Time Scale: Nano-click: second ; Cycle: Minute ; Groon: an hour ; Mega-cycle: days ; Orn: 13 days ; Steller Cycle: year ; Vorn: 83 year

Chapter 26: Should Have Stayed in Bed

Sentinel laid there, a ping of agony in his chassis. He didn't move. He dared not twitch because he knew it was his spark that ached so. He also knew that he was in the recovery room at Breakdown's clinic and that this donation had to have gone badly given that Breakdown actually had him on painkillers. He knew the telltale dull sting of those and medical grade energon.

Red Alert had kept him so doped up upon his recovery after Echo that he barely could move his limbs. She had refused to let him move freely until they were back to Cybertron with proper medics, to have his injuries checked. He was sure that comment alone was why he detested her now when a part of him might have found her good looking once upon a time. He secretly despised anyone that spoke negatively of the Docker City residents. In fact, from time to time, he dwelt on how life would have been if he had stayed.

Then again, he knew that the past would have caught up to him and his sparkling sooner or later. It was best not to dwell too much.

Daring to twitch his fingers, Sentinel actually groaned when he got the ping of a hail.

This couldn't be happening. He just wanted to recharge, to rest. And yet the pinging was insistent. He knew who it was. How could he not, and it was also marked important.

Great, wonderful. He just wanted a helm-ache with his spark-ache today.

Reluctantly, he answered it, "Sentinel Minor here."

He never got used to using that title.

"Sir," said Cliffjumper his voice sounding agitated and … concerned? "Where have you been?"

Not knowing what else to say, he grumbled, "Recharging … obviously … it's still morning."

Cliffjumper was silent for a moment, his voice screeching slightly, "Its mid-day. Did you just online?"

Not knowing what else to say, still not wanting to online his optics, the mech murmured, "… Yes."

Cliffjumper was silent on the other side, his next words grumbled, "Did you spend all night in a bar or something? Generally, I'd say good for you, you mope around the place too much, but the Magnus has been in a foul mood. Apparently, there was some kind of break in and the head of communications and intel, you, hasn't even shown up?! Sir, this is part of your job! You might not be on the field, but if we have a break in, you should be dealing with it. Not me! I am not getting landed with this like last … uh … time."

Sighing, catching the hint, Sentinel found himself hating how high strung Cliffjumper sometimes would become. Personally, he wanted to tell the other to just go without him and leave him to deactivate in peace. Or better yet, take Mirage to the meeting with him to make notes, because he knew how well those two got along. The room would break out into a bickering match and finally, finally, they would either admit that they liked each other or tried to murder each other right there in front of the Magnus. Sentinel personally couldn't tell himself and could only smile slightly at the thought.

Mirage was a mystery to him still. He was a new addition after all. He was one of the many staff that he added after dropping the old employees because of Longarm's betrayal. There was no way of telling if any of them were corrupt. He was personally surprised he had not gained even more enemies. Then again, he had been careful on who he left go and who was given less … sensitive information. He had started playing politics after all. And though he perhaps wasn't as practice as Magnus was with the Autobot High Council, he knew the games.

Then again, most of Longarm's staff (Shockwave if he had to be accurate) was probably just happy to have been investigated only briefly and not sent to Trypticon Prison, a Decepticon prison. Once you went in there, there was no coming out … except for Wasp.

Ugh, he didn't need to think about that right now. That was an intel nightmare. No one knew how he got out or … what had come of him. The research department really wanted to get their hands on him though.

Regardless, he wished that his agents were a little more independent and not in a Jazz sort of way. Yet, he knew the red mech was right and there was no point in ignoring his responsibilities because of a little pain.

Venting, telling himself not to be dramatic though he really, really, wanted to be, Sentinel grumbled, "Don't get your gears in a twist, Cliffjumper. I'll … try to be there as soon as possible. Please just head in without me, tell them I will be in as soon as possible. Sentinel Minor out."

Cliffjumper was cut off before he could say another thing.

Laying there a moment, his chest feeling tight and achy and sorer than he recalled it ever feeling, like a live wire imbedded in a growing tree, he wondered vaguely if Optimus would be there. Despite himself, he shuddered, reminding himself that he was already late so if he was lucky he would be stuck in the left over seat so he'd luckily be as far from Optimus as possible. All the other departments and high officers always seemed to want to communicate with the new next in line, get there claws into him while he was young. It was not a tactic that Sentinel was estranged to … the same had been done to him, when he was supposed to be the next Magnus.

