Of the Spark and Heart

Part 1

Chapter 8

Alone. Once more to become lost in the fragile quiet. Patience was her only comrade. And her pencil and paper. But otherwise she was utterly, speechlessly, alone. Not a word murmured. Not a noise created. She was left in the room again, the same one she had lived in for the week before. The irony would usually of made her snort. But she was too busy now.

It had been a few hours since they had arrived, leaving Fera in the hands of the many, many medics waiting there for her. Secretary Kepler had also been there, with his face set in yet another fit of rage. Her companion had kept the calmness in his tone, never breaking his steadiness. It was amazing. But also irritating.

The medics said it was shock; trauma had overtaken her and now she's been focused on nothing more than drawing and silence and being all alone. Fera brought the pad closer and lightly let the tip of the pencil wave back and forth across the surface, shading it in a dull grey. It wouldn't be grey for long though, she still wanted to add more. And then more after that. The bed beneath her indented under her weight and only one leg hung off the side. Her neck was stiff from the position she'd taken up for the past while and her butt was completely numb. The images in her head fluttered across the page and she moved on to detailing the top half of the picture when the door slid open.

Her head snapped up, one slip of her hair falling over her shoulder. It was Doctor Shelby, her arms full of folded deep-green cloth. There was a white fabric laid on top of the stack, a small brass pin like a cherry on a sundae. "I have a change of clothes for you." she said, walking in and heading towards the chair at the end of the bed. Fera of course, did not say a word. "The ones you have on now are ruined and I don't know if I can fix them. But until we get you something fitting for you, you'll have to where these." the doctor stood and faced Fera, one hand on her hip. "Unless you'd like to wear that rough, dry hospital gown." she suggested, raising a mischievous eyebrow.

Not taking the risk, Fera set down her drawing materials and she started for the clothes, gently picking up the pin on the top. On it, said the name Lennox in bold black letters. "This was your father's name tag. I thought since you would also be using a military-grade uniform, you would like to be known for who you came from." she noted gently. Tears stung the corners of Fera's eyes and she lifted the pin closer to her body, pressing it firmly to her heart. The doctor's retreating footsteps told her that the woman wouldn't press things further. "I'll leave you alone." she added over her shoulder as a farewell.

The tears came rolling heavily down her cheeks. Her chin quivered and her brow furrowed. But she still took the effort to change, slipping into the cloth and pulling the jacket around her. Carefully, she buttoned up the front and slipped the pin into place. All of it fit perfectly. It was almost eery. To think...this had been his at some point.

Fera walked back to her bed, tenderly pushing her things to the side so she could lay on the mattress. Her head shifted against the pillow and she brought her knees close, hugging them to her as she silently and sadly cried into them.

It wasn't long until she woke again. She hadn't even realized she'd fallen asleep. Fera lifted her head, her back killing her from her stationary spot she had refused to move from in her surprisingly deep nap. She rubbed her eye and found her room in total dark, the only light coming from a small glowing sheet by the door. This was most likely emergency escape information, the back alit so that anyone would be able to see it even in the dim lack of light. Fera shifted and swung her legs over the side of the bed, feeling something brush her fingers. She touched it and realized it was her drawing pad and pencil. Picking it up, she moved towards the door. Once again it slid aside to allow her though. Just like before.

Fera looked down both ends of the halls, but found them empty. She took this opportunity and started down the hall, making sure to pull on the shoes left for her by the door. Apparently her shoes must have also been damaged for there were only a set of lightly built black boots left for her. Fera sucked in a sharp breath through her teeth, clapping a hand on her side. It was acting up again. Maybe this wasn't a good idea after all.

But as she went along, Fera slowed her step. What was her plan? Why was she even out here? The drawing pad in her hand caught her attention and she looked down on it. Confusion muddled her thoughts at just why she had drawn what she did. Pushing these thoughts aside, she moved on, seeing no reason to stop now. She passed through the secondary doors and through the first hallway towards the entrance to the main entrance area. This had become someplace familiar to her. It was one of the few places she had ever been, the only other place being the room Uncle Robert had explained -in very short detail- everything around her. It was interesting to see everything that she had learned since then.

She made it into the room and looked around. There was no one there. Absolutely no one. Well, except the giant red Autobot Mirage.

He seemed not to notice her, his attention set on sharpening the blade at his wrist. It was a disturbing thought to her that it really didn't put as much fear in her as it should have.

She averted her gaze and walked towards the large boxes stacked against the side wall. A set of chairs and a table were set out beside them; just temporary, folding structures. Fera climbed over the seat and promptly sat down on the top of the table, going to work on her drawing.

Much better. Light, and company.

"Humans usually sit in chairs." her company stated from across the room. Fera lowered her pencil and looked up, seeing Mirage peering up at her from his spot sitting on the edge of a metal offhang in the wall. He continued to sharpen his blade, moving his eyes back down. Fera's hand dropped, her drawing pad tipping over her kneecap. "We do. But I'm choosing not to." she responded, placing the pad back in her lap, the pencil set on top. It was the first thing she had said since coming back. Mirage gave a short set of laughs and he tapped the air with his blade in her direction. "You're a strange one. But es bueno. It shows character." he returned his knife to his hands, sliding it back into his wrist.

