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Language module activated. Preparing translation program…
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Translation program activated. Complete HUD language change initiated.
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…
Language change complete. Initiating boot-up.
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Boot-up complete. Activating motor control center.
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Motor control center activated. Sensory suite online.
"WAKE UP, LOVE. COME BACK TO ME. IT'S TIME TO WAKE UP NOW."
Involuntary motion registered. Audial input at maximum. Adjusting.
…
Adjustment complete.
Running systems check.
Energon levels: maximum
Fuel pump expediency: within parameters
Self-repair diagnostics: within parameters
Motor control: functional
Memory access: limited. Rebooting memory core.
Optical input: minimal. Rebooting optical center.
…
Optical center rebooted.
There's… light. It's strangely green-tinted.
Memory core rebooted. Accessing memory.
…
…
…
Memory errors registered.
"Hello, child. What is your name?"
My mind is muddled. The someone's speaking to me, I'm sure, but I don't know how to reply. Or even what to reply.
Designation: Cynosura.
No. No, that's not right. Is it?
I'm Isobel. Isobel.
Memory errors registered..
Vocalizer error registered. Rebooting vocalizer.
"Don't worry, sparklet." I look towards the sound. A familiar face is smiling at me. "Give your frame time to wake up properly."
Designation: Ratchet.
Yes. Yes, I remember Ratchet. He's safe.
Vocalizer rebooted.
"I'm… I'm Isobel. Aren't I? But it says I'm… It says I'm Cynosura. I don't understand."
Ratchet smiles. "Do you remember yourself?"
Memory cache accessed.
Suddenly, a myriad of images shoot through my mind. I see myself as a child with my family around me, on a plane with other familiar figures, in a large bed, running on a beach. The images flash past and fade away before I have the chance to recognize most of them, but they all feel familiar.
Memory incomplete.
Memory cache errors registered.
"I was Isobel, I remember that." I speak slowly, trying to figure out how I'm doing it while I'm doing it. Everything feels different, like my mind isn't connected to my body anymore. "There is… a lot of memory errors, it says. I don't know what that means."
"Do you remember us?"
I turn towards the new voice, and the little square of text that's been informing me of my progress suddenly blasts into fast action again.
Designation: First Aid.
Potential bondmate identified.
Initiate bonding procedure Y/N
I choose N so fast I don't even realize how I do it. My mind is still muddled, and I don't feel like myself, but I still don't like the sound of that. It sounds like bondage, and that is not something I want to do in a crowded room.
There's something really strange about the entire request, but I can't pinpoint what it is.
I do recognize the mech in front of me, though.
I smile at First Aid. My First Aid, my Protectobot, much smaller in my field of vision than usual. And still with that weird green tint.
Visor detected.
… that might explain it. I guess the suit Wheeljack designed will take some getting used to.
That's it. That's what weird. I'm in Wheeljack's suit. That actually explains a lot.
"I remember you. Hello, First Aid."
He takes my hand, and I marvel how real it feels. Wheeljack really is a genius.
Sensory suite levels: within parameters.
I pull myself up. The suit even moves like my own body would. Only then do I fully see the others in the room. "I remember all of you."
Designations: Groove. Sunstreaker.
Sideswipe. Wheeljack. Jazz. Prowl. Optimus Prime.
Alpha Trion.
Except that last one, him I don't know. But I don't care. Not when my heart is pulling me towards the two on my left.
"Groove. Sunstreaker."
Groove beams a smile at me, his optics soft. He looks just as handsome as I remember.
Potential courtmate identified.
Shut up, text box.
Sunstreaker, though. Sunstreaker looks haggard. I'd never thought he'd let himself get to such a state. I reach for him, and he simply falls forward into my lap as if all the struts and cables keeping him upright were severed at once.
My lap that's much bigger than usual. I lift my hands, looking at them for the first time, noticing the white of my forearms and the pale silver of my intricately built palms.
Wheeljack's suit is almost like a real Cybertronian.
I touch Sunstreaker's warm plating, feel him trembling underneath my hands.
Designation: Sunstreaker. Familial bond detected.
No spark connection identified.
No processor connection identified.
Bond origin search unsuccessful.
Bond identifier: brother.
Alien relation incorporated.
Processor connection required.
