CHAPTER TWELVE | MEMORIES

"Memories warm you up from the inside. But they also tear you apart."

~Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore

• • •

Any aspect of war you are willing to show him.

War. There were many kinds of war that June Darby had experienced in her lifetime. There was, of course, the traditional kind of war, one which ripped fathers, brothers, and sons from their families and either returned them broken or dead. June, a female, was fortunate enough to never firsthand see this; but she feared one day that her son may be forced to. In an ironic twist of fate, they both ended up being a part of such warfare, but not between their own kind - no, between the Autobots and Decepticons, an alien race.

June Darby had known of a different war long before that, however.

"You may kiss the bride," were words that could not come soon enough, her arms wrapping around the neck of the one she loved dearly, sharing a kiss that sealed their fates. Until death did they part, the pair would love one another for many, many years to come.

When she became pregnant with Jack, they were overjoyed, ecstatic. A child to call their own, and hopefully one day the big brother of many more. Though they both worked, it was decided that June would take maternal leave and her husband would eventually quit. Her nursing job earned more than his desk job, thus it made financial sense. Everything was perfect.

Until something changed. It was not overnight, but it became progressively worse. As her baby bump grew, so did his anger, his impatience. The man she loved, a kind and gentle soul, suddenly could not hold his temper. He would become angry at the smallest of things, the most mundane of noises or gestures. He screamed at a clock once for ticking too loudly. In two months, the house became a warzone. June would leave for work, only to come back to find the house trashed, an appliance broken, or her beloved husband in the middle of one of his fits.

She hated going home. There was endless screaming, fighting. Her health dramatically declined, she became at risk for preeclampsia, and her coworkers began to whisper. They were concerned for her, yes, there was no malicious intent behind the rumors which spread, but rumors were rumors all the same. June just desperately wanted her husband back.

At month four of her pregnancy, she become sick. He did nothing to help her. A man that would have dropped everything at the mention of a sore throat now left her to lie in bed. He had since been fired from his job and no longer was employed. Their bank accounts were drained on meaningless things he would destroy in a fit of anger a week later. June ended up making a secret savings account just so she could survive. Her doctor warned her that she could be in the stages of eclampsia. She may need hospitalization.

"June," a voice, gentle and unsure, broke through the haze. "Are you . . . sure you want to show me this?"

Then he hit her. And it was over. She was gone the next day, quitting her job on the spot and escaping. The nurse drove to her parents house, almost two-hundred miles away in Jasper, Nevada. The long trip nearly cost her her life, and that of Jack's. But the woman was not about to give up. She would survive.

"I suppose . . . maybe," she replied, looking around as she was pulled from a direct, first-person view of the memory. Megatronus was standing with her, the two of them shockingly human-sized, standing in the hospital room together where her past self resided. "This is . . . war, though perhaps not the kind you were expecting."

He nodded, looking around, his expression forlorn. "I am sorry about your mate," he finally said. "I remember, from Optimus, speaking to you about him . . . I suppose if I had known -"

"That isn't the whole story," June took a long, deep ventilation. "Besides, if Megatron had known this information he would have tormented me for days about it. Better I pretend what he said was real than the actual truth."

The memory warped, and they were standing in a small house. Jack was sleeping in his crib, strikingly similar to his mother. June was on the phone, tears in her eyes, sobbing uncontrollably as she sat at the kitchen table. Her husband - who was still her husband, as he refused to sign any divorce papers she sent his way - had died from a massive seizure. The proceeding autopsy report indicated several masses in his body; the man had cancer. June was not just upset that he had died, she was upset because of a specific tumor, the one located on his amygdala.

The man she had fallen in love with had been inside all along, but it was the tumor in his brain that made him act the way he had. If she had just seen it, if she had just known that her husband could not have possibly been showing his true, aggressive colors, then he might have been saved. He never would have hit her. They would have been happy.

Jack was raised mostly by his grandparents, as June worked, and believed his father was nothing more than a low-life. June did not argue differently; she was too angry at herself to let Jack believe that she had let a good man die. No, better to think it was her husband that was the problem, not her.

Megatronus allowed for a long, soulful silence as the memory faded into oblivion, June standing at staring at the place her former self had been. He wanted to find some way to apologize, but what could he say? What could possibly numb the pain of realizing a loved one had slipped right through her digits?

Before much could be said, he was given another memory.

The human femme fought wars day in and day out, wars between life and death. Little children with scrapes and bruises, fixed with a simple bandaid, were the easiest battles to fight. Teenagers with their bones out of their body and organs spilling onto the table after a night of drinking were her hardest, especially once her own son became of that age.

"We're losing them," she hated those words, hated what would come after them. A long, dreadful drone of the heart monitor, frantic attempts to start a heart that had given up ages ago, and the looks she would receive on their parent's faces when they realized their child was not going home.

Every day was a new campaign, every case a different, compelling study. June was one of the lucky few who retained her warm heart even after it had been ripped out multiple times by the same people she was trying to save. The ER showed her every facet of the human being, every emotion that authors could only dream of knowing about. Death did not discriminate, nor did it care to announce its arrival.

Megatronus gazed across the expanse of the emergency room, observing gore and horror that few humans had the misfortune to see. While his time in the gladitorial pits certainly did not pale in comparison to this, it did bring new light to the trials and tribulations of a race he would have otherwise considered inferior.

He watched battle after battle in the ER, June weaving in and out of the picture as she did so, her memories flickering by at an impossible pace. While she won many battles, several - too many - were lost. Even with her best efforts, her sleepless nights, and multiple summonings of inner strength, sometimes the patient would just slip away.

The gladiator could not help but admire her grit and determination, even in the midst of battle fatigue. June was strong, and she was not one to back down from a fight; they had more in common than he originally would have guessed.

