I know it and feel it
Just as well as you do, honey
It's not our fault
If Death's in love with us
It's not our fault
If the Reaper holds our hearts
Death is in Love with Us~HIM
oOo
Red Alert glided past others in the halls, silent and staying close to the wall. If anyone saw him, the angry scowl on his face dissuaded them from asking what he was up to. As far as anyone knew the Twins hadn't caused any trouble since the battle, but Red Alert could be on his way to intercept trouble.
Striding into the hangar he stopped at the mag lift but didn't press the button, scowl deepening. A few seconds later the lift chimed softly and the door slid open revealing a battered Praxian with torn silver wings. The Praxian slumped against the wall and didn't move at first. When his dark optics finally opened there was no surprise in them when he saw Red Alert standing in front of him glowering. "Kokoro," he said softly.
"Idiot," Red Alert snapped. He stepped in to help Prowl out of the lift. The Praxian's legs didn't hold him for a second and Red Alert staggered under his surprising weight. Prowl found his footing but didn't try to stand on his own. Red Alert's fingers brushed the armor along his abdomen. "It's a miracle you haven't started bleeding out," he said, a growl still apparent in his voice. He hadn't been looking for Prowl, it was his own twitchy brand of luck that he'd caught the Praxian on the external thermal scans. Plus the fact that Prowl was moving only a quarter his usual speed.
Prowl slid his arm around Red Alert's waist and a wing slid over his shoulders. "I'm sorry to worry you, Kokoro," he said softly, pain and exhaustion rasping his voice. "Is Bluestreak all right?" he asked as they limped slowly to the door. Red Alert sent a message to Ratchet and flinched back a step when the enraged medic returned the message. Prowl's laugh was short but warm with humor. "Shall we stop and wait for Ratchet."
Red Alert glowered at him again. "As if that will save you. Or me." He couldn't believe Prowl of all mechs would be stupid enough to trek down a mountain while his spark was still one wrong breath away from flickering out. "Bluestreak is recovering," he added gruffly because of course Prowl would be the mech to trek down a mountain while his spark was still one wrong breath away from flickering out because he was worried about someone else. He made Prowl lean against the wall next to the door leading into the ship. Prowl's short choppy breaths came hard and pain paled his dark optics sky blue. Red Alert stayed close to him, head on his shoulder and arm around his waist. He didn't want to admit he felt better having Prowl's warm frame against his. It would only encourage the stupid glitch. But he did feel better. The ground felt solid once more and the strange off balance feeling he'd had since Prowl initially resigned faded away. Sighing he turned his face into Prowl's neck and let the calm quiet of the hangar seep into him.
A few breems later, Ratchet announced his presence with a roaring curse and a wrench denting something. Farther off, footsteps started running in the opposite direction. Red Alert sighed deeply and lifted his head. "He hasn't recharged since they brought Jazz down. I don't know what's wrong with him, but whatever it is has Ratchet wound tighter than the engines." Prowl's optics flickered open and he nodded but didn't seem surprised by the news.
Volcanic would be a polite way of describing Ratchet's temper. He stalked into the hangar, fins fully raised and optics speckled with red. "What—" his roar cut off abruptly when Red Alert startled and snapped his head down. He knew Ratchet was going to be loud, but it was one thing to think it and one thing to hear it. He didn't like loud noises to begin with and then there were still repairs being done to the ship and Shockwave was loose in Praxus and now Prowl had stupidly come all the way to the ship when he was so badly injured. His stress levels were close to redlining. Horns leveled at the medic, the only thing that kept him from a quick charge was Prowl's weight holding him back. He could throw the Praxian off easily in his state, but he would never do anything to hurt Prowl.
All at once Ratchet's supernova fury sucked back in so fast Red Alert thought he should feel a pressure change. "Red Alert," he said in a much quieter, calmer, voice, "I'm not going to hurt him. Yet." The fury couldn't quite be contained, but Red Alert knew why he was mad. He could handle Ratchet's anger when it was quiet, it was just that bombastic side of it that undid him. Lifting his head he didn't move away from Prowl. Prowl's long fingers stroked the back of his neck and Red Alert sighed again, letting his shoulders slump. Ratchet was a frighteningly good actor, while his optics were still speckled red he said in that same soft voice, "Prowl, you need to be in the med bay before you wind up in the morgue."
