A/N: Thank you to everyone for the reviews! A special thanks, since I can't PM you, to Christina, Timonx3, xxxxx, AquamarineRagDoll, won't be the Victim, Ltuae-42, and Phoebe Turner for your feedback!

Since this is an AU, I've taken creative license and sided with Sunstreaker's Universe toy. He has a jetpack, too. Also, I desperately wanted to use the cliff face cannons for the Ark, but they aren't present in canon until 2006. Therefore, Asher119 is graciously letting me use the ion cannons from her story "Fracture Mechanics." In addition, this chapter briefly references "The Insecticon Syndrome."

Circuit su: For those who might not know, the ability to use spark energy in an attack is canon, but of course I'm borrowing Prowl's knowledge of circuit su from TFA.

"Sitrep"=situation report.


Chapter 8: Memento Mori
or Remember that You Must Die

Prowl followed Optimus Prime onto the command deck, wondering what catastrophe had beset them now. He hardly had the energy to deal with it, whatever it was. His entire universe seemed grey and flattened, utterly void. His spark ached with the realization that Optimus and Jazz had both withdrawn their support of him.

"Sitrep!" Optimus called out.

Trailbreaker looked up from Teletraan. "The Decepticons are attacking with the Insecticons and their clones as support. Our teams are gathering at the entrance."

"Insecticons?" Ironhide asked, grimacing. "Ah, man. Didn't we get enough'a those blasted Insecticons at Iron Mountain?"

Prowl shook his head, feeling even more exhausted at hearing the news. On principle, he agreed with Ironhide, but that wasn't really the issue. "The better question is 'didn't Megatron get enough of them?'"

"How many clones?" Optimus glanced at the viewscreen.

Trailbreaker sounded grim. "At least a hundred, sir."

"Man Teletraan and focus the base's cannons on the clones. Deploy Skyfire, Powerglide, and Cosmos against the Seekers, and summon Omega Supreme. I'm sure Devastator will make an appearance." Optimus turned to Prowl and Jazz. "We'll lead the teams on the battlefield. Prowl, bring your team in from the right. Jazz, the left. I'll charge Megatron head-on. Ironhide, you're with me. Transform and roll out."

Shocked into action by the normalcy of Optimus' commands — at least he was still leading a team — Prowl transformed and sped for the entrance, his battle computer pulling him out of his daze by feeding him countless scenarios. After collecting his team at the entrance, he returned to his root mode and sneaked around the battlefield's parameter, using the boulders as cover. His team, which consisted of Smokescreen, Bluestreak, Windcharger, and Brawn, followed closely behind him. He'd barely gotten into position when he heard whoops of utter glee overhead. Glancing up, Prowl saw Sunstreaker and Sideswipe had employed the new jetpacks to jump atop Thrust and Starscream. At that moment, all of Prowl's joy and hope seemed to rest entirely in his offspring.

Starscream's shrill protests could clearly be heard over the fray. "Get off me, bit brain!" He hurled himself into a barrel roll.

Shaking his head, Prowl hoped his twins wouldn't do anything too insane. In moments like these, they acted purely like Maverick, who had always rushed in first and cooked up some witty plan second.

Smokescreen crouched by him, pausing as the Ark's ion cannons blasted overhead, tearing into a swath of Insecticon clones. "Sir, I've got a clear shot at encircling the Constructicons." He pointed to the nearby green and purple mechs.

Prowl knew where his thoughts were headed. "Do it. We have to keep them from forming Devastator, especially since Omega isn't here yet."

Nodding, Smokescreen transformed and tore out from behind the boulder, shooting his magnetic smoke from his tailpipe and encircling the Constructicons with it. Prowl gestured to the rest of his team to surround the Constructicons.

As soon as everyone was in place, Prowl gave the order. "Attack!" However, before he could engage the enemy, he noticed Hyperdrive racing across the battlefield toward Jazz's position. The twins are with Jazz, Prowl thought, worried. No, it's okay. Jazz always keeps a close watch on his team. He takes good care of his mechs.

Despite his self-assurances, Prowl's uneasy feeling remained. Thanks to their jet judo, the twins were well-known for getting separated from everyone else during a battle.

-o-

Sideswipe hit the ground and rolled to absorb the impact. Once he was on his feet, he immediately yelled after his latest victim. "Hey, Screamer! Your designation sure fits you!" Starscream, however, showed him nothing but the red glow of his afterburners.

Hitting the ground next to him, Sunstreaker rolled as well. Gaining his footing, he began brushing dirt and sand off his shoulder struts. "Primus slag it, why did the Ark have to land in the desert? There's a forest to the east and a forest to the west. But no. We have to land where the most dirt and grime are."

Behind them, Sunstreaker's opponent, Thrust, slammed nose-first into the ground. A howl of pain erupted from the injured jet, followed by abrupt silence. Dirge and Ramjet circled over them once, then headed downward.

"Nice job," Sideswipe remarked, faintly irked to have been outdone by his twin. He was distracted from his pouting, however, by the sight of Dirge and Ramjet landing by their injured trinemate. "Heh. Losers." He jerked his thumb toward them, adopting a fake air of sweetness. "Shall we?"

Sunstreaker's smirk was cold, malicious, merciless. "Frag, yeah."

Nothing was scarier than Sunstreaker with battle lust, not even Megatron furious. What others didn't understand was that Sideswipe could feel his twin's intentions deep in his spark. He knew where the rage and destruction were aimed. Despite Sunstreaker's decidedly anti-social tendencies, that primal force would never be aimed at his fellow Autobots. "Let's do it."

They tore across the sand, hurdling themselves at their opponents and knocking them to the ground. Sideswipe straddled Dirge's chest, pinning his arms at his sides and pummeling his face with hard, heavy punches. Energon flew from Dirge's nose and mouth, coating Sideswipe's fist and splattering his arm and chest. To his side, a shrill scream erupted from Ramjet, only to be cut off with a faint gurgling. Sideswipe glanced over long enough to see that his brother was choking Ramjet, intent on crushing his throat.

A flash of light in his periphery caught Sideswipe's attention, though, and he paused to snap his gaze toward it, ignoring Dirge's weak, feeble attempts to dislodge him. Off to the side, Hyperdrive grinned at them maniacally, flexing his hands. Road Hugger stepped up beside his companion, his face expressionless. Neither moved to help.

Suddenly, Sideswipe got a bad feeling. Prowl had said not to trust them, and something about their behavior seemed off.

