Notes: This is far darker than anything I have written before, and your support meant more to me than I can say!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Dave woke slowly, his consciousness returning in fits and starts, until at last he opened his eyes. When his blurry vision finally cleared, he saw that he was in an unfamiliar space with beige-painted walls and nondescript furniture. He slowly turned his head to the side, and a splash of color caught his attention. There, on a squat, bedside table, was a flower bouquet arranged in a ceramic vase. Dave squinted, and he could just make out a small, white card affixed to a peg stuck between the sunflowers and lilies. He stared at the flowers for a long time, waiting for the moment of clarity that would provide insight as to where he was and what had happened, but nothing came.
Eventually, and with great effort, he turned his head to regard himself. He was lying on a hospital gurney with the blankets pooled loosely around his hips. His bare chest was heavily bandaged and dotted with electrode pads that were connected by thin, black wires to a nearby heart monitor. He lifted his arm and noted the pulse oximeter attached to his index finger and the IV taped to the back of his hand.
Distantly, Dave could hear the steady, electronic beeping of the monitors increasing in pitch and tempo.
"You back with us, Carter?"
Dave startled as Ratchet's holoform leaned into his field of vision. The medic looked unusually grim and harried, but there was a glimmer of relief in his steel blue eyes. Dave opened his mouth to voice his confusion, when he realized there was a nasal cannula taped to his face. He frowned, reaching up to pull at the thin tubing, before Ratchet intercepted him and lowered his hand to the mattress.
"Leave it. Your oxygen saturation still isn't where I want it to be."
Dave swallowed dryly, wincing as his throat clicked. When he finally spoke, his voice was like desert gravel.
"Ratchet, what… what happened?"
The holoform's lips pressed into a thin line. Rather than answer him, the medic reached up to adjust the bag of saline that was hanging on a rack beside Dave's bed. Dave opened his mouth to repeat his question when Ratchet turned to regard him with a closed-off expression.
"There was a Decepticon attack. What do you remember?"
Dave frowned again, eyes narrowing in thought. He recalled the activation necessitated by the unknown mechanoid, and he remembered Optimus deploying three teams to the nuclear power plant. After that, he and Sam—
Dave's eyes widened in dread and alarm as memories of the attack surged to the forefront of his mind. Before he could struggle into a sitting position, however, Ratchet's hands were on his shoulders and pinning him to the mattress.
"Don't you dare. It took three hours to get you stitched up, and I won't have you undoing all of that work."
Dave grabbed Ratchet's wrist, and the air rattled in his chest as he struggled to catch his breath long enough to demand, "Where's Sam?"
A strident alarm sounded from one of the many monitors at his bedside, and Ratchet's expression became openly irritated.
"Calm down or I will be forced to sedate you."
His voice was clipped and demanding, and Dave understood at once that he was speaking to Ratchet the medic, not Ratchet his friend. Dave narrowed his eyes at the holoform, leaning towards him as well as he was able.
"God dammit, Ratchet. Is he alive?"
Before Ratchet could reply, Optimus' grave voice cut across the room.
"We believe so, Dave."
Dave turned towards the holoform with growing trepidation. Optimus looked worse for wear than Ratchet, his holoform sporting numerous abrasions and an unusually somber expression.
"You believe so?" Dave repeated, allowing himself to be pushed back against the mattress. Ratchet folded his arms over his chest, a supremely unimpressed look on his face as he stared down at him.
Optimus nodded, approaching the foot of the bed.
"He was taken by Megatron shortly after you were attacked by the minicon. Immediately thereafter, all Decepticon forces withdrew from the island. We have not seen or heard from Sam or the Decepticons since."
Dave stared at Optimus in disbelief, a horrible sinking feeling in his gut. Although Sam was fifteen years his junior, he had come to consider the younger man both a colleague and a friend. He was well aware of the Decepticon's proclivity for cruelty and torture, and he shuddered to think what Sam was enduring in their custody. He scrubbed a hand over his face, noting the stubble on his cheeks and chin.
"How long since he was taken?" Dave asked at last.
"Just over two days ago."
"Jesus, Optimus. Do we know what they want?"
Optimus shook his head minutely, "Not definitively, no."
Dave gritted his teeth in irritation, well aware that the Autobot leader was being purposefully vague.
"Care to speculate?"
"Dave, you are in no condition to get involved in this right now." Ratchet interrupted, his voice brooking no argument. Dave glanced up at the holoform stubbornly, refusing to be put off.
