Fic: A Universal Concept - Chapter 17
Title: A Universal Concept - Chapter 17
Verse: Post 2007 Movie, AU
Rating: Mature
Pairings: Jazz/Maggie Madsen, Ironhide/Sarah Lennox/Will Lennox, Prime/Ratchet, Bumblebee/Sam, Barricade/Mikaela
Summary: What is love? Is it an instinct? An emotion? Or an ability that can transcend species? After eons of conflict, the war-weary Autobots have a new home, a new life, and a chance for something more. And for a single Decepticon, a chance for salvation.
Warnings: NSFW Mech/human sexual situations.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, Hasbro has it all.
( Prologue )( Chapter One )( Chapter Two )( Chapter Three )( Chapter Four )( Chapter Five )( Chapter Six )( Chapter Seven )( Chapter Eight )( Chapter Nine )( Chapter Ten )( Chapter Eleven )( Chapter Twelve )( Chapter Thirteen )( Chapter Fourteen )( Chapter Fifteen )( Chapter Sixteen )
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Notes:
-------------- Denotes scene breaks
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Denotes breaks within scenes
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~ Chapter 17 ~
Mikaela paused when she entered the Medbay. The Saleen had moved again, the third time in 2 days, and now faced the door. Light gleamed off the metal she had polished yesterday, but that didn’t explain the marked change in the Saleen.
Mikaela could feel it, an air of alertness, of attention.
She startled at the low hum, the first sound she’d ever heard from Barricade that wasn’t born of pain.
The energon monitor beeped. The engine hummed.
Mikaela frowned, indecisive. She wasn’t supposed to be in here alone, but Barricade was her patient too, Ratchet said so.
The feeling of attention increased. The Saleen managed to look both expectant and welcoming.
More welcoming than ‘Bee.
She couldn’t pinpoint exactly when Bumblebee had changed, but it was there and more glaring every time they were together. There were times she could almost swear he called out a name that wasn’t hers. Afterwards, he was just gone, withdrawn, not there with her at all.
You know who he’s calling for, Mikaela, who he really wants. Admit it.
The monitor beeped insistently. He was hungry. Mikaela sighed and pushed away the unwelcome thoughts, moving forward into the maze of conduits surrounding Barricade. Some of the webbed strands of cabling and filaments stretched taut around the vehicle; she picked her way carefully. Her hip brushed against one; it thrummed as she passed and Mikaela paused, the first faint alarms going off in her head. Had the car just shifted? Did it just move?
Metal gleamed. The Saleen hummed. The monitor beeped steadily.
She shook her head and pressed on. She was tired, not sleeping well, imagination running away, eyes playing tricks--that was all. But oh, that feeling, all that attention.
No one else can do what you are doing, are about to do…
Not like Bumblebee, who was more distant by the day, whose focus was Sam, who wanted Sam and would always want Sam, and that would never change. She was a just a placeholder, and that hurt too much to dwell on.
Tears stung, and Mikaela bit her lip fiercely. She’d be damned if she was going to start crying again.
She was still several feet away from the Saleen when a deep engine rumble startled her. A cable darted out from under the vehicle and wrapped around her waist. Mikaela gasped and clutched at the thick coil, as strong as steel and completely unyielding. There was strength in that hold, enough to snap her in two. The cable tugged her forward, steady and insistent. Mikaela reluctantly obeyed the command.
Another deep rumble was followed by an increased sense of that attention, as though he were riveted by her approach.
You are the singular focus, the center of it all…
The pressure eased when she reached the Saleen but the cable kept her tethered, a very short leash.
Another cable emerged from beneath the hood and poised in front of her, slender filaments extended from the tip, glowing bright blue and swaying in an invisible breeze, alive with current.
Mikaela shuddered when they approached her. The Saleen hummed. The filaments touched, stroking in a delicate questing trail over her face and throat. The tendrils drifted across the contours of brow and cheek and nose, pausing to examine her mouth with soft feather light touches before moving on to the line of her throat, the wings of her collarbones.
The filaments traced over shoulders and arms and down her legs. They moved steadily over fabric, slowed to a crawl over skin, the tendrils flickering like tongues as they touched and tasted and felt their way over her.
Sensors. Mikaela squinted hard at the filaments. Ratchet had used something similar a few times, poking long thin glowing threads into hard-to-reach areas to gather data.
She sucked in a breath when the filaments eased over breasts and stomach; even through her overalls, she could feel the tendrils growing warmer. She was still sensitive after last night with Bumblebee. Her nipples hardened. The cable around her waist pulled her closer.
Mikaela hissed at the black hulking car, tugging uselessly at her tether, skin crawling with static and her hair lifting off her shoulders. A heavy charge was building around Barricade. Any part of her touching that metal and the shock was going to hurt like hell.
The Saleen’s engine rumbled, sounding displeased, and the tether gave a quick jerk that left her sprawled across hard, hot metal.
The shock and pain she feared dissolved into sauna-like heat and a thousand delicate touches that left her boneless in their wake. She shivered and goosebumped, skin alive with the sensations of flowing water and silken, delicate touches feathering over her from head to foot. A rougher sensation intruded, like a loofah scrubbing vigorously, and then it was over.
Her fingers had dug into the seams of his hood. Mikaela released her grip, pushing unsteadily away from the car. Of all the weird things she had witnessed in the Med Bay, that was… what the hell just happened?
The tether still held her in a grip of steel.
“I’m fine, I’m ok, you can let go now,” Mikaela murmured, patting the hood. There was that intense regard again and then the Saleen made a low, grating sound, regard shifting to amusement.
Barricade obviously didn’t believe her, waiting for legs to stop their wobbling before he released her. The cable slid slowly from her waist, lingering like a caress before dropping away and disappearing back into the darkness beneath the car.
The monitor beeped insistently. The Saleen gave a questioning hum. Mikaela pushed a shaky hand through her hair and threaded the feeder line into an intake port. She felt good, tired, but good.
She turned to go. The drip line would need a good 20 minutes, and it was way past time to tend to the chores Ratchet left her.
That attention returned full force and Mikaela’s eyelids fluttered. She could bask in the glow of it, that intense regard.
Nothing else matters, no one else exists… only you…
Stay…
She glanced around the empty Medbay then pulled a soft polishing cloth from the pocket of her overalls. Just a few more minutes wouldn’t hurt.
No one but you…
She was needed here. She was wanted.
Mikaela bent over the hood again, running soft cloth along the seams, polishing away the traces of her fingerprints. She hummed to herself, relaxed and content. There was something almost meditative about these moments, this work, as she polished and polished the metal still gleaming from yesterday’s polishing.
Good.
The Saleen settled itself under her ministrations with a very satisfied air, engine audibly purring.
------------------------------
More contact? Jazz queried the AI as he entered his quarters. We’re about at the sparkin’ stage already.
More physical contact required, the AI repeated.
I’ll see what I can do.
One corner of the large quarters was completely taken over with an array of small machines: computer towers, an impressive monitor display made up of multiple flat-screens, audio equipment, and a maze of wires and breakers holding it all together. A pink minifridge sat next to the towers, its top colonized by a collection of empty bottles sporting labels with bare feet and winging birds and colorful grinning skulls.
Jazz grinned as he took in the sight. Maggie sat at the desk in pink see-through bra and thong and nothing else, peering intently at one of the half dozen monitors. His vocalizer let out a low wolf whistle.
“Time ta go, lovely. Get some heels on, the rest of you is just fine.”
Maggie leaned back in her chair and arched a brow at him. “Ha. Nice try.”
A monitor beeped and she pointed to it. “He’s at it again. Signals all over the place.”
Jazz leaned over her, visor sparkling with interest. “Gotta hand it to him, he doesn’t give up easy.”
“You two must be related.” Maggie smirked up at him, trailing a hand over the sigil on his chestplates then giving the plating a gentle rap. “So tell me more about this ‘sparking’ thing you mentioned?”
“Gettin’ there, lovely. Final check in the Medbay in 20. But first…” The scoop up and into his arms was effortless.
“First?” Maggie hummed and placed a kiss on mouthplates, shivering as his field connected smoothly.
Jazz waggled his optic ridges. “I got some signals I can show ya.”
Hands caressed her, mouth, lips, the wicked swipe of a tongue right across her….
Her giggles were lost in a moan. She licked her own lips, eyes closing in anticipation.
------------------------------
“You’re dead.”
“Damn it!”
The first dozen times Sarah ‘died’, she had cringed and ducked, eyes wide and heart racing, and yes, there might have been a few panicked screams when the holocaust erupted around her.
Now, it was simply frustrating. She walked out of the holographic inferno, panting and wiping sweat off her face.
Of all the things she had imagined at Ironhide’s “I have something for you,” this had not been one of them. Not even close.
Will would have been on the ground with laughter or shooting Ironhide his ‘are you fucking kidding me? ’ look. Sarah had tried very very hard for a more polite response. She closed her mouth, which had been hanging open for several long moments.
“For me? I-- You shouldn’t have.”
“It was no trouble,” Ironhide rumbled, oblivious to Sarah’s dismay as she looked over the brand new ‘something.’
An obstacle course, just for her, nested into the back forty and well out of sight of the house.
It was a mystery how and when Ironhide had found time to construct it.
“Why this?” Another mystery; Sarah was completely baffled.
Ironhide peered down at her. “You did say you wished for something more to do?”
“Well, yes.” That much was true.
“Something outside of the house?”
“Yes, but…” Never in a million years…
“This will be good for you. You need this.”
“I… Really?”
“Yes.”
Ironhide bent closer.
“I am your Guardian, Sarah, I will defend you with my very life. But in case anything happens to me... Well. A Guardian also teaches his charges how to survive against an enemy on their own. I have been developing a plan since Will asked me to keep you safe. This is part of that plan.”
