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 33: Questions

XxxX.

Optimus watched two vehicles race across the dry ground; their tires kicked up clouds of dust and marked their passing. Neither the pearl-white Shelby GTR nor the blaze-red Saturn Sky were designed for off-road travel, but they managed at speeds no human driver would attempt. They swerved and wove their way across the desert hardpan, the red sports car following inches from the other's rear bumper.

He enjoyed watching Wheeljack in vehicle form. The engineer had a grace and elegance that never translated to his root mode. Where the twins had speed, Ironhide and Ratchet had power, 'Jack had agility. During battle, that mech could perform maneuvers no other would even dare to attempt. For this reason, Optimus personally asked Wheeljack to oversee this portion of Sira's training.

Over the weeks and one by one, Ratchet had unlocked Sira's programming, forcing her to cope. The Heads Up Display all mechs relied upon had been a disaster. Within an hour, she wanted it turned off. "I don't need to know the airspeed. Hey, look, the dust is blowing; it must be fucking windy. And what is all this Cybertronian glyph crap?" she complained, wiggling her fingers in front of her face. "Can't read it. Don't need it. Make it gone."

No amount of arguing could change her mind. Finally, he and Ratchet reached a compromise with her; only the status display remained active. She accepted that but wanted to change the colors from blue, white, mauve, and grey to green, yellow, red, and black respectively. Ratchet threw a screaming fit and several tools. She looked at the fuming medic in the optic and said, "Does that mean 'no.'" Thank Primus, Sira could move incredibly fast when she wanted to.

The internal communications lines quickly became a source of perverse entertainment for the femme, the first few attempts to use the comm line left Sira giggling and mumbling about having voices in her head. Ratchet nearly strapped her to the examining bunk, forcing Optimus to intervene. Sometimes, Sira's sense of humor required translation.

Velocity did seem to enjoy accessing the different visual spectrums available to her. He had found her sitting cross-legged in front of a nondescript bush, shifting her vision from Ultraviolet to infrared and back. She saw the vegetation in a whole new light - literally. Enthusiastically patting the ground next to her, she invited him to join. They spent hours working their way through the electromagnetic spectrum. He allowed her wonder and excitement to infect him, and he explained how the wavelengths traveled, their differences, and their uses. It became a night reclined under the stars, in deep discussion, instead of reading or arguing.

Prime knew Sira continued to struggle with her new identity and worried about the femme. She smiled and joked, but in quiet moments, when she thought no one noticed, the fear and sadness slipped into her optics.

He noticed. It took him a while to understand that before, her survival depended on isolation and independence. Now, she relied on them, helpless and dependent, and for this reason, he upped her training schedule. The femme mastered the physical aspects of her life with frightening speed, and he wondered if she did so to avoid emotional pain. The more they demanded of her, the harder she pushed herself, sometimes to the point of collapse. It became a challenge to keep up with her; Cybertronians lived long lives and planned in decades or centuries; Sira mastered skills in hours or days, then demanded the next lesson.

Optimus did not find her constantly changing needs as frustrating as did the other Autobots. The faster Sira could function independently, the faster she could become one of his team. He wanted her as an advisor, not a warrior or soldier. For now, he kept this idea to himself, but her obsessive study of humans, their motivations, behaviors, and emotions would be crucial to an alliance with Earth.

Velocity - the femme would have to use the Cybertronian moniker in dealings with humans or other mechs, but to Optimus Sira and Velocity were the same being. Before becoming Optimus Prime, he had been known as Orion Pax, and that person still lived within him. He hoped eventually the femme would accept that she was still the same person, just in a different shell.

A pair of Lamborghinis joined the sports cars. The twins flanked Velocity, and Sideswipe pressed close to her bumper. Through the dusty haze, he watched the femme accelerate and pull away from the warrior. Wheeljack slowed and wedged himself between the twins and Sira. Almost immediately, the twins veered off and raced into the desert. A wry smile tipped the Prime's facial plates, Wheeljack might be easygoing, but he would pull rank when needed, and he ranked above the twins. No doubt they decided to harass the femme. Sideswipe required close observation; his continuous propositioning would get him shot. Bets rode on it.

A noise behind Optimus announced new arrivals; turning, he saw Ironhide and Ratchet walking towards him. He nodded in greeting.

"I hope she can drive better than she can transform," the medic grumbled.

Prime chuckled. "She has only jammed up once since coming outside. Let her practice." Sira struggled with the finer points of moving between modes; relaxing and letting her programs take over escaped her. It took him and Wheeljack several minutes to dislodge armor panels so she could finish her transformation.

