Well I didn't expect this to happen...
This chapter comes out on the exact date of OTSH's first year anniversary!
Holy mother of Primus! :0
If I told you guys how seriously appreciative I am of each and every one of you, I would sound like a broken record player...but at the same time, I can't help but say thank you.
Thank you.
Seriously.
I love and cherish each reader/reviewer/favorite/etc, and words cannot describe the sweat, blood, and tears I've poured into the last year of my life for you guys.
Thank you again...
Enjoy. :)
Of The Spark And Heart
Part 2
Chapter 59
"I've already signed four of these."
"Then doing another will not be difficult for you."
"Easy for you to surmise, oh mighty Prime, seeing as yourself and our creation have been lounging at my expense."
The mech chuckled at his mate's irritated comment. He was indeed relaxing at her expense, with his lengthy frame stretched across the surface of their shared berth, and a warmth still coursing through his tanks from the emptied energon cube on the table behind him. His helm was cradled in his servo, his elbowjoint keeping him propped up. A far smaller pop of color clashed against his chassis as they sit playing with various toys or mechanical what-nots of Wheeljack's invention. Her tiny servos flitted smartly about on these trinkets, already familiar with them enough to take them apart and put them back together again. Backwards.
Despite the usual gloom hanging about the base and its occupants, Optimus found himself at ease. For the moment he could enjoy his family unit and all the wonders Rethalia had granted him. In the silence he studied her from behind, watching as her spinal support contracted and expanded while she moved her arms about. A teasing amount of her silver protoform peeked from under the onyx and fuchsia armor. Her grace was unmatched. Her beauty...unfathomable. Whatever Optimus had done to deserve such a gift from Primus, he was unsure.
Liora stirred next to him and Optimus angled his helm towards her. A wide grin was spread over her faceplates, the gorgeous azure optics she bore flashing in excitement. "Mime," she trilled happily. Optimus' chassis rumbled at hearing his youngling's pet name for him. The fembot could speak clearer now that she had her creators teaching her proper speech. However, she refused to refer to them as anything but Mime and Tia. Over their bond the Prime sent waves of love to his creation.
Rethalia's side of their connection opened as well to join in their lovely moment, her digits stalling for a click from typing. She twisted around in her chair, her features soft as she watched her sparkmate and youngling together.
"Who am I, Liora?" she questioned, causing the youngling's helm to snap around in attention. Those small attachments attached to the sides twitched in her thought.
"Nannia," she answered confidently. "Tia."
"Rethalia, say that."
"Tia," Liora stated again, her optic ridges screwing together in a pout. Rethalia laughed and gave into her young one's will. Satisfied, Liora returned to her toys, ever blissfully ignorant of the worlds.
Her dolanno brought a servo over to lay on her leg, his thumb link brushing her ped gently. Liora squeaked and batted at his digits before tucking into herself to get away from his touch. Optimus felt a shot of mischief start up from his spark that made his chassis flutter lightly. Grinning a grin that promised future teasing, Optimus Prime poked his creation's ped again. She squealed in response and both servos shot out to shove his arm away. Swiftly she went back to her trinkets, but she wouldn't play with them, merely watching her creator in suspicion.
"Looks like somebot is a little..." Optimus' voice trailed off as he rose his servo high above, "ticklish!" Abruptly his digits swooped in and attacked Liora's abdominal slips. He sent her into a fit of screaming laughter, her features contorted in pure elation. Liora was soon on her spinal support, Optimus hovering above her with his digits dug deep into her sensitive protoform.
He eventually granted his creation freedom and backed off of her to let her catch her venting. The attachments on her cranial unit clicked away as she did, apparently out of air to properly speak. She'd reverted to sparkling gibberish, if the squeaks, whistles, and clicks were anything to go by. However the mech didn't mind in the slightest. He loved to listen to her sparkling talk, if only to experience that of which he missed when Rethalia had been holding. Of course, the memories had been uploaded to his processor multiple times by his mate now. It just wasn't that same.
Watching his little Liora now, he vowed to be there for her. Words could never describe the pride and love he held for his creation. It matched, and maybe surpassed, that of which he held for Rethalia. Without agreement they knew that if harm would befall their creation they were to sacrifice themselves for her safety if need be. If it were between them or her, they wouldn't consider it. She was their everything.
"Love, why don't you join us?" Optimus wondered, patting the berth beside Liora as the youngling laid still, still heaving air. Her tiny fans working so hard placed a hum in the silence, and Optimus found the noise almost...adorable.
Rethalia smiled as if she'd been waiting all along for her mech to ask. She rose from her seat and strode smoothly to their sides, slipping up on the berth and settling onto her side like Optimus.
Liora was so small compared to her creators. The youngling was indeed undergrown for what she should be, as Ratchet had noted himself. However she had also been stripped of her last, probably most vital stage of her development. She could no longer rely on Rethalia's spark to give her nourishment and depend on the strength of the fembot's spark. Recently Optimus and Rethalia had attempted to give the fembot her first dose of regular-grade energon so she could be weaned from the nutrient-enriched kind Ratchet provided. The youngling had promptly spat out the liquid and demanded her regular sustenance back. After that it had been Optimus and Rethalia who had fought to decide whether Liora had gotten her attitude from him, or her.
Rethalia lovingly gazed down at Liora, her dreamy optics laced in vibrant light. Optimus took to watching the caring creator, absently taking in the same features he had for the past seven Earth months. Had it been that long already? It seemed shorter.
"Do you remember when we first met?" Rethalia murmured. Her tone had lowered in sake of Liora, who had begun to drift into recharge as her fembot creator rubbed her helm soothingly.
Optimus carefully began to remove Liora's toys from her body so she would be more comfortable. He did leave the teddy bear that Bumblebee had given her in her arms, which she clung to tightly. With Rethalia's question still floating in the air, he chuckled and glanced up into her observant optics.
"Of course," he told her fondly. "I made an absolute fool of myself."
"Oh, it wasn't that bad," Rethalia assured, reaching across the thin space between them to lay a servo on Optimus' side. He in turn placed a servo on the curve of her side. "It was actually cute, to be honest."
"Cute? Now you've gone and done it. My mechly pride is officially shattered."
"I quite liked the way you stuttered, and the way you hit my noseplate the first time we kissed."
"You liked that?"
Rethalia laughed quietly and settled her sights down on her peaceful youngling, who was now fast in recharge with a balled-up servo placed against each creators' chassis. "None of it truly mattered until I saw you playing with my clutch in the Helix Gardens in Praxus. It was then that I knew I loved you."
