This Is Not Enough

She sat in the brig of the Axalon, not in a containment cell but staring into one. Her back was against the wall, her posture tense as if she couldn't even trust the stability of the metal against her shoulders, and her thoughts tumbled in bright flashes that blinded instead of lit the situation. They came so fast, she had to scramble to keep up with them, and even then they'd gotten around her defenses and backed her into a corner of her own making. If she waited much longer, they would drive her mad, but perhaps then she wouldn't need to try and define what she felt into acceptable perimeters.

They'd congratulated her on turning a nasty situation around for the better, but what did Optimus and the others really know about what had happened? She had been dented and torn but she'd recovered, and no one had thought much of what damage could be done by the widow that a CR Chamber couldn't fix. If she confessed the thoughts she'd repressed for so long, would she lose control of them or would the other Maximals explain everything away? Or would confronting them with their own stereotypes force her to conform to them once more, pressed between the guidelines by disapproving optics? She would hurt Tigatron, if no one else, by her frightened, hurting thoughts. He wanted her, and for so long she had allowed that wanting, afraid to refuse his proffered love. Did she want him in return..?

The accepted answer would be "yes." Ever since she'd come online, there had been expectations and little assumptions, nothing ever really brought out into the open but present all the same. She had been convinced that it was all in her head, that it was her that was in the wrong, and that somehow her reluctance to participate was shameful. Now, though...now she knew better. She wasn't alone, and that sense of kinship and knowing had brought about this silent maelstrom. The words circled, circled, cut and burn; every word the Maximals and Predacons had ever said ran against the conversation that wouldn't stop repeating in her head. They couldn't be together, where they could sort out the pressures put on them, discard what was unwanted, and build something new and vibrant out of the old roles assigned them. She wanted to fly her away to somewhere where faction wouldn't matter, where there weren't any optics to stare at them for being what they weren't "supposed" to be.

Her own optics met the optics of the occupant of the cell, and what she saw there made the words rail louder. She felt the same, and they couldn't pretend it didn't matter. What had been quietly tucked away in the corners of their minds was unleashed, and she, at least, didn't have the courage to make the leap. She could try to forget it, even pretend that nothing had happened, but she couldn't bear to hurt the other Maximals. She couldn't take the disappointment, the disapproval, for being what a stereotype wasn't. In time, she might even be able to thrive inside that role. What would drive her mad, however, was to see the freedom and know that no one else had seen it as well. To be alone in her knowledge and doubt her sanity once more.

And so, Airazor climbed to her feet and walked slowly across the brig to stop outside the glowing red bars. Black optics met blue, and she whispered, "Tell me, what do you see?" Hoping, praying that the answer would be kind.

Bitter contempt filled those black optics, reading blue as easily as blue had black. "I see a coward." She bent her head, accepting that answer for the truth that it was, but a pincer lifted her chin. Foolish Maximal, to have come within her reach, but the touch was gentle. "And I must have lost my mind to be as cowardly."

They stared at each other for a long, long moment, everything they shared running through their minds. Without moving her gaze, Airazor bent and cut the power to the red bars. Immediately, alarm klaxons went off, and the captive stepped out almost disbelievingly.

Strangely, it was Blackarachnia who asked, "Will we never be free?"

The Maximal only smiled sadly and leaned forward, daring to cross an invisible line between permitted and forbidden. Risking the step outside the stereotype before returning to the secure prison. The Predacon met her halfway, and it was sweet and sour, strong and weak, hot and cold. So soft, but there was a sharp bite to her bottom lip as the door to the observation deck burst open for Optimus Primal. A confirmation of what was known, a pledge to remember, and a goodbye to forget.

Then she was gone.

Optimus looked down at Airazor where she swayed, all the things she said running through her head, and she cried, "This is not enough!"

They told her later it was the venom talking. She chose to agree with them.

.

.

Funny how not one part of this song-ficlet has come out as planned. Airazor was supposed to kiss Blackarachnia before leaving her to die. Huh...not sure if I like this any better, but that would have definitely been more dramatic.