"Who can destroy this old, this long Remorse

which fastens on our heart

and fattens there like weevils in an oak

or vermin on a corpse?

How shall we kill implacable Remorse?

…Nothing can withstand the Irreparable—

its termites undermine

our soul, pathetic citadel, until

the ruined tower falls.

Nothing can withstand the Irreparable!"

-Baudelaire

The next morning dawned not bright and early, but chill and ashen; the sunlight that did manage to filter through the perpetual haze of destruction was cold and washed listlessly over the proverbial bone yard that Chicago had become.

That morning was forever etched into Lennox's memory.

It was not the way the splintered remains of once proud skyscrapers, once glorious monuments of human civilization, lay twinkling, twisted in agony, silently suffering in the weak morning light that drew his attention most. Though such was the sore sight that had greeted the team everyday for the past weeks, that morning such was reduced to comparative white noise for NEST's commanding officer.

Such was the morning that the public, the entire waking world, was given its first look at Optimus Prime.

Though the existence of the Autobots had been revealed to the globe for some time now, both the United States' government, with the backing of the United Nations, had all done their best to keep the robotic race away from the press, out of the public eye. Aside from the worldwide broadcast that the Fallen had aired some years ago, NEST had been able to keep any other photographs of the Cybertronians away from the media. And had managed to prohibit any images of the Autobots from the greater population, so that while citizens and world leaders alike had heard their voices—most memorably Sentinel Prime's address to the world demanding the exile of the Autobots from Earth—the greater public had yet to actually look upon them.

With good reason.

For the unprepared, for those who did not understand the Autobots would never harm a human, that these titanic beings would readily sacrifice themselves for humanity, it was all to easy to fear them. After all, each and every one of them, all noble intentions and mantra's aside, were comparatively walking weapons, mountainous leviathans of living metal that were nearly impervious to almost any weapon humanity had thus far created.

That morning had begun much like any other. Teams were formed, each one assigned a bot, and each dispatched to predetermined search areas, all carefully gridded and documented. In the distance, though deliberately out of eye shot, was the carefully marked and guarded boarder at which the press harried and hounded, circling like a pack of ravenous wolves, each snapping and snarling, each eager for any tidbit of information. Normally, Lennox never overtly concerned himself over the security of these diligently held boundaries; he trusted his men to hold them fast just as he trusted the bots to stay far away from them.

But that morning marked the surprise visit from Director Mearing and a handful of her bureaucratic cronies. In the chaos that was created with her arrival, and the bustle of arranging reluctant access for her to the restricted battlegrounds, a handful of reporters managed to slip through. Seasoned journalistic warriors dove unerringly into the ravaged remnants of the cityscape and by chance, luck or fate crossed paths with the search party that was working with Optimus that day.

Surprisingly, not in the least abashed by the dominating silhouette of the leader of the Autobot's, the handful of reporters dive-bombed him in a flurry of shouts, flashing cameras and recording equipment. Corporal Stuart and technical specialist Olsen had been in the group with the Prime—and so had Epps.

Team designations were all assigned at random, for Epps to have been selected to work with Prime's group that day was pure, unassuming chance. Knowing Epps hadn't breathed a word to, or even in Optimus' direction since their disagreement mere hours ago, Lennox had pulled his long time friend aside earlier that morning. Rather than ask Epps outright if he wanted to be reassigned—to do so would be an open admission that there was something wrong, would solidify any gulf that existed between Epps and Optimus—instead Lennox merely held out the list, wordlessly showing his friend his assignment for the day. By doing so, this also gave Epps the invitation to look at the other groups and to see that there was a position still to be filled in Dino's group. To Lennox's surprise—and relief—Epps merely took one long look at the list, his eyes flitting over the empty spot in Dino's group, and then merely shrugged.

But Lennox had wanted to be sure, had lingered a moment longer, thus prolonging Epps' opportunity to switch teams, but before he could speak up, Epps had donned his favored, garish aviator sunglasses, "It's cool man; see you at 13:00 for lunch?" The question sounded tight, terse even.

