A/N: Heyyyy everyone :) As always, sorry for the wait but Chapter 10 is finally here! And I must say, although this story had a VERY slow start, I'm really warming up to it! Over 10,000 views! You people are amazing! Thanks to all those who favorite-d and followed, and of course all my readers. Big thanks to reviewers 1Timberwolf,HeidiFox, flaimingdarkfox, geuss, Guest, Talltree-san and Ninja Star Light. You guys are awesome! :D
Thank you all and enjoy!
Warnings: Nothing much, just bad language
Disclaimer: Transformers belongs to its respective owner(s), only the plot is mine :)
"speak" 'thoughts'
The air was stuffy and humid, as if a breeze from a rainforest had somehow slipped its way through cracks and crevices to emerge in the large laboratory. Sam's lungs struggled to take a breath, the moistness choking him like a noose during execution. His petrified eyes darted this way and that, drawn to each shiver and the patter of metal paws against glass. Scratches and loud hisses echo in the dark, mismatched substances the only glowing light in the deep black.
Sam was in an abyss, sinking ever farther into his fading hope for rescue. But it had been a long time since he could bring himself to truly believe his friends would come to his aid. To believe they even missed him at all. If they noticed or cared at all.
He shivered despite the heat, wrapping his sweat dampened arms around himself. 'Optimus, Jazz, Ratchet, Bumblebee... Anyone. Please, help me!'
His silent cries were not answered, save for the insistent clicking of a creature locked in a box on a separate examination table. What it held Sam did not know, nor did he have any intention of finding out. Its shrieks and rattling had continued for hours, at first frightening the boy who later decided to ignore it.
Sam winced as the side of his head throbbed. Barricade had been none to gentle with him, in fact Sam thought the Praxian had genuinely enjoyed his pain. When he fell in the street, the hard impact ringing his skull split his skin, sending rivulets of red down the side of his face. Over the last few days, the sharp pain had eased off and the blood had dried to mat his greasy hair.
'This isn't the time to be fantasizing about a shower, Witwicky. You should be thinking of a way to get out of this mess. '
But Sam knew there was no use. The jar was thick and impenetrable, with holes too small for more than a finger to taste freedom.
Heavy footfalls broke his muse, and he scrambled to stand. He refused to look weak in front of his captor. Even if that was how he felt. His heart thumped painfully in his chest, beating as if having pushed itself through a marathon. There it was again, the voice in the back of his mind. Speaking to him, reassuring him, telling him that everything would be alright. It was constantly comforting him, in a way only one other being could. But his guardian was not by his side this time. He wasn't there to play a soothing song, to tell a funny joke, to take his mind of the situation or to hold him to his chest. He wasn't there to tell him he loved him.
The door opened to reveal the imposing figure of the Lord High Protector, his loyal assassin by his side. As they stepped in, strips of light automatically brightened and Sam had to rub away the lingering dark spots in his vision to see the warlord sneering down at him. Three crimson optics burned a hole through his being and he could not decide which was worse, the warlord's smug gleam or the cold, emotionless shadows dancing in the single light hanging above his jagged shoulder.
"Well," Megatron began. "As much as I enjoy seeing you suffer, boy, it is time we unlock those secrets of yours. Don't you agree?"
His head turned as if in slow motion. Fear creeping up inside him, he stared with horrified and eyes at the ebony figure lying prone and bound to a horizontal upraised platform, dark, empty lenses staring back.
Ratchet hurried around the med bay, ignoring the way his strange patient writhed in his bonds. The door slid open and he let out a sigh of relief.
"You called?"
"Optimus, here, now!" His commander paused for only a moment before stepping closer to loom over the medic's shoulder, gazing curiously at the tools Ratchet's shaky digits struggled to grip. He looked beside him to Zosimo, small shakes and light growls ringing softly in the small room. His optic ridges drew down, and he padded closer to Ratchet.
