Song to the Siren: Memorial Arc II


There is no comfort, no bandage, no salve or healer for the death of one who died too young but for the promise of reunion in the next world. Anonymous


An accident, they said.

A truck, whose driver had been on the road for far too long without rest, they said. Dead on the scene, they said. It had been mercifully quick.

They said.

He could not bring himself to think about the manner in which the small human, who lay pale and still on the berth before him, had died. Not after everything that they had all been through, everything that the lively organic being had survived. Now, this?

Fate was cruel, indeed.

Massive Cybertronian hands gripped the berth in equal parts frustration and anguish, leaving large craters on the formerly pristine edge. Upon receiving word of the accident, they had all come to consensus and demanded that the body be shipped back to base… back to home, so that the family, both Autobot and human – children, spouse, parents, comrades and friends of the deceased could mourn and provide the ceremony that the human deserved. A high-honor military ceremony.

Funeral, the humans called it.

He immediately loathed the word.

"You deserved a longer life," he said, his voice echoing uncomfortably in the silent room. "You, as much as anyone, deserved to watch your younglings grow and have offspring of their own. They are so young now, to be without you. Too young."

He reached out, the metal of his hand hovering briefly over the familiar face, merely inches from the skin. No heat. No life. He flinched away.

"You were the first human most of us had contact with. Despite how much we may have teased you for how you appeared that first night, we were truly impressed by you. You are… were a wonderful representative of your race. They should be proud."

He sighed. "Samuel, for a long time you were the only human that I trusted. Even before the friendship between Mikaela and I developed, I knew that you had a strong spirit," he said, choosing to look at the ceiling now instead of the lifeless form before him. "You did not appear the most intelligent or capable, at first. But you showed us over time how wrong we were about that. You were young. Just an awkward kid."

"I feel the need to apologize for my rather large cultural… blunder upon meeting you for the first time," he said, and humor that felt hollow colored his voice. "I never really had the opportunity to tell you. My intent was not to embarrass you. But it seems to have turned out, regardless."

"Normally I shy away from sorrow," Ratchet said suddenly, shaking his head. "Being a medic that has seen two wars, I cannot afford to allow myself to grieve for everyone that I would like, including friends."

There was silence for a moment, and bright optics turned from the ceiling to finally look at the form on the table. "You are one of the first in many, many cycles...," Ratchet said softly, drawing a deep gust of air into his intakes. "That I have needed to stop and mourn for."

"I have almost forgotten how."

Finally, he reached out again, laying the tip of a large finger gently on the dark tuft of hair and drawing it down to rest on the pale cheek.

"Don't worry about Mikaela," Ratchet said, his voice finally breaking. "I will take care of her."

He hoped, perhaps more than anything he had ever hoped for in his long existence, that they would all meet again, in the place, whatever place it was, that waited for them after death. As he stood from the berth and made his way out of the back room and into the medbay proper to see to Mikaela and her children, Ratchet believed in the depths of his spark that they would.


Author's Note: Thanks to Soului for her suggestion to continue this one. The idea struck me, but I'd never given it much thought until she mentioned it in a review. This, like several other fics of mine, seems to be doomed to continue against my original intent. ;)