I am so sorry this took so long and that I haven't replied to nearly any reviews in ages; basically, I was dead over the summer because I had two jobs, and I literally only had four days off in those entire four months. Then, school started again, and I'm sure some of you have noticed that I've published two other stories in the meantime; I assure it was not because I was neglecting this chapter, but was because they were much easier-and therefore much quicker to be posted-then this chapter. That being said, this is mostly a plot chapter that gets the ball rolling for the rest of the story, and I'm sorry if it's a little wonky in some parts because I stayed up late to finish it for you guys and now my brain is tired. There isn't any action like I said there would be, though I can guarantee that there definitely will be some next chapter. Also, I know I said that we would get to see things from Optimus' viewpoint this chapter to at least one reviewer, sadly, that will also have to wait until the next one; but please enjoy.


Chapter Eight: …We Rise: Part One

"Where's momma?" the small voice croaked in a mere whisper, the quiet beep-beep-beeping of the heart monitor almost drowning out the words as its owner lay exhausted in a salvaged hospital bed with a deathly pallor and too-dark circles under her blood-shot eyes. Occasionally, a finger (sometimes an entire hand) twitched with a suddenness that seemed to suggest that they were ghosts of violent shaking.

She was better than she had been, of course, and certainly better off than those whose hearts had been shocked into stillness by the energon-laced water, never to beat again.

But why did that have to be the first question she asked?

Jack Darby placed a hand against the side of his daughter's face, thumb pushing away a bedraggled strand of hair as he wondered what he could say to the soon-to-be-eight year-old who had no right to know as much about death as she already did.

"She's not here anymore, sweetheart."

Titania looked at her father, confused as to how he thought those words made sense. Momma was always here when she needed her, especially if she was sick…though, maybe Momma was on a really important mission for Daddy.

Something in the back of the girl's mind told her that wasn't quite right, and she vaguely remembered the sounds of shattering glass and someone screaming for Ratchet.

(Hadn't she seen her mother fall? Hadn't she heard her father begging her not to leave him too?)

Her chest felt hollow, and the question echoed inside her even as she pushed it out once more; "Where is she?"

Jack wet his suddenly dry lips, trying not to let his voice crack. "Look, honey, your Mom got really sick, just like you, but…" he trailed off, the words he was supposed to say choking him, "She…she didn't get better."

The heart-rate on the monitor spiked, and the hollowness in her chest spread everywhere. Her head felt far too empty, and all she had to cling to was the question that had still not been answered.

"Where is she?"

"Titania—"

"WHERE IS MY MOTHER!?"

And suddenly, the hollowness disappeared, filled with some unknown thing rising up inside her as she screamed at the man who was only half of her whole world because there was no Daddy without Mommy and she was a girl who still had two hands that two different people were meant to hold together, and her mother was not allowed to just be gone.

But her father did not move from his place at her bedside (did he not understand she needed him to go find her?), he did not rebuke her for raising her voice (it always used to be "Shh, they need rest") and it was his silence—and the agony, the quiet agony that carved itself into his face with the sharp, sharp blades of hardship and loss—that caused her to choke on the sob that finally spilled out from that hollow place deep inside.

His arms encircled her, but she did not feel them. He whispered in her ear but she did not hear him.

All she heard was the voice inside, telling her the truth her father had substituted for useless euphemisms in a blunt, detached tone.

"Your mother is dead."


Titania stared at the cracked, oozing flesh with morbid fascination as June Darby carefully wrapped a fresh bandage around the damaged appendage, swiftly hiding the permanently marred skin from sight. Distantly, a memory niggled at her mind of a burnt corpse that had avoided incineration, and was made identifiable only by the melted gold band around the left wrist; a memento from his pre-deceased daughter, she'd been told once, killed in the initial Decepticon invasion many years before Titania was born.

She couldn't remember the man's name—though she thought his daughter's name might have been…Alexis?—nor his face, but it was forever frozen in her mind as features made from ash, with no definite shape to them (though, always, she had thought it looked like he was screaming).

Recalling this, she was thankful that she hadn't been cursed to remember her Uncle Raf in a very similar way. His body had been incinerated (she presumed, at least), so there were no burnt remnants to desecrate her memory of his goateed face, ever-intelligent eyes and his far too sad and tired smile.

Reluctantly, her thoughts turned to her mother, to the night a puffy-eyed near eight-year-old peeked through the open cracks of a door and saw her still face, far too pale in death and a stark contrast against the long dark hair that was pooled around her head and the black half-moons under her closed eyes. She remembered seeing her father, unaware of her presence, take a limp hand in his—gently, as though it might break—and promise the corpse that he would make sure Titania didn't see her like this, that she would remember her mother as the strong, determined woman that had raised her. She had crept away in silence, with tears slipping down her face, not willing to let her father know it was a promise born in the very process of being broken.