"Answer the question."
Optimus sighed as he reached out to grip the railing of the gurney. The gesture was uncharacteristically weary, and Dave felt trepidation tighten in his stomach.
"We believe that Megatron took Sam to exploit the Allspark energy in his body."
Dave frowned, "Can he do that?"
Ratchet snorted derisively, "He will surely try, regardless of the consequences."
Optimus glanced towards his Chief Medical Officer, "Not necessarily, Ratchet. As a Prime, Sam may have value to Megatron's cause beyond the Allspark energy."
Ratchet narrowed his eyes.
"Are you willing to bet Sam's life on that?"
Dave glanced between Optimus and Ratchet, suddenly aware of the simmering tension in the room. Optimus sighed, shaking his head slightly.
"Of course not."
Dave pushed himself up onto his elbows, struggling to keep the wince of pain off his face. Ratchet's head snapped around, and the medic glared down at him.
"What's the situation topside, Optimus?" Dave asked, steering the conversation away from the sensitive subject of Sam's captivity.
Optimus did not need to ask for clarification.
"The Downtown area was heavily impacted. Six administrative buildings were destroyed, and another dozen were damaged beyond repair. The embassy, the dining facilities, and procurement sustained moderate damage. The Trion has sustained significant damage—it is likely she will never be flight-capable again." He paused, and Dave could sense the Autobot leader's guilt and regret, "There have been twenty-six deaths and eighty-nine serious injuries so far. Search and rescue is still ongoing."
Dave felt himself pale and he sank back against the pillows without a sound. After a moment, he glanced back towards Optimus.
"Did Will and Killian make it?"
Optimus nodded minutely, "They both made it through the attack unscathed."
Out of the corner of his eye, Dave noted the way that Ratchet went very still.
"Yes, Lennox is fine." Ratchet agreed, and there was something harsh about his tone.
Optimus turned to look at the medic, his expression openly reproachful, "He made a judgment call to the best of his ability in a difficult situation."
"It was the wrong call."
Dave glanced up at Ratchet, taken aback by the hostility in his tone. He wanted to ask for clarification, to learn what had happened after he had been attacked, but he knew that it was the wrong moment to broach the subject. Instead, he tried to distract the medic by gesturing vaguely to himself.
"What's the damage, doc?"
Ratchet looked at him, his dark expression softening into something closer to exasperation.
"You have four lacerations in your chest, varying between two and three inches deep. You lost a liter of blood and suffered stage two hypovolemic shock until Lewis got you stabilized. You also have a punctured lung and a lacerated liver."
Dave frowned, "Will I need a transplant?"
Ratchet shook his head, "No, thank Primus. Lewis was able to get you sorted in time."
Dave nodded before something else occurred to him. Glancing at Optimus, he asked, "What's been the international response to the attacks?"
Although Optimus' face was carefully controlled, his eyes hardened to pieces of flint.
"The Indian government has publically acknowledged our involvement in preventing a nuclear incident, and other world leaders have contacted me to express their sincere condolences for our loss."
Dave glanced at Optimus in surprise, "They know about Sam?"
"No, not as of yet. We have kept the details of the attack to a bare minimum. The only humans who are aware of Sam's capture are yourself, Killian Anderson, and Will Lennox."
"That's not sustainable, Optimus. There are over 5000 people on this base, and one of them is bound to notice that he's missing once the dust settles."
Optimus inclined his head in acknowledgement, his expression grim. "Yes, I know."
"So what's the plan? Once this gets out, it will be international news." Another thought occurred to him, and Dave grimaced, "When are you going to tell his parents?"
Optimus sighed softly, "I will deliver the news in person once the base is secured."
Dave made to push up onto his elbows, but Ratchet's hand was there in an instant, pressing him down onto the mattress again.
"What part of 'you have multiple serious injuries to your core' was difficult to comprehend?" The medic asked scathingly. Dave waved him off, looking back towards Optimus.
"Let me go with you. I've come to know them pretty well over the last six months."
Optimus' expression warmed with sincere appreciation, "Thank-you for your offer, Dave, but you are in no condition to travel, nor will you be so for the foreseeable future. I am afraid this is something that I must do alone."
Dave opened his mouth to protest when Ratchet made an impatient sound and grasped his wrist. He glanced down in surprise to see the medic withdraw a syringe from the IV taped to the back of his hand.
"Seriously?" Dave asked, openly exasperated. He could already feel the warm pull of the sedative spreading through his body with every beat of his heart.