Optimus shuttered his optics at his sparkmate, drinking in the shine of her faceplates under the low lighting from the fixtures in the ceiling. Her black paint shined dangerously in the way that sent his spark thumping in his casing. A thrum buzzed in his energon lines when taking in the full shape of her armor, fit so snugly to her protoform. He could have laid here for joors, staring at her, and ceased to of been bored.
"We had only just met," he commented, barely above a rumble. Rethalia dipped her regal helm in agreement, her optics still trailing the contours of their object of joy.
"That was why I was scared, of telling you," she admitted lightly, blue gaze snapping up to freeze Optimus in his place. They held spark and all in their grasp. Whatever it was that she wished him to do, one look from their piercing color, and he was slave to the fembot. As a mech, he should have held the power. A mental snort sounded in his processor. What power?
Through his faint surprise, he encircled the essence of her side of the bond with his, making her chassis vibrate and her lip plates lift up. "You, scared? I'd never witnessed such a thing," Optimus teased, making his sparkmate lift up an optic slip to see him.
"Don't flatter me, Optimus Prime. You know I am stronger than you and will take you down," she threatened. It was difficult to take her seriously when the fembot was purring like a cybercat and her side of their connection was turning to putty in his servos. Perhaps he did hold some power after all.
Optimus leaned towards her, meaning to kiss his mate over their recharging youngling. She too inclined forward, her lip plates parted slightly. He could feel the warmth of her vents brushing against his frame; taste the fiery blaze of her love; sense the desire in her bond prior to it climbing into the brightness of her closing optics. They were but inches apart. Their distance closed. And then he stopped.
Optimus pulled away before they could touch, leaving his fembot to fall forward. His servo shot up to catch her, and her optics jerked open. A confused expression had taken up his faceplates. Uncertainty filled him as he dipped his servo behind him to seek out the source of his hesitance. Rethalia studied him with her optic ridges dug inward, silently questioning. The reason behind her mate's pause was because of a noise. It was very quiet - almost inaudible actually. Nonetheless, he heard it, and with concern he searched himself for it.
In the crease between his side and the berth, Optimus' digits met a tiny object. Faceplates twisting further into interest, the Prime arched his frame up and swept his servo beneath him until he held his target in his digits. As he laid back down, he looked inside of his palm and instantly felt his spark drop in sadness.
Rethalia's bond in his tightened in worry at seeing his expression, and she lifted a servo to pry away his digits to see what he held. She took the trinket in her own grasp, touching the dainty pieces with her thumb link.
"Isn't this...?"
"The doll Fera Lennox had made me some quartexes ago," Optimus finished, cupping under Rethalia's servo while they both looked for any damage caused to the toy. It was whole and complete, without a single scratch. Even the paint, a deep sapphire-blue color, remained as crisp as when Solas had given it to him. Whatever it was doing outside of the casing the mech had put it it, he didn't know. Maybe Liora had gotten hold of it somehow. Optimus vented a sigh in relief and Rethalia lifted her faceplates up at him.
Her other servo closed off the view from the collection of plates and braided chains, catching Optimus' attention.
"How is she? Fera, I mean," the fembot inquired. Optimus frowned deeply and withdrew his servo from his mate's, taking the doll from her palm and placing it beside Liora. The youngling was unaware of her creator's action, and so remained sprawled in between them with her bear held tight in one arm.
"Unchanged," Optimus responded in just over a whisper. "Ratchet is almost complete with the frame. It should be operable within this groon."
"Shouldn't that be a pleasant occasion?" she asked next as her mate refused to smile. The truth was that he couldn't find it in himself to do so. The event of Fera's injury was as much his fault as the Decepticon's who had done it. As Prime he'd been expected to protect the one human of this entire planet. He couldn't even do that. He'd failed.
For comfort he intertwined his digits with Rethalia's, lying their interlocked servos on Liora's midsection. The youngling stirred, but did not rise.
"There is no guarantee that this shall work, Rethalia. Fera could..." he choked back his fear, his worry, and his uncertainty. Ratchet was a good mech. He wouldn't let Fera leave this world yet. "Fera's heart may give out before the surgery can be completed. It is a delicate process, and we are yet unsure if it may work." He couldn't tear himself away from the troublesome nervousness plaguing his processor. Though he willed his voice to be strong, for the sake of all his fellow Autobots, including his sparkmate, inside he was a turmoil of confliction.
It was difficult being the Prime on occasions. Every being, Cybertronian or other, always expected the strength of a god and the might of a champion in whomever held the Matrix of Leadership. They were expected to move mountains and speak words of gold that would encourage any army or crowd to believe anything they said. Primes were meant to be the judging decider of quarrels and major events, as well as accept the messages sent to them by Primus himself. Each Prime was to be cherished and protected, as they were Guarded by Primus and his Thirteen.
As such, assumptions had been made and legends had been exaggerated to the point where Primes were fantastic idols chosen by Primus to be blessed as gods who walked among the mortals. The sheer whimsy that was shattered in the deaths of these Primes eventually would dawn on the masses that these gods were indeed mortal. They could live, and they could die. Optimus Prime was no different. He was like any other mech - a soldier. Rethalia Prime was the same as he, with the ability to die as any fembot. And their youngling, no matter how much he wished she was immortal and invincible, he knew she wasn't.
"I saw how it was coming, Optimus," Rethalia told her mech with a gentle grin. "Sunstreaker truly outdid himself, as did Ratchet."
As compensation for damaging the energon depositor in a fight with his twin brother, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker had offered his artistic abilities to help in designing Fera's new Cybertronian frame. Solas hadn't a word against it, which wasn't surprising seeing as the Guardian was striving to even stay on his peds these last few kalons. In a startling and spark-stopping accident, Solas Kaon had collapsed in the halls and had to be brought back to consciousness via Ratchet and Cloudsong's aid. Optimus had been the one to find him when he had been strolling the corridors in search of Hawktail to ask how Fera's frame was coming along.
"So I'm assuming it's almost complete then," Optimus assumed, failing to share his mate's enthusiasm. It was with a heavy spark that he rose himself to a sitting position, leaving his sparkmate to lay alone on her side, her arm cradling Liora to her chassis.
"Ratchet announced that it may be finished within this groon. The surgery would be the kalon after, following an examination of the frame," Rethalia claimed, beginning to stroke her youngling's arm with her digits. "Whether he will accept the frame as a stable body for Fera or not, it shall be incredibly small compared to our stature."
"How so?"
"Her heart is weakening, thus waning the sliver of spark trapped in it. The Stone of Primus is keeping it going, however, I am afraid that if we do not progress with her operation soon, she shall perish."
