Whispers of the Restless Part 2
Continued.
It seemed as though the room went several degrees colder. Everything was frozen for a long, long moment besides the quiet buzzing of Red Alert’s horns and sensors going haywire.
“You don’t believe this, do you?”
Everyone looked up sharply to see a simple black mech with a heavily Cybertronian design standing there with his arms crossed. “For one, I find it dismal how you walked in here and didn’t notice that I was already inside. For two, I find this human’s claims ludicrous.” He waved Ember off, jerking his head slightly. “The scientist was suicidal. His low sense of self-worth was noted as well as his eagerness to sacrifice his life for others, even an enemy. I think it should have been picked up from the beginning.”
“Perceptor was like that because he cared about other people!” Ratchet said fiercely. “He had trouble understanding that he was valuable and loved, too. He wasn’t suicidal because he thought that his life was worth less than others’!”
“That spirit didn’t commit suicide!” Ember said with only a little less fierceness than Ratchet. “That spirit is furious because first he was murdered, and now not only has the person he blames for his death been set free as a bird, but his loved ones honestly believe he took his own life.”
“I think it’s disgraceful that a human ‘psychic’ was brought here in the first place. That mech killed himself, case closed. No one knows why, but the physical evidence speaks for itself.” He straightened. “Now if you would excuse me, I am going to go recharge.”
The mech left; Ratchet itched to throw something at him but stopped himself nonetheless.
“I do not like him,” the medic said simply, crossing his arms.
“Who was that?” Jason asked, eyeing the door suspiciously.
“Wildfire. He is from Cybertron,” Optimus said quietly.
Jason and Ember exchanged glances. There was a pause for a long time, no one saying anything.
“This is all some trick, isn’t it?” Red Alert said, breaking the spell. “You must have found out all this information, Perceptor’s death, his relationship with Ratchet and Wheeljack, and his appearance beforehand and memorized it. There are no such things as ghosts.” His voice got softer and he looked at the ground. “And Perceptor committed suicide.”
“Red’s right. How is this even possible? Percy never did anything to provoke murder.” Ratchet leaned against the wall, and it looked like a fantastical weariness settled on his shoulders. He looked old, worn, and drained. He never looked like that. “I’m very tired right now. I think I’m just going to go to the berth.”
Ember bit her lip. “But…”
“Please. I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” Ratchet sighed, rubbing his chevron.
Red Alert shook his head slowly. He turned around without a word and opened the med bay door, taking a step out.
“Look out!”
Beachcomber, the only mech close by and with fast reflexes, grabbed the security director sharply and threw him to the ground.
Fwip!
Red Alert looked up in horror to see a blade wedged over three feet deep in the metal of the doorway right where his head had been a moment before.
His mouth fell open, a small squeak teetering from his lips. The thing was stained with fresh energon. It was stained with FRESH ENERGON.
Just to punctuate the point, a drop fell from the blade, splashing onto the security director’s helm.
Finally, Red’s CPU kicked into gear, and he let out a loud scream.
He scrambled away, hurriedly standing up and clutching the area just above his spark. No one reacted. Everyone just stared at the blade blankly.
There was a long moment of silence. Slowly, as if in a dream, Ratchet came forward and took the blade out of the doorway. More energon spattered across the room from it, but he was too caught up in what it was.
It was a scalpel. But it wasn’t just a scalpel. It was The scalpel. That thrice Primus-damned scalpel.
“I thought that I incinerated this thing,” Ratchet said numbly.
“Sins can’t be burned away.”
The blade was scuffed and the handle a little chipped and dented from constant use. Perceptor had always used this particular scalpel. Ratchet and Wheeljack had always asked him why, and even with their bond and the constant merges, they still had a bit of trouble understanding it. He had said that it was familiar and made him feel more secure.
They both understood the need for familiarity and security when they found him a bloody mess on the floor.
Ratchet somehow felt like he was floating when he touched the energon on the blade, uncaring whether or not it would cut him as well. He was slowly floating upside down through the clouds. The tiny sensors in the tip of his finger took in a sample of the energon and examined it.
It was Perceptor’s energon. After a month, it was still fresh and wet.
Ratchet slowly gripped the handle again, his mouth open slightly.
He had hated this scalpel after that night. He had hated Perceptor for leaving like that. He had hated him for not saying good bye. And he had hated himself for not being able to save his bonded. He had flown into such a rage that even Wheeljack was cowering into the corner. No one dared come near. This wasn’t the simple ‘throwing wrenches around’ rage, this was ‘take leave of your senses, destroy everything’ savage, feral, RAGE. He had roared and smashed everything possible, cursing Perceptor, cursing himself, and cursing Primus for letting this happen. He threw every tool in his possession whether or not it was sharp enough to kill if it hit someone. He broke the doors of the cabinets. He crushed everything under his feet. He smashed any and all mirrors and glass inside the med bay with his bare hands, managing to cut himself up thoroughly. He threw the Primus-damned scalpel into the incinerator meant to be used for un-recyclable waste. And he practically made the wall a dart board with all the other ones. It was only when one of his throws went a little wild and clipped Wheeljack’s arm did he come to his senses.