"Your oxygen saturation has dropped six percent since you've woken up." Ratchet replied, all business as he moved to replace the nasal cannula with an oxygen mask, "If it gets much lower, you're going to pass out anyway."
Dave groaned softly, his breath puffing against the soft silicone on his face, "Try not to kill each other while I'm under."
Optimus' mouth quirked in amusement, "We shall do our best."
The last thing that Dave was aware of before darkness claimed him was Ratchet's hand squeezing his shoulder.
Sam's first conscious thought upon waking was that he was finally warm.
He blinked his eyes open, squinting in the dim light of the hangar, to see that he was lying on the floor. The thin blanket-like material that Megatron had given him before he had left Sam to his own devices was wrapped tightly around his body. However, the blanket was not the source of Sam's comfort. Sometime in the night, Ravage had entered his cell and curled herself around his body. Sam's head was tucked into her abdomen, and her head was resting on his upper thigh.
He could hear the quiet rumble of her purr over the distant hum of the Nemesis' engines.
Instinctively, Sam reached for his egress filter and shuddered in relief as the veil fell over his mind. It was only somewhat uncomfortable, a quiet ache between his temples, but it was a pain that Sam suffered gladly. He laid there for a long time, silent and unmoving, as he thought about what had occurred earlier in the shower. The memory made his cheeks burn in humiliation, but food and rest had revitalized him, and Sam was relived to feel the familiar flicker of defiance in his chest. He would not let Megatron break him.
The thought of the warlord made Sam turn his mind inwards. Although Megatron's thoughts were inaccessible, Sam was aware of the Decepticon leader's distraction. It took a long while for him to puzzle out the sensation, but eventually Sam realized that Megatron was working—and judging by the tinge of tediousness to his mental presence, it wasn't anything interesting. The thought of the millions-of-years-old alien warlord being bored by busywork was incongruous in the extreme, and Sam huffed quietly in disbelief.
Sam felt Ravage tilt her head, and he glanced down to see that the cyber cat had slanted her optic open to regard him. She did not move from where she rested against his thigh.
"So, personal space isn't really a thing for you, I take it?" He asked at last, his voice rough with sleep.
She huffed softly, but it was an amused sound.
"You were cold."
Sam couldn't argue with that—the air in the hangar was frigid.
"Tell Megatron to stop being so cheap and spring for a heater. Problem solved."
Ravage chuckled lowly, a rumbling sound that Sam could feel in his bones.
"If you wish to pass on that message, you will have to do so yourself."
Despite himself, the corners of Sam's lips quirked in a half-smile.
"Scaredy-cat."
Ravage rumbled in good-natured agreement, rubbing her faceplates against Sam's thigh. It was a strangely affectionate gesture, and Sam shoved against her in response.
"Quit it." He replied, though his tone was not as sharp as he had intended. Ravage obliged him, resting her head back against his leg, and ex-venting softly as her optic slowly shuttered. Abruptly, it occurred to Sam that the symbiont was tired. He stared down at her for a long time, neither speaking nor moving, before he pulled the blanket tightly around himself again and let his eyes flutter closed. He was not sure for how long he laid there, half-asleep and comfortable, listening to the oddly soothing sound of Ravage's purring. He must have dozed off, because a scornful voice suddenly pierced through the peace and quiet of the hangar.
"Why are you letting him leak fluids all over you?"
Sam jerked awake, his heart in his throat as his eyes snapped open. There, inches away from him, glowed two jewel-sized red optics, set in a sleek avian face. Sam scrambled into a sitting position, staring in surprise at the mechanimal in front of him. It was, to the best of Sam's understanding, a metal phoenix. The creature was large and sleek, covered in golden metal feathers that glinted in the dim light of the room. It had a long, elegant neck, and its faceplates were detailed and delicate.
"What?" He managed after a moment, but the mechanimal did not reply. She had tilted her head considerately, before ruffling her feathers and chirring softly at him.
"Laserbeak does not need her ego inflated any further than it already is." Ravage put in dryly, and Sam grimaced as he realized that his egress filter had fallen apart sometime in the night. With an effort, he gathered it up and pulled it over his mind once again.
"So you're Laserbeak." He said gruffly, "I suppose I have you to thank for tracking me down in the jungle."
Laserbeak stretched her wings, flapping them several times before tucking them back against her slender frame. Sam was surprised to see that her wingspan must have been close to two meters from from tip to tip.
"I am." She agreed, and Sam could hear the note of vain pride in her voice, "You should have known better than to flee from me."
