceptor chiding you to stay still. You heard Ratchet’s graveled tone erode to something softer, soothing you with assurances that you would be fine.You heard Rung tell you that it’s okay to be afraid, all thewhile folding his squirming hands tightly in his lap to maintain that professional distance.

You couldn’t stop your shivering. You resisted covering your ears to muffle the pitched whine of a scanning device.

You distracted yourself with thoughts of Blaster. Out of all the Autobotsthat wereconcerned with your transition into space-life, he was the only one to seek out Earth media for your comfort. You would blame his flirtatious tendencies on the music he provided, but at least he wasn’t as bad as his friend. Jazz always did his best to fluster you, showering you with casual compliments that made heads turn. His teasing was good-natured, innocent, and fun.

You missed it. You missed how it reminded you of that lifetime ago, of college days hanging out with thegroup offriends you and your circle had acquired, sharing harmless bawdy jokes and appreciative admirations without expectations. It was a comfortable atmosphere, and that’s what you really missed. You missed feeling accepted.

You were bathedin light, andyour vision was filledwith the color of your eyelids. You wished the light was warmer. It left a tingling static over your bare, chilled skin.

You busied yourself with thoughts of Mirage and his dry humor and witty comebacks. He always seemed indifferent and aloof, but when you hit a topic of conversation he was interested in, his cynical quips turned into something warmer. He was pleased when you listened with rapt delight of his time before thewar;of his wealthy lifestyle filled with turbofox hunts and high-society events…

High-society events thatBlurr was sometimes the center of, being a popular and successful racing champion.He may have been frustrated with how he had to slow down around you, but when telling you stories of his glory days on the track, he had the most patience of anyone in the room. How he whittled down each moment in detail, it was like you were the one crossing the finish line, basking in the roar of the adoring crowd.

Then there was the last of your escort,Kup;a war veteran of millions of years.You were warnedthat he would hear of your penchant for riveting tales and may regale you with story after story of heroics till you fell apart from rust –decay, but you didn’t correct them – and he would still have more to tell.Honestly,you were looking forward to hearing what Kup had to share, but he never did.He never sat you down on his knee and told you about battles and victories as you would to a moon-eyed babe. He only watched you from afar, as a parent would to a child exploring the backyard for the first time.

The surveying light dimmed, somehow leaving you colder. Despite your jaw clenched, your teeth chattered. A machine vibrated and hummed, causing a tickle within your ears. Another device scanned over the glass from whichyour body was safely held.You clenched your eyes tighter,butyoucouldn’t staunch the tears that started to collect.

Fear turned to ache and regret. You weren’t with these Autobots very long, but long enough for the wordfamilyto continuously surface. The idea was almost unfathomable: you, asmallbeing of flesh, blood, and bone; they, a large, sentient machine of metal, wires, and fluid. To call them friends, family...

Lovers.

They were a beautiful species. You’ve always looked upon them with appreciation, eating up their aesthetically pleasing visage, finding the science of their biology downrightseductive– but you nevereverconsidered anykind ofamorousconnection. It wasn’t because you were already involved in a relationshipat the time, but because you had noideaAutobots hadinteractionsoutside their species.

It took a lot for you to realize the thin line between what made you human and what made them aliens was only the composition of your bodies. Both species had the cruel capability to be monsters, and bothspecieshad the passionate potential toyearn. You could lay here for days, trying to pick yourself apart. Did you always have an attraction to Cybertronians? When was the point where your scientific curiosity went beyond academic?

You drew in a deep breath. Your heart drummed softly in your ears, shyness warming your skin. You chased that warmth, reimagining all those embarrassing moments where youwere caughtogling with more than just a professional eye. You could say you were confused and lonely, but this wasn’t the time to lie to yourself. The day you found out was the day you had a little lust behind those lingering gazes rife with intrigue.

The Autobots had a different way of wooing. You cluelessly stumbled over ahugemiscommunication with Hot Rodandwhatever you said came off that you were interested in him. He wasn’toriginally enchantedwith you but was curious to see where things would go.Drift,on the other hand, was already fond of you and misread your intentions.Intentionsyou had for another.The two became staunch friends afterthings were cleared up.

It was all so embarrassing. So hotly, scorchingly, volcanically embarrassing. You tried to think of anything that would warm you in this glass icebox.

The line between human and Cybertronian blurred and frayed – a line that was implemented byyou.Feelings of love and adorationcannot onlytranscend more than the grand expanse of the galaxy, but the physical limitations of flesh and metal.Sunstreaker.Sideswipe. They took that line and cut the sleeping giant named Desire loose.You wanted so much to be near them,to feel them, toexplore them, and exist in the same spaceas them.Those suave Lamborghini twinswouldcome for you. The thoughts of the bedroom reunion had your numb toes curling...

“Organic fluid-pump increasing unexpectedly.”

Shockwave’s voice had your eyes snap open. You gasped slightly, ripped from a utopia of your own making. Your reality was here, a willing participant for a mission that required youatoptimal health.

That meant you were back on Shockwave’s table, laying bare for the cold lenses of machines and drones to examine you.

“Directive: Ignore it.” Soundwave tapped on the keypad beside you. “Scanning: Complete.”

“You may remove the subject from my table. I should have the results ready forreview,shortly.” He didn’t look up from his screens, reading something in particular. “Has the subject received any additional damage from the scans?”

You sat up, removing the wires and diodes with numb fingers faster than the little skittering drones trying to do the same. You whimpered as you batted them off, trying to keep a level head and notgo backto the last time you woke here.

Soundwave set his hand on your pressurized glass case and tapped his finger, calling your attention. He held your O2 tank and waited for an indication, to which you held your breath and motioned him along. Soundwave opened your confines and gave you the means to breathe. After fixing on your mask, you eagerly crawled into his waiting hand, curling up and jamming your fingers into the seams of his palm with a single complaint. “I’m cold.”

Soundwave gruntedandhis hand spasmed under you. He composed himself, covering your naked form with the other. “Grievance: Discomfort.”

“Its comfort is not my priority.”

You grumbled, trembling and trying your best to absorb the warmth from the Decepticon. Your handler took on that sharper, authoritative tone. “Suggestion: reassess priorities. The organic is fragile and stresses easily. Discomfort could affect results.”

The scientist turned his single bright eye on youfor a momentbefore returning to his screen. “If you insist.”

Soundwave collected you close against his chestplate as he approached the counter, gathering your things to ferry you to your new location. You took advantage of this and wedged your hands between the transformation seams of his frame unapologetically – and maybe even a little spitefully. Even when he dropped your suit in his palm beside you, you were slow to relent.

You should havefigured the Communications Specialist would only be so patient with you. Soundwave’s fingers curled around you sharply, squeezing just enough as a warning. He rumbled, “That’senough.”

You gasped, but he wouldn’t hurt you. You weresafeamong this ship of killers, at least for now. Some cheeky, defiant part of you wanted to keep going.That urge was quickly silencedas he rapped a finger on your skull just hard enough to sting. You hissed and rubbed your head, scowling up at him. He didn’t offer you a single glance as Shockwave gave a damning report.

“Subject still retains superficial injuries of its initial round of experimentation. Compared to the recovered Autobot data, its immune system responses appear weak. Many of its biological scans display some form of organic fatigue and deficiencies. Its recovery processes after a single revival is unsatisfactorily slow.”

Therecovered Autobot Datawas the records Perceptor had on theTrion. Records Starscream hoarded. Hewas orderedto turn them over to Soundwave, who shared them with Shockwave.All data on you was now knownto Decepticon High Command. You didn’t want to think about how Shockwave would have used it againstyou,and if it would have helped him do whatever he didwith more efficiency.

Soundwave turned an accusatory look your way, and you quickly busied yourself with slipping on your space suit, pretending not to notice. Hehad tohave known about the Seekers whisking you away for a leisurely flight in space. He had to have known that when you returned, you slept, ate, bathed, and assisted inthe deconstruction ofyour habitat.

The only thing he couldn’t have known was what Rumble and Frenzy didn’t see: the Jet Commander’s rally, your disobeying of a direct order, and your compliance to a full-onmutiny.

Soundwave spoke evenly, professionally, “We will return after a solar-cycle for another round of testing. I’m sure you’ll see a difference.”

“Very well.” Shockwave glanced up and said, “Your assistance is no longer required.”

Your handlerdid not say anythingfurther as he finished collecting your things and made his way out. You zipped up your suit, risking a glance upward to find he kept his optics ahead. A small stain of guilt washed over you. Starscream thought to make a fool of you, to use you under the guise of giving you what you desired, tohelpandlearn.

You recalled the smug curl to his lips when you revived all three of his Seekers, and you didn’t pass out like you thought.Four. He knew you could revivefourand keep standing. Maybe he thought he found out you were acting weak this whole time. Ormaybehe thought he found the way to unlock your potential. Either way, he smirked at you, and all you could do was look upon the crowd as the galaxy of optics stared right back, the nameHeraldbarely transmitting from their vocalizers.

Starscream hadyou. You hadpower.

You didn’t want it. You didn’twantthis fanaticalworship,of dreamy gazes like you were some ethereal deity. You were adoctor.You would always help those in need, but no matter where you were,there were always people who woulduse that to their advantage.

You jolted some as Soundwave’s thumb began tracing up and down your back, and you couldn’t help but lean into it. He worked those taut muscles, and you felt his voice vibrate from his chest. “That was the last time you are to call any sparks.”

