A/N: Whew! That was a bit of a break! Sorry for the delay!

Please R&R!

~~~Epsilon Pax and Bumbee

###

What vast expanse of numbness, a universe of nothing…

…and all of it had somehow been crammed into every corner, every angle and edge of Arcee's frame. Hollow…empty…as if someone had scooped out her insides. That was how Arcee felt: as if she was being drained, hemorrhaging emotions and feelings as surely as she was energon. She was becoming, was going numb. Iridescent beads of energon dripped from countless wounds, shallow slashes, none meant to be life threatening, but each made with caution, with care. Here some short, there others long and deep, all crafted to maximize on pain. Scouring from venom left yawning carvings across her armor. The once vibrant blue of her frame was dull, chipped, scratched and scarred now, almost beyond recognition.

And yet, even now, despite all the Decepticon's had thrown at her, she felt nothing. They had pushed, had prodded, twisted and tortured, had done everything to break her. And in a way they had succeeded; true, she had given them nothing, had whispered not a word, not a gigabyte of information, but they had indeed pushed her too far, pushed her beyond her reserves, beyond her breaking point. Soundwave didn't know, hadn't realized yet—or perhaps didn't care—that Airachnid had given the guards the slip, had spent countless hours with Arcee, hours that stretched on and on…on and on…

And now…now Arcee felt nothing.

She was beyond the pain, beyond caring what they did or did not do with her. Arms still wrapped in thick chains, Arcee nestled her chin against her chest as she hung suspended in her cell, just waiting…waiting for the darkness of the room to envelope her, swallow her, spark and all. Wearily, she clicked her optics shut, Primus…she wondered…Primus when… But she no longer knew what 'when' was, what she was asking for. They had told her the Autobots had abandoned her, that they had forgotten her.

"Fine. Let them, let them search for Orion instead. Let them forget me so that they can bring Optimus back!" She had shouted in defiance in the beginning. Now, the emptiness had stifled her voice; she was alone with her nothingness.

Primus when…her beaten processor sputtered…Primus when…

When what? When would it end? There were no more ends here, no merciful death. She had hung here, suspended in the darkness so long that she was coming to believe the Decepticons had forgotten about her as well. That maybe, just maybe Airachnid had become bored of her, or had found something else, some other project of greater malcontent to distract herself with. Whatever it was, it left Arcee here, alone, bleeding precious energon away drop by drop, rusting in the quiet.

Primus…

'Has not forgotten you.'

The voice rose unbidden out of the void that kept Arcee. But she did not stir, did not even bother to expend the energy to bring her optics online again. If she had looked her last on the waking world she was content. She had nothing left for her here, nothing…nothing but more numbness…

'You are above such thinking, such attitudes.' There was stern reproof in the voice now, 'What about Jack?'

"J-Jack…"

Immediately she could picture Jack, and her spark stirred with an ache of sorrow. Her Jack…she was his guardian, he was her responsibility…but what use could she be to him now? After sustaining so much damage, she had given up, given in, allowed hope to wither and fade away. Long ago she had shut off her internal repair systems, not wanting to waste the energy to cling to life. Oh Jack…my friend…my partner…At least this time she would be the one to leave a partner, she would embrace her own end, her own demise before leading Jack to his.

'You are his guardian. You made him a promise, a promise you cannot so easily walk away from.' The voice urged again.

Faint familiarity stirred within Arcee, rose meekly above her numbness; a familiarity born not just from his name but from the voice as well. Slowly, steadily, Arcee was beginning to realize that it belonged to no Decepticon.

'Think of Jack.'

The voice called, galvanizing her. But for the moment, Arcee found herself mustering energy, enough to focus her worn and abused processor on the voice. Why did it feel so familiar to her…so gentle, lilting, comforting and feminine…

'Jack needs you Arcee…' Certainty began to dawn within Arcee; she knew that voice…she knew she knew it…

"T-the…the Autobots…"Arcee's voice cracked, staggered from disuse, "t-the Autobots will protect him…keep him safe," her voice sounded strangely hollow as it resounded off of the uninhabited cell she had been confined in, "…they always have…and he…Jack has Optimus…"

'Optimus…'

The voice softened, sighed upon the syllables. So much emotion soaked within the voice now, too much for Arcee to take in, to process in her numb state. Though the more the voice spoke the more she began to thaw.

'Optimus needs you, Arcee.' There was certainty and gentility in the voice's tone as the last syllable faded, and recognition clicked into place. Arcee knew that voice, knew the name it belonged to. Pain, fresh and keen crested through Arcee, rising fast and harsh through her spark at the realization of who spoke with her now…at the impossibility of it all…at the impossibility that she suddenly so fiercely wanted to believe in.

Clinging to the voice, Arcee kept her optics firmly offlined, not wanting to open them to the emptiness of the room, to the truth, "Elita-One…" she whispered aloud. She didn't care that the room was empty, that she was speaking only to phantoms, to a delirium brought on her battered frame from loss of energon. No, all that mattered in that moment was that in some way, some how, in some form, her sister was with her.

Her servos trembled under ghostly touches, sorrowful in their empty tenderness upon her cheek, 'My sister…my sister…what have they done to you?'

Arcee leaned into the palm her processor told her wasn't there, "Elita…have you come to take me home…take me to become one with the Allspark?"

'Arcee…'

When the Decepticons had tortured her, had beat her senseless, into unconsciousness only to revive her and renew her torments, Arcee had never pleaded, never begged. But here, now, as her spark hummed in unison with her sister's, Arcee caved, she begged, "Elita…E-Elita please…" barely a whisper, the words seemed to have been torn from her frame and she shuddered violently as the horror of it all came crashing in around her.