How Ironhide managed to convey warm fuzzy feelings with absolute terror was beyond her, but anything big enough to threaten Ironhide was reason enough to be afraid. The fear suddenly melted away under a warm wave of safety. She was blanketed, held securely, surrounded by Ironhide’s strength. Ironhide would care for them, watch over them and keep them safe. He would defend them against whatever was keeping Will tangled in knots over in Qatar. Of that, she had no doubts.
Sarah laid a hand against leg armor. “Thank you, Ironhide. Tell Will not to worry about us.” Will was a part of this too. Giving him one less reason to worry about them here would be a very good thing for him over there.
Sarah was out every morning now, exercising and running the new course with Ironhide as her Drill Sergeant. Will would be smirking ear to ear.
She grabbed the large water bottle, sipping in between pants. More sweat trickled down her face, her back was soaked, and wouldn’t her old auntie just shake her head at the sight? Ladies don’t sweat, Sarah, they perspire. Gently.
Will might even be raising a brow and agreeing with old Aunt Maybeth if he could see her now-sweat-darkened blonde hair and dirt streaked from head to foot.
She laughed a little at that image and leaned up against Ironhide’s leg.
“If Will could see me now he’d be dying laughing.”
“Would he?” Ironhide rumbled amusement, and that warm sense of safety blanketed her again.
“Rolling. On the ground.” Sarah smirked and took another sip of water. “And my Aunt Maybeth would be scandalized, the poor old dear.”
“Who is Aunt Maybeth?”
“Our family matriarch. Sort of like a Guardian? She looked after all of us.” Another fond smile, remembering. “Will had his work cut out for him, getting her approval.”
Ironhide’s quirked optic ridge and interested hum were permission enough to take a break. Sarah perched herself on one large metal foot, glad for the breather.
“She never had kids of her own, but she took us all under her wing and treated us like her very own...”
Dear Aunt Maybeth was less than impressed when Will first met the family. The sharp-eyed old matriarch looked him up and down and Lennox was uncomfortably reminded of a drill sergeant about to bust his ass. “Listen here, young man. I can’t talk to my niece because I can see she’s already head over heels in love with you, so you’d better treat her right or you’ll answer to me.”
Sarah blushed and ducked her head. Will knelt next to Aunt Maybeth’s chair and took the hand she offered, brown eyes intent and voice gentle. “Ma’am, you don’t need to worry. Your niece is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
Will spent the next six months exercising all his considerable charm on the old woman and when he proposed to Sarah, her Aunt declared in no uncertain terms, “Sarah Maybeth Collins, you marry that boy or I’ll disown you and marry him myself!”
Will’s eyes got comically huge, then he turned to Sarah and mouthed, ‘Save me!’ Of course Sarah had to agree to rescue her Ranger...
Ironhide was still rumbling amusement when she got up to stretch out stiff muscles. She liked his laugh, it sounded genuine and his armor seemed to hum with it.
Eight in the morning and the heat was already building, a shower couldn’t come soon enough. Annabelle would be waking shortly, and there was breakfast to make and the house to clean, and then on to the gun range and oh, that weapon Ironhide was making, just for her? Will’s eyebrows would be climbing right up into his hair. The man and his gunkink. Sarah smiled at the thought and took another gulp of water. She couldn’t wait to show it to him.
“Your overall time has improved by 10 minutes. Try one more and we are done for today.”
If she was hoping for her story to distract him from another run, Ironhide didn’t fall for it. Sarah gave a theatrical groan.
“Only 10 minutes? I’ve been at this for three weeks!”
“Still an improvement. Try it again.”
“You know this isn’t fair, Ironhide. You’ve slowed this one up, made it stupid. I’ll never outrun a real drone, you said so yourself.”
“We will only use these while you are learning.” A huge metal knee joint landed solidly next to her in the dirt. “This is about survival, Sarah. You are learning how to run, how to hide, how to listen for it and how to outthink it, as well as building strength and endurance. Each minute you stay alive is a minute more I have to get to you.”
Bright blue optics peered down and Ironhide extended a large hand. “Your odds against a real one are about to improve greatly. Ratchet is almost ready, testing can begin in a few more days. Then the real training begins.”
Sarah sighed and stepped close, pressing her forehead against cooled metal fingers. “Running, hiding, training me to fight. When are you going to show me what I’m training for?”
“Soon.” That deep rumble buzzed in her chest, his finger traced over her back, slow and gentle. She was soothed and comforted, a soft fluffy blanket wrapped her in layers of safety. Her eyelids drooped and then something tickled against her skin, sent pleasant chills racing over her body. Sarah stiffened, blinking hard. The sensations faded. Strange.
She looked up at Ironhide, about to ask but oddly hesitant.
“Ready?” His rumbled question cut her off, and Sarah nodded and let it go.
She was improving, she could tell that much, and markedly better at following his signals. The entire exercise reminded her of nothing so much as putting a dog through its paces on an agility course, Ironhide’s deep gravelly voice in her ear feeding her a constant stream of directions.
“Left…Right…Count to five and double back… head for the ravine… the tunnel… the mountain....”
The training was deceptively simple. Each order accompanied the distinctive whining buzz of a pursuing drone, Ironhide giving her just enough help to maintain a lead on her pursuer.
“You are on your own now, listen for the drone.”
Sarah mentally swore. She hated this part. Minutes, focus on minutes of not dying.
She pounded through the dirt track and climbed the long ladder braced against the ‘mountain’-a gigantic stack of hay bales (hay bales, where the devil had he gotten that many hay bales?) held together with tough plastic netting. The drone buzzed practically in her ear and Sarah flung herself over the top and used the dangling rope to scale down the other side. She dropped the last few feet, landing on deep cushioned padding and tucking into a roll, then bouncing to her feet at the edge and back onto the track.
Sarah was proud of that particular move, practiced over and over for the last three weeks. She had slimmed down, the last of her ‘baby weight’ melted off on the strenuous course leaving her trim and toned, muscles adding firmness in places she’d never had them. She could carry an increasingly heavy toddler around without a hint of strain, she looked fabulous in the bikini she had regretfully tossed aside after Anna was born, and William Lennox was most definitely not going to recognize his wife when he came home on leave.
She couldn’t wait. Her eyes sparkled, sizing up the remainder of the course. Ironhide had been right, this was good for her. She looked better, felt better, her days were full and she slept soundly at night. Things were easier with Will, too. They talked more, conversations were not as strained, he was looking forward to coming home on leave.
Sarah was happy.
Her lips curved in an unconscious smile even as she scrambled for the pile of heavy brush to hide and catch her breath. The pursuing drone sailed past on some unknown trajectory of its own and she took the opportunity to race further down the track, dodging behind boulders (really big boulders; carried, rolled or hauled in the flatbed of his alt-mode from who knew where) and then on to the smaller mountain of pallets. Ironhide had covered them with chain-link fencing (fencing, really, and she didn’t want to know where he got that from) and she pulled herself up easily, scaling the large stack of pallets to the top and then flattening herself.
The sun was up and throwing long shadows over the obstacle course. Sarah squinted, searching for the drone. No sign of it, and she’d rarely gotten this far. Just one last obstacle, a final sprint and she would finish the course.
Triumph surged. She swung down the other side of pallet mountain and headed toward the ‘ravine’, slipping and skidding down the side of the narrow packed dirt trench and hunkering down in its relative safety. No sight or sound of the drone.
Stay and wait it out or go? Go now, maybe?
Sarah hesitated, teeth gnawing at her lower lip, sweat trickling down face, back and arms.
Her nerves stretched taut as piano wire and breaths rasped so loud she couldn’t hear the damn thing if it was on top of her. She was so close to finishing, and she’d be trapped for sure if it caught her here.
Go.
She heaved herself up the other side, breath ragged in her throat. There, there it was, the end of the course, so tantalizingly close. She could do this, just run, now!
Ironhide’s growl in her ear told her it was the wrong move. She gulped a breath and froze, listening for the telltale buzz and ping. There, right… damn it!
Light bloomed around her and the world went up in flames.
-----------------------------
Cybertron -- Distant Past
“I received an order to report here?”
The large black weapons specialist spared the medic the briefest of glances before turning back to the plasma rifle on his workbench.
The corner Ironhide claimed for his own was closer to the Armory and well away from the rest of the Training Center, but the noise was still deafening. New recruits were hustled between soldiers sparring one on one or engaged in melee fighting. Shock troopers stormed a line of defense, another group formed a tight ring back to back and took on a furious wave of attack drones. Weapons fire whined; a few soldiers flinched and rubbed their torsos, and signaled a successful test to the Arms master. Nothing damaged, all weapons at a fraction of their full power.
The din was terrific. The medic raised his vocals and lowered his audial receptors.
“Is someone injured?”
A small grunt and a sidelong look from Ironhide as he hefted the rifle. “You got Prime’s message?”
The medic shook his helm. “I got a message, saying to report here.” Ratchet looked around, helm tilting. “Why am I here?”
Ratchet made a startled bark as he fumbled the rifle suddenly forced into his hands.
“To learn.”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
He had learned, and learned very well, even accepting combat programming and incorporating a blaster into his frame.
“Watch your proximity,” Ironhide warned them, optics pinned on the medic facing off against another trainee. Prime was there too, the casual drop-by just in time for Ratchet’s session not fooling the old mech for a moment. “Don’t let your audience go to your processors, he’s not here to admire your paint jobs. Stay focused!” The trainee feinted with a wickedly curved blade, Ratchet dodged and fell back, barely keeping inside the training circle. “Neither of you have the frame build for sustained melee fighting, so in and out, quick strikes and then get clear and use your ranged...” Ironhide paused, optics narrowing, then broke into a chuckle, watching Ratchet execute a twist and bounce forward to press his enormous medical saw against the trainee’s neck plating. “Or you could do that.” The trainee had meeped and tapped his wrist twice, “Yield!” Prime’s optics had gleamed with pride, and Ratchet was not at all surprised to receive a note to meet him later.