Silence befell them as both considered the possibilities. If she were to die during the surgery, what would happen to the Stone? Would it be passed on, as it had from Ironhide to William Lennox? If so, who would it go to? The new Keeper would have to be out of sights of the Decepticons - some human or Autobot that was near impossible to get to and would protect the Stone valiantly.
But who could hold that honor? Optimus and Rethalia where out of the question, as was Captain Robert Epps or Colonel James Marks. Any and all in Optimus' inner circle of highly ranking officers would be put out of the choice pool. That also included Solas Kaon, who he knew would have leapt at the chance the instant it was put into play. That left the younger of their ranks as candidates.
Optimus Prime's spark skipped a beat when the idea struck him. As much as he fought it, he was unable to help himself from panning his optics downward on his youngling. The little one was deeply unconscious against the music of her creators' sparks beating loud nearby. When Optimus' side of their bond flushed with a unsettled worry, she stirred within the grasp of her nannia's arm. Abruptly Rethalia held the youngling closer, protectively shielding the youngling with her bracer.
Looking up at her, Optimus realized he had been transferring his thoughts between them. The determination in her gaze and fierce protectiveness of her creation made him seriously doubt his idea.
"Not while my spark still beats," Rethalia hissed, pressing Liora further into her chassis. The youngling was too big now to fit in Rethalia's holding capsule, however, Liora still managed to squeeze into the chamber on Optimus' spinal support. A chilling fire blazed through Rethalia's once considerate optics. It seemed as though even this minute possibility placing a target on her creation had her maternal programs running. Even her sparkmate could have caused threat.
Optimus frowned and reached forward despite Rethalia's warning words. His servo slipped gently onto Liora's spinal support, sending love and kindness in overwhelming swells to both fembots.
"She may be our greatest chance if this were to go wrong," he insisted grimly as his digits worked their way into calming the ruffled youngling. Liora vented a sigh and snuggled into Rethalia's embrace, that teddy bear still wrapped in her one arm. "There are many whom would protected her, including us, who would allow no chance of harm to befall her."
"But she is so young," Rethalia whispered desperately as she sent a pained gaze upon her creation.
Optimus screwed in his optic ridges, praying to Primus that nothing would come on his young. If Fera's life where to fail, not only would it effect her path in this journey, but others' as well. The human had formed bonds here. Some, that went deeper than mere words.
"I know, Rethalia," he murmured. The mech swiveled around to face his sparkmate and incline down, pressing his foreplate to hers. The fembot's optics shuttered and she bit her lower lip plate, the drafts from her vents hot with emotion. His own plates were shuddering under the weight of the worlds on his shoulderbolts. Liora was his life now. If anything happened to her, he didn't know what he would do.
"But let us not dwell on a possibility that may not arise," Optimus suggested, trying to change topic. "Have you managed to speak with Mirage as of late?"
Rethalia sighed and pulled away, her optics examining the plates of her mate's profile intently. "Still not a word. He refuses to say anything."
Ever since the spy had returned from his mission to retrieve the captured Autobot Punch and Galvanizer, he had turned into a completely different character. Ratchet had repaired the mech and given him a clean bill of health not more than a few kalons after his return. The mech still acted as though he were in another dimension, with his gaze often filming over while another was addressing him, and his body suddenly growing stiff during a simple walk down the halls. He had yet to clean the blue paint covering his frame during that time, and he would shake his helm when asked if he wished to revert back to his original color.
Of course he had been a quiet one. Before his mission, the spy rarely spoke unless spoken to. A month after breaching Decepticon grounds, every being on base was awaiting the time to hear a word from him. Something must have happened to strike the muteness into him. Just what that was, eluded the Primes.
"What of Solas Kaon? Is he faring any better off?"
"If you are wondering if his health had bettered, than no," Rethalia reported sullenly. "He has spent less time at Fera Lennox's side however, which is encouraging. But it seems in place of standing sentinel over her, he has taken watch over the entrance to the mausoleum."
"He is protecting the Galvanizer?"
"Fiercely," she agreed.
"Perhaps it is better that way," he noted, lifting himself up and slipping from the berth. "I'd rather a cautious mech prowling the entrance than a slumbering guard." The Prime stood before the projector attached to his desk, his servos hanging by his sides. Carefully, he lifted one and hovered it by the keypad. His digits halted for a moment as he made his decision whether to turn it on or not. Eventually he made up his processor and he entered in the code.
A hologram exploded forth from the small bulb of the machine, spilling heavenward a series of transparent blue signals and images. The wave of static would mar the pictures ever so often, making it increasingly hard to distinguish their meaning. Optimus narrowed his optics at them, trying to focus on everything at once. A somber atmosphere surrounded him as he worked to fix the resolution. The visions of old fizzled violently under his watchful gaze. A single slap to the side of the projector got the life humming back.
A single profile shuffled into sight, fanning out to cover the width of the screen. A mech came into focus, his optics wide and weary as he fixed his side of the connection. His armor was a deep maroon, the crest spanning across his noble helm a vivid violet. His kind, gentle features softened as he backed away from the recording device. A small grin touched the corners of his lip plates and a single servo came up to stroke his chin, where a lengthy set of layered sheets of kibble of which made what humans called a 'beard'.
"This blasted tech is elder than I, so whomever I broadcast to I pray you bare with me," the graveled voice requested as it filtered from the speakers. "This is vidcast twenty-three of the seventieth orn of my experiment. One of my apprentices, Nightfang, has dually agreed to allow me right to repair his galactic motion tracker in exchange for knowledge of his home planet of Chaar."
A stray figure shuffled from behind the mech, staring down into a datapad alive with light. The information on it scrolled at impressive speeds, where as the mech seemed almost bored with his studies.
"I agreed to give you information, A3, not become a cameo in one of your vids," the younger flier muttered, making the older 'Bot in front of the screen chuckle. Optimus felt a strike of longing when he heard the older mech's laughter. It was of course a welcomed sound, one, that the Prime feared he would never hear again in real life. This mech had been his teacher - his supporter and his idol. Leaving this 'Bot behind when he had left Cybertron was one of the hardest things he could have done. But it was all necessary...no matter how painful it was.
A3 swiveled in his chair and beamed at Nightfang, who had lowered his datapad and was watching his companion with unamused features. "It's all fun and games until you deride me in front of my vid," A3 mock-sighed, unable to hide the smile breaking from his faceplates.
"You deserve derision ever so often," Nightfang retorted evenly, placing a servo on his hipbolt. "It deflates your ego."
"Ha! Ego, my aft-"
"Trion! Watch your glossa, the vidcast."
