Salvation

Chapter 5

As the terrestrial solar cycle drew to a close, Starscream found himself becoming more and more restless, itching to leave his quarters and expend the energy that was building up behind his circuits.

He'd followed Megatron's orders to the word, retreating to his quarters as soon as Hook had discharged him from the medical bay. He'd had no problem with staying in the confines of his own room at first; he didn't want anyone seeing him while he was still recovering from the beating he had taken.

But the cycles passed, and Starscream had completed his usual recovery procedures, once again forcing himself above the abuse. By now, he wanted his freedom back. He was not the sort of personality to be comfortable with staying in the same place for any length of time, and, as the vivid memory of the suffocating blackness eased itself from his recall banks, he began to once again delude himself into believing he could take Megatron.

Despite his convincing himself that he was better than his leader, Starscream still did not disobey. Subconsciously, he didn't dare. He spent the lonely cycles perched upon his recharge berth, watching the wall and plotting.

His torn-off wing was perched sadly against the berth. For whatever reason, he hadn't been able to agree to have it melted down for scrap, despite that it was completely useless now. Because of the way it had been broken, the ripped edge was sharp and raggedly uneven, and there was no hope of ever reattaching it to a seeker. But Starscream kept it. He didn't know why.

He watched the wall with tired red optics.

Now that his higher functions had fully recovered, he was able to better remember what had happened between Megatron leaving him in the darkness and his losing all awareness.

At first, he had thought that he would become used to being blind, and would relax. He'd been wrong about that; instead of becoming easier to bear, if anything, the loss of his sight became harder. Power that would usually supply his optics was redirected to his audio receptors, meaning that he heard even the slightest disturbance and flew even further into a panic. Eventually, his cognitive functions had been unable to cope with the terror and had just... shut off, leaving him in the semi-conscious delirium that Thundercracker had found him in until he offlined altogether.

But, he told himself as he grit his teeth in defiance after the harsh treatment, he had survived, and he was stronger for it. He was the only one he needed. He'd survived without anyone helping him through, once again it was Starscream who would have the last laugh...

He was strongest on his own.

Without meaning to, he found himself thinking about the Autobot. Somewhere in his spark, he wanted to blame the scientist for this – but he found himself unable, and that confused him. Usually, he would have no trouble finding some other mech to blame for his troubles, for his shortcomings, for his failures... but, for some unfathomable reason, he could not bring himself to place the fault with his mate. Perhaps it was because that, through everything of the last stellar cycle, Perceptor had invariably been there whenever he was summoned, to offer his idealistic drivel about trust and friendship, to offer his soothing fond strokes.

Part of him wanted Perceptor there to touch, to hear those stupid sentimental Autobot words and feel those kind caresses. Part of him cowered at the thought of the microscope seeing him like this.

It was then that he remembered to reconnect the communicator. He'd diverted power from it the instant that Megatron had touched his eyes. He hadn't wanted Perceptor to hear his screaming.

And on the topic of Perceptor...

Almost as soon as he resupplied the communicator in his chest with energy, he heard his scientist's voice, worried and somehow subdued, as though it had lost a measure of its usual life.

Starscream...? You're alive?

He snarled, caught in an antithesis of both wanting to talk to the one mech who would not mock his misfortune and wanting to flee away from all contact, feeling weak and exposed.

It seems that way, doesn't it?

The response was sarcastic and rude, the tone dropping near the end in such a way that it should have made it obvious Bat he had no interest in continuing the interaction. For a short while, it seemed as though the Autobot had taken the unsubtle hint.

Then the meek voice sounded again, listless and almost hopeless. It took Starscream by surprise, partly because he was not used to such a tone from the annoyingly optimistic Autobot and partly because of the content of the request:

Please come to me, here, now, a series of co-ordinates flashed through into the jet's processors, I need to see you.

Starscream found himself rising from his berth; while the communicators had been installed primarily for his own demands, it was understood that both partners could use them to organise meetings. Despite this, Perceptor had never called Starscream out. It had always been the other way round – the microscope had always been happy to settle for whatever his domineering mate demanded.

