One Moment In the Sun
Genre: G1
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"What about this one?" Spike asked, holding up a human sized picture of Hound fully detailed and gleaming in the sunlight. "It's not often we see Hound this clean."
"Put it in the 'keeper' file," Ironhide called from where he was seated at the consol, pictures flying across the screen too fast for human observance. He let out a grunt, clicking the erase button before anyone could see a photo.
"Find anything, Ironhide?" Ratchet asked suspiciously, combing through his extensive library of photographed idiocy from his shipmates, mainly before and after medbay visitation.
"Nothing worth noting," Ironhide answered.
A soft gasp drew everyone's attention to Prowl, who was scanning through data chips loaded with images of the Ark crew. Normally the tactician would be buried under a mountain of request forms, assignment rosters, available supplies, medical restrictions for assorted mechs and the majority of the haggling with politicians over violations and amendments. But today, he was ordered from his office by Prime to assist in the preparations for a ceremony that had originated from Spike.
When the human had showed up that morning in a blue mood, the Autobots quickly interrogated him until he explained his somber disposition. Spike explained about a Day of Remembrance, and launched into an impassioned speech about who had lost their lives for whatever reason and for those left behind to pick up the pieces.
So on Prime's orders, photos and videos from human allies and Cybertronian holo-imaging were scoured by the crew for an impromptu party/celebration that was to take place the following day. And as a way to affirm life, the closing ceremony was to feature the Ark crew and their new allies. As some friends would be remembered, others would be commiserated by the living. A way to affirm they were in this war together, and that no one would be alone or forgotten.
Prowl's assignment was the archival footage of the original unit established at the beginning of the war, up unto the time they crashed on Earth. Some of the data was missing or corrupted and needed to be properly fixed or deleted to free up available space, and only high ranking officers were allowed to adjust archives.
"What?" Ratchet asked, when Prowl showed no signs of expounding on his earlier gasp. Prime redirected his steps from the main consol and looked over his Second's shoulder, his own face lighting in surprise.
"Slagging glitches," Ratchet muttered, getting up and lumbering to the pair. His optics went wide at the photo displayed on the datapad. "Well, I'll be reformatted into a dishwasher. Sunstreaker knew Elita-One that well?"
Prime's engine revved deep in his chassis, his optics hard on the screen.
"There's a caption," Prowl said, hitting the icon and reading aloud because of the gathering crowd. "'Up and coming new artist, Sunstreaker, receives a spark-felt greeting and review for his recent work by ElitaOne, who believes the young talent has a long, brilliant future ahead of him.'"
"Think the holo-imager could have caught that greeting at a better angle," Ratchet muttered, looking to Prime who had relaxed marginally after the caption was read. He knew his spark mate wouldn't break their sacred union, but the thought of someone else being that close, that intimate with his bonded really corroded his wires.
The twins chose that moment to make an appearance. Their shoulders were slumped, their optics dimmed, and paint jobs looking less than perfect, they scuffled into the command center. Exhausted from extensive patrols, recently allotted since a painting accident went awry and a very angry Prime stalked around the base leaving pink pede-prints, they didn't acknowledge any of the normal cheery hails of their fellow soldiers. They wanted nothing more than to inhale their rations and curl up on their berths for a very long recharge cycle.
When Sunstreaker was within arm's reach, he extended a data chip with full reports and turned to leave, when he noticed the picture on the datapad Prowl was holding.
"Where did you find that?" Sunstreaker demanded, weariness forgotten.
"Archive footage," Prowl answered, noting Sunstreaker looked angrier than what the situation warranted. He extended the data pad, withdrawing slowly when it was snatched from his hands.
Sunstreaker snarled, tapping several keys. Sideswipe perked up, sensing his brother's anger and glared at Prowl with an accusatory look. After a minute of furious typing, Sunstreaker presented the pad back to Prowl and snapped, "Delete this immediately!"
"What?" Prowl asked, stunned by the aggression now staring him down. "Why would I do that? It's a part of our history."
