Finding Home
Chapter 33
By Voodoo Queen
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Author's Note: Hello, Dear Readers! I hope you're all having a fantastic day! This chapter was going to end up being way longer than I had intended so I had to split it in half. Sorry about that! On the bright side, I've already got about 2.5k more words typed up and about 1.5k more to go to finish off the second half PLUS a jump start on the chapter after that, as well. Our fam will be reunited soon and we may just finally find out about Amy's past. I'm so excited! And also kind of anxious because even though this is my story and I know whats going to inevitably happen, it kind of makes me nervous. I've been working on a lot of future content as I go along, also. I'm such a haphazard writer. I don't like to think of it as disorganization. I call it "Spontaneous Bouts of Inspiration" just to make myself feel better. Also, I think we need more fluff and soon. I'm working on that, as well. Thank you to those who've added this story to their alerts and follows and especially to my fantastic reviewers: KHandFF7fanforever, The Whispering Sage, monkeybaby, adelphe24, Ekeifer, jgoss, Stickaroo, poppycakes, jellybeanz513, alexae15, SolusPrimeLightblast, o-dragon, Annie, Guest, Songbird's Spirit, xIliadx, SummerMistedDragon, 'Guest', Ponderella, Pixiekatt, TFSTARFIRE
Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers, just my own original characters and plot.
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Hot.
Everything was hot. She felt like she was burning up from the inside out, like she had molten lava flowing through her veins. The last thing she consciously remembered was collapsing on her bed and, right before succumbing to unconsciousness, her phone ringing. The caller display had illuminated, showing the names of the very people she'd so desperately wanted to talk to. Relief had spread through her.
Then…blackness.
Her mysterious companion continued to pace her, never quite coming into her line of sight, chattering away in that strange, alien language she still couldn't quite decipher. Still, she trudged forward toward the light source across the endless plane of black nothingness as she always obediently did. No matter that it was a futile task. It never seemed to matter how fast or how far she walked, any progress she made toward her goal seemed grossly insignificant when compared to the effort and energy being put forth.
Frustration began to creep into the edges of her consciousness, compounded by a deep rooted feeling of loneliness in the vast space of nothingness that surrounded her, helplessness even, that made her want to curl up into a ball and cry. At that moment, she would have given anything in the world just to be able to go home. As soon as the thought crossed her feverish mind she realized how absolutely ridiculous it sounded even in her semi-lucid dream state. She didn't know where home was. She didn't even know what a home was, for that matter. She'd never had one, not really. Nowhere safe and sound to call her own. To be yearning so desperately for something that had never existed in the first place went beyond her ability of comprehension but didn't lessen the feeling of longing. She was absolutely certain that she wanted to go home…wherever that was.
Her ever present guardian seemed to pick up on her train of thought. How she knew this to be so, she couldn't begin to explain. Whatever he/she/it was, it seemed to empathize if the change in its tone of voice was anything to go by. Though she couldn't understand a word it uttered, she could feel it urging her onward toward the strange lights. She got the feeling from the creature/being that if she could only make it that far, her questions would be answered and she could finally have some peace and well deserved rest. Amy pushed her uncertainty and feelings of melancholy to the back of her mind and pressed onward.
Time in this strange, abyss-like landscape seemed to work much like distance in the sense that it was absolutely meaningless and didn't seem to abide by the rules governing the physical world. It seemed to both drag on forever and zip by at the speed of light all at the same time. She could have been there for minutes, days, hours, or even years and it wouldn't have made a difference since even a single second seemed to stretch on for an infinite eternity. Therefore, she wasn't sure how long she'd been ensconced within this seemingly alternate reality when the first strains of a familiar voice seemed to break into her conscious awareness.
Something was wrong. She could feel it.
Waking wasn't as easy as she'd hoped. Fighting through layers and layers of dense fog, the act of simply opening her eyes seemed to take a monumental effort. She felt heavy and sluggish, like she was swimming through a thick, viscous soup that slowed her down and sapped her strength. Her head was muddled and she felt a strange, unsettling aura of detachment from her physical body, as if she were somehow floating high above herself and viewing everything from an elevated distance. This separation of awareness from the vessel that housed it was like nothing she'd ever experienced before. It was almost enough to make her wish to be back in the odd other world of her dreams where at least she didn't feel like she'd been split in two.
