To Have a Spark
A Prime and His Words
"If creatures roamed the space in heaven
They're angels, beasts, or supermen
Do they ease attaining things
No one believed you'd achieve?
So once you may ascend to heaven
Someone there has made it so
You could be the one they've been waiting for."
-Helloween; Creatures in Heaven
"You lied to me."
Optimus Prime didn't flinch at the accusation. He simply bent his head down, acknowledging that yes, he did. Yes, he tried to take on Leonard Iscalia's name, hoping against all that, using that name, he could save one human life from a permanent mistake. Yet somewhere, in the dark recesses of his own processor, the Prime wondered not for the first time...had he been wrong? How wrong was it, to save a life no matter the measures taken? How far indeed, did the line of freedom extend?
"Yes. I did. With the hope that you might at least hear me, and clear your mind."
Ratchet flattened his hands in silent response to the Prime's gesture – his own hands held out, asking if he might take hold of the human. Neither 'Bot however, made a move to persuade Renalt one way or the other. They merely observed, and opened up options. From behind them, the others spoke up. Renalt sat a little straighter.
"I know what it's like to lose someone that close to you," Arcee whispered.
"Wreckers have to do things most don't call ethical," Bulkhead added. Renalt noted a distinctly...round, heavy sound to his voice.
Bumblebee gave a low, buzzing chirp. He didn't know exactly what to say, so he offered silent support.
"Did you ever...?" Renalt moved, claiming a strange position on the borders between Ratchet's and the Prime's flattened hands. He was angry, confused...and it hurt. It was a hurt he wasn't sure he could explain. A hand absently trailed about one of Prime's fingertips.
"No," came the chorused reply, though Arcee's voice held back.
"I almost did. I did stupid things in battle, hoping I could take down the enemy," the femme confessed. She moved closer, extending a hand. A finger gave Renalt the slightest of nudges, letting him know which voice belonged to her.
"What made you change your mind?"
Arcee smiled. "These 'Bots, actually. They gave me something to hold onto."
"You're not handicapped, are you?" Renalt cautiously investigated the thin, sleek finger nudging him.
"No. Bumblebee's the closest we have to that."
"What happened to him?"
"He was...wounded in battle. He cannot speak as the rest of us do," Ratchet supplied.
"Well, hello anyway, if you're here."
Bumblebee chirred back. Renalt earned a sequence of beep-chirps as Bumblebee watched him turn about to locate the sound.
"I do not take pride in what I believe I had to do, Renalt. And I do not begrudge you your anger. I do however, ask that you understand what we have tried to do. What we will still try to do. It caused us immeasurable pain, to learn of this idea. This idea that a being could want his life to end. It troubles all of us," Optimus spoke bluntly, unable to quell the stuttering he felt in his own spark upon thinking of it all.
"What do you expect me to do? Just 'get over it'?"
"No. That would be impossible. And unrealistic."
Renalt waited, either unable or unwilling to speak, he couldn't tell.
"What do you do to calm yourself, Renalt?" Ratchet volunteered.
"Don't you already know that? You were in my head after all," Renalt couldn't help the sarcastic reply.
"We do not. I feared going in as it was. I wished to be careful," the Prime added.
"So you didn't mess with me?"
"I did not. That is a taboo even I am unwilling to commit. We only wish to help you heal, Renalt. The pain within you is great. It may not vanish entirely, but we wish to help you deal with it. Without resorting to...dark alternatives such as the one you sought."
"You're not getting into my head again, are you?"
"Not without your express word, Renalt."
"Does...Does it work both ways?" Curiosity, again. It just wouldn't stay asleep.
Optimus nodded to his team, a faint smile upon his face. Another idea had formed, but this one might not go over so badly. The Autobots around him stared in shock as the Prime offered his words. Some of them knew what the patch felt like. None of them had willingly offered before. They found themselves unable to form words as the thought came to be.
"Will you permit me to take you into mine?"
"What for?"
"To offer proof to you, that I mean you no harm. And, as a gesture of trust. I know you have none. I wish to offer that back to you."
Renalt slid over fully onto Prime's hands; his own wandering between the two mechs. He noted the differences in their hands – Ratchet's hands: with blunt, capable fingers and solid palms virtually unmarked by battle. And the Prime's hands: somehow softer, more pliable than the medic's, pitted with scars. Their hands could crush him with a single twitch or squeeze. These hands told him stories without words. Renalt took everything that had been said to him, and examined it as he examined their hands.
He had been lied to. Yet the poison that he had taken, intending to end his own life, was purged. Here he sat, in the presence of actual aliens, ones too innocent to understand suicide. Yet ones whose innocence had been corrupted by war. Now, as they had touched his mind, they placed their own in his small, human hands. He could enter another being's mind – why he thought of Spock at this point, Renalt didn't entirely know – he could ask them to open themselves up, as he had been opened up for all to see.
Yet he wanted back what was taken. Was it a selfish thing? There was no way to know, except to ask.
"Why would you do that?"
"As I explained, Renalt. I wish to make amends. I wish to see your trust repaired, and earned back. To see you heal from this pain of yours. I do not know of many other ways to show this," the Prime said patiently. His patience was nearly limitless, and now, it was more than patience. It was, he hoped, a lifeline.
"Why do you hesitate? Do you fear us?" Ratchet wondered.
"I... I do."
"Will you accept our offer? We truly mean you no harm," Optimus' tone was what one might imagine he'd take to a frightened child.
Renalt hesitated at first. One side of him sought reparation. The other sought only peace. It was a matter of ethics, a matter of trust, a matter of healing. He knew that, were this a happier time, he'd likely be in proper awe, blown away by being in the mere presence of aliens. Were Leonard still alive, Renalt thought back, they'd be welcomed with open arms. Talks of culture, of history, where they came from, food, religion, language... It would all be talked over with laughter and goodwill. But this wasn't a happy situation. Leonard wasn't here.
Could it become happy? Could it become a great cultural exchange, healed of any pain, and founded in mutual trust? Could a dream of Leonard's own, become real?
Renalt could not refuse the potential. It was a leap of not faith, but hope.
"I'll...I'll do it."