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 29: Repose

XxxX

As Optimus read the updates, he stabbed the datapad with his finger. The harsh tck tck tck echoed through his office, a warning of his dark mood. He secluded himself in this chamber to avoid everyone. He sulked and brooded instead of raging at the humans' shortsightedness.

Tck tck. He opened another update. The EOD teams had cleared most of Tranquility with very little to show for their efforts. The Decepticons had vanished after leaving a trail of destruction behind them. The military tried, but they could not hunt the enemy like an Autobot. Prime wanted to release his soldiers and let them rid this world of Decepticons. A command so simple, so easy to make, yet he could not.

Tck tck. Another report and the death toll from the attack had not increased from the night before. The government forbid he and his mechs from leaving their base. Fear an Autobot presence would tempt a Decepticon attack being the commonly quoted reason. Optimus could not make the humans understand the Decepticons would attack when and where they wanted. If anything, an Autobot presence might act as a deterrent.

Tck tck. The costs from damage already totaled several million and continued to climb. Prime considered ignoring the order and sending his warriors out anyways. He still had not taken that option off the proverbial table, but the repercussions from the government stalled his command. He didn't want to strain the already tenuous relationship with the humans. Yet this war did not belong to the humans. This war raged for a million years on Cybertron and ending it fell on his shoulders.

Tck tck. The humans began actively protesting the military presence and curfews. This civil disturbance brought even more journalists to Tranquility. More eyes and cameras pointed in every direction and more likely to capture an Autobot or Decepticon on camera. This development stayed his hand. He agreed, for now, but eventually, the existence of extraterrestrial life had to be accepted by all humans.

Optimus tossed the datapad on his desk with too much force; the device slid across the slick surface and dropped off the far edge. The clatter pulled a sigh from the Prime of Cybertron as he slumped in his chair. "Frag," he muttered to dust motes.

Every mech at the base voiced his thoughts about the decision of noninvolvement. Bee threw his hands in the air and stomped off, Ironhide vehemently swore, and Sunstreaker mumbled threats to anyone who hurt his brother. Thank Primus Ratchet and Wheeljack for keeping their thoughts to themselves. In his spark, he agreed with his mechs; he wanted to find those responsible and guarantee they could never hurt anyone again. Yet on this world, he had to abide by rules he did not always understand or even agree with.

::Ratchet to Optimus Prime.:: The medic's hail over a commlink sliced through his sulking.

::Report,:: he snapped, not attempting to hide his annoyance at the intrusion.

::Ironhide hauled your femme into med bay. It appears she has not refueled or recharged in several days. Would you like to handle this, or shall I, Sir?:: The last word contained an admonishment.

Optimus shuttered his optics and cycled his vents in a deep sigh. He had become so busy dealing with the attack and the humans; he had ignored his responsibilities to Sira. He had promised to help her, then, at the first disruption, completely forgot about her. Not forgot, just did not see her and assumed she stayed out of the way. What did humans say about assuming?

Opening his shutters, the Prime stood. Walking around his desk, he bent to retrieve the abused datapad and return it to its rightful place. ::I am on my way.:: Optimus stopped and decided on a different course. ::Change that, send her to my office. And Ratchet, she is not my femme.::

After an astrosecond the medic responded. ::She is your femme; no one else wants to put up with her. Oh, she and Ironhide had an altercation; Sira is a little dinged up, but nothing serious. Ratchet out.:: And with that, the line closed.

Another sigh rattled through his frame. Fortunately, he knew how to handle young Cybertronians. While never having progeny of his own, he and the other Autobots raised 'Bee after they found him, newly sparked and alone in the ruins of a forging center. Sira was not a sparkling, she was a mature organic female, but she struggled to learn her frame and mechanics like a sparkling. He knew what to do for her. It took only a few minutes to retrieve a ration of energon and prepare for Sira's arrival.

A soft knock against the doorframe alerted him. The femme leaned against the wall, more out of desperation to stay upright than casual repose. Her head hung down, shoulders slumped, one arm crossed over her midsection; the femme stared at nothing near the floor. Scrapes and dents marred her shiny finish and added to the rough and worn look about her.