Red dust dulled the engineer's snowy paint as he passed nearby, Sira following in his tire tracks. She attempted to pull beside the larger car, and he turned towards her. This maneuver forced the femme to swerve or wreck. It appeared aggressive, but such tactics taught the femme to utilize side sensors. As Wheeljack sped off towards the western horizon, Sira quickly closed the distance between them. Once again, she followed inches from the other car's bumper, and they zigzagged around the desert.

Designed by Ironhide and perfected by Wheeljack, they had fitted Sira with defensive weapons, and her efficiency with them changed her sparing sessions. She became one of the few Autobots armed with metal shearing claws. Most mechs stored tools within their fingers, practical utensils for tightening, cutting, grabbing, loosening bolts, lines, screws, whatever. Sira sported recurved talons designed for one purpose, to rip apart an adversary. Her former existence ideally suited her for the unique weapons.

Fully retractable into her fingers, they were small, useful for grabbing, or, as Optimus discovered, striking a painful but non-lethal blow. While the claws on her fingers did not cause much damage against mech armor, the talons on her peds were the real threat. Sickle-shaped, long, and attached to powerful legs, Sira demonstrated the efficiency with which they raked through armor. The practice dummy did not last a breem, and a chill slithered up Prime's spinal assembly while he watched her reduce the target to scrap. Something primal and savage shone brightly in Sira's optics. A reminder that even though she inhabited a Cybertronian's body, she had never been a Cybertronian, nor had she ever been human. She was something utterly alien to both.

Without warning, the crimson femme locked her brakes and fishtailed out of control. She spun in tight circles, kicking up clouds of dust and obscuring her from his sight.

Optimus bolted towards her. "Sira, what is your status?" he bellowed over the comm line.

Silence swirled with the dust.

"Velocity, report NOW!"

"Eww. I ran over something, and - and it's stuck. I can feel it dripping," she whined back.

"I've got it, Sir. I'm closer and can assist sooner." Wheeljack had turned around and disappeared into the dust cloud.

Optimus slowed to a walk but continued towards the pair. His spark froze in fear; training accidents did occur. As he neared the femme's location, a breeze pushed most of the dust away.

Wheeljack knelt beside the little red roadster, peering beneath her chassis. "I fear the small mammal is beyond repair."

"Yuck, just get it out!" the femme cried.

::I thought she was a predator species?:: Ironhide laughed over the comm line.

::No, she is a walking contradiction.:: Ratchet retorted.

::Both of you, stop it,:: Optimus snapped, not wanting to hear their bantering.

By now, Wheeljack had pulled a mangled lump of fur and ears from Velocity's wheel well. "Lepus townsendii, I assume. Or perhaps Lepus californicus; they both inhabit this region. Anyways I suggest a long shower with a high-pressure hose to remove all the little pieces," he said as he patted Sira's hood.

The femme shivered. "Can I transform, or will that make it worse?"

"Oh, you can transform, and it will make it worse. There isn't anything else to do other than remove the remains," Wheeljack commented happily.

Sira transformed and stood up. Her lips peeled back in disgust as she looked at the chunky smear along her chest. A bloody wad of brown-grey fur stuck out from a shoulder joint. She did not look at Optimus as she stomped by, but he heard something about "Stupid, fucking, suicidal jackrabbits."

XxxX

At this hour, the silence became so heavy, it enrobed her in quiet solitude, like a soft blanket. She liked the stillness during these small hours of the day; it offered her time to be alone and to think.

Sitting in the half-light of the commissary, Sira absentmindedly ran a finger around the edge of a nearly empty cube of energon. The datapad to her right flickered as information scrolled across the screen. A glance told her about an increase in electrical consumption in an Autobots' quarters. Hmm. Someone was up and turned on the lights. If she wanted, she could have traced the source and seen exactly who moved about, but she didn't; it wasn't that important.

With a few taps, she changed to the screen to show the sensor array that surrounded the base. All clear; nothing gave off a Cybertronian energy signature, only small groups of organics scattered around the countryside. The signals likely belonged to deer or the group of teens camping in the Northern corner. A quick glance showed it was not the campers; they had not moved from their spots for a couple of hours, probably asleep. There had been some discussion about whether to call the Sheriff's Department to break up the underage group or not. Not won as Optimus decided to leave them alone. He did not see any harm in the youths being out there. He ordered to watch the situation; if the humans got into any trouble, they would intervene.

She had been shocked when Optimus assigned her watch duty. After some stammering, the warm glow of pride filled her. Prime thought she could handle the beginnings of responsibility. The other 'Bots chided her about getting the worst shift available. Sira did not mind; from the witching hour until dawn had always belonged to her. Anyways, she only had two or three shifts a week; most of her time she spent training.

