First of all, I want to say a very, very big thank you to all of you who took the time to leave me such wonderfully positive reviews. I'm always anxious when it comes to posting, and with a fic like this said anxiety increases tenfold. I hope you will continue to enjoy!

This chapter ended up taking me a lot longer than I had intended. I had the first half written back in November but wasn't happy with the dialogue; I think I ended up doing 5 or 6 re-writes which is just crazy. And then there was the second half, which took so long to actually come to me I thought my inspiration bug may have shrivelled up and died (possibly poisoned by the disappointing plotlines of TFP Season 2, but I digress). Throw in my extremely busy schedule and yeah, I'm glad to have reached the point of posting!

To Taipan Kiryu and TSBP – I cannot thank you enough for your valuable advice and encouragement.


Chapter 2

Questioning

The lamp on Ratchet's desk did little to hinder the shadows hiding in the night surrounding him. It was if they were projecting his own thoughts, mirroring the darkness that was forming within his spark as he toiled over a task that should have been a pleasure.

The medic cast yet another data pad aside, sighing as he did so. It had been so very long since he had been required to act as physician to a carrier, so long, in fact that with the war stretching on endlessly he had begun to believe that such responsibilities were a thing of the past. And now...

Now it was all wrong.

Ratchet stared down at his tired, old hands, feeling truly lost for the first time in eons. There were so many things to do, so much to prepare and build, and all of that before he could even consider beginning work on the sparkling's outer frame.

He shook his head sadly. How he was going to be able to find enough suitable alloy on Earth to build the frame he had no idea; as it was he was going to have to rely on donations from at least two of the other 'bots, excluding himself who undoubtedly could afford to give the most... But who was there to ask? He seriously doubted Arcee would donate even if she were in a fit enough state to physically do so, and he couldn't ask the Prime... But as Bulkhead and Bumblebee were now seeing an even greater share of the fighting they couldn't risk weakening their defences any further.

And even if he could find a suitable substitute alloy, there was no telling how the newspark would react to what would undoubtedly be an inferior frame.

Ratchet picked up another datapad and switched it on, cringing as the words 'Premature Spark Separation and Post Natal Care' sprang to life on the screen. The medic didn't even want to compute that scenario; even with his improvised set of medical tools there was no way the limited equipment he had access to would suffice in such circumstances. He switched the pad off and put it on the pile to be dealt with later.

Just when he'd begun to believe that fate couldn't be any cruller to the Cybertronian race... It was just as well he didn't believe in the concept of Primus being some kind of omnipotent god, otherwise he would have been cursing him by now. Of course, as a medic he had been faced with the harsh realities of death and failure both before and during the war – bringing new life into the universe was a treacherous task by its very nature – but to have such a symbol of hope dangled before them so tauntingly when the odds against them were impossibly high... It just wasn't right.

Ratchet switched off his desk lamp and sat in the darkness of his med bay forlornly, his dim optics eyeing the entrance to his personal quarters with contempt. There was no point in attempting to recharge, not when his mind refused to contemplate the idea of rest as it had done for several weeks now. A gust of air coursed through his vents in defeat, and the old medic stood tiredly.

"Lights at 90 percent," he grunted as he made his way over to his workbench; the fluorescent tubes above him blinked noisily into life and illuminated the set of tiny, unfinished tools resting on the metallic surface.

Dark fingers ran the length of what would soon be a pair of sparkling forceps, the tiny instrument that would be tasked with releasing the tiny protoform from the confines of Arcee's chest ready for transference into a frame of its own. The thought made him shiver in both anticipation and trepidation; there was such a long path to be travelled before that moment came, if it came at all.

There were just so many unknowns, so many possible complications and outcomes that all ended in tragedy...

Ratchet jumped when the doors to the med bay hissed open, startling him out of his thoughts. He looked up to find the Prime walking towards him.

"Optimus," he said in greeting, nodding slightly as he did so.

"Sorry for disturbing you, old friend," Optimus said as he approached the workbench, eyeing the collection of tools knowingly. "Did you manage to track Arcee's location?"

"I did," Ratchet said, rechecking her energy levels on the small monitor within his arm. "She is currently at the Darby residence, and it's probably the best place for her at the moment; it's certainly better than her being out in the open. Hopefully she will have the sense to get some recharge while she's there; I don't think she has been getting much here lately."

"I'd prefer that she return to base," the Prime stated, apparently not heeding the full meaning of the medic's observation. "I have hailed her several times now and she refuses to respond; I cannot understand why she continues to put herself at such risk. Perhaps it would be better if I sent someone to retrieve her."

Ratchet frowned as he closed the panel on his arm, regarding his leader carefully. "I don't want to speak out of turn, Optimus, but I don't think that a good idea. You know what Arcee is like; she obviously needs some space, and she'll be safe there. Leave her be, I'm sure she will return to base tomorrow."

