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 25: Sentience
XxxX.
Wheeljack sat at Ratchet's workstation in medbay as his bondmate recharged in their quarters. They split the cycles watching over Sira, but it left little time for each other or their individual projects. Trying to get caught up, the engineer ran and re-ran digital impact simulations on a glazing material to reduce environmental wear on solar panels. He relished coming up with patens and schematics for C.E. Tech to sell. It felt normal, almost like the war never happened, except he tried to mesh Cybertronian technology with primitive Earth tech; the buyers were human; the proceeds went to a general fund, not his private account. Other than those things, he felt like the war did not happen. Oh, and many of his former colleagues were dead, but it was like old times.
Engrossed in data points, he did not notice optics blink on for the first time. Consumed with the mystery of how quickly avian feces degrade the chemical composition, he missed the shaky arm rise towards the ceiling and slowly twist in observation.
The garbled scream tore him away from a fascinating study over the pH of bird excrement. Snapping his head towards the femme, he witnessed her twist and fall from the examination table. The dull clank of metal slamming into the unforgiving floor blared throughout the room.
::Frag! Oh, frag! She's online! Ratchet! Get to medbay now!:: Wheeljack yelled into his commlink as he bolted to the femme.
Sira lay face down, her arms tangled in the tubes and wires that kept her frame functioning, while her soul and mind attempted to adjust. She moaned, her limbs twitching spasmodically, threatening to rip necessary lines from their connections.
Wheeljack squatted and placed a hand on her back. He chirped and clicked softly to her as he checked over the tubing and feeds, searching for leaks or tears from her fall. He would not forgive himself if she onlined, only to bleed out from a loose hose.
The femme attempted to raise. He pressed her shoulders, pinning her to the floor. She squirmed weakly beneath his touch; pitiful sounds squealed and burbled from her vocals.
XxxX
He had heard the engineer's summons. The entire base heard the summons because Wheeljack used the general communications frequency, not a private channel. Prime stepped into the med bay to find Wheeljack wringing his hands in a rare show of worry while Ratchet knelt, nearly underneath a table.
Cautiously moving around the medbay, Optimus saw a copper-hued protoform curled against the base of the examining table. His spark pulsed with relief and excitement. He tried to temper his elation with caution, knowing consciousness did not always mean fully functioning.
Staying out of the medic's way, he watched Ratchet begin to uncouple the femme from machines that fed her energon, and regulated her temperature, along with other functions. Sira accepted the intrusion into her frame and mechanics, but Optimus wondered if her compliance was due to weakness, not will.
"We may be here a while," the CMO informed him. "I don't want to move her until she is no longer tethered, but I am not going to hurry this process." Tracing his hand along a cable, Ratchet grappled with it as his other hand pulled a small welder from the table above. Laying on the ground, the medic deftly popped the cable loose and sealed the opening it left on the protoform's mechanics.
"Take your time," Optimus instructed.
"Oh, I plan to. 'Jack, power down the pump monitor."
Wheeljack began punching buttons and dialing back controls, the lights of the machine darkened.
"See? That is all I am going to do. We are going to unhook you, then get you on the table. I am going to do that again." The medics gently spoken words pulled a small smile from Optimus. He forgot how much kindness Ratchet could offer his patients.
Sira stared at the CMO with bright, bewildered, green optics.
Primus, they made her optics green, Optimus thought. He watched how the delicate frame shook and twitched from rapidly cycling vents. "Sira?" he asked as softly as he could.
She turned her green optics to him, and a shiver ran along her frame.
"Do you remember who I am?" Optimus asked.
Sira nodded, and her optics narrowed. "I - trusted. You - did - this." She jerked.
Ratchet began cursing in High Cybertronian, as a machine attached to Sira emitted a loud alarm.
"Out," snapped the medic. "Get out."
Prime did not move, frozen by the hate in her words. She pierced his spark as deeply with her words as if she had used a lance.
"Optimus out." The finality in the medic's order set the Prime moving. He shuffled away from the new femme and towards the door. One final look over his shoulder, and he left.
XxxX
Standing outside medical, with his arms crossed over his chest and head bowed in sullen dejection, the Prime of Cybertron leaned against the wall. He waited for Ratchet to allow him to return and talk with Sira. Once, as a much younger mech, he cared what others thought of his decisions, but after millennias of war, such things rarely concerned him. Now, he wanted to placate the new femme and quell her anger at him. He wanted to explain, to help her understand, to help her accept his decisions. He felt like he did when he was younger, unsure but desiring to please another.
"Did she make it?"
Optimus raised his head to see Ironhide strolling towards him.
"She is awake," the Prime informed his oldest friend, then returned to staring at his peds.
The old warrior picked a spot opposite Optimus and leaned against the wall, mirroring the younger mech's pose. "So why are you acting like someone ran over your cyber-puppy?"