"Not your history. Mine! And I don't appreciate being reminded of it!" Sunstreaker spat, pressing the datapad closer for the Second to take. "Now, either tell me how to erase it, or I'll destroy the archives. Choice is yours."
"I will not allow you to destroy the archives nor will I erase this image," Prowl intoned, not perturbed by Sunstreaker's ire. He was far too curious as to why the front liner was suddenly so violent toward his past. "Why does it bother you?"
"It's ancient history. Something that shouldn't be mentioned ever again. If you know what's good for you and for the archives, you'll see to it that that photo, and everything related to it, is deleted." Sunstreaker growled, turning to leave. He nearly collided with his brother, who merely gave him a saddened look. Snarling, Sunstreaker pushed Sideswipe away, stalking through the door and hitting something metal on the way down the hall, if the loud banging crash was any indication.
"Why did he do that?" Spike asked, stunned by seeing the golden warrior so upset.
"Do any of you realize how much Sunny has lost?" Sideswipe asked, giving the assembled mechs an incredulous look. "That image was captured just before the first uprising."
The truth struck the senior officers before anyone else could cotton on. Spike looked from concerned mech to distraught brother, not sure how to decipher the atmosphere.
"The Artistic Pavilions were attacked first," Prowl recited slowly, his optics glued to where Sunstreaker had disappeared down the hall.
"Everything Sunny worked for was destroyed," Sideswipe said, giving the datapad held in Prowl's hand a contemptuous look. "The life he wanted was taken away from him by the Decepticons. Any chance at a career as an artist was ripped away from his servos and ground into ash. Those pictures of his past only remind him of what was taken. It's cruel and vicious for any of you to think you have the right to display them."
Sideswipe turned to leave, but Prime's voice stopped him. "We don't mean to reopen old wounds. We only wished to remember things past so they wont be forgotten by the future."
"Some things need to remain buried," Sideswipe answered, staring intently at the floor. "It's all that some of us have. Leave our pasts alone and honor the graves of those memories. They have no place here, in this time and on this planet."
Sideswipe started for the door, his head still bent low.
Spike called to the warrior, "You haven't lost everything. You still have us."
Sideswipe wanted to offer a caustic retort, but the pain and anguish bleeding through the bond from his brother stilled his vocalizer.
"Tomorrow, we honor the dead," Prime said, noting that more than one of his officers was shifting uncomfortably. "Everyone would appreciate it if you and your brother joined us in remembrance."
Sideswipe didn't offer a word of consent or pessimism. He strode out the door and headed for his twin, who was leaking more and more sorrow through the bond. Recharge came heavy upon the twins, who shared fretful sleep and broken dreams.
The next morning, the Ark came alive with the prospect of an evening party. The video and imaging clips were arranged by Jazz, who insisted they were thrown together in no particular order. (Smokescreen was giving good odds on Jazz's montage being the most pronounced.)
The Day of Remembrance went according to plan, or as Jazz put it, Prowl's rigid timing and general boredom. Red Alert managed to be pried away from the Security Room by Inferno, who insisted the automated systems could alert them in case of an attack. Red Alert only consented when Prime personally ordered him to attend the ceremony.
Red Alert nearly fritzed. But after a cube of high grade, he was in a lot better mood. Red Alert was a rather cheap drunk. And though it was obvious he was currently hammered, neither twin seemed to take notice. It was common for them to tease Red Alert and say just about anything they wanted, and the poor red and white Lamborghini would laugh right along with them, oblivious to being the joke.
But all the day the twins kept to themselves. Sunstreaker performed his monitor duty without a word and departed when Blaster relieved him at shift change. Sideswipe helped Ironhide move heavy weaponry to a more secured place in his lab, speaking little though Ironhide tried his best to get the frontliner into his usual wisecracking self. Sideswipe barely spoke and left as soon as the last box was placed in a secured vault. The rest of the day was spent in their room, and for once, there wasn't loud music or shouting matches.
Pictures decorated the rec room, each labeled with a designation and deactivation date. No one said anything when the cityscape of Praxus appeared during the afternoon. It was quickly followed by the Crystal Towers, Kaon, and even the seeker city of Vos. Almost every territory was on the wall, displaying not only lives lost, but culture and history as well.