-o-

Prowl hit the sand and rolled backwards, trying to absorb some of the impact. Mixmaster had honed in on him, but at least they couldn't form Devastator. However, before Prowl could react further, Brawn charged Mixmaster, driving his arm behind his knees and knocking him flat. Once Mixmaster was down, Brawn tackled him with a flurry of punches.

Ah, battle lust, Prowl thought to himself, caught somewhere between amusement and appreciation. He'd been trained in both circuit su and diffusion, achieving high ranks in both, but that didn't automatically make him love melee combat.

A pained yelp drew his attention to the boulders they'd used as cover. The cry sounded like Bluestreak's, and Prowl glanced around the area, trying to verify Bluestreak's position. Unfortunately, Smokescreen's smoke clung to almost everything, filling the air up to twice Prowl's height. Unsure and concerned, Prowl glanced at Brawn, assessing his fight. Realizing Mixmaster was close to being knocked offline, Prowl dashed toward the boulders. He knelt at the end, peeking around the side. Seeing nothing but a substantial dust cloud, he raised his rifle and charged . . .

Right into empty space.

"Why, thank you for accommodating me," drawled a soft, lilting voice.

Prowl whipped around, facing Detour. One look told Prowl what he needed to know: Detour was holding an energy blade, a smirk displayed on his lips. "You," he spat, knowing immediately the moment he'd feared was at hand. He opened his comm. link, trying to contact the twins, but he got nothing but dead air. A local dampening field, he decided, disgusted.

Swinging his energy sword back and forth a few times, Detour gave him a nasty grin. "Nice try, Night Stalker. But your efforts are wasted."

It's over, Prowl thought, his tanks plummeting. However, determined to die fighting if necessary, Prowl gathered his spark energy in preparation to attack. Prowl remembered that Detour was accomplished in Metallikato, which meant Prowl's only choice was to utilize circuit su. Unfortunately, with Smokescreen's smoke covering the area and everyone engaged in fighting, no one was likely to see or hear them. Without his comm. link, Prowl couldn't call for assistance.

He was on his own. Everything rode on his ability to defeat Detour in combat.

-o-

Sideswipe slugged Dirge in the face, knocking him offline, and stood, his gaze still pinned to Road Hugger and Hyperdrive. Hyperdrive had started cackling, although Road Hugger remained expressionless. Somehow, Sideswipe found that deeply creepy. ::Sunny,:: he called over their bond. ::Sunny, something's up.::

No response. Sideswipe glanced at his brother and saw he was lost in his fight. Ramjet's nose was flattened, and his face was a mess of processed energon. Sunstreaker gripped one of his wing's edges and was bending it slowly. "Sunny!" Sideswipe yelled, trying to get his attention.

"It's useless."

Despite the roar of the battle, Sideswipe still managed to hear the quiet, toneless words. His gaze snapped back to Road Hugger, who had canted his head to the side. Sideswipe punched a burst of fear over his bond and tried again. ::Sunny, we're under assault.:: Not waiting for his brother, he sank into an attack stance, trying to decide whether to rush Hyperdrive or Road Hugger. Road Hugger was up to something, he was sure of it, but Hyperdrive was the bigger threat.

::What?:: finally came the reply. A pause, and suddenly Sunstreaker was at his side. "What do you freaks want?"

Hyperdrive laughed outright. "All I have to say is you all would have made good Decepticons."

Stiffening, Sunstreaker growled and clenched his energon-covered fists. "Shut up, fragger."

Sideswipe fought off a grimace. Sunstreaker hated it when mechs said that. The viciousness of his attacks and his desire to fight had nothing to do with his personal beliefs or ethics. Hyperdrive would have been better off to have shot Sunstreaker or ruined his paint. ::Let's just take them out,:: he told his twin. ::I'll take Road Hugger. You can have Hyperaft.::

"Sounds good," Sunstreaker replied aloud, stalking forward.

Road Hugger whipped a small remote control from his subspace, and immediately Sideswipe knew they were fragged. In his peripheral vision, he noted Sunstreaker's new jetpack and remembered suddenly that Road Hugger had helped build it. He recognized immediately where he'd miscalculated. "Sunny!"

His realization came too late. His entire sensor net erupted in an electrical surge, and he cried out as his systems began crashing. He saw Sunstreaker jerk, blue sparks jumping across his frame, and then white static filled Sideswipe's vision as he pitched forward helplessly to the ground.

-o-

Prowl crouched low, taking a defensive stance. After trading several blows with neither of them scoring a decisive hit, Detour had disappeared into the dust cloud they'd kicked up. Flaring his doorwings wide, Prowl focused his entire sensory net on detecting Detour's presence. Unfortunately, Detour also had doorwings, which meant he could navigate the dust cloud without his vision and any advantage Prowl would have gained from his sensor net was cancelled. Most likely, Detour would try to sneak up from behind, so Prowl shifted several times as he scanned, making sure he wasn't an easy target.

However, despite his efforts, Prowl suddenly felt the heat from an energy blade against his throat.

"Got you," Detour whispered directly into his audio.

Prowl knew he was dead. Even if he could escape this attack, if he were captured, he'd literally be tortured until death. Still, he had to live long enough to ensure the twins' safety. In one blinding movement, he jerked his arm up to push the blade clear and stomped backward with his heel, hoping to injure Detour's foot. A burning pain erupted in his neck and arm from the blade, but he grabbed Detour's wrist and twisted underneath his arm, stepping clear and forcing Detour to drop his blade. However, Detour struck outward, interrupting the technique, and twisted back out of what would have been an arm hold. Prowl quickly kicked the energy sword out of Detour's reach, but Detour charged him. Prowl tucked down his shoulder, using Detour's own momentum against him and tossing him over his back. Immediately, before Detour could return to his stance, Prowl spun and swept up one leg. The roundhouse kick struck home, emptying a burst of blue spark energy into Detour's helm. Detour stumbled backward, and Prowl pressed his attack, his fists pummeling Detour's armor. Landing a final blow, Prowl brought his right fist up in an uppercut, pushing his spark energy through his hand and into Detour's helm. Detour flew backwards, landing hard on his back and stirring up a small dust cloud. He remained motionless, knocked offline.

I have to find the twins, Prowl thought, glancing around the battlefield. Thanks to the lingering smoke, he still couldn't see much. Sharp panic lanced his spark as he realized he might be too late. Primus, no! Don't tell me they've been taken!

"Nice job," someone remarked behind him.