Implacable logic and cold reality warned him time and again that nothing would come of this. They met in dusty storage areas, in old abandoned areas of the Base, away from knowing smirks and prying optics. Ratchet couldn’t even say he’d been led blindly down this path, he’d taken it willingly, with full knowledge of where it would lead.
The Matrix was now a calm and steady presence, and Optimus was even beginning to hear the voices of the old Primes, ancient wisdom speaking to him in Matrix whisperings. He was ready.
Soon the High Council would choose the Prime’s Bonded, and once Optimus was bonded, Ratchet would lose him forever. The Prime’s Chosen would not be him, it would never be him. Ratchet had everything against him and not even the pride and desire of a Prime would affect that outcome.
In spite of everything, he still hoped. Even the Matrix seemed to favor him. It happened only once, but Ratchet knew what he saw. He shivered gazing up at Prime, sensing something ancient and powerful, something other, in the optics looking down at him. The ancient presence recognized and welcomed him, then it faded away and all he could sense was the loneliness in Prime and the deep hunger as Optimus reached for him.
The day Prime was summoned before the High Council, his hope had soared. When Optimus returned, battle mask firmly in place and optics fired with rage and contempt, Ratchet’s hope crushed down to shards. The Matrix itself could pop out of Prime’s chestplates and the Council would still deny him.
“We honor you, Matrix Bearer, and grant you your request to make your own choice. The nobles humbly offer you their finest from the Towers. Choose, and we will name your Bonding Day.”
To have come this far and been offered a choice... Prime looked over the glittering assemblage, spark sinking. Young mechs barely out of their Guardian’s care, optics wide and innocent and worshipful, ready to be molded to his every desire. Older mechs with supple graceful frames and optics that promised dark delights. There were even a few mecha the same frame type as Ironhide, armor shined to mirror finish, steady optics offering a solid strength he could lean on; and Jazz, lithe frames and bright smiles, beckoning promise behind mysterious visors. All of them built for beauty and to attract the lusts of a Prime. Talented in the berth too, no doubt; the Council had learned from prior failures.
There was open glee on the faceplates of the nobles, avarice in the High Council’s optics. Power was everything to these mecha, the ultimate aphrodisiac. How many backroom deals and political alliances had already been made based on the Prime’s would-be Chosen? Nothing more than proprietors hawking the wares of their whorehouse, the lot of them.
Disgust roiled his tank, Prime could barely keep it contained. “I have made my choice already, noble mechs, but I wish to protect his identity. His life would be endangered while this war--”
“WE choose, Matrix Bearer, it is tradition.”
“Tradition... Tradition... Tradition...” High Council helms wagged, voices echoed around the lofty chamber.
“High Council Leader, hear me. I have known this mech for many vorns. He is strong and steady, I trust him with my very life. He is the Bonded I desire. Allow him to remain hidden and out of danger for now. Once the war has ended--”
A dismissive wave of an elegant bejeweled hand was his answer. “We will choose as we always have, Matrix Bearer. Keep your berthwarmer if you desire him so much. Until the day of your Bonding, you may take any mech you wish, from wherever you wish.”
Prime’s optics narrowed, anger seething in his spark. “And if I choose no one?”
“TRADITION will be upheld, Optimus Prime. You swore that oath yourself.” Regal optics stared him down. They didn’t care who he took to berth or how many, he could have an entire harem and no one would blink an optic. He could slum every night in the deepest cesspools of Cybertron and no one would care. But most of all they didn’t care who Ratchet was or where he came from or what he was to Optimus...
Another note, another meeting. Ratchet placed hands on the broad chest and leaned into Prime’s embrace. “How bad was it?”
“Very.” Optimus’ snort of contempt summed it up entirely, the hint of despair in optics made it that much worse.
Ratchet’s vents cycled a sigh of air. “As if we didn’t see that coming. Give it up, Optimus, they won’t listen. They will only make things much harder for you.”
“I can delay them. They don’t care who I want, that much is clear. And that is perhaps, the plus to all this,” Prime rumbled quietly. “I wasn’t forced to reveal you. I can continue to keep you safe.”
His helm tilted down. “I choose you, Ratchet, as my Bonded and my Consort. From this day until we both offline, you are my Chosen, Beloved. Wait with me. Stay hidden, stay safe, until this war is over.”
Ratchet leaned into the light nuzzle, optics darkening. “If this is the only way I can have you, then yes. I choose you as my Bonded, Optimus, from this day until we both offline.”
He was fully prescient about the promise just made: There would be no formal declaration, and no Bonding, until the war was over. Prime’s inner circle would know the true state of affairs of course, but before the optics of all Cybertron, not the smallest hint would escape that anything more than a professional relationship existed between them.
What Ratchet cursed daily and wished to Primus that he could have foreseen was Optimus’ almost obsessive desire to keep him safe. Even as the war dragged on, vorn after vorn, even when the Council Chamber was bombed and the Council itself ceased to exist, the Prime remained adamant. In secret, there were passionate promises and even more passionate sharing, but he had not known that vorns would stretch into the hundreds, and then into the thousands, until Ratchet was sick at spark and utterly weary of it all, and still Optimus would not relent.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Medbay -- Present Day
Ratchet frowned and leaned close, trying to lay hands on the hood of the vehicle again. The Saleen backed away, its engine growling, the edge of a ragged field bristling a warn off. The medic scrubbed a tired hand over faceplates. Every day was a battle, every day was a little harder.
They had come nearly full circle, he and Optimus, and the knowledge twisted cruelly. Most of his free time was spent in the Medbay now, working with his fractious patient. Nowhere else to go, his choices narrowing, work was all he had left. Work long and hard, avoid Optimus, and hope that what had saved him before would do so again.
Heavy metal knuckles rapped on the hood.
“We can do this the easy way or the hard way, Barricade.”
Thick hooked cables uncoiled from their housing to hover above the injured Decepticon. Ratchet grabbed the end of one and thumped the hook against the roof.
“Stop testing me, you know I’ll do it.”
Ratchet slipped the hook into a seam between roof and door and began the silent countdown.
3…
Another hook slipped in under the frame.
2…
The entire vehicle shuddered.
1…
The Saleen gave in, moving forward until it was nearly at his feet. The brakes locked on with an audible thump and Ratchet spread gentle hands on the hood. Filaments threaded out from fingertips and into seams, replenishing repair nanites, linking him into core systems. New code began streaming and was promptly blocked.
He raised one optic ridge.
“Really?”
An ill-tempered engine snarl was his answer.
Ratchet sighed and prepared another medical override.
The more progress he made, the more time he spent breaking down barriers to get to the actual repairs. Every day was a battle and Barricade didn’t have the energy to spare. He also didn’t have a choice in the matter and as draining as it was, Ratchet couldn’t fault him for his stubborn resistance.
The medical override broke down walls and beat down defensive coding. The snarling engine revved to an impotent, furious roar.
“I am 99.9% certain that your personality matrix is largely intact,” Ratchet grumbled over the noise.
He was also 99.9% sure that if Barricade were up and mobile, fangs and claws would be sinking in and tearing out his main fuel line.
The coding slipped in behind the override and reorganized the repair hierarchy, setting defensive systems to null and void--again, for the hundredth time. Nanites swarmed, activating pain blockers and racing over damaged systems, settling in to the most critical repairs. They hummed and buzzed in their simple language, communicating progress. A demand was issued for more energy; extra energon was pumped in.
The Saleen quivered from bumper to bumper, engine running hard and hot with the excess fuel. The entire vehicle finally gave up and hunkered down, only an occasional whine and twitch to show the Decepticon was still online and still very unhappy. Ratchet could imagine Barricade in an exhausted graceless sprawl, fangs bared in a useless threat.
“You can approach, Mikaela.” Ratchet muttered, optics flashing in one last glare at the Saleen. “He should remain still for the duration of the energon transfer.”
“Can I try a scan?” Mikaela asked hopefully, jumping down from her perch with a smaller human-scale external scanner.
“Now is as good a time as any,” Ratchet replied, optics softening as he glanced down at his student. It was surprisingly pleasant to have a trainee again, and her enthusiasm always touched his spark. “Report to me when you’ve determined the repairs just made… and the steps he’s taking to undo all my hard work-”
“He at it again?” Jazz’s entirely too cheerful tones burst into the relative quiet.
“He’s being his usual pain in my aft, yes.” Ratchet’s scans were already running over the silver mech and his smaller companion. Pheromones drifted in a haze about the pair. Maggie had an all too familiar look about her, soft and sleepy. Jazz looked distinctly smug, his systems still in cool-down mode. Even without scanners, Mikaela gave Maggie a knowing arch of eyebrows.
Some new milestone reached, no doubt. Ratchet mentally shook his helm and pointed to the main exam station. “Over there, both of you.”
The medic’s scans stuttered and fritzed under the onslaught of a whirling hot field and a flood of pheromones. Ratchet huffed. “Never mind, I’ll take you one at a time.”
You couldn’t wait five minutes until AFTER the exam?
Heh.
Maggie yawned and Jazz smirked, stroking a finger over her hair. “Did I wear you out, beautiful?”
“You don’t have to be so smug,” she murmured, and leaned over to place her hands on his chest armor and a kiss right in the center of his sigal, just over his spark.
Jazz’s engine revved. Ratchet’s scanners lit up with the glow from his field.
The medic hurriedly backed away to busy himself with something, anything to avoid that much blatant lust.
The kiss lingered, and Ratchet was ready to throw them both out the nearest window when Jazz finally lowered her to the floor. Maggie slipped off his arm and blew him a kiss as she strolled over to Mikaela.