For a moment the tightness in his chest wasn't from the surgery, but from that longing, a hurt that had drove him to desperation more than a vorn ago. The want for order and control and dare he say it: unfeelingness. It was something that he had dwelt on after he started raising Echo and Elita's ghost.

Everything had become skewed with her accident it seemed and though there was now a want for rules and order and to be looked upon as noble and powerful, it also meant he could be cold. Magnus was many things in the bot's mind, but cold was one thing his mind had labeled the other. The Magnus didn't have to feel anything, wasn't supposed to.

He had wanted that. He was tired of feeling guilty and hurt and jealous … he wanted to be cold in the noblest way possible.

And look where that got him.

Sentinel looked around the small recovery room, clean and plain and just slightly run down, but not unpleasantly so. Rustic perhaps. Breakdown wasn't known for living in a glamorous part of town (though acceptable for him to be seen there with a sparkling), but he did things other medics would find unsavory without question. To him … abortions were contraceptive maintenance, spark donations were spark casing checks, optic color changes were optical sensor updating, and wing nub removal was servo maintenance.

Though his child was entirely Autobot in every way, he now realized that there were so many mechs hidden in the underbelly of the world. Mechs with a yearning for the sky, their wings long since removed; and children with red optics that had to have them removed and suffered through being partially blind in many ways for the rest of the existence because his or her systems were set for red; and coding for war models and frames adjusted and bent down to fall to the will of Autobot society leaving their systems glitched from a lack of important coding.

So many … so many secrets. So many of his society's rules broken. So much silent suffering.

In the past, before Echo, if he had discovered this side of his world, he might have gone on a war path. Dare he say it, he might have done something unforgivable as Magnus. Suffering though, despite its cold grip, was a good teacher. In fact, it was the best teacher that set out to kill all of her students. Sometimes the lesson was not comprehended … sometimes it made you a better mech.

As much as it pained him, he would admit he was a better mech and that some rules were meant to be broken.

Sonic Trip was a perfect example and he knew she suffered from silent hatred for something she couldn't control. Then again, she had a home to go to. She didn't have to hide in plain sight. She had a place to accept her at the end of the mega-cycle. That was why Sentinel found he could not judge Breakdown as much as he couldn't judge Sonic Trip or her currently 'missing' parental files that Cliffjumper had unknowingly filed incorrectly.

Sentinel had gotten her into the Autobot Academy and though he doubted they would ever allow her to rise to an Elite status or be a true Autobot for that matter, at least he knew that there was someone he didn't have to keep his secrets from.

Too bad the only academy that would actually take her was on the other side of the planet.

Sighing, deciding that right now was not the time to dwell on the secret world of surgery and crippled coding of hidden half-breeds, he turned his attention to the monitor on his left. Unlike the kind of berths that had monitors built in, Breakdown couldn't afford such an expensive tool so an old monitor probably from the Great War flickered softly, telling the mech that his spark was indeed beating, though with the way it was aching. How could he think anything else?

Looking at the port in his wrist and the jack attaching him to the monitor, he gave a slight tug and pulled free. He watched almost groggily as the medical monitor stalled before suddenly blinking as it sent a distress signal … presumably Breakdown. Cursing himself, wondering if he should try to figure out how to turn off the device or to shove the jack back in before his butcher could storm in, the door slid open, Breakdown looking around madly. For a moment the bulky healer stood there, vents gasping as if he had stormed across the small clinic, two young mechs behind him … one with a barely notable swollen belly.

Calming down, standing up straight, he looked back and asked the two young mechs to take a seat in the examination room before he closed the door behind him, his obviously annoyed large mass more than intimidating as he walked over to the monitor, turning off the alarm, but not the device. Instead, the large mech turned around and offered out a large hand, obviously wanting Sentinel's wrist back so he could plug him back in.

Sentinel frowned. Generally, Breakdown wasn't this demanding with his bedside manner. His current glare could have made Ultra Magnus twitch though, especially when Sentinel did not offer his wrist.

"Sentinel," finally came a deep, demanding voice. "You need to stay in berth today, in the clinic, with this machine monitoring you. I need to discuss a few things about you and Echo's health."