That wasn't to say she didn't remember her mother as the warrior she had been, but there was always an undercurrent to her memories that dulled them. Always, she saw her mother's still, unbreathing, and nowhere-near-peaceful face like a washed out image pressed over the better memories as they played out inside her mind. Always, she remembered that there would never be any more "better" memories to scrub that sight out of her mind.

"Well, it doesn't look like any infections have started, and it should start scabbing over in a day or two. We won't really know the extent of the nerve damage until it's healed…does it hurt at all?"

Titania vigorously shook her head in response to the nurse's question, eager to have an excuse to scatter away the old memories and focus on the now.

She twitched her fingers slightly, restricted though her mobility was by the pressure and position of the bandages, and then shrugged when there were no sharp stings of pain erupting like volcanoes around the cracks of her abused flesh. There wasn't much of anything, really.

She looked up to find June frowning, an arm folded over her stomach and a finger from her other hand brushing over her bottom lip thoughtfully before she spoke; "That's not really a good sign."

That was a lesson Titania knew well; pain meant you were alive, that your body was still functioning enough to know that something was wrong with it. No pain at all meant that Death had opened its door and invited you in before you had the chance to run away from its porch.

Of course, there was more than enough aches and pains in the rest of Titania's body to compensate for the lack of feeling in her left hand.

She looked up and past her grandmother as the door to the make-shift hospital room opened, admitting one Agent Fowler into their company. Titania felt her shoulders instinctively stiffen at the sight of him, and she turned her eyes away to study a distant corner, yet still managing to keep the vague blob that was the agent in the corner of her vision.

He seemed to hesitate in the doorway, before working up his nerve to finally join them at Titania's bedside.

"So, how are we feeling today?" The question was directed more towards June than it was to Titania, as the man barely even met her eyes before looking to the nurse in an expectant manner.

"Fine," she replied coolly before June could say anything, startling the both of them with the sharpness of her voice. She forced herself then to look him in the eyes, and a pang of sorrow struck her heart, which responded in kind with a kindling anger when she found nothing familiar in the dark orbs that she knew so well.

She looked away to the opposite side of the room again, inhaling deeply as she forced her fists to unclench as she reminded herself; he's not the man you knew.

"She's doing surprisingly well," June replied to break the tense atmosphere, "It'll be fine for her to walk around today, though I still," the nurse gave her a warning look then, "think that as much rest as possible would be best, and absolutely no strenuous activities," Nurse Darby's hands dropped to her hips as she utilized her God-given glare, "At all."

When it was clear that her grandmother was waiting for a verbal acknowledgment of her demands, Titania held back the urge to sigh (while still looking anywhere but at them) and let out a clipped, tense "Understood."

She didn't see the miniscule flinch Fowler gave at the distinctly military-like response, nor the look of unease that passed June's features while they glanced unsurely at each other, voicing in silence their agreement that it had been downright unnerving.

"Well," Fowler began, "Optimus and the others are in the command centre, if you'd like to join them; just take a left and go—"

"I know where it is," she cut him off, and then, realizing how rude she was being, muttered a quick, "thank you" before fiddling with the sleeve of her long-sleeved shirt (generously purchased and brought to her by June) and stalking towards the door with purpose in every step.

It took no small strength of will not to slam the door behind her.


Special Agent William Fowler was a man who had seen enough death and darkness in his lifetime to know—as he stood at the feet of titans and felt them shake the Earth with their eon-old grudges—that no sentient being was exempt from being chased by their own demons.

They followed you like the shadow at your feet, jumping out at you from the depths of a bowl of stew because you remembered that was the last real thing you had eaten—sitting around the table, laughing with the men and women who always had your back—right before the mission that only you came back from. They mocked you on a random street, from within a window full of diamonds, and that ring, right there in the corner, looked just like the one she threw back in your face before she walked out of your life forever.

Yes, Agent Fowler knew those demons quite well; and he knew the way the worst of them had a habit of staring back at you from another's face—a man's twin, a mother's daughterand haunted you in the midst of a restless sleep.

As the door closed behind Titania, the memory of his first meeting with her rose to mind unbidden—the paling of her face and the agonized cry of his name—and he winced as he saw again their later meeting, and the bitterness his lack of knowing her (better than she knew herself) had caused. It had become clear to him then (as though the pictures of a three year-old sitting on his far older and heavier shoulders had not been enough) that he meant more her to than he would ever know.