You winced so hard you thought you’d implode.Hewasn’t stupid. You may think of yourself as an accomplished liar, but your biologics tell no tales.

“You must be wary of the machinations of others.” His fingers closed around you a little tighter, but not in any way that made you feel threatened. “Their intentions may not be as clear to you as you believe.”

That was a littletooon-point for that to be a lucky guess. Soundwave didn’t become a Communications Officer because he was roughly the shape of a Walkman tape player. How hard was it to have spies or surveillance all over the warship? At the same time, if Soundwave employed spies,thenwouldn’t he know of Starscream’s intentions? It wouldn’t bevery hardto figure out. StupidBirddidn’t try very hard to hide how obviouslyvillainoushe was.

If it wasn’t spies, how else was Soundwave figuring this out? Were you so easy to profile?

Or maybe...

“I’m sorry,” You said, and it was sincere. You didn’t have to pretend. This dangerous mech wasn’t threatening you –henever had – buthewastellingyou to be careful in so many words. As much as you knew you were an asset and not a friend, it didn’t keep you from feeling a speck of fondness – andinturn, apologetic.

His visored glance was quick, surprised, and...did he do a double-take? You held his gaze as you said, “It won’thappen,again.”

“It will. It is in your nature.” He held you a little closer to his chest, fingers continuing to stroke up and down your back.

You swallowed down the intrusive thought of being crushed. “Are you angry with me?”

“No, Herald.” His touch wasfirm,but not painful. “And if Iwas, I would never harm you.”

The memory of Drift’s massaging surfaced, and you closed your eyes, accepting the feeling of his gentle kneading. You wanted to trust him. You yearned for his beautiful gaze, languid strokes, and soothing voice. You wanted to feel his EM field influence your thoughts to something more relaxing and –

Holyf*ckingsh*t, was that a genuine memory, or could you read Soundwave’s intent to calm you?I would never harm you, he said, but was that in response to your bodylanguage,or the fear you were putting off by other means?

Your studious glare snapped up to the Decepticon. “Do you feel me?”

“You are in my hands,” He answeredsimply, and you played with the idea of calling him asmartass.

You huffed, “Myfield. Can you feel it?”

“I feel a great many things, Herald.” He continued to rub and press against the muscles in your shoulders.

Okay, fine.Fine. You’ve been dismissed and patronized often enough to know when someone wasdeliberatelybeing a jerk.

You could be a smartass, too.

You stared ahead without looking, busy searching through the catalogs in your mental filing system. You couldn’t control your electro-magnetic field, but that didn’t mean it wascompletelyout of your grasp.It carried aloft strong emotions, such as fear, sadness – and even disagreement, according to Drift.

Sure, you could whip yourself up in a firestormfury,or drag yourself down in the cold depths of grief, but would either of those get theresults you wanted? Would Soundwave acknowledge them? Continue to soothe you with these heavy pets?

What could you do to get an explosive,damning,result?One that was as obvious and reactionary as when Drift felt your lust slap his field on the ass.

You smirked.

It would have been a wonderful life – it could still happen. To have those gunner twins at your side, escorting you from post to planet, traversing the galaxy. You would see things any scientist woulddreamof. But in your off-time? You would explore outside your comfort zone. Youwere no longer boundby the expectation to follow the customs of your homeworld. You would leaveEarth,and all of itsconstraints,behind.

You thought of thatnight,and the followingmorning,with Sunstreaker and Sideswipe.Two lovers.Twoseekingyour love and adoration,yourpraise and attention, andgivingyou theirs in return.One curious and one confident.Bothchasing your pleasure and theirs. Both similar in their feelings for you, but different in expressing it. Both wanting you for themselves, to covet away behind the privacy of closed doors, to earn your sighs between nibbled lips –

Soundwave’s hand twitched as he tapped you reprovingly. “Must you?”

You blinked a few times, nearly forgetting what youoriginallyset out to do. Your clueless stare turned into a narrowed glare. “Youcanread my EM field.”

“I can read many,” He said dismissively. “Your primitive biological signals are louder and just as obnoxious.”

You swallowed down your embarrassment of getting a little heated at a fewfantasies, but remained stalwart in your accusations. “And they will continue to be if you won’t give me a straight answer.”

Soundwave stopped. He held you up a little more so you were face to face-plate with him. His visored optics dimmed. “Are you in estrus, Herald? Do you require a companion?”

You blanched. This experiment was backfiring.

“I can send out a few agents to collect organics suitable for your needs. They will not be your species, but one should not be discriminatory in yoursuddenlyurgent state.” Soundwave inclined his head, almost ominously so. “Or is your conditionmanageable?”

You swallowed. You eked out a small voice. “You don’t need to threaten me.”

“I’m not threatening you, Herald. I’m accommodating your needs to the best of my ability.”

You stared at him. Soundwave stared back, unblinkingly.He was threatening you. Overa damn flare of your electro-magnetic field thatyouincurred. You squared your shoulders, taking a pseudo-confident posture. “Allthis,because you don’t want to be honest with me.”

“Allthis,because you want to confirm what you already know,” Soundwave said. “I have said once before: you are intelligent, Herald.”

“Notintelligent,enough,” You ventured for a little dry humor.

He hummed and resumed his way down the halls. You remained silent.Thatwas awkward and even a smidge terrifying. To think, the Decepticons would go out of their way to collect you a harem of alien organics from across the universe, giving you the gilded life that many a house-spouse could only read in some saucy science-fiction tabloid.

How much was Soundwave messing with you? Was hereallygoing to round you up a gaggle of suitors? Did he know of yourpredilectiontowards something a bit...notorganic? How much of your field could he read?

Just in case he wasserious, you said, “You don’t have to go on a kidnapping spree. I don’t need...companions.”

“I know.”

Of coursehe does.

“And never demand honesty from a Decepticon,” Soundwave added. “We are not known forhonesty.”

There was a pang to your chest, like a harp string pulled so taut it snapped. You stole one last look at your handler before paying attention to the halls youwere taken down. You knew it was foolish to search for something to trust in these war-machines, but you neededsomethingto cling to till your real friends arrived.

A thought struck you. A memory. A string of words and events.Thiswasthe first time you werealone with Soundwave since leaving those horrendous experiments.You twisted in his hold to look up at him. “But what about you?”

“I am not exempt from my advisem*nt.”

“But what about that...thingShockwave did to me? Did you have anything to do with helping me?”

“It was because of my dishonesty that you made it out,” Soundwave admitted withoutsparing you a glance.

“How?” You asked.

Soundwave didn’t answer, but you didn’t feel ignored. You feltpatronized. He only gave you a pat, like ‘there, there.’ Anger ramped up sofast;it surprised you and grabbed hold of your tongue. You demanded, “Explain it to me.”

That made him pause to turn his attention to you. You stared up at him, unwavering in your curiosity –curiouswas a tame word to describe thisneedto know whatwas doneto you.There waspowerin knowledge, and if you wanted to conquer your fear of seeing Shockwave,thenyou needed to strip him of his monstrous image and turn him intojustanother unethical scientist.

Soundwave nodded and resumed walking at a slower pace.He brought you closerupto his chest,justshy under his chin.His hand cupped you close, and you realized at the softness of hisvocals,he was telling you asecret.

“The program Shockwave implemented was createdto manipulate neural waves of Cybertronians. Once conditionswere met, the thrall would be locked in an unconscious state while able to perform tasks at the Master’s command.”

Your knuckles turned white. “That’s...terrible.”

“It is something Megatron had forbidden. Subjugating Cybertronians into slavery is what Decepticons stand against.”

It was strange to thinkthesemechs had honorable principles. “But you had it. Youusedit.”

“Our world is dying,” Soundwave said gently, and for a moment, you thought you heard something apologetic inthe tone ofhis voice. “Shockwave tailored it to your organic brain. It was only a matter of time before the program adjusted your neural waves to synchronize to a device, and you would become nothing more than a drone.”

You didn’t realize you were shakingtillSoundwave’s fingers stroked downalongyour arm.“You had lost your capability of self-preservation. You would have expired in a matter of cycles –less,because of our lacking in your species’ requirements.”

That whole world, that utopian state of being, was a means to turn you into a slave. You would have been trapped in that dreamscape whileyour body was usedto fight against your friends – if you had lived long enough to raise an army. There were so many things off in that world, and as much as you used to strive for perfection, you knew things wereneverperfect.

“You were there. You told me to run.”

“I told you to run many,manytimes.” There was a sense of amusem*nt to his words. “You would have never escaped on your own.The signal had tobe disruptedat specific intervals, but in away that was subtle enoughto avoid detection.”

Your teeth clenched together for a painful moment, tryingyour bestto hold back tears. You sucked in a sharp breath before saying, “You saved me.”

“Yourmistrustsaved you. I only provided the doorway. You were the one who found it.” Soundwave paused from walking to bring you up to the full view of his vision. “There is not an honest one among us. Do not trust those who claim otherwise. Remain wary, Herald. You’ll survivelonger,that way.”

ADecepticontelling you not to trustDecepticons. How appropriate. It seemed this whole faction was just self-serving murderers trying to get the upper hand on one another without angering their abusive Tyrant of a Leader. You nodded, etching Soundwave’s advice on the chalkboard of your mental laboratory.