Sentinel, trying to shake off the lightheadedness that threatened to push him back into the berth, frowned. He did not like that tone at all. His mouth felt dry and he could not shake the slight tremble in his vocalizer as he scrambled to feel his creations part of their bond, "Did something … did something happen to Echo?"

He knew the answer within a moment as he felt his son stir slightly in the bond, apparently in recharge at the moment. His sparked ached due to the action though. Sentinel dared not twitch.

"No, he's fine, but that is meaningless if your spark … can't handle it anymore," said Breakdown carefully as he pulled up a stool and sat down, his frown heavy on his facial plates. "There was a complication. I had to take more than usual and your spark activity … it got so bad last night I was afraid that you were going to flicker on me."

Sentinel stalled, his vents in-taking air and holding it for a moment as he choked, "Flickered? As in my spark is going to-"

Breakdown put his hands up, stalling the other, "Nothing quite that bad. If anything, it was a minor flicker, nothing close to a full spark attack, but … I don't think I can perform another spark donation with your spark being so … weak. Sentinel," Breakdown's voice was soft, his optic sad as he offered his hand out again to take Sentinel's wrist, "You are going to have to find someone to ... stabilize your spark with. Since you have no physical want to romantically share your spark, I would recommend that you ask someone that you trust since you have no interest in being truly intimate."

Sentinel sitting there, a confused and slightly horrified expression covering his face, shook his head, "I do not understand. You said that you would do this procedure. You have been doing so for the last vorn and a half. You just can't stop. Echo will … Echo will."

"He would offline from the backlash alone if his carrier-creation bond is broken, Sentinel," said Breakdown, his tone harsh. Then, as if feeling bad for using that tone on one of his more needy patients, he added, "I know that you don't want to be with anyone, but I have been asking for a long time now if you found anyone for a reason. I-if you really can't find anyone … I promise I would be gentle."

His spark sinking, a part of him unable to comprehend that this was really happening, that it was do or die when it came to keeping Echo alive, he found he couldn't deal with this.

He suddenly found himself on his feet, wanting to be anywhere but here, wanting to be anywhere thinking anything, but what Breakdown had just said.

He knew it was true. He had always known that he was on a time limit when it came to carving up his spark, but it had always seemed so far away, like a distant nightmare that may never come to pass, but here it was speaking to him in a calm voice, the voice of Breakdown.

He needed to get away. He needed to work. He needed to think of anything, anything but this nightmare.

He had to grab Echo and go to work. He had to work. He couldn't deal with this, with the thought of ever letting someone touch him again. He-he … he had to leave now.

"I need to go. There's an important meeting at Metroplex that I'm already late for," said Sentinel as his feet struggled to stay under him, his system binging at him in distress. "I will … I will talk to you later. I'm just going to grab Echo."

"Sentinel, Sentinel. Calm down, sit back down. Going to work isn't going to make this better. Sentinel!"

Sentinel was already out of the clinic's doors with a sleeping Echo in his arms. He didn't question why the other had been in Breakdown's hab-suite or why Codebreaker wasn't answering his pings to drop off Echo late. There was always Low Tones after all. She was a good sitter … though she could be a little scattered brained at times and he just couldn't deal with that right now.

Honestly, he wasn't sure he could keep anything together right now either.

…

Ratchet's peds stepped as softly as they possibly could. He had been awaken early that morning by a call from Optimus, asking how Sari was doing and how … Sumdac was. Correction, how Reboot was. He had called already and the little mech was still catatonic, unresponsive, but at least his spark seemed far more stable. Small blessings he supposed because today was going to be hard. Now, he just had to tell Sari of her current circumstances and how he planned to follow through with said plans.

He doubted she would be happy.

No, in fact, he really wished Optimus could have gotten out of that important morning meeting so they could have been yelled at together. In the past, he would have never dreamed of Sari seriously screaming at him, but she had changed in the last vorn. She was not an adult, no matter how much she tried to act like one, but neither was she the sparkingly by Cybertronian standards. She just seemed … weary. Too weary for one so young.

Turning his gaze away from the femme that was still hopelessly passed out on the equivalent of a giant couch, he turned his attention to the dreaded door. Egh, he did not want to go in there. He had no idea what was in there in all honestly, but he was almost disappointed that some younger mechs like Bumblebee weren't around … so he could chuckle when a pile of junk fell on him.

Sniggering to himself softly at the thought of the young mech yipping before he was covered in old medical digi-pads and things covered in rusty dust, he opened the door and stared at the piles of junk inside for a moment. He was sure he would have to finally throw some things or at least make room elsewhere, but he was sure the room would be perfect for Sari … and her brother, Reboot.