He had been appalled with himself afterwards, but Wheeljack was understanding. Too understanding. More understanding than the medic thought he deserved after that incident. Wheeljack had just kissed him, smiled sadly, and forgave him. With both of them working together, the only evidence of the rampage the next morning were the loss of one scalpel and the conspicuous lack of mirrors. No one had asked after either. Barely anyone even needed to go to the med bay that day, or even weeks afterwards. Even the twins were in too low a mood to get into trouble.
After the initial outburst, Ratchet had gotten his grief and frustration out through overload. Wheeljack had been very understanding about that too, even though Ratchet knew it upset him. It just didn’t feel right without Perceptor, and the raw grief in their sparks made the only pleasure derived from the act physical only to be followed by emotional pain when they joined sparks. There was no harmony in their anguish either, no comfort to be taken. It was just a constant bombardment on the spark.
After Ratchet woke up to Wheeljack crying softly, he finally faced the fact that he was hurting his living bonded while mourning for his dead one. After that, he searched less for release and more for trying to give comfort to both himself and Wheeljack. When you’re using merges for comfort in a time of pain, it could be one of two extremes. It could be just doubling the pain for both and a form of escapism, as it was for them at first, or it could be the greatest thing you could ever do for the healing.
Ratchet let out a cross between a hysterical chuckle and a whimper. The medic was never really sure what happened after he started trying to get through it all in a ‘constructive’ manner. Sometimes he wondered if he was only driving himself insane in a more subtle way. Sometimes in their merges, Ratchet sensed that Wheeljack almost agreed.
“It’s Percy’s energon.”
Wheeljack let out a small cry and his knees buckled, only catching himself from a fall by leaning on the wall. Ratchet stared at the scalpel a moment longer, numbly putting it on the countertop.
He didn’t care what ‘psychics’ said. He didn’t care what mistakes he made. He didn’t care about glitches that tried to pass themselves off as high officials on Cybertron. He had lost one of his bonded for not paying enough attention. He refused to lose the other.
He knelt down by Wheeljack and helped him up gently. He sent a gentle pulse through the bond, calming the frenzy in his remaining bonded’s spark somewhat.
Ratchet looked up, a fire sparking in his optics. “Is this some kind of sick joke?”
Silence.
“Because if it is, whoever is doing it can knock it off.”
“It’s not a joke, Ratchet.”
All optics turned to Prowl, who was sitting quietly on one of the berths.
“Prowl…?”
“It’s not a joke. It’s true; Perceptor did not commit suicide. He was murdered.”
The room seemed to freeze over completely. If Skyfire were there, he would probably be reminded of his time in a glacier.
“How would you know that, Prowl?” Optimus asked slowly.
Prowl’s doorwings were drooping and his head was bowed. He shuttered his optics and shook his head slowly. “I know because I was the one who killed him.”
There was a long silence. Wheeljack almost fell again, but Ratchet caught him. Everyone was staring, but Ratchet and Wheeljack’s quietness seemed much more dangerous than before.
“Why?” Beachcomber asked softly.
Prowl did not look up. “Wildfire contacted me with orders from higher up the Autobot hierarchy to kill him.”
“What? Perceptor?” Prowl looked at the screen in front of him, shocked. “Why Perceptor?”
The Autobot official leaned back a little, frowning. “We received information that he is a deeply undercover Decepticon assassin. We have the word of several high-up Decepticons and reports some people in the tech division under Magma got from Shockwave’s database.”
“Perceptor is…” Prowl shook his head, shuttering his optics briefly. “Why aren’t you going to Optimus Prime?”
“Prowl, we’re talking Optimus, here. We all know how he is. He’ll be determined to see the good, and in the end it will cost all of the Autobots.” Wildfire narrowed his optics. “And we don’t want anything ‘official’ with this. It has to be done unofficially to avoid Decepticon retaliation. Make it look like a suicide.”
“Sir, we’re talking assassination. And he is bonded to two loyal Autobots. There is supposed to be a fair trial so he can say his side of the story…”
“He has orders to kill Optimus. With his bond, he has two people he can destroy easily if he feels threatened, that, and he looks better. And did you hear what I said about Decepticon retaliation?”
Prowl froze. The death of Optimus would make the entire Autobot faction fall apart. The stakes just skyrocketed. “But what if Perceptor is innocent?”
“It has been proven beyond reasonable doubt. I will send you the reports and the recordings of the interrogations if you would prefer. You have your orders. Don’t tell Optimus and don’t tell anyone who don’t need to know. Good day, Prowl.”