Soundwave finally made it to his quarters, and you were not surprised with how spartan the walls were. There were littlein the way ofdécor and trophies – a staggering difference between him and Skywarp, but it wasn’t completely bare. On his desk were your re-assembled habitat and several of the mini-cons. Two you recognizedandtwo you did not. The black and red bird-shaped mech fixed its red optics in your direction. “Boss, we have an issue.”

You straightened. Was your apartment damaged? Was something not working? Did Starscream sabotage your living space? You were in the middle of hoping thatsomeoneleft you a detailed instruction manual on basic repairs when Rumble and Ravage stepped aside, revealing Frenzywastrappedinside your habitat.

“How do I get outta here!?” He cried, “I don’t wanna break nothin’!”

You literally felt Soundwave sag and let out what could have been a sigh. That image of a tired dad coming home to his kids already getting up to no good had you wheezing.You shattered intoa fit ofhystericsandSoundwave’s admonishing taps did nothing to silence you.He stepped up, looking over the mini-mech’s predicament.

“How?”Was all he could say.

“I dunno, Boss! I swear! I was in here puttin’ stuff together – like you said to – bein’ all careful –like you said to– and now the hatch won’t open up.” Frenzy glowered in your direction. “You won’t be laughin’ when I put a hole through your wall!”

Soundwave inclined his head, and the mini-con relented, crossing his arms with a pout. You patted your chest to cough out the last of your laughter. “Okay, okay. Let me take a look.”

He set you down on the table. The cassettes watched as you strolled up to the airlock, looking over the dead keypad. You followed the power cables around the glass habitat, finding the simple power relay in theoffposition. You threw it upandyour portable apartment came to life. The lights flickered on, the atmospheric-generator hummed as it blew in synthetic oxygen, the heaters glowed, and your airlock systems came online.

“See, told you,” Ravage snarked. “I said it had a power switch that needed flipped, itsaid it right there.”

“And I said it didn’t make any sense! It was encrypted code from the Autobots,” The other yellow and blackbirdsquawked.

“And I said you were reading it upside-down.”

You met Soundwave’s optics, planting your fists on your hips,waiting. He gave you nothing; no praise, no reproach. Hesimplyleft for the adjacent room as the other mini-cons meandered away. You walked towards the front hatch, unable to rein in a proud smirk when you met the pinched face of Frenzy. You hit a button on the airlock and let yourself inside. The foyer re-pressurizedandthe next door opened, letting you in your living space.

Frenzy stood, arms crossed, and a frown on thatsurlyface. “Keep smilin’, Herald.”

“I am. Now you can leave.” You made your way to the privacy of your bedroom, rubbing your hands together. It was still much too cold in the suite, and the air blowing in was not warm enough. You found your storage drawers and pulled out one of the few blankets packed away.

Maybe I will!” He called after you, “You’ve been ‘round those damn Seekers too much. Startin’ to get smug like‘em. You probably like the smell of your own exhaust, too!”

You ignored Frenzy in favor of recalling how many of these stupid blankets the twins collected for you. You felt the semi-soft texture thoughtfully, smiling to yourself as you pictured the memory of Sideswipe fluffing up thebiggestpile of bedding you had everlaid eyes on.

They made a space for you between their berths. You wondered if it was stillthere,or if Sunstreaker upgraded your living area. He would be the one to fuss over the look ofit,and Sideswipe over the comfort. Unwilling tears came to your eyes, and you tried to blink them back.

“Herald?”

Your head snapped up, finding Frenzy standing in the doorway with the most curious tilt to his head. “Why you lookin’ so sad?”

You reflexively swiped under your eyes, more irritated than embarrassed. “Do you mind?”

“Why would I mind?” He ducked under your doorframe, letting himself inside your mostprivateof areas. Frenzy idly looked over your storage drawers, peeking in to see clothing packed inside. “Look at all these fabrics. That why your optics are leakin’? No more fancy Autobot slag?”

“Frenzy, this is my bedroom. I don’t want you in here.” You said very firmly, “Getout.”

The mini-mech flinchedfor a moment, looking you over with a speck of bewilderment. You continued to glare athimashescanned the room, taking in the blacked-out walls, your bed, and how your hands couldn’t stoptrembling. Frenzy tilted his head again, but a taunting smirk dawned on his features.

“I go where I want.” He took a step towards you. You took one back. His smile grew. “What’s this? The high and mighty Herald, afraid ofme?”

You weren’tafraid, but Soundwave’s gentlethreat,and soundadvice,was still at the front of your mind. Frenzy caught you in a vulnerable moment, appearing weak with tears in your eyes and an ache in your heart, and you didn’t want him bullying you away from watchful optics.

Frenzy took another step, wearing the same smug smileasyouhad,earlier. “You remember this next time you talk scrap. You may have kept my spark from flickerin’ out, but while you’re with us,you’regonnalearn I take no slag fromanyone. Not even you.”

You continued to maintain the gap between you, falling a step back. Eventually, you’d run out of space. You threatened with the only weapon you had: “I’ll scream.”

Frenzy stared at you for a long moment. His visored optics trailed up and down your body,and it madeyou feel sick. His triumph and amusem*nt flickered to a realization he found confusing. “You’reactuallyafraid.”

You have me aloneandyou’re muchstrongerthan me. You clenched your jaw shut. Was this concept, thisfear, so foreign tohim?You were sure Frenzy didn’t know what threat he posed,andyou certainlydidn’t want to fill his head with any ideas.

“Y’ain’t dumb. Youknowboss’ll have my manifolds if I harm one wire on your frame.” Frenzy took another step, but his tone softened from earlier. “You seriously think I’m gonna hurt ya?”

“Yes,” You admitted in araspywhisper.

“Well, I ain’t. I’m just talkin’ scrap,”Heconfessed with a genuine tone. “You kept my spark burnin’. Iain’tgonnalet anything hurt you, understand Herald? You’re good with us.”

It was a strangekind ofrelief,to feel acceptance from your captors.You nodded, but continued to keep your guardup,despite Frenzy ceasing his approach.

“What made you sad? When I walked in, you were lookin’ fit to leak from your optics.”

You took a chance with half-truths. “Thinking of home.”

“With the Auto-dorks?Pfft.” Frenzy snorted and held his hand out to you. “C’mere. Thatain’tnothin’ to cry over. Show me your stuff – y’got anything to do?”

Thiswas aswitch. You stood there, blinking, ashewriggledhisdigits to get you to takehishand.He came in here, looking to push you around, butit wasyour fear and helplessnessthatgave him pause?Was that what just happened? And now your bully was looking to try and make you feel better because you were crying? Were you getting this right?

You took a moment to breathe, wipe your face, and wrap yourself in the blanket before taking Frenzy’s hand. He didn’t yank or jerk you around, but led you out gently like you were the fairest maiden at the ball. It seemed to have gotten Rumble’s attention as he looked at the two of you curiously from the other side of the glass. Frenzy pulled away to start snooping through your things.

You answered his earlier question,making your way afterhim as he veered towards your kitchenette. “There’s not a whole lot to do here. At least nothing you would like.”

“So those heaps of scrud didn’t give you any games? Vids? Reading?” Frenzy started sifting through where you kept your rations. “Nothin’ entertaining?”

“I have the Autobot code Ultra Magnus gaveme,and some rules and regulations. It’s a little dry.” You tried to push him on with little results. Frenzy dumped your box of hot cocoa packets –ooha warm beverage sounded nice, right about now.

The violet mini-con shrieked his laughter, bracing himself back against the wall.Rumble,having heard everything from the outside, couldn’t help but jeer, “That’s what they give you?Their rulebook? What a bunch of flaccid-piston,dim-glitched,digits up their afts, morons! Did theynotwant you to have any fun atall?”

Besides what was obviously a slew of insults, you couldn’tquiteguess justhowinsulting.You crossed your arms, feelinga little offended because youdidhavefun beforetheyruined it all.You abandoned your hot cocoa endeavors to storm up to the wall to meet Rumble on the other side of the glass. “And you Decepticons are so much better, hmm? What, you were going to show me a good time after kidnapping me?”

Rumble had a teasing grin you recognized. “You wouldn’t know agood timeif it slapped you on the aft.”

You wouldn’t argue with him on that front. Instead, you paid attention to Frenzy as he said, “Sounds like we rescued you.”

You notedSoundwavereturning, busying himself with giving Rumble something small and thentaking a seatat his desk. You continued to banter with Frenzy. “Except I didn’t needrescued.I was having fun, you know, but I also had work – work Ienjoyed.”

“Ooh, you’re one ofthosetypes,” He murmured.

“And I was entertained just fine, thank you. Ihappen tolove a good conversation, and those botsloveto talk about themselves.”

Frenzy made a face. “And that’s all you liked?Themtalkingabout themselves? You sound boring.”

“It wasn’t just that. Everyone has stories about where they came from, and to someone like me, to hear about your homeworld isfascinating.” You sighed for awistfulmoment before adding, “And there were movies, but it was all Autobot propaganda – I didn’t understand a whole lot. Still pretty cool, though.”

Soundwave perked up at that, checking your way before searching through his desk, sorting through datapad after datapad.

You jumped as Ravage landed on your habitat with a loud 'tong'.He looked down at you. “So you were just fed stories on pretty cities by the privileged. You haven’t heard anything from the gutter, eh? You think it was all stardust and refracted light for everyone?”