Almost.
The voice was becoming louder, demanding, even as she could hear heavy footfalls carrying it away. It refused to be ignored. She knew this voice and it's no-nonsense, authoritative tone. As she slowly came back into focus within her body, she could also feel a familiar, comforting presence off to her side. There was a cool, soothing, wetness across her forehead and the reassuring, repetitive sensation of something being raked slowly through her hair over and over again. With no small measure of strength and sheer willpower, she managed to crack her eyes open, immediately regretting it as the stark brightness of her physical surroundings, in such contrast to the black abyss in her mind, caused a sharp stab of pain to shoot straight through her head.
She groaned.
The petting of her hair ceased immediately.
Amy tried again to open her eyes and was rewarded this time as a worried, yet recognizable face slowly swam into clarity. She croaked, "Jazz?"
"D," Jazz had been beside himself with concern but his relief at seeing the woman wake shown plainly on his face. "Thank Primus," the mech's vocalizer cracked, "Ya scared me half ta death, scraplet. How are ya feelin'?"
Amy tried to take stock of her current condition as best she could. She was tired and felt as though she were moving in slow motion. Her thought process was still a bit sluggish. She wasn't in any pain, per se, but the warm buzzing she typically felt in her chest was now a torrid, resonate, reverberation that made her feel as though her ribs were knocking together. It wasn't just inside her chest, though. Her entire body felt like it was on fire. She couldn't ever remember feeling so hot. It wasn't a feverish hot…it was more of a stifling, radiating heat that seemed to originate deep in the core of her being, rising up to seep out from her every pore. It was oppressive, almost suffocating. Not even the blessedly cool wash cloth someone had taken the time to lay across her forehead did much to alleviate her discomfort.
She swallowed. Her mouth felt dry as a desert even as sweat poured from her. She was soaked through with it, she realized. At some point someone, how she prayed it hadn't been one of the Autobots, had stripped her nude and she'd been changed into a paper thin hospital gown. The normally light, billowy material was plastered to her body with moisture. She tried to move and felt a pinch and tug at her arm. An IV catheter was embedded into the crook of her left elbow. Her eyes followed the tubing up to where a bag of chilled saline hung in what appeared to be an attempt at both rehydrating and cooling her down.
Amy tried to moisten her exceedingly parched lips but her tongue was just as dry as they were. It scraped along her bottom lip like a piece of rough sandpaper. "Hot," she managed to whisper.
"I know scraplet. I'm sorry," Jazz removed the damp cloth from her forehead before momentarily replacing it with a freshly cooled one. He helped her to sit up slightly and pressed a bottle of cold water to her lips.
Amy gulped the water gratefully.
Jazz explained, "You were freezin' cold when they brought ya in. Ratchet had to basically give ya a jumpstart." The mech chuckled in equal parts worry and relief as he lowered the woman back to the berth. "Guess it worked a little too well...kinda knocked ya up into overdrive. He says you'll be fine once the energon starts to burn its way outta your system. We just gotta keep ya cool till then, that's all."
"Energon?" Amy's brows furrowed in confusion. Her mind drifted back to the strange cubes she'd seen Sideswipe and Sunstreaker drinking. Why in the world would she have it in her system?
Jazz frowned, "Do ya remember anything?"
Amy thought for a moment and then shook her head. "No, not really. I…" she sighed, "I remember leaving the bunker and heading toward the barracks. I was really tired…Mirage offered me a ride. Once I got to my room I got into bed." She bit her lip, "Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were supposed to call…"
"Yeah," Jazz's frown deepened. "Listen, scraplet, about the twins-"
Suddenly, the med bay doors slammed open and the pair were interrupted as the CMO strode purposefully back into the space. Whatever Jazz had been about to say was drowned out by Ratchet's hurried, authoritative tone.
"Seal off that line and immobilize that joint! What? No! I don't care how you do it! Plug it with your finger if you have to!"