The warmth of two hands cupping her face, silenced Arcee, 'You must go…'

The gears in Arcee's neck were stiff, groaned as she nodded once, twice; yes…yes, she would go, could go, "I…I am ready…" To see Tailgate again…Cliffjumper…Chromia…

'You must go…' Elita whispered. If Optimus' voice was of the purest bolt of the darkest velvet, Elita's was of the smoothest satin, 'Go for Jack…for Optimus…for me…'

Confusion began to gnaw at her, kept Arcee's spark from embracing what she had hoped would be her final moments, "Elita…what—"

'You must go, Arcee. Go back.'

If not for the chains that held her, Arcee would have fallen to the floor, even still she trembled, sending shivers up through the metal links as they clicked together in a gentle and confining cadence, "No…no, Elita you must take me…take me home…take me back…to the Allspark…give me rest…give me peace…"

'Arcee, you know that I cannot do that.'

Despair rose within Arcee, and if not for her weariness, bitterness would have come with it, "I have nothing left…nothing left to give."

'Arcee, I have come for a favor. I have come out of the love for another...'

Instantly an image, a memory rose within Arcee of a time long, long past. It felt different, foreign somehow and Arcee was quick to realize why: it was not her own, it was Elita's. Just a glimpse, a quick gaze of a red and blue mech, shoulders strong and broad, hands clasped with a firm gentility around those of another: A femme, trimmed in pink and white, a cyclebot whose every panel and gear Arcee knew because it mirrored her own. Such dedication and devotion radiated from their steadfast gazes as their optics looked back at each other. A bond shared between them, one that he would have to give up…

"For the good of Cybertron," He had told her.

"Orion you cannot…" She had thought that she would break under the sorrow."

"Our lives are not our own, this, this is the will of Primus."

"Primus be slagged! Orion, this will destroy you!"

"Optimus."

"What-?"

"I am Optimus now."

Scorn and hurt gilded her reply, "The great Optimus Prime."

"Please Elita…Elita…If I could, I would give this responsibility to another…I would walk away, would give up everything, anything for you…"

She had buried her face in his chassis then, unable to bear his gaze, to look up at him as her spark ached for him so much. She shut her optics, drinking in the warmth of his spark so near, so close.

"Our lives our not our own." As the words left her vocal processor, she felt the weight of acceptance, of despair settle down upon her. This was not just his sacrifice…it was theirs. Gingerly, movements tempered by tenderness, he lifted her face, met her gaze with his.

"The great Sentential Prime once said 'Freedom is the right of all sentient beings'…but the price we pay for that freedom is steep, and some must pay, must give more than others…" His gaze searched her face, looking for an answer. That was when she realized what he was asking of her, what he was offering her. Tell me no, tell me you refuse, his optics whispered to her, tell me no and I will give it all up, I will find another way, another path…will do anything, everything for you…

Optimus Prime.

The name and all it stood for hung between them. And not matter how much she yearned to be with him, she could not so selfishly ignore or deny what path Primus had placed before him…before them. Optimus Prime was the spark of Cybertron, he was her guardian, would defend her, protect her. And in this moment, she needed him more than Elita-One ever could. With a trembling hand, she reached up, hooking onto the back of his thick neck, leaning his face forward, down, closer to hers until his helm rested against hers.

"Optimus Prime," she whispered, "Our lives our not our own."

It had been their choice, their sacrifice.

'Arcee you must go back.'

Now it was the voice that pleaded with her, ached with pain, with sorrow. And Arcee didn't have to ask why, didn't have to wonder. All too well did she remember the sacrifice Elita had made, had given of herself just as Optimus, had given of himself. How long had Arcee grieved the loss of Elita? Remembering over and over again how Elita-One had at last made the ultimate sacrifice of herself, of her spark, for the Autobot cause, for her sisters…for Optimus…

For her sister's memory—if for nothing else—Arcee couldn't do anything less.

'Arcee, Jack needs you…'

Again, the blue cyclebot nodded, suddenly missing her human companion with a fierceness that eclipsed much of the pain.

'Optimus needs you…' Arcee leaned into Elita's touch, reaching out with her spark for her sister, this time wishing to give comfort to the memory that reached out from the beyond for her, 'Protect him…'

Impossibly, Arcee's audio receptors registered a faint metallic click as though another helm had been pressed against her own. Within her frame, her spark became emboldened, strong, her numbness thawed completely away at the connection. And in that moment, she knew, knew beyond all shadows of doubts, beyond all laws of physics that Elita-One was there with her, beside her, healing her from within. True, those wounds that scored her chassis still wept energon, but no more did Arcee's spark wavier, no longer did it yearn to become one with the Allspark.

'There will be time…there will be time…' Elita crooned, 'Your moment of chance, of opportunity will come and when it does, you will take it…for Jack…for Optimus…for me…'

For how long she remained, drinking in the presence of her sister, Arcee couldn't have known, and didn't care to know. Now, her waiting had purpose, had meaning. With effort, she set her internal repair systems online, ebbing and curbing the damage done where she could. She would need all her strength.

'There will be time…there will be time…' the silk of Elita's memory sighed.

Long after the presence of Elita-One retreated, fading away, back into the folds of the Allspark, Arcee continued on, urging her frame to heal, to find its strength. Our lives our not our own. Elita had shared such a private moment, such a carefully protected and preserved memory with her to remind her of what hung in the balance.

For Jack. For Tailgate. For Cliffjumper. For Chromia. For Orion. For Optimus. For Elita-One. For…Cybertron.

When they at last came for Arcee, when Soundwave slid open the door to her cell with an expectant hush, Arcee was ready.