Prowl nodded and with a soft sound of pain pushed away from the wall. Ratchet reached out and caught him before he could stumble again, Red Alert had his other side. Without asking, Ratchet hoisted the Praxian off the floor, careful of his damaged wings. Prowl made a low sound in his chest and his optics narrowed. "I am not a sparkling."
"Shut it," Ratchet hissed. Red Alert didn't want to go to the med bay, he'd spent enough time there the last few septorns recovering from his prison stay.
Prowl didn't push Ratchet's temper any more, which Red Alert was thankful for. The medic looked like he was one wrong comment away from screaming again and Red Alert didn't have anything to hold him back. "Kokoro, have you eaten this orn?" Prowl asked, optics far too dark and working hard to focus.
Red Alert snorted but…he had forgotten to get breakfast…and lunch…and maybe he didn't eat the orn before. Sometimes he got too busy. He didn't want Prowl to worry about him while he was so injured. "I'll get something to eat if you recharge." He followed Ratchet out of the hangar.
"Necessities for function are not up for negotiation," Ratchet bit out. "Red Alert go eat something and Prowl, shut your Primus cursed mouth and go into recharge." Prowl made a low irritated sound but his optics were already closed. Red Alert followed until they reached a branch in the hall. He continued straight and Ratchet turned left. He would get something to eat and then maybe recharge himself. He couldn't remember if he'd done that in two or three orns either. When he woke up, he'd make himself go down to the med bay and see Prowl.
First Aid walked into the rec room leading Ratchet. It was probably the closest anyone ever came to dragging Ratchet anywhere. The little mech was something else entirely. Ratchet had been nothing but a rumor since they brought Jazz down the mountain. That's how they all knew it was bad. But seeing First Aid with a firm grip on Ratchet's hand—not quite pulling—leading him to a couch to sit so they could drink their rations made Sunstreaker breathe a little easier. Jazz always seemed to be in bad shape, but if Ratchet had been coaxed out of the med bay then maybe he was getting better. The medic still looked like he was going to down his ration and bolt back to the bay, which probably the reason why First had had coaxed him into the rec room. He was hoping someone—Bluestreak—would distract Ratchet for an extra five breems and get him to loosen up. The medic was always wound a half turn too tight.
Sideswipe bumped his shoulder and through their bond he felt a faint questioning pulse surrounding a quick image of the little statues he'd picked up from the marketplace. Prowl said Ratchet would know more about them, but he hadn't had a chance to ask him. Sending a happy affirmative to his twin they both stood at the same time and slipped out of the room. They'd have to get to their quarters quick and get back in case First Aid couldn't keep Ratchet distracted.
The little statues were lined up on a shelf near the little closet he used as a painting room. "Think he'll go through all of them?" he asked Sideswipe. He didn't really have to talk out loud, but he tried to stay in the habit of doing it. Mechs always thought they were up to something when they were quiet. Which, to be honest, was usually true, but sometimes talking out loud was too much work.
Sideswipe wrinkled his nasal ridge. "If we take 'em all he might just tell us their names and what they mean. Let's just pick one. First Aid'll drag him outta the bay again eventually." And then they could help keep him out for a joor while he told them about the statue. That was a good plan. Now they had to figure out which one to take first. Sideswipe was keen on the femme with the snake but Sunstreaker was more interested in the young femme with the sword and blanket. And, since they were his statues, that's the one he picked. Sideswipe rolled his optics but followed him out of the room.
Ratchet was still on the couch, First Aid next to him giggling at something Bumblebee was saying. The medic watched the two juveniles not smiling, but the angry stress lines on his face were beginning to fade. Sideswipe dodged around Sunstreaker and popped down on Ratchet's other side, earning a scowl from the older mech and a growl from Sunstreaker. His glitchy brother didn't do anything but give them both a bright smile.