The soft noise of fabric rubbing against fabric alerted her of a presence, and then the proximity alarms of her Heads-up Display sounded. Oh, how she hated the scrolling text that appeared on the left of her vision. Optimus had all but begged her to try to adjust to the HUD. "It is a vital instrument if you are ever in a battle situation," he reasoned. At least she had the option of turning it off when her nerves couldn't handle it anymore. And Wheeljack had been kind enough to help her with a translation program so that she could understand the data, but it still irked her.

Turning off the HUD, Velocity looked down. A human male stood near her ped; his brown hair tousled from sleep. "Hey, Sam. Why are you up?" she asked him.

He yawned and stretched with unselfconscious abandon. "I wanted to talk."

Sira checked her datapad. "Optimus is up; the lights are on in his office. I'm sure he would help you with whatever is bothering you at four thirty-four in the morning."

She watched Sam scratch the back of his neck, such a cute, nervous gesture. "Actually, I wanted to talk to you."

"Oh? You do?" She could not hide her surprise. Carefully she removed the cube of energon to another table and quickly checked for spills. No one knew how human flesh would react to energon exposure, but both Wheeljack and Ratchet agreed, "It would not be good." So, all areas had to be kept clean and free of spilled fuel.

Reaching down, she cupped both hands together for Sam to climb onto, not large enough to pick a person up one-handed, unless she grabbed a limb and dangled them around like an abused toy. Gently setting her hands on the table, she allowed the young man to climb off at his leisure.

Sira smiled amiably. "Are you sure you don't want to speak to Optimus? He is so much better at imparting profound words of wisdom."

Sitting on the table, Sam crossed his legs in front of him. "Yeah, I've heard the profoundwords you can impart," he joked.

The femme curled a lip in a mock snarl. "The word is profane, not profound. Anyways, I warn you, I charge by the hour, and I refuse to discuss your sex life," she quipped and watched Sam's cheeks turn a rich rosy color. Touché.

"I - I was wondering, what's it like?" he turned away, the heat still coloring his face. "You are the only person that can tell me what being," his hand gestured to signify her. "What being like them is like. God, I hope I didn't just say something wrong." He squinted his eyes as if preparing for a verbal blow.

Sitting back in her chair, Sira stared at the young man. Words refused to come, and she feared if she moved, she would run away. A deep cycle of her vents, and she managed a fake smile. "Give me a second; you caught me off guard."

"It's ok. If you don't want to talk about it, I understand. I guess it would be hard…."

"Sam, Shut up."

He did.

"I figured you knew but never thought to ask." Sira sat both arms on the table and began picking at imagined dirt on her fingertips. "It's different," she began. "Very different, and I can't describe it." She chuckled humorlessly, "Honestly, I still think I will wake up, and this will all be a weird dream. Some days I see things or do things that scare the living shit out of me, and other days I learn or experience something amazing." Her features shifted into a genuine grin, "Fortunately, the amazing days are starting to outnumber the scared shitless days."

Sam graced her with a goofy smile. Then it fell away as he said, "I guess I was wondering why you've had such a rough time at adjusting. I mean, it's like you didn't know how to do anything for a while. Is it that hard learning to be like them? Is that why it seemed like you gave up?"

His innocent question sliced right into her soul. Sira looked away as her grin melted into a frown. Her ped tapped beneath the table. She wanted to tell him to "fuck off" but held her words until she could speak the truth. "I had trouble because I was mad they did this to me. I refused to accept it, and I still hold some resentment, but I want to continue living." She sighed and dropped her head to look at her lap. The following words humiliated her. "At first, I couldn't figure out if I could kill myself, so I gave up and lived. Had I known how to, I might not be here." She blinked and looked away, hating the truth. "Then, the living became easier. I probably sound weak or cowardly, but that is the truth. Sam, I am not a brave person, but part of me wouldn't give up, and that part was furious at the rest of me for wanting to. Does this make sense, or do I sound bat-shit crazy?" She offered a small smile to offset the seriousness of admitting she briefly contemplated suicide.

The man before her shook his head. "No, weirdly, you make sense. When I was running from Megatron, part of me wanted to give him the Allspark, so he would leave me alone. Then another part of me was furious for even thinking such a stupid thing. I wouldn't go around saying things like that; not many people would understand. I think that might be what they call bravery, not taking the easy way or something."

A peaceful silence fell between them; then the young man cleared his throat. "Mikaela won't even talk to 'Bee or me about - you know - becoming like you."