Which meant that there was something wrong – if that wasn't proof enough, then the dull tone of the microscope's usually quite expressive voice was a sure giveaway.

So he needed to see his Autobot, if there really was something wrong. He told himself it wasn't worry. He told himself he wasn't concerned. He told himself that it would just be good for him to get out and burn off the boredom that had latched on to his processor.

Screw Megatron and his rules. Besides, he reassured himself, if he was called to see the Decepticon leader upon his return, he would know to expect a punishment – and thus be able to defend himself. No more being caught unaware.

His mind made up, Starscream strode with purpose out of his quarters and towards the docking bay of the sunken Decepticon starship, always glancing furtively this way and that to make sure that he was not seen.

O

It was not often that Perceptor was first to any designated meeting area. What with being grounded and having no vehicular form (admittedly, his alternate mode did have tracks for limited travel, but people tended to notice a microscope zooming down the road – it wasn't the most subtle of things), he did often have trouble reaching the secluded points in good time.

This time, though, he had been the one to call Starscream. Once Ratchet had finished repairing the backs of his legs, which had taken far longer than usual, as Perceptor insisted that the medic see to Beachcomber and Skyfire first despite their protestations that he was worse off, he had quietly taken his leave, hardly even caring if anyone saw him disappear from the Ark.

At first his only intention had been to walk. Possibly to mourn.

And it wasn't just because, at that point, he was still convinced that Starscream had been killed by the merciless Decepticon leader.

The venture to Vesuvius had been a disaster. Perhaps the only positive point about the ambush was that none of the Autobots had died – but that didn't ease the guilt weighing heavily on the pacifist microscope's shoulders.

He'd learned, retrospectively, what those explosions had been. Overshot missiles, crashing into one of the northern suburbs of Naples. A small part of the area called Miano had been destroyed, completely razed to the ground by the power of the Cybertronian weaponry. Almost a thousand people so far were injured, missing or confirmed dead.

Humans, who had nothing to do with this pointless war, wiped off the face of their own planet. In order to save the life of a killer, Perceptor had taken the fighting across the sea and endangered a group of natives who had, up until then, managed to avoid being mixed up in the conflict.

And the knowledge that, if it meant Starscream would survive, he would consider causing the destruction of even more of the organic life did not make Perceptor feel much better. Since when had he been willing to throw away his ideals for a Decepticon?

... but Starscream was...

Part of his mind protested his guilt. What did the humans matter? They were weak and fragile and this world was a slave to the law of 'survival of the fittest'. The humans were no longer the fittest to survive. But Perceptor knew that this part of his mind was carrying sentiments that he had borrowed from his bondmate, they were not his own beliefs. All life was sacred to him. It was to be studied, not extinguished.

Understandably, he felt ill at the carnage that he had indirectly caused.

But he'd panicked, when he gave the location of the survey to Starscream. He'd felt as though his left side was being ripped open, and he'd been sure that his mate was being killed. He'd panicked. Not that that was really an excuse.

The connections between them had cut off, gone completely numb, as though they had never existed. Perceptor was sure that Starscream was no more. His worry for his mate's safety had turned into sorrow as soon as the adrenal chemicals that had coursed through his limbs at the Decepticon ambush had diffused.

Megatron had shot his legs to pieces in the attack – the silver gun-transformer had not been aiming to kill, but rather to first disable his prey to face whatever nefarious treatment at his hands. Luckily, Skyfire had reached him just in time, had snatched him away from the cruel grasp, but he could not walk without help until Ratchet had carried out the surgery to replace the shredded metal plating. He'd insisted that Skyfire and Beachcomber be treated first, despite that their injuries were much less serious, in a way of apology to them, though they could not have known that.

Ratchet was indeed a medical genius. Now that the repairs had been completed, there was no sensation that there had ever been damage to the red panels. Perceptor was again able to walk without support, and he had taken the opportunity to leave the Ark and be alone with his thoughts.