Optimus moved towards the femme, afraid she might collapse any astrosecond. He reached towards Sira, gently wrapping his fingers around her arm. The touch pulled her optics to his.

"Please come in, sit." He gestured towards a chair, barely keeping the worry from his vocals. She should not suffer like this; he should have checked on her. He should have excused himself from the endless meetings and looked for her. He could have helped her, guided her. Should have. Would have. Could have.

Sira silently staggered past him and collapsed into a chair.

Optimus moved around his desk and sat. Without comment, he slid the cube towards Sira.

The femme raised her helm, a flash of curiosity flickered in her optics, but she made no movement to pick up the cube.

Leaning across the desk, Prime pushed the ration a little closer to her. "Drink this. You need to refuel."

Sniffing, Sira pulled away from the energon, her nasal bridge wrinkling in disgust. "It smells like paint thinner, salt, and plutonium laced gasoline. Revolting." Her softly spoken words contained a hard edge.

Prime blinked in astonishment; he had never known a mech or femme to refuse fuel. Once, he read about human prisoners starving themselves to death in political protest. He assumed those accounts were an over-exaggeration, but now he did not know. What does that say about a species when individuals are willing to endure a slow, painful, death to make a statement?

He needed a different tactic. Sira did not have long, and coaxing her into compliance would waste time. "You have to drink half this cube before you leave your chair. Otherwise, you will force my hand. I will call Ironhide and Ratchet; we will restrain you and force the energon down your throat." He had heard Lennox use similar tactics on his daughter and hoped it would work on a stubborn femme.

Sira glanced at him dully, then rested her gaze on the container of energon. Had the femme been fully fueled, that comment would have earned at least a murderous glare. The absence of an expected scowl told how low her energy reserves had dropped. Worry made the Prime silently consider calling in Ironhide and resorting to the threat.

Fortunately, after a few tense moments, the coppery femme slipped shaking fingers around the cup. She placed it hesitantly against her lips. Optimus expected her to drink ravenously; instead, she barely sipped the pink liquid.

Sira drank precisely half of the cube before she set it back down. "That is weird. I don't like it," she complained, glancing over her shoulder.

Fragging stubborn femme, but a deal was a deal, and she had kept to her end. Prime stood. Her optics followed his movements as he walked around the desk. Reaching for her, he carefully took her wrist in his hand and tugged.

Curiosity flittered across her optics before exhaustion swallowed it whole.

"Come with me," Optimus gently ordered and braced for a sharp barb or witty retort. Only a soft sigh slipped through her vents.

Pulling the femme to her peds, the Prime kept a hand firmly rested on her waist. Partially forcing, partially guiding, he led Sira to the door towards the back of his office. Soon, the energon would start humming through her systems, taking some of the edge off her exhaustion, but she still needed to power down.

Shuffling beside him, the femme barely noticed the nearly hidden door slide open or the room beyond.

As the lights brightened his personal space, Sira raised her head and glanced around. Her optics slowly crept around his quarters in visual exploration. While larger than the rest of the Autobot dorms, it still felt cramp to him. The space contained the standard recharge bunk; a small table and chair set to the side, a large flat-screen monitor hung on the far wall so he could recline and watch basketball, a guilty pleasure he picked up. The sport gave him something to focus on other than endless war and human-centered drama. Mostly empty shelves choked a tight corner, but they offered him a place to drop objects.

Sira peered at the shelves, and curiosity shuffled her peds towards the dusty collection. Running her finger along the spines, she explored the random books he gathered. On another shelf sat a pair of antique glasses, a crystal, a spider web picture, and a clear box holding currency and gemstones. She tapped the cube and looked at him; a silent question raised her brow arches.

"I retrieved them from your quarters after…." He let his words trail off.

"Oh." Sira turned away from the remains of her former life. Emotions darkened her optics and twitched across her facial plates. Then, she forced a smile. "Your room is a lot nicer than mine; rank has its privileges," she joked weakly.

Optimus covered the distance between them. He pulled her to him, noticing the lack of resistance in her energy field. The fuel helped, but Sira needed more and rest. He allowed her to stall long enough. Guided her to the recharge bunk, he commanded the femme, "Sit."