"Ah, right! Well..." the old archivist swung him to the vid as it began to buzz in and out of clarity again. Cursing lowly, he reached up and fiddled with the parts. "It won't last long in this condition. Who is to pick up such a tempered scrap anyway?"
"You ceaselessly find scrap and bring it to this domicile, no matter if it is tempered or not," Nightfang pointed out, throwing a servo around him towards the piles of seemingly useless junk lining the walls. Optimus found a smile to lift his faceplates upon seeing it, as he knew very well that Alpha Trion wouldn't find those piles to be mere junk. To him, they held value. They carried a story and potential beyond their initial make.
Trion was still messing with the vidcast to pay attention to what Nightfang was gesturing to, however he knew, and he drew back a byte with his optics narrowed and his servos hovering in case the resolution fizzled again.
"My scrap is special. Now, do you mind..." Alpha Trion sat back in his chair and set loving optic on the vidcast. Optimus couldn't help but feel as though it were him Trion were watching, and he lifted a servo to set lightly onto the projector, his spark calling in disdain. It had been hundreds of vorns since he had hugged this mech - seen his faceplates in front of him and hear words not previously recorded by an outdated vidcast device.
"What d-" Nightfang began, only to be cut off when an audible crash came from above in the upper decks. Clattering bangs skidded overhelm, with a thud loud enough to wake a 'Bot in stasis ringing from the walls. Nightfang jerked to the side, his helm snapping upward at the sudden clatter. The mech dropped his datapad and leapt to the side, barely missing a falling holocube by mere inches as it shattered against the floor.
Alpha Trion folded his servos over his abdominal slips, making Optimus' chassis rumble in humor as his former mentor looked down on the broken holocube with vague shock. "Oh, Primus, he broke another cube... That's the third one this week, Orian!" he shouted up to the higher levels. A slim form scrambled to the railing and double over it, staring at those beneath him with terrified optics. His armor wad a simple blue and red, without a single hint of the warrior he was to become in the vorns following.
Nightfang's engines revved in irritation, the wings on his spinal support twitching. His angered features aimed upward, his red and blue optics stabbing into the abashed mech. "Orian Pax, you clumsy vexpa!" he yelled into the skies. Orian ducked shyly, waving a servo.
"I am sorry, my fault!"
"Nightfang, go help the poor mech out, will you?" Alpha Trion instructed, getting an aggravated huff from the flier. The archivist raised his optic ridges, daring him to argue. The beige flier snorted and kicked his datapad across the floor, abandoning it. "And be nice to him, you are both brothers under my ceiling."
"I promise not to strangle him," Nightfang barked back, making his way past Trion's chair. When the older mech turned around back to his vidcast, Nightfang stepped in reverse and stuck out his glossa at A3, effectively stalking away afterward with a dark scowl.
Alpha Trion laughed and rocked back and forth on his chair, his optics bright with amusement. "I saw that!"
"Didn't mean for you not to!"
Optimus must have let himself fall into the moment, for when two slim, delicate servos wound up behind him to encircle his waist, he started, jolting in the spot and pausing the hologram. A single glance at the black plating of her arms gave him the instant knowing that his mate was behind him, as well as the abrupt waves of solemnness flowing through their bond. Rethalia hugged herself close to him, her faceplates pressed to his spinal support. He laid his arms atop her own, his armor warming with the feel of her frame pressed closely to his.
"Alpha Trion is still alive, my dear, believe me that. Iacon may have fallen, but he has not with it," she murmured into his plates. Optimus released an unsteady cycle through his vents and removed her arms from around him so he may turn to face her. Here he set his servos on her hipbolts and she wrapped hers around his midsection. Their optics met in a fiery blaze of stoic blues, alight with a passion nurtured through the eons of their romance. It was as strong, if not stronger, now than it was then. This war must have had its benefits.
Optimus stroke his thumb link over her hipbolt, his sights searching her faceplates. Did she believe her own words? "I want to believe that," he said. "It is merely difficult to do, when Rodimus has offered me no sense of security in my mentor's condition."
"I was there as well Prime, he was my guider akin to yours," Rethalia reminded her sparkmate, threading her digits through the wires of his spinal support. Optimus' chassis vibrated with the relaxing way she rubbed away the stresses in his build. A soothing aura passed from her that had him weak at the kneebolts, his spark thrumming. Even then he was unsure, and he placed a servo on her upper spinal support as he turned back to the vidcast.
Trion's smiling faceplates stared back at him. One of the Original Thirteen. One of the greatest to walk upon the surface of Cybertron.
What things had that mech seen in his life cycle? What secrets did those weathered faceplates hold? What mysteries and tales of wonder did Trion fail to tell his apprentices?
Rethalia leaned forward, placing a servo over the vidcast to cut off the images. Optimus began to protest before he saw her expression. It was full of pain and remorse. A sense of abandonment filtered over their bond, though she clearly tried hiding it. Optimus brought a servo to cup her cheekplate, his digits trailing the contours of her faceplates.
"He was our dolanno, there is no questioning that," Optimus stated, pulling her nearer in comfort. "But shutting his memory from our thoughts because we fear he may be gone will cease to help us heal. We must embrace what we have been given," the mech looked to his youngling recharging on the berth and Rethalia followed his lead, "and pray Primus blesses us with the opportunity to see Alpha Trion once again."
At this, Optimus' features suddenly went blank. Rethalia screwed in her optic ridges and touched his faceplates, calling his name. However he was worlds away, listening in on a comlink message that would make his spark drop.
Grabbing Rethalia's servo in his, the mech met optics with his startled fembot.
"It's Fera," he vented in alarm. "Something has happened to her."
"It wasn't supposed to happen for another week!"
"I know that, you fragging idiot, but she's on her way now, isn't she?"
Both mechs barreled down the halls, ignorant of those dodging about their peds. Sounds of alarm piped up from the humans as they leapt out of the way, yet neither paid them any heed. It was sheer luck that the two of them didn't transform and drive down these corridors instead, taking any and all down with them. For the one Cybertronian, these walls were constricting the life from his frame. They were colder than before, sending a spike of unforgiving ice through his spark.
Before Ratchet had even hailed him, Solas Kaon knew what was happening. He'd felt it when he was standing against the wall, resting his weary spark, when a crippling shock went from his body throughout his plates, freezing him to the spot. It was with a shaking servo that he held his chassis, fearing his spark was to fall right out of it. The armor had ratted quite viciously on his protoform and a series of startling blue arches of lightning had crackled to life from between the seams. It took all he had to keep his swelling latch closed, as for reasons beyond him, his chassis was burning with an internal, passionate flame. They wanted to open. And the energy coursing through him at the time almost convinced him to let them loose.