Ratchet huffed impatiently but Jazz’s optics remained glued to the gentle sway of Maggie’s hips. She paused to casually bend over and adjust a sandal strap and presented him with a view of a very fine aft. His visor flashed, mouthplates broadening into a grin. Tease, he sent through her commlink. Primus, but it was working too, he could still feel that shapely aft in the palm of his hand. Maggie’s chuckle drifted back to him.
Lust was rolling off Jazz in waves. The edge of that bright field barely glanced him and Ratchet gasped, locking down plating so fast it rattled. His own spark twisted with jealousy, bitter and painful. They had it so easy, they didn’t have to hide.
“Can we get on with your exam now?” Ratchet snapped, smothering pain beneath an engine growl.
“Oh, yeah.” Jazz’s helm twisted to look at the medic, grin fading. A little shimmer drifted over his visor. “Ratchet? Are you-”
“Overworked and underfueled? Yes. Trying to rebuild a second,” and here the medic churred roughly at Jazz and made a pointed gesture to encompass the entire silver mech, “shattered mech with no supplies but my own frame, skills and subspace? Frag, yes. Can we get started so that you can continue this far away from where I am trying to work?”
“Sure, sure.” Jazz’s field flickered an apology, lust damped down to a more manageable level. The silver mech straightened, unlatching chestplating and trying not to twitch under Ratchet’s proddings.
“Alloy donations continue incorporating…. spark casing integrity at 99.7%...”
The medic poked and muttered; Jazz’s attention drifted back to Maggie. His visor rippled through several wavelengths to settle on her biofield. It wrapped around her in a brilliant glow, overlaid with his own energy signature. Swirls of higher harmonics from his field flowed gracefully. She was gorgeous, and she was all his.
“Relays fully functional…”
Mikaela moved to stand beside her, looking dim and pale by comparison. The contrast was striking and Jazz tilted his helm, puzzled. As active as he knew ‘Bee was with her, Mikaela’s field ought to be lit up like a beacon.
“Spark is efficiently energized, no stray energy leakage detected…”
Instead, it was the usual dim glow of an organic biofield. A few brighter spots stood out here and there, but they weren’t a part of any signature he recognized--
Jazz’s visor flashed a vivid rainbow of surprised colors before settling into cool silver.
“Huh. Barricade’s field is pretty active. He been tryin’ ta communicate?”
“If he is, that would be a first. All I get out of him is snarling and sabotage for my efforts.” Ratchet grunted, attaching a scanning node to take direct readings from Jazz’s spark.
“He’s hummin’ at Mikaela, he doesn’t seem ta mind her.”
“She poses no threat to him. Exactly why I assigned her to take over his daily care and energon feeding.”
“Not ta mention less stressful for ya.”
Ratchet snorted. “There is that. He’d be much further along by now if all his energy wasn’t wasted on battling me.” The medic peered into the spark chamber, monitoring the readouts on the scanner. “Good, very good, your nanites have finished adapting donor alloys, all now reading as part of you. Incorporation is nearing 100%.”
“And?”
Bright visor, eager smile, Ratchet hid his envy under a huff and a roll of optics.
“And I will clear you for spark sharing with Maggie. But take it easy. Your casing falls apart under a marathon bout of sparking, I will fix you. Again. But you won’t enjoy it.”
Chest plates closed so fast Ratchet’s fingers were nearly caught. The silver mech slid off the examining table, pointing hastily over to the Saleen. “So, how about ‘Cade? We ready ta get him up and around?”
Ratchet allowed himself a small smirk before turning a sour look on Barricade. “More than ready.”
The Saleen gave a warning growl as they approached. Ratchet motioned Mikaela and Maggie away from the vehicle, flickering optics in annoyance and growling his engine right back. “Frag this. Hack into his defenses and distract him now, Jazz, PLEASE. Before I decide it is just easier to disassemble and start over fresh.”
“On it.”
Jazz bent over the Decepticon, the engine snarled an impotent threat. For weeks they’d been patiently working through Barricade’s defenses, built not just to keep an enemy out of vital programming, but to take the last of Barricade out of an enemy’s reach if worst came to the very worst. Jazz was hard pressed to remember the last time he’d seen such an impressive defense hierarchy. It had taken his and Ratchet’s best efforts to hack in, overwrite, undermine, and now, finally, topple the entire structure, all without compromising Barricade’s core programming. The hack slid in through shining silver filaments. The last active defensive systems pounced on it immediately and medical overrides silently tracked them, tracing each back to its source and deactivating them one by one.
The Saleen’s roar died away to a few grumbles and then was quiet. Ratchet leaned back and vented a sigh. “That’s the last of them. Let’s get him outside.”
Ratchet released the spider’s web of conduits, cables and sensor filaments surrounding and attached to Barricade. The entire maze retracted back into recesses in flooring and walls and disappeared. Only a thin cable remained attached, a lead to guide the vehicle.
Jazz patted the hood of the silent Saleen and stood. Ratchet swung the double doors of the medbay wide and locked them open. A chirrup of encouragement and a little tug on the lead, and the Saleen followed the mechs into the corridor, quiet and docile.
“Everyone ready?”
“Prime’s on his way, Ironhide’s almost here. Bumblee--” Jazz tilted his helm quizzically. “He said somethin’ about Sam still not feelin’ well and wantin’ ta stick close. Still? How long’s that been goin’ on?”
The Saleen nosed up right behind them before the lead trailed and caught under a tire, bringing the vehicle to an abrupt halt. Ratchet huffed and paused to untangle it. “Seems to come and go. I haven’t seen him recently, but Bumblebee was feeding me biological readouts constantly, at all hours.” The medic grumbled, distinctly annoyed. “I’m well aware of the appropriate ranges for a human of his age. If anything changes, Bumblebee has instructions to contact me about Sam.”
That just seemed weird. Okay, Sam was a little weird, but Bumblebee wasn’t. He wasn’t paranoid either. Might be good to check in on his protege after they got Barricade all settled in.
“Probably just as well he’s not here. Lotta history between these two.” Jazz’s frown was hidden by his visor; he hurried to open up the doors leading outside the Base and Barricade slid out right on Ratchet’s heels. Sunlight bathed the black and white for the first time in months. The vehicle slowed to a halt in a bright pool of sunshine, engine purring.
Prime was already there and waiting for them. Mikaela and Maggie had taken the shorter route out the human sized exit. Ironhide pulled up and transformed, and of course he had cannons at the ready. Jazz smirked.
::He ain’t goin’ anywhere fast, ‘Hide.::
::He’s not getting the chance either::
“Ironhide, we are here to assist if needed,” Prime reminded quietly. The black mech reluctantly powered down, but left both cannons fully deployed and locked on the Decepticon.
Ratchet knelt and keyed in the transformation sequence. It was not under Barricade’s control yet, the medic wasn’t risking damage to delicate repairs or outright jury rigged components. This would be a test and an opportunity to get at difficult to reach systems.
The Saleen shuddered from bumper to bumper. It creaked and groaned, the sound of grinding metal had Mikaela wincing and Maggie covering her ears. Ratchet braced Barricade, helping him through the sequence until he was standing on his own. Darkened optics flickered fitfully then lit up with a pale but steady glow. Barricade swayed slightly, helm turning as he looked around the small assembly of Autobots and humans.
“Status, Ratchet?” Beside him, Ironhide was tense. Prime laid a calming hand on his arm.
Readouts poured through the medic’s HUD. “Very good, no stress fractures in joints or frame. There are fluctuations in his field but spark energy appears normal. Reading some damage in core programming including processors, language and memory modules. Now that defensive systems aren’t blocking me and stealing his every resource, I’ll run some diagnostics and see what’s going on there. Physically, he’s made considerable progress. I expect his frame will be repaired and fully functional in another two decacycles or so.”
Mikaela shivered when those pale red optics paused to regard her for several long moments. She’d forgotten after so many months, what Barricade looked like, what he was.
Decepticon. Monster.
Prime’s smooth bass rolled through the small assembly. “Welcome, Barricade. We offer you amnesty and a place with us, or you may declare yourself a Neutral. The choice is yours.”
Mikaela nearly sagged with relief as Barricade’s attention turned from her to Optimus.
Everywhere was bright and shadows. The biggest shadow moved, making nonsensical sounds. Barricade ignored it, trying to make sense of these new surroundings. Optics flickered with the onslaught of sensory information, processors threatening to short out with too much coming too rapidly. Noise...Static...Pain. He raised a hand to his helm, claws scraping over metal.
“Barricade? Barricade, you have nothing to fear from us.”
Ratchet’s optic ridges pulled down, scanners flaring red with new reports. Finally something beyond defenses throwing up chameleon mesh and camouflage plating, but bringing a whole new set of worries. “Careful, Prime. Scans are picking up much more damage to internal components than they could detect in alt mode.”
Prime moved closer to Barricade, his field reaching out to soothe the agitated mech.
Pain flared in his processors, his field recoiled under the heavy intruder. Barricade’s optics flashed to deep red, something between a whine and a snarl emerging from his vocalizer. He stumbled back, claws swiping viciously at the large shadow stalking him. Another intruder, the loud angry one, the one who brought pain. Barricade shrank from his field and backed away. Where was the little one? The one who brought energy, the one who gave him pleasure, where...
A third shadow--Guardian! --but its field was ferocious and threatening. Barricade reeled, processors beginning to shut down, the world darkening, his ragged field nearly useless. There. THERE. Right in front of him. A high whine escaped. It was here. It had come. Claws reached out blindly, tattered field wrapping the small one close.
