This chapter just flowed from the tips of my fingers; I was so surprised with the speed that the words came out! I've attempted editing this thing to death myself, but I know my critical eye isn't exactly 20/20. As usual, thanks in advance for not breathing down my neck about the nitpicky mistakes you see- I know they're there and I will get them eventually.
A lot goes on in this chapter, so don't blink! There are a few things touched upon in this chapter that might be more easily understood if one read a few of the WE one-shots, such as Make Me Feel, What's if feel like to be a Ghost?, and Before I Fade Away.
Loki- The Norse god of mischief and darkness. Also the name of Sideswipe's merchant ship. Fitting, eh?
My sincerest, grandest, most humble thanks to my dearest readers and reviewers. All of you have been so kind and wonderful that every time I see your reviews, I get a tickly little smile on my face, especially the reviews from the readers so avidly following my WE universe. You know who you are- you are simply the best of the best! Thank you to Elita On, Jason M. Lee, Freakish Child, Daebereth, Flameshield, theshadowcat, Bluebird Soaring, Bunnylass, lady tecuma, and Silveriss. Thank you so much!
As We Come Together
In Which We Bare Witness to Nightmares
I know there's something wrong with me.
Sometimes...I dream.
I know I shouldn't, but I do.
My species doesn't dream. Our memory files replay in a loop when we recharge. We get to see a replay of our orns, our pasts. That's all that's supposed to happen; a replay of events. I'm not supposed to see new things. I'm not supposed to experience things I haven't done.
I don't know why, but I do.
Perceptor and Jetfire don't know what to make of it. I think they're starting to not believe me. Maybe they're finally starting to believe I'm crazy. I wouldn't doubt it. Or maybe they think it's a cry for attention. It's not. I need help. I really need help.
Chromia believes me, though. She always does. She's one of the few. She fights with Perceptor and Jetfire every time, but the fights draw out longer and longer each time she tries to convince them the dreams are real. She won't say anything, but I know she's getting desperate. I'd never say anything about it, though. I'm afraid of what might happen if I do. I hate feeling afraid. I'm afraid all the time now.
Like now
I can feel another dream setting in, because the memory review that's playing goes fuzzy, and then fizzles out. It's dark for a long time and sometimes I wonder if I'm dead. It only happens from time to time, once every couple of vorns, but every time it scares me. It scares me more than anything. When I can see again, it's almost as if I'm online because I'll be laying in the berth that I had lain down to recharge in. I can see the ceiling. The walls. The crater Chromia put in the far wall after a fight with Perceptor.
I can't sit up though. I can't move. I'm never able to.
I can't even feel my own frame.
I'm not in control.
In these dreams, someone else is. I can feel them in the back of my processor, lurking around dark thoughts. They see through my optics, hear through my audios. My frame moves without me thinking, legs swinging out over the berth, standing up. I stumble to the floor, but I can't feel it when my head crashes to the hard, cold metal. Whoever uses me in these dreams isn't very good at using me as a puppet; I watch as my own frame jerks up, seemingly moving against its will. Like a puppet. Clumsy feet stumble to the run down desk in the corner, numb fingers grabbing at the small computer abandoned there.
The tapping sound of my fingers dancing over the keyboard fills the room and yet I feel no pressure under the thin digits. I'm not typing, someone else is. My optics stare at the screen for countless breems without taking anything in. I know that the being pulling at my strings is staring hard through my hazy optics. I wish I could turn my head to deny them what they want to see in these dream, but my frame is not subject to my will in this world. Someone else is my master.
Different things fly past the screen, catching my attention briefly. Strange access codes that look more like viral programs popping up, slithering through firewalls. Sometimes, in these dreams, the monster that controls me looks for top secret information and it hacks its way in and then erases every trace of the hack on the way out. Other times, they look for silly things, like flight plans, crew manifests, rosters and schedules. Today it's just flight plans.
They have what they want.
The dream is almost over now.
I can feel the force inside me drawing out. It always feels like there's claws latching on to my insides and dragging outward, pulling everything with them. Turning me inside out. And then the presence is gone and I'm empty and cold and weak.
I always try stumbling back to my berth once I get control of my frame back. I never know why I try, I never make it. It doesn't really matter though; this is just a dream. When I online, I'll be in my berth. I'll online and everything will be as if it never happen.
No, that's a lie. I won't be in my berth. I'll be on floor, exactly where I fall in my dream. I used to think it was because the dreams were real, but that's impossible, so now I think it's because I walk during recharge, which is the lesser of two impossibles. My kind's motor functions are supposed to shut down during recharge; we're paralyzed. It's impossible to move. But, of course, it's also impossible for my kind to dream.
Finally, falling to the floor and curling up, numb and shaking, I black out and the memory reviews start up again.
Like I said, I know there's something wrong with me.