Sira squirmed in her seat. "Sam, have you ever thought that she might be afraid. Let's face it, Optimus won't do a thing until one of you is at the point of death, and trust me, that isn't a great place. Where the fuck is Optimus? He should be having this conversation." She twisted around, hoping the Autobot leader would magically appear. He did not, and the femme had to refocus on her companion.

A ghost of a smile played across Sam's face before it disappeared. "Yeah, the almost dead thing sucks. Mickey and I have talked about how we may not survive another battle. I mean, we both lucked out the last time, but eventually, our luck will run out. She accepts that she might die, but not that she could become an Autobot."

Laying her hands on her forearms, Sira leaned forward; her fears spilled into her vocals. "Sam, Prime is over nine million years old. Think about it - nine million years, and he is considered young by their standards. That is a damn long time to live. Haven't you met someone eighty-five or ninety years old that seemed tired? Tired of the stress life has thrown at them, tired of the losses, tired of life? They just seem ready for it to be over. To live a human life, there is an end to it all, but to live as one of them, there isn't an end in sight – ever, eons of life and love, loss, grief, joy, sorrow, anger, stress, happiness, and hate. If you ever endure transference, you will eventually see everything around you wither and die. I know that is my future. Fuck, I might outlive my own planet, this solar system. This everlasting life is natural to them, but it may become too great of a burden for me, for you, or Mikaela. Could this be what she is afraid of?"

The silence around them thickened, and she saw the thoughts churn in his head. He was young; not even into his second decade; some truths were not yet known to him. To him, his life seemed to stretch out endlessly. Give him a few more years, let a couple of lines mark that youthful face, and he will have a different perspective.

"Sam," Sira continued in the same solemn tone. "You are going to marry Mikaela, correct? What happens if you die young and the Autobots cannot save your consciousness? Is she supposed to go on with her life? Is she supposed to remarry?"

The human shrugged. "Well, yeah. I would like for her to be happy. I suppose she would try and remarry."

She tapped her finger against the tabletop, accentuating the possibilities. "Now, what if you were both like me, and you die? Would she be able to find a Cybertronian attractive enough to try to have a relationship with him, or would she go through the rest of her long life alone? What if you become a mech, and she remains a human? How would your marriage survive that? Could you stand to watch her grow old, or would you start pestering Optimus for other options? These are the things that you need to think about. Bring these issues up and see if she is willing to discuss them."

Sam shook his head to clear away the heavy thoughts. He graced her with a lopsided grin and said, "I thought Optimus was the only profound and wise one. Maybe he is rubbing off on you?"

"I'm not wise. I just suffer from word vomit when I think about things." She propped her chin in her hands.

"Nope, you are smart. Given time you might be smarter than Optimus, but not Wheeljack."

Thoughts of flicking the irreverent male off the table crossed her mind. she growled threateningly.

Sam's smile spread.

Sira chuckled and shook her head. Leaning back in her chair, she wanted this discussion to end. "Why don't you tell Mikaela to talk to me? I'll answer her every question truthfully and in excruciating detail, but I won't try to talk her into anything. I'm not going to try to alleviate her fears or sugarcoat it, but I will give her information ifshe wants it.

"And Sam, do not try to push her into making a decision. If she comes around to the idea, she comes around; if not, let it go. She will love you more for it." Velocity glanced away, at least someone could make an informed decision. She would have liked to have been offered the same opportunity.

The man smiled with such open gratitude it twisted her soul. "Have you heard; we've decided to move the wedding? We figured why not. We are of legal age, we already live together here, and the 'Bots pretty much consider us bondmates, so it is just the paperwork that needs to be done.

"Hey, What's the weather going to be like today? We're going to look at some of the nearby parks. We want to have you guys at the wedding, so we thought someplace outside and with lots of close parking would be perfect."

Sira tapped the datapad, glad for the diversion. "Looks like there's a little cold front moving in. You might want a jacket." Scooping up Sam, she deposited him to the floor. "Now go away. I have to return to Central Ops and look like I did something tonight. The boss is a real grouch if he catches you with your feet propped up and a Mahjongg score higher than his."

Sam disappeared down the hallway. Sira slumped onto the table and buried her face in her arms.

XxxX

Author's Notes:

Thank you everyone for reading, hope you enjoyed.

Cybertronian color coding versus typical human.

Blue - normal functioning (open, safe) - Green

White – Moderate stress or injuries - Yellow

Mauve – critical or severe distress or injury (locked, dangerous) - Red

Grey - impending death or stasis lock - Black