"Sunstreaker. It says you're my brother." I frown as the trembling intensifies. My brother is in pain. A quick glance at Sideswipe, and I can tell that at least it's not getting worse. Sideswipe is smiling, beaming even, and he wouldn't do that if Sunstreaker wasn't okay. Or at least on the way to be.
So I look back at Ratchet. "It says a lot of things. I don't understand."
"That's all right, sparklet. We'll teach you." He's still smiling at me. His hand is on my back suddenly, supportive, strong, and I lean back gratefully.
I hear Ratchet and Alpha Trion talking to each other behind me, but my focus is all on Sunstreaker. The curve of his plating under my hand, all the tiny imperfections in his finish.
He used to be metal silk.
I glance at Sideswipe. I'm going to need his help if we're going to get Sunstreaker back to himself.
Sideswipe tugs Sunstreaker up and off my lap, and I let go reluctantly. "Come on, love." First Aid's voice is as gentle as his touch as he takes hold of me. He hoists me up, steadying me as I get used to the suit's legs. "We want you in a medical center for a while, until we're sure you're stable."
That makes sense. I don't feel too steady – I'm fairly sure I would have fallen over already if it wasn't for First Aid supporting me.
It's so weird to look straight into his face like this. The suit is a bit shorter than he is, but not much. I lift what feels like my face to look at him, and almost topple backward.
Motor function center operating below standard.
Equilibrium fault detected.
Motor relay systems rebooting.
…
Motor relay systems rebooted.
Diagnostic: control error, left pede. Control error, right pede.
Motor function center rebooting.
…
…
Motor function center rebooted.
Diagnostic: control error, left pede. Control error, right pede.
Initiating deep scan.
Right. And there's all that. Whatever the heck it means.
This suit Wheeljack built me must have a seriously powerful AI running it. I can't keep up with what it's spouting, but it's clear enough that it affects my legs somehow. Main clue, of course, is how they don't seem to work properly.
Diagnostic: errant operating code, motor control relays.
I give up. That little text box is probably going to keep spouting nonsense at me, and none of it is helping me move my legs.
So I just lean against First Aid's chest. It's so strange, being of a size with him like this. We're proportionate to my body and his holoform. And I'm really relieved that I can feel him under my fingertips. This suit is much more responsive than they let me believe.
"Carry me? My legs are giving me strange signals that I don't understand."
"You'll learn." First Aid doesn't seem to be upset that he still has to cart me around. Not if his smile is anything to judge by.
And I still feel safe in his arms.
"Let's go, love." He moves with me easily, leaning down suddenly to kiss my throat.
I get another lesson in the sensitivity of Wheeljack's suit, because it feels like I have electricity running through my veins. My chest is almost aching.
Initiate bonding procedure Y/N
I choose N, hiding my face against First Aid's neck. Considering how connected I am to this thing, it wouldn't surprise me if the blush is apparent on my face.
Initiate spark merge Y/N
No, dammit, and what? Wheeljack must have gotten the integration wrong somewhere.
I keep hiding my face, nixing request after request to do a bunch of stuff I'm fairly sure isn't possible to do in this suit. I had actually expected Wheeljack to make a better robotic exosuit than this. Or maybe a more robotic one. With the way it's talking at me, it's like it's trying to be a real Cybertronian.
First Aid keeps walking, following the others, his hand stroking down my back every now and then. It's comforting, even though I have to turn off another slew of messages every time he does.
Eventually we emerge into sunlight. It's warm, and I turn towards it eagerly, only to whimper and squeeze my eyes shut. I turn back and burrow against First Aid's chest again.
Optical cortex input: maximum. Dialing down.
Dialing down failed. Rebooting optical center.
Reboot failed.
Diagnostic pending. Scanning visual center.
"Isobel? What's wrong?" Groove's worried voice is right next to my ear.
"Hurts," I whine. "My eyes hurt."
"Give me your arm, sparklet." Ratchet is calm, in control, and I hold up my arm without hesitation. Something pops open, a hatch of some sort, and then Ratchet is in my mind.
It was weird before. It gets really, really, really weird now.
~Easy, sparklet. I just need to look at you for a minute.~
His voice is in my head. And it didn't get there through conventional means.
"Her visual center's poorly calibrated," he mutters. "And there's a slew of error messages on everything from her audios to her pedes. Let's get her back to medical, we need to do a full check on her systems."
"Should we activate her cog?" First Aid sounds hesitant, and I don't understand. It's getting really tiring to be so out of the loop.