He frowned slightly at the thought as he readied himself to start his day of cleaning. That thought … had come too quickly. The poor scientist might still be in there. Perhaps brother was too bold of a term? Maybe? … Unlikely? Not that he wanted to voice what Sari was so certain about. She was sure her father was offline and he could tell without a doubt that she hated the creation her father had made. Personally, he washopeful regardless of the outcome. It might have seemed strange and odd and out of character for him, but he wished that he had had a creation now that he was older. He wished he had had someone to care for and love and to be thought of fondly when his spark faded. He wanted to feel a tug on the side of his spark where a bond would rest and worm its way into his deepest thoughts.

Not that he knew if a bond could even form. Sari was a techno-organic no matter how easily she could blend in and Reboot … he didn't even know of the child had a mind to him. He could very well end up little more than a drone.

He couldn't even ask for a bond mate either … Arcee didn't think of him tat way. She was young, a new mind to a new world.

He sighed, his shoulder's sagging. There were too many questions here and just like this room, this clutter mess: he didn't even know where to begin.

"Ratchet?"

The old mech nearly jumped out of his armor, dropping the pile of digi-pads in hand as he turned around, his battle protocols threatening to come online … only to stall as he stared at a small femme before him, a blanket drug behind her in a half exhausted expression. She looked miserable.

"Ah, good morning kid. How did you recharge?" he asked, trying not to grunt as he bent over to pick up the digi-pads.

Sari, her face void of most expressions, asked, "Where are we?"

Stalling, for a moment, rising to his feet as he placed the digi-pads on top of a nearby shelf, he frowned heavily and grumbled, "My habitation suite. Home, kid."

The femme, her organic face showing, frowned and raised a brow in question as if asking why he was acting nicer than usual. Not knowing what else to do, he grumbled, "Come on short stuff, let's get you some … uh … breakfast."

Sari, still looking particularly miserable, merely padded after the other, her footsteps heavy for one so small. It didn't take long before she was seated on the table itself, cross legged with her blanket thrown over her shoulders. She looked like a refugee and Ratchet would be lying if he said his spark didn't ache for her, but she was his responsibility now and he was promising to uphold his vow to that lost father. He would treat her like any young femme, too bright for her own good in some ways.

He already knew that he was going to increase her energon and metal consumption. He could tell that her frame was trying to grow but she got so little energon and metal, she had barely gain any thickness to her armor and though he knew he was getting ahead of himself, he did hope he could somehow get ahold of a triple-changers code and allow her to have a real alt mode. Yes, her organic form had its uses, but not here, not this planet and he refused to have her ostracized and hid away here as she had likely been on Earth as time refused to touch her.

Then again, where was he even going to find a triple-changer code? Those were … a Decepticon thing.

Brushing off the idea for now since she was technically too young to even transform into a full alt mode by Cybertronian standards, he came back from a cabinet that seamlessly blended back into the wall, a few small tools in hand. He then placed some powdered metals down along with some medical grade and low grade. He didn't need another medic chiding him about her health. In fact, he wanted to keep other medics away from Sari as long as possible. He'd do all of his own medical care, thank you very much.

For as long as he could that is. Likely the youngling centers would want some official records.

Sari, sitting there, so exhausted she just wanted to lie down and die, she watched the old medic ground and mix and blend metals and energon. She knew what energon was though her experience with it was limited. Ratchet had visited once or twice when she had gotten sick and given it to her in gel form. It had not been … okay. If electricity had a taste and that taste was given Jell-O form with just a slight aftertaste of what she could only express as the wind and life, that would be gelled energon.

It was interesting, though she would still rather have a burger.

Then, as if on cue, her stomach let out a loud whine which even caused Ratchet to stall and give her a raised brow.

Placing a hand on her stomach while rubbing the back of her head, she murmured, "Sorry it's just … I haven't eaten since … since dad."

Ratchet frowned, nodding, keeping the silence until he finally finished what looked like a miniature lighted version of the universe; in soup form. Gazing at the cube that had been placed before her, a mixture of many metals glimmer in partially gelled energon and coolants, the femme looked up at the large mech as he took a seat with his own cube of normal energon, the mech tipping a little oil in as if it were creamer.