Not looking at the other mech, Optimus mumbled. "She is mad at me." Then turned away from Ironhide, not wanting to talk.
The bark of laughter boomed around him and grated in his audios. A frown deepened his facial plates as misplaced anger chilled Optimus's tone. "And this is funny?"
After crossing the narrow corridor to stand beside the Prime, Ironhide laid a rough and scarred hand on his shoulder. "It is funny. Instead of celebrating success, you are out here pouting because she is mad. Of course, she is mad. She woke up in the wrong body after dying. She is probably scared, confused, shocked, struggling to function, maybe in pain. Primus only knows what parts of the process she remembers. So yeah, I'm sure she is mad. Mad is the default setting for most femmes, or have you forgotten that?"
The rationale of the black mech's words stung. "She is not a femme. Sira is a biological female. Not the same." Arguing semantics offered a safer discussion than his own sulking.
Ironhide reached up and grabbed him by the audio final forcing his attention. An action the old mech had not attempted since Optimus became Prime. "Female. Femme. Formerian Egg Producer. They all behave the same – aggressive. So, let her be mad until she acclimates, and you stop acting like a self-centered cog. Celebrate her survival, you stupid glitch."
XxxX
"Sira, do you remember what happened before you woke up here?" the medic asked calmly as he peered into the femme's optics.
"No," she murmured weakly.
Completely disengaged from the support machines, Sira lay on an examining table. She did not balk when Ratchet scooped her small frame off the floor and moved her. Thought supine and apparently relaxed, the medic read the tension in her hypercoils. Minute twitches accompanied his every movement during the exam.
"That is fine. Do you remember going to a museum?" Ratchet asked, shining a light into the other optic and watching the aperture rings tighten to reduce exposure.
The femme blinked and furrowed her facial plates into a frown. Her mouth opened as if she meant to speak, then quickly closed again. Finally, she shook her head to the negative and looked away.
The door to medbay slid open then closed. Ratchet turned to watch Optimus quietly slip into the room. The massive mech lingered near the door, not venturing further. Stealing a quick glance, the medic gaged his patient. The femme watched the Prime but showed no aggression or hostility.
Lifting her hand, he instructed Sira to move the finger he touched. "You cannot recall, and that is acceptable." He sat that hand down and repeated the process on the other one but watched her expressions closely. "Do you remember the attack?"
Green optics opened wide with confusion as the copper head snapped up, and vents cycled rapidly. She looked between him and Optimus repeatedly. "A – attack?"
Prime spoke from his place by the door, his words heavy and somber. "We were in Tranquility. You were visiting a museum and a considerable distance from me. The Decepticon Barricade attacked you. I could not get you in time…." His words trailed off.
Ratchet continued where the Prime left off. "The Decepticon meant for you to die. He wanted to torture you to hurt Prime. He succeeded, so if you cannot remember what happened, that is for the best. Fortunately, Optimus reached you before you expired, initiating what we call transference."
Moving to her peds, he checked the tactile sensors and had her press against his hands. "A transference is when a spark is moved from one body to another. Normally, this is done in a very controlled medical setting." The medic sent a pointed look to the Autobot leader. "So, yes. Optimus and I did this to you. We wanted to save your life."
"The damage was too much; your body was dying. I had little choice." Optimus said solemnly.
The femme lay in silence, her optics focused on the ceiling above her.
Ratchet paused his exam, the small ped still propped in his hands. Thick tension hung around Sira even though she did nothing and her facial plates remained slack and neutral. The medic wished he could read her thoughts, only enough to understand if calm acceptance or rage-filled denial swirled inside her processor.
Sira cycled her vents in a long sigh. Twisting, she yanked her ped from the medic's hands and rolled off the examining table.
Ratchet scrambled to catch her, but he only ended up half stretched across the hard surface, hands grasping at air. The Prime rushed towards them, but even he was not fast enough to stop the femme from hitting the floor.
Struggling to her elbow and knees, Sira shook from effort or fear or unadulterated anger; he could not tell.
Reaching towards her, Optimus knelt to give his assistance. "Sira, what are you doing? Let me help."
Lifting himself off the table, Ratchet paused when a low growl responded to the Prime's pleas. A slender, copper hand gripped the edge of the table he just vacated, followed by a second one.
"Want to see," the new femme garbled. "What – look like?"
"I will take you," Optimus stated flatly. His hands gently pulled the weakly struggling femme into his arms.
"Now, wait a breem," Ratchet snapped. "She isn't strong enough to start traipsing around the base." He moved between the Prime and the door.
Standing his full height, with Sira secured in his arms, Optimus stared down at the medic. "I will take her to see her reflection, then return her to you."
Ratchet huffed and stepped aside. His specialty focused on the frame, not the processor. If Sira needed to know what she looked like to accept the changes in her existence, then so be it. He did not understand what difference it would make, but organics based part of their identity on their appearance. At the core, Sira was and always will be an organic.
XxxX.