Sunstreaker pulled up a chair and kicked his brother solidly in the shin when he sat down. Before he could retaliate, Ratchet said, "What?" with his usual exasperation. First Aid looked interested as well and Sunstreaker bared his teeth at both of them when he felt two scans run over his frame.
"Honestly, Ratchet, we're not always slagged up," Sideswipe grumbled.
Sunstreaker didn't do small talk as well as his brother. He supposed it was from too many vorns locked in cages snarling and screaming instead of using words. But whatever. Ratchet didn't have patience for small talk which made talking to him so much easier than say, the Prime or Mirage or anyone else really. He held out the small statue and said, "Prowl said you might know more about her." His spark always skipped a pulse or two when he saw the statues. They were so exquisitely made, every detail accounted for. The crafter, Amaroon, Prowl had called him, really put his love into the work. Sunstreaker was still awed he had the figurines. These were art gallery pieces. They were something former slave gladiators owned. They weren't something a frontliner owned. They were meant to be in those big fancy houses they showed in holovids where a maid came through once a day and dusted them.
First Aid somehow squeezed himself under Ratchet's arm and looked at the statue with bright interest. The juvenile was the only one who could sit like that with Ratchet. He didn't think even Bluestreak or Bumblebee could pull it off. The kicker was, he didn't even think Ratchet noticed when First Aid snuggled up against him. Ratchet's optics didn't widen or brighten with interest like First Aid's. They always became sharper, narrower, like he was trying to look at the thing from every angle at the same time. "Where'd you find her?" he asked. When he wasn't yelling about rewiring them or welding Ironhide's cannon to the wall he had a soft husky voice. First Aid put his audio against the medic's chest and looked like he was half in recharge a few seconds later.
"The town we went to when Prowl came back," Sideswipe said. "There was a mech selling them, he only spoke a little Iaconian so we didn't know what he was saying." Sunstreaker nodded.
Ratchet hummed and sat back rubbing his optics. The rest of the stress lines on his face faded and he twisted his neck from side to side a couple times. First Aid smiled and let out a small sigh. Sunstreaker controlled his own smile. This was the closest Ratchet ever came to relaxing. "Her name is A'hiqa. In the old religion she is a patron of compassion and mercy, particularly for young ones." Rubbing the back of his neck with one hand his optics drifted over the crowded room while he thought. Sunstreaker didn't mind. He had learned patience sitting in those cages under the fighting rings. Sideswipe hated waiting.
"Why does she have a blanket?" First Aid asked, not opening his optics. Ratchet absently stroked the juvenile's arm.
"She was sparked a weaver," Ratchet said. Sunstreaker had no idea what that meant. He sent a questioning pulse to Sideswipe and got the same bewilderment. They gave Ratchet matching questioning looks.
First Aid opened one optic and scrunched his face a little. "What's that mean?"
Ratchet looked down at First Aid's head like the juvenile was playing dumb, but Sunstreaker wasn't. He didn't know how anyone could be sparked a weaver or why that would matter. Or why someone who made blankets would be a patron of compassion and mercy. He was hoping Ratchet took some mercy on them and told them the full story because he was thrice as intrigued now.
"Ahnkmorian society is…complicated. We have a caste system and each level has its own duties and purposes and they don't overlap with others. Whatever cast you're sparked in is the cast you live and die in. I was sparked in the warrior cast so I am a warrior. A'hiqa was sparked in the textile or weaver class," Ratchet said.
Sunstreaker felt like his processor was expanding. It was the same weird and exhilarating feeling he had every time he learned something new and different. Like when Prowl had introduced them to holovids or the first time he'd been able to walk down a street without a collar and chains. He and Sideswipe both leaned forward. Neither one of them knew much about Ahnkmor, but they were still playing catch up with Iacon just so they could get their footing with their fellow soldiers. Sunstreaker wasn't sure if he'd ever be ready to tackle any other city-states. "But…what if you're no good at what you're supposed to do?" Sideswipe asked.
Ratchet sighed and looked over the room again. "Then that's too bad. There's not much you can do. It's become a bit more relaxed in some places, the cities mostly, but in the tribes it's as it was an eon ago."