"No, there's too much going on in her mind already. I'm afraid she'll crash if we add any more." Ratchet disappears from my mind again, and there's a click before he releases my arm. "I had to shut your visual center down, sparklet, so unfortunately you're blind for now. I know it must be disorienting. I'll fix you proper when we get back."
I pull away from First Aid's chest carefully. When I try to open my eyes, nothing happens.
This suit has really integrated with my nervous system. I'm impressed and terrified all at once.
"Why don't you transform, and we'll take her back in your alt mode?" Ratchet suggests, and First Aid's hand pauses on my back.
"Me? You don't want to carry her yourself, to better keep an eye on her?"
Ratchet chuckles as he teases my Protectobot. "Why, didn't you want to carry her yourself?"
I'm down on my feet and in Groove's arms before I have time to take another breath. Another thing that feels weird.
Without the input from my eyes, I sway in place. The condition of my legs isn't helping. Groove doesn't let me fall, though.
"Easy, Isobel." His voice is soft, gentle, and I have to N another of those infernal demands. "I've got you."
Ignoring the requests that keep peppering that information box, as well as the ache in my chest, I melt against him. "Hi, Groove. I missed you."
He laughs lightly and kisses my forehead. "Likewise, Belle. Primus, it's so good to have you back." He takes hold of my shoulders, directing me to move. "Come on. Aid's waiting for you."
"Will you come with?" I ask impulsively. The thing with Groove was brand new when they left Earth, but it feels like we've still got something, and I don't want to let him go.
Another kiss, to the back of my head this time. "I promise," he murmurs. "Not leaving you now, dearest Belle."
He guides me into First Aid's alt mode, has me lie back so Aid can strap me in.
"It's a long road and a little bumpy," he warns. "But you'll be fine."
"I'll see you later then," I murmur, trying to relax. "Don't go away."
"He'll be right next to us," First Aid chuckles. "Relax, love."
The pad I'm on begins to vibrate. I groan as I melt against it, and straps are secured across my suit.
In no time at all I'm asleep.
When I open my eyes again, I've been moved. There's a ceiling above me, bright lights, monitors beeping.
Medbay. Or whatever is the peacetime equivalent.
I turn my head, see the never-ending amount of equipment I'm hooked up to. I don't understand how it can be necessary with this much work – it's just a simple suit.
Maybe it wasn't finished when they put me into it?
"Ah, good, you're awake." Ratchet steps into my field of vision, giving me a smile. "How do you feel?"
As if the words were a signal, the little text box starts up again.
Memory cache errors identified.
Control center errors identified.
Fuel levels: maximum.
Self-repair: within parameters.
"I'm okay," I reply, sitting up on the bed. Berth now, I guess. "The suit's still giving me a slew of weird information, but I feel okay."
Ratchet pauses, looks at me strangely. "I see. Isobel, would you mind if I connected to you again? I'd like a closer look at your code."
I shrug. As I do, some part of the suit behind my shoulder thunks into a monitor stand. It stings.
Diagnostic: dent detected.
Predicted repair: minor. Self repair sufficient.
I wince. "Ouch. Yeah, sure. How did I feel that?"
"I'll explain afterward," Ratchet says as he settles down next to me. "Now, give me your arm."
I stretch out my right arm for him, marveling again at the pearly while metal covering most of it. "What do I do?"
"For now, nothing," he replies, taking my hand. "I can override your panel controls. But eventually, you have to learn to send these commands yourself."
A small panel on my forearm pops open, revealing a set of ports. Ratchet unspools a cable from his own arm. And then he connects it to me, like it's a perfectly normal thing to pull a wire from yourself and stick it into someone else.
Well, I'm on Cybertron now. It probably is.
Medical codes recognized.
Ratchet's optics flicker, and I can feel him in my head, rifling through things. It's enough to make me dizzy.
"Lie back down, sparklet," he murmurs. "Don't need you keeling over on me."
I tip backward gently until I'm horizontal again. It helps somewhat.
"Visual and audial center both look good," Ratchet continues. "I'm going to need to run a diagnostic on your motor control center, and I'll scan your frame as well. There may be some problems with your hip joints. And it looks like… Yeah, it looks like your frame's running a bit too far on the autonomous side."
"What does that mean?"