Prowl whirled to face Blackjack, but it was already over. Blackjack had aimed his rifle at Prowl's chest and immediately pulled the trigger. A flash of pain tore through Prowl's sensory net, making him cry out in agony, and then the world snapped out of existence.

oOoOo

Although he'd finally reached Iacon, Night Stalker wasn't sure he could take another step. He didn't have the physical energy or the emotional energy to do so. The universe was flat, grey, sterile. All sounds seemed muffled, scents nonexistent, sights washed out and skewed. All he could bring himself to care about were the recharging sparklings he held curled up against his chest. He had to get them to safety, and as soon as he did, he could rest. Most likely forever. He didn't want to leave behind his sparklings, wasn't sure who he could find to keep them safe, but he felt dead already without Maverick.

Then again, he was supposed to be dead. According to what he knew, he only had two orns left maximum.

"I should die soon," he mumbled to himself, his thoughts dull and cyclical. "Did Primus grant my prayer?" It was rare for a surviving twin to even live a decaorn. However, there was another possible explanation. "Did the experiment work?" He wasn't sure what to feel. If he lived, he could protect his twins himself, love them, cherish them, watch them mature. If he died, he could be with Maverick again — his other half, what made him him.

And about the time he began to worry about that, he slipped back into that heavy numbness that seemed to compress his chest, that sinking depression draining his spark from its chamber like a black hole.

Logic told him that the PSF would have tracked them to the abandoned tenet house. The PSF would have found Maverick's body. With what little energy he had to feel anything, he found it galled him to think of their getting their hands on Maverick and dissecting him. Studying him. Turning him into scraps and pieces. It made his tanks churn, but saving Sunstreaker and Sideswipe came first. Maverick would understand that.

Darkness had fallen, turning Iacon into a sea of shimmering lights. Night Stalker vaguely registered that he was walking through a business district filled with cafes and pubs. Raucous laughter and shouts filtered into the street, but Night Stalker felt completely disconnected from the living world. He barely noted the mechs he passed. However, the emptiness in his tanks alerted Night Stalker that he needed to refuel, especially since his sparklings would be hungry soon. Randomly selecting a café, he headed for the door, only to collapse to his knees in the middle of the outdoor seating area.

"Are you all right, sparky?"

The voice was kind but gruff. Night Stalker glanced up to find young, boxy mech kneeling over him. A grey chevron framed his forehelm, a contrast to his red and white paint. "Huh?" He couldn't quite understand what was happening to him.

"My designation is Ratchet. I'm a medic." The mech eased him down until he was fully sitting on the ground. "You're obviously badly fuel-depleted, and I hope to Primus you're not feeding those sparklings on top of it." He pulled a scanner out of his subspace. "Slag, you're weak. I need to get you to a hospital."

Night Stalker's processor fought to keep up with the words, but once he understood, the world seemed to snap into focus. "No!" It came out as a yell, so he dropped his voice to an angry whisper. "No, you can't take me to a hospital. They'll take away my sparklings. You — " He cut himself off, realizing he probably sounded insane.

A second white mech stood from the nearest table and knelt by Ratchet. "Paranoia?" the mech asked softly. "On top of his condition? Is he high?"

Night Stalker glared at the second young mech, his gaze momentarily fixated on his flashing audiofins. "I'm not on anything."

"His lines and circuits are clean," Ratchet said. "He's just in bad shape." He held the scanner over Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. "The sparklings are in surprisingly good shape, though."

The second mech knelt in front of Night Stalker. "Hi, I'm Wheeljack. What's your designation?"

This Wheeljack mech seemed friendly, but Night Stalker had no reason to trust him. "You can call me Night." The word 'night' was common enough in designations.

"Well, hello, Night." Wheeljack's audiofins flashed cheerfully. "Are you sure you won't let us take you to a hospital?"

Night Stalker shook his head, adamant.

Wheeljack glanced at Ratchet, dropping his voice into a whisper. "Look, twins. Do you think it has to do with that raid we carried out?"

"Power Run asked that the medical team search for a pair of twin younglings," Ratchet replied, his voice low. "He said one was carrying sparklings."

Wheeljack nodded. "How old do you think those sparklings are?"

Although annoyed to be discussed as though he weren't present, Night Stalker saw his chance and took it. "You're CAF? Yes, please take me to Power Run. He was — is — our friend." He didn't truly trust the CAF, but it seemed to be the only hope he had left.

Ratchet and Wheeljack traded glances, then Ratchet turned to Night Stalker. "So you're one of the two youngling PSF agents Power Run reported as missing."

Nodding his head, Night Stalker wondered if he were truly making the right choice or not, but he decided his only chance was to trust Power Run himself. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker began to stir against his chest, their optics onlining slowly. I have to feed them, he thought, suddenly even more exhausted. He had to be a good genitor, take good care of them, keep them safe.

Yes, he had to . . .

Had to . . .

He slumped into Ratchet's arms, pitching offline.

-o-

When Night Stalker awakened, he was exactly where he didn't want to be: in a hospital. He bolted upright, a gasp of fear escaping his lips. "My sparklings! Where are my sparklings?"

Ratchet and Wheeljack were talking quietly in the room's corner, and they both turned to him. "Right by you," Ratchet said, pointing to the small recharge chamber by Night Stalker's berth.

Following Ratchet's indication, Night Stalker saw a clear-walled box. Inside, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were curled up side-by-side, hugging each other. Tiny feeding lines were attached to them. "Are they okay? Where am I?" He glanced down at his wrists, seeing that feeding lines were attached to him, too.

"They're fine. And you're in Iacon Army Hospital." Ratchet walked over and sat on the berth's edge. "Power Run stopped by and identified you, although he couldn't stay. He asked us to tell you that he'd be back to see you."

"Oh. Thanks." Night Stalker frowned to himself, wishing he could have seen a friendly face. It occurred to him that if he'd just trusted Power Run and gone with the Autobots in the first place, Maverick might still be alive. The thought made him nauseated.

Wheeljack nodded as he joined them. "Yeah. And don't worry. You'll be safe here. There are guards posted outside your door, and the CMO, Rivet, is overseeing your case personally."

"He's locked all three of your records," Ratchet said. "The PSF won't be able to access them through any external networks."

Night Stalker only relaxed marginally. "Considering they're chasing me, that's some small comfort."

"You're being well taken care of." A tall, silver mech swept into the room. He glanced over Ratchet and Wheeljack, then jerked his head toward the door. "You're dismissed."