"How many levels are there?" First Aid asked.
Ratchet looked down at him again and flicked the top of his head with his free hand. "Hush, I know what you're up to." So maybe Ratchet wasn't as clueless to First Aid as everyone thought.
First Aid snuggled closer to his side. "I don't know what you mean," he said. "I just have lots of questions." He giggled and destroyed any innocence he had. Ratchet rolled his optics. So the great and powerful medic knew exactly what his apprentice was doing when he dragged him into the rec room, he'd just allowed it to happen. That was interesting. Sunstreaker was like everyone else on the ship believing First Aid was a master manipulator, but—as usual—Ratchet was three steps ahead. Sideswipe blinked and his optics went from First Aid to Ratchet twice before he came to the same conclusion Sunstreaker had.
A smile lifted the corner of Ratchet's mouth. "The other levels don't matter and Sideswipe will be bored with a long lesson on things you already know," he told First Aid. First Aid made a little sound that might've been a pouty 'hmph!' but didn't expand his argument.
"So she has a blanket 'cause she's a weaver," Sideswipe said, "So how's she get a sword and also get to be the femme in charge of compassion and mercy?" Interest bounced between their sparks, an excited little buzz like tiny electrical shocks. All things told, no one outside of Wheeljack and maybe First Aid knew much about Ratchet. Well, Prowl might…and maybe Red Alert, but they probably only knew facts from his personnel file.
Ratchet did the thing where he looked around the room again while he thought. Probably scanning everyone in sight. When he finally spoke again, his voice was a little distant, "In traditional society, the warrior class is the only class that fights. No one else is permitted to take up a weapon, no matter the cause. It's…" he shook his head a little, "that's complicated. But the end is the same. Non-warriors may not use weapons." He paused again and Sunstreaker felt Sideswipe getting impatient and send a hard pulse over their bond telling him to keep his mouth shut. Primus only knew how much of this they were already supposed to know and how much Ratchet was sorting through just to get to the point of the statue. It was times like these that Sunstreaker realized no matter how far they'd come from fighting slaves, they were still an eon and a half behind everyone else. Bumblebee likely didn't need any of this build up, he probably knew the basics of Ahnkmorian society, and he was almost a centicycle younger than them. Bluestreak, too, the youngest one on board probably knew these things. Unhappy about the spark-slap, Sideswipe tried to be as resigned as his brother to waiting.
"You know Ahnkmor is a desert nation," Ratchet asked the Twins, no judgement in his voice but Sunstreaker still wanted to bristle. He nodded instead. "The tribes are semi-nomadic," Ratchet said continuing. "There are a few short kels where rain is possible, but not guaranteed. During these kels the tribes set up more permanent places near temporary water sources. Now, if the rains don't come, which happens as often as it doesn't, the only way for the tribes to survive is by raiding others." He sighed and Sunstreaker had the strangest feeling he was lost in memory. He had never wondered much about where Ratchet was from, he didn't wonder much about anyone's past, but he was curious now if what Ratchet was telling them was all from hearsay or if these battles against drought and other tribes were true memories. Sideswipe's interest was doubly piqued as well. He was going to be badgering Ratchet for the next vorn with questions trying to ferret out the medic's past.
Rubbing his optical ridge Ratchet came back to the present. "So, a very long time ago, the rains didn't come. The Fire Bright clan, facing starvation attacked a neighboring clan, the Wind Slayers. The battle lasted three orns but by the end of it, the Fire Bright clan laid waste to the Wind Slayers' warriors." He paused again but only for a second when he looked down as First Aid moved his head to a more comfortable position. Stroking First Aid's arm he said, "Traditionally, when a clan is defeated the winner is tasked with a mercy kill of all the clan."
First Aid sat up so fast Sunstreaker thought something bit him. "All? But, you said they weren't allowed to fight if they're not warriors. You can't kill people who don't fight." The little mech's distress by the bloody turn of the story didn't surprise Sunstreaker. Though he did reevaluate Ratchet's lengthy pauses. Maybe it was less him trying to distill information and more trying to decide if he wanted to upset his apprentice like this. Sideswipe sent him a quick image of the femme with the snake and 'I Told You So' feeling attached to it.