“He sent me everything he promised. I even did some digging of my own, going as far as asking Magma herself. Everything checked out.” Prowl sighed and his wings drooped down further. “So I did as he told me to. But… afterwards, when I was searching through his computer to see if there was any Decepticon information, I found a file. He had been using it as a place to let out his thoughts since he felt as though he couldn’t tell anyone about it.”
At this, Prowl’s wings started to twitch slightly and his lips pressed together in fury. “All he wrote was that he saw something a month before when he, Smokescreen, and Ironhide had been sent up to Wildfire’s division on Cybertron. He said that it was something Wildfire hadn’t wanted him to see, and he was afraid that he was in danger. He said that he didn’t care if he was, but he was going to make whatever he saw stop. He never said what it was. I should’ve known. But it doesn’t matter why I did it. His blood is on my hands.”
He sighed slowly. “I didn’t admit sooner because I was trying to find out what Wildfire didn’t want anyone to know. I thought that the only way to redeem myself in Perceptor’s optics, though perhaps not my own, was to bring Wildfire’s secret to light and him to justice. If I admitted to being a murderer, it would destroy any credibility I hoped to have and deprive me of the chance to reveal him. I… I wanted to be able to look at Perceptor in the optic when it came time that I was to go to the Matrix. I never thought that he didn’t leave. I’m sorry. It can do nothing, but I am sorry, Ratchet, Wheeljack, and most of all, Perceptor.”
He didn’t say anything more, nor did he look up. Ratchet couldn’t help but be grateful for that. If Prowl had dared try to make eye contact, that may have made him snap completely.
“I have my own confession.”
Everyone minus Prowl looked at Red Alert, noting how the security director was staring at the floor, hugging himself. “I saw it happen on the security cameras. Prowl thought that he had caused them to glitch, but I had a secondary one in case Wheeljack had a serious explosion of some sort and we needed to see the inside of the lab. I was afraid because Prowl would never kill someone without reason, and that meant he had probably gotten orders from higher-up. So I just sat back and let Perceptor be called a suicide.” He shuttered his optics. “I’m sorry too. I saw the pain everyone was going through by thinking he killed himself, but I didn’t say anything. I’m sorry.”
Ember and Jason both stood up, glancing at the ceiling. “Do you accept their apology, Perceptor?”
No one said anything. Red Alert nervously edged away so he was next to Prowl, the only one who he didn’t think would glare murder at him just then.
Fwip.
Both officers stiffened and looked up, noting that the same scalpel that Perceptor had always used, the same that Prowl had used to kill the scientist, and the same that Ratchet had thrown into the incinerator was just inches above their heads, embedded in the wall with the fresh energon staining its blade dripping down.
Prowl was about to look down again in shame when it started to change.
The metal turned green and organic and the side pointing outwards flowered into yellow petals. The energon dripped down to the petals, becoming little beads of dew, and in no time they were staring at a daffodil growing out of the wall, dipping only slightly to gravity’s pull.
Prowl looked like his logic processors were about to crash.
Beachcomber looked at the flower in awe, and slowly, a smile bloomed on his face. “I know what it means. The day before he died, Percy and I were outside. I told him all about the symbolism behind the flowers we found. Daffodils mean forgiveness.”
“I don’t think he ever blamed either of you,” Ember murmured. “He didn’t mark your hands with blood. I would’ve seen it if he did. He just wanted you to tell everyone the truth.”
Both Prowl and Red Alert reflexively looked down at their hands gingerly, as if expecting energon pooling in their palms and dripping down to splash on the floor. But there wasn't. The metal of their hands gleamed as cleanly as their first day of awareness.
Prowl somehow miraculously overlooked the sheer impossibility of what had just happened and he bowed his head again, shuttering his optics. He whispered something inaudible, but he knew that, if any of this was real, Perceptor would hear.
“So… he really is here?” Red Alert asked, looking up.
“Yeah.” Jason stood up, his eyes fixed on the doorway. “He’s here. And he’s smiling. But he’s going to take revenge on the person he does blame.”
Ember frowned, glaring at the wall, before she sat down and closed her eyes. “Wildfire’s hands had blood on them. He places full blame on him. And what goes around comes around.” One could tell, just by listening to her voice, that she knew perfectly well what she was implying. And she supported it fully.
Optimus looked at the door and sighed slowly, yet he didn’t once make the order to protect the Cybertronian official.
Prowl looked at Ratchet and Wheeljack, not once trying to make eye contact. “I can’t ask you to forgive me, but-”
“No,” Wheeljack said quietly, looking away. He took a shaky breath and shuttered his optics. “If Percy can forgive you, we can try. It’ll be hard, but we can try. I just… can’t do it right now.”
