Chapter 18

"Here be Ghosts"

"So this is it," Cyberwarp whispered.

Hawkmoon nodded. They were sitting by the couch, waiting for Nacelle to return from his foray into the cafeteria, and curled up next to one another, leaning into each other. Hawkmoon wasn't quite sure what they were, yet, but... she wasn't against it.

"A trine..."

"A trine," Hawkmoon echoed, mumbling.

"But there's something else-"

Hawkmoon abruptly leaned her helm forward, like Cyberwarp had done those orns ago, and gently pressed it against that of the other femme. "You're..." she started to say, hesitated, then started over: "You're a good person, 'Warp."

Cyberwarp's optics, a soft grass-green, bored into her own. "What are you saying?" she whispered.

"I can't..." Hawkmoon offlined her optics and grimaced; she couldn't say too much, but she couldn't say nothing either. The life she led... it wasn't fair to drag someone else into that. "I can't promise that I'm the same. Look, I've done some... choice things in my time, for good reasons - but that doesn't change much."

"Like what?"

"I can't say." Hawkmoon grasped at Cyberwarp's pauldrons. "Look, I don't know what this is - I don't know much of anything anymore - but I do know you're a good person, a kind person, and I'm not completely like that. I like you, and-"

"I like you."

"That's just it. I'm not sure you know me entirely - or that you'll appreciate the parts you don't know about right now." I'm not Cybertronian. I'm not a... civilian, noncombatant, whatever you are; I'm a killer. I'm a stone-cold killer and I've got a death-tally five miles long. I'm not even alive; I'm a corpse, a walking, talking corpse who kills for a living - or an unliving, rather. "It wouldn't be good for either of us."

"I'm... I'm not interested in being pushy," Cyberwarp said quietly, subdued. "If you don't want-"

"I do. And that's the problem." Hawkmoon paused. "Here, look, how about we play this along casually and the like, see what happens - and if we don't like it, we go back to whatever we had before. Does... that suit?"

"That... suits." Cyberwarp leaned against her more. "But, uh... do you really mean-"

Hawkmoon lifted her helm, angled her faceplates and landed a soft kiss over Cyberwarp's helm-crest - the part lancing over the top of her forehead and up into the air, a darker blue than the rest of her armoured plating. "That's what I mean."

Cyberwarp shivered - and smiled. "That's so... alien."

"The best influences are those you don't know," Hawkmoon murmured.

"What?"

"No idea. Someone said that to me once. Weird guy, spoke too many languages. We got along great."

"Sounds like a wise mech."

Hawkmoon stifled a snort. "Yeah, not sure that's what I'd call him."

Cyberwarp raised her servo, digits touching the side of Hawkmoon's faceplates. "This is..."

"Hm?"

"I'm okay with this."

"I should hope so," Hawkmoon snarked. "You did initiate, after all."

"No, I don't mean-"

"I understand. Just making fun of you is all."

"Har har," Cyberwarp drawled. "Glad I could be-"

The door opened. Nacelle nonchalantly walked in with a couple of energon cubes in his servos, saw them, went on, stalled, did a doubletake, froze in place. "Uh..." he trailed off. "Am I... am I... O... Kay... Should I... go?"

"You're fine," Hawkmoon laughed, rolling her optics. She sat up. "We're both good to go."

"Uhuh." Nacelle slowly nodded, his optics darting between the two of them. "So you two are... a thing, now?"

Cyberwarp hesitated. Hawkmoon shrugged.

"Well... Okay." Nacelle sighed, opened the press by the kitchen-esque area and shoved the cubes in. "Okay, okay, okay... Okay."

"You okay?"

"Perfectly okay."

"Okay," Hawkmoon confirmed.

"Yep. That's what I said."

"It is what he said," Cyberwarp agreed, turning to Hawkmoon.

"Indeed it is." Hawkmoon stood up, stretched out her wings, and looked between the other two. "So how do we get this trine thing going?"

Every current of air, every wafting particle of dust on her wing's sensors - their wing's sensors - and it bothered, like an itch, one that needed to be scratched, no, to be seen to, to be polished, to be scratched, to be polished, to be scratched, to be - who even designed the ventilation in this room?