Ratchet stood. "Yes, sir."

"Get well," Wheeljack said as they left.

"Thank you for your help," Night Stalker called after them, hoping he would still be able to say that in a few joors. He returned his attention to the new mech. "And you are?"

"Rivet, CMO." The tall, silver mech sat in the chair by his bed and pulled out a datapad. "So you feel that the PSF is chasing you?"

Night Stalker considered it a foregone conclusion. "Yes." He wondered how much knowledge the CMO was privy to and decided it was probably enough. "I was one of the mechs in the illegal experiment they were running. Did you talk to Power Run?" He gestured at his sparklings. "If the PSF gets their hands on my twins, they'll run tests on them until they kill them, too."

Rivet nodded. "Yes, I've been going over what information we've been able to cull about their experiments. Grisly stuff there. Imagine my shock to find you and your sparklings admitted to my hospital." He paused. "So, I must ask. Power Run indicated that your brother, Maverick, was the sparklings' carrier and you were the sparker." His tone was remarkably neutral given the words he was speaking. "Is this correct?"

Night Stalker stared at his twins, his gaze hovering on their tiny bodies. "Yeah." He wondered if Rivet considered them sick and twisted or if he knew about twins' need to recalibrate their sparks. Power Run had seemed to accept it, at least.

"Where is your twin?"

Flinching, Night Stalker dropped his gaze to Rivet's chest, staring at the Autobot emblem there. "Maverick's . . . dead." It felt so strange to say those words.

Rivet's shoulders jerked back. "Dead? For how long now?"

"Eight orns." Night Stalker knew Rivet was doing the math. Based on previous records, he only had two orns to live maximum. With fuel back in his system, Night Stalker's previous confusion and indecisiveness were swept away. He wanted to live. He had to live. His sparklings needed him.

Rivet nodded slowly, his face grim. "That explains why you're so weak." He paused. "I'm sorry to inform you that your spark energy is only at 32 percent, and even after four joors of feeding you energon intra-linearly, your overall energy level is still only 41 percent."

"I'm dying." Night Stalker had meant to be blunt and no-nonsense, but his words still came out as a tiny whisper.

"Yes, I'm afraid so." Rivet grew quiet, a look of concentration crossing his face, and after a few kliks, he focused on Night Stalker again. "I've contacted Sentinel Prime. Given that a number of PSF mechs are unaccounted for, your assessment of your danger is probably accurate. We're going to have to take immediate action if we want to protect your sparklings."

A chill ran through Night Stalker's circuits as panic began to stir deep in his tanks. He glanced at his sparklings, who were still curled up recharging together. They looked so sweet, so innocent. "Immediate action?" His engine whined with stress. "What do you mean by that?"

"That is up to Prime." Rivet turned to the twins, checking the monitor attached to their recharge chamber. "Your sparklings are doing quite well. You must have expended a great deal of effort to keep them so well-fueled."

"Of course." Night Stalker couldn't imagine an alternative.

An awkward silence fell between them and reigned for several kliks until a tall, broad figure stepped up to the doorway, imposing in his size. "Is this our survivor?"

Rivet stood and saluted the new mech, who waved at him to stand down. "Yes, sir. Sentinel, this is Night Stalker." He glanced to Night Stalker. "Night Stalker, meet Sentinel Prime."

Night Stalker immediately felt suspicious. "Nice to meet you, sir," he lied.

Sentinel walked up to his berthside, towering over him. "Rivet has explained the situation to me. I'm sorry to hear about your brother's death." He paused. "Our primary concern at the moment is to keep your sparklings safe from the rogue PSF mechs we haven't caught yet."

"Haven't caught . . . how many have you not captured?" Night Stalker tensed, not liking the sound of it.

Crossing his arms, Sentinel stared down at him, apparently trying to decide whether to answer his question. "Well, so far we've only arrested eleven of the twenty three we're after. In short, your concern for your well-being and that of your sparklings is well-placed. It would seem several agents escaped with their files or supplies. Apparently, they felt they were near breakthrough despite the deaths of most of their subjects. We fear they intend to attempt to finish the project, and that would make you and your sparklings prime research material."

"Primus." The world seemed to sharpen in focus; the lights glared too bright. It was everything Night Stalker had feared.

Sentinel continued as though he hadn't spoken. "A quick check by my Chief of Security told me that you stopped at Electrus Memorial Hospital, where your sparklings were born. The chief resident there reported that a team of PSF mechs stopped there an orn after you left and asked about you. It's safe to say you're being followed."

"I'm not surprised." Night Stalker crossed his arms over his abdomen, terrified and panicking. His doorwings trembled on his back as his spark began to pulse too quickly. It wouldn't take them long to catch up with him, and the CAF tended to underestimate just how well-trained and powerful the PSF teams were. "Two guards won't get the job done, sir."

"Which is why we must act now and get your sparklings underground to safety." Sentinel put his huge hand on the twins' recharge chamber. "I must be blunt with you. You don't have long to live, and Rivet tells me you're too weak to ever leave the hospital. You must release custody of your sparklings to us immediately so we can hide them."

"What?" Night Stalker's shriek rang through the small room. His indignation burnt his lines, making his circuits tingle. They couldn't take away Sunstreaker and Sideswipe! They were all he had left. "My brother dies, I lose my entire life and livelihood, and now you want to take my sparklings away from me?"

Sentinel shook his head. "It's not about taking or not taking. It's about saving your sparklings' lives."

Rivet held up one hand as though to silence Prime, then stepped up to Night Stalker's side. "Look," he said quietly. "We have an adoptive creator lined up who is an accomplished warrior. He can keep them safe. Also, he's been looking to either adopt a sparkling or be granted one from Vector Sigma for a vorn now. The process is long and grueling, which has only made him want a sparkling more."

"So you're going to steal mine to give to him?" Night Stalker pressed clenched his fists against the berth. "I knew it! I knew it. The CAF is no better than the PSF!"

Rivet sighed and leaned his hip against the berthside, holding out one hand in an imploring fashion. "No, that's not what I'm saying. I'm saying he'll love your sparklings, truly treat them as his own and cherish them. Please release them into this mech's protective custody and let him save them."

"I'm not giving them up!" Night Stalker's shrieks of anger had awakened his twins, making them cry. Their wails rent the air, thickening the tension that shrouded the room and suffocated them.

Wordlessly, Rivet reached into the recharge chamber and began rubbing Sunstreaker's and Sideswipe's backs, trying to calm them.

