Notes:

OoOoOoOoOoOoOo Denotes breaks within scenes

~ Chapter 16 ~

Medbay - Present Day

The grey fog was lifting. More and more he found himself in the bright place, but still with no clear idea where he was. Artifacts cluttered his visual field, enough to render it useless. He could detect shadowy movement and nothing more. Auditory sensors were better. Though most of what he could detect was strange and nonsensical, he at least had a warning when anything approached.

The Saleen shifted against the wall, easing forward to face the sounds coming towards the vehicle.

They were early today.

This was not his time to refuel, not the little one's time to attend to him. It had spent long hours yesterday cleaning debris from his interior and polishing his plating. Its efforts pleased him.

The sounds came very close. The big one's touches moved over him, hard and impersonal, with none of the loving attention the little one gave him. Invasive scans had his plating locking down tight and then he was confined and immobilized in one dizzying swoop and lift.

That meant only one thing.

"need to reach joints... frame...entire area... scrap and rebuild..."

Agony. Fiery pain lanced through every circuit as entire sections of his armor were torn off. No way to block it, no way to fight. Too broken, too ruined, no defenses. More agony, the sounds of rending, tearing metal. He was being ripped apart piece-by-piece while still alive. His frame convulsed.

"Wait... "

The torture stopped. The Saleen shuddered relief.

"...sensor... reach... switch..."

Something warm and soft, a gentle touch, reached into him. The little one. He welcomed it with a low engine groan, his tattered field curling around it, embracing and welcoming. The softness moved inside of him until it reached the burning pain and then everything went numb and he sank back down into greyness.

This was his world now: hard and soft, bright pain and grey foggy nothingness.

Cybertron, Distant Past

Another public punishment. He was bored. He'd already witnessed two today, and they were nothing compared to what Megatron did to him. A mech was led out, his wrists were bound to a large hook, the small frame lifted to hang and twist as the energy whips cut deep. The punishment began, and Barricade's optics snapped to the platform as familiar screams rang out, not with overload, but in agonizing pain. He watched in horror and then a movement to the side caught his attention.

Megatron, leaning forward on his throne, watching him. Him, Barricade. His fuel pump heaved. The tyrant knew. How did he know? He couldn't, he was guessing.

The mech's voice pleaded and screamed, the small frame writhed and bucked in a sickening parody of interfacing. Energon and lubricant dripped onto the platform. Twenty lashes. The first guard stepped back and another took his place.

His systems churned with fear. The wild thing inside sprang to dangerous life, enraged and howling. He was going to snap, he was going to break and lose all control. Force his way to the platform and rip the guards apart or worse, attack Megatron. His chances were slim to none, his odds of living very long afterwards, nil. He clenched his fists, claws crunching together with a harsh clang. He couldn't, he couldn't. It was what Megatron was waiting for, the confirmation, the proof that the small mech meant something to him.

Tiny tremors shook him with every scream. The crowd was murmuring now, asking questions. What did this one do to deserve such a harsh punishment? It must have been something terrible, some awful failure.

Barricade closed off his audials, but he couldn't look away, couldn't shutter his optics or Megatron would know. The tyrant was still watching him. Did he know or was he guessing?

The punishment halted as Megatron lifted a finger. His private comm link crackled with static.

::You can stop this. You have only to ask::

Leverage, a way to control him, a way to break him. The small mech would be held over his head at every turn, tortured again and again. He would be on his knees forever, begging for his life. Megatron would never be satisfied until he was crawling on his belly and whimpering at his feet, finally broken.

::Come now, Barricade. Surely you don't wish to prolong this pretty little mech's agony?::

The seductive whisper dripped like acid. How did he find out? How?

Logic flayed him, cold and merciless. Attack and die. Surrender, accept defeat and save him, and Barricade would never be free again. A violent tremor shook him. He saw that slow, hated smile spread over Megatron's face.

Something cold and dark spread over him with that smile. Time stopped as it wrapped around him, sent icy tentacles into his spark, froze his processors. The energon flowing through him slowed to a crawl, intakes paused.