She did, her legs dangling off the side.

Optimus sat next to her. Holding up his right arm, he opened his interface port on his wrist and pulled out the spike and silver connection cable.

"What are you doing?" she asked, a note of apprehension in her voice.

A wistful smile shifted the Prime's facial plates as ancient memories unfolded within his processor. "I used to do this for Bumblebee. When we found him, he was newly sparked, alone, and terrified. Fear prevented him from powering down for recharge mode. We would interface; it comforted him, and I taught him how to relax." Optimus slipped his fingers around Sira's wrist.

At his touch, the femme jerked, but he held onto her. Nervous suspicion tightened her electrical field around her. "Yeah, no. I'm good." Sira squirmed away to stand up.

Refusing to let go, Optimus wrapped his other arm around the femme's waist. Staring her in the optics, he calmly stated, "I have a suspicion you are associating this with sex."

Sira dropped her gaze, proving her misunderstanding. A tiny frown turned her lip components downward, but she stopped pulling away. Optimus took advantage of her pause to continue. "This is not interfacing for pleasure. We are Interfacing to teach you how to relax and power down for recharge. You have my word as the Prime of Cybertron; if you become uncomfortable, I will stop."

A slow cycle sighed through the femme's vents. "I am so tired. I can't sleep. It's like I don't know how to sleep."

"You don't. I can show you."

Timidly, Sira raised her head and collapsed against him.

Releasing Sira's wrist, Optimus wrapped both arms around the smaller frame. Holding her tightly, he relished her heat radiating into his armor. Prime only allowed himself a few seconds to indulge in the contact before releasing her.

Sliding backward on the bunk, Optimus guided the apprehensive femme. He positioned them so they both could be comfortable. Lying on his side, he spooned around the petite femme pressed against his chest. Draping an arm over her, he took her right hand and rubbed the access port on her wrist, coaxing it open.

"Will it hurt?" Sira asked softly.

"No," Optimus promised. "You will feel the press of my consciousness in your processor as I begin the power down sequence. It will be disconcerting, but it will not hurt."

"When will I wake up? Will you have to wake me up the same way?" A touch of uncertainty warbled her vocals.

"You will online, on your own, when your processor and frame have sufficiently rested. Recharge not only allows our processors to backup data from temporary storage and form memories, but our repair programs can function at a higher rate."

"But I'm not injured; I don't need repairs."

The Prime sighed. "As you move, walk, run, try to jump and fall on your face, you create micro-fractures, scrapes, dings, tiny tears in your hypercoils. You stress lines and circuits. When you recharge, energy is funneled to your nanobots so they can repair and strengthen those areas. Now, no more questions." With practiced ease, Optimus slid the connector into the port on Sira's wrist.

The femme stiffened at the connection but remained silent and passive.

Optimus waited. He didn't initiate any exchange; he wanted Sira relaxed first. Forcing her to accept him into her programming would be an act of violation and cause her unnecessary pain. Her pump thrummed rapidly in her chest; the staccato beats fluttered against him. For several breem, they lay together. The Prime cycled slowly, letting his energy field envelope and cocoon. It had been an incredibly long time since he had a femme curled next to him. He would never say aloud, but he enjoyed the sensation of her heat and small frame pressing along his armor.

Eventually, Sira relaxed. "No robot sexy time," she whispered.

"No," the Prime promised.

"That wasn't a question. It was a statement." A hint of mirth tainted her retort.

"Stop talking," he ordered.

The femme sank, her humor and stalling deflated. Sira needed to recharge, and the sooner, the better.

Opening the connection between them, Optimus realized Sira lay exposed and open to him. No security protocols, no firewall, no resistance to his intrusion. He could access any part of her frame or processor. Only bondmates allowed this level of intimacy. Immediately, he muted his vocals from letting a moan slip as memories of interfacing with another raised to the surface. Sira was not Elita, and he had to focus on Sira's needs, not his wants.