"You're going to die," Sentinel said flatly. "You have maybe two orns left. You're going to have to be an adult and choose what's best for your sparklings' futures."

If he'd had even a fraction of his strength, Night Stalker would have used circuit su to execute a fatal strike upon Sentinel. "Easy for you to say! You're not the one who's getting his sparklings ripped away from him! My creator is dead, my brother is dead, I'm apparently dead — don't I get to have anything, anything at all?" Tears of coolant sprang to his optics, the sobs tearing free of him. "No! It's not fair. Fragging Primus, Mav barely got to even meet his sparklings." He buried his face in his hands. "No, you can't take them. You can't. Wait until I'm dead. Please. Just . . . give me some time. I don't care how little it is."

"I'm sorry," Rivet said. "Life has been abnormally cruel to you. I wish we could grant your request, I really do, and under any other circumstances, we would. But your sparklings are in mortal danger. According to Power Run's intel, this had turned into a power, glory, and wealth issue for several of the PSF agents. If we can't catch them, those rogue agents aren't just going to toss away all their research. They're going to want to finish the project at pretty much any cost."

Night Stalker's wails joined his twins', and he doubled over, raising his legs to collapse himself into a ball. "Primus . . . Primus . . ."

"We'll give you a moment with them," Sentinel said. "But you need to make the right choice here."

A deep, long shudder shook Night Stalker's body. He wanted to scream at them, deny them, throw them out of his room. He never, ever wanted to be separated from his sparklings, even if it meant living his entire life without Maverick. Unfortunately, he also couldn't ignore the truth of what they said. The PSF would never stop trying to get Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, especially if Night Stalker actually did live. And even if he died, Night Stalker understood how determined the PSF was. I hate this, he thought. I can't do this.

I don't think you have much of a choice, a voice seemed to reply deep within him. Our twins must live. Safe.

Night Stalker dropped his hands, shocked. What was that voice? He stared up at Rivet and Sentinel, assessing the mechs as well as he could. His instincts told him they weren't lying about the danger and necessity. "I need a moment with them first." His voice sounded utterly flat and dead. He felt dead.

"Good choice," Sentinel said, heading toward the door. He paused briefly, glancing over his shoulder. "You're a brave youngling."

Frag you, Night Stalker thought. He glared at the mech's back until he was out of sight then met Rivet's gaze. "Would you hand them to me?"

Rivet nodded solemnly and opened the recharge chamber, picking up Sunstreaker and handing him to Night Stalker. Night Stalker carefully cradled him in his right arm, brushing his fingertips over his face and gently hushing his cries. He ruthlessly beat back his pain and sent love over their fledgling creator-creation bond, and Sunstreaker quieted and pressed against his chest, one tiny fist tucked under his chin.

Night Stalker pressed a kiss to his forehelm. "I love you," he whispered. "Please live. Please be safe." He glanced up at Rivet. "This one's designation is Sunstreaker. I want that honored."

"I'll tell the adoptive creator." Rivet picked up Sideswipe and rocked him faintly. "Would you like them both at once?"

"Yes." Night Stalker held out his free arm.

Cautiously, lest he drop him, Rivet placed Sideswipe in Night Stalker's left arm. "And this one?"

"His designation is Sideswipe." Night Stalker frowned. "Make sure the adopter agrees."

"Very well, I'll do that now," Rivet murmured, turning to leave the room. "I'll give you a few kliks."

Pressing kisses to Sideswipe's forehelm and face, Night Stalker pushed love over their bond as well, calming his crying sparkling. Sideswipe curled into his chest, pressing against him. Gasping in agony, Night Stalker felt as though his spark were being crushed. The weight pressed on his shoulders, smashed down his doorwings, and shattered his tanks. Could he really do this? Did he really have a choice? Panic shot through his wires, surging through his circuits, and painful pricks stabbed his lines, his terror swelling until his entire frame shook and burned.

"Oh Primus, no . . ." He gasped again, the sound gritty and harsh, and couldn't stop his sobs. He hugged his sparklings close, raining kisses on their tiny faces, and his tears splattered against their plating. Obviously sensing his anguish, they began crying as well. I can't do this! I can't

Sentinel and Rivet slipped back into the room. "You're torturing yourself," Rivet said softly. "Don't draw it out; you'll only make it worse." He gently pulled Sunstreaker from Night Stalker's grasp. "I swear on Primus that the adopter is a good mech and will get them to safety immediately. He'll guard them with his life."

Night Stalker grasped Sideswipe to him, holding on to him desperately and kissing the top of his helm. "No . . . no . . ." However, knowing he had no other real choice, he didn't fight Sentinel when he pulled Sideswipe from his arms.

"I'm sorry," Sentinel said, looking away.

Staring after them, Night Stalker watched them go, trying to see his sparklings until they were out of sight. After that, he strained to hear their cries until they were too far away. Then, crushed to the point of death, he folded in on himself, wailing out his agony. The guards had shut his door, so he let himself scream, feeling a ripping sensation in his spark. He could sense his twins' terror over their bond, but he couldn't comfort them.

He would never be able to comfort them again.

oOoOo

Returning to consciousness slowly, Prowl stared at the dingy grey ceiling of a cargo hold. The deep hum of a hyperlight drive rang in his audios, and he surmised he was on Flattop. He turned his head slowly, worried about the twins, and found them bound and offline on the floor beside him. Just as I figured, he thought, frowning. They've abducted all three of us. He opened his comm. link to a wide frequency and broadcasted a short code over it. Unless the PSF had detected and removed the virus Jazz had put in Flattop, the code would online a tracking signal that the Ark could detect.

Sighing, Prowl tried to assess his damage. His HUD wasn't giving him any specific warning messages, but his doorwings felt stiff and his neck and arm sore. He realized he was also bound, his hands and feet restrained with stasis cuffs. Searching his subspace, he realized that his tool kit was gone, and without it he couldn't pick the lock. He cursed, irritated with the situation, but after a little effort he managed to sit up. At least he had some range of motion left.

Resigning himself to the problem for the moment, Prowl scooted over to his twins, sitting between them and stretching out his legs in front of himself. Then he carefully pulled each of their helms into his lap, checking each for signs of damage. He was worried for them, needed to touch them, had to feel their warm plating under his hands. Although he intended to remove them from his lap when they began to awaken, for now he needed to keep them close.