And it actually hurt to realize that, at this point in time, she didn't really mean anything to him in return.

Yes, she was a child who had never been a child, and for that he was sorry. She was a soldier on a mission that had already asked too much of her (of everyone) and for that she had earned his empathy.

But, at the end of the day, she was just another child, another soldier, another asset that they couldn't afford to lose whether it be to the Decepticons or her own grief…and both Agent Fowler (the soldier who knew better than to get attached) and Bill (the human being who one day wouldn't be able to help it) knew that it was not within his ability to save her from the latter—he could only cause more of it.

And no other admission of inevitable failure had ever made him feel so helpless.

"Agent Fowler?"

The man started at the sound of his name, having momentarily forgotten that he was not alone in the room.

"Oh, uh, Nurse Darby," he chuckled awkwardly, rubbing at the back of his neck and avoiding direct eye-contact, "So, uh, how…how are you this fine day?"

He cringed at his own stuttering—it felt like he couldn't string together a coherent sentence around anyone these days—and, with a sigh, forced himself to drop his hands to his sides and keep them there.

June said nothing for a long moment as her blue gaze pierced into him, their speculative look indicating she had seen whatever torn and tattered emotions had flitted across his face just a few short moments ago. Briefly, her eyes darted back to the door, and some vague form of understanding dawned on her face.

"I'm not sure I'm the one people need to be asking that question…" she trailed off, taking a few steps closer with an openness on her face that the government agent rarely saw.

The silence that fell between them lasted for only a short time before Nurse Darby began to speak again; "So…last night when Jack came home, he mentioned that she's from the future, apparently…" She failed to mention Optimus had already confirmed this for her, and watched Agent Fowler from the corner of her eyes to gauge his reaction. She was startled when the man seemed to age a decade in a single moment as he wearily sat on the edge of the bed, shoulders slumping.

"She is," his voice was tired as he re-confirmed it, and he reached up to cradle his forehead in a single hand, hiding his equally tired eyes from sight.

"And that bothers you," June observed, and Fowler pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Nurse Darby…" He paused for a moment to sigh deeply, and then seemed to steel himself as he suddenly looked up and into her eyes, "The things Prime and I saw on that phone…I—I saw—" abruptly, the man stood up again and began to pace, his voice growing tight with emotion as he tried to string a mere feeling into words, "I saw New York City in ruins—rubble and burnt out cars in the street—a sky black with smoke—and the Decepticons…they had overrun everything!" Fowler paused again to regain his breath—and control over his raising voice—and stared at his hands searchingly as though questioning their usefulness to him; "I saw the look on the face of a new father,"—your son—"when he realized he'd brought his daughter into a world she had zero chance—Zero. Chance.—of finding happiness in." He inhaled deeply, shoulders shuddering.

"We are fighting a war we now know we are going to lose, and I—I…" he clenched his fists, voice filled with aggravation, "I have thought of a hundred different ways to fight back, a hundred different plans to try and throw the 'Cons off and give the 'Bots an edge, and I just keep second-guessing every single one because that child is the only one on this entire god-damn planet who knows exactly what went wrong in the first place!"

Silence followed his outburst as he placed his hands on his hips and turned away from her, staring at the floor in deep thought.

Behind him, June hesitated for only a moment before stepping forwards, resting a hand on his shoulder.

"Bill," the informality of her address—so unlike her insistently professional exterior—was enough to draw the man's gaze to her in mild surprise, and she took full advantage of the attention to remind him firmly, "We haven't lost this war, not yet."

His face still showed no hope at her words, and it occurred to her then that this was a man who had suffered through many more battles than just those involving the Autobots, this was a man who knew from experience that the "good guys" didn't always win; "And just who do you think is going to have to be the one who makes sure we don't, June?"

The answer that immediately came to June's mind was also one that terrified her inner mother to the core, and her hand fell from his shoulder as she took a step back, "Titania."

"She's the only one with answers; everything is depending on her," he tiredly agreed.

"Bill, she is just a child!" she snapped angrily, "It is not her place to save the world!"

"She's a soldier," Fowler countered firmly, and, seeing the rising rage in June's face, hurried on, "I'm not saying that she's going to be out there on the battlefield, Nurse Darby—god knows Optimus wouldn't stand for it—but that girl…" he sighed, "she is going to have a say—probably the final say—in every decision we make from now on."

"That's too much responsibility for a sixteen year-old girl, Fowler!"

"And being made an honorary Prime isn't?"

"That was different!"

"How, June? How was that different?"

A hundred different responses came to the nurse's mind, but they all felt like feeble lies, wrapped tightly in denial. It was still so easy to let herself believe her son was still just her son, and nothing much more than that just yet.