The memories eventually faded into the background once more, the death and destruction over with for now. Instead, a more happier, though still very much related, set of memories filtered in, ones that seemed to be a combination of the first two sets' tropes.

She gazed up at the Autobot leader, complete and utter admiration in her eyes. Optimus Prime was everything her loved one had been, perhaps even more. He was strong, kind, and gentle. He threw away his own work the moment an Autobot requested help; the Prime did not back down from a fight, especially one that threatened the life of his team. His compassion knew no bounds, even for that of the insignificant organics which lived on this planet.

June Darby fell, hard.

But many things kept her from foolishly giggling and chasing after Optimus like some kind of schoolgirl. Firstly was the obvious: they were two completely different species - at least, they had been. Secondly, she could tell the Prime put his work before anything else, and though his work was essentially bonding with his team, it was . . . different. He cared deeply for the Autobots, and made it his job to protect them. Optimus did not shy away from attachments, but he certainly shied away from any sort of romantic advances. That would have been too much.

"Orion was always a bit aloof," Megatronus rumbled quietly, slightly amused. "And a workaholic."

Over time, June's affections simpered down, and she was content to form some sort of loose, platonic friendship with the Prime. When they spoke to one another, it was cordial, and they always kept respectful distances, though Optimus may have done it so he did not accidentally squish her. They understood one another and respected how the other worked so hard to take care of their loved ones: Optimus, his team, and June, her son.

When Jack had been kidnapped by the Decepticons she was absolutely distraught, but Optimus was always there to maintain a steady presence. The Autobot team became dedicated to finding their human allies under the guidance of their leader, even after the trio was no longer such.

Then, June herself was kidnapped.

She remembered Megatron's warm, sharp claws wrapped around her body, his voice vibrating her bones as he told the Autobots they had exactly five minutes to either trade the "experiments" for June Darby, or watch the warlord walk off with his prize. His thumb had idly stroked and touched the back of her neck and head, the end twisting in her raven hair and somehow managing to not rip chunks out.

She had died.

Well, it felt like death. The searing heat of Megatron's blast stung her skin, but he somehow missed. She heard three more shots go off, each one closer than the last, until she felt her legs give out from under her and she was falling. Dizzy and disoriented, her back hit cold metal and she smacked her head, remembering nothing after that.

"So . . . that is how it happened," Megatronus spoke as darkness enveloped them again. "And our war . . . you were not a major player?"

"Not for a long time," June confirmed. "As a human, we didn't really get up close and personal voluntarily. Miko did, and she usually dragged Jack and Rafael into the mess, but I usually was at the base. Except for that one time." She laughed a little. "And of course, with my luck, that was the one time I was kidnapped."

Megatronus looked her up and down. "Then we experimented on you."

She nodded. "Yes; and that changed everything."

Warm claws closed around her like a cage, obscuring her view.

The dragon, wrapped around the room, waiting for something - or someone - to occupy its mind.

June's memory became distinctly warped after. The visions themselves were fine, but the language was garbled, unintelligble. All she knew was she was different, new.

Claws stroked beneath her chin, eliciting a pleased purr. This was when she first met Master, when he was nothing more than an other. He treated her differently than his other subordinates, but it was not detrimental to her. Master respected her, understood that she was different. He utilized her best assets and rewarded her with what she craved most: energon and affection.

She did not understand when she attacked her own son. All she was concerned with was protecting the one who meant most to her. Not even Creator illicited the responses she gave to Master. Something told her that the former was already, in a sense, "claimed" by Predaking. They were naturally closer, as Predaking spent most of his waking time with Creator, so it made sense that June lacked the bond the older Predacon had with the scientist.

Master seemed to understand this as well, for he visited her even when he did not need her. While Predaking roamed the halls in his bipedal mode, Master would bring her energon and speak to her softly in his strange language. His servos would stroke her helm and underneath her chin, admiring her hide and occasionally observing her tail. These were the only times she would dare to push her helm against him, allowing him to access the normally protected points beneath her helm. The moments did not last long, as he would leave her mere minutes before Predaking would return.

She understood. Affection was a weakness.

Megatronus watched the exchanges with fascination. Megatron despised organics, so it would make sense that he had little regard for an experiment. Even though her human shell was destroyed, June still had remnants of herself; yet Megatron did not seem to view it as such. She was important to him.

"I don't know why," June was the one to speak this time. "But I cannot hate you - Megatron - for what you have done." Her servo touched the chestplate about her spark. "Ripclaw, the Predacon this body was cloned from, will not allow me. It tears me apart."

The gladiator gazed at her, looking across the expanse of the memory, watching with her as Megatron pet and rewarded her beast form. "I'm . . . sorry."

That earned him a bitter laugh from the femme. "I would accept it, but it feels wrong to make you apologize for something you can't remember doing. By some miracle, I did not hurt my son, or any of the Autobots. Had I done so I would not have been able to forgive myself. But . . . since nothing irreversible has been done by my hand, I am not angry."

Megatronus simply nodded, gazing at his servos. So much energon spilt by him, so much destruction that he did not think himself capable of. He had been consumed by hatred to the point where he knew no moral boundaries.

"Thank you," he said, "for allowing me to see what you have gone through. I know you do not hate me, but I also know you haven't forgiven me. And I can come to terms with that."

The woman smiled just a bit. "You're welcome. Perhaps with time, if you decide to not fall back on your old ways . . . we could be friends."

Friends. Megatronus had known few, and it baffled him that she would suggest such a large step forward. Though, perhaps, it would be progressive. They certainly had some sort of odd dynamic between them, with her remembering him as something he was not, but he could see the two of them making amends over time.

"I look forward to such a notion," he offered a smile he hoped was inviting.

And then the two were enveloped in darkness.