Prime called all the mechs to the rec room before the usual evening ration. Everyone was greeted by Optimus at the door and gasped as they noted the assortment of treats and free flowing high grade. The twins merely grunted a return greeting and sequestered themselves in shadows along the back.
Now, well into the evening, half the staff was drunk, the other half were catching up, though some had a better tolerance than others.
Optimus Prime rose; his table slightly more elevated and gave him the advantage of gazing across the sea of faces. They were all so familiar, following him to the ends of the universe and back again. There wasn't anything he could ask of them and they would be willing to do, without question. Without hesitation. They were more than a military unit. They were a family.
Prime called for everyone's attention. "Autobots, we gather today to remember what was lost." Prime's voice echoed in the suddenly quiet room. Even Red Alert's unfocused optics were turned towards him. "And to remember all that we have gained." The paneled walls retracted on either side of the room, exposing large viewing screens. "We have found a new home and have made new friends. We are thankful for their generosity and trust they have shown us. Let us never forget the past, nor ignore the present, thankful for what we have, and pray for a brighter future."
The room darkened and the screens came to life, first showing the many wonders of Earth, then its many inhabitants. A collage of pictures appeared, showing the Ark residents with humans, laughing, singing, and in the case of one poker night, Smokescreen and Sparkplug scowling at each other. Then individual bots were featured, sometimes relaxing, engaging in recreational activities that had the room howling with laughter, or the more somber times after battles.
Sunstreaker and Sideswipe caught glimpses of themselves in the background a couple of times, but the screen flickered to the next bot of interest, showcasing their lives amid laughter and cheers.
Mirage gasped, seeing a photo of himself after a particularly trying mission, then the footage of his marksmanship and the superior sneer he adopted when he knew he kicked some aft.
"That was my file," Bluestreak said to the spy, grinning ear to ear. "I'll never be that good though."
Mirage felt like encouraging the young gunner, but his voice died when his last photo appeared. Bluestreak's grin broadened and added, "That one's from Prime."
The scene was of Mirage standing with his family outside their home in the Towers, greeting Sentinel Prime as Optimus observed from a distance. Mirage lowered his head for a long time after the image disappeared, beginning the homage to the next Autobot in the unit.
Next were the exploits of Bumblebee, mostly involving Spike, Carly, and being the recipient of numerous pranks. Sideswipe allowed a smirk when he recognized his handiwork. In every shot, Bee was laughing in good humor.
Jazz dancing and fighting Decepticons, Ratchet yelling and brandishing a wrench, followed by images of him passed out next to a patient. The twins saw themselves briefly in the background, before it switched to Wheeljack. Each picture featured something missing and Wheeljack sporting soot. The rec room erupted with laughter again as the inventor ducked behind Hound to avoid Ratchet's irate glare.
Prime graced the screens next, starting with the rare picture of a completely relaxed and peaceful mech. Then it changed, showing the many faces of war and defeat, pain, regret, and unending sadness. Video clips randomly showed the prowess of their leader, his frame always shielding his comrades from the enemy. Prime's collection ended with a shot of his beautiful Elita-One, smiling in an enigmatic way with the full, unmarred cityscape of Iacon behind her.
Prowl took center stage next, earning an irrated twitch of a doorwing. The first few pictures were of the Second on duty and poised in stoic military perfection. The next few made the Datsun choke and hide lower behind his table, making a mental note to put everyone responsible for this in the brig. A purple Prowl, a suspiciously unconscious Prowl, and much to everyone's surprise, a laughing Prowl with wide, over-energized optics. Prowl thought his humiliation couldn't get any worse, then a video clip appeared. Prowl couldn't determine which incident was being relived, so he couldn't figure out who had supplied the incriminating evidence. His optics darted automatically to the twins and was a little disappointed in seeing their shocked faces. Jazz started laughing at the screen, returning Prowl's attention. He felt his humiliation double, watching as his previous self escorted an inebriated Jazz down the hall to his quarters. Jazz was apparently singing and trying to draw his fellow officer into the chorus, but the Datsun wasn't falling for it. With an overzealous flourish of his arms, Jazz swung around, overbalanced and took a surprised Prowl with him. His grasping hands latched onto one of Prowl's doorwings, stumbling toward the wall and colliding painfully with the ship's hull, Prowl still clutched in his hands. The two Commanding Officers were leaning against the wall, nose to nose, Prowl snarling at the drunken officer roughly handling his doorwings and Jazz apparently finding the whole situation quite normal as he started nuzzling against the white and black bumper.