It dawned on Amy that his was the voice she'd heard in her dream. He was speaking with someone, over comm she assumed, given she could only hear one side of the conversation. She thought the mech looked harried, more so than usual, his faceplates tight and drawn together in what could only be interpreted as worry. As she continued to listen, sense of dread began to bubble in her stomach. Something was terribly wrong. She knew it with every fiber of her being. His next words only cemented the feeling.
"Forward me your system status checks and damage assessments." Ratchet paid the other two occupants of the space little attention as he began rummaging through the med bay's supply closet and pulling out gear. "I swear, I can't leave any of you to your own devices for any length of time without you trying to get yourselves killed…"
Amy looked to Jazz for answers, "What's happening?"
The mech sighed, the pressurized hiss of air escaping his intakes, as he ran one hand over the top of her sweat-soaked hair. "The guys hit a little snag pickin' up the shard."
"A snag?" Worry flooded Amy's face. "What kind of snag?"
The mech opened his mouth to answer but was again interrupted.
"Jazz!"
Frowning, the TIC turned to the CMO, "Yeah, doc?"
The medic stalked over to the berth, "Prime and Prowl need you in the Ops Center ASAP. The final casualty reports are coming in from the field as we speak."
"I'm on my way." Jazz nodded, giving Amy one final, long look. "Behave yourself, scraplet. I'll be back as soon as I can."
Amy's eyes widened in concern as she watched Jazz limp out of the med bay. "Casualty reports? Why are we receiving casualty reports?" She looked up to the medic. "What the hell is going on? What did I miss?"
"Miss Doe," Ratchet greeted as he approached, totally ignoring her question. "I'm glad to see you awake. How are you feeling?"
Amy tried to sit up, "I'd feel a lot better if I knew what was happening? What's going on at Fort Knox? Jazz said there was an issue with the shard…"
"Please, refrain from too much movement. It took me forever to get the energon to saline ratio just right. Too much energy expenditure could upset the balance and I'd have to start all over. Believe me when I say that neither of us want that." Ratchet gently pressed the woman back down into a supine position with a single finger. "I need you to remain as calm and relaxed as possible. What's happening at the moment is not your concern."
"Not my concern?" Frustrated, Amy tried to push the medic's offending digit away to no avail. "I'm Ops! Incident management is part of my job!"
"Actually," the medic smirked, "for the time being, it isn't. You're my patient, under my care, and you can consider yourself relieved of duty until I deem you're fit enough to return."
"What?" If Amy was frustrated before, now she was livid. "You can't do that, Ratchet!"
"I can," Ratchet disagreed. "And I did. Now," he continued patiently and as-a-matter-of-factly, "I'll tell you the exact same thing I tell Jazz when he gets his wires all crossed about limited duty restrictions. You have two options. One, you can follow my orders, relax and recover while we get a handle on things or two, you can continue to try argue with me and I'll be forced to sedate you. I'd rather not have to go with the second option but, the choice is entirely your's."
Amy felt the first prickling of fear. She'd been around the mech enough by now to know that his threats, though made out of a strong sense of duty for the well-being of those under his care, were seldom hollow. She tried a different tactic. "But…can't you get in trouble for this? I mean, I'm not Cybertronian. I thought you weren't allowed to practice medicine on humans."
Ratchet made an amused noise. "You, my dear girl, became the exception to that rule the moment the Twin Terrors decided to take an interest in you. I won't tell if you won't. Besides," the CMO gave a slight shrug, "where else are you going to go? The base medical clinic? Good luck with that. I've seen what passes for medicine on this planet. Even worse, I've seen what humans are capable of doing, even to each other, when something escapes their immediate understanding. Try explaining to them that you've undergone an intimate, irrevocable exchange of life force with a couple robotic aliens from the other side of the cosmos and that their lack of physical proximity is currently making you ill. I'm certain that would go over well for all parties involved."
"Right," she croaked. She honestly hadn't thought about that aspect of her predicament. Now that she had, however, disturbing images of secret, government-run laboratories and inhumane science experiments involving not only herself but the bots as unwilling test subjects, as well, filled her imagination. Nightmare fuel, for sure. Her eyes burned and her head made a hollow 'thunk' sound as she dropped it back down onto the berth.