Megatron raised a finger again, and time moved forward. Barricade watched with dulled optics as the only one who meant anything to him was beaten, metal plates shredded, protoform exposed. No movement now, no response when the whips cut in.

The voice that whispered love no longer screamed. The one who kissed him with such passion, writhed beneath him in overload and begged for more, hung limp. Megatron's finger finally lifted once more, and the mech was brought down. No cries, no whimpers, no moans. The others were filing out of the hall and Megatron was watching him again, the look slightly puzzled now. He'd been sure of this one then, somehow he'd found out.

Barricade's optics burned with contempt, his mouth twisted into a cold smirk, and he had the bitter satisfaction of seeing Megatron blink as the Hunter stared him down. Megatron turned and left, and Barricade gave a last look at the mech being carried away. The cold and darkness hovered over him, working their way into his systems.

The small mech offlined two days later, and the wild raged out of control as the cold and the dark settled down over Barricade and covered him completely.

"Fucking hell," Will snarled, hurling his pack against the wall and crumpling into a chair with his head in his hands. He was tired, sore, gritty with sand and probably marginally dehydrated. But that was nothing because someone else was dead.

His team had been picked up by their Humvee transport after their portion of the grid. They were long, exhausting days, sweeping with technology only grudgingly given to them by the ghosts of S7. Will was determined that the only reason that the Simmons goons were playing along at all in sharing their toys was to get another lab rat.

He still did not have all the information, only what their driver could relay when he picked them up. There was a formal debriefing in... he checked his watch, about 45 minutes, once the rest of the teams would be back as well. Just long enough for a shower and some healthy swearing and ranting.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOo

"We were near the outermost edge of the grid," Lawson, a fresh faced and newly commissioned officer said, standing straight before the assembled brass ringing him in a semicircle of desks like an inquisition. He remained sure and calm, burying his emotions well. Lennox was impressed, the soldier was young and probably too new to losing men under his command.

"One hour and three minutes from our turn around back to base, Wessan got a ping from the tracer, he moved out to pinpoint, the rest of us covering," Lawson took a breath and blinked.

"Take your time," Will prompted, ignoring the glare from one of the higher ups. He watched closely, reading between the lines while the soldier struggled to remain professional. Lennox could already tell that this debrief was just salt in the wound, the team had no idea what had happened, still in shock over the sudden and unexpected loss of a squad mate.

Lawson tipped his head in a nod and croaked "Sir." It only took that brief reprieve to get back on track as he quickly straightened his spine and continued. "He called out that there was a rock ledge, and the signal might be affected by the terrain. Then, there was a puff… no, a blast of sand and the ledge gave way underneath him. We all snapped eyes on him when he yelled and fell. We could hear… hear him tumble down the rock… face." Lawson's head dipped and white flashed as he raked his teeth over his lower lip.

"And?" The Colonel next to Lennox barked.

Will snorted indelicately through his nose. And then a soldier died, moron, he very intelligently refrained from snapping.

"And... we called for a response from him, but got nothing. I ordered half the team to remain and watch our six, the rest went to retrieve him," Lawson opened his mouth mutely for a moment. "We approached the ledge carefully; we already knew it was unstable. Our medic Ridan, and then Andrews repelled down with Danis belaying. Ridan reported that Wessan was almost definitely killed on impact. Numerous cuts and abrasions, broken bones in the extremities, it looked like his neck had snapped and he had a puncture through his chest. We called for immediate recovery and brought him back up the rock face," Lawson finished quietly.

Furrowing his brow, Lennox tapped a finger against the table and then raised his hand. His CO nodded for him to speak. "So it was stable enough at the ledge that you were able to get two men down and then back up with the stretcher?"

Lawson nodded. "It seemed all the loose rock had fallen with Wessan. We had no trouble retrieving him."

"Mmm hmm," Will agreed, trying to figure out the niggling feeling that there was something amiss with what happened to Lawson's team. "Was there anything else you noticed for your report?"

"Wessan's weapon was down four rounds when we secured his gear," Lawson said slowly. "There were a few cracks that sounded like fire right after we lost sight of him but we could not confirm then. It happened… it was seconds. Less… He must have squeezed the trigger when he was falling."