Hawkmoon stalled. The thought hadn't been one of hers, most of which were carefully hidden beneath an airtight blanket threaded with invisible Void (oh Ikharos, you beautiful, beautiful nerd you), but the others - they pressed on, intermingled, swapped and spoke without realizing they were doing so. They had no control. Not like she had. Giddy children stumbling in the dark, cutting themselves on stray tools left in the open and bleeding their minds open without realizing, the very edges of their separate consciousnesses beginning to fray and meld.

But that was only scratching the surface - like we should that itch, who's wing is that? - because their bond was one of the body, not truly of the mind. Hawkmoon felt them. Nacelle and Cyberwarp felt her. They were physically three, but right then, with the bond fresh on their hidden sparks, it was as if they had become one - like a psionic metaconcert of the flesh. Or steel, rather.

Hawkmoon focused on the bond, drew down the sensitivity until she could only sense their presence, rather than sense everything else through them. "This'll do," she hoarsely stated.

Cyberwarp snickered. Nacelle blinked.

Hawkmoon sighed a touch dramatically, gave in and allowed the foreign feelings to wash over her once more, to exult in the moment a little longer - the emotions and sensations both. She cracked a grin and leaned back, laughing to herself with an ecstatic, hopeful, infantile glee. "Oh, we're going to kill this module."

::Bank left.::

As one, they swerved around a tower and delved deeper into the urban valley, gliding over the myriad Vosian streets at a steady, controlled speed. Hawkmoon felt herself - but also the other two, felt their thrusters burn and wings cut air. It was amazing. It was potent. Their formation didn't falter once. How could it, when they could sense one another so intimately? Nacelle and Cyberwarp could have switched off their visual sensors and still have known where they were headed, looking through Hawkmoon's optics instead.

::Dive.::

They dove - a tri-pronged arrowhead, splitting the air and slicing a path through the sky with effortless grace. With them, gliding between Cyberwarp and Nacelle and just over Hawkmoon's rear winglets, Rook shrieked with wordless joy. His own thrusters, primitive compared to their own, were hard at work to keep up, but he was loving every moment of it. They all were. They were a trine.

They were a trine.

The universe didn't stand a chance.

They stumbled back into their dorm, high on the feeling of unity, of power, of knowing that the world was their oyster and that their futures were in good hands - in the servos of each other. They were tied together, bound with alien functions and the ribbons of camaraderie. Hawkmoon couldn't remember being so close to another living thing before. Well, apart from...

Apart from Gecko.

Cyberwarp and Nacelle, almost as one, went quiet and turned to face her. "Are... are you alright?" Cyberwarp asked, hesitating and shooting Nacelle a worried look.

"It's... nothing." Hawkmoon forced a smile, dampened her bond's sensitivity - both coming and going - and went for a cube. "Spare baggage is all. Just... forget it. It's not important."

They looked at each other, again. Hawkmoon didn't like the concern she saw there.

"Okay," Cyberwarp said, blocking off her own side of their rudimentary trine-bond, and approached her slowly - servos rising over Hawkmoon's wings, digits sliding delicately over tense flight-panels. "We won't ask."

"Thank you," Hawkmoon uttered, almost truly gasping - oh, how she missed gasping, not the sound but the action, to suck in air and fill her lungs once more. To supply her blood with lovely, lovely oxygen, to keep her heart beating and her fragile organic body alive. To be metal was to be more, yes, but without flesh, without heart, without blood she was hollow.

She hated it. Hawkmoon hated it.

The only thing she hated more was the strange feeling broiling in her nonexistent gut, the rippling echo in the recesses of her head/helm that promised something bad, something heartwrenching, something from the woman who came before it all. Before death. Before the reboot. Before the soul-dissection. Before the forced spiritual transplant. Before everything had gone to hell around her. A dream was on its way - the Exo kind - and it wasn't going to be gentle.

Hawkmoon gulped down a mouthful of tingling energon, bracing herself against the counter, trying to relax into Cyberwarp's tender ministrations - but it was hard, it was so, so, so hard.