"I don't tell you this to cause you any worry." Ratchet eyed the young woman, his gaze full of both sympathy and concern. His voice softened, "Believe me when I say that we only have the best interests of yourself and the twins at heart. Granted, this isn't an ideal situation but we've certainly overcome worse." Ratchet smiled at the woman. "This, too, shall pass. Everything is going to be just fine. Now, please, be still and relax."
"The twins." She swallowed the lump of worry that was quickly forming in her throat. "Can you at least tell me if they're okay?"
"They're fine." His answer was short and terse as adjusted the IV setup. "Well enough to still be a pain in my aft half a world away."
The clipped, aloof response didn't set well with her. Her eyes narrowed and she tried to rise once again. "Please," she pressed the mech once more, "I'm serious, Ratchet…"
"So am I," the medic huffed as he gently forced the woman down once again. "Be still."
"I can't 'be still'," she insisted. "Not until I know what's happening! Just…tell me what's going on and I promise to behave."
"Stubborn femme," the CMO groused as he paused to key information into the woman's medical record. "Fine," he vented as he laid his data pad aside. "If you absolutely must know, it appears the Decepticons have somehow gotten wind of the existence of the Allspark shard and attempted to intercept it as it was being loaded for transport."
"D-Deceptions?" Despite the intense heat her body continued to radiate, Amy felt as though a torrent of ice water had been set loose in her veins. She could feel the blood drain from her face. She'd seen neither hide nor hair of a Decepticon during her time at Diego Garcia but she'd certainly heard the scuttlebutt from both Autobot and human alike and she'd attributed the opposing faction an almost boogeyman-like status in her mind.
"The team managed to thwart the attempt and send them scurrying back to wherever they came from. Of course," Ratchet snorted, "that just means they'll coming crawling back out of their hole at some point to try again. They're nothing if not persistent."
Persistent wasn't even that half of it, she knew. She'd been able to piece together that their's was a cruel and sadistic faction, caring not for anyone's safety or wellbeing other than their own and even that was subject to debate. They craved power, regardless of the cost it took to get it, and left a swath of destruction in their wake. Their own planet, Cybertron, had been rendered more or less uninhabitable due in large part to their thirst for conquest. Earth and its plentiful cache of natural resources was next in their list, it seemed. They hurt people for no other reason than that they could. She had never asked outright but through overheard snippets of conversation she knew at least one of them was responsible for Jazz's current condition.
In Amy's experience, Jazz was one of the most considerate and compassionate beings she'd ever met. He'd been nothing but kind and accommodating since her arrival on the island. He was always there with a ready smile and a good natured joke or two to lighten the mood. He'd gone well above and beyond anything she'd ever expected from a superior officer, or anyone for that matter, treating her with a tender and almost familial care that she wasn't sure what she'd done to deserve. In her twenty years of existence, he'd been the very first person to ever make her feel welcome and wanted, like she wasn't just an extra obligation or undesirable responsibility. For that reason, she cherished greatly the friendship they'd built with one another and felt as though his presence filled a void she hadn't known she'd had in her life. She couldn't imagine Jazz not being there.
She'd felt safe in the little, isolated bubble that was Diego Garcia. It was easy to forget that the sole reason for her reassignment had been to help guard against enemy incursions. She surprised even herself, given the rough start, at how settled she felt, how secure. It due mostly, she knew, to the steadfastness of the company she kept. Now, all of that could be in jeopardy and there was little she could do to prevent it. If they could nearly kill, arguably, one of the nicest people Amy had ever had the pleasure to meet without a second thought or care, what else were the Decepticons capable of? Would they hesitate to maim others she'd grown close to and cared for? Prowl? The perpetually grumpy CMO? Sunstreaker and Sideswipe—two beings who were now so engrained and entwined into her life that even being apart from them made her physically sick?
She could feel the old, familiar creep of panic and helplessness slither up her spine. Forces beyond her control were once again rearing their ugly heads, threatening to uproot what little stability she'd gained but it was different this time. This time there was much more at stake than just a place to lay her head at night. For the first time in her life, she had people that she cared deeply about...people, dare she say, that she loved...and the danger to them was very, very real. The thought of losing any of them to this most recent upheaval caused a lance of fear to slice straight through her.
