A/N: Whew, apologies for such a long break without updates! I was hoping to have this completed and posted last week but was unfortunately unable to have access to the internet for nearly the entire weekend *twitches* epic. fail. (punk decepticon verizon...)That and recently I've taken up a second job, which cuts what shreds of free time I have to almost insubstantial ribbons. (Poor Bumbee's time is no less inhibited with her working basically six days a week :-/ )Ah well, such is the lot for poor students right? ;) But enough, onward we go! With luck the next updates won't take as long! Again, thank you for your faithful and ever enduring patience!
Also, now that TFP is in its full stride once again, we just want to remind everyone that while TFP is amazing we're still sticking to our original plot. (Though, for those of you who have seen the season premiere I'd just like to say that did I not call the bots needing to go to Cybertron? 'Cuz I called it.)
Please R & R!
~ Epsilon Pax & Bumbee
Now more than ever it seems appropriate for a disclaimer, so...
We fully acknowledge that we have no explicit rights to Transformers: Prime or any characters used therein, no matter how amazing. *sigh*
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"Why, Arcee?"
Every servo, every piston, every processor within Arcee froze, locking in place as a wave of panic crested over her. What could she tell him? How could she tell him everything that happened? That eons had passed since he and Megatron had been able to regard one another as brethren. Arcee looked in his optics, her resolve wilting; everything had changed, irreparably so, how could she bring herself to dash everything he knew, to throw asunder the few remaining shreds of the familiar that he had left?
"Well…um, it's complicated…and it's more of a how than a why, really…"
Jack.
How could Arcee have forgotten that he had been there this entire time? Her optics flew to where the young man lingered on the elevated platform; while he spoke with calm hesitation, his white-knuckled grip on the railing before him betrayed his nerves. His heart rate kicked into overdrive as Orion shifted to regard him as well.
Spare weeks ago, had it been Optimus who looked upon him in such a way, Jack wouldn't have so much as flinched, not when the Prime had been nothing except a reservoir of strength and compassion, always taking the time to inquire, with genuine concern, after his wellbeing, always willing to listen, to talk even about the most inconsequential things. But back then, Optimus had been the one that Jack could always turn to for answers, for snippets of wisdom, and now…now it was Orion who looked back at Jack, looking for those same answers, for a reason why.
It had been almost reflex, an instinctive response, to help Arcee that Jack had spoken up; the young man, ever observant and discerning—at least when it came to Cee—hadn't been blind to her distress. Just as Jack had known how conflicted, how torn Arcee had been since they had lost Optimus—since Optimus had lost himself—for it had been yet another blow to endure, another fallen comrade…just like Cliffjumper. He couldn't help his partner in many ways, couldn't go charging off into battle, but he could help like this, distracting Orion to give Arcee a moment of respite, to collect her thoughts.
However, Arcee, was, after all resilient, and instead of lapsing into silence, she straightened, her tone become crisp, almost curt, "Jack…I think its time that you go home, its late, your mother might be worried."
It was, in a word, not the sort of response Jack had been expecting, " S-she knows I'm here, with you guys, Cee…besides this is the safest place in the world…"Jack trailed off as Arcee's expression became steely, resolute and fixed, a poignant reminder that right now, the Autobot base wasn't safe. Not with Orion—with Optimus, in such a tenuous condition, for no matter how much they believed that he would never harm them, they still couldn't know, not for sure, which side Optimus was on. And the Decepticon insignia inscribed upon Optimus' right shoulder didn't help.
However, just like Arcee, Jack wasn't one to back down either, so instead he too stood straighter, "I have just as much a right to be here as you do Cee, I can help."
"Jack—"
"If anything, I'm perhaps the only one suited here to help—"
"Jack, I'm not going to argue with you—"
"—Neither am I." Ratchet's voice, a resonating note of finality, echoed over to them as he entered the complex. Seeing Optimus conscious, the medic was similarly keen on returning the humans to their respective dwellings, where they would be safe, until they could firmly establish Optimus' mental state, or, more importantly, they could be sure of which side he was on.
"Can't you just wait a minute and listen to what I'm saying—?"
But Jack's words fell upon unhearing audio receptors as Arcee and Ratchet's focus turned to Optimus who attempted, once again, to sit up. He was weary of hearing others debate about and over him. The sooner he could work whatever chemicals Ratchet had introduce into his systems the better, for he'd be able to regain full control over his frame, ridding himself of this disconnected and sluggish feeling, and, more importantly, he'd be capable of swaying these Cybertronians enough to help him return to Megatronus.