Ratchet sighed and nodded. "Yes, they're not allowed to fight, but there is more in the warrior class than just one who fights. Healers or medics are also in the warrior class. As are hunters. If those who are not warrior class are not allowed to pick up weapons, how then, are they supposed to survive? They are not killed to be cruel," he said softly. "Death by a blade stroke is far more merciful than one from starvation or rusting wounds."
"I don't like this," First Aid said darkly, "You didn't tell me that." He looked like he was ready to storm over to Ahnkmor right now and set the whole city-state to rights. A smile flickered on Ratchet's face, out of sight of First Aid.
"We can get into the moral debate about it another time, for now, Sideswipe is exercising incredible patience."
"Thank you," his brother huffed, as if he'd done them all an amazing service. Sunstreaker rolled his optics. First Aid still looked ready to take on the whole of Ahnkmor but he settled back.
Ratchet briefly smiled again when he looked at his irate apprentice. Upon first meeting First Aid, Sunstreaker hadn't thought him much of anything. Compared to Ratchet he was soft and quiet as a shadow. Over the vorns he and Sideswipe had learned that shadow was actually forged from onyx and could be impenetrable when he decided something. He was a strangely good fit for Ratchet's maelstrom. "When the Wind Slayers' warriors fell, the clan knew they would soon follow and they submitted." The medic looked down at his apprentice again. "Until they came to one femmling hiding in a tent with several others. To the shock of all the warriors, she refused to submit to death and instead, attacked. She had nothing but a small blanket, but she used it to tangle the warrior's feet and knock him to the ground. She was too young to harm anything more than his pride and the others quickly caught her before she could trip anyone else." First Aid looked cautiously interested in the story again and Sunstreaker had to hide his smile.
"The femmling fought the warriors until they set her down. She picked up her blanket and faced them again, ready to fight. The warriors had no idea what to do with her. The honor code of the warrior class is extensive, but nothing in it prepared them for a non-warrior youngling to confront them." The way Ratchet's mouth quirked, Sunstreaker thought this was probably funnier to someone from the warrior class. "The lead warrior asked her, 'why do you fight?' There are those who will fight or run from the blade, but always they are adults who have learned to fear death. They weren't expecting one so young to harbor such a strong fear. The femmling still held her small blanket, ready to trip any that came to close and said, 'you will not harm my friends.' It was that sentiment, that she cared not for her own life, but for her friends that, let's say, dumbfounded the warriors. It was a selfless thought that made them suspicious she was not actually a weaver, but a young warrior disguising herself. But when they examined her hands they found her fingertips colored with dye and no rough spots from holding weapons. She was exactly as she appeared: a young weaver willing to fight and die to protect her young friends." He glanced down briefly at First Aid who was once again listening intently. Sunstreaker was too. This had taken some unexpected turns.
"Uncertain of what to do, the warriors took the femmling and the other young ones to their camp and explained to the clan leader what had happened. After hearing the story, the clan leader admitted he also didn't know what to do. In the history of the Fire Bright clan, this had never happened. If she was acting in the place of a warrior, then the Fire Bright clan could not claim the supplies of the camp, not while a warrior stood. The clan leader sent word out to all other nearby clans asking them to meet to discuss the matter.
Within orns the closest clan leaders and their most experienced warriors had gathered. They spent an entire moon cycle arguing over the details of the honor code, trying to find a path but it seemed in all the history of Ahnkmor, this had never happened before. One morning, the oldest warrior asked the Fire Bright warrior to bring forth the femmling. She still held her blanket and stood in front of the assembled leaders and warriors, fearful, but ready to trip anyone who came at her with ill intent. The old warrior asked her, 'who are you?' The others thought that was a novel question, no one had thought to ask her that. She said, 'I am the weaver A'hiqa.' The old warrior declared that, that settled the matter. She had declared herself that she was a weaver, not a warrior. And as the Wind Slayers' warriors had all fallen, then she would join the ancestors. It was a simple solution that put the other visiting clans at ease. The Fire Bright clan leader was less impressed. He told them 'it is not because we name ourselves as warriors, it is how we act as warriors that makes us so. The femmling has named herself a weaver, but she has acted as a warrior.' After the many days of arguing he decided then that the Fire Bright clan would find their own way to deal with young A'hiqa.