Lennox nodded and kept his expression neutral. By all training, Wessan should not have had his finger on the trigger, so falling terror or not, he should not have fired in panic. Everyone in the room knew that. "Anything else?" he asked.

"No sir," Lawson replied, putting his hand behind his back in a parade rest as he turned to the Base Commander. "That is all."

The Commander looked from Lawson to the other assembled officers. Lennox raised his eyebrows in a plea to release the young man back to quarters. It took a moment, but the Commander seemed to agree, saying a simple "Thank you, Lieutenant, you are dismissed"

Lawson breathed a "Yessir," and strode quickly from the room.

The torment continued on for another few hours for Will. He and all the officers had to interview the rest of the squad, the medical team, and review the evidence before deciding that Wessan's death was accidental until proven otherwise.

But something about it still put a thorn in Will's brain.

Cybertron - Distant Past

Barely halfway through the regular morning briefing in the large conference room, Prime was admittedly distracted. Another section head stood up to report, another nod from Prime to go ahead, another voice commenced to drone, and Prime's attention immediately returned to Ratchet, who was without a doubt avoiding his gaze.

Prime was most intrigued by that reaction. The prestige and benefits to be gained as the Prime's berthmate were sought after eagerly. Behind his battle mask, his mouthplates curled. He had half-expected, somewhat cynically, that the medic would start staking his claim immediately, the faster to begin reaping all those rewards. Anyone else would have, but he should have known Ratchet wouldn't fall into that category, he never had.

Optimus had made his interest clear last night, his intentions unmistakable, and Ratchet had shared it, at least until Ironhide had interrupted. His circuits flared with arousal and he clamped it down with a growing sense of frustration.

The medic's slender hands were fidgeting with a datapad. He could still feel those hands, the unexpected strength as they clung to his shoulders, the sleek, smaller frame that fit perfectly in his arms. If it hadn't been for Ironhide's untimeliness, this staff meeting would have been cancelled and he would be enjoying a very lazy, satisfying morning in Ratchet's berth, mapping out every portion of his frame and coaxing many more of those moans out of him.

He could just imagine the look on his face, the feel of him, Ratchet overloading in his arms, moaning his name... Primus. A flash of heat caught him; a rush of energy swept through his systems. His fans whirred to life, and he hurriedly switched them off. He pulled his optics from the medic's frame and glanced around to see if anyone had noticed his lapse.

Jazz's visor gleamed. Ironhide's expression was unreadable. Ratchet was looking down, hands clenched tight around the datapad. A few others sitting closest to him were giving him puzzled looks, while the rest of his staff was focused on the report being read.

The double ping made him wince.

::I'd advise a little more discretion, Optimus.::

::Save it for the berth, Prime.::

Optimus grimaced behind his mask and nodded to the Section head as he finished. "Your recommendations are noted. Deploy two more squadrons to Sector 567834; we cannot afford to lose it. Increase the watches around the capitols in the remaining sectors. Provide extra rations for the teams running longer patrols."

Another Section head rose. Optimus caught the quiet ex-vent. Ratchet's fingers trembled on the datapad.

Prime swore silently and stood. "If you will excuse me, gentlemechs." The others barely had time to scramble out of their seats before he left the room. Behind him, Jazz called out orders, redirecting their attention. Smart mech.

"Forward your reports to the Prime's office. Meeting adjourned, gentlemechs. End of the shift highgrade will be waiting for you in the Officer's lounge..."

Ironhide caught up with him in the hallway and Prime held up a hand. "I know, that was extremely-"

"Stupid," Ironhide finished for him.

Optimus was braced for a verbal smack to his helm and a well-deserved beat down but then Ironhide blindsided him.

"You knew him? Before?"

Prime's optics widened, shocked. It was highly irregular to bring up a Prime's past. The Temple priests did their utmost to stamp out all inquiries and enforce their ruling: What the Matrix made of the chosen mech was all that mattered. The Prime was alpha and omega, the past was less than nothing.

