Humanity's Requiem
Summary: Memories of a time long past. Memories of a humanity that slipped away like the sands of time in an hour glass. Memories of a light that remains hidden until the day comes that the darkness is gone.
He'd been fighting for so long that sometimes he had to strain to remember the way a clear summer day looked like. Or even to remember what it was like to sleep in a bed that didn't shake with the force of the bombs being dropped only miles away, their concussive blasts traveling through the earth with enough force that some nights he was certain that the roof above would fall. But it didn't and he was allowed to wake in time for his shift at patrol rounds or whatever it was he'd been assigned to for that shift.
The war had been going for so long that sometimes he wondered if he would ever truly see the war's conclusion. It was on those days that he would recall with a rueful chuckle all of the dreams he'd held as a naïve teen. The dreams that he would pursue his interests in science, with his parents and the rest of his family gathered around him as he proudly took his first steps into the real world. Instead his first steps had been taken alone, down a rubble strewn street with missiles screaming overhead and the sounds of panic ringing in his ears as clearly as any bell ever had.
Of all the things he remembered from his former life, those were among the clearest memories he still possessed. The feeling of leaving behind the young and frightened child to become the man standing defiantly on the edge of a building, arms clutching tightly to a cube of life while optics darkened with hate and rage glared down at him like a vengeful demon from mythology. And in spite of the fear threatening to rob him of all his thoughts, he'd somehow managed to remain calm enough to refuse the offer that might have saved his humanity.
But whenever he had that thought, he would shake his head with the rationalization that either way that day his humanity would have been lost. He would have become a monster in much the same manner as the beast confronting him with his own fragile mortality. He would have condemned the innocent to a fate worse than the one promised to him if he refused and in the darkest of hours he would cling to that thought like a dying man would to the hand of a healer above him.
No, no… much better that he allow himself to fall to a dream of unending terror and pain than to abandon those precious few that had called out to him in desperation. Because where they were the light still retained in the never-ending horror that was his life, he had become the darkness to protect them. After all, what better to hide the light than the inky refuge that the darkness could become? And the darkness is what he had become, he would think with a weary sigh still remembered by a body no longer capable of producing the sound naturally.
He had become the very thing that he once feared more than any other thing in his very young life. His hands were stained with the life of others, a stain that threatened to rob him of his very sanity were it not for the constant warmth of innocence he still retained. Because in the silence he would fall to his knees, clasp his hands in front of him as though in prayer and would weep tears that had mercifully been allowed to him. A reminder of the youthful essence that he had once been and of the hardened shell of existence that he had become.
Only a handful of those he fought with knew of the tears that would stain his face with glistening streaks of shimmering sapphire. Warm arms would wrap around his slender frame and a voice would whisper soothing nonsense into his ears until he succumbed to sleep and was carried to his bed with infinite care and patience. Only those few truly knew the depths of his sacrifice and of how steadfast he remained in his devotion to a motto that had once belonged to a youth that could scarcely comprehend its true meaning.
The few with whom he shared his secret could be called upon in his most vulnerable of moments and he knew, without any of the doubt that festered in his heart, that they would answer and would never speak of it to anyone. Just as he would and had done himself. How many times had he grasped a hand firmly within his own smaller one, preventing an injury meant to show that in spite of the numbness felt inside that they were still capable of pain? And how many times had he been stopped from his own foolishness in an attempt to redeem himself from the darkness that stained him? The darkness that he alone seemed to see when no one else could or would?
Those that he had stood with at the beginning of it had slowly drifted away from him, unable to withstand the guilt as his innocence and youthful light were replaced by the resigned understanding that only war was capable of giving. But those he stood beside now were of the same darkness as he and shared with him the understanding that only the Matrix's call would separate them. Will, Maggie, Mikaela, Epps and Glen were no longer beside him to fight, but their fight was carried on in the will of their descendants. And while he was no longer Samuel James Witwicky, son of Ron and Judy Witwicky… he carried with him their memory and the memory of their sacrifice. For even when the day came that the darkness was overwhelmed and he was allowed to be cleansed of the sins he carried, he would still remember and he would do so with a fierce pride that nearly overrode any other emotion he could still feel.