"This is what I warned you about," she croaked, voice low. "There's things you won't like."

Cyberwarp stopped, then moved around, flanking around Hawkmoon's wing and stepping against her side. "I'll be the judge of that."

A vent was cleared. Nacelle. "I'll, uh... see you two tomorrow," he said. "Um... great flight. We're going to do well, I know it. Goodnight."

"Goodnight," Cyberwarp said, distracted but still trying her best to be earnest, to be nice. Nicer than anyone deserved, really.

"'Night," Hawkmoon muttered.

Nacelle left for his room - for his recharge.

She couldn't do the same. Couldn't. Not with the past hanging over her - waiting for its chance to pounce, to reach in with rending claws and tear her broken heart into so many more pieces. A pressure was building up in the back of her helm; her wings were taut with stress and anxiousness and not a little fear.

"You can talk to me," Cyberwarp whispered. "You know you can. I won't judge you for it. I won't use it against you."

"No I can't," Hawkmoon retorted, a little harsher than she intended. Cyberwarp flinched, but, bless her, she stayed. She went on.

"I felt your pain; something was torn from you. Someone. It's a broken bond, isn't it?"

"... Something like that..."

"'Moon-"

"I can't," Hawkmoon told her. Then, "I won't. Don't ask me. It'll complicate things more than's strictly necessary."

"We're a trine. We're in this together. If not me, then Nacelle. I know you two get along. You're friends. You can trust him, even... even if you don't trust me..."

Hawkmoon, surprised, swiveled in shock and stared at her - saw the faint hurt and hated how it affected her. She was never good with causing pain. In those that didn't deserve it, anyways. "I do trust you," she quietly argued. "Not with everything, but with a lot - and that's enough. But I can't tell you."

"You're not from Vello, are you?"

Hawkmoon's spark spluttered. "Wha- what?"

Cyberwarp's lips were arrayed in a thin, grim line. "I had my suspicions. It's true, isn't it? Contrail just brings you in out of nowhere, and- and you're good! Not just at flying, but with so much else. Combat, even! You can fight better than most people in this building - and that's including the instructors! You're not from Vello. No one from an out-of-the-way place like that moves like you do."

"'Warp..."

"Look, I don't care. I like you. You've been so good to us, so nice, so charming, so helpful. I like that. I care about that. I get it if you don't want to talk, but... we can help, if you do."

"I won't," Hawkmoon repeated. "Better for everyone that I don't."

"Is it dangerous?"

"... More than you can ever believe."

Cyberwarp hesitated. "Is... is it dangerous for us? Nacelle and I?"

Hawkmoon started to say something, stopped, hesitated, gave herself some time to think it over, and said, "Not... exactly. Not you. Not him."

"Contrail?"

"A... a little bit."

"And to you?" she asked, hushed. "Is it..."

"Leave it," Hawkmoon sighed. "Please. For both of us."

Cyberwarp pressed closer, leaned up and kissed her cheek. "I mean... at least we covered some ground."

"Please, stop."

"If that's what you want." Cyberwarp went silent. Hawkmoon listened to their engines growl softly, almost in tandem, and sighed.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, pressing their helms together. "It's just... hard. To trust. To..."

"I understand. Sort of."

"Thank you."

"I think we're doing a micro-jump test tomorrow," Cyberwarp told her. "You should get some rest."

"Frag," Hawkmoon cursed. She winced, pushed away from the counter, and gave Rook a hard look. The symbiote ignored her and curled up on the couch. "Right... rest..."

Cyberwarp's digits played over her pauldron. "Take it easy. You're with us. You're with your trine."

Hawkmoon turned to her and narrowed her optics, a weak smile breaking out across her faceplates. "Why'd you say it like that?"

"Because... because I have a trine!" Cyberwarp laughed. "Why else?! This is so cool! I expected it to happen, but also didn't, and now that it has-"

The door to Nacelle's room boomed. Hawkmoon heard a muffled, "recharging here!" from just beyond. Cyberwarp smiled sheepishly.