In all the time the warriors had spent arguing, the little ones and A'hiqa had begun to fall into the rhythm of life once more. When the warriors returned they realized if they ruled A'hiqa a weaver, they would have to send her and the other little ones to the ancestors before they could make use of the Wind Slayers' supplies. Seeing the young ones playing with their own, helping with chores, none of the warriors were comfortable with the thought of ending them.
After another orn of thinking and watching his clan, the Fire Bright leader ruled that A'hiqa, thought she named herself a weaver, had acted as a warrior and would be given the rights of one. It was an unexpected and painful choice. Now, the only way the Fire Bright clan could make use of the supplies they fought for would be to kill A'hiqa. But, the Fire Bright leader had a cleverer work around. As A'hiqa was the oldest surviving member of the Wind Slayers clan, that made her the official leader. The Fire Bright leader sought to negotiate with A'hiqa as he would another clan leader. After he told A'hiqa what their clan needed, the femmling only said, 'you may take all you need from the Wind Slayers' camp, but you will not hurt my friends.'"
First Aid snuggled against Ratchet's side with a tired, "I like her." Ratchet smiled knowingly and Sunstreaker thought First Aid liked A'hiqa because she sounded just like him. Decepticons could storm the halls now and small, gentle, quiet First Aid would still face down Megatron with nothing but righteous anger and a wrench if he had to. Megatron wouldn't hesitate to kill him like those Fire Bright mechs, but still.
"That's cool," Sideswipe said, optics bright. "Is it true, though? Did it really happen?"
Ratchet shrugged the shoulder First Aid wasn't resting on. "It's as true as any myth," he said. "Stranger things happen every orn. My not welding your mouth shut, for instance." Sideswipe stuck his glossa out at him. Ratchet looked down at his apprentice. "You need to actually recharge tonight, mechling," he said. First Aid made another sound that might've been disagreement but he was halfway to recharge. Rolling his shoulders once, Ratchet pushed himself up and hoisted First Aid into his arms. The little apprentice made another disagreeing sound, but didn't try to get loose.
"Thanks, Ratchet," Sunstreaker said softly, looking at the small figurine.
oOo
Ratchet dropped his apprentice off in his quarters and returned to the med bay. Half the room was in shadow, in the off chance Jazz woke up, but he didn't hear any waking sounds. Walking to the back he checked on his two patients. Prowl's silver feathers glinted like moonlight in the dim light. Without scanners, that was all that was visible. Buried safe under his wings, he and Jazz were twined together. Jazz's head was still over the Praxian's spark where it had been since Prowl dragged himself to the berth. Jazz's temperature was a little high, but he was healing better without the constant interruptions of nightmares.
He watched them for a few breems, not really seeing them but thinking about them. He'd about scared himself into a glitch when Prowl had—half in drug induced recharge—stumbled his way over to Jazz's berth when a nightmare started. One swipe from the Polyhexian wouldn't have done much damage to a healthy Prowl, but a strong hit in the wrong place now would be devastating.
But he hadn't attacked, hadn't even hissed or growled. Prowl had put a hand against his spark and whispered something to him. Seconds later, the nightmare had left. Prowl had slid onto the berth next to him and without waking, Jazz had assumed the position he was in now. Neither one had moved much since. Prowl occasionally resettled his wing, but other than that, they were quiet. They were peaceful. Not a word he would have ascribed to Jazz when they first brought him to the ship. He had been watching the Polyhexian every moment he had but there was no resurgence of nightmares. His temperature didn't spike as much. And while he didn't wake, his face was no longer lined with pain or fear.