Slowly he moved within her. Clinical and neutral, Optimus kept his emotions from crossing the link between them, but he could feel Sira's. Exhaustion, frustration, apprehension, and curiosity. But under it all, he detected sadness and feelings of worthlessness. His spark ached at how little she valued herself. It explained her actions the last few days.

Now was not the time to soothe her troubled soul; she needed rest. Yet, he could not ignore her emotional pain. He allowed a hint of the admiration he had for her slip along the connection. He admired her resilience and tenacity, the iron-like core of her being that continued against the odds.

Finding her core, Optimus began the process of shutting down peripherals. Panic bit at him. A growl echoed through her soul; something beastly and wild stirred.

Unlocking his vocals, the Prime nuzzled the femme's nub of an audio horn. "Shh. I will not hurt you," he whispered. Continuing, Optimus rapidly powered down programming until automated processes took over, and Sira crashed into a deep recharge.

Optimus stayed a few minutes more, ensuring she rested and did not accidentally fall into stasis lock. Automated repair programs started up, and her processor began low levels of activity. Perfect, the femme was in recharge. He wanted to stay connected to her, he told himself only to monitor, but he promised. Backing through the connection, he detached himself mentally, then removed his interface cable. Laying snuggled next to the femme, he absentmindedly rubbed the access port on her wrist as he watched her recharge. He could not stay long, but he could indulge a few minutes more.

XxxX.

The screwdriver slipped, gouging into the black finish. "Frag it." Ironhide snarled. Looking up he watched Optimus enter his workshop. "I should claim you startled me, but the screws on this sight are rusted in place. What the hell does Sideswipe do with his weapons?" Setting the rifle aside, the black mech turned his full attention to his commander. "So, are you here to reprimand me?" he asked.

Optimus stopped next to the workbench and fidgeted with one of his tires. "No, I came to say thank you for bringing a problem to my attention. I only request that you not stand on Sira in the future." The Prime crossed his arms over his chest.

Ironhide snorted and leaned back in his chair. He raised his arms and laced his fingers behind his helm. "I have the right to defend myself. If someone shoved their hand into your neck and tried to rip out part of your neural wiring, you'd react the same way. And I didn't stand on her; I restrained her with my ped."

Several seconds passed as the mechs stared at each other. Ironhide broke the silence hanging between them. "Permission to speak freely, Sir."

"I thought you just did. Permission granted."

Propping his peds on the table, the weapons specialist spoke what was on his processor. "Don't coddle the femme. She doesn't need someone to hold her hand; she needs to be taught how to function and how to fight."

Prime's optics narrowed. "There has been concern about her emotional condition. If she is pushed before she is ready, her mental stability may be in jeopardy."

Ironhide knew he hit a sore spot, but Sira's life hung on their decisions. "If a Decepticon finds her, she won't last long enough for anyone to worry about her mental stability. Let go, Optimus. You are doing her a disservice by holding her back. She should have been in intensive training the minute she came online."

The Autobot leader rubbed his face with a hand and cycled his vents into a sigh. "I recall having a similar conversation with you once before."

"We did, and that little, yellow fragger is still with us and one of the best soldiers I have ever trained. Let me train Sira. She has potential."

"I do not want her to become a soldier," Prime mumbled the words to himself.

"That is not a decision for you to make. We are at war, and if she can't fight, then she will die. Let her decide. Primus knows, another set of optics and armaments would be a blessing."

The Prime pouted. Ironhide knew this mood well, Optimus hated being called out for his bullshit as much as anyone, and few dared to do so. But the young mech was an exceptional leader and listened to his mechs. He would understand the logic of the argument and eventually agree. Anyways, Bumblebee, Wheeljack, and even the twins already planned to train Sira sooner rather than later. Ratchet became the only obstacle, and that worry-wart CMO could just stick it up his lime-green tailpipe.

XxxX

Author's Notes: Thank you, everyone, for following along. My schedule is making the once-a-week update hard, but I want this finished and packed away, as I am sure you want to finish reading before moving to part two.

d8rkforcen1ght7: I may have split this. I can't recall, I rearranged chapters before I started rewriting. I wanted to deepen Sira's thoughts and emotions and explore some of the other characters, especially Optimus. His motivations are just as crucial as Sira's.