Strained optics flickered as exhaustion radiated from every molecule in his frame. The stack of looming reports leered at him sparklessly from across his desk, seemingly growing higher with every passing breem. It felt like he was being mocked, which was completely illogical to think, especially since his emotional center was shut down and he'd been running on pure logic for the past seven orns. Illogical thought at this point in the game probably meant he was a lot more tired than any mech had the legal right to be. But, feeling mocked he was as those damn reports simply sat there, staring at him, not going anywhere. For a breem, he paused to shutter his optics and try to still his shaking hands, but the moment he tried, he was assaulted by the dozens of mounting alerts and warnings for him to recharge, refuel, recalibrate, turn his emotional centre back on, and see a medic immediately. Instantly, his optics were open and he felt more nauseated than before. The shaking in his hands worsened. He dragged air in through his intakes and let it out in a shuddering rush through his vents.
"Frag," he cursed gently, followed by another curse, and another. He wouldn't be able to keep this up much longer. Seven orns was his limit unless he wanted to be placed under medical observation. Again. For the millionth time that orn alone, Prowl wished Jazz were with him. At first he thought he could handle the mech's absence, handle it like every other time one of them was away on mission, but as the vorns wore on, the cracks began to show. At this point, the cracks had worn so deep they might never go away.
Startling Prowl from his dark musings, there was a light chirp at the door and Jetfire stepped in. The scientist looked a little more chipper than usual, but his good mood immediately clouded once catching sight of Prowl's deteriorating condition.
"This is sick and wrong what you're doing to yourself," the mech said softly, carefully making his way into the darkened office. It had been a very long time since Prowl had been healthy and right. It had been a long time since Jazz had been around.
Prowl's hands reached for the mountain of reports. "I need to get these finished. I just need a few more joors. That's all. Only a few."
The gargantuan mech was surprisingly quiet and delicate as he made his way toward Prowl, careful not to make any sudden moves while the tactician sat on the very brink of snapping. "You won't last a few joors," he warned. "Let me access your systems and turn your emotional center back on. I'm sure I can dampen the backlash for you-." He reached out to the storm-grey mech, only to have Prowl recoil. Too many images of Jazz reaching out to him like that, delving in and easing the pain, came at him and caused his spark to throb painfully.
"I'm fine, Jetfire," Prowl growled. "I know my limits."
"And yet you try to defy them every time," the scientist chastised. "One of these orns, First Aid is going to get tired of having to reset your motherboards after stints like these and he'll install a blockade so you won't be able to abuse you emotional centre anymore."
Ignoring both the threat and the severe shaking in his frame, Prowl reached for a data pad and attempted to comprehend the information on it. When it became obvious he didn't have enough ability left in him to focus on the report, he sighed in disgust and set the data pad down. Glancing up at Jetfire, Prowl fixed him with the coldest look he could muster, one that could easily freeze energon solid. "State your business being here, Jetfire, or leave me in peace."
The mech sighed, nodding. He'd drawn the short straw on the bridge when everyone was deciding who should go to Prowl this time with the important information. Everyone else made damn sure to steer clear. "Yes, of course… Well, you see, I have some very, very good news that I'm sure you'll be happy to hear."
"Oh?" The lilt in the jet's voice made Prowl slightly curious of this 'good news'.
A brilliant smile broke out across the mech's faceplate, beaming down at the tactician rooted to his seat. "Oh, the whole station is buzzing about it! But, knowing you, you haven't left this room in orns and haven't heard a damn thing-."
"Your assumption would be correct." No need to lie about it.
"Well, a deep space message was picked up a few joors ago. Apparently, it's been piggybacked through several bots, ships, stations…" he glanced to the list in his hand. "A few of which are Mirage and crew on the Uller, Blaster on the Di-Di-Arr, and Wheeljack, all of which are en route to the coordinates specified in said message." The grin in on the mech's face widened. "You'll never guess the original sender."
Jetfire was sounding a little too much like a gossipy Bluestreak for it to be any normal bot. "Who?" Prowl enquired dryly.
With a good-natured chuckle, Jetfire set down a data pad and pressed a single button, allowing the audio message on it to play, filling the office with the warm, dreadfully familiar warm tones of the rightful leader of the Autobots.
"Optimus Prime," the tactician breathed disbelievingly.
"Bingo," Jetfire chimed happily.
Prowl was standing before he even knew it, leaning over the data pad with searching optics as he listened to the recorded message being played. That voice. Even though it was the voice of the Supreme Commander, the smooth baritone of Optimus Prime himself after so long of silence, not knowing, assuming the worst, Prowl's processor was summoning up images of a specific mech that happened to be with Optimus. Silver paint, dark visor, handsome faceplate, cocky attitude- Primus, he missed Jazz.
The scientist bounced a little on the tips of his feet as the messaged played down, the grin and sparkles about his faceplate impossible to wipe away. "The Uller even sent coordinates to a short cut when they piggybacked the message. Apparently there's a wormhole in the Beta-Zen region."
"Beta-Zen… that's-" Dizziness swept through the tactician as overrides on his emotional center fought to engage and the program reinitiate itself. He was forced to sit down, too overwhelmed by the sheer awe he was feeling to keep standing for much longer. It put further strain on his offlined emotional centre. Faded optics stared at the data pad as if trying to correctly calculate the chances of that entire message being a hoax.