"It means that the frame's autonomous system's determining more of your actions than is normal. More than I expected, I mean." Ratchet replies. He digs through my head some more, then chuckles. "Primus, Isobel, you've denied… twenty-seven bonding requests and almost as many merge requests since you onlined. That's not how it's meant to work. We need to dial back the sensitivity on that thing."
"Are you saying that that wasn't supposed to happen?" I fight another wave of dizziness as Ratchet does something in the suit's code, though it feels like my real mind.
"No. You're supposed to make that kind of decision consciously. It's not supposed to keep prompting you." He frowns. "There are indications of coding errors in your control center. And your memory cache is patchy – there is nothing wrong with the actual module, but there are recollection errors." He disconnects from me, though it takes a few moments before the dizziness subsides. "Do you remember why you're here? On Cybertron, I mean?"
I close my eyes. The ceiling light is too sharp. "I remember being back in Ireland and First Aid coming to see me. He had Parker with him, and he asked me to come back here. They said I was needed. Wheeljack had built this monstrous chamber to keep me in for the journey, and I was going to be put into a suit when we got here. They told me that Starscream and the Stunticons and Vortex needed my help."
Ratchet nods. "That's all correct. What about before that? The decade since we left? The time on the base? What about before you met the Autobots?"
I think back.
Memory cache error registered.
Memory: faulty.
A barrage of images hits me. I see myself as a child, with my family. Celebrating someone's birthday. Graduating. A million little moments. I see the 'Bots, partying on Diego Garcia, Blaster in his demon holoform. First Aid massaging me, Sunstreaker's intense stare. All my metal family.
Many enough to drown in. But not enough for a lifetime.
I can't remember my favorite color. The name of the hamster I had as a child. The song I danced to at my senior prom. The names of my best friends growing up. Where I actually traveled after the Autobots left me.
So much is gone.
"I can't remember," I whisper. It's devastating, really. It feels like my eyes should be tearing up, but the suit isn't reacting the way my body would.
Ratchet seems to get it anyway. "I suspected as much. I'm sorry, sparklet." His hand squeezes mine. "I'm going to have to put you in stasis to work on your frame controls. I want to talk to you some more first, though. Are you up for that?"
I nod dumbly. I'm still struggling to take in that I can't remember where my brother was stationed. Or what we used to eat for Christmas dinners.
"Ratchet, why don't I remember?" My voice is faint, almost more of a breath. "How did this happen?"
"Well, that's connected to what I want to talk to you about." He sighs, takes my hand again. "Isobel, there's something you don't know."
I look toward him again, trying to push back the grief of my lost memories again. I can handle that later. "What is it?"
Ratchet, uncharacteristically enough, looks nervous. "I'm not sure I know how to say this, sparklet. So I'm just going to jump right into it. Okay?"
I frown at him. "Ratchet, you're making it sound like I'm dying."
He chuckles, but it's clearly forced. I wonder why he bothers. "No. No, sparklet, you're not. But you were."
And then he tells me. Of the accident they had in space. Of how my chamber nearly became my coffin. Of First Aid never leaving my side, even when I was for all intents and purposes living only in the widest definition of the word. Of how I ended up as some form of Schroedinger's Isobel, both alive and dead at once.
Of why I woke up near Alpha Trion.
Of why my memory's faulty – apparently, some my clearest recollections are the ones collected from the 'Bots and 'Cons sharing their sparks with Alpha Trion to help build mine. I owe a lot of my early memories to the video and files of myself that I gave First Aid. The process wasn't kind on my memories.
I hold up my hand, squeezing my eyes shut, and Ratchet stops mid-word. He's silent as I work my way through the realization. The memories spin in my head.
I remember my doctoral thesis. Most of my training. None of my cases before I came to the Autobots.
So much for being a fully trained psychologist still.
… I'm not even sure I'm me still.
The frame was right, I realize suddenly. I am more Cynosura than Isobel right now.
Optical cleansing fluid leakage detected.
Case in point.
I've barely lifted my hands – my hands – to rub the tears away when Ratchet's arms enfold me. He's big, and solid, and warm, and I curl against him gratefully.
Strong, gentle hands stroke over my back, over bumps and seams that are part of my body now. "Shh, sparklet. It'll be okay."
It's comforting that he's still bigger than me. Even if it's not by much.
After what seems like an age, but the little clock in my field of vision tells me was really just seven minutes and forty-five and one seventh of a second, I finally manage to get my breathing under control. It cools me down, and an orange exclamation mark that had appeared on my screen disappears again.