"What is it Ratchet? Does he have a contagious virus?" he lightly joked. Surely if the Decepticon could taunt him the way he had earlier, he wasn't about to die within the next astrosecond. Although by now Optimus wasn't sure whether that was a bad thing or not.
He mentally slapped himself, stopping that train of thought. What was he thinking? Optimus went around scolding soldiers for accidentally stepping on ants and dishing out hour-long lectures about the importance of individuality for Primus' sake! What would his comrades think if they were to find out their Prime had pondered such dark things?
"-and I found... PRIME!"
He jumped at the snap, antenna falling slightly backward. "Sorry, what were you saying?"
The CMO growled lowly. "Honestly Prime" He started, setting aside his tools to tap furiously on the built-in keyboard in the counter, optics glued firmly on the data scrolling down the monitor. "There are enough morons on this base already; I don't need to add you to that list, do I?"
Optimus looked down sheepishly. Even after so many vorns, Ratchet never failed in reminding him that he would always be the little mechling sitting in the acid rain at his doorstep as far as the medic was concerned.
Stopping in his distracted movements Ratchet opened a cabinet and withdrew a strange green liquid in a glass bottle labeled in bold 'DO NOT TOUCH, OR ELSE! (That means you Sideswipe)'. Filling a syringe he finally turned to face Optimus.
"Look." He stepped aside and jerked his helm to a picture on the monitor. "Tell me what you see."
Optimus leaned forward, examining the image. It was a scan, supposedly of a Cybertronian's full chassis. All internal systems were there, optical, audio, energon calculation, the works.
"I see a normal, everyday youngling that has just entered adulthood. Is there something I should be looking for?"
He grunted, a servo grasping the back of his helm where he was just wacked. He winced, confused at the aggressive behavior of his former caretaker.
"Idiot! I would have thought you of all people could see there is something seriously wrong with this kid! Look at the spark scan." He ordered, pressing a few keys to change the image onscreen to show a bright spot in the center of Zosimo's chest. Optimus' optics narrowed, apprehension rising .
"That... that's not possible Ratchet." He stuttered incredulously, shaking his helm. It couldn't be. It just COULDN'T! "You must have done the scan wrong. Try it again."
"I did!" Ratchet hissed. "TWICE! And each time it looks the same! And that's not all either." He changed the image back to the internal scan, zooming in on Zosimo's fuel intake system. Pointing at a circled area, he gave Optimus a moment to look over the readings. The Prime stood silent, a dark look spreading over his faceplates.
"It's his fuel tank. His body is somehow underdeveloped to the point that I doubt his body would accept fresh, unprocessed energon. Look," He pressed his finger to a small dark space where normally a filter would be. "He's missing his entire filtering screen! If he were to drink regular energon his insides would burn and reject the fuel in an instant. He would purge every time he had a cube. "
Optimus shook his helm again in disbelief. "Then how does he get the energy to stay online?"
"I think you and I know there is only one other place to get processed energon other than from a medic Optimus."
"You mean he-"
"Has to drink another mech's purified energon? That's exactly what I mean." He replied darkly. "I'll bet you any credits on how he gets it."
Optimus blinked stupidly before groaning and rubbing them between his thumb and forefinger. "Primus..."
Ratchet placed his servo on the semi's shoulder, stroking soothingly for a few moments. Optimus had a feeling he hadn't heard everything the medic had to tell him. He sighed heavily. "What else Ratchet?"
The lime ambulance shuffled uncomfortably about, fingers fiddling with the image on the monitor.
"Err... I'm going to warm you this next part will definitely evoke your inner homicidal tendencies." He spoke slowly and calmly. "I need you to promise me you won't do anything rash or attack my patient, alright?"
Optimus felt dread creeping into his spark, blocking the matrix's efforts to sooth him. "Why would I do such a thing now?"
"Just please, promise you won't."