His head ached, his servos groaning in protest at his movements, but still he persisted, if only the ground would not tilt in such an alarming way… It took longer than Orion cared to admit for his processors to stabilize and restore a semblance of equilibrium to his movements, wearily Orion shuttered his optics, willing the pain and unsettling loss of balance away. That was when he felt it, a light touch, timid though caring, upon his right forearm, and then another, this one firm and supportive upon his left shoulder. He onlined his optics quickly, taken aback at the sight of Arcee lingering at his side and Ratchet firmly present at the other.
"Easy, easy now…"Professional and alert, Ratchet tucked his shoulder beneath Orion's arm, bearing most of his weight. As Orion worked to steady himself, Ratchet engaged several scans, wholly caught off-guard—and not a little perplexed—at how rapidly Orion had risen from out of the chemically induced stasis.
While Arcee's focus was primarily upon their Prime, she still had presence of mind enough to direct her attention over to Jack. She used the moment and the distraction it afford her with both Ratchet and Orion's attention elsewhere to flick her optics in Jack's direction. When she spoke her tone was firm, though kinder, "Jack, right now what Orion needs is rest and you need to—"
Jack, however, had heard enough, frustrated, and with the strain of the last few weeks at last catching up, wearing upon him physically and emotionally, it was enough to put a stronger bite than usual into his words as his voice rang out clean and assertive, "What he needs is his memories! And right now I may be the only one who can help give them back!"
Megatron himself could have sauntered into the hanger at that very moment and would have gone completely unnoticed, as with Ratchet's help Orion gained more semblance of his equilibrium, firmly planting his peds beneath him, he stood up to his full dominating height, every plate and panel, every processor and fiber of his neural network now focused completely and wholly upon Jack.
"Jackson…Darby…"Orion's voice resounded, rich and pure as he took a step nearer to the platform.
Now it was Jack's turn to have the air catch within his lungs, "You…you remember me?" Unconsciously, he waivered, taking several steps backward, away from the titanic being that approached him; at his movements, Orion's optics dimmed at the realization that once again he had inspired fear within yet another being.
Those piercing cerulean optics searched Jack's more diminutive countenance, his memory banks sorely pressed to catch up and reconcile with the familiarity that surged through his spark. It was just like the others: Arcee…Bumblebee…Ratchet…Bulkhead…Jack…their names, their faces he knew. Not entirely as steady as he would have them believe, Orion gingerly lifted a hand, touching the panels that covered his spark, "Here…I remember you…you and the others…"his hand lifted to lightly brush against his sensitive audio finials, "But just not here…not yet…"
Lingering protectively—and defensively, though she wouldn't readily admit it—Arcee felt a surge of hope slip through her spark, Primus, let this be a sign of hope, of healing…
"H-hey! What's he doing up!" Unlooked for, Bulkhead's basso rumbled as he followed belatedly in Ratchet's footsteps, shattering the moment as he moved to stand but a handful of paces behind Optimus.
"Bulkhead, hush!" Ratchet snapped at the larger green mech through a private comm. line, as his wide raindrop blue optics tracked Orion's every movement, elation at what looked to be a step towards obvious improvement warring with the very real fear that Orion still was a threat.
"You say you can restore my memories?" Jack could have sworn his heart had skipped a beat at how fragile Orion's voice sounded. Such only reinforced the sharp edged reality that it was not Optimus who stood before them, not really.
"Well, its just a hunch, an idea—"
"Explain yourself, quickly, Jackson Darby." There was no room for objection, for shying away now, not when Orion's tones had suddenly taken such a deep dive.
"Easy, easy now…"Though his tone was meant to be placating, Ratchet looked over to Jack, catching the young man's gaze.
Having come to understand and to know Ratchet relatively well, Jack thought he could pretty much discern the difference between Ratchet being upset and being upset. But the look he was now receiving from the Autobot medic spoke volumes, foremost among which that electronic gaze practically shouted at him, Why didn't you tell me earlier about whatever pint sized idea you seem to be entertaining at the moment instead of pulling a stunt like this! It was uncanny how Jack could almost hear the irascible medic shouting at him in his imagination.
"Jackson."
There was no ignoring the hues of impatience that now tinted Orion's tone, not that Jack could particularly blame him. If Jack had been the one who was hurt, exhausted, still slightly disoriented from the chemicals Ratchet had been pumping through his systems, and trapped within unfamiliar settings with beings who he all at once did and did not know, he'd be less than polite too.