"I am at a loss, Ratchet," Optimus said, his voice betraying no emotion. "This is not the first time that she has taken off without informing anyone, and it is not the first time that she has refused to return to base when instructed. Her behaviour of late has been reckless and irresponsible, putting her sparking at risk. It is...disappointing, and concerning."

The medic remained silent for a moment, forcing a sigh through his vents as he crossed and uncrossed his arms over his chest. "She is scared, Optimus," he finally spoke, "and she has every reason to be. Her fears about the energon shortage, about our poor defences and dwindling safety; they are well founded. Surely you can't deny that."

"No, I cannot. But we have been given a blessing in this time of hardship, and it is our duty as Autobots and as some of the last survivors of our race to protect Arcee's sparkling and guide it on the path of good. We cannot allow such a precious gift to perish because of mistakes it had no part in."

"It is one thing to say that, Optimus," Ratchet said, picking up the forceps and inspecting the tiny crucible-like tips, "but another to realise it. I am doing my best to reassure Arcee that everything will be okay, but she is not stupid. She knows how much of a strain this will put on our energon supplies. She knows it is only a matter of time before Megatron finds out and steps up his war efforts to take advantage of our weakness. And she knows that there is little she can do to stop that because she's not able to fight anymore. Even after the protoform transfer that will not change. Can you blame her for acting as she has? She is terrified, and she blames herself for putting the army at such risk. I fear that it's only a matter of time before she asks the question, Optimus."

The Prime shook his head slightly, turning away. "I thought I had made myself clear on that matter, Ratchet," he said, his stern voice echoing about the empty med bay eerily.

"Believe me, if things were different – if we were back on Cybertron and there was someone else that she could turn to... I could send her away in the knowledge that she could get the help she required from someone else. But there is no one else. I am her physician and if she decides that she wants to terminate, I cannot refuse her wishes. We are already seeing the signs of her desperation, Optimus. If she comes to me for help and I ignore her...it will only lead to further tragedy."

"I cannot allow another innocent life to be lost, Ratchet. You are correct; Arcee's concerns are well founded. But that does not mean that we should give up hope simply because it seems that the odds are against us. To give up now is to let Megatron win; it is to say that all of those millions of lives were lost for nothing, that this eternal war has been for nothing. I am sorry, Ratchet, but I cannot allow that to happen."

The medic nearly scoffed at his leader's words; whilst he shared the sentiment, he had heard it all before and had subsequently had to deal with all the bloodshed that had followed. Ratchet looked up at Optimus' tall frame, the dim light casting a ghostly glow about him as it reflected off the thick armour covering his back.

"What do you suggest we do then? Arcee's patience with me is close to reaching its limit as it is; she needs more than the empty promises that you're forcing me to give her."

Optimus Prime turned to face the smaller mech, his blue optics burning with an intensity he hadn't seen in eons. "We must find a way to end the war, before the protoform is transferred."

"W-what? Optimus, how by the Allspark do you think—"

"It is our only option, Ratchet. Be it by peaceful means or otherwise, Arcee's sparkling will not face the terrors of war that have become our normal way of life."

Ratchet opened his mouth, and then closed it again, unsure of how to respond to that statement. Of course it was the outcome that they all dreamed of, but, after so many eons of war such a thing was just that – a dream.

"Perhaps you are right about Arcee needing some space," Optimus continued. "I will allow her to remain at the Darby residence for the night, but I would appreciate it if you would open a ground bridge for her to return first thing in the morning; we have much to discuss. Goodnight, old friend."

With that, the Prime turned and left in silence.

Ratchet placed the forceps back on the workbench and ran a hand over his helm, a new feeling of dread setting in his spark. He could still see the light of those two blue orbs of fire, as if they had been burned into his optics as well as his memory banks, and the thought of what they represented scared him.

Ending the war...peacefully or otherwise...

Desperation, it seemed, was a very dangerous thing.

And not just for the tiny spark of life growing in Arcee's chest.


The mirror before her continued to reflect the same image it had done for the past half hour; the image of a young woman who had done something incredibly stupid, and was now having to face the consequences. The sparkling diamond ring that newly graced her finger seemed insignificant as it glided over the taught skin of her swollen belly, the child growing inside changing more than just her body shape.

June stumbled backwards, her bare skin kissing the cool tiles of the bathroom wall as the weight of the world came crashing down upon her, the significance of her situation truly hitting her for the first time. It should have been a moment of joy, the realisation of every little girl's dream resting there on the hard, unforgiving floor; the blushing bride with a baby on the way...

But the tears that stained her skin with black eyeliner spoke of a reality no little girl could ever dream of; a reality fraught with mistakes, a reality filled with decisions so difficult to face...