"You are kidding, right?" she asked as she looked up at the other, ignoring her reflection in the cube.

Taking a sip before he pulled out a digi-pad as if it were the morning paper, the medic grumbled, "No, that is breakfast and its best that you get used to it missy. Its metal infused light grade energon with just a touch of high grade. Its for malnutritioned younglings. It's also known as a type of medical grade."

The femme let the spoon fall into the goop for a moment, her grumpiness very forward, "So you are feeding me medicine … for breakfast? And what do you mean I better get used to this? I need to go home, Ratchet. I need to … I need to bury my dad."

Ratchet, swallowing, cursing himself for not watching his glossa better, sighed, "Your father donated his body to science so the medical world could make use of his … creations. Now, please try your breakfast and then you and I … are going to have a long discussion, all-right young-bot."

Sari, biting her lip, looking away at the thought that some grad students were going to be taking her father's body apart, could only reply, "I-I don't have time for pleasantries, Ratchet. My father needs to be buried. I want to at least have him cremated. And what of the company? Ratchet, I get you don't want to leave me alone after … after what happened, but I have responsibilities. I'm an adult after all."

Ratchet, his tone almost biting, came back just as impatient, "You are a child. A youngling. You should not be running a business or burying bodies. You should … you shouldn't have such worries. You should be learning things like a normal youngling, forming bonds and learning skills."

"I'm nearly two hundred years-"

"You are barely a vorn and a half old. Barely out of sparkling-hood by Cybertronian standards. Some mechlings or femmes can barely speak full sentences at your age," he gruffly replied back, part of his mind tell him that this was not how this conversation was supposed to go. He wasn't supposed to react to her anger or frustration. He was supposed to let her down easy.

Then again, Sari and easy were not words that generally went well together.

Sari, frowning at this moment, her glare so cold it could freeze metal, she asked almost too calmly, "Ratchet … what did you mean that I need to get used to it?"

Staring at the femme for a moment, knowing that there was no way to detour her from something once she had her mind set on it, he sighed through his vents and placed his digi-pad down, his tone soft, "I wanted to save this conversation for when Optimus got off of work, but since you insist, I'll tell you as simply as possible. I'm an old mech. I don't have time to attack the bush or whatever the idiom is."

"It's beat around the bush, Ratchet," she said, her frown growing though a part of her said it was best to let him speak.

"Pah, that makes not sense. Regardless, Sari … you are a child by Cybertronian standards and despite two hundred years being a long time to a human, it is not for a Cybertronian."

Part of her catching on to where this conversation was heading and a part of her not liking it at, she interrupted as if it were a debate, "Yes, but I'm a techno-organic. Meaning I will age … differently. You yourself told my dad you didn't know how long I would live when I … didn't age. So, I might be a sparkling here, but on Earth-"

"You are still a child," he cut her off, in no mood for a debate. "Your father was a scientist, Sari. As such he gauged your growth and mental capacity. You're tutor bots were just as much for testing you in a literal sense as in a physical, especially after you upgraded with the key. When you did that, your human growth cycle all but stopped except for digestive and tissue replacement and your Cybertronian side became more dominate. Thus, that is why you have never grown taller or developed … reproductively."

Sari was looking more and more horrified, but Ratchet just continued.

"You have never had a first cycle because you are too young in your human form. Yes, you might have just been on the cusp of it with your upgrade, but now your body depends on your Cybertronian form. Thus, why you find yourself nibbling on metallic pens and silverware when you think no one is looking. Your body was trying to feed itself to grow … your robotic side. And the same for your mind. You might be intelligent, abnormally so, but you have trouble grasping certain concepts like complex situations and emotions. Sari, though you are more mature than most your age, you still in body and mind are a child."

Sari, finding this all a bit too much to swallow, part of her still wondering how she hadn't noticed her father gathering data on her, found herself whispering, "And … you are telling me all this why, Ratchet?"

She knew. She already knew, but she had to hear it out loud.

Sighing, rubbing his old hands for a moment, the medic stated in the kindest manner, "As a minor, your father asked for Optimus or I to take you in. I chose to take in you as well as, Reboot, the form left behind by your father. I know you kept saying he is not your father and that may very well be possible … so I have taken to calling him your brother."

Trying to ignore the horrified look forming on the femme's face, Ratchet continued, "But … you don't have to call him that. He has a spark so he's alive, but what I think I'm trying to say Sari is that your father's last will and testimate asked for me to take care of you and I … accepted. By Autobot courts, I am your new caretaker."