Worried by Prowl's lack of response, Jetfire reached out to lay a hand on the mech's shoulder. "Hey, I thought you'd like to hear something like this. It is good news, right?"
A storm-grey head snapped up quickly, optics flashing. "Of course it's good news. This is the best news any of us have heard in a long while. I am simply… trying to wrap my processor around it."
"It takes a moment, doesn't it?" The scientist smiled, basking in the idea that their commander was still out there. While the message did contain the devastating news that the Allspark was gone, every bot tangled up in the damn war was tired of wallowing in bad news, there was always bad news, they were choosing to celebrate this rare good news of the Commander and their new home "Earth" rather than dwell on the gloom.
But, for Prowl, it was too much of a moment. If Jetfire did not leave soon, he would bare witness to a breakdown the likes of which the Tri-Omega Observatory Space Station has never seen. The shaking in Prowl's hands was so bad now he could barely grasp the ledge of his desk, the alerts flashing in front of his optics nearly blinding him.
Emotional Override! Emotional Override! Emotional Override!
Astroseconds away from throwing a mech three times his size out of the office, the door suddenly hissed open, a pair of sharp, small feet tapping in curtly. Dusky-blue armor, like the colour of twilight setting in darkly, stood silhouetted in the doorway. Something heavy was tossed, landing squarely in the center of his desk and scattering every single data pad on it. A cold wash of energon spattered against his armor and a disgusted noise rose from Jetfire.
"Could you be anymore uncouth?" the jet asked disapprovingly. He only took that tone with one certain femme, which gave Prowl a definite indication of who was now leaning in his office doorway.
"Don't know, wanna find out?" Chromia spat, optics flashing. She was quite small compared to Jetfire's massive frame, but she looked more than ready to take him on.
Ever the pacifist, Jetfire backed down with a snort. "Not even if you paid me," he muttered sharply. He offered Prowl a tight nod and the parting words, "I'll be returning to the labs now," before slipping out quickly.
Prowl waited a good long breem before he chose to speak, optics level with Chromia's measuring stare. He made no move to examine the severed head dripping quietly on his desk. Instead, he kept his strained optics on the femme as she watched him back, looking as fierce as she ever did. "I see that you're back," he said, remarkably calm despite his condition. "With trophies, no less."
"Presents, too," the femme added, tossing something small across the room. She stepped out of the doorway to allow the door to close, while Prowl caught the vial before it flew passed his head.
Examining the deep topaz liquid, Prowl frowned deeply. It was energizer.
"What? Don't like my present?" the femme asked, her tone mocking. Her grin increased when Prowl's frown deepened.
"I appreciate it, but I will never like it." The memory alone of the vile liquid was enough to churn his tanks, but he knew he needed the stuff if he was to continue on with this charade with his damned emotional center. Energizer did exactly what its name denoted; heavy doses of tranquilizers to calm a stressed out frame, paired with nanobots programmed to seek out all major circuit conduits, motherboards, and processors to induce a state of temporary alertness that would last for a few good orns. Unfortunately, it was damn near illegal to be caught with it, but the burning need for its calming fire in his frame was quickly beginning to outweigh the consequences. Anything to keep him in his calm, logical world a little longer.
"Just take it already." Chromia turned her head away pointedly, clearly expecting the mech to take the dose right then and there. She was rewarded for her temporary blindness with the sound of the vial being popped open and the liquid hitting the internal plating of Prowl's mouth, searing into his frame like fire. He hissed as it went down, convulsing lightly as the drug hit his tanks and reacted. Another breem later and slowly the urge to purge relaxed, his shaking receding. He felt his processes sliding back into order as the drug took affect.
Knowing the show was over, pretending nothing had happened in the first place, Chromia glided her way to the seat before the tactician's desk, sitting down comfortably before bothering to speak. "Don't even ask where I got the stuff either. You won't want to know," she warned. "I got plenty of it cheap; just don't ask where it's from."
Prowl's expression darkened. "Chromia…"
"Don't go there, Prowl."
"It's just that some of the things you do are…" he searched for the right words.
"Better left unsaid?" the femme offered, optic raised daringly.
"Yes," he sighed after a fashion, shaking his head in defeat.
"Good. Then I'll keep my mouth shut." She looked quite content knowing she wasn't going to be interrogated.
"I think that would be best." He knew better than to press the issue. Usually it bothered him to no end to think he was no better than that pit-spawned miscreant Sideswipe and his barely-controlled berserker brother, but after recently recovering from the clutches of an almost-total meltdown, he was finding it hard to begrudge himself. Glancing up at the dusky-blue femme lounging across him, he found it hard to begrudge her as well. They'd been together too long. They had an understanding, connected by the lovers they were forced to say goodbye to for the Ark mission. They helped the other when necessary, and didn't ask questions when most bots would have. When most bots should have.
She sprawled out comfortably in the hard chair, twisting until she was settled to her liking. "So, no 'Hello, Chromia, welcome back'?" she asked airily. "I'm hurt, Prowl."