Finding no external damage, Prowl simply rested against the wall and stroked their faces gently. For ten million stellar cycles, he'd pretended they weren't beloved, weren't special. He'd pretended to be nothing more than a CO, a stranger, a disciplinarian. And for what? Everything he'd feared had come to pass. He had failed. Utterly failed.

In response to his stress, his processor began overheating and coolant sprang to his optics. One tear escaped, streaking down his cheek and falling onto Sunstreaker's forehelm. Prowl brushed it away, but in his distraction he didn't notice Sideswipe slowly onlining.

"Prowl?" came a rough voice, Sideswipe's normal smooth tones absent. He seemed dazed.

Completely caught, Prowl paused, his hand hovering midair above Sunstreaker's face. No doubt Sideswipe would find his affection freakish and inexplicable. How could he even begin to explain? He knew he didn't have a choice, and furthermore, he didn't want a choice. He was tired of swallowing the truth. But how should he handle this? Tell them everything all at once and overwhelm them? Give them one piece at a time and let them digest it slowly? He was going to be rearranging their entire universe. No, the revelations could wait. They needed to create an escape plan.

Lost in thought, Prowl simply gazed at Sideswipe, and at his look of confusion, Prowl reached out without thinking and stroked his cheek.

Sideswipe's optics surged bright, and his voice dropped to a whisper. "Prowl?"

Prowl dropped his hand. "What warnings or error messages are you getting in your HUD?" he asked, concerned.

"None except a low fuel warning." Sideswipe tried to move and only then seemed to realize he was bound. He struggled for a moment, then paused. "It says my systems were overridden and reset, though. What happened? Where are we?"

At least he's not hurt, Prowl thought, turning his gaze to Sunstreaker as he stirred and onlined. After a moment's hesitation, Prowl cupped his cheek, unwilling to give them unequal amounts of his love. "Are you getting any warnings or error messages?" He gently rubbed Sunstreaker's cheekseam with his thumb.

Sunstreaker stared up at him, looking equally dazed as his brother and also surprised. He seemed to gather himself slowly. "Just a low fuel warning." Just as he had before, he pressed into Prowl's touch, although he looked away as he did so. "What the frag happened to us?"

"It's definitely Road Hugger's fault," Sideswipe said, grimacing. "He did something to us."

Prowl nodded and transferred his hand back to Sideswipe briefly, stroking his cheek. "That's right. We're on Flattop."

"Flattop?" With a frown, Sunstreaker struggled to sit up, and looking down, he seemed to realize the problem. "Ah, slag."

Prowl wondered if after all these millennia he could still open his creator-creation bond with them. It had been dormant for so long he feared not. "We've been abducted and are probably on our way to Cybertron." The only comfort he had was that no matter how upset Optimus and Jazz might be, they would move the universe to rescue the twins and him. "Just as I suspected, they intend to finish their experiment."

"Finish? What's going on?" After considerable squirming, Sideswipe managed to sit up and face Prowl. "Primus! We gotta get these stasis cuffs off."

With a low growl, Sunstreaker managed to sit up as well, glaring at his restraints.

"I'd pick the locks if I could, but they took all my supplies." Prowl sighed and frowned. "I was trying to prove this would happen. I was trying to get enough evidence to prove that they meant to finish their experiment on twins."

"Twins?" Clearing not liking this news, Sunstreaker glared at him. "So why are you here?"

Prowl's smile was sad. How to explain this part? Perhaps one piece at a time was the best approach. "I was a twin."

Shocked silence filled the room, then Sideswipe gasped sharply. "What?"

"'Was?'" Sunstreaker echoed, staring at Prowl.

"Maverick was killed," Prowl said, meeting each of their gazes in turn.

Sideswipe leaned forward. "Killed? How did you survive? I thought if one twin died . . ." He paused, sounding uncomfortable. "I thought the other always died, too."

Prowl sighed. "That's what this is all about. Ten millennia ago, the Praxus Special Forces conducted an unethical medical experiment on twins in which they tried to alter sparks to the point that one twin could survive the other's death. Their goal was to market it to all bonded couples, but something went wrong. All the participants were killed, including Maverick."

"Except you." Sideswipe frowned. "But I don't get it. How does that connect with now?"

"These mechs are all ex-PSF, and they intend to finish the experiment using us." Prowl shook his head, feeling completely defeated. Millennia of secrets and deprivations for nothing. "After all, from their point of view, the experiment succeeded. I'm still here. They obviously figured out who I am, and now they're going to use us as their final research subjects."

Sunstreaker jerked his feet up to yank on his leg restraints. "I don't fraggin' think so. Let's bust out and kick their afts."

Prowl glanced at the cargo hold's door then scanned the room, trying to figure out what he could short-circuit. "We do need a plan." He turned back to them, pitching his voice to its most soothing tone. "But please don't worry. I promise we will get through this. We'll work together and escape." Seeing no reason to continue hiding his feelings, he reached up, cupping each of their cheeks gently and stroking them with his thumbs. "I swear I won't let you be tortured or killed the way the past twins were."

Leaning into his touch again, Sunstreaker glanced away, silent. Sideswipe, however, reached up and put his hand over Prowl's. "We know," Sideswipe said, a faint smile gracing his lips briefly. Then he grew grim. "So where do we start?"

Prowl lowered his hands. "I have a theory that we're being taken to Darkmount based on some intel Mirage gathered about Shockwave."

"In that case, we need to find weapons," Sunstreaker said, looking around the room.

Frowning, Sideswipe seemed momentarily distracted. "You've lived all this time without your brother? I can't even imagine that! That's the worst thing I can think of."

Sunstreaker glanced at his brother, sharing that frown, then returned to his scan of the cargo hold. "There are crates in the corner. Maybe we can find something in them." He attempted, unsuccessfully, to stand.

"Good idea," Prowl said, noting the crates as well. If we can get over there.

"Wait." Ignoring his brother, Sideswipe's optics flared, his stare growing intense. "Kup said something once about our carrier being killed. Was he in that experiment, then?"

Prowl wondered if he should go ahead and explain, but he wasn't sure if they knew their genitors were brothers. "Yes, that's right." Before he could say more, however, the door to the cargo hold slid open, revealing Blackjack and Detour.

Sunstreaker cursed, his gaze still pinned on the crates.

"Well, look here," Detour said, crossing his arms. "Our little research subjects are awake."

Blackjack's grin was maniacal. "It's time for you to be of service to the Cybertronian race. Or, at least, the Decepticon half of it." He laughed.

Realizing his theory had been correct, Prowl didn't like what this revelation did for their odds of surviving.

oOoOo

"What?"