Medical staff and Red Alert were the only ones that had seen them so far and Ratchet was planning to keep it that way. As far as he knew, Red Alert was the only one outside of medical staff who knew Prowl was on board and he was going to keep that under wrap as long as fragging possible. There were enough Prowl and Jazz interfacing rumors running through the army faster than a virus. He wasn't going to supply them with any new ammunition.
Sighing, he rubbed his tired optics. It rebelled against every bit of his nature, but he needed to recharge. He wouldn't go so far as his berth, but there was a cot in the office. If he left the door open he'd hear any signs of serious distress.
oOo
The late night pressed against Optimus' optics as he and Solaris listened to Ultra Magnus' latest report. "The Praxian Council isn't budging on this. They've said they will inform all enforcers across Praxus of Shockwave, but they will not allow a search by military personnel." Usually, Ultra Magnus exerted his own strained brand of stoicism but the Praxian Council's refusal to allow Autobots to launch a serious search for Shockwave was wearing him thin. Solaris took the news in stride, whatever he thought about the Council concealed behind a mask of cold disinterest. He still was unused to Solaris. Every time he turned to the Polyhexian he expected to see Jazz's expressive face or hear his lively voice.
"They're afraid this is a feint," Solaris said as Ultra Magnus lapsed into irritable pensiveness. He blinked and looked up, Optimus did as well. "They're thinkin' this might be a real problem, or it could be Autobots trying to get a foot in the door. If we get them scared enough maybe we can persuade them to let us put in a base or some battlements. Suddenly, Praxus is an Autobot held territory an' the war is right back on their doorstep."
Optimus held back his indignation. Solaris wasn't saying they would do these things, only giving possibilities for why the Praxian Council was so leery of them. "We need to make them understand that is not what we want here. We want to protect them." Ultra Magnus made a low sound in his throat and glared at the table. "I know you're doing what you can, Ultra Magnus," Optimus said soothingly. "We must think of a different angle. If that is what they're afraid of," he added. "If that's not what they're thinking, we certainly don't want to plant the idea in their processors." Rubbing his tired optics he tried to make his overtaxed processor work.
Solaris gave him a smile that was all teeth and no warmth. "There's a word for what you're sayin', Prime: Protectorate." As if that cruel smile had never happened, his mask slid back into place. Silence ticked by. Optimus could feel all the small aches of his body beginning to make themselves known. He needed to recharge tonight. He might even be desperate enough to ask Ratchet for a light sedative to put him down and keep him down.
"I don't see why you are present if you're only going to poke holes in our solutions and not present your own!" Ultra Magnus snapped. Patience running out. Ultra Magnus had been little seen on the Ark since the battle. He was beginning to worry about his second. He didn't have the patience Prowl did, but it seemed his temper was shortening by the orn. Optimus started to step in, but Solaris beat him to it.
"My solution was to start the search in the black, but you two wanted to keep this on the upside and now you're bogged down by bureaucracy." His face didn't change, still that cold distant mask that made Optimus' spark feel cold. "Now, my job is to tell you why you're failing. You wanted the Praxians to know we're in the area. That's nice and noble of you, but now you've got them frettin' about further retaliation should Megatron start on his way here." His voice didn't change, his face didn't change. It was like listening to a voice recording over a still. It was eerie. "Iacon may be rubble in places, but Praxus came gods damned close to bein' wiped off the map. Doesn't matter what your good intentions are, in the grand scheme of this city-state, one psychotic scientist isn't going to do as much damage as Megatron's armada." Optimus knew Solaris was right, but he couldn't help but think if he were with Jazz and Prowl this conversation would not feel so bleak.
oOo
Shadows
Drowning, suffocating.
Shadows tangle around him tangling his wings, sticking to his limbs, dragging him down. The faint glow of his exposed spark is brighter than a supernova but the shadows are undeterred. They grab at the light and his spark dims.
He opens his mouth to scream and the shadows flood in. His spark flickers. The shadows pull him into themselves; drowning, suffocating.