For a moment, the femme was horrified, having risen to her feet, her head shaking slightly in denial before she finally murmured, "No, no, no! I am not a child, Ratchet! My father's dead! You didn't give two scraps about me for nearly a vorn and a half. I've already been ostracized enough on one planet. I don't need it on Cybertron as well! I was a freak! And the only friends that did not age and fade away were light-years away who only bothered to contact me every few years!"

She was all but screaming at one point, coolant tears dripping down her face, her next words cold and bitter. "And I know you helped him, Ratchet. In one way or another you helped implant that idea that he should build that-that body, that thing! I will not call it brother anymore than father! I am not staying on this planet a second more!"

Sari, battle mask dropping, was to the door before the older mech could barely get to his peds, the aging mech crying out to the obviously distraught femme, "Sari, young-bot, come back here. They are not going to let a youngling through a space bridge. Sari, Sari!"

Before he could say anything else, she had hopped up and opened the main door via the keypad. She then was zooming past two unlucky Cybertronians in the hall, a femme grabbing a small orange bot that had nearly fallen on his face. Stalling in the doorway, Ratchet watched as Sari zoomed around a corner, a few mechs or femmes screaming as she all but flew by. Personally, Ratchet was just glad that he hadn't unpacked the things that he grabbed for her … she really didn't need a jet-pack right now.

Sighing, rubbing his temple for a moment, he turned his head to see that the femme and mech were still standing there awkwardly. It was then that he noticed a familiar face and one that he knew only by reputation, an orange petite mech. The femme was from the Youngling Care Center, Safe Guard. The other was Ring? Rong? Rang? Was it? Hmm, maybe it was Rung … or Wrung.

Shaking his head, deciding he was too old for this, he tried not to frown at the small bot. He, personally, had ignored the psychiatrist bot like a plague after coming back from Earth. Everyone was worried that the rest of his team and him had befallen some trauma from being on an organic planet for so long. Either way, he was not in the mood for this. He had to find Sari. She might have been what he considered a high-functining youngling, but a youngling nonetheless.

"Safe Guard … Uh, Wrung?" Ratchet said in greeting before he closed the door behind him, ignoring the other's comment of 'its Rung actually' as he locked the door with a swipe of his hand. "I'm sure you came for paperwork … or to decide if I'm going to be a terrible caretaker, but this old bot has some bigger problems right now."

Safe Guard, looking down the direction Sari had gone, nodded, "Did something happen?"

Starting a slow jog in the direction she went, he huffed, "She just proved my point that she's a young bot … and that I'm not that good when it comes to a bedside manner."

Ratchet could have sworn that Rung was jotting down everything that he said as the kindly femme helped him look for Sari, the medic telling himself that it was best not to react and act paranoid. He was sure his Autopedia was bad enough the way it was already and he didn't need any new chapter length sections added.

…

Sentinel nearly whined when he finally managed to transform in front of Metroplex, his whole form feeling overtaxed and aching and downright miserable. Plus, he was low on energon yet he was expected to run down the halls if Cliffjumpers and now Jazz's pings were any indication. He had barely convinced Low Tones to take Echo today, something about a big test the next day and he had to be home by then. Really, how long did she think these meetings went?

Not that he had much information. It was probably another prank by those twins. And when he said twins, he meant one set or the other. Both Jetfire and Jetstorm had picked up some nasty habits and he could only presume that it had something to do with the two new twins, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe. Hellions, all of them. They had created a prank war or something of the such and everyone else just got sucked into the middle of it. He would say something, he really wanted to, but he was a Minor now. The only mechs he truly held authority over in this place where in his department.

And even that was questionable at times.

Sucking in a deep vent, his systems pinging at him in stress as internal scarred welding seemed to jar with each step, the tried to understand what was going on with the limited information that had been sent to him. Something about a possible break-in.

Likely someone forgot their passcode or got locked in somewhere after hours because they were fragging around … literally probably.

Walking, half-jogging down the hall, trying to not twitch whenever his spark constricted in pain, he made his way to the room, the sight of Cliffjumper standing outside greeting him. Great. It was a high security meeting if they wouldn't allow Cliffjumper in … which meant they were waiting for him.

Wonderful … just wonderful.

"Cliffjumper," said Sentinel in greeting as he stalled, taking a digi-pad from the red mech.