Prowl could care less. He gestured to the dead mech's head on his desk. "Care to share why this Decepticon's head is no longer attached to his frame?"
"I had to scare Jetfire out of this room somehow," the femme replied, smiling poisonously, making it very clear that she was quite happy with her methods. Years of squaring off with Autobot medics and scientists alike in order to defend her young charge had made her bitter and merciless when dealing with any bot sporting those decals.
Prowl stared her down coldly until she sighed.
Hands in the air, shrugging like the world really wasn't her problem, Chromia nonchalantly informed him, "Hey, you're the one who put me on security detail on that ship. If you want me to be some guardfemme for a bunch of whiney Neutral merchants, than I'll be a guardfemme for a bunch of whiney Neutral merchants, but don't you dare blame me for indulging myself when that boring-as-slag ship got attacked. I did my job, no one was kidnapped. So sue me if I had a little fun."
"Was the head really necessary?" Prowl sighed.
"I repeat: boring-as-slag." The dusty-blue femme picked up the large head, easily the size of her own torso, and turned it carefully in her arms. "Besides, I think Arcee will like it."
"I'm sure she will," he agreed wryly.
Sharp, sharp fingertips traced over the slack facial features of the decapitated head. "She'd been so fragging bored lately, being cooped up like she is all the time."
"She sounded fine when I checked in on her," Prowl offered, dropping his gaze when Chromia's optics flashed. "As fine as she could be, considering her condition," he amended quietly.
A short laugh cut from the warrior. "That's because you can't tell when she's lying," Chromia snapped out. Prowl shrugged, choosing not to the answer.
They drifted into a silence that was hardly the least bit awkward. In fact, it was rather comfortable in a way that said they'd been failing into this sort of routine often throughout the vorns. Chromia turned her prize over in her hands, not caring that it dripped all over her lap. Prowl sat back in his chair, coldly examining the empty vial of energizer in his hands. Every once in a while, he would catch Chromia's optics darting to the single data pad left on the desk.
"So, you heard the news too?" he asked, finally breaking the silence
She smiled again, this time her faceplate warm and devoid of poison. "Yes, as soon as I got in," she replied. "I was wondering if you had."
"That was what Jetfire was here for."
"Fragging aft-glitch."
The tactician shook his head, finding her harboured grudge against any medic or science officer more than a little illogical. "He was only trying to be of some help."
"I never said the fragging aft-glitch wasn't helpful, I just said he was a fragging aft-glitch." She snorted tartly.
Prowl shook his head, bending to the ground to start collecting up his scattered reports. "Will you be going?" he asked, curious of Chromia's intentions regarding Optimus Prime's transmission.
She laughed dryly. "Of course I will. I can't think of a damn bot that wouldn't."
"Decepticons may not."
"Do you even think I count them as bots anymore?" the femme snapped, rolling her optics. "You know how it is- if I see one, I'll shoot it down before it even thinks to draw a weapon." Gathering herself again, she mulled over the transmission, the image of her bonded materializing before her optics with so much clarity it hurt. "I can't think of one damn Autobot who wouldn't go through the pit and back to get to this 'Earth' place."
"Not every bot is bonded to a mech that was on the Ark."
She sighed, covering her faceplate with both hands. "I want to see him so badly," she said, the need in her voice palpable. This was one of the few times she could let her walls down, conveying what she really felt, because she knew Prowl and her were pretty much on the same page. "I want to touch him so badly just to make sure he's real." Her head tipped back lightly so that she stared at the ceiling through her fingers. "He's been so far away for so long… it's like feeling ghosts all the time. I know he's alive, but I can't just reach out and touch him. Not with my hands, not with my spark."
"I… can't imagine what that's like," he sighed.
"Pray you never have to find out," she replied firmly.
Prowl sat and watched the femme, struck by the amazing thought that he wished he could have that same depth of connection with Jazz that Chromia possessed with Ironhide. If they had been bonded, no doubt the misery Prowl suffered from would be a thousand times worse, but Primus what he wouldn't give for the connection he knew Chromia and Ironhide had. He was in awe of Chromia every orn, knowing she could still stand, even under the immense pain her spark was subjected to every moment she was online. Chromia was made of stronger stuff than any other Autobot he knew.
As if sensing that his internals musings were on her, or just fed up with the disturbingly steady gaze Prowl was fixing her with, Chromia shot him a flat look and said, "What about you? I know you're heading for Earth. Question is, when?"
"As soon as possible."
"That's going to be troublesome for you, then," Chromia replied, leaning over the head in her lap. "There aren't any Autobot ships in any of the hangars and it'll be a while before any of them get back to this hub."
"What about the pod you used to get back here with?"
"Perceptor jumped on the thing and launched it as soon as I was docked," she said, sneering a little. "The thing sure can run fast when he wants to- he had at least a dozen mechs on his aft to get on the pod."
"So there are absolutely no ships in the hangars?"