"Alright." He nodded, growing irritated. What was so sensitive that his own medic tip toed around the subject as if he were a hormonal youngling? "Alright yes, I promise. What?"
Without meeting Optimus' optics, Ratchet explained. "You and I both know that even on filtered energon his spark is outputting far too much energy to stay online. Which means something else must be supporting his spark pulse in order to prevent it from burning itself out."
He chortled, but it held no humor."No wonder he had a spark concealer on him! Any sensor could pick up his signal half way around the planet. A real pain in the aft on a battlefield if you ask me."
Optimus waved his hand quickly. "Yes, yes but what does it all mean Ratchet?"
"One, something is keeping his spark from collapsing in on itself, but it seems to have done other things to his body. Who knows what it has done to his processor."
"The only thing I can think of other than a bond would... be..." No. It was impossible, it could be. Before Optimus could recover from his dazed state, Ratchet interrupted.
"Lets... not get ahead of ourselves." He reassured. "I'm sure there is another explanation."
Optimus felt his stress levels rising, a deep pulsing headache beginning to form. It was just too much to take in at once. The Prime was beginning to understand how Prowl felt. "And two?
Ratchet rubbed the back of his neck nervously, an action he actively adopted from a certain boy who gave it almost as much as he gave a playful smile. How to break this lightly...
"Two, even with the decreased energon intake, there's only one other way I can think of to efficiently release that much excess energy in a short time period. Although I hate to say this, it would be a possible motive behind you know what."
What? A motive behind... It suddenly clicked and it took every last shred of severely wavering self-control the Prime had not to tear the ebony mech apart. Optimus turned and stormed from the room, one servo to his forehelm and the other placed rigidly on his hip. Ratchet stood in shock at his leader's sudden disappearance for a moment before moving quickly to follow. 'Huh, that went...well.'
'Wait' A nagging feeling tugged at him, dragging him to look at the previously forgotten needle sitting on the counter. Quickly injecting the fluid into the whimpering mech on his tabletop, he rushed out of the isolation room before checking to see if the sedative took effect.
Optimus paced back and forth in long, angry strides, grumbling and growling to himself in frustration. He had been prepared to believe the mech had done this to his adoptive son out of spite and now this? It bothered and fragged him off to know now he couldn't legitimately force complete blame on Zosimo. No bot could help how they were created. Everyone was different.
"Optimus, come back! I wasn't finished!" Ratchets calls fell on deaf audios, rage clouding Optimus' judgement like a thick fog.
'Wait! What am I thinking!This doesn't excuse anything! In fact, this just makes it WORSE!' Not only had the Con targeted Bumblebee but he had done so knowing what his starved mind was capable of! How DARE Megatron release such a beast into the world! Everything about this felt wrong. It felt wrong. As if Unicron himself was inhabiting the dark shell of the attractive, albeit dangerous looking Decepticon. Bumblebee would have to go through therapy for the attack on top of what he was already due after loosing Sam, all because some stuck up glitch couldn't control what was behind his codpiece!
A cool servo cautiously touched a smoke stack on his back, which was rudely shoved off with an angry warble of some rather colourful phrases in their native language. Several directing Ratchet to a few places he could stick his medical tools. Ratchet gave an exasperated groan, subconsciously retrieving his trusty wrench from his substance and made to follow his raging commander into the general medical bay. Stomping by a dazed Ironhide, he ignored the questioning expression on his mate's faceplates and strode stiffly into his medbay. If the Prime wanted to act like a stubborn youngling, by Primus he would treated like one! Commanding officer or not, reprimands be damned!
Spotting the truck-former conversing with a newly awakened Prowl, he took on a crouched stance and drew his dominant arm back. Vorns of practice on a certain pair of suicidal twins had made him a master in the art of what was affectionately dubbed 'Wrenchary'. He took aim, tilted his wrist ever so slightly and whipped his arm forward. The metal tool whirled through the air in a clean arch, whistling from its velocity as it hurled at its target.
