Rated: M for adult themes: language, violence, mental rape, character death, mech erotica, torture, gore, and suicidal ideation. This varies from chapter to chapter, so read at your own risk.
Important Note: I started this series of fics before Revenge of the Fallen hit the theaters. This is an A.U. 2007 movie verse fic, NOT a ROTF/DOTM/AE/LK/BB or whatever follows fic.
Disclaimer: The only thing I own in this work of complete fiction is Velocity/Sira and Hardcore. They are mine. Everything else is copyrighted and owned by some really rich people. I make no money from this but wish I could.
XxxX
Full Velocity: Finding Salvation
Chapter 24: Watching
XxxX
The comm line closed and quiet echoed from the severed connection. No hum, no insect-like buzz, no dial tone, no annoying static; just a blessed silence. He shuttered his optics and relished the empty calm. The respite from chatter and noise would not last long, it never did, but he could indulge in the nothingness while it remained available. The nothing barely lasted two seconds before his processor started turning.
He could not postpone the inevitable any longer. He had argued and fought and ultimately lost. This time, the laws of Earth did not favor him or his desires. He did not qualify as "next of kin" or as a spouse. He even contacted the lawyer. Only to learn, without a will, he could not act as executor of her estate, and a lawsuit would be long and arduous with little chance of success. He had to choose his fights carefully, and he decided this fight would waste his time and resources. Yet, he refused to give up, conceding defeat never made it into his programming. Optimus stood and left his office.
General McKaffee intended to take possession of Sira's body. The man offered condolences and promises of a respectful burial, perfectly spoken platitudes that rang with hollow lies.
"And I'm a petro-rabbit," the Prime muttered to himself as he walked the solemn corridors to the furthest end of the base.
He knew Sira's lifeless form would be poked, prodded, scanned, dissected, analyzed, and finally parted out to specimen jars and cryogenically frozen tubes. The military scientists would try to extrapolate what made her so different and if those differences could be applied to humans. They could not, and he knew this. "Genetic incompatibility with humans," as Ratchet and Wheeljack explained it to him, "Non-Terran base pairs. The spliced DNA would not hold and the genes would fall apart."
Government scientists would spend millions of dollars attempting to weaponize what they found within her. Not that he cared how much they spent on such a futile project. Nor did he have any attachment to the dead, organic form, for it was an empty husk. The part of Sira that mattered lived, albeit barely, in the med bay. He simply did not want them to have her.
Perhaps he made his decision out of spite or stubborn petulance, but he knew Sira would not want the military to have her body. Optimus felt it his duty to speak on her behalf until she could speak for herself. She did not belong to the humans, and they had no right to anything about her.
Standing before a blank wall, Optimus emitted the complex set of frequencies necessary to release the lock. The disguised door popped open with a hiss, smoking the hallway with escaping super-chilled air.
Prime entered the darkened vault, the frozen temperatures trying to needle their frosted fingers beneath his armor. He raised the lighting enough to see the glittering ice crystals clinging to every surface. Cycling his vents with a puff of condensation, he took stock of the vault's contents. The All Spark shard sat in a protective case to his right, the sacred relic partially obscured by frost. To his left, a box holding a scattering of papers: fake citizenship documents, copies of various treaties he made with the government, ownership of an LLC, along with other accumulated items. In the middle of the room, multiple slabs took up most of the area. Two of the tables held partially completed, lifeless protoforms awaiting the day someone inhabited them. On a third rested the remains of a fallen soldier and good friend.
"Hello, Jazz. Thank you for watching this?"
Prime offered a comforting pat to the cold, silver armor of his former second lieutenant. His fingers dislodging the thin layer of rime. Guilt pinged in Prime's spark as he stared at what remained of Jazz. Even less than on the day Megatron extinguished that fearless spark. The brutal realities of their protracted war led to cannibalizing the dead, parting out the deceased to repair the living. Or, in this case, using components to build protoforms. He knew humans practiced something similar with organ transplants, but many Cybertronians still considered the practice a taboo.