June sipped absently at her morning coffee, not really registering that the brown vice had become soupy and cold. Her son had yet to stir for the day, however, it didn't bother her much; he was a hard working kid and deserved his rest.

Yet the boy wasn't far from her thoughts as she found herself pondering the discussion of the night before, difficult memories stirring from places long since subdued, drawn out by the unspoken fears of an alien woman.

In the short time that she had known Arcee, June had learnt that the Autobot was a woman of few words. But last night, in those long, painful silences, her body language had said more than any spoken words ever could.

June hadn't been lying when she had told Arcee that she wasn't the kind of girl she'd expected Jack to leave her for, but after spending several hours with her just sitting, watching, June had come to realise that her first impression had been just as far off as her expectations. She had never noticed the faint scar on her left cheek before, never noticed the deep scratches in her paintwork that spoke of just how old she was, how much she had seen. She was millennia old, from a planet so distant it couldn't be seen in the darkest of night skies...

And yet there she was, facing such a human problem – the same problem she herself had battled with sixteen years ago.

Perhaps it was presumptuous of her to think that Arcee's unexpected visit had been anything more than a desire to have some company; perhaps it was premature to think that it had been a cry for help. Maybe it was simply loneliness, and the need for a female ear that would understand and not just listen.

Still, June couldn't shake the feeling that there had been something deeper than the obvious uncertainty lingering in the dark shadows of the night before, and a cold sense of foreboding had begun to rise the moment Arcee had set eyes upon her. Something was wrong, she just knew it.

The sound of a door opening and soft footfalls in the hallway drew June from her thoughts, bringing her attention to the unpleasant taste of her cold coffee. Casting a disdainful glance at the remains of her beverage she stood up and made her way to the sink, emptying her mug and switching on the kettle for the third time that morning.

"Good morning, honey," she said as her son emerged from his hibernation, hair in disarray and eyes squinting against the soft light.

"Hey, mum," he mumbled, moving to her to receive his customary peck on the forehead.

"Coffee?"

"Mmm, thanks."

June watched as Jack stumbled around the kitchen, fumbling through the cupboards to find a breakfast bowl and cereal. It wasn't a routine she got to watch very often thanks to their competing work and school commitments, but every time she did she couldn't help but smile at his teenage lethargy.

They sat in companionable silence as Jack began to shovel in his breakfast between sips of coffee, slowly working himself into a state of alertness. The fact that he had headed straight for the kitchen and not said more than a hello proved that he hadn't been aware of their overnight lodger, nor had he heard her leave just before sunrise.

June wasn't sure if that made things easier, or harder.

Once again she found herself pondering the situation, a mix of worry and uncertainty flooding her mind and manifesting in the wringing of her hands. Was it her place to start asking questions? Was it her place to meddle; to presume that her help was wanted – or even needed?

Still, her motherly instincts kicked hard against her will and soon won the battle over any hesitation that resided within, words spilling out like the second helping of cornflakes Jack was pouring into his bowl.

"Jack, have you spoken to Arcee lately? I mean, about the baby?"

Jack looked up at her in surprise, his spoon pausing halfway on its journey to his mouth. "Uhh... Not really, no. She's made it pretty clear that she doesn't want to talk about it, and I kinda like having my head attached to my neck. Why?"

"She was here last night, and aside from looking very tired she seemed very unhappy about things. Has she said anything to you about it?"

Jack lowered the spoon back into the bowl, returning the soggy flakes to their milk with a slop. "What? She was here? When?"

"She actually stayed the night here; I heard her leave sometime around six this morning."

"Nice of her to say hello to her partner," Jack grumbled, returning to his breakfast. "So what did she want?"

June sighed, looking into the depths of her coffee mug. "I'm not sure," she admitted, allowing her concern to colour her voice slightly. "When I found her sitting in the garage she told me she was looking for somewhere to rest, but I think there was something more to it than that. She seemed confused, but although I kept her company for a few hours she didn't really say anything to me."

"Arcee isn't exactly the talkative type, mum," Jack interjected through a mouth full of food.

"I know, Jack, but this was different. She was the one that asked me to stay with her and I think she wanted to talk but, well, she doesn't really know me, does she?"

"Well she obviously wasn't waiting for me, otherwise she would have done something to catch my attention when I got home from work. Or waited for me to wake up before leaving. Maybe she was just wanting somewhere to stay."

"Maybe..." June conceded, feeling no more reassured as she had the night before. "Just promise me you'll listen to her if she does decide to talk."

"O-of course," the young man replied, giving her a slightly confused look as she stood and cleared away her dishes.

June placed another kiss on Jack's forehead before making her way out of the kitchen. He was a beautiful mistake, one that she would never regret despite the turmoil his conception had brought her.

She only hoped that he would be strong enough to face the turmoil she feared was coming.

To be continued.


As always, reviews are always appreciated – thanks!