The other Autobots in the large room winced in sympathy at the resonating clang followed by a howl of frustrated pain from the now downed twitching Prime. Prowl stared down at him, optics wide in bewilderment, his silver mate trying hard and failing to hide the wide, face-splitting grin across his face. The dead silence was broken by a frail moan, Optimus regaining control of his limbs and sitting up to rub his dented helm and twisted antenna. Using Prowl's berth as leverage he hauled himself to his pedes, stumbling when Ratchet gave him a rather harsh shove towards the medic's personal office. The other patients watched the confrontation in silence, shocked at the round of violence. Ratchet had never thrown his wrench at Optimus. Never.
The door slammed shut and Ratchet silently pointed to a large mech sized chair in front of his desks, datapads stacked neatly in organized piles across its surface. Servo gently soothing his helm Optimus took the seat and practically thew himself into it. He slumped down and folded his arms over his chest plates in a huff. In any other context, Ratchet would have been rolling on the floor in laughter at the childish sulk. Now however, it just served to aggravate him even more.
"What it Primus' name has gotten into you Orion?" He rumbled, optics narrowed. "What's wrong with you? I haven't seen you act this stupid and selfishly since-"
"DON'T!" Optimus snarled. "You go too far, medic. Me? Whats wrong with you? How is it you can't see that monster should be put down? It's been tainted by Unicron and it is my duty to deal with it. MINE, and mine alone." He took in Ratchet's tense stance, optics hinting at the medic's shock. "Its actions only prove what I say. And yet you strive to protect the pit-spawn from what it rightly deserves. You know the laws, so you know in the end it is my say on whether the creature lives or dies."
Optimus was standing now, towering over the CMO, casting a shadow over his plating. But Ratchet wouldn't back down. It was time to confront his Prime's behavior and set him straight, whether he liked it or not.
"And I'm sure you know that the laws don't apply to mechs with mental illness before the fact."
Optimus couldn't help but growl aggressively, age-old coding telling him to stand his ground and put his subordinate in his place. His armor flared and his energy field gave a hard shove on the medic's, invading his personal space. Ratchet's field answered with a submissive purr, and the CMO tilted his head down and ever slightly to the side, exposing critical cables and wires.
"Shhhh." The medic soothed. "I'm not a threat, I'm not challenging you. You're the leader just-" the medics glossa swiped quickly over his dry lips"- calm down." The Prime's growl tapered off to a light grumble. Not wanting to appear threatening, Ratchet pressed his servos lightly, cautiously to the younger mech's abdomen. Softly pushing forward he added. "Please?"
The matrix hissed angrily beside Optimus' spark, stabbing away at the Prime's natural alpha behavior. It wanted him to stop, to sit down and to shut up. Optimus didn't listen.
"Why is it that whenever I feel I need to act on my emotions you lot turn your backs on my but it's perfectly fine for Bumblebee to openly pray for Sam to return!?" Ratchet faltered, Optimus' accusing tone tone increasing to a furious roar. "Why can Sideswipe go against orders and attack Starscream in the middle of battle? Why can Jolt choose his patients when he's not comfortable dealing with one injury or another?"
He stabbed a finger firmly into the medic's chestplates, forcing him to take a step back. "What gives you the right to be with Ironhide every night when I'm not allowed to shed a single tear of pity for my son!?" Hushed whispers drifted from behind the office door but the two paid them no mind. They had both fallen silent, the larger of the two panting with emotion as his feelings finally burst out like a swell of water through a broken dam.
"Optimus-"
"Am I not a person like everyone else?" Optimus asked wearily. He slowly relaxed, stepping away. "Am I not allowed to feel? Am I not allowed freedom?" Ratchet couldn't answer, mouth opening and closing as words left him. Optimus sighed and sat back down, hands held loosely in his lap. "I'm sorry." He said softly. "I shouldn't have yelled at you. You're right." He exhaled. "There is something bigger at work here Ratchet, and as much as I know you want to give this youngling the benefit of the doubt I have to keep the humans and my men safe."