Fera actually grinned at that. It was a small grin, but it was there. "Well then I guess I have a lot of character." she joked, sliding forward to let her legs hang over the side of the table. Mirage leaned forward on his elbows, setting them atop his knees. His hands hung between his legs and his eyes shone with the bright blue light. "You're a good one for Sol. You should make him happy here." he gestured a hand above them and Fera looked to the floor, uncertain. "He needed a compañero. Humano, like you." there was a heartbeat of silence and then the deep thudding steps of a Cybertronian. Fera looked up, seeing Mirage's approaching form. He got down on one knee and lowered himself.

"Chica, you are much more important than you realize. Do not doubt our protection over you as just a fluke." he lifted a hand and Fera sat straight, leaning back slightly as he brought his finger closer. He was pointing at her chest. "Cree en ti mismo; Believe in yourself. And others will believe in you." he spoke smoothly. Fera's hand flew to her necklace and she nodded. Mirage dropped his hand and she sat there, frozen. What he said must be true. She could tell he thought so. She may not fully believe in herself, but she sure as hell believed in them.

Slowly, she pushed herself off the table and walked up to Mirage. He just stayed where he was, not moving an inch. "Thank you." there was nothing else she could think of to say. Here, an Autobot was reassuring her that what she had gone through wasn't for nothing, and all she could say was thank you. But he didn't say anything, only giving a nod.

As Mirage came to a stand, lighter, more human footsteps could be heard from the other side of the room. Mirage turned, giving Fera a clearer view of the doorway. It was Epps, dressed in a military uniform similar to that of her own. It made her feel awkward and very unworthy at that moment. Epps came up to the mech and looked up. "I've been looking for you. The higher-ups want us to check out a series of fluctuations at a nearby valley. They sent a surveillance drone, but it was somehow 'offed before it could send anything back." he informed the mech, not even acknowledging Fera. She felt a small sting in her chest at the lack of greeting. But then he seemed to glance over, for only a millisecond before looking back to Mirage.

Realization seemed to hit him and he turned back to her. "Fera, what are you doing here? I didn't recognize you." he walked over to her and gave her a hug, squeezing her with all the comfort he possessed. "I thought you were still in the medical wing." he pulled back and Fera shook her head. "I've a reputation for sneaking out." she said, giving a small grin. Epps chuckled and clapped her shoulder. She winced and grabbed her side, the movement jostling her injury. "Well don't get into trouble while I'm gone. Bee should be here shortly with your mother, but Sol is a different story." their relaxed atmosphere had suddenly grown serious. "He's badly damaged and is being transported back." he squeezed the hand on her shoulder and she swallowed.

The good thing was he was alive. Epps hadn't said he'd died.

But if he would survive was another subject altogether. She was afraid to ask, so she didn't. There was only one being who she would be willing to actually open up to right now. "Where's Optimus?" she asked, her heart beating in concern. Epps let his hand drop from her shoulder and he walked back to Mirage. The Autobot proceeded to transform and he let his door hand wide open. Epps gripped the door and looked back to her. "I don't know." he jerked his head behind him. "But maybe it would be best to leave him be. He has a lot on his plate as of late." he added, disappearing inside.

Fera gripped her waist as Mirage sped out of the room and through the lit hallway. His high-pitched and squealing wheels were not heard long after as the main entrance closed and shut off the noises outside. She leaned back on the table and let her hand fall across her picture. "Ya, and so do I." she murmured to no one.

Maybe that was why she wanted to talk with someone, let them know how she felt. But there was also apprehension in that wanting. She needed someone who knew all she knew and yet also was one she trusted. She'd never met Rethalia, so she was crossed off from the start. Other Autobots in the base she'd never met also sparked her interest, but she brushed it off. They were definitely busy, having no time to talk to a mere human teenager. But what if, just maybe, she went to go find Ratchet? She had met him and they had talked if only briefly. That too was quickly put out of question. He was nowhere near patient enough.

Hound and Wheeljack were two other mechs she'd met recently. However that first encounter she'd met them was also their latest. She knew nothing more than their names. Her mind drifted and she found herself up and walking towards the large doors leading to the west wing. Only once had she'd been this way. And many times before that she'd seen other Autobots walking through here. Just where did this go?

Concrete floor, concrete walls, concrete ceiling. Concrete, concrete, concrete, and more concrete. There was a small pile of dust in the corner, but it was as grey as the walls. Fera rubbed an arm, getting a chill from the sight of it all. The base was so neat and tidy, only the scaffolds against the walls and the doors of the opposite side of the space being different. She turned the same way Bee had taken her, and then she stopped dead in her tracks. There was another way. She turned, looking down that direction. With no one was around to tell her where not to go, she assumed it was open.

Fera turned a full 180 and started back towards the other way. More concrete. More scaffolds. No people. Where was everyone? She walked around another corner to her left and her footsteps echoed around her. To her left were four massive doors, split in half and made completely of metal. The symbol of the Autobots sat mid center on the surface of the giant structures. Behind her, there were more of these passages, but there were also smaller ones beside them. She walked slowly down this way, gazing up at each as she passed. They were all identical, only the smaller doors baring nothing but a small silver handle.

There was yet another set of crates by one of these doors. The words THIS SIDE UP painted across each and the arrows pointed to the sky. Fera blinked at them and jumped as a strange noise sounded behind her. She ran to the crates and ducked around, hiding. Heavy footfalls caught her curiosity and she carefully peered over the top of one of the crates. It was Ratchet, standing at the door for a moment longer to talk to whoever was inside. He then moved, stepping away.