I straighten up and rub at my cheeks. My hands come away shiny. "Ratchet, I'm going to need a crash course in how to be Cybertronian."
"Don't worry." He smiles at me, and it sooths my nerves a bit. "We'll teach you. Now, I'd like for you to be mobile sooner rather than later, so do you mind if I put you under now and check your hip joints? And we'll go over your coding at the same time."
I nod and lie back. "Sure. You do what you have to do. I'll just be sedated or something, right? Like for surgery on Earth?"
"Almost the same thing," he agrees. "Medical stasis. You won't be aware of what's happening, but there'll be no pain when you wake up."
"Sounds good." I close my eyes – optics. "Do your thing."
Medical codes recognized. Medical stasis initiated.
When I wake up next, it feels more familiar. More like it used to. There's not barrage of text in that little box, a lot fewer symbols pulling at my attention. The world doesn't look green anymore, either.
And First Aid is there.
"Hey, Isobel." He's smiling this tired smile, like he's been up for too long.
I frown at him. "You are not allowed to run yourself ragged just waiting for me to wake up."
"It'll be hard to break him of that habit now," Groove's voice says. "He's been hovering over you for a vorn." I turn my head to see him leaning against the wall on the other side of the berth. He's smiling too, calm and easy, like always.
Groove is rock solid. I don't think I've ever appreciated that as much as now.
Wait.
"For a vorn? What is a vorn?"
Vorn ≈ 83 years.
Huh. Ratchet's made my screen useful. That helps.
Wait, what?
"Eighty-three years?" My voice climbs through two octaves. "I was out that long?"
"I'm afraid so," First Aid replies. His hand is drawing tiny circles on my forearm. "It took time for your spark to grow."
"That's… I can't wrap my mind around that. That's crazily long." I look straight up at the ceiling. My surprise is probably showing on my face at this point.
"I bet it's difficult to wrap your mind around the entire situation." Groove's hand strokes down the arm First Aid isn't touching. "What can we do to help?"
"I have no idea." I look between the two of them. "I've never had to adjust to getting a new body before." I look down at the body in question. It's mostly concealed by a blanket, but I can see the general shape of it. It doesn't tell me anything more than I already knew – I have two legs and am vaguely human-shaped. "I don't even know what it looks like."
"Well, we can remedy that, at least." Groove looks at his brother, a grin on his bright face. "There's a full-length mirror in the wash racks, isn't there?"
First Aid's grin mirrors his brother's. They're suddenly eerily similar, despite the fairly different color schemes. "What do you say, love? Want to look over our handiwork?"
I take hold of their arms and pull myself up into a seated position. "Why not? I have to see what kind of creative liberties you've taken."
With the help of both of them, I manage to find my feet. I'm a lot more steady than last time. It's a relief to be able to walk on my own.
"Ratchet found the problem," First Aid explains as I shuffle in the direction they point me. "There was an error in the impulse reader that was connected to your pelvic assembly. It basically told your processor that your hip was out of alignment."
"Oh, well, we can't have that," I agree, as if I know what he's talking about. "Now let go of me for a moment, mechs. Give a femme a chance to test her legs, okay?"
Groove laughs and kisses my cheek. That feels like it used to as well, despite the fact that he seems to be dodging some kind of protrusions on my helmet. "You're going to be awesome, Belle."
"Are you ever going to stop calling me that?" I try to be serious, but it's a lot harder than I thought it would be, and my cheek is kind of tingling where he kissed it.
"No," he replies, and his tone's suddenly soft. Instead of letting me go, he cradles my face. "You're beautiful, Belle. Inside and out. So as long as you let me, I'm going to keep saying it."
His optics are gold behind their glass visors. They pull me in, closer to this mech who is so like his brother yet not, this mech who's such a source of strength to the both of us when we need it, who's always been there for me.
I don't plan to kiss him. But I'm not surprised when I do anyway. And Groove just pulls me closer, deepening the kiss until I'm completely lost in him and have to hold on to him to stay upright.
"Well, now you're making me jealous," First Aid says lightly behind me. "I want a kiss too."
I break it off and turn in Groove's grip. "Come here, then. Your brother isn't letting me go."
Groove smiles against my throat, finding an area that's so much more sensitive than I ever thought metal could be. "Damn right I'm not. Aid, you're going to have to share."