A smirk quirked the edges of her mouth. "I said there weren't any Autobot ships," she replied. "There does happen to be one civilian ship that belongs to us, though. You know whose it is." She laughed when Prowl caught on and his expression darkened. "I know you don't like the idea of commandeering it, but if you want to get out of here any time soon…"
"They're insubordinate, crass, illogical, uncontrollable little pit-spawn who deserve to be locked away in the brig for the rest of their miserable lives. I'm not taking their damn ship."
"You say that now, but I know you love them," the femme teased.
"I love them like I love rust," Prowl growled.
"Everybody has a soft spot for rust," she laughed.
He sighed, giving in. There was no point in arguing with the femme, she would only serve to aggravate him. "Fine, I will speak to them about their ship."
Chromia grinned widely, rising from her seat. "Good. Give me two joors to pack up for me and Arcee and we'll meet you in hangar four."
"Very well. I'll call a meeting for all the Autobots there then, to let them know what's happening," and then asked, "Would you have any idea where those two pit-spawn would be at the moment?"
The warrior femme paused in the doorway to roll her optics. "Where else would they be when they're not on shift?"
His roar reverberated off the vaulted walls and ceiling as he rushed his opponent, claws out, ready to tear the stupid creature challenging him apart. They collided in the ring viciously, animals tearing at each other to kill. A blade swung out from the white mech and buried into an unprotected slate between the golden plates of Sunstreaker's armor. A furious snarl ripped through the air as the mech retaliated, hands slashing out to rip across his opponent's faceplate.
A roar from the on looking crowd let the mechs know their fight was being appreciated.
Swerve stumbled back, one hand coming up to run across the stinging gnash now blazing across his faceplate. Some plating had been torn loose and cut into the energon lines below, so his fingers came away wet and glowing. "You glitch," he grunted.
Sunstreaker grinned dangerously, enjoying the sight of the life-fluid leaking down his victim's faceplate. "You're just jealous of my skill."
He lunged again, before Swerve had time to gather himself. They clashed in a loud scream of metal-against-metal. The burning lust for the battle in Sunstreaker's spark soared to searing levels as he tore in, digging his claws into the white mech's back and tearing away plating. He cared little for the crowd, or the fact that he and Swerve just spent an entire shift together patrolling; the blazing red insignia that lay proudly on his chassis was just a splash of red paint. Once the battle began, Sunstreaker was gone and the dark monster inside him was unleashed. He saw nothing more than the spray of energon when he cut into a line, and he felt nothing more than ever-present rage unleashed on this poor, stupid mech who thought he could take him.
Twisting free of the hold the berserker had put him in, Swerve aimed a punch for the golden mech's faceplate. Having that attack blocked, he dropped to the floor and swept the mech's feet out from under him. With a satisfying crash, Sunstreaker hit the floor hard. Not wasting a moment, the white mech threw himself back into the brawl, rolling across the ring as they fought viciously. Ripping, tearing, snarling, clawing.
Another serrated blade swung out from Swerve's arm, ramming into the pristine golden paint of Sunstreaker's armor. A long, deep gouge appeared in its wake. Suddenly, the pair froze, staring at the superficial damage. Sunstreaker was the first to move, optics rising to Swerve's, and in that moment, Swerve knew he was going to lose the match.
Fury blazed throughout all of Sunstreaker's being; blind, burning, horrible fury that caused his optics to flash red for an instant before he reared from the ground and grabbed hold of Swerve's throat. An roar vibrated the entire room, shaking even the shadows. Lifting the struggling mech from the ground, he dropped to one knee to slam the mech's head into the ground. The dent he left in both the armor and floor were satisfying. Swerve's optics flickered black. The maelstrom of battle-lust raging within him didn't allow the match to end there though. With utterly unnatural strength, Sunstreaker grabbed Swerve around the neck and knee joint, hauling him over his head to yank him apart.
"Sunstreaker, no! You've won! End it!" Suddenly, the golden mech was blinded with the familiar feeling of his brother forcing himself through the heavy, black void festering in Sunstreaker's spark until he gripped tight and shook him with astral hands. A flash of red, and Sideswipe was at the ring's edge, staring up with wide optics and a desperately demanding expression. "Don't kill him, Sunstreaker!"
Having been shaken out of the battle-frenzy, the monster within him crawling back into the dank recesses of his being, Sunstreaker sighed and tugged the mech above his head until he heard a series of pops. Knowing he'd just disconnected the mech's spinal column, he threw his opponent into the crowd, not looking back as he slipped out of the ring to stand with his brother. He'd have First Ai on his back in a few joors, ranting at him for all the recalibrations that the medic would have to perform in order for Swerve to use his spinal column again.
They stared at each other for a while as the crowd filed out, carting Swerve with them. The hub was a Neutral station that the Autobots had set up in long ago, so there was a mishmash of creatures cheering Sunstreaker's designation as they trooped out- inorganics to organics and everything in between. The fight and the crowds brought Sunstreaker right back to his gladiatorial orns.
"Thanks, bro," the golden mech sighed, sagging a little. "I was close."
Sideswipe nodded understandingly. "I know. That's why I stopped you." He laid a hand over the gnash in his brother's paint. "Other than this, are you hurt?"