Lennox nodded, watching his friend carefully, "Yeah, sounds good." Clapping his brother-in-arms on the back, Epps had sauntered away, towards where Optimus lingered conversing with Stuart. Neither had greeted the other, at least not openly enough for Lennox to see.

When those reporters swarmed around Optimus, Olsen and Stuart had immediately reacted, lunging forward in a counter attack, trying their best to turn the tide back, tried to block their view. But, Epps, having been some distance away when the commotion broke out, didn't budge.

At a complete loss, Stuart had called out to his commanding officer, to his friend, "Orders, sir? Orders?"

Nothing, not a single response.

Epps remained as if rooted in place, completely and utterly frozen, watching completely detached as Stuart and Olsen's endeavors, no matter how brave, could do little to stanch the shouts and cries that lanced the air in a brutal verbal assault upon the Prime.

"What do you have to say to the public about all of the destruction and all the causalities that you have brought upon humanity?"

"Look at what you've done to our cities, our world; how do you propose to make up for it?"

"With all that you have done to humanity how can you believe it fair to remain on Earth when your presence is clearly detrimental to our race?"

"You abandoned us to the Decepticons, did you know what they had planned? Did you condone the slaughter of hundreds of innocent human lives just to prove a point?"

"What can we expect from you now?"

"How can we believe that you're any different than the Decepticons? And that you won't try to subjugate and slaughter us too?"

It was to this last question, flung out of heated anger, that Optimus availed himself to; his movements slow and deliberate—Epps knew every motion was tempered with pain—Optimus approached the small group. Carefully he knelt down, allowing the reporters—and their cameras—a full view of the battle damage that had been wreaked upon his frame. The dull sunlight did well enough to illuminate each deep wound that lacerated so many panels. Most poignantly was the yawning and cavernous gap, the edges of which were blackened, frayed and shredded away from his right shoulder, unerringly marking where his arm should have been. How well the soldiers knew that Optimus was never one to complain, to draw attention to himself, to boast of his accomplishments—or of his sacrifices for that matter—but it was hard to believe that his stance now was anything but deliberate. And artfully so, for without uttering a word, Optimus was allowing his injuries, his war torn frame, to stand as irrefutable testament to all that he had endured on behalf of humanity.

Those piercing blue optics locked decisively down upon the brash reporter who had last spoken, and as the human's eyes met with that otherworldly gaze, the rabble fell quiet in an expectant, fearful hush.

"It is true, humanity has paid the price for what has largely been my mistakes, my own failings," That rich timber, low and soothing, the velvet underside of thunder, rolled forth, each and every word broadcasted to every corner of the Earth in real time, "This I do not deny, and I accept this burden with all that I am, for everything has a price. But I would have you always remember, that the day will never come when we forsake this planet and its people." Subtly, the movement almost unperceivable, those cerulean optics flicked over to rest upon Epps, "We will always defend and protect humanity, no matter the cost to us because yours is a world, is a race, worth defending."

Spoken in that momentous voice, every word reached down into Epps, resonating through him. While it did not heal the emotion wounds, still aching and raw, it left the embittered Sergeant beyond any shadow of a doubt that, much like always, each word was imbued with the upmost conviction; Optimus, along with the rest of the Autobots, had proven time and time again that they would willingly sacrifice their lives for humanity. Their Autobot allies never balked from having to pay the ultimate price to defend and to protect Earth and its people; now, Epps realized, now it was his turn to protect, to defend the bot's from the very beings they sought to save.

Snapping out of his reverie, Epps at last moved; his long strides closing the distance between himself and where the reporters swarmed, now mocking Optimus' reply with shouted questions that were really little more than thinly veiled insults.

"Hey! Piss off!" Epps bellowed, reaching out to grab the lens of the nearest reporter's camera, blocking the feed, "This is a restricted area! You can't be here!" Turning his head, he called over to Olsen, "Call Lennox! Double-time, soldier!"

"You can't do that! We have the right to answers! Especially after all that those walking tin cans have done to our cities!" The reporter snarled back at Epps, "You can't keep hiding those metal monsters!"