Unable to come up with any suitable semblance of a prelude—at least not under such intense scrutiny—Jack merely reached into his back pocket, his hand closing around what had now become the familiar outline of a filigree metalloid key. It had been a hesitant notion, one that had steadily built into a solid idea and at last blossomed into a quiet theory that Jack had first developed then clung to over the last few hours since Orion's return. That is to say, since then, Jack, like the bots, had been wracking his brain desperately seeking a way—any way—that they could restore Optimus' memory. That was when Jack had remembered the last time he had spoken with Optimus—before that fateful clash with Unicron—and the item that the Prime had bestowed upon him.
"…I have been impressed by how much you have matured since we first met, and as such I feel you have earned the responsibility of safeguarding this important device…until I return…"
Until I return…
Before he could stop himself, Jack pulled the deceptively fragile looking matrix from his pocket, holding it aloft, arm extended toward Orion purposefully, the very gesture imbued with Jack's desperate hope and wish that he could somehow will Orion to remember everything at just the sight of such an important artifact.
The Key to Vector Sigma.
It shone ghostly blue and silver under the bright lights of the base, an innocent and unassuming mix of metal and crystals. Such an ancient heirloom—probably older than the Earth itself—that stood not only as a physical symbol for the collected wisdom of the Primes, but as a source of unique energy within itself. Jack didn't know what—or who—Vector Sigma could possible be, but he had come to a dawning realization that this key, which was imbued with its own caliber of energy, just might be able to re-energize the Matrix of Leadership. And if they could recharge, so to speak, the Matrix, wouldn't it stand to reason that Orion's memories would be similarly affected? It would be a literal 'kick-start.'
Yet the sight of such a revered object in the possession of a human had an opposing effect on Orion. His optics narrowed, his entire frame shifting aggressively as his voice dropped a full octave, "Where did you get that?"
Behind Orion, Bulkhead and Arcee brought their weaponry online in unison with a thick, warm hum. Her spark heavy, Arcee could only watch, feeling helpless as Bulkhead pointed his cannons at Orion's back, Oh Jack…why did you have to go and do that? Couldn't you have asked any one of us first before springing this on us…on Optimus…like this?
"You gave it to me yourself, you asked me to keep it safe until you returned…"
This apparently did little to improve Orion's mood, "Had I such an important relic within my possession at any time, I would never have given it into the care of anyone spare Megatronus…that should be in the keeping of a Cybertronian not a human."
"Back off, Orion" Bulkhead warned none to lightly, ready in an instant to do whatever was necessary, to bring Orion down.
Determined, Jack buried the twinge of hurt that rippled through him at Orion's words and ire, instead he steeled his spine, willing himself to step forward, still offering the key to Orion, "Look, you want it back, fine, here it is, take it."
"No! He can't take it! Not like this!" Ratchet stepped towards Orion, grabbing him by the forearm in an effort to keep him from reaching for the key.
"You would take the key out of your own ambitions for power?" now Orion turned upon Ratchet, all that hostility directed toward the medical officer, as he wrested himself free from Ratchet's grip, pushing him away none too gently as he did so.
"Alright, we're not going to go through this a second time!" This time Bulkhead didn't hesitate as he surged forward, latching purposefully onto Orion's wounded shoulder, taking hold and then twisting Orion's right arm behind his back. The motion, coupled with the pain of re-opening the still fresh injury had Bulkhead's desired effect of swiftly bringing Orion to his knees. For the moment, Bulkhead held the advantage using his heavier frame he translated much of his weight into his arms as he held Orion down.
Unfortunately, that was where Bulkhead's advantage ended, for Orion's frame was one that was built to endure just as it was to be surprisingly lithe. Dropping his opposite shoulder, Orion maneuvered his left arm away Bulkhead's grip, instantly transforming it into a deadly, honed blade.
"Release me!"
"I will when you stand down!"
"I am no threat to you."
"Yeah, I don't see it that way," Bulkhead growled, every word grating on his spark, screaming along every metalloid fiber of his neural net that this was wrong, this wasn't like Optimus, no matter who he called himself now.
With a grunt, Orion tried to twist his right arm free from Bulkhead's grasp, to no avail, for all the movement accomplished was to apply too much torsion to the still fragile repair to his torn energon vein. It was only when the precious luminous liquid began to once more seep in threatening rivulets that Orion tensed his left arm to strike.
"Bulkhead, release me, do not make me return such hostility upon you."
Before Bulkhead could reply, it was Ratchet who moved forward, arms raised before him in a placating gesture as he attempted to defuse the situation. Though as the medic stepped into the striking range Orion used Ratchet's proximity against him. With ease borne from an existence spent in eons of warfare, Orion flicked his arm blade outward so that the lethal tip danced just beneath Ratchet's chin, at the tender exposed neck joints.