Tucked next to the saboteur, laid a small form, carefully secured in a blood-soaked shroud. Picking up the body, Optimus did not like the frozen stiffness; it felt unnatural – unreal - dead. Turning, he exited the vault and sealed the door behind him, once again hiding the ossuary for the deceased and the not yet living.
XxxX.
Since the transference, someone always stayed with the femme. Typically, Ratchet tended to her, but even the medic had to refuel and recharge. On several occasions, Prime came and relieved every one of their duties. Optimus would stay with Sira, sitting in the darkened room, silently watching the too-still form. For two weeks, they traded off monitoring the new femme. Watching. Waiting.
Once again, he sat with the new femme. The new femme. It mattered little to him what she had been before; when Sira onlined, she would be a femme. Maybe the only femme in existence. No one had seen or even heard of rumors about one since…
Wheeljack snapped out of his dark memories when a shadow fell over him. Prime's massive form had blocked the dim lights.
The Autobot commander had already visited twice that day, wanting updates on her progress. The engineer had shrugged. What could he say? Nothing had changed. Her body functioned -barely. She responded to only the harshest of stimuli, but she had yet to achieve consciousness. Worrisome, yes, but every day brought hopeful improvements.
He saw the frosted bundle in Prime's hand and glanced at his leader. Darkness radiated from the Prime's optics, and anger bit from his electrical field. It reminded Wheeljack of times when the stoic commander's facial plates rearranged themselves before a battle. A vestige of grim determination to carry through until the end.
"The accelerant is on the other workstation. Use some caution, sir; it will burn hot and fast," Wheeljack warned his leader. He did not want to face Ratchet if the Prime landed in the med bay.
Optimus nodded silently. He gathered the sealed container and stole a not-so-subtle glance towards Sira. Cycling his vents, he offered a soft, "Thank you 'Jack."
Wheeljack watched the Prime leave the medbay. A chill snaked up the engineer's spinal assembly. He knew what Prime had planned, and there would be no going back for Sira.
XxxX.
The chemical mix burned hotter and faster than expected. Rubbing his scorched fingers, Optimus chided himself for forgetting who created the flammable compound. When Wheeljack casually mentioned using caution, it translated to "use extreme caution."
He didn't watch the flames devour the pyre. He stayed long enough to ensure the fire did not spread, even though he chose a barren place without vegetation. He did not want to watch; the flames almost immediately consumed the soaked shroud, exposing pale flash to the blackening heat. At that point, he turned away, but the pops and sizzles of soft tissue thawing and burning filled his audios. He hated the sound, but it could not be avoided.
Black smoke choked the air around the pyre, and Optimus moved further away. It only took a few breems to reduce everything to smoldering ash.
When McKaffee arrived, he would direct the General and his men here and tell them they can have whatever was left.
XxxX.
Another two days passed. Two days of irate communications with an insulted General. Optimus held his ground with impassive silence. The human could rage and yell, waste energy and time, and look the fool. Optimus let him; the screeching threats held no weight, becoming annoying noise. He denied them access to something they wanted, and like impatient youth, they threw their fits.
The Prime took no pride in his actions. He felt no satisfaction when Secretary Kelley told him he had the biggest set of balls on the planet. He was the Prime of Cybertron; he had lived for millions of years and ruled a world. One furious human General was beneath his concern.
For another two days, they watched and waited.
XxxX
Author's Notes:
Ahhhh. I forgot to add this. Thank you everyone for reading and commenting, faving, following, etc.
d8rkforcen1ght7 Thank you. Yes there aren't many major plot changes from here on out… Maybe. Just polishing things up.
Moosagi – Well, hi there, stranger! I am glad you are enjoying the rewrite. I am planning something similar with HOTF, but I am not taking the whole thing down, just polishing and replacing existing chapters. Had a blast with the family.