Jazz stopped laughing with the rest of his friends and looked to his best friend. He heard Prowl's engine rev in agitation above the low din of chuckles and muttering. Prowl's angered bark toward the screens made Jazz return his attention, then emit a shout himself, even throwing out a threat to whoever added this little surprise.
Bold letters declared across the screen, 'The rest of this video is unsuitable for public viewing, but Tele-tran One accepts all forms of payment for private screenings.'
The screens grew dark. The crew continued to laugh at their two commanding officers dual looks of anger and retribution. After several seconds of blank screen, the crew started to clap, cheering and whooping at the wonderful homage to their friends and their craziness. No one noticed that two members of the crew had been missing from the collage, not that they themselves noticed the exclusion. It was when the screen lit up like a nova that most of the crowd stopped cheering and clapping.
A photo emerged from the dark. It showed Sunstreaker glaring toward the camera or the mech who had captured the image, his body highlighted by a blazing inferno he undoubtedly centered. His armor shone like a brilliant sun, the blue of his optics the purest anyone could remember.
It was Sunstreaker's turn to gasp. The faint applause had that lingered died out in a whooshing sweep. Everyone's attention was solely focused on the pictures now flashing across the screen. Scenes from galleries and museums, all displaying Sunstreaker's art. And the artist himself looking like something that stepped off the canvas. Bots in the background openly stared and admired the golden frame, and a few feminine optics lusted at the sight of such perfection.
Sunstreaker always said he was the most gorgeous thing ever to grace the universe, and here were the pictures to prove it. Sideswipe appeared in a few shots, looking just as dashing as his twin, though where Sunstreaker showed uninterested aloofness, Sideswipe was drinking it in. Quite a few femmes were pictured with the duo and the twins instantly riled, recognizing some of the pictures from their own personal files. They didn't like the idea of such violation, but as they directed their gaze to the perceived trespassers, their anger faded. Everyone, Prime included, was enraptured by what they saw.
Not wanting to miss anything the twins returned their attention back to the screens. A vast collection of shots raced along the screen, each depicting one of the twins in the heat of battle. Sideswipe pile-driving two Decepticons that left them torn at his feet. Sunstreaker deftly removing limbs from a Con whose optics were shattered like his body. Images of carnage flashed across the screen, sending chills down spinal struts.
Between the bloodshed and vicious attacks could be seen a downed Autobot. As hurt warriors were given shelter, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe distracted the attackers, giving their comrades time for escape or recovery. The scenes changed, showing the broken and torn bodies of the frontliners, sparking wires, hemorrhaging lines, and covered in energon.
The blood of their enemies blending with their own.
The collage flickered through the files, each showing the twins at their best and worst.
Sideswipe taking a shot that was intended for Jazz.
Sunstreaker limping and using a Con's severed arm as a crutch.
Sideswipe crawling after a weapon.
Sunstreaker punching a Con so hard his face collapsed under the assault.
Sideswipe riding on Starscream's back, obviously whooping with glee.
Sunstreaker on Skywarp, fist drawn back and face set in determination to maim or terminate.
Sideswipe sneaking down a corridor, illegal high grade cubes innocently glowing.
Sunstreaker passed out at his easel, paint smeared on his plating.
Sideswipe laughing.
Sunstreaker riding Devastator's back, renting wires and surrounded by a halo of sparks.
Sideswipe sneaking up on his brother with a bouquet of flowers.
Sunstreaker shoving said flowers in every crack and cranny his brother possessed.
Sideswipe keeping vigil over a recovering Sunstreaker.