"What do you want me to say Bill?" She demanded in a whisper.

Fowler pursed his lips slightly, "I don't want you to say anything June. I want you to listen; not to me," he added quickly when she opened her mouth to retort, and then nodded towards the door, "but to her. She's a veteran, like it or not, and she has her demons," I'm one of them, "somebody has to help her keep them away."

"And what makes you think I can do that?"

He paused, glancing at her out of the corner of his eyes; she was a civilian through and through, brimming with unrestrained emotion that was nothing like the disciplined soldiers—each hiding their ghosts beneath scars and tombstones—he usually kept the company of. It was refreshing, and he wanted to tell her all about the way that her determined eyes, never without compassion and understanding no matter how angry, could cow demons as surely as it could men.

But he didn't, and instead he gave a shrug of the shoulders and rocked back slightly on his heels, "Just call it a gut feeling."


Titania stood, scarcely able to breathe, at the mouth of the corridor that led into the command centre, staring up at the small platform where three people sat on a couch. One was a child no older than twelve at the most, and his brown hair stood up, as defiant of the laws of physics as he was aware of them. She could not see his face, but she saw the edge of the red glasses, and the way they were settled on his ears. Another was a black-haired youth whose voice drifted over to her as he boasted animatedly to the girl beside him about his victory in some stupid game she couldn't see them playing, and she could already hear the vaguest hints as to how deep it would become in future years; otherwise, though, it was far too young and boyish to be her father's voice.

Lastly, the girl with dark-brown hair, and pink highlights—which coloured the tips of her stubbornly unique hairstyle—she knew had to be the much younger version of her mother.

She inhaled deeply to calm her racing heart, determined to treat these three as the strangers they were. They were not her parents or her uncle—those loved ones were dead and gone—and she refused to be hampered by the ache the sight of them invoked in her.

Forcing herself forward, much as she had the night before, she strode out into the open, drawing the attention of a blue femme-bot she realized must be Arcee, who promptly, without looking away, tapped the arm of the great, green mech beside her to draw his attention away from the children's game and towards the tiny figure approaching them.

"Oh, uh, hey there," Bulkhead greeted awkwardly, and the noises from the platform stopped as the three children paused their game to turn their heads and look down at her. Her steps faltered slightly as her gaze swept over the vaguely familiar faces—time would greatly change them, it seemed—and she found herself focusing on their differences to keep her grounded; the lack of facial hair, the presence of baby-fat, and the pink high-lights and over-the-top eye shadow.

However, she came to a complete stop when a third Autobot stepped out from where he had been concealed on Bulkhead's other side, warbling an inquiry at her with a wave of his hand, yellow paint glistening and unmarred.

A flicker of dying life rushed across her skin as tears and a so-wrong stillness fell upon the empty battlefield; that sacred, most vulnerable part torn open, gaping, for all the heavens to witness its final, sputtering moments—

"Uh, Bee just wants to know how you're feeling," a very young, timid voice—nothing like the confident, yet despairing one she knew her Uncle Raf to possess—called out to her from where its young owner was leaning against the edge of the couch and craning his neck to stare down at her.

Without tearing her gaze from the blue optics—so much more innocent than she remembered—she replied; "I'm feeling much better, thank you Bumblebee." It took no small amount of effort to refrain from calling him "Uncle." That title was reserved for the mech who had cradled her as a child, warding off nightmares with the quiet whirrs and clicks she had only ever half understood the meaning of.

Forcibly tearing her eyes away from him, she surveyed the room's other occupants; once more, Optimus was standing at the computer console, seemingly engrossed in the information displayed there, and a white and blue mech was staring at her inquisitively from behind Bumblebee, staring over the scout's head. Ratchet, however, was nowhere to be found at the moment, a fact that secretly relieved her.

"So, uh," she began, looking between the three other Autobots she had yet to meet, though she recognized each of them from her mother's photos, "Arcee, Bulkhead, Smokescreen," she nodded her head respectfully in each of their directions, "it's nice to finally meet you."

She didn't realize she had slipped up yet again until Bumblebee curiously frowned and let out several beeps and a sharp buzz, which she caught, in her broken understanding, to be a question as to why he was absent from her greeting.

"I…uh, already know you," she confessed—barely registering the surprise on faces of the rooms occupants at the fact she could understand him—and her brow furrowed as she realized that no, she didn't really know this Bumblebee; "Or, a different version of you, anyway, since you're not the same…person…" she closed her eyes, put a hand to her forehead, and inhaled deeply, "Primus, time-travel is confusing."