The self-diagnostic he ran revealed a few minor dislocations of armor plating and some slashes in his energon lines. Nothing serious enough to warrant a visit to the med bay, so he shrugged. "How much we win?"
"Quite a bit," Sideswipe replied. "You know how to draw a crowd."
"Just like the good old orns."
The red mech smiled sadly, hearing the hollow tone in his brother's voice as he spoke. Instead of saying something that would make it worse, he simply patted his brother on the leg.
"Sometimes I don't know if I'm getting better or worse," Sunstreaker sighed. There were orns when he fought and was able to retain a small shred of who he was, but then there were orns, like today, when he simply lost himself to his monsters like he did when he was a gladiator in Kaon.
"You're better than you once were," Sideswipe offered, almost nonchalantly if it ween't for the little nudge he gave his brother through their bond. He leaned into his brother, relaxing into the familiar resonance of the other half of his spark pulsing strong in Sunstreaker's chassis.
Sunstreaker's claws gripped the edge of the ring, crumbling it as he clenched the hard metal. "But I'll never be better than this, will I?"
Sideswipe shrugged, having had this conversation a thousand times before and already knew the script he was supposed to follow. "Maybe. You never know."
Gold armor brushed against red as the ex-gladiator laid his forehead against his merchant brother's. "No, I already know. There's not enough left of me to-."
At the sound of distant footsteps drawing near, they parted instantly. With the sparring room as empty as it was, they heard the approaching mech long before they saw him. Identifying his spark resonance before he came into view, the twins tensed themselves and awaited Prowl's appearance, knowing it was useless to run. Whatever they did this time to have him track them down, they knew it was best to take whatever meagre punishment they were dealt instead of making it worse by running, especially when their warden was running on pure logic and exhaust.
Even they weren't that stupid.
The moment storm-grey armor appeared around the corner, Sideswipe turned on his best pout. "What we do this time?" he whined.
Prowl stared flatly, unmoved by Sideswipe's attempts to make himself appear innocent. The mech had a look about him that made him look permanently guilty. "You've done nothing wrong," the tactician stated, and then added, "nothing that I know of, anyways."
A snort cut from Sunstreaker, turning his gaze away. "Then why are you here?"
"I need to speak with the two of you."
Sideswipe sighed dramatically. "Is harassing us your idea of fun?" They both knew Prowl was stretched thin at the moment, but it was practically ingrained on their processors to bother him. And, besides, he didn't look too bad off at the moment.
"No, I'm here to speak with you about commandeering your ship," Prowl said, annoyance edging his voice. Instantly, the twins were up and ready to protest. Before they could get a curse word in, the mech's hands were up, silencing them. "I assure you, I would not be coming to you if it was not of the utmost urgency that I take your ship."
"Come on, Prowl! The Loki's my ship! I do my best business on her!" Sideswipe protested.
"And there are no other Autobot ships in the hangars for me to use. I have greater need of the ship than you do," Prowl countered.
"Why?" the red mech pouted. "What could be so important that you gotta take my precious ship away from me?" His precious ship with all it's barely-legal cargo.
"This." He held out the data pad with Optimus's message and played it for them. He tracked the expressions that crossed their faceplates, watching the awe and amazement that appeared and guessed that those expressions have probably crossed many mech's faceplates that orn. As the message played down, Prowl fixed them with a hard stare. "So, you see, I need to get to Earth."
Sideswipe nodded, now seeming to rethink the situation. His faceplate brightened fractionally when he reached his decision. "Fine, fine, you take the Loki, but you're taking me as well. No way in pit you're taking my Loki without me."
"And if you take him, you're taking me too," Sunstreaker cut in.
Prowl's expression hardened. It was the twin special: two headaches for the price of one. Was getting to Earth really that worth it? "Fine, you two can come along," he sighed.
They grinned at each other in victory.
Shifting on his feet, Prowl glared at them coldly. "But you follow my orders. One infraction and the both of you are out an airlock. Is that clear?"
Sideswipe laughed. "As crystal."
"You swear to listen to my every order?"
Sunstreaker's optics narrowed. "When do we not?"
Prowl was sorely tempted to ring off the exact number of times. Instead, he turned on his heel. "Be in the hangar in two joors," he instructed. "Chromia, Arcee, and I will be there, ready for departure."
The twins tensed at the mentioning of Arcee. They shared a concerned glance before zeroing in on Prowl once more. "Wait. Are you sure it's safe to bring- uh, her?" Sideswipe asked.
"Do you think Chromia would leave without her?" the tactician asked.
"Yeah, I know, she wouldn't, but… is it really safe?" the red mech pressed.
Prowl sighed. "Probably not."
At that exact moment of time, Chromia could not possibly be happier. She knew where her sparkmate was and she was only joors away from setting out to see him again. She was practically skipping down the hallway towards her shared quarters, the delicious images of what she would be doing to him flashing away in her mind. She'd have him on his back, maybe he'd fight her on to hers; they'd bond against the wall, no doubt, and against the floor, and probably the door too. And not gently either. She'd kill him if he was gentle. After vorns of suffering through the pit, her spark in a constant state of throbbing misery, she wanted rough, violent, I-don't-give-a-frag-if-the-world-can-hear bonding time with her mate and she wanted it as soon as possible! And, if they could swing it, she wanted it as many times as possible in as many places as possible!