Then the bond had flickered.
For less than a split astrosecond a burst of intense, agonizing terror washed through. It undermined any sense of personal pain or strife that could have possibly befallen him before then. At that moment, it was all about her. At that moment, she was slipping away.
Bluestring had at some point gotten ahead of Solas, and was now practically dancing in place waiting for the older of them to catch up. "Slow it down a bit, would you? You're going to kill someone!" he yelled sarcastically, making Sol's chassis rumble lowly in irritation.
When he'd caught up, Solas grabbed Bluestring's arm and jostled him ahead. "I'm not in the mood Bluestring, move your aft!"
And so the two of them continued to dash down the lengthy spaces, passing other 'Bots on their way. Ratchet had sent out a general comlink message, meaning every Autobot, and even a few humans, knew of the current situation. That mattered none to Solas, as all he could process at that click was Fera and an increasing anxiety over her fate. Since that burst in their bond, he hadn't felt anything more. That both worried and interested him.
"Hawk!" Bluestring barked, catching the attention of a black and brown mech who was ushering humans away from the hall leading to the medical wing. His smooth helm perked up and his optics locked onto Sol and his brother. Thunderflare, his apprentice, was busy with the humans, who were visibly upset at being kept out of the hall. Hawktail said something to the cyberling and then started at a jog for his brother and peer, stopping a few feet away.
"Cloudsong just transported Fera's body into the intensive care unit," he reported, pointing down the way. "Optimus Prime and the others are already there."
"And Sarah Lennox?" Sol prompted.
"Hound is with her."
Solas nodded in thanks and bolted down the hall, calling out through his once again unresponsive bond. A part of himself vied for the chance to feel what he felt again. That fleeting moment of excellence granted a fluttering hope in him that hadn't been there since she was healthy. It brought him to an almost maniac state when he knew where she was now. The way his vents seized and the chill that sent his wiring tingling made him feel alive. The abrupt jump to his systems was invigorating to say the least. It brightened his processor and brought an awareness to him that he'd been striving for for these long, long kalons upon her sickbed.
He didn't waste a sparkbeat in running through the doors, almost before they could open wide enough. It seemed an endless sea of optics turned upon him then in his entry, making him slow his pace in uncertainty. Mechs upon mechs stood in wait, with fembots spotted about as they stood by their mentors or mates. Solas searched them each in earnest for his leaders, whom currently were missing. All those gathered here were seemingly awaiting his next move. No one spoke. No one moved.
The closest to him, Firestar and Inferno, watched him with even optics. He went to them and ducked low, his voice determined. "Where are Optimus and Rethalia?" he demanded, glancing around the room again. He locked sights with Sunstreaker for a moment, and the mech nodded respectfully his way.
"In the observation deck," Firestar reported, gaining Sol's attention again. The attractive crimson warrior turned her body away and gestured her servo at a door located at the right back of the space. Solas thanked her and started away again, maneuvering through his comrades until he reached the barrier holding him back from moving on. And when it too passed from his way, he was upon the next room with a fire in his spark and acid in his lines.
A small group was gathered in the center of a floor of a compact space merely large enough to be a single mech's quarters. The walls were dark and made of interlocked metal panels, bolts lining the edges. A gloomy air had taken a vice grip on this room and its occupants, for the weight lining the atmosphere was enough to crush any gladness. To his left, Solas found the wall made of plexiglass from ceiling to floor. The view was slanted downward and the light behind it was almost blinding compared to the otherwise darkness.
Those standing on the floor shifted in Solas' appearance. The Guardian was able to make out each set of faceplates while he slowly approached. Optimus and Rethalia were indeed there, though the mech Prime was standing away from his mate at the plexiglass, his sights once again set on the view before him. Rethalia was seated on a berth at the rear of the space with her youngling situated on her lap. Hound was also there, Sarah Lennox sitting on his leg. The female's feet were hooked into the chinks of Hound's armor, her body bent over with her elbows on her drawn-up knees. Her chin rested on her fists as her legs bounced restlessly, her hair tied away from her face in a messy bun.
Stratis was also there, sitting in front of Rethalia while she tried keeping Liora entertained. Bumblebee however was nowhere to be seen, and it was logical for Sol to assume that the mech, including Arcee, had taken their leave to watch over the Witwicky family, as the tensions had again began to rise between Autobots and Decepticons. Solas made sure to acknowledge those around him one by one before he would walk over to join Optimus.
Coming nearer, he was suddenly intercepted by two forms jumping around his peds, making him stumble and almost lose his footing. The Minicons Wheelie and Brains were sprinting to move out of the way of Sol's unsteady peds, a loud shout of surprise coming from Wheelie as he zipped around on his wheeled peds.
"Watch it, ya big dolt!" the snappy, former 'Con yelled. Brains paced in reverse a few steps, his body tilting backwards as he looked upon his much taller peer. The electrified strings attached to his cranial unit crackled with energy.
"I apologize," Solas rumbled, making sure to step over the tiny 'Bots.
"Dun' worry abou' 'im," Brains retorted, shoving Wheelie as Sol walked away. "'E's not the sensitive one around 'ere."
Solas ignored the bickering pair in sake to join his leader at the glass in peace. Optimus had his servos locked behind his spinal support, his helm bowed while he studied the events below. His Guardian companion stopped at his side, turning to face the plexiglass with his tanks churning and his spark puttering pitifully in its chamber.
"Who allowed them in here?" he grumbled, making the Prime release a long vent.
"Certainly not myself, I assure you," he answered back quietly.
Solas returned himself to the scene playing out in the lower room, finding it far more important than two bumbling Minicons. What he saw under him made his mandible clench with enough force to split a denta.
It was a medical room, that was certain. From this angle, Solas could make out the impressive size of it. As well as that, he made out the subtle grey of the concrete walls that were bleached bright in the drowning lights hanging from the roof. Lining the walls was a table that jutted outward over the floor, holding on it a volley of medical tools or sanitation gear. Toolcarts sat idly about, full of various other materials necessary for this procedure. A single berth, tall and solid, stood as a lonely island in the ocean of silver. A teal curtain hung from the high ceilings, pushed aside at the front of the berth.
Only three figures hurried along inside of those four, long walls. They hustled among the counters and toolcarts, using any and all time they could manage to assist the sole mech not moving a byte from his spot at the berth. It was Ratchet, his screaming chartreuse paint blaring his identity with a mere glance. Cloudsong remained loyally at his side, handing him tools he requested when he requested them. Another mech, the white, green, and red Wheeljack, bustled through the other supplies lying about on the toolcarts or countertop, providing them to Cloudsong when she needed them.