Fera's body told her to stay where she was, to not get in trouble. But she didn't listen, instead sprinting lowly across the floor and around Ratchet's back to the door. It was still open, and Fera dodged inside just as they came together and locked. Her back pressed to the wall, her head aimed for the entrance. He didn't see me, she mentaly sighed in relief. She slid down the wall and yanked her hair back with one hand, moving it so she could get a look around. It looked a lot like the hospital room Fera stayed in. But it was all metallic, with screens covered in foreign pictures and words she didn't understand. There was a pulse monitor and a rolling tray holding torturous looking tools.

"Hello there." someone greeted.

Her blood stalled and so did her body. Fera paralyzed her arm and closed her eyes, knowing her little adventure would end badly. She mentally scolded herself for not realizing this before. "I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't be in this area and-" she cut herself off as her eyes opened. She meant to see who her captor was, but she couldn't form the words. For before her, sitting on a massive steel bench-like table, was a lithe version of the Autobots. Her hands sit laid over her lap, she continue to peer down at Fera, who's mouth gaped and shut again. She knew who this was.

Rethalia Prime sat before her with a calm expression on her face.

It was an intense, constantly burning sensation positioned in just one particular spot.

Sol shuttered his optics and groaned again, instincts telling him to roll over. Again he felt the shove of Ratchet and a harsh edge to his vocal processor. "Stay still you fragger!" he commanded harshly. Sol growled and clenched the table's edge, his strength in his agony causing his terminal joints to press down with a vice grip. Another pulse of pain and Sol clenched his oral sheets together to keep from calling out again. When he had first came into the medbay, he had been unconscious. But upon his rebooting, there was no helping the overwhelmed bellows that escaped him.

Sol peeled his terminal links from the table and found large welts in their place. Ratchet snorted and moved Sol's arm away, shoving a large scrap metal pole beside him. "Stop junking the supplies and use this instead." he directed curtly. Sol went straight for the object, straining it between his large hands in an attempt to relieve his pain. It helped, but only slightly. Ratchet was busy using his microscorcher to remove the rest of the hardened plasma. He had broken through the first layer, and was now working on the second. Apparently, Ratchet was unable to administer painkillers because Sol was too unstable to handle them. So, while fresh energon pumped through an IV to his systems, Ratchet could only give Sol a pole to cling to as he suffered through the removal of his temporary seal.

A few chunks of the plasma flicked off and Sol grimaced, gripping the pole so hard it groaned. Ratchet drew away the scorcher and drew a hooked device called a rustscraper. Generally it woulb be used for, well, removing rust, but recently it became needed for almost any simple task. Ratchet now used it to get in-between the cracked of the plasma, allowing him to get the harder scraps to chip off. Sol watched for a sparkbeat before Ratchet dipped the rustscraper into an opened crevice, setting off a wave of searing affliction. Sol cried out, nearly twisting the pole in half. Ratchet drew back and hesitated, waiting until Sol had calmed again.

"Could you please just shoot it already? It might actually hurt less than all this poking and prodding!" he complained.

Ratchet lost his concern and watching Sol, purposefully jabbed the rustscraper into one of the cracks. There was a loud bellow as a response and Ratchet pulled his arm back before Sol could see him. "Oops. Sorry, my hand slipped." Ratchet commented lamely, turning around to place the scraper back on his tool cart. Sol, giving an exasperated sigh, let his cranial unit bang back down on the table. He could hear Ratchet coming up with more tools, one after the other, slowly picking away at the hardened plasma. The closer he got to Sol's wound, the worse the discomfort.

Finally, it was all just an ebbing, constant blanket of torment. There was no distinguishing between them, just finding the smallest of comforts in grabbing and repeatedly twisting the pole in his hands. By the end of this, he feared he would grind his oral sheets to jagged stubs. It made his tanks churn, a lightheaded feeling overcoming his CPU. There were a few words from Ratchet that Sol didn't pay attention to, and then silence. He briefly wondered if the chipping and scraping and scorching was done. But then there was an intense, metal-melting feeling of raw heat. Sol was unable to keep his voice processor in check any longer. He let out a struggled, strained yell.

The pole was nothing but a bent slip of scrap in his hand, his cranial unit drawn back in agony. He regained himself after a few nanoclicks, drawing in his arms and cranial unit, as if holding them close would dull the rushing flames. His vents were blowing air as if they were his last gasping circulations, desperately trying to cool him down. The fire bore into his wound and Sol snarled, once again gripping the lip of the table he laid on and leaving nothing but indented metal. And then it was gone. Just like that. Of course the original pain was there, but at least it was the bearable levels he had grown used to.

Ever so slowly, Sol released the table and sighed through his vents. Sol looked under his arm at the wound and the medic. It appeared open and fresh, mangled and jagged-edged around the injury sight. He could see the pulsing circuits beneath the severed energon veins and the charred edges of the damaged lines from where the plasma had leaked through. It sickened him to see the insides of his own armoring and plating, so he looked away, shifting to get more comfortable. Nothing worked.

"Sol, despite the primitive nature of the seal you made, I'm actually impressed." Ratchet commented, standing near the tool cart. Sol sighed once again and moved his arms so that the underplating sat on the table and let his hands hang over the edge. "I made do with what I had. It didn't turn out as I had hoped, but I'm functioning." he stated, aiming his optics to the door. Maybe one of his comrades would come walking through, a drunken Jazz stumbling over his own sole pads while having one arm slung over the shoulder bolts of his friend Smokescreen. It would have made his kalon, giving him no reason to mind his pain any longer.