Prowl nodded and bowed his head again. “It is more than I deserve. Thank you.”
A breeze of warm air washed through the med bay despite the fact none of the windows were open, and there was the sound of someone humming sweetly in the distance.
---
The next morning, Wheeljack found Wildfire dead on the floor outside of the lab. He had been mutilated with a scalpel and he was clutching an orange lily in one hand and deadly nightshade in the other. He had been tempted to just leave him there, but in the end Wheeljack went to Optimus and told him what happened. It was only a week later that it was revealed that Wildfire used illegal torture methods on the Decepticons his division had captured and were trying to interrogate. All of the extra parts he gave were either from the Decepticons’ dead bodies or their living bodies after they were dismembered alive as an ‘interrogation’ technique. After his death, the twins got heavily damaged while trying to play Jet Judo with the seekers. Not only did everyone rejoice at the return of their previous reckless vitality, but they rejoiced because it was the first time since Perceptor’s death that Ratchet threw one of the wrench-throwing fits he was famous for. The Hatchet was back.
When asked, Magma said that she had only backed up Wildfire when he was ordering the death of Perceptor was because she was blackmailed.
Wheeljack and Ratchet still heard humming in the lab, but it started sounding like it used to. Content, gentle, and comforting.
They could sometimes feel another spark when they merged. And sometimes, when they needed it most, Perceptor was there to comfort them and whisper away the grief.
---
“Beachcomber?”
The blue minibot looked up at the engineer in his doorway, smiling. “Mmm?”
“Uh… remember that flower thing?” Wheeljack asked awkwardly, shifting his weight foot to foot.
Beachcomber gestured him inside and nodded. “Yes.”
Wheeljack edged in slowly, taking out a bundle of flowers from subspace. “Ratchet and I found these just outside our door this morning.”
They were in pristine condition, their colors vibrant and beautiful. It was obvious that both the medic and engineer had been very careful with them as not even a petal looked damaged.
Beachcomber’s optics widened slightly in surprise before he smiled, jumping off from his berth and coming closer to look at the flowers. “Forget-me-nots, globe amaranths, orange blossoms, poppies, sweet peas, carnations, azaleas, cattails, cyclamen, daisies, zinnia…” He let out a chuckle. “Wow, Percy. You have an interesting assortment here.”
He looked up, still smiling gently. “I could go on and on about it. It’s basically a bundle of flowers just screaming unfading, eternal, loyal, true love. He’s saying that he loves you, that he always will, that he doesn’t want you to be sad, and he’s saying good bye. The cattails mean peace, so he’s telling you that he’s going to be able to rest in peace now, and the azaleas mean basically ‘take care of yourself for me.’ But in a way, he’s also saying that he’ll always be here.” He looked down and let out a content sigh. “He really did love you both. Thank you for that. I never saw him happier than the times he was with you.”
Wheeljack paused, looking down at the flowers with a different look in his optic. He blinked quickly, backing up a little. “I’ll… I’ll go tell Ratchet and put these in a vase. Thank you.”
He gave Beachcomber a watery smile before turning quickly and disappearing through the door.
The geologist stood there alone for a long moment, but then he slowly turned and walked to the little vase on the table right where the sun came out of the window. Morning glories, impatiens, poppies, azaleas, cattails, red chrysanthemums, sweet peas, and zinnia were all there together in that little piece of strong cut glass. Beachcomber touched the petal of an azalea lightly, smiling sadly.
“I don’t know how I can take care of myself without you, Percy. I’m so used to you always being around to tell me when I forget to eat or recharge.”
Beachcomber smiled and turned away from the flowers he had found outside of his room that morning, lying down on his berth and falling into recharge to the gentle and familiar sound of Perceptor’s warm, affectionate chuckling.
---
Neither the daffodil growing from the med bay wall nor the flowers left on numerous people’s doorstep ever faded. They bloomed and flourished, uncaring of the passage of time. Some suspected that the same was true with the flowers found with Wildfire, but those flowers had been lost long ago. People wondered why the flowers were given. Some theorized that it was because the one who gave them didn’t want to be forgotten. Some said that the one who gave them wanted to tell everyone how he felt about them. In reality, it was a mixture of both. Even years later, people who had been there to receive a bundle of the forever flowers would ask Ratchet, Wheeljack, or Beachcomber to tell them the story. They always knew the story best because they were closest to the one said to have given the flowers.
Wheeljack and Ratchet never did fall in love with another, but with time they were able to forgive Prowl for what he did.
Wheeljack grinned and shuttered his optics, listening to the happy humming resonating through the lab. There wasn’t really much to forgive Prowl for, when you got right down to it. Perceptor never really left.
And it was that little fact that made everyone in the Ark just a little happier.
A/N- Kirin_Saga gave me the idea of Red and Prowl looking at their hands when Ember mentioned the blood. ^.^