He wondered what he could do to atone for his treachery, even though the Autobots were not aware of it. He wondered if there was anything he could do to make up for the human losses – despite that Prowl had, rather coldly, referred to it as 'collateral damage'.

And he knew that he couldn't cope with this again.

Out of the blue, the soul and mechanical connections to his partner had opened again. At first, Perceptor hadn't believed it, he had feared that someone – possibly Megatron – had found the communicator in Starscream's lifeless body and taken it. But thankfully that was not the case.

Starscream was alive. He'd heard the high-pitched voice again, rude and thankless as ever, echoing through his processor. He'd requested for them to meet. As far as he knew, Starscream had acquiesced.

So now he waited, in the canyon he had strolled into, staring dully at one of the cacti that rose from the ground.

Faintly, from some distance away, but growing louder, came the rumble of engines. This time, Perceptor's spark jolted, and he turned his blue eyes skyward in anticipation. Sure enough, the familiar terrestrial fighter jet became visible over the horizon from the east, tilting low to dip down between the cliffs on either side of the crevice.

... was it Perceptor's imagination, or was Starscream seeming to bank perpetually to the right? It was almost as though he was favouring his left side for some reason...

And then the Decepticon landed and transformed, standing at an angle to his mate so that his left wing was pulled back and slightly hidden behind the rest of his fuselage. His dark grey face was drawn into a snarl, as though he would rather be anywhere but with the Autobot scientist.

"You're alive..." Relief seeped through the microscope's tone, finally able to believe it now he could see the cruel jet standing before him, real and corporeal. "I'm glad..."

"Keh." Snerked Starscream, turning his red optics away.

Perceptor took a step towards the Decepticon, and, as he did, the seeker's left wing came more into his line of sight, the purple insignia there perfect and unmarred. Was it just him, or did the grey of the wing not quite match the grey of the rest of Starscream's body...?

More out of his own desire to be held and comforted, Perceptor reached his arms towards his partner. Unexpectedly, however, Starscream shied away quite abruptly, snatching himself back and snarling.

"Don't touch me!"

Uncertainly, the microscope nipped at his lower lip and poked his index fingers together, seeming to draw courage from the rejection. "Look, Starscream, I... I can't do this any more."

That got the jet's full attention. "What?"

"I can't do this. If I have to sell my people out again, I... I just can't. I'm not strong enough to make those sorts of decisions."

Sneering, the jet shrugged. "Ha, what's hard about that? Of course I should come first!"

Perceptor met the red optics with his own light blue. Was it just his mind playing tricks on him, or were they shining brighter than usual?

His voice lost its lilt when he started rattling off statistics. "At least six hundred injuries, unknown percentage of those critical or potentially life-threatening. One hundred and fifteen confirmed deaths. Almost two hundred missing and unaccounted for. Unknown number left homeless."

The jet was smirking sadistically at this. He didn't need it explained. "Human casualties at that science trip of yours?" At Perceptor's single nod of verification, the Decepticon flier sneered again. "What does that matter? They're of no concern to us."

"I'm not a warrior. I'm not a killer. I'm a scientist – a pacifist." The blue-eyed scientist exhaled sadly. "To me, all life is sacred. Who am I to take it away? But I caused all this by selling out my people to save you. I can't – I can't cope with something like this happening again. I can't keep doing this."

If Perceptor had been able to bring himself to look at his mate's face while he was struggling to say those words, he would have seen the expression darkening. As it was, his gaze was fixed on the ground, and he did not see the warning signs. The first he knew of it was when Starscream started to shout at him, his voice high and hoarse.

"Leave me? How dare you even consider it!"

Summoning all his bravery, trying to ignore the fierce anger assaulting him through their bond, Perceptor forced himself to meet Starscream's bright eyes.

"I'm sorry." He couldn't find his voice to say anything else.

Something flashed over the dark face, though Perceptor could not analyse what emotion it was before Starscream was once again voicing his displeasure.