Thoughts of the late saboteur made Sol's CPU flash in grief. Jazz was a good friend to all of his mech comrades, even being a close peer and second-in-command to Optimus Prime himself. He was a talkative -sometimes irritating- mech who would bravely sacrifice his own spark to save one of his comrades. That was one of the things he'd been liked most for: his loyalty. And now he was gone, leaving an empty and frightening hole in their ranks. He wasn't talked about often and neither was the most recent of Optimus' small band of elder comrades: Ironhide. He was a completely different story altogether.

"I'm going to close up the wound, but I'll warn you that there will be scarring. Majorly." Ratchet announced, pausing at the table. Sol didn't even shutter and optic at mention of a scar. He'd known it would be there, and he was prepared to endure it. It served him right to get a reminder of what he'd accomplished. "It'll just make me look tougher." Sol said, giving a painful, jerking laugh. Ratchet smirked at the mech's words, seeming unsurprised at his forced enthusiasm.

Not wanting to further the conversation, Sol just watched as Ratchet moved over to his IV and went to inject the sedatives into the hanging pump. Why he could have sedatives and not painkillers, he wasn't sure. But he nodded thankfully and laid his cranial unit back to the table. Ratchet went over to his spare table and went to work finalizing a new welding panel. It was a lulling process actually. Sol could feel the pain melting away, being replaced by a light feeling of his CPU and an inability to move his form. But he did not care for the lack of mobility. He was mainly focused on the knowledge that his suffering was nearly gone. He was now able to fall softly into recharge. On his CPU were various things: Fera, Optimus' sparkling, Jazz, Ironhide, Rethalia's troops...

Across the holographic map were various locations marked by flashing pinpoints. Optimus let a long, weary sigh exit through his vents. These were all the places he himself had come up with in thought that Decepticons would be settling there. But with no leads, no hard evidence to build on, and absolutely no predicting when the next attack will be, it was almost like charging into an incinerator factory blind. He crossed his arms and lifted one to cup his mandible point with a few terminal links. They could literally be anywhere. They showed up when they liked, attacked or caused disturbance, and then retreated back to wherever they came. As if they appeared from thin air. And on the basis presented now, they might as well have.

Optimus leaned forward to zoom out the holomap and then backed up. There were other lights dotted throughout the other continents of Earth. They were all just guesses, nothing solid and definitely not anything palpable. Mostly they were deep, withdrawn valleys and large rises of Earth-formed creations called mountains. There was a light flashing in the Rocky mountains, Great Appalachian valleys, aside the United States border with Mexico, and a few by the Canadian border. There were more in the continent Australia, by the Sahara Desert, between the countries of Switzerland and Germany... the list went on and on. But nothing of any of these locations were proven correct. Most of these were places that are unexplored by United States military.

Before Optimus' CPU crashed from overloading on all of his duties, worries, lacks of knowledge, and concern for his peers, he let his arms fall and switch off the device. He turned to his desk around the dashboard, scattered notepads across the surface. Or as Wheeljack insisted on calling them: "Compads". He reached the table and supported himself by his hands on the tabletop, leaning over the vast amounts of information. He had asked for these compads; specifically those on the Decepticons' new hierarchy list. Since Megatron and basically all of his upper men perished in the last major battle, there had been decacycles of peace here on Earth. Now, it was known that the fembot Decepticon Arachnid had taken Megatron's place as well as created a new set of close henchmen.

There was no doubt in Optimus' mind that the fembot was just as, if not more, corrupted than his horribly blinded brother. It was the murder of their mentor that had forever changed him. Evidence proved it had been him, none being in his favor. And Optimus, then Orian Pax, held no power to stand in defense of his brother. Nor did he feel like he would be able to. For ashamed as he was to admit, he actually did suspect his sibling as well as all his peers. He did not even commit to attend his brother's sentencing date. He wouldn't have been able to willingly look into his brother's pleading optics.

It was a mistake he would never be able to let rust.

However, even through all of his brother's tyrannical behavior and sadistic CPU, Optimus had found that his spark would grieve his brother's death. It was by Optimus' own hand that Megatron had fallen, and it would forever haunt him. Maybe he could have changed, he often caught himself thinking. Maybe things could have been different... But then reality would set in and Optimus' saddened spark would come to realize this could never be the case. Megatron was too far gone. And the same went for Arachnid.

In her files, it stated on the compad Optimus lifted that she had been an archaeologist on Cybertron. She was happily a smaller, normal fembot surrounded by work she seemed to enjoy. Her original designation before she revamped had been Galefire, sporting her work without a single complaint and often teased about her sometimes uptight nature. But then her comrades had been killed before her and she decided to join the war. She must have been disgusted with both sides of the war, for she had become a rouge. None had seen her since then on Cybertron, not even the faction she now ruled over. The fembot had thus fallen deep into the CPU-destroying matters of the Great War, causing even the most hardened mechs or fembots to turn insane.

Basically, it surprised no one when she often passed shifting allegiances between Autobot and Decepticon. Eventually, she seemed to lean more towards Decepticon, and she joined their ranks not long before the fight in Egypt. And due to her abilities to persuade and conquer, she nearly replaced Starscream himself. It seemed that the fight in Chicago allowed her full leadership of the Decepticon troops. Already she has accomplished stealing vital technologies and mercilessly killing an entire squadron of Autobot soldiers; including a medic and attempting at extinguishing a Prime. His sparkmate. Therefore, their sparkling. The thought made his tanks churn and his spark squeeze painfully.