Sharp pain dragged Prowl out of the vision. His wing fell back where it had been before he'd tried to raise it defensively. His spark thrummed hard in his chest, too fast but still there. Dragging in a deep breath he counted to two and slowly let it out. He had not been so terrified by a nightmare in a long time. Jazz's warm body pressed closer to his and Prowl lay his head down again.
A shadow moved just outside his line of sight. Unlike Jazz, he did not startle at such things. He was surprised to see it was not the sharp figure of Death hovering near but a less familiar set of wings. It was tempting to turn his head to see the shadow completely, but Chishiki did not often come into their realm. He would have to meet Her halfway. Slowing his breathing he focused only on the slowing pulse of his spark, Jazz's warm even breaths against his chest, and the quiet, subtle pull of Chishiki's presence just out of reach.
Shadows
It was so quiet, so distant. Yet he didn't sense interference from any of the others. A small frown pulled his optical ridges together. Unease threatened to upset the delicate meditative state he'd found. Chishiki's power was too great, the consequences often too terrible for the others to allow Her to meddle. Kanashimi was the one who most often swept Her back to Her hall, but he did not feel his goddess near.
Images from his recent nightmare flickered through his mind. The terror they elicited no less potent now that he knew he was awake and safe in the med bay with Jazz. Not a nightmare then, but something from Chishiki. He felt the Goddess of Knowledge begin to withdraw and he opened his optics. A shadow that caused terror and extinguished sparks.
Shockwave.
He was loose somewhere in Praxus. Prowl had to find him. He would not let that terror creep over what was left of his homeland. Praxians had endured too much since Megatron's attack, he would stop this fresh hurt before it dug in deeper. Flexing his wings again he grimaced when his shoulder emphatically protested. He could deal with the aches and pains though. He would make his body move one way or another.
A door opened behind him, the scanners on his wings, tattered but functioning, mapped out the visitor as Ratchet. Jazz made a small sound when he pushed himself up more and his optics flickered open. "Prowl?" he murmured, fighting for wakefulness. Prowl used his free hand to stroke his side. The hole in his chest was almost closed, but the exoform around it still looked painful and inflamed.
"Prowl," Ratchet's irritated voice was soft, "what the Unmaker-fragging Pit do you think you're doing?" A warm hand rested on his wounded side and the soft tingling wash of a scan passed through him. It tickled but unlike the younger mechs he forced himself to remain still. Ratchet would just hold him down if he tried to move. "You may not think your internals are one wrong move from falling out, but they fragging well are."
He had a very good idea of how tenuous his healing was. Hardly two breems sitting up and the pain was slowing his thoughts. "I have to go, Ratchet," he murmured, unable to make his voice louder.
"The only fraggin' place you're going in back to recharge," the medic snapped. With quick deft movements, Prowl found his arm pulled out from under him and his head back on the berth. His wings flared in surprise but they too soon fell back to the berth when pain and exhaustion caught up to him. Ratchet's gentle hands stroked over his shoulders once, the tingle of scans cascading through him again. "I've never put any stock in divine intervention, but that's the only reason I can think of that you're still alive. Stop pushing it," the medic said. Jazz was already back in recharge and his body fitted against Prowl's seamlessly.
He needed more recharge, but Chishiki's message hung in the air and shadows around him. "Shockwave," he said. It was so hard to think now. He had a fleeting thought that Ratchet might have put something in him, but that thought soon drifted away like so much mist.
"There is a whole fraggin' warship looking for that one opticked nightmare," Ratchet said as he slid closer to recharge. "We'll find him." But how many would die before that happened. He tumbled back into recharge, Ratchet's gentle hands soothing what hurts he could.
oOo
A/N: Well, hey there! I see from the comments I have lots of people here from Where the Lonely Ones Roam, if you haven't read that one: 1) Welcome! 2) The next couple of chapters are going to lose you if you don't read that one first. 3) I am a slow updater, the others can attest to that. I do try to shoot for once a month but sometimes it can be more like six weeks.
Can you believe it's June already? It's supposed to be Boiling Lava Hot next week so I doubt I'll be outside much. Good news for you guys! Anyway, stay hydrated out there and make sure your pets have water and shelter if they're outside. Thank you for R/R/F/F!