Mikaela screamed.
tbc
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A/N: Many, many thanks to my lovely beta, quidamling, for suggestions, editing, plotting, and the ongoing development of this entire fic. So much love, hun, so much. ♥♥♥
( Table of Contents )
Verse: Post 2007 Movie, AU
Rating: Mature
Pairings: Jazz/Maggie Madsen, Ironhide/Sarah Lennox/Will Lennox, Prime/Ratchet, Bumblebee/Sam, Barricade/Mikaela
Summary: What is love? Is it an instinct? An emotion? Or an ability that can transcend species? After eons of conflict, the war-weary Autobots have a new home, a new life, and a chance for something more. And for a single Decepticon, a chance for salvation.
Warnings: NSFW Mech/human sexual situations.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, Hasbro has it all.
( Prologue )( Chapter One )( Chapter Two )( Chapter Three )( Chapter Four )( Chapter Five )( Chapter Six )( Chapter Seven )( Chapter Eight )( Chapter Nine )( Chapter Ten )( Chapter Eleven )( Chapter Twelve )( Chapter Thirteen )( Chapter Fourteen )( Chapter Fifteen )( Chapter Sixteen )
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Notes:
-------------- Denotes scene breaks
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Denotes breaks within scenes
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~ Chapter 17 ~
Mikaela paused when she entered the Medbay. The Saleen had moved again, the third time in 2 days, and now faced the door. Light gleamed off the metal she had polished yesterday, but that didn’t explain the marked change in the Saleen.
Mikaela could feel it, an air of alertness, of attention.
She startled at the low hum, the first sound she’d ever heard from Barricade that wasn’t born of pain.
The energon monitor beeped. The engine hummed.
Mikaela frowned, indecisive. She wasn’t supposed to be in here alone, but Barricade was her patient too, Ratchet said so.
The feeling of attention increased. The Saleen managed to look both expectant and welcoming.
More welcoming than ‘Bee.
She couldn’t pinpoint exactly when Bumblebee had changed, but it was there and more glaring every time they were together. There were times she could almost swear he called out a name that wasn’t hers. Afterwards, he was just gone, withdrawn, not there with her at all.
You know who he’s calling for, Mikaela, who he really wants. Admit it.
The monitor beeped insistently. He was hungry. Mikaela sighed and pushed away the unwelcome thoughts, moving forward into the maze of conduits surrounding Barricade. Some of the webbed strands of cabling and filaments stretched taut around the vehicle; she picked her way carefully. Her hip brushed against one; it thrummed as she passed and Mikaela paused, the first faint alarms going off in her head. Had the car just shifted? Did it just move?
Metal gleamed. The Saleen hummed. The monitor beeped steadily.
She shook her head and pressed on. She was tired, not sleeping well, imagination running away, eyes playing tricks--that was all. But oh, that feeling, all that attention.
No one else can do what you are doing, are about to do…
Not like Bumblebee, who was more distant by the day, whose focus was Sam, who wanted Sam and would always want Sam, and that would never change. She was a just a placeholder, and that hurt too much to dwell on.
Tears stung, and Mikaela bit her lip fiercely. She’d be damned if she was going to start crying again.
She was still several feet away from the Saleen when a deep engine rumble startled her. A cable darted out from under the vehicle and wrapped around her waist. Mikaela gasped and clutched at the thick coil, as strong as steel and completely unyielding. There was strength in that hold, enough to snap her in two. The cable tugged her forward, steady and insistent. Mikaela reluctantly obeyed the command.
Another deep rumble was followed by an increased sense of that attention, as though he were riveted by her approach.
You are the singular focus, the center of it all…
The pressure eased when she reached the Saleen but the cable kept her tethered, a very short leash.
Another cable emerged from beneath the hood and poised in front of her, slender filaments extended from the tip, glowing bright blue and swaying in an invisible breeze, alive with current.
Mikaela shuddered when they approached her. The Saleen hummed. The filaments touched, stroking in a delicate questing trail over her face and throat. The tendrils drifted across the contours of brow and cheek and nose, pausing to examine her mouth with soft feather light touches before moving on to the line of her throat, the wings of her collarbones.
The filaments traced over shoulders and arms and down her legs. They moved steadily over fabric, slowed to a crawl over skin, the tendrils flickering like tongues as they touched and tasted and felt their way over her.
Sensors. Mikaela squinted hard at the filaments. Ratchet had used something similar a few times, poking long thin glowing threads into hard-to-reach areas to gather data.
She sucked in a breath when the filaments eased over breasts and stomach; even through her overalls, she could feel the tendrils growing warmer. She was still sensitive after last night with Bumblebee. Her nipples hardened. The cable around her waist pulled her closer.
Mikaela hissed at the black hulking car, tugging uselessly at her tether, skin crawling with static and her hair lifting off her shoulders. A heavy charge was building around Barricade. Any part of her touching that metal and the shock was going to hurt like hell.
The Saleen’s engine rumbled, sounding displeased, and the tether gave a quick jerk that left her sprawled across hard, hot metal.
The shock and pain she feared dissolved into sauna-like heat and a thousand delicate touches that left her boneless in their wake. She shivered and goosebumped, skin alive with the sensations of flowing water and silken, delicate touches feathering over her from head to foot. A rougher sensation intruded, like a loofah scrubbing vigorously, and then it was over.
Her fingers had dug into the seams of his hood. Mikaela released her grip, pushing unsteadily away from the car. Of all the weird things she had witnessed in the Med Bay, that was… what the hell just happened?
The tether still held her in a grip of steel.
“I’m fine, I’m ok, you can let go now,” Mikaela murmured, patting the hood. There was that intense regard again and then the Saleen made a low, grating sound, regard shifting to amusement.
Barricade obviously didn’t believe her, waiting for legs to stop their wobbling before he released her. The cable slid slowly from her waist, lingering like a caress before dropping away and disappearing back into the darkness beneath the car.
The monitor beeped insistently. The Saleen gave a questioning hum. Mikaela pushed a shaky hand through her hair and threaded the feeder line into an intake port. She felt good, tired, but good.
She turned to go. The drip line would need a good 20 minutes, and it was way past time to tend to the chores Ratchet left her.
That attention returned full force and Mikaela’s eyelids fluttered. She could bask in the glow of it, that intense regard.
Nothing else matters, no one else exists… only you…
Stay…
She glanced around the empty Medbay then pulled a soft polishing cloth from the pocket of her overalls. Just a few more minutes wouldn’t hurt.
No one but you…
She was needed here. She was wanted.
Mikaela bent over the hood again, running soft cloth along the seams, polishing away the traces of her fingerprints. She hummed to herself, relaxed and content. There was something almost meditative about these moments, this work, as she polished and polished the metal still gleaming from yesterday’s polishing.
Good.
The Saleen settled itself under her ministrations with a very satisfied air, engine audibly purring.
------------------------------
More contact? Jazz queried the AI as he entered his quarters. We’re about at the sparkin’ stage already.
More physical contact required, the AI repeated.
I’ll see what I can do.
One corner of the large quarters was completely taken over with an array of small machines: computer towers, an impressive monitor display made up of multiple flat-screens, audio equipment, and a maze of wires and breakers holding it all together. A pink minifridge sat next to the towers, its top colonized by a collection of empty bottles sporting labels with bare feet and winging birds and colorful grinning skulls.
Jazz grinned as he took in the sight. Maggie sat at the desk in pink see-through bra and thong and nothing else, peering intently at one of the half dozen monitors. His vocalizer let out a low wolf whistle.
“Time ta go, lovely. Get some heels on, the rest of you is just fine.”
Maggie leaned back in her chair and arched a brow at him. “Ha. Nice try.”
A monitor beeped and she pointed to it. “He’s at it again. Signals all over the place.”
Jazz leaned over her, visor sparkling with interest. “Gotta hand it to him, he doesn’t give up easy.”
“You two must be related.” Maggie smirked up at him, trailing a hand over the sigil on his chestplates then giving the plating a gentle rap. “So tell me more about this ‘sparking’ thing you mentioned?”
“Gettin’ there, lovely. Final check in the Medbay in 20. But first…” The scoop up and into his arms was effortless.
“First?” Maggie hummed and placed a kiss on mouthplates, shivering as his field connected smoothly.
Jazz waggled his optic ridges. “I got some signals I can show ya.”
Hands caressed her, mouth, lips, the wicked swipe of a tongue right across her….
Her giggles were lost in a moan. She licked her own lips, eyes closing in anticipation.
------------------------------
“You’re dead.”
“Damn it!”
The first dozen times Sarah ‘died’, she had cringed and ducked, eyes wide and heart racing, and yes, there might have been a few panicked screams when the holocaust erupted around her.
Now, it was simply frustrating. She walked out of the holographic inferno, panting and wiping sweat off her face.
Of all the things she had imagined at Ironhide’s “I have something for you,” this had not been one of them. Not even close.
Will would have been on the ground with laughter or shooting Ironhide his ‘are you fucking kidding me? ’ look. Sarah had tried very very hard for a more polite response. She closed her mouth, which had been hanging open for several long moments.
“For me? I-- You shouldn’t have.”
“It was no trouble,” Ironhide rumbled, oblivious to Sarah’s dismay as she looked over the brand new ‘something.’
An obstacle course, just for her, nested into the back forty and well out of sight of the house.
It was a mystery how and when Ironhide had found time to construct it.
“Why this?” Another mystery; Sarah was completely baffled.
Ironhide peered down at her. “You did say you wished for something more to do?”
“Well, yes.” That much was true.
“Something outside of the house?”
“Yes, but…” Never in a million years…
“This will be good for you. You need this.”
“I… Really?”
“Yes.”
Ironhide bent closer.
“I am your Guardian, Sarah, I will defend you with my very life. But in case anything happens to me... Well. A Guardian also teaches his charges how to survive against an enemy on their own. I have been developing a plan since Will asked me to keep you safe. This is part of that plan.”