You pressed your lips together. That would be incredibly naïve of you to think so, butyou were never toldotherwise. You heard your airlock open as Rumble let himself inside, and you bit your lip, watching him angle his shoulders to keep from clipping the hatchways. A cold draft followed as he enteredinyour pressurized room, holding out a little device in the shape of a cuff. “Boss wants you to wear it.”

Distracted from this topic, you inspected the bangle-like ring. “What is it?”

You looked to Soundwave as he glanced between datapads, trying to choose which. He paused to answer you, “Monitor life-signs. You are fragile, Herald. It is forprecautionarymeasures.”

Morelike measures to make sure you wouldn’t call any more sparks. You acceptedhisinvisible leash and latched it close up around your arm. It beeped a few times, then lit up with several different lights. You traced your finger over the smooth, glassy texture. “Does it tell you that I’m cold?”

“Readings display signs of stress, muscle tremors, lower temperature of extremities.” He tapped on his computer for a moment, then on his arm. “Conclusion: discomfort.”

So it was feeding him your basic biological stats. You guess you could see it as handy, but at the same time, you wondered if that’s all it could do. You worked your jaw a moment, unable to decide whether you liked himknowingif you were in danger or not.You could imaginea sneaky escape would alert him to an increased heart rate. “Guess there’ll be no secrets between us.”

Soundwave looked at youalongmomentbefore returning to his stacks of datapads.Rumble suddenly took your shoulders from behind. “There are never any secrets when the boss is around. He hearseverything.”

You yelped as he started dragging you to the couch.You foughttillyour feet were liftedfrom the groundas he bear-hugged you.You kicked and screamed, “What the f*ck –!"

“Hey, hey!” Frenzy warned, “Don’t squeeze her too hard. You’ll break somethin’.”

“I’m bein’ gentle.She’sso squirmy, though.” He sat back on your couch, and you rocked hard against his metal frame. “You are sonoisy, y’know?”

You hissed and rubbed the back of your head. When you went to get up, he pulled you back. You pushed against him and found he wasn’t going to let go. You barked, “Stop it.”

“Re-lax,Herald. You’re so uptight.”

“Because Iwas justmanhandled!”

“I ain't noman, squishy”

“Mech – whatever! Don’t – oh no.” You let out a lamenting groan as Frenzy sat on the empty side of the couch. You whined, “No. No, please. Just leave mealone.”

“Boohoo, leave me alone,” Frenzy mocked.

Rumble tried to imitate your whine. “No, pwease,no. Ihatefun and love stupid Autobum rules.”

Suddenly, these scary alien murder machines were just schoolyard bullies looking to pull your pigtails. You couldn’t fight against Frenzy’s strength as he grabbed your legs, forcing youto literallylay across them.

“Look at these little peds.” Frenzy held up your boot by the toe. “How does she not fall over?”

“Look at this.” Rumble took your hand and held it against his. “Dinky little servos. I use t’hate bein’ so small, but imagine being this tiny andweak.”

You clonked your head back against his chest, accepting your fate as they made fun of howorganicyou were and curiously squeezed and prodded at you.Respectfully. No one tried to explore what you firmly and sharply saidnoto.Amazingly,but mercifully, they obeyed with only a little flack.

You heard a groan of metal, but not from either of the mini-cons. It was followed by a sharp squeal as the support of your couch gave way. You screamed as it snapped, jolting before settling on the floor.

Rumble laughed, “Wow, your couch was a piece of slag.”

“It was madeto supportme, notyou– both of you!” You whined, lolling your head back a moment. You pushed to get up, only for Frenzy to put his hand on your stomach to keep you down. You submitted to thestrongeralien with a frustrated huff. “What? What do you want from me!?”

“Aww, someone’s getting cranky,” Rumble taunted, seizing your arms again and testing the give of your biceps. You wouldn’t admit it feltkind ofnice.

“You’re still cold, yeah?” Frenzy tucked your blanket around you. “We’re both warm. You stay here, and I’ll tell you about when Rumble and I first met Megatron on this mining outpost. I’m sure with those self-righteous bots fillin’ your head with how good they had it, youneeda learn that down in the pits, that’s where the warreallystarted.”

“Operation: Education.” Soundwave set a datapad across from your glass apartment, propping it up where you could see the screen. “Then, you will watchwhythe Decepticons came to be. Autobot propaganda does not tell all.Nowthat you are under my care, you will learnourways.”

Movie night with Rumble and Frenzy would never hold a candle to the time spent with Sunstreaker and Sideswipe. You tried to set that ache aside and focus on this different perspective of galactic domination and peace through tyranny – despitenoneof it being in a language you understood.

You triedveryhard to lose yourself in this new wave ofinformationas Rumble and Frenzy translated, but nothing would distract you from the hollow you felt in your heart. You wouldn't retain much of what you watched as you found yourself gazing towards the door of Soundwave's room, fantasizing that the two you loved so much would come walking in at any moment to take you home.

Chapter 19: Pierce

Chapter Text

The sounds of creaking and moaning metal set the eerie scene perfectly. Henri was back within the empty corridors of Omega Supreme, and he was alone. He whirled around, searching the fog that just had to have that red glow from the emergency lights. He hissed loudly, “Alan?”

The armed tech rounded a corner and just vanished. Henri scuffled ahead, then looked back, then back again, then – oh my god, did he get turned around? He checked around his feet, searching for those metal parasitic orbs, then searched around again. “Wuh-Wheeljack?”

“Yes?” The Autobot engineer answered from the speaker in his helmet.

“I lost Alan,” He said, trying so very hard to sound composed. He peeked around a corner. “He was there one moment, then – AHH!”

He came face to face with a little flashlight head and the nanite robot trilled and screeched. Alan’s laughter roared as he pulled the cat-sized robot back, patting the thing as it beeped and whirred, obviously agitated.

“Oh good, you found him,” Wheeljack murmured.

Henri snarled, “The f*ck, Al! What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Fall behind again, and I’ll actually leave you.” He set the nanite on the wall, and it practically defied gravity, clinging effortlessly. “Pay attention and stop f*ckin’ around.”

“Did you have to use that thing?” Henri didn’t hide that he was absolutely creeped out and uncomfortable having that robot with them. It was essentially a white blood cell, and enough white blood cells tend to remove foreign bodies – like them.

“How dare you,” Alan said with theatric offence. “This here is the Master of Trashcans! Impregnator of the Galaxy! Bane of Binary Codes!”

The little nanite tapped its wee feet in response, turning and flickering its flashlight-head at its human followers. It bee-wooed, and the tech nearly had a seizure, screaming through clenched teeth. “You are so f*cking cute!”

“Never thought I’d ever hear you use that word.” Wheeljack’s voice came through their ear-pieces. “It’s been nearly one of your earth hours. How is the bisectored-circuit –?"

“Biscuit. Its name is Biscuit,” He cut off the Autobot, continuing to follow the repurposed nanite they liberated from their first excursion. “And the upgrades you gave it seem to be holding up. It’s not slowing down at all. Good job with the thermal insulator.”

“Aww, thank you,” The mech seemed to beam over the comm. “How are your suits reading?”

Both men flipped open a small tab on their chestplate, reading over the screen. Henri was the one to respond, “Batteries still good. We’re still in the green. We’re pushing it with how cold it is, but we should be good for several more hours.”

“Any signs of skeevers?” He continued his inquisition.

Reflexively, they looked at the fog-blanketed floor. Every so often, they would kick something, but there had been no movement and none of that noise. No one was about to repeat the same mistake and touch anything, in case they warm something back to life.

“Few here and there,” The physician – still a pack-mule – continued to answer. “We’re not really looking for them. By that, I mean we’re mostly avoiding them.”

“Can they even be called skeevers anymore?” Alan rested his rifle on his shoulder, meandering along fast enough to keep up with Biscuit. “Aren’t they more along the lines of craplets?”

“Scraplets. And technically, they are a new species, I suppose. They should have a completely new name since they’re spliced with so many different things.”

“Craplets.”

“No.”

Biscuit swiveled its head back and beep-booped. Alan responded with a mock-gentle tone, “Your Daddies aren’t fighting, we’re just having a disagreement.”

Henri could literally hear Wheeljack wither. “Primus, please...”

They rounded the corner, and Biscuit rattled. Like islands, the tops of the parasitic orbs breeched the fog. Alan shuttered with the memories of the last encounter, gripping his gun tightly as he hugged the side wall. Ahead was one of the many sealed doors, and as before, Biscuit skittered and tapped at the latched panel with its itty-biddy feet. Alan pried it open and let the nanite go to work. Little appendages transformed out from its blocky body, connecting to ports and such to manually recode and override the door’s emergency protocols. Before it sent the command to open, it looked at Alan and beeped a warning.

The tech stepped back and brought up his rifle, aiming for anything that moved. He muttered the command, and the nanite opened the way. More cold fog poured in, but it was another sinisterly silent hall bathed in red light. He spotted a few more spheres along the way, but Henri was right. The men continued to keep their distance.

“Onward, Biscuit.” He waved it ahead. The nanite booped and continued along the wall.

“Gentlemen,” Wheeljack spoke up, “I thought you would like to know, another ship departed to aid in the retrieval of Doctor Morgan.”

“I thought everyone already left.” Alan asked, “Who was it?”

“Kup and the rest of his team – her original escort team.”