Optimus Prime's exclamation echoed through the command deck. He stared at the footage the Ark's security monitors had captured: Prowl being dragged off the battlefield by Detour and Blackjack. Prowl, Sunstreaker, and Sideswipe had all been reported MIA, as well as all six of the planet-side ex-PSF mechs. Flattop was also missing from orbit. Thanks to the chaos of battle, Red Alert had had to scan a ton of footage to find out when they'd been taken, but it didn't take a supercomputer to figure out what had happened.

Optimus' spark froze and crystallized in terror inside his spark chamber. In an instant, all Prime's hurt over Prowl seeing Jazz and Detour behind his back was kicked down to the least of his concerns. It wasn't that the pain ceased to exist, only that Prime's need to rescue Prowl superseded it. When compared to Prowl's life being in danger, Prime's pain was utterly meaningless. Instantly, Optimus knew he would do whatever it took to bring Prowl and the twins home safely. He would do that for any of his mechs, but in this case someone he loved was specifically in danger. He would toss the sun out of its orbit if he had to.

A moment's silence descended upon the deck, then from the back of the room a second bellow joined Prime's: "What? Ah, frag no!" Jazz raced across the deck and stopped in front of the monitor where the image of Prowl being captured was paused onscreen. "Slaggit!"

"We have to figure out where they're headed." Optimus mentally reviewed everything Prowl had told him, trying to get a handle on their intel. "Unfortunately, I think we already know why they've been taken."

"Slaggit!" Jazz whirled around, whacking his back against Teletraan's console and leaning against it. He crossed his arms and stared at the floor. "We should've listened to him."

In retrospect, Optimus realized he had never known Prowl to be so passionate, intense, and obsessed with anything and turn out to be wrong about it. While Prowl had been emotionally compromised, he had also been right. "Those files he was decoding. Maybe something in them can help us." He turned to Jazz. "Take Blaster and Perceptor and get those files from Prowl's office." He glanced to Blaster. "Use Teletraan to finish breaking the encryption on the files. And hurry it."

"Yes, sir!" Blaster headed for the door, Perceptor on his heels.

Before Jazz could step away from the console, Teletraan beeped and spoke. "Receiving a tracking signal."

Jazz stopped, whirling around. "Show us!"

Optimus joined him at Teletraan, which displayed a galactic map. "The signal is originating from the alpha quadrant," Prime said, analyzing the data. "It's between Earth and Cybertron's current position." He had to admit that was suspicious given the situation, and his tanks sank as he realized Prowl's theory on Shockwave may have been correct as well. I should've listened more closely.

"Wait a klik." Jazz snapped his fingers. "I planted a virus in Flattop on Prowl's orders. It may have been a program to launch a trackin' signal."

Optimus nodded, knowing that had to be right. "Prowl would think that many steps ahead and prepare." He glanced at Jazz. "Go. We still need as much information as we can get."

"Yes, sir." Jazz joined Blaster and Perceptor, heading for Prowl's office.

Bluestreak rushed up to Optimus, Smokescreen close behind. "Can we go with the rescue squad, sir, please because even though we have emotional investment in this they are our lovers and we want to help rescue them if you'll allow it."

In this situation, Optimus didn't feel right denying the request. "Yes, you may. Gather the necessary supplies." He turned to Hound and Mirage. "Help them. We'll be following in Omega." He then shifted his attention to Hoist and Ratchet. "Prepare your supplies. You'll be going with us."

A chorus of "yes, sir" met his orders as mechs ran off the command deck. He opened his comm. link. ::Optimus Prime to Omega Supreme. Return to the Ark immediately. We have a rescue mission to conduct.::

::Acknowledged. Omega returns.:: The link went dead.

Optimus moved to the tactical terminal, pulling up screens and working up a tentative plan; however, he was only halfway done when the tracking signal died. Slaggit, he thought, irritated and trying not to panic. They detected the signal and cut if off. Still, the signal's direction clearly indicated Cybertron, and Optimus' plan wouldn't be changed by the loss. Besides, he had to stay active, had to feel like he was getting somewhere.

Once his plan was drafted, though, Optimus couldn't control his thoughts. He retired to his office so he could secretly pace the floor. He needed to launch the rescue. If he didn't get the report in the next half-breem, they'd leave without it. Blaster could finish it while they were in-flight.

However, alone in his office, Optimus was faced with the truth of his desperation, guilt, and love. As hurt and confused as he still felt, Optimus knew that if he could just wrap Prowl in his arms then everything would be all right somehow. The thought tortured him. What if he could never hold Prowl again? His body burned with the need to do so, his chest aching for the feel of Prowl's head resting against him and his arms aching for the feel of Prowl's warm plating. He wanted to see Prowl's small smile, hear his quiet laugh, and touch those graceful doorwings.

He felt the deeply violent urge to rend the ex-PSF mechs' limbs off and rip their armor from their bodies if they dared to hurt Prowl.

And that was when it hit him: he would do anything to secure Prowl's return, but once he'd done so, he might have to make the ultimate sacrifice. If he truly loved Prowl — and Optimus knew that he did — then he had to let Prowl choose whoever made him happier. And as much as it stung to think Jazz might be the one to make Prowl happier, Optimus had to stand back and let Prowl make that decision. He wanted to say 'choose me,' and had said it, but that had meant he was looking after himself first, not Prowl.

Optimus sank into his office chair, his shoulders slumping. "Understandable," he tried to tell himself as the guilt battered him. He was only mortal, after all, and he loved Prowl and wanted to spend the rest of his life with him. However, he couldn't forgive himself. He knew love sometimes meant stepping back, and in this case it could very well mean watching Prowl and Jazz live blissfully together orn after orn.

The idea whipped up an electrical storm of agony in his circuits. "This will not be easy," he admitted to himself.

But being Prime was never easy and was often lonely.

oOoOo

Sitting at one of the Teletraan terminals in the science lab, Jazz poured all his effort into helping Perceptor and Blaster break the code on the encrypted files. Knowing Prime, the rescue squad would be leaving as soon as the supplies could be gathered and the plan drafted, and Jazz wanted the files' contents before they left. Blaster and Perceptor worked together at one terminal while Jazz worked alone. Not counting Prowl, they were the best code-breakers the Autobots had, so surely they would succeed.