"He's. Not. A. Monster!" None too gently, in one jarring motion Epps twisted the camera's foremost lens clean off, shorting out the feed entirely, before he chucked it directly back at the reporter, "Get outta my face and get outta his you son-of-a-bitch!"

"Oh you wanna make this personal pal?"

Before Epps could snarl back a retort or throw a punch—whichever came first—a large metal digit pressed down firmly on the Sergeant's solider, it wasn't painful by any means, but it was forceful enough to keep Epps in place, and, more importantly, keep him from doing anything particularly stupid.

"Easy, my friend, easy." Optimus's voice sounded close, just above Epps' head. The still steaming Sergeant hadn't noticed Optimus move, but knowing he had, Epps felt strangely comforted by his proximity; even after their argument last night, Optimus hadn't hesitated to defend the human, to guard his back. Epps swallowed thickly, feeling shame twist his stomach into tight knots; where he had hesitated moments ago, Prime had not.

Just as Epps had been entirely focused on the brewing argument, the reporter hadn't seen the Autobot leader move either, and, more importantly, move so close. Now, just steps away from the Prime, the once belligerent reporter turned skittish, tripping over his own feet in his haste to back away from the titian. It was impossible not to recognize the fear in the other man's eyes, in all of their eyes.

Fortunately, the stumbling reporter backed straight into Lennox, who had seemingly materialized at just the right time. The seasoned soldier grabbed the journalist by the shoulders and forcibly hauled him away, barking out terse commands to the NEST operatives that he had brought with him to escort the errant group of reporters out of the city.

Epps found his gaze riveted on the gravel beneath his feet even as Stuart let out an audible sigh of relief as the reporters' cameras were all confiscated and they were led away. Running his hands through his short-cropped hair, Stuart turned to face Optimus—more than Epps could do at the moment—"I'm so sorry Papa Bot…we tried to stop them…but we didn't even see them until they were on us!"

"Sneaky bastards." Olsen growled kicking a chunk of concrete after the retreating crowd.

"It is not your fault, Corporal Seeley." Optimus replied evenly, dropping his hand away from Epps' ridged shoulders. The sudden absence of the Autobot's touch somehow only made Epps feel worse.

"Oh man, Mearing is going to eat someone after this little fiasco," Olsen smirked grimly.

"Yeah, you better hope you don't taste good with ketchup." Stuart answered, enjoying the meek jest.

"I hope you are not serious and are speaking metaphorically of cannibalism rather than literally."

Olsen made a face at Stuart rather than answer Optimus, and before either soldiers could make any more retorts, Epps interrupted, hooking his thumbs into his pockets and looking determinedly at the buildings in front of them, away from Olsen, away from Stuart, and away from Optimus, "C'mon, lets head back to base camp; if Mearing is going to explode, we should be there to give Lennox some back up."

Stuart nodded wordlessly in agreement, while Olsen said nothing at all; neither men would breathe a word to anyone—bot or human—about how Epps had hesitated, had stood by for a minute too long and for a minute long enough to let the press get a clear shot at Optimus. Epps wasn't stupid; he could feel the tension building between him and the other two soldiers. But at the moment, that silence didn't concern him, didn't bother him nearly as much as the silence that had elapsed once again between himself and Optimus.

Epps allowed his steps to drag, allowed himself to fall behind, leaving Stuart and Olsen to walk beside the Prime. The Sergeant breathed in deeply, tasting ash, tasting destruction and ruin. He had frozen; he had stood by and let those reporters attack Optimus. He hadn't meant to, hadn't planned on it, but it had happened nonetheless. Shards of glass crunched beneath his steps, splinters of a way of life that had been destroyed. Megatron had done this. So had Sentinel. And somehow Optimus had forgiven them. That was the bone that stuck the most in Epps' throat. And it was that bone that made him wonder if his actions that day—or rather the lack thereof—had been in response, had been a sort of rebellion, revenge even, against Optimus' forgiveness.

And it was that thought which made Epps feel all the more uneasy.