However, when Solas' gaze found the helm of a fembot settled oh so carefully on the surface of that berth, he went frigid. From that one, brief hint of her future frame, Solas couldn't help but stare in complete awe. It was sharply curved, the angles fierce as her fiery nature. The crest was simple, yet interesting. And the attachments to the sides protruded nicely from her helm with edges keen enough to set a gleam searing down the sides. The paint was a pure white. It was void of any niches, scratches, or marks. The edges of the armor were painted a vivid purple color, that faded in like smoke before thickening at the end. And the faceplates...
"Have you received any response through your bond with Fera?" Optimus murmured evenly. Solas shuttered his optics and cross his arms over his chassis, his digits digging into his arms to help his rising uneasiness. A shuddering vent escaped him and he let it come. Optimus was well aware of his condition by now, so why try hiding it?
"Not since her incapacitation," he answered with a hollow tone. His optics unshuttered and he set them back on his charge. The degree of discomfort he felt, knowing Ratchet was sifting through Fera's chassis, was intense. He himself could almost feel those servos sorting inside his open protoform as they hovered around touching his innermost of parts. But this was no simple observation of her tanks or circuit board. This was her spark. And from experience, Solas knew that couldn't have been the most comfortable sensation.
Ratchet moved over a bit, exposing the grey of the protoform's entrails spilled around it. Solas swallowed back his horror and bore his optic ridges deep into his optics. "Do you believe she will be alright?" Solas questioned softly, allowing himself to lower the walls he usually held against his peers. Some would call it pride. He called it protection.
Optimus abruptly set a servo on Solas' shoulderbolt, making the mech jerk. When they met optics, Sol saw the unwavering wisdom standing strong in those kind blue optics.
"Absolutely," he said without hesitation. "Ratchet is the best medic on Cybertron. If any may succeed at this surgery, it is him."
"But this has never been done before. An operation such as this is unheard of, nonetheless imagined by any before. How is he to understand what to do in a situation such as this?"
Optimus' grin was comforting to the weathered mech's spark. "You must have faith in him, Solas Kaon. Ratchet has studied human anatomy since our arrival upon Earth some seventeen decacycles ago. Along with his vast knowledge in Cybertronian structure, I am certain he will succeed."
The leader's confidence in his CMO was impossible to ignore. Its contagious belief rubbed off on Sol to where he felt his previous qualms declining one by one. Perhaps it was a good trait his leader carried, being as greatly influential as he was. The power was so easily manipulated, however Optimus remained one of the most respectable mechs Sol knew. As such, he trusted his word and turned his optics back on Fera's surgery.
So far, no sign of trouble came from Ratchet. Cloudsong and himself worked in perfect sync. Wheeljack just barely kept from falling flat on his faceplates as the pressure built on him to keep a steady stream of surgical tools coming. The scene was as entrancing as it was stressful. The white of the lights, mixed with the waning clarity of Solas' processor, made it appear that much more surreal. The claws of doubt were drilling into his core, though he fought to keep it out. He knew Ratchet could be trusted. Fera would have put her life in the mech's servos any day. However now, her life really was in his servos, and Solas didn't know if he found it in himself to trust the mech so greatly.
The room he stood in dipped into a silence only broken by the occasional warble or unsteady words of Liora and the venting of every mech or fembot. Sarah remained in her place throughout the hour, her legs still bouncing nervously. Solas hadn't moved, nor had his comrades. The frozen moment was so still that if one had entered and left in the beginning of it and then returned this long after, they would be shocked to find each being in the same exact spot they'd been before. Solas was frightened to move. He was determined to stand here and watch every astrosecond of this procedure until it was completed. He would wait here all week long if it came down to it.
Another hour passed by without a word said in the room. Optimus moved away to place his sleeping youngling into his holding chamber on his spinal support, leaving Rethalia alone next to the stoic Stratis. The Primes walked together to stand beside Solas, joining him in his constant sentinel over his charge.
Another two more hours breached. Not a thing changed.
That was, until Ratchet pulled away from the protoform on the operating berth. He turned on the spot and tilted his helm back, looking up into the observation room. His servo raised to press his digits against the comlink communicator on the side of his audio receptor. After a moment, his voice picked up over speakers surrounding the group.
~Optimus Prime and another capable mech,~ his static-filled words called. ~I ask you to restrain Solas Kaon.~
Stunned, the black and red mech looked to his leaders. Optimus seemed as confused as the Guardian, as did Rethalia. He pressed his own comlink online and spoke outright in respect of those around him.
"Under what circumstance, Ratchet?" he inquired.
~On account that I figure he will not appreciate my next action,~ he retorted sharply. ~Now do it.~ The grim mech dropped his arms and stared up into the glass for a click longer before returning to his work. Solas was speechless as he turned startled optics onto his Prime. Optimus appeared nonetheless serious as he locked optics with his comrade. Solas balled his servos into fists against his arms, standing stock-still in place. Stubbornly, he raised his chin at his leader, measuring the Prime's body language. Nothing happened for the first few breems. The two remained in a standoff, waiting for the moment Ratchet warned of.
But when Solas felt the rubbing on the top of his spark essence, his solid demeanor changed to a confused on. He turned uncertain faceplates towards the glass, boring teal optics on those working below. It didn't seem as though anything was different from what it was before. But then what was this steadily increasing friction on his spark. As it worsened, he dropped his arms, completely twisting his body around towards the plexiglass. The heat in his spark soared, sending flaming licks of warmth over his chassis. However he was used to this feeling, so it didn't bother him.
It wasn't until he felt his spark split in half did he react.
A bellow ripped from his throat, guttural and feral. He leapt at the glass, meaning to shatter it in his wake. Optimus was quick to intercept, snatching the mech's right arm with his and grinding his peds into the floor to push him back. Solas roared and tried to launch himself again, his optics wide with fury. His wires had tensed, his plates raised in anger. A searing red sheen doused his entire vision, coating everything in a complex series of melting color. The temperatures reached in his frame threatened to melt the alloys from him.
The inside of his chamber felt as though it were being torn apart, piece by piece, little by little. The crashing waves against the inside of his helm pounded any sound from notice but that of his screaming core. His vents vomited smoke. Sparks kicked up where he drug Optimus towards the barrier withholding him from his target. They were hurting her. Why would the Prime hold him back from her? They were hurting her and Solas needed to get to her. If Optimus was holding him back, that meant he was one of them.