"First, Mirage? Really? We'd deactivate each other. And where have you been? Everyone is wondering where you were last night or for that matter, this morning? The Magnus only backed off when I said you went to some kind of medical appointment yesterday, but then a few cycles later he asked why you hadn't gone to the Autobot Military Clinic. Apparently, he had checked. What was I supposed to say to that? That you go to a butcher every few groons and come back half crippled …"

Cliffjumper stalled for a moment as if finally really seeing the other.

"… You look terrible, sir," he added as an afterthought. "Are you … can you get through this meeting? I mean … you look bad. Your finish is even pale."

Sentinel sighed, covering his optics with his hand for a moment, ready to speak his peace, when Cliffjumper interrupted again.

"You promised that you would allow an Autobot medic look at-"

"I never legally agreed to that," grumbled Sentinel, knowing already he was going to regret saying that with the way Cliffjumper's brow twitched, before he added, "I'm just low … really … really low. My tank feels empty."

Sentinel hated how whiny that sounded.

Cliffjumper rolled his optics and opened his subspace, rummaging around before he pulled out a cube, giving it to the other. Personally, he knew he shouldn't drink anything given how his systems had a habit of rebelling on him after a procedure, but this meeting could last groons. He had striven to stay off of certain mechs radar after Echo and he did not need their attention by passing out.

Opening the cube and managing to swallow barely a third of it, he resealed it and placed it in his subspace, ignoring Cliffjumper's blatant glare as the red mech started again, "I'm serious. I'm setting up an appointment with a real medic. I'm doing it today and I'm going to drag you there."

Sentinel was about to go into a dragging debate of 'fat change of that happening' when the door opened, the two mech's stalling mid-word.

For a moment, Jazz stared at the two, giving each of a look before he stepped to the side in a welcoming fashion, "Wondering when you were goin' to show up SM. We were getting a bit worried, you being the head of communications and intel."

Sentinel tried to not twitch at the reminder of his position. He didn't know why, but for some reason Jazz's smile always irked him. It was like the other always wanted to say something more, apologize from his lack of communication between the two of them since his failure as Magnus, but at the same time Jazz wasn't sorry. Sentinel knew Jazz wasn't sorry that he took the Magnus' Hammer and gave it to Optimus. He wasn't sorry that he had opposed Sentinel while he was Magnus. He wasn't sorry that he had chosen Earth and its bots … over him

Jazz was never sorry.

He wasn't sorry that he gave up on him.

Sentinel knew that he was at fault as well. That he should have asked for help … should have said something, but in all honestly the pain was too deep. The betrayal was still there and in turn sometimes there was even that … whisper. Elita's voice. Sometimes, especially in the office when he was reminded of his failures as bots gave him stony looks and Echo was nowhere around to remind him otherwise, he would dwell on his fall.

How would the world have been if he had offlined? If no one had ever found him?

Would have it been better?

Would it have even matter?

Swallowing that thought, telling himself that Echo was worth any amount of suffering, he nodded to Jazz and apologized to the small collection of powerful military bots in the room, "Apologizes. I was detained last night and did not receive any messages until mid-morning."

Ultra Magnus, who was looking at a digi-pad along with Optimus Prime, looked up and stared for a moment before giving a mute nod. He was then going to take a seat in the small company near Heatwave and Kup (he planned to keep his distance from Perceptor and Brainwave though he had no idea why they were even here in a security meeting). He didn't even get that far though when Jazz grinned and walked passed him, childishly taking the seat he was about to take. He even grinned wickedly as he sat down, completely ignoring the look Kup and Heatwave were giving him.

Looking back up, not in the mood to question the other's behavior, he stalled mid-step, his tank churning.

There was only one seat left and it was right next to none other than Optimus Prime.

Frag … maybe it would have been better if he had just listened to Breakdown and stayed in the berth.

XXX

Paw07: Yeah, a slow chapter, but it was also fairly long. Not a lot of action or anything, but then again I'm trying to do some background catch up in this chapter from the vorn and half time skip a few chapters back. Yes, as some of you more hardcore TF fans probably can already tell, I've started reading the IDW comics. Thus, Rung. I also kind of watch Rescue bots, thus Heatwave. Hope the update has pleased you all … especially since it is finally starting to lean towards the long awaited Romance part. Yeah, I see an end in sight … maybe … ugh, I feel like we are never going to get there.