In wake of those pleasant thoughts, the grin on her faceplate was probably permanent by now- a disturbing thought when she had such a violent reputation to maintain.
As she made her way through the corridors, the wandering mechs, staff and visitors to Tri-Omega alike, cut a wide path for her. Even as she hopped aboard a lift that would take her into the residence area cordoned off for the Autobots' use when they first stationed there, the creatures in the lift left a wide berth around her. It was the smile that was probably setting them off, the femme reasoned. A smile on her faceplate usually meant danger for everyone else in the vicinity. Or maybe it was the severed head she was holding.
The lift paused at another floor a few below her stop and let on a small crowd of waiting aliens, among which was a smirking Blades as he pushed his way to stand next to her.
"Nice head," the Protectobot commented, eyeing the dripping prize.
"Thanks," Chromia replied proudly. "Yours ain't so bad, either."
The maroon-red mech chuckled, shrugging good-naturedly. "Yeah, but I like where mine is at the moment."
"To bad," the femme laughed lightly, her unusually good mood enabling her to be moderately social for once. The lift finally opened to their floor and they both pushed their way out, Chromia going left, Blades going right. The mech paused a few steps down the hall, causally glancing back.
"Prowl's called a meeting for us in hangar bay four in a little bit," he announced. "See ya then?"
Chromia offered the mech a grin, nodding. "Yeah, see ya then." Still too much in a disturbingly good mood, she nearly pranced the rest of the way to her quarters, located near the end of the all next to Prowl's. Her fingers hesitated over the control panel, adjusting the dead weight in her arms. Her good mood faltered for all but an astrosecond before she reaffixed her warm smile and punched in the lock code.
"Arcee, I'm ba-!"
The head she'd meant as a present hit the floor hard at her feet and went rolling, her good mood instantly forgotten. Her optics stared in horror at the limp tangle of limbs lying not far from where she stood.
"Arcee!" A single, terrified pulse of her spark passed before the femme leapt into action, crossing the distance between her and her charge in less than an astrosecond. Surprisingly strong hands delved down into the crumpled mess of arms and legs and untwisted the knot that Arcee's frame had fallen into. The only light offered in the room was from the large, wall-to-ceiling windows that made up the far wall of the room, allowing soft starlight to drift in and illuminate the slack features of the small femme's faceplate.
Seeing the symptoms for what they were, Chromia's mouthplates pressed together in a grim line and hefted Arcee into her arms, cradling her close to her chassis, carrying her over to the cold berth that laid in the starlight beneath the windows. Laying her out, crawling up onto the berth next to her, Chromia tapped Arcee's faceplate until the younger femme began to come around.
"Come on, dearspark, you gotta get up now," she urged calmly, ignoring the beating hum of her spark as it pulsed rapidly in her sparkcase. A broken groan floated from Arcee, her faceplate scrunching. "It's alright now, Arcee, it's over. You can get up now," Chromia continued, knowing that it was best to get the femme back into the land of the online as quickly and calmly as possible before she had a chance to figure out what had happened.
"Chromia…?"
A smile clearly borne of relief pulled of Chromia's features. "I'm right here, dearspark," she whispered, leaning her forehead down to Arcee's. "I'm right here." She went rigid when she felt Arcee's frame tense, as the little femme processed her mentor's tone, connecting to the reasons she usually used it for. Then the memories of the dream hit her, a cry rising from her as she recoiled and attempted to curl into a ball.
"Dammit! Not again! Not again!"
Chromia's hands were there before Arcee could even think, pulling her out of the protective ball she'd attempted to wrap herself in. "It happened again, didn't it?" she asked softly, optics searching carefully. There was always the right amount of caring in the femme's faceplate when she looked at Arcee, always the right amount of fondness and concern and love and it made her wish that Chromia really was her Creator, that her spark was gifted to her and her gruff-but-loving-even-though-he-didn't-want-the-world-to-know-it mate.
Bowing from the power of the wretched sobs wracking her, Arcee nodded and allowed her frame to be enveloped in Chromia's embrace.
"Damn those dreams," the femme cursed darkly, laying her cheek plate to the top of Arcee's head. "It's alright now. You're online. It's over now."
Wasted hands, long stripped of any armour, reached up to clutch to the ridges in Chromia's blue armor. Her optics glanced up at the desk in the corner, to the askew keyboard and the flipped away chair. It was just a dream! It was just a dream! It was just a dream!
"What happened this time?" Chromia asked quietly in a subtly protective tone that let Arcee know that she would always have someone in her corner with Chromia around, that she could go on a killing spree and wipe out all of Tri-Omega and all Chromia would do is ask, "And what did they do to you, dearspark?"