Solas turned on his leader, taring blindly at the Prime with a ferocious vendetta against any and all who apposed him. His howling words were slurred and spat from behind gritted oral sheets. The fire spreading over his frame made it impossible for him to process straight, making him even more desperate. He wanted to destroy everything. He wanted to decimate anything that dare keep him from his goal. An inner instinct, simmering farther in the depths of his processor than he'd ever dived, surfaced and took hold of him. He was powerless against it.
Suddenly his left side was taken, leaving both his arms trapped. That didn't faze him however. Solas' neck bulged when he drove himself forward, propelling his peds into the floor to give him better leverage against whatever held him. With an infuriated call, Solas yanked his arms, nearly pulling both out of socket. He paid that pain no heed, finding it nothing in compare to that of his spark. It was twisting, pulsing, crying with agony. The only way he knew to stop it was simple: get to her. She was the source of it all. If only he could free himself.
Panting with effort, Solas threw out his leg, catching one of his captors in the leg and making them loosen their grip. Solas violently pulled his arm from their grasp, using the back of it to swing out and catch whomever it was on the side of the helm. They stumbled back in a blurred form, leaving his left side as his lasting obstacle. Powered by his pain, Sol shoved the being as hard as he could, taking him and them down to the floor. They rolled, leaving Sol on the floor with another, heavy being on top of him.
With panic, he struck out, vigorously kicking and punching the thing that held him down. But then, without warning, his arms too were pinned. His shoulderbolts were held down, his legs anchored. The fury swarming his chassis added to the wretched rage he felt in his spark. Now that he was motionless, it attacked him with unrelenting ferocity. In more distress than anger, Solas' helm tilted backwards, his spinal support arching. Energon trickled from a busted line in his neck, pooling under his helm.
Why wouldn't they let him get to her? Why? Why?!
"Solas Kaon!" the voice was booming, unable to be ignored. "Stand down!"
With gasping vents, Solas turned his blue and red optics upon the forms holding him down. Their color was returning, the red draining from Sol's sight. The pain; the fury; the dire need to escape...it all died off. With it, a buzzing withdrawal to the reality slammed like a wall into him. His energon still boiled, but the sanity was coming back. His spark still whimpered in its corner, nursing its fears. However, despite Solas' intense physical detriment, it was whole. Traumatized, but whole all the same.
Shuttering his optics again and again to clear them, Solas focused on those who held him down. The bulky frame of Hound came into shape, his servos planted firmly into Sol's shoulderbolts. His faceplates were hard with a seriousness so unbecoming of him that Solas had to do a double-take. Then there was the large mech Optimus Prime holding down his legs and Rethalia and Stratis on his arms. Four 'Bots. It had taken four Cybertronians to take him down. He didn't know whether to be proud or terrified. Probably the latter.
"What...what did I...?" he murmured, his chassis heaving for cooling air. Hound shifted, removing himself from atop Sol and cautiously moving away. Rethalia, Stratis, and Optimus did the same. Solas climbed to a stand, finding his legs wobbling from his massive energy depletion.
Hound placed a steadying servo on the Guardian's spinal support when he wavered on his peds. "You frizzed again, Solas," he informed the fevered mech mechanically. "We could barely get a hold of you."
The Guardian was about to speak again before his thoughts jumped to his original target. His optics darted to the plexiglass. "Fera," he vented. Before any could stop him, Solas strode over to the plexiglass and hovered his faceplates close, his servos pressed to the glass.
Ratchet was unaware of the events happening behind him. Instead, he was trained on the object in his servos. A long staff was wrapped tightly in his steady digits. Its shaft was covered in ancient, glowing Cybertronian glyphs. The silvery Tool was a straight body, with curling, twisting plates somehow wound together to make up the handle. In the base of the top of it was a hollow pocket, which was already filled with the wondrous sight of the Stone of Primus. Its might ended with a tip crowned with four prongs, which angled inward on a single, glowing entity. It didn't take a genius to know what, or who he should say, that floating blue orb was.
Amazed, Solas watched in frozen consternation as Ratchet brought the Galvanizer across the frame of the protoform. The chassis was already opened wide, ready to receive its new holder. The monitors behind it released a long, shrill tone. One, which Solas had dreaded to hear since Fera had fallen into her coma. Now, it didn't matter. That orb was her last chance.
His digits curled inward, pressing hard enough into his palms to dent them. Ratchet moved with practices precision, inching over the protoform until the cavity of its chassis was beneath the tip of the Galvanizer. Then, in a steady, slow decline, he lowered the Tool of Life and its occupant into the chamber.
Blue light burst forth from the cavity, knocking the medic clear backwards and ripping the Galvanizer from his grasp. It went clattering one way, the medic the other. Those around him where knocked off their standing as well, going limp as they hit the wall or floor. Solas didn't hesitate to flee the room, his name following behind him as his comrades hurried after.
Those waiting in the main room were shoved aside when Solas came through, causing many protests to filter by. He was ignorant to them all, finding those double doors at the head of the space his one and only focus. With reckless force, he punched in the code for the wind and cursed when time after time, it failed. A servo settled on his shoulderbolt, but Solas jerked away from it, entering the final digit into the keypad and pressing enter. The doors parted with a hiss.
Solas shot past Optimus and Rethalia, who had been the first to reach him in his hasty retreat. But even they could not stop him as he ran through the doors of the operating room and to the seizing frame atop the berth. He willed himself to ignore the lifeless human form on the neighboring table, unable to bring himself to see such a sight. The monitors hooked up to that body had shorted out in the energy blast, leaving them putting forth mere static.
The black mech hovered his servos over the frame, unknowing what he should do. In utter horror he watched it jump clear off the top of the berth. Finally he grabbed the helm, begging silently for her to look at him.
"Fera!" he shouted over his racing spark and the leaping sparks escaping her plates. "Fera, please! Look at me!" A noise behind him made Sol whip around. He found Ratchet stirring from the floor, a servo cupping his cranial unit. The Guardian rushed to the medic, slinging on of his arms around his neck to help the CMO to the berth. "Help her!" Solas commanded in panic.
Ratchet made it to some form of comprehension, and he shook his helm once to get his bearings before holding his servos against the protoform's shoulderbolts."Get me that syringe!" he commanded, nodding towards a stray needle on a toolcart nearby. Solas was happy to oblige, and he ran past the crowd gathering in the doorway to get to the cart. With one movement, he'd grabbed the syringe and was starting back for Ratchet, who snatched the tool from the mech's servos and promptly stabbed it into a main energon line in the protoform's neck.