"I thought we'd already agreed on that." First Aid smiles broadly as he steps into my arms, and I marvel at how I can actually embrace him in this form. "I am a bit offended that you stole the first kiss, though. After all, she was mine first."
"Are you two going to be bickering over me like I'm a new toy constantly?" I tease. "Maybe I'd be better off staying with Optimus and Ratchet again?"
"Don't you dare," Groove hums, and the feeling of those words against my sensitive neck has my knees buckling. "You're ours."
"We'll behave." First Aid is practically crooning. "But we've also missed you. Constantly. So you, my love, had better get used to fending us off with a big stick if you want us to stay away." His nose bumps mine, traces across my cheek like he's drawing in my scent. His hands rest on my hip, thumbs stroking the upper edge of part of my leg plating – and it's still so weird that I have that – and sending tiny electric impulses into my frame. I tingle all over, feeling warmer and warmer.
"Good thing I don't plan to let you get out of my sight then," I murmur, chasing First Aid's mouth. "Maybe I should get leashes instead of a big stick."
Groove's engine revs sharply behind me, and the vibrations go through my stomach and down into my groin. I don't get the chance to think about what that means, because First Aid chooses that moment to finally kiss me.
If I weren't sandwiched tightly between them, I would seriously be on the ground.
Kissing is much the same in this form as it was when I was human. The fact that his lips still feel soft throws me a bit, but I'm not too surprised by it. I remember Ironhide and Chromia, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, Blades and Slingshot. Among others.
There are two sets of hands moving over my body, teasing and stroking, and I'm warming up under their touches. That little orange exclamation mark is back, changing to red as I look at it. Then something turns on in me, some form of fan pulling cooler air into my systems, and it flickers back to orange.
Right. I'm a machine now. I'm apparently air-cooled.
I don't get as much time to consider that as I probably need to, because First Aid's mouth leaves mine to move down to my throat, teasing and licking like Groove was doing earlier.
"Ratchet just commed me," he says calmly, conversationally, like this is a normal situation and not me being teased and touched into submission. "He says there will be no fragging in his medical center, thank you very much, but since we've already driven her this far we have his permission to go for a tactile overload. It won't do her any harm."
Groove chuckles against the side of my head. "Arrogant fragger. Like we need his permission."
I moan at the sensation. Who knew my ears were erogenous in this form? Or whatever I have that passes for ears.
"We do need hers, though," First Aid counters. "This is new to her, too. She's probably hypersensitive everywhere."
"If you two don't stop talking over my head," I threaten breathlessly, "I'm going to leave, and you can touch each other instead."
First Aid laughs, lifting his head and looking at me. "Noted. Isobel, do we have your permission to drive you insensate with pleasure?"
Groove punctuates the question with small nips to my throat.
"Just don't let me fall," I gasp, leaning back into the touches.
"Never." First Aid's voice is almost a growl. "Never letting you fall. Never letting you go."
Then he kisses me fiercely, as Groove presses against my back, and two sets of hands are touching me, two engines vibrating against me, and it's all I can do to hold on. I can feel something rise in me, burning and boiling until I'm trembling with it, and all it takes is Groove breathing hot air over my ear to let it swallow me.
I surface a little while later, still overly warm, still stuck between my two Protectobots. First Aid is grinning at me. "Was that okay?"
"That was amazing," I admit, because it was. "What was it?"
"That, my dearest Belle, was an overload," Groove replies, kissing my cheek. "Achieved through tactical stimulation of your frame."
I shake my head. "I think I need a dictionary."
"Later," First Aid promises. "Now, I believe we were planning to find a mirror." He steps back with clear reluctance and takes my hand.
"Please." I step away from Groove, taking his hand as well. "You have no idea how disorienting it is to not even know what I look like."
My balance and movement really is much better. I even feel looser and more relaxed than I did when they pulled me out of bed. Maybe it's the overload's fault. I guess I have to ask First Aid about that.
Overload: a reset of circuit breakers in the frame, often resetting minor systems as well. Effect is beneficial,
as it can clear back-up queues and contribute to an increased sense of well-being.
Or I guess I can just ask that little square.
Regardless of the reason, I feel better than I have since I woke up in this body. I'm almost prancing as we turn the corner to find what's probably the right door. At least it opens easily in front of us, revealing a large room with a rubbered floor and several showerheads.