How Ironhide managed to convey warm fuzzy feelings with absolute terror was beyond her, but anything big enough to threaten Ironhide was reason enough to be afraid. The fear suddenly melted away under a warm wave of safety. She was blanketed, held securely, surrounded by Ironhide’s strength. Ironhide would care for them, watch over them and keep them safe. He would defend them against whatever was keeping Will tangled in knots over in Qatar. Of that, she had no doubts.
Sarah laid a hand against leg armor. “Thank you, Ironhide. Tell Will not to worry about us.” Will was a part of this too. Giving him one less reason to worry about them here would be a very good thing for him over there.
Sarah was out every morning now, exercising and running the new course with Ironhide as her Drill Sergeant. Will would be smirking ear to ear.
She grabbed the large water bottle, sipping in between pants. More sweat trickled down her face, her back was soaked, and wouldn’t her old auntie just shake her head at the sight? Ladies don’t sweat, Sarah, they perspire. Gently.
Will might even be raising a brow and agreeing with old Aunt Maybeth if he could see her now-sweat-darkened blonde hair and dirt streaked from head to foot.
She laughed a little at that image and leaned up against Ironhide’s leg.
“If Will could see me now he’d be dying laughing.”
“Would he?” Ironhide rumbled amusement, and that warm sense of safety blanketed her again.
“Rolling. On the ground.” Sarah smirked and took another sip of water. “And my Aunt Maybeth would be scandalized, the poor old dear.”
“Who is Aunt Maybeth?”
“Our family matriarch. Sort of like a Guardian? She looked after all of us.” Another fond smile, remembering. “Will had his work cut out for him, getting her approval.”
Ironhide’s quirked optic ridge and interested hum were permission enough to take a break. Sarah perched herself on one large metal foot, glad for the breather.
“She never had kids of her own, but she took us all under her wing and treated us like her very own...”
Dear Aunt Maybeth was less than impressed when Will first met the family. The sharp-eyed old matriarch looked him up and down and Lennox was uncomfortably reminded of a drill sergeant about to bust his ass. “Listen here, young man. I can’t talk to my niece because I can see she’s already head over heels in love with you, so you’d better treat her right or you’ll answer to me.”
Sarah blushed and ducked her head. Will knelt next to Aunt Maybeth’s chair and took the hand she offered, brown eyes intent and voice gentle. “Ma’am, you don’t need to worry. Your niece is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
Will spent the next six months exercising all his considerable charm on the old woman and when he proposed to Sarah, her Aunt declared in no uncertain terms, “Sarah Maybeth Collins, you marry that boy or I’ll disown you and marry him myself!”
Will’s eyes got comically huge, then he turned to Sarah and mouthed, ‘Save me!’ Of course Sarah had to agree to rescue her Ranger...
Ironhide was still rumbling amusement when she got up to stretch out stiff muscles. She liked his laugh, it sounded genuine and his armor seemed to hum with it.
Eight in the morning and the heat was already building, a shower couldn’t come soon enough. Annabelle would be waking shortly, and there was breakfast to make and the house to clean, and then on to the gun range and oh, that weapon Ironhide was making, just for her? Will’s eyebrows would be climbing right up into his hair. The man and his gunkink. Sarah smiled at the thought and took another gulp of water. She couldn’t wait to show it to him.
“Your overall time has improved by 10 minutes. Try one more and we are done for today.”
If she was hoping for her story to distract him from another run, Ironhide didn’t fall for it. Sarah gave a theatrical groan.
“Only 10 minutes? I’ve been at this for three weeks!”
“Still an improvement. Try it again.”
“You know this isn’t fair, Ironhide. You’ve slowed this one up, made it stupid. I’ll never outrun a real drone, you said so yourself.”
“We will only use these while you are learning.” A huge metal knee joint landed solidly next to her in the dirt. “This is about survival, Sarah. You are learning how to run, how to hide, how to listen for it and how to outthink it, as well as building strength and endurance. Each minute you stay alive is a minute more I have to get to you.”
Bright blue optics peered down and Ironhide extended a large hand. “Your odds against a real one are about to improve greatly. Ratchet is almost ready, testing can begin in a few more days. Then the real training begins.”
Sarah sighed and stepped close, pressing her forehead against cooled metal fingers. “Running, hiding, training me to fight. When are you going to show me what I’m training for?”
“Soon.” That deep rumble buzzed in her chest, his finger traced over her back, slow and gentle. She was soothed and comforted, a soft fluffy blanket wrapped her in layers of safety. Her eyelids drooped and then something tickled against her skin, sent pleasant chills racing over her body. Sarah stiffened, blinking hard. The sensations faded. Strange.
She looked up at Ironhide, about to ask but oddly hesitant.
“Ready?” His rumbled question cut her off, and Sarah nodded and let it go.
She was improving, she could tell that much, and markedly better at following his signals. The entire exercise reminded her of nothing so much as putting a dog through its paces on an agility course, Ironhide’s deep gravelly voice in her ear feeding her a constant stream of directions.
“Left…Right…Count to five and double back… head for the ravine… the tunnel… the mountain....”
The training was deceptively simple. Each order accompanied the distinctive whining buzz of a pursuing drone, Ironhide giving her just enough help to maintain a lead on her pursuer.
“You are on your own now, listen for the drone.”
Sarah mentally swore. She hated this part. Minutes, focus on minutes of not dying.
She pounded through the dirt track and climbed the long ladder braced against the ‘mountain’-a gigantic stack of hay bales (hay bales, where the devil had he gotten that many hay bales?) held together with tough plastic netting. The drone buzzed practically in her ear and Sarah flung herself over the top and used the dangling rope to scale down the other side. She dropped the last few feet, landing on deep cushioned padding and tucking into a roll, then bouncing to her feet at the edge and back onto the track.
Sarah was proud of that particular move, practiced over and over for the last three weeks. She had slimmed down, the last of her ‘baby weight’ melted off on the strenuous course leaving her trim and toned, muscles adding firmness in places she’d never had them. She could carry an increasingly heavy toddler around without a hint of strain, she looked fabulous in the bikini she had regretfully tossed aside after Anna was born, and William Lennox was most definitely not going to recognize his wife when he came home on leave.
She couldn’t wait. Her eyes sparkled, sizing up the remainder of the course. Ironhide had been right, this was good for her. She looked better, felt better, her days were full and she slept soundly at night. Things were easier with Will, too. They talked more, conversations were not as strained, he was looking forward to coming home on leave.
Sarah was happy.
Her lips curved in an unconscious smile even as she scrambled for the pile of heavy brush to hide and catch her breath. The pursuing drone sailed past on some unknown trajectory of its own and she took the opportunity to race further down the track, dodging behind boulders (really big boulders; carried, rolled or hauled in the flatbed of his alt-mode from who knew where) and then on to the smaller mountain of pallets. Ironhide had covered them with chain-link fencing (fencing, really, and she didn’t want to know where he got that from) and she pulled herself up easily, scaling the large stack of pallets to the top and then flattening herself.
The sun was up and throwing long shadows over the obstacle course. Sarah squinted, searching for the drone. No sign of it, and she’d rarely gotten this far. Just one last obstacle, a final sprint and she would finish the course.
Triumph surged. She swung down the other side of pallet mountain and headed toward the ‘ravine’, slipping and skidding down the side of the narrow packed dirt trench and hunkering down in its relative safety. No sight or sound of the drone.
Stay and wait it out or go? Go now, maybe?
Sarah hesitated, teeth gnawing at her lower lip, sweat trickling down face, back and arms.
Her nerves stretched taut as piano wire and breaths rasped so loud she couldn’t hear the damn thing if it was on top of her. She was so close to finishing, and she’d be trapped for sure if it caught her here.
Go.
She heaved herself up the other side, breath ragged in her throat. There, there it was, the end of the course, so tantalizingly close. She could do this, just run, now!
Ironhide’s growl in her ear told her it was the wrong move. She gulped a breath and froze, listening for the telltale buzz and ping. There, right… damn it!
Light bloomed around her and the world went up in flames.
-----------------------------
Cybertron -- Distant Past
“I received an order to report here?”
The large black weapons specialist spared the medic the briefest of glances before turning back to the plasma rifle on his workbench.
The corner Ironhide claimed for his own was closer to the Armory and well away from the rest of the Training Center, but the noise was still deafening. New recruits were hustled between soldiers sparring one on one or engaged in melee fighting. Shock troopers stormed a line of defense, another group formed a tight ring back to back and took on a furious wave of attack drones. Weapons fire whined; a few soldiers flinched and rubbed their torsos, and signaled a successful test to the Arms master. Nothing damaged, all weapons at a fraction of their full power.
The din was terrific. The medic raised his vocals and lowered his audial receptors.
“Is someone injured?”
A small grunt and a sidelong look from Ironhide as he hefted the rifle. “You got Prime’s message?”
The medic shook his helm. “I got a message, saying to report here.” Ratchet looked around, helm tilting. “Why am I here?”
Ratchet made a startled bark as he fumbled the rifle suddenly forced into his hands.
“To learn.”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
He had learned, and learned very well, even accepting combat programming and incorporating a blaster into his frame.
“Watch your proximity,” Ironhide warned them, optics pinned on the medic facing off against another trainee. Prime was there too, the casual drop-by just in time for Ratchet’s session not fooling the old mech for a moment. “Don’t let your audience go to your processors, he’s not here to admire your paint jobs. Stay focused!” The trainee feinted with a wickedly curved blade, Ratchet dodged and fell back, barely keeping inside the training circle. “Neither of you have the frame build for sustained melee fighting, so in and out, quick strikes and then get clear and use your ranged...” Ironhide paused, optics narrowing, then broke into a chuckle, watching Ratchet execute a twist and bounce forward to press his enormous medical saw against the trainee’s neck plating. “Or you could do that.” The trainee had meeped and tapped his wrist twice, “Yield!” Prime’s optics had gleamed with pride, and Ratchet was not at all surprised to receive a note to meet him later.