Still, as he worked, Jazz became distracted. He couldn't stop thinking about Prowl and what had happened. Because he'd been so upset at being cheated on, he'd let his entire outlook on the situation get skewed. While Prowl likely was emotionally compromised, he'd also run a legitimate analysis, but Jazz had been too angry to see that. It was disturbing and humbling to realize he'd let his personal life impinge upon his work duties, and he wanted to slap himself for his lack of professionalism. It might very well cost him everything he loved.

Although his pain wasn't magically erased, at that moment all Jazz wanted was to be wrapped in Prowl's arms again, to feel his warm plating and hear his spark pulse. Instead, the last moment they'd shared together had been one of strife. Jazz had often counseled mechs to not worry about the last thing they'd said to their loved ones before they died. 'It doesn't matter if the last thing you did was fight,' he'd told them. 'They knew that you loved them.' How ironic it was that faced with the same situation, he couldn't be so calm. He wasn't sure Prowl did know how much he loved him. He had, after all, completely frozen Prowl out for the last few orns.

I just want him back, Jazz thought, forcing himself to focus on the code. His concentration only lasted a few astroseconds. Frag, even if it means seeing Prowl settle down with Optimus, it doesn't matter. I just want him safely home.

Jazz's thought drew him up short, and he stopped to assess the truth of it. Imagining Prowl with Optimus hurt. Jazz wanted to be easily, freely selfless and say that when Prowl returned he'd graciously step back and let him choose who he wanted to be with. However, even though Jazz could force himself to respect Prowl's wishes, he knew that if Prowl chose Optimus, he would be crushed. Still, Jazz couldn't imagine a universe without Prowl, didn't want to imagine one. Somehow, someway, he had to make peace with Prowl's choice.

His spark cried out. Primus, I hope he chooses me! Was there something he could do to make himself more appealing to Prowl?

"Stop," Jazz ordered himself. If he loved Prowl, he had to wish him happiness, and all that mattered was getting Prowl back home safely. If he could see Prowl safe, alive, and happy, nothing else really mattered.

"Got it!" Blaster yelled, jerking Jazz from his thoughts.

Jazz turned to him anxiously. "Ya do?"

"I'm good, man." Blaster smirked at his terminal. "It'll take about two kliks to convert."

Jumping up, Jazz ran over to stand behind Blaster and watch the text pop up on screen, although he didn't bother to read it. ::Jazz to Prime,:: he said, opening his comm. link.

::Prime here.:: The answering voice was tense, even impatient.

Jazz understood that feeling. ::The code's broken. We'll have it in a klik.::

::Hurry. Meet us at the main entrance. Prime out.::

Perceptor grabbed a datapad and onlined it in preparation for a download. "This is fascinating," he said, reading the screen. "It seems that Night Stalker and Maverick were twins, and Maverick was carrying sparklings when they went AWOL. Oh, my! They were only younglings. Oh dear, oh dear. Younglings shouldn't carry sparklings! It's far too dangerous. Their sparks aren't strong enough." He shook his head. "Ah. Maverick died, apparently, because it says that his corpse was recovered at Kaon, and Night — "

"Sparklings?" Jazz's systems seemed to stutter and freeze. "As in twins? Does it say what their designations are?"

"There are no designations recorded for the sparklings," Perceptor said, never looking away from the screen. "The records don't mention the sparklings' fate, either."

Jazz shook his head, his processor trying to keep up. "No way, man. No way!" His processor tried to piece it all together. "Prime said that Prowl reported being in the study, remember? And Prowl told me he was getting his service record. Plus in our meeting Prowl was talking about Witness Protection and the experiment not working as they intended." Finally, it was all beginning to make sense.

Blaster's shocked gaze traveled to Jazz, his optics bright. "So you're saying Prowl is Night Stalker? I guess the two designations are similar. No, wait. That can't be right. If one twin dies, the other always does too, right? Didn't Ratchet say all the twins in the study died?"

Perceptor glanced at them. "But according to what Prowl said, the point of the study was to enable one twin to live if the other died."

Jazz snapped his fingers. "And Ratchet asked what happened to Prowl's twin, but his answer got cut off. Primus!" Suddenly, Prowl's concern over the Sunstreaker and Sideswipe took on a whole new possible meaning. "No wonder Prowl was fighting so hard to protect the twins!" He crossed his arms over his abdomen, feeling ill. He knew he was making an intuitive leap, but the facts fit together too conveniently. "If Night Stalker lived and is Prowl, then it may be that Sunny and Sides are his nephews."

"It means a great deal more than that." Perceptor frowned, looking grim. "It means the ex-PSF agents have learned their experiment works. I suspect this means they want to recreate it by studying Prowl and then experimenting on Sunstreaker and Sideswipe." He pressed a button on the datapad. "The conversion and download are complete."

Jazz snatched the datapad from his hand. "And that means that Prowl himself has got a deviation. They'll wanna dissect him or somethin'! We gotta go!"

He raced from the room, heading toward the entrance. As soon as he saw Optimus, he called out to him. "Prime! We gotta problem. Prowl's in more danger than we even guessed."

Prime's already tense frame seemed to constrict. "Primus! Let's go, then. You can tell me the details during the flight." He gestured to the assembled mechs. "Jazz, you'll be leading a team consisting of Smokescreen, Mirage, Ratchet, and Brawn. I'll lead the second team." He gestured to his mechs: Bluestreak, Hound, Hoist, and Ironhide. Everyone was either bouncing on his feet or checking nervously over his supplies, clearly anxious to depart.

"Got ya, sir." Jazz followed Optimus to Omega Supreme, the others following.

"We'd best hurry. We've been fools," Optimus commented quietly to Jazz as they stepped inside Omega.

Jazz had to agree.


Postscript: Rivet is actually my OC and may briefly appear off and on in various pre-war stories of mine.

The theme song for Night and Mav in this chapter is "My Immortal," by Evanescence. Watch it here at http : / www .youtube. com / watch? v=jGKRXhmFQlw (remove the spaces).

I'm so tired of being here, suppressed by all my childish fears.
And if you have to leave, I wish that you would just leave.
Your presence still lingers here, and it won't leave me alone . . .

You used to captivate me by your resonating light;
Now, I'm bound by the life you left behind.
Your face it haunts my once pleasant dreams;
Your voice it chased away all the sanity in me . . .

These wounds won't seem to heal; this pain is just too real.
There's just too much that time cannot erase.

When you cried, I'd wipe away all of your tears;
When you'd scream, I'd fight away all of your fears.
And I held your hand through all of these years,
But you still have all of me.

— "My Immortal," Evanescence