Alan glanced back at Henri, waiting for him to say something absolutely stupid in response. When he didn’t, Alan filled the silence. “They were in bad shape. Didn’t one of ‘em need his arm reattached?”

“Nothing we can’t fix – but pride? That’s what took a critical hit.”

He snorted, “To have a little unassuming squishy bitch show up a buncha macho cars that can shoot guns from their ass? Why would that make them feel any less?”

“Whether you mean firing bullets, or actually shooting firearms as ammunition, I can assure you we do neither from our aft compartments.”

Then the moment Alan was waiting for: Henri said, “I just wished you guys would’ve left sooner. Every second counts, you know.”

Wheeljack sputtered with offence as the tech picked up the slack, “You may be smart when it comes to medical bullsh*t, but you know f*ck-all about everything else, I swear.”

“I’m not wrong. Insult me all you want –"

“You are, and I am,” Alan cut him off. “You don’t f*ckin’ think, and I need you to. You know as much as I do, that they did want to leave sooner. You know why Sunny and Sides were helpin’ us earlier? Because they were in trouble for trying to hijack a ship and fly around blindly because they were that desperate.”

Henri shied back as Alan stepped up to come face to face. “Cop-bot is the only one with a level head. He was waiting for the location of the Nemo-tit*. Ships need sh*t to fight – and that sh*t takes time to get together. At least they’re doing something other than bitching about it.”

“Nemesis,” Wheeljack corrected. “You do that on purpose. I know you do.”

Alan resumed his way down the hall. Biscuit was at the next door, doing its routine tap-dancing prompt for its human. Alan took a pry bar to the thick steel cover, popping the panel open for the nanite’s access. He spoke as he worked. “Henri, I’m getting real sick and tired of defending these guys to you whenever you so much as stub your goddamn toe. If you can't get over it – or don’t want to – then keep it to yourself. I promise you, when this is all over, I will drive you to Earth, myself.”

Henri watched, jaw clenched. He heard over and over how he was in the wrong, but felt no one was holding everyone accountable. “Sunstreaker threatened me.”

“I know, I was there.”

“No, before that. After what happened to Bethany. Right after I stayed on the station to treat Eve. He threatened to kill me, saying I should have never come. He made it pretty obvious others felt the same way. It was just us, and I was terrified, man. I never had anyone threaten my life like that.”

“Yeah, evidently, he’s a little unglued,” He hummed in response. “Kinda got that vibe a few times, but I'm getting that a lot of these guys are a little crazy.”

“You live through millions of years of war and tell me how you do,” Wheeljack chirped up. “A little sensitivity, please.”

Henri stepped closer to Alan, lowering his voice instinctively, but was still very much aware one of them was on the other end of the com-link. “Since I got here, I’ve felt alone and hated. Anything I did, anything I said, I was treated like the worst person in the room – and I never done a single thing to any of them.”

Alan braced himself against the frosty wall, lazily bringing his head up to face the man who was once his best friend. He stared at him for a beat. “It sucks, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, it does. Put yourself in my –" He caught himself, and his teeth clicked as he shut his mouth like a mousetrap. Henri winced. Alan had been cast out from his friends, blamed for something he didn’t do – something that was a result of Henri’s lie.

The tattooed man turned back to the nanite as it beeped for attention. He pulled up his rifle, readying himself as the door opened. His finger remained steady on the trigger, even when Biscuit made noises not unlike an angry fax-machine. Henri peeked over his protector’s shoulder, finding the wide open room decorated with several of these metal spheres along the floor. Alan carefully entered with slow, deliberate steps.

“We’ve made it to one of Omega’s nano-production machines.” The amount of professionalism in Alan’s tone was enough to set everyone on edge.

Wheeljack asked, “What do you see?”

“Lots of damage,” He reported, “A major amount of the craplets, all dormant, but bigger than what we’ve seen. I’m guessing there's more under all this damn fog.” He held out his arm for a moment, letting Biscuit climb on and perch on his shoulder. Alan added, “And lil’ guy is really upset.”

Henri huffed behind him, taking in the dimly lit room. “It’s not alone.”

“Okay, before you start assessing what needs repaired, there should be several drop-points along the walls. They are tunnels for the nanites once they are produced. What if you start pushing most of the scraplets down the wells?” Wheeljack offered.

“Would decrease the risk of them warming up while we’re repairing,” Alan kicked one, and it rolled into a few others. He continued to take in his surroundings from down the barrel of his rifle. “Henri, find a way to start herding these f*cks, but don’t touch them.”

“Then what do I use?”

“I’m a problem-finder, not a problem-solver.”

“Solving problems is what you’ve been doing,” Henri argued.

“I’m about to solve my problem with you if you don’t figure it out on your f*ckin’ own.” Alan continued across the way to a decent chunk of machinery with an equally decent chunk chewed out. Biscuit went to work skittering about to evaluate what could be done.

Alan sifted through a pile of twisted metal, picked up a piece of shrapnel, and used it as a push-broom. The spheres clacked into one another like cue-balls as he rolled them into these shrouded chutes. They made such a clatter falling down these holes that the men froze, waiting for something to wake.

When nothing happened, Henri followed suit, finding a bent up pole and pushing them down the shafts. Alan ordered him to keep searching for the pests, to make sure all were cleared from the room as he saw to the nanite’s pitiful warbles. The tech reported to his Autobot comrade, “It looks like a few of the main connections were severed. It’ll take a lot of Biscuits to fix it up.”

“Yeah. I just received the diagnostic from your little friend,” Wheeljack said. “I’m sending it new repair protocols now. We just need to fix up a few things to produce some nano-bots, and they can take over and repair it fully. I just need you to crack open a few of the thermal-coils and place them exactly where I tell you.”

“Hold up.” Alan checked back over his shoulder. “Let me do a full sweep before we start warming this thing up.”

He did exactly that, finding a few that Henri missed. Alan then pulled out hand-held, glass-like cylinders from the physician’s pack, twisting the metal ends to activate the glowing springs within. He followed the engineer’s instructions and placed them along the machine while Biscuit worked on welding the connecting cables and wires together. Next, Alan hooked up the heaviest thing Henri had to carry: the power-source. The panel lit up and the machine started rumbling to life.

“Success,” Alan breathed out. “The engine accepted outside power. Big Guy can keep on sleeping. How long before we start seeing Biscuits?”

“I hate that you call them that,” Wheeljack muttered. “Depends on the material in reserve. Nanites are mainly produced by recycled scrap metal. There should be a hopper nearby.”

“Do I look like I can lug all this sh*t?”

“You just need a few. Once you get a couple of nano-bots, they will start feeding the machine to increase their numbers,” He explained.

Alan rolled his eyes in response, groaning out a sigh. He motioned to the third of their party to start looking.

Henri meandered about, waving away the fog on the floor and finding rods of rebar and sheets of metal. He tossed them up into a funnel, cringing at the clatter they made, wincing even more when he missed. He continued to search, finding larger and larger pieces he couldn’t budge. He stood before this particularly large piece of twisted metal, reflecting his image from multiple views.

Henri stared a long while, unable to recognize himself in the suit and plating. This is where he was now – an alien space station with no friends, no family, and no loved ones. His eyes flitted from his image, from this stranger that stared at him. He wanted so badly to go back to the way things were. It was hard to accept how you and Alan moved on without him in what seemed to be overnight, but time didn’t go by that quickly. Not for you.

“Alan, you’re suit readings are telling me your pulse is getting high. You okay?” Wheeljack asked over the comm.

“Just thinkin’ about sh*t,” Alan muttered. “Nothin’ I wanna talk about.”

“Okay. I’m here if you change your mind.”

“Thanks.”

Over and over, these creatures proved they genuinely cared. You were in pain and they were there. Alan was hurting and they were there. Both of you treated them like people, and these aliens treated you in kind. They were your friends. Your family. Your loved ones. Before Henri’s eyes, they showed humanity.

There was no way to undo his mistakes. The things that Alan had said stirred and percolated. Henri wasn’t there, but these aliens were. They were there to pick up the pieces and deep down, he resented them for that. He didn’t want to believe he had a hand in Bethany’s death, but maybe he did by making her feel as alone as he was, right now. He didn’t want to believe that Sunstreaker, with all his flaws, was a better man to you than he. He didn’t want to believe that Alan was blamed and hated by all his friends because of the lies Henri told.

He didn’t want to believe the reflection of that man was really him – the man who continued to make mistake after mistake, and was too afraid to own up to a single one.

“Alan,” Henri croaked, “Al...I...”

“Jesus, f*ck, what is it?”

“I f*cked up.”

To admit it left Henri feeling strangely light. He did f*ck up. He never told you how unhappy he was in the relationship and never considered how his actions would hurt Bethany. She just wanted someone to love her, and you wanted someone to support your dreams. Henri didn’t do either. He was selfish. He was still selfish.

But these robots, these aliens, your friends – they were slapping on duct tape and racing out to save you. They were turning on one another, arguing because they were afraid of what happened to you. They were committing time and resources to help you, and it wasn’t just you. Wheeljack fussed over Alan’s welfare. Sunstreaker came and saved them from a frozen end. Optimus stopped by and thanked Alan and Henri before he shipped off.

The actual Leader made time to stop by and assure them he would do everything he could. The Wrecker Captain visited with a few of his crew, promising Alan to return with his friend. Prowl took a turn. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe even came by. Everyone slated to go and save you, spared brief moments to visit your friend. All Henri could do was watch as they treated Alan as one of their own.