Sam scoffed softly, "I didn't even know that you existed, but I would have run all the same."
His words seemed to startle the mechanimal, for her feathers ruffled and her optics flashed in indignation.
"What do you mean you didn't know that I existed?" She demanded, and Sam inferred from the tone of her voice that he had deeply insulted her. He turned his head to stare disbelievingly at Ravage, but the cyber cat merely shrugged at him in a sort of tolerant resignation.
Sam glanced back at the lithe bird of prey, "Sorry. You've never come up."
Wrong thing to say, apparently. The bird hissed at him, before nipping him painfully with her strong, curved beak. Sam cried out in surprise, grabbing his upper arm as he twisted way. Before he could kick out at her, however, Ravage growled low in her throat and shifted towards the smaller mechanimal.
Laserbeak tossed her head, hopping away from the cyber cat with an angry stream of Cybertronian. Ravage pinned her with a narrowed stare, her tail flicking in obvious irritation.
"Laserbeak is another of our Master's symbionts." She said after a moment, and the bird scoffed in response. It was evident that she objected to being referred to as 'just another' anything.
Sam rubbed his arm, noting that she had neither broken his skin nor tore his shirt with her sharp bite.
"Nice to meet you." He muttered sarcastically, and Laserbeak ruffled her feathers in response.
"How do you know so little about your sworn enemies?" Laserbeak asked with obvious disdain, "Has Autobot Jazz's demise affected your intelligence so severely?"
"Shut-up." Sam snapped, bristling at her derisive tone.
Ravage turned her head slightly to regard him, "Laserbeak is our Master's spy and scout. Gathering intelligence is a part of her primary programming."
"Really? Soundwave thought the flashy golden phoenix was the right symbiont for Spec Ops?"
Although his tone was scathing, Laserbeak preened at his words.
"Our Master does not choose our appearance or our base functioning." Ravage replied patiently, "He chooses our missions based on our skills and experience."
Sam frowned, his curiosity piquing at her words despite his better judgment.
"If he didn't choose your appearance or base functioning, then he wasn't your Creator?"
His words seemed to amuse the symbionts, for Ravage's features softened and Laserbeak chirred loudly in response.
"What do you know about chronicler-class mecha?" Ravage asked, instead of answering his question. Sam frowned again, confused by the apparent non-sequitur. He had read a little about the chronicler-class in the datapads that Optimus had provided him. They were part of the upper-caste of Cybertronian society, dedicated to gathering and preserving knowledge in all of its forms. Alpha Trion had been a Chronicler, and Orion Pax had assisted him in his work.
"A little." He said, reluctant to reveal the full extent of his ignorance. Ravage regarded him for a long moment before speaking.
"The chronicler-class are those mechanoids who were sparked to protect Cybertron's ancient knowledge. Rather than large frame-types, however, chronicler-class are almost exclusively sparked as minicons."
Sam tilted his head, staring at her in open surprise. Alpha Trion certainly had not been a minicon—all of the data files that Sam had read referred to his towering stature and commanding presence. As though sensing his confusion, Ravage continued.
"Chronicler-class minicons are designed to be cared for by carrier-class mechanoids. There exists a symbiotic relationship between the two: carrier-class mechanoids protect the minicons and facilitate their search for knowledge, while the minicons share this knowledge with their carriers and submit to their will."
Sam's frowned again, "That sounds an awful lot like slavery to me."
Ravage huffed loudly in amusement, and warm air washed over Sam's body.
"Not at all. Chronicler-class mecha choose their carrier and they may rescind their loyalty at any time. As you can imagine, there is a hierarchy among both chronicler-class and carrier-class mechanoids, as competition for bonding can be fierce."
"Bonding? Like a spark bond?"
"Nothing of the sort." Laserbeak interrupted, fluttering her wings before settling into a nesting position, "It's a unique bond that exists between a chronicler and their carrier."
Sam's frown deepened, "So you chose to serve Soundwave?"
"We did," Ravage agreed, "and we continue to do so proudly. There does not exist another carrier-class mechanoid with Soundwave's intelligence and skill."
"I'm sure he's just the dreamiest homicidal maniac around." Sam replied dryly.
Ravage did not respond to his insult, instead returning to Sam's earlier question, "All of this is to say that our Master does not control our appearance or our primary functioning. Rather, he uses us to achieve his objectives as he sees fit."
"Even if that means sending you to your death?" Sam challenged, remembering the battle in Egypt when Bumblebee had torn Ravage's spinal strut from her body.