"Call your warrior off, Ratchet Leader of the Autobots."
"NO!"
The spark-wrenching cry shattered the tension of the moment, startling all three mechs enough to look towards the source where such a wounded exclamation had issued from.
Arcee.
She reached out to Orion, no weapons, no hostility, no threat, just compassion as she willed for it all to stop, unable to bear the sight of faithful Bulkhead having to restrain their Prime no more than she could endure witnessing Orion not only threaten Ratchet but call him Leader of the Autobots.
"Bulk, let him go! Orion, don't hurt Ratchet! Please!"
Yet the distraction was all that Bulkhead needed to keep the odds in his favor. He took full advantage of the situation and used the weight of his dense frame as momentum to knock Orion to the ground, pinning him fast. Ratchet was quick enough to lunge backward, thus avoiding Orion's blade. Though he regretted Bulkhead's blunt tactics it allowed Ratchet precious moments to reach for a medical tray, stocked with necessary supplies. Quickly his hand closed around what he needed: a syringe filled with a dark gray fluid, an emergency dose of the sedative, enough in fact to knock a bot twice Orion's size out cold for hours at a time. Moving swiftly for a bot of his stocky stature, Ratchet plunged the needle into the first gap in Orion's armor that he could reach—in this case, it was the juncture between to panels on his shoulder—with steady practiced movements he proceeded to slowly inject the compound.
It begin to slowly take effect, the thick substance sedating each system it encountered one by one. The sensation was far from pleasant, with a quiet moan, Orion rested his aching head against the cool concrete floor, between the chemicals and Bulkhead, unable to fight back. Instead he lifted his optics, his gaze unintentionally alighting upon Arcee.
Whether it was due to a flux caused by the compound or errant data files, when Orion looked to her it wasn't Arcee he saw. The light pink accents of Arcee's armor triggered memories from eons ago, and for that brief moment, as the sedative sang through his systems, searing as it surged through his spark, another femme stood there, reaching out to him, pleading.
"Elita…"
Scarcely had the last syllable left his vocal processor, the sedative infiltrated the last of his systems, and Orion's optics flickered offline as he slipped into artificial stasis once again.
A thick, deadened silence descended over the scene.
Ratchet and Bulkhead alike felt hollow, empty, looking down upon their leader's broken frame. Moving to tend to Orion's wound, Ratchet couldn't help but inwardly curse Megatron, damning him as he held the Decepticon Leader responsible for everything, praying all the while that such damage would not be irreversible.
"Come on Bulkhead, help me move him back to the medical dock…"
His touch now gentle and supportive, Bulkhead didn't hesitate to do so, "Hey Cee, could you help—Cee?"
Arms clutching herself, Arcee had stumbled backward, her shoulders hunched defensively as Orion's last word beat at her already bruised processor. Elita's name chased itself around and around her spark.
Elita…
He had spoken her name with a tenderness that Arcee had never heard him use before. But more than that, the mere recollection of Elita haunted the blue femme.
"Arcee?" Ratchet queried to her, "What is it?"
Arcee shuttered her optics, remembering…Elita…my friend…my sister…Suddenly the confines of the base were precisely that, stifling, ensnaring, she had to get out, to get away, if just for a brief respite. There were too many memories filling this space, ghostly specters that would not let her be. Orion had looked at her and seen Elita. Bulkhead, even Ratchet may not have know why, may not have put the pieces to together, at least not yet, but Arcee didn't have to puzzle over such things because she knew why Orion had been able to make that leap in logic, to connect her to Elita.
"Cee?" Now Jack's voice rose, more than a little concerned at unresponsiveness.
"I…I have to get out of here…I'm sorry, I can't…I'm—I'm going on patrol." And without another word, ignoring their cries of concerned protest, Arcee spun on her heel, heading straight for the entrance tunnel that would let her out to an open road, a cool evening, to wide open spaces and to freedom.
Scarcely had she fled the primary chamber of the base when Arcee made the flowing transformation from her bipedal state to her motorcycle form. For a time she was content to focus upon the sensation of the cool, packed concrete of the road beneath her tires, the pleasant crunch of loose gravel as she pushed her engines hard, putting as many miles between her and the base as swiftly as she could. So intent was she on physically distancing herself from the emotional turmoil that the base had come to encompass, that she didn't even concern herself when she found herself turning upon an unfamiliar roadway. No matter, she'd find her way back, she always did.
If only she had thought to look up, at the pattern of a looming shadow that had began to chase her intently; a shadow that was unmistakably cast by an alien aircraft that was all hard angles and unforgiving edges, diluted to a wash of grays under the watery light of the moon.
Megatron.