"The wash racks," First Aid announces grandly. "Mirror is this way."
I follow him around the corner and come to a dead stop.
The mirror covers the entire end wall. I can't imagine what they'd need such a massive reflective surface for. There are small tables and shelves and stuff on the walls surrounding it, but I don't really notice what they're for.
I can't see anything but the strange bot in the mirror.
It's clearly a femme. She's got the same curves as Arcee and Chromia does – the narrower waist, the slimmer and smoother thighs. Still, she doesn't look like either of them.
She's white. Not Wheeljack's bright white, more of a mother-of-pearl finish, with a subtle gleam. Her pelvis is emerald green, like her optics and the gentle slope of her shoulders and upper chest. There are gold lines edging the green.
"Green optics." I look at First Aid questioningly. "Why green? No one has green?"
"Wheeljack matched them to your spark," he explains. One of his hands is rubbing my arm, as if he means to soothe or comfort.
I stare. In the mirror, the optics brighten. "I have a green spark?" Then I shake my head. "Never mind. At least it explains why everything had a green tint at first."
First Aid nods. "Ratchet recalibrated your visual center, and adjusted the setting of your visor. It cancels out the tint."
I have no idea what that means. So I go back to examining the bot in the mirror.
Aside from the green optics, the wheels are the most eye-catching.
I'm used to seeing wheels on bots. Wheels on backs, wheels on shoulders, wheels along legs. But I've never seen metal-encased wheels like these before.
She has strange, white wheels on the outside of her knee joints. They look like they're two halves of a whole, meant to connect together when she transforms. The whole structure is as bright white as the rest of her plating. There are matching wheels on her shoulder, bright white metal shapes, and from the center of each one a long metal blade curves backwards.
One of them's dented. I guess that was what I knocked into the berth earlier.
The face, though. Silver, with delicate features, wide optics behind a clear visor, and a shapely mouth.
She looks like me. Only prettier.
The white helm is more slender and rounded than Chromia's. There are a pair of slim vents alongside each cheek, kind of like Mirage's but even narrower, and these sweeping, long metal strips rising up on either side of her helm.
"Holy crap," I breathe. "I really am Cynosura."
Groove steps up behind me, putting white hands on my green hips. "It's based around the Cynosura design. Mirage did the actual painting, he decided to add the highlights."
I twirl, turn my head to look at myself from different angles. Aside from the wheels and fins sticking out of them, there isn't a lot of kibble. I can't figure out what I'm supposed to be.
I run my right hand across my left shoulder wheel. "I have an alt mode?"
First Aid steps closer and nods. "Most gorgeous three-wheeler I've ever seen."
"Three-wheeler?" I frown in confusion. "Like a tricycle? And don't I have four wheels?" I twist my leg, look at those strange half-wheels again.
Groove chuckles. "Not a tricycle, Belle. Your back wheel's a split wheel, down there by your knee joints." His hand follows mine as it traces the shoulder wheel. "These are you front wheels on your shoulders, and they also operate like two halves of a hole. It would be more precise to say that you're a two-wheeler whose front wheel is actually two wheels operating independently. And these are handlebars, one side connected to one wheel." He teases across the bladelike fin, making me shiver.
I turn again, looking at the slim handlebars. They make little sense in this configuration. "Can I see? Transform?"
"I'd love to show you, love," First Aid says regretfully, "because your alt mode is beautiful. But transforming is a fairly complex maneuver. We'd like for you to have control over simpler things and know how to find simple commands in your coding and navigate your own HUD before you try that."
I nod. "That's fair. Is there a picture or something, though?"
Groove nuzzles the back of my helm. "Hound can show you next time he comes by." I get the feeling that that's a promise, and that Groove will send Hound to see me sooner rather than later. He kisses the slim blade of metal on the side of my head, sending shivers down my spine. If I have a spine.
Those things are apparently really, really sensitive.
"Unless you want to do the overload thing to me again, you'd better stay away from those," I warn him.
Groove grins, and it looks decidedly naughty. "Oh, I wouldn't mind doing that again."
"Another time," First Aid says firmly, with a stern glance at his brother. His hand moves, and I feel a tingle running through my frame as he scans me. "You need to refuel and recharge, Isobel. We should get you back to the berth."
I pout. It looks more attractive than it should. "How long do I have to stay here?"
"In the medical center?" Groove chortles. "Ratchet will release you when he sees fit."