Jealousy wasn’t what he felt. It was shame.

“What else is new?” Alan grumbled.

“I can't change what happened,” Henri began. “I f*cked up. It was all me. You were right – you are right.”

“Are we seriously doing this, now?” He groaned, “This ain’t the time for your ‘I’m sorry, but...’ bullsh*t.”

Years of having a megalomaniac father was no excuse for not knowing how to apologize. It was always ‘they did worse’ or ‘but they did this.’ Forgiveness was for those who were genuinely penitent and Henri never wanted to feel like the bad guy. But he was. He was, time and time again, and it only served to push everyone away.

Henri turned to look at the back of the man who was once his friend. For the longest time, he felt better than Alan. Henri had the best education, he had the girl, he had his father’s money – and it all amounted to nothing. It all fell apart because of Henri’s mistakes and Alan was right, Henri was afraid to lose that perfect life.

This entire time, Alan knew what really mattered.

“I stole data about Eva.”

Alan was Frisbee-ing scraps of shrapnel up in the hopper, and missed. He turned his head slightly, but still didn’t look in Henri’s direction. “Did I... hear you right?”

“I... There was a private message to Ratchet. It was at the same time as the report to the med-team. I wrote it down and deleted it. I... I – I –" Henri devolved into vowels as the tattooed man came storming up to him.

Alan shoved him up against the scrap of twisted metal, pinning Henri by his throat. “Of all the stupid f*cking things you’ve done. Does that message have anything to do with the ship?”

“No! No, I swear!” Henri gripped on his hand. “It’s just – it’s just data on her mutations. I – I wanted to find a way to fix her!”

“That’s not up for you to decide!”

“I know!” Henri cried. “I know that now and I’m sorry!”

Alan paused for a long moment, staring at the man with such fire, the glass over his eyes should have holes melted through. He gave Henri one last shove against the shrapnel and released him, turning to walk away.

“It was stupid and I was scared and I was wrong. I’m the one who’s broken.” Henri choked down those itchy tears, touching his faceplate and wishing he could rub his eyes. “I’m... I was trying so hard to hold onto something I ruined. I couldn’t accept that I lost everyone.”

Alan was silent. He stood there, back to Henri, with his fists clenched at his side. Wheeljack was the one who spoke up. “Doctor Arkeville, can you tell me where this data is?”

“Yes. Please, take it. I keep it in a brown case. You’ll find it under the bed next to mine, in the barracks.”

“Thank you,” Wheeljack said quickly, followed by a few murmurs. It sounded like he was already sending someone to retrieve it.

Henri couldn’t decide whether he wanted Alan to face him, or not. Talking without seeing the look in his eyes made it easier, but to have him refuse to look at Henri felt like another brand of bad. “Alan, I’m sorry. For everything. I’m sorry for what I’ve done to Eve, and I’m sorry for what I’ve done to you. You were my best friend and I used you. There’s nothing I can say to make things better. You’re right. I’m here for the wrong reasons, but I want to leave for the right ones.”

“Leave?” Alan snapped, his body visibly tensing. “You just want to go? Run away?”

“After they find Eve, I want to see her and apologize. I want to say goodbye. I want to go back to Earth.” Henri sniffed, trying to blink away the tears. “I can't save what I’ve had with you and Eve...and what I’ve done to Beth...but her kid. I can’t be forgiven for what I’ve done, but I can start over.... I can start over and try to do better, do right by her... by my daughter...”

Henri clenched his eyes shut, gritting his teeth. He tried so hard to keep it together, to keep from crumpling in and sobbing. This wasn’t the right time – but when will there ever be a right time? Alan was probably the one man that wouldn’t make him feel like crying was weak, but Alan was also fresh out of sympathy. Henri held his breath until his ears started to buzz...

That wasn’t his ears.

He turned to look over his shoulder, his stomach dropping somewhere down in those wells where all the scraplets were pushed. That’s not where the noise was coming from. The twisted mass of shrapnel whirred and vibrated.

Transforming.

It sunk down into the fog. Parts of it rising and falling like an undersea monster. It raised its head. Henri only gaped and wheezed, eyes darting between those bright green optics to its jagged mandibles. The fangs over its maw rubbed together as it loomed over the man, rising up on sections upon sections like a centipede, sharp blade-like legs curling and waving in unison.

Henri couldn’t breathe. He opened his mouth to make a noise – any noise!

Instead, it did.

Alan whirled around at the sound of that cicada-rattlesnake noise, just in time for the large scraplet-hybrid to whip its tail around. He witnessed its long spear-like stinger pierce right through Henri’s stomach and out the back.

Chapter 20: Cannon Fire

Chapter Text

“Organic biometrics have improved,” Shockwave reported, “But readings regarding the Subject’s ability have not exceeded past previous thresholds.”

“Meaning there has been no change since the last few scans.” You glanced up at his screen, unable to decipher that alien language. You returned to juggling your little oxygen tank while slipping back into your cushy space-suit. “And the Subject has a name.”

The scientist hardly glanced your way. Shockwave wasn’t speaking to you. He wasn’t speaking to anyone, really. It was just you, the scientist that tried to inadvertently kill you, and the lingering threat that Soundwave left before he was called elsewhere.

That’s fine. You could talk to yourself, too. “I feel rested. My levels are healthy. Does this mean my ability has a limit? What causes this limit to cap?”

“Are you unaware of your own organic constructs?”

You pinched your brow, trying to think of the answers to your questions, until you realized Shockwave posed a new one. You jolted some, snapping your head to look up at him. He kept his focus on his computer. “I can't run a self-diagnostic, if that’s what you’re asking. My cells don’t give me reports.”

“Your way of existence is illogical.”

“Your way of thinking is ignorant,” You shot back boldly at this high and mighty Decepticon.

His bright red optic left the screen and narrowed on you. For a moment, your body twitched with a deep-seated fear. Shockwave was large and frightening, and the things he subjected you to... but that was before you were declared as something with the utmost amount of value. Soundwave made sure to make the mech understand that to a fearsome degree.

But Soundwave wasn’t here to protect you. He left you with the promise that either he would return or one of his own would retrieve you. Soundwave seemed to command some degree of respect, as Shockwave didn’t jump at the chance to resume his experiments as soon as he left. Instead, he ignored you up till now, and you played what felt like the most dangerous staring contest ever. You chose to look away and continued to fit on your exo-suit with shaking hands.

Shockwave returned his optic to his screen. “You are no longer required for my tests. Remain quiet till you are retrieved.”

Remain quiet. You made a noise, sounding much like a teenager scoffing at being informed they were grounded. He turned his head sharply in your direction. You were quick to busy yourself with swapping your oxygen mask for your helmet, pretending to ignore him. He resumed tapping at his console, ignoring you all the same.

Once you were good and proper for a stroll out in space with Soundwave’s life-sign cuff blinking on your arm, you placed yourself on the edge of the table and watched the scientist work. He didn’t say anything further, and neither did you while you observed with a kind of morbid fascination.

Gone were the days of watching Jetfire work. How far you’ve come from that quiet and avid spectator. You got to work alongside Perceptor, learn basics from Ratchet, and trade techniques with First Aid. You missed them all so terribly, but being forced to sit within an alien laboratory and not touch anything, you missed working alongside professionals, more.

“You are proclaimed a scientist of your species?”

You jumped, startled with this unexpected question. You stared at Shockwave, wondering if he was talking to someone over his comm. until he turned his head slightly to indicate he was talking to you. You swallowed your instinctual fear and responded with as much professionalism and dignity as possible, “I am of the medical branch of it, yes.”

“Yet you have no knowledge of the basic fundamentalism of radiation and its coalescence of energy.” Shockwave finally looked your way, gesturing to a graph on the screen. He knew you couldn’t read a lick of it. Asshole.

Fear and anger played on the see-saw that was your response. You always felt a little triggered when someone talked down to you, giant space robot scientist or not. You held onto your composure, but only by a razor’s edge. “I did not pursue the nuclear aspects in my studies. I said I am a medical scientist. My knowledge surrounds the biological research of my species.”

He stared a moment. “Illogical.”

“Logical,” You countered sharply. “My lifespan won’t even hit a century. I made a choice based on key events that have affected me, personally. This line of work suits me. I’ve become an expert in this field because it pleases me.”

Shockwave continued to study you with that cold optic. He didn’t say anything for a few beats. “You limit yourself based on pleasure?”

“You misunderstand. I love science. It would please me to learn it all, but the only limitation that’s on me is my own body. I will grow old. I will die. The time I have left, I chose to learn medical academics.” You allowed yourself to grow sentimental, wistfully adding, “But that was before I met Jetfire. He knew sciences I couldn’t even pronounce. My world was so small, back then.”

“I see.” Shockwave’s vocals were slightly softer, but not enough for you to take great notice. “If you were not limited by your organic thresholds, how would you proceed?”

“You mean if I lived as long as you?” You gave a sad little laugh, daring to fantasize. “I would love being a student all over again. I would love to work in a laboratory with Perceptor and Jetfire, or in the medbay with Ratchet and First Aid. I wouldn’t be able to go back to my homeworld and add Xenobiology to my doctorate, so I would do what I can, here. I would want to study as an apprentice, and make my hands useful.”