"You can say that again," Ratchet's gruff voice interrupted, and she turned to find him standing in the mouth of the corridor, a massive crate of spare parts being carried in his arms. Walking over to his work station, he then gently set it down and began pulling out various parts, "Quite frankly, I'm surprised your sanity is…" he hesitated, glancing at her uncertainly, "…intact."

That's debatable, she thought dryly, and was sure he knew it too.

"Why's that?"

Titania started then, not at the question, but at the sight that greeted her as she looked up at the one who asked it; Rafael Esquivel, however, didn't notice, as he was currently staring up at Ratchet with unrestrained scientific curiosity.

It almost made her heart stop in her chest at the realization that she had never seen that look upon her own Uncle Raf's face; instead, she had only ever seen the trepidation and quiet resignation to a sleepless night that passed over his features whenever she would hand him the newest piece of Decepticon tech she had discovered in the field. It had never occurred to her that he might have enjoyed his work, once upon a time, before it had become another chore, just another necessity for survival.

The medic let out a long-suffering sigh at the question, but Titania saw the flicker of fondness in his optics seconds before he stifled it as he turned towards the twelve year old.

"Traversing the time stream is no simple matter," he began seriously, "There's the risk of what you humans call the Grandfather Paradox, and then there's the theory that time travel merely causes a dimension to split into two uniquely different ones, meaning that the two timelines exist in parallel and, unlike between completely separate dimensions, the space separating them is very thin and there is therefore the risk of the two time-streams crossing over each other and creating temporal rifts," Ratchet folded his arms across his chassis, "Our scientists had many theories about it, though few actually ever dared to attempt it. Those who did…well…" the medic grimaced slightly, "the results were not…pleasant, by any means. Some ended up being ripped apart or blew up entire buildings, most simply disappeared and were never seen again. Only one has ever managed it successfully, and that's because he was one of the thirteen original Primes."

"You mean Vector Prime, right?" Smokescreen interrupted, and all eyes and optics swivelled over to him.

Arcee's optic ridges furrowed in thought, "I've heard that name before; wasn't he some sort of guardian?"

"Yeah, the Guardian of Space and Time," Smokescreen found himself subjected to several raised eyebrows, "What? Alpha Trion told me."

"What didn't he tell you?" Arcee remarked with the barest hints of irritation.

The rookie gave her a deadpan look and then gestured sharply at his own midsection with both hands; "Well, he certainly didn't tell me I was a walking relic container," he pointed out, but then crossed his arms and smirked with a certain degree of self-satisfaction, "But, he knew I'd keep it safe, obviously."

Those who knew Smokescreen could only plaster on agreeable smiles, roll their eyes (some good-naturedly, others not so), chuckle, or ignore him completely, and Titania felt somewhat excluded as she realized she didn't really have any place among these close-knit people.

Meanwhile, above her, Jack leaned on the railing, remarking, "Guardian, huh? Sounds serious. So what happened to him?"

"No one knows," Ratchet continued, ominously, "Legend says that he is still alive, watching over the flow of time from somewhere outside of it."

"Outside of it?" Miko repeated with a frown, a hand resting on her hip, "What does that mean? And shouldn't this dude have, like, a bunch of 'time-clones' runnin' around or somethin'. Y'know, because they're his past, future, and present selves doing a bunch of time-hopping?"

"No," the medic replied, sounding quite sure as he shook his head, "Legend says that Vector Prime's existence, was, in a way, removed from both space and time when he became its guardian. This was to ensure that his own existence—his abilities and his knowledge especially—were preserved, regardless of whatever changes may be brought to the timeline either by himself or by an interloper."

"Well, what about Titania then?" Raf asked, and the time-traveller was startled by how quickly she once more became the focus of all their gazes, considering how forgotten she had felt just a moment before as she stood in the centre of the command room, resisting the urge to fidget. "How is she affecting the time stream? Does she have to worry about the paradoxes?"

"I can't say for certain," Ratchet admitted reluctantly, "but I suspect, considering that the ground-bridge technology is only possible through space-time manipulation, that Titania's existence can now be considered very similar to that of Vector Prime's; meaning that even though she is present in our timeline and can actively affect it, her own history is inerasable, even if the future she comes from ceases to exist."

Titania wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or cheated by that possibility; on the one hand, she would still know everything that was supposed to happen, but on the other hand, she would still know everything. She would still remember all the death, the pain, the suffering…her fists clenched at her sides, nails digging into her palms as she forcibly restrained the wail of despair that was welling up inside her.

"Everything I've told you is simply theoretical, however," Ratchet went on, and Titania was relieved that they appeared oblivious to her inner plight, "and there are others who have studied the possibility of time-travel much more extensively than I, and even they don't know which of the many possibilities would be most likely."

