22. Obedient

The view ports are clear. The shuttle is still hard-docked to the Ark-22 but the docking bay is nearly empty. The cargo is secured, the pilots at their terminals; only a few mechs are bustling around outside. Most of them are going over the delivery manifestations, unloading shipping containers and verifying contents before loading them up onto the hover carts to take down to the Ark's own storage bays. There are two, however, who stand perfectly still and it's for this reason that Sunstreaker is glad he can see out of the ship.

Sideswipe refuses to look at him. He's still in binders, weapons removed and wrists and ankles secured. Standing to one side is Ironhide. He's got a hand clamped onto Sideswipe's shoulder but Sunstreaker can't tell whether it's to remind the red Autobot of his presence or to reassure him. No such courtesy has been extended to Sunstreaker.

Beside him, one of the Security officers is fiddling around with Sunstreaker's binders. The other stands opposite to him with a blast rifle slung over one shoulder. It's entirely unnecessary. Sunstreaker hasn't so much as complained, not even when one of those officers got a little rough while unshackling his feet so he could get up the ramp. But no one is taking any chances with him. They're afraid. They have good reason to be. A big section of corridor leading to the wash racks has to be rebuilt thanks to his missile.

"Step back over here," the first officer says and Sunstreaker does. He feels the binders around his wrists dissolve and then the cold metal is removed. There's a clicking behind him. He doesn't need to turn to know that his transport berth is being readied.

He really wishes Sideswipe would look up.

His brother still bares the dings and scrapes from their fight. He can see the burn on his left side, even from the shuttle. Sideswipe managed to avoid a direct hit but the heat from the missile had still singed his epidural layer and as the metal dies and chafes off, it turns a flat, ugly gray. It'll probably be another orn or so until Sideswipe's body repairs itself and he returns to his usual, vibrant red. Until then, he's stuck with that reminder.

Sunstreaker finds he can't look away from it.

"Sit down," the officer says.

The shuttles engines are powering up. He can feel the faint vibrations through the floor. The second security officer slides his rifle into place somewhere on his back—Sunstreaker can hear it lock into place—and steps forward, reaching behind Sunstreaker to assist his partner.

Sideswipe continues to stand still. He hasn't moved since Ironhide let him to the 'bay doors. His movements have been subdued, small somehow, almost weak. Sunstreaker knew he wasn't damaged enough to be that in that much pain. His brother had looked at him for just a moment; his optics had drifted down to Sunstreaker's chest and his expression had hardened. He hasn't looked back since.

"Lean back."

It's harder to see out the view-port at that angle and he's blocked momentarily when they start fastening him down. Sections of the berth—specially designed for prisoner transport—slide up and clamp down on his feet, knees, thighs. More on his arms. Another over his torso; he almost hisses in pain as it grinds over the still-fresh gouges on his plating, right over his spark chamber. Then the clamps are up and he has to turn his head away when they fasten around his neck. Air brushes over his processor as the back of his helm splits. He can feel the ships vibrations much better, now, lying down. It rattles his entire frame. He can't move his head anymore but he can still move his optics and can just make out the edge of the view-port. Then the berth plugs into his processor port and starts accessing stasis commands.

Sideswipe? Can you…

Thus ends this story arc.

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Next Chapter: Dominant