“A worthy endeavor, but illogical.”

You were getting pretty sick of that word. “Of course it is.”

“You misunderstand,” He stole your previous words, turning back to his computer screen. “The Autobots are not suitable scientists, let alone instructors. Logic dictates you would garner optimal results under my tutelage.”

“Here? With you?” You quipped back sharply, “You experimented on me, and now you’re offering to be my teacher?”

“Perhaps I have underestimated your capacity for understanding the need to evaluate a resource.” Shockwave paused to regard you. “My orders were clear, and you were – and continue to be – a fascinating specimen. It is apparent you are governed by ethics and principles. I am constrained by no such compunction.”

What the f*ck was happening, right now? You co*cked your head, eyeing the large purple mech with your mouth gaped in incredulous confusion. Was Shockwave explaining himself to you? There was nothing to explain! He cut into you with cold indifference to the point that it was torture. He could have enslaved you, killed you, whatever it took to get that power from you. You were angry at Shockwave for what he’d done.

“Those sciences you cannot pronounce were not discovered by gentle means. Can you say your species learned of their internal mechanics through harmless designs, or brute force exploration? Do you not infect another to see the results of a virus?” Shockwave asked, “If you were in my position, and possessed a creature worthy of your attention, would you have done differently?”

But what made you really seethe? You understood him. You understood the need to evaluate a resource, and you were no different than a lab rat with a specific genome that needed cut out. You couldn’t act the high and mighty scientist without sins. You conducted experiments on your own ex-fiancé – and you could argue with yourself all you wanted, trying to justify how it was not the same. How different was it all, really? You were trying to help Henri. Shockwave was trying to help his planet.

The perspective of Decepticons, or at least the propaganda you were subjected to, was that they were Heros willing to sacrifice anything for the good of their home planet and their species. Expansion was necessary for their survival; the upper echelons of society would let those in the gutter die for imported fabrics – much like the scraps Sunstreaker stored away. Megatron would lead the way to peace through his leadership alone, but damn anyone who wasn’t like them. Damn anyone who was like you.

But here was someone making concessions. Did these Decepticons know how terribly human they could be?

You didn’t want to answer Shockwave’s question. Instead, you asked, “You’d let me – an organic – work in this lab?”

“You are resilient. Your curiosity is commended, despite being ruled by emotion and impulse. I know this pursuit for knowledge you speak of, but among Autobots, you will gain little.” Shockwave continued to look at you without any trace of emotion. “Among Decepticons, you would know no limitations under my guidance.”

This was unbelievable. You, being a student of someone like Shockwave? You couldn’t imagine having someone at your mercy, a sentient alien being cut open and cataloged and oh my god you were imagining it. From the tamer experiments on Earth to Decepticon treatment, all of that could be done by you instead of to you. The things you could learn if the chains of ethics were shucked off.

You gave a quick shake of your head. Why were you entertaining the idea as if you had no other choice? You had no plans of living with the Decepticons. The Scientist in you listed the symptoms of Stockholm syndrome, reminding you not to accept this as the new norm.

But comradery was seductive. The feelings you had for Ratchet, Pharma, First Aid, Perceptor, and Jetfire, you would never have with Shockwave – but he was still a scientist. You had that in common, and you found yourself hungry for an intelligent conversation, no matter how it turned your stomach and twisted your lips into a grimace.

“What did you learn from your experiments on me?” Your tone was cold and straightforward.

Shockwave looked at you for a moment, and you wondered if he was surprised at such a switch. He turned to tap on his keyboard, bringing up graphs and diagrams on the screen. “The frequency you use to summon sparks cannot be duplicated. Even when paired by cloned tissue of your organic radioactive cells, the results are disappointing.”

You blinked away the need to freak out. “Cloned tissue?”

“Correct.” Shockwave directed your attention to the tubes on the far wall. Among the vague and shadowed shapes of things you could not place, were masses of blobs smaller than your body. Was that your flesh, vat grown and floating? “As soon as the sample separated from your frame, it became useless.”

“I... I see.” You swallowed down your bile. “Aside from disappointment, what were the results?”

“There were none,” He said, turning more towards you. “Nothing happened. Silence. Stillness. Not even a flicker of spark energy.”

You crossed your arms and brought a hand under your chin in thought, desperate to move on that there were pieces of you just over there. “The worst kind of disappointment. No mistake to even know where to begin your adjustments.”

“Indeed.” Shockwave hailed up another image that had you squinting at the familiarity of it. “But when it came to the second phase, every adjustment I made was countered by you on a subconscious level. The program to subjugate couldn’t keep up with your fluctuating brainwaves. Your defense protocols, as primal and primitive as they are, kept the program from rendering you unable.”

Your body locked up. Soundwave was responsible for that. He may have modestly admitted that his part was small, but everything he explained sounded massive in scope. If it wasn’t for him disrupting your alien field, agitating your psyche, you could have gotten comfortable enough.

“There are no known records of a Cybertronian that had awoken from the procedure.” Shockwave leaned in, his curiosity frightening. “Which part of the simulation failed?”

“All of it,” You said quickly. You were sure Soundwave didn’t want him to know – you didn’t want Shockwave to know. You answered as casually and as carefully as you could. “It was too perfect. To not feel challenged, to not think and have everything given to me, felt wrong to me. I can’t imagine a world where I don’t have something blow up in my face every once in a while.”

The Decepticon scientist looked at the screen of his failed work, then clicked to another image, this time displaying your body with little flickering points and text. Shockwave mused, “Interesting, how you accept failure as a common occurrence, yet you do not view it as a hindrance. Perhaps I have underestimated your intellect.”

The more time that passed between you in that simulation to now felt like a natural dream, but at the time, it was as real as life. Yes, things felt wrong, but you were accepting of it because why would you suspect a computer program was influencing your consciousness to create a specific brainwave pattern? You weren't about to correct Shockwave.

Instead, you were going to give him instructions. “If you’re going to teach me, everything will have to be translated into a language I can understand. Also, I can work and study with my oxygen mask, but it’s distracting. I’m thinking of an enclosed area of the lab that I could work and breathe freely.”

Shockwave simply stared at you from the corner of his optic, saying nothing. There had to be something more specific to garner his proposal to mentor you, or maybe he saw this as some kind of benefit for himself, or the Decepticons. The thought had you grit your teeth, of being used against your friends. How malleable did these cons believe you were?

Maybe it was spite. Maybe it was that impish impulse that rubbed off from several of your Autobot friends. Maybe it was being fed up of feeling scared one moment, then anxious the next. You let out a laugh, sounding frayed and watery and done. “What? Too much work for you? And here I thought you were growing fond of me.”

Shockwave watched you for a long and uncomfortable moment. “Fondness is irrelevant. To treat you as property would be a waste of the resource that is you. A Subject and Scientist in one. If I am to continue to study you, I will need someone intimate in the knowledge. You are an apt candidate.”

“My only job will be to analyze myself?” Your lip twitched.

“Among other tasks I appoint to you.” He hit a few keys on the console, and the shadows in the lab were banished. Lights flickered on, one by one, illuminating the walls lined with multiple specimen tubes. “I will not let your curiosity stagnate. You will be free to pursue this pleasure in the knowledge you crave.”

The forms in the glass cylinders took shape. Those were creatures, both metal and organic. Shockwave had alien test subjects and you were counted among them, once. Now, you were in the position to dissect them like a frog, like how those humans wanted to cut you open –

Humans? You were human. Your breath hitched, and a cry locked in your throat. The thought of you considering such depravity scared you. You had to get out of here. It was doing something to you, whittling down at your principles, testing your moral code. You had to reunite with the Autobots and get out of such a twisted environment.

The door to the lab opened, and you breathed out a large sigh of relief. Shockwave turned his attention to the one strolling casually into the lab, and your distress was easily set aside. Soundwave told you either he, or one of his own, would retrieve you. This purple and black Seeker was in no way affiliated with your keeper.

“Skywarp?” You couldn’t pull back your genuine smile. “What are you doing here?”

“Indeed.” The scientist straightened, optic on the grinning Seeker. “I have not summoned you, nor have I been informed of your coming.”

“I’m here to retrieve the Herald.” Skywarp held out his hand to your level, wriggling his fingers to beckon you from down the countertop.

You blinked, automatically drawn in. “But Soundwave –"

“Is not coming. Neither are his cassettes. Everyone is a little busy, right now,” He finished, and impatiently scooped you up. His face had a disarming smile that made you concerned. “Don’t worry a bit. You’re going straight to your habitat.”

You squirmed and made yourself comfortable in his hold, all the while grunting. “Where else would I go?”

Skywarp didn’t answer you. He was eyeing the bulky scientist, his hands tense around you, ready. For what, you could only give very educated guesses. “You’ve seen the station-wide alert. Unless you plan on taking her somewhere safe, I figured I’d put her away for you on my way out. Do you have a problem with that, Shockwave?”

“Alert?” You chirped, then insistently tapped on Skywarp’s hand as he continued to ignore you.

Shockwave’s cold optic narrowed on him for a long moment before returning to his computer. “There will be none, so long as you do not compromise my next round of testing.”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

“If she is not returned, I will be forced to take measures beyond my title as Chief Scientist. I will find you, Skywarp.”

“Oh, no doubt about it.” He gave a little co*ck to his head and turned away, aiming to stroll right on out, but halted when Shockwave spoke up, again.