Sunstreaker sleeping by his brother's side in a corner of the infirmary, their fingers intertwined.
Sideswipe throwing Prowl aside to take on one of the Coneheads, Prowl's shoulder sparking as Ratchet lead him away.
Sunstreaker grappling with two Constructicons, and the heavier mechs displaying more damage than the Lamborghini.
All around the rec room, heads shook in amazement. Breathing functions ceased momentarily. The pictures showed after battle images and after repair, many shots sporting dented helms, patched bodies, and mismatched plating. A true battlefield mess in all its violent, vicious, bloody savagery, and still the twins kept going back for more.
The collage slowed, letting certain images burn into processors.
Sunstreaker and Sideswipe both covered in energon and ash, missing various plates and a limb, sparks highlighting their bodies and grim smiles on their faces. Their only means of support were each other, lending strength they no longer possessed and determined to get back to their friends, despite the overwhelming injuries and life threatening wounds. Each step expelling their vital fluids as they struggled to go one more step, the other giving them the reason to keep going.
Sunstreaker and Sideswipe arguing.
Sunstreaker and Sideswipe sitting quietly watching a movie.
Sunstreaker and Sideswipe laughing. Gambling. Drinking. Mourning.
The final picture made time freeze. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were curled into each other, deep in recharge. They looked so innocent and helpless, vulnerable and lonesome. It was hard to image such cruel warriors could find such uninterrupted peace, their frames practically glowing in tranquility. The scene faded to a nearly identical pose, though the twins had switched positions. And upon closer inspection, one could detect the discoloration of moisture around their optics.
There was also a tiny bundle clutched between them.
A small, ash gray body was curled into Sideswipe's chest, while short doorwings folded against Sunstreaker's. Both twins were clutching the newly found Bluestreak as if some monster would come and remove him from their protection.
The scene faded, but it was forever etched into the memory of those present. Silence reigned. Almost everyone looked contemplative, or proud, or just plain awestruck. Bluestreak looked confused. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe looked fiercely stand-offish, as if daring someone to say something caustic.
Bluestreak's timid voice cut through the veil of silence, his optics fixed on the twins. "I don't remember you guys taking care of me. Why can't I remember?"
"You were just a youngling," Sideswipe said, trying to pass the incident off. The attention was started to unnerve him.
"But I can remember Praxus," Bluestreak started, his voice choked. It was Ratchet who provided the answer.
"Your core memory programs were still developing," Ratchet explained, his spark weary with the memories of the young gunner's life. "Praxus had literally been destroyed around you and your memory cache couldn't decipher the proper emotional responses."
"But I thought Prowl.." Bluestreak trailed off, looking to his mentor. He could only remember Prowl being there for him and all the long, painful memory loops that kept him awake and screaming into the night.
"When you met Prowl a few days later, you recognized a fellow Praxian," Ratchet said. "Your subconscious latched on to something you could easily identify. Something routine from your past that could be reestablished."
"So where did the memory file come from?" Bluestreak asked, looking to the blank screen and still seeing the ghost of his forgotten past.
"It was mine," Prowl said so softly, he was barely heard. "That was how I found the only survivor of my city. Being guarded by twin terrors that could ward off any kind of monster. Two protectors that not only kept a scared youngling safe, but has also kept all of us, functioning."
Prime raised a cube of high grade, his voice commanding.
"To those we loved and lost. Who keep us safe, and who fight all our monsters."
The sentiment was echoed around the room.
Sunstreaker stared at the screen that had showed what he thought was his weakest moments, but for some reason, they seemed to be the best times in his life. Suddenly, the golden warrior didn't feel so lost.
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Dedicated to those who were loved and lost.
Also, I need some help here readers. I lost my list with titles on it and for the life of me, I cant remember a good portion of them. If anyone has ANY ideas for titles, using the twins' names in them, please, let me know via review or email.
I'd really appreciate it!
Thanks for reading and please, don't forget to review!
PJ
ps, sorry for the repeat posting but someone mentioned the messed up formatting and I had to reload after fixing it.