"Don't sell yourself short, Doc," Titania piped up, folding her arms across her chest to disguise their trembles as she pushed away the despair, "you and Raf are the ones who sent me back y'know."

"Me?" Rafael gaped, "Really?"

Miko threw her hands up in the air, "Whoo-hoo! Wait to go Raf!"

The twelve year-old blushed and ducked his head, "But I haven't done anything Miko, that was a different me."

A very different you, Titania silently agreed, astounded by the all the differences she was witnessing between these solid, living beings, and the spectres of a distant future that haunted her dreams.

But instead of being comforted, as she felt she should have been, considering it meant an easier time of keeping the bad memories at bay by the light of day, she instead felt the resentment coil in her again much as it had the previous night, and even just that morning when she spoke with Agent Fowler. Not wanting them to see the bitterness that was undoubtedly creeping onto her face, she looked away, only to meet the optics of Optimus Prime from across the room and feel them bore knowingly into her.

A flash of shame struck her, though there was nothing in those blue optics to suggest that she should feel ashamed—quite the opposite, in fact; his gaze seemed to hold only sympathy—and she found herself unable to hold eye-contact, and instead chose to stare down at the concrete floor between her toes, arms wrapped tightly around herself.

"Wait," Bulkhead was saying now, "If Vector Prime is the Guardian of Space and Time, shouldn't he be popping in to stop Titania from changing anything?"

"Hmm," Ratchet frowned thoughtfully, lifting a servo to his chin as his optics stared off into some distant corner of his own mind as he considered the question; but it was Optimus who answered.

"Vector Prime rarely interferes with the flow of time," the last Prime's voice rumbled, servos still settled gently on the console even as they all turned to look at him, "and while I believe someone else's attempts to do so are more than enough to draw his attention and give him sufficient reason to intervene, the fact he has yet to restore the timeline to its original path—and we would be none the wiser of the discrepancy if he had—would seem to indicate that the future Titania comes from is not one that he wishes to see repeated."

"Optimus," Ratchet began, seeming startled by implications that none of the rest of them had picked up on, "are you saying that she actually has Vector Prime's blessing?"

"In a way, yes; if Vector Prime looked far enough into the future to know that Titania would eventually travel through time to prevent whatever cataclysm was meant to befall us, he would have no reason to act directly. The timeline would already have been meant to correct itself, and thus would require no interference from him."

"So, basically, he's letting a sixteen year-old girl do his job for him?"

The slightly irate question did not come from anyone already in the room, and all of the occupants turned to find that Agent Fowler and Nurse Darby had finally joined them. The latter looked especially upset with her hands on her hips and a very disapproving scowl on her face.

"I thought Primes were supposed to protect people, not throw them into danger!"

"Nurse Darby," Agent Fowler began with a placating tone, "I'm sure the bot is very busy and can't be everywhere at once—"

"Actually," Ratchet interrupted, sounding quite matter-of-fact, "he technically—"

"—and was confident," the agent went on loudly, with a glower in the medic's direction that told the old mech he was not being helpful, "that he had left us in very good hands."

Out of the corner of his eyes, Agent Fowler saw Titania slump almost imperceptibly, a brief look of horror flashing through her usually stoic (or perpetually frowning) expression, and felt like slapping himself across the face for being an idiot; there ya go Bill, put a whole bunch more pressure on the girl, that'll save the world.

"Anyways," he began once more, clearing his throat, "now that we're all here, we should get down to business and hammer out our game plan."

"Before that," June interjected, and then pointed a finger at Titania before swinging her arm around to indicate the platform where the other children were standing, "You. Resting on the couch. Now."

Titania considered arguing, but one look at her grandmother's face had her deducing that something had happened—sometime in the last thirty minutes as well—to make the woman's desire to protect her, even from herself, stronger than it already had been.

As such, she reluctantly allowed herself to be herded up the catwalk steps—with June ready to reach out and steady her at the slightest hint of instability—and to be seated on the couch.

Unfortunately, it happened to be right between Jack and Miko.

"Uh, hi," the dark-haired boy began holding out a hand, "I'm Jack Darby."

"Titania," she replied as she hesitantly shook his hand—it was smoother than her father's rough, calloused palms—and remembered to leave off their mutual last name this time, "but I guess you already knew that."

He shrugged, and looked about to say something, but never got the chance as Titania suddenly found her space invaded by an over-active bundle of energy that could not possibly be related, in any way, to the strong, calm—or perhaps she had merely been exhausted—confident woman she knew as her mother.

"And I'm Miko! The cool one," she introduced herself happily, "Of course, you probably already know that, 'cuz I'm a super famous Rock-Star in the future…right?"