Tense nanoclicks passed after Ratchet removed the needle from the energon line. The jerky movements of the frame had lessened until they eventually stopped completely. Solas approached the frame hesitantly, watching it for some telltale sign that it was to again start spazzing. It did not happen however, and so Ratchet moved away with a shaky vent, dropping the syringe on the floor and making his way over to the back corner, where Cloudsong had been thrown in the blast. Wheeljack was under the counter, slumped and unconscious.
Under the stifling watch of the crowd, Solas came closer to the frame. His servo raised and he held it over the protoform, scared to touch it but afraid not to. His digits lowered on the edge of the berth, sliding closer the longer he studied the protoform. It was with great excitement that he saw the chassis rising and falling in a steady rhythm. He was tempted to lift up the frame and hug it close to his chassis, but he restrained himself.
"Fera?" he murmured. His servo finally touched the arm of who he prayed to be his charge, leaning down above it. He abruptly stood when two very blue and very alive optics shot open.
A broad smile stretched across Solas' faceplates to the point of pain. His spark soared and his chassis rumbled in pure happiness. "Fera, you-"
He didn't get to finish as the optics snapped to him, zeroing in on his profile. The fembot sat up, quick as lightning, a high, frightened shriek coming from her vocal capacitor. She leapt from the berth and ripped across the floor, cutting off Ratchet as he was walking over to Wheeljack, and making him call out in surprise. While the medic fell to his aft, the fembot dove under the counters and cowered into the corner as far as she could. All this happening while Solas stood in complete, utter shock by the berth she had left.
He moved around the berth, his optics ridges coming down in concern and confusion. Why did she react like that? Did he seem threatening? Swiftly, Solas checked his left optic. It was blue. He then observed the terrified frame hidden in the shadows, finding her own optics like a beacon in her hiding place. When he took a step forward, she squeaked, pulling further into herself. How a fembot could fit that well into a corner, he was unsure. Though, height wise, she couldn't have been over ten feet, so that perhaps helped.
"Fera, what's wrong?" Solas demanded, his voice low so he didn't scare her again. The fembot stared with wide, ice-blue optics, not answering. The mech took this chance to tread over to the fembot, making her whine in uncertainty again and duck away. He crouched low, dipping his helm to see beneath the counters. He could feel the others watching him from behind, as their gazes burned holes into the panels of his spinal support.
Paying them no attention, Solas lifted a servo and placed it on the counter to steady him. "Do you speak Cybertronian?" he offered. The fembot picked up her helm and peeked a look at him curiously, the attachments on the side of her helm twitching. Solas' hope brightened and he offered his free servo to the fembot, a gentle grin gracing his tired faceplates. "I'm not going to hurt you, I swear. It is me, Solas Kaon. You remember me."
The fembot glanced at his servo uncertainly. After a moment, she inclined forward, lifting a servo. She stopped for a nanoclick, uncertain. Solas raised his digits to take her tiny ones in his and he held onto them firmly. The fembot drew in a sharp vent, making Solas' vibrate in amusement. He softly tugged back on the fembot, willing her out. Anxiously, the fembot exited her hiding place and followed Sol into the open. He remained on his kneebolts however, as the fembot seemed more comfortable lower to the floor. It made sense. Her human instincts must have been affecting her.
"Fera, look at me, don't mind them," Solas directed as the fembot' optics darted about behind Solas, growing uneasy. She looked to him, freezing him to the spot instantly. The color of her optics matched Fera's eye color perfectly. Down to the darker ring around the edge of her iris, there was a navy ring around the perimeter of the optics. They were incredible.
Fera came closer to Solas, hiding against him from the prying gazes of those staring in the doorway. Ratchet watched from his spot beside Wheeljack, his optics wide. Fera was close enough for Solas to feel her vents on his frame, her arms wrapped fearfully around his arm.
"Who...are they?" she murmured, almost too low to hear. So she did speak English.
Solas gazed down at the small fembot with knitted optic ridges. "You don't remember them? Any of them?"
"No...should I?" she answered back, her optics suddenly growing frightened. Solas paused, wondering what he should say next. This was sensitive ground he was walking on.
"Maybe...it would be easier if..." he lifted a servo from behind Fera and let his digit expose the interface cable in the tip. With faceplates bright in curiosity, Fera had her optics locked onto Solas' faceplates while he plugged in the cable.
"Wait Solas, she's not stable yet-!" Ratchet warned, but it was too late.
Solas found himself grimacing with the uncontrolled flurry of scrambled data. This processor was in chaos, with information, or whatever was of it, left to fly aimlessly about. He put on a forced grin and went on to begin the upload of his memory data into a file he made for her. It was a relatively small string of information, containing only the general profile of himself.
However working in such a unorganized CPU was strenuous at best. He had to take his time to move about or shuffle through anything, as none of it had yet been logged properly. He could help her with that later. Now, all he could think of was the dawning realization spreading over her faceplates the more he put into the file.
By the time he pulled away, she had a great smile on her features. He returned it with interest, his optics soft with relief. She was here. She was ok. Maybe slightly effected with amnesia, but that was ok. She was here.
"Solas..." she vented, lifting a servo to lightly cup his cheekplate. Solas relaxed into her servo, his own coming up to hold hers there. But at this time, her smile failed her. It dipped into a frown, which made him do so as well. Worried, Solas silently asked her what was bothering her. Fera's optics trailed off into the distance, her digits falling from his cheekplate. Liquid gathered at the rims of her optics.
"Fera, what-?"
"I...I can't..." tears overflowed and strolled in fat droplets down her cheekplates. Solas jerked in surprise and he grabbed Fera's shoulderbolts, looking her in the faceplates.
"Fera, what is it?" he asked. "Please tell me what's wrong with you."
At this, the fembot burst into wracking sobs. She threw herself at the mech, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her helm into his armor. Dumbly, Solas placed his servos on her spinal support, unsure what else to do. The next four words to come from her capacitor made him fall back onto his aft, numb and struck speechless.
"I can't feel you!"
And she collapsed into his arms, her optics rolled into the back of her helm and frame spazzing wildly.
Well that was a rollercoaster of emotions, wasn't it?
I feel like this is turning into an alien soap-opera XD
Anywho,
Let me just call out Vulaan Kulaas for their character Nightfang appearing in this chapter - I hope I did your character justice :D
And thanks for reading everyone, I appreciate it :D
And woo, Fera's back! Now we can get down to some serious bidness!
But there's gonna be a bit of our old friend Drama with that amnesia deal going on, so I'm warning you guys...
And once again, let me thank you all for sticking with me over the past year,
it's been quite the ride :)
*Chapter Inspiration: Come Home=One Republic*