Those canny old optics appraised him, and Optimus was reminded how truly old Ironhide was. The warrior had outlived two Primes, fought a thousand battles, watched their Empire rise to breathless heights and then fall to war and ruin. He was watching it now in its death throes.

It humbled him, that gaze that had seen so much, and more. The mystical aura the priests wrapped him up in meant nothing; Ironhide saw him for exactly who he was. Optimus lowered his own optics and inclined his helm, grateful and relieved. "I did."

"Thought as much. He's interested, too?"

"I believe so."

He heard Ironhide snort and looked up to see him smirking.

"I'm not so old I don't remember how it feels, Optimus."

Ironhide chuckled at Prime's embarrassed churr. "Not that I think you stand a chance with the Council mind you, but by Primus of all the mechs on this planet, you deserve that chance."

Optimus opened his mouthplates, ready to argue his case, plead if need be, then snapped them shut again at Ironhide's stern look. The black mech had hands fisted on his hip flanges, all business again.

"Go argue it with them, I'm not done yet. Prime, you will get him killed if you aren't more discrete. You have training in two joors. Send your young medic to me instead, and I will see about helping him not get killed so easily."

Jazz all but skated up to them just then, vibrating with urgency. "Optimus, that was-"

"Already covered it, Jazz," Ironhide rumbled. "First, Prime will be informing Ratchet of his new combat training lessons. Second, Prime needs to learn some discretion. Help him with that."

Jazz's visor sparked with a wicked gleam. "Discretion, got it." He gave Ironhide a grin and a jaunty salute and steered Optimus towards his quarters.

"The old storage bay on the east side? That isn't used for much anymore. Roof needs patchin', no one goes there; I'll get some maintenance scheduled. Eventually. Those security cameras down in hallways 4B and 7D go down a lot. I'll get them on the list ta be checked. Pretty low priority though, kinda doubt they'll get fixed anytime soon. A few other places I've been meaning ta make a note of, just never seem ta find time..."

They moved out of range and Ironhide shook his helm and headed for the training grounds. "Primus spare me from these damn glitched processor hotspark younglings."

Sam roamed the corridors of the base, eyes haunted, avoiding everyone. The screaming in his head had reduced to a private little inner demon voice that warned him away from Ratchet's scanners, but Sam hardly needed that to avoid the Medbay. Their new resident Decepticon, even in ruins with half his parts scattered all over, still had the power to freak him out and send him running.

He didn't want to be around Mikaela. She would take one look at him and know he knew things about her that he shouldn't, about them, what they did together, how they fucked, everything.

Bumblebee. He tried hardest of all to avoid him. His Guardian would know how he felt, what Sam wanted most, just by looking at him, touching him... Sam wiped at his mouth, the familiar nausea rising, a sick, fevered look in his eyes.

Most days were spent darting around corners and in and out of rooms, or keeping to the refuge of his quarters, curled up on his bunk, staring into the dark and dreading sleep. Sleep was the enemy. Sleep brought dreams, nightmares, Bumblebee. Sam scratched and scratched at the glyphs on his hands until they were raw and bleeding.

'Bee, it ain't fair for either of you. Jazz's voice, and Bumblebee's optics dimmed, a sad electronic moan pulled from deep down. Tears stung his eyes. Sam had never seen him so defeated.

A Guardian should be with his charge. Ironhide's voice this time, and Bumblebee's doorwings hiked up high and quivering while his helm sagged down.

Yes, you should, Sam shouted, almost a scream. Ironhide kept right on talking, he couldn't hear him because this was a dream, wasn't it? But Bumblebee's helm jerked at the sound and he looked right at Sam and Sam was suddenly drowning in the brilliant blaze of his Autobot's optics.

The dream shifted and Sam groaned, hands twitching, glyphs burning. He was here again, an unwanted participant in this warped voyeuristic game his mind insisted on playing.

Sighs and moans, the low fast throb of Bumblebee's engine, they were already well into it. Mikaela was straddling the armored chest, face flushed and tanned skin sheened with sweat, white teeth biting into a red lower lip, that big glistening cable between her legs.

The cable moved and twisted, rippling with power, the hard steady strokes pushing her forward. Mikaela arched her back and braced her hands on Bumblebee's armor, rolling her hips up and back with each thrust.