Swiftly after feeling this horrific realization, he felt a calming and utterly soothing presence in his spark. Rethalia. She was comforting him in whatever it was he was worrying for. And the sensation was warmly welcomed, allowing her to gently caress his spark. He was lulled into a more relaxed state and he sent back a thankful response. Her open side of their link was gracious and willing to let him in and their bond spread and enveloped one another in an all-consuming fit of comfort and love. Optimus grinned to himself, letting the compad fall back on his desk and he lifted his hand to lay on his chassis. His spark pulsed with her compassion and he couldn't help noticing the smaller, more fragile piece of their link.

Still unnamed, still unannounced as a special, unique addition to her kind. She had no address to go by, yet she didn't seem affected by this fact. Already it had been known she was very intelligent, even for a sparkling about to become a youngling. Rethalia included their small one in their embrace and the young sparkling glowed brightly within their small, triangular group. She has your spark, Rethalia murmured happily over their connection. And your optics, and your personality- she could have gone on, but Optimus interrupted her. But she shares your beauty Rethalia, he noted softly. As well as your bravery and intelligence... he trailed off, gesturing he could go on. Rethalia could be heard giving a short laugh over her side of their link. Optimus Prime, you really know how to flatter a fembot, she went on, tenderly brushing them both.

Optimus found himself chuckling both over the link and externally, his laughter echoing cheerfully off the walls. But duty or injury continues to separate us, so I am unable to show you how I truly feel for you, Rethalia continued. There was a clear sadness to her tone and Optimus let his hand fall back to the table. Your near presence alone is suffice enough for an old mech such as me, Optimus comforted her. He could feel her reaching for him, and then hesitantly pulling back. If only that were my case as well, she commented with a sigh. Optimus felt the grieving in her vocal processor and he fought to assure her. Their sparkling suddenly reached out on her own, latching on to Optimus' spark with shocking will. Surprised, he said nothing of the contact. As battle-experienced as he was, the love of a sparkling was an odd occurrence.

Our sparkling urns for your presence Optimus, Rethalia went on, reassuring and soothing the small one. Optimus just stood silent, both through their bond and in his present standing. He wanted so badly to just walk down the towering halls of the Special Extraterrestrial Allegiances Military Base and go to his awaiting family boarded in the medbay, but his firm CPU kept him stationary. We both do...Rethalia finally imputed, so full of sorrow that their sparkling pulsed in uncomfortable concern. Optimus crouched over the desk and set his elbowjoints on the tabletop, bowing his cranial unit. So hard- just to stay and focus...

Abruptly the doors behind him opened and Optimus shot up, softly cutting off his link to his family. He was unable to bear parting them completely, so he kept a restricted connection up.

It was Sideswipe, his form leisured as he walked inside the office. The silver mech stopped mid-floor and placed his hands behind him. "Optimus, the sectors sent to observe the suspected Decepticon locations have returned with nothing." he said, seeming disappointed. Optimus nodded and walked closer, bringing a weary hand over the crown of his helmet. Sideswipe noticed his leader's fatigue and he narrowed his optics. "Optimus, when was your last recharge? You look about ready to collapse into shutdown." he observed. Once again, Optimus sighed.

The two exhaust pipes on his spinal support hissed, releasing a cloud of misty white air."It has been far too long Sideswipe. However, I refuse rest until my soldiers are reassured and in good health." he answered. Sideswipe, seeming to give up, didn't comment on it. "Well, Bumblebee returned with the female and Sol is with Ratchet. He wasn't in good shape, nearly bustin' my audio receptors when 'Ratch got ahold of him." Sideswipe added, tapping the side of his cranial unit. Optimus couldn't help the small grin playing on his lip plates. It would be an interesting sight, seeing the Autobots cringe at the cries of another and then complain about it, seeming unconcerned. "The female is in the entrance lobby?" he wondered, getting a nod as an answer. "Good, I will be there shortly. I will join with you there."

Giving one last respectable jerk of the cranial unit, Sideswipe turned and exited the room. The doors shut behind him, leaving Optimus to return his hand to his chassis. He could feel the small tug of his sparkling, calling for him. Calling for her Mime. But he could not come. Mime was a being far beyond her small understanding. He was involved too deep in duty and responsibility to be allowed such a joy as embracing his sparkling while his own comrades dropped at his sole pads, deadspark. Duty and responsibility. Leadership and wisdom. The curse of the Prime, built to never rest until his soldiers were safe and his race was content. Never supposed to bear a family, given leadership mercies no one. Orian could have brought himself the pleasure of being in his family's company.

Once then a dockworker. Now a Prime.

Numbly, he began out the two sliding doors, through the dull stone halls, around the corners, and to the main entrance where there stand a female human. A Prime never rested without completing priority. They were ground to supply wisdom and a want for justice and a right for leadership. A Prime was never meant to have the time in one's life cycle to find love and possibly create life. No. Never imagined. And yet now, two Primes stand in one another's embrace, desperately trying to establish a broken bond. Now duty over pleasure. Wisdom over contentment. And one's race over one's self.