Implacable logic and cold reality warned him time and again that nothing would come of this. They met in dusty storage areas, in old abandoned areas of the Base, away from knowing smirks and prying optics. Ratchet couldn’t even say he’d been led blindly down this path, he’d taken it willingly, with full knowledge of where it would lead.
The Matrix was now a calm and steady presence, and Optimus was even beginning to hear the voices of the old Primes, ancient wisdom speaking to him in Matrix whisperings. He was ready.
Soon the High Council would choose the Prime’s Bonded, and once Optimus was bonded, Ratchet would lose him forever. The Prime’s Chosen would not be him, it would never be him. Ratchet had everything against him and not even the pride and desire of a Prime would affect that outcome.
In spite of everything, he still hoped. Even the Matrix seemed to favor him. It happened only once, but Ratchet knew what he saw. He shivered gazing up at Prime, sensing something ancient and powerful, something other, in the optics looking down at him. The ancient presence recognized and welcomed him, then it faded away and all he could sense was the loneliness in Prime and the deep hunger as Optimus reached for him.
The day Prime was summoned before the High Council, his hope had soared. When Optimus returned, battle mask firmly in place and optics fired with rage and contempt, Ratchet’s hope crushed down to shards. The Matrix itself could pop out of Prime’s chestplates and the Council would still deny him.
“We honor you, Matrix Bearer, and grant you your request to make your own choice. The nobles humbly offer you their finest from the Towers. Choose, and we will name your Bonding Day.”
To have come this far and been offered a choice... Prime looked over the glittering assemblage, spark sinking. Young mechs barely out of their Guardian’s care, optics wide and innocent and worshipful, ready to be molded to his every desire. Older mechs with supple graceful frames and optics that promised dark delights. There were even a few mecha the same frame type as Ironhide, armor shined to mirror finish, steady optics offering a solid strength he could lean on; and Jazz, lithe frames and bright smiles, beckoning promise behind mysterious visors. All of them built for beauty and to attract the lusts of a Prime. Talented in the berth too, no doubt; the Council had learned from prior failures.
There was open glee on the faceplates of the nobles, avarice in the High Council’s optics. Power was everything to these mecha, the ultimate aphrodisiac. How many backroom deals and political alliances had already been made based on the Prime’s would-be Chosen? Nothing more than proprietors hawking the wares of their whorehouse, the lot of them.
Disgust roiled his tank, Prime could barely keep it contained. “I have made my choice already, noble mechs, but I wish to protect his identity. His life would be endangered while this war--”
“WE choose, Matrix Bearer, it is tradition.”
“Tradition... Tradition... Tradition...” High Council helms wagged, voices echoed around the lofty chamber.
“High Council Leader, hear me. I have known this mech for many vorns. He is strong and steady, I trust him with my very life. He is the Bonded I desire. Allow him to remain hidden and out of danger for now. Once the war has ended--”
A dismissive wave of an elegant bejeweled hand was his answer. “We will choose as we always have, Matrix Bearer. Keep your berthwarmer if you desire him so much. Until the day of your Bonding, you may take any mech you wish, from wherever you wish.”
Prime’s optics narrowed, anger seething in his spark. “And if I choose no one?”
“TRADITION will be upheld, Optimus Prime. You swore that oath yourself.” Regal optics stared him down. They didn’t care who he took to berth or how many, he could have an entire harem and no one would blink an optic. He could slum every night in the deepest cesspools of Cybertron and no one would care. But most of all they didn’t care who Ratchet was or where he came from or what he was to Optimus...
Another note, another meeting. Ratchet placed hands on the broad chest and leaned into Prime’s embrace. “How bad was it?”
“Very.” Optimus’ snort of contempt summed it up entirely, the hint of despair in optics made it that much worse.
Ratchet’s vents cycled a sigh of air. “As if we didn’t see that coming. Give it up, Optimus, they won’t listen. They will only make things much harder for you.”
“I can delay them. They don’t care who I want, that much is clear. And that is perhaps, the plus to all this,” Prime rumbled quietly. “I wasn’t forced to reveal you. I can continue to keep you safe.”
His helm tilted down. “I choose you, Ratchet, as my Bonded and my Consort. From this day until we both offline, you are my Chosen, Beloved. Wait with me. Stay hidden, stay safe, until this war is over.”
Ratchet leaned into the light nuzzle, optics darkening. “If this is the only way I can have you, then yes. I choose you as my Bonded, Optimus, from this day until we both offline.”
He was fully prescient about the promise just made: There would be no formal declaration, and no Bonding, until the war was over. Prime’s inner circle would know the true state of affairs of course, but before the optics of all Cybertron, not the smallest hint would escape that anything more than a professional relationship existed between them.
What Ratchet cursed daily and wished to Primus that he could have foreseen was Optimus’ almost obsessive desire to keep him safe. Even as the war dragged on, vorn after vorn, even when the Council Chamber was bombed and the Council itself ceased to exist, the Prime remained adamant. In secret, there were passionate promises and even more passionate sharing, but he had not known that vorns would stretch into the hundreds, and then into the thousands, until Ratchet was sick at spark and utterly weary of it all, and still Optimus would not relent.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Medbay -- Present Day
Ratchet frowned and leaned close, trying to lay hands on the hood of the vehicle again. The Saleen backed away, its engine growling, the edge of a ragged field bristling a warn off. The medic scrubbed a tired hand over faceplates. Every day was a battle, every day was a little harder.
They had come nearly full circle, he and Optimus, and the knowledge twisted cruelly. Most of his free time was spent in the Medbay now, working with his fractious patient. Nowhere else to go, his choices narrowing, work was all he had left. Work long and hard, avoid Optimus, and hope that what had saved him before would do so again.
Heavy metal knuckles rapped on the hood.
“We can do this the easy way or the hard way, Barricade.”
Thick hooked cables uncoiled from their housing to hover above the injured Decepticon. Ratchet grabbed the end of one and thumped the hook against the roof.
“Stop testing me, you know I’ll do it.”
Ratchet slipped the hook into a seam between roof and door and began the silent countdown.
3…
Another hook slipped in under the frame.
2…
The entire vehicle shuddered.
1…
The Saleen gave in, moving forward until it was nearly at his feet. The brakes locked on with an audible thump and Ratchet spread gentle hands on the hood. Filaments threaded out from fingertips and into seams, replenishing repair nanites, linking him into core systems. New code began streaming and was promptly blocked.
He raised one optic ridge.
“Really?”
An ill-tempered engine snarl was his answer.
Ratchet sighed and prepared another medical override.
The more progress he made, the more time he spent breaking down barriers to get to the actual repairs. Every day was a battle and Barricade didn’t have the energy to spare. He also didn’t have a choice in the matter and as draining as it was, Ratchet couldn’t fault him for his stubborn resistance.
The medical override broke down walls and beat down defensive coding. The snarling engine revved to an impotent, furious roar.
“I am 99.9% certain that your personality matrix is largely intact,” Ratchet grumbled over the noise.
He was also 99.9% sure that if Barricade were up and mobile, fangs and claws would be sinking in and tearing out his main fuel line.
The coding slipped in behind the override and reorganized the repair hierarchy, setting defensive systems to null and void--again, for the hundredth time. Nanites swarmed, activating pain blockers and racing over damaged systems, settling in to the most critical repairs. They hummed and buzzed in their simple language, communicating progress. A demand was issued for more energy; extra energon was pumped in.
The Saleen quivered from bumper to bumper, engine running hard and hot with the excess fuel. The entire vehicle finally gave up and hunkered down, only an occasional whine and twitch to show the Decepticon was still online and still very unhappy. Ratchet could imagine Barricade in an exhausted graceless sprawl, fangs bared in a useless threat.
“You can approach, Mikaela.” Ratchet muttered, optics flashing in one last glare at the Saleen. “He should remain still for the duration of the energon transfer.”
“Can I try a scan?” Mikaela asked hopefully, jumping down from her perch with a smaller human-scale external scanner.
“Now is as good a time as any,” Ratchet replied, optics softening as he glanced down at his student. It was surprisingly pleasant to have a trainee again, and her enthusiasm always touched his spark. “Report to me when you’ve determined the repairs just made… and the steps he’s taking to undo all my hard work-”
“He at it again?” Jazz’s entirely too cheerful tones burst into the relative quiet.
“He’s being his usual pain in my aft, yes.” Ratchet’s scans were already running over the silver mech and his smaller companion. Pheromones drifted in a haze about the pair. Maggie had an all too familiar look about her, soft and sleepy. Jazz looked distinctly smug, his systems still in cool-down mode. Even without scanners, Mikaela gave Maggie a knowing arch of eyebrows.
Some new milestone reached, no doubt. Ratchet mentally shook his helm and pointed to the main exam station. “Over there, both of you.”
The medic’s scans stuttered and fritzed under the onslaught of a whirling hot field and a flood of pheromones. Ratchet huffed. “Never mind, I’ll take you one at a time.”
You couldn’t wait five minutes until AFTER the exam?
Heh.
Maggie yawned and Jazz smirked, stroking a finger over her hair. “Did I wear you out, beautiful?”
“You don’t have to be so smug,” she murmured, and leaned over to place her hands on his chest armor and a kiss right in the center of his sigal, just over his spark.
Jazz’s engine revved. Ratchet’s scanners lit up with the glow from his field.
The medic hurriedly backed away to busy himself with something, anything to avoid that much blatant lust.
The kiss lingered, and Ratchet was ready to throw them both out the nearest window when Jazz finally lowered her to the floor. Maggie slipped off his arm and blew him a kiss as she strolled over to Mikaela.