It couldn't be more obvious that the Japanese girl was honestly dying to know what the future was like, since those few who had any inkling of how horrible it truly was had likely refused to speak of it while any of the children were present. The others who had no inkling—which was anyone who wasn't Optimus, Ratchet, Fowler, and, though Titania was not quite sure how, June—leaned forward in a not-so surreptitious manner to hear what she had to say.

For a long moment, however, she could only sit there and stare dumbly at the other girl, words failing her as she tried to figure out what to say; lying wasn't an option, and though it was certainly the perfect opportunity to mention that "Oh, by the way, everyone in this room is already dead to me," but she didn't really see that as being a much better choice either.

She glanced between the faces of everyone in the room, wondering how each of them would react to finding out that had died in another life; it would probably cripple their morale, she concluded, and thus made her choice.

"The Miko Nakadai I knew was a soldier," she confessed, "a weapons expert, to be precise." It was the truth, at least, even if only a small part of it. She noticed June's eyes widened slightly, and the Nurse sent a brief, questioning look at Agent Fowler, who, in turn, seemed to have had no reaction at all.

Of course not; he had probably already guessed that.

"Oh," Miko seemed slightly disappointed, though her frown quickly pulled a U-turn, "I'm totally a bad-ass aren't I? So what's the story? Am I helping the Bots kick Decepti-creep tailpipe?"

To emphasize her point, the fifteen year-old brought her fists up in a poor imitation of a boxer, and quickly delivered a one-two punch to thin air.

"Something like that," Titania replied vaguely, and was relieved when Agent Fowler pointedly cleared his throat, cutting off the exchange student before she could ask any more questions.

"All right, everybody listen up, 'cuz I'm only briefing you once," the special agent informed them all, "Thanks to Titania here, we now know that the Decepticons are very close to discovering the location of this base, and, after having discussed our options with Optimus this morning, I will be putting in a request for your immediate relocation."

"What?" Miko cried out in protest as she very nearly jumped to her feet, "They're leaving? What about us?"

"Relocation will not change the fact we are still your guardians, Miko," Optimus pointed out, "and we will retain the use of our ground-bridge."

"Oh, whew! I was worried for a minute there," the exchange student stated, slumping into the cushions with relief. Ratchet could only groan at the news in general, glancing at the deep tunnel of his creation and shuddering slightly.

"Disassembly, transportation, and reassembly is going to be a logistical nightmare," he muttered unhappily.

"Anyways," Agent Fowler began, "I'll be meeting with General Bryce in person tonight to explain the situation to him; hopefully, it won't take too much persuading to convince him that I don't need a psych-eval, and that time-travel is possible. Even so, it will probably be a least a week before a new base is chosen and prepared."

"And in the meantime?" Arcee inquired, looking up at the Prime expectantly, it was clear she didn't believe they would we be just sitting around until their new abode was ready.

"In the meantime, we will be retrieving the last of the Iacon Relics; with the co-ordinates Titania has provided, it should not take more than a few days. That being said," Optimus turned to Titania, "do you know what the fifth relic is?"

"The Star Saber," Titania confessed, "it's the first of the co-ordinates I gave you."

"No frackin' way," Smokescreen gaped even as Miko turned to interrogate Titania—"Is that like a light-saber? 'Cuz I know I saw Optimus with a light-saber."—and the rookie's faceplates broke out into a grin, "the Star Saber, the one forged by Solus Prime that draws on the power of the Matrix? If we get our hands on that, then the Cons won't stand a chance! If we know where it is, then what are we waiting for? Let's go grab it already!"

"No," Titania stated firmly, drawing all attention back to her once more; it was clear that she was deep in thought, arms folded across her chest and eyes pinned to the monitor over Optimus' shoulder, where the listings of the Iacon database were displayed, the next set of yet-to-be decoded co-ordinates—which she knew to be that of the Star Saber—flashing intermittently. She ignored Smokescreen's unintelligent and confused protest—"Huh?"—and went on to ask: "Optimus, when you were decoding the database, did you have to do it in order?"

"No."

"Then why did you?"

The question seemed to puzzle him slightly, and he spared a moment to shutter his optics before replying, "It was only logical; we could not afford to select which co-ordinates to decode at random considering we knew not the function of the relics that would be located there, nor how much of an advantage it may give our enemies. Intentionally leaving even one location for the Decepticons to decode first was out of the question."

"It would be logical to assume the Decepticons are doing the same thing then, for the same reason."

"I would assume so."

"So, if you detected one of the beacons before you decoded the coordinates yourself, would you then skip over it and move on to the next one?"