These lie the rules of a Prime: to protect is duty, to serve is right. Thus, one shall offer wisdom to the dull and leadership to the helpless. None shall be dubbed unworthy of forgiveness no matter their intentions. And yet if one is to break this law, they shall be worthy of the Pit. A Prime must forge responsibility in leadership. And leadership in duty. Black in their spark or white in purity, duty is Law. And priority is duty. But be warned, for a Prime is a Prime, set deep in a life cycle that mustn't be broken less they be deemed deadspark or unable. These oaths under watch of their descendant Primus himself must bind these laws and others, for none but Him have the power. Pleasure and happiness may lay aside, as duty and strength see forth. Nor Prime nor Cybertronian may break this clause, for then they defy Primus. So help them guided to the Matrix.

And here, the Prime seen in most optics as nobler than any former other than Primus himself, kneels down to deface his towering height. He knew his duties, and he knew his soldiers' rights were above his own. As Prime, it was his -and his sparkmate's- oath to protect the weak and serve the poor or dull in leadership. But should these rules and laws be followed upon a new planet? That was for himself to decide, but he found it increasingly hard to make this decision. Rethalia would certainly be facing the same issues of her CPU. Duty is law, and duty is priority. Now under oath to this, Prime faces yet again the problems of his position. Is he mech, or slave? No one could say for sure. That was his decision to make. But yet, here he was in the circle again, unable to decide. Never able to make the difficult decisions, Sentinel Prime had said to Optimus before he was shockingly put to death.

"My name is Optimus Prime." he began, seeing the awed female beneath him. Why protect such cruel and primitive creatures? Because it was duty of Prime. And of all sentient beings to choose for themselves as any creature should. Freedom is right. Not a matter that should be fought over. It was something Optimus had found notable in the brief histories of the United States of America. Impressive, yes. But now, he began to feel as though he had a vocal processor set on repeat. Time and time again, he was bound by duty and allegiance. Bound by leadership and priority. But Earth is no Cybertron.

Therefore, a decision had been made. Priority and pleasure became the same in his optics. The female was just one more of the many he had sworn to protect. And a Prime never went against their word. Not could he allow another race to be destroyed. No. Not again. Failing once is enough. Now, here they stand, hopefully once and for all. On a small terrestrial planet designated "Earth". And a Prime stood his place and explained himself before a human. His sparkling and sparkmate called for him, yet he held them back, assuring, comforting them. Yes, a decision had been made.

And now the only problem to be aided was that of a collapsing female human right before the surprised expressions of the Autobots.

A dull throbbing and heavy limbs is all he could feel at first. The pain mostly came from one spot, and it annoyed him greatly. But he was unable to move correctly; unable to shift himself so he could see. His optics showed a room affected by swirling shapes and bleary colors. Everything was moving and his CPU spun with it. Shuttering them, he flicked them around, trying not to fall back into recharge. He was on his spinal support, staring up at the ceiling.

But was that...stone? Cybertron never used stone in building. It was such a primitive and undependable supply. But then he let his cranial unit fall to the side and all his memory came filing back. He shifted through them and he found he was back in the base in the medbay. Metallic panels made up the walls while monitors with confusing messages danced before his optics. He felt like he was spinning, therefore explaining why he was unable to clearly see anything. But he knew he was not, just wearing off the effects of the sedatives. The wound on his tank cavity bothered him, so he tried moving to see it. He couldn't shift his arms, so he tried lifting up his upper half so he could look over his chassis.

But again, his attempts were thwarted and he let his cranial unit drop back to the berth. White lights hung from a few corners of the room and even a strange contraption on the ceiling seemed like another observations light. There was a constant, blaring beep and Sol burrowed his optical ridges as the noise attacked his aching CPU. Limbs refused to move and circuitry pulsed. The room wasn't spinning so much, so Sol was able to briefly focus on whatever was causing the sound. Looking up, he was able to locate a box-shaped monitor right beside him. There was a blue streak across the screen and information lining the bottom. Every time a beep would sound, the line would stab up and fade away. A sparkpulse monitor.

Sol followed the line and trailed it back to his body, where it connected to his open chassis. The cable disappeared beneath the open panels and seemed attached to his spark casing. He could feel the uncomfortable shape of it latched to his spark, and he didn't like it. Slowly, he willed himself to lift an arm. It felt like it was made of lead, seemingly impossible to move. Almost.

His arm fell across his abdominal slips and he winced when a pulse of pain came from his right tank cavity. But he was soon over the aggravation, using his terminal links to basically crawl his arm up his abdominal slips, over his lower chassis and to the open panels that were his main chassis. Letting his hand fall over the edges and parts of his internal workings, Sol nearly shivered from the disturbing knowing that he was reaching inside himself. And the fact that he could feel his hand crawling through to get to his spark casing. His hand met the object and he let his terminal links brush over the surface, trying to find the pulse monitor. He found it and grabbed it, yanking his hand back.

There was one last beep from the monitor and it went flat, attacking Sol's audio receptors with a single monotone. Maybe it would have been better to leave the monitor where it was. Ratchet would be slagged off.

But Sol didn't mind this as he threw the cable to the side and he let his chassis close. The arm that had pulled the cable was left to hang off the table beside him, seeming as he was unable to move it correctly.