Ratchet huffed impatiently but Jazz’s optics remained glued to the gentle sway of Maggie’s hips. She paused to casually bend over and adjust a sandal strap and presented him with a view of a very fine aft. His visor flashed, mouthplates broadening into a grin. Tease, he sent through her commlink. Primus, but it was working too, he could still feel that shapely aft in the palm of his hand. Maggie’s chuckle drifted back to him.
Lust was rolling off Jazz in waves. The edge of that bright field barely glanced him and Ratchet gasped, locking down plating so fast it rattled. His own spark twisted with jealousy, bitter and painful. They had it so easy, they didn’t have to hide.
“Can we get on with your exam now?” Ratchet snapped, smothering pain beneath an engine growl.
“Oh, yeah.” Jazz’s helm twisted to look at the medic, grin fading. A little shimmer drifted over his visor. “Ratchet? Are you-”
“Overworked and underfueled? Yes. Trying to rebuild a second,” and here the medic churred roughly at Jazz and made a pointed gesture to encompass the entire silver mech, “shattered mech with no supplies but my own frame, skills and subspace? Frag, yes. Can we get started so that you can continue this far away from where I am trying to work?”
“Sure, sure.” Jazz’s field flickered an apology, lust damped down to a more manageable level. The silver mech straightened, unlatching chestplating and trying not to twitch under Ratchet’s proddings.
“Alloy donations continue incorporating…. spark casing integrity at 99.7%...”
The medic poked and muttered; Jazz’s attention drifted back to Maggie. His visor rippled through several wavelengths to settle on her biofield. It wrapped around her in a brilliant glow, overlaid with his own energy signature. Swirls of higher harmonics from his field flowed gracefully. She was gorgeous, and she was all his.
“Relays fully functional…”
Mikaela moved to stand beside her, looking dim and pale by comparison. The contrast was striking and Jazz tilted his helm, puzzled. As active as he knew ‘Bee was with her, Mikaela’s field ought to be lit up like a beacon.
“Spark is efficiently energized, no stray energy leakage detected…”
Instead, it was the usual dim glow of an organic biofield. A few brighter spots stood out here and there, but they weren’t a part of any signature he recognized--
Jazz’s visor flashed a vivid rainbow of surprised colors before settling into cool silver.
“Huh. Barricade’s field is pretty active. He been tryin’ ta communicate?”
“If he is, that would be a first. All I get out of him is snarling and sabotage for my efforts.” Ratchet grunted, attaching a scanning node to take direct readings from Jazz’s spark.
“He’s hummin’ at Mikaela, he doesn’t seem ta mind her.”
“She poses no threat to him. Exactly why I assigned her to take over his daily care and energon feeding.”
“Not ta mention less stressful for ya.”
Ratchet snorted. “There is that. He’d be much further along by now if all his energy wasn’t wasted on battling me.” The medic peered into the spark chamber, monitoring the readouts on the scanner. “Good, very good, your nanites have finished adapting donor alloys, all now reading as part of you. Incorporation is nearing 100%.”
“And?”
Bright visor, eager smile, Ratchet hid his envy under a huff and a roll of optics.
“And I will clear you for spark sharing with Maggie. But take it easy. Your casing falls apart under a marathon bout of sparking, I will fix you. Again. But you won’t enjoy it.”
Chest plates closed so fast Ratchet’s fingers were nearly caught. The silver mech slid off the examining table, pointing hastily over to the Saleen. “So, how about ‘Cade? We ready ta get him up and around?”
Ratchet allowed himself a small smirk before turning a sour look on Barricade. “More than ready.”
The Saleen gave a warning growl as they approached. Ratchet motioned Mikaela and Maggie away from the vehicle, flickering optics in annoyance and growling his engine right back. “Frag this. Hack into his defenses and distract him now, Jazz, PLEASE. Before I decide it is just easier to disassemble and start over fresh.”
“On it.”
Jazz bent over the Decepticon, the engine snarled an impotent threat. For weeks they’d been patiently working through Barricade’s defenses, built not just to keep an enemy out of vital programming, but to take the last of Barricade out of an enemy’s reach if worst came to the very worst. Jazz was hard pressed to remember the last time he’d seen such an impressive defense hierarchy. It had taken his and Ratchet’s best efforts to hack in, overwrite, undermine, and now, finally, topple the entire structure, all without compromising Barricade’s core programming. The hack slid in through shining silver filaments. The last active defensive systems pounced on it immediately and medical overrides silently tracked them, tracing each back to its source and deactivating them one by one.
The Saleen’s roar died away to a few grumbles and then was quiet. Ratchet leaned back and vented a sigh. “That’s the last of them. Let’s get him outside.”
Ratchet released the spider’s web of conduits, cables and sensor filaments surrounding and attached to Barricade. The entire maze retracted back into recesses in flooring and walls and disappeared. Only a thin cable remained attached, a lead to guide the vehicle.
Jazz patted the hood of the silent Saleen and stood. Ratchet swung the double doors of the medbay wide and locked them open. A chirrup of encouragement and a little tug on the lead, and the Saleen followed the mechs into the corridor, quiet and docile.
“Everyone ready?”
“Prime’s on his way, Ironhide’s almost here. Bumblee--” Jazz tilted his helm quizzically. “He said somethin’ about Sam still not feelin’ well and wantin’ ta stick close. Still? How long’s that been goin’ on?”
The Saleen nosed up right behind them before the lead trailed and caught under a tire, bringing the vehicle to an abrupt halt. Ratchet huffed and paused to untangle it. “Seems to come and go. I haven’t seen him recently, but Bumblebee was feeding me biological readouts constantly, at all hours.” The medic grumbled, distinctly annoyed. “I’m well aware of the appropriate ranges for a human of his age. If anything changes, Bumblebee has instructions to contact me about Sam.”
That just seemed weird. Okay, Sam was a little weird, but Bumblebee wasn’t. He wasn’t paranoid either. Might be good to check in on his protege after they got Barricade all settled in.
“Probably just as well he’s not here. Lotta history between these two.” Jazz’s frown was hidden by his visor; he hurried to open up the doors leading outside the Base and Barricade slid out right on Ratchet’s heels. Sunlight bathed the black and white for the first time in months. The vehicle slowed to a halt in a bright pool of sunshine, engine purring.
Prime was already there and waiting for them. Mikaela and Maggie had taken the shorter route out the human sized exit. Ironhide pulled up and transformed, and of course he had cannons at the ready. Jazz smirked.
::He ain’t goin’ anywhere fast, ‘Hide.::
::He’s not getting the chance either::
“Ironhide, we are here to assist if needed,” Prime reminded quietly. The black mech reluctantly powered down, but left both cannons fully deployed and locked on the Decepticon.
Ratchet knelt and keyed in the transformation sequence. It was not under Barricade’s control yet, the medic wasn’t risking damage to delicate repairs or outright jury rigged components. This would be a test and an opportunity to get at difficult to reach systems.
The Saleen shuddered from bumper to bumper. It creaked and groaned, the sound of grinding metal had Mikaela wincing and Maggie covering her ears. Ratchet braced Barricade, helping him through the sequence until he was standing on his own. Darkened optics flickered fitfully then lit up with a pale but steady glow. Barricade swayed slightly, helm turning as he looked around the small assembly of Autobots and humans.
“Status, Ratchet?” Beside him, Ironhide was tense. Prime laid a calming hand on his arm.
Readouts poured through the medic’s HUD. “Very good, no stress fractures in joints or frame. There are fluctuations in his field but spark energy appears normal. Reading some damage in core programming including processors, language and memory modules. Now that defensive systems aren’t blocking me and stealing his every resource, I’ll run some diagnostics and see what’s going on there. Physically, he’s made considerable progress. I expect his frame will be repaired and fully functional in another two decacycles or so.”
Mikaela shivered when those pale red optics paused to regard her for several long moments. She’d forgotten after so many months, what Barricade looked like, what he was.
Decepticon. Monster.
Prime’s smooth bass rolled through the small assembly. “Welcome, Barricade. We offer you amnesty and a place with us, or you may declare yourself a Neutral. The choice is yours.”
Mikaela nearly sagged with relief as Barricade’s attention turned from her to Optimus.
Everywhere was bright and shadows. The biggest shadow moved, making nonsensical sounds. Barricade ignored it, trying to make sense of these new surroundings. Optics flickered with the onslaught of sensory information, processors threatening to short out with too much coming too rapidly. Noise...Static...Pain. He raised a hand to his helm, claws scraping over metal.
“Barricade? Barricade, you have nothing to fear from us.”
Ratchet’s optic ridges pulled down, scanners flaring red with new reports. Finally something beyond defenses throwing up chameleon mesh and camouflage plating, but bringing a whole new set of worries. “Careful, Prime. Scans are picking up much more damage to internal components than they could detect in alt mode.”
Prime moved closer to Barricade, his field reaching out to soothe the agitated mech.
Pain flared in his processors, his field recoiled under the heavy intruder. Barricade’s optics flashed to deep red, something between a whine and a snarl emerging from his vocalizer. He stumbled back, claws swiping viciously at the large shadow stalking him. Another intruder, the loud angry one, the one who brought pain. Barricade shrank from his field and backed away. Where was the little one? The one who brought energy, the one who gave him pleasure, where...
A third shadow--Guardian! --but its field was ferocious and threatening. Barricade reeled, processors beginning to shut down, the world darkening, his ragged field nearly useless. There. THERE. Right in front of him. A high whine escaped. It was here. It had come. Claws reached out blindly, tattered field wrapping the small one close.
Mikaela screamed.
tbc
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A/N: Many, many thanks to my lovely beta, quidamling, for suggestions, editing, plotting, and the ongoing development of this entire fic. So much love, hun, so much. ♥♥♥
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