“And Herald, upon your return, we will continue our discussion. There are notes that were retrieved from the Trion upon your capture I will have translated. I will discuss with Soundwave on accommodations within my lab suitable for your needs.” Shockwave paused. “Now, leave. I have much to do.”

Skywarp rolled his optics and did as he was told, a little too eagerly for your taste. You were unable to ruminate at what the chief Decepticon scientist had said, as you were too busy reminding yourself that these were not Autobots. These were Decepticons. Self-serving, deceitful, factions within-and-against factions, killers of the universe. They did not do each other favors. Someone from Starscream’s own, assisting Megatron’s favorite officer, Soundwave?

“You mentioned an alert,” You reminded. “What alert? Something happened?”

“Nothing to worry about. Settle down.” Skywarp gave you a pat that hurt more than assured you. He brought you up to his face. “You look well.”

He wasn’t going to tell you, and you weren’t going to give up. You went the route of softening him up with friendly sincerity. “Thank you. How are, uh, your friends? They doing well?”

“Friend is a strong word,” He muttered, then shook his head. “Shame you couldn’t fix their processors.”

Your hand fluttered over where your mouth would be if it wasn’t for your helmet. “Oh no, what happened?”

“Nothing. They’re just a bunch of morons.”

You snorted a laugh and he smiled, squeezing you just enough to let you feel something akin to affection. He stepped aside to let a few mechs trod down the hall, guns in hands like soldiers to march. You noted how everyone you passed seemed to scramble, having a sense of urgency. The halls around you rumbled a little more than you were used to.

A tiny bead of unease formed in your gut. You continued your efforts to soften the Seeker with small-talk. “You think no one will notice them, though? Being dead one moment, then not dead the next?”

Skywarp shrugged. “Megatron is so high above us. He doesn’t care if we’re blasted to bits. Why would he care if we’re put back together?”

“I feel like he would care about the last part,” You said, not attempting to hide your concern, but instead let it be known. “And I feel like he's a kill-first-no-questions kind of guy. Please tell me you’re being careful about this.”

“You won’t have to worry, Herald. Megatron wouldn’t do anything to you –"

“I’m worried about you, Sky.”

He tilted his head some. The smile on his face was both mildly surprised and disbelieving. “Are you?”

“Yes, I am. I’ll admit it.” You settled back in his palm and waved your hand nonchalantly. “If you’re not around, who would give me another ride through space? A real one with no secret mission involved.”

He hummed approvingly. “So you did like it.”

“I did.” You crossed your arms. “I would have liked it more if you were honest with me and told me what you were planning. Like right now. I know you’re up to something. Where are...?”

You trailed off, realizing he was walking into his quarters. How stupid must he be to think he could hide you in here? If Starscream tried to get you to revive more sparks, Soundwave would know. Forget removing his monitor-cuff. As soon as he received readings of what would appear as you dead or in a state of non-existence, that mech would comb the ship with a frightening amount of scrutiny, starting with the Seekers.

That bead of unease grew hot with panic. Within his quarters were several mechs. Thundercracker waved a few of the Seekers on, and they exited past, stealing glimpses of you as they left. You fixated on Astrotrain and Blitzwing, trying to make sense of what all this was.

“We just finished loading the Darksyde. Everything we need for her is in place.” Blitzwing crossed his arms over his massive chestplate. “As for Soundwave’s cassettes, they have been neutralized.”

Neutralized?

Thundercracker tapped on his arm, relaying something via communication. “We only have this one chance. More ships have joined, and Soundwave is too busy on the bridge with Megatron to stop us. Is everything in place?”

Ships?

Astrotrain nodded. “Charges set. Her supplies are loaded up. We got two other dummy cruisers ready to disembark. Before they figure out which one is which, we’ll be long gone.”

Charges?!

Thundercracker glanced up at Skywarp. “She ready?”

“Ready for what?!” You squawked, trying so very hard to put everything together as fast as you could with what little you had. The Scientist in you pointed to a red danger light. The emotional side of you foamed at the mouth, wearily waving a red flag. Then, that manipulative side of you raised her sleuthy head, repeating Soundwave’s warning: be wary.

“Don’t worry, little thing.” Astrotrain plucked you from the smaller Seeker without warning. He held you up, holding you a little tightly, but not enough for your armor to complain. “We’ve handled Autobot’s before. We’ll take care of you.”

Autobots. You could barely breathe.

“Easy with her, she’s breakable.” Skywarp clenched his hands at his sides. “And don’t talk to her like a sparkling. She’s smart.”

“She would seem smart to you.” Your new handler’s co*ckpit capsule clicked open, and he dumped you inside. He didn’t care when you stumbled to your knees. “In y’go. You’ll be nice and safe in there.”

“We’ve stood around with pistons in servos long enough.” Thundercracker ordered, “Everyone to their places. Blitzwing, you set the ships to disembark when the time is right. Skywarp, you start detonating when you get the signal. Astrotrain, you get the Herald to the Darksyde as soon as they have cleared the area. We don’t want her aboard if things go wrong.”

You pressed against the glass, listening to every word. Your heart was hammering on that hot bead of panic, forging it into a blade that lodged into you. The plan unfolded, and you helplessly became an unwilling audience and a product to be smuggled. Astrotrain turned away and left the room, and everyone went their separate ways.

This was the moment Starscream was waiting for, the apex of his coup.

The Autobots came to your rescue. That split within the Decepticons that you thought would make your liberation easier, didn’t.

Starscream and his rebellion were going to kidnap you from your kidnappers while everyone was distracted with your rescue.

And those rumbles – that was cannon fire.

f*ck.

[⊙︿⊙]

“Hailing all Autobot vessels. This is Strike Cruiser, Sabre, on the approach. Requestin’ status.”

“Took you long enough to get here, Blaster. Are the little bitlets done with their nap?”

Hot Rod shoved Blaster aside to yell into the radio receiver, “Go frag yourself with a hot iron, Sideswipe! My arm had to be reattached.”

Prowl’s voice roared over the intercom, “Gunships, get off the main frequency! Captain of the Sabre, identify yourself.”

“Yeh know who it is,” Kup said with an agitated graveled tone. He spoke into the receiver from his Captain’s chair that overlooked the lower deck. His voice came from behind those below, and through the speaker of the ship’s radio. “Hot Rod, settle down. Switchin’ to remote comms. Springer, Silverbolt, Optimus, Prowl; give me the rundown.”

They continued to talk, but looking out the ship’s window gave the Sabre crew members a sense of what the rundown would be.

Between the comets, veered both Seekers and Aerialbots in almost mesmerizing battle. The shields of the Autobot combat freighter, Axalon, flickered and shimmered as it took shots from Decepticon gunships. Lancer One, the smaller, more maneuverable assault ship weaved about, deploying the Autobot Aerial unit while pelting at the enemy. The strike cruiser, Valiant, hung by the flank of the Nemesis, aiming to disable the ship’s cannons. The much larger starship, the Wrecker’s dreadnaught, Xantium, faced the Decepticon warship head on, returning fire in a series of volleys.

Hot Rod shot a glance at Drift, who was at the navigation station, then scooted in beside Blaster and punched in a few keys in the communications terminal to hone in on two specific channels. “Sides, ‘Streaker, where you at?”

“Gunship three-delta-nine, highest score at the range, Sideswipe here.”

“Gunship seven-alpha-five, Sunstreaker reporting. Lookin for a way in – all Nemesis docking bays shut tight.” The receiver picked up his growl of frustration. “The ‘Cons saw us coming. Probably found out by a scout.”

Drift left his station to lean in over Hot Rod’s shoulder. “The Wreckers are here – I doubt anything subtle was planned.”

“Those ‘Cons look real dug in,” Blaster murmured, optics fixated out the window. “This is lookin’ to be a battle of attrition.”

“It’s because they have her.” Even over the tinny, static speaker, Sunstreaker still sounded furious. “We need to get inside. We need a hull breach.”

Hot Rod glanced back at his Captain, still in talks – or more like yelling – with the other ship captains. Kup groused, “Why does he always gotta – Someone get Prime off the damn comm.! Megatron doesn’t care ‘bout the rights of all sentient beings, and spoutin’ some rousin’ speech ain’t gonna change his mind!”

Hot Rod then turned to Drift, giving a shrug. Drift shook his head, leaning in to say into the microphone. “We can’t risk her. She’s inside.”

“What are the chances she’s kept on the outer levels?” Sideswipe reasoned.

“She's... valuable,” Sunstreaker said, and no one had to imagine the curl to his lip. “She’d be kept on lockdown, deep inside the safety of the ship.”

“Let’s say you’re right,” Drift began. “How do you propose we convince Springer, Kup, Silverbolt, Prowl, and Optimus to fire upon that ship hard enough to punch in a hole?”

“You would think Springer would be easy, but he said something about a promise...” Sideswipe trailed off, but continued to mentally maneuver within the chain of command to his benefit. “But if Kup was for it, Springer would trust his lead. Kup could sway Optimus. Silverbolt will follow Prowl’s orders, unless the majority is against him. Prowl would be the hardest one to convince.”

“Jazz is with him,” Sunstreaker added. “Appeal to him, he can sway that prick.”

Hot Rod nodded along as he took stock. “Okay. Okay, hold on. I’m going to talk to Kup. Let’s see if I’m as charismatic as Softspark says I am.”