Movement in the room seemed to almost fully return to normal, allowing him to concentrate better. His CPU functioned and went over possible ways he could get himself into a more comfortable position. Finally, he decided on one and he lazily drew his arms up and shoved his elbowjoints under him. The struggling limbs shook slightly with stress while they pushed him up. His internal workings fought to get him up and into a sitting position, where he just slouched in relief. But he didn't have a corrected equilibrium yet, so his body shifted and fell to the side. Arms wheeling in a fight for balance, Sol's optics grew wide as he basically fell off the edge of table and on the floor.

A long groan escaped him as he hit the floor, rattling his bolts and beating his already sore frame. His armor creaked with the sudden impact and his already indented plates got new imprints. He rolled to his side, grounding his oral sheets in an attempt to not call out. A sharp wave of pain was coming from his sealed wound, and he paused a moment to let his vents catch up and the waves to recede.

"Thanks Ratchet, I really appreciate the extra sedatives." he grumbled under the vent of his circulatory systems.

Now lying on his spinal support, Sol sat up once again and he held his arm up to lock his terminal joints on the edge of the table. He literally dragged himself to his sole pads and planted them beneath him, urging them to help him stand. Holding the table helped a lot with his balance, but he knew if he aimed to go where he wanted, he would have to stand on his own. And as he stood straighter, he gradually reduced the amount of reliance he placed on the berth. Eventually he let go, and a proud, sore mech turned shakily towards the door.

His stumbles got him only halfway to the door before he crashed into the side wall, knocking some supplies and tool to the floor. He winced at the clattering and he pushed himself from the mess. Again, he swerved across the floor, landing him to the other side of the room. If there had been any other mech in the room, they would be laughing their aft off at him. This stumbling, bumbling idiot that was woozy from his medication and quietly cursing against his inability to move correctly.

When he actually got to mid-floor, he stopped for a moment to regain his wobbly balance. Sighing through his vents, he dropped his outstretched arms and started again for the door. But when it opened, startling him, he promptly fell on his aft, sending a jolt up his spinal support and a stinging response from his injury.

"Frag!" he cursed, rubbing his lower support and slouching on the floor. "Can't a mech just get through the door without falling on his aft?!" his cranial unit shot up to the door to see the one responsible for his mishap and he let his hand fall from his support.

Wheeljack was standing in the doorway, a surprised look to his faceplates. Ratchet could be seen behind him, looking over his shoulderbolt at the patient on the floor. He'd seemed worried before, but now he only held an irritated expression. The CMO gave one short snort and stalked out of view. Wheeljack sighed at Sol and he came into the room. "What are we going to do with you Sol? Ratchet nearly had a sparkattack when your monitor went offline." he said, leaning beside his friend to wrap his arms underneath Sol's shoulder bolts. Slowly, they rose and Sol let his comrade aid him to stand. Once on his sole pads, Sol was lead back to the berth. "I wanted to see what was going on."

Once again the technician sighed. "The mind of a sparkling. You're going to send me to the Matrix one of these vorns." he backed away and stood before Sol. "Does your new welding fit alright?" Wheeljack wondered, glancing over Sol's injured tank cavity. Sol lifted his arm as high as he could and he peered around it. Wheeljack gave a whistle and leaned in. "That's a nice scar Sol." he commented. Sol huffed and examined the piece. It was just a long line of bulging, hardened melted metal. It reached from his hip bolt almost to the side of his chassis. The color blended nicely with the surrounding surface, but it was definitely still noticeable. The jagged, zig-zagged stretch of scar was probably some of his doing when he spread the plasma over the wound to temporarily seal it. "It feels ok. Still hurts of course, but ok all in all." Sol informed, lowering his arm.

Wheeljack nodded and placed a few terminal links on his chin. "That's good. How about the rest of your systems? Are they running smoothly?" he went on. Sol nodded. "Is your spark stable?" Wheeljack continued, getting another dip of the cranial unit. "Well then I don't see why you'd be cooped up in here. You can probably move around again after those sedatives wear off, but Ratchet will have to tell you when you're ready to get back into the fight again." he decided, dropping his arms.

Sol grew disappointed at the knowing that Ratchet would probably keep him away from his duties as an Autobot warrior as long as possible. The medic was smart and invaluable, but he was a stubborn old mech too. It was found that he was actually older than Optimus. Thinking of the leader had Sol bringing more recent matters to his CPU. Since getting back into the base, he hadn't heard a word muttered of Fera or the commander.

"How is Optimus? Did he get Fera here safely?" he asked. There was a clear smirk on Wheeljack's faceplates, causing a spark of annoyance to pop up inside Sol. "What? Is something funny?" he demanded. Wheeljack shook his cranial unit and crossed his arms over his chassis. "No. Nothing funny." he assured.

"Just that you sound like a worried fembot." Wheeljack released a laugh and Sol blew hot air from his vents. "Shut your aft. I'm a Guardian, of course I'm worried. Have you seen how fragile humans are?" Sol nearly fell off the table again, but Wheeljack came in and helped him back up. He was still chuckling, despite the look Sol seared him with. "Sol, Optimus is alright. Primus knows that mech'll outlive us all." he stated, standing back. "As for the small female, she was placed in the human medical facility. She's fine." he stated. Sol's form flushed with relief and he slouched in relaxation.

There was a sparkbeat of silence before one of the mechs spoke again. "Now about the other matters, as an Autobot you have the right to what is going on." Wheeljack began seriously, catching Sol's attention with the sudden change in tone. "So far, nothing has come up from the deployed troops on the location of the Decepticons. They seem to pop up from nowhere and then disappear. We can't get a good pin on them, so we just don't know when they'll strike next." he reported. Sol gripped the lip of the table for not balance, but concern. "Have they checked the unexplored regions?" he asked. Wheeljack shook his cranial unit. "We are still waiting for clearance. The unmarked territories are on separate continents, so we have to gain permission first."