"How dare you!" It was a terrible crescendo. "Did you forget!? I own you!" For the first time since his time as a Decepticon prisoner, Perceptor remembered why Starscream was so feared, and he backed away from the enraged officer, optics widening. He hadn't had the jet's wrath on him for so long, he had forgotten how dangerous a mech he really was. The dream had ended, and reality was rearing its cruel and bestial head. "How dare you even consider leaving without my permission!"

And Perceptor stumbled back, cowed, too afraid even to protest that he and Starscream were equals in their relationship. As the jet glared at him in disgust, he reached out with both hands, yearning to be held, to be forgiven.

"Don't touch me!" Starscream shrieked, lashing out in what seemed to be more reflex than conscious action. His backhand caught the Autobot across the face, knocking him to the floor.

The burning red optics stared down at the fallen Autobot for astroseconds before Starscream abruptly transformed and disappeared into the sky, though Perceptor could feel the vengeful anger through his spark as he watched his retreating mate.

Blankly, as though struggling to process what had just happened, he raised a hand to the side of his face, running his fingers over the shallow depression that now marred the pale metal, not bothering to move from where he had landed. Starscream had hit him. Sure, they shot at each other whenever they met on the battlefield, but he'd thought they had an understanding that their private meetings were supposed to be tender...

If he was any other Autobot, perhaps he would have given up then and there, retreated to the Ark and started again. But any other Autobot would not have come this far, not for Starscream, and Perceptor was cursed with, as his name suggested, intelligence and rather extraordinary perception.

Starscream had been acting oddly, now that he could think about it rationally without having his raging bondmate over him.

There had been something wrong with his eyes – they didn't usually shine that brightly, even when he was in a good mood. It was almost as though the Decepticon had been purposefully directing excess energy to the optical sensors... but why? And there was something off about the left wing. All the scratches were gone, and Perceptor was convinced that it was a slightly different grey to the rest of the seeker's chassis.

And Starscream seemed more afraid of being touched than he had been for a long while now. Perceptor had watched the Decepticon slowly conquer his phobia over the last stellar cycle, had watched as Starscream stopped quivering uncertainly at caresses and was able to even relax at the grey-fingered strokes. Now it seemed like everything had been undone.

Perhaps for anyone but Perceptor, such rough treatment would only have cemented the decision to be done with this relationship and let it go. After all, Perceptor knew he deserved much better at his mate's hands, after all he had sacrificed to keep them together.

But... as much as he didn't want them to, he felt his convictions shudder and begin to weaken.

No, he had to stay strong! This had to end, it was unholy and unlawful - a mistake! It should never have happened, this bond between them, and his continuing it and enjoying it was only worsening the taboo of it. He'd told himself that he wouldn't keep throwing away his ideals. No matter how much Starscream's contrary personality was affecting him, he had sworn to himself that he would keep his beliefs and fight for what he knew to be right. He'd thought they'd agreed that back when they'd first made their connection mutual.

Leaving was the only choice, because he couldn't risk another Vesuvius. For someone like him, who owed everything to the Autobots after they had saved his life and nursed him back to health from the brink of mental collapse, to have sold them out so easily and caused such a high number of deaths among the indigenous population was... unthinkable.

... That was ridiculous. He couldn't deny that Starscream was sick, and what sort of crusader for justice was he if he couldn't even help the people right in front of him? But he wasn't even sure if Starscream deserved his help, not after all he had done, all he had claimed to be, all the kills to his name and all the suffering he loved to cause.

Perhaps it was the way that Starscream had shrieked... perhaps it was the way that he had blindly struck out. Just like a wounded animal, thoughtlessly shielding himself from anything that might possibly turn to hostility.

It would be so easy to open his chest and pull out the communicator, to smash it on the floor under his foot, to try and forget about... everything. But he didn't. Because, even though most of their secret meetings ended in their sparks joining, there were those times when Starscream was upset, when he just wanted to talk. Perceptor enjoyed those times the most. Starscream seemed almost sane during them.

Who would Starscream talk to if Perceptor gave up?