"Yeah, that's what I'm afraid of." I reach out, take one white hand in each of mine. Pull my mechs closer to me. "Will you stay with me tonight?"
"I can't." Groove kisses my cheek again. He seems to like that. "I have a shift tonight. But Aid is staying. Right next to you on the berth, I'll bet."
First Aid looks smug. "Ratchet won't stop me."
All of a sudden I'm dead tired. It's like my mind has had pretty much all it could take of this, and now it doesn't want to operate anymore. In the mirror, I can see those green optics dimming even as I watch.
"Okay," I agree, and I can hear that I sound half asleep already. "Back to berth."
If it weren't for the pair of them supporting me, I would have fallen asleep right there in the wash rack and just stayed there. Instead, I'm shuffled along, guided back towards the berth. I watch with bleary optics, leaning on Groove, as First Aid's expert touch turns the thing from a single to a double.
Cool.
"Come on, love," First Aid says, and Groove simply scoops me up and deposits me on the soft surface. He kisses my helm as First Aid crawls in next to me.
"Good night, Belle. Night, Aid. I'll see you two tomorrow." Groove winks and kisses First Aid's cheek as well. "Pleasant recharge." Then he walks out.
I curl up against First Aid's warm frame. It feels divine. "Your brother likes kissing people."
"Groove is very affectionate." There's fondness in his voice. "And he really cares for you."
"I really like him, too." I yawn widely, and First Aid looks at me like I've done something really cute.
"You know you don't have to do that in this form."
"Don't care." I lean my head against his chest. "Felt right."
His chuckle rumbles against my ear fin thing. It tickles.
"Everything's so different," I mumble. "I don't know how I'll ever get used to it."
"You'll be fine. You always are, love. This won't stop you."
Even though my mind is a muddle and my frame is half asleep, I still can't stop thinking. So much is different from what I expected that I don't have the faintest idea what's going to happen anymore. Or how I will react to anything.
"Am I still what you want?" The words slip out before I even have the chance to notice I'm thinking them. But I'm not surprised at how heart-felt they are, or how nervous I am to hear his answer. So little of me remains that I don't know who I am anymore, so how can I expect them to want me like they did before?
First Aid twists and looks down at me. "Of course you are, love." He reaches out to pull me close. "I know you feel like you've lost a part of yourself right now. But missing memories doesn't change who you are, Isobel. You're still you."
"I don't feel like me. I've forgotten so much." I frown. "Though for some reason, I remember my thesis word for word."
First Aid chuckles. "That's my fault. I may have read everything you've ever published back before we left Earth the first time. I've downloaded the texts into your memory." He kisses my head. "I'm sorry."
I manage to force my optics to stay online for a bit longer. "Don't be. That actually helps. At least I won't be useless."
"You wouldn't have been useless even if you'd forgotten every single thing you ever learned about psychology." First Aid's voice is soft but insistent, before turning apologetic. "I also have a confession to make. I scanned your diaries and downloaded those to your memory as well. I know they weren't for me to read, but I thought you might want them."
"My diaries?" I'm confused now. Probably more confused than necessary, considering how tired I am. "Then why can't I remember those?"
"Because they're scanned as images. But you can sit down and read them again if you want. It might help with your lost memories."
The last twenty plus years of my life are in those diaries. I've kept them since I graduated from high school, more or less continuously.
I exhale in relief. My past isn't lost. It's still there, in my head. I just have to find it.
"First Aid, I love you." I snuggle close and finally let my optics dim completely.
The soft chuckle I get in return vibrates pleasantly through my plating. "And I love you. Now sleep, love. We can handle everything else tomorrow."
It's not a hard command to obey. Not warm and comfortable in his arms as I am.
"G'night, Aid."
"Night, Isobel."
A/N:
Here we go! I'm excited about this.
This is just the first chapter. I don't have a set posting schedule for this, and the only thing I know about chapter two's posting at this point is that I'll try to have it out by the end of the year. In the mean time, I'll be working on a bunch of little WIPs as well trying to write as much as possible of this before I begin scheduled posting. So keep an eye out!
Cynosura's alt mode is the Kawasaki J Concept Threewheeled motorcycle. Look it up, it's absolutely gorgeous.
And! If any of you would like to try drawing her as she is now, I would be absolutely thrilled. I can barely draw a straight line, so I would love your interpretations!
Till next time!