"…I dreamt that was being controlled again," Arcee replied, ignoring how Chromia stiffened when she mentioned the word "dream"- Chromia was "normal" after all, she didn't dream, she didn't understand what dreaming was, but she listened anyways. "They took flight plans this time."
"I'm sorry I wasn't here for you."
"It's okay," the younger femme sighed, quietly soothing herself in the resonance of Chromia's spark. "You're here now." She paused for a moment, and then asked, "Are we going to tell Perceptor and the others?"
A grim laugh drifted from Chromia. "No, not this time. Perceptor's gone, and I've already hit my quote of fraggers today so that leaves Jet-fragger out. I've got something better, though."
Arcee pulled away lightly, peering at the older femme with faded optics. "What?"
"You, me, packing up and getting on the Loki, flying off to some planet called Earth to see Ironhide again," Chromia replied with a grin. "Bumblebee's probably with them too," she added, enjoying the flash in the young femme's optics. It was so rare to see a flash of life cross Arcee's faceplate, any opportunity was a good one.
"You know where they are?"
"I do now. The message just came in; I got it the moment my feet hit the hangar floor. Prowl's commandeering the Loki from the twins as we speak." She laughed as she thought of the brawl that might ensue over the civilian ship Sideswipe was so fond of. "We'll be out of here in less than two joors."
"Chromia, I don't know if I can do that," Arcee whispered bitterly, tugging out of the other femme's embrace.
Chromia made an impatient sound. "Don't say things like that. Of course you can," she asserted firmly. "You're coming and that's final."
With weak hands, Arcee reached up and grasped Chromia's faceplate, forcing the other femme to look at her, really look at her. "Do you honestly think I can make a journey like that? Just getting to this station just about did me in. We don't know how far away Earth is- it could just be a death sentence for me."
"You'll do fine. I'll be with you," Chromia assured confidently.
"Dammit, Chromia, I just had to have my leg replaced two orns ago because it fell off! Look at me! I'm not fine!" Her armor had long ago been stripped from her frame, her systems unable to support the strain of maintaining the extra plating; she was down to her barest essentials- exposed wires and circuits, thin metal rods attached to hinges that served as temporary limbs before they too died and had to be replaced. She was grey, and dull, and weak. All thanks to that Primus damned slagging antivirus that had turned out to be a fragging Trojan horse, activating the moment she'd recovered and putting her into a deeper level of the pit then she'd been in before.
In the beginning, nobody had even noticed anything was wrong with her. Sure, there was the occasional weakening in her systems, or a skip in her processes, but that, of course, could have been accredited to the monster Alpha-class virus that had nearly sent her to the scrap heap. But then the symptoms progressed, her frame eventually weakening to the point where even her armor was weighing her down. She'd let on to Chromia and no one, allowing the older femme to cover for her, viciously picking apart any mech who dared to enquire too closely about Arcee's health.
And then came the orn, vorns and vorns after Iacon had fallen and they'd taken up residence in another base, when her arm fell off. They knew something was definitely wrong with her by then.
First Aid had done her best to try and reattach her arm, but the entire thing was dead. He had to attach a spare arm. He'd scanned her and couldn't find a damn thing wrong. He'd scanned her several times more after that, since Chromia had threatened him with evisceration if he didn't. As a last resort, he'd attempted to interface with her to get a close up look at her internal data, hoping to spot the infection with a more personal optic on the job.
For his troubles, he was electrocuted and thrown across the room.
That's when other curious medics and scientists began poking their curious olfactory sensors into the problem to try and see what was wrong with poor, falling apart Arcee. They never really found a damn thing, Trojan horses are tricky like that, but what they did find was a femme slowly rotting from the inside out as a program they couldn't find slowly weakened every fibre in her frame until she fell apart, completely unreachable when all attempts made to connect to any outside source, whether it be someone or something, ended up in a severe electrocution that left the afflicted rendered useless for orns.
The only thing that could be done for her was replace whatever limbs fell off, leaving her slave to the wretched prison her frame had become.
She was a husk of her former self.
But, to Chromia, all that hardly seemed to matter. With a flinty, determined look in her optics, she slid from the berth and walked to the small stand in the room that held both their meagre personal possessions. With a single-minded determinedness that one would come to expect from the sparkmate of Ironhide, she began wrenching things out of their drawers and throwing them away into whatever carrying case she could get her hands on. In the end, their own personal stuff filled a single case, while all the spare limbs and medical-class energon they kept on hand for Arcee's condition took up five.
Summoning a drone to come and take their stuff to hanger four, Chromia marched over to the berth Arcee had failed to leave the entire time it took to pack everything. Easily pulling the smaller femme up and propping her against the blue armor of her side, the warrior femme fixed her with one of her most commanding, stubborn looks, a look that was a throwback to a time when they were mentor and apprentice.
"You're coming and that's final. If I hear anything more out of you otherwise, I'll weld your mouthplates shut. Understand?"
With a sigh, Arcee knew it was useless to argue. Secretly, she was glad there was no force in the universe that could stop Chromia when she set her mind to something. "Yes. I understand."
"Good."