"No," she choked. A cold, hollowness forced the writhing heat out of her chest and a heaviness, like an icy stone settled in her stomach, chilling her. Despite the many, many promises that she'd made to herself over the years to never cry over her circumstances, she could feel her resolve crumbling. Her dry, red eyes stung and burned as tears began to fill them. She hiccoughed as the first of many slipped from the corner of her eye to run down her cheek.
That was all it had taken. It was as if a dam had suddenly burst. Ugly, ragged sobs seemed to well up from the very center of her being. All the emotions she'd kept buried her whole life came bubbling to the surface in a chorus of gut-wrenching, heart-rending wailing. Once it had started, Amy found that she couldn't stop it. She was at the mercy of her feelings of preemptive mourning.
Ratchet was startled by the sudden outburst. He'd expected upset and concern, certainly, especially given the woman's closeness to the twins. It was the very reason he hadn't wanted her to learn of what had transpired in this manner. Her health was his first and foremost concern and he hadn't been untruthful when he'd told her extraneous activity could adversely affect the delicate balance he'd struck between her own physiology and the foreign energy that resided within her. He hadn't, however, expected a complete emotional breakdown.
Then again, he reasoned, he really shouldn't have been so surprised. Given the immense stress and strain of the entire situation, they should have all been grateful the femme was holding up as well as she was under the circumstances. He supposed she'd earned a good cry. The only thing he could do was try to console her, as awkward of a prospect as that was. Humans were small and fragile, rendering the methods he would have used to calm and comfort one of his own kind nearly useless. He found himself wishing he hadn't sent Jazz away. The TIC had an uncanny knack for always knowing just what to say and how to say it in order to diffuse a situation. It was a skill Ratchet could have definitely used at the moment.
"There, there…" Ratchet, not knowing what else to do, tentatively patted the woman on the top of the head with a finger. "I know it doesn't seem like it now but…" he cleared his vocal processor. "Things will get better."
The CMO's words had the exact opposite effect they were intended to have as Amy began to cry even harder. She dug the heels of her hands into her eyes, whipping her head back and forth in vehement denial of the mech's statement. One of the monitors Ratchet had set up to keep an eye on the woman's condition began to beep insistently, a signal that her cellular metabolism was once again becoming unstable.
The mech cursed under his breath.
"Miss Doe," he started as he rummaged through a subspace compartment, pulling out a vial of liquid and a human-sized syringe. "You're understandably out of sorts at the moment and that is perfectly normal given the circumstances. In the interest of your health, however, I think it may be best if you went back to sleep and rested for a while, at least until your metabolic system has stabilized and the energon has a chance to process out of your system. I'm going to give you a little something to help you do so."
"No!" Fear filled Amy's eyes as she wrenched her hands away from them. "Pl-please, no…I can't sleep, Ratchet. I need," she sniffled, "I need to-to do s-something. I can't just lay here. I need to work! I want t-to help!"
"And you can do that," Ratchet gently scolded, "by resting and getting well. You're all wound up and the only thing that is going to get you is ill again. That, I cannot allow. Jazz is worrying himself sick about you as it is, and don't even get me started on the twins. You'll feel much better when you wake."
Amy tried again to protest but the CMO was faster than she gave him credit for. No sooner had she opened her mouth did she feel a cold numbness flow into her veins from whatever concoction he had injected into her IV line. The medication circulated quickly through her system, aided by her rapidly beating heart. The strange fog she'd felt upon waking began to settle over her once more. Her eyes grew heavy and time, at least from her perspective, began to slow and warp.
She had just enough awareness to register when Jazz hurriedly limped back into the room. She could hear Ratchet speaking to him in a rapid, computerized cadence she couldn't decipher. She could discern the worry on the smaller mech's face plates as he once again took up his post at her side, his strangely soothing fingers once again raking through her sweaty, tousled hair in gentle strokes. He was speaking to her but her brain refused to convert the syllables into words she could understand. She felt extraordinary heavy and tired. She blinked and found that her eyes refused to open. Once again, she was enveloped by darkness.
End of Chapter 33