"Spike."
Glancing up from where he was reclining on the recharge berth he shared with his mate, Spike saved the latest entry he'd made onto the data pad before subspacing it. The barest hint of smile tugged at his lips while his optics sparkled merrily at the silver mech standing in the doorway leading to their quarters. "Jazz." He breathed the name, his Spark euphoric as it welcomed its other half with a joyous swell of warmth. "You're back."
Blue limbs untangled with an easy grace as he rose to his full height of thirteen feet as he crossed the few feet necessary to throw himself into waiting arms. "I was beginning to get worried when you didn't come back by the time you'd said in your last transmission." He murmured into the warm chassis that covered the Spark he'd joined himself to with no regret when asked.
"I know," Jazz answered, "that's th' reason I made sure to stop by here before I headed off to go an' see Ratch."
Pulling back to scrutinize the silver frame that he knew as well as his own, Spike took in the splatters of dried energon that he knew without being told was not solely Jazz's own. "You'd better get going then if you want to spend any time together before I have to leave." He finally said as he looked up to meet the uncovered optics of his mate as he pressed one sapphire colored hand to a silver hued cheek affectionately.
"Fraggit Spike." Jazz swore even as he leaned into the hand pressed against his cheek, his face moving to press a soft kiss into the lighter colored palm. "I thought tha' ya weren't gonna accept th' mission."
"If I don't go," Spike replied quietly, "then they'll send Bee. And you and I both know that he's a good spy. Great even, but he's no assassin."
"And neither are you." Jazz whispered fiercely, his arms tightening around the slender frame held in his arms. "We all do wha' we gotta do. An' sometimes we get called to do things tha' we'd never do if it weren't war."
"I know that, Jazz." Spike said evenly, his optics dimming as he rested his helm against the shoulder of the slightly taller mech holding him. "But war doesn't change what I do or the fact that I'm good at it. I sneak in and kill people before leaving. Most people I know would call that being an assassin. Now you'd better get going before Ratch comes down here to see what's taking you so long."
"Yeah, yeah. I'm goin'." Jazz groaned as he reluctantly pulled away from his bond mate, staring down into stunning blue optics before bringing his visor back down to cover his own. "Ya better still be here when I get back."
"I will." Spike promised with a noticeable smile as lips brushed his in a tender kiss. "I still remember what happened the last time I left before you got back. Of course it's kinda hard to forget the stunned expression on Ratch's face when he walked in here looking for me."
Jazz's only answer was a low chuckle as the silver mech turned and left their quarters to head towards the med bay and an impatient CMO. Returning to the berth he'd been sitting on Spike pulled his datapad back out of subspace, staring at it for long moments before beginning to write.
Someday this war would end he'd think with a hope that at times seemed so foreign to him. The war would end and the darkness that he'd allowed to cover him would be forced away by the light. And then perhaps… perhaps then, he would be allowed to tell the greatest secret that he carried with him. The secret of what really happened to the youth that day in a city torn apart by a war not of its own making. The secret of where the cube so full of life truly went. And the reason that he lost his humanity that day… the humanity that had been replaced by the Spark filled existence he now led. Yes, someday the war would end and the Allspark would be allowed to create life instead of ending it.
Do NOT ask me where the fragging hell this came from. It's been a rabid plot bunny that's been haunting me for the past week and a half. I've been trying to ignore it, hoping that it would give up… but no, tenacious little fragger that it is refused to leave me alone. So here it is, Sam/Jazz post Mission City thingy that I never thought I would ever write but have. I actually like it now that it's out of my head and onto the computer screen. And who knows… maybe you guys'll like it too.