Bumblebee's engine groaned then whined. He seemed to be fighting himself. A strange bright cloud of energy twisted and swirled and reached for the small figure on his chest, then recoiled. Sam could almost hear the crack of rebounding energy. He cringed at Bumblebee's pained moan. Mikaela leaned forward to give the round mouthplate a passionate kiss.

Sam hissed at her, ready to push her away, shove her off. Stop, leave him alone, you're hurting him!

They didn't stop, they couldn't hear him, and Sam couldn't move, trapped and forced to watch it all play out.

The grille on his Autobot's chest split into two, the sections rolling back and out of sight. Spark light lit up the darkness with a shower of blue sparks. Pain and desperation was making Bumblebee rough.

Mikaela was jerked forward, naked and splayed out over his spark. She shivered at the contact, held fast in large yellow and grey hands, her hair curled and whipped with static.

The strange energy cloud around his Autobot expanded. Sam moaned as it covered him, connected, and suddenly he was there on top of Bumblebee, pressed tight to his spark. A hot cable thrust deep, energy lit up every nerve ending. Sam was crying, screaming, writhing in a grip of steel, at the very center of a storm of fire and blue lightning.

It ended as abruptly as it began, with Sam on his knees, listening to Mikaela's whispers of love, his Autobot's quiet murmurs. He shuddered and twitched through the aftermath of orgasm, wracked with jealousy, moaning Bumblebee's name.

Same dream, same ending; Sam willed it all to be over. Please let it be finished, let him wake up. But this time when the dream ended, as he looked up at Bumblebee, sick and miserable with longing, Bumblebee looked back at him.

The Matrix was steady as always, but Prime's spark seethed with anger. His office, the entire Base, was suddenly too small and stifling. He held onto his temper with difficulty and cut the connection, ending the latest round of negotiations. My aft, Optimus snorted. They were little more than sharp rejections and sharper demands. He had rust in his joints advancing faster than these 'negotiations'.

Bumblebee was out on patrol. Ratchet was still days away at another cache, gathering supplies. Optimus paced outside, sending a comm to Jazz and Ironhide to join him The alert he had silenced through the last two hours came back to nag at him. He took out a cube of energon, more from habit than any real hunger, and stared up at the night sky, willing his emotions back to calm.

Jazz's hopeful expression fell as soon as he saw Prime. Ironhide was less than pleased.

"Now what?"

"I have agreed to allow their military to track me at all times. If I leave the base, I will be accompanied by an 'escort' of no less than six of their vehicles."

Ironhide growled, his plasma cannon gave an angry whirr of warning. "They dare?! You are the Prime!"

"For the love of… Optimus, please tell me this is a concession as part of our new treaty?" Jazz pleaded, putting a hand out to shove Ironhide's cannon down.

"No, it is not. Though, I have hopes that it is the next step towards a treaty." Prime's vocals were cool, but his field was hard-edged with anger.

Jazz's expression was pained. "But this- This is personal. Agree to this an' no tellin' where the demands will end. There are other governments we could deal with, Optimus."

"We need allies, strong ones. Which country on this planet is best able to defend against an attack?" Prime's optics flicked to Ironhide. The weapons specialist snorted.

"This one. They easily outmatch every other country in firepower." His plating rustled with irritation. "Their paranoia is also unmatched."

"Point, Optimus. Who are they tryin' ta defend against?"

"The rest of the world, at any given moment?" Prime's tone was decidedly dry. "But for the present, they fear us more than they fear everyone else, and me most of all. They fear what they cannot control. For the sake of an alliance, I am willing to continue trying to work with them. If tracking me lets them feel safer, then I will allow the surveillance. For now."

Jazz glanced to Ironhide. "Yeah, boss, about our future allies…"

Prime pinned optics on them both. Ironhide rumbled annoyance. "I have firm intel that our 'allies' are pursuing a dangerous course to capture Skorponok, not kill him as we were told. They lied to us, Prime."

The low fuel alert was now an insistent warning. He lifted the cube of energon and drained it, and crushed the empty container to nothingness in one large hand. His field expanded, cold and harsh with anger and frustration.