Optimus nodded, "The Decepticons have succeeded in decoding the coordinates before us several times in the past."

She continued to frown thoughtfully even as she gave a brief, self-assured nod, as though she had suspected as much and was only looking for confirmation; "Then we should leave the Star Saber for last."

"What?" Bulkhead demanded incredulously, "Why?"

Titania stood up, and began to pace back and forth in front of the couch despite the glare from Nurse Darby that was clearly telling her to sit back down.

"Think about it; if you guys have been skipping coordinates whenever you detected the beacon of the next relic, then the Decepticons have probably been doing the same thing whenever you guys beat them to the punch—and yes," she began, holding up a hand to forestall Ratchet's words as he opened his mouth with a vaguely baffled look on his face, "I know for a fact that the Decepticons can detect the beacons; they created a decoy beacon back in my timeline when the Star Saber's coordinates were originally decoded, they wouldn't have been able to do that if they didn't know what signal to copy—anyways, this means that when you excavate the rest of the Omega Keys and the begin transmitting, the Decepticons will be right on top of you, and we can use this to our advantage."

"How?" Rafael asked from his place in the single armchair, but it wasn't Titania who replied, it was Jack.

"You want to mislead them," he stated, sounding slightly surprised, "if the Autobots go after these Omega Keys first, then the Decepticons will skip over the Star Saber's coordinates once they've detected a new beacon, assuming that the Omega Key is the relic of that particular set and that Optimus decoded it first this time. That way, it'll stay right where it is until the Bots decide to go get it."

Titania nodded—feeling a wave of relief to know that her father's younger self was just as quick a thinker as his older self had always been purported to be—and opened her mouth to speak, only to be interrupted again, this time by Bulkhead.

"But won't the Decepticons figure it out when they decode the next set and realize it's the same location of the Omega Key we just fought over?"

She shook her head, and was relieved to find that she was permitted to speak this time; "No, because they won't have the chance to; they'll skip over those coordinates too because we'll have already moved on to next location, and have activated another beacon. They will literally be one step behind us. We can retrieve the Star Saber after we have the last Omega Key, and then they'll skip to the last entry, which is already irrelevant because it's a mug-shot of Smokescreen, and we have the Omega Key he was carrying."

"Won't Smokescreen be a target then?" Arcee asked in concern, and immediately regretted it as the rookie in question smirked at her.

"Aw, I didn't know you cared Arcee," the young mech teased, and the blue motorcycle glared at him.

"Bumblebee, if you wouldn't mind…" the femme trailed off, and the yellow scout beeped his happy consent before promptly pulling a Ratchet and smacking the white and blue Autobot upside the helm, and then letting out a sharp string of buzzes which Titania took to mean "focus now, fail at flirting later."

"Hey!" he whined, pouting slightly, "Why is it always me?"

"Ah, don't worry about it Smokey," Bulkhead consoled, "it just means you're part of the family."

Titania cleared her throat loudly then, and pushed away the longing that such an open display of humour and familiarity gave rise to. "Back to the matter at hand," she began once she had their attention, "Yes, there's the very likely possibility that he will be; in my time, he was captured by the Decepticons for that very reason. However, I'm hopeful that the danger will be negligible this time around, since the Decepticons will have every reason to assume we decoded the final entry before they did, and will have removed the relic already, which we have. I know that this plan isn't foolproof, and could easily fail, but we don't really stand to lose anything if it does since only a Prime can use the Star Saber; but if it works, it will give us an edge, even if just for a short time."

"That…" Ratchet began, sounding affronted by the very suggestion of leaving a sacred relic at risk in such a manner, only to trail off into a slightly more thoughtful tone, "…might actually work."

"It seems to be the best course of action, and we should begin immediately," Optimus turned to the gathered congregation of Cybertronians before him.

"Autobots, prepare to roll out."


So, there it is; I hope the bit about time travel makes sense. But, on another note, IMPORTANT: when I started writing this story, I had a set idea in mind for the end, but, after watching the Beast Hunters movie, a second possibility for it popped into mind; so I have now put up a poll that will let you, the readers, decide Megatron's fate at the end of this story. I honestly felt like his "redemption" in the movie was really weak (there were a lot of things in Season 3 that were weak actually, and others that were pretty good; and, dear lord, I absolutely loved that Bumblebee turned into a major badass while somehow still managing to be Bumblebee), but it is something I can fit into this story without affecting any part of the plot except the end. I normally don't like to give away the ending, but, that being said, you have two options in the Poll: Redemption or Death. You decide, I can work with it either way and it doesn't make much difference to how the story will play out. Go to my profile to vote!