"What about the borders?"

"There was nothing there either."

"And the sky patrols?"

"Nothing."

A sigh.

"They have to be somewhere, they can't just show up like that and then suddenly disappear."

"Mirage does it."

"Well Mirage is specially built for stealth. The Decepticons are not."

"Arachnid is harder to find than we expected."

Sol nodded in agreement and he looked to the floor. His teal blue optics flickered over the concrete and his CPU fought to figure everything out. "Arachnid doesn't show up for decacycles and then all of a sudden she's on the same planet we are and leader of the Decepticons. How is that possible?" he wondered out loud. Wheeljack huffed. "Heck if I know. She's a sneaky one. I'm not actually that surprised that she weaseled her way through the ranks." there was a mutual agreement between them that they didn't trust the fembot whenever her deceitful faceplates showed inside their company. The first time, she was helping to locate an ancient artifact- which she stole. And then there was the time when she offered it back to get protection from the Decepticons because she had stolen from them as well. The list went on and on...

"What if we're not looking in the right place?" Wheeljack inquired, snapping Sol back to the present. "What do you mean?" Wheeljack shrugged and uncrossed his arms. "I don't know. It's just a hunch." he said, shifting to his other hip bolt. Sol leaned on his knee bolts and let his hands hang between his legs. "Well a hunch is better than nothing. We have to talk with Optimus and consider all possibilities with this." he locked optics with Wheeljack. The friend agreed, walking up to swiftly pat Sol on the shoulderbolt. He winced with the contact and then grinned with his comrade. "Good luck with that. I have to go do some other things right now, but be sure to come back before Ratchet does. Or I'm sure you'll be meeting a wrench to the unit." Wheeljack laughed and Sol joined him.

The technician left, leaving Sol alone once again. He didn't feel as heavy and he could see clearly once more. There was still a distant pulsing in his CPU and the constant annoyance of his wound, but at least he was alive. It was sad to say he couldn't speak the same for Rethalia's soldiers...

As quickly as the thought came up, he pushed it away. It was just too fresh to think of. He was just happy that Firelight hadn't been with Rethalia then. If he had, Sol and all of the Autobots would've been devastated. The very thought of the youngling... No, no don't think of that, he told himself. The young one was back on Cybertron with his Guardian Soulsearcher. She wouldn't let anything happen to the youngling.

He tried distracting his CPU by pushing himself off the berth. His sole pads hit the ground and he was easily able to retain his balance. No longer did the room swirl around him. He felt almost normal, excusing the constant throbbing from his tank cavity. But other than that, he was a happy mech.

He strode to the door and let it slide out of his way. Stepping out into the hall and looking to both sides, he found he was in the medbay closest to the lobby of the base, meaning Rethalia would be further through the halls. She was in the farthest of farthest in the rooms of the medbay, soley so she would be safer. Sol started down the right and walked through the concrete halls and around the few corners. Finally the main entrance came into sight and he crossed through the doorway. Scanning the room allowed him to see that two mechs were already there: Hound and Sideswipe.

He came over to the both of them and they turned. Hound gave a gruff set of laughs and he swiftly slapped Sol on the shoulderbolt, nearly knocking him over. "Ah heard whatcha did Sol, and ah'd like to congratulate 'cha." he noted, letting Sol reposition himself as he rubbed his sore arm panels. "Let's see the scar!" he went on, lifting Sol's arm before the mech could react. Sol sucked in a sharp breath and Hound immediately let him go. "Sorry 'bout that Sol." he apologized. Sol nodded and hovered his arm anyway. "It's actually pretty neat." he put in, reassuring the large mech. Sideswipe came around Sol's other side and leaned down to see the scar. "Jeez kid, it's a wonder you aren't seriously messed up." he commented. Hound grunted in agreement.

Sol shrugged and lowered his arm. "Bu' tha's one good lookin' scar Sol. Ya look a lot tougher now." Hound said, giving another bellowed laugh. "Ya'll make the fembots swoon." he again slapped Sol on the panels and Sol cringed. "Sorry." Hound repeated once more. Sol shook his cranial unit and tried shaking the feeling back into his lower arm.

Sideswipe just laughed at the roughness of the mech and the smaller soldiers around them stared in confusion at all the commotion.

"Hey Hound," Sideswipe called, "you want a scar too?" he threatened playfully. Hound growled and crouched low. "Bring it on shorty." he taunted. At this, Sideswipe crouched as well. "That's it!" he bellowed, launching himself at the larger comrade. Sol jumped back as they both fell to the floor, rolling around in mock battle.

Hound landed a few blows before the smaller and more agile Sideswipe would return them. Then they got into grappling, which is where it all basically ended. Sol sighed and thought back to the time when Jazz had tried showing them the same move they attempted now. But, they couldn't get it then, and they couldn't get it now. Maybe a good long drive would aid him. It would take his mind off of things. But at the moment, Sol was only able to just walk forward and begin to untangle his two idiotic mech comrades.

Yesh, yesh, Solas is ok :) I thought it would be kinda funny to put in a little mech-fight in there too- maybe something a little lighter than what's been going on. Just a thought. ~o_o~