"Tell me this is leverage for our negotiations."

In the face of his Prime's anger, Ironhide folded his cannons down to their smallest forms and crossed his arms. "There is only one way we could have gotten this intel, Optimus, and Lennox is already under suspicion just by association. Inform them and you have lost the best chance we have for a real alliance."

Jazz's field flickered through Prime's, seeking to calm his, anxious and hesitant. "You can't throw him away like that, Optimus, ya know you can't."

Prime's gaze was narrowed at Ironhide, assessing. "You trust him that much?"

"I have already trusted him in battle, with my life, Optimus. I would do so again without hesitation."

An optic ridge raised in surprise. "You make a better case for the humans than they make for themselves. One human, at least. I would not have expected you to champion them even six months ago, Ironhide."

"He is my charge."

"We got one of their military to trust us, Optimus. He's one of their leaders; where he goes, maybe others will follow."

For Ironhide that was reason enough, but Jazz raised a very valid point. Anger deflated suddenly, leaving him tired and cold and bitterly disappointed. Negotiating was useless. Cooperation- out of the question with their government so riddled with paranoia and suspicion. They were down to exactly one individual they could trust. "Very well. The Captain's secrets will not be disclosed outside our group."

He wanted recharge and to forget about the ache in his core for a few hours. Jazz's field was steady and warm, bolstering him up.

"There is one more thing, Prime."

The 'one more thing' promised to be bad if the cannon sparking fitfully was anything to go by. Even compacted, it telegraphed Ironhide's mood clearly. Prime tilted his helm and waited.

Ironhide grumbled. "Lennox and his men are spread too thin and not nearly enough firepower for my liking to be hunting Skorponok. Will's risked everything to keep me informed. I want your permission to go get him if things go wrong."

Oh, so much worse than simply bad. "That is not an option, Ironhide. You would jump an international border, enter their military base without permission, and interfere with a top secret operation? You may as well call for the strike on our base yourself."

"If he gets in trouble, I will be going, with or without permissions or treaties or any other obstacles they try and throw in my path!"

Stubborn, stubborn mech. Ironhide was a bigger obstacle than anything the government was throwing at him. Optimus rubbed at the bridge of his noseplating and raised a hand. "Stop, please." His processors had latched onto Jazz's point about Lennox, turning it over and over, a glimmer of an idea beginning to form.

Beside him, Jazz suddenly mock growled and lofted into the air, one of those surprising and graceful twirling arcs. It ended with a sudden smack to Ironhide's helm and the silver mech dropped back to the ground and smirked. Prime stared, jawplating slack.

"Pretend ta be reasonable, you old bucket of bolts. You're givin' Prime a headache."

Ironhide's huff was explosive. Jazz was all innocence. Of course.

"Why you little... If you were my size, I'd be parting you from your plating on the Training grounds!"

"Old and rusty. Bring it, 'Hide. I'm still faster."

"Enough, you two," Prime ordered, a slight smile tugging at mouthplates. "Ironhide, you're right, we cannot leave Captain Lennox unprotected. This will be tricky, at best, but there may be a way to safeguard your charge. Find out if he has anyone in his higher command whom he trusts and I will contact them directly. It's time we begin working with our real allies."

"Good enough," Ironhide rumbled agreement. His cannon had gone quiet and dark.

Jazz's field gave one last firm embrace and withdrew. Prime was immediately cold again.

Optimus watched them leave, still exchanging taunts; Ironhide solid and steady, Jazz bouncing and cheerful, light on his feet. Ironhide attempted a return swat. Jazz dodged it effortlessly. Laughter floated back, and then Optimus was alone again.

The ache in his internals was spark-deep and growing.

tbc

A/N: I am pleased and proud to have my dearest friend and beta, the lovely Quidamling, join me as co-writer for this chapter. Will's scene is all hers, and so very much loved. Many, many thanks also go to her for suggestions, plotting, the ongoing development of this entire fic, and generally poking me with sharp objects when I wander away. ;p

As always, a million thanks for the reviews, faves and follows, they really and truly keep me going. :)