"Anyways-"

"Anyways, you're right. We need the rest." Hawkmoon took Cyberwarp by the shoulders, turned her towards her own room and lightly pushed her off. "Recharge all this excess energy away, please."

"Alright." Cyberwarp shot her a look. "But... can you consider talking? Just with us? Please?"

"I-" Hawkmoon cut herself off. No. She needed to say no. No was the right thing to do. The correct thing to say. No other response was wise. "I'll... I'll think about it."

She'd never been any good at saying no to those she cared about.

"Thank you." With that final well-meaning smile, Cyberwarp left her be.

Hawkmoon waited for a time after that, counting the seconds and then the minutes, and then the breems, and then - knowing she was going to be in a bad way the next day if she didn't grab some shut eye quick - marched into her room and slowly, begrudgingly, lay down on the berth.

Sleep, recharge, whatever it was took her almost immediately.

Adria/Lennox/Hawkmoon sighed and drifted back into the floral-scented bath/pool of snow and blood/puddle of her own energon. She closed her eyes/offlined her optics and allowed herself to FEEL, to focus on the heated water suffusing her muscles/radiolaria raking against her synthetic frame/jagged metal fragments bite into her softer internal components where a sword had run through right next to her spark, to listen as Vaudren tried to herd little Benni to bed with the promise of a bedtime story/as Octavius-6 finished off the gurgling Eventide colonist whose belly was filled with Vex poison/as the clatter of skittering Thralls came from every direction, hungry for her life.

"I'll read it!/Burn whatever's left./C'mon, you bastards. C'mon; I'll kill you all, every single one of you!" she called/rasped/bellowed contentedly/grimly/furiously.

The door opened/a shadow fell over her/green eyes burned in the dark. Vaudren opened the door and stuck her head in/Octavius stumbled back, drained and horrified and hopeless/the bloodied alien sorcerer garbed in runed rags floated out of the gloom. Vaudran smiled in an exhausted, exasperated fashion/Octavius gasped for a breath that would not come to him/the dread-priest tilted its horned, crested head and took in the sight of her.

"Fine! Be quick; he has school first thing in the morning,/We don't have enough time,/I know you," Vaurdren laughed/Octavius grunted/the Unwanted Son hissed.

Adria rolled her eyes and unlatched the drain in the bottom of the tub/Lennox propped herself up on her rifle's butt and staggered back to her feet/as Hawkmoon felt the spilled energon dribble out her mouth and trickle in rivulets down her chin. "Benni! Which story?!/Leave 'im, then. Heard Elsie's getting everyone to the launch pad; it's our only shot off this forsaken snowball,/Of course it's you. Fuck my life," she called into the next room/gasped over the howling of frigid Europan winds/coughed with static through a failing vocalizer.

Vaudren stepped inside and kissed her just as she was stepping out/Octavius hooked an arm around her back and dragged her weight onto his shoulders/the Usurped Hierophant swatted aside her servo-turned-blade and reached into her ruined chest, ages-old talons sliding around her exposed spark chamber.

"I love you,/There's not enough time. We won't make it, and they won't wait for us,/You know me. Speak," Vaudren murmured/Octavius darkly noted/the Forgotten Prophet snarled.

"Love you too,/We have to try,/Go to hel-" Adria whispered back/Lennox urged/Hawkmoon trailed off, her voice dying away into a soundless scream.

Hawkmoon woke the next orn with a wretched, muted cry of alarm. Her servos scrabbled at her chest, finding no damage, and she cringed with phantom pains.

He was alive. Somehow. Somewhere. She was sure of it.

Nokris, Herald of Xol, was alive. He was going to kill her.

And without her Light, without Gecko, she wasn't going to be able to stop him.

AN: Biggest of thanks towards the bestest of Nomad Blues.

I amend my earlier statement; Seekers are more like certain kinds of birds rather than just avians in general. I'm looking outside at my chickens, and I'm just... I love them, they're great, but I'll never understand them or their ridiculous ways. Never.

This is the first of two chapters in one day. I'll have the next out very shortly. My goodness, has my muse brought me a great present this Christmas.