Ratchet nodded and moved to his side, rubbing his plating. "I understand Optimus, you are your own person. Maybe we haven't been treating you that way lately." He crouched beside the chair, coming to eye level with the hunched mech. He shook his helm tiredly. "It's just this accursed war. We've been on the run, outnumbered for far too long. People can forget that the emotions of others are important, myself included. Not all Decepticons are cold merciless murderers, Jazz is a symbol of that. Maybe we... could help him? Give him the care he needs. You never know, there could be more to him than what we can see on the outside. Someone who wants this war over as much as we do."
Optimus gave a dry chuckle. "I think I'm beginning to rub off on you old friend."
Ratchet sniffed. "Don't you 'old friend' me. We still need to speak to Zosimo about all this. For all we know he has no idea whats happening to him."
The both looked around as the p.a. system spurted static as it cycled to life, the automated voice of the central computer emitting from speakers. "Attention all personnel. Incoming transmission from location unknown. Affiliation, Decepticon origin. Labelled: Exchange Proposal. Security clearance, strictly Commander Optimus Prime. Requesting Commander Optimus Prime, report to Hanger Seven immediately. Hanger Seven. Thank you."
Epps leaned against the railing of the catwalk, gazing below as the communications engineers skittered about trying to locate the source of the transmission signal. The loud rumbling of several engines approached and he stood straight. Optimus along with Ratchet and Jazz in tow rolled through the open hanger doors and transformed, hastily marching towards the computer setup that was scaled to their size.
Jazz accessed their long-range communications and played the transmission through out the hanger's speakers. Soldiers balked, faces bleaching white as some recognized the eerie growling voice of a mech they thought to be long dead. Others did not recognize the voice, but instincts sent shivers of fear caused hair to stand up on end. Optimus stood rigid and tall, bewildered to the point of near spark failure.
"Hello Brother. Surprised to hear my voice it seems? I told you once I would always come back, if only to end you myself."
"Megatron..."
Jazz hissed, visor flashing as he regarded the monitor with an almost demonic look of fury. "So th'a son of a bitch comes crawling back does he?"
Frenzied hushes and prompts to 'shut up' rained down on the saboteur as Megatron's message continued.
"As much as I wish we could speak face to face, I'm afraid you might be holding a grudge. So I'll get straight to the point. You have something of mine. A mech, unique in many ways. I think you know who I speak of. I want him back. You see he is very special to me, one of a kind. So I'm willing to set up a trade. You have something I want and I have something you want. Here they are now. Say hello to your masters, little humans."
"Optimus." The weak voice of Mikaela Banes whispered. The mechs in the room snarled, plating rattling angrily. "Help, they've done something to Will. I don't know what, but he hasn't woken up. We're not going to last much longer. Please, these 'Cons are doing something to him! Hey, wait I'm not done! Optimus! Leo! Anyone help us!"
"That's quite enough fleshling. Shockwave." Yells and protests were heard in the background, Megatron speaking smugly over them. "Now you understand that we are at a bit of an impasse. If you want your humans back alive, you will arrive at the coordinates disclosed with my creation by sunset tomorrow. Failure to comply and... well I don't need to remind you what happens when I don't get what I want."
The message ended, and the monitor flashed measurements of longitude and latitude, displaying a location to the north in the wilds of British Columbia, Canada. A quiet secluded forest, where humans seldom go, and animals would be their only witness.
A/N: Sooo, Mikaela may not have been the only one with a secret affair going on. Hmmmmm. I felt a bit 'meh' about the ending there but hey, everyone loves a cliffhanger right? and come on, just cus Optimus is a Prime doesn't mean he doesn't have feelings too Ratch' ;) I hope to update soon and please, READ AND REVIEW! Thanx for reading! :D