No, that was ridiculous, he couldn't keep meeting with the Decepticon. He couldn't. Not when they were beginning to arouse suspicion. There was too much at stake, his people would be so disgusted if they found out - they probably wouldn't trust him again after -

And he remembered the emotion that had flashed across the seeker's face when he had heard Perceptor's declaration that he would leave. Now that he had time to think about it clearly, without having the jet snap at him, he could see all too well what it was.

It had been fear. Starscream had been afraid when he thought Perceptor would leave.

But afraid of what? Afraid of being left alone? Afraid of all he had told the microscope? After all, all those secrets could be used against him. Was it just a simple fear at the thought of losing the attention? The air commander did so seem to crave it...

The microscope was nipping his lip in a new decision, uncertain at his choice but determined to see it through now he had made it; in defiance of everything sane, he was going to stick with his mate and do everything in his power to help. He understood that Starscream was not at all well – it was true that viruses affecting Cybertronian life were rare, but this illness was not physical. It had been staring him in the face since long before Starscream had been a refugee in the Ark, and it was probably not the type to ever be completely cured. Starscream himself had expressed with disgust that he did not want to be 'fixed'.

But Perceptor knew he could not stand by and do nothing now that all his hard work coaxing the jet to open his spark up and to accept his touch had been undone in less than three orns.

Heh... Megatron was brutal indeed.

Massaging his thumb gently over his cheek, trying to work the scrape from it, the microscope began his way back to the Ark, still caught in uncertainty, torn between what was right and what he wanted. He tried to justify himself by starting a mantra in his processor: leaving would be running away, fleeing from a challenge, not accepting the crimes – and that was not Autobot bravery. That would just prove him a coward, a useless and despicable coward. While it would not negate his sin of destruction, perhaps doing all he could for the Decepticon would redeem him somewhat in the eyes of Primus. Perhaps it was what he was fated to do.

It wasn't that he was completely altruistic, though he did sometimes tend to value others over himself – especially in the case of Starscream, for reasons he still didn't understand. For his own reasons, he wanted to stay with his mate, to be treated like a real robot instead of as an insentient machine. And... he was worried about his lover...

The humans... he didn't know enough of Earth custom to be able to offer a way to repent in the eyes of the humans. Even though they didn't know it had been him to condemn them, he still burned with the desire to somehow set things right. Humans had funerals, just like Transformers did - but he could hardly go to the funerals of the casualties of his rash decision.

Perhaps the kindest thing to do would be to make sure that the deaths were not in vain by seeing Starscream's salvation through to the end. Perhaps that was the only thing to do.

Lost in such thoughts for the entire of his casual journey back home, Perceptor at first did not hear the concerned voice calling out to him as he approached the entrance to the crashed Autobot star-cruiser.

"Perceptor, I was looking for you!" It was Skyfire, coming towards him fast. Shaking his head at his perpetual inability to focus on more than one thing at once, Perceptor waved a hand in greeting.

"I just went for a walk." He saw the look of concern on Skyfire's face - it looked like the shuttle had started to speak, but had been distracted as he looked into the smaller scientist's eyes. "Is everything all right?"

Then he realised, too late, that good-hearted, kind Skyfire was not looking into his optics but rather at his white cheek.

"You're injured..." the shuttle murmured quietly. "What happened?"

Perceptor cursed at himself silently, berating himself for not being more careful about hiding his face. "I-I... I tripped."

There was a silence that drew out for several astroseconds past the comfort zone.

"You tripped." Repeated the larger Autobot in obvious disbelief, tilting his head to the side. "You tripped... and smashed your face."

"Uhm, yes," nodding even as he recognised how pathetic he sounded, Perceptor tried to elaborate his weak story. "I tripped and headbutted a rock." A nervous laugh. "Ahaha, you know how caught up I get when I'm thinking about things. Um."

The large white shuttle sighed, exhaling waste air from his vents. "You can tell me the truth, you know."

Perceptor smiled at the offer, knowing he really couldn't. "No, honestly, I caught my foot and went straight into the wall of a mesa. It's nothing to worry about, it's not at all painful. Well, haha, I'd best get in and fix myself up, can't have everyone worried."

And he fled inside without giving Skyfire a chance to say anything more.