Ravage's expression became intense, "There is very little that would prevent a carrier-class mechanoid from protecting their symbionts. Soundwave has razed entire cities to the ground to protect a single cassette."
Sam frowned, taken aback by the sincerity in her tone. He wondered idly what Soundwave would have done if Ravage had been offlined in Egypt, and abruptly he realized that he did not want to know. Suddenly feeling cold, he reached down, grabbing the blanket and pulling it over his shoulders. After a long moment, he glanced up at the cyber cat.
"What time is it?"
"It is eight o'clock in the morning on Diego Garcia."
Sam nodded faintly, leaning back against the wall of his cell. As the silence stretched on, Ravage pushed up onto her legs and crossed the short space between them.
"You should eat."
As she spoke, a familiar brown package and bottle of water landed on the metal floor beside him. Sam reached out a hand, preventing the bottle from rolling away as he huffed quietly.
"He just refueled." Laserbeak complained, craning her long neck to preen the metal features on her wing, "Don't coddle him."
"Humans require sustained nutrition throughout a twenty-four hour cycle for optimal performance." Ravage replied patiently, "They do not refuel according to our standards."
Laserbeak ruffled her feathers, the metal scales tinkling in the quiet of the hangar, "Is our Master sure that this is worth it? He is so high maintenance."
Sam stared at her incredulously for the space of a heartbeat before he started to laugh. The sound was strange and foreign to his ears, but he found that once he had started, he couldn't stop. Laserbeak's perplexed expression only spurred him on, and it was a long while before Sam's laughter subsided into quiet chuckles.
"How is this my life?" He asked no one in particular, reaching forward to grab the bottle of water. He cracked open the cap and took a long drink, before resting his forearms on his bent knees. Ravage rumbled amusedly, but she did not reply. After a long moment, Sam sighed resignedly and grabbed the pre-packaged meal. A quick glance at the label revealed that roast turkey dinner was on the menu. He tore off the top of the package, and started eating the cold food with his fingers.
"That is disgusting." Laserbeak said after a long moment, and Sam lifted his shoulders in a shrug.
"It's pretty gross." He agreed, "But I doubt that Megs will be ordering take-out any time soon."
When his statement was met with complete silence, Sam glanced up and noted the identical looks of disapproval on the symbionts' faces. The corner of his lips quirked up in amusement.
"If that makes you clutch your pearls, then you'd be horrified to hear what the NEST soldiers call him." He said conversationally, surprised by his lackadaisical attitude. This was the same Megatron who had tortured him to tears not even twelve hours ago, and then forced him to strip naked for the worst shower of his life. Sam supposed that he had hit his physiological limit for fear because he was feeling very unafraid.
When he finished the cold meal, he licked the congealed grease off his fingers as he tried to ignore the faint tang of cleanser. Sam dropped the package onto the floor beside him, wiping his hands off on his shirt and reaching for the bottle of water. Before he could take a drink, he became aware of Megatron's scrutiny across their bond. He paused, the bottle raised halfway to his mouth as his heart started to beat faster in his chest. Had he been listening this whole time?
Sam worked his jaw for a moment, before he raised the bottle to his lips and took an unhurried drink. He tried to project nonchalance to this best of his ability, well aware that Megatron would be able to see straight through him if the warlord wished to look. To Sam's astonishment, he felt a flicker of amusement across their bond, and then there was the sensation of movement.
Tension gripped him all at once, and he turned his head to stare at the hangar doors. Within a few scant minutes, the doors slid open and Megatron strode purposefully towards his cell. The warlord's posture was commanding, but Sam could not sense any anger or vengefulness from him. As he approached, Ravage pushed up onto her feet once again and Laserbeak broke into flight. Sam glanced up as she circled the large hangar, taken aback by her undeniable beauty.
Megatron stopped in front of him a moment later, and Sam forced himself to look the warlord in the optics.
"Megatron." He greeted quietly from his seated position. The warlord regarded him for a long moment, before be beckoned for Sam to rise.
"Come, little one. Walk with me."
Notes: Information about chronicler-class and carrier-class mechanoids was obtained from a number of fan fictions, including "Giants of the Earth" by Hopeofthedawn and Thefractured, as well as "Division" by BalloonArcade. The dynamic between Ravage and Laserbeak was also heavily inspired by Division as well. When I read that story, I couldn't get the idea of female!Laserbeak out of my mind, and it's been my headcanon ever since.